[Copyright; 1880, by.Scribner & Co.]
*BY ANNIE> A. PRESTON...
BLANCHE is a little girl' who lives in Coinecti-
cut, some.twenty-five mMiles from the Sound,, on
one of the beautiful, busy :branches- cf tih: great
New England river. She is a blight child,- with
large'black eyes, long black hair, and pretty little
womanly ways, that make every one love her 'at
first sight, although. they usually iemliark, too:
"What'an old-lobking little creature'!" ..
When; Blanche was eight years old, her father
and mother both died. They had been living in
the far West, and after their death:the little girl
was sent back; in the :care of strangers, fdo her
grandmother's horie in Connecticut.
Blanche had a'great many relatives, and: they
came to 'see her at once to ask:her all sorts of
questions about her 'parents. 'They were all very
particular.to tell her that'she -'iiI Ib- a good girl;
and not make her grandmother any trouble, nor let
her see-that she.herself felt'l il~, : because, if she
did, her grandmother: would die of grief, and they
were not sure but she would as it was.
So the poor, loie -little girl walked about the
great, solemn house where her grandparents lived
with two sober-faced elderly servants, fearful all the
time lest:she should make a noise or'disarrange
something. She did not dare to look at her dolls,
nor books, nor playthings, in any place excepting
in her own. room. This,I however, wcas: a very
pretty and pleasant room. It had been her mam-
ma's room before she married Blanche's papa and
went to live with him out West.
But there was not a cat, nor dog, nor bird, nor
pig, nor chicken about the house and grounds,
and no .children- lived- near. You can imagine
.what a lonesome time the-littie orphandhad.:
Whenever1'Blanche felt. as if: she-could rf't:get
along afibth'er minute without a: good cry, she used
.. -lp il.,i:Crl'. oiit 6f'the piazza door, run around
the: gravel walk .to .the -farther end:of the flower-
garden, hide under the:thick, low branches of the
Norway spice tree;, and cry softly o herself.; She
would, now and then, while in this: little crying;
nook," look through the spaces of the paling-fence
into.6the street,: and when she saw children with
'their own mothers, or fathers, or brothers and sis-
ters-go: by, gayly laughing.and chatting, she would
cry all.the harder, and wish:she could tell them how
thankful they ought to be. Her grandparents:and
other relations loved her, but it was in such a queer
,way, she thought.
One day, she.sat there crying under the'big, tall
:tree, and wishing- hat God would let her and her
sorrowing grandmother go to heaven together
pretty soon, when she saw through her tears a
-poor, cross-looking' old many with a tired, starving
horse' and rickety old 'wagon; driving down the
street. They were covered with dust, and looked
as'if they had come a Idng distance.
Closely following behind the wagon, with a half-
ashamed, half-afraid, air, .was a tawny Scotch ter-
:rier. He was too big to be called a little:dog,:and
too little to be called a big dog. He looked very
attractive and companionable, however, to the
weeping, affectionate child, and, as he went pa-
tiently trotting past the garden fence, she looked
yearningly at him, and sobbed harder than ever.
The dog must have heard her, for he pricked up
his soft, yellow, silky ears, stopped and listened.
And then he ran sniffing up to the fence, and
peered through it with his great, brown, human-
When he saw the little girl there under the big
tree, with the tears still running down her cheeks,
trying to still the sobs that yet heaved her little
bosom, he wimpled up his face in a queer way as
if he were laughing, wagged his stubby tail so fast
that it seemed as if it would come off, and acted in
every way as if he were an old friend.
Blanche thrust her small hand through the pal-
ing, and patting the smooth, pretty head of the
dog, she sobbed:
Oh, you sweet, dear little fellow I wish you
would stay with me all the time, for I 'm so lonely
I don't know what to do. My precious, precious
mamma and papa are both dead, and I have no
brother or sister, and I can't die, for I have tried
and tried; but if I make trouble for Grandma she
will die, and then what will become of me!" and
poor Blanche broke down completely, and her
sobs burst forth afresh.
The dog now gave a short, sharp, whining bark
after the old -wagon, that had by this time rattled
almost out of sight, and then, as if thinking his
duty lay in another direction, he ran to the gate,
crawled under it, and, quickly finding little Blanche
in her shady evergreen bower, jumped upon her,
kissed her face and hands, and went through such
antics of delight that the dear child fully believed
the good Lord had sent the pretty, affectionate
terrier to her..
Blanche's face was wreathed with smiles when
she went in to supper, in answer to the bell, taking
her four-footed friend with her, and telling that he
came to her of his own accord, as she sat near the
"I named him 'Hap' right off, Grandma, be-
cause he hapl-pened to come, and because I was so
hap-py to have him," she said.
Grandpa and Grandma did n't like this business
much. Grandpa scolded at poor Hap, and said to
him, sharply, Start, sir, and find your master "
but the dog curled closely up to Blanche's soft
black dress, and showed his white, glistening teeth
to the old gentleman.
Grandma smiled at that, and, relenting, said:
"Well, well, he may stay to supper, Blanche.
Would you like some supper, sir?" Hap quickly
sat up on his haunches and begged as prettily as
any dog could be expected to. Then, all of his
own notion, he "spoke," rolled over and over,
walked on his hind legs, made bows, and indulged
in various other antics, until Blanche laughed and
clapped her hands for joy.
Grandpa and Grandma now exchanged half-
surprised, half-pleased looks with each other, and
could hardly refrain from laughing heartily them-
selves. Grandma said: "The dog shall stay."
Grandpa said: "Yes, if he behaves himself and
don't get under foot; and I will try to find his
master and pay him for the dog."
Hap seemed to understand very well what the
old gentleman said about getting under foot, for
he at once took the soft, crimson-wool door-mat in
his teeth, drew it across the sitting-room to a
corner of the recess near the hearth, and lay down
upon it in a very cunning fashion; and that has
been his own resting and sleeping place, when in-
doors, ever since.
Blanche and Hap were very merry together, you
may be sure. The little girl grew cheerful and
contented and childlike day by day, and frolicked
in the yard and garden with her new companion
from morning till night. But Grandpa, who was
a very just and conscientious man, did not like the
idea of keeping a dog that belonged to somebody
else, who might be looking for him. It seemed
dishonest," he said.
In August, the large house was shut up, and the
whole family went down to New London,-to the
Pequot House,-to stay a week. Grandpa had
made this stipulation with Blanche: They would
leave Hap behind, on his rug upon the broad
piazza, with instructions to the butcher and milk-
man to feed him every day. "The dog will
get lonesome," Grandpa said, "and will return
to his master, who cannot live so very far off,
-probably in one of the adjoining towns. By
this means, the owner will be 'found. He was
peddling baskets at the stores the day he came
past our house, I have been told. I am quite sure
he will return again with Hap, when I will buy him
of the man, even at a good round price."
Blanche willingly consented to this agreement,
for I know," said she, "Hap will never leave the
And sure enough, when the family returned,.
they found the faithful creature sitting on the
As soon as he heard Blanche's shouts of delight,
he ran to the gate as friskily as his half-famished
condition would permit.
The neighbors said he had driven every one-
away who had attempted to enter the gate,-even
the butcher and the milkman, who would have
fed him gladly had he been willing to allow such
Grandpa was a good deal touched at Hap's
fidelity, and said no more about sending him away,
and finding the owner.
One day, the next summer, an old man came
through the street on foot, peddling baskets. He
was retailing them now from house to house, and
stopped at Grandpa's. As soon as Hap saw him,
he jumped into his little mistress's lap, and hid his
face under her arm.
Hallo !" said the man. How came you by
my dog, little girl? "
"Your dog! How is that ? asked Grandpa, in
surprise, hearing the peddler's gruff voice.
'He stopped here and came right to you,' you say,
little girl? What.was you doing when he found
you, may I ask ? "
I was crying because I was lonesome," said
Blanche, timidly, hugging Hap more closely in
That accounts for it," said the old, cross-look-
ing man. "My little girl was always lame and
sick, and always crying. I never could bear a dog,
" HE PEERED IN AT HER THROUGH THE FENCE."
Oh," replied the man, "I have n't seen him
for a year, and I thought he was dead; but I spied
him before I got to the door, and he ran to that
little girl's lap. Besides, I should know those eyes
he is trying to hide, anywhere. I never used to
kick him but he would look up' into my face
exactly as if he was going to speak. I should n't
have kept him as long as I did, only he belonged
to my little girl. She thought everything of him,
and learned him lots of things. After she died, I
wanted to get rid of him, so I took him with me
on one of my trips, in hopes I could sell him. I
lost him somewhere; but I did n't much care.
or help kicking one if it came in my way; but I
allowed her to keep this one, it seemed to be such
a comfort to her."
Oh, he has been such a comfort to me said
Blanche, drawing a long breath, and secretly wish-
ing the peddler had never come back.
Grandma cried a little, softly, and Grandpa, after
giving a queer little cough, took out his pocket-
book and gave the man a bank-note. So Hap
was now Blanche's very own dog, and seemed
dearer to her than ever.
This is a true story, because Blanche told me all
about it herself one evening, not long ago; and
THE LANTERN FLY.
after she had hugged Hap and gone up to bed,
her grandma said: "She was such a sweet, quiet
little thing, and I was so wrapped up in my own
grief at losing her mother, who was my only child,
that I did not realize such a little one's heart could
be broken. I think she would have died, had not
Hap come to her, and now she has made her
grandfather and me young again. We have
opened the house and our hearts for all the pets
she has a mind to care for,'and we enjoy her music
and the company of her young companions as
much as she does herself. I tremble when I think
what crabbed, fussy old folks we might have been,
had not our Blanche, and Hap, too, come to us."
THE LANTERN FLY.
BY DR. J. B. HOLDER.
HERE is a very curious insect, and one which
has certain peculiarities that make us look at it with
wonder. It is found in the forests of Surinam, in
northern South America. A French lady, Madame
Merian, who traveled in that country to study the
insects and plants, has given us a pleasant account
of it. Its name is the Lantern Fly.
You will see by the picture that it is about the
size of the largest moth or butterfly. But you
may be surprised to see such a great head, which
is almost as large as its body.
The eyes are about where you would expect
to find them, but there is a balloon-shaped bag
standing out from the head, and this is very thin
and light, so that it does not really feel heavy to
the creature when flying, as you would think it
might. It has always been called Lantern Fly by
the natives, on account of the light which they say
it shows in the head; and naturalists call it Fulgora
lanternaria, the first word meaning brightness or
dazzling, and the last is applied on account of its
lantern-shaped head. A much smaller species of
this insect is found in the East Indies.
Madame Merian says she has seen them flitting
about at night, and that they show a light within
the front lantern so clear and brilliant that it is
easy to see and read by its rays. During the day
the lantern is as transparent as a bladder, and
colored green and red.
The Indians once brought her a number of
them, which she shut up in a box. In the night
they made such a noise that she was awakened;
on opening the box, she was much surprised to see
a flame of fire issue from it, or, at least, it had the
appearance of a flame to her, because the light was
"ROBIN, GOOD-BYE !"
The smaller Lantern Fly is found among the
banyan-trees, and is said to be seen in great num-
bers, lighting up the forests, and sparkling in the
dark, tropical glades.
A small kind, something like the Fire-fly of
our own meadows, is found in Cuba, where the
ladies use them to decorate their hair. They put
them in nets, and there the fire-flies shine like
Another curious thing about the great Lantern
Fly is that there comes from a great many pores,
all over the wings and body, a white substance
which is the real white wax that is sold in the
This insect has a very strange voice; in Suri-
nam it is called "Scare-Sheep," by the Dutch
people, because it is so noisy. It flits about at
night making a sound like a scissors-grinder; a
kind of sawing or rasping noise, which is so loud
and disagreeable the people would gladly do with-
out the handsome display of fire-works these creat-
ures make, by night, to be rid, also, of the un-
You will be sure to ask, I suppose, why this in-
sect is provided with the great lantern, so strange
and different from other creatures of its class. As
it is a night-worker, as some of the great moths
are, it is likely that Nature has given it the power
of showing a light to attract smaller insects within
reach of its mouth.
We know how quickly the small moths come
to the lights during the hot summer evenings.
It seems reasonable, then, that Nature has
given the Lantern Fly its lantern, and its light
at night, to assist the insect in catching its
The light itself is phosphorescent, like that
which sometimes shows on the end of a match in
the dark, and instead of shining from one point,
like a gas jet or candle, the light is spread all
over the inside of the lantern which this curious
moth carries on its head.
BY S. M. CHATFIELD.
RoBIN,-good-bye Robin,-good-bye !
The last crimson leaf from the maple is gone,
The meadows are brown and the swallow has flown,
And heaped in the hollows the fallen leaves lie;
The music that falls from your beautiful throat
Pipes tender and low, with a quavering note;
Oh, linger no longer! To summer-land fly!
Robin,-good-bye Robin,-good-bye !
Far and faint from the southward we hear your mates call,
Dear Robin, your song was the sweetest of all.
We will watch for your coming when April draws nigh;
A TIRED MOTHER.
BY PAUL FORT.
LUDOVICK was a plow-man, and a very indus-
trious and praiseworthy man; but there were some
things that he met with in his business which he
did not like. These were the big stones and the
rocks which he so frequently struck while plow-
ing. Whenever he came to one of these, he would
have to stop, and if it were a large stone, he must
get it up, in some way, and throw it aside, while if
it happened to be a rock, he would have to plow
around it. He was continually stopping, and pull-
ing his plow back, and making a fresh start. If
he forgot himself, and did not stop his oxen the
moment he felt an obstruction in the way, there
was danger that he would break his plow. If he
could only go ahead, he thought, and do his work
in a steady, straightforward way, without interrup-
tion or hindrance, he would be perfectly satisfied to
plow every day in the year; but this stopping and
jerking back, and beginning over again, was a great
annoyance to him.
One day, as he was plowing in the field near
the sea-shore, some sailors, from a vessel at anchor
near by, came on shore for water. They were
accompanied by an officer, who, seeing Ludovick
pulling and jerking his plowshare from under a
great stone, which it had partly undermined, came
up and spoke to him:
"You seem to have a hard time there, my good
fellow," said the officer.
Yes," said Ludovick; I am all the time strik-
ing rocks. I no sooner get around one, and seem
to be going on comfortably, than I strike another.
It is very discouraging."
It must be," said the officer. I don't wonder
you dislike plowing."
"Oh, but I do not dislike it," said Ludovick.
"If I could go right straight ahead without stop-
ping, I should like it very much. I have often
thought that if I could plow in a great desert of
sand, I would like to make a furrow a hundred
miles long, and go right on, without stopping or
turning, from one end to the other of it. That
would be splendid; but, of course, it is of no use to
If that is the sort of thing you like," said the
officer, "why do you not plow the main?"
"What's that?" cried Ludovick.
The main," said the officer, is a name some-
times given to the sea, and we plow it with our
ships. They sail on splendidly, indeed, and often
make a furrow which is many hundreds of miles
long. How would you like that kind of plowing?
It is ever so much better than this humdrum work."
The officer talked for some time in this way, for
he needed men on his ship, and at last Ludovick
made up his mind that he would rather plow the
!main than plow stony fields. So, as it was now
Near the end of the day, he took the oxen home
to his employer, bade him farewell, and came
back to the beach, where the sailors, with their
boat, were waiting for him. He was soon on
board the ship, which, early the next morning,
began to plow the main.
i Ludovick liked his new life very well, although
there was a great deal of hard and unusual work in
i|. But he was a strong and active fellow, and, no
natter how much he had been working, he was
always perfectly satisfied when he had performed
his duties and had time to go to the bow of the
slip and look over into the water beneath, as she
gayly cut through the waves, throwing up a great
farrow of spray on each side. This was delightful
t Ludovick, and he never tired of watching the
g llant vessel plow the main.
