• TABLE OF CONTENTS
HIDE
 Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Frontispiece
 Jack and Jill
 The great race
 Fables
 The knight and the page
 Budsy, the giant
 An American king David
 Watching for an otter
 Christmas at Number One, Crawlin...
 The four sunbeams
 Paul and the goblin
 My "sunflower's" fan
 How the elephants turned back
 Abram Morrison
 A beginning
 The little first man and the little...
 Among the lakes
 The story of Pegasus
 Mother Goose and her family: A...
 The mystery of the seed
 Telegraph-boys
 How cruel is fate!
 The strange adventures of...
 Dressing Mary Ann
 How Joe brought down the house
 The funny mandarin
 Thorvaldsen
 Chronicles of the Molbos
 Jack-in-the-pulpit
 Some new books for young peopl...
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Matter
 Back Cover
 Spine






Group Title: St. Nicholas.
Title: Saint Nicholas: Vol. 7, no. 2. December 1879.
ALL VOLUMES CITATION PAGE IMAGE ZOOMABLE
Full Citation
STANDARD VIEW MARC VIEW
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00081
 Material Information
Title: Saint Nicholas: Vol. 7, no. 2. December 1879.
Series Title: St. Nicholas.
Uniform Title: Saint Nicholas: Vol. 7, no. 2
Alternate Title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner,
Publication Date: December 1879
 Subjects
Subject: Children's literature -- Periodicals.
Literature for Children
 Notes
General Note: Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
General Note: Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00065513
Volume ID: VID00081
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
    Frontispiece
        Plate
    Jack and Jill
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
    The great race
        Page 96
        Page 97
    Fables
        Page 98
    The knight and the page
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
    Budsy, the giant
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
    An American king David
        Page 109
        Page 110
    Watching for an otter
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
    Christmas at Number One, Crawlin Place
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
    The four sunbeams
        Page 117
        Page 118
    Paul and the goblin
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
    My "sunflower's" fan
        Page 125
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
    How the elephants turned back
        Page 129
    Abram Morrison
        Page 129
        Page 130
    A beginning
        Page 131
        Page 132
        Page 133
    The little first man and the little first woman
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
        Page 137
    Among the lakes
        Page 138
        Page 139
        Page 140
        Page 141
        Page 142
        Page 143
    The story of Pegasus
        Page 144
        Page 145
    Mother Goose and her family: A Christmas recreation
        Page 146
        Page 147
        Page 148
        Page 149
    The mystery of the seed
        Page 150
    Telegraph-boys
        Page 151
        Page 152
        Page 153
        Page 154
        Page 155
        Page 156
        Page 157
        Page 158
    How cruel is fate!
        Page 159
    The strange adventures of a wood-sled
        Page 160
        Page 161
        Page 162
        Page 163
        Page 164
        Page 165
        Page 166
    Dressing Mary Ann
        Page 167
        Page 168
        Page 169
    How Joe brought down the house
        Page 170
        Page 171
    The funny mandarin
        Page 172
        Page 173
    Thorvaldsen
        Page 174
        Page 175
        Page 176
        Page 177
        Page 178
        Page 179
    Chronicles of the Molbos
        Page 180
        Page 181
        Page 182
        Page 183
        Page 184
        Page 185
    Jack-in-the-pulpit
        Page 186
        Page 187
    Some new books for young people
        Page 188
    The letter-box
        Page 188
        Page 189
    The riddle-box
        Page 190
        Page 191
        Page 192
    Back Matter
        Back Matter
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
    Spine
        Spine
Full Text






























lA- --
























3vP f
7; .... ;'_- ,,'..,.. ,, ....; ^ : .;.f 1. ^ ^













-um _. yJ









SI "r ,,,,!,





:-














MAKING MAMMA'S CHRISTMAS PRESENT.


ENGRAVED BY G. KRUELL FROM A PICTURE BY KNAUS. BY PERMISSION OF GOUPIL & CO.


I


:



















ST. NICHOLAS.




DECEMBER, 1879.


No. 2.


[Copyright, 1879, by Scribner & Co.]




JACK AND JILL.

BY LOUISA M. ALCOTT.


JACK and Jill went up the hill
To coast with fun and laughter;
Jack fell down and broke his crown,
And Jill came tumbling after.

CHAPTER I.
THE CATASTROPHE.
CLEAR the hill-a was the general cry on a
bright December afternoon, when all the boys and
girls of Harmony village were out enjoying the
first good snow of the season. Up and down three
long coasts they went as fast as legs and sleds could
carry them. One smooth path led into the meadow,
and here the little folk congregated; one swept
across the pond, where skaters were darting about
like water-bugs; and the third, from the very top
of the steep hill, ended abruptly at a rail fence on
the high bank above the road. There was a group
of lads and lasses sitting or leaning on this fence to
rest after an exciting race, and, as they reposed,
they amused themselves with criticising their mates,
still absorbed in this most delightful of out-door
sports.
Here comes Frank Minot, looking as solemn
as a judge," cried one, as a tall fellow of sixteen
spun by, with a set look about the mouth and a
keen sparkle of the eyes, fixed on the distant goal
with a do-or-die expression.
'"Here's Molly Loo
And little Boo! "
sang out another; and down came a girl with flying
hair, carrying a small boy behind her, so fat that
VOL. VII.-7.


his short legs stuck out from the sides, and his
round face looked over her shoulder like a full
moon.
'"There 's Gus Burton; doesn't he go it? and
such a very long boy whizzed by, that it looked
almost as if his heels were at the top of the hill
when his head was at the bottom !
Hurrah for Ed Devlin and a general shout
greeted a sweet-faced lad, with a laugh on his lips,
a fine color on his brown cheek, and a gay word
for every girl he passed.
Laura and Lotty keep to the safe coast into the
meadow, and Molly Loo is the only girl that dares
to try this long one to the pond. I would n't for
the world; the ice can't be strong yet, though it is
cold enough to freeze one's nose off," said a timid
damsel, who sat hugging a post and screaming
whenever a mischievous lad shook the fence.
"No, she is n't; here's Jack and Jill going like


fury."


"Clear the track
For gentle Jack! "


sang the boys, who had rhymes and nicknames for
nearly every one.
Down came a gay red sled, bearing a boy who
seemed all smile and sunshine, so white were his
teeth, so golden was his hair, so bright and happy
his whole air. Behind him clung a little gypsy of a
girl, with black eyes and hair, cheeks as red as her
hood, and a face full of fun and sparkle, as she
waved Jack's blue tippet like a banner with one
hand, and held on with the other.


VOL. VII.


~







JACK AND JILL.


Jill goes wherever Jack does, and he lets her.
He 's such a good-natured chap, he can't say No."
"To a girl," slyly added one of the boys, who
had wished to borrow the red sled, and had been
politely refused because Jill wanted it.
"He 's the nicest boy in the world, for he never
gets mad," said the timid young lady, recalling the
many times Jack had shielded her from the terrors
which beset her path to school, in the shape of
cows, dogs, and boys who made faces and called
her "'Fraid-cat."
"He does n't dare to get mad with Jill, for she 'd
take his head off in two minutes if he did," growled
Joe Flint, still smarting from the rebuke Jill had
given him for robbing the little ones of their safe
coast because he fancied it.
She would n't! she 's a dear You need n't
sniff at her because she is poor. She 's ever so
much brighter than you are, or she would n't
always be at the head of your class, old Joe," cried
the girls, standing by their friend with a unanimity
which proved what a favorite she was.
Joe subsided with as scornful a curl to his nose
as its chilly state permitted, and Merry Grant intro-
duced a subject of general interest by asking
abruptly:
Who is going to the candy-scrape to-night? "
"All of us. Frank invited the whole set, and
we shall have a tiptop time. We always do at the
Minots'," cried Sue, the timid trembler.
Jack said there was a barrel of molasses in the
house, so there would be enough for all to eat and
some to carry away. They know how to do things
handsomely," and the speaker licked his lips, as
if already tasting the feast in store for him.
"Mrs. Minot is a mother worth having," said
Molly Loo, coming up with Boo on the sled; and
she knew what it was to need a mother, for she had
none, and tried to care for the little brother with
maternal love and patience.
She is just as sweet as she can be declared
Merry, enthusiastically.
Especially when she has a candy-scrape," said
Joe, trying to be amiable, lest he should be left
out of the party.
Whereat they all laughed and went gayly away
for a farewell frolic, as the sun was setting and the
keen wind nipped fingers and toes as well as noses.
Down they went, one after another, on the
various coasts,-solemn Frank, long Gus, gallant
Ed, i1 i. Molly Loo, pretty Laura and Lotty,
grumpy Joe, sweet-faced Merry with Sue shrieking
wildly behind her, gay little Jack and gypsy Jill,
always together,-one and all bubbling over with
the innocent jollity born of healthful exercise.
People passing in the road below looked up and
smiled involuntarily at the red-cheeked lads and


lasses, filling the frosty air with peals of laughter
and cries of triumph as they flew by in every con-
ceivable attitude; for the fun was at its height now,
and the oldest and gravest observers felt a glow of
pleasure as they looked, remembering their own
young days.
"Jack, take me down that coast. Joe said I
would n't dare to do it, so I must," commanded
Jill, as they paused for breath after the long trudge
up hill.*
I guess I would n't. It is very bumpy and ends
in a big drift; not half so nice as this one. Hop
on and we'll have a good spin across the pond,"
and Jack brought Thunderbolt" round with a
skillful swing and an engaging air that would have
won obedience from anybody but willful Jill.
It is very nice, but I won't be told I don't
dare' by any boy in the world. If you are afraid,
I '11 go alone." And, before he could speak, she
had snatched the rope from his hand, thrown her-
self upon the sled, and was off, helter-skelter, down
the most dangerous coast on the hill-side.
She did not get far, however; for, starting in a
hurry, she did not guide her steed with care, and
the red charger landed her in the snow half-way
down, where she lay laughing till Jack came to
pick her up.
If you will go, I'll take you down all right.
I 'm not afraid, for I 've done it a dozen times with
the other fellows ; but we gave it up because it is
short and bad," he said, still good-natured, though
a little hurt at the charge of cowardice; for Jack
was as brave as a little lion, and with the best sort
of bravery,-the courage to do right.
So it is; but I must do it a few times, or Joe
will plague me and spoil my fun to-night," answered
Jill, shaking her skirts and rubbing her blue hands,
wet and cold with the snow.
Here, put these on; I never use them. Keep
them if they fit; I only carry them to please
mother." And Jack pulled out a pair of red mit-
tens with the air of a boy used to giving away.
They are lovely warm, and they do fit. Must
be too small for your paws, so I '11 knit you a new
pair for Christmas, and make you wear them, too,"
said Jill, putting on the mittens with a nod of
thanks, and ending her speech with a stamp of
her rubber boots to enforce her threat.
Jack laughed, and up they trudged to the spot
whence the three coasts diverged.
"Now, which will you have?" he asked, with a
warning look in the honest blue eyes which often
unconsciously controlled naughty Jill against her
will.
That one and the red mitten pointed firmly
to the perilous path just tried.
"You will do it ? "


* Jill, of course, was not her real name, but had been given because of her friendship with Jack, who so admired Janie Pecq's spirit and fun.


90


[DECEMBER,







JACK AND JILL.


I will! "
Come on, then, and hold tight."
Jack's smile was gone now, and he waited with-
out a word while Jill tucked herself up, then took
his place in front, and off they went on the brief,
breathless trip straight into the drift by the fence
below.
"I don't see anything very awful in that. Come
up and have another. Joe is watching us, and I'd
like to show him that we are n't afraid of any-
thing," said Jill, with a defiant glance at a distant
boy, who had paused to watch the descent.
It is a regular go-bang,' if that is what you
like," answered Jack, as they plowed their way up
again.
It is. You boys think girls like little mean
coasts without any fun or danger in them, as if we
could n't be brave and strong as well as you. Give
me three go-bangs and then we '11 stop. My tunm-
ble does n't count, so give me two more and then
I 'll be good."
Jill took her seat as she spoke, and looked up
with such a rosy, pleading face that Jack gave in
at once, and down they went again, raising a cloud
of glittering snow-dust as they reined up in fine
style with their feet on the fence.
It 's just splendid Now, one more !" cried
Jill, excited by the cheers of a sleighing party pass-
ing below.
Proud of his skill, Jack marched back, resolved
to make the third "go" the crowning achievement
of the afternoon, while Jill pranced after him as
lightly as if the big boots were the famous seven-
leagued ones, and chattering about the candy-
scrape and whether there would be nuts or not.
So full were they of this important question, that
they piled on hap-hazard, and started off still talk-
ing so busily that Jill forgot to hold tight and Jack
to steer carefully. Alas, for the candy-scrape that
never was to be! alas, for poor "'Thunderbolt"
blindly setting forth on the last trip he ever made !
and oh, alas, for Jack and Jill, who willfully chose
the wrong road and ended their fun for the winter !
No one knew how it happened, but instead of
landing in the drift, or at the fence, there was a
great crash against the bars, a dreadful plunge off
the steep bank, a sudden scattering of girl, boy,
sled, fence, earth and snow, all about the road,
two cries, and then silence.
"I knew they 'd do it!" and, standing on the
post where he had perched, Joe waved his arms
and shouted: "Smash-up Smash-up! Run!
Run !" like a raven croaking over a battle-field
when the fight was done.
Down rushed boys and girls ready to laugh or
cry, as the case might be, for accidents will happen
on the best regulated coasting-grounds. They


found Jack sitting up looking about him with a
queer, dazed expression, while an ugly cut on the
forehead was bleeding in a way which sobered the
boys and frightened the girls half out of their
wits.
He 's killed He 's killed wailed Sue, hid-
ing her face and beginning to cry.
"No, I 'm not. I 'll be all right when I get my
breath. Where 's Jill?" asked Jack, stoutly,
though still too giddy to see straight.
The group about him opened, and his comrade
in misfortune was discovered lying quietly in the
snow with all the pretty color shocked out of her
face by the fall, and winking rapidly, as if half
stunned. But no wounds appeared, and when
asked if she was dead, she answered in a vague sort
of way:
I guess not. Is Jack hurt?"
Broken his head," croaked Joe, stepping aside,
that she might behold the fallen hero vainly trying
to look calm and cheerful with red drops running
down his cheek and a lump on his forehead.
Jill shut her eyes and waved the girls away, say-
ing, faintly :
Never mind me. Go and see to him."
Don't I 'm all right," and Jack tried to get
up in order to prove that headers off a bank were
mere trifles to him ; but at the first movement of
the left leg he uttered a sharp cry of pain, and
would have fallen if Gus had not caught and gently
laid him down.
What is it, old chap?" asked Frank, kneeling
beside him, really alarmed now, the hurts seeming
worse than mere bumps, which were common affairs
among base-ball players, and not worth much notice.
I lit on my head, but I guess I 've broken my
leg. Don't frighten mother," and Jack held fast
to Frank's arm as he looked into the anxious face
bent over him; for, though the elder tyrannized
over the younger, the brothers loved one another
dearly.
Lift his head, Frank, while I tie my handker-
chief round to stop the bleeding," said a quiet
voice as Ed Devlin laid a handful of soft snow on
the wound; and Jack's face brightened as he
turned to thank the one big boy who never was
rough with the small ones.
Better get him right home," advised Gus, who
stood by looking on, with his little sisters Laura
and Lotty clinging to him.
"Take Jill, too, for it 's my opinion she has
broken her back. She can't stir one bit," announced
Molly Loo, with a droll air of triumph, as if rather
pleased than otherwise to have her patient hurt the
worse; for Jack's wound was very effective, and
:.!..11 had a taste for the tragic.
This cheerful statement was greeted with a wail


91







JACK AND JILL.


from Susan and howls from Boo, who had earned
that name from the ease with which, on all occa-
sions, he could burst into a dismal roar without
shedding a tear, and stop as suddenly as he began.
"Oh, I am so sorry It was my fault; I should n't
have let her do it," said Jack, distressfully.
It was all my fault; Imadehim. IfI 'd broken
every bone I 've got, it would serve me right. Don't
help me, anybody; I 'm a wicked thing, and I
deserve to lie here and freeze and starve and die "
cried Jill, piling up punishments in her remorseful
anguish of mind and body.
But we want to help you, and we can settle
about blame by and by," whispered Merry with a
kiss; for she adored dashing Jill, and never would
own that she did wrong.
"Here come the wood-sleds just in time. I'l


cut away and tell one of them to hurry up." And,
freeing himself from his sisters, Gus went off at a
great pace, proving that the long legs carried a
sensible head as well as a kind heart.
As the first sled approached, an air of relief per-
vaded the agitated party, for it was driven by Mr.
Grant, a big, benevolent-looking farmer, who sur-
veyed the scene with the sympathetic interest of a
man and a father.


Had a little accident, have you ? Well, that's
a pretty likely place for a spill. Tried it once
myself and broke the bridge of my nose," he said,
tapping that massive feature with a laugh which
showed that fifty years of farming had not taken
all the boy out of him. Now then, let's see
about this little chore, and lively, too, for it 's late
and these parties oughter be housed," he added,
throwing down his whip, pushing back his cap, and
nodding at the wounded with a re-assuring smile.
Jill first, please, sir," said Ed, the gentle squire
of dames, spreading his overcoat on the sled as
eagerly as ever Raleigh laid down his velvet cloak
for a queen to walk upon.
"All right. Jest lay easy, my dear, and I wont
hurt you a mite if I can help it."
Careful as Mr. Grant was, Jill could have


screamed with pain as he lifted her; but she set
her lips and bore it with the courage of a little
Indian; for all the lads were looking on, and Jill
was proud to show that a girl could bear as much
as a boy. She hid her face in the coat as soon as
she was settled, to hide the tears that would come,
and by the time Jack was placed beside her, she
had quite a little cistern of salt water stored up in
Ed's coat-pocket.


92


[DECEMBER,


AFTER THE ACCIDENT.






JACK AND JILL.


Then the mournful procession set forth, Mr.
Grant driving the oxen, the girls clustering about
the interesting invalids on the sled, while the boys
came behind like a guard of honor, leaving the
hill deserted by all but Joe, who had returned to
hover about the fatal fence, and poor "Thunder-
bolt," split asunder, lying on the bank to mark the
spot where the great catastrophe occurred.

CHAPTER II.
TWO PENITENTS.
JACK and Jill never cared to say much about the
night which followed the first coasting party of the
season, for it was the saddest and the hardest their
short lives had ever known. Jack suffered most in
body; for the setting of the broken leg was such
a painful job, that it wrung several sharp cries from
him, and made Frank, who helped, quite weak
and white with sympathy, when it was over. The
wounded head ached dreadfully, and the poor boy
felt as if bruised all over, for he had the worst of
the fall. Dr. Whiting spoke cheerfully of the case,
and made so light of broken legs, that Jack inno-
cently asked if he should not be up in a week
or so.
Well, no; it usually takes twenty-one days for
bones to knit, and young ones make quick work of
it," answered the doctor with a last scientific tuck
to the various bandages, which made Jack feel like
a hapless chicken trussed for the spit.
Twenty-one days Three whole weeks in bed !
I should n't call that quick work," groaned the dis-
mayed patient, whose experience of illness had
been limited.
It is a forty days' job, young man, and you
must make up your mind to bear it like a hero.
We will do our best; but next time, look before you
leap, and save your bones. Good-night; you '11
feel better in the morning. No jigs, remember."
And off went the busy doctor for another look at
Jill, who had been ordered to bed and left to rest
till the other case was attended to.
Any one would have thought Jack's plight much
the worse, but the doctor looked more sober over
Jill's hurt back than the boy's compound fractures;
and the poor little girl had a very bad quarter of
an hour while he was trying to discover the extent
of the injury.
Keep her quiet and time will show how much
damage is done," was all he said in her hearing;
but if she had known that he told Mrs. Pecq he
feared serious consequences, she would not have
wondered why her mother cried as she rubbed
the numb limbs and placed the pillows so tenderly.
Jill suffered most in her mind; for only a sharp
stab of pain now and then reminded her of her


body; but her remorseful little soul gave her no
peace for thinking of Jack, whose bruises and break-
ages her lively fancy painted in the darkest colors.
Oh, don't be good to me, Mammy; I made him


JILL AND HER MOTHER.
go, and now he 's hurt dreadfully, and may die;
and it is all my fault, and everybody ought to hate
me," sobbed poor Jill, as a neighbor left the room
after reporting in a minute manner how Jack
screamed when his leg was set, and how Frank
was found white as a sheet, with his head under
the pump, while Gus restored the tone of his
friend's nerves, by pumping as if the house was on
fire.
Whist, my lass, and go to sleep. Take a sup
of the good wine Mrs. Minot sent, for you are as
cold as a clod, and it breaks my heart to see my
Janie so."
"I can't go to sleep; I don't see how Jack's
mother could send me anything when I 've half
killed him. I want to be cold and ache and have
horrid things done to me. Oh, if I ever get out of
this bed I 'll be the best girl in the world, to pay
for this. See if I aint! and Jill gave such a de-
cided nod that her tears flew all about the pillow
like a shower.
You 'd better begin at once, for you wont get
out of that bed for a long while, I 'm afraid, my
lamb," sighed her mother, unable to conceal the
anxiety that lay so heavy on her heart.


93


ZS79-1







JACK AND JILL.


Am I hurt' Mammy ? "
"I fear it, lass."
I 'm. of it; I ought to be worse than Jack,
and I hope I am. I 'll bear it well, and be good
right away. Sing, Mammy, and I '11 try to go to
sleep to please you."
:\~ shut her eyes with sudden and unusual meek-
ness, and before her mother had crooned half a
dozen verses of an old ..I the little black head
lay still upon the ,.. and repentant Jill was
fast asleep with a red mitten in her hand.
Mrs. Pecq was an Englishwoman who had
left Montreal at the death of her husband, a
French Canadian, and had come to live in the tiny
cottage which stood near Mrs. Minot's big house,
separated only by an arbor-vitae hedge. A sad,
silent person, who had seen better days, but said
nothing about them, and earned her bread by sew-
ing, nursing, work in the factory, or -.'. .. that
came in her way, being anxious to educate her
little girl. Now, as she sat beside the bed in the
small, poor room, that hope almost died within her,
for here was the child laid up for i... probably,
and the one ambition and pleasure of the solitary
woman's life was to see Janie Pecq's name over
all the high marks in the school-reports she proudly
brought home.
She '11 win through, please Heaven, and I 'I1
see my lass a gentlewoman yet, thanks to the
good friend in yonder, who will never let her want
for care," -.1. .: 1.r the poor soul, looking out into
the gloom where a long ray of light streamed from
the great house warm and comfortable upon the
S, like the spirit of kindness which made the
inmates friends and neighbors.
Meantime, that other mother sat by her boy's
bed as anxious but with better hope, for Mrs.
Minot made trouble sweet and helpful by the way
in which she bore it; and her boys were learning
of her how to find silver linings to the clouds that
must come into the bluest skies.
Jack lay wide awake, with hot cheek, and throb-
bing head, and all sorts of queer sensations in the
broken leg. The soothing potion he had taken
did not affect him yet, and he tried to 1. .. ;. the
weary time by wondering who came and went
below. Gentle rings at the front door, and mys-
terious tapping at the back, had been going on all
the evening, for the report of the accident had
grown astonishingly in its travels, and at eight
o'clock the general belief was that Jack had broken
both legs, fractured his .i. .i. and lay at the point
of death, while Jill had dislocated one shoulder,
and was bruised black and blue from top to toe.
Such being the case, it is no wonder that anxious
playmates and neighbors haunted the door-steps
of the two houses, and that offers of help poured in.


Frank, having tied up the belt and put a notice
in the lighted side-window, saying, "Go to the
back door," sat in the parlor, supported by his
chum, Gus, while Ed played softly on the piano,
hoping to lull Jack to sleep. It did soothe him,
for a very sweet friendship existed between the tall
youth and the lad of thirteen. Ed went with the
big l:;.. -. but always had a kind word for the
smaller boys; and affectionate Jack, never ashamed
to show his love, was often seen with his arm round
Ed's shoulder, as they sat together in the pleasant
red parlors, where all the young people were wel
come and Frank was king.
"Is the pain any easier, my i .i..?" asked
Mrs. Minot, leaning over the pillow, where the
golden head lay quiet for a moment.
Not much. I forget it listening to the music.
Dear old Ed is playing all my favorite tunes, and it
is very nice. I guess he feels [..il.. sorry about
me."
i, -. all do. Frank could not talk of it. Gus
would n't go home to tea, he was so anxious to do
something for us. Joe brought back the bits of
your poor sled, because he did n't like to leave
them lying round for any one to carry off, he
said, and you might like them to remember your
fall by."
Jack tried to laugh, but it was rather a failure,
though he managed to say, .,- i f :
That was good of old Joe. I would n't lend
him 'Thunderbolt' for fear he'd hurt it. Couldn't
have smashed it up better than I did, could he?
Don't think I want any pieces to remind me of that
fall. I just wish you 'd seen us, mother It must
have been a splendid spill,-to look at, any way."
"No, thank you; I 'd rather not even try to
imagine my precious boy going heels over head
down that dreadful hill. No more pranks of that
sort for some time, Jacky," and Mrs. Minot looked
rather pleased on the whole to have her venture-
some bird safe under her maternal wing.
"No coasting till some time in January!
What a fool I was to do it! Go-bangs always are
dangerous, and that's the fun of the thing. Oh
dear!"
Jack threw his arms about and frowned darkly,
but never said a word of the willful little 1.
who had led him into mischief; he was too much of
a .i,. ,i, .. to tell on a girl, though it cost him
an effort to hold his tongue, because Mamma's
good opinion was very precious to him, and he
longed to explain. She knew all about it, however,
for Jill had been carried into the house ,i,-:
herself for the mishap, and even in the midst of
her own anxiety for her boy, Mrs. Minot under-
stood the state of the case without more words. So
she now set his mind at rest by saying, quietly:


94






JACK AND JILL.


"Foolish fun, as you see, dear. Another time,
stand firm and help Jill to control her headstrong
will. When you learn to yield less and she more,
there will be no scrapes like this to try us all."
"I '11 remember, mother. I hate not to be
obliging, but I guess it would have saved us lots of
trouble if I 'd said No in the beginning. I tried
to, but she would go. Poor Jill! I '11 take better
-care of her next time. Is she very ill, Mamma?"
"I can tell you better to-morrow. She does
not suffer much, and we hope there is no great
harm done."
I wish she had a nice place like this to be sick
in. It must be very poky in those little rooms,"
said Jack, as his eye roved round the large cham-
ber where he lay so cozy, warm and pleasant, with
the gay chintz curtains draping doors and windows,
the rosy carpet, comfortable chairs, and a fire glow-
ing in the grate.
I shall see that she suffers for nothing, so
don't trouble your kind heart about her to-night,
but try to sleep; that's what you need," answer-
ed his mother, wetting the bandage on his fore-
head, and putting a cool hand on the flushed
cheeks.
Jack obediently closed his eyes and listened
while the boys sang "The Sweet By and By,"


softening their rough young voices for his sake till
the music was as soft as a lullaby. He lay so still
his mother thought he was off, but presently a tear
slipped out and rolled down the red cheek, wetting
her hand as it passed.
My blessed boy, what is it?" she whispered,
with a touch and a tone that only mothers have.
The blue eyes opened wide, and Jack's own sun-
shiny smile broke through the tears that filled
them as he said with a sniff:
Everybody is so good to me I can't help mak-
ing a noodle of myself."
You are not a noodle !" cried Mamma, resent-
ing the epithet. One of the sweet things about
pain and sorrow is that they show us how well we
are loved, how much kindness there is in the world,
and how easily we can make others happy in the
same way when they need help and sympathy.
Don't forget that, little son."
Don't see how I can, with you to show me how
nice it is. Kiss me good-night, and then I '11 be
good,' as Jill says."
Nestling his head upon his mother's arm, Jack
lay quiet till, lulled by the music of his mates, he
drowsed away into the dreamless sleep which is
Nurse Nature's healthiest soothing sirup for weary
souls and bodies.


(To be condtimced )


I knew my letters well,
So I might learn to read and spell;
I 'd find them on my pretty card,
If they were not so very hard.


Now S is crooked-don't you see?
SAnd G is making mouths at me,
And O is something like a ball,-
It has n't any end at all.


And all the rest are-my so queer!
They look like crooked sticks-oh dear!
Ma counted six, and twenty more;
What do they have so many for ?


1879.]


95







96


EVERY bird, insect and flower, within a hundred
miles, had been i. Ii:.,. about it all summer. The
leaves were so excited that they could n't stand
still, and even the cross old crows, who do nothing
but scold, had promised their young ones, that if
they would be very good little crows for a whole
month, they should be taken to see the race.


disorder, which you know is the most important
thing in the whole race; and, for my part, I greatly
approve their taste in choosing him."
"Well, if you think so, I've i.. -l ,i. more to
say; but if I get a chance, I shall tell them what I
think of him."
With that she flounced off, leaving her com-


"Yes," said one wily old owl to the other, as
they retired for the day; yes, I heard one of the
District Telegraph mice say that the Wind was
going to be umpire."
"Humph," returned the other, "the Wind! they
just choose him because he blows so much. I tell
you, my dear, if you want to make a stir in the
world, all you have to do is to get on the right
side of the Wind; he 'll make you fly, I can tell
you. "
That is just the reason they make him
umpire," replied the first; "he will urge on the
laggards, they say, and keep things in general


panion to wonder over the peculiarities of fowl
nature, as she retired to her nest in an old well;
where the moon made faces at her over the brink.
The race was to be between the Leaves. Every
tree in the forest sent a delegate, and it was whis-
pered by a gossiping young squirrel that the rivalry
in costume would be something perfectly wonder-
ful.
Old Oak's daughter," he said, "who has been
dancing and flirting all summer, is to appear in an
elegant maroon dress just from Robin Redbreast's;
and all because Monsieur Jack Frost says, maroon
is going to be fashionable this winter. But it is


(DECEMBER,


THE GREAT RACE.



THE GREAT RACE.

BY F. E. T.






THE GREAT RACE.


r
.6---a


- absurd of her
Sto try, for, of
course, she '11
never win the
race!"
kp At last, the
day arrived,
and afiner day
for a race had never been
seen. Monsieur Frost had


a, been out that morn-
ing, talking about
fashions, to such an extent, that every
body's cheeks were very red, and some
had even blushed up to their noses. I
suppose it was because their clothes
were not in the latest style; I'm sure I
don't know any other reason.
Old Wind was up bright and early,


too, and


making such a noise and confusion in sweeping off
the course, that no one could help knowing he was
going to be umpire.
The crowd began to assemble long before the
race began, and, when the time arrived, the grand


stand was so packed that some of the nobility were
obliged to have toad-stools set in the aisle for
them. These being too hard for many of the
ladies (who still insisted upon :, -; i, the mana-
ger, Mr. Fall Season, ordered several of the Dis-


trict Telegraph mice to lie down as
seats; they proved very soft, and the
ladies, now being comfortable, began
to talk with
their friends.
"Dear me,"
said Lady Dai-
sy tothestylish
Lord Rabbit, who sat next
to her, do look at that
snobbish young Maple!
I can tell, by the conceited
way in which he leans,
against that cobweb, that
he thinks he is going to
win the race. I hear he is a great trial to his
parents, with his extravagant habits; just see his
green waistcoat and yellow knee-breeches; I 'm
thankful my sons dress plainly! "
Oh, he 's young yet, he 's
young yet," said Lord Rabbit, as
he smoothed down his soft fur waist-
coat and thought of his own silly
youth.
-" Now, there's his cousin, young
Ash," said Lady Daisy, "with a
new suit of crimson and brown. I fully ap-
prove of him, as they say his father is a million-
aire."
Lord Rabbit was just going to reply, when the
blue-bell sounded the signal to start, and the race
began.


And what a race it was !
Helter-skelter, away they went! over and over !
leaping high into the air, then falling low into the
dust, until old Wind, getting very excited, jumped


up, and, shouting that he was umpire no longer,
rushed after them.
They reached the goal, but could not stop, for


97


1879.]1






98


FABLES.


old Wind was behind them, and the Trees, and
the Birds, and the very Air, shouted:
"He 's mad! he's mad !!"

Little Ted Williams sat on a flower-pot, making
a jolly mud-pie, when he chanced to look up, and
lo in the distance he saw a great heap of Leaves
blown by the Wind. As they passed him he caught


[DECEMBER,


the foremost of them,-a deep-red oak-leaf,-and
put it in his hat. His mother said the color of it
was maroon, the fashionable shade this winter;
but nobody heard the Birds and the Flowers say
to a little gray squirrel, who was sitting on the
rail fence:
Old Oak's daughter won the race, after all.
Just let your cousin know, will you ?"


FABLES.

BY HOWARD PYLE.


"A PERSON OF CONSEQUENCE, CAREFULLY FED AND ATTENDED TO."


THE PIG AND THE RAT.
A PIG, so fat that it could hardly move, once
lolling indolently in its sty, saw a poor, half-starved
rat, that, with much timid alertness, stole from its
hiding-place, and after seizing one of the many
grains of corn that lay scattered around, quickly
escaped with his prize, and with very much the air
of a beggar who had asked for something to eat,
and had then run away, ashamed to be seen.
You poor creature," grunted the pig, "what
a life you lead; half starved and half frozen Be-
hold me now Here I am,-a person of conse-
quence, carefully fed and attended to, with every
morning fresh, sweet straw thrown to me to make
my bed soft and warm. As for you, poor creat-


ure, it is only at the risk of your life, by constant
labor and struggles with your fellow-creatures, and
even by beggary, to speak of nothing worse, that
you can contrive to live at all."
Please to recollect," said the rat, as he paused
for a moment at the mouth of his hole, "when
you heap your pity upon me, that you receive
favors and benefits not on account of the love your
master bears you, nor on account of your own
worthiness, but because of the use which he in-
tends making of you, when he has fattened you up
to his liking. As for me, I do not live in constant
fear of the butcher's knife, and I think it is likely
that I shall keep my place in the world, poor as
it is, much longer than you will keep yours."







