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|The mother in the desert|
|The green house with gold...|
|Cecile and Lulu|
|St. Nicholas' day and the child-bishops...|
|Wild mice and their ways|
|Roses - Mrs. Peterkin's tea-pa...|
|His own master|
|The three fishers|
|Birds in the spring|
|Annetta Plummer's diary|
|The naughty little Egyptian|
|The stars in June|
|Young contributors' department|
|The riddle box|
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Front Cover 1
Front Cover 2
The mother in the desert
The green house with gold nails
Cecile and Lulu
St. Nicholas' day and the child-bishops of Salisbury
Wild mice and their ways
Roses - Mrs. Peterkin's tea-party
His own master
The three fishers
Birds in the spring
Annetta Plummer's diary
The naughty little Egyptian
The stars in June
Young contributors' department
Page 572 (MULTIPLE)
The riddle box
Back Cover 1
Back Cover 2
~ -v ---.
A JUNE MORNING.
[Copyright, 1877, by Scribner & Co.]
BY FRANCES E. BEALE.
The loud, boyish voice rang through the quiet
house. The mother, sewing in her sunny chamber,
heard but did not answer; she knew by long expe-
rience that the call was only a courier, sent on in
advance to announce the coming of him whose feet
were even then bounding up the stairs, and who
burst into the room with all the noise it is pos-
sible for an active boy of fourteen to make in that
"Mother, Uncle Charlie is going blue-fishing,
and wants me to go with him; may I ?"
Her eyes rested upon him a moment before she
gave consent. He was the only son of his mother,
and she was a widow." His father, and several
others of his kindred, lay beneath the waves. Per-
haps she thought of them as she gazed so fondly
upon his face, glowing with health and animation.
But he had spent half of his summer life in and
upon the water; she did not think of refusing his
request-only added to her consent a hope that he
would be careful.
Oh, mother there is n't a bit of danger with
such a sailor as Uncle Charlie; besides, if I do get
tipped over, I can swim ashore; why, I could swim
from here to the Neck !"
I should not want you to try such a swim as
Frank turned to go, but paused; perhaps the
mother-look drew him back; he stole shyly to the
back of her chair, and leaning over her, kissed her
forehead hurriedly, and then ran away. The
unusual caress warmed her heart, and the thought
of it was a comfort to him before the day was over.
Captain Charlie was waiting, and they started
briskly for their walk of a mile to the shore. The
captain was a young man still, but a sun-stroke,
received while on duty in a hot climate, had dis-
abled him from active service, and indeed from
prolonged or violent exertion of any kind. Frank
liked nothing better than to be with him, he had
so many stories to tell of foreign countries and hair-
breadth escapes at sea; besides, he could tell him
stories of his father,-his brave, noble father,-of
whom. his mother could not speak without tears.
Frank had seen very little of his father; he could
remember a few brief visits, when he had come like
a good providence with wonderful gifts, and the few
weeks of his stay had been one joyful holiday time,
with visits and merry-makings, the little boy always
at his father's side, "to get acquainted," the cap-
tain said. Then had come the parting, and the
counting up of months, and weeks, and days, until
his return. Alas the last reckoning had ended in
the bitterness of despair.
But sorrow, thank God cannot stay long with
the young; and Frank, walking by his uncle's side,
with many a skip and bound of overflowing life,
was as happy as he could be. Before reaching the
shore, they saw a man with lines, apparently bent
upon the same errand as themselves. They recog-
nized him as one Josiah Smith, a man of many
occupations beside that of a fisherman.
Going blue-fishing, 'Si?" said the captain, as
they overtook him.
"Ya-as, ef I can find a boat; it's a good day
for 't," drawled shiftless 'Si.
Captain Charlie thought of the wife and two
little children to be supported by his uncertain
earnings, and good-naturedly offered him a place
in his boat, which was accepted, and they were
soon off and ready for business.
Boys, did you ever go blue-fishing? If so, you
would have said there could not be a finer day for
the sport than that which Frank and his uncle had
taken. It was a cool day in early autumn; the sky
was deeply blue, the sun often obscured by flying
clouds, and the north-west wind blowing briskly.
On such a day step into your boat, give her all the
sail she will carry, let out your lines astern, then,
as the boat bounds along, the greedy fish jump at
the bait, and you have nothing to do but take them
in as fast as you please: is not this better than to
float lazily about, hour after hour, in the common
way of fishing?
The sport proved to be all that the day had
promised. Back and forth through the bay the
boat flew-the fish shoaled behind; the fishers had
all they could do to attend to the lines, and did not
notice that the clouds became darker and more
threatening, until a gust of wind tipped the boat so
much that the water poured over her side.
"We must haul in sail!" cried the captain,
springing up and shouting out orders to Frank
unhooking a fish, and the slow-moving 'Siah.
Too late Another and a stronger gust com-
pletely capsized the boat, and her three late occu-
pants struggled in the water. Of course they could
swim,-no boy nor man in the little sea-coast town
of Dunkirk could not,-and they made for the boat,
which floated keel up, and supported themselves as
well as they could upon the sloping bottom. The
next thing to do was to take a review of the situa-
tion, and determine what was best to be done.
They were in the channel, distant about three-
quarters of a mile from the main shore, and some-
what nearer the "Neck" (a long, sandy cape,
inclosing the bay upon its northern side). The
water was intensely cold, and so was the wind, as
it blew upon them wet to the skin. No other boat
was out-their only hope seemed to be that some
one might see them from the shore and come to
their rescue. But how long would this faint hope
sustain them? how long could they keep their hold
with this icy numbness creeping over them?
They waited-at first full of impossible plans for
escape, then silent. Who can tell what thoughts
came to their minds in those fearful minutes? Did
not the captain think of his brothers, yes, and his
father before them, to wonder if the sea would be
his grave as it was theirs ?-and the poor fisher-
man-did he not feel, in a mocking dream, the
warm, clinging arms of his babies around his
stiffening neck ? But Frank's thoughts were all of
his mother, swelling his boyish heart till it seemed
ready to break, as he fancied the bitterness of her
grief if he never came back to her. The towns-
people often called him mother's boy," not only
because he had grown up under her sole care,-
and it was evident that he was the one precious
thing she had still to live for,-but also because of
a certain neatness in his dress at all times, and
gentleness and refinement in his speech and man-
ners, which might have come from that constant
womanly influence. Many feared that his character
might lack the manly virtues of courage and deci-
sion; and even his schoolmates, when the love of
teasing was very strong, would call him mother's
baby," and Franky," laying an insulting emphasis
upon the last syllable, so that he had begged his
mother to call him Frank, which she did, unless in
a moment of tenderness the old baby name slipped
'from her tongue. If the veteran seamen of the
place could have known the situation of this forlorn
and shivering trio, what hope of rescue would they
have found in the disabled captain, the inefficient
Smith, or the boy who, according to their prophecy,
"would never be good for much brought up so soft
The clock in the steeple of the village church
struck; the sounds were faint, but they could count
Uncle Charlie," said Frank, is that twelve
o'clock ? "
"Don't the tide turn about this time ?" asked
It has turned," replied the captain; "it is
Then," cried Frank, "we'll drift out to sea;
everybody will be home to dinner now; no one
will be likely to come to the shore for an hour, and
perhaps no one will see us to-day!"
"Frank," said his uncle, earnestly, "keep up
your courage,-don't give up. My miserable head
is beginning to whirl, and I may drop off soon;
but hold on,-think of your mother, Frank, and
keep afloat as long as you have your senses."
But even while he spoke, he felt how slender
was the chance that the poor mother would ever
see her living darling again.
The mention of his mother called up before the
boy her gentle face as he saw it last, smiling at his
boast of swimming from the Neck to the shore.
He had never heard that any one had ever per-
formed that feat; but would it be possible to swim
from the boat to the shore, through the icy water
and the wide belt of entangling eel-grass ? It did
not seem so far to the Neck," and there was no
dreaded eel-grass on that side to catch his feet
and pull him down; but the nearest point was fully
two miles from the light-house, the only inhabited
house there. He might reach it alone, but could
he be so mean as to leave his uncle without an
effort to save him, and poor 'Siah too ?
"Uncle," said Frank, "I am going to swim
ashore; here we are right opposite Captain Went-
worth's; I can swim ashore, get his dory, and
come after you and 'Siah. I think I can do it; at
any rate, I can't hold on long in this wind, and I
shall soon be too numb to swim."
The captain was silent,-what could he say ?
To go or to stay seemed equally dangerous; but
Frank, loosing the hold of one hand, was already
working his stiffened fingers, and trying to throw
off his boots in readiness for a start.
Go said'his uncle; and God help you "
the house for the key and return; twenty minutes
lost, when every one was precious He seized
something heavy which lay at hand, and showered
frantic blows upon the cruel door; at last it
yielded, and there was the boat, with oars all in
readiness; he had dreaded that the oars might
have been taken away. Yes, there was the boat,
but it was many feet from the water, and it would
be a hard task for a man to drag it through the
deep sand, while he was but a boy, nearly ex-
hausted already by extraordinary efforts; but he
hardly thought of all that,-he laid determined
hands upon the boat, and it moved.
Impossible as it would have seemed to him at any
other time, the boat was launched; then he took
FRANK LAUNCHES THE BOAT.
And God did help him as he threw himself into
the angry waters and struck out for the shore.
He felt resolute and confident, wasted no strength
in uncertain, hurried movements, but with delib-
erate and steady strokes went on. The tide being
almost at the flood, he passed through the entang-
ling eel-grass with less trouble than he had feared;
on, on, stroke after stroke, the shore seeming to
grow no nearer, until at last, with one final des-
perate effort, he reached the shallow water; his
feet touched bottom, he staggered forward, and
fell upon the sand.
Hardly a minute would he take for rest,-the
others must be saved. He sprang up, waved his
hands toward the distant boat to show the men
that he was safe, and looked about,-no boat in
sight; he ran up the sands to the boat-house and
pushed at the door,-it was locked!
Here was a difficulty that he had not foreseen;
it would take at least twenty minutes to run up to
up the oars,-his work was almost done, but he
must not rest yet, and with straining muscles, he
retraced his way over the rough water. His uncle
almost fell into the boat, with the words:
"Frank, you have saved my life. I could not
have held on a moment longer."
"But where is 'Siah ? asked Frank.
Poor fellow! I 'm afraid he's gone. He de-
clared that if you could swim ashore, he could. I
begged him to wait until you could take us off, but
I could n't keep him. I think he went down just
on the bar yonder."
Frank shed bitter tears ; it was hard to give up
a life he had done so much to save.
They took up the oars and pulled slowly to the
shore. Frank went directly home, sending what
men he met at once to the shore; while the
captain walked to the nearest house, borrowed
dry clothes, and returned to the shore to direct
the efforts made to recover their unfortunate com-
_ 1~1_ _I~ _I~ ~_ _
516 FRANK. [JUNE,
panion. Accordingly, the neighbors were startled
from their afternoon quiet by the sight of Frank,
a few wet garments clinging to him, running at
full speed toward home. There, of course, he
was received with great surprise, and his story
heard with exclamations of deep sympathy and
thanksgiving, while grandmother and mother
rubbed him, and brought dry clothes and hot
drinks, and finally put him to bed among soft
blankets, where, tired out, he soon fell asleep.
His mother watched him for a short time as he lay
warm and rosy, his yellow hair curled by the damp-
ness into hundreds of little rings upon his dear
head, safe upon the pillow at home, instead of on
the sea-weed under the waves; then, reluctant to
leave him, she went forth upon her sad errand of
sympathy to poor Mrs. Smith; and the two widows,
TELL me, Daisy, ere I go,
Whether my love is true or no.
One leaf off: He loves me. What
One more leaf, and he loves me not.
Whether my love is true or no,
One leaf off: He loves me. What?
One more leaf, and he loves me not.
each with a baby upon her lap, wept together.
In a day or two, Frank was quite well. Of
course he was a hero among his playmates, and,
indeed, in all the village; but he bore his honors
modestly, well pleased that the boys never again
called him by the old insulting names.
And is this all? No; his mother keeps as a
priceless treasure, shining out from a bed of satin
in its case, a silver medal, awarded by the Massa-
chusetts Humane Society to Frank P-- for
courage and perseverance in saving life. She
showed it to me last summer; and as I looked into
her face, with its habitual look of sadness, but
glowing then with pride in her good boy, I felt
that I should like to add to the inscription after
the name so deservedly honored, these words:
"A MOTHER'S BOY."
Three leaves: Will he? Four leaves: So,
He never will love me-oh no, no !
I don't care what a daisy says;
I 'm sure to get married one of these days!
BY Jov ALLISON.
ON the evening of the day when the Pattikin
family visited the menagerie, Thirza slipped away,
after supper, as they all sat around the table, and
going to her corner of the bureau-drawer, took out
her little hoard of money from a small pasteboard
box with a glass lid.
She picked out just what she wanted, and came
and laid it on her father's knee.
There 's my part of the money for the me-
nagerie," said she; "and I'm very much obliged
to you, father, for giving me so much pleasure."
Keep it, dear. I did n't intend to take your
money, or the boys' either. You're all welcome
to your pleasure," said her father.
That night Thirza disclosed to Tilda and the
boys the plan she had hinted to them when in
town. They would put together all they had, and
buy father a new hat. He needed one. His last
summer's hat was quite too shabby, and fit only for
the garden. The old garden hat ought to have
been burned up, or used to scare the crows with,
They all consented, ;ii;;..... Seth was com-
missioned to make the purchase, as his head was
quite as large as his father's. Having obtained
the new hat, he was to put it in place of the other,
giving that in turn the place of the garden hat,
which he was to abstract and hide in the garret,
or somewhere out of sight and recollection. It
was all done successfully, and their father's surprise
and pleasure fully equaled their expectations.
It was some days before the old hat that had
been such an eyesore to Thirza came to light. The
minister came down one morning from a rummage
in the garret, with it in his hand.
"Here 's a kettle for you, mother dear! he
said, advancing toward the stove, where she was
busy with her cooking. Take off the cover and
let me set it in."
As she only smiled, he took it off himself, and
set the old hat in over the burning wood.
"Bring some water, Thirza, child,-quick It
spoils a kettle to stand empty over a hot fire with-
out water in it Why don't you run? Why will
you stand there and laugh when the kettle is
spoiling ? "
The children gathered around, much amused at
their father's well-counterfeited distress. The flames
burst through the old crown, and the sides began
to cave in.
It's melted down, I declare Well, we may
as well let it all go in, now; and he poked the
old brim down into the fire, and put on the cover.
" You might have had it for a kettle, as well as
not, mother, if Thirza had n't been so slow about
bringing the water.
"What are these children all laughing at? "
And he went off into the study.
Is n't father a jolly minister ?" said Thirza.
TAKING A PAPER.
IT must be confessed that the children of the
Pattikin family were models of patience while their
mother was absent, for they never complained so
long as there was johnny-cake enough for break-
fast, beef and potatoes enough for dinner, and
warm biscuit for supper, with now and then a taste
of maple sirup for sweetening.
But Samuel and Simon, and Thirza and Tilda
had another kind of hunger, which even mother's
arts could not abate, and which seemed as if it
could never be satisfied. It was a hunger for
books. They had been supplied with just enough
to keep the hunger well whetted. Uncles and
aunts knew well what sort of presents were most
appreciated in Pattikin's house," and though the
minister had to calculate closely enough, to make
the ends meet, still he would, sometimes, buy
books for himself, and books for his children.
But Ida Iturbide had shown Tilda some copies
of a paper published on purpose for children, full
of stories and pictures, and Tilda had printed out
the address of the publisher; for from the moment
she set eyes on it she was determined to have it.
It was a dollar a year, and a dollar was a great
deal of money for her to save; but she was strong
of purpose, and sooner or later, have it she would.
For one day and night she kept her purpose a
secret, never so much as hinting that such a paper
existed. It would be so glorious to have it come,
some day, directed to "Matilda Melissa Jones."
Very likely it might even be Miss Matilda Melissa
Jones." The very thought was rapturous.
But after she had lain awake half a night study-
ing ways and means, and could contrive no way of
increasing her cash capital, which, after the pur-
chase of the new hat for her father, consisted of
three big red cents, a solitary dime, and a half a
cent, she concluded to tell Thirza. Their united
resources amounted to nineteen cents. And they
studied and contrived, and ended by admitting a
third and then a fourth partner. Then the capital
of the whole company amounted to forty-one cents.
It was hard to see where the rest of the dollar
was coming from. In fact they had to wait a good
while, and now and then a penny was added to
their pile, but it grew very slowly, till blueberry
To be sure, there was no market for the blue-
berries, but their Aunt Matilda, who lived in Boston,
had told them if they would pick some and dry
them for her, when she came to visit them she
would pay them ninepence a quart. Ninepence,
you ought to know, is twelve and a half cents.
It took a good many berries to make a quart of
dried ones, but they picked, day after day, and
Simon built a platform out over the south door to
spread them on; and when the season was over
they had fourteen quarts. Fourteen ninepences !
How many cents? It took a slate and pencil to
solve that problem. Thirza and Tilda and Sam-
uel looked over, while Simon did the ciphering.
One hundred and seventy-five cents !-A dollar
and three quarters was the amount.
They had to wait several weeks for Aunt Matilda's
visit, but they concluded it would be best to let
their papers begin with the new year, and this re-
solve lessened their impatience. Simon was a
splendid penman. He could write almost as hand-
somely as the school-master. But he could n't
spell. He always spelled his words the shortest
way. Thirza was a good speller but a poor writer.
The letter to the editor would be an affair of much
importance. It might as well be begun in season.
So, as soon as the blueberries were dried and
measured, and put up carefully in a paper bag,
and suspended from the rafters in the garret, the
letter was begun.
Thirza's spelling, Simon's penmanship, and the
united wisdom of the four were to produce a letter
fit to send to an editor.
It was written on a slate three times over, and
then they tried on paper. It took a week of even-
ings. When it was done they showed it to their
father, and he laughed i
I leave it to you if that was n't a little too bad !
Simon looked proud and angry,-Samuel turned
his back and walked hastily to the window, where
he stood looking out at nothing. Thirza pouted,
and Tilda blushed like a peony, and then asked
What's the matter, father ? Is n't it right ?"
Right! yes, indeed I beg everybody's par-
don It's well written nicely written I guess
you would have got your paper, though, if you
had n't made your request quite so humbly,-that's
That was all he would say; and, after talking it
over, they concluded they would send it just as it
was. No matter if it was humble; better so, than
impudent. And I think so, too. Don't you?
So they laid it away till Aunt Matilda came. She
was so pleased with her berries, when she came,
that she paid them two dollars, because, as she
said, one dollar and seventy-five cents does n't
divide by four so well. How rich they felt !
They set the door open between the two cham-
bers that night, and laid awake hours talking and
trying to agree what they should do with so much
money. Thirza and Samuel thought it best to
send for two years. Simon and Tilda were op-
posed to this plan, being inclined to get all the
pleasure possible this year, and let the next take
care of itself. And their counsels prevailed.
Then there were other plans, and the next time
Samuel and Simon were arrayed against Thirza
and Tilda, and both sides were obstinate. The
boys wanted "The Arabian Nights," and the girls
Hans Christian Andersen's story-book. And not
being able to agree, they concluded to go to sleep,
and decide it in the morning by lot, especially as
their father shouted up to them just then:
Children !-must n't talk any more to-night !
Time to go to sleep "
In the morning they drew cuts with some splin-
ters of pine. And the lot fell in the girls' favor. So
Hans Andersen's story-book was sent for; which
occasioned the writing of another letter.
I should think you might know how to spell
some words after this," said Thirza, when she had
spelled the second letter through for him from
beginning to end.
Write it all over by yourself, and see how
many words you will get right," suggested their
Simon did, and he actually got thirteen words
right, and there were thirty-four in the letter.
PATTIKIN pattered out into the barn, one warm
day in midsummer, and came in-her eyes as
big as saucers "-without the egg she had been sent
to fetch for the johnny-cake for breakfast.
What's the matter, child? Could n't you find
any eggs ?" asked her mother.
I was a-walkin' along," said Pattikin, with her
most dramatic air, for she fully appreciated the
importance such news as she had to tell would give
her in the eyes of the family, "and I stopped to
look into the pony's crib, 'cause the red hen lays
there, and what should strike my eyes but a little
bit of a mouse-colored colt, lying right down close
to the gray pony "-and having finished her story,
Pattikin dismissed her dignity and capered about
The breakfast was forgotten, and they all made
a rush for the barn. There was n't half so much
excitement in the family when the baby came.
But, then, they had never had a colt before.
S CAIN'S CAPERS.
They searched the dictionary, and the "Ancient
Mythology," and the Hand-book of Biography"
for a name. And then it was called "Cain" at
last. That was because he turned out to be such
a mischievous fellow.
He would chew up the boys' hats or the little
girls' bonnets when they left them out on the
grass, and he would put his head in at the pantry-
window, and if there was a pie, or johnny-cake, or
gingerbread, or even butter within reach, he would
help himself. He stepped on Pattikin's toes, and
kicked Mr. Iturbide's old Prince in the face, and
"cut up Cain" generally, and so earned the name.
But they loved him Oh, I guess they did!
And one night when he was sick, not a child of
them could be induced to go to bed, but sat on the
hay beside him half the night while their father
worked over him, they helping what they could
to rub him and pour all sorts of doses down his
throat out of a long-necked bottle. Of course he
The minister often told his children that the colt
was to be sold some day, to pay an old debt. This
was a very sad thought to them, so they forgot
it as soon as they could, and went on loving
naughty, frolicsome Cain just as well as ever,
till at last the day came. The minister told them
of it beforehand, and
that the man was coming
to take the colt away.
He wished them to be
quite prepared for what
must be done, but it
seemed as if they could
not be prepared. They
hung about Cain to the
r S last possible minute, and
when they were obliged
i to let go, and he went
trotting off behind the
S'.' wagon to which he was
tied, Thirza and Tilda
and Pattikin hid their
faces in their aprons and
S- sobbed, and Sandy wiped
his eyes and nose on his
jacket sleeve till they
were royally red, and
.Seth and Samuel and
Simon trudged off, each
a separate way, with their
-M-x hands in their pock-
... ets and lumps in their
.' throats, and a terrible
-__-_ hatred of the old ogre
Debt in their hearts.
They would never allow
themselves to get into his clutches-never "
And it is to be hoped they kept this resolution.
COLD weather, this said the minister, as he
raised his night-capped head from the pillow one
morning late in September.
Yes," said his wife, I felt that it was growing
colder last night. But we must be stirring, or the
children will be late at school."
This suggestion brought the minister's head up
from the pillow, and his night-cap off. He re-
luctantly released himself from the comfortable
clinging of the warm bedclothes, and began to
520 PATTIKIN'S HOUSE. [JUNE,
The fire was soon snapping and crackling in the
kitchen stove, and by ones and twos the family
made their appearance. The kitchen was not a
warm room or a pleasant one in winter.. There
were none but north windows, and when cold
weather came these were thickly covered with frost,
so thickly that curtains were quite needless except
for keeping out cold.
This morning makes me think of winter," said
Sammy, disconsolately. I don't see why they
could n't have put the kitchen on the south side of
this house. It's an awful gloomy lookout this way
I don't think there is any lookout at all on very
cold days," said his mother. "But winter's a long
way off yet. Still, if all consent, you might build
the fire in the study, Sammy, and then we can sit
there after breakfast."
All agreed to this proposal with delight.
We can appreciate our good dry wood these
chilly mornings," said Seth. We-thought there
was no use preparing such a lot more than we
could use last season."
You never can have too much dry wood ahead
in this latitude," said the minister, speaking with
pins in his mouth, for he was dressing Pattikin.
Thirza and Tilda were setting the table. Their
mother was putting a great broad pan of buck-
wheat cakes into the oven. Seth was grinding the
coffee, and Simon held the baby. Sammy had
gone to build the fire in the study. Sandy did
nothing but sit on the wood-box behind the stove,
and warm his nose and fingers.
The tea-kettle began to send forth great puffs of
Thirza, you can make the coffee," said her
So Thirza took the coffee which Seth had finished
grinding, and put it into the coffee-pot and took it
to the stove to give it its portion of boiling water.
The minister was in his slippers, with one foot on
the stove hearth, and the mother said: Take
care That tea-kettle is very full !"
