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 Front Cover
 Frontispiece
 The three kings
 Rowing against tide
 A chapter of butts
 The lion-killer
 Bruno's revenge
 The mocking-bird and the donke...
 The famous horses of Venice
 Christmas card - The Peterkins'...
 A double riddle - Under the...
 A chat about pottery
 Poems by two little American...
 Sweet marjoram day
 "Sing-a-sing"
 Now, or then?
 Jack's Christmas
 Left out
 Miss Alcott
 The boy who jumped on trains
 The tower-mountain
 Singing pins
 About the porpoises
 The wild wind - The magician and...
 Scrubby's beautiful tree
 The minstrel's carol
 Jack-in-the-pulpit
 Baby-Bo
 Arthur and his pony
 Young contributors' department
 The letter-box
 Notices of new books - The...
 Back Cover
 Spine


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UF00065513_00055
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UF00065513_00055
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5/4/2007 1:54:28 PM -


St. Nicholas, vol. 5, no. 2
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Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00055
 Material Information
Title: St. Nicholas, vol. 5, no. 2
Series Title: St. Nicholas.
Alternate Title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner,
Publication Date: -c1943.
 Subjects
Subjects / Keywords: Literature for Children
Genre: Children's literature
Periodicals
serial   ( sobekcm )
 Notes
General Note: Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
General Note: Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: notis - ocm0176
oclc - 7405657; (DLC)SF 89099153
oclc - (DLC) 2006255186; 55136171
System ID: UF00065513:00055

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Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Frontispiece
        Plate
    The three kings
        Page 73
        Page 74
    Rowing against tide
        Page 75
        Page 76
    A chapter of butts
        Page 77
    The lion-killer
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
    Bruno's revenge
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
    The mocking-bird and the donkey
        Page 88
    The famous horses of Venice
        Page 89
        Page 90
    Christmas card - The Peterkins' charades
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
    A double riddle - Under the lilac
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
    A chat about pottery
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
    Poems by two little American girls
        Page 109
        Page 110
    Sweet marjoram day
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
    "Sing-a-sing"
        Page 122
    Now, or then?
        Page 123
    Jack's Christmas
        Page 124
        Page 125
        Page 126
        Page 127
    Left out
        Page 128
    Miss Alcott
        Page 129
        Page 130
        Page 131
    The boy who jumped on trains
        Page 132
        Page 133
    The tower-mountain
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
        Page 137
        Page 138
        Page 139
    Singing pins
        Page 140
        Page 141
    About the porpoises
        Page 142
    The wild wind - The magician and his bee
        Page 143
        Page 144
        Page 145
        Page 146
    Scrubby's beautiful tree
        Page 147
        Page 148
        Page 149
        Page 150
        Page 151
        Page 152
    The minstrel's carol
        Page 153
        Page 154
        Page 155
    Jack-in-the-pulpit
        Page 156
        Page 157
    Baby-Bo
        Page 158
    Arthur and his pony
        Page 159
        Page 160
        Page 161
    Young contributors' department
        Page 162
        Page 163
    The letter-box
        Page 164
        Page 165
    Notices of new books - The riddle-box
        Page 166
        Page 167
        Page 168
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
    Spine
        Spine
Full Text








































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THE HOLY FAMILY.


FROM A PAINTING BY ITTENBACH.


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ST. NICHOLAS.




VOL. V. DECEMBER, 1877. No. 2.

[Copyright, 1877, by Scribner & Co.]





THE THREE KINGS.

BY HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.

THREE Kings came riding from far away,
Melchior and Gaspar and Baltazar;
Three Wise Men out of the East were they,
And they traveled by night and they slept by day,
For their guide was a beautiful, wonderful star.

The star was so beautiful, large and clear,
That all the other stars of the sky
Became a white mist in the atmosphere,
And the Wise Men knew that the coming was near
Of the Prince foretold in the prophecy.

Three caskets they bore on their saddle-bows,
Three caskets of gold with golden keys;
Their robes were of crimson silk, with rows
Of bells and pomegranates and furbelows,
Their turbans like blossoming almond-trees.

And so the Three Kings rode into the West,
Through the dusk of night over hills and dells,
And sometimes they nodded with beard on breast,
And sometimes talked, as they paused to rest,
With the people they met at the way-side wells.

Of the child that is born," said Baltazar,
Good people, I pray you, tell us the news,
For we in the East have seen his star,
And have ridden fast, and have ridden far,
To find and worship the King of the Jews."
VOL. V.-6.






THE THREE KINGS.


And the people answered: You ask in vain;
We know of no king but Herod the Great! "
They thought the Wise Men were men insane,
As they spurred their horses across the plain
Like riders in haste who cannot wait.

And when they came to Jerusalem,
Herod the Great, who had heard this thing,
Sent for the Wise Men and questioned them;
And said: Go down into Bethlehem,
And bring me tidings of this new king."

So they rode away; and the star stood still,
The only one in the gray of morn;
Yes, it stopped, it stood still of its own free will,
Right over Bethlehem on the hill,
The city of David where Christ was born.

And the Three Kings rode through the gate and the guard,
Through the silent street, till their horses turned
And neighed as they entered the great inn-yard;
But the windows were closed, and the doors were barred,
And only a light in the stable burned.

And cradled there in the scented hay,
In the air made sweet by the breath of kine,
The little child in the manger lay,-
The child that would be king one day
Of a kingdom not human but divine.

His mother, Mary of Nazareth,
Sat watching beside his place of rest,
Watching the even flow of his breath,
For the joy of life and the terror of death
Were mingled together in her breast.

They laid their offerings at his feet;
The gold was their tribute to a king;
The frankincense, with its odor sweet,
Was for the priest, the Paraclete,
The myrrh for the body's burying.

And the mother wondered and bowed her head,
And sat as still as a statue of stone;
Her heart was troubled, yet comforted,
Remembering what the angel had said
Of an endless reign and of David's throne.

Then the Kings rode out of the city gate,
With the clatter of hoofs in pioud array;
But they went not back to Herod the Great,
For they knew his malice and feared his hate,
And returned to their homes by another way.


[DECEMBER,






877.] ROWING AGAINST TIDE. 75


ROWING AGAINST TIDE.

BY THEODORE WINTHROP.

[THE following hitherto-unprinted fragment by Theodore Winthrop, author of "John Brent," "The Canoe and the Saddle," "Life
in the Open Air," and other works, was intended by him for the first chapter of a story called Steers Flotsam," but it has an interest of
its own, and is a complete narrative in itself
Perhaps there are many of our young readers who do not know the history of that brave young officer who, one of the very first to fall in
the late war, was killed at Great Bethel, Virginia, June io, x861. He was born at New Haven, Connecticut, in September, 1828. He was
astudious and quiet boy, and not very robust. From early youth he had determined to become an author worthy of fame, but he tore
himself away from his beloved work at the call of his country just as he was about to win that fame, leaving behind him a number of finished
and unfinished writings, most of which were afterward published.
He could handle oars as well as write of them, could skate like his hero in "Love and Skates," and was good at all manly sports. He
traveled much, visited Europe twice, lived two years at the Isthmus of Panama, and returning from there across the plains (an adventur-
ous trip at that time), learned in those far western wilds to manage and understand the half-tamed horses and untamed savages about whom
he writes so well. This varied experience gave a freedom and power to his pen that the readers of the ST. NICHOLAS are not too young to
perceive and appreciate.]


ALMOST sunset. I pulled my boat's head round,
and made for home.
I had been floating with the tide, drifting athwart
the long shadows under the western bank, shoot-
ing across the whirls and eddies of the rapid strait,
grappling to one and another of the good-natured
sloops and schooners that swept along the highway
to the great city, near at hand.
For an hour I had sailed over the fleet, smooth
glimmering water, free and careless as a sea-gull.
Now I must 'bout ship and tussle with the whole
force of the tide at the jaws of Hellgate. I did not
know that not for that day only, but for life, my
floating gayly with the stream was done.
I pulled in under the eastern shore, and began
to give way with all my boyish force.
I was a little fellow, only ten years old, but my
pretty white skiff was little, in proportion, and so
were my sculls, and we were all used to work to-
gether.
As I faced about, a carriage came driving furi-
ously along the turn of the shore. The road fol-
lowed the water's edge. I was pulling close to the
rocks to profit by every eddy. The carriage whirled
by so near me that I could recognize one of the
two persons within. No mistaking that pale, keen
face. He evidently saw and recognized me also.
He looked out at the window and signaled the
coachman to stop. But before the horses could be
pulled into a trot he gave a sign to go on again.
The carriage disappeared at a turn of the shore.


This encounter strangely dispirited me. My joy
in battling with the tide, in winning upward, foot
by foot, boat's length after boat's length, gave
place to a forlorn doubt whether I could hold my
own-whether I should not presently be swept
away.
The tide seemed to run more sternly than I had
ever known it. It made a plaything of my little
vessel, slapping it about most uncivilly. The black
rocks, covered with clammy, unwholesome-looking
sea-weed, seemed like the mile-stones of a night-
mare, steadily to move with me. The water,
bronzed by the low sun, poured mightily along,
and there hung my boat, glued to its white reflec-
tion.
As I struggled there, the great sloops and
schooners rustling by with the ebb, and eclips-
ing an instant the June sunset, gave me a miser-
able impression of careless unfriendliness. I had
made friends with them all my life, and this even-
ing, while I was drifting down-stream, they had
been willing enough to give me a tow, and to send
bluff, good-humored replies to my boyish hails.
Now they rushed on, each chasing the golden
wake of its forerunner, and took no thought of me,
straining at my oar, apart. I grew dispirited, quite
to the point of a childish despair.
Of course it was easy enough to land, leave my
boat, and trudge home, but that was a confession
of defeat not to be thought of. Two things only
my father required of me-manliness and truth.







ROWING AGAINST TIDE.


My pretty little skiff-the "Aladdin," I called it-
he had given to me as a test of my manhood. I
should be ashamed of myself to go home and tell
him that I had abdicated my royal prerogative of
taking care of myself, and pulling where I would
in a boat with a keel. I must take the "Aladdin"
home, or be degraded to my old punt, and con-
fined to still water.
The alternative brought back strength to my
arms. I threw off the ominous influence. I leaned
to my sculls. The clammy black rocks began
deliberately to march by me down-stream. I was
making headway, and the more way I made, the
more my courage grew.
Presently, as I battled round a point, I heard a
rustle and a rush of something coming, and the
bowsprit of a large sloop glided into view close by
me. She was painted in stripes of all colors above
her green bottom. The shimmer of the water
shook the reflection of her hull, and made the
edges of the stripes blend together. It was as if a
rainbow had suddenly flung itself down for me to
sail over.
I looked up and read the name on her head-
boards, James Silt."
At the same moment a child's voice over my
head cried, Oh, brother Charles what a little
boy what a pretty boat!"
The gliding sloop brought the speaker into view.
She was a girl both little and pretty. A rosy, blue-
eyed, golden-haired sprite, hanging over the gun-
wale, and smiling pleasantly at me.
Yes, Betty," the voice of a cheerful, honest-
looking young fellow at the tiller-evidently brother
Charles-replied. He 's a little chap, but he 's
got a man into him. Hurrah !"
"Give way, Aladdin!' Stick to it! You're
sure to get there."
The sloop had slid along by me now, so that I
could read her name repeated on her stern-
"James Silt, New Haven."
Good-bye, little boy !" cried my cherubic
vision to me, flitting aft, and leaning over the
port davit.
Good-bye, sissy!" I returned, and raising my
voice, I hailed, Good-bye, Cap'n Silt !"
Brother Charles looked puzzled an instant. Then
he gave a laugh, and shouted across the broaden-
ing interval of burnished water, You got my name
off the stern. Well, it's right, and you 're a bright
one. You 'll make a sailor! Good luck to you! "


He waved his cap, and the strong tide swept his
craft onward, dragging her rainbow image with
her.
As far as I could see, the fair-haired child was
leaning over the stern watching me, and brother
Charles, at intervals, turned and waved his cap
encouragingly.
This little incident quite made a man of me
again. I forgot the hard face I had seen, and
brother Charles's frank, merry face took its place,
while, leaning over brother Charles's shoulder, was
that angelic vision of his sister.
Under the inspiring influence of Miss Betty's
smiles-a boy is never so young as not to conduct
such electricity-I pulled along at double speed. I
no longer measured my progress by the rocks in
the mud, but by the cottages and villas on the
bank. Now that I had found friends on board one
of the vessels arrowing by, it seemed as if all would
prove freighted with sympathizing people if they
would only come near enough to hail. But I was
content with the two pleasant faces stamped on my
memory, and only minded my business of getting
home before dark.
The setting sun drew itself a crimson path across
the widening strait. The smooth water grew all
deliciously rosy with twilight. The moon had just
begun to put in a faint claim to be recognized as a
luminary, when I pulled up to my father's private
jetty.
Everything looked singularly sweet and quiet.
June never, in all her dreams of perfection, could
have devised a fairer evening. I was a little dis-
appointed to miss my father from his usual station
on the wharf. He loved to be there to welcome
me returning from my little voyages, and to hail
me gently: Now then, Harry, a strong pull, and
let me see how far you can send her! Bravo, my
boy! We '11 soon make a man of you. You shall
not be a weakling all your life as your father has
been, mind and body, for want of good strong
machinery to work with."
He was absent that evening. I hurried to bestow
my boat neatly in the boat-house. I locked the
door, pocketed the key, and ran up the lawn,
thinking how pleased my father would be to hear
of my adventure with the sloop and its crew, and
how he would make me sketch the sloop for him,
which I could do very fairly, and how he would
laugh at my vain attempts to convey to him the
cheeks and the curls of Miss Betty.


[DECEMBER,







877-1 A CHAPTER OF BUTTS. 77


A CHAPTER OF BUTTS.


"I LL BUTT IT" SAID THE GOAT. "WHAT! IT BUTTS AGAIN."


"I'LL GIVE IT A GOOD ONE, THIS TIME."


" PERHAPS I 'D BETTER GET OUT OF ITS WAY."


BUT HE DID N'T.








THE LION-KILLER. [DECEMBER,


TI-IE LION-KILLER.
(Fro' the FGrech of Duatyef.)

BY M\ARY WAGER FISHER.


EOPLE in Tunis,
Afl-ica,-at least,
some of the older
people,-often talk
B of the wonderful
exploits of a lion-

mous there forty
years ago. The story is this, and
is said to be entirely true :
The lion-killer was called The
Sicilian," because his native coun-
try was Sicily ; and he was known
as "The Christian" among the
People in Tunis, who were mostly
S Arabs, and, consequently, Mo-
hammedans. He was also called
S "Hercules," because of his
'; strength,-that being the name
S of a strong demi-god of the
t ancient Greeks. He was not built
like Hercules, however; lie was
tall, but beautifully proportioned,
S and there was nothing in his
i form that betrayed his powerful
muscles. He performed prodigies
Sof strength with so much graceful-
ness and case as to astonish all
who saw them.
lHe was a member of a traveling
show company that visited Tunis,
-very much as menagerie and
circus troupes go about this country now from town
to town. His part of the business was, not simply
to do things that would display his great strength,
but also to represent scenes by pantomime so that
they would appear to the audience exactly as if the
real scenes were being performed before their very
eyes. In one of these scenes he showed the people
how he had encountered and killed a lion with a
wooden club in the country of Damascus. This is
the manner in which lie did it:
After a flourish of trumpets, the Sicilian came
upon the stage, which was arranged to represent a
circle, or arena, and had three palm-trees in the
middle. He was handsomely dressed in a costume
of black velvet, trimmed with silver braid, and, as
he looked around upon the audience with a grave
but gentle expression, and went through with the
Arabian salutation, which was to bear his right


hand to his heart, mouth and forehead successively,
there was perfect silence, so charmed were the
people with his beauty and dignity.
Then an interpreter cried :
The Christian will show you how, with his club,
he killed a lion in the country of Damascus !"
Immediately following this came another flourish
of trumpets and a striking of cymbals, as if to
announce the entrance of the lion. Quickly the
Sicilian sprang behind one of the three palms,
whence to watch his enemy. With an attentive
and resolute eye, leaning his body first to the right,
and then to the left, of the tree, he kept his gaze on
the terrible beast, following all its movements with
the graceful motions of his own body, so naturally
and suitably as to captivate the attention of the
spectators.
"The lion surely is there!" they whispered.
" We do not see him, but he sees him How he
watches his least motion How resolute .he is!
He will not allow himself to be surprised -- "
Suddenly the Sicilian leaps; with a bound he
has crossed from one palm-tree to another, and,
with a second spring, has climbed half-way up the
tree, still holding his massive club in one hand.
One understands by his movements that the lion
has followed him, and, crouched and angry, stops
at the foot of the tree. The Sicilian, leaning over,
notes the slightest change of posture ; then, like a
flash of light, he leaps to the ground behind the
trunk of the tree; the terrible club makes a whistling
sound as it swings through the air, and the lion falls
to the ground.
The scene was so well played that the wildest
applause came from all parts of the audience.
Then the interpreter came in, and, throwing
at the feet of the Hercules a magnificent lion's
skin, cried :
Behold the skin of the lion that the Christian
killed in the country of Damascus."
The fame of the Sicilian reached the ears of the
Bey of Tunis. But the royal dignity of the Bey,
the reigning prince of that country, would not
allow him to be present at exhibitions given to the
common people. Finally, however, having heard
so much about the handsome and strong Sicilian,
he became curious to see him, and said :
If this Christian has killed one lion with a club,
he can kill another. Tell him that if he will knock
down my grand lion with it, I will give him a thou-


[DECEMBER,


THE LION-KILLER.






THE LION-KILLER.


sand ducats "-quite a large sum in those days, a
ducat being about equal to the American dollar.
At this time the Bey had several young lions that
ran freely about in the court-yard or garden of his
palace, and in a great pit, entirely surrounded by
a high terrace, on a level with the ground-floor of
the palace, a superb Atlas lion was kept in royal
captivity. It was this lion that the Bey wished the
Sicilian to combat. The proposition was sent to
the Sicilian, who accepted it without hesitation, and
without boasting what he would do.
The combat was to take place a week from that
time, and the announcement that the handsome
Sicilian was to fight a duel with the grand lion was
spread far and wide, even to the borders of the
desert, producing a profound sensation. Every-
body, old and young, great and small, desired to
be present; moreover, the people would be freely
admitted to the garden of the Bey, where they
could witness the combat from the top of the ter-
race. The duel was to be early in the morning,
before the heat of the day.
During the week that intervened, the Sicilian
performed every day in the show, instead of two
days a week, as had been his custom. Never was
he more calm, graceful and fascinating in his per-
formances. The evening before the eventful day,
he repeated in pantomime his victory over the lion
near Damascus, with so much elegance, precision
and suppleness as to elicit round after round of
enthusiastic cheers. Of course everybody who had
seen him play killing a lion was wild with curiosity
to see him actually fight with a real lion.
So, on the following morning, in the early dawn,
the terrace around the lion's pit was crowded with
people. For three days the grand lion had been
deprived of food in order that he might be the more
ferocious and terrible. His eyes shone like two
balls of fire, and he incessantly lashed his flanks
with his tail. At one moment he would madly
roar, and, in the next, rub himself against the wall,
vainly trying to find a chink between the stones in
which to insert his claws.
Precisely at the appointed hour, the princely Bey
and his court took the places that had been reserved
for them on one side of the terrace. The Sicilian
came a few steps behind, dressed in his costume of
velvet and silver, and holding his club in his hand.
With his accustomed easy and regular step, and a
naturally elegant and dignified bearing, he ad-
vanced in front of the royal party and made a low
obeisance to the Bey. The prince made some
remark to him, to which he responded with a fresh
salute ; then he withdrew, and descended the steps
which led to the lion's pit.
The crowd was silent. At the end of some
seconds, the barred gate of the pit was opened,


and gave entrance, not to the brave and powerful
Hercules, but to a poor dog that was thrown toward
the ferocious beast with the intention of still more
exciting its ravenous appetite. This unexpected
act of cruelty drew hisses from the spectators, but
they were soon absorbed in watching the behavior
of the dog. When the lion saw the prey that had
been thrown to him, he stood motionless for a
moment, ceased to beat his flanks with his tail,
growled deeply, and crouched on the ground, with
his paws extended, his neck stretched out, and his
eyes fixed upon the victim.
The dog, on being thrown into the pit, ran at
once toward a corner of the wall, as far as possible
from the lion, and, trembling, yet not overcome
by fear, fixed his eyes on the huge beast, watching
anxiously, but intently, his every motion.
With apparent unconcern, the lion creepingly
advanced toward the dog, and then, with a sudden
movement, he was upon his feet, and in a second
launched himself into the air But the dog that
same instant bounded in an opposite direction, so
that the lion fell in the corner, while the dog
alighted where the lion had been.
For a moment the lion seemed very much sur-
prised at the loss of his prey ; with the dog, the
instinct of self-preservation developed a coolness
That even overcame his terror. The body of the
poor animal was all in a shiver, but his head was
firm, his eyes were watchful. Without losing sight
of his enemy, he slowly retreated into the corner
behind him.
Then the lion, scanning his victim from the cor-
ners of his eyes, walked sidewise a few steps, and,
turning suddenly, tried again to pounce with one
bound upon the dog; but the latter seemed to
anticipate this movement also, and, in the same
second, jumped in the opposite direction, as before,
crossing the lion in the air.
At this the lion became furious, and lost the
calmness that might have insured him victory,
while the courage of the unfortunate dog won for
him the sympathy of all the spectators.
As the lion, excited and terrible, was preparing
a new plan of attack, a rope ending in a loop
was lowered to the dog. The brave little animal,
whose imploring looks had been pitiful to look
upon, saw the help sent to him, and, fastening his
teeth 'and claws into the rope, was immediately
drawn up. The lion, perceiving this, made a pro-
digious leap, but the dog was happily beyond his
reach. The poor creature, drawn in safety to the
terrace, at once took flight, and was soon lost to
view.
At the moment when the lion threw himself on
the ground of the pit, roaring with rage at the
escape of his prey, the Sicilian entered, calm and






[DECEMBER,


THE LION-KILLER.


firm, superb in his brilliant costume, and with his
club in his hand.
At his appearance in the pit, a silence like death
came over the crowd of spectators. The Hercules
walked rapidly toward a corner, and, leaning upon
his club, awaited the onslaught of the lion, who,
blinded by fury, had not yet perceived his entrance.


inclined forward, marked every alteration of posi-
tion. Between the two adversaries, it was easy to
see that fear was on the side of the beast; but, in
comparing the feeble means of the man-a rude
club-with the powerful structure of the lion, whose
boundings made the very ground beneath him
tremble, it was hard for the spectators to believe


"J'THE BEAST GAVE A MIGHTY SPRING."

The waiting was of short duration, for the lion, in that courage, and not strength, would win the
turning, espied him, and the fire that flashed from victory.
the eyes of the terrible beast told of savage joy in The lion was too excited and famished to remain
finding another victim. long undecided. After more backward steps, which
Here, however, the animal showed for a moment he made as if gaining time for reflection, he sud-
a feeling of anxiety ; slowly, as if conscious that he denly advanced in a sidelong direction in order to
was in the presence of a powerful adversary, he charge upon his adversary.
retreated some steps, keeping his fiery eyes all the The Sicilian did not move, but followed with
time on the man. The Sicilian also kept his keen his fixed gaze the motions of the lion. Greatly
gaze on the lion, and, with his body slightly irritated, the beast gave a mighty spring, uttering






1877.] BRUNO'S REVENGE. 81


a terrible roar; the man, at the same moment,
leaped aside, and the lion had barely touched the
ground, when the club came down upon his head
with a dull, shocking thud. The king of the desert
rolled heavily under the stroke, and fell headlong,
stunned and senseless, but not dead.
The spectators, overcome with admiration, and
awed at the exhibition of so much calmness, address
and strength, were hushed into profound silence.
The next moment, the Bey arose, and, with a gest-
ure of his hand, asked mercy for his favorite lion.
A thousand ducats the more if you will not kill


him!" he cried to the Sicilian. "Agreed!" was
the instant reply.
The lion lay panting on the ground. The Her-
cules bowed at the word of the Bey, and slowly
withdrew, still keeping his eyes on the conquered
brute. The two thousand ducats were counted out
and paid. The lion shortly recovered.
With a universal gasp of relief, followed by deaf-
ening shouts and cheers, the spectators withdrew
from the terrace, having witnessed a scene they
could never forget, and which, as I said at the
beginning, is still talked of in Tunis.


BRUNO'S REVENGE.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "ALICE IN WONDERLAND."


IT was a very hot afternoon,-too hot to go for a
walk or do anything,-or else it would n't have
happened, I believe.
In the first place, I want to know why fairies
should always be teaching us to do our duty, and
lecturing ius when we go wrong, and we should
never teach /them anything? You can't mean to
say that fairies are never greedy, or selfish, or
cross, or deceitful, because that would be nonsense,
you know. Well, then, don't you agree with me
that they might be all the better for a little scolding
and punishing now and then ?
I really don't see why it should n't be tried, and
I 'm almost sure (only please don't repeat this loud
in the woods) that if you could only catch a fairy,
and put it in the corner, and give it nothing but
bread and water for a day or two, you'd find it
quite an improved character; it would take down
its conceit a little, at all events.
The next question is, what is the best time for
seeing fairies ? I believe I can tell you all about
that.
The first rule is, that it must be a very hot day-
that we may consider as settled; and you must be
just a little sleepy-but not too sleepy to keep your
eyes open, mind. Well, and you ought to feel a
little-what one may call '"fairyish "-the Scotch call
it "eerie," and perhaps that's a prettier word; if
you don't know what it means, I'm afraid I can
hardly explain it; you must wait till you meet a
fairy, and then you 'll know.
And the last rule is, that the crickets should n't
be chirping. I can 't stop to explain that rule just
now-you must take it on trust for the present.


So, if all these things happen together, you've
a good chance of seeing a fairy-or at least a much
better chance than if they did n't.
The one I 'm going to tell you about was a real,
naughty little fairy. Properly speaking, there were
two of them, and one was naughty and one was
good, but perhaps you would have found that out
for yourself.
Now we really are going to begin the story.
It was Tuesday afternoon, about half-past three,-
it's always best to be particular as to dates,-and I
had wandered down into the wood by the lake,
partly because I had nothing to do, and that
seemed to be a good place to do it in, and partly
(as I said at first) because it was too hot to be
comfortable anywi.ere, except under trees.
The first thing I noticed, as I went lazily along
through an open place in the wood, was a large
beetle lying struggling on its back, and I went
down directly on one knee to help the poor thing
on its feet again. In some things, you know, you
can't be quite sure what an insect would like ; for
instance, I never could quite settle, supposing I
were a moth, whether I would rather be kept out
of the candle, or be allowed to fly straight in and
get burnt; or, again, supposing I were a spider,
I 'm not sure if I should be quite pleased to have
my web torn down, and the fly let loose ; but I feel
quite certain that, if I were a beetle and had rolled
over on my back, I should always be glad to be
helped up again.
So, as I was saying, I had gone down on one
knee, and was just reaching out a little stick to
turn the beetle over, when I saw a sight that made








I3RUNO'S RLVENGE. [DECIc,,BER,


me draw back hastily and hold my breath, for fear
of making any noise and frightening the little
creature away.
Not that she looked as if she would be easily
frightened; she seemed so good and gentle that
I'm sure she would never expect that any one
could wish to hurt her. She was only a few inches
high, and was dressed in green, so that you really
would hardly have noticed her among the long
grass; and she was so delicate and graceful that
she quite seemed to belong to the place, almost as
if she were one of the flowers. I may tell you,
besides, that she had no wings (I don't believe in
fairies with wings), and that she had quantities of
long brown hair and large, earnest brown eyes, and
then I shall have done all I can to give you an idea
of what she was like.
Sylvie (I found out her name afterward) had
knelt down, just as I was doing, to help the beetle;
but it needed more than a little stick for /er to get
it on its legs again ; it was as much as she could
do, with both arms, to roll the heavy thing over ;
and all the while she was talking to it, half-scolding
and half-comforting, as a nurse might do with a
child that had fallen down.
There, there You need n't cry so much about
it; you're not killed yet-though if you were, you
could n't cry, you know, and so it's a general rule
against crying, my dear And how did you come
to tumble over ? But I can see well enough how it
was,-I need n't ask you that,-walking over sand-
pits with your chin in the air, as usual. Of course
if you go among sand-pits like that, you must expect
to tumble ; you should look."
The beetle murmured something that sounded
like I did look," and Sylvie went on again :
But I know you did n't You never do You
always walk with your chin up-you 're so dread-
fully conceited. Well, let's see how many legs are
broken this time. Why, none of them, I declare !
though that's certainly more than you deserve.
And what's the good of having six legs, my dear,
if you can only kick them all about in the air when
you tumble? Legs are meant to walk with, you
know. Now, don't be cross about it, and don't
begin putting out your wings yet; I've some more
to say. Go down to the fiog that lives behind that
buttercup-give him my compliments-Sylvic's
compliments-can you say 'compliments?'"
The beetle tried, and, I suppose, succeeded.
"Yes, that's right. And tell him he's to give
you some of that salve I left with him yesterday.
And you'd better get him to rub it in for you;
he 's got rather cold hands, but you must n't mind
that."
I think the beetle must have shuddered at this
idea, for Sylvie went on in a graver tone :


Now, you need n't pretend to be so particular
as all that, as if you were too grand to be rubbed
by a frog. The fact is, you ought to be very much
obliged to him. Suppose you could get nobody
but a toad to do it, how would you like that ?"
There was a little pause, and then Sylvie added:
Now you may go. Be a good beetle, and don't
keep your chin in the air."
And then began one of those performances of
humming, and whizzing, and restless banging
about, such as a beetle indulges in when it has
decided on flying, but has n't quite made up its
mind which way to go. At last, in one of its awk-
ward zigzags, it managed to fly right into my face,
and by the time I had recovered from the shock,
the little fairy was gone.
I looked about in all directions for the little
creature, but there was no trace of her-and my
" eerie feeling was quite gone off, and the crickets
were chirping again merrily, so I knew she was
really gone.
And now I 've got time to tell you the rule about
the crickets. They always leave off chirping when
a fairy goes by, because a fairy 's a kind of queen
over them, I suppose; at all events, it's a much
grander thing than a cricket; so whenever you 're
walking out, and the crickets suddenly leave off
chirping, you may be sure that either they see a
fairy, or else they're frightened at your coming so
near.
I walked on sadly enough, you may be sure.
However, I comforted myself with thinking, It 's
been a very wonderful afternoon, so far; I'll just go
quietly on and look about me, and I should n't
wonder if I come across another fairy somewhere."
Peering about in this way, I happened to notice
a plant with rounded leaves, and with queer little
holes cut out in the middle of several of them.
Ah the leaf-cutter bee," I carelessly remarked;
you know I am very learned in natural history (for
instance, I can always tell kittens from chickens at
one glance) ; and I was passing on, when a sudden
thought made me stoop down and examine the
leaves more carefully.
Then a little thrill of delight ran through me,
for I noticed that the holes were all arranged so as
to form letters; there were three leaves side by
side, with B," R" and U marked on them,
and after some search I found two more, which
contained an N and an O."
By this time the eeric" feeling had all come
back again, and I suddenly observed that no crick-
ets were chirping; so I felt quite sure that
Bruno was a fairy, and that he was somewhere
very near.
And so indeed he was-so near that I had very
nearly walked over him without seeing him; which


BRUNIO'S REVENGE.


[DECEMBER,






BRUNO'S REVENGE.


would have been dreadful, always supposing that
fairies can be walked over; my own belief is that
they are something of the nature of will-o'-the-wisps,
and there 's no walking over them.
Think of any pretty little boy you know, rather
fat, with rosy cheeks, large dark eyes, and tangled
brown hair, and then fancy him made small enough
to go comfortably into a coffee-cup, and you 'll
have a very fair idea of what the little creature was
like.
What's your name, little fellow ?" I began, in
as soft a voice as I could manage. And, by the
way, that's another of the curious things in life
that I never could quite understand-why we always
begin by asking little children their names; is it
because we fancy there is n't quite enough of them,
and a name will help to make them a little bigger?
You never thought of asking a real large man his
name, now, did you ? But, however that may be,
I felt it quite necessary to know his name; so, as
he did n't answer my question, I asked it again a
little louder. "What's your name, my little man?"
What's yours ?" he said, without looking up.
My name 's Lewis Carroll," I said, quite gently,
for he was much too small to be angry with for
answering so uncivilly.
Duke of Anything?" he asked, just looking at
me for a moment, and then going on with his
work.
Not Duke at all," I said, a little ashamed of
having to confess it.
"You're big enough to be two Dukes," said
the little creature. I suppose you're Sir Some-
thing, then ?"
No," I said, feeling more and more ashamed.
I have n't got any title."
The fairy seemed to think that in that case I
really was n't worth the trouble of talking to, for
he quietly went on digging, and tearing the flowers
to pieces as fast as he got them out of the ground.
After a few minutes I tried again :
"Please tell me what your name is."
B'uno," the little fellow answered, very readily.
"Why did n't you say please' before ?"
"That's something like what we used to be
taught in the nursery," I thought to myself, look-
ing back through the long years (about a hundred
and fifty of them) to the time when I used to be a
little child myself. And here an idea came into
my head, and I asked him, "Are n't you one of
the fairies that teach children to be good ?"
Well, we have to do that sometimes," said
Bruno, and a d'eadful bother it is."
As he said this, he savagely tore a heart's-ease in
two, and trampled on the pieces.
What are you doing there, Bruno ?" I said.
Spoiling Sylvie's garden," was all the answer


Bruno would give at first. But, as he went on
tearing up the flowers, he muttered to himself,
" The nasty c'oss thing-would n't let me go and
play this morning, though I wanted to ever so
much-said I must finish my lessons first-lessons,
indeed I'll vex her finely, though !"
Oh, Bruno, you should n't do that!" I cried.
"Don't you know that's revenge? And revenge
is a wicked, cruel, dangerous thing!"
"River-edge?" said Bruno. "What a funny
word I suppose you call it cooel and dangerous
because, if you went too far and tumbled in, you'd
get d'owned."
"No, not river-edge," I explained; "rev-enge"
(saying the word very slowly and distinctly). But
I could n't help thinking that Bruno's explanation
did very well for either word.
Oh !" said Bruno, opening his eyes very wide,
but without attempting to repeat the word.
"Come try and pronounce it, Bruno !" I said,
cheerfully. "Rev-enge, rev-enge."
But Bruno only tossed his little head, and said
he could n't; that his mouth was n't the right shape
for words of that kind. And the more I laughed,
the more sulky the little fellow got about it.
"Well, never mind, little man !" I said. Shall
I help you with the job you 've got there?"
"Yes, please," Bruno said, quite pacified. "Only
I wish I could think of something to vex her more
than this. You don't know how hard it is to make
her ang'y !"
"Now listen to me, Bruno, and I'll teach you
quite a splendid kind of revenge !"
"Something that'11 vex her finely ?" Bruno asked
with gleaming eyes.
Something that '11 vex her finely. First, we'll
get up all the weeds in her garden. See, there are
a good many at this end-quite hiding the flowers."
"But that wont vex her," said Bruno, looking
rather puzzled.
"'After that," I said, without noticing the remark,
"we'll water the highest bed-up here. You see
it's getting quite dry and dusty."
Bruno looked at me inquisitively, but he said
nothing this time.
Then, after that," I went on, the walks want
sweeping a bit; and I think you might cut down
that tall nettle ; it's so close to the garden that it's
quite in the way "
"What are you talking about?" Bruno impa-
tiently interrupted me. "All that wont vex her a
bit !"
"Wont it?" I said, innocently. Then, after
that, suppose we put in some of these colored
pebbles-just to mark the divisions between the
different kinds of flowers, you know. That '11 have
a very pretty effect."


.877.]








BRUNO'S REVENGE. [DECEMBER,


Bruno turned round and had another good stare
at me. At last there came an odd little twinkle
in his eye, and he said, with quite a new meaning
in his voice:
"V'y well-let's put 'em in rows-all the 'ed
together, and all the blue together."
That '11 do capitally," I said; "and then-
what kind of flowers does Sylvie like best in her
garden?"
Bruno had to put his thumb in his mouth and
consider a little before he could answer. Violets,"
he said, at last.
There 's a beautiful bed of violets down by the
lake--"
"Oh, let's fetch 'em !" cried Bruno, giving a
little skip into the air. Here Catch hold of
my hand, and I '11 help you along. The g'ass is
rather thick down that way."
I could n't help laughing at his having so en-
tirely forgotten what a big creature he was talk-
ing to.
No, not yet, Bruno," I said; "we must con-
sider what's the right thing to do first. You see
we 've got quite a business before us."
Yes, let's consider," said Bruno, putting his
thumb into his mouth again, and sitting down
upon a stuffed mouse.
"What do you keep that mouse for?" I said.
You should bury it, or throw it into the lake."
Why, it 's to measure with cried Bruno.
How ever would you do a garden without one ?
We make each bed th'ee mouses and a half long,
and two mouses wide."
I stopped him, as he was dragging it off by the
tail to show me how it was used, for I was half
afraid the eerie" feeling might go off before we
had finished the garden, and in that case I should
see no more of him or Sylvie.
I think the best way will be for you to weed
the beds, while I sort out these pebbles, ready to
mark the walks with."
That's it cried Bruno. And I 'll tell you
about the caterpillars while we work."
'" Ah, let's hear about the caterpillars," I said,
as I drew the pebbles together into a heap, and
began dividing them into colors.
And Bruno went on in a low, rapid tone, more
as if he were talking to himself. Yesterday I
saw two little caterpillars, when I was sitting by
the brook, just where you go into the wood. They
were quite g'een, and they had yellow eyes, and
they did n't see me. And one of them had got a
moth's wing to carry-a g'cat b'own moth's wing,
you know, all d'y, with feathers. So he could n't
want it to cat, I should think--perhaps he meant
to make a cloak for the winter ?"
Perhaps," I said, for Bruno had twisted up the


last word into a sort of question, and was looking
at me for an answer.
One word was quite enough for the little fellow,
and he went on, merrily:
Well, and so he did n't want the other cater-
pillar to see the moth's wing, you know; so what
must he do but t'y to carry it with all his left legs,
and he t'ied to walk on the other set. Of course,
he toppled over after that."
After what ? I said, catching at the last word,
for, to tell the truth, I had n't been attending
much.
He toppled over," Bruno repeated, very
gravely, and if you ever saw a caterpillar topple
over, you'd know it's a serious thing, and not
sit g'inning like that-and I shan't tell you any
more."
Indeed and indeed, Bruno, I did n't mean to
grin. See, I 'm quite grave again now."
But Bruno only folded his arms and said, "Don't
tell me. I see a little twinkle in one of your eyes
-just like the moon."
Am I like the moon, Bruno ? I asked.
Your face is large and round like the moon,"
Bruno answered, looking at me thoughtfully. It
does n't shine quite so bright-but it's cleaner."
I could n't help smiling at this. You know
I wash my face, Bruno. The moon never does
that."
Oh, does n't she though !" cried Bruno; and
he leaned forward and added in a solemn whisper,
"The moon's face gets dirtier and dirtier every
night, till it's black all ac'oss. And then, when
it's dirty all over-so-" (he passed his hand
across his own rosy cheeks as he spoke) "then
she washes it."
And then it's all clean again, is n't it? "
Not all in a moment," said Bruno. What a
deal of teaching you want! She washes it little by
little-only she begins at the other edge."
By this time he was sitting quietly on the mouse,
with his arms folded, and the weeding was n't
getting on a bit. So I was obliged to say :
"Work first and pleasure afterward; no more
talking till that bed's finished."
After that we had a few minutes of silence, while
I sorted out the pebbles, and amused myself with
watching Bruno's plan of gardening. It was quite
a new plan to me: he always measured each bed
before he weeded it, as if he was afraid the weeding
would make it shrink; and once, when it came out
longer than he wished, he set to work to thump the
mouse with his tiny fist, crying out, There now!
It's all 'ong again Why don't you keep your tail
straight when I tell you! "
I'll tell you what I'11 do," Bruno said in a half-
whisper, as we worked: I '11 get you an invitation


BRUNO'S REVENGE.


