St. Nicholas, vol. 4, no. 11

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

"HURRAH FOR THE COACH!"
(See page 710.)

ST. NICHOLAS.

SEPTEMBER, 1877.

[Copyright, 1877, by Scribner & Co.]

YOUNG FOLKS' FUN IN CENTRAL PARK.

BY CHARLES BARNARD.

BOYS and girls who live in the country some-
times tell of the rare good times they have in the
fields, by the brook, in the barn among the mounds
of hay, and in the woods. There are the lanes
bordered with berries, the orchard with prizes of
dropped apples under the trees, the spring violets
in the meadows, the nuts dropping down in the
woods, the glorious swims in the pond in the sum-
mer, the more glorious skating in the winter. All
the poets and story-tellers have told and sung of
these things many times over, till the city boy and
girl have learned the story by heart.
Now, really, this is n't fair. Country children do'
not have all the sport in the world. There is sure
to be fun wherever boys and girls live, even if it is
a city. New York is not all paved streets, stone
sidewalks and brick houses, and the children who live
there have their good times after their own fashion.
There are no big barns and piles of hay; berry-
bushes are not very thick on the Fifth avenue, and
boys never go nutting on the sidewalks, but there
are wide and grassy play-grounds, donkeys to ride,
goat-carriages with fiery steeds, and swings and
boats, and swans and monkeys, lions and bears and
sheep-dogs, wooden horses that speed around and
around as if they were alive, and-and-why, there
is no end to the jolly things in New York. It
is very good of the poets to sing about the sports
of the country. They should come to town and
see how city boys and girls play, and then they
might sing a new song of the gay goat-carriage, the
amiable wooden horse, the lively owls in the deep,
VOL. IV.-46.

dark cave, and the affectionate donkeys that live in
Central Park.
Come, boys and girls Let us go to the Park.
Come, Tommy and Ned, Master Charles and
Fred. Come Kitty and Jane,-and baby shall go,
too. The Park is the place for fun. This is the
entrance, at the corner of the Fifth avenue and
Fifty-ninth street. The wide street called the
Fifth avenue spreads out into an open space,
planted with trees, and looking as if the city came
to a sudden end in the country. There is a broad
graveled walk, a wide road, and a little summer-
house and a two-horse carriage drawn up before
it. "Will you have a ride? Only twenty-five
cents." Shall we ride, boys and girls? No. Let
us walk-it will be more fun. Thank you, sir, for
the nice carriage, but we 'II walk at present. But
baby must ride! Ah how very nice! A baby-
carriage to let. Tuck her in warm, nurse, and
then we will start. Think of that !-a baby-car-
riage all ready at the gate, and only ten cents an
hour.
Now, we will go up the broad path by the roads.
Look at the horses! How they come prancing
along, with flashing eyes and arching necks i They
seem to be proud to drag the handsome carriages,
and they canter along in splendid style. After a
short walk we come to a place where the roads
divide. Oh! look there! See the sheep! A
whole flock of them in a field. And a shepherd, too
-a queer old fellow-and-see! There he goes!
That's the shepherd's dog. Some of the sheep try

VOL. IV.

No. Ii.

YOUNG FOLKS' FUN IN CENTRAL PARK.

to cross the road, and the dog scuds after them, bark-
ing loudly, and they all scamper'back again. That's
a sight you do not often see, even in the country.

in, Kitty and Jane, Tommy and Ned. No, Master
Charles, you 're too old for that fun. How you
would look with your legs all doubled Hallo!

r -

A

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2.I-

ir~~~TH iN~ PH;;iO ANT -ii~ S_ FLOCK~
~- =RN

I:-~ ~~-~-~--~".-: .;' -t

A AP --

_x-t t em

AM'44- A-

THE SHEPPHERD AND HIS FLOCK.

Hallo! Ponies! "Have a ride, young mas-
ter?" The ponies stand, all saddled and bridled,
by the road-side, ready for a run. There is a
boy in uniform standing beside each pony, ready
to help the rider to mount, and to keep the pony
from running away. Our boys think they really
must have a ride. Baby can sit in her carriage
till they come back, and the girls can sit down
under the trees to rest.
What a pretty place this is! The sheep have
free range over a wide and sunny pasture. There
are broad walks along the road-side, with plenty of
seats where we can wait till the boys come back.
They have a jolly canter, and then we cross the
road and come to a broad, straight walk, with wide
lawns on either side, and four long rows of trees.
There are here a fine sculptured group of an Indian
hunter and his dog, and statues of Sir Walter Scott
and Shakspeare.
Oh what's this? A pair of goats harnessed
to a little carriage. The driver runs beside the
fiery steeds as they come trotting gayly along.
They wave their horns and wheel around in a circle
and away they go up the broad path. Now, this is
fun! See! Here's an empty carriage coming.
How much for a ride, mister ? Ten cents." Jump

They're off! How fast they go! The driver
runs beside the goats to keep them steady, and
Tommy holds the reins. We will follow them.
Hah! What's that? Music? Yes-no. Mas-
ter Fred is all excitement. It is the lions. Hear
them roar. Let us go and see them. No, you
may have heard the band playing. It is both.
We can hear the animals roaring, and the sound
of the band. Really, here is too much fun at once.
We must follow the goat-carriage now, and can
visit Mr. and Mrs. Lion afterward. What a great
company of people! The path is full of boys and
girls, ladies and gentlemen, some looking about,
and some sitting down in the shade of the trees.
The children finish their ride, and we may sit
down awhile and listen to the music.
This does not look like the city. Instead of
houses there are sunny fields, a rockybank covered
with shrubs and surmounted by an arbor overgrown
with vines, and all about us are trees making a
pleasant shade from the sun. It is certainly a
pretty place, but there are so many more things to
be seen we must go on very soon. See There are
parrots in cages, calling to each other, and biting
the bars of their prisons as if they would like to
get out. We might stop to look at them, and to

YOUNG FOLKS' FUN IN CENTRAL PARK.

admire the curious fountains flashing in the sun,
but there are greater wonders just over the road.
There! Is n't that pretty? A great fountain
showering down sparkling sheets of water, a broad
walk, and a lake and wooded hills beyond, with a
stone tower, looking like a castle, in the distance.
And there are swans and row-boats on the water.
The boys are all eagerness for a sail on the lake,
and are ready to run down the long flights of stone
steps that lead to the lake. Stop a moment.
Look at this stone-work by the stairs. See!
It is covered with birds and flowers, carved in stone
in the wall. Do look at the duck with a fish in his
mouth, these quails and snipes It is wonderful,
but the boys have seen a boat, and they can't stop
for stone birds and flowers.
Can we hire a boat, sir?" "Yes, indeed."
A young man in a sailor suit brings up a boat,
and we all get in. Baby must go, too, and we can
leave her carriage here till we return. Now, this is

comes another boat, and in it are two children
and a nurse who is holding a baby aloft. They
sweep past us quickly, laughing and talking as
they go. See! There's a swan, with its wings
spread out like a sail before the wind, and the
baby in the other boat is shaking his rattle at it,
and crowing with delight. There are more swans
on the banks,-and ducks, too. How tame they
seem They do not pay the slightest attention to
the crowds of people. Here we go under a bridge,
and into a wider part of the lake, where we can
see a number of boats and a whole flock of beauti-
ful white swans.
Hallo What is that? It is a pelican standing
in the water by the beach. Oh That is too bad.
That silly boy is troubling him. Ha ha! Mr.
Pelican could n't stand it any longer, and he opened
his great mouth as if he meant to swallow the boy,
and the boy runs away dreadfully frightened and
frantically chased by the pelican.

TAKING A DRIVE.
fun. The boat glides swiftly away, and the chil- So we go around the lake, pushing into little bays
dren on the shore stand looking at us. Here where the trees overhang the water, rowing past

YOUNG FOLKS' FUN

IN CENTRAL PARK.

the beeches where children are playing on the
shore, past rustic arbors on the water-side, and
under a stone bridge that echoes to our voices.
Here is an island, with flocks of ducks on the grass.
See that water-fall leaping with a splash into the
lake. Boats pass every minute, and after a de-
lightful trip we come back to the landing and
get out.
Baby takes her carriage again, and we look about
to see what can be done next. Perhaps nothing
more to-day, for the sun is getting low in the west,
and it is really time we started for home. This is
quite enough fun for one day, and to see more we
would better come another time. The boys have
had a pony-ride, the younger people had a drive in
the goat-carriage, we have seen the sheep and the
shepherd's dog, heard the band play and seen the
parrots, baby had a ride in her carriage, and
we all had a row on the lake. Fun enough for
one day.
As we walk back to the gate we pass the goat-
carriages again. One is standing empty waiting
for riders, and beside it is a company of poor chil-
dren gazing wistfully on the empty seats. Poor
things! They cannot muster ten cents among
them all, and the little carriage seems a very im-

----------- ---- -----

Central Park. There are the lions, and the jolly
monkeys, the ball-ground, the swings, the croquet-
field, the woods and meadows at the upper end of
the Park, the tower, the Ramble, and many another
charming play-ground free to all, rich and poor.
Another day we will come again and see more.
Well, Kitty, what are you thinking about ?
Give these poor children a ride ? That's a happy
thought. How much will it cost? There are
six of them in all. What's your name, little
girl? "Gretchen, sir, please." And yours, sir?
"Mikey Duffy." Well, Mikey and Gretchen, you
may have a ride. Kitty says she has twenty cents,
and Jane has ten, and Tommy fifteen, and Charles
offers fifteen. Sixty cents. Just enough. Jump
in, Master Duffy and Miss Gretchen, and the others
shall go, too. Now, really, we must go home.
We 've had a good time ourselves, and, perhaps,
made the gay party in the goat-carriage happy
also. At any rate, they drive away in great glee,
as if they were having a royal good time. At the
gate we give up baby's carriage, and then go
soberly home, well satisfied with our expedition in
search of fun.
A day or two after this we start again for the
Park, take the baby-carriage at the gate, and go at

-

-r

,- :-

ON THE LAKE.
possible heaven. It is a trifle hard for them, but once to the lake. Come! Let us visit the cave
there are plenty of things they can do without and the Ramble.. We cross a bridge over the lake,
paying for them-plenty of fun for poor children in and come to a path through shady woods.

708

[SEPTEMBER,

YOUNG FOLKS' FUN IN CENTRAL PARK.

709

Donkeys! A whole row of them standing by
the path. What queer fellows they are, with their
big ears and shaggy hair! Here is fun! Every
one, save baby, must be mounted for a ride. The
donkeys are saddled and bridled, and a boy stands

end. A boy runs beside each donkey to look after
the young rider, and thus we gayly amble along
under the trees, with baby and nurse to bring up
the rear of the procession. Look out! We are
coming to a hill. The procession goes slowly down

/
!i t

RIDING DOWN THE STEPS.

by each ready to assist the young rider to a seat.
Kitty shall have the white donkey, and Jane the
black fellow. Get a good seat, and sit perfectly
steady. Why! Master Charles, your too lengthy
legs nearly touch the ground. You are making a
queer spectacle of yourself. There! We are off
in a stately procession, the girls in front and the
boys next, and Master Charles in the rear, on
account of his excessive legs, that threaten to trip
his donkey up and bring the ride to a melancholy

a little slope, and then crosses a rustic bridge,
where a tiny brook foams over the stones into the
lake. There is also a view of the lake, and the
boats and swans. Surely, now, we can't go up-
stairs on donkeys? The path leads to a short
flight of stone steps just where the bronze bust of
Schiller stands embowered in shrubbery. Ah!
Here's another donkey party coming down. Per-
haps if Master Donkey can come down-stairs, he
may be induced to go up. It will be easier for

..... . ..

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

YOUNG FOLKS' FUN IN CENTRAL PARK.

us to go up on donkey-back than to come down in
that way. Don't you think so ?
Then on, past great rocks covered with moss,
past rustic seats and bowers, through shady paths

and wooded lanes, till
we come to a path lead-
ing down into a quiet
dell among wild, rough
rocks. Here we dis-
mount and leave our
amiable donkeys to find
their way back again
with their drivers.
What a queer place !
See that stone bridge
half hid by flowering
vines. And this place?
What's here ? A cave !
The boys go into the
black hole in the rock
and the girls timidly
follow. How dark it is !
Stand still a moment
and let us see what we
can find. Is n't that
very queer ? A pair of
solemn owls blinking
and winking in the
gloom. They sit on a
perch behind a netting
and stare and stare, and
never say a word. The
boys find another door
to the cave leading out
to the lake, and a long
flight of steep stone
steps leading to the top
of the high bank above

IN THlE S

the cave. The boys may go up that way and we
others will go back, and then they can join us again
by another path.
The place is full of winding paths and lanes, up
hill and down, twisting and turning in every direc-
tion, and the boys soon come back to our party,
and then we go on through the woods and over the
rocks to the stone castle on the hill. Here we stop
a moment to view the wide prospect over the Park,
the city, the Hudson River, and the beautiful
country round about. Now for a walk 1...,i.1 1 the
Ramble. The paths wind in, the paths wind out,
now through fields, now past great rocks and
through deep thickets. Come, follow my leader
through this beautiful garden. Ah see him run !
A white rabbit springs across the path and darts
away over the sunny grass. Look See the bee-
hives! And there is a flock of Guinea-hens step-
ping over the grass with the utmost dignity. Keep

close together, lest we lose Why! where is
Kitty? Kitty! Kitty! Really we must find her.
Boys, each of you take a different path and see if
you can find her, and then all come back to this
magnolia-tree by the
S=-----Q- little bridge over the
brook!
The boys searched
here and searched there,
-,' and all through the
h''i., tangled paths, till at
ii9[ 1 last they found her
where four paths' met,
1'1 undecided which way to
S., turn, and crying bitterly
'i / to think she had lost
her party. She had
S.' i followed the rabbit and
lost her way, and it was
really so dreadful that
Sllshe had to cry. A pea-
'cock sat on a low tree
Sand spread his plumes,
and the Guinea-hens
offered her their sym-
pathy, and even the rab-
bit paused in wonder;
Sbut not one of them
had courage enough to
'i, show her the way out
-of her troubles. What
-''IJ' a picture,-poor Kitty
-". -:- |lost in the Ramble!
The rabbit and the pea-
1 cock and the Guinea-
hens might well have a
sympathetic expression,
WINGS. to make up for their
intense stupidity in declining to help the harmless
little girl. Poor things Perhaps they did not
know the way themselves, for, it is said, they never
leave the place, summer or winter.
Now we are all together again, let us take a drive.
Baby can go back to the fountain with nurse, and
the others can go down the hill to the road. Pres-
ently a park carriage comes along, and we get in,
and away we go in fine style. See the horses and
carriages How they sweep along in endless pro-
cession! It is a grand sight, certainly. Hark!
What is that? A horn playing merrily. Oh it's
the coach. The guard" winds his horn, and all
the carriages draw up at the sides of the road to let
it pass. Here it comes Four horses running at
full speed.* The handsome driver holds the reins
with a grand manner, and the great yellow coach
sweeps past in glorious style. The top is full of
ladies and gentlemen, and the footmen sit behind.

* See frontispiece.

7Io

[SEPTEMBER,

r877-] YOUNG FOLKS' FUN IN CENTRAL PARK.

One raises the long copper horn to his lips, and
the lively notes spring up in merry music. Hurrah!
That was a sight! They're gone, and the sound
of the mellow horn grows fainter and fainter.
Then we drive on along the winding road watch-
ing the long lines of carriages, and the pretty
ladies and children, till we come to a great house
on a high bank. Here we get out and go into the
house, for it is a kind of hotel. We find a pretty
room, with open windows looking out on a beauti-
ful garden and over the city to the river, where the
ships and steamers are passing to and fro on the
blue water. Here we have lunch, and after -that
we visit the greenhouse and the gallery of statues,
and then take a walk in the woods,-real woods,-
deep and shady, and just like the country. There
is a brook in the woods, besides water-falls, and rus-
tic bridges, and shady pools under the trees. We
might spend a whole day here, but the boys are
anxious to go back and call on Mr. and Mrs. Lion.
So we take another park carriage, and drive back to
the terrace, and there we find baby and
nurse by the great fountain. Baby has had
a milk lunch, and she, too, is ready to visit
the amiable bear and the frisky monkeys.
On the way, we meet a little miss just re-
turned from a ride on her pet donkey. She
comes out every day with her mamma for
a ride, and I dare say, by this time, she has
grown quite in love with Mr. Donkey. She
puts her arms around his shaggy neck, and
the pretty lady gives the old fellow a friendly
scratch between the ears. Alas for donkey
love The ungrateful fellow never so much
as says thank you," and he stands there,
the central figure of a pretty picture, in-
different as-as a donkey. The keeper of
the donkeys told me as much as this, and
on the next page you will see the donkey,
the little girl, and the pretty lady.
We follow a winding path through lawns
and gardens, and soon come to the menag-
erie. Here both boys and girls are wild
with delight over the lions, tigers, bears,
and other fierce animals, in watching the
festive monkeys, the solemn eagles, and all
the other strange beasts and birds. Then
the girls go into the museum and see
the stuffed birds, the cases of butterflies,
and many more queer and beautiful things than
could be described in a week. Were we to tell all
of it, and give pictures of all the strangest curi-
osities, there would be no room for anything else
in ST. NICHOLAS for months and months to come.
Leaving the museum, we walked through the
Park until we came to the dairy, and here we all sat
down and each had a glass of fresh milk and a cake.

When we had rested for a few moments, the girls
climbed a steep, rocky bank, and found some
swings, and a great arbor overgrown with vines
and set out with rustic seats and tables, a cool and
charming place where one could spend a whole day
in watching the children at play in this great play-
house. The boys found something else-some
fiery wooden horses that went around and around
in a circle. There were also little carriages for the
girls and others who might not care to trust them-
selves to such skittish steeds. Kitty and Jane
chose the carriage, and the boys, like brave knights,
mounted their noble chargers. The horses shook
their wooden heads and champed their wooden
bits, and around and around they all raced in a
mad gallop. A queer waltz it was, in a great circle,
every horse doing his best and yet not one out-
running the other. Even the girls in their car-
riage seemed to be swinging swiftly after them, and
never able to catch them. Then the whirling race
came to an end, and everybody found himself just

VI
'11 1Y

ii ,I ,F7"i .

A BRAVE AND SKILLFUL KNIGHT.

where he started, which was certainly a singular
performance. Then the boys each took a sword in
- ----/ I / WI ,'

his right hand, and once more the noble wooden
steeds pricked up their pasteboard ears and started
again, with every leg high in the air. A most re-
markable kind of horse,-but, then, this is Central
il -
i ,I -- _

A R1KVE AND SKILLFUL KNIGHT.

where he started, which was certainly a singular
performance. Then the boys each took a sword in
his right hand, and once more the noble wooden
steeds pricked up their pasteboard ears and started
again, n'ith every leg high in the air. A most re-
markable kind of horse,--but, then, this is Central
Park, and here everything is a trifle uncommon.
There was a post near the race-track, and from it

YOUNG FOLKS' FUN

hung an arm with an iron ring at the end; and as
the horses went around and around in furious haste,
the boys deftly thrust their swords into the rings
and carried them off in triumph. Sometimes they
missed the rings, and then the other knights
laughed merrily, as well they might. In the
picture of Master Fred mounted on his fiery steed

then they went back to the great arbor to recount
their adventures to the girls, who rewarded their
prowess with smiles, and invited them to a prom-
enade along the side of the arbor. But by this
time our company felt they really ought to go
home. Baby, too, was tired and sleepy, so we all
marched in procession to the Sixth avenue gate.

N.
::-'---- ...... -j_.-; *i & : 4-- j :: ----

A GOOD- TO THE PET DONAE.
,---- F---~- .-=----~ --.'-,;,=~---: -: i-::'-~---

A GOOD-MORNING TO THE PET DONKEY.

and charging fiercely at the ring before him, you
will notice the tremendous energy of the furious
wooden horse, and Master Fred's valiant expression
as, with steady aim, he fixes his eagle eye on the
prize.
The boys captured the rings several times, and
proved themselves brave and skillful horsemen and

The baby's carriage was returned, and we took a
horse-car and rode gayly home.
Let the poets sing about the fun and sports of
the country. City children have also their good
times in their own fashion. There is not much fun
to be found in the streets, but in the Park are sports
without end.

712

IN CENTRAL PARK.

[SEPTEMBER,

GONE ASTRAY.

GONE ASTRAY.

BY GEORGE MACDONALD.

IN some parts of Scotland there are a great
many high hills or mountains, crowded together,
only divided from each other by deep valleys.
They all grow out of one root-that is, the earth.
The tops of these hills are high up and lonely,
with the stars above them; and the wind roaring
and raving among them makes such a noise
against the hard rocks, running into the holes in
them and out again, that their steep sides are
sometimes very awful places. But in the sunshine,
although they do look lonely, they are so bright
and beautiful, that all the boys and girls fancy the
way to heaven lies up those hills.
And does n't it?
No.
Where is it, then?
Ah that's just what you come to this world to
find out. But you must let me go on with my
story now.
In the winter, on the other hand, they are
such wild, howling places, with the hard hailstones
beating upon them, and the soft, smothering
snow-flakes heaping up dreadful wastes of white-
ness upon them, that if ever there was a child out
on them he would die with fear, if he did not die
with cold. But there are only sheep there, and as
soon as the winter comes over the tops of the hills
the sheep come down their sides, because it is
warmer the lower down you come; even a foot
thick of wool on their backs and sides could not
keep out the terrible cold up there.
But the sheep are not very knowing creatures,
so they are something better instead. They are
wise-that is, they are obedient-crea'tures, obe-
dience often being the very best wisdom. Because
they are not very knowing, they have a man to
take care of them, who knows where to take them,
especially when a storm comes on. Not that the
sheep are so very silly as not to know where to go
to get out of the wind, but they don't and can't
think that some ways of getting out of danger are
more dangerous still. They would lie down in a
quiet place, and stay there till the snow settled
down over them and smothered them. Or they
would tumble down steep places and be killed,
or carried away by the stream at the bottom.
So, though they know a little, they don't know
enough, and therefore need a shepherd to take
care of them.
Now the shepherd, though he is wise, is not
quite clever enough for all that is wanted of him

up in those strange, terrible hills, and he needs
his dog to help him.
Well, the shepherd tells the dog what he wants
done, and off the dog runs to do it; for he can run
three times as fast as the shepherd, and can get up
and down places much better. I am not sure that
he can see better than the shepherd, but I know
he can smell better. So that he is just four legs
and a long nose to the shepherd, besides the love
he gives him, which would comfort any good man,
even if it were offered him by a hedge-hog or
a hen.
One evening, in the beginning of April, the
weakly sun of the season had gone down with a
pale face behind the shoulder of a hill.in the back-
ground of my story. And because he was gone
down, the peat-fires upon the hearths of the
cottages all began to glow more brightly, as if they
were glad he was gone at last and had left them
their work to do,-or, rather, as if they wanted
to do all they could to make up for his absence.
And on one hearth in particular the peat-fire
glowed very brightly. There was a pot hanging
over it, with supper in it; and there was a little
girl sitting by it, with a sweet, thoughtful face.
Her hair was done up in a silken net, for it
was the custom with Scotch girls to have their
hair so arranged, many years before it became a
fashion in other lands. She was busy with a blue
ribbed stocking, which she was knitting for her
father.
He was out on the hills. He had that morning
taken his sheep higher up than before, and Ellen
knew this; but it could not be long now before she
would hear his footsteps, and measure the long
stride between which brought him and happiness
home together.
But had n't she any mother?
Oh! yes, she had. If you had been in the
cottage that night you would have heard a cough
every now and then, and would have found that
Ellen's mother was lying in a bed in the room,-
not a bed with curtains, but a bed with doors like
a press. This does not seem a nice way of having
a bed; but we should all be glad of the wooden
curtains about us at night, if we lived in such a
cottage, on the side of a hill along which the
wind swept like a wild river, only ten times faster
than any river would run, even down a hill-side.
Through the cottage it would be spouting, and
streaming, and eddying, and fighting, all night

GONE ASTRAY.

long; and a poor woman with a cough, or a man
who has been out in the cold all day, is very glad
to lie in a sheltered place and leave the rest of the
house to the wind and the fairies.
Ellen's mother was ill, and there was little hope
of her getting well again. What she could have
done without Ellen I can't think. It was so much
easier to be ill with Ellen sitting there. For she
was a good girl.
After a while, Ellen rose and put some peats
on the fire, and hung the pot a link or two higher
on the chain; for she was a wise creature, though
she was only twelve, and could cook very well.
Then she sat down to her knitting again, which
was a very frugal amusement.
"I wonder what's keeping your father, Ellen,"
said her mother from the bed.
I don't know, mother. It's not very late yet.
He '11 be home by and by. You know he was
going over the shoulder of the hill to-day."
Ellen knew that he ought, by rights, to have
been home at least half an hour ago. But at
length she heard the distant sound of a heavy shoe
upon the point of a great rock that grew up from
the depths of the earth and just came through the
surface in the path leading across the furze and
brake to their cottage. She always watched for
that sound-the sound of her father's shoe, studded
thick with broad-headed nails, upon the top of that
rock. She started up; but instead of rushing out
to meet him, went to the fire and lowered the pot.
Then, taking up a wooden bowl, half-full of oat-
meal neatly pressed down into it, with a little salt
on the top, she proceeded to make a certain dish
for her father's supper, of which strong Scotchmen
are very fond. By the time her father reached the
door, it was ready, and set down with a plate over
it to keep it hot, though it had a great deal more
need, I think, to be let cool a little.
When he entered, he looked troubled.- He was
a tall man, dressed in rough gray cloth, with a
broad, round, blue bonnet, as he called his head-
gear.
His face was weather-beaten and quiet, with
large, grand features, in which the docility of his
dogs and the gentleness of his sheep were mingled
with the strength and wisdom of a man.
"Well, Ellen," he said, laying his hand on her
forehead as she looked up into his face, "how's
your mother ?"
And, without waiting for an answer, he went
to the bed, where the pale face of his wife lay upon
the pillow. She held out her thin, white hand to
him, and he took it so gently in his strong, brown
hand! But, before he had spoken, she saw the
trouble on his face, and said:
What has made you so late to-night, John?"