THE KNIGHT AND THE PAGE.


99


THE LAZY CHIMNEY.
A CHIMNEY, feeling proud of the important posi-
tion it held, refused to perform its duty.
Here am I," it said, proudly, an important
and indispensable portion of this house to which I
belong. Shall I, then, important as I am, con-
tinue to carry off the foul smoke, that even the very
logs in the fire-place refuse to retain? Never!"
Accordingly, the following day, instead of carrying
off the smoke as usual, it sent it disdainfully into
the house, nearly strangling the family within.
The master of the house soon perceiving where
the fault lay, thus addressed the chimney :
Since you refuse to fulfill the office that is
required of you, and as you are neither an object
of beauty nor an adornment to the house, you will
soon discover that a useless object has no place
in this world." Then calling his servants together,
they soon demolished the chimney, and in its
stead erected one that was more willing to per-
form a chimney's duty.

THE SAPLING AND THE SYCAMORE.
A TENDER sapling, to protect itself from the
various perils attendant upon its existence, had


grown closely to the trunk of a large and powerful
sycamore, finding there security from danger.
One day, however, a terrible storm arose, and
the sycamore, in spite of its struggles, was hurled
prostrate upon the earth. In its fall it not only
crushed the sapling beneath its huge bulk, but tore
its very roots from the earth where it grew.
"Alas!" said the dying sapling, how foolish
it is to place utter dependence upon the strength
of another !"
THE WIND AND THE MAN.
THE wind observed with amusement the vast
labor with which a man built himself a house.
Ho ho !" waved the wind, as it dashed down
upon the laborer, do you expect that puny edifice
to protect you from the elements ? Behold I with
a breath can destroy it."
Hereupon, accumulating the utmost amount of
its power, it dashed down upon the house with a
roar, and utterly demolished it.
It is easy for you to criticise, and not very
difficult for you to destroy my unfinished work,"
said the man, standing sadly in the midst of his
ruined cabin, but, now that you have thrown
it to the earth, can you erect a better? "


THE KNIGHT AND THE PAGE.
(A Story ofa Long Ago Christmas.)

BY MARTHA C. HOWE.


IN leather volume, old and quaint,
I read, one Christmas-tide,
Stories of lady and knight and saint
Who loved and suffered and died;
But one of a simple and noble child
Was sweeter than all beside;-

A little page in castle hall
Fair-faced, with golden hair,
Who waited his lady's lightest call
And stood at the baron's chair;
Or sang, with silvery voice and sweet,
And chanted the evening prayer.

And life, in the castle, was bright and gay
With chase and feast and dance, ,
One hundred good knights held courtly play,
And tilted with gleaming lance,-
When tidings came of -. ..l',,, foes,
And war with haughty France.


Then rode the knights from the castle gate
In glitter of martial pride,
Ready to meet the warrior's fate
Or stand at the victor's side;
And within the walls, save page and serf
There were none, to shield or guide.

In the lady's bower was heard no song,
All hearts were chill with dread;
The weary days, how sad and long !
Laughter and light were fled,
And when they chanted the evening prayer
They were thinking of their dead.

Darker and deeper grew their woe
As Christmas-eve drew near;
For the baron's fiercest, deadliest foe,
With many a flashing spear,
Rode up and clattered the castle gate
With mocking words of cheer.


1879.]






THE KNIGHT AND THE PAGE.


" Good thirty men behind me ride,
The bravest in the land;
I come to break your baron's pride,
And offer a mailed hand.
Will ye be crushed in its iron grasp?
Or tamed to my command?


" Ye are but women few and lorn;
Your frightedd menials flee;-
Ho, lady vain thy lofty scorn.
Bring down the castle key !
Come down and plead for leave to live,-
Upon thy bended knee "


Then stood she up before them all,
That lady brave and true:
" So ye besiege defenseless wall,
And war with women few?
I will not yield my castle key,
Cowards, whatever ye do "


The knight laughed loud in bitter hate:-
Fine words, my lady bold;
To-night, before thy castle gate,
We feast and revel hold.
When the matin bells of Christmas chime
Know that thy doom is tolled."


That night, within the lofty hall,
Fair faces blanched with fear:
" Must we in vain for mercy call!
Is there no succor near ?"
What prayers rose up that dreary night
Broken with sob and tear!


In the cold gray light of Christmas morn,
They wait the summons grim -
What music on the air is borne,
Thrilling the silence dim?
It is the voice of the little page,
Singing a Christmas hymn !


" O Christ, upon whose natal morn
Rejoicing angels sang,
When o'er the blue Judaan hills
Their heavenly anthems rang!


' 0 Christ, to whom with gifts from far
Came shepherd, sage and king,-
Our choicest gifts on this glad morn,
Our hearts, we humbly bring!


" Grant us to follow Thee in love,
Nor from Thy path to stray,
Thy blessed feet have gone before
And glorified the way.


" We join the angel choirs that sing
This happy morn again,
Glory to God the Lord most High,
Good-will and peace to men!' "


There were no faltering tones of fear
In all that joyous song;
The childish voice rang loud and clear
The vaulted halls along,
And trembling ones who heard the strain
Grew comforted and strong.


But soon below the castle wall
Pealed out a trumpet blast,
And hoarsely rose Sir Ronald's call:
Thine hour hath come, at last!
Now yield me up thy castle key;
The respite-time is past!"


The cruel words still filled the air
When, with a valiant grace,
The little page sped down the stair
The dreaded foe to face.
The castle key gleamed in his belt
As on he went apace.


Great shouts of taunting mockery came
From the armed band below.
" Ha fallen house and haughty dame !
End all your glories so?"
But Ronald shrank before the child,
As from a sudden blow;


Then sternly spake: There is no time
For quip or parley now;
The matin bells have ceased to chime,
And Ronald keeps his vow!
Go tell thy haughty lady there
Her doomed head to bow."


" My lord,"-the voice was low and clear,-
One word to thee I bring;
Not from a woman white with fear,
But from the Heavenly King,
A message which thou well mayst hear
Before thou do this thing!


I00


[DECEMBER,







THE KNIGHT AND THE PAGE. IOI








iV

:0. P. I,-











Fiji
-1:14 ,, 014


Ih I




I#II; ll p. ld i,
I III "




4,,





,... lid
r 4:


7 4
"" $ x,


"THE CHILDISH VOICE SANG LOUD AND CLEAR, THE VAULTED HALLS ALONG."

" But if the holy Christmas hour Set but my lady free,
Brings no kind thought to thee, And I will bless thee e'en for death,
My little life is in thy power, Nor ask for liberty;


~t~I_ .-.






THE CHRISTMAS STAR.


" Do with me as thou wilt, my lord,-
Here is the castle key,-
Yet give me first thy knightly word
To set my lady free !
Our King hath given me this trust;
Spend all thy wrath on me."

The knight bowed low his haughty head
Upon his mailed hand;
He who before a foe ne'er fled,
Nor failed in fight to stand,
Sat faint and white before them all,
Unanswering and unmanned!

Slowly stretched forth a kindly arm,
The voice grew low and mild;
E'en hate could find no power to harm


The faithful, dauntless child.
" Live on, my boy, to sing again
Thy praises undefiled "

He stood before the wondering boy,
And raised the massive key:
" I give thee Christmas cheer and joy,
Life for thy friends and thee!
The lady hath her liberty,
Thy hand hath set her free "

The maidens cowering in the hall
Hear a loud trumpet blare,
And thirty horsemen from the wall
Ride off in order fair.
The little page with the castle key
Comes slowly up the stair.


That night, at chime of vesper bell,
Pealed forth an anthem choice;
But far above the organ's swell
Rang out a childish voice:
" My soul shall magnify the Lord,
My heart in him rejoice! "


4=


-. -


THE CHRISTMAS STAR.


[DEcEMBER,


102


-=^







x879.]


ALTHOUGH Thomas Feathercap was only fifteen
years old, he felt sure that the captain would not
dare to sail without him, because his father, Mr.
Ezra Feathercap, of Salem, was owner of the ship.
So, while the sailors were filling the puncheons
with sweet water from the spring, he shouldered
his Winchester rifle and wandered along the shore
of the unknown island, or continent, or whatever
it might be, at which the vessel had stopped.
It was a particularly strange and uninhabitable-
looking country. As Thomas afterward expressed
it, everything was very scattered and very large
and very unhandy. There were trees which had
just the shape and style of alder-bushes, but which
were a foot in diameter and ten feet apart and forty
feet high. There were flint boulders, as round
and almost as smooth as our sea-side pebbles, yet
as big as millstones or as haystacks. Thomas
found the shell of a dead horsefish, exactly like the
horsefishes which he had seen on the Essex beaches,
but large enough for a tall man to lie down in at
full length. A little back from the sea he saw a
glaring precipice, or bluff, which hid all the inland
regions, and yet strangely resembled a common
whitewashed fence. Notwithstanding his spirits
and the fifteen shots in his rifle, Thomas began to
be daunted by the general volume and unhandiness
of things.
I 'm glad that horsefish was n't alive," he said.
"I guess I 'd better be getting back, before any
more of 'em come ashore. I don't want to be
eaten by a horsefish."
But just then he came upon a still more surpris-
ing and alarming sight. It was a series of human
footprints in the sand, each one of them nearly as
long as himself. Thomas perceived at once that,
if the creature who left these tracks should return
and should make a grab at him, it would be a very
unequal tussle. Fighting a lion, or a grizzly bear,
even, must be light and trifling employment, com-
pared with fighting a giant whose shoes measured
five feet from heel to toe. Tommy was tremen-
dously scared; he forgot that he had a rifle, and
even forgot that he had legs; he stood perfectly
still and bawled to the ship for help, although it
was a mile away.
But his outcry only brought him into greater
trouble. There was an awful rustle in a neighbor-
ing thicket of the tree-like bushes, and then
Thomas saw a most monstrous and ponderous
giant running toward him. He was about thirty


feet high, and very nearly three yards across the
shoulders, and must have weighed many tons.
The largest ox that ever was seen would have been
only a lap-dog to him, and the American eagle
could have perched on his little finger like a canary-
bird. But big and dreadful as he looked, he
seemed to be very clumsy, for he ran with uncer-
tain, tottering steps, and presently he went slam-
bang on his face, kicking his great fat legs over his
head and grunting like a whole drove of pigs.
While the giant was blowing the sand out of his
mouth, and slowly getting on all fours as if to rise
to his feet, Thomas Feathercap prepared to defend
himself. He was not so frightened but that he
could cock his rifle and face his enemy. Mean-
time, too, he stared at the surprising shape and
dress of the giant, and wondered if giants in gen-
eral had such figures and costumes. This par-
ticular giant wore a velvet cap and long feather;
also a blue frock, which looked as if he had out-
grown it, and which stuck out funnily in the short
skirt; underneath this, cotton drawers edged with
frills, all quite visible to a person who stood so
much below him as did Tommy; checkered stock-
ings, which only partially covered his tremendous,
pink legs; and, lastly, red shoes badly stubbed
at the toes.
His face, five or six feet across, was as round as
the full moon and had as many dimples in it as a
baby's. His expression was very mild and some-
what troubled. His under lip stuck out, in a
tremulous way, and there was a tear as big as a
hen's egg on his monstrous, quivering cheek. He
looked as if he had hurt himself in :ll .... and
could hardly keep down a whimper. If he had
been only three feet high, instead of about thirty,
he would have been ridiculous or pitiable, and
Thomas would probably have laughed at him, or
offered to brush off his jacket.
As it was, he was pretty dreadful. Suppose he
should merely fall down again, and smash a fellow
as thin as blotting-paper? Thomas realized that
he must keep the monster at a distance. He
bawled as loudly as he could: "Hold up there!
You stand off, will you ?"
The giant appeared to hear him, but not to see
him. He opened his enormous rose-bud mouth,
and turned his huge blue eyes in every direction.
He looked out to sea, and then up and down the
shore, and then straight into the sky, meanwhile
turning slowly round on his immense trotters.


103


BUDSY, THE GIANT.



BUDSY, THE GIANT.

BY J. W. DE FOREST.






BUDSY, THE GIANT.


After he had stared about in this childish, drooling
way for half a minute, he resumed his queer, tod-
dling march toward the beach. He was within fifty
yards of Tommy, and likely to trample him down
in a few more seconds, when the latter fired a shot
at him, just by way of a caution. The ball struck


I I I

',' -,- .
I Jc I 'I


Now at last the giant saw him. He stopped cry-
ing all at once, and stared at him with a mouth as
round as a cart-wheel. Then he started back in
such haste that he fell down again, this time in a
helpless sitting position, kicking his great plump
feet about at a furious rate, like a child in a fright.


2


--J



I 1..~


*.~~..


"AT LAST, THE BABY GIANT SAW HIM."
one of his spacious knees, and buried itself in a After a while, finding that he was not hurt, he
great dimple. The effect was tremendous. The slowly got on his legs once more, and stood staring
giant uttered a cry as loud as the whistle of a at Tommy. What with the tears on his big cheeks,
steam-engine, and began to rub his knee with his and his monstrous mouth wide open, and his ex-
ponderous chubby hand, meanwhile looking at it pression of timorous wonder, and his very prodig-
with a face full of anguish, ious size, it was hard to say whether he was most
"Well, I told you to stand off!" shouted funny or dreadful.
Tommy, getting his rifle into position again. Don't you step on me !" yelled Tommy, at the
" I '11 give you another one if that is n't enough." top of his voice, and retreating a few paces.


I04


[DECEMBER,


1


i






1879.] BUDSY, TIE GIANT. 105


I aint a do-in to," replied the giant. And And he fired another shot right past the aston-
then he began to rub his knee and scream again, ished monster's ear.
though somewhat more composedly than before. The giant looked all about him with his mouth


i ;
;j ;y


,1






^,r '





I.
!, i- '
,\ -- .,





,. .: _


\ ,\ ,:,
. .' ,1 , ~
.. I. i



t i"S


"'I SALL FALL,' HE WHIMPERED. 'CATCH ME!'" [SEE PAGE I16.]


What are you bawling about?" asked Tommy,
with some contempt.
A bee 'tung me," said the whimpering giant.
It was n't a bee," explained Tommy, smiling to
himself. Look here,-I'11 show you what it was."
VOL. VII.-8.


open, and then looked at Tommy, and then
laughed. Was that you popped ?" he asked.
"Yes," said Tommy, hoping to scare him, and
so keep his great feet at a safe distance.
Pop it adain," grinned the giant.


j. f--~


i






BUDSY, THE GIANT.


Tommy fired one more shot close to the other ear
of the child-mountain, which so delighted him that
he jumped up and down and laughed with a mighty
noise. Indeed, he seemed to be a very playful
monster, for the next minute, catching sight of the
ten-foot horsefish, he made a run for it, seized it by
the tail and flung it several rods out to sea, scatter-
ing pailfuls of water and wet sand all about him.
Goodness!" muttered Tommy. "What if he
should give me such a send-off as that!"
He resolved not to plague the giant, and also to
keep his rifle cocked.
What 's your name ?" he asked.
Budsy," answered the child-mountain.
Oh, that's it, is it?" said Tommy. "Well,
Budsy, if you '11 keep out from under my feet, and
look where you step yourself, we 'll get along first
rate. Where do you live?"
Budsy pointed indefinitely inland, and then
abruptly set off on a run toward the forest of
gigantic alders, as if he had forgotten something
there. When he re-appeared, he was pushing be-
fore him a prodigious vehicle, at least as high as
an ordinary house, and which had much the look
of a baby-wagon.
"It 's my littlee sister," he said, pointing inside
with a grin. She 's a girl-baby."
Is she !" stared Thomas, quite confounded at
the idea of a giant girl-baby, a thing which he had
never thought of before.
I '11 show oo," said Budsy, and proceeded to
fumble inside the carriage, at a fearful height from
the ground. Presently he lugged out the most
colossal infant that Thomas had ever seen, even
in a nightmare. It was about as big as an elephant,
and must have been at least as heavy. Its great
dimpled face was so fat and tranquil, and its large
blue eyes were so innocent, that Thomas rather
admired it, though it was twenty feet above his
head.
Look here, you 'd better be careful," he said.
" If you drop it all that distance, it '11 hurt it."
The giant set the huge baby down on a sand-
hill, and held its broad back with his thick hand,
so that it could sit up. He seemed to be very
fond and proud of his juvenile relative.
Do oo want to kiss it?" he asked.
"I guess not to-day," said Thomas. "You
bring it here to-morrow about this time, and
I '11 come round and see what I can do. You just
tell me where you live."
Budsy hastily put the girl-baby back into the
wagon, and covered it up with forty or fifty square
yards of blanket.
Come and see my papa's house," he said.
"Just as lieve," answered Tommy, who had
begun to take kindly to the harmless monster, and


who, moreover, felt curious to know what a giant's
house was like. So, leaving the tremendous infant
to go to sleep again, they trudged inland toward
the white precipice already mentioned, the child-
mountain a long distance ahead, and gaining a
fathom at every step.
Can oo dit over dis fence?" asked Budsy.
Tommy looked up at the precipice, and saw that
it was indeed a fence, built out of boards a foot
thick and ten or twelve feet wide, the whole daubed
with great lumps of whitewash.
"No!" he replied. It 's more 'n forty feet
high."
The giant grinned. He evidently felt superior
to Tommy, and was very proud of the superiority.
I can dit over it," he said.
Then he proceeded to climb, taking hold of the
top of the fence with his chubby hands, and stick-
ing his fat right foot into a knot-hole as large as a
cart-wheel, and finally getting his left leg over. By
this time he was red in the face, and puffed and
gasped like a porpoise. Moreover, one of his socks
caught in a nail about a yard long, so that he could
make no further advance. There he stuck and
struggled. It was a really dreadful spectacle. His
broad countenance assumed an anxious expression,
which rapidly changed to terror.
I sail fall," he whimpered. Catch me."
Tommy, on his part, was almost equally scared.
What if the child-mountain should tumble and
break his corpulent neck ? Then they 'd think I
killed him," he said, forgetting how small he was.
" They 'd have me up for murder."
Meantime, the giant scratched and kicked with
the strength of four elephants, but so stupidly and
clumsily that it seemed as if there were no hope for
him.
Hold on tight, you little goose!" screamed
Tommy. Jerk your leg."
Budsy did just as he was told, and finally got
loose, and with difficulty came down on his feet.
Did you hurt yourself?" asked Tommy, com-
passionately.
The giant did n't say anything, but he lifted up
the skirt of his frl6ck and looked piteously at his
knee. There was a scratch as long as a hoe-
handle.
Oh, never mind it," said Tommy. Don't
boohoo; I 've been scratched worse 'n that many
a time."
Budsy seemed much comforted by this informa-
tion, and merely wiped and rubbed his knee, with-
out crying.
"You 'd better be more careful of yourself,
Budsy," continued Tommy. You '11 get a bad
tumble some day, if you don't keep off these
fences. Don't stop to stare at your scratch. Let's


Io6


[DECEMBER,







BUDSY, THE GIANT.


go down to the shore an' wash it. Salt water 's
good for sores."
Is it?" said Budsy; and off he went on his
queer, toddling trot, leaving Tommy far behind
him. But on the way he stopped at the baby-
wagon, and commenced to fumble in the lower
part of it, meanwhile talking baby-talk to his little
sister." When Tommy overtook him, he had got
out a toy boat about twelve feet long, and held it


the ship working out of the bay and heading for
the open sea, while a giant, who must have been
two or three times as big as Budsy, was vainly en-
deavoring to catch it by wading. The ship was in
full sail before a brisk wind.
For half a minute our brave Yankee boy was
quite paralyzed with grief and despair. Then it
occurred to him that there was just one means of
escaping, and that he must try it without a mo-


THE BABY GIANT IN GRIEF.


up in both his hands, looking with a grin at the
sails bellying in the wind.
I dot a boat," he said.
"That's sloop-rigged," observed Tommy. "I
can work that kind. Let 's see it sail."
Dere 's anoder boat," added Budsy, looking off
to the left and giggling with delight.
Tommy looked also, and to his horror beheld


ment's delay. He ran after his overgrown play-
mate, who by this time was squatting on the edge
of the shore, evidently with the purpose of launch-
ing his boat.
Hold on, Budsy he screamed. Don't shove
her out yet. Let me see."
Do oo want to dit in? asked the simple giant,
not in the least suspecting Tommy's intentions.


1879.]


IO7







io8


JINGLE.


"Yes," replied Tommy, overjoyed. "Let me
sail her for you. I know how to work boats."
The sloop was already in the water, her stern
held fast between Budsy's thumb and finger, and
her bows pointing toward the open sea. Tommy
never minded wetting himself, but dashed knee-
deep through the ripples and clambered aboard.
Then, to his great disgust, he saw that there was a
rope fast to the taffrail, and that the baby-giant
held the other end of the rope in his hand, evi-
dently for the purpose of keeping his boat from
going to sea. Of course he proposed to cut it, but
Budsy shook his big head, and said:
No, I sall loss it."
Oh, cut it !" begged Tommy, with tears in his
eyes. You cut it, and see what 'll happen. I
can sail boats like anything."
He really felt ashamed of himself, however, as
he thought of what he meant to do, and looked
up in Budsy's great fat face, and noted its sim-
ple, innocent expression, mixed with anxiety.
I haint dot no knife," explained the boy giant.
"Well, break it then," ordered Tommy.
So Budsy broke the rope with his fingers, giving
the boat an awful shake in the effort, and sending
Tommy flat on his face. Then, i.. at his
success, he put his wet thumb against the stern,
and shoved the little vessel into deep water.
"Look out!" roared Tommy, who had nearly
rolled overboard;-" that 's all right," he added,


[DECEMBER,


as he seized the tiller and gave it a turn. In
another minute the wind caught the clumsy main-
sail, and the boat began to fly through the foamy
surges. Tommy saw his father's ship standing
along the shore, not more than a mile away, and
felt sure that he would now get clear of the land of
the giants.
"Good-bye, Budsy!" he called. "Don't cry,
old fellow. I '11 send your boat back to you."
But Budsy did cry. He seemed to realize all at
once that his playfellow and plaything were leaving
him, and he set up such a roar of grief that
Tommy's heart fairly ached to hear it. Moreover,
he waded knee-deep into the water, holding up his
frock with one hand, and pointing with the other
after his boat, while tears swashed down his red
cheeks and splashed into the ocean.
Well, Tommy at last reached the ship in safety,
and then started the giant's boat back to him. The
last seen of it was that Budsy had got it in his arms
and was toddling back to the baby-wagon with it,
his great big tears, let us hope, all dried.
Such was the adventure of Thomas Feathercap
in Giant Land. It was of great use to him in the
struggles and trials of his after life. Whenever he
met a trouble of more than ordinary magnitude,
and it seemed to him that his strength must fail at
the bare sight of it, he would say to himself:
"Well, I have learned by experience that some
giants are babies, and can be handled."


I ONSIDER, now, a painter-man who thought himself divine,-
Correggio Delmonico del Michael Angeline;
Fine portrait-painting done within," was printed on his sign,
SAnd all around his studio his works hung in a line.

When he painted little boys, he said: "How plainly I can see,
", ,I am such a mighty lion that they 're afraid of me "
And when he painted little girls,-" Dear little things" said he,
S They 're shy because I awe them with my grace and dignity."

'T is wonderful," he oft remarked, the colors that I know;
The sky is green, the grass is red, and blue the roses blow;
SAnd yet the people look amazed whene'er I paint them so,
SAnd seem to think that higher yet an artist ought to go !

Well, it was strange, it came to pass that men took down the sign;
For never one would take away, for pay, his pictures fine.
And that is all I know of one who thought himself divine,-
Correggio Delmonico del Michael Angeline.






AN AMERICAN KING DAVID.


AN AMERICAN KING DAVID.

By J. T. TROWBRIDGE.


WHEN the Spaniards, under the famous Cortes,
came to Mexico in i519, they found the county,
inhabited by a people very different from our
North-American Indians.
They had cities, palaces and temples, which
astonished the Europeans by their riches and mag-
nificence; and they were governed by monarchs
who lived in Oriental luxury. In some of the arts
of civilization they excelled the Spaniards them-
selves. They had a knowledge of astronomy, and
Cortes found their method of reckoning time-
making allowance for the fraction of a day over the
three hundred and sixty-five days in each year-
more exact than the Christian calendar. They
had vast farm-lands watered by artificial means;
and their beautiful gardens gave Europe a lesson
in horticulture. On the lakes about the city of
Mexico were floating gardens, formed of rafts
covered with rich mud from the lake bottom, and
glowing with the luxuriant flowers and fruits of the
tropics,-the wonder of the Spaniards.
They were skilled in the arts of war, as well as
in those of peace. They had bows and arrows, and
lances, and other weapons; and their generals
knew something of stratagem, and of the wielding
of great armies. But they knew nothing of powder
or guns, and they had no horses. So, when the
Spaniards came with their loud-roaring artillery
and musketry, and mounted men who seemed a
part of the strange beasts they managed, the
natives, though they fought desperately for a while,
gave way at last, and we have the romantic story
of a numerous and powerful people conquered by
a mere handful of Spanish troops !
The most enlightened of all the tribes then in-
habiting the country were the Tezcucans. Tez-
cuco, the capital of their country, was on the
eastern side of the lake of Tezcuco, near the west-
ern side of which was Mexico, the capital of the
renowned Aztec emperor, Montezuma. The Tez-
cucans and the Aztecs were confederates in war;
and, if left to themselves, they would probably
have become one nation, in the course of time
extending their sway over all the races of North
America. But the swelling wave of native civiliza-
tion was met by a mightier wave from the Old
World, and the spirit and power of these extraor-
dinary people sank, never to rise again. In the
sad and broken-spirited Mexican Indians of to-day,
one fails to recognize the children of the warlike and


industrious tribes whom the Spaniards came to
plunder and to convert to their own religion.
About a hundred years before the coming of
Cortes, lived a Tezcucan prince whose history has a
peculiar interest, from its striking resemblance to
that of the Hebrew King David. His name is a
hard one, but by dividing it into double syllables
we may master it,-Neza-hual-coyotl. In his
youth, like David, he was obliged to flee for his
life from the wrath of a morose monarch who occu-
pied the throne, and he met with many romantic
adventures and hair-breadth escapes.
Once, when some soldiers came to take him in
his own house, he vanished in a cloud of incense,
such as attendants burned before princes, and con-
cealed himself in a sewer until his enemies were
gone. He fled to the mountains, where he slept in
caves and thickets, and lived on wild fruits, occa-
sionally showing himself in the cottages of the poor
people, who befriended their prince at the peril of
their own lives. Once, when closely pursued, pass-
ing a girl who was reaping in a field, he begged
her to cover him from sight with the stalks of
grain she was cutting; she did so, and when his
enemies came up, directed the pursuit into a false
path. At another time, he took refuge with some
soldiers who were friendly to him, and who covered
him with a war-drum, about which they were danc-
ing. No bribe could induce his faithful people to
betray him.
"Would you not deliver up your prince if he
came in your way?" he once asked a young
country-fellow, to whom his person was unknown.
Never replied the peasant.
"Not for a fair lady's hand and a great fort-
une ?" said the prince.
Not for all the world !" was the answer.
The prince, who was rightful heir to the throne,
grew every day in the favor of the people, and at
last he found himself at the head of an army,
while the bad king was more and more detested. A
battle was fought, the usurper's forces were routed,
and he was afterward slain. The prince, who so
lately fled for his life, was now proclaimed king.
He at once set about reforming abuses, and mak-
ing wise laws for his kingdom. He established a
society devoted to the encouragement of science
and art. He gave prizes for the best literary com-
positions (for these people had a sort of picture-
writing), and he was himself poet, like King David.


1879.


log







AN AMERICAN KING DAVID.


His poems, some of which have been preserved
and translated, were generally of a religious char-
acter. His favorite themes were the vanity of
human greatness, praise of the Unknown God, and
the blessings of the future life for such as do good
in this. The Tezcucans, like the Aztecs, were
idolators, who indulged in the horrid rites of
human sacrifice to their awful deities; but this
wise and good king detested such things, and en-
deavored to wean his people from them, declaring,
like David, that, above all idols, and over all men,
ruled an unseen Spirit, who was the one God.
The king used to disguise himself, and go about
among his people, in order to learn who were
happy, how his laws were administered, and what
was thought of his government. On one such oc-
casion, he fell in with a boy gathering sticks in a
field.
"Why don't you go into yonder forest, where
you will find plenty of wood? asked the disguised
monarch.
Ah cried the boy, that forest belongs to
the king, and he would have me killed if I should
take his wood; for that is the law."
Is he so hard a man as that?"
"Aye, that he is,-a very hard man, indeed, who
denies his people what God has given them "
It is a bad law," said the king; and I advise
you not to mind it. Come, there is no one here
to see you; go into the forest, and help yourself to
sticks."
: Not I! exclaimed the boy.
You are afraid some one will come and find
you ? But I will keep watch for you," urged the
king.
Will you take the punishment in my place, if
I chance to get caught ? No, no cried the boy,
shrewdly shaking his head, I should risk my life
if I took the king's wood."
But I tell you it will be no risk," said the king.
" I will protect you; go and get some wood."
Upon that the boy turned and looked him boldly
in the face.
I believe you are a traitor," he cried,-" an
enemy of the king! or else you want to get me into
trouble. But you can't. I know how to take care
of myself; and I shall show respect to the laws,
though they are bad."
The boy went on gathering sticks, and in the
evening went home with his load of fuel.
The next day, his parents were astonished to re-
ceive a summons to appear with their son before the


king. As they went tremblingly into his pres,
ence, the boy recognized the man with whom he
had talked the day before, and he turned deadly
pale.
If that be the king," he said, then we are no
better than dead folks, all! "
But the king descended from his throne, and
smilingly said:
Come here, my son Come here, good peo-
ple both Fear nothing. I met this lad in the
fields yesterday, and tried to persuade him to dis-
obey the law. But I found him proof against all
temptation. So I sent for you, good people, to tell
you what a true and honest son you have, and that
the law is to be changed, so that poor people can
go anywhere into the king's forests, and gather the
wood they find on the ground."
He then dismissed the lad and his parents with
handsome presents, which made them rich for the
remainder of their lives.
A descendant of this king, who many years after
wrote in Spanish a history of his reign,* has related
many other interesting anecdotes of him. These
are not all to his credit, and he certainly was not
a perfect prince. The following anecdote, however,
narrated by the writer I have mentioned, makes us
think of another incident in the history of King
David:
Once, seeing a beautiful maiden, Neza-hual-coyotl
fell violently in love with her, and asked who she
was. He learned that she was of high rank, andbe-
trothed to a lord of the country, at whose house
he had seen her. He immediately ordered the
destined husband to be given the command of an
army, and to be sent on a warlike expedition. At
the same time he secretly told two Tezcucan chiefs
to manage that the general should be brought
into the thickest of the fight. Everything hap-
pened as he wished, and his rival-like Uriah in
the front of the battle-was slain. The king after-
ward wooed the maiden, who, unaware of his base
conduct, became his wife.
This one great crime leaves a blot upon his char-
acter and darkens his memory. But living as he
did in an age filled with all kinds of cruelty and
superstition, this monarch of a half-civilized race
displayed some virtues that were rare enough in
those days. And while our boys and girls are
taught to read the histories of many an Old-World
prince and monarch far more barbarous than he,
they need not neglect the story of the Indian king
Neza-hual-coyotl, our American King David.


* See Prescott's Conquest of Mexico," Book I, Chapter vi.


DECEMBER


IIO






WATCHING FOR AN OTTER.


CHRISTMAS IS COMING!


WATCHING FOR AN OTTER.

BY MAURICE THOMRPSON.


