St. Nicholas, vol. 4, no. 9

j4.
............

i93

3-~

ii

,
sc r
t

ST. NICHOLAS.

JULY, 1877.

[Copyright; 1877, by Scribner & Co.]

NELLIE IN THE LIGHT-HOUSE.

BY SUSAN ARCHER WEISS.

ON the lonely Carolina coast are many small
islands, interspersed with sandy shoals and rocky
reefs, which render it dangerous for vessels that
approach too near. On this account light-houses
are established at proper intervals, and it is about
the dwellers in one of these that I have.a little story
to tell.
The name of the keeper of this light-house was
John Lattie. His wife was dead, and he lived there
with his two children, and a faithful and attached
negro couple, whom the children-called Mammy
Sylvie and Uncle Brister. Sylvie had been their
nurse, and both she and her husband loved them
as though they had been their own.
You may think a light-house on a small island-
where no one else lived except two fishermen's
families-a lonely place for two children. Perhaps
it was; but Jack and Nellie did not think so; In
good. weather they had splendid times on the
beach, running up and down the firm white sand,
hiding amid the rough rocks that at .low tide
stood above the water, or picking up pretty shells,
and bits of many-colored sea-weed, thrown up by
the waves. Sometimes they played with the waves
themselves, as merrily as though they had been
living playmates. They would go low down to the
water's edge, and watch some swelling billow as it
came rolling onward to the shore, and cry defiantly:
"Come on! you can't catch us !" and then, as
the white foam-crest curled threateningly over
toward them, they would run up the beach, with
the billdw in full chase, until the foamy crest broke
about their bare little feet, and went gently sliding
VOL. IV.-38.

back into the sea, to give place to another. Some-
times the billow would overtake them, and give
them a -.1,..,..i _i- drenching; but this only excited
their mirth. For sea-water does not give chills and
colds, and it soon dries; and as their dress was
coarse and simple, there was no danger of that
'being hurt.
One day, by some accident, the glass of the
light-house was broken, and Mr. Lattie found it
necessary to go in his boat to the. main-land, in
order to procure materials for repairing it. The
little town at which he made these purchases was
some five or six miles inland; and he might not
return until quite late.
"If I am not back before sunset, Brister," said
he to his sable assistant, "be sure to light the
lamp in time. You know it will be as necessary to
:me as to.others."
He said this because between the light-house and
the shore were many dangerous rocks, some lying
beneath the surface of the water, and others above
it, to run upon which in the dark would break a
boat to pieces. But Mr. Lattie was familiar with
the channel, and he knew that with the light for a
guide he could steer so as to avoid the rocks.
Now, Mr. Lattie had not been long gone when
there came to the light-house, in hot haste, a little
ragged boy, begging that Aunt Sylvie would come
to his mother, who had been taken suddenly and
dangerously ill. There was no doctor on the island,
and Sylvie was very clever as a nurse. So she
hastened away with all speed to the fisherman's
wife, who lived quite a mile distant, at the opposite

VOL. IV.

No; 9.

NELLIE IN THE LIGHT-HOUSE.

extremity of the island-first, however, telling the
children to be good and not stray away from the
light-house, and warning her "ole man to take
good care of them, well knowing, at the same time,
that such warning was not necessary, for Uncle
Brister would have sacrificed his own life for the
little ones, whom he had helped to carry in his
arms almost from the day of their birth. They
were gentle and obedient children, though it had
always been observed that Nellie, who was only
seven years old, possessed much more firmness
and decision of character than Jack, nearly two
years her senior. She was also more generous;
and I am afraid that with all her decision she gave
up too much to her brother, and helped to make
him selfish. For instance: if they were sent to
Jem Long's for fish, generally it was Nellie who
carried the basket, while Jack amused himself with
playing by the way; or, if Sylvie made ginger-
cakes or "puffs," and gave the two first baked to
the children; it was Jack who claimed the biggest
or the nicest-looking, and not unfrequently got a
taste of Nellie's also.
SThe children played all this morning very hap-
pily together, building a fort of loose rocks, like the
great stone fort which they could see in the dis-
tance, many miles away. In the afternoon they
went in-doors, where they found Brister, standing
at one of the windows, shading his eyes with his
hand and looking anxiously toward the west.
Do you see the boat, Uncle Brister ?" inquired
Jack, standing on tip-toe to look out.
Please de Lord, I wish I could dat," answered
the old man, more as if speaking to himself than
to them. I don't like de looks o' dat 'ere sky,
and dere aint never no good in dem switch mare's
tails," pointing to some long scattered clouds which
were moving rapidly up from the west. "Ef I
knows anything 't all, I knows we'se gwine to have
a squeelin', squalin' storm. Please de Lord Massa
and Sylvie was safe home."
The old man's prediction was correct. In less
than an hour the wind burst upon them, the waves
were lashed into foam, and the storm roared around
the light-house in all its fury. The children, sit-
ting by the fire, listened to the roaring of the wind
and the waves without, and felt the walls tremble
with the force of the tempest. Old Brister had
gone about and made all secure; and now, as it
began to grow dusk, he started up the winding
staircase that led to the top of the tower, in order
to light the lamp. As he crossed the room the
children noticed that he staggered a little, and
caught hold of the door-post to steady himself.
Then he put his hand to his forehead, and so stood
still a moment; then began feebly to ascend the
stairs. An instant after there was a heavy fall, and

to their horror the children saw the old man lying
at the foot of the stairs motionless and apparently
dead.
They started up with a cry and rushed toward
him. He was not bleeding anywhere, but his
breathing was thick and heavy, and though his
eyes were open he did not appear to see them, or
to know anything. The truth was, the old man
had had a stroke of apoplexy.
What shall we do ? oh, what shall we do ?"
cried Nellie, bursting into an agony of tears.
We can't do anything," sobbed Jack, hope-
lessly. "I wish, oh! I wish father and Mammy
Sylvie were here."
Nellie, kneeling by the side of Brister, seemed to
make an effort at composure.
"Jack," she said, more calmly, "don't you
think we might warm him, and rub him, and give
him a little hot brandy to drink ? That is the way
they brought the drowned men to life again."
He aint drowned," answered Jack, with a little
expression of contempt for his sister's suggestion.
Yes; but it might do him good. Feel how
cold his hands are, and rubbing might do him some
good. Oh, Jack, let us try to pull him to the fire!"
With great difficulty they succeeded in drawing
the old man in front of the great hearth, where
Nellie placed pillows under his head, and covered
him with a blanket. Then she heated a little
brandy, and put a spoonful between Brister's lips,
and the two children then commenced rubbing him
with all their little strength, though Nellie trembled
and the tears rolled down Jack's face. But, in
truth, it was a trying situation for them, alone and
helpless as they were.
Suddenly Nellie started up with a cry.
The lamp, Jack Oh, Jack, the lamp is n't
lighted "
It was dark now, and the storm, though subsid-
ing, still raged. How many fishing-vessels out at
sea, and caught in that sudden storm, were now
vainly looking out for the warning beacon that was
to save them from danger and guide them into
safety; and her father! Did she not remember
his parting words to Brister:-
Be sure and light the lamp in good time. It
is as necessary to me as to them."
And the lamp was not lighted In storm and
darkness her father might be even now struggling
amid those foaming waves and treacherous rocks;
for the child felt instinctively that no danger could
keep him back from the post of his duty and the
loved ones dependent upon him. Eagerly, trem-
blingly, Nellie rose to her feet.
Oh, Jack, father / We must light the lamp !"
"We can't," answered poor, frightened Jack,
helplessly. We don't know how."

[JULY,

NELLIE IN THE LIGHT-HOUSE.

She felt that it would be of no use to appeal
farther to him,-not that Jack was heartless, but
irresolute and vacillating when thrown upon his
own resources. So Nellie-brave little heart-
resolved to do the best she could.
You can stay and take care of Uncle Brister,
Jack," she said; and rub him all you can. I will
try to light the lamp."
But you don't know anything about it, and I
don't want to stay by myself," said Jack, blubber-
ing; I wish father was here."
Nellie went carefully up the narrow winding stair
to the top of the light-house. She had seldom
been here, and had never seen the lamp lighted,
and, as Jack had said, knew nothing about it; and
she now found to her dismay that she could not
reach the lamp. The wind and the rain beat
against the thick glass by which this little room in
the top of the tower was surrounded, and swept in
strong fitful gusts through the broken panes; and
Nellie thought that even were she able to light the
lamp, it must inevitably be put out again. What
was to be done ? If she could only keep a light of
any kind burning, it might be of some use. There
was a large lantern down-stairs, she knew; and
hurrying down she got this, and lighting it, carried
it up again, and hung it where she trusted it might
be seen. But it shone so feebly, that she feared it
would not be noticed, or might even be taken for
the light of a fisherman's cottage, in which case it
would serve only to lead astray instead of guiding
safely.
Poor little Nellie wrung her hands in despair.
Oh, if she only had somebody to help her How
futile, and forlorn, and miserable she felt! And
just then-she never knew how it was-just then
she seemed to hear, amid all the roar of the storm,
the sweet words of the hymn her dead mother had
been so fond of singing, Jesus, lover of my soul."
She knew it by heart, and now she stood involun-
tarily repeating fragments of it to herself, until she
came to the words-
Other refuge have I none;
Hangs my helpless soul on Thee.
Leave, oh leave me not alone,-
Still support and comfort me.
All my trust on Thee is stayed;
All my help from Thee I bring."

A strange feeling of peace and comfort stole into
the heart of the child. God is here: He can
help me," was her thought; and instantly after,
she recollected that in the wood-shed connected
with the kitchen was a great pile of pine-knots.
The wind could not blow out the flame of a pine-
knot, but would rather serve to fan it. So down
the steep, wearisome stairs the poor child again
went, and presently returned to the top of the

tower with her arms full of the pine-knots. These
she lighted and carefully disposed all around the
little glass-covered room-wherever she could find
a place in which to stick her torches-so that the
brilliant, ruddy glare might be visible in all direc-
tions. And there, alone in the dreary summit of
the tall light-house, shivering in the cold wind and
rain that beat upon her slight figure, stood poor
little Nellie, listening to the storm, straining her
eyes through the darkness, and trembling with
anxiety and excitement as she thought of her father
in the storm, and of poor Brister, dying in the room
below, perhaps. But still through it all seemed to
sound the sweet words of the hymn, Jesus, lover
of my soul."
An hour passed, and poor Nellie, intently listen-
ing, thought that she heard sounds below, and then
a faint echo of some one calling her name. Then
came a strong hurried step on the stair, and in the
red smoky glare of the pine torches she saw her
father standing. Oh, with what a sharp cry of re-
lief and joy she sprang forward to meet him, though
at the very moment in which his arms were out-
stretched to receive her-overcome with cold, fatigue
and anxiety-she tottered and fell almost insensible
at his feet. Very tenderly, with tears in his eyes,
the rough light-house keeper bore his little daugh-
ter below, and placed her in bed; and there, with
a delicious consciousness of safety and rest, poor
Nellie fell asleep. She never awoke until the
bright sunlight of the next morning fell across her
bed, when, opening her eyes, she saw Mammy
Sylvie's kind, motherly face bending over her, with
tears streaming down her sable cheeks.
Bress de Lord, dar aint anoder child in all de
Car'linas fit to hold a pine-knot to her," said the
affectionate creature, proudly. An' I heerd Jem
Long say, when his boat come in las' night, dat ef
it hadn't been for de light-house lamp, he an'
t' others would sartinly been lost."
"And so should I," said Mr. Lattie, fondly
smoothing his little daughter's hair, and then he
told her how he had watched in vain for the light,
and not seeing it had attempted to cross in the
storm and darkness, when suddenly a red glare had
shone out, and revealed to him that he was drifting
fast upon one of the most dangerous of the reefs.
From this he had with difficulty extricated himself,
and guided by the strange light had succeeded in
reaching home in safety, and there had found old
Brister as we have described, while Jack, worn out
with rubbing and crying, lay asleep by the fire.
Where was Nellie ? and what could be the mean-
ing of the red fitful glare in the light-house tower ?
Almost sinking with fear and apprehension, the
father had mounted the stairs, and there, at the
first glimpse of his little daughter,-pale and trem-

579

GUNPOWDER.

bling, yet standing firmly at her post,-he had read
the whole story. And how proud he afterward was
of his brave little girl, we can very well imagine.
Aunt Sylvie had been prevented returning home
by both the storm and the illness of the fisherman's
wife. She had felt no anxiety about the children,
believing that their father must have returned.

The little family at the light-house live there still
happy and contented. Nellie is a big girl now.
Uncle Brister, who entirely recovered, is to this
day very fond of telling this story to the people who
sometimes in summer cross over to visit the light-
house. Guess it's de fust light-house was eber
lighted up wid pine-knots," he says.

GUNPOWDER.

BY J. A. JUDSON.

I HAVE no doubt you all have seen some of that
innocent-looking stuff, like black sand, which is
called gunozwder; and I think you will be inter-
ested, as the Fourth of July draws near, in knowing
something about it.
Though it appears to be, and really is, a very
simple compound, yet to make it properly is an
important art, and its invention and introduction
have had quite as much influence as that of steam
in shaping the destiny of nations.
The word powder is not sufficiently descriptive,
since any pulverized substance may be so called.
Usage, therefore, has given us the name gun-
powder, because, among Europeans at least, it at
first was chiefly employed to propel balls and bul-
lets from rude guns and cannon, although now
we make use of it for various other purposes, such
as splitting rocks, throwing life-lines, and in charg-
ing fire-works and fire-crackers. I will tell you
something about fire-crackers that perhaps some of
you do not know. When you boys get your packs
on the Fourth" I have noticed that you separate
the crackers and fire them off one by one. Now,
this is a very good way to prolong the fun; it is

like nibbling one of your mother's cookies-the
smaller the bites the longer it lasts. But it is not
what is intended to be done with the crackers.
The design is to touch off the whole pack at once
by lighting the end of the braided fuses, or "wicks,"
as I heard a little boy call them. A pack touched
off in this way is so arranged that the crackers
explode one after another, with great rapidity, thus
representing the sound of a regiment of soldiers
firing as fast as they can. If the pack is thrown
into an empty barrel, the effect is still more strik-
ing. I remember one Fourth of July, when I was
a boy, that they were laying water or gas pipes in
the town, and there were hundreds of these pipes
piled along the sides of the streets. Into the ends
of these we threw our fire-crackers, and the explo-
sions made a fearful noise, to our great delight.
The best part of it was that we had a deal of fun,
and got the most out of our crackers, without harm-
ing the pipes in the least.
The materials required for making gunpowder
are saltpeter, charcoal, and sulphur. The latter is
sometimes called brimstone, or burnstone.
The first great principle is the saltpeter or niter,

[JULY,

GUNPOWDER.

which is found all over the world, occurring natu-
rally in all sorts of places. In some warm countries
it is found crystallized on the surface of the ground,
or occurs as a salty crust on the -:..: I. -1!l of caves,
and from this circumstance it gets its name, for
saltpeter comes from two Latin words meaning rock
salt or s/one salt. In other places it is found in
veins, and is dug out by the miners as they dig
coal and other minerals. Some plants also yield
saltpeter, and it can be made artificially by decom-
posing animal afd vegetable matter mixed with
earth, wood-ashes and water. Immense quantities
are made in this way in Europe, but the natural
yield in India is so great, and labor is so cheap
there, that nearly all used in this country, and
much of what is needed in other parts of the world,
is brought from there. The niter-fields of India
are extensive plains barren of vegetation by reason
of their saltness. During the periodical rains these
regions are overflowed, and the various salts in the
surface soil are dissolved, when new combinations
follow, and new salts result. After the water dis-
appears, this salty matter is collected by the natives,
who wash, filter and clean it as well as they can,
and transfer it to other workmen, by whom it is
put into great pots with a quantity of water and
boiled, the surface being frequently skimmed while
evaporation goes on. Next, the liquor is drawn
off into deep tubs, where all the matter that will

.- _.- .-.-.. a--=-X__ --..,
NATIVES OF INDIA BOILING
not dissolve sinks to the bottom; it is then put
into a shallow vat and left to evaporate, and, in
about three days the long-sought crystals are
formed. This is the crude saltpeter of commerce,
and the mode of preparing it is pretty much
the same the world over. But it is by no means
ready yet to take its part in the gunpowder, for

it has to be refined. Its purity is of great im-
portance, because the purer it is the better the
powder and the safer its manufacture. To attain
this, the crude saltpeter is again boiled and
skimmed, the cook occasionally throwing in a little
cold water to settle" certain salts that are not as
easily dissolved as the niter. After several hours,
the bottom of the kettle contains a quantity of
beautiful crystals. The remaining liquid is then
pumped through canvas bags into a trough, where
it is stirred until it is cold, when a large quantity of
very small crystals is formed. These crystals are
collected with a wooden hoe, and shoveled into a
sieve, where the water drains off. The niter now
looks like fine snow, but must have two or three
more baths of clean water, and again be drained
and dried, before it is ready for use.
The next thing is the charcoal. This may be
made in the same simple manner as the charcoal
sold for kitchen uses. A deep pit is dug in the
forest, filled with pieces of wood in layers, and set
on fire; or a stack is made of the wood, and covered
on the outside with wet sod and clay, openings being
left for the fire, and for the escape of steam, etc.
The pit or stack is constantly attended, certain
gases are thrown off, various changes take place in
the appearance of the fire, until finally, by applying
a torch over certain openings, a gas ignites that
burns with a slight tinge of red, when the men

a -

charcoal is done.
But another and more scientific method of
preparation is required to produce the superior,
uniformly fine quality of charcoal required by the
powder-maker; and quite as much care is taken at
.-_- .. t'- '.??"

AND SKIMMlING THE SALTS.
make haste to close up the holes with sods,--the
burning wood smolders, the fire dies out, and the
charcoal is done.
But another and more scientific method of
preparation is required to produce the superior,
uniformly fine quality of charcoal required by the
powder-maker; and quite as much care is taken at

47-

GUNPOWDER.

every step as with the saltpeter. In the first place,
the wood, carefully selected,-willow or alder being
preferred,-is cut in the spring while the sap
is running, and having been stripped of its bark,
is piled up loosely to dry. Only small branches
are used, so that the willow plantations in the
neighborhood of a powder-mill look very queer,
not one of the hundreds of trees having a branch
larger than your thumb. although their trunks may
be a foot or more in diameter.
After the wood is thoroughly dried, it is cut
up into pieces about as long as a lead pencil,
and packed into a sheet-iron cylinder as tall as a
door, and a little larger around than a flour barrel.
When full, a cover is fitted on, and it is ready for the
furnace, which consists of a long row of brick fire-
places, over each of which is built-in a thick cast-
iron cylinder larger than the one with the wood in
it. Into these the wood-filled cylinders are placed,
the doors closed, and all made air-tight by daubing
with wet clay. Fires are lighted underneath, and in
three or four hours the charcoal is made. There is
a chimney for the discharge of smoke, and a pipe
in one end leading to a cistern of water. Through
this latter escape certain vapors and gases which
are condensed in the water and form tar, and what
is called .. : acid. That long word comes
from a Greek word meaningyfre, and a Latin word
meaning wood; which together signify fire-wood
acid. This acid, although of no value in making
gunpowder, has uses of its own: but for it the
pretty patterns of calico would all fade away in the
first washing, for the calico printer and the dyer
mix it with their colors to "fix" them, or make
them "fast colors." In some parts of Europe they
purify this acid, and use it for vinegar, and very
nice it is, too-only "a little goes a great way,"
for it is very strong.
Unlike the saltpeter that usually must be brought
from a distance, the charcoal is made in the imme-
diate neighborhood of the powder-mill, so there is
no money spent in transporting it to the works.
Indeed, the location of the mills is often deter-
mined, among other considerations, by the facility
afforded for obtaining wood for making charcoal.
The third and last ingredient in gunpowder is
sulphur. It is found alone and almost pure, or
mixed with other minerals. The crater of the vol-
cano of Etna, in the island of Sicily, furnishes
immense quantities, as do other volcanoes in
Europe, Asia and America. In the island of Java
is an extinct volcano, where, at the bottom of the
crater is said to be, in a single mass, enough sul-
phur to supply the whole world for many years to
come; and it is a still more remarkable fact, stated
on good authority, that in this crater "is a lake of
sulphuric acid, from which flows, down the mount-

ain and through the country below, a river of the
same acid." The crater of Etna furnishes the
greater part of the sulphur used in the United
States, but it can be obtained in many ways here.
Some of our mineral springs deposit it, and it can
be extracted from other minerals found throughout
this country,-lead, for instance. This is the crude
sulphur, which, like the crude saltpeter described,
must undergo a refining process before it is ready
for the powder-maker.
The crude sulphur is broken into small pieces,
and put in a pot under which a fire is kept burning,
and is constantly stirred with an oiled iron rod till
the whole is melted. It is then skimmed of impuri-
ties, ladled into wooden molds oiled inside, and left
to cool and crystallize. Sometimes it is refined in a
more complicated way by distillation.
Before being ground for use, a little piece, which
should be of a beautiful bright yellow color, is tested
by being held over a lamp. If perfectly pure it will

.. r __' .- s". ::- _--

_77
^-: -'- --- --- -" _

A WILLOW PLANTATION.

all pass off in vapor, leaving no trace behind,
except.a horrible smell like that of a whole box of
lighted matches.
Now we know what gunpowder is made of, and
we see that, though the materials are few and sim-
ple, they are prepared with great care. To put
them together requires even more skill and caution.
A powder-mill is not in the least like other mills.
Instead of one great building, it is composed of
many rougl-looking little sheds,-sometimes as
many as seventy or eighty. These are long dis-
tances apart, separated by dense woods and great
mounds of earth, so that if one "house" is blown
up, the others will escape a like fate. Of some the
walls are built very strong, and the roofs very slight,
in the hope that if an explosion happens, its force

JULY,

GUNPOWDER.

will be expended upward only. Other houses have
enormous roofs of masonry covered with earth;
the roofs of others are tanks kept always full of
water.
The constant danger inseparable from the work
would be greatly increased were there not strict
rules, always enforced. No cautious visitor can be
more careful than the workmen themselves, for they
know, if an explosion happens, it will be certain,
instant death to them. So no lights or fires are
ever allowed; no one lives nearer the mills than can
be helped; some of the buildings are carpeted with
skins, and the floors are kept always flooded with
an inch or two of water; and in front of every door
is a shallow tank of water. Before entering, every
person must put on rubber shoes and walk through
this water, for the nails in a boot-heel might strike
a spark from a bit of sand or gravel, which might
explode a single grain of gunpowder, and cause wide-
spread disaster. So the rubber shoes worn in the
mills are never worn elsewhere. Then, too, every
one is expected to keep his wits about him; there
isnever any loud talking and laughter, and no one
ever thinks of shouting. Yet, with all this extreme
care, explosions sometimes occur, and then there is
seldom any one left to tell how it happened.
The mode of making gunpowder is nowadays
about the same everywhere. The saltpeter, the
charcoal, and the sulphur all must be ground
very finely. Among rude tribes in Asia, as in
old times, the grinding is done by women and
children, who pound the ingredients with wooden
pestles in wooden mortars, and often finish by
blowing up the entire family, house and all. In
other places they pass a crank-shaft through a bar-
rel and fix it in a frame. This barrel they partly
fill with what they wish to pulverize, and also with
a quantity of brass or wooden balls. By turning
the crank rapidly the balls and the material are
both rolled around from side to side, and finally
the grinding is effected. Next they mix the three
together in proper proportions, spreading it on a
wooden table, turning it with wooden paddles, and
rolling it with wooden rollers; then they put it
back into the wooden mortar or tub and pound it
again, any blow, just as likely as not, being the
last they will live to give. If they and the powder
survive this, they then spread it on a cloth in the
sun to dry, and if it don't blow up before they can
gather it together again, the husbands and fathers
of these brave women and children soon have
plenty of powder. I have been told of a lady,
brought up in the East Indies, whose most vivid
remembrance of her early life was the blowing-up
of a "native" family by such means. But in
the modern powder-mills there are deep, circular
troughs of stone or iron, around and around in

583

which travel ponderous wheels. Men with wooden
shovels keep the material under the rollers, where
it is thoroughly crushed.
When enough df each ingredient is ready to
make a batch of powder, they weigh it-about 75
parts of saltpeter, 15 of charcoal, and Io of sulphur.
These proportions, however, vary somewhat,
depending upon what the powder is to be used for,
and the strength required.
The weighed-out ingredients must now be mixed.
Usually, the charcoal and sulphur are put together
first in revolving barrels, in which are loose zinc,
brass, or copper balls; and when this is completed,
the saltpeter is added, and the rolling process is
repeated until the whole is well intermingled. In
some mills the three ingredients are put in the
barrels and mixed in one operation; but this mode
is attended with greater risk.
All this, however, is mere stirring. The real
mixing must be done under great pressure.
Now begins the greatest danger. The weighed-
out materials are taken to another shed, called the
" incorporating mill," where there are more wheels
and troughs; but, instead of men with shovels,
there are wooden and copper scrapers attached to
the machinery, that follow the wheels and keep the
mixture in place. The ingredients are placed in
the trough, the wheels started, and the men lock
the doors and go away. Hour after hour, around
and around in the dark, all alone rumble these
mighty wheels. So long as the little scrapers
attend to their business, evenly spreading the mixt-
ure three or four inches deep in the bottom of the
trough, all will be well; but if anything goes
wrong--uf--bang !-that is the end of that mill.
If the crushing-wheels and the iron bottom of the
trough should happen to touch, the chances are
they would strike fire; but the cushion of pow-
der between is supposed to prevent this.
The next process is called "pressing." The
mixed powder is arranged in layers about two
inches thick, separated by sheets of brass or cop-
per, and dampened with water. Piles of these plates
and layers are then put in a press, and squeezed so
hard that the pressure on every square inch is
equal to about six hundred tons. The powder is
now powder no longer, but slabs as hard as marble,
and of course completely mixed and compacted.
So it must again be pulverized, and for this pur-
pose the slabs are taken to the granulatingg" or
" corning house." This is another very dangerous
part of the work, for this house has no water-floor,
and the least carelessness would be fatal. The
machinery here breaks it into grains by means of
successive sets of brass-toothed rollers turning in
opposite directions, that chew up the slabs as though
they liked them. The powder is now reduced to

GUNPOWDER.

hard, sharp grains, and is ready for the "glazing,"
by which every grain is polished in order to
wear off the cor-
ners, which would
S' produce much fine
-. dust when the pow-
S- der was carried
-about; and also to
X 1 --1, i render the particles
;less liable to absorb
[ moisture. This glaz-
'' ing generally is done
in revolving barrels,
where the powder
X_ is put with plum-
bago, or black-lead.
-Ih-,, '7 = '-S Some manufactur-
ers, however, trust
simply to the polish resulting from the rubbing of
the grains together in the barrel. It is then dried
by being spread out on sheets stretched on frames
in a heated room, and afterward freed from dust
by being sifted through hair sieves.
To turn all these crushing-wheels and barrels,
and shake all these sieves, steam-engines of course
cannot be used, since, with the single exception of.
hot air or steam needed for drying,-the furnace
for which is as far off as possible, delivering its heat.
through long underground pipes,-fire is not used
for any purpose; while, in hot climates, not even
this risk is run, but the powder is dried in the sun.
In Europe and America, then, the mills are usually
driven by water-power; but in India, where im-
mense quantities of powder are made by the British
government, the mills generally are turned by either
oxen or men. To avoid heat, or sparks from the
friction of axles, or other parts, the machinery
is generally so built that different kinds of metal
work together, such as iron and zinc, iron and cop-

are employed, but I have told you enough to
show that people who make gunpowder, as well
as people who use it, must keep their wits about
them.
You now understand pretty well how gunpowder
is made, and that it is something else than the
" black sand it seems. Very much more might
be said, and even then you would barely have been
introduced to the explosive family. Captain Gun-
powder has many cousins,-all much younger than
himself, but more terrible,-and they are all of
them busy making a noise in the world. Captain
Gunpowder is the only one who goes to the wars.
The others stay at home and dig tunnels, blow up
rocks in the harbors, like the great reef called Hell
Gate" in the East River, near New York, and help
mankind in various ways. So long as people use
them carefully they are great helps; but they pun-
ish careless people fearfully. It is said that "fire is
a good servant, but a bad master," and the say-
ing is equally true of
these agents that are--
mightier than any
fire. Among these=_ -
cousins are Nitro-
Glycerine, Dynamite -

ite,Rend-Rock,Gun- i
Cotton, and more be-
side. All lookequally 4
innocent and harm-
less, while each one ---
is, if possible, more --.. -
powerful and terrible .
than the other. Yet
DESERTED.
some of them are put
to the most peaceful uses. For instance, certain
enterprising grape-growers of Austria have lately
used dynamite in the culture of grape-vines.

