Saint Nicholas: Vol. 7, no. 3. January 1880.

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"HARK! HARK! THE DOGS DO BARK, THE BEGGARS ARE COMING TO TOWN,
SOME IN RAGS, AND SOME IN JAGS AND SOME IN VELVET GOWNS! "

Mother Goose.

ST. NICHOLAS.

JANUARY, 1880.

[Copyright, 1879, by Scribner & Co.]

THE PROUD LITTLE GRAIN OF WHEAT.

BY FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT.

THERE once was a little grain of wheat which
was very proud indeed. The first thing it remem-
bered was being very much crowded and jostled
by a great many other grains of wheat, all living
in the same sack in the granary. It was quite dark
in the sack, and no one could move about, and so
there was nothing to be done but to sit still and
talk and think. The. proud little grain of wheat
talked a great deal, but did not think quite so much,
while its next neighbor thought a great deal and
only talked when it was asked questions it could
answer. It used to say that when it thought a
great deal it could remember things which it
seemed to have heard a long time ago.
"What is the use of our staying here so long
doing nothing, and never being seen by anybody?"
the proud little grain once asked.
"I don't know," the learned grain replied.
"I don't know the answer to that. Ask me
another."
Why can't I sing like the birds that build their
nests in the roof? I should like to sing, instead of
sitting here in the dark."
Because you have no voice," said the learned
grain.
This was a very good answer indeed.
"Why didn't some one give me a voice, then-
why did n't they ? said the proud little grain, get-
ting very cross.
The learned grain thought for several minutes.
There might be two answers to that," she said,
at last. One might be that nobody had a voice
VOL. VII.-r4.

to spare, and the other might be that you have
nowhere to put one if it were given to you."
"Everybody is better off than I am," said the
proud little grain. The birds can fly and sing,
the children can play and shout. I am sure I can
get no rest for their shouting and playing. There
are two little boys who make enough noise to
deafen the whole sackful of us."
"Ah I know them," said the learned grain.
And it 's true they are noisy. Their names are
Lionel and Vivian. There is a thin place in the
side of the sack through which I can see them.
I would rather stay where I am than have to do all
they do. They have long yellow hair, and when
they stand on their heads the straw sticks in it
and they look very curious. I heard a strange
thing through listening to them the other day."
What was it? asked the proud grain.
They were playing in the straw, and some one
came in to them-it was a lady who had brought
them something on a plate. They began to dance
and shout: 'It's cake It's cake Nice little
mamma for bringing us cake.' And then they
each sat down with a piece and began to take great
bites out of it. I shuddered to think of it after-
ward."
Why ?"
Well, you know they are always asking ques-
tions, and they began to ask questions of their
mamma, who lay down in the straw near them.
She seemed to be used to it. These are the ques-
tions Vivian asked:

VOL. VII.

No. 3.

. THE PROUD LITTLE GRAIN OF WHEAT.

'Who made the cake?'
'The cook.'
'Who made the cook?'
God.'
What did he make her for?'
"' Why did n't he make her white?'
Why did n't he make you black?'
"'Did he cut a hole in heaven and drop me
through when he made me?'
' Why did n't it hurt me when I tumbled such
a long way?'
She said she did n't know' to all but the two
first, and then he asked two more.
'What is the cake made of?'
'Flour, sugar, eggs, and butter.'
What is flour made of?'
"It was the answer to that which made me
shudder."
What was it? asked the proud grain.
She said it was made of-wheat I don't see
the advantage of being rich- ."
Was the cake rich? asked the proud grain.
"Their mother said it was. She said, 'Don't
eat it so fast-it is very rich.' "
"Ah! said the proud grain. "I should like
to be rich. It must be very fine to be rich. If I
am ever made into cake, I mean to be so rich that
no one will dare to eat me at all."
"Ah said the learned grain. I don't think
those boys would be afraid to eat you, however
rich you were. They are not afraid of richness."
They 'd be afraid of me before they had done
with me," said the proud grain. "I am not a
common grain of wheat. Wait until I am made
into cake. But gracious me there does n't seem
much prospect of it while we are shut up here.
How dark and stuffy it is, and how we are crowded,
and what a stupid lot the other grains are I 'm
tired of it, I must say."
We are all in the same sack," said the learned
grain, very quietly.
It was a good many days after that, that some-
thing happened. Quite early in the morning, a
man and a boy came into the granary, and moved
the sack of wheat from its place, wakening all the
grains from their last nap.
"What is the matter?" said the proud grain.
" Who is daring to disturb us ?"
Hush whispered the learned grain, in the
most solemn manner. "Something is going to hap-
pen. Something like this happened to somebody
belonging to me long ago. I seem to remember
it when I think very hard. I seem to remember
something about one of my family being sown."
What is sown ?" demanded the other grain.
"It is being thrown into the earth," began the
learned grain.

Oh, what a passion the proud grain got into !
"Into the earth?" she shrieked out. Into the
common earth ? The earth is nothing but dirt,
and I am not a common grain of wheat. I wont be
sown I will not be sown How dare any one
sow me against my will! I would rather stay in
the sack."
Butjust as she was saying it, she was thrown out
with the learned grain and some others into another
dark place, and carried off by the farmer, in spite
of her temper; for the farmer could not hear her
voice at all, and would n't have minded it if he had,
because he knew she was only a grain of wheat,
and ought to be sown, so that some good might
come of her.
Well, she was carried out to a large field in the
pouch which the farmer wore at his belt. The
field had been ploughed, and there was a sweet
smell of fresh earth in the air; the sky was a
deep, deep blue, but the air was cool and the few
leaves on the trees were brown and dry, and looked
as if they had been left over from last year.
"Ah said the learned grain. "It was just
such a day as this when my grandfather, or my
father, or somebody else related to me, was sown.
I think I remember that it was called Early Spring."
"As for me," said the-proud grain, fiercely, I
should like to see the man who would dare to
sow me "
At that very moment, the farmer put his big,
brown hand into the bag and threw her, as she
thought, at least half a mile from him.
He had not thrown her so far as that, however,
and she landed safely in the shadow of a clod of
rich earth, which the sun had warmed through and
through. She was quite out of breath and very
dizzy at first, but in a few seconds she began to
feel better and could not help looking around, in
spite of her anger, to see if there was any one near
to talk to. But she saw no one, and so began to
scold as usual.
They not only sow me," she called out, but
they throw me all by myself, where I can have no
company at all. It is disgraceful."
Then she heard a voice from the other side of
the clod. It was the learned grain, who had fallen
there when the farmer threw her out of his pouch.
"Don't be angry," it said, "I am here. We
are all right so far. Perhaps, when they cover us
with the earth, we shall be even nearer to each
other than we are now."'
Do you mean to say they will cover us with
the earth ? asked the proud grain.
"Yes," was the answer. "And there we shall
lie in the dark, and the rain will moisten us, and
the sun will warm us, until we grow larger and
larger, and at last burst open "

194

(JANUARY,

THE PROUD LITTLE GRAIN OF WHEAT.

Speak for yourself," said the proud grain ; "I
shall do no such thing "
But it all happened just as the learned grain had
said, which showed what a wise grain it was, and
how much it had found out just by thinking hard
and remembering all it could.
Before the day was over, they were covered
snugly up with the soft, fragrant, brown earth, and
there they lay day after day.
One morning, when the proud grain wakened, it
found itself wet through and through with rain
which had fallen in the night, and the next day the
sun shone down and warmed it so that it really
began to be afraid that it would be obliged to grow
too large for its skin, which felt a little tight for it
already.
It said nothing of this to the learned grain, at
first, because it was determined not to burst if it
could help it; but after the same thing had hap-
pened a great many times, it found, one morning,
that it really was swelling, and it felt obliged to tell
the learned grain about it.
Well," it said, pettishly, "I suppose you will
be glad to hear that you were right. I am going
to burst. My skin is so tight now that it does n't
fit me at all, and I know I can't stand another
warm shower like the last."
Oh !" said the learned grain, in a quiet way
(really learned people always have a quiet way),
" I knew I was right, or I should n't have said so.
I hope you don't find it very uncomfortable. I
think I myself shall burst by to-morrow."
Of course I find it uncomfortable," said the
proud grain. Who would n't find it uncomfort-
able to be two or three sizes too small for oneself!
Pouf! Crack! There I go I have split all up
my right side, and I must say it 's a relief."
"Crack Pouf! so have I," said the learned
grain. Now we must begin to push up through
the earth. I am sure my relation did that."
Well, I should n't mind getting out into the
air. It would be a change at least."
So each of them began to push her way through
the earth as strongly as she could, and, sure
enough, it was not long before the proud grain
actually found herself out in the world again breath-
ing the sweet air, under the blue sky, across which
fleecy white clouds were drifting, and swift-winged,
happy birds darting.
It really is a lovely day," were the first words
the proud grain said. It could n't help it. The
sunshine was so delightful, and the birds chirped
and twittered so merrily in the bare branches, and,
more wonderful than all, the great field was brown
no longer, but was covered with millions of little,
fresh green blades, which trembled and bent their
frail bodies before the light wind.

This is an improvement," said the proud grain.
Then there was a little stir in the earth beside it,
and up through the brown mould came the learned
grain, fresh, bright, green, like the rest.
"I told you I was not a common grain of
wheat," said the proud one.
You are not a grain of wheat at all now," said
the learned one, modestly. You are a blade of
wheat, and there are a great many others like
you."
See how green I am said the proud blade.
"Yes, you are very green," said its companion.
"You will not be so green when you are older."
The proud grain, which must be called a blade
now, had plenty of change and company after this.
It grew taller and taller every day, and made a
great many new acquaintances as the weather grew
warmer. These were little gold and green beetles
living near it, who often passed it, and now and
then stopped to talk a little about their children
and their journeys under the soil. Birds dropped
down from the sky sometimes to gossip and twitter
of the nests they were building in the apple-trees,
and the new songs they were learning to sing.
Once, on a very warm day, a great golden but-
terfly floating by on his large lovely wings, fluttered
down softly and lit on the proud blade, who felt so
much prouder when he did it that she trembled
for joy.
He admires me more than all the rest in the
field, you see," it said, haughtily. That is be-
cause I am so green."
If I were you," said the learned blade, in its
modest way, I believe I would not talk so much
about being green. People will make such ill-nat-
ured remarks when one speaks often of oneself."
I am above such people," said the proud blade,
I can find nothing more interesting to talk of
than myself."
As time went on, it was delighted to find that it
grew taller than any other blade in the field, and
threw out other blades; and at last there grew out
of the top of its stalk ever so many plump, new
little grains, all fitting closely together, and wear-
ing tight little green covers.
Look at me i it said then. I am the queen
of all the wheat. I have a crown."
No," said its learned companion. You are
now an ear of wheat."
And in a short time all the other stalks wore the
same kind of crown, and it found out that the
learned blade was right, and that it was only an
ear, after all.
And now the weather had grown still warmer
and the trees were covered with leaves, and the
birds sang and built their nests in them and
laid their little blue eggs, and in time, wonder-

195

1880.]

THE PROUD LITTLE GRAIN OF WHEAT.

ful to relate, there came baby birds, that were
always opening their mouths for food, and cry-
ing "peep, peep," to their fathers and mothers.
There were more butterflies floating about on their
amber and purple wings, and the gold and green
beetles were so busy they had no time to talk.
"Well!" said the proud ear of wheat (you
remember it was an ear by this time) to its com-
panion one day. You see, you were right again.
I am not so green as I was. I am turning yellow
-but yellow is the color of gold, and I don't ob-
ject to looking like gold."
"You will soon be ripe," said its friend.
And what will happen then ? "
The reaping-machine will come and cut you
down, and other strange things will happen."
There I make a stand," said the proud ear,
" I will not be cut down."
But it was just as the wise ear said it would be.
Not long after, a reaping-machine was brought and
driven back and forth in the field, and down went
all the wheat ears before the great knives. But it
did not hurt the wheat, of course, and only the
proud ear felt angry.
I am the color of gold," it said, and yet they
have dared to cut me down. What will they do
next, I wonder ?"
What they did next was to bunch it up with
other wheat and tie it and stack it together, and
then it was carried in a wagon and laid in the barn.
Then there was a great bustle after a while.
The farmer's wife and daughters and her two
servants began to work as hard as they could.
The thrashers are coming," they said, "and
we must make plenty of things for them to eat."
So they made pies and cakes and bread until
their cupboards were full; and surely enough the
thrashers did come with the thrashing-machine,
which was painted red, and went "Puff! puff!
puff! rattle rattle !" all the time. And the proud
wheat was thrashed out by it, and found itself in
grains again and very much out of breath.
I look almost as I was at first," it said; only
there are so many of me. I am grander than ever
now. I was only one grain of wheat at first, and
now I am at least fifty."
When it was put into a sack, it managed to get
all its grains together in one place, so that it might
feel as grand as possible. It was so proud that it
felt grand, however much it was knocked about.
It did not lie in the sack very long this time
before something else happened. One morning it
heard the farmer's wife saying to the colored boy :
"Take this yere sack of wheat to the mill,
Jerry. I want to try it when I make that thar cake
for the boarders. Them two children from Wash-
ington city are powerful hands for cake."

So Jerry lifted the sack up and threw it over his
shoulder, and carried it out into the spring-wagon.
"Now we are going to travel," said the proud
wheat. Don't let us be separated."
At that minute, there were heard two young
voices, shouting :
Jerry, take us in the wagon Let us go to
mill, Jerry We want to go to mill."
And these were the very two boys who had played
in the granary and made so much noise the summer
before. They had grown a little bigger, and their
yellow hair was longer, but they looked just as
they used to, with their strong little legs and big
brown eyes, and their sailor hats set so far back on
their heads that it was a wonder they stayed on.
And gracious how they shouted and ran.
"What does yer mar say ? asked Jerry.
Says we can go !" shouted both at once, as if
Jerry had been deaf, which he was n't at all-quite
the contrary.
So Jerry, who was very good-natured, lifted
them in, and cracked his whip, and the horses
started off. It was a long ride to the mill, but
Lionel and Vivian were not too tired to shout
again when they reached it. They shouted at sight
of the creek and the big wheel turning round and
round slowly, with the water dashing and pouring
and foaming over it.
"What turns the wheel ? asked Vivian.
The water, honey," said Jerry.
What turns the water ?"
"Well now, honey," said Jerry, "you hev me
thar. I don't know nuffin 'bout it. Lors-a-massy,
what a boy you is fur axin' dif'cult questions."
Then he carried the sack in to the miller, and
said he would wait until the wheat was ground.
Ground said the proud wheat. We are
going to be ground. I hope it is agreeable. Let
us keep close together."
They did keep close together, but it was n't
very agreeable to be poured into a hopper and
then crushed into fine powder between two big
stones.
Makes nice flour," said the miller, rubbing it
between his fingers.
Flour said the wheat-which was wheat no
longer. Now I am flour, and I am finer than
ever. How white I am I really would rather be
white than green or gold color. I wonder where
the learned grain is, and if it is as fine and white
as I am ?"
But the learned grain and her family had been
laid away in the granary for seed wheat.
Before the wagon reached the house again, the
two boys were fast asleep in the bottom of it, and
had to be helped out just as the sack was, and
carried in.

I96

[JANUARY,

THE PROUD LITTLE GRAIN OF WHEAT.

The sack was taken into the kitchen at once and
opened, and even in its wheat days the flour had
never been so proud as it was when it heard the
farmer's wife say:
I 'm going to make this into cake."
Ah it said; "I thought so. Now I shall
be rich, and admired by everybody."
The farmer's wife then took some of it out in a
large white bowl, and after that she busied herself
beating eggs and sugar and butter all together in
another bowl: and after a while she took the flour
and beat it in also.
"Now I am in grand company," said the flour.
" The eggs and butter are the color of gold, the
sugar is like silver or diamonds. This is the very
society for me."
"The cake looks rich," said one of the daughters.
It 's rather too rich for them children," said
her mother. But Lawsey, I dunno, neither.
Nothin' don't hurt 'em. I reckon they could eat
a panel of rail fence and come to no harm."
I 'm rich," said the flour to itself. That is
just what I intended from the first. I am rich and
I am cake."
Just then, a pair of big brown eyes came and
peeped into it. They belonged to a round little
head with a mass of tangled curls all over it-they
belonged to Vivian.
What's that ?" he asked.
Cake."
Who made it ? "
I did."
"I like you," said Vivian. "You're such a
nice woman. Who 's going to eat any of it? Is
Lionel ?"
"I'm afraid it's too rich for boys," said the
woman, but she laughed and kissed him.
No," said Vivian. I 'm afraid it is n't."
I shall be much too rich," said the cake,
angrily. "Boys, indeed. I was made for some-
thing better than boys."
After that, it was poured into a cake-mold, and
put into the oven, where it had rather an un-
pleasant time of it. It was so hot in there that if
the farmer's wife had not watched it carefully, it
would have been burned.
But I am cake," it said. "And of the richest
kind, so I can bear it, even if it is uncomfortable."
When it was taken out, it really was cake, and it
felt as if it was quite satisfied. Every one who
came into the kitchen and saw it, said:
"Oh, what nice cake How well your new flour
has done "
But just once, while it was cooling, it had a
curious, disagreeable feeling. It found, all at once,
that the two boys, Lioner and Vivian, had come
quietly into the kitchen and stood near the table

looking at the cake with their great eyes wide open
and their little red mouths open, too.
Dear me," it said. "How nervous I feel-
actually nervous. What great eyes they have, and
how they shine I And what are those sharp white
things in their mouths? I really don't like them to
look at me in that way. It seems like something
personal. I wish the farmer's wife would come,"
Such a chill ran over it, that it was quite cool
when the woman came in, and she put it away in
the cupboard on a plate.
But, that very afternoon, she took it out again
and set it on the table on a glass cake-stand. She
put some leaves around it to make it look nice, and
it noticed that there were a great many other things
on the table, and they all looked fresh and bright.
This is all in my honor," it said. "They
know I am rich."
Then several people came in and took chairs
around the table.
They all come in to sit and look at me," said
the vain cake. I wish the learned grain could
see me now."
There was a little high-chair on each side of the
table, and at first these were empty, but in a few
minutes the door opened and in came the two little
boys. They had pretty, clean dresses on, and
their "bangs" and curls were bright with being
brushed.
"Even they have been dressed up to do me
honor," thought the cake.
But, the next minute, it began to feel quite
nervous again. Vivian's chair was near the glass
stand, and when he had climbed up and seated
himself, he put one elbow on the table and rested
his fat chin on his fat hand, and, fixing his eyes on
the cake, sat and stared at it in such an un-
naturally quiet manner for some seconds, that any
cake might well have felt nervous.
"There's the cake," he said, at last, in such a
deeply thoughtful voice that the cake felt faint
with anger.
Then a remarkable thing happened. Some one
drew the stand toward them and took a knife and
cut out a large slice of the cake.
"Go away said the cake, though no one
heard it. "I am cake I am rich I am not
forboys How dare you "
Vivian stretched out his hand; he took the slice;
he lifted it up, and then the cake saw his red mouth
open-yes, open wider than it could have believed
possible-wide enough to show two dreadful rows
of little sharp white things.
Good gra- it began.
But it never said "cious." Never at all. For
in two minutes Vivian had eaten it! !
And there was an end of its airs and graces.

1:880.3

197

JAPANESE TOP-SPINNING.

JAPANESE TOP-SPINNING.

BY J. REED SEVER.

THE TOP SPINNING ON THE EDGE OF THE SWORD.

AT certain seasons of the year, top-spinning
engages a great part of the leisure time of Ameri-
can and English boys, and some of them become
very skillful. But Japanese jugglers are the peo-
ple to spin tops, and I will try to describe some of
their more difficult feats, as I saw them.
I was at a Japanese juggling entertainment, and
when the first part of the performance was over, the
men who had been acting cleared the stage, set
on it a small table, a number of swords, and a little
house, like the doll houses sold in toy shops,
bowed low, and left. Immediately afterward, a
richly-dressed Japanese made his appearance, car-
rying in his arms about a dozen tops, somewhat

resembling common humming-tops, each with a
long thin stem run through the bulb-shaped part,
and protruding at the top and bottom,-the top
stem being cased in a loose sheath. Bowing to
the spectators, the Japanese took one of the tops
and twirled it briskly between his palms for a
second or two ; he then dropped it upon the table,
where it spun around in that swiftly revolving, but
apparently motionless state, that boy top-spinners
call "sleeping." The Japanese indicated by signs
that it would stop when he told it to, and turning
toward the table, he lifted his hand as a command.
No sooner had he done this than the top stopped
as if it really had seen and understood the signal.

198

[JANUARY,

-I
L-

THE DOLLS' BABY-SHOW.

The Japanese picked up the top again, and,
twirling it as before, placed it upon the table, where
it spun itself to sleep. He then selected from the
swords on the floor one with a long, keen blade,
and lifting the top from the table by the sheath of
the upper stem, placed the point of the lower stem
carefully upon the edge of the blade, near the hilt.
The top spun for some moments in this position,
and then began to run slowly toward the point of
the sword. When it had reached the point, it
leaned over at an angle of forty-five degrees, and
continued to revolve for several moments in that
difficult position, until it was caught in the juggler's
hand just as it was about to stop spinning.
Throwing the sword to one side, the performer
again made the top spin upon the table, and pick-
ing up five others started them also. He then
stretched a thin wire across the stage, and taking
the tops from the table, placed them one after an-
other upon the wire, as he had previously placed
the first one upon the edge of the sword. They
spun around for a few seconds without moving; but
suddenly, as if by one impulse, they all started on
an excursion along the wire, balancing themselves
as they went, with all the nicety of expert tight-
rope walkers. Reaching the end of their trip, they
dropped one by one into the hands of an assistant,
who stood ready to catch them.
This trick was succeeded by a much more myste-
rious one. The Japanese walked to the side of the
stage and untied a string, which as soon as it was
loosed swung quickly to the middle of the stage,
and then hung perpendicularly. After untying this
string, the Japanese took a top from his assistant,
and twirling it in his hand until it revolved quickly
enough, he took hold of the end of the string, and,
placing the stem of the top at right angles to it, left
things to take care of themselves.
The top spun a short time at the end of the
string, but soon it began to move slowly upward,

still spinning at right angles with the string. It
continued in this way to move steadily upward
until at length, it had traversed the entire distance,
and was lost to view behind the"flies"over the stage.
When the applause that greeted this trick had
subsided, the Japanese moved the doll-house to the
center of the stage and placed it beside the table.
He then set six tops, exactly alike in size and ap-
pearance, spinning upon the table, and taking a
seventh in his hand, indicated to the spectators, by
signs, that he would send it on a journey through
the doll-house. He then sat down on the floor,
and curling up his legs, Turk fashion, started the
seventh top spinning. It ran along the floor until
it reached a sort of inclined drawbridge leading to
the entrance of the little house, and then went up
slowly to, and through, the open door. The jug-
gler waited a moment, as if expecting some signal
from the now invisible top. His suspense was
relieved an instant later by the tinkling of a silver
bell, which indicated that the top had entered one
of the tiny rooms. The Japanese held up one
finger and waited, in a listening attitude, for a sec-
ond signal. It came, as before, in the tinkle of a
bell, upon hearing which the man held up two fin-
gers. Finally, when ten rooms had been visited,
and ten bells, rung in this way, had been counted
on the performer's fingers, he arose and pointed
toward the house, and toward the table, upon which
the six tops were yet spinning. After a few mo-
ments, during which we silently watched the door
of the house, the top that had been ringing the
bells came quickly out of the entrance, ran down
the drawbridge and dropped motionless at the feet
of the Japanese. That same moment the tops on
the table stopped, and dropped over on their sides.
You may fancy how we applauded, and what a
puzzle this wonderful top-spinning was to me. I
only hope that you may be more successful than
I was in trying to unravel the mystery of it.

THE DOLLS' BABY-SHOW,

BY B. M. B.

IT all began at a missionary-meeting, she thought that we could do this good thing, and
"Do you want to make fifty children perfectly how, when we heard about it, we determined to do
happy?" asked Sister Eliza, as we sat there together, it, and how we did it, and how the dolls' baby-show
we two girls and the sweet, self-denying woman came about, and what it really was, and what fol-
with the peace in her face. lowed this novel baby-show,-is just what we pro-
Of course we do-but how ?" was our exclama- pose to tell to those who care about making children
tion, what do you mean ?" And what she meant, happy and who choose to read our story.
by making fifty children perfectly happy, and how It is n't a pleasant thing to have no father and

199

200 THE DOLLS' BABY-SHOW. [JANUARY,

no mother and no home by one's self; but to live,
fifty children, all together, in a grear. I', h. blri -.r "
a house, every one with the same gl .L dJ : .I: I
the same white apron, and not a d I.1i .,ii .r -
them all! Yet this was what Tabithi: ..I l r..1
forty-nine other Tabithas, and I'J.'::. -i
Elizas, and Carries, Nellys, and M i, i.
along with her. Poorlittle Tabitha! l ii
nobody to love her. When her fat':.:
and mother died, there was nothing I...i
the neighbors to do but to send her t.
the orphan-asylum of the county, i .
this was where she was, not many
miles from New York itself.
There was a great long room, -.
with columns down the middle;
no carpet on the floor; nothing
pretty on the walls; twenty-six
cold-looking beds straight along -
the sides,-and this was all the
home poor little Tabitha had.
Some of the other children were
sick and dreadful, and she had n't
very good times playing with
them. How she would have liked
to have a doll! Sometimes she .-,-.t
old newspaper and twisted it up, o0 :.:.i... ii i; h.

.

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,

.only have a real, live doll! A real, live doll!-
,, "t

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TAKING CARE OF NUMBER FIFTY-ONE
made believe with a pillow-case; but if she could
only have a real, live doll! A real, live doll!

But there was one
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47

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" .1 .; iI*' 1 ," h.-i._ '

t' LlghiL t'ld,--j uS[t
a t igfa SISTER ELIZA'S VISIT.
like sunshine, after SISTER ELI VISIT.
they had n't been out for a week, Tabitha thought,
-and pleasant words, and goodies. Candy? Bless
you, no! These poor, little gray ducklings never
saw a peppermint stick. But she brought always a
little paper of sweet crackers, just enough for two
bites all around, and that was pudding, and pie, and
candy, and marmalade to them for a whole week.
And one day, the very day before Christmas, she
came with her brightness and her crackers, and-
something else! Something, she said, that a kind
lady had given her, and that they should know all
about on Christmas-day. The children wondered
what it could be,-more crackers? a Christmas-
cake? perhaps only shoes and stockings,-every-
body sent them shoes and stockings, shoes with the
toes out, and stockings with the heels darned, so
that they hurt. They talked about nothing else.
Tabitha stayed awake almost all the night thinking
it over, and then dreamed about it till she woke up
Christmas morning.
"'Liza," said she, to her little bed-neighbor,

THE DOLLS' BABY-SHOW.

200

[JANUARY,

- : i.

THE DOLLS' BABY-SHOW.

before she had said Merry Christmas! even,
"'Liza, what do you think I dweamed about last
night? Oh, I dweamed-oh, it wath such a nice
dweam I dweamed that Sister Sunshine's bundle
(that 's what the children called her) that she
would n't let us know anything' about, wath a funny
little square box, an' she left it in the closet, an'
then I woke up in the middle of the night an'
Santa Clauth he came down the register and he
opened the closet door, an' the little box it grew
and it grew, an' by and by it wath a big, big, BIG
baby house, an' out came a big doll, an' then a
littler doll, and then heaps of littler dolls, and
their heads were all made of sweet crackers, and
they kept dancing about all 'round in the air with
a funny kind o' light about their heads, and one
of them came bobbing up to me and says, 'Eat

Sure enough there was a dolly Not fifty dolls,
indeed, but one A big, funny, rag dolly, tied to
the post in the middle of the room, and Merry
Christmas!" written over it. Tabitha's cry had
roused up all the other forty-nine children from the
twenty-six white beds, and in an instant they had
all jumped out-all but the two little sick ones in
beds by themselves who could n't get up at all-
and were dancing round the post in their night-
gowns, trying to get a hug at the 'most suffocated
doll. Such a noise they made, and such a quarrel
they began to get into,-yes, a quarrel even on
Christmas morning,- that the matron came run-
ning in, and actually took the dolly away. The
poor disappointed faces But after breakfast they
were to have the doll again, and each child, the
matron said, should have it five minutes for her

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AT THE DOLL BABY-SHOW.

me up !' an' I bit off its head, an' I was so sorry, very own. The children who came next actually
an' I bit my tongue, too; and I woke up an'- stood in line waiting their turns, and by the time
oh-h-h, my goodness! There is a dolly!" each of them had given the poor doll fifty hugs

1880.]

201

1. '. .

J

fl-

TIHE DOLLS BABY-SHOW.

and thirty kisses apiece, it was so worn to pieces
that it did not seem as though it could live through
the night, the matron said. In the midst of it,
in came Sister Sunshine herself, and such a wel-
come as she had. Presently little Tabitha crept
up to her and told her her dream.
I fink it 's weal nice to dweam," said Tabitha,
" when you can't have things weally an' twuly;
an' when I waked up and saw that dear d.-.1 I
thought my dweam had weally come twue. Only
it does take so long to go wound, and I only had it
such a little bit of a minute to myself."
Dear little souls," said Sister Eliza to herself,
" next Christmas you shall have a dolly each to
yourself." And this was how she was to make fifty
children "'fer-fectly happy."
Meanwhile, the dolly lived in the orphan asylum
with the fifty children. She was almost bigger
than the smallest child, and the matron always
called her Fifty-one," so that this got to be her
name. By and by one of the little sick children
died, on Easter day, and when summer came two
new children were brought in; but dolly stayed
" Fifty-one." One doll to fifty children Fifty

4',

I S

boy doll she was married to, and the rag-baby, and
all the paper dolls that are its lineal descendants !
This one dolly had a hard time of it. She had
so much hugging that it gave her the chromatics,
which is a curious doll disease, when they get very
black and blue and dirty-like, particularly in the
face, and the feet begin to drop off, and the stuffing
(if it 's a stuffed doll) comes out. Her best friend

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"THE CHILDREN STOOD IN LINE WAITING THEIR TURNS."

would n't have rec-
S ognized her; but she
lived a whole year,
and to these poor lit-
tle children, who had
no folks of their
own, she was papa,
mamma, and brother
and sister, all to-
gether. They actu-
ally remembered her
in their prayers, and
S one queer little girl
made a rhyme, which
they said after Now
I lay me: "

And till the birds wake up
the sun,
Dear Lord, take care cf
Fifty-one! "

Every time that
Sister Eliza saw the
doll, it put her in
mind of her promise.
That was how we
came into the story.
She asked us if we
could n't get our
friends to give us fifty
dolls,-old ones the
girls did not want;
and we thought we
could, and said we
would. But we had
forgotten a very im-
portant matter, -
that nobody ever
saw, or heard of, or
dreamt of a single,
solitary doll, brain-
lessorheadless,bang-
ed or stuffingless,
- without arms or with-
out feet, that its little
mother did not cling

dolls to one child would not be so very remarkable, to as her own dear child." So we began to take
-the every-day doll, and '..1,,...i, .'. doll, and up contributions for new dollies, when a generous
the doll Aunt Lottie brought from Paris, and the friend sent us-as a Christmas gift for the poor-

202

[JANUARY,

.>
i

:

-

I;

THE DOLLS' BABY-SHOW.

the dollies themselves, fifty and to spare, packed
like sardines in boxes of six, and all of them twins.
So alike, indeed, that you could only tell them
apart by their boots, which were pink, and green,
and blue, and black, and almost any color you can
think of.
And now the dolls began to start on their travels,
for we had engaged all our friends as doll-dress-
makers, and the dressmakers lived pretty much all
over the country. The dolls went by cars, they went
by boat, they went by pocket. One found her way
to Staten Island, where was a little girl who wanted
to dress at least one, and she came back as though
she had been to Paris and had her dress made by
the man dressmaker, Worth,-a real Miss Flora
McFlimsey. Presently the door-bell began to ring
at all sorts of hours, and they all came trooping,
one after another, "back to mamma's, home
again !" Now you could tell them apart easily:
here was a French bonne, with her white cap and
white apron; here a black-hooded nun; here a
little boy in a Scottish suit; here two sailor laddies;
another dressed just like Sister Eliza herself; and
still another in the gray gown of the asylum chil-
dren they were all to visit. If those dolls could
only have told the stories of their travels, what a
book they would make !
So the dolls were all home again, waiting for
Christmas morning. You could n't go anywhere
in the house but a new doll would seem to pop
out. And then everybody said we must have a
baby-show. We wanted to give the fifty children
some candy, too, and make their cold, bare room
pretty, for once, with Christmas-greens, and now
the dolls themselves should earn the money to buy
their mammas candy. Then came the show!
Walk in, ladies and gentlemen, only ten cents
admission, to see the prize baby, and the biggest
baby in the world, and the smallest baby in the
world, and everyone the best baby in the world,-
ten cents admission, fifty babies, five for a cent,-
walk in, ladies and gentlemen," said the manageress,
a Mrs. Jarley with doll-babies instead of wax-works,
to those who gave their tickets at our parlor door.
And such a show of babies Shawls and sashes,
hung around the walls, served as screens and deco-
rations, and ranged around were not only the fifty
dollies themselves, but lots of other dollies who
had been sent in as prize babies. As they could n't
tell their own names, placards did it for them.
Here were other people's children," mischievous
as "Budge and Toddie," but quiet as mice. Over
them was the little girl who was born with a silver
spoon in her mouth," dressed as fine as a fiddle,
and next to her the one "born with no spoon at
all," in sober homespun. "The convalescent"
sat up in her tiny bed, looking as pretty as a pink.

Opposite to her was a child of the dark ages,"
a dreadful rag-baby thing, made of a pillow and a
black mask, with curls of carpenters' shavings.
And in the back-room were the talking midgets,-
" no extra charge,"-for the two boys had covered a
table with a sheet, and dressed up their hands as

7 .

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"SILVER SPOON AND NO SPOON AT ALL.
doll-babies, which stood on the table, while they
hid themselves underneath, and asked conundrums,
and answered questions from the audience.
The baby-show was a success; we counted the
money after each new-comer bought a ticket, and
the last time of counting we had eight dollars and
forty cents. This bought us fifty fine large cornu-
copias, and candy to fill them all, and a great bun-
dle of Christmas-greens. What fun we had buying
the candy, and filling the horns! And when Christ-
mas-eve at last came, the fifty dolls said good-by,
marched out of the house into an expressman's

Fifty dolls had never been seen there before, and
their arrival created a grand excitement. But they
were kept quiet from the children till Christmas
morning, and on Christmas morning they woke up
to find the great room dressed with greens, the
Star in the East at one end and at the other the
Cross, and festoons of greenery all between, and a
dolly and candy for each one. Tabitha's dream
had come true. Her bed-neighbor, 'Liza, was no
longer there; they had found for her a home in the
great, afar West, where kind people would take
care of her until she grew up to be a little serving-
maid,-to milk the cows and help about the house.
But little Tabitha told her dream to 'isbeth, who
had taken 'Liza's place, and hugged and squeezed
her dolly, her very own all the whole time." And
her dolly, her very own all the whole time." And

188o.]

203

r88o.] JACK AND JILL. 205

The sun hangs low in heaven;
He throws his slanting rays
Across their loving faces, turned
To meet his parting gaze.