[DECEMBER,






1877.] BRUNO'S REVENGE. 85


to the king's dinner-party. I know one of the head-
waiters. "
I couldn't help laughing at this idea. Do the
waiters invite the guests ? I asked.
Oh, not to sit down / Bruno hastily replied.
"But to help, you know. You'd like that,
would n't you? To hand about plates, and so on."
Well, but that's not so nice as sitting at the
table, is it ? "
Of course it is n't," Bruno said, in a tone as if
he rather pitied my ignorance; but if you 're not
even Sir Anything, you can't expect to be allowed
to sit at the table, you know."
I said, as meekly as I could, that I did n't expect
it, but it was the only way of going to a dinner-
party that I really enjoyed. And Bruno tossed his
head, and said, in a rather offended tone, that I
might do as I pleased-there were many he knew
that would give their ears to go.
Have you ever been yourself, Bruno ?"
They invited me once last year," Bruno said,
very gravely. It was to wash up the soup-plates
-no, the cheese-plates I mean-that was g'and
enough. But the g'andest thing of all was, I
fetched the Duke of Dandelion a glass of cider! "
That was grand!" I said, biting my lip to
keep myself from laughing.
Was n't it said Bruno, very earnestly.
"You know it is n't every one that's had such an
honor as that "
This set me thinking of the various queer things
we call an honor" in this world, which, after all,
have n't a bit more honor in them than what the
dear little Bruno enjoyed (by the way, I hope
you're beginning to like him a little, naughty as
he was?) when he took the Duke of Dandelion a
glass of cider.
I don't know how long I might have dreamed on
in this way if Bruno had n't suddenly roused me.
Oh, come here quick !" he cried, in a state
of the wildest excitement. Catch hold of his
other horn I can't hold him more than a
minute! "
He was struggling desperately with a great snail,
clinging to one of its horns, and nearly breaking
his poor little back in his efforts to drag it over a
blade of grass.
I saw we should have no more gardening if I let
this sort of thing go on, so I quietly took the snail
away, and put it on a bank where he could n't
reach it. "We'll hunt it afterward, Bruno," I
said, if you really want to catch it. But what's
the use of it when you 've got it ?"
What's the use of a fox when you 've got it ?"
said Bruno. I know you big things hunt foxes."
I tried to think of some good reason why "big
things" should hunt foxes, and he should n't hunt


snails, but none came into my head: so I said at
last, "Well, I suppose one's as good as the other.
I'll go snail-hunting myself, some day."
I should think you would n't be so silly," said
Bruno, "as to go snail-hunting all by yourself.
Why, you'd never get the snail along, if you
had n't somebody to hold on to his other horn "
Of course I sha' n't go alone," I said, quite
gravely. By the way, is that the best kind to
hunt, or do you recommend the ones without
shells ? "
"Oh no! We never hunt the ones without
shells," Bruno said, with a little shudder at the
thought of it. "They're always so c'oss about
it; and then, if you tumble over them, they 're
ever so sticky !"
By this time we had nearly finished the garden.
I had fetched some violets, and Bruno was just
helping me to put in the last, when he suddenly
stopped and said, I'm tired."
"Rest, then," I said; "I can go on without
you."
Bruno needed no second invitation: he at once
began arranging the mouse as a kind of sofa.
" And I '1 sing you a little song," he said as he
rolled it about.
"Do," said I: there's nothing I should like
better."
Which song will you choose ?" Bruno said, as
he dragged the mouse into a place where he could
get a good view of me. 'Ting, ting, ting,' is
the nicest."
There was no resisting such a strong hint as this:
however, I pretended to think about it for a mo-
ment, and then said, "Well, I like 'Ting, ting,
ting,' best of all."
"That shows you're a good judge of music,"
Bruno said, with a pleased look. "How many
bluebells would you like ? And he put his thumb
into his mouth to help me to consider.
As there was. only one bluebell within easy
reach, I said very gravely that I thought one would
do this time, and I picked it and gave it to him.
Bruno ran his hand once or twice up and down the
flowers,-like a musician trying an-instrument,-
producing a most delicious delicate tinkling as he
did so. I had never heard flower-music before,-
I don't think one can unless one's in the eerie "
state,-and I don't know quite how to give you
an idea of what it was like, except by saying
that it sounded like a peal of bells a thousand
miles off.
When he had satisfied himself that the flowers
were in tune, he seated himself on the mouse (he
never seemed really comfortable anywhere else),
and, looking up at me with a merry twinkle in his
eyes, he began. By the way, the tune was rather







BRUNO'S REVENGE.


a curious one, and you might like to try it for your-
self, so here are the notes








-e-
-Iy _- --_


S- LL- ----


-IF
Rise, oh, lise! The daylight dies:
The owls are hooting, ting, ting, ting!
Wake, oh, wake Beside the lake
The elves are fluting, ting, ting, ting!
Welcoming our fairy king
We sing, sing, sing."
He sang the first four lines briskly and merrily,
making the bluebells chime in lime with the music;
but the last two he sang quite slowly and gently,
and merely waved the flowers backward and forward
above his head. And when he had finished the
first verse, he left off to explain.
The name of our fairy king is Obberwon" (he
meant Oberon, I believe), "and he lives over the
lake-l/zere- and now and then he comes in a little
boat-and then we go and meet him-and then
we sing this song, you know."
"And then you go and dine with him ?" I said,
mischievously.
You should n't talk," Bruno hastily said; it
interrupts the song so."
I said I would n't do it again.
I never talk myself when I 'm singing," he went
on, very gravely ; "so you should n't either."
Then he tuned the bluebells once more, and sung:

Hear, oli, hear! From far and near
A music stealing, ting, ting, ting!
Fairy bells down the dells
Are merrily pealing, tiug, ting, ting!
Welcoming our fairy king
We ring, ring, ring.
See, h, see! On every tree
What Iamps are shining, ting, ting, ting,
They are eyes of fiery flies
T;o ih ht our dining, ting, ting, ting!
Welcoming our fairy king
They swing, swing, s iing.
late, oh, liaste! to take and taste
'I lie daintics waiting, ling, ting, ting!
IHoney-dew is stored "

Hush, iBruno!" I interrupted, in a warning
whisper. She 's coming !"
Bruno checked his song only just in time for
Sylvic not to hear him; and then, catching sight
of her as she slowly made her way through the long


grass, he suddenly rushed out headlong at her like
a little bull, shouting, Look the other way Look
the other way !"
Which way ?" Sylvie asked, in rather a fright-
ened tone, as she looked round in all directions to
see where the danger could be.
That way !" said Bruno, carefully turning her
round with her face to the wood. Now, walk
backward-walk gently-don't be frightened; you
sha' n't t'ip !
But Sylvie did t'ip," notwithstanding; in fact
he led her, in his hurry, across so many little sticks
and stones, that it was really a wonder the poor
child could keep on her feet at all. But he was far
too much excited to think of what he was doing.
I silently pointed out to Bruno the best place to
lead her to, so as to get a view of the whole garden
at once; it was a little rising ground, about the
height of a potato ; and, when they had mounted
it, I drew back into the shade that Sylvie might n't
see me.
I heard Bruno cry out triumphantly, "NyVow you
may look and then followed a great clapping of
hands, but it was all done by Bruno himself. Syl-
vie was quite silent; she only stood and gazed with
her hands clasped tightly together, and I was half
afraid she did n't like it after all.
Bruno, too, was watching her anxiously, and
when she jumped down from the mound, and began
wandering up and down the little walks, he cau-
tiously followed her about, evidently anxious that
she should form her own opinion of it all, without
any hint from him. And when at last she drew a
long breath, and gave her verdict,-in a hurried
whisper, and without the slightest regard to gram-
mar,-" It 's the loveliest thing as I never saw in
all my life before !" the little fellow looked as well
pleased as if it had been given by all the judges and
juries in England put together.
"And did you really do it all by yourself, Bruno? "
said Sylvie. And all for me ?"
I was helped a bit," Bruno began, with a merry
little laugh at her surprise. We 've been at it all
the afternoon; I thought you'd like-- and
here the poor little fellow's lip began to quiver, and
all in a moment he burst out crying, and, running
up to Sylvie, he flung his arms passionately round
her neck, and hid his face on her shoulder.
There was a little quiver in Sylvie's voice too, as
she whispered, Why, what's the matter, darling?"
and tried to lift up his head and kiss him.
But, Bruno only clung to her, sobbing, and
would n't be comforted till he had confessed all.
I tried-to spoil your garden-first-but-I '11
never-never-- and then came another burst
of tears which drowned the rest of the sentence.
At last he got out the words, I liked-putting in


[DECEMBER,






1877.] BRUNO'S REVENGE. 87


the flowers-for you, Sylvie-and I never was so
happy before," and the rosy little face came up at
last to be kissed, all wet with tears as it was.
Sylvie was crying too by this time, and she said
nothing but Bruno dear !" and "I never was so
happy before; though why two children who
had never been so happy before should both be
crying was a great mystery to me.


again, flower by flower, as if it were a long sentence
they were spelling out, with kisses for commas,
and a great hug by way of a full-stop when they
got to the end.
Do you know, that was my river-edge, Sylvie?"
Bruno began, looking solemnly at her.
Sylvie laughed merrily.
What do you mean ?" she said, and she pushed


"IT S THE LOVELIEST THING AS I NEVER SAW IN ALL MY LIFE BEFORE!"
I, too, felt very happy, but of course I did n't cry; back her heavy brown hair with both hands, and
"big things never do, you know-we leave all looked at him with dancing eyes in which the big
that to the fairies. Only I think it must have been tear-drops were still glittering.
raining a little just then, for I found a drop or two Bruno drew in a long breath, and made up his
on my cheeks, mouth for a great effort.
After that they went through the whole garden "I mean rev-enge," he said; now you under-






THE MOCKING-BIRD AND THE DONKEY.


'tand." And he looked so happy and proud at
having said the word right at last that I quite
envied him. I rather think Sylvie did n't under-
'tand" at all; but she gave him a little kiss on
each cheek, which seemed to do just as well.
So they wandered off lovingly together, in among
the buttercups, each with an arm twined round the
other, whispering and laughing as they went, and
never so much as once looked back at poor me.
Yes, once, just before I quite lost sight of them,
Bruno half turned his head, and nodded me a saucy


little good-bye over one shoulder. And that was
all the thanks I got for my trouble.
I know you 're sorry the story 's come to an
end-are n't you ?-so I'11 just tell you one thing
more. The very last thing I saw of them was
this: Sylvie was stooping down with her arms
round Bruno's neck, and saying coaxingly in his
ear, "Do you know, Bruno, I've quite forgotten
that hard word; do say it once more. Come!
Only this once, dear "
But Bruno would n't try it again.


THE MOCKING-BIRD AND THE DONKEY.
(From the Spanish of the Mexican poet Josd Rosas.)

BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.


A MOCK-BIRD in a village
Had somehow gained the skill
To imitate the voices
Of animals at will.

And singing in his prison,
Once, at the close of day,
He gave, with great precision,
The donkey's heavy bray.

Well pleased, the mock-bird's master
Sent to the neighbors 'round,
And bade them come together
To hear that curious sound.

They came, and all were 1 1..'
In praise of what they heard,
And one delighted lady
Would fain have bought the bird.

A donkey listened sadly,
And said: "Confess I must
That these are shallow people,
And terribly unjust.

I'm bigger than the mock-bird,
And better bray than he,
Yet not a soul has uttered
A word in praise of me."


[DECEMBER,






1877.1 THE FAMOUS HORSES OF VENICE., 89


THE FAMOUS HORSES OF VENICE.

BY MARY LLOYD.


No doubt you all know something of Venice,
that wonderful and fairy-like city which seems to
rise up out of the sea; with its bridges and gon-
dolas; its marble palaces coming down to the water's
edge; its gay ladies and stately doges. What a
magnificent pageant was that which took place
every Ascension Day, when the doge and all his
court sailed grandly out in the "Bucentaur," or
state galley, with gay colors flying, to the tune of
lively music, and went through the oft-repeated
ceremony of dropping a ring into the Adriatic, in


charming it must be, you think, when you want to
visit a friend, to run down the marble steps of some
old palace, step into a gondola, and glide swiftly
and noiselessly away, instead of jolting and rum-
bling along over the cobble-stones And then to
come back by moonlight, and hear the low plash
of the oar in the water, and the distant voices of
the boatmen singing some love-sick song,-oh, it's
as good as a play !
Of course there are no carts in Venice; and the
fish-man, the vegetable-man, the butcher, the


THE HORSES OF ST. MARK'S.


token of marriage between the sea and Venice !
This was a custom instituted as far back as 1177.
The Venetians having espoused the cause of the
pope, Alexander III., against the emperor, Fred-
eric Barbarossa, gained a great victory over the
imperial fleet, and the pope, in grateful remem-
brance of the event, presented the doge with the
ring symbolizing the subjection of the Adriatic to
Venice.
But one of the most wonderful things about
Venice is that, with the exception of those I intend
to tell you about, there are no horses there. How
VOL. V.-7.


baker, and the candlestick maker, all glide softly
up in their boats to the kitchen door with their
vendibles, and chaffer and haggle with the cook for
half an hour, after the manner of market-men the
world over.
So you see the little black-eyed Venetian boys
and girls gaze on the brazen horses in St. Mark's
Square with as much wonder and curiosity as ours
when we look upon a griffin or a unicorn.
These horses-there are four of them-have
quite a history of their own. They once formed
part of a group made by a celebrated sculptor of







THE FAMOUS HORSES OF VENICE.


antiquity, named Lysippus. He was of such ac-
knowledged merit that he was one of the three
included in the famous edict of Alexander, which
gave to Apelles the sole right of painting his por-
trait, to Lysippus that of sculpturing his form in
any style, and to Pyrgoteles that of engraving it
upon precious stones.
Lysippus executed a group of twenty-five eques-
trian statues of the Macedonian horses that fell at
the passage of the Granicus, and of this group the
horses now at Venice formed a part. They were
carried from Alexandria to Rome by Augustus, who
placed them on his triumphal arch. Afterward
Nero, Domitian and Trajan, successfully trans-
ferred them to arches of their own.
When Constantine removed the capital of the
Roman empire to the ancient Byzantium, he sought
to beautify it by all means in his power, and for
this purpose he removed a great number of works
of art from Rome to Constantinople, and among
them these bronze horses of Lysippus.
In the early part of the thirteenth century the
nobles of France and Germany, who were going
on the fourth crusade, arrived at Venice and stipu-
lated with the Venetians for means of transport to
the Holy Land. But instead of proceeding to
Jerusalem they were diverted from their original
intention, and, under the leadership of the blind
old doge, Dandolo, they captured the city of Con-
stantinople. The fall of the city was followed by
an almost total destruction of the works of art by
which it had been adorned; for the Latins dis-
graced themselves by a more ruthless vandalism
than that of the Vandals themselves.
But out of the wreck the four bronze horses were
saved and carried in triumph to Venice, where
they were placed over the central porch of St.
Mark's Cathedral. There they stood until Napo-
leon Bonaparte in 1797 removed them with other
trophies to Paris ; but after his downfall they were
restored, and, as Byron says in "Childe Harold":
Before St. Mark still glow his steeds of brass,
Their gilded collars glittering in the sun;
But is not Doria's menace come to pass?
Are they not bridled ? "-
Apropos of the last two lines I have quoted, I must
tell you an incident of history.
During the middle ages, when so many of the
Italian cities existed as independent republics,


there was a great deal of rivalry between Genoa
and Venice, the most important of them. Both
were wealthy commercial cities ; both strove for the
supremacy of the sea, upon which much of their
prosperity depended, and each strove to gain the
advantage over the other. This led to many wars
between them, when sometimes one would gain
the upper hand, and sometimes the other. At
length, in the year 1379, the Genoese defeated the
Venetians in the battle of Pola, and then took
Chiozza, which commanded, as one might say, the
entrance to Venice. The Venetians, alarmed
beyond measure, sent an embassy to the Genoese
commander, Pietro Doria, agreeing to any terms
whatever, imploring only that he would spare the
city. They also sent the chief of the prisoners they
had taken in the war in order to appease the fierce
anger of the general. Take back your captives,
ye gentlemen of Venice," was the too confident
reply of the haughty Doria; we will release them
and their companions. On God's faith, ye shall
have no peace till we put a curlb into the mouths
of those wild horses of St. Mark's. Place but the
reins once in our hands, and we shall know how to
bridle them for the future."
Armed with the courage and energy which
despair alone can give, the Venetians rallied for the
defence of their city. Women and children joined
in the preparations. All private feuds, jealousies
and animosities were forgotten in the common
danger. All were animated by the one feeling of
implacable hatred of the Genoese. Pisani, an old
commander, who had been unjustly imprisoned
through the envy of his fellow-citizens, was released
and put in command of the fleet. On coming out
of his cell, he was surrounded by those who had
injured him, who implored him to forget the
injustice with which he had been treated. He
partook of the sacrament with them in token of
complete forgetfulness and forgiveness, and then
proceeded against the enemy. The confidence of
the republic had not been misplaced. His bravery,
skill and foresight, together with the aid of another
brave captain, Carl Zeno, saved the city, retook
Chiozza, and completely humiliated the Genoese,
who were now willing to sue for peace. So that,
after all, Doria's angry menace was the means of
saving the independence of the city, and the proud
possession of the bronze horses of St. Mark's.


[DECEMBER,






877n] THE PETERKINS' CHARADES. 91


CHRISTMAS CARD.
(SEE LETTER-BOX.")


THE PETERKINS' CHARADES.

BY LUCRETIA P. HALE.


EVER since they had come home from the great
Centennial at Philadelphia, the Peterkins had felt
anxious to have "something." The little boys
wanted to get up a great Exposition," to show
to the people of the place who had not been able to
go to Philadelphia. But Mr. Peterkin thought it
too great an effort, and it was given up.
There was, however, a new water-trough needed


on the town-common, and the ladies of the place
thought it ought to be something handsome,-
something more than a common trough,-and they
ought to work for it.
Elizabeth Eliza had heard at Philadelphia how
much women had done, and she felt they ought to
contribute to such a cause. She had an idea, but
she would not speak of it at first, not until after she






[DECEMBER,


THE PETERKINS' CHARADES.


had written to the lady from Philadelphia. She
had often thought, in many cases, if they had asked
her advice first, they might have saved trouble.
Still, how could they ask advice before they them-
selves knew what they wanted ? It was very easy
to ask advice, but you must first know what to ask
about. And again: Elizabeth Eliza felt you might
have ideas, but you could not always put them to-
gether. There was this idea of the water-trough,
and then this idea of getting some money for it.
So she began with writing to the lady from Phila-
delphia. The little boys believed she spent enough
for it in postage-stamps before it all came out.
But it did come out at last that the Peterkins
were to have some charades at their own house for
the benefit of the needed water-trough,-tickets
sold only to especial friends. Ann Maria Bromwich
was to help act, because she could bring some old
bonnets and gowns that had been worn by an aged
aunt years ago, and which they had always kept.
Elizabeth Eliza said that Solomon John would have
to be a Turk, and they must borrow all the red
things and Cashmere scarfs in the place. She knew
people would be willing to lend things.
Agamemnon thought you ought to get in some-
thing about the Hindoos, they were such an odd
people. Elizabeth Eliza said you must not have it
too odd, or people would not understand it, and
she did not want anything to frighten her mother.
She had one word suggested by the lady from
Philadelphia in her letters,-the one that had
Turk" in it,-but they ought to have two words.
Oh yes," Ann Maria said, "you must have
two words; if the people paid for their tickets, they
would want to get their money's worth."
Solomon John thought you might have Hin-
doos" ; the little boys could color their faces brown
to look like Hindoos. You could have the first
scene an Irishman catching a hen, and then pay-
ing the water-taxes for dues," and then have the
little boys for Hindoos.
A great many other words were talked of, but
nothing seemed to suit. There was a curtain, too,
to be thought of, because the folding doors stuck
when you tried to open and shut them. Agamem-
non said the Pan-Elocutionists had a curtain they
would probably lend John Osborne, and so it was
decided to ask John Osborne to help.
If they had a curtain they ought to have a stage.
Solomon John said he was sure he had boards and
nails enough, and it would be easy to make a stage
if John Osborne would help put it up.
All this talk was the day before the charades. In
the midst of it Ann Maria went over for her old
bonnets and dresses and umbrellas, and they spent
the evening in trying on the various things,-such
odd caps and remarkable bonnets Solomon John


said they ought to have plenty of bandboxes; if
you only had bandboxes enough, a charade was
sure to go off well; he had seen charades in Boston.
Mrs. Peterkin said there were plenty in their attic,
and the little boys brought down piles of them,
and the back parlor was filled with costumes.
Ann Maria said she could bring over more
things if she only knew what they were going to
act. Elizabeth Eliza told her to bring anything
she had,-it would all come of use.
The morning came, and the boards were collected
for the stage. Agamemnon and Solomon John
gave themselves to the work, and John Osborne
helped zealously. He said the Pan-Elocutionists
would lend a scene also. There was a great clatter
of bandboxes, and piles of shawls in corners, and
such a piece of work in getting up the curtain!
In the midst of it, came in the little boys, shout-
ing, All the tickets are sold at ten cents each "
Seventy tickets sold !" exclaimed Agamemnon.
Seven dollars for the water-trough !" said
Elizabeth Eliza.
And we do not know yet what we are going to
act exclaimed Ann Maria.
But everybody's attention had to be given to the
scene that was going up in the background, bor-
rowed from the Pan-Elocutionists. It was magnifi-
cent, and represented a forest.
Where are we going to put seventy people? "
exclaimed Mrs. Peterkin, venturing, dismayed, into
the heaps of shavings and boards and litter.
The little boys exclaimed that a large part of the
audience consisted of boys, who would not take up
much room. But how much clearing and sweep-
ing and moving of chairs was necessary before all
could be made ready It was late, and some of
the people had already come to secure good seats
even before the actors had assembled.
What are we going to act ?" asked Ann Maria.
I have been so torn with one thing and another,"
said Elizabeth Eliza, "I have n't had time to think! "
Have n't you the word yet?" asked John Os-
borne, for the audience was flocking in, and the
seats were filling up rapidly.
I have got one word in my pocket," said Eliza-
beth Eliza, in the letter from the lady from Phila-
delphia. She sent me the parts of the word.
Solomon John is to be a Turk, but I don't yet
understand the whole of the word."
You don't know the word and the people are
all here !" said John Osborne, impatiently.
"Elizabeth Eliza !" exclaimed Ann Maria, Solo-
mon John says I 'm to be a Turkish slave, and I'11
have to wear a veil. Do you know where the veils
are ? You know I brought them over last night."
Elizabeth Eliza Solomon John wants you to
send him the large cashmere scarf," exclaimed one






1877.] THE PETERKINS' CHARADES. 93


of the little boys, coming in. "Elizabeth Eliza !
you must tell us what kind of faces to make up !"
cried another of the boys.
And the audience were heard meanwhile taking
their seats on the other side of the thin curtain.
You sit in front, Mrs. Bromwich, you are little
hard of hearing; sit where you can hear."
"And let Julia Fitch come where she can see,"
said another voice.
And we have not any words for them to hear or
see !" exclaimed John Osborne behind the curtain.
"Oh, I wish we'd never determined to have
charades exclaimed Elizabeth Eliza. "Can't we
return the money "
"They are all here; we must give them some-
thing !" said John Osborne, heroically.
And Solomon John is almost dressed," reported
Ann Maria, winding a veil around her head.
"Why don't we take Solomon John's word
'Hindoos' for the first?" said Agamemnon.
John Osborne agreed to go in the first, hunting
the "hin," or anything, and one of the little boys
took the part of the hen, with the help of a feather
duster. The bell rang, and the first scene began.
It was a great success. John Osborne's Irish was
perfect. Nobody guessed it, for the hen crowed
by mistake; but it received great applause.
Mr. Peterkin came on in the second scene to'
receive the water-rates, and made a long speech on
taxation. He was interrupted by Ann Maria as an
old woman in a huge bonnet. She persisted in
turning her back to the audience, and speaking so
low nobody heard her; and Elizabeth Eliza, who
appeared in a more remarkable bonnet, was so
alarmed, she went directly back, saying she had
forgotten something. But this was supposed to be
the effect intended, and it was loudly cheered..
Then came a long delay, for the little boys
brought out a number of their friends to be browned
for Hindoos. Ann Maria played on the piano till
the scene was ready. The curtain rose upon five
brown boys done up in blankets and turbans.
"I am thankful that is over," said Elizabeth
Eliza, for now we can act my word. Only I don't
myself know the whole."
Never mind, let us act it," said John Osborne,
" and the audience can guess the whole."
The first syllable must be the letter P," said
Elizabeth Eliza, and we must have a school."
Agamemnon was master, and the little boys and
their friends went on as scholars. All the boys
talked and shouted at once, acting their idea of a
school by flinging peanuts about, and scoffing at
the master.
"They '11 guess that to be 'row,'" said John
Osborne in despair; they 'll never guess P' "
The next scene was gorgeous. Solomon John,


as a Turk, reclined on John Osborne's army-
blanket. He had on a turban, and a long beard,
and all the family shawls. Ann Maria and Eliza-
beth Eliza were brought in to him, veiled, by the
little boys in their Hindoo costumes.
This was considered the great scene of the even-
ing, though Elizabeth Eliza was sure she did not
know what to do,-whether to kneel or sit down;
she did not know whether Turkish women did sit
down, and she could not help laughing whenever
she looked at Solomon John. He, however, kept
his solemnity. I suppose I need not say much," he
had said, "for I shall be the 'Turk who was dream-
ing of the hour."' But he did order the little boys
to bring sherbet, and when they brought it without
ice, insisted they must have their heads cut off, and
Ann Maria fainted, and the scene closed.
What are we to do now?" asked John Osborne,
warming up to the occasion.
We must have an 'inn' scene," said Elizabeth
Eliza, consulting her letter; "two inns if we can."
We will have some travelers disgusted with one
inn, and going to another," said John Osborne.
Now is the time for the bandboxes," said Solo-
mon John, who, since his Turk scene was over,
could give his attention to the rest of the charade.
Elizabeth Eliza and Ann Maria went on as rival
hostesses, trying to draw Solomon John, Agamem-
non and John Osborne into their several inns. The
little boys carried valises, hand-bags, umbrellas and
bandboxes. Bandbox after bandbox appeared, and
when Agamemnon sat down upon his, the applause
was immense. At last the curtain fell.
Now for the whole," said John Osborne, as he
made his way off the stage over a heap of umbrellas.
I can't think why the lady from Philadelphia
did not send me the whole," said Elizabeth Eliza,
musing over the letter.
Listen, they are guessing," said John Osborne.
" 'D-ice-box.' I don't wonder they get it wrong."
"But we know it can't be that!" exclaimed
Elizabeth Eliza, in agony. How can we act the
whole if we don't know it ourselves "
"Oh, I see it!" said Ann Maria, clapping. "Get
your whole family in for the last scene."
Mr. and Mrs. Peterkin were summoned to the
stage, and formed the background, standing on
stools; in front were Agame mnon and Solomon
John, leaving room for Elizabeth Eliza between; a
little in advance, and in front of all, half kneeling,
were the little boys in their India rubber boots.
The audience rose to an exclamation of delight,
" the Peterkins !"
It was not until this moment that Elizabeth Eliza
guessed the whole.
What a tableau !" exclaimed Mr. Bromwich;
" the Peterkin family guessing their own charade."






UNDER THE LILACS.


A DOUBLE RIDDLE.*

BY J. G. H.

THERE is a word of music's own
That lifts the soul to see and do,-
A happy word, that leaps alone
From lips by pleasure touched anew,

Which, if it join thy parted name,
O Blessed Virgin bears a curse,
Than which the fatal midnight flame,
Or fateful war, holds nothing worse!

What is this word, with baleful charm,
To change the sweetest name we know
To one surcharged with subtile harm ?-
And what the strange, new name of woe?

And if you guess this riddle well,
And speak this word in answer true,
How may it lift-I pray you tell-
The tuneful soul to see and do?







UNDER THE LILACS.

BY LOUISA M. ALCOTT.


CHAPTER I.
A MYSTERIOUS DOG.
THE elm-tree avenue was all overgrown, the
great gate was never unlocked, and the old house
had been shut up for several years. Yet voices
were heard about the place, the lilacs nodded over
the high wall as if they said, We could tell fine
secrets if we chose," and the mullein outside the
gate made haste to reach the keyhole that it might
peep in and see what was going on.
If it had suddenly grown up like a magic bean-
stalk, and looked in on a certain June day, it
would have seen a droll but pleasant sight, for
somebody evidently was going to have a party.
From the gate to the porch went a wide walk,
paved with smooth slabs of dark stone, and bor-
dered with the tall bushes which met overhead,
making a green roof. All sorts of neglected
flowers and wild weeds grew between their stems,
covering the walls of this summer parlor with the
prettiest tapestry. A board, propped on two
blocks of wood, stood in the middle of the walk,


covered with a little plaid shawl much the worse
for wear, and on it a miniature tea-service was set
forth with great elegance. To be sure, the tea-pot
had lost its spout, the cream-jug its handle, the
sugar-bowl its cover, and the cups and plates were
all more or less cracked or nicked; but polite per-
sons would not take notice of these trifling defi-
ciencies, and none but polite persons were invited
to this party.
On either side of the porch was a seat, and here
a somewhat remarkable sight would have been
revealed to any inquisitive eye peering through the
aforesaid key-hole. Upon the left-hand seat lay
seven dolls, upon the right-hand seat lay six, and
so varied were the expressions of their counte-
nances, owing to fractures, dirt, age and other
afflictions, that one would very naturally have
thought this a doll's hospital, and these the
patients waiting for their tea. This, however,
would have been a sad mistake ; for, if the wind
had lifted the coverings laid over them, it would
have disclosed the fact that all were in full dress,
and merely reposing before the feast should begin.


The answer will be given in "Letter-Box" of January number.


[DECEMBER,






877-] UNDER THE LILACS. 95
1 95


There was another interesting feature of the
scene which would have puzzled any but those
well acquainted with the manners and customs of
dolls. A fourteenth rag baby, with a china head,
hung by her neck from the rusty knocker in the
middle of the door. A sprig of white and one of
purple lilac nodded over her, a dress of yellow
calico, richly trimmed with red flannel scallops,
shrouded her slender form, a garland of small
flowers crowned her glossy curls, and a pair of
blue boots touched toes in the friendliest, if not the
most graceful, manner. An emotion of grief, as


"A RAG-BABY HUNG FROM THE RUSTY KNOCKER."
well as of surprise, might well have thrilled any
youthful breast at such a spectacle, for why, oh !
why, was this resplendent dolly hung up there to
be stared at by thirteen of her kindred ? Was she
a criminal, the sight of whose execution threw
them flat upon their backs in speechless horror?
Or was she an idol, to be adored in that humble
posture ? Neither, my friends. She was blonde
Belinda, set, or rather hung, aloft, in the place of
honor, for this was her seventh birthday, and a
superb ball was about to celebrate the great
event.
All were evidently awaiting a summons to the
festive board, but such was the perfect breeding of
these dolls that not a single eye out of the whole
twenty-seven (Dutch Hans had lost one of the
black beads from his worsted countenance) turned


for a moment toward the table, or so much as
winked, as they lay in decorous rows, gazing with
mute admiration at Belinda. She, unable to
repress the joy and pride which swelled her saw-
dust bosom till the seams gaped, gave an occa-
sional bounce as the wind waved her yellow skirts
or made the blue boots dance a sort of jig upon
the door. Hanging was evidently not a painful
operation, for she smiled contentedly, and looked
as if the red ribbon around her neck was not
uncomfortably tight; therefore, if slow suffocation
suited her, who else had any right to complain?
So a pleasing silence reigned, not even broken by
a snore from Dinah, the top of whose turban alone
was visible above the coverlet, or a cry from baby
Jane, though her bare feet stuck out in a way that
would have produced shrieks from a less well-
trained infant.
Presently voices were heard approaching, and
through the arch which led to a side path came
two little girls, one carrying a small pitcher, the
other proudly bearing a basket covered with a
napkin. They looked like twins, but were not-
for Bab was a year older than Betty, though only
an inch taller. Both had on brown calico frocks,
much the worse for a week's wear, but clean pink
pinafores, in honor of the occasion, made up for
That, as well as the gray stockings and thick boots.
Both had round rosy faces rather sunburnt, pug
noses somewhat freckled, merry blue eyes, and
braided tails of hair hanging down their backs like
those of the dear little Kenwigses.
"Don't they look sweet?" cried Bab, gazing
with 'maternal pride upon the left-hand row of
dolls, who might appropriately have sung in
chorus, We are seven."
Very nice; but my Belinda beats them all. I
do think she is the splendidest child that ever
was I" And Betty set down the basket to run and
embrace the suspended darling, just then kicking
up her heels with joyful abandon.
The cake can be cooling while we fix the'
children. It does smell perfectly delicious !" said
Bab, lifting the napkin to hang over the basket,
fondly regarding the little round loaf that lay
inside.
Leave some smell for me I" commanded Betty,
rushing back to get her fair share of the spicy
fragrance.
The pug noses sniffed it up luxuriously, and the
bright eyes feasted upon the loveliness of the cake,
so brown and shiny, with a tipsy-looking B in pie-
crust staggering down one side, instead of sitting
properly atop.
Ma let me put it on the very last minute, and
it baked so hard I could n't pick it off. We can
give Belinda that piece, so it 's just as well,"







UNDER THE LILACS. [DECEMBER,


observed Betty, taking the lead, as her child was
queen of the revel.
Let's set them round, so they can see too,"
proposed Bab, going, with a hop, skip and jump,
to collect her young family.
Betty agreed, and for several minutes both were
absorbed in seating their dolls about the table, for
some of the dear things were so limp they wouldn't
sit up, and others so stiff they would n't sit down,
and all sorts of seats had to be contrived to suit the
peculiarities of their spines. This arduous task
accomplished, the fond mammas stepped back to
enjoy the spectacle, which, I assure you, was an
impressive one. Belinda sat with great dignity at
the head, her hands genteelly holding a pink cam-
bric pocket-handkerchief in her lap. Josephus,
her cousin, took the foot, elegantly arrayed in a
new suit of purple and green gingham, with his
speaking countenance much obscured by a straw
hat several sizes too large for him; while on
either side sat guests of every size, complexion
and costume, producing a very gay and varied
effect, as all were dressed with a noble disregard
of fashion.
They will like to see us get tea. Did you for-
get the buns?" inquired Betty, anxiously.
"No; got them in my pocket." And Bab pro-
duced from that chaotic cupboard two rather stale
and crumbly ones, saved from lunch for the fete.
These were cut up and arranged in plates, form-
ing a graceful circle around the cake, still in its
basket.
Ma could n't spare much milk, so we must
mix water with it. Strong tea is n't good for
children, she says." And Bab contentedly sur-
veyed the gill of skim-milk which was to satisfy
the thirst of the company.
While the tea draws and the cake cools let's
sit down and rest; I 'm so tired!" sighed Betty,
dropping down on the door-step and stretching
out the stout little legs which had been on the go
all day; for Saturday had its tasks as well as its
fun, and much business had preceded this unusual
pleasure.
Bab went and sat beside her, looking idly down
the walk toward the gate, where a fine cobweb
shone in the afternoon sun.
Ma says she is going over the house in a day
or two, now it is warm and dry after the storm,
and we may go with her. You know she would n't
take us in the fall, 'cause we had whooping-cough
and it was damp there. Now we shall see all the
nice things ; wont it be fun ?" observed Bab, after
a pause.
Yes, indeed Ma says there 's lots of books
in one room, and I can look at 'em while she goes
round. May be I'll have time to read some, and


then I can tell you," answered Betty, who dearly
loved stories and seldom got any new ones.
"I'd rather see the old spinning-wheel up gar-
ret, and the big pictures, and the queer clothes in
the blue chest. It makes me mad to have them
all shut up there when we might have such fun
with them. I 'd just like to bang that old door
down !" And Bab twisted round to give it a
thump with her boots. "You needn't laugh;
you know you'd like it as much as me," she
added, twisting back again, rather ashamed of her
impatience.
I did n't laugh."
You did! Don't you suppose I know what
laughing is ?"
I guess I know I did n't."
"You did laugh! How darst you tell such
a fib?"
If you say that again I '11 take Belinda and go
right home ; then what will you do?"
I '11 eat up the cake."
No, you wont It's mine, ma said so, and
you are only company, so you 'd better behave or
I wont have any party at all, so now."
This awful threat calmed Bab's anger at once,
and she hastened to introduce a safer subject.
"Never mind; don't let's fight before the chil-
dren. Do you know ma says she will let us play in
the coach-house next time it rains, and keep the
key if we want to."
"Oh, goody that's because we told her how
we found the little window, under the woodbine,
and did n't try to go in, though we might have just
as easy as not," cried Betty, appeased at once, for
after a ten years' acquaintance she had grown used
to Bab's peppery temper.
"I suppose the coach will be all dust and rats
and spiders, but I don't care. You and the dolls
can be the passengers, and I shall sit up in front
and drive."
You always do. I shall like riding better than
being horse all the time with that old wooden bit
in my mouth, and you jerking my arms off," said
poor Betty, who was tired of being horse all the
time.
I guess we'd better go and get the water now,"
suggested Bab, feeling that it was not safe to
encourage her sister in such complaints.
It is not many people who would dare to leave
their children all alone with such a lovely cake, and
know they would n't pick at it," said Betty proudly,
as they trotted away to the spring, each with a
little tin pail in her hand.
Alas, for the faith of these too confiding mam-
mas They were gone about five minutes, and
when they returned a sight met their astonished
eyes which produced a simultaneous shriek of hor-


UNDER TH-E LILACS.


