• TABLE OF CONTENTS
HIDE
 Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Frontispiece
 Dame Durden and little Mr....
 Rare woods
 A summer song
 A lucky stroke
 Jacky's scarecrow
 Jack and Jill
 A summer story
 A Japanese military noble in court...
 Pedro
 Elizabeth Eliza writes a paper
 The little models
 Tom's anti-fire-cracker league
 Buttons and fortunes
 The Canadian patriots in 1775
 Now, bumble-bee!
 One-tree island
 Cheery robin
 Paper balloons
 The major's big-talk stories
 Roses
 The Fariport nine
 Two gunpowder stories
 Luck
 How little Patty saved her...
 Freddy and the hawk
 Little Popple-de-Polly
 Tabby's supper
 Jack-in-the-pulpit
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Matter
 Back Cover
 Spine






Group Title: St. Nicholas.
Title: Saint Nicholas: Vol. 7, no. 9. July 1880.
ALL VOLUMES CITATION PAGE IMAGE ZOOMABLE
Full Citation
STANDARD VIEW MARC VIEW
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00089
 Material Information
Title: Saint Nicholas: Vol. 7, no. 9. July 1880.
Series Title: St. Nicholas.
Uniform Title: Saint Nicholas: Vol. 7, no. 9
Alternate Title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner,
Publication Date: July 1880
 Subjects
Subject: Children's literature -- Periodicals.
Literature for Children
 Notes
General Note: Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
General Note: Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00065513
Volume ID: VID00089
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: notis - ocm0176
oclc - 7405657; (DLC)SF 89099153
oclc - (DLC) 2006255186; 55136171

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Front Matter
        Front Matter
    Frontispiece
        Plate
    Dame Durden and little Mr. Babe
        Page 681
        Page 682
        Page 683
    Rare woods
        Page 685
        Page 686
        Page 687
    A summer song
        Page 684
    A lucky stroke
        Page 688
        Page 689
        Page 690
    Jacky's scarecrow
        Page 691
        Page 692
    Jack and Jill
        Page 693
        Page 694
        Page 695
        Page 696
        Page 697
        Page 698
        Page 699
        Page 700
        Page 701
    A summer story
        Page 702
    A Japanese military noble in court dress
        Page 702
        Page 703
    Pedro
        Page 704
        Page 705
        Page 706
        Page 707
    Elizabeth Eliza writes a paper
        Page 708
        Page 709
        Page 710
    The little models
        Page 711
        Page 712
    Tom's anti-fire-cracker league
        Page 713
        Page 714
        Page 715
        Page 716
    Buttons and fortunes
        Page 717
    The Canadian patriots in 1775
        Page 718
        Page 719
        Page 720
    Now, bumble-bee!
        Page 721
    One-tree island
        Page 722
        Page 723
        Page 724
        Page 725
        Page 726
    Cheery robin
        Page 727
    Paper balloons
        Page 728
        Page 729
        Page 730
        Page 731
        Page 732
        Page 733
    The major's big-talk stories
        Page 734
        Page 735
    Roses
        Page 736
    The Fariport nine
        Page 737
        Page 738
        Page 739
        Page 740
        Page 741
        Page 742
    Two gunpowder stories
        Page 743
        Page 744
    Luck
        Page 745
    How little Patty saved her mother
        Page 746
        Page 747
        Page 748
        Page 749
        Page 750
    Freddy and the hawk
        Page 751
    Little Popple-de-Polly
        Page 752
    Tabby's supper
        Page 753
    Jack-in-the-pulpit
        Page 754
        Page 755
    The letter-box
        Page 756
        Page 757
        Page 758
    The riddle-box
        Page 759
        Page 760
    Back Matter
        Back Matter
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
    Spine
        Spine
Full Text















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LE E TF
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ELZA ET AE ,A,$ H O T















ST. NICHOLAS.




JULY, 1880.

[Copyright, 1880, by Scribner & Co.]





DAME DURDEN AND LITTLE MR. BABE.

BY S. W. BIRNIE.


IT was such a queer old face that looked in upon
me through the open window; and such a restless
little body! I put down the book I was reading
and walked toward them for a closer view.
"Good morning, a brisk voice spoke up, with
a jerk of an uncombed, yellow-whitish head; "I 've
come to see Little Mr. Babe."
Oh, you have," I replied, somewhat taken
aback, as the saying is, at the crisp salutation, and
not knowing what this startling infant meant.
"But who are you, and where did you come
from?" ?
"Goodness," snapped this young pepper-box
-again, ".don't you know that? Everybody 'round
knows my father; he 's a sexcum in this 'ere church
across the way, and my mother, she takes in wash-
in', and ironin', and we don't have sugar only
Sunday, 'cause you see my mother she says she
works too hard for me to wear my best hat, and
sugar every day." :,
"I suppose you help your mother a great deal,"
I said, as soon as I was permitted to express an
opinion, and at the same time wondering to what
use the restless creature could possibly be put, un-
less it were to swing as a pendulum, or twist- a-gilt
rooster on a weather-vane, as she never rested for
over a minute on either foot, and her yellow head
danced like a crazy sunbeam, keeping a sort of
nodding time to her words, which rattled out like
beans from a bag.
"Yep," she nodded, "I sing 'Happy Day,' and
wash my own face" (I tli..-l;luh very l:I!-l.. i "and
scold Jont when he growls.too much, and-" with
VOL. VII.-45.


a sudden stand-still that threatened to upset her,-
"Where 's Mr. Babe ?"
I am sure I don't know, child," said I; where
did you leave him last, and what is he? "
Well, now," she answered, with a scornful sniff,
" that is a joke. Why, I say, aint you got a baby
up in this house? I heard you had from Marthy
Kerru, and while my father was makin'the fire at
the church for prayer meeting' (he has to make all
the fires, don't you believe, 'cause he's the sexcum),
I jest run away to see if Marthy Kerri told me a
straight story about it. It was Marthy told me;
mebbe you knoiwher; that dirty-faced little thing
you see runnin':for the: cow 'round here, with, her
stockin's all down. : She said you 'd jest moved up
here from New York and brought along a baby."
I told her I had not the pleasure of Marthy's
acquaintance,- and asked her to come into-.the
house, adding"' if you are not afraid your mother
will worry about you. The baby is asleep now, but
you may sit down here with me and wait until- he
wakes."
Oh, I 'm four or six years old," she replied with
a pitying glance for my ignorance, as, with a brisk
"Here I am! she curled and wriggled over the
. .,,-.i. --!l into my room. "No; my mother
wont worry about me. It's Jont; he will.growl so
and tear his pants, and then you see my mother'has
to stop right in the hot suds and mend 'em. He's
an awful young 'un,: that Jont." '-: :
Jont was n't, then, as I had supposed from her
conversation, a bad-tempered dog.
Is Jont your brother ? "


VOL. VII.


No. 9.






DAME DURDEN AND LITTLE MR. BABE.


I should say so. You don't seem to know any-
thing, do you ? But then you've jes' come, and if
you want a good dress-maker, there's one lives
down by our house, that charges awful. I'11 speak
to her if you like. Why, do you believe she trimmed
my Sunday hat; not this one" (holding up a
very dilapidated red flannel hood, she had been
swinging by one string), "and would n't take no
pay for it. But dear me, I s'pose we '11 have to do
all her fine clo'es this summer to make up for it,
and the hot weather's awful trying' "
I began to fear that this intelligent atom was a
trifle too wise.
"Where's Tomato?" she went on. "I know
her; she came and talked to my mother over our
fence. She's a queer one, aint she? Kin you
make out what she says? She asked my mother
to give her some of our lylicks to bring home to
you. Did you ever git them lylicks? I s'pose
she thought she'd git some rosies too, but lylicks
has a pretty good smell to 'em, don't you think
so?"
I certainly did think so, and was very much
obliged to her mother for sending them to me.
T6mida, or as this precocious one calledher, "To-
mato," was my boy's nurse, and, as she remarked
after her last question, "I s'pose she's upstairs
with Mr. Babe."
"Yes," I answered, "she is taking care of him
now."
He's waked up then, has he? Shall I go up ? "
"No; I do not think he is awake yet; but Te-
mida sits by his cradle while he sleeps, and rocks
him if he stirs."
"Flies bite him, I guess, this hot weather. They
say it beats all the weather we ever had 'round
here. You aint got any little girl 'cept Mr. Babe,
have you ? Marthy Kerru said you had n't, and if
you like, I guess I kin git you one. Mis' Jones
she 's jes' died about three weeks ago, and left one,
and do you believe they sent it off to a 'sylum in
New York. I wish I 'd a known you was a-comin'.
I'd a spoke about it. Mr. Babe must be lonesome.
Kin he talk?"
"No, he is too little to talk yet; but he crows
sometimes "
"Well, I declare; that's jes' like our chickens;
they crow till my head is 'most off. He sleeps a
long time though; don't you think so ?"
I began to think she was getting tired, as she had
never sat down all this time, and that she was pre-
paring to go and leave her object unaccomplished,
but the next moment she was unburdening her
mind of a new thought, and bombarding me after
this fashion:
Mis' Kerru says you 've had more 'n five cooks
since you came here to live, and you can't seem to


keep 'em. What's the matter; don't you give
'em enough to eat ? "
This was too much I replied, with a faint show
of indignation, that I had not had five cooks, and
I had never heard my girls complain of hunger, so
that Mrs. Kerru must have been mistaken.
"Well, I would n't wonder," was the response
from Dame Durden, as I was calling her to myself,
" for my mother says she's a queer one, or she'd
never let that Marthy go 'round with the cows, with
her stockin's down an' such a dirty face. You'd
think she'd clean her up now, would n't you ?"
I nodded, having no chance to speak.
"An' do you believe that dirty little thing goes.
over here to Sunday-school, jes' all the same, and
don't care. But then it 's the greatest Sunday-
school you ever knowed, or I would n't say so.
Why, they don't give nothing' at Christmas, nor no
time, but puncshall 'tendance cards, and your
name on the black-board. Pooh Once we had
a teacher give us a little book, but she's dead now.
Well, they do have a banner class, an' that's the
class that gits the most money. I 'd like to know,
now, how they expect our class to git the banner.
Why, my mother has to work awful hard, and my
father's the sexcum. We never give the tramps.
that come to our house no butter on their bread.
We can't afford it; and I 've just made up my
mind they won't have me in that Sunday-school a
great while longer. Look a here, do you think
this is fair? There's that Hattie Hunt, she sits
behind me, an' puts her feet on my clean dress
that takes my mother so long to wash an' iron, an'
then do you believe I can't say nothing 'cause she's
rich, and Mr. Brown, he 's the minister, of course
would n't care if I did. He 'd jes' let her go on
doin' it, an' let me go out. I 'd lick her, but she 's.
some bigger than my big brother George, and he
dassent, you see. My, if it aint the queerest Sun-
day-school! Once they had a Christmas tree, oh !
long before you was here, and Hattie Hunt got
a big doll with open and shut eyes, an' a
cradle; an' every blessed thing do you believe
they give me, was a white apron, an' not a pocket
in it, an' a little stingy bag of candy. You see,
Hattie Hunt's mother put her things on the tree-
for her, and the sewin'-school give me mine.
There, now," with a sudden spring at the win-
dow, that broke up the Sunday-school, "if you
want to see Marthy Kerru, there she goes. Did n't
I tell you? Look at her stockin's Will I call.
her in, so 's you can git acquainted ?"
"I guess not to-day; you can bring her with
you some time. I think I hear the baby now, so,
if you wish, we will go upstairs."
This we at once proceeded to do, Dame Dur-
den perking her head on one side like a bird, and;


682


[JULY,






DAME DURDEN AND LITTLE MR. BABE.


giving everything she passed on the way a notice
of some kind.
My I she exclaimed, stopping in the hall to
inspect the baby-carriage, I don't like that willow
thing at all. I 've seen awful prettier ones. If I
was Mr. Babe, I 'd tumble out of it."
At this awful threat, the yellow head bobbed
worse than ever, and then a-top of it, the young



;PY~


.L"HERE I AM!' SAID DAME DURDEN."


vixen perched the red flannel hood, which I was
afraid would frighten Baby.
How do you do, Tomato ?" she at once saluted
my nurse. "I 've come to see Mr. Babe. My!
but you're a little one ;" touching his nose with


her little brown hand. He aint got no hair to
speak of, has he ? Shall I take him ? "
You may see if he will go to you; but be
very careful not to let him fall."
Come along, Mr. Babe," she said, holding out
her arms. I know you, and I '11 sing you 'Ring
around a Rosy.'"
But the baby, whose stock of words was
somewhat limited, only opened his eyes very wide,
and made up a wry face while he tried to say
something that sounded more like "bug" than
anything else.
"What's that he says?" asked Dame Durden.
"I s'pose he wants my hat, but you can't have
that, you know, 'cause you might put it in your
mouth." Then, turning to me, I s'pose you 're
awful fond of him ? "
"Well, yes; but don't you think he is a nice
baby ?"
I should n't say he was so (awfulpretty, should
you ?"
"Why, we think he-is a beauty up here. Just
look at his bright eyes, and see how cunning he
laughs. And he has six little white teeth."
My, would you believe it, and for sure, they 're
for all the world like Marthy Kerru's rabbit's teeth.
Did you know Mis' Kerru is a-goin' to have that
rabbit for Christmas ? To eat. My, I 'd as soon
eat a cat. What's the baby's name ? "
"Alec," I answered, quite sure she would object.
"My goodness! where did you get that name?
Nancy is an awful nice name, but then, I s'pose
you would n't like it for him. Why don't you call
him Charley? That's a splendid name. Aint
it, Mr. Babe?"
Mr. Babe had long since sunk into an awed and
submissive silence.
I don't s'pose you git any dinner here in the
middle of the day," was her next remark, and, as I
found, her last one for that time. "Mebbe
my mother '11 wonder where I am, 'cause you see
I runaway. Good-bye, Tomato. Good-bye, Mr.
Babe ; mebbe I '11 bring you a pair of red slippers
when I come up to-morrow. There goes that
dirty Marthy Kerru. I '11 hurry, and tell her I saw
the baby first."
Then she literally flung herself down the stairs,
and I saw her a minute later, her hands and feet
and head. and tongue all in wild pursuit of poor
Marthy Kerru.


888o.]


683







i88o.]


AS I walked along the docks of New York the
other day, I came to a very large yard surrounded
by a high board fence on two sides, a great shed at
the back, and several schooners at the front along
the water. The whole yard was filled with what
seemed to be old logs and timbers that might have
come from an old bridge or barn. They all were
dark and rusty; some were even rotten in places,
and full of deep checks or cracks. The timber was
of all sizes and shapes: there were little short
logs, just right for a fire-place; also piles of stuff
like cord-wood, and thick chunks like the knots
you cannot split up for the kitchen stove; then
halves or pieces of long logs-only the outside shell
of trees that had lost their heart by decay; also
crooked logs the size of railroad ties; and larger,
squared logs, even as big as three feet across the
end.
Men were at work about the yard, hoisting and
piling logs with tall derricks; and some were weigh-
ing the wood on steelyards. Teams were hauling
logs from the schooners to the yard, by swinging
one end on chains under the axle of a cart. And
the vessels were busy, with tackles and men on deck
and down in the dark holds, But the wood all
looked so dull, crooked and worthless, that I
wondered why anybody should take the trouble to
store it. Just then I caught sight of seven men
under the shed working very hard to lift something,
and when I came to them, I found that they were
trying to move a stick only about a foot in diame-
ter and twelve feet long. It was so heavy that they
could hardly stir it. This made me wonder what
kind of wood it was; and on looking about I saw
here and there fresh-cut ends of sticks or logs that
were of strange colors. Some were red, some
yellow, some green, some black. And all had
figures and marks on the end to tell their size and
even their weight. I soon found out that the yard
was not filled with refuse timber, but with rare and
costly woods used for making furniture and objects
of art. So those rough, crooked sticks were worth
more than ten times as much clear lumber of
common kinds. Just then the dwner of the yard
came up, and told me about the various woods.
"These large square logs of red wood are
mahogany from Mexico, and Spanish cedar. You
see that many of them are squared in a queer
shape, smaller at one end than at the other. The
size does not grow less by tapering gradually, but
by deep steps or notches on each side every few feet.


The logs must be squared to stow closely in a ship's
hold; but this hewing away of the log wastes a
great deal of wood-often the best part. So we
went to Mexico some years ago, and built a saw-
mill to saw up the logs instead of chopping them.
But the natives were afraid that the mill would take
away their work, and they burnt it down. We built
it up again; but as they soon destroyed it a second
time, we had to let them go on in their old
way. All the costly woods from Africa, South
America, and other wild countries are still wasted
in this way."
How many kinds of fine wood are there ?"
"I cannot tell, exactly; but there are several
hundred, and perhaps thousands. New woods are
being found every year, and some of them are made
into furniture as an experiment. People are now
finishing the walls of fine houses with wood
instead of plaster, so that new woods are wanted
to match the now styles of furnishing houses.
Some years ago, we Americans followed the French
fashions in furniture, and used a great deal of black
walnut. One tree, or three logs of it about three
feet in diameter, sold in this city for about $40,000.
Of course it had a very uncommon grain, and was
therefore very valuable. But black walnut is not
a good wood for furniture; it warps and springs,
and works the joints loose. We now follow the
English taste in'household matters, and use more
mahogany, rose-wood and oak. These are very
durable and beautiful woods, and solid furniture
made of them lasts many lifetimes. The best
mahogany comes from the south side of the island
of San Domingo; but very good wood comes also
from the western shores of the Gulf of Mexico,
about Santa Anna, Tupilco and Chiltepec. The
best is worth as high as $2.82 per foot in the log;
but I once saw a piece valued at $4 per foot.
Rose-wood grows in Brazil. This heavy wood is
sold by weight in logs, from three to twelve cents a
pound. Satin-wood from San Domingo is worth $2
per foot. Some kinds of oak are very valuable. A
single room in a house in San Francisco is fin-
ished with brown weathered oak, imported in logs
from England at a cost of $1o,oo0. This weathered
oak is turned almost as dark as walnut by exposure
to the weather. The logs are allowed to lie on the
ground for fifty years; and the rain and sun strike
the brown color clear through them. Bog-oak is
another valuable kind of oak. It is found buried
many feet deep in the bogs of Ireland. The trees


RARE WOODS.




RARE WOODS.

BY C. H. FARNHAM.


685






RARE WOODS.


fell many centuries ago in these swamps, and were
gradually covered by the peat; and after soaking
so long in the black mold they have turned almost
as black as coal."
As we walked about the yard and stopped at
various lots of timber, the horses and men kept at
work hauling and piling logs that came out of the
vessels. The yard that at first had seemed full of
old rubbish now seemed a very different place to
me.
What is the value of all these piles of wood ?;&
I asked.
I .don't know, exactly; but probably about
$400,000. You would be surprised at the
variety of uses of some of these foreign
woods. This pencil cedar from Florida is
made into closets, piano actions, pencils,
painters' brushes, and into coffins. There is
a pile of box-wood from Turkey; the sticks
look like cord-wood, but they are worth just
now about $250 per ton. It is used for wood-
engraving, for printing the illustrations of
ST. NICHOLAS and other magazines. The
sticks are all sawed up across the grain, into
little pieces about one inch thick; these are -
squared, fitted together very nicely, so as to
leave no cracks, then glued together to make
blocks of any size. The blocks are then
planed and scraped till the surface is quite
flat and smooth. The artist draws the pict- '
ures on these blocks; then the engraver cuts .
the lines into the wood with sharp chisels,
so that the ink will stick where it is wanted,
and leave the block clean in other places.
Box-wood is the best for this purpose, be-
cause its grain is very close and fine; and the
blocks are made so as to present the ends of V
the grain to the surface, because the fibers
in this position do not break or split in cut-
ting or in printing. This granadilla, or
cocus, a heavy, dense wood, almost black, is
used to make knife handles. It looks like
horn. Cocobolo is another close-grained
wood, in color somewhat like rose-wood,
used for the same purpose. They are so
dense that they hold the rivets of the knife
without splitting. Snake-wood, which has a
grain that resembles the marks on some
kinds of serpents, is worth eight cents a
pound. It is used now and then to decorate
furniture. Spanish cedar is one of the
largest trees we import. I saw, in a Mexican
port, a vessel about seventy feet long and
eight feet wide, that had been cut out of a cedar
log. She carried two masts and a bowsprit, and
made quite long voyages. Here, now, is a log just
arrived; it is four feet two inches by two feet five


inches on the end, and nineteen feet long; it is
worth $400. The heaviest wood we use is lignum-
vitae, from San Domingo. It is made into dead-
eyes for ships, into the sheaves of blocks, boxes for
machinery, and ten-pin balls. It is worth from $12
to $50 per ton. There is not much of it in a ton;
for that stick, about eighteen inches in diameter
and three feet eight inches long, weighs 518
pounds."
"I suppose that, as new countries are explored,
new woods are found that are valuable ? "
"Yes; and some of the new woods are tried
now and then, but they are not very valuable until


-. ,




* .-
: .


^ ,. ;
.-: '>A|-P
"^*

'. \ .
.-\ ^ -;
;


MEASURING A LOG.


they become fashionable. The colors of some of
them are very pretty, such as that of the Colorado
wood, like a blood-orange, and the amarilla, a
bright yellow. A very costly wood is obtained


686


[JULY,


__ __







RARE WOODS.


from the French walnut burls. They do not grow in
France, but on the Circassian mountains about the
Black Sea. They are called French, because we
buy them in France. The burl is a wart, or knot,
that forms on the side of a young tree; it has
fibers and sap-vessels running from its root, or
center, to its outer sides, or bark, by which it
nourishes leaves and grows as the tree grows.
The consequence is that the grain of the burl is
very much twisted, and figured with pretty lines
and knots. They often grow larger than the trunk
of the tree which bears them. You must have
seen them often on oaks, maples and beeches in
our forests. I had a French burl last year that was
seven feet high, five feet thick, and weighed 5000
pounds. Some fine burls are worth as much as
thirty-five cents a pound. A lumber dealer,
traveling in Canada, saw a man trying to split up
and burn a large burl. He bought it for $6; took
it to Toronto-and sold it for $50. From there it
came to New York, was cut up into veneers, and
one-half of the veneers were sold for $2500."
I left the yard to visit a veneer mill, where these
burls and some of the woods are cut into strips so
thin that twenty-eight of them together are only
one inch thick. The logs are steamed twelve
hours; then they are fastened in a machine where
a knife shaves them up in broad sheets. These
thin pieces are then put between the shelves of a
hydraulic press heated to 4000, and kept there a
few minutes to straighten and dry them. The
burls, also, are shaved up into very thin sheets;
a burl, you see, is shaped like the half of an apple,
and the best of the grain is on the outside; so they
make the knife take a circular motion over the top
of the burl, and cut off a sheet from the round side,
as you might cut off a strip of the apple-rind. The
next cut takes off a sheet from the same place;
and so the knife cuts up the whole burl, always
taking the sheet from the circumference instead of
from the flat base. Then all the veneers are set
up edgewise in racks that stand out-of-doors,
exposed to the sun, rain and wind. After they are
thoroughly seasoned they are kept in a dry room;
all the veneers that came from each burl are piled
up together, in their natural order, so that each
pile seems like the burl again, although it is now
composed of sheets almost as thin as paper. And
as the fibers all start from the center or roots of
the burl and run out to the circumference, all the
sheets from a burl seem generally alike,-copies,
as it were, of one picture, with the same general
lines and colors.
These beautiful veneers are often glued on to
the common woods of which furniture is usually
made; but such sham-work is neither honest nor
durable, and it would be much better to make


expensive furniture of real, solid, fine woods, and
common furniture of solid common woods.
After going through all the various changes,
these rare woods from foreign climes might tell
interesting stories, if our furniture could talk: of


their life in the great tropical forests, where
monkeys and gorgeous birds played in their
branches, and alligators, lions and elephants lived
at their feet; of their death when half-naked
savages cut them down; of their burial in the hold
of ships to be brought to a great city; of ;their
being cut up into pieces by steam saws; of their
long stay in the workshops, where they were
planed, and carved, and polished; of their coming
out again into the world as chairs, tables and
cabinets; and of the various scenes they afterward
witnessed in society. You see, rare woods hold a
very important position in the world.
But American boys need not buy foreign woods
for their workshops; for the forests of their own
country furnish a great variety of pretty grains and
colors.
You can make a very interesting collection of
them for a little museum by getting a piece of each
kind of tree, about six inches long and three to
four inches thick; leave the bark on, saw it in two
in the center, and then plane, smooth and varnish
the flat wo6d-side and the ends. You will thus
learn the bark and the grain of every tree from its
heart to its sap-wood. You could make a more
compact collection-a kind of library edition of
trees-by taking short pieces of boards, cutting
them into the size and shape of small books,
smoothing and varnishing them; then mark their
names on the back as books are labeled, and place
them on shelves. You might have also a separate
division for foreign woods, and ask your sailing
and traveling friends to bring you some pieces
from distant countries, so that, when people come
to see how much you know about woods, you could
show them many volumes of practical, solid worth.
You would get to know and to like all the trees


,88o.]


687






A SUMMER SONG.


uwouldL I b wftV eitAlXe- welre

^ t&VedT esar cha'mc ear


A SUMMER SONG.

BY JULIA C. R. DORR.


ROLY-POLY honey-bee,
Humming in the clover,
With the green leaves under you,
And the blue sky over,
Why are you so busy, pray?
Never still a minute,
Hovering now above a flower,
Now half-buried in it!

Jaunty robin red-breast,
Singing loud and cheerly,
From the pink-white apple-tree
In the morning early,
Tell me, is your merry song
Just for your own pleasure,
Poured from such a tiny throat,
Without stint or measure?


Little yellow buttercup,
By the way-side smiling,
Lifting up your happy face,
With such sweet beguiling,
Why are you so gayly clad-
Cloth of gold your raiment?
Do the sunshine and the dew
Look to you for payment?

Roses in the garden beds,
Lilies, cool and saintly,
Darling blue-eyed violets,
Pansies, hooded quaintly,
Sweet-peas that, like butterflies,
Dance the bright skies under,
Bloom ye for your own delight,
Or for ours, I wonder!


684


[JULY,






A LUCKY STROKE.


and their woods; and if you will take the trouble
to observe the work of wagon-makers, carpenters,
cabinet-makers, you will learn the uses for which
each is best adapted.
If you are a mechanic, you can make pretty chess-
boards containing a collection of many woods,
-maple, birch, and other light-colored woods for
the white squares, and black walnut, apple-tree,
and other dark woods for the black squares. If
you have a lathe, you can make vases and cups
showing beautiful colors and lines. If you live
where trees are not very valuable, take a saw, an
axe and a mattock, and drive into the forest to col-
lect a store of wood for turning and for making
small objects.
I need not tell you here what special kinds of
trees to choose, because half the pleasure of the
work lies in discovering for yourself the qualities
of each tree. But I will advise you what parts of a
tree are the best for your use.
In the first place, then, do not fail to take a
sample of every wood you can easily get; even
the door-yard lilac-bush has a beautiful, close grain,
and the common sumac has a rare olive-green
hue; indeed, every tree of a close, firm texture
has some peculiar grain, color or quality. Of
course you are not to cut down large trees just for
this amusement; but you are to take a branch now
and then,-pick up pieces of cord-wood, perhaps,-
and collect odd bits from brush-fences, and from
trees already blown or cut down. The grain
is generally prettiest in the most eross-grained
pieces,-as where two branches join, or'where a
knot turns the fibers around it,-for in such pieces
the lines and colors are most varied. Knots them-


selves, if sound, are choice bits for turning; they
present dark, rich colors, and close, varied grain;
and, being hard, they turn smoothly and take a
fine polish. The roots of some trees have a pretty
grain, very much twisted and crossed, particularly
where the roots branch off, and where they crook
about stones in the soil. Wounded places on the
trunk or branches often show curious lines and
stains. Then the warts or burls growing on the
trunk make very beautiful saucers or vases; those
on maples and birches, when large enough, are
sold to make large wooden bread-bowls or trays,
because the grain is so crossed and interwoven
that the wood does not split or crack.. The heart,
also, of many trees is very hard, dark, and pretty
for turning.
You will find the search a pleasant excursion,
-climbing trees, chopping, sawing, and digging
in banks,-and -driving home again with a lot of
crooked, gnarled roots, forks, knots and burls.
The only drawback is that they should be well
seasoned before use, and this seasoning is perfectly
secured only by storing them for three years under
shelter, .and where the air has a perfectly free
circulation. Some will think them a worthless lot
of rubbish, but you know that they are rare woods,
and that they hide many beautiful lines and colors
under, their rough bark. You long for the day
when you can take them in hand and make them
into pretty vases, saucers and candlesticks for
... ii .:n..-. And the more you study woods the
more interest you will feel in them, and the more
pleasure you will take in the workshop where they
are so useful, and in the forest where the trees are
so beautiful.


A LUCKY STROKE.

BY JOHN LEWEES.


TOM MORTON was a young English fellow, who One day, he had had a very long ride, and
lived in Australia. He had been there for two or coming back late in the afternoon, he thought he
three years, and greatly enjoyed the outdoor life would try a short cut. To do this, he must ford
which he led, for, as his father was an extensive a small river, which was bridged a few miles above.
sheep-farmer, he had plenty of opportunities for He knew that there was a fordable place in the
all the open-air exercise the most active and stream, somewhere near where he was, and if he
healthy boy could desire. If anything was wanted could find it, it would save him nearly all the dis-
from the town, twenty miles away, or if anything tance to the bridge, and back again.
was to be done at the farthest point of the sheep- He thought that he could better explore the
range, Tom was the fellow to mount his horse and bank of the river on foot, and so he tied his horse
ride away to attend to the matter, to a tree, and made his way through the reeds to


688


LTULY,







A LUCKY'STROKE.


the water. There were not many trees here-
about, and he could see better than in the woods
where he had been riding, but he could find no
place which looked as if it had been used as a ford.
He walked quite a distance up the stream, and
was about to give up his search, when he heard a


western plains. These savages were armed with
spears, and were approaching the river. It is
probable that they had had no idea that any white
person was near by, until Tom so rashly raised
his head above the weeds. Then a great shout.
gave token that they saw him, and instantly every


" HE DID NOT SEE THE RECKLESS FELLOW BEHIND HIM."


sound which startled him. It was like a footstep
upon crackling twigs. He stopped and listened.
He heard another-many of them !
He greatly wondered who could be steal-
ing along in this way; but as he incautiously
looked up over the reeds, he was amazed and
frightened. It was a band of native blacks, or
bushmen, as they are called, who are often as
dangerous to meet as the hostile Indians of our


black rascal of them rushed toward him with
brandished spear and fearful yells.
Poor Tom had not a moment to think what he
should do. There was only one thing that he
could do, and that was to jump into the river. He
threw off his hat and sprang into the water, with-
out hesitating a moment.
His first idea, which he formed as he gave his.
jump, was to swim under water to the opposite


l88o.]


689








690 A LUCKY STROKE. [JULY,


bank, but he soon found that he could not do this.
The river was too wide, and he could not hold his
breath long enough. He soon would be obliged
to show his head above water, and the moment he
did this he might expect to have half a dozen
spears hurled at him. So, before his breath gave
out, he turned and swam back to the bank from
which he started, coming up gently among some
tall reeds growing in the water. Here he crouched,
with only his head above the water, and watched
the enemy.
The current had carried him some little distance
down the river, but the blacks were not far from
him, some on the bank and some standing in the
water. By the attitude of the latter, whom he
could plainly see, he supposed that they all were
waiting with their spears poised, ready to hurl
them at him. the moment his head appeared above
the surface.
But it did not appear, and, judging from their
cries and movements, they seemed much aston-
ished at this. They had seen him go down, why
did n't he come up? Even if he had swum across
under water, the opposite bank was in full sight,
and they could have seen him when he reached
it.
But as he did not appear, they must have
concluded that he was capable of staying under
water like a fish, or that he had struck a stone or
sunken log when he dived, and had been stunned.
Evidently, they thought he was somewhere at the
bottom, for they all waded in up to their waists,
and began thrusting their spears into the water.
Some went up the river, and some went down;
they even crossed over, for the water was not
higher than their chins, and wickedly jabbed their
spears down to the bottom, at every step.
Poor Tom trembled. Had not the daylight been
so nearly gone, they might have seen the reeds
about him shake a little. At any moment they
might thrust their spears into the very place where
he was crouching!
But they seemed to fancy that he must be at some
distance from the bank, from which he jumped in,
for the water near shore was not very deep, and
they had seen him leap far out; and so, for the
greater part of the time, they kept near the middle,
and toward the opposite side.
It was not long, however, before a number of
them began to cluster together, very near Tom's
hiding-place. He could see them very plainly,
through the reeds. Some seemed to be infuriated by
their failure and were thrusting about wildly, while
others were talking and gesticulating as if they
were advising some different plan of action. One
man began to thrust his spear into the reeds, not
ten feet from poor Tom !


