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HIDE
 Front Cover
 Frontispiece
 Hansa, the little lapp maiden
 Juno's wonderful troubles
 Wishes - How matches are made
 Where Aunt Ann hid the sugar
 Under the lilacs
 Common sense in the household
 Secrets of the Atlantic cable
 The canary that talked too...
 A night with a bear
 Westminster Abbey
 Crip's garret-day
 What happened
 Drifted into port
 The news-carrier
 Living silver
 The woods in winter
 Crumbs from older reading
 The boy in the box
 The cock and the sun
 The London chick-weed man...
 A monument with a story
 Two ways
 A horse at sea
 Tidy and Violet; or, The two...
 Jack-in-the-pulpit
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover
 Spine


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UF00065513_00058
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UF00065513_00058
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5/4/2007 1:55:47 PM -


St. Nicholas, vol. 5, no. 5
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Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00058
 Material Information
Title: St. Nicholas, vol. 5, no. 5
Series Title: St. Nicholas.
Alternate Title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner,
Publication Date: -c1943.
 Subjects
Subjects / Keywords: Literature for Children
Genre: Children's literature
Periodicals
serial   ( sobekcm )
 Notes
General Note: Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
General Note: Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: notis - ocm0176
oclc - 7405657; (DLC)SF 89099153
oclc - (DLC) 2006255186; 55136171
System ID: UF00065513:00058

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Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Frontispiece
        Plate
    Hansa, the little lapp maiden
        Page 305
        Page 306
        Page 307
        Page 308
        Page 309
        Page 310
        Page 311
    Juno's wonderful troubles
        Page 312
        Page 313
        Page 314
    Wishes - How matches are made
        Page 315
        Page 316
    Where Aunt Ann hid the sugar
        Page 317
        Page 318
    Under the lilacs
        Page 319
        Page 320
        Page 321
        Page 322
        Page 323
        Page 324
        Page 325
    Common sense in the household
        Page 326
    Secrets of the Atlantic cable
        Page 327
        Page 328
        Page 329
        Page 330
    The canary that talked too much
        Page 331
    A night with a bear
        Page 332
        Page 333
        Page 334
    Westminster Abbey
        Page 335
        Page 336
        Page 337
        Page 338
    Crip's garret-day
        Page 339
        Page 340
    What happened
        Page 341
    Drifted into port
        Page 342
        Page 343
        Page 344
        Page 345
        Page 346
        Page 347
        Page 348
    The news-carrier
        Page 349
    Living silver
        Page 350
        Page 351
    The woods in winter
        Page 352
        Page 353
    Crumbs from older reading
        Page 354
        Page 355
    The boy in the box
        Page 356
        Page 357
        Page 358
    The cock and the sun
        Page 359
        Page 360
    The London chick-weed man - Johnny
        Page 361
        Page 362
        Page 363
    A monument with a story
        Page 364
        Page 365
    Two ways
        Page 366
    A horse at sea
        Page 367
    Tidy and Violet; or, The two donkeys
        Page 368
        Page 369
    Jack-in-the-pulpit
        Page 370
        Page 371
    The letter-box
        Page 372
        Page 373
    The riddle-box
        Page 374
        Page 375
        Page 376
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
    Spine
        Spine
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ST. NICHOLAS.





MARCH, 1878.


[Copyright, 1878, by Scribner & Co.]





HANSA, THE LITTLE LAPP MAIDEN.

BY KATHARINE LEE.


ONCE upon a time, in a very small village on
the borders of one of the great pine forests of Nor-
way, there lived a wood-cutter, named Peder Olsen.
He had built himself a little log-house, in which
he dwelt with his twin boys, Olaf and Erik, and
their little sister Olga.
Merry, happy children were these three, full of
life and health, and always ready for a frolic. Even
during the long, cold, dark winter months, they
were joyous and contented. It was never too cold
for these hardy little Norse folk, and the ice and
snow which for so many months covered the land,
they looked on as sent for their especial enjoyment.
The wood-cutter had made a sledge for the boys,
just a rough box on broad, wooden runners, to be
sure, but it glided lightly and swiftly over the hard,
frozen surface of snow, and the daintiest silver-
tipped sledge could not have given them more
pleasure.
They shared it, generously, with each other, as
brothers should, and gave Olga many a good swift
ride; but it was cold work for the little maid, sitting
still, and, after a while, she chose rather to watch
the boys from the little window, as they took turns
in playing "reindeer."
One day they both wanted to be reindeerr" at
once, and begged Olga to come and drive, but the
chimney corner was bright and warm, and she
would not go.
"Of course," said Olaf;. what else could one
expect? She is only a girl! I would far rather
take Krikel; he is always ready. Hi! Krikel!
VOL. V.-21.


come take a ride and he whistled to the clever
little black Spitz dog that Peder Olsen had brought
from Troms6e for the children.
Krikel really seemed to know what was said to
him, and scampered to the door, pushed it open
with his paws and nose, then, jumping into the little
sledge, sat up straight and gave a quick little bark,
as if to say: Come on, then; don't you see I am
ready !"
"Come, Erik; Krikel is calling us," said Olaf.
But Olga was crying because she had vexed her
brother, and Erik stayed to comfort her. So Olaf
went alone, and he and Krikel had such a good
time that they forgot all about everything, till it
grew so very dark that only the tracks on the pure,
white snow, and a little twinkle of light from the
hut window helped them to find their way home
again.
In the wood-cutter's home lived some one else
whom the children loved dearly. This was old
grandmother Ingeborg, who was almost as good as
the dear mother who had gone to take their baby
sister up to heaven, and had never yet come back
to them.
All day long, while the merry children played
about the door, or watched their father swing the
bright swift ax that fairly made the chips dance,
Dame Ingeborg spun and knit and worked in the
little hut, that was as clean and bright and cheery
as a hut with only one door and a tiny window
could be. But then it had such a grand, wide
chimney-place, where even in summer great logs


VOL. V.


No. 5.







HANSA, THE LITTLE LAPP MAIDEN.


and branches of fir and pine blazed brightly, light- before the fires, were the only other persons whom
ing up all the corners of the little room that the the little maiden knew; and sometimes the two
sunbeams could not reach, boys (as boys will do to their sisters) teased and
Here, when tired with play, the children would laughed at her, because she was timid, and because
gather, and throwing themselves down on the soft her little legs were too short to climb up on the
wolf-skins that lay on the floor before the fire, beg great pile of logs where they loved to play. So it
dear grandmother Ingeborg for a story. And such was no wonder that she longed for a playmate like
stories as she told them herself.
So the long winter went peacefully and happily "Hi!" cried the boys, both together; "one
by, and at last all hearts were gladdened at sight might be sure you would wish for something silly!
of the glorious sun, as he slowly and grandly rose What should we do with two girls, indeed "
above the snow-topped mountains, bringing to But father said he would bring 'something
them sunshine and flowers, and the golden sum- nice,' and I think girls are the very nicest things
mer days. in the world," replied Olga, sturdily.
One bright day in July, father Peder went to the There would certainly have been more serious
fair in Lyngen. words, but just then good grandmother Ingeborg
Be good, my children," said he, as he kissed called "supper," and away scampered the hungry
them good-bye, "and I will bring you something little party to their evening meal of brown bread
nice from the fair." and cream, to which was added, as a treat that
But they were nearly always good, so he really night, a bit of goat's-milk cheese.
need not have said that. During midsummer in Norway the sun does not
Now, it was a very wonderful thing indeed for set for nearly ten weeks, and only when little heads
the wood-cutter to go from home in summer, and nod, and bright eyes shut and refuse to open, do
grandmother Ingeborg was quite disturbed. children know that it is sleep-time." So on this
Ah !" said she, "something bad will happen, day, though the little hearts longed to wait for
I know." father's coming, six heavy lids said no," and soon
But the children comforted her, and ran about the tired children were sleeping soundly on their
so merrily, bringing fresh, fragrant birch-twigs for sweet, fresh beds of birch-twigs.
their beds, shaking out their blankets of reindeer- A few miles beyond Lyngen, on the north, a
skins, and helping her so kindly,
that the good dame quite forgot -7.
to be cross, and before she knew -
it, was telling them her very, -
very best story, that she always i on
kept for Sundays. l
So the hours went by, and the I
children almost wearied them- i :
selves wondering what father I- .
Peder would bring from the fair. -
I should like a little rein- --
deer for my sledge," said Olaf. ------
"I should like a fur coat and -- -----
fur boots," said Erik; "aI was
P ---. . .

cold last winter." -
You see, these children did
not really know anything about -__-
toys, so could not wish for them. ---_- -.. -
"I should like a little sister," --
said Olga, wistfully. There- -
are two of you boys for every- OLAF GIVES KRIKEL A RIDE IN HIS SLED.
thing, and that is so nice; but there is only one little colony of wandering Lapps had pitched their
of me, ever, and that is so lonely." tents, some years before our story begins, and find-
And the little maid sighed; for besides these ing there a pleasant resting-place, had made it
three, there were no children in the village. The their home, bringing with them their herds of rein-
brawny wood-cutters who lived in groups in the deer to feed on the abundant lichens with which
huts around, and who came home at 1- _.r -,II to the stony fields and hill-side trees were covered.
coolk their own suppers and sleep on rude pallets Somewhat apart from the little cluster of tents


[MARCH,







HANSA, THE LITTLE LAPP MAIDEN.


stood one, quite pretentious, where dwelt Haakon,
the wealthiest Lapp of all the tribe. He counted
his reindeer by hundreds, and in his tent, half
buried in the ground for safe keeping, were two
great chests filled with furs, gay, bright-colored
jackets and skirts, beautiful articles of carved bone
and wood, and, more valuable than all, a little
iron-bound box full of silver marks. For Haakon
had married Gunilda, a rich maiden of one of the
richest Lapp families, and she had brought these
to his tent.
Here, for a while, Gunilda lived a peaceful, happy
life. Haakon was kind, and, when baby Niels came
to share her love, the days were full of joy and con-
tent. She made him a little cradle of green baize
bound with bright scarlet, filled with moss as soft
and fine as velvet, and covered with a dainty quilt
of hare's-skin. This was hung by a cord to one of
the tent-poles, and here the baby rocked for hours,
while his mother sang to him quaint, weird songs,
that yet were not sad because of the joyous baby
laugh that mingled with the notes.
But, alas after a time Haakon fell into bad habits
and grew cruel and hard to Gunilda. Though she
spoke no word, her meek eyes reproached him
when he let the strong drink, or finkel," steal
away his senses; and because he could not bear
this look, he gave his wife many an unkind word
and blow, so that at last her heart was broken.
Even baby Iansa, who had come to take Niels'
place in the little cradle, could not comfort her;
and, one day, when Haakon was sleeping, stupidly,
by the tent-fire, Gunilda kissed her children',-then
she, too, slept, but never to waken.
When Haakon came to his senses, he was sad
for a while; but he loved his finkel more than
either children or wealth, and many a long day he
would leave them and go to Lyngen, to drink with
his companions there.
Ah 1 those were lonely days for Niels and little
Hansa. The Lapp women were kind, taking good
care of the little ones in Haakon's absence, and
would have coaxed them away to their tents to play
with the other children ; but Niels remembered his
gentle-voiced mother, and would not go with those
women who spoke so harshly, though their words
were kind. Hansa and he were happy alone to-
gether. Each season brought its own joys to their
simple, childish hearts; but they loved best the soft,
balmy summer-time, when the harvests ripened
quickly in the warm sunshine, and they could wan-
der away from their tent to the fields where the
reapers were at work, who had always a kindly
word for the gentle, quiet Lapp children. Here
Hansa would sit for hours, weaving garlands of the
sweet yellow violets, pink heath, anemones, and
dainty harebells, that grew in such profusion along


the borders of the fields and among the grain, that
the reapers, in cutting the wheat, laid the flowers
low before them as well. Niels liked to bind the
sheaves, and did his work so deftly that he was
always welcome. He it was, too, who made such
a wonderful "scarecrow" that not a bird dared
venture near. But little Hansa laughed and said:
Silly birds the old hat cannot harm you. See !
I will bring my flowers close beside it." Then
the reapers, laughing, called the ugly scarecrow
Hansa's guardian."
So the years went by, and the children lived
their quiet life, happy with each other. It seemed
as though the tender mother-love that had been
theirs in their babyhood was around them still,
guarding and shielding them from harm. Niels
was a wonderful boy, the neighbors said, and little
Hansa, by the time she was twelve years old, could
spin and weave, and embroider on tanned reindeer-
skins (which are used for boots and harness) better
than many a Lapp woman. Besides, she was so
clever and good that every one loved her. Every
one, alas! but Haakon, her father. He was not
openly cruel; with Gunilda's death the blows had
ceased, but Hansa seemed to look at him with her
mother's gentle, reproachful eyes, and so he dreaded
and disliked her.
One summer's day he said, suddenly: Hansa,
to-day the great fair in Lyngen is held ; dress your-
self in your best clothes, and I will take you there."
"Oh, how kind, dear father !" said Hansa, whose
tender little heart warmed at even the semblance
of a kind word. That will be joyful But, may
Niels go also ? I canijot go without him," she said,
entreatingly, as she saw her father's brow darken.
But Haakon said, gruffly: "No, Niels may not
go; he must stay at home to guard the tent."
"Never mind, Hansa," whispered Niels; I
shall not be lonely, and you will have so many
things to tell me and to show me when you come
home, for father will surely buy us something at
the fair; and perhaps," he added, bravely, seeing
that Hansa still lingered at his side, "perhaps
father will love you if you go gladly with him."
"Oh, Niels said Hansa, do you really think
so? Quick help me, then, that I may not keep
'him waiting."
Never was toilet more speedily made, and soon
Hansa stepped shyly up to Haakon, saying gently,
I am ready, father."
She was very pretty as she stood before him, so
gayly dressed, and with a real May-day face, all
smiles and tears--tears for Niels, to whom for the
first time she must say good-bye," smiles that
perhaps might coax her father to love her. But
Haakon looked not at her, and only saying "'Come,
then," walked quickly away.


307








HANSA, TIE LITTLE LAPP MAIDEN.


Good-bye, my Hansa," said Niels, for the last
time. "I love you. Come back ready to tell me
of all the beautiful things at the fair."
Then he went into the tent, and Hansa ran on
beside her father, who spoke not a word as they
walked mile after mile till four were passed, and
Lyngen, with its tall church spires, its long rows
of houses, and many gayly decorated shops, was
before them. Hansa, to whom everything was new
and wonderful, gazed curiously about her, and
many a question trembled on her tongue but found
no voice, as Haakon strode moodily on, till they
reached the market-place, and there beside one of
the many drinking-booths sat himself down, while
Hansa stood timidly behind him. Soon he called
for a mug of finkel, and drank it greedily; then
another and another followed, till Hansa grew
frightened and said, Oh, dear father, do not drink
any more "
Then Haakon beat her till she cried bitterly.
Oh, cry on!" said the cruel father, who we
must hope hardly knew what he was saying, for
never will I take you back to my tent and to Niels.
I brought you here to-day that some one else may
have you. You shall be my child no longer. I
will give you for a pipe, that I may smoke and
drink my finkel in peace. Who'll buy ? "
Just then, good Peder Olsen came by, and his
kind heart ached for the little maid.
See said he to the angry Lapp. Give me
the child, and I will give you a pipe and these
thirty marks as well. They are my year's earn-
ings, but I give them gladly."
Strike hands She is yours said Haakon,
who, without one look at his weeping child, turned
away ; while the wood-cutter led Hansa, all trem-
bling and frightened, toward his home.
At first, she longed to tell her kind protector of
Niels, and beg him to take her back. But she was
a wise little maid, and curious withal. So she said
to herself: Who knows ? It may be a beautiful
home, and the kind people may send me back for
Niels. I will go on now, for I have never been but
one road in all my life, and surely I can find it
again."
So she walked quietly on beside father Peder,
till at last his little cottage appeared in sight.
This is your new home, dear child," said he,
and they stepped quickly up to the door, opened it
softly, and entered the little room.
Grandmother Ingeborg was nodding in her big
chair in the chimney corner, but the soft footsteps
aroused her, and, looking up, she said:
"Oh tak fur sidst," good Peder. Hi, though !
What is that you bring with 3ou ?"
Before she could be answered, the children,
whose first nap was nearly over, awoke and saw


their father with the little girl clinging to his hand,
and looking shyly at them from his sheltering arm.
Oh !" cried Olga, "a little sister! Miy wish
has come true "-and she ran to the new-comer
and gave her sweet kisses of welcome; at which
father Peder said, That is my own good Olga."
But grandmother Ingeborg, who had put on her
spectacles, said :
Ah I see now A good-for-nothing Lapp
child She shall not stay here, surely "
Listen," said Peder Olsen, and I will tell you
why I brought home the little Hansa, for that is
her name,"-and he told the story of the father's
drinking so much finkel, and offering to give his.
little girl for a pipe, and how he himself had pur-
chased her. But see !" added the worthy Peder,
turning toward Hansa, "you are not bound but
for as long as the heart says stay."
Hansa looked about, and, meeting Olga's sweet,
entreating glance, said, I will stay ever."
Then Olga cried, joyously, Now, indeed, have
I a sister and took her to her own little bed,
where soon they both were sleeping, side by side.
As for Olaf and Erik, they were still silent, though
now from anger, and that was very bad.
Grandmother Ingeborg, I think, was angry, too,
for said she to herself:
Now I shall have to spin more cloth, and sew
and knit, that when her own clothes wear out we
may clothe this miserable Lapp child" (for the
good dame was a true Norwegian, and despised
the Lapps) ; and our little ones must divide their
brown bread and milk with her, for we are too.
poor to buy more, and it is very bad altogether.
Ah I was sure something bad would happen,"-
and grandmother fairly grumbled herself into bed.
In the morning all were awake early, you may
be sure, and gazing curiously at the new-comer,
whom they had been almost too sleepy to see per-
fectly before ; and this is how she appeared to their
wondering eyes.
She seemed about twelve years old, but no taller
than Olga, who was just ten. She had beautiful,
soft, brown eyes; and fair, flaxen hair, which hung
in rich, wavy locks far down her back. She wore
a short skirt of dark blue cloth, with yellow stripes
around it; a blue apron, embroidered with bright-
colored threads; a little scarlet jacket; a jaunty
cap, also of scarlet cloth, with a silver tassel; and
neat, short boots of tanned reindeer-skin, em-
broidered with scarlet and white.
Soon grandmother Ingeborg, who had been out
milking the cow, came in, and almost dropped her
great basin of milk, in her anger.
"What !" cried she to Hansa, all your Sunday
clothes on ? That will never do "
But I have no others," said the little maid.


* Thanks for seeing you again.


[MAARCH,






HANSA, TIE LITTLE LAPP MAIDEN.


"Then you shall have others," said grand-
mother, and she took from a great chest in the
corner an old blue skirt of Olga's, a jacket which
Olaf had outgrown, and a pair of Erik's wooden
shoes.
Meekly, Hansa donned the strange jacket and


have run away, they will not be happy without
us,"-which wise remark showed that she knew
boys pretty well; and the two little maids went
hand in hand, and sat down beside the boys.
We have no room for two girls here," said
Olaf, and he gave poor Hansa a very rough push.


"HANSA'S GUARDIAN."


skirt; but her tiny feet, accustomed to the soft
boots of reindeer-skin, could not endure the hard,
clumsy wooden shoes.
Ah! said grandmother, who was watching
her. Then must you wear my old cloth slippers,"
which were better, though they would come off
continually.
Now bring me my big scissors, that I may cut
off this troublesome hair," cried Dame Ingehorg.
" I do not like that long mane; Olga's head is far
neater! "
And, in spite of poor Hansa's entreaties, all her
long, beautiful, shining locks were cut short off.
But Hansa proved herself a merry little maid,
who, after all, did not care for such trifles. Besides,
this, she was so helpful in straining the milk, pre-
paring the breakfast, and bringing fresh twigs for
the beds, that Dame Ingeborg quite relented toward
her, and said:
You are very nice indeed-for a Lapp child.
If you could only spin, I'd really like to keep you."
Then Hansa moved quickly toward the great
spinning-wheel which stood near the open door,
and, before a word could be spoken, began to spin
so swiftly, yet carefully, that grandmother, in her
surprise, forgot to say Ah," but kissed the clever
little maid instead.
She '11 be proud," said the boys, "because she
is so wise. Let us go by ourselves and play,"-and
away they ran.
"Come," said Olga to Hansa; "though they


What can you do to make us like you ? said
Erik.
I can tell stories," said Hansa. Listen "
And she told them a wonderful tale, far better
than grandmother's Sunday best one.
That is a very good story," said Olaf, when it
was finished, "and you are not so Iad-for a girl.
But still, if my father had not bought you, I should
have owned a reindeer for my sledge to-day."
"And I should have had a fur coat and boots,
to keep me warm next winter," said Erik.
At this, Hansa opened her bright eyes very wide,
and looked curiously at the boys for a moment,
then said : Did you wish for those things ? "
We have wished for them all our lives," said
Erik; while Olaf, too sore at his disappointment to
say a word, gave Hansa a rude slap instead.
That night, when all were sleeping soundly, little
Hansa arose, dressed, and stole softly from the hut.
The sun was shining brightly, and it seemed as if
the path over which* father Peder had led her
showed itself, and said, Come, follow me, and I
will lead you home And so it did, safely and
surely, though the way seemed long, and her little
feet ached sorely before she had gone many miles.
But she kept bravely on, till at last her father's
tent appeared in sight. Then her heart failed her.
I hope father is not home," said she, else he
will beat me again. I only want my Niels."
And she gave a curious little whistle that Niels
had taught her as a signal; but no answer came






HANSA, THE LITTLE LAPP MAIDEN.


back. So she crept gently up to the tent, drew
aside the scarlet curtain that hung before the open-
ing, and looked in.
Meanwhile, let us go back to Haakon at the fair.
As father Peder led Hansa away, he turned again
to the booth, and being soon joined by some friendly
Lapps, spent the night, and far on into the next
day, in games and wild sports (such as abound at
the fair) with them.
At last, a thought of home seemed to come to
him, and, heedless of all cries and exclamations
from his companions, he hurried away. The long
road was passed as in a kind of dream, and, almost
ere he knew it, he stood before his tent, with Niels'
frightened eyes looking into his, and Niels' eager
voice crying:
Oh, father where is Hansa ? What have you
done with my sister ?"
Be silent, boy said Haakon, sternly. "Your
sister is well, but-she will never come back to the
tent again "
Then, as if suddenly a true knowledge of his
crime flashed upon him, he buried his face in his
hands, and tears, that for many years had been
strangers to his eyes, trickled slowly down his
rough brown cheeks, and so, not daring to meet
his boy's truthful, questioning gaze, he told him all.
Oh, father, let us go for her She will surely
come back if you are sorry," cried Niels, eagerly.
You cannot, for, alas I know neither her new
master's name nor whither he went," said Haakon.
Then Niels, in despair, threw himself down on
his bed and wept bitterly-wept, till at last, all ex-
hausted with the force of his grief, he slept. How
long he knew not, for in the Lapp's tent was
nothing to mark the flight of the hours; but he
awoke, finally, with a start, sat up and rubbed his
eyes, and looked wildly about, saying:
Yes, there sits father, just where I left him,
and there is no one else here. But I am sure I
heard Hansa whistle to me ; no one else knows our
signal, and Oh there-there she is at the
door and he sprang toward her and clasped her
in his arms, crying, "Hansa, my Hansa I have
had a dream-such an ugly dream How joyful
that I am awake at last See, father," he said,
leading her to Haakon; "have you, too, dreamed?"
It was no dream, boy," said his father; and,
turning to Hansa, he asked, more gently than he
had ever yet spoken to her, How came you back,
my child ? "
Then Hansa, clinging closely to Niels the while,
told him all that had befallen her, and of the pleas-
ant home she had found, and added, boldly:
Father, let me take these kind friends some
gifts ; we have so much, and I wish to make them
happy."


"Take what you want, child," said Haakon.
" And see here is a bag of silver marks; give it
to Peder Olsen, and say that each year I will fill it
anew for him, so that he shall never more want."
Then, turning to Niels, he added : Go you, too,
with Hansa. Surely those kind people will give
you a home as well. It is better for you both that
you have a happier home, and care; and I-can
lead my life best alone."
In the wood-cutter's little hut, Olga was the first
to discover Hansa's absence.
"Ah, you naughty boys cried she. "You
have driven my new sister away "-and she wept
all day and would not be comforted.
Bed-time came, but brought no trace of Hansa.
Poor, tender-hearted Olga cried herself to sleep;
while Olaf and Erik were really both frightened
and sorry, and whispered privately to each other,
under their reindeer blanket, that if Hansa should
ever come back, they would be very good to her.
And I will give her my Sunday cap," said Erik,
"since she cannot wear my shoes."
Two, three, four days went by, and still Hansa
came not; and father Peder, who was the last to
give up hope, said, finally:
I fear we shall never see our little maid again."
The children gathered around him, sorrowing,
while Dame Ingeborg threw her apron over her
head, and rocked to and fro in her big chair in the
Chimney corner.
Just then came a gentle little tap on the door,
which, as Olga sprang toward it, softly opened,
and there on the threshold stood little Hansa,
smiling at them ; and-wonder of wonders !-
behind her was a little reindeer, gayly harnessed,
with bright silver bells fastened to the collar, which
tinkled merrily as it tossed its pretty head. Beside
it stood a boy, somewhat taller than Olaf, balancing
on his head a great package.
I have been far, far away to my own home,"
said Hansa, "and my brother Niels has come back
with me, bringing something for you."
Then Niels laid down the package, and gravely
opening it, displayed to the wondering eyes real
gifts from fairy-land, it seemed.
There were the fur coat and boots, and a cap
also, more beautiful than Erik had ever dreamed
of. A roll of soft, fine blue wool, for grandmother,
came next; then a beautifully embroidered dress,
and scarlet apron and jacket, for Olga; and last of
all, a fat little leather bag, which Hansa gave to
father Peder, saying:
There are many silver marks for you, and my
father has promised that it shall never more be
empty, if you will give to Niels and me a home."
Then turning quickly to Olaf, she said : "And here
is my own pet reindeer 'Friska' for you."


[MARCH,






HANSA, THE LITTLE LAPP MAIDEN.


So the children, in the gladness of their hearts,
kissed the little maid, and Olaf whispered, For-
give me that slap, dear Hansa "
Father Peder stood thoughtfully quiet a moment,
then, turning to the children, he said:
See, little ones I gave my last mark for
Hansa, and knew not where I should find bread
for you all afterward; but the dear child has brought
only good to us since. I am getting old, and my
arms grow too weak to swing the heavy ax, and I
thought, often, soon must my little ones go hungry.
But now we are rich, and my cares have all gone.
So long as they wish, therefore, shall Niels and
Hansa be to me as my own children; they shall
live here with us, and we will love them well."


Ho !" cried Niels, that is a fine board, but
no good so; see what I can do with it and he
lifted one end and put it across a great log that lay
near by.
"Now you little fellows," said he to Olaf and
Erik, I am strong as a giant, but I cannot quite
roll up this other log alone. Come you and help."
So the boys together rolled the heavy log to its
place, and put the other end of the board upon it.
Now jump !" cried Niels; and with one joyous
"halloo the children were on the broad, springy
plank, enjoying to the utmost this novel pleasure.
Their shouts of delight brought the wood-cutter
to the door of the little hut, and grandmother
Ingeborg following, caught the excitement, and,


ON THE SPR
Then he kissed all the happy faces, and said:
"Now go and play, little ones, for grandmother and
I must think quietly over these God-sent gifts."
So the children, first putting Friska, the rein-
deer, carefully in the little stable beside the cow
(so that he should not run away from the strange
new home, Hansa said), hastened to their favorite
v-ay-place,-a large pine board lying on the slope
of the hill, whence they could look far away across
the fields and fjords to the Kilpis, the great mount-
ain peaks where, even in summer, the pure white
snow lay glistening in the sunlight.


pulling off her cap, she waved it wildly, crying:
" Hurrah for the Lapps Hurrah "
Then she and father Peder went back to their
chairs in the chimney corner; and Hansa, sitting
on the spring-board, with the children around her,
told them such a wonderful, beautiful story, that
they were quite silent with delight.
At last said Olaf, contentedly, as he lay with his
head on Hansa's knee :
After all, girls are the nicest things in the
world "
"Except boys," said little Hansa, slyly.


~






JUNO'S WONDERFUL TROUBLES.


BY E. MULLER.


JUNO lived in a great park, where there was a
menagerie, and neither the park nor the menagerie
could have done without Juno. Now, who do you
think Juno was? She was a dear old black and
brown dog, the best-natured dog in the world.
And this was the reason they could not do without


her in the park. A lioness died, and left two little
lion-cubs with no one to take care of them. The
poor little lions curled up in a corner of the cage,
and seemed as if they would die. Then the keeper
of the menagerie brought Juno, and showed her
the little lion-cubs, and said: "Now, Juno, here


[MARCH,






JUNO'S WONDERFUL TROUBLES


are some puppies for you; go and take care of
them, that's a good dog." Juno's own puppies had
just been given away, and she was feeling very
badly about it, and was rather glad to take care of
the two little lions. They were so pretty, with their
soft striped fur and yellow paws, that Juno soon
loved them, and she took the best of care of them
till they grew old enough to live by themselves.
Many people used to come and stand near the big


But Juno knew she had only done as she was told,
so she did not mind the wolf. The monkeys cracked
jokes, and teased her, saying they guessed she
would be given another family to take care of-sea-
lions, most likely, and she would have to live in the
water to keep them in order. This had not oc-
curred to Juno before, and it made her quite un-
easy.
It is not possible they would want me to nurse


JUNO IS WARNED BY THE PELICAN.


lion's cage, and laugh to see only a quiet old dog,
and two little bits of lion-cubs shut in it.
It was very pretty to see Juno playing with the
cubs, and all the children who came to the park
wanted first to see "the doggie that nursed the
lion-puppies." But when they grew large enough
they were taken away from her, and sold to differ-
ent menageries far away, and poor Juno wondered
what had become of her pretty adopted children.
She looked for them all about the menagerie, and
asked all the animals if they had seen her two
pretty yellow-striped lion-puppies. No one had
seen them, and nearly every one was sorry, and
had something kind to say, for Juno was a favorite
with many. To be sure, the wolf snarled at her,
and said it served her right for thinking that she, a
miserable tame dog, could bring up young lions.


young sea-lions," said she. They are so very
rude, and so very slippery, I never could make
them mind me."
You may be thankful if you don't get those two
young alligators in the other tank," said a gruff-
voiced adjutant.
Good gracious !" exclaimed Juno. "You don't
think it possible?"
Of course it is possible," said a pelican, stretch-
ing his neck through his cage-bars. You 'll see
what comes of being too obliging."
We all think you are a good creature, Juno,"
said a crane. "Indeed, I should i'".. I, trust
you with my young crane children, but really, if
you will do everything that is asked of you, there 's
no knowing whose family you may have next."
Juno went and lay down in a sunshiny place near


313






JUNO'S WONDERFUL TROUBLES.


the elephant's house, and thought over all these
words. Very soon she grew sleepy, in spite of her
anxiety, and was just dropping offinto a doze, when
she heard the keeper whistle for her. She ran to
him and found him in the hippopotamus's cage.


