Front Cover
 Front Matter
 How some dolls broke the law
 Adrift on the ocean
 That dropped stitch
 Two "allies"
 Arbor vitae or not?
 The pensive cricket
 Mrs. McGlinty's pigs
 Irene and the yesterdays
 Gathering muscadines in Missis...
 The family with whom everything...
 A legend of harvest
 Hunting jack-rabbits
 Getting ready for Thanksgiving
 The boys at Chiron's school
 Among the lakes
 The last dauphin
 The Gudra's daughter
 The country school-house
 The little runaway
 The boy-heroes of Crecy and...
 A few pretty things in fancy...
 St. Martin's eve
 How Kit saw the show
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Matter
 Back Cover

Group Title: St. Nicholas.
Title: Saint Nicholas: Volume 7, no. 1. November 1879.
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00080
 Material Information
Title: Saint Nicholas: Volume 7, no. 1. November 1879.
Series Title: St. Nicholas.
Uniform Title: Saint Nicholas: Volume 7, no. 1
Alternate Title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner,
Publication Date: November 1879
Subject: Children's literature -- Periodicals.
Literature for Children
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
Bibliographic ID: UF00065513
Volume ID: VID00080
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

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Front Matter
        Front Matter
    How some dolls broke the law
        Page 1
        Page 2
    Adrift on the ocean
        Page 3
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
    That dropped stitch
        Page 8
        Page 9
    Two "allies"
        Page 10
    Arbor vitae or not?
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
    The pensive cricket
        Page 13
    Mrs. McGlinty's pigs
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
    Irene and the yesterdays
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
    Gathering muscadines in Mississippi
        Page 28
        Page 29
    The family with whom everything went wrong
        Page 32
        Page 33
    A legend of harvest
        Page 30
        Page 31
    Hunting jack-rabbits
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
    Getting ready for Thanksgiving
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
    The boys at Chiron's school
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
    Among the lakes
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 43
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
    The last dauphin
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
    The Gudra's daughter
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
    The country school-house
        Page 55
    The little runaway
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
    The boy-heroes of Crecy and Poitiers
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
    A few pretty things in fancy work
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 69
    St. Martin's eve
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
    How Kit saw the show
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
    The letter-box
        Page 84
        Page 85
    The riddle-box
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
    Back Matter
        Back Matter
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text

lA- --

1pu ~


ISee page 5;.]







No. I.

[Copyright, 1879, by Scribner & Co.]



AT William Hackett's dingy, cramped quarters
in London, there were three very busy people.
These were Mrs. Hackett, Miss Hackett, and
Master Hackett. They were working upstairs in
an attic room, sitting about a table on which there
were dolls, doll-heads, doll-bodies. All about the
room were boxes of dolls, undressed, except for
those inevitable little paper-cambric slips which
seem to embody the only inalienable right that
dolls have in this world. There were red-haired
dolls, black-haired dolls, golden-haired dolls, no-
haired dolls,-every description of the genus, per-
haps, except the china doll.
Were the Hacketts-Mrs., Miss and Master-
dressing dolls to help out belated Santa Claus?
No. Were they making dolls? Again, no. They
were unmaking the creatures. It would have made
any little girl's blood run cold to stand by and
witness the slaughter.
First, the lovely dears were beheaded. Then
they were ripped open abdut where their clavicles
would have been if the doll-makers had n't left the
clavicles out of the darlings. When they were all
ripped, and gaping in a ghastly way from shoulder
to shoulder, they were emptied of what would have
been their vital organs if it had n't been sawdust.
Then the heads and bodies were stuffed like
Thanksgiving turkey, not, however, with oysters or
curry force-meat, but with costly laces,-laces fit to
adorn a duchess.
Mr. William Hackett was going to emigrate to
America. No; he was n't going to colonize with
the little deaf and dumb men and women. He was
going to open a toy-shop and a lace-shop in the
United States, and make his fortune. He had put

his means, the gatherings and savings of thirty
years of work and economy, into fine laces.
It was a queer way to carry fire laces,-was n't
it ?-crammed in spaces where dolls' brains and
hearts and lungs ought to have been, if the darlings
had had their dues.
"It's a very heavy risk to run," said Mrs.
Hackett, shaking her head.
No risk at all," said Master Hackett, the bold;
"the thought will never come to the stupids to
look down a doll's throat."
Or to take its head off," said Miss Hackett.
Well, be sure you make good knots in your
thread, Flora, and sew the bodies up snug; and
glue the heads on tight, Billy," said Mrs. Hackett.
Trust me," replied Billy. I '11 engage that
none of these beauties will ever lose their heads.
I '11 glue them on so snug, the dolls wont be able
to wag their heads when they get to Yankee-
"Any way, I '11 feel uneasy till we 're safe past
the custom-house. They do say that the officers
are prying, beyond all believing. I must say, it is
not to my liking,-this dodging the law; I 'd be
far happier to have father pay the duty on the lace,
like an honest man. I 'd feel more as if the Lord
had good cause to give us good luck in a new land,
than if we 'd cheated at the gate; though, to be
sure, it's not like dealings between man and man.
A few pounds more or less can't make a deal of
difference with America."
"No," said Master Hackett, "the Yankees '11
never know they 're hurt; but I would n't care if
they should feel it. If they had n't kicked up a
rumpus, and fought us, and set up an establish-



ment for themselves, there would n't be any duties
to pay. I don't wonder they did fight, though,
I 'm going to 'list to fight the Indians when I get
over there."
And to get scalped," said Miss Hackett, as she
crammed a point-lace collar into an alabaster doll-
head. I believe we shall never get this work
It was a tedious job, but it was, at length, done,
and the dolls and the Hacketts shipped for the
United States.
When the custom-house officials boarded the
incoming steamer, Mr. Hackett, without hesita-
tion, reported his dolls and toys, and stood by
while his wares were rummaged so roughly that
Master Hackett, also standing by, thought that
some of the doll-heads must surely burst open and
let out their secrets. But the investigation ended
without any cracked skulls; duty was paid on the
dolls, while the laces passed in free.
The Hacketts, in good humor, took rooms, and
again the dolls were beheaded, disemboweled and
reconstructed. The laces were worked over and
carded; a toy-shop was opened, and Master
Hackett, instead of going off to fight the Indians,
and to get scalped, was set to keep it, while Miss
Hackett presided over the lace-shop. You and I
know why her laces could be sold at low prices,-
low prices bring quick sales,-thus Mr: Hackett
soon found himself back in London, ready to bring
out another lot of immigrant dolls, to find homes
in little Yankee girls' hearts. In the meantime,
some things had happened,-among others, the
Chicago fire. By this, many.and many a little girl
was left doll-less, and many a boy top-less. All over
the country, from New England and New York
and Ohio, and the great North-west and the Pacific
coast, while mammas were boiling and baking,
and packing boxes of clothing for the burnt-out
folks, and papas were giving their checks freely,
the dear little boys and girls were getting tops and
dressing dollies to comfort the burnt-out children.
And Santa Claus, you must know, was one of
the heaviest sufferers from the great fire. Thou-
sands and thousands of his Christmas toys were
destroyed. But when the great holiday came
around, the children in the land stood by their
blessed old saint and friend. Many a Christmas-
box they sent to Chicago for this and that burnt-
out Sunday-school. And so it came that there was
a Christmas-tree for a certain Presbyterian Sunday-
school in Chicago, all of whose gifts had been sent
by children of nobody-knew-what-places; that is
to say, nobody knew by the time the articles had
reached the tree.
Among other things on this certain tree was a
wonderful dolly, in a marvelous dress of pink gauze.

If I could have that," said Josie Hawley, "I 'd
stop crying about my burnt-up dolly."
"Why don't you pray to get it," said Patsy
Clark. "I 've been praying for that picture-book
up there ever since I first saw it."
".Well, I will," said little Josie.
She put her hands up to her eyes, and looking
through her fingers to keep the coveted dolly in
sight, she said:

Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep;
If I should die before I wake"-

"Is that the right way? 'I pray the'-
Santa Claus has tooked it down !" she cried.
A lady had just whispered to Santa Claus. He
was looking straight into Josie's eager face.
This beautiful doll," he said, "is for the good
little girl, Josie Hawley."
Oh! where was the little girl who had sent that
pretty doll? She ought to have been there to see
Josie's radiant, happy face, as two eager arms were
reached out to receive the beauty.
One day, in the following January, Mrs. Hawley
was thinking, in desponding mood, of her ruined
fortunes, when Josie ran into the room, crying:
Come quick, Mamma My dolly is drowned
all to pieces in the baf-tub."
Why, Josie, what have you been doing ?" said
Mamma, hastening to the bath-room.
I give her a baf; her wanted a baf so bad,"
said Josie.
There, in and on the booming deep, with a cata-
ract roaring from the open faucet, was the beautiful
dolly, all unpasted. One fair foot and the fairer
head had gone to the bottom of the tub. The
beautiful unglued curls were floating in a tangled
mass on the restless waves.
"And what is this?" said Mamma, as, having
rescued the other parts, her hand plunged and
brought up the head. Dripping honiton lace was
hanging from it. Did anybody ever ?" continued
Mamma, pulling at the lace, and drawing out yard
after yard.
Further investigation followed; dolly was dis-
sected, and a marvelous anatomical structure was
revealed. You see how it was, do you not? It
was one of the Hackett dolls which, by mistake,
did not get its lace insides taken out, on its arrival
in America.
Of course, the matter could n't be kept out of
the papers; it was published far and wide. I pre-
sume you read an account of it. Some custom-
house officers did, and the Hacketts did not. They
took a London paper, setting it down that Ameri-
can newspapers were sensational and unreliable.
The custom-house folks had their explanation




about the lace-stuffed doll: the lace was smuggled
lace. They wrote it down on their memories' tab-
lets, Beware of dolls !" Mr. Hackett was com-
ing in on a second venture while this inscription
was fresh on the tablets.
When his dolls were exposed for inspection, the
investigator took one in his hand. It was a beau-
tiful creature, with long Saxon curls, black eyes,
bright cheeks and a rose-bud mouth. There is
surely not a little girl in all the world who could
have looked at it without a flutter. What do you

think that hard-hearted officer did? He took the
head in his right hand, the bright face against his
great palm, while the left grasped the darling just
over the little heart, if there had been a heart in its
body. He laid the neck.across the box's edge and
broke the pretty head off, so that it would have
bothered Master Hackett, expert that he was, to
reconstruct that doll.
Doubtless, there never was another lot of dolls
that paid a higher fee than Mr. Hackett's for
admission into our country.



TITH shaking
-/- sails and jib
hauled snug
--- ----- to windward,
the old whal-
-;- -- -- .- ing schooner
.- Macy lay

the waves of
-the Caribbe-
i an Sea in the
i --. swiftly gath-
S--- ering, tropic-
al twilight.
r Leaning idly
S ---- over her taff-
rail, Captain
Smith, and Mr. Freeman the mate, watched the
approach of a whale-boat containing Captain Bangs
of the Doane" (also a whaler), which vessel was
hove to, a pistol-shot distant, to afford her com-
mander opportunity for making an evening call.
"Drop her astern, you 'Dolph," growled the
genial Bangs; and, the boat having arrived along-
side, he scrambled over the Macy's rail, followed
by his boat's crew. Mind you make the painter
well fast With this injunction he dived below,
in compliance with a nod from Captain Smith.
'Dolph, a stolid Belgian noted for his stupidity,
grunted obedience, and with great deliberation
tied the painter," or boat-line, around the nearest
stanchion with an elaborate double bow-knot, as
though it were a kind of gigantic shoe-string, after
which he joined his shipmates forward. But Boy
Jack, who was youngest and lightest of the

"Doane's" crew, and pulled "stroke" for the
captain, remained in the boat.
Better than tobacco smoke and a dirty fore-
castle," he muttered, drowsily, as, curled up in the
stern-sheets, he watched the Mother Carey's chick-
ens which danced in the "Macy's" wake. And
vaguely associating their monotonous note with the
well-remembered twittering of barn-swallows at
home, he fell fast asleep, unconscious that, little
by little, the clumsily knotted boat's painter was
yielding to the strain imposed upon it by the rising
and falling waves.
Three hours later, Captain Bangs came on deck,
and, having summoned his crew, somewhat hilari-
ously ordered his boat to be brought alongside.
Presently, 'Dolph, who had been aft, appeared
before the waiting commander with a dismayed
"It vos a trouble bow-knotz, Mynheer Cap'n,"
he stammered, "and I shall not tinks how he
would untie, but -"
"Why, you dunderheaded old-old-graven
image!" shouted Captain Bangs, rushing to the
rail in horror. "You don't mean to say that a
brand-new three-hundred-dollar whale-boat has
gone adrift through your everlasting, blamed
stupidity !"
"I haf tied my shoe yesterday mit the same
knotz, an' he wos not yet untie," answered 'Dolph,
innocently advancing an enormous foot for the
frenzied captain's inspection.
O-ww !" roared the wrathful Bangs, twining
his hands in his own hair in a seeming endeavor to
lift himself from the deck; take that thick-skulled
idiot away, some of you, before I throw him over-
board and Captain Bangs strode wildly up and




down, to the intense but secret delight of little Mr.
Marshall, the second mate, who grew purple to his
ear-tips with suppressed laughter.
To add to the perplexities of the situation, a
heavy squall began to darken the sky and whiten
the waves to windward, rendering a return to the
"Doane," for that night at least, an impossibility.
But, leaving the hapless commander to pour out
the vials of unavailing wrath upon the head of the
unlucky but unmoved 'Dolph as he assists in short-
ening sail on board the Macy," let us see how it
fares with our hero, Boy Jack.
He had been rudely aroused from a two hours'
sleep by the violent tossing and pitching of the
boat. With a strange feeling that something was
wrong, he stumbled forward through the dark-
ness, half awake, to find the painter towing along-
side, and the boat drifting aimlessly at the will of
the waves! At the same moment, by a sudden
flash of lightning which lit up the sea for miles
around, he saw for an instant a white speck against
the blackening horizon, which he knew was prob-
ably the "Macy."
But though cast down, Boy Jack was not of the
stuff which yields easily to despondency.
I must work up to windward as well as I can,
till morning, and take my chance of being seen
from aloft," he said half aloud as he raised the
light mast which every whale-boat carries, fitted to
an adjustable socket. Then bringing the peak of
his sail down nearly to the tack, he lashed it se-
curely, thereby making a sort of storm try-sail, after
which, shipping the rudder, he brought the boat
up to the wind, and began his hazardous voyage.
But the wind, at first blowing in fitful gusts, soon
burst with fierce suddenness from the north-west.
Narrowly escaping being swamped in the act, Boy
Jack had no other resource than to keep off and
run before the fierce blast, which sent the terrible
green seas cockling and cresting in close pursuit
Crouched in the stern, and drenched to the skin
with driving spray, he clung convulsively to the
tiller as the buoyant boat flew with frightful veloc-
ity over the storm-tossed waves, bending all his en-
ergies upon the one effort to prevent the little craft
from broaching to. Shivering with cold and ex-
citement, oh, how bitterly he regretted the madness
which had induced him, two months before, to
leave his quiet New England home for a life whose
every surrounding he had found, when too late,
was not at all to his taste.
But as the hours passed on, and the first gleams
of morning appeared in'the east, breaking through
the dispersing clouds, the violence of the wind
gradually abated until it had settled down to a
steady breeze. It was then, as he stood erect and

shook out his sail, that he caught his first sight of
the strange island which, on the chart, is laid down
as Rondia," and which from its dangerous sur-
rounding of coral reefs, is seldom or never visited
by vessels, that might pass and repass a thousand
times without discerning the wonderfully concealed
passage leading to its interior. For Rondia is
nothing more nor less than an extinct volcano,
rising -cone-like from the sea, with neither shore
nor harbor visible a cable's length distant from its
lofty sides.
It was not until Boy Jack had steered his boat
between rows of coral reefs against which the surf
unceasingly chafed and fretted, and had come un-
der the very shadow of the overhanging cliffs, that
a cleft in the mountain-side, through which a nar-
row creek flowed inland, revealed itself to his
astonished eyes. Ages ago, say the Rondians, this
was a burning volcano. And they add that, at
the crucifixion of our Savior, when earth and sea
were shaken, its eastern side was riven from top to
bottom, so that the sea, rushing suddenly in,
quenched the internal fires, and remaining, formed
the bowl-shaped harbor in the center of which no
bottom (so they assert) can be reached. As one
in a dream, Boy Jack was borne on the incoming
tide between towering walls of stone, until, sud-
denly rounding an abrupt bend in the stream, a
wonderful scene was presented to his view.
Before him lay a perfectly circular basin of clear
water, rimmed with dazzlingly white sand; on the
shore opposite to him was a tiny collection of
palm-thatched huts. From behind them, as from
every side of the beautiful harbor, thickly wooded
slopes rose gradually upward to a wedge-shaped
summit which was seemingly shut in by a circular
patch of blue sky.
As the boat's keel grated on the powdered coral
beach, Boy Jack stepped ashore, and not yet en-
tirely certain that he was fully awake, looked about
him. The stillness, no less than the heat, was in-
tense. No sign of life was anywhere visible. Fol-
lowing a sort of foot-path leading up from the
beach, he found himself in an irregular palm-
shaded, grass be-grown sort of street, which, wan-
dering aimlessly along between the little vine-em-
bowered dwellings on either side, lost itself in
luxuriant groves of plantains and bananas.
"The land of Nod," said Boy Jack, dreamily..
For Rondia was taking her noonday siesta, and
reclining at ease in grass hammocks, or stretched
at indolent length in the cooling shade, was the
entire population of Rondia, a people who, for the
most part, appear to be allied to French or Spanish
creoles in appearance and language, yet who claim
that the blood of the now extinct race of Caribs
flows in their veins.





Fortunately for Boy Jack, weak and faint with
hunger, Father Francis, a sort of missionary priest,
who had been sent here thirty years before from
Dominica, and had taken up his permanent abode
in Rondia, appeared upon the scene. He was a
spare, kindly visaged man in a faded cassock and
broad-brimmed hat, mounted upon a little, ven-
erable and sleepy-looking donkey. Jack briefly
related his story to the amazed priest, amid mut-
tered exclamations of languid surprise in a jumble
of poor French and stray bits of English from

edition of eating and sleeping. Yet, as Boy Jack
learned from Father Francis, his was the first white
face which had been seen there since the year 1852,
when a Scotch brig was wrecked near the entrance
to the harbor, and the two only survivors, who
found their way into this strange interior, were
afterward carried to Barbadoes by a turtle-catcher.
Twice a year a small sloop is loaded with the few
native products of the island, to be exchanged in
Barbadoes for the necessaries of life,-which, with
the Rondians, seem to consist of calico, chewing

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ffi V;- : f ':'-"- -' '^.-*-. 7: :.--_'%-"'^:'
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a throng of now aroused Rondians who gathered
about him, and to whom he expressed his willing-
ness to dine on the shortest possible notice.
Boy Jack has since averred that the baked beans
of his native land never tasted one-half as good as
the savory bowl of stew which was soon set before
him. It was composed of salt fish, oil, beans,
Chili peppers, yams, sweet-potatoes, gumbo, turtle
meat and plantains, thickened with cassava, and
flavored to a shuddering extent with garlic.
In a day or two, the little ripple of excitement
which the stranger's advent had caused among this
the most indolent people in existence, had sub-
sided, and Rondia had returned to her normal con-

tobacco, and stove-pipe hats,-though these last.
named articles are considered rather as a fash-
ionable luxury, than as a necessity. You can easily
imagine that a Rondian presents a decidedly pe-
culiar and imposing appearance as he stalks ma-
jestically over the burning sand (the thermometer
at 1020 in the shade) in dingy and tattered linen
shirt and pants, and barefooted, but with his crisp
hair surmounted by a stiff, bell-crowned hat of the
fashion of forty years ago.
The curious interior of Rondia, already alluded
to, is formed of lava, which cooled so suddenly
from its fiery, melted state that it left the ground-
surface covered with air-holes, like the top of an





immense griddle-cake. These then became grad- freebooter, watched the sails in the offing; for,
ually filled with dust, loose earth and decayed many years before, Rondia was a famed trysting-
animal and vegetable matter, forming a surface soil place for the pirates which infested the Caribbean
of wonderful richness. Every variety of vegetation sea. He had been out to the wreck of a Spanish
matures for the lazy Rondian without his help, man-of-war, where at low tide the whitening bones.
and all kinds of tropical fruits ripen with incredible of her ill-fated crew can be seen among the rusty
rapidity, as though to fall into his open mouth as he cannon on the bottom. His appetite was sated with
snores away two-thirds of his indolent life in a grass fruit, and he loathed the odor of garlic.
hammock. With the exception of the three hurri- Rest you easy, my son," said Father Francis,
cane months, as they are called,-which periods of who took a secret pride in his English; s'pose
wind and rain afford an excuse for an additional you s'all here for always to stay, the peoples have-
amount of sleep,-the climate of Rondia is that of to me told that they you will make to become a-
a perpetual summer. a-Gobernador-I am not know what he s'all be
The harbor itself, from its nearness to the sea and call in English."
great depth, abounds with fish and turtle. Here For the primitive Rondians looked upon Boy
Boy Jack saw for the first time the cardinal-hued Jack, who had given them such wonderful accounts.
"snapper" and crimson mullet, the chameleon- of the world without, and especially of the great
like dolphin, the slender pipe-fish, parrot-fishes, Yankee nation, with a sort of superstitious respect,
gorgeous in plate armor of red and green, and as a being possessed of vast stores of wisdom.
occasionally the rainbow-tinted angel-fish of the But this dazzling honor, to which was added the
Bermudas. inducement of marriage with a Rondian belle of
Now Boy Jack called to mind how often, in his some personal beauty, was insufficient to turn Boy
school days, he had dreamed of the happiness which Jack from his fixed purpose of setting sail for the
a perpetual holiday in some such climate as this-a nearest sea-board port frequented by American ship-
holiday unbroken by the slightest semblance of duty ping. To reach his quiet New England home once
or task-would afford him. But he found that, more, never to leave it again,-to ask forgiveness
after a week of this very easy way of living, it of his loved parents for his headstrong folly in run-
ning away to sea, and be to
them evermore a dutiful son,
-' --this was the one dream which
--- --. was present to his mind.
And one day, amid general
lamentation, Boy. Jack waved
a good-bye to Rondia, leaving
Father Francis to lift up his
--- ---.- voice and weep, while his flock
forgot their sorrows in sleep.
a tHis boat was provisioned with
: dried turtle, cassava, and fruit;
t- he had water sufficient to last
Sr a week. Barbadoes was but
-_---- eighty miles distant, the course-
to --- v W. N. W. by his boat com-
Sb pass, and at this season of the
year he might reckon upon
.- fair weather and the steady
breath of the N. E. trade-wind.
sou'wester hat, in addition to
began to grow too tiresome. He had made the ac- his scanty stock of clothing; but in that delightful
quaintance of every male inhabitant of Rondia, climate this was all-sufficient for ordinary needs.
from old Manuel, the Spaniard, popularly believed Could he but reach Barbadoes, he knew that he
to have been a pirate, to Jocopo, a peculiarly vicious was almost sure of finding American vessels loading
monkey belonging to Father Francis. Mamma with sugar or molasses for northern ports. The
Moyo, an Obi woman, or witch, had given him a most he feared was the remote possibility of falling
charm to insure him riches and long life. He had in with the "Doane" or "Macy." He fully in-
visited the ruined stone lookout where La Fitte, the tended that in some way the whale-boat should be


returned to its owners ; but he firmly resolved that
he himself would never willingly go back to the
rough life of a whaler's forecastle.
By night-fall, the lofty peak of Rondia was no
longer visible. Now and then, a lonely, barren
rock could be discerned, with a troop of sea-gulls
swooping about it, but as the twilight deepened into
darkness, and the stars shone out with a softened
brilliancy peculiar to the tropics, Boy Jack began to
experience that terrible sensation of being

"Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide, wide sea,"

in all its misery. But finally, commending himself
to the loving care of Him who holds the sea in the
hollow of His hand, he wrapped himself in his
blanket and fell asleep, awaking at intervals to find
the weather fine and the wind gradually dying out.
Toward day-break, he was awakened by a repeated
hail of Boat ahoy Struggling to his feet, he
became conscious that the cry came from a large
fore-and-aft schooner, which was becalmed a cable's
length distant. A sudden terror came over him,
for in the dim light the vessel's rig and size appeared
to be exactly those of the Doane," and at that
distance he could not see whether she carried quar-
ter-boats and had lookout stations aloft, or not.
Come alongside and give an account of your-
self," again shouted a hoarse voice, which to Boy
Jack's excited imagination seemed that of the
dreaded Bangs; and, as escape was impossible, he
slowly propelled his boat toward the schooner.
But as he neared her he saw, with feelings of great
relief, that it was no whaler; her name was the
"Ella," of Boston.
As he came alongside, a gray-bearded man si-
lently left the wheel and took the boat's painter.
Can I see the captain ? asked Boy Jack, as,
reaching the deck, he noticed with some surprise
that no one but the gray-bearded man was in sight,
and he seemed to have suddenly fallen asleep as
soon as he grasped the spokes of the wheel.
"You can," curtly answered the gray-bearded
man, suddenly opening his eyes, but not otherwise
moving a muscle of his face.
"Well," said Boy Jack, where is he ? "
"I 'm the individual," was the unmoved answer.
: Who are you-a runaway from a whaler, eh ? "
In some astonishment, Boy Jack told his story,
to which the captain-whose name was Simons-
listened without remark. He had met with so
many more remarkable experiences in his thirty-
three years of sea life, that he seemed to think Boy
Jack's narration hardly worthy of comment.
S'pose you want to work your passage north ?"
said Captain Simons interrogatively. Jack nodded.

"Well," was the dry answer, "you '11 have a
chance to. Me and the steward has buried mate,
second mate, and three men, who 've all died of
yellow fever, since we left Trinidad eight days ago,
bound for Boston. And I 'm going to get the
schooner home, if nobody's left aboard but me."
At Captain Simons's bidding, Boy Jack called the
steward, who was a gigantic, but wonderfully good-
natured, negro; and, the whale-boat being taken
up to the stern davits with infinite labor, the cap-
tain gave Boy Jack the course and the wheel, and
was asleep almost as soon as he reached the cabin.
But long before they sighted Highland Light,
Boy Jack was in the same condition. Sometimes,
after standing three or four hours at the wheel, a
sudden squall would rise, the halyards would be let
go; and, after the squall had passed, the three
would manage, with heart-breaking toil, to hoist
the heavy foresail and mainsail again.
Oftentimes did Boy Jack pace the deck, in the
night watch, when it was perfectly impossible to
keep awake; and he slept as he walked, until
aroused by some order, when he would be obliged
to pull and haul till it seemed as though his arms
would drop off.
Still, with the exception of a blow off Hatteras,
the wind and weather held generally fair. Captain
Simons, who was a man of indomitable pluck and
energy, vowed that he was n't going to ask assist-
ance, at any rate not as long as he could do with-
out it, though several times they might have
spoken passing vessels.
However, Boy Jack has since told me that he
thinks he could not have had a much harder time,
if he had made the voyage in his whale-boat; and
that, while he had great admiration for Captain
Simons's courage, he was many times inclined to
doubt the wisdom of his judgment.
But on one beautiful day in June, the tug-boat
"Vixen took the schooner's hawser in Boston Bay
and finally carried her alongside Commercial wharf
Boy Jack helped to furl the heavy sails for the last
time, and, after packing his scanty stock of clothing
in a bundle, went into the cabin to say good-bye to
Captain Simons, who, by the way, had promised
to see that the whale-boat in which Boy Jack had
made his memorable trip was sent across to Prov-
incetown, where the "Doane" was owned, with
the compliments of Jack Smith.
Mr. Mason, one of the owners of the "Ella,"
was talking with Captain Simons, and rubbing his
hands in rather a satisfied manner.
And this is the boy, eh ?" said Mr. Mason,
looking sharply over his spectacles at Jack, who,
finding that he had been the subject of conversa-
tion, colored violently.
That's the boy," answered Captain Simons con-




cisely, "and a better or more willing lad never Good boy-he 'll make a smart man." Captain
stood five hours to a wheel without a whimper." Simons also said words to the same effect, and
An order for a suit of clothes and a check for fifty wrung his hand at parting till it ached.
dollars are not very unwelcome gifts to any one. "But whatever you do," said Captain Simons
I wish some one would make such a present to me. finally, "don't go to sea for a living." And Jack
And that is just what Mr. Mason handed Boy Jack; not only said that he certainly would n't, but has
moreover, he patted him on the shoulder, and said, kept his promise.


BY R. S. T.

"A LITTLE old woman
With silver-rimmed specs,"
,' Quite daintily dressed
'. '' ''' In the cleanest of checks,
Si, I Was sitting alone in a tower, so
i high
S" '- i That it seemed like a needle pierc-
,ing the sky.

And she said, while her face was
~ all puckered with smiles,

-0. V. oil :I twenty miles."

-:-- She had needles all round her
-- .--- a -:--^ ---- J -i i Knitting, and singing

-..And yarn in her shoe,
And she had a partic-
Ular object in view.
Ball awfully tired of perpetual

i -- :- I'11 soong piece of r knitting .

Tlhe knitting hangs free
IFrom the ide-open casement;
"V- Jil lt[' .

'~~ IThe end of it reaches
Almost to the basement.
She cheerfully knits, and remarks
': '"a nds~ B yrsh e s i n g s :
By means of this knitting I 'II do
without wings."


Of the world far beneath her
She knew not a bit, ,. '
But she said to herself, i
With a good deal of wit: Ii,
" If no better than this place, it cannot be worse."
So continued her knitting, and singing her I
verse. ,'

At last, she got near 0"
To the end of her work; -
The swift needles flew i 1 i ...I
In and out, with a jerk,
When, some knot in the worsted producing a I 'ii
hitch, 6
This cheerful and pleasant old girl dropped a I

Now, a great many persons i
Are apt to suppose
That dropping one stitch- -. i
Which you know, hardly shows- '
Should be a small matter quite easy to shirk; --' -
And so the old lady went on with her work. :
(-- .
She finished her line, ',
Never minding her error; "--

When, oh to her terror, ,
It began, where the stitch had been dropped, .
to unravel,
And rapidly down toward the earth did she
travel. ,
A n ': I V i
At first fast, and then faster,-
The knitting unwound,
And faster and faster -2r 11_ P'
She, fell to the ground, :I
Whirled over and over, and heavily dropped,
Poor soul! How she wished on her window .'I
she 'd stopped _, '

So, children, be thorough,
Whatever you do, .
For a similar trouble -.-.
Might happen to you.
In performing your duties don't offer to shirk, -"- 11 l
But be careful no stitches are dropped in your
work.. '.



HAVE you ever noticed, boys and girls, the effect destitute of beauty. That which is called a hon-
of repetition in design? Glance at the carpet eysuckle," a favorite decorative device since the


under your feet, and see how symmetry is pro-
duced by repeating forms irregular in themselves.
The merest blur, repeated, may form part of a
very pretty pattern which will be quite regular in

days of ancient Greece, is, as you will see by
finding the word in Worcester's big dictionary,
merely a repetition of a lobe-like form taken from
a part of the unopened flower.

I t-

shape, not having at all the effect of a blur. This The kaleidoscope furnishes the most striking evi-
doubling quite takes away the uneven look, as you dence of this power to assume a pleasing shape
might call it, and so produces harmony of shape, that repetition gives to irregular fragments,-for


though a thing may be beautiful without this
evenness or regularity.
Many of the fairest forms of classic decoration
are made by the repetition of shapes in themselves

you all know what pretty designs are formed from
bits of glass or other material within the angles of
your kaleidoscopes.
I want to show you a very pretty illustration of




- ~--------~-

. )



the effect of repetition and one which any of you
may easily make as an ornament to the fly leaf of
a book or for any other purpose where it is desired
to introduce a name as an adornment.
This is the way to make it. Take a bit of paper
say about the size of a playing-card,
and fold it lengthwise, then open it
flat and write any name, as I have
written "Allie here, directly over
the crease caused by folding;
fold it again and with an
ivory paper cutter, a knife
handle or your thumb-
nail, rub evenly over the
folded paper, and the
name written with
the soft black lead
pencil will be slight-
ly "set off" on the

opposite side of the crease, as seen in the third
sketch. The faint impression may then be traced
over with pencil, and you will have the pretty
figure of the two "Allies," as shown on this page.
If it is desired to
transfer this to the
S fly leaf of a book, the
whole design may be laid
face down and rubbed as
described and the slight im-
pression that is left, finished up
Afterward with ink or pencil.
If the fly leaf is dark paper,
the double name may be painted
over in gold, bright red or other
color to contrast with the ground; and
" I think if you will try and make a double
name, you will, after one or two attempts,
succeed and think it very pretty.