WHEN I was about fifteen years of age and my
brother somewhat younger, we one day had the
good luck to discover in our wild-wood rambles,
an otter slide.
What is an otter slide? It is a smooth place,
like a path, made down a steep bank of a river, by
means of which the otter slides from the top of the
bank down into the water. The otter everywhere
is a great coaster, and often goes sliding down
muddy or icy slopes, for no other reason that I
know of than simply because he likes the sport.
But it sometimes proves very unlucky fun, for
hunters set their traps just at the bottom, and the
otter slides quietly into a prison, almost without
knowing it. If you have never seen an otter I
would say to you that it is an.animal whose


appearance is about half-way between that of a
musk-rat and that of a beaver. It is sometimes
four and a half feet long, from the nose to the
end of the tail, but, of this length, the tail meas-
ures eighteen inches or so. The otter has very
small bright eyes, a long neck, short, fat legs,
webbed feet, and a tail round above but flat be-
neath. Its furis brown and soft andsometimes quite
valuable, and is used extensively for caps and gloves.
The slide of which I have spoken was on the
south bank of the Saliquoy, a little river of North
Georgia, at a point where the high bluffs which
overhang the stream are thickly fringed with
dwarf cedar-trees.
My brother and I were hunting among these
cedars for a tree which would make good bow


I879-]


III






WATCHING FOR AN OTTER.


staves, and had clambered somewhat down the
almost perpendicular wall of the bluff on the north
bank, when, glancing across the stream, we both
saw the otter go I .,.;.' down its slide into the
water.
We looked at each other quickly, our faces all
aglow with delight and surprise.
Was n't he a big one ? said Will.
"I should say so," said I. We must try to
get him. His pelt is worth having."
If I had only seen him before he moved," Will
ruefully remarked, stringing his bow as he spoke
and '-i-; an arrow from his quiver.
But it was too late to think of'shooting now, for
the otter was under the water and in his hole long
ago.
Perhaps you wonder how this animal could have
its den under water. I will explain. The otter is
what naturalists call an aquatic animal. Its princi-
pal food is fish. So it ... a hole in a stream's
bank below the water and runs it up till it finds a
dry place for its bed. Sometimes it has two en-
trances to this den, one under and one above the
water. The otter is a great thief, always on the
lookout to rob the traps and nets of fishermen.
I myself have occasionally seen one swimming
along with his head above water and in his mouth
a big fish, just stolen from a net.
No sooner had '.i and I discovered the otter-
slide, than we fell to laying plans for capturing
the animal; and the result of our talk was that we
brought up our little canoe and anchored it under
the bluff right opposite to the slide, and then
proceeded to build a screen of cedar-brush, be-
hind which we could hide and watch for our
game. However, we determined not to be idle
while waiting; so we took with us our Greek and
Latin books, and made up our minds to study the
lessons our teachers had set; for, il...... 1 we had
plenty of time allowed us for hunting and fishing
and wandering about the woods, we made it a
habit to study during every'moment we could spare
from sport.
But the otter was an old, wise fellow who did not
care to expose himself to arrows. We watched for
him day after day, for hours at a time; all in vain.
No doubt this seems to you very poor pastime.
So it would have been had we not brought our
books with us. But :i...i... could be jollier than
lying there in our canoe with the fragrant cedar-
boughs above and the water under us, rocking
gently with the motion of the waves, reading good
stories or studying the Latin and Greek lessons,
while any moment we might chance to get a shot
at the otter. Sometimes a .i:- -.; duck would
dart past us makingits wings fairly whistle through
the air. A big spotted water-snake often swam


back and forth across the stream near us, and a
huge turtle would crawl out of the water and lie on
a bowlder to sun himself. The stream was well
stocked with bass and other game fish, the former
occasionally leaping clear above the surface of the
water. Beautiful gay-winged d ... i.-T-.. sailed
past us with a peculiar wavering motion, as if try-
ing to imitate the 1.: ;.. of the lazy ripples on the
river.
Once in a great while a mountaineer would
paddle down the -..I current in his curiously
carved pirogue, or, as he would call it, dug-out,"
which is a canoe cut out of the bole of a large tree,
usually, in that region, a tulip-tree. These mount-
aineers were 1'.. :1. poor, honest fellows who lived
partly by hunting and partly by tending small
farms in the little dells, or mountain i. ..1: -' ."
as they are called; and I believe that every one
of them, that ever I saw, carried a long rifle with
old-fashioned flint lock.
We watched very diligently for the otter, and
i,; -!, one evening we saw him come to the sur-
face of the water and swim to the bank near his
slide. The river, at this point, was about twenty-
five yards wide. We each selected a keen-pointed
arrow and prepared to shoot. You should have
seen how strongly and steadily we drew our good
bows! When we let go our arrows, our strings
went so nearly at the same instant that they made
but one sound. "Whack," went our arrows, but
not into the otter. We shot on each side of him.
He was -....!.'.l. frightened. He popped up on his.
hind legs and glared first at one arrow and then at
the other. We hurried and shot again. My
arrow fell short and Will's flew straight over the
otter's head. He now seemed to come suddenly to
himself, for he plunged into the water with a great
splash and disappeared. We consoled ourselves
with talking about how close we came to hitting
him, and how we would be sure to do better next
time, when we would not feel quite so flurried.
But we saw him no more that day nor the next,
:i, .. -! watched with the greatest care. And, at
last, in spite of all our hope and determination, we,
began to fear that we were doomed to a grievous
disappointment.
One day, while we were lying at full i'. :r- in
our boat, an old hump-shouldered man in a miser-
able, rotten-looking canoe, came down the river
at a slow rate looking sharply about. He had a
gun and a dozen or so of steel traps lying care-
lessly in his boat, also two dead minks and three
or four musk-rats.
"Hello !" said he to us. What ye doing'
'ere ? "
'.'"' .,.!.,. for an otter," said W ill.
Where 's any otter ? he asked.


[DECEMBER,


1I2






WATCHING FO


"Over there," replied Will, pointing to the slide.
The old fellow squinted his eyes and looked
across the river.
"Ye-e-s," he drawled, thar 's a slide, right
sartin."
He paddled over and examined the slide for a few
minutes, but he did not say anything;
and n.. 1..,, ... 1 .. I,. _,.
p ui .. t :. .... 1,.
rive I A .:


R AN OTTER. 113


"What upon airth are ye doin' thar?" he in-
quired, his eyes twinkling under their bushyr brows.
We are watching for our otter," said Will.
"Our otter," muttered the old fellow, "our otter!
He, he, he, he! Mebbe it is your otter; but you
'II never set them 'ere eyes onto your otter ag'in."


feel l t r ..i .ll .. I .
an o r l .: : i. i ,- ,. .. 11
b e <.. i..,. .. ,.r t ...
hirr-.- ...t .: .- i r ..: -- I L .l


', i


2I I
f ."" *' ,;.{ I
,-=---- '--' -f ;i -','U 'D '+'
----':-. =:-1- ^^'+' te!l,...,,'


S '. I.I,', ,,.. : ,;d I,

ii I !:,r:I that
I '. ext
I, 'ItL .ir'i ,. : w ed
.. e,


Ll..d at
S ., er l,. te o l ,L I [ out.
i te hd vold
--i.f in, ... ...r- .o i-t. i-l.e a. ,: L ood
t we h'l n he.p I 1 to
I. I I.. l a d -


. .


S'. .. I .dar-
-.. 1.._ h and....
...---- .... ~~'+ --_" "- I.2,,'1! -'" "Irt. ,, n



"WE SHOT ON EACH SIDE OF HIM." But, after all, the old trapper no doubt
One morning, the.old trapper came along again, needed the otter's skin much more than we did,
This time he had five minks. He stopped his and so it all turned out right.
skiff in the middle of the stream, and looked at us One thing was sure: we had made good progress
so queerly that we could not keep from smiling. with our Greek and Latin lessons, meanwhile.







CHRISTMAS AT NUMBER ONE, CRAWLIN PLACE.


[DECEMBER,


CHRISTMAS AT NUMBER ONE, CRAWLIN PLACE.


BY SARGENT FLINT.


/
/


OST certainly, Number One,
Crawlin Place, was a din-
gy abode at any time, but
as Carol came in sight of
it, one bright afternoon
a few days before Christ-
mas, with his mind full of
much pleasanter places, he
gave a little sigh of disap-
proval, and muttered, not gloomily, but honestly,
as if he had been called upon suddenly to compare
it candidly with brighter places he had seen
It looks meaner than ever "
A ray from the sun as he looked up at No. I,
seemed to contradict him, for it fell brightly upon
a window in the fourth story and lighted it up
wonderfully; or was it the bright, deep-set eyes
of old Aunt Kizzy, as she looked down and nodded
cheerfully? However that may be, little Carol for-
got that Crawlin Place was dingy as he darted up
the old stairs. The faded face of Aunt Kizzy, her
bright eyes and worn wig, were a part of his home;
and when Christmas is near, home is dearer than
any other place in the world, if it is dingy. Be-
sides, Carol-but let him tell his own secrets.
"Darn up the old stocking I saw dangling on the
line, Aunt Kizzy," he cried, as he came breath-
lessly up to the window where the old lady sat.
"I '11 make it strong enough to hold up two
cents' worth of snuff," she said, cheerily.
I feel sure this will be a lucky Christmas," said
Carol. "I saw three stars shoot last night-a star
apiece for us, Aunt Kizzy. Now quick,-before
mother comes,-count that, please !"
"Massyl massy! Where did you get it,
child ? as the coppers and bits of silver fell into
her lap. You aint-- "
SAll right, Aunt Kizzy. Good, honest money.
For mother's present. You go buy it, for I must
get more or there can't be any snuff."
She caught him by his worn jacket as he was
flying past the door, and sat him down in the old
rocking-chair.
Sit there, sir, and tell me where you got this
money A Christmas present ought to be bought
with money that don't need washing."
I wont tell."
Aunt Kizzy's back became very stiff and she
handed him. back the money.
"It's all right," he said, impatiently, waving
away her extended hand. "But if you must


know," dropping his voice to a mysterious whisper,
" I sangfor it/ "
"Where, child ?"
In the street."
Like a beggar? "
"No, not quite. I did n't ask for money; they
gave it to me."
What did you sing, you scamp, you? said
Aunt Kizzy, forgetting her point in her curiosity.
I sang every song I knew-even the one you
sang to me the other night."
Where? Anywhere about here ?"
No; away up-town where the big folks live."
"Don't you do it again."
"I have promised Santa Claus two cents' worth
of snuff for an old lady who hangs up black
stockings."
"She can't have it."
She must."
Aunt Kizzy dropped the money slowly, piece by
piece, into her lap.
Seventy cents, Carol!"
Get anything you feel sure she '11 like," he
whispered in her ear, and darted away.
Seventy cents Well, well, well! may be
you 're not ashamed of your want o' faith, old Kizzy
Hopkins No good comes o' twitting, so I '11 only
say, faith's a good thing always. Now step along,
and see what you can buy. Seventy cents! And
ten away down in your pocket for him, that he
could n't see. No, you can't get much for ten
cents, but start out and do your best. Straighten
your wig, old Kizzy; count up your change and
don't go out with envious feelings in your heart be-
cause other old women carry heavier purses! Sev-
enty cents and ten is eighty; eighty cents aint to
be sneezed at. Did n't you expect to have to start
out with only ten? You know you did Then
why not look a little cheerful? "
This remark was evidently addressed to the
faded, patient face that looked out at her from the
small looking-glass. But Carol's mother heard.
"Don't dare find fault with that woman in the
glass!" said she, coming in and smoothing the
rusty black ribbon on the worn-out bonnet.
She 's orful ungrateful, Car'line. Instead of
bein' thankful for a bonnet to cover her old wig,
she 's wishing for a veil to hide her old bon-
net."
"The more people have, the more they want,
Aunt Kizzy. But where are you going ? "


II4






CHRISTMAS AT NUMBER ONE, CRAWLING PLACE.


"After Christmas presents," said Aunt Kizzy,
proudly. Good-bye! "
"There is a dear, strong heart under that old
shawl," said Caroline, as Aunt Kizzy turned the
dismal corner.
Only ten cents for both of 'em," muttered the
old woman, as she left the narrow street. "That
boy is off trying to get something for me. Aint
you ashamed of yourself, Kizzy H ? she contin-
ued, falling into her favorite mode of addressing
herself, which she called giving a dose to her pride.
"Think of the times you might have earned a
little, if you had n't been so proud "
I would do anything now," she forced her pride
to say.
No doubt you would," she returned, severely.
"Come in at the seventhh hour and take what
you could find."
I would do anything in the world that I could
that was honest," said her pride, humbled now to
the very dust of self-reproach.
Would you sing for money ?"
Aunt Kizzy said this abruptly, almost trium-
phantly, as if she had proved her pride now, and
found it nothing but a vain boaster. A little red
spot was burning in each faded cheek.
She had left Crawlin Place far behind her. The
houses she now saw were beginning to wear a very
well-to-do look. On she walked until the streets
grew wide and the houses very fine.
What a contrast to Crawlin Place !
"If you get envious, back you 'II go, Kizzy H.,
without a chance for present-money "
This was probably addressed to another weak
spot in poor Aunt Kizzy's make-up.
She went on without an idea where to stop. A
house with the curtains up attracted her attention.
"Massy!" she exclaimed, as she looked in the
window. "They must be made of gold and sil-
ver in there "
She walked up the steps and rang the bell.
"If you please, miss," she began, as the door
opened.
Back gate for beggars," said the servant,
shortly.
With a choking feeling in her throat, Aunt
Kizzy stood staring at the closed door.
"You can't stare money enough out of a shut
door to fill a stocking, unless a miracle takes place,
Kizzy H," she said cheerfully, as she went down
the grand steps.
House after house was passed before another
struck her fancy.
"Don't look quite so grand as t' other," she
said, as she looked in at a window. There 's a
picter o' Christ blessing little children. It makes
me feel orful old. Dear little creeters I don't


believe the grand brass images and flumjacks
have pushed everything good out of this place."
And she went up the high steps. As her hand
touched the bell, a light step was heard behind
her, and a pleasant voice said: "Whom did you
wish to see ?"
"I came,"-Aunt Kizzy's voice was a little
unsteady,-" I-I came to ask if any of the ladies
here would-would like to hear a little old-fash-
ioned singing."
I certainly should," said the young lady,
pleasantly; "and I 'm sure grandmamma would."
"Open your eyes and take in all the style, old
Kiz, to tell Car'line," said the old woman to her-
self, as they walked up the broad handsome stairs.
But when she found herself actually standing
before a sofa, where lay a proud-looking old lady,
she forgot Car'line," and almost her errand.
"She is going to sing us some old-fashioned
music," explained the young lady, as her grand-
mother stared at them both.
Aunt Kizzy closed her old hands nervously
together, but though she pressed them very hard,
no song came to her mind. What would they
think of her! Her breath came in little gasps,
and the red spots brightened in her cheeks.
Sit down and rest yourself a little while," said
the young lady, kindly. "I brought you up too
many stairs for you to sing right away."
There was n't so many stairs, miss, as there 's
been years since I sung afore folks," said Aunt
Kizzy, then adding mentally, "Don't act like a fool
if you 've got common sense, Kizzy H. "
She stood respectfully before them, and in a
voice, not by any means to be despised, sang a
simple ballad of ye olden time."
"Can you sing another?" asked the young
lady, as the last note died away.
I don't wish another yet," said her grand-
mother. "I want the same again."
Aunt Kizzy's heart beat joyfully. She had for-
gotten money; there was happiness in the thought
of being able to give pleasure. She sang until her
old voice sounded weary, and they declared she
should sing no more. The young lady gave her a
dollar.
"Too much," said Aunt Kizzy, firmly. "I
sang ten songs, and two cents apiece is high
enough to reckon 'em."
A dollar for a good concert is cheap enough,
and I have not enjoyed one so much for many a
day, madam."
"If you insist on it, I can't help it," said Aunt
Kizzy, with shining eyes, as she thought of Carol's
stocking.
I do not consider that I half pay for my pleas-
ure," said the young lady's grandmother, as with


1879.]


115






CHRISTMAS AT NUMBER ONE, CRAWLIN PLACE.


old-school dignity she placed five dollars in Aunt
Kizzy's hand.
I could n't sleep to-night if I took that she
cried. Don't make me think I 'm dreaming now,
and 'II wake up without a cent for Carol's stockin'."
She held out the money to the young lady, who
took it, saying:
"You shall not be overpaid, but let me give you
a muff; your hands will be cold going home.
This is an old one, but it is warm, and here are
some pieces of silk for a new lining."

"Tell me all about it cried Carol, on Christ-
mas morning as he stood with a full stocking by
the fire-place in the little sitting-room on the fourth
story of Number One, Crawlin Place.
"I wont."
Sit right there, Aunt Kizzy, till you tell me
where you got so much money. 'A Christmas
present ought to be bought with money that don't
need washing !' "
Well," in a whisper, if you must know, boy,
I sangfor it."
"Sang for it!" Carol's surprise was as genuine
as Aunt Kizzy's had been, but he recovered him-
self and said: Like a beggar ?"
"No," said Aunt Kizzy, demurely. I did n't
ask for money; they gave it to me without."
Dear Aunt Kizzy, don't you call this a lucky
Christmas?" said Carol, as he pulled on new
boots, while Aunt Kizzy, with a new bonnet on,
took snuff extravagantly, and his mother stood
with her hands in the muff.
Nothin' to do with luck," said Aunt Kizzy.
"We worked for something and 'taint sense to
expect when you work for something that you 'll
get n-othin'." With a merry jerk she pulled out
a pair of warm gloves from the-long black stock-
ing. "Cast your bread upon the waters, old Kizzy.
H. Give Car'line an old muff, and get new gloves
from Santa Claus "
I shall not allow you to give me this muff,"
said Car'line. 'L It is just what you have wanted
for so long; and a new lining will make it just as
good as ever."
"Massy, Car'line the silk for it is in my
pocket. Plenty of it you see." As she unrolled
it, she gasped: Carol, hand me the campfire
bottle !" for, carefully folded in the little bundle
of pieces, lay the rejected five-dollar bill.


It must be a mistake," said Carol's mother;
Of course I shall take it back, Car'Iine."
If it makes you feel so sick, Aunt Kizzy H.,
I will take it, and you shall never see it again,"
said Carol, kindly.
It was n't a mistake, though, Car'line."
What makes you think so? "
Well, I tell you how it was; I did something
for-for two ladies away up town, and they offered
me that bill, and I would n't lay a finger to it, and
that pretty creeter put it in the silk ; but I '11 take
it back, I '11 take it back "
Come now, Aunt Kizzy," said Carol, laugh-
ing, bet you can't tell what street it was."
Hey ? said the old woman with a blank ex-
pression on her pale face. Massy, if I know
any more than a old woman led by a dog !"
Carol's mother touched Aunt Kizzy's arm.
"Tell me, Aunt, how you earned the money."
I did what Carol did."
What did he do ? "
There 's your stockin' just burstin' to see you,
Car'line. Why don't you go 'tend to it ? "
You care more for the stocking than for me,
Aunt Kizzy, for I am in almost as sad a state."
Would you tell, Carol?"
He grinned and said:
Make her tell first how she got hers."
"I 'd just as soon tell," said his mother. "I
wish I had the chance every day. Isangfor it."
For a full minute, Aunt Kizzy and Carol stared
at each other, and then exclaimed as if they
had but one mind between them: "Like a
beggar? "
Oh no," said Caroline, laughing. I did n't
ask for anything, but they gave me something. I
sang last Sunday in church."
"Carol," whispered Aunt Kizzy, "is my head
on ? "
Looks tobe. Is mine?"
You have something on that looks like a head.
Is my wig straight ? "
Straight as usual, Miss Hopkins. How 's
mine ?"
"'Pears to have the right pitch, boy, so let's
tune up. Here's faith for the future forever! and
three grateful voices rang out clearly with a song
of praise to Him, who, in sending His Christmas
blessings down,.forgot not even so humble a spot
as Number One, Crawlin Place.


[DECEMBER,






THE FOUR SUNBEAMS.


THE FOUR SUNBEAMS.

BY M. K. B.

FOUR little sunbeams came earthward one day,
Shining and dancing along on their way,
Resolved that their course should be blest.
" Let us try," they all whispered, "'some kindness to do,
Not seek our own pleasuring all the day through,
Then meet in the eve at the west."


One sunbeam ran in at a low cottage door
And played hide-and-seek" with a child on the floor,
Till baby laughed loud in his glee,
And chased with delight his strange playmate so bright,
The little hands grasping in vain for the light
That ever before them would flee.

One crept to the couch where an invalid lay,
And brought him a dream of the sweet summer day,
Its bird-song and beauty and bloom;
'Till pain was forgotten and weary unrest,
And in fancy he roamed through the scenes he loved best,
Far away from the dim, darkened room.


iI7


1879.]






THE FOUR SUNBEAMS.


One stole to the heart of a flower that was sad,
And loved and caressed her until she was glad
And lifted her white face again.
For love brings content to the lowliest lot,
And finds something sweet in the dreariest spot,
And lightens all labor and pain.

And one, where a little blind girl sat alone
Not sharing the mirth of her play-fellows, shone
On hands that were folded and pale,
And kissed the poor eyes that had never known sight,
That never would gaze on the beautiful light
Till angels had lifted the veil.


At last, when the shadows of evening were falling,
And the sun, their great father, his children was calling,
Four sunbeams sped into the west.
All said: We have found that in seeking the pleasure
Of others, we fill to the full our own measure,"-
Then softly they sank to their rest.


II8


[DECEMBER,






PAUL AND THE GOBLIN.


PAUL AND THE GOBLIN.

BY J. ESTEN COOKE.


I.
THERE was once upon a time a young man
named Paul, who lived in an old city on the Rhine.
Paul was the son of a laborer, and had learned the
trade of a stone-mason; but at odd times he read
all the books he could lay his hands on, until at
last he knew all about working in wood and marble,
and his neighbors would point after him and say
with a laugh, "There goes Paul, the master work-
man! "
Paul saw that their laughter was good-natured;
but, for all that, they were laughing at him, and he
longed to show them that he really was a master
of his business. He had another reason also for
getting on in the world if he could. He was very
much in love with a young girl named Phenie but
her parents were well to do, and would not hear
of her marrying a poor laborer. So Paul resolved
to take the first opportunity to show his skill; and
one day, when he heard that a great church in the
Lombardic style was to be built in his native town,
he thought, Oh if I could only be employed, I
would build the church, and that would make my
fortune!" But he was too poor. People were
beginning to have a high opinion of him by this
time, and might be willing to intrust the work to
him, perhaps; but how could he pay the workmen
from week to week as the building went on ? Paul
was sitting in his poor garret one night, by the
light of a single candle, thinking over these mat-
ters in a mournful way, when suddenly he heard a
low voice, like the tinkling of a small bell, say:
What's the matter, Paul ? "
Paul started and looked up, for his eyes had
been fixed sadly upon the floor.
Here I am; don't you see me? said the tink-
ling voice. And there, sitting cross-legged on the
top of the old rusty extinguisher of the candlestick,
was a small odd-looking figure of an old man, with
long hair and a wide, laughing mouth, with a purple
cloak falling from his shoulders, a tall, peaked hat
on his head, and shoes with high red heels.
"Who-who are you?" Paul stammered in great
surprise.
"I am the King of the Goblins," said the small
figure, "and I have come to help you. Do you
remember the Elm-tree Quarry, where the work-
men were hewing out rocks one day, and how you
showed them a better quarry, and they went away ?
Well, my royal palace was behind the Elm-tree
Quarry in the mountain, and you prevented it from


being discovered. So I'm your friend, Paul. You
shall build the great Lombardic church."
Paul started with delight.
And you shall marry Phenie."
"Oh! your Royal Highness! exclaimed the
young man.
I mean what I say," continued the King of the
Goblins, winking his eyes several times, which
seemed to be a habit with him. "I know all about
you, Paul; you have plenty of brains, but no
money, like many other people I have known.
Send to the burgomasters your application for build-
ing the church, and get together your workmen.
It's all right; and be sure to engage old Marmorel
the sculptor to do the fine carving in stone."
Marmorel, your Highness! Why, Marmorel
has stopped work; he has lost his right arm! "
Don't be a fool, Paul," said the Goblin, "but
do as I direct."
Yes,-oh yes,-I will, your Highness! ex-
claimed poor Paul, lost in wonder.
And now for the gold to pay your workmen,
Paul. Here is a purse which you need n't be afraid
of emptying. As soon as you get to the bottom
of it, it will be full again."
"Full again, your Highness ?" Paul exclaimed.
"Don't be bandying words with me, young
man! said the King of the Goblins, with lofty
dignity. "Obey my orders, and all will go well.
Send in your paper to the burgomasters early to-
morrow, and engage your workmen, particularly
old Marmorel."
Oh yes,-certainly,-at once,-immediately,
your Highness Paul cried.
"That is well," said the Goblin. "And now,
good-night; I have business to attend to before
morning."
Having said this in his little tinkling voice, the
goblin slid down from the extinguisher, and placing
his heels together, made Paul a polite bow. He
then bounded from the table, lit upon the floor,
and walked on his high red heels out of the room.

II.
ON the very next morning, Paul sent in his ap-
plication to the burgomasters in fear and trembling;
but, to his great astonishment, they at once sent
for him, and after asking him a few questions, and
looking over his plans again, they told him that they
had made up their minds to close the bargain with
him for building their great Lombardic church.


1879.]


II9






PAUL AND THE GOBLIN.


Paul knew very well that this was the work of
the King of the Goblins. He rushed out of the
burgomasters' room and hurried off to collect his
workmen. They came at his call, for
everybody liked the young man and
had confidence in him; and very
Ssoon t f iin.'-itir.n fnr the
c r .: .1 u ,.- I : .lls
L>:.*';nr, .:, to::.


were
ing, !'. .i
them -r.. r. r-
week I.,
purse, '. i-! ,' :
of gol .-,, ,. -.
as it i -. r 1-
and n-. ..... r .. ,
a pick ,,. !, 1 -.I. Ia, ,
a th...i :- ,. ..
seemed to hurl it in-
to the earth. The
shovelfuls of dirt
were thrown hun-
dreds of feet away,
the large blocks of
stone leaped to their
places, and Phenie,
the young girl Paul
loved so dearly,
would often come
and visit him whilst


N .:.i ....: 1... : i .:en

1i,.. Ti, .: ...:rl:,,-,en
r ':-iJ ._,11-
I 'uIl p..id
1. ,;. -ry
*.;n, I ic
--. fall


I- ,


Master Paul, you have sent for me to do the
fine stone-carving on the front of your church, but
how can I ? It 's many a long day since I handled
a chisel. My good right arm is gone, master."
Paul heard a low tinkling voice at his ear, which
said:
Tell him there's ro.:*.rl,;; like trying, Paul."
Marmorel," said the young man, "did you
ever hear the saying, 'There's nothing like try-
ing?' A chisel for the master stone-cutter !" he
said to one of the workmen. It was brought and
handed to old Marmorel, who laughed as he placed
the edge of it against the marble. He had no
sooner done so than a smart blow was struck on
the wooden handle, and the splinters dashed from
the stone on all sides.
"Come, old Marmorel!" Paul said, laughing,
"You strike well with the arm you have lost! To
work, Marmorel!"
Paul then walked away from the astonished old
stone-cutter, but all at once he found him-
self.face to face with a crowd of his work-
men who had. thrown down their tools
and were coming toward him with
loud murmurings.
"What is the meaning of this ? "


he was overlooking
his workmen. At. .
these times, Paul
would perhaps feel
something pulling at ,
the skirts of his coat.
He knew it was the .
King of the Goblins,. -- "4
and he would hold
his hand out, and '-- .- --
then a pair of small -- --~; .. ,. "'- --,,
feet would light in .--- -
it, and a burst of gob-
lin laughter would "THE SHOVELFULS OF DIRT WERE THROWN HUNDREDS OF FEET."
be heard.
"Oh I what is that, Paul ?" Phenie would ex- muttered Paul to himself, and feeling as if some-
claim. Oh, me something is tangled in my thing was about to happen that would ruin him.
hair !" The meaning is," said a low voice at his ear,
She did not know it was only the goblin smooth- that the rascals are coming to complain of me !"
ing her curls. By this time, the workmen were close to him,
At last the church was ready for the ornamental and Paul said to the foremost of them:
work, and old Marmorel, the one-armed carver, Well, Hans, what is the matter ? Why do the
came and said, stroking his long white beard: men stop work before the hour?"


[DECEMBER,


120






PAUL AND THE GOBLIN.


"They are frightened, master," said.
Hans, in a terrified voice; something 's
wrong here."
Something wrong !"
The stones are jumping about like
mad, master," said Hans. "They are
bewitched and turn somersaults before
our very eyes !"
Nonsense, Hans," said Paul.
Tell him he is a fool, Paul," said the
tinkling voice.
"And the men going up the ladders
with the mortar," Hans went on, "say
something pushes them and voices scream
in their ears, 'Faster faster !' "
"It was I!" whispered the small voice
nearly smothered in laughter.
"It's true, master," said Hans, "and
the burgomasters have heard the report,
and come to see about it. They sent me
to summon you to their presence."
Paul's heart sank at these words, and
he said:
"Where are they, Hans ?"
On top of the church, master, where
the great scaffolding is."
Fear nothing, Paul," the voice said;
" go and face them. I will be there."
So Paul, in fear and trembling, went up
the ladder and stood in presence of the
fat old burgomasters. As soon as he ap-
peared before them, the biggest and round-
est pulled down his waistcoat, cleared his
throat, stepped grandly forward, and thus
addressed him:
Sir, we have come to investigate the
strange reports in regard to the manner
in which,-that is, the method adopted in
the-construction and erection of this
large and intelligent building which-hem
-I see before me "
Here the speaker puffed out his cheeks
and awaited Paul's reply.
Shall I throw that puffy old fellow
down the ladder, Paul?" said a voice at
his ear.
Oh, no! no! Your Highness! you
would ruin me !" exclaimed the young
man.
I am glad to see you are aware, sir,"
said the fat burgomaster, of the respect
due to me, as you address me as 'Your
Highness'-very proper, sir; very proper!"
Paul bowed and said:
"I hope, and feel sure, the gentlemen
burgomasters will not believe all they
hear. These gossiping reports are--"
VOL. VII.-9.


THE FAT BURGOMASTER TAKES A CURIOUS RIDE.


1879.1


121






PAUL AND THE GOBLIN.


"' Gossiping reports,' sir? Look at that trowel,
sir!"
Paul turned round quickly and saw the silver
trowel of the head mason quietly mortaring the
stones without help from the workman.
"Your Highness I" murmured Paul to the in-
visible King of the Goblins, "if you desert me
now, I am lost! "
"Never fear, Paul," said the voice.
"Do you see, sir?" cried the fat burgomaster,
starting back as he spoke; "do you behold the
extraordinary and highly improper and unbecom-
ing conduct of that trowel, sir ?"
Suddenly, the fat burgomaster jumped backward
and nearly fell from the scaffolding.' The silver
trowel had leaped down, and, standing on its point,
made him a low and respectful bow. It then rose


the ladder, down which he hastened, followed by
the rest.
"That's the end of me Paul exclaimed.
"You are a goose !-" said the voice. Make
the men a speech and tell them to go back to
work."
Paul obeyed, and made the workmen a short
speech; and they were so fond of him that they
once more went to work.
"If the old fellows come to trouble you again,
Paul, I '11 fix 'em said the tinkling voice. "Cour-
age, Paul; you shall marry Phenie yet!"

III.
PAUL took heart at this, and pushed the work
on the church so ardently, that soon the whole was
done excepting the top of the great spire. It was


"'I
_ .



t_ 4 KJ


~-5---


STHE DANCING TROWEL.
erect again, and bowed in turn to all present, after the most beautiful building that men's eyes ever
which it began to spin round on its point in a rested upon. Old Marmorel and the goblins had
waltz. Never did anybody see a merrier or quicker cut the hard marble into delicate vines and flow-
waltz. The trowel spun so rapidly that you could ers, like fine lace, and Paul and Phenie were
hardly see it, and inch by inch it drew near the standing on the roof in the red sunset, looking with
spot where the burgomasters were standing. delight on the towering spire.
"Oh, Your Highness, I'm ruined "Paul groaned. Suddenly, steps were heard, and Paul looked
Hush your nonsense, Paul!" said the laugh- round and saw the burgomasters approaching. In
ing voice, front was the fat old fellow who did the speaking,
But look, Your Highness! and he said to Paul:
The fat burgomaster was rushing in terror toward "Ahem, sir!-ahem, sir! Unaccustomed as I am,


[DECEMBER,


122






PAUL AND THE GOBLIN.


CG ~C


---. .. .... '" --' ,, : '.

-- -- ,
-I. i b9 -L


sir, to public speaking,-ahem, sir!-I must beg leave to say, sir-to / call
your attention to the fact that those windows are botched, sir And
look at those doors They are too low-no, they are too high, sir! The
stone work is intensely,-I may say,-excessively and intol- rably bad,
sir! Then, considering the means, sir, you have em- playedd, sir, in
the construction and erection of this building, sir,- the unbecoming,
and highly improper, and extraordinary behavior of I that trowel, sir-"
"I mean to do for that old hunks, Paul!" a -. .. tinkling voice said.
At the same moment, a wheelbarrow, which ad been standing near,
lifted its feet and ran straight at the fat old burgomaster. It struck
his legs, he dropped into it, with his legs ''flying into the air, and then
the wheelbarrow ran down the ladder :.', with the burgomaster. The rest
followed, and soon were running after t, puffing and red in the face,
through the streets of the town "- .'' toward the mountains. As it ran,
the magical wheelbarrow drew everybody, and they ran after it,-the
lawyers looking wise as they rutted to court, the doctors looking
wiser and flourishing their I' .-.-headed canes, the merchants, fat and
rich by selling out at cost, i. : - .- lies rustling their finery, the beggars
limping on sound legs, -all followed the magical wheelbarrow. Be-
hind came people in carriages and on horseback. Dogs and cats, and
even the rats, were galloping on like the rest; and a company of sol-
diers, with a band I music, broke ranks and followed, with the drums
rumbling and !... ir. trumpets blowing; and a lonely tortoise slowly
brought up the .. .1 Never was such a sight seen by human eyes before !
Thewheel- '- f- barrow ran on and the crowd ran after it until night, when
it stopped before the Elm-tree Quarry in the mountain. It stopped so
sudden- -' 'ly that the fat old burgomaster was sent flying out, with his
legs kicking; and then the wheelbarrow rose straight up and made
a ,b-. b to everybody, after which it ran into the mountain and disappeared.

I- f-

._ -", ,.- -'. .' 7




^ ^r^-^ -^---- -
THEI CHASE OF THE WHEELBARROW 1''
The people stared, rubbed their eyes, and went home without a word. On the next morning, when
they met their neighbors, they laughed and jested about the odd dream they had had,-all about a
magical wheelbarrow, and running after it to the mountain. Even the fat old burgomaster laughed
heartily at the idea that he could really have been carried off in that way in a wheelbarrow; and,
being in a very good humor, he went to look at the church.
The vast building was finished and Paul and Phenie were again standing together upon the great
roof. Seeing them there, the old burgomaster went up to them and shook hands with Paul.


1879.]