' were a dreadful trouble, and besides, they would
keep trotting after her everywhere, till the pelican,
and the adjutant, and the cranes nearly killed
themselves laughing at her. Poor Juno felt worse
and worse, till when one day she heard the keeper


JUNO TAKES CARE OF THE YOUNG HIPPOPOTAMUS.


Juno," said he, I guess you 'll have to take
charge of this young hippopotamus, the poor little
fellow has lost his mother."
"Dear, dear !" sighed Juno. "I was afraid it
would come to this. I'm thankful it is n't the
young alligators."
So Juno took charge of the young hippo,-she
called him hippo for short, and only when he was
naughty she called him : "Hip-po-pot-a-mus, are n't
you ashamed of yourself?" But he was a great
trial. He was awkward and clumsy, and not a bit
like her graceful little lion-puppies. When he got
sick, and she had to give him peppermint, his
mouth was so large that she lost the spoon in it,
and he swallowed spoon and all, and was very ill
afterward. But he grew up at last, and just as
Juno had made up her mind not to take care of
other people's families any more, the keeper came
to her with two young giraffes, and told her she
really must be a mother to the poor little scraps of
misery, for their mother was gone, and they would
die if they were n't cared for immediately. These


say she certainly would have to take care of the
young elephant, she felt that she could stand it no
longer, and made up her mind to run away. So
she said good-bye to all her friends, and ran to the
wall of the park. There she gave a great jump,
and,-waked up, and found herself in the sun-
shiny grass near the elephant's house.
Oh, how glad I am said Juno.
"What in the world has been the matter?"
asked the elephant. "You've been kicking and
growling in your sleep at a great rate. I've been
watching you this long time."
Such dreadful dreams said Juno. Lion-
puppies are all very well, but when it comes to
hippopotamus, and giraffes, and elephant- "
What are you talking about? said the ele-
phant. I guess you'd better go to your supper;
I heard the keeper call you long ago."
So Juno went to her supper, very glad to find
she had only dreamed her troubles; but she made
up her mind that if the old hippopotamus should
die, she would run away that very night.


IMARnc,






HOW MATCHES ARE MADE.



WISHES.

BY MARY N. PRESCOTT.

I WISH that the grasses would learn to sprout,
That the lilac and rose-bush would both leaf out;
That the crocus would put on her gay green frill,
And robins begin to whistle and trill!

I wish that the wind-flower would grope its way
Out of the darkness into the day;
That the rain would fall and the sun would shine,
And the rainbow hang in the sky for a sign.

I wish that the silent brooks would shout,
And the apple-blossoms begin to pout;
And if I wish long enough, no doubt
The fairy Spring will bring it about !








HOW MATCHES ARE MADE.

BY F. H. C.


i /?


MATCH is a small thing.


We seldom pause to
think, after it has per-
formed its mission, and
we have carelessly
thrown it away, that
it has a history of its
own, and that, like
some more pretentious
things, its journey from
the forest to the match-
safe is full of changes.
This little bit of white
pine lying before me
came from far north, in the Hudson Bay Territory,
or perhaps from the great silent forests about Lake
Superior, and has been rushed and jammed and
tossed in its long course through rivers, over cata-
racts and rapids, and across the great lakes.
We read that near the middle of the seventeenth
century it was discovered that phosphorus would
ignite a splint of wood dipped in sulphur; but
this means of obtaining fire was not in common use
until nearly a hundred and fifty years later.
This, then, appears to have been the beginning


of match-making. Not that kind which some old
gossips are said to indulge in, for that must have
had its origin much farther back, but the business
of making those little strike-fires," found in every
country store, in their familiar boxes, with red and
blue and yellow labels.
The matches of fifty years ago were very clumsy
affairs compared with the parlor and safety "
matches of to-day, but they were great improve-
ments upon the first in use. Those small sticks,
dipped in melted sulphur, and sold in a tin box
with a small bottle of oxide of phosphorus, were
regarded by our forefathers as signs of "ten-
leagued progress." Later, a compound made of
chlorate of potash and sulphur was used on the
splints. This ignited upon being dipped in sul-
phuric acid. In 1829 an English chemist discovered
that matches on which had been placed chlorate of
potash could be ignited by friction. Afterward,
at the suggestion of Professor Faraday, saltpeter
was substituted for the chlorate, and then the era
of friction matches, or matches lighted by rubbing,
was fairly begun.
But the match of to-day has a story more inter-
esting than that of the old-fashioned match. As







HOW MATCHES ARE MADE.


we have said, much of the timber used in the
manufacture comes from the immense tracts of
forest in the Hudson Bay Territory. It is floated
down the water-courses to the lakes, through which
it is towed in great log-rafts. These rafts are
divided; some parts are pulled through the canals,
and some by other means are taken to market.
When well through the seasoning process, which
occupies from one to two years, the pine is cut up
into blocks twice as long as a match, and about
eight inches wide by two inches thick. These
blocks are passed through a machine which cuts them
up into splints," round or square, of just the
thickness of a match, but twice its length. This
machine is capable, as we are told, of making about
2,ooo,000 splints in a day. This number seems
immense when compared with the most that could
be made in the old way-by hand. The splints are
then taken to the "setting" machine, and this
rolls them into bundles about eighteen inches in
diameter, every splint separated from its neighbors
by little spaces, so that there may be no sticking
together after the dipping." In the operation of
"setting," a ribbon of coarse stuff about an inch
and a half wide, and an eighth of an inch thick, is
rolled up, the splints being laid across the ribbon
between each two courses, leaving about a quarter
of an inch between adjoining splints. From the
"setting" machine the bundles go to the "dip-
ping room.
After the ends of the splints have been pounded
down to make them even, the bundles are dipped
-both ends-into the molten sulphur and then into
the phosphorus solution, which is spread over a
large iron plate. Next they are hung in a frame
to dry. When dried they are placed in a machine
which, as it unrolls the ribbon, cuts the sticks in
two across the middle, thus making two complete
matches of each splint.
The match is made. The towering pine which
listened to the whisper of the south wind and swayed
in the cold northern blast, has been so divided that
we can take it bit by bit and lightly twirl it between
two fingers. But what it has lost in size it has


gained in use. The little flame it carries, and
which looks so harmless, flashing into brief exist-
ence, has a latent power more terrible than the
whirlwind which perhaps sent the tall pine-tree
crashing to the ground.
But the story is not yet closed. From the
machine which completed the matches they are
taken to the "boxers "-mostly girls and women-
who place them in little boxes. The speed with
which this is done is surprising. With one hand
they pick up an empty case and remove the cover,
while with the other they seize just a sufficient
number of matches, and by a peculiar shuffling
motion arrange them evenly, then-'t is done !
The little packages of sleeping fire are taken to
another room, where on each one is placed a stamp
certifying the payment to the government of one
cent revenue tax. Equipped with these passes the
boxes are placed in larger ones, and these again in
wooden cases, which are to be shipped to all parts
of the country, and over seas.
All this trouble over such little things as matches!
Yet on these fire-tipped bits of wood millions of
people depend for warmth, cooked food and light.
They have become a necessity, and the day of
flint, steel and tinder seems almost as far away in
the past as are the bow and fire-stick of the Indian.
Some idea of the number of matches used in
North America during a year may be gained from
the fact that it is estimated by competent judges
that, on an average, six matches are used every
day by each inhabitant; this gives a grand total of
87,400,000,000 matches, without counting those
that are exported. Now, this would make a single
line, were the matches placed end to end, more
than 2,750,000 miles in length It would take a
railroad train almost eight years to go from one
end to the other, running forty miles an hour all
the time.
How apt to our subject is that almost worn-out
Latin phrase, "multum in ipavo,"-much in
little Much labor, much skill, and much useful-
ness, all in a little piece of wood scarcely one-eighth
of an inch through and about two inches long !



St'. :


Ai. ~ ---


[MARCH,







WHERE AUNT ANN HID THE SUGAR.


By MARY L. BOLLES BRANCH.


TEDDY was such a rogue, you see If Aunt
Ann sent him to the store for raisins, the string on
the package would be very loose, and the paper
very much lapped over, when he brought it home;
if he went to the baker's, the tempting end of the
twist loaf was sure to be snapped off in the street,
and a dozen buns were never more than ten when
they reached the table. Boys are so hungry!
Teddy knew every corner of the pantry: if half a
pie were left over from dinner, it could not possibly
be hidden under any pan, bowl, pail, or cunningly
folded towel, but he would find it before supper.
Pieces of cake disappeared as if by magic, pre-
serves were found strangely lowered in the crocks,
pickles went by the wholesale, gingerbread never
could be reckoned on after the first day, and once
-only once-did Teddy's mamma succeed in hid-
ing a whole baking of apple tarts in the cellar for a
day by setting them under a tub. The cellar never
was a safe place again; Aunt Ann tried it with
doughnuts, and the crock was empty in two days.
She put her stick cinnamon on the top shelf in the
closet, behind her medicine bottles, and when she
wanted it a week after, there was not a sliver to be
found. Then the loaf sugar-I don't know but
that was the worst of all. Did he stuff his pockets
with it? did he carry it away by the capful? It
seemed incredible that -,,.11]|;,. could go so fast.
One day, Aunt Ann detected Teddy behind the
window curtain with a tumbler so nearly full of
sugar that the water in it only made a thick syrup,
and there he was reading Robinson Crusoe" and


sipping this delightful mixture. From that moment
Aunt Ann made up her mind that he should stop
it."
I'll tell him it's nothing more nor less than
downright STEALING-so I will," muttered the
good soul to herself; "the poor child's never
had proper teaching on the subject from one of us;
he 's got all his pa's appetite without the good
principles of our side of the family to save him."
So, the next day, the sugar being out, she bought
two dollars' worth while Teddy was at school, and
without even telling his mother, she searched the
house for a hiding-place. She shook her head at
the pantry and cellar, but she visited the garret,
and the spare front chamber; she looked into the
camphor-chest, she contemplated a barrel of pota-
toes, she moved about the things in her wardrobe,
and at last she hid the sugar No danger of Teddy
finding it this time Aunt Ann could not repress
a smile of triumph as she sat down to her knitting.
Unconscious Teddy came home at noon, ate his
dinner, and was off again. His mother and Aunt
Ann went out making calls that afternoon, and as
Aunt Ann closed the street door she thought to
herself-
I can really take comfort going out, I feel so
safe in my mind, now that sugar is hid."
But at tea-time she almost relented when she
saw Teddy look into the sugar-bowl, and turn
away without taking a single lump.
He is really honorable," she said to herself;
"he thinks that is all there is, and he wont touch






WHERE AUNT ANN HID THIE SUGAR.


it." And she passed the gingerbread to him three
times, as a reward of merit. *
There was sugar enough in the bowl to sweeten
all their tea the next day, and so far all went well.
But the third day, in the afternoon, up drove a
carry-all to the gate, with Uncle Wright, Aunt
Wright, and two stranger young ladies from the
city-all come to take tea, have a good time, and
drive home again by moonlight.
Teddy's mother sat down in the front room to
entertain them, and Aunt Ann hurried out to see
about supper. How lucky it was that she had
boiled a ham that very morning Pink slices of
ham, with nice biscuit and butter, were not to be
despised even by city guests. She had also a
golden comb of honey, brought to the house by a
countryman a few hours before; it looked really
elegant as she set it on the table in a cut-glass
dish. Then there were,-oh, moment of suspense !
would she find any left?-yes; there were enough
sweet crisp seed-cakes to fill a plate.
The table was set-the tea with its fine aroma,
and the coffee, amber-clear, were made. The
cream was on, so was the sugar-bowl, and Aunt
Ann was just going to summon her guests, when
she happened to think to lift the sugar-bowl cover
and peep in. Sure enough, there was n't a lump
there !
I must run and fill it !" exclaimed Aunt Ann,
lifting it in a hurry, and starting; but she had to
stop to think in what direction to go.
"Where was it I put that sugar?" she asked
herself.
In the camphor chest? No. In the potatoes?
No; she remembered thinking they were not clean
enough. Was it anywhere up garret ? If she went
there and looked around, maybe it would come into
her mind. She did go there, sugar-bowl in hand,
and she did look around, but all in vain-she could
not think where she had put that two dollars' worth
of sugar !
And time was flying, the sun was setting-pretty
soon the moon would be up. How hungry the
company must be, and they must wonder why
supper was n't ready. It would never do to sit
down to the table with an empty sugar-bowl, for


Aunt Wright always wanted her tea extra sweet,
and Uncle Wright never could drink coffee without
his eight lumps in the cup. Dear, dear! Aunt
Ann was all in a flurry. Wh/y had she ever under-
taken to hide that sugar !
I shall certainly have to send to the store for
some more!" she said to herself, "and that will
take so long; but it can't be helped."
So she spoke to Teddy, who was sitting in the
dining-room window apparently studying his geog-
raphy lesson, but in reality wondering what in the
world Aunt Ann was fluttering all over the house
so uneasily for.
Run to the store, Teddy !" she said quickly;
" get me half a dollar's worth of loaf sugar as soon
as ever you can."
"Why, Aunt Ann," he replied, "what for? I
should think you had sugar enough already."
So I have !" she exclaimed, nervously. I
got two dollars' worth day before yesterday, and I
hid it away in a safe place to keep it from you, and
now, to save my life, I can't think where I put it,
and I've searched high and low. Hurry !"
Teddy smiled upon her benignly.
You should have told me sooner what you were
looking for," he said. That sugar is on the upper
shelf of your wardrobe, in your muff-box in the
farther corner. It is very nice sugar, Aunt Ann "
Sure enough she cried. That is where I
hid it, and covered it up with my best bonnet and
veil. And then, when I went calling, I wore my
bonnet and veil, and never once thought about the
sugar. I suppose that was when you found it, you
bad boy."
Yes'm, I found it that time. I was looking
for a string," he said; but I should have found it
anyhow in a day or two, even if you had n't let
sugar crumbs fall on the shelf, Aunt Ann "
I believe you, you terrible boy !" she rejoined.
" Now go call the company to tea."
And she did believe him, and would have given
up the struggle from that day, convinced that the
fates were against her, but for her heroic resolve to
instill straightway into this young gentleman with
his pa's appetite the good principles of her side of
the family.


[MARCH,






UNDER THE LILACS.




UNDER THE LILACS.

BY LOUISA MA. ALCOTT.


CHAPTER IX.
A HAPPY TEA.
EXACTLY five minutes before six the party arrived
in great state, for Bab and Betty wore their best
frocks and hair-ribbons, Ben had a new blue shirt
and his shoes on as full-dress, and Sancho's curls
were nicely brushed, his frills as white as if just
done up.
No one was visible to receive them, but the low
table stood in the middle of the walk, with four
chairs and a foot-stool around it. A pretty set of
green and white china caused the girls to cast
admiring looks upon the little cups and plates,
while Ben eyed the feast longingly, and Sancho
with difficulty restrained himself from repeating his
former naughtiness. No wonder the dog sniffed
and the children smiled, for there was a noble dis-
play of little tarts and cakes, little biscuits and
sandwiches, a pretty milk-pitcher shaped like a
white calla rising out of its green leaves, and a
jolly little tea-kettle singing away over the spirit-
lamp as cozily as you please.
Is n't it perfectly lovely ? whispered Betty,
who had never seen anything like it before.
I just wish Sally could see us now," answered
Bab, who had not yet forgiven her enemy.
Wonder where the boy is," added Ben, feeling
as good as any one, but rather doubtful how others
might regard him.
Here a rumbling sound caused the guests to look
toward the garden, and in a moment Miss Celia
appeared, pushing a wheeled chair in which sat
her brother. A gay afghan covered the long legs,
a broad-brimmed hat half hid the big eyes, and a
discontented expression made the thin face as un-
attractive as the fretful voice which said, complain-
ingly :
"If they make a noise, I'll go in. Don't see
what you asked them for."
To amuse you, dear. I know they will, if you
will only try to like them," whispered the sister,
smiling and nodding over the chair-back as she
came on, adding aloud : Such a punctual party !
I am all ready, however, and we will sit down
at once. This is my brother Thornton, and we
are going to be very good friends by and by.
Here's the droll dog, Thorny; is n't he nice and
curly ? "
Now, Ben had heard what the other boy said,
and made up his mind that he should n't like


him ; and Thorny had decided beforehand that he
would n't play with a tramp, even if he could cut
capers ; so both looked decidedly cool and indiffer-
ent when Miss Celia introduced them. But Sancho
had better manners, and no foolish pride; he,
therefore, set them a good example by approach-
ing the chair, with his tail waving like a flag of
truce, and politely presented his ruffled paw for a
hearty shake.
Thorny could not resist that appeal, and patted
the white head, with a friendly look into the affec-
tionate eyes of the dog, saying to his sister as he
did so:
What a wise old fellow he is It seems as if
he could almost speak, does n't it ? "
He can. Say 'How do you do,' Sanch," com-
manded Ben, relenting at once, for he saw admira-
tion in Thorny's face.
"Wow, wow, wow!" remarked Sancho, in a
mild and conversational tone, sitting up and touch-
ing one paw to his head, as if he saluted by taking
off his hat.
Thorny laughed in spite of himself, and Miss
Celia, seeing that the ice was broken, wheeled him
to his place at the foot of the table. Then seating
the little girls on one side, Ben and the dog on the
other, took the head herself and told her guests to
begin.
Bab and Betty were soon chattering away to
their pleasant hostess as freely as if they had
known her for months; but the boys were still
rather shy, and made Sancho the medium through
which they addressed one another. The excellent
beast behaved with wonderful propriety, sitting
upon his cushion in an attitude of such dignity that
it seemed almost a liberty to offer him food. A
dish of thick sandwiches had been provided for his
especial refreshment, and as Ben from time to time
laid one on his plate, he affected entire uncon-
sciousness of it till the word was given, when it
vanished at one gulp, and Sancho again appeared
absorbed in deep thought.
But having once tasted of this pleasing delicacy,
it was very hard to repress his longing for more,
and, in spite of all his efforts, his nose would work,
his eye kept a keen watch upon that particular
dish, and his tail quivered with excitement as it lay
like a train over the red cushion. At last, a mo-
ment came when temptation proved too strong for
him. Ben was listening to something Miss Celia
said, a tart lay unguarded upon his plate, Sanch







UNDER THE LILACS.


looked at Thorny, who was watching him, Thorny
nodded, Sanch gave one wink, bolted the tart, and
then gazed pensively up at a sparrow swinging on
a twig overhead.
The slyness of the rascal tickled the boy so much
that he pushed back his hat, clapped his hands,
and burst out laughing as he had not done before
for weeks. Every one looked around surprised,
and Sancho regarded him with a mildly inquiring
air, as if he said, Why this un-
seemly mirth, my friend? "
Thorny forgot both sulks and
shyness after that, and suddenly
began to talk. Ben was flattered .r -.
by his interest in the dear dog, -J
and opened out so delightfully ,
that he soon charmed the other t- -
by his lively tales of circus-life. -
Then Miss Celia felt relieved,
and everything went splendidly,
especially the food, for the plates,i
were emptied several times, the l'l,
little tea-pot ran dry twice, and -'%'';t' it
the hostess was just wondering if ll
she ought to stop her voracious
guests, when something occurred -
which spared her that painful -
task.
A small boy was suddenly dis- '
covered standing in the path ''
behind them, regarding the corn- ',l'i''rI.',
pan)y with an air of solemn in-
terest. A pretty, well dressed
child of six, with dark hair cut
short across the brow, a rosy face,
a stout pair of legs, left bare by
the socks which had slipped down /
over the dusty little shoes. One
end of a wide sash trailed behind ".''
him, a straw hat hung at his
back, while his right hand firmly ''
grasped a small turtle, and his _
left a choice collection of sticks. '
Before Miss Celia could speak, the ,I i .. I .. ii,
announced his mission.
I have come to see the peacocks
You shall presently-- beg-,. [i .. 7..I.
but got no further, for the child acl. .:...:.i .
step nearer:
"And the wabbits."
Yes, but first wont you --"
And the curly dog," continued the small voice,
as another step brought the resolute young per-
sonage nearer.
There he is."


I wish to hear the donkey bray."
"Certainly, if he will.'
"And the peacocks scream."
"Anything more, sir? "
Having reached the table by this time, the in-
satiable infant surveyed its ravaged surface, then
pointed a fat little finger at the last cake, left for
manners, and said, commandingly:
I will have some of that."


-- Z
-- I
--- .- -






S :- -- -
-




/,I "' "'4.-
.Ave- ,;:'..
j] .,,, ,~~ ~' .L- .._ ,


' ." ."'-'":'I,,: .
Deliberately put-
ting down his sticks, the child took the cake, and,
composing himself upon the step, answered with
his rosy mouth full:
I am nana's boy. -He makes a -aner. I held


.... x -- ... .... -.. J- -- .. -. ---. .
A pause, a long look, then a new demand with him a great deal."
the same solemn tone, the same advance. What is his name ?"


[MARCH,







UNDER THE LILACS


Mr. Barlow. We live in Springfield," volun-
teered the new guest, unbending a trifle, thanks to
the charms of the cake.
Have you a mamma, dear ? "
She takes naps. I go to walk then."
Without leave, I suspect. Have you no brothers
or sisters to go with you ? asked Miss Celia, won-
dering where the little runaway belonged.
"I have two brothers, Thomas Merton Barlow
and Harry Sanford Barlow. I am Alfred Tenny-
son Barlow. We don't have any girls in our house,
only Bridget."
Don't you go to school?"
The boys do. I don't learn any Greeks and
Latins yet. I dig, and read to mamma, and make
poetrys for her."
Could n't you make some for me? I'm very
fond of poetrys," proposed Miss Celia, seeing that
this prattle amused the children.
I guess I could n't make any now; I made
some coming along. I will say it to you."
And, crossing his short legs, the inspired babe
half said, half sung the following poem :"

Sweet are the flowers of life,
Swept o'er my happy days at home;
Sweet are the flowers of life
When I was a little child.

Sweet are the flowers of life
That I spent with my father at home;
Sweet are the flowers of life
When children played about the house.
Sweet are the flowers of life
When the lamps are lighted at night;
Sweet are the flowers of life
When the flowers of summer bloomed.

Sweet are the flowers of life
Dead with the snows of winter;
Sweet are the flowers of life
When the days of spring come on.

"That's all of that one. I made another one
when I digged after the turtle. I will say that. It
is a very pretty one," observed the poet with charm-
ing candor, and, taking a long breath, he tuned
his little lyre afresh:

"Sweet, sweet days are passing
O'er my happy home,
Passing on swift wings through the valley of life.
Cold are the days when winter comes again.
When my sweet days were passing at my happy home,
Sweet were the days on the rivulet's green brink;
Sweet were the days when I read my father's books;
Sweet were the winter days when bright fires are blazing."

Bless the baby! where did he get all that?"
exclaimed Miss Celia, amazed, while the children
giggled as Tennyson, Jr., took a bite at the turtle
instead of the half-eaten cake, and then, to prevent
further mistakes, crammed the unhappy creature


into a diminutive pocket in the most business-like
way imaginable.
It comes out of my head. I make lots of them,"
began the imperturbable one, yielding more and
more to the social influences of the hour.
"Here are the peacocks coming to be fed," in-
terrupted Bab, as the handsome birds appeared
with their splendid plumage glittering in the sun.
Young Barlow rose to admire, but his thirst for
knowledge was not yet quenched, and he was about
to request a song from Juno and Jupiter, when old
Jack, pining for society, put his head over the
garden wall with a tremendous bray.
This unexpected sound startled the inquiring
stranger half out of his wits; for a moment the
stout legs staggered and the solemn countenance
lost its composure, as he whispered, with an aston-
ished air:
Is that the way peacocks scream ?"
The children were in fits of laughter, and Miss
Celia could hardly make herself heard as she an-
swered, merrily :
"No, dear; that is the donkey asking you to
come and see him. Will you go ?"
I guess I could n't stop now. Mamma might
want me."
And, without another word, the discomfited poet
precipitately retired, leaving his cherished sticks
behind him.
Ben ran after the child to see that he came to no
harm, and presently returned to report that Alfred
had been met by a servant and gone away chant-
ing a new verse of his poem, in which peacocks,
donkeys, and the flowers of life were sweetly
mingled.
"Now I'11 show you my toys, and we'll have a
little play before it gets too late for Thorny to stay
with us," said Miss Celia, as Randa carried away
the tea-things and brought back a large tray full
of picture-books, dissected maps, puzzles, games,
and several pretty models of animals, the whole
crowned with a large doll dressed as a baby.
At sight of that, Betty stretched out her arms to
receive it with a cry of delight. Bab seized the
games, and Ben was lost in admiration of the little
Arab chief prancing on the white horse, "all sad-
dled and bridled and fit for the fight." Thorny
poked about to find a certain curious puzzle which
he could put together without a mistake after long
study. Even Sancho found something to interest
him, and standing on his hind-legs thrust his head
between the boys to paw at several red and blue
letters on square blocks.
"He looks as if he knew them," said Thorny,
amused at the dog's eager whine and scratch.
He does. Spell your name, Sanch," and Ben


' These lines were actually composed by a six-year-old child.


VOL. V.-22.







UNDER THE LILACS.


put all the gay letters down upon the flags with a
chirrup which set the dog's tail to wagging as he
waited till the alphabet was spread before him.
Then with great deliberation he pushed the letters
about till he had picked out six; these he arranged
with nose and paw till the word Sancho lay be-
fore him correctly spelt.
Is n't that clever ? Can he do any more ? cried
Thorny, delighted.
Lots; that's the way he gets his livin' and mine
too," answered Ben, and proudly put his poodle
through his well-learned lessons with such success
that even Miss Celia was surprised.
He has been carefully trained. Do you know
how it was done ?" she asked, when Sancho lay
down to rest and be caressed by the children.
"No'm, father did it when I was a little chap,
and never told me how. I used to help teach him
to dance, and that was easy enough, he is so smart.
Father said the middle of the night was the best
time to give him his lessons, it was so still then and
nothing disturbed Sanch and made him forget. I
can't do half the tricks, but I'm going to learn
when father comes back. He'd rather have me
show off Sanch than ride, till I 'm older."
I have a charming book about animals, and in
it an interesting account of some trained poodles
who could do the most wonderful things. Would
you like to hear it while you put your maps and
puzzles together?" asked Miss Celia, glad to keep
her brother interested in their four-footed guest at
least.
Yes 'm, yes 'm," answered. the children, and
fetching the book she read the pretty account,
shortening and simplifying it here and there to suit
her hearers.
I invited the two dogs to dine and spend the
evening, and they came with their master, who was
a Frenchman. He had been a teacher in a deaf
and dumb school, and thought he would try the
same plan with dogs. He had also been a conjurer,
and now was supported by Blanche and her daugh-
ter Lyda. These dogs behaved at dinner just like
other dogs, but when I gave Blanche a bit of cheese
and asked if she knew the word for it, her master
said she could spell it. So a table was. arranged
with a lamp on it, and round the table were laid the
letters of the alphabet painted on cards. Blanche
sat in the middle waiting till her master told her
to spell cheese, which she at once did in French,
F R 0 M AG E. Then she translated a word for
us very cleverly. Some one wrote fifcrd, the Ger-
man for horse, on a slate. Blanche looked at it
and pretended to read it, putting by the slate with
her paw when she had done. "Now give us the
French for that word," said the man, and she in-
stantly brought C HE V A L. Now, as you are


at an Englishman's house, give it to us in English,"
and she brought me 0 R S E. Then we spelt
some words wrong and she corrected them with
wonderful accuracy. But she did not seem to like
it, and whined and growled and looked so worried
that she was allowed to go and rest and eat cakes
in a corner.
'Then Lyda took her place on the table, and did
sums on a slate with a set of figures. Also mental
arithmetic which was very pretty. Now, Lyda,"
said her master, I want to see if you understand
division. Suppose you had ten bits of sugar and
you met ten Prussian dogs, how many lumps would
you, a French dog, give to each of the Prussians?"
Lyda very decidedly replied to this with a cipher.
" But, suppose you divided your sugar with me,
how many lumps would you give me?" Lyda
took up the figure five and politely presented it to
her master.'"


N'\ -^ -'*


A -. .. L- -.


ALFRED TENNYSON BARLOW.
Was n't she smart? Sanch can't do that," ex-
claimed Ben, forced to own that the French doggie
beat his cherished pet.
He is not too old to learn. Shall I go on?"
asked Miss Celia, seeing that the boys liked it
though Betty was absorbed with the doll and Bab
deep in a puzzle.
Oh yes What else did they do ?"
'They played a game of dominoes together, sit-
ting in chairs opposite each other, and touched the
dominoes that were wanted; but the man placed
them and kept telling how the game went. Lyda
was beaten and hid.under the sofa, evidently feeling


[MARCH,







UNDER THE LILACS.


very badly about it. Blanche was then surrounded
with playing-cards, while her master held another
pack and told us to choose a card; then he asked
her what one had been chosen, and she always took
up the right one in her teeth. I was asked to go
into another room, put a light on the floor with
cards round it, and leave the doors nearly shut.
Then the man begged some one to whisper in the
dog's ear what card she was to bring, and she went
at once and fetched it, thus showing that she under-
stood their names. Lyda did many tricks with the
numbers, so curious that no dog could possibly un-
derstand them, yet what the secret sign was I could
not discover, but suppose it must have been in the
tones of the master's voice, for he certainly made
none with either head or hands.'
It took an hour a day for eighteen months to
educate a dog enough to appear in public, and (as
you say, Ben) the night was the best time to give
the lessons. Soon after this visit the master died,
and these wonderful dogs were sold because their
mistress did not know how to exhibit them."
Wouldn't I have liked to see 'em and find out
how they were taught. Sanch, you '11 have to study
up lively for I 'm not going to have you beaten by
French dogs," said Ben, shaking his finger so stern-
ly that Sancho groveled at his feet and put both
paws over his eyes in the most abject manner.
Is there a picture of those smart little poodles ?"
asked Ben, eying the book, which Miss Celia left
open before her.
Not of them, but of other interesting creatures;
also anecdotes about horses, which will please you,
I know," and she turned the pages for him, neither
guessing how much good Mr. Hamerton's charm-
ing Chapters on Animals were to do the boy
when he needed comfort for a sorrow which was
very near.

