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 Front Cover
 Little Karen and her baby
 Making maple sugar
 Luck and labor
 Cathern
 A letter to letter-writers
 The seven ages
 On the ice
 The two wishes
 The golden fish of Owari castl...
 Extracts from the journal of a...
 His own master
 Brave little Florencia
 March
 The stars in March
 Pattikin's house
 Poor Katy delay
 "Miss Muffett" series - No. VII...
 Jack-in-the-pulpit
 Young contributors' department
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover
 Spine


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St. Nicholas, vol. 4, no. 5
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Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00045
 Material Information
Title: St. Nicholas, vol. 4, no. 5
Series Title: St. Nicholas.
Alternate Title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner,
Publication Date: -c1943.
 Subjects
Subjects / Keywords: Literature for Children
Genre: Children's literature
Periodicals
serial   ( sobekcm )
 Notes
General Note: Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
General Note: Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
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
System ID: UF00065513:00045

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Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Little Karen and her baby
        Plate
        Page 297
        Page 298
        Page 299
    Making maple sugar
        Page 300
    Luck and labor
        Page 301
    Cathern
        Page 302
        Page 303
        Page 304
        Page 305
        Page 306
        Page 307
        Page 308
        Page 309
    A letter to letter-writers
        Page 310
        Page 311
    The seven ages
        Page 312
        Page 313
        Page 314
    On the ice
        Page 315
        Page 316
        Page 317
        Page 318
    The two wishes
        Page 319
        Page 320
        Page 321
        Page 322
        Page 323
    The golden fish of Owari castle
        Page 324
        Page 325
        Page 326
    Extracts from the journal of a blue-coat girl
        Page 327
        Page 328
        Page 329
        Page 330
        Page 331
    His own master
        Page 332
        Page 333
        Page 334
        Page 335
        Page 336
        Page 337
        Page 338
    Brave little Florencia
        Page 339
        Page 340
    March
        Page 341
    The stars in March
        Page 342
        Page 343
        Page 344
        Page 345
        Page 346
    Pattikin's house
        Page 347
        Page 348
        Page 349
        Page 350
    Poor Katy delay
        Page 351
    "Miss Muffett" series - No. VII - The sick frog
        Page 352
        Page 353
    Jack-in-the-pulpit
        Page 354
        Page 355
    Young contributors' department
        Page 356
    The letter-box
        Page 357
        Page 358
    The riddle-box
        Page 359
        Page 360
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
    Spine
        Spine
Full Text






















































































































































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............




























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LITTLE KAREN'S FRIENDS.

















ST. NICHOLAS.




MARCH, 1877.


[Copyright, 1877, by Scribner & Co.]





LITTLE KAREN AND HER BABY.

BY S. C. W.


THE cottage in which little Karen lived stood
high up on the hill-side, close to the edge of a great
forest. It was a strange, lonely place for a young
wife, almost a girl, to be so happy in; but Karen
was not afraid of the forest, and never thought
her home lonely, not even when the strong winds
blew in winter-time, and brought the far-off baying
*of wolves from the mountains beyond. Her hus-
band, her boy, her housewifely cares, her spinning-
wheel and her needle, kept her busy all day long,
and she was as cheerful as busy. The cottage was
not large, but it was strongly built of heavy beams
and stones. Its low walls seemed to hug and
clasp the ground, as if for protection, in time of
storm. The casement windows, with their very
small panes of thick glass, let in little sun, but all
summer long they stood open, and in winter, what
with the crackling fire, the hum of the wheel, and
Karen's bright face, the living-room never looked
dark, and, for all its plainness, had an air of quaint
comfort about it. Fritz, Karen's husband, who
was skillful with tools, had ornamented the high-
backed chair, the press for clothes, and the baby's
oaken cradle, with beautiful carving, of which little
Karen was exceedingly proud. She loved her cot-
tage, she loved the great wood close by; her lonely
life was delightful to her, and she had not the least
wish to exchange it for the toy-like village in the
valley below.
But Karen was unlike other people, the neigh-
bors said, and the old gossips were wont to shake
VOL. IV.-20.


their heads, and mutter that there was a reason for
this unlikeness, and that all good Christians ought
to pity and pray for the poor child.
Long, long ago, said these gossips,-so long that
nobody now could remember exactly when it was,-
Karen's great-great-great-grandfather (or perhaps
his grandfather-who could tell?), when hunting in
the high mountains, met a beautiful, tiny maiden,
so small and light that a man could easily carry
her in the palm of one hand. This maiden he fell
in love with, and he won her to be his wife. She
made a good wife; kept the house as bright as
new tin; and spun on her wheel linen thread so
fine that mortal eye could hardly see it. But a
year and a day from the time of her marriage, she
went out to walk in the wood, and never came back
any more The reason of this was, that she was
a gnomide,-daughter of one of the forest gnomes,
-and when her own people encountered her thus
alone, they detained her, and would not suffer her
to return to her husband. The baby she left in
the cradle grew to be a woman,-bigger than her
gnome mother, it is true, but still very small;
and all the women of the race have been small
since that time. Witness little Karen herself,
whose head only came up to the shoulder of her tall
Fritz. Then her passion for woods and solitary
places,-her beautiful swift spinning, her hair, of
that peculiar pale white-brown shade,-all these
were proofs of the drops of unearthly blood which
ran in her veins. Gnomes always had white hair.


VOL. IV.


No. 5.






LITTLE KAREN AND HER BABY.


This was because they lived in holes and dark
places. Even a potato would throw out white
leaves if kept in a cellar,-everybody knew that,-
and the gossips ending thus, would shake their
heads again, and look very wise.
Karen had heard these stories, and laughed at
them. No fairy or gnome had ever met her eyes
in the woods she loved so well; and as for hair,
Rosel Pilaff's, and Gretchen Erl's too, was almost
as pale as hers. Blonde hair is common enough
in the German mountains. Her little boy-bless
him!-had downy rings which promised to become
auburn in time, the color of his father's beard.
She did not believe in the gnome story a bit.
But there came a time when she almost wished to
believe it, for the gnomes are said to be wise folk,
and little Fritz fell ill of a strange disease, which
neither motherly wisdom nor motherly nursing was
able to reach. Each day left him thinner and
weaker, till he seemed no more than half his former
size. His very face looked strange as it lay on the
cradle-pillow, and Karen was at her wit's end to
know what to do.
I will go to the village and ask Mother Klaus
to come and see the child," said Fritz. She may
know of a remedy."
It will be of no use," declared Karen, sadly.
"She went to the Berards', and the baby died,
and to Heinrichs', and little Marie died. But go,
go, Fritz!-only come back soon, lest our angel
take flight while you are away "
She almost pushed him from the door, in her
impatience to have him return.
A while after, when the baby had wailed himself
to sleep, she went again to the door to look down
the path into the valley. It was too soon to hope
for Fritz, but the movement seemed a relief to her
restlessness. It was dusk, not dark,--a sweet, mild
dusk, with light enough left to show the tree-
branches as they met and waved against the dim
yellow sky. Deep shadows lay on the moss-beds
and autumn flowers which grew beneath; only a
faint perfume here and there told of their presence,
and the night was very near.
Too unhappy to mind the duskiness, Karen wan-
dered a little way up the wood-path, and sat down
on the root of an old oak, so old that the rangers
had given it the name of Herr Grandfather." It
was only to clear her brimming eyes that she sat
down. She wiped them with her kerchief, and,
with one low sob, was about to rise, when she be-
came aware that somebody was standing at her
side.
This somebody was a tiny old woman, with a
pale, shadowy, but sweet face, framed in flossy
white hair. She wore a dark, foreign-looking
robe; a pointed hood, edged with fur, was pulled


over her head; and the hand which she held out
as she spoke was as white as the stalk of celery.
What is the matter, my child ?" she asked, in
a thin, rustling voice, which yet sounded pleas-
antly, because it was kind.
My baby is so sick," replied Karen, weeping.
How sick ?" inquired the old woman, anxiously.
"Is it cold? Is it fever? Do its eyes water ? My
baby once had a cold, and her eyes -- She
stopped abruptly.
His eyes do not water," said Karen, who felt
singularly at home with the stranger. "But his
head is hot, and his hands; he sleeps ill, and for
these ten days has hardly eaten. He grows thin- t
ner and whiter every hour, and wails whenever he
is awake. Oh, what am I doing? I must go back
to him,"-and, as she spoke, she jumped from her
seat.
One minute entreated the little old woman.
" Has he pain anywhere ?"
He cries when I move his head," said Karen,
hurrying on.
The stranger went too, keeping close beside her
in a swift, soundless way.
Take courage, liebchen, child to her who was
child of my child's child," she said. Weep not,,
my darling. I will send you help. Out of the
wisdom of the earth shall come aid for the little
dear one."
"What do you mean?" cried Karen, stopping
short, in her surprise.
But the old woman did not answer. She had
vanished. Had the wind blown her away ?"
"How could I wander so far? How could I
leave my baby? Wicked mother that I am !"
exclaimed Karen, in sudden terror, as she ran into
the cottage.
But nothing seemed disturbed, and no one had
been there. The baby lay quietly in his cradle,
and the room was quite still, save for the hiss of
the boiling pot, and the fall of an ember on the
hearth. Gradually her heart ceased its terrified
beating; a sense of warmth and calm crept over
her, her eyes drooped, and, seated at the cradle-
foot, she fell asleep in her chair.
Whether it was an hour or a minute that she
slept, she never knew. Slowly and dimly her
waking senses crept back to her; but though she
heard and saw and understood, she could neither
stir nor speak. Two forms were bending over the
cradle, forms of little men, venerable and shadowy,
with hair like snow, and blanched, pale hands, like
her visitor of the afternoon. They did not look at
Karen, but consulted together above the sleeping
child.
It is here, brother, and here," said one, laying
his finger gently on the baby's head and heart.


[MARCH,






1877] LITTTE KAREN AND HER BABY. 299


Does it lie too deep for our reaching? asked
the second, anxiously.
No. The little herb you know of is power-
ful."
"And the crystal dust you know of is more
powerful still."
Then they took out two minute caskets, and
Karen saw them open the baby's lips, and each
drop in a pinch of some unknown substance.
He is of ours," whispered one, "more of ours
than any of them have been since the first."
He has the gift of the far sight," said the
other, lightly touching the closed eyes, "the divin-
ing glance and the lucky finger."
I read in him the apprehension of metals,"
said the second old man, "the sense of hidden
treasures, the desire to penetrate."
We will teach him how the waters run, and
what the birds say-yes, and the way in and the
way out "
Put the charm round his neck, brother."
Then Karen saw the little men tie a bright object
round the baby's neck. She longed to move, but
still she sat mute and powerless, while the odd
figures passed round the cradle, slowly at first, then
faster and faster, crooning as they went a song
which was like wind in branches, and of which this
scrap lodged in her memory:

Eyes to pierce the darkness through,
Wit to grasp a hidden clue,
Heart to feel and hand to do,
These the gnomes have given to you."

So the song and the circling movement went on,
faster and more fast, and round and round, till
Karen's head swam and her senses seemed to spin
in a whirling dance, and she knew no more, till
roused by the opening of the door, and Fritz's voice
exclaiming : Come in, Dame Klaus-come in!
Karen! Where are you, wife? Ah, here she is,
fast asleep, and the little man is asleep too."


1 am not asleep," said Karen, finding her voice
with an effort. Then, to her husband's surprise,
she began to weep bitterly. But, for all his urg-
ings, she would not tell the cause, for she was afraid
of Dame Klaus's tongue.
The dame shook her head over the sick baby.
He was very bad, she said ; still, she had brought
through others as bad as he, and there was no tell-
ing. She asked for a saucepan, and began to brew
a tea of herbs, while Karen, drawing her husband
aside, told her wonderful tale in a whisper.
Thou wert dreaming, Karen ; it is nothing but
a dream," declared the astounded Fritz.
No, no," protested Karen. It was not a
dream. Baby will be well again, and great things
are to happen You will see The little men
know "
Little men! Oh, Karen Karen! exclaimed
Fritz.
But he said no more, for Karen, bending over
the cradle, lifted the strange silver coin which was
tied round the baby's neck, and held it up to him
with a smile. A silver piece is not a dream, as
every one knows; so Fritz, though incredulous,
held his tongue, and neither he nor Karen said a
word of the matter to Mother Klaus.
Baby was better next day. It was all the herb-"
tea, Mother Klaus declared, and she gained great
credit for the cure.
This happened years ago. Little Fritz grew to
be a fine man, sound and hearty, though never as
tall as his father. He was a lucky lad too, the
villagers said, for his early taste for minerals caught
the attention of a rich gentleman, who gave him
great learning. Often when the mother sat alone
at her wheel, a smile came to her lips, and she
hummed low to herself the song of the little old
men:
Eyes to pierce the darkness through,
Wit to grasp the hidden clue,
Heart to feel and hand to do,
These the gnomes have given to you."


"N


N


St







300 MAKING MAPLE SUGAR. [MARCH,


MAKING MAPLE SUGAR.

BY RUTH KENYON.


WINTER had been whistling around with his
hands in his pockets a good three months and
more; but the violets and daisies, tucked under a
thick blanket of snow, had been kept from freezing.
People call Winter a very cold, severe fellow; still
there must be a tender spot in his heart some-


the branches told the trunks, and the trunks car-
ried the news down to the roots. Maple-trees keep
all their provisions in an underground cellar; so
the roots finding that, sure enough, the ground
was no longer frozen and hard, began to feel about,
and sent out little rootlets that gathered up the


j' i ';



41, 1-i1 ; i\j~











--I
J.-I-9


STIRRING THE SAP.


where, so kindly does he protect all the delicate
plants.
But now the great warm-hearted old Sun was
coming back, and Winter, afraid of his long bright
days, ran off to the North Pole. A flock of blue-
birds came to welcome their old friend, and one
robin-redbreast ventured out early to sing him a
song. A little warm breeze crept through Farmer
Cheery's maple forest, awoke the trees from their
long, long sleep, and they all began to shake hands
and nod toward each other, whispering: Good !
Good Here comes the Spring "
Soon the warm air made them feel thirsty and
faint; the tiny twigs complained to the branches;


good things,-just the kinds they knew maple
twigs loved best. Does n't it seem funny that they
can tell ? The maples take one kind of food, the
pines another, the birches another, and for each
the rootlets pick out just the right kind from the
same ground. As fast as the rootlets gathered
the food, they sent it up to the branches-a very
delicate, sweet drink; and still they sent more
and more, the little twigs always taking the fresh-
est, and sending back what was left over. The
branches felt very much revived as they were fed,
grew very social, and began to tell of the pretty
red dresses they would put on before long; red for
the cool spring days, and afterward green for hot


300


MAK-ING MAPLE SUGAR.


[MARCH,







LUCK AND LABOR.


summer. They were merry planning their new
wardrobes, I assure you; you could have heard it
if you had had the right kind of ears.
Farmer Cheery came in from his barn chores.
I say, wife, it's growing warm Should n't
wonder if the sap would run such weather as this;
guess I must tap one tree and see."
So Farmer Cheery took his auger and went out
into the maple orchard. It did n't take him long
to make a little hole in one of the tree-trunks, and
put in a little spout; nor was it many minutes
before drop by drop came the sap.
Ah that's fine said Farmer Cheery, and
he went home in haste. The next we saw of
him, he was driving out into the orchard with a
load of one hundred and fifty clean, bright, tin
sap-buckets and one hundred and fifty fresh little
troughs. Then, in each one of his hundred and
fifty maple-trees he bored a hole and put a trough
in, and a bucket beneath to catch the sap as it
came dropping out.
Did n't it starve the poor little branches wait-
ing for their food ? "
Oh, no There was enough for them left,-all
they needed to keep them very fresh and make
them grow. So many, many pailfuls ran up and
down every day, that the one Farmer Cheery took
would hardly be missed.
Every morning and night for two or three weeks,
the good farmer might be seen with his great tank,
clean as clean could be, driving around to collect
the sap that had run out. He knew that one rea-
son why maple sugar is sometimes dark-colored is
because the pails and tanks that hold the sap are
not washed thoroughly; so he took great pains
with his. He knew, too, that if any water gets in,


the sap must be boiled longer to make sugar of it,
and the longer it is boiled the darker it grows ; so,
if he saw a storm coming, he collected all the sap,
and turned the buckets upside down till the rain
was over.
Farmer Cheery had a great iron pan, which
would hold,-oh, I don't dare tell you how many
pailfuls,-a great, great many; and this very
large pan rested on some stone posts about two
feet from the ground. Under this he built a fire,
and into it he poured his sap, stirring it while it
boiled almost all day long. When he drew it off,
such beautiful clear sirup I don't believe you ever
saw. This he did two or three times each week
for nearly a month; after that, the sap was not as
good for people to use, though just what the little
twigs needed as they grew older.
Some of his sirup the farmer put up in cans to
send to the cities; some of it he boiled more and
more, so that it would be sugar when cooled.
Then he poured it into pretty scolloped tins, to
harden into the round cakes you like so nuch;
and some of it his little grandchildren waxed on
snow.
You don't know how that is ?
Well, May packed a panful of snow, just as hard
as she could crowd it in; then she smoothed off the
top as even as a marble table, and she and Sally
carried it to Grandpa Cheery, who dropped upon
their snow a spoonful of the hot sirup here and
there. The little thin, waxy sheets of suddenly
cooled sirup, picked up with a fork and eaten as
soon as cool, made an excellent luncheon; and the
children tugged their pan of snow around to give
every one a taste, declaring that "sugar-season"
was the very best time in the year.


LUCK AND LABOR.

BY MRS. CAROLINE A. SOULE.


LUCK doth wait, standing idly at the gate-
Wishing, wishing all the day;
And at night, without a fire, without a light,
And before an empty tray,
Doth sadly say:
"To-morrow something may turn up;
To-night on wishes I must sup."


Labor goes, plowing deep the fertile rows-
Singing, singing all the day;
And at night, before the fire, beside the light,
And with a well-filled tray,
Doth gladly say:
" To-morrow I'll turn something up;
To-night on wages earned I sup."







CATHERN.


CATHERN.
(A Sequel to "The Ask-Girl."*)

BY LUCY G. MORSE.


DOES anybody remember the little ash-girl,
Cathern, who wanted a mother so much that she
wandered up and down the streets, day in and day
out, for a great many weeks, trying to find one?
She had been laughed at, scolded and repulsed,
until her courage nearly failed her; and the great
hope in her heart grew less and less and at last
seemed to be fading quite away, just as the color in
her cheeks had done.
But now-now Mrs. Percy had opened her arms
to the lonely child, and was resting the tired head
upon her bosom. Only a few days before, a little
golden head had rested there, and a face as pure
as an angel's had lighted up with smiles in answer
to the mother's look of love. But the angels had
beckoned to the child and carried her to heaven
with them, leaving the mother desolate. Thinking
of all this, and looking down upon Cathern, Mrs.
Percy saw that the sudden happiness had been too
much for the poor child. The little face, looking
so worn and white under a mat of dusky hair, but
with the light of its new joy full upon it, lay quite
unconscious. Very tenderly, with her heart aching
for her own darling, Mrs. Percy carried this poor
stranger child upstairs, and laid her upon the
vacant bed.
It was several weeks before Cathern wakened
from a delirium in which she seemed to be going
over her weary wanderings again. At one time
she would complain that the stones were cold, and
hurt her feet; at another, that her bones ached;
then, that she was hungry. Sometimes she would
mistake Mrs. Percy, who watched over her almost
constantly, for some one whom she had encountered
in her search. "Wait! wait! she would plead,
pitifully. Don't shut the door on me. I have n't
got any mother, an' I wants one so bad! Then
she would cry, and in a moment say, bitterly:
"No matter! A reel mother would n't drive me
away, an' I 'm goin' to git on to a boat an' go all
over the world till I finds a reel, true mother! "
In this way, Mrs. Percy learned a great deal
about Cathern's sufferings, and became so full of
compassion for her, that her interest grew very
strong. Again and again she thought over her
impulsive promise to the child that she would be
a mother to her, and wondered if it would be a
difficult one to fulfill; but whenever she looked at
Cathern, her wondering changed to pity, and she


said to herself: Inasmuch as ye do it unto one
of these little ones "
Opposite the bed where Cathern lay, there hung
upon the wall a beautiful portrait of the two who
had died,-Mabel Percy and her father,-and the
mother, looking at it, fancied that she saw in the
child's eyes, which seemed to look down upon her
from the picture, an earnest expression, which re-
sembled the pleading look so intense upon the
forlorn little beggar child's face when she had first
seen it. It seemed as if Mabel were pleading for
Cathern. That thought would make Mrs. Percy
bend over the sick child, and try, with all her skill
and patience, to restore her.
At last came the day when Cathern opened her
eyes, gazed intently at Mrs. Percy for a moment,
and then, with a radiant smile, put up her little
wasted arms, and cried, joyfully:
"Mother! "
She was so happy that she did not notice how
the face over her grew sad with a sudden pain at
that word. She felt nothing but her own excess
of joy, and innocently took for granted, on Mrs.
Percy's part, all the feeling of a mother over the
recovery of her child.
"I forgot all about it, mother," she said, brightly,
with a low laugh. "I dreamed all the time that
I was a-huntin' for you ag'in. Was n't that funny?
An' it aint true at all! I has n't got to hunt any
more, has I? Oh, I'm so glad !, Aint you ? But
o' course you are, 'cause you have n't got any little
girl now, 'cept me." Oh, the pain the mother
felt at every word! But Cathern was quite uncon-
scious of it, and went on, and on: "Aint you
glad, too, you've got me ? I knows you are, 'cause
all the reel mothers ever I seen was glad with their
little girls, an' called 'em every kind o' word they
could think of. Nice names, I mean. 0' course
they would n't go to call 'em the things Biddy Dolan
called me She aint nobody's mother. An' you
called me 'my darling,'-so I knows, ye see. The
first mother I knowed said that. Mother! Mother!
You '1 call it me often, wont you? "
The pain in the mother's heart was very sharp
just then, but the joy and trust in Cathern's were
perfect; and the tones of her voice, weak from
sickness, and very touching as she kept repeating
this name she had never called any one before,
were such as no true mother could have disap-


For the first story, see ST. NICHOLAS for April, 1876; page 386.


[MARCH,






CATHERN.


pointed; and this sorrowing one hid her face in
the pillow, and whispered:
I will, my darling."
Oh, that's the beautifullest, the goodest thing
of all! cried the little one, in ecstasy. You're
the best of all the mothers,-I knows you are.
Lift up your head, mother,-I wants to see you,
an' you hides your face so I can't. Oh, mother!
mother! you're a-feelin' bad, an' you wants to
cry "
Here Cathern's voice changed to one of the ten-
derest pity, and, drawing down the mother's head,
she patted and soothed it with her weak little
hands as if it were a baby's, and she its com-
forter.
There! There, my mother! she said. Lay
down close to me, an' I'11 make you'feel better.
See how I can stroke you an' love you? Yes, in-
deed I will; an' by an' by you can go to sleep
here, on my pillow, an' I'll watch you, an' I wont
let nothing touch you nor wake you up till you're
all rested. Is that what your other little girl 'd
do? Yes, I knows she would. An' now she can't,
you know. An' if she could ax me to do it for her,
she would,-an' I will. She's beautifuller nor
what I am, but when I gits well I'll do everything
I can think of she 'd be axin me to. There!
Now you're cryin' really, mother You can hide
your face agin mine, an' I wont let nobody see ye.
Ye need n't try not to do it, neither, for it's dread-
ful hard to keep it in,--I knows it is "
Cathern had so often squeezed back the tears
and swallowed sobs when they wanted to come out,
that she understood at once the pain the mother
felt in her effort at self-control. All through her
little life, as far back as she could remember, she
had been forced to do without things that she
wanted bitterly, and she had been too lonely ever
since the longing for a mother had seized her, not
to feel now Mrs. Percy's intense longing for her
daughter.
Her words and tender caresses touched Mrs.
Percy to the heart, and, lifting her head presently,
she kissed the sick child tenderly, and said, with a
brighter look than Cathern had seen before:
"There! You make me feel better, darling.
You are a poor little waif who has strayed into
my path, I think, because I need you as much as
you need me. We will help each other, and it
shall be good for us both that we have come
together."
Then Mrs. Percy sat by the bed, and holding
Cathern's feeble hand, told her gently about her
own little daughter-how tenderly she had carried
it for its first walk down the path to the spring at
her country home, where the daisies smiled up at
the wee dimpled stranger, and the quivering leaves


of the white-barked poplars winked down in baby's
laughing face; how baby had come to the city and
grown into a happy little girl; and how very still
and lonely the house had seemed when, at last, the


*. JL' t't


bright eyes were shut forever. Listening to this,
Cathern became perfectly quiet, and at last fell
into a sweet sleep.
Si *
The cross waiters and indignant cooks who had
shut the doors in the ash-girl's face would not have
recognized her the following spring, when, restored
to health, she was singing to herself one morning
while she watered some flowers in the large bay-
window of the dining-room. She was dressed in a







CATTlE RN. [MARCH,


blue soft woolen gown, with dainty white ruffles at
the neck and wrists, and, with her hair brushed
into delicate waves behind her ears, and her face
rounded and rosy, she did not look much like the
forlorn girl who used to pick ashes and beg from
house to house all day long.
Mrs. Percy, who had been upstairs getting ready
to go out, returned and stood in the window put-
ting on her gloves, when she noticed that Cathern
had put down the pitcher, and was hitching her-
self nervously, as if she had something to say.
Well, what is it, little Kathleen?" asked Mrs.
Percy.
It aint nothing' on'y-on'y that faltered
Cathern, looking up wistfully.
Only what? asked Mrs. Percy.
"On'y that-that other fust mother-she took
her little girl out along with her,-she did "
"And you have never been out with me,-is
that it? asked Mrs. Percy; adding: Well, you
are quite strong enough now to take a walk every
pleasant day, and you may come, if you like."
Here was a climax of happiness reached. To go
out walking with her new mother, and to be seen by
the passers-by, in her company and in pretty clothes
instead of rags, was a summit of joy beyond which,
to Cathern's mind, it was impossible to wish for
much.
"Wait till they sees my coat with the torsle
down behind !" she said, as Mrs. Percy tied her
hat; and when she reached the sidewalk, she stop-
ped a minute to look at her feet and say, triumph-
antly: I guess they never thought I'd be having
boots what button I "
"Whom do you mean, Kathleen?" asked Mrs.
Percy.
"I mean them boys that kep' a-knockin' me
away from my barr'ls when I got there fust, an' the
people that shut the doors. I wisht they'd all see
me now, an' see if they 'd do it ag'in I wants 'em
to see me an' find out if I wont there 's
one of 'em now! she cried, suddenly; and, be-
fore Mrs. Percy could see what the child was about,
Cathern had run to the curbstone a little ahead of
them, deliberately bounced against a boy who was
picking ashes from a barrel, and stood looking at
him contemptuously, with her chin in the air.
The boy looked up in wrath, ready to resent the
injury, but was taken aback by seeing that it had
come from a daintily dressed child, who was already
grasping the hand of a fine lady. His expression
changed from anger to an indefinable look of sulky
submission.
Why, Kathleen How could you? exclaimed
Mrs. Percy, in amazement.
"'Cause," said Cathern, scowling at the boy,
while she took a few mincing steps before him, and


tried to attract his attention to her dress, he 's
got rags an' patches, an' I aint! An' he has to
pick ashes an' I don't, an' he wouldn't dare to
touch me, nohow And, to express her senti-
ment comprehensively to the boy, she puckered
up her mouth and lifted her chin at him again.
The boy, doubling up his fists, made an angry
gesture in the air at her. Quick as a flash, she
sprang to the other side of Mrs. Percy, clutched
that lady's skirts, and drew them around her for
protection. Then, thrusting her head out to peep
at the boy, she made another grimace at him, and
said, in jeering tones:
Ya-a-ah Come along and do it, if ye dare "
All this happened in just about a minute, and
Mrs. Percy had not been able to interfere effect-
ually. Now, however, she caught Cathern by the
wrist, drew her to a little distance, and said,
firmly :
"Come! This will never do. This boy has
done nothing to you, Catherine, and I will not let
you be so rude."
Then she turned to the boy, who, after selecting
a good-sized bit of coal from his basket, and hold-
ing it behind him, ominously, was moving off as if
he meant to throw it at Cathern when he got to a
suitable distance from them. .But his intention
altered as Mrs. Percy took her purse from her
pocket, and he dropped the coal quietly when she
gave him some pennies, saying, with much sweet-
ness:
I am sorry she treats you so badly, my poor
boy. Try to forget her naughty words, and re-
member that your rags cannot make you a bad
boy any more than her clothes can make her a
lady."
With a pleasant nod, she took Cathern's hand
again, and walked hastily away.
Her first feeling was indignation at Cathern's
showing toward another the same resentment and
contempt which, from others, had made her own
life so miserable. But, after a few moments' con-
sideration, she said to herself:
"Poor child! What can I expect? She has
never had any one to teach her, and it is to be my
task to try and let the light into her darkened
soul."
But their walk that morning was a curious one.
After they had gone a few blocks farther on their
way, Cathern again let go of Mrs. Percy's hand,
darted across the street, paraded hastily, in two or
three paces backward and forward, before a beg-
gar-girl who was sitting upon a door-step, and was
back again in an instant, meeting Mrs. Percy and
taking her hand as before.
"Ho! ho! ho !" laughed the beggar. "Who
cares if I haint? "


CATHERN.