At this moment one of the savages, who was
blindly jabbing about in every direction, approached
a man who was calling to some others, apparently
directing them to go up stream. He did not see
the reckless fellow behind him, who, in his turn,
did not notice the other, and giving a fierce thrust
downward, he struck the man who was speaking
fair in the heel.
The moment he felt that his spear had caught in
something, the man who had made the thrust
threw up his weapon, by putting his left hand, in
which he held a rude shield, under the spear, and
giving it a powerful jerk into the air. As he did
this, up came the foot he had speared, and down
went the unfortunate owner of the foot, face fore-
most into the water!
There was a tremendous splash, and a great yell
of triumph. Everybody hastened to the spot where
the exulting spearman held up the footof his victim.
But the surrounding savages had barely time to see
that it was a black foot and a naked one, and there-
fore could not be that of the white boy who had
jumped into the river, before the foot, which was
only held by its tough, thick skin, was jerked away
from the spear, and the submerged savage arose from
the bottom, dripping with water, but with flashing
eyes and cries of rage. Raising his spear, which
he had never dropped, he glared around for an
instant, to see who had done this outrageous deed.
It was scarcely possible to make a mistake. The
man who had speared him stood there, with his
weapon in almost the same position as when it
held the unfortunate foot in the air.
Instantly the angry savage dashed at him, and
as instantly the blundering spearman fled as fast as
he could through the water.
The pursued man dived to escape the spear which
was hurled at him by his assailant, and then,
followed by the whole party, yelling and shouting,
the two savages made their way toward the oppo-
site shore. Bounding up the bank, the injured
man only stopping for an instant to pick up his
spear, the band of howling blacks disappeared in
the woods.
Tom waited until the sound of their harsh voices
had died away, and then he crept out of his hiding-
place, so chilled and stiff that at first he could
scarcely walk, but with a heart full of joy and
thankfulness for the great escape he had made.
He pushed along down the river, about as far as
he thought he had come up, and then turned
inland to look for his horse. It was now so dark
in the woods that he could not see for any con-
siderable distance, and after wandering about for
some time, he began to fear that the animal had
broken away and that he might yet be left in these
lonely woods, to fall a victim to his black pursuers,


69o


[JULY,


A LUCKY STROKE.







JACK'S SCARECROW.


who might return at any time, or to some other
band of equally savage bushmen, who might come
prowling in that direction.
But suddenly he heard a whinny, not far from
him, and hurrying toward the joyful sound, he
found his horse, tied just as he had left him, and
leaping on his back, dripping, shivering, and with-
out a hat, he rode away, at full gallop, for the
bridge, the happiest boy in all Australia 1


No more short cuts for him, after sundown, in
that wild part of the country !
He never heard whether the fellow who had had
his foot stuck succeeded in catching the fellow who
stuck it, or whether the blacks ever came back to
look for the white boy who had disappeared in the
river; but he never ceased to believe that no one
could have made a more lucky stroke for him than
that made by the blundering Australian savage.


BY MRS. C. A. WYCKOFF.


JACKY, Jacky, always naughty,
Said unto himself one day,
" Guess I '11 make a jolly scarecrow
Of my sister's dolly,-May."

Down with eager steps he hurries
Out into the glowing morn,
Where the sun is brightly shining
On the fields of springing corn.

Then he ties poor Dolly safely
To a pole in merry glee,-
Sdch a pretty little scarecrow
'T was a funny sight to see !-

Plants the pole down very firmly,
Gazes at the cloudless sky,


x88o.]


691







JACK'S SCARECROW.


Laughs to think how it would frighten
Every crow that circled nigh.

Well content he is, and happy,
. Though pursued by unseen wrath,
For behind comes uncle Arthur,
Softly walking down the path.


Uncle Arthur, shocked and awful!
Carried home the sister's pet.
Jack went, too, in anxious silence;-
And the crows are laughing yet.


692


JULY,






i880o.


CHAPTER XV.
SAINT LUCY.
SATURDAY was a busy and a happy time to Jack,
for in the morning Mr. Acton came to see him,
having heard the story overnight, and promised to
keep Bob's secret while giving Jack an acquittal as
public as the reprimand had been. Then he asked
for the report which Jack had bravely received the
day before and put away without showing to any-
body.
"There is one mistake here which we must
rectify," said Mr. Acton, as he crossed out the low
figures under the word Behavior," and put the
much desired Ioo there.
But I did break the rule, sir," said Jack, though
his face glowed with pleasure, for Mamma was
looking on.
I overlook that as I should your breaking into
my house if you saw it was on fire. You ran to save
a friend, and I wish I could tell those fellows why
you were there. It would do them good. I am not
going to praise you, John, but I did believe you in
spite of appearances, and I am glad to have for a
pupil a boy who loves his neighbor better than
himself."
Then, having shaken hands heartily, Mr. Acton
went away, and Jack flew off to have rejoicings with
Jill, who sat up on her sofa, without knowing it, so
eager was she to hear all about the call.
In the afternoon, Jack drove his mother to the
Captain's, confiding to her on the way what a hard
time he had when he went before, and how nothing
but the thought of cheering Bob kept him up when
he slipped and hurt his knee, and his boot sprung
a leak, and the wind came up very cold, and the hill
seemed an endless mountain of mud and snow.
Mrs. Minot had such a gentle way of putting
things that she would have won over a much harder
man than the strict old Captain, who heard the
story with interest, and was much pleased with
the boys' efforts to keep Bob straight. That young
person dodged away into the barn with Jack,
and only appeared at the last minute.to shove a bag
of chestnuts into the chaise. But he got a few
kind words that did him good, from Mrs. Minot and
the Captain, and from that day felt himself under
bonds to behave well if he would keep their
confidence.
"I shall give Jill the nuts; and I wish I had
something she wanted very, very much, for I do


think she ought to be rewarded for getting me out
of the mess," said Jack, as they drove happily
home again.
I hope to have something in a day or two that
will delight her very much. I will say no more
now, but keep my little secret and let it be a sur-
prise to all by and by," answered his mother, look-
ing as if she had not much doubt about the matter.
That will be jolly. You are welcome to your
secret, Mamma. I've had enough of them for one
while," and Jack shrugged his broad shoulders as
if a burden had been taken off.
In the evening Ed came, and Jack was quite
satisfied when he saw how pleased his friend was
at what he had done.
I never meant you should take so much trouble,
only be kind to Bob," said Ed, who did not know
how strong his influence was, nor what a sweet
example of quiet well-doing his own life was to all
his mates.
I wished to be really useful; not just to talk
about it and do nothing. That is n't your way,
and I want to be like you," answered Jack, with
such affectionate sincerity that Ed could not help
believing him, though he modestly declined the
compliment by saying, as he began to play softly,
"Better than I am, I hope. I don't amount to
much."
"Yes, you do! and if any one says you don't I '11
shake him. I can't tell what it is, only you always
look so happy and contented-sort of sweet and
shiny," said Jack, as he stroked the smooth brown
head, rather at a loss to describe the unusually
fresh and sunny expression of Ed's face, which was
always cheerful, yet had a certain thoughtfulness
that made it very attractive to both young and
old.
Soap makes him shiny; I never saw such a
fellow to wash and brush," put in Frank, as he came
up with one of the pieces of music he and Ed were
fond of practicing together.
"I don't mean that!" said Jack, indignantly.
"I wash and brush till you call me a dandy, but I
don't have the same look-it seems to come from
the inside, somehow, as if he was always jolly and
clean and good in his mind, you know."
"Born so," said Frank, rumbling away in the
bass with a pair of hands that would have been the
better for some of the above-mentioned soap, for
he did not love to do much in the washing and
brushing line.


* Copyright, x879, by Louisa M. Alcott. All rights reserved.


JACK AND JILL.




JACK AND JILL.*

BY LOUISA M. ALCOTT.


693






JACK AND JILL.


"I suppose that's it. Well, I like it, and I
shall keep on trying, for being loved by every one
is about the nicest thing in the world. Is n't it,
Ed? asked Jack, with a gentle tweak of the ear
as he put a question which he knew would get no
answer, for Ed was so modest he could not see
wherein he differed from other boys, nor believe
that the sunshine he saw in other faces was only
the reflection from his own.
Sunday evening Mrs. Minot sat by the fire, plan-
ning how she should tell some good news she had
been saving up all day. Mrs. Pecq knew it, and
seemed so delighted that she went about smiling
as if she did not know what trouble meant, and
could not do enough for the family. She was
down-stairs now, seeing that the clothes were prop-
erly prepared for the wash, so there was no one in
the Bird-Room but Mamma and the children.
Frank was reading up all he could find about some
biblical hero mentioned in the day's sermon; Jill
lay where she had lain for nearly fourlong months,
and though her face was pale and thin with the
confinement, there was an expression on it now
sweeter even than health. Jack sat on the rug beside
her, looking at a white carnation through the magni-
fying glass, while she was enjoying the perfume of a
red one as she talked to him.
"If you look at the white petals you'll see that
they sparkle like marble, and go winding along
way down to the middle of the flower where it grows
sort of rosy; and in among the small, curly leaves,
like fringed curtains, you can see the little green
fairy sitting all alone. Your mother showed me
that, and I think it is very pretty. I call it a 'fairy,'
but it is really where the seeds are hidden and the
sweet smell comes from."
Jill spoke softly lest she should disturb the
others, and, as she turned to push up her pillow,
she saw Mrs. Minot looking at her with a smile
she did not understand.
Did you speak, 'm? she asked, smiling back
again, without in the least knowing why.
No, dear. I was listening and thinking what
a pretty little story one could make out of your
fairy living alone down there, and only known by
her perfume."
Tell it, Mamma. It is time for our story, and
that would be a nice one, I guess," said Jack, who
was as fond of stories as when he sat in his mother's
lap and chuckled over the hero of the bean-stalk.
"We don't have fairy tales on Sunday, you
know," began Jill, regretfully.
Call it a parable, and have a moral to it, then
it will be all right," put in Frank, as he shut his
big book, having found what he wanted.
I like stories about saints, and the good and
wonderful things they did," said Jill, who enjoyed


the wise and interesting bits Mrs. Minot often
found for her in grown-up books, for Jill had
thoughtful times, and asked questions which
showed that she was growing fast in mind if not in
body.
"This is a true story; but I will disguise it a
little, and call it 'The Miracle of St. Lucy,' began
Mrs. Minot, seeing a way to tell her good news
and amuse the children likewise.
Frank retired to the easy chair, that he might
sleep if the tale should prove too childish for him.
Jill settled herself among her cushions, and Jack
lay flat upon the rug, with his feet up, so that he
could admire his red slippers and rest his knee,
which ached.
Once upon a time there was a queen who had
two princes-- "
"Was n't there a princess?" asked Jack, inter-
ested at once.
No; and it was a great sorrow to the queen
that she had no little daughter, for the sons were
growing up, and she was often very lonely."
Like Snowdrop's mother," whispered Jill.
"Now, don't keep interrupting, children, or we
never shall get on," said Frank, more anxious to
hear about the boys that were than the girl that
was not.
"One day, when the princes were out,-ahem!
-we '11 say hunting,-they found a little damsel
lying on the snow, half dead with cold, they
thought. She was the child of a poor woman who
lived in the forest,-a wild little thing, always danc-
ing and singing about; as hard to catch as a
squirrel, and so fearless she would climb the high-
est trees, leap broad brooks, or jump off the steep
rocks to show her courage. The boys carried her
home to the palace, and the queen was glad to
have her. She had fallen and hurt herself, so she
lay in bed week after week, with her mother to
take care of her-"
That 's you," whispered Jack, throwing the
white carnation at Jill, and she threw back the red
one, with her finger on her lips, for the tale was
very interesting now.
She did not suffer much after a time, but she
scolded and cried, and could not be resigned,
because she was a prisoner. The queen tried to
help her, but she could not do much; the princes
were kind, but they had their books and plays, and
were away a good deal. Some friends she had
came often to see her, but still she beat her wings
against the bars, like a wild bird in a cage, and
soon her spirits were all gone, and it was sad to
see her."
"Where was your St. Lucy? I thought it was
about her," asked Jack, who did not like to have
Jill's past troubles dwelt upon, since his were not.


694


[JULY,






JACK AND JILL.


She is coming. Saints are not born-they are
made after many trials and tribulations," answered
his mother, looking at the fire as if it helped her to
spin her little story. Well, the poor child used
to sing sometimes to while away the long hours-
sad songs mostly, and one among them which the
queen taught her was Sweet Patience, Come.'
"This she used to sing a great deal after a
while, never dreaming that Patience was an angel
who could hear and obey. But it was so; and one
night, when the girl had lulled herself to sleep with
that song, the angel came. Nobody saw the lovely
spirit with tender eyes, and a voice that was like
balm. No one heard the rustle of wings as she
hovered over the little bed and touched the lips,
the eyes, the hands of the sleeper, and then flew
away, leaving three gifts behind. The girl did
not know why, but after that night the songs grew
gayer, there seemed to be more sunshine every-
where her eyes looked, and her hands were never
tired of helping others in various pretty, useful or
pleasant ways. Slowly the wild bird ceased to
beat against the bars, but sat in its cage and made
music for all in the palace, till the queen could not
do without it, the poor mother cheered up, and
the princes called the girl their nightingale."
Was that the miracle?" asked Jack, forget-
ting all about his slippers, as he watched Jill's
eyes brighten and the color come up in her white
cheeks.
That was the miracle, and Patience can work
far greater ones if you will let her."
And the girl's name was Lucy? "
"Yes; they did not call her a saint then, but
she was trying to be as cheerful as a certain good
woman she had heard of, and so the queen had
that name for her, though she did not let her know
it for a long time."
That 's not bad for a Sunday story, but there
might have been more about the princes, seems to
me," was Frank's criticism, as Jill lay very still,
trying to hide her face behind the carnation, for she
had no words to tell how touched and pleased she
was to find that her little efforts to be good had
been seen, remembered, and now rewarded in. this
way.
There is more."
Then the story is n't done ? cried Jack.
Oh dear, no; the most interesting things are
to come, if you can wait for them."
"Yes, I see, this is the moral part. Now keep
still, and let us have the rest," commanded Frank,
while the others composed themselves for the
sequel, suspecting that it was rather nice, because
Mamma's sober face changed, and her eyes
laughed as they looked at the fire.
The elder prince was very fond of driving


dragons, for the people of that country used these
fiery monsters as horses."
And got run away with, did n't he ? laughed
Jack, adding, with great interest, What did the
other fellow do ?"
He went about fighting other people's battles,
helping the poor, and trying to do good. But he
lacked judgment, so he often got into trouble, and
was in such a hurry that he did not always stop to
find out the wisest way. As when he gave away his
best coat to a beggar boy, instead of the old one
which he intended to give."
I say, that is n't fair, Mother Neither of
them was new, and the boy needed the best
more than I did, and I wore the old one all winter,
did n't I ? asked Jack, who had rather exulted
over Frank, and was now taken down himself.
"Yes, you did, my dear; and it was not an easy
thing for my dandiprat to do. Now listen, and
I'll tell you how they both learned to be wiser.
The elder prince soon found that the big/dragons
were too much for him, and set about training
his own little one, who now and then ran away
with him. Its name was Will, a good servant,
but a bad master; so he learned to control it, and
in time this gave him great power over himself,
and fitted him to be a king over others."
: Thank you, Mother; I '11 remember my part
of the moral. Now give Jack his," said Frank,
who liked the dragon episode, as he had been
wrestling with his own of late, and found it hard
to manage.
He had a fine example before him in a friend,
and he followed it more reasonably till he grew
able to use wisely one of the best and noblest
gifts of God-benevolence."
Now tell about the girl. Was there more to
that part of the story ?" asked Jack, well pleased
with his moral, as it took Ed in likewise.
That is the best of all, but it seems as if I
never should get to it. After Patience made Lucy
sweet and cheerful, she began to have a curious
power over those about her, and to work little
miracles herself, though she did not know it. The
queen learned to love her so dearly she could not
let her go; she cheered up all her friends when
they came with their small troubles; the princes
found bright eyes, willing hands and a kind heart
always at their service, and felt, without quite
knowing why, that it was good for them to have a
gentle little creature to care for; so they softened
their rough manners, loud voices and careless ways,
for her sake, and when it was proposed to take her
away to her own home they could not give her up,
but said she must stay longer, did n't they ?"
I 'd like to see them saying anything else," said
Frank, while Jack sat up to demand, fiercely:


i88o.]


695






JACK' AND JILL.


Who talks about taking Jill away ?"
"Lucy's mother thought she ought to go, and
said so, but the queen told her how much good it
,did them all to have her there, and begged the
dear woman to let her little cottage and come and
be housekeeper in the palace, for the queen was
getting lazy, and liked to sit and read, and talk, and
sew with Lucy, better than to look after things."
"And she said she would?" cried Jill, clasping
her hands in her anxiety, for she had learned to love
her cage now.


laughed more than ever as three astonished faces
turned to her, and three voices cried out:
Still more?"
"The very best of all. You must know that,
while Lucy was busy for others, she was not for-
gotten, and when she was expecting to lie on her
bed through the summer, plans were being made
for all sorts of pleasant changes. First of all, she
was to have a nice little brace to support the back
which was growing better every day; then, as the
warm weather came on, she was to go out, or


I 1',i ; R, "


' i" ', ,,, ", .. Iii,. I,


THE STORY OF ST. LUCY.


"Yes! Mrs. Minot had no time to say more,
for one of the red slippers flew up in the air, and
Jack had to clap both hands over his mouth to
suppress the "hurrah!" that. nearly escaped.
Frank said, That's good and nodded with his
most cordial smile at Jill, who pulled herself up
with cheeks now as rosy as the red carnation, and
a little catch in her breath as she said to herself:
It 's.too lovely to be true."
"That's a first-rate end to a very good story,"
began Jack, with grave decision, as he put on his
slipper and sat up to pat Jill's hand, wishing it was
not quite so like a little claw.
"That's not the end," and Mamma's eyes


lie on the piazza; and by and by, when school
was done, she was to go with the queen and the
princes for a month or two down to the sea-side,
where fresh air and salt water were to build her up
in the most delightful way. There, now! is n't that
the best ending of all? and Mamma paused to read
her answer in the bright faces of two of the listeners,
for Jill hid hers in the pillow, and lay quite still, as
if it was too much for her.
That will be regularly splendid I 'll row you
all about-boating is so much easier than riding, and
I like it on salt water," said Frank, going to sit on
the arm of the sofa, quite excited by the charms of
the new plan.


696


[JULY,







JACK AND JILL.


"And I '11 teach you to swim, and roll you over
the beach, and get sea-weed and shells, and no end
of nice thmgs, and we'll all come home as strong
as lions,";added Jack, scrambling up as if about to
set off at once.
The doctor says you have been doing finely of
late, and the brace. will come to-morrow, and the
first really mild day you are to have a breath of
fresh air. Wont that be good ? asked Mrs. Minot,
hoping her story had not been too interesting.
"Is she crying?" said Jack, much concerned,
as he patted the pillow in his most soothing way,
while Frank lifted one curl after another to see what
was hidden underneath.
Not tears, for two eyes sparkled behind the
fingers, then the hands came down like clouds from
before the sun, and Jill's face shone out so bright
and happy it did one's heart good to see it.
I 'm not crying," she said, with a laugh which
was fuller of blithe music than any song she sung.
" But it was so splendid, it sort of took my breath
away for a minute. I thought I was n't any bet-
ter, and never should be, and I made up my mind
I would n't ask, it would be so hard for any one to
tell me so. Now I see why the doctor made me
stand up and told me to get my baskets ready to
go a-Maying. I thought he was in fun; did he
really mean I could go ? asked Jill, expecting too
much, for a word of encouragement made her as
hopeful as she had been despondent before.
"No, dear, not so soon as that. It will be
months, probably, before you can walk and run,
as you used to; but they will soon pass. You
need n't mind about May-day; it is always too
cold for flowers, and you will find more here among
your own plants than on the hills, to .fill your
baskets," answered Mrs. Minot, hastening to sug-
gest something pleasant to beguile the time of
probation.
I can wait. Months are not years, and if I 'm
truly getting well, everything will seem beautiful
and easy to me," said Jill, laying herself down
again, with the patient look she had learned to
wear, and rii:.. -up the scattered carnations to
enjoy their spicy breath, as if the fairies hidden
there had taught her some of their sweet secrets.
Dear little girl, it has been a long, hard trial
for you, but it is coming to an end, and I think
you will find that it has not been time wasted. I
don't want you to be a saint quite yet, but I am
sure a gentler Jill will rise up from that sofa than
the one who lay down there in December."
"How could I help growing better, when you.
were so good to me ? cried Jill, putting up both
arms, as Mrs. Minot went to take Frank's place,
and he retired to the fire, there to stand surveying
the scene with calm approval.
VOL. VII.-46.


You have done quite as much for us; so we
are even. I proved that to your mother, and she
is going to let the little house and take care of the
big one for me, while I borrow you to keep me
happy and make the boys gentle and kind. That
is the bargain, and we get the best of it," said Mrs.
Minot, looking well pleased, while Jack added,
" That 's so and Frank observed, with an air
of conviction, "We could n't get on without Jill,
possibly."
Can I do all that ? I did n't know I was of any
use. I only tried to be good and grateful, for
there did n't seem to be anything else I could do,"
said Jill, wondering why they were all so fond of
her.
"No real trying is ever in vain. It is like the
spring rain, and flowers are sure to follow in good
time. The three gifts Patience gave St. Lucy
were courage, cheerfulness and love, and with
these one can work the sweetest miracles in the
world, as you see," and Mrs. Minot pointed to the
pretty room and its happy inmates.
Am I really the least bit like that good Lucin-
da? I tried to be, but I did n't think I was,"
asked Jill, softly.
"You are very like her in all ways but one.
She did not get well and you will."
A short answer, but it satisfied Jill to her heart's
core, and that night, when she lay in bed, she
thought to herself: How curious it is that I 've
been a sort of missionary without knowing it!
They all love and thank me, and wont let me go,
so I suppose I must have done something, but I
don't know what, except trying to be good and
pleasant,"
That was the secret, and Jill found it out just when
it was most grateful as a reward for past efforts,
most helpful as an encouragement toward the con-
stant well-doing which can make even a little girl
a joy and comfort to all who know and love her.

CHAPTER XVI.

UP AT MERRY'S.

"NOW fly 'round, child, and get your sweeping
done up smart and early."
"Yes, mother."
I shall want you to help me about the baking,
by and by."
"Yes, mother."
Roxy is cleaning the cellar-closets, so you'll
have to get the vegetables ready for dinner. Father
wants a boiled dish, and I shall be so busy I can't
see to it."
"Yes, mother."
A cheerful voice gave the three answers, but it


188o.]


697







JACK AND JILL.


cost Merry an effort to keep it so, for she had
certain little plans of her own which made the work
before her unusually distasteful. Saturday always
was a trying day, for, though she liked to see
rooms in order, she hated to sweep, as no speck
escaped Mrs. Grant's eye, and only the good- old-
fashioned broom, wielded by a pair of strong arms,
was allowed. Baking was another trial: she loved
good bread and delicate pastry, but did not enjoy
burning her face over a hot stove, daubing her
hands with dough, or spending hours rolling out
cookies for the boys; while a "boiled dinner"
was her especial horror, as it was not elegant, and
the washing of vegetables was a job she always
shirked when she could.
However, having made up her mind to do her
work without complaint, she ran upstairs to put
on her dust-cap, trying to look as if sweeping was
the joy of her life.
It is such a lovely day, I did want to rake my
garden, and have a walk with Molly, and finish my
book so I can get another," she said, with a sigh, as
she leaned out of the open window for a breath of
the unusually mild air.
Down in the ten-acre lot the boys were carting
and spreading loam; out in the barn her father
was getting his plows ready; over the hill rose
the smoke of the distant factory, and the river that
turned the wheels was gliding through the meadows,
where soon the blackbirds would be singing. Old
Bess pawed the ground, eager to be off; the gray
hens were scratching busily all about the yard;
even the green things in the garden were pushing
through the brown earth, softened by April rains,
and there was a shimmer of sunshine over the wide
landscape that made every familiar object beautiful
with hints of spring, and the activity it brings.
Something made the old nursery hymn come
into Merry's head, and humming to herself-
"In works of labor or of skill
I would be busy too,"
she tied on her cap, shouldered her broom, and
fell to work so energetically that she soon swept
her way through the chambers, down the front
stairs to the parlor door, leaving freshness and
order behind her as she went.
SShe always groaned when she entered that apart-
ment, and got out of it again as soon as possible,
for it was, like most country parlors, a prim and
chilly place, with little beauty and no comfort.
Black horse-hair furniture, very slippery and hard,
stood against the wall; the table had its gift-books,
albums, worsted mat and ugly lamp; the mantel-
piece its china vases, pink shells and clock that
never went; the gay carpet was kept distressingly
bright by closed shutters six days out of the seven,


and a general air of go-to-meeting solemnity per-
vaded the room. Merry longed to make it pretty
and pleasant, but her mother would allow of no
change there, so the girl gave up her dreams of
rugs and hangings, fine pictures and tasteful orna-
ments, and dutifully aired, dusted and shut up this
awful apartment once a week, privately resolving
that, if she ever had a parlor of her own, it should
not be as dismal as a tomb.


"OVER THE HILL ROSE THE SMOKE OF THE FACTORY."
The dining-room was a very different place, for
here Merry had been allowed to do as she liked,
yet so gradual had been the change, that she would
have found it difficult to tell how it came about.
It seemed to begin with the flowers, for her father
kept his word about the posy pots," and got
enough to make quite a little conservatory in the
bay-window, which was sufficiently large for three
rows all round, and hanging baskets overhead.
Being discouraged by her first failure, Merry gave
up trying to have things nice everywhere, and con-
tented herself with making that one nook so pretty
that the boys called it her "bower." Even busy
Mrs. Grant owned that plants were not so messy as
she expected, and the farmer was never tired of
watching "little daughter" as she sat at work
there, with her low chair, and table full of books.
The lamp helped, also, for Merry set up her own,
and kept it so well trimmed that it burned clear and
bright, shining on the green arch of ivy overhead,


698


[JULY,







JACK AND JILL.


and on the nasturtium vines framing the old glass,
and peeping at their gay little faces and at the pret-
ty young girl, so pleasantly that first her father came
to read his paper by it, then her mother slipped in
to rest on the ugly lounge in the corner, and finally
the boys hovered about the door as if the "settin'-
room had grown more attractive than the kitchen.
But the open fire did more than anything
else to win and hold them all, as it seldom fails to
do when the black demon of an air-tight stove is
banished from the hearth. After the room was
cleaned till it shone, Merry begged to have the
brass andirons put in, and offered to keep them as
bright as gold if her mother would consent. So the
great logs were kindled, and the flames went danc-
ing up the chimney as if glad to be set free from
their prison. It changed the whole room like
magic, and no one could resist the desire to enjoy
its cheery comfort. The farmer's three-cornered
leather chair soon stood on one side, and mother's
rocker on the other, as they toasted their feet and
dozed or chatted in the pleasant warmth.
The boys' slippers were always ready on the
hearth; and when the big boots were once off, they
naturally settled down about the table, where the
tall lamp, with its pretty shade of pressed autumn-
leaves, burned brightly, and the books and papers
lay ready to their hands instead of being tucked
out of sight in the closet. They were beginning to
see that "Merry's notions" had some sense in
them, since they were made comfortable, and good-
naturedly took some pains to please her in various
ways. Tom brushed his hair and washed his
hands nicely before he came to table. Dick tried
to lower his boisterous laughter, and Harry never
smoked in the sitting-room. Even Roxy expressed
her pleasure in seeing "things kind of spruced
up," and Merry's gentle treatment of the hard-
working drudge won her heart entirely.
The girl was thinking of these changes as she
watered her flowers, dusted the furniture, and laid
the fire ready for nr,.idli., -, and, when all was done,
she stood a minute to enjoy the pleasant room, full
of spring sunshine, fresh air and exquisite order.
It seemed to give her heart for more distasteful
labors, and she fell to work at the pies as cheerfully
as if she liked it.
Mrs. Grant was flying about the kitchen, getting
the loaves of brown and white bread ready for the
big oven. Roxy's voice came up from the cellar
singing Bounding Billows," with a swashing and
scrubbing accompaniment which suggested that
she was actually enjoying a "life on the ocean
wave." Merry, in her neat cap and apron, stood
smiling over her work as she deftly rolled and
clipped, filled and covered, finding a certain sort
of pleasure in doing it well, and adding interest to


it by crimping the crust, making pretty devices
with strips of paste and star-shaped prickings of
the fork.
Good will giveth skill," says the proverb, and
even particular Mrs. Grant was satisfied when she
paused to examine the pastry with her experienced
eye.
"You are a handy child and a credit to your
bringing up, though I do say it. Those are as
pretty pies as I 'd wish to eat, if they bake well,
and there 's no reason why they should n't."
"May I make some tarts or rabbits of these
bits ? The boys like them, and I enjoy modeling
this sort of thing," said Merry, who was trying to
mold a bird, as she had seen Ralph do with clay to
amuse Jill while the bust was going on.
No, dear; there 's no time for knickknacks to-
day. The beets ought to be on this minute. Run
and get 'em, and be sure you scrape the carrots
well."
Poor Merry put away the delicate task she was
just beginning to like, and taking a pan went
down cellar, wishing vegetables could be grown
without earth, for she hated to put her hands in
dirty water. A word of praise to Roxy made that
grateful scrubber leave her work to poke about in
the root-cellar, choosing "sech as was pretty much
of a muchness, else they would n't bile even"; so
Merry was spared that part of the job, and went
up to scrape and wash without complaint, since it
was for father. She was repaid at noon by the
relish with which he enjoyed his dinner, for Merry
tried to make even a boiled dish pretty by arranging
the beets, carrots, turnips and potatoes in contrast-
ing colors, with the beef hidden under the cabbage
leaves.
Now, I '11 rest and read for an hour, then I '11
rake my garden, or run down town to see Molly
and get some seeds," she thought to herself, as
she put away the spoons and glasses, which she
liked to wash, that they might always be clear and
bright.
If you 've done all your own mending, there 's
a heap of socks to be looked over. Then I '11
show you about darning the table-cloths. I do
hate to have a stitch of work left over till Monday,"
said Mrs. Grant, who never took naps, and prided
herself on sitting down to her needle at three P. M.
every day.
Yes, mother," and Merry went slowly up-
stairs, feeling that a part of Saturday ought to be
a holiday after books and work all the week. As
she braided up her hair, her eye fell upon the
reflection of her own face in the glass. Not a
happy nor a pretty one just then, and Merry was
so unaccustomed to seeing any other, that invol-
untarily the frown smoothed itself out, the eyes


l88o.1


699







[JULY,


700 JACK AND JILL.


lost their weary look, the drooping lips curved into
a smile, and, leaning her elbows on the bureau, she
shook her head at herself, saying, half aloud, as
she glanced at Ivanhoe lying near.
You need n't look so cross and ugly just
because you can't have what you want. Sweep-
ing, baking and darning are not so bad as being
plagued with lovers and carried off and burnt at
the stake, so I wont envy poor Rebecca her jewels
and curls and romantic times, but make the best
of my own."
Then she laughed, and the bright face came
back into the mirror, looking like an old friend,
and Merry went on dressing with care, for she took
pleasure in her own little charms, and felt a sense
of comfort in knowing that she could always have
one pretty thing to look at if she kept her own
face serene and sweet. It certainly looked so as it
bent over the pile of big socks half an hour later,
and brightened with each that was laid aside.
Her mother saw it, and, guessing why such wistful
glances went from clock to window, kindlyshort-
ened the task of table-cloth darning by doing a
good bit herself, before putting it into Merry's
hands.
She was a good and loving mother in spite of
her strict ways, and knew that it was better for
her romantic daughter to be learning all the house-
wifely lessons she could teach her, than to be
reading novels, writing verses, or philandering
about with her head full of girlish fancies, quite
innocent in themselves, but not the stuff to live on.
So she wisely taught the hands that preferred to
pick flowers, trim up rooms and mold birds, to
work well with needle, broom and rolling-pin;
put a receipt-book before the eyes that loved to
laugh and weep over tender tales, and kept the
young head and heart safe and happy with whole-
some duties, useful studies, and such harmless
pleasures as girls should love, instead of letting
them waste their freshness in vague longings, idle
dreams and frivolous pastimes.
But it was often hard to thwart the docile child,
arid lately she had seemed to be growing up so
fast that her mother began to feel a new sort of
tenderness for this sweet daughter, who was almost
ready to take upon herself the cares, as well as
triumphs and delights, ofmaidenhood. Something
in the droop of the brown head, and the quick
motion of the busy hand with a little burn on it,
made it difficult for Mrs. Grant to keep Merry at
work that day, and her eye watched the clock
almost as impatiently as the girl's, for she liked to
see the young face brighten when the hour of
release came.
What next ?" asked Merry, as the last stitch
was set, and she stifled a sigh on hearing the clock


strike four, for the sun was getting low, and the .
lovely afternoon going fast.
One more job, if you are not too tired for it.
I want the receipt for diet drink Miss Dawes prom-
ised me; would you like to run down and get it for
me, dear ? "
"Yes, mother !" and that answer was as blithe
as a robin's chirp, for that was just where Merry
wanted to go.
Away went thimble and scissors, and in five
minutes away went Merry, skipping down the hill
without a care in the world, for a happy heart sat
singing within, and everything seemed full of
beauty.
She had a capital time with Molly, called on Jill,
did her shopping in the village, and had just
turned to walk up the hill, when Ralph Evans
came tramping along behind her, looking so
pleased and proud about something that she could
not help asking what it was, for they were great
friends, and Merry thought that to be an artist was
the most glorious career a man could choose.
I know you 've got some good news," she
said, looking up at him as he touched his hat and
fell into step with her, seeming more contented than
before.
I have, and was just coming up to tell you,
for I was sure you would be glad. It is only a
hope, a chance, but it is so splendid I feel as if
I must shout and dance, or fly over a fence or two,
to let off steam."
"Do tell me, quick; have you got an order?"
asked Merry, full of interest at once, for artistic
vicissitudes were very romantic, and she liked to
hear about them.
"I may go abroad in the autumn."
Oh,.how lovely "
"Is n't it? David German is going to spend a
year in Rome, to finish a statue, and wants me to
go along. Grandma is willing, as cousin Maria
wants her for a long visit, so everything looks
promising and I really think I may go."
Wont it cost a great deal ?" asked Merry, who,
in spite of her little elegancies, had a good deal of
her thrifty mother's common sense.
"Yes; and I've got to earn it. But I can-
I know I can, for I've saved some, and I shall work
like ten beavers all summer. I wont borrow if I
can help it, but I know some one.who would lend
me five hundred if I wanted it," and Ralph looked
as eager and secure as if the earning of twice that
sum was a mere trifle when all the longing of his
life was put into his daily tasks.
"I wish I had it to give you. It must be so
splendid to feel that you can do great things'if
you only have the chance. And to travel, and see
all the lovely pictures and statues, and people and


/


700


JACK AND JILL.