And now he 's gone The darkness
Is settling like a pall,
A long low dirge of sad farewell
Breaks from the lips 'of all;

In mournful cadence chanting
The requiem of the sun,

IF --..- .

The dear bright day departed now,
The long, long night begun.

And yet with cheerful patience
They take their homeward way,
The elders talking how the time
May best be whiled away.

And many a youthful face is bright
With glad expectance still,
And many a merry little child
Goes dancing down the hill.

1

JACK AND JILL.

BY LOUISA M. ALCOTT.

CHAPTER III.
WARD NO. I.
FOR some days, nothing was seen and little was
heard of the dear sufferers," as the old ladies
called them. But they were not forgotten; the
first words uttered when any of the young people
met were: "How is Jack?" Seen Jill yet?"
and all waited with impatience for the moment
when they could be admitted to their favorite mates,
more than ever objects of interest now.
Meantime, the captives spent the first few days in
sleep, pain, and trying to accept the hard fact that
school and play were done with for months perhaps.
But young spirits are wonderfully elastic and soon
cheer up, and healthy young bodies heal fast, or
easily adapt themselves to new conditions. So our
invalids began to mend on the fourth day, and to
drive their nurses distracted with efforts to amuse
them, before the first week was over.
The most successful attempt originated in Ward
No. I, as Mrs. Minot called Jack's apartment,

and we will give our sympathizing readers some
idea of this place, which became the stage whereon
were enacted many varied and remarkable scenes.
Each of the Minot boys had his own room, and
there collected his own treasures and trophies, ar-
ranged to suit his convenience and taste. Frank's
was full of books, maps, machinery, chemical
messes, and geometrical drawings, which adorned
the walls like intricate cobwebs. A big chair,
where he read and studied with his heels higher
than his head, a basket of apples for refreshment
at all hours of the day or night, and an immense
inkstand, in which several pens were always ap-
parently bathing their feet, were the principal
ornaments of his scholastic retreat.
Jack's hobby was athletic sports, for he was bent
on having a strong and active body for his happy
little soul to live and enjoy itself in. So, a severe
simplicity reigned in his apartment; in summer,
especially, for then his floor was bare, his windows
were uncurtained. and the chairs uncushioned, the

r88o.]

JACK AND JILL.

205

'I

JACK AND JILL.

bed being as narrow and hard as Napoleon's. The
only ornaments were dumb-bells, whips, bats, rods,
skates, boxing-gloves, a big bath-pan and a small
library, consisting chiefly of books on games, horses,
health, hunting, and travels. In winter, his mother
made things more comfortable by introducing rugs,
curtains, and afire. Jack, also, relented slightly in
the severity of his training, occasionally indulging
in the national buckwheat cake, instead of the pre-
scribed oatmeal porridge, for breakfast, omitting
his cold bath when the thermometer was below
zero, and dancing at night, instead of running a
given distance by day.
Now, however, he was a helpless captive, given
over to all sorts of coddling, laziness, and luxury,
and there was a droll mixture of mirth and melan-
choly in his face, as he lay trussed up in bed, watch-
ing the comforts which had suddenly robbed his
bower of its Spartan simplicity. A delicious couch
was there, with Frank reposing in its depths, half
hidden under several folios which he was consulting
for a history of the steam-engine, the subject of his
next composition.
A white-covered table stood near, with all manner
of dainties set forth in a way to tempt the sternest
principles. Vases of flowers bloomed on the
chimney-piece,-gifts from anxious young ladies,
left with their love. Frivolous story-books and
picture-papers strewed the bed, now shrouded in
effeminate chintz-curtains, beneath which Jack lay
like a wounded warrior in his tent. But the saddest
sight for our crippled athlete was a glimpse, through
a half-opened door, at the beloved dumb-bells, bats,
balls, boxing-gloves, and snow-shoes, all piled
ignominiously away in the bath-pan, mournfully
recalling the fact that their day was over, now, at
least for some time.
He was about to groan dismally, when his eye
fell on a sight which made him swallow the groan,
and cough instead, as if it choked him a little.
The sight was his mother's face, as she sat in a low
chair rolling bandages, with a basket beside her in
which were piles of old linen, lint, plaster, and other
matters, needed for the dressing of wounds. As
he looked, Jack remembered how steadily and
tenderly she had stood by him all through the hard
times just past, and how carefully she had bathed
and dressed his wound each day in spite of the
effort it cost her to give him pain or even see him
suffer.
That 's a better sort of strength than swinging
twenty-pound dumb-bells or running races; I guess
I '11 try for that kind, too, and not howl or let her
see me squirm when the doctor hurts," thought the
boy, as he saw that gentle face so pale and tired
with much watching and anxiety, yet so patient,
serene, and cheerful, that it was like sunshine.

Lie down and take a good nap, mother dear, I
feel first-rate, and Frank can see to me if I want
anything. Do, now," he added, with a persuasive
nod toward the couch, and a boyish relish in stir-
ring up his lazy brother.
After some urging, mamma consented to go to
her room for forty winks, leaving Jack in the care
of Frank, begging him to be as quiet as possible if
the dear boy wished to sleep, and to amuse him
if he did not.
Being worn out, Mrs. Minot lengthened her forty
winks into a three hours' nap, and as the "dear
boy" scorned repose, Mr. Frank had his hands
full while on guard.
"I '11 read to you. Here 's Watt, Arkwright,
Fulton, and a lot of capital fellows, with pictures
that will do your heart good. Have a bit, will
you? asked the new nurse, flapping the leaves
invitingly,--for Frank had a passion for such
things, and drew steam-engines all over his slate,
as Tommy Traddles drew hosts of skeletons when
low in his spirits.
"I don't want any of your old boilers and
stokers and whirligigs. I 'm tired of reading, and
want something regularly jolly," answered Jack,
who had been chasing white buffaloes with The
Hunters of the West," till he was a trifle tired and
fractious.
"Play cribbage, euchre, anything you like,"
and Frank obligingly disinterred himself from
under the folios, feeling that it was hard for a fel-
low to lie flat a whole week.
"No fun; just two of us. Wish school was
over, so the boys would come in; doctor said I
might see them now."
They '11 be along by and by, and I '11 hail
them. Till then, what shall we do? I'm your man
for anything, only put a name to it."
Just wish I had a telegraph or a telephone, so
I could talk to Jill. Would n't it be fun to pipe
across and get an answer "
"I '11 make either you say," and Frank looked
as if trifles of that sort were to be had for the
asking.
Could you, really?"
"We'll start the telegraph first, then you can
send things over if you like," said Frank, pru-
dently proposing the surest experiment.
Go ahead, then. I 'd like that, and so would
Jill, for I know she wants to hear from me."
"There's one trouble, though; I shall have
to leave you alone for a few minutes while I rig
up the ropes," and Frank looked sober, for he
was a faithful boy, and did not want to desert his
post.
"Oh, never mind; I wont want anything. If
I do, I can pound for Ann."

206

[JANUARY,

JACK AND JILL.

"And wake mother. I '11 fix you a better way
than that," and, full of inventive genius, our young
Edison spliced the poker to part of a fishing-rod
in a jiffy, making a long-handled hook which
reached across the room.
There 's an arm for you; now hook away, and
let 's see how it works," he said, handing over the
instrument to Jack, who proceeded to show its
unexpected capabilities by hooking the cloth off
the table in attempting to get his handkerchief,
catching Frank by the hair when fishing for a book,
and breaking a pane of glass in trying to draw down
the curtain.
"It's so everlasting long, I can't manage it,"
laughed Jack, as it finally caught in his bed-
hangings, and nearly pulled them, ring and all,
down upon his head.
Let it alone, unless you need something very
much, and don't bother about the glass. It 's just
what we want for the telegraph wire or rope to go
through. Keep still, and I '11 have the thing run-
ning in ten minutes," and, delighted with the job,
Frank hurried away, leaving Jack to compose a
message to send as soon as it was possible.
What in the world is that flying across Minot's
yard-a brown hen or a boy's kite?" exclaimed
old Miss Hopkins, peering out of her window at
the singular performances going on in her opposite
neighbor's garden.
First, Frank appeared with a hatchet and
chopped a clear space in the hedge between his
own house and the cottage; next, a clothes line
was passed through this aperture and fastened
somewhere on the other side; lastly, a small cov-
ered basket, slung on this rope, was seen hitching
along, drawn either way by a set of strings;
then, as if satisfied with his job, Frank retired,
whistling "Hail Columbia."
"It's those children at their pranks again. I
thought broken bones would n't keep them out of
mischief long," said the old lady, watching with
great interest the mysterious basket traveling up
and down the rope from the big house to the
cottage.
If she had seen what came and went over the
wires of the "Great International Telegraph," she
would have laughed till her spectacles flew off her
Roman nose. A letter from Jack, with a large
orange, went first, explaining the new enterprise:
"DEAR JILL: It's too bad you can't come over to see me. I am
pretty well, but awful tired of keeping still. I want to see you ever
so much. Frank has fixed us a telegraph, so we can write and send
things. Wont it be jolly! I can't look out to see him do it; but,
when you pull your string, my little bell rings, and I know a message
is coming. I send you an orange. Do you like gorver jelly?
People send in lots of goodies, and we will go halves. Good-by.
"JACK."
Away went the basket, and in fifteen minutes

it came back from the cottage with nothing in it
but the orange.
"Hullo is she mad?" asked Jack, as Frank
brought the dispatch for him to examine.
But, at the first touch, the hollow peel opened,
and out fell a letter, two gum-drops, and an owl
made of a pea-nut, with round eyes drawn at the
end where the stem formed a funny beak. Two
bits of straw were the legs, and the face looked so
like Dr. Whiting that both boys laughed at the
sight.
That 's so like Jill; she'd make fun if she was
half dead. Let 's see what she says," and Jack
read the little note, which showed a sad neglect of
the spelling-book.

"DEAR JACKv: I can't stir and its horrid. The telly graf is very
nice and we will have fun with it. I never ate any goaver jelly. The
orange was first rate. Send me a book to read. All about bears and
ships and crockydiles. The doctor was coming to see you, so I sent
him the quickest way. Molly Loo says it is dreadful lonesome at
school without us.-Yours truly, JILL."

Jack immediately dispatched the book and a
sample of guava jelly, which unfortunately upset
on the way, to the great detriment of The Wild
Beasts of Asia and Africa." Jill promptly re-
sponded with the loan of a tiny black kitten, who
emerged spitting and scratching, to Jack's great
delight; and he was cudgeling his brains as to
how a fat white rabbit could be transported, when
a shrill whistle from without saved Jill from that
inconvenient offering.
It's the fellows; do you want to see them?"
asked Frank, gazing down with calm superiority
upon the three eager faces which looked up at
him.
Guess I do!" and Jack promptly threw the
kitten overboard, scorning to be seen by any
manly eye amusing himself with such girlish toys.
Bang! went the front door; tramp, tramp,
tramp, came six booted feet up the stairs; and, as
Frank threw wide the door, three large beings
paused on the threshold to deliver the courteous
"Hullo which is the established greeting among
boys on all social occasions.
Come along, old fellows; I 'm ever so glad to
see you !" cried the invalid, with such energetic
demonstrations of the arms that he looked as if
about to fly or crow, like an excited young cockerel.
How are you, Major?"
"Does the leg ache much, Jack?"
Mr. Phipps says you '11 have to pay for the
new rails."
With these characteristic greetings, the gentle-
men cast away their hats and sat down, all grin-
ning cheerfully, and all with eyes irresistibly fixed
upon the dainties, which proved too much for the
politeness of ever-hungry boys.

T880.1

207

JACK AND JILL.

Help yourselves," said Jack, with a hospitable
wave. All the dear old ladies in town have been
sending in nice things, and I can't begin to eat
them up. Lend a hand and clear away this lot, or
we shall have to pitch them out of the window.
Bring on the doughnuts and the tarts and the
shaky stuff in the entry closet, Frank, and let's
have a lark."
No sooner said than done. Gus took the tarts,
Joe the doughnuts, Ed the jelly, and Frank sug-
gested "spoons all round" for the Italian cream.
A few trifles in the way of custard, fruit, and wafer
biscuits were not worth mentioning; but every
dish was soon emptied, and Jack said, as he sur-
veyed the scene of devastation with great satisfac-
tion :
Call again to-morrow, gentlemen, and we will
have another bout. Free lunches at 5 P. M. till
further notice. Now tell me all the news."
For half an hour, five tongues went like mill
clappers, and there is no knowing when they would
have stopped if the little bell had not suddenly
rung with a violence that made them jump.
That 's Jill; see what she wants, Frank;" and
while his brother sent off the basket, Jack told
about the new invention, and invited his mates to
examine and admire.
They did so, and shouted with merriment when
the next dispatch from Jill arrived. A pasteboard
jumping-jack, with one leg done up in cotton-wool
to preserve the likeness, and a great lump of
molasses candy in a brown paper, with accompany-
ing note:

DEAR SIR: I saw the boys go in, and know you are having a
nice time, so I send over the candy Molly Loo and Merry brought
me. Mammy says I can't eat it, and it will all melt away if I
keep it. Also a picture of Jack Minot, who will dance on one leg
and waggle the other, and make you laugh. I wish I could come,
too. Don't you hate grewel? I do.-Jn haste, J. P."

Let 's all send her a letter," proposed Jack,
and out came pens, ink, paper, and the lamp, and
every one fell to scribbling. A droll collection was
the result, for Fred drew a picture of the fatal fall,
with broken rails flying in every direction, Jack
with his head swollen to the size of a balloon, and
Jill in two pieces, while the various boys and girls
were hit off with a sly skill that gave Gus legs like
a stork, Molly Loo hair several yards long, and Boo
a series of visible howls coming out of an immense
mouth in the shape of o's. The oxen were partic-
ularly good, for their horns branched like those of
the moose, and Mr. Grant had a patriarchal beard
which waved in the breeze as he bore the wounded
girl to a sled very like a funeral pyre, the stakes
being crowned with big mittens like torches.
You ought to be an artist. I never saw such

a dabster as you are. That 's the very moral of
Joe, all in a bunch on the fence, with a blot to
show how purple his nose was," said Gus, holding
up the sketch for general criticism and admiration.
"I'd rather have a red nose than legs like a
grasshopper; so you need n't twit, Daddy,"
growled Joe, quite unconscious that a blot actually
did adorn his nose, as he labored over a brief
dispatch.
The boys enjoyed the joke, and one after the
other read out his message to the captive lady :

"DEAR JILL: Sorry you ainthere. Great fun. Jack pretty lively.
Laura and Lot would send love if they knew of the chance. Fly
round and get well. Gus."
"DEAR GILLIFLOWER: Hope you are pretty comfortable in your
'dungeon cell.' Would you like a serenade when the moon comes ?
Hope you will soon be up again, for we miss you very much. Shall
be very happy to help in any way I can. Love to your mother.
Your true friend, E. D."
"Miss PECQ.
Dear Madam : I am happy to tell you that we are all well, and
hope you are the same. I gave Jem Cox a licking because he went
to your desk. You had better send for your books. You wont have
to pay for the sled or the fence. Jack says he will see to it. We
have been having a spread over here. First rate things, I wouldn't
mind breaking a leg if I had such good grub and no chores to do.
No more now, from yours with esteem, JOSEPH P. FLINT."

Joe thought that an elegant epistle, having copied
portions of it from the "Letter Writer," and proudly
read it off to the boys, who assured him that Jill
would be much impressed.
"Now Jack, hurry up and let us send the lot off,
for we must go," said Gus, as Frank put the letters
in the basket, and the clatter of tea-things was heard
below.
I 'm not going to show mine. It's private and
you must n't look," answered Jack, putting down an
envelope with such care that no one had a chance
to peep.
But Joe had seen the little note copied, and, while
the others were at the window working the telegraph
he caught up the original, carelessly thrust by Jack
under the pillow, and read it aloud before any one
knew what he was about.

My DEAR: I wish I could send you some of my good times.
As I can't, I send you much love, and I hope you will try and be
patient as I am going to, for it was our fault, and we must not make
a fuss now. Aint mothers sweet? Mine is coming over to-morrow
to see you and tell me how you are. This round thing is a kiss for
good-night. Your JACK."

Is n't that spoony? You 'd better hide your
face, I think. He 's getting to be a regular molly-
coddle, is n't he?" jeered Joe, as the boys laughed,
and then grew sober, seeing Jack's head buried in
the bedclothes, after sending a pillow at his tor-
mentor.
It nearly hit Mrs. Minot, coming in with her

2o8

[JANUARY,

JACK AND JILL.

patient's tea on a tray, and, at sight of her, the
guests hurriedly took leave, Joe nearly tumbling
down-stairs to escape from Frank, who would have
followed, if his mother had not said, quickly:
Stay, and tell me what is the matter."
Only teasing Jack a bit. Don't be mad, old
boy, Joe did n't mean any harm, and it was rather
soft, now was n't it? asked Frank, trying to ap-
pease the wounded feelings of his brother.
"I charged you not to worry him. Those boys
were too much for the poor dear, and I ought not
to have left him," said mamma, as she vainly

Serves him right," muttered Jack with a frown.
Then, as a wail arose suggestive of an unpleasant
mixture of snow in the mouth and thumps on the
back, he burst out laughing, and said good-na-
turedly, Go and stop them, Frank, I wont mind,
only tell him it was a mean trick. Hurry. Gus is
so strong, and he does n't know how his p'0 LuiIIIg
hurts."
Off ran Frank, and Jack told his wrongs to his
mother. She sympathized heartily, and saw no
harm in the affectionate little note, which would
please Jill, and help her to bear her trials patiently.

"'HELP YOURSELVES' SAID JACK."

endeavored to find and caress the yellow head,
burrowed so far out of sight that nothing but one
red ear was visible.
"He liked it, and we got on capitally till Joe
roughed him about Jill. Ah, Joe 's getting it now !
I thought Gus and Ed would do that little job for
me," added Frank, running to the window as the
sound of stifled cries and laughter reached him.
The red ear heard also, and Jack popped up his
head to ask with interest:
What are they doing to him ?"
"Rolling him in the snow, and he 's howling
like fun."
VOL. VII.--5.

"It is n't silly to be fond of her, is it? She is so
nice and funny, and tries to be good, and likes me,
and I wont be ashamed of my friends, if folks do
laugh," protested Jack, with a rap of his tea-spoon.
"No, dear, it is quite kind and proper, and I 'd
rather have you play with a merry little girl, than
with rough boys, till you are big enough to hold
your own," answered mamma, putting the cup to his
lips that the reclining lad might take his broma
without spilling.
Pooh I do n't mean that, I 'm strong enough
now to take care of myself," cried Jack, stoutly.
"I can thrash Joe any day, if Ilike. Just look at my

188o.]

209

JACK AND JILL

arm; there's muscle for you! and up went a sleeve,
to the great danger of overturning the tray, as the
boy proudly displayed his biceps and expanded his
chest, both of which were very fine for a lad of his
years. If I'd been on my legs, he would n't have
dared to insult me, and it was cowardly to hit a
fellow when he was down."
Mrs. Minot wanted to laugh at Jack's indigna-
tion, but the bell rang, and she had to go and pull
in the basket, much amused at the new game.
Burning to distinguish herself in the eyes of the
big boys, Jill had sent over a tall, red-flannel night-
cap, which she had been making for some proposed
Christmas plays, and added the following verse,
for she was considered a gifted rhymester at the
game parties:
"When it comes night,
We put out the light.
Some blow with a puff,
Some turn down and snuff,
But neat folks prefer
A nice extinguisher.
So here I send you back
One to put on Mr. Jack."
Now, I call that regularly smart; not one of us
could do it, and I just wish Joe was here to see it.
I want to send once more, something good for tea;
she hates gruel so," and the last dispatch which the
Great International Telegraph carried that day was
a baked apple and a warm muffin, with J. M's
best regards."
CHAPTER IV.
WARD NO. 2.
THINGS were not so gay in Ward No. 2, for Mrs.
Pecq was very busy, and Jill had nothing to amuse
her but flying visits from the girls, and such little
plays as she could invent for herself in bed.
Fortunately, she had a lively fancy, and so got on
pretty well, till keeping still grew unbearable, and
the active child ached in every limb to be up
and out. That, however, was impossible, for the
least attempt to sit or stand brought on the pain
that took her breath away and made her glad to
lie flat again. The doctor spoke cheerfully, but
looked sober, and Mrs. Pecq began to fear that
Janey was to be a cripple for life. She said noth-
ing, but Jill's quick eyes saw an added trouble in
the always anxious face, and it depressed her spirits,
though she never guessed half the mischief the
fall had done.
The telegraph was a great comfort, and the two
invalids kept up a lively correspondence, not to say
traffic in light articles, for the Great International
was the only aerial express in existence. But even
this amusement flagged after a time; neither had
much to tell, and when the daily health bulletins
had been exchanged, messages gave out, and the
basket's travels grew more and more infrequent.

Neither could read all the time, games were soon
used up, their mates were at school most of the
day, and after a week or two the poor children
began to get pale and fractious with the confine-
ment, always so irksome to young people.
I do believe the child will fret herself into a
fever, mem, and I 'm clean distraught to know
what to do for her. She never used to mind trifles,
but now she frets about the oddest things, and I can't
change them. This wall-paper is well enough,
but she has taken a fancy that the spots on it look
like spiders, and it makes her nervous. I 've no
other warm place to put her, and no money for a
new paper. Poor lass there are hard times before
her, I 'm fearing."
Mrs. Pecq said this in a low voice to Mrs:
Minot, who came in as often as she could, to see
what her neighbor needed; for both mothers were
anxious, and sympathy drew them to one another.
While one woman talked, the other looked about
the little room, not wondering in the least that Jill
found it hard to be contented there. It was very
neat, but so plain that there was not even a picture
on the walls, nor an ornament upon the mantel,
except the necessary clock, lamp and match-box.
The paper was ugly, being a deep buff with a
brown figure that did look very like spiders sprawl-
ing over it, and might well make one nervous to
look at day after day.
Jill was asleep in the folding chair Dr. Whiting
had sent, with a mattress to make it soft. The
back could be raised or lowered at will; but only a
few inches had been gained as yet, and the thin
hair pillow was all she could bear. She looked
very pretty as she lay, with dark lashes against the
feverish cheeks, lips apart, and a cloud of curly
black locks all about the face pillowed on one arm.
She seemed like a brilliant little flower in that dull
place,-for the French blood in her veins gave her
a color, warmth, and grace which were very charm-
ing. Her natural love of beauty showed itself in
many ways: a red ribbon had tied up her hair, a
gay but faded shawl was thrown over the bed, and
the gifts sent her were arranged with care upon
the table by her side among her own few toys and
treasures. There was something pathetic in this
childish attempt to beautify the poor place, and
Mrs. Minot's eyes were full as she looked at the
tired woman, whose one joy and comfort lay there
in such sad plight.
"My dear soul, cheer up, and we will help one
another through the hard times," she said, with a
soft hand on the rough one and a look that prom-
ised much.
"Please God, we will, mem! With such good
friends, I never should complain. I try not to do
it, but it breaks my heart to see my little lass

[JANUARY,

210

JACK AND JILL.

spoiled for life, most like," and Mrs. Pecq pressed
the kind hand with a despondent sigh.
We wont say, or even think, that, yet. Every-
thing is possible to youth and health like Janey's.
We must keep her happy, and time will do the
rest, I 'm sure. Let us begin at once, and have a
surprise for her when she wakes."
As she spoke, Mrs. Minot moved quietly about
the room, pinning the pages of several illustrated
papers against the wall at the foot of the bed, and
placing to the best advantage the other comforts
she had brought.
"Keep up your heart, neighbor. I have an
idea in my head which I think will help us all, if I
can carry it out," she said, cheerily, as she went,
leaving Mrs. Pecq to sew on Jack's new night-
gowns, with swift fingers, and the grateful wish
that she might work for these good friends forever.
As if the whispering and rustling had disturbed
her, Jill soon began to stir, and slowly opened the
eyes which had closed so wearily on the dull
December afternoon. The bare wall with its brown
spiders no longer confronted her, but the colored
print of a little girl dancing to the tune her father
was playing on a guitar, while a stately lady, with
satin dress, ruff, and powder, stood looking on, well
pleased. The quaint figure, in its belaced frock,
quilted petticoat, and red-heeled shoes, seemed to
come tripping toward her in such a life-like way,
that she almost saw the curls blow back, heard the
rustle of the rich brocade, and caught the sparkle
of the little maid's bright eyes.
Oh, how pretty Who sent them ?" asked
Jill, eagerly, as her eye glanced along the wall,
seeing other new and interesting things beyond:
an elephant-hunt, a ship in full sail, a horse race,
and a ball-room.
The good fairy who never comes empty-handed.
Look round a bit and you will see more pretties,-
all for you, my dearie," and her mother pointed to
a bunch of purple grapes in a green leaf plate, a
knot of bright flowers pinned on the white curtain,
and a gay little double gown across the foot of the
bed. -
Jill clapped her hands, and was enjoying her
new pleasures, when in came Merry and Molly Loo,
with Boo, of course, trotting after her like a fat
and amiable puppy. Then the good times began;
the gown was put on, the fruit tasted, and the pict-
ures were studied like famous works of art.
It 's a splendid plan to cover up that hateful
wall. I'd stick pictures all round and have a gallery.
That reminds me Up in the garret at our house
is a box full of-old fashion-books my aunt left. I
often look at them on rainy days, and they are very
funny. I '11 go this minute and get every one.
We can pin. them up, or make paper dolls," and

,away rushed Molly Loo, with the small brother
waddling behind, for, when he lost sight of her, he
was desolate indeed.
The girls had fits of laughter over the queer cos-
tumes of years gone by, and put up a splendid
procession of ladies in full skirts, towering hats,
pointed slippers, powdered hair, simpering faces,
and impossible waists.
I do think this bride is perfectly splendid, the
long train and vail are so sweet," said Jill, reveling
in fine clothes as she turned from one plate to
another.
I like the elephants best, and I 'd give any-
thing to go on a hunt like that !" cried Molly Loo,
who rode cows, drove any horse she could get, had
nine cats, and was not afraid of the biggest dog
that ever barked.
I fancy 'The Dancing Lesson'; it is so sort of
splendid, with the great windows, gold chairs, and
fine folks. Oh, I would like to live in a castle with
a father and mother like that," said Merry, who
was romantic, and found the old farm-house on
the hill a sad trial to her high-flown ideas of ele-
gance.
"Now, that ship, setting out for some far-
away place, is more to my mind. I weary for
home now and then, and mean to see it again
some day," and Mrs. Pecq looked longingly
at the English ship, though it was evidently out-
ward bound. Then, as if reproaching herself for
discontent, she added: It looks like those I used
to see going off to India with a load of missionaries.
I came near going myself once, with a lady bound
for Siam; but I went to Canada with her sister,
and here I am."
I 'd like to be a missionary and go where folks
throw their babies to the crocodiles. I 'd watch
and fish them out, and have a school, and bring
them up, and convert all the people till they knew
better," said warm-hearted Molly Loo, who be-
friended every abused animal and forlorn child
she met.
We need n't go to Africa to be missionaries;
they have 'em nearer home and need 'em, too. In
all the big cities there are a many, and they have
their hands full with the poor, the wicked and the
helpless. One can find that sort of work anywhere,
if one has a mind," said Mrs. Pecq.
I wish we had some to do here. I'd so like to
go round with baskets of tea and rice, and give out
tracts and talk to people. Would n't you, girls?"
asked Molly, much taken with the new idea.
"It would be rather nice to have a society all
to ourselves, and have meetings and resolutions
and things," answered Merry, who was fond of
little ceremonies, and always went to the sewing
circle with her mother.

l88o.]

211

JACK AND JILL.

"We would n't let the boys come in. We 'd
have it a secret society, as they do their temper-
ance lodge, and we 'd have badges and pass-words
and grips. It would be fun if we can only get
some heathen to work at! cried Jill, ready for
fresh enterprises of every sort.
I can tell you some one to begin on right
away," said her mother, nodding at her. "As
wild a little savage as I 'd wish to see. Take her
in hand, and make a pretty-mannered lady of her.
Begin at home, my lass, and you '11 find mission-
ary work enough for a while."

WARD NU
"Now, mammy, you mean me Well, I will
begin; and I '11 be so good, folks wont know me.
Being sick makes naughty children behave in story-
books, see if live ones can't; and Jill put on

such a sanctified face that the girls laughed and
asked for their missions also, thinking they would
be the same.
You, Merry, might do a deal at home helping
mother, and setting the big brothers a good exam-
ple. One little girl in a house can do pretty
much as she will, especially if she has a mind to
make plain things nice and comfortable, and not
ple. Onelitlgrln hus c
---

such a sanctified face that the girls laughed and

make plain things nice and comfortable, and not

long for castles before she knows how to do her
own tasks well," was the first unexpected reply.
Merry colored, but took the reproof sweetly,
resolving to do what she could, and surprised to
find how many ways seemed open to her after a
few minutes' thought.
"Where shall I begin? I 'm not afraid of a
dozen crocodiles after Miss Bat," and Molly Loo
looked about her with a fierce air, having had prac-
tice in battles with the old lady who kept her
father's house.
"Well, dear, you have n't far to look for as nice

MaVER 2.

a little heathen as you 'd wish," and Mrs. Pecq
glanced at Boo, who sat on the floor staring
hard at them, attracted by the dread word "croc-
odile." He had a cold and no handkerchief, his
little hands were red with chilblains, his clothes
shabby, he had untidy darns in the knees of his
stockings, and a head of tight curls that evidently
had not been combed for some time.
"Yes, I know he is, and I try to keep him
decent, but I forget, and he hates to be fixed, and
Miss Bat does n't care, and father laughs when I
talk about it."

JANUARY.

212

JACK AND JILL.

Poor Molly Loo looked much ashamed, as she
made excuses, trying at the same time to mend
matters by seizing Boo and dusting him all over
with her handkerchief, giving a pull at his hair as
if ringing bells, and then dumping him down again
with the despairing exclamation: Yes, we're a
pair of heathens, and there 's no one to save us if I
don't."
That was true enough; for Molly's father was a
busy man, careless of everything but his mills.
Miss Bat was old and lazy, and felt as if she might
take life easy after serving the motherless children
for many years as well as she knew how. Molly
was beginning to see how much amiss things were
at home, and old enough to feel mortified, though,
as yet, she had done nothing to mend the matter
except be kind to the little boy.
You will, my dear," answered Mrs. Pecq,
encouragingly, for she knew all about it. "Now
you 've each got a mission, let us see how well
you will get on. Keep it secret, if you like,
and report once a week. I '11 be a member, and
we '11 do great things yet."
"We wont begin till after Christmas; there is
so much to do, we never shall have time for any
more. Don't tell, and we '1 start fair at New
Year's, if not before," said Jill, taking the lead as
usual. Then they went on with the gay ladies,
who certainly were heathen enough in dress to be
in sad need of conversion,-to common sense at
least.
I feel as if I was at a party," said Jill, after a
pause occupied in surveying her gallery with great
satisfaction, for dress was her delight, and here she
had every conceivable style and color.
"Talking of parties, is n't it too bad that we
must give up our Christmas fun? Can't get on
without you and Jack, so we are not going to do a
thing, but just have our presents," said Merry,
sadly, as they began to fit different heads and
bodies together, to try droll effects.
I shall be all well in a fortnight, I know; but
Jack wont, for it will take more than a month to
mend his poor leg. May be, they will have a dance
in the boys' big room, and he can look on," sug-
gested Jill, with a glance at the dancing damsel on
the wall, for she dearly loved it, and never guessed
how long it would be before her light feet should
keep time to music again.
"You 'd better give Jack a hint about the party.
Send over some smart ladies, and say they have
come to his Christmas ball," proposed audacious
Molly Loo, always ready for fun.
So they put a preposterous green bonnet, top-
heavy with plumes, on a little lady in yellow, who
sat in a carriage; the lady beside her, in winter
costume of velvet pelisse and ermine boa, was fitted

to a bride's head with its orange flowers and vail,
and these works of art were sent over to Jack,
labeled "Miss Laura and Lotty Burton going to
the Minots' Christmas ball,"-a piece of naughti-
ness on Jill's part, for she knew Jack liked the
pretty sisters, whose gentle manners made her own
wild ways seem all the more blamable.
No answer came for a long time, and the girls
had almost forgotten their joke in a game of Let-
ters, when Tingle, tangle "went the bell, and the
basket came in laden heavily. A roll of colored
papers was tied outside, and within was a box
that rattled, a green and silver horn, a roll of nar-
row I d. .,,:, a spool of strong thread, some large
needles, and a note from Mrs. Minot:

"DEAR JILL: I think of having a Christmas tree so that our invalids
can enjoy it, and all your elegant friends are cordially invited. Know-
ing that you would like to help, I send some paper for sugar-plum
horns and some beads for necklaces. They will brighten the tree
and please the girls for themselves or their dolls. Jack sends you a
horn for a pattern, and will you make a ladder-necklace to show him
how ? Let me know if you need anything.-Yours in haste,
"ANNA MINOT."

She knew what the child would like, bless
her kind heart," said Mrs. Pecq to herself, and
something brighter than the most silvery bead
shone on Jack's shirt-sleeve, as she saw the rapture
of Jill over the new work and the promised pleasure.
Joyful cries greeted the opening of the box, for
bunches of splendid large bugles appeared in all
colors, and a lively discussion went on as to the
best contrasts. Jill could not refuse to let her
friends share the pretty work, and soon three neck-
laces glittered on three necks, as each admired her
own choice.
I 'd be ;i _to hurt my back dreadfully, if I
could lie and do such lovely things all day," said
Merry, as she reluctantly put down her needle at
last, for home duties waited to be done, and looked
more than ever distasteful after this new pleasure.
So would I! Oh, do you think Mrs. Minot
will let you fill the horns when they are done ? I 'd
love to help you then. Be sure you send for me !"
cried Molly Loo, arching her neck like a proud
pigeon to watch the glitter of her purple and silver
necklace on her brown gown.
I 'm afraid you could n't be trusted, you love
sweeties so, and I 'm sure Boo could n't. But I '11
see about it," replied Jill, with a responsible air.
The mention of the boy recalled him to their
minds, and looking round they found him peace-
fully absorbed in polishing up the floor with Molly's
pocket-handkerchief and oil from the little ma-
chine-can. Being torn from this congenial labor,
he was carried off shining with oil and roaring
lustily.
But Jill did not mind her loneliness now, and

1880.]

213

BIDDING THE SUN "GOOD-NIGHT" IN LAPLAND.

so each of the fifty dolls found a new mamma and
each of fifty children was made _er-fectly happy."
Only most of them ate their candy so all at once,
that the doc-
r i, ,.1 I,

think. The children were most of them not pretty
and not bright,-not very merry, even,-and we
could not but think of the prettier, and brighter,
and happier children we knew. One little, sick
l r,. ,: l .: '.' ; c J .lly tight,

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. .ot your
1 !e always
: bundle or
i..iier,"said
'I,.' nurse.

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- -44.
-P .R
-I,..-

"PERFECTLY HAPPY."

come next day, and give them each a dreadful dose The days are dull for these poor things, they
of medicine. have not much to brighten them; we were very
-Sister Eliza and we two girls came later in the glad we had made the Star in the East shine once
day,-and did we laugh or did we cry? Both, I into their lives with Christmas brightness.