One day, when it was rather foggy, Ludovick
wis at his favorite post. He could not see very
fal ahead, but suddenly, through the fog, he saw,
ata short distance, a black object, looming up out
o the water.
Hello said he, there is a rock. Now we
slall have to stop, or go around it, exactly as I
always used to do. I did not expect this."
,The vessel did stop, when it reached the rock,-
wiich no one on board, excepting Ludovick, had
sen,-but it was not in the way in which he had
ben in the habit of stopping with his plow.
Tie ship dashed so violently against the rock that
it forward part was broken to pieces, and it soon
became a total wreck.
Ludovick was thrown, by the violence of the
slock, headlong upon the rock before him. Fort-
uiately, he was not injured, and he lay holding
fat to the jagged stone, while he saw the vessel
slowly slip backward from the rock and drift away
into deeper water, where she soon sank with all on
Ludovick could see through the fog this terrible
disaster, but he could do nothing to help his
"Alas he cried. It was very different when
I met with a rock in my way, peacefully plowing
But it was of no use to repine, and when the fog
lifted and Ludovick saw that the rock on which he
lay was but a short distance from what seemed to
be the main-land, he sprang into the water to swim
ashore. He was a good swimmer, and soon reached
the land, but the rocks here were very high, and
the water at their feet quite deep, so that for some
time he could find no place to land. He swam
round, at last, to a little cove, where there was a
sloping beach. He ran up on the sand and lay
down to rest himself.
When he felt rested, and his clothes were dry, he
rose and climbed up on the high, rocky bank to
look about him. He saw a wide extent of land,
covered here and there with trees and vegetation;
but what pleased him more than anything else, he
saw, not very far away, a fire, and a number of
people sitting around it.
They must be cooking something at that fire,"
said Ludovick to himself, for they would want a
fire for nothing else in this hot land," and so, as he
was very hungry, he walked toward the fire.
As he approached it, he saw that the people
around it were a company of half-naked savages;
but still he did not hesitate. It will be no worse
to be killed by them," he said to himself, "than
to starve to death," and he walked boldly up to
them. His appearance had, apparently, the same
effect upon the people that a spark would have
upon a pile of gunpowder. As if it had suddenly
exploded, the circle of savages sprang up and
instantly disappeared in the surrounding bushes.
Ludovick was struck with surprise at this sudden
flight, but he did not stop long to think about it.
He stepped up to the fire, and taking a piece of
the meat that was roasting over the coals, he began
Meanwhile, the savages looked at him in utter
amazement. They could not imagine where he
came from. Their island was so surrounded by
rocks that no ship nor boat ever attempted to
land there, and they never thought of any one
swimming to them. But here appeared a white
man, who came from they knew not where, and
who must be very brave and powerful, for he had
walked right up to them without the slightest fear.
But he looked quite mild and peaceful, as he
sat eating by the fire, and after a little while they
began to think that he might not hurt them, if they
came out of the bushes. Still, it was well to be
careful, and so, before any of the men ventured
out,' they sent a boy with orders to sit down by the
fire and eat. If the strange man did not injure
him, he would probably not make an attack upon
them. The boy came slowly up to the fire, trembling
with fear; but Ludovick merely asked him where
the rest of his people were, and went on eating.
The boy, not understanding a word he had said,
but pleased that he had not been instantly seized
and killed, also began to eat.
The savages, seeing that the boy had received
no harm, now came out of the bushes and sur-
rounded Ludovick. They talked a great deal .to
him, and he answered back, but nothing whatever
came of the conversation. At last they asked him
to let them take him to their village, and, as they
supposed he consented, some tall men picked him
up to carry him. One took him by each leg, and
one by each shoulder, while a shorter man walked
under him with his woolly head under the small of
Ludovick's back, in order to give him easier sup-
port. Two boys put their upraised hands under
the back of his head, and thus he found himself very
pleasantly carried along. He did not know what
they were going to do with him; but it was of
no use to resist, and so he lay quiet and enjoyed
the scenery as he passed along.
When they reached the village, Ludovick was
conducted to a little hut, and everything that
could be done for his comfort was done.. He
began to think that he had fallen among a very
pleasant set of savages. The only thing that
annoyed him was the many speeches which were
made to him by those who appeared to be the chief
men among them. He did not know, of course, what
they were saying, and contented himself by occa-.
sionally bowing his head, and saying, "Yes, sir,
certainly. I have no doubt of it at all," and such
expressions. But he wished they would go away
and let him sleep, and this at last they did.
The next morning there came to him an old sav-
age, who could speak a little of Ludovick's own lan-
guage. This old fellow told himn that he had been
captured years ago, while at sea in a canoe, by a
ship, and taken on a long voyage, during which
he had learned to understand the white man's
speech. In the course of some years the ship came
within about ten miles of this island, when he
slipped quietly overboard and swam ashore. He
then went on to tell Ludovick that the people of
the island, on which he now was, had recently lost
their head man of law, or chief judge, and that
they thought he looked like just the kind of a
superior person who could fill the vacant place.
They did not know where he came from, and that
made him a still more imposing and suitable man
for this high position. They would like to have
his answer immediately.
Ludovick reflected that, if he did not accept this
offer, it was not likely that they would want him
for anything else, and that they might be anxious
to put him out of the way, and so he accepted
the proposition on the spot.
It will be easy enough to decide the questions
which these simple people will raise," he said to
himself, and as they are inclined to treat me
very well, I shall have quite an agreeable time."
So he was soon installed as head judge of the
island, and the old man, Pinpano, was appointed
his interpreter, with a suitable salary.
For some time no questions of law arose, and
Ludovick had a very easy and pleasant position.
But one day there came to him two men, who
were violently quarreling, and who evidently
wished him to decide which one was right. Ludo-/
vick called his interpreter, and ordered the men to
state their cases. A large crowd gathered around
to hear the decision.
The case was a simple one: One man hadf
caught a turtle on the beach, and had turned it over
on its back, and had left it, intending to come bacl
and get it. But while he was gone, the other ma
had come up and had taken the turtle home to his
own hut, where it had been cooked and eaten.
The second man declared that he thought the tu-
tie had turned itself over, and that he had consid-
ered himself the finder and the rightful owner
it. How was he to know that the first man ha
really caught it ? Anybody might come and s
he had caught it. This was the whole of the cas
Ludovick soon made his decision.
Did you put your mark on the turtle whbn
you caught it? said he, to the first man.
"My mark I" said the man, through the intr-
preter; I have no mark."
Well," said Ludovick, "you should have ore.
A cross, or a straight line, or some dots, or a ci-
cle, or something which you could put on tie
under-shell of the turtles you catch, so that people
would know they were yours. That is the vy
cattle are marked in my country, and there is ne'er
any trouble about knowing who owns them. JIt
will be well not to carry this matter any further,
but, after this, every one who catches turtles should
choose some mark, which he should always pit
upon his turtles; then there will be no further
This was thought to be excellent advice, aad
every man on the island immediately went to wcrk
to devise a turtle-mark for himself. Ludovick, 4o
had had experience in the marks used on sheep aid
cattle, showed them how to make many curious t i-
angles, squares and crosses, and before long every
one had his private and individual turtle-mark.
There were now no further disputes about the
ownership of turtles, nor, indeed, about anything
else, and Ludovick congratulated himself on his
easy and comfortable position.
"This is, indeed, plowing in a long, straight
line, with no rocks nor stones to stop and worry
me. It is better than anything else."
And so he ate and drank, and took long walks,
and was very happy.
But, after a while, he began to see signs of dis-
s:dri:;i:tion anim,:n.! the people. They talked and
jabbered a great deal among themselves, and
seemed to be divided into two parties. Ludovick
asked Pinpano the reason of this, and the old man
told him that it was on account of Tata, the man
who had been on trial for taking a turtle which
another man had caught. This Tata had never
been considered much of a fisherman, but now he
caught more turtles than anybody else; and more
than that, he caught so many that he would mark
them, and let them go into the sea again, expect-
ing to catch them at some future time. In this
way, people were continually catching turtles with
Tata's mark on them, and as he always claimed
them, this annoyed his fellow-fishermen very much.
There was scarcely any good in fishing if they only
caught turtles for Tata.
Of course, Tata could not use all his turtles, and
so he set up a market; many people bought turtle-
meat of him, and he began to be rich. His cus-
THE PRISONER ESCAPES!
tomers took his side in all disputes, while the men a place where a large fishing-net had been set,
who fished for themselves, and so often caught and, in spite of his struggles, he could not make
turtles with his mark on them, formed a party with his way out of it. It surrounded him on every
very bitter feelings toward Tata and his friends, side.
Ludovick could not imagine how this state of In a short time he heard a voice above him, and
things could have come about; but this was no he found that a rope extended from the net to the
wonder, for Tata was a very shrewd and cunning top of the rock, and his struggles had so jerked
fellow, and no one but himself knew how he and agitated the bush to which this rope was tied,
managed his affairs. His mark was a straight, that it had attracted the attention of some of the
black line, which he made on the under-shell of a natives, who thought a great fish must certainly be
turtle, and the manner in which he marked so many in the net.
turtles with his private sign of ownership was this: When the men on the rock saw Ludovick in the
Late in the evening, when he was sure every one net they set up a great shout, and soon a crowd of
was asleep, he would go down on the beach with a savages came running to the rock. The chief men
pot of his marking stuff, which was a black, pitchy quickly perceived the state of affairs. They knew
mixture, that would not wash off in water, and that Ludovick had been intending to escape to the
with this he would daub the top of a number of the ship, and that he had been caught in the net. So,
stones which lay on that part of the beach where with great joy and triumph, they gave the order to
the turtles went on shore to lay their eggs. haul him up. Nothing could have happened to
When the turtles came, ,many a one would be suit them better. He had acknowledged himself
sure to drag itself over a pitchy stone, and so make guilty by trying to escape, and now they had him,
a short line on its under-shell. Then it was marked, securely caught.
and, whenever caught, was claimed by Tata. A long line of savages seized hold of the rope,
The crafty Tata kept his secret well, and, day and with shouts and yells they began to pull Ludo-
by day, the feeling between the two parties grew vick from the water. He was now completely
stronger, and the old interpreter told Ludovick that enveloped in the net, which was drawn up around
a great many of the savages began to blame the him and over his head, and in a moment he was
head judge for this state of things, because, before dangling in the air, as the savages drew him
he introduced his plan of marking turtles, there toward the top of the rock. Up, up, he went, and
had been scarcely any quarrels among the people, soon he would be in the midst of his savage ene-
and never any so serious as this one. Ludovick mies. There was but little time for thought, and
soon saw for himself that this was true, for many Ludovick could think of but one thing to do. He
persons looked at him in a very ill-natured way, quickly climbed as high up into the net as he
and several times some of the more quarrelsome could get, and then, turning, gave a spring to the
savages shook their weapons at him, as if to bottom of it. His plan succeeded. He was large
threaten punishment for what he had done. and heavy, and he broke through the meshes of
Poor Ludovick was very much troubled. "Alas!" the net and went headlong into the deep water !
he said to himself, one cannot go straight ahead, The net shot upward, and every man who had
in a comfortable way, no matter what plan he tries, hold of the rope tumbled on his back, with his
I am afraid I shall soon run against rocks which heels kicking in the air. Cries of rage and
will be worse than any I have met yet." disappointment burst from all, as they picked
One day he was walking by himself on some themselves up and hurried to the edge of the rock.
high ground, when, not very far away, he per- But Ludovick struck out steadily to the ship, and
ceived a ship becalmed. His heart leaped with it was not very long before the watching savages
joy. This was his chance! He remembered how saw him pulled up her side.
Pinpano had made a long swim from a ship to the Ludovick made a long cruise in that vessel, and
island, and he was sure that he could easily make when, at last, he went ashore, he journeyed to his
a swim from the island to a ship. So, throwing old home, and sought service with the farmer who
off a portion of his clothes, he ran down to the had before employed him. He was glad enough
shore, by the rocks where he had landed. He to walk again behind his old plow.
avoided the beach, for he was afraid he might I shall never leave it again," he said, "while
there meet some of the savages, and, climbing I am strong enough to work. I may be often
down from one rock to another, he let himself stopped and hindered by stones and obstacles, but
quietly into the deep water at their base. He im- I shall never see, in these peaceful fields, such
mediately struck out for the open sea, when, to his terrible and dangerous rocks as I have met with
horror, he found that he had entered the water in elsewhere."
BY THOMAS S. COLLIER.
'-. ;v **...., r ,I,..--.
! I '- ,
THE day was fair, the sky was bright,
And daisies starred the meadow land,
When fine Miss Beetle, gold bedight,
Walked forth, a basket in her hand.
She knew that wild, and red, and sweet,
The berries, ripening by the road,
Peeped from their shady, green retreat,
Or in the mellow sunlight glowed.
That morn, beside the roadway, met
Her lovers,-for, oh, fickle one !
She smiled on two from eyes of jet,
As many a fair coquette has done.
Ah, blows fall hard when beetles meet!
Now thrust and parry quick were made;
And when the battle reached its heat,
Each in the other sheathed his blade.
Miss Beetle, from a mossy stone,
Looked down upon the battle-ground,
Then gave a faint, heart-broken groan,
And this is what the people found:
Three victims lying still and cold,
Where two broad roads together meet;
One glorious with specks of gold,-
An empty basket at her feet.
They made a sad and silent grave,
Where butterflies float in the air,
And fragrant blooms of clover wave,
And mullein-stalks grow tall and fair.
And there these three do sweetly rest,
Though truly this had ne'er been so,
Had fair Miss Beetle thought it best
To smile on one brave beetle beau.
L >, .
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"('~yr -- .-=6=.- 4 ".. . ... "; -. f,-.? -.:.,'
,, .. .. ;= . = \ : . )... .
JACK AND JILL.
JACK AND JILL.*
BY LOUISA M. ALCOTT.
THE children were not the only ones who had
learned something at Pebbly Beach. Mrs. Minot
had talked a good deal with some very superior
persons, and received light upon various subjects
which had much interested or perplexed her.
While the ladies worked or walked together, they
naturally spoke oftenest and most earnestly about
their children, and each contributed her experience.
Mrs. Hammond, who had been a physician for many
years, was wise in the care of healthy little bodies
and the cure of sick ones. Mrs. Channing, who
had read, traveled and observed much in the cause
of education, had many useful hints about the train-
ing of young minds and hearts. Several teachers
reported their trials, and all the mothers were eager
to know how to bring up their boys and girls to be
healthy, happy, useful men and women.
As young people do not care for such discussions,
we will not describe them, but as the impression
they made upon one of the mammas affected our
hero and heroine, we must mention the changes
which took place in their life when they-all got
School begins to-morrow. Oh, dear! sighed
Jack, as he looked up his books in the Bird-Room,
a day or two after their return.
"Don't you want to go? I long to, but don't
believe I shall. I saw our mothers talking to the
doctor last night, but I have n't dared to ask what
they decided," said Jill, affectionately eyeing the
long-unused books in her little library.
I've had such a jolly good time, that I hate
worse than ever to be shut up all day. Don't you,
Frank? asked Jack, with a vengeful slap at the
arithmetic, which was the torment of his life.
"Well, I confess I don't hanker for school as
much as I expected. I 'd rather take a spin on the
old bicycle. Our roads are so good, it is a great
temptation to hire a machine, and astonish the
natives. That's what comes of idleness. So brace
up, my boy, and go to work, for vacation is over,"
answered Frank, gravely regarding the tall pile of
books before him, as if trying to welcome his old
friends, or tyrants, rather, for they ruled him with
a rod of iron when he once gave himself up to
"Ah, but vacation is not over, my dears," said
Mrs. Minot, hearing the last words as she came in,
prepared to surprise her family.