[DECEMBER,






877.1 UNDER THE LILACS. 97


ror. Flat upon their faces lay the fourteen dolls,
and the cake, the cherished cake, was gone !
For an instant the little girls could only stand
motionless, gazing at the dreadful scene. Then
Bab cast her water-pail wildly away, and 'doubling
up her fist, cried out fiercely:
It was that Sally She said she'd pay me for


had forgotten to put down her pail. Round the
house they went, and met with a crash at the back
door, but no sign of the thief appeared.
In the lane !" shouted Bab.
Down by the spring !" panted Betty, and off
they went again, one to scramble up a pile of stones
and look over the wall into the avenue, the other


BAB AND BETTY ON THEIR WAY TO THE TEA-PARTY.


slapping her when she pinched little Mary Ann,
and now she has. I'll give it to her! You run
that way. I'll run this. Quick quick!"
Away they went, Bab racing straight on, and
bewildered Betty turning obediently round to trot
in the opposite direction as fast as she could, with
the water splashing all over her as she ran, for she


to scamper to the spot they had just left. Still
nothing appeared but the dandelions' innocent faces
looking up at Bab, and a brown bird scared from
his bath in the spring by Betty's hasty approach.
Back they rushed, but only to meet a new scare,
which made them both cry Ow!" and fly into
the porch for refuge.






UNDER TIE LILACS.


A strange dog was sitting calmly among the
ruins of the feast, licking his lips after basely eating
up the last poor bits of bun when he had bolted
the cake, basket and all.
"Oh, the horrid thing!" cried Bab, longing to
give battle but afraid, for the dog was a peculiar as
well as a dishonest animal.
He looks like our China poodle, does n't he ?"
whispered Betty, making herself as small as pos-
sible behind her more valiant sister.
He certainly did; for, though much dirtier than
the well-washed China dog, this live one had the
same tassel at the end of his tail, ruffles of hair
round his ankles, and a body shaven behind and
curly before. His eyes, however, were yellow,
instead of glassy black, like the other's, his red
nose worked as he cocked it up, as if smelling for
more cakes in the most impudent manner, and
never during the three years he had stood on the
parlor mantel-piece had the China poodle done
the surprising feats with which this mysterious dog
now proceeded to astonish the little girls almost
out of their wits.
First he sat up, put his fore-paws together, and
begged prettily; then he suddenly flung his hind
legs into the air, and walked about with great ease.
Hardly had they recovered from this shock when
the hind legs came down, the fore legs went up,
and he paraded in a soldierly manner to and fro,
like a sentinel on guard. But the crowning per-
formance was when he took his tail in his mouth
and waltzed down the walk, over the prostrate dolls,
to the gate and back again, barely escaping a gen-
eral upset of the ravaged table.
Bab and Betty could only hold each other tight
and squeal with delight, for never had they seen
anything so funny; but when the gymnastics ended,
and the dizzy clog came and stood on the step
before them barking loudly, with that pink nose of
his sniffing at their feet and his queer eyes fixed
sharply upon them, their amusement turned to fear
again, and they dared not stir.
Whish, go away commanded Bab.
Scat meekly quavered Betty.
To their great relief the poodle gave several more
inquiring barks, and then vanished as suddenly as
he appeared. With one impulse the children ran
to see what became of him, and after a brisk scam-
per through the orchard saw the tasseled tail dis-
appear under the fence at the far end.
Where do you s'pose he came from? asked
Betty, stopping to rest on a big stone.
"I'd like to know where he's gone, too, and
give him a good beating, old thief," scolded Bab,
remembering their wrongs.
Oh dear, yes I hope the cake burnt him
dreadfully if he did eat it," groaned Betty, sadly


remembering the dozen good raisins she chopped
up, and the lots of 'lasses" Ma put into the dear
lost loaf.
The party's all spoilt, so we may as well go
home," and Bab mournfully led the way back.
Betty puckered up her face to cry, but burst out
laughing in spite of her woe, It was so funny to
see him spin round and walk on his head I wish
he 'd do it all over again ; don't you ? "
Yes; but I hate him just the same. I wonder
what ma will say when-why why! "-and Bab
stopped short in the arch, with her eyes as round
and almost as large as the blue saucers on the tea-
tray.
"What is it? oh, what is it?" cried Betty, all
ready to run away if any new terror appeared.
Look there it's come back said Bab in an
awe-stricken whisper, pointing to the table.
Betty did look and her eyes opened even wider,-
as well they might,-for there, just where they first
put it, was the lost cake, unhurt, unchanged, except
that the big B. had coasted a little further down the
gingerbread hill.
CHAPTER II.
WHERE THEY FOUND HIS MASTER.
NEITHER spoke for a minute, astonishment being
too great for words; then, as by one impulse, both
stole up and touched the cake with a timid little
finger, quite prepared to see it fly away in some
mysterious and startling manner. It remained sit-
ting tranquilly in the basket, however, and the
children drew a long breath of relief, for, though
they did not believe in fairies, the late performances
did seem rather like witchcraft.
The dog did n't cat it! "
Sally did n't take it "
How do you know? "
She never would have put it back."
Who did?"
Can't tell, but I forgive 'em."
What shall we do now ? asked Betty, feeling
as if it would be very difficult to settle down to a
quiet tea-party after such unusual excitement.
Eat that cake up just as fast as ever we can,"
and Bab divided the contested delicacy with one
chop of the big knife, bound to make sure of her
own share at all events.
It did not take long, for they washed it down
with sips of milk and ate as fast as possible, glanc-
ing round all the while to see if the queer dog was
coming again.
There now I 'd like to see any one take my
cake away," said Bab, defiantly crunching her half
of the pie-crust B.
Or mine either," coughed Betty, choking over
a raisin that would n't go down in a hurry.


[DECEMBER,






UNDER THE LILACS.


We might as well clear up, and play there had
been an earthquake," suggested Bab, feeling that
some such convulsion of nature was needed to ex-
plain satisfactorily the demoralized condition of
her family.
That will be splendid. My poor Linda was
knocked right over on her nose. Darlin' child,
come to your mother and be fixed," purred Betty,
lifting the fallen idol from a grove of chickweed,
and tenderly brushing the dirt from Belinda's
heroically smiling face.
She '11 have croup to-night as sure as the world.
We'd better make up some squills out of this sugar
and water," said Bab, who dearly loved to dose the
dollies all round.
P'r'aps she will, but you need n't begin to
sneeze yet awhile. I can sneeze for my own chil-
dren, thank you, ma'am," returned Betty, sharply,
for her usually amiable spirit had been ruffled by
the late occurrences.
I did n't sneeze I 've got enough to do to
talk and cry and cough for my own poor dears
without bothering about yours," cried Bab, even
more ruffled than her sister.
Then who did ? I heard a real, live sneeze just
as plain as anything," and Betty looked up to the
green roof above her, as if the sound came from
that direction.
A yellow-bird sat swinging and chirping on the
tall lilac-bush, but no other living thing was in
sight.
"Birds don't sneeze, do they?" asked Betty,
eying little Goldy suspiciously.
You goose of course they don't."
Well, I should just like to know who is laugh-
ing and sneezing round here. May be it is the,
dog," suggested Betty, looking relieved.
"I never heard of a dog's laughing, except
Mother Hubbard's. This is such a queer one,
may be he can, though. I wonder where he went
to?" and Bab took a patient survey down both
the side paths, quite longing to see the funny
poodle again.
I know where I'm going to," said Betty, piling
the dolls into her apron with more haste than care.
"1 'm going right straight home to tell Ma all
about it. I don't like such actions, and I 'm afraid
to stay."
I aint; but I guess it is going to rain, so I
shall have to go anyway," answered Bab, taking
advantage of the black clouds rolling up the sky,
for she scorned to own that she was afraid of any-
thing.
Clearing the table in a summary manner by
catching up the four corners of the cloth, Bab put
the rattling bundle into her apron, flung her chil-
dren on the top, and pronounced herself ready to


depart. Betty lingered an instant to pick up odds
and ends that might be spoilt by the rain, and
when she turned from taking the red halter off the
knocker, two lovely pink roses lay on the stone
steps.
Oh, Bab, just see! Here's the very ones we
wanted. Was n't it nice of the wind to blow 'em
down ?" she called out, picking them up and run-
ning after her sister, who had strolled moodily
along, still looking about her for her sworn foe,
Sally Folsom.
The flowers soothed the feelings of the little girls,
because they had longed for them, and bravely re-
sisted the temptation to climb up the trellis and
help themselves, since their mother had forbidden
such feats, owing to a fall Bab got trying to reach
a honeysuckle from the vine which ran all over
the porch.
Home they went and poured out their tale, to
Mrs. Moss's great amusement, for she saw in it
only some playmate's prank, and was not much
impressed by the mysterious sneeze and laugh.
We'll have a grand rummage Monday, and
find out what is going on over there," was all she
said.
But Mrs. Moss could not keep her promise, for
on Monday it still rained, and the little girls pad-
dled off to school like a pair of young ducks, enjoy-
ing every puddle they came to, since India rubber
boots made wading a delicious possibility. They
took their dinner, and at noon regaled a crowd of
comrades with an account of the mysterious dog,
who appeared to be haunting the neighborhood, as
several of the other children had seen him examin-
ing their back yards with interest. He had begged
of them, but to none had he exhibited his accom-
plishments except Bab and Betty, and they were
therefore much set up, and called him "our dog"
with an air. The cake transaction remained a rid-
dle, for Sally Folsom solemnly declared that she
was playing tag in Mamie Snow's barn at that
identical time. No one had been near the old
house but the two children, and no one could throw
any light upon that singular affair.
It produced a great effect, however; for even
"teacher" was interested, and told such amazing
tales of a juggler she once saw that doughnuts were
left forgotten in dinner-baskets, and wedges of pie
remained suspended in the air for several minutes
at a time, instead of vanishing with miraculous
rapidity as usual. At afternoon recess, which the
girls had first, Bab nearly dislocated every joint of
her little body trying to imitate the poodle's antics.
She had practiced on her bed with great success,
but the wood-shed floor was a different thing, as
her knees and elbows soon testified.
It looked just as easy as anything; I don't see






UNDER THE LILACS.


how he did it," she said, coming down with a bump
after vainly attempting to walk on her hands.
"My gracious, there he is this very minute!"
cried Betty, who sat on a little wood-pile near the
door.
There was a general rush, and sixteen small girls
gazed out into the rain as eagerly as if to behold
Cinderella's magic coach, instead of one forlorn dog
trotting by through the mud.
"Oh, do call him in and make him dance!"
cried the girls, all chirping at once, till it sounded
as if a flock of sparrows had taken possession of
the shed.
"I will call him, he knows me," and Bab
scrambled up, forgetting how she had chased the
poodle and called him names two days ago.
He evidently had not forgotten, for though he
paused and looked wistfully at them, he would not
approach, but stood dripping in the rain with his
frills much bedraggled, while his tasseled tail
wagged slowly, and his pink nose pointed suggest-
ively to the pails and baskets, nearly empty now.
He 's hungry; give him something to eat, and
then he 'll see that we don't want to hurt him,"
suggested Sally, starting a contribution with her
last bit of bread and butter.
Bab caught up her new pail, and collected all the
odds and ends, then tried to beguile the poor beast
in to eat and be comforted. But he only came as
far as the door, and sitting up, begged with such
imploring eyes that Bab put down the pail and
stepped back, saying pitifully:
The poor thing is starved; let him eat all he
wants and we wont touch him."
The girls drew back with little clucks of interest
and compassion, but I regret to say their charity
was not rewarded as they expected, for, the minute
the coast was clear, the dog marched boldly up,
seized the handle of the pail in his mouth, and
was off with it, galloping down the road at a great
pace. Shrieks arose from the children, especially
Bab and Betty, basely bereaved of their new
dinner-pail; but no one could follow the thief, for
the bell rang, and in they went, so much excited
that the boys rushed tumultuously forth to dis-
cover the cause.
By the time school was over the sun was out,
and Bab and Betty hastened home to tell their
wrongs and be comforted by mother, who did it
most effectually.
Never mind, dears, I '11 get you another pail,
if he does n't bring it back as he did before. As it
is too wet for you to play out, you shall go and see
the old coach-house as I promised. Keep on your
rubbers and come along."
This delightful prospect much assuaged their
woe, and away they went, skipping gayly down the


graveled path, while Mrs. Moss followed, with
skirts well tucked up, and a great bunch of keys in
her hand, for she lived at the Lodge and had charge
of the premises.
The small door of the coach-house was fastened
inside, but the large one had a padlock on it, and
this being quickly unfastened, one half swung
open, and the little girls ran in, too eager and
curious even to cry out when they found themselves
at last in possession of the long-coveted old car-
riage. A dusty, musty concern enough, but it had
a high seat, a door, steps that let down, and many
other charms which rendered it most desirable in
the eyes of children.
Bab made straight for the box and Betty for the
door, but both came tumbling down faster than
they went up, when, from the gloom of the in-
terior came a shrill bark, and a low voice saying
quickly: "Down, Sancho, down!"
"Who is there?" demanded Mrs. Moss, in a
stern tone, backing toward the door with both
children clinging to her skirts.
The well-known curly white head was popped
out of the broken window, and a mild whine
seemed to say, "Don't be alarmed, ladies; we
wont hurt you."
Come out this minute, or I shall have to come
to get you," called Mrs. Moss, growing very brave
all of a sudden as she caught sight of a pair of
small, dusty shoes under the coach.
Yes 'm, I 'm coming as fast as I can," answered
a meek voice, as what appeared to be a bundle of
rags leaped out of the dark, followed by the poodle,
who immediately sat down at the bare feet of his
owner with a watchful air, as if ready to assault
any one who might approach too near.
"Now, then, who are you, and how did you get
here? asked Mrs. Moss, trying to speak sternly,
though her motherly eyes were already full of pity
as they rested on the forlorn little figure before her.

CHAPTER III.
BEN.
PLEASE 'M, my name is Ben Brown, and I 'm
traveling."
Where are you going ?"
Anywheres to get work."
What sort of work can you do ?"
All kinds. I 'm used to horses."
Bless me such a little chap as you ?"
I'm twelve, ma'am, and can ride anything on
four legs; and the small boy gave a nod that
seemed to say, "Bring on your Cruisers. I'm
ready for 'em."
Have n't you got any folks ? asked Mrs. Moss,
amused but still anxious, for the sunburnt face was


IOO0


[DECEMBER,





I877.] UNDER THE LILACS. IO1


very thin, the eyes big with hunger or pain, and
the ragged figure leaned on the wheel as if too
weak or weary to stand alone.
No, 'm, not of my own; and the people I was
left with beat me so, I-run away." The last
words seemed to bolt out against his will, as if the
woman's sympathy irresistibly won the child's con-
fidence.
Then I don't blame you. But how did you
get here?"
I was so tired I could n't go any further, and I
thought the folks up here at the big house would
take me in. But the gate was locked, and I was so
discouraged, I jest lay down outside and give up."
Poor little soul, I don't wonder," said Mrs.
Moss, while the children looked deeply interested
at mention of their gate.
The boy drew a long breath, and his eyes began
to twinkle in spite of his forlorn state as he went
on, while the dog pricked up his ears at mention
of his name:
"While I was restin' I heard some one come
along inside, and I peeked, and saw them little
girls playing The vittles looked so nice I could n't
help wanting' 'em ; but I did n't take nothin',-it
was Sancho, and he took the cake for me."
Bab and Betty gave a gasp and stared reproach-
fully at the poodle, who half closed his eyes with a
meek, unconscious look that was very droll.
And you made him put it back ?" cried Bab.
No; I did it myself. Got over the gate when
you was racin' after Sanch, and then clim' up on
the porch and hid," said the boy, with a grin.
And you laughed ? asked Bab.
Yes."
And sneezed ? added Betty.
Yes."
And threw down the roses ? cried both.
SYes; and you liked 'em, did n't you ?"
Course we did What made you hide ?" said
Bab.
I was n't fit to be seen," muttered Ben, glanc-
ing at his tatters as if he'd like to dive out of sight
into the dark coach again.
How came you here ? demanded Mrs. Moss,
suddenly remembering her responsibility.
I heard them talk about a little winder and a
shed, and when they'd gone I found it and come
in. The glass was broke, and I only pulled the
nail out. I have n't done a mite of harm sleeping'
here two nights. I was so tuckered out I could n't
go on nohow, though I tried a Sunday."
And came back again ?"
Yes, 'm ; it was so lonesome in the rain, and
this place seemed kinder like home, and I could
hear 'em talking' outside, and Sanch he found vit-
tles, and I was pretty comfortable."


Well, I never! ejaculated Mrs. Moss, whisk-
ing up a corner of her apron to wipe her eyes, for
the thought of the poor little fellow alone there for
two days and nights with no bed but musty straw,
no food but the scraps a dog brought him, was too
much for her. Do you know what I 'm going to
do with you ? she asked, trying to look calm and
cool, with a great tear running down her whole-
some, red cheek, and a smile trying to break out
at the corners of her lips.
"No, ma'am; and I dunno as I care. Only
don't be hard on Sanch; he's been real good to
me, and we're fond of one another; aint us, old






.. .... ,


.,, ..! '


-- -- ..: 1 .1 i i: ...I1
tor himself.
GETTING BEN' SUPPER. "I 'm going to
(SEE NEXT PAGE.) take you right
take you right
home, and wash and feed and put you in a good
bed, and to-morrow-well, we '11 see what'll hap-
pen then," said Mrs. Moss, not quite sure about it
herself.
"You're very kind, ma'am. I'll be glad to
work for you. Aint you got a horse I can see
to ?" asked the boy, eagerly.
Nothing but hens and a cat."
Bab and Betty burst out laughing when their
mother said that, and Ben gave a faint giggle, as if
he would like to join in if he only had the strength
to do it. But his legs shook under him, and he
felt a queer dizziness; so he could only hold on to
Sancho, and blink at the light like a young owl.
Come right along, child. Run on, girls, and
put the rest of the broth to warming, and fill the







UNDER THE LILACS.


kettle. I'1l see to the boy," commanded Mrs.
Moss, waving off the children, and going up to
feel the pulse of her new charge, for it suddenly
occurred to her that he might be sick and not safe
to take home.
The hand he gave her was very thin, but clean
and cool, and the black eyes were clear though
hollow, for the poor lad was half starved.
I 'm awful shabby, but I aint dirty. I had a
washin' in the rain last night, and I've jest about
lived on water lately," he explained, wondering
why she looked at him so hard.
Put out your tongue."
He did so, but took it in again to say quickly:
I aint sick-I 'm only hungry; for I have n't
had a mite but what Sanch brought for three days,
and I always go halves; don't I, Sanch? "
The poodle gave a shrill bark, and vibrated ex-
citedly between the door and his master as if he
understood all that was going on, and recom-
mended a speedy march toward the promised food
and shelter. Mrs. Moss took the hint, and bade
the boy follow her at once and bring his things"
with him.
"I aint got any. Some big fellers took away
my bundle, else I would n't look so bad. There 's
only this. I'm sorry Sanch took it, and I'd like
to give it back if I knew whose it was," said Ben,
bringing the new dinner pail out from the depths
of the coach where he had gone to housekeeping.
That's soon done; it's mine, and you 're wel-
come to the bits your queer dog ran off with.
Come along, I must lock up," and Mrs. Moss
clanked her keys suggestively.
Ben limped out, leaning on a broken hoe-handle,
for he was stiff after two days in such damp lodg-
ings, as well as worn out with a fortnight's wander-
ing through sun and rain. Sancho was in great
spirits, evidently feeling that their woes were over
and his foraging expeditions at an end, for he frisked
about his master with yelps of pleasure, or made
playful darts at the ankles of his benefactress, which
caused her to cry, "Whish and "Scat!" and
shake her skirts at him as if he were a cat or hen.
A hot fire was roaring in the stove under the
broth-skillet and tea-kettle, and Betty was poking
in more wood, with a great smirch of black on
her chubby cheek, while Bab was cutting away at
the loaf as if bent on slicing her own fingers off.
Before Ben knew what he was about, he found
himself in the old rocking-chair devouring bread
and butter as only a hungry boy can, with Sancho
close by gnawing a- mutton-bone like a ravenous
wolf in sheep's clothing.
While the new-comers were thus happily em-
ployed, Mrs. Moss beckoned the little girls out of
the room, and gave them both an errand.


Bab, you run over to Mrs. Barton's, and ask
her for any old duds Billy don't want; and Betty,
you go to the Cutters, and tell Miss Clarindy I 'd
like a couple of the shirts we made at last sewing
circle. Any shoes, or a hat, or socks, would come
handy, for the poor dear has n't a whole thread
on him."
SAway went the children full of anxiety to clothe
their beggar, and so well did they plead his cause
with the good neighbors, that Ben hardly knew
himself when he emerged from the back bedroom
half an hour later, clothed in Billy Barton's faded
flannel suit, with an unbleached cotton shirt out of
the Dorcas basket, and a pair of Milly Cutter's old
shoes on his feet.
Sancho also had been put in better trim, for,
after his master had refreshed himself with a warm
bath, he gave his dog a good scrub, while Mrs.
Moss set a stitch here and there in the new old
clothes, and Sancho re-appeared, looking more like
the china poodle than ever, being as white as snow,
his curls well brushed up, and his tassely tail wav-
ing proudly over his back.
Feeling eminently respectable and comfortable,
the wanderers humbly presented themselves, and
were greeted with smiles of approval from the little
girls and a hospitable welcome from "Ma," who
set them near the stove to dry, as both were de-
cidedly damp after their ablutions.
"I declare I shouldn't have known you!" ex-
claimed the good woman, surveying the boy with
great satisfaction ; for, though still very thin and
tired, the lad had a tidy look that pleased her, and
a lively way of moving about in his clothes, like
an eel in a skin rather too big for him. The merry
black eyes seemed to see everything, the voice
had an honest sound, and the sun-burnt face looked
several years younger since the unnatural despond-
ency had gone out of it.
"It's very nice, and me and Sanch are lots
obliged, ma'am," murmured Ben, getting red and
bashful under the three pairs of friendly eyes fixed
upon him.
Bab and Betty were doing up the tea-things with
unusual dispatch, so that they might entertain
their guest, and just as Ben spoke Bab dropped a
cup. To her great surprise no smash followed, for,
bending quickly, the boy caught it as it fell, and
presented it to her on the back of his hand with a
little bow.
Gracious how could you do it? asked Bab,
looking as if she thought there was magic about it.
"That's nothing; look here," and taking two
plates Ben sent them spinning up into the air,
catching and throwing so rapidly that Bab and
Betty stood with their mouths open, as if to swal-
low the plates should they fall, while Mrs. Moss,


[DECEMBER,






1877.] UNDER THE LILACS. 103


with her dish-cloth suspended, watched the antics
of her crockery with a housewife's anxiety.
That does beat all! was the only exclamation
she had time to make, for, as if desirous of showing
his gratitude in the only way he could, Ben took
several clothes-pins from a basket near by, sent
several saucers twirling up, caught them on the
pins, balanced the pins on chin, nose, forehead,
and went .,i1I.!.; about with a new and peculiar
sort of toad-stool ornamenting his countenance.
The children were immensely tickled, and Mrs.
Moss was so amused she would have lent her best
soup-tureen if he had expressed a wish for it. But
Ben was too tired to show all his accomplish-


you up to Judge Allen. I would n't like to do that,
for he is a harsh sort of a man; so, if you have n't
done anything bad, you need n't be afraid to
speak out, and I '11 do what I can for you," said
Mrs. Moss, rather sternly, as she went and sat
down in her rocking-chair, as if about to open
the court.
I have n't done anything bad, and I aint
afraid, only I don't want to go back; and if I
tell, may be you'll let 'em know where I be,"
said Ben, much distressed between his longing
to confide in his new friend and his fear of his
old enemies.
If they abused you, of course I would n't. Tell


"BEN PRESENTED IT TO HER ON THE BACK OF HIS HAND."


ments at once, and he soon stopped, looking as
if he almost regretted having betrayed that he
possessed any.
I guess you 've been in the juggling business,"
said Mrs. Moss, with a wise nod, for she saw the
same look on his face as when he said his name
was Ben Brown,-the look of one who was not tell-
ing the whole truth.
"Yes, 'm. I used to help Senior Pedro, the
Wizard of the World, and I learned some of his
tricks," stammered Ben, trying to seem innocent.
Now, look here, boy, you 'd better tell me the
whole story, and tell it true, or I shall have to send


the truth and I '11 stand by you. Girls, you go for
the milk."
Oh, Ma, do let us stay! We'll never tell,
truly, truly cried Bab and Betty, full of dismay
at being sent off when secrets were about to be
divulged.
I don't mind 'em," said Ben, handsomely.
Very well, only hold your tongues. Now, boy,
where did you come from?" said Mrs. Moss, as
the little girls hastily sat down together on their
private and particular bench opposite their mother,
brimming with curiosity and beaming with satis-
faction at the prospect before them.


(To be continued.)






[DECEMBER,


A CHAT ABOUT POTTERY.




A CHAT ABOUT POTTERY.

BY EDWIN C. TAYLOR.


DID you see those funny little china figures at
the Centennial when you were there ? asked Willic
of his cousin Al on their way home from school
one day.
What figures, Will? Do you mean those large
red clay things from England, or the Chinese
figures that Mr. Wu had at his place ?" said Al.
"I don't mean
either; I said small
figures. Don't you
remember a splen-
did show of pottery
-. near the music-
S i stand in the main
/ 'building ?" asked
Will.
"Yes," said Al.
"Well, there was
a lot of figures






S l I saw so much
I L china and 'pot-
Stery,' as you call
-- s it, that I hardly
-- recollect any of
cn it. But pottery,'
SyI thought, meant
merely flower-pots
LONDON CABMAN (ROYAL WORCESTER and other ordinary
PORCELAIN). stone-ware ?"
"Why, no," said Willie; "it means anything
that is formed of earth and hardened by fire. I-
heard Uncle Jack say so, and he knows, does n't
he ?" said Willie, decidedly.
Of course; but people do call these things
'china' or porcelain' as well as 'pottery,' don't
they ?"
"lVes; but Uncle Jack says 'pottery' means all
those together, and porcelain,' 'majolica,' and
other names like that are names of different kinds
of pottery," answered Willie.
'"Well," said Al, "let's ask Uncle Jack to tell
us all about it. What do you say ? "
Yes; let's ask him this very night."
When the lads reached home they told their
plan to Willie's sister Matie, and then all three
determined to carry it out.


Rap-a-tap, tap," sounded briskly at the library
door after supper. Come in," was the response,
and in bounded the three children, their faces
lighted up with smiles at the prospect of spending
an evening with Uncle Jack.
"Welcome, youngsters," said he, in a cheery
tone. "But you look as if you were expecting
something; what is it?"
Oh, Uncle Jack, we want you to tell us all
about pottery," cried the boys.
Yes, please do," chimed in Matie.
"All about pottery? Why, my dear children,
that's very like asking me to tell you all about the
whole civilized world, for a complete history of one
would be almost a history of the other; and I could
hardly do that, you know," said Uncle Jack, with
a smile.
Willie said you could talk about pottery all
night," cried Matie.
And so I might, dear, and not get further than
the A B C of its history, after all," answered Uncle
Jack.
But how many kinds are there, uncle ?" asked
Will.
That question demands an answer that must
teach something," said Uncle Jack. "There are
two general kinds."
Why, I saw a thousand kinds at the Centen-
nial," interrupted Al, with a wise look.


CHINESE DOG (ROYAL WORCESTER PORCELAIN).

"That may be," said his uncle. "But then,
too, you saw a thousand kinds of people, and yet
all those people were either men or women; so all






A CHAT ABOUT POTTERY.


pottery comes under the two general classes of
'hard paste and soft paste.' "
Why, none of it was soft, Uncle Jack, was it?


TEA-STAND (ROYAL WORCESTER PORCELAIN)

I thought it was all baked hard," said Will, looking
incredulous.
So all pottery is baked hard, for, until it is
made hard by firing, it is only wet clay and sand,
-in pretty shapes, perhaps, but not fit for any use
or ornament,-and is not yet pottery."
Then why is it called 'soft ?'"
You've seen pieces of stone that you could
grind to powder under your heel? You'd call
them 'soft.' Other pieces you could n't crush, and
you'd call them 'hard.' That is something like
what is meant by 'hard' and 'soft' applied to
pottery,-at least, 'soft' does n't mean soft like
putty."
But if it's all baked, why is n't it all hard
alike?" asked Will.
Because different clays are used, and different
degrees of heat applied. At one time we get a
kind of pottery that can be scratched with a knife,
at another a ware too hard to be so scratched; the
one is called 'soft paste' and the other 'hard
paste.' "
The boys seemed to be satisfied with this expla-
nation.
Uncle, did n't you see at the Cenfennial some
funny little figures representing all sorts of London
street-people ?" asked Will.
Yes, and I brought one with me, I think. Ah !
here's one," he said, showing them a droll little
man about four inches high, "and it looks very like
a London cabman-or 'cabby,' as he is called."
VOL. V.-8.


"He's very homely," said Matie. Where was
he made, Uncle Jack ?"
Her uncle turned the figure over, and, looking
at a small round impression on the under side,
answered: "At the Royal Worcester Works in
England, where some of the best of modern
porcelain has been made."
Is that hard paste or soft, Uncle Jack ?" asked
Willie, while Al, as if inclined to test the matter,
began a search in his pockets for a knife.
"This is hard paste porcelain; it is 'translucent,'
-that is, it shows the light through," and he held
the little cabman before the lamp.
Here 's another piece from the same factory,"
continued he, selecting a second specimen from
the cabinet. This is a copy of the Chinese con-
ventional dog,' made of blue 'crackle-ware.' You
see, the glaze is cracked all over the surface," he
added.
Who ever saw a blue dog ? cried Matie.
In life, no one, my dear; but there are many


.Z!
DRESDEN CHINA.
things in Chinese art that are not much like living
objects."
"I suppose you have all heard of Dresden
china," presently continued her uncle.
Oh yes, sir !" cried Al. Aunt Susie had a







A CHAT ABOUT POTTERY.


Dresden tea-pot that belonged to her grandmother,
and she said the tea always tasted better out of it
than from anything else."
Well, here is an excellent French copy of an
old Dresden figure. It is a pretty flower-girl. See
how gracefully she reaches for a nosegay from her
basket. I have seen bouquets of Dresden porcelain
that you could hardly distinguish from real flowers,"
said Uncle Jack.
You'd hardly think that such a beautiful thing
was made from common earth," said Will.
Nor is it," said his uncle. This kind of china
is made from a very fine and very rare clay that,
for a long time, was found only in China and
the Corean islands; but about a hundred and sixty
years ago, a noted chemist of Meissen, in Saxony,

































TERRA COTTA VASE.
named B6ttcher, discovered a bed of it there, and
manufactured the first true porcelain made in
Europe," said Uncle Jack.
Why could n't they get the fine clay from
China and make their porcelain anywhere? asked
Will.
Because the Chinese jealously kept all their
clay to themselves," answered Uncle Jack.
How did that man come to discover where the
clay was, and if it was of the right kind ?" asked Al.


By a strange chance. According to the fashion
of the time, men powdered their hair, using wheat
flour for that purpose. One day a neighbor of the
chemist, in traveling an unfrequented part of the
country, observed on his horse's hoofs some white







MARK OF DRESDEN CHINA. MARK OF WORCESTER PORCELAIN.

sticky clay, and it occurred to him that this white
clay, dried and powdered, would make an excellent
and cheap substitute for wheat flour as a hair pow-
der. So he carried a little home with him, and
some of it finally reached B5ttcher. The chemist
found it extremely heavy, and, fearing the pres-
ence of some metal hurtful to the skin, he tested
the clay in his laboratory. To his surprise and joy
this white hair-powder proved itself possessed of
the same qualities as the veritable Chinese kaolin,
as their clay is called."
Why, that sounds like a story," said Matie.
Here now," said Uncle Jack, "is a vase; that
might carry the mind back thousands of years, to
the time when bodies were burned instead of buried,
and the ashes kept in just such urns as this."
Is that vase thousands of years old ?" asked
Matie.
No, dear; this vase is only modeled after the
ancient cinerary urns, as they were called, and was
made a year or two ago by Ipsen, of Copenhagen."
That is n't porcelain, is it, uncle ? asked Al.
"No, this is 'terra cotta,' which is Italian for
'earth cooked.' Those beautiful lines of color and
gilding are painted on the surface."
Did you ever see any real antique vases, uncle ?"
asked Willie.
"Why, certainly. There are some in the Ces-
nola collection at our Metropolitan Museum of Art
in Fourteenth street that are known to have been
made 1,400 years before the Christian era. They
were found on the island of Cyprus, in the Medi-
terranean Sea, by General Di Cesnola, who dug up
a great many articles,-statues, ornaments of gold,
silver and bronze, beautiful glass bottles, and many
domestic utensils. I saw a cullender made of such
earthenware as we have in the kitchen at this day;
it had been used as a milk-strainer, and particles
of dried milk were still clinging to its sides, after
lying buried more than three thousand years."
Oh, we must go and see them !" cried Matie
and the boys.
Yes, you certainly should go," said their uncle.
You would see some very curious things there,


[DECEMBER,






877-1 A CHAT ABOUT POTTERY.


and the elegant forms of many of the articles would
show you that a love for beauty has existed almost
as long as man has lived."
You were thinking of ancient times when you


JEWELED PORCELAIN.
said the history of pottery was almost that of the
civilized world; were n't you, uncle ? asked Will.
"Yes," answered his uncle, taking from his
cabinet a small jug covered with rich gilding, and
glistening as if set with precious stones.
Oh, is n't that lovely ? cried Matie.
Well, yes; some people think that this jeweled
porcelain, as it is called, is among the choicest of
Copeland's works."
"Whose, sir?"
"Copeland, of Stoke-upon-Trent, where are
some of the largest potteries in England."
"But don't you like it, uncle ? asked Matie.
I do admire it very much, Matie; but not so
much as some more simple objects that I have.
Here is something that will explain my meaning,"
he added, taking from the cabinet a little vase of
grayish-brown with darker indented lines drawn in
the form of small animals, flowers and foliage.
Oh, I 've seen ever so many pieces like that,
and I thought they were common stone-ware, the
same as the kitchen dishes," said Al.
They are of common clay, it is true, but look
at the drawing of the figures," said his uncle, point-
ing to the tracery upon the surface of the vase.


"Why, yes; it almost seems as if that little
rabbit would run away, it is so life-like," said
Willie.
It was not only for its beauty that I valued this
vase, but for the story that it tells," said Uncle
Jack. In the first place it tells that the simple
earth we walk upon can be made by man into
works of enduring beauty."
"Where was that vase made, uncle?" asked
Willie.
At the Doulton Works, Lambeth, England."
"What is the rest of the story about it?" in-
quired Al.
"For many years, common drain-pipes and
building-tiles were the only things made at the
Doulton works; but some of the pottery people
went to an art school, and they thought it would
be a good idea to ornament some of the common
things they made with the designs they had learned
to draw at school. So, with a bit of pointed stick,
they made some of their favorite pictures on the
soft clay objects; and when these were fired, the









'-"















--= ---




----'4"----
DOULTON WARE.
glaze flowed into the lines, making them darker
than the other parts, and thus the drawings showed
plainly."
"And since they found that out, have they given
up making common pipes and tiles?" asked Willie,
with a look of interest.






A CHAT ABOUT POTTERY.


They still make quantities of those things at
the Doulton works, but the young men and women
who had received drawing lessons and applied their
knowledge so well are the authors, I might almost
say, of a new style of artistic pottery," said Uncle
Jack, in reply.
Why, that was splendid, was n't it? cried
Matie.
Indeed it was a triumph not only for them, but
for art itself, and it shows what a good influence
art has on even the humblest people," said Uncle
Jack. Now can you see why I did not value my
little vase most for it beauty ? "
Oh yes, sir for when you see it, you think of
the potters who became artists," said Will.
"Yes, and I never see any work of art or of
patient industry without trying to understand the
meaning its maker meant it to carry, and to re-
member the toils that were perhaps endured in its
production," replied his uncle. Then, turning to
Matie, he said: "I brought this little 'English
pug-dog' for you, Matie. He does n't bite, and
you'll not need to give him any food," and he put
upon the table a comical little porcelain dog with a
wry nose.
Oh is n't it funny ? What an ugly black nose
it has cried Matie. Will the black come off?"
Oh, no "
Why not ?" asked Al.
"Because it's fired; that is, after having been
painted, the dog was placed in a furnace and heated










i-- s
-- -

-- -


MAJOLICA PLATE FROM CASTILLANI COLLECTION.

so as to melt the coloring matter, which had been
mixed with other ingredients, so that it flowed on
the surface, and cooled hard like glass."


Are the colors like those I have in my paint-
box ? asked Willie.
No. They put the color on, worked up with


ENGLISH PUG IN PORCELAIN.
what is called a flux, and the mixture has the ap-
pearance of thin mud, showing no color at all; the
different tints are seen only after firing.'"
How can they tell what it's going to look
like, if they don't see the color ? "
That is one of the nice points of the 'ceramic
art,' and much skill and fine imagination are re-
quired to produce some of the wonderful combina-
tions of color seen upon Italian majolica."
Why do they call it majolica? asked Al.
"The name is derived from the Spanish
island of Majorca in the Mediterranean Sea,
one of the places in Europe where glazed pot-
tery was first made. About the twelfth century,
some Moorish potters had settled there and
carried their art with them."
"Did you ever see any of the old Italian
S majolica, uncle ? asked Al.
Yes; in the splendid Castellani collection
there are some of the very best specimens of
the finest majolica ever made,-that produced
I in the fifteenth century by Giorgio Andreoli of
Gubbio, and others who followed him."
Where is Gubbio ? asked Al.
In Italy."
Is the Castellani collection in Italy ? "
No, it's at the Metropolitan Museum, too;
but only on loan at present, though an effort
is being made to purchase and keep it in this
country forever. I hope it will be successful,
for it is a grand collection. But I must tell you
that when the French came to manufacture
majolica, most of which by that time was made
in the little Italian town of Faenza, they called
the ware faience, after it. This name is applied


[DECEMBER,







POEMS BY TWO LITTLE AMERICAN GIRLS.


to most soft paste glazed pottery, while majolica is
a ware that has a peculiar luster, and in different
lights displays all the colors of the rainbow. Much
ordinary glazed, unlustered pottery is incorrectly
called majolica, however."
How do they make the luster, uncle ?"
By coating the ware with certain metallic
oxides, which, at the last of the many necessary
firings, diffuses a glaze over the surface."
"You said the painting was one of the nice
points of the ceraiiic art,' uncle. What does
'ceramic' mean? asked Willie.


It is sometimes spelled K-e-r-a-m-i-c, ceramic,
and comes from the Greek word xip0os, signifying
'potters' clay,' and hence, in a general sense, pot-
tery of every kind and methods of producing it."
Here Matie, who had been hugging her little
pug for some time, began to grow very sleepy, so
Uncle Jack dismissed the children with a good-
night" all around.
The door closed softly, and the little ones ran
off to their beds, while Uncle Jack leaned back in
his easy chair in a pleasant reverie, which we will
leave him to enjoy.