A POWDER-MILL-THE BUILDINGS AND DEFENSES.
per, steel and brass, but never iron and iron, or Holes are made in the ground near the vines,
steel and steel. Many other ingenious precautions and in them small quantities of dynamite are ex-

584

[JULY,

1877.] GUNPOWDER. 585

AN EXPLOSION.

ploded, loosening the earth to the depth of seven
or eight feet-thus letting in air and moisture to
the roots.
Then there is another branch of the family called
"fulminates." The powders for percussion-caps
used on shot-guns are made of one of these.
These explosives, properly directed, do so much
more work than gunpowder that the world could
hardly get on nowadays without them. There is,
through the Alps, a railway tunnel over seven miles
long, so that, in a journey from France to Italy,
instead of undertaking a tedious climb over the
mountains, we shoot through them in a railway
train. This tunnel, and many others in different
parts of the world, could scarcely have been pierced
at all without the help of this mighty family.
Engineers are even seriously considering the prop-
osition to connect France and the British Isles by a
tunnel. Even with gunpowder alone this would be
possible; and, since the "cousins" have appeared,
it is probable that you and I may live to ride in a
palace-car twenty-two miles under the sea from
Dover to Calais.

Who invented gunpowder? you may ask.
No one knows. All agree that its composition
and properties were understood in remote antiquity.
Authentic history extends but a short way into the
past, and it is always difficult to draw the line sepa-
rating the authentic from the fabulous. Like some
other things, gunpowder, as ages rolled on, may
have been invented, forgotten, and re-invented.
Certainly in some form it was known and used for
fire-works and incendiary material long before any
one dreamed of a gun, or of using it to do more
than create terror in warfare. And yet it is said that
some of the ancients had means of using it to throw
destructive missiles among their enemies-probably
a species of rocket or bomb. Nor does it seem, in
its infancy, to have been applied to industrial pur-
poses, such as blasting and quarrying rock, for
there is evidence that the people who used it for
fire-works at their feasts, quarried immense blocks
of stone by splitting them out of the quarries with
hammers and wedges.
Its first uses probably were connected with the
religious ceremonies of the pagan ancients. An

GUNPOWDER.

old tradition taught that those were the most power-
ful gods who answered their worshipers by fire.
The priests, therefore, who practiced upon the
credulity of the people, exercised their ingenuity
in inventing ways of producing spontaneous fire,
which they told the people was sent by the gods
from heaven in answer to their prayers. The
accounts of old writers still preserved and dating
back to three hundred years before Christ, describe
a sulphurous and inflammable substance unmis-
takably like our gunpowder. There was a certain
place called the "Oracle of Delphi," once visited by
Alexander the Great, where this kind of fire was
produced by the priests, and it is said that the
Druids, the ancient priests of Britain, also used
something of this sort in their sacrifices, for they
not only produced sudden fire, but they also imi-
tated thunder and lightning, to terrify the people
with their power. This must have been more than
two thousand years ago. It is known that the
Chinese, on the other side of the world, had gun-
powder about the same time, but they used it
chiefly for fire-works, which then, as now, formed
the main feature of all their festivals and cere-
monies. In India it was early used in war, for a
writer who lived about A. D. 244 says: "When
the towns of India are attacked by their enemies
the people do not rush into battle, but put them to
flight by thunder and lightning." It is said, too,
that one of the Roman emperors, who lived just
after the crucifixion of Christ, "had machines
which imitated thunder and lightning, and at the
same time emitted stones." Then, about A. D.
220, there was written a recipe "for an ingenious
composition to be thrown on an enemy," which
very nearly corresponds to our gunpowder. During
the many hundred years that follow, little is re-
corded until about the ninth century, when there
appears in an old book, now in a Paris library, an
exact recipe for gunpowder, and a description of a
rocket. It is said that in 1099 the Saracens, in

defending Jerusalem, "threw abundance of pots of
fire and shot fire-darts,"-no doubt some kind of
bombs and war-rockets. History affords accounts
of other wars about this time, in which gunpowder
was undoubtedly used in some form. But in 1216
a .monk, Friar Roger Bacon, made gunpowder;
and it is asserted he discovered it independently,
knowing nothing of its existence elsewhere. It is
not unreasonable to believe this, for in those days
people kept their inventions to themselves if they
could, and news traveled slowly. Some authors
say a German named Schwartz discovered it in
1320, and perhaps he did, too, and as honestly and
independently as did Friar Bacon, or the East
Indians, or the Chinese. Others insist that it was
invented originally in India, and brought by the
Saracens from Africa to the Europeans, who im-
proved it. At any rate, an English gentleman who
has made a translation of some of the laws of India,
supposed to have been established I,5oo years before
the Christian era, or over 3,300oo years ago, makes
one of them read thus: The magistrate shall not
make war with any deceitful machine, or with
poisoned weapons, or with cannon and guns, or
any kind of fire-arms."
There are ever so many more curious bits of his-
tory, more or less trustworthy, concerning the early
history of gunpowder, but I have told you enough
to show that it is nothing new, and that no one
knows when it was new. Two hundred years ago
a pump was made to raise water by exploding
small charges of gunpowder. It proved to be
more curious than useful, and was abandoned;
but to-day a pile-driver is driven by gunpowder, in
a similar way. At the siege of Jerusalem, nearly
eight hundred years ago (as I mentioned just
now), fire-darts were thrown by gunpowder; and
to-day the whalers throw harpoons by the same
means. In fact, gunpowder is both old and new.
To this very day it is being improved and applied
to new uses.

[JULY,

GOING TO THE SEA-SHORE. 587

GOING TO THE SEA-SHRLJE.

BY E. F. N.

0 LITTLE pebbles down by the sea!
I wonder if you are waiting for me?
Shining and dancing in the warm light,
Washed by the waves, and looking so bright.

Dear little pebbles, white as the snow,
I'11 tell you something perhaps you don't know:
The summer is coming, and so are we,
For papa says we may go to the sea.

Then, pretty pebbles, our little bare feet
Will kiss you again and again, you're so sweet; 'l
I know you wont scratch us, you're smooth and round,
Without any prickers," like those on the ground. ,

And I 'll tell you another thing, pebbles so kind :
I will bring-unless nursey should leave them behind-
A pail and a shovel; and what I will do
Is to dig a big hole for a well-would n't you ?

And then when the waves come scampering up,
'T will be filled to the top like my own silver cup;
And we will run down and splash it about,
Till another big wave, with a laugh and a shout,

Chases us up till we're out of its reach-
All of us safe, high and dry on the beach.
Yes, the waves are great fun, but I really must say
I 'd rather have pebbles when I want to play.

O summer, do hurry 0 spring, go away!
Little flowers, please blossom Dear birds, sing your lay !
And the sooner you do it, the better for me,
For the pebbles are waiting, I know, by the sea.

AND THE SUN SMILED.

WHITTINGTON LISTENING TO THE BOW BELLS OF LONDON.
(Drawn by Miss E. M. S. Scannell.)

AND THE SUN SMILED.

BY MARGARET EYTINGE.

"Go away, for a little while," said the rain to
the sun. "Don't you see lam preparing to visit
the earth? And, as you ought to know, the sun
should n't be shining when the rain-drops are fall-
ing."
"It's such a lovely-such a very lovely day,"
said the sun, "and the earth is so beautiful and
pleasant to see, that I don't want to go away.' "
I sha'n't stay long-not more than five or ten
minutes," said the rain. I'11 only make a shower-
call."
But I'm not content to lose sight of all this joy
and loveliness even for five or ten minutes,'" said
the sun. "Ever so many new buds and flowers
came out to greet me this morning, and ever so
many baby-birds sang to me their first twittering,
tremulous songs, and the brooks dimpled and

laughed as my rays kissed them, and the daisies
looked straight up at me with frank, fearless faces,
saying, 'Welcome, dear sun !'-and the buttercups
proudly showed me their pretty blossoms, that I
might see it was my color they wore; and they are
all, at this moment, as happy as happy can be.
Why can't you leave them alone ? According to
my way of thinking, they have no need of you in
the day-time, when I am here to make life bright
and warm. Wait until night lifts her curtain from
the other half of the world to throw it over this.
Then I shall be shining on far-distant lands, and
the moon and stars will be in the sky in my place,
and I dare say they wont object to your clouds veil-
ing their faces for an hour or two, for their light
and power are nothing compared to mine, and the
earth will be too sleepy to miss them, anyhow."

588

[JULY,

I .. g

HEVI.

My dear sun," said the rain, I grant that you
make life 'warm,' but, begging your pardon for-
speaking so frankly, sometimes you make it too
warm. Even while we are talking, it is getting
warmer and warmer, as it does every midsummer
day from noon until two or three hours before
night-fall; and soon the flowers you love so well
will begin to droop and fade, and the grass to bend
wearily toward the ground, and the birds to cease
singing, and the brooks to stop dancing, unless I
send my merry, sparkling little ones to cheer and
refresh them. Hide behind a cloud for a few
moments, and when you come forth again you
will find the earth free from thirst, dust and stain,
and a thousand times greener and more beautiful
than now before my pure drops have fallen upon it."

589

But the sun was obstinate that July day, and
refused to be hidden by the friendly cloud, and so
kept on shining when the shower began to fall.
And, looking down on the earth as the glittering
drops reached it, he saw the sweet buds opening
their dainty leaves, the flowers raising their languid
heads, every blade of grass standing erect and firm,
the little streams dancing gayly to a cooing song
of their own, and everything, everywhere, wearing
a look of radiant happiness.
And he said to the rain, You were right," and,
smiling upon her, his smile arched the heavens,
and, bright with every lovely hue that ever glowed
in gem or flower, shone there until the shower
ceased, and children, beholding it, cried out joy-
fully, "A rainbow a beautiful, beautiful rainbow!"

HEVI.

BY FRANK R. STOCKTON.

I HOPE, my son," said Hevi's mother to him,
one bright sunny morning when he had come
in from play, "I hope you will never forget, no
matter how long your life may be, that, if you want
your friends to believe that you are in any way
better than they are, you must show that you are
superior, and not merely talk about it."
Hevi said nothing. He had been telling his
mother of a conversation he had had with some of
his young companions, in which he had boasted a
good deal about himself and his relations; about
what his father had done, and what he intended to
do when he should get to be as big as his father.
So he hung his head a little, as his mother gave
him this piece of advice.
But mother," said he, after a few moments,
"father talks about what he has done, and about
what he intends to do, too."
"Yes, my dear," said his mother, sadly, "I
know that; and although I want you to imitate
your father, and be as much like him as possible,
I don't want you to get into a habit of boasting.
And now run off, and take your bath."
Hevi was an elephant-a young fellow, not as
high as a horse. He had a good disposition and
high spirits, and was generally liked, though, as he
was bigger and stronger than most of the young
elephants he associated with, he sometimes showed
himself their master in a way they did not fancy.
He lived with his father and mother, and a large

herd of other elephants, in a great wood not far
from the shore of the ocean. His father was the
chief of the herd, and the largest and strongest
elephant that had ever been seen in those parts.
Mother," said Hevi, one day, as he was start-
ing off to take his daily bath, I saw a whale out
at sea yesterday, and when I told father about it,
it seemed to make him angry. Why was that ?"
My dear son," said his mother, anxiously, I
do wish you would try and never say anything about
whales to your father. Nothing annoys him so
much as an allusion to them. Now go along."
Hevi walked away, and his mother, turning to
enter the woods, heaved a sigh. She was thinking
of her husband. "I wish," she said to herself,
"that he could get rid of that silly jealousy of
whales. He hates to think that there is a creature
on earth bigger than himself. And whales are
bigger; I know that, for I have seen them."
In about half an hour from this time Hevi's
father came home. It was nearly noon and he
wanted his dinner. As he came up to his wife,
who was standing by a great pile of fresh grass and
tender young leaves which she had gathered to-
gether, she noticed that he looked out of humor.
Has anything worried you, my dear?" she
said, kindly.
Worried me? Of course not. Why should I
be worried? To be sure there were two strange
elephants, from Tamburra, over there with the

HEVI O~'

herd to-day, and they were talking such ridiculous
stuff, that I felt inclined to give them a pretty
heavy hint to go home."
What did they talk about ?" asked his wife, as
she turned over the pile of dinner to find some nice
bits for her husband.
Oh, all sorts of nonsense. It seems they have
traveled a good deal, and they have entirely too
much to say about what they have seen. I don't
believe half of it. They have lost their respect for
their own kind, and are full of talk about the great
deeds of other creatures, 'especially men. To hear
those fellows talk, you would think that a man
could do anything he pleased. To be sure he can
master most of the smaller animals, but so can I-
there is not one of them that I cannot conquer. I
can crush a lion or a tiger under my feet; I can
dash a buffalo lifeless against a tree; I can even
master the rhinoceros, and if I once get my tusks
under him, I can push him headlong over a preci-
pice. And as to a man, I have shown how I can
treat him. You remember that fellow who came
into these woods with a gun, and how he killed a
great many deer and other animals, and even fired
at some of us elephants. But when I caught sight
of him, I quickly turned the tables. I rushed at
the blood-thirsty rascal, and although he had his
gun in his hand, he did not dare to shoot at me.
He just turned and ran away at the top of his
speed; and if he had not slipped in between two
great rocks, where it was impossible for me to fol-
low him, I would have broken every bone in his
body. And then those two strangers had the im-
pudence to talk about some whales they had seen,
and their great size. Size indeed As if a miser-
able whale could compare with an elephant "
But, my dear," said his wife, I do wish you
would try to get over your prejudices on this point.
You know whales are bigger."
They are not! said he, sharply. "They are.
nothing of the kind. Let me hear no more such
nonsense. Where's Hevi ?"
He is taking his bath," said his wife, very glad
to change the subject; I'll call him."
So saying, she went out to the edge of the wood;
but when she looked toward the beach, she stopped,
terror-stricken. There was Hevi far beyond the
breakers, and apparently Fi.. -i i; out to sea !
Without a word, the mother rushed down to the
water's edge.
Hevi! Hevi! she cried, "come in. You are
out too far. Come in, or you will be drowned "
Hevi, who seemed to be tired and unable to
direct his course, called back in a voice which
sounded as if he had swallowed some salt water:
I can't. The tide is too strong."
Hello there Hello cried Hevi's father, who

now came running to the beach, alarmed by the
cries of his wife. What are you doing out there?
Come in, this instant "
He can't He can't! screamed the poor
mother. The tide is carrying him away Oh !
save him, my husband, or he will be drowned!
Drowned before our eyes !"
Hevi's father did not hesitate. He dashed into
the water and waded rapidly toward his son. But
soon he stopped, his feet sank in the sand, and he
found he could not proceed. At the spot where
he was struggling to get forward, the sand was very
soft, and his immense weight forced his legs down
so deeply-sometimes on one side and sometimes
on the other-that he could scarcely keep himself
from falling over.
The water was always deep enough over this soft
spot for Hevi to swim, but it was entirely too shal-
low to bear up his father; and so the great ele-
phant, finding that matters were getting worse and
worse the more he pressed forward, endeavored to
turn back, so that he might find a firmer portion
of the beach.
His distressed wife, seeing his sad plight, rushed
to his assistance.
Oh she cried, you, too, will be lost! "
My dear," said her husband, a little sharply,
will you let go my tail? I can never get out, if
you keep pulling me that way. I want to turn
around."
With a groan, she stopped pulling at his tail and
stepped back to give him room to scramble out.
Casting her eyes seaward to poor Hevi, who was
dismayed at seeing himself so far from shore, while
his father was actually turning back and going
away from him, she perceived something which
made her heart jump with joy.
Out at sea, but not very far from poor Hevi, she
saw a great spout of water rise into the air !
It was a whale She plainly saw his great back
and head above the water.
Without stopping to think, she shouted:
O whale whale come here! Save my son!
Hasten He is drowning "
The whale raised his head, and seeing the really
dangerous situation of Hevi, who was nearly ex-
hausted by his struggles, he swam rapidly toward
the young elephant.
When he reached him, he put his head against
Hevi and a little under him, and then, setting his
great tail in motion, he swam steadily to the shore,
pushing Hevi before him. He seemed to be swim-
ming very slowly, but as he came near he sent
Hevi shooting through the surf, and the little fel-
low actually turned over and over, two or three
times, before he got on his feet in the shallow
water. His mother rushed down to meet him.

HEVI.

[JULY,

HI EVI.

Oh, my dear Hevi i my sweet son she cried,
as she tenderly twined her trunk around him.
"You are saved. I have you again. But how did
you dare to go out so far? You know how often
you have been told never to go beyond your depth.
How you have frightened us Now run home and
dry yourself; and as Hevi shuffled away, his fond
mother could not help giving him a slap with her
trunk as he passed. The little rascal, he had
scared them so!
Then Hevi's mother turned to the whale, who
remained near the shore, and apparently was curi-
ous to see how things would turn out.
My good whale," said she to him, I cannot
tell you how much I am obliged to you. You have
saved my son, my only child. I can never forget
it. I know we can never repay you; but if there
is anything whatever, that we can do to show our
gratitude, we shall be only too glad to do it. My
husband, as well as myself--"
She then turned to call Hevi's father, but he was
not to be seen. When he had scrambled out of
the soft sand, hearing meantime his wife's frantic
cries to the whale, he turned his head seaward just
in time to see the whale pushing Hevi to shore.
Perceiving that there was nothing for him to do,
and filled with mortification and shame at his failure
to save his drowning son, he hastened away to the
woods to hide his wounded pride and regain his
wonted composure.
My husband is not here," said Hevi's mother.
" He probably has hurried home to take care of the
child. But he joins me, I know, in my thanks to
you."
Oh don't mention it," said the whale, in a
deep voice. No trouble, I'm sure."
I must now go," said the elephant, and see
that my poor child has something to revive him.
I 'm sorry I can't ask you up to the woods. But I
shall never forget you. Good-bye !"
Good-bye said the whale.
When Hevi's mother reached the woods, she
found her son in a very wet and uncomfortable
condition. She rubbed him dry with a bundle
of hay, and gave him some nice roots to eat; and
when he felt better, she sent him out to take a little
walk in the sun, so that he might get well warmed
and not take cold.
Hevi was very glad to go, for while his mother
was attending to him she gave him a great deal of
good advice and some scolding, too.
He had been gone but a few minutes, however,
before he came running back, crying out:
Oh, mother That whale's there yet! And I
believe he's stuck fast and can't get away "
Hevi's mother rushed out, and as soon as she
saw the whale, she felt sure that her son was right.

The great fish evidently had forgotten, or had not
known, how shallow the water was where he came
in, and in his kind effort to push Hevi as near dry
land as possible, had run himself so far up on
the beach that he had stranded himself. And, as
the tide was running down, his condition was get-
ting worse and worse. He was now more than
half out of water, and iii1.., .1. he worked his tail
so vigorously that it made great waves on each
side of him, and twisted himself about as hard
as he could, he could not force himself into deep
water.
Mercy on us cried Hevi's mother. The
poor fellow has certainly stuck fast on the beach.
Hevi! Run for your father."
Away ran Hevi, and his mother hurried down to
the water's edge.
'' My dear whale," she said, : I am afraid you
have run aground."
Yes," said the whale. It certainly looks like
it. I did n't intend to come so far. But if the tide
was n't running out I think I could get off."
Well, don't tire yourself," said the good ele-
phant; my husband will be here directly. He
will help you."
A kind of smile came over the whale's face.
'He can't do much," he thought to himself; but
he did not say so, for fear of hurting the mother-
elephant's feelings.
Hevi soon found his father walking about by
himself in the forest. When the great elephant
heard what his son had to tell him, he gave a grunt
and seemed in a little better humor.
Ho, ho !" said he, "~ I' 1 go and see about it."
When he got out on the beach he walked
straight to the whale, paying no attention to his
wife, who was endeavoring to explain the situation
to him.
Well," said he to the whale, you seem to be
pretty badly stranded."
"I am," replied the whale; "and I don't see
how I am to get off unless I wait here until the tide
rises. And that will be a long time to wait."
Oh, I '11 get you off," said the elephant.
I don't believe you can do it," said the whale.
I'll soon show you about that," said Hevi's
father, and he walked down through the water,
taking care to be sure that his way led over the
firm portions of the beach. When he reached the
whale, he put his head and one shoulder against
the whale's head, and, bending himself up for
the struggle, he pushed with all his enormous
strength.
As the beach was hard and stony beneath his
great feet, he could put his whole force into his
efforts, and he pushed like a big steam-engine.
In a minute or two the whale began to move

HEVI.

slowly backward, and then, with a steady motion,
like a ship sliding off the stocks, he glided into
deep water.
Hurrah!" shouted Hevi and Hevi's mother,
and a dozen other elephants, who had now gathered
on the beach. Hurrah i they cried again, wav-

Hevi's father came slowly out of the water, with
a very good-humored expression on his face.
Ha! ha! he said to himself, that was a
good sort of a whale. A very good fellow indeed!
But, dear me he never could have got off that
beach by himself. A whale is utterly helpless on

-". ^. --_- ,-d
_. _. 4- -Ic i F

;';.:z,*_ae' ___:-Y'"-:,-:x.:=:'. :,{;'-:i'Si
THE MAN WHO WENT TO SHOOT ELEPHANTS.
ing their trunks in the air, while the whale, after a shore. I 'm glad I happened to be about. Yes,
joyful dive, came up to the surface and spouted he's a good fellow for a whale. And I believe he
a tremendous stream of water, high enough to put is a trifle bigger than I am-though, of course, a
out a fire on top of the highest steeple you ever saw. whale can never be compared to an elephant."

UULY,

HIS OWN MASTER.

HIS OWN MASTER.

BY J. T. TROWBRIDGE.

CHAPTER XXVII.
SUPPER BY THE ROAD-SIDE.
FOR half an hour, Jacob wandered about the
streets of Chillicothe and along by the canal, amus-
ing himself as well as he could with the strange
sights, and trying to make up his mind what to do.
But the thought of returning to Jackson called
up two mightily disagreeable images in the boy's
mind,-Friend David triumphantly smiling as he
blocked up the Ralkin door-way, and the casting-
house of the iron-furnace filled with stifling steam.
Likely as not," he thought, "the best Mr.
Radkin can do for me will be to set me to work in
that hot place, under that hateful foreman "
And now once more Cincinnati rose in his
imagination like a fair land of promise.
I wish I had money enough to take me there,"
he said to himself.
He could not, of course, expect to overtake Mr.
Radkin; but he might find his uncle. And why
not continue his journey to Cincinnati, as well as
go anywhere else ? Still some of the rainbow hues
of Pinkey's fancy picture of his fortunes in that
great city floated before Jacob's eyes.
For ten cents he bought a pound of crackers at
a grocery on the canal, and dined upon them as he
wandered about. All the while he kept his eyes
open for old Dorgan, intending to ask his advice
as to what he would better do.
If he says, Go back to my house and spend
the night,' I'll do it, anyway," thought Jacob, so
undecided was he as yet in his own mind, and so
much did his future depend upon a slight chance.
Old Dorgan had said to him at parting, I shall
be on the street, I can hardly tell where, but you 'll
find me or my wagon easily enough, if you care to."
But that was not so easy, as it proved ; and Jacob
was beginning to fear that the old man had done
his errands and gone home, when he suddenly ex-
claimed : There's the mule-team, now "
The team he saw was driving on before him
down one of the principal streets, a good deal faster
than old Dorgan's usual rate of speed. Jacob ran
after it, bag in hand, and soon came up, beckoning
and shouting, behind the wagon. If he had not
been a good deal excited, he would have made the
discovery before, which he 'made when the driver
pulled rein and turned to see what was wanted.
It was not old Dorgan's team, and the man was
not old Dorgan.
VoL. IV.-39.

Want me for anything ?" he said to Jacob as
he came up. Jacob panted and apologized.
Excuse me," he said. I took you for another
man-a man I was going to ride with."
The driver was about to whip up his mules again,
when something in the boy's appearance seemed to
attract his attention.
Have you lost him ? he inquired.
I'm afraid I have," replied Jacob.
Well, you can get in and ride with me, if you
are going the way I am."
Which way are you going ?"
Out on Paint Creek, about six miles."
As they came down over the hills in the morn-
ing, the old man had pointed out Paint Creek
winding down through the valley to its juncture
with the Scioto below the city. He knew that it
flowed in from the west, and he spoke up quickly:
That is in the direction of Cincinnati, is n't it?"
"Right on the road."
How far is it ? asked Jacob.
( Nigh on to a hundred miles," said the man.
" Do you want to go to Cincinnati ? "
: Yes cried Jacob.
For his mind was thus instantly made up. And
he climbed into the wagon.
Jacob rode as far as his new friend could carry
him, then continued his journey on foot.
He ate the last of his pound of crackers for sup-
per, and slept that night under a hay-stack.
The next day was the weariest, dreariest, lone-
liest he had ever experienced; and at evening,
hungry, dusty, foot-sore, disheartened, with but
three cents in his pocket, he came to the outskirts
of a village.
Unwilling to beg, he had made his money go as
far as he could. But the last cent would soon be
gone, and what should he do then ?
He had relied on getting occasional jobs of work
to help him through, and often that afternoon he
had asked people he saw if they knew anybody
who wanted to hire a boy. But boys did not seem
to be in great demand in that part of the country.
He found places where he could work for his board,
but received no offer of wages. And so he had
tramped on.
It was a pleasant evening. Children were play-
ing in the street and in front yards, and through
open doors he saw supper-tables set. At the side
door of one house a woman rang a tea-bell, and
called some boys playing in an orchard. They

593

HIS OWN MASTER.

were so intent on their sport that they did not care
for supper. Poor Jacob marveled at them, and
recalled the time when he, too, used sometimes to
vex his aunt by coming late to his meals.
"Let anybody ring a tea-bell for me now, if they
dare thought he. "I'l1 bet a million dollars I
would n't wait for 'em to ring twice "
He heard the boys scolding as they went in:
" What's the use of having supper so early ? Why
could n't we stay out and play ?" And he saw one
fling his cap down under the porch with the air of
an injured innocent.
That boy should be his own master once, and
see how he likes it! thought Jacob. Perhaps
he is thinking of running away, so as to be free
and have a good time. I'll swap myself for him,
if he likes. I 'll swap with anybody who has a
home, and risk it. I tell ye," he muttered aloud,
" boys that have good homes never know how well
off they are Shall I ever have one ?"
Still he trudged on, wondering how he should
manage to make the most of his three cents. It
must do for his supper; for his lodging, he would
once more trust to the fields.
As he was passing a cottage door, he saw three
children coming out, bearing a kettle with some
smoking contents, which they set down on the
door-step. The oldest was a boy not more than
ten; the other two were girls of six and eight;
and there was another child still younger following
them with three great iron spoons.
The happiness of these children attracted Jacob's
attention, and he stopped and leaned over the fence
to look at them. The oldest had a tin cup which
he held in his lap, while he sat down on the door-
step and the others gathered around him brandish-
ing the spoons.
What have you there ? said Jacob.
Supper cried the boy, proudly, stirring the
contents of the kettle.
Scup?" said Jacob, wistfully.
No; mush and molasses," said the oldest, while
the youngest added, with a gleeful laugh, Good !"
"Who cooked your mush for you?" Jacob
asked.
"Cooked it myself," said the boy. Always do.
Father's away to work, and don't get home till
dark, and I get our dinner and supper every day
but Sunday."
"Where's your mother?" Jacob inquired.
Haint got no mother And the boy tasted
the mush, to see if it was cool enough to eat.
Finding it would do with a little blowing, he told
the others to dip in. It was a moment of jubilee
for the hungry tribe. They first touched their
spoons to the molasses in the cup, taking up a
little, then added to it a good deal of pudding,

which they blew and sipped, talking and laughing
all the while with perfect happiness.
Jacob would never have thought that the time
could possibly come when he would envy ragged
children eating mush with iron spoons out of an
iron kettle. But envy them he did. There was
no selfish scrambling for quantity; but the elder
one looked out that the younger ones had their
share.
How little it takes to make us happy in this
world--if we only knew it!" thought Jacob. And,
standing there, leaning over the fence, he learned
a lesson of heroism and duty from that small boy-
philosopher ten years old.
Have you any more of that mush than you
want ? he said, coming inside the gate and look-
ing into the kettle. I'11 give you three cents for
some."
Three cents exclaimed the oldest, thinking
he must be joking. They had never had so much
money all at once; and when Jacob, by showing
the change, convinced them that he was in earnest,
it seemed to them that the millennium had come.
They shared their supper with him gladly. Sit-
ting on the door-step, he had a spoon all to himself,
and was allowed to dip as deep and as often as he
liked into the molasses-cup. It was a feast, and
even he was happy.
But all too soon the bottom of the kettle was
reached, and scraped by competing spoons. Jacob
left the little ones scraping, and looking at the
money he had given them. Then, after having
a drink from the well, he went his way.

CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE OLD MAN OF THE STAGE-WAGON.
HAVING stopped a while on the tavern steps, to
rest his tired limbs, and to inquire of the loungers
for a job, Jacob started on again, to look for his
night's lodging in the fields.
He was weary enough to lie down under the
fence, in the first retired spot; but the night was
cool for the season, and he felt the necessity of
seeking some sort of shelter from the heavy dews.
He was once more in the open country, looking
to right and left in the deepening twilight, when he
noticed a dark object and heard sounds of voices
before him in the road. Nearing the spot, he
found an open stage-wagon broken down in the
ruts, and the driver and two or three passengers at
work trying to extricate it.
Another passenger, alone in the wagon,-whom
Jacob perceived to be, a sharp-featured old man
wrapped to the throat in a thick shawl,-was com-
plaining of the mishap in a harsh and querulous
voice.

[JULY,

HIS OWN MASTER.

It will be the death of me, exposed to the night
air in this way Just after getting up from a fever !
Merciful heavens, driver, you must do something !
Ah, who's there ? Help "
It was nobody but Jacob, trudging along the
road with his stick and bag.
Hullo, boy cried the sick man, "how far is
it to the hotel ? "
Pretty near a mile," replied Jacob.

595

"In mercy, yes! groaned the old man. And
Jacob, who could not possibly have run for himself,
ran for him.
In a few minutes he came back. He had found
a kind woman and a kitchen fire, and he proposed
to take the invalid to them at once.
But I can't walk so far !" the old man objected,
snappishly.
"We can put you on one of the horses."

JACOB AND THE PASSENGER ASSIST THE SICK GENTLEMAN TO THE HOUSE.

The invalid uttered a groan. "A mile I shall
die before we get there, at this rate. I am growing
light-headed-my feet are cold as ice-I am sure
to have a relapse "
The voice, though harsh, was certainly that of a
man in a bad way. Jacob stood beside the wagon.
Can I do anything for you ? he asked.
I don't know," said the old man, with an aguish
shudder. "I feared I was n't able to travel. But
the doctor said the journey might do me good, if I
did n't get chilled, or too much fatigued. Now I
am both. We should have reached the hotel two
hours ago."
There 's a house a little way back, behind those
trees," said Jacob. Shall I go and see if they
will take you in ? "

I can't ride a raw-boned stage-horse I may
as well die here "
"You 'd better let him," said another of the
passengers, coming close to Jacob's side. You
would if you had had as much of his bearishness
as we have."
But he is really a sick man remonstrated
Jacob.
That's so," the passenger replied. "I only
wish he was sicker! To hear him growl, you'd
think everybody in the world but himself was to
blame for his misfortunes."
If you will take hold with me, I think we can
help him walk to that house," said Jacob.
You seem to take a great interest in the old
curmudgeon said the passenger.

HIS OWN MASTER.

He may be a curmudgeon; but you would n't
leave the worst man in the world to die here, would
you ? "
I rather think I would "
"Oh, no you would n't !" said Jacob. "And
he is n't the worst man. His suffering makes him
cross." And so he argued and urged, until the
passenger consented to help the old man.
Now, the invalid had stopped scolding and groan-
ing long enough to hear almost every word of this
conversation ; and when it was finally proposed to
him to walk with the help of the two, he consented
with a better grace than he had shown at any time
since his fellow-passengers made his uncomfortable
acquaintance.
Getting painfully down to the ground, and lean-
ing heavily upon the shoulders of his assistants, he
found he could walk better than he had at first
supposed. Still, when they reached the house with
him, he was very much exhausted, and his pinched
old face looked ghastly enough, as they laid him
on the kitchen lounge. He did not, however, lose
consciousness, but took notice of everything.
Thanks to much experience in taking care of his
sick aunt, Jacob, boy as he was, knew better than
anybody else present what to do.
Can you make him some warm drink ?-a cup
of tea? As quick as you can he said to the
woman. Then to the stage-passenger who had
helped him bring the old man in: Don't go, sir,
if you please We must warm his feet the first
thing. Take that one ; I will take this."
The old man's boots were off in a moment, fol-
lowed by his stockings. Then his death-cold feet,
seized and rubbed, began to recover warmth from
two pairs of active hands.
Ah, that's it !-that's what I wanted were
the first faint words he spoke. It relieves my
head ; it brings back my life "
A cup of tea was soon ready, and he sat up and
sipped it. Then the woman put some freshly
toasted slices of bread before him, and a dish of
jelly; and his appetite came. When, in about an
hour, the stage-driver returned for him with another
vehicle brought from the ,I *.., the invalid de-
clared that he felt like a new man.
"But where's that youngster ?" he asked sharply,
looking around.
"After he had warmed your boots and put them
on, and got you to the table," replied the woman,
he went off."
Went off!" he exclaimed. "Without giving
me a chance to thank him "
He spoke to you, but you were eating your
toast and did n't seem to mind him. Then he
came and thanked me for what I had done for you,
and went away."

That's a shame cried the old man, with an
appearance of anger. I heard him say some-
thing about having left his bag out-doors, and
going out to get it; but I thought he was coming
back. I want to see that youngster. I have n't
met one for many a day I like so well. I want just
such a boy to travel with me. He knows what to
do for a sick man. I was going to give him a
dollar, anyway. Can't somebody bring him back ?"
"Wagon's waiting!" shouted the driver, im-
patiently, at the gate.
Jacob, who had had no thought of doing a good
action for a reward, had also no idea of what he
had missed.
Had the dollar been presented to him, he would
have taken it, no doubt, under the circumstances,
out of pure necessity. Nor do I think he would
have ventured to decline anything that looked so
providential as the offer of a situation to travel with
the old man. But, expecting nothing, he had gone
off contentedly with nothing.
He would have liked an invitation to eat some of
the good woman's toast-it must be owned that he
thought of that; for mush, though it serves for the
moment to allay the pangs of hunger, does not
afford permanent satisfaction to toiling mortals.
But he who had been so ready to ask of strangers
what was needful for another, never thought of
asking anything for himself. And, his simple duty
done, remembering what he had for a while forgot-
ten,-namely, his own weariness and wants,-he
had gone off, picked up his bag and stick, and
found a lonely lodging in an old barn.

CHAPTER XXIX.

JACOB MAKES NEW ACQUAINTANCES, AND
MEETS AN OLD ONE.

THE next morning he was awakened by the
violent barking of a dog close to his nose; and
looking up from his couch of straw in the corner,
he saw a frightened cur bristling at him, and an
astonished farmer standing in the open barn-door.
Jacob sat up, and made a clutch at his stick, to
defend himself.
What are you doing here ? cried the farmer.
"Call off your dog, and I'll tell you," replied
Jacob, a good deal alarmed, it must be confessed,
but not quite losing his self-possession.
After the dog, he expected abuse from the man.
He got upon his feet, and as soon as the yelping
was silenced, and he could be heard, told briefly
his story,-standing humble and confused, but
frank and honest, and with a touch of simple pathos
in his tones.
I came in here to sleep; I did n't know it
would do any harm. I should have gone to some

596

[JULY,

i877.] HIS OWN MASTER. 597

house, if I had had any money. I have slept out-
doors two nights; but last night was too cool."
Where did you come from ? "
From Chillicothe. last. I went there to find a
man, but missed him. Now I am going to Cincin-
nati, where I have an uncle."
How will you get to Cincinnati without
money ?"
I can walk, and I hope to get work enough to
do to pay my way."
And what are you going to do for breakfast ? "
I don't know, but I think I can find a few
berries somewhere ; and, if I can't do any better, I
can go to some stack of wheat, shell a little in my
hand, and eat that. It wont be the first time."
The man was evidently interested in this home-
less boy and his story.
"Come along with me to the house," he said.
"I 've no work for you; but I '11 give ye some
breakfast."
Jacob followed gratefully.
Is it that house ?" he presently inquired.
Yes; why not ?" said the farmer.
"I believe," said Jacob, "that is the house
where I-where we-took the sick man last night."
Ah The farmer turned and looked quickly
at Jacob. I heard something about that when I
got home. Are you the boy ? I thought from my
wife's account of what you said and did that you
must have been older,-how you warmed the old
fellow's feet, and all that."
I suppose I am the boy," replied Jacob, with a
fine blush in the rosy morning light. I hope the
old gentleman was better after I left him."
He was well enough to go on to the hotel. He
had gone when I got home. My wife can tell you
more about him; and she will be glad to see you."
Indeed, Jacob received a cordial welcome at the
house, and there learned from the good woman
herself what the sick man had said about him. He
mused for a moment, then spoke.
"'I am almost glad I was gone, for I am afraid
I should have taken his dollar-I need it badly
enough "
And why not have taken it ? "
Because, if it was to pay for what I had done, I
never should have felt right about it. But I am
sorry I. missed the chance of traveling with him.
Perhaps he would have paid me good wages, and
brought me around to Cincinnati after a while.'"
You might find him at the village, before the
morning stage goes out, if you hurry," said the
farmer.
Jacob mused again, but shook his head.
It might look as if I was trying to make some-
thing out of him, on account of last night. Besides,
he might not have been in earnest. And he's a

grouty old fellow; hard for anybody to get along
with, I'm sure."
So you wont go after him ? "
No," said Jacob, with quiet decision in his look
and tone.
After breakfast, the farmer told him that he
might stay with them a day or two, if he liked,
and do chores to pay for his board. But as nothing
was said of wages, he thought he would better go on
at once. So, rested and refreshed, with a grateful
heart, and in his bag a sandwich which the good
woman had given him for his dinner, he resumed
his journey.
There are plenty of good folks in the world,
after all he exclaimed, winking the quick tears
from his eyes, after parting from the farmer and
his wife. "I'll remember that when I see othe
folks mean and dishonest,-I will remember it! "
There was some need of this good resolution,
for more than once, on that rough journey, Jacob
was tempted to declare in his heart that the world
was made up mostly of people without sympathy
or good-will, who cared only for themselves.
Late in the afternoon of that day, as Jacob was
tramping wearily along a lonely road, he was over-
taken by a young farmer in a rattling wagon, sing-
ing merrily to himself and shouting to his team.
The boy stood on the road-side, and called out
to him as he drove past: Give me a ride ? "
Catch on !" said the man, laughing, and at the
same time touching up his horses. Le's see how
smart you are "
Jacob took him at his word, made a dart at the
hind-board, flung his bag and stick over it, a.d
presently, by scrambling and kicking, tumbled
himself over after them.
Finding a good bed of straw and a heap of
empty bags in the bottom of the wagon-box, he
was contented to remain there. But the jolly
driver, seeing that he had got on, in spite of the
little joke he had attempted to play upon him, now
slackened speed, and sat over on one end of the
cross-board that served as a seat, to make room
for him.
Get up here !" he said. If a fellow rides with
me, I want his company."
How far are you going ? Jacob asked, as he
took the proffered place.
"About eight miles farther. Hosses are good
for it."
Making the young fellow's acquaintance, Jacob
learned that his name was Boone, and that he had
been to market to sell his father's grain. Having
got a good price for that, he had broken the tem-
perance pledge, and was now ripe for any advent-
ure. He invited Jacob to go home with him; but
pulled up at the first tavern.

HIS OWN MASTER.

"Oh, you need n't be afraid," said Boone, when
Jacob begged him not to go in. The animals
want to breathe; and I 'm only going to take
some old cheese, with a bite of crackers."
In the tavern, however, he fell in with some
cronies; and Jacob was watching him anxiously,
when a tall black-whiskered man stepped forward
and offered to shake hands with him. The boy
was astonished-where had he seen that face be-
fore ? In a moment he remembered it, and stam-
mered out, Colonel Corkright "
"The same," said the Kentuckian, with one of
those smiles which Jacob never liked. I don't
recall your name, but I remember seeing you on
the steamer with our mutual friend, Mr. Pinkey.
And where is Pinkey ? Charming fellow! It's
enough for me to know that you are his friend."
Jacob overcame his natural repugnance enough
to talk with him about Alphonse. But finding that
Corkright knew nothing-or pretended to know
nothing-of the professor, he turned away to look
after his new acquaintance.
Boone was making merry with his friends, and
refused to leave them.
"I tell you what you do," he said to Jacob.
" Go and give my team the oats in that bag; better
water them first-they are cool enough now; then
they '11 be ready for a brisk trot home."
Jacob went out, slipped the horses' bridles back
on their necks, tied them at the manger under the
open shed, and after carrying them a couple of
pails of water, gave them the oats. Then he began
to think of himself.
"What's the use of waiting around? I might
go to sleep in his wagon; then if he starts before
morning, I shall be sure to start too."
With this happy thought, he got in upon the
straw, and, using the empty grain-sacks for coverlet
and pillow, soon fell asleep.

CHAPTER XXX.
A STRANGE RIDE.
HE must have slept several hours very soundly,
when he was awakened by a movement of the
wagon. He started up, not remembering at first
where he was. Then recollection came to him.
It is Boone, backing his horses out from under
the shed. I'm glad he is sober enough to do that.
They'll know the way home."
With this reflection he sank back upon his pillow
of grain-sacks. His limbs were sore and stiff with
weariness, his head was heavy with sleep; and
having satisfied himself that Boone was starting for
home, he yielded to drowsiness, and was asleep
almost before the wagon had left the yard.
The team started off at a slow walk, and the

gentleness of the movement favored Jacob's inclina-
tion to repose. But soon the clumsy wagon-box
began to jolt a little. The horses were quickening
their pace. Jacob's head was jounced off the pillow,
and he was rudely tossed about. The sleep was
before long shaken out of him ; his position in the
springless vehicle became painful,. in spite of the
grain-sacks and the straw, and he sat up.
"Wonder if he knows I am in the wagon?"
thought he; and, rubbing his eyes open, he ques-
tioned with himself whether he should make his
presence known. His very thoughts seemed jolted
by the movements of the wagon. "What-is-
the-fellow-driving-so-fast-for ?"
The moon had but lately risen, and by its light
he soon became aware of something strange in the
appearance of the driver on the seat before him.
Boone was rather short and stout; this man was
rather tall. Boone wore a common straw hat; that
of the present driver was black, with the brim broad
and picturesquely slouched.
With a shudder, he recognized the hat. It be-
longed to the tall Kentuckian, Colonel Corkright.
All the courage Jacob ever possessed forsook him
at this discovery.
Much as he disliked and dreaded Corkright, he
might still have faced him by daylight in a good
cause, without quite melting down and dissolving
in fear. But now the suddenness of the recog-
nition, the strangeness of the situation, the ghostly
moonlight, the lonely road,-everything combined
to develop the coward in his nature.
His first thought was to creep over the hind-
board and drop himself out of the wagon as quietly
as possible. But he was afraid to move. So there
he sat, staring at the tall dark figure before him,
until by degrees his reason and courage returned.
He had no doubt that Corkright had stolen
Boone's horses and wagon; and now the wish rose
in his heart that he might baffle the villain.
But that he could not do by leaping from the
wagon.
His resolution rallying more and more, he be-
thought him of lying down again and covering
himself with the grain-bags, until the right moment
should arrive to start up and show himself.
"Just as he is going to sell the horses; then up
I jump and say, 'This team belongs to another
man !'"
I suppose he had not been more than five min-
utes fully awake, and sitting up there, before he
came to this determination, although it seemed a
much longer time to him.
The clattering of the vehicle over the rough road
prevented the colonel from hearing any movements
on the boards behind him; and when he looked
around, there was nothing to attract his attention

598'

[JULY,

HIS OWN MASTER.

in the shadowy wagon-box, but what seemed a heap
of grain-sacks and straw.
Luckily, Jacob had had time to conceal himself.
But he had left a breathing-place under the sack
that covered his head, and, anxiously watching
through that loophole, he saw the dreaded colonel
turn and gaze. What if he had turned a minute
before ? What if he should detect something sus-
picious in the straw there now ?
He has n't seen me yet thought the boy,
with a feeling of relief, as the driver
once more faced the other way
and touched up the team.
It was a terrible ride to the
shaken and jolted Jacob. He suf-
fered less in body than in mind. -:
He was in constant fear lest Cork-
right should discover him. It
seemed as if the sacks were all the
time getting off and exposing him.
And the moon, rising higher and
higher, was shining more and
more into the wagon, and begin-
ning to light up the spot where -
he lay.
And now the moonshine, fading, f
gave place to a greater danger.
The stars had paled; a soft, rosy
glow was spreading up the sky.
Day had dawned, and it was soon
so light that Jacob, peeping from-
under the sacks, could see the
buttons on the back of the. Ken-
tuckian's coat. "ORKRIGHT
How am I going to get out
of this ? he thought. He '11 be sure to see me.
I can't do Boone any good. I wish I was out of
the wagon "
The little stratagem he had so hastily resolved
upon did not seem at all practicable by daylight.
Never mind," he said to himself; I have got
over a few miles, though it has been rough."
The wagon was now going more slowly. Cork-
right was approaching a large town, and he had
suffered the horses to drop into a walk. All at
once Corkright turned, and looked straight down
into the wagon.
Something attracted his attention. Out of the
curious heap behind him protruded an object which
strangely resembled a human leg and foot. He
reached over, and was about to grasp it, when up
started a lithe figure from under the sacks, with
astonishing suddenness, like a Jack-in-the-box.
Even the cool Kentuckian was startled by this
apparition. He withdrew his hand quickly, and
stopped the horses. Again Jacob thought to jump
over the hind-board and escape. But he changed

his mind in the very act. And there he sat, look-
ing up straight at the colonel, while the colonel
looked down squarely at him.
What are you here for ? said the colonel.
Jacob was one of those lads who, though not
without the excitability which often makes cowards,
possess something of the resolution which in-
spires the hero. When a danger was left to his
imagination, he saw it in all sorts of dreadful
shapes; but when the necessity for action came,

-- ---

TURNED AND LOOKED STRAIGHT DOWN INTO THE WAGON."

his spirit rose to meet it. When Corkright spoke
to him, he was surprisingly calm, considering the
circumstances.
You brought me here," he said, in a clear but
slightly tremulous voice.
I did n't put you in the wagon "
I got in here to sleep. I had no other place,
and no money to pay for a bed."
So you made a bed of the wagon A rather
rough one, I reckon you found it Slept well, I
suppose ?"
Corkright spoke in a sarcastic tone; evidently
he did not believe a word that Jacob said.
The wagon was under the tavern shed, and I
slept well enough till you carried me off."
Then why did n't you get out ? "
Because you happened to be going my way,
and it is n't often I get a ride."
What business had you in the wagon ? "
The owner asked me to go home with him."
I am the owner of this team," said Corkright.
I don't see how that can be," replied Jacob.

599

600 WILD MICE AND THEIR WAYS.

I bought it. Have you any objections ?"
Jacob found courage to say: "I suppose you
bought it just as you bought Mr. Pinkey's violin ?"
Exactly. I paid cash for that, and I paid cash
for this."
Jacob was surprised that the colonel should deign
to explain matters to him in this way. But they
were now approaching the town where Corkright
meant to dispose of the team, and he thought it
politic to win over the lad to his purposes.
If you 'll go with me," said he, and do what
I say, you '11 have a chance of earning ten or fifteen
dollars."
What do you want me to do ?" asked Jacob.
I can't tell yet; to hold the horses, or may be
just to hold your tongue ; anything I require."

If you require only what I can do," said Jacob,
thinking it safe to put his promise in that way;
resolved, nevertheless, to slip out of the wagon and
escape as soon as it should be well in motion and
Corkright's back was turned.
Perhaps the colonel suspected as much.
Well, get up here on the seat with me. I want
to talk to you."
Jacob could not refuse. But, as the horses moved
on, he felt bound to speak an earnest word for the
young farmer.
I don't see how Boone could have sold you the
team," he said. He told me himself it did n't
belong to him, but to his father."
That's his lookout," replied Corkright. "You
don't understand business."

(To be coaninued.)

WILD MICE AND THEIR WAYS.
[CONCLUDED.]

BY ERNEST INGERSOLL.

THE English field-mouse, which is very much Mountains, by Mr. Trotter. The nest, which-
like our own, has "a sweet tooth," and searches second tenant and all-is shown in the picture on
for the nests of the bumble-bees in order to get the the next page, hung from the extremity of a young

comb and honey.
The Arvicola and
Jaculus seem to be
the greatest diggers,
while the Hespero-
mys prefers a home
above-ground, and
constructs its dwell-
ing much like the
squirrel's. Some-
times it takes up its
abode in deserted
birds'nests, such as
those of the cat-bird,
red-winged black-
bird, wood-thrush,
and red-eyed vireo.
The cradle-nest of
the last-named bird
(Vireo olivaceous),
which had been used
by a white footed

j-;~TIi'" _
,-J

lid; ,

LEAVING HOME.

tree a few feet from
the ground ; and
the mouse had com-
pletely filled the in-
side with dry grass,
leaving only enough
room to squeeze into
a comfortable bed
in the bottom. The
mouse was asleep
when found, as is
its habit in the day-
time, and moved
away rather slug-
gishly.
Not long ago, I
received a pleasant
letter from Mr. John
Burroughs, in which
he said: "The other
day I found the nest
of the white-footed

mouse, was found toward the end of August, 1875, mouse. Going through the woods, I paused by a
on the border of a thick forest in the Blue-Ridge red cedar, the top of which had been broken

[JULY,

WILD MICE AND THEIR WAYS?

off and lopped over till it touched the ground. It
was dry and formed a very dense mass. I touched
a match to it to see it burn, when, just as the
flames were creeping up into it, out jumped or
tumbled two white-footed mice, and made off in
opposite directions. I was just in time to see the
nest before the flames caught it-a mass of fine dry

of the grasses on each side arching over, conceal
the scampering travelers from the prying eyes of
owls, hawks, and butcher-birds, ever on the watch
for them. The mice seem to fully understand their
danger, cautiously going under a tuft of grass or a
large leaf instead of over it, and avoiding bare
places. In winter their paths are tunneled under

THE MOUSE IN THE BIRD'S NEST.

grass, about five feet from the ground, in the thick-
est part of the cedar top."
From their tunnels, nests and granaries, innu-
merable runways, such as I spoke of before, traverse
the neighborhood, crossing those from other bur-
rows, and forming a complete net-work all over the
region. The mice do not flock together like the
prairie dogs, but, where food is plenty, many nests
will often be found close together. They are sociable
little folk, and no doubt greatly enjoy visiting and
gossiping with one another. The little paths are
their roadways from one burrow to another, and
from the places where the tenderest grasses grow to
their store-houses. These tiny roads are formed
by gnawing clean away the grass-stubble, and
treading the earth down smooth; while the heads

the snow, so that they are out of sight; and they
always have several means of escape from their
burrows. You know the old song says-
The mouse that always trusts to one poor hole,
Can never be a mouse of any soul."