But the caution came too late. There was an
outcry, and then the minister was hopping about
the room on one foot, uttering exclamations of pain,
and the family were all beside themselves with
fright. The mother brought a pail of cold water.
Put your foot in there, father Woolen holds
heat so long, it will burn deeper and deeper.
That'll stop it quickest."
The foot was thrust into the pail, and a short
relief afforded. Then the stocking was taken off.
The minister groaned as he looked at his foot.
It will be six weeks before I shall walk out-
doors with that, and who'll preach, I should like
It was a serious burn, and day after day the
minister sat in his chair by the kitchen fire, or lay
upon the bed in the adjoining bedroom, helpless,-
taking an involuntary vacation from his work. I
don't know who preached, but I do know that the
time seemed very long to him, and he beguiled it
with many devices. He played games of skill with
the children, or made verses, taxing their ingenuity
to supply rhymes or adjust meters. He astonished
them with such philosophical experiments as he
could command materials for; and if his dexterity
at sleight-of-hand performances did not rival those
of the famous Peter Potter, they delighted his chil-
dren, and confirmed them in the belief that their
father was something quite above the average of
mankind, and that they were highly favored in
being the minister's children.
Poor Thirza, who could never be done repenting
of her carelessness, hung about him and waited on
him, and racked her brains to think of ways to
please him. But she could not help enjoying, with
all her heart, the jubilee he made of those four
weeks of confinement to the house.
It was about a week after the accident happened,
before he had even ventured to hobble across the
floor by the help of a crutch,-though he had that
day made one, in anticipation of the time when he
might use it,-that the family were awakened one
night by a vigorous pounding at the front door.
What's the matter ? Who's there ?" shouted
the minister, raising his night-capped head.
Fire !-fire We want your help came the
The minister threw back the bedclothes, and
was about to spring from the bed. But a twinge
of pain and the quick hand of his wife brought
him down on his pillow again, and it was she who
sprang out and went to the door.
The Willoughby house is burning up! We
want the minister to come, and bring his axe."
He can't come. He has scalded his foot, and
has n't walked a step for a week. Go to the shed
and take the axe, if it will do any good," she an-
swered through the crack of the door.
Water-pails Give us all you have "
She brought them quickly, and passed them out,
and the men were gone immediately. Then she
slipped on her stockings, wrapped a warm garment
about her shoulders, and went to the study window
to look out. The Willoughby house was but a few
rods distant, on the same side of the street. It had
been the pride of the village for years, with its
grand old halls and stately portico, its magnificent
garden and greenhouse, its ebb and flow of city
visitors, the children and grandchildren of the aged
lady who alone called the place home.
Vainly they had coaxed and entreated the old
1877.] PATTIKIN S HOUSE. 521
mother to leave the house to which she had come
as a bride full sixty years before, and to dwell with
them in their distant homes. Her reply was always,
"Here I have lived, and here I will die "
And now!-this was the sorrowful thought of
the minister's wife as she saw from the window the
flames already bursting through the roof. She
stayed to look but one moment. Then she hurried
back to her restless and impatient husband, to
whose eager questions she replied:
There is no hope of saving it. I'11 go over, if
only go he said, again and again, as he moved
restlessly about, now resting his poulticed and
clumsy foot upon a chair, now holding it down till
its painful throbbing warned him to raise it again;
now submitting to have it incased in the blanket
which Thirza remembered to fetch him, and then
allowing it to drop on the floor, as he hurried back
to the window.
Seth and Simon were gone, to help if they could;
if not, to look on. Thirza would have gone but
for the notion that she was taking care of father,
you 'll lie still, and see if I can help to comfort
Grandmother Willoughby. I can't bear to think
what she will feel."
She was dressed very soon, and calling up the
children, and charging them to dress themselves
warmly before they came down-stairs to see, she
Everybody disobeyed her instantly, and most
innocently. Half-clad, shoeless, stockingless, they
hurried down-stairs and crowded about the study
windows. Wrapped in his dressing-gown, the min-
ister hobbled, leaning on his crutch, from one win-
dow to another, lamenting his helplessness.
They'll think I might come Oh, if I could
who might seriously injure himself, in his distress
and excitement, if she left him.
Why-e-e what will Grandmother Willoughby
do if her house burns all up ?" said Pattikin, stand-
ing on one foot, and trying to pull on a stocking
and keep her eyes on the burning house at the
same time; and the minister answered with a groan.
The blows of the axes, cutting away the sheds
that the barn might be saved, resounded on the
still night air, and the crash of the falling timbers,
could be plainly heard. There was timber enough
in one of those old mansions to build half a dozen
of our modern houses, and the rare spectacle lasted
longer than similar ones do now.
THE MOTHER IN THE DESERT.
But it was over at last. The minister went back
to his bed, and the children huddled about the
kitchen stove, which was not yet cold, waiting for
their mother to come back.
When she came, and told her pitiful story of the
grief of the poor old lady, and how they had to
force her out of the burning house, they were quite
overcome, and Pattikin said:
It's too bad and to-morrer morning' I'm just
going to carry her over my Willie book,"-which
was very generous in Pattikin, since this was her
most precious possession.
By the time the boys came home, their mother
had ready a two-quart pailful of boiling hot ginger
tea, of which everybody had to drink a portion, to
keep them from taking cold. And then they were
sent back to bed, and silence and peace reigned
again in Pattikin's house.
THE MOTHER IN THE DESERT.
BY SUSAN COOLIDGE.
MANY, many centuries ago, in a far-away coun-
try, whose laws and customs were different from ours,
and allowed men to have several wives at a time,
if they liked, there lived an old man who had two.
One of these wives was a very aged woman, but she
was still wise and beautiful, and the old man loved
her very much. The other wife was young. She
had been a slave in her husband's family, and was
still treated as an inferior by the older wife, once
her mistress. This younger wife had a little boy,
a fine hardy fellow. He was the only child in the
house,-or rather in the tents,-for there were no
houses in those days. I will not tell you the names
of these persons, but I think most of you will guess
them, for you all have heard about them or read
of them in that most beautiful book of stories which
we call The Old Testament."
One of the mischiefs of putting two wives into
the same home is, that they are almost sure to
quarrel with each other. It was so in this case.
The wife who had been a slave, was proud of her
motherhood, and now and then would say provok-
ing things to the other wife who had no boy to be
proud of. Then the older woman would feel jeal-
ous and unhappy, and be in her turn unkind and
harsh, till the tent resounded with bitter words,
sobs and cries. At last a marvelous event hap-
pened. God pitied the childless wife, and to her,
also, sent a boy, a dear little baby, soft, and sweet,
and helpless as our babies are to-day, and just as
much loved and rejoiced over as they. For a time
the brown tent, standing close to the green pastures
where the white, bleating sheep nibbled and wan-
dered, was a happy place. A great feast was given
in honor of the baby. Friends and relations came
on horseback and camelback from far away. Kids
were roasted, rich milk, herbs stewed with butter,
and all the dainties known to the time, prepared;
and the proud mother was never weary of show-
ing her child, and boasting of his size and strength
and goodness, as mothers have done from that day
to this. But after the feast was eaten and the com-
pany dispersed, the old disturbances began again.
Each wife was jealous; the children quarreled
with each other; the good old man tried in vain
to keep the peace between them. At last, matters
came to a crisis. The old wife said she would dwell
no longer under the same tent with the other,
and would not let her boy be brought up with his
big domineering brother. Both must go away, she
said,-the mother and the child,-and she per-
sisted, and stormed, and urged, till her husband
did not know what to do.
And, indeed, it was difficult to know what to do.
There were very few people in the world in those
days, and those few were scattered about at long
distances from each other. The brown tents be-
side the sheep-pastures were miles and miles from
any other tents. One could travel for many days
without meeting a human being. There was no
particular place to send any one to, saying, There
you will find shelter and food;" and it seemed
hard and cruel to say. Go to a poor woman,
without telling her where to go. So the old
man went to bed unhappy and puzzled,-and no
But in the night God spoke to him in a dream,
as often happened in those times, and told him
not to fear, but to let the mother and child go, for
He would take care of them and preserve their
THE MOTHER IN THE DESERT.
lives, and the boy should grow up to be the father
of a great multitude. I do not think, except for
this promise of the Lord's, that the old man could
have said Go," for he was a just and wise man,
and tender-hearted. There is a tradition among
the people of his nation, that he was the first man
For, rising with the dawn, he called the younger
wife, filled a bag with bread, tied a bottle of water
to her back, pointed to the desert, and bade her
" Go." Poor thing, her heart must have been
heavy enough as she turned her face away from
the tents. She had not been always happy there.
"WITH A GREAT SOB, SHE WENT AWAY.'
in all the world whose beard became white, and
that he asked of God, "What is this?" and the
Lord replied, "It is a token of gentleness, my
son." The old man's beard was very white as he
lay, dreaming that night, and his heart had grown
gentle with the blanching of his hair; so that it
was not cruelty or unkindness, but faith in the
Heavenly Promise, which, when morning broke,
led him to comply with his old wife's request.
There had been quarrelsome hours and sad hours,
-hours of complaining and hours of tears,-
but still, the tents were home, there was food in
them and shelter, and the wilderness was desolate
and lonely. She went, however,-there was noth-
ing else left for her to do. Husbands in those days
were masters as well, and had power of life and
death over their wives. There were the barley-loaf
and the water-bottle ; there was the desert track;
THE MOTHER IN THE DESERT.
and taking her child by the hand, she walked
away, going she knew not where or to what.
A long time they wandered in the rough sandy
wilderness. When they were tired, they lay down
to sleep under the thorn-bushes; when they were
hungry, they broke a piece off the loaf and drank
from the bottle. Gradually the loaf grew less, the
last drops were drained, and still they were in the
desert wilds, and as far from human help as ever.
The poor boy cried with thirst, and the mother
was thirsty too, though she suffered in silence. At
*last, the boy lay down. He could go no farther.
His hands were hot, and his head burned with
fever. Each moment he grew more ill. His
mother tended him, but what could she do without
food or medicine ? At last, his eyes closed, he no
longer moved or spoke, and gradually the convic-
tion grew in her that, unless aid came from some-
where, he must die.
Where could she hope for help? The hot sand
gave none, the blue sky looked pitiless. All she
could do was to draw him beneath the shadow of
some bushes, put a stone under his head by
way of pillow, kiss him, call his name; and for
neither kiss nor call did he open his eyes. At last,
with a great sob, she went away,-quite a long way
off,-and sat down with her back to him. Let
me not see the death of the child," she said within
herself; and with the words came thoughts of
what a dear baby he had been; how brave and
bright always; how pretty and coaxing in his
ways; and she began to cry, gently at first, then
loudly, with moans and sobs, as if, in that inhospi-
table spot, some one might hear and come to her
relief. There was no chance of that, she knew;
still, the tears seemed to relieve, in part, the mis-
ery of her heart.
But some one did hear. Man's extremity is
God's opportunity," a good man has said; and in
this poor mother's extremity, help came to her. A
voice called her name. She looked up, and there
above her head was the shining form of an angel.
"What aileth thee?" the angel said. "Fear
not, for God hath heard the voice of the lad where
he is. Arise, lift the lad and hold him in thy hand,
for I will make of him a great nation." Then the
Oh gasped the poor mother, what can he
mean. 'A great nation,' when I have not even a
drop of water to give him to drink "
She arose, however, for the angel was not to be
disobeyed. It seemed as if God led her, for, as
she went back to where her son lay, her feet, as if
of themselves, turned aside in the thicket, and
there, shining out from the sand, was a cool, bub-
bling spring of water. There it had been all the
time, while she sat despairingly with her back to
the dying lad,-there, close by; but she had not
guessed it until God's moment came.
I think, do you know, that there is a beautiful
thought here for all of us. Almost every one, at
some time or other in his life, has unhappy days
when hope seems dead, and all things go wrong.
If our eyes were opened to see, on such days, or
our faith were stronger, perhaps for us too would
be revealed some bright fountain of refreshment
which God has set for us to drink from, and which,
pretty soon, we shall come to, if only we have
patience to bear our trouble and to wait His
You can guess how glad the poor mother was
when she saw the water. She ran to her boy,
lifted him in her arms, and laid him down beside
the spring, where the ground, carpeted with fresh
herbs, made a soft bed. Then she bathed his head
with water and gave him drink; and when he felt
the cool touch on his lips, he opened his eyes and
smiled, and she knew that he was saved.
We don't know much about the history of the
mother and boy after that day. The Bible tells us
no more, except that "God was with the lad, and
he grew and dwelt in the wilderness, and became
an archer." Later, when he was a man, he mar-
ried an Egyptian girl. It is from him that the
Bedouins of the desert and the wild tribes of
Palestine and India are descended. Ishmael-
ites" they are called, from the boy's name; for
now that you have guessed, as I think you must,
I don't mind telling that the story is about Hagar
and Ishmael, and the old man who sent them
forth into the wilderness was Abraham, the friend
and servant of God, about whom such wonderful
and beautiful things are told in the Old Testa-
I have heard just one more curious little story
about Ishmael, which I will tell you. It is not
given in the Bible, and may not be true; but the
Jews accept it as a tradition, or unwritten story,
handed down from one generation to another:
Ishmael lived a wandering life with his wife and
cattle, and the Lord blessed his flocks, and he had
great possessions. But his heart remained the
same; and he was a master of archery, and in-
structed his neighbors in making bows.
After some years, Abraham, whose heart
longed for his son, said to Sarah, I must see how
my son Ishmael fares.' And she answered, 'Thou
shalt go, if thou wilt swear to me not to alight
from off thy camel.' So Abraham swore. Then he
went to Paran, over the desert, seeking Ishmael's
tent; and he reached it at noon, but neither
Hagar nor her son was at home. Only Ishmael's
wife -was within, and she was scolding and beating
THE GREEN HOUSE WITH GOLD NAILS.
So Abraham halted on his camel before the
tent-door, and the sun was hot, and the sand white
and glaring beneath. And he called to her, Is
thy husband within ?'
She answered, without rising from her seat,
SHe is hunting.'
Then Abraham said, 'I am faint and hun-
gry; bring me a little bread and a drop of water.'
"But the woman answered, 'I have none for
such as thou.'
So Abraham said to her, Say to thy hus-
band, even to Ishmael, these words: "An old
man hath come to see thee out of the land of the
Philistines, and he says: The nail that fastens thy
tent is bad; cast it away, or thy tent will fall, and
get thee a better nail." Then he departed and
Now, when Ishmael returned, his wife told him
all these words, and he knew that his father had
been there, and he understood the tenor of his
words; so he sent away his wife, and he took an-
other, with his mother's advice, out of Egypt, and
her name was Fatima.
And after three years, Abraham yearned once
more after his son, and he said to Sarah, I must
see how Ishmael fares.' And she answered, Thou
shalt go, if thou wilt swear to me not to alight
from off thy camel.' So he swore.
Then he went to Paran, over the desert, seek-
ing Ishmael's tent, and he reached it at noon; but
neither Hagar nor her son was at home. Only
Ishmael's wife, Fatima, was within, and she was
singing to the children.
So Abraham halted. And when Fatima saw
a stranger at the door, she rose from her seat and
veiled her face, and came out and greeted him.
Then said Abraham, Is thy husband
She answered, My lord, he is pasturing the
camels in the desert.' And she added, 'Enter,
my lord, into the cool of the tent and rest, and
suffer me to bring thee a little meat.'
"But Abraham said, 'I may not alight from.
off my camel, for my journey is hasty; but bring
me, I pray thee, a morsel of bread and a drop of
water, for I am hungry and faint.'
Then she ran and brought him of the best
that she had in the tent, and he ate and drank, and
So he said to her, Say to thy husband, even
to Ishmael, that an old man out of the land of
the Philistines has been here, and he says: The
nail that fastens thy tent is very good; let it not
be stirred out of its place, and thy tent shall
And when Ishmael came home, Fatima re-
lated to him all the words that the old man had
spoken; and he understood the tenor of the
And Ishmael was glad that his father had
visited him, for he knew thereby that his love for
him was not extinguished."
THE GREEN HOUSE WITH GOLD NAILS.
BY MRS. J. P. BALLARD.
AMONG the butterflies which flit gayly about
our summer flowers, there is one in which I was
much interested last season, and which I would
like to describe to the readers of ST. NICHOLAS,
that this summer they may study it for them-
selves. It has been my progressive object-card"*
for the summer, and I do not believe even the
Little Schoolma'am would object to my studies
when I tell her that no pin or other instrument of
torture has been used, either in its capture or
How did I catch my butterfly? As I would
advise all to do who wish for success and a perfect
specimen. Take with you a box; watch for a nice
plump caterpillar; break off the leaf you will easily
find him feeding upon ; and when you have carried
him home in the box, put him on a white paper
and invert a clear plain-glass tumbler quickly over
him; feed him daily with whatever sort of leaf
you found him eating, and-you have-caught your
butterfly. You can see him through the glass, and
will find it a source of enjoyment to watch from
time to time his great changes.
But it is of one particular kind I wish now to tell
you. The caterpillar lives upon the common milk-
weed, or Asclefias, which grows by the road-side,
* For an account of progressive object-cards, see "Jack-in-the-Pulpit," ST. NICHOLAS for October, 1876.
THE GREEN HOUSE WITH GOLD NAILS.
with pinkish clusters of flowers in summer, and
curious bird-shaped pods in the fall. This cater-
pillar (whose true name is Danais* arckhipus-we
I- -. 't
FIG. I.-THE CATERPILLAR.
might call him Archie, for short) is very pretty,
and the butterfly is handsome; but the crowning
beauty of all is the chrysalis. It looks like a little
green house, put together with gold nails. It is
somewhat of the size and shape of a long, delicate
pea-green acorn, and has a row of dots half way
around what would be the saucer of the acorn, with
others about the size of a pin's head on different
parts of the chrysalis, and you will say they are not
like gold, but are real gold itself.
The caterpillar, when full-grown, is about two
inches long. It is cylindrical, and handsomely
tirely even, and occasionally run into each other.
On the top of the second ring or segment are two
slender black thread-like horns, and on a hind
ring two more not quite as long as those near the
head. You can find it almost any day in July or
August, if you look closely on the under side of
the broad ovate-elliptical leaves of the milk-weed.
It was the accidental finding of his chrysalis,
attached to a spray of wild carrot, that led mre to
study this particular species. It was a secret to
me-this beautiful green and gold house. It held
something. What, I must know! Cutting the
stem of the carrot, I brought the treasure carefully
into the house, covered it with a tumbler, and for
a week it remained just the same. Then the green
began to turn to a light purple, and lines began to
show through the clear case. The front showed
lines like a curtain, parted and folded back each
way, like drapery, to the bottom, as shown in
Fig. 3. The back was curiously marked off, and
THE CHRYSALIS BEGINNING TO CHANGE.
FIG. 2.-TH MILK-WEED AND THE CHRYSALIS.
marked with narrow alternating bands of black,
white, and lemon-yellow. The bands are not en-
looked like Fig. 4. The whole gradually took on
a very dark purple hue, and I hoped to see it open
and give up its treasure. But though I watched
very carefully, it stole a march on me, and one
morning I found its secret disclosed and fluttering
below the empty chrysalis, now but a clear, rent
tissue, with here and there a pale gold dot.
The butterfly is handsome and quite large (more
than three inches across when the wings are
spread), but not quite so beautiful as you would
infer from his eleganthouse. He is of a rich tawny
orange, bordered with velvety black, on the upper
side, and a lighter, nankeen yellow below; and
has a large velvety black head, spotted with white.
As I did not know how large he would be, nor
when he would come out,-for he did not invite
me, as I said, to his "opening,"-I had not given
him a glass roomy enough for his wings to ex-
pand entirely at the first, as they must, or remain
imperfect. So afterward, although he had the
liberty of the whole room, he walked about with
one wing folded back over his shoulder, like a
* From the name of Danaaa, the only daughter of Acrisius, who shut her up in a brazen tower, for fear some one would rob him of her; and
Jupiter visited her there by transforming himself into a shower of gold.
THE GREEN HOUSE WITH GOLD NAILS.
FIG. 5.-THE BUTTERFLY.
lady's opera-cloak. But I kept him, and, learning
that he came from the milk-weed caterpillar, I
went in quest of some. I was fortunate enough
to find five in one search-three on one large milk-
weed, and two on another. I put them in a glass
fernery, about one foot long and ten inches high,
and fed them with fresh milk-weed leaves daily.
Soon they mounted, one after another, to the top,
and began to work on the under side of the glass
cover. My curiosity was on the alert to see how each
would build his green house. I had seen cocoons
of various kinds spun, but the glass-smooth chrysa-
lis could not be spun. Oh, no It was altogether
too nice work to be done in sight. There was no
sound of hammer or sight of tools. It was all
polished and painted and ready-and lo the inner
layers of the caterpillar's skin had been the work-
shop, and the outer skin was taken down and dis-
carded, like worthless scaffolding, when the green
and gold house was ready. Pretty soon there were
five of these houses hanging from the glass roof,
side by side; and now there are five empty homes,
still clinging by the little shiny black twist that
fastens them firmly to the glass, and five handsome
great butterflies, like the one shown in the picture.
Only one of all these did I see break the shell
and come out, and that only by the most diligent
watching. The butterfly was packed, head down-
ward, at the bottom of the chrysalis-wonderfully
packed, as all will admit who see him emerge,
to shake himself out into something five or six
times as wide, a beautiful uncramped butterfly.
After seeing them brighten a bouquet, and
watching them eat with their long spiral tongues
from a little bed of moss sprinkled with sweetened
water, I let them take a nap under a tumbler with
a little pillow of chloroformed cotton, and, un-
marred even by a pin, they were ready to be laid
away in a glass-covered box in their long, dream-
BY M. F. B.
I CREEP on the ground, and the children say:
" You ugly old thing and push me away.
I lie in my bed, and the children say:
" The fellow is dead; we 'll throw him away "
At last I awake, and the children try
To make me stay, as I rise and fly.
^-r.^^r- ::"-^,.^ ? K
BY E. MULLER.
TOMMY had been cross all day. He had pulled
Robbie's hair, and taken his pea-nuts from him.
He had sat down on Susie's lovely doll and flattened
her nose, and he had put the kitten on top of the
book-case. He had even been saucy and hateful
to his dear mamma, when she asked if her little
boy felt quite well, or if his long visit to the
Aquarium yesterday had tired him. Instead of
answering pleasantly, Tommy had hunched up his
shoulders, shoved out his elbows, and snapped out,
No; I aint tired, and I aint cross either."
Every one was glad when bed-time came, and
Master Tommy was taken upstairs.
I do declare, Master Tommy, you '11 turn into
a nasty, snappy turtle, or a crab, some of these
nights, when you 're so cross," said nurse.
Pooh said Tommy, I wont."
"Well, something will happen; you'll see if it
does n't. I've read of just such things coming to
boys in books," said nurse, as she tucked him into
Nurse thought he had become very quiet all at
once, and as she bade him "Good-night," she
wondered if he was up to more mischief. But he
was already snoring as she reached the door.
As soon as she had gone down-stairs, Tommy
got out of bed, and felt under the bureau for the
piece of mince-pie he had hidden there. He had
taken it from the pantry shelf, that evening,-a
good big quarter of a pie. It was rather dusty, but
tasted good, and Tommy sat up in bed, and ate it
all in ten bites. Then he curled down among the
blankets, and wished he was a crab.
I 'd crawl right down and bite nurse, now," he
thought. "I wonder how it would feel to be a
turtle, or a crab, or a-a "
"A very fine specimen indeed," said a gruff,
Tommy looked around. Where was he ? Where
TOMMY ON EXHIBITION.
was his bed, and his room with blue paper on the
Oh, my what is the matter?" cried Tommy.
He was sitting upon a bit of sea-weed, in a great
glass case full of water, and a red-nosed man in cousin Nonsense! Of course you are. Come
spectacles was looking at him. along."
"A fine specimen of fresh-water urchin," said
the red-nosed man.
I aint a urchin," cried Tommy, indignantly.
See him open his mouth I How ugly he is! "
exclaimed a small boy beside the red-nosed man.
Tommy looked around for something to throw at
him, but right at his elbow sat a huge hermit crab,
who stretched out four claws, and said:
Shake hands, cousin Glad to see you "
He was just stretching out his claws to drag
Tommy off the bit of sea-weed, when two little
sea-urchins came rolling along, and said:
Why, here's cousin Tommy "
Go 'way exclaimed Tommy. I never was
such an ugly, prickly thing like a chestnut bur."