I was nearly at the fold," said the shepherd,
' before I saw that one of the lambs was missing.
So, after I got them all in, I went back with the
dogs to look for him."
"Where's Jumper, then? asked Ellen, who
had been patting the neck and stroking the ears
of the one dog which had followed at the shep-
herd's heels, and was now lying before the fire,
enjoying the warmth none the less that he had
braved the cold all day without minding it a bit.
When we could n't see anything of the lamb,"
replied her father, "I told Jumper to go after him
and bring him to the house; and Blackfoot and I
came home together. I doubt he'll have a job
of it, poor dog! for it's going to be a rough
night; but if dog can bring him, he will."
As the shepherd stopped speaking, he seated
himself by the fire and drew the wooden bowl
toward him. Then he lifted his blue bonnet, or
Scotch cap, from his head, and said grace, half
aloud, half murmured to himself. Then he put
his bonnet on again, for his -head was rather bald,
and, as I told you, the cottage was a draughty
place.' And just as he put it on, a blast of
wind struck the cottage and roared in the wide
chimney. The next moment the rain dashed
against the little window of four panes, and fell
hissing into the peat-fire.
There it comes," said the shepherd.
Poor Jumper !" said Ellen.
And poor little lamb said the shepherd.
"It's the lamb's own fault," said Ellen; "he
should n't have run away."
"Ah! yes," returned her father; "but then
the lamb did n't know what he was about, ex-
actly."
When the shepherd had finished his supper,
he rose and went out to see whether Jumper and
the lamb were coming; but the dark night would
have made the blackest dog and the whitest lamb
both of one color, and he soon came in again.
Then he took the Bible and read a chapter to his
wife and daughter, which did them all good, even
though Ellen did not understand very much of it.
And then he prayed a prayer, and was very near
praying for Jumper and the lamb, only he could
not quite. And there he was wrong. He should
have prayed about whatever troubled him, or
could be done good to. But he was such a good
man, that I am almost ashamed of saying he was
wrong.
And just as he came to the "Amen" in his
prayer, there came a whine at the door. And he
rose from his knees and went and opened the
door. And there was the lamb, with Jumper
behind him. And Jumper looked dreadfully wet,
and draggled, and tired, and the curls had all

[SEPTEMBER,

GONE ASTRAY.

come out of his long hair. And yet he seemed as
happy as dog could be, and looked up in the face
of the shepherd triumphantly, as much as to say,
" Here he is, master! And the lamb looked
scarcely anything the worse; for his thick, oily
wool had kept away the wet; and he had n't been
running about everywhere looking for Jumper, as
Jumper had been for him.
And Jumper, after Ellen had given him his
supper, lay down by the fire beside the other dog,
which made room for him to go next the glowing
peats; and the lamb, which had been eating all
day and did n't want any supper, lay down beside
them. And then Ellen bade her father and mother
and the dogs good-night, and went away to bed
likewise, thinking the wind might blow as it
pleased now, for sheep and dogs, and father and
all, were safe for the whole of the dark, windy
hours between that and the morning. It is so
nice to know that there is a long nothing to do!
-but only after everything is done.
Ellen lay down in her warm bed, feeling as
safe and snug as ever child felt in a large, rich
house in a great city. For there was the wind
howling outside to make it all the quieter inside ;
and there was the great, bare, cold hill before the
window, which, although she could not see it, and
only knew that it was there, made the bed in which
she lay feel soft, and woolly, and warm. Now,
this bed was separated from her father and mother's
by a thin partition only, and she heard them talk-
ing.
"It was n't the loss of the lamb, John, that
made you look so troubled when you came home
to-night," said her mother.
"No, it was n't, Jane, I must confess," returned
her father.
You've heard something about Willie? "
"I can't deny it."
"'What is it ? "
'I'11 tell you in the morning."
"I sha' n't sleep a wink for thinking whatever
it can be, John. You would better tell me now.
If the Lord would only bring that stray lamb back
to his fold, I should die happy,-sorry as I should
be to leave Ellen and you, my own John."
Don't talk about dying, Jane; it breaks my
heart."
We wont talk about it, then. But what's this
about Willie ? And how came you to hear it ?"
I was close to the hill-road, when I saw James
Jamieson, the carrier, coming up the hill with his
cart. I ran and met him."
"And he told you ? What did he tell you ?'"
Nothing very particular. He only hinted that
he had heard, from Wauchope, the merchant,
that a certain honest man's son-he meant me,

Jane-was going the wrong road. And I said to
James Jamieson, 'What road could the man
mean ?' And James said to me, He meant the
broad road, of course.' And I sat down on a
stone, and I heard no more ; at least, I could not
make sense of what James went on to say; and
when I lifted my head, James and his cart were
just out of sight over the top of the hill. I dare
say that was how I lost the lamb."
A deep silence followed, and Ellen understood
that her mother could not speak. At length, a
sob and a low weeping came through the boards
to her keen mountain ear. But not another word
was spoken; and, although Ellen's heart was sad,
she soon fell fast asleep.
Now, Willie had gone to college, and had been
a very good boy for the first winter. They go
to college only in winter in Scotland. And he
had come home in the end of March, and had
helped his father to work their little farm, doing
his duty well to the sheep, and to everything and
everybody; for learning had not made him the
least unfit for work. Indeed, work that learning
does really make a man unfit for, cannot be fit
work for that man,-perhaps is not fit work for
anybody. When winter came, he had gone back
to Edinburgh, and he ought to have been home
a week ago, and he had not come. He had writ-
ten to say that he had to finish some lessons he
had begun to give, and could not be home till the
end of the month. Now, this was so far true that
it was not a lie. But there was more in it; he
did not want to go home to the lonely hill-side,-
so lonely, that there were only a father and a
mother and a sister there. He had made ac-
quaintance with some students who were fonder
of drinking whisky than of getting up in the
morning to study, and he didn't want to leave
them.
Ellen was, as I have said, too young to be kept
awake by brooding over troubles, and so, before
half an hour was over, was fast asleep and dream-
ing. And the wind outside, tearing at the thatch
of the cottage, mingled with her dream.
I will tell you what her dream was. She thought
they were out in the dark and the storm,-she
and her father. But she was no longer Ellen;
she was Jumper. And her father said to her,
"Jumper, go after the black lamb and bring him
home." And away she galloped over the stones,
and through the furze, and across the streams, and
up the rocks, and jumped the stone fences, and
swam the pools of water, to find the little black
lamb. And all the time, somehow or other, the
little black lamb was her brother Willie. And
nothing could turn the dog Jumper, though the
wind blew as if it would blow him off all his four

GONE ASTRAY.

legs, and off the hill, as one blows a fly off a book.
And the hail beat in Jumper's face, as if it would
put out his eyes or knock holes in his forehead,
and yet Jumper went on.
But it was n't Jumper; it was Ellen, you know.
Well, Jumper went on and on, and over the
top of the cold, wet hill, and was beginning to
grow hopeless about finding the black lamb, when,
just a little way down the other side, he came
upon him behind a rock. He was standing in a
miry pool, all wet with the rain. Jumper would
never have found him, the night was so dark and
the lamb was so black, but that he gave a bleat;
whereupon Jumper tried to say Willie, but could
not, and only gave a gobbling kind of bark. So
he jumped upon the lamb, and taking a good hold
of his wool, gave him a shake that made him pull
his feet out of the mire, and then drove him off
before him, trotting all the way home. When
they came into the cottage, the black lamb ran up
to Ellen's mother, and jumped into her bed, and
Jumper jumped in after him; and then Ellen was
Ellen and Willie was Willie, as they used to be, when
Ellen would creep into Willie's bed in the morning
and kiss him awake. Then Ellen woke, and was
sorry that it was a dream. For Willie was still.
away, far off on the broad road, and how ever was
he to be got home? Poor black lamb !
She soon made up her mind. Only how to
carry out her mind was the difficulty. All day
long she thought about it. And she wrote a letter
to her father, telling him what she was going to
do; and when she went to her room the next
night, she laid the letter on her bed, and, putting
on her Sunday bonnet and cloak, waited till her
parents should be asleep.
The shepherd had gone to bed very sad. He,
too, had been writing a letter. It had taken him
all the evening to write, and Ellen had watched
his face while he wrote it, and seen how the muscles
of it worked with sorrow and pain as he slowly put
word after word down on the paper. When he
had finished it, and folded it up, and put a wafer
on it, and addressed it, he left it on the table, and,
as I said, went to bed, where he soon fell asleep;
for even sorrow does not often keep people awake
who have worked hard through the day in the
open air. And Ellen was watching.
When she thought he was asleep, she took a
pair of stockings out of a chest and put them in
her pocket. Then, taking her Sunday shoes in
her hand, she stepped gently from her room to the
cottage door, which she opened easily, for it was
never locked. She then found that the night was
pitch dark; but she could keep the path well
enough, for her bare feet told her at once when
she was going off it.

So, dark as it was, she soon reached the road.
There was no wind that night, and the clouds hid
the stars. She would turn in the direction of
Edinburgh, and let the carrier overtake her. For
she felt rather guilty, and was anxious to get on.
After she had walked a good while, she began
to wonder that the carrier had not come up with
her. The fact was that the carrier never left till
the early morning. She was not a bit afraid,
though, reasoning that, as she was walking in the
same direction, it would take him so much the
longer to get up with her.
At length, after walking a long way,-longer
far than she thought, for she walked a great part
of it half asleep,-she began to feel a little tired,
and sat down upon a stone by the road-side. There
was a stone behind her, too. She could just see
its gray face. She leaned her back against it, and
fell fast asleep.
When she awoke she could not think where she
was, or how she had got there. It was a dark,
drizzly morning, and her feet were cold. But she
was quite dry. For the rock against which she
fell asleep in the night projected so far over her
head that it had kept all the rain off her. She
could not have chosen a better place, if she had
been able to choose. But the sight around her
was very dreary. In front lay a swampy ground,
creeping away, dismal and wretched, to the hori-
zon, where a long, low hill closed it. Behind her
rose a mountain, bare and rocky, on which neither
sheep nor shepherd was to be seen. Her home
seemed to have vanished in the night, and left her
either in a dream or in another world. And as
she came to herself, the fear grew upon her that
either she had missed the way in the dark or the
carrier had gone past while she slept,-either of
which was dreadful to contemplate. She began to
feel hungry, too, and she had not had the foresight
to bring even a piece of oat-cake with her.
It was only dusky dawn yet. There was plenty
of time. She would sit down again for a little
while; for the rock had a homely look to her.
It had been her refuge all night, and she was not
willing to leave it. So she leaned her arms on her
knees, and gazed out upon the dreary, gray, misty
flat before her.
Then she rose, and, turning her back on the
waste, kneeled down, and prayed God that, as he
taught Jumper to find lambs, he would teach her
to find her brother. And thus she fell fast asleep
again.
When she awoke once more and turned toward
the road, whom should she see standing there but
the carrier, staring at her. And his big strong
horses stood in the road too, with their carts
behind them. They were not in the least sur-

716

[SEPTEMBER,

GONE ASTRAY.

prised. She could not help crying, just a little,
for joy.
Why, Ellen, what on earth are you doing
here?" said the carrier.
Waiting for you," answered Ellen.
SWhere are you going, child?"
"To Edinburgh."
"What on earth are you going to do in Edin-
burgh?"

He thought I was asleep in my bed," re-
turned Ellen, trying to smile. But the thought
that the carrier had actually seen her father since
she left home was too much for her, and she cried
again.
I can't go back with you now," said the car-
rier, so you must go on with me."
That's just what I want," said Ellen.
"Well, put on your shoes and stockings, my

/ --

5'

"WHOM SHOULD SHE SEE STANDING THERE BUT THE CARRIER, STARING AT HER."

"I am going to my brother Willie, at the col-
lege."
But the college is over now."
I know that," said Ellen.
"What's his address ?" the carrier went on.
I don't know," answered Ellen.
"It's a lucky thing that I know, then. But
you have no business to leave home this way."
"Oh yes, I have."
"I am sure your father did not know of it, for
when he gave me a letter this morning to take to
Willie, he did not say a word about you."

dear. Bare feet and this bleak morning air go
poorly together. We 'l1 see what we can do."
Then he heaped in a corner of the cart some of
the straw with which it was packed, threw a tar-
paulin on top, lifted the little girl upon it, and
covered her with a few empty sacks.
Is n't this near Edinburgh ?" she asked, wist-
fully, for it seemed to her they were very, very far
from home.
The carrier shook his head, looked puzzled,
chirruped thoughtfully to his horses, and off they
started.

(To be continued.)

717

?.

c lfI:4'

I'-: r

L11'1 1;;11

DRUMMER FRITZ AND HIS EXPLOITS.

A BUTTERCUP.

BY K. C.

A LITTLE yellow buttercup
Stood laughing in the sun;
The grass all green around it,
The summer just begun;
Its saucy little head abrim
With happiness and fun.

Near by-grown old, and gone to seed,
A dandelion grew;
To right and left with every breeze
His snowy tresses flew.
He shook his hoary head, and said:
I 've some advice for" you.

" Don't think, because you're yellow now,
That golden days will last;
I was as gay as you are, once,
But now my youth is past.
This day will be my last to bloom;
The hours are going fast.

" Perhaps your fun may last a week,
But then you'll have to die."
The dandelion ceased to speak,-
A breeze that capered by
Snatched all the white hairs from his head,
And wafted them on high.

His yellow neighbor first looked sad,
Then, cheering up, he said:
If one's to live in fear of death,
One might as well be dead."
The little buttercup laughed on,
And waved his golden head.

DRUMMER FRITZ AND HIS EXPLOITS.

BY HOWARD PYLE.

ALL these events happened in the reign of good
old King Stephanus of Stultzburg.
That worthy monarch had but one child, and
that child was a daughter. He thanked Heaven
duly for the blessing of any offspring whatsoever,
but would rather have had a son. Notwithstanding
this drawback, however, he would have considered
himself happy, but for one insupportable nuisance
that, like a peg in the shoe of a rich man, made
his existence miserable.
Just outside the walls of Stultzburg, the capital
of his kingdom, there dwelt in a castle, perched
high upon the summit of a cliff, a robber baron of
the name of Todweldt, whose frequent depreda-
tions upon the worthy citizens became in course of
time rather annoying; and, finally, when a royal
convoy from the court of France-bearing in charge
a dress of the very latest fashion for the Princess
Rosetta of Stultzburg-was attacked, dispersed,

and the dress captured, the princess stirred up her
father, who stirred up the prime minister, who
stirred up the parliament, who bestirred themselves
in the matter; and a law outlawing the baron was
enacted.
Upon the whole this did not seem to greatly
trouble the baron, who continued the evil tenor of
his ways in spite of the strong disapproval of good
King Stephanus and his parliament; so at length
the monarch, losing all patience, issued a procla-
mation in which it was set forth that whoever would
bring him the head of Baron Todweldt should have
his daughter, the Princess Rosetta, to wife, and
one-half of the kingdom to boot.
This was, of course, a great temptation to the
numerous needy barons, counts, and other nobles,
who infested Stultzburg, as well as other similar
kingdoms, like so many hungry rats; but when
it was recollected that Baron Todweldt, besides

[SEPTEMBER,

DRUMMER FRITZ AND HIS EXPLOITS.

being extremely irritable, not to say savage, in his
temper, stood seven feet three inches high in his
jack-boots, they all felt a delicacy in annoying him
about such a matter.
Soon after this time a little drummer, named
Fritz, came trudging across the heath toward
Stultzburg, seeking his fortune. His possessions
consisted of a drum, a knapsack, his clothes, two
farthings, and a hearty appetite, the latter of which
he would willingly have dispensed with had he en-
joyed the opportunity.
Upon reaching Stultzburg he bought him a piece
of bread and a sausage, whilst eating which and
sitting upon the head of his drum, his eyes fell
upon the royal proclamation. This he read over
carefully, and with a great deal of interest; then
finishing his repast with some mysterious purpose
stirring within him, he hurried away toward the
royal palace.
The king was engaged in a game of piquet with
his prime minister, Count Sigismund von Dollin-
dorff, taking relaxation thereby from the cares of
state. The drummer, with a military salute, im-
mediately, and without more preface, stated his
willingness to undertake to bring His Majesty
Baron Todweldt's head.
The king and the prime minister looked at the
little chap for a moment with unconcealed astonish-
ment, and then burst into a roar of laughter.
What is your position ? said the king, as soon
as he was able.
"A military leader, your majesty."
Ah and of what rank ?"
A drummer, if it please your majesty."
"0 Saint Sigismund !" gasped the count, and
immediately roared again.
Well, my bold little fellow," said the king,
condescendingly, you may attempt it to-morrow
if you wish, or to-night for that matter,-my deal,
I believe, Count." And so the drummer was dis-
missed.
II.
BRIGHT and early the next morning the drum-
mer started on his mission in search of Baron Tod-
weldt's head.
On his way toward the robber's castle he sat
down to rest beside an old ruin overgrown with
vines and briers. In one place a few stones fallen
out of the wall opened an aperture into a dark,
gloomy dungeon, the passage being just large
enough for the body of a middle-sized man.
An idea in conjunction with the ruin seemed to
strike Fritz. He carefully inspected the hole, and
then hurried away toward the baron's castle.
At first when he presented himself the attendants
were of half a mind to throw him over the cliff into
the Rhine, but upon his reiterating his demand to

see the baron, they at length thought better of it,
and conducted him into their lord's presence.
Hilloa what do you want here, manikin?"
growled the gigantic baron in a deep and terrible
voice, at the same time scowling down on little
Fritz as a toad might on a cricket.
0 my noble lord answered the drummer,
trembling with an only half-assumed dread, I
come to seek employment of your lordship."
Where did you come from, sand-flea "
Stultzburg, my lord."
Hah !"
0 sir, King Stephanus has dismissed me from
court, and all because I was supposed to know
about a secret treasure."
Hah ejaculated the baron again-this time
with a milder accent than before, for the word
"treasure" struck his ears very soothingly; "and
do you know where King Stephanus's secret treas-
ure is now ? "
Oh yes, noble sir."
Now observe me, wood-louse I said the baron.
" If you are telling me the truth and will conduct
me to this treasure, I '1 make your fortune. If
you are deceiving me-by the great Todweldt that
ate a whole pig I 't1 have you sewed into a sack
and thrown into the river like a kitten I Do you
mark me, pigmy ? "
The drummer nodded.
And now will you guide me to that place?"
The drummer nodded again.
Upon this the baron took down a huge twc-
handed sword from the wall, threw a sack over his
shoulder for the supposed gold, and motioned the
drummer to lead while he followed close behind.
Thus they proceeded to the noble old ruin that the
drummer had noticed.
My gracious lord," said Fritz, when they had
reached this place, this is the spot I spoke of.
Follow me." With that he dropped on his hands
and knees, and scrambled through the hole in the
wall. The baron hesitated for a moment, for the
hole was very small, but finally he proceeded with
some difficulty to follow his guide. Now Baron
Todweldt, beside being a very tall man, had, by
the use of much beer and sauerkraut, grown to
be decidedly stout. Accordingly, when about
half-way through the aperture, he found himself
plugged in as tightly as a cork in a bottle. It was
in vain that he kicked and swore; the kicks tore
his clothes, and the oaths mended nothing. He
roared to the drummer, as he paused for a moment
in his struggles, that as soon as he had extricated
himself he would chop him up into small pieces
and eat him raw, for guiding him into such a tight
place.
My noble lord," said the drummer, I did n't

DRUMMER FRITZ AND HIS EXPLOITS.

know that the hole was so absurdly small. Let
me hold your sword for you while you try again."

THE KING AND HIS PRIME MINISTER.

The baron readily complied, for the sword was
very much in his way; but no sooner had the
drummer gained possession of it than, seizing the
baron by the hair, in spite of his wrathful bellows,
he chopped off his head. Then tumbling it into
the sack which the baron had so conveniently
brought, and, leaving the body where it was, for it
was wedged very tightly in, he made his way out
of a hole in the ceiling, and so back to Stultzburg.
The king was very much surprised to see the
drummer, whom he supposed to be by this time
utterly demolished; but he was still more astonished
when, with the words, "Your majesty, your com-
mands and the princess's beauty accomplish won-
ders. I have brought you the baron's head "-the
drummer tumbled it upon the floor without more
ado.
At first his majesty was delighted to see the head
of his old enemy, but then, upon second thoughts,
felt very badly about it indeed; for monarchs,
as a general rule,
disapprove of their
daughters marrying
drummers. Accord-
ingly, he desired Fritz
to go to the buttery,
where he should be
well fed, while he
stayed to consult his
prime minister upon
the matter.

III.
THE next morning,
when the drummer
presented himself in
FRITZ GUIDES THE BARON. the royal presence,
the king addressed him thus: "Brave sir, I have
ceded to you the princess and the half of my king-

dom. Of course, you are aware that the crown
represents the kingdom, and without that a man
is no king. Very unfortunately, your
crown is at present in charge of the
civil and military authorities of Stultz-
burg. Now," continued the king fur-
ther, "these civil and military authori-
ties are very jealous of the crown, and
should you inadvertently show your-
self to them while endeavoring to ob-
tain it, they may accidentally shoot you
on the spot, or clap you into prison
for the rest of your natural existence,
which would be very uncomfortable
indeed. If, to-morrow morning, you
bring me the crown, the princess is
yours. If you do not bring it, and
after that time you are discovered in
my dominions, I cannot answer for your safety.
Good-morning."
Now, the truth was, the unprincipled king had
caused his crown to be locked in a strong box, the
key of which he intrusted to the mayor, and in

I HAVE BROUGHT YOU THE BARON'S HEAD."

charge of these same civil and military authorities,
with strict orders to arrest any one who should
appear in the council-room where the box was to
be kept, and convey him instantly to prison.
Now Stultzburg was a great sausage manufact-
uring town. Every week whole droves of pigs
were driven in, and every week whole miles of
sausage were carried out of it. Everybody owned
pigs, and the more any one owned, of the more
consequence he was held in Stultzburg. The
Princess Rosetta herself possessed a drove of the
prettiest little pink pigs in the kingdom, with blue
ribbons on their tails; and the government owned
very extensive sties, the pigs from which, by some
mysterious means, were apt to find their way into
the private pens of the councilors and financiers.
All the little school-boys of Stultzburg were taught
to write as a motto in their double-lined copy
books: "The pen is mightier than the sword;"

[SEPTEMBER,

DRUMMER FRITZ AND HIS EXPLOITS.

and instead of candies, it was customary to give
them sausages, or, if a boy was very good indeed, a
nicely browned tail of a little roast pig.
In one clause of the constitution of Stultzburg, it
was set forth that whenever a pig strayed from its
owner's pen, thus indicating criminal
carelessness upon the part of said
owner, said pig should, if captured
by any citizen, become, after the
payment of nine
farthings to the
government, the
private and per-
sonal property of

THE PRINCESS AND HER PIGS.
said citizen, taxable according to Clause XXVI.
It is unnecessary to say that this was one of the
most strictly enforced laws of Stultzburg, and one
that was not likely to be rebelled against, except
by the unfortunate owners of stray pigs, who, after
all, always had the consolation of hoping to make
good their loss at an early day. The Stultzburg
pigs, you see, finding themselves so highly prized,
felt that they were no ordinary creatures, and every
day grew more impatient of restraint.
The civil and military authorities who had charge
of the crown of King Stephanus were composed,
the one of the mayor and syndics of the city, the
other of a squad of a dozen soldiers, commanded
by a corporal and sergeant-at-arms. The crown,
securely locked in a strong box, the key of which

carved oaken chair, from which dangled his legs,
not nearly reaching the floor. Beside him, on a
lower seat, sat his secretary, a tall, big-jointed,
hungry-looking man, with a huge queue like an
Indian war-club, and around the table the council,
each man with his eyes intently fixed upon the
box, each determining that were the crown pur-
loined it should not be his fault.
Thus they sat and stood all that livelong day,
solemn as a flock of crows mourning the decease of
some horse or dog, while all the time there was
never a sign of the drummer. The crowd outside
the town-house grew constantly more dense and
curious. Little boys perched and sat on the
trees and fences opposite, watching the windows,
and half expecting to see the drummer fly out
through one of them with the crown in his hands.
Matrons ran hither and thither through the crowd,
while the bread was burning in the oven at home,
the soup boiling over on the stove, the baby
tumbling into the fire, or,

the crock of sauerkraut.
At length night drew on
apace, and yet never a
sign of the drummer. The crowd thinned from
around the town-house, and by the time the great
clock in the assembly-room pointed to nine, the
hour at which every good burgher commonly
sought repose, the good men winked and blinked
in the candle-light like so many owls.
But a sound suddenly broke on the ear!
The mayor was almost in a doze, but at that
sound a glitter of life awoke in his leaden eye. He
started and clutched the arm of his chair convul-
sively, as did each and every one of the town
council clutch his.
The sound was heard again: It was-yes, it was
the squealing of a pig-A STRAY PIG.
The mayor, than whom none ever loved a pig
better, writhed in his chair, as did all the council-

"POOR PIGGY LED THE WAY."
the mayor held clutched tightly in his fat, puffy men, squirming in an agony, their duty calling
little hand, stood in the center of a table, at the them to watch the crown, their inclination drawing
head of which the mayor was perched upon a high, them to the stray pig.
VOL. IV.-47.

DRUMMER FRITZ AND HIS EXPLOITS.

Again the pig squealed; this time a continuous,
long drawn-out squeal, as though some one were
endeavoring to capture him by means of the handle
which nature has so kindly provided. The mayor's
face turned cherry red with excitement, while great
drops of perspiration rolled bead-like down his
pink forehead.
One more squeal and he would stand it no
longer.
"Gentlemen of the council," cried he, sliding
off his chair to his feet, I am taken suddenly sick
-deathly sick. Guard the crown, gentlemen,
while I am gone, like loyal subjects. There is the
key." And without further ado he threw the key
down upon the table and rushed out of the
council-chamber.
Gentlemen of the council," cried the secretary,
rising hastily,-for he, too, wished to capture the
stray pig,-" Gentlemen, I am bound in duty to
go and look after my poor master." Thereupon
he, too, bolted out.
Here !" Hi!"- Stop !" Stop him;
somebody!"-" I'll go!"-"No, I will!" Such
were the cries that rose upon every side, and in an
instant all was uproar and confusion. Each one
of the council called upon his fellows to remain
behind while he went to bring back the town clerk,
and as the noise grew louder each shouted and
screamed at the top of his voice to make himself
heard above his neighbors'; so, with much crowd-
ing, hustling, tearing of wigs and bruising of shins,
each trying to thrust his neighbor back and be
himself foremost, they all struggled toward the
door. -In the confusion, little Johann Blitz was
smothered nearly to death, and stout Wilhelm
Stuck almost punctured by the corner of a table
against which he was crushed by the crowd. At
last, each still bellowing to the others to stay back
and mind the crown, they one and all rushed pell-
mell after the pig, the mayor, an4 the town clerk,
who were just disappearing in the distance. The
soldiers also, being poor men with families, followed
the steps of their superiors, and, headed by the
corporal and sergeant-at-arms, rushed in a double-
quick in the track of the others.
When the council-chamber was cleared in this
manner, the drummer, who had turned loose a
greased pig in the street, walked in, and, finding
the key still lying upon the table, quietly unlocked
the box, took out the crown, locked the box again,
replaced the key, and then made off as fast as his
legs would carry him.
Meanwhile, in the street was uproar and confu-
sion, hubbub and scampering. This way and that,
with shrill squeals, the poor piggy led the way,
and the town council and soldiers rushed helter-
skelter after. Never in the memory of the oldest

inhabitant had such a riot occurred in their usually
quiet town. Windows were thrown up and night-
capped heads thrust forth; some screamed fire,"
some murder," and some thief;" some shouted
for the night-watch, and vigorously sprung their
night-rattles; others, seeing the town council and
the soldiers apparently fleeing for their lives from
some unseen foe, supposed an enemy had gained
the town, and shouted lustily for mercy and quarter.
The mayor was a stout, barrel-shaped little man,
with legs that seemed telescoped shortly by the
weight of his ponderous paunch, yet he skimmed
over the ground like a very greyhound, his great
magisterial gown flapping behind him like gigantic
wings, and his enormous wig pushed askew in the
stress of his excitement. Close behind him bounded
the town clerk, finding it impossible, long as his
legs were, to overtake his superior, and imme-
diately after him rushed the clamorous rout of
councilmen and soldiers.
Three separate times did the mayor convulsively
clutch the slippery tail of the pig, and three times
did it glide through his fingers, until at last, in one
abortive attempt, he stumped his toe upon the
curb-stone, and fell heavily and at full length in
the gutter. At the same moment, the town clerk,
leaping forward, fairly clutched the struggling pig
in his arms, and bore it away in triumph to his
own private pen.
The rest of the crest-fallen dignitaries turned
their steps toward the town-house, when, for the
first time, they recollected the crown, and began
to feel frightened at their neglect of duty; and in
direct ratio as they drew nearer, their emotions
grew stronger, until, fairly breaking into a run,
they dashed into the town-hall with a confusion
only exceeded by that with which they had rushed
out.
Great was their relief when the first thing that
met their eyes was the strong box, standing upon
identically the same spot where they had left it,
with the key also lying as before upon the table.
They never thought of examining whether the
crown was there or not. In the first moments of
relief, they took immediate measures for discharg-
ing the town clerk from office on account of ex-
aggerated neglect of duty, and these were carried
into execution by the unanimous vote of the
assembly. After this act of duty, they sat with
redoubled vigilance around the strong box, which
they supposed to contain the crown.
At the earliest peep of the following day, the
drummer presented himself at court with the
crown securely tied up in a red bandanna pocket-
handkerchief.
Your majesty," observed he, as he untied the
handkerchief with his teeth, I have accomplished

[SEPTEMBEr,

DRUMMER FRITZ AND HIS EXPLOITS.

the task you set me. Here is the crown." And,
with these words, he laid it gracefully at his maj-
esty's feet.
Potztausend cried the king, starting up.
"Am I not rid of you yet ? Out of my presence
and kingdom Ho, there My guards "
The royal body-guard entered.
"But, your majesty," said the drummer, I
have your own royal promise of the hand of the
princess, made in this palace yesterday morning."
Humph said the king, in a calmer voice.
" Well, I will not arrest you. Retire to the buttery
for the present. As for you, guards, go and arrest
the town council, and throw them into prison."
The drummer, with much unwillingness, caused
by his anxiety to see the princess, retired to the

THE ROYAL BODY-GUARD.

buttery, while the body-guard marched off to fulfill
the king's orders.
Just as the poor mayor and council were beginning
to congratulate themselves upon the excellent
manner in which they had performed their allotted
task, in marched the body-guard and took them
all prisoners. Then for the first time they learned
that they had been carefully watching an empty
box all night. They were immediately clapped
into prison. However, the locks being out of
order, and the keeper falling asleep over his news-
paper in the afternoon, they all walked out again,
and joined their bereaved families once more.