SUPPER was over, the dishes were washed, and
there was no one in the tidy little kitchen but Wal-
lace and Diantha. Wallace was on his knees be-
fore the stove stirring some evergreen branches in
a large pan in the oven, and Diantha was prepar-
ing to make a sponge for Graham bread.
How good and woodsy that smells, Wal," said
Diantha as she measured the flour into the large,
yellow bowl. "What is it?"
"Arbor vitae for Billy; I 'm going to mix it with
his feed."
"I don't believe he will like it if it tastes as
strong as it smells."
Mr. Guerin likes it; he says he eats it between
bread and butter, and it 's good for a horse. He
told. me about it and gave it to me."
"You might have used some of ours," replied
Diantha, dropping a pinch of salt into the flour.
"We haven't any," said Wallace, springing up
and seating himself on the wood-box.
Why yes we have," returned Diantha, in the
front yard before the parlor windows."
"Why no," declared Wallace, "there is n't an
arbor vitae on the place. In the front yard we have
spruce and pine and hemlock."
"Why, William Wallace Angus, you know it's
arbor vita," cried Diantha, turning an astonished
face upon her brother. We have spruce in the

corner, hemlock before the piazza door, and arbor
vitae before the parlor windows."
"Never!" retorted Wallace, "we never had a
speck of arbor vitae on the place. Why should I
get it elsewhere if we had it ?"
"Let me see what you call arbor vitas," asked
Diantha, stooping to take a hot spray from the
oven. Yes, it is arbor vitae, just like ours in the
front .yard."
You don't know what arbor vitae is," contended
Wallace, his eyes beginning to shine and the color
streaming up into his forehead.
I know this is arbor vitae," said Diantha, drop-
ping the spray and turning to pour the yeast into
the flour.
But if you say we have it in the front yard, you
don't know what it is."
"What is Mr. Blake's hedge made of?" quietly
asked Diantha.
"Arbor vitae, of course "
"The tree in our yard is just like that."
But it does n't grow into trees," persisted Wal-
It does if it is not trimmed, and ours has never
been, only a little underneath to let the grass grow
under it. Just run out and get a piece and com-
pare it with this."
My boots are off, and the rain will wet my slip-




pers," objected Wallace, "and beside," he added
laughing, "there is n't any arbor vitae there."
"What is there?"
Spruce and hemlock and I wont say posi-
tively, what the other is; I only know it is not arbor
vitae. I think the other is pine."
How did you know arbor vitse ?"
"By experience. I guess a fellow that is old
enough to begin to learn a carpenter's trade ought
to know different kinds of wood.. Where did you
learn about arbor vitae ?"
The man who sold it to father said it was arbor
vitae "
"He could n't have said any such thing," inter-
rupted Wallace, hotly. Father must have forgot
the name."
"And every one who has ever spoken of it in
my hearing has called it arbor vitse," continued
Diantha, beginning to stir lukewarm water into
the flour, and speaking rather sharply.
"Then they did n't know. Arbor vitae never
grows with limbs stretching out straight like the
one before the parlor windows. It grows in a thick
"So does ours. It has about five or six trunks
that grow straight up."
"I know better, it has only one trunk. You,
never can see through the limbs of an arbor vitae
as we can through that," Wallace said eagerly.
"But you can't see through this at all, except
perhaps in some places where it was winter-killed
year before last," explained Diantha.
"It never was winter-killed," cried Wallace,
hardly knowing what he was saying.
You have been at home so little lately that you
have forgotten," replied Diantha, who now became
calm as her brother's vehemence increased.
"I tell you I haven't forgotten. I looked at
the front yard trees before I got mine from Mr.
Guerin, and I tell you there is n't a shred of arbor
vitae on the place. You don't know one evergreen
tree from another."
"That's true," replied Diantha meekly, "I do
forget their names, but I know how they all look,
and I know arbor vitae."
"How can you when you just acknowledged
that you don't know one tree from another? I
read to-day that boys reason, but girls jump at a
conclusion. Just as you jump at that arbor
"I know it because it is so different from all the
others," Diantha answered quietly. I have al-
ways noticed it and liked it because its name
means the tree of ife. Now, Wal, do just run out
to the front yard and get a piece for.me; you can
put on your rubbers."
"There 's nothing to go for," declared Wallace,

walking about with his hands in his pockets, and
trying to appear as if the matter were now settled
and done with.
"Is there any other tree that looks very much
like arbor vitae?" asked Diantha wavering a
"Yes, that tree in the front yard," replied Wal-
lace ironically, ending with an excited laugh that
had just a little sneer in it.
If you wont go I'll get up and look at it as
soon as it is daylight in the morning," said Dian-
tha, carefully covering her sponge with the bread-
"Well, I'll go just to satisfy you," cried Wal-
lace, slipping on his overshoes and catching up the
Then I '11 dry it and hold that- and your arbor
vitae together and let you choose which came from
the front yard," Diantha called after him as he
swiftly followed the path around to the front of the
house, his candle flickering and sputtering in the
Diantha waited in the door-way with her apron
thrown over' her head, watching him as he stood
before the tree.
He was gone rather longer than it generally
takes one to pick a sprig from a tree, but his sister
waited for him, and allowed him to speak first as
he came toward her looking disturbed.
"You're right," he answered huskily. I
wouldn't have believed it. I must have forgot-
"People usually have the trees alike on both
sides of the path; that must have been the reason
you thought so," returned Diantha hastily, drop-
ping her eyes to conceal the laugh in them, while
she mentally determined never to mention the sub-
ject to him again.
"Then if you are through with your work in
the kitchen, let us go to the sitting-room, and I'll
play a game of chess with you," proposed Wal-
lace, bending his flushed face over his rubbers,
which seemed hard to get off.
So we will," answered Diantha, knowing that
he disliked chess as deeply as she enjoyed it, but
generously accepting his endeavor to atone for his
injustice to her.
So they sat down together at the chess table in
the cheery sitting-room where their invalid mother
lay on the lounge, her fingers busy with needle-
work, while their father sat beside her reading
aloud from the weekly paper.
"You move," whispered Wallace, after they had
arranged their men.
Then Diantha, to begin the game, moved her
king's bishop's pawn, hesitating with her finger
upon it, as her eyes met those of Wallace.




It .7> ... &':

'*..' J- "- ,:' ' r"/- .I,

.:,J t ..-.- .... ...'-

I*< %* y

*-_./ :*' .,.}S -' -* ..:....
i' '
,.^-2-:, .

7:: e I-"-- ,


THE first toy is said to have been a rattle-box,-
a symbol, said the thoughtful ancients, of the
eternal agitation, which is the cause of progress." *
The play-life of our nineteenth century babies be-
gins with the same object, and the only genuine
toy to be found in all Africa (says a traveler) is a
The second toy was, doubtless, a doll, for that
fascinating object has been in use from the ear-
liest times of which we have any record, by all
peoples, barbarous or civilized. The English name
is said by some of the wise men to be a nickname
for Dorothea, while others think it a contraction of
"idol." When we see the affection of little people
for their dolls, this origin seems probable. The
French call a dollpoufie and the Germans puffe.
The pronunciation differs in the two languages, but
both names come from the Latin fupa, a girl.
The dignified science of history is too much
taken up with stories of the wars and troubles of
grown-up people to tell us what the little ancients
used to play with; but we have found out many
things in spite of the big books. Out of the ground



are being dug, nowadays, ruined cities and treas-
ures of the people of long ago, among them the
precious toys of children. Thus we have found out
that the little people of the island of Cyprus, in the
Mediterranean, who lived three thousand years
ago, had toys of terra cotta, figures of animals, of
horses on platforms which ran on four terra cotta
wheels, with riders of curious form, some on their
knees, and others holding in each arm a large jar;
donkeys with panniers, two-wheeled vehicles like
our drays, and chariots with horses and drivers.
Then they had a representation of some game,-
whether of child or man,-several figures with
joined hands, dancing around one standing still;
perhaps some antique play of Oats, pease,
beans." There were also figures shaped like a
jumping-jack, a mother with a baby in her arms,
and, above all, dolls of all sizes and shapes, and
all with smiling
fa .: T .. 1:..
5t i' ,..

tl ,i., [! t!,,. :,: ,: !,_
tl..r i ,!. I ...
o !" ,_i!-, i[>: [,.--

tlh,- i "t l'-

u: : ." ,I

-'.; --

,-, -*-. :
--T.. " v"


ft t r

other names,-but they are certainly very suitable
for the youngsters, and all of you who live in, or

* See "Jack-in-the-Pulpit," June, 1877.



p ,.

i;- -


visit, New York, can see them any day at the
Metropolitan Museum. If they were not toys, they
ought to have been.
The ancient little Egyptian, three or four thou-
sand years ago, had dolls, painted to represent
clothes, with arms and legs moving on pins by
means of strings, so that if they could n't take off
their clothes, they could move about. Some were
very rude, without limbs, and for hair they had thick
and long strings of beads. They had also figures
washing, or kneading
bread, which could be
worked by pulling
strings, and crocodiles
which would open their
mouths by the same
means. The British
Museum has quite a
collection of ancient
Egyptian toys; balls
covered with leather, .
fish, and other things.- .":-
Some of the balls are
stuffed with bran or
husks, others are made
of rushes, plaited and -. j
covered with leather,
and others of painted
earthenware, probably
only to look at.
The first toy of the
ancient Greek baby was ., ;-
a rattle-box, then came '
-as he grew-dolls of ,
clay (a sort of coarse '
china doll), figures of
animals, apes, with their -
little ones, ducks, tor- :
toises, and others. Then .. .
they had small wooden -
wagons, to which they
harnessed live mice,
horses and ships made
of leather, chickens, and
jack-stones (called by a
long Greek name.)
Your "Jack-in-the-Pul- NEW-ZEALAND GIRL
pit" told you of them once in ST. NICHOLAS for
April, 1877. Tops were among the earliest play-
things of the Greeks, and were well known in Rome
in the time of Virgil. One old writer says that a
woman, named Anagalia, of Corcyra, made the
first ball. However that may be, we know that
ladies used to play ball in those days.
So much for ancient playthings. It is evident
thatlittle folks were amused; let us see what they

are playing with to-day. Begin with the Cradle
of Nations," the mother of us all,-Asia. It is said
that the religion of Mohammed forbids toys, but, if
so, it does not prevent little Mohammedans of
Central Asia from having balls and tops, and even
rag-dolls, which travelers say are not very pretty,
by the way. Also of terra cotta they have horses,
cattle, dogs, fish, chickens, lions, and donkeys with
pack saddles. In Western Asia, dolls with arms
and legs moved by strings, like a jumping-jack,
comic figures, whistles,
S marbles, and other
The children of India
fare better than many
Asiatics about toys.
The girls have dolls
made of wood, cut out
all dressed, and painted
in gay colors, as though
they wore real clothes.
They have them of all
sizes, and, indeed, the
doll is a very important
member of the family.
'. "In many houses dolls
..'- have a room to them-
: selves, and enjoy as
..W''.: ...much attention as chil-
dren. Feasts and gar-
den parties are given in
'' their honor. The death
of one involves a great
4 show of mourning, and
the marriage of one is
a public event." A
Bengal paper gives an
Account of the wedding
S.-..-of two dolls belonging
to very wealthy Hin-
i du families. There was
a grand procession
through the streets as
though they were two
people, followed by an
Expensive feast to the
friends and the poor.
AND HER PET PIG. Besides dolls, curi-
ously dressed in paint and gilt, with ears of some
bright color, spots on nose and chin, and a head
that "comes off,"-though the clothes do not,-
the Hindu children have elephants and other ani-
mals of wonderful shapes and colors, with stripes
and dots and stars of various colors and gilt, with
ears that come off!
To speak of China makes one think of lanterns,
fire-works, and kites, though perhaps no one of




them belongs exclusively to the children. The men
fly kites, let off fire-works, and light lanterns. The
lanterns of China are really wonderful. They are
of every shape, color, and design-round, square,
flat; some in the shapes of animals, and some of
men; some roll on the ground and keep burning;
others, shaped like horses, run on wheels; some
whirl like a top; some gallop like a horse; there
are ships that sail, soldiers that march, and people
that dance. The power that works them is the
current of hot air from the light. Some lanterns
are made of red paper, with patterns made by
holes; others are covered with painted gauze;

s':.- .tii carr.Jd in
t6-r h:-il.and *.'.11.-

are made so as to
stick on the wall. "PLAYING BUILD A HUT."
The real "Paradise of Babies" is Japan,-as
has been said many times,-for not only do the
children have every imaginable toy, but many per-

sons get their living by amusing them. Men go
about the streets and blow soap bubbles for them

with pipes that have
no bowls as ours have.
These young Japs have
tops, stilts, pop-guns,
blow-guns, magic lan-
terns, kaleidoscopes,
wax-figures, terra cotta
animals, flying-fish and
dragons, masks, puz-
zles, and games; but-
terflies and beetles that
flutter about; turtles
that move their legs
aind 1.pop out their
h.: :l:; L.Id th..t fly


- c --


.L..t, ., ti1-i I-':: the fingers and whistle; paste-
i...r ta: lr .: rth.t, when hit, burst open and let a
winged figure fly out; and-
most wonderful of all, perhaps
-little balls looking like elder
pith, which, thrown into bowls
of warm water, slowly expand
into the shape of a boat, or a
fisherman, a tree, flower,
crab, or bird.
The girls of Japan have
dolls' furniture and dishes,
S and, of course, dolls. They
have dolls that walk and
dance; dolls that put on a
mask when a string is pulled;
S dolls dressed to represent no-
bles, ladies, minstrels, myth-
S'ological and historical per-
sonages. Dolls are handed
down for generations, and in
some families are hundreds
of them. They never seem
to get broken or worn out, as
yours do; and, in fact, they
St can hardly be the dear play-
mates that yours are. They
are kept as a sort of show;
and, though the little owners
play with them, they do not
dress and undress them and
take them to bed, as you do.
A :...d dic:l .i : the time they are rolled up in silk
pap.'r and' p '.:1o.l away in a trunk. On the great
I.:-twial dcl .:,l' ite Japanese girls,-the Feast of
Dolls, of which ST. NICHOLAS has told you,*-
there is a great show of dolls and toys, and it is
the event of the year for the queer little black-eyed
maidens. The Feast of Flags is the boys' great
day, and they have banners, flags, figures of war-

* March, 1875.






riors and great men, .
swords, and other -. -7...
toys for boys.*
But the finest toy.. ',
of Japan as no
doubt all you young-
sters will agree-is
carried about the i'.
streets by a man or
woman, for any child I.
to play with who is
the owner of the
hundredth part of a
cent, or one "cash." --
This is a small
charcoal stove with
hot coals, a copper
griddle, spoc-.: :iI.1 .
cups; and, al:...: ll.
ready-made l. i. :i jil.-
happychildwl ,- I. .w .i.-,, ...
sit down on trl: l...,! :,I._ ::.i; r.. i I l.- -
cakes to its !, i I': .:. ,r. ..
nicer ?
Perhaps yc. ,i ..... i ':.r.. i .- :


them will draw a load of rice up quite a hill-made
of a board.
The unfortunate babies of Africa have very.few
playthings, except what they make themselves.
One traveler did see a rattle-
box which a baby could not .'
have made, as I said above.
It was formed of a kind of" .
fruit that has a tough rind
and hard seeds, by squeezing
the pulp out while green,
and leaving the seeds to dry
inside the hard skin. The solemn-faced black
baby shook his toy with as much gravity as our ba-
bies shake theirs. Mr. Wood tells of leather dolls
made by the Kaffirs; but they were made for the
white man's mu-
-,,lii. 1 ,i .r.
.-, m .:1[,,H|, .i-, 1:.
i.1 r l ,.
f it, s i.,

. :'^ -. 'K. : i? 'A
I i '
I ,
^e. -- <


" Bug Man," who fastens paper carts to the backs Damaras are fond of dolls; but they like them best
of beetles with bits of wax, and a half-dozen of alive, so they take puppies for the purpose, and
VOL. VII.-2. See ST. NICHOLAS, May, 1875.





carry them about tied to their backs, as their
mothers carry babies. The clumsy puppy faces
look funny enough sticking out of the bandages.
N'ew-Zealand girls have a still stranger taste;
they "play baby" with little figs! They don't

need your sympathy; they are
carry them about from
morning to night, under
their mantles. The boys
of the same country have
tops, and three-cornered
kites made of leaves, and
they always sing while the
kite flies. Besides, they
play cat's cradle," in

fond of them, and

which they make many
more figures than we do,
such as huts, men and .*.
women, and others.
The Wezee boys play -
shoot with a gun made to
imitate the "white man's
gun." Twopieces of cane
tied together make the f ;
barrels, the stock is made .
of clay, and the smoke is; :
a tuft of loose cotton.
In one African tribe a 'r
the youngsters have spears -
made of reeds, shields,
bows and arrows, with
which they imitate their
fathers' doings; and they
make animals out of clay, -_
while their sisters "jump
the rope." Besides, Afri-
cans, like children all over
the world, enjoy themselves "making pretend."
They imitate the life around them, as you do ; not
playing "keep house," go visiting," or give a
party," to be sure, because they see none ofthes
in their homes; they pretend building a hut, hoein
a garden, making clay jars, and crushing corn to
What do the native South-American babies do
for toys? Do without, I was going to say; bu
they do have blow-pipes of reeds, and they, too,
mimic the various doings of grown-ups.
Now for Europe. A list of toys made in that con-
tinent would read like an inventory of a toy-shop.
It is curious that even there, where there is so much
interchange between the people, each nation makes
its peculiar toys. Our shops bring toys from sev-
eral of them, and they are quite different. From
Germany we get our "box toys,"-sets of stiff
wooden soldiers, villages, farm-yards, tea-sets, and
everything that comes in an oval wooden box. The

patient German workmen make
wooden dolls and hobby-horses,
Noah's arks, spotted horses on
wheels, toys that go ..
by the dropping .-f i
sand, such as win:-

7 .,

1 A wdvith marbles not quite

from Nuremburg, while tin toys-horses, stea-

engines, steamers, etc -come from another city.

Glass beads, or many of them, come from Ven-

tills. ;i'ips that rock, and men that
Sice. ..eFrae s .:: Above all, they make mar-
i.h: in one place, the very roads
_..._ :,i' I-'. d with marbles not quite
"--i--. iund. Toys of lead-soldiers and
horses, camels, chariots and ships
of war, locomotives, and others-nearly all come
from Nuremburg, while tin toys-horses, steam-
engines, steamers, etc.-come from another city.
Toys are very cheap in Germany, because of the
division of work. A peasant will make one or two
things all his life, and, of course, he comes to do his
special work very rapidly. A traveler visited an old
German woman, who had learned from her mother
to cut out six animals from wood. They were a
cat, dog, wolf, sheep, goat, elephant. She had cut
these all her life, and could not cut anything else.
It was her trade, and she had taught her daughter
and her granddaughter, as a life work, to cut these
six animals. In one house, they will perhaps do
nothing but paint gray horses with black spots; in
another, only red horses with white spots.
Glass beads, or many of them, come from Ven-
ice. France sends us, first of all, wonderful y)oung-
lady dolls, with various accomplishments and the
completest wardrobes and outfits; then clock-work





toys, masks, sabers, muskets, and all kinds of
warlike toys.
England is scarcely behind Japan in variety of
playthings. To begin with the best known and
widest spread of all toys-the doll. England makes
the most beautiful wax dolls in the world, though I
must say the most marvelous doll I ever heard of
was owned by Vasilissa the Fair, of Russia, and
was able to help her mistress out of trouble by do-
ing the hard tasks set for her, while she rested her-
self. But this doll, I fear, never lived out of the
story books. To return to England's dolls: they
have real hair, set in the scalp, and not a paltry
wig; they have glass eyes, each of which is made
separately, and is a work of art. There are sixteen
manufactories of dolls in London alone.
The London doll special is the rag-baby, and a
very pretty thing it is, just beginning to come over
to our babies. The head is of wax covered with
very thin muslin, which gives it a peculiarly soft
and babyish look, and makes it strong enough for
a live baby to play with. Dolls' boots and shoes
are also an English trade.
Next to the doll, in that busy island, comes the
'boat. These are made of all sizes and prices, from
one costing a dime up to six or eight dollars. At
one house are used eight tons of lead in one year,
for keels alone. England makes, also, mimic the-
aters, with characters and plays all ready, rubber
toys of many kinds, toy picture-books, and thou-
sands of other things.
There are some ancient English toys told abou-
in books. They were in the days when men-at-
arms fought on horseback, and the toys consisted
of knights on horseback, completely armed and
equipped, and fastened to platforms on wheels.
They were of brass, and four or five inches high.
To play with them, they were drawn together with
force, to see which knight would be thrown off bh
the shock.
InAmerica,-to begin with the natives,-the In-
dian children living in wigwams in the Far West.
have their playthings, though they are somewhat
rude. The boys play with bows and arrows, and the
girls with dolls, or a substitute for them. The doll.
are of rags, with hideous faces painted on them, and
daubed with streaks of red, in the style admired b;
the race. To these, however, they prefer a livt
plaything,-or a meat baby," as a little girl once
said,-so they make pets of ravens, young eagles.
and puppies. A young Indian girl is often seen
with the wise head of one of these birds, or the fat,
round face of a puppy, sticking out of her blanket
behind. They also imitate the life of their moth-
ers, and rig an arrangement with two poles crossed
on the back of a dog, as the squaws do on the back
of a horse, on which queer vehicle they carry jars

of water, or anything they choose. The babies of
the Indians, strapped into their cradles, play with
the dangling string of beads or other article which
is hung before their faces to make them squint,
that being considered a great beauty.
You are indebted to Mr. H. W. Elliott, who has
spent years in the Far North, and knows all about
them, for a most interesting account of the play-
things of the Eskimo children, who spend five or
six months of every year in an underground hut,
when the day is nearly as dark as the night, and
all the family must find amusement within.
Toys they have in plenty, and they are twice as
useful as our toys; for, making them entertains and
occupies the parents, and
*' "'.- ,th ,: ... !',,r t[I
i.ddr. -. F i...m
;- .I or" l,, h ',

.ii *


,4 ,, ..I

I "

,i *
.: ~ .J & ,L _
'. . .... L,"', -- L,. -il:, ,, ., -n

. _- .

PLAYTHINGS. none more than three
inches long, and many not more than one inch,
but so well carved that the animal is easily rec-
For the boys, are made small ivory or wooden
spears, arrows, lances and sleds, and, above all,




Wallace," she said softly, noting the color still
in his face and his nervous, apologetic manner,
"we ought to be very happy that neither of us said
anything unkind, when we were so heated. It 's
manly to yield so gracefully in an argument."

But it's awful hard," he returned, looking re-
lieved. "I don't remember what I said, but now
I 've made up my mind always to be just and rea-
sonable in an argument, for it 's the easiest thing
in the world to be mistaken."



II' NE cold November morning,
k All kind companions scorning,
A pensive cricket sought
In melancholy thought
iL s woes to stifle.
Alas alas !" cried he,-
Ah woe, ah woe is me!
I really do not see
i Why I should be
S So melan-melancholy.
S- Ah me !
Let 's see."

He thought, and thought, and thought,-
That cricket did.
"It is not love, nor care,
That fills me with despair.
My chirp is sharp and sweet,
And nimble are my feet;
My appetite is good,
And bountiful my food;
My coat is smooth and bright;
My wings are free and light.-
Then ah, and O! Ah me!
What can the matter be?"

Long time the cricket sighed,
And muttered low: Confound it!"
Then joyfully he cried:
"Eureka! O, Eureka!"
By which he meant, "I 've found it."-
The learned little shrieker!
" It is-ah, well-a-day I -
Because my girl 's away,
My dimble, damble Dolly,
My cheery, deary Polly.
Oh, Queen of little girls !-
I like her sunny curls;
I like her eyes and hair,
Her funny little stare,-

Her way of jumping quick
Whene'er she hears me click.
She 's loving and she 's neat,
She 's spry and true and sweet;
And though I caper free,
She never steps on me.
Ke-nick! Kee-nick!
Ker tick a tick !
And now the thought has come,-
To-morrow she 'I' be home/
My Polly, Polly, Polly,
My dimble, damble Dolly!
I '11 dance to-night
In the bright moon-light.
To-morrow I 'l1 see Polly !-
Tra la! How very jolly!"


Next night the house with pleasure rang,
For Polly girl had come;
The cricket on the hearth-stone sang,-
And home once more was home.




toy kyacks, or boats, and even imitations of the of playthings in their homes, that seem to us so
"big boat," or ship of the stranger, with sinews, dreary.
or the roots of a peculiar grass for the rigging. Our own toy-shops have all the wonders of Euro-
But here-as everywhere-the pean make, but the kinds we
doll is the grand toy. No wax, I /, invent ourselves are mostly me-
china, rubber, or rags will do for I, chanical toys,-creeping dolls,
the Eskimo doll. It is made of I bears that perform, horsemen
ivory or wood, carefully carved .- that drive furiously, boatmen
as nearly like the human figure that row, steam cars that go;
as possible, with eyes of bits of I and we have a monopoly of base
pearly shell, inlaid. Some of balls and bats, for no other peo-
them are twelve or eighteen i i ple use them. None but En-
inches tall, but most of them glish-speaking people indulge in
are six or eight inches only. As 1 .. l plays so violent as to be danger-
to the manner of playing with -- "". -'' ous to life and limb, as is our
them, I suppose the Eskimo _--- base ball, and the cricket of our
boys play seal-catching, bear- English cousins.
hunting, sledge-riding, and dog- When we begin to talk of
training; and the girls keep i" these games we reach the amuse-
house with their ivory dollies, ments of the grown-ups, which
get the meals and make the perhaps they would n't like
clothes, all in Eskimo fashion. to have called playthings,"
It is pleasant to know that the droll little round- though-between you and me-they are just as
faced Eskimo babies have nice times, and plenty much toys as are dolls and tops.



g" T TELL ye, Micky,
Sa stroke o' good
luck is after
coming' til us, and
all through the
freshet, that 's
dalin' destruction
i V i, to others. Ye
-,f'i know Danny Ca-
!.sey that 's living'
S.'i in the shanty, on
.. ., the very edge of
,' the river, on the
It- other side? It's
.- -- the freshet is car-
--ryin' him away,
entirely, and he
not having' time to get anything' but the childer and
the bit o' furniture to a safe place, an' he havin' as
beautiful a litter o' pigs as iver was, siven o' them,
and not a week old, and the weather, and the big
blocks of ice floatin' up, and washin' over the pen !
An' says he to me, says Danny, says he, Mrs. Mc-

Glinty, I know you 're a poor, lone, widdy woman,
and the bit and the sup for the childer is hard to
get, and you 're welcome to three o' my pigs, as
foine pigs as iver you seen, an' me movin' into the
loft over the Company's store, where the wife and
the childer '11 be warrm and safe, but pigs is not
0ll.-.. .-..' An' the would one, and four of the little
ones he 's after selling' to a man from Oil City, for
a good price, so Danny '11 not be losin', an' it 's
rich they 'll be, after givin' us three foine young
pigs, an' it 's beautiful an' fat, an' worth a dale
they 'll be agin fall! But my tongue runs away
wid me, and it 's drownding the foine little pigs is
by this time as like as not! Run, Micky, darlin',
wid the big basket, an' put sthraw in it an' the bit
of an' would shawl to cover them, for it 's tinder
plants young pigs is "
The few last remarks of Mrs. McGlinty were
screamed from the open door, for Micky, no less
delighted than his mother at the prospect of pos-
sessing three fine pigs," had already started, on
the run. And before he reached the bridge he had
seen, in his mind's eye, the tails of those pigs




gradually straighten out of their quirks, as they
advanced to mature pighood; had seen them
weighted with flesh beyond any pigs that ever
lifted up their squeals in Clarion County, had seen
them sold, and had seen his mother's broad face
aglow with delight over a heap of money that
would buy them all warm clothes, and plenty to
eat for the winter. For Micky, though he was only

The iron mills were near the bank of the river,
and the men had left their work to look at the ris-
ing river. Micky heard one of them prophesy that
the bridge would go. He paused in his run for
one moment. What if he should be swept away
with the bridge, and drowned? His mother would
be worse off without him than without the pigs;
the wages that he earned in the mills were all that


eleven, was the man of the family, and had taken
a great deal of care and responsibility upon his
shoulders, ever since the death of his father, more
than a year before.
Micky found a crowd of people lining the banks
of the river. It had rained, steadily, for five days,
and the river was rising rapidly. It was full of ice,
-huge blocks, that leaped and slid over each
other, almost as if they were living things. It had
been the most severe winter for many years, and
the ice was of wonderful thickness. A great many
logs and timbers were floating among the blocks of
ice, with the roof of a shanty, a hen-coop, and a
broken chair and portions of a light wooden bridge.

she had to depend upon, except the washing which
she found to do now and then. Mr. Ludlow, the
superintendent of the mills, was standing at the
entrance of the bridge.
Will the bridge go, sir ?" said Micky, out of
breath, his red hair standing out straight, under
his rimless cap, and his freckled face fiery with ex-
"Pooh! have they been trying to scare you,
my boy?" said Mr. Ludlow, a red-faced, jolly
man, who was always very kind to Micky. "There
is n't a stancher bridge on the Alleghany "
Mr. Ludlow was authority for Micky. He never
thought of questioning his opinion. With one


-- .- .'

,' ... -.. ..


-- F -~-~- _.- __ -- .
_Z. .

_---_---- -~- -- = .- __ . :. .

:7-- -I---

-~--- ~~-~ -----~--- -~~-----~ ---~----~~--- ~-~~-~~-

-x ~-- i--




7 -


-' v




bound he was on the bridge, running, not for life,
-he had not a shadow of fear since Mr. Ludlow
had pronounced the bridge safe,-but for the pigs,
almost as dear as life. Danny Casey's shanty
looked as if it were almost submerged; what if the
pigs had already found a watery grave? That
thought lent redoubled swiftness to Micky's feet.
In almost as short a time as it takes to tell it, he
reached Danny Casey's deserted shanty. He only
cast one glance at the shanty, and rushed to the
pig-pen. It was completely under water! The
blow was too much for Micky to bear calmly; he
thrust his fists into his eyes, and uttered a pro-
longed Irish howl.
Is it the Widdy McGlinty's bye ye are ?" called
a voice from a neighboring house, higher and drier
than Danny Casey's, and an old Irishwoman ap-
proached with her capacious apron filled with a
.'u.: :lir, mass, which proved to be the three little
pigs. "Danny left 'em wid me, and well he did,
wid the murtherin' weather covering the place in-
tirely "
Micky's mourning was suddenly turned to joy.
He placed his treasures tenderly in his basket,
amidst the straw, and covered them with the piece
of a warm shawl which he had brought, and their
squealings gave place to piggish grunts of satisfac-
tion. The crowd on both sides of the river had
increased, Micky noticed, as he took his way home-
ward, but everybody had left the bridge.
Look here, boy, I don't know as you had bet-
ter go across there. I aint sure that it's safe !"
called a man.
"Pooh !" said Micky, imitating Mr. Ludlow.
There don't be a standisher bridge on the Alle-
And he ran along, without a thought of fear. It
had never occurred to Micky, in all his life, that
Mr. Ludlow could be mistaken.
He ran very fast, and looked neither to the right
nor the left, he was in such haste for his mother
to see the pigs; there never were quite such pigs,
Micky thought,-so white, so plump, and with
such bewitching quirks in their tails !
Suddenly there was a great shouting on the
banks; everybody was looking and pointing up
the river. A great mass of ice-blocks, piled high,
one above another, wedged together into a solid,
glittering iceberg, was sweeping down toward the
bridge. Micky was only a little more than half
way over. In spite of Mr. Ludlow his knees shook.
That great, massive thing, sweeping along so
swiftly, must carry everything before it !
There was a great shock. It seemed to Micky,
as he said afterward, "as if the world and the
sky had come together wid a bang A heaving
and creaking of timbers, a crashing of masonry !