Ugly, prickly thing, indeed cried the sea-
urchins. Did n't you pain your poor mamma
with your naughty, prickly temper,-you ugly little
"I'm not your cousin," said Tommy, drawing
Oho He says he is not my cousin !" squeaked
the hermit crab, so loudly that all the skates came
to see what was the matter.
"You're a horrid ugly thing!" screamed
Tommy. I saw you yesterday pinching a poor
little crab, and poking your old claws into his shell.
I'm not your cousin." '
"Now, just hear that! said the hermit crab,
with a wicked smile. "Here is an urchin who
pinches his little brother, pulls his hair, and takes
his pea-nuts away, and yet he declares he is not my
fresh-water urchin !" And both the sea-urchins
gave him great pokes with their sharp spiny sides,
and then rolled away, laughing at his pain.
They had no sooner gone, than up came a whole
family of thin little alligators, and with them a
whole family of fat little seals, giggling, bouncing
up and down, and eating mince-pie.
Tommy, how d' ye do? How d' ye do. Tom-
my ? said they all.
They looked so mischievous, and so big, that
Tommy began to cry.
Cry, baby,-cry Have n't any pie sang
all the fat little seals and thin little alligators,
jumping at him and trying to bite his toes, till
Tommy was frightened half to death.
Just as he made sure they were going to eat
him, something wonderful happened. A beautiful
sea-horse, with a silver bridle, came floating down,
led by the loveliest little mermaid that ever was
seen. And as she came close to Tommy, she
"Poor Tommy! Come with me. Mount my
little friend here, and we will take you away from
So Tommy got upon the sea-horse's back,-and
he just fitted there nicely, which surprised him,
till he remembered that since he had become a
fresh-water urchin, he had grown very small.
They pranced away from the seals and alligators,
and all the skates smiled pleasantly as they passed.
Soon they came to the mermaid's house,-a large
pink conch-shell, with sea-weed climbing over it,
and a long avenue, marked by rows of pink sea-
anemones, leading up to it. The sea-anemones
bowed, and waved their fringes to the mermaid,
and welcomed her home.
I have here a poor little urchin who has been
naughty, and has been punished; but now he will
be good, and happy," said the mermaid.
Then they went into the conch-shell, and around
and around, and up the spiral stairs, that were
pinked at every step, till at last the mermaid put
Tommy into a little bed like a rosy pink sunset,
and kissed him good-night.
"You wont want to get up and look for pie
again, will you ? said she.
"I just guess not!" answered Tommy; and
then he fell asleep, while she sang to him songs
about the sea.
When he woke up, the sunshine was streaming
I did think of giving him some paregoric,
ma'am," nurse was saying. "But after a little
while he stopped crying, so I did not get up."
Why I must have dreamed it! said Tommy
to himself. Just then he looked down and saw some
pie-crust crumbs in his bed. I don't know,
though," he thought. May be it was true. May
be I really was-a-urchin."
THE RIDE WITH THE MERMAID.
CECILE AND LULU.
CECILE AND LULU.
(Translation of French Story in April Number.)
BY A. A. CHAPMAN.
"WHAT are those funny black marks, Cecile,
that we see everywhere on the walls ? "
Letters, Lulu; don't you know them ?"
No, Cecile;. nobody has ever taught me them."
"Alas how you have been neglected, my poor
little one; but when one must work all day long to
earn a living, one does not easily find the oppor-
tunity either to teach or to study. I myself have
forgotten a great deal of what I used to know when
we were happy. But what I still remember, I will
teach to you, little by little, as I find time."
"Why are we so poor, Cecile ?"
It is our misfortune, my child; we must bear
it with patience until Heaven sends us better days.
Only, if we could find our uncle, all our troubles
"Why do we not go and look for him at once,
Cecile ? "
My child, I did look for him everywhere until
all my money was gone. But don't let us think of
that any more. You are going to take a lesson,
you know. Here is a poster which will serve very
nicely for a reading-book."
This letter here," said she, pointing to it with
her knitting-needle, "is called 'H.' Look at it
well; will you remember it?"
"' H,'" repeated Lulu, I will remember it.
'H ',-I know it already."
And so Cecile taught her little sister the letters
What does all that mean ? asked little Lulu at
These letters spell the word house,-do you
see it? H-o-u-s-e-house. But there strikes the
hour. I have no more time to teach you. I must
go to the factory. Here is a little basket of fruit
that I bought for your luncheon. Let us go !"
Oh, Cecile! don't shut me up in that dark,
narrow room I hate it. Let me follow you, or
even leave me here, where I feel the fresh air, and
where there is something to look at, I beg of you I "
"Will you promise me not to leave this place to
wander in the streets ?"
I will stay here until you return, Cecile."
Remember, Lulu, that if I lose you, I shall be
all alone in the world."
Have no fear, Cecile; be sure I will take good
I ask only that you will stay where you can see
the word house all the time. Be good, my child, and
don't forget what I have taught you. Good-bye "
She kissed her little sister, with tears in her eyes,
and went away.
Lulu sat down well satisfied, and proceeded to
examine the contents of her basket, happily not
dreaming that it had cost her sister a dinner. But
her attention was soon diverted from her agreeable
occupation by the various things that were passing
in the street. She thought them so new and so
At length Lulu ate her luncheon, then she read
over two or three times the word house that she
had just learned, and then she began to grow weary
of the place where she was, which became now very
quiet, for everybody had turned the same street-
corner, which seemed to her the entrance to a mys-
terious place, where all sorts of pretty things were
to be found. In order to see again these lost won-
ders, Lulu ran to the corner, whence she looked
down a broad street lined with magnificent shops,
and thronged with handsome carriages, children
richly dressed who were amusing themselves with
all sorts of pretty playthings, and a number of those
little rogues that we call street-Arabs.
For a few minutes she took good care not to lose
sight of the word house, of which she could still
get a glimpse. But she was not yet six years old,
and besides, she was very inexperienced, having
come recently from the country, where she was born.
This is why it is not very surprising that she soon
forgot the word, and thought of nothing but the
interesting objects that she had before her eyes.
Little by little she drew nearer to these marvels,
that attracted her irresistibly by their splendor,
until she had entirely turned the corner, and found
herself in the midst of her new paradise.
Time passed. More and more drawn away by
these charming novelties, Lulu turned a great
many corners, without remembering how many,
when all at once the hour sounded when her sister
was accustomed to return home i Thus awakened
from her dream of pleasure, she realized that she
was lost in the great city, not knowing whither to
direct her steps !
Sad and terrified, she turned corner after corner,
crossed street after street, looking for the place that
she had left, without knowing how to recognize it
if she should succeed in finding it again, there
were so many that looked like it. After many
turnings, she remembered the word house which
she would be certain to recognize, and which she
resolved to look for.
THE CHILD-BISHOPS OF SALISBURY.
At length she espied it again on a wall at the
other side of the street.
My house !" cried she, I have found it again;
soon my sister will find me again."
A gentleman who was passing at that moment
stopped and said: Of which house do you speak,
my child? This one is mine."
I am speaking of the word 'house,' which is
here on the wall."
And can you read that word ?"
Yes, sir; my sister taught it to me."
And what is this good sister's name? "
And your name, little one? "
My name is Lulu."
"Cecile and Lulu repeated the gentleman;
then he said quickly: What is your father's
"My father is no more. His name was Mr.
Henry Jolivet, but "
My child," said the gentleman, in a deeply
moved voice, "truly you have found your house,
for henceforth it is yours, like all that I have in the
world. My poor little lost lamb that I have vainly
sought so long, come to my arms "-and he em-
braced her tenderly.
Just then a young girl with a wild look turned
the corner at a rapid pace.
Oh, Lulu !" cried the new-comer, in an im-
patient voice, "how could you have been so
naughty ? Here have I been looking for you more
than an hour !"
But why did you not come here to look for me
at once ? "
"What are you talking about, Lulu? This is
not the place where I left you."
Why yes, Cecile; don't you see the word
house that you taught to me ? "
You are mistaken, Lulu; it is the same word,
but it is another place."
She is not mistaken," said the gentleman; "it
is the place she ought to have found. Don't you
know me, Cecile?"
She looked at him fixedly for a moment, then
she uttered a cry: My uncle "
Lulu now knows how to read, write, and do many
other things; but she will never forget the lesson her
sister gave her, and which had so happy a result.
[The great number of translations which the story of "Cecile et Lulu" has called forth from all parts of the country, proves how gladly
our young readers welcome these stories in foreign languages. Many of the versions received are truly admirable, and one and all show
commendable painstaking. We are very glad to see this eager interest displayed by our young correspondents, andtwe see signs of a like
enthusiasm over the shorter and simpler French tale published in our last number. For further notice of translations received, sec Letter-
Box" of this issue.]
ST. NICHOLAS' DAY AND THE CHILD-BISHOPS OF
BY MELVILLE EGLESTON.
THERE are few more interesting regions in
England than that of which the old-cathedral town
of Salisbury is the center. A few miles away, upon
the gently undulating downs of Salisbury Plain, is
Stonehenge, one of the most celebrated monu-
ments of the ancient Britons. Nearer to the city
are the ruins of Sarum, a stronghold of the same
people, and, afterward, of their Roman conquerors.
Later still, it was fortified and held by English
kings, and was for a long time a bishop's seat. In
the reign of Henry III. its honors were transferred
to Salisbury, and there, in time, rose the great
cathedral, with its beautiful spire, the loftiest in
the land. It is one of the finest examples of the
English Gothic architecture anywhere to be found.
During the middle ages, the cathedral church of
Sarum, and its successor at Salisbury, were very
celebrated, and a certain precedence was given to
their bishops. The forms of service were widely
followed in other places, and the peculiar customs
of Sarum were held in high respect. Among these
customs were some that were very curious, and one
of them will certainly be of interest to the readers
of ST. NICHOLAS.
But, first, I must say a little about St. Nicholas;
for the queer custom which I shall describe was
connected with the celebration of his festival. This
magazine has already told you that he was a saint
of the early days of Christianity, and especially
honored in what is called the Eastern Church-the
THE CHILD-BISHOPS OF SALISBURY.
church of Russia and other eastern countries. He
was the Bishop of Myra, a city of Asia Minor, and
is often called the child-bishop," because of the
piety and goodness for which he was noted even in
his infancy. It was said of him, as of Timothy,
that he knew the Scriptures from a child." Very
strange stories are told about him, and one of them
- '' Ii,
I will give you in the very words of the old book in
which I found it,-written in the queer English of
"And whan he was born, they made hym chrysten, and called
hym Nycolas. That is a mannes name; but he kepeth the name of
a chyld; for he chose kepe vertues, meknes and symplenes, and
without malyce. Also we rede, whyle he lay in hys cradel, he fasted
Wednesday and Fryday. These days he would souke but ones of
the day, and therewyth held hym pleased. Thus he lived all hys lyf
in virtues with this childes name; and therefore children don hym
worship before all other saynts."
But in another old book we find another anecdote,
which does not speak so well for the "meknes of
his disposition; for it is said that at the great
Council of Nice he had a very lively dispute with
another divine named Arius, in the course of which
our saint gave his heretical opponent a sound box
on the ear. Whatever may be the truth of these
stories, we all know that St. Nicholas was and is a
very famous saint, that he has long been held in
high honor in many countries, and that he is
especially distinguished as the patron of young
scholars and children.
Now you see that, in the old times, when great
attention was paid to the observance of saints' days,
it was very natural that St. Nicholas' Day, the 6th
of December, should be celebrated by the children,
''I' ,' ~,
A II 1, '
V ill -
especially in the schools, and wherever many were
gathered together for any purpose; and so we find
traces of many odd'and interesting customs con-
nected with the observance of the festival. But
nowhere was it celebrated with greater solemnity,
or in a more singular way, than at Old Sarum,.and
afterward at Salisbury. It was there the custom to
choose from among the choristers-the boy-singers
of the cathedral-an episcopus fueriruom, which
means, as those who have studied Latin will know,
a "bishop of the boys." In old Ei I:!. he was
called the "barne byshop," or chyld bysbop,"-
that is, child bishop. From the feast of St. Nich-
olas until Innocents' Day, the 28th of December,
this child-bishop was invested with great authority,
and maintained all the state of a real prelate of the
church. He wore a bishop's robes and miter, and
carried in his hand the pastoral staff or crozier,
while the rest of the choristers attended him as
WILD MICE AND THEIR WAYS.
prebendaries, and yielded to him the same obedi-
ence which was shown by the real officials to their
superior, the bishop. Upon the eve of Innocents'
Day,-a day observed in memory of the innocent
children murdered by Herod,-the boy-bishop,
attended by his fellow-choristers in rich copes, with
lighted tapers in their hands, went in solemn pro-
cession to the altar of the Holy Trinity. As they
marched along, three of the children chanted
hymns. The dean and canons walked at the head
of the procession, the chaplain next, and the bishop,
with his little prebendaries, in the place of honor,
last of all. The bishop then took his seat upon a
throne, while the rest of the children were arranged
on each side of the choir upon the uppermost
ascent. They then performed at the altar the same
service, with the exception of the mass, that the
real bishop and his clergy would have performed
had they officiated. After service, all left the
church in the same solemn order. Such a singular
ceremony must have excited great curiosity among
the people who filled the cathedral on the holiday,
and we can well imagine that there would have
been much confusion and disturbance but for a
severe law which forbade any person to press upon
the children, or to hinder or interrupt them in any
way, upon pain of excommunication. One can
fancy that he sees the little fellows with their long
faces, filled with a sense of their momentary dig-
nity, marching solemnly up the aisle, while the
rude crowd on either hand pushes and jostles, each
man trying to elbow himself into a place where he
can see the odd and attractive spectacle What
did they think of it, these child-priests of a day?
Did they feel that they were taking part in a sacred
ceremony, or was it simply a novel kind of play to
them ? We cannot tell. But as for the boy-bishop,
although he may have enjoyed the importance of
his position for a day or two, I am quite sure that
he must have grown heartily tired of his dignity
before the three weeks of his episcopate were over.
During all that time he was forbidden "to feast or
to make visits," but was required to stay in the
common room of the choristers, keeping up the
dignity of his office. Think of the little fellow,
compelled to act his part with all the gravity of a
grown person, sitting in solemn state while his
light-hearted playfellows were perhaps romping in
the cathedral close, or even making sly attempts to
disturb his composure.
In the case of the little bishop's dying during his
term of office, his funeral ceremonies were cele-
brated with the greatest pomp and magnificence,
and he was interred, like other bishops, with all his
ornaments. At least one such case seems to have
happened at Salisbury, for there is in the cathedral
a very ancient sepulchral monument, with the
effigy, or rather the figure in demi-relief, of a child
lying on its back, with a miter on its head, and a
pastoral staff in the left hand. The feet are upon
a dragon, while over the head is a trefoil canopy
with two small angels.
WILD MICE AND THEIR WAYS.
BY ERNEST INGERSOLL.
When every stream in its pent-house
Goes gurgling on its way,
And in his gallery the mouse
Nibbleth the meadow hay;
Methinks the summer still is nigh,
And lurketh underneath,
As that same meadow-mouse doth lie
Snug in that last year's heath."
WALKING about the fields, I come upon little
pathways as plain as Indian trails, which lead in
and out among the grass and weed-stalks, under
Gothic arches which the bending tops of the flow-
ering grasses make, like roads for the tiny chariots
of Queen Mab. These curious little paths branch-
ing here and there, and crossing one another in
all directions, are the runways of the field-mice,
along which they go, mostly after sunset, to visit
one another or bring home their plunder; for the
thieving little gray-coats of our cupboards, whose
bright eyes glance at us from behind the cheese-
box, and who whisk away down some unthought-of
hole, learned their naughty tricks from their many
out-door cousins, whom we may forgive on the plea
of their not knowing any better. Suppose I tell
you about some of these same cousins who live in
the woods and fields of the Northern States?
Well, to begin, if you take the o and the e out
of "mouse," you have left, mus, which is the Latin
word for mouse; but instead of saying "mousey,"
a Roman girl would have said musculus. Put the
WILD MICE AND THEIR WAYS.
two together, and you have Mus muzsculus, the
name we write when we want every person, whether
he understands our language or not, to know that
we mean the common house-mouse, for all the
world is supposed to know something of Latin.
This little plague was originally a native of some
Eastern country, but has now spread all over the
world, forgetting where he really does belong.
Sometimes, in this country, he forsakes the houses
and takes up a wild life in the woods.
Coming now to the true field-mice, there is first
a kind which, to distinguish it from Old World
kinds, is called in the books by Greek words
which mean the "white-footed Western mouse"
(Hesperomys leucofus)-a very good name. A
third sort is generally found in meadows through
which brooks wander, and its Latin name, Arvicola
rifarius, just tells the whole story in two words;
it is the "meadow mouse." The fourth and last
sort of wild mouse was first noticed near the Hud-
son Bay, and, being a great jumper, received the
Latin name of the "little Hudsonian jumping-
mouse "-Jaculus hudsonius.
These four mice differ in shape, color, size and
habits, and of the second and third there are sev-
cral varieties in different parts of the country. The
soft, brownish-gray coat of the house-mouse you
know very well; or, if you do not, take the next
one you catch and look at it closely. It is as clean
as your pet squirrel, and just as pretty. See how
dainty are the little feet, how keen the black beads
of eyes, how sharp and white the fine small teeth,
how delicate the pencilings of the fur !
Prettiest of all is the long-legged jumping-mouse.
If you should look at a kangaroo through the
wrong end of a telescope, you would have a very
fair idea of our little friend's form, with hind-legs
and feet very long and slender, and fore-legs very
short; so that when he sits up they seem like little
paws held before him in a coquettish way. His tail
is often twice the length of his body, and is tipped
with a brush of long hairs. He has a knowing
look in his face, with its upright, furry ears and
bright eyes. Being dark-brown above, yellowish-
brown on the sides, and white underneath, with
white stockings on, he makes a gay figure among
his more soberly dressed companions. Various
names are given him,-such as the deer-mouse,
wood-mouse, jumping wood-mouse, and others.
The white-foot is somewhat larger than the
house-mouse; being about three inches long. It
has a lithe, slender form and quick movement; its
eyes are large and prominent, its nose sharp, and
its ears high, round and thin. The fore-feet are
hardly half as long as the hinder ones, and the tail
is as long as, or longer, than the body, and cov-
ered with close hairs. The fur is soft, dense, and
glossy, reddish-brown above and white below, while
the feet are all white. The most ill-looking
of the lot is the meadow-mouse, which re-
minds me of a miniature bear. His coat is
dirty brownish-black, not even turning white
in winter; his head is short and his nose
blunt; all his four feet are short, and his tail
is a mere stump, scarcely long enough to
S reach the ground. Nevertheless, he is a very
Interesting mouse, and able to make an im-
mense deal of trouble.
In general habits the three wild ones are
pretty much alike, though some prefer dry,
While others choose wet, ground; some keep
S mostly in the woods, others on the prairies,
S-- and so on. All the species burrow more or
Less, and some build elaborate nests. Their
S voices are fine, low and squeaking, but the
meadow-mouse is a great chatterbox, and
Sthe white-foot has been known more than
once really to sing tunes of his own very
Nicely. Each one manifests immense cour-
age in defending its young against harm;
but I believe only the meadow-mice are
accused of being really ferocious, and of
waging battles constantly among themselves. Their
food is the tender stems of young grasses and
herbs, seeds, nuts, roots and bark, and they lay up
stores of food for the winter, since none become
torpid at that season, as is the habit of the wood-
chuck and chipmunk, except the jumping-mouse.
This fellow, during cold weather, curls up in his
soft grass blankets underground, wraps his long
WILD MICE AND THEIR WAYS.
. .-.-* -^ :.
I- '9 -
THE LONG-LEGGED JUMPING-MOUSE.
tail tightly about him, and becomes dead to all out-
ward things until the warmth of spring revives him,
which is certainly an easy and economical way to
get through the winter They also eat insects, old
and young, particularly such kinds -as are hatched
underground or in the loose wood of rotten stumps;
but their main subsistence is seeds and bark, in
getting which they do a vast deal of damage to
plants and young fruit-trees with those sharp front
teeth of theirs.
The field-mice make snug beds in old stumps,
under logs, inside stacks of corn and bundles of
straw; dig out galleries below the grass roots;
occupy the abandoned nests of birds and the holes
made by other animals; and even weave nests of
their own in weeds and bushes. They live well in
captivity, and you can easily see them at work if
you supply materials.
In tearing down old buildings the carpenters
often find between the walls a lot of pieces of paper,
bits of cloth, sticks, fur, and such stuff, forming a
great bale, and know that it was once the home of
a house-mouse. You have heard anecdotes of how
a shop-keeper missed small pieces of money from
his till, and suspected his clerk of taking it; how
the clerk was a poor boy who was supporting a
widowed mother, or a sister at school, and the kind-
hearted shop-keeper shut his eyes to his suspicions,
and waited for more and more proof before being
convinced that his young clerk was the thief; but,
as the money kept disappearing, how at last he
accused the clerk of taking it. Then the story tells
how, in spite of the boy's vehement and tearful
denial, a policeman was called in to arrest him, and
when everything had been searched to no purpose,
and he was about being taken to the police-station,
how, away back in a corner was discovered a
mouse's nest made of stolen pieces of ragged cur-
rency-ten, twenty-five, and fifty-cent pieces. Then
everybody was happy, and the story ended with a
More than one such stolen house the mice have
really built, and sometimes their work has destroyed
half a hundred dollars, and caused no end of heart-
aches. Their little teeth are not to be despised, I
assure you. I believe one of the most disastrous
of those great floods which in past years have swept
over the fertile plains of Holland was caused by
mice digging through the thick banks of earth,
called dykes, which had been piled up to keep the
sea back. In this case, of course, the mice lost
their lives by their misdeeds, as well as the people,
WILD MICE AND THEIR WAYS.
sharing in the general catastrophe. They hardly
intended this; but
SThe best-lid plans o' mice and men
Gang aft agley."
It was by the gnawing of a ridiculous little mouse,
you remember, that the lion in the fable got free
from the net in which the king of beasts found
Sometimes the house-mouse goes out-of-doors to
live, and forgets his civilization; while, on the other
hand, the woodland species occasionally come in-
doors and grow tame. At the fur-trading posts
about Hudson Bay, wild mice live in the traders'
houses; and Thoreau-the poet, naturalist and
philosopher, whom all the animals seemed at once
to recognize as their friend-wrote this beautiful
story of how a white-footed mouse made friends
introduced into the country, but a wild native kind
not found in the village. I sent one to a dis-
tinguished naturalist, and it interested him much.
When I was building, one of these had its nest
underneath the house, and before I had laid the
second floor and swept out the shavings, would
come out regularly at lunch-time and pick up the
crumbs at my feet. It probably had never seen a
man before; and it soon became quite familiar,
and would run over my shoes and up my clothes.
It could readily ascend the sides of the room 1ry
short impulses, like a squirrel, which it resembled
in its motions. At length, as I leaned my elbow
on the bench one day, it ran up my clothes and
along my sleeve, and around and around the table
which held my dinner, while I kept the latter close,
and dodged and played at bo-peep with it; and
when at last I held still a piece of cheese between
1ji ) ~I'
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.ii,.~'4 "" E li
' ~'' Iii
A I i,
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THE WHITE-FOOTED WESTERN MOUSE.
with him when he lived all alone in the woods by my thumb and finger, it came and nibbled it, sitting
Walden Pond, near Concord, Massachusetts: in my hand, and afterward cleaned its face and
The mice which haunted my house were not paws-like a fly, and walked away."
the common ones, which are said to have been Mice are full of such curiosity. They poke their
WILD MICE AND THEIR WAYS.
noses into all sorts of places where there is a pros-
pect of something to eat, and sometimes failing to
find so good a friend as Mr. Thoreau, meet the fate
which ought to be the end of all poking of noses
into other people's affairs-they get caught. I
remember one such case which Mr. Frank Buck-
land has related. When oysters are left out of
water for any length of time, especially in hat
weather, they always open their shells a little way,
probably seeking a drink of water. A mouse hunt-
iqg about for food found such an oyster in the
larder, and put his head in to nibble at the oyster's
beard; instantly the bivalve shut his shells, and held
them together so tightly by his strong muscles, that
the poor mouse could not pull his head out, and so
died of suffocation. Other similar cases have been
The most common of all our field-mice is the
short-tailed meadow-mouse, the Arvicola. I find
it in the woods, out on the prairies, and in the hay-
fields. In summer these little creatures inhabit the
low, wet meadows in great numbers. When the
heavy rains of autumn drive them out, they move
to higher and dryer ground, and look for some hill-
ock, or old ant-hill, under which to dig their home.