[MARCH,






CATHERN.


Why, what was that for, Cathern?" asked Mrs.
Percy, annoyed.
"I did n't say nothing' much then, at all," an-
swered Cathern. "I on'y showed her me hat an'
coat, an' shook the torsle at her, an' stuck out me
boots to her, an' said she had n't got 'em An'
neither she aint."
Oh, little girl! little girl! How shall I ever
teach you all you have got to learn?" exclaimed
Mrs. Percy, half to herself and half to Cathern.
They walked on in silence, Mrs. Percy wonder-
ing by what means she would be best able to reach
this poor little ignorant mind, while its possessor
went skipping along at her side, singing gayly to
herself.
Presently a handsomely dressed lady met, and
was in the act of passing them, when Cathern sud-
denly stood quite still, planting herself, stiff and
rigid, directly in the way. The lady was obliged
not only to move to one side, but also to brush
close against Cathern in order to get by, and
she looked down frowningly upon the irritating
child. Mrs. Percy turned to speak, and saw
Cathern, with a low, merry laugh, looking back
over her shoulder at the lady, in great glee.
Why are you so glad to make that lady see
how rude you can be?" asked Mrs. Percy, in a
discouraged tone.
Ha! ha! ha !" laughed Cathern, more merrily
than ever. Did n't you see how she had to turn
out for me? She was n't afeerd to touch me then.
Her gownd went all over me face, an' she did n't
wipe the place where it touched her, neither!
That's the way the ladies used to do, .1. .. ;
and the gentlemen used to put out their canes to
keep me from coming' nigh to 'em, 'cause they
thought some o' me rags might fly off an' stick to
'em. But I'm just as good as they is now. Oh
yes, I be Oh yes, I be! she went on singing.
"I don't know about that," answered Mrs.
Percy, doubtfully. "Come home and let me
begin the task that is before me of showing you
how you may become so."
And she drew the child's hand into hers, and
hurried along, impatient to put an end to the an-
noyance of such a walk.
But one more incident occurred before they
reached home, which helped much to make Mrs.
Percy's task a simpler one than it then promised
to be. As they reached the corner which was
within a few rods of Mrs. Percy's house, they en-
countered a little child, scarcely more than a baby,
trying, with a mighty effort, to climb from the gut-
ter to the sidewalk. Mrs. Percy, on her guard
this time, kept a firm hold on Cathern's hand, and
attempted to draw her hastily over the curbstone
to a safe distance before helping the little one


upon its feet. But Cathern resisted the action,
and again too quick for Mrs. Percy, saying Git
out o' me way! stuck out her foot and gave the
baby a push which sent it rolling backward into
the gutter. Its head struck against the stones, and
it lay there unconscious.' Mrs. Percy stooped in-
stantly and raised the little one in her arms. There
was the usual confusion which follows such an acci-
dent. Those who happened to be passing stopped
to look, and, apparently, would have been con-
tented simply to gaze upon the tiny white face
indifferently; and there was a momentary dispute
between a huxter-woman and a vender of boot-
lacings for the best view of the little drooping
limbs. To Mrs. Percy's question, "Where does
the child live ? Who is her mother? there was
a chorus in answer of, She aint got no mother,"
and shouts of "Mr. Daffle! Mr. Daffle!" from
various small boys who had gathered around Mrs.
Percy, with a determination to see the whole thing
through." A very shabby old man, wiping his
mouth on his coat-cuff, came limping out of a
grocery-store, and the crowd made way for him.
"Oh, my! Oh, my! Oh, Trudy! Is she
dead? Is she killed ?" he cried, bewildered.
No, no," Mrs. Percy answered. "She is
stunned. It was an accident. Come quickly to
my house,-it is close by."
And, without losing more minutes, which seemed
long ones, she carried the baby hastily to her own
door.
Cathern was there before her, ringing the bell
violently; and, by the time Mrs. Percy reached
her, the door was open, the housemaid, aghast,
asking questions as fast as she could talk, and the
small boys, who had every one resolutely fol-
lowed Cathern, were all answering and pointing at
once.
During the next few minutes, Cathern, with a
face as white as the injured child's, watched every
look and motion of Mrs. Percy's. Her eager hands
were the first to bring water when it was called for;
and, without a word, she answered every demand
for assistance to the best of her small power. In a
few moments, amid the wails of the old man, the
child opened her eyes, and, as Mrs. Percy bathed
her face and put some reviving drops into her
mouth, began to move naturally with recovered
consciousness. Cathern bounded with delight.
The old man held out his hands to Trudy," as
he called the little one, and expressed his joy by
cuddling her in his arms and trotting around the
room with her.
After a little while, Mrs. Percy drew from him
the few leading facts concerning the child's his-
tory,-the death of her parents, her dependence
upon him as her grandfather, how he supported


7877.]








306 CATHE RN. [MARCH,


her by running on occasional errands for two or
three grocery stores in the neighborhood.
I goes first to one an' then to t' other to git a
job," he said; "for it's only leaving things to
places that I'm good for, bein' so old, ye see,
ma'am, and," touching his forehead significantly,
" my mem'ry bein' near gone,-why, I aint no
'count for messages. Whiles I 'm off, the children
round about looks arter Trudy; but when anything
like a target company or a hand-organ with a
monkey comes along, she's mostly forgot."


an'-an'-- Mother! mother! I feels bad! I
feels bad she cried, quite overcome, throwing
herself into Mrs. Percy's arms and sobbing.
It was too much for her,-the sudden change
from delight in her possessions and general self-
satisfaction, to acute pain at the realization that
here was another child, so much weaker and smaller
than herself, who was as desolate as' she had been,
and whom she had treated with the same thought-
less cruelty which she had herself experienced. To
see this and feel it for herself, did more than all


fUI _- I



,LT LTUD AKE H- ,,ST-AP ----


LITTLE TRUDY MAKES HER FIRST APPEARANCE.


Cathern, who had listened attentively to every
word, planted herself in front of the old man, and
said: "Look a' here! "
He looked, but Mrs. Percy could see more than
he did in the changed expression and earnestness
of Cathern's manner.
"I'll mind her an' look out for her when you 're
off, if ye '11 let me," she said, earnestly. I did n't
have no mother, neither; but I've got one now,
an' she '11 let me, if I ax her. She's my mother,"
pointing to Mrs. Percy; "an' I aint 'Cathern'
any more, but I'm 'Kathleen,' an' she gives me
everything nice. I'll look out for Trudy, an' I
wont never let her get hurt, an' I 'll give her nice
things, too. She can have the torsle off my coat,


Mrs. Percy's gentle teaching could do. In the
evening, after Mr. Daffle had come again and car-
ried,his grandchild away, she sat down with her
and talked with her long and patiently about the
possibility of there being a life for her in the future
more beautiful than even her old visions had been
in the dingy court.
This was really the beginning of Kathleen's new
life. Until then, she had been happy in taking
the comfort and fresh delight of every day; but
now her heart went out to Trudy, and, although
too young to be fully conscious of what was re-
vealed to her, she caught a glimpse of what joy it
might bring to her to live and do for another than
herself.


306


CATHERN.


[MARCH,






877] CATHERN. 307


Mrs. Percy had given Mr. Daffle permission, in
answer to Kathleen's entreaties, to leave the little
Trudy with them every morning, calling for her
every evening when his day's duties should be
ended. She had not much confidence in the
working of Kathleen's plan, and was also half
inclined to suspect that the old man, satisfied with
the present of money which she had given him,
would not bring Trudy again. But the next morn-
ing, while they were at breakfast, the door-bell
rang, and great was Kathleen's joy at seeing
Trudy's little shaggy head and grimy figure, in a
ragged and dust-colored gown made after the most
primitive pattern, ushered into the room by the
astonished maid.
Kathleen was so full of the idea of beginning at
once to take active care of the little one, that she
was rather impatient during breakfast. It was dis-
appointing that Trudy could not eat more,-
Kathleen had piled upon her plate rather more
than one would offer to a hard-working laborer,-
and that she was rather inclined, in her bewildered
gazing at everything and everybody, to forget her
breakfast altogether. Presently, however, when
Mrs. Percy sent them both to the nursery while
some household matters were occupying her down-
stairs, Cathern thought that her opportunity had
come, and, pouncing upon Trudy, exclaimed:
The fust thing is to get washed "
Great wvas Mrs. Percy's astonishment when, soon
afterward, she opened the bath-room door and be-
held Kathleen, her sleeves rolled up and a towel
pinned around her, scrubbing away at Trudy, who
looked just then in some danger of being drowned
in soap-suds, but who seemed also to be in a state
of too much.wonder at the novelty of the situation
to object to it.
Perceiving that Kathleen was really intent upon
caring for the child, Mrs. Percy did not interfere,
excepting where it was necessary, and avoided,
heroically, laughing at the various dilemmas which
occurred in the process of purifying Trudy's very
diminutive person. She even had flannels ready
in which to wrap the shivering little form, when
Kathleen, despising, of course, Trudy's old gar-
ments, suddenly cried:
"Oh! I forgot about clo'es! She aint got
nothing' to put on her, mother! "
If Trudy could only have written the history of
that day, from her point of view, her story would
have been vastly entertaining. How she was
scrubbed, and combed, rocked and trotted until
her brain must have felt like a mold of jelly!
How she was caught round the body, carried and
dumped, first in one place and then in another!
How Kathleen pinned and tied upon her all sorts
of her own garments until she was half suffocated;


and, finally, how she was penned into a corner by
a barricade of chairs while Kathleen undertook to
scrub in the wash-basin the heap of rags she had
arrived in But at the close of day there was a
pretty story which anybody there might have told
when Mrs. Percy appeared, holding up before the
happy children the neat little garments which she
had made on her sewing-machine.
"Well, well! an' it's a queer wurreld said
Susan, the housemaid, to the cook. Not sence
the first day whin the p'or little Mabel was took
down, I have n't sane the misthress look the likes
o' that There she was a-laughin', with her
cheeks like the June roses, an' the gay sound in
her voice a-callin' the childers An' there was the
owld man coom after his yoong un, a-worrikin'
his hands oop an' down with amazement! An'
there was this yoong fancy o' Miss Parcy's, holding'
onto the table an' swingin' her legs in under it
with j'y,-an' all the whiles there was the child
herself that they were all gittin' excited over,-
there she was, with nothing onto her save K'tleen's
long flannel ni'-gownd swaping the floor, shtarin'
first at the one an' thin at the other of 'em with
stupefaction "
When, afterward, Mrs. Percy went to see Kath-
leen tucked up in her little bed, she was surprised
to see her face screwed up into many wrinkles, and
tears making their way down her cheeks.
"What is it?" asked Mrs. Percy, gently.
"You have worked too hard over your little
charge, and I fancy you are tired,-is that so ? "
Oh, I don't care for that sobbed Kath-
leen. But I wisht-I wisht I had n't shoved that
boy May be-oh oh !-may be he had n't no
mother neither Nor that girl on the step Oh!
an' I was thinking' on'y about me clo'es an'-an'-
the t-t-tor-torsle on me coat, an' I never thunk
about the mothers,-not wunst 1 did n't "
But you have learned a great deal about the
mothers to-day, darling," said Mrs. Percy, sooth-
ing her, "and I do not believe you will forget
them so any more. Be as much like a mother, as
you can to this poor little Trudy,-just as I try to
be a mother to you,-and you will learn more in
that way than I could ever teach you. To be to
some one else what you want me to be to you, will
make you gladder than anything else in the world
can."
The light was coming fast now into Kathleen's
shadowy understanding. After Mrs. Percy had
gone, she sat up in bed and repeated, in a whisper:
"Just as I ty to be a mother to ye As I try /
What ye want me to be to ye "
Then for a few minutes she was so busy thinking
that she did move even a finger, and almost held
her breath. After a while she said, very softly:







CATHERN'.


"I never thunk before I thunk on'y she was
goin' to be my reel mother forever and ever An'
I don't know even who my own reel mother
was, on'y that she was like Biddy Dolan. An' this
mother is the reel mother on'y of her- Mabel !
An' Mabel was good, an' I was n't,-I was bad. I
was n't never good in my whole life, not till this
mother showed me how; an' then I was on'y good
a little."
Kathleen sat quite still, thinking very hard
again, for a few minutes. Then she heaved a
sigh, and said : An' there 's Trudy "
Another pause.
She aint got nobody on'y just a grandfather,
an' he 's so old,-his face is all rumpled up "
Another longer pause, and then, with another
sigh,-a happier one this time,-she said:
I must be like a little mother to Trudy, my
mother says. So I will,-I will,-I will,-I will "
In the morning, Mrs. Percy noticed a change in
Kathleen. She was more quiet than usual, and
there was a thoughtfulness in her face which gave
it rather an old look, and was rather painful to see,
as if it were a shadow of her old dreariness. The
smile which was always so bright and sunny came
back as Mrs. Percy kissed and pinched her cheeks
playfully, and, nestling against her loving bosom,
Kathleen forgot the shadows for a time. They
came again, and the little face looked older than
ever when Mr. Daffle brought Trudy. Mrs. Percy
went into the parlor to write a note which she was
going to ask the old man to post for her, and acci-
dentally left a little ajar the door which opened
directly into the dining-room, where he was waiting
with the children, so that she could hear distinctly
every word of the singular conversation which fol-
lowed.
My mother made Trudy that gownd," said
Kathleen; "but I'm going to learn to make all
the rest of her clo'es,-every one of 'em "
You 're pretty small for that, missy. It 'll be
harder than ye think," said the old man.
No matter said Kathleen. I can do it if
I works hard."
'T aint no use, missy, to trouble yerself,-
Trudy 's too little. She wont care for 'em, an' she
can get along without much of anything," said
Mr. Daffle.
No, she can't," said Kathleen, decidedly; an'
I' m goin' to make her everything she wants, 'cause
she aint got no mother, an' by an' by that '11 make
her feel bad, when she gets as big as me. So I 'm
goin' to play I 'm her mother, an' see to her, just
as this here mother "--motioning toward the par-
lor-" plays she 's mine."
If she aint your mother, what is she? and
where's yer own ? asked Mr. Daffle.


She 's dead, o' course," answered Kathleen,.
cheerfully. But she was n't this kind of a mother,
no how, I guess,-she was like Biddy Dolan, an' I
did n't like Biddy. Oh she said, confidentially,
drawing nearer to Mr. Daffle,-oh I wanted a
mother orfle So I hunted for one. But I had to
hunt a long time, 'cause they was n't any on'y just
this one, an' I foun' her, an' she took me for her
child, 'cause hers was dead, just like my mother.
So I foun' her an' she foun' me,-don't ye see?
An' then I was sick."
What made ye sick? Mr. Daffle asked.
Oh, getting' tired going' after my mother an'
never finding' her, an' always bein' hungry, an' then
goin' back to the shanty. Did you ever live in a.
shanty ? "
No,-I live in a tinament," answered Mr.
Daffle.
You better be glad it aint a shanty," said
Kathleen, shaking her head, knowingly.
Tinaments is jest as bad," said Mr. Daffle.
Are the people in tinaments ever as hungry as
the people in shanties ? asked Kathleen.
Law, yes exclaimed Mr. Daffle. The top
floors is mostly hungry."
Was you ever ? asked Kathleen.
Hundreds o' times," said the old man.
"Don't it feel orfle ? said Kathleen, drawing
nearer still, and rubbing her hand significantly
over her pinafore, she added, mysteriously: "Don't
ye know,-when ye feels as if it was all holes in-'
side ?"
Yes said the old man, an' ye gets weak all
over An' then gripes "
Yes pursued Kathleen, putting her hand
to' her throat; an' ye feels a lump come right
here, an' yer head goes spinnin' roun' an' roun' !
But- here her tones brightened: "Trudy
sha' n't feel that ways, 'cause she '11 always have
me now. An' if my mother don't want her to eat
things here any time, I can go begin' ag'in for
her "
Mrs. Percy, loath to hear any more of the con-
versation, came in now, hastily dispatched Mr.
Daffle with her note, and took the children up-
stairs.
From that time, Kathleen was quite serious in
her anxiety to adopt Trudy as her own especial
charge,-to nurse her, play with her, and mind"
her as well as she possibly could,-and Mrs. Percy
wisely decided to encourage the child's fancy.
Mr. Daffle continued to bring the little one every
morning and call for her every evening, and, ex-
cepting for an hour or two daily, when Kathleen
had lessons to occupy her with Mrs. Percy, she
spent nearly all her time in amusing Trudy, at-
tending, as far as her small might was able, to thd


308


[MARCH,






1877.] CATHERN. 309


child's wants, or, with Mrs. Percy's help, trying to
sew for her.
It was not long before Trudy learned to trot after
her wherever she went, to go to her in trouble, and
to begin in earnest to return the affection which
had so suddenly come into her little life. The
first thing, every day, as soon as Mr. Daffle set her
down in the dining-room, she would look all about
her for Kathleen. Sometimes Kathleen would
hide, and then Trudy would run about in great
excitement, peeping into every corner, until, spy-
ing her friend, she would run into her arms with a
cry of joy that defied the mighty efforts of the
canary-bird to drown it.
So weeks flew by until summer-time came, and
Mrs. Percy was preparing to go to her cottage
in the country. The kind lady had not cared for
the motherless little ones in vain. It was no new
thing now for Susan to discover the June roses "
on her mistress's fair cheeks, or sunny smiles
about her mouth. When she looked now at the
beautiful portrait in her bedroom, and her heart
yearned for her dear ones, the thought of these
desolate children dependent upon her would comfort
her, and, still looking at the picture through her
tears, she would say, softly:
I had too much love for you to bless me alone,
-it runs over to bless these little helpless ones
too "
Kathleen had listened so often to Mrs. Percy's
descriptions of her country home, and had asked
so many questions about it, that she had grown
quite familiar in thought with the cottage and its
surroundings.
A few evenings before they went to it, just after
Trudy had been taken home, she crept up to Mrs.
Percy, who was sitting alone in the twilight, with
one more question which had been on her lips con-
stantly of late, but which she had not yet had the
courage to ask.
Mother," she whispered, did ye say they was
a chicken-house to the country? "
Yes," answered Mrs. Percy,-" a nice one, as
big as my store-closet."
And chickens ? "
Yes, plenty of chickens."
Don't you think, mother,-say, don't you
think -- Kathleen halted.
"Well? Don't I think what? Out with it
bravely, my little girl," said Mrs. Percy, who had
guessed what was in Kathleen's mind.
Why i said Kathleen, don't you think we
could clear out the chickens an' give 'em another
place, an' I'd scrub the chickens' house; an'
could n't we fix a little bed into it, an'-an'-keep
Trudy there nights ? "
Mrs. Percy laughed as she drew Kathleen closer


to her, and answered, playfully clapping the child's
hands together:
Why, how funny I thought of Trudy too,
but I never thought of the hen-house If I had,
I might have sent a bed for it; but, as I did n't, I
bought a little crib and sent it to be put into your
room, right next to mine. What do you think of
that? "
Such a shout of joy as Kathleen gave She had
to jump and dance all around the room before she
nestled up to Mrs. Percy again, and cried:
Oh, you are the best mother in all the world !
I wish-I wish all the little childers that have n't
got any mothers could find you, my own mother
I knows you aint my reel mother, but if I get gooder
and gooder, you 'll get reeler and reeler,-wont
you, mother?"
Stay close to me, poor little mother-hungry
child!" said Mrs. Percy, and I will tell thee
where thou canst find some one better than I am
for thy true parent "
And, with the child's head on her bosom, she
told her beautiful true stories about the real Father
whom there was for her and all of us, and who
would watch over her and help her to be good and
useful.
Into the happy country they all went, and the
rooms where the darling Mabel used to play, the
garden, grassy lawns and woods she had made
bright with her young life, were less lonely now to
the mother, because of the merry song and laughter
of two children who had never seen such a Para-
dise before.
Summer went, and they gathered many of the
gay autumn leaves before they went back to the
city home.
Trudy did not go to live with her poor old
grandfather again. He was easily persuaded to go
himself to a quiet place out of town where there
was a good home for such as he, and to leave
Trudy altogether with Mrs. Percy.
Kathleen began to go to school the next winter,
and became a devoted little scholar.
There is very little more to tell about her. She
did not grow all at once into one of the good, wise
little girls one reads about sometimes. Mrs.
Percy had to teach her a great many things which
were difficult for a little girl whose beginning in
life had been in such a bad place, but Kathleen
could be as earnest in seeking after other beautiful
things as she had been in seeking after a mother,
and, as she grew older, it was her delight to gather
about herself other poor little people beside Trudy,
to study their needs, and try to show them how to
live good, happy lives.
For stronger and stronger grew a purpose in her
young heart,-a purpose which she revealed to






A LETTER TO LETTER-WRITERS.


Mrs. Percy on one of those evenings when it came
to be their habit to sit and talk together in the
twilight, long after little Trudy was fast asleep.
Mother," said Kathleen, you opened your
arms to me that night, long ago, and took me just
as I was,-all sick at heart and tired, -tired nearly
to death,-and you showed me so much love that


it has been growing and growing in me ever since.
And now I feel as if I wanted to seek out all the
children who want me as much as I wanted you,
and open my arms to them. You have taught
me how, and now I want to work, and work, and
try with all my might to be like a mother to as
many little children as I can."


A LETTER TO LETTER-WRITERS.

BY SUSAN A. BROWN.


ow many of the readers of SiT.
NICHOLAS like to write letters?
It is certain that some of them
do, or Jack-in-the-Pulpit would
not receive so many from young
subscribers. But I am quite sure
S that some of them have been
heard to say, "Oh, I hate to
write letters and it is to such
as these that I would speak.
As we may safely take it for
granted, from the alacrity with
which the postman is met at the
door, that every one likes to receive letters, it seems
to be worth while that boys and girls should learn
how to write, with ease and pleasure to themselves,
those letters which their friends shall find it a
pleasure to read.
Letter-writing is very much a matter of habit,
and for that reason it is important that young
people should learn early to consider it a pleasant
way of communicating thoughts and feelings to
their friends, instead of a burdensome task to be
got over as quickly as possible.
We often hear people excuse themselves by say-
ing that they have no gift for writing letters," as
though it were something like an ear for music, only
accorded to a favored few. But the truth is that
any one can write interesting and pleasant letters
who will take a little trouble and really persevere
in the effort. The grand difficulty in the way is
that they are too selfish and too indolent to try.
Nothing that is worth anything comes without
effort, and if you do not care enough about gratify-
ing your friends to take a little pains for it, you
deserve never to receive any letters yourselves.
A few simple rules, carefully observed, will help
you over some of the things which you call diffi-


culties. In the first place, always write distinctly.
It destroys much of the pleasure in receiving a
letter if it cannot be read without puzzling out
every word. Many an epistle, written on heavy
cream-laid paper, with a monogram at the top, is
only an annoyance to the one to whom it is ad-
dressed, on account of pale ink and. careless hand-
writing.
Be particular in the matter of dating, giving
every item distinctly, and sign the letter with your
full name. If this habit is formed, you will not
run the risk of losing valuable letters, which cannot
be forwarded from the Dead-Letter Office, unless
accompanied with the full address.
You will find it more easy to reply to a letter
soon after you get it than if you neglect it for a few
weeks, because you will have the impressions which
the first reading made upon you. Tell your friend
when you received the letter which you are answer-
ing, and take up the topics in the order in which
they naturally come, remembering to answer all
the questions which have been asked. Try to think
what your friend would like best to hear about, and
when you undertake to tell ;-i. rl-.i;. do not leave
it half told, but finish the story. People who are
not careful about this, often give a false impression
without meaning to do so. For instance, one of
these careless writers, in giving an account of a
fire, simply stated that the house was burned, with-
out giving any qualifications, thus giving the im-
pression that it was entirely consumed, thereby
causing a whole family much unnecessary trouble
and anxiety, as the actual burning in question was
very slight.
Do not consider anything too trivial to write
about, which you would think worth mentioning
in conversation. Writing letters is simply talking
upon paper, and your friends will be much more


[MARCH,







A LETTER TO LETTER-WRITERS.


entertained by the narration of little every-day
affairs, than by profound observations upon topics
which you care nothing about.
In writing to very intimate friends, who will be
interested in the details of your daily life, it is well
sometimes to make your letter a sort of diary-tell-
ing something of how you have spent each day
since you wrote last; what books you have been
reading, what letters you have received from mutual
friends, and what you have heard or seen which
has interested you.
Write all that you have to say on one subject at
once. That is, do not begin to tell about your
garden, and then about your school, and then
about your garden again; but finish one subject
before you begin another. Do not be afraid of
using the pronoun I. Some people avoid it, and
thus give their sentences a shabby and unfinished
sound, as, "Went to Boston-called on Mrs.
Smith." Never apologize for what you write, by
saying that you do not like to write letters. You
would not think it quite polite, in visiting a friend,
to say, I do not like to talk to you, so I shall not
say much." Keep the idea before you that you
are writing for the sake of giving pleasure to your
friend.
When your letter is merely an inquiry, or on a
matter of business, the case is different. You
then should try to be as brief, concise, and clear as
possible. An elaborately drawn out business letter
is as out of place as it is inconsiderate.
Do not think what to write, but write what you
think," is an old rule, and a good one to remem-
ber. If you are away from home, it is very selfish
not to share your good times with the family by
writing frequent letters. You can tell what you
are enjoying so much better while it is fresh in
your mind, than you can after you return, when
you may not have leisure to go over the whole
ground; and these home letters may be a means
afterward of refreshing your own memory, and re-
minding you of incidents which you would other-
wise have forgotten. There are many other things
which might be said here, but this will do for the
present. A very good rule for letter-writing is the
golden one, "Do as you would be done by."
Here are two letters, both written not long
ago, which illustrate so well some of the things
which I have been saying, that I must give them
to you. They remind one of the old story of
" Eyes and No Eyes," where one boy saw nothing
interesting in a long walk, while his brother, in
going over the same ground, saw a great many


wonderful things. Fanny wrote with a real desire
to give her cousin pleasure, but Ellen wished only
to get a disagreeable duty off her mind.
Here is Fanny's letter:
Ingleside, Mass., April 2oth, 1876.
My DEAR ANNIE: I was very glad to receive your kind letter,
which came last Thursday.
We are very busy just now, as we go to school every day. Aunt
Alice is visiting us, and every evening she gives us a short lesson in
drawing. We have taken only six, and so have not got on much;
but I hope soon to be able to draw from copies pretty well. After
that, we are going to take lessons of a regular teacher in sketching
from nature. After we are through with Aunt Alice, mamma reads
aloud to us while we rest our eyes. She has just finished the second
volume of Mr. Rutherford's Children," and I think it is the nicest
book I ever read, except "Little Women."
Last week mamma took us both to see Mr. Starr exhibit his magic-
lantern in the Town Hall. He had a large white screen put up at
the back of the stage, and the hall was darkened so that we could see
the reflections on the screen. He showed us the sting of a bee and
the point of a cambric-needle, very much larger than they really are.
The needle looked like a blunt stick, but the sting was as sharp as
ever. He had a little animal which he called a water-tiger. It is
really so small that you can hardly see it; but on the screen it looked
as large as a kitten, and we could see it eat bits of food which he
threw into the water. I cannot remember all the things he showed
us; but after that part of the exhibition was over, he pretended to
talk to a man in the cellar, and he made his voice sound as if another
man was answering him. Then he made believe saw a log of wood
and catch a bumble-bee. We never heard a ventriloquist before, and
of course enjoyed it very much. You asked me what color would be
prettiest for your room-paper. I should think you would like blue
best. Next week we are invited to Maggie Alison's party. Every
one of the girls must either learn some little piece of poetry or a funny
story, to repeat there. After supper, Mrs. Alison is going to show
us a set of photographs which have been sent her from Europe.
Ellen and I are working a set of bureau-mats to give Maggie.
I wish you could see our new kittens that are playing on the rug.
Mine is gray and Ellen's is buff. You know our kitty ran away, and
we both felt so badly that our neighbor, Mrs. Williams, sent us these
two last Saturday. I wish you would tell us what to call them. We
cannot think of any names pretty enough. Next week the garden
will be made, and we are going to try and keep our flower-beds in
better order than we did last year.
I had a letter last week from Cousin John. His letter sounds as if
he was as old as papa. He is going to Phillips's Academy next Sep-
tember. All the family are sitting here, and send their love. Aunt
Alice says she shall not make her visit at your house until June.
Give my love to aunt and uncle. Thank them for asking me to go
and see you this summer. Your affectionate cousin,
FANNIE A. HOLIES.
Ellen's letter:
Ingleside, April.
DEAR AGNES: We are very busy, so I cannot write much. We
take lessons from Aunt Alice. We go to school all day. I study
arithmetic and geography and other things.
We went to an exhibition, and had a splendid time. The man
sawed, and caught a bee. The weather is quite warm now. Warm
weather is better than cold for a great many things. We don't have
any vacation until June. Sixteen girls are in our class. The man's
name was Starr. He had a water-tiger that he fed. Aunt Alice
sends her love. I am working a mat. We are going to have a bed
in the garden. Mamma sends love to you all. I do not like to write
letters, so you must excuse a short one. We are going to plant a
great many seeds We are invited to a party. Mamma and papa
are very well; so are Fanny and I. We have two kittens. I cannot
think of anything more to say. I hope you will write me a long letter
very soon. I like to get letters often.
Your affectionate friend, ELLEN.