,85o.3 JACK AND JILL. 701


places in Italy. How happy you must be!" and
Merry's eyes had the wistful look they always wore
when she dreamed dreams of the world she loved
to live in.
"I am--so happy that I'm afraid it never will
happen. If I do go, I'll write and tell you all about
the fine sights, and how I get on. Would you like
me to?" asked Ralph, beginning enthusiastically
and ending rather bashfully, for he admired Merry
very much, and was not quite sure how this pro-
posal would be received.
"Indeed I should! I'd feel so grand to have
letters from Paris and Rome, and you'd have so
much to tell it would be almost as good as going
myself," she said, looking off into the daffodil sky,
as they paused a minute on the hill-top to get breath,
for both had walked as fast as they talked.
And will you answer the letters ?" asked Ralph,
watching the innocent face, which looked unusually
kind and beautiful to him in that soft light.
"Wh'y, yes; I'd love to, only I shall not have
anything interesting to say. What can I write
about?" and Merry smiled as she thought how
flat her letters would sound after the exciting details
his would doubtless give.
"Write about yourself, and all the rest of the
people I know. Grandma will be gone, and I shall
want to hear how you get on." Ralph looked very
anxious indeed to hear, and Merry promised she
would tell all about the other people, adding, as
she turned from the evening peace and loveliness
to the house, whence came the clatter of milk-pans
and the smell of cooking :
I never should have anything very nice to tell
about myself, for I don't do interesting things as
you do, and you would n't care to hear about
school, and sewing, and messing 'round at home."
Merry gave a disdainful little sniff at the savory
perfume of ham which saluted them, and paused
with her hand on the gate, as if she found it
pleasanter out there than in the house. Ralph
seemed to agree with her, for, leaning on the gate,
he lingered to say, with real sympathy in his tone
and something else in his face:
"Yes, I should; so you write and tell me all
about it. 1 did n't know you had any worries, for
you always seemed like one of the happiest people
in the world, with so many to pet and care for
you, and plenty of money, and nothing very hard
or hateful to do. You 'd think yod were well off
if you knew as much about poverty and work and
never getting what you want, as I do."
You bear your worries so well that nobody
knows you have them. I ought not to complain,
and I wont, for I do have all I need. I 'm so glad
you are going to get what you want at last," and
Merry held out her hand to say good-night, with


so much pleasure in her face that Ralph could not
make up his mind to go just yet.
I shall have to scratch 'round in a lively way
before I do get it, for David says a fellow can't
live on less than four or five hundred a year,
even living as poor artists have to, in garrets and
on crusts. I don't mind as long as Grandma is
all right. She is away to-night, or I should not be
here," he added, as if some excuse was necessary.
Merry needed no hint, for her tender heart was
touched by the vision of her friend in a garret, and
she suddenly rejoiced that there was ham and eggs
for supper, so that he might be well fed once, at
least, before he went away to feed on artistic
crusts.
Being here, come in and spend the evening.
The boys will like to hear the news, and so will
father. Do, now."
It was impossible to refuse the invitation he
had been longing for, and in they went, to the
great delight of Roxy, who instantly retired to the
pantry, smiling significantly, and brought out the
most elaborate pie in honor of the occasion. Merry
touched up the table, and put a little vase of flowers
in the middle to redeem the vulgarity of doughnuts.
Of course the boys upset it, but as there was com-
pany nothing was said, and Ralph devoured his
supper with the appetite of a hungry boy, while
watching Merry eat bread and cream out of an old-
fashioned silver porringer, and thinking it the
sweetest sight he ever beheld.
Then the young people gathered about the table,
full of the new plans, and the elders listened as
they rested after the week's work. A pleasant
evening, for they all liked Ralph, but as the parents
watched Merry sitting among the great lads like a
little queen among her subjects, half unconscious
as yet of the power in her hands, they nodded to
one another, and then shook their heads as if they
said:
I 'm afraid the time is coming, mother."
"No danger as long as she don't know it,
father."
At nine the boys went off to the barn, the farmer
to wind up the eight-day clock, and the housewife
to see how the baked beans and Indian pudding
for to-morrow were getting on in the oven. Ralph
took up his hat to go, saying, as he looked at the
shade on the tall student-lamp:
"What a good light that gives! I can see it as
I go home every night, and it burns up here like a
beacon. I always look for it, and it hardly ever
fails to be burning. Sort of cheers up the way, you
know, when I 'm tired or low in my mind."
Then I 'm very glad I got it. I liked the shape,
but the boys laughed at it as they did at my bul-
rushes in a ginger-jar over there. I'd been reading


x880o.


JACK AND JILL.


701






A JAPANESE MILITARY NOBLE IN COURT DRESS.


about 'household art,' and I thought I'd try a little,"
answered Merry, laughing at her own whims.
"You 've got a better sort of household art, I
think, for you make people happy and places pretty,
without fussing over it. This room is ever so much
improved every time I come, though I hardly see
what it is except the flowers," said Ralph, looking
from the girl to the tall calla that bent its white cup
above her as if to pour its dew upon her head.
Is n't that lovely ? I tried to draw it-the shape
was so graceful I wanted to keep it. But I could n't.
Is n't it a pity such beautiful things wont last for-
ever?" and Merry looked regretfully at the half-
faded one that grew beside the fresh blossom.
I can keep it for you. It would look well in
plaster. May I?" asked Ralph.


"Thank you, I should like that very much.
Take the real one as a model-please do; there are
more coming, and this will brighten up your room
for a day or two."
As she spoke, Merry cut the stem, and, adding
two or three of the great green leaves, put the
handsome flower in his hand with so much good-
will that he felt as if he had received a very precious
gift. Then he said good-night, so gratefully that
Merry's hand quite tingled with the grasp of his,
and went away, often looking backward through the
darkness to where the light burned brightly on the
hill-top-the beacon kindled by an unconscious
Hero, for a young Leander swimming gallantly
against wind and tide toward the goal of his
ambition.


(To be continued.)


A SUMMER STORY.

BY MRS. ANNIE A. PRESTON.


A BLUEBIRD met a butterfly,
One lovely summer day,
And sweetly lisped, I like your dress,
It 's very bright and gay."
There was n't any butterfly
When bluebird flew away !


Our black cat met that shy bluebird
When going for a walk,
And mewed, "My charming, singing friend,
Let's have a quiet talk."
But there was n't any bluebird
When puss resumed her walk !


A JAPANESE MILITARY NOBLE IN COURT DRESS.

BY WILLIAM E. GRIFFIS.


THE Japanese pay great attention to rank and
etiquette. They have thirty-one grades of rank,
and the ambition of every noble and gentleman is
to get one step higher, and higher yet. Very few,
indeed, ever reach as high as the third or second
rank, and none reach the first till after their
death.
They make a great fuss about their dress, for
every rank has a special costume. A reception at
the court of the emperor, called the Mikado, is a
wonderful scene of rustling silk robes of every
imaginable color and design of embroidery. A


Japanese dandy is prouder of his flowing sleeves
and trails than a peacock of its feathers.
This exquisite in the picture is of the fifth rank,
and is dressed all in hemp. The long silky fibers
of this plant, in Japan, are the finest in the world,
and when woven into cloth, and dyed blue or
green, it resembles satin. A tremendous amount of
starch is used to stiffen it. When ready to put on,
it is like sheet-iron. You may imagine how the
dandy in the picture feels in this strait-jacket.
When he walks, it rustles like ten old ladies in
black silk, or a breeze in a row of poplar-trees.


702


[JULY,






A JAPANESE MILITARY NOBLE IN COURT DRESS.


about 'household art,' and I thought I'd try a little,"
answered Merry, laughing at her own whims.
"You 've got a better sort of household art, I
think, for you make people happy and places pretty,
without fussing over it. This room is ever so much
improved every time I come, though I hardly see
what it is except the flowers," said Ralph, looking
from the girl to the tall calla that bent its white cup
above her as if to pour its dew upon her head.
Is n't that lovely ? I tried to draw it-the shape
was so graceful I wanted to keep it. But I could n't.
Is n't it a pity such beautiful things wont last for-
ever?" and Merry looked regretfully at the half-
faded one that grew beside the fresh blossom.
I can keep it for you. It would look well in
plaster. May I?" asked Ralph.


"Thank you, I should like that very much.
Take the real one as a model-please do; there are
more coming, and this will brighten up your room
for a day or two."
As she spoke, Merry cut the stem, and, adding
two or three of the great green leaves, put the
handsome flower in his hand with so much good-
will that he felt as if he had received a very precious
gift. Then he said good-night, so gratefully that
Merry's hand quite tingled with the grasp of his,
and went away, often looking backward through the
darkness to where the light burned brightly on the
hill-top-the beacon kindled by an unconscious
Hero, for a young Leander swimming gallantly
against wind and tide toward the goal of his
ambition.


(To be continued.)


A SUMMER STORY.

BY MRS. ANNIE A. PRESTON.


A BLUEBIRD met a butterfly,
One lovely summer day,
And sweetly lisped, I like your dress,
It 's very bright and gay."
There was n't any butterfly
When bluebird flew away !


Our black cat met that shy bluebird
When going for a walk,
And mewed, "My charming, singing friend,
Let's have a quiet talk."
But there was n't any bluebird
When puss resumed her walk !


A JAPANESE MILITARY NOBLE IN COURT DRESS.

BY WILLIAM E. GRIFFIS.


THE Japanese pay great attention to rank and
etiquette. They have thirty-one grades of rank,
and the ambition of every noble and gentleman is
to get one step higher, and higher yet. Very few,
indeed, ever reach as high as the third or second
rank, and none reach the first till after their
death.
They make a great fuss about their dress, for
every rank has a special costume. A reception at
the court of the emperor, called the Mikado, is a
wonderful scene of rustling silk robes of every
imaginable color and design of embroidery. A


Japanese dandy is prouder of his flowing sleeves
and trails than a peacock of its feathers.
This exquisite in the picture is of the fifth rank,
and is dressed all in hemp. The long silky fibers
of this plant, in Japan, are the finest in the world,
and when woven into cloth, and dyed blue or
green, it resembles satin. A tremendous amount of
starch is used to stiffen it. When ready to put on,
it is like sheet-iron. You may imagine how the
dandy in the picture feels in this strait-jacket.
When he walks, it rustles like ten old ladies in
black silk, or a breeze in a row of poplar-trees.


702


[JULY,






,88o.l A JAPANESE MILITARY NOBLE IN COURT DRESS. 703


But he doesn't walk. He waddles. A goose could the soft matting in their stocking-feet; the long
go more gracefully. American ladies have one trains covering the feet.
trail to their skirts; this dandy has two. In some You can imagine how hard it is to waddle grace-
cases his loose trousers trail two feet behind him. fully forward and then backward, without falling
on your nose. I warrant,
the nobleman in the picture
S: had practiced well before he
risked the disgrace of a
tumble at court.
Out-of-doors, the Jap-
anese gentlemen always
wore two swords, one short,
the other long. In-doors,
or on ceremony, only the
Short one remained, and
S e was stuck in the center of
the girdle, with the gold
and silk-wrapped hilt where
it could show best. The
e r. .sI wearer is more proud of
a handsome and costly
sword than a New York
dandy is of watch and chain,
c -- n or scarf-pin. The cap on
Shis head, which looks like a
trowel without a handle, or
. a triangular piece of pie-
crust, or a brick-bat, is
made of black, varnished
paper. It is held on by
his top-knot, and a white
silk string 'round his neck.
It also marks his rank.
The middle of his s~alp. ,s
shaved according to fash-
-. ion. On his sleeve and
breast the crest or coat-
of-arms of his family is
-- stamped.
-_I He is not extreme in
fashion. Nobles of higher
rank wear a still longer trail
from their coat, and I have
C MAR 0L T F R seen Japanese high lords
TIE COURT DRESS OF A JAPANESE MILITARY NOBLE OF THE FIFTH RANK. with ten feet of gold and
When he sits down-which he does on his knees silver laced satin dragging after them. This was
and heels-he will need four feet square to spread in-doors, at court, of course. In the streets, I
himself upon. have seen them in gold-embroidered satin long and
The reason is this: In Europe, when you are loose enough to cover a horse all over nearly to his
presented to the king, or kiss the queen's hand, knees. The horse and the rider looked like one
you must walk out backward, so as to show your animal,-a pyramid of silk on four legs, topped by
face, not back, to royalty. So, in Japan, at the a black brick. These fashions in dress and swords
Mikado's court, it was not proper to let the feet be have now passed away. The Mikado and his
seen. The people take off their sandals, and tread nobles dress like gentlemen in Europe and America.








704 PEDRO. [JULY,


PEDRO.

BY WM. M. F. ROUND.


PEDRO is a dog, to begin with; so, if any reader
thinks this story is to be about an emperor, or
even a Portuguese grandee, and wishes t.. read
that kind of a story, and is n't willing to read just
an every-day kind of a dog-story, he had better pass
by this article altogether.
Pedro began life under difficulties. His mother
did not move in good society. It may have been
on account of her color, for she was very black.
It may have been on account of her education-for
she had n't any worth speaking of. It may have
been because her mother or her mother's mother
or grandmother, or ever so many great-grand-
mothers, did n't go into good society. They were
a very common family of dogs, who would lick the
bones they ate, and make a noise with their mouths
when they drank.
Pedro was born in a barn; that was against him.
And it was a rag-dealer's barn at that, and his first
bed was a pile of very smelly rags, and as his mother
had five other little dogs of exactly his age to look
after, she cold n't wash and dress him properly, or
tie his tail up in papers to make it curl gracefully,


l-.:.1,.:. .:.r.. .,.:d i-,, i .:- ,,.- ,, -, I. ._

think he saw? A big boy with a basket
and six stones in it. The boy took a stone and
began tying it to Pedro's neck with a piece of
cord. He did the same thing to all of Pedro's
brothers and sisters. Did Pedro think it strange?
Not a bit of it-he was so young and ignorant


that he thought that was what boys and stones
and cords were for. But Pedro's mother, poor
thing, she knew what it all meant. She knew
that of all the diseases incident to puppyhood, boys
and stones, complicated with cords, was the most
fatal. Pedro's mother had lost seventeen of her
darlings in a similar way. Talk about scarlet
fever, or the'croup, or diphtheria after that! She
kissed her precious children, moaned over them a
little, and when they were taken away in a basket,
was so overcome that she hadn't even strength
enough to lift her drooping tail and wag them a
good-bye.
The boy took the basket to a lbidge, and lifting
the puppies one by one, sent theff over the parapet
-down-down to an anchorage at the bottom of
the river. Pedro did n't like it. It made him
dizzy going down; the weight of the stone made
the cord cut his neck, and the water was cold. He
went straight to the bottom, and would have
drowned there like the rest if the cord had been
stronger. But the cord broke. Pedro found out
that he could swim-and he made for the shore.
He was very cold, very wet, very much
l ._ I, ,. .
:',. .- :C .i i r l ..... Ih. ,, I. I-,.n-
['G r :I ,--111 11 1 .1 r ., J .: I ,[,! i.,.1


boys gave him, in spite of being only half fed.
Grew to be a big, black, shaggy dog, with a kind
eye, and one of the most friendly and wagiferous
tails I ever knew. And could n't he swim? He
just ploughed right along in the water, steering


704


PEDRO.


U[JULY


,*r d ,_. -1 A', ,1' l,..,:,= t l ir n _: ri-. |l..l-, ,:,:i






PEDRO.


himself with his shaggy tail, and winking and
blinking at the waves, that in the sunlight winked
and-blinked at him.
But he had no home-poor dog. He slept in
the by-ways and hedges, and dropped in at wagon-
sheds and crept under road-side carts, and some-
times he had to sleep in the great brown : fi:ld-
among the clover and the daisies. He v .ir! -
home badly enough-every dog does. Bur ril-... ,
would take him in. He used to get dri r ..rn
of premises with sticks and whips and
stones. Nobody seemed to want him, and
he would have looked upon this world i .
a very hard world on dogs had he nco
seen, now and then, some boys and girl:
that were treated quite as badly as he wa:.
So things went on for two years. i
was the close of summer. The golden-rc..I
had begun to blossom on the road-side.,
and Pedro knew that frost would be alone '
ere many weeks. He was in a sea-side
town, for he loved the ocean, and he
sat down on the beach to think him-
self over. He was getting to be
shiftless. He would wear burrs in
his shaggy coat for days and days,
and when a dog gets to this point of
shiftlessness he must either turn over
a new leaf, or go to the bad pretty
rapidly. He did not want to get
into low-lived ways. He was a dog
of excellent intentions regarding him- .
self-but it somehow seemed to him
that he had had no kind of a chance
in life. He almost wished that the
stone had n't slipped off his neck
when he had been thrown over the
bridge. He came very near being in
despair. The horrid thought crossed his mind to
go and bite somebody in the village and get shot
for mad. It takes so little trouble for a dog to
put himself out of misery in this way. I think he
would have gone and thrown himself off the
bridge, but that he knew what an excellent swim-
mer he was, and that it would be of no use.
He was getting almost miserable, when a
gentleman passed by who seemed so well fed, so
well contented with himself and the world, and so
happy, that Pedro really cheered up, and wished
that he had such a man for a master I and when a
little behind him came a well-combed, well-kept
little blue skye-terrier, whom this gentleman spoke
gently to-even tenderly, Pedro yearned to get up
and adopt the gentleman for a master at once.
But he hardly dared to do it. He knew that that
little blue skye-terrier would fiercely resent such a
familiar proceeding. Perhaps, however, the gentle-


man might be willing to give him just a second-
hand bone, and a far-off corner of a stable to sleep
in for a night or two. That much he would try, at
any rate. So he rose up, and followed the gentle-


"'GET OUT WID YfE.)


man and the blue skye-terrier at a little distance.
Once the blue skye caught sight of him, and turned
and gave him a fierce look, as if surmising his in-
tentions, and then curled up his aristocratic little
black nose and trotted on, as if, after all, such a
matter was quite beneath his notice.
The gentleman at last walked home, and Pedro
stood at the garden gate and saw them go in.
They had such a welcome, especially the little blue
skye-terrier. Two pretty children came out to
meet him, one was a boy of ten years or so, and
the other a young lady of fifteen. The young
lady caught up the terrier and embraced him, and
even kissed him, and talked softly to him, and
carried him off at last into the house, where a


705






PEDRO


saucer of milk and dainty bits of cold chicken were
awaiting him. That Pedro knew, for he heard
the little boy tell him that much.
My!" said Pedro, "if they give him chicken
and milk, they surely can't grudge me a bone,"-
and so saying, he pushed open a gate and trotted
straight across an elegant flower-bed, and round
the house to the kitchen door. There was a bone,
to be sure, and a very meaty bone too. Of course
the little dog inside would n't want it, and of
course nobody would object to his having it-it
was evident that it had been thrown away, and so
Pedro first sniffed at it, by way of whetting his appe-
tite, and then fell to, and began to gnaw blissfully;
it was about as good a bone as Pedro had ever
had. He had almost forgotten his misery, and
was beginning to feel that the world was n't such a
bad world after all, when the kitchen door was
flung open by a red-faced Irish cook, who bounced
out with a pan of dirty water and flung it into
Pedro's face and eyes, saying angrily, as she did
so:
Go 'long wid ye, yer great black feller of a
dawg. You 're a thavin' baste to come eating
poor Blitzen's" (Blitzen was the skye's name, it
seems) "bone. Get out wid ye and she seized a
broomstick, and flew at Pedro like a fury.
Pedro was surprised; he hung his tail with mor-
tification and shame and turned to leave, when
out flew Blitzen, barking and yelling, and seized
him by the heels. Pedro might i- i.. shaken the
life out of Blitzen in a minute, but he always prided
himself upon never turning upon a dog smaller
than himself,-he only started to run,,with Blitzen
at his heels. He had nearly reached the gate,
when out rushed the benign gentleman, with a
thick cane, and said:
Oh, you low-bred mongrel cur, I '11 teach you
to run across my flower-beds! How came you out
of the pound, you miserable scamp?" and coming
up to Pedro he dealt him such a succession of
blows as made him stagger, and left him half-blind
with pain.
At last Pedro reached the gate, which fortu-
nately had been left open, and, darting into the
street, he freed himself from the yelping Blitzen, and
ran as hard as he could toward the beach. He
had a very bitter feeling in his heart. He was not
conscious of having done any harm, and yet every-
body and everything had turned against him.
Surely it was a hard world.
He lay down on the beach, and began looking
himself over. He was bruised from the tip of his
nose to the tip of his tail. One of his eyes was
half-closed. His heel was smarting where Blitzen
had bitten him, and he was dripping with the
cook's dirty water. He had n't energy enough to


wash himself and dress his wounds. He just lay
there and moaned. What was he, anyway? An
outcast from puppyhood, homeless, hungry, all
his brothers and sisters drowned, and everybody,
dog and man, beating him. He wondered how
long it would take him to lie there and die. He
made up his mind that he would never move on,-
one place was as good as another. He could n't
even solace himself by a swim, because the water
was salt, and would give him pain where he was
bitten and bruised. So he just stayed still, forlorn,
and hating himself and everything and everybody.
He had lain there for hours, and seen the tide
come up, and people go walking along the beach.
Nobody even noticed him, except one boy, who
flung a pebble-stone at him, and then laughed
because he gave a cry of pain.
It got to be afternoon, and, as the tide was high,
people came out to bathe. Presently he saw the
boy and the young lady from the house where he had
been so badly treated. They had Blitzen with them,
and a servant who brought towels and bathing
suits, and a silk cushion. The first thing they all
did was to see that Blitzen had his bath. How
carefully they bathed him, and then dried him on
fine towels, and then the servant put down the
cushion in a warm nook, and spreading a soft
towel over it, put Blitzen down for a nap. Then
the children prepared to bathe. They came out
of the bath-house all dressed for the sea, and a
very lovely couple they looked as they dimpled
the smooth sand of the beach with their pretty
pink feet. They plunged into the surf, and had a
glorious time of it. The boy could swim, and he
was trying to teach his sister. Pedro almost
enjoyed seeing them, in spite of himself. They
had been in quite a good while, when the servant
called them to come out.
All right," shouted the boy; Florence may
go out, and I '11 take one more swim and then I '11
come." So he turned his face toward the horizon
and struck out boldly, and made glorious headway
against the waves. He was pretty far out, when
there was a cry, he threw up his hands, and the
golden head disappeared beneath the waves.
Pedro was on his feet in a moment, and had run
half-way down the beach. The boy was drowning.
He had heard that same kind of a cry once
before. He would plunge in and save the boy.
That was his first thought. Then he stopped.
"No," he said, I'll have my revenge. That
boy's father ill-treated me-his dog bit me; let the
little cur save him-it is no business of mine," and
he turned to go up the beach again.
"Help help !" came from the water. The
sister heard it, and ran out of the bathing-house,
followed by the servant. They screamed, too, for


7o6


[JULY,






PEDRO.


help, but no help was at hand. The pretty sunny
head came in sight once more, and was gone. The
women wrung their hands in agony. Pedro could
not stand it-he turned, plunged down the beach,
in through the surf, out on the rising and fall-
ing waves, battling them furiously, as he swam.
Now there are i -r : -:rI -. I,, ,..I. .
black, shaggy head. :.1lii' Ir-:.l ,,,.t .L ..i':
face. There is n-. nr:-.. Ih. l .. : i"":i ,I .
blanched lips are I. ,, .... i .r I Ilr. '. 11-.
gives a little m oan .i ..I.:l-.. .i. ir : tiL:
bathing-jacket by i-,: n,:.. I i.li \Vu il
he have strength
to get this heavy
weight to the
shore? He feels
his strength is ,
going fast. The
father has heard
the cry of his
daughter, and is
flying to the
beach. Blitzen
has waked and
stands staring,
wondering what
it all means.
One wave near-
er shore, now on
the crest of an-
other, now in the
surf, now on the
white beach! Pe-
drodragstheboy
up on the sand,- .-
and lies down be-
side him. He is
almost exhaust-
ed. They don't "PEDRO
drive him away now. Perhaps they hardly notice
him in this awful moment. They are working
over the boy. Oh, the blanched face of the
father, and the tearful face of the sister! The
servant has run for blankets. They are rubbing
the child and trying to detect some signs of life.
Now the mother comes-she sees her boy lying
there stiff and pale-and gives a quick cry of pain,
and then stoops over him and puts her hand anx-
iously on his heart. Yes-yes-it beats, but so
feebly In a minute it may stop. .She clasps the
little hands and prays-oh, how she prays !
Yes, he 's alive; he 's opening his eyes. Pedro
is rested a little, and comes and looks on,
while they wrap the boy in a blanket, and then
he says to himself: Well, I can't do anything
more. I guess I '11 be going; and he goes and


touches the little hand with his tongue to be sure
there is some life there, and turns to go away.
What is this we see? Yes; a strong man falling
on this dog's neck and kissing his shaggy head,


IS AN OUTCAST NO LONGER !
while the great tears roll down his cheeks;-a pair
of fair young arms thrown about poor Pedro's black
and dripping body, while a rare pale face buries
itself in his shaggy fur and weeps for joy. Pedro
is an outcast no longer The sunshine is coming
in upon his life now. It came through doing a
simple duty, as most sunshine comes.
Pedro has a home now. No bed is too soft for
him,-no food too choice! He might have the
whole roast off the table any day he- chose to ask
for it. He wears a silver collar, and he sleeps in
the family sitting-room, and they pet him, and talk
to him, and sometimes the gentleman whom he fol-
lowed that morning will lay his hand on his head,
and tears will fall on the black fur, and the dog will
hear him say, in a voice that trembles a good deal:
"God bless our Pedro, that saved my boy "


l88o.]


707







ELIZABETH ELIZA WRITES A PAPER.


ELIZABETH ELIZA WRITES A PAPER.

BY LUCRETIA P. HALE.


ELIZABETH ELIZA joined the Circumambient
Club with the idea that it would be a long time
before she, a new member, would have to read a
paper. She would have time to hear the other pa-
pers read, and to see how it was done, and she would
find it easy when her turn came. By that time
she would have some ideas; and long before she
would be called upon, she would have leisure
to sit down and write out something. But a year
passed away, and the time was drawing near. She
had, meanwhile, devoted herself to her studies, and
had tried to inform herself on all subjects by way
of preparation. She had consulted one of the old
members of the club, as to the choice of a subject.
"Oh, write about anything," was the answer;
"anything you have been thinking of."
Elizabeth Eliza was forced to say she had not
been thinking lately. She had not had time.
The family had moved, and there was always an
excitement about something, that prevented her
sitting down to think.
Why not write out your family adventures? "
asked the old member.
Elizabeth Eliza was sure her mother would think
it made them too public, and most of the club
papers she observed had some thought in them;
she preferred to find an idea.
So she set herself to the occupation of thinking.
She went out on the piazza to think; she stayed in
the house to think. She tried a corner of the
china-closet. She tried thinking in the cars, and
lost her pocket-book; she tried it in the garden,
and walked into the strawberry bed. In the house
and out of the house, it seemed to be the same-she
could not think of anything to think of. For many
weeks she was seen sitting on the sofa or in the
window, and nobody disturbed her. "She is think-
ing about her paper," the family would say, but she
only knew that she could not think of -.. ,i1.;,-..
Agamemnon told her that many writers waited
till the last moment, when inspiration came, which
was much finer than anything studied. Elizabeth
Eliza thought it would be terrible to wait till the
last moment, if the inspiration should not come i
She might combine the two ways; wait till a few
days before the last, and then sit down and write
anyhow. This would give a chance for inspiration,
while she would not run the risk of writing nothing.
She was much discouraged; perhaps she had
better give it up. But no; everybody wrote a pa-
per, if not now, she would have to do it some time!