In digging they scratch rapidly with the fore-feet a
few times, and then throw back the earth to a great
distance with the hind-feet, frequently loosening
the dirt with their teeth, and pushing it aside with
their noses. As the hole grows deeper (horizon-
tally) they will lie on their backs and dig overhead,
every little while backing slowly out, and shoving
the loose earth to the entrance. These winter bur-
_ ,a." ; -= ..
THE MOUSE AND THE OYSTER.
rows are only five or six inches below the surface,
and sometimes are simply hollowed out under a
great stone, but are remarkable for the numerous
and complicated chambers and side passages of
which they are composed. In one of the largest
rooms of this subterranean house is placed their
winter bed, formed of fine dry grasses. Its shape
and size are about that of a foot-ball, with only a
small cavity in the center, entered through a hole
in the side, and they creep in as do Arctic travel-
ers into their fur-bags.
"Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste,
An' weary winter coming' fast,
An' cozy here, beneath the blast
Thou thought to dwell."
Here five or six young mice are born, and stay
until the coming of warm weather, by which time
they are grown, and go out to take care of them-
selves. Sometimes one of them, instead of hunt-
ing up a wife and getting a home of his own, will
wander off by himself and live alone like a hermit,
growing crosser as he grows older.
In the deepest part of the burrow is placed their
store of provisions. Uncover one of these little
granaries in November, before the owners have
used much of it, and you might find five or six
quarts of seeds, roots, and small nuts. Out on the
prairie this store would consist chiefly of the round
tubers-like very small potatoes-of the spike-
flower, a few juicy roots of some other weeds and
grasses, bulbs of the wild onion, and so forth. If a
wheat or rye patch was near, there would be quan-
tities of grain; and if you should open a nest under
a log or stump in the woods, you might discover a
hundred or so chestnuts, beech-nuts, and acorns,
nicely shelled. All these stores are carried to the
burrows, often from long distances, in their baggy
cheeks, which are a mouse's pockets, and they work
with immense industry, knowing just when to
gather this and that kind of food for the winter. A
friend of mine, who had a farm near the Hudson
River, had a nice field of rye, which he was only
waiting a day or two longer to harvest until it
should be quite ready. But the very night before
he went to cut it, the mice stole a large portion of
the grain and carried it off to their nests in the
neighboring woods. Hunting up these nests he
got back from two of them about half a bushel of
rye, which was perfectly good. Sometimes they
build nests in the russet corn-shocks left standing
in the sere October fields, and store up there heaps
of food, although there may be no necessity, so
firmly fixed in their minds is the idea of preparing
for the future. But they eat a great deal, and their
stores are none too large to'outlast the long, dreary
months, when the ground is frozen hard, and the
meadows are swept by the wintry winds, or packed
under a blanket of snow.
(Concluded next month.)
x877.1 MRS. PETERKIN'S TEA-PARTY.
I;~- i -
BY EDGAR FAWCETT.
H, the queen of all the roses, it can never be denied,
Is the heavy crimson rose of velvet leaf!
There is such a gracious royalty about her vivid bloom,
That among all charming kindred she is chief!
Then the fainter-shaded roses, in their balmy damask pride,
Group like satellites about one central star,-
Royal princesses, of whom we can discover at a glance
What aristocrats the dainty creatures are !
Then those tender gauzy roses, clustered closely on their vines,
They are gentle maids of honor, I am told;
But the pompous yellow roses, these are sneered at, it is said,
For so showing off the color of their gold !
And the roses that are powerless to boast of any tint,
Unsullied as the snow itself in hue,
These are pious nuns, I fancy, who perhaps may murmur prayers
Very softly upon rosaries of dew !
But the delicate pink roses that one meets in quiet lanes,
Gleaming pale upon a background of clear green,
Why, these are only peasant girls, who never go to court,
But are loyal little subjects of their queen !
MRS. PETERKIN'S TEA-PARTY.
BY LUCRETIA P. HALE.
IT was important to have a tea-party, as they
had all been invited by everybody,-the Brom-
wiches, the Tremletts, and the Gibbonses. It
would be such a good chance to pay off some of
their old debts, now that the lady from Philadelphia
was back again, and her two daughters, who would
be sure to make it all go off well.
But as soon as they began to make out the list,
they saw there were too many to have at once,
for there were but twelve cups and saucers in the
"There are seven of us to begin with," said
We need not all drink tea," said Mrs. Pe-
I never do," said Solomon John. The little
boys never did.
"And we could have coffee, too," suggested
"That would take as many cups," objected
We could use the every-day set for the coffee,"
answered Elizabeth Eliza; they are the right
shape. Besides," she went on, "they would not
all come. Mr. and Mrs. Bromwich, for instance;
they never go out."
There are but six cups in the every-day set,"
said Mrs. Peterkin.
The little boys said there were plenty of saucers;
and Mr. Peterkin agreed with Elizabeth Eliza that
MRS. PETERKIN'S TEA-PARTY.
all would not come. Old Mr. Jeffers never went
"There are three of the Tremletts," said
Elizabeth Eliza; "they never go out together.
One of them, if not two, will be sure to have the
headache. Ann Maria Bromwich would come,
and the three Gibbons boys, and their sister Juli-
ana; but the other sisters are out West, and there
is but one Osborne."
It really did seem safe to ask "everybody."
They would be sorry, after it was over, that they
had not asked more.
"We have the cow," said Mrs. Peterkin, "so
there will be as much cream and milk as we
"And our own pig," said Agamemnon. "I
am glad we had it salted; so we can have plenty
"I will buy a chest of tea," exclaimed Mr. Pe-
terkin. "I have been thinking of a chest for
Mrs. Peterkin thought a whole chest would not
be needed; it was as well to buy the tea and coffee
by the pound. But Mr. Peterkin determined on a
chest of tea and a bag of coffee.
So they decided to give the invitations to all. It
might be a stormy evening, and some would be
The lady from Philadelphia and her daughters
And it turned out a fair day, and more came
than were expected. Ann Maria Bromwich had a
friend staying with her, and brought her over, for
the Bromwiches were opposite neighbors. And the
Tremletts had a niece, and Myary Osborne an
aunt, that they took the liberty to bring.
The little boys were at the door, to show in the
guests; and as each set came to the front gate,
they ran back to tell their mother that more were
coming. Mrs. Peterkin had grown dizzy with
counting those who had come, and trying to cal-
culate how many were to come, and wondering
why there were always more and never less, and
whether the cups would go round.
The three Tremletts all came with their niece.
They all had had their headaches the day before,
and were having that banged feeling you always
have after a headache; so they all sat at the same
side of the room on the long sofa.
All the Jefferses came, though they had sent un-
certain answer. Old Mr. Jeffers had to be helped
in with his cane, by Mr. Peterkin.
The Gibbons boys came, and would stand just
outside the parlor door. And Juliana appeared
afterward, with the two other sisters, unexpectedly
home from the West.
Got home this morning! they said. "And
so glad to be in time to see everybody,-a little
tired, to be sure, after forty-eight hours in a sleep-
"Forty-eight !" repeated Mrs. Peterkin; and
wondered if there were forty-eight people, and why
they were all so glad to come, and whether all
could sit down.
Old Mr.'and Mrs. Bromwich came. They thought
it would not be neighborly to stay away. They
insisted on getting into the most uncomfortable
Yet there seemed to be seats enough while the
Gibbons boys preferred to stand. But they never
could sit around a tea-table. Elizabeth Eliza had
thought they all might have room at the table, and
Solomon John and the little boys could help in
It was a great moment when the lady from Phil-
adelphia arrived with her daughters. Mr. Peterkin
was -. ,ll:,,, to Mr. Bromwich, who was a little deaf.
The Gibbons boys retreated a little farther behind
the parlor door. Mrs. Peterkin hastened forward
to shake hands with the lady from Philadelphia,
Four Gibbons girls and Mary Osborne's aunt,
-that makes nineteen ; and now-- "
It made no difference what she said; for there
was such a murmuring of talk, that any words
suited. And the lady from Philadelphia wanted
to be introduced to the Bromwiches.
It was delightful for the little boys. They came
to Elizabeth Eliza, and asked:
"Can't we go and ask more? Can't we fetch
the Larkins? "
"Oh dear, no answered Elizabeth Eliza. "I
can't even count them "
Mrs. Peterkin found time to meet Elizabeth
Eliza in the side entry to ask if there were going
to be cups.enough.
"I have set Agamemnon in the front entry to
count," said Elizabeth Eliza, putting her hand to her
The little boys came to say that the Maberlys
"The Maberlys!" exclaimed Elizabeth Eliza.
" I never asked them."
It is your father's doing," cried Mrs. Peterkin.
" I do believe he asked everybody he saw! And
she hurried back to her guests.
"What if father really has asked everybody ?"
Elizabeth Eliza said to herself, pressing her head
again with her hand.
There was the cow and the pig. But if they all
took tea or coffee, or both, the cups could not go
Agamemnon returned in the midst of her
MRS. PETERKIN'S TEA-PARTY.
He had not been able to count the guests, they
moved about so, they talked so; and it would not
look well to appear to count.
What shall we do ? exclaimed Elizabeth
We are not a family for an emergency,"
"What do you suppose they do in Philadelphia at
the Exhibition, when there are more people than
cups and saucers ?" asked Elizabeth Eliza. Could
not you go and inquire? I know the lady from
Philadelphia is talking about the Exhibition, and
telling'why she must go back to receive friends.
And they must have trouble there Could not
you go in and ask, just as if you wanted to
Agamemnon looked into the room, but there
were too many talking with the lady from Phila-
"If we could only look into some book," he
said, "the encyclopaedia or the dictionary,-they
are such a help sometimes "
At this moment he thought of his Great Tri-
umphs of Great Men," that he was reading just
now. He had not reached the lives of the Ste-
phensons, or any of the men of modern times.
He might skip over to them,-he knew they were
men for emergencies.
He ran up to his room, and met Solomon John
coming down with chairs.
"That is a good thought," said Agamemnon.
" I will bring down more upstairs chairs."
"No," said Solomon John, "here are all that
can come down; the rest of the bedroom chairs
match bureaus, and they never will do "
Agamemnon kept on to his own room, to con-
sult his books. If only he could invent something
on the spur of the moment,-a set of bedroom
furniture, that in an emergency could be turned
into parlor chairs It seemed an idea; and he sat
himself down to his table and pencils, when he
was interrupted by the little boys, who came to tell
him that Elizabeth Eliza wanted him.
The little boys had been busy thinking. They
proposed that the tea-table, with all the things on,
should be pushed into the front room, where the
company were; and those could take cups who
could find cups.
But Elizabeth Eliza feared it would not be safe
to push so large a table; it might upset and break
what china they had.
Agamemnon came down to find her pouring out
tea, in the back room. She called to him :
"Agamemnon, you must bring Mary Osborne
to help, and perhaps one.of the Gibbons boys
would carry round some of tle cups."
And so she began to pour out and to send round
the sandwiches, and the tea, and the coffee. Let
things go as far as they would !
The little boys took the sugar and cream.
"As soon as they have done drinking, bring
back the cups and saucers to be washed," she said
to the Gibbons boys and the little boys.
This was an idea of Mary Osborne's.
But what was their surprise, that the more they
poured out, the more cups they seemed to have!
Elizabeth Eliza took the coffee, and Mary Osborne
the tea. Amanda brought fresh cups from the
I can't understand it," Elizabeth Eliza said to
Amanda. "Do they come back to you, round
through the piazza? Surely there are more cups
than there were "
Her surprise was greater when some of them
proved to be coffee-cups that matched the set!
And they never had had coffee-cups.
Solomon John came in at this moment, breath-
less with triumph.
Solomon John! Elizabeth Eliza exclaimed,
" I cannot understand the cups "
: It is my doing," said Solomon John, with an
elevated air. I went to the lady from Philadel-
phia, in the midst of her talk. 'What do you do
in Philadelphia, when you have n't enough cups?'
'Borrow of my neighbors,' she answered, as quick
as she could."
She must have guessed," interrupted Elizabeth
"That may be," said Solomon John. "But I
whispered to Ann Maria Bromwich,-she was
standing-by,-and she took me straight over into
their closet, and old Mr. Bromwich bought this
set, just where we bought ours. And they had a
coffee-set, too --"
You mean where our father and mother bought
them. We were not born," said Elizabeth Eliza.
"It is all the same," said Solomon John. They
So they did, and more and more came in.
Elizabeth Eliza exclaimed:
And Agamemnon -says we are not a family for
"Ann Maria was very good about it," said Solo-
mon John; "and quick, too. And old Mrs. Brom-
wich has kept all her set of two dozen coffee and
tea cups! "
Elizabeth Eliza was ready to faint with delight
and relief. She told the Gibbons boys, by mis-
take, instead of Agamemnon, and the little boys.
She almost let fall the cups and saucers she took
in her hand.
"No trouble now "
She thought of the cow, and she thought of the
pig, and she poured on.
HIS OWN MASTER.
No trouble, except about the chairs. She looked
into the room-all seemed to be sitting down, even
her mother. No, her father was standing, talking
to Mr. Jeffers; But he was drinking coffee, and the
Gibbons boys were handing things around.
The daughters of the lady from Philadelphia
were sitting on shawls on the edge of the window
that opened upon the piazza. It was a soft, warm
evening, and some of the young people were on
the piazza. Everybody was talking and laughing,
except those who were listening.
Mr. Peterkin broke away, to bring back his cup
and another for more coffee.
It's a great success, Elizabeth Eliza," he whis-
pered. "The coffee is admirable, and plenty of
cups. We asked none too many. I should not
mind having a tea-party every week."
Elizabeth Eliza sighed with relief as she filled his
cup. It was going off well. There were cups
enough, but she was not sure she could live over
another such hour of anxiety; and what was to be
done after tea?
HIS OWN MASTER.
BY J. T. TROWBRIDGE.
AN UNEXPECTED MEETING.
THE way now appeared dreary enough to the
young traveler, carrying his little bag in his hand
along the uneven track.
He had not minded the stump fences at first;
somehow they had looked rather picturesque, with
their immense and many-pronged roots turned up
and interlocked in an endless row on either side,
suggesting the bleached and broken antlers of a
whole species of some extinct gigantic stag. But
they soon made Jacob feel that he was walking
through a narrow and interminable prison, shutting
him out from all the world beside; and ever after-
ward the sight of a root fence anywhere, carried his
mind back to that hour of his parting from Ruth
and setting out on his dubious journey alone.
He came to a more cultivated country before
long, a region of orchards, groves, and fields, in
which there were men and boys at work. When
he got tired and hungry, he sat down on a log in
the edge of some woods, where there was a road-
side spring, and opened his bag, in which he knew
that Mary's careful hands had placed his luncheon.
He had many things to think of as he unfolded the
neat brown paper covering, and found hard-boiled
eggs, and salt, and butter, and biscuit, and cold
chicken,-enough for luncheon and dinner too.'
After eating, he got down on his hands and knees
and drank at the cool spring. A spout led the
water to a road-side trough, where travelers stopped
to water their teams.
While Jacob was sitting there in the shade, a
farmer in a wagon drove up to the trough, and was
about getting down from his seat, when Jacob sprang
up and offered to uncheck the horses for him.
"Thank ye, boy," said the man. Then, after
Jacob had put up the check-reins again, Tumble
in and ride, if you are going my way."
Jacob was going his way, and he "tumbled in."
So Jacob walked, and rested, and rode occasion-
ally, without meeting with any remarkable advent-
ures that day or the next. He slept the first night
at a farm-house, and on the afternoon of the second
day came to the village of Jackson.
Seeing the smoke of an iron-furnace, he made
his way toward it; and, taking out Matthew's letter,
and looking at the back of it, asked some men in
the casting-room if they could tell him where to
find Benjamin Radkin.
"You mean Mr. Benjamin Radkin, don't you ?"
said a big fellow with grimy arms and face, and a
very blunt, overbearing manner.
Y-y-yes, sir," stammered Jacob, quite abashed
by the suddenness and strangeness of the question.
Why did n't you say so, then ? "
I-I suppose-'-because it is simply Benjamin
Radkin on the back of this letter. A letter from
his uncle, Matthew Lane," added Jacob.
The Quaker," said the big grimy fellow. Mr.
Radkin is something of a Quaker, too, but not so
much of a one but what it'll be safe enough for
youngsters like you to Mister him."
And the man turned away, swinging a long iron
bar which he carried with both hands.
Jacob followed him along the sandy floor, on
one side of which preparations had evidently been
made for casting.
Where can I find-Mr. Radkin ?" said he.
HIS OWN MASTER.
Don't know," said the man, gruffly.
Is this his iron-furnace ?"
He's one of the owners."
Is he about here now ? "
No, he aint about here now."
And the gruff and grimy one set his bar up
against the great chimney with a clang.
Jacob immediately set him down as a sort of
grim and surly foreman, puffed up by the impor-
tance of his office. He could not help feeling stung
by the rebuff, which he regarded as a bad omen for
the result of his search.
He turned to another workman, who answered
his questions rather more civilly, although he, too,
had something of the foreman's ill manners, per-
haps more imitated than natural.
Mr.'Radkin is here generally every day, but I
have n't seen him to-day. Anybody in the village
can tell you where his house is."
So Jacob went out, and found the house after a
little trouble. A young girl came to the door.
Is Mr. Radkin at home?" he asked, being care-
ful to put in the Mister distinctly this time.
The girl smiled on him pleasantly enough to
have been a daughter of the cousin of Ruth. But
her reply was by no means pleasant to poor Jacob.
He, has gone away."
When will he be home ?"
I think not for three or four days. He went
to Chillicothe, on business, this morning."
Jacob's heart sank more and more. Still he had
hopes of what Friend Matthew's letter might do for
him even in the nephew's absence.
Is Mrs. Radkin at home ?"
Yes. But here is her father; perhaps he can
tell you all you wish to know."
Jacob heard a heavy footstep behind her in the
entry, as she spoke. She slipped out of sight, and
there appeared a huge form in a drab coat and a
broad red face under a broad-brimmed hat; at sight
of which Jacob's heart, which had sunk low enough
before, seemed for a dizzy moment utterly anni-
'What, Jacob! is it thee?" said he, with an
odd smile. "Where does thee come from ?-and
what brings thee at this time to the house of my
daughter, Jacob ?"
Is this-is Mrs. Radkin faltered Jacob,
in utter discomfiture.
"Salome Radkin is my daughter. Benjamin
Radkin is away. What can I do for thee, Jacob ?"
Jacob had turned slightly pale at first, but now
his face became redder even than that of the well-
satisfied and grimly-smiling speaker,-who, as the
reader has no doubt divined, was no other than
our hero's old acquaintance, Friend David Doane,
of that unlucky cow-trade.
THE INCONVENIENCE OF HAVING AN ENEMY.
As soon as he had recovered a little from his
confusion, Jacob said : I have brought a letter to
Mr. Radkin from his uncle, Matthew Lane."
Very well," replied Friend David; thee can
hand me the letter, and I will see it delivered to
my son-in-law on his return."
Jacob reached out the letter, but immediately
drew it back.
I hoped-his uncle expected me-to hand him
the letter myself."
"That thee cannot very well do unless thee
comes again next week, or goes to Chillicothe to
This was a new idea, and it afforded a gleam of
light to Jacob's bewildered mind.
How far is it to Chillicothe ?"
I think it is about forty miles by railroad ; but
perhaps not more than twenty-five in a direct line."
Thank you," said Jacob, hesitatingly, putting
the letter back into his pocket.
Friend David's immense waistcoat still blocked
up the door-way, and there was no invitation in
that grimly smiling face. Of course Jacob believed
that he had made an implacable enemy forever of
Mrs. Radkin's father; how, then, could he expect
hospitality from her during her husband's absence,
or even after his return ? For would not Friend
David prejudice the minds of both against him,
perhaps to such a degree that the uncle's letter
would be of no use to him ?
If I could see Mr. Radkin before he sees Friend
David, deliver the letter, and, may be, tell him my
side of that cow-story first, there might be some
chance for me."
The thought passed quickly through the lad's
mind, and he asked:
How can I find him, if I go to Chillicothe ?"
"He has business with the firm of Phelps &
Walton; everybody, I should say, knows them,"
replied Friend David.
Thank you, Mr. Doane,"-and Jacob slowly
and reluctantly turned away.
"Anything else I can do for thee?" Friend
David called after him.
"Nothing more," replied Jacob, too proud to
ask anything of the man he had offended.
He walked off, still in a state of great anxiety
and doubt as to the course he ought to pursue.
The money Matthew had put into his hand was
all spent, together with a part of the half-dollar
which Longshore had given him. He had only
thirty cents in his pocket, and it was Saturday
afternoon. Experience had taught him that he
could make thirty cents go farther in the country
HIS OWN MASTER.
than in a village, and he could see no good reason
for remaining in Jackson. Better be traveling,
even if I come back here," thought he.
Then why not go to Chillicothe ? He had found
out about how far he could walk in a day, and
believed that he could reach Chillicothe on foot by
of necessity ? "-for he now recalled that convenient
term by which the worthy woman used to excuse
to her conscience and to him much of her own
labor on the Lord's Day.
While making up his mind what he should do,
he wandered back to the casting-room of the iron-
*~~~~ j IIE~L jJ
"THEE CAN HAND IE HliE LEITEN.)
the evening of the next day. But the next day was
Sunday. He did not wish to travel on Sunday
again, as he had on the last Sunday, acting under
Mr. Pinkey's advice and influence. That gentle-
man's free and easy principles were fast losing their
power over him, while his pious aunt's instruc-
tions were remembered. But would not travel on
Sunday, in his present circumstances, be a deed
furnace, and sat down on a box near the door, for
it now occurred to him that he was very tired.
"Where is that light of conscience Friend
Matthew told about ?" he said to himself. Oh,
I wish it would show me what to do "
Meanwhile, there was a great glare of a different
light before his eyes. In the back part of the room
was the huge furnace, or "cupola," rising to the
z877l] HIS OWN
roof. Before it were ranged a gang of men, with
the gruff foreman at their head, who with his bar
drilled out the baked mass of clay that closed the
vent. Red spatters of melted iron flew at first, and
then out gushed the fiery flood. This was con-
ducted down channels in the sand to the casting-
floor, and led off into side channels, which it filled,
until the whole of that side of the floor was occu-
pied by one immense gridiron-shaped mass of
glowing and smoking metal.
Jacob watched this process with interest, although
the heat from the casting made his position on the
box very uncomfortable. But when water was
showered upon the floor from a hose-pipe, filling
the great hollow building with a terrible hissing
and a vast cloud of stifling steam, he could stand
it no longer, but, taking up his little black bag, he
walked out and cooled his face and lungs on the
bank of a stream that fed the works.
Meanwhile, there was talk about Jacob in Benja-
min Radkin's house. The girl, who was indeed a
daughter of Ruth's cousin, reported to her mother
that a nice-looking lad was at the door inquiring
for her father; and Friend David was duly ques-
tioned with regard to him, on his return into the
house after the interview.
And now, if Jacob could have been behind the
door, he would have discovered that Friend David
was not so much his enemy as he supposed.
The broad face of the burly Quaker was crinkled
with smiles as he re-entered the room.
It happened to be a boy I know, who left our
town a week since in company with a scapegrace
dancing-master. He had a letter for Benjamin,
which I offered to see delivered to him, but he said
me nay, and departed."
Why did n't thee ask him in ? said Salome.
I had my reasons for that," replied the smiling
David. I had some little trouble with him just
before he left. I desired to buy a cow of him, and
he charged me a round price for her,-which was
but natural. I respected him none the less for that.
But as I was bargaining with him, he mocked me
in my own language. I thought it right to punish
him a little for his impertinence. Nevertheless, I
think he is an honest-hearted lad, and when he
comes back we will see what can be done for
But what if he should not come back ?" said
the young girl, who had watched Jacob with interest
as he wandered wretchedly away.