"Glad of it. How much longer is it to be?"
asked Jack, hoping for a week at least.
Two or three years, for some of you."
What ?" cried all three, in utter astonishment,
as they stared at Mamma, who could not help
smiling, though she was very much in earnest.
"For the next twq or three years I intend to
cultivate my boys' bodies, and let their minds rest
a good deal, from books, at least. There is plenty
to learn outside of school-houses, and I don't mean
to shut you up just when you most need all the air
and exercise you can get. Good health, good
principles and a good education are the three
blessings I ask for you, and I am going to make
sure of the first, as a firm foundation for the other
But, Mother, what becomes of college?" asked
Frank, rather disturbed at this change of base.
"Put it off for a year, and see if you are not
better fitted for it then than now."
But I am already fitted: I 've worked like a
tiger all this year, and I 'm sure I shall pass."
Ready in one way, but not in another. That
hard work is no preparation for four years of still
harder study. It has cost you round shoulders and
many a headache, and has consumed hours when
you had far better have been on the river or
in the fields. I cannot have you break down, as
so many boys do, nor pull through at the cost of
ill-health afterward. Eighteen is young enough to
begin the steady grind, if you have a strong con-
stitution to keep pace with the eager mind. Six-
teen is too young to send even my good boy out into
the world, just when he most needs his mother's
care to help him be the man she hopes to see
Mrs. Minot laid her hand on his shoulder as she
spoke, looking so fond and proud that itwas im-
possible to rebel, though some of his most cher-
ished plans were spoiled.
Other fellows go at my age, and I was rather
pleased to be ready at sixteen," he began. But
she added, quickly :
They go, but how do they come out? Many
lose health of body, and many what is more
precious still-moral strength,, because too young
and ignorant to withstand temptations of all sorts.
The best part of education does not come from
books, and the good principles I value more than
* Copyright, 1879, by Louisa M. Alcott. All rights reserved.
JACK AND JILL.
either of the other things are to be carefully
watched over till firmly fixed; then you may face
the world, and come to no real harm. Trust me,
dear, I do it for your sake; so bear the disap-
pointment bravely, and in the end I think you will
say I 'm right."
I'11 do my best; but I don't see what is to
become of us if we don't go to school. You will
get tired of it first," said Frank, trying to set a
good example to the others, who were looking
much impressed and interested.
"No danger of that, for I never sent my chil-
dren to school to get rid of them, and now that
they are old enough to be companions, I want
them at home more than ever. There are to be
some lessons, however, for busy minds must be
fed, but not crammed; so you boys will go and
recite at certain hours such things as seem most
important. But there is to be no studying at
night, no shutting up all the best hours of the day,
no hurry and fret of getting on fast, nor skimming
over the surface of many studies without learning
So I say cried Jack, pleased with the new
idea, for he never did love books. I do hate to
be driven so I don't half understand, because
there is no time to have things explained. School
is good fun as far as play goes; but I don't see
the sense of making a fellow learn eighty questions
in geography one day, and forget them the next."
What is to become of me, please?" asked Jill,
"You and Molly are to have lessons here. I
was a teacher when I was young, you know, and
liked it, so I shall be school-ma'am, and leave my
housekeeping in better hands than mine. I always
thought that mothers should teach their girls during
these years, and vary their studies to suit the grow-
ing creatures as only mothers can."
That will be splendid! Will Molly's father let
her come ?" cried Jill, feeling quite reconciled to
staying at home, if her friend was to be with her.
"He likes the plan very much, for Molly is grow-
ing fast, and needs a sort of care that Miss Dawes
cannot give her. I am not a hard mistress, and I
hope you will find my school a pleasant one."
"I know I shall; and I 'm not disappointed,
because I was pretty sure I could n't go to the old
school again, when I heard the doctor say I must
be very careful for a long time. I -thought he
meant months; but if it must be years, I can bear
it, for I've been happy this last one though I was
sick," said Jill, glad to show that it had not been
wasted time, by being cheerful and patient now.
That's my good girl! and Mrs. Minot stroked
the curly black head as if it was her :own little
daughter's. "You have done so well, I want you
to go on improving, for care now will save you pain
and disappointment by and by. You all have got
a capital start during these six weeks, so it is a good
time to begin my experiment. If it does not work
well, we will go back to school and college next
Hurrah for Mamma and the long vacation!"
cried Jack, catching up two big books and whirling
them around like clubs, as if to get his muscles in
good order at once.
Now I shall have time to go to the gymnasium
and straighten out my back," said Frank, who was
growing so tall he needed more breadth to make
his height symmetrical.
"And to ride horseback. I am going to hire
old Jane and get out the little phaeton, so we can
all enjoy the fine weather while it lasts. Molly and
I can drive Jill, and you can take turns in the
saddle when you are tired of ball and boating.
Exercise of all sorts is one of the lessons we are to
learn," said Mrs. Minot, suggesting all the pleasant
things she could to sweeten the pill for her pupils,
two of whom did .love their books, not being old
enough to know that even an excellent thing may
"Wont that be gay? I'll get down the saddle
to-day, so we can begin right off. Lem rides, and
we can go together. Hope old Jane will like it as
well as I shall," said Jack, who had found a new
friend in a pleasant lad lately come to town.
"You must see that she does, for you boys-are
to take care of her. We will put the barn in order,
and you can decide which shall be hostler and which
gardener, for I don't intend to hire labor on the
place any more. Our estate is not a large one, and
it will be excellent work for you, my men."
"All right! I'll see to Jane. I love horses,"
said Jack, well pleased with the prospect.
"My horse wont need much care. I prefer a
bicycle to a beast, so I '11 get in the squashes, pick
the apples, and cover the strawberry bed when it is
time," added Frank, who had enjoyed the free life
at Pebbly Beach so much that he was willing to
"You may put me in a hen-coop, and keep me
there a year if you like. I won't fret, for I 'm sure
you know what is best for me," said Jill, gayly, as
she looked up at the good friend who had done so
much for her.
"I 'm not so sure that I won't put you in a
pretty cage and send you to cattle show, as a
sample of what we can do in the way of taming
a wild bird till it is nearly as meek as a dove,"
answered Mrs. Minot, much gratified at the
amiability of her flock.
"I don't see why there should not be an exhi-
bition of children, and prizes for the good and
JACK ANDI JILL.
pretty ones, as well as for fat pigs, fine horses, or
handsome fruit and flowers: I don't mean a baby
show, but boys and girls, so people can see what
the prospect is of a good crop for the next genera-
tion," said Frank, glancing toward the tower of
the building where the yearly agricultural fair was
soon to be held.
"Years ago, there was a pretty custom here of
collecting all the schools together in the spring,
and having a festival at the town hall. Each
school showed its best pupils, and the parents
looked on at the blooming flower show. It was
a pity it was ever given up, for the schools have
never been so good as then, nor has the interest in
them been so great;" and Mrs. Minot wondered, as
many people do, why farmers seem to care more
for their cattle and crops than for their children,
willingly spending large sums on big barns and
costly experiments, while the school-houses are
shabby and inconvenient, and too often the cheap-
est teachers are preferred.
Ralph is going to send my bust. He asked
if he might, and Mother said 'Yes.' Mr. German
thinks it very good, and I hope other people will,"
said Jill, nodding toward the little plaster head
that smiled down from its bracket with her own
I could send my model; it is nearly done.
Ralph told me it was a clever piece of work, and
he knows," added Frank, quite taken with the idea
of exhibiting his skill in mechanics.
"And I could send my star bed-quilt! They
always have things of that kind at cattle show ;"
and Jill began to rummage in the closet for the
pride of her heart, burning to display it to an
"I have n't got anything. 'Can't sew rags
together, nor make baby engines, and I have no
live-stock-yes, I have, too There 's old Bun.
I'11 send him, for the fun of it; he really is a
curiosity, for he is the biggest one I ever saw, and
hopping into the lime has made his fur such a
queer color, he looks like a new sort of rabbit.
I '11 catch him and shut him up before he gets wild
again; and off rushed Jack to lure unsuspecting
old Bun, who had grown tame during their
absence, into the cage which he detested.
They all laughed at his ardor, but the fancy
pleased them; and as Mamma saw no reason why
their little works of art should not be sent, Frank
fell to work on his model, and Jill resolved to finish
her quilt at once, while Mrs. Minot went off to
see Mr. Acton about the hours and studies for the
In a week or two, the young people were almost
resigned to the loss of school, for they found
themselves delightfully fresh for the few lessons
they did have, and not weary of play, since it took
many useful forms. Old Jane not only carried
them all to ride, but gave Jack plenty of work
keeping her premises in nice order. 'Frank
mourned privately over the delay of college, but
found a solace in his whirligig and the gymna-
sium, where he set himself to developing a chest
to match the big head above, which head no longer
ached with eight or ten hours of study. Harvest-
ing beans and raking up leaves seemed to have a
soothing effect upon his nerves, for now he fell
asleep at once, instead of thumping his pillow with
vexation because his brain would go on working at
difficult problems and passages when he wanted it
Jill and Molly drove away in the little phaeton
every fair morning, over the sunny hills and
through the changing woods, filling their hands
with asters and golden-rod, their lungs with the
pure, invigorating air, and their heads with all
manner of sweet and happy fancies and feelings
born of the wholesome influences about them.
People shook their heads, and said it was wasting
time; but the rosy-faced girls were content to
trust those wiser than themselves, and found their
new school very pleasant. They read aloud a good
deal, rapidly acquiring one of the rarest and most
beautiful accomplishments; for they could stop
and ask questions as they went along, so that
they understood what they read, which is half the
secret. A thousand things came up as they sewed
together in the afternoon, and the eager minds
received much general information in an easy and
well-ordered way. Physiology was one of the
favorite studies, and Mrs. Hammond often came
in to give them a little lecture, teaching them to
understand the wonders of their own systems, and
how to keep them in order,-a lesson of far more
importance just then than Greek or Latin, for girls
are the future mothers, nurses, teachers of the
race, and should feel how much depends on them.
Merry could not resist the attractions of the friendly
circle, and soon persuaded her mother to let her
do as they did; so she got more exercise and less
study, which was just what the delicate girl needed.
The first of the new ideas seemed to prosper,
and the second, though suggested in joke, was
carried out in earnest, for the other young people
were seized with a strong desire to send something
to the fair. In fact, all sorts of queer articles were
proposed, and much fun prevailed, especially
among the boys, who ransacked their gardens for
mammoth vegetables, sighed for five-legged calves,
blue roses, or any other natural curiosity by means
of which they might distinguish themselves. Ralph
was the only one who had anything really worth
sending; for though Frank's model seemed quite
JACK AND JILL.
perfect, it obstinately refused to go, and at the last
moment blew up with a report like a pop-gun. So
it was laid away for repairs, and its disappointed
maker devoted his energies to helping Jack keep
Bun in order; for that indomitable animal got out
of every prison they put him in, and led Jack a
dreadful life during that last week. At all hours
of the day and night that distracted boy would
start up, crying, There he is again!" and dart
out to give chase and capture the villain, now
grown too fat to run as he once did.
The very night before the fair, Frank was
wakened by a chilly draught, and, getting up to
see where it came from, found Jack's door open
and bed empty, while the vision of a white ghost
flitting about the garden suggested a midnight rush
after old Bun. Frank watched laughingly, till
poor Jack came toward the house with the gentle-
man in gray kicking lustily in his arms, and then
whispered, in a sepulchral tone:
Put him in the old refrigerator-he can't get
out of that."
Blessing Frank for the suggestion, the exhausted
hunter shut up his victim in the new cell, and
found it a safe one, for Bun could not burrow
through a sheet of zinc, nor climb up the smooth
Jill's quilt was a very elaborate piece of work,
being bright blue with little white stars all over it;
this she finished nicely, and she felt sure no patient
old lady could outdo it.
Merry decided to send butter, for she had been
helping her mother in the dairy that summer,
and rather liked the light part of the labor. She
knew it would please her very much if she chose
that instead of wild flowers, so she practiced mold-
ing the yellow pats into pretty shapes, that it
might please both eye and taste.
Molly declared she would have a little pen, and
put Boo in it as the prize fat boy,-a threat which
so alarmed the innocent that he ran away, and was
found two or three miles from home, asleep under
the wall, with two seed-cakes and a pair of socks
done up in a bundle. Being with difficulty con-
vinced that it was a joke, he consented to return to
his family, but was evidently suspicious, till Molly
decided to send her cats, and set about preparing
them for exhibition. The Minots' deserted Bunny-
house was rather large; but as cats cannot be
packed as closely as much-enduring sheep, Molly
borrowed this desirable family mansion, and put
her darlings into it, where they soon settled down,
appearing to enjoy their new residence. It had
been scrubbed up and painted red, cushions and
plates were put in, and two American flags adorned
the roof. Being barred all around, a fine view of
the Happy Family could be had, now-twelve in
number, as Molasses had lately added three white
kits to the varied collection.
The girls thought this would be the most inter-
esting spectacle of all, and Grif proposed to give
some of the cats extra tails, to increase their
charms, especially poor Mortification, who would
appreciate the honor of two, after having none for
so long. But Molly declined, and Grif looked
about him for some attractive animal to exhibit, so
that he, too, might go in free and come to honor,
A young lady in the town owned a donkey,-a
small, gray beast,-who insisted on tripping along
the sidewalks and bumping her rider against the
walls, as she paused to browse at her own sweet
will, regardless of blows or cries, till ready to move
on. Expressing great admiration for this rare ani-
mal, Grif obtained leave to display the charms of
Graciosa at the fair. Little did she guess the dark
designs entertained against her dignity, and hap-
pily she was not as sensitive to ridicule as a less
humble-minded animal, so she went willingly with
her new friend, and enjoyed the combing and
trimming-up which she received at his hands,
while he prepared for the great occasion.
When the morning of September '28th arrived,
the town was all astir, and the fair-ground a lively
scene. The air was full of the lowing of cattle, the
tramp of horses, squealing of indignant pigs, and
clatter of tongues, as people and animals streamed
in at the great gate and found their proper places.
Our young folks were in a high state of excitement,
as they rumbled away with their treasures in a hay-
cart. The Bunny-house might have been a cage
of tigers, so rampant were the cats at this new
move. Old Bun, in a small box, brooded over the
insult of the refrigerator, and looked as fierce as a
rabbit could. Gus had a coop of rare fowls, who
clucked wildly all the way, while Ralph, with the
bust in his arms, stood up in front, and Jill and
Molly bore the precious bed-quilt, as they sat
These objects of interest were soon arranged,
and the girls went to admire Merry's golden butter-
cups among the green leaves, under which lay the
ice that kept the pretty flowers fresh. The boys
were down below, where the cackling was very loud,
but not loud enough to drown the sonorous bray
which suddenly startled them as much as it did the
horses outside. A shout of laughter followed, and
away went the lads, to see what the fun was, while
the girls ran out on the balcony, as some one said,
"It's that rogue of a Grif, with some new joke."