CHAPTER X.
A HEAVY TROUBLE.
"THANK you, ma'am, that's a tip-top book,
'specially the pictures. But I can't bear to see these
poor fellows," and Ben brooded over the fine etch-
ing of the dead and dying horses on a battle-field,
one past all further pain, the other helpless but lift-
ing his head from his dead master to neigh a fare-
well to the comrades who go galloping away in a
cloud of dust.
"They ought to stop for him, some of 'em,"
muttered Ben, hastily turning back to the cheerful
picture of the three happy horses in the field, stand-
ing knee-deep among the grass as they prepare to
drink at the wide stream.
"Aint that black one a beauty ? Seems as if I
could see his mane blow in the wind, and hear him


whinny to that small feller trotting down to see if
he can't get over and be sociable. How I'd like to
take a rousin' run round that meadow on the whole
lot of 'em," and Ben swayed about in his chair as
if he was already doing it in imagination.
"You may take a turn round my field on Lita
any day. She would like it, and Thorny's saddle
will be here next week," said Miss Celia, pleased
to see that the boy appreciated the fine pictures,
and felt such hearty sympathy with the noble
animals whom she dearly loved herself.
"Need n't wait for that. I 'd rather ride bare-
back. Oh, I say, is this the book you told about
where the horses talked ?" asked Ben, suddenly
recollecting the speech he had puzzled over ever
since he heard it.
No, I brought the book, but in the hurry of
my tea-party forgot to unpack it. I 'll hunt it up
to-night. Remind me, Thorny."
There, now, I 've forgotten something too!
Squire sent you a letter, and I 'm having such a
jolly time I never thought of it."
Ben rummaged out the note with remorseful
haste, protesting that he was in no hurry for Mr.
Gulliver, and very glad to save him for another
day.
Leaving the young folks busy with their games,
Miss Celia sat in the porch to read her letters, for
there were two, and as she read her face grew so
sober, then so sad, that if any one had been look-
ing he would have wondered what bad news had
chased away the sunshine so suddenly. No one
did look, no one saw how pitifully her eyes rested
on Ben's happy face when the letters were put
away, and no one minded the new gentleness in
her manner as she came back to the table. But Ben
thought there never was so sweet a lady as the one
who leaned over him to show him how the dissected
map went together, and never smiled at his mis-
takes.
So kind, so very kind was she to them all that
when, after an hour of merry play, she took her
brother in to bed, the three who remained fell to
praising her enthusiastically as they put things to
rights before taking leave.
"She's like the good fairies in the books, and
has all sorts of nice, pretty things in her house,"
said Betty, enjoying a last hug of the fascinating
doll whose lids would shut so that it was a pleasure
to sing Bye, sweet baby, bye," with no staring
eyes to spoil the illusion.
"What heaps she knows! More than Teacher,
I do believe, and she does n't mind how many
questions we ask. I like folks that will tell me
things," added Bab, whose inquisitive mind was
always hungry.
I like that boy first-rate, and I guess he likes







UNDER THE LILACS.


me, though I did n't know where Nantucket ought
to go. He wants me to teach him to ride when
he's on his pins again, and Miss Celia says I may.
She knows how to make folks feel good, don't
she?" and Ben gratefully surveyed the Arab chief,
now his own, though the best of all the collection.
Wont we have splendid times? She says we
may come over every night and play with her and
Thorny."
"And she's going to have the seats in the
porch lift up so we can put our things in there all
dry, and have 'em handy."
"And I 'm going to be her boy, and stay here
all the time; I guess the letter I brought was a
recommend from the Squire."
"Yes, Ben: and if I had not already made up
my mind to keep you before, I certainly would
now, my boy."
Something in Miss Celia's voice, as she said the
last two words with her hand on Ben's shoulder,
made him look up quickly and turn red with
pleasure, wondering what the Squire had written
about him.
"Mother must have some of the 'party,' so
you shall take her these, Bab, and Betty may carry
baby home for the night. She is so nicely asleep,
it is a pity to wake her. Good-bye till to-morrow,
little neighbors," continued Miss Celia, and dis-
missed the girls with a kiss.
"Is n't Ben coming, too?" asked Bab, as Betty
trotted off in a silent rapture with the big darling
bobbing over her shoulder.
"Not yet; I've several things to settle with my
new man. Tell mother he will come by and by."
Off rushed Bab with the plateful of goodies; and,
drawing Ben down beside her on the wide step,
Miss Celia took out the letters, with a shadow
creeping over her face as softly as the twilight was
stealing over the world, while the dew fell and
everything grew still and dim.
"Ben, dear, I've something to tell you," she
began, slowly, and the boy waited with a happy
face, for no one had called him so since 'Melia
died.
The Squire has heard about your father, and
this is the letter Mr. Smithers sends."
"Hooray! where is he, please?" cried Ben,
wishing she would hurry up, for Miss Celia did not
even offer him the letter, but sat looking down at
Sancho on the lower step, as if she wanted him to
come and help her.
He went after the mustangs, and sent some
home, but could not come himself."
"Went further on, I s'pose. Yes, he said he
might go as far as California, and if he did he'd
send for me. I 'd like to go there; it's a real
splendid place, they say."


"He has gone further away than that, to a
lovelier country than California, I hope." And
Miss Celia's eyes turned to the deep sky, where
early stars were shining,
"Did n't he send for me? Where's he gone?
When 's he coming back?" asked Ben, quickly,
for there was a quiver in her voice, the meaning of
which he felt before he understood.
Miss Celia put her arms about him, and answered
very tenderly:
"Ben, dear, if I were to tell you that he was
never coming back, could you bear it?"
"I guess I could-but you don't mean it? Oh,
ma'am, he is n't dead?" cried Ben, with a cry that
made her heart ache, and Sancho leap up with a
bark.
My poor little boy, I wish I could say no."
There was no need of any more words, no need
of tears or kind arms round him. He knew he
was an orphan now, and turned instinctively to the
old friend who loved him best. Throwing himself
down beside his dog, Ben clung about the curly
neck, sobbing bitterly:
"Oh, Sanch, he's never coming back again;
never, never any more "
Poor Sancho could only whine and lick away the
tears that wet the half-hidden face, questioning the
new friend meantime with eyes so full of dumb
love and sympathy and sorrow that they seemed
almost human. Wiping away her own tears, Miss
Celia stooped to pat the white head, and to stroke
the black one lying so near it that the dog's breast
was the boy's pillow. Presently the sobbing
ceased, and Ben whispered, without looking up:
Tell me all about it; I'll be good."
Then, as kindly as she could, Miss Celia read
the brief letter which told the hard news bluntly,
for Mr. Smithers was obliged to confess that he
had known the truth months before, and never
told the boy lest he should be unfitted for the work
they gave him. Of Ben Brown the elder's death
there was little to tell, except that he was killed in
some wild place at the West, and a stranger wrote
the fact to the only person whose name was found
in Ben's pocket-book. Mr. Smithers offered to
take the boy back and "do well by him," averring
that the father wished his son to remain where he
left him, and follow the profession to which he was
trained.
"Will you go, Ben?" asked Miss Celia, hoping
to distract his mind from his grief by speaking of
other things.
"No, no; I 'd rather tramp and starve. He's
awful hard to me and Sanch, and he 'll be worse
now father's gone. Don't send me back! Let
me stay here; folks are good to me;, there's no-
where else to go." And the head Ben had lifted


324


[MARCH,






UNDER THE LILACS.


up with a desperate sort of look went down again
on Sancho's breast as if there was no other refuge
left.
You siall stay here, and no one shall take you
away against your will. I called you 'my boy'
in play, now you shall be my boy in earnest; this
shall be your home, and Thorny your brother.
We are orphans, too, and we will stand by one
another till a stronger friend comes to help us,"
cried Miss Celia, with such a mixture of resolution
and tenderness in her voice that Ben felt comforted
at once, and thanked her by laying his cheek
against the pretty slipper that rested on the step
beside him, as if he had no words in which to swear
loyalty to the gentle mistress whom he meant
henceforth to serve with grateful fidelity.
Sancho felt that he must follow suit, and gravely
put his paw upon her knee, with a low whine, as if
he said: Count me in, and let me help to pay my
master's debt if I can."
Miss Celia shook the offered paw cordially, and
the good creature crouched at her feet like a small
lion bound to guard her and her house forever
more.
Don't lie on that cold stone, Ben; come here
and let me try to comfort you," she said, stooping


to wipe away the great drops that kept rolling down
the brown cheek half hidden in her dress.
But Ben put his arm over his face, and sobbed
out with a fresh burst of grief:
"You can't; you did n't know him! Oh,
daddy daddy !-if I 'd only seen you jest once
more !
No one could grant that wish; but Miss Celia
did comfort him, for presently the sound of music
floated out from the parlor,-music so soft, so
sweet, that involuntarily the boy stopped his crying
to listen; then quieter tears dropped slowly, seem-
ing to soothe his pain as they fell, while the sense
of loneliness passed away, and it grew possible to
wait till it was time to go to father in that far-off
country lovelier than golden California.
How long she played Miss Celia never minded,
but when she stole out to see if Ben had gone she
found that other friends, even kinder than herself,
had taken the boy into their gentle keeping. The
wind had sung a lullaby among the rustling lilacs,
the moon's mild face looked through the leafy arch
to kiss the heavy eyelids, and faithful Sancho still
kept guard beside his little master, who, with his
head pillowed on his arm, lay fast asleep, dreaming,
happily, that "Daddy had come home again."


F1 'iI*


c~'I


A TALK OVER THE HARD TIMES.


(To be coaitiiauc.)


.9 t
I:


00


1878.l







COMMON SENSE IN THE HOUSEHOLD.


COMMON SENSE IN THE HOUSEHOLD.

BY MARGARET VANDEGRIFT.

WHEN you 're writing or reading or sewing, it's right
To sit, if you can, with your back to the light;
And then, it is patent to every beholder,
The light will fall gracefully over your shoulder.


Now here is a family, sensible, wise,
Who all have the greatest regard for their eyes;
They first say, Excuse me," which also is right,
And then all sit down with their backs to the light.

But their neighbors, most unhygienic, can't see
Why they do it, and think that they cannot agree,
And always decide they've been having a fight,
When they merely are turning their backs to the light.


[MARCH,






1878.1 SECRETS OF THE ATLANTIC CABLE.


SECRETS OF THE ATLANTIC CABLE.

BY WILLIAM H. RIDING.


I BELIEVE that the youngsters in our family con-
sider my study a very pleasant room. There are
some books, pictures, and hunting implements in
it, and I have quite a large number of curious
things stored in little mahogany cabinets, including
a variety of specimens of natural history and articles
of savage warfare, which have been given to me
by sailors and travelers. In one of these cabinets
there are the silver wings of a flying-fish, the
poisoned arrows of South Sea cannibals, sharks'
and alligators' teeth, fragments of well-remembered
wrecks, and an inch or two of thick tarred rope.
The latter appears to be a common and useless
object at the first glance, but when examined closely
it is not so uninteresting. It measures one and
one-eighth of an inch in diameter, and running
through the center are seven bright copper wires,
surrounded by a hard, dark brown substance, the
nature of which you do not immediately recognize.
It is gutta-percha, the wonderful vegetable juice,
which is as firm as a rock while it is cold and as
soft as dough when it is exposed to heat. This is
inclosed within several strands of Manilla hemp,
with ten iron wires woven among them. The
hemp is saturated with tar to resist water, and the
wires are galvanized to prevent rust. You may
judge, then, how strong and durable the rope is,
but I am not sure that you can guess its use.
Near the southern extremity of the western coast
of Ireland there is a little harbor called Valentia,
as you will see by referring to a map. It faces the
Atlantic Ocean, and the nearest point on the oppo-
site shore is a sheltered bay prettily named Heart's
Content, in Newfoundland. The waters between
are the stormiest in the world, wrathy with hurri-
canes and cyclones, and seldom smooth even in the
calm months of midsummer. The distance across
is nearly two thousand miles, and the depth grad-
ually increases to a maximum of three miles.
Between these two points of land-Valentia in
Ireland and Heart's Content in Newfoundland-a
magical rope is laid, binding America to Europe
with a firm bond, and enabling people in London
to send instantaneous messages to those in New
York. It is the first successful Atlantic cable, and
my piece was cut from it before it was laid. Fig. 2
on the next page shows how a section of it looks,
and Fig. 3 shows a section of the shore ends, which
are larger.
Copper is one of the best conductors of electricity
known, and hence the wires in the center are made


of that metal. Water, too, is an excellent conductor,
and if the wires were not closely protected, the elec-
tricity would pass from them into the sea, instead of
carrying its message the whole length of the line.
Therefore, the wires must be incased or insulated in
some material that will not admit water and is not
itself a conductor. Gutta-percha meets these needs,
and the hemp and galvanized wire are added for the
strength and protection they afford to the whole.
It was an American who first thought of laying
such an electric cable as this under the turbulent
Atlantic. Some foolish people laughed at the idea
and declared it to be impracticable. How could a
slender cord, two thousand miles long, be lowered
from an unsteady vessel to the bottom of the ocean
without break? It would part under the strain
put upon it, and it would be attacked by marine
monsters, twisted and broken by the currents. At
one point the bed of the sea suddenly sinks from a
depth of two hundred and ten fathoms to a depth
of two thousand and fifty fathoms. Here the strain
on the cable as it passed over the ship's stern would
be so great that it certainly must break. More
than this, the slightest flaw-a hole smaller than a
pin's head-in the gutta-percha insulator would
spoil the entire work, and no remedy would be
possible. A great many people spoke in this way
when the Atlantic cable was first thought of, as
others, years before, had spoken of Watt and
Stephenson. But Watt invented the steam-engine,
Stephenson invented the locomotive, and Cyrus
Field bound Great Britain to the United States by
telegraph.
Early in 1854, Mr. Field's attention was drawn
to the scheme for a telegraph between Nova Scotia
and Newfoundland, in connection with a line of fast
steamships from Ireland to call at St. John's, New-
foundland. The idea struck him that if a line
were laid to Ireland, lasting benefit would result
to the world. So he called together some of his
intimate friends, including Peter Cooper, Moses
Taylor, Chandler White, and Marshall O. Roberts,
and they joined him in organizing the New York,
Newfoundland, and London Telegraph Company,"
which was the pioneer in the movement to connect
the two continents by a telegraph cable, and with-
out whose aid its consummation would have been
indefinitely delayed.
The work was costly and difficult. The first part
consisted in surveying the bottom of the sea for a
route. This was done by taking soundings and






SECRETS OF THE ATLANTIC CABLE.


" dredgings." As some of you are aware, sound-
ing is an operation for ascertaining the depth of
the sea, while dredging" reveals what plants and
living creatures are at the
i bottom. After much patient
|I I labor, a level space was found
between Ireland and New-
-"- foundland, and it seemed to
be so well adapted to the
surveyor's purposes that it
was called the Telegraphic
Plateau."
Two or three large vessels
were next equipped, and
sent out with several thou-
sand miles of cable on board,
which they proceeded to lay.
But the fragile cord-fragile
compared with the boister-
ous power of the waves--
broke in twain, and could
not be recovered. A second
attempt was made, and that
failed, too. Brave men can
overcome adversity, how-
THE GRAPNEL. ever, and the little band of
scientific men and capitalists were brave men and
were determined to succeed. Each heart suffered
the acute anguish of long-deferred hope, and each
expedition cost many hundred thousands of dollars.
Nevertheless, the promoters of the Atlantic cable
sent out a third time, and when failure met them
again, it seemed to common minds that their
scheme was a settled impossibility. Not so with
the heroes. Each failure showed them some faults
in their plans or machinery. These they amended.
Thus, while they were left at a distance from the
object of their ambition, they were brought a little
nearer to its attainment.
Guided by the light of past experience, they
equipped a fourth expedition. The Great East-


0---



ye


five feet ; her breadth eighty-five feet, and her bur-
then twenty-two thousand tons. One of the prin-
cipal causes of failure in previous expeditions was
the inability of the cable to endure the severe strain
put upon it in stormy weather as it passed from
an ordinarily unsteady vessel into the sea. The
" Great Eastern," from her immense size, promised
to be steady in the worst of gales. Her hold was
fitted with three enormous iron tanks-a "fore"
tank, a main" tank, and an "after" tank. The
main tank was the largest, and eight hundred and
sixty-four miles of cable were coiled in it. Eight
hundred and thirty-nine miles in addition were
coiled in the after tank, and six hundred and
seventy miles in the fore tank, making in all two
thousand three hundred and seventy-four miles of
cable. The food taken on board for the long
voyage in prospect consisted of twenty thousand
pounds of butcher-meat, five hundred head of
poultry, one hundred and fourteen live sheep, eight
bullocks, a milch cow, and eighty
i tons of ice.
lll'I, iJ ll fii What is called the shore-end
S, !,' i';of the cable-i. e., that part near-
i1 Ii ;' est the shore, which is thicker
than the rest-was first laid by a
'.,,, smaller steamer. It extended
SECTION OF from Valentia to a point twenty-
GRAPPLING LINE. eight miles at sea. Here it was
buoyed, until the great ship arrived. On a wet
day in July, 1866, it was joined with the main cable
on board the Great Eastern," and on the same
day that vessel started on her voyage to New-
foundland.
It may seem a simple matter to distribute or
"pay out" the cable, but in practice it is exceed-
ingly difficult. Twenty men are stationed in the
tank from which it is issuing, each dressed in a
canvas suit, without pockets, and in boots without
nails. Their duty is to ease each coil as it passes
out of the tank, and to give notice of the marks


C -"-1 -,- -* -
, ._ .'

Q QT9,',


0 -


1 2 3
SECTIONS OF CABLES (REDUCED).
i, Main cable of 858. -a. Shore-end, abandoned cable of 8- lMin cable of 866. 2a. Shore-end, recovered cable of 1865. 3. Shore-end of cable of 1866.
ern was selected, and her interior was altered for painted on the cable one mile apart. Near the
the purpose. She was, and is still, the largest entrance of the tank it runs over a grooved wheel
vessel afloat. Her length is six hundred and ninety- and along an iron trough until it reaches that part


[MARCH,






SECRETS OF THE ATLANTIC CABLE.


of the deck where the paying out" machine is
placed. The latter consists of six grooved wheels,
each provided with a smaller wheel, called a
"jockey," placed against the upper side of the
groove so as to press against the cable as it goes
through, and retard or help its progress. These
six wheels and their jockeys are themselves con-
trolled by brakes, and after it has been embraced
by them the cable winds round a "'drum" four
times. The drum is another wheel, four feet in


"1


total failure, as the injured section must be arrested
and repaired before it enters the water.
The great steamer went ahead at the rate of
five nautical miles an hour, and the cable passed
smoothly overboard. Messages were sent to
England and answers received. The weather was
bright, and all hands were cheerful. On the third
day after the "splicing" of the shore-end with the
main cable, that part of the ocean was reached
where the water suddenly increases in depth from


1-f
-1'3i4


I.,


THE "GREAT EASTERN" ENTERING THE BAY OF HEART'S CONTENT.


diameter and nine inches deep, which is also con-
trolled by powerful brakes ; and from it the cable
passes over another grooved wheel before it gets to
the "dynamometer" wheel. The dynamometer is
an instrument which shows the exact degree of the
strain on the cable, and the wheel attached to it
rises and falls as the strain is greater or less.
Thence the cable is sent over another deeply
grooved wheel into the sea.
You will remember what I said about insulation,
-how a tiny hole in the gutta-percha would allow
the electricity to escape. On deck there is a small
house, which is filled with delicate scientific instru-
ments. As the cable is paid out, it is tested here.
If a wire or a nail or a smaller thing is driven
through it, and the insulation is spoiled, an instru-
ment called the galvanometer instantly records the
fact, and warning is given at all parts of the ship.
The man in charge touches a small handle, and an
electric bell rings violently in the tank and at the
paying-out machinery. At the same time a loud
gong is struck, at the sound of which the engines
are stopped. Delay might cause much trouble or


two hundred and ten fathoms to two thousand and
fifty. One of the earlier cables broke at this place
and was lost forever. The electricians and en-
gineers watched for it with anxious eyes. It was
reached and passed. The black cord still traveled
through the wheels unbroken, and the test applied
by the galvanometer proved the insulation to be
perfect. The days wore away without mishap until
the evening of July 17, when the sound of the gong
filled all hearts with a sickening fear.
The rain was falling in torrents and pattering on
the heavy oil-skin clothing of the watchers. The
wind blew in chilly gusts, and the sea broke in
white crests of foam. A dense and pitchy cloud
issued from the smoke-stacks. The vessel advanced
in utter darkness. A few lights were moving about,
and shadows fell hither and thither as one of the
hands carried a lantern along the sloppy deck.
The testing-room was occupied by an electrician,
who was quietly working with his magical instru-
ment, and the cable could be heard winding over
the wheels astern, as the tinkling of a little bell on
the drum recorded its progress.


329


-16
,
-






[MARCH,


SECRETS OF THE ATLANTIC CABLE.


The electrician rose from his seat suddenly, and
struck the alarum. The next instant each person
on board knew that an accident had happened.
The engines were stopped and reversed within two
minutes. Blue-lights were burned on the paddle-
boxes, and showed a knot in the cable as it lay in
the trough.
Two remedies seemed possible. One was to cut
the cable, and support one end in the water by a
buoy until the rest could be unraveled. The other
was to unravel the cable without cutting it.


States over the event. It surpassed all other
achievements of the age, and equaled the inven-
tion of the telegraph itself.
Thus, after infinite labor and repeated failures,
the brave men who undertook the work accom-
plished it. A year before, their third cable had
broken in mid-ocean, and it was now proposed to
" grapple for it. The Great Eastern was fitted
out with apparatus, which may be likened to an
enormous fishing-hook and line, and was sent to
the spot where the treasure had been lost. The line


It is a very intricate knot that an old sailor can-
not untie, and the old sailors on the Great East-
ern twisted and untwisted coil after coil until they
succeeded in untying this one. The insulation re-
mained perfect, and in a few hours all was right
again. The accident caused much ill foreboding,
however, as it showed how slight an occurrence
might bring the expedition to a disastrous end.
On July 27, after a voyage of fifteen days, the
Great Eastern finished her work, and her part
of the cable was attached to the American shore-
end, which had been laid by another vessel. Some
of you will remember the rejoicings in the United


was of hemp interwoven with wire. Page 328 shows
a section of it. Twice the cable was seized and
brought almost to the surface. Twice it slipped
from the disappointed fishermen, but the third time
it was secured. It was then united with the cable
on board, which was "paid out until the great
steamer again reached Newfoundland, and a second
telegraph-wire united the two continents.
The scene on board as the black line appeared
above water was exciting beyond description. It
was first taken to the testing-room, and a signal
intended for Valentia was sent over it, to prove
whether or not it was perfect throughout its whole


330







THE CANARY THAT TALKED TOO MUCH.


length. 'If it had proved to be imperfect, all the
labor spent upon it would have been lost. The
electricians waited breathlessly for an answer. The
clerk in the signal-house at Valentia was drowsy
when their message came, and disbelieved his ears.
Many disinterested people, and even some of the
promoters of the cable, did not think it possible to
recover a wire that had sunk in thousands of
fathoms of water. But the clerk in the little
station connected with the shore-end of the cable
of 1865 suddenly found himself in communication
with a vessel situated in the middle of the Atlantic.


The delay aggravated the anxious watchers on the
ship, and a second signal was sent. How aston-
ished that simple-minded Irish telegraph-operator
was Five minutes passed, and then the answer
came. The chief electrician gave a loud cheer,
which was repeated by every man on board, from
the captain down to his servant.
There are now four cables in working order, and
the cost of messages has been reduced twenty-five
per cent. The New York newspapers now contain
nearly as much European news as the London
newspapers themselves.


THE CANARY THAT TALKED TOO MUCH.

BY MARGARET EYTINGE.


ANNETTE'S canary-bird's cage, with the canary
in it, was brought into the library and hung upon
a hook beside the window.
Out popped a mouse from a hole behind the
book-case.
Why, what are you doing here, canary ?" she
said. I thought your place was the bay-window
in the dining-room."
So it is-so it is beginning with a twitter,
answered the canary; "but they said I talked too
much "-ending with a trill.
Talked repeated the mouse, sitting up on
her hind-legs and looking earnestly at him. I
thought you only sang! "
Well, singing and talking mean about the
same thing in bird-language," said the canary.
" But goodness g-r-r-racious !" he went on, swing-
ing rapidly to and fro in his little swing at the top
of his cage, 't was they that talked so much-my
mistress and the doctor's wife, and the doctor's
sister-not me. I said scarcely a word, and yet I
am called a chatterbox, and punished-before com-
pany, too I feel mad enough to pull out my yel-
lowest feathers, or upset my bath-tub. Now, you
look like a sensible little thing, mouse, and I'11 tell
you all about it-what they said and what I said-
and you shall judge if I deserved to be banished.
The doctor's wife and the doctor's sister called.
'It's a lovely day said they.
"'A lovely, lovely, lovely day !' sang I. 'The
sun shines bright-the sky is blue-the grass is


green-yes, lovely, lovely, lovely-and I 'm happy,
happy, happy, and glad, glad, glad!'
They went right on talking, though I sang my
very best, without paying the slightest attention to
me; and when I stopped, I caught the words So
sweet' from my mistress, and then Isang again :
' Sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet, sweet is
the clover-sweet is the rose-sweet the song of
the bird-sweet the bird-sweet the clover-sweet
the rose-the rose-the clover-the bird-yes, yes,
yes-sweet, sweet, sweet !' And as I paused to take
breath, I heard some one say, What a noise that
bird makes how loudly he sings !' 'How loudly
he sings !' repeated I, 'how loudly he sings !-the
bird, the bird, the beautiful bird-sweet, sweet,
sweet, sweet -- But suddenly my song ended,
for my mistress got up, unhooked my cage, saying,
'Canary, you're a chatterbox; you talk too much,'
and brought me in here.
'"And really, mouse, as you must see, I did n't
say more than a dozen or so words. What do you
think about it ? "
Well," said the mouse, stroking her whiskers
and speaking slowly, you did n't say much, but
it strikes me you talked a great deal."
Oh said the canary, putting his head on one
side and looking thoughtfully at her out of his right,
bright, black, round eye. But just then the mouse
heard an approaching footstep, and, without even
saying good-bye," she hurried away to the hole
behind the book-case.


331







A NIGHT WITH A BEAR.




A NIGHT WITH A BEAR.

BY JANE G. AUSTIN.


TELL you what, Roxie, I wish father and Jake
had some of those hot nut-cakes for their dinner;
they did n't carry much of anything, and these are
proper nice."
Mrs. Beamish set her left hand upon her hip, leaned
against the corner of the dresser, and meditatively
selected another nut-cake, dough-nut or cruller, as
you may call them, from the great brown pan
piled up with these dainties, and Roxie, who was
curled up in a little heap on the corner of the
settle, knitting a blue woolen stocking, looked
brightly up and said:
Let me go and carry them some, Ma. It's
just as warm and nice as can be out-of-doors, real
springy, and I know the way to the wood lot. I 'd
just love to go."
"Let's see-ten o'clock," said Mrs. Beamish,
putting the last bit of cake into her mouth, and
wiping her fingers upon her apron. "It's a
matter of four miles there by the bridge, Jake
says, though if you cross the ford it takes off a
mile or more. You 'd better go round by the
bridge, anyway."
Oh no, Ma; that is n't worth while, for Pa said
only last night that the ice was strong enough yet
to sled over all the wood he'd been cutting," said
Roxie, earnestly, for the additional mile rather
terrified her.
"Did he? Well, if that 's so, it is all right,"
replied her mother, in a tone of relief, and then
she filled a tin pail with nut-cakes, laid a clean,
brown napkin over them, and then shut in the
cover and set it on the dresser, saying:
"There, they 've got cheese with them, and
you 'll reach camp before they eat their noon
lunch. Now, get on your leggin's and thick shoes,
and your coat and cap and mittens, and eat some
cakes before you start, so as not to take theirs when
you get there."
"I would n't do that, neither; not if I never had
any," replied Roxie, a little resentfully, and then
she pulled her squirrel-skin cap well over her ears,
tied her pretty scarlet tippet around her neck, and
held up her face for a good-bye kiss. The mother
gave it with unusual fervor, and said, kindly:
"Good-bye to you, little girl. Take good care
of yourself, and come safe home to mother."
"Yes, Ma. But I may wait and come with
them, may n't I ? They '11 let me ride on old Rob,
you know."
"Why, yes, you might as well, I suppose,


though I'11 be lonesome without you all day, baby.
But it would be better for you to ride home, so
stay."
It was a lovely day in the latter part of March,
and although the ground was covered with snow,
and the brooks and rivers were still fast bound in
ice, there was something in the air that told of
spring,-something that set the sap in the maple-
trees mounting through its million little channels
toward the buds, already beginning to redden for
their blooming, and sent the blood in little Roxie's
veins dancing upward too, until it blossomed in her
cheeks and lips fairer than in any maple-tree.
How pleasant it is to be alive !" said the little
girl aloud, while a squirrel running up the old oak-
tree overhead stopped, and curling his bushy tail
a little higher upon his back, chattered the same
idea in his own language. Roxie stopped to listen
and laugh aloud, at which sound the squirrel
frisked away to his hole, and the little girl, singing
merrily, went on her way, crossed the river on the
ice, and on the bther bank stopped and looked
wistfully down a side path leading into the denser
forest away from her direct road.
I really believe the checkerberries must have
started, it is so springy," she thought; "I 've a
mind to go down and look in what Jake calls
'Bear-berry Pasture,' though I told him they were
not bear-berries, but real checkerberries." So,
saying to herself Roxie ran a few steps down the
little path, stopped, stood still for a minute, then
slowly turned back, saying:
"No, I wont, either, for may be I would n't get
to the camp with the nut-cakes before noon, and
then they would have eaten all their cheese. No,
I'll go right on, and not stay there any time at all,
but come back and get the checkerberries; besides,
mother said she 'd be lonesome without me, so I'd
better not stay, any way."
So Roxie, flattering herself like many an older
person with the fancy that she was giving up her
selfish pleasure for that of another, while really she
was carrying out her own fancy, went singing on
her way, and reached the camp just as her father
struck his ax deep into the log where he meant to
leave it for an hour, and Jake, her handsome elder
brother, took off his cap, pushed the curls back
from his heated brow, and shook out the hay and
grain before old Rob, whose whinny had already
proclaimed dinner-time.
"Why, if here is n't sis with a tin kettle, and


[MARCH,







A NIGHT WITH A BEAR.