"He will come back, fast enough, Caroline ?"
said Friend David. He inquired about Chilli-
cothe, but there is ~o train to take him there to-
night. His pride will be humbled. He will not
mock me with his thee and thy again very soon."
Caroline and her mother looked anxiously to see
Jacob re-appear; and at last Friend David himself
began to feel uneasy at his prolonged absence.
I should like to know what his fortunes have
been, and what has become of his flighty dancing-
master," he said. "By his looks, I judge he has
seen trouble; or I may have been deceived by the
confusion he was thrown into by seeing me."
And the broad face crinkled again at the pleas-
ant recollection of that triumph.
If he were here, he might sit down to supper
with us," said Mrs. Radkin. "I am sure Benja-
min would wish us to do so much for one who brings
him a letter from his Uncle Matthew."
After supper, Friend David, feeling more and
more troubled in his mind at what he had done,
walked out, thinking he would hunt Jacob up, speak
more kindly to him, and bring him to the house.
He traced him to the iron-furnace, and there
learned that Jacob had last been seen sitting on
the box near the door. But he had now disap-
peared, and none knew where he had gone.
I did not think the lad would have been so
foolish said David, on his return to the house.
" He will be back here by dark, I am confident."
But at dark, Jacob was miles away, on the road
JACOB HEARS PREACHING, AND GETS A RIDE.
FOOLISH or not, the boy had reasons of his own
for going off in that way.
In the first place, he had made a great mistake
in imagining Friend David to be a worse man than
he really was; there being, after all, a kindly heart
somewhere within that prodigious expanse of waist-
coat,-its chief fault lying in that too earnest
inclination we have noticed, "to hold the world
rightly by the handle."
Then Jacob remembered how, in the matter of
the cow-trade, he too had wished in a humble way
to keep a hold on the said handle, and there had
been a jostling which did not result to David's
advantage. That a lad of fifteen should have
beaten that wary old head at a bargain, would
seem of itself no slight offense, however blameless.
But he had added insult to that injury,-a con-
scious fault to an innocent victory; thereby putting
himself in the wrong. He had gloated over that
boyish triumph, fancying the Quaker's burning
resentment, and laughing to think that it was pow-
erless to harm him. And now, behold, it was not
so powerless !-here was the terrible David, a lion
in his path. No wonder he retired in dismay.
He got a supper of bread-and-milk at a farm-
house, for which he offered to pay. The woman
who served it looked at him with a sort of moth-
HIS OWN MASTER. [JuNa,
early interest, and for a moment there seemed to be
a struggle in her breast between the instinct of
hospitality and the desire of gain. She was evi-
dently poor. She was having a hard struggle,
there in a rough country, to bring up her own
children and keep them from want.
We don't often feed strangers," she said, and
I would n't take a cent if I could afford to keep you
I have thirty cents," said Jacob, as he pro-
duced three little ten-cent pieces of scrip.
That all ye have? said the woman. Then
I wont take any pay. Call it a treat."
But Jacob, fearing she might think he meant to
plead poverty, and shirk paying for what he had
had, insisted on her making change. This she re-
fused to do, but she finally accepted one of the ten-
cent bits of paper, on condition that he would put
two of her fried cakes in his pocket. To this he
agreed, and with mutual satisfaction they parted.
He now felt that he could not afford the expense
of lodgings that night, and as it grew dark, he
looked wistfully for a place to sleep in the open air.
Between him and the sunset sky appeared the
giant arms and battered trunks of a ruined forest.
Approaching it, he found it to be what the Ken-
tucky people, who had settled in that part of the
country, called a "deadening." To save the labor
of clearing a piece of woods, which they wished to
convert into a field, they had killed the trees by
girdling with the ax, leaving them to enrich the
soil with droppings of bark and limbs, until the
trunks themselves should decay and fall. Mean-
while, in this dismantled and almost shadeless
grove crops were planted, and flourished well; and
Jacob, drawing near, found a freshly harvested
field of late grain among the spectral giants that
drew their black profiles on the sunset sky.
He sat down behind one of the stocks of grain,
and waited some time to see if he was followed or
observed. Then, by parting and re-arranging the
bundles, he formed a sort of bed, into which he
crept, and lay down in a tent of sheaves. Then
the solitude deepened, the last gleam of day van-
ished, and through the open door of his tent, and
between the ghostly trunks, he saw the stars in the
deep, quiet sky. They had never seemed so far
away before. He had never felt so utterly alone,-
not even when left by the steam-tug at night on
the wooded banks of the great river.
But Jacob was not afraid. And somehow he was
not sad. There came to him a sense of wild free-
dom in this novel situation; and a stream of solemn
joy flowed with his strangely awakened thoughts.
The crickets sang him to sleep. Then, in the
middle of the night, the wind arose, and shook the
bustling hair of the tall sheaves above his head,
and moaned among the dead trees. Jacob,
aroused, heard also an occasional dull, heavy pat-
tering, which excited his wonder at first, and then
his fear. The wind was shaking down rotted frag-
ments of the dismal old forest, and he thought,
" Suppose one of the trunks or great limbs should
fall on me here !"
He looked out, and saw wild clouds flying be-
tween those ruined columns and the moon; then
crept back, with a sense of trust in the Great Power
that rules the mighty spheres, and slept again.
The next morning, he decided not to go back
to Jackson, but to go on to Chillicothe.
Holding with one hand the stick which suspended
the bag over his shoulder, and, with the other, one
of the good woman's greasy cakes, which he nibbled
for his breakfast, our hero might have been seen
trudging among the woods and fields, and scat-
tered farm-houses, that quiet Sunday morning.
He dined on the other cake, sauced with roadside
berries; and kept on, meeting with no adventures
until afternoon. Then, feeling weary and hungry,
and remembering that he had still twenty cents in
his pocket, he stopped at a farm-house, but found
it shut and deserted. It was near a mile to the
next one; and that he found defended by a big
Folks have all gone to meeting," thought the
young traveler, and tramped wearily on.
Country people on horseback or in open wagons
had passed him a little while before, raising a dust
for him to walk in. Now the last had gone by.
The road was solitary; the silence was broken only
by the sound of his own footsteps, the shrill noise
of a locust, the far-off low of a heifer or the bark
of a dog, and, at last, by the voice of a preacher.
The meeting-house was not in sight when Jacob
first heard the voice rising in a wild wail, and then
dying away in a sort of sing-song till it was heard
no more. Soon he caught sight of the plain white
building in a pleasant grove, and saw horses and
wagons standing in the shade of the trees. The
windows were wide open, and the voice was rolling
out again in full volume; then it sank as before,
running on in a low, monotonous chant.
He entered the grove, and, being faint from
want of rest and food, sat down on a log, amidst a
group of boys, some on the log, and others lying
on the ground or leaning against the trees. He
did not hear much of the sermon, even when the
voice was at its loudest shout. Yet somehow those
tones, and the atmosphere of the place carried his
mind back to the many Sundays when he had sat
with his aunt in her pew, and hearkened to the
minister's earnest words, like a good boy; when he
had a respectable home, and a place in the Sunday-
school; and the influence of those days was so
HIS OWN MASTER.
HIS OWN MASTER.
strong upon him that he could not help regarding
himself as one of the wicked now, resting there on
the log, dusty, with his stick and bag.
Once, when the voice was low and the grove
quiet, one of the boys sitting with him on the log,
asked him if he would like to take a little ride.
"Of course I should," replied Jacob, "if it's
in the direction I want to go."
"Which way is that?" said the boy.
To Chillicothe," said Jacob.
"All right," said the boy. "We are just going
to drive out on the Chillicothe road, and get back
by the time preaching is over. One of the fellers
here has a mule team that '11 carry a crowd."
Jacob felt his spirits revive at this unexpected
good fortune. He thought it a little singular, how-
ever, that he, a strange boy, should be favored with
such an invitation, and helped on his way by fellows
who, from their looks, would never have been sus-
pected of being so generous and accommodating.
"HE LAY DOWN IN A TENT OF SHEAVES."
What was likewise remarkable, he was given a
place on the front seat, and trusted to hold the
reins while the boy was backing his team around.
It also struck him as a trifle queer that the wagon
should be turned so carefully, stopped when the
ove was still, and moved on again at a time when
Preacher's voice was drowning all other sounds.
It was a three-seated wagon, drawn by a pair of
ge mules, and it held eight boys,-a rather
igh-appearing set, Jacob thought. He did not
e the way they winked at each other, and snick-
d now and then, over some secret fun. But
ey were very good-natured and obliging; and, to a
y, a ride is a ride,-more particularly to one so
e-footed, worn, and hungry as Jacob was then.
The fellow who had been at the mules' heads
:king them around, having got in last, took a
it by Jacob's side. A whip which he had dragged
hind him he now thrust under the seat. He was
and-shouldered, and not very well dressed, and
med young to be the owner of a wagon and
r of mules. The others called him Josh.
SJust hold the lines a minute till I find my driv-
g-gloves," he said to Jacob, and fumbled in his
ckets, while the mules, moving at a walk, took
them around out of the grove.
No driving-gloves were discov-
ered. Indeed, even while search-
ing for them, Josh appeared to be
more intent on glancing up through
the woods at the meeting-house, as
if looking with anxious cunning for
( something in that direction.
As soon as the building was hid-
den from view, his attitude and ex-
pression changed. He straightened
S his stooping shoulders. He pulled
\up the whip from under the seat,
snatched the reins, shook out the
S lash, and shouted with glee. All
S the others began at the same time
to laugh and yell like young luna-
tics; and away went the mules at a
S round trot.
W CHAPTER XXVI.
THE BOYS AND THE MULE-TEAM.
JACOB was now sure that some-
S thing was wrong.
\ This is n't your team, is it?"
i I he said to Josh.
"Mine while I have it!" said
Josh, and laid on the whip.
Wont old Dorgan be mad when
he comes out and finds his mules
and wagon gone screamed a fel-
low on the back seat. The rattling
the vehicle and the jargon of voices were so great
at he had to scream to be heard.
"We'll have 'em back there, fast tied to the
e, by the time preaching is over," yelled another.
Wont we, Jbsh ? "
HIS OWN MASTER. [JUNE,
If we don't miss of it! shouted Josh, with a
wild laugh. Wake up there, you stingy man's
mules And crack! crack! went the whip again.
The mules had struck into. a canter, and the
wagon, which was without springs, was bounding
at a furious rate over the uneven road. Had the
boys been subjected to that ride for a punishment,
they would have considered it cruel. But as it was
of their own choosing, they no doubt deemed it, if
a trifle rough, yet jolly.
Look here !" cried Jacob, "you are getting
into a scrape I'd rather walk than ride in this
Walk, then, why don't ye ?" laughed the driver,
and yelled to the team,-but suddenly stopped
yelling to recover his whip. He ha'd somehow, in
brandishing it, got the lash caught in a wheel, arid
it was wound up so suddenly around the hub,
-hickory stock and all,-and wrenched out of his
hand, that he hardly had time to think about it.
He now tried to stop the team, and begged Jacob
to help him tug at the reins. But the large, clumsy
mules, having been forced into a gallop, were not
to be easily forced out of it. One of them appeared
rather inclined to lag, but the speed of the other
increased. He was probably frightened at the
whip-stock, which at every turn of the wheel struck
the whippletree, and sometimes his heels.
Suddenly he too slackened speed a little. But it
was only to waste his energies in another direction.
That mule began .to kick. The heels flew up to
the whippletree, and at last clearing the whipple-
tree, struck-the fore-board of the wagon, and sent
the splinters flying. One of them flew into the face
of Josh, and made him put up a hand with a cry.
This was a change of business which seemed to
amuse the mule. Having begun, he kicked a great
deal longer than was necessary, if he could only
have been made to think so. The whip had ceased
to trouble him; but still he kicked. Kicking-like
many other things-is catching, and at length the
other mule began to kick. And now Jacob had to
dodge the splinters. Such a rattling of whipple-
trees and play of mules' hoofs in the air those boys
had never heard or seen before. Variety of this
sort did not please them so well.
Hold on to the reins !" cried Jacob, while he
dodged. They've kicked the whippletrees clear
off They 'll get away and get killed "
Let 'em !" said Josh. I'd like to kill that
off mule "
Indeed, he seemed to lay all the blame of the
disaster and of the pain over his eye to the malice
and depravity of that kicking beast.
"We must run 'em into the fence-there's no
other way said Jacob; and pulling hard on his
rein did the business.
The fence was what is called a brush-wattling "
-a thick platting of twigs and boughs, twisted in
and out between slender upright supports. Had
the team taken it at right angles, they would have
gone through it as neatly as a circus-rider goes
through a paper-covered hoop. But they struck it
aslant, and it proved too much for them. After
tearing out four or five yards of it they stuck fast,
with the fence between them, the wagon-pole and
the broken harness tangled in the reins.
And still that perverse quadruped kicked !
Run to their heads, or they '11 get away cried
Jacob; and he himself, jumping out, set the ex-
ample, which nobody followed.
The young rogues seemed hardly to know
whether to laugh or not. They flopped out of the
wagon all at once and in every direction except
that of the mules' heels, and stood around giggling
excitedly and casting scared looks at the mischief
done and back toward the meeting-house.
I did n't get the wagon said one.
Nor I neither said another.
I don't care,-I 've had the fun of seeing a
mule-team make tracks once in my life !" said a
third. "What ailed your whip, Josh?"
There comes old Dorgan !" exclaimed a fourth;
and half a dozen of the boys disappeared through
the brush-wattling like squirrels.
Jacob looked up the road, and saw a horseman
coming at a sharp gallop, his arms in the air like
wings, flapping at every leap of the horse.
His own impulse was to run like the rest, but
the mules were still struggling, and he could not
make up his mind to let them go. It required no
small courage, however, to stick to the reins, while
"Old Dorgan" charged upon him with a terrible
countenance and uplifted whip.
What are ye doing with my team ?" he shouted.
Trying to hold 'em said Jacob, looking up
straight into the pale, enraged face.
Where are the other rascals ? I see 'em "
The horseman dashed through the ruined wat-
tling, and soon had Josh and two of his companions
marching back under the menace of his whip.
Which of you stole my team?" he roared over
"He did he did !"-and they pointed at Jacob.
But you helped him "
No, we did n't said Josh. "Anybody that
see us start will tell ye he was driving Ask the
"They've got away. And what was you scoot-
ing for ?"
When he run the team into the fence, we got
scared," said Josh.
He'd got us into the scrape, and we wanted to
get out of it," said another, rather sheepishly.
HIS OWN MASTER.
HIS OWN MASTER.
The angry man drove the culprits back to the
road, and brandished his whip over Jacob, who
stood, white and trembling, for he had overheard
what was said.
Thought you could take my team and ask a
crew of boys to ride, did ye ? If you did n't have
hold of my mules, I 'd slash ye "
You'd better not slash me till you know the
truth about it," said Jacob, as calmly as he could.
Whose whip is that snarled up in the wheel ?"
It's no whip that I ever saw, till I saw it in
afoot from Jackson to Chillicothe. My bag is there
in the wagon. I had come into the grove, and sat
down to rest, when they asked me to ride. They
did get me to sit on the front seat and hold the
reins, while they were backing the team around
and that fellow with a sore eye pretended to be
searching his pockets for driving-gloves. But I
believe now it was all a trick, to have the blame
laid on me if they got caught."
The rogues tried to interrupt Jacob's story, and
vehemently charged him with falsehood; but the
old man silenced them with a flourish of his whip.
OLD DORGAN'S PURSUIT.
that fellow's hands," replied Jacob. "They pre-
tended that it was his team, and asked me to ride.
I tried to stop the mules for him, after he got his
whip caught in the wheel and they had kicked the
whippletrees clear of the wagon; and I did turn
them into the fence. Then, when all the rest ran,
I stayed to hold the team. Where do you think
they would be now if I had run, too ?"
There was something in Jacob's honest, ener-
getic face more convincing than the united voices
of the lying rogues.
What is your name? Dorgan inquired.
"My name is Jacob Fortune. I am traveling
Without expressing any opinion on the matter, he
told them if they valued their skins not to attempt
running away again, but to help him get his mules
and wagon out of the fence.
They took hold and helped accordingly. But
Jacob was the only one who rendered any very
efficient service. He found the lost whippletree
bolt, and assisted in tying up the broken harness
with the rope-halters.
"Now get in, every one of ye!" said the old
man, when he thought it safe to start.
I've had a pretty poor ride, and I think I've
done enough to pay for it," said Jacob. I've
HIS OWN MASTER.
had no dinner, I'm tired, and I should like to con-
tinue my journey."
Get in, I tell ye growled the old man.
And, seeing that remonstrance was in vain, Jacob
got in with the rest.
Driving the mules with his own whip while the
broken one lay coiled up by Jacob's bag at his feet,
and leading the borrowed horse by the bridle made
fast to the tail-end of the wagon, the old man rode
back to the meeting-house in grim triumph.
The meeting was over when he got there, and
his return with the captured boys awakened a good
deal of interest, and occasioned also some merri-
ment, among the spectators. He restored the horse
he had taken for the pursuit, and tossed the ruined
whip to the owner.
The names of the runaways were given up by
those who had been taken, and the fathers and
friends of three or four of the crew came out to
conciliate the old man. As soon as he found any-
body who promised to take the responsibility of
giving one of his prisoners a "sound thrashing"
at home, he delivered him into his hands. In this
way he soon got rid of them all except Jacob.
There's nobody to promise any such favor for
me," said he, with a ruefully humorous smile.
" I'd like to go where I can get something to eat."
Set right where you be said the old man,
sternly; and, driving up to the meeting-house
steps, he called out: Mother gals come on "
The mother," who turned out to be the old
man's wife, and three "gals," one of whom was
herself a young mother with a baby in her arms
and two other young children at her side,-a
coarse-featured and oddly dressed family in old-
fashioned bonnets and faded gowns,-came and
climbed into the wagon.
Jacob was going to get out and make room for
them, but again the old man growled to him:
I tell ye, stay right where you be "
"You don't seem to believe my story," the boy
What makes you think so ?"
If you believed me, you would trust me."
"I do trust you. I believe you are the only
honest boy of the hull caboodle."
Jacob looked up at the old man in astonishment.
Then what are you going to do with me ? he
And the old man answered, still in a sharp voice,
but with a kindly twinkle in his black eye:
I'm going to take you home with me, give you
some supper, keep ye overnight, and carry ye up
to Chillicothe when I go there to get my harness
mended. Does that suit ye ?"
"Oh said the hungry and weary Jacob, over-
come with surprise and gratitude.
A CURIOUS CHANCE OR TWO.
IT was about four miles to the old man's house,
and the mule-team was so slow that it seemed to
Jacob, impatient for his supper, as if they never
would get there. The old man whipped enough,
but he did not whip as Josh whipped. Riding with
him, however, was pleasanter, on the whole; and,
during those last hungry and weary miles, it was
vastly better than walking.
Then they'll have to build a fire and put on
the potatoes and wait for them to boil, and by that
time I shall be starved thought Jacob.
But it was not quite so bad as that. When they
came in sight of a house which the old man in-
formed him was his "roost," Jacob was pleased to
observe a smoke curling up from the chimney, and
to hear the comments of the young ladies on that
signal of domestic cheer.
"Jim's there !" said one.
I hope he's got the'potaters on," said another.
Trust Jim for that! said her sister.
Jim, as it proved, was her husband; and her
confidence in his attention to the family comforts
turned out to be well placed. Not only did the
kitchen door, as they rode up to it, exhale the
steam of boiling potatoes, but it also breathed the
fragrance of roasting corn. Jacob was glad.
That exemplary husband and son-in-law had,
moreover, set the table for supper; and he now
came out-a bushy-headed fellow in shirt and
trousers-to take the children down over the wheel
and kiss them, help the women, and then assist the
old man in taking care of the team.
The old man had talked all the way home about
the adventure of the boys with his mules and
wagon, and he now had to go over it all again for
the edification of Jim. The story was vividly illus-
trated by the broken harness and splintered fore-
board; and at about every sentence the bushy-
headed son-in-law broke forth with the exclamation,
" Lucky for the scoundrels I was n't there This
he repeated some fifty or sixty times during the
talk, frequently enlarging on the lively treatment
the rogues might have expected if he had been in
the old man's place.
Supper was soon ready; and, though it was
served in very homely style, it seemed to Jacob
that food had never tasted so good to him.
"My corn at home would have been fine for
roasting by this time," he thought; and, his mind
starting off on a train of rather homesick reflections,
he wondered where he would be eating supper
when another Sunday came.
What he next needed most was sleep, and he
was glad when the early rural bed-time arrived.
HIS OWN MASTER.
"We shall want to be starting for town by
sun-up," said the old man, with his good-night.
Jim showed Jacob upstairs into a low-raftered
garret, and left him to crawl into a bunk with the
two boys. Jacob slept well in spite of too short a
bed; and he was up betimes the next morning,
ready for the early start the old man had promised.
He was now impatient to be in Chillicothe, in-
quiring out Mr. Radkin.
But it was not until long after sunrise that the
family sat down to breakfast. Then the old man
had his wagon to grease. Then the mules, which
were in the pasture, had to be caught and har-
nessed. More than once, in his increasing anxiety
of mind, Jacob had proposed to set off on foot.
But the old man had always prevented him, saying:
"Don't rush; don't be desperate; plenty of
time; we shall be off now in two minutes."
After the two minutes had become about two
hours, the mules were at the door at last, and
Jacob and his bag were in the wagon. Even then
it seemed as if the old man would never be ready.
Jacob, watching him with impatience, wishing
many times that he had started on foot imme-
diately after breakfast, said to himself:
I believe that old man never hurried but once
in his life, and that was when he came after us on
horseback, with his arms flapping like wings "
Could it be possible that this was that once ener-
getic, furiously angry old man? Jacob wished he
would get angry at something now.
At last they were off. The women, with red
arms just from their wash-tubs, watched them from
the door; while Jim called after Jacob, If ever ye
see any of them young scoundrels again, tell 'em
't was lucky for them I did n't ketch 'em "
It was five miles to town, and the mules were
slower even than when the old man drove them
the day before. He said it would n't do to drive
fast, on account of a tub of eggs he had in the
wagon. So Jacob, finding it useless to fret, gave
up at last, and enjoyed the journey.
The old man's talk was racy and interesting;
and all the while the country was growing more
and more beautiful. When at length the valley
of the Scioto opened before them, Jacob thought
he had never seen anything so enchanting.
From the eastern hills they looked down upon it,
and across to the background of almost mountain-
ous uplands beyond, refulgent with sunshine and
soft blue haze. Through this broad, fertile, ver-
dant plain, checkered with farms, and rising on
either side in magnificent cultivated slopes, wound
the many-looped river, with the accompanying
canal near its western bank. Chillicothe was in
the distance, with its spires and smoke. A train
of cars was flying along their iron track. Over all,
superb cloud-shadows were chasing each other.
Jacob could not conceal his pleasure at the view.
And even the old man, often as he had seen the
same, was not insensible to its charms.
Looks very much like a scenery," said he.
"Why, it is scenery," replied Jacob, not quite
understanding the old man's meaning.
I mean a painted picture, said Dorgan.
Oh yes !" said Jacob; only I am sure nobody
ever saw a painting so beautiful "
The old man said that he knew Phelps & Wal-
ton's place of business; and on reaching the city
at last, he directed Jacob how to find it. Then he
went to sell his butter and eggs, and get his harness
and wagon mended.
Jacob found Phelps & Walton's easily. But the
members of the firm had gone home to dinner. A
boy left in charge of the counting-room could give
no information regarding Mr. Radkin, except that
he had seen him on Saturday. He advised Jacob
to wait for Mr. Walton.
Jacob sat down and waited, and walked to the
door and watched, then sat down again,-in his
restlessness repeating this operation a dozen or
twenty times. At last, a brisk, florid little man
came bustling in; and the office-boy whispered to
Jacob, That's Mr. Walton."
Jacob stepped up to him with an anxiously beat-
Mr. Walton," he said.
Mr. Walton was already opening papers at his
desk, and appeared too busy to give him even a
glance. Nevertheless, Jacob went on.
I want to find Mr. Benjamin Radkin, of Jack-
"Go to Jackson, then," said Mr. Walton, in
a quick, bluff tone, and went on with his papers.