THE SEVEN AGES.


THE SEVEN AGES.

BY M. B. WHITING.


II










IT was an age of Fire,
Long, long years ago,
Air When great melted rocks,
I With earthquake shocks,
In torrents of flame did flow.


It was an age of Mollusks,
Long, long years ago,
Second When the clam and the oyster,
With the mussel much moister,
By the sad sea waves sang low.


312


[MARCH,








1877.1 THE SEVEN AGES.


It was an age of Fishes,
Long, long years ago,
hird When the shark and the gar-fish,
With the dear little star-fish,
Swam about stately and slow.













f? . --'-
.--_. -_


It was an age of Carbons,
Long, long years ago,
gFout When the fern and the pine,
And other plants fine,
Were made into coal, you know.


VOL. IV.-21.


1877.-


THE SEVEN AGES.






[MARcH,


It was an age of Reptiles,
Long, long years ago,
When the ichthyosaurus,
Fi By the banks of the Taurus,
And the pterodactyl,
By the gurgling rill,
Danced in the moonbeam's glow.
























It was an age of Mammals,
Long, long years ago,
When the wild mastodon,
sAg. With his war-paint on,
The behemoth wooed,
And the mammoth sued,
Where glaciers once did go.


THE SEVEN AGES.


3P4






ON THE ICE.


It is the age of Man !
Now tell me, if you can,
Why no more on the hills
March the pterodactyls?
Why the ancient tapirs,
Through the morning vapors,
Chase not the whale,
Or the sportive snail?


And when men have gone,
What next will come on
This peculiar earth,
Which had its birth,
As you surely know,
In an age of fire,
Long years ago-
Yes, long ago ?


ON THE ICE.

BY IRWIN RUSSELL.


"They sweep
On sounding skates, a thousand different ways,
In circling poise, swift as the winds along."-THorsoN.

FEW persons, however sedate, can look upon a
good smooth sheet of ice without feeling a desire
to go and slide upon it. Even Mr. Pickwick was
attacked by this temptation, and he-fell. Indeed,
so strong within us is the propensity to slide, that
we have cultivated it, and refined upon it, and made
an art of it,-with rules, theories, and scientific
apparatus. Of the latter, the best, the oldest, and
the most universal is the skate.
It can only be conjectured when skating was first
practiced; but it was certainly very long ago. In
that ancient collection of Scandinavian songs and
legends known as the "Edda," Uller, the hand-
some god, is described as being the possessor of
a pair of skates. This proves that skating is at


least a thousand years old. It is supposed to have
been introduced into England about the twelfth
century, and into the central parts of Europe
somewhat earlier. It is curious, that although all
northern nations possessed the sledge, those of
America knew nothing of the skate, while the
people of Europe did not have the snow-shoe.
The course of invention varied, according to re-
quirements. In America, in high latitudes, the
snows are heavy, and open ice is comparatively
rare. In the corresponding parts of Europe, there
is much more clear ice, and proportionately less
snow.
The ancient skates were nothing but the shin-
bones of oxen or other large animals, pierced with
holes to receive the cords or thongs which bound
them to the feet. Fitzstephen's "History of Lon-
don," written in the thirteenth century, is the earliest


Seventh
Age.






ON THE ICE.


English book in which skating is spoken of; and
we learn, from its description, that the performers
upon these bone skates kept themselves in motion
by striking against the ice with, an iron-shod pole.
Sometimes specimens of these bone skates have
been discovered, in the progress of excavations, in
several European countries; and a very well pre-
served pair, so found in England some years ago,
can now be seen in the British Museum.
It is unknown when or where iron was first em-
ployed in the construction of skates. It was prob-
ably in Holland; for skates, of a pattern very much
like that of the ones we have now, not only were
known in that country, but were extensively used
by all classes of its people, long before the pastime
of skating became general elsewhere. Skating is
something more than a pastime in Holland.
There it is one of the useful arts, and is uni-
versally practiced and highly esteemed. It offers a
very convenient mode of travel in winter over
the canals that almost entirely supply the place of
roads in the Land of Dykes; and people skate
from farm to farm, and from town to town, and to
church, and to market, often carrying heavy bur-
dens. The Russians have constructed an ice-
locomotive, with roughened driving-wheels to lay
hold of the slippery surface, and it has proved a
success; but in Holland, every man is his own ice-
locomotive. And so is every woman hers,-for it
has long been customary for ladies to skate in
Holland; whereas in other countries, until re-
cently, this most excellent of out-door exercises for
them has been almost tabooed.
The first skaters in our part of the world were
the honest Dutchmen of the "Province of Nieuw
Nederlandts," who doubtless brought their skates
with them in that celebrated vessel, the Goede
Vrouw,"-which, we are told by the learned
Diedrich Knickerbocker, had one hundred feet
in the beam, one hundred feet in the keel, and one
hundred feet from the bottom of the stern-post to
the tafferel." The Dutch certainly deserve high
honor for having introduced skating and Christmas
presents into America, if for nothing else. As
.they did so, the worthy St. Nicholas must be es-
teemed the patron of all American skaters.
The modern skate has within the past few years
undergone many modifications, some of which are
great improvements. The skate of twenty years
ago was fastened to the foot with a single long
strap, which passed through rings, crossed and
recrossed, and was finally clasped in a common
tongue buckle. The runner was always "square"
at the heel, and extended up over the foot at the
toe in a great useless curl. A spike entered the
heel of the shoe, and the blade was fluted or
gutteredd" on the bottom. This latter feature,


although it is a great fault, is still occasionally
retained.
The old style of skate has been superseded by
better ones; and these are so many, and so dif-
ferent from each other, that it is useless to attempt
an enumeration of them. It may be said, briefly,
that the best skates are those without straps, and
with solid, broad blades, curving up behind as well
as before, and lowest in the center. They should
be constructed so as to bring the foot as close to
the ice as possible, and thus avoid a great leverage
upon the ankle.
Professors of the fine art of skating recognize
about twenty-five regular "steps" and "evolu-
tions." All of these, however, may be ranged into
two classes: the skating of the inside edge,"
and that of the "outside edge;" so called from
the relative positions of the blade to the ice when
performing them. Outside-edge skating is the
most graceful, and at the same time most difficult,
because it requires that the body be thrown out-
ward from the perpendicular,-thus rendering it
difficult to preserve the equilibrium. Although
skating, as is seen, has its theory, it is purely a
matter of practice. No amount of written instruc-
tion or advice will make a skater. That happy
consummation is only arrived at by going through
a thorough course of hard falls, as is shown by
statistics. The required number of falls has not
yet been exactly computed, but it is well along in
the thousands.
On the 29th of December, 1860, the river Witham,
in Lincolnshire, England, presented the novel spec-
tacle of a military parade on skates, in which
three full companies took part, and proceeded
through a long and complicated drill in excellent
style; some of the maneuvers being performed
with a motion at the rate of fourteen miles an
hour. Frost Fair," with booths for exhibitions,
and canvas-covered restaurants, has occasionally
been held upon the Thames at London, since 1684,
-the date of its first occurrence. Many ordinary
popular amusements, particularly games of ball,
have been attempted on the ice, with more or less
success. And there is one game that is peculiar
to the ice, was invented for the ice, and cannot
be played anywhere else except on the ice,-
curling. It is a Scottish national amusement, and
until recently revived in Canada and some com-
munities of our Northern States, seldom has been
practiced outside of Scotland. There it is exceed-
ingly popular, and is played by old and young,
gentle and simple; and there appears no reason
why it should not become equally popular here.
We have already adopted one of its technical
terms,-the word rink. This word, which we
apply to the houses or rooms that are now used


316


[MARCH,






ON THE ICE.


in our cities for common or for roller skating, orig-
inally meant the area of ice upon which the game
of curling is played.
Curling, though not supposed to be so old as
skating, has a respectable degree of antiquity. It
is known to have been played throughout Scot-
land for at least two hundred and fifty years. The
terms employed in the game, however, are all of
Dutch or German extraction; and it is thought
possible that the amusement may have existed in
the Low Countries, and have been brought into
Scotland by the people of Flanders who immigrated
during the reign of James I.
If skating has been sung by Goethe and Klop-
stock, curling has been no less honored. Most of


The game is played with large stones, which are
very similar in shape to a flat onion,-that is, they
are in the form of spheres that have been so com-
pressed that their breadth is nearly twice their
thickness. The "sole" of the stone-its under
surface-is polished as smoothly as possible; and
a handle, shaped like the letter L turned upon
its side, is inserted in the top. Such stones are
chosen as are least liable to split, and their weights
are graded according to the strength of the players.
The ordinary average weight is from thirty to fifty
pounds. About fifteen or twenty pounds would
be heavy enough for stones to be used by boys.
The rink is a smooth place marked off upon the
ice, about thirty yards long, and ten feet wide.


the Scottish poets have eulogized it, the most emi-
nent men of the nation have praised it and played
at it, and even the great Burns speaks of it in his
poem Tam Samson's Elegy :
When Winter muffles up his cloak,
And binds the mire up like a rock;
When to the lochs the curlers flock
Wi' gleesome speed,
Wha will they station at the cock?-
Tam Samson's dead!
He was the king o' a' the core,
To guard, or draw, or wick a bore;
Or up the rink like Jehu roar
In time o' need;
But now he lays on Death's hog-score,-
Tam Samson 's dead !"


At each end of the rink a small mark or hole is
chipped out, which is most commonly called the
tee, although it has other names in some parts
of Scotland. Two circles are drawn around each
tee, with the latter as their common center. The
inner one may be made about four feet in diame-
ter, and the outer one six feet. These circles are
called bmirghs, and their object is to assist the eye
in judging the distances between the stones, when
played, and the tee. Lines are drawn across the
rink, in front of the tees, and about fifteen feet
from them; which two lines are entitled hog-
scores. The rink should be perfectly clear of ob-
structions, as should also the ice beyond the tees


S1877.1


317






ON THE ICE.


for several feet. The number of stones is usually
sixteen, and eight players upon each side is the
common number. There may be any number less
than eight, however, if so agreed.
There are thirty-one "points" in the game.
All the players stand at one tee, and slide their
stones up the rink to the tee at the other end, in
succession; and the stone resting nearest the tee
counts one, and is called the winner." If the
stone next nearest the tee, and the one next after
that, etc., belong to the same party who own the
winner, they each count an additional point;
otherwise, they are not "scored." When any
player fails to propel his stone beyond the hog-
score at the opposite end, one is deducted from the
score of his party.
On each side, he who plays last is called the
driver, and he directs and advises the others. The
first player is the lead. He grasps a stone firmly
by the handle, and slides it up the rink at the tee;
attempting to place the stone either upon the tee,
or a little on the hither side of it. The others fol-
low; attempting to lay their own stones near the
tee, or to place them so as to guard the stones of
their own party which have been well laid, or t6
drive away those of their opponents. When all
the stones have been played, and the points


counted, the game is resumed by playing back at
the first tee; and so on until thirty-one are counted
by one side or the other. A bore is a stone that
lies in the way of a player, between him and the
tee. Wicking is caromingg" from or glancing
off from one stone to another.
Such are the general principles of curling:-a
game that affords excellent exercise, is highly
amusing, and gives room for the display of much
judgment and skill. When clubs are formed, the
cost of having the stones prepared is not great for
each individual member. There are many cricket-
clubs in America, and our English brethren are
adopting base-ball. Why should not curling also
become an international game ?
There is no doubt that the sports of the ice
should be cultivated to the fullest extent; for a
time is coming, say the wise men, when our whole
globe is to be enveloped in a solid casing of ice;
and the man of the future (who will probably much
resemble the modern Esquimaux) will be obliged
to slide, and to skate, and to curl, without cessa-
tion, to keep himself warm and comfortable. That
" glacial epoch" is some hundreds of centuries off
yet, to be sure; but there is nothing like acquiring
good habits early. Wherefore the moral hereof
is: Go and have your skates sharpened !







dl J.
&
IC. 'Yif -_* ''..
1N-1
4-


II



i , ','
:- 'u ... = s.a,-a '-':"..-ai _-~ ~ -- -- .,
_ t-. .-,_,,- .:-;:,- _-. .._=- -- = .


A VISIT FROM JACK FROST.


[MARCH,


..


--!






THE TWO WISHES.




THE TWO WISHES.
(A Fairy Story.)

BY SUSAN COOLIDGE.


PIEROT and Pierotte were a small brother and
sister who were always wishing to be something
that they were not, or to have something which
they had not. They were not unhappy or discon-
tented children,-far from it. Their home, though
poor, was comfortable; their parents, though strict,
were kind; they were used to both, and desired
nothing better. Wishing with them was a habit,
an idle game which they were forever playing. It
meant little, but it sounded ill; and a stranger
listening, would have judged them less well-off
and cheerful than they really were.
I wish I need n't wake up, but might lie still
all day," was Pierotte's first thought every morn-
ing; while Pierot's was, I wish Pierotte was n't
such a sleepy-head, for then we could get out be-
fore sunrise, and gather every mushroom in the
meadow while the Blaize children are still snoring
in their beds." Then later, at breakfast, Pierotte
would say, I wish I were the Princess, to have
coffee and white bread to my dejeuner, instead of
tiresome porridge. I am tired of porridge. White
bread and coffee must be better,-much better "
But all the time she spoke, Pierotte's spoon, trav-
eling between her bowl and mouth, conveyed the
" tiresome porridge down her throat as rapidly as
though it were the finest Mocha; and Periotte en-
joyed it as much, though she fancied that she did
not.
I wish I were the young Comte Jules," Pierot
would next begin in his turn. "No fagots to bind,
no cow to fodder, no sheep to tend. Ah! a fine
life he leads Beautiful clothes, nothing to do.
Six meals a day, two of them dinners, a horse to
ride,-everything I wish -- "
"And a nice yellow skin and eyes like boiled
gooseberries," chimed in his mother. Better
wish for these, while you are about it. Much you
know of noblemen and their ways Didst ever
have an indigestion ? Tell me that. When thou
hast tried one, wish for it again, if thou canst."
Then Pierot would laugh sheepishly, shoulder
his hatchet, and go off after wood, the inseparable
Pierotte trotting by his side. As they went, it
would be :
I wish I were a bird," or I wish we could
jump like that grasshopper;" or, Pierotte, I
wish our godfather had left us his money. We
should be rich then."
For the children had the same godfather. Pie-


rotte first, and then Pierot having been named
after their father's cousin, a well-to-do peasant,
whom it was expected would remember his little
relatives in his will. This hope had been disap-
pointed, and the children's regrets were natural
and excusable, since even the wise dame, their
mother, did not conceal her opinion of Cousin
Pierre's conduct, which she considered irregular
and dishonest. Children soon learn to join in
chorus with older voices, and Pierot and Pierotte,
in this case, found it particularly easy, as it chimed
with the habit of their lives.
One warm July morning, their mother roused
them for an early breakfast, and sent them into the
forest after wood.
My last fagot is in," she said. You must
bind and tie smartly to-day. And, Pierotte, help
thy brother all that thou canst, for the father can-
not spare him to go again this week, and on Sat-
urday is the sennight's baking."
So they set forth. The sun was not fairly risen,
but his light went before his coming, and even in
the dim forest-paths it was easy to distinguish leaf
from flower. Shadows fell across the way from the
trees, which stood so motionless that they seemed
still asleep. Heavy dew hung on the branches;
the air was full of a rare perfume, made'up of
many different fragrances, mixed and blended by
the cunning fingers of the night. A little later,
and the light broadened. Rays of sun filtered
through the boughs, a wind stirred, and the trees
roused themselves, each with a little shake and
quiver. Somehow, the forest looked unfamiliar,
and like a new place to the children that morning.
They were not often there at so early an hour, it is
true, but this did not quite account for the strange
aspect of the woods. Neither of them knew, or,
if they knew, they had forgotten, that it was Mid-
summer's Day, the fairies' special festival. Nothing
met their eyes, no whir of wings or sparkle of
bright faces from under the fern-branches, but a
sense of something unusual was in the air, and
the little brother and sister walked along in silence,
peering curiously this way and that, with an in-
stinctive expectation of unseen wonders.
Is n't it lovely ? whispered Pierotte, at last.
" It never looked so pretty here as it does to-day.
See that wild-rose,-how many flowers it has! Oh !
what was that ? It waved at me "
What waved ? "






THE TWO WISHES.


The rose. It waved a white arm at me "
Nonsense It was the wind," replied Pierot,
sturdily, leading the way into a side-path which
led off from the rose-bush.
Is it much farther where we get the wood ? "
asked Pierotte, for the children had been walking
a considerable time.
Father said we were to go to the Hazel Copse,"
answered Pierot. We must be almost there."
So for half an hour longer they went on and on,
but still no sign of fallen trees or wood-choppers
appeared, and Pierot was forced to confess that he
must have mistaken the road.
"It is queer, too," he said. There was that
big red toad-stool where the paths joined. I marked
it the other day when I came with the father.
What's the matter?" for Pierotte had given a
sudden jump.
Some one laughed," said Pierotte, in an awe-
struck tone.
It was a cricket or tree-toad. Who is here to
laugh ?"
Pierotte tried hard to believe him, but she did
not feel comfortable, and held Pierot's sleeve tight
as they went. He felt the trembling of the little
hand.
"Pierotte, thou art a goose!" he said; but all
the same he put his arm round her shoulders,
which comforted her so that she walked less tim-
orously.
One path after another they tried, but none of
them led to the cleared spot where the fallen trees
lay. The sun rose high, and the day'grew warmer,
but in the forest a soft breeze blew, and kept them
cool. Hour after hour passed; the children had
walked till they were tired. They rested awhile,
ate half their dinner of curds and black bread, then
they went on again, turned, twisted, tried paths to
right and paths to left, but still the dense woods
closed them in, and they had no idea where they
were, or how they should go.
Suddenly the track they were following led to a
little clearing, in which stood a tiny hut, with a
fenced garden full of cherry-trees and roses. It was
such a surprise to find this fertile and blooming
spot in the heart of the wild wood, that the children
stood still with their mouths open, to stare at it.
How strange! gasped Pierot, when at last he
found his voice. The father always said that
ours was the only hut till you got to the other side
the forest."
Perhaps this is the other side," suggested
Pierotte.
An odd chuckling laugh followed this remark,
and they became aware of an old woman sitting
at the window of the cottage,-a comical old woman,
with a stiff square cap on her head, sharp twinkling


eyes, and a long hooked nose. As the children
looked, she laughed again, and, extending her
finger, beckoned them to come nearer.
Timidly they obeyed, setting down their big
wood-basket at the gate. The old woman leaned
over the window to await them, her hand on a
square glass jar full of yellow liquid, in which
floated what seemed to be a pickled serpent with his
tail in three coils, and the tip in his mouth. Pierotte
shuddered at the serpent, but Pierot was bolder.
Did you want us, good madam ? he asked.
Want you? No," replied the "good madam."
" How should I want you ? I saw you staring at
my house as if your eyes would pop out of your
heads, and I thought, perhaps, you wanted me."


---- .' .


"DID YOU WANT US, GOOD MADAM?"
It was only-we were only-surprised," stam-
mered Pierot. Because we did n't know that
there was a house here."
There was none last night, and there wont be
any to-morrow morning-at least-none for chil-
dren to stare at," replied the old woman, coolly.
"What do you mean?" cried Pierot, aston-
ished beyond measure. "How can a house be
built in one night ? And why wont it be here to-
morrow "
Because to-morrow wont be Midsummer's Day
-and to-day is," replied the old woman; and a
fairy-house is visible to mortal eyes at that time,
and no other."
Fairy-house faltered Pierot; while Pierotte,
jumping more rapidly to a conclusion, fairly


[MARCH,


320






THE TWO WISHES.


screamed : Oh, Pierot Madam, then,'is a fairy !
Areal fairy Pierot, think of it, only think of it!"
Very much at your service," said the old
woman, with a malicious smile. Do you like
fairies, then ? Do you admire my pickled snake ?
Would you wish to pull some flowers? "
Something in the smile made Pierotte draw
back; but Pierot said, politely:
One rose, perhaps-since Madam is so good."
The fairy leaned out and plucked a rose from
the vine which grew on the wall close by.
Now, listen," she said. "Each of my roses
incloses a wish. You are great wishers, I know; "
and her eyes twinkled queerly. This time the
wish will come true, so take care what you are
about. There will be no coming to get me to undo
the wish, for I sha' n't be visible again till this time
next year on Midsummer's Day,-you know."
Oh, Pierot what shall we wish for ? cried
Pierotte, much excited; but the old woman only
repeated, Take care drew her head in at the
window, and all in a minute,-how they could not
explain,-the cottage had vanished, the garden,
the gate,-they were in the wood again, with noth-
ing but trees and bushes about them; and all would
have seemed like a dream, except for the rose which
Pierot held in his hand-red and fragrant.
"What shall we wish for?" repeated Pierotte,
as they seated themselves under a tree to talk over
this marvelous adventure.
We must be very careful, and ask for some-
thing nice," replied Pierot.
It would be better to wait and think for a long
time first," suggested Pierotte.
Thou art right. We will. Art thou not hun-
gry ? "
Oh, so hungry Let us eat the rest of our
bread now. I can't wait any longer."
So Pierot produced the big lump of bread, and
divided it into two equal portions.
Look, look cried Pierotte, as her teeth met
in the first mouthful. A cherry-tree, brother,-
a real cherry-tree here in the woods And with
ripe cherries on it How good some would be
with our bread I "
First rate cried Pierot; and, putting their
bread carefully on the grass, both ran to the tree.
Alas the boughs grew high, and the cherries hung
far beyond their reach. Pierot tried to climb the
tree, but the stem was both slight and slippery.
Then they found a forked stick, but vainly at-
tempted to hook and draw down a branch.
Oh, dear! I wish we were both grown up,"
cried Pierot, panting with exertion.
So do I. If we were as big as father and
mother, we could reach the boughs without even
getting on tiptoe," chimed in Pierotte.


Luckless words! As Pierot spoke, the rose,
which he had stuck in his cap, shriveled and
faded, while a queer sensation as if he were being
carried up into the air swept over him. He
clutched at something to hold himself down. That
something was the cherry-tree bough He could
reach it now, and as his eyes turned with dismay to-
ward Pierotte, there she stood, also holding a twig
of the tree, only two or three inches lower than
his own. Her pretty round cheeks and childish
curls were gone, and instead of them he beheld a
middle-aged countenance with dull hair, a red
nose, and a mouth fallen in for lack of teeth. She,
on her part, unconscious of the change, was
staring at him with a horrified expression.
Why, Pierot she cried at last, in a voice
which sounded as old as her face. How queer
you look You 've got a beard, and your fore-
head is all criss-cross and wrinkly, and your chin
rough. Dear me, how ugly you are I never
thought you could be so ugly."
Ugly, eh Perhaps you would like to see
your own face," said Pierot, enraged at this flatter-
ing criticism. Just wait till we get home, and
I show you the old looking-glass. But stay, we
need n't wait; and he dragged Pierotte to the
side of a little pool of still water, which had caught
his eye among the bushes. Here's a looking-
glass-ready made," he went on. "Look, Pierotte,
and see what a beauty you have become."
Poor Pierotte She took one look, gave a
scream, and covered her face with her hands.
That me ? she cried. Oh I never, never
will think it i What is the matter with us, Pierot?
Was it that horrid fairy, do you think ? Did she
bewitch us ? "
The wish faltered Pierot, who at that mo-
ment caught sight of the faded rose in his cap. I
wished that we were both grown up, don't you
remember? Oh, what a fool I was "
You horrid boy You have gone and wished
me into an ugly old woman! I'll never forgive
you sobbed Pierotte.
"It was your wish too. You said you would
like to be as old as father and mother. So you
need n't call me horrid! answered Pierot, an-
grily.
Silence followed, broken only by Pierotte's sobs.
The two old children sat with their backs to each
other, under different trees. By and by Pierot's
heart began to smite him.
It was more my fault than hers," he thought;
and, turning round a little way, he said, coax-
ingly, "Pierotte."
No answer. Pierotte only stuck out her shoulder
a little and remained silent.
"Don't look so cross," went on Pierot. "You







322 THE TWO WISHES. [MARCH,


can't think how horrid it makes you-a woman of
your age "
I'm not a woman of my age. Oh, how can
you say such things?" sobbed Pierotte. "I don't
want to be grown-up. I want to be a little girl
again."
You used to be always wishing you were big,"
remarked her now big brother.
Y-es, so I was; but I never meant all at
once. I wanted to be big enough to spin-and
the-mother-was-going-to teach me," went on
poor Pierotte, crying bitterly, and I wanted to be
as big as Laura Blaize-and-pretty-and some day
have a sweetheart, as she had-and-but what's
the use-I've lost it all, and I 'm grown-up, and
old and ugly already, and the mother wont know
me, and the father will say, My little Pierotte-
' Cceur de St. Martin-impossible get out you
witch! '" Overcome by this dreadful picture, Pie-
rotte hid her face and cried louder than ever.
"I'll tell you what," said Pierot, after a pause,
"don't let us go home at all. We will just hide
here in the woods for a year, and when Midsum-
mer's Day comes round, we 'll hunt till we find the
fairy house again, and beg her, on our knees, for
another wish, and if she says yes,' we'll wish at
once to be little just as we were this morning, and
then we '11 go home directly."
"Poor mother; she will think we are dead "
sighed Pierotte.
"That's no worse than if she saw us like this.
I 'd be conscripted most likely and sent off to fight,
and me only twelve years old. And you'd have a
horrid time of it with the Blaize boys. Robert
Blaize said you were the prettiest girl in Balne aux
Bois. I wonder what he'd say now ? "
Oh yes, let us stay here," shuddered Pierotte.
" I could n't bear to see the Blaize boys now. But
then-it will be dark soon-sha' n't you be fright-
ened to stay in the woods all night?"
Oh a man like me is n't easily frightened,"
said Pierot, stoutly, but his teeth chattered a little.
"It's so queer to hear you call yourself 'a
man,' remarked Pierotte.
And it's just as queer to hear you call your-
self a little girl," answered Pierot, with a glance at
the antiquated face beside him.
"Dear, how my legs shake, and how stiff my
knees are!" sighed Pierotte. Do grown-up peo-
ple feel like that always ? "
I don't know," said Pierot, whose own legs
lacked their old springiness. Would you like
some cherries now, Pierotte ? I can reach them
easily."
Cherries Those sour things? No, thank
you. They would be sure to disagree with me,"
returned Pierotte, pettishly.