IV.
POOR King Stephanus was more annoyed than
ever at the pertinacity of the persistent drummer.
Twice had he sent him to accomplish the most
difficult tasks, and yet here he was again, safe and
sound. His majesty now concluded to take his
daughter into council on the subject, as well as
the prime minister.

The princess was exceedingly annoyed at the
affair, as one may well suppose, for she was by no
means inclined to enter the matrimonial state with
a mere drummer. She rated her poor papa right
soundly, but that did not in any Way mend mat-
ters; so they presently all three set about cud-
geling their brains for some expedient by which to
escape from their dilemma. At length, thanks to
the princess's ingenuity, one was hit upon which
they proceeded to put into execution.
According to the princess's plan, the drummer
was called to the royal presence, and loaded with
distinctions and honors. He was created com-
mander-in-chief of the armies of Stultzburg, and
Baron of Dumblebug. The armies consisted of
one hundred and twenty-three men, officers and
privates, and the baronage, of nothing at all.
Moreover, he was created grand equerry, in
place of old Count Wilhelm von Guzzle, who,
besides having the gout severely, was sand-
blind; and he was decorated with the star and
ribbon of St. Stephanus.
Drummer Fritz was at first intoxicated with
delight, but as this emotion somewhat cooled
his wits warmed, and he shrewdly suspected
S that some mischief was afoot. He requested
to be presented to his intended bride, but King
Stephanus politely refused his request, tell-
Sing him that he would meet her first at the
church on the morrow. He was then informed,
moreover, that, in compliment to himself, the
bride-maids were to be selected from the most
beautiful burgher-maidens of the city.
The next morning arrived, and the hour for
the marriage. The king proceeded to the church
with his daughter, the princess. The prime minis-
ter, in company with three lords of the court, ap-
peared at the apartments of the newly made
baron, and escorted him to the coach in waiting.
The drummer was attired in a suit of blue velvet
lined with pink satin, which became him exceed-
ingly, and in which he was handsome enough to
win the heart of the most fastidious maiden in
Stultzburg at first sight.
The king met the bridegroom at the church-
door, and himself assisted him to alight.
Baron," said his majesty, in a playful tone,
what should be done to you, do you think, if you
should choose one of the burghers' daughters
Rather than the princess at the last moment ? "
I should deserve to be stripped of all my
honors and whipped out of Stultzburg at the tail
of a cart," said Fritz, boldly.
Very well. Recollect, gentlemen, in case he
fails to take the princess herself, he has pronounced
his own sentence," said the king.
By this time they had entered the church.

DRUMMER FRITZ AND HIS EXPLOITS.

Behold your bride!" said the king.
One hundred and twenty-seven maidens, dressed
precisely alike, stood in a row,-the bride and her
bride-maids.
The drummer was rather taken aback at this
sight.
"Which is she, your majesty ? queried he.
" Recollect, I have never seen, and cannot know
her."
"You should recognize inherent royalty when-
ever you see it," said the king. "Escort your
bride to the altar; but should you take any one but
the princess, your own sentence shall be surely
performed upon you."
Fritz saw the drift of affairs now.
Madam," said he, stepping forward and bow-
ing,-" Princess, I salute you."
Here he looked up and down the line of one
hundred and twenty-seven maidens, who one and
all courtesied at the same moment. The drummer
was bewildered.
Collecting himself, he advanced another step,
remembering that the bride-maids were all burgh-
ers' daughters.
"Ladies," said he, "I thank you for the honor
you have done me and my intended bride by your
presence. Yesterday I was but a poor drummer.
To-day honors have been heaped upon me. I have
been created a noble, I have command of the
armies of this great kingdom, and soon it will be
but for me to stretch forth my hand and wealth
will be within my grasp. I am a soldier, ladies, and
have a soldier's heart; but never in the wildest
dreams of my fancy did I imagine such beauty
could be found in the world as that I now see."

The one hundred and twenty-seven maidens
cast down their eyes and blushed; and even the
princess began to say to herself:
"He certainly is a very agreeable man, and
quite handsome, too."
When I came here this morning," continued
the drummer, clearing his throat, I came with
the intention of taking the princess for my wife;
but when I see her standing beside beauty that so
very far surpasses her own, I feel ashamed of the
base motives that then actuated me. Royalty!
What is royalty ? Royalty is great, but beauty is
greater; and one lad), here, whom I now have my
eye upon,"-here one hundred and twenty-six
maiden hearts went into quite a flutter,-" has so
far surpassed the princess in beauty, that all my
base intentions I cast aside as worthless dirt, and
ask that one peerless beauty who has so suddenly
yet so completely conquered my love, will she
accept honor, glory, and a soldier's heart ? "

Here he stopped abruptly, and again looked up
and down the line of one hundred and twenty-seven
maidens.
One hundred and twenty-six maidens, each
taking his words to herself, blushed, trembled,
fluttered, and looked down. One looked straight
before her, and was very angry.
Fritz stepped quickly forward to the one, and
bowed so low that the curls of his great periwig
touched the floor.
Madam," said he, forgive your slave for the
means he used to single you out. It was my only
chance."
It was the princess.

724

[SEPTEMBER,

x877.] THE FAIR-MINDED MEN WHO WALKED TO DONAHAN.

THE FAIR-MINDED MEN WHO WALKED
TO DONAHAN.

BY JOEL STACY.

/ / /

.. ..

1.

.r 'D ~st

~~1~

Two wise men walked to Donahan
Upon a rainy day,-
Heigho !
With one umbrella' between them.
They hit upon an honest plan
For both to have fair play,-
Heigho !
I wish you could have seen them.

Says one: I '11 hold it half the way,
And you the other half,-
Heigho !
And safely we'll go skipping."
But soon his neighbor said: "Nay, nay,
You're dry, and have your laugh,-
Heigho !
While I catch all the dripping.

"Now this we'll try: Your head poke through
And I will do the same,-
Heigho I
There nothing could be better.
Now one umbrella '11 serve for two,
And neither '11 be to blame,-
Heigho !
If t' other gets the wetter."

And so they walked to Donahan,
Nor found the journey long,-
Heigho !
Until they fell a-wheezing;
"The bargain's honest, man to man,"
They said; "but something's wrong,"-
Heigho !
As on they went-a-sneezing.

ROBBIE TALKS.

ROBBIE TALKS.

BY OLIVE THORNE.

MAMMA was very busy that morning. So she
gave Robbie a paper of tacks, and the small ham-
mer, and stationed him away off in the other corner
of the room. Driving nails was his favorite amuse-
ment, and kept his tongue more quiet than any-
thing else. So, as soon as he was busily at work,
nailing away on a piece of board, mamma took her
work, hoping to have a quiet hour. But Robbie
was especially sociable that morning.
"Mamma," he began, after he had driven a grove
of tacks into the board, I know how to make a
wheel." Mamma said nothing, and he went on:
" Take a hoop just the size you want your wheel;
then have an axle turned, of course, an' holes bored
in for the spokes; an' then take sticks, an' stick all
'round, an' tack it on to the hoop. Don't you think
that's the best way ?"
I guess so," said mamma, absently.
"Mamma," said he again, coming up toward
her, "I can turn a summerset. Do you want to
see me turn one over ?"
No," said mamma. "Go and play."
What shall I play ?" he asked. I've driven
all the tacks I want to. It's mis'ble driving tacks
all the time."
Well, then, take your blocks," said mamma.
Robbie ran and pulled out the box where they
were, but then said: What shall I build ?"
Oh, whatever you like said mamma.
'"Would you build-a-street-car ?" said Robbie.
Yes," said mamma.
Well, how do you build a street-car ?"
Why, you know how, Robbie "
Not 'thout any horse, an' my Christmas horse
has got his leg broke off."
"Dear me Well, build an engine," said
mamma, and don't talk "
Well! said Robbie, meekly.
For a few minutes he was still, and mamma
became very much absorbed in her work. Pretty
soon he began talking, in a low tone, to himself.
"Oh dear This engine's so loaded it can't go."
Mamma took no notice, and he went on, singing
softly to himself, mixing scraps of songs he had
heard in a droll medley, to the tune of Lord
Lochinvar," which was a great favorite of his.
Mamma," said he, suddenly, forgetting that he
was not to talk, don't you s'pose I know how to
build a house? You just take some boards, an'
nail 'em up all 'round, an' then get on to the roof
an' nail on the roof."
Well, never mind now said poor mamma.

"I've got my engine all done," was the next
piece of information that greeted mamma's ears,
" 'cept the smoke-stack an' the break. Oh! an' I
have n't got any front or boiler."
Have you got steam-chests ? asked mamma,
knowing that when that engine was done she would
be called on to plan a new play.
Oh I forgot the steam-chests," he said, medi-
tating rather soberly for a minute, but suddenly
brightening up. This is anotherr kind o' engine;
it does n't have any steam-chests at all. Mamma,
whit shall I do now ?"
Look at some pictures ? asked mamma.
"Yes; the rat-tail book," said Robbie.
The what asked mamma.
"The one 'at 's got rat-tails an' fishes," said
Robbie, earnestly.
"Oh said mamma, laughing, "the reptile
book Well, here it is," and she handed down to
him one volume of "Woods' Natural History."
He laid it open on the carpet, threw himself down
before it, and for a short time-there was peace. But
soon he began again: Mamma, what's that ?"
A frog," said mamma, glancing at the picture.
"Oh Don't you wish you could see a frog ?"
"No. I know how a frog looks," said she.
Well, how big would he be ? "
"Oh dear!" said mamma, looking up. "Bigger
than a flea, and not'so big as a horse."
She hoped that would be a settler, and it did
quiet him for a minute. But his curiosity soon got
the better of him, and he said, Is he big as a dog ?"
Depends on the size of the dog."
As big as Tige ? "No."
Big as half of Tige-the head half? No."
"Well, what is a flea?"
"A flea !" said mamma, thinking how to describe
that interesting object. If you see a black speck,
and then don't see it-that is, probably, a flea."
That was a poser, and for some time Robbie
stood by the window and pondered this mystery.
Pretty soon he came up to mamma, and whispered
softly in her ear:
Mamma, there 's something funny over the
other side of the room ought to be looked at."
What does it look like ?" asked mamma.
I don't know Do you think it is a flu ?"
"A what? What is a flu ?" asked mamma.
I don't know. You said so."
Oh, you mean a flea !" said mamma, laughing.
I think not. Now, Robbie, you must run away."
Robbie slowly walked over to the window and

[SEPTEMBER,

AN AMERICAN CIRCUS IN BRITTANY.

looked out at the trees, which were tossing about
in the wind. There he broke out, eagerly: Oh,
mamma! just see the trees wiggle An' your
g'ranium has all laid down ; I guess it's tired."
Well, I know I'm tired," said mamma, laugh-
ing, "and I wish you would run out in the yard."
Robbie started; but at the door he met papa,
who was just coming in.

Robbie, what is that ? asked papa, pointing
to the block structure on the carpet.
Why, that's an engine !" said Robbie, amazed
that one could ask such a question.
Oh, is it ? I never suspected it," said papa.
It's a new kind, It is n't like the engines in
this world," said Robbie.
Nor in any other, I think," said papa.

AN AMERICAN CIRCUS IN BRITTANY.

BY WM. M. F. ROUND.

- 3 ,I-

,-- n ,

III'
i' .. -

LOOK on the map of France and you will see a
broad peninsula, rugged and mountainous, jutting
out into the sea between the Bay of Biscay and the
English Channel. It is the country of the Bretons,
a people whose history is full of incident, whose
lives are picturesque and wild, and who have an
old-fashioned way of being guided by the ways of
their fathers. In every part of France the word
Breton stands for all that is quaint and uncouth in
French life. It is there somewhat as it would be

-i

~I .-' 'I
F)
( ;i

here if the little band of Puritans who came to our
country had kept themselves separated from the
rest of America, holding to their traditions and
superstitions, and had brought the surroundings of
the gallant Miles Standish down to our nineteenth
century unchanged. How they would be studied,
and what an interesting study they would be !
To-day the Bretons are very much what they
were a century ago,-yes, more than that,-perhaps
two or three centuries ago. They are superstitious,

AN AMERICAN CIRCUS IN BRITTANY.

bigoted and picturesque. They come to the markets
clad in skins in winter and in sackcloth in sum-
mer. They cultivate the soil in the rudest manner
with wooden plows, and are content in all the ways
of life to live as their fathers lived.
We often hear of the son standing in the shoes
of the father, and this may be said literally of the

public square, a tremendous yellow-and-red poster
has been displayed for a week past, and crowds of
admiring peasants, more picturesque than tidy,
have stood before it in admiring wonder from
morning till night. Its long trains of mottled
horses, its hump-backed camels and bulky ele-
phants, have been commented upon until their

v.,-

/ It \y y,&

it'

-~.~ ~ i

/THE PEASANTS BEFORE THE POST R.
THE PEASANTS BEFORE THE POSTER.

Bretons. It often happens that a pair of leather
shoes is handed down from father to son. These
shoes last a long time, for they are only used on
rare occasions, rude wooden shoes, or sabots, being
commonly worn. Not one in ten of the grown
people can read and write, and newspapers are a
luxury enjoyed only by the rich. The people are
simple-minded and credulous, but in money mat-
ters they are not too simple to make exceedingly
shrewd bargains.
Now, in a country like this, in a town like this
quaint, old-fogyish Quimperl6, just fancy an Amer-
ican circus making its appearance. Here, in the

minutest points are known to every peasant within
ten miles. A commotion was created one day by a
cynical old one-eyed beggar declaring that the pro-
prietors of the circus were emissaries of the Prussian
government, and from that suspicion it came to be
pretty generally understood that the man who
drove the triumphal car in the painted cavalcade
was Prince Bismarck, although the bill announced,
in plain English, that it was the Anglo-American
circus that was coming. The people did n't quite
take in the word Anglo; but American was plain
to such of them as could read French, on account
of its similarity to the same word in that language.

[SEPTEMBER,

AN AMERICAN CIRCUS IN BRITTANY,

As the writer was known to be an American, he
was called on many times to give explanations of
the figures on the bill; and any ignorance regard-
ing them would have thrown doubt at once on his
nationality. Was that like an American elephant?
Does the President of the United States ride in a
coach like that ?-pointing to the musicians' car.
How many ostriches could a good sportsman shoot
in a day in America ? Do all the people in America
wear feathers like that red Indian on the bill ?
All these questions, and many more, were con-
tinually put and faithfully answered.
At last the circus came. Bright and early on
that wonderful morning all Quimperl6 was up and
dressed in its best clothes to see the grand entry of
the circus. Tramp, tramp, tramp into the town,
from all quarters, the people came. All the sabots
clattered in one direction toward the great square,
where busy hands were putting up the tent. Every
town in Brittany has its distinctive cof, or women's
head-dress, and every variety was here represented.
The men came with their huge pockets stuffed with
great buckwheat cakes, and women brought loaves
as big as the top of a pail, by way of slight refresh-
ment at midday. Every man and woman who
had children brought them all, from the carefully

(~ .,, .-u

I I;j U'
J1

-- -

= -

<- -I-I_ =--- -s~;-

They peered into windows, followed carriages, and
stuck to every stranger until he was forced to empty
his pocket of coppers to be rid of them.
And the boys Some of them had saved their
sous till the necessary franc had been reached; and
they were happy. Some of them had n't a sou to
their name, and they were plunged into the depths
of misery. In an unlucky moment, remembering
that some half a century back I was a boy myself,
I gave a franc to a bright-eyed little Breton to go
to the circus. In front of my window is a low wall,
about fifteen inches high. It is about one hundred
feet long, and is a good place to sit; nobody can
go in or out of the hotel without being seen by per-
sons sitting on that wall. I gave the franc at three
o'clock; at half-past three that wall was covered
with boys from end to end. You could n't have
wedged in one anywhere without shoving one off
at one end or the other. What were they there
for ? I found out when I left the house. Each one
had done me some service-or imagined he had-
and came to ask for a franc in consequence. It's
astonishing what memories these boys had-upon
what pretenses they dared to ask me for a franc.
One had handed me a chair in church, another had
asked to go rowing with me, and having volun-

3~

"~A
b ; r 4~: *

IL',

-I -

"THE WALL WAS COVERED WITH BOYS FROM END TO END."
wrapped-up infant to the gawky boys and girls who teered to pull an oar for a while, had just thought
are always tumbling over their own or somebody to ask pay for it; another had brought me a daily
else's sabots. plate of strawberries, for which his mother had
And the beggars It was corn in Egypt" for already charged me twice their market price.
them. They came like bees round a cask. There Those boys were too much for me. I fled.
were blind beggars-at least they said they were At last the hour of performance came, and such
blind. There were lame beggars, and sick beggars, a scene as I witnessed within that tent-which, by
and palsied beggars,-in fact, every kind of beggars the way, was a remarkably handsome tent-I never
but clean beggars. They beset one at the doors. expect to see again. On tiers of seats, one above

THE STARS IN SEPTEMBER.

the other, were rows of the broad, velvet-banded
hats, and snowy coifs, and underneath them full-
flushed healthy faces of old men and children,
young men and maidens, who waited anxiously for
the entrance of the ring-master. It was to us,
Americans, simply a very good circus-to them it
was fairy-land. We saw only spangles and bullion-
lace-they saw gold and gems. We saw only
painted clowns-they saw mysterious and wonder-
ful beings. They were a lot of grown-up chil-
dren. They screamed with delight at the antics
of the clown, and they yelled with admiration
when Mlle. Bell rode around the ring on her

fiery charger. They would have enjoyed them-
selves a great deal more but for one drawback.
They couldn't understand the clown's jokes. Such
a thing as a French clown is all but an impossi-
bility; and it seems almost equally impossible for
an English clown to learn French. So we few
Americans and English gathered there were obliged
to explain the jokes over and over again for the
benefit of our Quimperl friends, who laughed, but
did not understand. But we did it all very will-
ingly, for we were patriotic enough to wish the best
impression should be left by the American circus in
Brittany.

THE STARS IN SEPTEMBER.

BY RICHARD A. PROCTOR.

THE DIPPER. yonder in space, even the seven little stars we see
I PROPOSE now, in accordance with my promise would be very much reduced in seeming size. They
last month, to give a brief account of the seven would appear as mere points. The most powerful
bright stars of the Dipper, as they really
are, not merely as they appear in the sky.
I take them as the most convenient, and
in several respects also as the best, illus-
tration of what applies in reality (with
changes in matters of detail) to all the
thousands of stars we see, and to thousands
of times as many stars, which only the
telescope reveals to us.
When you look during the evenings of
this month at the stars of the Dipper, seen FIG. 2.
low down toward the north, in the position shown in telescope men have yet made, and probably the
Map I. for the month, you see seven small points of most powerful men ever will make, would not show
brilliant light,-each of them seems like the "little these seven stars larger than points, such that the
star" in the familiar nursery rhyme. If the eye human eye could perceive no breadth in those
were a perfect optical instrument, and the air were minute disks. Such are the stars, even the leading
perfectly transparent and still, and if, also, light, ones, to the natural eye. In the mind's eye, how-
ever, these seven stars are very different
objects. I am not going to draw on my
imagination in what I am about to tell
you. I am not going to show what these
stars may be, but to describe what science
assures us that they are.

SIZES OF THE STARS OF THE DIPPER.
In the first place, then, every one of these
seven points of light is an enormous globe,
FiG. i. not only larger than the earth on which we
instead of traveling to us in waves of many lengths, live, but thousands or rather hundreds of thousands
gave -us an exactly truthful account of what is out of times larger. How large they really are we do

730

[SEPTEMBER,

THE STARS IN SEPTEMBER. 731

not know; we do not even know how far away they
are; but we do know, they are so far away that
our sun removed to where the nearest of them
is would not look so bright as the faintest of the
seven. They may be so far away that our sun

1F`. 3.
removed to their distance would scarce be seen at
all, or would even require a powerful telescope to
show him; but that he would not be so bright as
Delta, the middle one, and the faintest of the
seven, is certain. In considering what this means,
you should remember that the sun himself looks
only a small body. We might well believe, so far
as appearances are concerned, that he is no larger
than the moon, and the moon no larger than
yonder hill that hides her from our view as she
sets. But the sun is in reality a globe exceeding
our earth one million and a quarter times in volume.
If such a globe as our earth, only, were set aglow
with a brightness so great that every part of her
surface shone more resplendently than the piece of
lime used in the calcium lantern (and one cannot
easily look at that piece of lime so glowing), and
this enormous mass of white-hot fire were set
traveling away toward the nearest star of the
Dipper, it would be utterly lost to view before
it had traversed a fiftieth part of the distance.
Think of this when you
look at the Charles'
Wain!

THEIR COMPOSITION.
Secondly, every one
of the seven stars con-
sists of matter like that
in our sun, glowing with
intense luster. You will
remember, perhaps, how
last October I described
the method by which the watery Vapor in the
atmosphere of Venus makes its presence known to
us when we use the instrument called the spectro-
scope. I then showed that distance does not pre-
vent us from recognizing vapors of various kinds
in the atmosphere of a luminous body, so long as

the light reaches us in sufficient amount. In the
case of the stars, distant though they are, we get
the same sort of information. And thus we learn
that iron, sodium, magnesium, calcium, hydrogen,
and others of our familiar elements exist in the
atmospheres of the stars, just as we have
found that they exist in the atmosphere of
our own sun. These seven stars, like our
sun and their fellow-suns, are great masses
of intensely hot matter, all around which
there lies a deep atmosphere of glowing
gases, including in the vaporous form many
of those elements, such as our metals, which
the greatest heat we can use serves only to
melt, not to burn, into vapor.* You know
that at a certain low degree of heat water
is solid, at ordinary heat it becomes fluid, and at
a great heat-much hotter than the greatest the
hand can bear-water turns into steam or vapor.
Iron only becomes fluid at a heat far greater than
that at which water boils. You can imagine, then,
how intense the heat must be at which molten iron
turns into iron-steam. But in the sun and in his
fellow-suns the stars, iron, and substances still more
stubborn in their resistance to heat, are turned into
the form of vapor. The air of every star is a mixt-
ure of iron-steam, zinc-steam, calcium-steam, and
many other such fiery vapors, besides hydrogen;
and all these vapors are so hot that they shine with
their own inherent luster. Imagine an atmosphere
such as this, where the clouds which form are
metallic drops, and the rains which fall are sheets
of molten metals!

THEIR MOTION.
But thirdly,-and this is the point to which I
want chiefly to direct your attention, -every one of

these seven suns is in swift motion. It was formerly
supposed that the fixed stars really were at rest,
because year after year, and century after century,
passed without showing any change in their posi-
tion. But gradually-even before the telescope
was much used in observing the places of stars-it

* I mustameution--without explaining, however-that by means of electricity, the most stubborn metals can be vaporized in small quantities,
and for a brief space of time. But I am speaking above of such heat as we obtain in furnace,.

THE STARS IN SEPTEMBER.

began to be suspected that they are slowly shifting come. Fig. 3 shows the shape it will have 1oo,ooo
in position on the vault of heaven. Later, very years hence; Fig. 4 shows the shape it had 1oo,ooo
close attention was paid to the point, the telescope years ago."
being used to determine the exact positions of a Comparing Fig. 2 with Fig. I, it cannot but be
great number of stars, and now about 2,000 have admitted that the change is small for an interval
had their slow motions on the star-vaults measured, so long as 36,000 years. Consider that, according
and set down in tables for the
use of astronomers employed in
observatories. It occurred to
me, seven or eight years ago,
that it would be interesting to
picture these star-motions in
maps; for tables, after all,
though very pleasant in their
way, are not very clear in their
teachings. I made, therefore,
two charts, one of all the north-
ern stars, the other of all the
southern stars, whose motions
have been ascertained. These
charts are given in a book of
mine called "The Universe;"
but a sufficient idea of the
method I employed may be
derived from Fig. I on page
730, showing the movements of
the seven stars of the Dipper.
The little arrows attached to
the seven stars show the courses
along which these stars are
moving. But the length of each
arrow has a meaning, too, for it
is made proportional to the rate
at which the star is changing its
place. I have said above that
the stars are in swift motion;
and I have also spoken of the
stars as slowly shifting in posi-
tion. I think you will presently
admit that both these descrip-
tions are correct. For, first,
each arrow in the figure has
a length corresponding to the
distance its star travels during I O I
thirty-six thousand years. After u" V
this enormous period, the stars
will have moved from their
present positions to the points
of their respective arrows, so
that the shape of the Dipper
will then be as in Fig. 2.
It will be easy for the young student now to find to the usual way of reckoning, less than a fifth of
the shape of the Dipper at any time, past or to this interval has elapsed since the very beginning

It may be well for me, perhaps, to explain that my charts of the motions of stars in the Great Bear, etc., were published before M. Flam-
marion wrote a paper called The Past and Future of a Constellation," in which he made use of my charts, as I have myself done above.
I do not in the least mind any one's borrowing from me without acknowledging the obligation,-an omission which can easily result from
carelessness, -but I do not wish it to be thought that I have myself borrowed without acknowledgment where, in reality, I am only using
my own material, gathered at the cost of some labor by the way.

[SEPTEMBER,

THE STARS IN SEPTEMBER.

of our history, and that all the time these slow stars
have been creeping over only a sixth part of the
short arc on the heavens which measures their
motion during 36,000 years, as shown in Fig. I.
Yet a very easy calculation will show that the
same motion which is so slow when thus measured
is, in reality, enormously swift.
If you notice the arrows in Fig. I,
you see that the length of each
differs very little from the dis-
tance between and the com-
panion star, Jack-by-the-Middle-
Horse. Now, this distance is
equal to about half the apparent
diameter of the sun. Thus, if
any of these stars were at the
sun's distance from us, its arrow
would be equal in real length
to about half the sun's diame-
ter, or considerably more than
400,000 miles. But the nearest
of all the stars is more than
200,000 times farther away than

occupy much the same position. The breaking of
the Dipper is caused by the motions of a and 4, not
by those of the other five stars, which move as
though they were all connected together and
formed a single system. Noticing this, and finding
that in other parts of the stellar heavens a similar

the sun; and there is every
reason to believe that each one
of the seven stars of the Dipper
is at least five times farther away
than the nearest star, and prob-
ably farther away still. Thus
the arrow attached to each of
the seven stars represents a
thwart distance of a million
times 400,000 miles, or 400,000,-
ooo,ooo miles at least. So that,
as this distance is traversed in
36,000 years, the distance tra-
versed each year is more than
II,ooo,ooo miles. As there are
about 31 Y3 million seconds in a
year, it follows that the thwart
motion of each of these stars
amounts to at least one-third of
a mile per second. This is
about five times the swiftness of li
a cannon-ball, and for a giant
mass like a sun, doubtless with
an attendant family of planets,
represents a truly tremendous
energy of motion. But proba-
bly the real distance of these
seven stars is so great that their
thwart motion is very much greater. We come phenomenon could be recognized, I was led to
now, however, to the most wonderful point of all, believe that these are really cases of drifting mo-
tions among the stars,-in other words, that there
THE FAMILY OF FIVE, are sets or systems of stars traveling together, each
In all four figures, it will be noticed, the five as a single family, through space, and that the five
stars, p, y, J, e, besides the companion star of stars 13, ?), 6, e, and (, form one of these families.