POEMS BY TWO LITTLE AMERICAN GIRLS.


[ELAINE AND DORA READ GOODALE, the two sisters some of whose poems are here given for the benefit of the readers of ST. NICHOLAS,
are children of thirteen and ten years of age.
Their home, where their infancy and childhood have been passed, is on a large and isolated farm, lying upon the broad slopes of the
beautiful Berkshire hills of western Massachusetts, and is quaintly called Sky Farm."
Here, in a simple country life, divided between books and nature, they began, almost as soon as they began to talk, to express in verse
what they saw and felt, rhyme and rhythm seeming to come by instinct. Living largely out-of-doors, vigorous and healthful in body as in
mind, they draw pleasure and instruction from all about them.
One of their chief delights is to wander over the lovely hills and meadows adjoining Sky Farm. Peeping into mossy dells, where wild
flowers love to hide, hunting the early arbutus, the queen harebell, or the blue gentian, they learn the secrets of nature, and these they
pour forth in song as simply and as naturally as the birds sing.]


SOME VERSES, WRITTEN BY DORA, ON A HUM-
MING-BIRD'S NEST, WHICH SHE FOUND OVER
HER STOCKING ON CHRISTMAS MORNING.

WHEN June was bright with roses fair,
And leafy trees about her stood,
When summer sunshine filled the air
And flickered through the quiet wood,
There, in its shade and silent rest,
A tiny pair had built their nest.

And when July, with scorching heat,
Had dried the meadow grass to hay,
And piled -in stacks about the field
Or fragrant in the barn it lay,
Within the nest so softly made
Two tiny, snowy eggs were laid.

But when October's ripened fruit
Had bent the very tree-tops down,
And dainty flowers faded, drooped,
And stately forests lost their crown,
Their brood was hatched and reared and flown--
The mossy nest was left alone.


And now the hills are cold and white,
'T is sever'd from its native bough;
We gaze upon it with delight;
Where are its cunning builders now?
Far in the sunny south they roam,
And leave to us their northern home.


THE GRUMBLER.
His Youth.
HIS coat was too thick and his cap was too thin,
He could n't be quiet, he hated a din;
He hated to write, and he hated to read,
He was certainly very much injured indeed;
He must study and work over books he detested,
His parents were strict, and he never was rested;
He knew he was wretched as wretched could be,
There was no one so wretchedly wretched as he.

His Maturity.
His farm was too small and his taxes too big,
He was selfish and lazy, and cross as a pig;
His wife was too silly, his children too rude;
And just because he was uncommonly good,


1O9








POEMS BY TWO LITTLE AMERICAN GIRLS.


He never had money enough or to spare,
He had nothing at all fit to eat or to wear;
He knew he was wretched as wretched could be,
There was no one so wretchedly wretched as he.

His Old Age.
He finds he has sorrows more deep than his fears,
He grumbles to think he has grumbled for years;
He grumbles to think he has grumbled away
His home and his fortune, his life's little day.
But, alas 't is too late,-it is no use to say
That his eyes are too dim, and his hair is too gray.
He knows he is wretched as wretched can be,
There is no one more wretchedly wretched than he.
DORA.


JUNE.

FOR stately trees in rich array,
For sunlight all the happy day,
For blossoms radiant and rare,
For skies when daylight closes,
For joyous, clear, outpouring song
From birds that all the green wood throng,
For all things young, and bright, and fair,
We praise thee, Month of Roses !

For blue, blue skies of summer calm,
For fragrant odors breathing balm,
For quiet, cooling shades where oft
The weary head reposes,
For brooklets babbling thro' the fields
Where Earth her choicest treasures yields,
For all things tender, sweet and sott,
We love thee, Month of Roses !
ELAINE.


SPRING SONG.

OH, the little streams are running,
Running, running !-
Oh, the little streams are running
O'er the lea;
And the green soft grass is springing,
Springing, springing !-
And the green soft grass is springing,
Fair to see.

In the woods the breezes whisper,
Whisper, whisper !-
In the woods the breezes whisper
To the flowers;
And the robins sing their welcome,
Welcome, welcome !-
And the robins sing their welcome,-
Happy hours!


Over all the sun is shining,
Shining, shining !-
Over all the sun is shining,
Clear and bright,-
Flooding bare and waiting meadows,
Meadows, meadows !-
Flooding bare and waiting meadows
With his light.


Sky Farm, March, '76.


ELAINE.


[Grown people often write in sympathy with children, but here is a
little poem by a child written in sympathy with grown folks:]

ASHES OF ROSES.
SOFT on the sunset sky
Bright daylight closes,
Leaving, when light doth die,
Pale hues that mingling lie-
Ashes of roses.

When love's warm sun is set,
Love's brightness closes;
Eyes with hot tears are wet,
In hearts there linger yet
Ashes of roses.
ELAINE.


SUMMER IS COMING.
SUMMER is coming the soft breezes whisper;
Summer is coming the glad birdies sing.
Summer is coming-I hear her quick footsteps;
Take your last look at the beautiful Spring.

Lightly she steps from her throne in the wood-
lands:
Summer is coming, and I cannot stay;
Two of my children have crept from my bosom:
April has left me but lingering May.

What tho' bright Summer is crowned with roses,
Deep in the forest Arbutus doth hide;
I am the herald of all the rejoicing;
Why must June always disown me?" she cried.

Down in the meadow she stoops to the daisies,
Plucks the first bloom from the apple-tree's
bough:
Autumn will rob me of all the sweet apples;
I will take one from her store of them now."

Summer is coming I hear the glad echo;
Clearly it rings o'er the mountain and plain.
Sorrowful Spring leaves the beautiful woodlands,
Bright, happy Summer begins her sweet reign.
DORA.


[DECEMBER,






SWEET MARJORAM DAY.




SWEET MARJORAM DAY.
(A Fairy Talc.)

BY FRANK R. STOCKTON.


IT was a very delightful country where little
Corette lived. It seemed to be almost always
summer-time there, for the winters were just long
enough to make people glad when they were over.
When it rained, it mostly rained at night, and so
the fields and gardens had all the water they
wanted, while the people were generally quite sure
of a fine day. And, as they lived a great deal out-
of-doors, this was a great advantage to them.


planted on purpose for the very little babies to play
in on the great day. They must be poor, indeed,
these people said, if they could not raise sweet
marjoram for their own needs and for exportation,
and yet have enough left for the babies to play in.
So, all this day the little youngsters rolled, and
tumbled, and kicked and crowed in the soft green
and white beds of the fragrant herb, and pulled it
up by the roots, and laughed and chuckled, and


'';''K


4ff J-


S if


THE BABIES N THE SWEET JO BEDS.
THE BABIES IN THE SWEET MARJORAM BEDS.


The principal business of the people of this
country was the raising of sweet marjoram. The
soil and climate were admirably adapted to the
culture of the herb, and fields and fields of it were
to be seen in every direction. At that time, and
this was a good while ago, very little sweet mar-
joram was raised in other parts of the world, so this
country had the trade nearly all to itself.
The great holiday of the year was the day on
which the harvest of this national herb began. It
was called Sweet Marjoram Day," and the people,
both young and old, thought more of it than of any
other holiday in the year.
On that happy day everybody went out into the
fields. There was never a person so old, or so
young, or so busy that he or she could not go to
help in the harvest. Even when there were sick
people, which was seldom, they were carried out to
the fields and staid there all day. And they gen-
erally felt much better in the evening.
There were always patches of sweet marjoram


went to sleep in it, and were the happiest babies in
the world.
They needed no care, except at dinner-time, so
the rest of the people gave all their time to gather-
ing in the crop and having fun. There was always
lots of fun on this great harvest day, for everybody
worked so hard that the whole crop was generally
in the sweet marjoram barns before breakfast, so
that they had nearly the whole day for games and
jollity.
In this country, where little Corette lived, there
were fairies. Not very many of them, it is true,
for the people had never seen but two. These
were sisters, and there were never fairies more
generally liked than these two little creatures,
neither of them over four inches high. They were
very fond of the company of human beings, and
were just as full of fun as anybody. They often
used to come to spend an hour or two, and some-
times a whole day, with the good folks, and they
seemed always glad to see and to talk to everybody.


~':C







SWEET MARJORAM DAY


These sisters lived near the top of a mountain in
a fairy cottage. This cottage had never been seen
by any of the people, but the sisters had often told
them all about it. It must have been a charming
place.
The house was not much bigger than a bandbox,
and it had two stories and a garret, with a little
portico running all around it. Inside was the
dearest little furniture of all kinds,-beds, tables,
chairs, and everything that could possibly be
needed.
Everything about the house and grounds was on
the same small scale. There was a little stable
and a little barn, with a little old man to work the
little garden and attend to the two little cows.
Around the house were garden-beds ever so small,
and little graveled paths; and a kitchen-garden,
where the peas climbed up little sticks no bigger
than pins, and where the little chickens, about the
size of flies, sometimes got in and scratched up the
little vegetables. There was a little meadow for
pasture, and a grove of little trees; and there was
also a small field of sweet marjoram, where the
blossoms were so tiny that you could hardly have
seen them without a magnifying glass.
It was not very far from this cottage to the sweet
marjoram country, and the fairy sisters had no
trouble at all in running down there whenever they
felt like it, but none of the people had ever seen
this little home. They had looked for it, but could
not find it, and the fairies would never take any of
them to it. They said it was no place for human
beings. Even the smallest boy, if he were to trip
his toe, might fall against their house and knock it
over ; and as to any of them coming into the fairy
grounds, that would be impossible, for there was
no spot large enough for even a common-sized baby
to creep about in.
On Sweet Marjoram Day the fairies never failed
to come. Every year they taught the people new
games, and all sorts of new ways of having fun.
People would never have even thought of having
such good times if it had not been for these
fairies.
One delightful afternoon, about a month before
Sweet Marjoram Day, Corette, who was a little girl
just old enough, and not a day too old (which is
exactly the age all little girls ought to be), was
talking about the fairy cottage to some of her com-
panions.
We never can see it," said Corette, sorrowfully.
No," said one of the other girls, we are too
big. If we were little enough, we might go."
"Are you sure the sisters would be glad to see
us, then ?" asked Corette.
"Yes, I heard them say so. But it does n't
matter at all, as we are not little enough."


No," said Corette, and she went off to take a
walk by herself.
She had not walked far before she reached a
small house which stood by the sea-shore. This
house belonged to a Reformed Pirate who lived
there all by himself. He had entirely given up a
sea-faring life so as to avoid all temptation, and he
employed his time in the mildest pursuits he could
think of.
When Corette came to his house, she saw him
sitting in an easy-chair in front of his door near the
edge of a small bluff which overhung the sea, busily
engaged in knitting a tidy.
When he saw Corette, he greeted her kindly,
and put aside his knitting, which he was very glad
to do, for he hated knitting tidies, though he
thought it was his duty to make them.
Well, my little maid," he said, in a sort of a
muffled voice, which sounded as if he were speaking
under water, for he tried to be as gentle in every
way as he could, "how do you do? You don't
look quite as gay as usual. Has anything run afoul
of you ?"
Oh no!" said Corette, and she came and stood
by him, and taking up his tidy, she looked it over
carefully and showed him where he had dropped a
lot of stitches and where he had made some too
tight and others a great deal too loose. He did
not know how to knit very well.
When she had shown him as well as she could
how he ought to do it, she sat down on the grass
by his side, and after a while she began to talk to
him about the fairy cottage, and what a great pity
it was that it was impossible for her ever to see it.
It is a pity," said the Reformed Pirate. "I've
heard of that cottage and I 'd like to see it myself.
In fact, I 'd like to go to see almost anything that
was proper and quiet, so as to get rid of the sight
of this everlasting knitting."
There are other things you might do besides
knit," said Corette.
Nothing so depressing and suitable," said he,
with a sigh.
It would be of no use for you to think of going
there," said Corette. Even I am too large, and
you are ever and ever so much too big. You
could n't get one foot into one of their paths."
I've no doubt that's true," he replied; but
the thing might be done. Almost anything can
be done if you set about it in the right way. But
you see, little maid, that you and I don't know
enough. Now, years ago, when I was in a dif-
ferent line of business, I often used to get puzzled
about one thing or another, and then I went to
somebody who knew more than myself."
"Were there many such persons?" asked
Corette.


[DECEMBER,







1877.] SWEET MARJORAM DAY. II3


Well, no. I always went to one old fellow who
was a Practicing Wizard. He lived, and still lives,


" But how could we get there ?" asked Corette.
"Oh1 I'd manage that," said the Reformed


-4--~
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___ u =__ __ -"c-- - l

THE REFORMED PIRATE.

I reckon, on an island about fifty miles from here, Pirate, his eyes flashing with animation. I've
right off there to the sou'-sou'-west. I've no doubt an old sail-boat back there in the creek that's as
that if we were to go to him he'd tell us just how good as ever she was. I could fix her up, and get
to do this thing." everything all ship-shape in a couple of days, and


'I




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-=-...}:;-_


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--


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__ r -m-
f : <








II4 SWEET MARJORAM DAY


then you and I could scud over there in no time.
What do you say ? Would n't you like to go ?"
Oh, I'd like to go ever so much cried Cor-
ette, clapping her hands, if they 'd let me."
Well, run and ask them," said he, rolling up
his knitting and stuffing it under the cushion of his
chair, and I'll go and look at that boat right
away."
So Corette ran home to her father and mother
and told them all about the matter. They listened
with great interest, and her father said :
Well now, our little girl is not looking quite as
well as usual. I have noticed that she is a little
pale. A sea-trip might be the very thing for her."
I think it would do her a great deal of good,"
said her mother, and as to that Reformed Pirate,
she'd be just as safe with him as if she was on dry
land."
So it was agreed that Corette should go. Her
father and mother were always remarkably kind.


and as he was to do it for the benefit of a good
little girl, it was all perfectly right and proper.
When they started off, the next day but one, all
the people who lived near enough, came down to
see them off. Just as they were about to start, the
Reformed Pirate said:
Hello I wonder if I had n't better run back to
the house and get my sword! I only wear the
empty scabbard now, but it might be safer, on a
trip like this, to take the sword along."
So he ran back and got it, and then he pushed
off amid the shouts of all the good people on the
beach.
The boat was quite a good-sized one, and it had
a cabin and everything neat and comfortable. The
Reformed Pirate'managed it beautifully, all by him-
self, and Corette sat in the stern and watched the
waves, and the sky, and the sea-birds, and was very
happy indeed.
As for her companion, he was in a state of





-


il-



-,$ .5.'


THE REFORMED PIRATE IS THE JOLLIEST IMAN AFLOAT.


The Reformed Pirate was perfectly delighted
when he heard this, and he went hard to work to
get his little vessel ready. To sail again on the
ocean seemed to him the greatest of earthly joys,


ecstasy. As the breeze freshened, the sails filled,
and the vessel went dashing over the waves, he
laughed and joked, and sang snatches of old sea-
songs, and was the jolliest man afloat.


~---
~F~r "- r'
-i-,.
---~ '-~----
-.--

C~;
~-- -i3---
-'- --







SWEET MARJORAM DAY.


After a while, as they went thus sailing merrily
along, a distant ship appeared in sight. The
moment his eyes fell upon it, a sudden change
came over the Reformed Pirate. He sprang to his
feet and, with his hand still upon the helm, he
leaned forward and gazed at the ship. He gazed
and he gazed, and he gazed without saying a word.
Corette spoke to him several times, but he answered
not. And as he gazed he moved the helm so that
his little craft gradually turned from her course,
and sailed to meet the distant ship.
As the two vessels approached each other, the
Reformed Pirate became very much excited. He
tightened his belt and loosened his sword in its
sheath. Hurriedly giving the helm to Corette, he
went forward and jerked a lot of ropes and hooks
from a cubby-hole where they had been stowed
away. Then he pulled out a small, dark flag, with
bits of skeleton painted on it, and hoisted it to the
top-mast.
By this time he had nearly reached the ship,
which was a large three-masted vessel. There
seemed to be a great commotion on board; sailors
were running this way and that; women were
screaming; and officers could be heard shouting,
"Put her about! Clap on more sail "
But steadily on sailed the small boat, and the
moment it came alongside the big ship, the Re-
formed Pirate threw out grapnels and made the
two vessels fast together. Then he hooked a rope-
ladder to the side of the ship, and rushing up it,
sprang with a yell on the deck of the vessel, waving
his flashing sword around his head !
"Down, dastards! varlets! hounds!" he shouted.
"Down upon your knees! Throw down your
arms! SURRENDER! "
Then every man went down upon his knees, and
threw down his arms and surrendered.
"Where is your Captain?" roared their con-
queror.
The Captain came trembling forward.
Bring to me your gold and silver, your jewels
and your precious stones, and your rich stuffs !"
The Captain ordered these to be quickly brought
and placed before the Reformed Pirate, who con-
tinued to stride to and fro across the deck waving
his glittering blade, and who, when he saw the
treasures placed before him, shouted again:
"Prepare for scuttling!" and then, while the
women got down on their knees and begged that
he would not sink the ship, and the children cried,
and the men trembled so that they could hardly
kneel straight, and the Captain stood pale and
shaking before him, he glanced at the pile of treas-
ure, and touched it with his sword.
Aboard with this, my men! he said. But
first I will divide it. I will divide this into,-into,


-into one part. Look here and then he paused,
glanced around, and clapped his hand to his head.
He looked at the people, the treasure and the
ship. Then suddenly he sheathed his sword, and,
stepping up to the Captain, extended his hand.
Good sir," said he, "you must excuse me.
This is a mistake. I had no intention of taking
this vessel. It was merely a temporary absence of
mind. I forgot I had reformed, and seeing this
ship, old scenes and my old business came into my
head, and I just came and took the vessel without
really thinking what I was doing. I beg you will
excuse me. And these ladies,-I am very sorry to
have inconvenienced them. I ask them to over-
look my unintentional rudeness."
Oh, don't mention it cried the Captain, his
face beaming with joy as he seized the hand of the
Reformed Pirate. It is of no importance, I assure
you. We are delighted, sir, delighted "
Oh yes cried all the ladies. Kind sir, we
are charmed We are charmed "
"You are all very good indeed," said the Re-
formed Pirate, "but I really think I was not
altogether excusable. And I am very sorry that I
made your men bring up all these things."
Not at all! not at all cried the Captain.
" No trouble whatever to show them. Very glad
indeed to have the opportunity. By the by, would
you like to take a few of them, as a memento
of your visit ? "
"Oh no, I thank you," replied the Reformed
Pirate, I would rather not."
Perhaps, then, some of your men might like
a trinket or a bit of cloth "
Oh, I have no men There is no one on
board but myself-excepting a little girl, who is a
passenger. But I must be going. Good-by, Cap-
tain "
I am sorry you are in such a hurry," said the
Captain. Is there anything at all that I can do
for you ?"
No, thank you. But stop !-there may be
something. Do you sail to any port where there is
a trade in tidies ?"
"Oh yes To several such," said the Captain.
"Well, then, I would be very much obliged to
you," said the Reformed Pirate, "if you would
sometimes stop off that point that you see there,
and send a boat ashore to my house for a load of
tidies."
You manufacture them by the quantity, then ?"
asked the Captain.
I expect to," said the other, sadly.
The Captain promised to stop, and, after shaking
hands with every person on deck, the Reformed
Pirate went down the side of the ship, and taking
in his ladder and his grapnels, he pushed off.


1877.J







SWEET MARJORAM DAY.


As he slowly sailed away, having lowered his
flag, the Captain looked over the side of his ship,
and said:
If I had only known that there was nobody
but a little girl on board I thought, of course, he
had a boat-load of pirates."
Corette asked a great many questions about
everything that had happened on the ship, for she
had heard the noise and confusion as she sat below
in the little boat; but her companion was disposed
to be silent, and said very little in reply.
When the trip was over, and they had reached
the island, the Reformed Pirate made his boat fast,
and taking little Corette by the hand, he walked
up to the house of the Practicing Wizard.
This was a queer place. It was a great rambling
house, one story high in some places, and nine or
ten in other places; and then, again, it seemed to
run into the ground and re-appear at a short
distance-the different parts being connected by
cellars and basements, with nothing but flower-
gardens over them.
Corette thought she had never seen such a won-
derful building; but she had not long to look at
the outside of it, for her companion, who had been
there before, and knew the ways of the place, went
up to a little door in a two-story part of the house
and knocked. Our friends were admitted by a
dark cream-colored slave, who informed them that
the Practicing Wizard was engaged with other vis-
itors, but that he would soon be at leisure.
So Corette and the Reformed Pirate sat down in
a handsome room, full of curious and wonderful
things, and, in a short time, they were summoned
into the Practicing Wizard's private office.
Glad to see you," said he, as the Reformed
Pirate entered. It has been a long time since
you were here. What can I do for you, now?
Want to know something about the whereabouts
of any ships, or the value of any cargoes ? "
Oh, no I'm out of that business now," said
the other. "I've come this time for something
entirely different. But I'll let this little girl tell
you what it is. She can do it a great deal better
than I can."
So Corette stepped up to the Practicing Wizard,
who was a pleasant, elderly man, with a smooth
white face, and a constant smile, which seemed to
have grown on his face instead of a beard, and she
told him the whole story of the fairy sisters and
their cottage, of her great desire to see it, and of
the difficulties in the way.
I know all about those sisters," he said; I
don't wonder you want to see their house. You
both wish to see it ? "
Yes," said the Reformed Pirate; I might as
well go with her, if the thing can be done at all."


"Very proper," said the Practicing Wizard,
"very proper, indeed. But there is only one
way in which it can be done. You must be con-
densed."
Does that hurt?" asked Corette.
Oh, not at all You 'll never feel it. For the
two it will be one hundred and eighty ducats,"
said he, turning to the Reformed Pirate; "we
make a reduction when there are more than one."
"Are you willing?" asked the Reformed Pirate
of Corette, as he put his hand in his breeches'
pocket.
"Oh yes said Corette, certainly I am, if
that's the only way."
Whereupon her good friend said no more, but
pulled out a hundred and eighty ducats and handed
them to the Practicing Wizard, who immediately
commenced operations.
Corette and the Reformed Pirate were each
placed in a large easy-chair, and upon each of
their heads the old white-faced gentleman placed a
little pink ball, about the size of a pea. Then he
took a position in front of them.
"Now then," said he, "sit perfectly still. It
will be over in a few minutes," and he lifted up a
long thin stick, and, pointing it toward the couple,
he began to count: One, two, three, four "
As he counted, the Reformed Pirate and Corette
began to shrink, and by the time he had reached
fifty they were no bigger than cats. But he kept
on counting until Corette was about three and a
half inches high and her companion about five
inches.
Then he stopped, and knocked the pink ball
from each of their heads with a little tap of his
long stick.
There we are," said he, and he carefully picked
up the little creatures and put them on a table in
front of a looking-glass, that they might see how
they liked his work.
It was admirably done. Every proportion had
been perfectly kept.
It seems to me that it could n't be better," said
the Condensed Pirate, looking at himself from top
to toe.
No," said the Practicing Wizard, smiling rather
more than usual, I don't believe it could."
But how are we to get away from here ?" said
Corette to her friend. "A little fellow like you
can't sail that big boat."
No," replied he, ruefully, that's true; I
could n't do it. But perhaps, sir, you could con-
dense the boat."
Oh no said the old gentleman, "that would
never do. Such a little boat would be swamped
before you reached shore, if a big fish did n't swal-
low you. No, I'll see that you get away safely."


[DECEMBER,





SWEET MARJORAM DAY.


So saying, he went to a small cage that stood in
a window, and took from it a pigeon.
This fellow will take you," said he. He is
very strong and swift, and will go ever so much
faster than your boat."
Next he fastened a belt around the bird, and to
the lower part of this he hung a little basket, with


trees, where the ripe peaches and apples hung, as
big as peas, and they knocked at the door of the
fairy sisters.
When these two little ladies came to the door,
they were amazed to see Corette.
"Why, how did you ever? they cried. "And
if there is n't our old friend the Reformed Pirate !"


IC
~Atj> -

"'IT SEEMS TO ME THAT IT COULD N'T BE BETTER/, SAID THE CONDENSED PIRATE."


two seats in it. He then lifted Corette and the
Condensed Pirate into the basket, where they sat
down opposite one another.
Do you wish to go directly to the cottage of
the fairy sisters ? said the old gentleman.
Oh yes said Corette.
So he wrote the proper address on the bill of the
pigeon, and, opening the window, carefully let the
bird fly.
I '11 take care of your boat," he cried to the
Condensed Pirate, as the pigeon rose in the air.
" You '11 find it all right, when you come back."
And he smiled worse than ever.
The pigeon flew up to a great height, and then
he took flight in a straight line for the Fairy
Cottage, where he arrived before his passengers
thought they had half finished their journey.
The bird alighted on the ground, just outside of
the boundary fence; and when Corette and her
companion had jumped from the basket, he rose
and flew away home as fast as he could go.
The Condensed Pirate now opened a little gate
in the fence, and he and Corette walked in. They
went up the graveled path, and under the fruit-


"Condensed Pirate, if you please," said that
individual. There's no use of my being reformed
while I'm so small as this. I could n't hurt any-
body if I wanted to."
Well, come right in, both of you," said the
sisters, "and tell us all about it."
So they went in, and sat in the little parlor, and
told their story. The fairies were delighted with
the whole affair, and insisted on a long visit, to
which our two friends were not at all opposed.
They found everything at this cottage exactly as
they had been told. They ate the daintiest little
meals off the daintiest little dishes, and they thor-
oughly enjoyed all the delightful little things in the
little place. Sometimes, Corette and the fairies
would take naps in little hammocks under the
trees, while the Condensed Pirate helped the little
man drive up the little cows, or work in the little
garden.
On the second day of their visit, when they were
all sitting on the little portico after supper, one of
the sisters, thinking that the Condensed Pirate
might like to have something to do, and knowing
how he used to occupy himself, took from her






SWEET MARJORAM DAY


basket a little half-knit tidy, with the needles in it,
and asked him if he cared to amuse himself with
that.
No, MA'AM !" said he, firmly but politely.
Not at present. If I find it necessary to reform
again, I may do something of the kind, but not
now. But I thank you kindly, all the same."
After this, they were all very careful not to men-
tion tidies to him.
Corette and her companion stayed with the fairies
for more than a week. Corette knew that her father
and mother did not expect her at home for some
time, and so she felt quite at liberty to stay as long
as she pleased.
As to the sisters, they were delighted to have
their visitors with them.
But, one day, the Condensed Pirate, finding
Corette alone, led her, with great secrecy, to the
bottom of the pasture field, the very outskirts of
the fairies' domain.
Look here," said he, in his lowest tones. Do
you know, little Corette, that things are not as I
expected them to be here? Everything is very
nice and good, but nothing appears very small to
me. Indeed, things seem to be just about the
right size. How does it strike you ? "
Why, I have been thinking the same thing,"
said Corette. The sisters used to be such dear,
cunning little creatures, and now they're bigger
than I am. But I don't know what can be done
about it."
I know," said the Condensed Pirate.
What ?" asked Corette.
Condense 'em," answered her companion,
solemnly.
Oh But you could n't do that! exclaimed
Corette.
Yes, but I can-at least, I think I can. You
remember those two pink condensing balls ?"
"Yes," said Corette.
Well, I've got mine."
"You have cried Corette. "How did you
get it ?"
Oh! when the old fellow knocked it off my
head, it fell on the chair beside me, and I picked it
up and put it in my coat-pocket. It would just go
in. He charges for the balls, and so I thought I
might as well have it."
But do you know how he works them ?"
Oh yes replied the Condensed Pirate. I
watched him. What do you say? Shall we con-
dense this whole place ? "
It wont hurt them," said Corette, "and I don't
really think they would mind it."
Mind it! No !" said the other. I believe
they'd like it."
So it was agreed that the Fairy Cottage, inmates,


and grounds should be condensed until they were,
relatively, as small as they used to be.
That afternoon, when the sisters were taking a
nap and the little man was at work in the barn, the
Condensed Pirate went up into the garret of the
cottage and got out on the roof. Then he climbed
to the top of the tallest chimney, which overlooked
everything on the place, and there he laid his little
pink ball.
He then softly descended, and, taking Corette
by the hand (she had been waiting for him on the
portico), he went down to the bottom of the pasture
field.
When he was quite sure that he and Corette
were entirely outside of the fairies' grounds, he
stood up, pointed to the ball with a long, thin stick
which he had cut, and began to count: "One,
two, three "
And as he counted the cottage began to shrink.
Smaller and smaller it became, until it got. to be
very little indeed.
Is that enough?" said the Condensed Pirate,
hurriedly between two counts.
No," replied Corette. There is the little
man, just come out of the barn. He ought to be
as small as the sisters used to be. I 'll tell you
when to stop."
So the counting went on until Corette said,
"Stop!" and the cottage was really not much
higher than a thimble. The little man stood by
the barn, and seemed to Corette to be just about
the former size of the fairy sisters ; but, in fact, he
was not quite a quarter of an inch high. Every-
thing on the place was small in proportion, so that
when Corette said "Stop the Condensed Pirate
easily leaned over and knocked the pink ball from
the chimney with his long stick. It fell outside of
the grounds, and he picked it up and put it in his
pocket.
Then he and Corette stood and admired every-

thing It was charming It was just what they
had imagined before they came there. While they
were looking with delight at the little fields, and
trees, and chickens,-so small that really big peo-
ple could not have seen them,-and at the cute
little house, with its vines and portico, the two sis-
ters came out on the little lawn.
When they saw Corette and her companion they
were astounded.
"Why, when did you grow big again?" they
cried. Oh how sorry we are Now you can-
not come into our house and live with us any
longer."
Corette and the Condensed Pirate looked at
each other, as much as to say, They don't know
they have been made so little."
Then Corette said: We are sorry too. I sup-


[DECEMBER,






SWEET MARJORAM DAY.


pose we shall have to go away now. But we have
had a delightful visit."
It has been a charming one for us," said one
of the sisters, and if we only had known, we
would have had a little party before you went away;
but now it is too late."
The Condensed Pirate said nothing. He felt
rather guilty about the matter. He might have
waited a little, and yet he could not have told them
about it. They might have objected to be con-
densed.
"May we stay just a little while and look at
things ?" asked Corette.
"Yes," replied one of the fairies; "but you
must be very careful not to step inside the grounds,
or to stumble over on our place. You might do
untold damage."
So the two little big people stood and admired
the fairy cottage and all about it, for this was
indeed the sight they came to see ; and then they
took leave of their kind entertainers, who would
have been glad to have them stay longer, but were
really trembling with apprehension lest some false
step or careless movement might ruin their little
home.
As Corette and the Condensed Pirate took their
way through the woods to their home, they found
it very difficult to get along, they were so small.
When they came to a narrow stream, which Corette
would once have jumped over with ease, the Con-
densed Pirate had to make a ferry-boat of a piece
of bark, and paddle himself and the little girl
across.
I wonder how the fairies used to come down to
us," said Corette, who was struggling along over
the stones and moss, hanging on to her com-
panion's hand.
Oh I expect they have a nice smooth path
somewhere through the woods, where they can run
along as fast as they please; and bridges over the
streams."
Why did n't they tell us of it ?" asked Corette.
They thought it was too little to be of any use
to us. Don't you see ?-they think we're big
people and would n't need their path."
Oh, yes said Corette.
In time, however, they got down the mountain
and out of the woods, and then they climbed up
on one of the fences and ran along the top of it
toward Corette's home.
When the people saw them, they cried out:
"Oh, here come our dear little fairies, who have not
visited us for so many days!" But when they saw
them close at hand, and perceived that they were
little Corette and the Pirate who had reformed,
they were dumbfounded.
Corette did not stop to tell them anything; but


still holding her companion's hand, she ran on to
her parents' house, followed by a crowd of neigh-
bors.
Corette's father and mother could hardly believe
that this little thing was their daughter, but there
was no mistaking her face and her clothes, and her
voice, although they were all so small; and when
she had explained the matter to them, and to the
people who filled the house, they understood it all.
They were filled with joy to have their daughter
back again, little or big.
When the Condensed Pirate went to his house,
he found the door locked, as he had left it, but he
easily crawled in through a crack. He found
everything of an enormous size. It did not look
like the old place. He climbed up the leg of a
chair and got on a table, by the help of the table-
cloth, but it was hard work. He found something
to eat and drink, and all his possessions were in
order, but he did not feel at home.
Days passed on, and while the Condensed Pirate
did not feel any better satisfied, a sadness seemed
to spread over the country, and particularly over
Corette's home. The people grieved that they
never saw the fairy sisters, who indeed had made
two or three visits, with infinite trouble and toil,
but who could not make themselves observed, their
bodies and their voices being so very small.
And Corette's father and mother grieved. They
wanted their daughter to be as she was before.
They said that Sweet Marjoram Day was very near,
but that they could not look forward to it with
pleasure. Corette might go out to the fields, but
she could only sit upon some high place, as the
fairies used to sit. She could not help in the
gathering. She could not even be with the babies;
they would roll on her and crush her. So they
mourned.
It was now the night before the great holiday.
Sweet Marjoram Eve had not been a very gay
time, and the people did not expect to have much
fun the next day. How could they if the fairy
sisters did not come? Corette felt badly, for she
had never told that the sisters had been condensed,
and the Condensed Pirate, who had insisted on her
secrecy, felt worse. That night he lay in his great
bed, really afraid to go to sleep on account of rats
and mice.
He was so extremely wakeful that he lay and
thought, and thought, and thought for a long time,
and then he got up and dressed and went out.
It was a beautiful moonlight night, and he made
his way directly to Corette's house. There, by
means of a vine, he climbed up to her window,
and gently called her. She was not sleeping
well, and she soon heard him and came to the
window.






SWEET MARJORAM DAY.


He then asked her to bring him two spools of
fine thread.
Without asking any questions, she went for the
thread, and very soon made her appearance at the


good plan in his head, and he hurried down the
vine, took up a spool under each arm, and bent his
way to the church. This building had a high
steeple which overlooked the whole country. He


THE CONDENSED PIRATE CLIMBS UP THE OUTSIDE OF THE STEEPLE.

window with one spool in her arms, and then she left one of his spools outside, and then, easily creep-
went back for another. ing with the other under one of the great doors, he
"Now, then," said the Condensed Pirate, when carried it with infinite pains and labor up into the
he had thrown the spools down to the ground, belfry.
"will you dress yourself and wait here at the win- There he tied it on his back, and, getting out of
dow until I come and call you ?" a window, began to climb up the outside of the
Corette promised, for she thought he had some steeple.


[DECEMBER,






SWEET MARJORAM DAY.


It was not hard for him to do this, for the rough
stones gave him plenty of foot-hold, and he soon
stood on the very tip-top of the steeple. He then
took tight hold of one end of the thread on his
spool and let the spool drop. The thread rapidly
unrolled, and the spool soon touched the ground.
Then our friend took from his pocket the pink
ball, and passing the end of the thread through a
little hole in the middle of it, he tied it firmly.
Placing the ball in a small depression on the top
of the steeple, he left it there, with the thread
hanging from it, and rapidly descended to the
ground. Then he took the other spool and tied
the end of its thread to that which was hanging
from the steeple.
He now put down the spool and ran to call Cor-
ette. When she heard his voice she clambered
down the vine to him.
Now, Corette," he said, "run to my house
and stand on the beach, near the water, and wait
for me."
Corette ran off as he had asked, and he went
back to his spool. He took it up and walked slowly
to his house, carefully unwinding the thread as he
went. The church was not very far from the sea-
shore, so he soon. joined Corette. With her assist-
ance he then unwound the rest of the thread,
and made a little coil. He next gave the coil to
Corette to hold, cautioning her to be very careful,
and then he ran off to where some bits of wood
were lying, close to the water's edge. Selecting a
little piece of thin board he pushed it into the
water, and taking a small stick in his hand, he
jumped on it, and poled it along to where Corette
was standing. The ocean here formed a little bay
where the water was quite smoothly.
"Now, Corette," said the Condensed Pirate,
we must be very careful. I will push this ashore
and you must step on board, letting out some of
the thread as you come. Be sure not to pull it
tight. Then I will paddle out a little way, and as I
push, you must let out more thread."
Corette did as she was directed, and very soon
they were standing on the little raft a few yards
from shore. Then her companion put down his
stick, and took the coil of thread.
"What are you going to do?" asked Corette.
She had wanted to ask before, but there did not
seem to be time.
Well," said he, "we can't make ourselves any
bigger-at least, I don't know how to do it, and so
I 'm going to condense the whole country. The
little pink ball is on top of the steeple, which is
higher than anything else about here, you know.
I can't knock the ball off at the proper time, so
I've tied a thread to it to pull it off. You and I
are outside of the place, on the water, so we wont
VOL. V.-9.


be made any smaller. If the thing works, every-
body will be our size, and all will be right again."
Splendid cried Corette. But how will you
know when things are little enough ?"
Do you see that door in my house, almost in
front of us ? Well, when I was of the old size, I
used just to touch the top of that door with my
head, if I did n't stoop. When you see that the
door is about my present height, tell me to stop.
Now then !"
The Condensed Pirate began to count, and in-
stantly the whole place, church, houses, fields, and
of course the people who were in bed, began to
shrink He counted a good while before Corette
thought his door would fit him. At last she called
to him to stop. He glanced at the door to feel
sure, counted one more, and pulled the thread.
Down came the ball, and the size of the place was
fixed !
The whole of the sweet marjoram country was
now so small that the houses were like bandboxes,
and the people not more than four or five inches
high-excepting some very tall people who were
six inches.
Drawing the ball to him, the Condensed Pirate
pushed out some distance, broke it from the
thread, and threw it into the water.
No more condensing said he. He then
paddled himself and Corette ashore, and running
to his cottage, threw open the door and looked
about him. Everything was just right! Every-
thing fitted He shouted with joy.
It was just daybreak when Corette rushed into
her parents' house. Startled by the noise, her
father and mother sprang out of bed.
Our daughter Our darling daughter they
shouted, and she has her proper size again 1 1"
In an instant she was clasped in their arms.
When the first transports of joy were over, Cor-
ette sat down and told them the whole story-told
them everything.
"'It is all right," said her mother, "so that we
are all of the same size," and she shed tears of joy.
Corette's father ran out to ring the church-bell,
so as to wake up the people and tell them the good
news of his daughter's restoration. When he came
in, he said:
I see no difference in anything. Everybody is
all right."
There never was such a glorious celebration of
Sweet Marjoram Day as took place that day.
The crop was splendid, the weather was more
lovely than usual, if such a thing could be, and
everybody was in the gayest humor.
But the best thing of all was the appearance of
the fairy sisters. When they came among the
people they all shouted as if they had gone wild.