Times are changed," muttered Pierot, but he
dared not speak aloud.
Where shall we sleep ? asked Pierotte.
Under the trees, so long as the summer lasts."
Gracious We shall both die of rheumatism."
"Rheumatism? What an idea for a child like
you! "
I wish I were a child," said Pierotte, with a
groan. "Here's a tree with grass below it, and
I'm getting tired and sleepy."
When the brother and sister woke it was broad
sunlight again.
One day gone of our year," said Pierot, trying
to be cheerful.
It was hard work as time went on, and with all
their constant walking and wandering they never
seemed to find their way out of the forest, or of
that particular part of it where their luckless ad-
venture had befallen them. Turn which way they
would, the paths always appeared to lead them
round to the same spot; it was like bewitchment;
they could make nothing out of it. The.dullness
of their lives was varied only by an occasional quar-
rel. Pierot would essay to climb a tree, and Pie-
rotte, grown sage and proper, would upbraid him
for behaving so foolishly-"just like a boy,"-or
he would catch her using the pool as a mirror, and
would tease her for caring so much for a plain old
face when there was nobody but himself to look.
How the time went they had no idea. It seemed
always daylight, and yet weeks, if not months,
must have passed, they thought, and Pierot at last
began to suspect the fairy of having changed the
regular course of the sun so as to cheat them out
of the proper time for finding her at home.
It's just like her," he said. She is making
the days seem all alike, so that we may not know
when Midsummer comes. Pierotte, I ']1 tell you
what, we must be on the lookout, and search for
the little house every day, for if we forget just once
that will be the very time, depend upon it."
So every day, and all day long, the two old
children wandered to and fro in search of the fairy
cot. For a long time their quest was in vain, but
at last, one bright afternoon, just before sunset, as
they were about giving up the hunt for that day,
the woods opened in the same sudden way and
revealed the garden, the hut, and-yes-at the
window the pointed cap, the sharp black eyes; it
was the fairy herself, they had found her at last.
For a moment they were too much bewildered to
move, then side by side they hurried into the gar-
den without waiting for invitation.
"Well, my old gaffer, what can I do for you, or
for you, dame ? asked the fairy, benevolently.
"Oh, please, I am not a dame, he is not a
gaffer," cried Pierotte, imploringly. "I am little


322


THE TWO WISHES.


[MARCH,






THE TWO WISHES.


Pierotte"-and she bobbed a courtesy. "And this
is Pierot, my brother."
"Pierot and Pierotte! Wonderful!" said the
fairy. "But, my dear children, what has caused
this change in your appearance? You have aged
remarkably since I saw you last."
"Indeed, we have," replied Pierot, with a
grimace.
Well, age is a very respectable thing. Some
persons are always wishing to be old," remarked
the fairy, maliciously. "You find it much pleas-
anter than being young, I dare say."
"Indeed, we don't," said Pierotte, wiping her
eyes on her apron.
No ? Well, that is sad, but I have heard peo-
ple say the same before you."
Oh, please, please," cried Pierot and Pierotte,
falling on their knees before the window, please,


THEY FIND THE COTTAGE AGAIN.
dear, kind fairy, forgive us. We don't like to be
grown-up at all. We want to be little and young
again. Please, dear fairy, turn us into children as
we were before ? "
What would be the use ?" said the old woman.
"You 'd begin wanting to be somebody else at
once if you were turned back to what you were
before."
S" We wont, indeed we wont," pleaded the chil-
dren, very humbly.
The fairy leaned out and gathered a rose.
"Very well," she said. Here's another wish
for you. See that it is a wise one this time, for if
you fail, it will be of no use to come to me."
With these words, she shut the blinds suddenly,
and lo! in one second, house, garden, and all
had vanished, and Pierot and Pierotte were in the
forest again.


There was no deliberation this time as to what
the wish should be.
"I wish I was a little boy," shouted Pierot,
holding the rose over his head with a sort of
ecstasy.
And I wish I was a little girl, the same little
girl exactly that I used to be," chorused Pierotte.
The rose seemed to melt in air, so quickly did it
wither and collapse. And the brother and sister
embraced and danced with joy, for each in the
other's face saw the fulfillment of their double wish.
"Oh, how young you look! Oh, how pretty
you are Oh, what happiness it is not to be old
any longer The dear fairy The kind fairy! "
These were the exclamations which the squirrels
and the birds heard for the next ten minutes, and
the birds and the squirrels seemed to be amused,
for certain queer and unexplained little noises like
laughs sounded from under the
leaves and behind the bushes.
Let us go home at once to
mother," cried Pierotte.
There was no difficulty about the
paths now. After walking awhile,
Pierot began to recognize this turn
and that. There was the hunts-
man's oak and the Dropping Well;
and there-yes, he was sure-lay
the hazel copse where the father
Shad bidden them go for wood.
S' I say," cried Pierotte, with a
sudden bright thought, "we will
S wait and bind one fagot for the
i'' i., mother's oven-the poor mother !
Who has fetched her wood all this
time, do you suppose ? "
Plenty of sticks lay on the
S ground ready for binding. The
wood-choppers had just left off
their work, it would seem. Pierotte's basket was
filled, a fagot tied and lifted on to Pierot's shoul-
ders, and through the gathering twilight they
hurried homeward. They were out of the wood
soon. There was the hut, with a curl of smoke
rising from the chimney; there was the mother
standing at the door and looking toward the forest.
What would she say when she saw them ?
What she said astonished them very much.
How long you have been were the words,
but the tone was not one of surprise.
"0 mother, mother! cried Pierotte, clinging
to her arm, while Pierot said, We were afraid to
come home because we looked so old, and we
feared you would not know us, but now we are
young again."
Old young said the mother. "What
does the lad mean? One does not age so fast






THE GOLDEN FISH OF OWARI CASTLE.


between sunrise and sunset as to be afraid to come
home. Are you dreaming, Pierot?"
But we have been away a year," said Pierot,
passing his hand before his eyes as if trying to
clear his ideas.
"A year! Prithee! And the sheets which I
hung out at noon not fairly dry yet. A year!
And the goats thou drovest to pasture before
breakfast not in the shed yet! A year! Thou
wouldst better not let the father hear thee prate
thus! What, crying, Pierotte! Here's a pretty to
do because, forsooth, you are come in an hour late!"
An hour late! The children looked at each
other in speechless amazement. To this day the


amazement continues. The mother still persists
that they were absent but a few hours. Where,
then, were the weeks spent in the wood, the gray
hair, the wrinkles, the wanderings in search of the
old woman and her hut ? Was all and each but a
bit of enchantment, a trick of the mirth-loving
fairies? They could not tell, and neither can I.
Fairies are unaccountable folk, and their doings
surpass our guessing, who are but mortal, and
stupid at that! One thing I know, that the two
children since that day have dropped their foolish
habit of wishing and are well content to remain
little Pierot and Pierotte till the time comes for
them to grow older, as it will only too soon.


THE GOLDEN FISH OF OWARI CASTLE.

BY WILLIAM E. GRIFFIS.


OF all the sports at which the boys in Japan
amuse themselves, kite-flying seems to afford the
most fun and enjoyment. Japanese kites are not
plain coffin-shaped bits of tissue-paper, such as
American boys fly. They are made of tough
paper stretched on light frames of bamboo, and of
all shapes,-square, oblong, or oval. They are
also made to imitate animals. I have often, in
my walks in Japan, seen a whole paper menagerie
in the air. There were crying babies, boys with
arms spread out, horses, fishes, bats, hawks, crows,
monkeys, snakes, dragons, besides ships, carts,
and houses. Across and behind the top of the
kite, a thin strip of whalebone is stretched, which
hums, buzzes, or sings high in air like a hurdy-
gurdy or a swarm of beetles. When the boys of a
whole city are out in kite-time, there is more music
in the air than is delightful. The real hawks and
crows, and other birds, give these buzzing counter-
feits of themselves a wide berth. In my walks, I
often was deceived when looking up, unable to tell
at first whether the moving black spot in the air
were paper, or a real, living creature, with beak,
claws, and feathers.
A kite-shop in Japan is a jolly place to visit. I
knew one old fellow, a toy-maker in Fukui, who
was always slitting bamboo or whalebone, painting
kite-faces, or stretching them on the frames. His
sign out in front was-well, what do you think?
I am sure you can't guess. It was a cuttle-fish. A
real jolly old cuttle, looking just as funny and old,


with its pulpy forehead and one black eye, as much
like Mr. Punch, or an old man with a long nose
and chin made out of lobster-claws, as such a soft
fellow could.
This is the sign for kite-shops all over Japan.
The native boys call a kite tako, which is the
Japanese for cuttle-fish. It is just such a pun as
would be played if a kite-maker in our country
were to hang out for his sign the fork-tailed bird
after which our kites took their name.
On the faces of the square Japanese kites you
can see a whole picture-gallery of the national
heroes. Brave boys, great men, warriors in helmet
and armor, hunters with bows and arrows, and all
the famous children and funny folks in the Japa-
nese fairy tales, are painted on them in gay colors,
besides leaping dragons, snow-storms, pretty girls
dancing, and a great many other designs.
The Japanese boys understand well how to send
" messengers to the top of the kite, and how to
entangle each other's kites. When they wish to,
they can cut their rival's strings and send the
proud prize fluttering to the ground. To do this,
they take about ten feet of the string near the end,
dip it in glue and then into bits of powdered glass,
making a multitude of tiny blades as sharp as -a
razor, and looking, when magnified, like the top
of a wall in which broken bottles have been set to
keep off climbers. When two parties of boys
agree to have a paper war near the clouds, they
raise their kites and then attempt to cross the


[MARCH,





1877.1 THE GOLDEN FISH OF OWARI CASTLE. 325


strings. The most skillful boy saws off, with his
glass saw, the cord of his antagonist.
The little boys fly kites that look for all the world
like themselves. I have often seen chubby little
fellows, scarcely able to walk, holding on to their
paper likenesses. Would you believe it? Even
the blind boys amuse themselves with these buz-
zing toys, and the tugging string that pulls like a
live fish. This fact, as I have often seen it, loses
its wonder, when you remember that a good kite
in the hands of a boy who is not blind often will
get out of sight. The Japanese blind boy enjoys


boys and young men would make kites as large as
an elephant. Why do they not permit it? I can
best answer the question by telling you a true
story.
In nearly every large city in Japan there is, or
was, a large castle, in which the prince of the prov-
ince or his soldiers lived in time of peace, or fought
in time of war. In Nagoya, in the province of
Owari, in the central part of the main island, was
seen the largest and finest of all the castles in Japan.
They were built of thick walls of stone masonry
from twenty to one hundred feet high, and divided


-'. A


.-ct(I


. I .-


. _
: -, .... I-- ,-./


.5,
I -


"I-.


-1* .1
5 F'^--
-t


ATTEMPTING TO ROB THE GOLDEN FISH. (DRAWN BY A JAPANESE ARTIST.)


the fun with finger and ear. It is like Beethoven
going in raptures over music, though stone deaf.
Square kites, with the main string set in the
center, do not need bobs, but usually the Japanese
boy attaches two very long tails made of rice-
straw.
The usual size of a kite in Japan is two feet square,
but often four feet; and I have seen many that were
six feet high. Of course, such a kite needs very
heavy cord, which is carried in a basket or on a big
stick. They require a man, or a very strong boy,
to raise them; and woe betide the small urchin
who attempts to hold one in a stiff breeze! The
humming monster in the air will drag him off his
feet, pull him over the street, or into the ditch,
before he knows it. Tie such a kite to a dog's tail,
and no Japanese canine could even turn round to
bite the string. If the Government allowed it,


from the outside land by moats filled with water.
At the angles were high towers, built of heavy
beams of wood covered with lime to make them
fire-proof, and roofed with tiles. They had many
gables like a pagoda, and port-holes or windows
for the archers to shoot out their arrows on the
besiegers. These windows were covered with cop-
per or iron shutters. At the end of the topmost
gable of the tower, with its tail in the air, was a
great fish made of bronze or copper, from six to
ten feet high, weighing thousands of pounds. It
was a frightful monster of a fish, looking as if
Jonah would be no more in its mouth than a sprat
in a mackerel's. It stood on its lower gill, like a
boy about to walk on his hands and head. It
always reminded me of the old-fashioned candle-
sticks, in which a glass dolphin rampant, with very
thick lips, holds a candle in his glass tail. In


t;S T


r.
r
i'
' -






THE GOLDEN FISH OF OWARI CASTLE.


Japan, however, the flukes of this bronze fish's tail,
instead of a candle, were usually occupied by a
live hawk, or sometimes an eagle, cormorant, or
falcon. Half the birds in Fukui solemnly be-
lieved the castle towers to have been built for their
especial perch and benefit. I often have seen
every fish-tail of the castle occupied by crows.
They were finishing their toilet, enjoying an after-
dinner nap, or making speeches to each other,
observing the rules of order no better than some
assemblies in which several persons talk at once.
We sometimes say of a boy having wealthy
parents, that "he was born with a silver spoon in
his mouth." Now, as the Japanese eat with chop-
sticks, and use their silver for other purposes, they
express nearly the same idea in other words.
In Japan, the better class of people-those who
enjoy the privilege of wealth, education, or posi-
tion-live either within or near the castle. One
of the first things a well-born Japanese baby sees
and learns to know out-doors is the upright bronze
fish on the castle towers. Hence a Japanese is
proud to say, "I was born within sight of the
shachihoko (the Japanese name of this fish). The
princes of Owari were very proud, rich, and pow-
erful; and they determined to erect gold instead
of bronze fishes on their castle. So they engaged
famous gold and silver smiths to make them a
shachihoko ten feet high. Its tail, mouth, and fins
were of solid beaten silver. Its scales were plates
of solid gold. Its eyes were of black glass. It cost
many thousands of dollars, and required about
twenty men to lift it.
This was at Nagoya, a city famous for its bronzes,
porcelain vases, cups, and dishes, its wonderful
enamel work called cloisonnd, and its gay fans.
Thousands of the Japanese fans with which we cool
our faces in summer were made in Nagoya. Well,
when, after much toil and the help of great derricks
and tackling, the great object was raised to its
place, thousands of persons came from a distance
to see the golden wonder. The people of Nagoya
felt prouder than ever of their handsome city.
In all kinds of weather, the golden fish kept its
color and glittering brightness, never tarnishing or
blackening like the common shachi/oko on other
castles. Morning and evening, the sunbeams
gilded it with fresh splendor. The gold and the
sunlight seemed to know each other, for they always
kissed. The farmers' children, who lived miles
distant in the country, clapped their hands with
joy when the flashing flukes on the castle towers
gleamed in the air. The travelers plodding along
the road, as they mounted a hill, knew when the
city was near, though they could not see anything
but the gleam like a star of gold.
Alas that I should tell it! What was joy to


the many, was temptation to some. They were
led to envy, then to covet, then to steal the prize.
A man whose talents and industry might have
made him rich and honored, became a robber,
-first in heart, and then in act. He began to
study how he might steal the golden fish. How
was he to reach the roof of the tower? Even if he
could swim the moat and scale the wall, he could
not mount to the top story or the roof. The gates
were guarded. The sentinels were vigilant, and
armed with sword and spear. How should he
reach the golden scales ?
The picture tells the story. It was drawn by the
famous Japanese artist in Tokio, Ozawa, and is
true to the facts, as I have seen, or have been told
them. A kite, twenty-five feet square, was made
of thick paper, with very strong but light bamboo
frame, with tough rope for a tether, and a pair of
bobs strong enough to lift two hundred pounds.
No man could hold such a kite. The rope was
wound round a windlass and paid out by one per-
son, while two men and three boys held the hand-
cart. A very dark, cloudy night, when a brisk
wind was up, was chosen. When all was ready at
midnight, the hand-cart was run out along the
moat, the robber with prying-tools in his belt, and

his feet in loops at the end of the bobs, mounted
on the perilous air-ship, more dangerous than a
balloon. The wind was in the right direction, and
by skillful movements of the cart and windlass, the
robber, after swinging like a pendulum for a few
minutes, finally alighted on the right roof. Fasten-
ing the bobs so as to secure his descent, he began
the work of wrenching off the golden scales.
This he found no easy task. The goldsmiths
had riveted them so securely that they defied his
prying, and the soft, tough metal could not be torn
off. He dared not make any clinking noise with
hammer or chisel, lest the sentinels should hear
him. After what appeared to be several hours'
work, he had loosened only two scales, worth
scarcely more than fifty dollars.
To make a long story short, the man was caught.
The sentinels were awakened, and the crime de-
tected. The robber was sentenced to die a cruel
death,-to be boiled in oil. His accomplices re-
ceived various other degrees of punishment. The
Prince of Owari issued a decree forbidding the fly-
ing of any kites above a certain small size. Hence-
forth the grand old kites which the boys of the
province had flown in innocent fun were never
more to be seen.
As for the big golden fish, it was afterward taken
down from the castle in Nagoya, and kept in the
prince's treasure-house. When I saw it, it was in
Tokio at the museum. It was afterward taken to
Vienna and exhibited at the Exposition in 1873.


326


[MARCH,






THE JOURNAL OF A BLUE-COAT GIRL.




EXTRACTS FROM THE JOURNAL OF A
BLUE-COAT GIRL.


[The readers of ST. NICHOLAS will find all about the Blue-Coats in
the very first article of the first number of the magazine. Girls were
once educated there as well as boys, but the girls' school after a while
was removed to Hertford.]

March 3ol, i689.-Oh what shall I do? Such
a little thing as I to be left all alone Father !
mother where are you ? Can not you speak to
me from the better world where you are gone
away? It is so lonely, that I must keep this little
journal to talk all to myself. I promised dear
papa that I would do it. Little he thought, when
he took so much pains to teach me to read and
write, that I should soon have no other comfort.
Can it be possible, that only last week, dear mam-
ma was with me, sitting so pale and gentle in that
chair, with her lovely white hair and darling old
face? And now, where is she? And what shall I
do ? There is no one to love me, or take care of
me any more.
My uncle came to see about the funeral. He is
very cold and formal, and not a bit like mamma.
It does not seem as if he could be her brother. He
is old and poor, and badly dressed, and thin. He
can not do anything for me, he says, he is such a
poor man. His eyes look wild sometimes; he
frightens me. Ah! I cannot stay here. Every-
thing must be sold he says, and I must even part
with mother's chair. Her Bible I will keep. No
one shall take that from me, if I starve.
How it rains and blows What a stormy night!
and she is lying alone there, in that dreadful
church-yard, under the black, dripping trees. Oh,
mother! mother !
April3rd.-All is sold and gone, even mother's
chair and bed. Uncle John gave me money to pay
the landlady, and said, It is better so, child."
Perhaps it is; but I've kept the portraits, and
mother's clothes, and her Bible and Prayer-Book.
Mother was a good Church-woman, if father was
a Round Head. I don't know what a Round
Head means, but it can't be anything bad, except
that poor papa lost all his money very long ago,
before I was born; and we were so poor always.
Before papa gave up his living, mamma said we had
such a happy home in a beautiful parsonage, by an
ivy-towered church down in Devonshire, and not
far off were great cliffs, with thickets of gorse and
fern and bramble at the top, and the wide sea
tossing and shining below. But I was not born
then. There were other children, but they are all
dead now. How I wish one-just one-of them had


lived! I should like to see the sea (I who have
never been out of London in my life), and to play
on the beach with those little brothers and sisters.
But I forget-they would all be grown up now.
Mother used to talk so much about Dorothy, who
had fair hair like me, and was so very lovely. I
wonder if I look a bit like her? She would have
been married now, and I should have lived with
her. Somehow, I feel as if I would rather have
had a brother who was strong and big, to run
races on the beach mother told me of. What a
baby I talk like Yet, I'm not much more than a
baby, though the neighbors tell me I'm "old-fash-
ioned," and I do feel very old, at least fifteen,
though I'm only twelve. But nursing poor mam-
ma, and the funeral, and all the dreadful things,
have made me feel so very, very old.
Uncle says he will send me to school, to Christ's
Church Spittle." I wonder what it's like, and if
I shall be very unhappy there? Anything is better
than this empty room, with the eyes in the pictures
following me about, as I sit on mother's chest; and
oh, I will not cry so I will try--
April 9th.-I've been here at the school almost a
week, and oh! it's dreadful! So many girls star-
ing at me! And these long rows of beds, and I
can't even sleep alone. The high walls seem to
shut me in from mother, and the church-yard is far
away. The great courts are bare and desolate,
and oh, how hard the mistress is 1 If she beats
me, I know I shall run away, I know I shall! oh,
mother 1 mother But where could I go? Our
good Kate, that lived with us so long, is married
awayin Scotland. I could not find her. And the
public suppers !-(the dinners are the worst !) The
great tables, and the noise and staring of people,
and slamming of trenchers, and clashing of knives
and pewter mugs, and the great joints of mutton
that smell so, and the coarse boiled beef, so salt.
Yesterday was Thursday, and there was fresh beef
in hunches, and the girl who sat next me, who
squints so, said, "Don't you hate gags?" In the
morning there are great chunks of bread she calls
" crugs," and small beer in great buckets. But
the broth, so thick, and slab, and choking, I can't
help minding that. What an ungrateful child I
am, to feel so, when I ought to be thankful to be
here, and not think of the nice things I used to
make and share with mother. Uncle was very
good to get me here. He is a very poor man,
he says. I know he lives all alone in a dreary old


327






THE JOURNAL OF A BLUE-COAT GIRL.


lodging in a dingy street. I may go and see him
sometimes, and I am glad, for he has taken care of
the portraits and mother's chest for me, which has
her wedding dress and things. How pretty she
must have looked in the sky-blue brocade with
white roses She was pretty, even when she died,
an old lady.
Ah, well! I'11 try to make the best of things. I
am young and healthy; and, perhaps, when I leave
school, they may get me a place in the country,
with lanes and hedge-rows such as mother used to
talk of in Devonshire, where the wild roses hang
over the red banks, with fern, and briony, and dai-
sies. How she used to talk of those things Just
before she died, she showed me a sprig of speed-
well in her Bible, all brown and faded. It was a
pretty blue flower once, like Dorothy's eyes, and
she gathered it the day she left home forever. My
eyes are blue, too. Father gave up his living to
join Cromwell, but when the King came in, all was
lost, and we were always poor. But being a Round
Head must be something noble, after all.
April nth, I689.-This has been a very great
holiday, for my uncle took me to see the corona-
tion. The King is a very fine man, to be sure,
and Queen Mary looked lovely in her robes. My
uncle knows a verger of the Abbey, and he put us
into a little nook in the clere-story, where we could
look down on everything. I never dreamed of
anything so beautiful; and the new music by Mr.
Handel! oh! it was like heaven! Such splendid
lords and ladies I wondered if I should ever wear
anything besides this coarse, blue stuff and a bib-
apron. Mother was lady enough to have been
there in her sky-blue brocade. Some people that
were near us hissed softly and said he was n't the
right king, but she must have' been the right
queen, in her robes all velvet and ermine, and she
so gentle and mild. She smiled like an angel.
May i5th, I689.-I don't write much in my jour-
nal, it makes me too sad, and I don't have much
time. The other day, as we were coming out of
chapel, boys first and girls after, I saw a boy sitting
on the steps with his face hidden in his hands. It
was against the rules to speak, but I did linger and
ask him what was the matter, when the rest were
gone. He said his father and mother were dead,
and he wanted to go to sea, but his grandfather
would send him here, and it was very unkind. He
was to be educated here first, he said, and then go
to sea. But he wanted to go to sea now. He would
run away. A great tear trickled through his fin-
gers. I could not help wondering why abig, strong
boy should cry, and then I remembered how sad I
had been, and how alike we were in our lives. I
talked to him a little, and said it would be much
better to wait and get an education, and then he


might go into the navy, instead of being a common
sailor. He said I was a brave girl, and I was right.
His grandfather was an admiral, and he meant to
be one too. But he believed his grandfather hated
him, and had put him into this bad place, where he
was flogged almost every day, and he meant to be a
great man some day, on purpose to spite him. He
hated my father," said he, "because he was a
music master, and married my mother against his
will, and he never spoke to my mother again. But
my father was not bad; he was good and kind, and
played beautifully on his Stradivarius."
I ran away then, but I had been seen, and I got
a whipping and bread and water. I did n't care,
though, for I was glad to comfort him. His name
was Charles Stanley.
June loth, i6go.-My uncle comes often to see
me, and gets leave to take me out for long walks in
the country on holidays. I love to walk with him in
the lanes near Kensington, and to gather flowers in
the fields,-mother's favorite flowers. One day he
took me to see the beasts at the Royal Exchange.
How the lion did roar and frighten me Charles
Stanley was there, feeding the elephant with apples.
I wonder he was n't afraid.
July 6th, i6go.-This evening my uncle took me
to see a great illumination and fire-works because
of a great victory, the battle of the Boyne. It was
a very important battle, he said, and had seated
King William and Queen Mary firmly on the
throne, and the Papists could not make head again.
I don't know much of politics, but I hope no harm
will happen to the Queen. My father never liked
Papists. The illumination was splendid. Every
house had ever so many candles; for if a house was
not lighted, the crowd was furious, and threatened
to tear it down, screaming "No Popery!" like
mad. On the Thames were lighted barges, full of
splendid people, and the King and Queen on the
steps of Whitehall, and wonderful fire-works of
Britannia and Neptune, and Plenty, and Fame,
and Glory. My uncle explained all to me very
kindly.
September 8th, I6go.-Charles Stanley comes to
talk to me whenever he can get a chance. I gene-
rally get punished for it; but I don't tell him so.
He says he is, though. One day he brought me a
nosegay, and wanted me to promise to be his
sweetheart, but I said it was nonsense, and he
went away quite angry. He says he likes school
better now, and studies hard, though the master is
cruel sometimes. I'm sorry I made him angry.
May 26th, I692.-My uncle came again to-day,
and took me to see the rejoicings over the great
naval victory of La Hogue over the French and
old King James. He must be very bad, to make
so much trouble, and cause so many people to


[MARCH,






THE JOURNAL OF A


be killed. I hope Charles Stanley wont go into
the navy till there 's peace. It was a good deal
like the other illumination, only finer. A great,
big ship, all of fire, was on the river, and the whole
city was as light as day. There was service at
St. Paul's, very solemn and beautiful with grand
music, and the whole school went. People seemed


/*' H/1^^


SBLUE-COAT GIRL. 329

May if5t, i69g.-My uncle came to-day, and
talked a great deal about something very bad, he
called the Bank-the new Bank of England. I
could n't understand it at all, but he looked quite
wild. He said this banking was a dreadful, fatal
thing, a great monster that would ruin and devour
everybody. Banks and kings, he said, could never


III .1
II.i l


I I


S_ -- !_ i


COMroRTING CHARLLS STANLFV.


mad with joy, the rejoicings lasted three days, and
the bells never stopped ringing all the time.
July 18th, I692.-Charles Stanley ran up to me
to-day, and said, You shall be my little wife,
some day." And he cut off a lock of my hair, just
in front, where it shows, and put something in my
hand and ran away. It was the half of a sixpence !
I wish he would n't The girls all tease me so.
But I will keep the piece.
VOL. IV.-22.


exist together. Some people said that the bank
would help the King, but he knew better. Banks
were Republican institutions. This was only an-
other of the plots, plots, plots He raved like a
madman. I asked him if it would hurt poor folks
like us. He said he hoped not. He "was poor,
very poor." I'm sure he looks so-all thin and
sickly, and his clothes so threadbare. I wish I
was old enough to take care of him. He hardly






THE JOURNAL OF A BLUE-COAT GIRL.