Jacob was struck dumb for a moment. Then he
spoke up resolutely: I have been to Jackson.
He was not at home. I was told he was here, and
that you would know about him."
Mr. Walton turned partly about, still with papers
in his hands, and said: He has been here, but
he left this forenoon."
To return to Jackson ?" faltered Jacob.
I don't know. My partner does. Here he is
now. Phelps, which way did Radkin go, when he
left this morning ? Back to Jackson ? "
"No," said Phelps, stopping to knock the ashes
from a cigar. "He took the train for Cincinnati."
Jacob stood for a moment looking dazed; then,
as if there were nothing more to be said, he quietly
walked out of the store.
(To be cont i.,ed.)
(A Sketck from Real Life.)
BY J. REED SEVER.
HERE, Spray Come here, old fellow! as some of the young guests had never seen them;
The words, spoken in an affectionate tone, were and Spray's master readily consented.
answered by a joyful bark. and a large black-and- Here, sir said the gentleman, in a tone of
tan dog sprang into the room, and leaped up
against his master, licked his hand and snapped
playfully at his feet.
His entrance now, when many little folks were
having an evening party, was greeted with a lively
clapping of hands; for Spray was a great pet, and
had been taught by the gentleman who owned him
to do some wonderful tricks. Many of the com-
pany begged that he be allowed to show these tricks,
command, after Spray had been introduced all
around; show me how big people waltz."
Spray pricked up his ears intelligently, and, as
his master whistled- some bars of a favorite air,
rose on his hind legs, and began to dance around
and around, keeping time with the tune.
While the little folks were laughing heartily at
this clever imitation of a popular amusement, the
gentleman suddenly cried, Cigars "
The word was scarcely spoken, when Spray
dropped on all-fours, and, raising himself on his
fore-paws, walked slowly about the room in that
Now, sir," said his master, when he had done,
" we '11 do something harder. Show me how the
All Spray's little audience waited with delight
to see how he would do this.
Lifting himself on his haunches, he stretched out
his paws, as if he were holding a school-book, and
turning his head around slowly, with a comical air
of severity, as if trying to get the attention of
imaginary scholars, he began to open and shut his
jaws, so as to imitate reading the lesson.
"Big word, Spray?" said his owner, as his pet
was thus acting the school-master, reminding him
that a long, hard word was near at hand.
Spray took the hint, and with a funny look that
made all the party laugh, opened his jaws very
wide indeed, to show his scholars how to pro-
nounce the hard word properly. .
The lesson done, and school dismissed, the dog
dropped to the floor at a sign, and allowed himself
to be petted and praised by the company.
"Tell me," said his master, after a time,
" whether you would rather be a wicked traitor or
die for your country ? "
Spray, on hearing the question, ran around the
room, and at last, finding a soft spot on the carpet,
rolled over on his back, curled up his legs, and
closed his eyes, to show the company that, if he
had his choice, he would die a hero. As he lay
this way, the little folks tried to make him move
by coaxing and threats; but he did not stir until
his master cried Police And then he sprang
up and ran to him, as if for protection from the
dreaded policeman. When told that the police-
man had gone away, however, he came out from
his hiding-place, and turned a somersault on the
floor, as much as to say:
I'm not a bit afraid I'll play as much as I
like, spite of all the policemen in the world."
Now show me how the minister prays," said
Spray's master, when the dog had turned a number
The pet went over to a chair in one corner of
the room, and sitting on his haunches, placed his
paws on the rung, bowing his head between them
in a very solemn way.
Again did Spray's little friends try to coax him
away, and frighten him with cries of Police! "
but Spray knew his duty, and did not pay the
slightest attention to them, but kept perfectly still,
until, at a signal from his master, he sprang up,
ready to obey further orders.
Go and open that door, sir I said his master,
pointing to the parlor door, that stood slightly
Spray, hearing the command, sprang away from
the girls who were petting him, and creeping
through the opening into the hall, raised himself
on his hind legs, and pushed the door wide open
against the wall.
"Now, shut it again, sir!" said his master;
and Spray obeyed, forcing his way behind the
door, raising himself on his hind legs as before,
and slamming it to with a loud bang.
"That's a good dog," said his master, patting
him on the head. Now go over there, and bring
me your tail."
With that, Spray went into the corner and began
to run around in a circle. After doing this a good
many times, he dropped down on his haunches
and made several laughable attempts to catch
hold of his wagging tail. At last, seizing it firmly
in his teeth, he stood up, and went on turning
around and around, just as puss does when she
chases after her tail. After turning in this way for
quite a while, Spray at last reached the sofa, on
which his master and several of his young com-
panions were seated, 'laughing at him, and, at the
former's command, let go his hold, and allowed
his tail to wag as before.
Presently Spray broke away from the hugs and
petting bestowed upon him by his little friends,
and ran up to his master, who ordered him to show
how he wrestled.
Running to the middle of the room, Spray
planted his paws firmly on the carpet, and lifted
one after the other several times, to show how
boys change their feet about when wrestling. At
length, after showing more such feints, he rolled
over and over to show how boys tumble about when
wrestling in a hay-loft, or on the long grass.
Again escaping from the caresses of the delighted
spectators, after this amusing exhibition, he lay down
at his master's feet. The gentleman then seized
Spray's wagging tail, and making believe to bite it,
said : Shall I bite it ? Say Oh, no "
Spray now became rather refractory, and would
not at first do as he was told; but when the order
was repeated in a tone of authority, he turned his
eyes up to his master's face, and uttered a low
whine, which sounded really very much like the
words Oh, no! "
Having thus made him plead to be let off, as
well as a dog could, his master told him to jump
up and make a figure eight; first, however, patting
him affectionately, as a reward for his previous
obedience. As his master stood up, Spray walked
around, and in and out of both his feet from right
to left; thus following the outline of a figure eight,
as skaters do when cutting it on the ice.
THE THREE FISHERS.
This ended his tricks for the evening, and after
being praised and called a "good dog" by his
master, he joined in the sports of his young friends,
until his owner called him to go home.
As the readers of ST. NICHOLAS may be inter-
ested in Spray, after reading of his doings, we will
say that he is a New York dog, whose tricks they
I I Y
may have a chance of seeing some day in public.
At present, however, he is staying with his master,
a down-town merchant, romping every day with
his young friends, and learning new tricks for their
amusement. He would no doubt be very vain if
he could know that the readers of ST. NICHOLAS
are interested in his performances.
THE THREE FISHERS.
BY LAURA E. RICHARDS.
JOHN, Frederick, and Henry
Had once a holiday;
And they would go a-fishing,
So merry and so gay.
It was not in the ocean,
Nor from the river-shore,
But in the monstrous water-butt
Outside the kitchen-door.
r 'And John he had a fish-hook,
S I And Freddy had a pin,
S-And Henry took his sister's net,
And thought it was no sin.
They climbed up on the ladder
Till they the top did win;
And then they perched upon the edge,
', And then they did begin.
But how their fishing prospered,
Or if they did it well,
Or if they caught the salmon,
I really cannot tell.
Because I was not there, you know.
But I can only say
That I too went a-fishing
That pleasant summer day.
It was not for a salmon,
Or shark with monstrous fin,
But it was for three little boys
All dripping to the skin.
J I took them, and I shook them,
And I hung them up to dry.
D' ye think they ever fished again ?
You don't? No more do I!
BIRDS IN THE SPRING.
BIRDS IN THE SPRING.
BY PROF. W. K. BROOKS.
THE nests of birds afford the naturalist a most
interesting subject for study, and every one has
admired the wonderful skill with which each bird
.- ,. 7 _.
selects a proper place for its nest, gathers the
necessary materials, and constructs the cradle in
which its young are to find shelter and protec-
tion. But the nests of the various species of birds
are almost as different from one another as the
The red-headed woodpecker and the yellow-ham-
mer bore holes in the decaying branches and trunks
of trees, and in these they lay their eggs and bring
up their young. The red-headed woodpecker is
not often molested by man during the spring, for
the farmers understand that, although this bird
does destroy a great deal of fruit at certain sea-
sons, he more than pays for this damage by the
service he renders in freeing the orchard-trees
from the insects and worms which otherwise would
ruin them. The woodpecker knows very well that
he is safe, and it is very easy to watch him at his
labors. When a pair of these birds are ready to
make their nest, they usually choose a large dead
limb at some distance from the ground, and on
the lower or sheltered side drill a round hole by
means of their awl-like bills. This hole is as per-
fectly round and smooth as if made with an auger,
and is just large enough to allow the bird to oasn
through it. After the branch has been penetrated
to the depth of three or four inches, the birds
change the direction of the hole, and bore a tunnel
down the inside of the branch for five or six inches,
enlarging this portion somewhat at the bottom.
Upon a soft bed of chips on the floor of this solid
wooden house the eggs are laid, and here the young
are raised, perfectly protected from rain and storm,
and from nearly all enemies. The nest is so far
from the ground that the eggs are in no danger of
destruction by a prowling cat, and the entrance to
the nest is so small that no hawk or owl can gain
admission. Almost the only peril to which they
are exposed is, that a snake may crawl into the
nest, and eat up the eggs, or the young birds, if
these are hatched. This done, the reptile quietly
coils himself up in their place, and sleeps for
A woodpecker's hole is such a very convenient
place for a nest, that many other birds are glad to
find one unoccupied. Sometimes a pair of wrens
will watch the motions of the woodpeckers while
they are at work, until an unfinished hole is left
unguarded, when they will take possession of it.
As soon as the lawful owners return, the thieves
are driven off, but they are so persistent and
troublesome that, although a woodpecker is larger
and stronger than twenty wrens, the owners some-
times abandon the place, and make a new nest.
Still, the wrens are not always allowed to keep the
house they have stolen, for the blue-birds are
BIRDS IN THE SPRING.
equally covetous of it, and sometimes fight fiercely
with the wrens in their attempts to gain possession
of it. Occasionally, both wrens and blue-birds are
driven away by the martins, for these birds also prize
woodpeckers' holes very highly. The fierce bat-
tles between these various birds over an abandoned
hole are very amusing, and often last several days;
for they all are very obstinate birds, and as each
one is determined not to give up, the matter is
not very easily settled.
Another interesting nest is that of the barn-
swallow; and as these birds are very abundant, and
have little fear of man, there is no difficulty in
watching them while at work. Every boy who has
passed the summer in the country, and has played
in the hay-loft of a large open barn, has seen-the
nests and watched the birds build them, lay their
eggs, raise their young ones, and give them their
first lessons in flying ; so that I can tell him noth-
ing about it which he does not already know. But
some of my readers may not have seen these birds
at home. If you will go into any large open barn
in the country, and hunt along the rafters close to
the roof, you probably will find several large bunches
of dried mud, which look like anything but nests.
At first sight, each looks as if some one had taken
a shovelful of stiff, wet clay, and thrown it up
against the rafter with so much force that it was
flattened out against the timber, and thus held fast
until it had grown dry and hard. If you can find
one of these lumps of clay in such a position that
you can reach it and examine it carefully, you will
find that on the upper side of it there is a beautiful
little nest of hay lined with feathers, and that this
is held up in its snug place under the roof by the
platform of mud upon which it rests, as though
upon a scaffolding. In the early summer, you often
may see the barn-swallows very busy around pumps
and cisterns, and upon the banks of brooks and
ponds. They are then gathering material'for their
new nests. Each bird collects a little ball of mud,
and carries this on its bill to the place which it has
selected for its nest, moistening the mud, as it flies,
with a thick, glue-like fluid, which the swallow is
able to form at this season. When the bitd reaches
the barn, it presses the lump of mud against the
rafter, and the glue holds it in its place until it
becomes quite hard and firm. The birds continue
to fasten new lumps of mud upon the first, until
they have made a structure like half of a large
bowl, fastened against the rafter, so near the roof
of the barn that there is barely room enough for
the birds to pass in and out. As the mud dries, it
grows brittle; and as the finished nest weighs more
than a pound, it would be in great danger of fall-
ing by its own weight, unless the birds had some
way of strengthening the mud. You know that
masons mix hair with their mortar in order to
make it stronger, and you remember that when
the Jews were slaves in Egypt they mixed straw
with the clay from which they made bricks. The
barn-swallow has learned how to give strength to
its work in the same way, and mixes small pieces
of hay with its mud, so that this is made suffi-
ciently tenacious to be in no danger of falling from
its place. After the
1, outside of the nest
I~ I is finished, the birds
Si carry pieces of hay
into the bowl, and
I so arrange them that
they form a soft,
Swarm bed, which is
also well lined with
.. .. feathers.
-.' After all the work
-- is done, and the nest
_- =- is ready, the mother-
-- bird lays four or five
,i." I! eggs ; and if you will
,' '' I"look into some of the
nests early in the
able to find some
which contain these
little white eggs,
Spotted with brown,
resting upon the soft
t h l-- AD "bed of feathers. The
j._ V birds are so tame
that looking into
their nests does not
S trouble them as
much as it does most
1 birds; but in look-
BARN-SWALLOWS AND THEIR ing into the nest, you
NESTS. must be very careful
not to touch any part of it, or the eggs; for although
the mud is strong enough to hold up the birds, it
is very dry and brittle indeed, so that a very slight
touch is sometimes enough to bring it down and
break it. The birds then lose not only their home,
but, what is a much greater misfortune to them,
the eggs for which they have labored so long and
so faithfully to make a soft bed, out of the reach
of cats, and rats, and birds of prey. Whenever
you look into the nest to see the eggs or young
birds, you must be very careful, too, not to stay
too long, but to be satisfied with one short peep;
for the old birds will not go into the nest while
you are near it, and if they are kept away from the
BIRDS IN THE SPRING.
eggs too long, these will become cold, and the
young birds inside them will die.
If you are very careful to avoid touching the
nest, and to make your visits while the old birds
--_ _--= :-::2---: -s_--- -
A BARN-SWALLOW ON THE WING.
are away, and to stay near the nest only a very short
time, you will have no trouble in following the
growth of the young birds until they leave the
nest, and I think that you would feel well paid for
your trouble if you should try the experiment.
After the young are hatched, the old birds are very
busy for some days finding food for them, and are
flying in and out of the barn continually. As barn-
swallows are very sociable, a great many often
build their nests under the same roof,-as many as
thirty or forty being sometimes found in one barn.
Of course there are two old birds for each nest,
and as they are constantly flying in and out, there
appears to be a much greater number. At first,
the young birds are fed inside of the nest; but as
they grow older, they come to the opening and
stretch out their heads to take the food which their
parents bring them, and soon they become strong
enough to crawl to the outside of the nest.
As soon as the young are large and strong
enough to fly, the old birds try to induce them to
use their wings, but they are rather slow to learn.
This first lesson in flying is a very amusing per-
formance, and it may be seen almost every day in
The old birds fly back and forth before the little
one in order to show it what an easy thing flying
is, and keep up a constant twittering as if explain-
ing the art, and urging the beginner to make the
attempt. All the other old birds in the barn take
a great interest in the lesson, and neglect their
own work to attend to this. They fly back and
forth with the parents, and join them in telling the
little bird what to do. To judge from the noise
which they make, one would think that all the
swallows in the country had gathered in the barn;
and as they all talk together, it must be rather
confusing to the young bird; so that it is not
strange that it appears rather puzzled and stupid.
At last, the young bird gathers sufficient courage
to slide off its perch, and to give two or three wild
flaps with its wings. In this way it manages to fly
a few feet to another beam, the whole flock flying
with it, and redoubling their twittering. When,
by several trials of this kind, the young bird has
learned how to use its wings, it flies out of the
barn with its parents, and perches upon some tree
or fence near the place where the old birds are in
the habit of pursuing their insect food.
Their work is now much lightened, for they are
not compelled to make the journey to the barn
with every fly which they capture, but feed the
young near the hunting-ground. Soon the little
swallow becomes strong enough to accompany its
parents, and although it does not yet do much
hunting for itself, by watching the old birds, it
gradually learns how to provide for its own wants.
Whenever it perceives that one of its parents has
captured an insect, it opens its mouth and flies near
the old bird, which comes to meet it; and as the
two pass each other in the air, the fly or grass-
hopper is very dexterously transferred from the
beak of the old to that of the young bird.
Occasionally, a young swallow is so timid or lazy
that it will not try to fly, but stays in its nest and
compels its parents to feed it there until it has
grown quite large and strong. At last, after the
old birds have done and said everything possible
to encourage it, without success, they push it out
of the nest, and drive it from one perch to an-
other, until it is fairly out of the barn, when it
usually finds no difficulty in flying.
ANNETTA PLUMMER'S DIARY
The chimney-swallow is another well-known bird,
which builds its nest inside unused chimneys. The
nest of this bird is somewhat like that of the barn-
swallow in shape, but is made of small sticks
instead of mud. These sticks, like the little balls
of mud, are fastened together by means of a glue-
like substance which is formed in the mouth of the
bird; for almost all the birds which belong to the
swallow family are able to secrete this glue, and
make use of it in building their nests.
The chimney-swallows are usually not abundant in
the large cities, and so are met with there only now
and then; but in small towns, and in the country,
they are very common, and nearly every unused
chimney has at least one nest. The birds feed almost
entirely upon insects, and when the young brood is
hatched, the parents hunt for food by night as well
as during the day; therefore you often may hear, in
the middle of the night, the twittering of the young
birds in the chimney when the old ones return to
the nest with the insects which they have captured.
Like the barn-swallows, the chimney-swallows are
very sociable, and so many often build in the same
chimney that the nests block up the flue and entirely
stop the draft. When heavy and long-continued
rains occur, the glue by which the nests are stuck on
becomes softened, and the old birds striking against
the nests while flying in and out, break them from
their attachment to the bricks, so that they fall to
the bottom of the flue. It is said that, in 1857,
during a long season of wet, cold weather in June,
four hundred and eighty of these birds, young and
old, were precipitated down a single chimney in
Woodbury, Connecticut. Sometimes the chimney-
swallow and the barn-swallow build their nests
in caves or hollow trees, but barns and chimneys
are so much more safe and convenient, that they
are almost always selected in preference.
ANNETTA PLUMMER'S DIARY.
BY ABBY MORTON DIAZ.
MY mother told me that it would be a good
way for me to make believe that I am telling Miss
Annetta Fourteen what happens every day. I
asked my mother, "Will she be I? Will Miss
Annetta Fourteen be the same I then that I am
now when I am seven ?"
She said, She will be the same I, and she will
not be the same I."
Then I asked my mother to tell me how I could
be the same I, and not be the same I. She said,
" You are the same you that you were when you
were a baby, and you are not the same you." She
said that if I were the very same you-no, the very
same I-that I was when I was a baby, I should
want a rattle to shake, and to be trotted, and to
pat cakes !
That made me laugh out loud.
Then my mother asked me if I should not like
to read a little cunning diary, where Annetta Baby
put down when she learned how to pat-a-cake, and
when she jumped first time in a baby-jumper, and
when she fell out of bed. And I said I should.
I shall tell something now in my diary about poor
little Banty White. She died this morning. She
77.] ANNETTA PLUMMER'S DIARY. 559
had the pip. She was a little beauty. Oh, she
was just as white as snow all over, and every one in
the family loved her very much. She would come
,when we called her, and she knew her name. She
had four chickens once, and once she had seven.
They are sold.
I cried when my Banty died. She was very cun-
ning and very nice. My mother does not think it
is foolish to cry for something like that. She thinks
it is foolish to cry when you can't have things that
you want, and when you cannot go to the places
that you want to. My mother talks to me a great
deal about Banty White. The Plaguer talks some.
The Plaguer is my cousin Hiram. He is fifteen.
He is very tall. He likes to plague us when we do
not wish him to do so. He says "Boo! in our
ears when we do not know he is there.
They counted four good things about Banty.
Kind-that was one of the good things. My cat
had three kittens, and two died. My cat had fits.
They were running fits. And once she ran away.
That was the last one she had, for she did not live
much longer, and her little kitty was left without
any mother. Banty White let the kitty come
under her wings, and did not push it out. She
was kind to it a great many days. When she called
her chickies to eat something, she wanted that
kitty to come too, and she wanted the kitty to run
under her wings when the chickies came under;
and when the kitty did not come quick, she kept
saying Cluck! cluck cluck! till somebody put
it under there. Then she kept still.
Not quarrelsome. This makes two good things.
When any other Banty ran to get the same crumble
that she was going after, she did not fly at that
Not pick out the best. This makes three good
things. When anybody threw down corn, or
crumbs, or bugs,-my father picked off squash-
bugs to give to the hens,-she did not try to pick
for the biggest, one, and she did not either try to
keep the best place for herself. The best hen-place
is close to the back door. Banty White was tied to
a stake there, but she was willing the other ones
should have that good place, too.
Not proud. Four good things. The Plaguer
told me of this one. He said some hehs are so
proud when they lay eggs that they go around
cackling very loud, just as much as to say, See
what I've done! I've done!" He said Banty
White never made a very loud cackling. My
mother said that she heard the boys cackle," one
day, when they had brought in some large sticks
of wood. That made us laugh. Then she said
she heard a little girl cackle," one day, when she
had picked more huckleberries than the others did.
I know what little girl she meant. Me.
One day, my father and my mother and myself
went to see my aunt, and we stayed there all night,
and Hiram put my Banty under a barrel to make
her not want to sit, and he forgot she was under
there, and she starved almost to death, because she
had no food to eat.
One day, when our great Shanghai hen wanted
to sit, the Jimmyjohns went 'way into a corner of
the hen-house and tried to get hold of her legs to
pull her off, and she pecked them. 'Most every-
body knows about the Jimmies now, I think, for
they are only our two little twin boys who look
just alike. One of the Jimmies held out a stick
for her-to bite, and so she did a little while; but
she stopped biting that stick when he began to put
out his other hand to take hold of her legs with,
and pecked that hand. Then he threw sand in her
face, so she could not see his hand; but she could.
Then he threw some pine-needles that were on the
ground in the hen-house; but they did not stop
her from pecking that hand he was taking hold of
her legs with. Then he put his straw hat on her
head, so that she had to knock her head on the
inside of it, and then they both took hold of her
legs and pulled her off. This is a very funny story.
They could not get out. -They let her go back
again. The button on the door of the hen-house
turns itself around, and they had to stay shut up in
there almost two hours. They hollered just as loud
as they could, and then they cried, and then they
pounded, and then they kicked the door, and then
they did all these same things over again. When
Hiram put the cow in the barn, he heard them
pounding, and heard Snip barking. Snip was
lying down outside, and sometimes he got up and
barked. One day, the Jimm)johns went off in a
boat, and it was bad weather, and they almost got
drowned. This almost makes me cry-for then
we could never, never see our little Jimmies any
more! Oh what should we do without our dear
" EVER ON HIS BRONZ5PD FACE HE WORE A LOOK OF GLEE."
LONG, long ago, in Egypt land,
Where the lazy lotus grew,
And the pyramids, though vast and grand,
Were rather fresh and new,
There dwelt an honored family,
Called Scarabhus Phlat,
Whose duty 't was all faithfully
To tend The Sacred Cat.
They brought the water of the Nile
To bathe its precious feet;
They gave it oil and camomile
Whene'er it deigned to eat.
With gold and precious emeralds.
Its temple sparkled o'er,
And golden mats lay thick upon
The consecrated floor.
And Scarabeus Phlat himself-
A man of cheerful mood-
Held not his trust from love of pelf,
For he was very good.
He thought The Cat a catamount
In strength and majesty;
And ever on his bronzed face
He wore a look of glee.
THE NAUGHTY LITTLE EGYPTIAN.
THE NAUGHTY LITTLE EGYPTIAN.
BY JOEL STACY.
THE NAUGHTY LITTLE EGYPTIAN.
And Mrs. Scarab6us Phlat
Was smiling, bright, and good;
For she, too, loved The Sacred Cat,
As it was meet she should.
Never a grumpy syllable
Came from this joyous pair;
And all the neighbors envied them
Their very jolly air.
When Scarab6us went to find
The Sacred Cat its store,
The pretty wife he left behind
Stood smiling at the door.
He knew that sweetly, smilingly
She 'd welcome his return,
And brightly on the altar stone
The tended flame would burn.
The Sacred Cat was different quite;
No jollity he knew;
But, spoiled and petted day and night,
Only the crosser grew.
Yet still they served him faithfully,
And thought his snarling sweet;
And still they fed him lusciously,
And bathed his sacred feet.