"S IN U A-SING I" [DECEMBER,


And the good little sisters were so overjoyed that
they could scarcely speak.
What a wonderful thing it is to find that we
have grown to our old size again We were here
several times lately, but somehow or other we
seemed to be so very small that we could n't make
you see or hear us. But now it's all right. Hur-
rah We have forty-two new games "
And at that, the crop being all in, the whole
country, with a shout of joy, went to work to play.
There were no gayer people to be seen than
Corette and the Condensed Pirate. Some of his
friends called this good man by his old name, but
he corrected them.
"I am reformed, all the same," he said, but
do not call me by that name. I shall never be able
to separate it from its associations with tidies. And
with them I am done for ever. Owing to circum-
stances, I do not need to be depressed."
The captain of the ship never stopped off the


coast for a load of tidies. Perhaps he did not care
to come near the house of his former captor, for
fear that he might forget himself again, and take
the ship a second time. But if the captain had
come, it is not likely that his men would have
found the cottage of the Condensed Pirate, un-
less they had landed at the very spot where it
stood.
And it so happened that no one ever noticed this
country after it was condensed. Passing ships
could not come near enough to see such a very lit-
tle place, and there never were any very good roads
to it by land.
But the people continued to be happy and pros-
perous, and they kept up the celebration of Sweet
Marjoram Day as gayly as when they were all or-
dinary-sized people.
IhT the whole country there were only two per-
sons, Corette and the Pirate, who really believed
that they were condensed.


"SING-A-SING!"

BY S. C. STONE.


Iu .A --A








LISTEN and hear the tea-kettle sing:
"Sing a-sing a-sing a-sing !"
It matters not how hot the fire,
It only sends its voice up higher:
Sing a-sing a-sing a-sing!
Sing a-sing a-sing a-sing!"


-S -
. _- -
-i,--


BB^'- --'


,- J '


-. '-:- -


Listen and hear the tea-kettle sing:
"Sing a-sing a-sing a-sing "
As if 't were task of fret and toil
To bring cold water to a boil!
Sing a-sing a-sing a-sing
Sing a-sing a-sing a-sing!"


11SING-A-SIN G! "


[DECEMBER,


-" ---
;~
r -
~''


~a~J:87






NOW, OR THEN?



NOW, OR THEN?

BY GAIL HAMILTON.


I SUPPOSE the wise young women-fourteen,
fifteen, sixteen years old-who read ST. NICHOLAS,
who understand the most complex vulgar fractions,
who cipher out logarithms "just for fun," who
chatter familiarly about Kickero" and luliuse
Kiser," and can bang a piano dumb and helpless
in fifteen minutes-they, I suppose, will think me
frivolous and unaspiring if I beg them to lay aside
their science,-which is admirable,-and let us
reason together a few minutes about such unim-
portant themes as little points of good manners.
A few months ago I had the pleasure of talking
with a gentleman who thought he remembered
being aroused from his midnight sleep by loud
rejoicings in the house and on the streets over the
news that Lord Cornwallis had surrendered the
British to the American forces. He was only two
years old at that time; but, he said, he had a very
strong impression of the house being full of light,
of many people hurrying hither and yon, and of the
watchman's voice in the street penetrating through
all the din with the cry-" Past twelve o'clock and
Cornwallis is taken "
Among many interesting reminiscences and re-
flections, this dignified and delightful old gentle-
,man said he thought the young people of to-day
were less mannerly than in the olden time, less
deferential, less decorous. This may be true, and
I tried to be sufficiently deferential to my courtly
host, not to disagree with him. But when I look
upon the young people of my own acquaintance, I
recall that William went, as a matter of course, to
put the ladies in their carriage; Jamie took the
hand luggage as naturally as if he were born for
nothing else; Frank never failed to open a door
for them; Arthur placed Maggie in her chair at
table before he took his own; Nelly and Ruth
came to my party just as sweet and bright as if
they did not know that the young gentlemen whom
they had expected to meet were prevented from
attending; while Lucy will run herself out of
breath for you, and Mary sits and listens with flat-
tering intentness, and Anne and Alice and-well,
looking over my constituency, I find the young
people charming.
It is true that all manners are less formal, that
etiquette is less elaborate, now than a hundred years
ago. Our grandfathers and grandmothers-some,
indeed, of our fathers and mothers-did not sit at
breakfast with their fathers and mothers, but stood
through the meal, and never spoke except when


spoken to. I cannot say I think we have deterio-
rated in changing this. The pleasant, familiar,
affectionate intercourse between parent and child
seems to me one of the most delightful features of
domestic life. The real, fond intimacy which exists
between parents and children seems a far better
and safer thing than the old fashion of keeping
children at arm's length.
But in casting aside forms we are, perhaps,
somewhat in danger of losing with them some of
that inner kindness of which form is only the
outward expression. Without admitting that we
are an uncivil people, insisting even that we com-
pare favorably with other nations, I wish our boys
and girls would resolve that the courtesy of the
Republic shall never suffer in their hands !
Does this seem a trivial aim for those who are
bending their energies to attain a high standing in
classics and mathematics? There is perhaps no
single quality that does as much to make life
smooth and comfortable-yes, and successful-as
courtesy. Logarithms are valuable in their way,
but there are many useful and happy people who
are not very well versed even in the rule of three.
A man may not know a word of Latin, or what is
meant by the moon's terminator," or how much
sodium is in Arcturus, and yet be constantly diffus-
ing pleasure. But no man can be agreeable with-
out courtesy, and every separate act of incivility
creates its little, or large, and ever enlarging circle
of displeasure and unhappiness.
One does not wish to go through life trying to be
agreeable; but life is a great failure if one goes
through it disagreeable.
Yes, little friends, believe me, you may be very
learned, very skillful, very accomplished. I trust
you are: I hope you will become more so. You
may even have sound principles and good habits;
but if people generally do not like you, it is because
there is something wrong in yourself, and the best
thing you can do is to study out what it is and cor-
rect it as fast as possible. Do not for a moment
fancy it is because you are superior to other people
that they dislike you, for superiority never, of itself,
made a person unlovely. It is invariably a defect
of some sort. Generally it is a defect arising from
training, and therefore possible to overcome.
For instance: two girls in the country have each
a pony phaeton. One drives her sisters, her family,
her guests, her equals, and never thinks of going
outside that circle. Another does the same; but,









more than this, she often takes the cook, the laun- she accept or not, she pays a visit to her hostess
dress, or the one woman who often is cook, laun- afterward and expresses her pleasure or her regrets;
dress, house-maid, all in one. And to them the and she pays it with promptness, and not with
drive is a far greater luxury than to her own com- tardy reluctance, as if it were a burden. If she has
rades, who would be playing croquet or riding if been making a week's visit away from home, she
they were not with her. Now and then she invites notifies her hostess of her safe return and her en-
some poor neighbor, she takes some young semp- joyment of the visit, as soon as she is back again.
stress or worsted-worker to town to do her shop- If a bouquet is sent her,-too informal for a note,
ping, she carries the tired housewife to see her -she remembers to speak of it afterward. You
mother, she asks three little girls-somewhat never can remember? No: but Fanny does. That
crowded but rapturously happy-three miles to see is why I admire her. If she has borrowed a book,
the balloon that has alighted on the hill; she drives she has an appreciative word to say when she re-
a widowed old mother-in-Israel to a tea-drinking turns it; and if she has dropped it in the mud, she
of which she would otherwise be deprived. These does not apologize and offer to replace it. She
are not charities. They are courtesies, and this replaces it first and apologizes afterward, though
bright-faced girl is sunshine in her village home, she has to sacrifice a much-needed pair of four-
and, by and by, when her box of finery is by some button gloves to do it Indeed, no person has as
mistake left at the station, a stalwart youngster, little apologizing to do as Fanny, because she does
unbidden, shoulders it and bears it, panting and everything promptly; and you may notice that
perspiring, to her door-step, declaring that he what we apologize for chiefly is delay. We per-
would not do it for another person in town but form our little social duties, only not in good sea-
Miss Fanny And perhaps he does not even say son, and so rob them of half their grace. It takes
MIiss Fanny-only Fanny. Now she could get on no longer to answer a letter to-day than it will take
very well without the villager's admiring affection, to-morrow. But if the letter requires an answer
and even without her box of finery; yet the good- instantly, and you put it off day after day, your
will of your neighbors is exceeding pleasant. correspondent is vexed, and your tardy answer will
Another thing Fanny excels in is the acknowl- never be quite a reparation. Remember that no
edgment of courtesy, which is itself as great a explanation, no apology, is quite as good as to
courtesy as the performance of kindness. If she is have done the thing exactly as it should be in the
invited to a lawn party or a boating picnic, whether first place.


JACK'S CHRISTMAS.

BY EMMA K. PARRISH.


JACK had just heard of Christmas for the first
time Ten years old, and never knew about
Christmas before Jack's mother was a weary,
overworked woman, and had no heart to tell the
children about merry times and beautiful things in
which they could have no share.
His parents were very poor. When I tell you
that they lived in a log-house you might think so,
although some people live very comfortably in
log-houses. But when I say that the snow drifted
through the cracks in the roof until the chamber
floor was fit to go sleighing on, and that it was so
cold down-stairs that the gravy froze on the chil-
dren's plates while they were eating breakfast, and
that the little girls had no shoes but cloth ones
which their mother sewed to their stockings, you
will see that they were poor indeed. Mrs. Boyd,


Jack's mother, generally went about her work with
a shawl tied around her, and a comforter over her
ears, on account of the car-ache; and on the cold-
est days she kept Jack's little sisters wrapped up from
head to foot and perched on chairs near the stove,
so they would n't freeze. No; she did n't feel much
like telling them about Christmas, when she did n't
know but they would freeze to death, or, may be,
starve, before that time. But Jack found out. He
was going to school that winter, and one learns so
much at school i He came home one night brim-
ful of the news that Christmas would be there in
three weeks, and that Santa Claus would come
down chimneys and say, I wish you Merry
Christmas and then put lots of nice things in all
the stockings.
Mrs. Boyd heard him talking, and was glad the


JACK'S CHRISTMAS.


[DECEMBER,






JACK'S CHRISTMAS. 125


children were enjoying themselves, but hoped from
her heart that they would n't expect anything, only
to be bitterly disappointed. Most of that evening
little Janey, the youngest girl, sat singing:

"Wis' you Melly Kitsmas!
Wis' you Melly Kitsmas !

in a quaint, little minor key, that was n't plaintive
enough to be sad, nor merry enough to be jolly,
but only a sweet monotony of sounds and words
showing that she was contented, and did n't feel
any of the dreadful aches and pains which some-
times distressed her so.
For a week, Jack wondered and mused within
himself how he could get something for Christmas
presents for his little sisters. He could n't make
anything at home without their seeing it, nor at
school without the teacher's seeing it, or else the
big boys plaguing him about it. Besides, he
would rather buy something pretty, such as they
had never seen before-china dolls in pink dresses,
or something of that kind. One morning, however,
Jack discovered some quail-tracks in the snow near
the straw-stack, and he no longer wondered about
ways and means, but in a moment was awake to
the importance of this discovery. That very even-
ing he made a wooden trap, and the next morning
early set it near the stack, and laid an inviting train
of wheat quite up to it, and scattered a little inside.
He told his sisters, Mary and Janey, about the trap,
but not about what he meant to do with the quails
when he caught them. That afternoon Jack went
to his trap, and to his unbounded joy found an
imprisoned quail, frozen quite stiff. He quickly set
the trap again, and ran to the house with his bird.
All that evening he worked at quail-traps and made
three more.
It was so much warmer that their mother let the
children stay up a little later than usual; and Mary
ventured to bring out her playthings and Janey's.
These were two dolls, some bits of broken dishes,
and a few little pine blocks. Mary watched her
mother's face until she was sure she was "feeling
good," before she ventured to begin a play, because
on days when mother was very discouraged, it made
her feel worse if the children were noisy, and so
they would keep quiet and speak in whispers.
':Does Santa Claus bring dolls?" asked Mary,
suddenly, of Jack.
Oh yes; dolls with pretty dresses on; and
little bunnits and pink shoes; and little cubberds
to keep their clothes in, and chairs, and every-
thing," said Jack, enthusiastically.
Oh, my !" sighed Mary, as she looked dolefully
at their poor little heap of toys.
Reader, their dolls were cobs, with square pieces
of calico tied around them for dresses; and after


hearing what Jack said, it- was n't so much fun
playing, and the little girls soon went to bed. After
they were asleep, Mrs. Boyd said, reproachfully :
Jack, I wish you would n't say anything more
about Christmas to the children."
"Why, is it bad?" asked Jack, so astonished
that he stopped whittling.
"No, of course not; but you're getting their
heads full of notions about fine things they never
can have."
Jack's eyes twinkled.
Oh, but you don't understand, mother," said
he; may be Santy Claus will come this year."
His mother shook her head.
You know I caught one quail to-day? whis-
pered Jack.
Well! said his mother.
Well, I'm going to save 'em all the week, and
Saturday take 'em to the meat-man in the village.
I guess he'll buy 'em. I heard that quails were
fetching two cents apiece. And I'm going to get
enough money to buy the girls something nice,
and you must make 'em hang up their stockings,
mother, and then we 'll put the things in after they
get asleep."
His mother smiled quite cheerfully. Well,"
said she, do the best you can."
Their father was away that evening. He was
generally away evenings, because most of the
neighbors had cozier firesides than his, besides
apples, and sometimes cider; and so he passed
many a pleasant hour in gossip and farm-talk, while
his own little family shivered gloomily at home.
By Saturday morning Jack had ten quails. The
four traps had not been as fruitful as they ought to
have been, perhaps, but this was doing very well,
and he trudged joyfully to town with his game
hanging on a stick over his shoulder. The meat-
man did indeed give two cents apiece for quails,
and he invited Jack to bring as many more as he
could get.
The next Saturday was only two days before
Christmas, and how beautiful were all the stores
on the village street! Even the groceries had
Christmas toys and Christmas trees. A good many
boys and girls stood around the store windows
pointing out the things they most admired, and
wondering what Santa Claus would bring them.
Jack had fifteen quails, which brought him thirty
cents; so he was now the owner of half a dollar,
which was more money than he had ever possessed
in all his life before. But when two dolls were
bought, and they were n't very fine dolls either,
there were only twenty cents left. Jack did mean
to buy something for his mother too, but he had to
give that up, and after looking over the bright
colored toy-books in the show-case, he selected two






126 JACK'S CHRISTMAS. [DECEMBER,


little primers, one with.a pink cover and one with a
blue one, and with a big ache in his throat, parted
with his last ten cents for candy. How very, very
little he was buying after all, and not one thing for
his dear mother who had sat up till two o'clock the
night before, mending his ragged clothes for him.
Jack's heart was very heavy as he walked out of


mittened hand, and said quite gently: For the
girls, I s'pose."
Yes, sir." answered Jack, beginning to feel
relieved.
Well, run along home."
Jack was only too happy to do so. There was n't
much sympathy between him and his father, nor,


N-r-


I-rl 7 -
V ~I
-4{,'

"'LET ME SEE 'EM, SAID HIS FATHER.


the gay store with such a little package, but it sank
still lower when his father's tall form loomed up
suddenly before him right in front of the door.
What you doing here ?" he asked, sternly.
Been buying a few things," said Jack.
Let me see 'em," said his father.
Jack tremblingly opened his package.
Where'd you get the money? "
With quails," said Jack, meekly.
His father fumbled over the things with his big,


indeed, between his father and any of the family-
that is, there did n't seem to be; but I guess the
stream was frozen over, and only needed a few
gleams of sunshine to make it bubble on, laughing
and gurgling as in the best of hearts.
Jack related his adventures to his mother in
whispers, and hid the Christmas articles in the
wash-boiler until such time as they should be
wanted for certain small stockings. He told his
mother how sorry he was not to have a present for






1877.] JACK'S CHRISTMAS. 127


her, and that little speech went a long way toward
making her happy. That night she sat up--I
would n't dare tell you how late-making cookies,-
something that had n't been in the house before
that winter. She cut them out in all manner of
shapes that feminine ingenuity and a case-knife
could compass, not forgetting a bird for Janey,
with a remarkably plump bill, and a little girl for
Mary, with the toes turned out. She also made
some balls of brown sugar (the Boyds never thought
of such a luxury as white sugar), to make believe
candy, for she did n't know Jack had bought any
candy.
Now I am going to tell what Mr. Boyd did after
he met Jack by the toy-store. He had gone to
the village to have a good time." That did n't
mean, as it does with some men, to get tipsy ; but
it meant he was going to Munger's grocery, where
he could meet people, and talk and joke, and keep
warm.
Mr. Boyd had been chopping wood for a farmer,
and had received his pay; but instead of going
dutifully home and consulting with his wife about
what he should buy, he was going to "look
around" and see what Munger had. He was
touched at the sight of Jack's poor little package
of gifts, but I doubt if it would have made much
impression on his mind if somebody had n't walked
in to Munger's and asked in a brisk, loud voice:
"Got any Brazil nuts, Munger ?"
The man with the brisk voice bought I don't
know how many quarts of Brazil nuts, and walnuts,
and filberts, and almonds, with all the loungers
looking on, very much interested in the spectacle.
Then he bought raisins, and candy, and oranges,
Mr. Munger growing more smiling every minute.
"Going to keep Christmas, I guess," said he,
rubbing his hands together.
That I am ; Christmas comes but once a year,'
and there are little folks up at our house who 've
been -looking for it with all their eyes for a fort-
night."
Then he bought a bushel of apples, and, filling
a peck measure with them, passed them around
among the men who sat and stood about the stove.
Take 'em home to your little folks if you don't
want 'em," he said, when any one hesitated.
There were three or four apples apiece, and Mr.
Boyd put all his in his pockets, with a slight feeling
of Christmas warmth beginning to thaw his heart.
After this cheery purchaser had gone, some one
asked: Who is that chap ?"
He's the new superintendent of the Orphant
Asylum," answered Mr. Munger, rubbing his hands
again; and a mighty nice man he is, too. Pays
for all them things out of his own pocket. Very
fond of children. Always likes to see 'em happy."


There were two or three men around that stove
who hung their heads, and Mr. Boyd was one of
them. He hung his the lowest, perhaps because
he had the longest neck. I don't know what the
other men did,-something good and pleasant, I
hope,-but Mr. Boyd thought and thought. First
he thought how the orphants" were going to
have a brighter and merrier Christmas than his
own children, who had both father and mother.
Then he thought about sweet, patient little Janey,
and quiet Mary, and generous Jack, who had
taken so much pains to give pleasure to his sisters,
and a great rush of shame filled his heart. Now,
when Mr. Boyd was once thoroughly aroused, he
was alive through the whole of his long frame. He
thumped his knee with his fist, then arose and
walked to the counter, where he dealt out rapid
orders to the astonished grocer for nuts, candies
and oranges; not in such large quantities, to be
sure, as the "orphants'" friend had done, but gen-
erous enough for three children. And he bought
a calico dress for his wife, a pair of shoes for each
of the little girls, and a cap for Jack. That store
contained everything, from grind-stones to slate-
pencils, and from whale-oil to peppermint-drops.
These purchases, together with some needful gro-
ceries, took all Mr. Boyd's money, except a few
pennies, but a Christmas don't-care feeling per-
vaded his being, and he borrowed a bag, into
which he stowed his goods, and set out for home.
It was a pretty heavy bagful, but its heaviness
only made Mr. Boyd's heart the lighter. When
he reached home, he stood the bag up in one cor-
ner, as if it held turnips, and said, Don't meddle
with that, children." Then he went out and spent
the rest of the short day in chopping wood, which
was very cheering to his wife. So many Sundays
had dawned with just wood enough to cook break-
fast, that Mrs. Boyd began to dread that day par-
ticularly, for her husband was almost sure to go
right away after breakfast and spend the whole day
at the neighbors' houses, while his own family
shivered around a half-empty stove.
Mr. Boyd said never a word about the bag, and
the unsuspecting household thought it contained
corn or some other uninteresting vegetable, and
paid little attention to it. It also stood there all
the next day, and the children grew quite used to
the sight of it.
Sunday went by quietly, and, to the surprise of
all, Mr. Boyd stayed at home, making it his espe-
cial business to hold Janey on his lap, and keep
the stove well filled with wood. Janey was n't feel-
ing well that day, and this unusual attention to her
made the family very kindly disposed toward their
father, whom of late they had come to regard
almost as an alien.






JACK'S CHRISTMAS.


Jack, whose shoes were not yet worn out, went
to Sunday-school, and after his return the winter
day was soon gone. Then he began to fidget, and
was very desirous that his mother should put the
little girls to bed; while, strange to say, his father
was desirous that the whole family should go to
bed, except himself. In course of time the little
girls were asleep in their trundle bed, with their
little red stockings hanging behind the door. Mr.
Boyd sat with his back to the door, so Jack slipped
in his presents without his father's seeing him, and
went to his cold bed upstairs.
"Aint you going to hang up your stocking,
mother ?" asked Mr. Boyd after Jack had gone.
Mrs. Boyd looked startled.
Why, no," she answered, hesitatingly, not
knowing whether the question was asked in irony
or in earnest.
"You better," said Mr. Boyd, going to the bag
in the corner, and beginning to untie the strings.
He laid out package after package on the floor.
His wife knelt down by them in a maze of astonish-
ment. Then, with a great deal of enjoyment, Mr.
Boyd untied them one by one, showing candy,
nuts, oranges, shoes, and all the rest, except the
calico dress, which he kept out of sight.
Aladdin felt very fine when he found the cave-full
of precious stones, but I don't believe he was much
happier than Mrs. Boyd. Her eyes were so full of
tears that there seemed to be about eight pairs of
shoes, ten bags, and half a dozen Mr. Boyds; but
she managed to lay hands on the real one, and him
she embraced fervently. Then she brought out
the cookies and sugar balls she had made, and
said to her husband, in a very shame-faced way:


"See my poor presents; I didn't know the
children would have anything nice, and I made
these. I guess I wont put 'em in their stockings
though, now."
But Mr. Boyd insisted on their going in with the
other things, and I think they were prized by the
children a little more dearly, if such a thing could
be possible, than those which they called their
boughtenn presents.
Now, I can't begin to describe the joyful time they
had the next morning, and particularly, the utter
astonishment of Jack, who did n't expect a thing,
and had n't even hung up a stocking. When that
devoted boy recognized one of his own gray socks
crammed full of knobs and bunches, with a beau-
tiful plush cap on top, he was almost out of his wits.
Likewise, Mrs. Boyd's surprise was great at the
discovery of her new dress. The little girls were
too happy that day to do much else but count and
arrange and re-arrange their delightful Christmas
presents.
Mr. Boyd killed a chicken, and Jack contributed
four quails which he had caught since market-day,
and the festival of Christmas was kept with much
hilarity by the Boyd family.
The neighbors, one by one, were surprised that
Mr. Boyd had n't dropped in, as he usually did on
Sunday and holidays. But Mr. Boyd was engaged
elsewhere. And this was only the beginning of
good days for that family, for, somehow, the Christ-
mas feeling seemed to last through all the year with
Mr. Boyd, and through many other years; and
the little ball set rolling by Jack with his quail-
traps, grew to be a mighty globe of happiness for
the whole family.


LEFT OUT.

By A. G. W.

ONE day, St. Nicholas made a complaint:
"I think it 's quite plain why they call me a saint.
I wonder if any one happens to see
That nobody ever makes presents to me;
That I, who make presents to ever so many,
Am the only poor fellow who never gets any !"


[DECEMBER,







MISS ALCOTT.


MISS ALCOTT,
THE FRIEND OF LITTLE WOMEN AND OF LITTLE MEN.

BY F. B. S.


WOULD the readers of ST. NICHOLAS, who are
all admirers of Miss Louisa Alcott, like to hear
more than they now know about this kind friend
of theirs, who has been giving them so much pleas-
ure by her stories, and never writes so well as
when she writes for boys and girls? Then, let me
tell you something about her own family and child-
hood, and how she became the well-known writer
that she is. She not only tells you pleasant stories
about "little women" and old-fashioned girls,"
" eight cousins," and children "under the lilacs,"--


but she shows you how good it is to be generous themselves.


and kind, to love others and not to be always caring
and working for yourselves. And the way she can
do this is by first being noble and unselfish herself.
"Look into thine own heart and write," said a
wise man to one who had asked how to make a
book. And it is because Miss Alcott looks into her
own heart and finds such kindly and beautiful wishes
there that she has been able to write so many
beautiful books. They tell the story of her life;
but they tell many other stories also. So let me
give you a few events and scenes in her life, by


129








MISS ALCOTT. [DECEMBER,


Miss Alcott's father was the son of a farmer in
Connecticut, and her mother was the daughter of a
merchant in Boston. After growing up in a pretty,
rural town, among hardy people who worked all
day in the fields or the woods, and were not very
rich, Mr. Alcott went down into Virginia and wan-
dered about among the rich planters and the poor
slaves who then lived there; selling the gentlemen
and ladies such fine things as they would buy from
his boxes,-for he was a traveling merchant, or ped-
dler,-staying in their mansions sometimes, and
sometimes in the cabins of the poor; reading all
the books he could find in the great houses, and
learning all that he could in other ways. Then, he
went back to Connecticut and became a school-
master. So fond was he of children, and so well
did he understand them, that his school soon became
large and famous, and he was sent for to go and
teach poor children in Boston. Miss May, the
mother of Miss Alcott, was then a young lady in
that city. She, too, was full of kind thoughts for
children, the poor and the rich, and when she saw
how well the young school-master understood his
work, how much good he was seeking to do, and
how well he loved her, why, Miss May consented
to marry Mr. Alcott, and then they went away to
Philadelphia together, where Mr. Alcott taught
another school.
Close by Philadelphia, and now a part of that
great city, is Germantown, a quiet and lovely village
then, which had been settled many years before by
Germans, for whom it was named, and by Quakers,
such as came to Philadelphia with William Penn.
Here Louisa May Alcott was born, and she spent
the first two years of her life in Germantown and
Philadelphia. Then, her father and mother went
back to Boston, where Mr. Alcott taught a cele-
brated school in a fine large building called the
Temple, close by Boston Common, and about
this school an interesting book has been written,
which, perhaps, you will some day read. The little
Louisa did not go to it at first, because she was not
old enough, but her father and mother taught her
at home the same beautiful things which the older
children learned in the Temple school. By and by
people began to complain that Mr. Alcott was too
gentle with his scholars, that he read to them from
the New Testament too much, and talked with
them about Jesus, when he should have been malk-
ing them say their multiplication-table. So his
school became unpopular, and all the more so
because he would not refuse to teach a poor colored
boy who wanted to be his pupil. The fathers and
mothers of the white children were not willing to
have a colored child in the same school with their
darlings. So they took away their children, one
after another, until, when Louisa Alcott was be-


tween six and seven years old, her father was left
with only five pupils, Louisa and her two sisters
(" Jo," Beth" and Meg "), one white boy, and
the colored boy whom he would not,send away.
Mr. Alcott had depended for his support on the
money which his pupils paid him, and now he
became poor, and gave up his school.
There was a friend of Mr. Alcott's then living in
Concord, not far from Boston,-a man of great
wisdom and goodness, who had been very sad to
see the noble Connecticut school-master so shabbily
treated in Boston,-and he invited his friend to
come and live in Concord. So Louisa went to that
old country town with her father and mother when
she was eight years old, and lived with them in a
little cottage, where her father worked in the gar-
den, or cut wood in the forest, while her mother
kept the house and did the work of the cottage,
aided by her three little girls. They were very
poor, and worked hard; but they never forgot
those who needed their help, and if a poor traveler
came to the cottage door hungry, they gave him
what they had, and cheered him on his journey.
By and by, when Louisa was ten years old, they
went to another country town not far off, named
Harvard, where some friends of Mr. Alcott had
bought a farm, on which they were all to live
together, in a religious community, working with
their hands, and not eating the flesh of slaughtered
animals, but living on vegetable food, for this prac-
tice, they thought, made people more virtuous.
Miss Alcott has written an amusing story about
this, which she calls Transcendental Wild Oats."
When Louisa was twelve years old, and had a third
sister ("Amy"), the family returned to Concord,
and for three years occupied the house in which Mr.
Hawthorne, who wrote the fine romances, afterward
lived. There Mr. Alcott planted a fair garden,
and built a summer-house near a brook for his
children, where they spent many happy hours, and
where, as I have heard, Miss Alcott first began to
compose stories to amuse her sisters and other
children of the neighborhood.
When she was almost sixteen, the family returned
to Boston, and there Miss Alcott began to teach
boys and girls their lessons. She had not been at
school much herself, but she had been instructed
by her father and mother. She had seen so much
that was generous and good done by them that
she had learned it is far better to have a kind
heart and to do unselfish acts than to have riches
or learning or fine clothes. So, mothers were glad
to send her their children to be taught, and she
earned money in this way for her own support.
But she did not like to teach so well as her
father did, and thought that perhaps she could
write stories and be paid for them, and earn more


MISS ALCOTT.


[DECEMBER,







Iz77.J MISS ALCOTT. 131


money in that way. So she began to write stories.
At first nobody would pay her any money for them,
but she kept patiently at work, making better and
better what she wrote, until in a few years she
could earn a good sum by her pen. Then the great
civil war came on, and Miss Alcott, like the rest of
the people, wished to do something for her country.
So she went to Washington as a nurse, and for
some time she took care of the poor soldiers who
came into the hospital wounded or sick, and she
has written a little book about these soldiers which
you may have read. But soon she grew ill herself
from the labor and anxiety she had in the hospital,
and almost died of typhoid fever; since when she
has never been the robust, healthy young lady she
was before, but was more or less an invalid while
writing all those cheerful and entertaining books.
And yet to that illness all her success as an author
might perhaps be traced. Her Hospital Sketches,"
first published in a Boston newspaper, became very
popular, and made her name known all over the
North. Then she wrote other books, encouraged
by the reception given to this, and finally, in 1868,
five years after she left the hospital in Washington,
she published the first volume of Little Women."
From that day to this she has been constantly gain-
ing in the public esteem, and now perhaps no lady
in all the land stands higher. Several hundred
thousand volumes of her books have been sold in
this country, and probably as many more in Eng-
land and other European countries.
Twenty years ago, Miss Alcott returned to Con-
cord with her family, who have ever since resided
there. It was there that most of her books were
written, and many of her stories take that town for
their starting-point. It was in Concord that "Beth"
died, and there the Little Men now live. Miss
Alcott herself has been two or three years in
Europe since 1865, and has spent several winters
in Boston or New York, but her summers are
usually passed in Concord, where she lives with her
father and mother in a picturesque old house,
under a warm hill-side, with an orchard around it
and a pine-wood on the hill-top behind. Two
aged trees stand in front of the house, and in the
rear is the studio of Miss May Alcott ("Amy"),
who has become an artist of renown, and had a
painting exhibited last spring in the great exhibi-
tion of pictures at Paris. Close by is another
house, under the same hill-side, where Mr. Haw-
thorne lived and wrote several of his famous books,
and it was along the old Lexington road in front


of these ancient houses that the British Grenadiers
marched and retreated on the day of the battle of
Concord in April, 1775. Instead of soldiers march-
ing with their plumed hats, you might have seen
there last summer great plumes of asparagus wav-
ing in the field; instead of bayonets, the poles of
grape-vines in ranks upon the hill; while loads of
hay, of strawberries, pears and apples went jolting
along the highway between hill and meadow.
The engraving shows you how Miss Alcott looks,
-only you must recollect that it does not flatter
her; and if you should see her, you would like her
face much better than the picture of it. She has
large, dark-blue eyes, brown clustering hair, a firm
but smiling mouth, a noble head, and a tall and
stately presence, as becomes one who is descended
from the Mays, Quincys and Sewalls, of Massachu-
setts, and the Alcotts and Bronsons of Connecti-
cut. From them she has inherited the best New
England traits,-courage and independence with-
out pride, a just and compassionate spirit, strongly
domestic habits, good sense, and a warm heart.
In her books you perceive these qualities, do you
not? and notice, too, the vigor of her fancy, the
flowing humor that makes her stories now droll and
now pathetic, a keen eye for character, and the
most cheerful tone of mind. From the hard expe-
riences of life she has drawn lessons of patience and
love, and now with her, as the apostle says,
"abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but
the greatest of these is charity." There have been
men, and some women too, who could practice
well the heavenly virtue of charity toward the world
at large, and with a general atmospheric effect, but
could not always bring it down to earth, and train
it in the homely, crooked paths of household care.
But those who have seen Miss Alcott at home
know that such is not her practice. In the last
summer, as for years before, the citizen or the visi-
tor who walked the Concord, streets might have
seen this admired woman doing errands for her
father, mother, sister, or nephews, and as attentive
to the comfort of her family as if she were only
their housekeeper. In the sick-room she has been
their nurse, in the excursion their guide, in the
evening amusements their companion and enter-
tainer. Her good fortune has been theirs, and she
has denied herself other pleasures for the satisfac-
tion of giving comfort and pleasure to them.

So did she travel on life's common way
In cheerful godliness; and yet her heart
The lowliest duties on herself did lay."






THE BOY WHO JUMPED ON TRAINS.


THE BOY WHO JUMPED ON TRAINS.

BY MARY HARTWELL.

THERE was a boy whose name was Dunn,
And he was one
As full of fun
As any boy could walk or run 1

His cheeks were plump, his eyes were bright,
He stepped as light
As a camel might,
And bounced and played from morn till night.

And whether he was here or there,
His parents' care-
Unseen like air-
Followed and held him everywhere.


"HE WOULD JUMP ON THE CARS TO RIDE,"

He really was their joy and pride-
Was good beside;
But woe betide-
He would jump on the cars to ride!

There, hanging to a brake or step,
Tight hold he kept,
And onward swept,
Yelling with all his might, Git-tep !"

Dunn's father learned that he did so,
And told him to
Decline to go
Where trains were running to and fro.


[DECEMBER,






THE BOY WHO JUMPED ON TRAINS.


As for his mother, she turned white,
And gasped with fright
To think Dunn might
Come home a pancake some fine night!


" HIS FATHER'S STERN COMMAND."


But his relations often said,
With shaking head,
That boy was led
To have his way if 't killed him dead !


''THE FREIGHT-CARS DECKED WITH BOYS DID SLIDE.

And sure enough when school was out,
And boys about
The trains flocked out,
Dunn followed too, with plunge and shout.






THE TOWER-MOUNTAIN.


He did not mean to grab a ride,
But by his side,
With tempting glide,
The freight-cars decked with boys did slide !

Where was his father's stern command ?
Out went his hand;
He gained a stand-
At least he planned to gain a stand !

What is it? Crash! His head is blind!
That wheel behind-
He hears it grind!
And he is paralyzed in mind!

On cork and crutches now goes Dunn!
Whole boys may run-
Grab rides for fun-
But, as I said, this boy is Dunn/"








THE TOWER-MOUNTAIN.

BY GUSTAVUS FRANKENSTEIN.


I.
MANY years ago, I was roving in a land strange
and wonderful to me. It was a tropical country,
and I was wandering alone among the grand scenery
of the mountains, and the luxuriant vegetation of
the hill-sides and valleys.
I had with me but few implements, and these,
such as were light and easy to carry. A hunting-
knife, a small hatchet, a canteen and a few marching
necessaries made up my kit.
One day while rambling about, living on the
bountiful supplies of fruit nature provides in that
charming region, I came to a deep lake surrounded
by steep hills. On the opposite side of this lake I
could see a narrow gap or cleft, which seemed to
lead to the higher ground. I. therefore made a
raft,-not without considerable trouble,-and pad-
dled it across the lake. I found the gap quite
narrow at its entrance, but it soon became wider,
while far forward, at the end of the chasm, there
appeared to be a series of rude steps.
I fastened the raft to the rock, in doing which I
had the ill luck to drop my hatchet into the deep
water, and, notwithstanding the evil omen, made
my way into the crevice. I passed over the rough
bottom of the chasm until I came to the steps;


these I ascended. At a height of about a hundred
feet I came to a wall of rock, the top of which I
could just reach with the ends of my fingers. By
a great effort, I got a good hold of the edge of the
rock, and drew myself up.
When I stood at last upon the upper ground, I
saw before me the most beautiful trees and flowers
I had yet met with. On either side the rocks
retreated and rose steeply to the summits I had
partially seen from the lake below. As I passed on
and surveyed the plateau, I found it to be a valley
about a mile in diameter, encompassed by precipices
more or less abrupt. With but little trouble I found
a place of easy ascent, and soon climbed to the top
of the rocky wall.
The delight I now experienced surpassed every-
thing I had ever known. Spread out before me,
as I stood upon an eminence somewhat above the
general level, was a vast expanse overflowing with
vegetation and extending for miles in every direc-
tion, whilst all round about rose the mighty domes
and pinnacles of snow-clad mountains. I stood in
the midst of the sublimest mountain scenery in the
world. I could look down upon the beautiful lake,
and up at the giant peaks, and all about me upon
the fruitful verdure, whilst the atmosphere was


[DECEMBER,






877.J THE TOWER-MOUNTAIN. 135


charged with delightful odors, and a pleasant breeze
tempered the sweet warm air.
As here was a delightful climate, fruit in abun-
dance, and scenery soul-exalting, of whose glory one
could never grow tired, I felt rather pleased with
the thought "Why not stay here? Why not
remain in this beautiful place as long as circum-
stances will permit? "
All nature seemed here so lovely that I resolved
to wander no further.
While gazing around at all this grandeur and
beauty, my attention was particularly drawn to a
group of lofty peaks which rose in the midst of this
smiling garden. The sides of the towering emi-
nences seemed almost perpendicular, and they were
about three or four thousand feet high.
I soon gave up all hope of ever reaching the top,
but in examining the rock I found at its base a
great cavern, so high and wide that a very large
building might have stood in it, with plenty of
room to spare. The sides and roof sparkled with
crystals of all hues, and were singularly and
picturesquely variegated with differently colored
veins running through them; and, as the cave
opened toward the east, with a large clear space in
front of it, nothing could have been more splendid
than when the morning sun shone full into the vast
chamber and lighted it up with dazzling brilliancy.
In that chamber I made my humble home.
Near one of the streams that flowed over the
precipice into the lake, grew several species of very
tall grasses, with great bushy heads of long silky
fibers that adorned and protected their flowers and
fruit. Of these fine strong threads I made a ham-
mock, which I suspended from a strong frame
bound together with these tough fibers, placing
it a few feet back from the mouth of the cavern.
Thus, I had an excellent bed, and if I should need
covering there were plenty of palm-leaves at hand
for the purpose. But in that torrid climate there
was little need of extra protection; the air of the
cavern was of just that delightful coolness which
refreshes but does not chill.
Now, imagine me waking in the morning just as
the dawn tinted the rosy east, refreshed with sweet
slumbers and rejoicing to behold the light, rocking
myself gently in my pretty hammock, and hailing
the uprising sun with a merry song,-and would
you not suppose there was one happy man in this
great world ?
While the day was yet young I would take a bath
in the clear, soft water of a little stream near by.
Then, when all was sparkling and bright in my
humble house, I would partake with keen appetite
of the precious fruits of my unlimited and self-
producing garden.
In the neighboring streams were many kinds of


fishes, some of which I knew to be very good eat-
ing, and I could have caught and eaten as many
birds as I wished; but the fruits and nuts were so
plentiful, and of so 'many different sorts, that I
cared for, and, indeed, needed, no other kind of
food.
Thus, several months passed away, and I was
not weary of this paradise. There was enough to
occupy my mind in the examination of the structure
and mode of growth of a vast number of species
of plants. Their flowering, their fruitage, and
their decay offered a boundless field for thought,
and kept up a never-flagging interest.
For the first four months the sun traced his
course through the heavens to the north of me; I
knew, therefore, that I was almost immediately
under the equator. For several days at the edd of
the four months, the sun rose directly in the east,
passing through the sky in a line dividing it almost
exactly into halves north and south. After that,
for six months, I had the great luminary to the
south of me.
In all this time there was but little change in the
weather. A short period without rain was the ex-
ception. Otherwise, the mornings and evenings
were invariably clear, with a refreshing rain of
about two hours' duration in the middle of the day.
In the afternoon the sun was, of course, away from
my cavern, shining upon the opposite side of the
mountain of solid rock, which rendered my abode
delightfully cool in the greatest heat of the day.
Toward the end of the short dry period, magnifi-
cent thunder-showers passed over my domain.
Nothing could be more glorious than these electrical
displays of an equatorial sky, as I sat snug and
safe within the rocky shelter. The heaviest shower
could not wet me, the water without ran with a
swift descent, from the cave, and over the precipice
into the lake below. It was not likely that the
lightning would take the trouble to creep in under
the rock and there find me out. And as for the
thunder, I was not in the least afraid of it, but
gloried in its loud peals and distant reverberations
among the encompassing mountains.
It was during the violence of one of these tem-
pests that a parrot flew into my comfortable quarters.
"Hallo! my fine fellow said I. Where do
you come from, and what do you want here ? "
It flew about the room looking for a place to
perch, trying to find a footing against the wall,
slipping down, and flying up again.
I left it free to find its own roosting-place, or fly
out of the cavern, as it liked. I had seen a few
parrots of the same kind, outside in my garden,
had heard them chattering and shrieking amidst
the foliage, and had always been very much amused
with their odd ways, and pleased with the brilliance






THE TOWER-MOUNTAIN.