BIDDING THE SUN "GOOD-NIGHT" IN LAPLAND.

BY JoY ALLISON.

WHEN the short, bright summer of Lapland is ended, and the sun is about to set, to rise no more for seven or
eight months, the people of the hamlets and villages ascend the neighboring hills to see the last of the Day
God, and chant a requiem, or farewell psalm, for the parting day.

" COME, little daughters, hasten,
Ye should be bravely dight
Make ready, boys 1 for we go forth
To bid the sun good-night.

" Four months with steady shining
He 's made the whole earth fair,
And myriad blossoms greeted him,
And bird-songs filled the air.

" But now October waneth;
His setting draweth near;

We shall not see his face again
For more than half a year."

So forth they go, together,
Parents and children, all,
The aged, and the little ones,
Young men, and maidens tall.

From many a neighboring village,
From many a humble home,
To climb the rocky summit
The thronging people come.

[JANUARY,

204

THE THREE COPECKS.

sang like a happy canary while she threaded her recipe for sunshine proved successful, and mother-
sparkling beads, or hung the gay horns to dry, wit made the wintry day a bright and happy one
ready for their cargoes of sweets. So Mrs. Minot's for both the little prisoners.
(To be coltZrited.)

THE THREE COPECKS.*

BY PAUL H. HAYNE.

CROUCHED low in a sordid chamber, By the banks of the frozen Neva,
With a cupboard of empty shelves,- In the realm of the mighty Czar.
Half starved, and, alas unable
To comfort or help themselves,- Now, Max was an urchin of seven;
But his delicate sister, Leeze,
Two children were left forsaken, With the crown of her rippling ringlets,
All orphaned of mortal care; Could scarcely have reached your knees !
But with spirits too close to Heaven
To be tainted by Earth's despair,- As he looked on his sister weeping,
And tortured by hunger's smart,
Alone in that crowded city, A Thought like an Angel entered
Which shines like an Arctic star, At the door of his opened heart.
The copeckk" is a Russian coin of about a cent's value in our currency.

214

[JANUARY,

= -- _-'- h:--: -- _- ... .2._ ..,w4- a-tj
OR--

_' .'
.. ...- - 2:- :-s:=? ." '7 :-:7

i88o.] THE THREE COFECKS. 215

He wrote on a fragment of paper,-
With quivering hand and soul,-
" Please send to me, Christ! three copecks,
To purchase for Leeze a roll "

Then, rushed to a church, his missive
To drop,-ere the vesper psalms,-
As the surest mail bound Christward,-
In the unlocked Box for Alms!

I ,

!P;

While he stood upon tiptoe to reach it,
One passed from the priestly band,
And with smile like a benediction
Took the note from his eager hand.

Having read it, the good man's bosom
Grew warm with a holy joy:
SAh Christ may have heard you already,-
Will you come to my house, my boy? "

" But not without Leeze?" "No, surely,
We 'll have a rare party of three;
Go, tell her that somebody 's waiting
To welcome her home to tea." . .

That night, in the coziest cottage,
The orphans were safe at rest,
Each snug as a callow birdling
In the depths of its downy nest.

And the next Lord's Day, in his pulpit,
The preacher so spake of these
Stray lambs from the fold, which Jesus
Had blessed by the sacred seas;-

So recounted their guileless story,
As he held each child by the hand,
That the hardest there could feel it,
And the dullest could understand.

x880.]

THE THREE COPECKS.

2i5

THE THREE COPECKS.

a'-

i;
i3.- ~; ~~
r;;

';.
;1-i:

O'er the eyes of the listening fathers
There floated a gracious mist;
And oh, how the tender mothers
Those desolate darlings kissed !

" You have given your tears," said the preacher,-
"Heart-alms we should none despise;-
But the open palm, my children,
Is more than the weeping eyes "

Then followed a swift collection,
From the altar steps to the door,
Till the sum of two thousand rubles
The vergers had counted o'er.

So you see that the unmailed letter
Had somehow gone to its goal,.
And more than three copecks gathered
To purchase for Leeze a roll!

216

[JANUARY,

THE LAND OF SHORT MEMORIES.

THE LAND OF SHORT MEMORIES.

BY S. S. COLT.

GEORGIE meant to be a good boy, but he very
seldom did anything that he was told to do. He
nearly always forgot it. Once, when his sister May
was very sick, he was sent after some medicine for
her. So he started in a great hurry; but he met
Fred Smith with his dog, and Fred coaxed him to
go and coast "just once down the long Red Hill.
Then he forgot all about May and the medicine
until it was quite dark, and he felt so sorry and
ashamed that he ran home, and crept up the back
stair-way to bed, hungry and lonely and cold.
By and by, he fell asleep, and when he awoke he
was in a new and strange place. He found him-
self in a house which was only partially covered by
a roof, and the rain came in through the uncovered
part and dropped upon his bed. Georgie sat up
and looked around him. There was a fire-place in
the room, besides some wood and kindlings, which
the poor, shivering little fellow eyed very wistfully,
thinking that some one might perhaps light a fire.
It was very chilly, and his teeth chattered. There
was a wee old woman sitting in the chimney-corner,
and Georgie spoke to her.
What is it you want, Jimmie ? she said.
"Will you please tell me what your name is,
and where I am ? he asked.
My name-well, really, I forget it just now,"
she replied, "but you are in the Land of Short
Memories-that, I am aware of!"
But what shall I call you ?" asked Georgie.
Oh, call me Mite .That will do as well as any
other name till you forget it, Henry."
My name is Georgie."
"Isit? Well, I will try and recollect it. 'Tom,'
you said it was, did n't you ?"
No, I did n't! retorted Georgie, getting cross
with the old lady, for he thought she meant to
tease him.
There, there cried Mite; the doctors said
you must not get excited, or else that you must, I
forget which. Do you want anything to eat ? "
"Yes, I should like to have some gruel."
I will make you some," said she. "I have a
nice fire here, or I should have, only that I seem to
have forgotten to light the kindlings."
While she was bustling around, busy with the
gruel, Georgie lay quite still, looking out where
there was no roof, at the blue sky, which he could
now see, for it had ceased raining.
Why don't you have the roof cover the whole
of your house ?" asked Georgie of the old lady.

"The rest of the roof is somewhere around,"
said she. "I guess the workmen forgot to put it
on. Now, here is your nice gruel all ready for
you."
Why, it is cold exclaimed the disappointed
Georgie, who was quite hungry.
Sure enough; I forgot to boil it!" said the old
lady.
"And I don't see anything in the bowl but
water! "
"Dear me! Dear me!" said Mite. "I must
have forgotten to put any meal in it! "
Georgie now began to cry.
"Don't cry, don't cry, Johnnie," said Mite, "I
will boil a chicken for you by and by, if I don't for-
get it. Here are the doctors coming to see you
now, and you must sit up and talk with them."
Pretty soon two doctors came in, and one of them
asked Mite if she felt better to-day.
Yes, I think I do," said she.
"Did you take the medicine I ordered for you?"
asked the other doctor.
I suppose I did, but I don't remember," an-
swered Mite. Then the doctors felt her pulse,
looked at her tongue, and said she must take some
salts, and went away; When they had left the
house, Georgie began to cry more loudly than
before.
"What is the matter, Fred?" demanded Mite.
"My name is not Fred, I tell you screamed
Georgie.
Never mind; I always forget your name, so I
call you by anything I can think of. But tell me
what makes you cry."
"Why, I am sick, and I thought the doctors.
were coming to see me "
"Bless my stars !" exclaimed the old lady,
"sure enough, I was not the one that was sick !
I meant to have remembered and told the doctors.
that they came to see you; but I forgot it when
they looked at my tongue. I '1 run after them
and call them back "
So, away went Mite, and was gone ever so long.
When she came back, she said she could not find
the doctors anywhere, and everybody had forgotten
where they lived, so that no one could go after
them. "I'm sorry," said Mite, "but it can't be-
helped, for you know we live in the Land of Short
Memories."
Then Georgie cried still more bitterly. I wish
I could go home," he said. "I am sure I shall die

1880.]

217

CAUGHT.

here! I wish I could go home! I would never
forget to mind mother again !"
As soon as he had said this, he heard a familiar
voice pleading, Ma, may n't I go for Georgie's
medicine ? I wont forget to bring it! "
Georgie turned slowly in his little bed and saw
his sister May. Next, his eyes rested on his
mother, who looked very pale and thin, but sweet
and smiling.
Oh, Ma, have I come back to you? he cried,
with a sigh.
We hope so, Georgie," replied his mother.
"You have had a bad fever, just like May's, and
been very sick, but you soon will get well now."

Did May die, because I forgot her medicine? "
"No. Father came home and got it for her,
and she is well now, and has helped me take care
of you; but you have not seemed to know her,
and have called her Mite ever since you were taken
sick."
Mother," said Georgie, very earnestly, "I am
going to try not to forget things any more "
And Georgie did try. When he became well,
and was sent upon errands, he always thought of
Mite, and the gruel, and the doctors, and the Land
of Short Memories, where he went in his fever-
dreams, and he was cured of the very bad habit of
forgetting his duty.

THE CATCHER

CAUGHT.

(JANUARY,

218

THE PRACTICAL FAIRY.

THE PRACTICAL FAIRY.

BY CHARLES BARNARD.

IT was ten o'clock Christmas morning, and the
sun looked in at Jane Brown's window and found
her fast asleep. The morning half gone, and still
asleep! Jane Brown! you are odd. Though it
was so late, she slept right on, as if it was quite the
proper thing. At half-past ten she woke, dressed,
and went down-stairs, and at eleven she sat down
to breakfast. Her father and mother had their
breakfast at eight o'clock, and this second breakfast
was for Jane alone. Jane Brown! you live in a
style quite uncommon for a ten-year-old girl.
Jacob Brown was a porter in a down-town store.
His wife was a clear-starcher, and their only child
was a fairy. The wages earned by a porter are not
very much; clear-starching pays very little; and
so it came that Jane was obliged to be a fairy.
Then, father had been sick and lost his wages for
months, and mother had to let the clear-starching
go and attend to him. So it happened that the
Browns were in debt for the rent of the rooms in
East Thirteenth street. The landlord had been
kind, and let them stay in the place while Jane
helped to make up the arrears of rent by being a
fairy.
Of course, the moment you talk about fairies
you expect something uncommon. This particular
fairy got up late, had breakfast near noon, had
dinner at four, and became a fairy at eight o'clock
in the evening. No Stop! This is a mistake.
She.was a fairy all the time. All fairies are good.
Jane was very good, and as soon as breakfast was
over she took up a white skirt and began to mend
a place that had been torn the night before, when
she was flying. The material, we are informed, was
called illusion," which was quite proper for a fairy.
At half-past seven o'clock, Jane laid the illusion
skirt and a white body, a pair of white shoes and
pink socks, in a little hand-bag. Then she drew a
warm brown cloak over her every-day dress, put on
a felt hat and a pair of stout boots, and prepared
for the regular fairy business. She had blue eyes
and reddish-yellow hair and a pretty little nose,
and, altogether, she was quite a nice-looking child.
No, that's another mistake; not a child, but really
a fairy. She kissed her mother good-night, and
said to her father:
You need n't come for me till a quarter before
twelve. Columbine has a new piece, and Mr.
Smitens is going to try his double-basket act."
"Christmas is always a late night," said her
father. "Oh, by the way, Jane, the landlord is

coming earlyin the morning. I have saved a little
something, and you might ask the manager if he
can pay you to-night instead of to-morrow night."
There '11 be plenty of money in the house to-
night. I'll ask for some. Besides, my belt is tight
for me and I mean to ask for a new one."
Then she kissed her father, for she was a good
fairy, and started out alone into the snowy streets.
The stores were all open and brightly lighted.
Every window was filled with Christmas gifts. In
the street, sleighs were passing, filled with happy
children, all intent on enjoying the holiday. Some
of them saw a little girl in a brown cloak looking
in at a toy-shop window, but not one of them knew
it was a fairy. Then she walked on, and in a few
moments overtook two more fairies, Sarah Levine
and Catherine Stranmers. She joined them, and,
gaily chatting, they walked on together till they
came to a narrow back street. They turned down
this street, and presently came to a tall brick build-
ing having a curious narrow door, two stories high.
Such a remarkable place On one side, a lofty
brick wall; on the other, tall wooden screens cov-
ered with canvas; beyond these, a vast space, black
and strange. Everywhere, people, both men and
women, workmen in their shirt-sleeves, gas-men,
and carpenters. The three fairies passed between
the canvas screens and entered the dim space be-
yond. At the left, was a large green cloth swelling
out in the wind like the mainsail of a ship, and
from behind it came a confused murmur of voices
and the sound of musical instruments being tuned.
Opposite, were more tall screens, and, to the right,
a monster picture, as big as a house and represent-
ing an ancient castle. Overhead, was a wild tangle
of ropes, machinery, and gas-lamps.
"Please take my bag to the dressing-room,
Kate; I want to see the manager," said Jane.
Kate took the bag, for she was a good-natured
fairy, and Jane turned to the left, passed between
the canvas screens, and came to a small door in the
brick wall. There was a man there, on guard, but
he let her pass, and, in a moment, she stepped from
the cool, dim place into the warmth and light of a
large theater. What a great company of children
and ladies! Jane looked out on the multitude of
happy faces, and wondered how it would seem to be
rich and comfortable and to go to the theater and
see fairy pieces, instead of working in them.
No time to think about that now. The con-
ductor was already in his place. She must hurry

1880.]

219

THE PRACTICAL FAIRY.

in order to get back before the play would begin.
She walked up the side aisle till she came to a little
door near the entrance. She knocked, and some-
body inside said Come in." She opened the
door and stood in the manager's office. An elderly
gentleman sat at a desk counting a big pile of
bills, and behind him was a little clerk 'perched on
a high stool. Jane waited a moment, and then the
gentleman looked up and said:
Well, my child, what can I do for you?"
"If you please, sir, the landlord is coming to-
morrow, and I should like my money to-night."
"Bless us! Landlords are terrible animals.
We must give you something to scare him away."
"Yes, sir; but our landlord is real good, and I'm
paying up the arrears, and, if I can have it, I 'd
like my pay now."
Oh, certainly Here, Lawson, give Miss Brown
her wages and the little surprise. Don't forget the
surprise, Lawson."
The little clerk opened a drawer and counted
out sixteen silver half-dollars, and gave them to
Jane. Then he whispered to her:
Here's five dollars more. The piece has drawn
first-rate, and the manager has given every one,
from me to the gas-man, a Christmas present."
Jane paused before the old gentleman.
I 'm much obliged, sir, for the surprise."
Child!" said he, with a grand flourish, (he
used to act tragic parts when he was young), You
have my blessing. Be good, and you will rise in
the profession."
So I do, sir,-every night-up to the flies."
The manager tried to frown, but he smiled,
instead, and said:
"We shall have to give you a speaking part
soon. Go!"
Jane stepped out into the theater just as the
orchestra began a merry strain. Her heart was
light, for she knew that a "speaking part" meant
acting with the real people on the stage. She
tripped down the aisle, a little girl in a big cloak,
and nobody knew she was their good fairy. She
passed the narrow door, crossed the wide stage,
now crowded with knights and fine ladies, dragons
and mermaids, passed the great curtain, and flew
down the stairs into her own room. Waving the
five-dollar bill over her head, she cried:
Girls, see what the manager gave me!"
Girls ? There were no girls there. Only five
fairies in white dresses.
"We all are to have the same," said Kate.
"Now, hurry, for the orchestra is on."
In exactly two minutes another fairy was ready,
and then the whole six, laughing and talking to-
gether, ran up the stairs to the stage. All the
people were crowded between the various scenes,

and the great space in the center was bare. The
fairies slipped between the people till they came to
a clear space between the screens at the back or
top of the stage. Here they found an empty box,
and, taking care not to tumble their skirts, they
all sat down and began to talk in a half-whisper.
Now, to understand what happened to our fair-
ies, we must notice that the tall canvas screens are
called wings or side-scenes, the back scene is
called a flat, and the hanging scenes overhead,
painted to represent sky, or clouds, or trees, are
called flies. Above the flies are galleries on each
side, filled with ropes and machinery. These
galleries the fairies could see from where they sat,
though the audience in the theater never see them.
These galleries are called the riy galleries. High
above all, seventy feet from the stage, was a loft or
floor over the stage and full of holes, and through
these holes hung the ropes that supported the flies,
and the gas lamps, called the "border lights."
This loft is called the rigging loft. The fairies sat
between the two upper wings on the right of the
stage and under one of the fly galleries.
Suddenly a bell rang. The orchestra struck up
louder than before, and the great curtain rolled up.
The play had begun. The fairies were busy talk-
ing in whispers and paid no heed to what was going
on. Our fairy once or twice looked out on the
stage and observed the actors. The manager had
promised her a speaking part, and she watched to
see how the others did, that she might learn from
them. Of course, her salary would be raised, and
then, how fast the debt would disappear !
In a short time, the first act was over, the
curtain went down, and, at once, the stage grew
dark. Instantly, there was the greatest confusion
everywhere. Men dragged the scenes this way and
that. The flat parted in the middle and a beauti-
ful palace came down from above and took the
place of the castle. Some men brought out painted
rocks and set them up by means of iron pins
screwed to the floor. The fairies knew exactly
what to do, and stood in a row across the stage,
behind the rocks. Strong iron wires were let down
fiom the rigging-loft, and to the end of each the
men fastened leather straps and white stirrups.
Jane stood near the middle, and put her feet in the
stirrups, and while a man buckled the belt round
her, a boy gave her a wooden wand with a tin star
at the end. Each of the other fairies was strapped
to a wire in the same way. Then the orchestra
began again. The bell rang, the gas lamps
overhead flared up, and the stage was as light as
day. The curtain rose, but, as the fairies were be-
hind the rocks, they could not be seen, nor could
the fairies see the theater. They stood there, a
row of plain, simple girls, ready to do their duty as

JANUARY ,

220

THE PRACTICAL FAIRY.

best they knew, because they were poor. Still
they were fairies,-" practical fairies" they were
called in the theater, because they were alive
and could work.
The palace behind them was the home of Prince
Catchoc. Presently, the Prince came on and spoke
to the Witch Blackcattia. Then he waved his
wand and cried out: "Come forth, oh fairies! and
hie you to your cloudy home."
Cloudy home" was the "cue" for the men in
the fly-galleries, so, as soon as they heard the
words, they began to turn great cranks. The
wires tightened, and each fairy felt herself lifted
into the air as she stood in the stirrups.
"Steady, girls!" said a man standing in the
wing. "Wave your wands now, and keep them
waving till you reach the flies."
My belt hurts," said Jane.
Can't help it now. You should have spoken
of it before."
"I forgot--"
"Hush! Don't talk. Here you go!"
Our fairy rose with the others above the rocks
and looked out over the stage to the house beyond.
What a vast throng of people rising tier above tier
to the roof! How many children there were! She
waved her wand slowly and tried to ease her belt,
and cared no more for the thousands looking at her
than if they were wooden images. She was help-
ing father pay that debt. This was her business,
and that 's all she thought about it. As the fairies
moved slowly upward, as if flying, a loud shout of
applause came from the people. They always did
that every night, and our fairy really hardly heard
it. It seemed to be a part of the regular thing,
just like the creaking wheels over her head. Up
and up and up the fairies went, and the people only
cheered the more, and our fairy glanced up to the
flies to see how much farther she must go. Now
her head reached the level of the edge of the flies,
and they began to hide the theater as if a curtain
had been let down before her. The air grew hot
and stifling, and the flaring gas-lamps shone
directly in her face. Now they were nearly up,
and in a moment would disappear from the people.
Suddenly she felt the wire stop. She had nearly
passed the flies, but her feet were still below. The
other fairies moved on past her and were soon over
her head. Somehow, her wire had caught.
"Take me up Move me up higher! cried
Jane to the man in the fly-galleries.
Yes, miss, in a moment."
"Go on! Go on!" cried the stage-manager
from below. There was a hush and sudden
pause, as if no one knew what was the matter.
She could see the people on the stage looking up
and the conductor waiting with upraised baton.

Then some boys in the gallery laughed. She could
not see the people in the house, but she heard the
boys laugh.
The idea of a fairy going up to the sky and stop-
ping there, with her feet hanging out of the clouds !
The audience broke into a loud laugh. They were
laughing at the fairy. Her face flushed with mor-
tification and misery, and she burst into tears.
Oh, sir, call the manager Call the manager,
and let me down "
There he was, now, tearing up the winding stairs
to the fly-gallery on her right, where the man was
working over the machinery.
"For heaven's sake, man, stop that! The wire
may break. Ring the curtain down."
The tears ran down her cheeks and fell in shin-
ing drops forty feet through the air to the stage
below, while all the people laughed in ill-mannered
merriment. Then she heard the bell, and knew
that the curtain was going down to hide her misery.
"Don't cry, Miss Brown," said the manager,
leaning over the gallery,-for he was only just
above her. The people were very rude; but we
must n't mind 'em. Send the other girls down,
Mr. Smith."
This was the stage manager, who had also come
up on the fly-gallery. The other girls were above
Jane, and they now moved down, passed by her,
and safely reached the stage far below.
"They were real mean," said Kate as she passed.
"I hate 'em for laughing."
"We can't get you down just now, miss," said
the manager. You must wait a little while. We
will pull you up between the flies till after the
next act. Are you quite comfortable ? "
Yes, sir. The belt hurts me, but- Then
she saw Mr. Smith on the gallery, and she added,
"I don't mind it much. And, if you please, I 'd
like a drink of water."
Mr. Smith, these girls must never be sent up
unless they are quite comfortable. Tell the gas-
man to put a bottle of water on a pole and hand it
to Miss Brown."
"Thank you, sir," said Jane; "and, sir, you
see, I'm not high enough in the profession yet."
"Good for you, little one! That 's the right
kind of talk for a rising fairy."
She saw a man putting together a jointed fish-
ing-pole. A boy brought a bottle of water, and
they lashed it to the pole, and, leaning over the
edge of the fly-gallery, they pushed out the pole
till she could reach the bottle. She took it off and
put it to her mouth and drank, and then the gas-
man took it away.
"Go on with the next act," said the manager,
"and send some men up to the rigging-loft to
pull the girl up a foot or two."

a88o.]

221

THE PRACTICAL FAIRY.

The flies before and behind her moved up and
down. She saw the men below moving the scenes,
and, presently, the bell rang for the curtain, and the
play went on. There she hung in mid-air, between
two sheets of painted canvas, with one of the rows
of border-lights enclosed in iron cages right in
front of her. It was terribly hot, and the perspira-
tion dripped from her chin and ran down her bare
arms, as she swung slowly backward and forward
in the hot draft of air that swept through the place.
The leading lady in the play was on the stage be-
low, directly under her feet. She listened to every
word and noted every gesture, and wondered if she
ever should be a leading lady, and have a good
salary and a carriage and all that.
Ah! Whatisthat? A tiny puff of smoke float-
ing in the air! She looked about in alarm to see
where it came from. What if the theater should
take fire, and she up there among the flies and
unable to get down? Her eye caught a slender
stream of smoke curling from the ragged edge of
the canvas fly in front of her. It had been torn,
and the piece had been blown or pushed through
the wire cage that covered the border-lights. The
cloth was already smouldering in the heat. She
made a movement of her body, and found she
could swing herself backward and forward in the
air. Perhaps, by swinging she could reach the
smoking cloth and tear it off before it took fire.
She swung farther and farther each time. The
smoke was increasing, and she could see the cloth
curling up in the heat. She was tempted to call
out for help, but was so terrified she could think of
nothing save the bit of smouldering cloth. Ah!
The next swing would bring her in reach. She
dropped her wand, and it fell. She stretched out
both hands and grasped the canvas and held it
tight, and, as she swung back, a yard or more of
the rotten stuff tore off and instantly blazed up,
fanned into flame by the motion through the air.
She swung back against the fly behind her and
dropped the cloth, for it had burned her wrist.
The wand fell straight down, struck the stage, and
bounded off to the right, and the blazing cloth
floated down, swirling round and round, like a
burning meteor out of the sky. She looked along
the border, as she swung forward again, and saw
she had torn the burning portion completely off.
The fire was out.
The crash of the falling wand startled every-
body, and when the burning rag fell down in sight
of the whole audience, the people looked from
one to another in alarm. The play stopped, and
there was a terrible hush, as if a panic was about
to begin. Some person, silly and wicked with
fear, cried out "Fire and everybody stood up.
It' s all out! It's all out!" screamed Jane.

The child's shrill, clear voice from the flies went
through the whole vast building, and everybody
heard it and was still.
She looked down on the stage, and saw the
manager, with a white face, wildly looking up
at her.
It 's out, sir. I tore it off. There 's no fire."
She saw him run to the wall and take down a
canvas sign on which was marked in big letters,
"No FIRE. SIT DOWN!" She knew he was
going to the edge of the stage to hold it up before
the people. Suddenly, the border lights all went
out and she was left hanging in darkness, though
the stage below was still lighted by the foot-lights.
She supposed it must be for safety this had been
done, and she was glad of it, for the heat was
terrible.
Then she heard the people sit down. The
panic had been prevented. Then the bell rang,
and the curtain went down. Suddenly, a man in
the gallery of the theater cried out:
Hurrah for the little girl "
The next moment, the most tremendous roar
came from behind the curtain. It frightened the
fairy, for she did not know what it meant.
There 's no fire Tell 'em not to run out,"
she cried, as loud as she could.
She heard the manager calling the people on
the stage to their places, and, looking down, she
called to him.
Let me down I 've burned my wrist."
"Be quick, men i Let the girl down. The
house is calling her."
The wire started, moved faster and faster, and
in a moment she stood on the stage. Such a hub-
bub and uproar! Everybody wanted to shake her
hand, and the leading lady ran up to her and
kissed her.
My child, the house is wild for you. I '11 take
you before the curtain."
No. no. Let me change my dress first."
Hear the girl! Come I 'l1 escort you on."
They were making a fearful din outside the cur-
tain, and, before she knew it, she was standing in
front of the curtain, with the manager holding one
hand, and the leading lady the other. All the peo-
ple stood up and gave three loud cheers, but she
only felt that dreadful burning pain in her left
wrist. Then the manager held up his hand, and
the house was as still as a mouse.
Ladies and gentlemen. Miss Brown, by her
courage and ready coolness, conquered the devour-
ing element and heroically-- "
Oh, cut that! cried a loud-voiced man in the
gallery. Pass the hat for her. It's Christmas,
anyway !"
With that, he threw a silver half-dollar down on

222

[JANUARY,

THE SHEPHERD-BOY OF VESPIGNANO.

The faster they hop !
Silent a moment,
Then off in a flurry,
Pippety-pop, and hurry skurry,
Helter skelter, flying, frisking,
Swelling, springing, whirling, whisking,
Skipping and striking, they bound and rebound,
And with pippety, pippety-pop, resound.

Pippety-pop pippety-pop !
The redder the fire
The faster they hop!
Silent a moment,
Then hopping and popping,
Jerking and dropping,
Forever a-dancing
With hippety-hop !
Forever a-dinning
With pippety-pop !

Pippety-pop pippety-pop 1
The redder the fire

The faster they hop !
Silent a moment,
Then brightly they quiver,
Turning to whiteness
With tremor and shiver.

Now gracefully falling,
And awkwardly sprawling;
Now up they go sounding,
And down they come bounding;
Now up they go grumbling,
And down they come tumbling;
Anon they 're delaying,
Then weary with staying,
Together a-jumping,
They all go a-bumping,
Now up and now down,
And around and around,
Forever a-spinning,
With hippety-hop !
Forever a-dinning,
With pippety-pop !

THE SHEPHERD-BOY OF VESPIGNANO.

BY AGNES ELIZABETH THOMSON.

LONG, long ago, when the world was some six
hundred years younger than it is now, a certain
little boy was born on the sunny slopes of Vespig-
nano.
I dare say you never so much as heard of Vespig-
nano before, and that is not to be wondered at,
because it is only a wee bit of a hamlet, away off
in the heart of Tuscany, of no importance to any-
body, except to the few peasants whose uneventful
lives are spent there.
Yet, because of this little boy who first opened
his eyes within its ragged, rugged borders, the lit-
tle hamlet, no doubt, takes a certain pride in itself,
and when it has time to think about it at all, thinks
it may surely hold up its head with the best.
This little boy's name was Giotto Bondone,-or
Bondone Giotto, very likely, he was called by his
comrades, for the Italians have a queer fashion of
twisting round their names until one cannot tell
which is the Christian and which the surname !
Giotto was a happy-go-lucky little fellow from
the very first. His father was but a simple farmer,
who worked from early morning till long after the
sun had gone to bed,-worked with a pair of
patient, white oxen in his master's corn-fields, and

vineyards, and sheep-pastures, to be paid in the
harvest-time with just enough corn and wine and
wool to keep himself, his wife and his boy, happy
and hearty.
It was not much that Father Bondone could give
his little child besides a name, a sheep-skin with
the wool still on for a coat, and plenty of sunshine
and pure air.
But the child had something of his own better
than any gift. He had a bright and happy nature,
and an intelligence so remarkable that even when
he could just walk and talk, it attracted all who
saw him, and made him his father's pet.
When he was ten years old, Father Bondone
thought it time he should begin to be useful,-
time to be earning at least the salt to his porridge,
-so he was sent out to watch a few sheep in the
fields.
I think he did more than keep the young lambs
from straying.
I think he laid himself down on the ground, and
forgot all about the sheep, sometimes, while from
the blue skies, and green valleys, and brilliant
flowers, and warmly-tinted rocks of old Tuscany,
he learned how to mix colors on his palette by

[JANUAeT,

224

THE SHEPHERD-BOY OF VESPIGNANO.

and by, or from the spreading branches of the
oak-trees he learned the secret of forming graceful
arches and checkered patterns.
A wise man once assured the world that there are
" Sermons in stones, books in the running brooks,
and good in everything ;" the untaught little Giotto

,1

'_ _

I
V- t
i

GIOTTO'S CAM' lANIL

must have been able to find out the good in
everything" for himself, and not only were his
sharp eyes quick to perceive, but his nimble
fingers were quick to imitate.
He was always trying to draw some picture on
any smooth bit of rock or slate that came to hand,
although he had nothing better for a pencil than
another bit of stone sharpened down to a point.
Vor. VII.-16.

It happened, one day, that some trifling matter
sent a celebrated Florentine artist up to the region
of Vespignano, and, as he was riding along, having
lost his way, perhaps, he perceived not far from
the road-side Father Bondone's quiet flocks com-
fortably grazing, while their youthful shepherd

E, OR BELL-TOWER.

seemed very much engaged about something near
by. The great artist was somehow drawn by the
lad's intent attitude. He rode up to the boy,
looked over his shoulder, and saw that he had
been drawing one of the sheep on a piece of stone
which he held upon his knee.
Cimabue-that was the name of the artist--was
greatly astonished when he beheld the picture on

225

THE SHEPHERD-BOY OF VESPIGNANO.

the stone. He began to talk to this strange shep-
herd-lad, and, among other things, asked him how
he would like to leave his hills and sheep-tending,
his father and mother, and go away with him to
Florence, and study drawing and art in earnest.
From the portrait of Master Cimabue that has
come down to us, one would not think that any
little boy would be willing to exchange father and
mother for such a queer, bonneted gentleman;
but Giotto loved drawing better than anything else
on the face of the earth, so he answered joyously
that he would like very much to go to Florence,
inwardly thinking himself, I 'm sure, the luckiest
young shepherd-lad that ever drew breath.
Father Bondone gave his consent to the scheme
as gladly as Giotto had given his, and so our hero
went forth into the world to seek his fortune with
the stranger from Florence.
And the teaching went on so wisely and so well,
day after day, that in a few years the tables were
turned, and lo i Master Cimabue had need to go
to school to pupil Giotto Think of that !
Yes, Giotto won great fame for himself in a
short time. He painted picture after picture and
church after church, in Florence and Pisa, in
Arezzo and Assisi, in Siena, and a great many
places besides, doing such good service for art-
which for two hundred years had been goingwrong
in Italy -that to this day he is considered a great
benefactor to the world. He was one of the first
to give life to modern art, in making his works
truly reflect Nature. Painting in imitation of
Nature was a new thing in that day, and everybody
was surprised and delighted with it. One writer
of the time says of Giotto's pictures, as if it were a
thing to be wondered at: "The personages who are
in grief look melancholy, and those who are joyous
look gay."
The fame of Giotto's genius and skill soon pene-
trated to Rome, the greatest city of the civilized
world in those times. In all haste, the Pope sent
off a courier to Florence to see what kind of a
man this Giotto might be, and pass judgment upon
his works, reasoning that if all were true that
people said, it would be well to bring him to the
Eternal City, to paint the walls of St. Peter's.
One bright morning, Giotto was busily engaged
in his workshop, when the Pope's messenger en-
tered, stated the reason of his visit, and finally
requested a drawing which he might send to his
master.
Giotto, who was very courteous, took a sheet
of paper, and a brush dipped in red color; then,
with one turn of the hand, he drew a circle so per-
fect and exact that it was a marvel to behold.
Thisdone, he turned, smiling to the courtier, say-
ing: "Here, sir, is the drawing you wished for."

"Am I to have nothing more than this?" in-
quired the messenger, surprised.
That is enough and to spare," returned Giotto.
" Send it with the rest, and you will see if it will be
recognized."
The messenger, unable to obtain anything more,
went away very ill-satisfied, and fearing that he
had been trifled with.
Nevertheless, having dispatched other drawings
to the Pope, with the names of those who had made
them, he sent that of Giotto also, relating the mode
in which he had made his circle; from which the
Pope and such of his courtiers as were well versed
in the subject, conceived the idea that if Giotto
could surpass all the other painters of his time in
this way, he could do so in other ways.
And out of this incident grew a proverb, which
the Tuscans make use of to the present day.
Tu sei piie tondo che 0'O di Giotto." "You
are rounder than Giotto's 0," they say, when they
mean you are very dull and stupid, because the
word that means round" in Italian means also
" dull."
Of course, Giotto was summoned to Rome, and
of course he was glad enough to obey the sum-

STATUE OF GIOTTO, AT FLORENCE.

mons, and to win new laurels. And it is a comfort
to know that his wonderful talents were fully appre-
ciated by the Pope and the people of Rome.

226

[JANUARY,

POPPING CORN.

the stage, and it struck at her feet and bounced
into the orchestra. The conductor picked it up
and gave it to her. And then-and then-Well!
There are some things you can never tell straight.
But, that night, Jacob Brown and his wife and
daughter spent a whole hour counting bills and
silver The next day, the landlord was paid in
full, and Jane-no-it was the fairy-opened an

account at the savings bank with a deposit of two
hundred and forty dollars and seventeen cents.
Jane no longer takes fairy parts. With care
and study she has steadily improved, and though,
like all actresses, she has very hard work to do,
she enables her parents to live in comfort. But
she always wears a wide bracelet on her arm. Some
say it is to hide a scar that will never come out.

POPPING CORN.

By JENNIE E. T. DOWE.