733

C~~

734 THE STARS IN SEPTEMBER.

Now, it so chanced that a method had recently
been indicated for measuring the motions of stars
from or toward us,-not the thwart motions by
which they change their apparent position in the
sky, but the motions by which they change their
distance from
us. I do not
now enter into
an explanation
of this method,
simply men-
tioning that the
light waves as
they come in
FIG. 5. from a star show
by their nature whether the star is moving from or
toward us, and at what rate. Here, then, was a
means of testing my theory that five stars of the
Dipper form a single family; for if they do, then
all five are, of course, receding from us, or ap-
proaching us, at the same rate. The matter was
put to the test two or three years after I had sug-
gested the trial; and it was found (by Mr. Higgins,
the present president of the Astronomical Society)
that the five stars are all receding at the same com-
mon rate of seventeen miles per second.
Thus, when you look at the Dipper, the seven
points, which you see seemingly at rest, are, in
reality, seven splendid suns, certainly much larger,
and probably very much larger, than our own; they
are all raging with fiery heat and glowing with the
most intense luster; they are all rushing with
inconceivable swiftness through the depths of space;
and, lastly, five of them, though separated from
each other by millions of millions of miles, form,
nevertheless, a single family (of which the com-
panion of C is a subordinate member), and rush as
one system through space, each attended by its
own family of dependent worlds !
THE STARS FOR SEPTEMBER.
And now let us turn to the stars for the month.
You will note that the northern map requires no
explanation this month, all the constellations shown
in it having already been described. The map is
necessary, like the northern map for the next two
months, to complete the series. For the observer
should be able, from his set of monthly maps, to
begin the work of studying the stars, at any part of
the year. But for the description of the various
constellations shown in the northern map for this
month, he can refer to the account given for other
months, when these constellations were visible, but
differently placed.
The case is different with the southern stars.
These change all the year round,-not like the
northern stars by merely circling round the pole,

changing in position only as the hand of a clock
does,-but new constellations coming constantly
into view until the circuit of the year has been
completed.
Yet we shall not have occasion this month for
any lengthened descriptions, even of the southern
stars. It has been for this reason that I selected
this month for the account I have given of the real
nature of the stars in the Dipper. It seems to me,
indeed, that merely to learn the stars is little,
unless we know what they are. Then only have
the glories of the starlit heavens their real mean-
ing for us.
THE WATER-BEARER.

The chief ecliptical sign this month is Aquarius,
the Water-bearer, though the tail of the Sea-goat
has not yet passed very far toward the west of
the southern or central line of our monthly map.
Although many say they can see nothing in this
constellation to suggest the idea of a man carrying
a water-jar, I think that no very lively imagination is
required to portray such a figure among the stars.
The man himself, indeed, is wanting; but that is a
detail.-the water-can and the streams are there.
The jar is formed by the stars I, (, i, y and a, as
shown in Fig. 5. I am not quite sure whether
originally the mouth of the jar may not have been
fancied at a, and the handle at 7. At present the
jar, as you see in the southern map, comes hori-
zontally to the south, and it matters little which end
of the jar we suppose to be the mouth. But some
four thousand years ago (and the constellation is at
least six thousand years old), it came to the south
with the end y considerably higher than the end a;
and as the idea was always that of a man pouring
out water, I think the lower end of the jar was
probably regarded as the mouth. You can easily
see that the set of stars would serve either way-
perhaps rather
better the old
way (as I sup-
pose) than as in
Fig. 5, for and
C mark rather a
stem than an
opening,where-
as the two stars
FIG. 6. a and 32 (if not
o also) as in Fig. 6, would serve to represent the
open mouth of a jar. Both ways the stars 7r and y
would correspond to the body of the jar. The
streams are not shown in the map because formed
of small stars. Nor could they easily be presented,
except in a large picture. But if you look atten-
tively, you will see in the sky itself two streams,
extending from below the star (rather from below a

[SEPTEMBER,

THISTLE PUFFS.

than from below n, by the way), one passing wind-
ingly toward the star Fomalhaut,-the mouth of the
Southern Fish,-the other flowing windingly over
the Sea-goat, and thence along what is now called
tne Crane (Grus), a set of stars unquestionably
belonging to the old water-streams of Aquarius.
The sun in his annual motion passes the point
of the ecliptic marked x, or, in technical terms,
enters the sign Pisces on or about February 18.

Little need be said about the remaining constel-
lations visible toward the south. Piscis Australis,
or the Southern Fish, is chiefly remarkable for the
bright star Fomalhaut in the fish's mouth. It may
interest you to learn that the Arabs, before they
learned the Greek constellations, called the Southern
Fish the First Frog; a part of Cetus (the Whale),
who figures toward the south next -month, being
called the Second Frog.*

THISTLE-PUFFS.

BY INA CAROL.

I HAVE a lovely bouquet. The flowers, as I call
them, are large, white and beautiful; the petals,
"feathers," wings, or whatever they may be, -you
see I am no botanist,-are soft as down, and are just
such little things as I often have seen floating in the
air on bright summer days, each one carrying, as
the legend runs, a message up to the angels. Now
thousands of these fairy wings are folded quietly,
though I suppose they really are bound also on the
earthly errand of distributing seeds,-just looking
beautiful while they await their time of flight. In-
termingled with these flowers are long, delicate
sprays of a kind of pampas grass, whose flowers
seem the prettiest things that ever grew upon grass
blades, for their beauty is enhanced by being sur-
rounded by white, feathery shafts, which look like
a silvery veil, through which the delicate flowers
look out with a softened beauty. Such is my
bouquet, arranged in graceful form. The white,
downy flowers are beautiful enough to have been
gathered in fairy-land, yet a little girl discovered
them by the country road-side, and I will tell you
how it happened.
Katie Gilman was Dr. Pierre's little patient; she
had been sick for a long time, and the kind-hearted
doctor could not endure to see her die just for the
want of pure country air; so he took her from the
close, stifled atmosphere of her poor home to a
quiet place in the country, where a kind, motherly
woman would tenderly care for her. By the doc-
tor's orders, Katie lived in the air and sunshine.
At first, her bed was rolled close to the windows,
where she could breathe the fresh air and feel the
warm sunshine rest upon her. By and by, they
carried her out to the veranda, and on warm days
they often made a cot for her underneath the trees,
where she would lie and watch the blue sky and

the beautiful earth, and listen to the voices of the
trees as they whispered to her in their soft, sweet,
leafy way, and to the humming of the bees, and
the singing of the birds, and all those sweet sounds
in nature that come so clearly to an invalid's ears.
All these things did Katie a world of good. They
stole away her pain and weakness; she grew strong
enough to sit up, and slowly she learned to walk
again.
Among the. many beautiful things that came to
Katie during that happy summer was the discovery
of thistle-puffs. Just across the road was a hill,
and everything grew on it just as it liked. In the
spring, there were sunny spots that were blue with
violets, and there were plenty of dandelions and
buttercups and daisies. In the summer, there were
purple flowers near the road-side that looked so
pretty to Katie's eyes that she begged Johnny (the
kind lady's little boy) to get some for her. He
said, "Pooh they are only thistles, and horrid
things to prick." Yet, to please Katie, he filled a
little basket full of the purple flowers, and she took
so much comfort in looking at them, that when
they wilted she did not like to throw them away.
So she tied them in bunches, and Johnny hung
them up in a corner of the veranda, and many
times more he brought her pretty thistle-flowers,
and they were always hung up when they had lost
their beauty.
At last, there was such a long row of them that
everybody laughed, and they wondered how Katie
could love the despised thistle-" the very flower,"
they said, with which the ground was cursed
when Adam sinned." Only the old Scotch gar-
dener blessed Katie in his heart, and told her he
loved the thistle too, for in his native land they
proudly wore it as their national emblem-because

* See "Letter-Box."

THISTLE-PUFFS.

it once had been the means of saving dear old
Scotland from the Danes.
But Katie did not like to be laughed at. So she
determined to throw away all of the wilted flowers.
But, first, she must say good-bye to the poor little
things. As she petted one of the dead flowers,
and smoothed over its faded purple petals, she
began to pull them out, and discovering there was

delighted with them, and told her she might make
beautiful winter bouquets by arranging with them
some pretty grasses which he would bring her. So
when the promised grasses came, she made a great
many of the pretty boucjuets, and the gardener
sold them in a city store, and gave her more money
for them than Katie had ever dreamed of possess-
ing. She was glad, for she thought now they

A THISTLE-PUFF.

something within, she picked off the prickly outer
coat. 'And what do you think she found ? A
beautiful white "flower," that trembled and flut-
tered as it burst forth. Mrs. Allen (the kind lady)
called it the "resurrection flower," and seemed
glad that it had bloomed so beautifully after death.
So none of the thistles were thrown away, and
from every one there came a fairy flower. Katie
showed them to the Scotch gardener. He was

could pay the doctor for a little of his kind care.
But he would not touch a penny of the money
Katie had earned in such a happy way.
Thus many comforts were added to Katie's home
through the thistle bouquets, and in many city
homes the pretty thistle flowers gladdened many
hearts; for all winter long they whispered of sum-
mer sunshine and beauty, and promised to many a
happier blooming in the second life.

[SEPTEMBER,

PANCHY.

;b'-.;" ,,

BY MRS. FRANCES M. LATHROP.

PANCHY'S home was in a highly aristocratic
suburb of New York City, called Orange Mountain.
There is a delightful tone in that name to me.
Oranges, in my own young days, were-not the
every-day dessert of children, as now, when steam-
ers run quickly from port to port, bringing the
tropics to our very thresholds. In those days these
rich golden globes were rare enough to be put into
our Christmas stockings, and their very flavor was
of a more ambrosial sweetness-their juice a nectar
to be sparingly sipped, as something too rare and
precious for common use. Another pleasant associa-
tion with this name is in the famous Orange County
butter and cream, which I cannot help believing
always to be better, and of a more golden hue, by
virtue of this name. But Panchy cared nothing
for this suggestive and pleasant sound in the name
of his home. He was a forester, and lived under
the old roof-tree that had sheltered his ancestors
for generations. You perceive in this last remark
that Panchy was not destitute of the distinction of
counting a long queue of grand and great-great-
grandfathers, stretching far behind him out of sight
and memory. However, his having had so many
grandfathers did not make him either ashamed or
too lazy to work, and he was happy and busy all
day long, earning bread for himself and his little
VOL. IV.-48.

ones. Indeed, nothing would have tempted him
to exchange his greenwood home for a five-storied
brown stone corner house on Fifth avenue; and as
for any one of those white marble palaces, that look
cold and as homeless as a monster tomb, I assure
you that Panchy would n't have given a beech-nut
for one. It is quite time to tell you that Panchy
came into this beautiful world with a pair of bright
black eyes that twinkled like jet in the sunshine,
and found himself clad in a suit fitting like a glove,
of warm and delicate gray fur, for it is also time to
say that our friend Panchy was a pretty little gray
squirrel. His house was the hollow of an old oak-
tree, that had room enough for all Panchy's uncles,
aunts and cousins, and here they led as merry a
life as ever was known in squirrel-land.
When Panchy had fairly opened his bright
eyes upon the green Gothic arches of his forest
home a terrible fate befell him. A great giant lived
near the old oak house. You and I would have
called this giant a boy, for he was just ten years
old, and his name was Bob; but to poor little
Panchy he seemed half a mile high, as he crept
close to the old oak one day, and while Panchy
was shivering with terror, and trying to hide away
under his own tail, Bob, the giant, stretched out a
long arm and suddenly pounced upon the little

737

738

PANCHY.

fellow, and in an instant Panchy was a prisoner,
sure and fast. He was a brave squirrel at heart,
and instead of crying out or struggling to get free,
he looked up into the boy-giant's face with a bright
glance that quite won his captor's heart. Bob had
really intended to strip off Panchy's beautiful fur
suit and sell it for a little girl's muff, but he was
touched by the courageous way in which Panchy
had met his capture, and while he was half resolv-
ing to set him free again in the old woods, the
noise of wheels was heard. Bob looked into the
road and saw an open carriage in which were seated
two ladies, the younger of them driving.
As they came up with Bob, the elder lady gave
him a quick look, and exclaimed: Why, Fanny,
there's the very thing we want-a lovely gray
squirrel! Come here, my boy. Would you like
to sell me that little squirrel ?" This unlooked-for
piece of good luck brought a bright smile to Bob's
face. .He could receive the full value of Panchy's
soft coat, and yet save the little fellow's life. He
hurried to transfer Panchy to the lady's hand, fear-
ing that she would take back her proposal to buy'
him. But, no; she took from her portmonnaie a
half dollar, which Bob grasped eagerly, with a
sense of having come into a very comfortable for-
tune all in a moment. The ladies were on their
way to town to visit an old friend who had often
wished for a pet squirrel, and especially a gray one.
This lady's name was Mrs. Hillar. She had neither
husband nor children, and led rather a lonely and
sad life in the great city of New York.
Her home was one of those great corner piles of
brown stone which Panchy could not but despise.
It had not even an inch-wide strip of green grass
anywhere near it. The area was a solid stone floor,
and the little space of ground in the back yard-
which would have given a bit of grass, a few flowers,
and some climbing vines to conceal, like a mantle
of charity, the sin of ugly board fences-was buried
under heavy granite slabs, like grave-stones.
But we must see how Panchy fared in the new
home. Mrs. Hillar was perfectly delighted with
him. She had a companion-Miss Dot-who was
called up at once to see the pretty little Panchy.
Little Miss Dot had the kindest heart in the world,
and she was as happy in Panchy's arrival as if
she, like Bob, had come into some sudden fortune.
Mrs. Hillar at once promoted Panchy to a higher
rank and title, more befitting his aristocratic origin
and present state and dignity, and he was called
Don Panchito. His own private apartment was a
large wire house of two rooms. The largest of
them was parlor, dining-room and sleeping-cham-
ber. His bed was a fine silvered net-work basket,
and it was swung high up on the wire wall of his
cage. This pretty nest was furnished in winter

[SEPTEMBER,

with soft scarlet wool-stuff for blankets. In this
luxurious home, and in spite of his new grand title,
our little friend was still only Panchy at heart. He
hated his gorgeous prison, and devised a thousand
plans of escape. The second room of his house
was a very curious place. It was his promenade,
his garden, his forest, and in time became his chief
delight. There was a contrivance in this room
which had the effect of a complete illusion in
Panchy's mind. This was a hollow space inclosed
by wires, called a wheel, which whirled rapidly
around and around the moment that Panchy entered
it and began to run. He used to dart like a flash
into this wheel and run for miles and miles, all the
while believing himself to be escaping to his dear
old Orange Mountain Each morning, as Panchy
opened his eyes at the earliest light, his first thought
was of freedom in his forest home, and he instantly
sprang into the wheel and raced off like an express
train, while the wheel only whirled round and
round, never of course bringing him a step nearer
his heaven.
In time, however, little Panchy began to perceive
that he was leading a very easy life. Mrs. Hillar
and good little Miss Dot were entirely devoted
to his happiness, and left nothing untried for his
comfort. Luxurious living soon spoils the best of
us, whether boys, girls or squirrels. Panchy soon
insisted upon a change in his bill of fare whenever
he liked, and would refuse walnuts, filberts, almonds,
or fruits, simply because he was bent on a dinner
of chestnuts. He knew perfectly how to manage
Mrs. Hillar and Miss Dot, for as soon as he began
to refuse his usual food, these two good souls were
in terror of his starving to death, and they went on
trying him with every imaginable delicacy until the
right thing was hit on. Then Panchy gloried in
his victory, and set about inventing new wants.
Sometimes it was a feast of sweet potatoes, then
a bunch of white grapes, and everything must be
of the best quality,--fresh and sweet,-or Don
Panchito went fasting for a whole day. At night
another attendant, Alice, the house-maid, was
called to make up the Don's bed freshly. In
the midst of all this luxury, Panchy did not for-
get the native instincts of his race, but preserved
a business-like thrift. However great his hunger,
he always put aside for future use a nut or two
before beginning his dinner. When a chestnut or
walnut was given to him, he instantly set out on a
journey in the wheel, and after running to what he
evidently thought a safe distance, he darted into a
corner of his parlor, or leaped into his bed, and hid
the nut out of sight, returning instantly to the door
of his cage for a new supply. Sometimes when a
favorite kind of nut was presented to him, he stored
it away for a future choice feast; and if no other

I PANCHIY. 739

one of the same sort was given, he would eat a
commoner kind of food. As years went on, he
might have learned to trust the never-failing supply
of dainties always ready; but no; this wise little
manager never forgot the chances of a rainy day
that beset this life, and continued to lay up his
second meal before consuming the first one.
A full biography of Panchy's career would make
up a little volume, while this is only a sketch of
the main events that marked a life full of pleas-
ures invented for him by Mrs. Hillar and her
friend. His birthday (that is, the day on which he
came into possession of his brown stone house) was
a time of great feasting. At Christmas he had his
share of holiday joys. Good Miss Dot said that
Don Panchito should have a Christmas-tree And
such a tree It was hung with nuts, grapes, red
apples, and I know not what besides. The door
of his house was set wide open, and in an instant
le bounded toward the tree in an ecstasy of joy.
How he skipped up to the topmost twig, and down
again twenty times in half as many minutes! How
he nibbled at the grapes, cracked the nuts as if
each one was a capital joke What holes he dug in
the earth in which the tree was planted, and hid
away treasures of nuts, and scampered into his cage
and back again to the tree, and ate a few rose-
leaves for a dessert! He was far happier than
any king. At night his place was in the room of
Mrs. Hillar. His cage was set on a table near her
bed, and early morning greetings were always to
be heard between them, and then his usual journey
on the wheel began, and by the time Mrs. Hillar
was ready to begin her toilette, Panchy was tired
of racing, and had betaken himself to a late nap.
Then the noise of Mrs. Hillar's brushes disturbed
his delicate nerves, and he vented his displeasure
in a sort of low grumble of complaint very funny

to hear. I am sorry to say that some people sus-
pected him of a quick temper, but whenever a long
red scratch appeared upon the face or hands of
Mrs. Hillar, or Miss Dot, or Alice, these devoted
friends always declared it to have been an accident
on the part of Panchy's sharp claws.
When Panchy was eight years old-although
squirrels seldom live over six years--he was as light
of heart and foot as in the days of childhood. He
dived as nimbly as ever into Mrs. Hillar's pocket
every day in search of nuts, and no one thought the
end was very near. But one day last spring Mrs.
Hillar called out her early good morning, as usual,
which Panchy did not answer. This alarmed Mrs.
Hillar, and she rose to see what had happened.
The worst had happened Poor Panchy lay in
his wheel as if he had just started on the old, old
journey to the oak-tree home, of which he had so
long and vainly dreamed.
His days were over before any kind of evil had
come upon them. The grief of Mrs. Hillar and
her friend, Miss Dot, was very real and deep.
They determined that Panchy should not rest in
the dreary back yard, where the grass had been
stoned to death. He was placed in a box, with
some white flowers laid about him,-for he always
loved flowers,-and conveyed to his beloved Orange
Mountain, where he was laid among the trees and
grasses.
Panchy had not lived in vain, for he brought
sunshine into a lonely life. He had awakened feel-
ing in some hearts that possessed few objects of
love. He had given companionship where it was
needed, and by his merry frolics and playful pranks
charmed away many a care in the days of his mis-
tress, returning thus four-fold for the care given to
him in full measure. Will as much be said of each
one of us ?

HOW I WENT A-DRUMMING.

BY FRANK R. STOCKTON.

WHEN I went "a-drumming" I did not take a
drum with me. That would have been ridiculous,
as you shall see. Nor did I go as a drummer"
for a mercantile or a manufacturing concern.
Words sometimes mean so many different things
that we have to be particular. What I did was to
go fishing for drums," which are certain large
fish, found in Southern waters.

I was down at St. Augustine, in Florida,-that
most ancient city in this country,-where there is
an old fort or castle, built by the Spaniards more
than three hundred years ago, and where the
narrow streets, the curious stone houses with
over-reaching balconies, the ruins of the old city-
gates, and many other ancient and foreign-looking
things, make it difficult to realize that it is really

740 HOW I WENT A-DRUMMING. S~a'TEMBER,

an American city. And besides the antiquities,
and the delightful climate, and the orange-trees
and the roses that bloom out-of-doors all winter,
there is capital fishing. Right in front of the town
is the Matanzas River, and it is full of fish. You
can catch them almost anywhere.
The drum-fish gets its name from its habit of
making a drumming sound as it swims about, near
the bottom of the river. Sometimes, as persons
are rowing or sailing along the river, hundreds of
these fish can be heard drumming away, down
under the boat. But although there are so many
of them, they are not very easy to catch; for they
seem to be rather indifferent to food which they see
dangling about on strings.
When I had heard about these fish, I deter-
mined, as soon as possible, to try to catch one; and
one fine morning I went down to the wharf where
a great many sail-boats and row-boats were lying,
-most of them for hire to visitors,-and I asked
an old fisherman, with whom I had become ac-
quainted, if he could take me out after drums.
"Drums?" said he. "Do you want to go
a-drummin' ?"
I told him that I was very anxious to do so.
Well," he said, I can't go to-day, and it aint
jist the tide for drums, nuther."
"But the tide will be right before long, wont
it ? I asked.
Oh yes. The tide will always be right if you
wait long enough. But I've got other things to do
this morning. "
Where is a good place to go ? You can tell
me that, if you can't go with me yourself."
Well--there 's several good places. I kin tell
you of a very good place for you to git drums, this
morning. "
Where's that?" I asked.
"Over there at the fish-market," he said.
You'll run a better chance there than any place
I know of."
I saw the old fellow had not much faith in me as
a fisherman, but I would not get angry with him.
It's a poor business to get angry with people who
may be of use to you. So I left him and hired a
sail-boat, with a young man to manage it.
In a few minutes we started out, and we sailed
away gayly. The young man had lines on board,
and he had procured some bait before we started.
Where is the best place for drums ?" I asked,
as we were sailing along by the northern point of
Anastasia Island, which lies on the other side of
Matanzas River, between St. Augustine and the
ocean.
The only certain place for drums is up the
North River," the man answered. "That's the
North River, over there. It branches off, like,

from the Matanzas. About nine miles up that
river you can ketch 'em sure."
But we can't go nine miles and back this morn-
ing," said I, and I am not prepared to stay all
day. I thought you could catch them about here."
"So you can," said he; "but you have to go
down the river a long way, and with this wind and
tide we would n't get there before night. You'd
better fish for whitings; they bite a lot livelier than
drums, and here's just the place for 'em. I did n't
know you were so particular about drums. I
thought you just wanted to go a-fishin'."
As there was nothing else to do, we anchored
and began to fish for whiting. I baited my line
with some pieces of fish the man had brought, and
threw it out. It was a long line with two hooks
and a heavy sinker.
Very soon I had a bite. I gave a jerk, and felt
a vigorous pull. Hauling in, I drew over the side
of the boat a handsome white fish, about a foot
long and quite plump and fat.
Is that a whiting? I asked.
Yes," said the young man; "and they're just
as good eating as drums, only they're not as big."
That might be very true, but as I did n't start
out drumming to catch whitings, no amount of such
fish-philosophy could make me entirely satisfied.
Directly, I got a gentle bite, and feeling that
something was on the hook, I pulled up. There
was very little resistance as I hauled in the line,
and I was indeed astonished to see come to the
surface a great, flat, wide, flopping creature, some-
what of the shape and size of a very large palm-leaf
fan, with a long tail like a handle. It was of a
dirty-green color above and white beneath, and
when it came to the top of the water it flopped and
struggled a good deal.
It was a skate, not a good fish to eat, nor a very
pretty one to look at. You may see some of them
in the New York Aquarium, and they swim about
very gracefully there, using their long tails for rud-
ders. But they are not very nice to catch. I un-
hooked this fellow without pulling him entirely on
board, and let him go.
He did n't pull hard for so large a fish," I
remarked.
No," said the young man. They never pull.
They sneak on you. You ought.n't to have let that
fellow go. He 's just mean enough to bite at your
bait again. They don't mind being hooked."
Sure enough, in a short time I caught this skate
again, or his twin brother, I am not sure which.
And he came up in the same gentle, Uriah Heep
kind of way as when he came before. I wont say
that he laughed when I got him to the top of the
water, but he had a very unpleasant expression.
When I had caught about a bucketful of whitings

740

HOW I WENT A-DRUMMING.

[SEPTEMBER,

HOW I WENT A-DRUMMING.

we set sail for home. On the wharf I met the
old fisherman.
Well," said he, did you get a drum ?"
"No," I replied; "we fished for whitings, and
caught a good many of them."
Whitings is good fish enough, but they aint
drums," said he. But we oughter be glad for
what we can git. There 's a row of fellers fishing'
on that side of the wharf, that are satisfied with
skip-jacks, which is a mean little fish as I take it."
Just then a man came down the wharf with a
crab-net. This is a hoop, either of iron or of wood,

sight better eat your bait, and let the crabs alone.
You had fish enough there to fry for supper, and
beef enough to make a big pot of soup for the
whole family, and you've sp'iled it all, fishing' for
that one crab, which aint no good at all, by him-
self.' 'Yes,' says he, 'but I might 'a' caught a
lot o' crabs.' 'That's so,' says I, 'and General
Washington might have married Queen Victoria,
if they 'd lived at the same time, and the families
had been willing. I tell you what it is, sir," said
the old fellow, as he walked away: "there's lots
o' people in this world who'd a great sight better

THE DRUM-FISH.

weighted to make it sink, with a small net attached
under the hoop. Some bait is fastened in the
middle of the net, and the whole is lowered to the
bottom by a rope. The net is occasionally hauled
up, and sometimes there is a crab in it, and some-
times there is not.
I knowed a boy once," said the old fisherman,
"who came down here, one day, with two crab-
nets and a basket of bait. In each of his nets he
put a big piece of beef and two or three good-
sized fish. He lowered his two nets and tied the
ropes to the wharf, and he spent the afternoon first
pullin' up one net and then the other. I was
a-mending a sail, and I kept my eye on him. He
caught one crab that whole afternoon. Now look
here,' says I to him, another time you 'd a great

eat their bait before they spile it and get nothing'
for it."
A day or two after this, I was invited by two
gentlemen to go with them to fish for drum. They
had everything ready,-sail-boat, lines and bait,-
and we started off soon after dinner. We sailed to
a place, a few miles below the town, where one of
the gentlemen, a short time before, had caught
two splendid drums.
When we reached the spot, and had anchored,
we began to bait our lines.
"Why," said I, when I saw the bait, "do you
use clams when you fish for drums ?"
"No," said one of the gentlemen, "we ought
to have crabs, but I could n't get any crabs this
morning, and so I thought I'd bring clams."

HOW I WENT A-DRUMMING.