A trotting, gliding motion is the gait of the
A1vicola, but the white-foot gallops along, jumping
small objects, and leaping from one hillock to
another, while the kangaroo-mouse springs off his
hind feet, and progresses in a series of long leaps,
which carry him over the ground like a race-horse.
But the life of one of our favorites is not all frisk-
ing about under the fragrant flowers, or digging
channels through shining sand and crystal snow.
He has his labor and trials and trouble like the rest

WILD MICE AND THEIR WAYS.

of us. If "a man mun be either a man or a
mouse," it would be hard choosing between them,
so far as an easy time is concerned The gathering
of his food, and the building of his house, costs him
" mony a weary nibble," and he must constantly
be on the alert, for dangers haunt him on every
side. One of his enemies is the snake, all the
larger sorts of which pounce upon him in the grass,
lie in wait for him in his highway, or steal into his
burrow and seize his helpless young, in spite of the

Probably our snakes depend more upon catching
mice than upon any other resource for their daily
food, and they hunt for them incessantly. Most of
the mice have the bad habit of being abroad mainly
at night; so have the snakes; and the mice thus
encounter more foes, and fall an easier prey, than
if they deferred their ramblings until daylight.
Being out nights is a bad practice The prairie
rattlesnakes are i:p..--.:ii, fond of mice; minks,
weasels, skunks a:nd :l L...1-:r:, eat as many as they

A FIGHT WITH A SNAKE.

frantic fighting of the father, and the stout attempts
of the mother to drag her little ones away into
safety. A gentleman in Illinois once saw a garter-
snake pass rapidly by with a young meadow-mouse
in its mouth. Presently, "an old meadow-mouse
came out of the tall grass in pursuit of the snake,
which she finally overtook and instantly attacked.
The snake stopped, disgorged its prey, and defended
itself by striking at its assailant, which appeared to
be beating it, when both animals were killed by the
gentleman watching. I am sorry the incident ended
so tragically. The courage and affection of the
little mother deserved a better reward, and even the
garter-snake is entitled to some sympathy.

can catch, and this probably is not a few; domestic
cats hunt them eagerly, seeming to prefer them to
house-mice,-no doubt they are more sweet and
delicate; foxes also enjoy them, dogs and wolves
dig them out of their burrows and devour them.;
prairie fires burn multitudes of them, and farmer-
boys trap them. But, after all, perhaps their chief
foes are the flesh-eating birds. I hardly ever take
a walk without finding the remains of an owl's or
hawk's dinner where our little subject has been the
main dish.
We have in this country two black, white and
gray birds called shrikes, or butcher-birds, which
are only about the size of robins, but are very

602

[JU-Y,

WILD MICE AND THEIR WAYS.

strong, brave, and noble in appearance. These
shrikes have the curious habit of killing more game
than they need, and hanging it up on thorns, or
lodging it in a crack in the fence or the crotch of a
tree. They seem to hunt just for the fun of it, and
kill for the sake of killing Now their chief game
is the unhappy field-mouse, and in Illinois they are
known as mouse-birds." They never seem to eat
much of the flesh of their victims, generally only
pecking their brains out, but murder an enormous
number, and keep up the slaughter through the
whole year; for when the loggerhead shrike retreats
southward in the autumn, the great northern shrike
comes from British America to supply his place
through the winter. Then all the hawks, from the
nimble little sharp-shinned to the great swooping
buzzards, prey upon them, and in winter hover day
after day over knolls where the mice have been
driven by floods in the surrounding lowlands, and
pounce upon every one that is imprudent enough
to show his black eyes above ground. As for the
marsh-hawk, it regularly quarters the low fields
like a harrier, and eats little but mice. The owls,
too, are constantly after them, hunting them day
and night, on the prairies and in the woods, esteem-
ing them fine food for the four owlets in the hollow
tree hard by; while the sand-hill crane, and some
of the herons, make a regular business of seeking
the underground homes, and digging out the tim-
orous fugitives with their pick-ax beaks. In addi-
tion to all the rest, the farmer everywhere perse-
cutes the mouse, as a pest to his orchards and crops.
Has the poor little animal, then, no friends what-
ever ? Very few, except his own endurance and
cunning; yet he is already so numerous, and
increases so rapidly, that all his enemies have not
been able to rid the earth of him, but only to keep
him in check, and thus preserve that nice balance
of nature in which consists the welfare of all.
It may not be of much interest to the lively
readers of ST. NICHOLAS to hear how destructive
these pretty wild mice are to the farmer's grain and
fruit, but an important part of their history would
be untold if I were to say nothing about their mis-
chief. From the story I have related of the little
"thieves in the night who stole my friend's rye,
and of their underground stores, you may guess
how they make the grain fields suffer. It is done
so quietly and adroitly, too, that few are ever
caught at it, and much of the blame is put on the
moles, squirrels and woodchucks, that have enough
sins of their own to answer for. The meadow-
mouse of Europe, which is very like our own, forty
or fifty years ago came near causing a famine in
parts of England, ruining the crops before they

could get fairly started, and killing almost all the
young trees in the orchards and woods. More than
30,000 of the little rascals were trapped in one
month in a single piece of forest, beside all those
killed by animals. Only last spring, again, a simi-
lar disaster was threatened in Scotland, where mil-
lions of mice appeared, and gnawed off the young
grass at the root just when it should have been in
prime condition for the sheep; and when that was
all gone they attacked the garden vegetables. The
people lost vast numbers of sheep and lambs from
starvation, and thousands of dollars' worth of grow-
ing food; but, finally, by all together waging war
upon them, the pests were partially killed off. The
mice did not in either case come suddenly, but had
been increasing steadily for years previous, because
the gamekeepers had killed so many of the "ver-
min (as owls, hawks, weasels, snakes, etc., are
wrongly called) which are the natural enemies of
the mice, and keep their numbers down. Farmers
are slow to learn that it does n't pay to kill the
birds or rob their nests; but the boys and girls
ought to understand this truth and remember it. In
this country, the greatest mischief done by the field-
mice is the gnawing of bark from the fruit-trees, so
that in some of the Western States this is the most
serious difficulty the orchardist has to contend with.
Whole rows of young trees in nurseries are stripped
of their bark, and of course die; and where apple-
seeds are planted, the mice are sure to dig half of
them up to eat the kernels. This mischief is mainly
done in the winter, when the trees are packed away
from the frost; or, if they are growing, because
then the mice can move about concealed under the
snow, and nibble all the bark away up to the sur-
face. Rabbits get much of the credit of this naughty
work, for they do a good deal of it on their own
account. The gardener has the same trouble,
often finding, when he uncovers a rare and costly
plant in the spring, that the mice have enjoyed
good winter quarters in his straw covering, and
have been gnawing to death his choice roses. Mil-
lions of dollars, perhaps, would not pay for all the
damage these small creatures thus accomplish each
year in the United States, and I fear they will
become more and more of a plague if we continue
to kill off the harmless hawks, owls, butcher-birds
and snakes, which are the policemen appointed by
Nature to look after the mice, and protect us
against them.
In captivity'the wild mice, especially the white-
footed Hesferomys, make very pretty pets, and one
can easily study all their ways by giving them earth
in which to burrow, and the various sorts of food in
which they delight.

603

THE PETERKINS' FOURTH OF JULY.

THE PETERKINS CELEBRATE THE FOURTH
OF JULY.

BY LUCRETIA P. HALE.

SHE day began early.
,, .,i ., J A compact had been
i made with the little boys
I the evening before.
They were to be al-
lowed to usher in the
glorious day by the
blowing of horns ex-
actly at sunrise. But
they were to blow them
for precisely five minutes only, and no sound of the
horns should be heard afterward till the family
were down-stairs.
It was thought that a peace might thus be bought
by a short though crowded period of noise.
The morning came. Even before the morning,
at half-past three o'clock, a terrible blast of the
horns aroused the whole family,
Mrs. Peterkin clasped her hands to her head and
exclaimed: I am thankful the lady from Phila-
delphia is not here For she had been invited to
stay a week, but had declined to come before the
Fourth of July, as she was not well, and her doctor
had prescribed quiet.
And the number of the horns was most remark-
able i It was as though every cow in the place
had arisen and was blowing through both her own
horns !
How many little boys are there ? How many
have we ?" exclaimed Mr. Peterkin, going over
their names one by one mechanically, thinking he
would do it, as he might count imaginary sheep
jumping over a fence, to put himself to sleep.
Alas the counting could not put him to sleep now
in such a din.
And how unexpectedly long the five minutes
seemed Elizabeth Eliza was to take out her watch
and give the signal for the end of the five minutes
and the ceasing of the horns. Why did not the
signal come ? Why did not Elizabeth Eliza stop
them ?
And certainly it was long before sunrise; there
was no dawn to be seen !
"We will not try this plan again," said Mrs.
Peterkin.
If we live to another Fourth," added Mr. Peter-
kin, hastening to the door, to inquire into the state
of affairs.
Alas Amanda, by mistake, had waked up the
little boys an hour too early. And by another mis-

take the little boys had invited three or four of their
friends to spend the night with them. Mrs. Peter-
kin had given them permission to have the boys
for the whole day, and they understood the day as
beginning when they went to bed the night before.
This accounted for the number of horns.
It would have been impossible to hear any ex-
planation ; but the five minutes were over, and the
horns had ceased, and there remained only the
noise of a singular leaping of feet, explained per-
haps by a possible pillow-fight, that kept the family
below partially awake until the bells and cannon
made known the dawning of the glorious day-the
sunrise, or the rising of the sons," as Mr. Peter-
kin jocosely called it when they heard the little
boys and their friends clattering down the stairs
to begin the outside festivities.
They were bound first for the swamp, for Eliza-
beth Eliza, at the suggestion of the lady from
Philadelphia, had advised them to hang some flags
around the pillars of the piazza. Now the little
boys knew of a place in the swamp where they had
been in the habit of digging for flag-root," and
where they might find plenty of flag flowers. They
did bring away all they could, but they were a little
out of bloom. The boys were in the-midst of nailing
up all they had on the pillars of the piazza, when
the procession of the Antiques and Horribles passed
along. As the procession saw the festive arrange-
ments on the piazza, and the crowd of boys, who
cheered them loudly, it stopped to salute the house
with some especial strains of greeting.
Poor Mrs. Peterkin They were directly under
her windows In the few moments of quiet during
the boys' absence from the house on their visit to
the swamp, she had been trying to find out whether
she had a sick-headache, or whether it was all the
noise, and she was just deciding it was the sick-
headache, but was falling into a light slumber,
when the fresh noise outside began.
There were the imitations of the crowing of cocks
and braying of donkeys, and the sound of horns,
encored and increased by the cheers of the boys.
Then began, the torpedoes, and the Antiques and
Horribles had Chinese crackers also !
And, in despair of sleep,.the family came down
to breakfast.
Mrs. Peterkin had always been much afraid of
fire-works, and had never allowed the boys to bring
gunpowder into the house. She was even afraid of

[JULY,

s877.] THE PETERKINS' FOURTH OF JULY. 605

torpedoes; they looked so much like sugar-plums,
she was sure some of the children would swallow
them, and explode before anybody knew it.
She was very timid about other things. She
was not sure even about pea-nuts. Everybody ex-
claimed over this: Surely there was no danger in
pea-nuts!" But Mrs. Peterkin declared she had
been very much alarmed at the Exhibition, and in
the crowded corners of the streets in Boston, at the
pea-nut stands, where they had machines to roast
the pea-nuts. She did not think it was safe. They
might go off any time, in the midst of a crowd of
people, too !
Mr. Peterkin thought there actually was no dan-
ger, and he should be sorry to give up the pea-nut.
He thought it an American institution, something
really belonging to the Fourth of July. He even
confessed to a quiet pleasure in crushing the empty
shells with his feet on the sidewalks as he went
along the streets.
Agamemnon thought it a simple joy.
In consideration, however, of the fact that they)
had had no real celebration of the Fourth the last
year, Mrs. Peterkin had consented to give over the
day, this year, to the amusement of the family as a
Centennial celebration. She would prepare her-
self for a terrible noise-only she did not want any
gunpowder brought into the house.
The little boys had begun by firing some tor-
pedoes a few days beforehand, that their mother
might be used to the sound, and had selected their
horns some weeks before.
Solomon John had been very busy in inventing
some fire-works. As Mrs. Peterkin objected to the
use of gunpowder, he found out from the dictionary
what the different parts of gunpowder are-salt-
peter, charcoal, and sulphur. Charcoal he dis-
covered they had in the wood-house ; saltpeter they
would find in the cellar, in the beef-barrel; and
sulphur they could buy at the apothecary's. He
explained to his mother that these materials had
never yet exploded in the house, and she was
quieted.
Agamemnon, meanwhile, remembered a recipe
he had read somewhere for making a fulminating
paste" of iron filings and powder of brimstone.
He had it written down on a piece of paper in his
pocket-book. But the iron filings must be finely
powdered. This they began upon a day or two
before, and, the very afternoon before, laid out some
of the paste on the piazza.
Pin-wheels and rockets were contributed by Mr.
Peterkin for the evening. According to a pro-
gramme drawn up by Agamemnon and Solomon
John, the reading of the Declaration of Independ-
ence was to take place in the morning on the piazza
under the flags.

The Bromwiches brought over their 1i to hang
over the door.
"That is what the lady from Philadelphia
meant," explained Elizabeth Eliza.
She said flags of our country," said the little
.boys. We thought she meant 'in the country.' "
Quite a company assembled ; but it seemed no-
body had a copy of the Declaration of Independ-
ence.
Elizabeth Eliza said she could say one line, if
they each could add as much. But it proved they
all knew the same line that she did, as they began :
When, in the course of-when, in the course
of-when, in the course of human-when, in the
course of human events-when, in the course of
human events, it becomes-when, in the course
of human events, it becomes necessary-when, in
the course of human events, it becomes necessary
for one people -"
They could not get any farther. Some of the
party decided that "one people was a good place
to stop, and the little boys sent off some fresh tor-
pedoes in honor of the people. But Mr. Peterkin
was not satisfied. He invited the assembled party
to stay until sunset, and meanwhile he would find a
copy, and torpedoes were to be saved to be fired
off at the close of every sentence.
And now the noon bells rang and the noon bells
ceased.
Mrs. Peterkin wanted to ask everybody to din-
ner. She should have some cold beef. She had
let Amanda go, because it was the Fourth, and
everybody ought to be free that one day, so she
could not have much of a dinner. But when she
went to cut her beef, she found Solomon John had
taken it to soak, on account of the saltpeter for the
fire-works !
Well, they had a pig, so she took a ham, and
the boys had bought tamarinds and buns and a
cocoa-nut. So the company stayed on, and when
the Antiques and Horribles passed again, they were
treated to pea-nuts and lemonade.
They sang patriotic songs, they told stories ; they
fired torpedoes, they frightened the cats with them.
It was a warm afternoon ; the red poppies were out
wide, and the hot sun poured down on the alley-
ways in the garden. There was a seething sound
of a hot day in the buzzing of insects, in the steam-
ing heat that came up from the ground. Some
neighboring boys were firing a toy cannon. Every
time it went off, Mrs. Peterkin started, and looked
to see if one of the little boys was gone. Mr.
Peterkin had set out to find a copy of the Dec-
laration." Agamemnon had disappeared. She had
not a moment to decide about her headache. She
asked Ann Maria if she were not anxious about
the fire-works, and if rockets were not dangerous.

THE PETERKINS' FOURTH OF JULY.

They went up, but you were never sure where they
came down.
And then came a fiesh tumult All the fire-
engines in town rushed toward them, clanging with
bells, men and boys yelling They were out for a
practice, and for a Fourth of July show.
Mrs. Peterkin thought the house was on fire, and
so did some of the guests. There was great rushing
hither and thither. Some thought they would better
go home, some thought they would better stay. Mrs.
Peterkin hastened into the house to save herself,
or see what she could save. Elizabeth Eliza followed
her, first proceeding to collect all the pokers and
tongs she could find, because they could be thrown
out of the window without breaking. She had read
of people who had flung looking-glasses out of
window by mistake, in the excitement of the house
being on fire, and had carried the pokers and tongs
carefully into the garden. There was nothing like
being prepared. She always had determined to do
the reverse. So with calmness she told Solomon
John to take down the looking-glasses. But she
met with a difficulty,-there were no pokers and
tongs, as they did not use them. They had no
open fires ; Mrs. Peterkin had been afraid of them.
So Elizabeth Eliza took all the pots and kettles up
to the upper windows, ready to be thrown out.
But where was Mrs. Peterkin ? Solomon John
found she had fled to the attic in terror. He per-
suaded her to come down, assuring her it was the
most unsafe place ; but she insisted upon stopping
to collect some bags of old pieces, that nobody
would think of saving from the general wreck, she
said, unless she did. Alas this was the result of
fire-works on Fourth of July As they came down-
stairs, they heard the voices of all the company
declaring there was no fire-the danger was past.
It was long before Mrs. Peterkin could believe it.
They told her the fire company was only out for
show, and to celebrate the Fourth of July. She
thought it already too much celebrated.
Elizabeth Eliza's kettles and pans had come down
through the windows with a crash, that had only
added to the festivities, the little boys thought.
Mr. Peterkin had been about all this time in
search of a copy of the Declaration of Independ-
ence. The public library was shut, and he had to
go from house to house; but now as the sunset
bells and cannon began, he returned with a copy,
and read it, to the pealing of the bells and sound-
ing of the cannon. Torpedoes and crackers were
fired at every pause. Some sweet-marjoram pots,
tin cans filled with crackers which were lighted,
went off with great explosions.
At the most exciting moment, near the close of
the reading, Agamemnon, with an expression of
terror, pulled Solomon John aside.

I have suddenly remembered where I read
about the 'fulminating paste' we made. It was
in the preface to 'Woodstock,' and I have been
around to borrow the book, to read the directions
over again, because I was afraid about the 'paste'
going off. READ THIS QUICKLY! and tell me,
TWhere is the fulmnainang asle ?"
Solomon John was busy winding some covers of
paper over a little parcel. It contained chlorate
of potash and sulphur mixed. A friend had told
him of the composition. The more thicknesses
of paper you put around it, the louder it would go
off. You must pound it with a hammer. Solomon
John felt it must be perfectly safe, as his mother
had taken potash for a medicine.
He still held the parcel as he read from Aga-
memnon's book: This paste, when it has lain
together about twenty-six hours, will of itself take
fire, and burn all the sulphur away with a blue
flame and a bad smell."
Where is the paste ? repeated Solomon John,
in terror.
We made it just twenty-six hours ago," said
Agamemnon.
We put it on the piazza," exclaimed Solomon
John, rapidly recalling the facts, ': and it is in front
of mother's feet "
He hastened to snatch the paste away before it
should take fire, flinging aside the packet in his
hurry. Agamemnon, jumping upon the piazza at
the same moment, trod upon the paper parcel,
which exploded at once with the shock, and he fell
to the ground, while at the same moment the
paste fulminated" into a blue flame directly in
front of Mrs. Peterkin !
It was a moment of great confusion. There
were cries and screams. The bells were still ring-
ing, the cannon firing, and Mr. Peterkin had just
reached the closing words: Our lives, our fortune,
and our sacred honor."
We are all blown up, as I feared we should
be," Mrs. Peterkin at length ventured to say, find-
ing herself in a lilac-bush by the side of the piazza.
She scarcely dared to open her eyes to see the
scattered limbs about her.
It was so with all. Even Ann Maria Bromwich
clutched a pillar of the piazza, with closed eyes.
At length, Mr. Peterkin said, calmly : "Is any-
body killed ? "
There was no reply. Nobody could tell whether
it was because everybody was killed, or because
they were too wounded to answer. It was a great
while before Mrs. Peterkin ventured to move.
But the little boys soon shouted with joy and
cheered the success of Solomon John's fire-works,
and hoped he had some more. One of them had
his face blackened by an unexpected cracker, and

6o6

[JULY,

SWIMMING.

Elizabeth Eliza's muslin dress was burned here and
there. But no one was hurt; no one had lost any
limbs, though Mrs. Peterkin was sure she had seen
some flying in the air. Nobody could understand
how, as she had kept her eyes firmly shut.
No greater accident had occurred than the singe-
ing of the tip of Solomon John's nose. But there
was an unpleasant and terrible odor from the
"fulminating paste."
Mrs. Peterkin was extricated from the lilac-bush.
No one knew how she got there. Indeed, the
thundering noise had stunned everybody. It had
roused the neighborhood even more than before.
Answering explosions came on every side, and
though the sunset light had not faded away, the

little boys hastened to send off rockets under cover
of the confusion. Solomon John's other fire-works
would not go. But all felt he had done enough.
Mrs. Peterkin retreated into the parlor, deciding
she really.did have a headache. At times she had
to come out when a rocket went off, to see if it was
one of the little boys. She was exhausted by the
adventures of the day, and almost thought it could
not have been worse if the boys had been allowed
gunpowder. The distracted lady was thankful
there was likely to be but one Centennial Fourth
in her life-time, and declared she should never
more keep anything in the house as dangerous as
saltpetered beef, and she should never venture to
take another spoonful of potash.

A TALK ABOUT SWIMMING.

BY SANFORD B. HUNT.

HANGING in the shrouds of a sinking ship on a
wild November afternoon, the engine-room flooded
from the leak, the steam-pumps not able to work,
my back tortured beyond endurance with hard
labor at the levers of the hand-pump, the deck
swept by the bursting seas, a wild and angry sky
above, the lee shore perfectly horrible in the tem-
pest of its waves and the thunder of the surf that
went rolling and charging by squadrons of billows
over a half mile of low sandy bottom, I asked
myself whether, if the ship broke up, I could man-
age the under-tow,-that merciless drag backward
of the sea, the topmost wave washing the swimmer
illusively toward the shore, the undermost sucking
him down and out. I said to myself an emphatic
"Yes But the experiment was spared me, and
I got ashore next morning in a life-boat. Ever
since that awful hour and night, I have had a

sincere respect for the science and art of swim-
ming, in which, next to God, then rested all my
hope and trust.
But before we talk about fighting an under-tow
in a wicked sea-way, let us discuss the principles
and methods of swimming. To drown in a
river, with the shore only a few yards away, when
any dog or donkey would reach the land, must
involve a feeling of personal humiliation as well
as despair. To be self-trustworthy is the first
thing in moments of danger ; but the art of swim-
ming has a high value in the saving of other
lives, and is, besides, a luxury and accomplishment
worth the having, for the mere fun of the thing.
In our civilization, swimming is an acquired ac-
complishment. It is understood to be a natural
function with nearly all kinds of animals, hogs and
humanity being the leading exceptions. The in-

607

60o8

SWIMMING.

[JULY,

ability to swim is in all cases a defect of educa- swimming you must lie low. The legs should be
tion. If we do not know already, let us learn how. well under, and so should the hands. The atti-
tude should be as in the first illus-
/ tration,-the chin in the water, the
S legs at an angle of thirty-three
degrees. The theory is that you
should use the feet as a counter-
-- __-- _.- -___ poise to the head,-the chest, the
-: ----- buoyant part of the body, being
S-. -. the fulcrum of the lever. If your
S .--- ''" .- heels go up, your head will go
down. Now stop a-.i..i..i ., aban-
-- -. .. don the grip of your hands on the
S -- bottom, keep your head toward the
.. ''- shore, and strike out. The first
illustration will show the attitude.
/" Two feet depth of water is enough
for the lesson.
THE P'ROP'ER POSITION.
THE iROPR POSON. Keep both hands well under
To an expert swimmer, sinking is impossible, ex- water. You can't swim in the air. Hold your
cept from cramp or exhaustion. The weight of a fingers together, the palms of the hands slightly
human body is just about that of the water it dis- hollowed, the head well back, the chest inflated,
places ; but the body weight is unevenly distributed, and strike with all four limbs in unison of move-
the lungs being the bladder and the head the sinker, ment. The hands and the feet will act as pro-
-so that the first rule in swimming is to keep the pellers, the hands moving backward and down-
head well back on the shoulders, where it will rest ward as low as the hips, and well outside of the
immediately above the lungs. But before this, the body, the feet drawing together and pushing down
beginner should observe a few rules of safety. at the same moment. Give full spread to your
Get accustomed to the shock of water. Wade hands and feet. Their resistance to the water is
slowly into a smooth shallow place, turn and face your propelling force. Then gather, frog fashion,
toward the shore, duck under in water deep enough and repeat the motion. You rid yourself of the
to cover the body, get your head wet, hold sense of danger by
your breath when under, snort as you come .. keeping in shallow
to the air again, resisting the inclination to water and striking
breathe in first; and then, in a depth of a toward shore.
foot or two, lie down, face downward, and .. Work in that
touch the tips of your fingers on the bed of way a while, and
the stream. You will find that a very slight / the temptation will
lift, hardly two ounces, will keep your head I, be irresistible to
afloat, but not your heels. Use them as swim from shore;
oars. Drop out backward into deeper water, but it should be
walking on your finger-tips, and you will carefully indulged
find that the more of your body is under until you feel sure
water the less weight you have to carry. of yourself.
The only parts to keep in the air are your When you have
lips and nostrils. Make these the only ex- .thus learned to
posed surface ; hollow your loins, and carry ,, swim a half-dozen
your head well back, so as to have it per- strokes, all the
pendicular to the lungs. rest is mere prac-
All this is mere paddling; but you will tice in a delight-
soon find that keeping afloat is no trouble, ful school, where
unless you keep too high and try to swim as there is more fun
much in the air as in the water. You must than work. Water
remember that you have to displace as much -- frolics are high
weight of water as the weight of your own sport, and the best
body. You cannot walk upon the waves or --- frolic of all is a
climb out of them without a support. In -- good dive.

SWIMMING.

The fun of a good dive is fun indeed. I have
often fetched bottom at fifteen feet, and brought
up a big stone to prove to my comrades that I had
been "clean down." But once, in water like crystal,
in the Upper Lakes, where the pebbles could be
seen at the bottom, I came rushing up with my
head cracking, and saw an old fellow grinning at

lecture of the same length were too much to pay
for that one dizzy, sidewise rush through the air.
If I had taken my leaden head for a plummet, I
should have been spared the blisters on my body.
I ought to have dived.
"Floating" is the best illustration of the real
buoyancy of the human body. It needs only self-

--II I

"HE INFORMED ME THAT THE WATER WAS TWENTY-SIX FEET DEEP."

me. I hung breathless to a wharf-pile, and he
casually informed me that the water was twenty-six
feet deep, "thar or tharabouts."
Jumping from a height is a doubtful job. Recol-
lect that in everything connected with swimming
you are top-heavy, and that water is incompressible.
If you get off your balance while dropping, and
fall on your side, either you will be drowned or
your mother will need, next day, all the cold cream
in the neighborhood. I have painful recollections
on that subject. Two days in bed and a maternal
VOL. IV.-40.

possession and still water. There are two attitudes,
one of which seems the more scientific, but which I
never worked with any considerable success. It is
accurately shown in the first illustration on the
following page, in which the position pictured is
theoretically correct. I have seen such floating
done with not the motion of a muscle, except as
the lungs were kept inflated. Only the mouth and
nostrils are out of water, and the arms, extended
backward, balance the legs, the lungs being at the
fulcrum. But as a personal habit I float better

P8~rsPoaP;raeaa~e~ax~eort~ssaas~~

609

"

SWIMMING.

with my legs deeper in the water, and my hands
wrapped under the small of my back, the body in
a semi-perpendicular position. You have plenty
of time to breathe if you are only self-confident.
In "treading water" there is a nice illustration
of buoyancy. It is a great rest sometimes. The

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

-

FLOATING.

propulsive force of the tread of the soles of the feet
against the water below them, with the buoyant
power of the lungs supporting the head perpen-
dicularly above them, carry the head clear out of
water, and make a lazy but secure support. The
hands should rest quietly on the hips, as shown in
the picture below. There are a dozen other feats
in swimming, such as swimming on the back, which
is lazier than any other method.

LIFE RESCUE.
The true plan to follow, when safety is the call,
is to swim with everything below the chin well
down under water, the head well back and resting
centrally on the floating power of the lungs. But
what will you do when your comrade is tired out
and drowning? That depends. If he is cool and
reliable, get in front of him, let him place his hands
on your hips (not your shoulders), and you can
carry him quite a distance. That supposes that
both parties, rescued and rescuer, understand fair
play. The weaker party is the one that ought to
drown, if he shows any disposition to drown his
friend by a miserable, cowardly death-clutch at the
only floating thing around him. In the case of the
death-clutch, go to the bottom with your man and
leave him there. There may be an unpleasant
wrestle, but the real drowning man is ready to quit
his prey when he strikes bottom. The better man has
his right to come to the surface and swim ashore.
But in a considerable swimming experience, and
some rescues, there comes one absolute rule:
Never face a drowning man. He welcomes rescue
so eagerly that he will hug you around the neck
and take you down. The safest and best thing tc

do is to get behind him, and, unless you are left-
handed, put your left hbnd under his right arn-pit.
The lift you give him will be enough in ordinary
water. He can be coaxed to help himself, and if he
is a reasonable being you can bring him to shore.
If he is insane with fright, recollect that you are to
be both prudent and heroic. Get
away from him, clutch his ankle
with one hand and tow him ashore.
- If the bank is near, he is not likely
to drown on the way. If he does,
it is not your fault. But a brave
swimmer is master of his element.
I saw two lads-I saw one of them,
at least-carry a companion, who
could not swim, across a deep, broad
S and rapid river, just for a frolic.
It was a reckless thing to do, and
S" the three were used up when they
staggered to the shore. They re-
i.-' crossed from a point up the river,
where they found a good light pine
slab, and towed John across on that.
But those same two young scamps once rescued
a drowning comrade in a way that was remarkable
for its neatness. The poor fellow was in mid-
stream, cramped and exhausted, and barely able to
keep afloat. Which was first was never decided,
but in the critical moment each was behind him.

ii V

N. ;-

(

K.~t '

TREADING WATER.

each with a hand under an arm-pit; he was almost
a dead-weight on their hands, and they swam him

6io

[JuLY,

JI

SWIMMING.

,Ic~i~

- T~-.--~ -

SAVING A COMRADE.

ashore, more dead than alive. It was a struggle,
but they were the masters of the situation.

THE UNDER-TOW.
I began this gossip first with a mention of the
"under-tow." It is by no means a "phenomenon,"
but something to be read up and studied. Either
on the sea-beach or at the great lakes, all the water
that is tumbled ashore in heavy waves must go back
again. The top-sea rolls in and the under-sea rolls
out. Trust to the former. Keep clear afloat and

as high as you can.
given you about ds
friendship of the
shorewardwvave.
Otherwise, if,
when you are
within ten feet
of shore and
safety, you drop
your legs to the
angle of thirty-
three degrees,
which is the
deep-swimming
position, you
will find that the
" under-tow "-
the under water
that flows out

Abandon the rule I have
eep swimming. Secure the

-m-I <: ,

to replace the waves that run in--will grab you by
the ankles and pull you out and down again. Keep
clear afloat, your head well down, your heels feel-
ing the topmost of the impelling wave; keep your
lungs well filled, and wash ashore. You are not safe
until you can easily fasten your hands in the sand
or gravel and pull yourself to land. But in shallow
water, with a long surf i.:.0 in behind you, the
drag of the under-tow can only be avoided by
swimming high and letting the waves "buck you
in. The rules for still water and rapid river cur-
rents, in which deep swimming is safety, do not
apply to mastering an under-tow. Swim shallow
and trust the
topmost wave.
Perhaps I
ought to add a
word about ice
rescue, where a
S. fellow skating on
-- --. thin ice breaks
', ----.... through, and,
S- ,: -----.- '- heading toward
shore with a
pair of skates on
his heels, cracks
off successive
chunks of ice
until he is sur-
NDERTW. rounded by
NDK.RTrOW.