333


I '11 be bound some of ma'am's nut-cakes in it! "
exclaimed Jake, who had rather mourned at the
said cakes not being ready before he left home, and
then he caught the little girl up in his arms, kissed
her heartily, and put her on Rob's back, whence
she slid down, saying gravely:
"Jake, Ma says I 'm getting too old for rough
play. I 'll be twelve years old next June."
All right, old lady; I '11 get you a pair of specs
and a new cap or two for a birthday present,"
laughed Jake, uncovering the tin kettle, while his
father said:
We wont have you an old woman before you 're
a young one, will we, Tib? Come, sit down by me
and have some dinner. You're good to bring us
the nut-cakes and get here in such good season."
The three were very happy and merry over their
dinner, although Roxie declined to eat anything
except out of her own pocket, and the time passed
swiftly until Mr. Beamish glanced up at the sun,
rose, took his ax out of the cleft in the log, and,
swinging it over his head, said:
Come, Jake, nooning is over. Get to work."
All right, sir. You can sit still as long as you
like, sis, and by and by I'll take you home on
Rob."
"I 'm going now, Jake," said Roxie, hesitating
a little, and finally concluding not to mention the
checkerberries, lest her father or brother should
object to her going alone into the wilder part of the
forest. Ma said she 'd be lonesome," added she
hurriedly, and then her cheeks began to burn as if
she had really told a lie instead of suggesting one.
Well, you 're a right down good girl to come
so far and then to think of Ma instead of yourself,
and next day we 're working about home I'll give
you a good ride to pay for it."
And Jake kissed his little sister tenderly, her
father nodded good-bye with some pleasant word
of thanks, and Roxie with the empty tin pail in her
hand set out upon her homeward journey, a little
excitement in her heart as she thought of her con-
templated excursion, a little sting in her conscience
as she reflected that she had not been quite honest
about any part of it.
Did you ever notice, when a little troubled and
agitated, how quickly you seemed to pass over the
ground, and how speedily you arrived at the point
whither you had not fairly decided to go ?
It was so with Roxie, and while she was still con-
sidering whether after all she would go straight
home, she was already at the entrance of the sunny
southern glade where lay the patch of bright red
berries whose faint, wholesome perfume told of
their vicinity even before they could be seen.
Throwing herself upon her knees, the little girl
pushed aside the glossy dark-green leaves, and


with a low cry of delight stooped down and kissed
the clusters of fragrant berries as they lay fresh and
bright before her.
0 you dear, darling little things cried she,
how I love to see you again, and know that all
the rest of the pretty things are coming right
along !"
Then she began to pluck, and put them some-
times in her mouth, sometimes in her pail, and so
long did she linger over her pleasant task that the
sun was already in the tops of the pine-trees, when,
returning from a little excursion into the woods to
get a sprig from a "shad-bush," Roxie halted
just within the border of the little glade, and
stood for a moment transfixed with horror. Beside
the pail she had left brim-full of berries, sat a
bear-cub, scooping out the treasure with his paw,
and greedily devouring it, apparently quite delighted
that some one had saved him the trouble of gather-
ing his favorite berries for himself.
One moment of dumb terror, and then a feeling
of anger and reckless courage filled the heart of
the woodsman's child, and, darting forward, she
made a snatch at her pail, at the same time
dealing the young robber a sharp blow over the
face and eyes with the branch of shad-bush in her
hand, and exclaiming:
You great, horrid thing! Every single berry
is gone now, for I wont eat them after you. So
now!"
But, so far from being penitent or frightened, the
bear took this interference, and especially the
blow, in very bad part, and after a moment of
blinking astonishment, he sat up on his haunches,
growled a little, showed his teeth, and intimated
very plainly that unless that pail of berries was
restored at once, there would be trouble for some
one. But this was not the first bear-cub that Roxie
had seen, and her temper was up as well as the
bear's. So, firmly grasping the pail, she began to
retreat backward, at first slowly, but as the bear
dropped on his feet and seemed inclined to follow
her, or rather the pail of berries, she lost courage,
and turning, began to run, not caring or noting in
what direction, and still :i.-._-i -,.- .!, grasping the
pail of berries.
Suddenly, through the close crowding pines
which had so nearly shut out the daylight, appeared
an open space, and Roxie hailed it with delight,
for it was the river, and once across the river she
felt as if she would be safe. Even in the brief
glance she threw around as she burst from the
edge of the wood, she saw that here was neither the
bridge nor the ford which she had crossed in the
morning; a point altogether strange and new to
her, and, as she judged, further down the river,
since the space from shore to shore was consider-







A NIGHT WITH A BEAR.


ably wider. But the bear was close behind, and
neither time nor courage for deliberation was at
hand, and Roxie, after her moment's pause, sprung
forward upon the snowy ice, closely followed by the
clumsy little beast.
At that very moment, a mile further up stream,
Mr. Beamish and his son Jake were cautiously
driving Rob across the frozen ford, and the old
man was saying:
"I 'm afraid we 'll have to go round by the
bridge after this, Jake. I should n't wonder if the
river broke up this very night. See that crack."



































THE
It would n't do for Roxie to come over here
alone again," said Jake, probing the ice-crack with
_-





























his stick.




so glad to think of as safe at home, was at that very
moment stepping over a wide crack between two
great masses of ice, and staring forlornly about
her, for a little way in advance appeared another
great gap, and the bear close behind was whimper-
ing with terror as he clung to the edge of the float-
ing mass upon which Roxic had only just leaped,
and which. he had failed to jump upon. Shak-
ing with cold and fright, the little girl staggered


forward across the ice until at its further edge she
came upon a narrow, swiftly rolling tide, increasing
in width at every moment-the current of the river
suddenly set free from its winter's bondage, and
rapidly dashing away its chains.
Roxic turned back, but the crack that she had
stepped over was already far too wide for her to
attempt to repass, and a gentle shaking movement
under her feet told that the block on which she
stood was already in motion, and that no escape
was possible without more strength and courage
than a little girl could be expected to possess. The


'. 1 ,_'" ,"

,1 : ,'


RESCUE.
bear had climbed up, and now crouched timidly to
the edge of the ice, moaning with fear, and seeming
to take so little notice of Roxie that she forgot all
her fear of him, and these two, crouching upon the
rocking and slippery floor of their strange prison,
went floating down the turbulent stream.
The twilight deepened into dark, the stars came
out bright and cold, and so far away from human
need and woe Little Roxie ceased her useless
tears, and kneeling upon the ice put her hands
together and prayed, adding to the petition she had
learned at her mother's knee some simple words of
her own great need.


334


[MARCH,







WESTMINSTER ABBEY.


A yet more piteous whine from the bear showed
his terror as the ice-block gave a sickening whirl,
and crawling upon his stomach he crept close up
to the little girl, his whole air saying as plainly as
words could have spoken:
Oh, I am so scared, little girl, are n't you?
Let us protect each other somehow, or at least, you
protect me."
And Roxie, with a strange, light-hearted sense
of security and peace replacing her terror and
doubt, let the shaggy creature creep close to her
side, and nestling down into his thick fur, warmed
her freezing fingers against his skin, and with a
smile upon her lips went peacefully to sleep.
She was awakened by a tremendous shock, and
a struggle, and a fall into the water, and before she
could see or know what had happened to her, two
strong arms were round her, and she was drawn
again upon the ice-cake, and her brother was bend-
ing close above her, and he was saying:
Oh, Roxie are you hurt ?"
No, Jake, I-I believe not. Why, why, what
is it all? Where is this, and-oh, I know. Oh,
Jake, Jake, I was so frightened!" And, turning
suddenly, she hid her face in her brother's coat and
burst into a passion of tears. But Jake, with one
hurried embrace and kiss, put her away, saying:
Wait just a minute, sis, till we finish the bear;
father will shoot him."
No, no, no !" screamed Roxie, her tears dried
as if by magic. Don't kill the bear, father!
Jake, don't you touch the bear; he's my friend,
and we were both so scared last night, and then I
prayed that he would n't eat me, and he did n't,
and you must n't hurt him."
"Well, I'm beat now!" remarked Mr. Beam-
ish, as with both hands buried in the coarse hair


by which he had dragged the bear to the surface,
for it had gone under when the ice-cake had been
broken against the jam of logs which had stopped
it, he looked up at his little daughter's pale face.
You and the bear made friends, and said your
prayers together, and he can't be hurt, you say?"
Yes, father. Oh, please don't hurt him "
"We might take him home and keep him
chained up for a sort of a pet, if he will behave
decent," suggested Jake, a little doubtfully.
"Well!-I suppose we could," replied the
father, very slowly and reluctantly. He seems
peaceable enough now."
"And see how good he is to me," said Roxie,
eagerly, as she patted the head of her strange new
friend, who blinked amicably in reply. Oh,
Jake, do go and get Rob and the sled, and carry
him home, wont you?"
Why, yes, if father says so, and the critter will
let me tie his legs."
The ox-sled was close at hand, for the father
and brother had brought it to the river before they
began their weary search up and down its banks,
not knowing what mournful burden they might
have to carry home to the almost frantic mother.
And Bruin, a most intelligent beast, seemed to
understand so well that the handling, and ride,
were all for his own good, that he bore the humili-
ation of having his legs tied with considerable
equanimity, and in a short time developed so gentle
and gentlemanly a character as to become a valued
and honored member of the family, remaining with
it for about a year, when, wishing, probably, to set
up housekeeping on his own account, he quietly
snapped his chain one day and walked off into the
woods, where he was occasionally seen for several
years, generally near the checkerberry patch.


WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

BY CHARLES W. SQUIRES.

I HAVE no doubt that most of the readers of dark, gloomy mornings, peculiar to London, that
ST. NICHOLAS have heard of the grand old Abbey I started from my lodgings to walk to the Abbey.
of Westminster, in London, and that they would As I said before, I had often been there in my
be glad to visit this famous historical place. I had imagination, and, as I walked slowly along, I could
often been there in my thoughts and dreams, and hardly realize that I was actually about to visit it in
had often wished that I might really walk through person. After a while I came in sight of West-
its quiet aisles and chapels, when, at last, I should minster Bridge and the Houses of Parliament, and
make a trip to Europe. And my wish was granted. then, on my right, I noticed two tall towers, and
It was on a November morning-one of those without the help of my guide-book I knew that







WESTMINSTER ABBEY.


they must belong to the Abbey; so I quickened
my steps until I had gained the entrance door.
What a change I experienced as I stepped from



~'? ^' :1 ,,'7


figures towering high above me. The original
Abbey was built many, many years ago, and has
been restored from time to time by the succeeding


IN ERIOR OF WESTMINSTLIZ ABBEY.


the busy, crowded streets, into this old sepulcher,
so celebrated for its relics of the dead It almost
made me shudder, for the interior of the building
was dark and gloomy, and I saw many cold, white


kings and queens of England, until we find it in its
present condition, safe and sound, and one of the
greatest, if not the greatest object of interest in
the city of London.


336


[MARCH,







WESTMINSTER ABBEY.


Westminster Abbey may certainly be called a
tomb, for we could spend a whole day in simply
counting its monuments. There were so many of
these that I hardly knew which to look at first, but
I thought it best to follow my own inclinations, and


the Abbey, but which has been much defaced by
persons who were desirous of obtaining a bit of
stone from this famous tomb. In this chapel I
saw also the old coronation chairs, in which
all the reigning sovereigns of England, since


.~r :
.- "
, ,-' .-." 1 , -I-


--- 2- L2:
SIIRINE OF EDWARD THEl CONF1SSOR.

so, instead of procuring a guide (men with long Edward I. have been crowned. They are queer,
gowns, who take visitors around and point out the old-fashioned chairs, made of wood, and not
objects of greatest interest), I roamed about at my very comfortable, I imagine. The older of the
will. The first monument that attracted my atten- two chairs was built to inclose the stone (which
tion was the venerable shrine of Edward the Confes- they call Jacob's pillar) brought from Scotland by
sor, in the chapel of St. Edward, once the glory of Edward, and placed in this chapel. Many other
VOL. V.-23.






WESTMINSTER ABBEY.


interesting tombs are to be seen here, and the floor sergeant looks sorrowfully on the dying warrior,
of the chapel is six hundred and fourteen years while two lions sleep at his feet. The inscription
old reads as follows: To the memory of James Wolfe,
I next visited the chapel of Islip, built by the old Major-General and Commander-in-Chief of the
Abbot of Islip, who dedicated it to St. John the British land forces on an expedition against Quebec,
Baptist. One very interesting monument there who, after surmounting, by ability and valor, all


.. *A sy;i 'I.L'' ~ _. ,* *,i
I I.. I, ', '







IjI
I '' <'" ",ll






you.rem 'mber, t the o" u.e H i o vict 'or 7






"1 6 11 , Ik
.' '. -' \ i





i '" ';' '*' ` I








w'ret i t A'II '. t '1' I
11111 It 1:1h



',S,',,II '



'I'




TO'MB HANDEL.
I ,, ,, ,.,.

























was to the memory of General Wolfe, who fell, obstacles of art and nature, was slain in the moment
you remember, at the battle of Quebec. His of victory, on the 13th of September, 1759, the
monument is a very beautiful piece of art. It King and Parliament of Great Britain dedicate
represents him falling into the arms of one of his this monument."
own soldiers, who is pointing to Glory, which comes I now walked on to the north transept, and the
in the shape of an angel from the clouds, holding a first monument I noticed was one erected to Sir
wreath with which to crown the hero. A Highland Robert Peel, the great orator and statesman. I
in,, t sa o ag f- t cod hli f rs oue ntc ~s e rtc o i
wreath' "'"' "-"*-- - "ow .e h""" "" 'ihac -'er "el h ra rtradsaemn


[MARCH,







CRIP'S GAR


seated myself on an old stone bench to rest, and
looking around, saw a magnificent statue of the
great William Pitt, who, you may remember, was
also a great statesman, and accomplished more for
the glory and prosperity of England than any other
statesman who ever lived. In this transept there
is a beautiful window, which represents our Savior,
the twelve apostles, and four evangelists. As I was
sitting quietly in this secluded spot, looking up at
the window, strains of solemn music reached my
ear, which sounded as if they came from one of the
gloomy vaults around me. I walked on to dis-
cover, if possible, whence this music came, and I
saw, in the nave of the Abbey, the Dean of West-
minster conducting a service, assisted by his choir
boys. I seated myself until the ceremonies were
over, and I thought it was a very odd place to hold
church-among so many graves.
After the Dean and his choir boys had disap-
peared I commenced my walk again, and saw
many fine old monuments. One of these was in
memory of Sir Isaac Newton, and I am sure I need
not tell you who he was. Prominent among the
monuments in this part of the Abbey is that to
Major Andr6, the fine young officer who was exe-
cuted during our Revolutionary War.


RET-DAY. 339


I next visited the south transept, better known
as the "Poet's Corner," which I think is the most
interesting part of Westminster. A hundred, and
more, monuments to the memory of great men
can be seen here; but I can only tell you of a few
of the most important. The one I thought most
of is erected to the memory of William Shakspeare,
although his bones repose far away, in the little
church at Stratford-on-Avon. Then I saw the
tombs of David Garrick, the great actor and deline-
ator of Shakspeare's characters; George Frederick
Handel, the eminent composer, the author of that
beautiful anthem, I know that my Redeemer
liveth;" the great Milton; rare old Ben Jonson;
Edmund Spenser, author of the Faery Queene;"
and those of Southey, Dryden, Addison, Gray,
Campbell, and other well-known English poets.
Then, among the names of the dead of our own
day, I saw those of Dickens, Bulwer, Macaulay,
and Dr. Livingstone.
Kings, queens, statesmen, soldiers, clergymen,
authors and poets here have equal station. Some
may lie under richer tombs than others, but all rest
beneath the vaulted roof of Westminster Abbey,
the place of highest honor that England can offer
her departed sons.


GRIP'S GARRET-DAY.

BY SARAtH J. PRICHARD.


GRIP was having a dismal-a very dismal time
of it. Crip was eleven, it was his birthday, and
Crip was in disgrace-in a garret.
Was n't it dreadful?
It happened thus: Crip's father was a shoe-
maker. The bench where he worked and the little
bit of a shop, about eight feet every way, in which
he worked, stood on a street leading down to the
town dock, and the name of the town we will say
was Barkhampstead, on Cape Cod Bay.
Now and then-that is, once or twice in the year
-a whaling vessel set sail from the dock, and
sometimes, not always, the same vessels returned
to the dock.
The going and the coming of a "whaler" made
Crip's father, Mr. John Allen, glad. It was his
busy season, for when the seamen went, they
always wanted stout new boots and shoes, and,
when they came, they always needed new coverings
on their feet to go home in.


Two years before this dismal time that Crip was
having, the ship Sweet Home went away, and
it had not been spoken or signaled or heard from
in any way, since four months from the time it left
the dock at Barkhampstead.
The fathers and mothers and wives and little
children of the men who went in the Sweet
Home kept on hoping, and fearing, and feeling
terribly bad about everybody on board whom they
loved, when, without any warning whatever, right
in the midst of a raging snow storm, the Sweet
Home," all covered in ice from mast-head to prow,
sailed, stiff and cold, into Barlhampstead harbor.
Oh! was n't there a great gladness over all the
old town then! They rang the meeting-house
bell. It was a hoarse, creaking old bell, but there
was music in it that time, as it throbbed against
the falling snow, and made a most delicious concert
of joy and gratitude in every house within a mile
and more of the dock.







CRIP'S GARRET-DAY.


Mr. John Alien rushed down to the "Sweet
Home," as soon as ever it came in. IIe had n't
anybody on board to care very particularly about,
"but how he did rub his hands together as he
went, letting the snow gather fast on his long
beard, as he thought of the thirty or forty pairs of
feet that must have shoes !
Crip, you know, was to be eleven the next day,
and his mother, in the big red house next door to
the little shop, had made him a cake for the day,
and, beside, plum-pudding was to be for dinner.
Before Crip's father had gone down to the dock he
had said to Crip: Now, you must stay right here
in the shop and not go near the dock, until I come
back;" and Crip had said Yes, sir," although
every bit of his throbbing boy body wanted to take
itself off to the Sweet Home."
The snow kept on falling, and it began to grow
dark in the little shop. Crip had just lighted a
candle, when the shop door opened, and a boy,
not much bigger than Crip himself, came in and
shut the door behind him.
Crip jumped up from the bench and said:
"What ?"
"You don't know me, Crip Allen," said the boy.
"Who be you?" questioned Crip.
"Don't wonder !" said the other, "for we 've
all come right out of the jaws of ice and death.
I 'm Jo Jay."
"Jo Jay,--looking so !" said Crip.
Never mind Only give me a pair of shoes-
old ones will do-to get home in. It's three miles
to go, and it's five months since I've had shoes
on my feet. Oh, Crip we've had a bad time on
board, and no cargo to speak of to bring home."
You wont pay for the shoes ?" asked Crip.
"No money," said Jo, thrusting forth a tied-up
foot, wrapped in sail-rags. "But, Crip, do hurry !
I must get home to mother, if she 's alive."
She's alive-saw her to meeting," said Crip,
fumbling in a wooden box to get forth a pair of
half-worn shoes he remembered about.
He produced them. Jo Jay seized the shoes
eagerly, and, taking off his wrappings, quickly thrust
his feet, that had so long been shoeless, into them ;
and, with a Bless you, Crip I '11 make it all right
some day," hobbled off, making tracks in the snow,
just before Crip's father came up from the dock.
Mr. John Allen returned in a despondent mood.
There was not oil enough on board the Sweet
Home" to buy shoes for the men.
"Who 's been here, Crip ? Socks in and shoes
out, I see."
Jo Jay, father."
"Where's the money, Crip?" and Mr. Allen
turned his big, searching blue eyes on Crip, and
held forth his hand.


"Why, father," said Crip, "he had n't any, and
he wanted to go home. It 's three miles, you
know, and snowing."
Crip Allen Do you know what you've done?
You've stolen a pair of shoes."
Oh, I have n't, father," cried Crip, and 't was
only the old, half-worn shoes that you mended for
George Hine, that he could n't wear."
Christopher !" thundered forth Mr. Alien, in
a voice that made the lad shake in his boots, go
into the house and right upstairs to bed. You have
stolen a pair of shoes from your own father. You
knew they were not yours to give away."
Poor Crip Now he could n't get a sight of the
Sweet Home" to-night, even through the dark-
ness and the snow.
His upper lip began to tremble and give way,
but he went into the big red house, up the front
staircase to his own room, and, in the cold, crept
under the blankets into a big feather bed, and
thought of Jo plodding his way home.
About eight of the clock, when Crip was fast
asleep, the door opened, somebody walked in, and
a hand touched the boy, and left a bit of cake on
his pillow; then the hand and the somebody went
away, and Crip was left alone until morning. He
went down to breakfast when called. His father's
face was more stern than it had been the night
before. Crip could scarcely swallow the needful
food. When breakfast was over, Mr. Allen said:
Christopher. Go into the garret and stay till
I call you. I'll teach you not to take what does n't
belong to you, even to give away."
"'Father beseechingly said Crip's mother, it
is the boy's birthday."
"Go to the garret!" said Mr. Allen.
Crip went, and he was having the dismal time of
it referred to in the beginning of this story. Poor
little chap He stayed up there all the morning,
his mother's heart bleeding for him, and his sisters
saying in their hearts, "Father's awful cruel." It
did seem so, but Mr. Christopher Allen, the nation-
known shipping merchant, said, fifty years later,
when relating the story to a party of friends on
board one of his fine steamships:
That severe punishment was the greatest kind-
ness my father ever bestowed on my boyhood.
Why, a hundred times in my life, when under the
power of a great temptation to use money in my
hands that did not belong to me, even for the best
and highest uses, and when I knew that I could
replace it, I have been saved by the power of the
stern, hard words, the cold, flashing eyes, and the
day in the garret. Yes, yes, father was right. I
ought to have taken off my own shoes, and gone
zwihzol any, to give to Jo Jay. That was his idea
of giving."


340


[MARCH,





WHAT HAPPENED.


,i, i 1 .", '"I, -" .-











WHAT HAPPENED.
S. BY HOWELL FOSTER.
S1. ble accident happened to him





,'ng head down from a banyan-limb.
Si.' of fasting and lamentation,






I .. i to a curious demonstration :
T I ., ant acted as if he were drunk-
-. 1 on his head, he trod on his trunk ;
_. :,*nsitive she-Gorilla
SI at the shock wuld surely kill her;
1 ay and frolicsome Ape





Si \I is tail with a yard of crape
', i i '... ey wiped his eyes with his ears;
S dile shed a bucket of tears;






I... lthe very bad taste to laugh;
l,,. .., Lion mnade proclamation .











1k,.i3potaius puffed and blew,--
I I T h ias respect for the Kangarooe




I but indignant Chimpanzee
1 on his hea, he tr hro h is bntrnk
.* ,, .. o nsitive she-G orilla


I,. I ..... r ey wiped his eyes with his ears;
S.- ,,dile shed a hucket of tears ;
Il V I I I,. )ceros gored a young Giraffe
II ... I' I the vr bad taste to laugh;
l- I I I ...,*. )potamiUs puffed and blew,
S'II I Is respect for the alngaroo;
,t ..... ". II the bark from the bany an-tree. ~i

,, .

\ *.- '


,_4 ,. ,
9 K ", ,,. _L [-







[MARCH,


DRIFTED INTO PORT.



DRIFTED INTO PORT.

BY EDWIN IHODDER.


CHAPTER I.
THE BOYS OF BLACKROCK SCHOOL.
DR. BRIER considered himself the principal of
Blackrock School, but the boys in that establish-
ment often used to say to each other that Mrs.
Brier was really the master.
Not that she intruded into any sphere which did
not belong to her, but she took such a deep interest
in the school that she had the welfare of every boy
at heart, and Dr. Brier was one of those amiable
men who never act except in concert with their
wives, and he had, moreover, good sense enough
to see that oftentimes her judgment was better
than his own.
At the time our story opens, the school was in a
very flourishing condition. It contained about
eighty boys, the tutors were men of unquestionable
ability, and so successful had the Doctor been in
turning out good scholars that he had applications
from various parts of England, in which country
our story is located, for the admission of many
more boys than he could possibly receive.
Among the institutions of the school was a
weekly reception in the Doctor's private drawing-
room, when twenty boys at a time were invited to
tea, and to spend the evening hours m social
enjoyment.
It was a very good thing, for it gave Mrs. Brier
an opportunity of becoming acquainted with the
boys, and it enabled them to see the Doctor, not in
his professional character of principal, but as a
kind and gentle host.
At some schools, where a plan of this kind has
been adopted, boys have been inclined to look
upon it as a great bore, and have dreaded the
return of the so-called social evening, when they
would have to be, for some bours, in a state of
nervous anxiety, lest they should be catechised in a
corner, or be betrayed into something that they
would be sorry for afterward.
Bat, with one exception, this was not the case
with the Blackrock boys; the Tuesday reception
was always a red-letter tlay with them, and if ever,
through misbehavior, an invitation was withheld,
it was regarded as one of the severest punishments
inflicted in the school.
Several boys were one day standing in a group
under the elms which inclosed the play-ground,
putting on their jackets to return to the school-
room, as the recreation hour was nearly over.


"Who's going to the house on Tuesday?"
asked Howard Pemberton.
"I am," said Martin Venables.
"And I," added Alick Fraser.
And I too, worse luck," said Digby Morton.
"Why worse luck?" asked Martin.
Oh, it would n't do for me to enter into par-
ticulars with you," replied Digby, rather testily.
"You're the Doctor's nephew, and we all know
that we 've got to be careful of what we say about
the house before you. The wind might carry it
around."
Martin turned as red as a poppy, as he flashed
up in honest anger that such paltry meanness
should be charged on him.
I tell you what it is, Digby," he said, trying to
keep himself cool, "I can stand a joke as well as
anybody, but there is no joking about your ill-
natured speeches. I tell you now, once for all,
that I never did and never shall blow upon any boy
in this school. You know as well as I do that the
Doctor treats me as a scholar here, and not as a
spy or a relative, and if ever you charge me again
with tale-bearing, I '11 answer you with my fists."
"Good!" cried several voices at once, while
some of the small boys who had gathered round
seemed delighted at the rebuke administered to
Digby, who was by no means a favorite with them.
"And now let's drop it," said Howard, the boy
who had asked the question as to the invitations
for Tuesday. If Digby does n't like the recep-
tions, it's a pity he does n't stay away. I don't
know another boy in the school who would think
with him."
Nor I, and I can't make out why any one
should," said Alick; "to my mind they are the
jolliest evenings we have."
Oh yes, I should think they would just suit
you," answered Digby, with his accustomed sneer,
"but they don't suit me. They are precious slow
affairs, and I don't care much for the society of
Mrs. B. She pries into the school affairs a sight
too much as it is, and "
What other objections Digby might have ad-
vanced will forever remain unknown. He had
committed high treason in speaking lightly of a
name dear to the heart of every boy there, and a
storm of hissing and hooting greeted his unfinished
sentence.
He saw that he had trespassed on ground which
was too dangerous for him to tread any further,






DRIFTED INTO PORT.


and so, with a defiant Bah !" he threw his jacket
over his shoulder and walked sullenly away.
Many of the boys in Blackrock school would
have found a difficulty in stating the exact grounds
of their regard for Mrs. Brier. To some of them
she was a comparative stranger; they could not
trace one direct act in which they were indebted to
her. Perhaps the merest commonplaces in conver-
sation had passed between them, and yet they felt
there was a something in her presence which threw
sunshine around them; they felt that they were
thought about, cared for and loved, and in any
little scrape into which, boy-like, they might get,
they felt satisfied that if the matter only came to
her knowledge they would get an impartial judg-
ment on the case, and the best construction that
could be put upon their conduct would be sure to be
suggested by her. But out of eighty boys it would
not be reasonable to suppose that all should share
this feeling alike,-we have seen already one excep-
tion; yet the disaffected were in a very small
minority, and the majority was so overwhelming,
and had amongst it all the best acknowledged
strength and power of the school, that no one dared
to say above his breath one word against Mrs.
Brier, if he cared for a whole skin.
While Digby was returning to the school by one
road, Howard and Martin strolled leisurely along
by another path under the trees.
"I can't understand Digby," said Martin; "he
has altered so very much lately that he hardly
seems the same fellow he was. Have you noticed
that he cuts all his old chums now ? What's hap-
pened to him ?"
"I'm sure I don't know," answered Howard,
"but he certainly has altered very much. 1 wish
we could be as friendly as we used to be, but it is
months since we have been on really good terms
together."
"Two or three years ago we used to be the best
of friends," said Martin.
"Yes, but all that has been. i .11i altering.
He seems to have taken a dislike to me. I can't
help thinking that Digby has some secret that
worries him."
I should n't be surprised if he has," answered
Martin; "and it will get him into trouble, what-
ever it is. He has several times been 'out of
bounds' for a long time at a stretch, and if it had n't
been for Alick Fraser and one or two others who
have screened him, he would have come to grief.
Can you guess at all what is wrong with him ?"
"No," replied Howard, hesitatingly; "the only
thing I can think of is that hs father has told
him that when he leaves school in September he is
to be articled to a lawyer, and I know he has made
up his mind to go to sea. He is crazy about pirates,


and whale-hunts, and desolate islands, and all that
sort of stuff. And yet, sometimes, if you talk to
him about them he shuts you up so very sharply
that you feel as if you were prying into his secrets.
Perhaps "
And here Howard stopped.
Well, perhaps what?" asked Martin.
"I don't know that it is right to talk about a
mere notion that may not have any truth in it at
all, so let what I say be kept close between us; but
I have noticed him bring things home after he has
been out of bounds, and carefully put them in his
big box, which he always keeps locked, and I have
sometimes thought-but mind, it is only a passing
thought, so don't let it go any further-that per-
haps he has made up his mind to run away to sea "
"Howard, I have had this same thought in my
mind many a time," said Martin, "and I believe
the reason why Digby dislikes me so much is
because something occurred about a month ago,
which I would rather not mention, but it led me to
say to him that I hoped he would not be so foolish
as to think of throwing up all his prospects in life
for the sake of a mania about the sea, and he
flashed up so angrily that I was convinced I had
touched him on a sore point."
Just then the school-bell rang. There was no
time for further talk, and it was not for many days
that the subject was renewed.