It certainly was, and, to judge from the peals of
merriment, the joke was a good one. In at the
gate came a two-headed donkey, ridden by Grif, in
great spirits at his success, for the gate-keeper
JACK AND JILL.
laughed so he never thought to ask for toll. A train
of boys followed him across the ground, lost in
admiration of the animal and the cleverness of her
rider. Among the stage properties of the Dramatic
Club was the old ass's head once used in some
tableaux from ': Midsummer Night's Dream." This
Grif had mended up, and fastened by means of
straps and a collar to poor Graciosa's neck, hiding
his work with a red cloth over her back. One eye
was gone, but the other still opened and shut, and
the long ears wagged by means of strings, which
he slyly managed with the bridle, so the artificial
head looked almost as natural as the real one. The
they nearly fell over the railing, and the boys were
in ecstasies, especially when Grif, emboldened by
his success, trotted briskly around the race-course,
followed by the cheers of.the crowd. Excited by
the noise, Graciosa did her best, till the false head,
loosened by the rapid motion, slipped around under
her nose, causing her to stop so suddenly that Grif
flew off, alighting on his own head with a violence
which would have killed any other boy. Sobered
by his downfall, he declined to mount again, but
led his steed to repose in a shed, while he rejoined
his friends, who were waiting impatiently to con-
gratulate him on his latest and best prank.
GRIF CONTRIBUTES TO THE FAIR.
funniest thing of all was the innocent air of Graci-
osa, and the mildly inquiring expression with which
she now and then turned to look at or to smell the
new ornament, as if she recognized a friend's face,
yet was perplexed by its want of animation. She
vented her feelings in a bray, which Grif imitated,
convulsing all hearers by the sound as well as by
the wink the one eye gave, and the droll waggle of
one erect ear, while the other pointed straight
The girls laughed so at the ridiculous sight that
The committee went their rounds soon after,
and, when the doors were again opened, every one
hurried to see if their articles had received a pre-
mium. A card lay on the butter-cups, and Mrs.
Grant was full of pride, because her butter always
took a prize, and this proved that Merry was walk-
ing in her mother's steps, in this direction at least.
Another card swung from the blue quilt, for the
kindly judges knew who made it, and were glad to
please the little girl, though several others as curi-
ous but not as pretty hung near by. The cats
JACK AND JILL.
were admired, but, as they were not among the
animals usually exhibited, there was no prize
awarded. Gus hoped his hens would get one; but
somebody else outdid him, to the great indignation
of Laura and Lotty, who had fed the white biddies
faithfully for months. Jack was sure his rabbit was
the biggest there, and went eagerly to look for his
premium. But neither card nor Bun was to be
seen, for the old rascal had escaped for the last
time, and was never seen again; which was a great
comfort to Jack, who was heartily tired of him.
Ralph's bust was the best of all, for not only did
it get a prize, and much admiration, but a lady,
who found Jill and Merry rejoicing over it, was so
pleased with the truth and grace of the little head,
that she asked about the artist, and if he would
do one of her own child, who was so delicate she
feared he might not live long.
Merry gladly told the story of her ambitious
friend, and went to find him, that he might secure
the order. While she was gone, Jill took up the
tale, gratefully telling how kind he had been to her,
how patiently he worked and waited, and how much
he longed to go abroad. Fortunately, the lady was
rich and generous, as well as fond of art, and being
pleased with the bust, and interested in the young
sculptor, gave him the order when he came, and
filled his soul with joy by adding that, if it suited
her when done, it should be put into marble. She
lived in the city, and Ralph soon arranged his
work so that he could give up his noon hour, and
go to model the child; for every penny he could
earn or save now was very precious, as he still hoped
to go abroad.
The girls were so delighted with this good
fortune that they did not stay for the races, but
went home to tell the happy news, leaving the boys
to care for the cats, and enjoy the various matches
to come off that day.
"I 'm so glad I tried to look pleasant when I
was lying on the board while Ralph did my head,
for the pleasantness got into the clay face, and that
made the lady like it," said Jill, as she lay resting
on the sofa.
I always thought it was a dear, bright little face,
but now I love and admire it more than ever," cried
Merry, kissing it gratefully, as she remembered the
help and pleasure it had given Ralph.
DOWN THE RIVER.
A FORTNIGHT later, the boys were picking apples
one golden October afternoon, and the girls were
hurrying to finish their work, that they might go
and help the harvesters. It was six weeks now
since the new school started, and the girls began
to like it very much, though they found that it was
not all play by any means. But lessons, exercise,
and various sorts of housework made an agreeable
change, and they felt that they were learning things
which would be useful to them all their lives. They
had been making under-clothes for themselves, and
each had several neatly finished garments, cut,
fitted and sewed by herself, and trimmed with the
pretty tatting Jill had made in such quantities while
she lay on her sofa.
Now they were completing new dressing-sacks,
and had enjoyed this job very much, as each chose
her own material, and suited her own taste in the
making. Jill's was white, with tiny scarlet leaves
all over it, trimmed with red braid, and buttons
so like checker-berries she was tempted to eat them.
Molly's was gay with bouquets of every sort of flower,
scalloped all around, and adorned with six buttons,
each of a different color, which she thought the last
touch of elegance. Merry's, though the simplest,
was the daintiest of the three, being pale blue,
trimmed with delicate edging, and beautifully
Mrs. Minot had been reading from Miss Strick-
land's "Queens of England" while the girls
worked, and an illustrated Shakspeare lay open on
the table, as well as several fine photographs of
historical places for them to look at as they went
along. The hour was over now, the teacher gone,
and the pupils were setting the last stitches as they
talked over the lesson, which had interested them
I really believe I have got Henry's six wives
into my head right at last. Two Annes, three
Katharines, and one Jane. Now I 've seen where
they lived and heard their stories, I quite feel as
if I knew them," said Merry, shaking the threads
off her work before she folded it up to carry home.
King Henry the Eighth to six spouses was wedded,-
One died, one survived, two divorced, two beheaded,'
was all I knew about them before. Poor things;
what a bad time they did have! added Jill, patting
down the red braid, which would pucker a bit at
Katharine Parr had the best of it, because she
outlived the old tyrant and so kept her head on,"
said Molly, winding the thread around her last but-
ton, as if bound to fasten it on so firmly that noth-
ing should decapitate that.
I used to think I 'd like to be a queen or a
great lady, and wear velvet and jewels, and live in a
palace, but now I don't care much for that sort of
splendor. I like'to make things pretty at home,
and know that they all depend on me, and love me
very much. Queens are not happy, and I am,"
JACK AND JILL.
said Merry, pausing to look at Anne Hathaway's
cottage as she put up the pictures, and to wonder if
it was very pleasant to have a famous man for
I guess your missionarying has done you good;
mine has, and I'm getting to have things my own
way more and more every day. Miss Bat is so
amiable I hardly know her, and Father tells her to
'ask Miss Molly,'when she goes to him for orders.
Is n't that fun?" laughed Molly, in high glee at
the agreeable change. "I like it ever so much,
but I don't want to stay so all my days. I mean to
travel, and just as soon as I can I shall take Boo
and go all around the world, and see everything,"
she added, waving her gay sack, as if it were the
flag she was about to nail to the mast-head of her
Well, I should like to be famous in some way,
and have people admire me very much. I like to
act, or dance, or sing, or be what I heard the ladies
at Pebbly Beach call a 'queen of society.' But I
don't expect to be anything, and I 'm not going to
worry, for I shall not be a Lucinda, so I ought to
be contented and happy all my life," said Jill, who
was very ambitious in spite of the newly acquired
meekness, which was all the more becoming
because her natural liveliness often broke out like
sunshine through a veil of light clouds.
If the three girls could have looked forward ten
years, they would have been surprised to see how
different a fate was theirs from the one each had
chosen, and how happy each was in the place she
was called to fill. Merry was not making the old
farm-house pretty, but living in Italy, with a young
sculptor for her husband, and beauty such as she
never dreamed of all about her. Molly was not
traveling around the world, but contentedly keeping
house for her father and still watching over Boo,
who was becoming her pride and joy as well as
care. Neither was Jill a famous woman, but a
very happy and useful one, with the two mothers
leaning on her as they grew old, the young men
better for her influence over them, many friends to
love and honor her, and a charming home, where
she was queen by right of her cheery spirit, grate-
ful heart, and unfailing devotion to those who had
made her what she was.
If any curious reader, not content with this peep
into futurity, asks, "Did Molly and Jill ever
marry?" we must reply, for the sake of peace:
Molly remained a merry spinster all her days,-one
of the independent, brave and busy creatures of
whom there is such need in the world to help take
care of other peoples' wives and children, and do
the many useful jobs that the married folk have no
time for. Jill certainly did wear a white veil on the
day she was twenty-five, and called her husband
Jack. Further than that we cannot go, except to
say that this leap did not end in a catastrophe, like
the first one they took together.
That day, however, they never dreamed of what
was in store for them, but chattered away as they
cleared up the room, and then ran off ready for
play, feeling they had earned it by work well done.
They found the lads just finishing, with Boo to help
by picking up the windfalls for the cider-heap, after
he had amused himself by putting about a bushel
down the various holes old Bun had left behind
him. Jack was risking his neck climbing in the
most dangerous places, while Frank, with a long-
handled apple-picker, nipped off the finest fruit with
care, both enjoying the pleasant task and feeling
proud of the handsome red and yellow piles all
about the little orchard. Merry and Molly caught
up baskets and fell to work with all their might, leav-
ing Jill to sit upon a stool and sort the early apples
ready to use at once, looking up now and then to
nod and smile at her mother, who watched her from
the window, rejoicing to see her lass so well and
It was such a lovely day, they all felt its cheerful
influence; for the sun shone bright and warm, the
air was full of an invigorating freshness which soon
made the girls' faces look like rosy apples, and
their spirits as gay as if they had been stealing sips
of new cider through a straw. Jack whistled like a
blackbird as he swung and bumped about, Frank
orated and joked, Merry and Molly ran races to see
who would fill and empty fastest, and Jill sang to
Boo, who reposed in a barrel, exhausted with his
These are the last of the pleasant days, and we
ought to make the most of them. Let's have one
more picnic before the frost spoils the leaves," said
Merry, resting a minute at the gate to look down
the street, which was a glorified sort of avenue,
with brilliant maples lining the way and carpeting
the ground with crimson and gold.
Oh, yes Go down the river once more, and
have supper on the island, I could n't go to some
of your picnics, and I do long for a last good time
before winter shuts me up again," cried Jill, eager
to harvest all the sunshine she could, for she was
not yet quite her old self again.
"I 'm your man, if the other fellows agree. We
can't barrel these up for a while, so to-morrow will
be a holiday for us. Better make sure of the day
while you can-this weather can't last long; and
Frank shook his head like one on intimate terms
with Old Probabilities.
"Don't worry about those high ones, Jack.
Give a shake, and come down and plan about the
party," called Molly, throwing up a big Baldwin
with what seemed a remarkably good aim, for a
JACK AND JILL.
shower of apples followed, and a boy came tum-
bling earthward, to catch on the lowest bough and
swing down like a caterpillar, exclaiming, as he
landed: "I 'm glad that job is done! I've rasped
every knuckle I 've got, and worn out the knees of
my trousers. Nice little crop, though, is n't it ? "
"It will be nicer if this young man does not
bite every apple he touches. Hi, there Stop it,
Boo commanded Frank, as he caught his young
assistant putting his small teeth into the best ones,
to see if they were sweet or sour.
Molly set the barrel up on end, and that took
the boy out of the reach of mischief; so he retired
from view and peeped through a crack as he ate
his fifth pearmain, regardless of consequences.
Gus will be at home to-morrow. He always
comes up early on Saturday, you know. We can't
get on without him," said Frank, who missed his
mate very much, for Gus had entered college, and
so far did not like it as much as he had expected.
Or Ralph; he is very busy every spare minute
on the little boy's bust, which is getting on nicely,
he says; but he will be able to come home in time
for supper, I think," added Merry, remembering
the absent, as usual.
I '11 ask the girls on my way home, and all
meet at two o'clock for a good row while it 's
warm. What shall I bring? asked Molly, won-
dering if Miss Bat's amiability would extend to
making goodies in the midst of her usual Satur-
"You bring coffee, and the big pot, and some
buttered crackers. I '11 see to the pie and cake,
and the other girls can have anything else they
like," answered Merry, glad and proud that she
could provide the party with her own inviting
I '11 take my zither, so we can have music as
we sail, and Grif will bring his violin, and Ralph
can imitate a banjo so that you 'd be sure he had
one. I do hope it will be fine; it is so splendid to
go around like other folks and enjoy myself," cried
Jill, with a little bounce of satisfaction at the pros-
pect of a row and ramble.
"Come along, then, and make sure of the
girls," said Merry, catching up her roll of work,
for the harvesting was done.
Molly put her sack on as the easiest way of car-
rying it, and, extricating Boo, they went off, ac-
companied by the boys, to make sure of the
fellows also, leaving Jill to sit among the apples,
singing and sorting like a thrifty little housewife.
Next day, eleven young people met at the
appointed place, basket in hand. Ralph could
not come till later, for he was working now as he
never worked before. They were a merry flock,
for the mellow autumn day was even brighter and
clearer than yesterday, and the river looked its
loveliest, winding away under the somber hem-
locks, or through the fairy-land the gay woods
made on either side. Two large boats and two
small ones held them all, and away they went, first
up through the three bridges and around the bend,
then, turning, they floated down to the green island,
where a grove of oaks rustled their sere leaves, and
the squirrels were still gathering acorns. Here
they often met to keep their summer revels, and
here they now spread their feast on the flat rock,
which needed no cloth beside its own gray lichens.
The girls trimmed each dish with bright leaves,
and made the supper look like a banquet for the
elves, while the boys built a fire in the nook where
ashes and blackened stones told of many a rustic
meal. The big tin coffee-pot was not romantic,
but it was more successful than a kettle slung on
three sticks, gypsy fashion; so they did not risk a
downfall, but set the water boiling, and soon filled
the air with the agreeable perfume associated in
their minds with picnics, as most of them never
tasted the fascinating stuff at any other time, it
being the worst thing children can drink.
Frank was cook, Gus helped cut bread and
cake, Jack and Grif brought wood, while Bob
Walker took Joe's place and made himself gener-
ally useful, as the other gentleman never did, and
so was quite out of favor lately.
All was ready at last, and they were just decid-
ing to sit down without Ralph, when a shout told
them he was coming, and down the river skimmed
a wherry at such a rate the boys wondered whom
he had been racing with.
Something has happened, and he is coming to
tell us," said Jill, who sat where she could see his
"Nothing bad, or he would n't smile so. He is
glad of a good row and a little fun after working so
hard all the week; and Merry shook a red napkin
as a welcoming signal.
Something certainly had happened, and a very
happy something it must be, they all thought, as
Ralph came on with flashing oars, and leaping out
as the boat touched the shore, ran up the slope,
waving his hat, and calling in a glad voice, sure of
sympathy in his delight: Good news Good
news! Hurrah for Rome, next month "
The young folks forgot their supper for a
moment, to congratulate him on his happy pros-
pect, and hear all about it, while the leaves rustled
as if echoing the kind words, and the squirrels sat
up aloft, wondering what all the pleasant clamor
"Yes, I'm really going in November. German
asked me to-day to go with him, and if there is
any little hitch in my getting off, he '11 lend a hand,
JACK AND JILL.
and I-I '11 black his boots, wet his clay, and run then; I like to hear of other people's good times
his errands the rest of my life to pay for this while I'm waiting for my own," said Molly, too much
cried Ralph, in a burst of gratitude; for, inde- .interested to observe that Grif was sticking burs
pendent as he was, the kindness of this successful up and down her braids.
friend to a deserving comrade touched and won "Of course, I shall write to some of you, but you
his heart. must n't expect any great things for years yet.
I call that a handsome thing to do! said People don't grow famous in a hurry, and it takes
Frank, warmly, for noble actions always pleased a deal of hard work even to earn your bread and
"' . h.".., o2 ..r- - ,4,
r,'^ ' : "- "- :,,'-' -'-* -"B .;.^ ^;
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)= 'I ._
.-_._ ., '1 '
him. I heard my mother
say that making good or use-
ful men was the best sort of
sculpture, so I think David
German may be proud of this
piece of work, whether the big
statue succeeds or not."