And at last the idea of a subject came to her !
But it was as hard to find a moment to write as to
think. The morning was noisy, till the little boys
had gone to school, for they had.begun again upon
their regular course, with the plan of taking up the
study of cider in October. And after the little
boys had gone to school, now it was one thing, now
it was another; the china-closet to be cleaned, or
one of the neighbors in to look at the sewing-
machine. She tried after dinner, but would fall
asleep. She felt that evening would be the true
time, after the cares of day were over.
The Peterkins had wire mosquito-nets all over
the house, at every door and every window. They
were as eager to keep out the flies as the mosqui-
toes. The doors were all furnished with strong
springs, that pulled the doors to as soon as they
were opened. The little boys had practiced run-
ning in and out of each door, and slamming it after
them. This made a good deal of noise, for they
had gained great success in making one door slam
directly after another, and at times would keep up
a running volley of artillery, as they called it, with
the slamming of the doors. Mr. Peterkin, however,
preferred it to flies.
So Elizabeth Eliza felt she would venture to write
of a summer evening with all the windows open.
She seated herself one evening in the library,
between two large kerosene lamps, with paper, pen
and ink before her. It was a beautiful night, with
the smell of the roses coming in through the mos-
quito-nets, and just the faintest odor of kerosene
by her side. She began upon her work. But what
was her dismay! She found herself immediately
surrounded with mosquitoes. They attacked her
at every point. They fell upon her hand as she
moved it to the inkstand; they hovered, buzzing,
over her head; they planted themselves under the
lace of her sleeve. If she moved her left hand to
frighten them 'off from one point, another band
fixed themselves upon her right hand. Not
only did they flutter and sting, but they sang in a
heathenish manner, distracting her attention as she
tried to write, as she tried to waft them off. Nor
was this all. Myriads of June-bugs and millers
hovered round, flung themselves into the lamps,
and made disagreeable funeral pyres of themselves,
tumbling noisily on her paper in their last un-
pleasant agonies. Occasionally one darted with a
rush toward Elizabeth Eliza's head.
If there was anything Elizabeth Eliza had a terror


708


[JULY,







ELIZABETH ELIZA WRITES A PAPER.


of, it was a June-bug. She had heard that they had
a tendency to get into the hair. One had been
caught in the hair of a friend of hers, who had long,
luxuriant hair. But the legs of the June-bug were
caught in it like fish-hooks, and it had to be cut
out, and the Jtne-bug was only extricated by sacri-
ficing large masses of the flowing locks.
Elizabeth Eliza flung her handkerchief over her
head. Could she sacrifice what hair she had to the
claims of literature? She gave a cry of dismay.
The little boys rushed in a moment to the rescue.
They flapped newspapers, flung sofa-cushions, they
offered to stand by her side with fly-whisks, that
she might be free to write. But the struggle was
too exciting for her, and the flying insects seemed
to increase. Moths of every description, large
brown moths, small, delicate white millers whirled
about her, while the irritating hum of the mosquito
kept on more than ever. Mr. Peterkin and the
rest of the family came in, to inquire about the
trouble. It was discovered that each of the little
boys had been standing in the opening of a wire-
door for some time, watching to see when Elizabeth
Eliza would have made her preparations aid would
begin to write. Countless numbers of dor-bugs
and winged creatures of every description had
taken occasion to come in. It was found that they
were in every part of the house.
We might open all the blinds and screens,"
suggested Agamemnon, "and make a vigorous on-
slaught and drive them all out at once."
"I do believe there are more inside than out,
now," said Solomon John.
"The wire-nets, of course," said Agamemnon,
"keep them in now."
We might go outside," proposed Solomon John,
"and drive in all that are left. Then to-morrow
morning, when they are all torpid, kill them, and
make collections of them."
Agamemnon had a tent which he had provided
in case he should ever go to the Adirondacks, and
he proposed using it for the night. The little boys
were wild for this,
Mrs. Peterkin thought she and Elizabeth Eliza
would prefer trying to sleep in the house. But
perhaps Elizabeth Eliza would go on with her paper
with more comfort out of doors.
A student's lamp was carried out, and she was
established on the steps of the back piazza, while
screens were all carefully closed to' prevent the
mosquitoes and insects from flying out. But it was
of no use. There were outside still swarms of
winged creatures that plunged themselves about
her, and she had not been there long before a huge
miller flung himself into the lamp, and put it out.
She gave up for the evening.
Still the paper went on. "How fortunate!"


exclaimed Elizabeth Eliza, "that I did not put it
off till the last evening! Having once begun, she
persevered in it at every odd moment of the day.
Agamemnon presented her with a volume of Syn-
onyms," which was of great service to her. She
read her paper, in its various stages, to Agamemnon
first, for his criticism, then to her father in the
library, then to Mr. and Mrs. Peterkin together,
next to Solomon John, and afterward to the whole
family assembled. She was almost glad that the
lady from Philadelphia was not in town, as she
wished it to be her own unaided production. She
declined all invitations for the week before the night
of the club, and on the very day she kept her room,
with eau sucrd, that she might save her voice.
Solomon John provided her with Brown's Bron-
chial Troches when the evening came, and Mrs.
Peterkin advised a handkerchief over her head, in
case of June-bugs. It was, however, a cool night.
Agamemnon escorted her to the house.
The club met at Ann Maria Bromwich's. No
gentlemen were admitted to the regular meetings.
There were what Solomon John called occa-
sional annualmeetings," to which they were invited,
when all the choicest papers of the year werere-read.
Elizabeth Eliza was placed at the head of the
room, at a small table, with a brilliant gas jet on
one side. It was so cool the windows could be closed.
Mrs. Peterkin, as a guest, sat in the front row.
This was her paper, as Elizabeth Eliza read it,
for she frequently inserted fresh expressions:

"THE SUN.
It is impossible that much can be known about
it. This is why we have taken it up as a subject.
We mean the sun, that lights us by day, and leaves
us by night. In the first place, it is so far off. No
measuring tapes could reach it, and both the earth
and the sun are moving about so, that it would be
difficult to adjust ladders to reach it, if we could.
Of course, people have written about it, and there
are those who have told us how many miles off it is.
But it is a very large number, with a great many
figures in it, and though it is taught in most, if not
all, of our public schools, it is a chance if any one of
the scholars remembers exactly how much it is.
It is the same with its size. We cannot, as we
have said, reach it by ladders to measure it, and if
we did reach it, we should have no measuring tapes
large enough, and those that shut up with springs
are difficult to use in a high place. We are told,
it is true, in a great many of the school-books, the
size of the sun; but, again, very few of those who
have learned the number have been able to
remember it after they have recited it, even if they
remembered it then. And almost all of the scholars
have lost their school-books, or have neglected to


709







ELIZABETH ELIZA WRITES A PAPER.


carry them home, and so they are not able to refer
to them. I mean after leaving school. I must say
that is the case with me, I should say with us,
though it was different. The older ones gave their
school-books to the younger ones, who took them
back to school to lose them, or who have destroyed
them when there were no younger ones to go to
school. I should say there are such families.
What I mean is, the fact that, in some families,
there are no younger children to take off the school-
books. But, even then, they are put away on upper
shelves in closets or in attics, and seldom found if
wanted-if then, dusty.
Of course we all know of a class of persons called
astronomers, who might be able to give us informa-
tion on the subject in hand, and who probably do
furnish what information is found in school-books.
It should be-observed, however, that these astrono-
mers carry on their observations always in the night.
Now, it is well known that the sun does not shine in
the night. Indeed, that is one of the peculiarities of
the night, that there is no sun to light us, so we have
to go to bed as long as there is nothing else we can
do without its light, unless we use lamps, gas or
kerosene, which is very well for the evening, but
would be expensive all night long; the same with
candles. How, then, can we depend upon their
statements, if not made from their own observa-
tion? I mean, if they never saw the sun.
We cannot expect that astronomers should give
us any valuable information with regard to the sun,
which they never see, their occupation compelling
them to be up at night. It is quite likely that they
never see it. For we should not expect them to
sit up all day as well as all night, as, under such
circumstances, their lives would not last long.
Indeed, we are told that their name is taken
from the word aster, which means star,' the word is
'aster-know-more.' This, doubtless, means
that they know more about the stars than other
things. We see, therefore, that their knowledge is
confined to the stars, and we cannot trust what they
have to tell us of the sun.
There are other asters which should not be
mixed up with these,-we mean those growing by
the way-side in the fall of the year. The astrono-
mers, from their nocturnal habits, can scarcely be
acquainted with them; but, as it does not come
within our province, we will not inquire.
"We are left, then, to seek our own information
about the sun. But we are met with a difficulty.
To know a thing, we must look at it. How can
we look at the sun? It is so very bright that our
eyes are dazzled in gazing upon it. We have to
turn away, or they would be put out,-the sight, I
mean. It is true, we might use smoked glass, but
that is apt to come off on the nose. How, then, if


we cannot look at it, can we find out about it?
The noonday would seem to be the better hour,
when it is the sunniest; but, besides injuring the
eyes, it is painful to the neck to look up for a long
time. It is easy to say that our examination of
this heavenly body should take place at sunrise,
when we could look at it more on a level, without
having to endanger the spine. But how many
people are up at sunrise? Those who get up
early do it because they are compelled to, and
have something else to do than look at the sun.
The milk-man goes forth to carry the daily
milk, the ice-man to leave the daily ice. But either
of these would be afraid of exposing their vehicles to
the heating orb of day,-the milk-man afraid of
turning the milk, the ice-man timorous of melting
his ice,-and they probably avoid those directions
where they shall meet the sun's rays. The student,
who might inform us, has been burning the mid-
night oil. The student is not in the mood to
consider the early sun.
"There remains to us the evening, also,-the
leisure hour of the day. But, alas our houses are
not built with an adaptation to this subject. They
are seldom made to look toward the sunset. A
careful inquiry and close observation, such as have
been called for in preparation of this paper, have
developed the fact that not a single house in this
town faces the sunset! There may be windows
looking that way, but, in such a case, there is
always a barn between. I can testify to this from
personal observations, because, with my brothers,
we have walked through the several streets of this
town with note-books, carefully noting every house
looking upon the sunset, and have found none
from which the sunset could be studied. Sometimes
it was the next house, sometimes a row of houses,
or its own wood-house, that stood in the way.
Of course, a study of the sun might be pursued
out-of-doors. But, in summer, sun-stroke would be
likely to follow; in winter, neuralgia and cold. And
how could you consult your books, your diction-
aries, your encyclopedias? There seems to be no
hour of the day for studying the sun. You might
go to the East to see it at its rising, or to the
West to gaze upon its setting, but-you don't."

Here Elizabeth Eliza came to a pause. She had
written five different endings, and had brought
them all, thinking, when the moment came, she
would choose one of them. She was pausing to
select one, and inadvertently said, to close the
phrase, "you don't." She had not meant to use
the expression, which she would not have thought
sufficiently imposing,-it dropped out uncon-
sciously,-but it was received as a close with
rapturous applause.


[JULtY


7Io







X88o.l


THE LITTLE MODELS.


711


She had read slowly, and now that the audi- Peterkin, Agamemnon and Solomon John, with
ence applauded at such a length, she had time to others,-and demanded admission.
feel she was much exhausted and glad of an end. Since it is all over, let them in," said Ann
Why not stop there, though there were some Maria Bromwich.
pages more? Applause, too, was heard from the Elizabeth Eliza assented, and rose to shake hands
outside. Some of the gentlemen had come,-Mr. with her applauding friends.




THE LITTLE MODELS.

BY R. E. FRANCILLON.













tt ..


1 .?7.























[It is quite common in Europe for children to earn their living by serving as models to painters. They will sit or stand all day if allowed
to have an occasional resting-time. Our older boys and girls will enjoy Mr. Francillon's suggestive verses; but the younger ones, perhaps,
will be more interested in knowing that these two little Italians really acted as models for Mr. Sheppard, who drew their pictures for ST,
NICHOLAS.-THE EDITOR.]


THIS is a painter's work-room. See
The sitters' throne of rushes,
The metal box behind, where he,
The painter, keeps his brushes.


The little pair of mortals here,
For Tuscan landscape fitting-
These are his models, not, I fear,
Of patience while they 're sitting.








712 THE LITTLE MODELS.


They 've sat for hours-three weary whiles-
With limbs for frolic aching,
And naught but stolen, quick-sent smiles
To ease such picture-making.


' a-.2.-: j-" . -!,a...



- 5 .. -. ; .
- .* -

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


What 's Art to them ? what 's e'en its name
To Tina, here, and Beppo ?
Though here 's the Atlantic in a frame,
A desert from Aleppo;


A French chateau, an English hall,
A cataract from Norway-
They 'd rather see that water-fall
Come tumbling through the door-way I












V"












.-' .' ij \,i i .




S .

w'



















The painter does his utmost part
To reach to glory's stature:
These sit, 'mid all the strain of Art,
Two little scraps of Nature.


712


THE LITTLE MODELS.






TOM'S ANTI-FIRE-CRACKER LEAGUE.


And never heed, nor dream, nor care
That, when their picture made is,
They 'll be held, worthy of the stare
Of critics, lords and ladies;

Who now would pass them by, as if,
Till painted, nothing matters-
So much of glory Art can give
To Nature's rags and tatters !

Not less their picture's good to greet
Because 't is all so common:
He eats-she likes to see him eat,
Like grown-up man and woman.

Between their eyes, the colors blent
Around the walls grow fainter,
Till love, the pure and innocent,
Becomes their portrait-painter.


He sees but her: she sees but him:
And, though he 'll clean forget her
When Change and Growth her picture dim,
They 'll never paint a better.

Perhaps-who knows?-small Beppo there
Will catch from paint and plaster
The inspiration of the air,
And grow, himself, a master:

Perhaps-But who can read 'mayhap'?
And who can fathom 'whether ?
If I could buy a wishing-cap
I 'd wish them kept together,

As pure in heart, in thought, in eye,
As simple in their story,
As if there were no Art to try
To thrust them into glory.


I 'd wish this love to last them still,
Our grown-up hearts reproving-
To take all else that Heaven may will
So that it leaves them loving.






TOM'S ANTI-FIRE-CRACKER LEAGUE.

BY MARY WAGER FISHER.


MOTHER, mother, why does Miss Scott wear
those horrid green goggles?" asked twelve-year-
old Tom Dixon one summer's day, after the
departure of that lady from a visit to his mother.
Because her eyes are very sensitive to the
light. She is nearly blind, my child."
"And what made her so, mamma? Was she
always so blind ? "
"No; she had as bright and as good eyes as
you have, Tommy, when she was six years old."
But what put 'em out, mother?" pursued the
eager boy.
Fire-crackers."
Fire-crackers ? How funny !"
Close your eyes, Tom, so that you can't see.
There, do you find it 'funny' ?" asked his mother.
No; I-I did n't mean funny. May be I
meant queer. Any way, how did fire-crackers do
it, mother?"
"It was on a Fourth of July. A boy in the
street wanted to 'frighten the little girl,'-so he
said,-and he threw a lighted bunch of fire-crackers
at her. They exploded in her face and eyes. And
VOL. VII.-47.


now, the doctor says that at the end of another
year she will be entirely blind, and can never,
never again see the sunshine, nor anything."
STom sat with a scared and solemn look on his
little face. He could imagine nothing so terrible
as to be blind.
"That was an awful, abominable thing to do;
was it not, mamma ? "
Most abominable, indeed," she replied, smil-
ing to herself at Tommy's large word.
"And what did they do to the boy, mamma ?"
I never knew, Tom, that anything was done
to him. His father, I believe, paid quite a sum of
money to Mr. Scott to pay doctors' bills, for the
little girl was for a long time under the care of an
oculist, which is a person who treats diseases of the
eye. But the boy's family soon after moved away,
and it was said to be on his account, for he was
never happy after that. Every time that he saw
Susy Scott, with her scarred face and her eyes shut
in behind green glasses, and felt that he was the
cause of it all, he could not bear it. Then, too,
the boys and girls at school taunted him with it.


188o.]


713







TOM'S ANTI-FIRE-CRACKER LEAGUE.


After he left the village I heard nothing more of
him. I dare say that he never again wanted to
see, or hear, a fire-cracker."
Now Tommy, only the day before, had been
teasing his papa for a supply of fire-crackers for
the coming "Fourth," which was little more than
a week off, and this story of Susy Scott was mak-
ing his busy brain think of what it had never
thought of before. And when a boy thinks, he
asks questions.
"Mamma, did you ever hear of fire-crackers
hurting anybody else? he asked.
"Yes; a great many people. A fine, large,
beautiful city in the State of Maine was destroyed
some years ago by a fire kindled by a fire-cracker,
and hundreds of people had their homes and all
they possessed burned up. Suppose, Tom, that
we look at your papa's files of daily papers and see
if we can find a list of the accidents caused by fire-
crackers on the Fourth of July last year in the city,"
for the family lived in a little village not far from
Philadelphia.
So upstairs went Tom and his mother, to the
very top of the house, where the papa had a large
room with books and great piles of newspapers
and magazines. Finally, they found the Philadel-
pbia Daily Trumpnet for July, 1878.
"Now, we will look in the paper of July 5th,"
said the mother. "Here they are,-' Fourth of
July Casualties,' and Mrs. Dixon glanced down the
long list of shot, burned, maimed, bruised persons
with broken bones and broken heads, all resulting
from Fourth of July powder. But as they were
chiefly interested in fire-crackers,-those little red-
coated, long-tailed powder-barrels that the Chinese
so deftly make,-his mother said:
I will make a skip, hop and jump down the
line, Tommy, to read what the fire-crackers did,
and you can follow me with your two ears. First:
'A boy had his hands badly burnt.
"' A horse frightened, ran away-wagon broken
-a man thrown out and his arm broken.
"'Another runaway-driver's shoulder dislo-
cated.
"'A child frightened, and, while running ex-
citedly across the street, was run over by a horse
and wagon and horribly mangled.
A irl's dress set on fire; girl badly burned.
Aother runaway. Lady thrown from her-
carriage-taken up for dead-carried to a hospital
-life despaired of.
Another boy burnt about the face-disfigured
probably for life.
"'A young woman burnt to death. A fire-
cracker thrown at her feet set her light clothing
on fire, and in a moment she was in flames.
She died, two hours later, in great agony.'"


At this point Mrs. Dixon glanced at Tom. He
sat with his face white as a sheet, his great black
eyes shining wide with horror.
"I think I 've read enough, Tommy," said his
mother.
"And as much bad happened in all the other
large cities as in Philadelphia ?" asked the boy.
Yes; and in some places much more. If all
the accidents in the whole country from fire-
crackers on the Fourth of July were put together,
they would make a large book. Then, too, you
must remember that many sick and nervous people
are made worse by the noise and excitement, and
sometimes die because of it. Don't you think it
very strange, Tom, that boys are always wanting
fire-crackers for the Fourth of July ? "
"Did n't you ever hear of fire-crackers doing
anybody good, mamma?" asked Tommy, not
heeding his mother's question.
"Never, Tom."
Then Tom thought deeply for a moment.
"Do you s'pose, mamma, that anybody could
have a regular Fourth of July without fire-
crackers ?"
Certainly, Tommy, I think so. It seems to
me a very stupid way for American boys to cele-
brate the independence of their country by touch-
ing off Chinese powder. They ought to have wit
enough to invent something themselves,-some-
thing more American, and that will not be a
nuisance. What would you think of using fire-
crackers on-Christmas?"
'"That would be funny laughed the boy.
SBut there are boys and girls," said his mother,
" who would think Christmas a very poor Christ-
mas without- fire-crackers. At least, they did a
few years ago, in some of the southern cities. But
for a great many years after the Fourth of July
was bprn, nobody celebrated the day with fire-
crackers. They came into fashion because mer-
chants could buy them very cheaply from the
Chinese, and could make a great deal of money by
bringing them to this country and selling them to
American boys to make' a noise with. And I 'm
afraid that some boys, if they could, would trade
their heads for a noise machine. But you see,
Tommy, that the Fourth of July lived a good many
years without the fire-cracke'rs, and the boys and
girls had just as fine a time then as now, and
nobody hurt with powder."
"I should n't think that children's fathers-es and
mothers-es would let them have fire-crackers,"
observed Tommy, shrewdly.
"Neither should I," laughed his mother. "I
wonder why they do? I wish you would ask the
boys that you know, how it happens."
And Tom began that very day.


714


[JULY,







TOM'S ANTI-FIRE-CRACKER LEAGUE.


As he was going to the post-office for the mail, he
met two of his schoolmates, Jack Thompson and
Frank Jones, and they began at once to talk about
the Fourth.
Father 's going to give me seventy-five cents to
buy fire-crackers," said Jack, "and Frank's going
to have a lot, and Jim Barnes and Kit Lawson's
going to put their funds into torpedoes,"--and he
said "funds as though they had a million or two.
of dollars to spend. And what 'll you contribute,
Tom ? We're all going to meet in the square and
make things zip. There 'll be a regular swell time,
you better believe."
What makes your fathers-es give you money to
buy fire-crackers ?" asked Tom.
"Buy fire-crackers? And the Fourth o' July
coming?" exclaimed Jack, in astonishment. You
don't know what you 're talking about, Tom Dixon !
Why, a Fourth o' July without fire-crackers would
be like a-a-a- "
"Yes, it would," added Frank, gravely, but
with a twinkle in his merry brown eyes. We
should never survive it I at which the boys roared
with laughter.
But who ever heard of a Fourth o' July without
crackers ? persisted Jack.
I have," said Tom, a little proudly.
"And I, too," remarked a voice behind them.
" If you '11 come over with me to the square, boys,
and sit awhile on the bench, I '11 tell you all
about it."
The speaker was good old Squire Lewis, whp,
the boys thought, was the oldest man mi-the
world. He was eighty-six, and he remembered
very well when the boys and girls he knew, who
celebrated the Fourth of July, had never heard of
fire-crackers. And after telling the boys about
this, he went on to tell them how the day was cele-
brated when be was a boy-of the picnics in the
woods-how the prettiest girl was dressed as a
goddess of liberty, and the smartest boy delivered
an oration; how they had flags and drums and a
fife, and shouted and hurrahed until they were tired
and hoarse, and glad enough, when night came,
to tumble off into bed, and wait until next day to
think what a jolly, jolly time they had had. And
nobody was scared to death, nor burnt with pow-
der. "We thought there had been enough peo-
ple peppered with powder in the Revolutionary
war; and why should we-burn up any more in
celebrating our victory?" concluded the Squire,
looking at each of the three boys inquiringly.
"I'm down on fire-crackers and powder," said
Tom, stoutly, rising to his feet and stuffing his
hands in the side pockets of his linen coat. That's
the way Miss Scott got her eyes hurt," and he
related how it happened.


This sad story, as Tom told it, seemed to make
quite an impression upon the boys, although Jack
contended that a boy must be a "born fool" to
throw a bunch of lighted fire-crackers at a little
girl in that way.
But Tom did not stop with the Scott story. He
stood in front of the bench and repeated all he could
remember of what his mother had told him and read
to him out of the last year's newspaper in the
morning, and then the boys remembered having
heard of the young woman who was burned to
death by her dress having been set in a blaze by
a fire-cracker.
Then, for a long time for boys,-fully a quarter
of a minute,-nobody said anything. At last, Tom
said:
Say, s'posin' we get up a Union League on the
cracker question ? "
"A new Declaration of Independence," ob-
served Frank, with a laugh.
"Very good! very good!" said Squire Lewis,
thumping with his cane on the bench for applause.
"Independence from China, this time with more
applause.
"But what'll we do with our funds?" asked
Jack, financially.
"Put 'em into ice cream," said Frank, and then,
as if catching at a brand-new idea, he hopped up
and stood by Tom. "I 'll tell you what! Let 's
say nothing to our folks about it, only make sure
of our money-the money for the fire-crackers,
you know. Then let's take that cash and give a
Fourth of July ice-cream party and invite the-the
girls."
"But where'd we have it?" asked Jack, who
was always seeing lions in the way.
"Let me fix that," said the old Squire. "You
invite your girls and order your ice cream, and
come around to my house on the morning of the
Fourth,-say half a dozen of you. Trust me that
you '11 have the best Fourth of July that ever you
had. And I 'll keep your secret, boys."
And where 'll we get our half-dozen ? All the
other boys '11 want to have fire-crackers. They '11
never give them up. You 'll see." Of course it
was Doubting Jack who said that.
Call a mass meeting of the boys! said Tom.
"That 's the way big folks do. Get the bos to-
gether, say, to-morrow afternoon. We can meet
behind papa's carriage house. Nobody 'll hear us
talk there."
"And we'll have Tom, here, to be our Daniel
Webster of the meeting," said the ever-ready
Frank. He can tell 'em what he got off to-day
to us about fire-crackers, and that we propose to
strike out in a new line this year and use our fire-
cracker and torpedo money for something else,


188o.]


715






TOM'S ANTI-FIRE-CRACKER LEAGUE.


and that every boy who wants to join us can do so,
by twisting our two thumbs and putting his Fourth
of July money into our bag. Then we '11 'point a
committee, and there 's where we 'll get our half-
dozen. I know as many as eight boys who I'm
pretty sure will join."
"Exactly," said Tom, as if feeling sure that
Frank's argument was a clincher." Then, after
some further arrangements for the "mass meet-
ing," and more encouraging words from old Squire
Lewis, the boys separated, and Tom, remembering
that he had left home to go to the post-office, ran
off at full speed.
To tell the story of the next few days would take
too long. The mass meeting was quite a success,
and Tom's speech sounded better than ever. Most
of the boys agreed to the new plan; they -were
willing to try it for once, at least, to see how it
would go; for no boy, however full of life and fun,
takes pleasure in doing what causes harm, and
often great suffering. No really manly boy, I
mean-only the cowards do that. A manly and
truly brave boy always has a tender heart, and is
thoughtful, too. Several of the boys who did not
join the League that day, joined afterward in time
for the Fourth."
The Fourth" was a lovely day, as it proved,
and the "committee," with Squire Lewis, ar-
ranged chairs and tables under the wide-spreading
apple trees in his garden. This committee"
proved to be a very wonderful committee, for,
after it began to think, it thought of a great many
things,-of begging bouquets from the ladies of
the village, of wheedling mothers and sisters into
baking sponge cakes for an affair that must be
kept a profound secret, and Mrs. Dixon was waited
upon to know if she would kindly train ten boys to


sing some patriotic pieces, for Tom could play the'
organ, you see. So, when the day came, the time
had been so well improved that the committee had
everything "just splendid," as the girls said-
flowers and music and everything. Tom had his
organ there, and the boys sang really very well;
at all events, they made a respectable noise and
were loudly cheered, and the cake and ice cream
were all right.
The girls, who were invited to come to Squire
Lewis's garden gate at four o'clock P. M., were
half afraid of a hoax, and were dying" to know
what it all meant. But when the flag went up in
the garden, the secret of the week began to leak
out, and a very nice secret everybody thought it,
too. The "fathers-es and mothers-es," as Tom
respectfully called the parents, declared it was the
most respectable Fourth they had ever known.
And when they came to know about the Anti-Fire-
cracker League, then every one declared that in
future they would double the young folks' Fourth
of July money as long as they put it to such a
charming use.
And that was the way Tom's reform began.
This coming Fourth," the Anti-Fire-cracker-
League-Fourth-of-July party is expected to be a
great deal better than the one of last year.
It will be held in the large garden of the
Dixons' house, for good old Squire Lewis is no
longer alive to invite the boys to his garden.
One of the last things he talked about was that
Fourth of July party. He was glad that he had
lived to see it, and by his will he gave a five-
dollar gold piece each to Tom Dixon, Frank
Jones and Jack Thompson.
But I don't think Jack deserved his so much
as did the others. Do you?


.,,-- -\"


716


[JULY,


1






BUTTONS AND FORTUNES.


BUTTONS AND FORTUNES.

BY LAURA LEDYARD.


OH, turn about, turn about, whirly me jig!
And what will my little one be when he's big?
Now, how many buttons has baby to show.?
For this is the way baby's fortune to know.

A rich man-a poor man-a beggar-a thief-
A doctor-a lawyer-a merchant-a chief;
Oho! what a great one my baby might be
If only he boasted eight buttons, you see!

And seven would make him a merchant-but
no!
My baby has not seven buttons to show!


He '11 not be a lawyer-I cannot find six,
Nor five! Now I'm frightened. Four would
be a fix !

Because, if it should be, he could be a thief,
But no-he's riot four, even. What a relief!
And now if a beggar my baby should be,
I'11 count-but he wont, for he cannot show three!

A poor man? Well, well,-can it really be true ?
My poor pinned-in darling has not even two!
A rich man, perhaps,-but the child has n't one,-
Of fortunes and buttons my baby has none!