CHAPTER II.
AN EVENING AT DR. BRIER'S.
EVERY expected day comes at last,-not always.
however, to realize the expectations formed of it;
but the evening of the reception in which we are
interested bade fair to be a most satisfactory one.
The weather was unusually fine, and the Doctot
and Mrs. Brier were in such good spirits that some
of the visitors made special note of the fact.
I hardly know where to begin in attempting to
describe an evening in the House at Blackrock
school.
As to stiffness and formality, there was not a
vestige of it. The Doctor was a gentleman, every
inch of him, and ease is an essential quality of
gentlemanly behavior. It is not always an easy
thing to be easy, and all the Doctor's pupils were
not miniature doctors, but whatever else a boy
might not have learned at Blackrock, he certainly
had a chance to learn to be gentlemanly.
So conversation flowed freely; the boys were
encouraged to indulge in hearty, unrestrained
enjoyment, and no one could have heard the buzz
of voices and the sounds of merry laughter, or seen
the beaming faces, without feeling that all were
perfectly at home.







DRIFTED INTO PORT.


The Doctor was wise in his generation, and he
did not invite any of the tutors to meet the boys.
He pretty shrewdly guessed that their meetings
were quite as frequent as could be desired on either
side, but he always invited a few lady friends to
join the party.
The Doctor had often been heard to say that
while he would not declare that either Greek or
Hebrew was absolutely necessary for an ordinary
education, he was prepared to assert that no boy
was educated unless he knew how to feel at home
and to behave with propriety in the society of
ladies.
Moreover, the Doctor was a great lover of music.
Many of the boys also loved it, and, when ladies
were invited, those were generally selected who
could contribute to the pleasure of the evening.
Among the guests was one who will meet us
again in the course of this story. It was Madeleine
Greenwood, the Doctor's niece, and Martin Vena-
bles' cousin. I should like to describe her, but I
will only say that she was a young and very pretty
sunshiny girl, and that everybody who knew her
liked her.
After tea, there were portfolios to examine, and
books to turn over; there was a bagatelle board in
one corner of the room, a little group busy upon
some game of guessing in another corner, and
another group eagerly arranging specimens in a
microscope, while the Doctor seemed to be at each
group at once.
"Now, come here," said Mrs. Brier to a little
knot of boys who could not find room by the
Doctor and his microscope. "I will show you
some of my curiosities."
And she produced a little case, containing a
curious old watch, set in pearls; a snuff-box which
had been in the possession of the family for ages,
and a variety of similar treasures. Among them
was a miniature painting, on ivory, of exquisite
workmanship, and set in a gold frame, which was
studded with precious stones. It was as beautiful
as it was costly. The portrait was that of a young
and lovely girl.
What a sweet face," said Howard to Martin;
"and how marvelously like your cousin, Miss
Greenwood!" And with a boyish enthusiasm
joined to boyish fun, he turned aside, so that Mrs.
Brier should not see him, and pretended to clasp
the image to his breast.
"Oh, I have caught you, have I?" said Digby
Morton, with his disagreeable sneer, as, turning
away from the Doctor's group, he came abruptly
upon Howard.
If Alick Fraser, or Martin, or McDonald, or any
one of half a dozen boys near him had made this
observation, Howard would n't have minded the


least in the world, but coming from Digby, it
made him nervous and confused, especially as it
was almost certain Mrs. Brier must have heard it.
Please let me see it," said Alick, who had only
caught a passing glimpse of it. Surely it must
be meant for Miss Greenwood?" he said, after he
had duly admired it.
You are not the first who has thought so," said
Mrs. Brier, "'but it is really a portrait of her grand-
mother, taken in her young days. But look at this;
I think it will interest you all. It is a curious
ivory carving, and is a puzzle which I should like
to challenge any one to explain."
And so this uncomfortable episode, the only one
that occurred during the evening, passed quietly
away.
Music was soon called for, and Madeleine sang
a beautiful song of the sea. Then there was a
merry glee, and a duet on the piano and violoncello,
and the time passed so cheerily that when the trays
with refreshments came round, betokening that the
time to go was fast approaching, everybody instinct-
ively looked at the clock to make sure that there
was not some mistake.
One or two of the boys, as they lay awake that
night, trying to recall some of its pleasant hours,
little thought that as long as life lasted the inci-
dents of that reception evening would be stamped
indelibly upon their memories.
Now, aunt," said Madeleine, after all the guests
had departed, "sit down and rest, and let me
collect the things together."
Everybody knows how a drawing-room looks
when the company has gone. Music here, draw-
ings there, musical instruments somewhere else,
and a certain amount of confusion not apparent
before now apparent everywhere.
But Mrs. Brier was one of those who never could
sit still while anything had to be done, and she
began to arrange the cabinet which held her
curiosities, while Madeleine collected the music.
They were thus employed when Mrs. Brier sud-
denly exclaimed, Oh Madeleine!"
"What is the matter, aunt?" asked the young
girl, running to her.
"Nothing, I hope, but I cannot find the minia-
ture portrait or the old snuff-box which were
here."
Then they must be on one of the tables!" said
Madeleine.
"I fear not; I laid everything back in the case
myself-at least, I believe I did-before putting it
in the cabinet."
A careful search in every probable and improba-
ble place in the room was made, but the missing
articles could not be found. The Doctor was
hastily called, and inquiries were made of him.


[MARCH,






DRIFTED INTO PORT.


"No, my dear, I have seen nothing of them,"
he said. I was busy with the microscopes, and
never even saw the things during the evening.
Let us look about-we shall soon find them."
Search after search was made, but in vain, and
there was but one conclusion at which to arrive,-
the miniature and the snuff-box had been taken
away.
But by whom? It could not have been by the
servants, for they had only entered the room to
bring the refreshments. It could not have been by


was not removed but rather increased. What to
do for the best was the question preying upon both
minds. There was no escape from the conviction
that one of the boys, either by accident or with
evil intent, had taken the missing articles. If by
accident, they would be returned the first thing in
the morning, although there would be no excuse for
not having returned them on the previous evening
as soon as the discovery was made; and if with
evil intent who was the culprit?
The Doctor was one of those men who could best


I.


"HOWARD PRETENDED TO CLASP THE IMAGE TO HIS BREAST."


any of the lady guests, for they had not been near
the curiosities; being' old friends, these had often
been shown to them before.
It was, perhaps, the most trying hour that
either the Doctor or Mrs. Brier had ever spent.
They were not grieved simply because they had
lost property, valuable as it was, but their deepest
sorrow arose from the fear that honor had been
lost in the school.

CHAPTER III.
THE LOST MINIATURE.
THE morning came, and the anxiety which the
Doctor and Mrs. Brier had felt the night before


bear anxiety out-of-doors. If anything unusual
troubled him, no matter what the weather might
be, he would pace the garden or wander through
the fields, while he thought or prayed himself out
of the difficulty.
He was a God-fearing man. I do not mean in
the sense in which many apply this term, turning a
good old phrase into a cant expression. He
believed in God, he believed in the Bible, and he
believed in prayer.
So, after he had paced the garden in the early
morning, long before any others of the establish-
ment were abroad, he turned into the summer-
house, and there, quiet and alone, he prayed for
guidance in his difficulty.







DRIFTED INTO PORT.


When breakfast was over the boys began to
move away to their several rooms and occupations,
but those who had been at the Doctor's on the
previous evening were told separately that he wished
to speak with them in his library. Each was rather
startled on arriving to find others there, and a
vague feeling of discomfort prevailed at first. Mrs.
Brier was present, and this added to the mystery,
as she was rarely seen in the library.
"Now, my boys," said the Doctor, when all had
assembled, I want to take you all into my confi-
dence, and shall be glad, in the interest of all, if
what is now said is kept as much as possible to
ourselves. The matter about which I have called
you together is one that has caused me much
anxiety, and I shall be thankful if you can allay
my uneasiness. You willremember That last night
Mrs. Brier showed you a casket of trinkets and
curiosities, amongst them a valuable miniature
painting and an antique snuff-box. I am sorry to
say that these are missing. Careful and diligent
search has been made for them, but they cannot be
found. Can any of you throw light on the subject?
Is it possible that by accident one of you may have
mislaid them, or inadvertently have carried them
away?"
Anxious glances were exchanged from one to the
other as each answered in the negative. An awk-
ward pause followed.
"And now," said the Doctor, "it is my pain-
ful duty to ask you separately whether you know
anything whatever about the matter. For the
sake of each, and the honor of all, I charge you to
tell me truth as in the sight of God. Herbert, do
you know anything about it ? "
"No, sir."
Marsden, do you? "
"No, sir; nothing whatever. I saw the things
and thought I saw Mrs. Brier put them back in
the box."
Do you know anything, McDonald?"
I do not, sir."
"Do you, Pcmberton?"
No, sir."
"Do you, Morton?"
Digby stammered and hesitated. The Doctor
repeated his question.
"I know nothing for certain, sir. But I-I
think--" and he held to the back of a chair with
a very determined clutch as he again hesitated, and
began to speak.
"What do you think, man? Speak out," said
the Doctor.
"I think I ought to mention a circumstance,
but I shall prefer speaking to you alone."
Does it relate to any one present ?"
It does."


"Then I must have it told here. But let me
first continue my question to each one present."
The question went round, and the answer in
each case was in the negative.
Now, Morton, I must ask you to state what
you know of this matter, or rather what you sus-
pect, and I leave it to your good sense to say only
that which you think it absolutely necessary for me
to know."
There was a dead silence. Every eye was turned
toward Digby with intense interest, while he fixed
his gaze steadily upon the floor.
"I saw Howard Pemberton putting the minia-
ture in his breast coat-pocket last evening, sir,
when we were in your drawing-room. I said to
him, 'I 've caught you, have I.' He made no
reply to me, but turned away, very red in the
face -"
It is false-wickedly false," cried Howard, in a
passionate burst of feeling.
"He states it is false," continued Digby, "but I
will appeal to Fraser or McDonald, who saw it, or
better still, to Martin Venables, who also saw it,
and made some remark in apology for him !"
"Do you know of anything else, directly or
indirectly, that you think should come to my
knowledge ?" asked the Doctor.
Nothing more, sir, except that Pemberton,
whose room adjoins mine, seemed to have some-
thing on his mind last night, for he was walking
about in his room in the middle of the night, and
I fancied he got out of the window. This is all I
have to say, sir. I said I knew nothing for certain,
and I hope I have not done wrong in telling you
this much."
And now all eyes turned to Howard Pefn'berton.
He stood speechless. He felt as in a horrible
nightmare, and could neither move body nor mind
to break the spell. If he could have known that
there was not one in the room who believed him to
be guilty, he would have easily recovered from the
blow; but with his peculiarly nervous tempera-
ment, although conscious of perfect innocence in
the matter, he felt that the terrible insinuations
which had been made against him had separated
him from those whom he loved and honored,
and he was crushed beneath the weight of implied
dishonor.
Happy is the man who has a friend, and Howard
had many, but perhaps none greater than Martin
Venables. Martin knew the peculiarities of How-
ard's character better than any one present, and
seeing the position in which he was placed he came
forward to vindicate him.
"Dr. Brier, there is not a boy in this school,
except Digby, who does not love and respect
Howard Pemberton. I hate to be a tale-bearer,


346


[MARCH,






DRIFTED I


but I know that for many months he has cherished
a great animosity to Howard, and has taken every
opportunity of showing it. The story which he has
now invented is as clumsy as it is false. It is the
worst kind of falsehood, for it has just a shadow of
truth in it as regards one part of the story. When
Mrs. Brier showed the miniature, it pleased How-
ard, as it does everybody who sees it. He made a
remark to me that it was very much like my cousin,
Miss Greenwood, and perhaps you know, sir, that
many boys in the school think her very lovely and
amiable. Howard thought so too, and when he
attempted to put the miniature in his pocket, as
Digby untruthfully stated, he merely put it, in
fun, to the place where they say the heart is. It
was what any of us might have done, and, wise or
not wise, we would certainly have meant no harm.
But I am quite certain that afterward the portrait
passed into the hands of Alick Fraser, and then
into Digby's, and after that it was placed in the
case by Mrs. Brier. I do not say, sir, that Digby
Morton has willfully misrepresented facts for the
purpose of getting one who was once his most
intimate school friend into trouble, but I say that
if Howard Pemberton is untruthful or dishonest, I
do not believe an honest boy lives."
The boys were quite excited over Martin's
speech-the first set speech he had ever made-
and they greeted it with undisguised enthusiasm.
The Doctor seemed to think that somebody
ought to say something equivalent to "silence in
the court" at this display of sentiment, although
in his heart of hearts he would have liked to step
forward and pat Martin on the back for his manly
defense of his friend. But an interruption was
made to the proceedings by a tap at the door.
Can I speak with Mrs. Brier?" said a servant,
putting her head in at the door.
"No, Mrs. Brier is engaged," answered the
Doctor, rather sharply for him.
Servants have a knack of knowing what is going
on in a house, and this servant seemed to be in
the secret which had called the little assembly
together, for she would not take the rebuff, but
said:
If you please, sir, I must speak to Mrs. Brier."
So Mrs. Brier left the room for a moment, to
return again in company with the servant.
What is this all about ?" asked the Doctor.
If you please, sir, this morning, in making the
bed Mr. Pemberton sleeps in, I noticed the ticking
loose, and I -put my hand in, as I felt something
hard, and I found this snuff-box."
I have read in books about boys who, under
some exciting necessity, have started in an instant
from boyhood to manhood, just as I have read
about people's hair in time of trouble turning from


NTO PORT. 347


black to white in the course of a night. Howard
Pemberton did not spring from boyhood to man-
hood at this strange discovery, nor did his hair
turn white, but the words of the servant had a
sudden and powerful influence upon him. In a
moment he turned to his accuser and said:
"Digby, there is some vile secret underlying all
this, and I don't know what it is. But I declare to
you, solemnly, that I am innocent of this charge.
If you have spoken against me to-day because you
thought you ought to do it, I can't blame you, but
if you have done it from any wrong motive, I hope
you 'll confess it before evil is added to evil."
But Digby merely shrugged his shoulders, and
turning to the Doctor, said : Have you anything
more you wish to ask me, sir?"
Dr. Brier was fairly nonplussed. The fog grew
denser all around him. Addressing a few words of
caution to those who had been summoned to this the
strangest meeting that was ever held in Blackrock
School, he dismissed the boys, ordering Howard
and Digby to be kept in separate rooms until he
should arrive at some judgment in the case.

CHAPTER IV.
THE VERDICT.
IT was all very well for the Doctor to decide to
keep the boys in two separate rooms until he should
form some judgment on the case, but toward the
close of the day, after the most searching inquiries
had been instituted, he was no nearer to a final
decision than when he started, and he feared they
might have to remain where they were until
Doomsday, unless he could find out something
positive about the matter.
Howard and Digby were missed from their
accustomed places in the school, and by the mid-
day play-time the secret had oozed out, and great
discussions were being held as to the merits of the
case. There was not a boy in the school who in
his heart believed that Howard was really guilty,
although the evidence seemed clearly against him.
There was not, on the other hand, one who felt
justified in thinking that Digby had willfully ac-
cused his friend falsely, and yet there was an
uncomfortable suspicion that it might be so.
All the next day inquiries went on, and nothing
of importance was the result. The Doctor had
seen the prisoners, and talked to each sepa-
rately; he had taken counsel from those of the
boys upon whose judgment he could rely, and
in the evening all those who had constituted the
preliminary meeting were again called together.
The first count in the indictment, namely, that
Howard had attempted to pocket the miniature,
was discussed and dismissed as a misconstruction








DRIFTED INTO PORT. [MARCH,


of motive. The second charge as to his being
about in his room during the night was not so easily
got rid of. Howard pleaded that he had gone to
sleep as usual, and slept soundly, but that he was
aroused by hearing, as he thought, some one in
his room. He went to sleep again, and was aroused
a second time by the stumbling of some one over a
box, as it seemed to him, which was followed by
the sudden closing of a door. He got up, went into
Digby's room, listened by his bedside, and found
he was breathing hard, and then, noticing that his
window was not fast, he opened it and looked out.
The nightingales were singing, and he sat up for a
long time listening to them. Then, as he grew
chilly, he closed the window and turned into bed
again, and slept till Digby called him. Beyond
this he knew nothing.
The Doctor summed up. There was guilt in
the heart of one boy at least, but which one there
was no evidence at present to show. That the
fact of the snuff-box being found in Howard's bed
had at first sight looked like circumstantial evidence
against him could not be denied, but as the links
in the chain had been broken in several places, he
considered that the whole had fallen to pieces, and
he confessed that he did not believe for a moment,
from the fact before him, that Howard was guilty.
From his knowledge of Digby he must fully exon-
crate him from the charge of willfully implicating
his friend in the matter, as it seemed evident that he
was justified in expressing the suspicions he enter-
tained, considering the circumstances of the case.
For the present the matter must be dismissed, but
he could not doubt that light would soon shine
through the darkness, and the true facts of the case
would yet be known. He would still urge that if
anything should transpire in the knowledge of any
one present that it was important he should know,
no selfish motive should induce him to remain
silent, while at the same time he would deprecate
suspicions of each other, and would remind them
that as the law judged those to be innocent who were
not proved to be guilty, so it must be in this case.
With this the Doctor dismissed the assembly.

So far in our story we have confined ourselves to
the characters in whom we are immediately inter-
ested, without any reference to their previous
history or family connections. But I must pause
here to take a glance into two homesteads, a few
days after the events just described.
In the breakfast-room at Ashley House Mr.
Morton had laid aside his newspaper, and was
reading a letter from Dr. Brier. It was the second
or third time he had read it, and it seemed to dis-
turb him. Mr. Morton hated to be disturbed in
any way. He was a hard man, who walked straight


through the world without hesitating or turning to
the right hand or to the left. He was a strong-
minded man-at least, everybody who got in his
way had good reason to think so. But he had a
rather weak-minded wife. Poor Mrs. Morton was
a flimsy woman, without much stamina, mental or
bodily. She stroked her cat, read her novel, lay
upon the sofa, or lolled in her carriage, and inter-
ested herself in little that was really necessary to a
true life. It was in such an atmosphere as this that
Ethel Morton lived and Digby had been reared.
Their mother had died when Ethel was a very
little baby, and when the new Mrs. Morton came
home the children were old enough to feel that
they could not hope to find in her what they had
lost in their true mamma.
Ethel was a bright, pleasant girl, and, being left
very much to herself, she seemed to live in a world
of her own. As a child she peopled this world
with dolls, and each doll had an individuality, a
history, and a set of ideas attached to it, which
gave her almost a human companionship in it.
Then came the world of fairies and gnomes and
elves, amongst whom she held sway as queen, and
many a plant and shrub in the garden, and glade
in the woodlands, was a part of her fairy-land.
And, now that she was nearly seventeen, a new
world was dawning upon her; human wants and
human sympathies were demanding her thought
and care, and every day brought her into contact
with those in the villages round about, whose
histories were educating her heart into the true
ideal of womanhood.
As Mr. Morton finished reading the letter he
passed it to his wife, merely remarking:
You will see Digby has mixed himself up with
some disagreeable piece of business in the school.
It is time he came home. I shall see Mr. Vickers
about him to-day, and write for him to return as
soon as this affair has blown over, instead of in
September, in order that he may commence his
studies in the law at once."
Leaving Mrs. Morton to mourn that her anxieties
and responsibilities were to be increased by Digby's
return, and Ethel to rejoice in the fact that her
brother was coming home to be again her com-
panion, let us now take a glance into a home in
the suburbs of London.
It is a humbler home than that we have just
visited, and a happier one. The breakfast-room is
elegantly furnished, but it is small; the garden is
well stocked with flowers, but the whole extent of
it is not greater than the lawn at Ashley House.
There are three people round the breakfast-table.
Mrs. Pemberton, a handsome woman, dressed in
the neatest of black and lavender dresses, and
wearing a picturesque widow's-cap. Nellie, her


DRIFTED INTO PORT.


[MARCH,






THE NEWS-CARRIER.


daughter, a girl about nine or ten years old, and
Captain Arkwright, a retired naval officer, the
brother of Mrs. Pemberton.
There is anxiety on each face, and traces of
recent tears mark that of Mrs. Pemberton, as she
nervously turns over and over in her hand a long
letter from Dr. Brier, and a still longer and more
closely written one from Howard.
It is an extraordinary and distressing affair,"
she said, "and I am at a loss to know what to do.
What would you advise, Charles?"
"I should advise Dr. Brier to choose a lunatic
asylum to go to. What a wooden-headed old
fellow he must be, to have got the affair into such


a mess. Do? I should do nothing. You cer-
tainly don't suppose Howard is really concerned in
the affair. Not he; that sort of thing is n't in
his line. It '1 all come right enough by and by,
so, don't fidget yourself, my dear," he continued.
"There 's some vile plot laid against Howard, but
if he does n't come clean out of it with flying
colors, call me a simpleton."
That day was spent in letter-writing, and the
same post that brought to Digby the intelligence
that he was to leave school that term, and com-
mence work with Mr. Vickers, conveyed to Howard
the loving sympathy of true hearts, which clung to
him through evil report and good report.


(To be continued.)







THE NEWS-CARRIER.

BY CATHARINE S. BOYD.




-- /






OH NO I F 'S






"OH NO! I'i' 1S NOT I !"


"How do you know ? "Who told you so?"
These words you often hear;
And then it often happens, too,
This answer meets your ear:
"A little bird has told the tale,
And far it spreads o'er hill and dale."

Now let us see if this can be.
How can the birds find out so well,
And give the news to all?
Or, if they know, why need they tell?
And which among the feathered tribe
Must we to keep our secrets bribe?


The busy crow? As all well know,
He sometimes breaks the laws;
We shall regret it, when he does,
For he will give us cause.
Though slyest of the feathered tribe,
The crow would scorn to need a bribe;-

Not robin red; he holds his head
With such an honest air,
And whistles bravely at his work,
But has no time to spare.
" I mind my own concerns," says he;
" They're most important, all may see; "


1878.1






LIVING SILVER.


Nor birdie blue, so leal and true;
He never heeds the weather,
But in the latest winter-days
His fellows flock together;
And then, indeed, glad news they bring
Of early buds and blossoming.

Might not each one beneath the sun
Of all the race reply,
If questioned who should wear the cap,
"Oh no it is not I ? "
For there are none who, every day,
Are busier at work than they.

They chatter too, as others do;
But what it is about,
The wisest sage in all the earth


Might puzzle to make out.
But I 'm as sure as I can be,
They never talk of you or me.

We hear They say,"-oh, every day i
Are they the birds, I wonder,
That have such power with words to part
The dearest friends asunder?
Or must we search the wide world through
To bring the culprits full in view?

The birds, we see, though wild and free,
Have something else to do;
And, reader, don't you think the same
Might well be said of you?
It really seems to be a shame
That they should always bear the blame.


LIVING SILVER.

BY MARY H. SEYMOUR.


THE ground was covered with snow, and now it
had begun raining. There was no prospect of a
change in the weather, which made Fred's face
rather gloomy as he looked out of the window.
Harry was turning over the leaves of a story-book.
You could see they were both disappointed that
the morning was stormy; for when they came to
grandpapa's in the winter, they expected bright
days and plenty of fun.
What shall we do ?" said Fred.
Let's go into the garret exclaimed Harry.
This plan evidently suited both of them, for they
made a rush toward the door ; and the dog, awaken-
ing from his nap, entered into the idea, too.
At this moment, Aunt Carrie came into the room.
They wished it had been grandmamma, for she
never laid the least restriction on their sports, but
smiled on every request and allowed them to do
exactly as they pleased.
Now, boys," said Aunt Carrie, where are you
going ? "
Only into the garret, auntie."
Be sure to leave things exactly as you find
them," she replied, with a laugh and a little groan.
We always do, Aunt Carrie."
Away they went, with Gyp at their heels, and
every footstep resounded through the old house
until they reached the upper floor.


It is no wonder that garret is never in order,"
said Aunt Carrie; but the children must enjoy
themselves."
"Of course, they must, Carrie," replied grandma
from the depths of her heart.
First, the boys pulled out a box of old books and
papers, and busied themselves reading the queer
names and advertisements of old times. Soon they
turned from these to a shelf of chemical instru-
ments. Most of them were in perfect order, and
they knew they must keep their hands off, for the
bulbs and tubes of glass were too delicate to be
touched by unskilled fingers.
Here is an old broken forrometer," exclaimed
Harry. Let's ask grandpa if we can have it."
"You mean thermometer, don't you ? said Fred.
"What can we do with that ? "
Don't you see ? There is a great deal of quick-
silver in this glass ball, and we can play with it.
I'll show you how." And away they went cown-
stairs to find their grandfather.
Grandpa, can we have this ?"
Mr. Lenox looked up from his newspaper.
"Let me see it a moment. What do you wish
to do with it ? "
We will break it and take out the quicksilver,
and then I will show you. Let me ask Ellen for a
dish to catch the drops."


[MARCH,






LIVING SILVER.


"Not quite so fast; wait a moment, Harry,"
replied Mr. Lenox. I wish you to notice some-
thing about it first. The top of the tube is slightly
broken, which makes it of no exact use, for to
measure heat or cold the quicksilver must be en-
tirely protected from the air. If you had noticed
it when you first came in, you would see that the
warmth of the room has caused it to rise in the
tube. This is shown by the marks on the plate to
which it is fastened. Now, if you hold it close to
the stove, the quicksilver will rise still higher. Let
it stand outside the window a moment, and it will
sink."
By this time the boys were much interested.
But what makes it do so, grandpa?" they
asked.
Quicksilver is very sensitive to heat and cold.
If the weather is warm, or if the room it is in is
warm, it expands-swells out-and so rises in the
glass tube, as you have seen. The least coolness
in the air will cause it to contract, or draw itself
into a smaller space ; then, of course, it sinks in
the tube.
The barometer is another instrument in which
quicksilver is used. It is intended to measure the
weight of the air, therefore the quicksilver in it
must be exposed to the pressure of the air.
Common barometers have it inclosed in a small
leather bag at the back of the instrument. This
we do not see, but only the tube which is connected
with it. When the weather is pleasant, the air,
contrary to the general idea, being heavier, presses
against this little bag and the quicksilver rises in
the tube. When the atmosphere is damp, the
pressure being less, the metal sinks."
Grandpa," said Harry, when you think of it,
is n't quicksilver a funny word ? "
"Yes; it was so named by people who lived
many hundreds of years ago. They called it living
silver also. It is the only metal found in a liquid
state ; and so many strange changes did it pass
through under their experiments, that it seemed to
them really a living thing. If they tried to pick it
up, it would slip out of their fingers. When thor-
oughly shaken, it became a fine powder. They
boasted that it had the faculty of swallowing any
other metal, while powerful heat caused it to dis-
appear entirely. It is now known among metals as
mercury. Can you tell me, Fred, some of the
metals ?"
"Oh yes, sir There are gold, silver, iron, lead
and copper."
"That is right. But, you know, all these are
hard ; some of them can be chipped with a knife,
but they cannot be dipped up in pails, unless they
have first been melted. Yet mercury can be frozen
so hard that it may be hammered out like lead,


and sometimes it takes the form of square crystals.
Yet it can be made to boil, and then sends off a
colorless vapor."
Grandpa," said Fred, who had scarcely listened
to the last words, if mercury can be dipped up in
pails, it must be very easy to get it. I read some-
where that gold and silver are so mixed in with the
rock that it takes a great deal of time and money
to separate them."
"That is true; but mercury is not always ob-
tained easily. It forms part of a soft, red rock
called cinnabar, composed of mercury and sulphur.
The cinnabar is crushed and exposed to heat, when
the metal, in the form of vapor, passes into a vessel
suited to the purpose, where it is cooled. Then,
being reduced to its liquid state, it is pure and fit
for use. When men working in the mines heat
the rocks, the quicksilver will sometimes roll out in
drops as large as a pigeon's egg, and fall on the
ground in millions of sparkling globules. Think
how very beautiful it must be, the dark red rock
glittering on every side with the living silver, while
every crack and crevice is filled with it !
Visitors to the mines of Idria are shown an
experiment that I think would interest you boys.
In large iron kettles filled with mercury are placed
huge stones, and these stones do not sink."
"Why, grandpa how can that be? "
"Did you ever see wood floating on water?"
Yes, sir, but that is different."
But the principle is the same; can you tell me
why ?"
Both the boys looked puzzled.
It is only because the wood does not weigh so
much as water; neither are the stones as heavy as
mercury, therefore they cannot sink."
I wish we could go into the mines. Can't you
take us, sometime, grandpa?" said Harry.
That is asking rather too much, my child, for
quicksilver is not a common metal. There are
in the world only four important localities from
which it is obtained. These are California, Peru,
Austria, and Almaden in Spain. The mines
nearest us are in California. I think I shall never
go as far as that, but I hope you both may before
you reach my age.
"It is a curious story how the mines in Peru
were discovered. Cinnabar, when ground very
fine, will make a beautiful red paint. The Indians
used this to ornament their bodies on grand occa-
sions. This caused the country where they lived
to be examined, and the cinnabar was found. The
Romans used this paint hundreds of years ago in
decorating their images and in painting pictures.
It is very highly valued now, and we call it ver-
milion."
"Fred," continued Mr. Lenox, "you spoke of the







THE WOODS IN WINTER.


difficulty of separating gold and silver from the
rock in which they are found. Did you know that
our wonderful mercury renders valuable aid in
this? The rock that contains the precious metal
is crushed fine, sifted and washed until as much as
possible of the gold or silver is removed; then it
is placed in a vessel with the quicksilver, which
seems immediately to absorb it, thus separating it
entirely from every particle of sand or rock. If the
metal to be cleansed is gold, you will see a pasty
mass or amalgam, as it is called, of a yellowish
tinge. This is heated, and the mercury flies away,
leaving behind it the pure gold."
How did people learn to do this?" asked Fred.
They did not learn it all at once. It was only
by years of patient effort and frequent failure that
they finally succeeded.
"You know there are many gold and silver
mines in California," continued grandpa. "Near
some of them large mines of quicksilver have been
discovered. You can imagine that this caused
great rejoicing, for all the quicksilver previously
used was sent in ships to this part of the world,
which, of course, made it scarce and very expen-
sive. Now, we can send away quantities to other
countries after supplying our own wants.
"Notwithstanding that this strange metal renders
such service to mankind-for I could tell you of
many other useful things it does-it is a deadly
poison. Its vapor is so dangerous that persons
searching for it often die from breathing the air
where it is found. About seventy years ago, the
mines in Austria took fire, and thirteen hundred
workmen were poisoned, and many of them died.
The water that was used to quench the fire being
pumped into the river Idria, all the fish died


excepting the eels. Since that time, spiders and
rats have deserted the mines.
Mercury is carried in sheepskin bags and cast-
iron bottles. It is so heavy that an ordinary cork
would soon be forced out by it, therefore an iron
stopper must be screwed in.
Once, some bags of mercury were stored in the
hold of a foreign vessel; unfortunately, a few of
the bags were rotten and leaked. Every person on
board was poisoned, and every piece of metal
connected with the vessel received a silvery coating
of mercury."
"It is dreadful! Fred, don't let us touch it,"
said Harry.
"Don't be frightened yet, Harry. Did you
know that mercury is used as a medicine? It is
given in very small doses."
"I am sure I shall never take it," exclaimed
Fred.
"Perhaps you may have done so already," re-
plied their grandfather, laughing. Did you ever
hear of blue-pill and calomel? They both are
preparations of mercury."
Just then the sun shone into the room so brightly
that every one turned to the windows. Such a
sparkle The evergreens were covered with shin-
ing ice-drops, and the tall trees pointed their glis-
tening branches toward the few clouds that were
hurrying over the blue sky.
"I am not sorry it rained, after all," said Fred.
"I have enjoyed the morning so much that I for-
got the play we were going to have."
Two happy, tired boys went to sleep that night,
and the next morning they started for home.
They both agreed in thinking they had never
enjoyed a more delightful visit at grandpapa's.