THE LITTLE BROWN SEED IN THE FURROW.

"WELL, FELLOWS, YOU DID THAT NICELY!"

them. It is the coldest kind of a baptism, and
the hardest kind of a rescue. I was an actor in
one when a college chum "slumped" through.
The ice was unsafe, and we fished him out by
knocking off fence-boards, sliding them out, lying
face-downward on the boards, other fence-boards

being slid out to us. He got hold of one, climbed
to the surface of the ice with the ready skill of a
practiced swimmer, and said, with rattling teeth in
the zero atmosphere : "Well, fellows, you did that
nicely !" The remark was rather impathetic, but
it was literally true.

THE LITTLE BROWN SEED IN THE FURROW.

BY IDA W. BENHAM.

A LITTLE brown seed in the furrow
Lay still in its gloomy bed,
While violets blue and lilies white
Were whispering overhead.
They whispered of glories strange and rare,
Of glittering dew, and floating air,
Of beauty and rapture everywhere,-
And the seed heard all they said.

Poor little brown seed in the furrow !
So close to the lilies' feet,
So far away from the great, glad day,
Where life seemed all complete!
In her heart she treasured every word,
And she longed for the blessing of which she heard,
For the light that shone, and the airs that stirred
In that land, so wondrous sweet!

612

[JULY,

1877.] THE STARS IN JULY. 613

The little brown seed in the furrow
Was thrilled with a strange unrest;
A warm new hope beat tremblingly
In the tiny, heaving breast;
With her two small hands clasped close in prayer,
She lifted them up in the darkness there;
Up, up through the sod, toward sun and air,
Her folded hands she pressed.

O little brown seed in the furrow,
At last you have pierced the mould I
And, quivering with a life intense,
Your beautiful leaves unfold,
Like wings outspread for upward flight;
And slowly, slowly, in dew and light,
A sweet bud opens-till, in God's sight,
You wear a crown of gold !

THE STARS IN JULY.

BY RICHARD A. PROCTOR.

THE northern sky below the pole is now chiefly
remarkable for the absence of large stars. It has
always seemed to me that this large, desolate re-
gion of the sky is full of meaning, and that when
the architecture of the heavens comes to be rightly
understood, we shall find why it is that this region
is thus barren. That the feature is not accidental
I am satisfied, from a number of experiments I have
made on the random scattering of points.
The head of the Dragon is now almost-exactly
above the pole. Not far from the point overhead
shines the beautiful steel-blue star Vega.
Although the map shows a part of Auriga (the
Charioteer), and notably the bright star Capella,
yet only the star 6 of this constellation can be
seen in America at the hours named below the
map; nor can even this star be seen from places
south of the latitude of Nashville (Tenn.), or there-
abouts.
Turning to the south a splendid star is seen, far
outshining all his fellows. This star, as I mentioned
last month, is the planet, Jupiter. He is not shown
in our southern map for this month, simply because
that map is not meant for this year, 1877, alone;
but for I878-'79-'8o, and onward. It will, indeed,
present the aspect of the southern skies at the
hours named for many years after you, and I, and
our children, and grandchildren, are dead and (let
us hope) buried. But in order that Jupiter's present
visit to this region may not confuse the learner, I
have given elsewhere in this number a picture of
his path, and a sketch of the planet himself, which
will, I hope, be interesting to you.
The ruling constellation of the zodiac this month
is Sagittarius (the Archer). In the second figure for
last month, his bow-arm, bow, and arrow appear.
I do not think it is necessary to give a full picture of

this worthy. He is commonly presented as a cen-
taur, though it is not easy to imagine the figure of
a centaur among the stars of this constellation.
The bow, however, is fairly well marked.
Admiral Smyth tells us that, in the days of
Eratosthenes, the constellation Sagittarius was
pictured as a satyr; and so it appears on the
Farnese globe.
From places in the latitude of New Orleans, the
constellation Ara, or the Altar, can be partly seen.
In England, as you can see by the position of the
horizon of London, we not only see no part of this
constellation, but a large part of the curved tail of
Scorpio is hidden from our view. We see more,
low down toward the north, than you do at the same
time in America. But, on the whole, you have
the advantage. For, while all the northern stars
which we see in England at hours when they are
invisible to you are at other times well seen by you,
we never see the southern stars which are shown in
the southern maps of this series as lying below the
horizon of London. Thus, comparing London with
New Orleans, a zone of the stars, about twenty-one
degrees and a half in width (extending, in fact,
from 380 26' south of the equator to 600 3' south)
is visible from New Orleans beyond the portion of
the heavens visible from London. This zone is
equal in extent to more than a sixth part of the
entire celestial sphere.
The constellation Ara, though now so far south
that it cannot be seen from the latitude of Philadel-
phia, nor entirely from any latitude north of 290 S.,
belongs to the 48 of Ptolemy's time, and was for-
merly well raised above the horizon of places in
latitude 400 S. That reeling of the earth, like a
top, of which I have already spoken,-a move-
ment having for its period nearly 25,9oo years,-

614 THE STARS IN JULY.

J ULY,

has, within the last 4,000 years
or so (the probable age of the
old constellations), so shifted
the position of the earth's axis
in space," that this constellation
has been thrown out of view
from places whence, at the be-
ginning of these 4,000 years, it
could be well seen. Probably it
was some later astronomer, who
had never seen this constella-
tion, who first made the mistake
of drawing it upside down. As
the constellation was never seen
except when due south, just
above the horizon, it is certain
that it must have been imagined,
by those who formed it, as stand-
ing an upright altar in the south.
But modern pictures draw it so
that, at the only time when it
was visible, it would have had to
be imagined as having its top
with the flaming.wood upon it
just. touching.the horizon, while
its base would have been above.
This is so absurd that I vent-
ured, some eleven years ago, in
a set of drawings of the constella-
tion figures, to set the altar on its
base again. I was confirmed in
my opinion that this was right,
by the fact that on the Farnese
globe, and in a chart by Geru-
vigus (Harleian MS., 64) the
altar is represented in this up-
right position. Besides, the old
astronomical poet, Aratus, de-
scribes the Centaur as laying on
the altar (not applying to its in-
verted base) the body of some
beast unnamed,-the modern
Lupus; while Manilius, a Latin
poet (who wrote probably in the
reign of Tiberius), speaks of the altar as "bear- ferens thuris stellis imnitantibus ignem). An in-
ing fire of frankincense, pictured by stars "- (Ara, verted altar cannot "bear" anything. Besides, you

The young reader must not here fall into the mistake of supposing that the position of the axis in the earth itself has changed in this way.
This mistake is commonly made, and not by young learners, who may well be excused for falling into it, but by persons who suppose them-
selves in a position to teach. For instance: In Jules Verne's entertaining story, Captain Hatteras," the following passage occurs, in which
this error is introduced: I told you,' resumed the doctor, who took as much pleasure in giving as the others did in receiving instruction,-
' I told you that the pole was motionless in comparison with the rest of the globe. Well, that is not quite true What !' said Bell, 'has
that got to be taken back ?' 'Yes, Bell, the pole is not always exactly in the same place; formerly the North Star was farther from the
celestial pole than it is now. So our pole has a certain motion; it describes a circle in about 26,ooo years. This comes from the precession
of the equinoxes, of which I shall speak soon.'" The actual effect of the precession of the equinoxes may be thus illustrated. Imagine
top shaped like a ball, spinning rapidly on its axis, and very slowly reeling, its axis being inclined about 23a degrees from the vertical, or
toward a point rather more than one fourth of the way from the point overhead toward the horizon. Let this spinning and reeling ball be
carried around a much larger globe, glowing with light and heat, to represent the sun. Then, if the ball turns 3653 times on its axis while
it is going once around the large globe, and reels so slowly that it could be carried 25,868 times around the large globe in making a single
complete reel, it would illustrate the earth's motion of rotating (or spinning) once a day, of revolution (or of being carried around the sun)
once a year, and of precession (or reeling) once in 25,868 years. The poles of the earth no more change than the position of the axis of a top
within the wood; but the pole of the heavens (that is, the point toward which the axis is directed) makes a circuit once in 25,868 years,
just as the point of the sky toward which the axis of a top is directed circuits once around the point overhead in each reel of the top.

614

THE STARS IN JULY.

THE STARS IN JULY.

can see how the smoke of the
fire really is pictured by the g
Milky Way, when orice the top
of the altar is set toward a, or
upward.
Overhead are the Lyre and
Hercules; but neither is well
placed for observation.
We have now reached the
most southerly part of the eclip-
tic, marked by the symbol e,
which indicates the point where
the sun, moving in the direction
shown by the arrow, enters the
sign Capricornus, which he does
on or about December 20.
The Milky Way toward the
south at this season is well worth
studying. It is strange when we
look at those complex branches,
loops, and curdling masses, to
find most of our books of astron-
omy still asserting that the Milky
Way is a faint stream of misty
light circling the celestial sphere,
and divided into two along half
its length. Remembering, too,
that the Milky Way is entirely
made up of clustering stars, as
sands on the sea-shore for mul-
titude, each star being a sun
glowing with its own inherent
light and heat, startling thoughts
are suggested respecting the im-
mensity of the universe when we
find clouds of these stars strewn
through space. M I
Not far from the star of
Ophiuchus is shown the place
where, in 1604, a new star ap-
peared, which shone for a while
more brightly than any of the
fixed stars. "It was exactly,"
says the account, "like one of the
stars, except that, in the vividness of its luster and
the quickness of its sparkling, it exceeded anything
Kepler had ever seen before. It was every mo-
ment changing into some of the colors of the rain-
bow, as yellow, orange, purple, and red, though
it was generally white when it was at some distance
from the vapors of the horizon." These changes

of color were, of course, due entirely to our own air.
Similar changes can always be seen in the color
of a star shining near the horizon, as you can see
by observing Antares. Kepler's star only pre-
served its full luster for about three weeks, after
which it gradually grew fainter, until toward the
end of 1605 it disappeared.

615

A BOY'S LIFE ON A MAN-OF-WAR.

A BOY'S LIFE ON A MAN-OF-WAR.

BY A NAVAL OFFICER.

A MAN-OF-WAR is a world of wonder and romance
to a boy. Everything about it has a charm for him.
the imposing hull, hundreds of feet long; the
mazy net-work of rigging; the frowning battery;
the officers, in trim, flashing uniforms, pacing the
decks and giving orders to the active men,-these
bring his curiosity and admiration to the highest
pitch. In looking upon it all he feels that he would
like to go with it to the ends of the earth.
It was a rare event in the life of the boy about
whom I am to write, when he came to live on
board such a ship. Unlike most boys in naval
vessels, he was under no restraint, having no
drudgery and but little work to do. His father,
a captain in the navy, when ordered to command
the ship, brought his little son with him to teach
him the ways of sailor life. The boy was named
after Admiral Porter, and he loved the sea.
The ship to which he came lay, at the time of
this writing, in one of New England's most beauti-
ful harbors. From the shore, she presented a fine
appearance. Her freshly painted hull shone like
enamel in the bright sunlight, and her yards and
spars glistened almost like marble shafts. Sixty
massive guns projected from her ports, and hun-
dreds of officers and men filled her decks and
rigging with life and movement. The American
navy could boast of no more stanch and handsome
frigate. Besides, she had a history. She was one
of the ships present at the capture of Fort Fisher
during the late war, when her bows were badly
shattered. That she had been in battle, covered
her with glory in the eyes of our young friend, and
he stepped on board proudly and reverently.
Before many days, Porter had gained a good
knowledge of the ship and of the routine of life on
board, and had made many warm friends among
the men. They explained the use of everything he
saw, and told him such sea "yarns" as only old
man-of-war's men can "spin." He followed the
sailors aloft, and with the machinists and firemen
visited strange depths, where he spent much time
wondering at the huge machines and furnaces.
Dressed in woolen from head to foot, with not
even a penknife in his pocket, he went into the
magazine. In entering such a store-room of gun-
powder, not even cotton clothes may be worn, and
no metal in any shape is allowed about the person.
The magazine was lighted from without by a lan-
tern shining through thick glass. The powder was
stowed in little closets on either side, so made that

in case of fire they could be flooded in a moment.
Air-tight tanks contained in other tanks, with the
spaces between lined with packing, held the pow-
der. Had one of the tanks fallen into a moderate
fire, it could have been easily gotten out before the
flames should have reached the powder. The need
of all this precaution was explained to Porter, and
after this visit to the magazine he had but little
wish to play with gunpowder.
It was not long before Porter could describe the
different parts of a ship as easily as he could the

ON GUARD.
rooms of his father's house, and then he turned his
attention to the men. On a man-of-war, the crew
is arranged into divisions, watches, and messes,
each man knowing to which he belongs, as well as
a boy knows his classes in a school. It took Porter
some time to learn these; but at length he became
familiar with them all, and even knew the duties
of the petty officers, from "Jack-of-the-dust" to
the captain of the main-top.
So well were the men drilled that in the least
possible time each one could be at his post. They
had been trained so as to be ready for all sorts of

616

[JULY,

C.g

1877.] WHAT MADE MR. TOMPKINS LAUGH. 617

events. Sometimes, at night, the cry of fire would
ring through the ship, and in a few moments every
pump would be hard at work, and every pipe spout-
ing water furiously. This was done to prepare the
men for prompt action should a fire really break
out. At other times the men would be aroused, at
dead of night, to fight sham battles, and then volley
after volley would shake the sea, and to vessels
sailing near, a terrible sea-fight would seem to be
taking place. Of course Porter joined in these
occasions with the utmost enthusiasm.
Every war-vessel of any size has a marine-guard.
The men making up this guard are sea-soldiers.
They wear the uniform of United States' soldiers,
but do duty in the navy. They are a dread to
would-be mutineers; for in all their history marines
have never been known to join in a mutiny. The
showy appearance of these men, in full uniform,
under the command of a dashing officer, captivated
Porter's fancy, and he longed to join the guard.
His father let him do this, had a little uniform
made for him, and gave him a small rifle and a
knapsack. Thus equipped, Porter proudly took
his place in the ranks, as much according to regula-
tion, as he thought, as any man of the company.
No one ever told him that he was not regularly en-
listed and actually in the United States' service.
In a few weeks, Porter could drill, and did well
on parade. He insisted, from the first, upon being
assigned to the usual duties of marines; and while
at his post he was as grim as the oldest veteran,
permitting no familiarity from any one-not even
from lady friends who might come to visit the ship.
Porter shirked no duty on account of its hardship.
Indeed, he seemed rather proud of being called on
to do hard or unpleasant work. On cold days he

would stand and drill, with only thin gloves to hold
his rifle, and he would patrol the decks with his
hands so numb that he could scarcely handle the
weapon. Only when on the sick-list would he
yield his place to a fellow-marine.
At times, some of the guard would come on
board tipsy from "leave" ashore, and would have
to sober off in the "brig"-the ship's prison. So,
on one occasion, Porter feigned to be tipsy, claimed
his right to be put in the brig, and was led to prison
by the master-at-arms, while the crew pretended to
be awfully shocked On pay-days Porter would ap-
pear with the men to receive his month's "salary,"
-ten silver dimes, which, in his eyes, counted as
ten dollars. Part of his money went to pay his
"mess-bill," and what remained went anyhow.
In one thing Porter greatly excelled,-true cour-
age, and what always goes with it,-fortitude. Like
other boys, he was always meeting with accidents.
Once he fell overboard, and was rescued with diffi-
culty; another time, he fell and broke his arm.
Afterward, by exposure, he became very sick, so
that his life was almost despaired of. Yet not a
word of fear or complaint did he utter. One day,
he cut three of his fingers so badly that the ship's
surgeon at first thought they would have to be
amputated. His mother and sister were much
frightened, which seemed to move the boy a good
deal, and, looking up to his father, he said, This
is no place for women, is it, papa ?" And while
the surgeon sewed up the wounds Porter did not
even whimper.
For good conduct, Porter was promoted time
after time, until now he is sergeant of marines
and still actively employed on one of the finest
ships in the American navy.

WHAT MADE MR. TOMPKINS LAUGH.

BY ABBY MORTON DIAZ.

ONE afternoon, when those funny little twins, the
Jimmyjohns, were playing in the back yard, Mr.
Doty-the funny man, as we sometimes call him-
came jogging along. When he saw the little boys,
he stopped and began to push his hat up on one
side and to scratch his head, and to twinkle the
corners of his eyes. Then he began :
Oh You're out here. So you are. What
are you doing ? "
Making a flow," they answered, looking up
from the mud and water in which they stood.

Hem --well-why don't you go somewhere ?"
Ma wont let us."
"Wont she? Oh! No she wont, will she?
Well! Hem! Why don't you have a party?"
"'T is n't our birthday yet," cried Johnny, hop-
ping up and down with the pump-handle.
Well! Why not have a cocoa-nut party ? "
We have n't got any cocoa-nut."
Oh, I'll find a cocoa-nut" (holding up one).
" See here Where you going so fast ? "
To ask ma they shouted, running indoors.

WHAT MADE MR. TOMPKINS LAUGH.

The funny man's eyes twinkled, and up went his
hand to scratch his head again. Presently they
popped their heads out and asked:
When shall we have it ? "
Have it now," said Mr. Doty.
Have it now," they told their mother.
"Where ? asked Mrs. Plummer.
She says, 'where? '" shouted the Jimmies.
Out here on the grass," said Mr. Doty.
Out here on the grass," the Jimmies repeated.
"Who's to be invited?" asked Mrs. Plummer.
Who's to be invited?" asked the Jimmies.
"Invited? Well! Hem! Invite-anybody,"
said Mr. Doty. I'11 come; that makes one."
"And I'll make two!" cried Annetta, looking
out of the window.
What is it?-a party?" asked Hiram, step-
ping down from a high wood-pile with his long
legs. "Oh, I'll come! I 'I1 make three and a
half! What kind of a party is it? A birthday
party ?"
Oh no, indeed !" said Mr. Doty. Nothing of
that sort. 'Tis a cocoa-nut party."
Just then, little Effie came trotting along with
her arm-basket. Effie always carries her arm-
basket. At meal-times it hangs on her chair; at
night it is hung on a post of her crib.
Can you come to our party?" asked Mr. Doty.
No, I tant tum," said Effie, very soberly.
"What! Not come to a cocoa-nut party?"
cried Hiram.
No, I tant, tause my tittens' eyes have n't turn
opened 'et," said Effie.
"Ask the Jimmyjohns to wait till your kittens'
eyes come open," said Hiram.
Little Effie went close to the Jimmies, looked up
in their faces, and said: Dimmydons, will oo
wait till my tittens' eyes tum opened ?"
The Jimmies laughed; and so did another little
fellow who was then coming out of the house.
This was Clarence, a poor boy who came every day
with his basket to get anything in the shape of food.
Some people called him the little gentleman,"
because he had very good manners.
Do you want to stay to the party ?" Mr. Doty
asked Clarence.
If the Jimmyjohns will let me," he said.
"Yes yes You may come they shouted.
Can't cousin Floy be invited ?" asked Annetta.
She's here playing with me."
"By all means," said Hiram. "And there's
Mr. Tompkins-may be he'll come to the party."
Mr. Tompkins, the lobster man, had dropped his
wheelbarrow and come to look over the fence.
Mr. Tompkins can't leave his lobsters," said
Mr. Doty. '
"Party? Yes, yes. Always go to parties. Boy 'll

mind wheelbarrow," said Mr. Tompkins, in his
short, quick way. When is it going to begin ?"
Right off," said Mr. Doty.
What do you do first ?" asked Hiram.
Set the table," said Mr. Doty.
The girls must set the table," said Hiram.
Where is it ? asked cousin Floy.
There it is. Don't you see it?" Hiram was
pointing to a wagon body which lay there without
its wheels. He turned it upside down. "There's
your table said he.
After the pieces of cocoa-nut were placed on the
table, Mr. Doty told the Jimmyjohns to ask their
ma if she did n't want to come to their party.
I am longing to come," cried Mrs. Plummer,
appearing'at the door. I have thought of nothing
else ever since it was first mentioned. Would baby
disturb the party, do you think?"
"Not at all," said Hiram. "Pray invite Jo-
sephus While waiting for a name to be given
him, the baby was called "Josephus." He was a
big, bouncing baby, with a big, round face.
I wish some of you would be kind enough to
bring him out," said Mrs. Plummer. He is fas-
tened in his straw chair."
I will," said Hiram; and I'11 bring chairs."
Hiram brought out Josephus, then a rocking-
chair, and then some common chairs for Mr. Doty
and Mr. Tompkins. The children ran in for
crickets. Caper capered after the Jimmies every
step they took, and came near being trodden on.
There were seventeen sat down to table-twelve
that were in plain sight, and five that could not be
seen very plainly. The twelve who were in plain
sight were Mr. Doty, Mr. Tompkins, Mrs. Plum-
mer, Josephus, Hiram, cousin Floy, Annetta, Effie,
Clarence, Jimmy, Johnny, and Caper. The five
who could not be seen very plainly were the cat
and her four kittens. These were invited on Effie's
account, and came in their own private box.
Just as the cocoa-nut was being passed around,
Mr. Plummer appeared. He was coming from the
orchard, and asked what was going on.
"A party shouted the children.
Well," said Mr. Plummer, I must say that it
is rather strange my not being invited "
"Wont you come?" "Oh, do come!" the
children called out.
In my own yard, too Very strange indeed !"
said Mr. Plummer.
But wont you come ?"
I have n't had any invitation."
Take one Do come they shouted.
Mr. Plummer laughed and went and sat down
on a roller cart close by Josephus.
Will the party be done right away after sup-
per?" asked Hiram, as they all nibbled cocoa-nut.

[JULY,

WHAT MADE MR. TOMPKINS LAUGH.

"Oh, not so soon cried Annetta.
It has n't lasted five minutes," said Mrs. Plum-
mer.
Play charades Do! Please do !" cried Floy.
" I went to a real party last night, and they played
charades. One charade was Mother Goose.' "
How do you play it?" asked Annetta.
"Oh, easy enough! Somebody has to be
'Mother,' and then somebody has to be 'Goose,'
and then somebody has to be 'Mother Goose' and
say, Sing song a sixpence, pocketful of rye.'"
I speak not to be the 'Goose,' cried Hiram.
Who '11 be Mother ?'" asked cousin Floy.
You be 'Mother,'" said Annetta.
"Well, I '11 be 'Mother,'" said cousin Floy.
" Who '11 be my little girl? There must be a little
girl to keep coming in and saying 'Mother,' and
asking me for things."
I'll be little girl! said Hiram.
"Hoo, hoo! He, he! You don't know how!
You're too tall i" shouted the children.
Oh yes, I know how. Come, Floy, let's get
ready." And away they went into the house.
In about three minutes, cousin Floy came out,
dressed in Mrs. Plummer's things,-shawl, bonnet,
and skirt,-and, with a serious face, took her seat
in a chair which had been placed upon the wagon.
Then came Hiram, with Floy's hat on-the elastic
under his chin. For a sack he had turned his coat,
which was lined with red, wrong side out; and he
had pinned a shawl around his waist in a way
which made it look like a dress-skirt.
Floy told him he must keep coming in to ask
her something, and must call her "mother" every
time. He did just as she had told him. He kept
trotting out of the house and back, taking little,
short steps, asking a question each time, and imi-
tating the voice of a small child.
Mother, may I have a cent ? ". Mother, may
I go out to play?" "Mother, may I wear my
new shoes ?" Mother, may I make corn-balls ?"
" Mother, may I have a doughnut ? "
At each question, the Mother" would shake her
head very soberly and say: "No, my daughter,"
or, "Not at present, my daughter."
Good !" cried Mr. Tompkins. "Very good for
'Mother !' Now who's going to be 'Goose?'"
I will," said Clarence.
"Come, then," said Floy. "If cousin Hiram
will help me, I'11 dress you up for 'Goose' the way
they dressed up their 'Goose' last night."
Then they took an old light-colored calico
dress of Mrs. Plummer's, and held it bottom up,
and told Clarence to put his legs through the
sleeves. Next they gathered the skirt around his
neck, keeping his arms inside. Then they tied a
thin pocket-handerchief over his head, covering

face and all. Then they fastened a tin tunnel to
the front side of his head, and called that the "bill
of the goose;" and then pinned on two feather
fans, for wings. Floy told him he must stoop over,
and go waddling around, pecking with his bill like
a goose.
The instant the Goose" appeared, all the people
began to laugh; and when they saw it waddling
around in the grass, pecking with its bill as if it
were pecking at little bugs, they fairly shouted:
"Oh, what a goose Oh, what a goose!" Josephus
shouted, too, and made his feet fly, and his hands
fly, and patted cakes enough for his supper. Caper
barked, and ran this way and that way, keeping
away from the goose," though.
The next thing was to put the two words together,
and act Mother Goose."
"Mr. Tompkins," said Mr. Doty, "why don't
you be 'Mother Goose?'"
I don't believe Mr. Tompkins could keep from
laughing," said Hiram.
Oh yes, I could; I could keep from laughing,"
said Mr. Tompkins, "but my nose is too short."
"That Mother Goose's nose last night," said
Floy, "had wax on it, to make it long."
Nice way that," said Hiram. But, Mr. Tomp-
kins, are you sure you can keep from laughing ?"
Hiram had a reason for asking this question.
"Oh yes, perfectly Perfectly sure," said Mr.
Tompkins. Make me laugh, I'll pay forfeit."
Mr. Tompkins was so eager to show that he could
keep from laughing, that he agreed to pay any kind
of forfeit, and to dress in any kind of way.
Hiram dressed him. First, he lengthened out
his nose with a piece of warm wax. Then he tied
a handkerchief over his head for a cap. For a cap-
border he pinned on some strips of newspaper, in
great clumsy plaits; and then he put a large, round
cape over his shoulders. A black shawl served for
a skirt. When all this was done, he told Mr.
Tompkins that he might sit down and wait a few
moments. He had a reason for telling him that.
Cousin Floy, a little while before, when the
"Goose was being dressed, told Hiram of a way
by which one of the actors was made to laugh at
the "real party" she went to; and Hiram thought
it would be fun to try it with Mr. Tompkins.
So, while Mr. Tompkins was sitting down to wait
a few moments, they got a pillow and dressed it up
to look like an old woman. First, they tied a string
around the pillow, near one end, to make a head.
On one side of this head they marked eyes, nose
and mouth with a piece of charcoal. Then they
took a waterproof, stuffed out the sleeves, for arms,
and put that on. Then they went up into grandma
Plummer's room and borrowed an old cap, black
bonnet, and spectacles, and put those on.

619

GOING A-GYPSYING.