But baby and I,-why, we don't care a feather,
The buttons and fortunes will all come together.


~~~


717






THE CANADIAN PATRIOTS IN 1775.


- -


A COUNTRY-SEAT.


THE CANADIAN PATRIOTS IN 1775.

BY GEO. J. VARNEY.


THE river that forms the outlet of Lake Cham-
plain has many names, taken from the towns
through which it passes; and various book-makers
have chosen different ones, so that confusion must
often arise in the minds of hasty readers. For
convenience, I will call it Sorel; and the readers
of ST. NICHOLAS can readily find out from -the
map what must be the others.
In the parish of Chambly, which lies south-east
of Montreal, the Sorel widens to a broad basin,
with pleasant islands, and just above.are rapids.
Another point of interest at this place is the old
fort, or castle, on the west bank of the river. It was
built by the French, in 1711, when Queen Anne's
war" was raging between England and France.
But the interest which my readers will find in it
must come chiefly from the fact that, in the Revo-
lution, the inhabitants of the parish of Chambly,
joining our patriot forefathers, captured their own
fort from its British garrison, and gave it into
possession of the Federal government.
Some of these very Canadians were with our
army when it took possession of Montreal, and
accompanied the Federal forces down the St. Law-
rence to join in the siege of Quebec. Had not our
army received this aid, it must have rolled back
in disaster from the strong position of the British
at St. John's, and never have gained possession
of the St. Lawrence, and the control of the lakes.
It will be my pleasant duty to tell the story of


this brilliant campaign, and of the brief career of
its hero, the noble young Irishman, General
Montgomery.
Richa'd Montgomery was born in the north of
Ireland, of respectable parents, in 1737, entering
the army when he was fifteen years of age. As a
youth, he was virtuous and studious; and these,
with other good qualities, caused his early promo-
tion. In 1757 he served, under the celebrated
General Wolfe, against the French in Nova Scotia
and Louisburg, and thus became acquainted with
America. Being unjustly refused promotion, he
sold the commission of captain which he held,
and, in January, 1773, came to New York to make
his home in the New World. Thus the unfriend-
liness of the government lost Great Britain a noble
soldier, and what she lost America gained. In
the following July he married the eldest daughter
of Judge Robert R. Livingston, and, abandoning
all purpose of a military life, he devoted himself
to agricultural pursuits. Fixing upon Rhinebeck
as his residence, he built there a mill, stocked a
farm, and laid the foundations of a new house.
With every prospect of happiness, his mind was
ever tinged with melancholy; and he would often
say: My happiness is not lasting, but yet let us
enjoy it as long as we.may, and leave the rest to
God."
Thus the Revolution found him. On receiving
his appointment of brigadier-general, he reluct-


718


[JULY,






THE CANADIAN PATRIOTS IN I775.


antly bade adieu to his quiet life,"-" perhaps
forever," he said; "but the will of an oppressed
people, compelled to choose between liberty and
slavery, must be obeyed." Soothing the fears of
his wife for his safety by cheerfulness and humor,
he parted from her, finally, at Saratoga, with the
words: "You will never have cause to blush for
your Montgomery."
Joining his chief, Major-General Schuyler, at
Ticonderoga, he never ceased to urge an advance.
Having such a capable second, Schuyler, who was
old and infirm, left to him the charge of the army,
and, abandoning the camp, sought his needful ease
at Saratoga.
Montgomery disliked this inaction, and desired
of his superior instructions to advance. Moving
without your orders," says he in one of his messages,
" I do not like; but the prevention of the enemy
is of the utmost consequence; for if he gets his
vessels into the lake, it is over with us for the present
summer."
He therefore went forward down Lake Champlain
with twelve hundred men; but, by reason of head
winds and rain, it was the 4th of September when
they reached Isle aux Noix, in the Sorel.
The next day, a declaration of friendship was
circulated among the inhabitants; and, on the 6th,
the army, under the lead of General Schuyler (who
had now overtaken it), advanced against St. John's.
Alarmed by a slight attack which had been easily
repulsed by Montgomery, Schuyler ordered a re-
treat; and without having made even a reconnois-
sance of the fort, he led his troops back to Isle aux
Noix.
Here he was soon confined to his bed by illness,
and everything went wrong. At length, Mont-
gomery entreated permission to retrieve the late
disasters; and Schuyler set out in a covered boat
for Ticonderoga, relinquishing with regret, but
without envy, to the gallant young Irishman the
conduct, the danger and the glory of the
campaign."
The day after his departure, Montgomery moved
the army against St. John's, arriving on the 17th
of September. The next morning he led a corps
of five hundred men to the north side of the fort,
falling in with a detachment of the garrison, which,
after a brief skirmish, retreated into the fort. He
next established an intrenched camp of three hun-
dred men at the junction of the roads to Montreal
and Chambly, thus cutting off communications
between St. John's and its supporting posts.
The bold and restless Ethan Allen, the captor of
Ticonderoga, had attached himself to the army as
a volunteer. To make his activity useful to the
cause, Montgomery sent him with thirty men to
La Prairie, a parish lying between St. John's and


Montreal, to associate with theinhabitants, in order
to secure their friendship, and induce them to join
the American standard. Having speedily obtained
about fifty recruits, and, dazzled by vanity from his
former success, without consulting his commander
he attempted to surprise Montreal, but was himself
defeated and captured by the British.
As the Americans had a very slight stock of
ammunition, no assault upon St. John's could be
attempted, and the hope of forcing the garrison to
surrender from want of provisions was fading away.
The weather was cold and rainy, and the ground in
the camps became very wet, so that there was
much sickness. The men were ill-tempered, and
so rebellious that, when the general would have
erected a battery nearer the fort, it was manifest
his orders would not be obeyed.
I did not consider," said he, that I was at the
head of troops who carried the spirit of freedom
into the field, and think for themselves."
Yet the confidence of the men in their leader
steadily grew. A little later, the battery was
erected, and with the co-operation of those who had
at first opposed it. The sick, the wounded, and
even deserters, passing home, praised him at every
halt upon their way.
But adversities and delays added greatly to his
weariness and anxiety.
The master of Hindostan," he writes, could
not recompense me for this summer's work; I have
envied every wounded man who has so good an
apology for retiring from a scene where no credit
can be obtained. 0 fortunate husbandman would
I were at my plough again."
But difficulties only bring out the resources of a
courageous mind. It was so with Montgomery.
One James Livingston, a native of New York,
who had resided in Canada for some time, was very
popular with the inhabitants; and, at the request of
the general, he made use of his influence to raise a
company of Canadian troops. General Carlton,
the British governor of Canada, had hoped to suc-
cor St. John's by arming the rural population; but
nearly the whole militia of the district refused to
march at his command.
The inhabitants of the parish of Chambly soon
gave in their adhesion to the American cause, and
sent messengers into other parishes to induce them
to do likewise. Livingston had soon recruited some
hundreds of those, of whom he was made major;
and the capture of the fort of Chambly was imme-
diately planned by the Canadians, who were familiar
with the place."
Artillery was placed in bateaux, which, during a
dark night, were run down the river past the fort at
St. John's, andlanded atthehead f Chambly rapids,
where it was mounted on wheels and taken to the


* Garneau's Hist. of Canada, vol. 2, p. 133.


719





THE CANADIAN PATRIOTS IN 1775.


point of attack. The force consisted of three
hundred Canadians under Major Livingston, accom-
panied by fifty Federalists under Major Brown.
SThe fort was firmly built of stone, was well sup-
plied with cannon, and garrisoned by a detachment
of the Royal Fusileers under Major Stopford. The
,Chambly villagers joined their countrymen tindidr
Livingston; and on-the i8th of October, after a
siege of a day and a half, the fort, with its walls
unbroken and its stores unharmed, was surren-
dered to the patriots.
The prisoners, one hundred and sixty-eight in
number, were marched to Connecticut, and the
fort was garrisoned by the Americans. In it were
found seventeen cannon, a hundred and twenty-
four barrels of powder, with abundant other ammu-
nition, and a great stock of provisions.
The powder and cannon enabled Montgomery to
press the siege of St. John's with vigor. When
General Carlton heard at M6ntreal of the success
of the patriots, he perceived that the Sorel could
be saved only by his taking the field against the
Americans. He accordingly ordered Colonel Mc-
Lean from Quebec to St. John's, with three hundred
militia; and, on the 31st, he himself set out to join
him with a force of eight hundred men. Colonel
Seth Warner, with three hundred Green Mount-
ain boys, met and defeated him on the shore of the
St. Lawrence.
At the same time McLean, moving up the Sorel,
found the bridges broken down, and the inhabitants
preparing to resist him ; and he retreated, perforce,
to the mouth of the river. Towards evening of the
day of Carlton's repulse, Colonel Warner reached
St. John's with his prisoners. Montgomery imme-
diately sent a flag of truce to the fort, informing
the commandant of the defeat of his chief, and
demanding the surrender of the fortress to prevent
further effusion of blood. The commandant
requested four days for consideration, but it was
refused. There was no alternative; so, on the
3d of November, after a siege of six weeks, St.
John's surrendered. According to terms granted
out of respect to their bravery, the garrison, con-
sisting of five hundred British regulars and one
hundred Canadians, marched out with the honors
of war, and stacked their arms on the neighboring
plain.
The cold season was beginning, and the raw
troops, weary of the privations of the field, and
yearning for home, clamored to be dismissed, for
the term of enlistment of many had already


expired. Having gained possession of the Sorel,
they at first refused to go a step further; but the
patriotic zeal, the kindness and the winning
eloquence of Montgomery prevailed with them,
and all but a small garrison left at St. John's
pressed on to Montreal.
On the 12th of November, the patriot army took
unopposed possession of the town, the people declar-
ing themselves sympathizers in the American cause.
'McLean had already retreated toward Quebec, and
Colornel Easton, of the Massachusetts militia, occu-
pied a position at the mouth of the Sorel com-
manding the St. Lawnence; and the British fleet,
consisting of eleven sail of vessels, with General
Prescott and one hundred and twenty-six regulars,
fell into the hands of Montgomery. General
Carlton, disguised as a villager, got into a row-
boat and dropped down the river in the night,
and thus escaped.
In the midst of his successes, our hero, no less than
his soldier's, longed to return to his family, his
books, and the pleasant occupations of the farm.
He earnestly entreated General Schuyler to pass
the winter in Montreal, adding: "I am weary of
.power. I must go home this winter, if I walk by
the side of the lake."
But Quebec was not in our hands, and, until that
was accomplished, Canada remained unconquered
from foreign rule. Men, money and artillery were
wanting for the task, but honor forbade the leader
to turn back without attempting the capture of
the last post held by Great Britain in Canada. In
the face of a Canadian winter, he set out with such
force as he had to accomplish this desperate but
glorious object.
Well-known histories narrate the siege of Quebec
with sufficient clearness, and I need not attempt
the repetition. There, against vast difficulties, and
in great privation, with yet a good hope of success,
the brave and noble Montgomery fell, in the full
tide of assault, at the head of his troops. The
single chance of success was lost at that moment;
and our forces sustained a disastrous defeat.
In a few months all the ground we had gained in
Canada was wrested from us, and the new nation
seemed to have suffered a great misfortune. It
certainly appeared very desirable that Canada
should join the federation of American States,
and become a sharer of their independence; but
the God of Nations ruled otherwise ; and many
now beJieve that they see reasons for thinking that
all happened for the best.


720


[JOLY,







iSSo.] NOW, BUMBLE-BEE~ 721


I.)


NOW, BUMBLE-BEE!

BY NELLIE WOOD.

Now, Bumble-bee, you just keep still,-you need n't jump and buzz;
I 've had such a time to catch you as never, never wuz.
I 've chased you round the garden, and, 'cause I did n't look,
I almost fell right over into that drefful brook;
And I 'm going to put you in it, tho' I s'pose you think you 're hid,
For last week you stung my pussy,-you know very well you did.
Yes, and you made us 'fraid that she was goin' to have a fit;
She jumped up so, and tried to catch the place where you had bit.
Yes! I shall surely drown you !-
But, p'r'aps you 've got a home,
And your little ones will wonder why you don't ever come;
And I think, p'r'aps, you 're sorry you went and acted so,-
If you '11 only wait till I run away,-I-b'lieve-I 'll-let you go.


721


1880.]


NOW, BUMBLE-BEE!







722 ONE-TREE ISLAND, [JULY,


ONE-TREE ISLAND.

BY FRANK R. STOCKTON.


NEAR the head of a small bay on the coast of
South Carolina, there is a small, sandy island,
which, at the time of this story, bore the name of
One-tree Island, from the fact that a single tall
palmetto was the only tree upon it. The island
belonged to a family named Barclay, who had a
house there, which was used as a summer resi-
dence; and although the island was not very'
shady, the air was pure and healthful, and there
were broad piazzas around the house where shade
and coolness could always be found.
The family consisted of a father and mother, a
son of fourteen, named Charley, and two younger
children, both girls. Besides these white people,
there were generally a dozen or more colored
servants; for this was long ago, in the days of
slavery, when most Southern families had a great
many house-servants.
Mr. Barclay was a lawyer, and in the winter he
lived near the small town at the head of the bay,
where he had a plantation.
One morning in August, the whole family had
gone over to the town in a sail-boat. The weather
had been cooler than usual for some days, and it
was a pleasant sail from the island to the town.
Mr. Barclay managed the boat, assisted by an
old negro, called Daddy July, who sat in the bow
and attended to the sail.
Mr. Barclay had business in the town, regarding
the sale of some property in which he was con-
cerned; but the rest of the family procured a car-
riage and rode out to the plantation, where Mrs.
Barclay spent the day in attending to some domes-
tic matters. In the evening, when they found
themselves again at the wharf where the sail-boat
-the "Anna "-was moored, they were met, not by
Mr. Barclay, but by a messenger with a note. In
this, Mr. Barclay stated that he had been obliged
to go out of town to meet some important parties
to the business in which he was engaged, and that
Charley, with Daddy July's help, would have to
take them home.
Charley could sail a boat very well, as his father
knew, and he was delighted at this chance of tak-
ing command of the "Anna," and showing his
mother and sisters how well he could manage her;
for they had never been out with him alone
before.
But Mrs. Barclay was not delighted. She had
not her husband's confidence in Charley's seaman-
ship,-indeed, she knew very little about such


things herself, and had an idea that no boy of
fourteen should be trusted with a sail-boat in which
there were ladies or children. As to Daddy July,
she was sure he knew almost nothing about sailing,
as she had heard Mr. Barclay say so.
But Charley was urging her not to be afraid, but
to get into the boat, which would be just as safe
with him at the helm as if his father were there;
and the two little girls were very anxious to get on
board and have another sail, and Daddy July was
in the boat, arranging the cushions and making
ready for a start. And then, too, she began to
think that her husband ought to know whether
Charley was to be trusted or not, and so, after a
little more hesitation, she went down the 'steps at
the end of the ,' :, i :r,a-iid Charley helped her on
board.
The sail home was very pleasant, and devoid of
any accident whatever. The wind was fresh, but
not too strong, and Charley steered his little craft
with steadiness and good judgment. When they
ran up alongside of the landing platform, at the
back of the house, Charley turned to his mother
and said':
"There, mother Have n't I brought you over
safely enough ?"
Indeed, you have, my boy," said Mrs. Barclay.
I had no idea you were such a good sailor."
And wont you be willing to take a sail with
me, -with me alone, I mean,-some other time?"
"That is another matter," said Mrs. Barclay,
laughing. "You know how afraid I am when I 'm
on the water. But we shall see."
The little girls and their mother went into the
house, which stood quite near the water's edge,
although it faced the other way, so that from the
front piazza there was a view across the island and
down the bay. This island might have been called,
with truth, "one-house island," for Mr. Barclay's
residence was the only house upon it, if we except
the small buildings which were used as quarters
for the servants, and for various domestic purposes.
These were all clustered together on -one side of
the house, and not far from the solitary palmetto
which gave its name to the island.
"Daddy July," said Charley, before he went
into the house, "be sure to anchor the boat a
good way out from shore. Father always wishes
that done, you know, or when the tide runs out it
may leave her aground. You can take the little
bateau out with you, and come back in her when


722


ONE-TREE ISLAND.


[JULY,






ONE-TREE ISLAND.


you've anchored the sail-boat." And then Charley
hurried in, for he was hungry and it was quite
supper-time.
Whar 's dat ar bateau?" said old Daddy
July, looking on both sides of the platform.
She 's done gone. Dat ar boy Clum 's been,
an' come, an' done gone an' took her fur to go
fishing an' jist as like as not he 's lef' her at de
udder end ob de islan'. Dat's jist like dat boy,
Clum,-knowin' we was all away. I wonder ef
Mahs'r Chawles tinks I 'm a-gwine to take dat ar
sail-boat out dar, an' den swim ashore! 'Cause
I 's not a-gwine to do it. I '11 jist push her out as
far as I kin wade, an' anchor her dar, an' tie her
to de landin' with a good long rope, an' den, ef
she 's lef' agroun', I '11 get up early in de mawnin'
an' push her off."
And so Daddy July rolled up his trousers, and
anchored the boat some thirty feet from the pier.

That night, about twelve o'clock, or perhaps a
little later, Gracie, the younger of the little girls,
fell out of bed. This was a favorite trick with her,
as she was a great roller and tumbler, but she
never before had had such a curious feeling when
she had fallen out of bed. For this time she went
plump into water half a foot deep !
As she struggled to her feet, dripping and floun-
dering about in the water, her wild screams awoke
her mother and sister; even Charley, who was a
heavy sleeper, was aroused. Mrs. Barclay sprang
out of bed, and when she found herself over ankle-
deep in water she could not refrain from a scream,
and this brought up Charley, who jumped on to
the floor of his room with a tremendous splash.
Hello cried Charley, and for a moment he
thought he was, dreaming. Then he heard his
mother calling him, and he splashed over to the
bureau for a match, and lighted his lamp. By its
light he saw that the floor was covered with water.
Hastily slipping on a few clothes, and without
stopping to roll up his trousers, he ran into his
mother's room.
"Oh, Charley! cried his mother, holding the
dripping Gracie in her arms. "There is a flood !
We shall all be swept away."
Charley did not answer. He ran to the window.
It was a moonlight night, although the sky was now
cloudy, and he could see nothing but water spread-
ing out around the house. The surface of the
island had disappeared. The sea had certainly
risen, and was sweeping up the bay. The water,
which had come in under the doors, seemed higher
out on the piazza than in the room where he was.
It was evident that it had been rising for some time,
or had risen very rapidly, for although the bed-
rooms were all on the first floor, the house stood


on piles which raised it five or six feet from the
ground.
His mother again called to him:
"What are we to do?" she cried. "We shall
certainly be washed away. Where are all the
people? Why did n't they come and tell us?
What shall we do ?"
I don't believe they know of it," said Charley,
quickly. "The quarters are on higher ground
than the house. Perhaps it hasn't reached them."
He then ran through the water to another room,
where there was a window which looked out in the
direction of the quarters. He could see that all the
houses must be surrounded by water; but a build-
ing, which was used as a kitchen, stood between
him and the quarters, and he could not see what
was going on there. He put his head out of the
window and shouted, but received no answer.
As he hurried back to his mother's room, he
heard a knocking at the back of the house. He
stopped to listen, and then quickly made his way
to the dining-room, the windows of which looked
out upon the back piazza. When he reached a
window, the first thing that he saw was the sail-
boat, bumping and rubbing against the outside of
the piazza railings.
Charley was astounded How did that boat get
there? But there was no time to consider ques-
tions of this sort. He raised the window and sprang
out on the piazza. The water was nearly up to his
knees, but he waded to the railings, climbed over,
and got into the boat. As he jumped in, it floated
away from the house, but he seized an oar and
drew it up again to the railings, where he made it
fast at the bow. A rope ran out from the stern
and went down under the water.
"Daddy July has tied her to the end of the
platform," said Charley, "and she's floated
around."
This was true. As the water rose, the boat had
pulled up the anchor, which was attached to a chain
that the old man had made much too short, and
then, being caught in an eddy which the waters had
made in sweeping around the house, she had drifted
back, still held by the long rope. This Charley
quickly cut,-he found his knife in his pocket,-
then he drew the stern also close to the piazza.
He made it fast and hurried back into the house.
There he found the water much higher, and his
mother almost frantic. She thought he must be lost,
in some way, for he had not answered her calls, and
yet she was afraid to leave the other children to
go and look for him.
"Mother he cried. We're all right! The
'Anna' is right here, at the back of the house.
Get ready and we'll all be off. We must be quick.
I will carry Dora."


z88o.]


723







724 [JULY, ONE-TREE ISLAND.


Stop one minute," said his mother, hurriedly;
"I must get them some clothes," and she set
Gracie on the bed.
And yourself, too," cried Charley. Can't I
help?"
Mrs. Barclay quickly opened some bureau-
drawers, which were luckily above the water, and
seizing some of the children's frocks, she handed
them to Charley. She then grasped some of her
own clothes, which were hanging in the room, with
a shawl or two, which hung by them. Picking up
the wet little Gracie, she said she was ready to go.
Charley took up Dora, and they all made their way
to the dining-room. Being now better used to
the dim moonlight that came through the windows,
they did not need a lamp.
Charley put Dora and the clothes on the window-
seat, and climbed out upon the piazza. Then, as
quickly as he could, he placed the children and
the clothes in the boat, and helped his mother
out of the window, and over the railing. When
she was safely seated with the children, Charley cast
loose, stern and bow, and pushed the boat away
from the house.
While Charley was at work hoisting the sail, Mrs."
Barclay took the wet clothes from little Gracie and
rubbed her dry with a towel she had brought.
Then she slightly dressed both the children and
wrapped them in shawls. When this was done,
she put on a wrapper and a shawl and drew the
little girls close to her, one on each side. Fortu-
nately, it was a warm night,/and although they all
were so slightly dressed, and none of them had on
any shoes or stockings, they did not feel cold.
The boat had been lying in the lee of the house,
and they had not felt the wind, but when Charley
put her about, so that her sail caught the strong
but steady breeze that was coming up the bay,
she quickly got under headway.
Oh, Charley !" cried Mrs. Barclay, as they rap-
idly sailed away from the house, what can have
become of all the people? It seems dreadful to
go away and leave them; and yet we could not
take them all in this little boat. There are other
boats, are there not? "
"Oh, yes said Charley; "there 's the big
fishing-boat. I reckon they could all get into
that. And the little bateau could carry three or
four of them, if they crowded."
"But were the boats near at hand ?" asked his
mother.
"The big boat was," said Charley. "It was
anchored close to the quarters."
"But why did not some of them come to us?"
said Mrs. Barclay. "I cannot understand it."
It must be as I said, mother," said Charley.
"The quarters being higher than the house, they


may not have known of the flood until it was too
late to come to us."
"Well, I hope, from the bottom .of my heart,
that they are all safe," said Mrs. Barclay. ,"I
wish we could have sailed near the quarters, so
that we could have found out something about
them."'
Well, I '11 try and sail near enough to see the
quarters when we come back," said Charley.
"Come back!" exclaimed his mother. "You
don't mean to say we are going back ?"
"Not exactly back," replied Charley, "but, you
see, with this wind we have to tack across the bay
so as to get up to town. I 'd be afraid to run
before such a strong breeze as this, with you all on
board. And when-we go on the other tack, I can
run down pretty near the quarters, and then if we
can pick up anybody we '11 do it. It don't matter
about losing time. We 're all right, now we "re
safe aboard the 'Anna.'"
But Charley did not go near the quarters on his
back-tack. When he put the boat about, and his
mother and sisters had changed their seats to the
other side of the vessel, it was not long before he
saw ahead of him what he thought was a boat. So
he steered straight for it, and soon saw that it was
full of people, with two men rowing as hard as
they could. When they came nearer, he knew it
was his father's big fishing-boat. He ran up ahead
of her, lay to, and hailed her.
As soon as the fishing-boat drew up, Mrs. Bar-
clay called out to know if everybody was on board.
Half a dozen darkies spoke at once, but she under-
stood. that all were on board,-men, women and
children,-excepting Clum and two other boys,
who were in the bateau.
And dar 's the bateau!" called out a negro
man at the bow. See de bateau! Dar she cum,
wid Clum'a-scullin' her wid a'rail."
And then another man explained that the reason
why Clum was sculling with a rail, was because
they could n't find the oars of the big boat, which
had probably been lying on the sand and floated
off, and so they had to take the bateau oars for the
big boat, and give Clum a rail, which fortunately
happened to be in one of the houses. And as Clum
was supposed to be able to propel a boat with
almost any kind of a stick, this was considered to
be all right. And, sure enough, the bateau was
coming along quite rapidly.
The negroes furthermore informed Mrs. Barclay
that they had rowed to the house as soon as they
had got the big boat started, but had seen the
"Anna" sailing away, and were quite sure the
family was on board of her; and they were mighty
glad, too, for there was not room for another per-
son in their boat.


[JULY,


724


ONE-TREE ISLAND.






ONE-TREE ISLAND.


Much relieved to find that everybody was safe,
Charley brought the Anna" around to the wind,
and away she went on a long tack. It was day-
light when she was gently run ashore, high up in
a field in the outskirts of the town. The negroes,
seeing where the sail-boat had landed, made for
the same spot. Mrs. Barclay and the children
were quickly conveyed to a neighboring house,
and it was not long before they were joined there
by Mr. Barclay, who had heard of the great flood
in the bay, and had hurried into town, that he
might go to the assistance of his family. But it
would not be easy to describe his joy and thankful-


and Clum was sure he had not been in his bateau.
The fishing-boat was searched, to see if he had
crawled under anything and gone to sleep. But
there was no sign of him. It was pretty evident
that he had been left behind.
Mr. Barclay was greatly grieved. Daddy July
was a favorite old servant, and he could not bear
to think that he had been left to drown. The
water had risen so high that the quarters must
have been carried away, and the house had prob-
ably shared the same fate. But Mr. Barclay did
not stop.to conjecture in regard to these things.
The flood had now ceased to increase, and there


"DADDY JULY WAS IN THE TOP OF THE OLD PALMETTO."


ness to find them all safe in the town, or his pride
in his boy Charley, who had so manfully brought
them away.
But, after all, father," said Charley, we ought
to be particularly obliged to old Daddy July; for
if he had anchored the 'Anna' where I told him
to, she would have dragged her anchor and been
blown far away from us. It was tying her to the
platform that made her swing around to the house,
where I got hold of her."
Where is Daddy July ?" asked Mr. Barclay;
but this was a question not easily answered. The
other negroes were all sitting about in the sun,
outside; but the old man was not among them.
No one could remember seeing him in the big
boat, though all thought, of course, he was there,


might be a chance of doing some good by visiting
the island, or the place where the island was sub-
merged, and so the "Anna" was launched, and,
with two trustworthy negro men and Charley
(who, having had his breakfast, felt as lively as a
lark and ready for anything), Mr. Barclay set sail.
Long before they reached the spot where their
happy summer home had stood, they saw that
every building had been swept away. The house
would probably be found, in pieces, along the
shores of the bay. But one thing was standing to
show the exact location of the island, and that was
the solitary palmetto-tree, which, with its branch-
ing top and half its trunk out of water, still stood,
gently waving over the island which bore its name.
Charley was sitting'in the bow of the boat. As


_ ___


188o.]


725


:-_ .- -r ;- ..... ,- =-- --- -_----
i^s^^-;7
M.






"HARK, HARK! WHAT'S THAT NOISE?"


it approached the tree, he sprang to his feet and
gave a shout.
"Hello!" he cried. "Look there! There he
is! There 's Daddy July, in the top of the old
palmetto !"
Sure enough, there he was, snigly nestled
among the branches at the top of the tree !
Everybody shouted at him, ,as the boat was
brought around and made fast to the tree, and a
happier old darkey never slowly slid down a
palmetto trunk and dropped into a boat.
How in the world, Daddy July," said Mr. Bar-
clay, as the old man sat down in the stern of the
boat, did you ever come to climb that tree ?"
"Why, you see, Mahs'r George," said the old
negro, dey was so long finding' de oars an' gittin'
ready, dat I was jist afeard dey neber would git off
at all, an' I jist clum' up dat tree, as quick as eber
I could, for de water was a-gittin' wuss an' wuss;
but I did n't believe it would eber git ober de top
ob dat tree. An' when Mahs'r Charley went off
in de sail-boat, I hollered at him; but de wind
took away de holler, an' when de fellers in de big
boat sot out I hollered at dem,: L.I. dey did n't hear,


an' when Clum .come along- Hello what's
dis?"
And he sprang-to his feet, with his hand in his
trousers-pocket.
"Dar 's something' mighty soft an' warm in dar,"
he said, as he pulled out a big rat, which had been
cuddled up in his pocket. He put his hand in
again, and pulled out another.' These he threw
into the water, and putting his hand in the other
pocket, pulled out three more.
The poor creatures were driven by the flood to
the tree, and during the night had found the old
man's pockets nice, warm places in which to nestle.
Some were found even in the folds of his shirt.*
." Dar now! Mahs'r George," said Daddy July,
as he threw away the last of them, "if you wants
any more rats in de island, you got to fotch 'em
over. I 'se done gone an' brung 'em all away, dis
time, shuah."
Mr. Barclay did not build another house on
" One-tree, Island," but chose for his next summer
residence a higher and a safer spot. And Mrs.
Barclay was never again afraid to take a sail with
only Charley to manage the boat.


* This incident is a fact.


HARK, hark What 's that noise?
Something's the matter with the toys.
Scrub, scrub Swish, swash !
The biggest doll is trying to wash,


The other dolls are making cake.
The new cook-stove is beginning to bake;
The table is setting itself, you see;
They must be expecting friends to tea.


726


[JULY,






o88o.] CHEERY ROBIN. 727














S I L i-I H. .
I--3-














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'I h IN i' L ii l i.t u Iir l "
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PAPER BALLOONS.


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F: ~II


[JULY,


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P11,
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to $that.


PAPER BALLOONS.

BY DANIEL .C. BEARD.


DID you ever watch a beautiful soap-bubble dance
merrily through the air, and think how closely it
resembled the immense silken bubble beneath
which the daring aeronaut goes bounding among
the clouds? When a school-boy, the writer used
to attach one end of a small rubber fube to a gas-
burner and the other to a clay pipe, and thus let
the gas blow soap-bubbles, which would shoot up
into the air with the greatest rapidity.
From these soap balloons, his ambition led
him to make balloons of more lasting material, and,
after numerous experiments and disasters, he suc-
ceeded in building paper balloons of a style which
is comparatively safe from accident, and seldom the


cause of a mortifying failure. If you do not want
to disappoint the spectators by having a fire
instead of an ascension, avoid models with small
mouth openings or narrow necks. Experience has
also taught the writer that balloons of good, substan-
tial, portly build, go up best and make their journey
in a stately, dignified manner, while the slim, narrow
balloon, on the contrary, even if it succeeds in getting
a safe start, goes bobbing through the air, turning
this way and that, until the flame from the fire-ball
touches and lights the thin paper, leaving only a
handful of ashes floating upon the summer breeze.
The reader can see here illustrated some of
the objectionable shapes as well as some of the


728


4






PAPER BALLOONS.


safe styles. For large balloons, strong manilla
paper is best; for smaller ones, use tissue paper.
When you build a balloon, decide first what
height you want it, then make the side-pieces or


FIG. I.-UNSAFE SHAPES FOR BALLOONS.
gores nearly a third longer; a balloon of thirteen
gores, each six feet long and one foot greatest width,
makes a balloon a little over four feet high. For
such a balloon, first make a pattern of stiff brown
paper by which to cut the gores. To make the
pattern, take a strip of paper six feet 'long and a
little over one foot wide; fold the paper in the
center lengthwise, so that it will be only a little over
a half foot from the edges to the fold. Along the
bottom, measure two inches from the fold, and mark.
the point. At one foot from the bottom, at right
angles from the folded edge, measure three inches
and one-half, and mark the point; in the same man-
ner, mark off five inches from two feet up the fold.


FIG. 2.-SOME SAFE SHAPES FOR BALLOONS.
From a point three feet four inches from the bottom,
measure off six inches, and mark the point; from
this place the width decreases. At the fourth foot,
mark a point five inches and one-half from the
VOL. VII.-48.


fold; about three inches and a third at the fifth
foot; nothing, of course, at the sixth foot, or top,
where the gore will come to a point. With chalk
or pencil draw a curved line connecting these
points, cut the paper along this line and unfold it.
You will have a pattern the shape of a cigar, four
inches wide at the bottom, one foot greatest width,
and six feet long.
After pasting your sheets of manilla or tissue
paper together in strips of the required length,
cut, by the pattern just made, thirteen gores;
lay one of these gores flat upon the floor, as in the
highest diagram in Fig. 3 ; fold it in the center as