So far, so good. But hear the rest:
This couple had a child,
A little boy, not of the best,-
Ramesis, he was styled.
This little boy was beautiful,
But soon he grew to be
So like The Cat in manners,-oh !
'T was wonderful to see !
He might have copied Papa Phlat,
Or Mamma Phlat, as well;
And why he did n't this or that
No mortal soul could tell.
It was n't want of discipline,
Nor lack of good advice,
But just because he did n't care
To be the least bit nice.
Besides, he noticed day by day
How ill The Cat behaved,
And how (whatever they might say)
His parents were enslaved;
And how they worshiped silently
The naughty Sacred Cat.
Said he, "They'll do the same by me,
If I but act like that."
At first the parents said: "How blest
Are we, to find The Cat
Glow, humanized, within the breast
Of a Scarab6us Phlat "
But soon the neighbors, pitying,
Whispered : "'T is very sad !
There 's no mistake,-that little one
Of Phlat's is very bad !"
He snarled, he squalled from night till morn,
And scratched his mother's eyes.
The Sacred Cat, himself, looked on
In undisguised surprise.
And here the record suddenly
Breaks off. No more we know,
Excepting this: That happy pair
Soon wore a look of woe.
Yes, then, and ever afterward,
A look of pain they wore.
No more the wife stood smilingly
A-waiting at the door.
No more did Scarab6us Phlat
Display a jolly face;
But on his 'brow such sadness sat
It gloomied all the place.
So, children, take the lesson in,
And due attention give:
No matter when, or where, or how,
Mothers and fathers live;
No matter be they Brown or Jones,
Or Scarab6us Phlat,
It grieves their hearts to see their child
Act like a naughty cat.
And Sacred Cats are well enough
To those who hold them so;
But-oh, take warning of the boy
In Egypt long ago!
THE STARS IN JUNE.
THE STARS IN JUNE.
BY RICHARD A. PROCTOR.
THIs month, two pairs of maps are given,- The constellation Perseus is one of the oldest.
two northern and two southern,--partly because It belongs, with Cepheus, Cassiopeia, Andromeda,
we wish to complete the set
of twelve maps-one for each
month--in the present volume;
but chiefly because the evenings
are now getting long, and the
stars must be looked for later.
Thus, the first northern or
southern map shows the stars
as they are seen on June 21st at
eight; but at that hour it is not
dark enough then to see the
stars. Now, the second northern
or southern map shows the stars
as they are seen on June 21st at
ten o'clock. In July and Aug-
ust, also, it will be well to have
maps.of the stars at later hours
than eight or nine. In the first
part of June, as you will see,
the first pair of maps are still to
be used; from June 5, at nine
in the evening, the stars can be
Taking the first northern map,
we find the Guardians nearly
above the pole. The Dipper has
passed to the left; or west, of
due north. The last star of the
Great Bear's tail is nearly over-
head. Cassiopeia has passed
below the pole toward the east,
and the five bright stars of the
constellation now make a strag-
gling W close to the horizon,
and very nearly upright. The
festoon of stars belonging to the
constellation Perseus is just visi-
ble above the latitude of Phila-
delphia, but better seen above
the latitude of Boston. As far
south as Louisville, the festoon
at the hours named under the
map is broken by the horizon;
but half an hour earlier, can be
well seen. In London, as you
see by the map, we can at these hours see nearly and Cetus (the Sea Monster), to a set which has
the whole of Perseus; and also a large part of been called the Cassiopeian group,--illustrating
Andromeda,-a constellation which cannot be well the story of the pride of Cassiopeia. I have already
seen within the range of our northern maps from referred to the story itself, as not belonging to our
any part of the United States. subject here. But how the story found its way into
THE STARS IN JUNE.
the heavens is one of the most mysterious ques- naked eye. This cluster should be examined with
tions in the history of astronomy; and if the answer a small telescope, by all who possess, or can beg
could be found, we should have made an important or borrow one. Nothing more wonderful exists in
step toward determining what nation first studied the heavens than this splendid cluster. In the
the stars. A curious story is told by Wilford, in middle there is a beautiful coronet of small stars.
his Asiatic researches, about these constellations. Although Algol, in the head of Medusa, cannot
Asking an Indian astronomer, he says, to show be seen in America, where shown, the horizon of
me in the heavens the constella-
tion Antarmada," he immedi-
ately pointed to Andromeda,
though I had not given him any
information about it beforehand.
He afterward brought me a very
rare and curious work in San-
scrit, which contained a chapter
devoted to Ujpanackatras," or
constellations not in the zodiac,
"with drawings of Cafuja
(Cepheus) and of Casyafi (Cas-
siopeia) seated and holding a
lotus-flower in her hand, of
Antarmada charmed with the
fish beside her, and last, of
Parasiea (Perseus), who, accord-
ing to the explanation of the
book, held the head of a mon-
ster which he had slain in com-
bat; blood was dropping from
it, and for hair it had snakes."
But whether the Indians bor-
rowed from the Greeks, or the
Greeks from the Indians, or
both from some other source,
we do not know.
Perseus is represented as in
Fig. I on page 566. Why, in-
stead of a sword, the Rescuer
should carry a weapon which
looks like a reaping-hook, de-
ponent sayeth not,-not know-
ing. Admiral Smyth remarks,
that in an ancient MS. of the
astronomical poet Aratus in the
British Museum, with drawings
made, it is supposed, in the
reign of Constantine, Perseus
is represented with no other
drapery than a light scarf, hold-
ing the head of Medusa in his
left hand and a singular hooked
and pointed weapon in the right.
In the middle ages, an earnest
effort was made to dismiss Perseus and Medusa's Boston passing high above it, yet as its place will
head in favor of David with the head of Goliath, soon be learned when once the festoon of stars in
but the attempt failed. Perseus (t, 6, a, y, and r1) is known, we may take
The Cluster on the sword hand of Perseus (see this opportunity of describing this remarkable star.
the northern map, also) can be seen easily with the It shines most of the time as a star of the third
THE STARS IN JUNE.
magnitude. During two days, fourteen hours, it
retains this brightness, then, in the course of three
hours and a quarter, it is reduced to the fourth
magnitude. It remains thus faint for about a
quarter of an hour, and then in the course of three
hours and a quarter it gradually recovers its usual
The star loses half its brightness for about a quar-
ter of an hour out of nearly sixty-nine hours, and
remains in all only six hours and three-quarters
below its full brightness. Now, if one side or part
of a sun were less bright than the rest, to such a
degree that, when that side was looked at, the sun
luster. This regular change is accounted for by shone with only half the luster of its other side,
some astronomers by supposing the body of the then the sun would be certainly quite half the time
star to rotate on an axis, having parts of its surface below its full brightness, and probably longer. Try
not luminous." It is singular that Sir W. Herschel the experiment with an-orange. Peel off so much
and others who have given this explanation should of one side that when you look at that side about
not have noticed how it fails when put to the test. half is peeled and the other half unpeeled, and
THE STARS IN JUNE.
suppose the unpeeled part of the orange made
intensely bright and the peeled part dark. Now,
let the orange spin steadily on an axis, either
thrusting a stick through it, or hanging it by a
thread. You will find the peeled part remains
wholly in view for (roughly) about a third part of
an entire turning, and' partly in view nearly twice
as long. This is very unlike what is observed in
the case of Algol, whose dark part, on the theory
we are considering, would remain wholly in view
only about a three-hundredth part of an entire
turning, and more or less in view only about a
tenth part. This could never happen. The only
possible explanation seems to be this,-that there
is a great dark orb, like our earth, only very much
larger, traveling around that distant sun, once in
about sixty-nine hours, and coming between that
sun and us once in each circuit. It must be large
enough to cut off about half that sun's light, and
must travel at such a rate that the partial eclipses
which it causes last nearly seven hours at a time
from beginning to end.
The discovery that Algol changes in brightness
in this strange way is commonly supposed to be-
THE STARS IN JUNE.
long to late times; but I think the name of the
star shows that the astronomers of old knew all
about this star's changes of luster. You see from
Fig. I how the star adorns the head of the Gorgon
Medusa, borne by Perseus, which was supposed to
possess the power of turning to stone every living
creature that looked upon it. The Arabian name
Algol is the same as Al-gkil, the monster or
demon. And to this star most evil influences were
attributed by astrologers. All this seems to show
that the old astronomers had found out how omi-
nously the star looks upon our system, slowly wink-
ing upon us from out the depths of space.
Turning to the southern skies, we find Virgo
(the Virgin) now the ruling zodiacal constellation.
Last month, she shared the honor with Leo (the
Lion). Both these constellations are larger than
others of the twelve which form the zodiac,-the
two together, instead of covering about sixty de-
grees of the sun's path (one-sixth of his circuit),
covering fully eighty degrees, or between a fourth
part and a fifth part. The next two-the Scales
and the Scorpion-together, scarcely cover forty
degrees, instead of covering about thirty degrees,
or a twelfth part of the zodiac, apiece. Nothing
need be added to what I said last month about
Virgo, and her bright star Spica. Libra (the
Scales) I shall speak about presently.
The fine constellation Bootes (the Herdsman) is
seen above Virgo. He is too high, however, for
you readily to recognize his figure. At New
Orleans, indeed, and other places far south, about
as much of his frame is on the northern as on the
southern side of the point overhead. The bright
star Arcturus is a very noted one. According to
the measurement of its light by Sir J. Herschel, it
is the brightest star north of the celestial equator,
though to the unaided eye, Vega, in the Lyre, and
Capella, in the Charioteer, seem equally conspicu-
ous. The heat which reaches us from this star
has been measured, and is found to be equal to
about as much heat as would be received from a
three-inch cube, full of boiling water, at a distance
of 383 yards !
Low down toward the south you see the stars of
the Centaur and Lupus (the Wolf). But it is only
from the latitude of New Orleans that the bright
stars marking the fore-feet of this constellation can
be seen. The stars of the Cross marked in former
times the hind-feet. You can easily see how the
figure was imagined,-the stars 0 and t marking
the shoulders, and I, 2, 3 and 4 the head, of the
human part of the Centaur; while the back of the
horse extended from i to 7, a, and 6. He was
represented as bearing the body of the wolf upon
a spear, apparently by way of offering it as a suit-
able sacrifice upon the altar, Ara,-a constellation
which a little later comes into view in the south
from places as far south as New Orleans.
But now let .us take the second northern and
southern maps for this month,-that is, let two
hours be supposed to have passed, the summer
sky darkening, and the stars in these later maps
coming into view in the places shown.
In the northern map, you see that the Guardians
have passed over to the left, or west, of due north.
The Dipper now has its top-from 6 to a-nearly
perpendicular to the horizon. The Cameleopard
is below the pole. The solitary star marked 2,
near the fore-foot of the Giraffe, belongs to the
Lynx, a constellation of small stars, set by Hevelius
in this barren region of the heavens. The constel-
lation Perseus has nearly passed from below the
pole close by the horizon, and a part of Auriga is
taking its place. But the bright star, Capella,
which is the glory of this constellation, is beneath
the horizon at the hours named below the second
northern map, -for all places south of the horizon of
Boston, and even for two degrees or so north of
It is toward the south that at present the heavens
present the most glorious display. The contrast,
in fact, between the northern and southern skies is
very strange. Toward the north, the region below
the pole shows (in America) not a single star above
the fourth magnitude. Toward the south, the
corresponding region (that is, the region extending
some 40 degrees from the horizon) is singularly
rich in large stars, chief among them being Antares
(the Heart of the Scorpion), and perhaps the most
beautiful of all the red stars. The word Antares
means, in fact, the rival of Mars." You will have
an opportunity this year, in August and Septem-
ber, of observing whether Antares can really be
said to rival in ruddiness or in splendor the planet
of war when at his brightest.
Libra, which by rights should hold sway as the
THE STARS IN JUNE.
southern zodiacal constellation one month out of
the twelve, has passed the south at the time shown
in the southern map. The sign Libra has thirty
degrees, like the rest, and probably the original
constellation had its due extension. A foolish story
is told by Servius to the effect that the original
Chaldean zodiac had only eleven signs, and that
Libra was made out of the claws of Scorpio. But
there is ample evidence to show that both the sign
and constellation Libra belonged to the earliest
Chaldean and Egyptian zodiacs.
The figures of the Scorpion, Ophiuchus (the
Serpent-Bearer), with his serpent, besides parts of
Hercules (head, arm and club), Libra (the Scales),
Sagittarius (the Archer), and Lupus (the Wolf), are
shown in Fig. 2.
The large constellation Ophiuchus is not specially
interesting. It has been supposed by some to
represent Esculapius, and by others to be another
celestial Hercules. Novidius insists that it pre-
figured the miracle of St. Paul and the viper, in
which case the Maltese viper was considerably
magnified in anticipation. The figure is a very
absurd one, the legs being singularly feeble. But
it must be admitted he is awkwardly placed. The
serpent is quite enough to occupy his attention, yet
a scorpion is ready to sting one leg and to pinch
the other. The club of Hercules may be meant
for the serpent, and the arrow of the Archer for the
scorpion, but they seem to threaten the Serpent-
Bearer at least as much.
In the constellation Corona Borealis, a star
marked T will be noticed. Here no star can now
be seen; but in May, 1866, one blazed out here
very brightly, and, though it soon faded in luster,
it is still visible with a telescope. Like the star
which blazed out lately in the constellation Cygnus,
this one was found to be shining with the light of
glowing hydrogen gas. At its brightest it ap-
peared as a star of the second magnitude. Its
present luster is but about one-eight-hundredth
part of that.
You will notice toward the left, or east, of due
south, just outside the limits of the second southern
map for this month, a star much brighter than any
-even Antares or Arcturus-which has yet been
shown in these maps. It is not, however, a fixed
star, but a planet,-the prince of all the planets,-
Jupiter. It will be an interesting exercise for the
young observer to track this wandering star among
the fixed stars until next month, when I hope, with
the editor's permission, to make a few remarks
about the planet.
The ecliptic (the sun's path among the stars)
still tends downward in both the southern maps.
The place marked T in the first southern map is
that reached by the sun moving in the direction
shown by the arrow on or about October io, when,
passing from the sign Libra, he enters the sign
Scorpio, of which q. is the symbol. The place
marked ; in the second southern map is that
reached by the sun on or about November 22d,
when he enters the sign Sagittarius, of which t is
FOR VERY LITTLE FOLKS.
PETER was a funny little boy, who had a dog named Tony. This dog
was all covered with long shaggy hair, which hung down over his eyes
and his mouth, and made him look very wise. But Tony was not as wise
as he looked, and he did not know as much as little Peter thought he knew.
Peter was only three years old. 'He did not know all the alphabet, but
he knew what letters spelled his own name.
Peter was very fond of what he called writing letters." He would
scribble all over a piece of paper, and then fold it up and get his sister Emily
to write on it the name of one of the family, or else of one of the neighbors.
Then Peter would carry it to that person; and he very often got a written
answer, which Emily would read to him. Sometimes these answers had
candy in them, which pleased Peter very much.
One day, Peter wrote a long letter to his dog Tony. When he gave
it to him, Tony took it in his mouth and carried it to the rug in front of
the fire in the sitting-room. There he laid it down, and put his nose to
it. Then he laid himself down, with his head on the letter, and shut his
eyes. He was sleepy, and he found that the letter was not good to eat.
Peter was very glad to see Tony do this, for he thought he had read
the letter and was thinking what he should say when he answered it.
So little Peter said, Tony shall write me an answer to my letter," and
he ran into his grandma's room, to ask for a pencil. She was not there,
but on the table there was some paper, and an inkstand with a quill pen
in it. His grandma always used a quill pen.
So Peter took a big sheet of paper and the inkstand with the pen in
it.. Then he saw his grandma's spectacles on the table, and he thought he
would take these too, as Tony might write better if he had spectacles on.
Peter waked Tony, who was fast asleep by this time, and made him
hold his head up. Peter put the spectacles on Tony, and laid the paper
before him. Then he set the inkstand down, close to his right paw.
"Now, Tony," said Peter, you must write me a letter."
Tony looked at the little boy, but he did not take the pen.
"There, Tony!" said Peter. There 's the ink and the pen. Don't
you see them ?" And he pushed the inkstand against Tony's paw.
The dog gave the inkstand a tap with his paw, and over it went!
Oh cried Peter. "You naughty dog! Upsetting grandma's ink-
stand !" And he picked up the inkstand as quickly as he could. Some of
the ink had run out on the paper, but none of it had gone on the carpet.
Peter took off Tony's spectacles, and drove him away; and then, with
1877.] FOR VERY LITTLE FOLKS. 569
what he called the "tail" of the quill pen (by which he meant the feather
end), he spread the ink about on the paper.
Then he took the paper up by a corner, and carried it to his mother.
d ,.iI .
Mamma !" said he, "See the letter Tony wrote to me. He upset the
inkstand, but none of the letter runned off on the carpet "
Tony never wrote another letter, and that was the last time that little
Peter meddled with his grandma's pen and ink.
-) = -. -_= .. ... .
f.~~ :- __.,,
Peter meddled with his grandma's pen and ink.
JACK IN THE PULPIT. [JuxE,
,-I -H P
J u lv 11;-It- U, LilT.
WHAT is so rare as a day in June ? Then, if
ever, come perfect days. I believe some great
poet has said the same thing. But, bless you!
the birds have sung it every summer since the
world began; so it is doubly true and doubly new
-for the very truest and newest thing in the
universe is the glad note of a bird when summer
There is something that your Jack loves nearly
as well, though, and that is the laugh of a happy
So laugh out, my children-laugh and be happy,
in these sweet, warm days; and when the flowers
nod brightly to you, as they will, and the grass
whispers softly, and the whole earth seems to smile
and sing, remember Jack's words: Be glad, glad,
glad-and keep your hearts in tune !
THE DEACON'S CONUNDRUM.
"BOYS said Deacon Green to a group of red-
cheeked fellows the other day, "I never see a
healthy, go-ahead crowd of young folks like you,
that I don't say to myself, 'here's a chance for
practical religion.' Do you know the reason? "
Is it a conundrum ?" asked three of the boys
in a breath.
Yes," said the Deacon, with the air of a man
who had intended to make a-speech, but had
suddenly decided to keep it to himself. It is a
Then the Deacon gave a pleasant nod, and
Now, what did he mean by that? said one
of the fellows.
"I know," cried Bob King. "He meant that
some folks think religion is intended only for
Sunday and for sick people, and the Deacon
would like to see more well people trying it on
"Humph !" said John Salters. "You know a
heap-you do "
The Deacon does, anyhow," answered'Bob,
meekly "You can't get around that."
Montreal, April 3d, 1I77.
DEAR JACK: In the April number of ST. NICHOLAS there was a
paragraph about children in Pompeii playing with Jack-stones, and
calling them "Astragaloi." It also mentioned their being made of
the small joint bones of sheep. So I thought that Astragalus, which
means an ankle-bone, might have some connection with Astragaloi.
Would Jack kindly tell me ?-Your constant reader, NELLIE F.
Certainly. Exactly so. Jack has n't the least
doubt of it, Nellie. In fact, I am sure the dear
Little Schoolma'am would say that the sheep bones
used by the little ancients in the game undoubtedly
were those which correspond with the ankle-bones
of man. But to find these sheep ankle-bones
you'll have to be sharp, or you'll look in the
wrong place, may be. There's a study known as
" Comparative Anatomy" which will throw light
on this matter, if you wish to pursue it further.
BAD NEWS FOR THE CHILDREN.
Peekskill, N. Y.
DEAR JACK: I heard two men talking the other evening in a drug
store, while I was waiting for some medicine to be done up. And I
heard one of them say that in Randolph County, Illinois, they were
raising castor-oil beans at the rate of twelve bushels to the acre. It
made me shudder. Don't you think it is dreadful ?
Yours truly, RoOBmI N.
A STOCKING REVIVAL.
ALL through the last winter and spring there
seems to have been a great stir among the stock-
ings. They have come out in all sorts of colors
and almost all sorts of patterns. Here, many a
time this past spring, the dead meadows have
looked as if they were full of flowers by reason of
the children skipping around with their red and
blue striped legs. Even the little boys made me
think of scarlet-runners, and the Johnny-jump-ups
were out in great variety.
Whether it was on this account or not, I do not
know, but the other day the Little Schoolma'am
began to talk to the children about stockings, tell-
ing them that in the old, old time the people wore,
them made of cloth. Up to the days of Henry VIII.,
she said, they were made out of ordinary cloth.
The king's own were formed of yard-wide taffeta,
and it was only by chance that he might obtain a
pair of silk hose from Spain. Then she read some-
thing from an old book, which, perhaps, you may
like to hear. In fact, the children were so delighted
with it that they begged the dear Little School-
ma'am to send it to ST. NICHOLAS.; and, if she
has done so, I will thank the editors to put it in
Henry VIII.'s son, Edward VI.,
received as a great present from Sir Thomas
Gresham 'a pair of long Spanish silk stockings.'
For some years longer, silk stockings continued to
be a great rarity. 'In the second year of Queen
JACK- IN -THE -PULPIT.
1877.1 JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT. 571
Elizabeth,' says Stow in his Chronicle, 'her silk-
woman, Mistress Montague, presented her majesty
with a pair of black knit-silk stockings for a New-
Year's gift; the which, after a few days' wearing,
pleased her highness so well that she sent for
Mistress Montague and asked her where she had
them, and if she could help her to any more, who
answered, saying: "I made them very carefully
of purpose only for your majesty, and seeing these
please you so well, I will presently set more in
hand." "Do so," quoth the queen, "for indeed
I like silk stockings so well, because they are pleas-
ant, fine and delicate, that henceforth I will wear
no more cloth stockings."'
"And from that time to her death the queen
wore no more cloth hose, but only silk stockings."
(A Letter from the Little Schoolma'am.)
DEAR JACK: You were so good in March as to let me "have a
say" on the subject of school-luncheons. Now I want to have
another-a short one. May I? (Of course she may. Bless her!)
Dozens and dozens of answers have come to my letter, girls and boys,
and it was like a geography lesson just to read them; for they were
sent from all parts of the country,-California, and Maine, and
Oregon,-New York, Illinois, Minnesota, Mississippi, the Rocky
Mountains, Kansas, Ohio,--and a good many other places which
I have n't breath to mention. I don't think I ever realized before
how far our dear ST. NICHOLAS travels, or what numbers of small
friends he has in far-away places across the prairies and among tie
hill-tops, as well as nearer home. WVell, dear boys and girls, thank
you all. Your letters were very interesting, and just what I wanted.
One of these days I shall write you a long answer, and say what I
think about your luncheons and luncheons in general, and how they
may be improved, and made more attractive and nourishing without
too much trouble to the kind mammas who put them up. But I
wont do this now, because vacation-time is near, and the lunch-
baskets are about to be stored away for the summer, and your heads
A GRAND SAIL IN A CIRCULAR BOAT.
A CIRCULAR BOAT.
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: I want to tell you of something that
I saw in San Francisco, which ought to be introduced in other cities
where there are boys and girls,-I suppose most cities have boys
and girls,-and that is the "circular boat." It can be introduced in
any grounds where a circular lake can be made, and supplied with
water either naturally or artificially.
The boat of which I send you a picture is in Woodward's Garden,
San Francisco, and you can't imagine what fun it is to sail in it.
The picture explains it better than I can. I need only say, that the
inside rim of the boat looks over the water, and the outside rim looks
over the land; there being only just enough space, between the out-
side rim of the boat and the land, to enable the boat to move easily. It
is provided with sails to catch all the wind there may be to send it
around; and, besides this, every fellow may take an oar if he chooses.
Sometimes hired men row.
They might put fish in this lake, and let the boys try their luck at
catching them, but it would n't be quite fair to the fish, I suppose.
I am sure that if such things as this were to be introduced in other
towns, they would be very popular,-among us boys, at least,-and
the girls would like them, because there is no danger of shipwreck.
I must tell you that, as nearly as I can remember, it is a flat-
bottomed boat about three feet and a half wide, and that the diameter
of the entire lake is about forty feet. Sometimes the boat goes very
fast, sometimes .-.- I---1-. -ut that only adds to the variety.
Hoping that I 1 my picture and print this note, I am
yours truly, EDWARD C. D.
are full of other things,-as they :1.r i 1 -wiLh a pleasant sum-
mer before you; and if we had ... .. it would just go into
one of your ears and out at the other. So I will wait till a little
before school begins again.