THE WOODS IN WINTER.


THERE is scarcely any place so lonely as the
depths of the woods in winter. Everything is
quiet, cold and solemn. Occasionally a rabbit
may go jumping over the snow, and if the woods
are really wild woods, we may sometimes get a
sight of a deer. Now and then, too, some poor
person who has been picking up bits of fallen
branches for firewood may be met bending under
his load, or pulling it along on a sled. In some
parts of the country, wood-cutters and hunters are
sometimes seen, but generally there are few persons


who care to wander in the woods in winter. The
open roads for sleighing, and the firm ice for
skating, offer many more inducements to pleasure-
seekers.
But young people who do not mind trudging
through snow, and walking where they must make
their own path-way, may find among the great
black trunks of the forest trees, and under the naked
branches stretching out overhead, many phases of
nature that will be both new and interesting-espe-
cially to those whose lives have been spent in cities.


MARCHC,






THE WOODS IN WINTER.


-4 8 1







.4. ;


THI WOODS IN NWINIER.


VOL. V.-24.


=:~;~~







CRUMBS FROM OLDER READING.




CRUMBS FROM OLDER READING.
II.

By JULIA E. SARGENT.


IRVING.
WASHINGTON IRVING has so many things for us,
and we have heard so much that is pleasant of him,
that a good time with him may be expected; and
you would not read far in Irving's books before
learning that no one believed in good times more
than he. The name of his home on the Hudson
would tell you that. Sunnyside is not the name
a gloomy man would choose.
Perhaps you will like best to hear that many of
you often stand where Irving stood, and walk the
streets he knew so well, for New York City was
Irving's birthplace, and there many of the seventy-
six years of his life were spent. One of his books
is a funny description of his native town in the
days of its old Dutch governors. He does not call
it Irving's, but Knickerbocker's History of New
York." And as only Irving knew anything of
Diedrich Knickerbocker outside this book, we will
let him tell you that "the old gentleman died
shortly after the publication of his work." Of
course, Irving can say what he chooses about
Knickerbocker's book, so he gives it as his opinion
that, To tell the truth, it is not a whit better than
it should be." But Sir Walter Scott, in a letter to
a friend, says of these funny papers of Irving's: I
have been employed these.few evenings in reading
them aloud to Mrs. S. and two ladies who are our
guests, and our sides have been absolutely sore with
laughing." All Irving's histories are not make-
believe," and some day you will read Irving's
"Life of Columbus," and "Life of Washington,"
completed just before his death in 1859, without
thinking of them as histories. He wrote the Life
of Columbus in Spain. Can you tell me why that
was the best place to write it?
Would you like to know where the boy Irving
might often have been seen when he was not de-
vouring the contents of some book of travels?
"' How wistfully," he wrote, '' would I wander about
the pier-heads in fine weather, and watch the part-
ing ships, bound to distant climes !"
Not many years after, he wrote from England, I
saw the last blue line of my native land fade away
like a cloud in the horizon." He was then in Eng-
land, where he visited Westminster Abbey, Strat-
ford-on-Avon, and many other grand and famous
places. Of these, and much that is neither grand
nor famous, he has written in the Sketch-book,"
giving this reason for so naming word-paintings:



" As it is the fashion for modern tourists to travel
pencil in hand and bring home their portfolios
filled with sketches, I am disposed to get up a few
for the entertainment of my friends." Is it not as
good as a picture to hear this man, who had no
little ones of his own, tell of three fine, rosy-
cheeked boys," who chanced to be his companions
in a stage-coach ? This is what he writes :
They were returning home for the holidays in
high glee and promising themselves a world of
enjoyment. It was delightful to hear the gigantic
plans of the little rogues. They were
full of anticipations of the meeting with the family
and household, down to the very cat and dog, and
of the joy they were to give their little sisters by the
presents with which their pockets were crammed;
but the meeting to which they seemed to look
forward with the greatest impatience was with
Bantam, which I found to be a pony." When he
had heard what a remarkable animal this pony was
said to be, Irving gave his attention to other
things until he heard a shout from the little
travelers. Let him tell the rest of the story.
"They had been looking out of the coach-
windows for the last few miles, recognizing every
tree and cottage as they approached home, and
now there was a general burst of joy. 'There's
John and there's old Carlo! and there's Ban-
tam !' cried the happy little rogues, clapping their
hands. At the end of a lane there was an old,
sober-looking servant in livery waiting for them;
he was accompanied by a superannuated pointer,
and by the redoubtable Bantam, a little old rat of
a pony, with a shaggy mane and long, rusty tail,
who stood dozing quietly by the roadside, little
dreaming of the bustling times that awaited him.
Off they set at last, one on the pony, with the
dog bounding and barking before him, and the
others holding John's hands, both talking at once.
a We stopped a few moments afterward to
water the horses, and on resuming our route a
turn of the road brought us in sight of a neat
country-seat. I could just distinguish the forms of
a lady and two young girls in the portico, and I
saw my little comrades with Bantam, Carlo, and
old John trooping along the carriage-road. I
leaned out of the coach window in hopes of witness-
ing the happy meeting, but a grove of trees shut
it from my sight."
If ever love, as poets sing, delights to visit a


[MARCH,






CRUMBS FROM OLDER READING.


cottage, it must be the cottage of an English
peasant," Irving thinks, and goes on to write in
his own pleasant fashion of many pleasant things
in English country life, saying: "'Those who see the
Eftglishman only in town are apt to form an unfa-
vorable opinion of his social character. *
Wherever he happens to be, he is on the point of
going somewhere else; at the moment when he is
talking on one subject, his mind is wandering to
another; and while he is paying a friendly visit, he
is calculating how he shall economize time so as to
pay the other visits allotted in the morning."
The "Legend of Sleepy Hollow" is a genuine
ghost story. It is not very startling, but very,
very funny, when you know what scared poor
Ichabod Crane on his midnight ride that last time
he went courting Governor Wouter Van Twiller's
only daughter.
You must read for yourselves the famous story
of Rip Van Winkle and the nap he took. It is too
long for me to give in Irving's words, and Rip
Van Winkle is just such a story as no one but
Irving knows how to tell.
In another of his interesting stories in the "Sketch
Book," told, he says, by a queer old traveler to as
queer a company gathered in a great inn-kitchen,
Irving describes the busy making-ready for a
wedding. The bride's father, he says, "had in
truth nothing exactly to do."
Do you suppose he was content to do nothing
when all the world was in a hurry ? "
This is the way in which he helped: "He
worried from top to bottom of the castle with an
air of infinite anxiety; he continually called the
servants from their work to exhort them to be
diligent, and buzzed about every hall and chamber


as idly restless and importunate as a blue-bottle fly
on a warm summer's day." The book of Irving's
that some of you will like best of all is The
Alhambra." The Alhambra is the ancient and
romantic palace of the Moors. When he was in
Spain, Irving spent many dreamy days amid its
ruined splendors, whence the last of the Moors
was long since driven into exile. We have good
reason to be glad that Irving saw the Alhambra,
for this book is what came of it. We shall all
want to go where Irving went, after reading what
he says of the Alhambra by moonlight. "The
garden beneath my window is gently lighted up,
the orange and citron trees are tipped with silver,
the fountain sparkles in the moonbeams, and even
the blush of the rose is faintly visible. *
The whole edifice reminds one of the enchanted
palace of an Arabian tale."
These, you know, are only crumbs, and crumbs
which show Irving's warm heart" more, perhaps,
than his fine brain."
To learn of his literary talent and well-deserved
fame, of his rich fancy and his wonderful ability
for store: -1 !! .. you can better afford to wait than
to miss knowing how healthy, happy, and truly
lovable was this man's nature. Now, with only
one of the many sober, earnest thoughts, we must
lay aside his books.
If thou art a child, and hast ever added a
sorrow to the soul, or a furrow to the silvered brow
of an affectionate parent; if thou art a friend and
hast ever wronged in thought, or word, or deed,
the spirit that generously confided in thee, then be
sure that every unkind look, every ungracious
word, every ungentle action, will come thronging
back upon thy memory."


7, -.-

-'C.;






[MARCH,


THE BOY IN THE BOX.




THE BOY IN THE BOX.

BY HELEN C. BARNARD.


You have n't any more ambition than a snail,
Joe Somerby !" said energetic Mrs. Somerby to
her husband, is, with sleeves rolled to the elbow,
she scoured the kitchen paint.
Joe, who was smoking behind the stove, slowly
removed his pipe to reply :
Wal, if I haint, I haint; and that's the end
on 't !"
What would become of us if I was easy, too ? "
continued his spicy partner. Why can't you
have a little grit?"
Joe puffed away silently.
"Now, you pretend to carry on the rag business,
you spend all your money a-buying and a-storing
of 'em away; the back room's full, the attic's full,
the barn's full,-I can't stir hand or foot for them
rags Why on earth don't you sell 'em? "
"Waiting for 'em to rise, marm "
"Always a-waiting! retorted Mrs. Somerby,
thrusting her scrubbing-brush and pail into a closet,
and slamming the door upon her finger. "Before
you get through, the chance goes by. Joe," in a
coaxing tone, I 've had a presentiment."
Joe evinced no interest, but removed his pipe to
say:
Now, wife, don't get uneasy. Let's be com-
fortable."
"Yes, I feel a presentiment about those rags;"
the little woman whisked into a chair beside her
lord. They say the paper manufacturers are
giving a big price now, husband. Why can't you
take a load to the city to-day ? I 've been thinking
of it all the morning."
"I '11 do my own thinking, marm," said Joe,
with dignity. He rose, however, and laid his pipe
away.
Mrs. Somerby said no more, sure that she had
roused him from his torpid condition. She wound
Joe up to the starting-point, just as she did her
kitchen-clock, and he kept upon his course as
steadily as that ancient time-piece. She was just
the wife for ease-loving Joe, whom her brisk ways
never wounded, for he knew her heart was full of
tenderness for him.
An hour later Joe drove into the yard. Mrs.
Somerby flew out with a lump of sugar for a jaded-
looking horse, bought by Joe to speculate upon,
and who ate everything he could get, including his
bedding, and never grew fat.
I'll make a trotter of him in a month, and sell
him to some of the grandees !" Joe said, but his


system failed or the material was poor,-old Jack
slouched along as if each step was likely to be his
last. But despite this, Jack had become very dear
to the childless couple, and they were as blind as
dating parents to his defects.
Bless his heart cried Mrs. Somerby, as Jack
whinnied at her approach, and thrust his ugly nose
into her hand.
Mr. Somerby felt of Jack's ribs with a profes-
sional air, and said:
I'm trying a new system with this 'ere beast;
I think he 's picking up a grain."
"He 'll pick up the grain, no doubt," playfully
retorted his wife. "Now then, I '11 help you off.
Those paper men '11 have all they want if you 're
not on hand. I 'm glad I put you up to sorting the
stuff last week."
You '11 put me up' till I 'm clean gone," said
Joe, winking to himself, as he followed his lively
wife. "Let them bags alone, marm. You can be
putting me up a big lunch."
"It 's all ready, under the wagon-seat. By
good rights, Joe, you 'd ought to have' a boy to
help you."
"It is n't a woman's work, I know," said he,
kindly. You just sit here and look on."
Joe swung her up on a bale as if she had been a
child. Inspired by her bright eyes he worked with
a will. The wagon was soon loaded. Mrs. Joe ran
for his overcoat and best hat, gave him a wifely
kiss, and watched him depart from the low brown
door-way.
She 's the best bargain I ever made," thought
Joe, as he jogged toward the city. I 'm not quite
up to her time, I know," continued he, and there
was a tender look in his sleepy eyes. Howsome-
dever, I '11 make a lucky hit yet "
The prospect was so cheering that Joe actually
snapped 'the whip at the trotter who was medi-
tating with his head between his knees. Jack, how-
ever, did not increase his gait, but plodded on. It
was bitter cold, and Joe had to exercise himself to
keep warm. It was afternoon when the laden cart
entered the city. Hungry Jack had stopped twice,
and gazed around at his master in dumb reproach.
Joe was hungry, too; so he hurried into a square,
in the business part of the city, covered his pet
with an old quilt, and giving him his food, went to
dispose of his cargo. But Joe's purchasers had
gone to dinner, so he returned, mounted the cart,
and began upon his own lunch.






THE BOY IN THE BOX.


Now, if they don't want my stuff, my wife's
'presentiment' 's gone up," said the elegant Joe,
"and I've had this cold trip for nothing."
Just here a remarkable event occurred. Jack
suddenly threw up his meditative head, shied, and
stood upon his hind-legs.


It's the hermit ails him cried one, pointing
toward a huge box from one side of which some-
body's head and shoulders protruded.
Quit scaring my horse cried Joe.
The face was startlingly pale, and the eyes had
a troubled, eager look-the look of anxious care;


II''' ;II I I
I'I' -


'S'

.i4N"


4B


91ill !U! .ij
Itill



it ~


ts.5


"THE BOY WAS ON HIS KNEES."


Hey there cried his master, delighted at this
token of life. Yer a trotter, after all ? "
Yer old nag scart, mister?" asked several
small boys, who hovered about.
"He's a leetle lively!" said Joe, proudly.
" Keep clear of his heels, boys."
Jack subsided, but eyed a pile of boxes in a court
on the left.
"What ails ye, Jack ?"


but Joe knew their owner was a boy, although
he quickly disappeared in the box. Mr. Somerby
resumed his lunch, but kept the reins in case Jack
should be startled when the boy came out. But
he did not appear; there was no sign of life in the
box. Joe thought he was either up to some more
mischief or afraid; the latter seemed most likely,
as he recalled the white, still face.
Joe got down from his cart and quietly peeped







THE BOY IN THE BOX.


in. He was somewhat astonished at first, for the
boy was on his knees. The sight stirred his sym-
pathies strangely. The pallid lips were moving;
soon, low words came forth :
I don't know how to speak to you, dear Lord;
but please help me. Mother prayed to you, and
you helped her. Oh help me, I pray, for Jesus'
sake. Amen."
The listener drew back to brush the tears from
his eyes.
''Minds me o' Parson Willoughby's sermon-
'Help, Lord, or I perish !' I wish my wife was
here. I declare I do. The little chap must be in
trouble !"
Joe peeped in again. The boy did not see him
as he was partly turned from the opening. He
threaded a rusty needle, and proceeded to patch
his coat. Joe could see the anxious puckers in his
face as he bent over the task.
"I do wish she was here Joe cried, aloud.
The boy turned quickly.
"Why don't you go home, lad? You'll freeze
to death here."
"This is my home."
Sho Do you mean to say you live here ? "
"Yes." The lad hesitated, then asked, "Are
you from the country, sir?"
SWal, yes, I be. Though folks don't generally
mistrust it when I'm slicked up. But I don't stand
no quizzing."
The boy appeared surprised at this sudden
outburst, and said, with a frank, manly air that
appeased Joe :
"I thought if you lived a long way off I
would n't mind answering your questions. I'm
English, and my name's John Harper. I don't
mix with the street boys, so they call me the her-
mit! "
Don't you mix' with your own folks, nei-
ther "
They were lost at sea in our passage to this
country," was the low reply. Sometimes I wish
I 'd died with them, and not been saved for such a
miserable life. Can't get work, though I've tried
hard enough, and I'd rather starve than beg. I
can't beg!" he cried, despairingly. I'm ordered
off for a vagrant if I warm myself in the depots,
and I don't suppose the city o' Boston 'll let me
stay here long."
"Don't get down at the mouth-don't!" said
honest Joe, in a choking voice, as the extent of
this misery dawned upon him.
There, you know all," said the boy, bitterly.
I scared your horse, or I would n't tell so much.
Besides, you look kinder than the men I meet.
Perhaps they're not so hard on such as me where
you live?"


But Joe had gone, his face twitching with sup-
pressed emotion.
"I'll take the hunger out o' them eyes, any-
how !" He grasped the six-quart lunch pail, and,
hastening back, cried, as he brandished it about
the lad's head, Just you help a feller eat that, old
chap. My wife 'ud rave at me if I brought any of
it home. Help ye'self! "
Hunger got the better of John Harper's pride.
He ate gladly. There was n't a crumb left when
he returned the pail. The light of hope began to
dawn in his sad eyes,-who could be brave while
famishing !
Meantime, Joe had been puzzling his wits and
wishing his wife was there to devise some plan for
the wayfarer.
I wonder if you 'd mind my horse a spell, while
I go about my business?"
So the pale hermit crept out of his box, and
mounted the wagon, well protected by an extra
coat that comfort-loving Joe always carried.
"He'll think he's earned it, if I give him
money," was Joe's kind thought. He 's proud,
and don't want no favors. I '41 give the lad a lift,
and then "
After the lift," what was before the homeless
boy? Somehow he had crept into Joe's sym-
pathies wonderfully. He could n't bear to look
forward to the hour when Jack and he must leave
him to'his fate. A chance word from the paper
manufacturer put a new idea into Joe's brain. He
bought all the cargo at a good price, and engaged
the stock at home.
"I'll bring it in soon," said Joe, putting his
purse in a safe place. "I don't keep no help to
sort my stuff, or I 'd be on hand to-morrow."
Ah," said the bland dealer, little thinking what
a train of events he was starting. "You are doing
a good business; why don't you keep a boy? I
know one who is faithful and needy "
"Yes, yes, he's in my cart, done up in my
coat!" cried Joe, suddenly. He beamed upon the
bewildered dealer, and rushed for the door, almost
crazy with the new idea.
My wife said I 'd ought to have a boy, too," he
thought, almost running toward the spot where he
had left the cart, Jack, and the solitary figure in
the great coat. Joe grasped the boy. "I 've got
a plan for you, John Harper. I want a boy to help
me; the dealer says so, my wife.says so, and I say
so. You must go home with me to-night. We'll
carry this load to the store-house; then pitch in
your baggage and start for a better place than this,
my lad !"
It was, indeed, a better place" for the boy in
the box,"-a place where he found rest and food and
shelter. After a little, he so grew into the hearts


[MARCH,






TIE COCK AND THE SUN.


359


of the childless couple that they called him their merchant, and a text for old Joe to enlarge upon
own. John went to school winters, and helped when his wife gets too spicy.
Mr. Somerby summers, and got ahead so fast in You wan't nowhere around when I found our
his happy surroundings that ambitious Mrs. Som- John," he often says; and he's the best bargain I
erby had him educated. He is now a prosperous ever made, next to you!"








THE COCK AND THE SUN.


BY J. P. B.


A COCK sees the sun as he climbs up the east;
Good-morning, Sir Sun, it's high time you appear;
I've been calling you up for an hour at least;
I 'm ashamed of your slowness at this time of year "

The sun, as he quietly rose into view,
Looked down on the cock with a show of fine scorn;
" You may not be aware, my young friend, but it's true,
That I rose once or twice before you, sir, were born "







THE LONDON CHICK-WEED MAN.


"CUN-SEL, GRUN-SEL, GRUN-SEL'!


[MARCH,






JOHNNY.


THE LONDON CHICK-WEED MAN.

BY ALEXANDER WAINWRIGHT.


BIRDS and flowers do much to enliven the dusky
house-windows of the London streets, and both are
attended to with great care. The birds are treated
to some luxuries which our American pets scarcely
know of at all, in their domestic state, and among
these are two small plants called chick-weed and
groundsel, which grow abundantly along the
hedges and in the fields on the outskirts of the
smoky city. Both chick-weed and groundsel are
insignificant little things, but the epicurean lark,
canary, or goldfinch finds in it a most agreeable
and beneficial article of diet, quite as much superior
to other green stuff as-in the minds of some boys
and girls-ice-cream and sponge-cake are superior
to roast-beef and potatoes.
On Sunday afternoons and holidays, the lanes
where the groundsel and chick-weed grow are
frequented by the citizens of the laboring class,
who, although the city is quite near and its smoke
blackens the leaves, call this the country and enjoy
it as such. It is a pretty sight to see them, when
they are well behaved; and should one notice the
boys and girls, many of them would be found hunt-
ing under the hawthorn hedge-rows for chick-weed
and groundsel to be taken home for the pet birds.
But all the birds of London do not depend on
the industry of their owners for these luxuries.
Some men make a trade of gathering and selling
the plants, and the picture which is opposite this
page will give the reader a good idea of how they


look. Their business has one decided advantage.
It needs no capital or tools, and a strong pair
of legs and a knife are all that its followers really
want. Perhaps it is on this account that the
groundsel and chick-weed sellers are all very poor,
and the raggedness of some is pitiable in the ex-
treme, as the picture shows. Their shoes are
shockingly dilapidated, owing to their long daily
marches into the country, and the rest of their
clothes are nearly as bad.
The one that we have illustrated is a fair example,
but despite his poverty-stricken appearance, his
torn, loose sleeves and useless boots, he is not at
all repulsive. His face tells of want and toil; he
has slung a shabby old basket over his shoulders,
in which he carries his load, and, with a bunch in
his hand, he saunters along the street, proclaim-
ing his trade, Grun-sel, grun-sel, grun-sel "
Besides the groundsel and the chick-weed, he has
small pieces of turf for sale, of which larks are very
fond.
The birds in their cages at the open windows
chirp and put their pretty little heads aside when
they hear him coming; they know perfectly well
who he is and what he brings, and their twitter
shapes itself into a greeting. The old raven perched
on the edge of the basket feels like a superior being,
and wonders why other birds make such a fuss over
a little green stuff, but that is only because he has
coarser tastes.


JOHNNY.

BY SARGENT FLINT.


JOHNNY was in disgrace. Drandma had set
him down uncomfortably hard in his little wooden
chair by the fire-place, and told him not to move
one inch right or left till she came back; she also
told him to think over how naughty he had been
all day; but some way it seemed easier just then
to think of his grandma's short-comings.
He looked through his tears at the candle in the
tall silver candlestick, and by half shutting his eyes
he could make three candles, and by blinking a


little he could see pretty colors; but amusement
tends to dry tears, and Johnny wanted to cry.
He caught the old cat and' watched his tears
slide off her smooth fur, but when he held her
head on one side and let a large round tear run into
her ear, she left him in indignation. Then he
looked out of the window. The snow was falling
fast, as it had been all day.
"cDrandma!" he called, but the old lady was
busy in the next room, and could not, or would






JOHNNY.


not hear him, so he walked to the door and said:
"Drandma, may I sweep a path for drandpa?"
This time "drandma" did hear and see him
too. He was brought back and reseated, with
marks of flour here and there on his little checked
apron.
We must not blame grandma too much; it was
a very long time since she was a child, and Johnny,
to use her own words, had almost worn her soul
out of her."
When Johnny's mother died, his home was in
New York, and while Johnny sat in his little chair
by the fire-place, he was. thinking of New York,
wondering if he ever should see it again,-the great
stores with their bright windows,-and, above all,
hear the never-ending bustle and hum that would
drown the noise of twenty great clocks like grand-
pa's. Then he thought how he had been deluded
in coming to Plowfield; stories of bright green
fields, butterflies, hay-carts piled high with hay,
and 'way up on the top a little boy named Johnny.
A horse would be there, a cow (wrongly sup-
posed by city people to mean always a plentiful
supply of milk), and a blue checked apron; but no
one mentioned the apron, and no one said that
winter came in Plowfield; not that they meant to
deceive Johnny-they could n't remember every-
thing, but it came all the same, and the bright green
fields were brown and bare; then Johnny did n't
like them at all, and when the snow came, grandma
said if he went out he 'd have the croup.
The butterflies forgot Johnny.
He did have one ride on the hay, but grandpa
did n't have much hay.
The horse was not such a great comfort after all;
he never drove except taking hold of what reins
grandpa did n't use, and the cow-yes, Johnny did
like the cow-she was a very good cow, but, if
Johnny could have expressed himself, he would
have said that she was a little monotonous.
Johnny couldn't remember his mother, which
was fortunate then, or he would have cried for her.
He saw his father only once a month; he was
making money very fast in the dingy little office
away down town in New York, and spending it
almost as fast in a house away up town for Johnny's
new mamma, and, with Plowfield so far away, it was
no wonder Johnny's father was always on the move.
He ought to have been there that very day; the
heavy snow perhaps had prevented; that was one
reason why Johnny had been so naughty.
He sat quite still after he was brought back.
He was too indignant to cry; he felt as if there
was no such thing as justice or generosity in grand-
mothers.
After a while he felt that he had-thought of some-
thing that would do justice to his feelings.


"Drandma," he cried, I wish I'd smashed the
bowl to-day when I spilt the cream!"
Grandma did n't say anything for fear Johnny
would know she was laughing.
He grew more and more indignant; lie never in
his life had felt so naughty. He thought of all the
rebellious things he had ever heard of, and making
a few choice selections, mentioned them to his
grandmother, and she, laughing, stored them away,
to tell grandpa, consoling herself with the idea that
if he was bad he was n't stupid.
Suddenly, among other brilliant ideas, came the
thought that sometimes boys ran away; Mike's
boy Jerry ran away (Mike was the man who worked
for grandpa), and he didn't have-any money, and
Johnny had fifteen cents; besides, when he got on
the cars he could tell the conductor to charge it
'to his father; of course, he knew his father; he
came from New York every month.
He listened till he heard grandma go to the shed
for wood, and before she came back her small
grandson was some distance from the house in the
deep snow, putting on his coat and tying his com-
forter over his ears.
As he looked back and saw the shadow of grand-
ma as she put down the wood, he said: "I guess
I'll make her cry pretty soon."
After the wood, grandma seemed to find quite
a number of things either to take up or put
down, so for a little while Johnny was forgotten.
Did you ever notice that grandmothers, and
mothers too, are always begging for a little quiet,
yet, if they ever get a bit, nothing seems to make
them more uneasy?
Grandma thought Johnny was unusually still-
he never was still except when asleep, so grandma
naturally supposed him asleep.
"Poor little fellow! he has left his chair," she
thought, "and is asleep on the lounge." So she
was not alarmed when she saw the little empty
chair, but when no Johnny appeared on the lounge
or anywhere in the room, she felt worried.
Johnny !" she called all through the house and
wood-shed. Then she missed the little coat, cap,
and comforter.
"If he has gone to meet his grandpa, he '11
freeze to death. Oh, why did n't I amuse him till
his grandpa came," she thought. She opened the
door and tried to call, but a cloud of snow beat her
back. Wrapping herself comfortably, she started
down the white road she thought Johnny had taken.
She called and called his name, and in her
excitement expected every moment to find him
frozen. She promised the wind and snow that, if
they would only spare her Johnny, her dead
daughter's baby, that in place of his impatient old
grandma there should be one as patient as Job!


[MARCH,






1878.]


JOHNNY.


She had nearly reached the depot. She heard
the evening train, she saw the glare of the great
lamp on the engine though the glass that covered
it was half hidden by the blinding snow. She
heard a sleigh coming toward her, and said to
herself, No matter who it is, I will stop him, and
he shall help me." The bells came nearer and
nearer, and the sleigh stopped. "Where are
you going, my good woman ? It is a rough night,
is n't it, for a woman to be out?"
Any other time, how grandma would have
laughed !-grandpa did n't know his own wife'!
Take her in, father," said another voice. Poor
grandma It was Johnny's father who spoke.




Ir
_2 .-- -_ -.











op-
I










JOHNNY STARTS TO RUN AWAY.