looks as if he had enough to eat. Poor, poor
uncle!
Nov. loth, z694.-I don't like to think of there
being so many executions, and plots, and dreadful
things. My uncle wanted me to go to the hang-
ings to-day of the enemies of the King, but I would
not see one for the world. There is a great deal
of small-pox in London now. It would be awful if
it got into Christ's Church. Some say the Queen
has got it, some the King, some the Duchess of
Marlborough. It could not make her much uglier.
I saw her in her state coach one day. There were
prayers for the Queen in the Abbey yesterday.
Dec. 27th, 1694.-We are all dressed in black.
The poor, good Queen is dead. It is a sad Christ-
mas holidays. Everybody is heart-broken, and
the King in agonies of grief, people say; for he
loved her dearly, and was with her night and day,
though she died of that dreadful small-pox. What
will happen now? She was so good! They say
she has founded a hospital for poor sailors, and
helped the Huguenots, who were so cruelly used in
France. What a dreadful thing it would be if
King James should come back My uncle thinks
he will, and, at any rate, that he and his son will
make trouble if they can. There is peace now, at
any rate, and the good Queen was glad of that
when she died. She was reconciled to Princess
Anne on her death-bed. People are very uneasy,
and there are plots upon plots. If Marlborough
hadn't been a traitor, he might have helped us
now. My uncle told me all this politics. The
Queen is lying in state at Whitehall, and crowds
go to see her, notwithstanding small-pox.
Jan. Ist, 1695.-Our good friend, the verger,
let us see the funeral in the Abbey. Oh, how I
cried The organ roared like a thunder-storm,
and then it was like a sweet, sad voice. The pro-
cession was very fine, with four royal state mourn-
ing coaches,-all black and silver,-and a grand
hearse with six pairs of splendid black horses, and
black-and-white plumes three feet high, and em-
broidered hangings. Almost everybody wept as it
passed; but it was horrible there were some bad
people who hissed, and groaned, and even spat.
They must have been Jacobites or Papists. The
poor King was as pale and white as a ghost. It
was a very, very sad day.
July 12th, i695.-What a big girl I am grow-
ing. I must leave here soon and go into service.
A great, big, grand city lady came to-day to see
about taking me, dressed in a fine tabby gown,
with lace lappets, and such a high head with long
pinners and streamers. She came in a fine coach,
and yet she looked so cross and asked so many
questions that I was glad she did not take me.
Perhaps the next one will be nicer. Oh! why


must I go away from here? I have not been very
unhappy, and I am used to it. These old cloisters
are pleasant in the sunshine, and I like the girls
and they like me. I am never beaten now, and
though they make a servant of me, as they do of
all the big girls, I do not mind that. It prepares
me for the future. I do not mind work if it is not
too hard. They say, perhaps I shall be 'prenticed.
I just wish I did know what was to become of me.
August 15th, 1695.-Charles Stanley came to
bid me good-by. He says that he is going into
the navy, and that his grandfather is kinder to him
now, for he is ill and old, and has no one to take
care of him but a sister who is older than he.
"This will be my last chance to see you, Millicent,"
said he, for I am going to stay at his house, and
from there into the navy. By and by when I am
my own master, we will be married, dear Milly, and
you shall be a lady, as you deserve."
Oh, how sweet it sounded But I said I was a
poor girl, and I could not promise myself to him,
for his family would be angry, and when he went
into the world he would find some real lady to
marry, and be sorry he was bound to me. And
he said, I was a real lady, and he would never
have any other, and I looked too good for him in
my blue stuff gown. He showed me his half-six-
pence and I showed him mine, but I did not prom-
ise. It was hard.
Sept. 8th, 1695.-My uncle is ill, and I got leave
to go and see him. He was lying all alone in a
wretched garret, pale and ill, with no one to take
care of him, but he said he was better, and he
would not let me stay. On the way home a num-
ber of wild young men, half tipsy, ran up to me,
and one of them took me by the arm, and tried to
pull me away. I screamed and was dreadfully
frightened, when who should run up but Charles
Stanley It was strange that he should have been
there, when his grandfather lives near St. James.
It was close by Christ's Church, and he gave a
whoop, and a dozen blue-coats came running up.
They gave the young lords (they must have been
lords, they were so richly dressed) such a beating !
Charles Stanley kicked the one who spoke to me
quite out of sight. Then he went to the outer
gate with me, and tried to make me promise again,
but I held out. He will soon be off, he says.
Sept. 9th, 1695.-I felt as if I ought to go to
my uncle again this evening, but I hardly dared,
until I thought of putting on a big pair of specta-
cles of my father's, and carrying a stick. The girls
all laughed, and one said she would n't mind a
word from a handsome gentleman; and another
said, not even Charles Stanley would know me. I
was glad of that. So I went out with the glasses
on, stooping and walking lame and leaning on the






THE JOURNAL OF


stick, with my hood over my face, and no one even
looked at me. Uncle was better.
Sept. loth, I695.-A dreadful thing has hap-
pened. My poor uncle was found dead in his bed
the morning after I was there. He must have
died all alone in the night. His funeral is to be
to-morrow. Poor old uncle! And now I am truly
all alone, without a friend. If I could have dared
to promise Charles Stanley But I was right. He
is so handsome and so brave that he must go into
another world from me. I wonder when they will
get me a place If I could only be his servant !
Sept. zith, 1695.-To-day at dinner there was a
great buzz as I came in, and the mistress came up
monstrous polite, and said : "There's great news
for you, Miss. Something very wonderful has
happened." I couldn't think what she meant by
" Miss," I was always plain Milly before. Your
uncle has left you a big fortune," says she. "His
will was found under his pillow, and he was worth,
oh, so much I don't remember." Everything
spun round, and I turned giddy and sick. They
brought me some water and then some wine.
Poor, poor uncle He must have been crazy to
live so. It is very strange; it don't seem real. It
can't be 1 I am afraid the first thing I thought of
was Charles Stanley. He did not come near me
that day, when they were all wishing me joy, and
were so polite.
Sept. nrh, evening.-They have given me a
pretty room to myself to-night, and it is so still and
pleasant, after the great, stifling dormitory. There
is an oriel window looking out upon the court, and
some violets and snow-drops in the window, and a
fine bow-pot on the table of spring flowers. How
grateful I ought to be It is very quiet and still,
and the great clock has just struck twelve, yet no
one comes to make me put out the light. How
the moonlight falls on the cloisters. I cannot
sleep. I think and think, and everything seems to
be bubbling and boiling around me. I wonder if
the wine has got into my head? I have never
tasted it since mother died.
Sept. 12th.-Mistress said this morning that it
was not strange after so great a change and such
a fortune left me, that I could not sleep for joy.
I don't think I feel any joy. So much money
will be a great burden. But I will give a great
deal of it away to the poor, and then live in a
sweet little house in the country, like mother's,
among green lanes and fields. * *
My uncle was buried to-day; all the school was
there, and it was a very handsome funeral, which
was a great comfort to me. He was so shabby
when he was alive But I saw nothing of Charles
Stanley. After the funeral, who should come to
Christ's Church to see me but the Lord Mayor's


1877.1


A BLUE-COAT GIRL. 331


lady, all in velvet and satin. I was never so much
frightened in my life, and she so kind, and grand,
and polite. And she said: "My dear, don't be
frightened, but there is something that pleases me
very much. A blue-coat boy has had a fortune,
the same as yours, left him on the very same day,
and we think it would be a very pretty thing to
make it a match between you."
I grew sick again, and then I burst into tears,
and she was so kind, that somehow I got bold
enough to say that I loved some one whom, per-
haps, I should never see again, but I could never,
never marry any one else. I was very young, and
why, why need I think about it ? And then, she,
so kind all the time, said that nothing should ever
be done against my will, and she wiped my eyes
with her own 'kerchief, and said: "My dear young
friend, don't be worried. I only ask you to see
this young man of whom I speak, for he is every
way worthy of you, and you may, in time, forget
the other and learn to value and esteem him as he
deserves." I knew better, and I said, at first, that
I never would see him; but she said ever so much,
and insisted that I should go with her, and made
me get into her grand gold coach, and go to her
grand house. To think of my riding in a coach
with the Lady Mayoress I was so bewildered I
hardly knew anything till she took me into a great
room, and there, standing by a fine harpsichord,
was Charles Stanley I was wondering, as if in a
dream, how he got there, when the Lady Mayoress
said: This is the young man, my dear, of whom
I spoke." I gave a cry, and I don't know what
happened next, only we were alone, and Charles
was holding me up. Everything was right after
that. Charles told me his grandfather was dead,
and he had a great fortune, and it should be all
mine. He wished I had n't one too, but that could
n't be helped, and we would be married directly
and be ever so happy. The best of it is that he is
not going into the navy, but we are going to live
at his grandfather's seat in Devonshire. Think of
it! In Devon! Not so very far from Mary
Church, either; and he will take me there.
I wonder how much the Lady Mayoress knew?
Charles could not tell me.
Sept. 18th, r695.-Such a beautiful wedding as
we have had to-day. There was a grand dinner
for all the school afterward. Charles was dressed
in blue satin, led by two of the prettiest girls, and
I in blue, with a green apron and yellow petticoat
(but all of silk), led by two boys. All the school
went before, singing and strewing flowers, and thus
we went from Chepe to Guildhall, where we were
married by no less than the Dean of St. Paul's !
The Lord Mayor, his lady, and a great many fine
people were there, and I felt very happy, but I must






HIS OWN MASTER.


say rather shame-faced. A great many handsome had been a credit to the school. I was sorry to
presents were sent me, and the Lord Mayor gave me part from them all, and did not know how I loved
a silver tankard, and his lady a silver porringer. All the place till I left it. To-morrow we go down to
the dear girls gave me something; one a pincushion, Hartley End, the grand seat of the admiral in
another a shift that she had made, and a great Devon. I wish it were a cottage, but I suppose it
Bible from the mistress. And some cried, and all can't be helped. I am afraid I shall be too happy
kissed me good-by and wished me joy, and said I ever to write in my journal again.
MILLICENT STANLEY.
Two wealthy citizens are lately dead, and left their estates, one to a Blue-Coat boy and the other to a Blue-Coat girl in Christ's
Hospital,-the extraordinariness of which has led some of the magistrates to carry it on to a match, which is ended in a public wedding-
he in his habit of blue satin, led by two of the girls, and she in blue, with an apron green and petticoat yellow, all of sarsnet, led by two
of the boys of the house, through Cheapside to Guildhall Chapel, where they were married by the Dean of St. Paul's, she given by my
Lord Mayor. The wedding dinner, it seems, was given in the Hospital Hall."-Pepys to Mrs. Steward, Sept. 2ot/t, 1695.


HIS OWN MASTER.

BY J. T. TROWBRIDGE.


CHAPTER XII.
JACOB IS LEFT BEHIND.
IT was still pouring heavily when the tug's skiff
came alongside the steamboat, and the drenched
passengers were taken on board. An excited crowd
awaited them at the gangway, among whom Jacob
noticed Florie's mother, and the mother of the
twins.
"Oh, girls !" exclaimed Mrs. Chipperly, her
arms extended, "how did it happen? I told you
there was danger You'll ketch your death-colds !
And just look at your dresses They're a sight
to behold Dory, my dear, where's your hat ?"
Don't talk of hats and dresses, when we're
half drowned !" said Dory, as she reached the
deck and stood dripping. I thought much as
could be I was gone, one spell, but somebody
pulled me up where I could hold on to.the boat."
Perhaps she did not know that that somebody
was Jacob. Nor did he think of taking any credit
for what he had done. He felt that he must be an
object of horror to everybody, as he was to himself.
"Oh, Jacob !" said Florie's mother, as she re-
ceived the dripping girl in her arms.
Florie had just said, Don't blame him or any-
body-he saved my life But Jacob had not
heard that; nor did he know that the mother
spoke his name in an impulse of real gratitude.
He did not get out of the boat. When all the
other drenched ones were on board the steamer,
the oarsmen asked him if he was n't going too.
No said he. I am going with you to look
for him."
It's no use; you can't help," they said.


But I am going he answered, firmly.
The steamer's whistle was blowing. She was off
the bar now, and was ready to start. After so
much loss of time, the captain was anxious to get
under way. Having helped the others up, he
noticed Jacob still in the boat, and called to him:
"Come aboard We must be off now "
Not without finding him ?" replied Jacob, in
almost savage despair.
If there was any hope of saving him, or any
use in waiting, we would stay," said the captain.
" But we, can do nothing. The tug will continue
the search. Come aboard "
He spoke in a tone of command, but not un-
kindly, for he was the last man to think of blaming
Jacob for such an accident.
Go ?" said the boy. "And leave him ?" He
spoke as if some utter impossibility, some base and
criminal act, had been proposed to him. "He is
the only friend I have in the world I can't go !"
Then we must leave you," said the captain.
I can't help it," Jacob replied, in a passion of
grief. I shall stay with the tug."
"I understand your feelings," said the captain,
touched by the boy's devotion and despair. But
don't be foolish. Take a friend's advice. You
were not much to blame; and your staying can do
no good. I'11 take you to Cincinnati. No matter
about your fare, if you have n't any money."
Has n't my fare been paid ?" said Jacob, start-
ing from his stupor of woe.
"No. Mr. Pinkey said he would pay it. But
he had n't yet paid his own. He would have done
it, of course, before he left the boat. Come aboard,
my lad You have n't got your baggage."


[MARCH,







HIS OWN MASTER.


"That don't amount to much," said Jacob.
"But I'll go for it," he added, after a moment's
hesitation.
His anguish for the loss of his friend had up to
this time been of so wholly unselfish a nature, that
he had not once thought of his little black traveling-
bag and its modest contents, or of any such trivial
matter. He had indeed felt in how utterly desolate
a condition he would be, in Cincinnati or any-
where, without his friend,-if that was selfish. But
now, at the captain's kindly meant words, a more
sordid consideration intruded upon his grief.
Not only were all his clothes left in the little
state-room,-everything, in fact, which he pos-
sessed in the world, besides the drenched garments
he had on,-but all his money was in the belt
which Alphonse wore about his body.
This was an additional reason for his remaining,
which he had not considered before. He thought
it so mean and selfish a motive, that he did not
speak of it now.
Please to take charge of his things," he said to
the captain. "I will take mine." Then to the
men in the boat: Wait for me one minute "-
and he hurried to the state-room for his bag.
The lighted saloon, through which he passed
and repassed, presented a cheerful contrast to the
storm and gloom without. The table was set; the
supper waited. The cheer and comfort he was
leaving for darkness and uncertainty, did not
tempt him ; it seemed rather like a mockery of his
affliction. How could any one eat and drink and
be merry in the cabin that night, while he who
had so lately been the bright star of all was in the
black depths of the river ?
He knew the room occupied by Florie and her
mother. He paused just a moment at the door,
longing to know that all was well with the young
girl after her narrow escape. Perhaps he would
have wished to speak with them,-to beg their
forgiveness and bid them good-bye, since he was
going, never to see them again. But he could not
stop. He heard Florie's voice, and was grateful.
What if she too had been lost ? The bare thought
of what would have been his feelings in such a case
was too terrible.
The saloon was almost deserted. Nobody gave
him any attention as he hurried out. The passen-
gers on the sheltered parts of the decks were too
intent watching the second boat from the steamer
to give much heed to Jacob. The yawl had gone
up and down in the rain, searching the river and
the shore, and the fallen trees along by the shore,
for traces of the body, and was now returning,
dragging something heavy in its wake.
Jacob felt a shudder of dread, as he saw it at first
in the obscurity. But a flash of lightning, flooding


the scene with one swift, dazzling gleam, showed
him what it was.
The water-logged boat was in tow. The passen-
gers, crowding to look over at it, did not notice
him. The captain too was occupied giving orders,
and he dropped unobserved into the tug's boat.
The men pushed off. Jacob gave one backward
look, and felt a sharp sting of regret, as he saw the
groups on the deck and heard the muffled rush of
the great paddles rolling slowly to keep the steam-
boat in the stream. The deck-hands were hauling
in the hawser. Then came the sound as of a small
cataract, as the water-logged boat, raised by the
steamer's tackle, bow foremost, poured its contents
into the river. Over all was heard the voice of the
captain coolly giving his orders for the start. The
.paddles stopped, then rolled the other way, the
whistle gave a wild snort, and the steamboat and
the tug parted company.
The storm was now nearly over. It was still
raining a little where Jacob was ; but the clouds in
the west were broken, showing a peaceful sunset
sky-a sea of liquid, gold overtopped by avalanches
of fire-tinted snow. Toward that gate-way of glory
the steamer glided away, and disappeared; while
over Jacob's head still hung the rainy canopy, bor-
dered in the west with a fringe of surging flame.

CHAPTER XIII.
DEPARTURE OF THE TUG-BOAT.
IT was not until the excitement caused by the
accident had subsided a little, that anybody thought
of making inquiry for Jacob.
I did n't mean to let him off," said the captain,
coming in late to the supper-table. I thought if
I got him to come aboard for his baggage, I could
keep him. But I was busy for a few minutes after,
and when I thought of him again he was gone.
He is certainly a plucky little fellow How is your
daughter, Mrs. Fairlake ?"
The question was addressed to Florie's mother,
who was also sitting down to a late cup of tea.
Florence is quite comfortable," she replied,
without her usual drawl. I've been so absorbed
in my care of her, that.I feel myself quite guilty-
I've scarcely thought of that brave boy at all!
She is sure that he saved her life, and that she
came very near drowning him,-she does n't know
what saved them. It is terrible to think of his
being left behind What will become of him?
He has no money."
"Are you sure of that ?" said the captain.
He told me that Mr. Pinkey had his money."
"And Pinkey has gone to the bottom with it "
remarked Mrs. Chipperly, taking some nice bits
from the table, to carry to the state-room for her






HIS OWN MASTER.


daughters. No wonder the boy was so anxious
to stay and have the body recovered! "
I don't think the money was his chief motive,
by any means !" said Mrs. Fairlake. He idolized
Mr. Pinkey." Something of the drawl came into
her voice again as she added: He thought him
a perfect model of a fine gentleman You can
hardly wonder at it; Pinkey's manners were extra-
ordinary, and Jacob is very young."
If my head had n't been full of other matters,"
said the captain, "I would have kept the boy
aboard long enough at least to have a purse made
up for him."
Oh, why did n't you ? exclaimed Mrs. Fair-
lake. "I suppose I. am wicked, but I must own
that I am a great deal more troubled about him
than I am about Mr. Pinkey. Mr. Pinkey does n't
seem to me to be a very genuine character; and
somehow his death does n't seem to be real. If he
should walk into the cabin now, with that pretty
mustache and that exquisite smile of his, I don't
think I should be at all surprised."
Jacob was at this time in even a more pitiable
situation than anybody imagined. The steamboat
was gone; and now the tug-boat, which he had ex-
pected would remain, perhaps all night if the body
was not sooner found, was going too.
It was growing dark; and after dragging the
river-bottom and cruising up and down until further
search seemed useless, the captain recalled his men.
The tug was laid up by the bank a little distance
down the river. The boat came alongside, the
men got out, and it was taken in tow.
Drenched, haggard, broken-hearted, Jacob stood
upon the tug, with his little black bag in hand.
The moon shone upon the river and the wooded
shores. The water gurgled mournfully under the
wales. The hands were preparing to cast off.
Which is the captain ?" Jacob inquired.
"There at the wheel," said one of the men who
had been in the boat with him.
Jacob approached the little wheel-house, add,
standing in the moonlight, spoke to a face that
looked out at him through the open window.
I thought you would stay and hunt longer "
he burst forth with a sob, after trying in vain to
control his voice.
Stay?" echoed the captain. We can't stay
all night. We've done more than we agreed to,
and now we must be off."
"Where are you going ? said Jacob, mastering
himself at last.
To Pittsburg. Where do you want to go ?"
I don't want to go anywhere "
You are easily satisfied, then," said the captain.
He continued more kindly, seeing the utter discon-
solateness of the boyish figure trembling before


him in the moonlight : If you want to go to
Pittsburg, or any place up the river, stay aboard;
I'll give you your passage. It's a hard case, I
know."
What should I go back up the river for? said
Jacob. "I might have gone on to Cincinnati,
where I have an uncle; but I can't go back home,
-I have no home I have n't a friend in the
world, now that he --."
"Well, make up your mind what you'll do,"
said the captain, "for we're off."
My mind is made up," replied Jacob.
Going ashore ?"
The boy could not answer. A moment later he
stood alone on the bank. The men, who felt a
great deal more kindness for him than they knew
how to express, called to him, and begged him to
come aboard.
He had not a voice even to thank then; but
there he stood, silent, with only the great river and
the solemn woods about him, and watched the tug
steam slowly away.

CHAPTER XIV.
NIGHT IN THE WILDERNESS.
IT was soon out of sight. The sound of paddles
and panting steam died in the distance, and Jacob
heard only the noise of night-singing insects about
him, and the roar of a torrent, caused by the rain,
pouring down the bank into the river just above
the fallen trees. Then of a sudden he felt all the
loneliness and danger of his situation, and a sense
of fear came over him.
He was in a wilderness--he knew not how far
from any human abode. He was wet and chilled,
for the weather had turned cool after the rain. He
had declined to share the hasty supper which the
tug's men offered him: he was not hungry then,
and he was not hungry now-his heart was too full
of misery. But he felt the need of food. He felt
the need of warmth, and, more than all, the need
of human aid and sympathy.
He took a last look at the spot where his friend
had been lost,-where the water now shimmered
as brightly in the moonbeams as if there were
never such a thing as loss or grief in the world,-
then, with a great sigh, turned away.
It was, after all, a sort of relief that he could not
find what he sought. He would have shuddered
to see any human-looking thing afloat, or washed
up against the bank. He would have been terrified
to meet his dead friend there alone.
He thought there must be a farming country a
little back from the river, and that he might find
help and shelter in some house not far away; so
he at once climbed up into the woods.


[MARCHi






HIS OWN MASTER.


335


The land continued to rise, and he went on and
up until he reached more level ground; but it was
all woods-woods-as far as he went and as far as
he could see. He tore his way through the wet
undergrowth; he stumbled at fallen trunks; he
gazed eagerly forward, and stopped to listen often,
with a heart beating hard with fatigue and fear.


raccoon whinneyed," or an owl filled the hollows
of the woods with its unearthly Who who "
The moonlight slanted down through the thick
boughs and amidst the tall stems, making little
silver patches of light in masses of shadow, and
silver gleams on the trunks and bare ground,-
gleams which wavered as the boughs moved. He


"ALL WOODS-WOODS-AS FAR AS HE WENT."

For there was something fearful in the solitude, was more than once deceived by these glimmer-
The wind swept over the forest-tops with a low, ings, thinking he saw a way out of the forest.
mournful roar. Pattering drops fell, shaken in Then came a rush of selfish thoughts and self-
little showers from the boughs. A limb creaked reproaches.
overhead. As he moved on, the sound of his own What was he there for ? He could do no good
footsteps on the'dead twigs had in it something to himself or anybody else. If Alphonse was
ominous and startling. When he stood still, a drowned, why, he was drowned, and that was the






HIS OWN MASTER.


end of him. As for the money, he wished'he had
never let him take it; but now, he did not want
it-he had a horror of it Besides, the search for
it was hopeless. Why had n't he stayed on board
the steamboat, as any other boy would have done ?
And again Jacob asked himself, as he had often
done before, when his conscience or his good im-
pulses had kept him from things which seemed
pleasant:
Why can't I do as other boys do who don't
care ? Joe Berry never would have left a comfort-
able berth on board a steamboat, to do as I have
done,-no, not if his own brother was lost in the
river! He'd have looked out for himself. What
was it made me stop off? Mr. Pinkey was n't
always a good friend to me."
Then he thought of all that gentleman's faults,
and even blamed him for getting drowned and
putting him to so much trouble.
It is a comfort to know that such unworthy
thoughts as these did not continue long. The
boy's stout heart soon rose from its terrible de-
pression. He was not sorry that he had stayed,
though he had stayed to so little purpose. He re-
membered only the better qualities of his friend,
and felt that he could never have been happy-that
he should always have hated and despised himself
-if he had left him to his sudden and dreadful
fate, and gone on in the steamboat, caring only for
his own safety and convenience.
It is sometimes worth the while to obey con-
science, and follow our better impulses, at what-
ever seeming sacrifice, if only for the after satisfac-
tion of feeling that any other course would have
been wrong. That precious satisfaction is, to
every noble nature, more than all worldly ends
unrighteously attained. Many a man, and many a
youth, would to-day give up all he has ever gained
by unworthy means, to be able to say to his own
soul, I resisted the temptation-I did right "
But now that he had done all he could do, Jacob
saw that he ought to lose no time in caring for
himself. He became discouraged, at last, in his
efforts to find a house in the direction he had taken,
and turned back. Over humps and hollows and
through underbrush he went, and was glad to see
the shining river burst upon his sight again, as he
came down out of the woods.
There were frequent villages scattered along the
shores, and he now resolved to keep on down the
river until he should come to one.
He had started, walking very fast, when a noise,
different from the sound of the wind in the tree-
'tops, arrested him. It was the hoarse panting
breath of a steamboat coming up the river.
As it approached, its red signal lantern made
broken reflections in the water before the rushing


prow. Its smoke-pipe spouted a lurid fountain of
cloud and fire. The cabin, with its doors and
many windows, looked like a delicate shell full of
light, as it advanced steadily up the stream, in the
misty moonshine.
It reminded Jacob of the companionship and
cheer he had lost, and made his present loneliness
seem all the wilder, all the more remote from
human aid. It came abreast of him, almost within
reach of the sound of his voice, had he chosen to
hail it; then passed on, rolling its white wake in
the moon, and trailing its banner of smoke side-
ways far off over the darkened water. It was gone,
and Jacob resumed his tramp.
He kept along the summit of the bank, which
sloped down some forty feet to the river, then at
its usual summer level, though not very low. At
high-water, that lofty bank was brimmed, and even
overflowed. There was a strip of grass along by
its edge, and above that rose the wooded hills.
He walked about half an hour, meeting with no
adventures, and finding no signs of any clearing or
settlement on the heights at his right.
Then the curve of the bank which he followed
changed abruptly. It took a sudden turn to the
north, while the river swept away toward the south-
west. The woods, too, receded suddenly; and he
soon found that he had come to some sort of inlet
or broad creek, which lay directly across his course.


CHAPTER XV.

THE RIVER PEDDLER.

As he stood on the bank, looking across the
misty gulf, uncertain what to do, he heard a dog
bark. The sound came from the water's edge
below, and only a few rods up the creek.
The moonlight slanted down the slope, and
showed him some sort of craft by the shore. At
the farther end of it, a warm glow-ruddier than
the moonlight, and confined to a small space-
shone upon the bank and the water. The thing
looked to Jacob like some gigantic lightning-bug.
It proved to be a little box of a steamboat, occu-
pied by a man and a dog. The dog leaped on the
deck, and kept up a furious barking at the boy as
he approached. The man was soon visible, cook-
ing something at a curious little stove under a pro-
jection of the deck, or cabin roof, over the bow.
Jacob stopped at the top of the bank, afraid of
the dog. The man silenced the barking, and called
to him:
Want anything in my line ? "
Yes," said Jacob.
A pleasant odor from the cooking was wafted up
to him, and he saw that the man was frying fish.


336


[MARCH,






HIS OWN MASTER.


Come down here, then," said the man.
Wont the dog bite me ?"
Not without you go to take something from
the Ark."
From the what?"
"The Ark. I aint exactly Father Noah; but
that's the name of my craft. Have n't ye heard
of Sam Longshore and his Ark ? I thought you
wanted something in my line of business."


and a mouth about which there was a pucker of
self-conceit.
I did n't care to buy anything," said Jacob.
Then what do ye want? You see, I'm a ped-
dler. I used to drive a peddler's cart in York
State; then as the railroads made trade better for
the stores and worse for me, I came out here, and
finally took to the river. It don't make much
difference where a man is, or what he does,-it's


h-






I'l ,iI-I;I.::I.
II,!. i7. i.













'Il GOINGII O GRATiFY YOUR. ALIAIIL\ITIVENESS.


C"That is that?" said Jacob, descending the
bank.
My line of business ? Dry goods, fancy goods,
tin-ware, brooms, books,-anything, from one of
my patent stoves to a side-comb,-the best variety
on the river; come aboard and examine. Hush
your noise, Ripper!"
Ripper seemed to be the dog. At any rate, he
hushed, and Jacob stepped aboard.
"If ye aint in a hurry," said Mr. Longshore,
" set down on the rail there, and make your-
self comfortable as ye can, while I give this fish
another turn."
As he resumed his cooking, Jacob noticed that
he was a man of medium height, but very spare,
with a narrow, wrinkled, serious face, small eyes,


all about the same thing. My Ark aint much
bigger 'n a peddler's cart, and I carry on much the
same sort of trade in it, and in much the same
way. Folks are about the same everywhere, and
want about the same kind of truck ; I know what
they want, and try to furnish it."
Jacob sat down on the rail, and meekly waited
for a chance to put in a word. Sam Longshore
turned his fish and kept on talking.
I go from village to village along the shores;
I can go up shaller streams, where big boats can't;
my boat can run where there's a good heavy dew.
I 'm a great reader, and a great thinker. There
aint many subjects that I haint thought over and
come to my own conclusions about."
And the pucker about the peddler's mouth


-=- ;--,--
~-~--
~;;~;~;~-~~-~~~-~~






HIS OWN MASTER.


showed that he was confident of having come to
pretty correct conclusions.
I don't take anybody's word for anything," he
went on, interrupting Jacob, who was beginning to
speak. If I hear of a book I want, I buy it, and
read it, and weigh it according to my judgment,
and put it by to read it again if it's worth it, or
sell it to the next customer. I can always find a
customer for a thing don't want. I know just
how to deal with folks. There's a monstrous sight
in phrenology, and I've studied the science till I
know just how to apply it to my business. I know
a benevolent man, or an avaricious man, or a vain
woman, or a woman of good sense and taste, the
minute I set eyes on 'em, and I approach 'em
accordingly. I excite the benevolent man's be-
nevolence, and make him want to make presents
to somebody of all my most valuable articles. If a
man has large acquisitiveness, I let him understand
that there never was such a chance for good bar-
gains before and never will be again. Take a vain
person, and I lay on a few touches of flattery here
and there,-none to hurt,-and make 'em think
there's nothing in the world so becoming to their
style of beauty as some of my fancy articles. Then
when I fall in with large causality and caution and
good perceptive faculties, I come right down to
hard pan-talk plain sense, show my best goods,
and tell how things are made, and interest my cus-
tomers that way. There's everything in knowing
what organs to excite. The last war might have
been avoided just as well as not. But the trouble
was, the two parties excited the wrong organs in
each 6ther. They went to fighting; and fighting
always excites combativeness. Whereas they ought
to have tried to excite each other's benevolence."
Weary and woe-begone as he was, Jacob was
almost moved to smile at the wiry tone of voice,
the quirks of the head and puckers of the mouth,
with which the peddler, who was so much of a
philosopher, laid down these shrewd observations
and rules of life.
Now, I know just what organs I am exciting in
you," Longshore went on, pouring out a cup of
coffee, buttering his fried fish, and arranging his
little supper on the top of a box used as a table.
" I am exciting your alimenitiveness" (learned as
he was, he got some of his words wrong), your
hope, and your comparison. Your alimenitive-
ness-that is your desire for food-suggests to you
that fried perch, fresh caught from the river, with
a little salt and butter, and a cup of Sam Long-
shore's coffee to wash it down, would taste good.