123






124 PAUL AND

Why, bless my soul what a grand spire that
is, my young friend!" he exclaimed; "and the
windows and doors and stone work,-they are per-
fection! Sir, your work is a magnificent and last-
ing and enduring,-an unparalleled and extraor-
dinary triumph of the loftiest genius, sir In the
name of the respectable and enlightened city
fathers, I beg, sir, to present you the freedom of
your native city "
Having conferred this high honor upon the
young architect, the burgomaster made Paul a
low bow and went down the ladder.
As he did so, a voice said:
Kiss your bride, Paul! "
Paul caught young Phenie to his heart and kissed
her, when the tinkling voice said:
You shall marry her in this very church, my
good Paul. You are now rich and famous, and
you see that the King of the Goblins has not
broken his word to you."
Oh, thanks thanks! how can I ever show
my gratitude, Your Highness?" exclaimed Paul.
"By living honestly and uprightly and doing
your duty, Paul. Shake hands! "


THE GOBLIN.


[DECEMBER,


Suddenly Phenie screamed and started back.
There before them, on the roof of the church, was
the King of the Goblins, with his queer peaked
hat, his purple robe, and his high-heeled shoes.
He reached up his small hand, and Paul and Phenie
shook it, though the young girl was trembling with
fright.
Make Paul a good wife, Phenie," said the gob-
lin, winking his eyes rapidly; and if you ever get
into trouble, Paul, remember I'm your friend."
He then placed his red heels together, made a
low and polite bow, and, with his hands on his
hips, walked quietly off the eaves of the church
and vanished.
Paul took the blushing young Phenie on his
arm, and then they went home. They were soon
afterward married in the great Lombardic church,
and all the great people of the city came to the
wedding. The young couple lived a very happy
life, and Paul was successful in all his undertak-
ings, becoming very rich and prosperous. He
never got into trouble, however, as he was honest
and upright; and for that reason he never saw the
King of the Goblins again.


THE KING OF THE GOBLINS SAYS FAREWELL TO PAUL AND PHENIE.


i l-ri _




! "i -t ':- -----_ .' -
-'I ," _



jll





My SU
*-- -- F-AN


125


...m

-,k-




"! : '. ".4 ..* ,' ,..








My '
n SUNIL
.. ",. ..,,E .
FAN


T4...'.i. agine it .
fW e'






s flower as eann act
a ?0ely litti Pet Aonegu 21)f inoed
t1a I ll for aco e e f the,1 tle n
40. sch ot ^a uaint co e oe l Auno f .t tf at ] eea an b 7 .hedre ta bo
i lt'sers b .u it hs :a g,' ,eel give' to N ,'-t"




S %e a at slie y les noee e- e phl the oul e ee't sil Aunts s
I Ws ne lf l) laUntl he
j 1e o.' .. '' W h c t Sh ould bee. a Play,


S o '7,e -. d o C e p;e '. s ,,e _e

nn i l e sI et o u ie t -d -






o ter PI- le, she
eteLo oaf"e till d






e _ed ccas ofIn ... aersna.e h t.e.
oahe.re Suc fraes a feet aV "e SO that 1a '11 t
eaSalute, t"g te d 'St d e-''-" b u th storya s-








looked E ina ork ll ban to Wel t an
aboiest Iiat.-, es vio s he p tbt Whe itceOln I t )O n unt-
a f C "rs & o r r ieo -" M e t h ea "ine




seemed LillianPla s ro tey al so the a '1 th Ihol Or no-Swk




to o e, v to hfa R" tLdulem ta1d a thol, -il fo all u dle s se.
Cm,, oeen ay. es n.Oi le I e Ic ae sheo e th ael lot,-u look




teng a g Wsith e )t wonderO-te Ol-de fc "e Ge' an ne
tind i hoes3' sc astt ereld I. oie r i. e thr d ha 'onl d h o


0. 1 Sa u th the lad- 1a114 or t 11 Ito a ts r e n s t in
abi Snos s too trin eah d
to.an ote c andnYd sou ol ca o O eh o.d lte a e n Ye
b e e U sn o tofh od 1 o .11 t1,es a f the h ue e ,
'deie dress IV a vii f "esso fo I .res

LJTmt M I tessere -1ier ll no rl, iOda
lookedo lke ca S. Fr, S,' eciv tf e sPri zel eSr lde
b is guest0 ,. ry t ... eisxiti n o ttle s who
T f t, es ad aric-, lee ta 6 r-.nll a
see, .... e a Chiy n aYMoss t : ug t Io^ to e I I s m bundle. t o l) t
ul rl f n ileontti,, -es Ollf Il ei Oue 01p r S e geto tle
Y l S st o oking oe stood e c i e e Se-n- r the U
,e y ., es m ost rtere -I
ro another ing 'the You cani o, t o
li, nleold 4-0, .1_ tig their I -- a re
Ila" 1 secret "f ': Den aid.
0 er p rizn she







12 Y "UFL XE'"FN.[EEBR


gave this reply (first reverently naming several of
the Emperor's many titles, as was the custom) :
'Most Gracious Son of Heaven, Lord of the
Earth, Light of the Empire, and King of the Golden
Dragon, our Great Prophet Fo, says: What is
told in the ear is often heard a hundred miles off";
and also Give not away that which is not thine
own." The secret is not mine. The secret be-
longeth to my daughter and granddaughter.' And
here the grandmother (who was not such a very
old woman, as women marry very young in China)
bowed her head nine times to the earth.
"The Emperor ordered a large sum of money to
be presented to the woman, and with his own august
hands gave her magnificent strings of pearls for her
daughter and granddaughter. Also for the grand-
daughter he gave a golden badge of honor, bidding
the grandmother bring the maiden before the next
new moon, for he must know her secret, and
should her words be straight words, he would
honor her as never lowly maid was honored before.
The heart of Su-ling-shi was filled with delight
when she heard the words of her grandmother.
Busily was her loom set to work that she might
have a dress so magnificent for the occasion that
the 'King of the Golden Dragon' might find
pleasure in beholding her.
The great day at length dawned, the heart of
Su-ling-shi fluttered with fear and delight as-
arrayed in dress of rose-pink silk and sky-blue tunic
embroidered with gold, the pearls in her hair and
golden badge upon her bosom-she approached
with trembling footsteps his 'Fragrant Majesty,'
whose subjects bend their foreheads to the ground,
not daring to gaze upon him.
"Look on the fan," said Aunt Maggie: "you
will see the Great King of the Dragon seated upon
a chair which bears the sign of the dragon, the
symbol of the Chinese Empire. His robe, sent
him by Su-ling-shi, is of royal yellow silk, with
a golden sun upon his breast and a royal pea-
cock's feather in his cap.
"Next to him is the Grand Mandarin of the
Household,' clothed in scarlet. The great Man-
darin of War, General Hae-ling-ah, in scarlet robes
and blue sash, stands with drawn sword to warn
them that death is always the penalty of an un-
truth before the great Emperor.
The grandmother, in dress of green silk with
yellow collar, standing behind the general, ad-
vanced first, and bowing nine times to the ground,
said: 'Know, Most Mighty King, that in my gar-
den grows a mulberry tree, upon which I ofttimes
noticed a worm that spun a ball for a house in
which to live. These balls I often took within my
dwelling, and I found that in a little time a moth
crept out from each and flew away. I amused


La-See, my daughter, with the silken balls. This
is all that I have done. Siao te kin." It is very
little. Let my daughter La-See speak.'
Then the mother, whom you see next with the
royal pearls in her hair and pink silk dress, bowed
nine times, saying: 'Most Gracious Ten Thou-
sand Years, whilst amusing myself watching the
caterpillar, I found that its house or cocoon would
unwind, and I used it as thread with which to
embroider the fine muslin," Woven Wind." After-
ward, I taught my daughter to do the same. This,
my Gracious King, is all that I have done. Let
my daughter speak.'
"Then came Su-ling-shi, and, after nine bows,
she proudly raised her head and said: 'If His
Most Gracious Majesty and Light of the Empire
will deign to cast his eyes upon these insects, he
will see they are but common moths, which I here
let fly from my hand. I followed the example of
my wise parents (may they live a thousand years !),
and saw that it was this insect which laid the
eggs upon the mulberry tree, and which afterward
became the Bombye mori, or caterpillar. This fed
upon the mulberry leaves thirty-two days, and,
casting its skin four times, began to spin its cocoon,
winding always the same way. My mother (may
Fo bless her!) had learned to unwind the cocoon
and had planted many trees. Thus it was, Most
Mighty King, that I was enabled to gather many
cocoons, and reeling the threads together, I
hit upon the idea of weaving them. This, my
Sovereign, is the cocoon, and in this roll you will
find the result,-a piece of-silk, which I hope may
prove worthy of the acceptance of your Gracious
Loftiness, to whom I surrender my knowledge.'
And again she bowed her forehead to the ground.
Behold a maiden possessed of all the virtues,'
said the Emperor. And then turning to her, he
said: 'Rise, fair maid; such wisdom, such in-
dustry, and such beauty are worthy of an empire.
Half my throne shall be thine.' And, taking the
hand of the blushing Su-ling-shi, he seated her
beside him.
'My lords,' he continued, 'prepare for the
bridal ceremony. Summon the ladies of the court,
and henceforth know our mother as the Princess
La-See, and our grandmother as the Princess Sang.
Honor them as such, and let the whole land know
our Dragon will!'
"You will see on the fan," continued Aunt
Maggie, "that the court ladies were not far off,
and that their curiosity was great, for they were
peeping. Of course, grandma congratulated her-
self on her shrewdness in presenting the silk to the
Emperor instead of selling it to a merchant.
"The ingenious empress not only taught the
ladies of her court how to raise the silk-worm, but


MY "SUNFLOWER'S" FAN.


I26


[DECEMBER,






JINGLE.


brought vast sums of money into her husband's
treasury by selling the secret to the weavers, and
for many hundreds of years these Chinese weavers
carefully guarded the secret which only they pos-
sessed. At last a sly old European monk went to
China, obtained the secret, and, stealing some
cocoons, hid them in his hollow reed cane, and
walked away, rejoicing all Europe by showing
people how silk was made."

Aunt Maggie ceased. The children drew a long
breath, and slid down from the high trunks to
resume their parts as little show-women of the other
pretty things Aunt Maggie had brought from Cali-
fornia. Netty, with glowing cheeks, looked on, still
placidly waving the great fan and wondering how
soon she would grow to be a real "young lady."
The picture which ST. NICHOLAS, has made for
you, and which is printed on page 125, is an exact


copy, in pencil, of Netty's fan. The figures in this
picture-copy had to be made very small, for the
illustration to fit the magazine page, but, with
a little careful study, you will be able to recognize
the principal characters, especially as they are all
to be found in the little central pavilion. Seated
at the right side of it is the great Emperor, with
a sun upon his breast, and before him, with a
roll of silk ii her hand, stands Su-ling-shi. The
Mandarin of War, with drawn sword, stands beside
her (in the very center of the fan), and at his left is
the Grandmother, with her queer head-dress. Of
course, the coloring could not be shown you, but
if you will remember that the whole scene in the
body of the fan is-in the fan itself-made up of
many gorgeous and varied colors, and that the
vanes of the fan are all gilded, you can easily
imagine from this drawing what a beautiful present
Aunt Maggie's was.


THERE was an old man of Cathay;
When a peddler called round, he would say:
"The price is quite low,
And I 'd like it, you know-
But I think I wont take it to-day."


I879]-


127









oo
.Ti ,..---. : -.._ : ., ii;: ...,,v ,.,'- r~-
10 ir,*_ __" .----_ ;

Fil; .,:!j 1.,11 r1[! ,JI:)i..i ,111,~ ,I.r

,:A,,I., ..'. -,, ',, -- *., :
i M, If
_k I j. rl:
.. X" -, ! '.,r,,'",i'n,





-~ 1=
,-. f 1 .. "T =




q7---- -04
-,. 1 ;j l~~r~~i ll-I- oo
n .'
:t -. i _- :.

~r


i'_8; d l .. --- -_-_





___________________________
-
US
;-_-=-


....-- --__


'THE ELEPHANTS TURNED, AND, WITH TOSSING TRUNKS, PLUNGED OVER THE LOW PARAPET."






ABRAM MORRISON.


HOW THE ELEPHANTS TURNED BACK.


A LONG time ago, two hundred and seventeen
years before Christ, there was a king of Egypt,
Ptolemy the Fourth, who was returning, proud and
victorious, from a war with his enemies. On his
way home, he passed through Jerusalem; and
there, feeling that such a mighty conqueror had a
right to go where he pleased, he endeavored to
enter the most sacred precinct of the Jewish Tem-
ple,-the "Holy of Holies." No one among his
own people could prevail upon him to give up his
rash plan; but in answer to a prayer by the High-
Priest of the Temple, who stood undismayed before
him, this great king fell senseless to the ground.
He did not try again to penetrate into this sacred
place, but he became very much enraged against
the Jewish people; and, when he returned to Alex-
andria, he ordered all the Jews in that city to give
up their religion and to practice the heathenish
rites of Egypt. Only a few Jews consented to do
this; nearly all of them boldly refused. Then the
angry king commanded that all the Jews in the
country around about, as well as those in the city,
should be arrested and confined in the Hippodrome,
or great circus, just outside of the town.
When, after a good many failures and difficulties,
this had at last been done, Ptolemy prepared to
carry out his great and novel plan of vengeance.
This was to have these poor people trampled to
death by elephants. Such a performance in the
circus would make a grand show for the heathen
king and his heathen people.
But it was not to be expected that elephants,


who are good-natured creatures, would be willing
to trample upon human beings unless they were
in some way excited or enraged. Therefore, a
great many elephants were drugged and intoxi-
cated; and, when they had thus been made wild
and reckless, they were let loose in the great arena
of the Hippodrome, where the trembling Jews were
gathered together in groups, awaiting their fate.
In rushed and stumbled the great monsters, and
the Egyptian king and vast crowds of the Egyptian
people sat in their seats to see what would happen
to the Jews.
But, suddenly, up rose Eleazer, an aged priest
of the Jews; and, lifting his hands toward heaven,
he prayed for deliverance.
Then, all at once, the elephants stopped. They
snorted and threw their trunks into the air, they
ran backward and sidewise in wild confusion, and
then they turned, and with savage cries and toss-
ing trunks, they plunged over the low parapet
around the arena, and ran trampling madly
among the people who had come to see the show!
The scene was a terrible one, and the punish-
ment of the Egyptians was very great. The king
sat high above all, and out of danger; but he
was struck with fear, and determined no longer to
endeavor to punish a people who were so miracu-
lously defended. When at last the elephants were
driven back and this awful performance at the circus
had come to an end, the king let the Jews go free.
And this day of their wonderful deliverance was
made an annual festival among them.


ABRAM MORRISON.

BY JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.


'MIDST the men and things which will
Haunt an old man's memory still,
Drollest, quaintest of them all,
With a boy's laugh I recall
Good old Abram Morrison.

When the Grist and Rolling Mill
Ground and rumbled by Po Hill,
And the old red school-house stood
Midway in the Powow's flood,
Here dwelt Abram Morrison.


From the Beach to far beyond
Bear-Hill, Lion's Mouth and Pond,
Marvelous to our tough old stock,
Chips o' the Anglo-Saxon block,
Seemed the Celtic Morrison.

Mudknock, Balmawhistle, all
Only knew the Yankee drawl,
Never brogue was heard till when,
Foremost of his countrymen,
Hither came Friend Morrison;


1879.]


129






ABRAM MORRISON.


HOW THE ELEPHANTS TURNED BACK.


A LONG time ago, two hundred and seventeen
years before Christ, there was a king of Egypt,
Ptolemy the Fourth, who was returning, proud and
victorious, from a war with his enemies. On his
way home, he passed through Jerusalem; and
there, feeling that such a mighty conqueror had a
right to go where he pleased, he endeavored to
enter the most sacred precinct of the Jewish Tem-
ple,-the "Holy of Holies." No one among his
own people could prevail upon him to give up his
rash plan; but in answer to a prayer by the High-
Priest of the Temple, who stood undismayed before
him, this great king fell senseless to the ground.
He did not try again to penetrate into this sacred
place, but he became very much enraged against
the Jewish people; and, when he returned to Alex-
andria, he ordered all the Jews in that city to give
up their religion and to practice the heathenish
rites of Egypt. Only a few Jews consented to do
this; nearly all of them boldly refused. Then the
angry king commanded that all the Jews in the
country around about, as well as those in the city,
should be arrested and confined in the Hippodrome,
or great circus, just outside of the town.
When, after a good many failures and difficulties,
this had at last been done, Ptolemy prepared to
carry out his great and novel plan of vengeance.
This was to have these poor people trampled to
death by elephants. Such a performance in the
circus would make a grand show for the heathen
king and his heathen people.
But it was not to be expected that elephants,


who are good-natured creatures, would be willing
to trample upon human beings unless they were
in some way excited or enraged. Therefore, a
great many elephants were drugged and intoxi-
cated; and, when they had thus been made wild
and reckless, they were let loose in the great arena
of the Hippodrome, where the trembling Jews were
gathered together in groups, awaiting their fate.
In rushed and stumbled the great monsters, and
the Egyptian king and vast crowds of the Egyptian
people sat in their seats to see what would happen
to the Jews.
But, suddenly, up rose Eleazer, an aged priest
of the Jews; and, lifting his hands toward heaven,
he prayed for deliverance.
Then, all at once, the elephants stopped. They
snorted and threw their trunks into the air, they
ran backward and sidewise in wild confusion, and
then they turned, and with savage cries and toss-
ing trunks, they plunged over the low parapet
around the arena, and ran trampling madly
among the people who had come to see the show!
The scene was a terrible one, and the punish-
ment of the Egyptians was very great. The king
sat high above all, and out of danger; but he
was struck with fear, and determined no longer to
endeavor to punish a people who were so miracu-
lously defended. When at last the elephants were
driven back and this awful performance at the circus
had come to an end, the king let the Jews go free.
And this day of their wonderful deliverance was
made an annual festival among them.


ABRAM MORRISON.

BY JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.


'MIDST the men and things which will
Haunt an old man's memory still,
Drollest, quaintest of them all,
With a boy's laugh I recall
Good old Abram Morrison.

When the Grist and Rolling Mill
Ground and rumbled by Po Hill,
And the old red school-house stood
Midway in the Powow's flood,
Here dwelt Abram Morrison.


From the Beach to far beyond
Bear-Hill, Lion's Mouth and Pond,
Marvelous to our tough old stock,
Chips o' the Anglo-Saxon block,
Seemed the Celtic Morrison.

Mudknock, Balmawhistle, all
Only knew the Yankee drawl,
Never brogue was heard till when,
Foremost of his countrymen,
Hither came Friend Morrison;


1879.]


129






ABRAM MORRISON.


Irish of the Irishes,
Pope nor priest nor church were his;
Sober with his Quaker folks,
Merry with his quiet jokes
On week days was Morrison.

Half a genius, quick to plan
As to blunder; Irishman
Rich in schemes, and, in the end,
Spoiling what he could not mend,
Such was Abram Morrison.

Back and forth to daily meals,
Rode his cherished pig on wheels,
And to all who came to see:
"Aisier for the pig an' me,
Sure it is," said Morrison.

Careless-hearted, boy o'ergrown !
Jack of all trades, good at none,
Shaping out with saw and lathe
Ox-yoke, pudding-slice, or snath,
Whistled Abram Morrison.

Well we loved the tales he told
Of a country strange and old,
Where the fairies danced till dawn;
And the goblin Leprecaun
Looked, we thought, like Morrison.

First was he to sing the praise
Of the Powow's winding ways;
And our straggling village took
City grandeur to the look
Of its prophet Morrison.

All his words have perished. Shame
On the saddle-bags of Fame,
That they bring not to our time
One poor couplet of the rhyme
Made by Abram Morrison !

When, on calm and fair First Days,
Rattled down our one-horse chaise
Through the blossomed apple-boughs
To the Quaker meeting-house,
There was Abram Morrison.


Underneath his hat's broad brim
Peered the queer' old face of him;
And with Irish jauntiness
Swung the coat-tails of the dress
Worn by Abram Morrison.

Still, in memory, on his feet,
Leaning o'er the old, high seat,
Mingling with a solemn drone,
Celtic accents all his own,
Rises Abram Morrison.

SDon't," he 's pleading,-" don't ye go,
Dear young friends, to sight and show;
Don't run after elephants,
Learned pigs and presidents
And the likes said Morrison.

On his well-worn theme intent,
Simple, child-like, innocent,
Heaven forgive the half-checked smile
Of our careless boyhood, while
Listening to Friend Morrison!

Once a soldier, blame him not
That the Quaker he forgot,
When, to think of battles won,
And the red-coats on the run,
Laughed aloud Friend Morrison.

Dead and gone! But while its track
Powow keeps to Merrimack,
While Po Hill is still on guard,
Looking land and ocean ward,
They shall tell of Morrison !

After half a century's lapse,
We are wiser now, perhaps,
But we miss our streets amid
Something which the past has hid,
Lost with Abram Morrison.

Gone forever with the queer
Characters of that old year!
Now the many are as one;
Broken is the mold that run
Men like Abram Morrison.


-~ ~ L

- i 'T r


130


DECEMBER






A BEGINNING.


A BEGINNING.

BY SARAH WINTER KELLOGG.


fKATE was eleven;
Johnny was six; Dora
.. was "going on" five.
It was nearly Christ-
A ', w mas, and Kate had her
mind set upon mak-
ing Johnny a present.
What should it be?
Not slippers, for Aunt
Mary had sent him a
pretty pair on hisbirth-
day, blue with a knot
of pansies. Neither
could the present be
I mittens, lest grandma
might be offended; for
she could do little else
but knit, and consid-
ered it her right to
keep the family hands
"' i i and feet clothed.
1 i' Johnny, being the
only boy, slept in win-
ter on a lounge in the
sitting-room, and this suggested to Kate the thing
to make for him,-a cover for the lounge cushion.
One afternoon, when the mother had gone to
stay with grandma, who was sick, Kate attempted
a beginning. She brought the scrap-bag from the
attic, and settled little Dora by the window to re-
port Johnny's approach. He had gone to the
baker's for a loaf of bread. Then she emptied the
bag in the middle of the floor, and began picking
out the woolen pieces which would do to be put to-
gether for the cover. She had set aside a scrap of
yellow flannel, and a piece of Johnny's new pepper-
and-salt suit, and was thinking about taking a third
bit,-a blue merino, bright but moth-eaten,-when
there was a cry from the sentinel at the window:
Johnny's coming "
Kate, in a panic, snatched up the pieces by great
handfuls, and crowded them back into the bag, ask-
ing if he was almost to the gate. She would n't
have little Johnny see even the thread and needle
she was to make his present with; it must be a
complete surprise to him. When the scraps were
all in the bag, and the bag under the lounge, Dora
said :
"Why, no; it is n't Johnny, it 's Aaron Bridges."
Well, I think it 's a pity," Kate said, if you


can't tell Johnny from Aaron Bridges, who is a head
taller and has red hair."
She dragged out the bag, and again emptied the
pieces on the floor.
Anyhow, they both wear caps," said Dora de-
fending herself.
"Yes, they do, and a hen and a gander both
wear feathers," said Kate.
Oh yes, but," and Dora bobbed her head in
triumph, they aint both of them hens, and they
aint both of them ganders."
Well, now," said Kate amused, "begin again;
keep a good lookout, and tell me if you see Johnny
coming; but please, don't mistake every boy in
town for him."
I 'd rather pick out the pieces; you watch for
Johnny," said Dora.
"That 's always the way with little girls; they
never want to do what they can do. You'd better
stand up in the chair, and then you can see farther
down the street."
So Dora mounted a chair, and turned her face
to the window, looking very tall, and Kate went on
turning over the scraps and added to Dora:
"You must keep your eyes on the street. You
must n't stop to watch me. Johnny might come
while you 're watching me, and ruin everything."
Dora returned to her sentinel watch, and imme-
diately cried out that Johnny was coming.
Kate seized the bag with one hand, and a heap of
scraps with the other, and then ran to the window to
see if Dora's report was true.
Where?" she asked. "Where is he?"
"Right there," said Dora. Don't you see his
blue scarf?"
"What a goose you are cried Kate. That's
crazy Polly Perkins. I should think you could tell
that great tall crazy woman with a sun-bonnet from
your own little boy brother."
"Anyhow," said Dora, "you talk as if little
brothers was sometimes girls."
Kate laughed, and then said: If you '11 keep a
good watch, Dode, and tell me truly when Johnny's
coming, I '11 make your doll a princess dress."
"'Well," Dora agreed, I '11 look hard 's I can,
and I '11 tell really-truly next time."
"Well, please, Dody, do."
Dora turned her face street-ward, and Kate went
back to examining the scrap-bag. She soon had a
good pile of gay bits selected, but in the midst of


1879.]


13I






A BEGINNING.


her work, she heard on the walk the tramp, tramp
of a boy's boots, coming around the house to the
side door.
There he is !" cried Kate, starting and grab-
bing the scraps, as she darted a swift glance at the
faithless Dora, fast asleep, seated in her chair;
Kate had just time to get all the pieces thor-
oughly mixed and crowded back into the bag,
when Johnny came stamping in.
I 'm so glad he did n't see the pieces," Kate
thought, not realizing that no beginning was yet
made toward the cushion-cover. The sitting-room


der if he found it full of gold pieces. I wish things
happened in sure-enough as in story-books; and I
wish boys were as good out of books as in, and
would go to bed at their bed-time."
I will go truly, as soon as I see if Philip found
anything in his stocking," said Johnny, falling to
on the story. I '11 read as fast as I can."
And skip all the long words," said Kate. "See
here: I '11 read to you after you get to bed."
All right," said Johnny, who 'd rather be read
to than read, any day, or night either.
He went into the next room, and undressed, and


CD D F
" i JOHNNY'S COMIN'! CRIED DORA FROM THE WINDOW."


being the only one warmed, Kate could not take soon came back and lay on the lounge under cover,
her Christmas work to another, while Kate read rapidly about "Philip and what he


After Johnny goes to bed, I can work on it,"
she thought; he always goes early."
But that night Johnny got interested in a story,
and when his bed-time came, he teased Kate to let
him read on a little farther.
"It 's so nice," he pleaded; about a poor
little boy named Philip. He hung up his stocking
Christmas night, and I want to see if he got any-
thing in it."
Of course he did," said Kate. In stories they
always get their stockings filled. I shouldn't won-


found in his stocking Christmas morning.
And that 's all," she said at length, closing the
book; and now go to sleep."
They were quiet for a moment, when Johnny said:
Katie, don't you think it 's mean that Philip
did n't get something in his stocking beside candy,
-something to play with ? A drum is splendid:
rub-a-dub-dub rub-a-dub-dub !"
"There, hush try to go to sleep," said Kate.
She sat quiet as a statue, the book before her,
staring at the picture of Philip on Christmas morn-


132


[DECEMBER,







A BEGINNING.


ing, jacketless, barefooted, inspecting his plump
stocking by lamp-light. She dared not turn a leaf,
or move a finger, and scarcely breathed. After
what seemed a long, long waiting, she asked in
a very low tone:
"Are you asleep, Johnny?"
"No," said Johnny. I keep thinking 'bout
Philip. What kind of candy do you s'pose it was
he got in his stocking? I hope it was gum-drops
and chocolate-creams."
Never mind about that. Just go to sleep."
Again there was silence, while Kate looked at
the shadows about the room; at the clock; at the
picture of Philip, and read over, for the twentieth
time, -or the hundredth, or the thousandth, it may
be,-the contents of that Christmas stocking.
At length she thought Johnny must surely be
asleep, he lay so quiet, and she felt so very anxious
to make a beginning. She rose softly and tiptoed
over to the lounge, where he lay with his face to
the wall. She bent over and peeped. His wide-
open eyes turned to hers.
"Are n't you asleep yet?" said Kate, with some
impatience.
"No," said Johnny, sadly. "I keep worrying
about Philip yet. Do you think his candy was
those mean old peppermint things that taste like
medicine and smart the tongue ?"
No," said Kate, with ready sympathy. "I think
it was cream-candy. The stocking bulges out in
one place just the shape of a stick of cream-candy."
"Let me see where it does," said Johnny,
eagerly, sitting up.
Kate, remembering his trait of "holding on,"
decided that the quickest way to quiet him was to
bring the book and show him the picture.
Don't you see, the stocking sticks out right
there, just like there was a piece of cream-candy."
Johnny did see, or imagined he did, a slight
irregularity in the line of the stocking-picture, and
lay down. Kate arranged the bedclothes about
him, and said, soothingly:
Now, go to sleep, darling."
I will," said Johnny, obediently.
A period of silence ensued, while Kate waited,
matching in her mind a blue square to a brown
merino one, and a green to a red. "No," she
thought, "I '11 put drab and red together."
Katie," said a smothered voice from the bed.
"What is it, Johnny?" said Kate, hopelessly.
Was n't it a very little bit of cream-candy ? The
stick-out in the picture is such a little stick-out."
"Why, no," said kind Kate, in a re-assuring
tone. I think the stick-out is a good-sized stick-
out, and I'm sure the candy was a good large piece."


I 'm so glad," said Johnny, settling himself
again on the pillow.
Kate waited. Tick tock tick tock! For
four minutes this was the only sound.
If he stays quiet one minute longer," Kate
thought, watching the clock, "it must be he 's
asleep, and then I can work."
Kate !"
"Oh, dear! dear!" said Kate, growing vexed.
"What is the matter now, Johnny?"
Guess you 'tl have to give me some soothing
sirup to make me sleep," said Johnny. Next to
candy he liked soothing sirup.
Oh, Johnny !" said Kate, in imploring tones,
" wont you please go to sleep ?"
I can't, Katie; I keep thinking about Philip.
I 'm afraidd some big boy took a bite of his cream-
candy, and took more 'n half. Big boys always do
take more 'n half."
I '11 tell you, Johnny. You say your letters
backward. That will keep you from thinking
about Philip, and will get you to sleep."
Johnny promised, and again Kate tucked him
in, and for a moment everything was quiet. Then
he again called:
"Katie!"
"Why don't you mind me, and say your letters
backward, as I told you?" Kate demanded.
I 'm going to," Johnny answered, when you
tell me which comes first backward, V or W. It's
hard to say them backward; it 's like dragging
the sled up hill."
Well," said Kate, relenting, "never mind;
I '11 read to you."
She began to fear that there might be fifty other
stoppages before the alphabet backward would be
finished.
She read an essay on the "Art of Reading."
In the midst of the first paragraph her reading was
interrupted.
It is n't a pretty piece," said Johnny.
"Wait; may be you 'll like the last part bet-
ter," said sly Kate.
"Well," Johnny assented, turning over.
Kate went on reading about the "importance of
a distinct enunciation," and about the "indispens-
able condition to good reading that the author's
meaning should be clearly apprehended," etc., etc.,
reading in a voice purposely as monotonous as
the slow grinding of a coffee-mill. Suddenly she
stopped; a welcome sound came to her ear:
Johnny was snoring !
Then Kate brought out the scrap-bag from the
oven of the kitchen-stove, where she had hid it,
and soon actually made a beginning.


I33


r879.1






I34


THE LITTLE FIRST MAN


[DECEMBER,


THE LITTLE FIRST MAN AND THE LITTLE FIRST WOMAN.
(An Indiaz Leged. )

BY WILLIAM M. CARY.

[This story has been told to the children of the Dacotah Indians fur very many years, having been handed down from generation to
generation; and it is now listened to by Indian children with as much interest as it excited in the red-skinned boys and girls of a
thousand years ago.]
ON the bank of one of the many branches of and a girl; but nothing about this is known for
the Missouri River,-or "Big Muddy," as it is certain. These small people lived in a tiny lodge
called by the Indians on account of the color of its near the river, feeding upon the berries that grew
waters,-there lived a along the shore. These were of great variety and
;. Ii..: I...-, ,r..l !i ir i,-, i i 1 .:. as flavors. There were wild currants,
-. 1 .... -1. i I: :! l:.- i .I.li. i .:i-i. :: ooseberries, serviceberries, wildplums
S' : Ill '.1-.I. i..'l I "'..: : and of most of these, one was suffi-
S. ... I r .. ... in.l:e a meal for both of the children.
'' r,: 1 ., s!. girl was very fond of the boy, and
..... .:. ..:! 1....-.. 1 ..... and tended him with great care. She
i..i l.... .... ..:.... -, .1 .... i tiny bow from a blade of grass, with
,.i .... i .a.. watch, and he hunted grasshoppers,
,. .. *. ... i.:r, Ii irerflies, and many other small creat-
'": *'": i :.1 1 :. i.:' chen made him a hunting shirt, or
~I lL -,.. -,: ...... i -- ., rl, t skin of a humming-bird, ornamented
I.l [:I ... i--.1 ... ,r- I! i,, r little stones and tiny shells found in
:ie -t. -. .:.. Ii ....1 i he loved him so dearly that no work
-,,. i ..:. r..... ,,.It when done for him.
.-.-dl I 1!. 'k ..: ,. !i.-was out hunting on the prairie; and,
-: .:.- I :l i .i.1 from an unusually long tramp, he lay
-nl .r.... i,. i r and soon fell fast asleep. The wind
began to rise, after the heat of the
day; but this made him sleep the

S. the storm that was threatening.
b Tr he clouds rolled over from the
north-western horizon, like an army
'of blankets torn and ragged. With
flashinglightning, the thunder-god
I' let loose his powers, and peal after
peal went echoing loudly through
Sthe cafnons, up over hills, and down
into prairies where the quaking
asp shivered, the' willows waved,
and the tall blue grass rolled as the
.- winds passed over, like a tempest-
tossed sea. Only the stubborn
aloes, the Spanish bayonet, and
Sthe prickly pears, kept their posi-
tion. But the storm was as brief
as it was violent; and, gradually
subsiding, it passed to the south-
east, leaving nothing but a bank
TELLING THE STORY OF THE LITTLE FIRST MAN AND LITTLE FIRST WOMAN. of clouds behind the horizon. Ev-
banks of the river. Some persons thought that erything was drenched by the heavy rain. The flow-
they might have been little beavers, or little tur- ers hung their heads, or lay crushed from the weight
tles, who were so smart that they turned into a boy of water on their tender petals, vainly struggling to






AND THE LITTLE FIRST WOMAN.


rise and rejoice that the storm had passed away,
The sage-brush looked more silvery than ever,


;'r
----

'"i
"5~


SHE HUNTED GRASSHOPPERS."


clothed with myriads of rain-drops, which beaded its
tiny leaves. Through all the storm, our little hero
slept, the feathers of his hunting-coat wet and flat-
tened by the rain. When the sun came out again
and shone upon him, it dried and shriveled this little
coat until it cracked and fell off him like the shell
of an egg from a newly hatched chicken. He soon
began to feel uncomfortable, and woke up. Even-
ing was fast approaching; the blue-jay chattered,
the prairie-chicken was calling its young brood to
rest under its wings for the night, the cricket had
at last sung himself to sleep, and all nature seemed
to be getting ready for a long rest. Our boy, how-
ever, had no thought of further sleep. His active
mind was thinking how he could revenge himself
upon the sun for his treatment of him, in thus ruin-
ing his coat. The shadows on the plains deepened
into gloom and darkness, but still he thought and
planned out his revenge. Early in the morning,
he started for home. The little girl had been
anxiously watching for him all night, and came out
to meet him, much rejoiced at his safe return; but
when she saw the condition of his coat, on which
she had labored with such care and love, she was
very much grieved. Her tears only made him more
angry with the sun, and he set himself to planning
with greater determination by what means he could


';-;' ---------
I-- i-


1879.]