The bridge divided into three parts; the great
mass of ice went crashing through, driving the
middle portion of the bridge almost entirely under
water. The icy pile seemed almost like a living
thing, powerful and relentless, treading a defense-
less object under its feet.
Where was Micky ? He had just stepped off the
middle portion, which the iceberg crushed be-
neath it; he was floating down the river on that
part of the bridge which was near his own shore.
But he was too far from the shore ever to reach it,
thought Micky. There was a great commotion on
the bank; hurrying to and fro, and shouting, but
there seemed to be no way to release him from his
dangerous position. Just here the water was com-
paratively free from ice. The great mass in its
onward rush had swept it almost clear. But
there were signs that this mass had been weakened
by its collision with the bridge, and was about to
break up into blocks; and, when the trembling,
creaking, wooden raft upon which Micky was
afloat got into the midst of great blocks of ice, it
would almost inevitably be broken in pieces, or
submerged. Some men were running as fast as
possible down along the shore, probably hoping
that Micky's frail craft would float near enough to
the shore for them to rescue him, before it got
among the dangerous ice blocks. It did drift
nearer the shore; but the next moment the relent-
less ice blocks were around it, pushing it farther
out toward the middle of the river. It pitched
and tossed, now riding over the blocks and sheets
of ice, now pushed almost entirely under them;
great planks and timbers were torn froi it.
The saints preserve us !" cried Micky. The
pigs an' me 'll niver get home "
The raft was drifting nearer the shore, but alas
it was going to pieces surely and swiftly.
Jump jump on to the ice cake cried voices
from the shore.
He could see Mr. Ludlow pointing frantically to
a large cake of ice which was floating by him.
But the space between him and the cake was so
wide that Micky was afraid he could not leap it,
encumbered, as he was, by the basket.
"Never mind the basket! leave the basket!"
cried voices from the shore.
"Is it lave the pigs, ye say? Niver shouted
Micky, angrily.
But the boards were giving way under his feet,
and he jumped, basket and all-and reached the
ice cake. Hurrah! went up from the shore,
whither anxiety with regard to Micky's fate had led
the crowd which had witnessed the giving way of
the bridge, nearly half a mile farther up the river.
But Micky's feet went out from under him as he
came down, in his flying leap, on the slippery cake




of ice. The shock sent the basket, with its precious
contents flying. It rolled over and over, and into
the water, before Micky could catch it! But two
of the foine little pigs" were sprawling on the
ice, squealing as if they fully realized the dan-
gers through which they were passing-the other
had uttered his last squeal, as he went overboard
with the basket.
Micky's perils were not yet over, and he knew
it, but yet the first cry he had uttered was for the
loss of the pig. The cake of ice on which he stood
was drifting toward the shore, but soon it might
be steered out toward the middle of the river by
other blocks. But some kind influence seemed to
guide it; now it was very near the shore. The
men had tried to launch a little boat, but near the
shore the blocks of ice were so close together that
it was impossible. Mr. Ludlow and one or two
others walked out, stepping from block to block,
to within a few yards of Micky's ice-raft.
"Now is your time, Micky!" called Mr. Lud-
low, as the cake floated near. "Jump, and if you
go into the water we'll catch you "
Micky clutched his pigs tightly, one under each
arm, and prepared to jump.
Let the pigs go called Mr. Ludlow, angrily.
But even Mr. Ludlow's command was not suf-
ficient to make Micky desert the pigs.
I could 'nt go home to the mother, sirr, widout
the pigs, an' her depindin' on 'em! said Micky.

But alas one of the squirming, squealing creat-
ures dropped as he jumped, and Micky went up
the river bank amid the shouts and congratulations
of the crowd, happy that he was safe on land, of
course, but with a great pang at his heart because
he had only one pig left.
How can I go home wid but the won pig, an'
she depindin' on 'em to buy the warrm clothes next
winter ?" he cried.
"0, that's it, is it? said Mr. Ludlow. "Well,
I '11 make that loss up to you-I ought to do it, be-
cause I told you the bridge was safe."
"Pass round the hat-let's pay for the two
pigs !" said one of the bystanders.
The hat was passed round. Two members of
the iron company, rich men from New York, were
there, and two or three oil princes. Every man
gave something. I would n't dare to tell you how
well those two pigs were paid for, lest you should
doubt my veracity. Micky thought it was too
good to be true.
Mrs. McGlinty had just heard of Micky's peril,
and met him on his way home. She was too
happy to see him safe and sound, to think of the
pigs. But when Micky poured his pile of money
into her lap, she shed tears of joy.
"The saints be praised! The foine little pigs
was a stroke of luck, after all! she cried.
And the little pig who survived such perils lived
to be a great comfort to Mrs. McGlinty.

KNOW a little maiden who can knit and who can sew,
Who can tuck her little petticoat; and tie a pretty bow;
She can give the thirsty window-plants a cooling drink each day;
And dust the pretty sitting-room, and drive the flies away.
She can fetch Papa his dressing-gown, and warm his slippers well,
And lay the plates, and knives and forks, and ring the supper-bell;
She can learn her lessons carefully, and say them with a smile,
Then put away her books and slate and atlas, in a pile;
She can feed the bright canary, and put water in his cage;
And soothe her little brother when he flies into a rage.
She can dress and tend her dollies like a mother, day or night,-
Indeed, one-half the good she does, I cannot now recite;
And yet there are some things, I 'm told, this maiden cannot do.
She cannot say an ugly word, or one that is not true;-
Who can this little maiden be ? I wonder if it 's you.





BY rajaA.'

ONLY two minutes ago, mamma tucked little
Irene into her warm bed, and kissed her good-
night, and here stands the white-robed child at the
window looking-looking so intently that she does
not hear the footsteps at the door. What is it that
has drawn her with such magnetic force from her
nest? is it the wonderful landscape, the fields and
trees and hills all covered with snow and flooded
with moonlight? No, for her eyes are turned to
the sky and fixed upon the yellow moon.
Why, Miss Irene, you naughty child," cries
nurse, suddenly coming in, "what are you doing
there by the window ? Don't you know that you'll
catch your death of cold unless you go back to bed
this minute?"
I am looking at my dear moon," answers Irene,
allowing herself to be again stowed away between
the blankets. I was thinking if the yesterdays
went up there, Katy: do they, I wonder'? Where
do they go?"
"Mercy! Miss Irene, how should I know?
When they're gone, they're gone, that's all I care
about, and it's the to-morrows that bring the
wrinkles and the gray hairs, though to be sure,
you 're not likely to think of these for some time
to come. Good-night, now, and don't get out of
bed again."
"No, I will not," answers Irene, and goes on
thinking to herself.
I wonder what is up there; how I should like
to go up and see Nurse says the moon is all
made of green cheese, and papa says there is n't
any old man, but I can't believe either of them,
and "
A beautiful star-queen comes gliding in through
the window, followed by a train of tiny thought-
fairies,-fair thoughts, queer thoughts, tricksy
thoughts, ill-natured thoughts, and good. For a
moment the tricksy thoughts try to drive away the
better ones, but they do not succeed; and soon
Tom, the sweetest of the thought-fairies, whispers
into Irene's ear,-the star-queen waves her wand
and all the odd little forms vanish and twelve
lovely stars come dancing in at the window. They
hold out their hands to the dazzled and bewildered
"Come quickly, darling; come quickly," they
sing, "we have seen you watching us often, and
we love you, and now we are g6ing to take you up
to the moon. Make haste, pretty one!"

And be ore Irene can think of what she is doing,
she finds herself in the arms of the stars, floating
gently through the air. Oh, how beautiful the
white earth looks, as she rises far above it!
A little breeze rustles about with an important
air, and tells a great secret to the evergreens.
"What do you think? The stars are taking a lit-
tle girl up to the moon." And the snow whispers
to the poor little violets who are imprisoned under-
ground and cannot see what is going on in the
world, "Little Irene has gone to look for the yes-
Higher and higher rise the stars, bearing with
them the happy child. They are singing sweet
melodies to her; they are telling her wonderful
tales of star life.
Oh, I am all alone, says Irene, suddenly, and
looks about her in dismay. What odd place is this
that she sees? She is standing in the midst of a
great field, which is covered with grass and stones:
there are a few trees to be seen, but there is not
a hill in sight, and what makes it all so strange, is
that the grass, the stones, the trees and the flowers
are of a bright yellow color.
Well, I never cries Irene, and wonders what
she shall do next.
"Ahem says a voice close at her side; and
turning quickly around she perceives a little man
not more than three feet high, who is dressed all
in yellow, and whose cap is covered with bells.
"Good-evening, my dear," he replies in a
pleasant tone. "I am glad to see you up here.
It is not often that a human child finds her way to
the moon, but she is sure of a welcome if she does
"You are very kind," answers Irene, quite re-
lieved by the cordiality of his words. "Are you
the man in the moon ?"
"One ot the men in the moon, my dear; but
perhaps not the one of whom you are thinking.
I never have been to Norwich," with a merry look
and a sideways glance at the little girl. "My
name is Father Gander."
"Indeed says Irene.
"Yes; my wife is the famous Mother Goose.
You've read her books, have n't you ?"
"I've read one of them," answers Irene; "a
book of- of- poems; but I did n't know that she
had written any others."
"Oh, well," replies Father Gander, "the book



s. Maw


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II K_-
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.,,J, . "-.._- = ..I ..

.,, .. - _-:: _-_.--...
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iL~ I~ ~



of melodies is her best-known work. But in reality
half of the books in your world are the productions
of her mind; for she dictates to mortals and they
write. Still, they Aever give her the credit, which
is a piece of gross injustice, according to my way
of thinking. However, her style is unmistakable;
that is my only comfort."
While Father Gander is talking, he has gently
led Irene across the fields, and the two now find
themselves upon the brink of what seems like a
yawning precipice.
"If you please," says Irene, "what is this
hole ?"
"It is one of the spots which you have often
seen upon the surface of the moon," answers Father
Gander, and which many of you mortals imagine
to be mountains. In reality, they are the passages
which lead to our home."
Irene gives him a questioning glance, and he
replies :
You know that we do not live on the outside
of the moon, but in the interior."
Oh, why, how dark it must be in your houses,"
ventures Irene, unless you have gas."
You shall see," returns her guide; "now just
close your eyes for a moment."
Irene complies, and, upon re-opening her eyes,
finds herself in a most wonderful spot. She is in a
large and brilliantly beautiful hall; so far from be-
ing dark, it is flooded with light which proceeds
from millions of tiny winged creatures that flit
about the place. As Irene learns from Father
Gander's explanations, these insects are called
ignes fatui,-creatures which have come to live in
the moon, because on the earth people doubt their
existence; and though, in the world, they are
rather uncertain and misleading lights, in the moon
they are forced to behave. The walls of this
apartment are blazing with precious gems, and
Irene scarcely dares to stir, for the whole floor is
composed of diamonds and pearls. But now
Father Gander is presenting to her a crowd of
strange beings, who gather about the new-comers;
here are all the well-known characters of the
"Mother Goose Melodies"; here are the ogres
and dwarfs of ancient fable, and here the beloved
fairies with Oberon and Titania at their head.
Irene just laughs a glad little laugh, and cries in
joyful surprise:
Why, here you are all of you, you dear, lovely
old things And, just to think They told me
you were make-believes !'"
We came up to the moon, dear child," an-
swered Titania, "because Doubt always drives us
away. We live here, and we are merry enough
all the time. But how did you manage to reach
our home?"

The little stars brought me up to see the Yes-
Ah, the Yesterdays," says the queen, gently,
and all the bright creatures about echo, very softly,
"The Yesterdays "
Then there is a short silence.
Memory !" calls the queen, and, in answer to
her call, there comes the strangest little man. His
face is old and wrinkled, and one minute it looks
sad, while the next it looks as bright and happy as
possible, and then, again, it appears gay and fanci-
ful. His voice is changeable, and beginning with
a sad complaining tone, ends with a sound that is
not unlike a piece of dance music.
"Memory," says the queen, this little girl
would like to see the Yesterdays."
Memory gives her a sharp look from head to foot.
Come, follow me," he says, "you are one of
the right kind."
Good-bye, dear fairies; good-bye, all of you!"
cries Irene, making a little courtesy to the assem-
bled company, who all kiss their tiny hands to her
and ask her to come again.
Memory leads her through many winding pas-
sages, and finally pauses before a door; turning a
key in the lock, he invites her to enter.
Oh !" says Irene.
For there is a heavy mist before her eyes, and
she can see only a few indistinct figures moving
back and forth.
Memory waves his hand, and mutters a few un-
intelligible words. The mist vanishes, and Irene
perceives that she is in a hall, larger and brighter
than the first, and filled with graceful, beautiful
women. They move so gently to and fro that they
seem almost to float upon the air; and as they glide
past her, a faint, far-off music reaches her ear, and
seems like some half-forgotten air.
Come in order! in order!" calls Memory, and
a band of white-robed maidens quickly place them-
selves before the little girl.
"What Yesterdays are you?" queries Irene.
"We are the Yesterdays of your infancy," re-
turns one of the group.
All the Yesterdays in the room are yours, dear
child. You could not see those of other people."
I love you," says Irene; "you look so happy."
"We are happy, for we have nothing to be
sorry for," say the maidens, as they glide away.
And now comes another band. Beautiful they
are, all of them, and light in movement as the
zephyrs; but some of the number, sad to say,
wear upon their faces an expression which is
anything but peaceful.
"Why do you frown so?" says Irene to one
damsel; you are not like the rest."




"Alas!" answers the Yesterday; when I was
'To-day' you frowned upon all who approached
you, and I must forever frown."
"Your voice is harsh and loud- began
"Your voice was harsh and loud," was the
Irene is silent. Then she passes on to the next
bright form.
Oh, you are prettier than all the rest! And
what beautiful flowers !" and she takes hold of the
Yesterday's garland of roses, but draws back with
a cry of pain. "It pricked me! Why did you not
tell me of the thorn?"
"Ah," says the Yesterday, mournfully, "when
I was 'To-day' you were full of happiness and
glee, but your pleasures stung, for they were sel-
fish. You had no thought of any one but your-
Come here, dear Yesterday !" calls Irene to a
third, but she does not stir.
"I will not come; for, when I was 'To-day,'
you were a disobedient child."
I cannot come, for you were jealous of your
little brother," murmurs a fourth, covering her
Nor I, for you were uncharitable, and spoke
unkind words of a little playmate," says a fifth.
Nor I, because your thoughts were discon-
tented," says a sixth.
Little Irene casts down her eyes, a few tears run
down her cheeks, her breast heaves, and, bursting
into sobs, she sinks upon the ground and buries
her face in her hands.
Oh, Yesterdays, I am so sorry! oh, I am so
Don't be discouraged, little one," says Mem-
ory, kindly; look up,-here are more coming."
And through her tears Irene sees the most beau-
tiful Yesterday of all, whose face is covered with
"When I was To-day,'" she says in a low,
sweet tone, "you were kind, and unselfish, and
pleasant to every one whom you saw. You had lit-
tle trials and vexations, but your lips smiled on just
the same; you had temptations, but you resisted
them; your feet were weary,but you ran to help your
tired mother; you answered gently when a rough

boy spoke to you in angry tones, and you prayed
for him that night, although he had made your
heart ache."
Oh, how bright grows Irene's face, as she turns
to welcome the next Yesterday She is clothed in
sad-colored garments, but her eyes are full of a
sweet, holy light, and she clasps the little girl in
her arms.
"When I was 'To-day,' she whispers, "poor
Irene bore a bitter sorrow, for her loved father left
the world for ever. But her troubles only turned
her eyes heavenward, and though she wept and
mourned for him whom she had loved so dearly,
she strove to lose all thought of self, and comfort
her heart-broken mother."
Irene gives a deep sigh and says:
"Yes, I reinember you very well. You were
sad, dear Yesterday ; but you were the best of all."
Sorrow is never hurtful in the end, if it is
rightly met," murmurs the Yesterday.
"I have seen enough now, Memory," says
Irene, quietly; "but tell me, Yesterdays, do you
always stay here ? "
"We stay here, love, until you leave the world,
and then we go with you to the Beautiful Land.
There the Holy One will see us."
Oh no-no !" cries Irene, clasping her hands.
He must not see the wicked Yesterdays, the cross,
the selfish, disobedient Yesterdays. It hurts me in
my heart to think that He will see them. Will it
be so?"
Dear child," answers one of the maidens, "the
Holy One has already seen us all. We can never
be changed, we can never be other than what you
have made us; but if you ask Him to forgive us,
He has promised that He will do so. And there,
hidden beyond that mist, are a great company of
To-morrows. No, little girl, you cannot see them,
-you can never see them. But remember, when
each To-morrow becomes To-day, to fill it up,
with right and kindly deeds, then His love will
brighten every moment, and all the Yesterdays to
come willbe spotless, pure, and beautiful."
A dim, gray mist rises before Irene's eyes. The
Yesterdays all vanish. A ray of light greets the
child with a morning kiss, and, springing out of
her bed, Irene cries:
Oh, now it is To-day!"







? .. 7
-- _

-,: :7 ,-
--,-- .~ _FA


IT was in the early autumn, when the summer
vacation was fast drawing to a close, and the very
next week the children must look up books,
buckets and slates, to begin again the routine of
the school-room for another year. No wonder,
then, that the busy brains of Mr. Butler's two fun-
loving children, Fred and Fannie, were crowded
with plans for extracting the very essence of fun
out of the few remaining days of freedom.
Fred and Fannie were twin brother and sister,
eleven years old. One bright morning, their
mother said, at breakfast, to their older brother:

"Joe, I wish you could get me a good lot of
muscadines to make some jelly for winter use."
Joe, always ready to please, thought a moment,
and replied:
I must carry some wheat to mill to-day, but
to-morrow I '11 see if I can find any along the
creek about two miles from here, where we went
for scaly-barks last year,-don't you remember,
"Oh yes!" said Freddy; "it was a beautiful
place. You know we wished Fannie had gone
with us, for it was not damp along the creek at all,.




and there were such fine old beech-trees, lovely
vines, and--"
Here Joe stopped him, saying:
"Well, if mother says so, Fannie shall go and
see all those wonders for herself. You and she
will be great help in picking up the muscadines,
and you can carry your dinner, and make a picnic
of it."
The children were delighted, but presently Fan-
nie said, half doubtfully:
Mamma, does n't it take more than three
people to make a picnic ? "
The mother smiled, and took the hint by saying:
"As you seem to think it does, you may invite
Nannie and Kitty Harris, and their cousin Hal, to
go with you; don't you think so, Joe ?"
Yes, I 'll have to go in the wagon, and there
will be room enough for all, and the muscadines
A happy day that was to the five children, and
the next morning found a merry group in front of
Mr. Butler's door, with baskets in hand, waiting
for Joe. Soon he came, in the new farm-wagon,
with its gorgeous body of green and red, and its
high spring seats. Two large gray mules were
drawing it, and looked proud of their fine equi-
page. A hamper was lifted in for the muscadines,
and in it lay a bag filled with something hard and
knobby, which Joe said was his contribution to
their dinner. Baskets were securely tucked away
under the seats, and the children climbed in while
the mother stood at the gate, telling Joe to take
good care of his precious freight, and cautioning
the children about health and safety.
A crack of the whip and off they go,-past fields
of rustling corn, shaking their plumy tassels in the
morning breeze, past fields of early cotton, whiten-
ing with the "fleecy staple" as it bursts the boll,
and hangs out invitingly to the pickers, who with
bags and baskets dot the fields,-until they come to
a hill. As the mules go toiling up its sunny slope
the children spy in front of them two grotesque-
looking darkies, with blue buckets on their arms.
They were barefooted and ragged, but chatting as
merrily as the party in the wagon.
Who are those children,-do any of you
know?" asked Joe; for their buckets made him
think that probably they were on the same errand
as themselves.
I think the boy has worked for us sometimes;
his name is Sandy," said Kittie Harris.
Joe stopped and called out:
Hullo, Sandy, where are you traveling?"
"We'se gwine atter muskidimes, we is; we
hearn we kin git two-bits a bucket fer 'em in
"We are going to look for some, too," returned

Joe, and you may get in and go with us. We
will share our luck with you."
Their teeth flashing and eyes dancing, the col-
ored children climbed in, and Kitty, feeling that
she had introduced Sandy, turned to the little girl
and asked her name.
Dey calls me Babe, but dat aint my name. I
'most forget what my name is; does you 'member,
San ?"
Did n't Mammy say sumfin 'bout Sinai ?"
Dat's it. I knows now. Yes 'm; my name 's
Sinai Sarepta Jones."
By this time they had passed the fields, and
turned from the road into a dense forest that
skirted a large creek. After driving as far in as
possible, they stopped, took the mules out, and set
out on the search for vines. Joe divided the party
into twos, taking little Nannie with him because
she was the youngest. Hal and Fannie set off to-
gether, Fred and Kittie took another direction, and
Sandy and Sarepta still another. Fannie's eyes
proved brightest, for she soon called out, lustily:
" Come this way; I 've found them There was
the vine with its bright shining leaves, and beauti-
ful purple grapes, stretching from tree to tree until
it made one large arbor, shading twenty or thirty
square yards of ground. As soon as jackets and
hats could be thrown aside, up went the boys, and
down came the grapes, bouncing and bumping on
the heads of the girls, who hastened to do their
part by filling the baskets. Joe came down from
his tree, when he found all were employed, and
said he would look for another vine, and also select
a place for their dinner. Meanwhile, the fingers
worked busily, and the merry voices made the old
forest ring with a music not often heard in its
shaded depths.
Before long, a call from Joe summoned all to the
spot he had selected for the picnic dinner. It
was on the banks of the creek, and under the
very beeches that Freddy had so admired before.
Just.there, a huge tree had fallen across the stream,
making a bridge by which one could easily cross to
the opposite side. Over there, Joe had set fire to
an old dead tree trunk, which was sending up
such myriads of red sparks and wreaths of grace-
ful smoke, that the children saw only the
beauty thus presented, and many were the excla-
mations of delight as piece after piece of the burn-
ing wood fell to the ground, and the sparks flew
up in all directions through the green arches above.
When the dinner of sandwiches, cakes, etc., had
been spread, Joe told Sarepta to go to the fire and
bring his share of the repast. Tripping across the
log to the foot of the burning stump, she found a
lot of sweet-potatoes roasted in the ashes, and a
row of roasting-ears, all nicely brown, stood in front





By M. M. D.

i T was the queerest family that "ever saw." He was so large of his age that it made
ever was known. In the first him delicate"; he kicked when they rocked him
1'/ place, there was the baby,- to sleep, and collapsed when they tried to stand him
'd a real nice, hearty, pretty on his legs;
S'...1.,. it was. That baby went finally, he was
S .' ...g from the first week of so plump and
7 ..istence. It was always puffy that he
S waking up when they wished had'the croup i,
it to sleep, and dozing off when every seventh
S they longed for it to be at its night, not.
brightest. When the father really serious ,
came home and tried to have croup, but just
SOMETHING IS WRONG a sort of subdued romp with croup enough
WTH TH BABY the little mite, it would blink to set the fam-
and blink, and finally drop off, just when he ily on edge.
was saying "A-choo in his funniest possible Butbabywas
style. But there was a good reason for that, as sugaredmoon-
you will admit when you hear more about the beams corn-
father. And when he wished the house to be pared with his ,
very, very quiet, I declare if the rose-bud would n't little brother i
wake up and scream as if it were taking the prize Rob,-or rath- "'
in a crying-baby show I But just so sure as com- er his big SOMETHING GOES WRONG WITH JOHN.
pany came, and mamma, ringing the parlor bell, brother, for I .
said sweetly, I '11 have the baby brought down; suppose a boy of four years is a big brother from
he 's a lively little thing for his age," it would be a younger point of view. That boy was always
carried in, the next moment, bathed in the sweetest going where he was not wanted, though when
needed he was invariably out of sound and
reach. If you were talking secrets, he would
suddenly pop up from behind a sofa. If you
wished to steal out by the side door, you 'd be
sure to find him on the sill, and he would
catch at your ankle and coax until you said,
''Oh yes, you can come, too." And then, if
you did say it, he would n't keep hold of your
Sand, and he would go exactly where he
pleased. Then, when he went exactly where
S=-- -- he pleased, he was sure to get into trouble.
If he ran to Ponto's kennel, he would catch his
__ feet in the chain, and Ponto would spring out
-- and snarl at him ; if he went to the barn to look
Siifor eggs, the old hen would scare him away;
if he went to the stable, it would be at the
Precise moment when the old mare was switch-
S, ing insects away with her tail, and poor Rob's
... __ eye would be taken for a fly; if he went to the
S"-- a \ _- kitchen, he would certainly upset the molas-
/ -- ses-jug or milk-pail, and so be chased out by
the cook's broom-stick. He was n't really
SOMETHING GOES WRONG WITH OB. bad; but somehow he was never absolutely
of dewy slumbers. Later on, that baby "beat good. "His stars were unpropitious," his brother
everything in the way of contrariness the nurse John said; they would n't twinkle, twinkle, for



him worth a cent." But then, John himself had a noon and night. It was almost impossible for any
dark way of looking at things, one but Rob to make him hear, when once he be-
Once, in a fit of kindness, the big brother took came absorbed in a book. The door-bell might
pity on him. He was reading on the bank, and, ring, his mother might call, the fire might go out,
seeing Rob run crying from the house, he called: the daylight might fade slowly away; and still John
"Hello trouble again, hey? Come here, poor would not look up. There is a story that once he

little chap !" Soon, sat down in the
however, the poor swing and began
little chap proved to "-. J Little Men," and
be so much in his when at last he
way that he lifted reached the last word
him up and set him of the book and
upon the beam of an ..looked up, he found
old, 'broken-down a fine spider-web
pier close by. The ;'- stretching from his
water was quite deep knee to the ground.
there; but the beam You can imagine how
was strong, and Rob, often he got into
who was stout and i- trouble. Thehistory
brave, did n't mind of his school-days
it at all, and said so. would make almost a
"Don't move now, i '. -. -, tragedy. Everything
my little man! Call 1 wentwrongwithhim,
big brudder when he said, from morn-
you get tired,' said'
you get tired," said ing till night; all be-
John exultingly, as cause he had no eyes
John exultingly, as i .... i '
he went back to his nor ears for anything
reading. I I,' besides the book he
Any one would happened to be read-
have supposed that -'- ing on the sly. If he
now poor Rob was -.-was set to watch the
out of everybody's I. baby, the poor little
way, for once. But ,.: thing would find the
no! In a few mo- Iscissors, or put feath-
ments the "big brud- ---' ers into its mouth, or
der" looked up from climb into the coal-
his book, and, with I;. I. -.' scuttle, in less than
a whistle, sprang to no time. If sent on
his feet, c ryin : _-
his feet, crying: .. an errand, he would
"Hi! If Rob isn't -- pull out his book, sit
in one of his fixes down on a tempting
again! stoop, and read till it
There sat Rob, began to rain. One
helpless, on the -- day, when painters
beam; his poor little ----- -- _- were frescoing the
feet dangling over -S- library ceiling, he
the rough waters, and -.... .---- --- climbed up theirlad-
a great sea-gull fly- ''-' der to get out of the
ing into his face, as SOMETHING GOES WRONG WITH NELL. way, and perched
if to drive him away. Rob was so used to not himself on a bracket shelf over a book-case. There
being wanted, that he took it quite as a matter of he sat, absorbed and happy, and at last the men
course, until the gull came too very, very close; forgot about him. They moved the book-case, be-
and then he screamed so loud that John, who was cause it was in the way; finished their work; took
about to rescue him, asked if he wanted to make a out the ladder; and when finally John looked up, he
fellow deaf ? found himself alone in the great room, and about
This John was a queer fellow, too. He was ten eight feet from the floor. It was a big jump, but
years old, and a book-worm. He read, morning, he made it, and, of course, sprained his ankle. He
VOL. VII.-3.


of the fire, leaning against a piece of wood placed
there for the purpose.
What a fine dinner that was, and what fine appe-
tites for enjoying it It was not eaten with much
ceremony, and was soon over, Sandy and Sarepta
leaving not a crumb to carry back. An hour's play
followed, and the lunch-baskets were filled with
grasses, berries, ferns and flowers. Then another
vine was stripped of muscadines, this time filling
all the baskets and the buckets besides. The
mules were harnessed up, and the girls and boys
moved toward the wagon, where Joe was stowing
away the fragrant purple load.
"Don't you wish we did n't have to go to school,
and could come back for more?" said Kitty.
"May be we can come some Saturday," Fred
The Saturdays are nearly all rainy days, seems
to me."
"Why, Kittie," said Fannie, "you are like Jo
in the story who thought it always is a-rainin'.
May be there '11 be some bright Saturdays, and
you will bring us; wont you, Joe ? "
If I can find time, I surely will," good-natured
Joe answered.
Wish I could git to go 'long wid yer," said
Sarepta, for this had been a glorious day to her.

Hump, chile," said San, we '11 be in de cotton
patch den, dar's whar we 'll be."
They were going home now, and a bright pict-
ure the brilliant wagon with its load made as they
wound their way through the dim aisles of the
wood, and then along the dusty highway. Joe sat
in front with Nannie beside him, holding the whip,
and looking into his face now and then to ask if
she should give the mules a little "persuasion."
Hal and Fannie were on the next seat, and Kittie
and Fred behind them. The girls had let their sun-
bonnets fall back, and the setting sun sent gleams
of gold through their hair, as it fell in long braids
or clustering curls over their shoulders ; their laps
were filled with flowers, which they arranged as
they rode leisurely along, and the boys watched
with interest to see which mamma was to have the
prettiest bouquet. Sandy and Sarepta stowed them-
selves among the heaping baskets in the rear.
When they reached home, the mothers bought
the bucketfuls of Sandy and his sister, so that they
scampered home, each with an empty bucket in one
hand and a bright two-bits piece in the other.
As the children exchanged good-byes and separ-
ated, they all concluded that this day, of combined
work and play, had been the happiest of all the
happy vacation.



So long ago that history pays
No heed nor record of how long,
Back in the lovely dreamy days,
The days of story and of song,

Before the world had crowded grown,
While wrong on earth was hard to find,
And half the earth had never known
The forms and faces of mankind,

When just as now the years would keep
Their terms of snows and suns and showers,
It chanced that Summer dropt asleep,
One morning, in a field of flowers.

And while the warm weeks came and fled,
In all their tender wealth of charm,
She slept, with beauteous golden head
Laid softly on her weary arm.




She did not hear the waving trees,
The warbling brook she did not hear,
Nor yet the velvet-coated bees
That boomed about her rosy ear.

In many a yellow breezy mass,
The rich wheat ripened far away,
And glittering on the fragrant grass,
Her silver sickle idly lay.

But then at last, one noontide hour,
A gorgeous moth, while hovering by,
Mistook her sweet mouth for a flower,
And Summer waked, with startled cry.

She rose, in anxious wonder, now,
To gaze upon the heightened wheat,
And saw its plenteous tassels bow
Dead-ripe below the sultry heat.

Half crazed, she wandered East and West
Amid the peaceful spacious clime,
Until at length, with panting breast,
She stood before old Father Time.

With tears of shame she told him all,
While pointing to the wheat unmown,
And said, "What power shall make it fall
Ere Autumn's bitter winds have blown?"

Then Father Time, with laughter gay,
Bowed all his frame, and crooked his knees,
And tossed his white beard like the spray
That crowns the crests of wintry seas.

" Oh, daughter, cheer your heart!" he cried;
"The wheat shall fall ere falls the night.
We two shall mow it, side by side,
And reap it in the stars' pale light!"

So Summer cleared her brow of gloom,
And forth with Father Time she went,
And, haggard Age by Youth in bloom,
Above the tawny wheat they bent.

Ere fall of night the harvest fell;
But since that season, fair and blithe,
As ancient annals love to tell,
Old Father Time has borne a scythe!

Z N-'-j ,,. : -:..'.




was laid up for a month; and, as the baby and
Rob were down with the measles just then, his
sister Nell had to nurse him, though she admitted
she hated it like sixty."
What a queer girl Nell was She was sourer
than a lemon ten miles from a lump of sugar; she
was as cross as two sticks,-that is, she was very,
very cross, indeed. What wonder, poor child, be-
longing, as she did, to that family If things went
wrong with them generally, everything went wrong
with her especially. She was known as the most
unlucky girl in school. At home, if she sipped tea,
it was sure to burn her lips; if she skipped her
rope, it invariably tripped her; if she smelled a
flower, its thorn, or some sharp stem, was certain
to prick her nose and make her cry. In fact, it
would require a whole number of ST. NICHOLAS for
me to tell you all that happened to poor Nell from
almost any Monday till the next Saturday night.
What else could you expect of a girl with such a
father and mother? What? Did n't I tell you

about them? Dear me! It is such a long story
that, if once begun, it would never be ended. I
must be content with saying that the father was a
night editor; that is, he worked all night, every
night, on a newspaper that had to be printed and
sent out before breakfast to thousands of readers.
So, of course, if he worked all night, he had to
sleep all day; and that was quite enough to turn
any household topsy-turvy. As for the mother,
she belonged to a first family. Well, we all know
what first families are. Look at Adam. He be-
longed to a first family. So did Cain. And this
mother was so very busy, belonging to a first family,
-thinking about it, talking about it, acting up to
it,-that things went at sixes and sevens generally.
It is not a complete explanation, perhaps; but I
have no other to give just now.
And I have no moral to give, either. But any
moral that would come out of such a family as that
would hardly be worth having, I think. Don'tyou
think so, too ?