We baited with clams, but a clam did not half
cover the great hook used for drums, and the little
fish ate the bait off without pulling hard enough to
give us decent notice. So we soon took smaller
lines and hooks and fished for black-fish, baiting
with bits of some small fish which were in the boat.
We caught black-fish pretty fast, sometimes
hauling up two at a time. The fish were not very
large, but they bit in a lively, earnest way, as if
they were anxious to attend to their part of the
business as well as they could.
As I went home, I was very glad that I did not
meet the old fisherman, for I did not care to be
questioned about this expedition.
The next morning, as I was sitting on a box at
the end of the wharf, watching the unloading of a
schooner which had just arrived from New York,
the old fisherman came and sat down by me.
Did you ketch any drums yesterday?" said he.
"No," I replied; "we did n't have the right
kind of bait, and so we fished for black-fish."
You ought n't to start out without the right
kind of bait. That's no way to fish."
Well," I replied, "it was n't my affair. I
did n't provide the bait, and I supposed everything
was all right."
Yes," he said, that 's often the way. It don't
do to trust people much. Them fellers took clams.
I heard about it. There's some people who think
they know lots. I knowed a boy once who thought
he was dreadful smart. I used to take him out
sailing every morning. He was a kind of sick, and
he took sails for his health. He knew something
about sailing, and he used to like to hold the tiller,
and sail the boat himself, as he called it. He gave
lots of orders; but as I always took care to tell him
what to order, it was all right. It would have done
you good to hear that feller sing out 'Hard-a-lee !'
as if there was a whole shipful o' sailors in my little
boat. He used to sit there and tell me lots of
things that he thought I ought to know. He would
call out to me in a loud, clear voice, which was
pleasant to listen to, though there was n't often any
sense in what he said: 'Look here, captain It's
a good idea to have your ballast well amidship, as
you 've got it. It don't do to have ballast too far
for-rerd. A boat is n't safe if the ballast is n't
fixed right.' And he'd say lots of things of that
kind, jest as if he was tellin' me something' he'd
found out, and that nobody else did n't know. I
don't remember all he used to say, but the sum
and substance of it was pretty much as if he'd
hollered out, 'Look here, captain You always
ought to put the mast of a sail-boat at the bow. If
you was to put it at the stern, you could n't steer
her very well, with the main-sel a-sticking away
out behind,-'specially if she was cat-rigged and

had no jib.' Well, one morning, this boy took a
friend out with him, to give him a sail. This other
boy was n't sick. My boy sat at the stern, and was
very proud to sail the boat. He took it into his
head that the other boy was a little skeered, and he
kept a-tryin' to keep his courage up. He would
say: 'Now, you see, when a puff of wind comes,
and tips her over, I just bring her 'round a little
into the wind, and she comes up all right. There
is n't any danger, if the man at the helm knows
his business.' And then he'd keep sayin': 'Now,
don't you feel a little more confidence?' And the
other boy, who was a-sittin' quiet, looking' as if he
was enjoyin' the breeze, and the views, and the
sailin', would say : 'Oh I 'm confident enough.
I'm all right.' And my boy would say to him:
'I 'm glad of that. I don't want you to be afraid.
It 's perfectly safe.' Well, one day I took that
other boy out sailin' by himself, and I tell you, sir,
I was surprised. Why, that boy knowed ten times
as much about sailin' as my feller. He'd been on
sail-boats at the North ever since he was a little
chap, he said, and I found he knowed nearly
enough to sail a boat by himself. And says I to
him: What on earth did you let that other boy
talk to you that way, as if you did n't know nothing ,
and you sitting' there quiet, and known' lots more
about sailin' a boat than he did, all the time?'
'Well,' says he, 'he took me out, and he is n't
well, and I saw it pleased him to talk that way, and
I did n't care.' 'But don't you care what other
people think of you?' says I. And then he said
he did n't suppose it mattered much, so that you
knew yourself what you knew. Now, I could never
make up my mind which of them two boys was the
biggest fool. It don't do to blow your own horn
too much, and it don't do to blow it too little,
nuther. A feller's got to show what he is, for
other people aint agoin' to take the trouble to find
it out, and it aint always that things is found out
by chance, like as when you hook a fish by the
tail, accidental. It's all nonsense to make too little
of yourself; and then, ag'in, it's just as bad to
make too much of yourself."
That's very true," I said. It's hard to draw
the line at the right place."
Harder than it is to ketch a drum," said the
old fellow, rising to go.
I now made up my mind that I would go about
this business of drum-fishing in a business-like way.
I first made another attempt to get the old fisher-
man to go with me, but he declined the proposition.
He had sold his sail-boat, and now made a regular
business of fishing, going out part of every day in
a "dug-out," a long, narrow boat, cut out of a
cypress log. As he did not want more than two
persons in his boat, and had to have a man to help

[SEPTEMBER,

HOW I WENT A-DRUMMING.

him row, he did not wish to take an amateur with
him on his expeditions.
Failing in this, I got some friends to join me,
and we engaged a man, who knew all about the
habits and whereabouts of, drums, to take us in a
sail-boat to the proper place for fishing, and to fix
a day when we would reach said place at the time
when the tide was exactly right. He was also to
provide proper tackle and the right kind of bait.
The day before we started, I was passing the
fish-market, when my old friend called to me.
Hello said he. Given up drum-fishing? "
Oh, no I said, and then I told him of the
arrangements I had made.
That's right," said he. There's nuthin like
doin' things the right way. I know'd a boy once
who always did everything the right way, and your
tellin' me what you're goin' to do made me think
of him. He was a smart feller, and no mistake.
He could swim, and row, and run, and sail a boat,
and do everything else that ever I see him do, bet-
ter than any other boy in these parts, and better,
too, than most men. He staid down here pretty
nigh all winter, two years ago. I had my sail-boat
then, and one day I took him and his uncle out
sailin'. The old gentleman and this boy was a-sit-
tin' talking' and payin' no attention to me as I was
a-sailin' the boat, and directly I heard the old gen-
tleman say something' that kinder surprised me.
Says he, 'Yes, you're a-gittin' along first-rate,
but there's one thing I wish you was.' What's
that?' says the boy. 'I wish you was more of a
gentleman.' Well, that jest made me prick up my
ears, and as to the boy, he turned as red as a b'iled
crab. I always thought he was gentleman-like
enough, and I reckon he thought so himself. I
don't remember what he said, but his uncle, he
went on and says to him, 'What I mean is this:
You kin do most things better than any of your
friends, and I 'm glad of that; but the trouble with
you is, that you keep a-doin' them things all the
time, and a-makin' the other boys feel how much
smarter you are than them. You don't never let
'em forget it. I've been a-noticin' this for some
time, and I wanted to speak to you about it. Now,
a gentleman don't do that way. When it's neces-
sary for him to do a thing first-rate he does it,
but at the same time he don't try to make other
people feel that they could n't have done it. Some-
times, when another feller can do something' well
enough, though perhaps not as well as he could
himself, he holds back, and gives the other feller a
chance. But you never do that. You always
step to the front whether there 's any need of your
doin' it or not, and that's where you miss bein' as
much of a gentleman as 1 'd like you to be.' I
don't remember what the boy said to all this, be-

cause it was n't worth remembering as much as
what the old gentleman said, and I don't fill my
basket with skip-jacks when I kin get better fish.
But I agreed with the old uncle. And I've know'd
a lot of boys, and men too, who might 'a' been a
good sight better off if they had been there and
heard that lectur'."
That's very true," said I; "but, by the way,
did you ever keep school?"
No; what made you ask that."
You seem to have known so many boys."
Well," said he, 1 have known a good many
of them, but I generally went to school to them.
I 've learned a lot of things from boys,-more than
I have time to tell you now. And among the
things I've learned is not to neglect my regular
business to go out with gentlemen who want to see
if they can't try to ketch a drum."
The day for our expedition arrived, and we
started out early. The sun was bright, the wind
was fresh and invigorating, and we had a splendid
time. We sailed about nine miles down the Matan-
zas River, anchoring several times at some excel-
lent places for drum. We fished and sailed all day,
and enjoyed ourselves greatly. I don't think I ever
spent a more pleasant day on the water. But we
did n't get so much as a bite.
There were plenty of smaller fish who, no doubt,

would have been very willing indeed to bite, but
we had our hearts fixed on nobler game, and we
kept our big drum-hooks out all the time.
I asked the captain what was the matter this time.
He could say nothing about the tide, nor the bait,
nor the tackle, so he considered the matter a min-
ute, and then remarked that the wind was too
strong. You could n't catch drum in such a wind.
We ought to have gone last Thursday. That was
a beautiful day for drum.
But as it was of no use, at that time, to think
of last Thursday, we set sail and went home. I
hurried up to the house, for I did not care to
meet any one on the way. But it was of no use. I
had to pass the fish-market, and there he stood.
Did you git wet? he inquired, kindly.
Oh, no said I, not at all."
It blowed so this afternoon that I thought
you 'd 'a' been pretty well splashed with the spray,"
he said, as I passed on. His silence in regard to
the main subject was more cutting than anything
he could have said. He evidently considered the
drum question settled, so far as I was concerned.
I felt a good deal disheartened myself. I was
not at all sure that it paid to go a-drumming."
However, in a day or two, I hired a row-boat and
a long-legged negro boy, and, with four crabs and
a drum-line that I borrowed, I set off down the
river for an afternoon's fishing on my own account.

HOW 1 WENT A-DRUMMING.

We anchored a mile or so below the town, and I
prepared my tackle and went to fishing. The boy
had a small line, with which he angled for whiting,
bass, sharks, or anything that might come along.
As for me, I sat for an hour and only got one
bite. That was not a very hard one. It was a
long, easy pull at my line, and when I gave a jerk
and hauled in a little I found I had hooked it into
something at the bottom. I did not immediately
pull on the line, for I did not wish to break my
hook, but, in a minute, the line gave a tremendous
pull on me. It jerked me forward, and rapidly
slipped between my fingers.
Then I knew that I had a drum! For a minute
he fairly ran away with the line. I could not stop
him. The line was a long one, and he ran out
nearly the whole of it. I tugged at him bravely,
but it was like holding a runaway mule. I gave
the line a turn around a row-lock, for it was cutting
my fingers, and then he began to come toward me,
and I had to haul in rapidly to keep the line from
getting slack. As soon as it was tight again I
hauled on it, and tried to draw him slowly in.
When my long-legged negro boy saw that I had
hooked a drum he was wild with excitement. He
left his line and came tumbling over the seats to me.
"Gim me hold, sir! Gim me hold I'll haul
him in!" he cried. But I would not trust my
drum to him; I let him hold the line for a minute
or two, while I blew on my sore fingers.
Laws ee, boss !" he exclaimed. He pull like
a steamboat! He '11 hab dis yer anchor up, yit."
I took the line again, and gradually drew my
fish toward the boat. Once he came up to the top,
and flashed his tail and back in the air. He was
as big as a boy !
How the darkey shouted when he saw him, and
how he nearly fell overboard as the fish made a
dash toward the bow of the boat, right over his
line, I can't stop to tell now. I made him pull in
his line, and I still struggled with my prize.
Once the drum dashed around to the stern and
fouled the line on the rudder. Then I thought I
should lose him, but long-legs stumbled aft and
got the line clear.
I played the fish for nearly a quarter of an hour,
or it might be better to say, I worked at him, and
it was no easy job. At last my drum began to tire,
and I pulled him close to the boat. Now came a
critical moment. It would not be easy to get him
on board. Some fishermen have a "gaff," or
strong iron hook on a short handle, which they

slip under the gills of a big fish like this, and so
draw him in; but I had nothing of the kind.
So I pulled him close to the side of the boat, not
caring now for my smarting fingers, and told the
boy to come and get down in the bottom of the
boat, in front of me. Then I drew the head of the
fish out of water, he flapping and splashing like a
good fellow, and telling the boy to slip his hand
under the gills on his side, I took a hold on the
other side. Our weight, all one side, -careened the
boat over, so that we did not have far to lift, and
then, as I gave the word, we both pulled together,
and the great drum slipped beautifully into the boat.
The boy sprang on him, heedless of his flaps and
his fins, and took the hook out of his mouth, and
there he lay in the bottom of the boat, a magnifi-
cent prize.
I had caught a drum !
We did not fish any more. We pulled up the
anchor, and the long-legged boy rowed back to the
town as if he were working for a wager.
When we reached the wharf and landed the fish,
my boy got a wheelbarrow and took him over to a
provision store near by and had him weighed. He
weighed forty-three pounds and a half. He was
not one of the very largest drums, but he was big
enough for me.
As I walked behind the boy, while he wheeled the
fish to the house where I lived, I looked about for
my friend, the old fisherman. I was now very
much afraid that I would not meet him. How-
ever, everybody in this old town is out-of-doors in
the evening, and I soon saw him standing at a
corner. When I reached him we stopped.
"Hello!" said he, looking at my fish. "You
did ketch a drum, at last, eh ?"
"Yes," I replied, I certainly caught one." '
"Well," he said, I know'd you was n't one of
the lucky kind."
"Not lucky !" I exclaimed. "Don't you call
that a good drum ?"
"Yes," he answered, "that 's a good enough
fish, but you 're not lucky, for all that. If you 'd
'a' been lucky, you 'd 'a' caught him the first time,
or the second, anyway. You had to work hard for
your fish, and that ain't luck. But I don't know
but what it's just as good in the long run. I
knowed a boy once --"
"Excuse me," said I. I must go home, now.
It's getting late. Some other time I'11 come and
hear about your boy."
All right," said he, I'll have him ready."

[SEPTEMBER,

---~t~--------

877.1 JINGLES. 745

JINGLES.

KITTENS.
A BLACK-NOSED kitten will slumber all the day;
A white-nosed kitten is ever glad to play;
A. yellow-nosed kitten will answer to your call;
And a gray-nosed kitten I would n't have at all i

A STIR AMONG THE DAISIES.
PRETTY Lill of Littleton sauntered through the grass;
The very birds and butterflies stopped to see her pass;
All the daisies nodded to the maiden coming by,
And leaned across the pathway left behind her.
"Art hurt?" they asked each other. Each gayly laughed, "Not I!
We bowed too low; but really we don't mind her.
To see so fair a maiden pass has really quite unstrung us;
But we 'll straighten up, and ready be when next she comes among us."

r-=

..
-' .. ; .
,

' :y:.- . ,'._

OUR MASTER.
(Drawn by Addie Ledyard.)

746

CHAPTER XXXV.
AN ADVENTURE IN A STRANGE CITY.
FOR the first time in his life Jacob rode on a
railroad train. The swift motion, the novel scenes,
and the feeling that he was rapidly nearing the
goal of his hopes, filled him with happiness. Then
appeared the cloud of smoke hanging over the city,
visible miles away; then the beautiful suburbs,
shady and verdant slopes, villa-crowned heights;
then the city itself, rising on its terraces above the
river; the Kentucky shore opposite, the puffing
steamboats between, plying up and down, and the
marvelous suspension bridge a hundred feet above
them, uniting State with State, hanging like some
exquisite fairy-work from its tall towers, high in air,
yet bearing vehicles and speeding trains upon its
delicate, firm fabric.
This Jacob saw as he was wandering along Front
street, bag in hand, looking for Uncle Higglestone's
place of business. Another thing he noticed, which
reminded him of Sam Longshore,-the row of
stupendous posts along the top of the lofty, sloping
river bank, or "levee,"-posts so huge and high,
and oddly placed right in front of the row of ware-
houses, that he would never have guessed what
they were there for if Sam had not told him. It
was hard for him even then to believe that the
river, flowing tranquilly at a level some fifty feet
below, had ever swelled to such a height that
steamboats had been made fast to those posts on
the verge of the sweeping flood.
These and other interesting objects-the throngs
of pedestrians, the drays and carts and wagons,
the steamboats discharging or taking on freights,
the floating wharves made to rise and fall with the
stream, the smoke that filled the air from countless
factories and kitchen fires burning bituminous coal
-inspired the green country lad with wonder and
exultation; and his enjoyment would have been
complete, but for the certainty of night coming on,
and the uncertainty of a welcome from his uncle.
He had not much trouble in finding the hard-
ware store of Higglestone & West; and with an
anxious and fearful heart he turned into the door.
With bag in hand, in his short vest and pepper-
and-salt trousers, he looked like some rustic cus-
tomer who had come for a rat-trap or a jack-knife.
He approached a clerk, who leaned on the counter
and waited to receive his order.
Jacob's heart was in his throat.

What will you have ?" asked the clerk.
Mr. Higglestone," said Jacob.
Mr. Higglestone ?" the clerk repeated, with a
smile. I 'm afraid you can't have him."
Is n't he in ?"
"He is not in. He has n't been here for a
month. He is sick."
This was bad news. But Jacob grew calm and
firm in face of it, and said: "Where can I find
him ?"
At his house, I suppose; and the clerk named
street and number.
"Thank you, sir." And the black bag and
pepper-and-salt trousers disappeared.
To find his uncle's house Jacob had to go up
into the city. It was literally up, the town rising
gradually for a mile back from the river to the base
of still mightier hills beyond. He observed that
the streets were regularly laid out-that those run-
ning parallel with the river, after Front, Second
and Pearl, were numbered,- Fourth, Fifth, and so
on,-while the cross-streets had names; so that
finding his way was not difficult.
He had passed the pleasantest part of the town,
leaving many fine residences and splendid retail
stores behind him, and the sunset was fast deepen-
ing into twilight, when on the door of a gloomy-
looking house he discovered his uncle's number and
name, and rang the bell.
For a long while he got no response. He rang
again, and was beginning to think the house was
deserted, when an old negro woman, with a red
handkerchief around her head, came shuffling to
the door, and opened it carefully a little way.
Mr. Higglestone is at home," she said, in
answer to Jacob's question, but he's sick, and he
can't see nobody."
May be he will see me. Will you tell him his
nephew is here, and would like to speak with
him ?"
The old negress threw out her chin and showed
all the front teeth she had with a grimace, which
was by no means encouraging to Jacob, and prob-
ably was not meant to be. She went off, and,once
more he had a long while to wait, a prey t6 sicken-
ing thoughts. At length the loosely shod feet
were heard shuffling along the stairs again, and the
red-turbaned head and wrinkled, old, black face,
re-appeared at the half-opened door.
He says he haint got no nephew he wants to
see, but if you likes, you can come ag'in in the

HIS OWN MASTER.

HIS OWN MASTER.

BY J. T. TROWBRIDGE.

[SEPTEMBER,

HIS OWN

mo'nin'. Jes pos'ble you '11 have a chance to speak
to him; but I aint sho."
He wont see me now? "
No; he wont see you to-night, nohow."
Jacob was staggered. After a pause, he said:
What time shall I call ?"
I don't say you shall call at all," the old negress
replied. But if you chuse, you can come any
time after nine o'clock."
The door was closed, and Jacob turned and
walked down the steps.
He remembered that it was Saturday night;
the next day was Sunday; what he was to do with
himself meanwhile he had not the least idea.
He might have asked the old woman to let him
come in and stop overnight; but there was that
abiding self-respect in him which would not let him
beg, even at his uncle's door.
If he had had a little more experience of life,
he would probably have sought out the nearest
cheap boarding-house and applied for lodgings, at
the risk of being required to make payment in
advance. Any grocer could probably have told
him where such a house was to be found. But
Jacob had no thought of asking for anything which
he could not pay for on demand.
The close of the week was not a time to seek for
work. The open fields, the stacks of hay or grain,
where free lodgings might be had, were far away.
Even if he had known that a bunk for the night
could be obtained at the police stations by almost
any vagabond, I do not suppose he would have
been greatly cheered or comforted.
If I could only find an empty cask to crawl
into !" thought he, as he wandered aimlessly
about; or any old shed "
But somehow casks and sheds were put to other
uses, or looked too uninviting.
At last the thought occurred to him that there
might be a chance for him to creep under the end
of the suspension-bridge, and he started off in quest
of it, though without much hope of securing the
wished-for accommodations.
It was now evening, but the streets were lighted,
and he was sauntering along, gazing into the bril-
liant shop-windows, like the verdant youth he was,.
when somebody coming up to him from behind
touched him on the shoulder.
Turning quickly, he saw a young woman with a
broad, bright, foreign-looking face, smiling at him.
She pointed back up the street, and said some-
thing in German, of which his ear caught only the
words, KoaZwmen sie."
Come and see what ? said Jacob.
Yes!"i she replied, smiling again, but under-
standing him no better than he understood her.
She appeared to have been running after him,

MASTER. 747

for he noticed that she was out of breath. She had
a clear, honest, pleasant face, and he could not
suspect her of any guile. There seemed but one
conclusion for him to come to concerning her:
she must have mistaken him for some other person.
He told her so.
"Yes," she said, nodding and laughing, still
apparently not understanding a word. And again
she pointed invitingly back the way he had come.
Jacob reflected : "I may as well go that way as
any-I'll see what will come of it;'' and making
signs of assent he followed her.
She led him back a block or two, then into a
cross-street of modest residences, at the door of
one of which she stopped, and with another nod
and smile beckoned him up the steps.
Still Jacob followed her, wondering more and
more, and asking himself how the matter would end.
The door opened at her touch, and she led him
into the charming entry of an elegant house, where
the gas was burning with a soft and agreeable light.
Now, when I use the words charming and ele-
gant, I am describing things as they looked to
Jacob. If he had ever been in one of the really
superb residences of which the city can boast, this
into which he was now ushered by his mysterious
guide would no doubt have appeared to him but
the neat and tasteful abode it was.
But to his inexperienced eye the soft carpets, the
darkly rich wall-paper, the winding staircase, the
furniture and pictures of a room into which an open
door gave him a glimpse, the harmonious, subdued
tone of everything,-all this, compared with the
interior of the finest house he had ever seen,
appeared luxurious and magnificent.
The woman motioned him to hang his hat on
the carved black-walnut hat-tree, and he wonder-
ingly obeyed.
Please tell me what all this means !" he asked,
in a sort of perplexed and troubled delight.
Yes she replied, with the same air of com-
prehending not a word; and, still nodding and
laughing, beckoned him to follow her up the stairs.
Jacob suddenly remembered stories he had heard
of travelers being enticed into mysterious houses
and robbed. An alarming suspicion flitted across
his mind, but he reflected that a poor country lad
like him was n't worth robbing. He hardly hesi-
tated a moment. Firmly resolved to see the end
of the curious adventure, he followed the woman
up the stairs.
She showed him into a pretty little chamber,-
which appeared ample and magnificent enough to
him as she turned up the gas,-and gave him a
sign that he was to make himself at home there.
As he stood staring about him in astonishment,
she quietly took his bag from his hand and set it

HIS OWN MASTER.

on the floor beside the bureau. Then she showed
him the marble-topped wash-stand, and turned on
the water for him. Then pointing the forefinger
of her right hand at her open mouth, she raised
her eyebrows interrogatively, nodded and laughed
again, and said: Yes ?"
Jacob understood 'her to ask if he would like
something to eat. He smiled and nodded in reply,
and she hastened from the room.
After he had washed and brushed off the dust of
travel and the soot of the city smoke,-which, fall-
ing like a fine black snow, adheres to skin and
clothing,--combed his hair and arranged his soiled
collar and cravat, she came again, once more made
the sign of eating, and pointing the way down-
stairs, repeated, Yes ?"
Accompanying her again, he was ushered into a
neat little supper-room-large and gorgeous to
him-and motioned to take his seat at the table,
where what seemed a beautiful banquet awaited
him. She poured a cup of rich chocolate for him,
and with the usual nod and smile indicated that he
was to help himself to everything he saw.
"This is for all the world like the Arabian
Nights !" he said to himself; and like the hero of
one of those wonderful tales, he felt like pinching
himself to see if he were really awake.

CHAPTER XXXVI.
NOT FAIRY-LAND EXACTLY.
AFTER he had partaken of the banquet,-which,
to be quite frank about it, consisted mainly of cold
tongue, bread and butter,-Jacob was invited by
signs and smiles to enter the room of which he had
had glimpses in passing through the hall. Left
alone there, he gazed about him, seeking some
clew to this pleasant but most perplexing riddle.
As if moved by a sort of inspiration, he took
up a photograph album from one of the tables.
Almost the first picture he turned to gave him a
start of astonishment, and called up a rush of
memories both pleasant and painful. He doubted,
held the book nearer his eyes and the light, and
was bending over it, still wondering, when the orig-
inal of the picture entered the room, and came up
behind him with a quick step and light laugh.
"How do you do, Jacob, my boy?" she said
with the same delightfully arch and gay expression
which he remembered so well.
The name was trembling on his lips as he looked
at the picture. Now he uttered it aloud.
"Florie Florence Fairlake! "
And hurriedly putting down the book, he took
the hand which she so frankly held out to him.
Mrs. Fairlake came into the room immediately
after her daughter, and gave him a no less cordial

welcome. They made him sit down, and seated
themselves near him, regarding him with interest
and curiosity, and embarrassing him with questions.
Where had he come from ? where had he been
since that dreadful night when the steamboat left
him on the lonely shore of the Ohio ? and where
was he going when the German servant overtook
him and brought him to the house ?
Jacob was still too much astonished to answer
these questions very coherently. He managed,
however, to let them know that he had seen hard
times, and passed through some pretty severe trials.
"But how does it happen that I am here?" he
asked, turning from one to the other with blushes
of surprise and pleasure. I was feeling so home-
less and lonesome, and then, all at once, I was in
fairy-land I can't understand it; and it seems
too good now to be true "
I don't think there is much illusion about it;
you are in anything but fairy-land !" said Mrs.
Fairlake, with her peculiar drawl. My husband
is a teacher in one of the high-schools, he gets a
modest living by instructing classes in algebra and
Latin, and this is his humble home. A poor
schoolmaster's family,-there can be nothing more
prosaic than that, I am sure But I don't wonder
you were surprised at the way in which you were
brought here. Florie will have to answer for that.
She never does anything like any other girl, you
know."
It's all my fault, of course," laughed Florie;
"one of my funny freaks, as mamma says. I
thought I was managing with a great deal of-
what's the big word ?-sagacity, till she told me I
showed an utter lack of common sense. That's
no new thing for me, you remember. My sense is
uncommon. You'll say so when I tell you just
how it was."
I 'm sure I shall," said Jacob.
I discovered you," she said. I was just going
out of our street when I spied you loitering along
with your bag, looking into all the shop-windows,
and staring at everything but me."
Why did n't you speak to me ?"
That's what mamma says is so strange. You
.were a little way off, and as you did n't recognize
me,-though I thought you looked right at me
once,-I was afraid you might be some other foolish
boy."
Florie, be still remonstrated her mother.
I remember her way of making fun and speak-
ing truth, and I don't mind it," said Jacob, blush-
ing and laughing. I am certainly one foolish
boy, whether there 's another in the world or not."
I don 't believe there are many foolish in just
your way," said Florie. If you had n't been
foolish,-in your way,-you would have let me

748

[SEPTEMBER,

HIS OWN MASTER.

drown, instead of risking your life to get me out
of the water. How near we came to going down
together Do you ever think of it ? "
Jacob confessed that he had thought of it once
or twice.
But," said he, if it had n't been for some of
my foolishness, you would n't have been in the
water at all. 'T was I that rowed the boat on the
cable. That has been my trouble."

749

you did n't look as if you had any place to go to,
and mamma would want to see you. Then I
remembered that mamma was n't at home. I don't
believe I was so silly as to think about any impro-
priety in my snatching up a young gentleman in
the street and carrying him home with me when
she was away; but, really, I can't tell now what I
did think, except that it seemed to me I must go
at once and fetch her, and send Else to overtake

JACOB MEETS AN OLD FRIEND.

Nobody ever thought of blaming you except
your own foolish self," said Florie. "But wasn't
it a wet time And poor Mr. Pinkey "
I '11 tell you something about him after you 've
finished your story," said Jacob.
Oh yes! Well, I suppose I was a good deal
excited when I saw you this evening. You turned
your face to look into the next shop-window, and
then I knew you for certain. I was going to run
right up to speak to you, but-mamma says I
never reflect, but I did reflect then-I thought if I
spoke to you I must take you home with me, for

you and bring you here to meet us. So I ran back
to the house-it was only a few doors around the
corner--gave her my orders,.and then went to find
mamma. We had only just returned, when I came
in and found you looking at my picture."
I don't see but that you acted with a good
deal of what you call sagacity after all," said Jacob.
" But it was the funniest thing !-your German
woman and I could n't understand each other
except by signs, and I was completely puzzled.
You should have seen us nod and gesture and
grin !"

HIS OWN MASTER.