I 'm very glad, old fellow.
When I run over for my trip,
four years from now, I '11 look
you up, and see how you are
getting on," said Gus, with a
hearty shake of the hand; and
the younger lads grinned
cheerfully, even while they
wondered where the fun was
in shaping clay and chipping
Shall you stay four years?"
asked Merry, softly, while a
wistful look came into her
"Ten, if I can," answered
Ralph, decidedly, feeling as if
a long lifetime would be all too
short for the immortal work he
meant to do. 've got so
much to learn, that I shall do
*..... '*-- .,^ ^ ",i
.. .. ,-.., C-'. '
I i 1E ; "
.:. .',"Y r' ,i
T ,[ ,. ..r
k;1 .--. 11,. ,- 1 -" -
thinks best for me at first, and when I can go alone,
I shall just shut myself up and forget that there is
any world outside my den."
"Do write and tell us how you get on, now and
HAPPY WORK FOR AN OCTOBER DAY.
butter, you '11 find," answered Ralph, sobering
down a little as he remembered the long and steady
effort it had taken to get even so far.
Speaking of bread and butter reminds me that
we 'd better eat ours before the coffee gets quite
!58o.] JACK AND JILL. 941
cold," said Annette, for Merry seemed to have for-
gotten that she had been chosen to play matron, as
she was the oldest.
The boys seconded the motion, and for a few
minutes supper was the all-absorbing topic, as the
cup went around and the goodies vanished rapidly,
accompanied by the usual mishaps which make
picnic meals such fun. Ralph's health was drunk
with all sorts of good wishes; and such splendid
prophecies were made, that he would have far sur-
passed Michael Angelo if they could have come
true. Grif gave him an order on the spot for a full-
length statue of himself, and stood up to show the
imposing attitude in which he wished to be taken,
but unfortunately slipped and fell forward, with one
hand in the custard pie, the other clutching wildly
at the coffee-pot, which inhospitably burnt his
I think I grasp the idea, and will be sure to re-
member not to make your hair blow one way and
the tails of your coat another, as a certain sculptor
made those of a famous man," laughed Ralph, as
the fallen hero scrambled up, amidst general
"Will the little bust be done before you go? "
asked Jill, anxiously, feeling a personal interest in
the success of that order.
Yes; I 've been hard at it every spare minute
I could get, and have a fortnight more. It suits
Mrs. Lennox, and she will pay well for it, so I shall
have something to start with, though I have n't
been able to save much. I'm to thank you for that
bust, and I shall send you the first pretty thing I
get hold of," answered Ralph, looking gratefully at
the bright face, which grew still brighter as Jill
"I do feel so proud to know a real artist, and
have my bust done by him. I only wish I could
pay for it as Mrs. Lennox does; but I have n't any
money, and you don't need the sort of things I can
make," she added, shaking her head, as she thought
over knit slippers, wall-pockets, and crochet in all
its forms, as offerings to her departing friend.
You can write often, and tell me all about
everybody, for I shall want to know, and people will
soon forget me when I 'm gone," said Ralph, look-
ing at Merry, who was making a garland of yellow
leaves for Juliet's black hair.
Jill promised, and kept her word; but the long-
est letters went from the farm-house' on the hill,
though no one knew the fact till long afterward.
Merry said nothing now, but she smiled, with a
pretty color in her cheeks, and was very much
absorbed in her work, while the talk went on.
"I wish I was twenty, and going to seek my
fortune, as you are," said Jack; and the other
boys agreed with him, for something in Ralph's
new plans and purposes roused the manly spirit in
all of them, reminding them that playtime would
soon be over, and the great world before them,
where to choose.
It is easy enough to say what you 'd like; but
the trouble is, you have to take what you can get,
and make the best of it," said Gus, whose own
views were rather vague as yet.
"No, you don't, always; you can make things
go as you want them, if you only try hard enough,
and walk right over whatever stands in the way.
I don't mean to give up my plans for any man;
but, if I live, I '11 carry them out,-you see if I
don't; and Frank gave the rock where he lay a
blow with his fist that sent the acorns flying.
One of them hit Jack, and he said, sorrowfully,
as he held it in his hand so carefully it was evident
he had some association with it:
Ed used to say that, and he had some splendid
plans, but they did n't come to anything."
"Perhaps they did; who can tell? Do your
best while you live, and I don't believe anything
good is lost, whether we have it a long or a short
time," said Ralph, who knew what a help and com-
fort high hopes were, and how they led to better
things, if worthily cherished.
"A great many acorns are wasted, I suppose;
but some of them sprout and grow, and make
splendid trees," added Merry, feeling more than
she knew how to express, as she looked up at the
Only seven of the party were sitting on the knoll
now, for the rest had gone to wash the dishes and
pack the baskets down by the boats. Jack and
Jill, with the three elder boys, were in a little
group, and as Merry spoke, Gus said to Frank:
Did you plant yours?"
"Yes, on the lawn, and I mean it shall come up
if I can make it," answered Frank, gravely.
"I put mine where I can see it from the win-
dow, and not forget to water and take care of it,"
added Jack, still turning the pretty brown acorn
to and fro as if he loved it.
"What do they mean?" whispered Merry to
Jill, who was leaning against her knee to rest.
"The boys were walking in the cemetery last
Sunday, as they often do, and when they came to
Ed's grave, the place was all covered with little
acorns from the tree that grows on the bank.
They each took up some as they stood talking, and
Jack said he should plant his, for he loved Ed very
much, you know. The others said they would,
too; and I hope the trees will grow, though we don't
need anything to remember him by," answered Jill,
in a low tone, thinking of the pressed flowers the
girls kept for his sake.
The boys heard her, but no one spoke for a
JACK AND JILL.
"IT IS THE CAT!"
moment as they sat looking across the river, toward
the hill where the pines whispered their lullabies
and pointed heavenward, steadfast and green, all
the year round. None of them could express the
thought that was in their minds as Jill told the
little story; but the act and the feeling that
prompted it were perhaps as beautiful an assurance
as could have been given that the dear dead boy's
example had not been wasted, for the planting of
the acorns was a symbol of the desire budding in
those young hearts to be what he might have been,
and to make their lives nobler for the knowledge
and the love of him.
It seems as if a great deal had happened this
year," said Merry, in a pensive tone, for this quiet
talk just suited her mood.
So I say, for there 's been a Declaration of In-
dependence and a Revolution in our house, and
I 'm commander-in-chief now; and don't I like it!"
cried Molly, complacently surveying the neat new
uniform she wore, of her own choosing.
I feel as if I never learned so much in my life
as I have since last December, and yet I never did
so little," added Jill, wondering why the months of
weary pain did not seem more dreadful to her.
Well, pitching on my head seems to have given
me a good shaking up, somehow, and I mean to do
great things next year in better ways than breaking
my bones coasting," said Jack, with a manly air.
I feel like a Siamese twin without his mate, now
you are gone, but I 'm under orders for a while,
and mean to do my best. Guess it wont be lost
time;" and Frank nodded at Gus, who nodded
back with the slightly superior expression all Fresh-
Hope you wont find it so. My work is all cut
out for me, and I intend to go in and wip, though
it is more of a grind than you fellows know."
I 'm sure I have everything to be grateful for.
It wont be plain sailing,-I don't expect it; but, if
I live, I '11 do something to be proud of," said
Ralph, squaring his shoulders as if to meet all
obstacles as he looked into the glowing west, which
was not fairer than his ambitious dreams.
Here we will say good-bye to these girls and boys
of ours as they sit together in the sunshine, talking
over a year that was to be forever memorable to
them, not because of any very remarkable events,
but because they were just beginning to look about
them as they stepped out of childhood into youth,
and some of the experiences of the past months
had set them to thinking, taught them to see the
use and beauty of the small duties, joys and sor-
rows which make up our lives, and inspired them
to resolve that the coming year should be braver
and brighter than the last.
There are many such boys and girls, full of high
hopes, lovely possibilities, and earnest plans, paus-
ing a moment before they push their little boats
from the safe shore. Let those who launch them
see to it that they have good health to man the
oars, good education for ballast, and good princi-
ples as pilots to guide them, as they voyage down
an ever-widening river to the sea.
IAUt-HTY KITrEN: "IT IS THE CATI"
x880o. LILY CHAPEL. 943
BY EMMA K. PARRISH.
pasteboard box from his mamma, who possessed a
convenient knack of always having in hand pre-
S 'cisely the thing which Jamie wanted. The box
was a foot wide and about eighteen inches long.
This, Jamie thought, would do nicely for the body
of the church. First of all he measured carefully,
and with a sharp knife cut three windows on each
side of the box, Gothic windows with arched tops.
Then he cut a great door at one end, so big that
all the inside was visible, and lined the walls inside
with cream-tinted paper, which Mamma gave him
from her writing-desk. Mamma also gave him
twenty-five cents, with which to buy material. He
spent it in paper,-chestnut-colored paper for the
seats, and some large sheets of yellow for the out-
side of the church. The money was enough for
S all, and left five cents over for further expenses.
Mamma helped in cutting out the seats. They
r had pointed ends with open-work in them, and
were made "as Gothic as we could," Jamie ex-
plained afterward. There were two rows of seats,
arranged so as to leave an aisle between them and
A GOTHIC WINDOW. one on each side. The middle aisle was three inches
JAMIE was lame. Can you guess what it is to be wide, and the side aisles an inch and a half each.
lame? Not to play with other boys, and to know The seats were
nothing of skating or snow-balling. Always to have cut three inches lli. '".",,,
to stay in-doors and amuse yourself in quiet ways. long, and were
Yet Jamie was never unhappy-not a bit. made from stiff
He was fond of planning and contriving, and pasteboard. It
kept himself busy a great deal of the time in was hard work
manufacturing pretty little articles of all sorts, most to paste the
of which he gave away when finished. He was an chestnut paper
industrious child, and very persevering. "I hate over this, but Jamie persevered, in his resolute
to leave anything unfinished," he would often say way, and it looked very well when all was done.
to his mamma. It makes me .Next, Jamie cut out a part of
feel unhappy, somehow, as if I the end wall, and pasted into it
had done something wrong." .-.- a curved piece of pasteboard, to
Once, in looking over an old resemble what is called a "chan-
magazine, he came upon a pict- L c eel." This he covered with the
ure which charmed him greatly. same kind of paper which lined
It was a scene in church. There _''.I the inside. There were twenty
was the beautifully carved roof, pews in each row, between the
the altar, with fresh lilies and door and the chancel, and
roses standing upon it, the arched .' Mamma helped Jamie to cushion
windows, and high up, over the .l --' them, first with thin layers of
chancel, a round rose-window full cotton, and then covers of wine-
of colored glass. It was all so colored merino, which stayed on
beautiful that Jamie longed to A ROSE-WINDOW. beautifully and looked just like
see the real church; he began to wonder if it real pew-cushions. The floor under the pews was
were not possible for him to imitate it in some way. carpeted with the same merino, but the aisles were.
Very soon, as a beginning, he begged a large laid with some old-fashioned wine-colored ribbon,
flowered with yellow satin, and bordered with yellow
-edges. There were two widths in the center aisle,
and one in each of the side aisles.
The window panes troubled Jamie very much.
He did n't want empty holes in the wall, and could
not for a long time invent any way of overcoming
the difficulty. At last, a brilliant thought struck
Why would n't colored paper do, Mamma? "
he asked, eagerly.
"Nicely," said his mother; why did n't we think
of that before? The Pilgrim Fathers used oiled
papers for window glass, they say, so why not
you ? "
Mamma's stationery-box was again called upon,
a delicate gray tint was selected, and carefully cut
into the shape of the windows, with holes in the
form of diamonds and stars cut out in them.
Then bright-colored scraps were chosen to enliven
the gray, carefully shaped to fit the spaces, and
pasted on. Jamie wanted something more elabo-
rate than diamonds and stars, but his mother
thought he would better not attempt any shapes
which were more difficult than these, so he decided
not to try them for the side windows, but had in
his mind a beautiful intricate design for a round
window behind the pulpit.
Papa looked in occasionally, to see how the church
was getting on, and Baby Lily spent most of her
time admiring it. She considered Jamie one of the
seven wonders of the world !
Jamie's papa kept a furniture store, and also
dealt in picture-frames. One evening, when he came
home, Jamie was delighted with the present of sev-
eral pieces of beautiful wooden molding. Some
were fluted, some carved. They were of different
widths; where the plain wood showed at the ends,
Jamie -varnished it over. The pieces were about
an inch in length. One broad, thick one made a
superb pulpit, and another the prettiest little read-
ing-desk in the world.
Next, Jamie constructed a neat little platform
from a shallow pasteboard box, about eight inches
long and three inches wide, made two steps on
each side, and carpeted them with the flowered
ribbon. He then .carpeted the platform with
some more of the merino, and glued the pulpit in
its place, with the reading-desk about two inches
from it on one side, and a font, made of a brass
thimble set in a stand of twigs glued together and
varnished, on the other.
An organ and a choir was his next ambition.
And his imagination even took such daring flights
as steeples, chimes, and registers in the floor. But
Mamma persuaded him to give these things up.
All except the steeple, which he made very ingen-
iously, by fastening a small, square pasteboard box
on top of his church, an oblong one on that, a small
round one oif that, and a slim pasteboard cone
surmounting all; the whole glued together, and
covered with yellow paper to match the walls
It really had a very successful effect, and when
the catherine-wheel window," as Papa called it,
was finished, and "dim, religious light" fell
through upon the gorgeous aisles, the effect was
beautiful beyond description.
Jamie could draw and paint nicely, and he made
several short scripture texts for the walls. They
were in no one style of lettering, but combined Old
English, German, and anything else that took his
fancy; but they. looked very pretty and bright,
painted as they were in gay water-colors.
The paper on the outer walls was measured off
with a rule and marked with lead-pencil, to imitate
blocks of stone. Jamie made a high, sharp roof
of stiff pasteboard bent to form a peak. Before
putting it on, he frescoed the inside with designs
on colored paper, and painted colored figures in
between the designs as well as he could. He did
not feel himself enough of an artist to attempt any-
thing very elaborate.
Some very tiny mosses and michella sprays were
put into the font, and into a tiny vase, which
Jamie placed on the reading-desk. He wanted to
have lilies, also, as in the picture which had pleased
him so much, but none could be had which were
small enough, so at last he stuck in a few very
white popped-corns among the green, and I
assure you the effect was really pretty.
Last of all, the structure was christened The
Lily Chapel," and given to Baby Lily, not as a toy
to play with, but to stand on a table and be admired
for hours together. Would not some of the ST.
NICHOLAS boys and girls like to try to make a
similar one ?
THE NAUGHTIEST DAY OF MY LIFE.
THE NAUGHTIEST DAY OF MY LIFE,
AND WHAT CAME OF IT.
BY H. H.
VERY little was said to me that night. I was
somewhat sobered by the sad faces and the silence,
and went to bed with rather gloomy forebodings
about the morrow.
I wish they had whipped me to-night and had it
over," I thought; but I suppose it will be done in
the morning." However, I was too tired to lie
awake, even from dread of a whipping, and I slept
like a top all night long.
The next morning I went down-stairs with some
anxiety at my heart, but I tried to look as if nothing
were the matter. To my great surprise, everybody
else looked so, too. Nobody made the least allu-
sion to what had happened the day before. The
servants said nothing; my grandfather and father
and mother said nothing; little Ann said nothing;
there was a sort of gravity on all their faces; but,
excepting for that, all went on as usual. I was utterly
perplexed. I did not know which way to look, or
what to say.