ItI


""ic~ '1


and the glitter .- 1. I. -
splendidpluni i i."r
I never trie-i :., ., ...-I r,
capture the .. ,.i :. ri .,:
birds, or an', -rhI ..1 I 1,: .: t. ,- ri- i .i,
be seen aro,,,,.- n ir :. F i... ii. ,- r, i l ..
living things .., i!. ,: i. ._I ,II.: .l,: ,' l .. I ,-
m only tam e ,. I n ..: I .. -..i -. ., :I -.
the least fea! r. i :. i.,i .,,. r. irj,, i : i,,. ril:rl:
than any oth. r l.t ,. r .. I li.. ii 1.1
course, this ir... i. -. -,: .. I:,nr i
never though .r .-.i r n _- i : ..
them althot .A ; I-: i ::. h r h..u .I i ..
anim als did i ... .--. -ii [ : i i i I ., I :..i .-.
that w which I .i i- I I, ,. l ii .
but always 1 r I I..., i .. .,li r,.:
soon became .,:. : r. i, i .. i ,.,


'*t' L 4
-I~- ~,4~4,
.i c i -A


THE VIEW FROM THE LEDGE.
made one of these necessities of a torrid climate; and although at first when I had occasion to walk in
the sun my appearance shaded by the portable roof caused unusual chattering and commotion, I speedily


136


[DECEMBER,


Y-i


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.~r;'i 7;Y,







1877.- THE TOWER-MOUNTAIN. 137


took on a familiar look to them. In the same
way I became an object of curiosity when I plucked
a leaf and made of it a cup to drink from. But at
length all signs of strangeness vanished, and there
even came to be a kind of friendship between us.
I therefore concerned myself no more about the
parrot, thinking that, of course, as soon as the rain
should stop, the bird would fly away.
I had made a small table of three slabs of rock,
where I frequently placed fruits, nuts, roots and
the like, that I might have in case I should feel
hungry when in my house, and yet not care to
eat the fruit directly from the plant, which I most
generally preferred. Of course, too, it was always
desirable to have provisions on hand when it rained.
The next morning, when I awoke, the rain was
still descending, for it was just at this time that it
rained for three or four days together.
I always had a healthy relish for the good things
of this world, and, as there was no rosy dawn to
look at, my eyes immediately went in search of the
breakfast-table.
What! I exclaimed; and I sat upright in
my hammock.
There was the parrot on the table.
I eyed him for some time, and then I cried out:
You little thief! Stealing my food, are you? "
The parrot sat there, but said never a word. He
merely raised one of his claws and sleeked up the
feathers on the back of his neck, in the way his
family know so well. Then, raising the feathers of
his crest, he gave utterance to a very faint shriek.
Get out of this, you rascal I cried, and im-
mediately got up and went toward him with the
purpose of putting him out.
I approached the table very rapidly, expecting
that the bird would fly away. But he remained
motionless. I was about to lay rude hands on him,
but I desisted.
"Why do violence to the creature? Why mar
the serenity of this peaceful vale ? I said to my-
self. "And why make such ado about a little
fruit when there is abundance on every hand ?"
Happening just then to glance at the fruit, it
seemed to me that it had not been disturbed.
I examined it more closely, and began to feel I
had done the parrot great injustice. There it lay,
just as I had left it the night before ; there was no
evidence whatever of its having been picked at,
and I came to the comforting conclusion that the
handsome bird had broken no moral law.
The parrot rose greatly in my esteem at this
happy discovery.
Friend Parrot," said I, I beg pardon for hav-
ing so rashly jumped to the conclusion that you
had been guilty of theft. I believe that you have
touched nothing of the things which belong to me.
VOL. V.--o.


Indeed, I am sure that you have not. That you
have so scrupulously regarded the rights of prop-
erty is to me the source of infinite gratification,
and fills me with the highest admiration of your
character. To show you that I am disinclined to
let virtue go unrewarded, I accord you my permis-
sion to stay here while I am eating my breakfast,
and when I have finished, you too may eat some,
if you like."
Then, having arranged my toilet, I began to
partake of the good things that lay on the table,
the parrot all the while looking at me with lively
interest. I could not help being amused at his
significant performances. He turned his knowing
head one way, and then another, now sidewise
toward the fruits, and then obliquely up at me, as
I sat enjoying the repast, enlivening his gestures
with gentle prattle, and yet never making a single
demonstration in the direction of my food. He
put me in such good humor that I was impelled to
say to him:
"Friend Parrot, I don't mind being sociable;
and if you are inclined to do me the favor of honor-
ing me with your company, I most respectfully
invite you to partake of this humble collation."
And, taking up one of the choicest nuts in the
collection, I handed it to him forthwith.
He took it promptly, and proceeded to crack and
munch it in regular parrot fashion.
"You must excuse me," I resumed, "that my
viands are not of the choicest cooking, and that I
have no servants to wait upon my highly esteemed
guest, and that there are no silver knives and forks
and spoons to eat with in the latest civilized style,
but I have rid myself of all those things, and am
glad of :'."
The parrot nodded his head approvingly, as much
as to, sy, "Right, quite right."
The poor bird was very hungry, and I let him
eat his fill.
Breakfast over, my guest flew upon my shoulder
and was disposed to be affectionate. He delicately
pecked at my lips, drew his bill gently across my
cheeks, and pulled my hair with his claws.
"Come, come friend Parrot, none of your
soft billing and cooing. Leave that to women and
children."
So I gave my friend politely to understand that
I did not care for such pretty endearments; and,
soon comprehending the force of my objection, he
very sensibly desisted from bestowing further atten-
tion upon me, and thenceforth kept his handsome
person reasonably aloof.
I entertained my friend two days, during which
I gave him much valuable advice, and, which was
more to the purpose and perhaps better appreciated,
plenty to eat.






THE TOWER-MOUNTAIN.


On the morning of the third day, the sun rose in
all his beauty again, and I fully expected the bird
would fly away. He was in no hurry to go, how-
ever. I went out, wandered about, and toward
noon returned home. Still the parrot was there.
So it was the next day, and the next. I did not
want to resort to force and drive him away.
Finally I said to him one day:
Friend Parrot; since I see you are in no hurry
to leave my humble home, and that it evidently
grieves you to lose the pleasure of my society, I
shall not eject you forcibly from the premises.
Stay, therefore, as long as it shall please you. I
will share with you food, and shelter from the sun
and rain. And whenever you grow weary of this
my society, tired of this plain habitation, or dis-
gusted generally with civilization, and wish to
return to the freedom of savage life, you are at
liberty to go. 'T is a large door, always open, out
of which you can fly; and when you are gone I
shall shed no tears over your departure."
The bird seemed really to comprehend the drift
of my discourse, and from that time forward we
lived upon the most intimate terms, which, how-
ever, never passed the bounds of mutual respect.
Now, if we were to live in such close ties of
friendship, it was necessary that my friend should
have a name, and that he, too, should be able to
address me by mine. The title, "Friend Parrot,"
was rather too formal, and his screeching at me in
some unmeaning way every time he wanted me
could not for long be tolerated.
So, Mr. Parrot," said I, you are Mr. Parrot
no longer. Your name is Pippity.' "
He soon learned his new name, and then said I:
Pippity my name is Frank.'
It was incredible how rapidly he learned mine.
"Further, Pippity," I continued, you must
learn the names of the things round about us."
Instruction began at once. For several days he
had to be told the names of things many times
before he was able to repeat them correctly ; but
after that, and apparently all of a sudden, he seemed
to have caught a bright idea and to thoroughly
understand my method of teaching.
From that time on, when the name of a thing
was made plain to him, he seemed to grasp it
immediately and never forgot it. This expedited
matters wonderfully, for I liked to talk to him and
observe his efforts to repeat what I said, so there
was ample conversation, though somewhat one-
sided, going on in our ancient dwelling. I mar-
veled at the parrot's extraordinary power; but
what astonished me above all was his wonderful
memory, and his unlimited capacity for taking in
new ideas. Sometimes I would ask him, after an
interval of weeks, some name of a thing I had


taught him, and the answer was invariably correct.
On such occasions I would say to him:
Pippity, what's that ?"
He would tell me immediately; and I laughed
outright when, one day, as we were strolling through
the forest, I stumbled over a stone, and the parrot,
perching on it, pecked it with his bill, and then,
looking up at me askance, asked:
What's that ?"
That was a phrase I had unwittingly taught him.
And now I began more than ever to perceive his
extraordinary genius.
Thenceforth it was "What's that?" and
"What's that?" and actually the fellow wanted to
learn more quickly than I could teach.
Once, after this intelligent bird had been with
me for some months,' we were sitting quietly in our
domicile, shaded from the afternoon sun by our
lofty rock-built palace, enjoying the beauties of
creation, when all at once he broke out in his clear,
melodious voice :
Tell me something new !"
I looked at him in amazement. I had never
taught him to say that; but undoubtedly he must
have heard me say, at some time or other, "Pip-
pity, now I will tell you something new." Yet how
the bird had managed to turn the phrase gram-
matically to himself puzzled me not a little.
However, I soon began to teach him something
else that was new, for I had been thinking that it
was time that he should learn the names of the
plants,-at least of the most interesting and useful.
So it was not long before Pippity had a fair acquaint-
ance with botany.
Nearly a year had now rolled round, when one
day Pippity was missing. What could have hap-
pened to him ? Had he grown tired of my society ?
Did he begin to think that, after all, savage free-
dom was to be preferred to dull, systematic civiliza-
tion ? Had he come to the conclusion that much
learning is, at best, but vanity? Did he want to
go babbling again in chaotic gibberish rather than
to talk smoothly by rote ?
Two days passed, in which to drive away any
natural feeling of loneliness at the parrot's absence,
I set down notes as concisely as possible of what
had occurred to me so far. For this purpose I
used the point of my knife and thin slabs of mica,
wishing to save the small stock of memorandum
paper in my note-book and journals as much as I
could. At other times I had used bark and similar
things to write on, but the mica was more durable,
and more easily stowed away. It was my intention
to make a still more condensed series of notes on
the paper I had by me, whenever I should feel like
undertaking the task. The juice of berries would
serve for ink, and a feather or light reed would


[DECEMBER,







1877.] THE TOWER-MOUNTAIN. 139


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m ake -.....I.
pen as I should
want. This plan I
carried out afterward.
On the third day Pippity returned, and, : I -. ....: i
ing into the palace, Pippity, Pippity!" I ci .. i lr.:'
you were never coming back. Have you be.c- :*. r .*' .!.1l
friends?" He hung his head demurely, a I :a'i1 i,..rii, -
Although I had told Pippity, when he ha. .. ii.,r ',
hospitality, that I would shed no tears over Ii .: '''' I*r iii.
time he might see fit to leave me, I must .':ii. i 1, Il i '
glad when he came back. His society was agreeable. He was a


I

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P .-- /


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1







SINGING PINS.


good listener, and he was by no means an idler,
as far as that kind of honorable work is con-
cerned which consists in keeping body and soul
together. For example, strolling through our fer-
tile garden, if I should happen to see some fine
fruit high on a tree, Pippity would fly up to it at
my bidding, and, cutting its stem with his bill,
would quickly bring it to the ground.
'c Pippity," I would say, "do you see that extra
fine bunch of bananas up there ? Now, do you go
up and cut the stalk, while I stand below and catch
the luscious treasure on this soft bed of leaves."
And, before I would be done speaking, Pippity
would already be pretty well advanced with his
work. For getting nuts, and such fruit as it was
desirable to take carefully from plants at great
heights, his services were invaluable.
It is a remarkable fact that, although we had
such an abundance of tropical fruits, as well as a
large proportion of temperate productions, on our
domain, the cocoa-nut was not one of them. I
remembered that, in coming up from the lak6, I
had seen large numbers of cocoa-nut trees growing
on the small flat at which I first arrived about nine
hundred feet below the level of our palace plateau.
It would be an agreeable diversion, I thought, to
go down there and get some of those nuts, and
it undoubtedly would be quite a treat to Pippity to
share them with me.
So," said I, Pippity, I am going down this
narrow gorge to the lake; cocoa-nuts grow there,


and I mean that you and I shall have some. Keep
house while I am gone. I shall start with the first
peep of dawn, while it is cool, and be back some
time in the afternoon."
I had made some baskets, in which we hung up
the fruit we gathered. One of these I took, and
went down the declivity. I soon filled the basket
with good cocoa-nuts, saw plenty of monkeys, and
was much amused at their lively antics, and at
their astonishment at seeing one so much like them,
and yet so different. I then returned-not, how-
ever, without being obliged to throw away quite a
number of the nuts before reaching the top, in
order to lessen the burden, which was light enough
at first, but which seemed to grow heavier and
heavier as I proceeded.
As soon as Pippity saw me, he cried out:
Cocoa-nuts Cocoa-nuts !"
We relished them so much that I went down
after them quite often, always leaving Pippity at
home to mind the house.
On one occasion, while I was gathering these
nuts, I was startled by a loud shrieking not far off,
and, looking in the direction of the noise, I saw
that there was a great commotion among the
monkeys-about a hundred of them squealing and
yelling and gesticulating at once. It was on the
ground, where the monkey-crowd swayed to and
fro like any civilized mob. I ran up to see what the
fracas was about, but not without some misgivings
as to the risk of meddling in other people's business.


(To be coniizued.)







SINGING PINS.

BY HARLAN H. BALLARD.


IT has been said, you know, that all the millions
of pins which are lost every year are picked up by
fairies and hammered out on elfin anvils into notes
of music. There are some who say that this state-
ment must be received with caution, although they
admit that the half and quarter notes do bear a
very singular resemblance to pins.
I confess that 1 shared the doubts of this latter
class of persons until a few evenings since; for
although I knew well enough that pins were bright
and sharp' enough in their way, I never had been
able to discover one of a niusical turn of mind.
But having on a certain evening heard a choir of
pins singing "Yankee Doodle till you would have


thought that their heads must ache forever after, I
hereby withdraw all my objections, and express my
decided opinion that the above-named theory of
the future life of pins is fully as accurate as any
other with which I am acquainted.
The chorus of pins who were singing Yankee
Doodle were standing at the time on a piece of
pine-board, and were evidently very much stuck up.
One of their number, however, when asked if
they were not rather too self-important, bent his
head quickly downward, and replied that he
could n't see the point, which was exceedingly
brassy for a pin.
They looked for all the world as if they were a


[DECEMBER,






SINGING PINS. 141


line of music which, impatient of being forever
kept under key and behind bars, had revolted
under the leadership of an intrepid staff-officer,


TUNING THE PINS.
and marched right out of Sister Mary's instruction-
book.
Indeed, from a remark which the staff-officer let
fall, to the effect that if they did not all see sharp
they would soon be flat again, nothing else would
be natural than to accept that supposition as the
truth.
Pins they were of all papers and polish.
They were not ranged according to height, as
good soldiers should be, nor did they all stand
erect, but each seemed bent on having his own
way.
Their heads varied greatly from an even line,
and on the whole they looked far more like the
notes of music which they had been, than like the
orderly row of singing-pins which they aspired to
be. They had a scaly appearance.
My small brother had assumed the management
of this curious chorus, and I was much amused at
the manner in which he drilled them. For he
coolly picked up the splendid staff-officer by his
head and poked the first bass with his point, as if
to say, Time-sing! Whereupon that pin set
up a deep, twanging growl, to express his disap-
probation of that method of drill.
In like manner did my brother treat each of the
pins in succession. Then it appeared that each
had a different voice, and was capable of pro-
ducing but one sound. Moreover, they had been
so arranged that, as they uttered each one his
peculiar note, the sounds followed each other in
such a manner as to produce the lively and
patriotic air of Yankee Doodle." This was very
wonderful and pleasing.
"Well, Johnny," said I, as soon as I could stop
laughing, "that's pretty good. Where did you
pick that up ? "


"Oh, a feller told me," said he. "'Taint nothing
to do. All there is of it is to get a tune in your
head, and then drive a pin down in a board, and
keep a-driving, and trying it till
it sounds like the first note in the
tune. Then stick up another for
the second note, and so on."
"How can you raise a pin to
a higher note ? said I.
Hammer her down farther,"

S And to make a lower note?"
I asked.
Pull her up a little," said he.
"How do you manage the
time ?"
O "h, when you want to go
slow, you put the pins a good ways
apart; and when you want to go
fast, you plant 'em thicker."
The next day I found that this ridiculous brother
of mine had set up a pin-organ in a circular form.
He had made one of those little whirligigs which
spin around when they are held over the register or
by a stove-pipe, and then had connected it by a
string with a wheel. This wheel, as it turned, set
an upright shaft in motion, and from this there
projected a stick armed at the end with a pin.
This was arranged, as is shown in the cut, so that
when it revolved, the pin in the stick played upon
the pins in the circle, and rattled off the Mulligan
Guards at a tremendous pace.
Johnny says that he invented the circular ar-
rangement, and that all the boys he knows are


.
~-~-~- -
,--- -
1 ~ -- _- -
THE PIN-ORGAN.
making these pin-organs for themselves, which I
am not at all surprised to hear.






ABOUT THE PORPOISES.


ABOUT THE PORPOISES.

BY J. D.

THE porpoise is a long, sleek fish without scales, approved fashion. Their favorite antic is to dive a
black on the back, and white and gray beneath. few feet and then come to the surface, showing
He is from four to ten feet in length, and his their backs in a half circle, and then, making a
sociability and good-nature are proverbial among sound like a long-drawn sigh, disappear again.
seamen of all nations. Sailors call them sea-clowns," and never allow
A porpoise is rarely seen alone, and if he by them to be harmed.
chance wanders from his friends, he acts in a very They are met with in schools of from two or three
bewildered and foolish manner, and will gladly to thousands. They often get embayed in the


"I V
272
3-.f
h.t





m-'* L.r


A SCHOOL OF PORPOISES.


follow a steamer at full speed rather than be left
alone. He is a very inquisitive fish, and is always
thrusting his funny-looking snout into every nook
that promises diversion or sport.
A very familiar spectacle at sea is a school of
porpoises-or porpusses," as the sailors call them.
As soon as a school catches sight of a ship, they
immediately make a frantic rush for it, as if their
life depended upon giving it a speedy welcome.
After diving under the vessel a few times to inspect
it and try its speed, they take their station under
the bows, just ahead, and proceed to cut up every
antic that a fish is capable of. They jump, turn
over, play "leap-frog" and "tag" in the most


inlets and shallow rivers which their curiosity leads
them to investigate. A porpoise once came into
the Harlem River and wandered up and down for
a week seeking a way out. One day he suddenly
made his appearance amid some bathers and scat-
tered them by his gambols.
When they change their feeding-places, the sea
is covered for acres with a tumultuous multitude of
these "sea-clowns," all swimming along in the same
direction.
When one of these droves is going against the
wind (or to windward), their plungings throw up
little jets of water, which, being multiplied by thou-
sands of fish, present a very curious appearance.


[DECEMBER,


f -71



2-,






1877.] THE MAGICIAN AND HIS BEE. 143


THE WILD WIND.

BY CLARA W. RAYMiOND.


OH, the wind came howling at our house-door,
Like a maddened fiend set free;
He pushed and struggled with gasp and roar,
For an angry wind was he !

He dashed snow-wreaths at our window-panes,
The casements rattled and creaked;
Then up he climbed'to the chimney tops,
And down through the flues he shrieked.

He found Jack's sled by the garden fence,
And tumbled it down in his spite;
And heaped the snow till he covered it up,
And hid it from poor Jack's sight.


He tore down the lattice and broke the house
Ned built for the birds last week;
And he bent the branches and bowed the trees,
Then rushed off fresh wrath to wreak.

And oh how he frightened poor little Nell,
And made her tremble and weep,
Till mother came up and soothed the wee maid,
And lulled her with songs to sleep !

Her tiny hand nestled, content and still,
In her mother's, so soft and warm;
While with magical power of low, sweet tones
The mother-love hushed the storm.


THE MAGICIAN A.ND HIS BEE.

BY P. F.


IT was a spelling bee. The magician had never
had one, but he thought it was better late than
never, and so he sent word around that he would
have his bee just outside of the town, on the green
grass. Everybody came, because they had to.
When the magician said they must do a thing,
there was no help for it. So they all marched in a
long procession, the magician at the head with his
dictionary open at the "bee" page. Every now
and then he turned around and waved his wand,
so as to keep the musicians in good time. The
cock-of-the-walk led the band and he played on his
own bill, which had holes in it, like a flute. The
rabbit beat the drum, and the pig blew the horn,
while old Mother Clink, who was mustered in to
make up the quartette, was obliged to play on the
coffee-mill, because she understood no other instru-
ment.
The king came, with his three body-guards
marching in front. The first guard was a wild
savage with bare legs, and a gnat stung him on the
knee, which made the second guard laugh so much
that the third one who carried the candles had a
chance to eat a penny-dip, without any person see-
ing him. The king rode in his chariot, drawn by


two wasps. He was a very warm gentleman, and
not only carried a parasol to keep off the sun, but
the head ninny-hammer squirted water on the
small of his back to keep him cool.
The court tailor rode on a goat, and he carried his
shears and the goose he ironed with. He balanced
himself pretty well until a bird sat on his queue,
and that bent him over backward so that he nearly
fell off.
The queen also came ; she was bigger than the
king and had to have cats to draw her chariot.
The cats fought a good deal, but the driver, who
was a mouse, managed to get them along. The
footman was also a mouse, and the queen had two
pet mice that sat at her feet or played with her
scepter. After the queen came the chief jumping
jack, who did funny tricks with bottles as he danced
along.
Then came the ladies of the court. They sat in
nautilus shells, which were each borne by two
bearers. The first shell went along nicely, but the
men who carried the second were lazy and the lady
beat them with a hair-brush. As for the bearers
of the last shell, they had a fight and took their
poles to beat each other, leaving their shell with






TIE MAGICIAN AND HIS BEE.


the lady in it, on the ground. She did n't mind, smallest chicken tried to crow in tune with his
for she thought that if they went off and left her, father, but nobody could hear whether he crowed
she would n't have to do any spelling. So she right or wrong-and what is more, nobody cared.


stayed in her shell and smiled very contentedly.
The town bell-man walked along in grand state
ringing his bell, and the cock-who-could-n't-walk


The monkey did n't walk, but was carried in a
bucket by a mountaineer, and he blew peas through
a tube at the palace steward who was having his


rode on a wheelbarrow and crowed by note. The 'hair combed by the court barber. It was so late
old ram wheeled the barrow, in which was also a that the barber had to hurry, and so he used a rake
basket containing the hen and chickens. The instead of a comb. The steward did not like this,


[DECEMBER,






THE MAGICIAN AND HIS BEE.


but there was so little time that nothing else could dog barked at him, an old woman ran after him
be done, for the procession was already moving, with abroom, a wooden-legged soldier pursued him
There was a lion who lived at the Town-hall. with a sword, a rat gave chase to him, while a rab-


He was very wise, and his business was to bite bit took down his shot-gun and cried out, fiercely,
criminals. When he heard about the bee he that he would blow the top of that old lion's head
thought he would have to go, but the moment he off, if he could only get a fair crack at him.


showed himself in the street all the relatives of the
criminals got after him. The wasps stung him, a
game-cock pecked at him, a beetle nipped him, a


Two of the liveliest animals in the town were the
donkey and the old cow. They went to the bee,
but they danced along as if they did n't care at all






THE MAGICIAN


AND HIS BEE.


whether they spelled cat with a c or a k. They
each had two partners. The donkey had two regu-
lar danseuses, but the cow had to content herself
with the court librarian and the apothecary.
Out in the green grass where the company as-
sembled there were a lot of grasshoppers and little
gnats. The grasshoppers said to each other, We
can't put letters together to make words, so let us
dance for a spell," which they did,-all but one
poor young creature who had no partner, and who
sat sorrowfully on one side, while the others skipped
gayly about.
As soon as the people and the chickens and
donkeys and wasps and cows and all the others were
seated, side by side, in two long rows, the magician
gave out the first word. It was Roe-dough-
mon-taide"-at least that was the way he pro-
nounced it. The king and the queen were at the
heads of the two lines, and it was their duty to


begin,-first the king, and then the queen, if he
missed.
But neither of them had ever heard of the word,
and so they did n't try. Then one of the wasps
tried, and afterward a ram, a rabbit, and the head
ninny-hammer; but they made sad work of it.
Then each one of the company made an effort and
did his, her or its very best, but it was of no use;
they could not spell the word.
Uprose then the little chicken that had stood on
his mother's back and tried to crow in tune with his
father, and he cried out : Give it up "
Wrong said the magician. That's not it.
You are all now under the influence of a powerful
spell. Here you will remain until some one can
correctly answer my question."
They are all there yet. How long would you,
my reader, have to sit on the grass before you could
spell that word


[DECEMBER,






1877.] SCRUBBY'S BEAUTIFUL TREE. 147


SCRUBBY'S BEAUTIFUL TREE.

BY J. C. PURDY.


I.
PAPA "
"Well, dear "
Wont to-morrow be Kissmuss? "
SWhy, no, darling We had Christmas-day
long ago. Don't you remember ?"
"Yes; but you said we'd have another Kiss-
muss in a year, and then I'd have such a pitty tree.
I 'm sure it's a year. It is a year, papa; and it
takes so awful long to wait for some time-it's jess
a noosance. I fink ole Kriss was drefful mean not
to let me have a tree only cos we 'd got poor.
Was n't we ever poor before, papa ? Don't he give
trees to any poor little girls? I do want a tree-
sech a pitty one, like I used to have "
It was little Scrubby said all that. She was only
four years old, but she could say what she had to
say in her own fashion. When she saw her father's
sorrowful face, she thought she had said rather too
much this time; so she gave him a hug and put
up her mouth for a kiss.
"I dess I can wait, papa," she said. But he
will bring me a tree next Kissmuss, wont he ? Jess
like I used to have ? And then wont that be nice !
There's my baby waked up. She '11 be cryin' in a
minute, I s'pose."
Old Lucy, the dearest baby of all in this little
girl's large family, was taken up and quieted; and
then something happened that was really wonder-
ful. Scrubby, with her poor torn and tangled doll
in her arms, sat very still for at least five minutes.
The little maid was thinking all that time. She
did not think very straight, perhaps, but she thought
over a great deal of ground, and settled a good
many things ill that busy little head of hers; then
she sang them all over to good old Lucy.
Hush, my dear !" she sang. Don't stay
long, for it beats my heart when the winds blow;
and come back soon to your own chickabiddy, and
then Kissmuss '11 be here. S'umber on, baby dear.
Kriss is coming with such a booful tree ; then wont
you be s'prised? She went to the hatter's to get
him a coffin, and when she come back he was fixin'
my Kissmuss-tree "
The little singer grew so enthusiastic when she
came to the tree that she could not wait to sing
any more; so she just danced Lucy up and dovn
and chattered to her as fast as her tongue could go.
It 'll be for me and for you, Lucy, and for all
the babies, and then wont you be glad And for
mamma too, and for papa, cos we's all good little


chillen, if we is poor. Yes, indeed, Ole Kriss is
coming with his reindeer. And he'll bring me a
horse with pink shoes on; and you'll have a piano
-a really piano, ye know; and mamma, she '11
have two little glass s'ippers, and-and "
Little Scrubby stopped chattering just there, and
laid her head down on poor old Lucy's kind bosom.
Oh dear she sighed, I do wish ole Kriss 'd
come with that pitty tree "
The kitten curled up on the hearth, and the little
broken dog that lay tipped over in the corner, and
good old Lucy, and the three dolls tucked up in
mamma's basket, all heard the wish of the poor
little disappointed child.

II.
EVERYBODY has noticed that the kittens and the
dogs take a great many naps in the day-time, and
that the dolls and toy-animals let the children do
the most of the playing. That is because the pets
and the toys are tired out and sleepy after their
doings the night before, when the children were
asleep and the grown people out of the way. They
have rare sprees all by themselves, but just as soon
as any person comes about, the fun stops,-the cat
and the dog are sound asleep, the dolls drop down
anywhere still as a wood-pile, and the rocking-horse
don't even switch the ten hairs left in his tail.
As for talking, though, they might chatter all the
time and nobody be the wiser. People hear them,
but not a soul knows what it is. Mamma sticks
paper into the key-hole to keep out the wind that
whistles so, papa takes medicine for the cold that
makes such a ringing in his head, and Bridget
sets a trap to catch the mouse that squales and
scrabbles about so, a body can't slape at all,
'most; and all the while it is the dolls and pets
laughing and talking among themselves.
The bird in the cage and the bird out-of-doors
know what it is. Very tame squirrels and rabbits
understand it; and the poor little late chicken,
which was brought into the kitchen for fear of
freezing, soon spoke the language like a native.
Scrubby understood all that any of them said,
and they all understood her and liked her im-
mensely. Even the plants in the window would
nod and wink and shake out their leaves whenever
she came about.
After little Scrubby and everybody else in the
house had gone to bed that night, Minx, the kitten,
came out from behind the broom, and prancing






148 SCRUBBY'S BEAUTIFUL TREE.


up to the little pasteboard and wool dog that lay for all that, she was still full of lively French airs.
tipped over in the corner, pawed him about until Lyd was the last of the lot. Poor thing She
he was as full of fun as herself. Then she jumped had been such a lovely wax blonde: but now the


upon hil.: .I t,,I 1 .. 1.
th e 11 1:-: .1.l11: ,-i
m am l,. .'- .., :; I .
sendi: i, l ri 11 .. I-
ing o rl_ i.. i.
T h .-.: i .,. ...: ..-
ing lc.; *:. I iI .
Thern i -.
o f b l, _. .I l l,.. ., r. ,.I ,rl ,..ic
b ead s i,, -* : ....I I : i .: .l ...u r
b ut tl,, 1- j -, 1 ,,,- 1[. J11
T h .. ..- .. I. ,: F .:
girl, N I... .... ........ ._ t -.. .. Ii' I.
before liat bad liuni ..h.I ppap gu,, pui. ah.
had been very elegant, but now her laces were
torn, her hair would never curl again, one arm
swung loose, and her head wobbled badly; but,


. .... :... ; '

I ,.I..l .. IIJ ,r


i '
,. ,r l 1 ,.l| :I .t ,11, l

.ih hlid m tA. o ..LC ul' '
clothes on. Scrubby had
brought her to this plight; but, for all that, Lyd
loved the very ground Scrubby tumbled over; and


[DECEMBER,






877-1 SCRUBBY'S BEAUTIFUL TREE. 149


so did all the rest of them, for that matter, never
caring how much she abused them in her happy,
loving way.
Very soon high fun was going on in that room,
and it is a wonder the neighbors did not come in to
see what the uproar meant; but nobody heard it.
Yes, Ned, the bird, heard it, took his head out
from under his wing, and laughed at the fun until
he almost tumbled out of his cage. The lively
dog, Spot, heard it out in his shed, too, and whined
at the door until Jumping Jack contrived to undo
the latch and let him in. The little late chicken
heard it also, hopped out of his snug basket, and
was soon enjoying himself as much as if they were
all chickens and it was a warm spring day.
Lucy heard it, too; but Scrubby had taken Lucy
to bed with her, and had her hugged up so tightly
that the kind old baby could n't get away, and had
to lie there and listen and wait.
They were having a good time in that room.
The rocking-horse had been hitched to the little
wagon, and Jumping Jack was driver; Miss Fran-
gaise had climbed into the wagon, and was sitting
there as gracefully as she could, trying to hold her
head steady; she had the pasteboard dog for a lap-
dog, while Peg and Lyd sprawled on the wagon-
bottom, and Minx stood upon the horse's back like
a circus-rider.
And so they went tearing around the room in
fine style, Spot racing with them and wagging his
tail till it looked like a fan. Ned fairly shouted in
his cage, and the chicken jumped on a chair and
tried his best to crow.
After a while, Spot grabbed up a piece of paper
from one corner, and began to worry it. The fine
Frangaise saw that and tumbled out of the wagon
in a minute, as if she were only a very quick-
tempered little girl. She snatched the paper away
from Spot and snapped out: You sha' n't spoil
that It's Scrubby's letter! "
The horse had stopped now, Jumping Jack
jerked himself up to the astonished dog, and said,
very severely : Spot, aint you ashamed to worry
anything that belongs to our Scrubby ? I'll put
you out if there's any more of it."
"It's too bad, so it is," said Peg.
Lyd began to cry with her one eye, while Ned
stopped laughing and went to scolding ; the chicken
put his claw before his face, as if ashamed of such
a dog, and even the horse shook his head.
Poor Spot was under a cloud.
I did n't know it was anything Scrubby cared
for, and I don't believe it is, either," he snapped.
1 saw Scrubby write it," said Minx, and she
stuck the pencil in my ear when she'd finished."
She was sitting on us when she wrote it," said
Peg and Lyd together.


Yes, and she held me on her lap and read it
to me when it was done," put in Frangaise.
Of course it's her letter," spoke up the rocking-
horse. Don't you remember, Fran, she hitched
it to my bridle and told you to ride right off and
give it to old Kriss when he came around ? "
"You're a nice crowd !" growled Spot. "Every
one of you knew all about this, and left it kicking
around on the. floor You are a nice crowd I'll
take charge of it myself now, and see that old
Kriss gets it. He can't read it, of course. Nobody
could read that; but it shows how much you all
think of Scrubby."
Spot had the best of it now; but the French lady
spoke up in a way that put the others in good
spirits right off, and made honest Spot feel as if he
had been sat down upon.
Perhaps some people can read, if you cant,"
she said. "Ican read that letter for you, and for
old Kriss too, if he wants me to."
She could not read a word, but she opened out
the scribbled sheet in fine style, and just repeated
what she had heard Scrubby say. And this is
what Scrubby tried to put in the letter:
OLE KRISS: I want a tree, please, ole Kriss, right away. And
lots of pitty things. And glass s'ippers for mamma. And moss
under it, and animals, jess like I used to have. And a pink coat for
papa, and not wait for some time, cos that's a noosance.

It was very queer how they all acted when they
heard the letter. There was not another cross
word said-or a word of any kind for that matter.
Not one of them even looked at the others, and it
was not until poor Spot gave a big snuff that each
of them found out that the rest were crying.
SWell, I know what I'm going to do," said
Minx, at last. I'm just going to get that child a
tree; that's what I 'm going to do."
And I'm going to help you," Frangaise said, as
heartily as if she were not a fine lady at all. She
ruined my dress, and tore my lace, and put my hair
in such a state as never was; but I don't care.
She wants a tree, and she's going to have it."
You ought to have heard how she talked to her
papa and old Luce to-night," sobbed the one-eyed
baby. It was enough to break a body's heart."
We did hear her," they all snuffled.
Then they wiped their eyes, and a minute after-
ward, with much chatter, they began to make
preparations for getting the tree.
All but Spot. Scrubby had used him the worst
of all, she loved him so. She had pulled every hair
on him loose, and had twisted his tail until it hung
crooked; and yet Spot could not speak or do any-
thing for crying over little Scrubby's grief.
III.
PRETTY soon, Lucy, who had listened to as much
of this talk as she could, heard the whole party go






SCRUBBY'S BEAUTIFUL TREE.


out of the back door and start off somewhere. She
was in a great state of mind about it. Not for any-
thing in the world would she waken Scrubby; but
oh I how she longed to tumble down-stairs and
rush off after the rest
What a party it was that did go out of that back
door And in what style they went! Ned, the
canary, was the only one left behind; and those
who could n't walk, rode. For they had hitched
the horse to Scrubby's little battered sled, and
made a grand sleighing party of it.
Jumping Jack drove, of course. The French
lady had the seat of honor on the sled, and much
trouble she had to keep it, for there was nothing to
hold on by, and her head was so loose that it nearly
threw her over.
Lyd had wrapped a dish-towel about her, and
felt very comfortable and well-dressed; while Peg
had come just as she was, and they both rolled
about on the sled in a very dangerous fashion.
The late chicken held on with his claws to the
curl of the runner, and flapped his wings and
squawked every time the sled plunged a little in
the snow. Minx rode horseback as before, while
Spot went afoot, jumping and barking, and snap-
ping up a mouthful of snow every few minutes.
But not one of them knew where they were
going, or what they were going to do. They
meant to get Scrubby a tree somehow, and that
was all they knew about it.
At last, Peg said (Peg was a very sensible baby,
if she was raveled out) :
What are we going to do, anyhow ?"
Why, we're going to get a tree for Scrubby,"
they all answered.
Well, what kind of a tree ?-and where ?"
That was a poser. None of them had thought
so far as that. At last, Minx said:
"Why, any kind-somewhere."
"There are plenty of trees in France," said
Francaise.
Then that's the place for us to go," said Jump-
ing Jack; and at once they raced off to the end of
the garden, on their way to France.
This aint the way, after all," Minx said, when
they got to the fence. The world comes to an
end just over there. I got up on the fence one
day, and there was nothing beyond but a great,
deep hole."
There's'no use going off this other way," Spot
put in, "for there's nothing over there but a big
lot of water with a mill standing by it. I was over
there one day."
Then that is our way," said the French lady,
decisively. That is the ocean. I know they
brought me across the ocean, and I was awfully
sick all the way."