Oh, Johnny's lost she cried, as she tottered
into the sleigh. He will freeze before we can find
him. "
The old lady was taken home, and grandpa and
Johnny's father started off, quite naturally in the
wrong direction, for Johnny.
,i i - [ : -::
-_










For a while, Johnny went on manfully ; ut soon
his little fingers and toes began to beg him to go
back. He refused to notice their petition, and
wished grandma could see him, as the wind whirled
him round and found and almost buried him in
the snow. He thought he had gone about ten
miles, hen e he ard bells. He turned to one side
for the sleigh to pass, when he heard a voice he
knew.
Oh, Jerry," he cried, please take me in '
Jerry stopped, and asked, Who arc ye ? "


363


"I 'm Johnny," said our small hero, quite
meekly.
"And where may ye be bound to, Johnny?"
said Jerry.
To the depot. I 'm going to New York," said
Johnny, who thought this a mild way to tell Jerry
he was running away.
This road niver took any one to the depot,
Jacky. If I had n't come this way, yer 'd been
froze stiff in the morning. "
Here Jerry rolled his eyes in a dreadful manner,
and trembled like one terribly frightened. Johnny
would have cried hard, but he remembered how
brave Jerry was when he ran away, so he winked
hard to keep back the tears, and said:
Do you think I shall 'froze' now, Jerry ? "
Jerry ti.....1-,r not, if he minded him. So he
lifted him into the sleigh, and they drove on.
Is this the depot ? asked Johnny, when they
stopped.
Ye be hard on the depot. This is my house,"
said Jerry.
As he opened the door, his mother said, I've
looked after yez since the dark, and what have ye
there ? as she saw Johnny.
Mike, Jerry's father, sat by the stove, and there
was a baby on the floor. Johnny thought he never
had seen such a funny place.
He liked the baby best, although its yellow
flannel night-dress was dirty; but it was n't quite
his idea of a baby.
What shall we do wid him, Mike ? said the
lady of the house, as she saw Johnny's head bob-
bing and his eyes closing.
I thought ye 'd kape him here till the next
train for New York," said Jerry, laughing.
Mike laid down his pipe, and began to put on
his coat.
Is it to go out again that yez will, this arful
night, Mike ? said Maggie.
Lay him out on the bed; lave him to slape
here to-night, Maggie. I '1 go and make it aisy
wid the old folks," said Mike.
He found grandma sitting before the fire-
place. Bottles of all sizes stood on the table, and
blankets hung on chairs by the fire. The old
lady's face was pale, and Mike afterward told
Maggie, The hands of her shook like a lafe, and
she had the same look on her that she had when
they told her Johnny's mother was dead. And
when I tould her the boy was safe wid yez here -
Ah, Maggie, she's a leddy said Mike, lowering
his voice.
Well, what did she say ? said Maggie.
She said I better sit down an' ate some sup-
per, to warm myself," said Mike.
Poor grandma! She declared afterward she did n't







364 A MONUMENT

know Mike was such a good-looking man, and so
kind-hearted, too. But she did n't keep him long
to praise him, but hurried him off to find grandpa.
Mike found the brilliant pair, going over and
over the same ground. You need not laugh, little
reader; that's just what your father would do, if
you were lost.
Five minutes after they had learned where Johnny
was, they were standing over him in Mike's house-
standing over him, and the baby in the yellow flan-
nel night-dress, for they were both in one bed, and
Johnny's father saw them about as clearly as Johnny
had seen the candle.
The family were thanked individually and col-
lectively, from Mike down to the baby, who, when
Johnny left, was covered with sweetmeats and toys,
brought from New York to Johnny.
The next morning, at breakfast, Johnny learned
many things, among them that it was very wrong
to run away, and he must be punished, and
grandma should decide how severely.
I will punish him myself," said grandma, by
removing all temptation to do so again."


WITH A STORY.


Johnny is too young now to appreciate his pleas-
ant sentence, but in after years, when his sins are
heavier, he will miss his gentle judge.
He was to leave Plowfield the next day for New
York; but he was to come back again with the
summer, and many were the promises he made of
good behavior.
When the time came for him to go, he clung so
to his grandma that his father said:
You need not go, Johnny, if you would rather
stay."
No," said Johnny, I want to go; but why
don't they have drandmas and fathers live in the
same house ? "
At last, he was all tucked in the sleigh, and
grandpa had started.
Stop wait said Johnny, I forgot some-
thing."
He jumped out of the sleigh, ran back to grand-
ma, clasped his arms around her neck, and whis-
pered in her ear:
I 'm sorry, drandma, 'cause I spilt the cream,
and I'm awfil glad I did n't smash the bowl."


A MONUMENT WITH A STORY.

BY FANNIE ROPER FEUDGE.


MANY times have I heard English people say,
as if they really pitied us: Your country has no
monuments yet; but then she is so young-only
two hundred years old-and, of course, cannot be
expected to have either monuments or a history."
Yet we have some monuments, and a chapter or
two of history, that the mother-country does not
too fondly or frequently remember. But I am not
going to write now of the Bunker Hill Monument,
nor of the achievement at New Orleans, nor of the
surrender of Lord Cornwallis at Yorktown. I want
to tell of another land nearer its infancy than ours,
with a history scarcely three-quarters of a century
old, but with one monument, at least, that is well
worth seeing, and that cannot be thought of without
emotions of loving admiration and reverence. The
memorial is of bronze, and tells a story of privation
and suffering, but of glorious heroism, and victory
even in death.
Everybody knows something of the great island,
Australia, the largest in the world, reckoned by
some geographers as the fifth continent. I might
almost have said its age is less than one-quarter of


a century, instead of three. It was visited by.the
great adventurer, William Dampier, about the year
1690, and again, eighty years after, by Cook, on
his first voyage around the world. It is only within
the present generation that we have come to know
it well. England's penal colony there, and Cook's
stories of the marvelous beauty and fertility of the
land, were never wholly forgotten; but almost
nothing was done in the way of exploration, espe-
cially of the interior, and the world remained
ignorant of both its extent and its resources until
i86o, in August of which year two brave-hearted
young men, by name Burke and Wills, determined
to find out all that they could of the unknown
central regions. It is in memory of these men that
Australia's first monument has been erected. Let
me tell you their story.
Burke was in the prime of life, a strong, brave
man, who delighted in daring and even dangerous
exploits. Wills, an astronomer, was younger, and
not so ardent, but prudent, wise, sagacious, and
thus well fitted to be the companion of the advent-
urous Burke. Their object was to trace a course


[MARCH,






A MONUMENT WITH A STORY


from south to north of Australia, and explore the
interior, where hitherto no European had set foot.
Fifteen hardy adventurers were induced to form
the little company; twenty-seven camels were im-
ported from India, for carrying the tents, provisions
and implements needed upon such a journey, a
fifteen-months' supply of provisions was laid in, and
large vessels were provided for holding ample stores
of water, whenever the route should lie through
arid regions.
Thus burdened with baggage and equipment,
the explorers started out. Their progress was
necessarily slow, but the greatest difficulty with
which the leaders had to contend was a spirit of
envy and discontent among their followers. This
led to an entire change in Burke's plans, and per-
haps also to the sad catastrophe which ended
them.
Instead of keeping his men together, as at first
intended, he divided the company into three squads.
Assigning the command of two of these to Lieu-
tenants Wright and Brahe, and leaving them
behind at an early stage of the journey, together
with most of the baggage and provisions, Burke
took Wills, with two others of the most resolute of
his company, and pushed boldly forward, deter-
mined to reach the northern coast if possible, but,
at any rate, not to return unless the want of water
and provisions should compel him.
A place called Cooper's Creek, about the center
of the Australian continent, was to serve as a rendez-
vous for the entire company ; one of the squads was
directed to remain at this point for three months,
and longer if practicable; another squad was told
to rest a while at Menindie, and then join the first;
while Burke, Wills, Gray and King were to prose-
cute their journey northward, do their utmost to
accomplish the main object of the expedition, and
return to Cooper's Creek. Had this plan been
faithfully executed, all might have gone well. But
hardly had Burke taken his departure when quar-
rels for pre-eminence broke out among the men
he had left behind; then sickness and death
thinned the ranks and disheartened the survivors,
and they failed to carry out the programme Burke
had laid down. Wright stayed at Mcnindic until
the last of January before setting out for the
rendezvous; while Brahe, who had charge of most
of the provisions, instead of remaining for three
months at Cooper's Creek, deserted that post long
before the time arranged, and left behind neither
water nor provisions.
In two months Burke and his companions
reached the borders of the Gulf of Carpentaria, at
the extreme north of the continent, having solved
the problem, and found a pathway to the North
Pacific. Then, worn and weary, they set out to


return. Their forward march had been exhaust-
ing, as the frequent attacks of bands of savage
natives and the many deadly serpents had made it
dangerous to halt for rest either by day or night.
The heat, too, was excessive, and sometimes fbr
days together the travelers were almost without
water, while but sparing use could be made of the
few provisions they had been able to carry. Feel-
ing sure of relief at Cooper's Creek, however, and
jubilant at their success, the four almost starving
men turned about and pressed bravely on, but they
arrived only to find the post deserted, and neither
water nor provisions left to fill their pressing need.
In utter dismay, they sat down to consider what
could be done, when one of the party happened
to see the word dig cut on the bark of a tree,
and digging below it, they found a casket contain-
ing a letter from Brahe, which showed that he had
left the post that very morning, and that our
travelers had arrived just seven l ors too late /
Imagine, if you can, how terribly tantalizing was
this news, and how hard it must have seemed to
these heroic men, after having suffered so much,
braved so many dangers, and tasted the first sweets
of success, to die of starvation just at the time
when they had hoped relief would be at hand-to
be so nearly saved, and to miss the certainty of
rescue by only a few hours Eagerly they searched
in every direction for some trace of their comrades,
and called loudly their names, but the echo of
their own voices was the only answer. As a last
effort for relief, they attempted to reach Mount
Despair, a cattle station one hundred and fifty
leagues away, but they finally gave up in complete
discouragement, when one more day's march
might have brought them to the summit and saved
their lives.
For several weeks these brave fellows fought off
their terrible fate, sometimes hoping, oftener de-
spairing, and at last, one after another, they lay
down far apart in the dreary solitude of the wilder-
ness, to die of starvation.
All this and more was learned by Captain Howitt,
who commanded an expedition of search sent out
from Melbourne, some nine months after the de-
parture of Burke and his company, not a word of
news having been received concerning them, and
many fears being felt for the safety of the little
band. On Howitt's arrival at Cooper's Creek he,
too, found the word dig," where the four despair-
ing men had seen it; and beneath the tree was
buried, not only the paper left by Brahe, but
Burke's journal, giving the details of the journey
to the coast, discoveries made, and the terrible last
scenes.
At every step of Burke's pathway new objects of
interest had elicited his surprise and admiration.






TWO WAYS.


Not only were there fertile plains and beautiful,
flower-dotted prairies, but lagoons of salt water,
hills of red sand, and vast mounds that seemed to
tell of a time when the region was thickly popu-
lated, though now it was all but untrod by man.
A range of lofty mountains, discovered by Burke
in the north, he called the Standish Mountains,
and a .lovely valley outspread at their foot he
named the Land of Promise.
But alas Great portions of Burke's journey had
to be made through rugged and barren regions,
destitute of water, and with nothing that could
serve as food for man or beast. Driven to extremi-
ties by hunger, the pioneers devoured the veno-
mous reptiles they killed, and on one occasion
Burke came near dying from the poison of a snake
he had eaten. All their horses were killed for
food, and all their camels but two. Perhaps these
also went at a later day, for toward the last the
records in the journal became short, and were
written at long intervals.
Once the party was obliged to halt with poor
Gray, and wait till he had breathed his last, when
the three mourning survivors went on in silence
without their comrade.
A letter from young Wills, addressed to his
father, is dated June 29th. The words are few,
but they are full of meaning.
My death here, within a few hours, is certain,
but my soul is calm," he wrote.
The next day he died, as was supposed by the
last record; though the precise time could not be
known, as he had gone forth alone to make one
more search for relief, and had met his solitary
fate calmly, as a hero should. Howitt, after long
search, found the remains of his friend stretched
on the sand, and nearly covered with leaves.


The closing sentence in Burke's journal is dated
one day earlier than young Wills's letter. It runs:
"We have gained the shores of the ocean, but
we have been band "
It is not, of course, known why the last word
was never finished. It may have been that he felt
too keenly the cruelty of his companions' desertion
of him to bring himself to write the word; or per-
haps the death agony overtook him before he
could finish it. At any rate, it speaks a whole
crushing world of reproach to those whose dis-
regard of duty cost their noble leader's life. It has
its lessons for us all.
Burke's skeleton also was found, covered with
leaves and boughs that had been placed there, it is
supposed, by the pitying natives, who found the
dead hero where, in bitter loneliness, he heaved
his dying sigh, unflinching to the last.
Howitt wrapped the remains in the flag of his
country, and left them in their resting-place.
Then he returned to Melbourne, and made prep-
arations for their removal and subsequent burial.
They rest now in that beautiful city near the sea,
beneath the great bronze monument. There are
two figures, rather larger than life, Burke stand-
ing, Wills in a sitting posture. On the pedestal
are three bass-reliefs, one showing the return to
Cooper's Creek, another the death of Burke, and
the third the finding of his remains. This is a
fitting tribute to the memory of the brave explorers,
but a far nobler and more enduring memorial
exists in the rapid growth and present prosper-
ous condition of that vast island, results that are
largely the fruit of their labors and devotion.
King survived, but he was wasted almost to a
skeleton, and it was months before he could tell
the story of suffering he alone knew.


TWO WAYS.

By MARY C. BARTLE.-ITT.

" IF I had a fortune," quoth bright little Win,
I 'd spend it in Sunday-schools. Then, don't you see,
Wicked boys would be taught that to steal is a sin,
And would leave all our apples for you and for me."

" If had a fortune," quoth twin-brother Will,
"I'd spend it in fruit-orchards. Then, don't you see,
Wicked boys should all pick till they'd eaten their fill,
And they would n't swant apples from you or from me."


[MARCH,






1878.]


HIS name is Charley. A common name for a
horse, and yet he was a most uncommon horse, of
a sweet and cheerful disposition, and celebrated for
his travels over the sea. This is his portrait, taken
the day before he left America, for the benefit of
sorrowing friends. He looks as if he thought he was
going abroad. There is something in his eye and
the expressive flirt of his tail that seems to suggest


strange doings. Charley is going to Scotland, over
the sea, and he is having his feet cared for by the
Doctor. He stands very steady now, even on three
legs. When he afterward went aboard the good
steamship California" it was as much as he could
do to keep steady on all four.
Poor Charley He was dreadfully sick on the
voyage. He had a fine state-room, but the motion
of the ship was too much for his nerves, and he
was very ill. So they had to bring him, bed and
all, on deck. The steamer was rolling from side
to side, for the waves ran high, and the tall masts
swayed this way and that with a slow and solemn


motion. Poor Charley did n't appreciate the
beauty of the sea, and thought the whole voyage a
most unhappy experience. Then he had to be
hoisted out of the hatchway in a most undignified
manner. The frontispiece shows you how this was
done. They put him in his box and put a rope
round it and fastened the rope to the donkey
engine, a little steam-engine which is used for



orrfe




4I




























a horse to be dragged aloft by a donkey engine !
The captain stood near to give the signal when the
' i '' .

















steamer rested for a moment on a eel. The












picture.
s -. -_ __ .










hoisting and ver ious a h rose humiliating fond
a horse e to be dragged aloft by a donkey engine




whispered comfort in his ear. At last, he reached
The captain satoo, near te gave th e signal when the
steamer rested for a moment on a level keel. The




donkey engine beside somffed, anthe sailors stood passed
to steer the patientelyrd, just as recovered. see in the
picture.
Charley grew very serious as he rose higher and
higher, but a man held him by the head and
whispered comfort in his ear. At last, he reached
the deck in safety, and they gave him a place in a
breezy nook beside some other four-footed passen-
gers, and he immediately recovered.


A HORSE AT SEA.



A HORSE AT SEA.
[SEE FRONTISPIECE.]


367






368


FOR VERY LITTLE FOLKS.


TIDY AND VIOLET; OR, THE TWO DONKEYS.

THERE was once a little boy who .was not very strong, and it was
thought right that he should be a great deal in the open air, and there-
fore it was also thought right that he should have a donkey.
The plan was for this little boy to take long rides, and for his mamma
to ride on another donkey, and for his papa to walk by the side of both.
The two donkeys that were procured for this purpose had belonged to
poor people, and had lived hard lives lately, out upon the common, because
the poor people had no employment for them, and so could get no money
to give the donkeys better food. They were glad, therefore, when the
gentleman said that he wanted to buy a donkey for his little boy, and that
he would try these two for a time, and then take the one he liked best.
So the gentleman and the lady and the boy took their excursion day
after day with the two donkeys.
Now, one of these was a thin-looking white donkey, and the other was
a stout black donkey; and one was called "Violet" and the other "Tidy."
The little boy liked the black donkey best, because he was bigger and
handsomer. "I like Tidy," he said; "dear papa, I like Tidy."
Stop!" said his papa. Let us wait a bit; let us try them a little longer."
The party did not go out every day; sometimes the gentleman and lady
were engaged, and the donkeys remained idly in the gentleman's field.
And then, when they had done eating, they used sometimes to talk.
Is not this happiness ?" said the meek white donkey. Instead of the
dry grass of the common, to have this rich, green, juicy grass, and this
clear stream of water, and these shady trees; and then, instead of doing
hard work and being beaten, to go out only now and then with a kind
lady and gentleman, and a dear little boy, for a quiet walk:-is it not a
happy change, Tidy?"
Yes," said Tidy, flinging his hind-legs high in the air.
Oh !" said Violet, I hope you will not do that when the young gentle-
man is on your back."
"Why not?" said Tidy.
Because," said Violet, you may throw him off, and perhaps kill him;
and consider how cruel that would be, after all his kindness to us."
Oh," said Tidy, people always call us donkeys stupid and lazy and
slow, and they praise the horse for being spirited and lively; and so the
horses get corn and hay and everything that is good, and we get nothing
but grass. But I intend to be lively and spirited and get corn."


[MARCH,





FOR VERY LITTLE FOLKS.


"Take care what you do, Tidy," said Violet. The gentleman wishes
to buy a quiet donkey, to carry his little boy gently. If we do not behave
ourselves well, he surely will send us back to the common."
But Tidy was foolish and proud, and, the next time he went out, he
began to frisk about very gayly.
"I fear," said the gentleman, "that the good grass has spoiled Tidy."


Tidy heard this, but, like other young and foolish things, he would not
learn. Soon, the little dog Grip passed by, and Tidy laid his ears back
on his neck and rushed at Grip to bite him.
'Really," said the gentleman, "Tidy is getting quite vicious. When
we get home, we will send Tidy away, and we will keep Violet."
Tidy, as you may believe, was sorry enough then. But it was too late.
He was sent away to the bare common. But Violet still lives in the gentle-
man's field, eats nice grass, goes easy journeys, and is plump and happy.
VOL. V.-25.










JACK- IN-TIIE -PU LPIT.


-^ *- -- ---- I

S- J ACK- IN-THE-PU LI'T.

POETS have a great deal to answer for, and they
should be careful what they say, for they've no idea
what an influence they have. Now, I 'm told that
about one hundred and fifty years ago, one by the
name of Thomson (Thomson without a _) sang:
"Hail, gentle Spring! Ethereal mildness, hail!"
and made no end of trouble, of course. March
being the first spring month, was the first to hear
the command, and so, ever since, she has been
trying her best to hail. Failing in this, as she
nearly always does, her only recourse is to blow;
and blow she does, with a will. So don't blame
her, my chicks, if she deals roughly with you this
year, blows your hair into your eyes, and nearly
takes you off your feet. It's all the fault of that
poet Thomson.
I suppose if he had sung to our great American
cataract, he would have told .it to trickle, or drip, or
something of that sort; and then what would have
become of all the wedding tours ? Mrs. Sigourney,
my birds tell me, was a poet of the right sort.
She sang, Roll on, Niagara "-and it has rolled
on ever since.
Talking of fluids, here's a letter telling

HOW CHERRY PLAYED WITH WATER.
A GOOD friend sends Jack this true horse-story:
At my summer home, the very coolest and pleasantest spot to be
found on a hot day is a grassy knoll, shaded by a great tree. Close
by is the horse-trough, which is supplied with water from the well a
few rods off. One sultry day, my little boy and I went to play
under the shade of this tree. The trough was full of clean, sparkling
water, and 1 lingered there even after the two horses, "Cherry" and
"Dash," had been brought out and tied to the tree; for they, too,
had found their house uncomfortable, and had begged with their ex-
pressive eyes to be taken out-of-doors.
Now, the water in the trough looked very tmnptnnr and soon my
boy Willy put his little land in, and then i....: up his sleeve,
plunged i his arm and began to splash the water, throwing it around,
wetting us all, horses included. We left the tree, and were going
into the house, when we heard a loud thumping, and splashing;


turning round, we saw Cherry, with his fore-leg in the trough,
knocking his great iron shoe against the side of it, sending the water
flying in all directions, and making the water in the trough all
black and muddy. Now, these horses had drunk from this trough
three times a day for two months, and spent many a morning under
that very tree, and it had never occurred to either of them to play
such a trick until they had seen Willy do it.
Willy was so much pleased that he gave Cherry several lumps of
sugar to reward him for his naughtiness; but James, the coachman,
took a different view, and gave him a sound scolding, and I am afraid
whipped him; although I protested that Willy was more to blame
than poor Cherry, who had only imitated his little master.
C. C. B
THREE SPIDERS.
ANOTHER enemy to my friends the birds This
time it's a spider. He lives near the Amazon
River, they tell me, builds a strong web across a
deep hole in a tree, and waits at the back of the
hole until a bird or a lizard is caught in the meshes.
Then out he pounces, and kills his prey by poison.
And yet this dreadful creature has a body only an
inch and a half in length !
Then there's a spider named Kara-Kurt, who
lives in Turkestan; and, though he is no bigger
than a finger-nail, he can jump several feet. He
hides in the grass, and his bite is poisonous; but
I 'm glad to say he does n't kill birds.
In the same country is a long-legged spider,
who has long hair and a body as big as a hen's
egg. When he walks he seems as large as a man's
double fists. What a fellow to meet on a narrow
pathway! I think most people would be polite
enough to let him have the whole of the walk.
Little Miss Muffett would have been scared out of
her senses if such a huge spider had "sat down
beside her."
SPECIAL DISPATCH.
THE Little Schoolma'am says Thomson did n't
say "Hail, gentle Spring!" He said, "Come,
gentle Spring !" Dear, dear I beg his pardon.
But, like as not, some other poet said it, if Thom-
son did n't. Or perhaps they've sung so much
about Spring that March, taking it all to herself,
thinks she may as well blow her own trumpet, too.
Poor March In old times she used to be the
first month of the year,-and now she is only the
third. May be, that is what troubles her. Nobody
likes to be put back in that way.

ABOUT PARROTS.
DEACON GREEN was talking about parrots the
other day. He said he once knew a parrot that was
not as polite as Pippity," the one mentioned in a
story called "Tower-Mountain." The parrot that he
knew would swear whenever he opened his bill. It
hadbeen taught by the sailors on board the ship in
which it had come from South America. When
the deacon knew it, it belonged to the widow of a
very strict minister. It had been brought to her
by her nephew, a midshipman, as a Christmas
present. It was lucky for him, just then, that the
old lady was stone deaf. She was very cross with
the neighbors when they told her what wicked
words the bird used. It was a great pet, and she
would not believe anything bad about it. But at
last it swore at a visitor who was a bishop, and,
soon after, it was no more.


[MARCH,







JACK IN T HE- PULPIT.


Since the Deacon told that story I have had a
paragram about another parrot; one that lived in
Edinburgh, Scotland, five years ago. This one
could laugh, weep, sing songs, make a noise like
"smacking the lips," and talk. His talking was
not merely by rote; he would speak at the right
times, and say what was just right to be said then
and there. He spoke the words plainly, bowed,
nodded, shook his head, winked, rolled from side
to side, or made other motions suited to the sense
of what he was saying. His voice was full and
clear, and he could pitch it high or low, and make
it seem joyful or sad. Many curious tales are told
of him, but the most remarkable thing about him
is that he actually lived and really did the things
named.
That's what the paragram says. Stop-let me
think a moment. May be that parrot himself sent
it? But no; he was n't smart enough for fhat; I
remember, now, the signature was Chambers."

THE WRITING OF THE PULSE.
DID you ever hear of a sphygmograph? Of
course not. Well, in its present improved state, it
is something new and very wonderful. It takes its
name from two Greek words, spf/h'mos, the pulse,
and grapho, I describe. It is an implement to be
used by physicians, and forces the patient's pulse
to tell its own story, or, in other words, make a
full confession of all its ups and downs and irregu-
larities. Not only make a confession, my beloveds,
but actually write it down in plain black and
white !
So you see that a man's pulse in Maine may
write a letter to a physician in Mexico, telling him
just what it's about, and precisely in what manner
its owner's heart beats-how fast or slow, and, in
fact, ever so much more.
Now, is n't that queer? Should you like to see
some specimens of pulse-writing ? Here they are:







2.



3.


4.

No. i, according to the doctors, writes that he is
the pulse of a strong, healthy boy, and that his
owner is getting on admirably. No. 2 writes that
his proprietor has trouble with his heart. No. 3
tells a sad story of typhoid fever; and No. 4 says
that his owner is dying.
I am only a Jack-in-the-Pulpit, you know, quite


dependent upon what the birds and other bipeds
tell me, so you cannot expect a full description and
explanation of the sphygmograph here. Ask your
papas and friends about it.
There's a great deal going on in the world that
you and I know very little about; but such things
as the sphygmograph give us a hint of the achieve-
ments of science in its efforts to help God's children
out of their many ills and pains.
The deacon says that, wonderful as the sphyg-
mograph is, the pulse itself is more wonderful still
-a fact which no good ST. NICHOLAS child will
deny.
A PERUVIAN BONANZA.
You 'VE heard, I suppose, that they expect
soon to open up a new and wonderfully rich deposit
of silver in the mines of Peru? No! Well, then,
it's high time you were warned about it. Take
your Jack's advice, my youngsters, and be very
careful about things. Why, if they go on finding
big bonanzas in this reckless way, silver will be too
cheap for use as money And then what will they
do ? They 'll have to use something in place of it,
of course; but there's no telling what it will be.
Only think, they might choose double-almonds, or
something of that kind !
But don't allow yourselves to be cast down about
it, my dears. Try to keep up your spirits, and
remember that, if the worst comes to the worst,
good children will never be so plenty that people
will cease to appreciate a good child. That's a
bit of solid comfort for you, any way.

LUMBER AND TIMBER.
WHICH of you can state the exact distinction, if
there is any, between lumber and timber, without
consulting the dictionary ?

QUEER NAMES FOR TOWNS.
Now, what am I to do with this ? If the Little
Schoolma'am sees it, she may want to give the
boys and girls of the Red School-house a new sort
of geography lesson, or perhaps a spelling task to
her dictation. That would be a little hard on
them; so perhaps I 'd better turn over the letter to
you just as it is, my chicks.
Washington, D. C.
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT : Here are the names of some towns
in the United States. They are so funny that I send them to you,
and I hope you will like it. Do you think the Little Schoolma'am
would know where all these places are ?
Toby Guzzle, Ouray, Kickapoo, T. B., Ono, O. Z., Doe Gully
Run, Omio, Nippenose, Eau Gallic, Need More, Kandlyohi, Nobob,
Cob Moo Sa, We Wo Ka, Ty Ty, Osakis, Why Not, Happy Jack,
U Bet, Choptack, Fussville, Good Thunder's Ford, Apopka, Burnt
Ordinary, Crum Elbow, Busti, Cl--t-l-- 7 "'lba Dam, Dycus-
burgh, Chuckatuck, Ni Wot, Bt,.I :... 't.r Cheer, Forks of
Little Sandy, Towash, Sopchoppy, Thiry Daems, Vicar's Switch,
Omph Ghent, Peculiar.
I have found a great many more, but these are 1.. i I. T could
pick out.-Yours truly, '. B.

ANSWERS TO RIDDLES.
HERE are two answers, out of the three, to the
riddles I gave you last month: TOBACCO, and
CARES (Caress). The archbishop's puzzle has been
too much for you, I 'm afraid, my dears. I'11 give
you until next month. Then we 'll see.








THE LETTER-BOX.





THE LETTER-BOX.


Washington, D. C.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Not long ago I read in your delightful
magazine a poem, entitled "Red Riding Hood," by John G. Whit-
tier. It recalled to me some visits which I made to the great and
good poet, my friend of many years.
My acquaintance with him began when I was a school-girl in
Salem. ''hen he lived in Amesbury, on the "shining Merrimack,"
as he calls it, with his sister, a most beautiful and lovable person.
I remember distinctly my first visit to them. The little white
house, with green blinds, on Friend street, looked very quiet and
home-like, and when I received the warm welcome of the poet and
his sister I felt that peace dwelt there. At one side of the house
there was a little vine-wreathed porch, upon which opened the glass-
door of the "garden room," the poet's favorite sitting room, the
windows of which looked out upon a pleasant, old-fashioned garden.
Against the walls were books and some pictures, among which were
"Whitticr's Birthplace in Haverhill," and "The Barefoot Boy," the
latter illustrating the sweet little poem of that name.
In the parlor hung a picture of the loved and cherished mother,
who had died some years before, a lovely, aged face, full of strength
and sweet repose. In a case were some specimens of the bird
referred to in The Cry of a Lost Soul," a poem which so pleased
the Emperor of Brazil that he sent these birds to the poet.
At the head of the staircase hung a pictured cluster of pansies,
painted by a lady, a friend of the poet. He called my attention to
their wonderful resemblance to human faces. In the chamber
assigned to me hung a large portrait of Whittier, painted in his
youth. It was just as I had heard him described in my childhood.
There were the clustering curls, the smooth brow, the brilliant dark
eyes, the firm, resolute mouth.
We spent a very pleasant evening in the little garden room, in
quiet, cheerful conversation. The poet and his sister talked of their
life on the old farm, which Whittier has described in Snow Bound,"
and he showed me a quaint old book written by Thomas Elwood, a
friend of Milton. It was the only book of poetry that Whittier had
been able to get to read when a boy.
Like all distinguished writers, Whittier has a large number of letters
from persons whom he does not know, and many strangers go to see
him. Miss Whittier said that one evening the bell rang, and Whittier
went to the door. A young man in officer's uniform stood there.
"Is this Mr. Whittier?" he asked. "Yes," was the answer. "I
only wanted to shake hands with you, sir," and grasping the poet's
hand Ihe shook it warmly, and hastened away.
Some years after my first visit a great sorrow befell Whittier in the
loss of his sister. After that, a niece kept house for him. She is now
married, and he spends most of his time with some cousins at "Oak
Knoll," a delightful place near Danvers. It was there that I last
had the pleasure of seeing him, one golden day in October. The
house is situated on an eminence, surrounded by fine trees, which
were then clad in their riche t robes of crimson and bronze and gold.
Through the glowing leaves we caught glimpses of thie deep blue sky
and the distant hills. We had a pleasant walk through the orchard,
in which lay heaps of rosy apples, and across fields and meadows,
where we gathered grasses and wild flowers. And we saw the pigs
and cows and horses, and had the company of three splendid dogs,
great favorites of the host. We had also for a companion a dear,
bright little girl, a cousin of the poet. She is the "little lass," the
"Red Riding Hood of his poem.
After a most enjoyable day I came away reluctantly, but happy at
leaving my friend in such a pleasant home, and among the charming
and refreshing country scenes that he loves so well.-Yours truly,
C. L. F.


AGNES'S MoTHER, whose letter was printed in the "Letter-Box"
for January last, will oblige the Editors by sending them Agnes's
address.