UT in Kansas, we have
S.- rare sport hunting
jack-rabbits. Eastern
I i boys can hardly guess
Show much excitement
there is in it. We
X '. \have other game, of
S course. Deer and
i antelopes are quite
S common in Edwards
Sand other south-west-
ern counties; and the
wolves that prowl over
the prairies are worse for our sheep and calves
than bears are, or ever were, in New England.
But the greatest sport of all is hunting jack-
rabbits. We hunt them on horseback, with grey-
hounds. All the settlers in our section keep one or
more greyhounds on purpose to hunt jack-rabbits.
I went fox-hunting twice, with hounds, in Maine,*
and did not have half the fun that I have had out
here, in Kansas, hunting "jacks."
Our jack-rabbit, I should say, is no such little
scrub as the Massachusetts rabbit, or even the
Maine hare. Jack is quite a beast, and makes,
roast or stewed, a pretty good dish. Many a set-

tler's family lived on jacks, after the grasshoppers
came. Our rabbit has black legs and black ears,
and a blackish head. When he stands up on his
haunches, for a look around, he is nearly three
feet tall. His tail is long, and that is black, too.
But the body is a brownish gray. I have seen
jacks almost as large as a small goat. Now and
then one comes across a tremendously large one,-
so big and tall and long-eared, and so awfully
clumsy-looking, as fairly to make a fellow stare,
even when he is used to jacks. Generally, how-
ever, they do not weigh more than fifteen or twenty
These jack-rabbits live right out on the open
prairie and along the shallow river-valleys, where
there is not a bush, nor a tree, anywhere in sight.
Most of the grass, except by the streams, is buffalo
grass,-a short, curly, fine grass; but scattered
about are seen bunches, or rings, of taller grass,
two and a half or three feet high. These rings of
high grass are commonly not larger across than a
bushel-basket, but quite thick. And right inside
of the grass rings is where the jacks hide. They
hide in there, curled up, cuddled warm out of the
prairie wind, and well out of sight, too. You
scarcely ever see a jack stirring on the prairie in

* The narrator emigrated to Kansas from Maine when fifteen years old.





the day-time, even in places where they are really
very numerous. Those grass bunches are so thick
that you may pass close to one and not see the
jack cuddled up in the middle of it; and if he sees
you, he will not stir, unless you kick, or strike, into
the grass. Then out he goes, ten feet at one jump;
and, clumsy as he looks, there is nothing that runs
which can catch him, if he gets twenty yards start,

as if propelled by a single kick, then stop and look.
The wolf knows that the game is up. I once saw
a wolf sit down and look hard at the rabbit, and sniff
him longingly; and the jack, not yet half awake,
sat and winked. But the wolf turned away and
went to another bunch of grass. He knew better
than to waste his strength chasing a jack-rabbit.
The way we used to hunt jacks was to start out-


-not even a greyhound. Away he flies, like an old
felt hat flopping along the ground before the wind;
and you think that the hound will catch him in no
time; but he does n't. Jack keeps just about two
jumps ahead, and will run one mile, or two, or all
day, just as you like. There is no such !.;i : -, tiring
one down, when once he has had a good fair start,
and has had a chance to get his eyes fairly open
and catch his wind. The only way we ever catch
jack-rabbits with hounds is to take them by surprise,
before they have time to lay themselves out for good
steady leaping.
I have often laughed to see a wolf hunt jack-
rabbits. The wolf will sneak along, crouched
close to the ground, and work up to a ring of
grass, then give a sudden jump right into the midst
of it. About one time in fifty, he will manage to
seize the sleeping jack. But commonly the rabbit
will, in some mysterious way, leap out from under
the wolf's very nose, and go twenty or thirty feet.

eight or ten of us-on our ponies (and there are no
horses in this country fleeter than some of those
Texas ponies), with all the greyhounds we could
muster,-sometimes fifteen or twenty of them.
Riding out on the prairie, we would now string out
in a line, with the dogs all running close beside the
ponies, and go at a gallop for those rings of tall
grass. Just as some pony's fore feet were going into
a bunch of tall grass, out would leap a rabbit. The
greyhounds would be at close hauls, not two yards
from the rabbit's tail; and everybody knows how a
greyhound will buckle down to the ground and
run, without so much as a yif. The jack, waked
up so suddenly, would not have time to straighten
out for long leaps, and would tack, first right then
left. In that way he would dodge one hound, but
in dodging one, another would grab him. That
was the way we used to hunt them. Sometimes
we would by this plan catch eighteen or twenty in
an hour. Oh, it was live sport! Such shouting





and cheering on Three or four jacks going at
once, and all crazy after them, at a dead run The
ponies would chase as eagerly as the greyhounds.
Why, I have seen more excitement and more
downright, laughable fun in a jack-rabbit hunt
than in anything else I ever witnessed.
But it is not the safest business in the world-
riding at full spring and at a venture across the
prairie. For one is always liable to run into a
buffalo wallow," or break through into some old
burrow. Our Texas ponies were pretty sure-footed
little fellows; but, of course, if a horse broke into
a deep hole he would go down in a heap, and his
rider would go headlong on the ground. I once
got a tremendous fore-reacher of this sort. And
here I should explain, perhaps, that a "buffalo-
wallow is not a slough, nor a pig-mire, but just a
dry hole where a bison has got down and dug with
his horns, and rolled and plowed himself into the
dirt, either to get rid of flies or vermin, or else,
perhaps, from some desire to get the fresh earth
into his hair.
The winter after the grasshoppers came, my bro-
ther and I started "bone-team." Wewere about
cleared out in the way of money; we had land and
lean cattle, but nothing to eat. So we rigged up
an old prairie-schooner (large wagon), and put our
ponies to it and went into the business of drawing
bones. Perhaps, too, I need to explain what a bone-
team is. On those prairies where buffalo and deer
and antelope have run so many years, there are vast
quantities of old bones lying about. In many tracts
the ground is fairly covered with them; and in the
winter and spring, when the grass is off and the
sun shining, the plain at a distance looks white as
if covered with frost or ice. The turf is full of
bones of all sorts and sizes; and scattered about are
some enormous buffalo skulls, with the short, thick
horns still in them.
These old bones are of some commercial value.
At almost every station of the railroads across the
plains there is an agency for the purchase of bones.
They are taken East, and manufactured into ferti-
lizers, like superphosphate of lime. The price paid
a year ago at the stations of E-- County was five
dollars per ton. My brother and I drew in rather over
a hundred tons during the winter. It is no great job
to pick up a ton of those bones in many places, but
we had to haul ours nearly twenty miles; for the
most of the land near the railway has now been
taken up, or at least cleared of bones. It was a
three-days' trip to go out on the plains and get a
load. With our team of six ponies, we commonly
drew in three tons. While out on these bone trips,
we made considerable account of jack-rabbits ; we
had two greyhounds on purpose to hunt them, and
to hunt antelopes. I did most of the hunting; my

brother was a little lame that season from a
"hoist" he had received off a reaper. We had
one of the fleetest ponies for running I have ever
seen. In color she was so light as almost to look
silvery, and had both her fore legs white. Her
hair was very short and thin. She was slim and
trig-oh, a delicate little creature In weight she
was not much above seven hundred pounds; but
ah she would skim those plains like a goshawk.
We called her Gilly.
I would get up before sunrise, call in Sport and
Grip (the two greyhounds), then mount Gilly, and
start after a jack for breakfast. One morning we
got after a pretty big jack, and ran him out past a
large white-topped schooner," where an emi-
grant party had hauled up for the night. Two
men and a woman were stirring about it; and I
saw two nice, rosy girls peering out of the back end
of the wagon. They looked so inspiring that I
thought I would show them a little fancy riding.
So I touched Gilly and told her to go. At that,
she just reached out those white legs of hers and
straightened to it. Oh, she went like an arrow after
the hounds and past that schooner, and away on
across the prairie. And, right in the midst of her
keenest run, she broke into a wolf-hole Believe
it or not, the mare turned a complete somersault!
But I was n't in the saddle when she turned it: I
had gone on, and went on; went on my head,
went on my knees, went every way. I was more.
than fifty feet from the pony when I finally
stopped! Sport and Grip pulled up to see me go,
and the jack,-he stopped and looked. The wolf
came out of the ground and looked, too. They
were all so interested in it, that they entirely forgot
each other. And back at the schooner I saw six
or seven men, women and girls, standing motion-
less, with their mouths open. When I, at length,
got up, such a "ha! ha !" came wafted on the wind
as I shall not soon forget. It hurt me outrageously.
I got up feeling as if I were a hundred and one
years old. As for the jack, he had taken leave;
and the dogs were barking into the wolf-hole.
Another young fellow, named Adney Clark, and
myself once ran a jack-rabbit under a settler's
house, which stood out by itself on the prairie. The
rabbit ran up to it and crawled under the sill. The
hounds could not get under. We went round the
house and then into it. There was no one at home.
We were determined to have that jack, anyhow.
So we pulled up two or three boards of the floor,
and Ad took the fire-poker and got down under
the floor, to poke out the jack. He had not been
down there long when he uttered a screech and
came out at one jump, with a great big rattle-
snake hanging to his boot-leg I grabbed a chair
and killed the snake. Ad was so weak he could



not stand alone and could scarcely speak. I pulled
offhis boot. But there was no mark on him. For-
tunately, the snake had only bitten his boot-leg.
We then poked out the jack and the hounds
grabbed him.
And at another time, when eight or ten of us
were out racing down jacks, with as many as thir-
teen hounds, we all got after one big fellow, and
at length ran him into an old deserted dig-out."
A "dig-out," or "root-out," is a house dug in
the ground, and the floor of it is often four or five

feet below the level of the soil. The door of this
one was gone. The jack, being pretty hard run,
darted in there. In went the whole pack of hounds
after him, and there was no end of a pow-wow.
Round and about they went, yelping and growling
down there in the dark. We thought there would
n't be much left of that jack when, by and by,
out he came and leaped away, leaving all the
hounds in there tumbling over one another, and
the end of the business was that we had to go in
and haul those dogs out by the legs.





"WILL it never be Thanksgiving?" said Am-
anda, plaintively, as she threw her dinner-basket
and books in a corner and prepared to eat the sup-
per, which she found neatly spread for her, on her
return from the school-house, two long miles away.
"What possesses you to think about Thanks-

giving in May?" said Jake, scornfully. "You
might as well talk about Fourth of July when the
pond is all frozen up and the ground covered with
So I would, if it would make me warm to think
about it," said the little girl, looking out over the



- if I.

0. -


broad meadow land and green swales which lay
between her little brown home and the black,
jagged mountain ridge which had bounded the
horizon of her whole life. Only one house lay
between her and the mountain,-a long, low farm-
house,-where dwelt her companion, Cynthia, with
whom she daily walked those long two miles to
school. These were in the other direction, where,
half hidden in a clump of trees, stood the white
church, the black school-house, the store, and the
five houses composing "the village." Not another
human habitation was in sight, and, though there
were other farm-houses scattered here and there in
solitary spots, even the thought of this scattered
population did not tend to make one feel "crowded."
It's so dull," pursued Amanda; "there's never
anything to do but go to school, nor anybody to
see, nor anything to hear about, except when the
folks come home for Thanksgiving. I just wish
we could be getting ready for it all the time."
So we can, little daughter," said a gentle, tired
voice, as the worn, faded-looking farmer's wife
placed upon the table the smoking hot pork, pota-
toes, corn-bread and tea, which had only awaited
the arrival of the little school-girl. "Every day of
our lives may be made a preparation for Thanks-
giving, by counting up our mercies, and thanking
the Lord for them as we go along."
Pshaw !" said Amanda, I did n't mean that
way; I meant doing something. It 's always so
gay and lively when you 're chopping apples and
making pies and all that; but we 've got to wait
six whole months for that, and it 's so dull."
Suppose we begin to-day, Mandy," said the
farmer, as he took his place at the table, "and you
and Jake spend your spare time all summer get-
ting ready for Thanksgiving; that is, of course,
when lessons are over."
Wondering looks crossed the table, but no more
was said; for the farmer was just ready to say
grace, and after that the business of the hour
absorbed every one's attention.
When tea was over and the farm lay in the
shadow of the great mountain, while slant yellow
rays of sunlight still rested on the village and fur-
ther down the valley, the farmer unfolded his plan,
and the first preparation for Thanksgiving was made
by the children's going out into the garden-patch
and in the center of a great open space dropping
three squash-seeds into an open hole in the top of
a little hill. It was a small beginning, but Amanda
at once began to take an interest in garden-work
which she had never experienced before. The
next day was Saturday, and her mother called her
Into the barn-yard and presented her with two
setting hens, a brood of downy little chickens, and
a flock of young turkeys.

These are all to be yours, daughter, as long as
you feed them regularly and take care of them.
All the turkeys and chickens you can raise, and all
the eggs you can store, will be for Thanksgiving."
Meanwhile, Jake went with the farm hands to
plant corn, and undertook to drive the cows to and
from the pasture every night, and to learn to milk,
that he might help to make the golden butter,
which would be needed by and by, to spread
Thanksgiving bread and to make the Thanksgiv-
ing pie-crust.
No one heard the children complain of dullness
now, for the poultry and the cows took up a great
deal of the long, light evenings, and the shouts of
delight with which Amanda announced the discov-
ery of shining white eggs, were only equaled by
their joy at the sight of the little green squash-vines
that in time peeped up above the dark-brown
earth. Then Jake begged for another bit of land,
in which to plant little purple potato-eyes ; and his
father promised that, if they came to anything,
those potatoes and no others should be cooked for
the Thanksgiving dinner. Even vegetables can-
not grow without care, and potato and squash bugs
had to be picked off very carefully, while in the long
weeks of July drought the children carried many
a tin pail of water, with which to keep moist the
roots of their precious vine ; and the onion-beds,
parsley-beds, and beds of sage and summer savory,
which were to help dress the Thanksgiving dinner,
were kept by those little fingers as free from weeds
as any one could desire. What delightful berrying
expeditions Amanda and Jake and Cynthia had,
during the hot July and August afternoons They
worked as they had never worked before, for they
had an object in their picking; and when the
mother showed her little daughter how to dry the
huckleberries on boards covered with white paper,
and how to make beautiful pots of jam of the rasp-
berries and blackberries, she felt quite like an old
housekeeper, and put away these delicacies, beam-
ing with delightful visions of the future Thanks-
As the season advanced, there were apples to be
gathered and packed away in barrels; or else
peeled, strung on long cords, and hung up to dry.
The frost opened the chestnuts, and they and the
hickory-nuts afforded many an hour's busy sport
for the children; and many a jolly woodland excur-
sion was taken on Saturday, while the men cut
down trees, brought them home, and cut and piled
wood for the Thanksgiving fires. One grand ex-
cursion to the cranberry swamps closed the season,
and on this occasion the baskets and pails, filled
with bright red berries, were crowned with wreaths
of ground pine, branches of hemlock, and twigs
of shining holly, with which to decorate the old




farm-house for the grand Puritan Christmas,-the
Thanksgiving festival.
Meanwhile, the children, Amanda and Jake,
happy and contented, had been growing healthy
and strong from their constant work in the bracing
mountain air. They had learned many secrets of
nature, and of domestic and rustic art; and if
thoughts had sometimes come to them of the power
and love that caused the earth to bring forth in its
season, sending the rain to fill, and the sunshine to
ripen, the harvests, turning aside the lightning
and the frost, keeping that mysterious thing called
life in the animals, and crowning the year with
plenty, till thankful longings arose in their hearts,
-such thoughts did not pale any of the roses in
their cheeks, or take away the least bit from the joy
of the days. Nor did even their annoying disap-
pointments, when young turkeys hung themselves
on wood-piles, black hawks carried off downy
chickens, malicious boys stole unripe crook-necks,
and the like, hurt them; they thus learned to
" endure hardness," and to gain the mental and
moral vigor which comes from perseverance under
difficulty and patience in defeat.
I did not think it took so much time and so
many things to get ready for Thanksgiving," said
Amanda, as, the afternoon before the happy feast-
day, she stood in the store-room with her mother,
taking a last look at the preparation for to-morrow's
festival. There were turkeys and geese, ready
dressed for roasting; sausages waiting to be fried,
and chickens ready to be broiled. Great loaves of
white and brown bread and jars of cookies and nut-
cakes already were made for the children, and
sponge and jelly cake for their elders. A great
plum-pudding, tied in a bag, was ready to boil,
and was flanked by pork-pies, chicken-pies, apple-
pies, cranberry tarts, and yellow pumpkin delica-
cies wherein the ripened crook-necks, garnered
eggs, and grass-fed milk told of a summer's suc-
cessful and faithful labor. On a shelf lay piled-up
dishes of rosy and golden apples and cracked hick-
ory-nuts, all wrinkled and appetizing, ready for the
coming festival.
Outside of the store-room, all was in a state of
beautiful, home-like decoration. Fires blazed on



every hearth, and beside them stood wood-boxes
piled with logs and crackling brush, gathered by
Jake's busy hands. Bedrooms had been fixed
up everywhere, and snowy beds prepared in rub-
bish rooms and closets, while the warm, dry loft
above the wood-house, with its row of bunks,"
looked, Jake said, a good deal like camp-meet-
ing." For all "the folks were coming to-night,
and the two great farm wagons had been fitted up
with plank seats and sent down to the dep6t to meet
them. Amanda's two elder brothers and their
wives, her three sisters and their husbands, the un-
married teacher sister, even Aunt Sophronia and
Uncle Bill, and all the crowd of grandchildren who
lived ever so far away, traveled night and day to be
at home; for on that one day, at least, of all the
long year, the old brown farm-house should hold
its own united family.
So many things," said Amanda, as she closed
the door; "besides all that we have done, there's
sugar and raisins and spice and flour, and the
things to put them in, and the things to cook
with-oh dear, I can't think how many I "
"Yes," said her father, who just then entered,
bright with expectation; long before you or I were
born, and ever since, God has been busy getting
ready for our Thanksgiving. He put the coal
down in the earth; He set the trees to growing;
He prepared the seeds, and made ready the soil,
and blessed the labors of the husbandman. He
built the homestead and sent the children. Yes,
wife, He has watched and cared for each one as it
grew up, and so arranged its life that, of the band
who come to us to-day, not one but is an honor
and cause for thanksgiving."
"Yes, indeed," said his wife heartily, "and I
want my little girl here to learn that not by fits
and starts of feeling, but by steady perseverance in
appointed tasks all through life; by gentle works
and loving thoughts, by kindly and care-taking
deeds, we must be storing up the good things,
just as she has done this summer."
"It 's all getting ready,' I suppose," said
Amanda thoughtfully, at the same time breaking
the least little teenty bit from the edge of the fruit-
cake and nibbling it with great complacency.




EVERY one knows about the Centaurs,-" a
people of Thessaly; yet no one ever has told us
about Centaur boys.
But nowadays people are discovering every-
thing. There is Dr. Schliemann, who has dis-
covered all the old kitchen-ware of the ancient
Trojans, and written a book about it; and another
explorer has just found out about some young Cen-
taurs who went to old Chiron's school.
It was a boarding and day school, situated on
the Island of Peparethos, off the coast of Thessaly;
"a most salubrious spot," the school prospectus
said, and old Chiron taught all the polite arts. It
must have been a trouble, for young Centaurs were
a wild set. Indeed, people in those days never said,
"This boy is as wild as a young colt," but "As

them much, though the boys bothered old Chiron.
He was always shouting to them to keep their
hoofs off the desks, and to stop switching their tails
about, for they knocked down ink bottles and
things. Of course, in fly-time such a rule was very
hard, but the Centaur boys revenged themselves by
chasing the geese that belonged to Chiron's old
housekeeper, and making her scold till she was
hoarse. They played foot-ball, too, and such a
splendid game, for every Centaur could kick with
both his hind feet, while he steadied himself on his
fore feet. The ball sometimes went clear across
the island-about two miles. At least, that is the
record the boys left cut on the rocks at Peparethos,
so far as our discoverer could make out and trans-
late. Gryneus and Pholus must have been


wild as a young Centaur," which amounted to the best kickers, for he found their names cut on
the same thing. The Centaur boys had good times, the rocks, just under this big kicking score.
you may be sure. The polite arts did not bother And they had grand games of base-ball; such












running and catching! Th.:, did not need to favors. This made the Centaurs envious, and they
stoop to steady themselves when they caught, so did their best to make the young Greeks' lives a
none of them were at all bow-legged, and that was burden to them. They would not let them play
certainly an advantage over two-legged boys. ball, because they had only two legs, nor race,
But they never played marbles, for they could not though Crantor was a first-rate runner, nor even
kneel down properly, though it was a great saving let them chase the old woman's geese. So Cran-


"If ;_ / III, Jk

", ,,


I .. .

_4 _ .,

Ij, .1


in trouser-knees. They ran races, though, and
made splendid time. Rhoetus was the best racer
for two school terms, so the record said, and the
name of the champion for the next year must have
been kicked off out of envy, for our explorer
noticed a big piece of rock chipped off, just under
Rhoetus's name. They could not have boat races,
of course, but they had swimming matches, and
you may imagine that a boy with four legs and two
arms could make pretty fast time.
They were a right conceited set, those Centaurs,
but they had a "take down," when two Greek boys
from the mainland came to school. These boys
had only two legs, like our boys here, and the Cen-
taur boys made no end of fun of them. But when
Chiron saw that the two young Greeks, Crates "
and "Crantor," were studious and polite, he used
to ride them on his back, and show them other

tor and Crates gave up, and turned their attention to
the polite arts, hoping their turn would come soon.
And it did.
Crates and Crantor had a cousin, a pretty little
Greek girl named Celena, who came to visit them
one day. She brought a splendid cake for the
boys, and some honey from Hymettus, so, of
course, all the boys were anxious to please her.
They ran races, and played ball, and jumped fences,
and Celena said they were very smart.
Then Crates turned a hand-spring, and Crantor
stood on his head.
Can you do that ? asked Celena.
The Centaurs were ashamed, but they had to
own up that it was impossible.
Well, then," said Celena, can't you get me
some nuts? There is a tree full of them."
The Centaur boys all gathered around the tree,



(A Farm-house Story.)



"SHE can do it. I give it up. They could n't
be making a better show if they tried. Aunt Ke-
ziah said she 'd have her peonies in bloom when
the city folks got here. She 's done it, but I
was n't mor 'n half sure she could."
The sun had not been up an hour yet, but he
was shining full and warm in the rosy face of the
very plump, healthy-looking boy who stood there,
on the grass, looking down at the peonies.
"The old tub's choke full of 'em," he con-
tinued. They're almost all burst out, now.
They '11 burst the tub next. What fat, red-looking
fellows they are. Aunt Keziah says I 'm like 'em.
I don't care. They 're real pretty. Anyhow, I
don't believe 1 '11 tumble all to pieces, as they will
when they get through bursting. I 'm fat, all the
year round."
"Hullo, Piney!"
He did not turn around, or even take his hands
out of his pockets, as he answered:
Hullo, Kyle, is that you ? Drove your cows to
pasture ? I have."
Course I have, or I would n't be here. What's
the matter with your pinies? Looks as if the tub
was sinking with 'em."
"Sinking? You'd sink if you had all those
flowers to carry. How red they are !"
Reddest.kind. Aunt Keziah named you after
'em, did n't she ?"
So she says."
They 're redder 'n you are. They 're a good
deal handsomer, too."
I aint a flower, and I don't live in a tub. Aunt
Keziah says I burst everything she puts on me,
though, just as they do. That 's why she makes
all my clothes so loose."
"They're bursting all theirs, and no mistake.
Glad there 's no danger of my skin cracking round
like that."
I say, Kyle, how 'd you like to go a-fishing?"
Tip top. That 's what brought me over. It's
We can't go next Saturday, you know."
"No," said Kyle; and I have n't half learned
my piece for the Academy Exhibition."
"I 've learned mine. 'T is n't that I 'm -afraid
"What then?" said Kyle, in surprise.

"What then?" echoed Piney, sharply. "Why,
the Examination, of course."
0, that's nothing. Wilbur begins with a W,
and that puts my name 'most at the bottom of the
list. Bill Young and I talked it over. They wont
get down to us."
They '11 get to me. Then wont I turn red in
the face and forget everything!"
"Piney Piney! Piney! Come in to break-
A shrill, sweet, girlish voice was calling very
positively from the top of the steps in the middle
of the front piazza, and Piney started for the house.
"I'll come over after breakfast," shouted Kyle
Wilbur after him.
He ought not to miss that," muttered Piney,
as he walked along. "Aunt Keziah says his
face 'd do for a hatchet. Why can't she call me
some other name. But, then, Dick 's the nick-
name for Richard, and I would n't like that any
better. Anyhow, she might have picked out a
meaner flower than they are. Bull-thistles are
"Piney, why don't yoru hurry?"
"What for, Roxy?"
"Why, for breakfast. It 's all ready. I 've
been helping Aunt Keziah."
Did you boil the radishes?"
Not this time. Guess I know better than that,
now; but I picked the strawberries, and put lots
of sugar on them."
Brown sugar?"
"No, of course not. I put on the white, fine
sugar, out of the wooden box. Aunt Keziah put
it out on the table, and I sugared the berries."
The look on Piney's face told very plainly of his
liking for strawberries and cream, with plenty of
sugar. As for Roxy, her rosy face was full of pride
over her morning's performances. It was not so
plump as her brother's, although her eyes and hair
were as dark, and any one would have said she was
his sister. She was younger, too,-not over seven
or eight years, perhaps,-while Piney must have
been somewhere between thirteen and fifteen.
When a boy is so evidently large for his age, it
is not always easy to say just how old he is.
Roxy was not large for her age; she was only a
little too old for it, so that she sometimes walked
into mistakes. Such, for instance, as boiling the
crisp, fresh radishes.




While she and Piney went in to breakfast, the
sun rose higher, very slowly indeed, but steadily,
promising a grand, warm, June day. He was not
looking down, that morning, upon many prettier
places than that valley.
The old farm-house stood right at the head of a

II .---

, N / 'k '

-h. ----
R 17 I I. r ; iI


little lake. It was big and white, with a high,
peaked roof, from which the dormer windows
looked out as if they were forever watching for
somebody to come around the turn of the dusty
road. A great many people did come, too, but
the windows on the roof sat right there and waited
for somebody else, all the same.

-- ---~--1 ---~~--~~I

Nothing at all. I brought him a whole
saucer full of strawberries, and I poured the
cream all over them."
I never told you to," exclaimed Aunt Keziah.
You 're a meddlesome girl. Piney, ring the
bell for your mother to come down. Roxy, tell
Ann to bring in the breakfast. What can be the
matter with that child "
Berry sour," whimpered poor Chub, as he
pushed the saucer away from him.
Sour? No, they 're not. You naughty boy,
to scare me so."
But even the arrival of his mother, a tall, pallid,






There were no blinds up there, but there were
green ones to all the windows of the lower story,
and those on the front piazza came right down to
the floor.
The barns and the hayricks were away back
from the road, and the ground sloped from them
down to the front gate. That was toward the
east and the sunrise. On the south it sloped
to the very edge of'the lake, and they kept
the grass mowed down close, so as to make a
beautiful green lawn.
You could have measured out a dozen good cro-
quet grounds on that lawn if you had wanted to.
Away to the north, a mile and more, there was
another little lake, and beyond that another;
but a little bit of a river ran into the upper one,
and out of that into the next, and out of that into
the third, and out of that into the valley below.
So a man in a boat could row himself through all
those lakes and then down-stream.
Nobody but the Indians at the reservation, long
miles to the north, could pronounce the name
of that river correctly, but when the white men
gave up trying and spelled it out, they called it
the Ti-ough-ne-au-ga. That was as near as
they could have hit it if they had shot at it.
That is, if they had tried with a bow and
arrow and could not shoot very well. And the
little river was crookeder than any name that
even an Indian could have given to it.
Roxy had been in a great hurry to have Piney
come in. To tell the truth, she was apt to be
a little ahead of time, and when Piney entered
the dining-room the only person yet seated at
the table was his three-year-old brother Chub in
his high chair.
There was no need of asking how he came by
his name, but just at that moment Chub's face
was very red indeed, and he was pounding the
table with a spoon, while he uttered a squall that
made Aunt Keziah put down the coffee-pot and
rush in from the kitchen.
Roxy Roxy What are you doing to that



and reached up as far as they could, but having throwing then down to Celena, who thanked them
gathered all the nuts within reach some days very prettily, and turned up her pretty Greek nose
before, they could get none now for Celena. at the unhappy Centaur boys. And after that
Why don't you climb up, stupids ?" said she. Crates and Crantor held their heads high enough.
Then all those Centaur boys were covered with For some things," sighed the Centaur boys,
confusion, for not one of them could climb a tree. "it is better to be a two-legged boy." and then
Crates and Crantor could, and in a minute they they grew more modest, and went to work to
were on the topmost branches gathering nuts and study the polite arts.



I AM feeling very badly; everything is going to smash:
All the things I have believed in are going with a crash!
The folks are growing learned, and all their wretched lore is
Used to shake a fellow's faith in his best-beloved stories.
The fairies have been scattered, and the genii they have gone,
There are no enchanted castles; they have vanished, every one.
Aladdin never lived, and the dear Scheherazade,
Though very entertaining, was a much mistaken lady.
Of course I see through Santa Claus, I had to, long ago;
And Christmas will be going, the next thing that I know,
For I heard, I was n't listening-I heard the paison say,
He had really-yes had really-grave doubts about the day.
And as for Master Washington, they say the goose should catch it,
Who believed a single minute in that story of the hatchet.
They've given a rap at Crusoe, and dear old Friday. Why !
We'll all believe in Friday, we boys will, till we die!
They may say it's not "authentic," and such like if they dare!
When they strike a blow at Friday, they hit us boys. So there I
And I 've been reading in a book, writ by some college swell,
That there never was a genuine, a real live William Tell!
That he was just a myth, or what we boys would call a sell:
That he did n't shoot the apple, nor Gesler, not a bit-
That all the other nations have a legend just like it.
I think it's little business for a college man to fight
Against these dear old stories and send them out of sight.
And all the boys are just as mad! and so the girls are, too;
And so we called a meeting to, decide what we should do.
And we passed some resolutions, because that is the one
And only way for meetings, when it 's all that can be done.
I send you here a list:
Resolved, that there was a William Tell;
That by his bow and arrow the tyrant Gesler fell.
Resolved, that he was not a myth, whatever that may be-
But that he shot the apple and Switzerland was free.
Resolved, that Crusoe lived, and Friday, and the goat.
Resolved, that little Georgy his father's fruit-tree smote,
And owned up like a hero. Resolved, that all the science
Of all the learned professors shall not shake our firm reliance
In the parties we have mentioned; and we do hereby make known
The fact that we boys feel that we have some rights of our own-
And request that in the future these rights be let alone.



languid-looking lady, evidently not in good health,
who came in just then, failed to pacify Chub. It
was not till all the rest were seated at the table
that the cause of his trouble came out.
It was almost a matter of course that Piney
should be the next person to try a spoonful of
those berries.
"Mother! Aunt Keziah! sputtered he, as he
reached suddenly out for a tumbler of water.
" The berries are salted "
Salted?" exclaimed Aunt Keziah. "Piney
Hunter, what do you mean? "
"Richard, my son," murmured his mother;
Yes, mother. Just you taste 'em. I don't
wonder Chub said they were sour."
"O, Roxy! Roxy Hunter! This is some of
your work," exclaimed her mother, dolefully.
No, mother, I saw Aunt Keziah bring the box
out herself."
The salt box! So I did, and the sugar box,
too. They 're just alike. That child'11 prison us
all, yet !"
Aunt Keziah's face was as red with vexation,
almost, as Piney's own. His, though, was redder
than usual, for he was trying not to laugh, and
that was always hard work for him.
"Roxy," said her mother, "you can go right
out into the garden and pick some more berries,
in place of the spoiled ones. When you come in
you are not to have any."
Glad there's plenty of 'em on the vines," said
Aunt Keziah. These 'll all have to be thrown
away. But, Elizabeth, what are we to do with
Roxy ? Suppose her uncle and aunt and all the
rest had been here. I 'd have died of mortifica-
tion. "
Uncle Liph would n't," said Piney. "He 'd
have laughed."
Not with salted berries in his mouth," said
Aunt Keziah; but poor, crestfallen Roxy was
already marching through the back door with her
basket on her arm, muttering:
I wish 1 'd tasted it before I put it on, so I 'd
have known if it was sugar."

THERE were, indeed, vines and strawberries in
great abundance in that garden, and Aunt Keziah
Merrill was as proud of all that grew there as she
was of her peonies and other flowers.
Roxy picked away as fast as she could, but was
glad enough, in a minute or so, when her big
brother came to help her.
"Don't cry, Roxy," he said, as he knelt near
her, these berries are just as good as the others."
But I can't have any," whimpered Roxy.