PIPPETY-POP! Pippety-pop !
The redder the fire
The faster they hop !
Now here, now there,
Now everywhere;
Now up, now down,
Now spinning around,
Now madly turning to left, to right,
Now whirling away with wild delight;
No mortal dance did you ever see

So full of mad ecstatic glee;
Bright wee fairies in yellow and brown,
The steadiest fairies ever were found;
Till, pippety-pop pippety-pop !
Like crazy creatures they skip and hop,
And change to fancies more wild and bold
Than ever poem or story told.

Pippety-pop pippety-pop !
The redder the fire

r88o.]

223

,l' ,

I ",', ,

Numberless stories are told of Giotto's wit, as
well as of his marvelous paintings.
When he was studying under Cimabue, it is said

t,
Y. -^ '1

-J^

'-t

PORTRAIT OF CIMIABUE.

that he painted a fly on the nose of one of the fig-
ures his master was then working at,-a fly so
like the real thing, that when Master Cimabue
came in, he tried to brush it away with his hand!
If we may believe their biographers, a great
many artists have painted remarkably life-like

J- ir1 niJL 1

INO AND UNO.

BY JOSEPHINE POLLARD.

INO and Uno are two little boys
Who always are ready to fight,
Because each will boast
That he knows the most,
And the other one cannot be right.

Ino and Uno went into the woods,
Quite certain of knowing the way:
"I am right! You are wrong!"
They said, going along.
And they did n't get out till next day !

Ino and Uno rose up with the lark,
To angle awhile in the brook,
But by contrary signs

They entangled their lines,
And brought nothing home to the cook!

Ino and Uno went out on the lake,
And oh, they got dreadfully wet!
While discussion prevailed
They carelessly sailed,
And the boat they were in was upset!

Though each is entitled opinions to have,
They need not be foolishly strong;
And to quarrel and fight
Over what we think right,
Is, You know, and I know, quite wrong!

T NT \ A NT T r r

1

.sc'~-t~ 1

NI u I j. 227

flies. I saw one of them myself in Antwerp. It
was resting on the foot of a fallen angel, and was
as large as a mouse I must mention, however,
that the angel itself was of colossal size.
But that work which endears our Giotto to the
hearts of his countrymen, to the hearts of all those
who love beauty, in fact, is his exquisite bell-tower
in Florence-Giotto's Campanile.
Our own poet, Longfellow, has sung its praise,
and indeed, of itself it seems a poem in stone.
It is a tall slender shaft of variegated marbles,
detached from the church, as all bell-towers are in
Italy, but it is so graceful, so beautiful, so rich in
detail, and so perfect in proportion, that you can-
not wonder men gaze on it with astonishment and
admiration.
And, exquisite as it seems at first, it grows more
exquisite as one becomes familiar with it. Every
portion is worthy of careful examination and study,
and yet, considered as a whole, it is grand and
perfect.
It is many and many a long year since Giotto
folded his hands to rest forever beneath the shadow
of the tower which is such a joy to us. He did
not live to finish this, his last and best work, but
from his designs his pupils were able to complete
the building and his fame. And I can wish nothing
pleasanter for you when you grow up, my little
friends, than a month in Florence and a sight of
Giotto's Campanile.

228

THE street-car was a long time coming. Much
longer than usual, Hal Turner thought, as he
stood at the corner and waited. But at last it came
in sight, drew nearer and nearer, reached the cor-
ner, and stopped, and Hal, books in hand, jumped
in. To his dismay, however, the car was full of
people, and he had expected it would be quite
empty. He would not have been so anxious for it
to come if he had known how things really would
be. But Hal was no coward. He had something
to do, he had said he would do it, and he meant to
be as good as his word, people or no people. So
he marched up to the front of the car, taking no
notice of two ladies who moved to make a place for
him. He stood for a moment looking at the
horses, and then, with a coming of color into his
face, turned and walked back to the other end.
One of the ladies smiled, and half motioned with
her hand to the seat.
No, I thank you," said Hal, and, turning, he
walked back to the front again and then once more
to the rear.
Why don't you sit down, young man ? said
an old gentleman, who had drawn his foot up every
time Hal had passed him.
Oh, I don't care to; I am very comfortable,"
answered Hal.
At this, the old gentleman smiled.
Well, I am not," he said, for I have had the
rheumatism in my foot, and I expect you will tum-
ble over it."
I will be very careful," Hal replied, still on the
march, but pressing close to the opposite side of
the car.
Just then, the conductor came in and collected
his fare.
There is a seat," said he to Hal, pointing to
the vacant place by the ladies; but the boy made
no reply, and, as soon as the conductor returned to
the platform, he began his walk again.
"See here, my boy," said a gentleman in the
corner, looking up from his newspaper, '"how far
are you going?"
"Above Girard Avenue," answered Hal.
"And are you going to keep this up all the
way?"
I should like to," Hal replied, but feeling very
certain that he really did not like to find himself
such a conspicuous personage.
"Do you always rage up and down in this
manner? "

No, sir," said Hal; I .. i -i ll, sit down."
Why don't you take that seat ?"
"Because," said Hal, as boldly as he could,
because I told my sister I would walk home."
H'm said the gentleman, and why don't
you?-on the street, where walking is in order? "
Because my mother won't let me. She thinks
it is too far from school to our house, and she says
that I must ride."
At this, everybody in the car laughed, and Hal
felt his face grow scarlet. He turned from his
questioner and walked down the car, resolving that,
as soon as he got home, he would tell Nan she
was a goose.
But his troubles were not yet over, for the con-
ductor said sharply :
See here, sir there is a seat. If you want it,
take it; if you don't, stand still or get out "
Hal glanced into the car, where he met two rows
of laughing eyes, and, without a word or a mo-
ment's hesitation, jumped off the car.
He had not meant to give up, but he could not
stand it. He ran up the street a little way; but,
when the car had passed him and was out of sight,
he slackened his speed and walked. He was not
in a very good humor. I might have known
just how it would be," he said to himself, "but
when Nan persisted that I could n't walk home,
and at the same time mind mamma, who says I
must always ride, I never thought of a car full of
people! I do think Nan is the most obstinate girl
in the whole world! Now, here I am, everybody
laughs at me, and I have to break my word to
mamma, after all, for I can't get into another car
and ride; I 've no more money. Bother it all!"
and with this he kicked a little stone out of his
way and felt better. He had quite a long walk
before him; but he was not sorry for that, as he
felt he needed a little time for thinking the matter
over before he met his mother's reproof and Nan's
laughter. It was all very well to blame Nan now,
but he knew in his heart who it was who was
obstinate, and who planned the whole affair, and
that person was not Nan So he trudged on, both
hands in his pockets, and his books slung by the
strap over his shoulder, trying to look as if this
Sii;,. was a matter of course, and he did it every
day.
After a while, he came to the Ridge Road. This
street, as all Philadelphia boys and girls know,
runs across the city from south-east to north-west,

[JANUARY,

HOW HAL WENT HOME.

HOW HAL WENT HOME.

BY LOUISE STOCKTON.

HOW -AL WENT HOME.

and cuts the corners of the other streets which go
from north to south and from east to west. It
begins at Ninth and Vine streets, and runs on
through the city,-making it easy for people to
lose their way by the cross-roads it creates,-up by

stores present very attractive windows, and on
the Ridge Road almost every house has a store on
the first floor. Some of them seemed so full that
the contents, Hal thought, had spilled out on to
the pavements, which were crowded with all sorts

"'.

on through farms, past iron mines, villages,
woods, and furnaces, until it finds itself among
the hills, miles and miles away from the noisy cor-
ner where it started.
When Hal reached this point, he stopped to
consider. He was now on Eleventh street, but
if he took the Ridge Road he could make a short
cut up to Fifteenth street and so home. It was a
more lively street than Eleventh, and that was
another reason for using it. The Philadelphia

of merchandise, and as Hal glanced in at the doors,
he wondered where all these things could be put,
if they were taken in at night.
But he did not long consider this question, for
he spied a carpenter's shop, and that reminded
him of some inquiries he wished to make. The
door of the shop was open, and when he had
gone up the two little steps, he could hear some

x88o.]