That last rather discouraged them, for nobody
wanted to get awfully sick if there was any other
way to find Scrubby's tree; so they concluded not
to go to France.
"Well, let's go somewhere, for I'm getting
cold," peeped the chicken; and then there was a
great discussion. At last, Spot said:
"We are a stupid lot! There's that sparrow
comes about the door every day-he could tell us
all about trees in a minute if we could find him."
Minx knew where the sparrow kept himself, for
she always watched him with an eye to business.
"But," she said, "some of the rest of you will
have to talk to him, for he 'll never let me come
near him."
So then the chicken called to the sparrow, and
the sparrow answered. The matter was explained
to him, and the bird fluttered down among them
as much excited as anybody.
It's for little Scrubby, eh ? he said. What
in the world does she want a tree for? I know.
It's because she is half bird herself-bless her
heart !-and she likes trees just like any other bird.
And don't she come to the door every morning and
give me crumbs and talk to me so friendly? Of
course, I'11 help find a tree for her."
But he had not found one yet, and so the chicken
told him.
I don't know," he said. Suppose I call Mrs.
Squirrel. She can tell." And off he flew, and had
the gray squirrel there in a minute, cold as it was.
Then they had to tell the story over again to
Mrs. Squirrel and to Mr. Rabbit, who had also
hopped along to see what the fuss was all about.
Scrubby's got to have a tree, and that's all

about it," chattered Mrs. Squirrel, as she whisked
about in a state of great excitement. I did n't
know old Kriss could be so mean as that. Call
zim a saint And all because Scrubby 's poor !
Humph Don't seem to me she is so very poor.
Did n't I give her those eyes she has ? And did n't
the robin give her his own throat? And has n't
she a sunbeam inside, that shines all through?
And did n't Miss June roll up all the flowers she
had, and a dozen birds beside, and wrap the whole
bundle up in Scrubby's brown skin ? I don't call
that being so very poor, do you ? Anyhow, she is
not so poor but that she could make me feel jolly
every time she came out-doors last summer to run
after me and chatter to me."
The rabbit had been standing all this time with
one cold foot wrapped up in his ear. He unfolded
his ear now, and wiped his eyes with it.
She almost cried," he said. "Just think of
one of my little bunnies wanting anything she
could n't get, and crying about it 1 It just breaks
my heart."


[DECEMBER,






1877.] SCRUBBY'S BEAUTIFUL TREE. 151


Tree chirped the chicken.
"Yes," said Mrs. Squirrel, "why don't you go
and get a tree for Scrubby? What do you all
stand here for, chattering and doing nothing? I'd
give her mine, only that great beech could n't be
got into the house."
"We wanted your advice," the sparrow suggested.
"Advice! You don't need any advice. Why
don't you give her your own tree ? That little
Norway spruce is just the thing. Come along, and
don't be so selfish !"
S" I'm not selfish; but really Norway is not fit,
and, besides, I don't believe he'll go."
Nonsense He 's a beautiful tree, only there
is n't much green on him ; and of course he '11 go,
for we '11 make him go," answered the very decided
Mrs. Squirrel.
So they all whisked away to the sparrow's roost-
ing-place. Norway was not in good health, that
was evident. He was very thin, and his temper
was in bad condition too; for when the sparrow
asked him if he would please step out and come
with them, he answered:
Not much I wont! It's bad enough standing
here in the ground, poorly as I am, without com-
ing out there in the snow; and I'll not do it for
anybody."
Oh dear Scrubby will be so disappointed!
What will she do ? they all cried out at once.
"What's that about Scrubby? What has
Scrubby got to do with my catching my death-
cold, anyhow ? asked Norway.
And then they told him the whole story. He
hardly waited for them to get through before he
broke out talking very fast.
Why did n't you say so ? How should I know
it was for Scrubby? Of course, I'll go! I'd do
anything for her. She did enough for me, I should
think,"-and, as quickly as he could, he pulled his
one foot out of the ground and hopped into the
snow beside the horse. Then he went on talking.
" You see if it had n't been for Scrubby I would n't
be alive at all. She heard somebody say that I
needed to have the dirt loosened about my roots,
and to have plenty of water. So she dug around
me at a great rate, and watered me until I was
almost drowned. She cut off a good many of my
roots, and once she threw hot water all down this
side of me; but she did n't know. I'm not much
of a tree, I confess; but Scrubby did what s/he
could, and if she wants me she shall have me."
"Come on, then," said the chicken, "for I'm
so cold my bill chatters." And they went.
It was a very funny procession they made going
back to the house,-the horse prancing along with
the sled, the three dolls taking a sleigh-ride in
their queer way, Spot racing about everywhere


with Minx on his back, and the tree hopping along
after the sled as fast as his one foot could go. The
chicken rode back on one of Norway's branches,
and fluttered and squawked more than ever.
When they started, they looked about and called
for the sparrow, Mrs. Squirrel, and Mr. Rabbit,
but they had all disappeared; so the rest went
back without them, shouting, laughing and singing.

IV.
IT was a brave sight they saw when Jumping
Jack opened the door to let the party in.
Luce had got away from her little bedfellow at
last without waking her. She knew that the others
had gone to get a tree for little Scrub, and she
knew that a tree was just no tree at all without
plenty of things to hang upon it. So she went to
work, and by the time Jack opened the door she
had a great deal done. It was astonishing how
many things she had found to put on that tree ; but
then she had been rummaging among Scrubby's
old playthings up in the garret.
There were old dolls, little and big; there were
old toys of all sorts; there were pretty little pict-
ures, and quantities of flowers made of bright
paper. A great many of the things Scrubby had
thrown aside so long ago they would be new to her
now; and some of them mamma had put away
very carefully, so that the little girl should not
altogether spoil them.
Lucy had found them all and had brought them
down-stairs; and now she had them in a heap on
the floor, trying to keep them in order, for they
were all very lively at being brought out again.
"Well, Luce, you have done it Jack said.
"Of course, I have," answered Lucy. "Do
keep that horse away, Jack, and not let him run
over these babies."
Oh dear !" squawked the chicken, and fluttered
under the table, for these new-comers were all
strangers to him.
Spot tried not to bark his astonishment and de-
light; Minx began to claw all the old dolls and
toys about; the French lady walked away into a
corner and waited to be introduced, while Lyd and
Peg shook hands with their old cronies until it
seemed as though they never would stop.
The tree had hopped into the room and stood
there, not knowing what to do with himself. Lucy
did not see him at first, being so busy with the
rest; but as soon as she did see him, she gave him
such a hug as nearly pulled him over.
Oh, you dear old Norway Did you come ?
You're so good, and I 'm so glad Come up to
the fire and get warm. Here, Jack, and Lyd, and
Frangaise, help me get this big foot-stool into the
corner. It's getting awful late."






SCRUBBY'S BEAUTIFUL TREE


Lucy flew about in a ragged kind of way until
she had all the rest flying about too, doing an
amount of work nobody would have believed pos-
sible. They were all glad enough to do the work,
but they needed just such a driving, thoughtful old
body as Lucy to show them what to do and keep
them at it.
The big foot-stool was put where Lucy wanted it,
and Norway warmed his foot and hopped upon the


old dolls, broken toys, and torn flowers looked
when upon the tree. There were so many, and
they had been arranged so nicely, that they really
did make a splendid show.
But, oh dear Lucy sighed, when it was all
done. It's not your fault I know, Norway, and
you are just as good as you can be ; but if you only
were not quite so thin, and were just a little bit
greener And then we've no moss to put under


-SC-UBB.S FRIENDS -SRANGING I-H-- IST YS- TEE.

SCRUBBVY'S FRIENDS ARRANGING IIER CHRISTMIAS-TREE.


stool, pushing himself as far back in the corner as
he could get, to make sure that he would not fall.
Then Lucy climbed upon a chair in front of
him, ready for business. She took Frangaise up on
the chair beside her to help arrange the things, for
the French girl had excellent taste, and nobody
could deny it. Lyd and Peg, and Minx and Spot,
and even the chicken, brought the things to go on
the tree, and faster, too, than they could possibly be
used, while Ned shouted all manner of directions.
Poor Norway fairly bowed his head under the
weight of all the things that were hung upon him.
And it was astonishing how pretty those battered


you. But we have n't any nice little animals to put
on the moss, if we had it."
Just then, Jumping Jack heard a queer kind of
noise outside, and opened the door to see what
it was. In whisked Mrs. Squirrel; the sparrow
hopped in close beside her, and Mr. Rabbit jumped
along right after them.
How are you getting on?" asked the gray
lady. I brought this along because I thought it
might come handy. We laid in a great deal more
than we needed for our nest last fall, and we could
just as well spare it as not."
It was a big bundle of beautiful green moss she


[DECEMBER,






x877.] THE MINSTREL'S CAROL. 153


had brought, enough to spread all around under
the tree and make a fine carpet.
"Oh, you dear, good old thing!" said Luce.
" That is just exactly what we wanted. Here,
Lyd Peg Help me spread this down."
Chick," said the sparrow, will you please
take charge of this ? "
And there was a great long vine of shining green
ivy which the sparrow had dragged in with him from
some place in the woods. Lucy was so delighted
that she fairly clapped her brown leather hands.
Quick, Franqaise she cried. Take this and
twist it around the tree. Just the thing to hide poor
old Norway's bare places. Oh, it 's just lovely "
All this time Mr. Rabbit had been holding his
ears very straight up, and now he shook a couple
of button-balls and some acorn-cups out of one,
and a lot of mountain-ash berries out of the other.
Do to hang around on the tree. Look kind of
odd and nice," he said.
"Well, I should think so!" Luce answered.
" I never did see such good creatures as you are;
and we all thought you had gone home to bed."
Speaking of bed made the chicken gape a little,
and they all remembered how late it was. They
never stopped chattering and laughing for a min-
ute ; but they went to work harder than ever, and
soon had all the moss spread down, the ivy twined
over the tree, and the button-balls, acorn-cups, and
berries hung up where they would show best.


Then Mr. Rabbit got up on the stool and nearly
covered himself with moss ; Mrs. Squirrel got under
the tree and stood up on her hind-feet, with an
acorn in her paws; Minx curled herself up in the
funniest way on the moss ; the sparrow flew up into
the tree and began pecking at the mountain-ash
berries; Frangaise and Lyd and Peg all sat down
as well as they could near the squirrel and the
rabbit; Jumping Jack mounted the horse and rode
around beside the tree, to stand guard; Spot stood
up on his hind-legs just in front of the stool, with
Scrubby's letter in his mouth, and the chicken
hopped up on Spot's head.
Then good old Lucy started to go upstairs after
Scrubby, but she got no further than the door.
Scrubby had waked up and missed her dear old
doll, so she had come down to look for her, and
there she stood now, just inside the door, with her
bright brown eyes wide open.
A minute before there had been only the scraggy
little tree she had taken care of, the battered old
toys, the torn dolls and the little pets she had
played with and loved so well, the bird and the
wild creatures she had fed and chattered to, and a
little bit of ivy and green moss. But just as soon
as she looked at them all, there was the most beau-
tiful Christmas-tree that ever was seen.
It was very curious; but it was the light that did
it-the light of her own happy eyes. It dies out
of eyes that are older.


THE MINSTREL'S CAROL.

A CHRISTMAS COLLOQUY.


MR. and MRS. BURTON. MR. and MRS. REMSEN.
ToMMY, aged seven. HARRY, Twins, aged
MAY, agedfive. SADIE, six.
LUCY, aged eighteen. PATRICK, a hired man.
Scene The 3Burtons' parlor on Chiristmas Eve.
Mr. B. Tommy stop making such a noise.
Tommy. Oh, I can't have any fun at all !
Mr. B. Why, yes you can. Look at all your
toys scattered about. Play something quietly.
Tommy. Nobody to play with.
AMr. B. Play with your little sister.
Tommy. She 's sitting in mamma's lap; besides,
she's a girl. Oh, papa [running to hisfath/er] I
wish the Remsens would come! I want to play
with Harry.
Mr. B. [hastily]. Never mind, never mind!
The Remsens will not come.
VOL. V.-II.


May. Why wont the Remsens come ?
Tommy. Oh, dear me, there is n't anything nice
to do!
Mr. B. Tommy, stop your whining. Don't say
another word. May, don't speak of the Remsens
again. They are not coming, and that's an end
of it.
[Enter LucY.]
Lucy. What tears on Christmas Eve, little
May And Tommy pouting! Oh, that'll never
do Come, cheer up You '11 have plenty of fun
soon with Harry and Sadic.-It must be nearly
time to send for the Remsens, father.
Mr. B. [vexed]. Don't speak of them again.
They're not coming, and I don't want them. Why
will every, one keep talking about them ?
[Enter PATRICK.]
iMrs. B. [aside fo Lucy]. Mr. Remsen and your







THE MINSTREL'S CAROL.


father have quarreled about a piece of land; so
the Remsens are not to come this year.
lMr. B. Well, Patrick, what is it ?
Patrick. Shure, the horse is ready, sir.
Mr. B. Horse ready ? What for ?
Patrick. To be goin' for the Rimsins, shure !
Mr. B. [angrily]. We are not going for the
Remsens! What do you mean by acting without
orders ? Take the horse out at once !
Patrick. Widout others, is it? An' it's mesilf,
thin, that hitched up the rather every Christmas
Ave I've lived wid yous for to go for them same.
Mr. B. Don't answer, sir; do as I bid you.
Patrick [aside]. It's plain the master's rin his
nose forninst something' harrud. [Exit.]
Mrs. B. [going to .fr. B. and putting her arm
about him, he sitting]. Dear John, send for the
Remsens, please. See how everything conspires
to ask it of you, from the prattle of the children to
old Patrick himself. It is Christmas Eve, dear!
How can we teach the dear chicks to be kind to
each other unless we set the example? Send for
our old friends, John. They've been with us every
Christmas Eve these many years. You 'll settle your
affair with Mr. Remsen all the better, afterward.
ir. B. Why, Mary, would you have me crawl at
the feet of a man who tries to overreach me ?
Airs. B. No, John! But stand on your own
feet, and say : Come, neighbor, let us do some-
thing better and wiser than hate each other."
Mir. B. I'll not do it. He has
Lucy. Hark! What's that?
[Music outside-the sound of a harp, orof a con-
cealed piano played very softly. Then, to its
accompaniment, is sung the following carol:]

Be merry all, be merry all !
With holly dress the festive hall,
Prepare the song, the feast, the ball,
To welcome Merry Christmas.
And, oh remember, gentles gay,
To you who bask in fortune's ray
The year is all a holiday;-
The poor have only Christmas.
When you the costly banquet deal
To guests who never famine feel,
Oh spare one morsel from your meal
To cheer the poor at Christmas.
So shall each note of mirth appear
More sweet to heaven than praise or prayer,
And angels, in their carols there,
Shall bless the poor at Christmas."

Lucy. Oh, what a beautiful carol I 'll call in
the minstrel.
Mrs. B. Yes, run Lucy [Exit LUCY.]
Mr. B. Set a chair by the fire, Tommy.
[Enter Lucy, with old minstrel carrying harp.]
Minstrel. Good even, gentle folks, and a merry
Christmas to you all !


MIrs. B. Come sit by the fire. Tommy placed
the chair for you. It is cold outside.
Miinstrel. Thank you kindly, ma'am. So Tom-
my set the chair for the old man ? Where is
Master Tommy? Ah, there 's my little man !
Come here, Tommy. That's right. So, up, on
my knee. Why, that's a bright face now! And
it ought to be bright, too; for this is Christmas
Eve, merry Christmas Eve, the children's happy
time. Tommy, I remember when I was as young
as you are. I had a little sister.
Tommy. I have a little sister, too.
Minstrel. Oh, you have a little sister, eh!
Where is she, then ?
Tommy [pointing]. Over there, in the corner.
Aiinstrel. Bless my old eyes, so she is Run
and bring her, Tommy.
[TOMMY runs, and returns leading and coax-
ing MAY.]
Minstrel [setting one on each knee]. Now, good
folks, if you '11 let me, I '1 tell these little people a
story of Jesus when he was a little boy. It is
called "The Holy Well."
[ They group themselves about the minstrel.
Early one bright May morning, Jesus, then a
little boy of ten or twelve years, awoke, and at once
remembered that it was a holiday. His eyes,
bright with the morning light, sparkled yet more
brightly at the thought. There would be no school,
no work. All the people would keep the feast.
He knew, too, that on that day, the boys of his age
would assemble betimes to play together at The
Holy Well. So, brimful of joyful expectation, he
ran to ask his mother's leave to go and join in the
merry games. Soon he was on his way, and he
quickened his steps when he came in sight of the
troops of happy children running hither and thither
in their sports. Drawing nearer, he stood still a
little while, watching the games with pleased and
eager eyes. Then he called out: Little children,
shall I play with you, and will you play with me ? "
Now, these boys and girls were the children of rich
parents, and lived in much finer houses than the
one Jesus had for a home. They had handsome
clothes, too, and everything of the best. So they
looked on the plainly dressed stranger, the son of
a poor carpenter, and bade him begone, saying:
"We will not play with you, or with any such as
you What a rebuff was that! The poor, sen-
sitive little lad had not expected it, and his tender
feelings were hurt. His eyes filled with tears; and
running home as fast as he could, he laid his head
in his mother's lap, and sobbed out to her the
whole story. Then Mary was angry with the ill-
natured children, and told her son to go back and
destroy them all by his word ; for she believed that
her beautiful boy could do such things. But, surely,


[DECEMBER,







THE MINSTREL'S CAROL.


if he could have harbored that thought, he would
not have been beautiful; and so, when his mother
spoke, her words drew away his thoughts from him-
self to the children who had grieved him. He
knew that they had never really known him, and
so could not have understood what they were doing.
Therefore he said to his mother that he must be
helpful and gentle to people, and not destroy them.
And that was the way with him to the very end.
For when, years after, the people (perhaps among
them some of those same children grown-up) were
putting him to death on a cross, he bethought
him again that they did not really know him, and
prayed: Father, forgive them; they know not
what they do." And, even before then, he had told
all people to love their enemies, and forgive and
be good to one another. If he had not done all
that, Christmas would not be so happy a time for us.
Mrs. B. [afproaching her husband and laying
her hand on his shoulder]. John, is not he right ?
7Mr. B. [who has been lost in thought, starting
and abruptly walking aside]. He is right! So
are they all. [Turning about.] Dear wife, Lucy,
Tommy, May, you shall be happy We'll have the
Remsens I say, we'll have our dear old friends.
Patrick shall harness the horse at once, and -
F The Minstrel suddenly strips of his disguise and
reveals himselfas MR. REMSEN.] What! Remsen !
Is that you ?
Mr. R. No need to harness up, old friend. Here
I am! Ah I knew how it would be.


Tommy cateringg about]. Hi! Hi! Ho Is n't
it great, May ? I shall have Harry to play with.
May [clapping]. And I shall have Sadie.
Lucy. Oh, what a delightful surprise Oh, Mr.
Remsen, I am glad, so very glad, that you have
come. We will send for the others at once.
Mr. R. Why, they're all here, too. You may
be sure we all came together. [Opening the door.]
Come! come in! It's all right, as we knew it
would be.
[Enter MRS. REMSEN and her children, HARRY
and SADIE, weho immediately run to TOMMY
and MAY.]
Mlrs. B. [to Mrs. R.] Welcome, welcome, dear
friend This is kind.
Lucy. Now Christmas Eve is what it ought to be.
illrs. R. Oh, Mrs. Burton, I am happy again
now. I was afraid that Christmas would not bring
love and joy for us this year. We could not help
coming. Old memories were too strong for us.
Mr. R. to Mr. B. Ah neighbor, it's a sad
thing to interrupt that peace on earth" of which
the angels sung. There's my hand; take it kindly.
Mr. B. And there's mine, with all my heart.
We'll not let a bit of land divide old friends.
Mlr. Aye, aye We'd better divide the land.
iM1r. B. It seems easy to settle now. But no
more of that to-night. Come, let us sing our
Christmas carol. It will be sweeter than ever.
Take your harp, friend, and turn minstrel again
for the occasion.


WITH SPIRIT.



4-P~
With wondering awe, The wise men saw The star in Heaven springing, And with de-light In

,____ -- --r--- ----- \

w- ^ ^ ^ p ^ w' *^ ^ "


poco rall ..............


fS


peaceful night, They heard the angels singing, I-Io san na, Ho-san-na, I-Io-san-na to His name!

_------------. --\-----------r--r --- --- ---q--
0 0 0:-0
a *==#- a F 1


By light of star,
They traveled far
To seek the lowly manger;
A humble bed
Wherein was laid
The wondrous little stranger.
Hosanna, hosanna,
Hosanna to His name!


And still is found,
The world around,
The old and hallowed story;
And still is sung
In every tongue
The angels' song of glory:
H-losanna, hosanna,
Hosanna to His name!


[I


The heavenly star
Its ray afar
On every land is throwing
And shall not cease
Till holy peace,
In all the earth is glowing.
Hosanna, hosanna,
HoR-nnnn, to H-i noame!


1877.]







JACK- IN-TIIE-PULPIT.


* ,I~ c~., C' A,

.-t-- Z7I -
Wrr ~ ,4v ht

'~s-~'us,


absorbed in watching a spider which had tried to
weave its web eleven times and succeeded on the
twelfth, that he allowed the cakes to burn ; where-
upon, the herdsman's wife, rushing in, exclaimed:
Oh, Diamond Diamond what mischief hast
thou done ? "
To which he meekly replied: I cannot tell a
lie; I did it with my little hatchet."
S "Take away," cried she, that bauble !"
"I have done my duty, thank heaven!" said
he, but he never smiled again.


-LiI. I I

'44s


JeI:~r-:r~r rJ 'fl
-u


J AK- I N -THE -I U L 1T.


A MERRY CHRISTMAS to you, my darlings!
It's cold weather-too cold for any but a Scribner
Jack-in-the-Pulpit to be out-of-doors-but our hearts
are green, and there's a fine bracing air.
Christmas will not be here when you first get the
December magazine, I know, but ST. NICHOLAS
likes to get a good start. He has Dutch blood
in his veins, and he knows well that in Holland
St. Nicholas' Day comes on the 6th of December.
So, just think of the dear Dutch youngsters, and
what a happy holiday they keep on the 6th,-for
that is their season of .-II-.; ; .. --and when the
25th comes to you, with its holy, beautiful light,
and its home joys, you '11 be all the more ready to
give it welcome.
Now for
A WINDFALL.
HERE is a copy of a printed scrap thrown to me
by a high wind the other day. It is n't of very
much use to a Jack-in-the-Pulpit; so I hand it over
to you, my chicks. It strikes me that it has the
gist of some of Deacon Green's remarks, and that
somehow it does n't come under the head of what
is called "pernicious reading":
"GooD ADVICE FOR TIIt YOUNG.-Avoid all boasting and exag-
gerations, backbiting, abuse, and evil speaking; slang phrases and
oaths in conversation; depreciate no man's qualities, and accept
hospitalities of the humblest kind in a hearty and appreciative man-
ner; avoid giving offense, and if you do offend, have the manliness
to apologize; infuse as much elegance as possible into ... .
as well as your actions; and, as you avoid vulgari, -
increase the enjoyment of life, and grow in the respect of others."

KING ALFRED AND THE CAKES.
HERE is a story which I heard a girl tell her little
sister the other day, but I don't believe the girl told
it altogether right. Can any of my youngsters
straighten it out? This is the story :
King Alfred, after his fatal defeat at Marston
Moor, having taken refuge in an oak-tree, was so


": 5,- -.


[DEcEMBER,


A LITTLE SCHOOLMA'AM.
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: I should like to tell the Little School-
ma'am about our little schoolma'am.
She is a young lady of about twenty-one years, and looks too deli-
cate to govern such a school. But she does it; and though as fond
of fun as any of us at the right time, yet in school she insists on at-
tention to business, and wiil not tolerate idleness or disobedience.
She is very kind and gentle, but firm ai.d decided, and we all know
that she means what she says, and must b- obeyed implicitly. She
says she wants us to love and trust her as a friend, and we do. Out
of school she seems as young as we do, for she i, full of fun and likes
us to have a good time. She tries to make school pleasant to us. and
a while ago she put a box on her desk, and said, when we had any
questions to ask, or complaints to make, we might write them on a
slip of paper and put it in that box, which was locked and had a hole
in the top. Sometimes she answers the questions publicly, and
sometimes she writes them and puts them in the "letter-box." The
scholar who has the best record for a month keeps the key the next
month, and once a week opens the box and distributes the contents.
It is quite an honor to be postmistress," but no one can have it two
months at a time. She lets us make suggestions if we think of any
-:....... *:r.... in the school, and sometimes adopts them. Another
I i... I-. to allow five minutes at the end of each hour when we
may whisper, but not talk out loud. If we wish to speak to any one
we can leave our seat and wall: to them, if they are not near to us.
But any one who whispers, or communicates in any way at any other
time, forfeits this chance. I f-r--t to say that we put notes to each
other in the letter-box. l. .i. like our little schoolma'am so
much -Yours truly, ALLIE BERTRAM.
AS IDLE AS A BIRD.
IT is not so very long since I heard a little girl
say that she wished she could only be as idle as
a bird."
Now, this was not a very lazy sort of wish, if she
had but known it. There are very few little girls,
or boys,-or grown-ups either, for the matter of
that,-who are as industrious as the birds. How
many people would be willing to begin their daily
labors as early as the birds begin theirs-at half-
past three o'clock in the morning-and keep on
toiling away until after eight in the evening ?
Think of it, my youngsters,-almost eighteen
hours of constant work !
And the birds do it willingly, too; for it is a
labor of love to bring dainty bits to their hungry
little ones and keep the home-nest snug and warm.
One pair of birds that had been patiently watched
from the first to the last of their long, long day,
made no less than four hundred and seventy-five
trips, of about one hundred and fifty yards each,
in search of food for their darling chicks !
As idle as a bird, indeed !-with all that hunt-
ing, and fetching, and carrying, and feeding to do !

"OWN FIRST COUSINS."
TALKING of birds, would you ever have thought
it ? The lovely and brilliant Bird of Paradise, I 'm
told, is own first cousin" to the-Crows. And
the Crows are not one bit ashamed to own the rela-
tionship Very condescending of them, is n't it ?







JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.


ORANGE GROVES ON ST. JOHN'S RIVER.
Ocala, Marion County, Fla., 1877.
DEAR JACK: I was on the St. John's River at work with my
father about three years ago. There were real --!- -
there, and the trees bore sour and bitter-sweet fru., i .11 .. i
you what I was doing on that river. I was pressing out the juice of
the sour oranges and boiling it, for making citric acid. We used a
cider press for pressing out the juice, and a copper cauldron for boil-
ing it We shipped the acid to Philadelphia, and I do not know
what was done with it next.
These groves were inhabited by wild beasts, such as opossums,
wild cats, raccoons, deer, and, occasionally, bears and panthers.
The groves were situated on high mounds, mad- : -. -..1 .
i an ancient race known as ":.-. -.... 1 11.1
I.. shells on the mounds, which in some instances
appeared to be made entirely of shells Some mounds were fifty feet,
or more, above the surrounding country, and from two hundred to
four hundred yards in length.
Now, I dare say, you would like me to say of what kind these
shells were; but, as I never could find out for myself, I cannot tell
you what kind they were. They are unlike any that I have seen
elsewhere, and I think they do not belong to any living species of to-
day. Farewell, dear Jack !-Yours truly, TRoPIc.

THE BLIND CLERK.
DEAR JACK: Ever so many millions of letters are dropped into
the London Post-Office every year, but some are so badly addressed
that they never get out again. When a direction is so ill-written that
the sorters can't make it out, the letter is taken to a man they call
the B ind Clerk," and he ... i i ers it. Why they call
him "bliid" ] don't know, i J J are beyond the power
of his sharp eyes to make out. Here is one that did not give him
much trouble; but can any of your young folks tell what it means?
Sarvingle
Num for te Quins prade
Lunon.
I'Il send you the "blind" man's solution next month. Mean-
time, here is a puzzle for your merry crowd. You shall have an
answer in that same postscript; but I should like to have the Little
Schoolma'am and the rest work it out for themselves:
SI am constrained to plant a grove
To satisfy the girl I love;
And in this grove I must compose
Just nineteen trees in nine straight rows,
And in each row five trees must place,
Or never more behold her face.
Ye sons of art, lend me your aid
To please this most exacting maid."
This puzzle is so old that it probably will he new to thousands of
your young folks.-Yours truly, M. B. T.

BIRDS CAUGHT BY SALT.

YES. It's so ; though I must say I felt inclined
to laugh the first time I heard one boy tell another
to put salt on a bird's tail by way of catching it.
Now, however, word comes, all the way from Cali-
fornia, that there is a lake there, called Deep
Spring Lake," whose waters are very salt; and that
during certain conditions of the weather the water-
fowl of the lake become so encrusted with salt that
they cannot fly, and the Indians wade into the
water and simply catch the birds with their hands.
The coating taken from one duck weighed six
pounds,-enough to have drowned it, even if its
eyes and bill had not been so covered as to blind
and choke it. When the weather is favorable for
the formation of this crust upon the birds, the In-
dians do their best with fires and noise to keep
them away from the few fresh-water streams where
the poor things would be safe from the salt. Be-
sides this, the savages imitate the cries and calls of
the birds, so as to entice them to the dangerous
part of the lake.
It seems to me that men must be very mean as


well as very hungry to take advantage of the birds
in that way. However, "circumstances alter cases,"
as the school-boy said when lie had been punished
for his good by mistake.

A SPELL UPON KEROSENE.
Bridgeport, Conn.
DEAR LITTLE SCHOOLMbA'AM : One would think that the word
"kerosene" could not be a very difficult c 1... .- .. :-..:,r.
ant to write correctly but it is. From ts.. i
I learn that the following versions of the word have actually been
received by the Portland Kerosene Oil Company in its correspond-
ence:
Caracine, carecane, caroziene, carocine, cursene, carozyne, cori-
seen, carosyne, caricien, carsine, caresene, carozine, carocene,
carosean, carycene, caresien, caraseen, caroseene, crosen, carecene,
carizoein, keriscene, karosin, kerocine, keressean, keriseene, kerasene,
kerosene, kereseen, kerison, kerriseen, kerricene, keroseen, kerosine,
karosina, kerosene, kerrscin, keroscene, kerose, kerasseen, kereson,
kerocene, kerozene, kerrisene, kerryseen, kerissicn, kersien, keros-
sein, keriscene.
Now, is n't that astonishing?-Yours sincerely, hMARY N. G,

THE EYEBROW WORD.
WHAT do you think this is ? It is neither more
nor less than the word "supercilious," which is
derived from supercilium, the Latin for eyebrow,"
as I heard the Little Schoolma'am tell the children
not long ago.
When she had said this, one of the little girls, in
a rather scornful, superior way, said, I don't see
any sense in that." Whereat the Little School-
ma'am and two or three of the bigger girls laughed,
for the little girl had raised her eyebrow in a most
" supercilious" expression, giving the best possible
proof of the appropriateness of the word. For,
certainly, it is hard for one's face to express a super-
cilious feeling without raising the eyebrow, or at
least changing that part of the countenance which
is over the eyelid.

SINCERE.
HERE'S one more derivation, while we are about
it. I heard the other day that the bees, with the
aid of Latin, have given us a beautiful word:
" Sincere "-which is made of the words sine-cera,
meaning honey without wax."
Remember this, my chicks, and let your kind
words and good actions be truly sincere,-pure
honey, sine cera.

THE AUTHOR OF "HOME, SWEET HOME."
DEAR JACK : My grandfather knew a gentleman who was a very
intimate friend of the author of" Home, Sweet Home"-John How-
ard Payne. Mr. Payne told this gentleman, Mr. C., how he came to
vri, i. ... He said that a play or operetta called The Maid
of i ... -i .r he had adapted from the French, was about to be
played in London. In this play was a very pretty scene for which he
had an air in his mind. He I ;. ..... some words to suit the
tune, and so hie wrote the .. i i .. sweet Home." He
also said that the very next day after the song had been brought out
at the theater it was all over London. Everybody was singing it.
Grandfather says that Mr. Payne got really very tired of hearing
about this song, 0 1:... 1, :1 he .--i It he would hereafter
be known only .*i .. ii I !-lome d tome." Mr. Robert
S. Chilton wrote this beautiful verse about Mr. Payne's death:
Sure, when thy gentle spirit lied
To realms beyond the azure dome,
With arms outstretched God's angels said:
"Welcome to heaven's Home, Sweet Home!' "
I believe this verse was inscribed on Mr. Payre's tomb-stone in
Tunis, Africa; but I am not sure. Can any one tell me ?-Yours
truly, KATIE T. Ii.





FOR VERY LITTLE FOLKS. [DECEMBER.



BABY-BO.






One, two, three, four, five !












Snugger than bees in a hive.
V.... ., S.















Four, and a little wee thumb !"
'' ^ *,z -. "- -


.. .i.I /'.







How many toes has the tootsy foot?
Onewo, so three, four, brighve!
Shut them all up in the little red sock,
Snugder than aees in a hive.

How many fingers has little wee hand ?
Four, and a little wee thumb!
Shut them up under the bed-clothes tight,
For fear Jack Frost should come.

How many eyes has the Baby Bo ?
Two, so shining and bright!
Shut them up under the little white lids,
And kiss them a loving good-night.





1877.- FOR VERY LITTLE FOLKS. 159


ARTHUR AND HIS PONY.

ABOUT the middle of the summer, little Arthur, who lived in the country,
went to see his grandmother, whose house was three or four miles away
from Arthur's home. He staid there a week, and when he came home
and had been welcomed by all the family, his father took him out on the
front piazza and said to him:
Now, Arthur, if you are not tired, how would you like to take a ride ?"
Oh I 'm not tired," said Arthur. I 'd like a ride ever so much.
Will you take me ? "
No," said his father. I meant for you to take a ride by yourself."
But I can't drive," said little Arthur.
I know that," his father said, with a smile, but I think we can
manage it. Here, Joseph !" he called out to the hired man, "hurry and
bring Arthur's horse."
Oh, papa!" cried Arthur, "I don't want my horse. I can't take a
real ride on him. He 's wooden, and I was tired of him long ago. I
thought you meant for me to take a real ride," and the little fellow's eyes
filled with tears.
So I do, my son," said his father, "and here comes the horse on
which you are to take it. Is that animal real enough for you, sir ?"
Around the corner came Joseph, leading a plump little black pony,
with a long tail and mane, and a saddle, and bridle, and stirrups.
Arthur was so astonished and delighted that at first he could not speak.
"Well, what do you think of him?" said his father.
"Is that my horse?" said Arthur.
Yes, all your own."
Arthur did not go to look at his pony. He turned and ran into the
house, screaming at the top of his voice:
"Mother mother I 've got a pony Come quick I 've got a pony
-a real pony! Aunt Rachel! I 've got a pony. Laura! Laura! come,
I 've got a pony "
When he came out again, his father said : Come now, get on and try
your new horse. He has been waiting here long enough."
But Arthur was so excited and delighted, and wanted so much to run
around his pony and look at him on all sides, and kept on telling his
father how glad he was to get it, and how ever so much obliged he was
to him for it, and what a good man he was, and what a lovely pony the





FOR VERY LITTLE FOLKS.


pony was, that his father could hardly get him still enough to sit in the
saddle.
However, he quieted down after a while, and his father put him on the
pony's back, and shortened the stirrups so that they should be the right
length for him, and put the reins in his hands. Now he was all ready
for a ride, and Arthur wanted to gallop away.
No, no !" said his father, "you cannot do that. You do not know
how to ride yet. At first your pony must walk."
So Arthur's father took hold of the pony's bridle and led him along
the carriage-way in front of the house, and as the little boy rode off,
sitting up straight in the saddle, and holding proudly to the reins, his
mother and his aunt and his sister Laura clapped their hands, and cheered
him; and this made Arthur feel prouder than ever.
He had a good long ride, up and down, and up and down, and the
next day his father took him out again, and taught him how to sit and
how to guide his pony.
In a week or two Arthur could ride by himself, even when the pony
was trotting gently; and before long he rode all over the grounds, trot-
ting or cantering or walking, just as he pleased.
The pony was a very gentle, quiet creature, and Arthur's father felt
quite willing to trust his little boy to ride about on him, provided he did
not go far from home.
Only once was there any trouble on the pony's account. As Arthur
was riding in a field, one afternoon, there came along a party of gen-
tlemen, who were hunting a fox. When they galloped away, over the
smooth grass, Arthur whipped up his pony, and went after them as fast
as he could go.
He went on and on, trying to keep up with the hunters, but he was
'soon left behind, for his pony could not gallop half as fast as the large,
strong horses of the hunters.
Then he turned to come back, but he got into the wrong field, and
soon found that he did not know the way home.
Arthur began to be very much frightened, for the sun was setting,
and he could see no one of whom he could ask his way home. He first
turned his pony this way and then that way, but the little horse was now
hungry and tired, and he would not turn as Arthur wanted him to.
Then the pony resolutely started off and trotted along, paying no atten-
tion to Arthur's pulls and tugs, and did not stop until he had trotted right
up to the door of Arthur's home.


[DECEMBER,






Id77.* FOR VERY LITTLE FOLKS. 161


You see, he knew the way well enough. Horses and dogs seldom
lose their way, unless they are very far from home.
Arthur's parents were frightened at their little boy's long absence, and
he was not allowed to ride again for three days, for he had been told not
to go out of the field in which he was when he saw the hunters.


i~-2~
s


- ,' --- ---
_ -- -- - -- -


ARTIIUR ON HIS PONY.
Arthur rode that pony until he became quite a big boy, and his feet
nearly touched the ground as he sat in the saddle. Then he gave the
good little animal to a young cousin.
But he never liked any horse so much as this pony, which was his
own, real horse, when he was such a little boy.


~_iC-iF~iC~_
L~i~I


II












-.-

II









a' -


; i -~~~-:----~-j
.~,-- ----;-_







YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS DEPARTMENT.





YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS' DEPARTMENT


TWO YOUNG MARTYRS.
(Drawn by a Young Contributor.)


TOO-LOO! "

THE Blue Jay courted the Yellow Cuckoo;
'Neath its nest he would stay all day long,
Smoothing his feathers of silver and blue,
Telling his love in a song:
Too-loo! too-loo !
Oh, fly with me,
My sweet Cuckoo,
Across the sea! "

The Cuckoo came gayly forth from her nest;
But just then an arrow flew by,
Piercing the bird's soft yellow breast,
Who died with a single sigh.
Too-loo too-loo "
The Blue Jay said;
What shall I do?
My love is dead!

The Cuckoo lay cold and still on the ground-
Dead, past all hclp to save;
And by a Bird-defender was found,
Who dug her a little grave.
Too-loo too-loo "
Was the sorrowful lay,
For the gentle Cuckoo
Sung by the Jay. AMn R.