When the pillow-woman was ready, Floy ran
and told them all to be sure and not laugh loudly
when they saw what was coming, for fear Mr.
Tompkins might hear them. The pillow-woman
was then taken out by Hiram, and seated in a chair
among the other people. He introduced her to
them as "Mrs. Mulligachunk." He pinned to-
gether the wrists of her stuffed arms, and let them
drop in her lap, and placed a bundle on them, to
cover the place where there should have been
hands. The bundle was tied up in a handkerchief.
Then he stood an umbrella by her side, and tipped
her head back just a little, so that when Mr. Tomp-
kins should be standing on the wagon, she would
appear to be looking him in the face.
Come, Mother Goose !" cried Hiram; and Mr.
Tompkins, in his funny rig, walked from the house,
took his stand upon the wagon, and, with a very
sober face, began:

Sing song a sixpence, pocketful of rye,
Four and twenty blackbirds baked into a pie.
When the pie was opened, the birds be--"

At that moment his eye fell upon Mrs. Mulliga-
chunk." There she sat, in a row with the others,
and seemed to be listening just the same as any-
body. Mr. Tompkins stopped. The people, who
were all on the watch, burst out laughing, and he
had to laugh, too, in spite of all he could do.
Hiram sprang up. Mother Goose," cried he,
"let me introduce you to Mrs. Mulligachunk "

Mother Goose replied by taking off her things
and throwing them at Mrs. Mulligachunk.
Then Hiram asked the Jimmies if they did n't
want to take Mrs. Mulligachunk to ride.
Yes, yes "Yes, yes they shouted.
Hiram then put Mrs. Mulligachunk into the
roller cart-bundle, umbrella, and all. The Jim-
mies caught hold of the handle, and away they
ran, like two smart little ponies, Caper barking
behind with all his might.
Mr. Tompkins was about to follow, when An-
netta and cousin Floy suddenly called out, For-
feit I forfeit You'll have to be judged I "
Mr. Tompkins gave his penknife for a forfeit.
Then judge me quick said Mr. Tompkins.
I' I've been here 'most half an hour, now "
To dance a jig cried Hiram.
To tell a story cried cousin Floy.
Yes, yes That's it cried Annetta.
"Ohno! No, no! Take too long !" said Mr.
Tompkins.
But Mr. Plummer and Mrs. Plummer, and all
the rest, kept shouting, Story story story "
Well, well; story 't is said Mr. Tompkins.
" But a small one, though."
And then Mr. Tompkins began to tell a small
story about a hen named Tudleroodlum, who lived
in a far-away country, the name of which country
was so strange that fiot one of the people could
remember it five minutes afterward. Next month
you shall have Mr. Tompkins's story.

GOING A-GYPSYING.

BY JOHN H. PEEL.

AT some time in his boy-life, everybody who has
the true boy-spirit yearns to go on a tramp-or, as
the newspapers say, to "undertake a pedestrian
excursion." The free, airy, changeful life, with its
risks, its joys, and its hardships, has a wonderful
charm. If wisely set about, it will bring rest,
health, good temper, and a wider mental outlook,
and teach one the luxury of doing for one's self and
standing alone.
But, of course, one can blunder in this as in most
other matters that at first sight seem simple. So
ST. NICHOLAS would offer a few hints about walk-
ing-tours, suggesting how to make them most easy
and profitable.
The first thing to be done in planning a gypsy
trip is to choose the kind of country and the season

you can enjoy most. Then decide whether to tramp
with your baggage on your own back or to be
drawn in a horse-wagon; whether to camp in one
spot, or move from place to place; and whether to
spend much money or little. If the party is large,
or contains ladies and little ones, the very best
thing to be done is to study Mr. Gould's new book,
" How to Camp Out."* This will give you all the
hints, advice and caution you are likely to need.
We now can treat only the question of walking-
tours for parties of six or seven young men, about
twenty years of age or younger.
It must be taken for granted that the company is
made up of good-humored persons, that maps of
the route have been studied thoroughly, that the
leader's word is law, and that each comrade will

* How to Camp Out. By John M. Gould. Scribner, Armstrong & Co., N. Y.

[JULY,

GOING A-GYPSYING.

give up his own wishes and comfort for the good of
all. The captain will try to set each man at the
work he can do best. At first, things may not run
smoothly; but, in a day or
two, everybody will have
found his place, and will
have learned to do his own
"chores" first and then ,
help, rather than find fault. i
with, his comrades. So
much in a general way.
It will be safer on a first
tramp to choose a country
fairly well settled, and, in 4
any case, a company setting
out to cook its own meals
and do its own work must
be sure that food can be
bought along the route.

CLOTHING.
This is a rare chance to
wear out old outer clothes THE PACK
before throwing them away. Long, loose woolen
shirts, with collar-bands of silesia on which separate
woolen collars can be buttoned, are the best; wear
one, and carry one or two more, for change and to
wear double in cold spells. Use loose woolen
drawers, worn inside out to keep the seams from
chafing you, and shoes that lace up well above the
ankles and have been thoroughly treated with neat's-
foot oil. Let them have iron, not steel, nails. Use
false soles, if you like, and wear socks or stockings
of wool or merino rather than of cotton. Panta-
loons should be loose, high at the waist, and
of rather heavy cloth. If you have been in the
habit of wearing suspenders, don't leave them off
now; you can hide them very well by passing them
through holes cut low down in the outside shirt.
Wear what you please, if it be comfortable
and will last, and do not be worried at what
"people" say.

THE PACK.
Don't try to carry more than twenty pounds
apiece, or to go more than ten miles a day on
foot. This is fully hard enough work if you
wish to enjoy yourself without risk of illness.
You will find the "roll" better than the
knapsack in the long run, and it is lighter by
at least two pounds and a half. To make
the roll, lay out the blanket flat, and roll it
as tightly as possible without folding it, put-
ting in the other baggage as you roll; tie it in
several places, to prevent unrolling and the shift-
ing of the things inside, and tie or strap the ends
together. Wear the ring thus made as shown in

the picture. You may find it better to fold the
rubber blanket about the roll, or roll it by itself so
as to carry it linked in the other roll; you may
need it before camping, and will thus save undoing
the big roll.
The roll is easier to carry than is the knapsack,
and is readily shifted from shoulder to shoulder or
taken off; then, too, you can ease the burden a
little with your hand. Beside this, you save carry-
ing the weight of the knapsack. But, if you take
a knapsack, let it have broad straps. A haversack
of course you must have.
Beside a rubber blanket, half a shelter tent, and
ropes, you must have a good stout woolen blanket,
with a lining sewed to it along one side but but-
toned on at the ends and other side. You can dry
it, when wet, better than if it were sewed all around.
The items of personal baggage are as follows:
Rubber Blanket ............................ 2% pounds
Woolen Blanket and lining ................ 4 "
Haversack and Canteen....... .........
Drawers, spare Shirt, Socks and Collars...... 2
Half a Shelter-tent, and ropes. ............. 2
Towel, Soap, Comb, Tooth-brush, Salve,)
air-tight Match-safe, Knife, Fork, Spoon, 2
Dipper, Stationery, a good Book, etc...
Food for one day............................. 3
Xs
Beside these, each must carry his share of the
company baggage:
Frying-pan, Coffee-pot, and Pail............. 3 pounds
Hatchet, Tent-pins, Sheath-knife, case and belt.. 4
Clothes-brush, Mosquito-netting, Strings, Maps, ,
Guide-books, Compass, Song-book ...... 3
1o "
COOKING.
You can do a great deal of good cooking with a
frying-pan and a coffee-pot, after a little experience.
Have a coffee-pot with a bail as well as a handle,
and with a lip rather than with a spout. Of course
you will know enough not to put your pot or pan
on the burning wood, and not to use pitchy fuel or

,w- 2-f
-. .' I

THE MIODE OF BOILING THE COFFEE.

let the handles get hot or smutty. Study a good
cook-book, and practice well at home as long as
you can before starting, or you may have to go
hungry when you least expect it.

GOING A-GYPSYING.

You will have to guard the food you carry, from
rain, fog, dew, cats, dogs, and insects; and you
will find it best to clean your cooking utensils at
once after every use you make of them.

THE MARCH.
Start a short time after breakfast, while the day
is yet young and cool, but don't hurry or work
hard at it. On the march, it is well to rest
often for short spells, say ten minutes out of
every hour. Drink good water as often
as you feel thirsty, only don't take large
draughts of cold water when you are heated,
and bear in mind that often you can stop
thirst by merely rinsing the mouth.
Bathing while upon the march is not
good if you are tired or have much farther
to go. Oil or salve, before starting, the
parts of the skin reached by sun and air;
and, to prevent foot-soreness, treat the feet
plentifully in the same way, and keep them
thoroughly clean. Eat laxative foods the
first few days, but don't dose with medicine.
Take time, be cheerful, take it easy," and
you will keep well. Alcoholic liquors will
leave you in bad condition, if used; you "
will find coffee or tea far better.
Let each comrade end his morning nap. Avoid
nonsensical waste of strength and gymnastic feats,
before and during the march; and play no prac-
tical jokes that will make the day's work more
burdensome.
THE CAMP.
Camp in a dry spot near wood and water. If
you have a good axe-man in the party, he will
know how to use the hint given in the sketch
of a simple hunter's-camp frame. The easiest
tent to carry, and perhaps the best in the long run,
is the army shelter-tent shown in the engraving.
Each man carries half the tent; the pieces are
joined with holes and buttons along two corre-
sponding sides, and the tent, when set up as
sketched, is five feet and two inches long, by six to
seven feet wide. A third man could button his
piece across one of the open ends ; four men could
join two tents at the ends; and a fifth man could

add an end piece. The sharper the angle at which
the sides are pitched, the better will the tent shed
rain.
GENERAL NOTES.
Never sit still when wet; in changing, rub the
body dry; and off with muddy boots and sodden
socks at once. Don't bathe after a full meal, or
when very warm; and in drinking at a brook on

Ends of stakes that are thrust in earth.

I "1 li L !;i
|U |

Ope1, end.
HUNTER'S-CAMP FRAME, OPENING TOWARD FIRE,

the march, wet the face and hands, and taste the
water, before taking a full draught. In walking
under a hot sun, put green leaves or grass in the
hat; wet them if you like, but not so that the
water will drop about the ears. At the first sign
of dizziness, stop; get into the shade, if possible;
bathe the head, face, chest, neck and hands, and
rest until the cool of the day. Always have some-
thing to eat in your haversack, and never risk
starvation on any account.
Be polite to all you meet; don't let any one
cheat you at a bargain, and don't take undue ad-
vantage'yourself. There is no reason why a party
of young fellows on a gypsying trip should not be
manly and courteous.
The foregoing hints are as full as space allows;
but any reader who wishes ampler advice, can
readily find it in Mr. Gould's book, already referred
to, from which we have been permitted to borrow
freely in the present article.

4 -- -

SHELTER-TENT.

622

[JULY,

GEORGE THE THIRD.

GEORGE THE THIRD.

BY NOAHi BROOKS.

ONE fine October morning, in the year 1760, a
young English prince set out for a horseback ride
near Kew. Presently a messenger came riding
after him bringing a note from a German valet who
was employed in the palace of the king. The
young prince checked his horse, opened the note,
read it without showing any sign of emotion,
and rode on for a space. Then, declaring that
his horse was lame, he turned and rode back
to Kew. Dismounting, he said to his groom, who
had appeared to doubt the lameness of the steed:
" I have said this horse is lame; I forbid you to
say to the contrary."
This was George, Prince of Wales. The note
brought to him was about an affair of no moment,
but it bore a private mark, previously agreed upon,
which told him that the king, his grandfather, was
dead. So, George, Prince of Wales, was now George
III., King of England. His father, son of George
II., was long since dead. The young prince had been
brought up very strictly by his mother; a hard,
cold, and ambitious woman, who had taught him
that princes must not show themselves moved by
the same emotions which sway other people. So,
when he learned in this irregular way that he was
King of England, he doubtless enjoyed secretly his
early knowledge of that great fact, but gave no
sign of his thoughts to those about him. And
when due proclamation of the death of George 1I.
came to him, he was, if possible, more than ever
princely in his outward indifference to the sudden,
but not unexpected, change in his state and condi-
tion.
At this time George was twenty-two years old.
He had a pleasant and genial countenance, and
his portrait, taken about that period, herewith
printed for the readers of ST. NICHOLAS, gives one
rather a favorable impression of the young king.
In spite of his big cocked hat, comical wig, and
gold lace, he looks like a very pleasant fellow. It
was said of him by a noble lord of high degree,"
who knew him well, that he was strictly honest,
but wanting in that frank and open behavior which
makes honesty appear amiable." The same author-
ity says that he had great command of his pas-
sions, and seldom did wrong except when he mis-
took wrong for right." The bright readers of this
page will see that Lord Waldegrave did not over-
praise the young king. Indeed, these few words
of his give us a key to the character of George III.,

whom our forefathers so cordially detested as an
obstinate and wrong-headed tyrant.
George desired to be married before his corona-
tion. So a confidential agent was sent about
among the Protestant courts of Europe seeking
for a suitable princess. It was forbidden that he
should take to wife any but a Protestant; accord-
ingly, the choice of eligible young princesses was,
as now, somewhat limited. In the list of names
brought back to the king was that of the Princess
Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz. This young
lady once had written a letter to Frederick of Prus-
sia, complaining of the ravages which his troops
were committing in the territory of her cousin, the
Duke of Mecklenburg-Schwerin. The letter, which
depicted the horrors of war and the blessings of
peace, with all the ardor of a girl of sixteen, might-
ily tickled Frederick. He sent it to George II.,
grandfather of the young prince who afterward
succeeded him. The letter then fell into the
hands of George, and made such an impression on
him that when he found Charlotte's name in the
list recommended to him, he declared that her only
would he wed.
It is related that the Princess Charlotte was one
day amusing herself in the palace garden at Meck-
lenburg-Strelitz with her young companions. Sin-
gularly enough, these girls were talking about
marriage. Charlotte said: But who would take
such a poor little princess as I ?" Just then the
postman's horn was sounded, and Ida von Bulow
said: "Princess, there is the sweetheart !" Sure
enough, it was a letter from the handsome young
King of England, saying to Charlotte that because
she had written such a beautiful composition the
king must have her for his wife. It was like a
fairy tale. We can imagine how joyfully the little
maid packed up her wardrobe and sailed away to
England in the royal yacht, surrounded by a grand
fleet of ships-of-war. Her voyage was a great event
for England, as well as for her; and so much anxi-
ety was felt about it, that the king desired a notable
physician to compound such remedies for sea-sick-
ness as were deemed of high merit. For it is
recorded that the future queen-consort was deathly
sick when on salt water. One of these recipes was
printed not long ago. If Charlotte's attendants
followed directions, she must have dieted on carda-
mom seeds, cloves, anise, ambergris, and a great
variety of high-flavored things. Historical gossips

623

GEORGE THE THIRD.

S.' :

t- n -74

'--" 1 -

GEORGE THE THIRD.

insist that King George winced a little when he they were crowned with great pomp and ceremony.
saw his bride. She was small and very plain. He The "poor little princess" lived to be a very pre-
beheld her first when she arrived at St. James's cise, exacting, and ceremonious queen. For fifty-
Palace, September 8th, 1761. They were married seven years was she queen-consort, and, during
that afternoon, and on the 22d of the same month her after-life, she demanded all the homage and

624

[JULY,

~ .
::

-c~-"
14C~~
,-----

--L. aL3;1~:~~-
~5-~
L1.~- ~C-.--
----
-"L

n~4 ...

GEORGE THE THIRD.

strict etiquette due to one born to the throne.
Once, on the occasion of a royal christening, word
was brought to her that an aged and titled lady,
who held the babe, was so fatigued with standing
that she desired to be allowed to be relieved.
" Let her stand," said the rigid little queen, who,
herself, would have died rather than abate one jot
or tittle of the royal rules.
Nevertheless, the family life of this couple was
plain and simple. We get some edifying glimpses
of it in the diary of Miss Burney. This young lady,
who was the friend of Dr. Johnson, Mrs. Thrale,
and other famous people of those times, made for
herself much reputation by writing several novels.
Stupid reading we should now consider them; but
London was wild over her Evelina" and "Cecilia."
So it was thought a good thing to honor such
genius by giving her a place in the royal house-
hold. To her fond father this was like calling her
into a sort of heaven. The poor little girl found it
a tiresome and dull captivity. She tells us of the
early hours and punctual habits of the king and
queen. They had their little country dances, card-
parties and tea-drinkings, to which a few favored
mortals were invited. It was tragically whispered
about that the queen was of a frugal mind, and
sometimes the guests grumbled because they had
no supper. But the king enjoyed himself, and he
and Charlotte used to go about among the neigh-
boring villages, when they lived at Kew or Wey-
mouth, and behave very much like common people,
for all their royal state. On one occasion they met
a youthful son of one of the royal retainers.
Whose little boy are you ?" asked the king.
I am the king's beefeater's little boy," said the
lad, who doubtless thought himself a much more
important personage than the strange gentleman
before himself.
Then kneel down and kiss the queen's hand,"
was the royal command.
No," stoutly said the candid infant beefeater,
I wont kneel, for if I do I shall spoil my new
breeches."
At another time, the king took refuge from the
rain in the cottage of an old woman. She, darkly
ignorant of his high quality, left him to turn a
piece of meat which hung by a string before the
fire. When she returned, the king was gone,
but he had left some money inclosed in a note in
which he had scribbled, "Five guineas to buy a
jack," that useful article of domestic furniture be-
ing in his opinion a more labor-saving contrivance
than a string. In the same fashion he poked his
nose into the cottage kitchens; asked how the
apple could possibly get inside the dumpling; and
inquired about the prices of turnips, beef, and hay,
and the rates of rent. There was nothing too
VOL. IV.-41.

small to interest him. He knew all the common
folk about Windsor; all the family history of the
nobility and gentry; all the traits of the bishops
and clergy; how many buttons and how much
braid each officer in his army and navy was allowed,
and what was the pay of the highest functionary or
the lowest servant in the royal establishment.
For one, I love to think of the pure and simple
life of George III. As kings go, he was decent,
reputable, and well disposed. His palace life must
have been dreary and humdrum to the last degree;
but it was clean and wholesome, which cannot be
said of the life of some of the kings and princes
who came before him, or who have lived in England
since his day. His daughters were handsome and
accomplished: that is to say, they played the piano,
worked elegantly in floss silks, painted impossible
flowers on white satin, and furnished whole suites
of rooms with their own needlework. The sons
were big, rough, unmannerly, and much given to
rude sports. Of these the king loved Frederick,
the Duke of York, the best; and when York visited
Weymouth, where the king was living for a while,
a portable house was built for him close by his
father's. The fond father clung to the arm of his
dear Frederick, but the boisterous young prince
was stupefied by the dullness of the little court cir-
cle: he broke away and fled, after staying only one
night in the house which his father had been at
such pains to provide. The Princess Amelia was
her father's darling, and in all the history of George
there is no more pathetic picture than that of her
sickness and early death. When her father was
old and blind, she was attacked by a lingering ill-
ness. The poor, sightless monarch spent hours by
her bedside, passing his fingers, from time to time,
over her face, as if to assure himself that she was
there. She loved him with unalterable affection
when he was deserted by others, and on her death-
bed he was more than ever assured that she loved
him for himself alone. A touching sight it was
when the king, one gloomy day, told of the death
of Amelia, threw up his clasped hands and cried:
" It is too much. This was caused by poor Ame-
lia; and so parted in agony from his reason.
This is a dark picture. We like better to think
of the charming little princess in her father's arms,
prattling and smiling as he walked up and down
the grand saloons at Windsor. Or we may fancy
her at the head of a royal procession, which Fan-
ney Burney describes, when the family took an
after-dinner walk on Windsor terrace,-" the little
princess, just turned of three years old, in a robe-
coat covered with fine muslin, a dressed close cap,
white gloves and fan," as says Miss Burney. She
walked on alone and first, highly delighted with
the parade, and turning from side to side to see

GEORGE THE THIRD.

everybody as she passed; for all the terracers stand
up against the wall to make a clear passage for the
royal family the moment they come in sight. Then
followed the king and queen, no less delighted
with the joy of their little darling." This is a
bright glimpse into the life of the king who, years
before, sent what seemed a fairy postman to ask the
hand of the poor little princess in the garden of
Mecklenburg-Strelitz.
To set forth, in the briefest possible space, the
chief events of the reign of George III., would be
to write out, as it were, the headings of many
important chapters of English history. During his
time the star of Napoleon flashed like a baleful
meteor in the skies of Europe, wavered, and went
out in darkness. During his time the royal power
of England had a sharp contest with the aristoc-
racy; and during his time, too, the peace of
England was put in danger by a persistent refusal
of the Catholic claim for emancipation. To us
Americans the reign of George III. is forever mem-
orable as that during which we gained our inde-
pendence. The king steadfastly refused to change
the policy which wrought so much wretchedness in
the American colonies. He would hear no counsel
from those who believed that his system of taxation
was oppressive, and sure to result in rebellion. He
firmly believed that only worthless people sympa-
thized with the American colonists. He was a fine
illustration of the truth of the saying of Thackeray,
that nine-tenths of the tyranny of this world is per-
petrated by people who believe themselves to be in
the right.
In his earlier years George had so commended
himself to the people of New York that they set up
in his honor a leaden equestrian statue of him in
the Bowling Green, near the foot of Broadway.
When the king's obstinacy finally provoked the
colonists to wrath, they overturned this statue with
great derision. Man and horse were cut up and
melted into bullets; and these were fired into the
king's troops in the hot struggle which soon came
thereafter. You will find, however, a portion of
the king's leaden saddle in the museum of the New
York Historical Society; and it is said that one of
the royal ears was carried off by a bold rebel lad
who lived in New Jersey. So King George disap-
peared utterly from this country. In 1812-15, while
the king was in his dotage, England had a second
war with America, during which a disgraceful

attack was made on Washington. Later, the battle
of New Orleans was fought. So we have abundant
reason to remember obstinate Kirig George III.
and his ministers, Bute, North, Liverpool, and
Castlereagh.
But we like far better to recall the crowd of
illustrious names adorning the long reign of King
George III., and in whose fame all English-speak-
ing people have some share. Of the poets of that
period we must remember Cowper, Crabbe, Burns,
Wordsworth, Southey, Coleridge, Scott, Byron,
Shelley, Keats, Campbell, Leigh Hunt, Rogers,
and Moore. Then, too, flourished such novelists
as Godwin, Burney, and Scott-the long-mysterious
" Wizard of the North." Of other famous men
there were Herschell, Davy, Wollaston, Johnson,
Flaxman, Charles Lamb, Hazlitt, Chantrey, Ben-
jamin West, Copley, Wilkie, Haydon, Bewick,
and a host of others eminent in art, literature,
science, and war.
The life of George III. was clouded with insanity.
He was first attacked by this terrible malady when
he was twenty-seven years old. This soon passed
away; but, in 1788, when he was about fifty years
of age, he was again prostrated. It is sorrowful to
read of the madness of a king; it is pathetic to
look at the few pictures of this portion of the life of
George III. which history gives us. He barked
and howled like a dog, attempted to throw himself
from the windows of the palace, and was so violent
that it was necessary to put him in confinement.
He recovered his reason, and was again and again
smitten with madness. At last he became a con-
firmed maniac, and during the last ten years of his
life, his son George, Prince of Wales-afterward
George IV.-was regent, or temporary king. Con-
fined in a padded room in Windsor Castle, the old
king passed his years, blind, deaf, deprived of rea-
son, and shut out from all the pleasures of this
beautiful world. Charlotte, his queen, and big
Frederick of York, his beloved son, died without
his knowing it; and still he lived on until January
29, 1820, when the great bell of St. Paul's, boom-
ing out on the air of the winter night, told the awe-
struck people of London that George III., after a
reign of nearly sixty years, was dead. The hand-
some young prince, who came to the throne when
just turned of twenty-two, endured through nearly
four ordinary generations of men, and passed away
in his eighty-second year.

626

[JULY,

DUMB ORATOR.

DUMB ORATOR.

BY C. P. CRANCH.

SOME people are so hard to take
A joke, I should n't wonder
If every jest and pun you made
Appeared a sort of blunder.

At Farmer Brewster's once I met
A party of grave people,
Each sitting stiffly in a chair,
As prim as a church steeple.

All seemed to be afraid to smile,
Much more be caught a-laughing.
Their faces made me think, "What fun
To do their photographing! "

"Agreed," said I. "But I would speak
'Marco Bozzaris' rather.
They'd think your gestures ridiculed.
The pious Pilgrim Father."

So 't was agreed, and so announced.
We took our corner station.
He sat behind, I stood in front,
And made my peroration.

His hands beneath my shoulders peeped,
Queer as a spirit-rapper's,
And moved as if they were a sort
Of human penguin-flappers.

"I DID MY PRETTIEST TO DECLAIM."

The evening grew so long, so dull,-
No music, song, or talking,-
I whispered Spriggs, who came with me:
"I say, Ned, let's be walking !"

Said Spriggs, "Don't go; we'll have some fun
Better than 'crops and weather,'
For I '11 propose that we shall act
Dumb-Orator together.

" You'll make the speech, the gestures I,
Up in this corner standing;
They'll surely laugh to see my hands.
Give them 'The Pilgrims' Landing.'"

"At midnight, in his guarded tent,"
And so forth-you all know it.
I did my prettiest to declaim
The verses of the poet.

Meanwhile Spriggs, underneath the cloak,
His funniest gestures showing,-
I scarce could keep my countenance
To see those fingers going.

But not a laugh in all the crowd;
They stared and smiled in pity.
'T was plain we had not made a hit,-
We fellows from the city.

THE GIANT PLANET JUPITER.

And when we left our corner there,
Perspiring with exertion,
Our unappreciated fun
Received a cold immersion.

Then Spriggs and I together laid
Our heads in some confusion,
Quite disappointed and abashed,
And came to this conclusion:

That I should speak again-alone,
With gestures gravely suited.
And so I did. And as 1 closed,
Applause my ears saluted.

Then some one said, Miss Sarah Jane,
D' ye think them speeches clever ?"

" The first," says she, I did n't like.
Such gestures No, I never!

"All up and down, and fingers spread,
And playing' with his collar!
Fumblin' his handkerchief and watch !
Does that become a scholar?

" It did n't suit the speech at all.
The second one was better.
He fitted, as the deacon says,
The spirit to the letter."

So when you joke, there will be folks
Suspect the craft you sail in.
They will not feel the point, although
You drive it like a nail in.

THE GIANT PLANET JUPITER.

BY RICHARD A. PROCTOR.

WE have been rather fortunate, so far, in our
monthly observation of the stars, in having had no
planets (at least none of any brightness) in the
parts of the heavens which we have been examin-
ing. Even the eastern and western skies, toward
which we have not specially turned our gaze, have
been free, at the hours chosen for our survey, from
conspicuous planets. So that none of my young
friends have had occasion to ask why some bright
orb in the sky has been left out, apparently, from
the monthly maps and descriptions of the heavens.
This month, and hereafter for several months, the
planets will come more into our field of vision;
and I think it will be well for me, when this hap-
pens, to show where they are. My readers will thus
not only learn the stars, and the seeming daily and
yearly motions of the stars, but also the planets
and those strange movements from which the
planets derive their names,-the word planet being
derived from a Greek verb, signifying to wan-
der."
In passing, I may notice the strange mistake,
often made in works of fiction, of describing the sky
at night as though the planets could always be
seen. Mr. Hepworth Dixon has recently written
a novel,-his first, I believe,-in which the hero
and heroine count the planets and watch the planets
at all sorts of times and seasons, as though it were

the business of all the planets to shine all night
and every night, whereas one seldom sees more
than two or three planets at a time; and often no
planet can be seen. I may remark, also, that we
owe to Pope, and not to Homer, the errors in that
most incorrect description of night in Pope's
" Homer's Iliad : "
As when the moon, refulgent lamp of night!
O'er heaven's clear azure spreads her sacred light,
When not a breath disturbs the deep serene,
And not a cloud o'ercasts the solemn scene;
Around her throne the vivid planets roll,
And stars unnumber'd gild the glowing pole;
O'er the dark trees a yellower verdure shed,
And tip with silver every mountain's head.
Then shine the vales, the rocks in prospect rise,
A flood of glory bursts from all the skies."