I think I have never felt more uncomfortable
in all my life, before or since. My mind was full
of the incidents of my runaway trip. I also was
full of a certain sort of penitence, not very hearty
nor deep, but still I was sorry everybody had been
made so uncomfortable by my naughtiness. In the
course of the day several neighbors called, and
began to speak of the affair; but my mother made
the briefest replies to them, and changed the sub-
ject instantly. At last I could not stand it any
longer, and I began to speak about it to Mrs.
Smith. Her countenance clouded at once, and she
"I should think you'd be ashamed to allude to
it, Miss. If you got what ybu deserve, you'd get
the biggest whipping ever you had in your life."
"Well, I expect I shall get it?" replied I, in-
Mrs. Smith pursed up her lips, and would say no
Well, this state of things went on day after day,
till I was at my wits' end with discomfort and sus-
pense. I felt myself in a sort of disgrace, which
was all the harder to bear because there was so
little that I could define in it. I went and came,
just as before; everybody spoke pleasantly to me;
nothing in all the routine of my daily life was
changed in the smallest degree; only I felt that
everybody was thinking about my runaway day,
and nobody would speak of it; and I was thinking
about it all the time, and yet I did not dare to
speak of it.
I was quite miserable, excepting when I was in
school. There I was elated and gay. I was quite
a heroine, in the estimation of the younger schol-
ars. I had walked all the way to Hadley. They
were never tired of hearing me recount the inci-
dents of the day, and I, on my part, was never
tired of telling them. We even concocted a plan
for going in a body, some Saturday, to the little
pine-grove, to recover the treasures which I had
been so cruelly and unjustly compelled to leave
there. I do not remember how many days this
state of things lasted, but I think it must have
been at least ten days or two weeks. The whole
matter was gradually passing from my mind, and I
had almost left off wondering why I had not been
punished, when one morning, after breakfast, my
father said, as he left the room :
Helen, I would like to see you in my study a
Oh, how my heart sank within me! I knew
what was coming-that long-deferred punishment.
How much worse it seemed to have it so long after
the offense. I went upstairs with very slow steps,
and I stood some minutes at the study door
before knocking. As soon as I saw my father's
face, I knew it was not a whipping I was to have,
but something a great deal worse-a long talk.
"My little daughter," he said, "'your mother
and I have been waiting very anxiously all these
days, to see if you would express any sorrow for
the very wrong thing you did in running away
from home, and leading your little playmate Mary
away with you."
Oh, dear," thought I to myself, this is what it
meant, is it? If I 'd only known, I 'd have said I
was sorry, fast enough."
I began to cry.
"But I was sorry," I said. "I am real sorry."
My father looked very stern.
"Yes, I do not doubt you are sorry now," he
said, "because you see that you are to be pun-
ished; but if you had felt any true penitence, you
would have expressed it to your mother and to me,
long before this. You may go up into the garret,
now, and stay there till I come to see you."
Very sullenly I went up into the garret. I had
THE NAUGHTIEST DAY OF MY LIFE.
spent a good many solitary days in that garret,
and I hated the place with all my heart. It was
a small garret, with one window to the west, but
the barn, and kitchen chimney and roof, were
nearly all that I could see from this window. Only
part of the floor was boarded over, the rest was left
unfinished, with the plaster sticking up in rough
ridges between the laths. There was nothing in
the garret excepting some old boxes and trunks,
piles of old newspapers and a few bundles of herbs
hung up to dry. The chimney-stack stood out by
itself in the unfinished part, and I used to spend
many an hour fancying how, if Indians came, I
could possibly hide behind that chimney-stack.
There was an old cricket, covered with red carpet,
with little brass rings at each end and little brass
claws for feet, which stood by the window, and I
always sat on it when I was shut up in the garret.
But this morning I was so angry that I kicked the
cricket over and over, and then sat on the floor.
For a little while I cried hard. Then, the more I
thought about it, the more I felt that I had been
unjustly treated. "If they wanted me to say I
was sorry," I said to myself, "they might have
asked me. They might have known I would n't
dare to say anything about it, if they did n't.
They 're real mean to let me go all this while, and
then punish me after all." You see, I was still so
thoroughly naughty a girl that I did not realize
what I had done.
At noon Sarah Ann (she was a negro girl, my
little sister's nurse) brought up my dinner to me,
on a tray. A very nice dinner-just the same that
the family were eating down-stairs; but it did not
taste good to me, all alone in my prison.
Sarah," said I, eagerly, "do you know how
long I 'm going to be kept up here ? "
Sarah shook her head.
Have n't you heard them say anything about
it ?" I persisted.
I 'm not to speak a word to you," replied
Sarah, severely. So it 's no use your asking
me any more questions," and she left the garret.
I don't care !" I said to myself. They 're
just as cruel to me as they can be. I dare say
they '11 keep me shut up, like Caspar Hauser, till I
can't speak. I wont eat any dinner! I 'll starve
myself, and then they '11 be sorry. I wonder if
they 'll put on my grave-stone: 'Starved to
death by her parents.' Oh, no, they could n't do
that, if it was only because I would n't eat that I
died. Anyhow, I mean to do something to pay
them off for this," and I looked round and round
the garret, to see what I could do. There seemed
to be no chance for any mischief there. Then I
looked out of the window, on the kitchen roof, and
thought of lowering myself down on that, and
pushing over the kitchen chimney, but I was afraid
I should slip on the steep roof and fall to the ground.
Besides, I had some doubts whether I could push
the chimneyover. Suddenly a thought struck me:
such a wicked and mischievous one. I cannot
imagine, to this day, how it ever came into a child's
head. You remember I told you that the greater
part of the garret floor was left unfinished, with
the rough plaster sticking up in ridges between
the laths. You could only go about in this part
of the garret by stepping carefully from beam
to beam. My mother had told me that if we
stepped where the plaster and laths were, we
might break through into the chamber.
"I know what I'll do; I'll poke holes into all
the chamber ceilings," I said to myself. I looked
about for a weapon; away out under the eaves I
found a big nail, and also a small, sharp-pointed
stick. With these two I went to work, as nearly as
I could make out, where the spare chamber was.
When I got the first hole made, I lay down very
cautiously, stretching my body across from beam
to beam, and looked through into the room below.
Yes, I had hit the very spot. I could look down
on the spare-chamber bed. Then I worked like a
beaver. It was very hard work, too, to balance
myself on the narrow timbers, which were pretty
far apart, and to grind away with my nail and stick
in the plaster. But I persevered. I think I must
have worked three or four hours. I made the holes
in straight lines, following the lines of the timber
back and forth across the room, till the ceiling was
full of holes. The carpet below was covered with
little piles of white plaster-a little pile under each
Then I made one very big hole, and lay down
with my eye at that, to watch for my father. I
knew he would come through that room, when he
came to the garret to speak to me. I was very
tired, and nearly fell asleep before he came. At last
he opened the door. The first thing he saw was a
little pile of white dust at his feet; he brushed that
away, and was passing on, when suddenly he
caught sight of more piles. He was very near-
sighted, and wore glasses. I saw him straighten
the glasses on his nose, and look curiously on the
floor; then he stooped down and touched one of
the little piles with his finger; he was thoroughly
perplexed; suddenly it flashed on his mind what
it must be; he glanced swiftly up at the ceiling,
and saw it full of holes as a colander.
That child I heard him exclaim, and he took
great strides across the room in the direction of the
hall leading to the garret stairs. I scrambled back
to the window, and was sitting very still on my
cricket when he opened the garret door.
It is not necessary to tell what happened then;
THE NAUGHTIEST DAY OF MY LI-FE.
only I will say that, though to-day I disapprove
quite as much of the practice of whipping children
as I did when I was a child, I must confess that I
think if ever a child deserved a whipping I de-
served the one I got then.
I spent one week in that garret. My breakfasts
and dinners and suppers were brought up to me,
a piece of cloth for pillow-cases, and I was to hem
towels and make pillow-cases, and she would keep
an exact account of it all, at the same prices she
would have had to pay to a seamstress, till I had
earned seven dollars. Now, if any of you think that
it is an easy thing to earn seven dollars hemming
towels and making pillow-cases, just try it. Oh,
always the very same food I should have had down-
stairs. At night I was taken down and put to bed,
and in the morning I was dressed and led back to
my jail. I was allowed to have some books, and I
had another occupation about which I will tell you,
because I think it was the best part of my punish-
ment. On the second day, my mother came up
into the garret and had a long, kind talk with me.
She told me that, on the day I ran away, two of the
gentlemen who were kindly driving about in search
of us had had a skittish horse; and this horse,
taking fright, had upset the buggy and broken it,
so it would cost seven dollars to have it mended.
My mother said that, as I disliked to sew more
than almost anything else in the world, if I had to
do sewing enough to earn seven dollars, it would
make me remember my naughty runaway longer
than any other punishment she could invent. I
thought so, too, and I do assure you that, when my
mother said this, my heart sank within me. So,
she said, she had bought a piece of toweling, and
how I did sew! Long afternoons, when I ached
all over from sitting still, and when all the other
children were out at play, or going for May flowers,
I sat at home and stitched and stitched on those
towels and pillow-cases. I thought I never should
get the work done. The account was in a little
yellow-covered blank-book, which was kept in the
big basket with the work; and every night my
mother used to put down what I had earned in
the day, and add it up for me. She did not hurry
me to do any more than I chose, each day; but
she said to me:
"Now, if I were in your place, I would not have
this job dragging around all summer. I 'd just
hurry through it, and have it off my mind."
And I felt so, too. I could not take the least
comfort in playing when I remembered that big
basket piled up with pillow-cases and towels; and
I hardly stirred out of the house, except to school,
till they were all'done. I overheard my mother say
to h neighbor, one day:
THE NAUGHTIEST DAY OF MY LIFE.
I 'm really afraid Helen will make herself ill
over that sewing. She drives so at it, my heart
aches for the child."
It did not make me ill, however. It was one of
the very best things that ever happened to me;
but it took me weeks and weeks and weeks to get
to the end of it.
Now, perhaps you think this was the last of my
punishments. Not at all. The worst one, and the
one which lasted longest, I have not yet told you
anything about. It was a punishment with which
my father and mother had nothing to do, and
which nobody thought of as being a punishment at
all. It was what we call a "natural punishment,"
-the sort of punishment which will surely, sooner
or later, overtake everybody, young or old, who
does wrong. It was the reputation of that
piece of naughtiness. It followed me year after
year, day by day, and I never knew when or where
or how it would fall upon me. Sometimes people
would come to our house to see my father or
mother, and I would be sitting quietly in the room,
minding my own business, and, all of a sudden,
somebody would turn to me, and say:
Got rested from that long walk of yours, Miss
Helen ?" or, What quarter of the globe do you
propose to visit next ? or, Well, Miss Runaway,
do they let'you go out by yourself yet ?" and hun-
dreds of other questions and speeches of the same
sort, which they did not once think would hurt my
feelings, but which did mortify me terribly.
Very often my father and mother used to take
drives to the neighboring towns, and carry my
sister Ann and me with them, and almost always
they used to stop at the house of some friend to
make a call; and I do believe it happened, in nine
cases out of ten,-at any rate, for a year or two,-
that some one would say, looking from Ann to me:
Well, which of these little people was it that
took that famous walk to Hadley ? "
Then my father would look very grave, and put-
ting his hand on my shoulder, would say, in a sad
"This is the little daughter that gave us that
terrible fright," and then I used to wish the floor
would open and swallow me up. The worst trial
of all, however, was once at a Commencement
dinner. Those of you who know anything about
college towns know what commencement din-
ner" means. It is the greatest occasion of the
year, and it is very seldom that the children in
any house are allowed to come to the table to
the commencement dinner. Everybody has as
many friends and strangers as he can possibly
seat on that day, and children have to wait. But
it so happened that, on this day, somebody who
had promised to come to our house staid away, so
there was a vacant seat at the table, and my mother
said that, as a very great treat, I might come.
I was almost wild with excitement; such a big
table; such a fine dinner, and so many gentlemen
to tell stories and laugh. I had often listened in
the hall, and heard the fun at commencement din-
ners, but I never expected to sit at one myself, till
I was a grown woman like my mother. Would
you believe it, that the dinner had hardly begun,
when one of the gentlemen, a red-haired minister
(I remember him distinctly, but I wont tell his
name, because he may be alive yet), leaned forward,
and, looking at me, said, in oh, such a loud voice :
Is this the little pedestrian ? "
I burst out crying, and ran away from the table,
and that was the only commencement dinner
at which I ever sat down. I' began to think I
should never hear the end of that trip, as long as
I lived, and I am not at all sure I ever shall, for,
even to this day, I now and then meet somebody
who was a student in Amherst College at that
time, and before he is through talking with me,
he is sure to say, I wonder if you recollect any-
thing about the time you ran away and walked all
the way to Hadley?"
1880.] DAY-DREAMS. 945
L,'A\`1 L) R \' MS
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------ ----- --"
THE MAJOR'S BIG-TALK STORIES. NO. VIII.
THE MAJOR'S BIG-TALK -STORIES. No. VIII.
A GREEN MAN AND A GREEN BEAST."
ONE season I got tired of African vegetables, and
concluded to grow some corn and asparagus in a
field about half a mile from my house. I had
inclosed the land with a strong fence, and was on
my way to paint the fence green, with a view to
preserving the wood and keeping off certain
insects. I had nothing in my hand but the paint-
pot, never dreaming that I should meet any danger-
ous brute so close to the company's station.
Just as I got inside the inclosure, I heard the
trumpeting of an elephant, and saw a huge animal
charging at me, trunk in air. It is very uncom-
mon for an elephant to attack a man, unprovoked;
but this one was a "rogue," which, being driven
out from the herd, becomes the most vicious and
dangerous of its kind.
This I found out afterward, for, at the time, I
bent all my thoughts and aFlt my energies upon
reaching the nearest large tree, knowing that I
should not be safe in a small one. My tree of
refuge was a baobab, small of its kind, not being
over fifteen feet in circuit. It was easy to climb,
and so, hardly knowing what I was doing, I took
my paint-pot up with me.
On came the elephant, right through the fence,
which snapped in pieces before him, only seeming
to increase his rage.
I knew I was in for a long siege, unless some
one should come that way; for one of my negro
1 &:l:.. : i- laid up, and the other was out fishing,
I-..-1 r-.,ir be out all night. Nor was there any
ir.:.l'-_ :. :.: .iping when the brute went to water, for
thi.-. ,i -i brook in sight of the tree.
.Arr: .- iiiset, the elephant did withdraw to take
d!rl. I .it came straight back, and lay down
irir.: r.- rlh tie tree. About that time, I thought my
.:.,.: I,..p-less, for I was already suffering from
itht ri. 1 might last till the morning, but when the
Ih.t i.-. ti!ned I must faint and fall. I wondered
. hil-:th.ri would be pleasanter to be trampled by
- n ii.h.i int, or to poison myself with green paint.
it \.as. a lucky thing that I thought of that paint,
for it put an idea into my head.
Acting upon this idea, I began to
tease the brute and disturb his re-
pose, by throwing broken twigs and
shouting at him. I wanted to make
him particularly mad with me, so
that he would let anybody else pass
Then I took off all my outer
V i clothes, and having made them fast
where I had been sitting, I painted
myself green from head to foot!
Of course he could not see what I
was doing in the dark.
At the first signs of dawn, I de-
scended to a lower bough, taking
my snuff-box with me. This I
opened and threw at his head, think-
ing it advisable to impair his sense
of smell, if possible. He started to
his feet and looked about him. It
was lighter now, for it lightens quickly in Africa;
but he could not see me, as I was the same color
as the leaves of the baobab. So he merely fixed
his gaze on my clothes, and sneezed.