"MARY AND HER LAMB."
(A Critique.)
Mary had a little lamb."
In this poem each stanza, we may say each line, is unalloyed gold.
Let us examine the first line.
Marv." The name strikes us at once as belonging to one
pure as the inside of an apple-bloom; and the rest of the poem assures
us, that by making Mary's name an index to Mary's character, we
have not been misled. A master's hand is visible from the first word.
A little lamb." The poet does not take for granted, as one of
less genius would, that because a lamb is mentioned the reader
necessarily sees in his mind's eye one of the frolicsome, gentle, con-


C -a.






\ *


[DECEMBER,


finding creatures commonly accepted as an emblem of meekness.
Not at all. The lamb is not only a lamb-it is a little lamb. Thus
never in the whole course of the poem can we by any oversight look
upon Mary's treasure as a sheep; it retains its infantile sweetness
and grace through the entire narration. The poet thus draws our
attention to the youth of the animal, in order to palliate the little
creature's after-guilt. This is done with such grace and delicacy,
that it is scarcely perceptible.
The line, as a whole, shows a touch of high art seldom seen in so
short a poem. The writer knows human nature-that, we see at a
glance. Else, would he not have entered into a detailed account of
Mary's parentage, her appearance, place of residence, or, at least,
the manner in which she became possessed of the lamb. But no; all
is left to the imagination. Mary nay be as blonde as the Fair one
with golden locks," as dark as F 1 .. Each reader has a
heroine after his own heart, and : .
"Its fleece was white as snow."
No black sheep (or lamb) could we in any way imagine as a com-
panion of Mary-gentle, affectionate, pure little Mary. All her as-
sociates must be pure as herself.

"And everywhere that Mary went
The lamb was sure to go."

Does not this suit the character given to Mary by her name ? We
can image to ourselves the lost lamb, the mournful bleating for its
mother, its hunger and cold. In the depth ofits misery we see Mary's
sweet face bending pityingly over it; she raises it, takes it home, it
revives, and loves her; she loves it in return. Can we wonder that it
follows in her footsteps wherever she goes? Those two lines tell
more than many a volume; but they must be read feelingly, or all
is lost.
Now follows a tale of wrong-doing and of subsequent punishment.
This is, indeed, a master-stroke; for this climax we were not prepared.

"It followed her to school one day,
Which was against the rule."

Although the lamb follows its mistress everywhere, school is a tabooed
place. Yet the little creature cannot live without Mary, who has
departed fair and fresh as Overbury's Happy Milkmaid." Long are
the hours that must elapse ere Mary's return, and the lamb tires of
the waiting. It followed her to school one day." How innocent
an act that seems!-how natural! Then we read the next line,-
"Which was against the rule," and the lamb's action is turned from
innocence to guilt. Mary's favorite, that we have seen heretofore in
only a good light, violates deliberately a rule of the school which
Mary attends. The short sight of the animal's spiritual eyes prevents
it from knowing the extent of the disgrace to which it is to be sub-
jected. At present the end justifies the means in its little heart, and
it leaves its pleasant home to wander schoolward, and we are left to
imagine its thoughts on the way.
A scene in the school-house bursts upon us, and
"It makes the children laugh and play
To see a lamb at school."

This is another instance in which we are shown the poet's knowl-
edge of human nature. At anything lessthan 1.. 1 a lamb the
little scholars are too well trained to laugh, i i i .i precedent.
They have been told how to behave should a dog enter the room, or
should a ludicrous error in lessons occur; but when a lamb trots
soberly in,-not gamboling now; conscience already whispers; re-
morse eats at the little creature's peace of mind,-it is not to be ex-
pected that order can be longer maintained, and the school, with the
exception of Mary, runs riot. Mary is perhaps, meanwhile, reproach-
ing her pet with a look more in sorrow than in anger; she is too
gentle to scold, but that glance completely fills the lamb's cup of sor-
row; it is yet to overrun, and the drop is soon poured in-the deep
beneath "the lowest deep is soon reached.
"For this the teacher turned him out."
It was his duty, reader; judge him not harshly.
But still he lingered near."
This, at least, was not forbidden,-to wait for his little mistress.
"And waited patiently about
Till Mary did appear."
How fraught with significance is that one word, "patiently All
too eager before, that was the lamb's fault, ..-. : .'vously hath [he]
answered it." He has turned over a new I. i .. 1 wandering aim-







YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS' DEPARTMENT.


lessly about, now nibbling a cowslip, now rolling in the young grass
to still the remorse gnawing at his heart, we can imagine him resolv-
ing to be a better lamb in the future,-to grow more worthy Mary's
love.
"'What makes the lamb love Mary so?'
The eager children cry."

All have noticed this devotion-all wonder at it. The teacher
answersin words that prove how well we read Mary's affectionate
nature:
Why, Mary loves the lamb, you know,'
The teacher did reply."

What could be a more worthy ending to so fine a poem than that
the loves of the two. human and brute, should be recognized by all
Mary's little world, her school-mates and her teacher. More poems
like this, sentiments so pure clad in plain Saxon words, would make
our world-wonderful and beautiful, as it now is-a fitter place of
dwelling for "men and the children of men." We regret but one
point about this gem,-that its author is "A Great Unknown."
C. McK.


THE DEATH OF PRINCE WILLIAM.

THERE was a prince named William,
And he had a sister, too;
He was sailing o'er the English Channel,
Over the Channel so blue.
His father had gone ahead;
And lie made the boat go fast,
But soon it struck upon a rock;
There was a shock to the very mast
And everybody did wail,
And everybody did cry,
Because everybody thought
That everybody must die
Prince William rushed into a boat,-
Several lords and he,-
And he was steering for the land,
Across the dark blue sea.
In the midst of the general weeping,
He heard his sister's cry,
And he made the boat go back,
For he would not let her die!
When he got near the ship,
When he was touching her side,
Down the side of the big ship
Everybody did glide.
Down went the little boat,
Too frail for such a load;


Down went the people in it,
And the people that rowed.
Down went the big ship,
Her topmast in the air,
And, if a person were near enough,
He might see a man clinging there.
The name of this man was Berold,
And he was a butcher by trade,
And by the help of a buff garmenit
On the top of the water he stayed.
In the morning some fishermen came
And delivered him from the mast;
And after he was recovered,
His tale he told at last.
When the king heard of the death of his children,
He fainted away for a while,
And from that day he was never,
Never was seen to smile! H. W.

ALLIE'S SUNSHINE.
"A sNowY, windy day. Oh, how dismal! sighedAllie. "I wish
it would clear off, so that I could go out-doors and play."
With this, Allie, who had been standing by the window gazing out
at the gray sky, sat down and commenced to read that beautiful book,
" May Stanhope." After reading quietly for more than an hour, she
laid down the book, exclaiming: I can and will try to be of some
use in the world. I do nothing but mope when it rains, or when any-
thing I will try to help others who need my help. I will
ask ma. I carry something to Miss Davies. I am sure she
needs some help."
Oh, the sun is shining! Allie jumped up, and ran out of the
room to ask her mother if she would let her go to Miss Davies's.
While she is gone I will tell you briefly who she is. Her name is
Allie Harris, and she is a bright little girl, only apt to be dull on dark
days.
Her mother gave the desired permission, and after wrapping her-
self up warmly, she took the well-filled basket that her mother had
prepared, and set out on her errand of mercy. She soon reached
Miss Davies's tiny cottage. She knocked, and a cheery voice bade
her enter. She walked into a neat room, barely but cleanly furnished.
At one end of it, beside a window, around which an ivy was growing,
sat a bright-faced little woman sewing. She looked up and greeted
Allie pleasantly. Allie shyly made known her errand, and stayed
with Miss Davies all the afternoon, singing and reading aloud while
Miss Davies sewed.
When it began to grow dark she bade Miss Davies a cheerful
good-by, and went meirily home. She said to her mother, "I have
learned the true secret of happiness at last." By doing good to
others you will forget your otwn unhappiness, and be made happy in
return; while, if you msope and try to be disagreeable, you will be
miserable. F. H.


'H' l DOES YOUR MOTHER KNOW YOU'RE OUT? "
(Drawn by a Young Contributor.)








THE LETTER-BOX.


THE LETTER-BOX.


Our beautiful new cover was designed and drawn by Walter Crane,
of London, who made all those lovely pictures in "The Baby's
Opera." Our readers will remember what we said of him last month,
and that, though a great artist in other ways also, he has done his
best and most famous work in drawing for the little folks. It would
have bec:i impossible, therefore, to find a hand more skillful in the
kind of art desired, or better fitted to put upon the cover of ST.
NICHOLAS just the things to suit the best tastes and fancies; and of
Mr. Crane's success we think that no one who really studies the new
cover can have a doubt. It seems to us fully worthy both of the
artist and the magazine; and, believing that our young readers will
all agree with us, we leave them the delight of discovering and enjoy-
ing for themselves its special beauties.



THERE is a beautiful custom in England-which it is to be hoped
will yet become general in America-of sending around Christmas
cards, dainty things with lovely pictures and hearty verses upon
them. Friends and lovers send them to one another, children send
them to their parents, parents to their children, and the postman, as
he flies from house to house, fairly glows with loving messages.
And now ST. NICHOLAS presents to one and all the sweet little card
on page 9r, which was drawn by Miss L. Greenaway, a London
artist, who has drawn many beautiful pictures of child-life. A com-
panion card will be given next month.


WE are sure all our readers will appreciate the very comical pictures
on pages 144 and I45, which illustrate the funny story of "The
Magician and His Bee." But some of our older boys and girls may
be able to put them to another use,-which, also, would cause much
fun and merriment,-for these pictures would form an admirable
series of magic-lantern slides. And all that is needed to make them
is a little skill with the brush and-patience.
Take an outline tracing of each figure; arrange all the tracings for
each slide on the glass strip, according to their positions in the pict-
ure; then, by a slight touch of mucilage, or by holding each one with
the forefinger, secure them in their places until the outlines can be
traced on the glass. Fill up all the space outside the tracings with
black paint, and, this done, put in the shadings of the figures (lines
of features, costumes, etc.) with touches of the brush, according to
the lines in the printed pictures, until the reproductions upon the slide
are true and complete.
Once done, the pictures, enlarged and thrown upon a screen, would
be very funny indeed; and if, when they are exhibited, some one will
read the story aloud, so as to describe the slides as they succeed each
other, you may count upon having a jolly time.


Kiukiang, China, August 18, 1877.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am not so far out of the world but that I
can receive and read your excellent magazine. I look forward to
mail day with much pleasure, especially the mail which brings the
Sr. NICHOLAs. I read every number through. I enjoy reading the
letters from the little boys and girls, I suppose, because I am a little
boy myself. There are no American boys here except my three little
brothers. We would like to have a play with some of the boys who
write for your magazine. The little boys of China have no such
n:--'i yours. I wish they had; it would make better boys of
i .... !I. children of the better class of Chinese go to school.
There they learn to commit to memory the Chinese characters. In
repeating the characters, they sway back and forth; it's real comical
to see them. They repeat in a sing-song tone. They go to school
at six in the morning. They have a rest at noon, after which they
remain in the evening until eight o'clock. They have no idea of
what we have in America; they are even stupid enough to ask if we
have a sun and moon, and all such questions. My home is on the
banks of the great river Yang-tse; nine miles back from the river are
the Lu-Say Mountains, five th-uisand feet high. The foreign people
find it very cool upin the mountains. There are several large pools
of water where they bathe. I have written more than I expected to.
-Good-by, dear ST. NICHOLAS, from your reader,
EVANSTON H1ART.


tREADERS who were interested in Professor Proctor's letter about
the Sea-Serpent, in ST. NICHOLAS for August last, may like to read
also these little extracts on the same subject:

From Ike New Y'ork "IIdepfendent."
A sea-monster was seen by the officers of H. M. S. Osborne," on
June 2, off the coast of Sicily, which is sketched by Lieut. Haynes
and figured in the London Graphic. The first sketch is merely of
a long row of fins just appearing above the watei .-. I.
and extending, says Lieutenant Osborne, from ...r .. ,,i
length. The other sketch is of the creature as seen "end on," and
shows only the head, which was "bullet-shaped and quite six feet
thick," and a couple of flappers, one on each side. The creature
was, says Lieutenant Osborne, at least fifteen or twenty feet wide
across the back, and "from the top cf the head to the part of the
back where it became immersed I should consider about fifty feet, and
that seemed about a third of its whole length." Thus it is certainly
much longer than any fish hitherto known to the zo0logests, and is,
at least, as remarkable a creature as most of the old wonder-makers
ever alleged.

From the "Vational Teachers' Mlfonthly," September.
Mr. John Kieller Webster says he has seen the sea-serpent in the
Straits of Malacca. Its body \as fifty feet in length, the head twelve
feet, and the tail one hundred and fifty. It seemed to be a huge
salamander. The Chinese on board the ship were so frightened, they
set up a howl,-a circumstance very remarkable.


THE GAME OF FAGOT-GATHERING.
THERE is ajolly in-door game, for the winter, called "Fagot-
Gathering," which has been described in print before, but it makes
so much fun that many who have never heard of it will be glad if we
tell about it here.
First you take some slips of paper,-as many as there are players,
-and on one of them you write Fagot-Gatherer; on each of the
rest you write either "good wood" or "snapper," making three
times as many good woods" as snappers." Of course, anybody
who knows about wood-fires will see that this is because some sticks
will burn quietly and brightly while others will crack and snap and
fly without the least warning. You put the papers into a hat, and
each player takes one, telling nobody what is written on it. Every
one then sits as near to the wall as possible, leaving a clear space in
the middle of the room, and the player who has chosen the Fagot-
Gatherer" slip proceeds in a serious, business-like way to bundle
the fagots. He, or she, chooses four or five girls and boys, standing
them together to represent a fagot, and then makes similar groups of
the rest in other parts of the room. This done, he begins to "bind
the fagots" by walking slowly around each group, making with lis
arms such motions as a real fagot-binder would make. The "sticks"
are quiet until the binder lets his arms fall, but then comes a sudden
change; the "good woods" run to their seats, but the "snappers"
chase the "binder" and try to touch him before he can begin to bind
another "fagot; failing in this, they have to go and mourn among
the good woods." Then the binding of the second "fagot" goes
on, like that of the first. But when a fagot-gatherer" is touched,
the "snapper" takes the place of the "gatherer," who goes and rests
himself. The game ends when all the fagotss have been used up
in this way, and is then beguit again by another selection of papers
from the hat. The fun is in the frights and surprises of tl:e "fagot-
gatherer," who, of course, does not know who is a "good wood and
who a "snapper; and all do their best to avoid betraying them-
selves. If you have a good big room and lots of ilaycrs you will find
this game as full of fun as you can wish.


Philadelphia, September 16, 1877.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I was looking over your September num-
ber, and happened to read a letter addressed to the "Little School-
ma'am," and signed "Father of two school-girls;" it was about
school lunches, and told of a visit to the new Normal school of Phila-
delphia; he said that in the lunch hall there is a long table on which
there was nothing but cakes of all sorts. Now, being a member of
the school, I was a little hurt at the injustice done to our school. I


IDECEMiBEIR,







877-. TIE LETTER-BOX. 165


know there is something else but cake,-fl uit, milk, soup, sandwiches,
etc., being among the other things that are spread on the lunch-
table, provided by the janitor, and sold to the girls at very low rates.
So you see I had reason to be a little indignant at the discredit done
to our school, and set about repairing it as far as possible; and you,
too, can help repair the harm done to this fine public school by kindly
printing this note. But I must close, for my letter is getting too long.
-Your true friend,
A MuEMBER OF TrHE MODEL CLASSES PRIMARY DEPARTMENT.
(Aged eleven years.)


SCIENCE AT HOME.
Brooklyn.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I am an old boy, but not too old to be one
of your most delighted readers; and I am glad of the present chance
to send you my good wishes, and say my say. Here it is:
Be sure and tell your youngsters to bear in mind that opportunities
for home study on their own accounts are multiplying around them
day by day, and that in taking advantage of them they will not only
find great enjoyment and add to their stock of knowledge, but also
will come upon hundreds of ways in which to amuse their friends,
both old and young.
Here, for instance, come Professor Mayer, and your frequent con-
tributor, Mr. Charles Barnard, with a little book about "Light."
They are not content with merely telling the dry facts about their
subject, but, with pictures and plain speech, they explain how almost
any boy or girl may, at small cost, make his or her own apparatus,
and with it verify by actual trial what the book says. Some of the
experiments are positively beautiful, and the hardest is not very
difficult.
Then, too, Professor Tyndall has written out his lectures to young
people, given before the Royal Institution Zi T T ..
in a little wo k called I.essons in Electricit -.. ... ... ..: ...
beautiful of scientific studies,-in which lie tells how to make the in-
struments and conduct the experiments yourself. And, as if that
were not enough, Mr. Curt W. Meyer, of the Bible House, New
York, has arranged to supply a complete set of instruments, to suit
this book of Professor Tyndall's, at a total cost of $55, packing-case
and all; the various articles being obtainable separately at propor-
tionate prices.
I only wish we had had such chances fifty years ago; for, if our older
friends had not made presents of such things to us,-as no doubt
many oldsters will to your young folks this coming Christmas,-we'd
have saved up our pocket money and gone ahead alone. I know that
I made all my own electrical apparatus; but there was good fun in
doing it, and it worked well, and made splendid times for our circle
of young folks on cozy winter evenings.
I hope you will read this' ", ... 1. i.1. 1 .. 1 it is as long as
most old men's memories.-'. i ii. ,' i i
GRAN'THER HORTON.


Jamaica, L. I.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I read Jack-in-the-Pulpit's inquiry in the
August number about the Fiery Tears of St. Lawrence." Yester-
day I was reading a book, and in it there was an article headed
"Showers of Stars." I read it, and at the end of it was a piece
which seemed to be an answer to Jack's question. I copied word for
word from the book. Here it is :
"Another writer suggests the theory that a stream or group of
innumerable bodies, comparatively small, but of various dimensions,
is sweeping around the solar focus in an orbit, which periodically
cuts the orbit of the ...- ,i .. ....1 cause of shoot-
ing stars, aero!ites, ; .., .
This is all I have been able to find out, and I hope it is correct.-
Believe me to be yours very truly, C. A. R.

C. A R., and others who wish to know more of this subject, will
find all the latest information in "Appleton's Cyclopaedia," under the
items "Aerolite" and "Meteor," where admirably clear and con-
densed accounts are given of all that is known about these bodies.
C. A. R.'s extract states the theory most generally held.


TABLEAUX FROM Sr. NICHOLAS PICTURES.
Brooklyn, November, 1877.
DEAR OLD ST. NICHOLAS : My little sisters and my brother love
you, and so do I, for your monthly visits make our house brighter
and pleasanter to us all. I am fifteen, not yet too old to be one of
your children, you see.
What I want to tell you is how easily some of your pictures can be
turned into tablaunx-avivants, or even acted. There was "Pattikin's
House; I am sure we had the 'r-it -t fun with those pictures, we
being so many gir's: and "The ...... tattered and torn that mar-
ried the maiden all forlorn; that was on p. 652 of the volume for
1076: "The Minuet," in January, 1877: Hagar in the Desert," in
June, 1877; my aunty did that, and it was lovely: th: li. tit rl in
"The Owl That Stared," in November, 1876; and "L. ... 'in


the same number. All these we had at our own home, but there are
lots of others that might suit some folks better than they would suit us.
This winter some of your pictures will be used in a series of grand
tableaux for our Sunday-school entertainments. Number of people
belonging to the school can paint scenes, get up costumes, and all
that. It is going to be splendid.
I thought that your other children, you dear old ST. NICHOLAS,
would surely like to know about this, and I hope I have not made
my letter too long. From yours lovingly, MIaNA B. H.


MARY C. WARREN answered correctly all the puzzles in the Octo-
ber "Riddle-Box," but her answers came too late for acknowledg-
ment in the November number.


Black Oak Ridge, Passaic County, N. J.
MRS. EDITOR: Excuse me writing to you, but I want to ask you
if you think it is right to be killing cats all the time, for my brother
Eddie has killed fifteen this year, and whenever I scold him about it,
he begins to sing pilly willy winkum bang dow diddle ee ing ding
poo poo fordy, pilly willy winkum bang. There, there he stands now
behind the barn with his hands fill of lumps of coal watching for one
that killed his chicken a month ago. O dear, if he would only stop
killing cats what a good boy he would be He always gives me half
of his candy, and he raises such nice melons in his garden. 0, 0,
as true as I live there he goes now after the poor cat. Good, good,
good-neither piece of coal hit her. What can I do to stop his bad
habit. I think it is too bad even if they do kill his chicks once in a
while. I have only got two cats left, Dick and Mizy, and he watches
them awful close -Your friend, KATIE BAKER.

New York.
DEAR ST NICHOLAS : I want to send this story to The letter box
that I wrote when I was 6 years old this is it
LITTLE MAY
Once upon a time there lived a little girl whose father and mother
were very rich, so the little girl had lovely dresses, but she had a very
bad temper and was very proud so nobody loved her. One day this
little girl I might as well tell you her name it was May was sitting in
her mothers lap Mama said she what makes everybody act so to me ?
Dear said her mother it is because you are so proud and :. ... so
easily then said May if I should try to be good would I. i me
Yes said her mother so after that May was a better child and every
body liked her even her mother loved her better than before and so
did her father and after that the little girl was no more saying Oh
dear nobody loves me but lived happy and contented.
ELISE L. LATHROP.

Geneva, N. Y.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I notice in a chapter of" His Own Mas-
ter" for September a mistake which I can correct. In describing the
Cincinnati suspension bridge, it says that trains go across on it. This
is a mistake, as that bridge is only used for carriages, horse-cars and
pedestrians, the steam-cars going across on another bridge above.
There is now building a new railroad bridge below for the new
Southern Railroad.-Yours respectfully, W. S. N.


San Leandro, Cal., Sept. 3, 1877.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I tried the Little Schoolma'am's way of
pressing flower, and I think it is ever so nice. I pressed a wall-
flower; it retained all its brightness and looked just like a fresh
flower. Last spring we discovered a huniming-bird's nest in one of
the trees in our orchard. It was very pretty, being no larger than
half of a lien's egg. The first time I saw it the little mother was on
it; she sat as still as a stone, and looked as if she would not budge
an inch for me or anybody else. I am always very glad when the
ST. NICHOLAS comes.-Your affectionate little reader,
SUSIE R. IRWIN.

Princeton, N. J.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I would 1:1 .11 .i r -. :... -,.
expedition I made last August to i.. 1 ., I ,,
purpose of seeing the three planets, Jupiter, Mars and Saturn.
Through the telescope we were shown Mars burning with a ruddy
glow, and having on the rim of one side a bright white spot, which
the professor told us was the ice piled up around the north pole;
Saturn with its rings, seen with wonderful clearness, and shining
pale and far off in comparison with Mars; Jupiter with its two dark
bands around the center, and three of its satellites plainly visible;
and, last, the moon with its curiously indented surface and ragged
edge. The telescope was small, so we could not, of course, see the
newly discovered satellites of Mars, the professor saying that there
were only two instruments in this country that would show them.
Hoping that you may have as good an opportunity to see these
splendid heavenly bodies as I have had, I remain, your friend,
SFT- S









THE RIDDLE-BOX.


NOTICES OF NEW BOOKS.


BaBY DAYS, a selection of Songs, Stories and Pictures for Very
Little Folks, with an introduction by the Editor of ST. NICHOLAS, and
300 illustrations. Scribncr & Co.-This large and very handsome
book has been made up from ST. NICHOLAS, and nearly all from the
pages devoted to the "Very Little Folks," and although the readers
of this magazine know that there have been many good things in that
department, they can have no idea, until they see it gathered together
in this book, what a wealth of pictures, stories, funny little poems and
jingles have been offered the little ones in ST. NICHOLAS. To chil-
dren who have never read ST. NICHOLAS, this book, with its three
hundred pictures,-to say nothing of its other contents.-will be a
revelation; to children who take the magazine, it will bring up many
pleasant recollections of good things they have enjoyed.


ABOUT OLD STORY-TELLERS-of How and When they Lived,
and what Stories they Told. By Donald G. Mitchell. Published by
Scribner, Armstrong & Co.-When any one comes late to dinner
nothing can be kinder than to bring back for him some of the good
things which may have been removed before his arrival,-and some-
thing very like this has here been done by Mr. Mitchell for the boys
and girls who came into this world too late to hear in their original
freshness all the good stories that were the delight of their fathers and
mothers when they were children. And these fine old stories are all
so nicely warmed up (if we may so express it) by the author of the
book, and so daintily and attractively presented to our boys and girls,
that some older folks may be in doubt whether or not they would
have lost anything in this respect if they, too, had happened to come
a little late to the feast furnished by Defoe, Dean Swift, Miss Edge-
worth, Oliver Goldsmith, the man who wrote the "Arabian Nights,"
and other good old story-tellers.

OuT little housekeepers, especially those who have put into practice
Marion Harland's admirable recipes which we gave in our third and
fourth volumes, will be delighted with a little book published by Jan-
sen, McClurg & Co., of Chicago. It is called Six LITTLE COOKS;
or, Aunt Jane's Cooking-Class,-and, while it is really an interesting
narrative in itself, it delightfully teaches girls just how to follow prac-


tically its many recipes. The only fault we have to find with it is
the great preponderance of cakes and pastry and sweets over health-
ful dishes and the more solid kinds of cookery.

A VERY pleasant little book is THE WINGS OF COURAGE, adapted
from the French for American boys and girls by Marie E. Field, and
published by the Putnams. The three stories which make up the
book will delight fairy-loving boys and girls. They are illustrated by
Mrs. Lucy G. Morse, the author of The Ash-Girl," well known to
ST. NICHOLAs readers. The pictures all are pretty, but to our mind
the best of all is Margot and Neva," illustrating "Queen Coax."

BETTY AND HER COUSIN HARRY. By Miss Sarah E. Chester.
American Tract Society, N. Y. Price, $r; postage, 7 cents.-This
book tells in a bright and lively way about the pranks of a merry
little girl and her boy-cousin. There is plenty of good fun and good-
will throughout, especially in the parts that tell of the doings of the
two young madcaps on April Fools' Day and the Fourth of July,
and of the queer way in which Toby, the pet crow, becomes peace-
maker between them.

THE BODLEYS TELLING STORIES. Hurd & Houghton.-None
of our young friends who have read "The Doings of the Bodley
Family" will need to be told that this new volume is filled with stories
bright, interesting, and helpful; and the Bodley folks have already
gained so many friends and admirers that the book will be sure to
make its way. We said of the former volume that it was charming, but
the new one is even more exquisitely printed, and has a cover even more
quaint and beautiful. So we cordially commend it to our young friends
as a book which will both satisfy their interest and benefit their tastes.

THE CHRISTMAS STORY-TELLER, published by Scribner, Welford
& Armstrong, is a well-illustrated collection of excellent Christmas
stories by English writers. It is meant for papas and mammas rather
than little folks, but some of our older boys and girls may enjoy the
Christmas tales by such authors as Mark Lemon, Edmund Yates,
Tom Hood, Shirley Brooks, and that very funny man, F. C. Burnand.


THE RIDDLE-BOX.


A CHESS PUZZLE.
OUR readers will here find a "knight's move" problem, similar to
the one published in the Riddle-Box of ST. NICHOLAS for Febru-
ary, 1874. By beginning at the right word n-i .'rin" fr- r square to
-. .-- 1 -, -l;-ht 7--- you will find an I., 1 ... .. t tion from
.. ii i. quoted in one o0 1I,. i M.


ding close your bond- me cir-
--- ----- j------
oh age chain your I en

Do --I through o l es too,
Do through so silk- cles too,


ye lest bles,


bram- ars, in


But, me ver


fet- this bri-


a- twines;' ters


break, Ere nme


Bind


That
-I--


lace, And, weak,


prove bines, I


your ne- too cour-


leave teous wood- may


EASY NUMERICAL ENIGMA.
THE whole, composed of six letters, is a New England city. The
Sis a numeral. The 2 is av ; .. '.. "Behold The 23
is cheap. The234 is to be :.. I. r i... 34 is a pronoun. The
34 5 6 is a cistern. The 45 6 is a measure. c. D.

A PLEA FOR SANTA CLAUS.
By taking one letter from each line of this verse, you will find an
acrostic which spells a holiday greeting. The letters, too, are in a
straight line with one another-but what letters shall be taken ?
Coming with merry feet to young and old,
Where snow and ice would block is onward way;
Strive they in vain his eager step to stay,
For Santa Claus is curious as bold.
Why should he not know what the ovens hold?
Such odors tempt him, and he must obey!
School-boys and matrons, grandsires, maidens gay,
Forgive him if he warm his fingers cold
While ',:'.I. Arrows from his .--t.- pack-
Wise :.11 .ee him choose! (from my bows),
With shaft of silver, tipped with jewel rare,
Aimed with the skill which Love can well impart,
Shall strike the center of the coyest heart !
Lest Santa Claus be slighted, then, beware!" B.

BROKEN WORDS.
IN each sentence, fill the first two blanks with two words which,
joined together, will form a word to fill the romnni;, blank.
I. "Do you buy paper or : .... one school-
girl of another. 2. Puritans do not regard it as you free
- men might. 3. He built when in and lived like
the natives themselves. B.


[DECEMBER,


And you,


bout,


Curl


place;







1877.1 THE RIDDLE-BOX. 167



PICTORIAL QUADRUPLE-ACROSTIC.
THE initials and finals of the words represented by the small pictures name two objects to be seen in the central picture. Two other words
relating to the central picture may also be found in succession, by taking one letter from each of the words
represented by the small pictures. L. J.


CHRISTMAS ENIGMA.
THE answer is a proverb relating to Christmas. Forty-four letters.
My 2 30 9 8 24 38 15 -- t .- n I -1-- Tr -3 31 25, and 6 13
7 3525918 29 2 are t.. .... .. i... I .1. .. 36 i 26 42 9 16
are rung, 44 417 38 39 31 i6 are told, 24 4 6 2 12 are played, 10 IT
33 26 21 2 5 12 is laid aside, 29 9 43 38 57 I6 are brightened by yule
logs, 34 23 X4 TI 20 25 salutations are exchanged, 28 22 4 8 3544 glad-
dened, and 3 7 11 38 27 winged, all at the good old Christmas-time.
B.
AUTHORS' NAMES.
THEI answers will give respectively the names of sixteen authors.
i. A cat's cry and a Scotch lake. 2. The value of the rim 3. A
rough or clumsy cut between a sunbeam and the old ladies' beverage.
4. A man's name and an island. 5. A teacher commanding one of
his male scholars to perform his task. 6. A bun and a hotel. 7. A
light, and a "k," and a measure of length. S. Strong and well.
9. Two-thirds of an eve; a Scotch title prefixed
With a shoe-maker's tool nicely put in betwixt;
If you look at it closely, I think you will find
An essayist, poet, historian, combined.
To. Conqueror, embrace 0. IT. Indispensable to printers, and a little
bed. 12. A bit, and a horse's cry. 13. A small nail and a Spanish
title. 14. A boy's nickname and an humble dwelling. 15. The
patriarch Jacob between "D and myself.
16. If two pretty girl-names together you tie
(Some E's you must lose, for I can't tell a lie "),
The name of two poets at once you'll descry. At. l.


A RIMLESS WHEEL.
THE wheel is made of four words of seven letters each, with a
common central letter. The first word is written vertically, the second
horizontally, the third ... ...11. i. .. left to right, and the fourth
diagonally from right t i. I ,If of each word. from the out-
side to the central letter (but not including that letter), forms a smaller
word. The whole line of dots from la to 16, including the central
letter, indicates the first of the four principal words, while Ta indicates
the first of the small words belonging to it, and i/ indicates its second
small word. This numbering and lettering applies also to the other
words. The central letter is given, and all the words are defined below.
la
32 4a



29i . 2. o3



4/' 3
16
i. A wall of defense. 2. A brilliant bird of South America. 3. An
enthusiast. 4. The noise of a drum.
Ia. Equal value. Ib. A fondling. 2a. The human race. 2b A
relative. 3a. An article of summer use. 3b. Involuntary muscular
motion. 4a. To chafe. 4b. To entitle. u.











MAGIC DOMINO-SQUARE.
EIGHT dominoes placed together form a square composed of sixteen half-dominoes, as shown in the diagram below. But, in the diagram,
each row of four half-domi.oes contains a different number of spots from any of the other rows. Thus the topmost row, counting hori-
zontally, contains eighteen spots; the one beluw it only four; the first row to the left, ......: .. 11 ten; the diagonal row,
downward from left to right, eight, etc. It is required to make a square of eight dc.... .. -..-. set, in which each
vertical, horizontal, and diagonal row of half-dominoes shall contain exactly sixteen spots. Who can do it? ar. D.


DIAGONAL PUZZLE.
THE puzzle contains ten words of 9
ten letters each. Fill the blanks with
words suited to the nsnse, and arrange
these one above another in the order
in which they occur in the sentences.
They will then form a square, and
the diagonal letters, read downward
from left to right, will name a friend
we all like.
(the same person as the diag-
onal, with another name) boys,
and the children may well put in
a friend who can so much to
their happiness. No ordinary person 9
is to him; and the legend -
us to the belief that he is well-nigh
- that tells of the exercise of
his power in a manner, and on
account of which he deserves to be
called the "- patron. B.

PROVERB PUZZLE.
SUPPLY the blanks with words to
complete the sense, and transpose
them into an appropriate proverb,
with no letter repeated.
When Santa Claus, laughing at Christmas cold,
Leaps gayly out from his of gold,
No clattering disturb the house,
But down the as still as a -
He glides to lighten his burdened back,
By tossing treasures from out his pack;
Then up and off, with no behind
But the Merry Christmas" you all shall find.


0



9)
8

a
e


*a ,

S *
aalia

0

0
9)

ah A l


SEXTUPLE ACROSTIC.

INITIALS, read downward, a man;
read upward, a biblical locality. Ceno
trals, read downward, a portion; read
upward, a snare. Finals, read down-
ward, something seen at night; read
upward, small animals.
i. Stupid persons. 2. Toward the
stern of a ship. 3. An insect in a
caterpillar state. 4. To come in.
N. T. IM.

EASY DIAMOND PUZZLE.


-" s IN work, but not in play; a domes-
a tic animal: a singing bird; a light
carriage; in night, but not in day.
@ tISOLA.

NUMERICAL ENIGMAS.
a. SHE is such a sweet, 1234567
child, I feel sure that I can soon
S2 3 45 6 7 of her love.
S2. Will you 2 3 4 56row?"
said the 2 3 4 6.
3. If you do 1234 56789 10o
about the stem of the vase, choose the delicate I 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 ii.
4. Shall you 1234 5678 9 10 1I2 for robbing the poor little
123456789 o1i i2's nest?
5. My 12 34567a house to the 1234567 of ten children.
6. Shall it be a sail, 2 3, 45 678,-- 2345678? Whichever
it is to be, we must prepare for it to-day, Tom.
7. 23 4! 56781234, I shall always be interested in your
2345678. O'B.


ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN NOVEMBER NUMBER.


DOUBLE AcRosTic.-Franklin, Herschel.
F -rit- H
R -rs- E
A -Ide- R
N -autilu- S
K--ennebe-C
L -arc- H
I -sl- E
N -icke- L
BROKEN WVORDS.-i. Forgotten-forgot ten. 2. OIences-of
fences. 3. Significant-sign if I can't. 4. Firmament-firm ament.
PICTORIAL NUMERICAL RLBUS.-
4,002,063
83,080,o00
76,094
P9,000oo00,01

89,087,58, 178
HOUR-GLASS PUZZLE.--
P E R P E TU A 1.
TR I V I AL
A I 0 D F
OLD
U


BEHEADINGS AND CURTAILINGS.--. Shame, Sham, Ham, Ha, A.
2. White, Whit, Hit, It, I. 3. Coral, Cora, Ora, Or, R. 4. Spine,
Pine, Pin, In, I. 5. Honey, Hone, One, On, 0.
EASY DIAMOND PUZZLE.-D, Cid, Clara, Diamond, Droit, Ant, D.
CHARADE.- Stratagem.
PUZZLEr BouQUET.-r. Foxglove. 2. Hawkweed. 3. Tuberose.
4. C ... r... 5. Snapdragon. 6. Wall-flower. 7. Sweet-pea. 8. Bal-
sam :I :.11 .i). 9. Snowdrop,. io. Marigold (Marry Gold).
TRANSPosItrONS.-I. Earth, heart. 2. Oder, rode. 3. Wells, swell.
4. Evil, Levi. 5. Edges, sedge.
LETTER ANAGRAMS.-I. Lover P-Plover. 2. R after S Rafters.
3. S and T-Stand. 4. P under L-Plunder. 5. Et upon Ic-Un-
poetic.
HIDDEN DRESS GOODS.-I. Calico. 2. Gingham. 3. Cotton.
4. Linen. 5. Serge. 6. Merino. 7. Silk. 8. Satin. 9. Muslin.
PICTORIAL PROVERB-AcnOSTIC.-' The longest day must have an
end." I. T -e Deu- M
2 H -yosciam- U
3. E -ye- S
4. L as- T
5. O H
6. N-ux Vomic-A
7. G -love(-e-) V
8. E -y- E


AT E 9. S -e- A
T 11 I N K o0. T -urce- N
A RMORE 0 E R Ix. D -rup- E
F LOUNDEn 12. A -ndiro- N
NUMERICAL ENIGMA.-Cleopatra-ale, top, car. 13.3 Y -ar- D

THIu ANSWrERS TO THE PICTORIAL PUZZLES IN THE OCTOBER "RIDDLE-BOX" were accidentally omitted from the November number.
and are given here. REBus: Liars are not to be believed or respected." PICTORIAL PROVERB-ANAGRAM : Listeners never hear any
good of themselves "
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE OCTOBER NUMBER have been received from Harry H Neill, George J. Fiske, Eddie Vultee,
John W. Riddle, Marion Abbott, Harriet M. Hall, Grant Squires, George Herbert White, William Kiersted, Maxwell W. Turner, Emma
Elliott, H. V. Wiirdem:nnn, Alice B. Moore, "Clarinet," Sophie Owen Smith, Julia Abbott, Alice M. King, Mary W. Ovington, Maudie,"
Edith lMeriam, Eddie H. Eckel, Bessie and her Cousin," Alice Bertram, M. W. Collet, and "A. B. C."
ANsswERs To SPECIAL PI ZZLES were also received, previous to October i8th, from Georgictta N. Congdon, Bessie Dorsey, Fred M.
Peace, r. M. Ware, A. G Cameron, May," Rosie S. Palmer, Julia Lathers, Florence Wilcox, Edwin R. Garsia, Lizzie M. Knapp, Alice
B. McNary, May Danforth, Katie Earl, W. Creighton Spencer, W. Irving Spencer, Carrie M. Hart, Edna A. Hart, Olive E. Hart, B. P
Emery, Gertrude Eager, and Alice T. Booth.


THIE R\IDDLE-BOX.


[DECEMBER.