"I '11 ask mother if you can't have some of
mine. Kyle Wilbur and I are going fishing after
0, can I go with you?"
Not this time. You see, Roxy, we want to
catch some fish."
I can catch fish."
"Yes; but I don't believe mother and Aunt
Keziah '11 let you go."
Roxy was very much of Piney's opinion on that
head, but she asked, all the same, as soon as they
got in with their berries.
In the boat ? exclaimed her mother. And
get upset, and may be get drowned ?"
0, she would n't get into the water," said Aunt
Keziah; "but she 's been a naughty girl this
morning. Besides, I want her in the house. I'm
going to make some cake."
Cake? 0, aunty, I 'd rather make cake than
catch fish."
"But you must let things alone. I can't afford
to have my cake salted."
I wont touch -- "
Mother," said Piney, "let me give Roxy some
of the berries I picked."
"Just a few, then; I want her to remember
about the sugar."
"About the salt, you mean," said Aunt Keziah.
"Well, she 's a pretty good little girl if she would
n't be so forward. I '11 give her a few of mine."
Chub said nothing about giving anybody a share
of the berries in his saucer, but be tasted them
carefully before he tried a whole spoonful at once.
Piney did not linger long at the table, and when
he reached the shore of the little lake, with his rod
and line all ready, and his bait in an old blacking-
box, there was Kyle Wilbur, sitting in the boat,
waiting for him.
Guess you did n't eat much breakfast," said
Yes I did. What made you stay so long ?"
O, I had to pick some more berries." And
Piney told him the story of Roxy's blunder, in a
way that made Kyle laugh all over. If Aunt
Keziah could have seen him, she would have said
it was the best thing in the world for a thin, peaked
boy like him.
In a minute more they were rowing away,
straight across the lake, toward the woods on the
other side. Both of them said they were sure the
fish bit better over there.
The boat was a good one, not at all likely to get
upset. It was square at each end, and the boys
called it "the scow."
It was quite good enough for them to fish from,
and may be they were right about the habits of the
fish, for they did bite very well; that morning,




along the shore where the tall trees leaned over the
water. The day was beginning to be a warm one,
and it may be the fish were thinking that part of
the lake would be shadier by and by.
Both Piney and Kyle were pretty good fisher-
men, and the perch and sun-fish and bull-heads
came in pretty fast for an hour or so. Piney even
hooked a pickerel that weighed more than a
I caught a bigger one than that, last week,"
said Kyle.
0, that 's nothing. Aunt Keziah says they eat
more than any other fish, and can't get fat on it,
I must be a sort of a pickerel, then. I say,
Piney, have you practiced your piece for the Exhi-
bition ?"
Mother made me say it to her, once, but I
don't believe I can say it before a crowd."
"Why don't you try and speak it out here?
What is it?"
0, everybody knows it. It begins, 0, why
does the white man follow my path.' "
That 's an Indian piece. You ought to speak
it in the woods. Let 's go ashore and try it."
Piney colored very red, but he answered,
"Well, I will, if you wont tell anybody. Then
will you speak yours, after I 'm done?"
Of course I will. We've got fish enough."
"No, we have n't. But we can come back and
catch some more. Let's go ashore now."
The anchor, a big, heavy stone, was at once
pulled up from the bottom and the scow as quickly
fastened to a bush on the bank, while the two
young orators went on under the shade of the
They knew there would be nobody there to hear
them, for all the men about the place were busy in
the fields. In fact, the woods were as pleasant
and still as could have been asked for, and if the
tall hickories and maples were getting ready to
listen, they did not say a word about it to confuse
the speakers.
Hurrah, Kyle! Look at what I 've found,"
suddenly exclaimed Piney, who had been stooping
down to tie one of his shoes before he began his
piece. "I 'm to be an Indian warrior, and here
I 've been and picked up an Indian arrow head "
Kyle examined it eagerly enough, although he
remarked coolly:
"That's nothing. People pick 'em up every-
where. Father plowed up a stone hatchet last
spring. That 's a pretty big arrow head, though.
Most of 'em are little fellows."
It was a piece of flint, nearly as wide as a half
dollar, and more than twice as long, tapering to a

point at one end with sharp, ragged edges, and at
the other end it had a sort of knob with a notch
in it.
That's to tie it to the arrow by," said Piney.
Uncle Liph has any number of 'em. I mean to
give him this."
"I guess father 'd let him have the stone
hatchet," said Kyle. "Did n't you say he was
coming to visit you ? "
We expect him here to-night. Now, Kyle,
you stand over there by that hickory, and I '11
stand here on this knoll and I'll say my piece."
He brandished the stone arrow-head in his right
hand, and launched into his recitation.

"0, why does the white man follow my path
Like the hound on the tiger's track?
Does the hue of my dark cheek waken his wrath ?
Does he covet the bow at my hack?"

Right there Piney pointed fiercely over his
shoulder with the arrow-head, resolving to have
some kind of a real bow provided in time for use
at the Exhibition.
He went safely through with verse after verse
of the poetry, while Kyle Wilbur leaned against
the hickory tree and watched him.
"First rate," exclaimed Kyle. "But you 'll
never do it that way before a crowd. Are you
sure you'll remember it all ?"
Kind o' half way sure."
Wish I was, but I aint."
Guess I '11 have the arrow-head in one hand
and the stone hatchet in the other. Then I can
put it through. What piece did you learn ?"
Oh, I picked out 'The boy stood on the burn-
ing deck.' It 's awful old, but then I 've spoken
it before, and I wont be so likely to break down
in it."
"'The boy stood on the burning deck,'" re-
peated Piney. Why, that does n't belong to
the woods. You ought to practice that in the
".Could n't set it on fire, and it has n't a square
inch of deck."
Oh, we can fix that. Come on. Gather all
the birch bark and hickory bark you can lay your
hands on."
Why, what '11 you do ?"
"I 'll show you," answered Piney. "I've got
an idea in my head."
You're always getting ideas in your head,"
grumbled Kyle; but he did as he was bidden, for
it was clear that of those two boys, Piney Hunter
was decidedly the leader.
It took but a few minutes to gather an armful
of dry bark, and Piney hurried toward the scow.
He dropped his load on a dry spot in the bottom.




Next he picked up a long, wide, flat board,
which lay there, and laid it across the boat. It
reached over for nearly a foot on either side.
"There's your deck, Kyle," said Piney. "Now
for your fire."
The pieces of bark were quickly heaped up on
the board, and a match and a wisp of paper from
Piney's pockets did the rest. The fire was there.

you to stop till you 've done speaking your piece.
Now for it."
As he said that, Piney shoved the boat away
from the shore, and the bark began to blaze and
"Thd boy"-began Kyle, in a somewhat un-
steady voice, as he stood up, striking an attitude,
behind the small bonfire on the board.



But," objected Kyle, steadying himself in the
boat, "that is n't enough of a deck to give a
fellow a fair show, and you 've made so much fire
I can't stand on it."
Can't help that," said Piney. You can
stand close to it. And you can make believe
there are masts and sails on fire over your head.
I'11 be your father, and I 'm dead and can't tell

IYJ: _

S!hI. I- -- I. ,,...... ..-.I
I .II i I-. I. I I .I
i-ie daImes 114al IL iLhe bardc'r wreck
Shone round him -'

Ough-ough-ough-ough-look a-here, Piney
Hunter, you 've swung the boat around so the
wind blows the smoke in my face. I 'll cough my
head off-ough-ough "
I guess the real boy in the story must have
had a coughing spell before the ship blew up,"
said Piney. "Go ahead. This ship wont blow
up. Not till you finish your piece."




There was no help for it, Piney seemed so very
determined; and so Kyle went bravely on for sev-
eral stanzas, but just as he was exclaiming,-

But once again he cried aloud,
'Say, father, must I stay?'"

he was compelled to add:
"Hold on, Piney, if his boat had rocked like
that, he would n't have stayed in it half a minute.
Don't be mean, now, I 'm 'most through."
"I wont," said Piney, and Kyle was really
doing splendidly, when Piney suddenly seized the
board with its blazing load and shoved the whole
thing over into the lake.
It is n't time to blow up," said Kyle, reproach-
"Go right on," said Piney. "The deck was
burned through, that's all. You 'll have to speak
the rest of it without any fire."
Kyle went on without missing a word, but he
sat down very suddenly at the end of it, as if he
had doubts as to Piney Hunter's intentions.
That's tip top," exclaimed Piney. It 's a
good deal better 'n mine. But then they wont
let us set the academy hall platform on fire, you
know. You '11 miss your deck."
I wont be choked with birch-bark smoke,
either. Let's catch some more fish."
"All right," said Piney.
And so they did, but when they finally got tired
of it and rowed across the lake for some dinner,
Aunt Keziah hardly looked at Piney's string of fish
before she asked him:
What made you kindle a fire in the woods ?"
Did n't kindle any, Aunt Keziah. That fire
'was out on the water."
In the boat? What for?"
To help Kyle Wilbur speak his piece. He
bad to have some sort of a burning deck."
A few more questions and answers explained the
Piney Hunter," exclaimed Aunt Keziah, as
the tears of laughter rolled down her cheeks,
" you '11 set the lake on fire next. Roxy, keep
your fingers away from those fish. There, I
thought so. One of the bullheads has pricked you
with his horns."
"Oh, aunty, it hurts me awfully. I '11 never
touch one of them again. Not as long as I live."
Better not, then. It's a good string, though,
and I 'in glad of it. Your uncle's fond of'fish."
"And I 've found an Indian arrow-head for
him," said Piney, "and Kyle Wilbur has promised
me a stone hatchet his father plowed up."
"I 'm sure he 'll be pleased with them," said
Aunt Keziah. Come, now, it's dinner-time."
VOL. VII.-4.

EVERY now and then, while they were at dinner,
Roxy gave a pitying look at the thumb of her
right hand. There was a very distinct mark on it,
for the horns of a bull-head are sharp and stiff,
and she had picked up the slippery little fish with-
out thinking of them.
I did n't hurt him a bit," she said to herself,
but Piney heard her, and answered:
"No, but I did, when I caught him, and per-
haps he knew you were a sister of mine."
Teach her a lesson," said Aunt Keziah. I
sometimes wonder she has any fingers left."
But for all that, Aunt Keziah put on her specta-
cles and looked closely at the dent on Roxy's
There, dear, don't make any more fuss about
it. I guess he did n't mean to hurt you."
Well, he did n't. Not much," said Roxy,
"and I hope Uncle Liph '11 eat him up."
"All but his horns," said Piney.
It was a splendid summer day, and the doors
were all wide open. So were the windows, although
the blinds were closed.
Up on the roof, where there were no blinds, the
dormer windows seemed more wide awake than
ever, as if they were watching for the visitors from
the city.
It was hours too early for them, whether the
windows knew it or not; but a great many other
travelers came along the road. The largest com-
pany that arrived together was a flock of sheep,
with a man and two boys and a dog to keep them
going, and the noise they all made brought out
Piney and his sister. .
Dinner was about over, but Roxy came out with
a piece of pie in her hand.
There was nothing very wonderful in a flock of
sheep, though that was quite a large one, but not a
great distance behind it there came such a queer-
looking little man that Piney laughed outright as
he exclaimed:
If there is n't the Woodchuck !"
"Why, it 's the blackberry Indian himself," said
Roxy. "And there's Kyle Wilbur, coming up to
the gate."
Yes, and there 's Hawknose John, coming
around the turn. He 's trying to catch up with the
He 's the chief, is n't he ?"
"Not exactly. Not the head chief. The head
chief lives in a good house, up at the Reservation,
and he would n't pick berries or whittle bows and
arrows for anybody."
Piney, did you hear that ?"
"Why, if the Woodchuck is n't trying to sing."




He 's funny, is n't he."
Come down to the gate, Roxy. I want to see
Hawknose John."
Kyle Wilbur got there about as soon as they
did, and the Woodchuck came along in the middle
of the road, singing a queer chant, or song, full of
rough. harsh-sounding words.
SThat's real old Onondaga, Roxy," said Piney.
" It 's Indian. His mouth must be made different
from yours or mine."
"And his ears, too," said Roxy, "or he could n't
know what he 's singing."
The Woodchuck was a short, broad man, re-
markably dirty and ragged. His face was dark
and ugly, and his long, coarse black hair came
down on his shoulders from under all that was left
of what must once have been a white man's high
black hat. He had put a red ribbon around it,
and stuck a feather in the ribbon on one side, and
a strip of shining tin on the other, so that he cer-
tainly was a very gay and funny-looking old Indian
that day.
The man who was now coming close up to him
was a very different sort of person. He was as
dark and Indian-looking as the Woodchuck, but
he was very tall and thin, with a high, hooked
nose, that gave his face almost a fierce expression.
In fact, if Hawknose John had lived in the old
times, when his tribe was a great nation, it is very
likely he would have been a warrior, for he looked
like one as it was, he was so stern and stood so
He spoke a word or two to the Woodchuck, in
harsh, guttural tones, and that Indian at once
stopped singing and stood still.
John was evidently very angry, but it could not
have been about the feather or the piece of tin, for
he, too, had a wide red ribbon around the straw
hat he was wearing, and he had on an old blue
swallow-tail coat, with gilt buttons.
Is he swearing?" asked Roxy.
"No," said Kyle Wilbur, "Hawknose John
would n't swear. He 's as good as a deacon, but
anybody can see he 's mad. The Woodchuck 's
always getting into some sort of scrape."
He was in one now, beyond a doubt, for the tall
Onondaga raised his long right arm, when he
ended his rough scolding, and struck him hard on
the forehead with his clenched fist.
It made a sharp, cracking sound, as the blow
fell, and over went the Woodchuck in the dust, as
if he had been an Indian nine-pin. He was not
much hurt, however, for he at once picked himself
up, rubbing his forehead, and marched off along
the north road without saying a word. Hawknose
John said nothing, either, but pointed threaten-
ingly in the direction of the Indian Reservation.

"John," said Piney, "what made you knock
him down? He does n't belong to you."
"Woodchuck big fool. Drink whisky. Hawk-
nose John good friend. Knock him down and send
him home. Go home sober now. Not waste any
more money for squaw. He sell berries for squaw.
Promise not drink. Go wicked just a little. Knock
him down, so he stop right there. White man not
know enough to do that."
Yes," said Piney, "but what if he 'd been a
big Indian and you a little one ?"
Boy ask too many question," said the tall On-
ondaga, with dignity.
Got any potatoes?" he asked, presently.
Plenty of 'em," said Piney. Is that bow for
Piney had been watching, from the first, an un-
usually long and handsome-looking bow which
John carried in his left hand. It was beauti-
fully polished, but was likely to require a strong
arm to bend and use it. John now lifted it at
arm's length, and held it up for the boys to admire,
but slowly remarked:
No. No sell him. Hawknose John give him
"Whom will you give it to ?" asked Kyle Wilbur.
"Give it to Aunt Keziah. So she give John
some potatoes. No sell bow."
0, that 's it," said Piney. Let me show it to
her, John. It's just the kind of bow she wants."
Kyle and Roxy laughed while Piney seized the
bow and hurried back into the house.
Aunt Keziah," he shouted, see what a splen-
did present Hawknose John has brought you.
Just what you were wishing for."
Me, Piney? A present to me? Why, it 's a
hickory bow. What a pretty one. But what do I
want of a bow?"
0, you can lend it to me. I '11 take care of it
for you. Besides, Hawknose John wants you to
make him a present of some potatoes."
He 's always wanting something. They 're a
lazy, shiftless, good-for-nothing set."
O, Aunty, you ought to have seen him knock
down the Woodchuck and send him home, just
because he 'd taken one drink of whisky "
"Did he? I always said there was something
good about John. How many potatoes does he
He did n't say. He can't carry a great many.
It 's a splendid bow."
Well, tell him he may have as many as he can
carry in a sack. New potatoes can't be had yet, and
good old ones, like ours, are high and scarce."
Very likely Hawknose John knew all that, for
Aunt Keziah's skill at making potatoes "keep
over" was as well known as some of her other wis-



doms. She was very likely, too, to get good prices
for what she sold, and she knew her Indian ac-
quaintance was too lazy a man to carry a heavy
load far in that weather.
Piney's a good boy," she said to his mother,
"and I like to humor him. Besides, it 's only a
few potatoes."
When the bargain was completed with Hawk-
nose John, however, that tall, thin person pulled
from under his blue coat a very stout-looking sack,
and silently followed Piney to the barn.
"Have what can carry?" he remarked, as he
leaned over the side of the potato-bin, and began
to pick out the best ones and drop them into his
Yes, John, you 're only to have as many as
you can carry."
"Good. John like that. You like potatoes ?"
0, yes, I eat them."
Good for boy. Eat a heap. John got boy at
home. Eat all day."
Piney began to think there must have been a
famine at the Reservation, as John worked away at
his bag. He never ceased putting in more and
more, until it was so full that he could hardly tie
the mouth of it.
You can't carry that," said Piney.
You see. Hawknose John big Indian. Put
him right on shoulder."
And so he did, and walked outof the barn with it,
although it made him stagger and waver in his
walk. And Aunt Keziah, happening to look out of
the kitchen window just then, had to exclaim:

"Well, I declare! Why, that Indian rascal
has taken a good two bushels and more. It 'll
kill him if he tries to carry it. And all that for
a bit of hickory wood."
Hawknose John did not seem to notice anybody,
however, until he had marched out of the front
gate and along the road for several rods. He then
carefully slipped the bag of potatoes down on the
grass and took a seat beside it.
Piney and Kyle and Roxy had followed him,
wondering what he meant to do, and the former
"John, how'll you ever carry that bag to the
Boy ask too many question. My potatoes now.
Aunt Keziah give big bag full. Wagon come
along, by and by. Put 'em in and take 'em home
to squaw."
There was a look of something very much like
fun on his dark face as he said this, and Kyle Wil-
bur said to Piney:
He 's got a big price for his bow, anyhow.
Your Aunt Keziah is n't sharp enough to make
trades with Indians."
She is with white men, then. I never saw her
beaten so badly before. Anyhow, his little Indians
must have something to eat, and the bow 's a
splendid one."
"Will you teach me to shoot?" asked Roxy.
Certainly," answered Piney, absently, but in
high good humor. Already he was planning a
splendid frolic. The bow and arrow would be just
the thing !

(To be continued.)



ONCE upon a time, many, many years ago, there
lived, in a palace in France, a poor little boy. You
will wonder, if he were a floor little boy, why he
should have lived in a palace; but he was not poor
in that sense. He had no lack of food and clothes;
cold and hunger were unknown to him. On the
contrary, no little child was ever more tenderly
cared for than he. His home was in a superb
palace, richly furnished and adorned with rare pict-
ures and fine statuary. His play-ground was a
beautiful garden, with winding walks and green
alleys leading to summer-houses and pavilions, and
where fountains, gushing forth in the midst of beds
of lovely flowers, cooled the air with their spray.

Besides all this, he had a little plot of ground of his
own, which you may be sure he cared for far more
than he did for all the stateliness and variety of his
father's garden.
He worked in it quite diligently, and great was
his pride and delight when at length he could carry
a bouquet of his own raising to his beautiful young
In winter, or when the weather was too stormy
to play out-of-doors, he had numberless bright and
costly toys, and his sister-who was older than him-
self, and who was very sweet and gentle-would
play with and amuse him for hours. But with all
these lovely things about them continually, they

*See Frontispiece.




were not allowed to think only of themselves; for
their mother taught them to care for the poor and
helpless, and to be ready always to give up their
own pleasure for the comfort and happiness of
those about them.
One New Year's Day,-which in France is the
great day for making presents, as Christmas is with
us,-she caused a number of splendid toys to be
brought to the palace, and spreading them out on
a table before her, she called her children, and bade
them look at these fine playthings, which she had
intended to give to them as New Year's gifts; but,
owing to the severity of the winter and the conse-
quent suffering among the poor, she should instead,
if they were willing, buy clothing and food for those
who needed both so sadly. The children gave up
their toys very sweetly and cheerfully, and their
mother had the pretty things taken away, paying
the man for his trouble in bringing them.
But you must not imagine that this little boy's
whole time was taken up with play. No, indeed;
he had a very kind and wise governess, who taught
him a great many useful things, and a tutor who
gave him instruction in all the manly studies, arts
and exercises of those times.
He was very diligent in his studies, and made
wonderful progress. His memory was very good,
and he could recite long poems with great correct-
ness and taste.
It was very necessary that he should be thor-
oughly well educated; for, child as he was, he was
a very important personage in France, second only
to his own father, and it was hoped that one day
he would hold the highest position in the kingdom
-that of its sovereign.
Surrounded as he was by all this wealth and lux-
ury, tenderly beloved by his sweet sister, the pet
and darling of his kind father and lovely young
mother, the pride and hope of a great nation, you
are no doubt wondering why I should call him a
poor little boy.
There is a certain Greek proverb which says,
Call no man happy till his death," and it applies
perfectly to this young prince.
His name, which you have not yet heard, was
Louis. Louis Capet, I suppose, was his full name;
but, as he was the son of Louis XVI., king of
France, he never was called by his last name.
Kings and princes always sign their first name only.
He was not even called Prince Louis, as he would
have been if he had been an English prince; but
was called the Dauphin, a title always bestowed on
the eldest son of the king of France. His sister,
although she was only a little girl and a princess,
was called simply Madame.
But in spite of his youth and the love and tender-
ness that would have shielded him from all harm,

clouds began to overshadow the sunny brightness
of his life. When he drove out through the streets
of beautiful Paris with his father and mother, in-
stead of the shouts of joy, the cheers and demon-
strations of affection, with which their presence had
always been greeted by the people, there began to
be, first, silence, broken by a few faint cheers; then
low mutterings of anger, which after a time devel-
oped into loud and insulting remarks.
Fierce and scowling faces peered into the car-
riage, and the shrill voices of coarse women were
heard in horrid yells and mocking laughter.
Louis wasno longer glad to accompany his father
and mother in their drives. He would have pre-
ferred the quiet and peacefulness of his own garden.
He used to ponder over these things, and wonder
what could be the meaning of so great a change.
His usually bright face looked serious and perplexed.
His father asked him one day why he looked so
Little Louis said, "Papa, why are the people,
who used to love you so much, so angry with you
now ? What have you done to them ? "
The king took his son on his knees, and replied:
"My child, I wished to make my people happy.
I asked for money to pay the expenses of the wars,
as all my ancestors have done; the parliament
opposed me, and said that the people alone had the
right to grant it. I therefore called together the
principal inhabitants of every town, at Versailles.
This assembly is called the States General. When
they were assembled, they required of me conces-
sions which I could not make, either with due
respect for myself, or with justice to you, who will
be king after me. Wicked men have made the
people angry, and this has caused the crowds and
trouble of the last few days; the people themselves
must not be blamed for them."
But little Louis, hlrl,..u h he accepted his father's
explanation and asked no more questions, yet was
not satisfied. He could not understand why the
people should be so angry at being asked for
Carefully shielded as he had been from every
rough wind, he could not realize that there were
thousands of little children in the same city with him-
self, who, in all their lives, had never known what
it was to have enough to eat; who, pinched with
cold and hunger, every night lay down on the bare
stone floor, huddling together, and drawing their
wretched rags over their wasted limbs, to try if by
any means they might keep off the bitter cold.
But the fathers and mothers, who loved their chil-
dren as well as the Queen of France loved her little
ones, knew it was so; and, in their fierce struggle
for the barest necessaries of life, they grew hard
and bitter, and ready to curse the rich lords and






masters who, as they considered, had ground them cent suffered, as well as the guilty. Louis XVI.
down and trampled them under foot. certainly was a better man than the kings before
Now, in this case, as it often happens, the inno- him had been, and much more careful than they



not to waste the public money by spending it
extravagantly on his own pleasures.
But he was too tender-hearted to rule with a
strong hand, and too weak in judgment to govern
wisely; so the wind which his fathers had sown be-
came the whirlwind for his reaping.
The long course of oppression under which the
people had suffered had made them hard and
cruel, and when the strong hand which had kept
them down was exchanged for a weak one, the fierce
passions of hatred and revenge, which had been
slumbering in their breasts, were ready to burst
forth at a word into crimes of such ferocity that the
world stood aghast. At length, one July day, the
word was given, and a mob of twelve thousand
people attacked the Bastille, and set free the pris-
oners who had been shut up in it.
After that, matters grew worse every day. Jeer-
ing and mockery were familiar sounds whenever
the royal family drove out, and soon the mob
shouted their brutal insults under the very windows
of the palace.
One night at Versailles, after a day of unusual
tumult, when the rioters had forced themselves into
the palace itself, Louis lay in his little bed, shaking
and sobbing with terror. He could not get over
the shock of seeing his mother insulted,-his
sweet, beautiful mother,-and his piteous sobs con-
tinued till the queen came to bid him good-night.
She soothed him with tender words and comfort-
ing assurances, until at length he fell asleep.
He was awakened, about four o'clock the next
morning, by shrieks and cries and sounds of fire-
arms; and, before he had time to do more than
wonder, his governess came in and hurried him off
to his father's apartments, where he found his sister
and the queen, who had barely escaped with her
life. That same day they were forced to go to
Paris, whither the fierce mob accompanied them.
They surrounded the carriage, pressed upon it,
and peered into it, scanning with cruel eyes the
unhappy occupants, and with rude, mocking
laughter, making their coarse comments.
A band of fish-women-large, broad-shouldered,
brawny-armed, and fierce, even more vile, degraded
and brutal than the men, if that were possible-
stalked on before, their wooden shoes clattering on
the pavements; and they cried with hideous yells :
" We shall no longer want bread, for we have the
baker, the baker's wife, and the baker's little boy
with us "
The poor little dauphin arrived at Paris half dead
with terror; so much so that the next day, hearing
some noise in the court-yard of the palace, he threw
himself into his mother's arms, crying, "Oh,
mamma, is to-day yesterday again ?"
From that time there was little peace for the

royal family. They were captives in their own
house, surrounded by guards day and night. Once
they made an attempt to escape, but were discov-
ered and brought back. And after this, escape was
impossible for them. They were closely guarded,
and daily and nightly these scenes of horror and of
blood were renewed in the great city around them,
till at length it was almost a relief to them when
the walls of a prison shut from their sight that
maddened, yelling mob thirsting for their blood.
This was the Prison du Temple, and here little
Louis sometimes walked on the roof with an older
companion, and threw a few crumbs to the little
birds, whose freedom the young prince envied.
For, although he still had good food and a clean
dwelling, which he shared with his father, mother
and sister, he was in prison, and could no longer
enjoy freely the fresh air and warm sunshine.
At last, the summons came for the king to ap-
pear before the tribunal to answer for the crime of
being of royal blood.
He bade his family a last farewell, embraced
them tenderly, gave his blessing to his children,
and bade them trust in God for their deliverance.
More happy than his wretched wife, in being
spared the sight of his beloved ones' sufferings, the
king, forgiving his enemies, calmly yielded up his
life on the scaffold.
One night, shortly after the king's execution, the
guards came to the queen's cell, and roughly told
her that they must take away the dauphin. The
unhappy mother, in the extremity of her anguish,
threw herself before her son, and for a long time
kept off the guards. But, at length, utterly ex-
hausted, she fell fainting at their feet, and the
young prince was then removed.
The little boy, who had been so carefully nurt-
ured, so tenderly cherished all his life, was roughly
thrust into a cold, damp cell, and, with a rude
push and an oath, was left by the guards to sob
and cry through the long night for the mother
who would never come to him again.
So cruelly was he treated that, in a few months,
no one would have been able to recognize the
bright, beautiful young prince in the dirty, squalid,
neglected little being who inhabited a cell in the
Prison du Temple.
Scantily covered with a few filthy rags, his body
wasted to a mere skeleton, he sat, for the most part,
on a wretched heap of straw, which served him for
bed by night and seat by day.
His food was thrown to him twice a day, and he
scarcely ever saw a human being save his brutal jail-
er, Simon, who could hardly be considered human.
He was not only neglected and starved, he was
also cruelly beaten and roughly knocked about.
The hardened wretch, Simon, taught him vile and







THE Gudra's daughter was named Volma. She
was thirteen years old, and had never been to
school. Her kind mother had taught her all she
But as there are many people who do not know
what a Gudra is, I will state, at once, that a
Gudra is a giant dwarf. Volma's father belonged
to a nation of dwarfs, who dwelt among the mount-
ains. These little people were seldom over three
feet in height, but the Gudra-the giant among
them-was between five and six feet high, and
broad and stout in proportion. He was a powerful
lord among his people, and his size and courage
gave him additional importance and influence. He
was very proud of his superior stature and his high
position, and this pride was the reason why his
daughter, Volma, had never been to school. He
considered her far above such a thing as going to
school with the dwarf children of the country.
Volma resembled her father, in stature, and, at
the time of this story, was as large as an ordinary
girl of her age. She was very good and gentle,
and would have been glad to go to school, but this
her haughty father would not allow. One day,
Volma's mother-who was quite a small woman,
even for a dwarf-began to talk about her daugh-
ter's want of education.

"Education !" cried the Gudra, "I intend she
shall have an education. But I do not intend that
she shall waste years in poring over books and
parchments. She is a girl with a fine mind, like
mine. She can take in learning instantly. Even
now, she is a head higher than any woman in the
But does that make it any more easy for her to
learn?" asked her mother.
Of course it does !" exclaimed the Gudra.
" She is superior, in every way, to any other child
in the nation. She shall have an education, but
she shall have it all at once. I am sure that her
mind is capable of taking in an excellent education
in a week."
This made the Gudra's wife exclaim, in astonish-
ment, "My !"
Of course it is !" cried the Gudra; and then,
taking up a heavy hammer, he struck a large bell
which hung in his room. This was his manner of
summoning his attendants.
One stroke brought the attendant of the first
rank, two strokes him of the second rank, and so
The one stroke brought in old Krignock, the
Krignock !" said the Gudra, "you have known



I-' ^ 1;
At/* ?'*
fi,- 2,
I, .. .

_ __


me for a very long time,-ever since I was born.
Did you ever know me to fail in anything?"
Most noble sir," said Krignock, I never
There now !" cried the Gudra, turning to his
wife. "Did you hear that. I never have failed in
anything, and I don't intend to do it now."
But how do you expect to manage this mat-
ter?" asked his wife.
I don't know yet," said the Gudra. But I'11
do it."
The next day, the Gudra told his wife that he
had decided to give his daughter her education
among the ordinary men and women of the world;
that their methods of learning must be better than
those of the dwarfs, and that as Volma was now
quite old enough to be a learned little princess, he
should take her to the part of the world where
ordinary people live, and have her immediately
"Am I to go?" asked his wife.
No," said the Gudra. I do not wish any
one to suppose that she has so small a mother. I
will take Krignock, half a dozen servants, and the
Curious One. That will be enough. We shall
soon be back."
But will it not be dangerous," asked his wife,
"to travel with the child
and so few attendants ?"
"Dangerous !" roared the
Gudra, indignantly, am I
not going ?"
The next day they started.-
They went on foot, for the -
dwarfs have no horses. The ,-
Gudra and his daughter '
marched first, then came 7
Krignock, then the attend- -
ants in single file, and at the .7
rear of all walked the Curious
One. This was a young fel- '
low, not quite three feet
high, and dressed entirely in '
white. He had a small head,
which was absolutely bald.
He was a fill-grown dwarf,
but had never had any hair
on his head. To add to his
peculiar appearance, he wore *
a glass cap. This allowedI
the sun to shine on his head,
to keep it warm, and, in time of storms, it pro-
tected his pate from snow and rain. He was very
proud of this cap, which was his own invention.
The duty of the Curious One was to find out
things, and tell them to the Gudra. He was excel-
lent at this business, being of an investigating

turn of mind, and very fond of telling what he
knew; and, on this account, the Gudra liked
always to have him near at hand. He now walked
last, so that he could see everything that the rest
of the company might happen to do.
Having marched for the greater part of a day,
with frequent rests, the Gudra and his party drew
near a large city. As they approached it, they
saw, walking toward them, an Ordinary Man.
"Ho, ho !" cried the Gudra, "here is one of
them! And now, Krignock, tell me, am I not
larger and taller than this person, who, I suppose,
is about as big as any of them ?"
"Exalted sir," replied Krignock, it seems to
me-it really does seem to me-that you are
rather taller, and somewhat stouter than this per
I thought so, myself," said the Gudra, drawing
himself up. "Indeed, I supposed, before I saw
any of them, that I was larger than the men of
this place."
The Ordinary Man now drew quite near, and
was much amazed to see the company of dwarfs,
who composed the train of the Gudra and his
daughter. He stood still and looked at them.
A happy idea came into the Gudra's head.
We shall want some one to guide us about the




great city," said he to his head-councilor. "Let
us engage this person, if he is acquainted with the
The Ordinary Man, when Krignock proposed
that he should become their guide, immediately
consented. He was not rich, and was glad to get a





job. He was also well acquainted with the city,
having lived there all his life. The Gudra promised
to pay him well.
"In the first place," said the Ordinary Man,
when these arrangements had been made, a
party of your rank should not walk into the city.
It would not be considered dignified. It would be
well if you would sit here and rest, while I go and
bring animals for your proper conveyance."
So the Gudra and his company sat down by the
road-side, and the Ordinary Man returned to the
city, where he went to one of his relatives, who
kept a camel-stable, and hired a string of eleven
camels. On these animals in single file, one person
on each camel, the Gudra and the Ordinary Man
leading, with the Curious One bringing up the
rear, the party entered the town. As they slowly
filed through the streets, a crowd of people collected
and followed them. The Gudra was very proud
when he saw the curiosity of the citizens.
I thought I should attract attention," he said
to himself.
It was generally supposed that this was a dwarf-
show, in charge of the Gudra and the Ordinary
Man; and the little people on the camels were
regarded with great interest, especially the Curious
One, who was very conspicuous as he sat on the
tallest camel, with his glass cap glistening in the
sun. The party was conducted to one of the best
inns, where all were sumptuously lodged.
The next day, early in the morning, the Gudra
summoned the guide, and told him his object in
visiting the city.
"I suppose there are teachers of eminence in
this place." said he.
Oh yes, good sir i replied the other. "There
are persons here who can teach anything from al-
chemy to zoology. And there are also excellent
"Which is the best school? asked the Gudra.
The very best?" said the other.
"Yes, certainly," replied the Gudra sharply; "of
course I mean the very best."
Well, then," said the Ordinary Man, the very
best school is the one where the young prince, the
only son of the reigning prince of the city, is edu-
cated. In it are all our most learned professors,
and there is a class for every'branch of education.
But the young prince is the only pupil in the school.
He is the only one in each class, and all the apart-
ments, and apparatus, and books, and all the pro-
fessors and tutors are for him alone."
"That is the very school I want," cried the
Gudra. It is just what I am looking for."
But it would be impossible for you to get your
daughter into that school," said the Ordinary Man.
"It was established solely for the young prince,

and his father will allow no one else to enter it.
Some of our highest grandees have asked that
their children might be permitted to share the in-
struction of the young prince, in this most admi-
rable school, but they have always been denied the
That makes no difference," said the Gudra.
"I have never asked. I shall do so instantly. I
shall write a letter to the prince of the city, tell
him who I am, and ask that my daughter be allowed
to study in this school, where everything seems to
be brought together in such a manner that an edu-
cation can be obtained, by such a girl as she is, in
a very short time."
Without further ado, the Gudra wrote the letter,
and the Ordinary Man was ordered to have it con-
veyed to the prince.
That same day the answer came. The prince
positively refused to allow any child, with the excep-
tion of his son, to enter his school.
Now, indeed, was the Gudra angry. No one
had ever seen him storm around a room as he now
stormed. He vowed he would send to the king of
his country, borrow an army, and carry his daughter
into the prince's school at the point of the sword.
I am afraid," said the Ordinary Man, that an
army of dwarfs would have but a small chance
against the soldiers of our prince. And he has
plenty of them."
The Gudra could not help thinking that there
was sound sense in this remark, but that did not
make him feel in any better humor. He called for
his head-councilor.
Krignock he cried, did you ever know me
to fail in anything ? "
Never, most eminent sir," replied Krignock;
" I never did, indeed."
Well, then," said the Gudra, striding up and
down the floor, I shall not fail now."
Poor Volma was greatly terrified and troubled
at all this, and begged her father to take her home.
She would be perfectly satisfied, she said, to learn
from her mother and the ordinary teachers of dwarf-
land. But her father would listen to nothing of the
kind. He stalked up and down the floor, still vow-
ing he would succeed in what he had resolved to
do, although he did not seem to have any idea how
to go about it.
Two or three days now passed, during which the
Gudra fumed and strode about; little Volma sat at
the windows and looked out at the strange sights
of the great city. and the Curious One went every-
where, looking at everything, and coming back, in
the evening, to tell his master what he had seen and
heard. He heard a great deal-not very compli-
mentary-about himself, and even that he told
t'-e Gudra.