229

:il
~~~ I ~

HOW HAL WENT HOME.

one hammering. He looked in; there was the
bench and there were the tools, but he could not see
the workman. Then he went in, and over in the
corner, where she could not be seen from the door,
was a little girl, standing at a little bench, ham-
mering lath nails into a piece of wood with a little
hammer. She had on a large apron, tied around
her waist, and her brown hair hung around her
neck. She looked up and saw Hal, and laying

down the piece of wood, but keeping the
hammer in her hand, she waited for him
to speak.
Where is the carpenter? he asked.
I am the carpenter," she gravely re-
plied.
At this, Hal laughed.
Is this your shop ?" he said. Do you
make dog-houses? "
"I never have made a. dog-house," re-
plied the carpenter. I never thought of
it. Of course, my papa could. I can make
tables and chairs; I am making a table
now."
And she drove a nail in so promptly and
firmly, that Hal came up in admiration to
look at her.
Why, you are a real good carpenter "
he exclaimed; our Nan could n't do that,
and she is older than you are. I sometimes
miss the head of a nail myself."
I never do," replied the girl, "my papa
would be ashamed of me if I did."
Does he go away and leave you here ?
Do you really mean to be a carpenter ? "
I suppose so," she answered. Papa
said he always thought one of his boys would
take the business, and he has n't any, and
no girls either, except me."
"I never heard of a woman carpenter,"
said Hal, and I don't believe there ever

was such a thing."
May be not," she answered coolly, tak-
ing a nail out of her mouth and driving it
into the leg of her table, but there will
be one after I grow up. But do you want a dog-
house ? My papa will be home after five o'clock."
I can't wait that long. Can't you really make
one ? "
"I never did," repeated the carpenter, but
there is the slate. You 'd better write what you
want on it, and when papa comes home he can tell
me how to make a dog-house. I should like to
make one."
The slate hung by the door. Hal took it down
and sat on a broken chair to write. He thought,
as he did so, that if he was a carpenter he would
mend all the broken chairs in his shop.

SI don't know what to write," he said.
"Say you want a dog-house," the carpenter
promptly replied.
So Hal wrote: "'I want a dog House."
Is that enough?" he asked.
Of course not," the carpenter said; "people
always say how big they want things."
I don't know how big it ought to be," and Hal
looked d .-.i '.. il, at her.

1; '

,,-
i -

'-"---::::

'"I AM THE CARPENTER/ SHE REPLIED."
"Two feet by twenty," and she held up her
table, which now had three legs, and, with her
head on one side, she looked at it critically.
"Do you mean twenty feet high and two feet
broad ? "
I suppose so."
Nonsense," said Hal, ., f.-!i 1.;..1:i,. a moment.
"You don't know how high twenty feet would
be !"
The other way would do just as well, then,"
said the carpenter. Two feet high and twenty
broad."
Why, this room is n't twenty feet long, I am

[JANUARY,

230

I I

HOW HAL WENT HOME.

sure," said Hal. I don't think you can know the
sizes of things very well."
I told you I never made a dog-house," re-
turned the girl; and if you can't wait until papa
comes, I don't know what you will do."
Hal held the slate in his hand and reflected.
Then the carpenter made a suggestion. She
said:
"You might measure your dog, and then the
house would be sure to fit."
So I might," said Hal. Perhaps that would
be the best way. I should n't like to have a house
made, and then find the dog could n't get into it."
Is he a very large dog?" asked the girl.
I don't know," replied Hal. I have n't got
him yet."
At this, the girl laughed.
Of course, I expect to have him," said Hal, a
little warmly, "and he will be big, I suppose. 1
thought I had better get the house made first, and
then it would be all ready."
But you could n't know what size it ought to
be," the carpenter remarked.
There must be a usual size," said Hal, "and
your father would know what that is."
Of course he would," replied the carpenter,
confidently. "Suppose you stop here to-morrow."
Oh, I can't do that. To-morrow I must ride
home from school. But I '11 come on Saturday."
And so it was settled. Hal hung the slate up
again, but he left his message on it, and then he
bid the girl good-bye, and started for home.

Hal never knew how it happened, but the shop
must have stood at the corner of some of the
streets that come together, three at a time, on the
Ridge Road, for, instead of going on the same
street toward Fifteenth, he soon found that he was
i .1i:, past private houses, and that the stores,
the wagons, and the liveliness of the Ridge Road'
were gone. The next surprise he had was to see the
name of "Le Conte & Haffelfinger" on a grocery
store. There certainly were not two firms of this
name, and yet one was very near his grandfather's
house. Then he looked into the grocery store, and
sure enough, there was a man with a red beard

weighing coffee, and he looked enough like Mr.
Haffelfinger to be his twin brother. So then Hal
went around the corner, and there, really and
truly, was his grandfather's house He was cer-
tainly not near his home, but when a boy chooses,
or happens, to get lost, there are worse places than
the neighborhood of his grandfather's house, and
when he goes in tired and warm, a grandmother
who gets out the cake-box and a milk pitcher is
not a bad person to meet with.
Hal told his story as he ate. He did not expect
his ......il .ri... to scold him much, for the old gen-
tleman had no such unpleasant habits, but he
really thought that if a boy could n't walk home
and ride also, at the same moment, without every-
body laughing at him, the boy was ill-used. But
he felt better when his 1. ii-,.if.ti, had old "Lar-
go" harnessed up, and drove Hal home. His
arrival in this good company may have had some-
thing to do with the facts that the boy was not
scolded much, and that the next Saturday he and
Nan were allowed to go to the carpenter's and fin-
ish the arrangements for the dog-house. One
reason-Hal felt sure of this-was because his
, ...'. If ,.... offered to pay for it.
The strangest thing of all, however, was that
Hal never could find that carpenter's shop again.
He thought he knew just where it was, but neither
he nor Nan could find it. After this, he often
walked along the Ridge Road. The stores and the
goods on the pavements were all there, but the
carpenter's shop and the carpenter's girl had dis-
appeared. He used to talk it over with Nan, his
father, and the school-boys; and although some
of the boys went to look for it, sure that they could
find it, they never did, though Hal described it
often, and never omitted the girl, the two little
steps, one broken chair, and the slate with "'I
want a dog House" written on it. The carpenter
had probably moved away, or else the shop was not
on the street where Hal thought it was. Nan and
the boys always said he ought to have put his own
name and address on the slate, and then one of
the carpenters might have sent him word; but it
is very easy for some one else to say what you
ought to have done, if you only did n't do it.

l880.1

231

THE RELAY IN THE DESERT.

THE RELAY

IN THE DESERT.

THI RELAY IN THE DESERT.'
(By fprmi-ssion of Mfessrs. Gouil &C Co.)

THIS picture of a scene in the great desert of
Africa is taken from a picture by the French artist,
G6r6me, who is celebrated for his wonderful paint-
ings of Eastern scenes, as well as for his pictures of
life in Pompeii, in the old days when that was a
great city, and its people were noted for their love
of luxury and art. Of course, as G6r6me is an
artist of the present day, he can only get his ideas
of Pompeiian life and scenery from careful study of
the pictures and sculptures which have been dis-
covered in the ruins of that city; but he has studied
so well, and with such a love for the art of by-gone
days, that he has painted pictures which are prob-
ably better representations of the people and
houses and streets of Pompeii than any of the artists
of that city ever painted themselves. He has done
so much of this peculiar kind of painting, that he is
considered a leader in what is called the Pompeiian,
or New Greek school of art.
G6r6me has also painted pictures of life in an-
cient Greece and Rome. Some of you may have
seen engravings of these, representing fights be-
tween gladiators, races, and other such scenes.

It is, however, in his pictures of Eastern scenery
and people, such as the one from which our en-
graving was taken, that we think G6rome must
be at his best, for he has lived under the burning
sun of Africa, and among the Moors and the
Arabs, and has drawn and painted his pictures of
the East from what he saw with his own eyes. Few
artists have been able to show as well as he has
shown, the strange effect of the glaring sunlight of
those regions, and the desolate and solemn appear-
ance of the wide-spreading and lonely desert
sands.
The picture above given shows one of the pe-
culiar methods of hunting in the desert. The
dogs you see are Syrian greyhounds, which are
used in Africa in hunting the gazelle. In some of
these hunts, the game runs for such a long distance
that the dogs become tired, and, as the gazelles
generally take a particular course, according to the
wind perhaps, the hunters station "relays of dogs
somewhere on that part of the desert which they
expect to pass, so that the fresh hounds can take
up the chase when the others begin toflag; just as

I -;

_ C-EoE

S --, .- : -- ... .
i-: : ---. :- : --

:~ .-.-.?:..< ?-

[JANUARY,

232

"~~~~~----"-_

i1:;.

i:jj
.II-~
;--~3n

PLUMS.

relays of horses used to be placed on the old stage- The dogs in the picture are strong and vigorous
routes, in order that the great coaches could always fellows, and they are listening and watching, as
roll along at high speed, with fresh horses every well as the man who is holding them, for some
ten miles or so. sign of the approaching hunters. We pity the
This relay business is all very well for the poor gazelles when they come sweeping around
hunters and the dogs, but it seems pretty hard on that sandy hill, and these swift hounds are let
the gazelles, who have to run just as fast as they loose to dash after them.
can until the hunt is over, without any chance of The beautifully engraved picture on the oppo-
getting rested, or of having any fresh gazelles to site page was not copied directly from G&r6me's,
take their places, but from an etching made from the painting.

PLUMS.
A Fable.

By PAUL FORT.

THERE were once two young bears, who were
very kind to each other. They were brother and
sister. The brother was named Sigismund, and
the sister was Brunetta. They used often to go
out and take walks. It was good for their health to
go about in the open air, and they frequently found
something nice to eat, which they would always
divide as nearly equally as possible. One'day, as
they were wandering through the country, they
saw a plum-tree, loaded with fruit.
Ho, ho cried Sigismund. Here is some-
thing! Look at those plums! Let us bounce up
this tree. I never saw such plums."
No, no cried Brunetta; don't try to climb
that tree. The branches are too slender, and
would break under the weight of either of us. Let
us get the plums some other way."
"You are too timid," said Sigismund. "We
have often climbed trees that were smaller and
weaker than that."
"That is true," said Brunetta, "but we were
younger and lighter, then. You forget that we are
growing every day."
That may be," replied her brother, who could
not help feeling that she was right; "but we must
have the plums."
Very true," said Brunetta. "Let us think of
some good way. We might throw stones and sticks
at them. I have seen people doing that."
So have I," said Sigismund. But it is a poor
way. You get very few plums by throwing at them.
And, besides, girls can't throw."
Brunetta did not much like this remark; but she
said nothing, for she knew she could not throw so
as to hit anything.
I '11 tell you," cried Sigismund, I have a good
plan One of us will climb up the tree a little way,

and bend down a branch and then the other one can
pick off the plums. When the one on the ground
has eaten enough plums, she can climb the tree,
and bend down a branch and let the other one
eat."
Then you intend to climb the tree first," said
Brunetta.
"Certainly I do," replied her brother, and up he
went.
The lower branch of the plum-tree was a slender
one, as Brunetta had said, and Sigismund found
it easy to bend. It came down so low, as the
young bear threw his weight upon it, that his sister,
by standing on her hind legs, could easily reach and
pick the delicious fruit, which was so ripe that much
of it dropped to the ground as the branch was bent.
It was a pretty picture to see this affectionate
young couple thus enjoying themselves. Brunetta
was in ecstasies of delight. She had never tasted
such plums, and she crammed them into her mouth
as fast as she could pick them from the branches.
As for Sigismund, he clung with his fore paws to
the branch, while with one of his hind legs planted
against the trunk, he waved the other pleasantly in
the air, and looked around at his sister with a jovial
smile.
"Eat on," he cried, "eat just as many as you
want. I can hang on here ever so long. The
branch does seem to be cracking a little, but that
does not matter. If it breaks off, we '1 get the
plums all the easier. It wont hurt me to drop.
Is n't this a good plan? And don't they taste
sweet and juicy? "
Indeed they do," said Brunetta.
She would have said more than this in praise of
the plums, but she could not stop eating long
enough. She was in a hurry to get through, so

i880.]

233

PLUMS.

that she could pull down the branch and let her
brother eat.
But just as she began to feel that she would soon
be nearly satisfied, Sigismund gave a cry, and the
smile fled from his face.
Look there! he cried; and he pointed to a
field, not far off.
Brunetta raised herself up, as high as she could,
and looked. And there she saw a man and two
dogs running toward them! The man had a
great club and the two
dogs looked very fierce. _
There was no time -- i -.
to be lost. Sigismund Ii'i-I.
dropped from the tree, ii'
and he and his sister ;'Il
scampered off as fast '- -.
as they could go. They
soon reached the for- -
est; but they got there =
none too soon, for the -
dogs were close behind -'
them. The man did
not care to venture in '
among the thick shad- I- !'''
ows of the woods,
where there might be = --_
large bears, and so he -
called off his dogs and -
went back to sec what
damage had been done
to his plum-tree.
As for Brunetta and *__ A_
her brother, they did -
not stop running until -* .
they reached the cave .' .
of their parents, where I -_._
they felt perfectly safe. .
As soon as they re-
covered their breath, ---
they told their story. .
"I think you went
too far away from "DON'T THEY TAST
home," said their father; considering that it was
in the day-time when you could be seen from quite
a distance. If there had been several men and more
dogs, they might have followed you into the woods
and killed you."
That is true," said Brunetta ; but the plums
were perfectly delicious, and Sigismund was so kind.
He held the branches down for me, for ever and

ever so long, so that I could get the plums quite
easily. We had a glorious time."
Yes," said Sigismund; it was very pleasant,
and I am glad you liked the fruit. But I did all
the work, and did not get a plum. This does not
seem quite right. And I am dreadfully hungry."
But it is not my fault," said Brunetta. "If
the man and the dogs had not come, you would
have ,bad some plums."
I know that," said Sigismund; "but I did not
get any, and there is
,_ _--. -. something very wrong
S about it, somewhere."
''. My son," said his
.i father, "didit not give
Syou pleasure to see
your sister enjoying
those plums? Was
,' not your heart filled
with generous emo-
tions as you held down
S the branches for her ? "
"Oh yes said Sig-
ismund.
1r "And did you not
feel," continued his
father, "that you were
doing a very good ac-
I tion in climbing the
tree first, and allowing
Brunetta to eat all the
-- fr uit she wanted, before
Si you had any? "
"Yes, I did," said
Sigismund.
-----" And did you not
have an idea that she
n. t w would not have been so
Steady to do all this for
S you, and that you
were, in fact, a little
kinder and a little
more generous than
your sister, and did not this idea make you feel
well satisfied with yourself and happy ? "
Sigismund was obliged to admit that it did.
Then," said his father, you ought to be con-
tent to go without plums. You can't have every-
thing."
Sigismund and Brunetta sat still for a long time,
and thought and thought and thought.

234

[JANUARY,

E

TIHE BOYS' OWN PHONOGRAPH.

THE BOYS' OWN PHONOGRAPH.

BY JOHN LEWEES.

IN winter-time, when a great part of a boy's fun
must be found in-doors, it is a good thing to know
how to get up amateur exhibitions of various kinds.
In this way, boys, and girls, too, in many cases,
can have a good time while preparing the shows,
and may also afford a great deal of pleasure to
their companions and friends, who make up the
audiences.
One of the most entertaining parlor exhibitions
which can be given at a moderate expense by a
party of bright boys, accustomed to the use of
carpenters' tools, is The Boys' Own Phono-
graph invented by Mr. D. C. Beard, who has
made the drawings which accompany this article.
The first thing necessary in the construction of
this very peculiar machine is a dry-goods box,
large enough for a boy to sit inside of it, without
discomfort. The top must be firmly nailed on,
and the two sides taken off, thus leaving nothing
but the top, bottom and two ends of the box.
The sides, each of which probably consists of two
or three pieces of board, are to serve as doors,
and therefore must be firmly fastened together by
means of cleats or narrow strips of board nailed
across them. One side of the box, which we shall
call side A, must be very strong, and will probably
require three cleats. The other side, B, which is
in front when the apparatus is in use, must now be
fastened to the box by a pair of hinges, strong
enough to sustain its weight. There should be a
hook on it, to keep it shut, when necessary.
A shelf, wide enough for a small-sized boy, with
a strong voice, to sit upon, must be attached to
side A, and should be supported by iron braces.
Strong leather straps will do, if a blacksmith is not
handy; but they must be very firmly fastened to
the shelf and to the back door of the box, as we
shall now call side A. As the small boy with a
strong voice is to sit on this shelf, it would ruin the
exhibition if the shelf were to break down, not to
speak of the damage which might be done to the
boy. Then, this back door must be fastened to the
box by heavy gate or barn-door hinges.
Two strong wooden bars or handles must now
be secured to the bottom of the box, and should
project far enough at the ends of the box, to allow
a boy to stand between them, at each end, when the
box is to be lifted or carried.
The rest of the necessary work is very easy.
A crank, or turning handle (which will turn noth-

ing), is to be fastened to one end of the box; and
two holes-about two inches in diameter-are to
be made, one in the front door, and one in the top
of the box. In each of these, a tin or pasteboard
horn is to be fastened-the one on top to be smaller
than the other.
Then, on the inside of the box, a round stick-
a broom-stick will answer-is to be placed on two
notched blocks fastened to the ends of the box, so
that it can easily be taken out of its place by the
small boy, and put back again, when occasion
requires. A tomato-can is to be stuck on the
broom-handle, so that it will look like a tin cylinder
containing something or other of importance. This
round stick, with its cylinder, is only for show; but
it must not be omitted.
;in,,,, more is now necessary but a pair of
-wooden trestles, or horses, such as carpenters use,
on which the box is to stand during the exhibition.
Having explained how to make this novel phono-
graph, I have only to tell you how it is to be used.
It is evident, from what I have said, that there is
to be a small boy in that box; and the fact is that
he is the most important part of the whole machine;
for this is only a piece of fun, intended to excite
curiosity and amusement in the audience, who may,
perhaps, imagine that there is a small boy some-
where about the apparatus, but who cannot see
where he is.
The phonograph, which should stand in a room
opening into that in which the audience is to assem-
ble, or it may be behind a curtain, must be arranged
in working order some minutes before the time
fixed for the exhibition to commence.
The way to arrange it is as follows: The back
door of the box must be opened, and the small boy
seated on the shelf. The door is then closed, the
boy going into the box as it shuts. The front door
is also shut. If the broom-handle and tomato-can
are in the boy's way, he can take them down and
put them on one side.
The professor-who is to exhibit the workings of
the machine, and who should be a boy able to
speak fluently and freely before an audience-must
now come out and announce that the exhibition is
about to begin. He should see that the wooden
horses are so placed that the box will rest properly
upon them, and should make all the little prepara-
tions which may be necessary. Then, after a few
words of introduction, he may call for his phono-

1880,]

235

THE BOYS' OWN PHONOGRAPH.

graph, and the box will be borne in by two boys, as him from the audience, as it stands open. As
you see in the first picture. soon as the Professor announces that he is about
After the bearers have walked around the stage, to open the box, the small boy must put the

BRINGING IN THE PHONOGRAPH.

so that both sides of the box may be seen by the
audience, it is to be placed on its trestles, or stands,
with the front door toward the company.
The Professor will now call attention to the fact
that the persons present have seen each side of the
box, and can see under and all around it, thus
assuring themselves that it has no connection
with ., i.;.. : outside of it, except the stands on

broom-stick in its place, if he has taken it down.
Then the Professor throws open the front door and
shows that there is nothing in the box but the rod
and cylinder which seem to be attached to the
crank. What machinery may be concealed in that
little tin cylinder, he does not feel called upon to
say.
After a few minutes for a general observation of

FRONT VIEW OF PHONOGRAPH WHEN OPEN.
which it rests. He will then proceed to open it, the inside of the box, he closes it, being very care-
taking care to open the back door first. The small ful to shut the front door first. Then the small
boy then swings back with the door, which conceals boy takes down the broom-stick, puts it out of his

236

[JANUARY,

THE BOYS' OWN PHONOGRAPH.

way, and proceeds to make himself comfortable
and ready for business.
The Professor now begins to exhibit the phono-
graph, by speaking into the horn at the top of the
box. He generally commences with a short sen-
tence, pronouncing each word loudly and clearly,
so that every one can hear them. He gives the
crank a few turns, and calls upon the audience to
be very quiet and listen, and then, in a very few
moments, the same words that he used are re-
peated from the horn in the front of the box, the
small boy within imitating, as nearly as possible,
the voice and tone of the Professor.
The exhibition may go on as long as the au-
dience continues to be interested and amused.

tempted. The box-doors should work perfectly,
the small boy should be able to sit on his shelf in
such a way that his head will never stick up when
the back door is open, and he should practice put-
ting up the broom-stick when the Professor an-
nounces that the box is to be opened. By the way,
if the box is opened several times during the per-
formance to oil the rod, or to do some little thing
to the cylinder, it will help to excite the curiosity
of some of the audience, but the Professor must
not forget that the front door must never be open
when the back door is shut. The boys who carry
the box should also carefully practice their busi-
ness, so as to set the box down properly on its sup-
ports, and to see that it is firmly placed. It may

BACIK VIEW OF PHONOGRAPH WHEN OPEN.

All sorts of things may be spoken into the box,
which, after a few turns of the crank, will be re-
peated from the mouth-piece or horn in the front
door. Various sounds may be reproduced by
means of this machine, and an ingenious Professor
and a smart small boy can make a deal of fun.
A startling final effect may be produced, if,
after the Professor has crowed into the upper horn,
the boy inside can manage, unperceived,-say by
means of a small sliding panel,-to throw out a
live, strong-voiced rooster, especially if the rooster
can be persuaded to crow as he comes forth ; still
if the rooster does n't crow, the boy may.
But it must not be supposed that an exhibition
of this kind will be successful without a good deal
of careful preparation and several rehearsals. Every
one should be perfectly familiar with his duty
before a performance in front of an audience is at-

be necessary for one or both of them to sit on the
front handles when the back door, with the boy on
it, is swung back, so as to balance his weight and
prevent an upset. But experiment will show
whether this is necessary or not.
As to the business of the Professor and the small
boy, that, of course, must be carefully studied. It
will not do to rely on inspiration for the funny
things which must be said by the Professor, and
imitated by the boy in the box. The Professor
may bark like a dog, crow like a cock, or make
any curious sound he pleases, provided he knows,
from practice at rehearsal, that the small boy can
imitate him.
The cost of the box, hinges, braces, etc., will
probably be between two and three dollars, and if
the box is painted, or covered with cheap muslin,
it will look much more mysterious and scientific.

i880o.

237

THE CHILDREN'S CLAIM.

THERE was a young lady of Brooking,
Who had a great fondness for cooking;
She made sixty pies
That were all of a size,
And could tell which was which without looking.

THE CHILDREN'S "CLAIM."

BY MARY HALLOCK FOOTE.

FROM the waters of the Arkansas, a little stream,
like a miniature canal, with a narrow path along
its bank, winds through the pine woods, past the
lonely prospectors' cabins, the charcoal pits and
camps of the wood-choppers, out into the noise and
dust and glare of a great mining camp in the gulch
below.
The miners call this little stream a ditch," as
they call the noble valley a gulch "; but swift,
bright, clear water, pure as the snows which gave
it birth, cannot be fouled by an ugly name. It is
like a ray of sunlight through the somber pine
wood; swiftly it glances past the blackened wastes
where the forest fires have left their foot-prints, as
if glad to leave such desolation behind it. In the
shades of the deep woods it steals along, and seems
to still its ripples as if to listen to the grand music
of the pine-trees' breath.

It gives a friendly sparkle as it passes the outly-
ing cabins, where children gather at its brink.
With the current, my little man," it whispers,
with its merry ripple, to a lad who stoops to fill his
water-pail. With the current, if you would not
lose your pail and your balance, and perhaps your
temper, too."
Carefully, carefully over those loose, rough
logs," it murmurs, as it slides under a bridge, and
glances upward at a pretty young mother who
trips across with her baby in her arms. My bed
is smooth enough for me, but it might be too rough
for the wee girlie in your arms And so her papa
is living alone on the mountain, digging a hole
with nothing but disappointment at the bottom.
If it is gold he must have, I could tell him-but,
would it make you any happier, little mother ?"
The stream, you see, was both merry and wise.

[JANUARY,

238

THE CHILDREN'S CLAIM

It could prattle, and it could keep its own counsel,
too.
But its play days ended, as all our play days end,
sooner or later, in the work that is waiting for us.
Sometimes, it is work we would never choose for
ourselves. I can hardly believe the little stream
very much enjoyed the work which awaited it down
in California gulch, where the hungry gold-seekers
forced it to help them sift the precious grains from
those of common earth.
It did not enjoy it, still it did it without grum-
bling, knowing that other work, and better, would
come to it soon enough. How it may have laughed
to itself, i."'i i..- of the treasures of the mountains
whose secrets were its own by birthright,-secrets
these anxious gold hunters would give, if not their
own lives, the lives of a good many other people,
perhaps, to know For our little stream, although
the miners called it a ditch,"-though it was no
respecter of persons, and gave water to a worn-out
stage-horse turned out to die, quite as readily as to
the capitalist who had just put his millions in a
mine ; though it lent itself to very common uses,-
even washing the clothes of the camp and the
faces of dirty children,-was of royal birth Its
mother, the Arkansas, was a daughter of the great
snow-covered range, whose calm, white brows are
lifted, overlooking the continent, and telling the
rivers which way to run.
Is it likely they do not know all about the gold
and silver locked in the treasure-chambers of the
mountains ? Our little stream may have heard the
secret whispered over the tops of the pine-trees,
when the great winds wandered from peak to peak
at twilight, and the cloudy curtains sank over the
heads of the giant dreamers. But now I must tell
you what the stream helped two little children to
do. Their own good hearts told them to do it,
but when the good thought came, the little stream
was ready to help them turn it into deeds.
These children, like the stream, had known a
good deal of play and a little of work in their lives,
but they were not of royal birth. I do not believe
there are any disguised or stolen princes or prin-
cesses in the woods about that mining camp in the
gulch; but Nanny Peerie's eyes could not have
been bluer, nor her dark locks more curly, nor her
cheeks redder under the sun-tan, if she had been
the daughter of a hundred earls, instead of the child
of one not very prosperous teamster called Ben
Peerie. Nanny's brother, Alec, was sandy-haired
and freckled, with light hazel eyes, and a broad,
merry smile.
They were both stout and tall for ten and twelve
years, and this was fortunate, just because life was
not all play-time to them. Ben Peerie, the team-
ster, had laid down his "jack-rein and "snake-

whip," and taken up the miner's pici; and shovel.
He had built a rude hut on the edge of the timber
line, where the sparse and stunted firs show how
hunger and cold can cripple the life of a tree, as
well as of a man. Here he spent his time and
strength sinking a "prospect hole," where he
daily expected to uncover a fortune.
Sometimes, he felt tired and discouraged, and
two or three days would pass while he lay around
his cabin and smoked, and the hole grew no
deeper. Sometimes, he tried to "sell out," and
hoped for better luck in another spot; but no
one seemed anxious to buy his prospect. So he
continued to dig, and smoke, and dream of fut-
ure wealth. Meantime, Jane, his wife,-a slender
woman with Alec's hazel eyes and smile (both less
bright than they had been a few years before),
took in washing, by which she supported herself
and the children, and supplied Ben with the food,
tobacco, and clean clothes on which his hopes
were fed.
The children packed water for their mother,
and carried the bundles of clothes to and fro
through the town, besides being generally helpful,
and cheery to look at. When they were not to be
seen, the mother was seldom troubled about them.
The pine woods were near, and they spent many
happy hours there. They had their own pros-
pect holes," and their own visions of hidden treas-
ure awaiting the lucky touch; but they faithfully
performed all the humdrum tasks at home, before
entering the dream-world of the forest.
Now, for days of the dry and windy summer,
the forest-fires had been roaming around the hills,
showing like a cloud by day, and a pillar of fire
by night. They were watched by the town in the
gulch, by the mines on the hills, by the outlying
cabins and camps, and as the wind veered to the
south, or west, or north, anxiety sharpened the
watch. Now it was the timber men in Frying-pan
gulch who were threatened, or the charcoal-burn-
ers in the Arkansas valley; now the little camp of
Oro in the hills, or the big camp in the gulch, or
cabins west of it, which stood against a redder sun-
set than had lit the pine woods for many a year.
Men were sent out to "back-fire"; and along
the course of the stream, as it entered the forest,
a picket guard of fires sent up their red light by
night and their smoke cloud by day. All the well-
known camps and cabins were watched and
guarded, but there were many wandering sheep
from that great fold in the gulch. Many solitary
cabins lent their glow to the night fires that lit the
silent stream on its way, and no one but the stream,
perhaps, could have told of the grim watch kept
by some shelterless outcast over the ashes of his
"last chance."

188o.]

239

TIE CHILDREN'S CLAIM.

Nanny and Alec had their own claim," as they
called it, about half a mile distant in the woods.
It was a patch of young pines, growing thickly to-
gether, where, twenty years before, the larger trees
had been cut. Here and there a fallen log served for
a seat, where they often sat and listened to the wind
surging up from the valley, like the surf on a dis-
tant shore. They called the young pines their
Christmas trees, and amused themselves for hours,
gathering such treasures as the woods afforded,
and hanging them on the branches of their pet
trees, with bits of string, treasured in Alec's pocket
for that purpose.
Every day, when work was done, they hurried
into the forest to see if their claim was still safe
from the fires.
One morning, a miner, driving his donkey
loaded with grub" along the ditch, saw two
children sitting on a fallen and blackened log,
gazing at the burnt waste around them. He won-
dered what they were doing so far in the woods
alone, and, seeing their faces were troubled, asked
if they had lost their way.
"No, sir," the girl replied. But this was our
'claim,' and the fires have burnt it all up "
He smiled to himself as he passed on, for he had
children of his own in a little prairie town of
Illinois.
Never mind," said Alec, I know where there
are lots more Christmas trees just as nice as these.
We can locate somewhere else."
I sha' n't ever like any other place so well as
this one," Nanny replied, kicking to pieces with
her foot the charred likeness of a slender pine twig.
"There will be people there, asking questions-
,or something! Alec, did you ever see that cabin
before ?"
It stood just across the log road, which separated
it from the burnt waste, with the heavy woods be-
hind it.
I knew 't was there, but there did n't seem to
be anybody livin' in it. You could n't see it'less
you was close to it."
I wonder if it 's empty We might live in it
ourselves, if it is !" cried Nanny, springing up with
a brightening face.
Here 's his prospect-hole-guess he did n't
find anything, and quit."
"Who?" said Nanny.
"Why, the feller that built the cabin. This
was his hole, don't you see, and he 's cleared out
and left 'em both."
May be he was afraid of the fires. Oh, Alec!
Suppose we had a real house of our own, and had
to see it burnt up That would be worse than los-
ing our claim."
A heap worse. But we're not likely to have a

house of our own very soon, 'less we jump this
feller."
They were at the edge of the prospect-hole,
gazing down into it, and Alec was listening for the
thud of a stone he had dropped.
It's awful deep He must 'a' worked here
'most all summer, if he worked alone. Think how
many times he must 'a' filled that bucket, and
climbed out, and hauled it up after him, and every
time, I s'pose, he hoped he 'd find something Pop
says it wears a man out, this waiting' and waiting. "
"What does he do it for, then? said Nanny.
"I don't believe mother wants him to. Did n't
you hear a noise then ? "
Heard it before, but I thought you'd be fright-
ened, so I did n't say anything. Sounds like some
one groanin'."
"There is some one in the cabin, Alec! May be
he 's sick, or hurt, or something Do you s'pose
he could hear what we said about taking his
cabin?" whispered Nanny, as they neared the
door.
What if he did? If he gets well, he wont be
'fraid of us; and if he does n't, he wont care."
Oh, hush-do He 's there, and he is sick "
Nanny was peering through the door, which
stood open. A broad beam of sunlight crossed the
gloom of the low, square cell,-for it could hardly
be called a room,-and fell with a ruthless glare
upon the face and head of a man lying on a bed
of logs, placed side by side on the floor, with a few
withered pine boughs and old blankets tossed over
them. He had writhed himself about until his
head rested on the dirt floor, but still the sunbeams
pursued him. They showed with startling distinct-
ness the swollen, discolored face, and the matted
beard and hair which straggled over it. Both chil-
dren held back a moment, for the man was a hide-
ous picture of misery. Then Nanny whispered:
Shut the door He don't like the sun."
Should they shut themselves in, with dirt and
gloom and squalid sickness, or outside, in the clear,
pure sunlight, and leave him ?
The little stream turned its bright eye upon the
children, as they hesitated a moment at the door.
Who can tell what secret understanding there may
have been between it and the night winds which
blew up the fires and laid bare the children's
claim? For many days and nights it had been
telling the story of the sick man, alone in his cabin
in the woods, but few listened and no one under-
stood. The claim was a waste, and the pretty
Christmas trees were dead; but Christmas means
something better than hanging playthings on a
tree. The real meaning of Christmas had come to
the children on this hot summer day, as they stood
at the sick man's door. So they shut themselves

240

[JANUARY,

i88o.j THE CHILDREN'S CLAIM'. 241

in with him. Nanny refolded smoothly the old tried to move them, and then rolled his head from
coat which served him for a pillow, and together side to side and moaned.
they lifted his head and laid it upon it. He could Perhaps he wants a drink," said Alec. "That

II
.

.. .. ....

.iII ,

not open his eyes, for his face was fearfully swollen pail looks as if it had n't had any water in it for a
and covered with unsightly red blotches. His lips, week."
too, were swollen and cracked with fever. He The sick man made an eager gesture toward
i ,,,,
N _' ' ".
.._, ":

SB;BP..Eri$lB ;-:;-.."~k ": .:'--'_2" .l~~fl~ F~~~;:~
"' ,, ,,
a. - . ,,
no pnhs ys o hsfc a faflyswle allok si i a adaywtr ni o
an cvee wthusihty e boths.Hi lp, ee.
o wr wle n rce ihfvr e h ikmnmd negrgsuetwr

VoL. VII.--7.

THE CHILDREN'S CLAIM.

the pail. The children took it to the stream. If
they had brought it back filled with the gold he
had sought so long, how bitterly he would have
spurned it for one mouthful of the water, which, all
summer, had been flowing unheeded past his door !
Would you like us to send for a doctor to see
you ? Nanny asked, when they had given him a
drink, and set the pail and cup within his reach.
He muttered something about pardner and
" Stray Horse gulch," he paid no heed to Nanny's
second question about the doctor, but continued
his incoherent mutterings; the words pardner"
and Stray Horse," recurring from time to time.
Have you got a partner, and is he at Stray
Horse gulch? Do you want us to send for him? "
He shook his head with a fierce laugh which
made his face more hideous than before.
The children could make nothing of his mut-
terings, and very soon he seemed to fall asleep, or
into a kind of stupor,-for his eyes were always
closed,-and then the brother and sister stole away,
shutting out the sunlight.
"Now, see here," said their mother, when they
had finished their long story, "it was the right
thing for you to do. I don't find any fault with
what have you done; but you 've run a terrible
risk.
"We don't know what kind of sickness he 's
got, it may be measles, there 's plenty of it 'round,
or it might be something a great deal worse. I
don't want you both sick on my hands, they 're
full enough as it is, so just keep away from that
cabin after this I don't want you to go any-
where near it! I '11 tell the doctor about him
when I go in town to-night. Now, eat your sup-
pers and be quick about it! "
She got up with a sigh, and they saw that she
looked worried and tired.
Can't I carry the basket in for you to-night,
mother ? Alec asked, so you need n't go? "
"I 've got to go, I tell you," she answered, with
a sharpness quite unlike her usual manner, I
want to get some money for father." She gave
the quick sigh again, and then kissed them both,
with a hand on the shoulder of each. Don't be
running out and getting cold, and be sure to go
to bed early."
The forest fires mounted high that night behind
the pines west of the Peerie cabin. The children
watched them from the door, and then climbed to
the path beside the ditch, from which they could
look far into the heart of the stricken forest.
From the direction of the fires, they saw that the
sick man's cabin must be in their track, and they
looked at each other with terror in their eyes.
Mother said we must n't go there again,"
whispered Nanny, a tremor of doubt in her tone.

'"Mother would n't see a man burnt up before
her face and eyes, I guess; you 'd better not come
Nan; but I 'm going to see."
Alec ran ahead, and Nanny followed more slowly,
for the path by the ditch was narrow, and all the
light came from the red glare before her, which
half-blinded her eyes.
At a turn in the channel, she came upon the belt
of fire, extending as far as she could see, along the
windward side of the stream. These fires had been
started for the purpose of laying waste a strip of
the forest on the track of the advancing fires from
the valley, so that when they came to it they might
be checked for want of fuel. They were hurrying
on with a terrible confederate (the wind) at their
back, while the defensive fires being started against
the wind, were thus prevented from becoming un-
manageable.
There was a guard of men in charge of the fires,
lest the wind should shift and turn them into a foe
instead of an ally; they were lounging on the
ground, watching the leaping, restless flames in
silence, like the silence which falls upon people
who watch the motion of a brook, or a fountain or
a water-fall; a motion always changing, and yet
repeating itself, and with a continuous voice of its.
own. The fires had a voice, as changeful and vio-
lent as their movements. It was crackling laugh-
ter when the flames leaped and clung to a dry
pine-bough, half-way up the trunk, whirling its.
torch against the darkness, and then dropping it in
a shower of sparks, while the steadier flames coiled
up the trunk, waiting for another spring; it rustled
and hissed like a serpent in the underbrush,-it
roared among the dry, heaped boughs, and mut-
tered, as it blinked and flickered in the embers,
licking up the least morsels of its feast.
The men were very rough-looking, but their
silence and their quiet attitudes encouraged Nanny
to ask them if they had seen her brother pass.
One of them looked at her a moment, and took
his pipe from his mouth to say:
There was a boy came this way with a story
'bout a sick man down in the woods. Two of our
fellers went along with him."
Yes, that 's Alec," said Nanny; which way
did they go?"
Why, you can't foller 'em, sissy! They had
to go considerable ways down to git across the
fires. Had n't ye better run home ? "
Oh no, please mother 's away and it's too'
lonesome!"
She sat down on a fallen log, shivering, not so.
much with cold, as with excitement and a vague
terror of the scene. It was indeed a wild and
beautiful sight, that long lane of fire, with the
stream at one side, reflecting its red splendor, the

242

[JANUARY,

TIE CHILDREN'S CLAIM.

forest behind it, and rolling up against the sky,
that heavy,cloud of smoke, lurid with the flames
hidden in its folds. The tall pines standing oppo-
site the fire looked as if painted on the black sky in
pale, gray light; the wind rocked them to and fro,
and long, surging sighs swept through all their
spectral branches; the fire, blown back by the
wind, reached its baffled hands toward them across
the dividing stream and roared hungrily. It was
Saturday night, the miners and prospectors from
the hills were gathered into the town in the gulch,
filling it with discordant noises; tramping of heavy
boots on the board side-walks, hoarse shouting,