in the middle diagram, Fig. 3; over this lay
another gore, leaving a margin of the under
gore protruding from beneath as in the lowest
diagram, Fig. 3. With a brush, cover the pro-



---- -,



----;
.1.


_,- 2 ------------.-- -
,f- I









FIG. 3.-THE GORES, CUT AND FOLDED.
trading edge with paste, then turn it up and over
upon the upper gore, and with a towel or rag press
it down until the two edges adhere. Fold the
upper gore in the center as you did the first one,
and lay a third gore upon it; paste the protruding
edge; and so on until all thirteen are pasted. It
will be found that the bottom gore and top gore
have each an edge unpasted; lay these two
edges together, and paste them neatly.
Next, you must make a hoop of rattan or some
light substance to fit the mouth opening, which will
be about one foot and a half in diameter. Fasten
the hoop in by pasting the edges of the mouth
opening around it. In very large paper balloons
it is well to place a piece of string along the edge
of each gore and paste it in; letting the ends of
the strings hang down below the mouth; fasten
the hoop in with these ends before pasting the


i88o.]


729






PAPER BALLOONS.


paper over it. It will be found next to impos-
sible to tear the hoop from a balloon strengthened
in this manner.
Should you discover an opening at the top
of your balloon, caused by the points not joining
exactly, tie it up with a string if it be small, but, if
it be a large hole, paste a piece of paper over it.
When dry, take a fan and fan the balloon as full
of air as you can, and while it is inflated make a
thorough inspection of all sides to see that there are
no accidental tears, holes or rips.
Fig. 4 shows the cross-wires that support the
fire-ball. The latter is best made of old-fashioned
In,. .. mp.riclr. ,o.ind'r-sther lnonseP1


:- I:.i iT ,.
I'.. .:. -h, ,:. r
". '- ,' I .l11,: Iln l, i. i t


hooking the ends of this wire over the cross-wires


at the mouth.
If you use a little
care, you will have no
difficulty in sending
up the balloon. Place
your wick-ball in a pan
or dish, put the corked
bottle of alcohol beside
it, and about thirty feet
away make a simple
fire-place of bricks or
stones, over which place
an old stno--pipe. Fill
I.', t ," p ., il- 3II

li, 'ii r i: i .1 r


i.: i i,, _, *-. r '. I -r t l'-i r -


r-:, t I I

S: 'l :' -
I -_ I .111 : l ii i :


1ii : l : I *.i. I ..


Ih ,-Ir. ...f :I 1-i:ti -tick, and, with the other end
,i, !,- .:.t .:-r i:-I., r-,ount some elevated position
a.J i-.-i l..;: I.. i l: ..., over the fire-place. Before
I...,..i- r.- : ', ,.:, I.:h r.) the combustibles below,
*::.l:,-,rn1 b, I. : ,I..,: :. much as possibleiby fanning
.r ull .:.1" ai r ght the fire. Be very care-
ii. iii ill I r- !...:.::s that follows, to hold the
I,,,.nlI ..II hi:- .lli.... directly above and not too
I.-- it l.: -r.:....p1.p, rt.- prevent the blaze from set-


'' t 1-. ,-- -' '": which would easily catch.
r.; 1 r''-l. l proceedings one person must
,1 ,. t, tl .:,.rr!. I.I alcohol, uncork it, and pour
,, i i -. ts over the wick-ball in the
r I.n, and the ball must be made
SM- soak up all it will hold of
... the spirits. The balloon
''' '. will become more and
more buoyant as the air
SA, becomes heated inside,
S. ** e ..and at length, when dis-
Stended to its utmost, it

itself. Holding the hoop
at the mouth, walk to one
side of the fire and with
all speed have the ball at-
S. tached securely in place.
S- -Touch a light to it, and
it will blaze up. At the
words "All right," let go.
MAKING THE BALLOON. At the same instant the
stick must be slid from
through the wick-ball, so that it can be attached the loop on top, so as not to tear the paper, and
to the mouth of the balloon in an instant by away will sail the balloon upon its airy voyage.


FIG. 4.-SHOWING THE FIRE-BALL
AND THE MANNER OF


[JulY,


730






PAPER BALLOONS.


Never attempt to send up a bal-
loon upon a windy day, for the wind
will be sure, sooner or later, to blow
the blaze aside and set the paper
on fire, and, if once. it catches, up
in the air, there is not much use in
trying to save it.
After you, have made a balloon
like the one just described, and sent
it up successfully, you can try other
shapes. A very good plan in experi-
menting is to make a small work-
ing model of light tissue-paper, fill
it with cold air by means of an
ordinary fan, and, when it is ex-
panded, any defect in form or pro-
portion can be readily detected and
remedied. If it be too narrow, cut
it open at one seam and put in
another gore, or vice versa, until,
you are satisfied with the result;
with this as a pattern, construct
your larger balloon. Such a model,
eighteen inches high, lies upon the
writer's table. He has sent it up in
the house several times, by holding
it a few moments over a burning
gas-jet. It rapidly fills with heated
air and, when freed, soars up to
the ceiling, where it rolls along until
the air cools, then falls gently to the
floor.
The parachute shown in Fig. 10
is simply a square piece of paper
with a string at each of the four
corners, meeting a short distance underneath,
where a weight is attached. .Fig. 5 shows how to
make one that will not tear. It is made of two
square pieces of paper. Two pieces of string are


FILLING THE BALLOON WITH HEATED AIR.

These parachutes are attached to a wire that
hangs from the balloon, in this manner : From
the center and top of the parachute is a string,
we will say, a foot long; this is tied securely


FIG. 5.-METHOD OF PASTING PAPER
AND STRINGS FOR PARACHUTE.


FIG. 6.-THE PASTEBOARD CAR.


FIG. 7.-THE PASTEBOARD MEN.


laid diagonally across the first paper; on top of to one end of a fuse, from out of a pack of Chinese
this the second piece of paper is pasted, inclosing fire-crackers; a few inches from the other end of
the strings without disturbing them; the ends of the fuse another string is tied and fastened to the
the strings come out at the corners, wire. Just as the balloon starts, the free end of the


788o.]


73i


_ ~







732 PAPER BALLOONS. U ULY,


I ,
I I


J
II


i...
E I
--~-~-~ .c~~--~-~- ~ ~,
--;r~;--~~~-~---- --~IL~ i~~--
;IC


UP AND AWAY!


fuse is lighted; when it has burned itself away past
the point where the upper stringhas been fastened,
it of course severs the connec-
tion between the parachute and
-' the balloon, and the parachute
/ I drops, but does not go far, for
S .. the air beneath spreads it out,
'- the weight at the bottom bal-
ances it, and it floats away
slowly (Fig. 13), settling lower
and lower, but often traveling
miles before finally reaching
the earth.
All manner of objects may
be attached to a parachute,-
notes addressed to possible
FIG. 8 finders, letters, or figures of
men or animals. The latter look very odd in the air.
SA real passenger balloon may be pretty closely
imitated by painting crossed black lines upon the


upper part of a paper balloon, to represent the
net-work. A pasteboard balloon-car, made after
the manner shown
in Fig. 6, and .._
holding two paste-
board men cut out
as shown in Fig.
7, may be hung
on by hooking the
wires attached to
the car over the
hoop at the mouth
of the balloon.
When the balloon
and car are a lit-
tle distance up in FIG. 9.
the air, it takes a sharp eye to detect the deception,
because distance in the air cannot be easily judged.
But, so far, we have dealt only with day balloons ;
for night, you must attach some luminous object.


[JULY,


732


PAPER BALLOONS.


/


, .


,1








rSSo.l PAPER BALLOONS.


I A lantern made like the one described in Kite-
time," ST. NICHOLAS for March, i88o, may be
fastened to the balloon by a long string and wire,
and when it goes swinging after the larger light
above,.it has a curious appearance. In a similar
manner, a long string of lanterns may be hung on
to a large balloon, or packs of Chinese crackers
may be exploded in mid-air by means of a fuse.
The writer has
experimented in
other fire-works,
but found them
very dangerous
to handle. Mr.
Stallknecht, of
the Hat, Caf
and Fur Trade
Review, howev-
er, showed the


I^^rh I *i-. .'u. of
FIG. II.-ILLUMINATED wheel, with two or three
NIGHT-BALLOON. spokes ; cut open the
roman candle and extract the powder and balls;
wrap up each ball with some of the powder loosely
in a piece of tissue paper and tie the paper at the
ends upon the spokes or cross-wires of the wheel, as
shown in Fig. 8. Run the fuse spirally around,
passing through each parcel containing a ball, and
allow the long end of the fuse to trail down beneath


from the center or side. (Fig. 9.) To the rim of
the wire-wheel attach several wires of equal


FIG. 12.-BALLOON WITH PASTEBOARD CAR AND MEN.


lengths, with hooked ends; hook these on to the
hoop at the mouth of the balloon, just before
letting it go, and light the trailing end of the fuse.
As the fire creeps slowly along, the balloon mounts


IG. .-TH PARACHUTE FALLING.
FIG. I3.--THE PARACHUTE FALLING.


higher and higher. Suddenly, the whole balloon
glows with a ruddy, lurid glare The fire has
reached the first ball. In another instant, you see
a floating globe of pale-green light, then blue, and


733


l88o.]


PAPER BALLOONS.







THE MAJOR'S BIG-TALK STORIES. NO. IV.


so on, until all the balls are consumed. Showers
of pretty, jagged sparks are falling constantly dur-
ing the illumination, caused by the burning pow-
der. By the time all is over, the tiny light of the
solitary ball in the balloon looks like a star in the
sky above, traveling where the wind has a mind to


blow it. For the most experienced aeronaut has but
very little more command over the actions of his
immense silken air-ship than has the young ama-
teur aeronaut, who builds his balloon of tissue
paper, and sends it skyward, with a ball of fire for
its motive power.


THE MAJOR'S BIG-TALK STORIES. No. IV.

BY F. BLAKE CROFTON.


A SEE-SAW IN AN ELEPHANT PIT.


SOME miles from the company's trading-post was
a four-sided cut in the ground. It was thirty feet
long, by twenty broad. In depth it was over
twelve feet, and its sides were perpendicular. It
had been an elephant pit when elephants were
plenty and the ivory trade brisk in the district.


At the time I speak of, it was no longer in use.
A couple of planks, covered with withered sods and
brambles, were all that remained of the false roof
which had served to lure unsuspecting elephants
to their downfall.
In this cut I was once forced to take refuge by
an infuriated keitloa, or black rhinoceros, at which
I had rashly fired. I was obliged to throw away
my rifle in my race, and had barely time to leap
blindly into the pit, whose bottom I luckily reached
without any injury beyond a slight shock. Here,
seating myself on a pile of broken planks, which
in times past had yielded beneath the weight of
elephants, I began to reflect. I had enough time;
ii.-..:d, I feared I might have a good deal too
inI..IL time for reflection. A wounded rhinoceros
is a stayer, and no mistake.
That I could climb out by piling up
rubbish seemed likely; but I did n't
want to climb out while the keitloa was
on duty there. That he could jump in
S was certain; and I fancied I could tease
Shim into risking a leap. But I was far
from wishing him to do so, unless I could
go up and out at the same instant; and
this, I thought, was simply impossible.
I'n At last I hit upon a scheme-a dan-
gerous one to be sure, but not so dan-
gerous as waiting to be starved to death.
I constructed a see-saw. A strong, unbroken
plank made my moving-beam ; for a stationary,
or supporting board, I put several broken planks
on top of one another and bound them, as best
I could, with bits of old rope. This rope had
formerly served to bind the false roof, and now
lay among its ruins at the bottom of the pit.
One end of the moving-beam was immediately
under that side of the pit where the rhinoceros had
taken his stand. Across the beam, from this end
to where its center rested on the fixed support, I
tied branches and covered them with withered


734


[JULY,






THE MAJOR'S BIG-TALK STORIES. NO. IV.


grass-knowing that a rhinoceros is never remark-
able for smartness, and is especially easy to deceive
when angry.
I then took my seat on the other end of the see-
saw, thereby, of course, tipping up the extremity
nearestthehuge brute, atwhich I began popping with
my revolver. I also, in imitation of the natives,
called him various abusive names, and reflected in-


If he touched the see-saw with any part of his
ponderous body, I should be shot up-where, I
could not exactly tell; if he missed the see-saw, I
should stay down, and it would be all up with me.
Bang! came his forefoot on the raised end of
the beam, cutting short my reflections. Whiz!
up went the lower end, and I with it, like a rocket.
I fortunately alighted outside the pit, having been


sultingly upon his ancestry. At last he screamed,
or perhaps I should say grunted, with rage (wheth-
er at the bullets or the abuse, I cannot say) and
withdrew a few steps for a charge. Notwithstand-
ing a slight sinking sensation, I fired my last car-
tridge and shouted out the name which I had heard
was most offensive to a sensitive keitloa. Then I
shut my eyes and nervously awaited his descent.


considerably above its brink at the height of my
flight.
The rhinoceros was now a captive himself.
Indeed, I believe he continues one to this day, for
an agent of Barnum's shortly afterward visited our
station in search of new attractions for his menag-
erie, and I sold my prisoner for -, but I must
not let out trade secrets.


i88o.]


735





ROSES.


ROSES.

BY MRS. M. F. BUTTS.


" IT is summer," says'a fairy,
" Bring me tissue light and airy;
Bring me colors of the rarest,
Search the rainbow for the fairest-
Sea-shell pink and sunny 'yellow,
Kingly crimson, deep and mellow,
Faint red in Aurora beaming,
And the white in pure pearls gleaming;


" Bring me diamonds, shining brightly
Where the morning dew lies lightly;
Bring me gold dust, by divining
Where the hurnming-bird is mining;
Bring me sweets as rich as may be
From the kisses of a baby; -
With an art no fay discloses
I am going to make some roses."


CAUGHT I


736


[JULY,







THE AIRPORT NINE.


THE AIRPORT NINE.

By NOAH BROOKS.


CHAPTER V.
THE NINE IN MARTIAL ARRAY.
"IF Jake Coombs goes to the mackerel grounds
with Captain Kench, I s'pose Pel Snelgro will go
too; he always does what Jake does, and then we
sha'n't have another hack at the White Bears until
next fall, and that's too bad." Sam Perkins said
this as he lounged at full length on the hay-mow.
Jo Murch, who was emptying some hay-seed out
of his shoe, looked down from his perch on the
beam and said: "Say, fellows, I'll tell you what,
-let's start a military company." The otherboys
looked at Jo with amazement, as if unable to grasp
his bold idea. Jo was famous for his bold ideas.
But Sam Perkins sat up on the hay and cried:
" The very thing; let's organize a militia company
and call it the Hancock Cadets." Now the name
of the local military company was The Hancock
Guards."
"Where shall we get our guns?" asked Billy
Hetherington, doubtfully. "A militia company
without any guns would be of no account, and we
could n't muster more than three altogether, even
counting in my father's double-barreled shot-gun,
and I am no way sure that he would let me have
that."
Say, fellows," said Sam Black, I can fife, you
know, and that will be some help, and there is
George Bridges, he's got a drum, or his father has,
and that's all the same, and George drums first-
rate; so there 's the music, anyhow."
Jo Murch, with some little scorn in his face, re-
plied: Oh, yes, Blackie has got his place in the
company all fixed, but he don't show the way to
get the arms and 'couterments."
"What are 'couterments, anyhow," asked Billy.
"Ignorance!" sneered Jo. "Why 'couter-
ments are the things a soldier is obliged to carry.
Don't the militia call say, armed'and equipped as
the law directs,, with musket, knapsack, priming-
wire, brush,' and all that sort of thing? And the
arms and equipment are the accouterments. Now,
then, smarty, ask me another hard. question, will
you ? "
Here Sam Perkins interposed in the interest of
peace.
"I never saw such a disagreeable chap as
you are, Jotham Murch; always trying to be too
smart for anything. Why don't you invent some-
thing for the arms and 'couterments? Say," he


added, as a new thought struck him, "we might
have wooden swords and guns, you know. I don't
believe they would cost much. Charles Fitts is a
great dabster in cutting and carving things, and
perhaps he would get us up some for next to
nothing."
"Pooh!" cried Jo, "who wants to train with
wooden guns and broom-handles ? Why, the White
Bears would laugh at us, and I should n't blame
them, either, if we were to turn out in a rig like
that. And say," he said, turning upon Blackie," you
have a great deal of brass to say that George
Bridges will be our drummer. Why, he is the
White Bears's second base. A nice lot we should
be with one of the best basemen of our hereditary
foes beating the drum for us," and Jotham leaned
over the edge of the hay-mow and jabbed at a stray
hen with a pitchfork, in an absent-minded sort
of way.
It was explained that George was the only boy in
town who had a drum, or a chance at a drum, and
that it was necessary that he be invited into the
proposed company for his drum; besides, as Sam
Perkins explained, George was a good fellow, and
it was not his fault that he was a member of the
White Bears's Nine. So it was agreed that he,be
asked to join the company, when it should be made
up, and Sam Black, being a neighbor of the'absent
George, was instructed to give him a chance to
come into the organization.
Jo, who had been striking at imaginary heredi-
tary foes with the pitchfork, exclaimed:
"I have it! Lances are the thing! When I was
in Boston, last summer, I saw the Boston Lancers,
and they were just prime. Each man was mounted
on a big horse, and he carried in his hand a long
lance- "
"But we can't be mounted on horses," inter-
rupted Sam Perkins, derisively. Besides, where
are you going to get your lances, any better than
your guns? "
Sam Perkins did not, as a rule, approve of
anything suggested by Jo, and Jo was apt to rebel
at the petty tyranny which Captain Sam exercised
over the rest of the Nine. And, more than all this,
Jo was fond of saying, When I was in Boston, last
year," which was unbearable to boys who had not
been in Boston; and most of the Fairport boys had
not been so fortunate. So, when Jo proposed
lances, and added insult to injury, so to speak, Sam
was ready to quarrel with him. The good-natured,


737


988o.1






THE AIRPORT NINE.


rosy-cheeked "Lob poured oil on the troubled
waters, by remarking that lances could be made of
long, round sticks, painted and varnished to look
like the lances which he had seen in the pictures in
Scott's novels.
"But what are you going to do for heads?"
demanded Sam Perkins. "Make 'em of cast
iron? That would be too costly, and there is no
iron foundry in these parts."
Make 'em of tin," explained Jo, who had
recovered his good temper. Make 'em of tin,
and fasten them into the ends of the poles. Tin
looks enough like steel to be a lance-head,
anyhow, and we can put on some little strips of
red bunting to look like the pennons that the
Boston Lancers had on theirs."
This, it was agreed, was a feasible plan, and it
was settled that the boys should talk the matter
over among the members of the Nine, and that
they should have a meeting in Hatch's barn, next
Saturday afternoon, and at once organize.
The entire Nine, with George Bridges added,
met as agreed upon, and it was further and
formally agreed that the arms of the company
should be lances made as suggested by Jo Murch
and "the Lob." The question of the name was
not so easily settled. Sam Perkins wanted the
name to be "The Fairport Cadets," but Pat
Adams said that that was the name of the militia
company at Ellsworth. "Why not call it the
Fairport Nine?" he cried manfully, mindful of
the honor of the base-ball club.
"Why, there will be more than nine of us," said
Hi Hatch. "I wouldn't belong to a company
with only nine fellows in it, and we are ten now,
counting George, and he is a member of the other
Nine, besides. I vote for the name of 'The Han-
cock Cadets.' Ellsworth is a long way off,
anyhow, even if the Captain of the Cadets did say,
in his toast, when the Hancock Guards gave them
a dinner on the common, last year, that it was no
further from Fairport to Ellsworth than from Ells-
worth to Fairport. By the way, fellows, that was
a first-rate toast, was n't it ? "
"All in favor of calling our company 'The
Hancock Cadets,' hold up their hands till
counted!" called out Captain Sam. Four hands
went up, George's being one. Contrary minds "
Six hands went up. It aint a vote," said Sam,
with some appearance of disappointment.
Now, then, all you fellows who are in favor of
calling it 'The Fairport Nine,' hold up your
hands till you are counted." Six hands went up.
"Oh, this is too ridiculous! cried Sam.
"Call the contrary minds!" shouted George
Bridges. Declare the vote," said Jo Murch,
who had voted for the name of the Nine, just to


spite Sam Perkins, as he afterward explained. So
Sam declared the name adopted by the company
was "The Fairport Nine"; and "a very ridicu-
lous name it was, too," as he added, for the benefit
of those who had voted against him.
The election of officers being next in order, Sam
Perkins was naturally chosen captain, though Jo
Murch whispered to the Lob that there was no
sense in making the skipper of a schooner the
captain of a full-rigged ship, which figure of
speech "the Lob" understood to be a reflection
on the policy of choosing the Captain of the Nine
as captain of the militia company. Silence in
the -ranks!" thundered Captain Sam, as well as
his somewhat thin voice could thunder. "Don't
begin to put on airs so soon," said Jo. We're
not in the ranks yet, and, when we are, there will
be lots of time for you to put on frills."
Captain Sam wisely overlooked the impertinence,
and the election of officers went on, Billy Hether-
ington being chosen standard-bearer, and Ned
Martin first-lieutenant. It was voted not to have
any second-lieutenant until the company was bigger.
As it was, the rank and file of the company con-
sisted of only five men, or boys, I should say,-the
other five being the captain, first-lieutenant,
standard-bearer, fifer and drummer.
"Billy Hetherington ought to have been the
captain," said Jo Murch to Blackie, as the boys
sauntered homeward, after the election was over.
"His father is a judge, and his grandfather was a
general," he added, by way of clinching the argu-
ment.
"And his mother makes the best doughnuts of
anybody in town," added Blackie, with a merry
grin. Is n't that reason enough ? "
The first parade of the Fairport Nine took place
about two weeks after the organization of the com-
pany. It is needless to say that the appearance of
the little band was hailed by those of the White
Bears who were at home with shouts of derision.
If Captain Sam Perkins's appreciation of military
discipline had not been very strong, he would have
left the ranks and attacked Eph Mullett with his tin
sword, as that unpleasant young man put his head
out of the hearse-house door, shouted, "Goose
egg! and shut himself in again.
As it was, Ned Martin, who was not wrapped up
in his dignity as he should have been, bawled out:
"Nosey! nosey! to the mortification of the cap,
tain, who shouted: Silence in the ranks until
he was red in the face.
Drawn up on the Common, the "Nine mus-
tered fourteen in number, the original ten having
been reinforced by four other boys, the smallest of
whom was little Sam Murch, whose services in
climbing the meeting-house lightning-rod, on the


738


[JULY,







THE AIRPORT NINE.


night before the Fourth of July, seemed to deserve
some such reward. The lances were resplendent
in varnish, and the tin tops, cut out according to a
pattern furnished from a picture in Ivanhoe, were
as good as the best lance ever put in rest by any
of the heroes of that delightful story,-at least, so
Billy Hetherington thought, as he glanced proudly
at the array. The little strips of red bunting flut-
tered in the breeze from the heads of the lances,
and the general appearance of the troop, as Jo
Murch remarked, was quite like that of the Boston
Lancers. The manual of arms, to which the boys
were somewhat accustomed, alter having watched
the militia company of the town at drill, was gone
through very creditably, excepting that "the Lob,"
when told to ground arms, would persist in throw-
ing his weapon on the ground, instead of dropping
the lower end to the ground, as was the customary
fashion in the old-time drill. And Jo Murch, who
was clearly in a mutinous spirit, kept his lance at
the shoulder, when the order Present arms was
shouted by the captain. Captain Sam looked at
the malcontent for a moment, as if in doubt what
to do with him, and then good-naturedly said:
"Well, it is n't any matter, Jo." Whereupon Jo
immediately presented arms, having gained his
point, which was to make the captain "take waterr"
as the boys were wont to say.
Another difficulty occurred when the company
was marching to the house of Pat Adams, where
the standard was to be presented to the company.
George Bridges, so intent on beating his drum
that he could not keep in line, was continually out
of his place, to the confusion of the rest of the
troop. Finally, when, absorbed by his own music,
he strayed into the grass-grown gutter by the side
of the road, Captain Sam came down upon him
with his tin sword, and, drawing it from an imag-
inary scabbard, shrieked:
If you don't keep in line, I '11 assassinate you "
To this terrific threat the young drummer, who
had about as much idea of the meaning of the
word used as Sam had, replied, with a drawl:
If you 'sassinate me, I wont drum."
The standard was a magnificent affair, made by
the big sisters of several of the boys, assisted by
Phcebe Noyes and some of the other girls, who,
though they could not lay out the work, were glad
to put a few stitches in the beautiful banner. It
was made of white cotton cloth, with nine red stars
in an oval line, emblematical of the illustrious Nine
of Fairport, and in this oval was a cluster of four
blue stars, the whole making the old thirteen, the
number of the original States. A pair of bright-
red curtain-tassels dangled from the top of the
staff, which was surmounted by a tin spear-head,
gilded, and the whole was a most gorgeous affair.


Flaxen-haired Alice Martin, Ned's sister, had
been selected to present the standard. So, with
the company drawn up before the front door of the
house, pretty Alice, with the flag in her hand, and
surrounded by the big girls and the little girls who
had had a hand in this business, delivered the
following address:
Soldiers of the illustrious Nine I am commis-
sioned by the ladies of Fairport to present to you
this beautiful banner, whereon are sown the stars of
the thirteen colonies of our beloved land. We know
we could give it into no more honorable and safe
keeping than yours. You are the first to form a
'company of soldiers among the youth of our beau-
tiful village, and to you belongs the great honor of
being the first to receive the flag of your country
from those who, though they may not mingle in
the fray where you are to win laurels imperishable,
may, at least, look on from afar with the sincerest
admiration for your prowess, and the most tender
wishes for your success in the strife. Take this
banner, and, in the words of the poet,- .
"' Forever float that standard sheet 1
Where breathes the foe but falls before us,
With freedom's soil beneath our feet
And freedom's banner streaming o'er us.'"
This beautiful and eloquent "address, it should be
said, was composed by Sam Perkins's big sister
Sarah; and the reply, by the same industrious
young lady, was delivered by Billy Hetherington,
who, advancing from the ranks, when Alice said
" Take this banner," thus delivered his speech:
"Accept my thanks, dear madam,"-and here
Alice blushed deeply,-" in behalf of myself and
my fellow soldiers, for this elegant testimonial of
the interest which the ladies of Fairport take in the
welfare of the military service of the Republic.
We receive it with pride; we shall bear it forth
with a firm determination to die, if need be,"-and
here Billy dropped a furtive tear and his voice
quivered a little,-" in defense of the banner thus
confidently intrusted to our keeping. When, on
the field of battle, or in the lonely bivouac, we
shall look upon its shining folds, shining with the
stars of our beloved country, we shall think of this
day, ivhen we were reminded by you that, though
you may not participate in the strife in which we
must engage, you look at the carnage from a dis-
tance, and give us your fervent wishes for our suc-
cess. And, whatever shall befall, we know that we
may depend, in the words of the poet, on this:
"'Ah! never shall the land forget
How gushed the life-blood of her brave;
Gushed, warm with hope and courage yet,
Upon the soil they sought to save.'"
This address so touched the tender hearts of
some of the smallest girls that they choked down a


1880.]


739







740 THE AIRPORT NINE. IJULY,


little sob, while Captain Sam, turning to his gallant
band, shouted: "Three cheers for the ladies !"
The cheers were given with a will, the new banner
being waved enthusiastically by the proud and
happy standard-bearer.
Three more for Miss Alice Martin !" shouted


command there was an immediate response, and
Ned's anger at being reproved melted away.
There was a collation of cakes, pies, and berries
and milk laid out in the wood-shed of the house on
the hill, and, once more saluting the ladies with
three shrill and hearty cheers, the martial Nine


THREE CHEERS FOR THE LADIES!' SHOUTED CAPTAIN SAM.
cTHREE CHEERS FOR THE LADIES SHOUTED CAPTAIN SAM.'


the first-lieutenant, her brother. A disorderly and
somewhat irregular cheer arose, when Captain
Sam, brandishing his sword in air, cried: "Nobody
has a right to give orders in this company but me;
so, now. Now, then, fellow soldiers three cheers
for Miss Martin, the sister of your brave lieutenant,
and the presenter of our flag, which she has done
in a beautiful speech." To this long and elaborate


filed out into the street, and with fife and drum,
colors flying, and lances glittering in the sunlight,
they marched up the hill; an admiring throng of
girls accompanying them on the sidewalk, they,
too, being invited to the feast.
It was a great day for the Fairport Nine, and
even Nance, who remained stanch to the prowess
of the White Bears, with whom her sympathies


740


THE AIRPORT NINE.


[JULY,


: = I -v- i---.r-, f; 1

- 1 i" i ?j

-41
Stiit






THE AIRPORT NINE.


naturally belonged, confessed, as she brought out
plateful after plateful of Mrs. Hetherington's famous
doughnuts, that she was having "an awful good
time," the fact that that black boy was in it all"
being the only drawback to her complete enjoy-
ment of the festivities.

CHAPTER VI.

TROUBLE IN THE CAMP.

IT was necessary that the first experience of the
new military company should be as much like that
of real soldiers as possible. It was, accordingly,
agreed that there should be what the boys knew as
a muster."
Now, a muster in New England, in these
days, was like the annual training which are
held in some other States. The annual muster in
the region of Fairport was held at Orland, a small
town a few miles from Fairport. To it resorted
all the militia companies from far and near. They
were drilled and put through the exercises of war,
in the most approved fashion. As the muster
lasted for three or four days, it was needful for the
soldiers to camp out during their stay; and so it
came to pass that many of the visitors also spent
the nights in tents and booths rented for the time
by enterprising Yankees of the neighborhood.
The muster was the great annual festival of the
country, rivaling the annual circus in its attrac-
tions. There were traveling jugglers, peep-shows,
blowing-machines, learned pigs, and various de-
lights for the entertainment of the visitor; and the
booths, at which pies, cakes, baked beans, cold
roast pig, ginger-beer, and other delicious things
to eat and drink were sold, were to the boys like a
vision of fairy land. To go to muster was to have
a treat excelled only by a visit to Boston.
Obviously, one lone company could not have a
muster, any more than one bird can flock by him-
self. But the Fairport Nine did not care very much
for the niceties of military phrase. They would
have a muster, whether it was like the real thing or
not. What does a name signify ?
It was late in the summer, and the wild rasp-
berries were ripe, when the boys held their first
annual muster in the block-house pasture of Fair-
port. This pasture was on the hillside sloping
down to the shore of Penobscbt Bay. The highest
point of land anywhere about that region was once
crowned by a block-house, built by the British at
the beginning of the Revolutionary war. From
this eminence toward the shore, the land descended
abruptly, and the edge overlooking the water was
bluffy and precipitous. But, here and there, among
the spruce-covered hills, were clear spaces level


enough for the Nine (who were really fourteen) to
form in line and in platoons of two and three; but
it was not a good place to march in. The real
business of the occasion, however, was the muster.
For several days the boys spent all their spare
time in the woods, building the camp. It had been
their custom to spend the Fourth of July in camp-
ing out, taking a picnic with them. This had been
made impossible this year, on account of the play-
ing of the great base-ball match. The muster,
too, was to exceed anything of the kind ever before
attempted, as the soldiers were to spend the night
in camp.
The silent woods resounded with'the shouts and
calls of the busy boys, who worked harder, as Nance
Grindle grimly said, at the building of a camp in
the woods than they ever did at any of the home
tasks, which they regarded with so much disgust
and horror as the very hardest kind of work ever
put upon any human being. From the shore was
brought many a back-load of drift-wood-long
strips of waste lumber and dry poles, to form the
frame of the camp. And other back-loads of spruce
and fir boughs were brought from the adjacent
groves, to thatch the roof and weave into the sides
of the structure.,
Four or five small-sized trees, standing as
nearly as possible in the form of a square, were
selected as the corner-posts of the camp, and on
these were nailed the strips of wood and the poles
gathered on the shore, leaving a space for the open
door-way. When the frame-work was all nailed in
place, the affair looked like a big wooden cage.
But when the fragrant boughs of the fir and spruce
were woven into the frame, concealing the white-
ness of the dry and bleached drift-wood, there was
beheld an arbor of verdure which might well have
been the green nest of some huge bird, so complete
and trim was -it.
Inside, the camp (for of course no Fairport boy
could ever have called this an arbor) was lined with
soft twigs of hemlock, and a rude bench of rocks
and shore-worn planks was constructed for the con-
venience of the girls, who were to visit the camp
late in the day. No boy was ever allowed to sit on
these benches, as it was a tradition with the Fair-
port boys that this would have been effeminate.
Right merrily worked the boys, the chatter of
their voices and the ringing of their hatchets making
music in the depths of the forest. Occasionally, a
red squirrel paused in his scamper among the trees
to look down with wonder at the busy creatures
who were making such a strange din in the midst
of his haunts; or a garrulous blue jay perched itself
at a safe distance and scolded violently at the in-
truders. And once, an inquisitive mink, one
of the most timid of animals, stole up from the


741


x88o.]







742 THE AIRPORT NINE. [JULY,


rocky shore to discover the cause of all this com-
motion in the usually silent woods.
"A mink a mink! shouted Jo Murch, and
away he flew after the beautiful little creature.
The mink darted into the mossy crevices of a ledge
near at hand, and was gone like a flash. Jo dug
his hands into the rough cracks of the rock, as if
he would tear them apart and dig out the animal.
Ho what a fool Jo Murch is to think that he
can catch a mink after it has got into that ledge "
cried Pat Adams.
You 'd better come here and fix up that brace


Ho i sneered Jo, who made you my master,
I 'd like to know? You can't play petty tyrant on
me, now, so don't you try it."
The other boys were aghast at this direct defiance
of the captain. As for Sam, he felt that his author-
ity must be maintained at any cost, so he jumped
down from the roof of the camp, where he had
been arranging the covering of boughs, and clench-
ing his brown and pitch-covered hands, he advanced
toward Jo, stretched at ease on the bed of boughs,
and before Jo knew what was coming, dealt him a
smart blow under his left ear.


JO MURCH IS INSUBORDINATE.


you burst off when you started after that critter,"
said Captain Sam, angrily. Now, it must be con-
fessed that Jo was more partial to running after
birds and animals than he was to work, even when
his labor was that of camp-building, so he replied
surlily and threw himself at full length on a heap
of spruce-boughs and yawned wearily:
"My! how my back aches! "
"That's nonsense," said Hi Hatch. My
father says that a boy's back never aches. He
thinks it aches, but it does n't."
"Well, I don't care," grumbled Jo. "It feels
just as bad to me as if it really did ache, and I am
not going to work any more this afternoon, any-
how. That last back-load of lumber that I lugged