During one of his walks, he wandered into a
suburb of the city. He wanted to see if anything
in particular was going on there. Coming to a
place where two roads began, one of which seemed
about as interesting as the other, he was in great
doubt as to which way he should go. He would
not, upon any account, miss anything worth seeing
by going the wrong way. While still unable to
decide which road to take, he saw a person ap-
proaching him who seemed to be a traveler. He
was dusty and travel-worn.
"Sir! cried the Curious One, "can you tell
me where these roads lead? "
"I am sorry to say that I cannot," replied the
other; I am a stranger here; I never saw the city
Indeed! cried the Curious One ; "where did
you come from ? "
I came from the land of the giants," said the
"The Giants exclaimed the Curious One.
"Why, what were you doing there? Were you
not afraid they would kill you ?"
Oh no replied the other, smiling; they
would not kill me. I am one of them."
You cried the Curious One. "You
Why you are no bigger than an ordinary man."
That is probably true," said the other, I am
a dwarf giant."
The Curious One opened his eyes, as wide as
they would go. He was too much astonished to
say a word.
Yes," said the other, my countrymen and my
family are all giants. I am the only dwarf among
them. I am so much smaller and weaker than
any of them, that I can do none of the great things
they do. And so, somewhat disheartened by my
inferior position, I thought I would journey to this
city, of which I have heard a great deal, in the
hope that something would happen to raise my
Do you know ? cried the Curious One, this
is the most wonderful thing! My master, who
lately came to visit the city, is a giant dwarf!
And he is just about your size! "
That is rather remarkable," said the other.
" A giant dwarf! I should like to see him."
"You can do that easily enough," said the Curi-
ous One. Come with me, and I '11 take you to
him. He has n't looked at many rare sights yet,
and I know he will be glad to see you."
The dwarf giant smiled, and consented to go with
the Curious One; not so much, however,.to please
the Gudra, as to see for himself what a giant dwarf
looked like. On the way to the inn the Curious
One (who had lost all interest in the two roads,
now that he had found something so well worth

seeing and showing) told the dwarf giant why his
master had come to the city, and what had hap-
pened since his arrival.
Perhaps you can help him."
I doubt that very much," said the dwarf giant.
"I am seldom successful in anything I undertake.
But I am perfectly willing to try."
When they arrived at the inn, the Gudra appeared
glad to see the dwarf giant, and immediately
poured into his ears the story of his troubles and
the affronts to which he had been subjected, to
which the other listened as silently and patiently
as if he had not heard it all before. When the
long recital was finished, the Ordinary Man was
summoned, and a consultation between the three
was begun.
As little Volma sat and gazed at them, while
they were talking together, she said to herself:
They look just like three brothers."
The Gudra was in favor of carrying out his object
by means of some kind of force. He proposed that
he should challenge the prince to single combat, and
thus decide the matter. The others opposed this, the
dwarf giant saying that, if he were in the Gudra's
place, he would be afraid to undertake such a com-
bat, for he had been told that the prince was a
brave soldier and a good fighter. The Ordinary
Man, also, thought the plan was a poor one. He
proposed that they should all three go to the prince,
and lay the matter before him, in person. It was
often much better to do things in this way than to
write letters.
This proposition was agreed to, and the next
day the three, accompanied by little Volma, pro-
ceeded to the prince's palace. They were admitted,
and the prince gave them an audience. They
found him on his throne, in a magnificent and spa-
cious hall; and, as it happened to be a holiday, the
little prince was sitting on a cushion by the side of
his father's throne.
The prince requested them to make known their
business, and the Gudra, drawing himself up as
tall as possible, began to state what he wanted, and
how dissatisfied he was with the answer to his letter.
During this speech, the little prince beckoned to
Volma, and, moving to one side, made room for
her on his cushion. So she sat down beside him,
and they soon began to talk to each other, but in a
very low tone.
You, then," said the prince, addressing the
Gudra, when he had finished, are a giant dwarf,
and you," turning to his companions, are a dwarf
giant and an ordinary man ? "
The three assented.
Well," continued the prince, with a smile, "I
really do not see very much difference between you.
I have heard the giant dwarf. Now, I would like



to know what the dwarf giant and the ordinary man
have to say."
The dwarf giant said that, of course, the prince
had a good right to say who should go to the
school he had himself founded, and who should
not go. But he thought it would be doing a very
great favor to the Gudra, and especially to the
Gudra's daughter,-who, in his eyes, was a very
charming little girl,-if the prince would allow her
to study with his son. He put the matter entirely
on this ground.
The Ordinary Man thought that, while the pro-
posed arrangement would be of advantage to the
little girl and the Gudra, itwould also be of advan-
tage to the prince, who, when his son was grown
up, would probably be very glad to know that there
was, in a country not a day's march away, a young
lady of noble birth, who was also admirably edu-
At this, the prince and the others turned and
looked at Volma and the little prince, as they sat
side by side. But the two children were now so
busy talking that they did not notice this, nor had
they heard a word that had been said.
"Well," said the prince, "I will carefully con-
sider what all of you have said, and will send an

Asi r')sZ2

After they had departed,-the Gudra a little dis-
contented, for he had wanted his answer on the
spot,-the prince proceeded to consider the propo-
sition that had been made to him. He would not
have taken more than a minute to make his decis-
ion, had it not been that the dwarf giant was one
of the party that asked the favor. He cared nothing
for the Gudra and his dwarfs; but it would be a
bad thing for him to be drawn into a quarrel with
the giants, who would not take long to destroy his
city, if they should happen to go to war with him.
And, although this dwarf giant was very peaceful
and reasonable in his remarks, there was no know-
ing that the quarrelsome Gudra would not be able
to prevail upon him to enlist his countrymen in his
So the prince considered and considered, and the
next morning he had not finished considering. He
walked over to his son's great school-house, that he
might consult some of the professors in the matter.
While standing in one of the large lecture-rooms,
the prince happened to spy a little creature, dressed
in white and wearing a glass cap, who was creeping
about among the benches and desks.
"Hello! What is that? cried the prince, and
he ordered his attendants to seize the creature.
The Curious One was very nimble, but
he was soon surrounded and caught.
When the prince saw him, he laughed
heartily, and asked him who he. was
and what he was doing there. The
Curious One did not hesitate a mo-
ment, but told the prince all about
himself, and also informed him that he
had visited the palace, and afterward
the school, to try to hear something
that would give him some idea of what
the prince's decision would be in re-
gard to his master's proposition, so
that' he could run back and take the
Gudra some early news. But, he was
sorry to say, he had n't found out any-
thing yet.
Then your business," said the
S prince, "is to hear and see all you
can, and tell all you hear and see?"
"That is it, Estimable Prince," re-
--- plied the Curious One.

-- ... .-- -::-- -- "And to pry into other people's
S- affairs?" continued the prince.
returned the little fellow.
answer some time to-morrow." So saying, he dis- "Well, you must not come prying here," said
missed his visitors, first drawing little Volma the prince, "and I shall punish you for doing so
toward him and taking a good, long look at her this time. I might send you to prison, but I will
pretty and good-humored countenance. In every- let you off with a slighter punishment than that."
thing but stature, Volma resembled her mother. He then called to him the Professor of Motto-



----- --


Painting, and ordered him to paint a suitable motto in the glass, not only to be written backward, but
on the top of the Curious One's bald head. upside down, for the Professor had stood behind

The Professor immediately took a litt
le pot of

black paint,and,with
a fine brush, he
quickly painted a
motto on the smooth,
white pate of the
Curious One. The
glass cap was then
replaced, and the
motto, which was
beautifully painted,
was seen to show
quite plainly through
the top of the cap.
All the professors
gathered around to
see the motto, and
they, as well as the
prince, laughed very
heartily when they
read it.
The prince then
called his son and
told him to read the
You must under-
stand," he said to
him, "that this is
not done to annoy,
or to make fun of
this little person. It
is a punishment, and
may do him more
good than locking
him up in a cell."
The moment the
Curious One was re-
leased, he ran into



* "I


the street, and asked the first person he met to
please read the motto that was painted on his
head, and tell him what it was. The man read
it, and burst out laughing, but he would not tell
him what the motto was. Many other people were
asked, but some of them said there was nothing
there, and others simply laughed and walked away.
Devoured by his desire to know what the motto
was, the Curious One ran to the inn, feeling sure
that his friends would relieve his anxiety; but they
laughed, just as the others had done, and even
little Volma told him there was nothing there.
This he did not believe, for he had felt the paint
on his skin, and so he went to his room and, hold-
ing a looking-glass over his head, tried to read the
motto. There was something there,-that he
could see plainly enough,-but the words appeared,

him when he painted them. So he had to give it
up in despair, and
for the rest of his
stay in the city he
wandered about,
vainly trying to get
some one to tell him
what was written on
his head. This was
the only thing that
-:he now wished to
L. find out.
S/ "Why don't you
wash it off if it gives
.> you so much trou-
ble ? asked the Or-
-- dinary Man. "A
-- -- little oil would quick-
ly remove it."
S '~ "VWash it off!"
; cried the Curious
One. Then I
S- should never know
what it was I would
,.. cr~ not wash it off for the
S",: wha i world."
S.,. After the prince
y had consulted with
the professors, he
4 t :- concluded, solely be-
S-- cause he was afraid of
Offending the giants,
to agree to the Gud-
ra's proposal.
S It will not matter
so very much," he
TO READ HIS MOTT. said, "as he only
wishes his daughter
to attend the school for one week, it seems."
The Ordinary Man was very much opposed to
this plan of getting an education in a week. He
thought it was too short a time, not only for Volma,
but for himself, for he wished his engagement to
last as long as possible. But the Gudra would not
listen to any objections. His daughter had an ex-
traordinary mind, and a week was long enough for
her. He took her to the school, and desired each
Professor to tell her, in turn, all about the branch
of learning he taught, and thus get through with
the matter without loss of time. Then, each day,
while his daughter was in school, he and his party,
in company with the dwarf giant, and under the
guidance-of the Ordinary Man, visited all the sights
and wonders of the city.
As for Volma, she did not study anything, as



wicked language, and tried to make him as de-
graded as himself.
After eighteen months had passed away, the fall
of Robespierre caused the prison doors to be
opened; but the poor little prince, sunk in a heap
on his bed, took no notice of any one, and when
his sister came, almost heart-broken and longing

for a smile of recognition from the only one of her
family left alive, he had for her only a dull and
vacant stare.
His mind was gone, and in a few days the gentle
Death-angel released him from his misery,
And so ends the sad, sad story of the last
Dauphin of France.






THE school-house stood beside the way,
A shabby building, old and gray,
With rattling sash, and loose-hung door,
And rough, uneven walls and floor;
And why the little homespun crew
It gathered were some ways more blest
Than others, you would scarce have guessed;
It is a secret known to few.

I '11 tell it you. The high-road lay
Stretched all along the township hill,
Whence the broad lands sloped either way,
And smiling up did strive to fill
At every window, every door,
The school-house, with that gracious lore
That God's fair world would fain instill.

So softly, quietly it came,
The children never knew its name;
Its various, unobtrusive looks

They counted not as study-books;
And yet they could not lift an eye
From play or labor, dreamily,
And not find writ in sweetest speech,
The tender lessons it would teach:
"Be gentle, children, brave and true,
And know the great God loveth you."

Only the teacher, wise of heart,
Divined the landscape's blessed art;
And when she felt the lag and stir
Of her young idlers fretting her,
Out-glancing o'er the meadows wide,
The ruffling woods, the far hillside,
She drew fresh breath of God's free grace,
A gentler look came in her face,
Her kindly voice caught in its own
An echo of that pleasant tone
In which the great world sang its song-
SBe cheerful, patient, still and strong."



children generally study. She went from room to
room, asking questions, listening to explanations,
and paying the strictest attention to the manner in
which the little prince studied and recited his les-
sons. The professors did not pretend to tell her,
as the Gudra had desired, all about their different
branches. They knew that would be folly. But
they gave her all the information they could, and
were astonished to find that she had already learned
so much from her mother.
In exactly a week, the Gudra brought his visit to
a close. He took leave of the prince, giving him
a diamond, handsomer than any among his treas-
ures; he bade the dwarf giant good-bye; and then,
with his party mounted on the eleven camels, he
rode away until he came to the mountains, where,
paying the Ordinary Man twice as much as he had
promised, he left him to return to the city with the
animals, and proceeded, for the rest of the journey,
on foot.
"There now he cried to his wife, when he
had reached home. Did not I tell you I never
failed in anything? My daughter has been to the
best school in the world, and her education is
My dear Volma," said her mother to her, when
they were alone, what did you learn in the great
city ? "
Oh, mother dear said Volma, I learned
ever so much. I learned, for one thing, that the
largest dwarf is no bigger than the smallest giant,

and that neither of them is larger than an ordinary
man. And, at the school, I learned that it takes
years and years to study properly all that I should
know. And I have found out how the little prince
studies, and how he recites, and I have a list of the
books and parchments and other things that I need
for my education. And now, dear mother, we will
get these things, and we will study them together
here at home."
This they did, and, i.1...,1, little Volma be-
came very well educated. Every year, the young
prince came to see her, and, when she was about
twenty years old, he married her, and took her
away to the great city, of which he was now prince.
Volma's mother used to make her long visits, but
her father seldom came to see her. He liked to
stay where he was bigger than anybody else.
The dwarf giant went home in very good spirits.
He had found out that a very small giant is as
large as an ordinary man, and that satisfied him.
As for the Curious One, as soon as he reached
home, he gathered together a lot of small looking-
glasses, and so arranged them that, by having one
reflect into another, and that into another, and so
on, he at last saw the reflection of the top of his
head, with the words thereon, right side up, and in
their proper order. And he read these words:
There is nothing here."
Now, what does that mean ?" he cried. "Did
that Motto-Professor mean hair or brains?"
He never found out.



[THE incident occurred in our church one Sunday. I suspect the little creature ran away to church
"unbeknownst" to her mother, for I saw her, after service was over, running down street,
alone, as fast as her feet could carry her. -Extractfrom author's letter. ]

THE church was dim, and silent
With the hush before the prayer;
Only the solemn trembling
Of the organ stirred the air.

Without, the sweet, still sunshine;
Within, the holy calm,
Where priest and people waited
For the swelling of the psalm.

Slowly the door swung open,
And a little baby girl,
Brown-eyed, with brown hair falling
In many a wavy curl,-

With soft cheeks flushing hotly,
Shy glances downward thrown,
And small hands clasped before her
Stood in the aisle alone;




Stood half abashed, half frightened,
Unknowing where to go,
While like a wind-rocked flower
Her form swayed to and fro;

_ -, -

,' A'

------J1 ,,,I

And the changing color fluttered
In her troubled little face,
As from side to side she wavered
With a mute, imploring grace.

It was but for a moment,
What wonder that we smiled,
By such a strange, sweet picture
From holy'thoughts beguiled?

-- --- --

Then up rose some one softly,
And many an eye grew dim,
As through the tender silence
He bore the child with him.

And I-I wondered (losing
The sermon and the prayer)
If, when, sometime, I enter
The many mansions" fair,
And stand, abashed and drooping,
In the portals' golden glow,
Our God will send his angel
To show me where to go !




:' 1 .

,, .

s;~VB~~iP ~ *1:

. i .


;;;=' ~-



ALMOST every one has heard of the famous bat-
tles of Crecy and Poitiers, which were so much
alike in all that made them remarkable that they
are generally coupled together,-one always re-
minding us of the other. Yet there is one point
they had in common which has not been espe-
cially remarked, but which ought to link them
memorably together in the imagination of young
These two great battles really took place ten
years apart; for one was fought in 1346 and the
other in 1356. The battle-fields also were wide
apart; for Crecy was far in the north of France,
near the coast of the English Channel, and Poitiers
away in the south, deep in the interior, nearly
three hundred miles from Cr6cy. But they have
drawn near to each other in the mind of students
of history, because in both cases the French largely
outnumbered the English; in both cases the Eng-
lish had gone so far into the country that their
retreat seemed to be cut off; in both cases there
was a most surprising and unexpected result, for
the French were terribly defeated; and in both
cases this happened because they made the same
mistake: they trusted so much to their overwhelm-
ing numbers, to their courage and their valor, that
they forgot to be careful about anything else, while
the English made up for their small numbers by
prudence, discipline, and skill, without which
courage and valor are often of no avail.
It is quite exciting to read the description of
these battles, with their archery fights, the clash-
ing together of furious knights, the first brave
advance and the final running away; but, after a
while, the battles at large seem to fade out in the
greater interest which surrounds the figures of two
youngsters,-one hardly more than fifteen, the
other scarcely fourteen,-for one carried off all the
honors of the victory of Cr6cy, and the other re-
deemed from total dishonor the defeat of Poitiers.
Let us now take up the romantic story of the
English lad in the former battle, and of the
French lad in the latter.
When, in 1346, Edward III. of England had
determined upon an invasion of France, he brought
over his army in a fleet of nearly a thousand sail.
He had with him not only the larger portion of his
great nobles, but also his eldest son, Edward Plan-
tagenet, the Prince of Wales. He had good
reasons for taking the boy. The prince was ex-
pected to become the next King of England. His
VOL. VII.-5.

father evidently thought him able to take a very
important part in becoming also the king of
France. If all the accounts of him are true, he
was a remarkable youth; wonderfully strong and
courageous, and wonderfully discreet for his years.
There was only one road to success or fame in
those days, and that was the profession of arms.
The ambition of every high-born young fellow was
to become a knight. Knighthood was something
that both kings and nobles regarded as higher in
some respects than even the royalty or nobility to
which they were born. No one could be admitted
into an order of the great brotherhood of knights,
which extended all over Europe and formed an
independent society, unless he had gone through
severe discipline, and had performed some distin-
guished deed of valor. Then he could wear the
golden spurs; for knighthood had its earliest origin
in the distinction of fighting on horseback, while
ordinary soldiers fought on foot. Although knight-
hood changed afterward, the word chivalry"
always expressed it, from cheval, a horse. And in
addition to valor, which was the result of physical
strength and courage, the knight was expected to
be generous, courteous, faithful, devout, truthful,
high-souled, high-principled. Hence the epithet,
"chivalrous," which, even to-day, is so often heard
applied to men of especially fine spirit. "Honor"
was the great word which included all these quali-
ties then, as it does in some measure now.
I have only time to give you the standard, and
cannot pause to tell you how well or ill it was lived
up to generally. But I would not have taken this
story in hand if Chivalry had to be left out of the
account, for it was chivalry that made my two boys
the heroes they were.
As soon as King Edward had landed at La
Hogue, he gave very clear evidence of the serious
work he had cut out for his son, and of his confi-
dence that the youngster would be equal to it. He
publicly pledged his boy, beforehand, to some
great deed, and to a life of valor and honor. In
sight of the whole army, he went through the
form of making him a knight. Young Edward,
clad in armor, kneeled down before him on the
wet sand, when the king touched his shoulder with
his sword, saying: "I dub thee knight. Be brave,
bold, and loyal! You may imagine how proudly
then the young fellow seized lance and sword and
shield, and sprang into his saddle at a leap, and
with what high resolve he rode on beside his





mailed and gallant father to deserve the name
which that impressive ceremony had given him.
The army moved rapidly forward and northward
toward Calais, conquering everything on its way,
till, when in the neighborhood of Crecy, the intelli-
gence came that the French king, Philip, with an
army of one hundred and twenty thousand men
and all the chivalry of France, had come in between
it and the sea. There was no retreat possible.
Edward had but thirty thousand to oppose this
great host. They were four to one. He was in a
dangerous spot also; but after a time he succeeded
in getting away to a good position, and there
he awaited the onset. No one will doubt that he
was anxious enough, and yet what did he do?
After arranging his troops in battle order, three
battalions deep, he sent young Edward to the very
front with a brilliant group of his finest barons to
take the brunt of the terrible charge that was now
to come! It shows of what stern material the
king and the men of that time were made, for all
his present love, all his future hope, lay around
that gallant boy. But he knew that the value of
the glory which might be earned was worth all the
risk. Besides, he was as much under chivalrous
necessity to send him, as the lad was under to go.
That pledge to knighthood, on the sea-shore, had
not been either lightly taken or lightly given. If
Chivalry was not equal to sacrifice, it was equal to
nothing. There was keen wisdom, too, in the act.
The king could count all the more on the enthu-
siasm, self-devotion and valor of the knights and
men-at-arms, in whose keeping he had placed so
precious a charge. That whole first battalion would
be nerved to tenfold effort because the prince was
among them, for every one would be as deeply con-
cerned as the father in the boy's success.
Edward carried this feeling of devotion to his
son's best interests to such a chivalrous extent that
he made it a point of duty to keep out of the bat-
tle altogether. He was nowhere to be seen. He
went into a windmill on a height near by, and
watched the fight through one of the narrow win-
dows in its upper story. He would not even put
on his helmet. That was the way the father stood
by his son-by showing absolute confidence in him,
and denying himself all the glory that might come
from a great and important battle. And the young
fellow was a thousandfold nerved and strengthened
by knowing that his father fully trusted in him.
I need not give the details of the battle. It is
sufficient to know that the first line of the French
chivalry charged with the utmost firy. Among
these was an ally of note. John, king of Bohemia,
who with his barons and knights was not behind-
hand in the deadly onset; and yet this king was
old and blind His was Chivalry in another form !

He would have his stroke in the battle, and he
plunged into it with his horse tied by its reins to
one of his knight's on either side. A plume of three
ostrich feathers waved from his helmet, and the
chroniclers say he laid about him well. After the
battle, he and his two companions were found dead,
with their horses tied together.
But although the French were brave they were
not wise. For not only had they brought on the
fight with headlong energy before they were pre-
pared; but they had allowed Edward to place him-
self so that the afternoon sun, then near its setting,
blazed full in their eyes and faces. Edward's army
fought in the shadow. The terrible English bowmen
sent their deadly cloth-yard arrows so thick and
fast into the dazzled and crowded ranks of fifteen
thousand Genoese archers and the intermingled
men-at-arms, that the missiles filled the air like
snow. The Genoese were thrown into confusion,
and this spread throughout the whole French army.
The French king, with some of his dukes, flew
foaming over the field in the rear, trying in vain
to get up in time to swell the onset upon the En-
glish front.
But the onset had proved hard enough as it was.
The knights around the young prince were fright-
ened for his safety. One of them, Sir Thomas of
Norwich, was sent back to Edward to ask him to
come to the assistance of the prince.
Sir Thomas," said the king, "is my son dead
or unhorsed, or so wounded that he cannot help
himself? "
Not so, my lord, thank God; but he is fight-
ing against great odds, and is like to have need of
your help."
Sir Thomas," replied the king, return to them
who sent you, and tell them from me not to send
for me,whatever chance befall them, so long as my
son is alive, and tell them that I bid them let the
lad win his spurs; for I wish, if God so desire,
that the day should be his, and the honor thereof
remain to him and to those to whom I have given
him in charge."
And there he stayed in the windmill till the bat-
tle was over. Soon the cry of victory reached him
as the French fled in the darkness, leaving their
dead strewn upon the field. Now the young prince
appeared covered with all the glory that his father
had coveted for him, bearing the ostrich plume
which he had taken from the dead king of Bohemia.
The boy rode up with his visor raised,-his face
was as fair as a girl's, and glowed under a crown
of golden hair. He bore his trophy aloft, and
when it was placed as a knightly decoration above
the crest of his helmet, he little thought that the
triple tuft was to wave for more than five hundred
years, even to this day, on' England's front, for




ri/' ~~



1 1 '
e '' ;



'' rt

*^ /




* ., .


such it does, and that, next to the crown, there
shall be no badge so proudly known as the three
feathers which nod above the coronet of the Prince
of Wales. Albert Edward, son of Queen Victoria,
now wears it because Edward, the Prince of Wales,
when still in his teens, won it at Crecy. We will
leave him there, and go on ten years.
Philip, the French king, had passed away about
six years before, and John, a wild character for such
a trying time, had ascended the throne. He was
always plunging himself into difficulties, and was
often guilty of cruelty; and yet was of such a free,
generous nature, and had so many of the virtues
of chivalry in that day, that he was known as "John
the Good." He was the extreme opposite to the
grave, prudent, sagacious Edward III., who was
still alive and well, and king of England.
Some time after the victory of Crecy, Calais had
been taken, and then both nations were glad to
arrange a truce. Nine years of this had gone by,
when Edward thought it necessary to make another
attempt on France. As soon as might be, there-
fore, young Edward, his son, now twenty-five,
came over alone, landing at Bordeaux. He had,
meantime, gained great fame. He was now known
as "the Black Prince," because he had a fancy for
having his armor painted as black as midnight, in
order, they say, to give a greater brightness to his
fresh blond complexion and golden hair. Marshal-
ing his little army of 12,000 men, he set out into
the interior of France. When he had reached the
neighborhood of Poitiers, he was astounded by the
news that King John was both after him and behind
him, with a force of 60,000 men-five to one! Here
was Cr6cy over again as to numbers, but there was
one thing made it worse; for, as Edward III. not
long before had instituted the famous "Order of the
Garter," which is even now one of the foremost
orders of knighthood in Europe, so John, not to be
behindhand, and in order to give a new chivalrous
impulse to his nobles, had just instituted the
" Order of the Star." He made five hundred
knights of this new order, every one of whom had
vowed that he would never retreat, and would
sooner be slain than yield to an enemy.
The Black Prince thought it almost impossible
to fight his way through such a desperately deter-
mined host. So he offered to restore all he had just
conquered and to make another truce, if he might
pass by unmolested. But John would not consent.
He must have Calais back again, and the prince,
with one hundred of his best knights, into the bar-
gain. This will never do," thought the prince.
"Better try for another Cr6cy."
On the morning of September 19, 1356, the
battle began. John had with him all four of his
sons, Charles, Louis, John and Philip; the eldest

only nineteen, and the youngest fourteen. The
three former were put under good guardianship in
different portions of the field; but why the hare-
brained monarch took the youngest boy with him
into the very front and thickest of the fight, it is
hard to guess, unless it was another imitation of
Edward, and he had also good reason to think that
the lad was unusually well able to take care of him-
self, having been trained to arms and pledged to
knighthood. But young Sir Philip," as he was
called, proved quite equal to the occasion.
King John himself led the van, moving down
through a defile, into which, after a time, his whole
army found themselves crowded. Meantime, the
Prince of Wales had planted his army just where
he would tempt John into that trap and had
set his archers in good position. These men were
clad in green, like Robin Hood's men, and carried
bows seven feet long and so thick that few men of
modern days could bend them. A cloth-yard shaft
from one of these would fly with tremendous force.
Edward had placed these archers in ambush, be-
hind green hedges, and crouching in the green of
the vineyards.
Just as the French king, with all his new chivalry
around him, dashed down the narrow valley--the
white standard of France on one side of him, his
keen-eyed little son on the other-and began to
deploy the whole advance battalion, preliminary to
a grand charge-whiz whiz whir! whir from
both sides came the arrows, as thick as hail and as
terrible as javelins, from the hidden archers. The
astonished Frenchmen fell back. That crowded
still more those who were yet wedged in the narrow
space behind. Now came the English onset. Then
a panic. Then a rout. Then a general flight.
Dukes, barons, knights of all sorts fled with the
rest; also Charles, Louis, John, the three elder sons
of the king. The king was in great danger of be-
ing slain; but he did not move, and Philip stood,
fighting by his side. The standard-bearer fell, and
the white ensign lay in the dust. Many a faithful
knight was cut down, or swept away a prisoner.
But Philip flinched not.
The assailants-some of whom knew the king,
while others were wondering who he might be-
pressed them fiercely on every side, striking at
them, but more anxious to take them captive than
to kill them, for they were worth a heavy ransom.
The Englishmen shouted all together, Yield you
Yield you, else you die !" Little Sir Philip had no
yield in him, as long as his father held out. He
kept close to him, trying to ward off the blows which
were aimed at him, and warning him in time, as
his quick eye caught a near danger on either hand.
Every instant he was heard calling.out, "Father,
ware right! Father, ware left! Suddenly a






THESE pretty things are to be made by the
hands of skillful girls, not bought out of shops.
Most girls begin to knit, or crochet, when they are
eight or nine years old; and, at ten years of age,


-" 'r ^ -.*^ .....

/ S

are sufficiently expert to follow printed directions,
plainly expressed. In this way their minds and
fingers become educated in designing and making
a variety of simple articles, and they are prepared,
when a little older, to learn the higher branches of
fancy work,-what we call artistic needlework."
These little things that you girls like to take off
to an obscure corner, or to your own rooms, to do
privately, that you may surprise the friend for
whom they are intended, often afford more satis-
faction to giver and receiver than more
costly gifts, not fashioned by your own
hands. Perhaps I can suggest some
pretty presents that will be new to you.
How would you like to make a pair
of mittens for your baby brother, or
sister? Baby will be proud of them,
and Mamma will be pleased by your
loving thought, and then, too, she can- .
not buy such pretty ones as cheaply as .
you can make them. If you have no -
baby at home, there must be some dear
little one among your friends, who is
your own particular darling, and whose
hands you will be glad to keep warm
during the wintry weather.

skeins of yarn, which will probably cost six or seven
cents a skein.
First make a chain as for any other crochet work.
It should have thirty-eight loops or stitches.
With the needle in the
thirty-eighth stitch, unite
S the two ends, faking care
not to twist the chain. You
\ have now a circle of loops
or stitches. Begin with the
'. stitch nearest the yarn. Put
S the needle under the stitch,
as at A in the sketch, and
bring the yarn round under
the hook of the needle;
then draw the yarn through
the stitches A and B. This
will drop A and B off the
needle, but you have a new
stitch in the place of B.
Take up the next loop of the chain; this will take the
place of A again, and you put the yarn under
the hook, as before, and draw it through the two
stitches, dropping them, and again forming a new
Thus proceed till you have gone once round the
chain. Your work will now look like a simple circle
of stitches.
Continue to knit each one of these as directed
above, being careful to take up that side of the stitch

., .. ._ '. .