and bursts of music, softened by the distance. A
huge, -..Ill....11 -'i o.i.i..[ tent, called the Great
Western Amphitheater," seemed the center of the
revelry. Nanny thought of the sick man, alone in
his cabin, and wondered if, in all that noisy crowd,
there was no one who missed him. It seemed to
her very dreadful that the town should be giving
itself up to merriment, with such a terrible enemy
at its back. If she had been older, she might have
taken comfort from the l1...,, 1, that the empty
voices are the loudest, and that our ears cannot
hear the busy silences, which are full of help and
sympathy.
"Here, take this! the man said, tossing to-
ward her the coat he had been lying on. You're
Mrs. Peerie's little gal, aint ye? She done my
washin' for a spell after I first come, but I 've got
my own woman along now. It 's a heap better.
I've got a young one about your size,-only, my
gal 's a boy."
Is he any of your folks? "
"Who?" asked Nanny.
"The sick man," pointing over his shoulder
toward the woods.
Oh, no We just happened to find him; we
don't even know his name."
Pretty rough My name 's Kinney; you ask
your ma if she don't remember me; she washed a
pair o' pants for me once; I paid her a dollar, 'n'
they wus worth it; never shrunk a bit! "
Black figures were now seen coming along the
path; sharp touches of light soon began to show
on their faces, and Nanny recognized Alec first;
then two men followed, bearing a burden between
them. They laid it down near a group of men
waiting below.
The man who called himself Kinney got up and
strolled toward this group, while Alec, running past
him to meet Nanny, exclaimed:
There 's a man down there, who knows him,
says his name 's Bill Lauder. Come along and see
what they 're going to do with him "
A tall, sandy-bearded man was bending over the
bundle of blankets, saying in a slow, careless voice :

What gits me is, Bill's pardner up to Stray
Horse told me only yist'day that they 'd quit, and..
Bill had put out for ole St. Jo to see his wife
and young ones."
Bill aint got any wife, now, nor young ones
neither," said another voice. "The typhus cleaned
him out more 'n' a year ago."
"Wal! I 'lowed I'd cheered that myself. This
here 's a game that needs watching Take him
'long to my cabin, boys; I'll go in to see the doc-
tor 'bout him."
"He 's terrible sick," said one of the two
bearers, who stood near. The others had quickly
dispersed at sight of the face, half concealed by
the blankets. He's got small-pox onto him, or
measles, anyhow. He don't know nothing does
he ?"
"No, he don't. Take him'long to my bunk!
I' ve had small-pox, 'n' if I did n't have measles, I
can't git 'er no younger. Pick him up easy "
The bearers took up their unconscious burden
and walked on in uncomfortable silence.
Jane Peerie had very little to say to the children's
story that night. She sighed her little, quick sigh:
Well, I can't say as you 've done anything but
what's right, and if trouble comes of it, I suppose
it 's our share."
She came to them after they were in bed and
kissed them both good-night again.
"Why, mother!" Nanny suddenly exclaimed.
SIt 's Saturday night Where 's father ?"
"He stayed in town to see his partner."
"Why I did n't know he had one "
Well, it's something new. It was only yes-
terday they fixed things up between them."
Who is he, mother? "
"I don't know his name. He came from the
camp at Stray Horse gulch."
I wonder," whispered Nanny, as the mother
turned away, if it could be- ."
"Oh, fudge! said Alec. "You 're always
wondering. I guess there 's more 'n one man in
Stray Horse gulch "
But Nanny continued to wonder, and one day
she wondered with some reason. They had wan-
dered to the deserted prospect-hole and the heap
of ashes and charred logs which had been the sick
man's cabin. They were poking about among the
fragments of a pine stump, hunting for pieces of
charcoal straight and long enough to mark with,
when they came upon a tin tobacco-can.
Opening it, they found within a stout leather
wallet, which was stuffed with bank-bills, much
soiled and crumpled, a few gold pieces, a watch,
and some articles of rather common jewelry. It
looked quite a precious store to the children.
They must belong to him," said Alec, They

188o.]

243

THE CHILDREN'S CLAIM

often talked about their sick man, and always
called him Him."
"This must have been his bank; 't was a pretty
safe one, was n't it? "
They took the wallet home to their mother, and
the next day she carried it to the cabin where Bill
Lauder was being nursed. The tall, sandy man,
whose name was Keeler, said that Bill had got well
' 'mazin' sudden after all." He was res'less, 'n'
wanted to put off somewheres-did n't keer much
where. He war looking' for a pardner o' his-and
fact is, ma'am, I could n't tell you now where Bill
is You jist keep that there pile, Mis' Peerie, and
I '11 let Bill know where to go for it when I hear
from him. I know well enough what he 'd do with
it if he was here. He 'd jest sling it at them young
ones o' yourn, what picked him out o' the fire, or
he aint the kind o' chap I take him for! "
Mrs. Peerie laughed in a rather nervous way.
She took the "pile" home with her, and put it
safely away. The next day, both children were
taken sick with the measles. Three weeks of trou-
ble followed, and poor Jane was tempted some-
times to feel that it was a little more than their
share. The children were very ill. Her work took
her away from them a good deal, and in her ab-
sences the fire would get low, and the children took
cold. With all this care, there was an added anx-
iety in the fact that she had neither seen her hus-
band, nor heard from his camp on the mountain,
since the Saturday night she had furnished him
with her last earnings, for the partnership.
One day, early in the fourth week, he walked
into the cabin. He looked rather haggard, as if
with illness or anxiety; but the expression of his
face was more bewildered than unhappy. If Jane
Peerie had ever seen a picture of Rip Van Winkle
awakening from his long sleep on the mountain,
her husband's face would have reminded her of it,
as he seated himself by the fire, stretched out his
legs, and looked about him.
What the children sick, too ? "
"Why, yes, Ben I sent word to you a week
ago that they had the measles."
So you did-I remember now-but I s'posed
they 'd be around before this. Well, I 've et my
last meal in that shanty up there."
What's happened to you, Ben? You look so
queer! "
Well, I feel queer I 've been feeling' uneasy
for a good while, but things have took a most on-
expected turn with me. It 's as if I 'd got started
on a down grade, goin' like thunder, an' the brake
would n't pull a pound, 'n' just as I was gittin'
ready to jump, the whole outfit went sailin' round
the turn, every mule in line and the load as steady
as a church steeple "

Well, I can't see what you 're trying' to get at."
Sit down, little woman, and I 'lI tell you.
What 'd you say if I was to quit prospectin', and
go back to teamin' ag'in ? "
"Ben That 's just what I've been praying for
these six months."
"Why did n't you tell me so, then."
Well, I did n't want you to give up your way
till you was sick of it-because, if you did, and
things went wrong, you might throw it up at me
that I had stood in the way of your doing better."
"Well, I guess you was about right, as you
usually are. I 'm sick enough of that hole up there,
anyhow."
But what's become of your pardner ? "
That's more 'n I can tell you. I know it took
just about what was left of that money you scraped
up, to git him to Denver last Monday week. He
was clean busted, he said,-had n't but two nickels
of his own. You see, for every dollar I put up
he was to go two, because my summer's work was
thrown in, and, if we struck it, he was to have half.
Well, that looked square; but his money was all
in Denver, and he wrote an' wrote, an' it did n't
come. He spent most of his time trampin' back
an' forth to town. He seemed dreadful uneasy,
an' finally nothing' would do but he must go 'n'
look after it. He'd been gone a week Monday 'n'
nary sign from him. I began to feel peculiar my-
self. It was my turn to go trampin' in town and
stand in the line at the post-office. I did n't let on
to you, Janey, 'cause I knew you 'd be worried-I
was worried myself. It hurt me a good deal to
have your money fooled away like that. I never 'd
'av' asked for it, only I hated to throw away all I'd
put into the hole. And I could n't go on with
it alone. You aint in a hurry 'bout anything,
are you ? Seem to be fidgetin' in your chair
some."
"I wish, Ben, you 'd tell me how it 's all
ended."
Did n't I tell you we cleared the curve, just as
I was shakin' loose for a jump? 'Twas about
Wednesday noon there came to the cabin a tall,
bony man, rather peaked looking with big black
eyes, 'n' he says:
Kin I see your pardner, Cantripp ?' "
"'No, you can't,' ses I, 'n' then I told him
about the trip to Denver.
"He smiled a curus sort of smile, and then he
says:
I reckon I know Cantripp better 'n you do, if
you expect to see him agin.'
He set to then 'n' told me his whole story. Can-
tripp 'n' he 'd prospected together for more 'n a
year and had some luck till they stuck on that hole
back there in the woods. He got sick with the

[JANUARY,

244

THE CHILDREN'S CLAIM.

measles-had 'em awful bad-crazy with 'em-and
Cantripp left him alone in the cabin there, 'n' give
out that he 'd gone home to Missouri. Hooked
his pile, too, 'n' some trinkets-- "
"No, they 're all here! The children found
them close by the prospect hole "
"Great sign! What'11 them young ones do
next. Lauder-Bill Lauder, his name is-told me
all about 'em.
"'Peerie,' says he, their name was,' looking'
at me with that queer smile of his.
My name 's Peerie,' says I.
So I've heered,' says he. 'T would be queer
now, would n't it, if you should turn out to be the
father o' that boy and gal.' So we shook hands
on it."
They 've got the measles of him, you know."
"Yes! I concluded as much, but I did n't let
on to him, as they was anyways the worse for what
they 'd done. He 's made it all square, I guess.
He 's bought me clean out; give me a check on
the bank for a clean fifteen hundred for the old
cabin, and the hole, and what 's to come out of it.
I say I'm well quit! What do you say, little
woman ? And I aint goin' to shove it down no
more prospect holes neither."
One day, a few months later, when Mrs. Peerie
was hanging out her wash," the shadow of a man's
hat and shoulders crossed the white sheet she was
pinning up. She turned quickly and saw a tall,
bony, black-eyed man,-" rather peaked-lookin',"
she said to herself, remembering her husband's
description of Bill Lauder.
"Hope I did n't scare ye, ma'm My name's
Lauder. P'r'aps you 've heered it before."
Yes, indeed!" said Jane Peerie, with a quick
smile. Come in, Mr. Lauder. We 've got some
of your property waiting for you here."

"'T was on account of that same property I
come here to-day, ma'am."
He took the chair Mrs. Peerie offered, and tilted
himself about on it rather uneasily when he talked.
"You see, my pardner was a keerful man.
He knew I could n't look after my truck, bein'
sick, so he 'lowed he 'd put it in a safe place,-
only, ye see, he forgot to tell me where 't was.
Howsomever, them young ones o' yourn found it.
So I 've heered"-
There was silence a moment.
I dunno as them child'n 'd be any better off if
they had money, but if they would, I wish my pile
was bigger."
He rose and stood by the door, drawing his large
forefinger up and down a crack in the panel.
"'Cause what 's mine is their, you know,
ma'am, after what they've done for me. I aint no
family of my own. Them rings and the locket,-
I dunno but I '11 take them 'long with me. They
belonged to my wife. But the money I aint no
particular use for, and the watch I 'd like that boy
o' yourn to pack round when he gits big enough.
The money 'd better go to the girl. Boys ought
to earn their own money."
The children running in, a few minutes later,
met Mr. Lauder on the door-step. He took hold
of the boy's shoulder with a hard grip, and looked
in his face a moment, but the little girl's hands he
held in his, stroking them softly.
He did not speak a word to either, and when he
had gone, the children questioned their mother
about the stranger.
We have just heard all that she told them. The
little stream could have told the story and finished
it much better than any one else; but its stories
are very long,-so long that most of us think we
are too busy to listen to them.

-'" -- i ,

S/^~-~~~"~-~----~-;.M^ J"^

x88o.1

245

-- I

246

Sow, sow, sow,
So the farmers sow!
Busy, busy, all the day,
While the children are at play,
Stowing, stowing close away
Baby wheat and rye in bed,
So the children may be fed,
So, so, so.

Sew, sew, sew,
So the mothers sew!
Busy, busy, all the day,
While the children are at play,
Sewing, sewing fast away,
So the children may have frocks,
Trowsers, coats, and pretty socks,
So, so, so,

Sow, sew, so,
So they sow and sew;
S, and 0, and W,
This is what the farmers do;
Put an E, in place of O,
This is how the mothers sew,-
So they sow and sew for you,
So without the W,
So, so, so.

A STRANGE MUSIC.

BY Louis C. ELSON.

N THAT one evening, Maud
F* I and Arthur were tired of
Their music lessons. It was
not that they were either lazy
or incapable, but they had
Reached an era in their prac-
ticing which comes at least
once to every boy and girl,
in studying piano music,
when the work loses its flavor, and can be pushed
further only by real perseverance and grit."
Besides, a reaction had set in. They had been
studying with great zeal to be able to display their
newest pieces to their Uncle Herbert, on his re-
turn from China. Maud had learned the whole of
Schumann's first Album, and Arthur had almost
learned Kullak's "Kinderscenen." Uncle Her-
bert was very fond of music, and, though he had
not seen them since their babyhood (Maud was
four and Arthur two when he went away), he had
sent a sum of money to their mother, asking her
to apply it to their musical studies: and that was
why they had overworked since they had heard,

four months before, that he was coming home.

: I am getting tired of practicing," said Arthur
confidentially to his sister. I've been cramming
awfully on that Kullak set, and our old piano is
getting almost 'tin-pan-y.' Every time I play to
Harry Somers, he asks me if I can stand the tone
of that piano all the time."
I know that, Artie," said the more quiet
Maud. Edith says something very much the
same to me, but I don't mind it-much. Still, I
know I shall be dreadfully nervous, after all my
practicing, when I play to uncle."
"Pooh! answered Arthur, you 've got it
easy enough. You stretch an octave, and Mr.
Lichtenstein lets you use the pedal, which he won't
let me do, and he always praises you, and calls me
'careless.' I 'm the one to be scared."
But neither of them was scared, when, instead
of a severe old man, they found their uncle a
hearty, young-looking, good-humored fellow, who
never said a word about music the first few days he
was with them, but entered into their sports,
gave Maud a pair of Chinese ladies' slippers
which she scarcely could cram even her toes into;
made an enormous dragon kite for Arthur, and,

[JANUARY,

A STRANGE MUSIC.

SOW, SEW, AND SO.

BY ROSA GRAHAM.

A STRANGE MUSIC.

in fact, in ever so many ways, was a lovable, story-
telling uncle, full of fun and cheer.
When they did play to him (he asked them if he
should "sitwith them while they practiced ") they
enjoyed it as much as he did, which was very much
indeed.
But, one day, while they were out to try the new
kite, Arthur suddenly said:
"There it's striking five, and I must go home
to practice. It's awful work."
"Why, Arthur," said Uncle Herbert, you
don't have to work as hard at your music, as a
Chinaman does at his, when he studies it."
"Do they have music away off there?" asked
the astonished Arthur.
H'm well, it's not what we might call music,
but they call it so, and love it very much."
Oh, do tell us about Chinese music," cried
Maud, who had come out in search of her uncle
and brother.
Well, I'll make an agreement with you both;
we 'It dip into musical history together, after you 've
finished practicing, every day."
Oh, that 's jolly shouted Arthur. Shall
we begin to-night ? "
"Yes. After supper we 'll see what we can find
interesting in the music of the Chinese."
That evening the family gathered to hear Un-
cle Herbert's tales of strange music. Mother
brought in her sewing, and improved her mind
and the children's stockings at the same time,
for, since their father died, it had been necessary to
economize, and she did so in time as well as in
money.
But the children sat on the lounge, one on
each side of Uncle Herbert, devoting their entire
attention to the new story which they felt sure
would be the best of all he had yet told them.
"I suppose we ought to begin at the begin-
ning," said he, "since Chinese music is said to
have been invented by a person whom you have
often read about. He was Emperor of China
about 2950 B. C., or nearly 5,000 years ago. The
Chinese called him Fo Hi, but some of our own
people suppose that he really was Noah, who
lived about that time. The Chinese also hold that
much of their music was brought to them
from heaven by a bird which they named the
' Foang-Hoang.' This was supposed to be a
very fortunate bird, which never appeared any-
where else but in China, and, whenever it came, it
brought good luck with it. It appeared whenever
a good emperor was born, and its nest was wrapped
in mystery, for no one knew where it dwelt."
Why, that's something like the Phoenix, that
the Greeks used to believe in," said Maud.
"Yes, there is a resemblance; perhaps the

Greeks borrowed their bird from the Chinese one.
This bird appeared with its mate, when Ling Lun,
by the order of the Emperor Hoang-Ti, was mak-
ing his first inventions in music. It sang to him
in six tones, while its mate also used six different
ones, making a scale containing twelve notes, just
like our chromatic scale. But the Chinese only
use five of these, and call the others 'female tones.'
In China, everything female is 1i...., i,1 to be use-
less."
'. Have n't they got topsy-turvy ideas said
Maud.
Well, in this case they are open to that suspi-
cion. The singing of the Foang-Hoang was such
beautiful music that it caused absolute goodness in
every one who heard it, andits songs had the beau-
tiful name of Tsie-ven,'-' Temperance and
Mercy.' After Hoang-Ti, came an emperor named
Chao-Hao, who invented a new mode of marking
time. He had large drums beat at various hours
of the night, to tell what o'clock it was; he com-
posed, also, many songs. The earliest emperors
all studied music, but it was with a view of teach-
ing their subjects good manners and morals. The
songs were sometimes only directions when to
plant seeds, how to catch fish, how to behave in
company, and so on. Sometimes, the words are to
keep the emperor's own duty in mind. Thus, one
begins: 'The breeze of mid-day brings warmth
and dispels sorrow; may it be the same with Chun,
may he be the joy and consolation of his people.'
"Another emperor,-Yu, the great,-used mu-
sical instruments for a very good purpose. He
placed before his palace a large and a small bell, a
drum, a tamtam, and a tambourine, and any per-
son having business with him would be admitted
on striking one of these."
What's a tamtam,' uncle? asked Arthur.
"A kind of gong. By the various sounds, he
could tell, before seeing him, the nature of his visi-
tor's business. The large bell meant that the person
was coming to complain of an injustice ; the small
one was for private visitors; the drum told that
the business was about the manners or customs of
the empire; the tamtam, a public misfortune ; the
tambourine asked for the emperor's judgment in
regard to some crime. China possessed some very
patriotic songs at this ancient date, and when, at a
later period (245 B. C.), a usurper won the throne,
he was more afraid of the music than of anything
else. He thought that, by i -i-;,.i; the people
of their good emperors, they would be encouraged
to resist him. Do you recollect anything like this
in your English history, Arthur? "
Edward I. killed the Welsh bards because he
was afraid their singing roused the people against
him," said Arthur, fresh from a recent history lesson.

l880.]

247

A STRANGE MUSIC.

Well, Tchi-chi did n't have any bards to kill;
but he ordered all the ancient books to be burned.
Especially he tried to destroy all the works of the
great philosopher, Confucius. All the instruments
of music were to be broken up and new ones made,
and in every way he tried to root out all the old
songs and tunes. Those who tried to conceal any-
thing were punished with death. And yet, many
people risked their lives in hiding their instru-
ments and books in the walls of houses and in the
ground."
"What a monster he must have been!" said
Maud.
Not in all respects ; he built the great wall of
China, which was a good thing for the country,"
replied Uncle Herbert.
But did the Chinese have many books about
music ?" inquired Arthur.
They had and have more than -any other
nation. They have whole libraries of musical
books. In the library of Pekin, there are four
hundred and eighty-two strictly musical books, and
hundreds which are partially musical. I don't
mean books of music, but histories and essays.
Hundreds of years after Tchi-chi (A. D. 640), the
Emperor Tay-tsung searched vigorously for the
books and musical instruments which had been bur-
ied and concealed, and tried to recover some of the
old style of music. He did n't succeed altogether,
and the Chinese have very little of their ancient
music nowadays. They think that the old music
must have been very beautiful, and use at their
greatest feasts whatever they have of it."
"Oh, uncle! did you ever hear any of it? "
cried both the children.
"Yes. I even tried to copy one of their old
tunes, which they sang at a 'feast of ancestors.'
They hum it, very gravely and slowly; and to me
it seems very monotonous. Play it to us, Maud."
And Maud took the scrap of paper which Uncle
Herbert gave to her from his memorandum-book,
and, going to the piano, played this:
Very slow.

"Well it 's not exactly lively, but recollect that
this is their sacred music; their popular songs are
sung in quicker style."
"But do they really enjoy such tame stuff?"
asked Arthur.
Oh yes. It is associated with their parents,
their childhood, their whole lives, and that means
a great deal; then, also, it has poetical and moral
poetry attached, which is more. I '11 tell you how
much they like it: in the last century, a number
of missionaries went to China.from France, and
one of these, Father Amiot, was a good musician.
He tried to win their good opinion by his skill on
the clavichord, the piano of those days, and the
flute. But, after playing to them the best pieces
of European music, he found that they had no
effect upon his audience, and, finally, he asked one
of his most intelligent friends, a Chinese mandarin,
if he thought that the music of Europe was not the
finest in the world. To his astonishment, the reply
was: It may be so, but it is n't made for Chinese
ears; our melodies reach right to the heart.' So
you see that what we think monotonous, is to
them of the greatest beauty, while what we think
beautiful, fails to delight them. But their pop-
ular tunes have some melody; only the people
insist on singing them through the nose, and as
'caterwauly' as possible, besides making all kinds of
din with gongs, drums, etc., so that the real melody
scarcely can be distinguished. If it were not for
this, the Chinese tunes would be very much like
the Scotch. Here is one for you to play, Arthur;
with one hand, without accompaniment, for, you
know, the Chinese don't use harmony."
Arthur took the paper and read the following
tune :

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

-- H
-- ~P--

-- ---- Q --A -
."- --.. ---

S ---- I like that better than the other," said Maud,
emnhaticallv.

Oh how dull," said everybody in a breath,-
even mother, from her corner, joining in the cry.

"It's a question whether you would, as they
sing it. The other is sung with far more impres-
sive ceremonies. The rules are very strict in
the performance of the ancestral music; every
player and singer has to stand in a particular

248

[JANUARY,

A STRANGE MUSIC.

1^

A CHINESE DRUMMER, AND THE /uen-kou.
place,-one at the southwest, another at the north-
east, another at the north, and so on."

That is the most curious part of all. In their
-instruments they seem to have anticipated the
invention of many of our instruments, by some
*thousands of years, but, having once invented
them, they never seem to have tried to perfect
them. It is characteristic of these people to
pause at the threshold of great discoveries. Take
the organ, for example; the Chinese knew the
principle of the reed-organ 4,500 years ago, and
to-day know no more than they did then."
"What is their organ like?" eagerly asked
Arthur.
"I '11 show you. But don't expect to see a
large church-organ." And Uncle Herbert went
upstairs to his room, whence he immediately re-
turned with a bundle of papers. "Here is a draw-
ing of the Chinese organ or cheng. It has usually
twenty-four pipes of bamboo, which are inserted in
the gourd of a calabash. In each of these pipes is
a reed or tongue of gold or copper, which, by its
vibration, causes the sound, as in our cabinet
organs; beneath this reed a hole is made in the
bamboo, and when this hole is left open the air
rushes out through it without making any sound;
but when it is closed, by placing a finger upon it,
the breath is forced up the tube, compelling the
reed to vibrate, and give out an agreeable sound.
It seems incredible that, with such an instrument,

__ t .

A CHINESE BELL-RINGER PRACTICING ON THE AkiZg.

"But what instruments do they use?" asked the Chinese should not have added harmony to
the mother. "Are they at all like ours ?" their melodies, but they never have.

249

880.]

- L-- T-
:-: 2 ---- --

A STRANGE MUSIC.

CHINESE ORGAN, OR cAeigt.
Do they use pianos?" asked Arthur.
':They have an instrument whose tones are
somewhat like those of a piano or harp. It is
called the kin, and consists of silken cords, stretched
along a sounding-board. There are various sizes of

this instrument, the largest of which is called the
che; it is sometimes nine feet long, and has
twenty-five strings. Here is a picture of a per-
'former on the che."
What is the other man doing with the little
box?" asked both of the children, with much
curiosity.
"That is n't a box," replied Uncle Herbert;
.f, ;-,, *

T.I TITLE tlo-koZu, OR DRUM ON A STICK.
"it is a sort of drum called the fo-sou, and he is
playing it, in the customary manner, with his
hands; it is filled with grains of rice, which make
it sound somewhat like a baby's rattle when it is
struck."
Well, I think the Chinese don't touch us on
drums," said Arthur. Our smallest toy drums
would beat that."
Wait a bit," said Uncle Herbert. You have
only seen one kind. These celestialss' have eight
sorts, some of which are, in every sense of the
word, hard to beat. Here are two in this old pict-
ure, which was made by a missionary, a hundred
and fifty years ago. The large drum is called the
Hiuen-Kou, and is to be struck heavily; two small
ones are suspended from the sides and are struck
lightly, as accompaniment to the big one.
They have different names, according to the side
they hang on. The little drum on a stick is the
little Tao-koi, and has a string running through
it which hangs down on each side, ending in knots
or balls. It is played at funerals, and also in con-
certs, to announce the end and beginning of vari-
ous divisions of the music. Sometimes, it is held
in the left hand and struck with the right, and
sometimes it is twirled in the hands, and this causes
the knots to rap against the faces of the drum."
"Do they play in church the organ that you
showed us? asked Maud.
"Oh, no! They like the organ to dance by
best. Their grandest religious ceremony is usually
accompanied by several instruments; but the most
important of these is an expensive instrument,
called the 'ing. It is made of stones cut in proper
shapes and finely polished; these are hung on a
frame and struck with a wooden mallet. The
stones, which are very valuable and of beautiful
colors, are found near the river-banks in the prov-
ince of Yun-nan. The picture of a man practic-
ing on the king might remind one of the Swiss
bell-ringers and their apparatus."

250

[JANUARY,

A STRANGE MUSIC.

Why, all these instruments seem ingenious
and musical," said mother.
"They would be, if they were played in our

"But do the Chinese ever use any of our in-
struments? said mother, now greatly interested.
"The violin they are rather fond of, and the

PERFORMERS ON THE chC AND po-SOU.

style; but the Chinese love to add all possible
clatter and din to the tune. Gongs, drums, trum-
pets, and bells, serve to drown the melody. At

grt-konom, OR CHINESE GUITAR.

flute. But they like our music-boxes best of all;
so much so, that the manufacturers in Switzerland
make boxes with Chinese tunes, expressly for that
market, and great numbers are sold in
S China. Some Chinese are fond of the pi-
ano; and so are the people of Japan,where
-21. many music-boxes and pianos are sold, the
j empress herself being a very good pian-
ist. But, after all, music-boxes are liked
everywhere; even in the very heart of
Africa, travelers have found that it is a
sure road to the favor of a chief to give
him a music-box.
: Then, too, they have the gutt-komm,
which is the Chinese guitar, and is not very

the beginning and end of each piece, a meaning- different from some of our own stringed instruments;
less clatter of sticks and wooden utensils is kept up. and here is the samm-jin, or samm-sin, which, as
Here, for instance, is the Tcku, which is
only a mallet fastened in a wooden box,
and which is sounded by a person put-
ting his hand through the hole and giving
it a pull. It only gives an irregular 'rat-
tat-tat' against the sides of the box; but
that increases the noise, and therefore
pleases the audience. In addition to this,
each of these instruments is dear to them '
on account of the legends and symbolical
meanings which have been attached to sammI-n, oR CHIESE BANJO.
it. Even this wooden box, the Tcku, is supposed you see, is a much more primitive instrument.
to typify the advantages of social intercourse." It appears to bear about the same relation to the

l880.]

251

A STRANGE MUSIC.

gut-komm that our banjo does to the guitar. As
the picture indicates, it has three strings of catgut.
It is probable that neither of these two instru-
ments is of Chinese origin, but that both came to
China from India. The samm-jin is also a favorite

ty, OR CHINESE FLUTE.

in Japan, and it is certainly to be found in the
wedding outfit of every bride.
The fy is a good example of the kind of flutes
used by the Chinese. It is made of bamboo, and
has three embouchures, or breathing-holes, instead
of one, as our flute has.
One of the harshest of all Chinese instruments,
whose sound is sufficient to set one's teeth on edge,
is the fiddle of two strings. It had, like the samm-
jin, an Indian origin. The small sounding-board
is made of the skin of the gazelle, and the strings
are made of the intestines of that animal.
All of you will remember the excruciating toy
which the boys invented a short time ago, and
which consisted of a waxed string drawn through a
tin box. Well, the small sounding-board of this
instrument looks like that unpleasant toy, and its
tones bring it to mind yet more forcibly."
How do they write their music ?" asked Arthur,
memories of the difficulties in reading bass notes
coming over him.
They have one of their letters or hieroglyphs
for each note."
And wont they ever like our beautiful compo-
sitions?" was Maud's pitying question.
It 's not very probable, though occasionally an
enthusiast rises among them. In the year 1678 or
'79 the emperor, Kang-Hi, became infatuated with

FIDDLE OF TWO STRINGS.
European music. He studied it himself from the
missionaries; he made his courtiers study it; he
wrote a book about it; and he made his musicians
play it; but at last he saw that everybody was

bored, and desisted from forcing our gentle music
upon the poor Chinese."
The clock here joined in the conversation by
striking ten.
"Why, we are an hour beyond bed-time "
anxiously exclaimed mo-
S -3-- S their; "shall we hear the
rest to-morrow ?"
There is no 'rest,'"
said Uncle Herbert. "I have given you all I
can think of on the subject, thAt the young heads
can take in ; so this evening's history is done."
That night, Arthur dreamt that he was entertain-
ing the emperor of China with variations of "Pina-

THE tcku.

fore" played on the king, and his mother was
aroused late at night by his pounding on the wall
during his imaginary performance. But the mu-
sic lessons improved, and many an evening the
party gathered in the library to hear the music of
various nations, as Uncle Herbert had heard it in
his travels.
The crisis of dullness in
the musical studies soon
passed away, and, before
Uncle Herbert went back
to Hong-Kong, he saw his
Sniece and nephew work-
ing with zeal and pleasure
at a study which, for a
short time, had become
\irksome.
Yet it did fret them
both, a little, that their
piano was not a better
one. Their mother did
not feel able to purchase
a new one for them.. However, their affection and
good sense would not allow them to complain.
The week before their uncle's departure was a
busy one, musically, for them both; there was to

[JANUARY,

252

~j~ll~l

BLODGET'S ORDERS.

be a school exhibition in the town-hall, and
Maud was asked to perform the sixth of Mendels-
sohn's Songs without Words," and Arthur,
Mozart's Sonata in C major. How they felt as
they came before the large audience but, as
Maud said: "I saw Uncle Herbert looking at
me nervously, and I made up my mind that I
would show him I had been studying hard, at
least." And both pieces went gloriously; so that
their playmates, Edith and Harry Somers, asked:
" Did you practice those pieces altogether on your

own piano?" Neither of them heeded much
the implied slur on their little upright; but they
cared much less for the remark when, after a day's
ramble with their uncle, they came home hurriedly
to practice, and found the old piano gone, and in
its place a new grand-piano, with a large card on
the music-rack, which bore the inscription:

"To Maud and Arthur Parkbourne, in mem-
ory of the pleasant musical chats with
"Uncle Herbert."

BLODGET'S ORDERS.

BY GEORGE KLINGLE.

GRAND AUNTIE VON TIEZLE had ordered the
great family coach and partaken of luncheon, and,
at one by the clock, sat wrapped in her tippets and
flappets, for her grand nieces, the darlings, the
treasures, had put their pretty heads together, and
for what? Why, that the great family coach, with
Vixen and Spanker, should be ordered to take
them a ride.
What a tour they would make! Since Grand
Auntie von Tiezle came in possession of the great
coach, no such marvelous route had been projected.
In fact, why should it have been? Were not
Spanker and Vixen creatures of blood and mettle ?
Was not the coach a marvel of beauty and polish?
Was not Grand Auntie von Tiezle herself given
to cramps and stitches, and were any of the three
to be trifled with ?
But it was plain there was a new leaf to be
turned with the coming in of the new year. Noth-
ing was surer than that Grand Auntie von Tiezle
had ordered the coach for one o'clock, and that
Bradley, the butler, had been given to understand
that nobody need be expected till the clock struck
five-and who could tell what to make of it ?
Grand Auntie von Tiezle and her nieces were
cushioned in the great coach. Each heart was in
a flutter; each tongue was all a clatter; each horse
was at a scamper, and the wheels flew round.
Grand Auntie von Tiezle was not certain about
the time it would take to reach Crimpton; it was
usually considered a drive of an hour; everybody
thought an hour was not long, and began glanc-
ing to the right and to the left, to the left and to
the right, to note the progress on the road.
Everybody glanced carelessly, then more carefully,
then leaned forward in astonishment. Everybody

turned to look at everybody, for the coach, at that
moment, was dashing past Grand Auntie von
Tiezle's own mansion, which they had left with
Bradley and the maid servants, and had believed
to be a mile away !
"It is strange! It is odd! It is past under-
standing chimed three young voices.
Quite remarkable," said Grand Auntie von
Tiezle, lying back in the flying coach; and they
whisked around a corner; went a block and
whisked again around a corner, and, in a trifle of
time, were again dashing past Grand Auntie von
Tiezle's own mansion!
Astonishment sat on every face.
"What can be the matter? What can the
driver be doing? What can he be dreaming of?"
Impatience mingled with dismay as the horses
flew along, dust blew up, and the sashes were
at a clatter, and Blodget sat, tall and serene,
driving Spanker and Vixen on apace.
Would Grand Auntie von Tiezle ever speak to
him ? Would she ever ask him ? Would she ever
do anything but say: It is rather odd "
It is vexatious It is outrageous "
Grand Auntie von Tiezle looked in perfect dis-
may as she heard the exclamations from her nieces.
You are on the way to Crimpton, are you not,
my dears? It seems you are in need of patience."
In need of patience? On the way to Crimp-
ton ? Why, Auntie von Tiezle, we are this minute
but passing, for the fortieth time, the house from
which we started."
"Ah said Auntie von Tiezle, looking provok-
ingly through her glasses. Possibly, it is all
right, my dears. Blodget has his orders : he un-
derstands the lines- ."

88so.]

253

TIME WILL TELL.

But the road, Auntie dear, the road "
"'The road? Ah, yes, it is all correct: it is
some miles to Crimpton; I told Blodget to drive
as fast as he dared."
"But he has not started; he is yet at your
door! "
Yes? Well, he will turn the corner in a mo-
ment. You see, the roads are poor a mile beyond,
and I told Blodget to drive the proper number of
miles around the block, for I wanted him to get to
Crimpton by a smooth and easy way."
Nobody could speak. Astonishment was giving
way to fear. Had Auntie von Tiezle and the driver
on the box gone mad? But she continued, quite
sanely: It is foolish, you know, my dears, to do
things by hard ways; it is silly to drive over rough
roads when you can fly over smooth ones."
"We have lost our New Year's frolic! We
have lost our ride to Crimpton cried the voices.
Silly dears We are riding right along."
"But the road; there is a right road; there is
only one way that leads to Crimpton "
"There is only one way? Ah! How? The
real road, the right road Then we must take the
right road, must we? Then it will not do to go
by easy ways, smooth ways, our own ways ? "

"'Oh, you wicked, teasing Auntie! chimed the
voices. You mean to show us- "
That if you mean to do anything this year you
must not think about it, talk about it -- "
We see it all now-we understand it all now."
Do you want to acquire knowledge ? Then do-
not talk of books, and sigh over the covers, and
glance at the first page and the last page, and
hope to get over the difficulties, simply by riding
around the block. Great men have found it hard
to tug over! Choose where you wish to go this
year, and get on the road. Do you want to learn
to be patient, gentle, Christlike? make haste and
get on the road,-not some easy, smooth, round-
the-block road, but the real, right road; beware
this year of riding round the block when you want
to-get to Crimpton."
Then everybody understood all about it, and
Auntie von Tiezle was not mad, and the girls pro-
tested that they would not ride around the block
this year, but get on roads that led somewhere.
Then Blodget had new orders, and the wheels flew
around, and the dust blew about, and on before
went Spanker and Vixen, and everybody knows,
of course, that they were at last on the right road
to Crimpton, and what 's more, they got there !

WHICH WILL GET IT? TIME WILL TELL.

254

[JANUARY,

iSSo.] THE SPRIG OF hOLLY. 255

THE SPRIG OF HOLLY.

BY FRANK R. STOCKTON.

1. --- _- ~IE Christmas, there was a
S''.-r great scarcity of holly in
that part of the country
II -' where Colin and his little
- ) sister Dora lived. Ev-
'.-,'", "- erybody decorated their
houses with Christmas
greens, and as holly-
branches and berries were
,'. .- --l r ,. ar favorites that year, Colin
i')ra wished very much to
i. I -..1me to put up among the
.f lule;i of evergreens which their
father had arranged over the big
fire-place in their parlor at home. But not a leaf
or sprig of holly could they find.
"I tell you, Dora," said Colin, "we are too late.
All the people have been out here, and have picked
every bit of holly they could see. We ought not
to have waited so long. It is almost Christmas now,
and of course the persons who wanted holly came
and got it a good while ago. I know one thing: I'm
not going to put off picking holly, next year. I'm
coming out into the woods before anybody else."
Yes, indeed," said little Dora.
They wanted so much to find some holly, that
they did not give up the search, although they
had been 'wandering about so long. They had
found an evergreen bush with some berries on it;
but it was not holly. All at once, Colin saw a
fine twig of holly, with several great leaves and
some berries as red as ripe cherries, waving gently
about by the side of a great tree. It seemed as if
it must be the only sprig on some little bush.
Without saying a word, Colin dashed forward
toward the big tree, followed closely by little
Dora; but when they reached the holly, they
found that it was not on a bush at all, but was held
by a little dwarf, who had been waving it over his
head to attract their attention.
Hello I cried the dwarf. Don't you want a
nice sprig of holly? "
Colin did not answer at first. He was too much
astonished, and as for Dora, she just stood close to
her brother, holding tight to his hand. The dwarf
did not appear to be big enough to do them any
harm, but he was such a strange creature that it is
no wonder Colin hesitated before speaking to him.
He wore a high cap, a funny little coat, and his
breeches and shoes and stockings were all in one
piece and fitted very tightly indeed.

You do want some holly, don't you ?" he said.
Yes," said Colin, "I want some very much.
We have been looking everywhere for it, but could
n't find a bit."
"There is n't any more than this," said the
dwarf. This is the last sprig in the whole forest.
And it's splendid, too. There 's been no holly
like it in this country for years and years and years.
Look what big leaves it has, and see how bright
and shiny they are, and what a fine bunch of ber-
ries is on it! It's very different from that piece of
bush you have in your hand. That 's not holly."
I know it is n't," said Colin, but I thought it
might do, perhaps, if we did n't find any real
holly."
"But it wont do," said the dwarf. Nothing
will do for holly but holly. That 's been settled
long ago. You can have this, if you '11 pay me
for it."
How much do you want? asked Colin.
One year of your life," said the dwarf.
If Colin and Dora were astonished before, they
were ever so much more astonished now.
"VWhy-what do you mean by that?" stam-
mered Colin.
"I mean," said the dwarf, "that for one year
you are to belong to me, and do everything I tell
you to do."
I wont do that," said Colin, who had now re-
covered his spirits. It 's too much to ask."
Yes, indeed," said little Dora, clinging closer
to her brother.
"Well, then," said the dwarf, "what do you
say to six months ? I will let you have the sprig
for six months of your life."
'"No," answered Colin, that 's too much, too."
"How would a month suit you?" asked the
dwarf. That 's not a long time."
Indeed it is a longtime," answered Colin. I
should think it was a dreadfully long time, if I had
to do everything you told me to do, for a month."
Yes, indeed said little Dora.
"Well, then," said the dwarf, "suppose I say a
week. Nothing could be more reasonable than that.
I 'II let you have this splendid sprig of holly,-
the only one you can get anywhere,-if you will
agree to belong to me for only one week."
"No," said Colin.
"A day, then," said the dwarf. "I 'II let you
have it if you '11 be mine for one day."
Colin did not answer. He stopped to think.

1880.]

THE SPRIG OF HOLLY.

255

256 HE SRIGOF HLLY JANARI

What could the dwarf want with him for one day?
He might tell him to do something very hard and
very wrong. Perhaps he would make him commit
a burglary. That could be done in less than a day.
While this conversation was going on, two little
dwarfs, much smaller than the one with the holly-
sprig, were crouching behind a mound of earth on
which the larger dwarf was standing, and endeav-
oring, in all sorts of ways, to catch Dora's eye.
They had a doll-baby, which they held up between