135


annoy his enemy, the sun. At last a bright idea
struck him, and he at once told it to the girl.
She was delighted, and admired him the more for
his shrewdness. They soon put their plans into
practice, and began plaiting a rope of grasses.
This was a great undertaking, as the rope had
to be very long. Many moons came and went
before this rope was finished, and, when the
task was completed, the next thing to be con-
sidered was, how they should carry or transport it
to the place where the sun rises in the morning.
This question puzzled them greatly, for the rope
was very large and heavy, and the distance was
very great.
All the animals at that time were very small
when compared to the field-mouse, which was then
the largest quadruped in the whole world, twice
the size of any buffalo. The horse, or, as the
Indians call it, "shungatonga," meaning elk-dog,
did not then exist. It was a long time before the
children could find a field-mouse to whom they
might appeal for aid. At last they found one at
home, sitting comfortably under an immense fern.










V ..


-
.. : ,-- ---- --- -!







-.:-












"AT HOME, UNDER AN IMMENSE FERN,"

The little boy then went up to him, and, after
relating his troubles, asked if he would assist in






136 THE LITTLE FIRST MAN [DECEMBER,

carrying the - -- -
rope. Mount- .
ains had to be -
crossed, rivers -
swum or ford- -- r..'
ed, according J
to their depth,
wide expanses
of prairie to be
passed over, ---
forests skirted,
swamps waded -
and lakes cir-
cled, before the
rope and its
makers could
reach the place ,.-
where the sun
rises. The fiel ,. F. r .. i ,- ... .1 ,
tion, agreed to heip tI,- I i. I. I fl'i" I'"- I 1: .. f.i I
preparations by wvi .'i .- t .ii _i -, .t.:,.,ii rIi, 1... Ih H '
which they packed -n I. 1: h:.: I: iI ri. n--.: -n .:. --l !.!.- i t !!.. ,
On the top of this. I- ._ ..., ..Ii J _, -5.: ,..-..i i-,.,- li ,l .. b ,i h i ,h .,- i
selves, and the journ.: .:1.. '\ l I.- t. .. .r .. ,7 Pi,.:: t,.i: i I '
to a river which r,.,:r 1:.: i in i. t.. i-.- II..:.i. TI1... '. L'
ropewas taken off th.: r- ,.,,:- : .-I .. u,...l: Ii, .1 'ti a n ii. ._ i
he would take one .:n%: h,- ,.!. ti,. :j,.j i:. ., ., 1.. !,.1.-.ict ,
the other side, lettLi' 1 1 ., .- ut -lt:r li, i L, .. hr. .-., l- t t | c' --
swam This perfo! c, I.,cu .i.:Ii oi I.- r.:. p I I- .- i l n- ,I i mh ,il. r..:.t z
tim es before the ho., r. 1. d [.0, 11. 11 '. -1 ,- i Ih L :, -
opposite bank. V ,c '1- I- ]O .. h i d:l I.: -, : t ,. I
swim across again I. i I. I- r l .ii'. F th'i .,,,1 -.
them on his
forehead.
It was hard .
work for the %_.- ,
mouse, but the-
little boy en- --/-..
courage him
to his work by -.-
promises of re-
ward and com-
pliments on his .
extraordinary
strength. The V_' .
high mountains Z
were crossed
with great toil,
and while they -.- -
were on the dry -
plains the trav- ."
elers suffered
for want of wa- THE FIELD-MOUSE FREES THE SUN. [SEE PAGE I38.1
ter. The sun had dried up everything, and it ing there for several days. When, at last, they
almost seemed as if he understood their ob- felt rested and refreshed, they began their work
ject, for he poured down upon them his hottest at night-fall, and the first thing they did was to
rays. Several changes of the seasons, and many uncoil the rope. The little boy then took one


r







AND THE LITTLE FIRST WOMAN.


I37


end of it in his teeth, and climbed up one of the watched the sun struggling to free himself, getting
trees at the extreme edge of the woods, where red with fury and rage, and pouring out his burning
he spread it out:in the branches, making loops and heat on all surrounding things. The leaves shriv-


- -- -c:-_":: _- .". .


THE LITTLE PAIR ON THEIR JOURNEY.


slip-knots here and there all over, from one tree to
another, until the rope looked like an immense net.
Then the mouse, finding his services no longer
needed, left them and wandered far away.
As morning approached, the two children quitted
the wood, everything being in readiness, and retired
to a distance to watch the result of their work. Soon
they espied a pale light gleaming behind the forest
and gradually becoming brighter and brighter.
On came the sun, rolling up in all his grandeur and
fast approaching the ropes, while two little hearts
were beating quickly down below. In a moment
he had reached the net-work of rope, and then,
before he knew it, he was entangled in its meshes,


eled and dropped from the trees, the branches
could be seen to smoke, the grass curled up and
withered, and at last the forest began to burn as the
heat became more intense. It seemed as if all
nature was on fire. The joy of the children now
turned into fear. The elk, deer and buffalo, came
rushing out of the woods. The birds circled
shrieking and crying, and all living things seemed
wild with fear.
At last, the field-mouse called the animals to-
gether for a consultation, as to what was best to be
done. They held a brief council, for no time could
be lost. The elk spoke up and said, that as the
mouse had gone to so much trouble to carry the


Vo -. VII-.o.
._ -



THE FIELD-MOUSE CARRYING THE LITTLE PAIR ACROSS A RIVER.
and found himself thoroughly entrapped What rope to entrap the sun, he was the one who
a proud moment for our hero He compared his ought to set him free from his entanglement.
own size with that of the sun, and his delight This was generally agreed to, and, besides, the
seemed beyond bounds as he and the little girl field-mouse was the largest animal and had such
VOL. VII.--o.


1879.]


;-- -.-;






AMONG THE LAKES.


sharp and strong teeth that it would be easy for
him to gnaw through any rope.
It was getting hotter and hotter: something
must be done quickly. The sun was blazing with
rage The field-mouse finally yielded to the wishes
of his fellow-animals; and, rushing into the wood,
through the terrible heat and smoke, he gnawed
the rope, but in doing so was melted down to his


present size. The sun then rapidly arose, and
everything soon became all right again.
The fact of the little man trapping the sun and
causing so much mischief, proved his superiority
over the other animals, and they have feared him
ever since. And, according to the Indian belief,
this little man and this little woman were the father
and mother of all tribes of men.


THE CONSULTATION.


AMONG THE LAKES.
(A FarUm-THOse Story.)

By WILLIAM 0. STODDARD, AUTHOR OF "DAB KINZER," ETC.


CHAPTER IV.
AUNT KEZIAH may have been a little vexed at
finding how large a price Hawknose John had
made her pay for Piney's new bow, but she was
not the woman to say a great deal about a matter
of that kind. She and his mother admired it with
him, and, after careful search, Mrs. Hunter picked
out from an old work-bag a very strong piece of
twine for a bow-string.
O," said Piney, where did you get that?"


I think it's a piece of one of your uncle Liph's
old fishing-lines. It's been in my bag ever since
he was here, last summer."
I 'm glad you never tied up a bundle with it,
and I 've got a splendid lot of arrows."
The Woodchuck made them for you, did he
not?"
I can't say who made them, exactly. He
never works if he can help it."
Kyle Wilbur had sauntered off toward the shore


I38


[DECEMBER,


: :


=_.-.
.






AMONG THE LAKES.


of the lake, and, before long, Piney Hunter joined
him with the new bow, ready strung for use, in his
hand. In the other he carried several straight and
well-made arrows. Two of these were very much
admired by Kyle, for they had sharp points, in-
stead of blunt, wooden heads.
Looks as if you 'd set in a couple of shoe-
maker's pegging awls," he said, "and then whit-
tled the rest of the head down around them."
That 's just what I did," said Piney; "but
you can't guess what I did it for."
Why, to shoot with."
"Of course. But you get into the boat with me
and I '11 show you. You sit away astern and pad-
dle along. Don't make a bit of noise. Go across
the flats. I '11 be in the forward end and I 'll show
you."
O," said Kyle, "I understand. You 're going
for pickerel, Indian fashion. I 've done it, myself,
only I never caught anything."
I have, then. You did n't have such a bow
as this."
Nor such an arrow neither. Besides, I can't
begin to shoot as well as you can. I'm not strong
enough in my arms."
He certainly did not look as if he were, but then
that was probably no fault of his. He would have
been very glad, no doubt, to be as fat and rosy
and strong as his school-mate and near neighbor.
As for Piney himself, he had told his mother and
Aunt Keziah that he must do something or other
while he was waiting for Uncle Liph and the rest
to come, or he should go wild."
Aunt Keziah had answered: "Well, Piney,
Roxy and Chub are about all we can attend to.
The city folks '11 get here just as early if you go
and row around on the lake for a while."
So he had taken her advice, and carried his bow
and arrows with him.
His old bow, which he had now turned over to
Roxy, promising to make her some arrows for it,
some day, was only about half the size of the new
one and not very strong. He had hardly used it
for a long time, but it was, after all, a pretty big
plaything for a little girl.
I wish I had some arrows," she said; I want
to shoot."
I 'm just as well pleased you have n't any, just
now," said Aunt Keziah. We must look out for
the windows and the looking-glasses."
That was quite likely, but Roxy longed for some
arrows all the same.
Meantime, Piney and Kyle floated slowly on over
the flats." That was a part of the lake where
the water was quite shallow, so you could see the
bottom anywhere. In some places it was hardly
two feet deep, but the scow was a sort of boat just


suited for that. She could have floated, with only
those two boys in her, in water a good deal shal-
lower than that was.
Piney Hunter sat in front, with his bow in his
hand and his arrow on the string, looking earnestly
over into the clear water, as the boat glided on, now
and then making motions to Kyle to steer one way
or another. Twice he let fly his arrow, but each
time he pulled it back by a long string he had tied
to the end of it, and said aloud:
Did n't hit him."
Don't you think you aim too high?" asked
Kyle. You 've got to shoot under 'em."
"I know that. The water makes 'em look
higher up than they really are. But may be I don't
aim low enough."
Then the water makes the arrow glance up a
little."
"I '11 try again. Hush, now. There 's a big
one. Biggest kind. Slow, now,-slow."
Whether that pickerel was taking an afternoon
nap, or whether he was only watching for flies, and
was too lazy to move, there he lay, only a few
inches below the surface, until the scow crept slyly
on to within shooting distance.
Piney held his breath for a moment, and drew his
arrow almost to the head. It seemed to him that
it must go away down under the fish, but he was
determined to try it, and he let fly.
"Twang," went the bow, and there was hardly
a spatter on the water as the arrow darted in.
Then there was a great spatter, a regular splash,
as the pickerel sprang to the surface.
"Hurrah!" shouted Kyle, "you've hit him,
sure."
That 's the way the Indians used to do," said
Piney. Hawknose John told me."
What made you let go of your string ? Now,
you can't pull him in."
Well, there 's a shingle float on the end of the
string. 0, how I wish I had a net! "
Or a gaff spear. He keeps coming out on top
of the water."
Paddle along, Kyle. O, is n't he a big one 1
He's a perfect whopper."
And Piney dropped the oar he had been striking
out with.
Now I 've got him I "
He was reaching over after his fish when Kyle,
who was as much excited as Piney, and perhaps a
little more so, gave a dig with his paddle that made
the boat swing round, and in another instant the
pickerel shooter was floundering in the water.
I 've got him," he spluttered again; it is n't
deep. Let me pitch him in. He 's only a little
stunned, and he 's beginning to flop again."
Piney had grasped the arrow which had entered


139


1879.1






AMONG THE LAKES.


the fish a little behind his shoulders, showing that
it had been aimed exactly right, instead of too
low. He pulled it out, however, as he dropped
his prize into the boat.
The water was about up to his waist, just there,
and he followed the fish into the scow with no
worse harm than a thorough ducking.
"What a splendid pickerel! Why, he must
weigh four pounds !"
Biggest one anybody 's caught in this lake for
ever so long," said Kyle. Would n't I like to try
my luck! "
So you shall, some day; but just look at me,-
and all that company coming I say, Kyle, is n't
that a carriage, coming up the south road ?"
Looks like one. Must be your uncle, I guess."
"Let 's pull for home, then. 0, dear me, I
shan't have time to change my clothes Well, I
don't care, I 've got the pickerel."
It was not that they had so very far to go, but
the carriage on the road was traveling a good deal
faster than the boat, and when they pulled in at
the landing, it was almost at the front gate. There,
too, were Piney Hunter's mother, and Aunt Keziah,
and Roxy and Chub, and even Ann, the hired
help, all out on the front piazza, ready to start for
the gate, where one of the farm hands was waiting
to take care of the baggage and the horses.
The carriage stopped in front of the gate, and a
boy of about Piney's age, but a good deal more
nicely dressed, and not half so rosy, sprang down
from the front seat, by the driver.
Then the door opened, and a tall gentleman got
out, just as Roxy rushed through the gate, shout-
ing: "Uncle Liph! Aunt Sarah! Cousin Bi!
Where are Mary and Susie?"
They are here," cahnly remarked Uncle Liph,
as he helped out a portly, motherly-looking woman,
who at once caught up Roxy in her arms.
Then came a young lady, who got out without
any help, and turned around to lift out a little girl,
half a head taller than Roxy.
That little girl was plainly the visitor Aunt Ke-
ziah had been looking for, and she did not speak
to anybody else till she had said: My little
Susie half a dozen times, with nobody counted
how many kisses.
There were kisses all around, and so many things
being said that it was of no sort of use to answer
anything just then, when a deep, strong voice
from the carriage exclaimed: Well, am I to be
forgotten ? "
":Grandpa! Grandpa !" shouted Roxy. 0,
how nice! We did n't know you were coming.
Where 's Grandma?"
Gone to Boston. But I 've come to see Roxy
and Chub."


And while he was speaking, a very nice-looking
old gentleman, with silver-gray hair, came slowly
down from the carriage. He was a little lame in
one foot, but he looked well and hearty.
"How did you all pack into one carriage?"
said Aunt Keziah.
"O, Susie carried me," said Grandpa, just as
" Bi" was asking, But where is Cousin Richard? "
Piney?" said Aunt Keziah, O, he got tired
of waiting, and went out on the lake for a row.
He'll come "
There he comes shouted Roxy.
He's coming added Chub, and he 's dot a
fish."
'"Must have swum for it, I should say,"
remarked Uncle Liph. What a looking boy! "
"Bayard," said Aunt Sarah, "there's your
cousin Richard."
There he was, indeed, half out of breath with
haste, his loose clothes clinging to him with the
wet, and he held his big pickerel by the gills with
one hand, while he carried his bow and arrows in
the other.
His face, though, had never looked redder, and
his dark eyes were sparkling with fun and with
the pleasure he felt at seeing his friends.
Piney," said Uncle Liph, you 're a trump.
Where did you get that pickerel? "
Shot him with an arrow, and then Kyle Wilbur
tipped me into the lake after him. I got him."
So you did. Bayard, my boy, I 'd like to see
you do a thing like that, clothes or no clothes."
"Bi" looked as if he hardly knew whether to
shake hands first with his cousin or with the fish,
but Piney had to say just then :
"No, Susie, you must not hug me now. Not
till I 'mt dry again. Hug Chub for me. He's
dry."
But Chub had been hugged enough, and was
walking all around his big brother, staring at the
pickerel, the bow, the arrows and the dripping
clothes. It was not the first time that suit had
been in the water, and it had never been of
exactly the cut and style of cousin "Bi's."
Piney's mother blushed with pleasure, however,
as she heard Mary Hunter whisper to Aunt Sarah
and Grandfather:
"What a splendid-looking boy he is growing to
be!"
CHAPTER V.
WHEN Grandfather Hunter and Uncle Liph and
the rest came to visit at the farm-house by the lake,
they left a home of their own behind them.
It was a particularly nice home,-a large square
house, with a front twice as wide as most city
houses have. It was not really in the great city


140


[DECEMBER,







AMONG THE LAKES.


itself, but out at one end of it, where the houses
were not very close together, so that Uncle Liph's
house had a good deal of ground around it.
The outside was handsome enough to please














R 171
I:J







~ -
A JII. 1





..C N
















7r.



i '










"AN' THEY WORE THIM
anybody, but, when once you got in at the front
door, you could see that it was differently furnished
from other people's homes; that is, the chairs and
tables and carpets were a good deal like other
~F~.~it










table and arpet werea go deal ,liie',: e


people's, except that none of them seemed to be
very new.
But there were other things. The hat-rack in
the hall, near the front door, was made of great
antlers of moose and elk and deer, put together on
a mahogany frame, and it was just the thing to
hang hats and coats on. There was a great head
of a moose, natural as life, in the middle of it.
Over the door leading into the front parlor, on
the left of the hall, was a stuffed eagle with wide-
spread wings, and right opposite him, at the top
of another door that led into a reading-room, was
a white owl, beautifully stuffed, sitting as still as if
he were not one bit afraid of that eagle.
The further you went around that house, the
more you would see of queer and unusual things.
A suit of ancient armor, that almost seemed to
have a man in it, stood leaning on a spear at the
back parlor entrance; but nobody had ever seen it
stop people who were going in or out.
Uncle Liph was what is called an "antiquarian ";
and so, after his own fashion, was Grandfather
Hunter. That is, they were fond of knowing about
the ways of people who lived in the old times, long
ago,-how they lived and worked and talked and
dressed, and particularly how they made war and
what kind of weapons they used in their hunting
and fighting.
So they liked old furniture, if it were good and
serviceable, better than new furniture; and, when
a man once asked Uncle Liph what there was
" ancient" about a pair of deer-horns, he had said:
"Ancient? Why, the oldest deer in the world
wore a pair. They wore them in Noah's Ark.
There 's nothing modern about horns."
That summer afternoon, at the time Piney Hun-
ter was shooting his big pickerel, the great square
house on the edge of the city had an empty and
deserted look. But it was not entirely deserted.
Uncle Liph would never have left his treasures all
alone; no, not for a single night. He had said to
his hired man, Terence McGonigal:
"Now, Terry, my boy, you must keep a sharp
lookout. I don't want to find that my big eagle
there has flown away during my absence !"
And Terry had answered:
"Dade, yer honor, it 's a quiet sort of a bird he
is. But I '11 not slape in the library, wid all thim
owld conthraptions around me. Sure and they 'd
make me dhrame of Brian Boru and the Danes."
1' You need n't sleep at all, Terry. It is n't that
I 'm afraid of. If you and Fanny will keep awake
all the time I 'm gone, the house wont be run away
with."
"I'll1 answer for the house, yer honor, and I
pity the man that thries to run away wid Fanny."
Fanny was the cook; and if any one had seen


141


I679,]






AMONG THE LAKES.


her that afternoon standing with Terry in the
library, while he talked to her about Uncle Liph's
treasures, he, also, would have been ready to
pity the man who should have to carry her far.
Hawknose John's bag of potatoes was nothing at all
to such a load as Fanny the cook would have been.
But, if she was tall and stout, she was not at all
lazy. It was really surprising to see how fast she
did move about, especially when she was in the
kitchen getting dinner. Just now she was standing
still enough. She had seen it all before a great
many times; but it was a sort of treat to be there
with Terry, and have it all to themselves.
"An' they wore thim? she asked, pointing to
some pieces of old armor that hung high up on
the wall.
''Wore thim ? What else, thin? Sure it was
all the clothes they had in thim days."
I 'm glad I did n't live thin. How 'd you like
it yersilf, Mr. Terence McGonigal, to have a black-
smith for a tailor ? Did they nail 'em on? "
"Was they horses ? asked Terry, scornfully.
"No, indade 1 Thim iron clothes was all put the-
gither wid rivits and bolts and screws, and thin the
man that was to wear 'em crept into 'em and stood
up."
Terence and Fanny had a great deal more to
say, for Uncle Liph's "library" was a very large
room, with a great many things in it. Piney
Hunter had been dreaming of it during all the
year past. He was almost ready to envy his cousin
Bayard the privilege he had of going in, every
day, to see all those books and curiosities.

CHAPTER VI.
As soon as the new-comers at the farm could
be led into the house, and their baggage had been
carried up to their rooms, Piney set about the
work of making himself "look nice" again. He
and Bi were to room together, and all the while
they were changing their clothes, for those of the
city boy were dusty enough, in his opinion, to
require changing, Piney was asking him questions
about "the collection."
Is it all there?"
"All of it. Father keeps all he gets, if he
thinks it's worth keeping. He's found a great
many new things since you were there."
"New things?"
"Well, old things, but I mean things he did n't
have before. He had a good many sent over from
Europe."
"From Europe? Armor? Shields and helmets
and all that ? "
"Weapons, too. Grandfather tried to make
me believe one of the swords was the one David
killed Goliath with. If I had n't known better-"


How did you know? You were n't there."
"Were n't where?"
There when David killed Goliath."
"No, and neither was that sword. I found out
about it. It was an old German sword; very old
and curious."
And so the boys went on for some ten minutes,
when suddenly they heard Aunt Sarah, at the
kitchen door, exclaiming:
Keziah, where are the children? "
Roxy took them out on the lawn."
"On the lawn? I do not see them. O, Keziah,
- they 're all in the boat, Roxy and Susie and Chub."
"Just like her !" exclaimed Aunt Keziah, as she
ran to the foot of the stairs ; and then she called:
"Piney Piney! Hurry down to the lake.
The children are in the boat "
"What are you doing?" asked Bi Hunter of
Piney.
"Doing? Going for my old clothes. I don't
want to wet a fresh lot. These are my Sunday
best."
The first thing Aunt Sarah had done, on get-
ting to her room, had been to give Susie's very
eager but somewhat dusty little face a good wash-
ing. It was hardly possible to do any more for
her, with Roxy standing by, holding Chub by the
hand, and both of them in such a fever to show
their city cousin a little of everything.
Aunt Sarah laughed at this tumult, and hurried
the children out of her room with another caution
about not getting into mischief. Roxy thought her
aunt must know very little about the country, or
she never would have said that. Roxy was entirely
sure Susie would be safe with her and Chub, and
she led them both down-stairs and out on the lawn.
That's our lawn," she said, proudly. "That's
where we play croquet. We had two cows there,
and a calf once, and the calf bunted me over on my
back. Kyle Wilbur ran after him 'most down to
the lake, but Aunt Keziah said it served me right."
"Why, it was dreadful !" exclaimed Susie; "he
might have bit you."
No, calves don't bite. I tickled his nose with a
straw, to see if he could laugh. That's what he
bunted me down for. Is n't it beautiful grass?"
"Beautiful! "
And there 's a whole tubful of pinies in front
of the piazza, and there 's roses and s'ringa flowers
and myrtle and violets and dahlias and tiger-lilies
and,-and,-and-there 's the lake; Susie, let 's
go and see the boat."
Roxy knew she should remember the names of
the other flowers after a while, but they did not all
come to her mind at once. It was easier to show
the lake and the boat, and Susie had been looking
that way while Roxy pointed at the tub of peonies.


142


[DECEMBER,






AMONG THE LAKES.


..i:.- was in ecstasies over the boat when they
got to the landing.
"It 's a beautiful boat," she said, "and it swims
all of itself."
"That's what boats are for," said Roxy. "Piney
and Kyle Wilbur go a-fishing in it. It wont tip
over. "
"Wont it?"
"No; it 's a real strong, good boat."
It 's Piney's boat," said Chub.
Roxy had been pulling on the chain, and now
she had brought the scow close up to the edge of
the wooden platform which Aunt Keziah had had
built for a .. '. .
Chub clambered over into the boat at once, for
he had sailed in it a great many times and was not
a bit afraid; but Susie hesitated until Roxy shouted
to her:
Jump in, Susie. I '11 row you all over the
lake."
Susie knew she was a city girl, and 1. ...1. of
course, it was all right if Roxy said so. Besides,
Roxy was a good deal younger,-more than two
years,-and Susie did not exactly like to seem
timid, so she stepped cautiously in and sat down
on one of the middle seats.
There 's some water in the bottom !" she ex-
claimed.
Oh, that's nothing. It wont do to let the boat
get too dry. i ,.. told me so. He lets it leak a
little all the while."
Roxy was busy with the chain, which was merely
hooked to a staple in a stout post, and now she got
it loose and gave the boat a shove that sent it away
from the !- .:. ,
O, Roxy, we 're all a-floating !"
Of course we are," said Roxy, self-confidently.
" Now I must take the oars and row you. I can
row 'most as well as Piney."
"But where are the oars?" asked Susie. "I
can't see any,"
The oars ? .. I yes,-I 'd.like to know. 0,
Cousin Susie! There they are, up there on the
bank, beyond the landing."
You can't row without oars."
Somebody's taken them out of the boat."
That was true. Kyle '.'.'.1', had done it, when
he and Piney came back with their big pickerel.
And now they were quite a little distance from the
shore, and Susie began to wish she had never seen
either the lake or the beautiful old scow,
0, Roxy, do you think we '11 be drowned?"
"No, indeed, as long as we stay in the boat.
It's only people that tumble into the water that
ever get drowned. Piney has told me often and


often that nobody 'II ever be drowned if they keep
out of the water."
I wish Piney was here."
Oh, he'll come. Don't you be afraid. I aint."
I aint af'aid," said Chub. It 's Piney's boat.
He boated me 'way across de lake, once."
And Chub leaned over the gunwale of the scow
in a way that made his sister catch hold of his frock
and exclaim:
Chub Chub you must sit still. If you aim
careful you '11 rock the boat and scare Susie."
It was just at that moment that Piney heard
Aunt Keziah ,il... to him from the foot of the
stairs. He understood the whole -1i..: in an in-
stant, and it was wonderful how quickly he was out
on the grass with nothing on him but a dry shirt
and a wet pair of trousers.
"Wont you hurt your feet?" asked Bi, as he
followed him.
"Hurt my feet? Of course not. Not on this
grass. You would n't have me put on shoes and
stockings to swim in, would you ? "
No, I should say not. Do you think you 'Il
have to swim ? "
Guess I will. Come on, Bi."
By this time Aunt Keziah, with i .,: '. mother
and Susie's, and Cousin Mary, and even Grand-
lather Hunter and Uncle Liph, were hurrying
down toward the boat landing.
Oh, those children !" exclaimed Aunt Sarah;
" what will become of them ?"
They were rapidly i~ ;:.. out into the lake,
at all events, for a light wind was blowing off
shore.
"Is the water deep?" asked Uncle Liph, anx-
iously.
Pretty deep, around here," said Aunt Keziah;
and then she shouted to the children:
Sit still! All of you Sit still."
Susie was almost ready to cry when she saw her
mother and the rest come running down to the
shore, and she sat as still as a mouse; but Chub
was playing over the side of the boat, with his new
straw hat in the water, and Roxy had not lost an
inch of her courage and confidence. She was a
little pale, but she said:
SIt 's all right, Susie. This is n't anything.
Piney 's coming."
I wish he 'd come," whimpered poor Susie, for
she understood that the grown-up people were get-
ting frightened about them, .Ir'...,. '. she could not
see clearly that they were in any danger.
Piney was coming, with Bi close behind him,
and he chuckled with .i.'.; 1.' as he sprang from
the .I 1,. .: into the warm, clear water.


r879.3


143


(To bsfcntiued,)










144 THE STORY OF PEGASUS. DECEMBER ,


- ---I


'I


A-- '


i'. P

I'











I.I


i .


BELLEROPHON ON THE FLYING HORSE,


^-'


. T


II


'


i '


'


:1'


.4. I


,:,,;;.






~"






x879.]


WHEN Perseus struck off the head of the terri-
ble Gorgon Medusa, as described in the story of
his life already given in ST. NICHOLAS,* it is
said there sprang from her body a winged horse.
This was the strange and beautiful animal, now
known in mythology as Pegasus, and the ancient
poets and fable-writers told many stories concern-
ing him.
Hardly was the fiery creature born, when he flew
up into the heavens, and there became the horse
of Jupiter, for whom he carried thunder and light-
ning. In course of time, however, Pegasus had
a less powerful rider.
A young man named Hipponous happened to
slay Bellerus, a Corinthian, and on this account
was named Bellerophon; to save his life, he took
refuge at the court of a king named Praetus. But
here, also, Bellerophon got into trouble, and Pra-
tus sent him to lobates, king of Lycia, with private
orders to have the young man slain at the first op-
portunity. To accomplish this, lobates sent Bellero-
phon to kill the dreadful, fire-breathing monster,
Chimaera, firmly believing he would never return
alive. There was a chance, too, that both might
die, and thus lobates would gain the love of his
people, as well as the friendship of Praetus; for
Chimera had killed great numbers of the Lycians.
The fore part of Chimaera's body was like a lion,
the hind part like a dragon, and the rest like a goat.
But, although his foe was so horrid and terrible,
Bellerophon seems to have taken the matter very
comfortably, for we hear of his !'.I I ,. asleep in the
temple of the goddess Minerva, where he had gone
to talk the fight over with one of the priests. This
nap proved a piece of good luck; for the goddess
was kind enough to appear to him in a dream, and
tell him that, in order to kill Chimera, he must
manage to tame and ride Pegasus, and that he
would find the horse at the Pirene spring, for there
Pegasus loved to drink.
This famous spring of pure water supplied a
great part of the town of Corinth. It was not
the same as the spring Hippocrene, which we
shall come to presently, and which is sometimes
called the "Pierian" spring, from Pieria, the
country in which it is situated.
To aid Bellerophon in conquering the horse,
Minerva gave him a golden bridle. When he
awoke, Bellerophon found this bridle by his side;
and, as it proved his dream to be true so far, he
started for the Pirene spring, and lay in wait there.


After a long time, the young man heard a loud
fluttering of wings, and, looking up, he saw the
wonderful horse hovering in the air. As Bellero-
phon had hidden himself very carefully, Pegasus,
not seeing him, flew gracefully down to the
fountain, drank of it, quietly stretched himself
out and fell asleep. Then Bellerophon crept up
softly, and suddenly leaped upon the creature's
back. The shock awoke the winged horse, who
never till then had felt the human touch. He
sprang up in wild alarm, and rose, with quick
wings, high into the air, doing his utmost to shake
off his rider. But Bellerophon kept his seat,
swung the golden bridle skillfully over his steed's
head, and slipped the bit into his mouth. After
that, Pegasus submitted, and the young man could
make him fly just as he wished.
Riding on his winged horse, Bellerophon boldly
attacked and killed Chimaera, to the great joy of the
Lycians, although lobates and Praetus felt sorry
Bellerophon escaped. The young man was so
grateful to Pegasus that he would have set him
free; but the noble creature had learned to love his
brave master, and would not leave him. Even
when Bellerophon wanted to go into the heavens,
Pegasus tried to fly up there with him on his back;
but the gods threw Bellerophon down to earth for
trying to intrude upon them uninvited.
In later times, Pegasus was said to have been
also the horse of the Muses, the nine goddesses
who presided over the different kinds of poetry and
over the arts and sciences. Once these nine had a
singing-match with the nine daughters of Pierus,
on Mount Helicon, in Pieria. When the daugh-
ters of Pierus sang, all nature became dark; but
when the Tuneful Nine" broke forth into song,
the heavens, the sea and all the rivers stood still to
listen; and Mount Helicon itself rose heavenward
with delight, until Pegasus stopped it by a kick
from his hoof. Out of the print of this timely
kick bubbled up the fountain called Hippocrene,
whose waters were said to bring inspiration to all
who drank of them. The defeated nine were
changed into birds.
Nobody has told us the final fate of the beautiful
Pegasus; but some ancient writers hint that he
returned into the heavens and became the horse
of Aurora, the goddess of the morning. Certainly
it is pleasant to think so; and perhaps it is in
memory of this event that astronomers have given
his name to a group of stars.f


* June, 1878. tSee Professor Proctor's star maps, in ST. NICHOLAs for August, September, and October, 1877.


THE STORY OF PEGASUS.



THE STORY OF PEGASUS.

By M. C.


145







MOTHER GOOSE AND HER FAMILY.


MOTHER GOOSE AND HER FAMILY:

A CHRISTMAS RECREATION.
(For Sanday-school and other Festivals.)

BY EDWARD EGGLESTON.