Meantime, let me specially thank all of you whose initials are
given below, for your frank and straightforward letters,-though every
word, from every one of the dear ST. NICHOLAS crowd, is heartily
welcomed by your affectionate LITTLE SCHOOLMA'AM.
K. U., M. B., J. B., M. U., M. C. H., A. M. K., M. K.,
A.H.W., F.W., G.H., M.E., G. B., A. S., A.E. S., K. M. F.,
H. D. F., E. K. B., M. M. C., K. C. W., "Mattie," L. A. J.,
H. B.S., C.W. R., J.B.H., H. K. C., O.G., J. G. W., Daisy
andAphraM--, L. L. P., S. F. P., M. H.,H M. C.C., E.T.,
J. B. F., G. H. C., A. E. P., R. D. H., M. C., A. McC.,
M. G. McC., S.D. M., S. G., S. C., M. R., G. W. S., W. W. B.,
A. M., C. M. S., C. M. A., M. E., L. F. G., J. B. H., "Bob
White," F. M., L. P. R., T. M S., J. B., F. G. E., H. M. A.,
G. M., M. C.L., S.W. B., L. L., C. R., C. W, E. Y. M.,
M. S. C., M.-C., L. P., M. C. W., A. C.T., L. B., L. G. C.,
G.J., E. B. P., A.I-. B., S.S.R., F.F., E. H. fH., A.F.H.,
M. H. B., J. L. S., T. G., N. G. W., S. W., B. F., "B.B.,"
"G.L.H.," A.H. A., G. H.D., F. G.M., P. M. (no address),
"Gulick." "Perry," L F. G., B. L., N. W., M.W., L. F.,
E. S., H. C., B. L. G., S. B. F., A. H. F., M. F. B, K.W.,
LuluG., L. O'C., T. O'C. N. E. S., H. G. N., A. T. P.,
K. McG., L. F., H. C., M. J. A., A. F. A., G. T. W., Katie
and Annie M., Rudolph A., W. T. S., R. M. L., Fredericka W.,
P. T.S., N.T. U., H.J.B., W. J.G.
572 THE LETTER-BOX. [JUNE,
YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS' DEPARTMENT.
THE DESERTED HOUSE.
THERE by the roadside stands the queer old house.
Deserted it has been for many years;
And when one enters first one has strange fears
Of what may be inside. But not a mouse
Raises its tiny head, or hides, afraid;
And the sole sound through the deep stillness heard,
Is the shrill chirping of a mother-bird,
Who right above the door her nest has made.
While through bare, lonely rooms my way I wend,
I feel a kind of pity for the i .
Left thus alone, like to some I 11:.. king,
Deserted both by enemy arid friend.
But life is short; so gently close the gate,
And leave the house to mercy and to fate.
W. H. (aged 13).
A FAIRY STORY.
THERE was once a little girl, named Charlotte, who was very dis-
orderly, never putting anything in its right place. One day a fairy
came into her room and asked her why she kept her room in such
Lottie answered : "Paul says, that it makes no difference where
you put things so long as you know where to find them."
Ah, well," said the fairy, "you believe what Paul says, do you?
We will soon find if he is right."
Then the fairy waved her wand over Charlotte's head, touched her
eyes and ears, hands and feet, making them all change places, and
left poor Charlotte alone.
Charlotte was very much surprised to find she could not see in
front of her, but could see very distinctly on both sides of the room;
she then began crying; and trying to put her hand up she was much
more surprised to find it was her foot; she then discovered that her
eyes and ears, hands and feet had changed places.
She found it was very inconvenient for her foot to be there instead
of her hand; but she managed to get hold of her handkerchief with
her toes, and on putting it up to her head, wiped her eyes where her
ears ought to be.
She attempted to walk, but could not stand, for her hands were
on the floor instead of her feet.
She then cried very hard, and said, What shall I do ? I cannot
walk, I cannot even crawl straight ahead, for I cannot see straight
before me; I cannot eat, for how can I hold my knife and fork. Now
I see the use of having things in their right places."
Just then Paul came in, asking for the '--rdPn "-eds she helped
him gather yesterday, but he was perfectly L.. .11 :.: 1 when he saw
her in this condition. He asked her who did all this ? Then Lottie,
still crying, told him that it was the fairy.
Said Lottie: "I know where my eyes and ears, hands and feet
are, but as they are now they are of no use to me. If they were only
in their right places how glad I wotld be!
"If I only had my hands where they ought to be I would always
put things in their right places."
Then the fairy, who had been invisible all this time, suddenly
appeared, and waved her wand over poor Charlotte's head, touched
her eyes, ears, hands and feet, and they all went instantly to their
After that, Charlotte always remembered to have a place for every-
thing and everything in its right place.
Paul also improved his ways, and always put hoe, rake and seeds
where they ought to be, for he was afraid if he did not the fairy might
make him a visit. ALICE R. (aged Ii).
.rl ;' ' ,' !: ,
.^ ':, [ ,*'1
.i ,-,- /^
-J ' -'! -; L 'L .;
THE PETERKINS AT THE CENTENNIAL.
(Drawn by a Young Contributor, to illustrate the story in ST. NICHOLAS for February, 1877.)
ALICE BROOME sends us a translation of the French story "C6cile day." From it she will learn how Fred, enticed by the beautiful
et Lulu," that was printed in the April number, and adds: "I think spring weather and by George Washington Dayspring, a "darkie"
that in the article on 'Curious Customs of Easter' the writer should boy, went to the Capitol, gazed at the building, its pictures and
have mentioned the custom of rolling eggs down the terrace of the statues, helped, with hundreds and hundreds of other children, to
Capitol at Washington on Easter Monday." roll the pretty, colored, boiled eggs down the terraces and eat them
Our correspondent will find a full account of this interesting custom when broken, and then roll themselves down hill and have all manner
in ST. NICHOLAs for April 1875, under the title Fred's Easter Mon- of splendid fun, in which even some of the grown-ups joined.
THE LETTER-BOX. 573
TRANSLATIONS of the French story of "Cecile et Lulu" were
received, previous to April i8th, from Lulu A. Wilkinson, Alice Rob-
inson, J. C. Habersham, Julia Lathers, Jessie Pringle, Benj. Merrill,
Maggie P. Colton, Hattie Jessie Peabody, Hattie K. Chase, Amy
Reynolds, Lottie Upham, Lily Groome, Eveline Browne, M. L. Cox,
Carrie T. Granger, Alice Bates, Lizzie K. Tapley, Alice Broome,
Martha Hussey Lamberton, Martha B. Beck, Jessie O. Lorsch,
M. C., Edith Strong Perry, F. J. Parsons, Wilson Rockhill, Rose
Seitz, Mabel Cutler, John B. Sedgwick, Louisa Anderson, Maggie
P. Biddle, Junius E. Beal, Edith Monroe Pollard, Trudie Whitney,
Jeannie Moore, Mary Brown, Annie M. Horton, Frances M. Wood-
ward, Elsie L. Shaw, Julia H. George, Lidie V. B. Parker, Virginia
H. Townsend, Fannie Freeman, Laura C. Jernegan, Mae Fiske,
Constance Smith, Alice M. Cobb, Hattie C. Fernald, Lillie P. Haydel,
Louise Cross, Harry A. Hall, Ella F. Truitt, Nellie Emerson, M. Bella
Robinson, Frankie English, Mary P. Barton, Daisy Ramsdell, Nellie
Mack, Clara Chessborough, Elsie S. Adams, Emily Kent, William
Weightman Walker, Persifor F. Gibson, A. B. W., Katherine Hamil-
ton, A. S. Dillon, Mabel S. Fay, Nellie Chase, Minnie B. Chapin,
Mary Chase, Kathleen Croasdale, "One of the Little Gallaudets,"
- Hill, May Parker, Ida Travis, Louis L. Tribus, Aline M. Godfrey,
HarrietteWoodruff, Alice S. Millard, Jennie Spence, Mamie A. Gould,
Philip Stanley Abbot, Annie M. Sloan, Helen Green, Alice C. Moses,
"Winnie Woodbine and Ruth Rivulet," Carrie L. Dinzey, "Ahack,"
(" No Name "), Alice B. Bullions, Mamie S. Littster, Jessie H. Dodd,
Virginia L. Hopkins, Minnie T. Byington, Sallie E. Macallister,
Will Parker, Geo. W. Pepper. Agnes and Margie Lawrence, W. J. T.,
Romaine M. Stone, "Mignonne," Fannie E. Blake, Lulu Fetter,
Emily Buckley Newbold, Amy L. Massey, Marie W. Robinson,
Eliza H. Tyson, Mamie Baldwin, Norman L. Archer, Lillie Kent,
James E. Whitney, Jr., A. L. Cameron, Minnie E. Waldo, Addie
Cuerber, Florence Satterlee, Mazie Wright, Nellie Chandler, Nellie
Spencer, Madge Wilson, Jennie D. V. Brown, Beulah Park, Minnie
W. Stanwood, Bessie Van Rensselaer, Ellie L. Kenney, Russell
Duane, Ethel R. Wrightington, Merritt L. Stewart, Minnie M. Wal-
ling, Constance Grand Pierre,'Lillie L. Preston, Annie S. Kennedy,
Gertie Silliman, Alice S. Moody, Annie Hatch and Jessie Jones,
Annie S. Knox, Anna B. Newbold, Lizzie and Emma Phelps, Susie
Minturn, A. W. Cutting, May Clare Burtsell, C. A. Cushman, Theo-
dore Brooks, Clara McChesney, Abbott, Jnr., "Louise; J. P.
Brewin of Giggleswick, Yorkshire, and Carrie A. Maynard of Lon-
don, England; and Beulah M. Hacher, of Geneva, Switzerland.
A NEw correspondent, A. W. G., sends us the following:
THE RULERS OF THE WORLD TO-DAY.
Dom Pedro Second ranks, by worth,
Among the wisest kings of earth;
Ruling with a liberal hand
O'er Brazil, well-favored land.
Cold Siberia's frozen coasts,
Trans-Caucasia's manly hosts,
Tributary from afar
Unto Alexander are-
Of the Russias mighty Czar.
Prussia's king extends his sway
O'er a mighty realm to-day.
Frederick William First is he,
Emperor of Germany.
This the scheme Count Bismarck planned:
One united Fatherland.
Austria's emperor still remains
King of wide Hungarian plains.
O'er Vienna's gardens gay
Francis Josefls's banners sway.
Battling for their native mountains,
Proudly have the Switzers stood.
Meet the crimson of their banner
For their patriot brotherhood.
O'er the land of William Tell,
Now Herr Herzog ruleth well.
A bdul Hamid, Othman's sword
Wields, as Turkey's present lord.
Athens, oft in song rehearsed,
Owns as ruler George the First.
Fair Italia's sunny realm
Nevermore shall tyrants whelm.
On her seven hills enthroned,
Shall again her power be owned.
Gone the sway of priest and pope-
Victor Emanuel is her hope.
Stilled the Carlists' rebel battle,-
Dumb the cannon, sheathed the steel;
Over Spain, late rent and sundered,
Reigns Alfonso of Castile.
Louis First maintains his rank
In Lisbon, on the Tagus bank.
France has Harshal McMahon-
Gone the proud Napoleon.
Belgium 'has Leopold;
Holland, William, as of old.
On the ancient Vikings' throne,
Christian Ninth now reigns alone;
And the Norsemen monarch call
Oscar, crowned in Odin's hall.
On Britannia's kingdom yet,
Lo the sun doth never set.
There Victoria reigns serene,-
Noble mother, honored queen.
Here at home the people reign;
Ours no crown, or courtly train.
Now the patriot Hayes doth stand
Highest servant of our land.
Providence, R. I.
DeAR JACK: I send a "that" sentence that I think beats
That boy said that that 'that' that that girl that sat on that seat
parsed yesterday was not that 'that' that that gentleman meant."
Yours, etc. STANLEY.
Delaware Water Gap, Pa.
DEAR JACK: 1 wish to make an addition to your article on five
"that's" as follows:
"Jane said, in speaking of that 'that,' that that 'that' that that
boy wrote was a conjunction."
Thus I write seven "that's" in succession.-Yours truly,
LIDA B. GRAVES.
JENNIE C. KING : Your letter interested us very much, and, in our
opinion, the book that will best answer your inquiries, and be of most
service at the present stage of your studies, is "The Philosophy of
Style," by Herbert Spencer, published by D. Appleton & Co. It is
full of good, practical suggestions, and can be easily, comprehended
by a girl of your age. In fact, we would recommend the book heartily
to all students of English composition.
Germantown, March 3, 1877.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I was very sick with scarlet fever one winter.
My grandma brought into my room a beautiful calla. She thought
it would help to make me better. It was watered and cared for just
the same as ever. But it withered, and the leaves all turned yellow,
and it was hard work to make ,i i... lr. .... ... air. Grandma
said it had the scarlet fever. i .., '-.i : .
HELEN P. (nine years old).
WE already have received a number of letters showing the interest
which our young readers everywhere are taking in Professor Proctor's
admirable Star-papers; and nov. that the evenings are growing warmer,
the opportunity of fully enjoying them is increased. A good prac-
tical knowledge of astronomy can be gained readily from these arti-
cles; and we think that all our readers who during these open-air
months occasionally engage in the study of the heavens with these
star-maps in hand, will find it among the foremost of the many pleas-
ures which our summer evenings afford.
WiEEN too late to correct the error, it was discovered that the artist
who made the illustrations for "The Green House with Gold Nails"
had made a mistake. The text of the article shows that the cater-
pillar was found upon the milkweed, and the chrysalis upon the wild
carrot. But in the pictures these positions are reversed, and thus the
caterpillar and chrysalis are placed each upon the wrong plant.
Fairyland, March 24, 1877.
MlY VERY DEAR JACK: I believe I can help you out of that diffi-
culty concerning the birds' motto-Lux mea dux. It means, Light
is my leader. Don't you think that fits? I think it is just the thing
for the dear little birds, who, as you say, love the sunlight so much.
It is time now to go to. our ball, so good-bye -Very affectionately,
Hakodate. Japan, July 4, 1876.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Inclosed please find a little child-song ren-
dered from the Japanese. Of course, it has no intrinsic merit; but I
fancied that my American cousins might like to know what songs
their almond-eyed sisters sing. I inclose photograph of a little
Japanese girl and her doll.-Very respectfully yours, F. B. H.
A JAPANESE CHILD-SONG.
- -_-- _-.
Dear! oh dear!
What do I hear
There at the pantry door?
The mouse is gnawing,
Scrambling and pawing.
There's never a doubt about that rat,
But always a doubt about my cat.
At set of sun
She 's on the run,
'T is cock-crow;
Or she creeps away
(The little sinner)
At midnight gray,
And never comes back
Till break of day;
But she never forgets
To want her dinner.
Come here! come here!
If you '1l only catch those naughty rats,
I '11 give you a feast for the best of cats.
There now! You think,
If the sea is bad,
Your favorite fish
Cannot be had;
But I '11 bustle about,
And find some trout.
Don't you hear ?
Run, my dear."
* "Chop-pi" is the Japanese "cat-call," like "Kitty, Kitty."
New Haven, Ct., Nov. 24, 1876.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Here is a curious problem in algebra that I
should like to have somebody explain.
It can be proved that any number equals any other number. For
example, let it be required to prove that 7 = 2 :
Now 49 63 = 14
and 4 I8 = 14
hence 49 63 and 4 18, being both equal to 14, must be equal
to each other; therefore,
49 63 = 4 18,
or 49 9 (7) = 4 -9(2).
Adding s1 to both members of the equation, we have:
49 -9(7) + 8 =4 9(2) + 4.
Now, since both members are perfect squares, extracting the square
7 f = 2 -ho
omitting from both members, then 7 = 2, which was to be proved.
4--3(2)= I -3(I)
4-3(2) + = 3(I) +-
therefore 2 = I.
4 = 3
16 28 = 12
9 21 = 12
16 28 = 9 21
16 -7(4) = 9 7(3)
16- 7(4) + 9 7(3) + + 4
therefore 4 = 3
One of the scholars in our class gave it to the rest of us, and I have
shown it to others, but nobody seems to be able to explain it.
Now if the Little Schoolma'am, or some one else, will show where
the catch is, it will much oblige H. STARKWEATHER.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl seven years old. I want
to send a letter to the Letter-Box," and surprise my mamma.-
Your loving friend, ANNE JENKINS.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Wont you please put this in the "Letter-
Box." I cut it out of the paper yesterday. I am sure the other boys
and girls will be as much interested in it as I am.-Yours truly,
JOHNNY C. PLATT.
"Prof. Richard A. Proctor is inclined to believe the tale that
modern mariners are telling about the monster sea-serpent, which
coils about sperm whales in mid-ocean. He reminds the public that
monstrous cuttle-fish were thought to be monstrous lies, till the
'Alecton,' in 1861, came upon one and captured its tail, whose weight
of 40 pounds led naturalists to estimate the entire weight of the creat-
ure at 4,000 pounds, or nearly a couple of tons. In 1873, again, two
fishermen encountered a gigantic cuttle in Conception Bay, New-
foundland, whose arms were about 35 feet in length (the fishermen
cut off from one arm a piece 25 feet long). while its body was esti-
mated at 60 feet in length and 5 feet in diameter-so that the devil-
fish of Victor Hugo's famous story was a mere baby cuttle by
comparison with the Newfoundland monster. The mermaid, again,
has been satisfactorily identified with the manatee, or 'woman-fish,'
as the Portuguese call it, which assumes, says Captain Scoresby,
'such positions that the human appearance is very closely imitated."
We comply with Johnny's request. While we admit the interest
of this paragraph, we would suggest, by way of general caution, that a
newspaper paragraph is not always the best scientific testimony. See
"The Manatee," in ST. NICHOLAS for February, 1874.-ED. ST.
AFTER eating a 9, 7, 4, the traveler took his 2, 3, 6, which was
painted 8, 5, 1, and mounting the a, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, resumed his
FILL the first blank with a certain word, and the second with the
same word beheaded.
i. It is better to than to too positively without sufficient
proof. 2. She was the of the -- child. 3. The children took
a to the village to visit their 4. The boys made a great
- in the room. 5. The went to her, in her prepara-
tions. 6. She took off the and turned it to the other side.
THE initials name for high and peculiar mental gifts, and the finals
for a general strength of intellect.
I. A precious stone. 2. A kind of puzzle. 3. A metal. 4. Anger.
5. A fabulous animal. 6. A color. ISOLA.
LITTLE girls are fond of me,
Sometimes boys as well;
Boys do pet me "on the sly,"
But you must not tell.
In a far-off land I live,
Under northern sky;
You may learn about my home
A "fish story" let me tell:
Rode upon my back one day;
Wish I'd tipped him over!
A NAME PUZZLE.
PLACE four girls' names in such order that the initials form a fifth
name. LITTLE ONE.
Behead and curtail the words defined, and leave a word diamond.
My first never denies himself his worst enemy; although it does
not seem as if it could be true, he is always complaining of being
my fifth; and is often heard to declare that my second are against
After a liberal potation, he goes home in a manner my fourth will
describe, and wives and my third weep and pray that the curse of
rum may be swept from the land. H. H. D.
GEOGRAPHICAL DOUBLE DIAGONAL PUZZLE.
FROM left to right and from right to left, two countries of Europe.
i. A town in Massachusetts. 2. A city in Germany. 3. A city in
Italy. 4. A range of mountains in China. 5. One of the United
States. 6. One of the United States. 7. A German capital.
JACKIE D. w.
i. BEHEAD and syncopate a carpenter's tool, and leave a kind of
fish. 2. Behead and syncopate a forest tree, and leave an animal.
3. Behead and syncopate a napkin, and leave a carnivorous bird.
4. Behead and syncopate a rapacious bird, and leave a beverage. 5.
Behead and syncopate a kind of wood, and leave a lad. 6. Behead
and syncopate the church of a monastery, and leave a Turkish officer.
7. Behead and syncopate a map, and leave a covering for the head.
8. Behead and syncopate a low style of comedy, and leave a unit. 9.
Behead and syncopate a dried plum, and leave a medicinal plant. to.
Behead and syncopate a part of the body, and leave part of a wagon
i. MACHINES for cutting grain. 2. Paid back. 3. A fruit. 4. A
field. 5. Prevarication. 6. A boy's nickname. 7. In churches and
schools. CYRIL DEANE.
EACH of the small pictures represents a name of a distinguished
man-two of the three persons named being celebrated English
painters, and the other a famous German musical composer, x.
BEHEAD the words defined, and leave a word square.
To purloin. To let. Small barrels. Happy.
H. H. D.
HORIZONTALLY: Something from which plants are grown; per-
taining to sheep; a common ingredient in bread; what it is desirable
fruit should do; mob law.
Perpendicularly: A consonant; an exclamation; a plant: a pro-
jecting wharf; a creeping animal; to see; a number; two conso-
nants that stand for one of the Southern States; a consonant.
H. H. D.
FROn a word of five letters take two away, and find one remain-
ing. LOUISE E. ANNA.
T. KEEN rose. 2. Sore sport. 3. Essex pen. 4. Rap a mason.
5. Sect rule. 6. A poor tin can, Sir T. CYRIL DEANE.
1. 1. n.
576 THE RIDDLE-BOX.
A quotation am I. To find me who '11 try?
The reward, I'11 engage, shall suggest fine old age.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN MAY NUMBER.
NUMERICAL ENrGMoA.-"Hate the evil and love the good."
LETTER PUZZLES.-I. R-dent (ardent). 2 M-press (empress).
3. L-fin (elfin). 4. N-sign (ensign). 5. C-cured (secured). 6. Q-rate
(curate). 7. S-quire (esquire).
DECAPITATIONS.-r. Claws, laws. 2. Rout, out. 3. Brush, rush.
4. Alien, lien. 5. Cold, old. 6. Ajar, jar. 7. Like, Ike. 8. Meat, eat.
TRANSPosITIONS.-r. Crapes, scrape. 2. Miles, smile. 3. Ring, grin.
DOUBLE ACRosTIc.-" Love one another."
L -e- A
O -rga- N
V --et-- 0
E -paule- T
0 -stric- H
N -eedl- E
E -the- R
REBUs.-Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.
A WooD-PILE.-Beech, ash, maple, oak, pine, larch, willow, elm,
SQUARE-WORD.-Tasso, Aspen, Spars, Serve, Onset.
RIDDLE.-The letter E.
EASY PICTORIAL PUZZLE.-Fox, Lamb, Crabbe, Swift.
A HIDDEN BOUQUET.-I. Pansies. 2. Verbena. 3. Orchis.
4. Peony. 5. Aster. 6. Arbutus. 7. Lilies. 8. Calla. 9. Forget-me-
not. io. Pink. Ix. Cypress-vine. 12. Daisy. 13. Syringa. 14.
Feverfew. 15. Lilac. 16. Clematis.
CONCEALED DIAMlOND.- D
Cnoss-woRD ENIGMA.-St. Nicholas.
SYNCOPATIONS.-I. Dove, doe. 2. Hart, hat. 3. Clam, cam. 4.
Crab, cab. 5. Chub, cub. 6. Pike, pie. 7. Pine, pie. 8. Reed, red.
c. Hone, hoe. 0o. Acre, ace.
PICTORIAL PROVERB ACROSTIC.-"A rolling stone gathers no
moss." A -wnin- G
R --egali- A
O -wle- T
L -atc- H
L -yr- E
N -ote- S
G -rai- N
S -pirnts of- 0
T -ea- M
N -ut- S
E -ar- S
ANSWERS TO PUZZL.S IN THE APRIL NUMBER were received, previous to April i8th, from R. Townsend McKeever, George H.
Williams, Edith Lowry, Jennie Brown, "Winnie," A. G. Cameron, Bessie Tompkins, Nellie Emerson, George J. Fiske, Carrie A. Stoddard,
" n.-: rr- pDr," U. S.," Ella G. Condie, Allie Bertram, Dee L. Lodge, Arthur C. Smith, Bertie and Evie Clark, Howard Steele Rodgers,
".i.. :,- "Bessie and her Cousin," "Jupiter," Nessie E. Stevens, Alice Grey, "A. B. C.," Emma Elliott, Alice Bartow Moore,
Edgar Moulton, Jennie Platt, and Fred M. Pease.