There is not a word in the original about the
planets ; nor, assuredly, did Homer cause the stars
either to gild the pole, or to silver the mountains'
heads. Tennyson's translation is far more correct,
and (naturally) far more beautiful:
As when in heaven the stars about the moon
Look beautiful, when all the winds are laid,
And every height comes out, and jutting peak
And valley, and the immeasurable heavens
Break open to their highest, and all the stars
Shine "
The planet which adds at present to the glories
of the southern skies, and (as mentioned last month)

628

[JULY,

THE GIANT PLANET JUPITER.

has for some few weeks past been conspicuous in
the heavens, is Jupiter. His path during the year
is shown in the accompanying map (Fig. i). Only,
as you will easily understand if you consider that the
part of the heavens shown in the map, now nearly
opposite the sun, was in January, and will again be
in December, close by the sun, the planet could not
be seen as it traversed the parts of its path on the
right and left of the map. He was lost in the
greater glory of the sun. Jupiter began to be visible
as a morning star in the spring, traveling onward
over the starry sky to the place marked for April 20.
That was what is called his stationary point (or
sometimes it is called the first station). Since

I9, when he was exactly opposite the sun, and
came to the south at midnight. I will not here
explain how these peculiarities of his motion, and
his changes of seeming brightness, are brought
about,-because, to do so, I should want more
space than could well be spared. Nor will I show
in a picture the size of Jupiter's path; because I
think the nature of the planets' paths would best be
shown in a picture giving all the paths; and for
this, with the necessary explanation, there is not
room here. I may perhaps mention, that in a
little book of mine called Elementary Lessons in
Astronomy," written specially for young learners
of astronomy, the scale of the planets' paths is

FIG. I.-THE PATH OF JUPITER.

then, he has been traveling toward the place marked
for August 20, where he will again be stationary,
that being his second station. During this part
of his course he is traveling backward, the arrows
on the ecliptic showing the direction of the sun's
advance along that track, and the general direction
of the planets' motion. Only, they do not, like the
sun and moon, advance constantly, but, as you see
illustrated this year in Jupiter's case, they alter-
nately advance, retreat (over a short arc), then
advance again,-or, as Milton poetically expresses
all the peculiarities of planetary motion, they pursue

Their wand'ring course, now high, now low, then hid,
Progressive, retrograde, or standing still."*

Jupiter was at his brightest on the night of June

shown and described. Let us turn to the planet
itself.
Jupiter is the fifth of the great planets in order
of distance from the sun; our earth being the
third. Mercury is the first, traveling nearest to the
sun. Venus, which I described a few months ago,
is the second, and travels inside the earth's path.
Next outside the earth's path is that of Mars.
Outside his track there come the paths of a num-
ber of very small planets traveling in a ring around
the sun. More than 170 of these have already
been discovered; but all these together (besides
hundreds more of the family not yet discovered)
do not weigh so much as the tenth of our earth.
Outside this family of many congregated planets,
all together scarcely enough to make a single

Milton adds, that in six" planets these motions are seen,-"what if seventh to these,-the planet Earth, etc. ?" But the description
is only true of five bodies known in his time, viz: Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn. The moon, the sixth planet of the Coperican
system, is always progressive, never retrograde or standing still.

629

I~l~l~

I~18~1

Im i aCii HiiU

THE GIANT PLANET JUPITER.

respectable planet, comes Jupiter, outweighing not
only all these,-not only these with our earth, Mars,
Venus, and Mercury thrown in,-but all the other
planets taken together, no less than two and a half
times. Yes; if Venus and Mars, Terra and Mer-

FIG. 2.
cury, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune, could all be
put in the scale b of a mighty balance, as in Fig. 2,
and Jupiter in the other scale, a, the arm c B,
carrying the scale b, would have to be two and
a half times as long as the arm A C, carrying
the scale a, in order that the weights should bal-
ance each other. (I do not know where the exper-
iment could be tried, unless on the sun; but without
trying it, you may rest assured that the fact is so;
for there are few things about which astronomers
are more exactly informed than about the relative
weights of all the chief planets.)
Jupiter exceeds our earth 300 times in mass
or quantity of matter. But, enormous though this
excess of mass may seem, it is small compared
with his excess of size; for he exceeds the earth
1,233 times in volume. It is only because he travels
so much farther away than either Venus or Mars,
that he appears less bright than Venus, and not
many times brighter than Mars. For these two
planets are utterly insignificant compared with him,
both in size and mass. But he travels more than
five times farther from the sun than the earth goes,
so that even at his nearest and brightest, his dis-
tance from us exceeds four times our distance from
the sun; whereas, when Mars is at his nearest,
his distance from us is not much more than one-
third of our distance from the sun.
It was formerly thought, or rather it was formerly
said in the books, that Jupiter is a planet like our
earth; but when we think about all that has be-
come known to us respecting this giant planet, we
find strong reasons for believing that he is in quite a
different state.
In the first place, it is now known almost cer-
tainly that every planet, including our own earth,
has in long-past ages been intensely hot, and has
cooled down after millions of years to its present
condition. Now, large bodies take a much longer
time in cooling than small ones; and Jupiter is
many times larger than our earth. Therefore, he
is not likely to have cooled to the same degree,
unless he was made many millions of years earlier,

which is not probable. There are reasons for think-
ing that he is nearer thousands of millions than tens
of millions of years behind the earth in cooling;
whence it would follow that he is still very warm
indeed. Probably his real surface is as hot as red-
hot iron.
This will explain-and I know no other way of
explaining-his seeming to be so much larger
than he ought to be by rights. I am not now
speaking of his actual bulk or mass. I know no
reason why a planet should not be ten, or twenty,
or a hundred, or a thousand times larger than our
earth. But Jupiter is swollen, one may say, much
beyond the size we should expect from his mass.
It is as though he were made of lighter material
than our earth. But we have every reason to be-
lieve that all the planets are made of similar mate-
rials. Jupiter's mighty mass attracts every por-
tion of his substance toward the center, tending to
make his whole frame very compact and dense; yet
his frame is not compact or dense, but much more
swollen than that of our earth. If our earth swelled
to four times its present volume, it would, in this
respect be in the same condition as Jupiter. Only,
he is so much mightier in attractive energy, that
the same heat which would thus expand or swell
our earth would not suffice to expand Jupiter to
the same degree. It so chances that our sun is
expanded (no doubt by intense heat) to about the
same degree. In his case, a tremendous heat is of
course wanted. In the case of our earth, a con-
siderable heat would (we know) be required. In
Jupiter's case, we may safely infer a very great heat
is required, and exists.
Only, instead of supposing that the solid mass
of Jupiter is swollen in this degree, I think we may
conclude that owing to the intense heat of his solid
mass, enormous quantities of gas and vapor are gen-
erated, and form a very deep atmosphere all around
him, in which float great masses of cloud. It is
this atmosphere, laden with immense layers of
cloud, that the astronomer sees and measures, not
the real body of the planet, which can no more be
seen than a peach-stone inside the perfect fruit.
In Fig. 3, you have a picture of Jupiter (as seen
on February II, 1872). Does not the planet as
thus seen show itself to be inwrapped in a very deep
atmosphere, laden with mighty cloud-masses? For
my own part, I have long believed that those
rounded clouds, which you see floating along the
planet's equator, are not only rounded, but globu-
lar; have not only length and breadth, but depth
also; and not only so, but I believe that these
rounded masses of cloud have been thrown up from
a great depth below their present position. Now,
if you remember that on the scale of the picture
the white disc in the corner represents our earth,

630

[JULY,

THE GIANT PLANET JUPITER. 631

nearly 8,000 miles in diameter, you will see that if
these views of mine are correct,-and there is a
great mass of evidence in favor of them,-the at-
mosphere in which these great rounded masses of
cloud are floating, and into which they are driven
by mighty currents carrying them from yet lower
levels, must be at least eight or ten thousand miles
in depth.
A curious thing happened on June 26, 1828,
which can easily be explained if the atmosphere
of Jupiter is thus deep and kept in constant turmoil

-- -. _

--:-=
-_._ -

FIG. 3 -JUPITER AS SEEN FEB. II, 1872.
through the intense heat of the planet within, but
cannot possibly be explained if Jupiter is supposed
to be in the same state as our earth. Admiral
Smyth was observing one of Jupiter's moons,
placed as shown in the picture (to which, however,
this satellite does not properly belong). It was
about to cross the planet's face, traveling toward
the left. He saw it make its entry on the disc,
and went to record the time in his note-book.
Observe that at this moment the planet's outline
was entirely outside that of the satellite, which in
fact could no longer be seen. Returning a few

minutes after to the telescope, Smyth saw the sat-
ellite outside again, or to all seeming just as it
had been before the entry, when he had pictured it as
in Fig. 3. The same strange thing was seen by Mr.
Maclear at Biggleswade, with a rather smaller tele-
scope, and by Dr. Pearson at South Kilworth, with
a much larger one. Now, a moon cannot possibly
stop in its course around its planet; still less, if
less could be, could a moon retreat and anon ad-
vance. Nor could the whole frame of Jupiter shift.
Out of all question, the outline of Jupiter changed,
and not by a little, but by two or three thousand
miles. There would be nothing beyond belief in
this if the atmosphere is thousands of miles deep,
and the outermost cloud-layers eight or ten thou-
sand miles above the true surface. For a cloud-
layer might easily be dissolved into the invisible
form by the warm breath of some current of Jovian
air. But that the surface of a planet like our earth
should change in level even by ten miles, is utterly
incredible, far more that there should be an alter-
nate swelling and shrinking through two or three
thousand miles. Such a disturbance of the crust
would turn all that part of Jupiter into vapor, so
intense would be the heat produced by the move-
ment.
The great belt shown dark in the picture is often,
perhaps generally, of a creamy-white color. But
of late it has often shone with a ruddy color, as
though lit up by the fiery heat of the hidden sur-
face below.
The spectroscope, the instrument mentioned in
my paper on Venus, shows that the deep atmosphere
of Jupiter contains enormous quantities of the vapor
of water. It seems to me not improbable that all
the water of the planet, its future seas and oceans,
now hang suspended in the form of cloud and
vapor in the planet's atmosphere. Jupiter, in fact,
may fairly be regarded as a young though gigantic
planet,-not young in years, but young in devel-
opment,-a baby planet, the fullness of whose
growth will not be attained for hundreds of millions
of years, when our earth perhaps will have been
for ages a decrepit or even a dead ivorld.

632 FOR VERY LITTLE FOLKS. [JULY,

JAMIE'S RABBITS.

THESE rabbits belong to little Jamie, who lives in the city almost all
the year. A year ago last winter he was very sick, and, when spring
came, his mamma took him to the country on a farm, so that he might
grow well and strong.
The old farmer was very fond of Jamie, and one day brought home a
large basket with a handle at the middle and a lid at each side of the
handle.
All the folks soon came around to see what was in the basket, but
the farmer said that Jamie must have the first look. Then he set the
basket down on the floor, and told Jamie to lift up the lids, and what he
should see he could have for his very own!' Jamie 'took a peep with
great care, and what do you think he saw? Why, two lovely bunnies,-
one all black and the other all white, and the white one had pink eyes!
Jamie was so glad that he let fall the lids at once and gave a cry of
joy. Then he jumped up and down and clapped his hands, and put his
arms about the old farmer's neck, and gave him a good hug and a kiss.
After that he took the bunnies to show them to his mamma, and she
was glad too, and kissed him, and said he must take great care of them
and be kind to them.
Before very long, the old farmer made a small house or hutch to
keep the rabbits in, and he and Jamie fed them day by day. They were
fond of carrots and turnips and cabbage, and Jamie would go with the
farmer into the garden and get these things, and put them in a little
basket, and take them to the hutch. Soon the rabbits knew it was meal-
time when they saw Jamie come with the basket, and then they would
prick up their long ears, and look as if they would like to be polite and
say, Thank you !"
One day, Jamie found them just as you see them in the picture.
There was a strange doll with them in the hutch, but he did not know
who had put it there. The rabbits did not feel quite safe with the doll.
Blackie feared it might hurt, so he kept behind his friend, out of harm's
way. Whitey eyed the doll a long time, as if he hoped it might at last
prove to be good to eat.
The doll was bald, but he did not look old or worn by care. He
did not seem to mind the rabbits at all. If he had known how hungry

632

[JULY,

FOR VERY LITTLE FOLKS.

1877.1 FOR VERY LITTLE FOLKS. 633

they were, he might have wished to run off, and not stay there and
smile, and hang his head and arms and legs in that loose way.
Jamie loved his little bunnies very much, and when the time came for
him to leave them and go back to the city, he was very, very sorry.

-- -

I'I-,_

-5-i
'*i 'II 4 .I

I ,
4I '

JAMIE'S RABBITS.

But his mamma said her little boy could go to them again next summer,
and the old farmer said he would do his best for them through the
winter.
So Jamie tried not to fret. He is a good boy, and deserves to have
pretty bunnies, for he takes fine care of them.
And-what do you think? Three weeks ago, Jamie was taken to the
country to see his bunnies, and he will stay with them till cold weather
comes again.
i,' ,'i,, ",' "1' "" :

I~ ~ ~ ~~~~~Jnl' o _nn ,'-,,1iir ,,",

-n-w a o you ....k ....?... :.. g ,Ja i a ak n t

JACK-IN-TIHE-PULPIT.

17
-. .
t \ -
I .

t- J AJ CK- IN -I IIHE PU LI T.

OH, my poor birds Little they think of what is
coming. But their Jack knows it and trembles for
them in secret.
Yes, the Fourth of July in this part of the world
is a hard day for the birds. You see, the poor little
creatures know very little, if anything, about
American history, and even if they did know all
about it, the July racket is dreadful, and they
have n't the firmness and majesty of the American
eagle to enable them to bear it.
Never believe that your Jack does not rejoice in
the thought of this great and glorious nation, or
that he would have you overlook its honorable
birthdays, or fail to keep them in grand, joyful
ways. No, no. But gunpowder is for war, not for
peace. If you wished to honor the birthday of a
noble and revered grandparent, you hardly would
do so by exploding a fire-cracker in his ear, would
you ?
Ah, well! may be Jack does n't quite understand
these things.

AN UNDERGROUND FOREST.
DEAR, dear, what queer things folks dig up in
these days Why, it was only a little while before
school closed that the Little Schoolma'am was tell-
ing the children about a real buried city, a part of
which some person with a German name had un-
earthed after it had lain under the ground for hun-
dreds and hundreds of years.
And yesterday I heard a fussy lot of sparrows
quarreling over news that an ocean gull had brought
to them from the home of their forefathers in
England. It was about a buried forest, ever so
many thousands of years old, that had been dis-
covered lately in Hampshire.
Beside beech, oak, elm and laurel trees, like
those to be seen growing in England to-day, there

were found in this forest such plants as the palm,
the cactus and the aroids, that now belong only to
tropical lands. As the aroids are akin to the Jack-
in-the-Pulpit family, I tried to learn from the spar-
rows how this news was to be explained. But they
made such a chatter, I could n't. So, I'll thank
some of my chicks to inquire into the matter.

JULY EVENTS.
DEAR MR. JACK: Our "little schoolma'am" told us some things
about July, and we wrote them down. Here they are. Wont you
please pass them on?
Julius Cesar was born in this month, so Marc Antony called it
after Caesar's family name, "Julius." May be on this account, Sir
John Suckling, the poet, thought he could give the name of the
month a similar sound. In his "Wedding" poem, of which our
schoolma'am gave us some verses to copy, he says of the bride:
Her lips were red, and one was thin,
Compared with that was next her chin,
'Some bee had stung it newly;
But, Dick, her eyes so guard her face,
I durst no more upon them gaze
Than on the sun in July."
So, you see, he calls July, "Jew-ly." It does n't seem to me
much of a rhyme.
Now I will tell you the names of some great people who died, and
of some who were born, in July. I know when and where, but wont
you please ask the ST. NICHOLAs boys and girls to write and tell
you, for me, if they know, too ?
Petrarch died in July, and so did the Admirable Crichton, Char-
lotte Corday, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Robert Burns, Richard Brins-
ley Sheridan, John Adams, Madame de Stall, Thomas Jefferson,
Hahnemann, Zachary Taylor, Beranger the French poet, and Mar-
garet Fuller Ossoli.
John Calvin and the famous Marie de Medici were born in July;
so were Blackstone the great lawyer, and Flaxman the sculptor. I
don't know any more.
Learning dates by themselves must be dry work, but our school-
ma'am tells us about the things and people also, and we like that
ever so much. I hope all the boys and girls will have a good time
this Fourth.-Yours truly, BEATRICE B.

THE COST OF WET FEET.
SOME boys and girls were playing near the pond
where my friends the water-lilies grow, when an old
New York gentleman came along and cried out to
the children: "Don't wet your feet,-it costs too
much Then he went on, reaching out so vigor-
ously for the lilies, that at first he did not seem to
hear the cries of the children for an explanation.
At last it came, when they ran to him with their
hands full of the beautiful flowers. He told them
that in New York City, in winter, when the un-
cleaned streets are covered with pools of water,
the cost to the citizens in time, doctors' and sur-
geons' bills, physic, boots, clothes and funeral
expenses, would amount in one day to two millions
seven hundred and fifty-four thousand two hun-
dred and twenty-five dollars ($2,754,225) i Think
of that, my youngsters In my opinion, this water-
soaked old gentleman from New York was rather
shaky in his facts, though he certainly was strong
enough in his statements.

FOUR LEAVED CLOVERS.
Dyersburg, May xI, 1877.
DRAR JAct--IN-'TrE-PuLVriT : Did the fairies ever whisper in your
car, that a four-leaf clover brought good luck to the finder? 1 was
a little girl when I heard it. and having -. belief in fairies and
good luck, I was determined to find one. i years ago, on one
bright sunshiny morning,-the very best day of the year to me, for it
was my tenth birthday,--I as playing on the deep ^-- -.A laid
my hand directly on a four-leaf clover, and-oh, joy i -.t was
followed by a five-leaf one. The fifth leaf proved to be a beautiful

[Ju.Y,

JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.

green chalice, just to hold my good luck, as I thought. And, dear
Mr. Jack, if you could see my little blue-eyed sister, that came soon
after, you would think with me that the fairies were right. I send you
the identical clover found on that day, and a cluster of four-leaved
clovers found about a week ago, thinking that, perhaps, such things
might be new to some of the readers of the ST. NICHOLAS, and that
you would like to tell them about these.-Yours truly,
MADE CHILD.

Jack is very glad to see these beautiful specimens,
Madge, and he hopes you may live to enjoy many
and many happy birthdays.
So far, so good. Now, who can find Jack two
blades of ribbon-grass exactly alike ?

FIRE-CRACKERS.
San Francisco, May 2, 1877.
DEAR JACK: The other day I did wish I lived in China. Father
was reading out of the paper. As near as I can remember this was
what he read:
In Canton, and other Chinese cities, one hears fire-crackers on
all days and at various hours of the night, not fired singly, but by
hundreds and thousands at a time. It is a part of their religious
observances, and they expect that the din will drive off evil spirits."
Father said he wished they would drive the evil spirit of mischiet
out of us boys; and I told him if he would buy us a lot of crackers
we would try. But he has not yet.
There is a Chinese boy comes to school with us, and he is right
smart at learning. He said those smashed-up letters on the packages
of crackers mean all manner of things. I said, so they might, but I
knew about them, because ST. NICHOLAS told me. Then he looked
scared and said, "Is that an evil spirit? I told him no, it was a
book. Next day I showed it to him, and how it translated the funny
red labels, and he said, That's so I Please tell the ST. NICHOLAS
boys.-Yours truly, ROBERT W. HALL.
P. S.-It was in the ST. NICHOLAS for July, 1874.

SPARROWS AND HORSES.
SPARROWS are good-hearted little creatures after
all, though they do wrangle a little among them-

:

I

selves. I heard two or three of them holding a joy-
meeting over the good deeds done by some of their
fellows in New York-how they make a habit of
going to the great town stables where the car horses
are kept, and comforting the tired beasts with their
cheery voices and nimble, playful ways. Some of
these horses, it seems, have to jog back and forth
every day along their rail-tracks for nearly the
length of the great city, touching the Battery at
one end of the route and Central Park at the other,
without ever once being allowed to go into either.
Now, that must be pretty hard. Never to run over
soft grass or rest under the green trees But the
sparrows make up for the privation as well as they

635

can. They hop into the stables, hop, hop along
the stalls to the horses' ears, tell them all about the
grass, the trees, and the cool, sweet shade; then
they hop, hop to the floor, and the pails, eat their
little "fill," and hop, hop out again. Bless the
little sparrows !

ALL THE ALPHABET.

DEAR JACK: Did the Little Schoolma'am ever see a verse that
contains all the letters of the alphabet? Here is one, which I did
not make, but a girl gave it to me in school. 1 think it contains
every letter.-Yours truly, LIZZIE GREEN.

God gives the grazing ox his meat,
He quickly hears the sheep's low cry;
But man, who takes His finest wheat,
Should lift His joyful praises high."

CAN A DOG THINK?

Stratford, Ontario, April 3, 1877.
MY DEAR JACK: I send you a couple of true anecdotes of
" Buff," a four-footed friend of mine, which may interest your young
folks. Good-bye, Jack! May your shadow never grow less!-Yours
truly, C. W. Y.

CAN A DOG TiIINK ?-Of course not, you will say; but just wait
till you hear about Buff. Buff is a heavy mastiff, and a great pet.
On Sunday, and when there are visitors, his toilet consists of a stiff
white collar and a black neck-tie, which are quite becoming, and of
which he feels very proud. One night, a gentleman came to the house,
and inquired for his brother Clarence, who was stopping with us.
He had never seen Buff, so he was formally introduced as Clarence's
brother. Buff accepted the acquaintanceship, and immediately
became very friendly. It so happened that Clarence was spending
the evening at a friend's house, Atholecot," that evening; and as
the gentleman wished very much to see him, he decided to go there.
But how to find the way ? It was pitch dark, there were no street-
lamps, and the road was very winding. As soon as "Atholecot"
was mentioned, Buff pricked up his
S .- 1 11 :- .- _. .1 things
i j .. I i ..... -i.-. when
told that the gentleman wanted to
go there, he could hardly be kept
in the house. "Follow Buff," I said,
"and he will take you there." And
S so he did, and by the straightest
Road.
Buff's "bump of benevolence" is
largely developed. When he has
more provisions than lie cares for,
Se hides them away, and when he
sees a poor, miserable, half-starved
dog-tramp, he brings him into the
garden, digs a bone out of the snow,
y and tells him, in dog-talk, to "pitch
-. in." When he thinks the stranger
has had enough, he tells him so;
S- and if he does n't accept the hint
Sand leave, he gives him a good
shaking and sends him about his busi-
ness.
If Buff can't think, he does some-
thing very like it.

BLACKSMITHS IN AFRICA.
DEAR JACK: In reading Dr. T:; .. "I .st Journal," the
part about native blacksmiths in I. ...... very much.
Imagine a big negro, with no other clothing than a waist-cloth,
I. I.:. 1. 1 1.. 1 ..1-. I I which forms his anvil.
i ... ..... .. .'. .. s by which he holds
the bit of iron that his companion-the master blacksmith-is ham-
" -rin- i- .- shaoe. The hammer which this master smith is wielding
1. I. night, i .1 .. 1 .... I .. .. 1 with bands made of
the strong inner ba. ,i'.. .i ire formed the loops
which serve as handles. The hammer thus made bears a rude resem-
'.1 ... ..1... The bellows, which is worked by still an-
... i ... .. i. I I ;:Il sticks at the open ends.
With so few tools, and i '1 '1. i sort, the African black-
soiths hardly could be expected to produce articles of fine workman-
ship; yet Dr. Livingstone says they have made articles of excellent
quality that would have been very creditable to even the best English
or American smiths, with all the latter's advantages in the way of
fine tools and sworkshops.-Yours truly, E. G.

THE LETTER-BOX.

MISS LOUISE'S MOUTH.
(Translation of French Story in May Number.)

BY A. R. T.

MIss LOUISE'S mouth is very large. When one
sees it, one always has a desire to say, What an
enormous mouth "
Well, it is not a misfortune. A large mouth is
very convenient. This was the opinion of the wolf
who so well crunched up Little Red Riding-Hood,
and it is also the opinion of Miss Louise. She
always has a very good appetite, and she does not
find her mouth too big for all that she has need to
put into it.
A big mouth is also very convenient for prattling.
This one is never tired of talking and saying droll
things. And when it has prattled enough, it sings:
it is then that it opens well !
And for screaming, too! It is no longer a mouth
-it is an oven, a cavern, a resounding gulf. When

it is open, like that, the best thing its hearers can do
is to stop up their ears and make their escape.
The cries do not last forever. Laughing comes
again-a good laugh, which shows pretty little very
white teeth; they are not all there yet, for Miss
Louise is hardly more than a baby.
And when it has laughed well, what good big
kisses it knows how to give-that mouth !
Mamma does not find it at all too big, and loves
it as it is.
And later, when Miss Louise will be older, when
she will have become very reasonable, very witty
and very good, her mouth will say things so sensi-
ble, so pretty and so amiable, that everybody will
love it, and no one will have an idea of thinking it
too big.

Good translations of "La Bouche de Mademoiselle Louise" were received before May i8th from: Arnold Guyot Cameron, Am- H.
Reynolds, Annie Rider, W. F. Dana, Milton Hopkins. Fannie Freeman, A. B. W., Grace M. Hall, E. W. B. P., "Helen If.
Hattie K. Chase, "Cupid bereft of his Chow-chow," Addle Grant, James E. Whitney, George B. McClellan, Jr, Nellie Emerson, Ada
Soil, A. Wayland Cutting, Wm. .. :r.......1 Ier, Thos. Hunt, Louisa B., Caroline Chase, Harold Steele MacKaye, Lucy S. Birnell,
hlaude E. Boswell, J. Lilian Dot, .. .. i:. .. Hallie P. Adams, Seelye Bryant, Blossom Drum, J. P. C., William A. King, Jennie
B. Rizer. Harriet A. Clark, Madge Wilson, Fr T-;. ^Aigie Courts. William L. Smith, A. Jennie McNeil, Louise H. King,
Bella Robinson, Mabel Curtis Wright, Leslie W. I-7 .. .. i.. Chandler, Marian Otis, Frances M. Woodward, Mac Fiske, Katharine
Spalding, Eleanor N. Hughes, Bessie Van Rensselaer, Frederick Eastman, Constance Grand-Pierre, "Bob White," Edith R. Smith, Maud
Richardson, Emma Disosway, Jennie E. Beal, Fannie F. Hunt, Mary Hawley, Fannie P. Blake, Mary H. Sharpe, Lois L. Howe, Sallie P.
Macallister, G. Frederick Harwood, Grace Foster Sewall, Kate E. Dimock, I.ouise W. Ford, Frank A Eaton, May Parker, Lodice E.
Porter, Arthur W. Underwood, Wm. H. Parker, Fannie R. Safford, L. E. P., Bessie L. Barnes, Lillie L. Preston, Julia H. George, Lulu
A. Wilkinson, Alice Ashmore Walker, Agnes Frances Walker, G. C. W., Hattie G. Merrill, Vulcan," Harriet Langdon Pruyn, "Louise,"
Alice S. Moody, B. M. P., Ella L. True, and May Harwood.

THE LETTER-BOX.

OUR readers will remember that, in the June number of ST.
NICHOLAS, Mr. Ingersoll told them about three species of our native
American wild mice, namely, the white-footed mouse, called scientifi-
cally Hesperomys leucopus; the meadow-mouse, A rvicola riparius .
and the jumping or deer-mouse, Jaculus hudsonius. They will re-
member also that he told them these mice were not uncommon
throughout the United States; lived in open fields and prairies for
the most part, rather than in the woods, where they dug burrows or
built nests, ate seeds, roots and bark, and were themselves eaten by
many animals and birds of prey. Having been reminded of these
particulars, it will be easy to study more carefully some further points
in the life of these entertaining little creatures, as given by Mr.
Ingersoll this month.