" .; .. *.:. ,

% + L


which lies toward you. In the sketch this circle of
To CROCHET BABY MITTENS. stitches is shown around the edge of the work. Put
For these you will need a bone crochet-needle the hook of your needle under that side of each stitch
five inches long, with a hook a quarter of an inch nearest you, as at X Y Z. Our artist has made the
long, and about a sixth of an inch wide ; also three stitches on the needle very loose, that we may see




them well; but in the work we make them only
loose enough to be easily crocheted.
In order to give the hand of the mitten the proper
shape, the following directions should be observed :
After crocheting once round the work, you must
widen. This is done by making two stitches in the
same loop; that is, you take up a loop and knit it
as above, then, instead of going to the next one,
you take up the same loop
and knit it again, thus mak-
ing two stitches in the place
of one. This widens once.
Then crochet round, taking
care at this place to knit
each of these two stitches,
and pass on. On coming
round the second time, you
widen again on each side of
this first place of widening-
thus making two stitches
between these last new ones.
Crochet round plain again,
knitting both stitches at the
two widening places.
When you come round again, widen twice more,
on the outside of the former widening, or with six
stitches between the last two pairs of newones. Con-
tinue to widen two stitches every other time round,
till you have fifty-seven stitches round your mitten,
having started with thirty-eight. Now crochet to the
first of your two widening places;
then make a chain of three
stitches. Count fourteen stitches
on your mitten, beginning at the
point where you began your
chain; take up the fifteenth stitch
with your needle, and knit it fast
to your last chain-stitch. This
forms the base of the thumb.
Crochet once round and over
the chain; then the second time
narrow twice on each end of the
chain. (To narrow, take up two VIt
loops and knit them as if they .
were but one.) The third round, I
narrow in the same way. You
should now have but forty-two
stitches round the mitten. Con-
tinue to crochet round and round,
without widening or narrowing,
till from the chain across the
thumb, you have crocheted twenty
Then crochet fourteen stitches HOME-MADE BRAID

and narrow; fourteen more and narrow again; and
so on three times. Then crochet thirteen stitches
and narrow; thirteen more and narrow; and so on

three times. So with twelve, eleven, ten, etc., till
you get down to six; then narrow every third
stitch, till but three or four are left, when you nar-
row every stitch, breaking your yarn eight or ten
inches from the mitten, and drawing it through
the last stitch, that it may not ravel.
When your mitten is done, you must darn this
end neatly into it.
You should now make the thumb for your mit-
ten, and to do this you must proceed as follows:
Tie the yarn in the corner of the thumb-hole.
Take up and crochet the first of the fourteen stitches
and so on to the last one. The stitches now, of the
chain crossing the thumb, will not be very distinct,
so take a deep stitch in the mitten itself, crochet it,
and make another in the same way, and so round to
the plain stitches again. Be sure and take these first
stitches deep enough, or your work will not wear well.
Crochet round once, then narrow two or three
times (on the side toward the hand), or till your
thumb numbers eighteen stitches. Go on crochet-
ing round and round till the thumb is sufficiently
long-say ten rounds-then narrow every third
stitch, till but three or four are left, when you finish
the same as with the hand.
The hand and the thumb having been finished,
there is nothing more to be done but to furnish
the mitten with a suitable cuff.
There are various ways of making the cuff. One
of the easiest and prettiest is to reverse the mitten,

. '; :' and make a
..' ." .. row of shells
round the
wrist, taking
the stitches half an inch deep. Four stitches
in each shell, and seven shells round the mitten.
Then from the middle of each of these shells,
make another row, four stitches in each shell,
and from these, still a third row. The fourth
row should be made with six stitches instead of
four, turning the needle and crocheting up to
the wrist and back again, after making each
shell. This forms a pretty scallop.
When the seventh scallop is made, crochet to the
wrist and back; break the yarn (as at the end of




the thumb and of the hand) and
fasten securely, and your mit-
ten is done.
If you wish variety, you can
make the first three rows of
shells of some different color
from the mitten (as pink or blue,
when the mitten is white; or
chinchilla, when the mitten is
scarlet). It is a prettier finish
to make the last row that forms
the scallop, of the same color as 7W
the mitten.
The above directions give the
size of crocheted mittens for a
child of three years. But you
can make them larger or smaller
by following the scale here
given, and looking at the dia-
gram. The third row of figures
in the scale you see is the same
as the diagram.
Wrist.........30 35 38 42 43 45 47
Base of Thumb. 45 52 57 63 64 66 70
Left for Thumb. 14 14 14 x6 18 18 2o
Hands......... 33 38 42 46 50 50 52
Thumb ........ 15 17 18 20 so 21 21

A very pretty specimen of
crochet work has lately been
sent me by Hannah Sheppard,
of Salem, New Jersey, and it is
so simple that I have obtained
directions from her for the ST.
NICHOLAS girls. She calls it-

It is intended for the heading
or "beading" of any crocheted
edging. You first make this
heading, and then crochet on it an edge of shells,
or any pattern you may fancy. It will also make
pretty and durable trimming, in itself (without an
edge) to be "set on,"-two or three rows on a
little apron, for instance.
The materials needed are-a long, thick hair-
pin, a fine steel crochet-needle, and a spool of No.
8 white cotton.
Hold the hair-pin between thumb and finger, as
shown in Fig. I. Tie the end of your cotton
round the left point of the hair-pin; then make one
or two chain-stitches, and pass your thread over
and under the right point of the hair-pin (see Fig.
2). Draw the thread through the loop; now put

.. ... I. A .

S .. ..........

13 -2_ ..- 3.I
iI\i--- .--

your needle through the
S"tie on the left point, and
draw the thread through.
Now you have two loops
upon your needle : draw the
thread through both.
Leave the loop pretty long
S (as shown in Fig. 2), take
S out your needle, turn the
Ihair-pin over from right to
left; draw the thread over
and under the right point of
the pin (as before); draw the thread through the
loop; then put your needle into the upper loop
around the hair-pin on the left side (see Fig. 3).
You now have two stitches on your needle; draw the
thread through both; turn your hair-pin again (as
always) over, from right to left, and proceed as be-
fore. The pins and stitches are sketched large
and spread, the better to show the detail.
When you have your pin as full as that shown in
Fig. I, push downward the work already done, and
draw off a few stitches from the lower end without
stretching them.
Fig. 4 shows the work just before you turn the
pin over, and Fig. 5 the pin just turned. Fig. 6







illustrates a simple design for an edging. For this
edge, No. 24 cotton should be used.
While reading these directions, they may seem
difficult to you; but, if you get your materials and
try, following the directions exactly, you will find
the work easy.

And now I will turn to other materials with
which you are, no doubt, quite as familiar as with
crochet needles, yarn and cotton, and tell
you how to make a very fanciful little affair
out of perforated card-board.

The card-board should be fine, about
fourteen inches long, and four and a half
inches wide. (If you use coarse card-board
it must be proportionately larger.) Mark a
line of holes down the middle. Divide this
into 20 parts of o1 holes each, and draw
lines across the central ones. On these
mark off the distances of the curved line ,
from the center, by counting the number
of holes given in the diagram. (The dimen-
sion Y means a point half way between
two holes.)
Now draw the curved lines, following the
points as above marked off, either free-hand
or by bending a piece of whalebone, or the
old rib of a used-up umbrella. Cut the
figure out neatly, and use it for a pattern with
which to mark out six pieces, saving the original
for future use.
An easy way to count the holes is to take the

blank strip that is usually on the side of a sheet
of perforated board, and mark off the tens on it;
then you can use this marked piece as a scale.



and you will see that the one attached to this
balloon is made like a six-sided card-receiver. The
bottom is three inches wide. Suspend this to the
balloon by cords as here shown, and add balls,
beads, or tassels for ornament. A cord on top
of the balloon will attach it to the chandelier or
to the ceiling.
Your grown-up brother, or cousin, or friend can
make for you, or for his own pleasure,

by taking the same dimensions, and multiplying
them any number of times, remembering that he
must allow a quarter of an inch for pasting. It
would be better for him first to cut a pattern out of
brown paper. The gores should be larger toward
the bottom, according to the outside dotted lines
and figures. The opening will require a circular
wire (as light as will keep the snape) with two
cross-pieces, at the intersection of which secure a
sponge, dipped in alcohol. This is intended to
burn, but do not set anything else onjire. A little
strip of folded tissue-paper pasted on the top of the
balloon will enable it to be held until it is inflated.
Be careful, at first, not to let the sides flap against
the blaze. When it is swelled out to its full dimen-
sions, let go, and the balloon will slowly rise up.


Sew your six pieces of card-board together with
worsted, and you will have a six-sided balloon,
eight inches in diameter, and about ten inches
high. But, before putting the sides together, it
will make your balloon much more handsome if
you work on them, with variously colored worsteds,
some ornamental designs, as suggested in the illus-
And now you must have a car for your balloon;


mounted knight appeared, who hailed the king in
French. It was a French knight, who was fighting
on the English side.
Sir, sir he shouted, I pray you yield "
"To whom shall I yield me?" said John.
" Where is my cousin, the Prince of Wales? "
Sir, yield you to me; I will bring you to him."
Who are you ?" said the king.
Dennis de Morbecque, a knight of Artois; I
serve the king of England, not being able to live in
France, for I have lost all I possessed there."
"1 yield me to you," said John, handing him
his steel glove.
Then the whole crowd began to drag at him,
each exclaiming: I took him !" Both the king
and the prince were sadly hustled, until two barons
broke through the throng by dint of their horses,
and led the two .to the tent of the Prince of Wales,
"and made him a present of the King of France !"
says an old chronicler. "The prince also bowed
full low before the king, and received him as a
king, properly and discreetly, as he well knew how
to do."
In the evening he entertained him and Philip at
supper, and would not sit at the king's table for all
the king's entreaty, but waited as a serving man,
bending the knee before him, and saying: 'Dear
sir, be pleased not to put on so bad a countenance,
because it hath not pleased God to consent this day
to your wishes; for, assuredly, my lord and father
will show you all the honor and friendship he shall

be able, and he will come to terms with you so
reasonably that you shall remain good friends for-
ever.' "
Nor did all this end in words, but it went on
for years during all the c p1;. ;r of King John and
Prince Philip,-first at Bordeaux and afterward
at the then new Windsor Castle, in England, where
galas, tournaments, hawking and hunting, and all
sorts of entertainments were devised for them.
When King John was brought from Bordeaux to
England, where King Edward had prepared to
meet him in great state, the French king was
mounted on a tall, cream-colored charger, and
young Philip rode by his side in great honor also,
while the Prince of Wales sat on a small black
horse, like a humble attendant on them both.
The two royal fathers met midway in that London
street, the houses which lined the way were hung
with rich tapestries, the trades were out in com-
panies of many colors, the people thronged round
the steel-clad cavalcades as they came together,
and they filled the air with shouts-but what two
figures now most fill the eye when all that pageant
has passed away? Not the father who stood by
his son with such chivalrous faith, nor the father
whose son stood by him with such chivalrous devo-
tion, but the fair youth who carries that tuft of
feathers upon his helmet, with its motto, "I serve,"
and the lad whom all have now heard of as "Philip
the Bold;" the boy-hero of Cricy doing chivalrous
honor to the boy-hero of Poitiers !



SOMETIMES there 's a flock of sheep
Traveling landward, where the grass
Grows so green and fresh and deep,
They might crop it as they pass.

Sometimes there 's a school of fish,
Slowly swimming out to sea,
Perch or mackerel, as you wish,
Scales as bright as scales can be.

Now a castle rises there,
Broken casements, turrets rent;
Here a bit of crazy stair,
Or a ruined battlement.

And anon, a mountain peak
Shines beneath eternal snows,
Where the venturous might seek
For the little Alpine rose.

Or, perchance, a face looks out,
Like a seraph's, faint and far,
Just to see what we 're about,
In this distant star !




Now I will give you an idea about making

Cut circular pieces of about four inches in diam-
eter out of silk, or merino. You can mark them
out with the top of a tea-cup, or small bowl, using
a pencil or tailor's chalk. Suppose you cut between
ninety and a hundred of these. You can tell when
you put them together whether you will need more
or less. Now fold down the edge of each of these
pieces, making a narrow fold, as shown in Fig. I ;
and run a thread of silk through this, as in Fig. 2.
Draw this thread until the circle is nearly closed ;
fasten your thread securely; and flatten out smooth-
ly the puff you will then have, and you will form a
rosette, like Fig. 3, with a small hole where it is
gathered. Be careful to make this hole come ex-
actly in the center. When you have a sufficient
number of rosettes,arrange them in some pretty
shape,-a hexagon, like the illustration of the com-
pleted tidy; or a diamond, or any figure you may
fancy. Sew the rosettes together at the points of




IMAGINE, children, that a little bird had seen all
this-a little bird rocking itself high up in the top
branch of a linden-tree; or, perhaps, a nightingale
trilling gloriously in the pleasant solitude of a rose-
bush-for they have nightingales in Germany-but
I forgot 1 The dear old Saint comes in the middle
of November when all the merry company of birds
has fled and only a few withered leaves remain cling-
ing to the branches.
So, then, dear children, suppose it was a clear,
bright star which shone down on St. Martin's Eve,
and told all it saw. The stars have been over the
world so long, that our own dear star has seen the
grandfathers of the grandfathers of the great-grand-
fathers of every child-yes, and great-grandfathers
even farther back than that,-listening with beating
heart to the heavy steps of the Saint coming up-
stairs, and then knocking solemnly against the sit-
ting-room door.
Saint Martin and Santa Claus live near together,
which is very pleasant for them, for they can talk
together of the little people they love, and what
they would like to give them. It is hard for Santa
Claus to turn his face away even from a naughty
child and go off with all his treasures on his back;

but Saint Martin always leaves something, if it is
only a bunch of switches for a luckless youngster
whom you can't help but pity as he is sent supper-
less to bed.
Santa Claus hurries from one end of the earth to
the other at allthe world's call if it only wants him;
but the bright star that saw Saint Martin, always
twinkled down on the river Rhine, in Germany,
especially on an old town called Diisseldorf.
You 've heard of the beautiful Rhine? The river
with the high hills on either side; with vineyards
covering them from base to summit, and perched
upon the highest peaks the ruins of stone-built
castles where beautiful ladies and gallant cavaliers
once lived.
It is pleasant to think of them looking down on the
flowing river below from the tops of queer turrets, or
out of narrow, deep-set slits of windows. Why, on
one of the hills a dragon lived who ravaged the whole
country round till a brave knight came and killed
him and then married the beautiful lady whom the
dragon had stolen from her home. Surely you have
heard of the Loreley, who combed her golden hair
with a golden comb, while she sang a magic song?
But I shall forget Saint Martin if I say more.



contact, and sew them on the flain side, that
the stitches may not be visible on the right side.
The diagram shows how the rosettes are to be put
The size and number of circles given above
makes quite a large tidy. For table-mats you can
make much smaller rosettes, and fewer in number.
A good deal of ingenuity may be displayed in
forming pretty designs for these mats and tidies.
Silk, or merino, makes the handsomest articles;
but very pretty ones can be made of fine sun-
bleached shirting and Turkey red combined.
Your rosettes may be all of one shade, or of dif-
ferent shades of the same color blended together,
or of different colors. In fact, the ST. NICHOLAS
girls can make these mats an education in color,
for much of their beauty depends upon harmony
of hues.
Any one of these things will be a pretty Christ-
mas present (except the fire-balloon, which is a
summer toy), and they are easily made, and cost
but little money.


Imagine, children, then, that wonderful country
where Saint Martin and Santa Claus live next door
to each other, where, it is said, the toys grow on
trees,-think of a doll-tree and a rocking-horse
tree !-and the cakes and candies on bushes, so
that you can pick off anything you like. On the
eleventh of November, after tea, Santa Claus
strolled into Saint Martin's garden to see how his
neighbor was getting ready for his journey: wished
him God-speed, and many good children to serve,
and helped him mount his patient donkey with the
huge, heavy baskets at its sides filled with deli-
cious things not to be seen just yet. Saint Martin
flung a few switches over his shoulder,-after -all
there are not many bad children,-and with his
round, rosy face and kind eyes glowing with
pleasure he started off. The dear old man is so
glad to shut his eyes to all naughtiness that, if a
bad child, at the last moment, begs pardon of his
parents, I think Saint Martin always finds a good
excuse to call. Of course it never snows nor rains
when he comes, for he would not have his chil-
dren's pleasure spoiled for all the world, and so he
and "his donkey-a nice, cheerful donkey, but
rather short in the legs, so that Saint Martin's san-
daled feet touch the ground-reached the old town
of Diisseldorf with its narrow street and the gabled,
red-roofed houses where all the children, great and
small, were ready to greet him royally.
You understand, now, the advantage of being a
star and seeing everything ? The queer, old town
was brilliant with light; in every window shone a
lamp, and the streets were crowded with children
all hurrying to the market-place, where stood
the statue of an old Prince John riding a superb
bronze horse. Who knows, when this old John
was a child perhaps his heart also beat fast when
the beautiful princess, his mother, told him to be
good, for Saint Martin was coming? If the bronze
prince could have looked down, how he 'd have
winked at the sudden light which came pouring into
the great, square market-place from every alley and
street. Every child in the whole town had come,
and each carried a torch or a lantern,-Chinese
lanterns, glass lanterns, or hollowed-out pumpkins
with candles burning inside. How they laughed,-
the children why, there was not one so poor or so
small that it had not a twinkling light to swing in
the air while walking in the long procession which
formed here in the market-place. In and out of the
crooked streets they filed, swinging their lanterns
and singing an old hymn to Saint Martin, while,
at the end of the long line, the babies were carried,
and even they clutched gorgeous lanterns with dim-
pled hands, and sang, too, they did. I wish you could
have heard them. How sweet and clear were the
young voices, rising into the night; not that it was a

very wonderful hymn, but it was loved for the sake
of old memories, for parents and grand-parents
leaning out of the windows remembered that they,
too, had sung the melody. So it begins:

As for Saint Martin, he and his donkey remained
modestly hidden; he watched the little people filing
all over the town with torches and lanterns, and he
rejoiced when he heard the hymn, listening fondly
till the clear voices became fainter and fainter and the
little feet were beginning to be very tired. At last
the children wanted to go home and see Saint Mar-
tin in real earnest. It was time, for the babies at the
end of the procession were doubled up, fast asleep,
and even the red and yellow lanterns could not keep
them awake. So, in the twinkling of an eye, the
streets were deserted,-not a child remained. Now
was the time for Saint Martin to start on the most
important part of his mission. He patted the don-
key gently on the neck, and went to every house
where he was called.
How the little folk hurry up to the sitting-rooms,
dark but for the lanterns brought out of the street!
The Saint likes to speak to each child alone, and
so everybody else is hustled into a side room.
Put the lantern, with the candle still burning, in
the middle of the floor; jump over it three times;
call: "Saint Martin Saint Miartin Saint Mar-
tin!" as bravely and loudly as you can.
Sure enough there comes a knock at the door.
"Come in, Saint Martin!" some one says, with a
beating heart. The saint opens the door a crack,
and asks, in a solemn voice:
Have you been a good child this whole year ?"
As for concealment, it is of no use, for Saint
Martin knows everything; so you might as well
say, if it is the case, that you have been a bad
child, for he has a respect even for naughty chil-
dren who tell the truth.
"I 've been a bad child!" sobs a little voice;
and if it is true, the saint flings a bunch of
switches into the room, and stumps sadly down the
dark stairs.
If, however, the little voice falters: "I 've tried
to be a good child," then, oh, children! I wish
you could be there once to see how Saint Martin
rewards a child who has tried to be good. The
door is thrown open,-though the saint keeps in
the dark,-and in come, tumbling and rushing
out of his enchanted bag, huge roasted chestnuts,
bursting with pride and haste,-boiled chestnuts
filled, as it were, with delicious cream; rosy apples,
which come bumping in on their plump cheeks;
nuts, raisins, figs, dates, oranges, walnuts,-nearly
fresh from the tree,-filberts, cakes of every kind




and shape, everything that the heart can wish;
but, best of all, a word of praise from Saint Martin,
who runs quite briskly down-stairs in his joy at
having found a good child. The moment he is
gone, a blaze of light bursts in from the next room,
then in come father and mother and sisters and

Once I knew a little boy who was so curious to
see Saint Martin's donkey, and to learn whether or
not the old man meant to go over the way to see
his playmate, Elsbeth, that he ran after him down
the dark stairs, when he stumbled and fell, and
might have hurt himself badly if two strong arms


brothers, and the way they help to pick up Saint
Martin's treasures is really splendid. Even this is
not the end of the holy man's visits. He has been
known to come back at supper-time, when some
one is sitting by the mother's side, with two chubby
arms hugging a huge dish of goodies. The door
is flung open, and Saint Martin, wonderfully
wrapped in a great cloak, while a broad-brimmed
hat is pulled over his face, makes a low bow, as if
begging pardon for coming so often, walks solemn-
ly up to each, and leaves a mysterious package at
every plate. He says little or nothing as he walks
slowly about the table; but, goodness only knows,
nobody wants words; they want actions, and Saint
Martin's are superbly generous. So, amid startled
silence, he reaches the door and vanishes.

had not caught him in time: but these arms did
not belong to Saint Martin at all.
"Oh, Uncle! Uncle! did you see Saint Mar-
tin?" a breathless voice cried.
"Ah, what if I met him on the street just as he
crossed over to Elsbeth !" Uncle said, solemnly,
but with a twinkle in his pleasant, brown eyes.
I am so glad," the small inquisitor said, draw-
ing a sigh of relief; then looking up, wonderingly,
as the strong arms let him down on the ground:
" Uncle, what 's the matter with your hair? it 's
all rumpled;" at which Uncle blushed unneces-
sarily. Then, without waiting for an answer:
" Uncle, do you know Saint Martin's voice is just
like yours?"
"Ah, dear child, there are so many curious





things in the world, and old people's voices often
sound alike," Uncle begins to explain, a bit con-
fused, while Saint Martin, over the way, has prob-
ably come and gone.
The bell in the church-tower, by the market-
place, struck twelve; the city was still; the happy
children were asleep, and the lanterns were all burnt
out. Saint Martin, on his donkey, trudging home-
ward, was all alone with the bright star. His two
bags were quite empty, though he still carried the
switches over his shoulder. The good donkey
stepped briskly along, for he was going home and
his load was so light.
To the star looking down, the saint seemed a lit-
tle sad, as if it made him unhappy to part from
his little people, However, he smiled as he saw
the bright star.
"Come back, dear Saint Martin; come back
next November, and the children and I will be
ready for you," it seemed to say, and the dear old
man patted the donkey encouragingly on the back,
and so they reached their home in the wonderful
land where the toy-trees grow. Santa Claus stood
by the garden-gate under a sugar-plum-tree with
chocolate blossoms, waiting for him.

"Glad to see you back, St. Martin How are
all the children?"
Growing better every year!" he cried, joy-
ously, as he dismounted from the donkey. "See,"
he said, quite excitedly, going toward Santa Claus,
"I 've brought all the switches back. Now it is
your turn; but do you think," he said, anxiously,
"but do you think there '11 be toys enough on the
trees for all the good children in the world?"
"Don't worry," Santa Claus said, kindly. "Lit-
tle things trouble you. If there were twenty mill-
ion more children in the world than there are, and
not a bad one among 'em, there 'd be presents
enough and to spare. I am glad you found the
children so good, though you must be tired going
up all those stairs. I find the chimneys a great
convenience. Indeed," Santa Claus said, rather
thoughtfully, I don't think I could do the whole
world alone if I had to climb so many stairs."
But you don't," Saint Martin suggested.
That 's true," and Santa Claus laughed. Per-
haps, children, you never heard Santa Claus laugh?
Keep your ears wide open this Christmas, for it is
the jolliest, merriest sound in the world.
So they bade each other good-night and parted.


KIT STRONG sat on the door-step, looking very sad.

A Great Show

had come to town only the day before, and had set up its big white tent
on the common, almost in sight of his home. Yet Kit could not go to
it. He had no money, and his mother was very poor.
He always sat on the door-step when he was in trouble. It was
shady and cool, for the little house stood back from the street, and on
one side a high brick wall reached all the way from the house to the
sidewalk, and on the other a little tree shook its leaves whenever there
was a breeze. So Kit liked the step, and would often sit there for ten
whole minutes, which was a long time for him, as he was a very lively
But this morning he stayed, five, ten,-yes, Iwenty minutes, at least!
There he sat, and thought and thought and thought. He had been
around to the common, and the bill posters he had seen there, and the
queer sounds that came out of the tent, had made him sure that the tent



held such wonders as he had never seen in all his life. But how to get
in-that was what troubled Kit. I suppose there is no way in the world
for a boy to get to see a show, that Kit did not think of. But sitting
there, with his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees, if he had
been a girl, you might have
thought she was crying. In-
--deed, the only move he made
looked very much like brush-
S ing away a tea-; but then
.. Kit was a boy, and the other
. . ..! .. -
-'. "-.- thing must have been a fly.

Should n't look up at all. The
whole show-except the brass
band might have passed
along the street in front of
him, and he would never have
S. known it. And, strange to
... ; ..tell, when he did look up at
last, there it was !-or if not
S the show, certainly a part
of it.

S .street, was a queer proces-
sion: a big white woolly dog
and a little black monkey
,. were walking along together,
followed by a troop of boys,
and, stranger still, the mon
Skey wore a little coat and a
o hat with a feather, and he car-
ried a trumpet and a pair of
light hoops, while the dog had a small stool in his mouth. And,
strangest of all, the monkey, dog and boys were all coming right into
Kit's open gate, and then-could anything be stranger ?-the monkey
and the dog, without looking at Kit at all, or saying "by your leave,"
or even making a bow-went over to a little bare spot near the brick
wall, and actually began to give a show, right there in Kit's yard !
Kit could n't believe his eyes,-but that was his very last minute on




the door-step for that time. The next minute, he was among the boys,
looking on.
First-Master Dog put down the little stool, and Master Monkey set
the hoops against the wall. The dog then sat up on his hind legs, and
the monkey jumped on top of his head, and began to blow his horn.
When Monkey had blown on his horn a good while, he got down from
Doggie's head and stood up on the stool, holding the two hoops for
Doggie to jump through. The dog went back a little way, so as to get
a good start, and then he ran as hard as he could, and made one spring
right through both of the hoops. When Kit and the boys saw that, they
clapped their hands and shouted.
Next, Monkey took a piece of string out of his little pocket and put
it in Doggie's mouth to make a sort of bridle. Then he jumped on the
dog's back and be-
gan to ride him
around. The boys :
laughed to see the
dog galloping like
a horse with the ,t
little monkey on
his back, and when
the dog jumped up
on a barrel lying
in the yard, and
stood there like a l
stone statue, they -
laughed and shout-
ed more than ever.
Doggie soon
jumped down from
the barrel, and, .---.
Monkey got off his
back. Then Monkey sat down on the little stool and began to blow on
his horn, and the dog stood up on his hind legs and danced. The boys
thought this was the best thing of all. Toot-toot-too-ty-too-ti-ty too !"
went Master Monkey, and skip, skip, skip, went Master Dog up and
down the yard, turning his head from one side to the other, just as
dancing people do.
All these funny tricks amused the boys very much, but at last Master
Monkey settled down on his stool, and Master Doggie lay down beside






him. And now, those bad boys would not let them rest. They began
to tease Monkey to do more tricks by throwing little pebbles at him,
and to poke long sticks at Doggie, and shout to them to do it again."


. ..i.ii ,i .
W' ".
'' , ;' .- .:,',:, !,'."
l g' ,. '"-' '"
,, i ,, i ,, ,

This made Kit angry, and he pushed the boys aside, and told them
to go away. But they would not.
"The dog and monkey are not yours," said one.
".Well, they are in our yard," said Kit.
"We '11 take them with us," was the reply. But Master Doggie's
white teeth said "No" to that, very plainly. And Kit replied:
No, you '11 only tease 'em. I mean to take care of 'em."

i, a- '"- .




Just then a man in a great hurry glanced over the fence, and came
quickly through the gate. Instantly the Dog and Monkey bounded
toward him, and began to frisk and play about his feet.
"You see, they belong to me," said the man to Kit. "They strayed
out of the show-tent a while ago, when I was away. But I heard what

you said about taking care of them, and I am very much obliged. And
now, if you want to see what the little fellows can do to music, come to
the tent this afternoon. Here are two tickets."
Oh!" screamed Kit with delight, "one for me and one for mother!"
And this is how Kit saw first a part of the show, and then all of it.
VOL. VII.-6.

'., ,.



WAS there ever in all this green and busy world
such a happy Jack-in-the-Pulpit as I am Here is
ST. NICHOLAS starting out with a new volume,-
the seventh,-and if here are not just as many,
yes, more children than ever,-thousands, tens of
thousands, scores of thousands more,-all eager to
read it !
Every one of these scores and scores of thou-
sands seemed to me to be looking out of the glad
eyes of the group of youngsters from the Red
School-house who crowded about that dear Little
Schoolma'am yesterday in my meadow. And oh,
but did n't she look glad and smiling as she talked
to them and shook hands with them and kissed
some of the rosy wee mites among them !
What did she tell them ?"
Oh, I did n't hear half. But it was good news,
for it made them clap their hands and jump
for joy. It was something about a brand-new
year-long story for you, by that good Louisa Alcott,
and another long story by the "Dab Kinzer"
author; and still another, a base-ball affair, by that
splendid old fellow who told you about the "Boy
How she came to know all this news is a mystery
to your Jack, but she did know it, and ever so much
more beside.
Why, she even told them that henceforward ST.
NICHOLAS is to have every month sixteen pages
more than formerly !
And besides all this, jolly King Christmas is
winking and chuckling on his road, and is even
now not far off beyond the frosty hill-tops.
To hear of so many good things in store for his
chicks, would make any Jack almost beside himself
with delight. But, bless you, my dears, your own
particular Jack always has special and peculiar
comforts, so that his pulpit is the cosiest place in
all the world, even through the early frosts and the

long, cold winter. For don't I get, all the while,
your cheery letters and puzzling little questions?
But now it's high time to open our budget; and
first comes
Carthage, Ill.
DEAR MR. JACK: A few days ago, while standing in front of a
store in this place, I saw something run up the inside of the closed
window. Farther looking showed me that it was a mouse, keenly
engaged in catching flies. The instant one came near the sash, the
mouse would dash upon it, and seldom missed the game. This he
would eat daintily on the instant, seeming to relish the tid-bit won-
There was no one in the store to interrupt the chase, and the mouse
seemed in no manner disturbed by the people who soon crowded
about the window without.
All agreed that they had never seen before such an exhibition of
mouse instinct. But yesterday, I was told a story which seems to
show that fly-hunting is not confined to my mouse:
In a country-house, a half-witted girl occupied an attic room alone,
while sick. She attracted attention by showing with much glee more
than fifty mice that she had killed in two days. People wondered
how, in her bed-ridden state, she could have captured them. She
explained that the mice came up to a window by her bed to catch
flies. To her hearers, it seemed stranger that the mice should catch
the flies than that the invalid girl should catch the fifty mice.
S. W.

TRAVELERS in Zululand tell of a pretty little
brown bird, called The Watcher," which makes
its nest on the ground, weaving it of soft grass, and
building it with two stories. The male bird keeps
watch over the top of the grass from his seat in the
upper story, while his little wife is warming the
eggs below. If he gives a cry of warning, she has
time to run away safely.
Snakes would soon find these two-story nests,
and eat the eggs, but a woven door or screen hangs
down in front of the eggs, and completely hides
them. The Watchers are just as kind and at-
tentive to each other as they are careful of their
unhatched chicks.

Williamstown, Mass.
DEAR MR. JACK: Let me tell you about some queer birds that I
saw in South Africa. They are called "Hadeda by the natives,
and are as large as crows, with long legs and bills, and wings that
are dark-green in one light and golden in another. The birds look
like gentlemen in dress suits with their hands folded under their coat-
The Hadeda live in marshy places, but they are easily tamed to
live in houses, and soon go m and out as if they were part of the
family. And, indeed, you might almost think they were part of it,
for, when they cry, they say "Pa, Pa, Pa!" quickly, like an im-
patient child.
Two of these birds that I saw were very fond of the father of the
family, and would follow him about, all day. On Sundays they
would even walk after him into church, unless he locked them up at
home. Once, they actually did walk into church, marching gravely
up the aisle, and taking their stand near their master, who was the
minister, behind the little lectern, or reading-desk. It was very funny
to see those three solemn figures standing there; and it was lucky
the birds did not think to call out "Pa, Pa, Pa! just then, for the
congregation laughed quite enough as it was. The birds would n't
go away, although the minister told them to, in a severe tone; so he
had to walk out, and they followed him into the open air. When
he came in again, he shut the door close behind him, and so kept
them out. Yours truly, M. ENANDA.