What did you think?" cried Florie, with one
of her merry peals of laughter.
Think ? replied Jacob. I did n't know but
she was leading me into some trap, where ruffians
would suddenly rush upon me and cut me up into
mince-meat! Though, when I looked at her
honest face, I could n't believe that."
To keep Florie in practice with her German,
we have a German servant," said Mrs. Fairlake.
" We are so accustomed to speaking with Else in
her own language, that we sometimes forget that
other people may not understand her."
Yes," said Florie; "and I never thought about
the funny predicament you would be in till mamma
mentioned it. The idea of your not know-
ing who had sent for you, or where you were,
until you saw my picture in the album It
is so droll! "
When the mystery had been thus ex-
plained, Jacob told of his recent meeting
with Mr. Pinkey in jail, and related other
adventures he had had, all of which amused
and interested Florie and her mother ex-
ceedingly. ',
Delightful Mr. Pinkey said Mrs. Fair-
lake, with quiet irony in her pleasant drawl;
"I am rejoiced to know that those darling
ringlets did n't perish in a watery grave; it
would have been quite too bad after all the '
pains he had taken with them. It is sad c-
enough to think of him wasting his sweet-
ness on the desert air of a jail. But don't
you regard it as a mercy, Jacob, that you 'i
are separated from him ? You might have
gone to cultivating ringlets if you had re-
mained subject to his charms, and they
never would have become you as they do
Mr. Pinkey."
Oh, Mrs. Fairlake," said Jacob, under-
standing the deeper meaning of her words,
" I am so glad that I got free from his influ-
ence as soon as I did. I know now how bad it
was for me. How many times I have thought of
what you and Florie said of him, when I would n't
believe you-when I was almost angry because you
did n't admire him! Now I know how true was
every word that you said."
While they were talking, Mr. Fairlake came in.
Some people call him professor," his wife
remarked, introducing him to Jacob. But since
the title has been adopted and adorned by such
men as our accomplished friend Mr. Pinkey, we
feel that he is altogether unworthy to bear it."
Mr. Fairlake greeted their guest very heartily,
and took no pains to conceal the fact that he had
heard a good deal about him from his wife and
daughter.

He was interested to hear an account of the cap-
sizing of the boat and of Florie's rescue from Jacob's
own lips, which the boy gave with such true feeling,
relieved by touches of humor, and with such genu-
ine modesty, that they were moved and entertained
by the story, and charmed with the story-teller.
Then Mr. Fairlake wished to know more of
Jacob's history, and led him on to the very im-
portant consideration of his immediate future.
"I find I have come on a sort of tom-fool's
errand," said Jacob; and I've made up my mind
that, whatever happens, I'11 never again hunt up a
relative for any good he may do me. But now I'm
here I mean to find something to do, to earn my

JACOB CALLS ON UNCLE HIGGLESTONE.
living, if I can. I don't care much what I begin
with; almost any kind of honest work will do."
"I like that," said Mr. Fairlake. "We will
look about next week, and see what can be done
for you. Meanwhile, you are welcome to a home
with us. But you had better go and see your
uncle, and ask his advice, if nothing else. He is
well known as a successful man of business, and a
person of fitful benevolence, though of an uncertain
temper. While he will refuse a beggar a crust,
and perhaps complain of his own poverty, he will
draw his check the same day for some charitable
purpose, or public object, which he takes a notion
to aid. You 'd better visit him,-treat him with
the respect due from a young nephew to an old
uncle, but keep your independence."

[SEPTEMBER,

750

HIS OWN MASTER. 751

So they talked until bed-time, when Jacob took
leave of these new and delightful friends, and
retired to his chamber. He was for a long time
too excited and happy to sleep. But by degrees
his brain grew quiet, and, from dwelling upon his
wonderful fortunes, as he lay awake, he lived them
over again all night in pleasant dreams.

CHAPTER XXXVII.
JACOB VISITS HIS UNCLE.
NEXT morning, Jacob once more mounted the
steps of his uncle's house, and gave the bell-handle
a pull, -not timidly and anxiously, as on the even-
ing before, but with a confident and cheerful heart.
Mrs. Fairlake had managed to fit him out with
some clean linen. He carried no bag. His coun-
tenance showed modest independence.. His attitude
was erect. Thanks to his friends, the Fairlakes, he
had not come to ask favors of Uncle Higglestone;
and he was prepared for the worst reception.
The old negress with the shuffling shoes and red-
turbaned head once more opened the door a little
way, and then a few inches farther, on seeing who
the comer was.
You can jes step into de pahlah an' wait," said
she. He '11 see ye right sune, I reckon."
She left him in a small, plainly furnished room,
the very atmosphere of which made Jacob feel
homesick and wish himself away. Truly no beau-
tiful and loving souls inhabited there; no gracious
presence made those bare walls a home. Soon the
old woman re-appeared.
You can go up," she said to Jacob. It's de
front room; walk right in." And Jacob went up.
In the front room he found a worn and faded
carpet, a tumbled bed, a mantel-piece crowded with
medicine-vials, a table on which were the remains
of a solitary breakfast, two or three cane-seated
chairs, and one large arm-chair, in which a sharp-
featured old man sat propped with pillows. From
the sharp features shot sharp glances out of a pair
of sunken gray eyes, then came a sharp voice:
My nephew, are you ?"
I believe so; that is what Aunt Myra said."
"You're the boy she brought up, hey? And
now she's dead, you come to me! Did n't she
leave you anything ? Could n't you manage to live
where you were ? "
I could have managed to live there, I suppose."
Then why did n't you ? What are you here
for? It 's all I can do to take care of myself.
Boys are such fools! There's a vast deal more
room in the country than there is in the city ; but
they must crowd to the city, crowd to the city,
where there's nothing under the sun for 'em to do."
Though burning with indignation, Jacob curbed

it, and answered calmly: I've heard that you were
once a poor boy in the country, and that you went
to the city to find something to do, and found it."
That's different 1" snarled the sick man.
Yes," said Jacob. You were more fortunate
than I; you had no uncle there to discourage you!"
What do you mean by that ?"
I mean that if you,-when you were a poor
boy trying to get a living,-if you met a relative
who shut you out of his house one night and talked
to you the next morning as you have been talking
to me, why, I pity you, that's all."
This cutting speech told on Uncle Higglestone,
and he began to look closely and without prejudice
at the fine,. firm, manly lad before him.
What would you have me do ?" he demanded.
Give me a kind word and a little advice," re-
plied Jacob. That's all I have come to you for."
Have n't you come to me for a home and to get
my money?"
I don't want a cent of your money, sir; and I
have a home which suits me very well for the pres-
ent." And Jacob was turning to go.
Come here suddenly exclaimed Uncle Hig-
glestone. Let me look at you "
With a sarcastic smile, Jacob stepped up to the
chair and stood in the full light of the window.
Nephew or not," said Uncle Higglestone, with
a changed look and tone, I've seen you before."
I know that," replied Jacob. I knew it the
minute I came into the room."
Why did n't you tell me ?"
I did n't think it was necessary; I've no claims
to make on account of old acquaintance."
The boy spoke proudly and bitterly.
"No; you 're a chip of the old block,"-and
the sick man's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "I
like your spirit. I was just like you, at your age."
Jacob could not help thinking, I hope I shall
not be just like you when I am a man of your
age,"-but he held his peace.
You went off that night before I had a chance
even to thank you," the old man continued. I
liked that in you, too. I'd have done just so when
I was a boy. I asked no odds of anybody. But I
wished I had seen you. I wanted you to travel with
me. With your care and attention, I might be a
comparatively well man now. As it is, I came
home sick, and I've been sick ever since."
Jacob remembered how glad he would have been
to travel with this man and take care of him,
thereby gaining an honest livelihood; but now the
very thought of such slavery made his heart sick.
Call my old woman; she'll give you a room,"
Uncle Higglestone continued, keeping his keen
eyes on Jacob with the greatest interest. You
shall live with me, and work right into my busi-

PETER'S RABBIT-HUNT.

ness; I want just such a lad as you to take my
place. Where's the bag you had last night? My
old woman said you brought one."
Jacob hesitated before deciding what to say, and
then answered:
I had my bag-when I called here; but I
have left it at Mr. Fairlake's house, where I am
stopping."
Fairlake! I know him; a very fine man.
I 'm glad you 've got such a friend. But you
must n't stop there, nor anywhere else except in
your old uncle's house,"-and Uncle Higglestone
ended with a softened gleam in his eyes and a
tremor in his voice.
"I thought my old uncle did n't want me,"
replied Jacob.
Ah, that was before I knew "
But I am the same nephew now I was ten
minutes ago. I told you then I had n't come to
stop with you."
"That's like me, too," said the old man.
"Proud and resentful,-and I can't blame you.
But I carried my pride and resentment too far. I
know it now. I was too independent. Be careful,
nephew, and don't be too much like me in that
respect, or you may find your surly spirit leading
you-as it has led me-to a lonely old age. Don't
say yet that you wont take up with my offer; for if
you say it, I know you'll stick to it-that was my
way. Think of it, will you ? "
I '11 think of it, and consult my friends," Jacob
promised; although the prospect of making his
home in that house became, the more he considered
it, the more intolerable to him.
The old man then had questions to ask about
his late sister, of whom he was inclined to speak
harshly, on account of their quarrel twenty years

before. But Jacob stood up for her stoutly, and
said all the good he could of her.
She used to abuse me to you, did n't she?"
said Uncle Higglestone.
I hardly know what you would call it," replied
Jacob, with a smile ; but she used to talk about
you very much as you do about her."
And you believed her ? "
It is n't very strange if I did; I did n't know
you then "
And what do you think now ? "
I think she and you were a good deal alike
in some things; perhaps that is the reason you
could n't agree any better."
Jacob expected nothing else than that this frank-
ness would raise his uncle's anger; but the old
man evidently liked him all the better for it.
Then the conversation turned upon his journey.
Jacob concealed nothing. The invalid listened
eagerly, and rubbed his thin hands and chuckled
with delight over the amusing parts of his nephew's
adventures. He was particularly pleased when
told of the meeting with Alphonse in jail.
"A slippery fellow-I know him! He once
came to me for a subscription to some : i-..li;
scheme of his. An introduction from him would n't
have gained you much credit with me I hope
he'll get punished to the extent of the law."
"I don't," said Jacob. For I don't think he
means to be a scamp."
Nobody ever does," said the old man. "Rogues
are the best-meaning people in the world. They'd
have everything their own way, if they could, with-
out hurting anybody, but they can't, so they are-
just rogues, and society must look out for 'em.
But stand up for your friends ; I like it "
And Uncle Higglestone rubbed his hands again.

(To be continued.)

PETER'S RABBIT-HUNT.

BY PAUL FORT.

PETER KOORIKOF was a funny old fellow who about fishing, hunting, gardening and other mat-
lived in a village in Russia. He did not know ters, which were entirely above the comprehension
very much about anything but his business, which of ordinary people.
was that of a farm-hand, and the people in the The villagers, and the men and women on the
village said he did not know much about that. farm where Peter worked, were kind to him because
But Peter had an idea that he was not only the he was a good-natured, obliging fellow, always
best farmer in the part of the country where he willing to do a good turn for a friend, but they
lived, but that he understood a great many things could not help laughing at him when they saw

752

[SEPTEMBER,

i8n7] PETER'S RABBIT-HUNT. 753

what a curious way he had, sometimes, of doing a deep on the lower floors, so that the people had to
good turn. live altogether in the little rooms in the upper part
But Peter knew what he was about, he said, and of their houses.
perhaps, some day, the people in the village would The farm-house fared better, for it stood on high
see that he was not the man they took him for. ground, some distance from the river; but the

.. --._- _

rain.. L- : i -r I. I I, t, : l ., ,- ---
Peter lived was greatly swollen. So much so, up very -.
indeed, that the water ran up into the fields, and close to it,
even into the woods that lay a little back from the where it had never been before, and the whole
river. All the houses in the village which were country presented a very curious appearance, with
near the river-bank were entirely surrounded by the river spreading itself out so far and wide, and
water, which in some cases was two or three feet flowing swiftly on, over fields and roads and
VOL. IV.-49.

PETER'S RABBIT-HUNT. [SEPTEMBER

fences, and even in and out among the trees of the
forest.
After the rains had ceased, the freshet still con-
tinued, for all the little streams, swelled up above
their banks, and loaded with the waters from the
hills, came pouring into the river.
But everybody knew that the waters would fall
before many days, and so they tried to get along
as well as they could meantime.
One day-it was one of the first days after the
rains-Peter came rushing into the farm-house,
where most of the people were just about to sit
down to their dinner, and cried out:
"I say Look here Who's got a boat-hook?"
"A what?" said one of the men.
"A boat-hook," replied Peter. "Come, don't
keep me. I'm in a hurry. I have something to
do while you are eating your dinner. I saw a
boat-hook here yesterday; where is it now? "
"What are you going to do, Peter?" asked a
woman.
"Now, look here, good folks !" said Peter.
"There is a time for all things,-a time for joking,
and a time not to joke. I am going rabbit-hunting
in a hurry, and I want a boat-hook."
"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed half-a-dozen people.
"That's good Hunting rabbits with a boat-hook!
Ha! ha! Are you going to hook them by the
ears?"
"That's my affair," said Peter, "I'll attend to
my business. Now, will anybody tell me where I
shall find a boat-hook? "
"Oh! don't make such a disturbance, Peter,"
said one of the older men. "I expect the boat-
hook is down in the boat. Go down and look for it."
"I never thought of that," said Peter, and away
he went.
The farm-hands had another good laugh at him,
as he hurried away, and then they went in to their
dinner.
Peter had a grand scheme on hand. As he
happened to be down by the river near the woods,
that morning, he saw a sight which puzzled him a
great deal. On logs and branches of trees which
were floating down with the current, he saw a great
many rabbits, who seemed to be going off together
on a grand boating excursion.
Hello said he to himself. What can those
rabbits be about ?"
When he had considered the matter a short
time, however, he saw through the mystery. The
water, in spreading through the woods, had flooded
these rabbits out of their homes, and had cut off
their retreat to dry land. So there had been
nothing left for them to do but to get on such pieces
of wood as they might be able to reach, and float
along with the stream.

"They're in a bad way," thought Peter, "for
they don't like water, and they '11 stick on those
logs till they starve to death rather than try to
swim ashore. And it 's a dreadful pity to see so
many fine rabbits wasted."
But just then the idea came into his head that
perhaps they need' Pot be wasted. Suppose he
were to get a boat and go out and catch them all!
They could not get away from him. Splendid!
He would do it. With a boat-hook he could draw
the logs and branches up to his boat, and pick up
every one of the long-eared little chaps. Even if
they jumped into the water they could not get
away from him, for he could row faster than they
could swim. These rabbits were now some dis-
tance above the farm-house. If he ran and got a
boat and oars, and particularly a boat-hook, he
could row out and head them off before they got
very far down the river.
So away he went, as we have seen, to the farm-
house.
When he reached the boat, which was tied to a
tree near the end of the high point on which the
farm-house stood, he found the boat-hook and the
oars in it, for some of the men had been out
during the morning, picking up drift-wood. Look-
ing out over the river, he saw that the -.-..;,
rabbits had passed the farm-house, and, losing no
time in pushing off, he rowed vigorously after
them.
In about ten minutes he was among them, and.
laying down his oars, he took up his boat-hook and
began to pull in the branches with their odd little
passengers. To Peter's surprise the rabbits did
not attempt to jump into the water. Some of
them ran from one end of a log to the other, when
he attempted to put his hands on them, but many
of them crouched down and allowed him to take
them up, and some even jumped into the boat of
their own accord.
SThey seemed to know that anything in the way
of a big affair like a boat would be better than the
insecure branches on which they were perched. So
Peter had very little trouble in catching every
rabbit that he could see on the river, for they were
all quite near together, and he did not have to row
about very much after he had reached the first of
them.
When they were all in the boat he sat down and
took up the oars, while the rabbits huddled them-
selves up together in the stern. They kept very
quiet, and had a half-frightened appearance, as if
they were not quite certain that they were free
from danger, although they were very glad indeed
to get off those floating logs and branches.
As Peter rowed toward the farm-house he could
not help feeling very much pleased.

PETER'S RABBIT-HUNT.

[SEPTEMBER,

SCHOOL-LUNCHEONS.

What a splendid lot of rabbits he said to
himself. "I don't believe anybody ever caught so
many fine rabbits at once, all alive. Nobody in
this country, I am certain, nor in any part of the
world, so far as I have heard. I wonder what the
farm folks will have to say now. The laugh will be
the other way. I knew I should some day show
them that I was not the man they took me for."
As he approached the shore he saw a number of
the farm people, who, having finished their dinner,
had come down to the river to see what Peter was
going to do with his boat-hook.
They were astounded when they saw him and
his boat-load of rabbits, and shouted to him,
asking how he had caught them. Peter rested on
his oars a short distance from shore and explained
the whole affair. He was delighted to have such
an opportunity of making a speech about himself.
"What are you going to do with them all,
Peter?" called out one of the women. You will
give us each one or two, won't you?"
"No, indeed," said Peter. "I can't afford to
give my rabbits away. I am going to be a rabbit-
merchant. I intend to build a pen, and keep them
there until they are right fat. And then they will
be worth a good deal of money. But if any of you
would like to buy a few rabbits now, I will sell
them to you."
"All right," said one of the people. "Let us
get a better look at them, and perhaps some of us
may buy a few, and take care of them ourselves."
So Peter turned his boat around and rowed to
the shore.
"Stop, Peter !" cried several of the men. Don't
core too close !" But.Peter did not hear this warn-

ing in time. In a moment the bow of his boat
struck the shore a short distance below where the
farm-people were standing.
And then a strange thing happened. The
rabbits had been huddled up very quietly in the
stern of the boat, not appearing to be disturbed in
the least by the loud talking, or by the noise and
motion of the oars, so that Peter was delighted to
see how tame and easily managed they were.
But the instant the boat touched the land a
change came over them. They twitched their
ears, sprang to their feet, and then, with one
accord, they made a wild rush for the shore !
Over the seats and over the oars, over Peter's
feet and legs, and over the sides and bow of the
boat, they went. Peter had the oars in his hands,
but dropping them as soon as his surprise would
let him, he grabbed at the flying legs and tails, but
never a one he caught.
In a minute every rabbit had gone The peo-
ple on shore hurried toward the boat, but they
were up on a high bank, and before they could get
down the rabbits were out of their reach, and all
rushing at the top of their speed for a patch of
woods and thicket near by.
Then the people laughed and shouted at Peter
more than they had ever done before.
But Peter did not say a word. He just stood and
looked after the rabbits, until the last of their little
tails had disappeared in the thicket, and then he
tied the boat to a tree and walked away, paying no
attention to the remarks and laughter of the
people. When he reached the farm-house he
stopped a moment at the door, and said to him-
self: "Peter, you are not the man I took you for."

SCHOOL-LUNCHEONS.
(A Letter from the Little Schoolma'awm.)

WELL, my boys and girls, Summer is making
ready to go, and soon Autumn's ruddy brown face
will come peeping at us through the boughs; so it
seems quite time that we had our talk about school-
luncheons. Are you sorry to have the autumn
come? I hope not. I am glad, though she does
bring slates and lesson-books under her arin.
Holidays are nice, and fun and frolic very nice;
but when holiday has lasted long enough, and we
have rested and played to our heart's content, then
study and work in their turn become delightful, and
we ask nothing better than to take them up again.

That is the way I feel; and if every little school-
ma'am in the land can say the same, I am pretty
sure that all the scholars will welcome the new term
with bright faces and ready minds.
First, I must thank you for your letters. I can't
begin to count how many there were of them.
They came from east and west, and north and south,
pile after pile and day after day, till the postman
was at his wit's end, and felt that, if this sort of
thing was going on, he must be furnished with a
wheelbarrow instead of a bag. I imagine that
when he went home at night he told his children

SCHOOL-LUNCHEONS.

about them, and said he should really like to know
what had set all the world writing to ST. NICHOLAS
at one and the same time. We, who are in the
secret, know that there was nothing wonderful about
the matter, and that, so far as letters were con-
cerned, the more the merrier. Now, thanks to you,
there is one little schoolma'am who feels as if she
had gone to school and dined out of a basket in
every corner of the Union. Very good dinners
many of them were, too, substantial and whole-
some and well chosen. One thing, however, I was
sorry for-which is, that almost all of you say that
you like pies, and only about half of you mention
liking meat.
Pies are popular, I know; but they form a bad
diet for children to study on, especially mince-pies,
which I notice almost all of you select as your
favorite. The lard and butter and heavy sweetness
of them have the inevitable effect to make little
brains sluggish and dull. Sums wont add up and
States wont bound; heads ache and eyes droop,
and that "horrid" geography gets the blame, or
the old arithmetic," instead of the real culprit,
pie Do notice how you feel after eating pie, and
I think you will agree with me about this.
I wish, too, that more of you fancied brown
bread-Graham or rye. It is very sound and
wholesome, and has a great deal more nourishment
in it than white bread, and this is an important
point for you who have to grow as well as to live.
On the other hand, I am glad to see that almost all
of you enjoy fresh fruit. That is nature's own food,
and if ripe and perfect, it is good for every one.
Now for the letters. I can't print them all, you
know, for if I did, ST. NICHOLAS would be letters
and nothing else for a year to come. But here are
a few:
Providence, R. I.
DEAR LITTLE SCHOOLMtA'AMI: You ask me to tell you what we
carry to school for lunch.
I generally take a slice of brown or white bread and butter and a
slice of very plain cake. In fruit season I take apples, pears and
peaches, and very rarely, a hard-boiled egg.
I often wish for the nice things the other girls have, such as cream-
cakes, fruit-cake, cocoa-nut balls and candy. I suppose mother
knows best, but they are nice.-Truly yours,
STELLA F. PABODIE.

Stella is a wise little girl with her "suppose,"
and I am quite sure that mother does "know
best." I wish though that she could insert a little
slice of meat between the slices of bread. A day of
study requires more substantial food than bread
and butter and cake, and Stella would be stronger
at the year's end for having it.
Brooklyn.
DEAR SCHOOLMA'AM : I am very much interested in the subject of
school-luncheons. I am ten years old and live in Brooklyn, but not
in walking distance from my school, so I am obliged to carry my
lunch every day. I generally take cold meat sandwiches, or a hard-
boiled egg, a piece of cake, and an orange or a nice juicy apple.
But my favorite lunch is potted tongue sandwich, an orange, and a
piece of mince-pie. Mamma does not approve of mince-pie, so I do
not have it often. A little girl that goes to my school once had for her

lunch an orange, a lemon, a cream-puff, and a great big green pickle,
-one of the largest I ever saw. The girl has gone to California now
for her health.
I wish I knew of something else that was nice to take for lunch. I
get so tired of the sime things. I hope the Little Schoolma'am will get
a great many letters and some new ideas about goodies for lunch. A
baked custard is very nice, especially if it is baked in a pretty cup.
It is the happiest day of the month when papa brings home my ST.
NICHOLAS, and I am one of its devoted readers.
MADGIE S. CLARK.

I have emphasized a line in Madgie's letter,
because it suggests an idea which mammas don't
always think of, and that is, the importance of
making a child's school-dinner look attractive.
There is something very dampening to the appe-
tite in the aspect of thick bread and butter rolled in
a bit of coarse brown paper, with a cookie or two
sticking to the parcel, and an apple covered with
crumbs at bottom of the pail Such a luncheon
often will prevent a delicate child from eating at all.
A little care spent in preparation-in cutting the
bread trimly and neatly, packing the cake in white
paper, and the whole in a fresh napkin, in choos-
ing a pretty basket to take the place of the tin-pail
-is not pains thrown away. Some children are
born fastidious, and with a distaste for food. They
require to be tempted to eat at all-tempted, not
by unwholesome goodies, but by taking trouble to
make simple things dainty and attractive to them.
We have heard a grown woman, whose fastidious-
ness had survived her childhood, describe with a
shudder the effect which her dinner-basket at
school had upon her. The very sight of it took
away all appetite, and she went through the after-
noon faint and fasting rather than meddle with its
contents. By all means bake the custard in a
" pretty cup," and do what is possible to give the
luncheon an appetizing appearance to the little
people who depend upon it for the working force
of their long school-day.
Here are three letters with a recipe in each. But
we will give Madgie others farther on.

DEAR LITTLE SCHOOLMA'AM : I generally take some bread and
butter and meat for my lunch, with an apple; but I get tired of that,
and mamma wont let me take any cake at all, and that is what I
should like best. When I take cold mutton, I generally chop it fine
and put pepper and salt on it, and then put it on my bread. It is
very nice that way.-Yours lovingly, SusIE.

Elpaso, Sedgwick County, Kansas.
DEAR LITTLE SCHOOLMA'AM : As you wish all the children who
read the ST. NICHOLAS to write what they take to school for their
luncheon, I will write what I take for mine. It is simple bread and
butter, a piece of cheese, an apple, and occasionally a slice of bread-
cake, which mother makes in this way:
A coffee-cup of light sponge as it is prepared for bread, a tea-cup
of sugar, a cup of sour milk, half a cup butter, half a cup English cur-
rants, three cups flour, a tea-spoonful of soda; flavor with cinnamon,
cloves and nutmeg, if preferred. Bake in a slow oven about an
hour.-From your little friend, EVA W. PRESTON.

DEAR SCHOOLMA'AM : I am a big chicken to write to you about
school-luncheons. In fact I am the mother of two little chicks of my
own, too small to write or to go to school. If my children went to
school, 1 would have them come home to dinner, if possible. If not,
I would give them plain bread and butter, or broiled beef sandwiches,
with a moderately boiled egg or two apiece, any fruit in season,
Graham bread or Graham gems. If pie was to be taken, I would

[SEPTEMBER,

SCHOOL-LUNCHEONS.

never let them have a piece of mince, or one where lard or butter is
used in the crust. A good, cheap, digestible pie-crust can be made
with mealy mashed potatoes, flour and cream, and a pinch of salt.
No child will refuse to eat such a crust. A BIG CHICKEN.

Here is a sensible suggestion from that Friendly
city in which all of us who went to the Centennial
Exhibition learned to take an interest. Try it,
boys and girls, and see how it works.
Philadelphia.
DEAR LITTLE SCHOOLMA'AM: I usually take for lunch apples,
bread and butter, biscuits or oranges, and "other fruits in season."
Sometimes, but not often, cake. Candy, never. Papa does not
allow us to buy candy. I do not expect to see my letter in print, but
please tell the girls and boys that experience has taught me that it is
not at all dreadful to go without candy, and you relish your meals so
much better. I wish some of the readers of ST. NICHOLAS would try
going without candy a few weeks, and see if they do not feel better.
-Yours truly, M. A. LIPPINCOTT.

The next two letters show that sometimes chil-
dren do follow sensible suggestions, which is pleas-
ant hearing for a little schoolma'am.
Newark, N. J.
DEAR LITTLE SCHOOLMA'AM: As you told me thatmince-pie was
not good for school girls and boys to take to school for lunch, I
thought I would write and tell you how much I appreciate your
advice. For the last three weeks I had been taking mince-pie to
school almost every day, and 1 could n't think why there were so
many blotches on my face, but now I know, and I thank you very
much for your advice.
I stopped taking it a few days ago. Yesterday I took some
Graham bread and butter, some cold mutton and a banana.
I suppose you would say bananas are almost as bad as mince-pie,
but I don't take them very often.-Your friend,
MINNIE F. BYINGTON.
Ithaca, N. Y.
DEAR LITTLE SCHOOLMA'AM: I would like to tell you what I
take to school for my lunch.
I almost always take some bread and butter (or biscuit), some cold
meat or d, ied beef, a small piece of mince-pie, a piece of plain cake,
and once in a great whi'e one small pickle.
Once whea there was n't anything in the house but bread and but-
ter, I persuaded mamma to let me get a couple of maccaroons and a
cream-puff, but I shall not do it again, for that day I had a dreadful
headache.-T remain your faithful reader, LAURA LYON.

I think you will all laugh over this tragical his-
tory of a pickle:
Brookline, Mass.
DEAR LITTLE SCHOOLMA'AIM: I generally take forluncheon some
crackers, or some gingerbread and cheese, with a little cake some-
times; but once I took some molasses candy which we had had a
good time pulling the night before.
One time a girl took some pickles to school for luncheon in a little
tin pail, and the teacher made her put it away in a closet, and it is
there now, 1 guess!-Your loving, M. C. CHESTER.

What do you think of this luncheon ?