Covington, Ky., April 2, 1877.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little boy ten years old, and am one
of a family of five children. We have taken you ever since you were
first published, and we like you very much. We also have three
nice bound volumes in regular order. December 9th last we organ-
ized a society to save and make the proper use of our money. The
officers are as follows: Papa, President; Mamma, Vice-President;
Del, my elder sister, Secretary; J. Wade, Treasurer; Kate, another
sister, Mag, another, and John, my baby brother, are members. In
the society, or in another apartment, we have a mission-box, and out
of the society money we give it fifteen cents a week. Good-by.
Yours truly and respectfully,
By order of the society. WADE HAMPTON.

San Francisco, 1877.
DEAn ST. NICHOLAcs: I am ten years old, and of course am not
expected to write as well as an old girl. I often see letters in your
columns from little boys and girls, so I thought you might like to
hear about a pet goose I had.
A little while before Christmas my uncle Charles gave my grand-
mother a goose. When he was brought to us his legs were tied up,
and it hurt him very much. My cousin Ernest made a cage for him
and he slept very nicely. In the morning when he woke up, he
made such a racket that it woke us all up For a while he was
quite lonesome, and would call after everybody who passed his cage;
but by-and-by he got over it and seemed quite contented. There
being no pond for him to swim in, we gave him a bath in a tub as
often as we could. I think you will laugh at his name. It was
SMisery," because he loved company so much. The rats came in
such numbers after his food that it became necessary to set a trap.
My cousin Olive and I used to put him on a box and sit on each
side of him and feed him, or we would sing to him. He was very fond
of biting the buttons on our dresses, and one day he bit one off, and
nearly swallowed it. We were very careful to protect our buttons
after that.
But Misery" grew thinner and thinner, and seemed so unhappy
in spite of all we did for him, that my grandmother thought it would
be best to kill him. So one morning before we were up she had him
killed. We had him for dinner, but he was very t--'h We are
going to have a little dog soon, and perhaps I wil. r..11 you about
him.
I like the ST. NICHOLAS better than any other magazine I ever
read.-Yours truly, PEARL HOBART.
P. S.-I did not eat any of the goose.

636

[JULY,

THE LETTER-BOX.

Cleveland, O.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl eight years old. Having
read some about birds in my ST. NICHOLAS, I thought I would tell
you about a little canary that I have. Missing its sweet notes the
other day, I looked into the cage, and found it lying at the bottom,
dead, as we supposed; but papa took it in his hands and said it was
not quite dead; he then mixed some red pepper with milk; then he
opened its little bill with a pen-knife and made it take some. I then
got a piece of flannel and put it into a collar-box. Then papa put in
the birdie. Mamma said it probably would be dead before morning,
but when I got up the next morning and peeped into the box, my
birdie had its eyes open, and I am now happy to tell you that at this
moment it is singing again as sweetly as ever. I thought this simple
remedy might save the birdie of some other little girl or boy.-I am,
your little reader, IRENE L. COREY.

GRACE JOHNSON, a little girl, ten years old, sends us this verse
about her poll parrot:
POLLY.
WE have a funny polly,
He 's 'most as smart as you,
If you stoop down under his cage,
He'll call out, "Peek-a-boo."
If you should come and see me,
He'd say, "How do you do?"
And sing "Pretty Polly Hopkins"
In a cheerful voice for you.

Fort McKavettr, Menard Co., Texas, May 2, I877.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My letter in the March number of your
magazine has been the means of giving me two kind little friends in the
State of New York. They rather felt for my lonely situation, I sup-
pose, and I thank them for their kind-heartedness. They are anxious
to know about my army home, so I will tell them, and the rest of
your young folks, as best I can, how we live in the army:
We have no grand, fine houses like you town and city girls and
boys have; but our houses are built of rough stone one story high,
and contain but three or four rooms, sitting-room, bedroom, dining-
room, and kitchen. No matter how large a family an officer may
have, he is limited to this number of rooms; in fact, we are entitled
only to one room and a kitchen; but this is seldom strictly adhered
to. as in that case we should have to live more like pigs than human
beings. Army officers, too, are generally supposed to live like gen-
tlemen; but I am sure it would not look very gentlemanly or lady-
like to sleep, eat, and sit in the same room.
The officers' and soldiers' quarters are all built in line and around
a "square; we have a little plot of ground in front and at the side
of our quarters; we have vines trained over our porches, making
them look pretty. Fort McKavett is situated on a hill, and is sur-
rounded on all sides by hills; the scenery is varied and pretty. A
lovely stream called the San Saba runs near the post; it is full of
beautiful, clear springs; from one or two in particular is obtained all
the water used in the garrison, brought up in large water-wagons, each
drawn by eight mules; the work about the garrison is done by the
soldier prisoners. There is a fine hospital building for the sick, and
two doctors to attend them. It would seem strange to you, no doubt,
to see scarcely any one but soldiers about; but I am used to it, never
having seen anything else, for I was not quite two years old when I
first knew anything about army life; we were then living so near
Mexico that mamma and papa often took me across the Rio Grande
river to Mlatamoras, we could get so many nice things over there;
but may be I will tell you about that place another time.
We have a delightful band here belonging to the Tenth Infantry
which plays in the open air three times a week, in the evening, in the
band stand, and every.morning at guard-mounting, and on Sunday
evenings at dress parade, which is the soldiers' church; for we have
no chaplain. I have not been inside a church for four years; is not
that dreadful? Some foolish persons think army people live in ease
and luxury, and do not sacrifice anything; but just think of not hav-
ing a school, or a church, or anything of that kind to go to, seeing
the same faces every day and the same things-nothing to amuse us.
We get tired of playing the same games even. The only things I
enjoy without tiring of are riding on horseback, and that I do love
heartily, and taking care of my numerous pets. I study every day,
but it is not like going to school; I am afraid I am dreadfully behind
other girls of my age. But I fear, dear ST. NICHOLAS, you will be
tired of reading so much; so my letter shall stop right here. I
believe I think more of you every year, and just long for the end of
the month to come.-Your affectionate little reader,
JANET G. LARIKE.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My little boy, Bertie, just three years old,
has had ST. NICHOLAS sent him by his dear grandma, for his birth-
day gift, and we are perfectly charmed with it. We are in the "back-
woods now, so it is a double pleasure. The last number came yes-
terday, and Bertie went to bed hugging it in his arms at night. Of

course I intend he shall take good care of the numbers and have
them bound, and I hope he will be a subscriber for years to come.
He thinks Cluck-a-Luck's Strange Children" very funny, and I
have to read it over and over to him. Last summer I took him to the
country for a day, and he slipped away from nurse, and when she
found him in the poultry-yard, the little fellow, in his delight, had
killed three of the loveliest little white chickens just hatched, and was
in the act of "hugging" another when nurse found him. He said
lie "just loved 'em up tight." He knows better now, and if I had
time, I would tell you about his pet canary and red-bird, which love
him so much.
He never saw a fig until we came here a few months ago, and
when he saw the great black fellow, he came running to me, saying:
" Oh I mamma, I 'spect it is a bear." Do you think any of your little
folks would make such a mistake? Bertie sends love, and says I
must tell you about the three piggies;" but I'm afraid our letter is
too long now for the Letter-Box.-Yours truly, "M."

AGNES FRANCES W., Alice Ashmore W., and G. C. W., three
little sisters, of Winchester, Virginia, send us three capital translations
of "La Bouche de Mademoiselle Louise," published in our May
number, and beg us to give them something a little more difficult in
French, and also a German story for translation." It is very evident
that they are new readers of ST. NICHOLAS, or they would know that
our back numbers have anticipated their request. But we welcome
them heartily, and hope in future to give them a goodly share of
pleasant work.

Richmond House, Reading, England, May 5, 1877.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I am very glad my dear papa lets me take
your magazine. I like it very much, and I read some of it almost
every day. I am reading now "Pattikin's House," and think it a
very pretty story.
I went to Southsea the other day, and found such a lot of shells
and sea-weed and little crabs on the beach. And I saw the Vic-
tory," the ship on which Lord Nelson was killed many years ago.
I shall be eight years old in a few days.-Your friend,
ALBIN WHITE.

THE long article on Gunpowder" in this number, written by an
ex-officer of the U. S. army, cannot, we think, fail to interest our
boy-readers, and give them a useful hint or two.

Philadelphia, 1877.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Will you please tell me in your next num-
ber who is Saxe Holm, who wrote the story, "The First Time," in
the Mlay ST. NICHOLAS? I looked in Drake's "Dictionary of
American Biography," and in Allibone's "Dictionary of Authors,"
but they did not say anything about the person. -Your little reader,
JENNIE MARCH.
The real name of" Saxe Holm" is not known, nor is it likely to be.

1877.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : Last s t mmer, about the first of August,
Ed and I had planned to camp out for a few days. I was to furnish
the necessary articles, which we bre rad, tea, butter, plates, knives,
spoons, towels, blankets, a tent, and .1 -. ., ..-. :'o
While, on the other hand, Ed, who i1 -' : brought choco-
late, crackers and herring. I also borrowed of my grandmother a
large, heavy, buffalo robe, on which we were to sleep. The next
morning we got up early, and got the things ready for our trip.
At half-past nine we were ready, and proceeded to the boat-house.
Our tools were a spade and an ax, which we took along in case of
emergencies. We also took some money to buy milk with.
Once fairly started we put up the sail, for we did not fancy the
idea of rowing sixteen miles in the hot sun. A good wind favored
us, and we reached our destination about four o'clock.
We encamped on a beautiful beach facing the north-east. After
we had pitched our tent, we went to look after the baggage. The
provisions were packed in a large basket, which we put n the tent.
I then brought the butter can, and dug a hole in the gravel, two
feet deep, and about four feet from the water, so as to keep it cool.
After that we got supper, which consisted of tea, chocolate,
crackers, and herring.
After supper we 1- .. 1-. ..11, 1 them orii. ...., i ... i .
tent-over these we I. 1 .- 1 - .I robe. i ....
were then ready for night. After gathering up the things, and put-
ting them in the tent, we got into the boat and rowed a mile farther
on, where we met some friends, with whom we spent the evening.
After rowing back, and shutting the flaps of the tent, we went to bed.
We had some trouble getting to sleep; a bug bit Ed and stung him
very badly. The next morning we got up early, built our fire, and had
breakfast, which we ate with a good relish. After washing the dishes

TIlE LETTER-BOX. [Jur.v,

and setting things to rights, we took a row. When we got back
there were some boys around the tent. They were the friends we
had visited the previous evening, and as they had brought potatoes
and other things, we were glad that they had come. So we invited
them to stay to dinner, after which we took a sail, and saw some
more of our friends. Supper over, we spent the evening as before,
and then went to bed; but we could not get to sleep. Mosquitoes
were very thick, and about twelve o'clock we made up our minds to
get up, tear down our tent, pack up, and start for home. When we
had got everything ready we pushed off. After rowing about two
miles we put to shore, and set up the sail, and then steered for the
middle of the lake. We had a fair wind at first, but after a while it
died down. As we sat waiting for a breeze to spring up, the sky
began to get very dark, and with it came what we wanted, a good
wind; but before long we found we had got ourselves in a fix. for the
wind began to blow harder and harder, and the waves were so high
that they splashed into the boat. As quickly as we could we seized the
oars, and pulled for the nearest shore. The motion of the waves had
made me rather faint, so Ed made me lie down on the blankets. We
then took turns in rowing till we had rowed about five miles, when I
again lay down. Th:s time I fell asleep. Ed did not wake me, as
he should have done, but let me sleep on. At last I awoke of my
own accord, and 1 was surprised to find we had gone so far. I tried
to take my turn at the oars, but the more I moved the sicker I got.
In half an hour we reached the boat-house, and a happier pair of
boys could not be found. When we reached the house I found it to
be five o'clock, so that it had taken us just five hours to row eighteen
miles.
Having told you the event of the summer, I will bid you good-by.
-Yours truly, R. R. B.
Venice, April, 1877.
DEAR OLD ST. NICHOLAS I will tell you some things about this
Italian city. It has no horse-cars -r -t, _-- -o "-hive to go around
in boats called gondolas, because ::.. 'I Ii... '.. are water, like
canals, but without tow-paths. The only good place for walking is
the great square in front of the cathedral of St. Mark, where the
bronze lions are. You will think boys can't run about much or have
many games here, but there are lots of boats, and plenty of water,
to get fun out of.
We shall stay here for a whole year, and papa says you shall come
to us every month just the same.
I must tell you the carpenters here pull their planes toward them,
like the Japanese carpenters that we see in pictures, instead of push-
ing them as our carpenters do at home, in America. I saw this in
a workshop, and there was a hollow at each side of the plane, to
give a good hold. Please tell this to the ST. NICHOLAS boys.-Your
true friend, WILLIE S.

THE following startling and original fairy-tale-an awful warning
to kings-comes to us with this note from the author:
Syracuse, 1877.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am going to write a story, and would like
it very much if you would publish it in the St. nicholas. If you think
it worth while printing. I am only eight years old.
THE MAGIC CARPET.
(A fairy tale.) '
Once upon a time there lived a king. One day he was walking in
his garden, looking at the flowers, he thought how rich he was, and
how poor some people were. Suddenly it became very dark, at last
lie distinguished three figures, on the ground. He asked them what
they were. They said they were three faries. Each of them gave
him a wish The first one said he would find ten dollars every time
he put his hand in his pocket. The second one said when ever he
was in trouble to call for them they would come. The third one said
she would give him a magic carpet, she would not tell him what good
it was, they went away, in a second he found himself in his palace
with all the people around him. He could not find out what good it
was. He had it put on his floor. One day he was walking on the
carpet he wished himself in Cincinnati he found himself in Cincinnati.
He called for the faries they came he said what shall I do, they told
him to be contented with what he had, they vanished, he felt in his
pocket, and got one hundred dollars. He spent it for whisky, and got
drunk. At last he found that he had to work for his living, every cent
he got he spent for whisky, after a while he got so drunk that he was
put in prison, and he died there. A. T. E.

Birmingham, Ct., April 22, 1877.
DEAR MRS. DODGE: I had a little kitty that looked something
like the picture in the new (May) ST. NICHOLAS, and played just
like it. I think the poetry by it is awful pretty. I think the fairy
story is nice too, especially the funny old giant, Dundernose.
This is a beautiful ST. NICHOLAS. All the stories are nice. I like
them every one. I can read them all. I can't write nor print well,
my mamma writes letters for me. I am'most eight years old. Good-
by. That's all I'm going to say. PAULINE P.

San Francisco, April 5, 1877.
DEAR EDITOR OF THE ST. NICHOLAS: The other day I went to a
silver wedding, where a Russian nobleman, named Baron von Osten-
saken, gave the following riddles in French:
First: Mon premier est le premier de son esp&cc; mon second Ie
seul de son espece, et mon tout est ce que je ne veux pas vous dire.
Second: Mon premier est un animal domestique; mon second est
ce que les dames n'aiment pas decouvrir en elles-memes, et mon tout
est une union.
Third: Pourquoi l'Imperatrice a-t-elle quitt6 Paris avec un den-
tiste?
These are all I can remember.-Yours truly,
JULIA H. GEORGE.
The answers to these riddles will be given in the next number of
ST. NICHOLAS.

Pittsfield, May s2d, 1877.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I was very glad to see my name in the
" Letter-Box for translating the French story in the April number.
Last week I went out every clear night to find the different constella-
tions, with the help of Professor Proctor's maps. "His Own Master"
is very exciting, I think, in this number. I am sorry "Pattikin's
House" ends so soon; I was so interested in it.-Your reader,
NELLIE EMERSON.

H. STARKWEATHER'S problem in arithmetical-algebra
(for it is not properly an algebraic problem) in the June
number of ST. NICHOLAS, page 574, may be easily ex-
plained by the accurate use of a rule which he used
inaccurately. We shall refer to the first example given,
the explanation being equally true for the others.
The solution is correct until the last equation, which
should be 1 (7 _) (2 )

or, as it is usually written,

7 --' = (2 ),
according to the rule that the square root of any quantity
is "ambiguous," as the books say; we would say is
either or ; not both + and -; nor yet, or -,
just as you choose; but + or -, according to the con-
ditions of the problem.
In this case we must take the sign for the second
member of the equation, and we then have

7 = (2 j), or,
7- .=-2+ or,

which is correct.
The example, then, does not prove that 7 = 2, but
that # = -.
To illustrate the necessity for a choice between the +
and values of a square root:
Given the algebraic equation x +- 1/ = 6. By solu-
tion x = 9; .'. I/-, we might say, = 3. But it can-
not =- 3, for 9 + 3 = 2, and not 6; it does = 3,
for 9 + (- 3) or 9 3 = 6, as in the original equation.
This we should not have discovered, by squaring the
members of the given equation, and then finding x; but
if we had solved the equation as it stands, we should
have found the value of V1/ = 3, first, and then x =
9; which explains the reason why, though x = 9, yet,
in this equation, 1/x cannot = 3.
It may be noticed of the other examples in the last
ST. NICHOLAS : If it were proved that 2 = I, of course
4 = 3 without further proof.
We would commend to our young readers a variation
of Davy Crockett's advice : "Be sure you're right, then
go ahead." Be sure you are right (particularly in
mathematics), then stand by your results.

MARTHA L. Cox sends the only correct solution to this problem
received up to present date (May 25th).
R. W. M. is mistaken in saying that each member of the 5th equa-
tion is negative. He will see, by examining the problem, that each
of them is positive.

T11E LETTER-BOX.

[JULY,

THE RIDDLE-BOX.

THE RIDDLE-BOX.

PICTORIAL PUZZLE.

FIND in the picture: I. The Ettrick Shepherd. 2. The plant "Equisetum arvense." 3. A nickname for Boston. 4. A part of a church
and a rascal. 5. A member of a society. 6. A military command. 7. A story. 8. An arrow. 9. A colloquial name for an English servant.
xo. Wrath. ii. A fine yellow wood. 12. A period. 13. Storms. 14. A verb meaning "to weary." 15. A verb meaning "said." 16. Chick-
weed. 17. Over sixty gallons. 18. Something under every eye. 19. Blows with a hatchet. 20. A kind of wine.

NUMERICAL ENIGMA.
COMPOSED of sixteen letters. The r, 7, r4, 9, is a company. The
3, 2, 8, I8 is a girl's name. The ro, 15, 4, 13, is a number. The
16, 2, 5, 6, is an examination. The whole is good advice from
Shakspeare. ISOLA.
EASY RIDDLE.
My first is in cat, but not in dog;
My second is in plank, but not in log;
My third is in rat, but not in mice;
My fourth is in pleasant, but not in nice;
My fifth is in Edith, but not in Mary;
My last is in light, but not in airy;
My whole is a very useful thing,
Found with the poor man, found with the king.
K. u.
DIAMOND PUZZLE.
MY x is a consonant. My 2 is a verb in the present tense. My 3
is one who acts for another. My 4 our forefathers fought for. My
5 is to bestow. My 6 is obtained from flax. My 7 is a consonant.
C. G. T.

ABBREVIATIONS.
I. BEHEAD and curtail a division of a poem and get an insect. 2.
Behead and curtail a very small piece and get a liquor. 3. Behead
and curtail a sign of grief and get a knock. 4. Behead and curtail a.
place of justice and get a pronoun. 5. Behead and curtail a fool and-
get abject. 6. Behead and curtail disgrace and get an article of food.
7. Behead and curtail a line and get a journey. 8. Behead and cur-
tail a beggar and get an animal. 9. Behead and curtail some ani-
mals and get to gain. o. Behead and curtail to look intently and
get a thick substance. i. Behead and curtail a kind of meal and get
a girl's nickname. 12. Behead and curtail an account book and get
a border. A. B.

PREFIX PUZZLE.

PREFIX the same syllable to-i. A contemptible dog, and make to
agree. 2. A kind of beetle, and make one of the largest of birds. 3.
Strong, and make to ratify. 4. A fish, and make to comfort. 5. A-
region, and make an agreement. 6. Worn out, and make penitent.
7. An edge, and make to incline together. 8. A shelter, and make
satisfaction. 9. A searching trial, and make a dispute.
STALLKNECHT.

i877.]

THE RIDDLE-BOX.

DOUBLE ACROSTIC.
THE initials and finals name one of Dickens's characters.
I. A soft metal. 2. A Shakspearean character. 3. A deity, for
whom a day of the week was named. 4. A ferocious wild animal. 5.
A man's name. 6. A young bird of prey. ISOLA.

EASY PICTURE-PUZZLE.

5,

,,f itl,
rl ~~ ~ ~ei

A PAIR of hoppers gay are we;
Look sharp, and soon our forms you '11 see.

ANSWERS TO PUZZ

NUMERICAL ENIGMA.-Dromedary.
INCOMPLETE SENTENCES.-I. Waver, aver. 2. Mother, other.
3. Jaunt, aunt. 4. Bother, other. 5. Maid, aid. 6. Cover, over.
DOUBLE ACROSTIC.-Genius, Talent.
G -arne- T
E -nigm- A
N -icke- L
I -r- E
U -nicor- N
S -carle- T
CHARADnE.-Dolphin.
A NAME PuzZLE.-Charlotte, Orlinda, Rosabelle, Adelaide.
DIAMOND REMAINDERS.-
S-0-T
F-A T E-S
M-0 T H E R--S
R-E E L-S
D--R-
GEOGRAPHICAL DOUBLE DIAGONAL PUZZLE.-Holland, England.
HOLYOKE
COLO GNE
noLoGNA
NA N L I NG
ALABAMA
INDIANA
DETMOLD

HIDDEN FRENCH PROVERB.
FIND in the following sentence a French proverb-a warning to
persons making secret communications:
Walking among brakes and thistles, I saw some odd-looking birds:
a large emu, rail (less than the emu-don't despise the procession),
and two or three more ill-esteemed birds, marching toward the shore.
B.
CHARADE.
MY first in radiant robes arrayed,
Or draped in gloom, or drowned in tears;
My next, as Holy Writ hath said,
Dwells in the sunlight, moonlight, stars.
My whole, a flaunting beauty bright,
Born for the morning's festal ray;
Floating in colors, bathed in light,
Dancing the gayest of the gay.
But when dark hours come stealing on,
My airy graces all are gone;
The frail, brief vision of delight
Shrinks fainting, fainting out of sight,
Phantom of beauty, quenched in night. M. o'B.

OMNIBUS WORD.
IN a word of five letters find, without repeating the same word,
and without repeating the same letter in a word, the following:
I.-A word-square: i. The juice of a plant. 2. A verb. 3. A
plant.
II.-Another word-square: I. A small venomous serpent. 2. A
large body of water. 3. A nickname.
III.-One diamond puzzle, the central letters of which form a
word-square: I. A consonant. 2. A monkey. 3. An implement of
war. 4. A part of the body. 5. A consonant.
IV.-A word meaning to fight with fists, and which, spelled back-
ward, means quick, smart blows.
V.-Ten words: i. A fruit. 2. To peal. 3. To gather. 4. To
scorch. 5. Lean. 6. To level with the ground. 7. A grammatical
term. 8. An epoch. 9. A term used by merchants. io. To file.
What is the word ? N. T. M.

LES IN JUNE NUMBER.

ABBREVIATIONS.-I. Bevel, eel. 2. Maple, ape. 3. Towel, owl.
4. Eagle, ale. 5. Ebony, boy. 6. Abbey, Bey. 7. Chart, hat. 8.
Farce, ace. 9. Prune, rue. no. Thumb, hub.
HALF-SQUARE.- C R A D L ES
REPAID
APPLE
DALE
LIE
ED
S
EASY REBUSES.-Beethoven, Landseer, Millais.
SQUARE REMAINDERS.- S-T E A L
L--EA S E
C-AS K S
B-L E S T
RHOMBOID PUZZLE.-

OV INE
YEAST
I PEN
LYNCH
PUZZLE.-Alone.
ANAGRAMS -r. Kerosene. 2. Troopers (there was a mistake in
this anagram; the words contained an extra "s"). 3. Expenses.
4. Panoramas. 5. Lectures. 6. Procrastination.
REBUS.-" Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air."

Mary Seymour, Cora M. Wesley, Marion Abbott, and "A. B. C.," answered correctly ALL the puzzles in the May number.
ANSWERS TO SPECIAL PUZZLES IN THE SAME NUMBER were received previous to May i8th from Arnold Guyot Cameron, Carrie L.
Bigelow, Henry C. Lee, Louie E. Hill, Edith Wilkinson, "Bob White," Nettle C. Howell. Bessie T. B. Benedict, White Rose," C. Lora
Nicholson, Florence E. IT 1:. T... i..'Voodbridge, Alice T. Booth, N. Dalrymple, Maude Calkins, Minnie E. Hobart, Geo. H. Faxon,
Florence Wilcox, Edwin rI -. R. Platt, A. Carter, Dee 1 Lodge, George Moffett, Mary C. Warren, C. V. K., L. Ford, Arthur
C. Smith, Nellie Chase, .1 1 .... Emma Elliott, "Alex.," James J. Ormsbee, H. B. and E. Hall, Mabel H., M. S. H., Pauline
Schloss, Harry Richards, Martie and Aggie Irwin, Rachel E. Hutchins, Jennie B. Rizer, Alice Reisie, Nessie E Stevens, W. Creighton
Spencer, Harriet A. Clark, E. H. Hoeber, Clarence Hoffman ,: Fll G. Condie, George W. White, "Telemachus," Katie Earl,
Robert M. Webb, Herbert P. Robinson, Nellie Emerson, Fannie i: ., I .. :, B. P. Emery, Arthur Stuart Walcott, Jennie Platt, Henry 0.
Fetter, S. Decatur Smith, Jr., Willie Wright, Bessie W. Frothineham, Maxwell W. Turner, Howard S. Rodgers, Fred. M. Pease, Hugh T.
Carney, Blanche Moulton, Edith Lowry, 0. T. Farnum, Eddie Vultee, Vulcan," Bessie MacLaren, Helen Green, Elinor Louise Smith.
Dorkin," Minerva," "Alma," and Angie Courts, sent correct answers to some of the puzzles, and also to the charade by Maddie H.
in "Letter-Box" of May number.

[JULY.

	Front Cover
	Nellie in the light-house
	Gunpowder
	Going to the sea-shore
	And the sun smiled
	Hevi
	His own master
	Wild mice and their ways
	The Peterkins celebrate the fourth...
	A talk about swimming
	The little brown seed in furro...
	The stars in July
	A boy's life on a man-of-war
	What made Mr. Tompkins laugh
	Going a-gypsying
	George the third
	Dumb orator
	The giant planet Jupiter
	Jamie's rabbits
	Jack-in-the-pulpit
	Miss Louise's mouth - The...
	The riddle-box
	Back Cover

MILLISECOND	CLASS.METHOD	MESSAGE
0	sobekcm_page_globals.constructor
0	sobekcm_page_globals.constructor	Application State validated or built
0	sobekcm_database.verify_item_lookup_object
0	sobekcm_page_globals.constructor	Navigation Object created from URI query string
0	sobekcm_database.verify_item_lookup_object
0	sobekcm_page_globals.display_item	Retrieving item or group information
0	sobekcm_page_globals.get_entire_collection_hierarchy	Retrieving hierarchy information
0	sobekcm_assistant.get_entire_collection_hierarchy
0	cached_data_manager.retrieve_item_aggregation
0	cached_data_manager.retrieve_item_aggregation	Found item aggregation on local cache
0	item_aggregation_builder.get_item_aggregation	Found 'all' item aggregation in cache
0	system.web.ui.page.page_load (ufdc.page_load)
0	sobekcm_page_globals.constructor.on_page_load
0	html_echo_mainwriter.add_style_references	Adding style references to HTML
0	html_echo_mainwriter.add_text_to_page	Reading the text from the file and echoing back to the output stream
92	html_echo_mainwriter.add_text_to_page	Finished reading and writing the file