Just then I slipped down to a still lower branch,
and from that to the ground, and walked away-
ZACK'S EXCURSION TRIP.
coolly in one sense of the word,-for I was shiver- after. So I left him sneezing and trumpeting
ing with fright, furiously-at my garments.
He looked at me for one moment only: it was The elephant was wrong in believing the com-
not a green man nor a green monkey that he was mon adage that the tailor makes the man."
ZACK'S EXCURSION TRIP.
BY EMMA L. PLYMPTON.
ONSIDERING the hard life
'' Zack had to lead, he bore
his fortune pretty bravely.
But now and then he could
not help calling himself the
', .! most unlucky fellow in the
Country ; and if being boy-
of-all-work to the meanest
man in the neighborhood
gives one the right to that
---.- title, then he might well lay
claim to it. His employer,
Simon Baxter, kept the little
--- -- variety shop of the country village
in which he lived; that is to say,
Zack kept it, and he kept Zack, and Zack was pretty
tired of the arrangement; for as if measuring and
selling oil, mackerel, stale confectionery and gaudy
calicoes all day was not enough, through the long
winter evenings he must needs be kept picking
out the decayed apples from the barrels, or smok-
ing hams in the little building devoted to that
He used to long for the season to be over, when
such duties would necessarily be at an end; but
when, at last, the warm, lightsome summer even-
ings came, he found that they brought with them
their own occupations. There was the damp, mil-
dewed cellar to be cleared of its winter accumula-
tions, and the store to be made ready for the new
grains and roots that were to take the place of those
of last year; and many an evening, when the heat
was so intense that the shop was deserted even by the
loafers that frequented it, Zack sat up there far into
the night, settling up the books or taking account
of stock, before he was permitted to crawl upstairs
to the little room over the shop that served as the
joint apartment of himself and master.
It was one morning after one of these midnight
vigils that Zack, having snatched a few hours of
sleep toward day-break, awoke in a very sorry mood
indeed, for the opposite cot on which his employer
nightly reposed was vacated. It was not that a
sight of the sharp-featured face that usually, at this
hour, appeared above the bed-clothes, was necessary
to his happiness, but because there was an under-
standing between them whereby the earliest riser
might serve himself first from the contents of the
tin-pail which contained the breakfast-an arrange-
ment devised by the shop-keeper to incite Zack to
On the present occasion, to his great disgust, he
found only a half cracker in that receptacle. In
fact, everything went wrong with him; and when,
a little later in the day, he was sent to the back Bart-
of the building to fetch some kerosene for\ a
customer, he put the little can he had brought with
him under the faucet of a great cask, and sat down
on a butter-firkin, the better to indulge in a good
Dear, dear! What with working and fasting,
I 'm just worn out," he began. "I wonder if this
sort of life is to last forever ? "
What does thee say, lad?" cried a voice near
Zack started up, with a nervous exclamation at
being thus surprised, and beheld a broad-brimmed
hat moving about on the other side of the corn-
bags, whereby he knew that Friend Freeman, a
Quaker neighbor, was about to sharpen his axe at
the grind-stone there.
"Did thee say thee was tired?" persisted the
man. "That is a strange ailment for a lad.; but
what does it matter when one is young? Thee will
be rested presently."
"No, sir," contradicted Zack; "let old Baxter
alone for keeping a fellow always at work. I wish
I could run away; indeed I do."
"Tut, tut; thee is wrong," returned the Quaker.
Don't thee know --"
Here the good man's'intended reproof was inter-
rupted by a loud voice from the shop:
Zack, Zack Is n't that little can filled yet? "
Coming! shouted Zack, glad by this summons
to escape the chiding which he well knew he
deserved for his foolish wish.
When the Quaker saw him next, an hour later,
Zack stood demurely behind the counter. What a
ZACK'S EXCURSION TRIP.
place it was on a hot day, with the nauseous flavors
that could not but be very disagreeable, even
to chance visitors! Of these there were not a
few; a knot of farmers stood discussing politics at
the door; the minister had just stepped in to get
the morning paper; and there was also a person
upon whom the shop-keeper was waiting with
obsequious deference, whom the Quaker quickly
recognized as Squire White, the magnate of the
"County fair at Portland to-day," read the
minister. "Reduced rates; excursion tickets only
"Every one ought to go," remarked the Squire.
Just so," chimed in old Baxter, the shop-
keeper. "Tickets are dirt cheap."
"I am glad to hear thee say so," observed the
Quaker, in his gentle tones, "for I have a proposi-
tion to make to thee, Simon Baxter. Why not
send Zack to Portland for a breath of salt air? It
would not cost thee much, for he can stay to-night
with my brother, who is living there. The lad has
served thee well, and well merits a change."
The Squire's glance met the Quaker's, and he
took up the subject.
Well thought of, Friend Freeman," he cried.
"Do you hear, Zack? The train starts in half an
hour, and you can get there in time for a good half
day at the fair, so hurry up, my lad, and be off,
for surely, Baxter, you can't refuse the boy so rare
The shop-keeper thought he could do so very
well, but it did not seem prudent to offend his best
customers, so he gave a grudging consent.
"Thee must not send the lad away without some
money, Simon," continued the Quaker, mildly.
Old Baxter glanced around and met the concen-
trated stare of a dozen pairs of eyes. What he
thought we cannot tell; but he put his hand into
his pocket, and, slowly dragging out a leather
purse, laid the fare and two silver quarter-dollars
more in Zack's palm.
Poor Zack looked about in a daze. The minister
met his glance with a npd of encouragement; the
Squire was smiling in his most genial manner; every-
body smiled but the Quaker, who bought a sheet of
paper and an envelope, and wrote a note to his
brother in Portland, which he handed to the
It was not long before Zack, comfortably seated
in the train, dashed gayly on toward the show, the
music and the crowd awaiting him in Portland.
It was a perfect day for merry-making. Zack was
quite sure he could hear the brooks rush and the
bobolinks warble above the roar of the engine.
There were only two things that disturbed the
youth, and those were the two silver quarter-dollars
which lay heavily in his Rocket. At every station
where the train stopped long enough for a boy to
skip into a refreshment room, he would take them
out and twist them nervously in his hand, and then
resolutely slip them back into his pocket. For
each temptation was finally conquered, because he
knew that one of the quarters would be needed for
the fair, and that the other quarter would be none
too much to meet the requirements of the after-
noon and next morning in Portland.
But the time came when, in spite of these sound
arguments, he was constrained by his long fast to
leave his seat, being tantalized by a more than
usually tempting array of viands displayed upon
the counters of a certain restaurant visible from the
car window. There was a wait of t6n minutes at
this station, and Zack resolved to have something
to eat. Enthroned upon a high stool near at
hand, he hastened to assuage the aching void with-
in him, and he had just begun to think that he
had done this very effectually, when sundry move-
ments of the passengers warned him to be off.
"How much do I owe you, sir?" he asked of
the man behind the counter.
The big Dutchman measured him coolly with
Feefty cents, if you pleaz," he answered.
Fifty cents exclaimed Zack, in a burst of
indignation. That is too much, by half."
"Zat is what it comes to," said the man, hold-
ing out his hand.
There was no time to argue the matter-the train
was beginning to move. So Zack threw down the
two quarters and ran to his car.
He reached Portland just about noon, and the
absurdity of his position in not being able to attend
the fair, after traveling so many miles to accomplish
that end, now forced itself upon his mind, making
him reluctant, indeed, to open the little wicket-
gate leading to the hose to which he had been
directed by his good friend the Quaker. He hesi-
tated still longer at' the front door, with its oaken
panels and general air of neatness-a door-way
much too fine, he thought, for daily use; and
as he turned the angle of the building in search
of the side entrance, he found himself suddenly
The color flushed up into Zack's face like a
girl's, for, the door being open, he had come upon
a domestic scene that woke up, in a breath, all
the old longings for home and pleasant things
which the youth supposed were slumbering soundly
beneath the realities of his present life. How like
the result of a nightmare seemed the dingy shop,
as he contrasted it with the sweet, trim kitchen
before him I It was quite worth the trouble of the
journey, Zack thought, just to look into the quiet,
ZACK'S EXCURSION TRIP.
motherly face of the woman in Quaker garb, who it was only with difficulty he could finish the large
was putting the dinner upon the table. She was plate of meat and vegetables before him. This
assisted by a young girl, to whom her father was seemed to annoy his host, who, to his assertion
speaking. that he had but recently lunched, replied:
Put on the pumpkin pie, Dorothea i" he cried. That is but a poor excuse for a growing lad. I
" Those thee sent to the fair were well spoken of. fear thee cannot put up with our simple fare. It
I have no doubt thee will get the prize. Ah thee speaks ill for the pie, Dorothea. Our little maid
will have sore
,- ,b, l:, h, :,ld ,ld
, i r, r rr ,': h ,I -l i l l .' lh'_, I T"1"
val-l Lui, il. lad "
Zack, thus addressed, advanced
bashfully into the room, and
having presented the Quaker's
letter which he brought with
him, was soon installed at the table, well laid
with dishes, the contents of which abundantly
testified to the correctness of the Quaker's remark
concerning the excellent cookery of his wife.
But poor Zack could only deplore his bad luck in
not being able to feel a corresponding hunger.
indeed, he had so thoroughly satisfied his appetite,
a half-hour before, in the refreshment saloon, that
"FEEFTY CENTS, IF YOU PLEAZ."
not compelled to undertake this difficult feat.
Chance came to his relief in the guise of a pair
of prize oxen for the fair, the sight of which, as
they walked proudly down the street, caused a
great flutter in the family and a general stampede
to the piazza. Left to himself for a few moments,
Zack slipped the pie from his plate into his big
silk handkerchief,-a Christmas present from one
ZACK'S EXCURSION TRIP.
of Baxter's customers,--and, after folding it care-
fully therein, he buried it in the depths of his coat-
pocket. There it lay, a weight on his conscience,
and an added damper to his spirits.
He was rewarded for this act of deception by an
approving nod, on the Quaker's return.
Well, well, since thee has eaten the pie, we
will let thee off from further duty-especially as
it is time we were already at the fair. Come,
get thy hat, lad : we want to be on the grounds as
soon as we can." ,
Zack opened and shut his mouth in the vain
endeavor to explain that he had no money to
indulge in such pleasures; but his feeble excuses
were lost in the gay mirth of the little party, who
were bustling with the excitement of the start.
Thus Zack found himself on the way to the fair,
with the embarrassing confession yet unmade.
As he walked by the side of the little Quaker down
the public street, there was an occasional twinkle
in her clear, blue eyes, which assured him that, in
spite of her sober garb and sweet and modest
way, she had a quick sense of humor, and would
not be slow to see the absurdity of the position
which he was at that very moment striving to
put into words. In truth, he had been so
engrossed in these speculations as to be quite
unmindful of the clouds which were hurrying across
the sky, and rolling up in great black masses over
his head, until he felt a rain-drop on his hand, and,
looking up, perceived Dorothea striving to stretch
over her Quaker bonnet the small square of muslin
that did duty for a pocket handkerchief.
Zack, though a bashful youth, was not devoid
of politeness; he whipped his own ample bandana
out of his pocket in a twinkling, and was in the
act of presenting it to Dorothea, when the unlucky
piece of pie dropped out and fell pat upon the
Dorothea started back, with an exclamation that
brought her parents to the spot directly.
Ha! ha !" laughed the worthy Quaker, for his
glance followed the frantic gaze of poor Zack, and
the truth flashed upon him.
So it is to these straits our guests are driven
Well, well, what next, Dorothea? "
Zack did not listen to the remark that was falter-
ing on her tongue; he only knew that the droll
twinkle had re-appeared between the stiff sides of
the gray Quaker bonnet. It gave him courage, and
he laughed, too. There was real humorin his tones,.
and a touch of something sadder, as, walking
slowly forward with the rest, he narrated the cir-
cumstances of the day which had led to the act
that must seem to them like an unwarranted insult
to their hospitality. The tale was barely ended,
when they reached the gate of the fair grounds.
Well, well," said the Quaker; think no more
of so small a matter as the pie; the fault was mine,
for it was wrong to press thee so. But let us for-
get all unpleasantnesses in the fair."
I-I have no money, as I told you," cried Zack,
The Quaker took from his vest pocket the family
ticket, and showed it to the boy. Zack looked at
"I am not one of your family," he faltered.
'But thee may be if thee will," was the prompt
return. "Thee shall not go back to so hard a task-
master as Simon Baxter, unless thee have a fear
that I may be no better. I have need of an
apprentice, and would gladly take thee into my
family. It was not for nothing that my brother sent
thee hither. He speaks well of-4hee, and he tells
me in his note that he will make mt ers right with
thy old master. Come, let .ts hasten. orothea is
on the other side of the gate, already.'
Zack looked through the open where the
young girl stood merrily becko him onward.
The band within burst into m sic. All the world
had suddenly brigtened an/ grown friendly. As
the youth heard the gate j3ang behind him, the
ibhn hm h
IN THE ORCHARD.
harsh sound was more grateful to his ears than the Nor did Zack's new hopes fade unfulfilled. He
flourish of trumpets, for it seemed to shut out all entered the family of the Quaker, and the only
the old cares and sorrows of his hard life, and to traces left of his hardships were the self-reliance
usher him suddenly into new paths, as glad and and habits of industry which they had bred, and
merry as those usually pursued in boyhood. which were well rewarded in his new home.
,IN THE ORCHARD.
BY HORATIO NELSON POWERS.
MELLOW lies the sunshine on the orchard slopes and meadows,
On nooks of purple asters and the tints of leafy hills;
The soft, warm haze is tender with a palpitating splendor,
And a fresh, delicious odor all the dozing valley fills.
Colors like a prairie in the glory of its blossoms
Gleam amid the grasses where the luscious fruitage lies,
And in their cozy places on the boughs, with tempting faces,
Peep and nestle myriad apples, like birds of many dyes.
Golden, green and russet, and warm with scarlet blushes,
Basking in the silent noon upon their perches amongg the leaves,-
How they glow like royal roses, where the loving sun reposes,
How they fall from their own fatness on the crisp autumnal eves.
O apples, fragrant apples, piled high beside the presses,
And heaped in wain and basket neathh the broad-branched, mossy trees,
Can we fairly call him sober,-the splendid, rich October,-
Pouring out his sweets and beauty in such lavish gifts as these?
Children frolicking and feasting on the ripeness to the core,-
Monarchs of the orchard kingdom, with every tree a throne,-
What are spring days for your praises, or wood-paths, or the daisies,
To these provinces of sweetness which, by right of love, ye own ?
Sadly may the aged ponder life's decays and changes,
But youth sees no dark omen as the mellow apples fall.
O children, keep your gladness; may you have no more of sadness
Than while, romping in the orchards, you are kings and queens of all
BY ERNEST INGERSOLL.
How the title "man-eaters is to be understood
depends a great deal upon what part of the world
you happen to be in. To us North Americans, and
to our English cousins, it has a very foreign sound,
since there is no animal in our-forests, nor hardly
any along our coasts, to which the term is commonly
applied or would properly belong. If you should
say "man-eater" in South America, the native
would at once think of the cayman and the jaguar,
and similarly, in India, the crocodile would be sug-
gested along the Ganges, and the royal tiger in
Bengal. In Africa, it is the lion which would at
once be brought to mind. To a West Indian, or
to the pearl-fishers of any coast, the shark is the
dreaded foe, while the Vancouver Indian looks
upon the ugly cuttle-fish as the man-eater of his
region, and the Eskimo fears the polar bear.