Uxbridge, Mass.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Last summer, we staved a week on Prudence
Island, in Narragansett Bay, where the blackberries sprinkle thickly
the ground, and mosquitoes, in some parts of the island, sprinkle
thickly the air. Prudence, Patience, Hope, and Despair are four
islands near together; they were named by the owner after his
daughters. Prudence has some twelve or fifteen houses; but in
Revolutionary times there were, it is said, seventy families on the
island. The British set fire to everything, and the island was devas-
tated. One old hornbeam-tree is pointed out as the only tree that
escaped destruction. The wood of this kind of tree is so hard that it
does not burn easily. This tree is sometimes called "iron wood,"
and "lever wood," as the wood is used to make levers. This old tree
has all its branches at the top, umbrella-wise, as if the lower branches
had been destroyed in some way, for it is not the nature of the tree to
grow in this fashion. I could barely reach one little twig of pale,


discolored leaves, to bring home as a memento. Prudence is the
largest of the four islands. Patience, next in size, lies a little north
of it. Hope, on the west side, is a picturesque mass of rock; and
Despair lies just north of Hope, a solid rock, nearly or quite covered
at high tide. ADDY L. FARNUM.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I have a question to ask you, and if you
will answer it you will greatly oblige me. This is the question: May
leaves be of any size to make a folio or quarto ?-Yours truly, K.
A sheet of paper of any size, folded in two equal parts, makes two
leaves of folio size; folded evenly once more, four leaves of quarto
size. But book-publishers use these words arbitrarily. With them a
sheet about 19 by 24 inches is supposed to be the proper size, unless
otherwise specified. A folio leaf is, consequently, about 12 by o9
inches; a quarto leaf, about 9 by 12 inches: an octavo leaf, about
6 by 9 inches.

Fordham, N. Y.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have a Polish rooster. I wonder if you
have ever seen one? If not, I will describe it. It has a very large
top-knot, very.much larger than a duck's, although it is not at all
like it. WILLIE A. RICHARDSON.


HERE is a letter that was sent to Santa Claus, last Christmas:
MR. SANTA CLAUSES,
NEW YORK CITY.
I don't know your number, but I gest you will get it.
MY DEAR OLD SANTA CLAUSES: I know you are awful poor for
Mama sed so but I do want so Many things and when I Commence
to Writing to you I feel like crying Cause you know my papa is
dead and mama is auful poor to but I do want a Dolly so bad not like
they give of the Christmas tree ut a real Dolly that open and shut
it eyes but 0 I want so many other things but I wont ask for them
for you will Think I am auful selfage and want to Take evythink from
others little Girls but when you ben all around if you have one picture
Book left pleas send it to me Dear Santa Clauses please don't forget
me because I live in Pcrth Amboy From GRACE L. T.


New York City.
DEAR ST. NICHO.LAS: I am reading a history of the late Civil
War, and often come across names of different parts of an army. I
would like to ask you two questions:
I. How many men usually are there in a corps, division, brigade,
and company ?
2. How many guns are there in a field-battery ?
If you will answer these, you will greatly oblige your friend and
reader, GIANT SQUIRES.

In the United States service, the company," in time of war, con-
tains 98 non-commissioned officers and privates, and 3 officers; total,
IoI. The regiment consists of ten companies. A brigade usually
consists of four regiments, and, if the ranks are full, should contain
about 4,000 men. It sometimes happens that five or six regiments
may be comprised in one brigade. A division contains usually three,
sometimes four, brigades, and with full ranks would number from
E2,0oo to 15,000 men. A corps contains three divisions, and should
number, say, 45,000 men. In actual conflict, these figures will, of
course, widely vary; regiments being reduced by losses to, perhaps,
an average of 300 men each, and the brigades, divisions, etc., to
numbers correspondingly smaller. A field-battery has either four or
six guns, in t n the United States service usually te latter number, and
from 150 to 250 men. The English and French armies are not very
dissimilar from our own in the matter of organization; but in the
German army the company contains 250 men, and the regiment
3,000, and they have but two regiments in a brigade.


Pittsburg, Pa.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I want to tell you what a nice time I had
in vacation. I enjoyed the holidays so much that it niakes me happy
to tell everybody. Our Sunday-school gave a treat on Christmas
night, and the church was very handsomely decorated. Above the
center, in amongst the evergreen wreaths, was a shining star made
by jets of gas. The pastor, Mr. Vincent, said this was to represent


[MARCH,







THE LETTER-BOX.


the Star of Bethlehem. Then the large Christmas-tree was loaded
with gifts, and when lighted up I pretty near thought I "\as going to
see Aladdin's wonderful lamp and Cinderella from fairy-land. I am
sure every one felt happy, and we sang the Christmas carols louder
than ever, so loudly that the church trembled. But may be it was
the organ made it tremble. L LLIE S.


MR. EDWIN HODDER, the author of the new serial, "Drifted
into Port," which begins in this number, is an English gentleman,
and he wrote this story, not only to tell the adventures of his heroes
and his heroines, but to give American boys and girls an idea of life
at an English school. We think that the doings of Howard, Dighy,
Madelaine, and the rest, will be greatly interesting to our readers,
especially as these young people leave the school after a while, and
have adventures of a novel kind in some romantic, sea-girt islands.


BESSIE G. -Your letter is not such a one as we are apt to answer
in the Letter-Box." But the best possible message we can send
you, and one that you will understand, and apply to your own case,
is a beautiful little poem which will interest all readers. We shall
give it to you entire. We take it from a treasured old newspaper
slip, and regret that we do not know the author's name.

THE SINGING-LESSON.

A nightingale made a mistake;
She sang a few notes out of tune,
Her heart was ready to break,
And she hid from the moon.
She wrung her claws, poor thing,
But was far too proud to speak.
She tucked her head under her wing,
And pretended to be asleep.

A lark, arm-in-arm with a thrush,
Came sauntering up to the place;
The nightingale felt herself blush,
Though feathers hid her face.
She knew they had heard her song,
She FELT them snicker and sneer,
She thought this life was too long,
And wished she could skip a year.

O nightingale! cooed a dove,
O nightingale, what's the use,
You bird of beauty and love,
Why behave like a goose?
Don't skulk away from our sight,
Like a common, contemptible fowl:
You bird of joy and delight,
Why behave like an owl ?

Only think of all you have done;
Only think of all you can do;
A false note is really fun,
From such a bird as you!
Lift up your proud little crest;
Open your musical beak;
Other birds have to do their best
You need only SPEAK."

The nightingale shyly took
Her head from under her wing,
And, giving the dove a look,
Straightway began to sing.
There was never a bird could pass;
The night was divinely calm;
And the people stood on the grass
To hear that wonderful psalmn!

The nightingale did not care,
She only sang to the skies;
Her song ascended there,
And there she fixed her eyes.
The people that stood below
She knew but little about;
And this story's a moral, I know,
If you'll try to find it out!


Northern Vermont.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Little Joanna" is only three years and a
half old, but her father and mother take the ST. NICHOLAS for her;
:1 i ,r. I., 1 is soveryyoung, l .. ; much as the older
1. 1.1 the little poem call I .. .. the Hearth," and
has learned to repeat some of it. In the December number she liked


the poem about the tea-kettle; she ories every time she hears about
poor "Little Tweet," and laughs at the "Magician and his Bee,"
and at Polly's stopping the horses with the big green umbrella. But
she laughs the hardest at the picture of the little girl who was so
afraid of the turtle, and Edna, the kitchen-girl, told her if the turtle
should get hold of the ,,.- ,- i. would n't let go till it thun-
dered. After "Little ..... .. the pictures and heard the
stories she can understand, her mamma sends the ST. NICHOLAS to
some little cousins in Massachusetts, who in their turn forward it to
some more cousins in far away Iowa. So we all feel the ST. NICH-
OLAS merits the heartiest welcome of any magazine.-Yours,
t LITTLE JOANNA'S" AUNTIE.


Dayton, O.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I like your "Letter-Box so much, and I
always read it first. My brother and I fight which shall read ST.
NICHOLAS first. He always speaks for it the month before. Then
sister reads it out loud to keep us quiet. I wish we had had more of
the Pattikins. I liked them real well
The biggest thing in Dayton is the Soldiers' Home, three miles
from town It ; i- th- o r t of all the Homes, i. .. 1. 'hey have a
small one; ., ; I.I I and several other' i. I have three
thousand disabled soldiers here, and a big hospital, a church built of
stone, barracks, stores, dining-room, library, and everything just like
a little town. Then lovely lawns, gardens, lakes, fountains, rustic
bridges, etc. Lots of people say it is much prettier than Central
Park, and I think so, too. The soldiers have most all of them lost
their legs or arms, and some both. Lots of blind ones lost their
sight in battle, from the powder. They get tipsy, too,-I guess
because they get tired and feel sick. T 1 ..-cs, only they get
locked up and fined. Papa says he 1 .. .'.. blue ribbon will
keep them sober. Everybody wears blue ribbon here, but I don't,
because I don't want to get tipsy anyhow.
General Butler is the big boss of the Home. He comes every
fall, and walks around. They always have an arch for him. Colonel
Brown is Governor. He only has one arm, and was in Libby
Prison. I wish the boys and girls could all come and spend the day
here. They have a big deer-park, and lots of animals of all kinds,
as good as a show, and a splendid band that gives concerts, and
they have dress parades by the Brown Guards. I asked Papa how
much it cost to run it a year, and he wrote down for me, so I would
not forget, $360,740.81, last year. Hope you will find room to
publish this. Harry says you wont. Harry is my brother.-Your
friend, CLARENCE SNYDER.

Trenton, N. J.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I have read a great many letters in your
ST. NICHOLAS, and I always like to read them, for they are so funny.
So I thought I would write you a letter and tell you about my poor
little cat. It was given me when two weeks old, and I only had it a
month before it died-and, do you believe, I saw it die! It was
taken sick, and I cried awful. I don't know what was the matter
with it, but I think it had the colic, for it lay as quiet as a mouse;
and then it died. Oh, how sorry I was! My friend got a little box
and buried it right under my window, so I could often think of it.
So I hope you will all wish me better luck with my cats. Be sure
and give my love to Jack.-From your little friend, JENNIE H.


San Francisco, Cal.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have often read in the "Letter-Box"
some other little stories which boys and girls have written.
I will now write about the wire-cable railroads of this city. The
first one constructed was on Clay street, between Kearney street and
Leavenworth street. The road has now been continued out to Van
Ness avenue.
The second was constructed by the Sutter Street R. R. Company
from Sansom street to Larkin street, a distance of one mile.
The best of all the railroads in the city is on California street,
between Keaney and Fillmore streets, a distance of two miles. It is
considered the best built wire-cable road in the United States, and is
owned by the great railroad king of California. Leland Stanford.
I have a little railroad track seven and a half feet long, with fifteen
feet of string, which I call a cable. The invention of the gripping
attachment is my own. R. H. BASFORD.


DEAR ST. NICHOLAs: Will you please, for a few moments,
imagine yourself blind, deaf and dumb, so that you may have a fair
idea of the boy about whom I want to tell you ?
His name is Janes Caton. He is fifteen years old and lives in the
Deaf Mute Institution, on the Hudson River, near New York. He
was born deaf and dumb, and two years ago a severe sickness left
him blind. Before this he had learned to read and write, and talk
with his fingers. He uses a pencil and his fingers to ask for what he
wants, and tell you how he feels. People can talk to him by spelling
words with their fingers against the palm of his hand, and he is so
bright and quick that they cannot spell too fast for him. He is fond
of his lessons, but sometir,.- Ih -l'i.- 1- --';n*ln of figures, he
makes mistakes that vex l ... .'*.. i ...' i. hard it must be


373







THE RIDDLE-BOX.


to add twenty or thirty large numbers that you cannot see! But
when James finds his temper rising he puts it right down, calls back
his patience, and goes to work more strenuously than ever. One day,
his teacher, a lady, told him the Bible story of Cain, who killed his
brother and became a wanderer. Some time after, she asked him
"Who was Cain?" and he answered, "Cain was a tramp She
takes pains to tell him about the great events of the day, such as the
dreadful war between Russia and Turkey, and he understands this so
well that he can describe it with wonderful effect. He stands out on
the floor like an orator, and with the most graceful, animated and
expressive signs and gestures, gives the positions of the armies, their
meeting, the beating of the drums, the waving of the flags, and the
firing of the cannon. Watching him, one can see the battle-field and
all its pomp and horror.
James was in the cou-tr- A --;-, tf. summer, and there he lay on
the soft grass, smelled atnd tried to remember their
forms and colors. He leaned against the strong tree trunks and
measured them with his arms, and the sweet, cool breezes from the
river came to refresh and strengthen him.
James has a chum, Charles McCormick, who is almost as badly off
as himself-perhaps you will think him worse off He was born deaf
and dumb, and when three years old he fell on the railroad track and
the cars cut off both his arms! These two boys love each other dearly.
They go into the woods together to gather flowers. Charles goes
first because he has the eyes, and when he finds the flowers he stoops
down and touches them with the stump of his arm, while James
passes his hand down his friend's shoulder and picks them So they
do together what neither could do alone, and both are as happy as
birds -Your friend, E. S. MILLiR.


Hampstead, England.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am eleven years old, and this is the first
time I have ever written to you, so I am going to tell you about my
dear little squirrel, Bob." He is beautifully soft, and his back and
head are gray, but his legs and tail are red; he has four long teeth,
and he bites very much, if we vex him. He eats nuts and fruit, and
he is very fond of bread and milk. When we had him first, he used
to run up the curtains and bite them all into holes. Every Sunday
he would be brought downstairs while we were at dinner, and papa
would give him nuts; but he got so cross that papa would not let
him come down again. In the summer, we brought out his cage into
the garden; but one Sunday papa opened the cage door, and out
jumped Bob. He ran to the wall (which was all covered with ivy),
and began to climb it; but papa caught him by his hind-leg and
stopped him, and he gave papa such a bite on his hand. So I would
not let him go out again. Last summer, mamma took us all down to
Wales; but it was too far to take Bob, so we left him to my govern-
ess, who took him home with her. But one unlucky day she let him
out in the conservatory, and did not shut the window; so he got a
chance and ran away out into the road, and he did not come back.
She offered a reward, and two days afterward he was found outside


the window of an empty house. Soon after that we all came home,
and I was very glad to see Bob again, naughty as he was. There is
a very funny thing which I ought to have told about first; it is that
my Bob was brought up by a cat, and not in the woods at all. I do
not think there is anything more to tell you about him.-I am your
little reader, LAURA B. LEWIS.


HOW TO MAKE A FAIRY FOREST.
IN the first place, you must live in the country, where you can
find that early ..:.. 0 ., the blood-root or sanguinaria. Wher-
everit grows i, ..... seen in great .1 ... .- ..- in
the Middle States about the first of April. I ... i.. us
resembling Madeira vines, and they do not penetrate very deeply
into the earth. Therefore, when the ground is not frozen on its I
surface, these tubers can be quite easily procured. In the latter part
of March, after removing a layer of dead leaves, or a light --rn..:
of leaf mold, the plants may be found, and, at that time .11
large brown or greenish brown buds in great abundance, all very
neatly wrapped up in conical rolls. A basket should be carefully
filled with these tubers, without shaking all the earth from them, and
some of the flakiest and greenest pieces of moss that can be found
adhering to the rocks must also be put into the basket.
When you reach home, take a large dish or pan and dispose
these tubers upon it, first having sprinkled it ever so lightly with
the earth found in the bottom of the basket. Place the roots quite
close together, taking care to keep the large, pointed, live-looking
buds on the top, pack them closely, side by side, until the dish is
full, then lay your bits of moss daintily over them, or between them
when the beds are large, set them in the sweet spring sunshine, in a
south or east window, sprinkle them daily with slightly tepid water,
and on some fine morning you will find a little bed of pure white
flowers, that will tell you a tale of the woods which will charm your
young souls.
Sanguinaria treated in this way will generally so far anticipate its
natural time of flowering as to present you the smiling, perfumed
faces of its blossoms while the fields may yet be covered with snow.
But this is not the end. After these snowy blossoms have per-
formed their mission of beauty, they will drop off upon the carpet of
moss, and, in a short time, will be succeeded by the leaves of the
plant, which are large and irregular, but very beautiful, and each
leaf is supported by a stem which comes directly from the ground,
giving the impression of a miniature tree. A large dish of these
little trees springing from the moss makes the Fairy Forest, and an
imaginative girl, or possibly boy, well steeped in fairy lore, may
imagine many wonderful things to happen herein.
If you have little friends or relatives who live in the city and cannot
go into the woods to look for the sanguinaria, you can easily pack a
pasteboard box full of the roots and moss, and send it to them by
express, or, if it is not too heavy, by mail.
GRANDMOTHER GREY.


THE RIDDLE-BOX.


A COMMON ADAGE.


WEL-


TV


LITERARY ENIGMA.

I. MY 26 39 66 55 40 48 44 II 2 is a poet of ancient Greece.
2. My 25 24 33 8 42 is a poet of ancient Italy.
3. My 69 36 14 5t 18 3 4t is a poet of England.
4. My 22 58 65 37 9 by 59 21 53 23 47 28 is a German poem.
5. My 47 62 64 38 is a historian of England.
6. My 30 46 54 48 15 32 is a popular American writer.
7, My 34 7 46 57 41 50 70 is a Scottish writer.
8. My 6 13 67 i6 i 17 68 63 5 52 is an English poet.
9. My 47 24 2 23 io 68 63 43 4 is an American writer of fiction.
ro. My 49 4t 19 56 35 is an eminent geologist.
ii. My I6 24 27 41 is a scientist of England.
12. My 45 61 6o 67 37 13 3r is one of America's living writers.
13. My 61 7 20 29 is another American writer.
The whole is an extract of two lines (seventy letters) from a noted
English poem. F. u. IR.


TRANSPOSITIONS.

IN each of the following sentences fill the blank or blanks in the
first part with words whose letters, when transposed, will suitably fill
the remaining blank or blanks.
x. words with a man in a 2. Did you see the
tiger on me with his eyes ? 3. McDonald said : "
ragged remind you of Scotland." 4. The knots may be -
more easily than 5. told me an which amused
all in his tent. 6. I hung the on the round of the rack.
7. The witness is of small value if he can information that
is more than this. 8. The as they look over the preci-
pices in their steep i.


EASY REVERSALS.

i. REVERSE a color, and give a poet 2. Reverse a musical pipe,
and give an animal. 3. Reverse an entrance, and give a measure of
surface. 4. Reverse an inclosure, and give a vehicle. 5. Reverse
part of a ship, and give an edible plant. 6. Reverse a noose, and
give a small pond. 7. Reverse a kind of rail, and give a place of
public sale. 8. Reverse sentence passed, and give temper of mind.
9. Reverse a portion, and give an igneous rock. ro. Reverse an
apartment, and give an upland. ISOLA.


[MARCH,







THE RIDDLE-BOX.


DOUBLE DIAMOND.
THE first and ninth words, together, make vegetables that grow in
the second upon the third ;i the fourth ; the eighth, a girl, after per-
forming the fifth upon the first and ninth in the fourth, pulling the
second the while, did thr. sixth to get them into the house; here the
eighth soon had them upon the seventh, cooking for dinner.
Perpendicular, heavy: horizontal, picking. G. L. C.


CURTAILMENTS AND BEHEADINGS.
To the name of a gifted man,
Affix a letter, if you can,
And find his avocation.

Curtail a piece of work he did,
You'll find a word that now is hid,-
A madman's occupation.

Behead another, you will find
Measures of a certain kind
Used by the English nation. G. L. c.

EASY NUMERICAL ENIGMA.
THE whole, composed of fourteen letters, names the hero of a well-
known book. The 0 7 3 4 8 is a singing-bird of America. The
9 t1 2 6 12 is a religious emblem. The 13 'I 5 9 14 is an Oriental
animal. ISOLA.

PICTORIAL ANAGRAM PROVERB-PUZZLE.


THE answer is a proverb of five words. Each numeral beneath
the pictures represents a letter in the word of the proverb indicated
by that numeral,-4 showing that the letter it designates belongs to
the fourth word of the proverb, 3 to the third word, and so on.
Find a word that describes each picture and contains as many
letters as there are numerals beneath the picture itself. This is the
first process.
Then put down, some distance apart, the figures i, 2, 3, 4, 5, to
correspond with the words of the proverb. Group beneath figure 4
all the letters designated by the numeral 4 in the numbering beneath
the pictures (since, as already stated, all the letters there -le-"int-
by the numeral 4 belong to the fourth word of the proverb) .. 1I
thus have in a group all the letters that the fourth word contains, and
you then will have only to transpose those letters in order to form the
word itself. Follow the same process of grouping and transposition
in forming each of the remaining words of the proverb. Ofcourse,
the transposition need not be begun until all the letters are set apart
in their proper groups. J. B.


375


AN OLD MAXIM,
BEHEADED AND CURTAILED.
-IGH- -are- -pea-, -rea- -ne- -r- -um-. C. D.

EASY UNIONS.
I. JOIN ease and an ornament, by a vowel, and make recovering-
thus: rest-o-ring (restoring). 2. Join pleasant to the taste to a boy's
nickname, by a vowel, and make honeyed. 3. Join to bury to a bite
of an insect, by a vowel, and make what pleasant stories are. c. D.

RHOMBOID PUZZLE.
AcRoss: i. Portion of an ode. 2. A musical drama. 3. Soon.
4. Marked. 5. Flowers.
Down: i. In a cave. 2. A river. 3. To unclose. 4. The second
dignitary of a diocese. 5. A mistake. 6. High. 7. An affirmative.
8. A prefix. 9. In a shop. CYRIL DEANE.

DOUBLE CROSS-WVORD ACROSTIC.
THE WHOLE.
BROTHERS are we, alike in form and mien,
Sometimes apart, but oft together seen.
One labors on, and toils beneath his load;
The other idly follows on the road.
One parts the sleeping infant's rosy lips;
The other eils the sun n dark eclipse.
One rises on the breath of mor, with scent
Of leaf and flower in fragrant incense blent;
The other's .: aspiration dies
And falls wh.... .11 the murky shadow lies.
At hospitable boards my first attends,
And greets well pleased the social group of friends;
But if my second his grim face shall show,
How dire the maledictions sent below!
Yet there are those who deem his presence blest,
A fitting joy to crown the social feast,
And make for him a quiet, calm retreat,
-Where friends with friends in loving concourse meet.
CRoSS-WORDs.
I. Two brothers ever keeping side by side,
The closer they are pressed the more do they divide.
2. Brothers again unite their ponderous strength,
Toiling all day throughout its tedious length.
3. I never met my sister; while she flies
I can but follow, calling out replies.
4. A casket fair, whose closely covered lid
A mother's hope, a nation's promise, hid.
5. A plant once used to drive sharp pain away,
Not valued greatly in this later day,
Except by those who fly when they are ill
To test the virtues of a patent pill. s. A. B.

EASY DIAMOND PUZZLE.
IN fruit, but not in flower; a period of time; a fresh-water fish; a
sea-bird; in strength, but not in power. ISOLA.

MALTESE-CROSS PUZZLE.









THE middle letter, E, is given in the diagram. The centrals form
two words, and are read from top to bottom and from side to side, in-
cluding the middle letter. The words that form the limbs of the cross
are read from the outside toward the center, those forming the top
and bottom limbs being read horizontally, and those that form the
arms, downward.
CENTRAL PERPENDICULAR: Perfume.
CENTRAL HORIZONTAL: Strained.
ToP Lims: I. New. 2. A boy's name. 3. A consonant.
BOTTOM LIMB: i. Plai. 2. A deed. 3. A consonant.
LEFT AnM : I. Existence. 2. A tavern. 3. A consonant
RIGHT ARM : I. Unready. 2. A tree. 3. A consonant.
A. C. CRETT.


7'~a




.1 .
-- I ,' I 5


"'' -K ' s.... ~.J -AlA


<^


'''' '`-







THE RIDDLE-BOX.


POETICAL REBUS.
THE answer is a couplet in Sir Walter Scott's poem Marmion."


DOUBLE ACROSTIC.
I. WHAT wood is sometimes called. 2. A character in "H-amlet."
3. Customary. 4. An underling of Satan's. 5. A common shrub.
6. A boy's name meaning "manly 7. An animal. 8. A place of
security. 9. A body of water. to. A large bird of the vulture family.
in. The home of the gods in Greek mythology. 12. A preposition.
z3. A spelled number.
The initials name a female author, and the finals a male author.
S. Mi. P.

WORD SYNCOPATIONS.

x. TAKE a bird from a saint's name, and leave something ladies
wear. 2. Take the present from understanding, and leave a chief.
3. Take part of a fish from explained, and leave a will. 4. Take a
forfeit from cultivated, and leave a color. 5. Take an insect from
needed, and leave joined. 6. Take a vessel from to supply, and leave
to angle. CYRIL DEANE.


CHARADE.
MY first may be made of my last,
And carries mechanical force.
My last both lives and dyes for man,
May often be seen as a horse,
And serves him by day and by night
In ways very widely apart.
My whole is the name, well renowned,
Of a chief in the potter's art.


L. W. H.


NUMERICAL ENIGMA.
THE whole, eleven letters, is a songster. The i 2 3 4 is adjacent.
The 5 6 7 is a metal. The 8 9 to ai is a current of air. ISOLA.


ABBREVIATIONS.

i. SYNCOPATE and curtail a greenish mineral, and leave a Turkish
officer. 2. Syncopate and curtail a royal ornament, and leave a
domestic animal. 3. Syncopate and curtail a fabled spirit, and leave
a coniferous tree. 4. Syncopate and curtail a small fruit, and leave
an opening. 5. Syncopate and curtail a motive power,.and leave a
body of water. 6. Syncopate and curtail colorless, and leave a humor-
ous man. 7. Syncopate and curtail stops, and leave a head-covering.
8. Syncopate and curtail a sweet substance, and leave an agricultural
implement. 9. Syncopate and curtail a carpenter's tool, and leave an
insect. to. Syncopate and curtail coins, and leave an inclosure. I.


ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN FEBRUARY NUMBER.


EASY DOUBLE CROSS-WORD AcnosTic.-Initials, Birch; finals,
Maple; horizontals, BeaM, IdA, RomP, CorraL. HousE.
SQUARE-WoRD.-Ruler, Unite, Lithe, Ethel, Reels.
NUMERICAL PUZZLE.-Vivid.
HIDDEN ACIOSTIC -Minnehaha.
EaSY DECAPITATIONS.-I. Foil, oil. 2. Spear, pear. 3. Feel, eel.
4. Sledge, ledge. 5. Stag, tag. 6. Mace, ace. 7. Goats, oats.
8. Draw, raw. 9. Galley, alley.
TRANSPOSITIONS.-t. Subtle, bustle. 2. Shah, hash. 3. Shearer,
hearers. 4. Sharper, harpers. 5. Resorted, restored. 6. Negus,
genus.
CHARADE.-M-.lanhattan (Man-hat-tan).
GEOGRAPHICAL PUZZLE.-Queen Charlotte (i) went to Cork (2) to
attend a ball. She there met Three Sisters (3), named as follows :
Alexandria (4), Augusta (5), and Adelaide (6), in whom she was
much interested. Her dress was Cashmere (7), and though elegantly
trimmed with Brussels (8), it was, unfortunately, Toulon and Toulouse
[too long and too loose] \ss she felt chilly [Chili] (io), she wore
around her shoulders a i i., (ii) shawl. Her jewelry was exclu-
sively a Diamond (12). Her shoes were of Morocco (13), and her
handkerchiefwas perfumed with Cologne (14). P '. '
dancer, she had distinguished partners, whose : .. .... ...
ton (16), Columbus (17), Madison (18), Montgomery (ig), Jack-
son (20), and Raleigh (21). Having boldly said that she was hungry
[Hungary] (22), she was escorted b i 1 .' i 1.
where she freely partook of Salmoi. o .... ... ..1.1. I
Orange (27), Champagne (28), and .


ing a Pleasant (30) evening, she bade Farewell (31) to her hostess
and was escorted home by Prince Edward (32).
NUMERICAL EGNGhA.-Chinanmen (chin-amen).
ILLUSTRATED PUZZLE.-T. Hare (hair). 2. Beholder (bee-holder,
the hive). 3. Ear. 4. Clause (claws). 5. Wings. 6. Comb (honey-
comb on the ground). 7. Branch. 8. Leaves. 9 and 1o. B I (bee-
eye). i. Tongue. 12. Pause (paws).
CURTAILMENTS.-I. Teasel, tease, teas. 2. Planet, plane, plan.
3. Marsh, Mars, mar, ma. 4. Panel, pane, pan, pa.
COMPLETE DIAGONAL.-Diagonals from left to right downward:
i. L. 2. Ed. 3. Sir. 4. Aver. 5. Eager. 6. Dale. 7. Law. 8. Po.
9. L. Horizontals: E A S L
D A V I D
DAVID

P A I, E R
L 0 \E R
EASY NUMERICAL ENIGMIhA.-Helen's Babies.
SQUARE-WORD. -Czar, Zero, Arms, Rose.
ANAGRAM DOUBLE-DIAMOND AND CONCEALED DOUBLE-SQUARE.

ATE ATE
Double Diamond: s P A R E Concealed Square: P AR
E R A E R A
E
PICTORIAL PROVERB PUZZLE.-"Let Hercules himself do what he
may, The cat will mew, the dog will have his day."


ANSWERS TO PUZZLES in the January number were received, before January 18, from Jas. J. Ormsbee, Fred M. Pease, Morris H. Turk,
Susie Hermance, M. W. Collet, Eddie Vultee, A. B. C., "M'sieur B. I.", Alice and Mamie Taylor, Constance Grandpierre and Sadie
Duffield, Winnie Brookline, Charlie and Carrie Moyses, 0. A D., Baron P. Smith, F. U., Mary B. Smith, Milly E. Adams and Perry
Adams, W. H. C., Anita 0. Ball, "Bessie and her Cousin," ('-e-; ILaw, K. L. McD., Mary Wharton Wadsworth, Nessie E. Stevens,
Inez Okey, Nellie Baker, E. Farnham Todd, Daisy Breaux, _..'. I tear, Mary C. Warren, Georgictta N. Congdon, Ik... ompster,"
Nellie Emerson: 255 Indiana street, Chicago; Bessie Cary, Henry D. Todd, Jr., Finda Lippen, Jennie Beach, M. i 1, Anna E.
Mathewson, Nellie Kellogg, Iucy E Jolhnson, Charles Behrens, Clara H. Hollis, Nellie Dennis, E. S. P., Bessie and Houghton Gilman,
May C. Woodruff, George Herbert White, H. Howell, Lizzie B. Clark; Bessie T. B. Benedict, of Ventnor, Isle of Wight, England: B. M.,
and Jennie Wilson.
"Oriole" answered all the puzzles in the January number.


[MARCH.