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I eat taffy, apples, oranges, caramels, pea-
nuts.-Your little friend, PERRY.
Or this ?
Toledo.
DEAR LITTLE SCHOOLuTA'AM : I saw your article entitled "School-
Luncheons" in darling ST. NICHOLAS, and as you asked the boys
and girls to answer and tell what they oftenest take to school for their
luncheons, I thought I would tell you what I take. I take Graham
bread and butter, and sometimes white bread and butter, but I like
Graham the best. I take a good many different kinds of sauce, jam,
jelly, apple-butter; beefsteak, roast-beef, pickled pi 's feet, and dried
beef. I sometimes take apple and sometimes mince pie, cookies,
gingerbread and snaps, je'ly-cake, fruit-cake, and pound-cake.
As to fruit, I take oranges, apples, peaches, pears, grapes and
strawberries, according to the season.
I am twelve years old and attend the Orange District School. Mlr.
Crane is our teacher, and he is a splendid one.-Yours,
NETTIE GRAY V--.
Or this ?
New Hampton.
LITTLE SCHOOLMA'AM: I am a little girl eleven years old. My
papa takes the ST. NICHOLAS for me, and we all like it very much.

I saw a piece in it this month about luncheons at school, and so
I will tell you what I generally take. I take cake,-chocolate is
my favorite kind,-canned fruit, apples, and very often oranges.
My mamma often scolds me for not taking bread and butter, but I
must say I can't eat it at school. If you know of anything better,
please let me know.-From your little friend,
CLARA M. ARNOUT.

Perhaps some of you will be puzzled to under-
stand why such luncheons as these last three are
improper or insufficient, and I must not feel sur-
prised if you are so. Many grown people go
through their lives in complete ignorance of the
qualities and objects of food, and of its effect on
the growth and health of the human body. They
fancy if things have an agreeable taste, that is
enough; but a pleasant taste, though desirable, is
not enough; for so soon as food has made its way
down the throat, its flavor becomes a matter of
little consequence. A host of tiny forces wait at
the bottom of the passage down which luncheons
and dinners go, whose office is to receive what we
eat, work it over, distribute and make it of use to
our bodies. There they stand at the foot of the
long staircase,-these small servants,-and when
a mouthful of bread or of beef descends, they
pounce upon it, divide it, and carry it off to where
it is needed. Some of it goes to the bones, some
to the brain or to the nerves. This is turned to
muscle,-that to fat; the little servants under-
stand their work, and so long as we treat them
well, there is no danger that they will waste or
misapply anything intrusted to them.
But how few of us always treat them well We
grove careless or hurried, and forget all about the
good little servants. We pay no attention to their
calls, let them stand waiting for the food till
they are faint and discouraged, and then of a sud-
den we fling a heavy meal down on their hands.
Or we do just the other thing, and keep them busy
all the time without any rest at all, till they are
worn out. Then the little servants grow confused
and angry, and run blindly about, putting things
in wrong places; or they sulk, and refuse to work,
-and then we don't feel well, and "can't imagine"
what is the reason ; or we fall ill, and have a bad
time of it till they choose to make up the quarrel
and forgive us.
I am afraid that girl did not "feel well," of
whom "P. Marsh" writes, and whose luncheon
consisted of six pickles, six pieces of bread and
butter, and a bottle of strong tea And what do
you suppose these little servants thought of these
other girls who take to school "cake, pie (usually
mince), turnovers, tarts, plum-cake, cheese, sticky
bits of half-done molasses candy, gum-drops,
French chocolate, and hot, greasy dough-nuts ? "
Out of this list, only the cakes, pie, and cheese have
any proper nourishment in them, you observe,
and that of a rich, indigestible sort, which the

SCHOOL-LUNCHEONS.

little servants will worry over and not know quite
what to do with. The rest is sheer refuse; they
will cast it aside contemptuously, and it will be in
the way of their work just so long as it lies there.
Or if, in despair, they try to use it, it is sure to do
harm. Every part of the girl cries out at having
such stuff administered to it. Her head aches,
her eyes ache, her skin feels feverish, her whole
system is loaded and oppressed. She goes home
at night with the fatal basket empty in her hands,
and feels that the day has been a bad one, and
that life generally is hard. Her spirits are low,-
spirits always are low after such a meal,-nobody
seems kind,-nothing pleasant. Very likely she
ends with a nightmare. And all this discomfort
to pay for the brief pleasure of twenty minutes'
gormandizing! Is it worth while ? I don't be-
lieve any of you will say that it is.
There is another letter which I must quote,
because it contains a suggestion :
New York.
DEAR LITTLE SCHOOLMA'AM: Seeing in your last ST. NICHOLAS
that you want all the boys and girls to tell you what they take for their
lunch, I will tell you that I take reserves / Perhaps you will think
that a very queer lunch, but the girls have what they call a
"spread." Every one brings something. One will bring sand-
wiches, another cake, another fruit, and so on. Then we spread
them all out on a table, and each one helps herself to whatever she
likes. I always bring preserves, because mamma's preserves are
very highly recommended by all the girls.
With much love to Jack and ST. NICHOLAS,--and please keep
lots for yourself,-I am yours truly,
ROBERTA C. WHITMORE.

You see this is a sort of co-operative luncheon,
and for some of you I should think it might prove
a good idea. Suppose, for instance, that six girls
agreed to arrange their lunch on this principle,-
one carrying bread nicely sliced and buttered, one
some cold chicken, one a few hard-boiled eggs,
with a paper of salt, one a square of fresh ginger-
bread; another a jar of stewed fruit, with a spoon
and some milk-biscuit, and the last a supply of
apples or oranges. You see what a substantial
and varied luncheon they would have, and yet
each mamma would have less trouble than in pro-
viding a little of several things for her special
child to carry. It might be worth while for some
painstaking mothers to try this plan. And if any
one makes the experiment, and finds it a good one,
be sure to write a line to Jack and let us know.
Here is one more letter, and I think you will
agree with me that it shows a sad state of affairs in
a city which is so sensible in other matters that it
ought to be wiser in this :
Philadelphia.
DEAR JACK: Will you tell the Schoolma'am that I am very glad
she has taken up the subject of luncheons, and ask if she wont write so
plainly about them that teachers as well as scholars shall know what
to do? The other day, I visited our new normal school at recess-
time, when the children belonging to the "model classes" were taking
their lunch. On one side of the lunch-hall was a long counter-table,
ard any one who chose could buy from it. What do you think was
on the table ? Cake Cake in every form and of every flavor, and
nothing but cake Cake for one cent-two-three; crullers, dough-

nuts, ginger-cakes, seed-cakes, molasses-cake; but not a sandwich,
or an egg, or a single cup of milk, or soup-only cake, and cake only!
And this for the normal school of the second city in the Union !
THE FATHER OF Two SCHOOL-GIRLS.

And now I am going to give a few recipes.
They are no better than the things which many
of you are in the habit of taking to school, but
they will serve to make a variety upon them, and
that is desirable, for little people, and big ones,
too, get tired of even the nicest food, if they are
forced to eat the same every day.
VEAL PIGEONS.
Spread a thin veal cutlet with a stuffing of
bread-crumbs moistened with a little gravy or
cream, and seasoned lightly with salt, pepper, and
a pinch of summer-savory. Roll the cutlet up, tie
it with fine cord, and bake till done, basting thor-
oughly. When it is cold, remove the cord and
cut into slices. It is a nice savory relish with
bread and butter.

GALANTINE OF VEAL OR CHICKEN.
Take an old fowl, or a knuckle of veal, cover
with cold water, and boil slowly all day till the
meat is almost dissolved. Strain off the liquor,
and season with salt and pepper. Shred the bits
of meat fine, or chop them in a chopping-bowl,
put them into a shallow mold or pan, pour on the
liquor, and set in a cold place for the night. In
the morning the surface will be found covered
with fat, which must be carefully removed, un-
derneath which will be a firm meat jelly, slices of
which laid on bread are extremely nice for
luncheon.
VEAL LOAF.
To a pint of cold veal finely minced add a pint
of bread-crumbs, two eggs well beaten, a wine-
glassful of milk, a very little salt pork chopped
fine, salt, pepper, and a pinch of thyme. Bake
in a buttered dish, and when cold turn out upon
a plate, and serve in slices. Cold beef or mutton
may be used.
POTTED SHAD.
Scale three or four moderately sized shad, re-
move heads and tails, and cut each crosswise into
four pieces. Chop four small onions, and sprinkle
a layer on the bottom of a stone jar. Then put
in a layer of fish, add a few whole peppers, a little
salt, cloves, allspice, and a small quantity of onion;
then another layer of fish, and so on till the pot is
full. Arrange the roe on top, spice highly, and
fill the jar with strong vinegar. Cover with folds
of thick paper under the lid, and bake twelve
hours. The vinegar will completely dissolve the
bones of the shad. This is rather a spicy com-
pound for school-children, but a little of it as a
relish now and then will be found nice.

WHOLESOME SALAD.
Take equal quantities of cold beef, mutton, or
veal, cold boiled potatoes, and a larger portion of
fresh green lettuce, all cut fine. Stir a half tea-

758

[SEPTEMBER,

SCHOOL-LUNCHEONS.

cupful of vinegar gradually into a table-spoonful of
olive-oil or cream, add a little salt and sugar, and
pour over the salad, mixing well with a fork. A
bowl or jar of this, with plenty of bread-and-butter,
ought to be liked by the pickle-fanciers among you.

A PLAIN RICE PUDDING.
A coffee-cupful of boiled rice, a quart of milk,
a half tea-cup of raisins, a half tea-cup of sugar, a
table-spoonful of butter. Stew the rice gently into
the milk for two hours; add the sugar, raisins, and
butter, and bake for an hour, stirring once to mix
the butter in. This pudding is very nice eaten
cold for luncheon.

GRAHAM PUFFS.
A pint of Graham flour, not sifted; a pint of
milk. Mix lightly with a spoon for a few min-
utes, then pour the batter into iron-clad pans
made hot, into each of which a bit of butter has
just been dropped. Bake in a quick oven for
twenty minutes.
This is the purest and most wholesome prep-
aration of Graham flour which exists, and I think
most of you will like it very much. The puffs are
as good cold as hot.
CORN DODGERS.
A pint of sifted meal, stirred smoothly in a quart
of milk. Add one egg, beaten lightly, a table-
spoonful of sugar, and a very small bit of butter.
Bake in iron-clad pans, precisely after the rule
given for Graham puffs, and when cold split and
spread with butter or powdered sugar.

Some of you would perhaps enjoy rusk as a
change from bread and biscuit, so I give a recipe
from Marion Harland's excellent manual of cook-
ery, "Breakfast, Luncheon, and Tea":

RUSKS.
One quart of milk; half cup of yeast; flour
enough to make a thick batter. Set a "sponge"
with these ingredients. When it is very light, add
one cup butter rubbed to a cream, with two cups
of powdered sugar, three eggs well beaten. Flour
enough to make a stiff dough. Knead briskly,
and set to rise for four hours. Then make into
rolls, and let them stand an hour longer, or till
light and puffy," before baking. Glaze, just
before drawing them from the oven, with a little
cream and sugar.

MOONSHINES.
A quart of flour, a table-spoonful of butter, a tea-
spoonful of salt, a small tumbler of ice-water. Mix
the water with the other ingredients with a knife
on a molding-board, as for paste; beat with the
rolling-pin till perfectly smooth and flexible, and
roll out as thin as a wafer. Cut into circles of the
size of a saucer with a pastry jigger, and criss-cross
the top of each circle with the same. Bake on flat
tins. This makes a sort of light, crisp cracker, as

delicate as possible, and would be a nice con-
tribution for some one to carry to a co-operative
luncheon.

Now, to show you that little schoolma'ams can
be indulgent sometimes, I will here add a recipe
for a very simple (but good) cake, which I used
to like (and to make, too) when I was a little girl.

MOLASSES CAKE.
One tea-cup of molasses, one tea-cup of brown
sugar, one tea-cup of milk, four tea-cups of flour,
two eggs, a spoonful of ginger, and half tea-spoon-
ful of soda.

Here are some suggestions which hardly amount
to the dignity of recipes-in fact, are too simple to
require a regular rule, but which some of you may
like to try for school luncheons :
Quinces, baked in the oven till thoroughly soft,
and sprinkled thickly with fine sugar.
Apples, prepared in the same way.
Apple-turnovers, made with the potato paste
described in the letter from "A Big Chicken," and
spread with nicely seasoned stewed apple.
Cheese, grated fine, and sprinkled on bread and
butter. The cheese must be dry and old.
Grated ham, also with bread and butter.
Dried peaches, stewed and sweetened.
And-I put this in at the special request of a
little girl-cold, baked Carolina sweet-potatoes, cut
in very thin slices, and eaten with salt. These, she
says, taste exactly like chestnuts, and she is sure
all the ST. NICHOLAS children will like them.
I will wind up with a list, putting into it not only
these recipes and suggestions of my own, but also
all the good, wholesome things mentioned in your
different letters. It will be convenient for you to
refer to them in the form of a list; and though
each one of you will find articles of food mentioned
which are familiar, each one has the chance of
lighting on something new, which may come into
play for the hungry noons just ahead.

Beginning with solids, we have sandwiches of cold sliced meat,
potted meat, grated ham, and grated cheese; chopped mutton, salted
and peppered; sliced sausages.
Beef-tea, galantine of veal or chicken, veal-loaf, potted shad, veal
pigeons, salad-of meat, potato and lettuce,-cold chicken, cold
corned beef, and hard-boiled eggs.
Graham bread, Graham puffs, pilot bread and good fresh crackers
with old cheese, corn bread, corn dodgers, cold buttered muffins, milk
biscuit, rolls and butter, pop-overs, oatmeal cakes, oatmeal crackers,
moonshines and rusks.
Roasted quinces with sugar, roasted apples, apple-turnovers with
potato crust, roasted sweet-potatoes, cold and sliced, molasses cake,
cold rice pudding, dried peaches stewed, apple sauce, ginger snaps,
plain cookies, bread-cake, baked custard, apple butter.
Fruit of all kinds, if fresh and ripe.

Now, dears, if any of these recipes turn out to
your taste, or if anything I have said proves use-
ful, or helps you to an idea, nobody will be so
glad as your affectionate
LITTLE SCHOOLMA'AM.

759

FOR VERY LITTLE FOLKS.

ONE! TWO! THREE!

11 x 7
-- -.
Ir. ?

... ,. .

ONE! two! three!
Mamma, see-
Kisses sweet for you!
Here's a kiss,
There's a kiss,
Here's another, too

:- 7

Three four! five!
In the hive
There are lots of bees.

When they fly
They go high,
'Way up in the trees.

Four! five! six!
Little chicks,-
Dear me! how they rush!
See them eat,
With their feet
Standing in the mush!

I
--;:

: ,. .

Five! six! eight!
Through the gate
Come the cows at night;
Brindle, Bess,
Fan and Jess-
Can't I count them right?

Six! eight! ten!
Big, strong men
Rake up all the hay.
There's a load
Down the road,
Coming here to-day.

760

(SFPTEMnnR,

FOR VERY LITTLE FOLKS.

:2--i--_-.-

Mamma, see- More 'n the rest-
S. ,

One! two! three! Love you best-
Mamma, see- M-re'n the rest-
Kisses sweet for you! Yes indeed, I do!

GOOD FRIENDS.

I K(oxv a dog whose name is Jack. He is a bull-dog, and he looks very
cross, but he is really very kind.
One day Jack went out for a walk with his Master, and they saw two
dogs fighting. Jack ran off to them very fast, and his Master was afraid Jack
would fight too. But the good dog pushed himself between the others and
stopped their fighting. The two dogs then went away, looking very sorry.
And Jack came back wagging his tail, as if proud of being a peace-maker.
Most dogs do not like cats, but Jack has a dear friend, a cat named
George Washington. George had four little brothers and sisters, but three
of them never came out of their first bath, and the other one was given
away. The old mother-cat died when George was three months old, and
then Jack and George grew very fond of each other. A big dog once flew
at the little kitten, but Jack chased it away, and George seemed to know that
Jack had saved his life. Jack and George Washington sleep together, and
eat off the same dish. When Jack is asleep, George Washington will come
and begin to lick his head, and Jack seems to like it. When Jack comes in
from a walk George runs to meet him, and purrs, and rubs over him, and
really kisses him, they are so glad to see each other. Jack does not like
other cats, and still chases them, but to George Washington he is always
kind and gentle.

JACK IN -THE -PULPIT.

'-. -- -f JI .r-- -

C "K I JN CK- T1-1E --PUL1'i f.

"I THANK you kindly, dear Jack," writes the
dear Little Schoolma'am when I notify her that I '11
gladly give the chicks any message she may wish
to send in regard to those school-luncheon letters;
"but I shall need more space this time than you
can give me. I must ask the editor to allow me
several pages for my talk. The subject of school-
luncheons, you must know, is a very important
one. I only wish I could treat it better for the sake
of the thousands and thousands of little folk and
their mothers who read ST. NICHOLAS. But I'll
do the best I can."
Do the best she can ? Ah I '11 warrant she will.
Bless her heart Why, I never knew another such
remarkable Little Schoolma'am as that since I've
been a Jack-in-the-Pulpit! There is n't anything
she wouldn't do for you, my pets. I do believe
she'd try to eat up all the poor luncheons in the
country herself, if thereby she could help matters
any. But in that case there would no longer be
any Little Schoolma'am, and what would become
of us then, I'd like to know ?
Jack can't bear to think of such a thing. So
we '11 talk about

FLOWER-DOLLIES.
ALREADY the children are writing to Jack about
flower-dollies, taking hints from the letter of Marion
and'Winnie T. in ST. NICHOLAS for June, 1876.
One little girl writes to Jack: "I find that those
beautiful colored leaves of the coleus, whenever
you can beg a leaf from the gardener, make splen-
did trailing skirts." Another writes: Tell the
girls that a doll's skirt of grape-leaf can be beauti-
fully trimmed with strings of lilac blossoms, or ver-
bena, or any small blossom of that kind." A third
says she "made a big doll out of spruce-wood, with
a radish head, and put real lady's-slippers on its

feet, and dressed it up in a gown made of burdock
leaves, and it was really quite 'cute." Still another
little girl writes that, last summer, she made the
loveliest dolls all out of day-lilies," only she "had
to use green-sticks for arms." Even the head she
made "by gathering and tying up the white petals
of a lily and putting on a daisy for a hat." She
adds that five little girls and herself made a group
of these flower-dollies, and "stood them on the
piazza ready to surprise mamma when she came
home from her drive. And mamma said, 'the
effect was really quite lovely.' "

ELECTRIC CANDLES.
WELL, well-what will the birds tell me next ?
Here's a little candle, throwing its beams through
the newspapers, all the way from England, and my
birds know of it They say there's a new kind of
candle being tried in London. It is n't sperm, nor
wax, nor paraffine, and it has n't any cotton wick,
nor is it a tube supplied with kerosene or gas-
What in the world is it, then ?
That is just what Jack would like to find out.
The birds only hint these matters, you see; but
they tell me it is an electric candle of some sort,
and that the inventor's name is Jablochkoff. He's
not an Englishman, I'll warrant. Who knows any-
thing about this matter ?

IS THE CALLA A LILY?"
DEAR LITTLE SCHOOLMA'AM: In looking over one of the back
numbers of ST. NICHOLAS (March, 1875), I have found in the
"Letter-Box" an inquiry which I would like to answer. It is
from Abby G. Shaw. She asks: "Is the calla a lily?" and says
she thinks it is not, giving as authority "Wood's Class-Book of
Botany, published in 1848." Now, I have studied botany a good
deal, and I think it is a lily. Will you please tell me what you think
about it? MIGNONETTE.
If "Mignonette" will think how strange and
misleading are some of the "common" names
given to flowers within her own knowledge, she
will know at once that the fact of a plant being
called a "lily" is no proof that it is one. For in-
stance, we have all kinds of roses,-rock-rose,
guelder-rose, rose of Sharon, and others,-which
are not roses at all, and in no manner related to
the roses, except that they all are plants. Strictly,
nothing is a true rose unless it belongs to the
botanical genus Rosa. We must take the same
ground with the lilies. We have pond or water
lilies, lily of the valley, St. Bruno's lily, and others,
including the lily of the Nile. But, according to
good authority, none of these are, in a botanical
sense, lilies; that is, none of them belong to the
genus Liliztm, for only to such plants does the term
" lily," without prefix or suffix, properly belong.
Every true lily has a remarkably regular and
symmetrical flower. It is six-parted,--three outer
parts and three inner parts,-both kinds so much
alike that we do not say of them "calyx" and
" corolla." It has six very prominent stamens and
one pistil, which has a three-celled ovary. Now,
nothing like this structure is found in the calla. It
has in the center a fleshy stalk crowded with imper-
fect flowers, those with anthers only being above,
and the others, with pistils only, below, and all very

[SEPTEMBER,

JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.

small, crowded, and indistinct. The showy por-
.tion which surrounds all these flowers is not a
flower at all, but only a white leaf, which, in our
Jack-in-the-Pulpit, is green, often with brown mark-
ings. Indeed, the calla and Jack are much more
closely related than 'are the lily and the calla, for
these two are so remote cousins that the rela-
tionship does n't count,"-unless one of them"
should die very rich.
LITTLE SCHOOLMA'AM.

GRASS SHOES.
SOME of the children in the red school-house
have been making bathing-shoes for themselves
out of grass, and it is astonishing what capital
shoes they turn out.
In the first place, they cut a wide sole-pattern,
of the size wanted, out of stout cloth (which
forms a good lining to the shoe as soon as it is
covered); then they take a bundle of grass and
twist it tightly and evenly until it is of about the
thickness of a lady's finger. Next, with the aid

sole by over-and-over stitches, then catching the
succeeding rows of wisp firmly together, conform-
ing them as nearly as practicable to the shape of
the foot. When finished, it looks something like
a slipper. Then, all that remains to be done is
to add tapes by which it is to 'be tied about the
ankle.
Jack has n't given very explicit directions, be-
cause it is n't in his line to teach needlework;
but the ingenuity of the boys and girls must make
up for his short-comings.
Certain it is that the girls and boys of the red
school-house have made these shoes, and have
made them strong, and soft to the feet.

"NOT IN" TO TROUBLE.
"THE cheerful are usually the busy. When
Trouble knocks at your door, or rings the bell, he
will be apt to retire if you send him word you are
'engaged.' "
Who said this? He was a wise man, whoever
he was.

,1

ONE OF JACK'S PETS.

of a big needle and very coarse thread, they sew
the twist of grass to the cloth, adapting it to the
shape of the pattern as best they can, and taking
care to lengthen the twist, as they go on, by splicing
it with new spears of grass, so as to keep it of about
the same thickness. The twist is sewed in such a
way that the stitches will hold the grass firmly in
shape. When the sole has been covered, the chil-
dren take a fresh wisp and begin building up the
sides and toe, sewing the first row strongly to the

ONE OF JACK'S PETS.
SWEET Billy Buttercup Pretty little fay!
Riding on the blossoms in the breeze;
Deep in the clover-bloom hiding him away,
Startled at the murmur of the trees.

Children have you seen him? shy is he and gay,
Sunny as the butterflies and bees,-
Sweet Billy Buttercup! Pretty little fay!
Riding on the'blossoms in the breeze.

764

POMPEII, THE RUINED CITY.

(Extractsffrom a Little Girl's Journal.)
WE were in Naples, and it was a beautiful, summer-like day,-the
third of January, 187-. We arose very early, took a hearty break-
fast, and started, in a four-seated carriage drawn by four horses, for
Pompeii, the ruined city which for eighteen hundred years lay buried
under the ashes of Vesuvius, that treacherous old mountain that is
continually keeping the Neapolitans in fear and trembling.
We enjoyed the ride from Naples very much, which was part of
the way along the sea-shore and along the mountain-side. We passed
through Portici and Kecini, and the gate which leads to the amphi-
theater of Herculaneum, which was lately discovered, comparatively
speaking; and then we saw the palace La Favorita," where we are
going to stop when we go up the mountain.
When we reached Pompeii, we all found it more interesting than
any of us had expected. We first went into the museum, where we
saw old jugs for water, and rusty locks and keys and bolts, etc., etc.;
skeletons' heads and bones, and two or three specimens of the people
who had been found in the houses; and their position plainly shows
the torture and agony they must have suffered when the scoriae over-
took them in their flight. There is one man who looks as though he
had been running when the scorim reached him; no one would know
that such an object had ever been a man, were it not for the form,
which was bent forward, with his hands up to his face. It must have

been an awful time; and then, it being so completely dark, with the
air full of ashes, many of them must have ran right into the lava with-
out knowing it.
The town is all in ruins; nothing is left but the walls and streets
to tell the tale of a once prosperous and thriving city. On many of
the richest houses can still be seen the frescoes that adorned the walls,
and the beautifil d,-?si- of the mosaic floors. One would think,
from the walls .i i -i ceilings, and the few fountains that are

and refinement than the rich people do who now live in Naples.
The fountains in the floors served for mirrors.
We went into one house in which was a little chamber barred off
from the rest, and in the comer was a pile of dirt, and in it was em-
bedded the skeleton of a man who is said to have been imprisoned
there when the calamity occurred; and, his hands and feet being
chained, the poor wretch could not get away. It made me feel real
sad when I heard the story, but still more so when I saw the skeleton
in reality.
We found it was four before we thought it two, and the guards tell-
ing ustt to go, as they close at four o'clock. We returned to the
carriage, and reached the hotel late at night, fully convinced that we
would again visit Pompeii. K. N.

BARRED IN.
I SHALL open my true story by telling you that, no matter how or
why, a cold December day not two years ago found me, a meek,
homesick little schoolma'am of sixteen summers beginning my career
in the Smithtown school-house. It was a small, yellow building,
with heavy, solid, unpainted shutters On the inside a single seat
ran around the room next to the wall, with desks in front. A rough,
movable bench to serve as recitation scat, a great box of a stove, a
leaky pail, and a battered tin-cup nla ished the furnishing.
In this room between forty and fifty boy and girls, ranging age
from four years.to twenty-one, were gathered. Even your patience,

my dear old saint, would fail should I tell you all the trials and tribu-
lations that my spirit was heir to in that school-room.
The school had been under my dominion a little over a month,
and it was the day before Christmas. At noon that day I was seated
at my desk, tranquilly writing, and rejoicing that my little flock "
saw fit so leave me in quiet, and amuse themselves out-of-doors. I
looked up as one of the large boys stepped inside the door and took
down the key from a nail beside it. I knew what was coming then.
"Heinrich!" said I. But he was out of the door and it was closed
behind him. Quick as thought I was at the door and my pencil
filled the key-hole. Of course it was impossible for them to lock the
door: and it was equally impossible for me to open it while a dozen
strong hands held it on the other side. Through the door came the
question, in the voice of the boy who had taken the key:
"Will you give us a half-holiday, and five dollars for a treat? "
The five dollars I could not afford to give; the half-holiday I would
willingly give, but I would not be compelled to do it; therefore I
maintained a dignified silence, and my position-which began to grow
a little monotonous.
At the end of twenty minutes it was something more. Then the
great shutters swung around, and I could heir the boys planting
rails firmly against them; the result was, of course, total darkness.
Ten minutes more. By holding my watch close to a wee crack I
could see how time passed. Then I heard the rattling of a chain,
and the repetition of their demand for "a treat and a holiday." They
had given up locking the door and were going to chain it. It was
not a pleasant prospect-that of being locked up in darkness all a
long afternoon; but, as I dramatically quoted to myself, I could
not fly, I would not yield."
It was no longer of any use for me to guard the key-hole, for
the door was chained fast, so I devoted my energies to building a
fire, and soon had a bright blaze. I tried to read-the book was
not interesting. I tried to write-ideas were a minus quantity.
Surely it had been an hour since the door was chained. Fifteen
minutes My watch must have stopped; but no it was jogging
on at its accustomed pace.
I repeated a good-sized volume of poetry that afternoon. I
demonstrated the "problem of the lights." I did anything and
everything possible to pass away the time, but it was the longest
afternoon I ever knew. Now and then I felt a little gleam of
vicious satisfaction when a voice outside repeated the demand,
and I could feel how aggravated the rebels were by my silence.
You wonder that some passer-by did not interfere in my behalf?
"Barring the teacher in" was a time-honored custom, and
teachers knowing this to be the case usually yielded, or at least
compromised, in a very short time. In any case, no one thought
of interfering.
I began to sympathize with prisoners who are doomed to soli-
tary confinement. I could hear the monotonous tick-tick-tick of
my watch in the stillness. Slowly, slowly, slowly the hands moved,
as if they were weighted. Half-past three. Once more the old ques-
tion at the door; then the chain rattled, the shutters and door were
flung open-and I was unbarred It seems that my rebellious sub-
jects had held a council of war, decided that my obstinacy was uncon-
querable, and so given up the siege.
I rang the bell, and in answer to the summons they slowly filed in,
some faces looking sheepish, some defiant, some only wondering.
When they were seated I said, as quietly as usual, "You are dis-
missed until next Monday morning."
As they marched out I heard one of the boys say to another,
*'The ma'am's a'cute un; and she's got the grit, too, if she is
little LIVE SAXON.