The second organ is in a lively state, and makes
you hope that I will offer you some. Your com-
parison-which I notice is very large-sets you to
comparing me with other peddlers, my Ark with
their wagons, and my idees with common men's
idees. I 'm going to gratify your alimenitiveness,
and offer you one of these fish."
The philosophical peddler held out the dish to
Jacob, adding, with a shrewd twinkle of the eye
and a comical twist of the neck:
Have I hit your case right ? "
I can't eat now, thank you said Jacob.
"Ah then it is n't so much your alimenitive-
ness that is excited as your alidrinkitiveness. There
is no such word in the books, but I think there
ought to be one, to make the distinction between
hunger and thirst. In some persons alimenitive-
ness is small, while alidrinkitiveness is large and
active. Have a cup of coffee."
I can't eat or drink anything," said Jacob,
" until I have told you."
Told me what ? said the philosopher, in some
amazement at the failure of his science.
".I was upset in a boat up the river, along with
a whole party-a boat from the steamer bound to
Cincinnati-we were passengers-and one was
drowned-and I stopped off, because we could n't
find him, but the steamboat went on, and he was
my only friend, and now I have nobody and noth-
ing in the world "
With vhich last words Jacob burst forth in a fit
of violent sobbing.
The peddler who was a philosoper-the philoso-
pher who was a peddler-became also a man.
Why did n't you tell me? I thought, if you
did n't wish to buy anything, it must be some of
my supper you wanted. You ought to take some-
thing the first thing; it will fortify your stomach,
and restore the loss of protoplasm, wasted by over-
exertion and excitement. Protoplasm is the primi-
tive substance of all nutrition, and grief will waste
it as fast as hard work."
He could not help throwing in this bit of scien-
tific information. But he accompanied it with
what was better-a cup of coffee, which he made
the disheartened boy drink without more ado.
"Now tell me all about it-just the main points
-and what I can do for you."
Jacob drank, and also ate a fried perch, which
he held in his fingers. His body was nourished
and his heart warmed. Then, getting control of
his feelings enough to speak without sobbing, he
told his-story.


(To be continued.)


338


[MARCH,






BRAVE LITTLE FLORENCIA.



BRAVE LITTLE FLORENCIA.
(A True Story of lexican Life.)

BY NEWTON PERKINS.


FLORENCIA TOMAYAO is a brave girl-a brave
girl, and only thirteen years old. She lives in a
country where there are no schools, and has not
the benefit of such instruction, nor the enjoyment
of such pleasant surroundings as the children of
this country possess. She is an orphan, and lives
with her mother in a poor little village in Mexico
called Guantla-Morelos. Yet beneath her dark







-- s -
r ^-








i:











skin she has a heart full of sympathy; and despite
her surroundings and uncultivated life, she is truly
a noble little girl. Do you not think from her
picture that she is bright and intelligent, quick to
understand, and just such a companion as you
would like to have join you in a game of romps?
She knows as little about playing tag and croquet
as you do about minding sheep or grinding corn.
Far off in Mexico the little girls are not of much
consequence, the people think, and they are valued
only as they can do a good day's work-draw water
in buckets from a well, and carry it on their heads
in earthen jars, or sit on the ground all day and
turn around a large flat stone, under which the
yellow maize, or Indian corn, is ground into meal.
To vary the occupation, perhaps she has to carry
her little baby sister or brother in her arms for


hours together, while her mother hoes the corn in
the field, or plows the ground, holding by the
handles a great wooden plow, which is drawn across
the field by one or two bullocks. Little girls in
that country work as soon as they begin to walk,
and they never cease working until they are dead.
Dress ? Oh yes they have dresses, but I hardly
think you would like to walk with the best clad


among them for half a block in our streets. They
have but one garment, and that is a long cotton
robe, with a hole cut in the top, by means of which
they can slip it over their heads and let it fall grace-
fully about their bodies. When they grow up to
be women, then they come out in their full attire,
-in gorgeous array for holidays and fiesta days,-
by adding a petticoat and a shawl folded across the
breast. If they are very rich, they have ornaments
of gold and silver in their hair, and perhaps wear
finger-rings and necklaces.
As to their houses !-well, I hardly think a re-
spectable goat would like to live in one of them.
They are not by any means as good as a dog-
kennel, and yet these peasant people sleep and eat
in them. The walls are made of mud, baked hard
in the sun, and the roofs are thatched with the






BRAVE LITTLE FLORENCIA.


leaves of the yucca-tree, which- are long and nar-
row, like a sword-blade, and have at the end a long
black thorn. Sometimes the houses are made of
large flat stones, built low, so that the earthquakes
shall not overthrow them. There is no such thing
as a floor to their houses, except the earth; nor are
there any windows or chimneys. The fire is built
on the ground, and of course the smoke fills the hut
and blackens the walls, and a portion of it escapes
at the open door. Perhaps a few of these houses
have one square window cut in the wall under the
roof, but without any glass in it The family
usually eat, dress and sleep in one room, as well as
cook their meals and receive their friends therein;
in fact, as there is but one room in the dwelling,
they can do naught else. As for beds, the leaves
of the yucca are plaited together, and make nice
mats, which are rolled up in the day-time and at
night are spread out on the floor of the hut. This
is the kind of bed used in the Eastern countries,
and it is very easy to take it up and walk," as the
man did whom we read about in the Bible.
Food is plentiful, and it would seem as if the
more nature provides for the people, the less work
they do themselves. Cattle are abundant; goats,




'-i .
-
.- - -- -

















FLORENCIA'S YUCCA-THATCHED HOME.
sheep, game and fowl are plentiful. The Indian
corn grows everywhere; potatoes, yams, coffee,
tobacco, barley, and the like are also cultivated.
Then in other parts of Mexico are to be found the
tropical fruits and plants,-oranges, figs, bananas,
olives, sugar-cane, palm-trees, apples, and guava,
-so that the country is rich, but the inhabitants
lazy. The women do the hard work; the men
.. .- ,:-.
[-



-- -- -- _= --












lazy. The women do the hard work; the men


smoke, hunt, and too often plunder travelers.
Then there is the great thick-leaved cactus-plant,
bristling all over with thorns; it grows everywhere.
One would think it useless; but no-it serves two
most important ends. You can see long hedges of
it growing in the fields, for it makes a most im-
penetrable barrier; no man or beast can pass over,
under, or through it. Its points are like a thou-
sand bayonets, turning down, up, sideways-every
way. But the peasants cut off the leaves, put them
on a stick, and hold them in the fire till the thorns
are burned off, and then feed their cattle upon them.
Now, in such a country lived our little friend
Florencia. She had no father, and perhaps no
brothers or sisters; so as soon as she was large
enough, she began to help her mother take care
of the house and field. One day, when she was
twelve years old, she heard a man who was gather-
ing a crowd about him in the streets and talk-
ing to them. Drawn by curiosity, she followed
him, and heard him tell of a good man who had
at one time lived on the earth. She heard how
this good person had been kind and forgiving
to his enemies-how men had cruelly treated him,
and yet he returned good for the evil he had re-
ceived. She was interested; it was the first time
she had heard of the Saviour, and she eagerly fol-
lowed the missionary about and heard him talk to
the people, until at last, from being a heathen, she
became a Christian girl.
Some months after this, the incident happened
which I am about to relate. At Morelos, in the
province of Guantla, about five miles from the
home of Florencia, was a cemetery. In that place
an old custom still prevails which was practiced
among the Romans hundreds of years ago,-the
offering of meats and drinks to the dead. On the
'first of November (All Saints' Day), the people go
to the graves of their dead friends, and place on
them dishes full of meat, bread, fruit, and wine.
They have a curious belief that this, in some way,
benefits the dead. We know this to be a heathen
custom, and consider it a nonsensical ceremony;
but in the country where Florencia lived, the igno-
rant and superstitious people believe in it,-in
truth, it is a part of their religion. On the first of
November, 1875, Florencia went to the cemetery
with all the other people from her neighborhood,
for a great crowd had collected there. While
walking through the cemetery, she saw her friend,
the missionary, addressing a little band of his
people, and she stopped to listen to him. He was
telling them that the dead needed no offerings of
meats and drinks, and that Christians did not follow
such customs. It may not have been wise or gen-
erous in him to talk against their custom just at
that particular time, when the people were follow-


340


[MARCH,






MARCH.


ing it as a solemn rite ; but he was sincere, and his
spirit was friendly, and his aim was to enlighten his
hearers. The crowd resented, however, and even
as he spoke a man near by threw a stone at him,









.


-_ ..
".


r-r .-flY h'_


MEXICAN STONE HUT.
which wounded him. Then others laughed, and
some bad men shouted, Kill him kill him "-
and others threw more stones, till he was beaten
down to the ground, wounded and bleeding. Five
times the poor man arose, and as often was beaten


down again. Just then, Florencia saw a man hold-
ing a large flat stone, running to throw it upon the
missionary's head, which, had it struck him, would
really have killed him.
Poor little girl Her eyes filled with tears. She
saw her good friend being stoned to death, and in
a moment she rushed through the mad crowd and
threw herself down upon the suffering, bleeding
man, covering his head with her arms; the big
stones intended for him fell upon her and wounded
her, but she clung courageously to her friend and
shielded him, unmindful of her own danger, and
caring only to save his life. In vain did they try to
pull her away ; she held on with all her strength,
and cried for help. In a few moments help came;
for the gens d'armes drove the assailants away,
and took the missionary and little Florencia, both
bleeding and sore, to the house of friends, where
they were carefully nursed. But for this noble act
of self-sacrifice, the man would have been killed.
The bravery of this little peasant girl alone saved
him. She sympathized with his :.ii,.., and
dared to help him at the risk of her own life.
Noble impulses of the heart do not always attend
on fine faces and gentle living. Many a girl would
have run, screaming with fright, from such a scene
as that in the cemetery of Guantla-Morelos. But
such bravery in a child gives promise of greater
things when she becomes a woman; and in the
noble Fiorencia we look for a kind-hearted, gener-
ous, self-sacrificing woman, who, under proper
influences, will do great good among her country-
people. She is now only fourteen, and is being
educated in a Protestant school in Mexico, away
from her wild home, and is growing daily in favor
with her teachers.






RCH.


BY M. M. H. CONwAV.


AH, surly March you 've come again,
With sleet and snow, and hail and rain;
Cold earth beneath, dark sky above you,
What have you, pray, to make us love you ?
No month is half so rough as you,
December winds less harshly blew;
What churlish ways what storm-tossed tresses !
Your presence every one distresses !
Haste, haste away! We longing wait
To greet fair April at our gate.
Cold earth beneath, dark sky above you,
Surely you 've naught to make us love you !


" Ah, see these blossoms!'" he replied,
Tossing his hail-torn cloak aside,-
" Though other months have flowers a-many,
Say, are not mine as fair as any?
See, peeping from each dusky fold,
The crocus with its cup of gold;
Violets, snowdrops white and still,
Sweeter than any summer lily;
And underneath the old oak-leaves
Her fragrant wreath the arbutus weaves,-
Whatever sky may be above me,
Surely for these all hearts will. love me "






342


URSA MAJOR is now swinging round toward the
highest part of his course above the pole. It is his
forepaw that you see, marked by the letters 0, cr,
and t, very nearly above the pole; while a and f3
are the "pointers whose motion has been already
described.
The Little Bear is nearly in a horizontal position,
and, according to my promise last month, I proceed
to give a short account of this small but most inter-
esting constellation. I do not think that the Little
Bear, like the larger one, was so named because of
any imagined resemblance to a bear. The original
constellation of the Great Bear. was much older
than the Little Bear, and so ii,..j .-IiT.. ir.-.nI nations
agreed in comparing the group to a bear, that there


THE LITTLE BEAR.
must have been a real resemblance to that animal'
in the constellation as first figured. Later, when
star-maps came to be arranged by astronomers
who had never seen bears, they supposed the three
bright stars forming the handle of the Dipper to
represent the tail of the bear, though the bear is
not a long-tailed animal. They thus set three stars
for the bear's tail, and the quadrangle of stars form-
ing the dipper itself for the bear's body. This
done, it was natural enough that, seeing in the
group of stars now forming the Little Bear the
three stars a, 6, and e on one side, and the quad-
rangle formed by the stars C, rT, 9, and y on the
other, they should call this group the Little Bear,
assigning the three stars to his tail and the quad-
rangle to his body. Thus did the constellation of
the Little Bear probably take its rise. It was not
formed by fanciful folks'in the childhood of the
world, but by astronomers. Yet it must not be
imagined that the constellation is a modern one.
It not only belongs to old Ptolemy's list, .but is
mentioned by Aratus, who borrowed his astronomy
from Eudoxus, who "flourished" (as the school-


books call it) about 360 years before the Christian
era. It is said that Thales formed the constella-
tion, in which case it must have reached the re-
spectable age of about 2500 years. It is usually
pictured as shown in Fig. I, and a very remarkable
animal it is.
But if the Little Bear is not a very fine animal, it
is a most useful constellation. From the time when
the Phoenicians were as celebrated merchant sea-
men as the Venetians afterward became, and as the
English-speaking nations now are, this star-group
has been the cynosure of every sailor's regard. In
fact, the word "cynosure" was originally a name
given either to the whole of this constellation or to
a part of it. Cynosure has become quite a poetical
expression in our time, but it means literally the
dog's tail; and either the curved row of stars a, 6,
e, /, and p was compared to a dog's tail, or else the
curved row of stars 4, 5, /, and 7. I incline, for
my own part, to think these last formed the true
cynosure-for this reason simply, that when the
constellation was first formed these stars were
nearer the pole than was our present pole-star.
Even in the time of Ptolemy, the star 3 was nearer
the pole than a, and was called in consequence by
the agreeable name AI-Kaukab-al-shemali, which
signifies "'the northern star." (For the reason why
the fixed stars thus changed in position with regard
to the .pole: of the heavens,. I must refer you to
books on astronomy, and'perhaps to a later paper.
I only note here that the star-sphere remains the
same all the time; but the earth, which is whirling
on its axis like a mighty top, is also reeling like a
top, and just as the axis of a top is swayed now
east now west, now north now south, so does the
axis of the earth vary in position as she reels. I
may add that the reeling motion is somewhat
slower than the whirling motion. The earth whirls
once on her axis in a day, but she only reels round
once in 25,868 years.)
Admiral Smyth gives some interesting particu-
lars about the two stars f and 7, called the guard-
ians of the pole." "Recorde tells us," he says,
"in the 'Castle of Knowledge,' nearly three hun-
dred years ago, that navigators used two pointers
in Ursa-' which many do call the Shafte, and
others do name the Guardas, after the Spanish
tonge.' Richard Eden, in 1584, published his
'Arte of Navigation,' and therein gave rules for
the 'starres,' among which are special directions
for the two called the guards, in the mouth of the


THE STARS IN MARCH.




THE STARS IN MARCH.

BY RICHARD A. PROCTOR.


[MARCH,







THE STARS IN MARCH.


'horne,' as the figure was called." (The pole-star
would mark the small end of the home.) In the
' Safeguard of Saylers' (1619) are detailed rules for
finding the hour of the night by the guardses."
"How often," says Hervey in his "Meditations,"
" have these stars beamed bright intelligence on the
sailor and conducted the keel to its destined haven! "
The constellation Cepheus is now about to pass
below the pole. The royal father of Andromeda is
presented in a somewhat unkingly attitude at pres-
ent-standing, to wit, upon his royal head. In any
case, the constellation is not very like a crowned
king. The stars C, e, and 6 form his head. (A
London cockney might find an aid to the memory
by noting that these letters z, e, and d spell, after


a remarkable change has taken place since last
month. Orion has passed over toward the south-
west, whither the Greater Dog is following him;
and where Orion stood in full glory last month,
there is now a singularly barren region. Not only
are no stars of the first four magnitudes visible be-
tween Hydra and the Mjlky Way, but over a large
portion of this space there is not a single star
visible to the naked eye ; insomuch that an ingeni-
ous Frenchman named M. Rabache was led to
suppose that there is here a monstrous dark body
millions of times larger than the sun, and hiding
from view stars which really lie in this direction.
He even went so far as to assert that when the sky
was very clear he had discerned the circular outline


THE CONSTELLATION OF THE GREAT SHIP.


a sort, "'iz 'ed;" but I think young folks in
America can hardly imagine the utter demorali-
zation of cockney aspirates.) The constellation
Cepheus was probably simply fitted in, that the
history of the sacrifice and rescue of Andromeda
might be complete; we have Cepheus and Cas-
siopeia, her father and mother, on one side, and,
as will be seen later, Andromeda herself, and her
rescuer, Perseus, on the other. But of all the
figures, Cassiopeia alone seems suggested by the
stars themselves; or rather a chair is suggested,
and imagination readily suggested a lady seated
therein. Why Cassiopeia rather than any other
lady from Eve downward, is not apparent.
Turning to the southern heavens, we find that


of this great body,"-the center, he said, round
which all the stars are traveling. But unfortunately
for our faith in this little story, the telescope shows
multitudes of small stars scattered over the whole
of this region.
The constellation Argo, or the Great Ship, now
occupies the region immediately above the southern
horizon. This constellation is not at all well seen
in England, or even (as you can see from the way
in which the horizon line of the latitude of Phila-
delphia divides it) in the greater part of the United
States. Only when the latitude of New Orleans is
approached, does the keel of the ship, and the
bright star Canopus in the rudder (or guiding oar),
show out well above the horizon. But, to say the


I heard of a similar case not a hundred miles from Louisville. A philosopher whose theories required that a planet should travel
closer to the sun than Mercury, and who had somehow calculated that such a planet supposed to have been seen by a Frenchman named
Lescarbault in March, 1859, would pass across the sun's face in a certain September, succeeded in seeing it there. Subsequent calculation
showed, unfortunately, that the planet, if it exists at all, would indeed have then lain in the same direction.as the sun, but beyond him,
not on this side of him An old proverb says that certain persons should lave good memories; it is at least equally true that one who
proposes to invent an observation should be a correct computer.






344 TIIE STARS

truth, this fine celestial ship nowhere presents in
these days the ship-shape appearance which it had
some three thousand years ago. The same cause
which has shifted the position of the poles of the
heavens, has tilted Argo up by the stern, until she
resembles rather one half of a vessel which has


IN MARCH.


pus, to place the constellation as it now appears
above the southern horizon. I believe that in
reality the old constellation, besides being better
placed, was much larger than the present. The
fine group of clustering stars now covering the
Dove and the hind-quarters of the Dog, belonged,


been broken on a ridge of rocks, than as she was I think, to the stern of Argo. In fact, these stars
formerly described, "the stern half of a vessel form the well-marked outline of one of the old-
drawn poop foremost into harbor." I have drawn fashioned lofty poops. The Dove, by the way, is a
her in Fig. 2 as she was placed three thousand years well-placed little constellation ; but the Dog pranc-
ago. You have only to tilt the picture sideways a ing just behind the stern of Argo forms an alto-
little, until Sirius on the dog's nose is above Cano- gether incongruous element in the picture.


[MARCH,






THE STARS IN MARCH.


The constellation Argo is divided. We have
Puppis, the poop or stern; Malus, the mast; Vela,
the sails; and Carina, the keel. Not to confuse
the map with many lines, I have not shown the
limits of these parts. In fact, they can only be
properly shown in a regular star-atlas. (In Map V.


Argfis, but the stars close by marked k, and n3,
would be called k Puppis and n Puppis, and so on.
The part of the Milky Way occupied by Argo is
remarkable for its singularly complex shape. It is
well to notice how incorrect is the ordinary descrip
tion of the Milky Way as a zone of cloudy star-


of my pocket-atlas for schools these subdivisions light circling the entire heavens. Here you see it
are shown.) Only it is to be noticed that while the spreading out into a great fan-shaped expansion,
Greek letters refer to the whole ship, the italic and separated from a somewhat similar one by a wide
Roman letters refer to the various parts. Thus dark space.
the stars marked p and ( (on the summit of the Above the equator, two zodiacal constellations
stern) would be called respectively p Argfis and are seen,-the fine constellation Gemini, or the
VOL. IV.-23.







THE STARS IN MARCH.


Twins, and the poor one Cancer, or the Crab.
Cancer used to be the sign in which the sun attained
his greatest elevation in summer, or rather it was
as he entered this sign that he was at his highest.
But you see from the map that all the way through
the part of Gemini shown, and onward through
Cancer, the sun's course is down-hill,-or, in other
words, it is after midsummer that he traverses these
constellations. The sign a marks the beginning
of the zodiacal sign of the Lion.
The constellation Gemini no doubt derived its
name from the two bright stars, nearly equal in
luster, Castor and Pollux. Of these, Castor was
formerly the brighter, but now Pollux is brighter,
nearly in the proportion of four to three. Formerly
this star-group was represented by a pair of kids ;
but the Greeks substituted twin-children with their
feet resting on the Milky Way. The Arabian
astronomers, in their turn, changed the twins to
peacocks; and the astronomers of the middle ages
pictured the twins as two winged angels. It would
be difficult to say whether the group reminds one
more (or less) of kids, or twins, or peacocks, or
angels.
Gemini is said by astrologers to be the sign
specially ruling over London, though why this
should be so they do not tell us. We can under-
stand why sailors should regard the sign as pro-
pitious to them, for when the sun is in Gemini the
seas are usually calm,-at least summer is more
pleasant for sailors than winter. You will remem-


ber that the ship in which Paul sailed from Malta
had for its sign the twin brothers, Castor and
Pollux.
As the Twins pass over toward the west, hour by
hour, or night by night at the same hour, they
come into the position described by Tennyson,
where he sings of
"a time of year
When the face of night is fair* on the dewy downs,
And the shining daffodil dies, and the Charioteer
And starry Gemini hang like glorious crowns
Over Orion's grave low down in the west."

Cancer is a very poor constellation to the eye,
but full of interest to the telescopist. Even with a
very small telescope, the little cluster called Pre-
sepe, or the Bee-hive, is found to be full of stars.
Galileo, whose best telescope was but a poor one,
counted thirty-eight stars in this cluster, which to
the naked eye looks like a mere fleck of faintly
luminous cloud.
The weather-wise of old times regarded Prae-
sepe with peculiar interest. When it was clearly
visible they expected fine dry weather, while its
gradual disappearance as the air thickened with
moisture was regarded as a sign of approaching
rain. On the whole, however, I think the Weather
Probabilities more trustworthy than this and similar
prognostics.
Next month, Hydra, the Sea-serpent, will have
come fairly above the southern horizon, and will
deservedly claim our attention.


* This description is truer for European than for American nights, for the pleasant nights of spring come later in America than with us.


SPRING WORK.
Drawt by Mary A. Lathbury.


346


[MARCH,






1877.1


CHAPTER IV.
MAKING CANDY.
THE minister said: Now for the molasses can-
dy. Bring the jug,-Seth, Sammy, Sandy,-some
of you "
The jug was brought with alacrity, and a full
quart of molasses poured into the skillet.
Thirza and Tilda had the dishes to wash, and
they wished very much that they were done, so
they could sit round the stove with the rest, and
watch the boiling of the molasses; and Tiny-toes
had to rock the cradle, but only for a little while,
till her mother was ready to sit down to her sewing,
and then she would jog it with her foot.
"Let's never mind to wash the big pudding-
dish," whispered Tilda to Thirza. "It's heavy
and hateful to do, and we can push it under the
sink-board and let it be till morning."
I wont be a shirk," said Thirza. Besides, it
may be wanted for the candy."
Then Tilda was ashamed, and her cheeks grew
hot, because she had been willing to be a shirk;
and she wiped the heavy dish in silence, and put it
away.
The molasses had but just begun to boil when
the last dish-towel was rinsed and hung up, and
the neatly wiped sink closed for the night.
Better butter the dish before you sit down,
girls," said their father. Then it will be all ready
when we want to pour out the candy."
What dish shall you want?" asked Thirza.
"The large pudding-dish," said the mother;
and Tilda's cheeks got hot again. They had a way
of reddening at the slightest provocation. She was
glad now that the dish had not been pushed under
the sink-board. When it was well buttered, they
sat down with the rest, to watch the boiling of the
molasses.
How shall you know when it is done, when
you have n't any snow to try it on ? asked Thirza.
Oh, I can tell said the minister.
How ? persisted Pattikin.
By experience," said her father.
The big word daunted Patty for a minute, and
she pondered what it might mean.
Does anybody have any 'cept ministers ?" she
asked by and by.
Any what, Pattikin ?"
Sperence," said Patty, gravely.
Ha, ha, ha laughed the minister. Why,


yes, child Experience is what we learn by trying.
I have learned by trying, so that I can tell pretty
well when the candy is done."
Oh said Pattikin.
By and by, the candy bubbled clear up to the
top of the skillet, and the minister had to take it
off the fire and hold it up, and let it cool a little,
or it would have boiled over.
I guess it's 'most done. Get a saucer and a
spoon, Sandy, and we will try it," said he.
It was tasted, and worked with the spoon, and
the children all judged it done; but their father
said, No, it needs another ten minutes."
At last, he took it off and tried it again, and
tasted it, and whopped it over and over with the
spoon, and said, DONE! "
Then he took it to the table, where the pudding-
dish stood ready, and poured it out,-the children
clustering about like bees to watch every move-
ment.
Will it take long to cool ? asked Pattikin.
Very long, if we stand by and watch it. That
is, it will seem very long. We will set it by the
open window in my study, and then come back
here and each tell a story, and by the time we get
round the circle it will be cool."
Well, you begin," said Pattikin, who liked her
father's stories.
No, we will let the youngest begin, and go on
up to the oldest."
I can't think of any," said Pattikin.
Tell something. It need n't be very long,"
said her father.
Once, last winter," began Patty, you let me
go to the post-office. It was a pretty cold day, and
before I got there I wished I had n't started. But,
coming home, I came acrost a sleigh, and the man
stopped his horse and said, 'Hop in, little girl.
You can ride home just as well as not.' So I
hopped in, pretty glad. And he said, 'You are
the minister's little one, aint you ?' I don't know
how he knew, for I did n't know him; but I said,
'Yes, sir.' Then he said, 'It must take a lot o'
fodder to keep such a flock of boys and girls as
there is at your house.' I said, 'We don't eat
fodder-we eat bread;' and he laughed. And
then, in a minute, we stopped at the door; and he
pulled out a codfish from under the buffalo, and
said, 'You give that to your pa, if he wants it;
and if he don't want it, you can have it to slide
down hill on.' And I hoped awf'ly that you


347


PATTIKIN'S HOUSE.




PATTIKIN'S HOUSE.

BY JoY ALLISON.