up from the shore finished me for to-day "
If you don't do your share of work, you can't
come to the muster," cried Sam Perkins, who was
boiling with anger at this breach of discipline.


"Now, then, I'll give you another, if you call
me 'petty tyrant' again."
Jo, recovering from his surprise, for it was very
seldom that Sam resorted to violence in the main-
tenance of discipline, was on his feet in an
instant. le gave Sam a blow between the eyes
that made the sparks fly in his brain. But Sam,
in an instant, got Jo Murch by the collar of his
short jacket with his right hand, and his left arm
was twisted about Jo's waist; his right foot was,
meantime, busy with Jo's legs, trying to trip him
to the ground. But Jo was wary and wiry, and it
was several seconds before he fell heavily to the
ground, Sam on top.
The other boys looked on admiringly, but with
a certain sense of alarm, for this was a real fight,
and their gallant commander was not always equal
to Jo Murch, who was known as the best wrestlerr"
in the village.


742


THE AIRPORT NINE.


[JULY,






TWO GUNPOWDER STORIES.


There was more or less pummeling and scratch-
ing in the heap of spruce-boughs around which the
rest of the boys gathered at a respectful distance.
The two boys fought each other into the open
ground and then into a clump of low-growing
juniper, in which they struggled with each other
in the midst of a cloud of dust which they raised
from the dry mass of growth. When the combat-
ants emerged from the confusion and obscurity of
the juniper-bush, Sam had Jo's head under his
arm, and was pelting the blows into the back of
his neck. Presently, Jo, unable to endure this
punishment any longer, cried: "I beg !" This
was regarded among the Fairport boys as an equiv-
alent for I surrender," and it was not so difficult
to say.
Sam unloosed his hold, and, with a farewell kick,
swung loose of his late adversary and looked at
him. Somehow, Jo had parted with the greater
portion of his jacket, and the only part of his cot-
ton shirt left on him was a stout neck-band of
unbleached cloth which was buttoned about his
neck. His aspect of sudden raggedness was sur-
prising. But Sam had not come out of the
encounter unscathed. He had been working with-
out his jacket, but his shirt was now open behind
as well as before, and his satinet waistcoat was a
tattered ruin. Blackie picked up the fragments


and laid them on a convenient rock, while Sam
cooled his flushed face at the spring.
He 's got a licking that he '11 remember for
the rest of this season," spluttered Sam, as he
splashed the cold water into his face. And I '11
give him another whenever he wants one."
Oh, don't let 's fight any more," said Ned
Martin, with a mingled feeling of awe and admira-
tion for his gallant commander.
Jo Murch, gathering up the ragged wreck of his
garments, after wiping the blood from his face,-for
he had had a blow on his nose,-scrambled up the
hillside from the camp, and, shaking his fist at the
group below, cried: You fellows may be bullied
around by that petty tyrant of a captain of yours.
I wont, and that's all I 've got to say to him. You
can fill my place in the Fairport Nine just as soon
as you please! So, now!" And with that, and a
big rock which he sent crashing through the trees,
a moment afterward, Jotham Murch was out of the
camping ground, and out of the Fairport Nine.
That night, when Sam had gone to bed in dis-
grace, and his mother had told the whole slame-
ful story to his father, as she tried to put together
the wreck of Sam's satinet waistcoat, 'Squire Per-
kins only said: "Boys are young animals, Polly.
I s'pose they must fight the brutality out of them
some time or another."


TWO GUNPOWDER STORIES.

BY J. L. W.


THE readers of ST. NICH6LAS who were inter-
ested in the account of "The Coolest Man in
Russia," printed in the number for January, 1878.
may like to hear of another exploit which, for pluck
and daring, fully equaled that of the young Russian
officer. This incident occurred in 1847, during
our war with Mexico, and the hero of it was a boy-
ish Yankee sergeant, named Kenaday, then about
nineteen years old.
In seeking to capture the City of Mexico, the
American army was obliged to take first the town
of Churubusco, about six miles from the city.
After that, the main approach wis by a large
causeway, with a ditch on each side, and, at one
place, a fortified bridge. So the American forces,
under General Worth, had to gain the bridge and
fight upon the causeway; and, at one point in the
battle, the General found himself separated from
a part of his troops, whom he wished to rejoin.


In the middle of the causeway, among other wreck,
stood a baggage-wagon, on fire, and, as the General
and his staff approached the blazing cart, they sud-
denly discovered that it was laden with gunpowder !
They drew up, with a start, and waited results very
anxiously. In a moment, however, Sergeant A. M.
Kenaday, then of the Third U. S. Dragoons, mo-
tioned to three of his comrades, and without a word
the four brave men dashed on to the wagon.
Although they could not tell how soon one of the
powder boxes might explode, these men determined
to clear a passage for their chief. The gunny-bag
covers of the boxes were smouldering, and some
of them were already aflame, but Kenaday and
another soldier mounted into the midst of the blaz-
ing boxes, and fell to work in dead earnest-quickly
tossing them one by one to the two other troopers,
who as quickly rolled them into the wet and muddy
ditch. Each wooden case, moreover, weighed about


188o.]


743


(To be continued. )






TWO GUNPOWDER STORIES.


seventy pounds, so that to empty the cart was no
light labor.
Within a few minutes, the cover of the wagon
had burned entirely off, and the gallant four,


charge, led by General (then Captain) Philip Kear-
ny, on the San Antonio gate of the City of Mexico.
In this reckless onset, twenty resolute dragoons
cut their way into the city through six thousand of


THE BURNING POWDER-WAGON.


almost exhausted with heat and exertion, were
soon after stopped by General Worth, who rode
up to the wagon and ordered them out. This
command was instantly obeyed, and then the Gen-
eral and his staff spurred their horses and made a
rush past the wagon at full gallop, while the sergeant
and his comrades followed at a pace that soon put
them out of danger.
But they had not yet caught up with the Gen-
eral's party when they heard a loud report behind,
and looking back, saw no trace of the wagon, even
when the smoke had cleared. It had been blown
to atoms by the few cases of powder which they
had left in it.
And this was not the only act of bravery per-
formed that day by the young sergeant, for later
in the same afternoon he joined in the famous


the enemy's panic-stricken soldiers. General Scott,
the American commander-in-chief, said it was the
bravest charge he had ever seen or read of, and a
full account of it may be found in almost every
history of the Mexican War.

Very different from the young sergeant's powder-
exploit, but quite worthy to be ranked with it for
courage and self-sacrifice, was the other deed I
have to tell about, and which you will find illus-
trated in the frontispiece. This time, the act of
bravery was performed by a girl instead of a boy,
and the powder, instead of making the danger,
was the very thing which she risked lhr. life to
save. And the heroine of this story belonged not
to an invading party, but to a small garrison who
were besieged and making a desperate defense.


744


[JULY,






LUCK.


This is the way it happened:
Among the important border outposts of the
Americans, during the war of the Revolution, was
Fort Henry, situated on a bank of the Ohio River,
near Wheeling Creek. In 1777, it was suddenly
attacked by a band of Indians, under the command
of Simeon Girty, a white man and a Tory, noted
for his cruel hatred toward the Americans. The
Indians numbered nearly five hundred, but the
garrison in the fort were only forty-two, and, soon
after the siege began, some thirty of these were
caught in an ambush outside of the fort and slain.
Only twelve men were now left to Colonel Shep-
herd, the American commander; but all these
were good marksmen, and knowing that surrender
meant death for their wives and children as well
as for themselves, they resolved to fight to the
last.
But, alas! bravery availed them little, for it was
not long before the small stock of powder in the
fort was almost exhausted, and only a few charges
remained to each man.
In despair, the Colonel called his brave little
band together, and told them that at a house
some sixty yards outside of the fort, which their
enemies had not yet dared to approach, there
was a keg.of gunpowder. Whoever should try to
bring it into the fort would be in peril of his life
from the rifles of the Indians. He had not the
heart to order any man to such a task, but the
powder was their only hope, and, therefore, it was
his duty to ask if any one of them was brave
enough to volunteer the undertaking.
Instantly, three or four young men avowed
themselves ready, but only one man could be
spared. And while they were generously disputing
among themselves for the perilous errand, Eliza-
beth Zane, a girl of seventeen, approached the
Colonel and begged that she might be allowed to


go for the powder. Her request was promptly
refused, but she persisted earnestly, even against
the remonstrances and entreaties of her parents
and friends. In vain, they pleaded and reasoned
with her, urging more than once that a young
man would be more likely to succeed, through his
power of running swiftly. She replied that she
knew the danger, but that, if she failed, her loss
would not be felt, while not a single man ought to
be spared from the little garrison. Finally, it was
agreed that she should make the first trial.
When all was ready, the gate opened and Eliza-
beth walked rapidly across the open space toward
the house where the powder was stored. Those
inside the fort could plainly see that the eyes of
the Indians were upon her, but, either from curi-
osity or mercy, they allowed her to pass safely and
to enter the house.
Her friends drew a breath of relief, and, watch-
ing even more anxiously for her re-appearance,
saw her come out soon, bearing the powder
in a table-cloth tied around her waist. But this
time the Indians suspected her burden, and in a
moment more, as she was hastening toward the
fort, they sent after her a shower of bullets and
arrows. These all, however, whistled by her harm-
less, and with wild, startled eyes, but an undaunted
heart, she sped on with her treasure through the
deadly missiles, until at last she bore it in triumph
inside the gate.
By the aid of the powder and the enthusiastic
courage which Elizabeth's self-sacrifice inspired,
the little garrison was enabled to hold out until
relief came to them. And so this noble act of a
young girl saved the lives of all within the fort,
and vanquished its five hundred dusky assailants.
You will find a fuller account of the incident in
Mrs. Ellet's Women of the Revolution, from which
the main facts of this story are taken.


LUCK.


BY MARGARET B. HARVEY.


I DON'T know how it came about-
I put my sack on wrong side out;
I could n't change it back all day,
Because I 'd drive my luck away.

And when I went to school, the boys
Began to shout, and make a noise;
But.;while they plagued me, I sat still,
And studied spelling with a will;
So, when our class the lessons said,
I did n't miss, but went up head!
VOL. VII.-49.


As I came home, I looked around
And soon-a four-leaved clover found !
I wished, and put it in my shoe,
And, don't you think? my wish came true
It was that I might overtake
The team, and ride with Uncle Jake.

And so, you see, the livelong day,
That I was lucky, every way;
And Grandma said, without a doubt
'T was 'cause my sack was wrong side out.


745


881a]






HOW LITTLE PATTY SAVED HER MOTHER.


HOW LITTLE PATTY SAVED HER MOTHER.

BY KATE BROWNLEE HORTON.


GRANDFATHER WARNE kept the little inn in
Bakewell, and Patty lived with him. Of course,
Grandmother Warne lived there, too, for nothing
would have gone right if she had not been at hand
to keep the maids busy, and to see that clean,
fragrant beds, bright fires, and good, wholesome
food were always ready for the travelers who came
knocking at the little inn door at all hours of the
day or night.
Dame Warne was a famous housekeeper. The
inn fairly shone within and without, it was so clean;
and oh! what beds! they really were fragrant.
The pure white linen sheets and pillow-slips were
kept in a great oaken "chest of drawers," where
were always fresh bunches of lavender, rose-
mary and sweet-marjoram; and sleeping at the
"Rutland Arms seemed almost like sleeping on
a bed of sweet flowers in some dainty old-time
garden, only the great feather-beds and pillows of
eider-down were softer than any flower-beds, and
the fine rose-blankets warmer than rose leaves
would be.
Summer nights in England are rarely too warm
for a blanket, and sometimes-at the watering-
places, or near the sea-coast when the night
breezes blow cool-even a soft, down coverlid is
needed, in addition.
Now, you all guess that Bakewell is in England.
So it is: a quaint little town in Derbyshire, and
very, very old. It is built partly on a hill sloping
down to the left bank of the river Wye, one of the
prettiest, most tranquil little rivers in all England.
It never foams and tosses along, nor fusses about
getting to the sea, but turns a laughing, sparkling
face up to the sun, and ripples so softly and gently
on its way that it makes one peaceful and happy
just to wander beside it, as it slips quietly along,
and watch it kiss the soft, grassy banks that hold
it between them.
That is a wonderful hill, too, where the little
town lies; there are so many things inside it.
Black marble, and coal, and lead, and limestone,
-all are quarried there; and at the foot of the hill
are warm chalybeate (look in the dictionary for
that big word) springs, whose waters cure many
diseases.
On the opposite side of the river are the ruins of
an old, old castle, built in A. D. 924 by Edward
the Elder. Only think ofit! More than five hun-
dred years before our country was discovered, that
old castle was built, and yet there are traces of it


still to be seen! I think workmen in those days.
wished their work to last.
In the very heart of the little town is a curious
old church, built in Saxon times, hundreds of years
ago, but as strong and perfect yet as if it intended
to last forever. It is of dark stone, in the form of
a cross, and in the niches and corners mosses and
vines cling closely.
Within are many ancient and strange monu-
ments; some like great stone chests, and lying on
them, with clasped hands and upturned faces, are
life-size stone figures of many noble people who,
died long years ago. Perhaps it would frighten a
little American girl to go into such a church, but
little Patty loved nothing better than to play
among the old stone figures, as her mother had
played when she, too, was a merry little maid.
There were two figures that Patty liked
especially, and used to talk to as if they could
know what she was saying.
These were pretty Dorothy Vernon and her lover
husband, Sir John Manners, and they were not
lying down, but kneeling near a little iron-barred
window, through which the sunlight fell, making
soft shadows and playing around them, touching
their faces as if it, too, were whispering to them
like Patty.
Beneath this window was a carved wooden desk,
with a curious old book of stone lying open upon it.
Patty said it always made her feel like saying her
prayers, to go into this little corner, and sometimes
she did say them there. Sometimes, too, she
used to kneel on one corner of the stone chest,,
beside pretty Dorothy, and clasp her own little
hands before her,-" just to see," as she said;
"how it must feel to stay there always."
If I had time I would tell you how, when they
were alive, pretty Dorothy and handsome Sir John
dearly loved each other, but were cruelly kept
apart; and how, one night-when there was a
grand ball at Haddon Hall, where the Duke of
Rutland lived-pretty Dorothy stole through one
of the long windows out to the balcony, where her
lover was waiting, and, all in her beautiful ball-
dress of lace and satin, rode off with him to be
married; how they never were forgiven, but even
to this day their stone figures, instead of lying
calmly sleeping, seem begging for forgiveness.
But it is too long a story to tell now; it is only
because something very strange happened to little
Patty, just beside them, that I tell you this much.


746


U[JLY,.







HOW LITTLE PATTY SAVED HER MOTHER.


The little river Wye, and its neighbor, the Der-
went, are capital fishing streams; so, between the
anglers who went there to fish, and the patients
who went to be cured at the springs, the little inn
was not often empty' And what busy times there
were when both kinds of visitors happened to be
there together !
Grandmother was not quite so quick on her feet
as she had been once upon a time, but her tongue
was as nimble as ever, and her eyes were as bright.
She seemed to see everything at once, and woe to
the maid who left dust in the corners, or who
lagged when the good dame said, Hasten I "
There was always a blazing fire in the kitchen,
and bacon and eggs, delicious fresh fish, and the
dainty crumpets, for which the little inn was
famous, were soon forthcoming, no matter how
many hungry mouths were to be filled.
Little Patty used to like the "hurries," as she
called them, for cook was always best-natured
when she had the most to do, and was sure to bake
her a crumpet all for herself as often as she sent a
dishful in to the guests; and Patty loved crumpets
dearly.
But you must not think she was a greedy little
girl, who did nothing but eat. No, indeed!
Grandmother used to call her her little feet," she
was always so ready to wait on her, and run quickly
wherever she was sent. Her little scarlet cloak
always hung handy on a peg behind the kitchen
door, and when anything was wanted, Patty would
put on this cloak, draw up its little hood over her
curly head, and be off to the river bridge to buy
fresh fish from the fishermen, or out to the barn-
yard to look for eggs. She loved to do errands
for grandmother, and, no matter how short a time
she was gone, on her return grandfather would
always show her into the home-room as politely
as if she were a little guest; then grandmother
would kiss her, and hold her hand while she told
her little story of where she had been and what
she had seen.
Besides, she was the only one whom grand-
mother would trust to bring the silver spoons,
cream jugs and sugar bowls from the great iron-
bound chest in grandfather's room, where they
were always kept locked up for safety.
Then, she could "lay the table, as they say in
Derbyshire, as neatly as the maid, and as quickly,
too. She always liked to hear grandmother say,
"Now, little feet, just run and tell Jane you are
ready first." And grandfather would say, "Hasten,
my Pit-a-pat." That was his pet name for her.
Her real name, you must know, was Martha,-
Martha Grey, her mother's name,-but grandfather
used to declare that, when she first began to toddle
after him, her little footsteps on the stone-flagged


hall and up and down the stone stairway always
sounded like "pit-a-pat, pit-a-pat"; so he called
her little Pit-a-pat, and when that seemed too long
to say, he shortened it to Patty, and that was her
name ever afterward.
Perhaps you wonder where Patty's father and
mother were all this time. Well, I must tell you
of them. Her mother, who was grandfather
Warne's only child, had married-against grand-
mother's earnest wishes-a sick gentleman named
Mr. Grey, who had come to Bakewell to drink the
spring waters, and when he had grown better she
went to live in London with him. But he soon
became ill again in the close, noisy city, and when
Patty came, a tiny baby, to live with them, he just
took one look at her dear little face, kissed his
wife, and then closed his weary eyes forever. It
almost seemed as if Patty were a little angel who
had come from heaven to tell him God was ready
for him, and, when he had gone, to stay and com-
fort the poor mother. And, oh I how this mother
longed now for her happy, peaceful home in quiet
Bakewell!--longed to lay her baby in grand-
mother's kind, sheltering arms, and her own tired
head on grandfather's shoulder !
Was n't it strange that, when she was wishing
this so earnestly, grandfather Warne should
walk into her little room? Strange, but true, for
he really did, and, seeming to read at one glance
all the sad story, he kissed his daughter and bade
her be comforted: he would do all that was need-
ful, and then take her home to her mother.
He was true to his promise. Before very long
the little home in London had been closed, the
tiresome journey home was over, and late one
summer day, when the sun was just kissing the
hill-tops "good-night," and the little birds had
sung themselves fast asleep, the one solitary Bake-
well fly rattled up to the door of the little inn,
and in a moment the poor, sad young mother, and
the wee, sleepy, pink-faced baby were both held
close to grandmother Warne's loving heart,-as
closely as if she never meant to let them go.
For a while poor Mrs. Grey was contented, but
then she grew restless and unhappy, and at last,
one day, she said, I must go back to London and
work-work, or I shall die."
Grandmother, looking at her, knew she was
right, so said, "Go, dear child; we will keep the
baby and bring her up well for you; only remem-
ber this is home, and come back to it if the world
is hard to you."
So Mrs. Grey went back to London; and the
years rolled on. There were occasional letters, and
one or two short, hurried visits, when little Pit-a-pat
toddled after her mother, holding her gown and
lisping pretty baby words to her. But the old rest-


747


z88o.]







HOW LITTLE PATTY


SAVED HER MOTHER.


lessness always came back, and even the loving baby
hands could not hold their mother when an invisible
cord seemed drawing her back to London, where,
amid all the noise and turmoil, her dear husband
was sleeping so peacefully.


when she was in pain the quaint country ballads
and songs she had learned when she was a blithe
little country maiden.
Grandmother was very glad to receive such good
tidings; especially glad because there was a check


PATTY IN THE HOME-ROOM AT GRANDFATHER'S.


At last came a letter, saying she had found a good for five pounds in the letter, and now little Patty,
home as companion and nurse to a rich lady, whose who was growing out of all her clothes so fast, could
riches could not make her happy, though, for she have nice new ones.
was always ill. But Patty's mother was a good "I'1l1 make this dress long enough," said grand-
nurse, and helped the poor lady, and sang to her mother, who was very old-fashioned in her ideas;


748


[JULY,






HOW LITTLE PATTY SAVED HER MOTHER.


and she did make the pretty new brown dress down
to the very tops of the little low button-shoes; but
that was nothing, for, as Patty said, her old one was
so long that it did not matter whether she wore
any stockings or not. But she did wear stockings
always,-nice warm scarlet ones that grandmother
knit for her.
Besides, she now had a new scarlet cloak, for the
old one was entirely too short. I wish you could
have seen her in that new cloak, with its pretty
hood. She had a cunning little way of holding her
head on oneside and looking up out of her bright
eyes, and of hopping along when she was in a hurry,
that made one think of a robin red-breast, and if
her name had not been Patty, it should certainly
have been "little red-bird."
After the money-letter came, there was no news
from Mrs. Grey for a long time. Grandmotherbe-
gan to grow worried, and grandfather would have
gone at once to London to see what the matter was
if he had not been so lame with the rheumatism that
his knees were all swollen out of shape, and he could
only just hobble around with the help of his cane.
At last, one day, some dreadful news came flying
from London. It seemed that the rich lady with
whom Mrs. Grey lived had missed a curious, old-
fashioned bead purse, with ten guineas in one end
and some silver half-crowns in the other; and,
having no one especially to accuse, she declared that
Patty's mother had taken it; and appearances were
so much against her that poor Mrs. Grey was put
in prison till the money should be paid back.
Of course she could not pay it, and although she
was really and truly innocent, she could not prove
it, and so was too heart-broken and ashamed to write
to grandfather Warne and ask him to help her;
and the news that came to Bakewell was that
Patty's mother had stolen a great deal of money
from her mistress, and was in jail for it.
It happened ever so long ago," said the neigh-
bor who brought the ill tidings; "she has been
a weary while in the prison, poor lass."
What dreadful news to enter that happy little
home! Grandmother was made so wretched by
it that all that day she sat in her big chair in the
chimney corner, moaning as if her heart would
break, while grandfather wandered through the
house in spite of his aching knees, and grieved
because he was so helpless to aid Patty's poor
mother. You see, they did not believe their child
would do anything so wicked, but they were
troubled because they could not help her.
As for little Patty, no one could bear to tell her
what had happened: only cook caught her in her
arms as she was running through the kitchen, gave
her two fresh crumpets, and kissed her, saying:
Ah, poor little one Thy mother will be a sad


shame to thee now; she has done a dreadful
thing."
You naughty cook!" cried Patty, ablaze in a
moment; "how dare you say bad things about
my dear, far-away mother?" and she threw the
crumpets down on the freshly sanded floor, and
ran away sobbing to the old church, to tell her dear
Dorothy all her trouble. Then she knelt by the
old desk, and, folding her little hands, said:
Dear God, please bring my mother home, so
I may be like the little girls who have their
mothers all the time."
That made her feel better, for she believed her
prayer would be answered soon.
But she could not help sobbing a little as she
thought how unhappy she would be if anything
happened to her dear mother; and thought, too,
that she never, never could forgive cook for speak-
ing so; but, even as she was thinking, she fell fast
asleep, with her head pillowed against her Dorothy,
and in happy dreams forgot her sorrows.
When she awoke, the sun was taking his last
look in at the little window, and Patty knew by the
shadows in the corner that it must be past tea-
time. She was rubbing her eyes wide enough
open to see the way home, when the little door at
the other end of the church opened, ad some one
entered softly. For a moment Patty was fright-
ened, and her heart went pit-a-pat so loudly she
almost thought some one was calling her, and she
crouched down behind Dorothy's stone chest, trem-
bling, as she heard footsteps approaching.
Looking out from her hiding-place, she saw a
woman's figure! A large gray shawl completely
covered her dress, and on her head was a silk hood
that shaded her face so Patty could hardly see it.
As she reached the little desk, she knelt, and, push-
ing back her hood impatiently, as if it choked her,
she clasped her hands before her and sighed bit-
terly. Then Patty saw her face and oh what a
great jump her heart gave as she saw it was her
mother! But how sad the face was! So pale and
care-worn, and the eyes so wild that Patty was
frightened and could not speak, but only looked,
and wondered if that was really her own dear
mother. Soon she knew, for the mother sobbed
out: "Oh! for one look at my darling Patty's
face! I want my little one just to hold and kiss,
as I used to, long ago;" and she covered her face
in her hands and cried bitterly.
Just then she felt two soft arms creep around
her neck, while a warm little face was pressed close
to hers, and a sweet voice whispered in her ear:
Look up, dear mother Here is your little
Patty, waiting to kiss you "
Then, you may be sure, the mother looked up,
took Patty in her arms, and held her so close to


z88o.]


749






HOW LITTLE PATTY SAVED HER MOTHER.


her heart it was almost painful, while she said, as
she kissed the little upturned face: My child,
will you turn from me when you know I have
been in prison? They know I am innocent now


"AT THE LITTLE DESK, SHE KNELT."


that the purse is found, those cruel people, but I
can never be free from the taint of that dreadful
prison till I wash it away in the river. I must go
now, my baby,-the river is calling me; kiss father
and mother for me; I cannot see them "
Then she kissed her child again and again as if
she could not part from her, while her eyes grew so
wild that Patty trembled; but she clung to her
mother, and said, bravely:
"Come, mother, we '11 both go and see poor
grandmother, who has cried all day."


So the sweet voice coaxed, and the little hands
drew the almost frantic mother down the aisle, out
through the church-door into the quiet street that
led direct to the little inn.
"Look at me, mother," the child said, as they
neared the foot-path that led down to .the river.
Her wise little head told her there was danger
there; and her bright eyes looked up with all her
loving heart shining out through them, and so held
the mother's glance till the river lay behind them,
and the little inn was close at hand. Just a few steps
more and it was reached. Still holding her mother
closely, Patty opened the door, and they stood before
the poor old weeping couple.
Before any words could be spoken, Mrs. Grey
fell, ill and fainting, at her mother's feet. Fortu-
nately, there was a wise doctor from London stay-
ing at the little inn. Grandfather called him
quickly, and the sick mother was well cared for.
The doctor whispered "brain-fever to grand-
mother, and shook his head as if it were very bad
indeed. But hewas wise and skillful, and after a
time had his patient better, and up again, weak
but in her right mind, which was the best of all. -,
Little Patty was a devoted nurse; her mother
could riot bear to miss her even for a few moments,
so it was many weeks before she had a chance to
run down to the old church and tell pretty Dorothy
how happy she was now; how her dear mother was
well again, and was never going away, but that
they-four people, grandfather and grandmother
Warne, little Patty and her mother-were going
to live happily together forever in the little inn.
That was a good many years ago. Patty is grown
up now-a pretty, sweet-faced maid of eighteen; and
when I was at the Rutland Arms," not so very long
ago, I slept in one of the sweet, fragrant beds, and
in the morning I had crumpets for breakfast that
Patty herself had made. While she waited on me,
she told me how happy they all were in the little
inn, and what care her mother took of the two old
people, who were too feeble to do anything but sit
in their big chairs, one at each side of the fire-place,
and talk and nod cheerfully to each other.
After breakfast, we went to the old church, and
Patty showed me pretty Dorothy, and the desk
where her mother had knelt that sad night.
If I had not been there," said Patty, gravely,
"I fear my mother really would have drowned her-
self. The doctor said she was wild with the fever
then; and she added, shyly, "I often come yet
and talk to my Dorothy," and she looked lovingly
at her stone friend.
Then I had to say "good-bye," and I have
never seen her since; but I have no doubt that to
this day Patty lives in the little inn, and still goes
and tells her joys and sorrows to pretty Dorothy."


750


L[JUY,







~88o.] FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK. 75'


FREDDY AND THE HAWK.
BY MARIA R. OAKEY.

FRED-DY'S mam-ma oft-en read to him from his pict-ure-
books, and in one there was a pict-ure of a hawk car-ry-ing
off a lit-tie sp.ar-row.
Fred-dy liked that pict-ure ver-y much, and he used
to tell his mam-ma how he would shoot that wick-ed ni .-
hawk and set the lit-tie spar-row free. j
One day, when he was play-ing in the gar-den, the
gar-den-er told him that he had a fine se-cret to tell him,
and some-thing to show him, be-sides. ,'." ':
Is it a ripe black-ber-ry ?" said Fred-dy.
No; it 's ev-er so much bet-ter than that," said the
gar-den-er. sI
k Fred-dy could n't think of any-thing bet-ter, for he .
looked ev-er-y day at the black-ber-ries and it seemed
as if they nev-er would get ripe, and he had prom-ised
his mam-ma nev-er to eat a green one.
But the gar-den-er took Fred-dy to a great li-lac
bush, and pulled aside the branch-es, and there, hid-den ..,
a-mong the leaves and .flow-ers, was a lit-tle nest with l,-
young birds in it! Fred-dy could see each lit-tle feath-er-
less bird with wide-o-pen beak, when the gar-den-er lift-
ed him up.
"Where's the mam-ma bird?" said Fred-dy, look-ing
all a-round the bush.
"There she is, on that tree," said the gar-den-er.
SShe is watch-ing for her mate, who has gone to get the
young birds' din-ner. See her now; here she comes
fly-ing and cry-ing. We 've fright-ened her. We'd
bet-ter go a-way."
"You go a-way," said Fred-dy, "but let me stand here ver-y still
by this tree and watch for the pa-pa bird. I want to see him, too."
As Fred-dy was stand-ing watch-ing for the pa-pa bird, he heard a cry
from the mam-ma bird, and, look-ing up, he saw a great hawk in the
air and sweep-ing down to-ward the nest.
Fred-dy thought of the pict-ure in the book, and as he had n't any
gun to shoot the hawk, he be-gan to scream and throw stones at it,


T88o.]


FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK.


751






752 FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK. U[JL

and at last fright-ened it a-way. The hawk kept com-ing back a-gain, but
Fred-dy watched for it and al-ways drove it a-way; and by and by, I sup-
pose the hawk thought that he should al-ways find that lit-tle gi-ant watch-
ing the nest, and so he flew a-way to find some-thing else to eat. He
did not e-ven come back the next day.
But Fred-dy used to watch the nest ev-er-y day, till the young birds
were able to fly a-way, just as their pa-pa and mam-ma did.
At last, when the young birds were gone, the gar-den-er took the emp-ty
nest out of the li-lac-bush and gave it to Fred-dy, who kept it in his nur-ser-y.



LITTLE POPPLE-DE-POLLY.








A















LIT-TLE Pop-ple-de-Pol-ly
Said: "See my new Dol-ly!
With her boo-ti-ful, pop-o-pen eyes;
But I can't make her speak,
i, i '' .
: ^' ..m .. '-,, D .
i ,* ;

**' I -" *e e *'



















Though I've tried for a week;
And when-ev-er I hug her, she cries!"
And when-ev-er I hug her, she cries!"









TABBY'S SUPPER.

TIM is on-ly sev-en years old, but he can help his fa-ther weed the
gar-den and can do ma-ny use-ful things. One day, his moth-er sent him to
the store to get a fish for sup-per, and he took her work-bas-ket to car-ry it
in. When he came back he saw old Tab-by and her three kit-tens lap-ping
some milk out of a pan on the step of the tool-house.
"Stop, Tab-by!" he cried. "You drink too fast! The kit-ties can't get any.'


He set down his bas-ket, took the milk a-way from the old cat and gave-
it to the kit-tens. Tab-by did not care, for she smelt the fish. She tipped
the bas-ket o-ver, rolled out the ap-ple which a man had giv-en to Tim,
and took the fish in her .teeth. She did not like the flow-ers which Tim
had picked for his moth-er. She kept her eyes fixed on him, hop-ing to get
a-way with the fish be-fore he saw her. But Tim caught her just in time.
When he told his moth-er, she said that Tab-by had a right to what she
found on that step, for that was the cat's sup-per-ta-ble. Then she gave him
a fish-bas-ket for his own, and told him to try not to be so care-less again.


z88o.]


FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK.


753







JACK- IN-TIHE -PULPIT.


CK-IN-THE PULP IT.


VACATION begun The good times are here,
-times to let little heads rest from books and
-to give little hearts a freer chance to grow sweet
and loving.
My meadow never was fresher nor brighter
-than now. By the way, the birds have made
friends with the bumble-bees, I think. At any rate,
-here 's a message that I found on my pulpit this
morning, from E. S. C., whose real name seems
to be Sir Bumble-Bee. But what is this he says
.about growing smaller as he became older ?
_Doesn't Sir Bumble deceive himself?
Only listen now to this:

"SIR BUMBLE-BEE'S STORY.
HUMM--M I was far from home, good sir,--
Hum-m-m! -in some lilies busy working,
When I felt a sudden shock-
On my back an awful knock-
And my poor head went a-jerking!
Hum-m-m! 'T was an upstart humming-bird,-
Hum-m-m --who gave me that hard thumping,
With the great long lance, his bill.
But he 's only roused my will,
And soon 1 '11 set him jumping.
Hum-m-m! When I'm strong, some sunny day,-
Hum-m-m! -I '11 prick him quick as winking!
He shall have a chance to see
That a knightly Bumble-Bee
Can do some powerful thinking!
Hum-m-m! Lady Bumble waits for me,-
Hum-m-m !-So now I 'm off-no moping-
Or my children, plump and tall,-
Since I've grown so old and small-
May pine with anxious hoping.
Hum-m-m !
Good-day !"

HOW THE BECHUANAS SMOKE.
"THE Bechuanas of South Africa don't carry
pipes and cigars about with them," says Deacon
Green; "but when they want to smoke, they make


a pipe on the spot, even if it be in the heart of a
wilderness. A spot of earth is moistened and into
it a green twig is stuck, bent into a half-circle, the
bend being in the earth, and the two ends of the
twig coming out. With their knuckles, the Bechu-
anas knead the moist earth, down upon the twig,
and' the twig is worked back and forth till a clear