them, trying to make her look at it. They seemed
unwilling to show themselves boldly, probably be-

earnest little creatures, and directly Colin looked
up and said:
"No, I wont agree to it for a day."
"Well, then," said the dwarf, I wont be hard
on you. Will you agree to an hour? "
Colin thought that in an hour he might be made
to do something he did n't like at all. Nobody
could tell what these dwarfs could set a boy to
doing. So he said:
No, not an hour."
"A minute, then," said the dwarf.
Colin hesitated. That was not a long time, but

"THIS IS THE LAST SPRIG IN THE WHOLE FOREST.I

cause they were afraid of the larger dwarf; but
they whispered, as loud as they dared:
Oh, little girl, don't you want this doll? It's
a splendid one, with wiggle-y legs and arms. You
can have it for just one year of your life. Or, if
you will be ours for six months, you can take it.
Look at it! You can have it for just one month
of your life. Or a week-a short, little week "
But neither Dora nor Colin saw or heard these

he might be made to fire a gun or do something
very dangerous in a minute.
"No, sir," said he.
A second? cried the dwarf.
"I might strike Dora in a second," thought
Colin, and he sung out:
"No, I wont."
"Well, then, will you take it for nothing?"
asked the dwarf.

256

THE SPRIG OF HOLLY.

[JANUARY,

THE SPRIG OF HOLLY.

"Oh, yes," said Colin. "I '11 take it for
nothing."
"Here it is," said the dwarf, "and I am very
glad, indeed, to give it to you."
WellI exclaimed Colin, in surprise. You
are a curious fellow! But I 'm very glad to get
the holly. We 're ever so much obliged."
Yes, indeed," said Dora, and she fairly jumped
for joy.
The two little dwarfs were now nearly frantic in
their endeavors to make Dora look at their doll.
They still were afraid to call out, but they whis-
pered as loud as they could :
Oh, ho! little girl! Look here! You can
have this doll for one short week of your life. For
a day! For an hour One minute! A second!
Half a second For one millionth part of a
second For the twenty-millionth part of a half
second Or for nothing at all You can have it
for nothing! "
But Dora heard not a word that they said, and
never looked at them.
Why are you so glad to give me the holly ?
said Colin to the dwarf. And if you wanted me
to have it, why did n't you give it to me at first? "
Oh, I could n't do that," said the little fellow.
"We always have to try to get all the work we can
out of the boys we offer that holly to, and I 'm
glad you did n't make a bargain, because, if you
had, I don't know what in the world I should have
set you to doing. I offered it to a boy last year,
and he agreed to do what I told him for six
months. He would n't engage for longer than
that, for his summer holidays would begin at the
end of that time. And I know he thought he 'd
rather work for me than go to school. Well, I
had a dreadful time with that boy. After the first
week or two, I could n't think of a thing for him to
do. He had done 'everything that I wanted. I
would tell him to go and play, and he would come
back in an hour or two, and say, 'I 've done play-
ing; what shall I do next?' And then I 'd have
to shake my fist at him, and look as cross as I
could, and tell him that if he did n't go play and
stay playing, I would do something dreadful to
him. But of course that sort of 11,, v, would n't
do very long, and so I had to find work for him
until his time was up. It nearly wore me out. I
think that if he had agreed for a year, it would
have driven me crazy."
But how did you come to have the ...11 .r1 .
if this boy earned it ? asked Colin.
Oh, the first thing I told him to do, after his

bargain was made, was to give me back that holly.
We have to do that, or else we could n't keep on
hiring boys."
I call that cheating," said Colin.
Yes, indeed," said little Dora.
I suppose it is," said the dwarf, "if you look
at it in a certain light. But we wont talk about
that now. You have the holly-sprig, and I have
no right to ask you to give it back to me. You
can take it home, and I shall never see it again.
Hurrah! Good-bye!"
And he made one jump backward, behind the
big tree, and was gone.
Colin and Dora now hurried home, very happy,
indeed, for no such sprig of holly had they ever
seen as this which the dwarf had given them. It
would look splendidly over the fire-place !
The two little dwarfs ran after them as fast as
they could.
Where had we got to ? said one to the other,
just as they caught up to Colin and Dora.
We were at nothing,'" said the other.
"All right, then, we wont go back on the bar-
gain."
Then they both ran in front of the children, and
holding up the doll between them, they called
out:
"Little girl! will you have this doll for nothing?"
Colin and Dora stopped short. This was truly
a most astonishing sight.
"Look at its legs and arms," said the larger
dwarf, "See how they wiggle You can make
it sit down. Will you take it for nothing ?"
Dora did not hesitate.
Yes, indeed," said she.
Thrusting the doll into her hands, the two little
dwarfs gave a wild shout, and rushed away, with
the little tails which they had to their bonnets
waving in the wind as they ran.
The children then hurried borne as fast as they
could, and when they had told their story and
shown their gifts, great was the. surprise and de-
; i, of everybody; for no one had ever seen such
a large-leaved and bright-berried spiig of holly as
the one the dwarf gave Colin, or so fine a doll,
with such remarkably wiggle-y arms and legs, as
the one the little dwarfs gave Dora.
The thing that pleases me most about it all,"
said their father, is Colin's steady refusal to
make a rash bargain, even for a very short time.
Colin, my boy, I think you are to be trusted."
Yes, indeed," said little Dora, hugging her
doll, and looking proudly into her brother's face.

VOL. VII.-18.

1880o.

257

AMONG THE LAKES.

AMONG THE LAKES.
(A Farm-house Story.)

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

CHAPTER VII.
IT 'S only a good swim, Uncle Liph," Piney
shouted, as he struck out vigorously toward the
drifting boat that held the little ones. I '11 push
them ashore all right. It 's fun."
Piney 's coming, laughed Chub, in great glee.
" He 's s'immin'. See Piney s'im !"
"O, Roxy!" exclaimed Susie; "he wont be
drowned, will he ?"
Oh no," said Roxy; Piney learned how to
swim, ever so long ago. Before he ever went into
the water. He wont get drowned."
There was reason to doubt a part of that, but
Roxy's confidence in her big brother was almost
unbounded, and her little face grew serene and
smiling as he came nearer and nearer.
0, Piney," she said, why did n't you bring
the oars ? Then I could have rowed the boat."
O," said Piney, you can row 'most as well
without them. Sit still. I'll take you home safe."
It was easy enough to turn the head of the scow
toward the shore, and to shove it along over the
water. Even Susie began to think it was a very
nice bit of fun, and Chub shouted at the top of his
voice. As for Roxy, there was a thought creeping
into her mind as to what she should say to her
mother and Aunt Keziah, and she did not utter a
word till they reached the landing.
Here they are," said Piney, as he shoved the
scow to place and hooked the chain to the post
again. I guess I 'd better put the padlock on."
"I '11 never do it again," said Roxy. "I just
wanted to teach Susie how to row."
"And so you did n't take any oars," said Grand-
father Hunter.
Piney's mother had caught Chub in her arms,
and Aunt Sarah was hugging Susie, and poor
Roxy looked so crest-fallen that Aunt Keziah said to
her: Come, dear, get out of the boat. You 're a
naughty girl, but I wont scold you. You and
Susie may go to the garden and pick some straw-
berries for supper. Aint you glad Piney was at
home ?"
"0, Aunt Keziah, Piney always comes just in
time."
"After all," said Uncle Liph, "it 's a good sort
of a lesson in more ways than one. Bayard, you
must go in swimming every day while we 're here.
I want to see you outswim Richard."

He '11 never learn with his clothes on," said
Piney, merrily. Now, I think I '11 go and change
mine. It 's the best kind of fun. Is n't it, Bi?"
"Yes," said Bayard, doubtfully; "but you 're
the wettest boy I ever saw."
Piney hurried away into the house, to put on
his other clothes, and Roxy's mother scolded her
a little before she let her and Susie go to the
kitchen for their strawberry baskets, accompanied
by Aunt Keziah.
Grandfather Hunter was pretty tired, after his
long ride, especially as he had hurried a good deal
when he heard the outcry about the children, and
he and Uncle Liph went and sat down on the front
piazza. As for Aunt Sarah and Cousin Mary, they
set out for a walk along the lake shore and carried
Chub with them, so that Bayard was left alone.
He stood, for a few minutes, looking at the boat.
Then he threw a stone, as far as he could, into the
water, and said to himself:
I wonder how far Cousin Richard could throw
a stone. That is, without a sling or anything like
that. There is n't any chance to throw stones in
the city. No more than there is to swim."
Then he looked all over himself, and there was
no denying that he was a much neater-looking and
much better dressed boy than Piney Hunter.
Especially, considering that he was dry from head
to foot.
It is not easy for one boy to give up that another
is his superior in any way, and, certainly, Bayard
Hunter had not been used to having a small opin-
ion of himself.
He turned away from the shore and sauntered
across the lawn.
There was a boy coming along, just then, from
the other way, and the first that Bayard knew of
it was:
Hullo!"
Hullo !" said Bayard, as he turned around and
looked at the new-comer, and he could not help.
saying to himself:
If Cousin Richard is too fat, this fellow 's as
thin as a chicken. What a peaked face !"
I say, are you Piney Hunter's cousin? From
the city?"
Yes. My name is Bayard Hunter. Richard
is my cousin."
"Yes, that 's his name. Only we all call him

258

JANUARYY,

xS8o.] AMONG THE LAKES. 259

Piney. Is that the kind of hat they wear in the
city ?"
Well, yes, it 's my hat."
SI guessed it was. I 'm Kyle Wilbur. I live in
that house over yonder. Our farm joins on to Aunt
Keziah's. Have you heard Piney speak his piece ?"
Speak his piece?"
Yes, for the Academy Exhibition. If he does
n't forget the last half of it he '11 do it up tiptop.
Don't you wish you was as good-lookin' a feller as
he is?"
Call him good-looking?"
"I 'd say so. I 'd give anything to weigh what
he does. Did you see the pickerel he killed ?"
With his bow and arrow ? Yes, I saw that."
It's a big one, aint it? Tell you what, I
helped him do that. I paddled the boat. You
ought to have seen him go over into the water.
but he never let go of that pickerel. He 'd have
got away from a feller like you in a jiffy."
Could you have caught him ?"
Course I could, if I'd have shot him and got a
good hold on him. That 's the trouble. Piney
always seems to get a good hold when he goes for
anything."
Does he ? asked Bayard.
"Yes, he does. How long are you and your
folks going to stay here ?"
Oh, I don't know. A good while."
Hope you will. Piney's just the kind of teller
I 'd like to visit with. 'Specially if I 'd been
brought up in the city and did n't know much.
I '11 see you ag'in. I 'm going' to the village, now.
If you go after Piney's cows with him, you just
look sharp after that brindled heifer ofhis'n. She
does n't take kindly to strangers."
And, so saying, Kyle Wilbur shut his mouth
hard, as if to keep himself from talking any more,
and hurried away down the road.
Bayard laughed, and then walked toward the
lake. Piney came there also, and before long he
was giving his city cousin a pull in the old scow.
"We wont forget to put the oars in," he said,
as they pushed away from the landing. "There
is n't anybody handy to swim out after us. It 's
too late, or we might try for some fish. But then
we '11 have plenty of that while you 're here."
"Next week?"
"Yes, and more the week after. School does n't
close till a week from to-day. It 'll be Examina-
tion next Friday. You know what that is, I sup-
pose."
"Guess I do. What are you to be examined
in ?"
Piney told him, and Bi's respect for his cousin
rose a good deal before they finished their mutual
account of the books they were at work on.

Still, it was comforting to Bi to find that he was
"ahead" in the study line. There was more of
some things to be had, ready made, in the city
than in the country. All of Piney's advantage was
likely to be in the sort of things he had not learned
at the academy.
The supper-hour came, and the boys were back
in time for that. So were Roxy and Susie, with
their strawberries, and the former gravely re-
marked, shortly after they were seated at the
table:
O, Aunt Keziah, I 've something dreadful to
tell."
What is it, Roxy?"
It 's a hornet's nest. Only think of it! "
That 's so," said Piney. It 's in the apple-
tree at the further end of the garden; I saw it. It's
a hanging nest."
I 'm glad they 've never stung any of you,"
said his mother. Is it a very large one ?"
Pretty large. But nobody ever goes up there."
What will you do with them ? asked Grandpa.
Let 'em alone, unless they get troublesome. I
want to get the nest whole. It's a splendid one."
I see. I see," said his grandfather. Get it
without breaking it and send it to me."
That 's what I meant to do."
I 'd as lief have it as a fresh pair of deer-horns,
or almost anything else. But you must n't let them
sting you."
I wont, if I can help it. But Roxy and Susie
had better keep away from it."
Do you hear that, Roxy? asked Aunt Keziah.
Yes, ma'am," said Roxy; "but if Piney does
n't shoot the hornets, they wont let him have the
nest."
He 'd better shoot fish," said Uncle Liph, who
was eating one of those Piney and Kyle had caught
in the morning. When are we to have his big
pickerel ?"
Oh," said Ruxy, Aunt Keziah said we were
to have that for breakfast. Only it wont be
enough, and we've saved some of the little fish to
go with it. You 're to eat the pickerel."
What, the whole of him ?"
Oh no; his head's been cut off-
"And 'oo must n't eat de bones," sa.. -hub.
" Dey '11 toke 'oo."
"Choke me, would they? Well, then, I '11 be
careful. What are you going to do after supper,
Richard ? "
Go for the cows, sir."
Shall I go with him, father? asked Bayard.
SI 'm hot too tired."
"Yes, certainly," said his father; "only be
careful how you approach the brindled heifer that
Roxy has been telling me about."

1880.]

AMONG THE LAKES.

259

AMONG THE LAKES.

Guess I 'm not to be scared by any cow,"
proudly replied Bi, his face flushing a little.

CHAPTER VIII.
THERE were woods and rocks on the hill, away
back behind the farm-house, the barns and the
hay-ricks. Through the barn-yard back gate and

"They don't do any harm in the lane," he said,
in answer to a question of Bayard's, "but they
are a great bother in some parts of the farm."
Can't you kill them out? asked Bi.
They don't die easy. If you killed them all,
this year, they 'd come up again next spring, just
as if nothing had happened."

-- --- -
. ,-. *' '! _- '

" WHAT A TOSS THAT WAS!"

up the hillside, running along the edge of the
woods till it turned up and went over the hill, was
a sort of lane, with a fence on each side. It led
over the hill to a great, green pasture-lot beyond,
sloping down to the bank of the little river that
joined the lakes.
It was good pasture land, as Piney told Bi, but
there were great boulders of rock scattered here
and there over it, and it would not have done so
well for wheat, or corn, or potatoes.
The sun was still more than half an hour high
when, after supper, the two boys set out for the
pasture. It was Piney's regular business, but it
was all new to Bi, and he enjoyed it more than he
would have said anything about. The long lane
was not kept up at all like a city street. Just back
of the barn-yard it was lined, for several rods,
with choke cherry-trees. There were none of
them very large. Hardly more than good, tall
bushes. Beyond that, were some sumac bushes
with their bright red ornaments. Burdocks and
big bull-thistles grew everywhere, and Piney pointed
out milk-weed and scoke-root and a dozen other
plants. He seemed to know them all and what
they were good for.

They had been I.11:,_ along past the woods
as they talked, and had stopped a dozen times to
look at things, but just now they were close by the
bars leading into the pasture. Some of the cows
were in sight, but instead of quietly feeding, they
were beginning to move around and even to trot
along towards the bars.
Co' boss Co' boss Co' boss shouted Pi-
ney, at the top of his voice, as he let down the bars.
"Do they come when you call? asked Bi.
Patty does, and Lady Washington, and the
rest follow. There they come. Where's Patty?
There comes the old lady; but how queerly she is
acting Well, I declare "
What 's the matter ?"
Matter? Why, it 's Bill Young's yellow dog.
He just loves to worry cows. I believe he 's a
sheep-killer, too. I '11 give him a charge of buck-
shot some day, if he does n't keep out of our past-
ure. See him, now! "
Some half a dozen cows were coming rather
hurriedly along the hill-side, towards the bars, but
two more were coming more slowly in the rear.
Come on, Bi," said Piney, as he started for-
ward, "Patty has turned on him. She never ran

260

[JANUARY,

i-: ~?,

'--`~---

AMONG THE LAKES.

from a dog in her life,-nor from anything else.
She 's my pet heifer; I raised her from a calf.
She '11 follow me anywhere."
Piney did not add, as he might have done, that
he Wias the only living being of her acquaintance
to whom the brindled heifer" did not sometimes
show signs of her uncertain temper." She was,
very decidedly, not a cow to be trifled with.
It may have been that one of the reasons why
Lady Washington herself, the best and most peace-
ful of milkers, walked on so composedly, was
because of her confidence in Patty.
A noble-looking cow was the Lady," with a
mild, motherly face and a dignified manner of
marching, as if she knew her owner would not
have traded her for any other four cows in the
valley.
Piney and Bi hurried forward.
Hush said Piney, let's see what he '11 do.
He is trying to dodge past Patty."
A big, ungainly, mongrel sort of dog was that
of Bill Young. Nobody in the world would have

Sharp, black horns moving to and fro in a very dan-
gerous-looking way.
"I would n't care to have her hook me," said
Bi,
Guess .you would n't," said Piney. That
dog wont, either, if she gets a chance at him.
There "
Hurrah for her shouted Bi.
The yellow dog had made a sudden jump and
rush, as if he meant to make a charge on the other
cows, especially the Lady, but Patty was too quick
for him. Bi had never imagined any cow could be
so quick as that.
Her horns did not strike him with their points, or
it would have been very bad for him indeed, but
they passed under him as he jumped.
What a toss that was !
The next instant the yellow dog was flying
through the air, clean over the back of the brindled
heifer, and he fell crashing into a clump of huckle-
berry bushes. Perhaps he would have been worse
hurt if the bushes had not broken his fall, but the

. .I ; d,. ,' .,'' ,,'. .,_ -' -- i, , 1i' i .', i I!. ,,,r ::. ." -
I,' idl '' ,1 I .- .. I i !
,,''
/', 1, ;I-- . .. l '' .1' . i- l L .' __ l, -
I ,: . . . l, I ; ," , ',d r: -:* _- ;

l"1 !; :"'"i.' l "i! 'l!| -" '. 1 '. '" '* ,' *' ; ...

,, "- -: .- "-Z 1x ~ I,, I
'. "' ' ..i -' ." " :4d .
..... / .... .. Ji, .''..t .. 't',, .. ,

"PATTY HAD GIVEN THE MILK-STOOL ONE KICK AND THE PAIL ANOTHER.

given five cents for him ; but he was just the kind moment he was on his feet he ran as if for his life,
of dog to make trouble, for all that. yelping piteously.
He was barking furiously at the brindled heifer, Bi sent after him a stone he had picked up, but
who was facing him with her head down, and her the dog was running too fast for even Piney to

261

AMONG THE LAKES.

have made a good throw at him. Still, it helped
Bi to express his feelings and show which side he
was on.
Piney hardly looked after the dog, but walked
up to Patty, saying: So, so Patty. You 're the
cow for me. Come, now, stop shaking your head.
He's gone."
Patty answered with a sort of subdued bellow,
that said a good deal for her state of mind. She
was evidently quite ready for another dog, and did
not care a wisp of hay how soon he should come to
be tossed. Still, she submitted to be patted and
praised by her young master, and even allowed Bi
himself to make her acquaintance. He certainly
complimented her warmly, and she would have
been a very ungrateful cow to have shaken her
tapering horns at him.
The brindled heifer was a much more slender and
graceful creature than Lady Washington, but, as
Piney explained: Nothing like so good a milker.
We 'd have sold her, long ago, if she had n't been
a kind of pet."
Then, too," said Bi, she's wonderfully good
for stray dogs."
Guess that dog does n't think so. I wish Bill
Young had seen him fly. Come, Patty, the Lady
is at the bars. The rest are half-way to the barn."
Patty was a brisk walker, and they soon caught
up with the others; but nothing more happened
until they reached the barn-yard.
The sun was down, it would soon be dark, and
all those cows were to be milked.
Ann and one of the hired men were waiting to
attend to the business, and there, too, were Roxy,
and Susie, and Chub.
"I wont milk, Susie," said Roxy. I'II stand
with you and show you how they do it."
Do you ever milk the cows ? "
Oh, I milked one, once, but I did n't get any
milk."
Not a bit, did n't you ?"
"No, not a bit. Ann said it was because that
cow 'd been milked."
Does she know all about cows?"
"Guess she does. She.'s :.il;-Ir our Lady
Washington, now. That's the biggest milk-pail
we 've got,"
"Aunt Keziah said we were to have all we
wanted, when they brought it in."
Just as much as we can drink. You don't have
any cows, do you ? "
"No, but the milkman comes."
Does he bring it in a pail ? "

No, in a wagon. He comes early in the morn-
ning, before we 're up."
Is it real milk?"
"Yes, father says so. That is, he said he
guessed there was milk in it."
"Ours is real milk; 'cause we 've got the real
cows. They 're all real."
So they were, but the hired man was trying to
get Patty to stand still for him, just then, and was
not succeeding any too well. At last the brindled
heifer quieted her angry mind a little, and the pail
was filling rapidly when Roxy said to Susie:
That 's Piney's pet heifer. She does anything
he wants. She likes me, too. Just see me speak
to her."
Roxy tripped forward and put her little hand on
the heifer's neck, saying:
"Pretty Patty. Good cow. Nice cow."
But Patty not only shook her head in an unples-
ant sort of way, she struck out vigorously with her
hind feet.
Before Roxy could jump back and scream, the
hired man was rolling on the ground with a shower
of new milk flying all over him. Patty had given
the milk-stool one kick and the pail another; but
nobody was hurt.
"Did she take him for a dog ? asked Bi.
Guess not," said Piney. "I ought to have
milked her, to-night. Sometimes she wont stand
still for anybody else."
"Oh, Roxy," exclaimed Susie, "are you
hurt ?"
"Not a bit," said Roxy, "but she's kicked
over the milk."
"It's your fault," said Ann. If you'd have
let her alone she 'd never have stirred."
'' I just touched her."
"Come, Roxy," said Piney, "you and Susie
and Chub had better come in with Bi and me."
What for, Piney ? "
"Oh, it 's time. Besides, we can't have any
more pails kicked over. The cows are cross to-
night."
Do take 'em in," said Ann.
"Yes, Roxy," said Susie. "I don't like their
horns a bit."
Chub had kept very still, ever since he came
into the barn-yard. He had seen the cows milked
before, and not only was he tired, but he knew
that the best part of the whole business, the milk
drinking, would come to pass in the house.
"New milk is good, that's a fact," remarked
Bayard Hunter, less than half an hour later.

(To be co Atized.)

262

[JANUARY,

~S5o.] SNOW-BALL WARFARE. 263

SNOW-BALL WARFARE.

BY DANIEL C. BEARD.

No season of the year can boast of more healthy
out-door games, brimful of fun and excitement
-than winter, and there is no sport among winter

Make these balls of snow as large and dense as
possible, then roll them in place upon the lines
traced out for the foundation. We will suppose it
to be a square. In this case, care must be taken

to nave tne corners or the square opposite tne mos
probable approach of the enemy. This will leave

,- I1 -_. 7 T

- -- FIG. 3. BED OF SLEDL WITH ENDS ATTACHED.

IG' H ''ii li' I -. -

FIG. I. HOW TO NAIL THE CROSS-PIECES ON.

games more exciting and amusing than snow-ball
*warfare.
All the boys must join in building the fort, se-
lecting the highest point of the play-grounds, or,
if the grounds are level, the corner of a wall or
fence. Supposing the top of a mound has been
selected, as the place where the works are to be

FIG. 2. TOP OF SLED.
built, the first thing to do is to make out the plan
-of the foundations. The dimensions depend upon
the number of boys. A circle, twelve feet in diam-
eter, or a square with sides of ten feet, will make a
-fort that will accommodate a company of ten boys.
It is better to have the fort too small than too
large. The chief engineer must set his men at
work rolling large snow-balls, the smaller boys can
,commence and the larger ones take them in hand
when the balls have gained in size and become too
heavy for the younger boys.

the smallest point possible exposed to the attack,
and the inmates of the fort can, without crowding
each other, take good aim at the foe. After the
four sides of the square are covered by large snow-
balls, as in Figure 7, all hands must pack the
snow about the bottom, and fill up each crack and
crevice, until a solid wall is formed. Then with
spades and shovels the walls should be trimmed

-V

FIG. 4. BED OF SLED, BOX COMPLETE.
down to a perpendicular on the inside, but slanting
upon the outside, as shown in the last picture. The
top of the wall may be two feet broad and the base
four feet. When the wall is finished, prepare a
mound of snow in the center of the square for the
flag-staff. This mound will be very useful, as a
reserve supply in case the ammunition gives out.
A quantity of snow-balls should next be piled up,

.-_ -- -7

FIG. 5. SLED COMPLETE.
inside the walls, at the four corners. This done,
the fort is ready for its defenders, and it only re-
mains to equip the attacking force.

263

l88o.]

SNOW-BALL WARFARE.

t

SNOW-BALL WARFARE.

FIG. 6. THE SHIELD.
The building of a fort 11i uses up all the
snow around it, making it necessary for the besieg-
ing party to carry their ammunition with them,
upon sleds made for that purpose.
The construction of these sleds is very simple,
the material and tools necessary consisting of a
flour-barrel, a saw, a hammer or hatchet, some
shingle nails and an old pine-board.
To make the sled, begin by knocking the barrel
apart, being careful not to split the head-boards,
as they will be needed afterward. Pick out the
four best staves, as nearly alike in breadth and
curve as can be found, and saw two or three of the
other staves in halves. Take two of the four staves
first selected, and nail the half staves across, as
shown in Figure 2. These must be nailed upon
the convex, or outside, of the staves, and this will
be found impossible unless there is something solid
under the point where the.nail is to be driven,
otherwise, the spring of the stave, when struck,
will throw the nail out, and your fingers will prob-
ably receive the blow from the hammer. To avoid
this, place a block, or anything that is firm, under

A 7-

-- .-.
- -
. -

- = -
FIG. 7. THE BIG SNOW-BALLS IN POSITION.

the point where the nail is to be driven (see Figure
I), and there will then be found no difficulty in driv-
ing the nails home. When this isdcone, you will have
the top of your sled as shown in Figure 2; on this

you will need a box, or bed, to hold the snow-balls;
this you can make of two pieces of pine-board
and two staves, thus: Take a board about the
same width as, or a little wider than, a barrel-stave,
saw off two pieces equal in length to the width of
the sled, set them upon their edges, reversing the
top of the sled, place it across the two boards, as
in Figure 3, and nail it on securely. Then
take two staves and nail them on for side boards,
and you have the top portion of your sled fin-
ished, as in Figure 4.
The two staves remaining, of the four first
selected, are for runners. Fit on first one and then

THE USE OF THE SHIELD.
the other to the staves of your top. Nail-holes
will probably be found near the ends of the staves
where the nails were that held the barrel-head in;
through these drive nails, to fasten your runners;
to do this you must rest them upon some sup-
port, as was done before; this will hold your sled
together, but to make it stronger, take four blocks
of wood and slide them in between the runners and
the top, as shown in Figure 5, and nail these firmly
in place, from above and below.
If all this has been properly done, you now have
made a sled which it will be almost impossible

_____

264

(JANUARY,

SNOW-BALL WARFARE.

to break; and you need but a rope to pull by.
One boy can haul snow-balls enough for a dozen
companions.
The shield is made from the head of a barrel.
Lay the barrel-head upon some level surface, so
that nails can be driven in without trouble.
From a strip of board, half inch thick and two
and one-half inches wide, saw off two pieces long

These officers, after being elected and appointed,
are to give all orders, and should be promptly
obeyed by their respective commands. The cap-
tains decide, by lot, the choice of position.
In choosing sides, the commander of the fort has
first choice, then the two captains name a boy,
alternately, until two-thirds of the boys have been
chosen. The defenders of the fort then retire to

STORMING THN FORT.

enough to fasten tie parts of the barrel-head to-
gether, as you see them in Figure 6. Fasten
these strips on firmly with shingle nails.
Lay your left arm upon the shield, as shown,
mark a place for the arm-strap, just in front of
elbow, and another for the strap for the hand.
From an old trunk-strap, or suitable piece of
leather, cut two strips, and nail them on your
shield at points marked, being careful that the
arm-strap is not too tight, as it should be loose
enough for the arm to slip in and out with ease.
This done, you have a shield behind which you
may defy an army of unprotected boys.
The rules of warfare governing a snow-ball battle
are as follows:
Two commanders, or captains, must be elected.
If the forces engaged are very large, each captain
may appoint one or two assistants, or lieutenants.

their stronghold, leaving the boys unchosen to join
the attacking army, it being supposed that one-
third behind fortifications are equal to two-thirds
outside.
Only the attacking party are allowed shields and
ammunition sleds.
At least thirty yards from the fort, a camp must
be established by the outsiders or attacking army,
and stakes driven at the four corners to locate the
camp. Imaginary lines from stake to stake mark
its limits.
The colors of the attacking army are erected in
the center of this camp.
Each party will have its national colors, in addi-
tion to which the attacking party have a battle-
flag which they carry with them in the assault.
The defenders of the fort must see to it that all
damages to the fortifications are promptly repaired.

.--- P .
_- ._ -FT_

--

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

Y88o. :

265

-, --.
-------

SNOW-BALL WARFARE.

DRAWING THE AMMUNITION-SLED.

Any soldier from the fort who shall be carried
off within the limits of the camp, becomes a prisoner
of war, and cannot leave the camp until rescued by
his own comrades.
Any one of the attacking force pulled into the
fort becomes a prisoner of war, and must remain
in the fort until it is captured.
Prisoners of war cannot be made to fight against
their own side, but they may be employed in mak-
ing snow-balls or repairing damages to fortifica-
tions.
Any deserter recaptured must suffer the penalty
of having his face washed with snow, and being set
at work with the prisoners of war.
When the outsiders, or attacking army, can
replace the enemy's colors with their battle flag,
the fort is captured, the battle is won by the

3.-

Z"
;-4

attacking party, and all fighting must immediately
cease.
But if, in a sally, the soldiers of the fort can
by any means take the colors of the opposite
party from the camp and bring them inside their
fortifications, they have not only successfully de-
fended their fort, but have defeated the attacking
army; and this ends the battle, with double honors
to the brave defenders.
No water-soaked or icy snow-balls are allowed.
No honorable boy uses them, and any one caught
in the ungentlemanly act of throwing such
"soakers," should be forever ruled out of the
game.
No blows are allowed to be struck by the hand,
or by anything but the regulation snow-ball, and,
of course, no kicking is permitted.

~-C:
1^'^~--.^-^

__
-'-----

-- '~a W

THE FORT COMPLETE.

266

[JANUARY,

l88o.]

THE SLEEPING PRINCESS.

267

THE SLEEPING PRINCESS.

BY JOHN V. SEARS.

INTRODUCTORY NOTE.
IN producing this piece, special attention should be paid to the choruses and the tableaux. The choruses should be given with a swinging
cadence strongly marked, even to a little sing-song fault. This will keep the voices well together and make study easier. Two parts
will suffice, but soprano, alto, tenor, and bass, will be better. Uncles and aunts behind the scenes can lerd judicious aid in the singing. An
orchestra of, say, four stringed instruments, is desirable, but a piano will do very well. The tableaux will need careful rehearsal, the mana-
ger playing the part of audience. Pose each about half a minute. Group the smaller children in front, the taller toward the back of stage.
For most important scenic effects, depend on draperies, curtains, table-covers, shawls, dress-stuffs, etc., deep and rich in color. For the
cradle and the princess's couch, use white draperies, cotton or linen, with broad borders of vines and scrolls, cut from gilt paper and pasted
fon. For stage, drop-curtain, etc., see books on Parlor Theatricals. The roof and rafters of the garret may be represented by sheets of dark
hardware paper pasted together and stretched tent-wise across a ridge-pole, extending from front to back of stage. For thrones, use large
chairs, throwing draperies over seats and arms. Round-topped, gilt mirror frames, with cloth tacked across the ..;,.. can be used for the
backs. Over these hang a canopy, formed of curtains or piano-covers. The thrones should be on a platform, .i. r steps, covered with
rich rugs.
Where costumes are provided from home wardrobes, court-mantles may be the main feature for both lords and ladies. The skirts of
evening silk dresses, not put on over the head but thrown across the shoulders, will answer this purpose. Fasten the belt, doubled, around
the neck and cover it with a large collar or a ruff cut from tissue-paper. The royal mantles, trim with bands of ermine, made of cotton
I -r:..._ .. : r lack. The ladies will want trains,-the longer the better. The lords should wear long hose and straight swords, the
'. .,. .... I covered with g:'r .-11.:1 ,.. The fairy train should he dressed in white, with wands and crowns of silver, and
wings of white tissue-paper pasted on i .. i.. Distinguish Titania by wings, crown and wand of gold. Malicina's dress should
be scalee" in.cl;- -. h--- 1 -.1--. Her wand, crown, and wings, should also be scarlet, the latter erect and pointed, made from glazed
paper. r-..-..: i. ..... .. I i. gorgeous array, consisting of velvet double, short cloak, trunks, embroidered hose, plumed cap and
rapier. !i i i.r . 1. : i-. i I. 1 girl. A bright, wee girl can also play baby Arabella, if sure not to cry at the wrong time: otherwise,
assign this part to a large doll.
Any one with musical tact can adapt pretty airs for the voices, and arrange suitable accompaniments; but, if desired, the full score of the
operetta can be had, at the cost of copying, by addressing the author, No. 304 Chestnut street, Philadelphia.

SCENE.
THE ROYAL COURT OF DREAM-LAND.
DRAMATIC PERSONAE.
SOMNOLENICUS, King of Dream-land.
DoRMINA, Queen of
PRINCESS ARABELLA, an infant. Subsequently a maid of eighteen
years.
CHAMBERLAIN, COURTIERS, PAGES, HERALDS, etc.
PRINCE CHARMING.
TABITHA, a venerable dame.
TITANIA, Queen of the Fairies.
ELFINELLA,
ROSALINE, 1
LucINA, The Fairy Train.
MELODIA,
VIOLETTA,
IMALICINA, The Wicked Fairy.

ACT I.
TABLEAU.
IThrone-room in Royal Palace of Dream-land. King and Queen
seated, center. Courtiers, Lords, and Ladies grouped right and
left. Heralds and Pages on steps of throne. Grand Chamberlain
right, front of throne.]
CHORUS, [Courtiers.]
All hail the King,
Whose praise we sing,
All hail, and hail again,
Long may he live
Our land to give
A peaceful, happy reign.
We gladly meet
Our King to greet
And wait upon his will;
From far and near
We gather here,
His mandates to fulfill.
KING [rising and bowing-recitative].
Most loyal subjects, kind and true,

Assembling near the throne,
Our royal Chamberlain to you
Will make our pleasure known.
[Heralds sound trumpets.]
CHAMBERLAIN [advancing-recitative.]
Nobles of Dream-land, pillars of the State,
Hear ye the message of our mighty King.
[Reads from large scroll.]
With joy we give the tidings ye await,
With joy receive the happy news we bring.
The fairies who attend the fortunes of our Queen
Have brought a princess to our consort fair,
A lovely babe, the sweetest ever seen,
To be our comfort and the kingdom's heir.

CHORUS, [Courtiers.]
All hail our Queen,
The best e'er seen,
All hail, all hail, all hail!
The fairies have brought her
A beautiful daughter,
All hail, all hail, all hail!

QUEEN [rising and bowing-recitative].
No babe so beauteous e'er before was seen;
Her voice is gentle as a cooing dove,
Her eyes are blue, her hair of golden sheen;
Her winning smile will captivate your love.

CHORUS, [Courtiers.]
May happy fate
Attend her state,
All hail, all hail, all hail!
With heart and voice

THE SLEEPING PRINCESS.

Let all rejoice,
All hail, all hail, all hail l

KING [recitative].
Our loyal friends, it is with pleasure
We listen to your wishes kind;
We seek a name for the little treasure,
And ask you each to speak your mind.
Each give a name, that it may prove
A bond with each of faithful love.

By name herewith, forever and a day,
As follows, to wit, that is to say:
Arabella, Bertina, Luella,
Carolina, Amina, Corella.
CHORUS [Courtiers].
Our princess hail!
No fairy-tale
Is told of one more dear.
The name we give

1' I A '' i l y
,.I
;1 i, .-- / '.--- - ; -. 'I

/ IIi N /.' '
,* T ''- .j ,' -) 1 "

-ii. . .- ,,i 1 '.. 1 i, ',1

"t. --. '- '>1
__:' :' ', ." .: -f

"TITANIA A.ND ,IA IIN CROSS W'ANDS OVER THE CRADLE (SEE E 'ND 0 ACE ii.)

FI
I offer Arabella.
FI
I speak for Bertina.

SEC
I tender Luella.

[RST LADY.

RST LORD.

OND LADY.

SECOND LORD.
Pray call her Amina.

I prefer Carolina

And I Corella.

THIRD LADY.

THIRD LORD.

KING.
That 's a plenty; I am sure
She can't another name endure.
Our Chamberlain will now proclaim
Our little baby daughter's name.

CHAMBERLAIN.
By proclamation from the throne,
The royal Princess shall be known

In fame shall live
For many and many a year.

KING [recitative].
A splendid feast we do proclaim
Upon the christening day,
In honor of our daughter's name.
Let all attend who may.

CHORUS [Courtiers].
A feast A feast !
With joy-increased
We hear and will obey:
Let every courtier
Come, and bring
A gift to grace the day.

KING [recitative].
And furthermore we do ordain
The fairies' favor to obtain,
That Queen Titania and her train
Shall be our guests.
Sir Chamberlain !
Attend to these behests.

268

[JANUARY,

THE SLEEPING PRINCESS.

CHAMBERLAIN [bowing to fKing].
Each kindly fairy in the land
Shall duly be invited;
And with your majesty's command,
Will doubtless be delighted.

CHORUS [Courtiers].
The fairies hail!
They will not fail
To come with pride and pleasure.
And from all harms,
Their magic charms
Will guard our little treasure.
CURTAIN.

ACT II.
TABLEAU.
[State Chamber. Canopied cradle with infant Princess, right front.
King and Queen center. Courtiers and Fairies, left front.]
CHORUs [Fairies and Courtiers].
Happy the day
Hastens away
Blithely and merrily,
Lightly and cheerily.
Laughing and joyous
Pleasures employ us;
Naught can annoy us,
Happy the day.
[Fairies cross stage to cradle.]

SlEMI-CHORUS [Courtiers].
Fairies from Elf-land
Welcome to Dream-land,
This to our Princess
Fortune evinces;
Your gracious bearing
Our pleasures sharing
Favor declaring.
Happy this day !

SEMI-CHORUS [Fairies].
Mortals of Dream-land
Friendly ye seem, and
Happiness is it
With ye to isit.
Kindly your greeting,
Pleasant our meeting,
Joyous though fleeting
This happy day.

KING [recitative].
Fairy Titania, Queen of the Elves,
And you, our fairy-guests,
Thanks for the honor to our royal selves,
Your presence here your friendly will attests,
In behalf of our baby Princess, too,
Our warm acknowledgements are due.

QUEEN DORMINA.
We seek your favor for our child
And beg you to watch over her,
To make her gentle, sweet, and mild,
And let no harm discover her.

SEMI-CHORUS [Fairies].
Your majesties have been most kind,
We are not ungrateful you shall find.
To your royal court we brought her
And we will guard your baby daughter.

TITANIA [recitative].
If your majesties approve
We will leave with Arabelle
Each in token of our love,
A charmed gift, as our farewell.
Let each fairy come and show
The choicest gift she can bestow.
[Advances and waves her wand over the cradle.
I, Titania, your queen,
Will confer a gracious mien:
A dignified and sweet address
Arabella shall possess.
[The fairies in turn advance and wave their wands over the cradle,

ELFINELLA.
I am the fairy Elfinella,
And I will give to Arabella
The gift of beauty. In form and feature
She shall be the loveliest creature
That ever in the world was known,
As heiress to the Dream-land throne.

ROSALINE.
I will to our charge impart
A faithful, true, and loving heart.
It is a precious -;ii I ween
From the fairy Rosaline.

LUCINA.
Lucina, daughter of the light,
I will give our baby bright
A brilliant mind and mothcr-wit,-
Endowments for a princess fit.

MLELODIA.
I am Melodia, child of the air.
The Princess's voice shall be my care.
Low and clear shall its tones be heard,
Soft and sweet, as the song of a bird.
All shall listen when she speaks,
And none deny whatever she seeks.

VIOLETTA.
Violetta me they call;
My gift shall be the best of all.

269

X88o.]

270 THE SLEEPING PRINCESS. [JANUARY,

Modesty, the grace of maids,
Beautiful when beauty fades,
Arabella shall possess,
In meek and gentle lowliness.
[Flourish of wild discordant music. All are startled. Baby cries.
Enter Malicina.]

MALICINA.
Mighty fine, upon my word!
Perhaps of me you never heard.
A fairy feast is here, I 'm told,
And all my sisters I behold.
Every fay has been invited,
Except myself! I have been slighted!
TITANIA.
Malicina, dreadful sprite,
Why hast thou returned to light?
Hie thee back to thy lone cell;
Work not here thy wicked spell.

MALICINA [to i ".
In thy absence I have gained
Liberty, and power obtained;
For to-day my wand is strong
Over all who do me wrong.
KING [to Chamberlain].
Sir Chamberlain, 't is your defect
Has been the cause of this neglect.
Answer, how has this arisen?
CHAMBERLAIN.
Sire, Malicina 's been in prison
So long, I-

MALICINA [to Chambzerlain].
Silence, slave !
[Turns to IKing. ]
Your Somnolence,
I hold you bound for this offense:
Yours is the fault, and yours shall be
The burden of the penalty.
King as you are, I '11 teach you how
To treat a fairy. Hear my vow!
This puling chick shall never live
To know the gifts my sisters give.
Beware the day she learns to spin,
For then shall my revenge begin.
Upon the flax my charm shall lie,
And by the spindle she shall die !
QUEEN DORMINA.
Oh, Titania, save thy ward!
Break the charm, or turn it toward
The mother. This I crave:
Let me die; the Princess save.
TITANIA.
We cannot break this hateful charm,

But we can turn aside its harm.
The child shall live; but yet your tears
Must fall for her. A hundred years
Under the spell she must remain,
!;:.: I,." till we can wake her again.

KING, AND QUEEN DORMINA.
A hundred years Oh, sad, sad fate
Long ere then our court and state
May pass and fade.
When she wakes, our little maid,
Strange among a host of strangers,
Still must meet a thousand dangers.

TITANIA.
Guard her well and keep her fast
Until maidenhood is past.
Let her never see a wheel;
Flax and yarn from her conceal.
Let no spindle reach her hand,
Though you burn all in the land.
But when, after all your care,
Fate descends, then straight repair
Unto her chamber, where we '11 spread
A fairy charm about her bed.
A hundred years she there must sleep,
The while a fairy watch we '11 keep.
Then a prince shall come and wake her,
And to fairer fortune take her.