YOUR Jack has had plenty of news lately from
South Africa. Here is some about elephants:
A large herd of elephants was on its way to
Zululand, these animals usually passing the cool




season in its warmer climate, coming south into
Natal to spend the summer. The herd was fired
into by everybody who could get hold of a gun;
but the animals gave no heed to the bullets, and
slid down the steep bank of the river Umooti, and
plowed through its flood, swollen with heavy rains.
They swam gracefully where it was too deep to reach
bottom, keeping their ears dry. There were three
young baby-elephants, however, which screamed
loudly for help, refusing to go into deep water.
After a few notes from their trumpets, the mothers
joined their trunks under the calves' bodies and
ferried them across.
When they reached a shallow spot in the river,

the parents
paused, qand
i l n ':, ; ', .'1f 1 -1 .'

The entrance to each of these dwellings is under
water, and a passage leads from it up to a warm
nest lined with soft grasses, and high enough to
be always dry. When the meadow is frozen, there
is a small hole in the ice near the door.
One day, in winter, a man saw a musk-rat which
had caught a crab and was eating it hungrily.
The rat heard the man near, looked up, but did
not think it worth while to move away. Presently,
two dogs came along, and, seeing the rat, ran to
kill it. This was two to one, and therefore the
man tried to make the rat go home, and so prevent
the dogs from getting it. To his surprise, the rat
made a furious attack upon him, and sent him off.
Then the dogs came near, but they only sniffed
and harkedr: evidently they did nnt like to tackle
; r il[ i ,l ti ri h hi .lr .. :.r! I l a. hii.dI I 'l
i.l I -I I i : -A 1. r ,71 i r pr.:_ r I'u l I ,,. -:,
% V I 1.' O ul'r !;' '. -\ I k I :1 -it L 'i. j I i 1 -, l .It


sousing, playing a fountain over head and ears
with their trunks. The "infants" took the dose
meekly, setting a good example to little boys and
girls who kick and scream under the sponge in a
shallow bath.
A SAILOR-MAN writes your Jack that by the sea,
not far from New York, is a meadow over which
the salt water flows with every tide; and in this
salt-meadow are fifty or more queer untidy mounds,
built of rushes, and rising about two feet above
the surface of the water. These are the homes
of musk-rats, or musquashess." One of them
has been built in the stern of a disused boat.

done, he went quietly home to take a nap, and the
assembly broke up.

So, it seems that Artesian" wells were so
called from the name of the French province,
"Artois," in which was dug the first well of the
kind, in the year 126. At least, this is the gist
of the answers to J. B. L.'s question, which I gave
out in September.
Answers came from Oriole-Emma Valentine-Juismer Le Comte
-C. L. Wheeler-Primm de Noel-Maisie Balch-W. Shattuck-
Josephine-I. B. D.-M. H. L.-Gertrude Abbott-Nellie C. Emer-
son-Hannah J. Powell-E. M. Hussey-Sallie W. Peck-Frances
E. N.-T. T. Wood-E. N. Rochester-Aron Hobby-D. Beatty.





ST. NICHOLAS begins its seventh volume with this number, and,
besides the promised extra pages, wider margins and heavier paper,
the publishers have given an additional Frontispiece picture,-which
is to serve as the frontispiece for the volume,-and a red-line title-
page, as an earnest that they mean to do always a little better for the
magazine than they may promise.

M. A. G.-Some things suitable for Christmas gifts are pictured,
and the ways to make them described, in the article entitled Some
Pretty Things," printed in this number; and you will find the methods
of making many others described in full, with illustrations and dia-
grams, in ST. NICHOLAS for December, 1875, and November, 1877.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I thought I would write to you about a little
incident that occurred at home. I live 'way down in Louisiana. An
alligator came from the swamp into our yard. He was about five
feet long. A flock of turkeys saw him, and followed him around and
around, so close that they nearly stepped on his tail. He would snap
at them, and theywould jump away; then he would snap at them
again, and they would jump away. It was very amusing to see the
turkeys following him. He was a horrible-looking creature with his
long mouth and formidable teeth.-Your friend, NELLIE.

A. P. S.-A little girl, living near New York, suggests sending
old numbers of the magazine, as soon as they are read through, to
other little girls who otherwise might not see it. This same thing is
already done by a great many ST. NICHOLAS boys and girls; but
there may be some who have not yet tried this easy way of giving
pleasure to others.

FRED H. BEAR.-To make old silver coins look bright again, wash
them thoroughly with soap and hot water; then rub them with a
chamois leather, first with moistened whitening, and afterward with
dry whitening. See also "Letter-Box," October, 1876.

Marlboro, N. Y.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I should like to ask a question; and, if it
is answered in the "Letter-Box," I shall be very much obliged:
Should the children of an American missionary, who are born in
India or some such place, be called Hindoos or Americans ?-Your
constant reader, H. F. H.

MRS. LOUISA B. GOODALL sends ST. NICHOLAS a description of a
novel kind of "side-show," which might be used in a church-fair,
but it could be given by little girls at home, perhaps for a charitable
object, yet not connected with a fair, and might prove very success-
ful. It is called
The show must be in a side room, or in a part of the hall cur-
tained off. The work of preparing this family and their parlor for
exhibition can be done by six or more young ladies. Some of them
take charge of the "room," which consists of a box about three feet
wide and four feet long, or square, if you please. The box is to be
placed on a table, the open part toward the spectators. Carpets may
be put on the floor, paper on the walls; windows with lambrequins,
curtains, and so forth, may be imitated; and there should be arrange-
ments for fire-place and grate, with a fire of sparkling metallic foil, if
possible. A door in the rear of the room should be made to stand
ajar, and a strong light arranged behind the door.
Some others of the managers should provide the furniture of the
room. There must be a piano; and, if a toy piano cannot be bought,
a block of wood shaped like a piano, provided with legs, and with
the keys painted in black and white, will do. Throw a handsome
cloth partly over it; and a music-box (out of sight) will fairly serve
for pianoforte playing. The other pieces of furniture can be bought,
hired, or borrowed for the occasion,-chairs, tables, sofas, chandeliers
with real wax candles to be lighted, pictures, ornaments, vases,
flowers. A table in the center of the room is to be set for tea, with a
dainty cloth, tea service, tiny biscuits, small berries, cake-in fact,
whatever one would like for tea must be there in miniature.
Another part of the committee will see after the "happy family"
itself, which is composed of dolls. The father stands in the front of
the room, holding the baby in a long white dress. Baby's head will
rest on his papa s shoulder or face. A fine wire may be used to fix
the dolls in their proper positions, but it must be carefully hidden.
Beside the father stands a little boy dressed in a blue suit; in his

arms nestles a pet kitten or dog. A young lady sits at the piano,
with her fingers on the keys; a tiny pin will keep her little hands in
place, while the music-box plays the tune for her. By her side stands
a brother, with a flute or violin, in playing position. At a small
table, two children are seated engaged in some game. Mother stands
by the tea-table, richly dressed, holding by the hand a little girl. At
the fireside sit grandfather and grandmother, with the proper num-
ber of spectacles and bald heads. In the door-way, at the rear of the
room, stand a young lady and gentleman, about to enter, ushered in
by a black servant with many bright buttons on his livery. If you
choose not to have callers, the servant can be entering the room
bearing a tray full of things for the tea-table.
The dresses of the dolls should be very handsome, and in the
latest fashion. Do not have the dolls too small. Every attitude
must be made perfectly natural. At the close of the exhibition, the
family can be sold off or otherwise disposed of.

A NEW and pretty way of writing a name in a Christmas gift-book
is explained and illustrated on pages zo and xi of this number; and
in ST. NICHOLAS for July, 1874, are some funny pictures showing a
similar process, but with a very different effect.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We often have nice times in this place swim-
ming, crabbing and fishing. Crabs are a queer kind of an animal.
Probably some of the boys would like to hear how crabs grow. The
mother is called a Cow Crab." She produces about ten million
eggs and then dies. The young do not have the care of the mother,
but have to take care of themselves. They shed their shells once a
month. I don't know what a crab is usually called at first, whether
a soft or hard crab. We say he is a "Buckler." A buckler is
always very poor to begin with; but he eats everything he gets hold
of, which, of course, fattens him up some. Then he is called a
"Comer." He keeps on eating till he is bigger still; then he is
called a "Shedder"; and he still keeps on eating and gets bigger
still, and then cracks a little, and is called a Crack-buster." He
still grows till he is called a Buster," and then sheds. Then he is
called a "Soft Crab."
From your interested reader,

EMMA VALENTINE, Thomas Hunt, and Julia M. Ruggles, each
sent a short verse containing all the letters of the alphabet. Their
letters were too late for mention in the October "Letter-Box."

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I would like to ask if you could tell a
remedy for a very peculiar and inconvenient trick of a horse. I
know a gentleman whose horse will not go out in the rain, hating to
have the water touch his ears. Almost everything has been tried to
cure him, without success. If the day is a good one, and the owner
starts out with him, and rain comes up, he has either to go under
shelter and wait until the storm is over, or do as I knew of his doing
once,-take his horse out of harness and leave it in a friend's stable,
while he borrowed another to take him home.-Yours truly,
BELLA G. STONE, 13 years.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I have heard that Friday first began to be
thought an "unlucky" day, as M. R. T. calls it in the Octo-
ber "Letter-Box," when the ancient Christians began to keep with
sorrow and fasting the anniversary of the Savior's death. But
whether or not that is a good reason for thinking the day unlucky,
it might be hard to say. However, I will ask your readers, dear ST.
NICHOLAS, to look through this long old list of fortune-favored Fri-
days, and then perhaps they may feel inclined to think that, after all,
it is a lucky day-at least in America.-Yours sincerely,
On Friday, August 3, 1492, Christopher Columbus sailed on his
great voyage of discovery. On Friday, October 12, 1492, he first
discovered land. On Friday, March 15, 1493, he arrived at Palos in
safety. On Friday, November 22, 1493, he arrived at Hispaniola,
on his second voyage to America. On Friday, June 13, x494, he,
though unknown to himself, discovered the continent of America.
On Friday, March 5, 2497, Henry VII., of England, gave to John
Cabot his commission, which led to the discovery of North America.
On Friday, September 7, 1565, Melendez founded St. Augustine,
the oldest town in the United States. On Friday, November ao,
1620, the Mayflower, with the Pilgrims, made the harbor of Prov-
incetown: on Friday, December 22, 162o, the Pilgrims made their




final landing at Plymouth Rock. On Friday, February 22, George
Washington, the father of American freedom, was born. On Friday,
June x6, Bunker Hill was seized and fortified. On Friday, October
7, i777, the surrender of Saratoga was made by the British. On
Friday, September 22, t78o, the treason of Arnold was laid bare, and
this saved us from destruction. On Friday, October 19, 1781, oc-
curred the surrender at Yorktown, the crowning glory of the Ameri-
can arms; and on Friday, June 7, 1776, the motion in Congress was
made by Richard Henry Lee, that the United States colonies were,
and of right ought to be, free and independent.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I send you for the "Letter-Box" some
story riddles. The point is to find out what stories or personages in
story-books the verses refer to.
Recall the story, if you can,
About a lonely shipwrecked man;
A gentle savage he reclaims,
Master and man, who'll name their names?
A man who climbed the mountain steep,
With fairies tippling, fell asleep,
And dozed away life's hopes and fears,
About the space of twenty years.
That king and his fair queen, who sent
A man to seek a continent,-
Their names and his now tell who can,
And from what port he sailed,-this man.
Who laid his cloak before a queen,
To keep her dainty slippers clean?
A courtier and a man of pride,
Tell now his name and how he died.
In Athens, not the modern Hub,"
A surly man dwelt in a tub;
With lantern lit, he sought by day
One honest soul: his name please say.
We play this game on long evenings, each person making a verse
and handing it to the next neighbor. Then a judge is chosen, and
whoever fails to answer correctly the verse given to him, pays a
forfeit.-Yours truly, J. D. L.

Cincinnati, Ohio.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Let me tell you a funny thing about my
little sister Rosie. She found an egg one day in the grass by the
pond. So she carried it in her little white apron up to the house and
into the parlor. She was dressed all in white, for it was late in the
day, and Papa was expected home soon. No one was in the parlor
but Brother Tom.
"Tom," said Rosie, holding her apron fast, "how does hennies
get the tsickses out of zey eggses ?"
"Why, theysit on them, of course! Don't you remember how you
went with me to see old Gray-speckle and put water in her dish?"
"Did n't she do nuffin but sit on ze eggses, an' dwink wawa ?"
asked Rosie, anxiously.
Why, of course not! and offwent Tom, whistling.
Rosie thought a little while, with her head on one side. Then she
took the afghan from the sofa, and put it on the floor, where she
arranged a "nes'," on which she placed the egg. Next, she brought
a glass of water, from the hall table, and set it down by the nes";
then she gently sat down on the egg.
There was a soft "squelch," smothered by the afghan! Rosie
took a sip of water.
"Ze sell's broke," said she, cheerfully; "I wunner how soon ze
tsick 'II say Tseep, tseep.'"
Five minutes passed,-ten minutes; Rosie took another sip of
water, and her sweet little face looked troubled, as'she felt herself
settling down on the "nes'."
Fwaid zere is n't woom for ze tsick to bweave," said she.
Miss Rosie! Down on the floor in your clean dress; get up this
minute, you naughty child! called nurse, coming into the parlor.
She was a person of power, for she had been Mamma's nurse, too;
but Rosie rebelled.
Nursey, I tan't det up; I'se hatsin' a tsick."
Rosie was pulled up by a strong hand, and shown a dreadful yel-
low stain on the pretty white dress.
Just then Papa's step was heard in the hall.
Rosie broke away, and, in one minute, was sobbing on her father's
neck, and telling her pitiful story.
"I was a hen, Papa, an' Nurseypulled me off my nes' 'fore ze lit''
tsick tould say, Tseep! tseep '"
You 'd better set her down, sir, or she '11 egg your coat. And I
dressed her not an hour ago; and just look at her Ma's new
Now came Mamma.
"Never mind, Nursey," she said, when she had heard all the
story; I do not believe she meant to be naughty."
"Well, come along, you tiresome midget, and be made tidy," said
Nursey, laughing, and Rosie (with a wistful look at the "nes' ") was
carried off.-Yours truly, ALPA.

OF course, Russell Fraser's three methods undertaking to solve
H. C. Howland's algebraic problem are incorrect. They slipped into
the September "Letter-Box" through an oversight, and were not
found out until it was too late to have an alteration made. Letters
have been received from everywhere calling attention to the over-
sight; and here is a list of the writers' names:
J. M. S.-J. F. Maynard-Honorable Richard Watson-Paul H.
Applebach-Rebecca L. Lodge-J. W. J.-Charley T. Jamieson-
Almee-N. H. Strong-O. C. T.-A. N. Swibbor-Willie S. Burs,
Jr.-Edward T. Ward-Algernon Bray-D. C.-Miss Julia Wilsor
-M. D. C.-W. B. Dix-G. E. K.-William Rennyson-Vermi-
fuge-J. Benson Akers-Sarah J. Russ-Harry B. Walter-James
Blunt-S. Lincoln, Jr.-P. E. M.-C. E. N.-R. C. Taylor, Jr.-
H. H. Saxe-High School Boy-W. R. Howland-C, G. Rock-
wood, Jr.-May H.-Charles Groenendyke-C. G. Blatcheler-
Elmer Durggins-Miss May Townsend-R. H. Howard-A. G.
H. M. R.-Sturley-Fanny M. Hyde-Alice Gregory-O. E. D.-
S. K.-An old subscriber-Pupil in R. Academy-Old Reader-
Sinclair Oliver-"x + y + z"-R. H. W.-Ella B.

H. C. Howland's problem cannot be solved by simple algebraic
processes, and the solutions here given will not be understood at all
by little folk, and are printed solely to satisfy those grown-up readers
of the Letter-Box who are interested in such abstruse things.
The following is what an expert says about the problem:

"The equations 2 y + = 7 cannot, I believe, be reduced by
artifice, as many of their class may be, to the solution of equations of
the 2nd degree. They really involve equations of the 4th degree in
x and y. These equations are found at once by ordinary elimination
and may readily be solved by well-known methods. The algebraic
solution of the problem shows that only one pair of the values of x
and y is expressed in commensurable numbers. This remarkable
pair may most readily be found by simple inspection. But if one
likes roundabout work he can proceed thus:
"Adding the two equations, and increasing each member of the re-
sult by %, we have
x2 + x + Y- + yZ + y + 3 = 18%, therefore (x + Y)2 + (y +
3)s= i =, + V
"This equation is satisfied if (x + %)2 = 3 5 and (y + %)2= 4
that is ifx = 2 and y = 3, which values also satisfy the original equa-
There are four real values ofx (two of them positive and two nega-
tive) which will satisfy the equations,-and four corresponding real
values of y, two positive and two negative.
"This may clearly be seen by the accompanying geometrical
solution of the problem which follows the method of Analytical
Geometry. The employment of curves to solve such equations is
allowed by the principle that every relation between the x and the y
of an equation is the relation between the co-ordinates of some assign-
able curve.

The equation x2 + y = 7 is represented by the parabola C B D.
The equation y2 + x = oi is represented by the parabola C A E.
The co-ordinates of their points of intersection E K C D are the
values of x and y which satisfy simultaneously both equations.
"Thus we have x=op y=Kp
x=oq y = D q (negative value)
x=Or (neg.) y=Er
x=Os(neg.) y=Cs (neg.)
If the curves had been accurately drawn, the lines named would
have given closely approximate values of x and y."



Baltimore, Md.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Will you please ask the readers of the
"Letter-Box to tell me how to break a dog from killing chickens ?
G. B.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Could you tell me how to bleach ferns, so
that I could make a bouquet of them with skeleton leaves? Please
tell me in the Letter-Box."-I remain your constant reader,
Ferns that are to be bleached should be gathered in the country
in summer, and prepared very soon after picking. But if you can
find now some that are still vigorous, and not too old,-say in a
fernery or conservatory,--you may bleach them whole, without
making them into skeletons, by following these instructions:
Place the ferns, stems downward, in a glass jar containing two
quarts of soft water,-rain water is the best,-in which a large table-
spoonful of chloride of lime and a few drops of vinegar have been
thoroughly mixed. Cover the jar, and set it in a warm place. Watch
the ferns closely, and as each one whitens, carefully remove it and
lay it in a dish of lukewarm water. When all are bleached, let them
remain in the dish for several hours, changing the water often. Then
spread them, one by one, upon sheets of blotting-paper, curving
them as you like, and straightening out the little points with a pin-
Place each sheetful between two other blotting-sheets, and then lay
all beneath heavy books or weights until the ferns are perfectly dry.
If any should stick to the paper, press your thumb-nail on the back
of the sheet and the ferns will drop off If you find the stems too
brittle to use, you can make imitation ones by painting fine dry twigs
with white oil-color, and gumming them on.
You will then have the ferns just as they grew, but white instead
of green. If, however, you wish first to make them into skeletons
before bleaching them and putting them into the bouquet, you will
find in the "Letter-Box" for July, 1875, full directions for doing
this, and, besides, for covering leaves with sparkling crystals.

too late for mention last month from Florence L. 'Turrill-L. and
K. Post-" Winnie "-Jno. V. L. Pierson-Wm. McKay-Edward
Vultee-Will E. Nichols-" Riddlers"-Morris Hutchinson-Bessie
and Her Cousin-Fannie Densmore-Rita S. Mcllvaine-" Topsy"
-B. Cushman-" Dick Deadeye"-"Unknown"; and James Bu-
chanan Johnston, who answered all the July puzzles correctly.

In the following list the numerals denote the number of puzzles
Answers to Puzzles in the September Number were received before
September 20 from Dycie Warden, 8S, all-" Jim Crow," 7-W. W.
Oglesbee, 2-Matie H Chase, 5-Millie Van Kleech, 4-Rufus B.
Clark, 2-John H. M. Wells, --D. S. Shauts, r--Julia W. Boyd,
2-F. S. Smith, 8--Bessie Campbell, 8-James Buchanan Johnston,
18, all-Ella F. Dargue, 2-Jennie S. Ward, 2-Harry C. Crosby, 3
-J. Maurice Thompson, 6-Roberta Thornton, 3-Bessie Alexan-
der, 2-Leddie C. Lander, --Julia Grice, 4-Annie E Plumb, 5
-A. W. Stockett, 6-" Old Judge" and Senate, 8-Edith L. Gran-
ger, i-Minnie Baker, 2-Lloyd M. Scott, 8-A. T. Bumes, 2-
" Guesser," I7-Fannie W. Hunt, 3-E. W. R., i-Annie G. Baker,
8-E. B. Clark, 5-Perry Beattie, 2-B. S. and W. T., 7-Bella
Wehl, 3-Ida Maud Angell, 3-Sallie W. Peck and Family, 6-
" Scrub and Irish," 6-Mary L. Otis, x7-Mattie Olmstead, 8-
John V. L. Pierson, 7-Kitty C. Atwater, x3-Carrol L. Mancy, 13
-Bessie Hard, 7-Morris Hutchinson. 8-Lizzie H. D. St. Vrain, 9
-Margaret J. Gemmill, s-Julia Crofton, 3-Susie Sipe and Mamie
Gordon, -K-..r..-,i. B. Emerson, a-Nellie C. Emerson, 8-" No
Name," -- '. usins," o7-B. E. L. T., 6-Lizzie R. How-
land, 4-W. H. Rowe, 9-Annie Raynes, 3-Millie W. Thompson,
9-Lillie Burling, 4-Kate, Alice and Richard Stockton, zo-Stanley
!,.- I-Mollie B. Platt, i-Georgie and Carlton Woodruff, i-
i.,111.. 9-C. F. Lipman, 7-J. A. G. M. E. T., --"7, 8, 9,"
i-Will E. Nichols, 5-Florence Wilcox, 9-Jennie Mondschein,
-Betsy Mondschein, i-O. C. Turner, x6-L. W. S., i-"Winnie,"
13-Elsie K. Alexander, i-Wm. McKay, 7-Allen T. Treadway, 13
-" Oriole," 3-Georgia Harlan, i--" Three Guessers," i3-Edward
Vultee, 13-Snibbuggledyboozledom, 9-Alfred Keppelmann, 7-
Jessie Van Buren, 13-Lulu Mather and Brother, 7-Herbert James
Tiley, 1o-Arnold Guyot Cameron, 3.


THE answer, composed of two words and spelled with eleven let-
ters, names an autumn festival. The initials of the words defined.
taken in the order of the numbering, spell the answer
i. My i, 2, 3, 5 is a swift animal. 2. My 2, 4, 5, 3 is to state. 3.
My 3, 5, 6, 7 is repose. 4. My 4, 5, 6, 7 is a garment 5. My 5. a,
6, 7 is a point of the compass. 6. My 6, 7, 2, 3 is a bright thing far
off. 7. My 7, 2, 3, 5 is a weed that sometimes grows among wheat.
8. My S, 9, 6, 7 is an army. 9. My 9, 2, 3, 6 are used in rowboats.
o10. My o10, 'a, 5, 7 is fit and proper. oI. My an, 4, 5, 3 is always.

Mv whole, spelled with twelve letters, is the name of a profusely
flowering shrub.
My 2, 5, 0, s2 is a musical instrument. My 6, 3, 9, i is the name of
a bird now extinct. My 1o, 7, 8, 4 is to tear. ISOLA.

8 I 2

7 T ... 3

6 5


THE letter in the middle of the diagram is the initial of each of
eight four-letter words ending at the points of the star where the
numerals are set. Each word is here defined, first as it reads forward,

and then as it reads backward: i. Season; to send forth. 2. To ring;
an insect. 3. A heavy wagon generally used to convey coal; a market.
4. To overflow; to assemble. 5. An instrument used by mechanics;
to plunder. 6. A snare; a portion. 7. Heads; a place. 8. A strong
current; to publish. H. H. D.


EACH cross-word consists of six letters. The third letters of the
cross-words, taken as they come, spell a word indicating good times;
the fourth letters of the cross-words, taken as they come, spell helps
to spend a vacation enjoyably.
i. A kitchen utensil. 2. Agonized murmurs. 3. Felt in the wrists.
4. More thoroughly bleached 5. Concealing. 6. Humiliated. 7.
Strata. 8. Gone beyond. F. s. F.


IN this puzzle, the letters forming the Perpendicular, except its
middle letter, are used three times; once in the whole word, once as
the final of a short word made from the first portion of the whole word,
and again as the initial of another short word made with theinitial and
the remainder of the whole word. Thus, if the whole word were "re-
Dan," the letter D would be used in the center of the whole word,
at the end of a short word, "reD," and at the beginning of another
short word, "Dan." In the following statement of the puzzle, the
whole word is numbered i; the first short word 2: and the second
short word 3.
Perpendicular, a character named in the title of one of Shakespeare's
plays. Horizontals: I. i Was entertained; 2. distant; 3. a color;
II. 1. A negative prefix; 2. opposed to consent; 3. a city of ancient
Egypt. III. A part of me, but not of you or I. IV. I. Came to-
gether; 2. the person you ought to know best; 3. a Latin word
showing union. V. i. A disagreeable expression; 2. back or back-
ward; 3. to possess. E. D. and L. H.




TAKE the middle letter away from one word in each of the follow-
ing proverbs, and in each case leave a complete word. The abstracted
letters, read downward, will spell something which is much desired,
and difficult to use without abusing it. Each complete word that
remains after syncopation, is defined after the proverb which con-
tains it.
i. "Hopes delayed hang the heart upon tenter hooks." Garden
2. Many shout for help when in no danger." Closed.
3. Contentment is a good dowry." Boat.
4. He who has no bread to spare should not keep a dog." Nail.
5. If the doctor cures, the sun sees it; but if he kills, the earth
hides it." Hints. c. D.


A very familiar adage.

I. BEHEAD a pleasant temperature, and leave poor. 2. Behead
want, and leave smoke. 3. Behead to press, and leave backs. 4.
Behead a bladder, and leave a pitcher. 5. Behead a reed, and leave
a part of the head. 6. Behead to bum, and leave to run. 7. Behead
to show, and leave a metal. 8. Behead a part of a house, and leave
without stopping. DYCIE.


IN the following puzzle, the first definition represents the positive
degree, the second the comparative, and the third the superlative.
To form the comparative, prefix to the sound of the positive the adverb

" more," or add the sound of the syllable er." To form the super-
lative, add to the sound of the positive the sound of the letters st"
or "est." Example: Behold; learning; farthest down. Answer;
Lo, lore, lowest.
i. Lively ; a kind of shark. 2. A large body of water ; dry; done.
3. One; anger; chilled. 4. A natural phenomenon common in wet
weather; a pile of debris at the foot of a glacier. 5. A keen observer;
a tower; seasoned 6. A name of a girl; to provide meals. 7. A
garment; a skip. 8. A gulf; unclad; to sew. 9. A poet; to flow; a
stake. zo. An insect; a beverage; an animal. i An instrument of
ancient war; a nuisance; brag. 12. A domestic animal; a vessel;
accustomed. N. T. ti.

WE once attempted, in a quiet way,
To make a dinner on Thanksgiving Day,
But (cannibal idea for Christian feast!)
Had for a dish "the Sick Man of the East" (i).
Could he be thus disposed of by digestion,
Soon Russia's Czar would end the Eastern Question.
A son of Noah (2) for our dinner came,
Wearing the crown of the Nemean game (3).

We had the vegetable (4) Raleigh brought
To England from the far-off land he'd sought.
Another kind (5) which General Marion gave
To British guest, the sole food of that brave,
In war's alarm, a hundred years gone by,
When patriots had heart to starve and die.
The chaff of naughty boys (6); the "staff of life" (7);
Some small amusement (8); many a man and wife (9);
The Paynim foe (io), of the Crusaders bold,
But from his name one syllable withhold.

A printer's treasures (ix)-one, the pump's relation;
The other, scorn of greenback circulation.
A product of the dairy (12), closer pressed
Than e'er was babe to loving mother's breast.
There were some sweetmeats (13) which a rhyming lay
Says queenly fingers made one summer's day.
The fruit (14) that caused the fall of Mother Eve;
Some martial men (15), whose armor hard we leave;
Their ammunition (16) in sweet clusters dried;
And what a cold is like to be beside (17).

This was our dinner. If you guess it all,
We may invite you to partake next fall. E. D. S.


THE words read across; i. Base. 2 Outdo. 3. Satisfaction. 4. A
geometrical figure. 5. Blundered. 6. Farming implements. 7. An
insect. Central Perpendicular, the same as 4. GUESSER.

I AM composed of thirty-eight letters.
My 19, 33, 4, 10 was an attendant of Juno. My 31, 29, 35, 29 was
the goddess of health. My 21, 28, 15, 9, I, 32 was one of the muses.
My 2o, 21, I3, 3, 27, 2 was the god of fire, and patron of all artists in
iron and metal. My 5, 3, 36, 12, 26, 29 was one of the AEolian
isles. My 10, 15. 23, 34, 28, 38 was a race of demi-gods. My 17,
x8, 8, 33, 25. 9, 35, 22 one of hills of Rome. My 14,4 24, 6, 27 was
the mother of Tiberius. My 30, 15, x1, 02, 2o was a famous robber,
son of Vulcan, who stole some of Hercules' cattle. My 7, 8, 26, 38
was a Roman emperor. My whole is a Latin proverb, to the effect
that in our eagerness to escape one danger, we are likely to fall into a

I. A cord. a. Off. 3. To shut up. 4. Small catches for hooks.
M. G. A.

I. BerEAD and curtail to amass, and leave a propelling implement.
2. Behead and curtail flatters, and leave a beard of barley. 3. Behead
and curtail to chew, and leave cured meat. 4. Behead and curtail a
general dealer, and leave to touch. CYRIL DEANE.






I. ~ s~~:I- r'tf"'b I
'1 : 5 I ail ..... ..i.w.

4K1.- ~I1_)1- pTQr 'I-
A 2 -
I, ._.-' . '. --,% -i;'; i:!k ,: ::' -


THE proverb has six words, and is pictured entire by the upper part of the illustration. The smaller pictures represent words spelled with
just the same letters that are contained in the proverb,-not one more nor less. The numerals refer to the six words of the proverb.
To solve the puzzle:.find words that describe the small pictures properly, each word to have as many letters as there are numerals
under its picture. When all the words have been found, write under each its own set of numerals; the first numeral under the first letter,
the second-numeral under the second letter, and so on. [Thus, supposing the word for the small left-hand picture to be "grub," the
numeral 2 would be written under "g," i under "r," 5 under "u," and 6 under "b."] Now write down, some distance apart, the numerals
i, 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6. Below figure i set down all the letters under which you have written that numeral; below figure 2, all the letters which
have that numeral under it; and so on, until all the letters have been distributed into groups. On properly arranging the letters of each
group into a word, and reading off the words in the order of their numbering, the answer will appear.


ENIGMA.-Catamaran.- CRoss-WORD ENIGMA.-Asp.
DIAMOND PUZZLE.-I. P. 2. MEg. 3. MoNad. 4. PenGuin. 5.
GaUge. 6. Die. 7. N.
Three shirts.
T-ape-r. 4. C-alas-h. 5. D-raw-l. 6. V-ill-a.
DROP-LETTER PUZZLE.-A nod is as good as a wink to a blind
QUOTATION PUZZLE.-Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin
As self-neglecting.
[Not Henry VIII., but Henry V., Act 2, Scene 4.
WORD SYNCOPATIONS.--. Chocolate; Col., Choate. 2. Moat;
o, mat. 3. Reached; ache, red. 4. Tactile; act, tile. 5. Valet;
ale, Vt. 6. Mislead; isle, mad.
VERY EASY REBUs.-Ninebirds: Knot,Grossbeak, Toucan, Diver,
Bobolink, Bittern, Crane, Kingfisher, Kite.
PUZZLE.-Five words: Cater, caret, crate, react, trace.

ARTICLES OF ATTIRE.-I. Hoop-skirt. 2. Locket. 3. Shawl. 4.
Panier. 5. Seal-skin sack. 6. Sun-bonnet. 7. Waterproof. 8.
Parasol 9. Pea-jacket. xo. Frill. ix. Bracelet. 12. Petticoat. 13.
Handkerchief. x4. Hose. 15. Guard-chain. x6. Wrapper. x7.
Tippet. 18. Cape. z9. Slippers.
ARITHMETICAL PROBLEM.-Multiplicand 74, multiplier 82.
TRANSPOSITIONS.-Names of trees: I. Sumach, as much. 2.
Cedar, cared. 3. Limes, smile. 4. Pear-tree, repartee. 5. Maple,
ample.- SQUARE-WORD.-T. Girl. 2. Idea. 3. Reed. 4. Lads.
ta is
REBUS.-Couplet: Fortune a goddess is to fools alone;
The wise are always master of their own.
HIDDEN CITIES AND RIVERS.-i. Breslau, Oder. 2. Troy, Hud-
son. 3. Rome, Tiber. 4. Omaha, Missouri. 5. Paris, Seine. 6.
Lucknow, Ganges. 7. Cairo, Nile.

For names of solvers of September puzzles, see "Letter-Box."



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