PATTIKIN'S HOUSE.


would n't want it, 'cause it would 'a' been just big
enough for me to slide on ; but you said, 'Of
course, and much obliged to him,'-and that's all
I can tell."
And so you lost your slide ?" said her father,
laughing. Well, Sandy, it's your turn now."
There did n't nothing ever happened to me,"
said Sandy.
Tell how you planted the chenangoes last
spring," suggested Seth.
"Half a peck in a hill, and then went off
a-fishin'," said Sandy.
Ho that aint the way to tell it said Patti-
kin. "Can't you make a story of it ? "
We shall have to let Sandy go, and give him
up as an incorrigible," said the minister. We
might as well try to get a story out of the old
gobbler as out of him. Tilda, you can tell one."
When I was a little girl," said Tilda --
What are you now ? asked Samuel, mischiev-
ously.
Hush, Sammy You must n't interrupt," said
his mother.
Tilda began again.
Last summer, Mr. Iturbide's folks had com-
pany; and it was Mehitable's cousin from Boston,
and her name was Ida Ella Fonsa Iturbide. I
thought that was a very fine name. Well, one
day, mother let me go over to see Hitty and Ida.
I carried my rag-baby, and Hitty had hers; but
Ida had a real doll, with red cheeks and curly hair,
and she made fun of ours, and said they had n't
any noses, and all such things. We did n't like it,
Hitty and I, though we did n't say much, because
Ida was a city girl, and Hitty's company. By and
by we went out into the barn, and we laid our
babies down on a little bed that we made in the
hay. When we came back for them, Prince (the
puppy, you know) was lying beside them, and he
had chewed up one of Ida's dolly's arms, and the
sawdust was all coming out; and he had licked
some of the paint off its face too. You never saw
such a mad girl as Ida was. She wanted to whip
Prince with a big stick, but we would n't let her.
The school-mistress covered the arm over new,
and painted the dolly's cheek. Only it did n't look
so nice as it did before. And that's all."
Here the minister got up and went to look at the
candy.
"As true as I live, it's cool already said he.
"We shall have to hear the rest of the stories
another time."
Shall we all have some to pull?" asked Tilda.
"Every one that can show a clean pair of
hands."
The wash-bowl and the soap and the towels were
in great demand then, and such faithful scrubbing
I


was n't done every day by the minister's children.
One pair of hands after another was presented for
inspection, approved, and, after being buttered,.
received a portion of the candy to pull.
And such glee as there was, as they walked the
kitchen, working the candy. The minister's did n't
stick a bit; and such handsome yellow strands as.
he would draw out But the rest did not succeed
so well.
Mine gets all stucked on to my fingers," said
Pattikin.
Keep farther from the fire, and put on more
butter," said her father.
Pattikin kept out in the corner after that. She
worked like a little hero, but the more she worked
the worse it would stick. At last, the minister
heard a sound like a little sob, and looking round,.
there was Patty in the farthest and darkest corner
of the room, with her face toward the wall, her ten
little fingers stuck together by a hopelessly dark,
dauby-looking mass, and her tears falling right
down on it.
"The hateful stuff! 1 did n't think it would
acted so said she, when her father came to her.
"Why, Pattikin Come out here and let me
clean you up. You shall have some of mine to
eat, and yours can go to the piggy. Of course
he 'll want some," said the minister.
I'll do it, father, if you'll finish mine," said
Sandy. It don't do so well in my hands as it.
does in yours."
So Sandy took a knife and carefully released his
little' sister's fingers, and then washed them and
wiped away her tears, and by that time the candy
was worked enough.
Thirza brought the molding-board, and then the
father twisted out the sticks, while Seth cut them
off and laid them straight on the board to get
hard.
"Another knife-handle came off to-day," said
the mother.
"Another! Our supply must be getting short!'
said the minister.
Only three left said his wife.
The minister drew a little breath through his
lips as if he were about to whistle. But he did n't.
He said:
I shall have to attend to that business."
We all have to eat with knives that have lost
their handles but Seth," said Thirza, with an in-
jured air.
They would n't have come off so soon if you
had been more careful about putting them into hot
water," said her mother.
Bring out all the broken pewter spoons there
are. I '11 see what I can do," said her father.
Thirza found six.


348


[MARCH,






PATTIKIN'S HOUSE.


Now that old teapot with the bottom melted,"
said he.
Then he opened the front doors of the stove.
There was a splendid bed of glowing coals, and he
put a part of his old pewter into the fire-shovel
and set it on the coals to melt. Then he got the
handleless knives and wound some strong, thick,
brown paper into a little smooth, straight, hollow


And three more verses. Only Pattikin did n't sing
after the first verse, because she fell to wondering
who "Mary Turn" was, and what she had done
that was so bad. She was thinking so earnestly
that she nearly forgot to kneel down at prayers.
May be you'll think they went to bed without a
taste of that candy. No, indeed They had been
eating it all along, as they worked it and as it was


SANDY TO THE RESCUE!


handle, and tied it on. He had sprinkled some
fine powder all over the bit of iron to which the
handle had been fastened. Then, when the lead
was melted in the shovel, he very carefully poured
:the hollow paper full, and set it aside to cool. To
keep it in an upright position, he stuck it in a
,crack in the floor of the back kitchen.
Now, when that gets hard, we'll take off the
paper and see if it is worth while to try another,"
:said he.
It's been time the youngest ones were abed
this hour," said the mother.
So they all sat around the fire and sang:

Life is the time to serve the Lord,
The time to insure the great reward;
And while the lamp holds out to burn,
The vilest sinner may return."


cut up, till they really did n't care for another bit
that night. Only I forgot to say so before.

CHAPTER V.
AUNT SARAH'S VISIT.
IN the morning, the knife was taken out of the
crack in the back-room floor, and the brown paper
taken off, and there appeared a beautifully round,
smooth handle, as white and shining as silver. It
was a little heavy, to be sure, but on the whole the
minister was so well pleased with the success of his
experiment, that he put on the other six that day,
before he started for the Association, and left them
in the crack to cool while he was gone, or till they
should be wanted.
; Will hot water hurt these ?" asked Thirza one






PATTIKIN'S HOUSE.


day, while they were yet a new thing, examining
them with great satisfaction.
Never a bit !" said the minister; and then
remembering his dignity, "Not at all, my dear.
Those are good, I think, for the next fifty years."
I must pass by the digging of the potatoes,-
though, you may be sure, they made something
interesting of the job; and the stone-picking, and
the corn-husking.
I think the next thing that happened out of the
ordinary course of events was Aunt Sarah's visit.
She came about Thanksgiving time. The first
snow came that same afternoon, and the big yellow
stage-coach, the veiled and fur-clad passengers,
were all seen through a mist of fine feathery flakes.
Aunt Sarah had to alight into the soft fleece, but
three or four brooms were quickly engaged sweep-
ing a broad path for her to walk to the house.
They almost forgot their joy at the coming of
the snow for an hour after her arrival. But they
soon were tired of sitting quietly and watching the
new-comer, and she was too cold and numb, after
her long ride, to talk much; so they presently stole
out, one by one, to revel again in the new delight.
They held up their hahds to catch the falling flakes.
They made unnecessary paths in all directions,
which were filled up in an hour. They pelted one
another with snow-balls, and even began a snow
man, which they had to leave at the knees, because
supper was ready.
After supper, they got off shoes and stockings,
as they always did, unless it was very cold indeed,
and their mother forbade it; and a whispering
began at Tilda, and passed round the circle to all
but Pattikin (who was in Aunt Sarah's lap) and the
baby in his cradle, and shortly after they were all
missing, and down the hill they went, their white
feet flying through the whiter, softer snow, ankle
deep already, and their gleeful shouts rousing Mrs.
Vesta from her first snooze, and causing her to
wonder what had got into the little Joneses now.
Aunt Sarah was horrified when they came back
into the kitchen, two minutes after, rosy and pant-
ing, and huddling about the fire to dry their glow-
ing feet. She had been living in the city, where
the children were like flowers grown in a hot-
house, and she had no idea of such sturdy "olive-
plants." But their mother took it very quietly, for
she was used to their pranks and never needlessly
frightened.
You will slide down-hill on my sled some day,
Aunt Sarah, wont you-when there is snow enough
for good sliding ? asked Seth.
I? Why, it's been twenty years since I've
been out sliding down-hill said Aunt Sarah.
"So much the more reason why you should
do it now, then said the minister.


Seth being thus encouraged by his father, and
assisted also by the importunities of Sammy,
Simon, and Sandy, prevailed upon his aunt to.
give a promise.
But they had to wait a good while. One light,
soft snow fell after another. There was plenty of
breaking roads, shoveling paths, and merry sleigh-
riding to school, but the wind would not make
drifts, nor would the sun melt the snow enough to.
allow the formation of a crust. They made the
path from the front door to the road broad and
smooth, and did some sliding down the slope. But
this was not their sliding-place.
Over west of the frog-pond was a long, not too.
steep slope. Then a short, level stretch, and then
an abrupt fall of the land as in a terrace, and this.
brought them to the edge of the pond. The im-
petus of that last leap sent them clear across the,
ice to the farther side. With such a glorious place
as this, no wonder they looked scornfully upon the.
gentle declivity in front of the house. There was.
one thing, however, which redeemed it, and gave
it some zest. This was the fact that the least in-
advertence in steering down that narrow path
brought them up in a snow bed at once.
As the time of Aunt Sarah's visit was drawing to.
a close, the boys concluded it must be the slope or
nothing; and she being more willing to take the
risk of being plunged into the snow here, than to.
face the dangers of the "flying leap," favored the
idea of taking her ride at once. She had insisted
that it should come off in the evening. She was
not going to make a spectacle of herself by broad
daylight."
So, one moonlight night, they led Aunt Sarah
out for her promised slide. She looked at the-
long, narrow, frail-looking structure they called-
"the sled," and said:
You go down once first, while I stand here and
watch you. Two or three of you pile on at once.
I want to be sure the thing wont break down
under me."
"Why, Aunt Sarah It's as strong as iron.
We've all of us been on it at once !" said Seth.
" Well, come on then, boys. Let's go down once,
and let aunty see if it is n't fine fun."
They were ready,-more than "two or three" of
them,-and in a minute the sled was loaded and
went gliding swiftly down the slope, and away
across the road, where the load resolved itself into,
separate youngsters, who came trooping back De-
hind the sled.
There was no excuse for delay, so Aunt Sarah
took her place, behind Seth, on the sled. Just as.
they were starting off, the minister himself came out.
"Now steer carefully, Seth! Remember, you've-
got valuable freight on board," said he.


CM ARCH.





PATTIKIN'S HOUSE.


351


Yes, sir replied Seth, and they went down.
Smoothly, gracefully, not too swiftly, they glided
on till they reached the place where the sled had
stopped before; and Aunt Sarah, pleased to find
herself right side up and in good order, walked
smilingly back up the hill.
I believe I 'll try it myself," said the minister.
" Sarah, we used to slide down-hill together,-
suppose we try it now."
She had gained so much confidence by her first
success, that she made little objection to trying
again, especially with her brother. Doubtless, if
Seth could steer so well, his father could do still
better. So the robes were tucked up again, and
off they went.
But somehow-not even the minister knew how
--the sled slewed to one side, and instantly they
found themselves floundering in deep snow outside
the path. There was a great shout of laughter
from the irreverent youngsters at the top of the hill.
"Did you do that on purpose, John ? the vic-
tim asked reproachfully, as she got up and shook
her garments and stamped off the snow.
" No, really, Sarah !" said the minister, laugh-
ing, but mortified. It takes more practice than
I supposed to steer a sled like this down such a
narrow path."
Aunt Sarah would go in then. She had had
enough of sliding, she said,-should n't get over
the twist her neck got for a week, she dared say.
So she and her brother went in, and the children
stayed to have their good time out.
She went away two days after-back to her city
home. She could n't stay any longer, because it
was almost Christmas, and Uncle Ralph's family,
where she made her home, made much account
of Christmas. The minister's family did not. It


had not yet become the fashion up among the
New England hills; and they were in no hurry to
introduce it, because where the families were very
large it might be doubtful whether old Santa Claus
could fill all the stockings. They were thankful,
for their part, to be able to furnish the stockings
themselves at present.
They had a fire in the best room the afternoon
before Aunt Sarah went. The minister's wife had
made a plum-cake, and they got out the strawberry
preserves, and made a grand supper in her honor,
with the best dishes and all. Nobody was there
but the home circle, of course, but that was "a
party any time and all the time. And it pleased
Aunt Sarah better than if they could have had a
grand ball.
After it was over, they all went back to the best
room, and sat round the fire, talking, except the
girls, who staid in the kitchen to wash the dishes.
Tilda and Pattikin almost quarreled over a bit of
cake that had been left on the table. Their judg-
ment in discerning a hair-breadth of difference in
the size of the two pieces into which they had cut
it was really surprising; and when it was settled
between them at last, it dawned upon their greedy
little minds that Thirza ought also to have a share
in the leavings.
Here we've left none for Tlirza We must
each give her a piece of ours said Tilda, pre-
paring to divide hers.
I don't want any cake that's had to be fought
about," said Thirza, scornfully.
Tilda's cheeks grew hot, and her cake seemed
to choke her; but Pattikin coolly swallowed hers,
and then retreated to the parlor, as if her share of
the clearing-up was done. And I suppose it was,
for she was such a little girl.


(To be continued.)




POOR KATY DELAY.

By MARIA W. JONES.


WITH cheeks like pink roses abloom in May,
And eyes like the stars, so sparkling were
they !
With breath like sweet clover, or new-mown
hay,
Ah pretty and sweet was Katy Delay.
And good and wise we should find her this
day,
Had it not been for a very bad way
She had, whenever her mother would say,
" Come, Katy, and learn !" of crying, I'1 stay


Just five minutes more or Dear mother, pray
Wait till to-morrow,--I want so to play! "

Now she is old and wrinkled and gray.
And knows no more than they do at Cathay,-
Foolish and old, and never a ray
Of comfort for her who once was so gay;
And all because she would have her own way.
Somehow or other, 't is always to-day;
She never has found, I'll venture to say,
Any to-morrow. Poor Katy Delay!





FOR VERY LITTLE FOLKS.


"MISS MUFFETT" SERIES-No. VII.


~~ -p


LITTLE TRADJA of Norway,
She sat in the door-way,
Eating her reindeer broth;


There came a big badger,
And little Miss Tradja
Soon carried her meal further north.


THE SICK FROG.

HAVE you ever seen a green frog which was fed on nothing but pennies?
Marie had one. It was made of iron, and painted green, with large black
eyes, and it was to be used as a savings bank. It was a curious-looking
frog, with its green speckled back; and when Marie pressed her finger
on its left foot, it opened its mouth wide. Then she dropped a penny in
the mouth, and let go of the foot. What do you think froggy did? He
shut up his mouth, swallowed the pennies, and winked his two black eyes,


352


[MARCH,





'877.] FOR VERY LITTLE FOLKS. 353

as if to say, "That's good-give me another!" It was such fun to feed
the frog and see him wink!
But one day poor froggy was sick. He would not eat nor roll his eyes.
Marie did n't know what to do. She shook him till he must have been
dizzy. She turned him upside down, she pounded him, but it was all
of no avail,-froggy would not move his mouth or eyes. At last she took
him to mamma.
"Mamma, dear, froggy will not eat any more!"
"Too bad, indeed!" said mamma. Let me see what is the matter."
So she looked in the frog's mouth, just as a doctor looks at little girls'
tongues when they are ill and cannot eat.
Why, what is this I see?" said mamma. Bring me my scissors."
Marie brought the long shears, and mamma thrust them into the frog's
mouth, and soon brought out a piece of slate pencil.
Why, no wonder poor froggy was sick! Now, don't ever put any-
thing in his mouth, my little girl, except pennies, and he will be all right."





















Just then the frog gave a wink with both eyes, as he always did when
he was well, and little Marie was happy.
Oh, you good frog!" said she. "Now you shall have a real nice
dinner," and she dropped a silver ten-cent piece into his mouth, which he
quickly swallowed, seeming to say, by his winks, I 'm all right now."








354 JACK IN THE PULPIT. [MARCH,


IC%-N _T I T


J \ NIIL-ULIJ


How d'ye do, my chicks ?
Spring is close at hand, they say; but, if so, she
has forgotten to bring her weather. May be it is
to be sent after her by express-who knows ?
Meantime, here is something that will interest
you.
CRYSTALLIZED HORSES.
REAL, live horses encrusted with crystal! Most
of my children would think that could not be a pos-
sible thing, I suppose; but I have some boys and
girls away off in British America, or even in Min-
nesota, or Iowa, or Dakota, who could tell you that
it is possible, for they have seen it.
In these places, as in other cold countries, a
horse when resting after a rapid drive in the frosty
atmosphere will be found covered with ice-crystals.
It is the moisture from his body and his breath
which has frozen upon him, forming beautiful little
ice-crystals over his whole form. In this condition
he looks like an immense toy horse covered with
sugar.
Who among you have seen this thing "with
your own eyes ?"

A FRESH-WATER WHALE.
You must know that as the white whale in the
great New York Aquarium is at present the only
captive whale on earth, he is, of course, a great
pet, and always has the best of treatment. He has
two bushels of live eels daily, and until the icy
winter interfered, he had his enormous tank kept
constantly filled with frequent supplies of salt sea-
water. Of late, this has been so hard to obtain,
that he has had to depend on Croton. Yes, for
many weeks this great sea-king has been living
entirely on fresh water There's a let-down for a
respectable whale I suppose he considers himself
in a very decided pickle, though it may strike us


differently. And how strange he must feel-the
great, heavy, floundering, flapping l!;nr, --;, water
so much lighter than he has been accustomed to,
to say nothing of its want of flavor Still he
thrives, and gulps down his two bushels of live eels
with great relish. Long may he prosper !

Later.-By Telegrafi/.-Bad news! The great
white whale is no more! He has gone to still
fresher waters. He died suddenly on January 27th,
while the music was playing and crowds of unsus-
pecting visitors were looking on, wondering at his
unusual liveliness.

SCHOOL LUNCHEONS.
DEAR JACK: Will you allow me to say a few
words to your young folks on the matter of school
luncheons? (Yes, indeed, Jack will!) I have
noticed that new scholars coming to the red school-
house, usually, until they fall into the ways of
established pupils, bring for their noon luncheon
cakes, pies, and even candies. One day a little girl
actually brought a pop-corn ball, a whole box of
guava jelly and a pickle Such things, you 'll
admit, form very improper nourishment for grow-
ing children to depend upon daily from 8 A. M. till
4 P. M., and boys and girls cannot be too warmly
advised against their use. Fruit in its season,
apples and oranges at any time, good bread and
butter, meat sandwiches-these always are safe
and wholesome. But it occurs to me that there
may be many other things equally good, and that
the young people can help each other to find them
out. Therefore, with this in view, and also in the
hope of partially ascertaining the extent of the evil
to which I have alluded, I have a request to make
of one and all:
Will you not, dear girls and boys, each write
a letter telling me what you ordinarily take to
school for your noon feeding? Tell me of the
luncheons you like best, and which you oftenest ob-
tain. Don't write out an ideal lunch, naming the
things that you would have, if you could, when in
your most enlightened state. Tell me what you
actually take. If it be molasses candy and pickles,
say so. If it be mince-pie and sausages, or plain
apples and crackers, tell me frankly. Consider
yourself in the light of workers for the public good,
and let the whole truth come out.
A good Boston school lately took occasion in its
annual catalogue to say that its pupils suffer more
from want of nourishing food than from all other
matters combined that come into the school-hours.
They add: It is of little use to arrange for varied
lessons, frequent change of position, softened light,
proper attitude, and pure air, if health is constantly
undermined by inattention to food."
Do you not see that it is time for school-girls
and school-boys to take the matter into serious
consideration? Talk it over with your parents,
young friends, and beg them to have fortitude to
withstand you when you coax them for meringues
and mince-pies !
Who knows what may be the result of this


354


JACK- INV-THE- PULPIT.


[MARCH,






JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.


" movement,"-what dainty, excellent things may
come into general adoption among you school-
children; what sallow, blotched faces may be
cleared up; what headaches may be driven away ;
what rosy cheeks brought into bloom ; what school-
triumphs may follow i All write, little and big !
Address, The Little Schoolma'am, care of Scrib-
ner & Co., 743 Broadway, New York." Write
only on one side of the paper; give your full name
and address ("confidentially," if you prefer it),
and, above all, let straightforward, simple fact-
telling be the order of the day.
Now, dear Jack, if the boys and girls respond to
my request, I shall indeed be
Your happy
LITTLE SCHOOLMA'AM.


A REAL BABY-HOUSE.
Talbot County,.near Easton, Md.
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: I am going to tell you about our
baby-house, because it is built out-of-doors, and some of the dear
Little Schoolma'am's girls may like to make one of the same kind.
It is built of rough little pine-logs. It has pine-rushes on the
roof to keep the rain out, for, you know, pine rushes shed water.
Our house is very lark inside, for it has no windows except a pane
of glass in the door. The door is very narrow, and I have to go
in sideways, as I am rather fat. We have a stove in our house; it
is the upper part of an old hall-stove, but it cooks very nicely on top.
There is no place to bake. We cook coffee, tea, chocolate, toast
bread, stew taffy, and boil eggs there. Our stove is very warm, and
it lights up the room nicely when there is a good fire in it. We
have also a little cart and an old horse; her name is "Dolly." She
is old, and has a swelled leg. Mother would not sell her to any
one, but gave her to us, on condition that we would be very kind and
gentle to her. We haul rushes from the woods for the roof and for
chinking up our house, and wood for our stove. We go out in our
cart whenever we want to, for Dolly is very easy to catch, and
she is very willing to help us. Alice puts her to. (Alice is my sister;
she will be eleven years old to-morrow.) We have not fixed the
floor of our house yet, but it is to be of boards, with pine rushes on
top for a carpet. I am fourteen and a half years old. I inclose a


i---' ''.
^ ^ it


-T;
__- e .


1- i

ftV r'' I L'-- -- .- -






picture, which I drew myself. I hope it is good enough for you to
show to my ST. NICHOLAS cousins. The door ofa new one ought to
be much larger, so that escape would be easy in case of fire. But we
are very careful.-Yours truly, MINNIE.


A. SEED IN THE WOOL.

A LITTLE bird told me lately of a tiny flower
which appeared, a few years ago, along the rail-
roads in the Southern States. It suddenly and com-
pletely carpeted the ground.
The Little Schoolma'am says that it is called Acan-
thospermum,-she delights in using a large part
of the alphabet in one word, you know. It is a


South American plant; and how do you think it
happened to be traveling by railroad?
The seeds are supposed to have been introduced
by the wool imported from that country.
If the products which were sent to the "Cen-
tennial" from all over the world, and from all parts
of our own land, have scattered seeds in this way,
what startling carpets may greet our eyes this
spring !
CINDERELLA'S SLIPPER.
Bangor, Me.
DEAR JACK: Of course you keep posted on the doings of the
fairies. If any of the descendants of Cinderella's fairy godmother
are with you, will you please ask them about this paragraph, which I
cut from a newspaper?
"Was it really a glass slipper by means of which Cinderella tri-
umphed over unnatural relatives and won the hand of the prince ?
No, that is a philological blunder. The story of Cinderella was a
tradition before it was put into print in the French of Charles Per-
rault. In medieval French, the phonetic equivalent of verre (glass)
was vaire, a kind of variegated or spotted fur. The first man who.
turned the spoken into the written legend is answerable for the intro-
duction of verre instead of vaire, and hence for changing the slipper
of the ancient story into the now universally acc..r 1, :1per.
The verre is a manifest absurdity; the pretty C ....- ..I .. not
have danced in it. The fur slipper, on the contrary, has abundant
excuse for its appearance in the story, for was not the wearing of
'fur and other pelletry' rigidly forbidden by the sumptuary laws to.
all but princes and princesses?"
Now, dear Jack, in behalf of my anxious little ones, I ask you-is.
this true? Yours truly,
A CONSTANT READER'S MAMMA.

Dear me! This is sad news, indeed. But it
might have been expected. The moment a man
of inquiring mind gets hold of a fairy story or a
legend, he plays the mischief with it. Now, dear
mother of a constant reader, if you take Jack's
advice, you '11 treat this so-called item of informa-
tion as a base slander. Let it go. The children
don't want anything more of that sort. The fel-
low may pride himself as he pleases on being able
to see through a glass slipper,-but it's no credit
to him. Why, he'll be trying next to haul down
Jack's bean-stalk! He'd better look out!

THE OLDEST ORGAN IN THE COUNTRY.
DEAR LITTLE SCHOOLMA'AM : In these wonderful Centennial times,
when people are eagerly bringing forth their ancestors' treasures from
trunks and attics, I am sure the children join in the prevailing interest,
and would like to hear the history of the oldest organ in the country.
Portsmouth, down by the sea-side in New Hampshire, is quite rich
in antiquities, and one of the choicest relics-better to me than the
old houses, or the old chairs or china-is the old organ in the Epis-
copal chapel. We claim that it is the first organ ever brought to
America. Many years ago, the facts concerning this organ were
collected, and published in some musical journal, and an extract was
cut from the paper, and pasted upon the organ. Though the
print is yellow with varnish and time, yet in this way the organ is
able to tell its own story; and this is, in substance, what it says:
"The organ was built in England, was purchased by Thomas.
Battle, Esq., and brought to America in 1713; and was set up in
King's Chapel."
You know what a prejudice existed, in the days of our forefathers,
against organs. The record admits that the prejudice was not
abated in favor of this instrument. Just think of its coming to us a
stranger in a strange land, meeting no cordial reception, but treated
to an imprisonment of seven months in the tower of the church! It
was finally placed in the church, where it was used until the year
1756. It was then sold to St Paul Church in Newburyport, where
it did active service for eighty years. Then, in r836, Portsmouth
became the home of the old organ; the price paid for it at the time
of the last purchase was nearly $450. For one hundred and sixty-
three years its pipes have sounded, and it has not yet wholly lost its
sweetness or its usefulness,-not so old that it may not at times be
heard accompanying the chants of the church. We like to feel that
it has found its home, that the pretty recess of the chapel whe-e it
now stands shall forever be its resting-place. L. B. G.






YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS' DEPARTMENT.


YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS' DEPARTMENT.


PANSY'S LOVERS.

BY A LITTLE GIRL.

Spring-time.
PANSY, little pansy,
Wrapped in velvet hues,
Pansy, little pansy,
Bathed in morning dews:

Pansy, little pansy,
I'm your lover true;
I am gentle Spring-time,
Come to welcome you.

Summter.
Pansy, little pansy,
Art thou here, my sweet,
Waiting for the lover
Thou hast longed to meet?

I am he, my darling,
I am Summer gay;
When I come, my sweetheart,
Spring-time hastes away.
A aumn.
Pansy, little pansy,
Dost thou not know me?
I am glorious Autumn,
Tinting vine and tree.

Pansy, little pansy,
Grant me this one boon,-
Stay with me, my darling,
Winter's commg soon.
Winter.
Pansy, little pansy,
Dost thou love us all?
Then, my darling pansy,
Answer Winter's call.

Pansy, little pansy,
I'm the flowers' night,-
I'll fold you in my arms, pet,
Wrapped in mantles white.


L. D. D.


SOME CALIFORNIA SCENES.

I LivE in Oakland, California. Last year dear papa took Harry
and Wallie, my two brothers, and myself up to the Summit, Donner
Lake and Lake Tahoe. We had never seen snow falling until we
went to the Summit House, where we arrived by the overland rail-
road about midnight. When I looked out of the window in the
morning, I saw something flying about, and thought it was mosqui-
toes. I called to papa, who was in the next room, to look at the
great number of mosquitoes; he told me I was mistaken, that it was
snowing. When we heard this we all jumped up and were soon out
in the snow. The snow sheds (called galleries) over the railroad
track, and the mountains all around, were white, and the snow was
falling in beautiful large flakes like soft white down. But I do not
intend to tell you about that trip in this letter.
Pescadero-which, papa says, is the Spanish for fisherman-
is a little village near the ocean. On the first ofJuly we all-that is,
papa, mamma, aunt Mattie, Harry, Wallie, with my little playmate,
Maud, and two ladies and one gentleman, r..1 ., .1--1 ri .1 1 ,. i
on the eight o'clock train for the wharf at o : l-. -'
railroad, where we went on the ferry-boat to San Francisco, and then
on the street-cars to the steam-cars; we left the cars at San Matoe
and rode in a four-horse coach ti Pescadero; the coach was full
inside, and papa, Harry, Maud and I rode on top. The road winds
along the sides of mountains to Half-Moon Bay; in some places
we were hundreds of feet above the little houses in at the foot of the
mountains. We stopped for dinner at Half Moon Bay, and arrived
at Pescadero about five o'clock. The Swanton House was decorated
with flags, and a large flag was on a pole in front of the hotel, and
ropes, with hundreds of little flags on them, were fastened to the flag-
pole and to houses across the streets. We children had each a cen-


tennial flag, which we waved as we drove up to the hotel. We did
not stop at the hotel, but had a cottage. There are four beautiful
cottages, with a green lawn and trees in front; ours was named
" Myrtle," the others were Ivy," Oak," and Fern."
The next morning we went to Pebble Beach, a little beach with a
high bank on one side, and large rocks at each end, over which the
waves dash with a great booming sound and splash. The beach is
covered with beautiful smooth pebbles, white, green, pink and other
colors, all washed nice and clean by the waves; some are very beau-
tiful. There are a great many common pebbles, which nobody cares
for.
The fun is in hunting for and picking up the nice round colored
ones. Everybody squats down, or lies flat down on the beach,
and has a little bottle, or box, or something to hold the pebbles;
and they scratch over and dig holes in the pebbles to find the
prettiest ones. It looks very funny to see thirty or forty people,
big and little, squatting or lying down, hunting for pebbles. We
children took off our shoes and stockings and ran down the beach
when a wave went out, and when a big roller came in we scampered
back; we got caught sometimes, and got awful wet, but did not
mind it a bit. The sun was very bright, and we all got sunburnt.
We went to the beach nearly every day, and brought home several
small bottles and boxes full of pebbles. Little Wallie picked up peb-
bles like the rest, and brought home one of papa's socks full; he and
papa empty the pebbles on a paper on the floor, and lie down on the
carpet and hunt for the pretty ones, and call it playing "pebble
beach."
One day papa, mamma, aunt Mattie, Harry, Wallie, and myself,
went in a carriage to Camp Spaulding in the redwoods. It is a
lovely place; the trees grow very large and tall. Papa stood up
against the end of one that had been sawed off, and it was higher
than his head. There were a great many larger than that one. The
ground was covered with ferns, growing five and six feet, and
so high and strong we could hardly get through them. Papa and I
went up a little canion where a little stream of water trickled down
over the rocks, to look for ferns for his fernery, and we had great
sport. The cation was full of old logs, brush, ferns and weeds, on
which we walked; sometimes we would come near slipping through,
and sometimes when papa reached up the steep bank for a beautiful
fern, his foot would slip and he would slide down among the brush
and ferns. We saw great quantities of hazel nuts, but they were not
ripe, and we only gathered a few to show to the others at the cottage.
On the road we passed a steam saw-mill, where they make boards
and shingles from the redwood trees. Great wagon loads of shingles
are hauled through Pescadero to the landing by mule teams; the
mules have bells on their collars which make a merry jingle in the
woods to give notice to people in carriages to stop, as the road
through the forest is so narrow in a great many places that two
wagons cannot pass each other. LIZZIE.