INTRODUCTORY NOTE.-One of
the chief merits claimed for the
following entertainment is that it
is not at all instructive, for it
teaches no moral (or immoral)
whatever. It is simply an amuse-
ment for children,-a little sweet-
-. meat with no medicine (or poison)
S concealed in it. It will occupy
about half an hour in the perform-
ance, and is meant to go with other
exercises. Mother Goose is the
center of interest. This part should
"t be taken by a young girl, fifteen to
seventeen years of age; but the
age does not much matter pro-
Svided your Mother Goose is not a
S goose. Pick out the girl that acts
a droll part with the most readi-
i ness, self-possession and fire. Let
..- _her be well trained. A large part
Ih h of the interest will lie in the cos-
tumes, which must be gotten up
with care. Do not let the piece be hurried. Give the children time
to appreciate every part, else it may seem to them confused and
indistinct.
THE HOUSE.-The screen, containing a picture of Mother Goose's
House in something approaching to perspective, as shown in the cut,
should be twelve feet long and ten feet high, with a slope at each
end, a projection for eaves, and a little square at the top for the
chimney,-common muslin on a light frame. Any fresco painter will
paint the house for you, following our illustration. If your room is
small, reduce the size of your screen a little. This screen should
stand about six feet from the back of the stage, so as to give roombe-
hind it for the children taking part. There should be a practical door,
-the windows may be of tissue paper with strips of white for sash,
or they may be painted. The house will be slightly out of perspect-
ive to accommodate the door, etc., but this will not be perceptible.
From the ends of the screen, stretch green paper-muslin obliquely to
the wall, so that persons behind the screen may not be visible to the
audience by any chance. In front of the muslin, put a row of ever-
greens. Let some competent person remain behind to send out the
little players as they are wanted. (If for any reason you cannot get
a screen painted, you will find a description of a house built of ever-
greens, in "The House of Santa Claus," in ST. NICHOLAS forDecem-
ber, 1876, page r31.)
On the platform in front let there be a small table, and leaning
against the house a broom, with which Mother Goose can be sweep-
ing in any pauses or delays of the performance, and which she can
use as an instrument of discipline when occasion requires.
THE STOCKING-Should be made of any proper material. It
should be about six feet long in the leg, and of proportionate length
in the foot. It should be filled with paper, except at the very top,
where there should be a few bags of candy, etc., such as you intend
to distribute to the children. The remainder of the candy-bags
should be behind the screen so that they can be brought out after the
stocking is carried in. Let the top of the stocking be tied up.
The stocking is lifted to its place against the ceiling by cords run
over two pulleys fixed immediately above the middle of the front of
the platform. These cords should run to the nearest pillar, or down
the nearest wall, where they should be fastened in easy reach. When
the stocking has been drawn up so that its top touches the ceiling,
while the foot hangs down, two fine cords, previously attached to the
heel and the toe, and which also go over pulleys, or through rings,
are drawn so as to bring the stocking flat against the ceiling, cross-


wise of the room. Flags are then draped in front of the stocking so
as to conceal it from the view of the audience. If the stocking be
striped like the flags, the concealment will be perfect. But the flags
must be so arranged as not to impede the stocking in its descent.
When the time comes for lowering it, the cords holding the foot are
first released, and the stocking drops into plain view of the whole
audience. Here let it hang for a minute. Then lower it to the stage,
by means of the cords attached to the top.

COSTUMES.
Mother Goose. Short striped skirt, black bodice, white waist, wide
ruffle, and fancy slippers with very high heels. A white cap under
a high peaked hat. The hat has for its foundation a broad-brim
straw hat such as farmers some-
times wear. Over the hat a long I
pointed crown of Bristol-board,
two feet high, is sewed in the
shape shown in the illustration.
The crown of Bristol-board should /
be separately covered with blue r
muslin, and the brim of the straw -
hat covered with the same. Then I i]
the peaked crown is sewed on and I I i
the hat is complete. She should --
be provided with a cane, a pair of -. -
spectacles, a large red silk hand-
kerchief, and a snuff-box. The
front hair should be powdered with corn-starch, or flour.
Simple Simon should wear a slong-sleeved apron of bright calico
hanging below the knees, a skull-cap set on the back of his
head, and low loose slippers. He should have a fishing-rod and a
pail.
Little Boy Blue should be rather small and wear short pantaloons
of blue paper-muslin, with a loose blouse of the same, belted with a
strip of red. Cap of blue paper-muslin also, made full like a house-
maid's sweeping-cap, but without ruffle. He should have a loud-
sounding tin horn.
Tom, the Pifer's Son, may be dressed in his ordinary clothes, with
the addition of a red blouse and cap, made like that described above.
The pig may be made of unbleached muslin stuffed with rags or
paper. It should, of course, look somewhat like a pig. A large,
loosely filled pillow may be used as a foundation for the pig, who
should be about two feet long when complete. Two corners of the
pillow may be tied.up for ears.
Mary should be a little girl, with ordinary clothes, a broad, flat hat
hanging on her back, and a few school-books under her arm.
hiary's Little Laomb is made by covering a boy with unbleached
muslin having cotton stitched on it in irregular tufts. The covering
should inclose the boy's head, holes being left for the eyes and for
breathing. He should walk on hands and knees.' He will not look
very lamb-like at best, but that is all the better. If you can buy a
mask like a sheep's head, it will serve for the face.
The Bachelor is a rather short boy with a high stove-pipe" hat,
and a very long coat, or a short coat with very long tails. He has a
toy wheelbarrow, large enough to hold
The Bride, who wears a long dress, a prim little bonnet and a
light-colored shawl.
The Little Old Woman should wear a large scoop-shovel bonnet
with a cape or shawl.
The Hen is made by putting a large night-dress upside down on a
boy, his feet thrust through the sleeves. A pillow is adjusted be-
hind and the garment is gathered about the neck, and then about the
pillow to make a tail. Paper fringe completes the tail. The head is
a pointed pasteboard cap marked for the mouth, and a mask


146







MOTHER GOOSE AND HER FAMILY.


marked for the eyes. (The construction of the hen is borrowed
from the shanghai in Spooner's Great Human Menagerie." See
ST. NICHOLAS for April, 1875, where there is a fuller description with
cuts. But our description will be sufficient for an ingenious person.)
The Man in the Moon wears a mask made with two pasteboard
crescents fastened securely, one on either side of his cap, and secured
by strings about his neck.
The Man in the Sou/it wears a disk or wheel about two feet in
diameter, with a hole for his face to project through. This disk is
fastened by strings to his neck and head; the edges of the disk are
cut into deep points to look like the sun in an almanac picture.*
DIALOGUE.
[The presiding chairman, when the time arrives, will say: "I will
now introduce to you our old friend, Mother Goose, who lives in
a cottage of her own." The curtain, or other covering, which has
concealed the house, is removed, and Mother Goose opens the
door and comes out. She stops on the front of the platform, lays
her cane on the table, slowly removes her spectacles, takes out
her red handkerchief and wipes them, and then replaces them.
Then she takes out a snuff-box and pretends to take snuff and
sneeze, using her red handkerchief. After dropping a courtesy,
she speaks slowly in a sharp voice.]
MOTHER GOOSE. I- [walks about the stage.]
I-- [a pause during which she moves about,
coughs, and uses her handkerchief.] I am Mother
Goose, a poor, simple old body, that makes verses
to get children to sleep. I 'm pretty old. I aint
afraid to tell my age. I would tell you how old I
am if I only knew, but it's been so long since I
was a gosling that I've forgotten how long it is. If
my memory serves me right, I think I 'm a tough
old goose, more than a thousand years old. I rock-
ed Shem, Ham, and Japhet to sleep when Noah
was alive. I don't mean Noah Webster, but Cap-
tain Noah that sailed in the ark. I would sing you
some of my songs, but I am afraid to. My verses
are just like soothing sirup, and if I should sing,
you would all snore the accompaniment in five
minutes. But I '11 repeat one verse :
Hey diddle diddle,
The cat played the fiddle,
The cow jumped over the moon;
The little dog laughed
To see such craft,
And the dish ran away with the spoon.
For my part I think that dish was a little spooney.
But the little dog! Would you like to see the lit-
tle dog that laughed. He 's a funny fellow [laugh-
in;g] shall I bring him out ? [Mother Goose returns
to the door of her house and receives from within a
covered basket of pretty large size. Carries it to
the front and sets it on the table.] The dog's in
that basket. I '11 let him out in a minute. He 's a
funny fellow. [Takes a pinch of and wipes
her nose and eyes with the red handkerchief.]
Now for our little dog. He wont bite you, my
dear children. He only laughs. [She removes the
basket to the floor.] Now, Fido, I 'm going to let
you out. You can laugh a little for these children.
Do you want to get out, Fido? [Opens the basket
very slowly and cautiously.] Now you can come
out, doggie. Here, Fido! Here.! [She moves


away from the basket and addresses the audience.]
He 's afraid, poor fellow. Here, Fido! Come
out, poor little doggie I '11 have to take him out.
[She slowly stoops down and makes a show of pet-
ting a dog in the basket. Poor fellow, he should
come out; yes he should. Don't you bite me now.
[Lzfts out a toy dog and holds it up in plain view.]
That's the doggie. Poor
little fellow Laugh a little
now, laugh He '11 laugh
'.. in a minute. [Squeezes
1 .,. the box beneath the dog so
I that it makes a barking
Soundd] There I told you
he would laugh. [Makes
im barkagain andagain.]
Now he 's tired. He shall
go back into the basket,
*-- .- ---r-i- and then he shall have
his dinner, so he shall.
[Calls.] Simon Simon Simple Simon !
[Enter Simple Simon with a fishing-rod in one hand and a pail in
the other.]
SIMON. Ma'am ?
MOTHER GOOSE. Here, take this dog into the
house and feed him.
SIMON. I don't want to.
MOTHER GOOSE. You must, though.
SIMON. I want to go fishing. [Sets down his
pail in the farther part of the platform and baits
his hook with a piece of fpaer. Then he lets his
hook hang in the pail.]
MOTHER GOOSE. [Addressing the audience.]
That is Simple Simon. I made a verse about him:

Simple Simon went a-fishing
For to catch a whale,
And all the water he had got
Was in his mother's pail.

Here, Simon, take this basket into the house.
SIMON. Can't. I 'm fishing. [Jerks up his
line eagerly.
MOTHER GOOSE. You must.
SIMON. I wont.
MOTHER GOOSE. [Seizes him by the collar and
shakes him.] You wont, eh?
SIMON. [Scratching his head.] I was just go-
ing to catch a whale!
MOTHER GOOSE. I '11 whale you. Take that
basket into the house and feed the dog, and send
the Old Bachelor out.
MOTHER GOOSE. [Wiping her.sfectacles.] That
boy is such a trial. There 's the Old Bachelor
now, he 's 'cute. I made a few verses about him.
[Recites in a sentimental sing-song.
When I was a bachelor I lived by myself,
And all the bread and cheese I got I put upon the shelf.


*See "Letter-Box."


I879.]


147







MOTHER GOOSE AND HER FAMILY.


The rats and the mice, they made such a strife
That I had to go to London to buy me a wife.

[Sotto voce.] Wives were dear in those days,-cost
twenty-five cents apiece.









i --f
:- . '-




The streets were so broad and the lanes were so narrow,
That I had to fetch the wife home on a wheelbarrow.
[Enter the Old Bachelor with empty wheelbarrow.]
The wheelbarrow broke and my wife got a fall,
And away went wheelbarrow, wife and all!
[The Bachelor wheels twice or three times across the stage. Then
he stops in front of the door. The wife comes out. She sits on
the wheelbarrow and he wheels her about the -f-; t----
three times, while Mother Goose points at them .11 I. ....:,
and nods in dumb show at the audience; then he lets the bar-
row fall, tipping the wife out. He seizes her and replaces her,
but she leaps out and runs into the house, while he takes the
wheelbarrow and goes after her.]
MOTHER GOOSE.
Little Boy Blue come blow your horn,
The sheep 's in the meadow, the cow 's in the corn.
[Enter Boy Blue, who blows his horn in Mother Goose's face, while
she stops her ears and dances about the platform. At last she
cuffs him until he sits down on a chair. As she turns away he
gives one more toot, whereupon she seizes her cane and shakes
it at him. He makes show of putting his horn to his mouth
several times, but desists each time, when Mother Goose shakes
her cane over him.
MOTHER GOOSE.
Tom, Tom, the Piper's son,
Stole a pig and away he run,
The pig was eat and Tom was beat,
And Tom ran crying down the street.
[During this recitation, Tom enters by the door, steals the pig hid-
den in the evergreens, and, putting it on his shoulder, sneaks
across the stage. Just as Mother Goose finishes the stanza, she
turns about and discovers him behind her with the pig.]







,



-l .. :-- _


MOTHER GOOSE. Oh, there you are, you sneak-
ing little thief! I'II give it to you. [She seizes


the broom, which stands against the house, and
dashes after him. Tom runs three or four times
round the stage, chased by Mother Goose, who is
followed in turn by Boy Blue blowing his horn;
at last Tom runs in at the door, and Mother Goose
chases Boy Blue about with her broom and drives
him within, his horn blowing until he disappears. ]
I 'm agitated. [Wipes her spectacles.] Boys are
so flustratious They 've set me all in a tremble,
I do declare. I 'll call Mary. Mary! Mary!
[Enter Mary.] My dear, I am all upset and over-
turned and frustrated in my nerves by those rude
boys.
MARY. I 'm sorry, Mother Goose. Can I help
you ?
MOTHER GOOSE. To be sure you can, my dear..
Go and bring your precious little lamb out here.
He's so lovely and so pacifying. [Exit Mary.]
Now, while Mary 's gone to find her lamb, I'1l
show you the bone that old Mother
Hubbard got for her dog. [She
takes up an empty box from the
table and opens it, turns it zuside
down as though expecting some-
thing to fall out.] That 's the
bone. For you remember that '


Old Mother Hubbard
Went to the cupboard,
To get her poor dog a bone.
When she got there,
The cupboard was bare,
And so the poor dog got NONE!

[Wipes her spectacles, and takes
Mary would come. P'r'aps I 'd
po'try about her, though I did n't
I don't think you 've ever heard it:


,-. -


6_

snuf.] I wish
better say that
make it myself..


Mary had a little lamb,
Its fleece was white as snow,
And everywhere that Mary went
The lamb was very likely 'most always to go, you know.
It went with her to Sunday-school one day;
And that was against the rule.
It made the children laugh and play,
To hear a little lamb bleating right out loud in school.
-And so the teacher turned him out;
But still he lingered near,
And nipped the grass and nosed about,
And stuck his head in the water-spout,
And wiggled and twisted to get it out,
And scratched his head with his toe, no doubt,
Till Mary did appear.
Here she comes now. Bring him out, Mary,.
bring him out, and let us see the dear little lamb.
[Enter Mary leading the lamb by a cord about his neck. They
pass to the front where Mary pets the lamb. She afterward,
leads him off the stage.]
MOTHER GOOSE.
"What makes the lamb love Mary so?"
The eager children cry.
Why, the amb 's a little goose, you know,"'
The teacher did reply.


148


[DECEMBER,.







MOTHER GOOSE AND HER FAMILY


[Knocking heard at the door within ] Now, who's
that? Some of my people that want to come out
here and show themselves off, I suppose, and can't
wait for the right time. [Proceeds to the door and
.oens it. Enter the Man in the Moon and the Man
in the South. The latter carries a pan ordish from
which he is eating something, making signs that it
is too hot for him.] Now what do you two moon-
struck and sun-struck men want here? [They fro-
reed to the front of the filatform and bow.]
MAN IN THE MOON [recites slowly.]
The Man in the Moon came down too soon
To ask the way to Norwich. [Pronounce Norridge.]
MAN IN THE SOUTH [recites.]
The Man in the South, he burnt his mouth
By eating cold plum porridge.
MOTHER GOOSE, Oh now is that all? Well,
you might as well have staid at home if that 's all.
[The Man in the Moon and the Ma in the South walk slowly
about the stage. The Man in the South offers the Man in the
Moon some porridge, which the latter eats with every sign of
burning his mouth.]
MOTHER GOOSE. Simpletons Go back and
eat your cold plum porridge at home, and send the
Old Woman and her Hen out here to me. [Exeunt
the two men.] I wish that Old Woman and her
Hen would come. [Calls.] Chickee! Chickee!
Chickee Chick! Chick!
[Enter the Old Woman followed by the Hen. They walk about the
stage, stopping every now and then, the Old Woman dropping
courtesies to the Hen, and the Hen bowing solemnly to the
Old Woman. They stop at length on the front of the platform,
where the Old Woman says.]
I had a little Hen, the prettiest ever seen.
She washed me the dishes and kept the house clean.
Is n't that so, my little Hen ? [The Hen bows.]
She went to the mill to fetch me some flour,
She brought it home in less than an hour.


Did n't you, old Hen? [The Hen bows again.]

She baked me my bread, she brewed me my ale,
She sat by the fire and told many a fine tale.
Did n't you, Hen ?
HEN. Of course I did. [ The Old Woman drops
a courtesy to the audience the Hen bows, and fol-
lows her as she walks toward the door of the house.]
MOTHER GOOSE. You 're a real good Hen.
[ The Hen turns and bows to MAother Goose. Exe-
unt Old Woman and Hen.]
MOTHER GOOSE. Now I think it is time you
had some refreshments. I hung up a stocking, and
I hope Santa Claus has put something good in it
foryou. [She stefs back from thefront and, aoint-
ing with her cane to the ceiling, recites.]
Stocking! Stocking! now appear
To the children waiting here!
[The cords attached to the foot of the stocking are now let go at
the ends in reach, and so relaxed that the stocking hangs in full
view of the audience. After a minute, Mother Goose recites.]
Stocking! Stocking! to the floor
Come down lower, lower, lower,
Open your mouth and show your store !

[ While she speaks, the stocking is lowered. Mother
Goose opens it and funds a bag of candy, etc. This
bag she opens and tastes.] That 's very good.
What a fellow Santa Claus is! Here are some
bags of candy and good things. We must get this
into the house and empty it. [Goes to the door and
calls.] Come out, all of you. Here 's a lot of
good things. [All the characters in costume come
out and stand round the stocking.] Now let us
carry this inside and empty it.
iThe stocking is carried in, and the candy, etc.- previously depos-
ited in the house, is brought out and distributed.]


149


x879.]


~-~i~ .


X--






THE MYSTERY OF THE SEED.


THE MYSTERY OF THE SEED.

BY Lucy LARCOM.

CHILDREN dear, can you read
-The mystery of the seed,-
The little seed, that will not remain
In earth, but rises in fruit and grain?


A mystery, passing strange
Is the seed, in its wondrous change;
Forest and flower in its husk concealed,
And the golden wealth of the harvest-field.


Ever, around and above,
Works the Invisible Love:
-----_- It lives in the heavens and under the land,
S In blossom and sheaf, and the reaper's hand.


-Sower, you surely know
4 hThat the harvest never will grow,
S Except for the Angels of Sun and Rain,
Who water and ripen the springing grain!


Awake for us, heart and eye,
Are watchers behind the sky:
There are unseen reapers in every band,
Who lend their strength to the weary hand.


When the wonderful light breaks through
From above, on the work we do,
-We can see how near us our helpers are,
S Who carry the sickle, and wear the star.


Sower, you surely know
That good seed never will grow,
Except for the Angels of Joy and Pain,
Who scatter the sunbeams, and pour the rain !


--Child, with the sower sing!
Love is in everything!
The secret is deeper than we can read:-
But we gather the grain if we sow the seed.


[DECEMBER,


I5o







7879.]


MESSENGERS' WAITING ROOM IN WESTERN UNION BUILDING.


EVERYBODY has heard of the enterprise of New
York's business men, their wonderful success in
building up our foreign commerce, developing
internal trade, and in many ways controlling the
traffic of a continent. But it is very easy to over-
look the fact that working side by side with these
men, is an army of business boys, to whom all
branches of trade are indebted for assistance, and
without whose aid more than one industry would
suffer at least serious inconvenience. Everybody
living in a city sees the telegraph messenger hurry-
ing along the street; hears the news-boy shout-
ing out the names of his papers; is offered on
every hand the services of the boot-black, or comes
in contact with the cash-boy or office-boy. But one
is apt to forget that all these boys, and many others
not so well known, are really "in business," and
that they are entitled to be so regarded. Their
occupations, too, are divided much as those of their
elders. Some, like the news-boys and boot-blacks,
are capitalists, doing business on their own account.
Others, like some of the telegraph-boys, act as
agents, receiving a sort of commission or percent-
age on the business which they do. Others still, like
office-boys and cash-boys, are simply clerks, paid
to render a particular kind of service.
There are plenty of boys in the country, too, who


are steady, hard workers, and some of these even
poets have not forgotten to write about. Indeed,
if the business boys all over the land were to have
justice done to them in the way of description, it
would require the writing of a whole book; and a
very interesting book it might be made, too. I
propose now, however, only to tell my readers some
facts about telegraph-boys, who are not seen out
of the large cities; and those of whom I shall speak
are in New York, where, as that is the largest
city in this country, a great many of these boys
are employed.
Every one who lives in New York, and those
who visit that city, see in the streets a great many
boys wearing a very neat uniform, who hurry along
as if they were intrusted with very important busi-
ness, as indeed they are. These are the telegraph-
boys or messengers. It will be found that they are
not all dressed alike, and a little inquiry will show
that this is because they are in the employ of differ-
ent companies. Not many years ago, the use of the
telegraph was very costly, and it was employed
only for important business. Now, however, in-
ventors have so applied it that it can, in a large
city, be made to do a multitude of services at a very
small cost. So in New York we find that there are
two classes of telegraph companies, one principally


TELEGRAPH-BOYS.



TELEGRAPH-BOYS.

BY W. A. LINN.


151






[DECEMBER,


employed in sending messages between distant
places, and one which works only in the city. In
each of these branches, boys have a great deal
to do.
Let us first make the acquaintance of the boys
employed by that great corporation, the Western
Union Telegraph Company, whose wires extend
over every state and territory, and whose head-
quarters are in the great building at the corner of


trimmings, and they wear caps to correspond. In
rainy weather, each boy wears a complete covering
of rubber cloth, and so, for them an umbrella is
never necessary. So rapidly are they expected to
do their work, that even the very short time lost
in opening and shutting umbrellas is held to be
worth considering.
The number of boys employed by this company
varies with the season of the year; for with tele-


----~-~- -~t-- __Ci-il-F=Si-~4~-C iC- I~
~---~
;ir
ct
I I

i i


II



















I ,




C:


/1


,I
S I'


'I


"THEY SEEM TO FORGET THAT MY TIME IS VALUABLE."


Broadway and Dey street in New York. If at any
hour of the day or night you enter a door on the
Dey street side of this building, about fifty feet
distant from Broadway, you will find yourself
in a good-sized comfortable room, fitted up with
some plain benches, on which are seated a num-
ber of the telegraph-boys whom you see so often
in the street. The uniforms of the Western Union
boys consist of suits of dark-blue cloth with red


graph companies as with other kinds of business,
there are busy times and dull times. The largest
number is employed in the main office in the spring
and autumn, when it sometimes reaches one hun-
dred. In February, I found about eighty boys on
the pay-roll, and this may be taken as a fair average.
Beside the main office, this company has nineteen
branch offices in the city, each with its messengers,
and these offices add seventy boys to the list.


152


TELEGRAPH-BOYS.


I '







1879.]


TELEGRAPH-BOYS.


Now I will tell you something about the work of these boys. You can readily
see that with so many boys in its employ, each entrusted many times a day with
important messages, for the safe and prompt delivery of which the company is -
responsible, it is necessary to manage their work by a set of strict rules, so
that if a boy is slow or careless he may be known at once among all his
comrades. Long experience has shown how this can be done, and all
the regulations of the office are made so as to get from each boy the
best service possible.
In the first place, the boys are not paid by the day or week,
but so much for each message delivered. This gives every boy an
incentive to deliver every message as promptly as possible, and
to hurry back for another one. For each message which a
boy delivers, he receives two and a half cents, and/ l
for each answer that he brings back to be for-
warded from the office, he re- i ceives
three cents. This explains why
a telegraph-boy is always ready
to wait for an answer. The
amount of money which a boy can
earn in a day thus depends, it will
be seen, on his own activity.ne
It is found that the wh
average number of are
messages delivered the v
fiom the main the gro
office every day is to sixt
three thousand, and enth stories.
the average num- be sure that, to telegr
ber delivered by I1 elevators are welcome mach
each boy is thirty- As it is necessary for the
five. Aboy who is .charge of the boys to know whc
a slow walker or ij gent and who are not, a very care:
inclined to be lazy ;.of each boy's work is kept, showing
will not deliver 2iL long he is absent in delivering each messa
somany,while record shows that the average time required
a very ac- surprisingly small variation from week to w
tiveboy t minutes and fifteen seconds. If the average
will .t comes greater than this, the superintendent
de- -concludes that some of the boys are becoming dilator
liver '. examines the whole record to find out who are the
more. X and calls them to account.
Now, do Of course, where so many boys are employed
you know t, essary to have some plan bywhich each will havy
how far a boy chance to
will have to activity. I
walk in a day, de- I K. not message
livering these mes- to keep eve
sages and returning played all
to the office? Not and, with
less than nineteen miles er arranged
And this does not include \ ''. i. active boys
going up and down stairs, eof the a w
which is no small matter in


the busi-
ss streets.
ere offices
found all
vay from
und floor
and sev-
You may
aph-boys,
lines.
person in
are dili-
ful record
just how
ge. This
is, with a
eek, eight
time be-
nt at once
y, and he
lazy ones,

1, it is nec-
e the same
show his
There are
es enough
ry boy em-
the time;
ut a prop-
lent, even
might not
air share
-k. This


VOL. VII.- .i,


153


-----------
-----
~i-----~






TELEGRAPH-BOYS.


TIRED OUT.
which run wires connecting with almost all parts of
the world. As soon as an operato'i has written a


LUNCH-ROOM AT THE WESTERN UNION BUILDING.


message that has come in, it is sent down to the
ground floor through a tube. On its arrival there,
a clerk takes it and writes on it a number, begin-
ning with No. I, for the first message received each
day. It is then put through a steam copying-press,
and is next passed to a clerk, who puts it into an
envelope, on which he writes the number and the:
address. This clerk passes it to still another clerk,
who copies, on a sheet of paper properly prepared,
the number of the message and the number of the
boy who is to deliver it.
The distribution of the messages among the boys.
is made as follows: Each boy, as he comes into the
office in the morning, receives what is called a
" delivery sheet,"--that is, a sheet of paper with
blanks in which to write the numbers of messages,
the time of leaving the office, the name and address.
of the receiver, and the time of the messenger's,
return. Each messenger is known by his number,
and each of them has a pasteboard cover for his.
" delivery sheet," on which his number is written.
These sheets, in their covers, are put into a rack
by the side of the clerk last mentioned above, and:
he always puts a message, when ready, into the-


154


DECEMBER,







TELEGRAPH- BOYS.


cover nearest to him, and calls out the number of
the boy to whom it belongs. When a boy comes
back from the delivery of a message, he puts his
cover into the rack behind those already there, and
sits down to wait until it reaches the clerk. Thus
there is no chance for any partiality, and the sooner
a boy gets back to the office, the sooner will another
message be ready for him.
You can see, by what you have read, that a tele-
graph-boy does not lead a lazy life. His hours of
duty, if he is a day boy, are from 7 A. M. until 6.30
p. M. Of course, only a few boys are required to
deliver messages at night, as a rule. But there
are times in the year when a great many messages
come in for delivery between I and 7 A. M. At
such times, ambitious boys are given an oppor-
tunity to do extra work. Sometimes, a boy can
do a good day's work by 8 A. M., and he is then
allowed by the superintendent to "lie off," or, as
you will better understand it, take a holiday. If a
boy in this business does have a holiday, he usu-
ally has the satisfaction of knowing that a good
day's work and a day's pay have already been set
down to his credit.
I have told you that all these boys wear uni-
forms. If you have ever noticed them, you have
perhaps wondered how they could keep these uni-


A MATTER OF LIFE AND DEATH.


nat.. .: 1- -
th is. i, _- 1 *--* .. .
w h-. -.. i.. : : :._ '
b o ,g : d ..-, .,- -..h i:
appi,...-, i,. i- "
are -II. .1 ..-.- ,. /
uniforms only while at
work, not while at home
or at play. When a .
boyenters the telegraph CALLING A DOCTOR.
company's employment
he is provided with a complete uniform. This
suit of clothes he must pay for, but he is not
required to do so all at once. Every week, a certain


CARRYING A GIFT OF A BOUQUET.


forms looking so fresh and neat, tramping around sum is deducted from his wages, and thus the
as they do all day long. There is an easy expla- clothes are purchased without being a severe tax


1879.1


155






TELEGRAPH-BOYS.


on him, as it would be if he was required to make
full payment at the outset, since most of the
boys have to give their wages to the support
of their homes. If these boys were allowed to
wear their uniforms when the day's work was over,
playing in the streets and lounging about their
houses would soon spoil them. Accordingly, a
large room is provided with hooks, all of which are
numbered, and before a boy leaves the office for
his home he goes to this room, takes off his uni-
form and gives it to an attendant, who hangs
it upon a hook corresponding with the boy's num-
ber, and returns to him his ordinary suit, which
has been hanging on this hook during the day.
Once a week, a tailor looks over all the uniforms,
and does any mending that he finds necessary.
Thus it is that a telegraph-boy always looks so
neatly dressed.
There is another class of telegraph-boys, to
whom I now wish to introduce you. I have told
you that the telegraph is now made to do a
great many services in the large cities. Instead of
merely sending messages from one person to an-


IN WET-WEATHER COSTUME.


other, instruments are placed in private houses,
and the occupants, by merely pressing a knob, can


-,. .









,

















summon a policeman, or give an alarm in case of
fire, or call a messenger to do any service that may
be required. The principal company in New
York which controls such a telegraph system, is
the American District Telegraph Company. The
boys in this company's employ have many duties
to perform which are not required of the Western
Union boys, and they therefore have a great many
things to learn before they can be provided with
work. When the hirer of a District instrument
calls for a messenger, the boy can never know
\vhat he may be wanted for. He may be told to
hurry for a physician, he may be given a package
for delivery, or a bill to collect, or he may be sent
by a broker to deliver stock or to have a check
certified,-in fine, his duties are too varied for me to
name them all. When it is remembered that about
4,5oo00 District instruments are now in use in New
York, and that 1,513,265 messages were delivered
by the District boys in the year ended September
30, 1877, some notion of the manifold services
required of them can be formed.
It is easy to see that an inexperienced and un-
skillful messenger in such an employment would
only prove himself a nuisance to the public and
an injury to the company. Every boy, therefore,
an injury to the company. Every boy, therefore,


156


[DECEMBER,







1879.3


TELEGRAPH-BOYS.


157


who is employed by the American District Tele- way. The school-room is provided with wooden
graph Company is put into a training-school, and benches, like those found in old-fashioned country
this school is a very interesting one. district schools, but the instruction given is entirely
When I first made its acquaintance, in the winter in regard to the business of the company. Every
of 1877, I found it in the second story of a very candidate for a place must know how to read and
plain-looking building at No. 33 Bridge street,- write before he. can be put into the school. It is
and Bridge street, as even some New Yorkers may of course necessary for the boys to know the situa-
need to be told, runs toward Broadway from Broad tion of every street in the city. A large map of
the city is therefore placed be-
------ =--fore them, with the streets
marked on it, but without their
names. The teacher points out
'' :'.,f nt streets to his pupils,
.- I:,a they are required to name
S, 1 ... In this way a messenger-
-'., :; -'-i' I :oon acquires a more com-
S.'' ,' knowledge of the city's
S-, i ... ''' aghfares than many an old
"' i'nt can boast of. In one
'' 1 i .r of the room are telegraph
instruments such
,'; as the company
'1 uses, and the boys
S'1 are taught how
,. 'i s j to send and re-
i., ." them. Then there
S/ I '" is a miniature
'\ / I'' bank, where they
S ''" l are taught about
"l '" ""'1I'' the use of checks,
S.',|l~ ,l. ', ,' :and there is a kind
...... of make-believe

where they are
Taught how to de-
!"' liver stock, etc.
,, Much attention is
given to the in-
S,1.' struction in the
,,, -.- .'' h bank and in the
.,' ( I S/ TO',' broker's office, as
j ,_. / ,. bankers and bro-
S' "' kers use the mes-
S senger-boys con-
stantly.
S- There is, beside
S- !all this, a great
'i ,,"' deal for the boys
t'(I ,. to learn about the
"-- -X- ..-.-. ''- ,company's meth-
ods of business,
which I need not
TAKING ADVANTAGE OF THE ELEVATED RAILROAD. explain n detail.
street, down in the neighborhood of Bowling Green. They must make themselves familiar with the
The school has since been moved to the new "tariff-book," which tells them how much a boy
head-quarters of the company at No. 699 Broad- must charge for going from any one place in the






TELEGRAPH1-BOYS.


city to any other. They must learn the use of the
different kinds of tickets, on which the temporary
record of their service is kept. They must know
when to charge for a car or stage fare and when it
is proper for them to walk.
The boys, too, are drilled at the school in regard
to a great many particu-
lars of discipline and ser-
vice. A few of their .
catechisms are as fol-
lows : -
Q.-When a call is
received, what is to be
done? "-
A.-The boy whose '
turn it is to answer must
run to the place whence
the call comes.
Q.-On arriving at a -
house, what must he do? -
A.-He must wipe his .. .
feet carefully, and on :
entering must take off ..
his cap and place it
under his left arm. He
must then ask for the
person who called, and
when he receives his
message he must ask:
" Is there any answer ?"
or If the person is not
in, shall I leave it ?"
Q.-If a subscriber
callsby mistakeforames-
senger when he wants
a policeman or to send
a fire alarm, what must
the messenger do ?
A.-He must at once
ask to see the instru- '
ment, and must send the
proper call, in order to
avoid delay. ''
Q.-If a messenger .'
receives a large bundle'
on a rainy day, what
must he do ? '
A.-He must return '
to the office for a rub-
ber covering. CARRYING NEWSPAPER DISPA
ber covering.