hole is made. Then one end of the hole is en-
larged for the tobacco-bowl, and the twig is with-
drawn. The smoker gets on his knees and palms,
lights the tobacco in the bowl, puts his lips to the
small end of the hole, and draws in the smoke.
When one man has smoked as much as he wishes,
the bowl is refilled and another takes his place.
I do not recommend the Bechuana plan to my
unfortunate American friends who smoke tobacco,"
adds the outspoken Deacon, in his dry manner;
" and I am not sure that I know of an American
method of smoking tobacco that can be recom-
mended to the Bechuanas."

INSECT RAG-PICKERS.
SOMEBODY once saw in Italy, on the ground,
what looked like a little nest of spiders' eggs, mov-
ing along. A sharp glance, however, showed an
untidy, fluffy ball, the size of a large pea, carried
by some creature about a quarter of an inch long.
But, my dears, you need n't go away to Italy to
find insect rag-pickers. Look in your raspberry
patches, when the'rred-caps, black-caps and yellow-
caps are ripening, and you will see some. They
gather and carry scraps of fiber, gauze of fly-wings,
dried flower-petals, and other ragged shreds, hold-
ing them on with the long hairs that grow upon
their bodies.
Ordinary persons know these insects by the
name "raspberry geometer," but if you are par-
ticular about calling them by their book-name, you
must say Synchlora rubivoraria.
Now, why do these little fellows go about dis-
guised in that way? It surely cannot be because
they think the rags and tatters will hide them from
the birds who might eat them ? Why, a bird from
a tree-top will see a hair in the road-dust, and pick
it up to fill some remembered chink in its nest!
May be, these rag-pickers bundle up so as to make
themselves disagreeable morsels for birds to swal-
low ? And may be they do it just to tease, and set
everybody to asking questions about them.

KEEPING CUT FLOWERS FRESH.
DEAR MR. JACK: Once I cut out from a newspaper a little piece
about keeping cut flowers fresh for a long time, and I followed the
directions and succeeded beautifully, only the heliotrope did not keep
well. But mignonette stayed fresh for ever and ever so long. I
have the newspaper scrap yet, and I send it to you for other little
girls to try.-Your true friend, SADIE HUNTER.
Pour water into a flat dish. Stand a vase of
cut flowers in the dish, and over it put a bell-glass,
so that its rim comes beneath the water and rests
on the dish. The flowers will remain fresh for a
long time, because the air about them, being shut
in by the bell-glass, is kept moist by the vapor that
rises from the water. The vapor turns to water
again, and runs down the sides of the bell-glass


754


[JUIy,







JACK-IN T HE- PULPIT.


.into the dish. The water in the dish must always
be kept higher than the rim of the bell-glass."

GODDESS OF TATTERS.
INSECTS are not the only beings who do queer
things with rags, it seems. A party of travelers
passing along a road near the west coast of Cey-
lon, were surprised to see' that the bushes beside
the road for miles and miles had all kinds of rags
hung upon them. The guides said that the rags
had been hung there by native travelers, so as to
keep the goddess Kali in a good humor, and per-
suade her to guard them from robbers and
accidents while on the road.


surface of the tube is of perfectly smooth glass, but
the outside looks like a shriveled vegetable-stalk.
Not long after this discovery, two men of science
in Paris undertook to make similar tubes, but with
man-made electricity instead of Nature's lightning.
They took some finely powdered glass, passed
through this the strongest current of electricity they
could make, and produced a tube an inch long!
The traveler was told of this, and wrote:

"When we learn that the strongest electric battery in Paris was
used, and that its power on a substance so easily melted as glass
could only form a tube so small, we must feel greatly astonished at
the force that must be in a shock of lightning, which, striking the
sand, is able to form a tube thirty feet long, with a bore of an inch
and a half-and this in quartz-sand, a material very hard to melt."


I i




















S* OH, DEAR MR. JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT, I do love vacation ever so much. It is so nice to swing in the
hammock and never have to think whether it's school-time or not. I often have real nice dreams in the ham-
mock. '-(Extract from a little girl's letter.)
L


LIGHTNING AS A TUBE-MAKER.
SINCE the telegraph wires were put up in our
meadow, my friends the birds have brought me
plenty of news about electricity.
Here, now, is a curious fact:
A man traveling in South America over some
sand-hillocks came across a number of flint-like
tubes buried in the loose quartz-sand. On inquiry,
he learned that these tubes had been made by
1i:1lir:,r: and that, if he cared to wait there long
enough, he might possibly see the process. But,
feeling uncertain whether he or the sand would he
struck first, he was content to be told that the
lightning falls upon and bores into the sand, melt-
ing it very suddenly, and leaving it so quickly that
it soon sets, and cools into a flinty glass tube,
seven or eight or even thirty feet long. The inner


'A TREE STILL TALLER.
MY DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: In your May number you state
that you have heard of two big trees in Australia, one of them being
four hundred and thirty-five feet high, the other four hundred and
fifty.' I have read of a tree still taller, A pamphlet published by
the Agricultural Department here in Washington, sneaks of a Eu-
S .- -.falina of Australia as having reached the height of
h.,.. i ..-r, which is one hundred and forty-six feet higher than
the dome of the Invalides, in Paris, thirty-three feet higher than the
arrow of the cathedral of Strasburg, twenty-eight feet higher than the
spire of St. Nicholas, at Hamburg, and twenty feet higher than the
pyramid of Cheops, which, I have read somewhere, is the tallest
structure in the world.
Now, it seems to me, this tremendous fellow must be the tallest
tree that can be found,-a tree which will actually cast a shadow on
the summit of the Great Pyramid!
Although ri-.. .' --" ... be the tallest tree in
theworld, it i .: :- ..- the Eucalyits Globu-
lusZ is much i ..I i," i .. I.. :...Ids immenseplanksof
fine timber.
One of these trees supplied a plank T65 feet long, and thick and wide
in proportion, which Australia wished very much to send to the Lon-
don Exhibition of 1862, but, as no ship could be found big enough to
carry it, the plan was given up.-Yours truly, A READER.


0880o.


755








THE LETTER-BOX.


IN THE CONTINENTAL SPIRIT WE APPROACH THEE, LIBERTY,
AND DESIRE TO PAY OUR HAPPY COMPLIMENTS;


THE LETTER-BOX,


CONTRIBUTORs are respectfully informed that, between the ist of
July and he i5th of September, manuscripts cannot conveniently be
examined at the office of ST. NICHOLAS. Consequently, contributors
who wish to favor the magazine will please postpone sending their
articles until after the last-named date.


DEAR ST. NICHOLAs: I thought I would write to you about the
Indian arrow-heads which we find in this neighborhood. Sometimes
they are from an inch to two or three inches in length. They are
sometimes vpry narrow, thin and sharp, and sometimes road and
blunt. There is one place on our farm where I think the Indians
made them, for we find stones that have had pieces, chipped off
them on all sides, and pieces and splinters or flakes i" I r.:
Generally, arrow-heads are made of the common I..r .rlFt I ..,
but sometimes of the black I ....1 ;. i..... ... as it is called.
The greater the number I i.. ri: 1-. i .-ad the handsomer it is
considered. It is not often -l' ...: I...l ....: with more than three
points. Not long ago, I found a perfect black one with five points.
I am fourteen years old. BERTIE L. GREEN.
P. S.-Papa says he thinks they are not made of flint rock, but of
quartz.
Bertie, and others interested in stone arrow-heads, and similar curi-
ous relics of the former dwellers in America, will find an illustrated
article on the subject in ST. NICHOLAS for April, 1878; the title is,
"How the Stone-Age Children Played."


CHARLEY AND PATTY.-In an article on school luncheons, in ST.
NICHOLAS for September, 1877, you probably will find just the
information you need. It would be a good thing, perhaps, if your
school would adopt the plan lately instituted by two of the best boys'-
schools in New York. In these the boys are provided with a
regular lunch every day at noon; not a fancy lunch, nor one to be
eaten at a swallow and in some out-of-the-way comer, but a good,
warm, substantial little meal, tempting but simple; and the happy
fellows sit around a table where they may laugh without horrifying
anybody, and where courtesy prevails as a matter of course. The
expense to the pupils is very slight, and is much to be preferred to
the paying of doctors' bills and the varied ills following wretched
luncheons of pie, cake, candy and other unwholesome things too
common among school children in these days.


February, I88o.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I read about the Englishman and French-
man in your March number, and how they disputed as to their


languages, and, as I wont allow that anything En-lis h is superior to
French (I mean English, not American), I thought I 'd tell this
story:
Two men, an Englishman and a Frenchman, -i, 1... .I rr i .:r
of his race, were shut up for a week together .. i-..-i .i. ..
talk the other. At the end of the week ihe Englishman was dead on
the floor, and the Frenchman was stooping down and whispering in
his ear. I always did like the French better than the English, any-
how.
I have a cat and my sister has one, too, just like it, and they are
awfully cunning. Papa and I have a little bossy; her nameisjcisey
Durham; I adore her, but mamma says she does n't see how I can
love a bossy; but it's very easy to love this one. She likes papaand
I best of any one. I go out every night to feed her, and sometimes
in the morning. She has a real pretty face and is just as independent
as she can be. Papa and I stand there as patiently as can be while
she drinks a swallow of water, and looks around as leisurely as you
please. We never think of asking her to hurry.
I think I wont write any longer.-From LILIAN GOLD.
Two months ago, or rather four, as it is now the first of May.
Now, my little bossy is awful sick, and we are tending her carefully.
The little thing ate a lot of paint and we gave her medicine. Then
papa thought she took cold. The fellow that doctors her
thinks she does n't need milk in her porridge, but papa insists on it,
and I know it's good for her. I woke early this morning and
thought: "I know Jersey is dead by this time," then I went to sleep
again and dreamed she was getting well, and when I woke up again
I was as sure she wasn't dead as I was before that she was.
I think she is getting well, too.-Good-bye, LILI GOLD.
P. S.-I seeing onepartof this that Isaid "papa and I." Excuse it,
please. I wont ask you to print such a long letter as this, only as 1
don't owe any one a letter, you are nice to write and tell things to.



C. A. S.-An item in the "Letter-Box" for January, 1879, will
tell you how raisins are made.


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: There is, in the south-west of our country,
giant, about which I want to tell your "Letter-Box readers. Don't
imagine an immense man with a wide mouth and great rolling eyes,
carrying an enormous spear, like the pictures of the famous Goliath
of Gath. This giant of which I write does not look at all like a man.
It is one of the United States.
In order to gain an idea of size we must compare the object with
some other familiar thing. If you look carefully at the picture of a
mountain, you will generally discover somewhere in it the figure of a
man, a house, or a deer, perhaps. The artist placed it there for you
to compare the mountain with it, and so gain a better idea of the size
of the mountain.
Suppose we compare this giant State with some other State. Try
Pennsylvania. Why, it will take five Pennsylvanias to equal it!
Indeed, this giant is bigger than all the Middle and Eastern States


756


JULY,








THE LETTER-BOX.


AND OUR ANCESTORS WE HONOR THAT THEY FOUGHT AND BLED FOR THEE,
DOING CREDIT TO THEIR MANLY COMMON SENSE.

4S


put together. It has pasture lots of twenty thousand acres, with
miles and miles of fencing. Its flower gardens cover acres upon
acres; all the gardens and yards in your town put together will note
equal one of its verbena beds in size. Even the spiders in this great
State are giant spiders, some of them being as large as a tea-cup or
even a saucer. This giant is so rich that it has eighty-nine million
acres of land to give away.
It is one of the United States; but it was not bought from some-
body, nor was it ceded, that is, given by somebody, as were the
other States, excepting the original thirteen. It cameinto the Union
of its own free will.
Giants, you know, make long strides and accomplish great things
in a short time. So this one builds cities as by magic. You may
stand on one of its prairies and see nothing but waving grass, far to
where the sky meets earth; returning in six months to the same spot,
you will find a city, with stores, hotels, churches and schools; find
busy people hurrying to andfro; merry children on their way to
school, all looking as though their home had been there for years.
The name of this giant State signifies, according to some persons,
"roof" or "roof-tiles"; according to others, "friends."
The name itself I have not mentioned, because I want to let your
readers guess it. MAB.


LILLIE (PHILADELPHIA), ANNA H. WIERUM, AND EVERYBODY
ELSE.-Always send your full postal address when writing to ST.
NICHOLAS;-not to be printed, but so that, if there should be no
room in the "Letter-Box" for an answer, a written reply may be
sent to you by mail.


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: In reading the April number of the maga-
zine I was much interested by the account of "The dear little deer,"
and thought I would like to get one. Could you tell me if they can
be got anywhere in New York, or if they are very expensive? I
would not even mind the brown instead of white, if only I could get
one of them for a pet. I suppose those men who sell curious birds
and animals would not keep them?-Your very devoted reader,
RHITA HANDCOCK.
To this letter Mr. D. C. Beard, who owned the "Dear Little
Deer" at the time of its death, replies:
There is not, I believe, a single live specimen of the pigmy musk or
mouse-deer now in the United States. The one I had, a picture of
which I made for ST. NICHOLAS, is the only.living one I have ever
seen. White ones are exceedingly rare, and one of them would cost
a very great deal of money. There is now, or there was a few months
since,a specimen ofa larger species of this deerat the Zoological Garden
in Philadelphia. The captain of the ship "Janet Furgeson" has
promised to bring me over some more of the mouse-deer upon his
next trip from Singapore, though it is extremely doubtful whether
or not they will live until the ship reaches America.


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Alligators' eggs are a little larger than
hens' eggs. Not long ago a newspaper said that a woman found


some in a field, and put them under a hen. The hen and the woman
were both very much surprised when the little alligators hatched out!
Your little friend, WINNIE S. GIBES.

W. H. P. sends word that the dog whose picture appeared in the
April "Letter-Box" is a black Irish setter, called "Bobbie," the
property of Mr. C. C. G., a gentleman in Eldora, Iowa, and the
father of the boy referred to in the letter printed with the picture.
The dog in the picture had on Mr. G's hat and ulster and the photog-
rapher's spectacles. W. H. P. adds: "Every one who knows
'Bobbie' recognized his portrait in the 'Letter-Box.'"

Galveston, Texas.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: In answer to the question of Miss Carrie
Snead in the '/ Letter-Box" of your May number, I rply that the
leaves of the trees in Australia do not expose their flatsurfaces to the
sun, because his rays are too burning, and the leaves would dry up
very quickly if they were too bold. C. W.


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am going to tell you about a wolf. The
other day a man brought to a livery-stable in our city, Lincoln, Neb.,
a little baby prairie-wolf that did not have its eyes open. An old cat
that had her kittens up in a hay-loft heard it crying, came down,
picked it up, carried it in her mouth to the loft and put it with her
kittens, and has nursed and taken care of it ever since. The baby
wolf and kittens are living happily together, but I expect there will
be trouble after a while; what do you think ? DAISY C.


L. M. P. AND OTHERS.-In answer to your letters about the
June frontispiece, entitled "The Home of the Herons," we will
tell you a little about the birds themselves.
The species represented in the picture is the largest of the heron
family,--the Great Blue Heron (Ardea herodias),-found in almost
all parts of temperate North America.
The average height of the Great Blue Heron is about three and a
half to four feet, and..its expanded wings measure from tip to tip
nearly six feet. The tail is comparatively short, and is almost hidden
by the folded wings.
The Great Blue Heron is of rather darker colors than the other
members of its group, of which the chief color is a steel-gray. The
head is black, with a white spot at the base of the bill; and protrud-
ing several inches behind is a plume of long, slender feathers, two of
which are much longer than the others. Grayish-white, slender
feathers are also seen upon the lower neck, breast and shoulders.
The long neck is covered with soft, light-brown feathers, and extend-
ing down its entire front is a pure white streak or stripe. The edges
of the wings and the upper portions of the legs are of a beautiful rich
brown, and the under parts are almost entirely black, with streaking


88o.1


757


~


i








THE LETTER-BOX.


of white. The eyes and bill are yellowish, and'the legs and soft
integument at the base of the bill are of a grayish green.
The young of the Great Blue Heron never possess the head
plumes, and the adults only have them during the breeding season.
These birds stalk about in search of food in the shallow water, or
stand silently in one spot until some fish or lizard comes within reach
of their long necks, when--ith a sudden thrust of their spear-like
beaks-they pierce the victim, which seldom eludes their aim. The
Great Blue Heron sometimes eats the young of small water-birds,
such as sandpipers and snipes, which have unluckily wandered too
near them.
The Great Blue Heron's nest is simply a flattened heap of sticks
and small twigs. This bird seldom lays more than three eggs, and
these are of a uniform pale-bluish tint, somewhat larger than a hen's.
The young do not learn to.fly until nearly full grown; they differ
from the adult birds, during the first year, in being much darker in
plumage, and the females are always smaller than the maa.


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We have lived out west for four years, and
one summer we had twenty-one prairie-dogs. I have had seven
sitting on my lap at once, all eating. I saw in "Jack" for February
something about animals which do not drink water; it said that
prairie-dogs do not, which is a mistake, for we had a ditch running
through our yard, and I have often seen our Billy drink.
The prairie-dogs got to be a nuisance, so papa turned the water
from the ditch into their burrow; it ran in for thirty-six hours without
stopping, and we could hear it echoing nearly all the way down.
Billy would come into the house and drag things down his hole.
Some dogs killed him last summer.
I am twelve years old, and I live at Cheyenne Depot Your
constant reader, JULIA G.
'P. S. It is supposed that the prairie-dogs dig these holes down to
water.

WHO CAN SOLVE THIS PUZZLE?
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Never having seen the inclosed puzzle
pointed, I send it to you.


The square contains thirty-six small squares. The object is to
place six dots, one in a square, so that no two of them will be in the
same line vertically, horizontally or diagonally.--Yours truly,
"CRnow."

NETTIE STEVENS.-Celluloid is the name of.a pale yellow, trans-
parent substance resembling some kinds of gum. It is light, hard
and elastic, and is insoluble in water. The method of making it was
discovered about ten years ago, and it began to be manufactured
about six years ago, and is now made in very great quantities both
here and in Europe. It is made by treating a certain kind of soft
tissue-paper in acids till it is reduced to a soft pulp. It is then treated
with camphor by a chemical process, and the material when finished
is the celluloid so much used in place of ivory. It may be colored to
resemble coral, tortoise-shell, malachite and many other naturalsub-
stances, and in the form of piano keys, billiard balls, handles of all
kinds, cuffs and collars, jewelry, harnessnountings and hundreds of
other things, it may be seen in almost every store in the country.
It was thought at one time to be explosive, but it is now said to be no
more dangerous nor inflammable than the paper and camphor out of,
which it is made. Celluloid is one of the most remarkable triumphs
of chemistry in imitating natural substances like shell, and ivory.


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: In the February article on automata, the
author describes a wonderful clock made by a German ; I want to
tell the readers of ST. NICHOLAS of a 'still more wonderful clock, of
which I have read. It was made by one Drez, of Geneva. "On it
were seated a negro, a shepherd, and a dog. When the clock struck,
the. shepherd played six tunes on his flute; and the dog approached


and fawned upon him. The King of Spain saw this wonderful
invention, and was delighted beyond measure. 'The gentleness of
my dog,' said Drez, 'is his least merit; if your majesty touch one of
i._ .: [.pi-.: ;. the shepherd's basket, you will admire the animal's
-J. i,'.. i i. King took an apple; whereupon the dog flew at him,
barking so loudly that a live dog, which was in the room, joined in
the chorus. The King became frightened, and withdrew, only one
courtier daring to stay. He, wanting to know what time it was,
asked Drez, who referred him to the negro. He asked the negro in
Spanish, but Drez remarked that perhaps he had not yet learned
that language. Thereupon the courtier questioned him in French,
and then the negro replied :.. .i This brave courtier then
became frightened, and he, too. I. 'r Yours truly, X. Y. Z.


C. H. T., WHITE PLAINS.-Your card is interesting, but, of course,
it cannot be printed until you have sent word to the "Letter-Box,"
describing exactly how the animal hanged itself, and giving your full
name and postal address.

THE GAME OF FIFTEEN; WITH ONE SOLUTION OF THE PUZZLE.
MR. AND MRS. HOSPITALITY satin their comfortable parlor. Miss
Despondent lay on the lounge, deeply interested in a small square
box which she held in her hand. She lay in a listless attitude with
her eyes half closed, occasionally giving the box a shake and utter-
ing a sigh.
At last, she said: I can't do it."
"Then," said Mrs. Hospitality, "do put it down, and don't bother
about it any more."
"But I must do it. I cannot leave it this way! And yet," said
poor Miss Despondent, "I do not know how."
It was the "Game of Fifteen."
Miss Despondent, in an evil moment, had bought one; She had
now got it all right but the last line, which came 13--5-14. She
had been at it for two hours without speaking, which was not polite
in a guest, but then, one must make every allowance for the slaves
of 13-14-15.
ilr. and Mrs. Hospitality lived in Boston, and Miss Dorothy
Despondent was visiting them. It was six o'clock when Miss
Despondent said she could n't do it,-half an hour before dinner,-
and it was getting dark. The gas was then lighted, and Miss
Despondent still went on shifting the little wooden blocks, but never
seeming to get any nearer the end. She had just put the box down
on the table, saying she would have nothing more to do with it,
when in walked young Mr. Henry Hospitality, who took it up. In
about ten minutes, he said: I have done it. If you turn the 6
upside down, and the 9 upside down, thus making a 6 of the 9, and a
9 of the 6, you can do it."
Miss Despondent never has any trouble now with "The Game of
Fifteen." She can always do it.
In a short time, she is to become Mrs. Henry Hospitality.
K. U.

W. H. BRowN.-The earliest date when chocolate was used,' in
England, as a drink, is 1657. A London newspaper of that year
says: "In Bishopsgate street, in Queen's Head alley, at a French-
man's house, is an excellent West India drink called 'chocolate' to be
sold, where youjnay have it ready at any time, and also unmade, at
reasonable rates."

ERNEST T. CAPEN AND J. W. J.-In this letter, from the author
of the story of "The Tea-Kettle Light," you will find answers to
your questions :
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: In response to Ernest T. Capen's inquiry
as to how Joe kept his birch bark from burning, I can add but few
particulars to the account given in March.
Joe himself, now a white-haired man, sitting by my side, tells me
that the .tea-kettle he used was packed full of the thick outer bark
taken from the trunk of the white birch-tree. He did not use the
thinner bark of the branches and twigs; for it would have consumed
faster. He also says there are other sorts of birch, especially the
black and gray birch with their spicy inner bark, neither of which
would probably have answered his purpose. It was easy to keep his
kettle just hot enough.
It hung on a crane in an old-fashioned fire-place, just as represented
in the engraving which accompanied the story; and, by the way, I
would like to thank Mr. Redwood and yourself, also, dear ST. NICH-
OLAS, for that same good illustration. So, of course, the draft carried
all smoke and odor up the chimney.
Joe says, too, that of course the gas must be lighted when it begins
to issue from the spout of the tea-kettle, just like any gas. There
was no difficulty at all with his light, except that indicated in the
story. To put out the'light, he lifted the kettle off the crane, and
when it became cool, the flame went out.
Wishing success to any future attempt to reproduce this old-time,
home-made gas-light, I remain yours truly, FLORA A. SANBORN.


758


IJULY,








759'


r88o.] THE RIDDLE-BOX.





THE RIDDLE-BOX.


FOUR EASY SQUARE WORDS.
I. SOUND. 2. Parched. 3. Dainty. 4. A paradise.
II. a. To pursue. 2. One of the United States. 3. Part of the
neck. 4. Muscle.
III. I. To puzzle. a. A sign. 3. Part ofa plant. 4. Terminates.
IV. r. A small particle. 2. An emblem. 3. A precious stone. 4.
To dissolve. nYCIE.
CONNECTED DIAMONDS.
I. I. IN procrastination. 2. A large cask. 3. A sweet substance.
4. A small horse. 5. In predestination.
II. In cowslip. 2. A beverage. 3. A kind of fruit. 4. A kind
of ostrich. 5. In idiosyncrasy.
Centrals Across: A kind-of sweetmeat. D. w.

ENIGMATICAL FABLE.
THE problem is to name the tools.
Some shrubs and vines for years had grown
In a stony, rocky place,
And now their roots were sadly cramped:
How should they get more space?

They called a council, and agreed
A certain rock to split,
With powder or with dynamite,
Could they but manage it.

ut who will drill the holes ?" was asked
(" I fear we are but fools!");
"The grape-vine will, of course," said one,-
"It always has the tools." AUNT SUE.

CHARADE.
My first is a governor. My second a biped. My whole is a beau-
tiful bird named in honor of a king who once reigned for his father.

BIOGRAPHICAL ENIGMA.
I AM composed of twenty-three letters, and am the full name of a
noted American artist and inventor.
My r4, so, 22, Tx is a flower. My Xa, 2, '9 is a root used by man
as food. My 3, 4, 10, z6 is.a four-footed animal. My 7, 8, 13 is a
falsehood. My 17, 5, 8, ., 23 is a fish-net. My 18, I5, 6 is a fish.
My 2, 3 xx, 21 is a prophet. MARGARET POTTER.

TELEGRAPHIC PATRIOTIC VERSE.
THE telegraphic characters arranged in the accompanying frame


represent the title and first stanza of a hymn well. known to every
American. The characters used are those of the Morse Telegraphic
Alphabet

SCENES IN AMERICAN HISTORY.
THE problem is to name the chief persons mentioned as having
part in the scenes described.
I. An American noted for courage is captured and bound to a tree,
while the battle still rages around him. His captors, forced to retreat,
carry him with them and again bind him to a tree, intending to tor-


ture him to death. But the captive's life is saved by a Frenchman;.
and the American afterward fought at Bunker's Hill.
II. On the bank of a noble river, three men search a fourth, and
find papers in his stockings.
III. A convention is in session. A tall, spare man is saying: "I
know not what course others may take, but as for me -- "
IV. In South Carolina, a British and an American officer sit down
to a dinner consisting of but one kind of vegetable. w.

TRANSPOSITIONS.
IN each of these puzzles, but one word is needed to fill the blanks
properly, only the letters of the word must be arranged differently-
for each blink.
r. The were well learned, the rich and clear, but the
- of a thrown through the window took away from our
enjoyment of the music.
2. Three -, lounging on the gunwale, were gazing at a-
and teaching each other the various of navigation; but there
were holes in their books, gnawed by ; so the lesson was short.
3. I took and to buy a BERTIE JACKSON.

DIAMOND.
i. IN octoroon. 2. Part of an ape. 3. Found in temples. 4. A.
singing bird. 5. An inhabitant of a part of the East Indies. 6. A.
fish. 7. In octoroon. ISOLA.

BIBLICAL ACROSTIC RIDDLE.
THIS puzzle is based on names found in those books of the Old.
Testament which are called "Joshua," "Chronicles," and "Kings."
Each cross-word spells the same backward and forward, but the word.
formed by the initials of the cross-words in the given order is spelled.
downward only.
a. A pass, by which an enemy came
To fight with Judah, but met with shame,
Backward and forward spelling the same.

2. To rank with princes my next could claim;
With men of valor is classed his name,
Which backward and forward spells the same.

3. The father of one, of Scripture fame
(Of ',. record gives praise, or blame);
And t.:1. :, and forward spelling the same.

-4. To the sons of Elpaal we offer no blame
For rearing a temple whose musical name
Backward and forward reads ever the same.


5. Of one who back to Jerusalem came
With Babylon captives my next is the name,
Backward and forward still spelling the same.
6. A town ii6 Assyria next you may name
Where, brought by the king, Jewish captives once came,
And backward and forward it spells just the same.
The initials of these, in their order, will frame
Of a Jewish towp, in a valley, the name,
And which backward and forward does not spell the same-


~____


"" '- "' "'"

- -- -- i --

- -. -.I II -. -.I -- ,..,11.1,. -..

"" -- "'- -" '- -~ -~

-- '-""-- ''







THE RIDDLE-BOX.


PICTORIAL ENIGMA.
THE answer to the enigma contains five words. The pictures represent words spelled with just the
-same letters that are contained in the answer,-not one more nor less. The numerals refer to the five
words of the answer, as they stand in the proper order of reading them.


..QN

-;ie~~ 5 4st --~


To solve the puzzle: find words that describe the pictures properly, each word to have as many letters
as there are numerals under its picture. When all the words have been found, write under each its
own set of numerals; the first numeral under the first letter, the second numeral under the second
letter, and so on. Now write down, some distance apart, the numerals i, 2, 3, 4 and 5. Below figure i
-set down all the letters under which you have written that numeral; below figure 2, all the letters which
have that numeral under it; and so on until all the letters have been distributed into groups.


On properly arranging the letters
of each group into a word, and
reading off the words in the
order of their numbering, the
answer will appear.
GEORGE CHINN.


A "REVOLUTIONARY
PUZZLE.'
(For Older Puzzlers.)
MY whole, comprising seventy-
five letters, is two lines of a pop-
ular patriotic song, written dur-
ing the early part of our national
history, by a Southern poet
My revered 12, 7,6, 1, 15, 48,
ro, 1, 23, 3, 21 served in the
patriot 17, 39, 28, 30. He car-
ried a 16, 34, 30, 22, 18, 14, 5
fixed to his 53, 31, 52, 13, 2o.
He had also a large 9, 25, 33, 46,
36, 72-4x, 47, 7, 19, on which were
38, 26, 27, 21, 29, 35, 42, 58,
both his 9, 37, 7, 32, 53, 44, 3I,
49 and his 45, 56, 64. 75 as well
as the 15, 73, 68, 70 of the open.
ing of the war. There were cut
on it, besides, some lines express-
ing his 46, 51, 74, 66, 59, 31, 63,
59 to the cau=e of 67, 21, 54, 55,
58, 22, 64. He 43, 22, 35, 3, 15
the 48, 24, 6, 27 of his country,
whether it were a tattered 6r, 45,
8, 31, 12, 26 or a new 71, 44, in,
57, 65, 39. He was a 2, 14, 7, 22
in 50, 36, 6, 53, 49, and, when
victory came to the armies of
Congress, his 60, 31, i2, 69, 55,
4, 5 and best 62, 22, 9, 3, 8 for
his country were realized. B.


ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE JUNE NUMBER.


Two EASY SQUARE WORDS. L 1. Ship. 2. Hide. 3. Idea. 4.
Peak. II. 1. Save. 2. Area. 3. Veer. 4. Ears.
NUMERICAL DIAMOND. i. C. 2. CAb. 3. CaBul. 4. BU1. 5.
L. MATHEMATICAL PUZZLE. 1881.
CELEBRATED NAMESAKES. I. St. John Chrysostom. 2. John of
Procida. 3. John of Gaunt 4. John the Fearless, Duke of Bur-
gundy. 5. Don John of Austria, son of the Emperor Charles V. 6.
ohn Knox. 7 John Eliot. 8. John Milton. 9. John Bunyan. to.
ean Racine. ix, John Churchill, Duke of Marlborough. tr. John
Howard. 13. Johann Mozart. 14. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.
15. Sir John Franklin.
PICTORIAL PUZZLE. I. A pipe, smoking. 2. Adore; a gay belle.
(A door, a gable.) 3. A miss (is as good as a mile). 4. High C.
5. Small sales (sails). 6. Stand at your (ewer) post 7. An L (ell)
and a yard.
DWINDLES. I. I. Reduce. 2. Cured. 3. Curd. 4. Cud. 5. Du.
.6. D. II. o. Decretal. 2. Declare. 3. Cradle. 4- Laced. 5. Dale.
6. Lad. 7. La. 8. L. III. x. Menander. 2. Meander. 3. Demean.
4. Medea. 5. Deem. 6. Dee. 7. De. 8. D.
ST. ANDREW'S CROSS OF DIAMONDS. Upper Left-hand Diamond:
I. R. 2. Rob. 3. Robin. 4. Big. 5. N. Upper Right-hand
Diamond: i. N. 2. Hat. 3. Names. 4. Sea. 5. S. Central
Diamond: i. N. 2. Gas. 3. Nails. 4. Sly. 5. S. Lower Left-
Ihand Diamond: i. N. 2. Yes. 3. Nests. 4. Sty. 5. S. Lower
Right-hand Diamond: I. S. 2. Yet. 3. Sever. 4. Ten. 5. R.


PICTORIAL NUMERICAL ENIGMA. Sermons in stones, books in
running brooks; and good in everything."
DROP-LETTER VERSE.
Come ye into the summer woods;
There entereth no annoy;
All greenly wave the chestnut leaves,
And the earth is full of joy.
MARY HOWITT, in Summer Woods.
DOUBLE CROSS-WORD ENIGMA. June-Rose.
EASY NUMERICAL ENIGMA. In the Chicago fire.
EASY DIAMOND. 2.ATe. 3-..tAly. 4. ELm. 5. Y.
METAMORPHOSES. I. Dusk: I. Rusk. 2. Rust. 3. Rest 4.
Nest 5. Neat. 6. Seat. II. House: I. Horse. 2. Corse. 3.
Curse. 4. Crust. 5. Burst. 6. Burnt. 7. Burns. 8. Barns. 9.
Bares. so. Bores. ix. Cores. r2. Coves. x3. Cover. 14. Hover.
15. Hovel. III. Warm: I. Worm or Ward. 2. Word. 3. Woldor
Cord- 4. Cold. IV, Curd: I. Cord. 2. Corn. 3. Coin. 4. Chin.
5. Thin. 6. Then. 7. When or They. 8. Whey. V. Dog: I.
Don. 2. Den. 3. Hen. VI. Cloth: I. Clots. 2. Coots. 3. Copts.
4. Copes. 5. Capes. 6. Caper. 7. Paper. VII. Pond: I. Pone.
2. Lone. 3. Lane. 4. Lake. VIII. Coal: I. Cool. 2. Wool. 3.
Wood. IX. Awake: x. Aware. 2. Sware. 3. Swart. 4. Swapt
5. Swept. 6. Sweet. 7. Sweep. 8. Sleep. X. Boy: i. Toy. 2.
Ton. 3. Tan. 4. Man. XI. Seas: I. Leas. 2. Less. 3. Lest.
4. Lent 5. Lend. 6. Land.


ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE MAY NUMBER were received before May 2oth from H. T., M. M., x-N. C., 9-E. M. S., 9-C. B., 3
-I. H. W., i-H. M. D., i--"Aline," i-V. E. G., --R. B. S., Jr., 3-G. A. L., Jr., z-V. D'O. S. S., io-N. W. L., i-O. C., 3
-A. C., 3-R.R., I- A. W., x-C. E., r-C. T. R., I-W. F. P., x-N. D. S., I-L. R. A., I-J. R. B., 3-H. C. W., i-N. L. Y,
--"Erieites," 9-H. B. E. and L. W. E., 9-A. L. 0., i-"Tottie," i-H. S., I tangle-I. S. S., I tangle-L. H. D. St. V., o--D.
D., --E. and C., r3-B. T., 7- "Faith," 3 and r tangle-L. W., 2-V. C. H, 4-C. L. R., rr-J. and H. B., 5-M. L. H., 2 and 3
tangles-C. A L, 8-A. H., I-C. B. H., Jr., 7 and 2 tangles-L. L. V. L., 6-B. G., 3-J. and B. S., 4-"Blankes," 13 and 2
taneles- G. T. M., 12- B. B., 2- R. V. B., 2- G. and J. H., 13- K. E. M., -- Hope," 3- R. H. R., 8- L. M. S., 14 and 2 tangles-
B. C., i--G. H., I-A. C. R., 13-J. W. T., 2--L. B. W. and K. C., 2- "The Children," x2-C. H. McB., 9-"B. and Cousin," 14
and 2 tangles-" High-diddle-diddle," 2-A. H. G., 9 and 2 tangles-H. W. D., 7-F. B., Trailing A.,' i- X. Y. Z.," 9- "3
Guessers," 9 and two tangles-"Dycie," 9-H. B. W., --J. E. C. W., 6-J. McK., 8-" 2 Black Pts.," r--F. L. K., 24 and 2 tangles-
G. T. T., 7-E. M., x2-F. C. McD.. 14 and 3 tangles-" Stowes, 13"-W. C. McL., 2-"T. D. & Co.," 5-R. A. G., 6-0. C. T.,
3 and 2 tangles-M. and C. S., 8-- lise and J. B. P., 13-G. L., 3-"Carol," 7-L. S. A., 12-"2 Great Friends," 9-"Jonathan," 8-
A.M. A., 15- B. C. B., 8-F. W. C., 4- L. C. F., 7. The numerals denote the number of puzzles solved.


760


[JULY.


z;r a +Illlll!lllll\~i





















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