St. Paul, Minn.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Allow me to present this picture of "The
Youthful Rubens Drawing Flies." I drew it as a companion-piece
to the Young Contributor pictures-" Father, I Cannot Tell a Lie,"
and Sir Isaac Newton Discovering Gravitation," in your June and
September numbers of last year.-Your young contributor,
P. N. B.


[MARCH,


i









1877"J THE LETTER-BOX. 357





THE LETTER-BOX.


IT is very apparent that Dr. Eggleston's little Fairy Show for Sun-
day-schools, published in the Christmas number of ST. NICHOLAS,
met a need precisely. We have received, and still are getting, many
pleasant letters from delighted young correspondents who saw it played
in their schools, or themselves took part in it, and everywhere it has
proved a "success." Minnie Whitney writes that the people of her
Sunday-school, in Hudson, Mich., "were tired of Christmas trees,"
so carried out Dr. Eggleston's plan,-"and it was splendid! In a
Wisconsin town they admitted the children free, but charged the
fathers and mothers ten cents each, and so cleared almost three times
their expenses, besides having a deal of fun. In cities, where the
churches were larger, and the best arrangements for getting up and
ornamenting the stages most easily procured, the play seems to have
excited greater admiration even than in rural towns, less accus-
tomed to theatrical representations, and the dainties from Santa
Claus's pack were especially welcomed by the children of the poor,
who always collect at the festival of a city Sunday-school. The
North Presbyterian church of St. Louis, for example, brought out
the Fairy Show in a grand manner, in the presence of over 500 chil-
dren and a houseful of older people. The pulpit, we are told, was
handsomely decorated with evergreen trees, while on the north side
was placed a miniature house, about ten feet by six in size, thatched
and trimmed with evergreens, tufts of raw cotton and strings of
popped corn, and with a veritable-looking chimney. The front of
the pulpit was also adorned with evergreens and popped corn. Five
hundred and six boxes of candy, each labeled, "A merry Christmas,
1876, from the North Presbyterian Sunday-school," and 1,200
oranges were given away to the little folks, who enjoyed the occasion
vastly.

Ripon, Wis.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: In your December number it is said that
the giant Captain Bates and his wife live in Rochester, N. Y. But
that is a mistake. They live in Seville, Ohio. I know this because
I was visiting my grandma all last summer, who lives in Medina,
Ohio, which is only a few miles from Seville. I am nine years old,
and have been taking ST. NICHOLAS for two years and a half from
the news office here, and I like it very much indeed.-Yours truly,
WILLIE B. GEERY.

Philadelphia.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Can you inform me why pulling candy
makes it change its color--Yours truly,
JAMES TAFT HATFIELD.
A good question, and one to which we will gladly reply in an early
number. Meantime, what do our young correspondents say about it?


Harlem.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Although I am not a boy that lives in some
queer place that you would like to hear about, yet 1 have something
funny to tell you, though it may not seem true.
We have a snake all spotted red and yellow, and we keep it in a
glass case till it gets tamer. Yesterday morning we put my little baby
sister's whistle in the case and went away. We did it just for fun,
but when we came back, the whistle was gone and we could n't find
it anywhere. Just then we heard a queer noise, and when we looked,
we found the snake all coiled up and whistling, with a little bit of the
wooden whistle sticking out of its mouth. Once I heard of a snake
eating two birds and a toad. I would like to know if this could be
true.-Yours truly, TOM C. GRANT.


Bethlehem, Pa., Jan. 6th, 1877.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: This evening I read a letter in ST. NICH-
OLAS about putzes in Bethlehem, and I was very much interested in
it, because I live in Bethlehem and am a Moravian. There were a
great many putzes here this year. On one could be seen the Switch-
back railroad in the coal regions. On another one we saw a stable,
with some angels over it. There were cattle in the barn-yard, and
shepherds.standing and watching their-sheep. We had a tree-and a
small putz for our dolls. I have a sister, and we both play with our
dolls. We got a great many Christmas presents, among them ST.
N'ICHOLAS. 1 like it ever so much, and wish it would come oftener.
I am nine years old.-From your little friend, ERNII H.


Washington, D. C., Jan. I4th, 1877.
DARLING ST. NICHOLAS: As I saw so many little girls were
writing, I thought I would send you a few lines to congratulate you
on your immense success. I have taken you from your birth, as a
winter to your magazine said. I think you are grand, and I hope
you will live forever. I like His Own Master" ever so nuch. I
hope Jacob will marry Florie. I am making up a list of Bird-
defenders, and will send it as soon as it is full. Give my best regards
to Deacon Green and the Little Schoolma'am, and always remember
me as your devoted reader, MAMIE KING.

Flushing, N. Y.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have a piece of money, on one side of
which is: "VICTORIA D: G: BRIT: REG: FID: DEF: MUDCCCLVI."
On the other side is a British device, and also, "ONE FLORIN. ONE-
TENTH OF A POUND." Is this an English, Austrian, Dutch, or
Prussian piece of money ? How much is it worth ?
Jos. F. DARLING.
This is a common English coin, sometimes known as a florin, but
usually called a two-shilling piece. It is worth two English shillings.


LILLIE WOLFERSBURGER, HENRY H. SWAIN, AND O. H. B.-The
"0" on some coins is only a badly cut "C" (for Carson City).
Coins from that mint are sometimes badly stamped, and the C readily
becomes an O.

Heidelberg, Germany, November, 1876.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a very little boy, and I have not been
in dear America for four years. I am awfully homesick at times, and
would be a great deal more so if it was not that my papa sends me
the welcome ST. NICHOLAS every month from away out in Michigan.
I am in Heidelberg with my two great big brothers, studying Ger-
man. I go to the public school, and can talk the language heie like
a Dutchman.
This is a beautiful place, full of lovely drives and walks. We live
right under the walls of the old castle, and we walk up to the Konig-
stuhl often.
The big boys are very bad here, and fight awfully, and try to cut
offeach other's noses with swords. They have big spotted dogs, as
large as calves. You ought to see the German girls dance, with their
blue stockings. They are lovely.
They drink an awfil lot of lager-beer here. Can you tell them in
your nice paper that it is very wrong to drink and fight ? I am going
home to Grosse Ile, Michigan, next summer. I should like to stop
in New York and see you, ST. NICHOLAs.-Your friend,
WILLIE S. BIDDLE, JR.

Chicago.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am sick and cannot go out, so I thought
I would write you a letter. I have a little dog. He has a ball, and
I take it and put it in my pocket. Then he will put his head in, and
growl until he gets it out. Then he will run away with it, but bring
it back for me to do it again. He will get mamma's slipper and try
to chew it up; and if we go after him, he will run and try hard not
to be caught. I have two pigeons; they are very tame, because I
am kind to them. They like me, and when I go in the coop to feed
them, they fly down and eat out of my hand. I am eight years old.
I like the Boy Emigrants" better than any story.
WALTER GARFIELD.

PLEASANT letters have been received from Hugh Toland Camey,
Lizzie Spencer, Winnie H., Marie L. Haydel, Kittie Blanche,
" Kate," Mamie Kennedy, A. T. C., Julia E. Botsford, Hattie and
Anna Mack, Allen Browning, Martha L. Munger, and others.


Fort McKavett, Menard Co., Texas.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl, ten years old. Occasion-
ally I see letters in your "Letter-Blox" from boys and girls living in
the army, so I thought I would send you a short letter from Texas.
We live at Fort McKavett, one of the best frontier posts in the State.
The surrounding country is very pretty. There are five infantry and
two cavalry companies stationed here. I have a pony, which I ride
nearly every day and enjoy it so much. n y papa went on a scout
two years ago and brought home this pony; he belonged to the
Indians. I think he must have been one of the squaws' ponies, be-
cause he is so gentle and likes women better than men around him.








THE LETTER-BOX.


I have a black and tan terrier dog named Nipper, and a cat called
Teeny. I could not live away out here without plenty of pets-it is
so lonely. I have no brothers or sisters, but there are eighteen
officers' children in the garrison, and all under twelve years of age.
I have not been North for four years; I am getting tired of living
South so long. I enjoy reading ST. NICHOLAS so much, and out
here it is doubly welcome. I am afraid I am writing too much, so
will close for this time.-I remain one of your best friends,
JANET G. LARKE.


INQUIRY: Can any one tell where to find a little poem on the
"Snow," commencing:
Look at the beautiful flakes of snow,--
Where do they come from, whence do they go?

Quietly, silently, gently they fall;
They do not jostle each other at all.
We in the world are not like the snow,
Jostling and pushing wherever we go."

Little Falls, N. Y.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: You have come to us ever since your exist-
ence, and we would hardly know how to do without you. Sister
Grace is away at school, and says you may come in my name another
year. Brother says he will pay for a copy to go to our cousins away
-on the prairies of Nebraska. I think it very kind in him, for it will
be so appreciated by them, as they have had a hard time to get along.
It seems hardly true that they lived in a hole in the ground when
they first went there !
I suppose you are tired of the many letters you get from the readers
.of ST. NICHOLAS, but, if possible, I would like you to print this little
-extract, at least, that I read in a paper a few days ago, asking the
young French scholars for a translation, or give it yourself, as you
wish. It was styled "A Beautiful Truth." Ce n'est pas la victoire
.puifait lajoie des nobles occurs; c'est le combat."
Hoping to see it in the "Letter-Box" soon, I remain your little
friend, SusIE C. B.

West Union, Iowa, December, 1876.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I am a little boy nine years old. I go to
'school and study the Third Reader. I like the story of His Own
Master" very much. Papa has taken ST. NICHOLAS for me ever
,since it was published. I have got a little brother named Robby,
.and a dog named Frank, and a cat named Slammens. Is n't Slam-
mens a funny name? Mamma named him. It is pretty cold out
here in winter. I want to see this in ST. NICHOLAS before I write
.again.-From your friend, HARRY TALMAUGE.

Louisville, Ky.
DEAR BOYS AND GIRLS OF ST. NICHOLAS: I saw a little girl last
summer who never saw ST. NICHOLAS. I felt very sorry for her.
She read "dry old books," and stories of astonishingly good children
and impossible grown people, and she never had any real, merry
romps.
Oh no, she was'nt a "very poor child," either. She had a great
many unnecessary things for a little girl, one of which was a little
black girl to wait on her. I thought the little black girl was very
funny, and used to laugh at her every day-not because she was
black, but because she said such very odd things and often got her
words wrong. One morning she said: "John he did n't come home
'tall las' night-leas' ways he never slep' in he bed, 'cause it's all
untangled this morning. Was she wrong to think when the bed was
-all made up that it was untangled?
Sunday, Bess wanted: J 1,..: ., told was wrong, and
her mistress said: "Dor. r .. I ': it ..IL ;ays you must not do
such things on Sunday?" Bess rolled her great eyes up and said:
Oh yes, missie, but dey is a heap in things in de Bible what you
can't fl//fill." She saw a small marble bust of Dickens, and she
said: How dis man git he portagraph took so hard'n' white? Mus'
'a' been awful pale he self, I reckon Bess kept the flies off the
table at meal time. The big fly-brush was fastened over the table,
and Bess had to pull a cord to move the brush. I never knew her to
get through one meal without going to sleep at her work. She would
nod and pull the cord at the same time. It looked as though she had
the cord fastened to her head, and pulled it down each time her head
came down. It looked very strange to see her sleep standing up
and all the time going on with her work. Bess often heard the white
people talk of things she did not at all understand, but she would
remember the sound and try to use the words afterward. When Bess
was sent to do errands away from home, as happened sometimes, she
never seemed to have but one idea, and that was to go to the place to
which she was sent. Then she seemed to think her errand was done.
She was sent to me at another house, one day. and the first I knew of
it was when I looked up and saw the queerlittle thing standing in my
room. She had a .r:.1i .1 .; She never liked any other
'color. I could not i. ip .il...; .r .:. ,he looked so contented and


as though her errand was done, although she had not said a word. I
knew she had been sent for something, and I said: "Good morn-
ing, Bess; what do you want this morning? She stood perfectly
still and rolled her great eyes up and said: "Nufin." I waited
to give her time to think, and then I said: "What did you come
for, Bess?" "Nuffin," "Who told you to come?" "Missie."
'What did she tell you to do?" "She done tole me to come
straight to your room an' stay till you tole me to go home again."
How was I to get at the message? I knew one had been sent.
After a little I said: What did your mistress tell you to say to
me?" "She say tell you to look at my breas'-pin-that's all she
say." I looked and found a note fastened by a pin at her throat.
I laughed at this and wondered why she could not have carried it in
her hand. I found afterward that she lost everything she was trusted
to carry. I answered the note and said: Bess, what shall I do with
this note? I want your mistress to have it." With a perfectly indif-
ferent face, and still looking any place but at me, she says; I do' no:
'speck I reckon you better tie it to me. I mout loss it." I took a
string and tied the note around her neck like a locket, and she seemed
very proud of it. Then I told her to go right back to her mistress
and give her the note. She made a queer bow and said: Yes, miss,
I going, and she was gone as rapidly and as quietly as she had come.
She went to her mistress as she had come to me, and without a word
waited to be examined. If you would like to see Bess, and will go
with me to Virginia, you can hear her talk. I think you'd laugh a
good deal. They are used to her where she lives, and don't think
her funny. Bess would be surprised if she knew I had written to you
about her.-Yours truly, M. A. C.

Oakland, Cat.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am going to write you a receipt for choco-
late caromels; I think you will find them very nice:-Quarter pound
prepared chocolate; one cup of molasses; one ci- :.;, -
one cup of milk (or cream); half cup of butter. ,i ..,,, I ..., .
ring briskly all the time, and just as it is done put ii three or four
drops of extract of vanilla. I have not tried Gussie's receipt yet,
but I intend to soon. From your affectionate reader,
FIDDIE M. BELCHER.
Media, Jan. xoth, 1877.
DEAR JACK: In the January ST. NICHOLAS, "M. S." gave a
sentence containing five that's in order, and asked how it would
he parsed. At an examination in our school, some time ago, we had
to parse a sentence of a like nature. The first that" is a conjunc-
tion, connecting "Jane said" with the rest of the sentence. The
second "that" is a demonstrative pronominal adjective relating to the
third "that," which is a noun, subject of the verb "was." The
fourth that" is a relative pronoun, its antecedent being the third
"that." The fifth "that" is a demonstrative pronominal adjective,
limiting the noun "boy."-Yours truly, E. N. FUSSELL.

Leavenworth, Kansas.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I have a little anecdote about Kansas rats,
that perhaps your readers will enjoy.
During Quantrell's raid, which was in 1864, the town of Lawrence
was burned. There were no rats in Topeka. On the day following
the fire, they appeared in force, and persons who went over the road
between the two places, saw innumerable tracks of little feet, showing
that the little quadrupeds had evidently gone in an array from one
town to the other. Since that time, there have been plenty of rats
both in Topeka and all stations west.-Truly your friend,
MILDRED R. B.

SANTA CLAUS," of New London, sends this ingeniously rhymed
answer to Rebus No. 2 in the January number:
THE WITCHES' SPELL;
This remarkable spell
Is devised very well,
On a truly original plan;
If I've not got it right,
In my guessing to-night,
Then pray let him Spell it who can."


IN addition to those who were credited last month, the following
boys and girls sent answers to puzzles in the December number:
Prentis Dow, Clara Lee, Edith Heard, "Professor," Tellis F. White,
Nellie S. Thompson, Howard Steel Rodgers Thomas Dykes Beas'ey,
Mary J. Tilghman, William C. Delanoy, Nettie Mack, Bennie Swift,
S. Decatur Smith, Jr., Mary Brenda Balmaix, Nettle Marcellus,
Crecy S. Slate, Lizzie Kiernan, Beth," S. H. Hamilton, Agnes L.
Pollard, "M. E. A." and L. G.," Chas. Burnham, Allen H. Burn-
ham, May Ely, Charlie A. Miller, Kittie M. Blanke. Everett Blanke,
Ella Blanke, Leonie M. Milhau, Zella Milhau, Bessie MIcLaren,
Helen Green, Jackie D. W., A. G. Cameron, Edith Lowry, C. H.
Delanoy, H-r,- T P 7 -ry, Elinor. Louise Smith, "Oliver Twist,"
"C. A. D.. :..:: M.1. Trowbridge, and Sheldon Emery.


358


[MARCH,








THE RIDDLE-BOX.





THE RIDDLE-BOX.


BEHEADED ENIGMAS.
BY A LITTLE GIRL. V-IOLE, I am a
I. Do you need a I, 2, 8, 3, 6 to find the place where you shot the Transpose, and I a
2. 8 3, 6 ? 2. While on our 7, 8, 3, I, 2, we went under an 8, 3, 1, 2. a wtnpost end
3. I think it was 3, 8, 5, 2 to fell the 8, 5, 2. 4. She was not 5, 7, 8, raspos and I a
3, 6 to go to the 7, 8, 3, 6 in search of 3, 6. 5. There is a stove in
your school-house. Do you often 9, 4, 6 by 4, 6 ? 6, He had best
6, 3, 4, 7 off a little of that 3, 4, 7. 7. He wore the i, 2, 8, 3, 7 as a
protection from 2, 8, 3, 7. PRIMALS, central
Put the nine letters in their proper order, and find a pleasant holi- I. A great music
day. LIZZIE KIERNAN. 4. An earth-worm.

HIDDEN LATIN PROVERB.
FIND in the following sentence a Latin motto for puzzle-guessers: i. TRANSPOSE a
A student so thoroughly patient I admire greatly; he evinces and give an article
that quality which is the basis of all excellence in scientific knowl- the fish, and leave
edge. j. P. B. satisfy appetite. 4

PICTORIAL LIBRARY PUZZLE.
Who are the sixteen authors represented on the shelves?




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







70 -- ,



-" .. ,- ,




















spelled differently and having dif.e-ent meanings. sessed. 5. A conji
I. The beauty of that horse is his -. 2. A fisherman -
hauling in his nets added much to the -. 3. He the helms-
man te tiller and start across the William a boy
with a'- to procure for him some -. 5. He came through the
with anll awkward -. 6. Once a week the society- and s word of I
out the to the poor. 7. No doubt the ancient used T.-Two ord
their shields for pillows for many -- 8. I think rats must have An organ of the b
in this for the corn is all nibbled. 9. They had the -- A verb. 3. A b
tied with a chain of enormous -- e. .Taking a Mary II.--A diamond
attempted to it with a of scissors. STALLKNEHT. o preach. 4 W
SI I.-Words wIi
sentence properly
CENTRAL S YNCOPATIONS. the crop if they gr
i. SYNCOPATE musical instruments and leave edibles. A series IV.-Four reve
of steps, and leave to arouse. 3. Very important, and leave a bottle. knock. 2. A strat
4. A beautiful substance found in the sea, and leave a. '. .,I .. veAsed, to mcend
found underground. 5. A vessel, and leave to spill 1 iste.
baked clay, and leave fastening s. V-Words me.
The syncopated letters, read. down, form an acrostic, meaning a by 'xciteient or
guard. CyRIL D)EANI.


METAGRAM.
river in England. Curtail me, and I am to part.
mi a stanza. Omit one letter and transpose, and I
Transpose, and I am to turn aside. Curtail and
n a part of the day. STALLKNECHT.

TRIPLE ACROSTIC.
Is, and final's form three animals.
ian. 2. Part of Oceanica. 3. A shade of color.
5. A Latin council. 6. A color.
LITTLE ONE.
MELANGE.
kind offish, and give the name of a poet; again,
e of food; again, and give a pledge. 2. Behead
a .!i i ....... .. r e the fish, and leave to
... I, .....- I and leave an Oriental
tree. 5. Behead the pledge, and
leave to seize. 6. Transpose to
satisfy appetite, and find a resi-
dence. 7 Curtail the Oriental tree,
and find a beverage. 8, Behead the
residence, and find what we all do.
ISOLA.

EASY DIAMOND PUZZLE.
I. A CONSONANT, 2. A young
animal. 3. A wild animal. 4. A
domestic animal. 5. A consonant
ISOLA.
DOUBLE ACROSTIC.
i. ANGER. 2. A peculiar sub-
stance, obtained from certain sea-
weeds, or marine plants. 3. More
recent. 4. An animal. 5. Empty.
6. One who entertains. 7. A small
period of time. Primals and finals,
read down, give two boys' names.
Behead and curtail each word,
and the following will remain: I.
An animal. 2. An ancient god. 3.
A heathen goddess. 4. A verb. 5.
A girl's nickname. 6. To ponder.
7. A sign. CYRIL DEANE.

HIDDEN FRENCH
PROVERB.
FIND a French proverb in the fol-
lowing sentence which may teach
us to be charitable in our judgment
S ofothers:
Do I prefer Valenciennes to Honi-
ton laces? 0 it seems quite
malicious, Amy, to ask me; but I
will relieve your suspense, and say
"Yes." B.
HALP WORD-SQUARE.
n State. 2. A report. 3. To cast forth. 4. Pos-
inction. 6. A consonant. LITTLE ONE.

OMNIBUS WORD.
ive letters contains:
squares. First: i. An animal. 2. A vegetable. 3.
iody. Second: i. What the hungry desire to do.
everage.
puzzle. i. A consonant. 2. A period of time. 3.
hat the hungry did do. 5. A vowel.
ich, transposed, will fill the blanks in the following
: We must up every or they will spoil
ow at this .
rsible words. r. A state of equality; reversed, a
agem; reversed, a portion. 3. A light blow; re-
Sshoe. 4. An animal; reversed, a resinous sub-
ning: i. Duplicity. 2. Quick. 3: Carried away
wonder. And a prefix and a preposition.
H. II D.


1877.1


359








TIE RIDDLE-BOX.


REBUS.


Si.


- N


ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN FEBRUARY NUMBER.


HOUR-GLASS PUZZLE.--Innocence.
OBEDI ENCE
LEANING
HONOR
TOE

FEE
DONOR
SPECTER
PERPETUAL
ANAGRAMS OF CITIES.-I. New Castle. 2. Charleston. 3. New
Orleans. 4. Syracuse. 5. Montreal. 6. Providence. 7. St. Augus-
tine. 8. Portsmouth.
MATHEMATICAL PUZZLE.-Mi!d.
PICTORIAL NUMERICAL REBS.-- 23,008
8,945
82,000,o000,8o0
49,000,006

82,049,032,767
DIFFICULT DIAMOND PUZZLE.-Indistinguishable.
I
INN
LEDGE
HOL I DAY
FORCES I GHT
RECEPTAC LFS
PREMEDITATION
REPRESENTAT IONS
INDIST INGU I S ABLE
SOMNAMBULATIONS
INVEST. I CAT I ON
HURRY S KURRY
SHEPHERDS
MIRA C LE
SABLE
ALE
E"
ENIGMA.-Paris.
DOUBLE MEANINGS.--. Racine. 2. Rouen (ruin). 3. Cork. 4.
Buffalo. 5. Tours. 6. Lyons. 7. Lancaster (lank aster).
NUMERICAL ENIGMA.-" Idle folks have the most labor."
PICTORIAL PUZZLE.-Plum, .ime, Date, Prickly-pear.
DOUBLE ACROSTIC.-Paris, Genoa.
P -i- G
A -lo- E
R -ai- N
I -ndig--O
S-ahar-A


NOVEL DIAMOND PUZZLE.- T
NET
TENET
TEN
T

SQUARE-WORD.- R 0 S E
OPAL
SAIL
ELLA
PICTURE PUZZLE.-r. It is a ball (bawl). 2. It is a wet season.
3. Criers. 4. It is an overflow of salt water. 5. Because their hands
are together. 6. Because they are in tiers (tears). 7. She needs to
unbend. 8. It is upbraided. 9. They are in arms. xo. His elbows
are out. i. I'se hid" (eyes hid).
REBUS.- "Kind hearts are more than coronets,
And simple faith than Norman blood."
HIDDEN WORDS.-Ragout, gout, ou, si, de, te, en, le, combat, bat,
baton, ton, on, Lyon, ont, fi, field, the.
DIAMOND PUZZLE.- D
SIP
STARE
DIAMOND
PROUD
END
D
RIDDLE.-Fire, ire, fir.
EASY ENIGMA.-Aversion, a version, aver, Sion.
DIAMOND PUZZLE. S
APE
AGENT
SPECTRE
ENTRY
TRY
E
EASY DOUBLE DIAGONAL PUZZLE.-Agate, Slate.
ARI ES
AGILE
BEACH H
STATE
EYRIE
BEHEADED RHYMES.-Prelate, relate, elate, late, ate.
CONCEALED DIAMOND AND WORD-SQUARE.-
B
BON EIS
EEL



CROSS-WORD ENIGMA.-Yorktown.
METAGRAM.-Ada, Adam, madam, mad, lad, bad, a.


ANSWERS TO PI'ZZLES IN THE JANUARY NUMBER were received, previous to January i8th, from Fred S. Pickett, Arthur ). Smith,
Harry K. Merritt, Lydia W. Brown, "Santa Claus," Sadie Hamilton, Frieda E. Lippert, Josie Morris Brown, "Alma," Addie Guion,
Henry A. Bostwick, Jr., M. S. R., "Pandora," M. H. S., Brainerd P. Emery, Harry Nathan, Horace Read Keav, Alma Bertram, Nellie
May Sherwin, J. B. T., Nessie E. Stevens, "Alex," Nellie Emerson, "Oliver Twist," "Norma," Louie Rodman, Lillie Coggeshall, L. Harry
Nyce, Alice B. McElwain, Charles Hart Payne, Annie M. Horton, S. N. Knapp, Chas. G. Case, Frank Frick, Ella G. Condie, Frederic,"
Thomas Hunt, Jr., Nellie B. Baker, Alice M. Reisig, Clara Lee, Howard Steel Rodgers, Nelly Chase, Beth," Emma Elliott, M. W. Collet,
"Yankee Doodle." Louis W. Ford, "Lizzie and Annie," Arthur F. Stone, Grace H. Miller, Alfred S. De Witt, Genevieve Allis, Sadie
Hamilton, Fred Richardson, Willie Dibblee, Eleanor N. Hughes, "Golden Eagle," Marion A. Coombs, Willie Glover, Mary F. Speiden,
M. Louise Cross, Mercury," Mami- A. Rich, Edith Lowry, "Telemachus," Dee L. Lodge. Katie S. Wright, "Professor," E. D., Bessie
S. B. Benedict, "Apollo," Ora L. Dowty, Arthur C. Smith, Willie R. Lighton, "General Butterfingers, S. S. B. R.." John C. Robertson,
Herbert C. Taylor, Lizzie Wilson, Jennie Wilson, Gertrude Hill, Mildred Pope, Oliver Everett, Willie L Thomas, Ellen M. Field, Ella L.
Reed, Edwin C. Garrigues, "Perseverance," Blanche L. Turner, A. G. Cameron, Thos. W. Fry, H. C. Taylor, Leroy W. Nind, Katie
Brown, Eddie Vultee, George Herbert White, Bessie McLaren, Helen Green, Amy Shriver, Carroll L. Maxey, George B. Titsworth, Lena
W. Chamberlain, W. C. Spencer, and W. Irving Spencer.


360


[MARCH.


T -B .S_-
"',-




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3