T


Boys who are qualifying themselves to become
messengers must attend this school from 9 A. M.
to 3 P. M. until their training is completed. The
number of pupils varies with the season of the
year. In the autumn it sometimes reaches sixty,
while in summer the number of boys in this train-
ing-school may dwindle down to twelve or fifteen.


1.
. Z
e-


eighty boys in attendance, according to its loca-
tion, and every boy is expected to serve ten hours
a day. In some of the offices, constant employ-
ment cannot be found for all the boys during this
time, and one form of promotion is to send a boy
to an easy district."
When a boy arrives at his office in the morning,


I58


[DECEMBER,


It will readily be surmised that boys employed by
the District company cannot be paid as are the boys
of the Western Union Company, because their ser-
vices are so different. The District boys are paid by
the week, and their wages begin even while they are
pupils. When in the training-school, they get
one dollar a week, and
.- when they enter on their
regular duties, this pay
is raised to four dollars
a week. But there are
grades of promotion, and
a boy who becomes a
S sergeant, and then has
S general charge of an
S 'office, giving out the uni-
forms, etc., is paid five
dollars a week.
The uniforms of the
District boys are made
of blue cloth, manufact-
ured expressly for the
"i ll company, with red trim-
mings. Each uniform
J4o' costs $12, and to pay for
it $1.25 is deducted from
each boy's weekly wages
as long as is necessary.
Ifa boy is discharged, he
I may keep his uniform,
S if it is paid for, or, if he
so wishes, the company
will purchase it of him,
if it is in good condition.
The same rule applies
in this company about
leaving the uniforms at
the office after the day's
work is over, as I men-
tioned in connection
with the Western Union
boys.
The American Dis-
trict Telegraph Com-
pany employs on an
average 550 boys, who
are distributed through-
out the city amongtwen-
ty-three offices. Each
office has from five to






TELEGRAPH-BOYS.


he goes to the sergeant, who notes if he is on time
or not. Then he puts on his uniform and reports
to the manager, who ascertains whether or not his
hands are clean and his hair is neatly brushed.
If le passes this examination successfully, he takes
a seat ready for duty. The boys respond to calls
in the order of their numbers early in the morning;
afterward they take their turns.
A faithful boy in the employ of this company is
never discharged merely because business is dull,
the resignations of boys who tire of their duties or
leave for other causes, and the dismissal of boys
who are unsatisfactory, rapidly decreasing the force
when additions are not made. It has required no
little skill so to arrange the service that inefficient
messengers may be detected among so many; but
this has been accomplished by an admirable system
of records, and discipline is enforced by means of
fines and extra hours, which soon lessen the wages,
or prolong the period of daily service, of those
boys who prove remiss.
Such is an outline of the duties of the telegraph-
messengers. To boys who are compelled to sup-
port themselves, or to assist in the support of a
family, this employment offers many advantages.
The work is healthy, because of the constant exer-
cise which the boys are required to take; and it is
noticed that boys who, when hired, are puny and


delicate, often become rugged and gain in flesh in
a few months. The pay is larger than boys obtain
in many other kinds of employment, and they are
under a sort of discipline which makes them
methodical and tends to correct many bad habits.
They are not, it is true, learning any trade which
they may follow through life; but those messengers
who choose to study telegraphy are said to make
especially good operators. The present manager
of the messenger service in the Western Union
building was formerly a messenger boy, as were
once the superintendents of the Western Union
offices in two of our large cities.
Useful as is the telegraph, we should not forget
that it is the boys who connect its wires with our
offices and our homes. Electricity will transmit
our messages across a continent or beneath an
ocean, but the aid of the boys must be called in to
bridge the gap that remains between the instru-
ment and the final destination. The telephone
and the phonograph, which already have done
what seems to be almost miraculous work, may in
time be made the means of conveying a message
directly from the telegraph instrument to the
person to whom it is addressed. But, until this is
accomplished, we must acknowledge our depend-
ence on the messenger-boys and fairly recognize
them as persons of business.


HOW CRUEL IS FATE!

BY MARGARET VANDEGRIFT.

THERE was a young man with a shaddock,
Who met a young maid with a haddock.
He thought, How I wish
She would give me that fish,
In legal exchange for my shaddock!"

The maiden, who did not like haddock,
Thought, Oh, what a beautiful shaddock!
If I were not so shy,
I should certainly try
If he 'd give me that fruit for my haddock."

He went on his way with his shaddock;
She went on her way with her haddock;
And so cruel is fate
That, until 't was too late,
Neither one of them heard
That, by speaking the word,
He might just as well have had haddock,
And she might as well have had shaddock!


159


1879.]






THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A WOOD-SLED.


THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A WOOD-SLED.

BY WASHINGTON GLADDEN.


- -
__^^_^_^_


"FOUR VOICES SHOUTED, 'MERRY CHRISTMAS! '" [SEE PAGE 166.]


KEEPS coming right down, don't it, Bill?"
Bill could not deny it, and did not wish to admit
it; therefore, he said nothing.
What was coming down was the snow. It had
been falling, thicker and faster, since a little after
daylight, and now it was nearly dark. Stumps of
trees and gate-posts were capped with great white
masses of it; here and there a path, cleared up to
the back door of a farm-house, showed on either
hand a high bank of it fluted with broom or shovel.
The boy, whose observation about its coming
down I have just recorded, was Master Winfield
Scott Burnham. He was a slender boy, with a
pale face, dark eyes, and brown hair, and he sat
pressing his face against the pane of a car window,
looking with rather a rueful countenance upon the
fast-falling snow. The young gentleman sitting
opposite him, whom he had made bold to address
as Bill, was his big brother, a junior in college,


who had long been Win's hero; and he was
worthy to be the hero of any small boy, for he was
not only strong and swift and expert in all kinds
of muscular sports, but he was too much of a man
ever to treat small boys, even though they might
be his own brothers, roughly or contemptuously.
Just across the aisle, on the other side of the
car, sat Win's eldest sister, Grace, who was a
sophomore at "Smith" College; and fronting her
on the reversed seat was Win's younger brother,
Philip Sheridan.
The reason why these Burnhams happened to
be traveling together was this: The Christmas
vacation had come, and William and Grace were
on their way to their home in Pittsfield, Massa-
chusetts. The two small boys, whose school at
home had closed a week earlier than the colleges,
had been visiting their cousins in Hartford for a
few days; and it was arranged that William should


16o


[DECEMBER,







THE STRANGE ADVENTURES -OF A WOOD-SLED.


come over from Amherst and join Grace at North-
ampton, and that the two should wait at Spring-
field for the little boys, who were to be put on the
northern train at Hartford by their uncle. But
the trains on all the roads had been greatly
delayed by the snow, and it was four o'clock
before the noon express, with the Burnhams on
board, left Springfield for the West. The dark-
ness was closing in, and the wind was rising, and
William had already expressed some fear of a
snow-blockade upon the mountain. This remark
had made Win rather sober, and he had been
watching the snow and listening to the wind with
an anxious face.
How long shall we be going to Pittsfield ? he
asked his brother.
"1There 's no telling," answered Will. '"We
ought to get there in two hours, but at this rate it
will be four at the shortest."
"That will make it eight o'clock," sighed Win.
" I 'm afraid the Christmas tree will all be un-
loaded before that time."
"Yes, my boy; I'm sorry, but you might as
well make up your mind to that."
Win started across the car. This disappoint-
ment was too big for one. He must share it with
Phil.
Hold on, General!" said William, in a low
tone. "What 's the good of telling him? Let
him be easy in his mind as long as he can."
Win sat down in silence. Phil was telling his
sister great stories of the Hartford visit, and his
gleeful tones resounded through the car. Grace
was laughing at his big talk, and they seemed to
be making a merry time qf it. But the train had
just stopped at Westfield, and there was difficulty
in starting. The wind howled ominously, and
great gusts of snow came flying down from the
roof of the passenger house against the windows
of the car. Presently, the two engines that were
drawing the train backed up a little to get a good
start, and then plunged into the snow.
"Ch-- h Ch-h! ch-ch! Ch-h-h-h-h!"
The wheels were slipping upon the track, and
the train suddenly came to a halt.
Back again they went, a little further, for
another start; and this time the two engines, like
"two hearts that beat as one," cleared the course,
and the train went slowly on up the grade. Grace
and Phil had stopped talking, and they now came
across and joined their brothers.
Are n't you afraid there may be trouble on the
mountain, Will?" asked Grace.
"Should n't wonder," said that gentleman,
shortly.
"But, Will, what in the world should we do if
we should happen to be blockaded ?"


Sit still and wait till we were shoveled out, I
suppose. You see, we could n't go on afoot very
well."
"Going to be snowed up! That's tip-top!"
cried Phil. The boy's love of adventure had
crowded out all thoughts of the festival to which
they were hastening. I read in the paper about
a train that was snowed up three or four days on
the Pacific road, and the passengers had jolly
times; the station was n't very far off, and they
got enough to eat and drink, and they had all sorts
of shows on the train."
But I 'd rather see the show at the Christmas
tree to-night," said Win, "than any show we 'll
see on this old train. Would n't you, Bill?"
"Perhaps so'," answered Bill. It was evident
that he had reasons of his own for not wishing to
be absent from the festival.
Meantime, the train was ploughing along. Now
and then it came to a halt in a cut which the snow
had filled, but a small party of shovelers that had
come on board at Westfield usually succeeded,
after a short delay, in clearing the track. Still, the
progress was very slow. A full hour and a half
was consumed between Springfield and Russell,
and it was almost seven o'clock when the train
stopped at Chester.
The boys were pretty hungry by this time, and
the prospect of spending the night in a snow-bank
was much less attractive, even to Phil, than it had
been two hours before. At Chester, where there
was a long halt, the passengers-of whom there
were not many-nearly all got out and refreshed
themselves. A couple of sandwiches, a piece of
custard pie, a big, round doughnut and a glass of
good milk, considerably increased Phil's courage
and greatly comforted Win, so that they returned
to the car ready to encounter with equal mind the
perils of the night.
The snow had ceased to fall, but the wind was
still blowing. Two or three more shovelers came
on board, and, thus reinforced, the train pushed on.
But it was slow work; the grade was getting
heavier and the drifts were deeper every mile. But
Middlefield was passed and Becket was left behind,
and at nine o'clock the train was slowly toiling up
toward the summit at Washington, when, suddenly,
it came to a halt, and a long blast was blown by
the whistles of both engines. Shortly, a brakeman
came through the train, and, taking one of the red
lanterns from the rear of the last car, hurried down
the track with it.
Where is he going with that lantern ?" asked
Phil.
He is going back a little way," said Will.
"The lantern is a signal to keep other trains from
running into us. That means that we are to stay


1879.]


161






THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A WOOD-SLED.


here for some time. I '11 go out and see what's
up."
Presently, he returned with a sober face, and
looking very cold.
Well, what is it?" they all asked.
0, nothing; there 's a freight-train in the cut
just ahead of us with two of its cars off the track,
and the cut 's about half full of snow. If our
Christmas goose is n't cooked already, there 'll be
plenty of time to have it cooked before we get out
of this."
Is it that deep cut just below the Washington
station?" asked Grace.
"The same," answered Will; "and it 's as
likely a place to spend Christmas in as you could
find anywhere in Western Massachusetts."
Can't they dig out the snow ? cried Win.
"Oh yes," said the big brother, "but it's not an
easy thing to do; it 's got to be done with shovels,
and it will take a long time."
How long?" asked Grace, ruefully.
Nobody knows. But we shall be obliged to
wait for more shovelers and wreckers to come up
from Springfield, and I should n't wonder at all if
we staid here twenty-four hours."
Can't you telegraph to father?"
"I 'in sorry to say I can not. I asked about
that, but the station man says the lines are down.
No; there 's nothing to do but bunk down for the
night as well as we can, and wait till deliverance
comes. We 're in a regular fix and no mistake,
and we 've just got to make the best of it," replied
Will.
Just then the rear door of the car opened and a
figure appeared that had not been seen hitherto
upon the train. It was that of a stalwart man,
perhaps fifty-five years old, with long white hair
and beard, ruddy cheeks and bright gray eyes. He
wore a gray fur cap and a long gray overcoat, and
looked enough like --Somebody that we are all
thinking of about Christmas time, to have been
that Somebody's twin brother.
"Good evening friends !" he said, in a very
jolly tone, as he shut the car-door behind him.
"Pleased to receive a call from so many on ye.
Merry Christmas to ye all! 'Taint often that I kin
welcome such a big Christmas party as this to my
place !"
The good-nature of the old farmer was irresist-
ible. The passengers all laughed.
I believe you," said a traveling salesman in a
seal-skin cap; "and the sooner you bid us good
riddance the better we shall like it."
"And you need n't mind about wishing us
many happy returns either," said a black-whiskered
man in a plaid ulster; "if we ever get away from
here, you won't see us again soon "


"What place is this?" inquired a gray-haired
lady, who sat just in front of the Burnhams.
Washin'ton 's what they call it," said the jolly
farmer. "Pop'lar name enough; but the place
don't seem to be over popular jest now, with some
on ye." And he laughed a big jolly laugh.
Is it, like our capital,-a 'city of magnificent
distances'?" inquired the man in the ulster.
I reckon it is. It 's consid'able of a distance
from everywhere else on airth. But it 's nigher to
heaven 'n any other place hereabouts."
"What is raised on this hill?" inquired the
traveling salesman.
"Wind, mostly. Is that article in your line?"
The laugh was on the salesman, but he enjoyed
it as well as any of them. A bit of a girl about
three years old, tugging a flaxen-haired doll under
one arm, here came sidling down the aisle of the
car.
Ith 00 Thanty Kauth ? she said, lifting her
great, solemn black eyes to the farmer's face. The
laugh was on him now; and he joined in it uproar-
iously.
Not jest exackly, my little gal," he said, as he
lifted her up in his arms; but you've come purty
nigh it. Sandy Ross is what they call me."
"Has oo dot a thleigh and a waindeer?" per-
sisted the little maiden.
No; but I 've got a first-rate wood-sled,-pair
o' bobs, with a wood rack on't,-'n' ez slick a span
o' Canadian ponies ez ever ye see "
The farmer stroked the dark hair of the little
girl with his great hard hand, and she snuggled
down on his shoulder as if he had been her grand-
father.
The Burnhams had been joining in the merri-
ment, though they had taken no part in the con-
versation. But when the little girl climbed down'
from the arms of Sandy Ross, Will arose and
beckoned him to a vacant seat.
How far from here do you live, Mr. Ross?"
Right up the bank thar. That's my house,
with a light 'n the winder."
It was a comfortable-looking white farm-house,
with a sloping roof in the rear and a big chimney
in the middle.
Now, Mr. Ross, I live in Pittsfield, and I want
mightily to get there before noon to-morrow. I
don't believe this train will get there before to-
morrow night. Could you take my sister, and
those two little chaps and me, and carry us all
home early to-morrow morning on your wood-sled,
providing it is n't too cold to undertake the jour-
ney?"
"Le's see. Wall, yes; I calc'late I could. I
was a-thinkin' 'bout goin' over to Pittsfield t'mor-
rer with a little jag o' wood, 'n' I reckon live crit-


162


[DECEMBER,







THIE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A WOOD-SLED.


ters like you won't be no more trouble, ho ho !
The snow aint no gret depth; 'taint nigh's deep
on otherr side o' the mountain ez 't is on this side.
There '11 be drifts now 'n' then, but the fences is
down, so that we kin turn inter the fields 'n' go
round 'em."
How long will it take you to drive over?"
Le's see. 'Taint over fifteen or sixteen mile.
I reckon I kin make it in three to four hours."
Well, sir, if you '11 get us over there safely
before noon I '11 give you five dollars."
"All right; that 's enough; tew much, I guess.
But see here, my friend; jest bring the young
lady 'n' the little chaps up to my house 'n' spend
the night there, all on ye. Then we kin hev an
airly breakfast, 'n' start fair when we get good
'n' ready."
s In less than five minutes the Burnhams, with
bags and bundles, were .ii.. ;i. Sandy Ross to
the door of the car.
This was the last that our travelers saw of their
fellow-passengers on the Western Express. Late
the next afternoon the train rolled into Pittsfield
station, but the Burnhams were busy elsewhere
about that time.
It was but a few steps from the train to Sandy
Ross's house. William carried his sister through
the deepest snow, and the boys trudged along with
the bundles, highly pleased with the prospect of an
adventure in a farm-house. Good Mrs. Ross was
as blithe and hearty as her husband, and she soon
made the young folks feel quite at home.
To Miss Grace "the spar' room," as Mrs. Ross
called it, was assigned, while Will and the two
boys found a sleeping-place in the attic. The dim
tallow-candle that lighted them to bed disclosed
all sorts of curious things. In one corner, facing
each other, were two old, tall clocks that had long
ceased ticking, and now stood with folded hands
and silent pendulums, resting from their labors. An
old chest of drawers, that would have been a prize
for hunters of the antique, was near the clocks;
braids of yellow seed-corn hung from the rafters,
and at one end of the great room stood the hand-
loom on which the mother of Mrs. Ross had been
wont to weave cloth for the garments of her house-
hold. It was an heir-loom, in the literal sense.
The boys thought that this garret would have been
a grand place to ransack; but they were too well-
bred to go prying about, and contented themselves
with admiring what was before their eyes. It was
not long before they were sound asleep in their
snug nest of feathers; and, when they waked the
next morning, breakfast was ready, and farmer
Ross and brother Will had made all the prepara-
tions for the journey. To the excellent farmer's
breakfast of juicy ham and eggs, genuine country


sausages, and delicious buckwheat cakes with
maple syrup, they all did full justice.
It does me good to see boys eat," said the
kind farmer's wife; "they do enjoy it so;" and
tears were in her eyes as she thought of the hungry
boys that used to sit around this table. Farmer
Ross and his wife were alone in the world. Two
of their boys were sleeping in unmarked graves at
Chancellorsville; the other had died when he was
a baby. But they were not selfish people; they
had learned to bear sorrow, and therefore their sor-
row had not made them morose and miserable; it
had only made them more kind and tender-hearted.
Breakfast over, the wood-sled came round to the
door, and Mr. Ross looked in a moment to say
a last word to his wife.
You 'd better make two or three pailfuls o'
strong coffee, mother, 'n' bile three or four dozen
aigs, 'n' heat up a big batch o' them air mince pies.
The folks down here on the train '11 be mighty
hungry this morning 'n' I 've been down 'n' told
'em to come up here in 'bout half an hour, 'n' git
what they want. Don't charge 'em nothing ; let
'em pay what they 've a min' ter. P'raps some on
'em haint nothing' to pay with, 'n' they 'll need it
jest as much as the rest. We must n't let folks
starve that git storm-staid right at our front-door.
And now all aboard for Pittsfield "
The hearty thanks and farewells to good Mrs.
Ross were soon said, and the Burnhams bundled
out of the kitchen into the wood-sled. It was a
long rack with upright stakes rising from a frame
and held together by side rails, through which the
ends of the stakes projected a few inches. A side-
board, about a foot in width, had been placed
within the stakes on either side, and the space so
inclosed had been filled with clean oat-straw. Miss
Grace wrapped Mrs. Ross's heavy blanket shawl
round her seal-skin sacque, each of the two little
boys did himself up in a blanket, William robed
himself in his ti .!.,.,g-rug, and they all sat down
in the straw, two fronting forward and two back-
ward, and placed their feet against four hot flat-
irons, wound in thick woolen cloth, and laid to-
gether in a nest between them. Over their laps a
big buffalo-robe was thrown, and Farmer Ross
heaped the straw against their backs.
Away they went, shouting a merry good-by to
the farmer's wife, secure against discomfort, and
happy in the hope of reaching home in time for
their Christmas dinner. Down in the railroad cut
they saw the shovelers and the wreckers toiling at
the disabled freight cars, but not much stir was
visible about the express train that lay a little
further down the track. The snow did not appear
to be very deep, and the ponies skipped briskly
along with their light load. Here and there was a


163


1879.]







THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A WOOD-SLED.


bare spot from which the snow had been blown,
but not many drifts were found, and these were
easily avoided, as Mr. Ross had said, by turning
into the open fields.
Farmer Ross was as blithe as the morning.
From his perch on a cross-board of the wood-rack
he kept up a brisk talk with the group in the straw
behind him.
Fire enoughh in the stove ?" he asked. "'Taint
often that ye hev a stove like that to set 'round
when ye go a sleigh-ridin'."
All right, sir; it 's warm as toast," said Win.
" Genuine base-burner, is n't it."
I should think your feet would be cold sitting
up there," said Grace.
0, no; not in this weather. 'Sides, if they do
git cold I knock'em together a little, or else git off
'n' run afoot a spell, 'n' they 're soon warm agin."
Do you often go to Pittsfield?" asked William.
"Yes, every month or so. Gin'rally du my
trading' thar. Tek along a little suthin' to sell com-
monly,-a little jag o' wood, or a little butter, or a
quarter o' beef, or suthin'. I meant to hev gone
down last week, 'n' I had a big pile o' Christmas
greens 't I meant to tek along to sell, but I was
hendered, 'n' could n't go. There 's the greens
now-all piled up in the aidge o' the wood; I 'd
got 'em all ready. 'Fraid they wont be worth
much next Christmas."
0, Mr. Ross!" cried Grace; would it be
very much trouble for you to put that nearest pile
of them on the back part of the sled? I can find
use for them at home, I know, and I should like to
take them with me ever so much "
Sartinly; no trouble at all; and in two or
three great armfuls the pile of beautiful coral pine
was heaped upon the sleigh.
The morning wore on toward nine o'clock, and
as the sun rose higher the air grew warmer. The
roads were steadily improving, and the ponies trot-
ted along at a nimble pace. The boys began to
be tired of sitting still.
I 'm not going to burrow up in this straw any
longer," said Win; I 'm going to get up and
stir about a little."
"So am I," said Phil.
It was easy enough to stand on the sled while it
was in motion. In rough places the boys could
take hold of the rail of the wood-rack; and even
if they fell it did not hurt them. Pretty soon
Win, who had an artist's eye, began to pull out
long vines of the evergreen and wind them round
the stakes of the wood-rack.
"I say, Phil," he cried, if we only had some
string, we could fix this old frame so that it would
look nobby "
"Well, here 's your string," said Will, produc-


ing a ball of twine from his overcoat-pocket and
tossing it to his brother. I put that in my pocket
by mistake when I tied up my last package yester-
day morning, and have been wishing it in Amherst
ever since."
"Jolly shouted Win. Now, Mr. Ross,
you '11 see what we '11 make of your wood-sled."
Goin' t' make a kind o' Cindereller coach on 't,
hey? Well, go ahead I sha' n't be ashamed
on 't, no matter how fine ye fix it."
The boys' fingers flew. This was fun Before
long all the stakes were trimmed, and a spiral
wreath of the evergreen had been run all round
the side-rail of the rack. It really began to look
quite fairy-like. William and Grace first laughed
at the fancy of the boys, and then began to aid
them with suggestions; and presently William was
up himself, helping them in their work. Twine
wound with the evergreen was run diagonally
across from the top of each stake to the bottom of
the nearest one'; and the wood-rack began to look
very much like what the poets call a "wild-wood
bower." All it needed was a roof, and this was
soon supplied. William borrowed Mr. Ross's big
jack-knife, leaped from the sleigh, and.cut eight
willow rods, and they were speedily wound with the
evergreen. Then the ends were made fast with
twine to the railing of the rack on either side, and,
arching overhead, they completed the transforma-
tion of the wood-sled into a moving arbor of ever-
greens.
The boys danced with merriment.
"'Is n't it just gay? cried Phil. "I never
dreamed that we could make it look so pretty "
We could n't have done it, either," said Win,
"if Bill and Grace had n't helped us. But what
will the fellows say when they see us ridin' down
the street ?"
"What I am most curious to see," said Will,
"is the faces of Mr. and Mrs. Burnham and Baby
Burnham, when this gay chariot drives up to their
door! They 're worrying about us powerfully by
this time, and I reckon we 've a jolly surprise in
store for them."
I hope they will not be as badly frightened,"
said Grace, "as Macbeth was when he saw Bir-
nam wood' coming."
"Pretty good for sis," laughed William.
What's the joke ? inquired Win.
Too classic for small boys; you '11 have to get
up your Shakespear before you can appreciate it,"
answered the big brother.
'Pears to me," now put in the charioteer from
his perch, that a rig ez fine ez this oughter have
a leetle finer coachman. I aint 'shamed o' the
sled, ez I said; but I dew think I oughter be fixed
up a leetle mite to match "


164


[DECEMBER,







THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A WOOD-SLED.


"You shall be," cried Grace. "Here, boys,
help me to wind a couple of wreaths."
Very soon, two light, twisted wreaths of evergreen
were ready, and Mr. Ross, with great laughter,
threw them over each shoulder and under the op-
posite arm, so that they crossed before and behind,
like the straps that support a soldier's belt. Then
his fur cap was quickly trimmed with sprays of the
evergreen, that rose in a bell-crown all round his
head.
Their journey was almost done. How quickly
the time had passed Every few rods they met
sleigh-loads of people, happy because Cl ii.i.-n


could get near hitched their hand-sleds to his
triumphal car.
Miss Grace was hidden from sight by the ever-
greens, and she enjoyed the sport of the boys
almost as much as they did.
Meantime, the hours were passing slowly at Mr.
Burnham's. The father and mother had been too
anxious about their children to sleep much during
the night. They could get no word from the train
after it left Chester, and the delay and uncertainty
greatly distressed them. Mr. Burnham had just
returned from the station with the news that the
wires were up, and that the train had been heard


"'*MERRY CHRISTMAS TO YE ALL!'P" [SEE PAGE 162.


and the sleighing had come together, and bent on
making the most of both. These merry-makers
all looked with wonder upon our travelers as they
drew near, and answered their loud shouts of
" Merry Christmas with laughter and cheers.
They had not gone far through the streets of the
village before their kite had considerable tail.
Just what it meant the small boys did not know;
but if this driver was not Santa Claus, he was
somebody equally good-natured, for he bowed and
laughed right and left, in the jolliest fashion, to
the salutations of the boys, and as many of them as


from in the cut just beyond the summit, where it
was likely to be kept the greater part of the day.
Oh dear!" cried the mother. "I cannot have
it so Can't we get at them in some way? I 'm
afraid they will suffer with hunger. Then we had
counted so much on this Christmas, and the chil-
dren's fun is all spoiled. Think of them sitting
all this blessed holiday, cooped up in those dread-
ful cars, waiting to be shoveled out of a snow-drift.
It seems as if I should fly. I wish I could "
Well, my dear," said Mr. Burnham, soberly,
" I am sorry that the holiday is spoiled, but I see


165


-^-; =-i -------_ --- ---..- __ ..l.)

V .S
. I 'r ,f' ', ,! i


1879.1






THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A WOOD-SLED.


nothing that we can do. We can trust William to
take good care of them and bring them all home
safely; and we 've got to be patient and wait."
Just then the heads of the ponies were turning
in at the gate of the wide lawn in front of the
house. The small boys who were following un-
hitched their hand-sleds, and the escort remained
outside the gate.
Drive slowly !" said William. Give them a
good chance to see us coming!"
Baby Burnham was at the window. Thanty
Kauth !" she cried. Look papa; look !"
What does the child see !" said Mr. Burnham,
going to the window. "Sure enough, baby. Do
come here, my dear. What fantastical establish-
ment is this coming up our drive-way? It 's a
bower of evergreens on runners, and an old man
with a white beard and a white coat all trimmed
up with greens sits up there driving. He seems to
be shaking with laughter, too. What can it
mean ? "
Just then the wood-sled came alongside the
porch, and, suddenly, out from between the gar-
landed sled-stakes four heads were quickly thrust
and four voices shouted:
Merry Christmas "
The children Bless their hearts "
In a minute more, father and mother and baby
and the jolly travelers were all very much mixed
up on the porch, and there was a deal of hugging
and kissing and laughing and crying, while Farmer
Ross on his own hook, or rather on his own wood-
sled, was laughing softly, and crying a little, too.
What made him cry I wonder? Presently, Mr.
Burnham said:
But, Will, you have n't made us acquainted
yet with your charioteer."
"It is Mr. Ross, father. He took us into his
house on Washington Mountain last night and
treated us like princes, and this morning he has
brought us home, and helped us in the heartiest
way to carry out our fun."
Mr. Ross, we are greatly your debtors," said
Mr. Burnham. You have relieved us of a sore
anxiety, and brought us a great pleasure."
Wall, I dunno," said the farmer; I did n't
like to think o' these 'ere children bein' kep' away
from hum on Christmas cay; 'n' ef I 've helped
'em any way to hev a good time, why,-God bless
'em !-I don't think there 's any better thing an old
man like me could be doing' on sech a day as this "
Just here Mr. Burnham's coachman came round
the corner in great haste.
"Well, Patrick, what is it?" said his master.
The shafts uv that sleigh-bad look till 'em !
-is bruk, yer honor; 'n' I don't see how I '11 iver
git thim bashkits carried round at all !"


O, those baskets !" cried Mr. Burnham in dis-
tress. Our Christmas baskets have n't been de-
livered yet, and it 's almost eleven o'clock. The
storm and our worry about you kept us from
delivering them last night, and we have hardly
thought of them this morning. I 'm afraid those
poor people will have a late Christmas dinner."
Baskets o' stuff for poor folks's dinners?"
said farmer Ross; "let me take 'em round."
".0 yes, father !" shouted Win; "let Phil and
me go with him The baskets are marked, are n't
they ? It '11 be jolly fun to deliver them out of this
sled."
In a minute the baskets-half a dozen of them
-were loaded in, and within half an hour they
were all set down at the homes to which they were
addressed. Poor old Uncle Ned and Aunt Dinah
hobbled to the door and took in their basket with
eyes full of wonder at the strange vehicle that was
just driving from their doors; the Widow Blanch-
ard's children, playing outside, ran into the house
when they saw the ponies coming, but speedily
came out after their basket and carried it in, firm
in the faith that they had had a sight of the veri-
table Santa Claus. To all the rest of the needy
families the gifts, though late, were welcome; and
the bright vision of the evergreen bower on run-
ners brought gladness with it into all those lowly
homes.
Farmer Ross went back with the boys to their
home; his ponies were taken from the sled and
given a good Christmas dinner in Mr. Burnham's
stable; he himself was constrained to remain and
partake of the feast that would not have been eaten
but for him, and that lost none of its merriment
because of him; and at length, about three o'clock
in the afternoon, the Christmas car, stripped of
its bravery, but carrying some goodly gifts to Mrs.
Ross, started on its return to Washington Moun-
tain.
My little friends who read this story will be glad
to know that the Christmas festival at the church
had been deferred on account of the storm from
Christmas eve to Christmas evening; so that the
Burnhams had a chance to assist at the unloading
of the Christmas tree.
They will also guess that Farmer Ross's house
and his barn and his orchard and his pasture and
his woods and his trout-brook and his blackberry
bushes and his dog and his ponies and his cows
and his oxen and his hens and pretty nearly every
thing that was his had a chance to get very well
acquainted with Win and Phil during the next
summer vacation. It will be a long time, I am
sure, before the Rosses and the Burnhams cease
to be friends, and before any of them will forget
The Strange Adventures of a Wood-Sled.


166


[DECEMBER,






DRESSING MARY ANN.



DRESSING MARY ANN.


.^) i
-, ,.. -
--; L.^ I .'.

,, .
~ liiii





---- ::z Z .. ,--_:; _--~_' -',-:
C-^ ^ I
C- y -^
u4e K^


SHE came to me one Christmas day,
In paper, with a card to say:
" From Santa Claus and Uncle John,"-
And not a stitch the child had on!


"I '11 dress you; never mind! said I,
3 And brush your hair; now, don't you cry."

First, I made her'little hose,
4' And shaped them nicely at the toes.








S. ,-.. t \ -
-.. 'f ; ,"- t \ ,
**~_ '
^ ^ "" --

Ai I ,


.' .-" ',. ," t l--i, 2 j ^i!

,' '._ . .


-I -


Then I bought a pair of shoes,-
A lovely "dolly's number twos."


6. Next I made a petticoat;
And put a chain around her throat.


I67


.4.-


A.'.
- ., ,


i-






DRESSING


MARY ANN.


S1/


________ '['

l I: I I ri



IIL




ii

41 I


Then, when she shivered, I made haste,
And cut her out an underwaist.


SNext I made a pretty dress,
It took me 'most a week, I guess.


* r
;I


And then I named her Mary Ann,
9 And gave the dear a paper fan.


Next I made a velvet sacque
. That fitted nicely in the back,


168


- -I i'


[DECEMBER,


AN'


::
~ci
i
i, C,

















'' 11,1;


:lir
fi. _=_

II
I"' IIl
',I'


/


- -^







DRESSING MARY ANN.


J -- .- .,
I '. ",




.@ I, 2 '


I .- ii.. '.








_I I trimmed a lovely hat,-
I. Oh, how sweet she looked in that!


nI


"J^, s
L '.. .

-- .


6.
,*' '-






II









S;bt p
s, '/ ,* .'
















"' I bought her next a parasol!


iij' -


A;
*1r '


M.+--
,


>1
Ai-


l4p2


She looked so grand when she was dressed
You i.: ,k never would have guessed
How very plain she seemed to be
The day when first she came to me.