TABLEAU.
[Titania and Malicina cross wands over the cradle; M. in threaten-
ing, and T. in a protecting, attitude.]
CURTAIN.

ACT III.
A period of eighteen years is supposed to have elapsed.
[Scene: a garret, poorly furnished. Dame Tabitha discovered
spinning.]
DAME T. [singing].

Lone is my labor,
I am forgot.
Never a neighbor
Cheering my lot.
Working always in
This bare old garret,
Day out and day in,
No one to share it.

Within the borders
Of all the land,
By royal orders,
This the command:

Spinning 's forbidden,
Spinsters are banished,
Spindles are hidden,
Wheels have all vanished.

My poor old wheel!
In secret I turn it.
Should you reveal
It, soon would they burn it.
No one comes near me;
Even in pain
No one can hear me
When I complain.

[Enter Princess Arabella, a beautiful maiden of eighteen; panto-
mime of mutual surprise.]
DAME T. [recitative].
Good-morrow to you, my pretty dear!
Who may you be, and how came you here?

270

-THE SLEEPING PRINCESS.

[JANUARY,

THE SLEEPING PRINCESS.

PRINCESS.
How I came I do not know,
For I have lost my way.
I am the Princess Arabella;
And now, where am I, pray?
And what is that curious-looking wheel?
And that turning thing in your hand?
[ Takes up the flax.]
How soft this woolly stuff does feel
What is it ? I would understand.
DAME T.
This is flax, pny pretty girl,
And I am spinning my thread.
I give my spindle a twist and a twirl,
And wind it up on the head.
PRINCESS.
Oh, is n't that nice?
Let me try now.
I think I can if you show me how.
[She takes spindle, twirls it, wounds her hand, and falls, left. Ta-
bitha screams. Enter Malicina, center; waves wand over A. in
triumph. Enter King, Queen, and Courtiers, right. Consternation
and distress.]
TABLEAUX.
CURTAIN.

ACT IV.
TABLEAU.
[Princess's chamber; Arabella reclining on couch, center. Titania
and her fairies grouped about couch. King, Queen, and Cham-
berlain right; Courtiers left,]
KING [recitative-very sadly].
Sleep, my gentle daughter, sleep;
Fairies near their watch shall keep,
Shielding thee from harm and fears,
Till time shall count a hundred years.
QUEEN D. sweepingg].
May thy slumber only seem
One unbroken, happy dream;
Till thy destined Prince shall wake thee
And to fairer fortune take thee.
CHORUS, [Fairies and Courtiers].
Sleep, Princess, sleep; Thy lovely eyes
Sweetly repose In slumbers deep;
Nor sigh nor weep, Time swiftly flies;
But softly close Sleep, Princess, sleep !
TITANIA [recitative].
Lest the Princess should be lonely
Lest she wake 'midst strangers only,
I will charm her loving friends,
And bid them sleep till her slumber ends.
[Touches each in turn with wand, including King and Queen, and
they fall asleep.]
CURTAIN [to plaintive music].

ACT V.
A hundred years supposed to have elapsed.
[Princess and attendants discovered as at close of last scene. Tab-
leau, to low but cheerful music. Enter fairies.]

CHORus [Fairies].
A hundred years have passed away,
And still our watch we keep,
But now has come the happy day
To wake our charge from sleep.

The promised Prince is drawing near
To learn his earthly bliss.
Come, welcome Prince, appear, appear!
And wake her with a kiss.
[Fairies beckon with wands. Enter Prince.]

PRINCE [recitative].
All fast asleep! how strange it seems
To find a court in the land of dreams.
Music, sweeter than words can say,
Hath guided me upon my way.
A royal court here greets my view,
And oh, what a lovely Princess, too
Now, ere this beauteous maid awake,
A stolen kiss I '11 boldly take.
[He approaches couch, kisses Princess, who awakes. Attendants
wake and rise.]
PRINCESS.
Oh, charming Prince! I was dreaming of you I
And am I awake? and is it true?

PRINCE.
You, in dreams, I oft behold,
As my promised bride to be.
My fairy godmother foretold
That you, dear maid, awaited me.
Pray, arise, my Princess sweet,
Our fairer fortune let us seek.
[He gives his hand, and Princess arises. King and Queen awaken
and embrace Princess, who presents to them the Prince.]

CHORUS [attendants].
Hail Prince and Princess fair!
Joy and gladness may you share.
Peace and plenty fill your days,
Health and hope attend your ways.
Fairies kept our Princess' sleep,
May they still their watches keep.
May he be brave, and she be good,
The Sleeping Beauty in the wood.

TABLEAU.
[Prince and Piness center. Fairies right. Attendants
behind the King and Queen, left.]
CURTAIN.

271

x88o.]

FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK.

TROT, DOT, AND BUNNY.

TROT, Dot, and Bunny lived in a large town. Trot was a nice boy,
only five years old, and Dot was just the dearest little girl in the world.
She was nearly four; as for Bunny, she was only two years old.
Papa sometimes put the children to bed, when he was tired studying,
so that mamma could rest, or patch Trot's trowsers, which she generally
did, instead of resting. When papa put the children to bed, he always told
them a story. Just one story, that was all he knew; but as it was the
only one the children cared to hear, it did not so much matter about his
not knowing any others. And this was the way the story began:
"Some time, when papa gets enough money, he is going to buy a
cow.
"A cow named Star, papa," says Trot. "'Es, cow named 'Tar, papa,"
Bunny would echo. With a white 'pot in her fowad," Dot would always
add. Then papa would go on: "Yes, a nice cow, with a white spot in
her forehead, and we will name her Star."
"And a little calf-fy," says Bunny.
Named Forget-me-not," says Trot; so we won't forget to feed her."
"I '11 give her some gwass, I will," says Dot, "dear little bossy calf."
"Well," says papa, "we will call the calf Forget-me-not, so we wont
forget to feed her. Then Trot will pull down some hay for the cow, and
I will make her a nice bran-mash, and while she's eating it I '11 milk."
No; I '11 milk her, papa," says Trot.
"No; I milk!" cries Dot.
Me milk," says little Bunny.
Yes, we all will milk her, I guess," says papa, and -mamma laughs.
"Then, when we are all done milking, we will come in to break-
fast, and Trot and Dot and Bunny shall have some nice new milk, and
mamma and I will have some nice cream for our coffee. After break-
fast, I will say: 'Come Trot, and Dot, and Bunny, you must take the
cow to the pasture.' So Trot will get his hat, and Dot and Bunny will get
their bonnets, and you each will get a long stick to drive the cow with.
I will open the gate, and start the cow, and you all will follow, driving her."
Go 'long," says Trot.
No, I '11 drive," says Dot.
Me drive," says Bunny.
"Yes," says papa, "you all will drive her. And by and by, as the

272

[JANUARY,

FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK.

old cow goes walking quietly along, Trot will stop to see how far he can
throw a stone."
"I -stop to pick daisies," says Dot. "I 'top to get a drink," says
Bunny. "I want some water," says Trot. "I want some, too," says
Dot. Me want drink," says little Bunny.
So papa gets the large tin dipper full of water, and the thirsty little
ones take a drink all round, and then papa goes on with his story:
"When the old cow casts one eye round, and finds that you all have
stopped, she will think it just as well to stop a little herself, and gather
a mouthful of the sweet green grass that grows by the roadside; and

I I 1, I"I I
f -
-- -- II

there she will stay till Bunny takes up her stick and touches her gently
on her leg, and says: Go 'ong, 'Tar.'
Star moves on. By and by they come to the brook. Trot finds such
splendid pebbles there, that he stops again to throw stones. Dot and
Bunny sail little sticks, and Star stops to take a drink of the cool, clear
water."
Me want dink," says Bunny, half asleep.
"I want a drink, too," says Trot, sitting up in bed.
"I defful firsty" says Dot.
Papa passes round the tin dipper again, and then three little heads
sink back on the pillows, and Trot, Dot, and Bunny are asleep.
VOL. VII.-19.

a88o.]

273

JACK- IN-THE-PULPIT

AlL

hll, Yt -

OH, now, here comes a hopeful-looking young
chap, Eighteen Hundred and Eighty by name;
but why in the world he must needs come skipping
in among us, is more than your Jack knows. For
my part, I was well enough pleased with Eighteen
Hundred and Seventy-nine, and I should n't mind
if we could have the jolly old fellow keep right
along. However, that would n't satisfy you young-
sters, I suppose; so, when this gallant New Year
comes your way, give him Jack's best compliments,
and say that, if he expects to do better than our
old friend who is leaving us, he will have to behave
himself, and keep us all very particularly pleasant
and busy.
Let's set him a good example, my dears, and
get to work at once. Here 's something about

MINERAL WAX.
I HAVE heard of a bed of wax about twenty feet
thick, and stretching underground sixty miles one
way and twenty miles the other Ah, you may
well open your eyes!
But, if you go to Southern Utah, you will be
able to see it there for yourself,-and almost see
through it besides, for I 'm told that, while the wax
is black in the lump, light shines through thin slices
of it. There is another place, Galicia in Spain,
where rock-wax is found. It is a sort of paraffine,
if you can find out what that is, and at one time
must have formed part of vast underground stores
of rock-oil, or petroleum, which, having disap-
peared, left the waxy deposit behind. Perhaps
some day you will meet a man who has studied the
subject of mineral wax, and can tell you all about
these beds.
WHAT PLANTS BREATHE OUT.

YOUR Jack has told you already about the won-
derful weeping Miningo-tree, which in the sunniest

weather sheds tears. But now comes information yet
more startling, concerning the famous Washington
Elm at Cambridge, Massachusetts. The tree, in
high June, used to have about two hundred thou-
sand square feet of surface on its leaves, and,
besides, it had the habit of breathing out, during
twelve hours, every clear day, nearly eight tons in
weight of watery vapor !
All plants breathe out more or less vapor, I 'm
told, and that is why people keep them in rooms
that are heated by stoves or hot-air furnaces.
When well watered, the plants breathe out the
water again, in the form of unseen vapor, and this
helps to keep the air in a room from becoming too
dry to be wholesome.
So, you see, my dears, it will pay you to give
my relatives a cordial welcome to your warm
homes, and to treat well those you persuade to
visit you for the winter.

SLEEVE-STOVES.
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: T .*:.-.: .. .. .-. :,. rle April Sr.
NICHOLAS of last year, about Pb,.r r ., ... .... I times, and
how they carried small stoves to church for their mothers and sisters,
to keep their feet warm with through the long service. But I have-
just been told that ages before the days of the Puritans, the Chinese-
had foot-stoves, and, what is more, hand-stoves; and that they have
them even now! They are small earthenware things with oil and
wicks, like lamps.
No Chinaman in his native land ever thinks of setting up a stove
in the house merely to warm himself and his family; but, during cold
.,. .- both Chinamen and Chinawomen, who are well off, carry
:i. .. r., oil-stoves about with them, in their sleeves, just to keep
their hands comfortable Why, it must be dangerous!-Your faith-
ful reader, 1. J. M.
SEA-SILK.
Ho, girls! What do you think the dear Little
Schoolma'am says? Why, that a kind of shell-fish
found in the Mediterranean Sea,-a mussel,-
contains in each shell a little hank of stringy stuff
that glistens like golden yellow or olive-brown silk!
That is, after combing and washing, it looks so;
but at first it is dirty and muddy and covered with
odds and ends of dead sea-weed.
This sea-silk can be made into stockings, gloves,
and neckties, and even into the finest lace.
I wonder if your Jack could have a coat of it to
wear when the fairies dance about him on moon-
light nights ?

COOKED BY COLD.
MY DEAR JACK: What you said in Decemberabout "The Coldest
Cold," makes me want to tell you what I have just been reading: A
Hungarian chemist named, Dr. Sawiczevosky, subjected fresh meat
to a degree of cold which completely cooked it, and then he sealed it
in air-tight cans. When taken out some time after, the meat looked
delicious,-just the thing for a "cold collation "-and was as good to'
eat as if it had been cooked in the ordinary way by heat.
Already, there is in Hungary a factory where meat is cooked and
canned according to Dr. Sawiczevosky's cold process. I don't know
if his terrible name helps the process at all, but I have heard of even
live people being frozen with terror at sounds less dreadful.-Yours
truly, J. A.
CHAMPION WALKERS AND JUMPERS.
OF course you have all heard of the walking-
matches in England and New York. And many
of you boys, no doubt, have been trying your legs,
too, and the champion walkers among you are
looked upon as amazing fellows.
But I know of a little insect that beats all the

274

[JANUARY,

JACK-IN- THE- PULPIT.

walking or running ever done by mortal man or
boy. Even the "Seven-League Boots." would
have been left behind in a match with this wonder-
ful pedestrian.
It is a small fly, about as large as a grain of
sand; and it runs three inches in half a second;
and, in that space, makes five hundred and forty
steps. If a man were able to walk as fast in pro-
portion to his size; supposing his step to measure
two feet: he would run in one minute, more than
twenty miles,-twenty times as fast as the fastest
railroad train. Think of that, my dears!
Then, as to leaping; why, many of you have
heard of Sam Patch and his wonderful feats,-how
he jumped down a waterfall, and off a church
tower,-but think of standing down on the ground,
near the Custom-House in New-York city, leaping
right over Trinity church spire,and landing two
blocks the other side,-about four hundred yards
in all! That is how a man could jump, if he were
as good in leaping as fleas or locusts. They jump
two hundred times their own length.

I 'm a hungry, hard-shell turtaloo,
And I'm going to eat you up !"

"Oh, ha!" said the other, with courage
meet,-
The long-legged gungaboo,-
Let 's see you stand on your two hind feet!"
And then he swallowed the turtaloo.
SNOW-SPECTACLES.
H. J. F. reports: "The Eskimos have curious
spectacles with which they save their eyes from
the snow-blindness' that is caused by the dazzling
sunlight reflected upward from the snow. Each
pair of these spectacles is made of two bits of thin
wood or ivory, shaped to cover the eyes. Length-
wise in each piece, a very narrow slit is cut, as long
as the eye, but not all the way across from side to
side. The pieces are joined over the nose, and are
kept in place by strings tied at the back of the
head.
"These eye-savers are of use also in the place

I 'I "

, -^rJi-,=-

'-,-' .:;- --- ; ---- ^ -i -"....^ "-s

THE GUNGABOO AND THE TURTALOO.

THE GUNGABOO AND THE TURTALOO.
HERE is a bit of verse, with a lesson in it, which
my boys may find or not, just as they please.

Oh, the gungaboo and the turtaloo
Met on a lonely shore !
Said the turtaloo to the gungaboo:
This coast I would fain explore.
And I really must say that for something new,
You beat the bugs, fluffy gungaboo !
Now, draw in your head and legs, oh, do!
For my time has come to sup,

of spy-glasses, and, after a little practice, a man
can see to a very great distance with them."
Some of this wisdom from the ends of the earth,
you may be able to turn to use, my dears, even
although you have fully made up your minds not
to go in search of the North Pole this winter.

A HINT FROM DEACON GREEN.
THE Deacon sends his hearty good wishes, my
youngsters; and he says : All the presents that
were not given at Christmas ought to be given on
New Year's day; so as to start the year well."

1880o.

275

THE LETTER-BOX.

WAYS OF CUTTING ORANGES AND APPLES.

HOW TO CUT AN ORANGE.

HOW TO CUT AN APPLE.

To CUT the orange, make two parallel cuts, through the skin only,
leaving a continuous band about an inch wide round the body of the
orange. Remove the rest of the peel. Cut through the band once, just
over one of the natural divisions, and gently force the whole open,
and out, as in the illustration, leaving each section detached from the
others, but still fast to the band ofpeel.
The apple is cut by setting the blade of a narrow, sharp-pointed
knife in the oblique position of the intended cut, and i ..:..: .. point
first, directly to the core. When all the cuts are so ....1.., .. apple
will come apart in the above curious manner. Care must be taken
not to let the knife slip through the apple, into the hand.
Here is a good though not a new way to cut an apple so that it will
look whole and unmarked while in the dish, but, when pared, will
fall to pieces without being cut with a knife :
Take a fine needle and a thin strong thread; insert the needle at

the stem of the apple in such a way that the point will come out
again away from the stem and a short distance from the first inser-
tion; pull the needle and thread through very carefully, so as not
to break the skin or enlarge the holes, leaving a few inches of thread
hanging at the stem. Then put the needle back into the second hole,
thrust it in the same direction as before, bringing out the point still
farther from the stem, and again pull the thread through. Go on in
this way straight around the apple, and, when the thread comes out
at the stem, pull it by both ends very carefully, until it has cut en-
tirely :1-. ,,i.. and comes out of the apple. If pared now, the fruit
would I I ..-. halves; but, by working the thread round under
the skin as before, at right angles to the first cut, ano .r, pull-
ing the thread quite through at the stem, the apple .11 i i into
quarters.
After a little practice, the cutting can be done so skillfully that only
a very keen eye will be able to find out how it was accomplished.

THE LETTER-BOX.

Amherst, Mass.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Will you please ask some of your readers if
they can tell me whether Adam and Eve belonged to the Caucasian
race, and, if not. the one they did belong.to? I should like to know
very much. I have tried in many ways to find out, but as yet I have
not been able to.-Your constant reader, H. P.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Please tell Jack-in-the-Pulpit that I saw in
his October budget that sweet-potatoes and morning-glories are
related to each other, and I have heard something that proves it. On
the southern shore of Lake Ontario, in the sandy soil, there grows a
kind of wild morning-glory that has a root which looks like a small
sweet-potato and tastes a good deal like one, too.-Your faithful
reader, E. FRANK W.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I want to tell you about my bird. I read
stories about cats, dogs, chickens, and nearly everything but birds.
My bird's name is Charry, and when I let him out he will fly straight

to my pin-cushion, pull all the pins out and throw them away. Then
he will twist his cunning little head and sing, as much as to say: I
love to get into mischief."-Good-bye, L. A. B.

THE following interesting letter comes from the junior editor of the
" Petite Anse Amateur," the best amateur paper which we have seen.
It is published on Petite Anse Island, Louisiana, once a month, and
the number for November, 1879, contains twelve pages, three inches.
high by two inches wide, besides a supplement of eight extra pages.
The paper is written, edited, and printed by boys and girls of from
seven to fourteen years of age. Here is the letter:
"'Jack-in-the-Pulpit,' in the October number of ST. NICHOLAS,
wanted to know something about a curious reptile that one of his cor-
respondents had written him of; so I have thought that I would tell
him through this medium what I have 'seen with my eyes and heard
with my ears.'
We have a glass-snake in Louisiana. Papa has one, in alcohrlil

276

[JANUARY,

THE LETTER-BOX.

that is twenty-seven inches long and five-eighths ofan inch in diameter.
Its head is smaller than its neck, lizard-like, and its back is light brown
with white spots. The sides are of dark brown, with two light-blue
stripes dividing the brown into three stripes; underneath, it is an
ashy white. These snakes are called glass-snakes because they are
so brittle that when struck, even with a small switch, they break in
two or more pieces below the vitals. The muscles in the one we have
are not over an eighth of an inch long, and they are dovetailed to-
gether. The negroes believe that when the snake is broken, it has
the power to re-unite the broken pieces; but this is not so. They
have the same habits as the lizard, and are classed with them, feeding
on insects. Although on the snake there are no indications of legs,
yet in the skeleton the ui. 1. .1 i 1.. r. plainly visible.
"The glass-snake is : 1.' ..1.....-{;;,- 7n.l between the
snake and lizard families, as it partakes I i. ,. .
"J. A. McL"

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have never written to you before, as I
have always been rather afraid to, but I have finally done so. Will
you please be so kind as to tell me in what book I can find out about
the clouds, besides the physical geography?-I remain, respectfully,
M. R. T.
Professor Tyndal's book, called The Forms of Water," will tell
you a great many interesting things about the clouds.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I saw in the November number, directions
for making hair-pin braid. I found it better to crochet toward the
points of the hair-pin, instead of toward the bent end, as your direc-
tions said; for, instead of taking the crochet-needle out of the loop,
to turn the hair-pin, I only had to pass the needle between the ends
of the hair-pin, so that, when the hair-pin was turned, the crochet-
needle came next to me. When I had worked the hair-pin full, I
pushed the braid off, and put on again only the last two loops, one
on each side of the hair-pin, and went on crocheting as before. Ikept
the braid clean by wrapping paper about it.-Your interested reader,
J. 0. B.

IN answer to H. F. H.'s question in the November Letter-Box,"
E. A. Kelley, Jr., quotes the Act of 80o2. According to this, the son
of a citizen of the United States, no matter in what other country the
son may be born, is also a citizen of the United States,-that is, an
American.
Rutherford, N. J.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Will you please ask your readers where
"Maoris" is? Several of the larger scholars in our school, seeing it
among other geographical names, became so interested as to search
each map in the geography; but they could not find it. We do not
know whether it is a bay, a town, a river, or a range of mountains.
Hoping that some of your readers will find it and let me know, I
remain, your interested reader, GEO. H.

A MORNING CALL.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: The bright holidays now on their way,
remind me of an incident that brightened last New Year's morning
for me. And so I send your children this little account of it, think-
ing that some of them may like to carry out the idea in their own way
and in their own homes.-Yours truly, EVE LYNN.
IN the early dawn I hear
Childish whispers, faint and sweet,
Merry laughter, quickly hushed,
Pattering of little feet.
Presently a little knock:
Then the door flies open wide!
Like a lovely picture, stand
Old and New Year, side by side.

As he leans upon his staff,
Old Year strokes his beard of snow;
But beneath the quaint disguise
Shine two bright eyes that I know.

Old Year, kneeling, asks to stay;
Begs the gift of one month more.
New Year stamps his little foot,
Points him sternly to the door.

Says my little Goldilocks,
Go away, you Old Year, you!
We don't want you any more;
You're the Old Year, I 'm the New."

Sundry giggles, heard outside,
Spare the need of further'knocks;
And the Seasons come in view,
Bending neathh the croquet-box.

Old Year therein seats himself,
Trying, vainly, not to laugh,
As the New Year tucks him in,
Picking up his hat and staff.

Take him very carefully!
Poor Old Year is dead and gone,"
Chants the New Year, to a tune
That must surely be his own.
Autumn, cover him with leaves:
Bring him roses, June and May,"
(All my flower-box goes on)
"Winter, keep the wind away."

Slowly the procession moves,
Chubby Winter at the head,
In my best umbrella hid,
Save his little stockings red.

Then, I really have to laugh,
And, like sparrows at the sound
Of the mother-birdie's voice,
All the six come flocking round.
In the midst of noisy fun
That would stronger nerves appall,
With a hug, says Goldilocks,
Did you like your New Year call?"

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : H. M. M., in the October "Letter-Box,"
seems to think $24 a small price to pay for the island of Manhattan.
But that $24, at 7 per cent. compound interest, would now amount, I
think, to more than the value of all the real estate in the City and
County of New York.-Yours very truly, JOHN M. STAHL.
B. F. says: H. M. l.'s letter reminds me that it is not so very
long ago since vessels used to sail from the Hudson River through.
Canal Street, New York, to a fresh-water pond in Center street,
where the Tombs prison now stands. In 1877 there was a man liv-
ing who remembered this very well.
"Perhaps some of the 'Letter-Box' readers may like to know how
it was that Maiden Lane, a crooked little street in the very busiest
part of New York city got its sentimental name? It was called
'Maidens' Path' at first, because it was the path which the city
washerwomen took to reach a little stream of spring water that ran
through the valley near by. From 'Path' to 'Lane' was a very
short step."

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I thought I would write and tell you of a,
wonderful curiosity we have at home. It is a four-legged chicken.
It walks on two of its legs, and holds the other two out behind. As.

T -.r. ,-.. i -.r drawing, this is the best portrait I could make.
iL.. '-..I .' I. ry peculiar appearance when roosting, its two,
extra feet standing out behind it.-Truly yours, R. H. S.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS; In marking out designs, I have tried trac-
ing the lines with a lead pencil, which obscures the 1. ..
spoil it; a small stick catches and jerks badly, a slate ,. I' ,. -
design; and so I am at a loss what to use.-Your friend,
W. L. S.
A fine, smooth, steel or bone point should be used. Such points-
-used by artists in transferring tracings,-are to be bought; but a
smart boy might make one from a crochet needle, or something of
the sort.

BRIC-A-BRAC -The following is in answer to several inquiries.
about this word: The supplement to the latest edition of Webster's.
" Unabridged Dictionary spells the term thus, "bric-a-brac," and

x880.]

277

THE RIDDLE-BOX.

defines it as "a miscellaneous collection, particularly of antiquarian
-or artistic curiosities." Bric-a-brac was originally French, and the
highest two authorities in that language,-Littre's "Dictionary" and
ithe "Dictionnaire de l'Academie Frangaise,"-give its meaning as
"old and chance objects, such as cabinets, articles of old iron and
copper, pictures, statuettes." Both dictionaries limit the familiar
French use of the term to the trade title marchand de b-ic-a-brac,
" dealer in bric-at-brac," perhaps translatable, too, as "marine-store
dealer" and "junk merchant"; but neither of them points out
decidedly the origin of the term, although each makes a reference to
.the common phrase de bric et de broc, as though it were believed to
be related, in some untraced way, to bric-.-brac. And this seems
not unlikely; for the meaning of the phrase is, "from here and
,there," "by this means and that," "by hook and by crook"; and,
-certainly, the stock in trade of a dealer in bric-A-brac, of whatever
kind, is gathered "from here and there," "by this means and that,"
.and sometimes "by hook and by crook."

Chicago, Ills.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have made a collection of butterflies and
moths this summer, and would like to learn about them. Will you
please print in the next "Letter-Box the name of some book that
-will tell me about them? I am eight years old, and my name is
PAUL.
"Insect Lives; or Born in Prison," by Julia P. Ballard, a con-
tributor to ST. NICHOLAS, is a prettily illustrated book that tells a good
-deal very clearly, and in a very interesting way, about butterflies and
moths. The book is published by Robert Clarke & Co., Cincinnati.

FLOY.-Send as many of the solutions of puzzles as you can.
Your name will be put in the list, and against it the number of puz-
.zles you solve correctly.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I thought I would write and tell about
.a game we play in the road. It is a game of our own invention,

and we have great fun playing it, We call it "Polo." It is exactly
like grown-up Polo, only without the horses.
First of all, you measure about fifty feet on the sidewalk, and at
each end drive two sticks (we generally use the handles of brooms,
sawed off about two and a half feet from the top), set them in the
ground about three feet apart, then find the middle of the ground
(which will be twenty-five feet from either end) and draw a square,
about six inches each way. Now you must choose sides, and each
side must have a captain. You must each have a croquet mallet,
and a croquet ball should be placed in the square above mentioned.
Then a boy who is not playing must be chosen judge. He must take
a stone and ask each side if they are ready. If they answer "Yes,"
he must drop the stone, and then each party must run and try to get
to the ball first and knock it through the goal, that is, between the two
sticks on the enemies' side, thus winning the game. We think it is
great, and I hope the readers of ST. NICHOLAS will think so, too.
From your friend and constant reader, F. E. B.
P. S.-If the ball rolls into the road, the judge must cry, "Out-
side." Then he must pick up the ball and put it back in the square,
and the game begins again.

M. V. D. would like to know, through the "Letter-Box," what
five words in the English language-it is said there are only five-end
in CION. Who will tell her?

Huben, Iselthal, Tyrol.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am nine years old, I live in California,
but am traveling in Europe with my papa and mamma.
We are in Tyrol, and Huben is a very pretty place. They have
dreadful avalanches here. Last winter one came down near where
we are -"t,--:, and carried away a house with five persons in it.
They ,II : : killed, but the goat and the cat were found alive.
There are a great many crucifixes and statues of saints here. The
people put them up by the roadside, and pray before them when
passing by. They hope the crucifixes and statues will keep the
avalanches off, and they are very good people,-all but one man.
He put up a statue of St. Florian, but an avalanche came and carried
off his field, leaving nothing but the image of the saint. He was so
mad, he tore up the statue and cut it up into little pieces and threw
it down where the avalanche went, which was very steep!-Your
loving reader. ALICE,

THE RIDDLE-BOX.

DOUBLE CROSS-WORD ENIGMA.
In Silas, not in Fred;
In Lucas, not in Ned;
In Adam, not in Bill:
In Nathan, not in Will;
In David, not in Sim;
In F"l-.r it in Tim;
In (i. r :, not in Jane;
Two things that always leave a stain.
CYRIL DEANE.

COMPARISONS, DECLENSIONS, AND PRINCIPAL
PARTS.
COMPARISONS: I. Positive, an entrance to a narrow lane; Com-
parative, a reptile. 2. Compare like "much": Positive, a rabbit
house; Comparative, a kind of frost; Superlative, a great company.
3. Compare like "good": Positive, a kind of fuel; Comparative,
more moist; Superlative, a point of the compass. 4. Compare like
"bad": Positive, past perfect of have; Comparative, a solemn
vehicle; Superlative, ... F...; I. name for a grove.
DECLENSIONS: I..I'. I.. 11 a pronoun of the first person : Sin-
gular.-Nominative, purchase; Possessive, a vine or near; Object-
ive, exist. Plural.-Nominarive, an insect; Possessive, an arbor or
arbors; Objective, a vehicle. 2. Decline like pronoun of the second
person: Plural.-Nominative, a tree; Possessive, a pitcher or
pitchers; Objective, a sheep. 3. Decline like a ,. ...... fthe third
person : Singular.-Nominative, a meadow; i a girl's
nickname; Objective, a branch. Plural.-Nominative, a song;
Possessive, a den; Obj. r: ,1 '.... ne abbreviated.
PRINCIPAL PARTS: _' I .. rI.. ..I ."-I. Present, an exclama-
tion; Past, a fast; Perfect, a grass plot. 2. Present, unbaked bread;
Past, a nick; Perfect, day-break. Like the verb "see."-3. Present,
a wharf; Past, a bird's note; Perfect, acute. 4. Present, the shel-
tered side; Past, rule of action ; Perfect, to incline. 5. Present, an
English river; Past, a bird; Perfect, a church official. 6. Present, a

note of music; Past, a mouth; Perfect, carriage of the person. Like
the verb "fly."-7. Present, elevated; Past, color; Perfect, a stone
f I. ,i.:..i, 3. Present, ashes mixed with water; Past, a game
.. i '.:. ', without company. 9. Present, belonging to me;
Past, a kitten's cry; Perfect, a sound of pain. H. H. B.

FRAME PUZZLE.
IN this puzzle, the letter I occurs in each word forming the frame,
at the place where the letter is set in the diagram. Of each upright
word, the first letter is that which occurs in the sloping word where
it touches an upright word.

7* .

I'

*

-'I I.,

Left slope, reading upward: Entrancing. Right slope, reading
downward: A fortress. Left upright: A high "round" number.
Right upright: Government. Bottom, reading from left to right: To
judge. L. G. H.

278

JANUARY,

THE RIDDLE-BOX.

EASY PRO

I:II)I)I.E.

BIRD PI ZZI.L.

.,-, -,, < I' ,",
i. iII-.. .JI I-.I., ,, I ..
,I I ,

n ,.. I ll r I, J ,' , r
,, , i , i , ,

VERB REBUS. 4. List,-back, crowd, deacon, furnace, field, plough, safety._
Letter D.
...- i:- ,, . .. ..

I -_ 't ,r I -' I I 1 "" ,'. .r

J .- :- ,. .- I iI .I
I, r II, I ,, ,i, 1,. I 'I
li, ,I

-_* '.b_ _--' __ -. , i . ,. ;_. -

I .... ...
.i ... "

..4 .L -
p "--2--:- -- "- --;. 22. : '- ', ... ..
.- .. ... .l .; '. ,. .t . .- .
.- .._ . ,' _

7--:. . .. ..7, I ;_ .. "
.. ,,'' -' ." +" -- 'j

h. ... f I 3 x 1
.. .. .. 'V

E (,lS I ti.
,, I. I, I -' i

I)OrIILr A'RI-?'T[I.'

I-, I...r .... 1.; I .. 1.r .. i h,a-.
The next describes her far-obeyed command.
The third is hard for fighting-men to be.
Fourth is a shell-fish, floater on the sea.
The fifth you must be every now and then.
Sixth, of the East were wisest of wise men.
Seventh is an acid of a common kind;
And eighth, a number, ball-players call to mind.

EASY NUMERICAL ENIGMA.
I HAVE thirteen letters, and I mean appendages. My 1, 4, 1i, xx
is a vessel for carrying liquids. My 6, o10, 3, 5 is a stringed instru-
ment of music. My 13, 8, 7, 9, 2 is a place where men contend for
victory in athletic sports. ISOLA.
WORD-MAKING.
THOSE who play the game of "Word-making and word-taking"
know how satisfactory it is to draw from the pool a letter which will
enable them to capture a word from the enemy, especially if he have
the required "ten" words. Many a time one of his ten words
might be taken with the letter drawn, if his opponent only knew how
to apply the letter. To show how to make use of the letter drawn, a
little practice is here given in the shape of a puzzle.
Suppose your opponent has the words, i-..;. F, . win, and you
draw an R. Can you add it to any one i 1... J You cannot
turn his may" into Mary," because proper nouns are not allowed
unless found in the body of Webster's dictionary. But you can turn
it into "army" and appropriate it. If you had drawn an S you
could not have taken a word by merely adding the S to make it
plural, and you are not permitted to make word into a past parti-
ciple with a D, nor may you make compound words. These rules
apply in this puzzle.
Now, in each of the following examples are given the list of
words your adversary has, and the letter drawn by you; and you are
to discover which of his words you can capture.
I. List of words,-curate, if, cow, roiling, he, boot. Letter drawn,
A.
2. List,-waiter, bring, when, glad, lyre, much. Letter B.
3. List,-fan, sand, bat, of, dream, laud, bishop. Letter C.

22. List,-streets, truce, voice, tin, mug, perpetrate, adder. Let-
ter V.
23. List,-haste, modest, maiden, temperate, persecute, accuse.
Letter W.
24. List,-tent, value, nothing, inn, malice, courtesy, oval, yeast.
Letter X.
25. List,-bad, foe, smooth, mutter, want, future, remark. Letter
Y.
26. List,-dreary, polar, bears, mere, shocking, occult. Letter Z.
AUNT SUE.
HIDDEN WORD-SQUARE.
THE base is a word of four letters, the name of a girl. In each of
the following sentences, find concealed one of the words of the
square:
I. Tell Anna to call the harvesters, and have them make haste in
to supper. 2. The mule appearing very mad-I hate a mad mule--
I at once left his neighborhood.
3. The lazy lad excused himself;
He had a mind to shirk.
4. Said teacher, giving him a slap:
"Excuse you? No, sir! Work!"
"LITTLE BRUNETTE."

DOUBLE DIAMOND.
ACROSS: I. In open. a. Part of a wheel. 3. A boy's name. 4.-
A drawing on cardboard. 5. A large screaming water-fowl. 6. An
abbreviation of "mamma." 7. In any.
DOWN, beginning at the left: I. In ocean. 2. An interjection of
surprise. 3. The home of a Turk's wives. 4. To set forth by lines-
or colors. 5. A wild evergreen shrub, with yellow, white or purple
flowers. 6. At a distance, but within view. 7. In many. DYCIE.

i880.]

279

THE RIDDLE-BOX.

EASY PICTURE ANAGRAM.

T-

THE answer is one word of nine letters, and is indicated by the
largest picture in the illustration. Each of the small pictures repre-
sents an object the name of which may be spelled from the letters of
the answer.
RIDDLE.
THE sound of a word appropriate for the middle blank is to be so
spelled as to fill the other blanks, and make sense.
The natives of Java say that if the night under a --
tree, the result must be that away before morning
JENNY YOUNG.
NUMERICAL ENIGMA.
I AM a line from Alexander Pope's Essay on Criticism," and I
contain twenty-seven letters.
My 2o, 6, r7, 13, 9, 27 is moral excellence. My 15, 25, 18 is a

fruit. My io, I6, xI, 26 is a low cry of pain.. My 8, 2, 4, 7, 2 is an
herb-eating animal. My 22, 19, 24, 23, 12, 3 is godlike. My 5, 14,
I is to decay. ISOLA.

CHARADE.
MY first is rigid, formal, cold
And never pleasing to behold.
My second's fragrance fills the air
When summer days are bright and fair.
My whole has never had its birth
Till gladsome Spring 's returned to earth.

G. L.

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN DECEMBER NUMBER.
Two EASY DIAMONDS.-I. i. L. 2. SOd. 3. LoYal. 4. DAm.
5. L. II. i. M. 2. LAG. 3. MaGic. 4. Gin. 5. C.
Pi.-In a primary school, not long ago, the teacher undertook to
convey to her pupils an idea of the uses of the hyphen. She wrote
on the blackboard, Birds'-nests," and pointing to the hyphen asked
the school: What's that for? After a short pause a little chap
piped out: "Please ma'am, that's for the bird to roost on."
DIFFICULT TRANSPOSITIONS.--I. Any crest, ancestry. 2. Palli-
ated, dial-plate. 3. Requisite, it is queer. 4. One dares, reasoned.
BEHEADINGS.-I. T-Hames. 2. N-Early. 3. O-Rally. 4. P-
Layer. 5. R-Educe. 6. R-Elapse.- RIDDLE.- LMatch-safe.
FOUR EASY SQUARE-WORDS.-
PIG OWE ORE ORB
I. ICE 11. WHY III. ROB IV. ROE
GEM EYE EBB BEG
CROss-WoRD ENIGMA.-Stove.-- EASY CHARADE.-Seal-skin.
DIAGONAL PUZZLE.-I. Condiment. 2. CHallenge. 3. MeRri-
ment. 4. Satirical. 5. SatiSfied. 6. ImposTure. 7. TradesMan.
8. MatutinAl. 9. LucidnesS. Christmas.
CHRISTMAS CENTRAL ACROSTIc.-Children singing Christmas
carols: i. FaCes; of the children. 2. AsHes; sprinkled by the usher.
3. Spire; of church. 4. HoLly; on arch of gate. 5. HeDge; in
front of house. 6. ApRon; on little girl. 7. StEps; of church. 8.
PaNes; of windows.--9. BaSes; of porch pillars. o1. Drift; of
snow, by steps. 1I. ViNes; on church. 1s. SiGns; on fence. 13.
Chink; in fence. x4. FeNce; in front of hedge. 15. LiGht; on
arch of gate.-- 6. LoCks; on gates. 17. UsHer; sprinkling
ashes. a8. GiRls; singing. 19. Stick; in peddler's hand. 2o.
VaSes; on the fence. 21. GaTes; of the fence. 22. LaMps; on
the church. 23. FIAgs; ofsidewalk. 24. MuSic; in children'shands.
-- 25. PaCks; on peddler. 26. StArs; in the sky. 27. PoRch;
of the church. 28. CrOss; in porch gable. 29. BeLls; in the belfry.
30. PoSts; of the fence.
DOUBLE ACRosTIc.-Santa-Claus. i. SaranaC. 2. AbeL. 3.
NiagarA. 4. TU. 5. AtlaS.
EASY M ETAGRAM.-Romeo, Rome, more, ore, or, o.
WORD SYNCOPATIONS.-I. Ho-me-ly. 2. A-mica-ble. 3. Di-
urn-al. 4. Ar-den-t. 5. B-all-et. 6. Bon-fir-e.
SCATTERED SQUARE-WORDS.--. Ache, coil, hill, Ella. 2. Acid,
care, iron, dent. 3. Cane, area, near, earl. 4. Chit, hare, iron, tent.
5. Clad, lace, acre, deer. 6. Clan, lace, acre, need. 7. Dawn, area,
wear, nard. 8. Hand, area, near, dart. 9. Halt, area, leer, tart. io.
Epic, pare, iron, cent. I. Hail, acre, iron, lent. 12. Jade, area,
dear, earl. 13. Jail, acre, iron, lend. 14. Wait, acre, iron, tend. 15,
What, hare, area, tear. 16. Wall, area, lead, lade.
PICTURE ANAGRAMS FOR YOUNG PUZZLERS.-i. Archery, acherry.
2. Tens, nest. 3. Wings, swing. 4. Roes, rose.

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE NOVEMBER NUMBER were received, before November 20, from The Blank Family,-Oulagiskit,-Bessie
and her Cousin,--Mary L. Otis, all of whose solutions were correct; and from John Smith, Jr., I -Willie F. Dix, i -Milly B. Cross, I -
Helen M. Duncan, 2-E. .. r,... -Mary L. Shipman, 2-Mamie M. Burney, I -7I. T.. Lamprey, I -Robert B. Salter, Jr., 3-
Edith Chase, --Susie A. -. i.i...: 3-M. McB., x-Charles Fitts, 5-Ethel Bangs, :-i t. Moore, 5 -Mauch Chunk, 8-Gertrude
Spalding, 2-Walter Dorset Parks, i -R. A. A., i -" Punch and Judy," 6-No Name, I -" Scrub," 2-Emma and Netta McCall, 2-
Carroll L. Maxcy, 5-Grace Ashton Crosby, 13-Charlie H. Jones, I-Nettie Conine, 2-Nora O'Neil, 7-Eleanor N. Hughes, 7-Jennie
W. Burritt, 2-Marie Morris, 2-Claire H. Pingrey, 9-B. E. and H. E. Melvin, 2-Sallie R. Marshall, T -Rufus B. Clark, 3-E. Frank
Thompson, rI-Bessie and Tommy Hotchkiss, 2-Ida Muller, 2-L. L. Van Liew, 2 -Lillian Baker, 4-Gertrude H., -Buttercup, xr-
Charl'? ?rr-1Ta I--Efie K. Talboys, 2-Lizzie H. D. St Vrain, 6-Alice G. Benedict, 5- Helen Vaughn Cope, x-" Quintettes," 5-
(..i1.. i. :ega, r-Elizabeth L. Hillegeist, 6-Percy Crenshaw, 2-Bessie C. Barney, 6-Warren Wolfersberger, 5-Mary Camp-
bell Murdock, ro-Julia Crofton, 6-Jessie O. Woodruff, 2-Lucy B. Shaw, 4-"G. H.," 6-Annie Reynes, 7-Diamond and Pearl, 4-
J. Harry Anderson, 3-J. H. Slade, Jr., 2-Netta M. Van, 4-Benjamin C. Brown, Jr., 7-John V. L. Pierson, 6-Reta S. Mcllvaine,
xo-F. C. C., 3-Florence Wilcox, 12 -Ida Cohn, 6-Allen T. Treadway, so-Jim Crow, 6-Thomas Harwood, i-Frances, Margaret,
and Russell, 2-Vee Cornwell, 7-Bella Wehl, 8-Bertha Potts, 6-Lillie Burling, 5-Emmie J. Allen and Anna R. Jackson, 6-J. W.
Yocum, 2-Nellie Kellogg, 5-Arthur P. Summers, 4-No Name, 7-Marion and Henry, 4-Willie B. Geery, 6-Eva and Ada Dolton,
4-Theodore Potts, 3 -Morris Turk, 2-Russel Duane, 6 -H. F. W., 3-Edward Vultee, 13-Pumble and Sam, 3-Cousins, ro-A. E.
D. St. John, 9-" Riddlers," s-Bessie S. Works, I-H. W. Blake, 9-Edith W. Hamlin and May H. Weston, 8--Elvie Johnson, 7-
Harkaway, and Sister, 4 -Eddie Gwynne, i -Harry C. Crosby, a -Philip Sidney Carlton, 7 -Robert Allen Gally, 6--H. Tournade, I -
U. Jacobi, ix-Susie Sipe, II -Daisy and Harold, 4-David A. Center, 2--Will, i-Georgie and Carlton Woodruff, 4-Lloyd M. Scott,
--Jos. Van Doren, 4-Anna K. Phelps, 14-Nellie DeGraff, so-Perry Beattie, 3-"Three Guessers," x--H. J. Tiley, 12-Kitty C.
Atwater, 6-Rob Bowles, 3-Edith Grace Bristow, x-Laura H. and Charles D. Napier, so-Emma Maxwell, 5-"Apple Blossom,"
6-Jessle I. Upham, 7-M. J. G. and H. L. C., 5--Annie C., and Louis L. C., 12-No Name, 2--Kate Higson, 2-"Impatience,"
s2--Bessie Taylor, 5-Jennie Mondschein, 3-"Winnie," 9-R. Kelly, 3-Charlie W. Power, 4-Harry M. Norris, 6. The numerals
denote the number of puzzles solved.
ANSWERS TO J. D. L.'s PUZZLE in November "Letter-Box" were received, before November o2, from E. Farrington,-Bessie,-Emma
and Netta McCalL.-Anna Houghton,-"Pumble and Sam"-Annie E. St. John.

280

[JANUARY.

D LIBRARY

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	Front Cover
	Front Matter
	Frontispiece
	The proud little grain of...
	Japanese top-spinning
	The dolls' baby-show
	Jack and Jill
	Bidding the sun "good-night" in...
	The three copecks
	The land of short memories
	The practical fairy
	The shepherd-boy of Vespignano
	Popping corn
	Ino and Uno
	How Hal went home
	The relay in the desert
	Plums
	The boys' own phonograph
	The children's "claim"
	Sow, sew, and so - A strange...
	Blodget's orders
	The sprig of holly
	Among the lakes
	Snow-ball warfare
	The sleeping princess
	Trot, dot, and bunny
	Jack-in-the-pulpit
	The letter-box
	The riddle-box
	Back Matter
	Back Cover
	Spine

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117	html_echo_mainwriter.add_text_to_page	Finished reading and writing the file