THE WOODPECKER.

TAP! tap goes the woodpecker's busy bill,
Tap! tap! on the old oak-tree-
He hunts small game
With his tongue of flame,
For a woodman bold is he!

"'T is the early bird gets the worm," he cries,
As he springs from his nest at morn;
And his note so shrill,
The woodlands fill,
Like the hunter's bugle horn i

In their chambers dark,
'Neath the moldering bark,
The ant and the grub lie still-
But he hurries them out
With a terrible shout,
And gobbles them up at will.

[SEPTEMBER,

YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS' DEPARTMENT.

YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS' DEPARTMENT.

R. B. H.

THE LETTER-BOX.

THE LETTER-BOX.

OUR crowded columns this month force us to deny our young
astronomers a pleasant surprise which Professor Proctor had pre-
pared for them-an article on the two planets Mars and Saturn. But
it will probably console them to know that the paper will be given in
full in our November number; and, meanwhile, they shall be
afforded an exercise which Professor Proctor seems to have had in
mind already, for he states, in beginning his article: "I purposely
said nothing about these planet-visitors last month, that those who
try to learn the star-groups from my maps may have had a chance of
discovering the two planets for themselves." He adds that the two
will be plainly visible this fall, Mars shining with a bright, ruddy
glow, and Saturn with a dull, yellow light. Here's a fine chance,
boys and girls, to "repeat famous discoveries made many, many
years ago." Keep a sharp look-out at the evening skies, and so be
ready for the planet-paper in our November number.

Oakland, Cal., 1877.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Tom Grant, one of your contributors, hardly
believes that a snake could swallow a couple of birds and a toad.
I can tell of a still more wonderful occurrence. While my brother
and I were spending our summer vacation about ten miles from
Healdsburg, in Sonoma County, while hunting, .my brother killed
a rattlesnake and cut it open. He found three young hares inside
of it.
My mother, while living at Pass Christian, in Mississippi, was
acquainted with Dr. Savage, a great naturalist. He had a couple of
snakes in a box, with a wire netting over it, so all their motions
could be watched. One was black, and the other striped green and
black.
One day Dr. Savage and several others-my mother among them
-were attracted by a commotion in the snakes' box; there they saw
the two snakes in a furious battle. The black snake seemed to be
victor, for he was gradually swallowing ike striped snake. Mother
said it was not very pleasant to see the striped one gradually disap-
pearing out of sight. At last nothing could be seen. Dr. Savage
immediately killed it, for of course it could not live after such a hearty
meal.
These two incidents, though rather wonderful, are both true.
LUCY FISHER.

THE following letter comes to us, printed with a pencil, from a little
girl six years old:
Binghampton, N. Y., 1877.
DKAn ST. NICHOLAS: I have a cat, and her name is Pussine.
She is Maltese, with white face, breast, and paws. Pussy rides in
my doll-carriage, and don't jump out. She climbs on the shelf out-
side the door, and rattles the door-knob to be let in. Papa has taught
her to jump through our arms and to stand up in the corner. My
brother Eddie and I think she is a very wise cat, for she catches mice
also. Give my love to Miss Alcott; I wish that she would write
another story, for I like "Eight Cousins" best of all, though I like
" Pattikin's House" very much. I am more than six years old, and
Eddie is past four.-Your little friend, ANNIE CURTIS SMITH.

Portland, Me., July, 1877.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am going on a two-years' tour around
the world with the Woodruff Expedition. It will start in October
next, and I am to be a cadet. Any boy sixteen or older can become
a cadet, and I should like very much to have a true-blue ST.
NICHOLAS fellow to chum with.
Just think what a glorious trip it will be! We are to travel in a
special steamboat, make side trips here and there, and visit Brazil,
Japan, Egypt, China, the Eastern Archipelago, Patagonia, Australia,
Hindustan, Italy, Turkey, England, Greece, France, Spain, Ger-
many, Formosa-and, perhaps, "wind up at the Scilly Islands," as
my oldest sister, Sue, says. I think she is a little put out, though,
because she cannot go along; but she might, for the expedition takes
ladies, only she is obliged to stay at home.
Think of the jolly times ahead! Hunting, fishing, exploring,
making collections of scientific specimens, and, may be, having a
tussle or two with savages; learning history, geography, navigation
and the ologiess," right on the spot, instead of merely by "poring
over miserable books." Oh, it's splendid !
Please tell Deacon Green. He is a traveler and will surely want to
go; and the Little Schoolma'am, perhaps she will want to go too.
It would be the best fun in the world, but what would the children of
the red school-house do? It is for two whole years! Father says,

"No, not two years, but two years and a day ; and then he winks
at Sue. But he wont explain I believe there is a catch in it some-
where, only I don't see it.
Well, good-bye now, dear old ST. NICHOLAS, and good luck to
you! Perhaps my next letter to you will be written in full view of
the smoking vents of Kina Baloo, or from the top of the Great
Pyramid, or the bottom of Dr. Schliemann's excavations at Mykente
I remain, your constant friend, WALLIE STEPHENS.
P. S.-It is the expedition under James O. Woodruff of Indian-
apolis that I mean.

A LITTLE girl in Alabama writes: We live in Eufaula; it is a pretty
place in the spring. My little brother had a large dog, but some one
shot him one night. I have a little twin brother and a white kitten.
I broke my mamma's wash-bowl this evening getting some water for
her. She will jump through your hands when you hold them up.-
Your little friend, J. F.
We are not very fond of seeing gymnastic feats in hot weather,
dear J. F., but we should like to see that wonderful mother who can
"jump through your hands when you hold them up "

Broussa, Asiatic Turkey, June 16, 1877.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little boy so years old. This is
the first time I have written a letter to be printed. I am going to
tell you about the way they raise silk. The first thing the silk worms
do when they come out of the egg is to eat the mulberry leaves that
have been cut into bits for them. At first they do not eat much, but
after a week or so they are very ravenous, i ...' days after they
are hatched they sleep eight days and thus i.... slept four times
at intervals of eight days and twelve days, after the last sleep they
commence spinning. In about eigl.r .1,. i ... -. ;.. ..hd.
Between that time there are twelve cl ., I .. : I.. .-.. t, ... into
butterflies. To keep them from hatching they bake them in ovens
I am afraid that this letter is too long. HENRY M. RICHARDSON.

A CORRESPONDENT sends us the following as an addition to the
"Little Miss Muffett" Series:
Von leedle poy Hans,
In de far German lands
Was eating his good sour-krout,
De donkey came up
For von leedle sup,
Said Hans, "You'd petter got out."

New Jersey.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : We just write to tell you we love you most
as much as if you were our brother. Will you please print this in the
" Letter-Box," because Bessie has never seen her name in print.-
Your loving little readers, MINNIE AND BESSIE CHESTER.

THE following little account comes to us with this letter:
Chicago, Ill.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: The inclosed little story is the production
of a boy eight years old. Dr. Holland, in "Arthur Bonnicastle,"
called our attention to the "Gunnery," Washington, Conn., and, in
consequence, the writer of the article submitted made the acquaint-
ance of "Pug, the Gunnery Dog."-Yours truly,
F. A. EASTMAN.
PUG, THE GUNNERY DOG.
(A True Story.)
Pug is the name of a small, white, fat dog. Fourteen years ago,
when a puppy, he was given to a little boy for a pet. They were
playmates for a few years, when the little boy died, leaving the poor,
unhappy dog in this world. Pug lives in a school with forty boys,
but no one can take the place of his lost friend. When anybody tries
to caress him, he endures it with patience for a few minutes; but just
as you think he is beginning to like it, he suddenly will jump up and
growl, as much as to say, "Good people, you mean well, but it is of
no use." He makes one exception to this rule. If the father of his
late master speaks to him, he shows his pleasure by a wag of his
curly tail.
* Sometimes he is given more than he can eat, and he goes off to his
favorite seat in a cushioned arm-chair, leaving some food on his plate.

THE LETTER-BOX.

The family cat is glad enough to take up with Pug's leavings, and
she only looks to see if he is safely asleep before she begins. Pug-
the sly old dog-sometimes shuts his eyes, and pretends not to see
what she is doing until she gets fairly at work, when up he jumps
with a bark and a growl which send poor kitty a-flying. For a min-
ute his face shows he enjoys the fun, and then he becomes as solemn
as ever. BARRETT EASTMAN.

SOMEBODY in St. Louis, signing himself "No Name," sends the
following riddle to ST. NICHOLAS. The answers will give respectively
the names of fifty authors. As a number of other people have sent
this same riddle to ST. NICHOLAS, having found the copies in various
papers and periodicals,-and in many cases sent it as an original
contribution,-it may be well to explain that it was written originally
by the "Little Schoolma'am" of this magazine, and first published
in Uncle Tim's department of Hearth and Home for Dec. 16, i8 .
The names of the fifty authors are given below, as many of the young
people may not have seen the riddle.

i. What a rough man once said to his son when he wished him to
eat his food properly. 2. Is a lion's house dug in the side of a hill
where there is no water? 3. A good many pilgrims and flatterers
have knelt low to kiss him. 4. Makes and mends for first-class cus-
tomers. 5. Represents the dwellings of civilized countries. 6. Is a
kind of linen. 7. Can be worn on the head. 8. A name that
means such fiery things, I can't describe their pains and stings.
9. Belongs to a monastery. o1. Not one of the four points of the com-
pass, but inclining toward one of them. iz. Iswhat an oyster heap is
apt to be. 12. Is any chain of hills containing a certain dark treasure.
13. Always youthful, you see; but, between you and me, he never
was much of a chicken. 14. An American manufacturing town.
15. Hump-backed, but not deformed. 16. Is an internal pain.
17. The value of a word. 18. A seven-footer whose name begins with
fifty. 19. Brighter and smarter than the other one. 20. A worker
in the precious metals. 2r. A very vital part of the body. 22. A
lady's garment. 23. Small talk and heavy weight. 24. A prefix and
a disease. 25. Comes from an unlearned pig. 26. A disagreeable
fellow to have on one's foot. 27. A sick place of worship. 28. A
mean dog 't is. 29. An official dreaded by the students of English
universities. 30. His middle name is suggestive of an Indian or a
Hottentot. 31. A manufactured metal. 32. A game, and anmale of the
human species. 33. An answer to "Which is the greater poet, Wil-
liam Shakspeare or Martin F. Tupper? 34. Meat What are you
doing? 35. Is very fast indeed 36. A barrier built of an edible.
37. To agitate a weapon. 38. Red as an apple, black as the night,
a heavenly sign or a perfect fright. 39. A domestic worker. 40. A
slang exclamation. 41. Pack away closely, never scatter, and doing
so you'II soon get at her. 42. A young domestic animal. 43. One
who is more than a sandy shore. 44. A fraction in American cur-
rency and the prevailing fashion. 45. Mamma is in perfect health,
my child; and thus he mentioned a poet mild. 46. A girl's name
and a male relative. 47. Take a heavy field-piece, nothing loath,
and in a trice you'lI find them both. 48. Put an edible grain'twixt
an ant and a bee, and a much-beloved poet you'll speedily see.
49 A common domestic animal and what it can never do. 50. Each
human head in time, 't is said, will turn to him though he is dead.

Answers -T. Chaucer. 2. Dryden. 3. Pope. 4. Taylor (Bayard).
5. Holmes (Oliver Wendell). 6. Holland (J. G.). 7. Hood. 8. Burns.
9. Pryor (or Abbott). Jo. Southey (Robert). i. Shelley. 12 Cole-
ridge. 13. Young. 14. Lowell. 15. Campbell-Camel. 16. Akenside.
I7. Wordsworth. 18. Longfellow. xg. Whittier. 2o. Goldsmith.
21. Harte (Bret). 22. Spenser. 23. Chatterton. 24. De Quincey.
25. Bacon. 26. Bunyan. 27. Churchill. 28. Curtis. 29. Proctor.
30, Landor (Walter Savage). 3!. Steele. 32. Tennyson. 33. Willis-
Willis. 34. Browning. 35. Swift. 36. Cornwall (Barry). 37. Shak-
speare. 38. Crabbe. 39. Cook (Eliza). 4o. Dickens. 41. Stowe.
42. Lamb. 43. Beecher. 44. Milton. 45. Motherwell. 46. Addison.
47. Howitt (William and Mary)--Howitz. 48. Bryant-B-rye-ant.
49. Cowper--Co'w-purr. 50. Gray.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I send you a little story just as it was told
me by my little three-year old Cora, in exchange for one from myself.
The hip disease was suggested by a recent visit to St. Luke's Hos-
pital.-In haste, yours truly, MRS. E. T. T.

Once there was a little pussy cat, and he had no mamma, and he
wandered alone around the stweet, and a wude man came along
and kicked him, and he wan down into a little gale's (girl's) basement,
and he climbed up and put his little claws wound the bell, and wang
the bell, and the cook came to the door, and the cat jumped down
and the cook said, what do you want, little cat," and the cat said,
I want to see the children," and the cook took him upstairs, and the
children took care of him.
There was Nelly and Pinky and Jenny. They had the mumps
and the hip disease, and the stomach ache, and didn't die.

London, England, July 1877.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I like your magazine very much, and take
great interest in Professor Proctor's papers about the stars. I take a
little card and make pin-holes in it to represent the stars of a constel-
lation as the star maps show them. When I hold up one of these
cards to the lamp I see bright points where, in the sky, the stars
themselves are. I draw rays about the holes with pen-and-ink, and
write upon each card the name of the star-group it represents. In
order that I may easily find in the sky any "card constellation," I
prick an extra pin-hole to show in what direction from the Pole-star
the constellation appeared at a given time in the year, which I write
upon the card.
It is really interesting to prepare a set of cards of this kind,
especially if one tries hard and succeeds in making every card trust-
worthy. I dare say many American girls and boys would enjoy it
quite as much, if they knew about it; so please tell them. It is a
great help to getting well acquainted with the look of the starry
heavens throughout the year. -Yours truly, LAWRENCE T.

Ogdensburg.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We take the ST. NICHOLAS, and we like it
very much. We have a dog named Brownie, and two little kittens.
Mine is black-I named it Rollabout-and the other one is gray, and
her name is Daisy. I went out fishing, and we caught nine fish.
BERTHA H. JAMES.
P. S.-I am not quite seven years old.

Fordham, N. Y., 1877.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I would like to write you a little letter,
about something that we saw last summer at the sea-shore. We went
down on the beach one cloudy night in September, and the ocean
looked so beautiful that we all wondered what was the cause of it.
Each little ripple sparkled with a glare flight that was wonderful to
see, and as each wave broke upon the shore it spread a line of light
as far as the eye could reach. Even the sand, as we rubbed our feet
on it, left a line of light. I thought that it was the most beautiful
sight I had ever seen; I could not but wonder at the works of Him
who was the maker of such beautiful things.
Will ST. NICHOLAS please tell me something about this wonderful
light. I am nine years old.-Your friend,
HELEN C. WETMORE.
Our young correspondent describes a phase of one of the most com-
mon, yet most marvelous and beautiful of the aspects of the sea. Along
our northern coast such lighting up of the water may be seen almost
any dark night in warm weather, when the water is disturbed by
light wind, the passage of a vessel, the splash of oars or otherwise.
In the tropics the sea is always more or less luminous in the dark.
The sources of the light are numerous yet tolerably well understood;
but how the light is produced no one knows. All the readers of Sr.
NICHOLAs have seen fire-flies or other light-giving insects, which are
common the world over. But the numbers of such living lanterns
of the air are few compared with those of the sea. The ocean fairly
swarms with creatures, big and little, that shine with their own light.
Some, like the giant jelly-fish, are eight or ten feet across the body,
with streamers fifty feet long; and when they glow in the dark water
they light up the depths as sheet-lightning does the clouds. The
most of these light-emitting creatures, however, are very small-meie
specks of slime, visible by day only under a powerful magnifier; but
they make up for their smallness by their enormous numbers. Those
whose light our little friend describes were probably Noctiluca milia-
ris, which, though separately invisible, are often so numerous as to
discolor the sea by day and make it appear at night like a sea of
molten silver, every drop and every wave glowing with pale light.
In the "Ancient Mariner," Coleridge describes the phosphorescence
of the tropic seas with great power.

GEORGE HERBERT WHITE, of Brooklyn, sends us the following
fifteen solutions of the "Name Puzzle," printed in our June number:
Alice Hannah Eleanor Laura Roxanna
Nora Olive Dorothy Olympia Ophelia
Nancy Pauline Nancy Isabel Susan
Amelia Esther Amy Sophia Annie

Delia
Octavia
Ruth
Augusta

Edith
Lucinda
Lucretia
Antoinette

Jemima
Amanda
Nora
Eva

Charlotte
Ophelia
Rachel
Agnes

Eliza
Maud
Mary
Almira

Ida
Nancy
Ellen
Zenobia

Mercy
Adelaide
Ursula
Dorothy

Nancy
Olivia
Rebecca
Annette

Rhoda
Urania
Theresa
Huldah

Sophia
Angelina
Rosalina
.Alberta

766

[SEPTEMBER,

THE RIDDLE-BOX.

THE RIDDLE-BOX.

EASY NUMERICAL ENIGMA.
THE whole, composed of ten letters, is a word often seen in alma-
nacs. The x, 2, 3, 4 is a fairy. The 5, 6 is a pronoun. The 7, 8, 9,
zo is an animal. CYRIL DEANE.
DECAPITATIONS.
I. BEHEAD a flower, and leave an article used by printers. 2. Be-
head a garden vegetable, and leave a beverage. 3. Behead a fruit,
and leave a part of the body. 4. Behead another part of the body,
and leave a fish. 5. Behead another fish, and leave a card. 6. Be-
head a domestic bird, and leave a wild bird. 7. Behead a poisonous
insect, and leave a poisonous serpent. 8. Behead a military badge,
and leave a forest tree. 9. Behead an article of food, and leave a
luxury in summer. ro. Behead a kind of boat, and leave a shoe-
maker's tool. ISOLA.
DOUBLE ACROSTIC.
THE initials and finals each form the name of a celebrated author.
1. An affected and pretentious person. 2. A small animal. 3. A
boy's name. 4. An Italian poet. 5. A public house.
Behead and curtail each word, and you will have: i. A negative.
2. A number. 3. To exist. 4. An animal. 5. To affirm positively.
ALMA.

,_
i ,
,, q ; ,i

tion of a good home; 2d, a comfortable abode; 3d, a bereavement;
4th, a greater sorrow; 5th, the sorrow cured. B.

CHARADE.
My first, the cross I bear;
My last, the sea-girt refuge, where
My whole, shut out from native skies,
Like a caged eagle, droops and dies.
AM. o'B. D.
HIDDEN ANIMALS.
I. OLD Abe arrived in Milwaukee yesterday. 2. He found Eli on
board the train. 3. He preferred a badge, rather than money, for his
services. 4. Where is Ella? Mamma wants her. 5. I found him in
Chicago at an hotel. 6. Oh, Leo pardon me this time, if never
again. 7. Oh! was n't that romantic? Amelia thinks it the best
story she ever read. 8. I abhor secret societies. 9. Was the pan
there, as I said? i0. Have you heard the news? Miss Durant
eloped last night. It. The anti-German society gave a ball yester-
day. X2. We knew it to be a version which was correct. 13. The
battle came to a hot termination.. 14. Is the soil in Mocha moist?
15. The lamb is on the lawn in front of the house. SQUIB.

CENTRAL SYNCOPATIONS AND DOUBLE
ACROSTIC.
SYNCOPATE: i. Stops, and leave coverings for the head. 2. Corn,
and leave to show the teeth. Fruits of a certain kind, and leave
falsehoods. A state of the Union, and leave a part of a horse.
s. Long, slender sticks, and leave something used with old-fashioned
guns. 6. Highways, and leave instruments of scourging.
The syncopated letters, read downward, form a thin plate; read
upward, a living creature. N. T. M.

INCOMPLETE DIAMOND.
FILL the spaces with two letters only, to form a diamond, and a
square-word within it.

A -A -
-A-
PLUTO.

GEOGRAPHICAL DOUBLE ACROSTIC.
i. A RIVER in Russia. 2. A city in Holland. 3. One of the
United States. 4. A descendant of Seir. the Horite. 5. One of the
East Indies. 6. A name given one of the British Isles by its inhab-
itants. The initials name the largest river in Europe, and the finals
the largest in the world. SEDGWICK.

EASY SQUARE REMAINDERS.
DEFINE the words given: z. The upper surface of the earth.
2. Conflagration. 3. Departed.
Behead the definitions, and leave a square-word with these mean-
ings: i. Something our ancestors used at night. 2. Anger." 3. Con-
ducted. H. H. D.
RIDDLE.
THREE and thirty "what d' ye thinks" sitting in a row,
And bigger every day they got as fast as they could grow;
All of them had heads, but not a single one an eye,
And so, whatever happened, they really could n't cry.

One had on a purple dress, which looked green in the light;
Another was a little one, and very like a fright;
Another had a crooked back, but most were fat and round,
And I saw a mighty army of them sitting on the ground.

Wrapped in and out with foldings, spread loose and thick and deep,
They cuddled in among them all when they went off to sleep;
Sleep, sleep it was the whole day long, and sleep, too, all the night,
Oh they were very stupid things-not one of them was bright.

Yes, three and thirty "what d'ye thinks" sitting in a row,-
What shall we call these wonders ? Come, tell us, if you know.
H. M. s.
ENIGMA.
I AM composed of twelve letters. My 5, lo, 3, is a noise. My i,
8, 12, gives us light. My 4, 6, 9, is a title. My 7, 2, 4, zn, is what
we often like. My whole is a beautiful French motto. N. B. S.

SQUARE-WORD.
I. AN operation requiring a very sharp instrument. 2. Custom.
3. To make ashamed. 4. A law term for neighborhood. 5. A chemi-
cal used to produce insensibility. SEDGWICK.

BIRD PUZZLE.
s. A TOY made of paper. 2. A consonant and pale. 3. The builder
of St. Paul's Cathedral in London. 4. A burning vowel. 5. A con-
sonant. 6. Used in hunting in the fifteenth century. 7. Part ofa
fence. 8. A boy's name. 9. A pronoun and a preposition. to. Has
been made famous by an American poet. 1t. Part of a house and
seen at the Flood. 12. A tailor's implement. 13. To shrink with
fear. 14. A consonant and to waken. 15. Used in chess. r6. What
we do when eating. 17. What old birds are not to be caught with,
and part of a foot. a8. On ships, and a quarrel. 19. Used for raising
heavy weights. 20. An abbreviation of a girl's name, and a pastry.
21. A ringlet and a sheep. 22. Country partlyin Europe. 23. Heard
on most farms. SEDGWICK.
METAGRAM.
WHOLE, I am a position. Behead me, and I am much prized by
ladies; again, I am one spot; restore and syncopate my whole, and
I am a step; restore, curtail, and transpose, and I am a sharp sound.
Besides, I contain a beverage, a head-covering, an animal, a veg-
etable, and a fence. N, B. s.
HIDDEN BAYS.
i. You must stop! Lent you know has begun. 2. If the thaw
keeps off one week I'll be glad. 3. Do not push Arkwright. 4. If
you have turbot any more, please tell me. 5. I saw an ant on
Gilfillan's neck. 6. Acobemba took his leave. 7. I saw Dela go
aboard the ship. 8. It is not red Amelia. LITTLE ONE.

THE RIDDLE-BOX.

[SEPTEMBER.

FIND the name of one of the above pictures and take from it two letters, leaving (without transposition) the name of another picture.
For example: Grate, rat: chair, car. Proceed in this way until all the pictures are named.

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN AUGUST NUMBER.

PICTORIAL PUZZLE.-(ABSTRACTION.)-Coin, crab, bat, stoat, PICTORIAL ANAGRAM ENIGM
bars, star, oats, boat. rat, cart. good manners." Curs, ruin, des
DOUBLE DIAMOND.-Charlcs Dickens. SQUARE-WORD.- A R
C RE
SHE EL
STALK NI
CHARLES AC
ELLEN
K E N PYRAMID PUZZLE.-

S
D
PIT
PICRA
DI CKENS
TREAD
AND
S

A.-"Evil communications corrupt
option, map, grain, common, closet.
E N A
L I C
D E R
E C E
E S

DE
ECE
RES

D

ARA
IDIOT
SCALENE
YEARLINGS
RIDDLE.-Week.
HIDDEN FRENCH SENTENCE.-" Vous devez tout voir, tout en-
tendre, et tout oublier."
TRANSPOSITIONS.-i. Together, three got, got there. 2. Ballad,

SYNCOPATIONS.--. Raft, rat. 2. Cold, cod. 3. Lead, led. 4. all bad. 3. Minute, in mute. 4. I led, idle. 5. Noised, is done. 6
Tome, toe. 5. Hail, Hal. 6. Alone, aloe. 7. Barge, bare. 8. Board, Allowance, O all we can.
bard. Read downward: Flamingo. METAGRAM.-Bane, cane, Dane, Jane, lane, mane, pane, sane,
EASY CHARADE.-HOaX. vane, wane.

CORRECT ANSWERS to ALL the puzzles in the July number were received from Marion Abbott.
ANSWERS TO SPECIAL PUZZLES IN THE JULY NUMBER were received, previous to July 18th, from Alice B. Moore, James J. Ormsbee,
Allie Bertram, Albert Pider, Grace G. Chandler, W. L. M., B. P. Emery, Sarah D. Oakley, Susie T. Homans, George G. Champlin, Charles
S. Riche, Bessie and her Cousin," Arthur C. Smith, M. Marsden Hill, Emma Elliott, Fannie M. Sawyer, Charlie and Ada," Kittie L.
Brainard, Edward W. Robinson, Edith Heard, Carrie B. Mitchell. Alfred A. Mitchell, Edward L. Heydecker, Nessie E. Stevens, Constance
Grand Pierre, W. C. Hawley, Nellie Emerson, James Iredell, Carrie L. Bigelow, Jennie W. Cook, Lulu Way, Howard Steel Rodgers,
Edith Lowry, A. L. Drof, Mamie A. Carter, and Katie E. Earl.

::i
";--;- li;r
3

	Front Cover
	Young folks' fun in central...
	Gone astray
	A buttercup - Drummer Fritz and...
	The fair-minded men who walked...
	Robbie talks
	An American circus in Brittany
	The stars in September
	Thistle-puffs
	Panchy
	How I went a-drumming
	Jingles
	His own master
	Peter's rabbit-hunt
	School-luncheons
	One! Two! Three!
	Good friends
	Jack-in-the-pulpit
	Young contributors' department
	The letter-box
	The riddle-box
	Back Cover
	Spine

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0	sobekcm_database.verify_item_lookup_object
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0	sobekcm_database.verify_item_lookup_object
0	sobekcm_page_globals.display_item	Retrieving item or group information
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0	sobekcm_assistant.get_entire_collection_hierarchy
0	cached_data_manager.retrieve_item_aggregation
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0	system.web.ui.page.page_load (ufdc.page_load)
0	sobekcm_page_globals.constructor.on_page_load
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