VOL. VIL--1a.


\






HOW JOE BROUGHT DOWN THE HOUSE.


HOW JOE BROUGHT DOWN THE HOUSE.

BY MARION CONANT.


"WELL, girls, there is one way we can help
both father and ourselves in these hard times,"
said Bessie Foot, while her elder sisters looked up
from their occupations with kind, interested faces.
" We can give up our birthdays or Christmas,"
began Bessie, slowly.
That is a good idea," broke in Emily, the
older sister. "These numerous gift-days and
pleasure-makings draw too heavily upon all our
pockets."
But what will Joe say?" This time they
nearly all spoke in concert.
After a little pause, Bessie said, with hopeful
decision:
Oh, perhaps he wont care."
Now Joe was the last, but by no means the least,
member in Mr. Foot's family. He had arrived
late, after this goodly row of girls, and after his
parents had given up an earlier and often ex-
pressed desire that a boy might be among the
number. And if helpful hands and warm hearts
make the reception, Joe came
-"to the world as a gentleman comes,
To a lodging ready furnished."
He was now twelve years old, but had not "worn
out his welcome." Of a pliant, pleasant nature, he
fully answered, so far, all the demands made upon
him. No one had ever heard him speak a rough
or unkind word, and in all the little affairs of
every day he was easily helpful enough to satisfy
his loving family. It is true Mr. Foot, who had
struggled up through a hard and self-denying
youth to an honorable position in the law, began
to have some uneasiness about his son's char-
acter, and to suffer the first disturbing and per-
plexing doubt as to the future of a boy to whom
life was such a holiday affair, and who would never
be able, he feared, to take any other view of it.
But these fatherly thoughts and fears Mr. Foot
carefully kept to himself. His family was very
loving and confiding, and Mr. Foot was not
without courage; but I doubt if he would have
been willing to contemplate, even in the retire-
ment of his own thoughts, the shock that would
have come to all if this beloved son had been
closely criticised. So Joe spent his thoughtless,
pleasant days undisturbed by criticism, and when
Bessie broached the question of the morning for
her brother's decision-Christmas being nearly a
year away and birthdays close at hand,-he chose
in his easy way to keep the near pleasure, and so


it came about that there was to be no Christmas
celebration that year in Mr. Foot's house.
Bessie's plan worked admirably. The birth-
days, scattered through the year, had been made
much of, and Joe's, coming late in September,
had really been a great affair. Joe himself had
enjoyed it wonderfully-even beyond his usual
happy way. It was very gratifying to have so many
new things in advance of all his playmates; even
the latest fashioned sled had been procured by
extra trouble and expense, and the balls and the
books and the knives and the marbles were of the
best, for Joe is to have no presents at Christmas,"
was the often expressed reason for extra indulgence
on this particular birthday. It was all very de-
lightful, and it made Joe quite the hero of the
autumn, creating any amount of envy in the minds
of other boys who must wait until Christmas.
But Christmas was drawing on, and Joe soon
found himself face to face with an anticipation which
was not pleasurable-an entirely new position in
his experience. In fact, the numerous preparations
in the world outside began to produce a slightly
depressing sensation in other members of Mr.
Foot's family; even Bessie, usually firm in her de-
cisions, could not help wishing they had chosen
Christmas and given up the birthdays. But it was
too late now, so they all carefully avoided any
allusion to the coming festival, each hoping by
silence to create the impression in the others that
the whole plan was eminently satisfactory.
Mr. Foot, quietly reading, in his easy chair, was
really the only one quite at ease, all the minds of
the family being more or less ruffled, on Christmas
eve, by some thoughts as to what might be going
on in Joe's mind; for, contrary to his custom, he
had betaken himself to bed at an unusually early
hour. Mrs. Foot and her older daughters were
busy with their sewing near the table where Mr.
Foot was enjoying the cheerful fire and his evening
paper, when Bessie suddenly broke into the room
with the exclamation: "Joe has hung up his
stockings Mr. Foot laid his paper on his knees
and the busy needles made slight pauses, but no
one spoke.
He has hung up both; he never hung up but
one before!" added Bessie, dropping helplessly
into the nearest chair.
"That was naughty in Joe," said Mrs. Foot, in
a tone in which despair and apology were oddly
mingled.


170


[DECEMBER,






HOW JOE BROUGHT DOWN THE HOUSE.


Mr. Foot meditated, apparently unheeding,
while the girls went on with their sewing.
Some time elapsed, during which no one vent-
ured a remark, and Mr. Foot still looked into
the fire. Strangely vivid remembrances came to
him of a country boy, long-forgotten Christmases,
an empty stocking and a disappointed heart. He
slowly took down his eye-glasses from their perch
and put them in his pocket; he folded up his
paper softly, and carefully laid it on the table, and
with the air of a man who would rather the fact
should not be observed, rose quietly from his chair
and in a very indifferent voice said:
Bessie, will you hand me my coat ?"
"Why, are you going out?" exclaimed Mrs.
Foot, looking up excitedly.
Yes, I think I will take a short walk," replied
Mr. Foot, still indifferently, though knowing per-
fectly well a walk was a most unusual performance
for him in the evening after a busy day.
"I believe I will go with you," said his wife,
cheerily, and going at once for her hat and shawl.
Let us go, too," said all the girls, with that
liveliness which indicates relief from a dilemma.
All were soon ready, and, Mr. and Mrs. Foot
leading the way, they were soon on the pavement
of a well-lighted street, and moving with the crowd
or pausing at the shop-windows to see the unusual
and final attractions of the season.
If people would dream facts instead of dreaming
dreams, Joe Foot might have smiled to himself as
he lay asleep in his little bedroom in sole posses-
sion of the house, while the whole family had gone
off, moved by one impulse, on an errand which
not one of them would have told to another. Joe
awake and on his feet might have been resisted;
but Joe asleep, with those two expectant stockings
yawning in the basement, was an impersonation
of that faith which moves mountains. It all came
about very naturally and easily, Mr. Foot himself,
first expressing some regret that the knife he gave
Joe on his birthday had not been of a better
quality, and, now that the boy had lost it, it
seemed only fair to get him another. This accom-
plished at the first cutlery store, his mother fol-
lowed in the purchase of a new boy's-book, which
she very much regretted she had not heard of in
time to get for his birthday. His sisters, too,


remembered various little things that Joe liked, or
had their memories quickened by the sight of new
devices for good boys, as they walked along, and so
they were each well laden with Christmas things
when they finally reached their own door.
I cannot doubt that Joe smiled then in his
sleep, and if the faithful stockings ran over with
their numerous gifts, the family wisely concluded
not to make any remarks that might bring into
light the inconsistency of the givers' purposes
and actions.
The next morning, all but Joe awoke with a
slight feeling of uncertainty whether it was Sunday
or some other day. Joe knew before he was awake
that it was n't Sunday, still, he did feel a little
doubtful if it was Christmas.
But stowed away in a seldom-used nook of his
closet were some very good reminders of Christ-
mas, until he should descend to the basement.
Joe's father would have been pleased enough if he
could have looked into his boy's closet just then, as
Joe was taking out from their hiding-place six
small packages, all neatly wrapped and tied with
long loops, so that they could be hung on door-
knobs. These presents he had purchased with
some money given him to spend for himself.
With the little bundles arranged on his arm
for distribution, he stole softly in his stocking-feet
through the hall, hanging each article on its re-
spective knob, without disturbing the occupants of
the rooms, who were still cozily abed.
This done, Joe went on to the basement in easy
hopefulness. And he was not doomed to disap-
pointment, the contents of the crowded stockings
yielding more than a usual amount of joy and
admiration.
And when the family came down to breakfast,
how delightful it all was! Every one was so
pleased with the pretty present Joe had .purchased
for them, that it was a long time before the happy
family could subside to the formality of the morn-
ing meal. Joe himself became conscious of a
higher pleasure than Christmas had heretofore
brought, when his father expressed his hearty satis-
faction in the gift his son had, unassisted, given
him; and, turning to his youngest daughter, he
said: Bessie, let us have Christmas next year,"
which caused a general smile all around.


7. 1 4-


1879.]


17i






THE FUNNY MANDARIN.


THE FUNNY MANDARIN.

BY PALMER COX.

THERE was a funny mandarin
Who had a funny way,
Of sliding down the balustrade
A dozen times a day.

With arms in air and streaming hair,
At risk of bone and brain,
Around and round the winding stair
He slid the rail amain.


[DECEMBER,


;='
a


Cs~sp s 4FMW 1 1 RIM--- -


a -- CC-p- --B~LIP~P


I72


iN






*'ftl '-?' s

.^-., ..o -











/



y' "^ : '




"
I...-







THE FUNNY MANDARIN.


'.

k. __
''



.i
.r.


, Lt i LIt i. t i 1 r i L 'i l i-.

\\,ut h l btr,_ c-,1! rk,: i" l.


S i:L t; i i ,i i i. ii ,i i
A i.:.ui :': h' l i t :i l .:l' l. ri


H .i .:- !" u -. l I" : I. i r f l .
H ..-. I .i uurdl ,' b I..ll,


v-e


1879.]


173


T Il.- o P: h,[" :', ;,. 1 i',1 n _,I'tr,,_ unr,

T "]'K I'r -ls i i|.,'1 n;, ., .,


1 / I


r






I74


HAVE you ever heard the name of the great
sculptor, Thorvaldsen ? Have you not frequently
seen photographs, engravings, or plaster casts,
representing his medallions of "Morning" and
" Night,"-pictures of which we give,-the first a
swiftly-flying angel, strewing flowers through the air,
while a cherub clinging to her shoulder holds aloft a
glowing torch; the second, a somber spirit, floating
dreamily onward, her head bowed forward, two
slumbering babes in her arms, and an owl follow-
ing in her wake. Thorvaldsen sculptured those
at Rome, half a century ago, when rising to the
height of his fame.
He was born at Copenhagen, Denmark, Novem-
ber 19, 1770. His father's name was Gottskalk
Thorvaldsen; his mother's, Karen Gr6nlund. She
was the daughter of a peasant, but his father was
a carver of wood. Little Albert-that was Thor-
valdsen's name-used frequently to play in his
father's work-shop, watching whatever was going
on, and, not many years ago, there were old car-
penters in Copenhagen who could well remember
him as a pretty child, with blue eyes and golden
hair, following his father. He was a gentle, pleas-
ant-tempered little fellow, and this sometimes led
his comrades to play tricks upon him.
Monsieur Pion, one of Thorvaldsen's biog-
raphers, from whose work many of the facts in this
paper have been gleaned, and from which several
of our engravings were copied, relates many anec-
dotes which give us good pictures of the sculptor
in his infancy.
When Albert, or Bertel as his family used to call
him, grew older, he went to his father's workshop,
not merely to watch, but to help with the work.
Gottskalk Thorvaldsen's chief occupation was carv-
ing roughly made wooden statues, to be placed as
figure-heads in the bows of vessels, just under their
bowsprits. After a little practice, Bertel did as well
as his father, and at length it began to be seen that
in some points he did even better. Gottskalk him-
self was no artist, but he soon saw that his son
might become one, if properly educated. He
therefore took him away from the workshop and
sent him to the free school of the Royal Academy
of Fine Arts. Bertel was only eleven years old
then, but he worked enthusiastically and made
rapid progress. At the same time, he went on
helping his father, and, after that, it was said
that Gottskalk's figure-heads grew handsomer and
more natural-looking every year.


Young Thorvaldsen was not a perfect character,
and was by no means as fond of all his studies as
he was of drawing and modeling. He loved art,
but reading and writing and recitations were trou-
blesome to him. Indeed, his school-master, Herr
Chaplain HSyer, had come to the conclusion that
Bertel was a dunce, and would always be in the
lowest class. But something happened to change
his opinion.
There was a distribution of prizes at the Fine
Arts Academy, and a certain young Thorvaldsen
received the silver medal. Next morning, Herr
Hayer read about it in the newspaper. Of course,
it could not be the dunce, he thought, but it might
be some relative, whom he could hold up to the
lad as an example of industry. So, when Bertel
came in, the chaplain said:
"Thorvaldsen, is it a brother of yours who has
just taken a prize at the Academy?"
It is myself, Herr Chaplain," was the reply,
and the modest lad was covered with confusion.
Herr Hiyer gazed at him in astonishment.
Then he said in a very changed voice:
Herr Thorvaldsen, please to pass up to the
first class."
This was felt to be a great honor to Bertel,-not
only the sending him to the first class, but the call-
ing him Herr." "Herr" means "Master," and
though the boys always applied it to their teachers,
the teachers rarely, if ever, applied it to one of the
scholars. Thorvaldsen said afterward, that none of
the distinctions he enjoyed in later years gave him
quite as much pleasure as this first one.
Thorvaldsen was seventeen years old when he
took this silver medal and received the title of
"Herr." His success inspired him to work harder
than ever; and gave him bright hope for the
future. He was a quiet, reserved youth; seldom
laughed and talked; and when he began his day's
task, no jesting of his companions could divert his
attention.
He worked with tremendous earnestness.
When Bertel was nineteen, Gottskalk began to
think that he had studied enough; he wanted him
in his workshop. When he had thought of mak-
ing Bertel an artist, it was only an artist in wood-
carving he had had in mind; the idea that his boy
could become an illustrious sculptor, had never
occurred to him.
But Abildgaard, Bertel's art-teacher, saw the
future more clearly; and, at last, after urgent


THORVALDSEN.




THORVALDSEN.

BY A. P. C.


[DECEMBER,






THORVALDSEN.


appeals, he succeeded in persuading Gottskalk to
allow his son to divide his time equally between
work in the shop and study at the Academy.
There is now in the Thorvaldsen museum at Co-
penhagen a large wooden clock, which Thorvald-
sen and his father carved at this period.
Bertel's first work that attracted notice was a
medallion of the Princess of Denmark, made when
he was twenty years of age. It was taken from a
poor picture of her; but was a good likeness, and
was much admired.
When he was twenty-one, he took another prize,
-the gold medal; and at twenty-three he took a
still higher prize, which after two years was to give
him a pension, enabling him to study at Rome for
three years, without expense to himself. Mean-
while, he gave lessons in drawing and modeling,
took portraits, and made drawings for publishers.
Abildgaard continued to encourage him, and the
Academy gave him some assistance.
On the 20th of May, 1796, Thorvaldsen em-
barked for Naples, and he soon became a favorite
with the captain and all on board. But, much as
they liked him, all agreed that he was very, very
lazy. It was a weak point in Thorvaldsen's char-
acter, that he cared little for anything not immedi-
ately connected with his art. Here, for example,
were persons on board who were willing to teach
him to speak Italian; but, although going to live
in Italy, he preferred perfect idleness to the effort
of acquiring that country's language. He had
ample leisure to read or study; but he liked better
to play with his dog, Hector.
On the 8th of March, 1797, the sculptor reached
Rome. He used to say afterward that on that day
he was born.
Thorvaldsen's life at Rome was very interesting,
but not, at first, very easy. His pension from the
Danish Academy was small, he suffered at times
from a return of an illness which had attacked him
at Naples, and he often was glad to paint small
figures in the pictures of a landscape artist in order
to gain a little money. Perhaps he suffered some-
what, too, on account of his own ignorance. A
friend of his at this time wrote concerning him:
"He is an excellent artist, with a great deal of
taste and sentiment, but ignorant of everything
outside of art. * Without knowing a word
of Italian or French, without the slightest acquaint-
ance with history and mythology, how is it possible
for an artist properly to pursue his studies here?
I do not expect him to be learned,-that I should
not even desire; but he should have some faint idea
of the names and meanings of the things he sees."
For six years the Danish Academy supported
Thorvaldsen in Rome, but that was the utmost it
could do. During that time, he had rooms with


another young artist, a German landscape painter,
and he worked diligently, but not on things likely
to bring him fame or money. He made copies of
the statues about him, producing very little that
was original. At last, however, he made a model
for an original statue of "Jason." But no one
seemed to admire it very much, and he destroyed
it. A year later he made another. This was more
successful; but it might have met with the same
fate, had not a friend advanced the money to have
it cast in plaster. The statue was exhibited, and
created a great sensation in Rome. People crowded
to see it, and the best artists praised it highly.
Canova, the greatest sculptor of his day, said:
"Here is a work in a new and lofty style!"
Thorvaldsen was delighted; and yet what was he
to do? No one ordered this great statue in mar-
ble. There were war troubles in Europe, and
people were not in the mood to pay large sums of
money for works of art, however admirable.
The Danish Academy could no longer keep
Thorvaldsen in Rome, and slowly and sadly he
prepared for his return home. It was hard to give
up his opportunities just when success seemed near.
However, he packed his trunks, sold his furniture
and plaster casts, and was all ready to start, when
the friend with whom he was going told him that
there was some trouble about getting passports,
and that they would have to wait. A few hours
later, Thomas Hope, a wealthy English banker,
came into Thorvaldsen's studio, and, seeing the
" Jason," was lost in admiration of its beauty. He
did not know that Thorvaldsen was going away,
and so he asked him what he would charge to
produce the work in marble.
Thorvaldsen was so excited that he named a very
low price.
"That is not enough," said the liberal banker,
and he offered more.
An agreement was quickly made, and Thorvald-
sen remained in Rome.
Thenceforward, Thorvaldsen's career was pros-
perous, and he received a great many orders.
He visited much at the house of Baron William
von Humboldt, the great naturalist-traveler, where
he met many persons who became his warm and
trusted friends. The King of Denmark made him
a knight; Prince Louis of Bavaria corresponded
with him; Prince Christian Frederick of Denmark
wrote to him. But Thorvaldsen moved in all
ranks: his shoemaker was one of his intimate
friends, the King of Bavaria another. He re-
spected every person who did his work well, was
kind to all, and the "Cavaliere Alberto," as the
Italians called him, was a general favorite.
When the Prince of Denmark wrote, it was to
tell him about a white marble quarry just discovered


'75






THORVALDSEN.


in Norway, and to invite him to return to Copen-
hagen, where he should be received with royal
favor. But Thorvaldsen could not go. Napoleon
had just ordered him to make in marble a grand
frieze of "Alexander the Great entering Babylon,"
and the sculptor was very busy with other'works
besides. When this great frieze was finished, how-
ever, Napoleon was in exile at Elba! Nearly at
the same time, the sculptor received an order from



'q (" .x


II


I' ,' r -





S "- -,
J J6- .
4J11'-


S it


. ,,'". '~' A"


.'.iy,,,.1!_
: -_
'.11 .1

i'" i! l' ^ ,



S.---------- '-;-
.f i '
,J'l i ,
' ' /11,,I /I'II I i i-


THORVALDSEN AT HIS WORK.
the Polish government for two statues; but illness
delayed work on them, and, when they were com-
pleted-there was no Poland! This was bad luck
certainly, but after a while he found purchasers for
all these productions. The frieze was considered a
masterpiece, and the Danish government ordered
a copy of it in plaster.
All this time, what do you suppose was the fate
of Mr. Hope's Jason ? It was not even begun !
Thorvaldsen had got out of the humor of making
it, and on one pretext or another delayed and de-
layed, till in the end it was more than twenty years
before Mr. Hope received it. Probably, Thorvald-
sen felt that he had done more wrong than could
be easily repaired, for he sent with the Jason"
several smaller pieces of statuary, to make amends.
From time to time, Thorvaldsen suffered from
slight attacks of the fever he had had in Naples,
and some of his dearest friends died; but he always
found comfort in his work. He had a great many
pupils and workmen under him. His custom was
to make the model of some work in clay; his work-
men would hew the great blocks of marble into
shape; then his pupils, under his directions, would


begin the statues, and when they had gone far
enough, he would take the chisel and add the fin-
ishing touches himself. He had more orders than
he could execute, and was often forced to refuse
distinguished people, or else keep them waiting till
they were quite out of patience.
Besides his works made to order, his fertile ima-
gination was always prompting him to execute
some new and beautiful idea. In 1815 he pro-
duced his beautiful ',!, and Morning."
Later, he produced the Lion of Lucerne,"-cut in
rock at Lucerne, Switzerland,-in honor of those
members of the Swiss Guard who died in defend-
ing the Tuileries, during the French revolution,
August Io, 1792. This great piece of sculpture
shows a lion, wounded by a lance, which has been
broken off in its side. It shelters, with one of its
paws, a shield on which are the arms of the
French king, in whose defense the Swiss Guards,
symbolized by the lion, laid down their lives.
The statue stands on a most beautiful spot by
the Lake of Lucerne. About the same time,
Thorvaldsen restored the lEgina marbles. These
were ancient statues very much broken, found in
the island of /Egina in 1811. The Prince of
Bavaria bought them and sent them to Thorvald-
sen for restoration. No one without a thorough
knowledge of Greek art could have done this work;
but Thorvaldsen did it so well and accurately that,
when all was completed, it was almost impossible


to discover where additions
had been made.
In 1819, Thorvaldsenre-
turned to Copenhagen for
a year's visit. The students
turned out to welcome him,
cannons were fired, the
poet Oehlenschlaeger made
an address, and a grand
banquet was given. The
royal family were very kind
to him; and, as it was not
customary for a common
citizen to visit the king,
His Majesty made him
Councillor of State so as
to enjoy the pleasure of
Thorvaldsen's society with-
out violating etiquette.
Rooms were prepared
for the sculptor at the
Academy of Fine Arts.
When he arrived, the old
janitor, who had been a


-t '


w~-
TH S O"I
--. '.-^.' .

THE STATUE OF
MERCURY.


model for the students during Thorvaldsen's boy-
hood, opened the door for him. They recognized
each other at once, and had an affecting meeting.


176


[DECEMBER,






THORVALDSEN.


But Thorvaldsen had little peace in this studio.
Visitors crowded to see him all day long; every
one interested in art wanted to see him, or ask his
advice about something. At this time, he was
commissioned to ornament with sculpture the
beautiful new church, called the Frue Kirke, or
Church of Our Lady, and his Christ and the
Twelve Apostles," "Christ's Entry into Jerusalem,"
and several other religious pieces, are the results.
On his way back to Rome, Thorvaldsen traveled
through Germany, and at Warsaw the Emperor
Alexander of Russia allowed him to take his bust,
which was a great honor, for he had refused to let
even Canova do so only a short time before. It
was profitable, also, for a great many copies of the
bust were ordered. The emperor gave Thorvald-
sen a diamond ring; when he was ill sent his own









I7.







NIGHT.

doctor to attend to him, and showed him many
marks of favor.
In 1829, Louis, formerly Prince, but now King,
of Bavaria, came again to Rome, and was as inti-
mate as ever with Thorvaldsen. Horace Vernet,
the great French painter; Mendelssohn, the com-
poser, who used to play on the piano for him in his
studio while he worked; Ricci, a learned Italian
poet; Lord Byron, and Sir Walter Scott, were
among Thorvaldsen's best friends.
In 1837, Thorvaldsen decided to return to Den-
mark. But just as he was about to depart, the
cholera broke out in Rome and raged so fearfully
that the people in the surrounding country, fear-
ing contagion, would not allow any one to leave
the city. When at last the cholera passed away,
the King of Denmark sent the frigate Rota" to
bring him and all his works home.
The voyage was very pleasant, and on Septem-
ber 15th, 1838, the ship entered the harbor of
Copenhagen. From this time, the record of the


homeward journey is like a romantic fairy-tale.
A steamer, called the "Queen Maria," was sent
to meet the frigate, crowded with people who


/


'



-.. ---- ,
_ - -" ._-


MORNING.
longed to welcome Thorvaldsen. Salutes were
fired. The Queen Maria steamed around the
"Rota," the band playing, and the people shout-
ing and singing choruses. At night, there was
a splendid aurora borealis, and it seemed as
though his native sky, as well as his countrymen,
were rejoicing at his return. In Copenhagen, the
people were wild with excitement. There was
shouting all through the city, and crowds rushed
to the landing; the docks, and the roofs of the
houses near by were covered with spectators, and,
notwithstanding the rain, splendid preparations
were made. Barges, beautifully decorated, be,
longing to different societies, started to meet the





"I", 1- .
7 -- 4 "







-



"Rota." Students, poets, artists, mechanics,-
all classes were there. Flags of every color were
flying, many ornamented with Thorvaldsen's own
designs. When the boats had proceeded a certain


I77


~-~
?


i






THORVALDSEN.


distance, the crews all singing a beautiful chorus
composed in Thorvaldsen's honor, they divided
into two lines, and, as the Rota passed between
them, a magnificent rainbow appeared in the
heavens; and, when it faded away, the clouds
vanished, and the sun shone forth in all its
glory.
Then the boats crowded around the frigate, and
all who could do so clambered on board to catch a
glimpse of the great sculptor. Indeed, the throng
was so dense that Thorvaldsen's friends were
alarmed and hurried him off in one of the small
boats.
When Thorvaldsen landed, the crowd was so
thick he could hardly get to the carriage which was
waiting for him, and it was not until he reached
the palace of Charlottenborg that he discovered
that the horses had been taken away, and that the
people had drawn him along. The palace was
decorated with flowers. The square on which it
faced was a solid mass of human beings, even the
trees and lamp-posts being covered with eager
boys. As the palace gates closed, the crowd be-
came almost fierce, and refused to disperse until
they had seen their honored and beloved country-
man. So Thorvaldsen came out on the balcony
and bowed to the multitude, who received him
with long and loud hurrahs.
At night there was a grand torch-light proces-
sion, and for days and weeks one entertainment
after another followed in the sculptor's honor, till
there seemed a danger that he would be almost
killed with kindness.
About this time Thorvaldsen became intimate
with Baron von Stampe and his family. They had
a beautiful country seat at NysGe, near the city,
where they made him quite at home, giving him a
room to work in; and, after a while, he got into the
habit of spending half of his time there, and half
at Copenhagen. Whenever he wanted quiet, he
went to Nys6e. Once, when he had been there
some days, he went to the city, promising to be
back in a week. When he returned, he found a
beautiful new studio built in the garden for him.
It was a surprise that the Baroness had planned,
and there was a fine celebration when he took pos-
session of the building.
One day, the Baroness persuaded him to make a
statue of himself. While he was at work upon it,
soon after, the Baroness looking on, he received a
letter from the Danish poet, Oehlenschaeger, who
inquired anxiously when his bust could be made.
They had been laughing together a little, that the
poet should seem so desirous of being immortalized
in this way, when Thorvaldsen suddenly said:
It is very well for me to jest at the vanity of
others, when I, myself, at this very moment, am


engaged in making a monument to my own
vanity! "
With that, he threw away his tools and would
have broken the statue, had not the Baroness
pulled him quickly out of the studio, locked the
door, and told him she would not give him the key
again, until he had promised to finish the work for
her.
At Nys6e, Thorvaldsen used to meet Hans
Christian Andersen, who would often make the
evenings pass delightfully, telling wonderful fairy
stories, which pleased the grown people as much
as the children.
Thorvaldsen still worked industriously, and went
about cheerfully among his fellow-men. He was
very generous to others, but parsimonious to him-
self. He would pay a high price for a picture to
encourage some young artist, or would give a
handful of money to some poor woman in distress,
but he cared little for luxuries on his own account.
In 1841, Thorvaldsen made one more trip to
Rome. He went through Germany, as before, but
his fame had grown still greater in the interval,
and he was enthusiastically greeted at Berlin,
Dresden, Leipsic, Munich,-indeed, wherever he
went, both by the people and their sovereigns. In
September, he arrived in Rome, and he remained
about a year, revisiting all the old haunts and
enjoying the companionship of former friends.
In 1842, he returned to Copenhagen, and there
found completed the museum for his works, built
by the architect Bindesball, at the order of the city
of Copenhagen. The mayor received him in the
new edifice and took him all through it, showing
where his various treasures were to be placed, and
even leading him to the inner court, where he was
one day to be buried. Thorvaldsen looked at it
seriously,-he felt he soon must leave this life,-he
was an old man.
Thorvaldsen was now not so strong as he had
been. Once in a while came a day when he did
not feel well. One morning he complained to
his servant that he did not feel right, but he went
on working as usual. The Baroness von Stampe
came in and invited him to dinner, but he said he
did not feel well enough to go. She still urged
him to come, and then, thinking that perhaps he
would feel better for going out, he agreed to ac-
company her. He had been working on a bust of
Luther, but threw down his bust and clay and went
out. They paid a few visits, and then went to the
Baron's and dined. Thorvaldsen was in good
spirits, and when the museum was spoken of, said,
cheerfully:
"Now I can die at any time,-Bindesbhll has
finished my tomb."
After dinner he went to the theater. A lady


I78


[DECEMBER,






1879.]


THORVALDSEN.


179


noticed him leaning over and asked if he had lost was carried by forty artists. The King and Prince
anything. He did not answer. He was dead. were present; a wreath of flowers, woven by the
This mournful event occurred March 24th, 1844. Queen's own hands, was on the coffin,-the sculp-


THE LION OF LUCERNE.


The news soon spread all over the city and
caused great grief. On the 30th of March, 1844,
his funeral took place, and it was as if a king
had died. The houses were draped in mourning,
and a long procession followed the coffin, which


tor's chisel lying by its side. He now lies in the
tomb prepared for him in the Museum, which
building contains his works from the time he
carved the old wooden clock with his father,
until the day when he left his half-finished bust of






CHRONICLES OF THE MOLBOS.


Martin Luther, and the handful of clay with the
tool sticking in it,-which also are in the Museum
under glass. And there, also, are copies in plaster
of many of his statues, owned in other countries.


besides his own collection of art treasures. On
the preceding pages are pictures of his Mercury,"
a very famous statue, and of a beautiful sculpture,
in bass-relief, called the "Nest of Loves."


--C
~f


-~ I


~N


'I


C,


:1


di


...', .-, [
--"- / H l iz -' l


-- I-7






4--0
-A -7 -"- -- -
i/ -c4


THE HERDER IS CARRIED ON A GATE.

CHRONICLES OF THE MOLBOS.

THERE is a peculiar class of people, living in Jutland, called the Molbos, of whom a great number of tales are
told. From the earliest days, these people have been known for their ingenuity and simplicity, and hence
many remarkable things are told about them. Two of the stories about their curious actions are given below.


THE STORK AND THE HERDER.
ONCE, in the summer, when the corn stood high,
a stork was often seen in the fields belonging to the
Molbos, stalking up and down in the grain-patches
to catch frogs. This annoyed the Molbos greatly,
for they thought the long-legged bird trod down a
vast deal of grain. They therefore consulted


how to drive the animal away, and the conclusion
was, that the herder of their village should go into
the fields and chase the bird out. But as he went
in for the stork, they noticed that his feet were
very large and broad, and it occurred to them that
the herder would trample down more grain than the
stork. Then they again puzzled their brains what to
do and how to get rid of the stork. But one of the


18o


[DECEMBER,


r "







CHRONICLES OF THE MOLBOS.


party spoke up at last with the sensible advice that
they might carry the herder through the grain, so
that he should not tread it down. This idea was
approved by all. They therefore went forth and
took one of the fence-gates off its hinges, made
the herder sit down on it, and eight men lifted the
gate to their shoulders and carried the herder
through the corn where the stork was, so that he
might drive it away. Thus the herder was kept
from trampling down the grain with his big feet.

THE SALT HERRING AND THE EEL.

ONE year, when salt herring were more expen-
sive than usual, the Molbos thought they could not
afford to buy them, -,i:. ;iL forming their prin-
cipal winter food. They therefore deliberated what
could be done to escape the high prices for the
future.
One of the deepest thinkers among them sug-
gested at last that, as fresh herring would multiply
in the water, there was no reason why salt herring
should not do the same. He therefore advised
them once for all to buy a barrel of salt herring in
the city, and empty the herring in their pond, and
they could then every year catch as many as they
wanted when the herring had hatched. They ap-


proved of this advice; the salt herring were bought
and thrown into the pond, so as to multiply for the
next season. Next year, the Molbos came with
their nets to catch the herring; but, do what they
would, they could not catch a single one. At
length, they caught a large fat eel in one of their
nets.
As soon as the Molbos saw the eel, they at once
concluded that this was the wicked thief that had
devoured their salt herring, and they therefore
agreed that he should be put to death. But how
to do this was not so easily decided. At last an
old Molbo came forward who once had been near
drowning, and hence had conceived a great dread
for salt water. He advised them to take it out on
the ocean and drown it. The advice was consid-
ered good, and they took the eel with them in
their boat and rowed out for some distance, so that
the eel should not swim back. When they had
reached what they thought a safe distance, they
threw the creature overboard. The eel enjoyed the
return to its own element, and wriggled its tail as
soon as it felt itself in the water. The old Molbo,
seeing this, exclaimed to his companions: "Do
you notice how frightened he is? See how he
squirms and twists with terror! "


THE EEL IS DELIGHTED,


1879.]


i8i


i-~-
F-5-


---T -


V--
~- ---





X


182 FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK. [DECEMBER,









,e / ". ,- --









J.




A~ft .
A ---.Z, L 7- _







WM-
v s' .' : "'-' r \ -* '









.- '
y^ I, ^l in., '























Thinks its parents love it best;





But the old birds cannot tell
Why they love them all so well.
-..'z_-.e _- -.- ._. ". ,











But he od bids cnnottel

Wh hylv hmals el






FOR VERY LITTLE .FOLK.


I


-- -:. "-:-- 2-.-; _::;_-








. I : .---
*"~~~~~~ ~ -- : ^^' ^ ''''-.? ^ .'*


r. *.7-,
,/T ,


' I


Sometimes, great wasps come buzzing near,
And fill the birdies' hearts with fear.
" You cruel things," the young birds say,
" You know that mother is away! "


1879.]


183




University of Florida Home Page
© 2004 - 2010 University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries.
All rights reserved.

Acceptable Use, Copyright, and Disclaimer Statement
Last updated October 10, 2010 - - mvs