While all wild carnivorous beasts capable of
coping with men may become man-eaters,-since
human flesh is no doubt quite as palatable as the
flesh of any of the other animals upon which they
are accustomed to feed,-yet, properly speaking,
only those are called man-eaters" that, having
once tasted human blood, are supposed always
afterward to be hankering for it, and never to
be quite satisfied with any less noble diet. They
are thought to be forever on the watch for men,
lying in ambush and seeking every means of de-
stroying them, and never feeding on anything else,
excepting to satisfy extreme hunger. Such beasts,
being especially dreaded, are credited with ex-
traordinary size, strength and ferocity.
In Africa, every district has a lion of this kind,
which is feared by the whole region as much as all
the rest of the lions there put together, and the
case is equally true of central India. The lion
truly deserves the royal name he bears. Although
by no means of great size, the strength of his
massive shoulders and fore legs, and of the thick
muscles of his great neck and firrl, square jaws,
is so enormous that he can drag down the heavi-
est buffalo and overthrow the powerful giraffe,
whose head towers above the trees, and whose
skin is nearly an inch thick. There is no animal,
even the elephant, which the lion hesitates to
attack; yet, notwithstanding the power of the ma-
chinery which has been given him for this purpose,
it has been packed in such small compass in his
lithe body that he can overtake and prey upon
quadrupeds as fleet as zebras and antelopes.
Although he has great speed, the lion does not
depend so much upon chase in the open field as
upon strategy, in securing his prey. He follows
about from pasture to pasture, and from spring to
spring, the herds of deer and buffaloes as they
change their feeding-places at different seasons.
Remaining asleep, and concealed in the recesses
of the forest or among secluded rocks, during the
day, he sallies out at night in company with one
or two friends, or perhaps with' his mate and two
half-grown cubs, or often alone, and repairs to the
nearest water-hole. In Africa, water is very scarce.
The springs are few and far between, and the ani-
mals of the whole region must resort to a par-
ticular fountain, some time during the night, to
quench the thirst which there alone can be allayed.
The lion knows this, and goes to the vicinity of
this spring, cho.:.ir, r tIhI early part of the evening,
if the moon is to rise early, or waiting until morn-
ing, after the moon has set, if it be on the wane,
so as not to show himself. When some convenient
prey approaches, he leaps upon it, bears it down
with his weight, breaking its neck by the stroke of
his heavy paw or the crushing strength of his jaws,
and drags the body away into the jungle, to be
feasted upon at leisure.
At such times, if you should happen to pass near
him, you would hear a low, deep moaning as he
eats, repeated five or six times, and ending in faintly
audible sighs. At other times, he startles the forest
with loud, deep-toned, solemn roars, uttered in
quick succession. Often, a troop may be heard
roaring in concert, making music inconceivably
grand to the hunter's ear. The effect is greatly
enhanced when the hearer chances to be all alone
in the depths of the forest, at the dead hour of
midnight, and within twenty yards of the fountain
which the troop of lions is approaching.
In central Africa, many of the native tribes do not
bury the bodies of their dead, but simply carry them
forth and leave them lying anywhere on the plain.
Lions are always prowling about, and, finding
many of these corpses, do not hesitate to dine off
them, for it is not true that the king of beasts will
not eat what he himself has not killed. After-
ward, that lion, particularly if he is an old and cun-
ning fellow, becomes a very dangerous neighbor.
I do not believe that the lion has from the first a
preference for the flesh of men over fresh venison
or beef, but that it is an agreeable discovery to
him that men are animals, and good to eat; and,
furthermore, that he soon recognizes unarmed men
as less able to resist or escape from him than are
the four-footed beasts. He, therefore, keeps an eye
out for human prey, since it costs him less trouble.
In the tropical wastes of India, the forest, or jun-
gle, is grown up very densely with cane, stout, tan-
gled grass, creepers, vines, and so on, until the only
way to get through it is by following paths kept
open by constant traveling. In traversing these
dark and narrow passages, the traveler is peculiarly
exposed to attack from the lions and tigers which
make the jungle their home, and the native Hin-
doos are often stricken down. Then ensues a
grand hunt from the nearest village, .assisted by
some English officer, who, with his cool courage
and precise shooting, usually does 'more to kill the
beast (if he is killed) than all the rest of the vil-
Generally, the animal will try-to get away and
hide, when he hears the hunters approaching.
But if he is a hardened old man-eater, it does not
take long to bring him to bay, since he has grown
-courageous, or reckless, or both. Then those who
are on foot look out for their safety as best they
can, usually by climbing the nearest tree, and those
who are on horseback dismount and get upon the
back of an elephant, where, in a sort of basket
-strapped upon the great animal, two or three will
stand together, ready to shoot the moment they get
a chance, while the elephant slowly crushes his
way toward that spot in the thick jungle where the
tiger is heard growling. The books about life in
India, and the letters which sportsmen write home
to the English newspapers, are full of accounts of
such hunts; but none that I know of is more thrill-
ing, or better shows the terrific danger sometimes
encountered in such contests of men-eating lions
and tigers with lion-killing men, than an incident
related by Chdrles Waterton, in his charming
"Essays on Natural History."
Three English officers and a lot of natives were
hunting for two lions, which had made a raid upon
a village the night before, and in the course of the
day one of the pair was killed, but the other
escaped to the jungle. When at last his hiding-
place was discovered, the three officers got upon an
elephant and proceeded toward the heart of the
jungle, to rouse the royal fugitive a second time.
They found him standing under a large bush, with
his face directly toward them. He allowed them
to approach within range of his spring, when he
made a sudden leap, and clung upon the elephant's
trunk. The men fired, but without avail, and the
elephant managed to shake his troublesome visitor
off, but was so frightened that he became uncon-
trollable, and when the lion made another spring
at him, rushed in headlong fear out into the clear-
ing. The officers, therefore, had to give up all
idea of forcing the elephant to face the lion again,
but one of them, Captain Woodhouse, took the
desperate resolution to proceed on foot in quest of
.the game; and finally seeing him, fired through
the bushes, the only effect of which was to
make the lion retire still deeper into the brake.
Resolved not to let the game escape, his compan-
ions, the two lieutenants, now took the elephant,
intending to proceed around the jungle, so as to
discover the route the lion had taken on the other
side. But Captain Woodhouse reloaded his rifle,
and alone followed the tracks through the thicket.
Finally, Lieutenant Delamain joined him.
Proceeding cautiously, after a few steps the lieu-
tenant saw the lion, and instantly fired, which
enraged the beast so that he rushed toward him at
full speed. Captain Woodhouse saw the move-
ment, and knew that if he tried to get into a better
position for firing, he would put himself directly in
the way of the charge, so decided to stand still,
trusting that the lion would pass close by him,
unaware, when he could perhaps shoot to advan-
tage. But he was deceived. The furious animal
saw him, and flew at him with a dreadful roar. In
an instant the rifle was broken and thrown out of
the captain's hand, his left arm at the same
moment being seized by the claws, and his right
by the teeth, of his antagonist. At this desperate
juncture, Lieutenant Delamain ran up and dis-
charged his piece full at the lion. This caused
both beast and man to fall-to the ground together,
while the lieutenant hastened out of the thicket
to reload his gun. The lion now began to crunch
the captain's arm; but as the brave man, notwith-
standing the pain which this horrid process
caused, had the cool, determined resolution to
lie still, the lordly savage let the arm drop out
of his mouth, and quietly placed himself in a
crouching posture, with both his paws upon the
thigh of his fallen foe. While things were in
this untoward position, the captain unthinkingly
raised his hand to support his head, which had
got placed ill at ease in his fall. Instantly
the lion seized the lacerated arm a second time,
and crunched it as before, breaking the bone
higher up. This hint was not lost on Captain
Woodhouse, who saw at once the imprudence of
stirring, and to the motionless attitude which this
lesson taught him to keep thereafter he undoubt-
edly owed his life.
But while death was close upon him, as he lay
bleeding and broken in the power of the most
mighty enemy which a man can meet in the forest,
and was closing his eyes to a world on the point of
vanishing forever, he heard the welcome sound
of feet approaching. But the lieutenants were in
the wrong direction. Aware that, if his friends
fired, the balls would hit him after they had passed
through the lion's body, Captain Woodhouse
quietly spoke, in a low voice, To the other side !
To the other side Hearing the voice, they for
the first time saw the horrible position of their
commander, and having cautiously but quickly
made the *circuit, Lieutenant Delamain, whose
coolness had been conspicuous in many an
encounter with wild beasts, fired from a short
distance at the lion, over the person of the pros-
trate warrior. The beast started up a little, quiv-
ered, the massive head sank down, and in an
instant he lay dead, close beside his intended
The lesson to be learned from this true story of
nerve and heroism is that, when a person is in
the power of a lion, tiger, leopard or panther, or
any other of the great cats, he must feign death
and lie absolutely still, if he hopes for life. Let
him make a motion, and his foe will pounce upon
him as the house-cat does on an escaping mouse;
but so long as he keeps still, he has a chance.
Yet not every one has the nerve to do so. With
dogs, wolves and bears, on the other hand, the
only way, when attacked, is to resist sturdily to the
last limit of your strength, since, once having a
victim in their power, they never cease worrying
it until it is utterly dead. Sometimes, neverthe-
less, resolution and nerve are no protection, since
there is no opportunity to exercise them. This
was the case in a dreadful tragedy which happened
in the lonely camp of that great Nimrod, Gordon
Cumming, during one of his hunting expeditions
to the far interior of Africa. Lions had been roar-
ing about all day, but at last their voices ceased,
and apparently they all went off. After their
supper, three of the men went off to a little fire
they had built, near some bushes, at some distance
from the main camp-fire, and lay down-two of
them under the same blanket.
Suddenly," says Mr. Cumming, the appall-
ing voice of an angry lion burst upon our ear,
within a few yards of us, followed by the shrieking
of the Hottentots. Again and again the deafen-
ing roar was repeated. We heard John and
Ruyter shriek, The lion the lion '
Still, for a few minutes, we thought the lion
was no doubt only chasing one of the dogs around
the kraal: but, all at once, John Stofolus rushed
into the midst of us, almost speechless with fear and
terror, his eyes bursting from their sockets, and
shrieked out: 'The lion! the lion! the lion! He
has got Hendric; he dragged him away from the
fire beside me. I struck him with the burning
brands upon his head, but he would not let go his
hold. Hendric is dead! Oh Hendric is dead! Let
us take fire and seek him !' The rest of my peo-
ple rushed about, shrieking and yelling as if they
were mad. I was at once angry with them for
their folly, and told them that if they did not stand
still and keep quiet, the lion would have another
of us; and that very likely there was a troop of
them. I ordered the dogs, which were nearly all
fast, to be let loose, and the fire to be increased
as far as could be. I then shouted Hendric's name,
but all was still. I told my men that Hendric was
dead, and that a regiment of soldiers could not
The next day, toward evening, knowing the lion
would return for a second victim that night, Mr.
Cumming decided to seek him out and kill him.
So, setting his dogs to work, and following the
track along which the mangled body of poor Hen-
dric had been dragged, the hunter soon came up
with the savage beast, among some thorn-brush.
But let him tell it:
"As I approached, he stood, his horrid head
right to me, with open jaws, growling fiercely, his
tail waving from side to side. On beholding him,
I dashed my steed forward within thirty yards
of him, and shouted, Your time is up, old fel-
low !' I halted my horse, and, placing my rifle
to my shoulder, waited for a broadside. This the
-A IF : ;" ;' -' "
help him; and, hunting my dogs forward, I had
everything brought within the cattle-kraal, when
we lighted our fire, and closed the entrance as well
as we could.
"It appeared that, when the unfortunate Hen-
dric rose to drive in the oxen, the lion had watched
him to his fireside; and he had scarcely lain down
when the brute sprang upon him aid Ruyter (for
both lay under one blanket), with his appalling,
thunderous roar, and, roaring as he lay, grappled
him with his fearful claws, and kept biting him on
the breast and shoulder, all the while feeling for
his neck, having got hold of which, he at once
dragged him away backward around the bush into
the dense shade."
next moment' he exposed, when I sent a bullet
through his shoulder, and dropped him on the
spot. I ordered John to cut off his head
and fore paws and bring them to the wagons, and,
mounting my horse, galloped home, having been
absent about fifteen minutes. When the Bakala-
hari women heard that the man-eater was dead,
they all commenced dancing about with joy, calling
me their father."
Perhaps the next most important class of animal-
enemies of men is that of the sharks. Of sharks,
there is a large number of species. They are of
various sizes and inhabit all seas, from Arctic and
Antarctic to tropical latitudes. They are most abun-
dant, of greatest size and of most importance, in
the tropics, however; and it is among the coral
rings of the Pacific Islands, and along the shining
sands of the Gold Coast, that the shark is the
In the South Sea Islands, everybody swims from
infancy, like so many water-dogs. It is asserted
that a Mexican is taught to ride before he learns to
walk. It is just as near truth-and, indeed, very
little removed-to say that a native of the Sand-
wich or Society Islands can swim before he can
creep. Babies a few months old are tossed into the
surf, and, before they have cut their teeth, they be-
come as lively and safe in the water as ducks. We
have accounts of these people swimming incredible
distances. Ten or a dozen miles seem to offer no
difficulty whatever to them; and when ships ap-
proach the shores of the less civilized islands, they
are surrounded by men and women and children,
who sport about the bows like dolphins, long before
the sailors have thought of taking in sail or pre-
paring to anchor.
But along a tropical coast, where hundreds of
people are constantly at play in the surf, and often
are far out from shore, it is to be expected that
..... .-- ,, .V
I, rl: ,I
often get a
TOO NEAR THE SHARKS! good meal.
Fortunately, all sharks, or nearly all, are surface-
swimmers. They do not lurk at the bottom or float
in the depths, like the true bony fishes; usually,
therefore, their great triangular back-fins appear
above the water and give the bathers warning. The
sight always produces great consternation, and a
rush for the shore takes place, though some-
times the crowd will unite, and, by shouting and
splashing, frighten the great fish away. Yet, not
infrequently, he comes upon them unawares, and,
dashing into their midst like a streak of white
light, is scarcely observed before the death-scream
of some wretched bather is drowned, almost before
uttered, as he is dragged down, and the next wave
rolls in red with blood, or casts high upon the
gleaming beach some torn fragments of what was
once their friend. Looking seaward, they see the
shark cruising back and forth, eager for another
victim, and perhaps they go out to attack him, in
revenge. But the surf-riding is over for that day,
for the shark will stay there many hours, in hope
of more prey.
Perhaps the metropolis of shark life is off the
western coast of Africa. They found there always
plenty of food, furnished by the slave-ships which
used to haunt those waters. There are few good
harbors along the whole of that extensive sea-coast.
The ships, therefore, were obliged to anchor some
distance away. and send back and forth to the
shore by the small boats. It was thus
that the slaves were taken on board. But
th, passage through the surf was always
.i.l gerous, and often the yawls were cap-
^. sized. On such occasions, few of
S'- the blacks were ever seen again.
S The sudden activity of the swarms
of ever-present sharks, and the
r blood-stained water, told suffi-
ciently well their fate. Troops
S of these same sharks would follow
_-_.- a slave-ship clear across the At-
-_-----.- lantic, sure of their daily meal of
_-_.. dead and dying captives, which
were thrown overboard from those
floating dens of the most awful
human misery the world has ever
seen-misery that we cannot even
think of without a sick and shud-
dering sense of horror.
t ome of the Polynesian fishermen be-
I:.r. alluded to, nevertheless, do not hesitate
t.:. .n-.:I: and conquer the largest shark in his
ri .- -i :ment. The fish does not see very
..:Ii. ii.. ,. not very quick in any but a straight-
i:ul .Ad toi..;nient. The swimmer, armed with a
long knife, watches the shark's onslaught coolly,
and just as the great fish opens his horrid mouth
to seize the brave man in his jaws, the fisherman
dives out of reach, and plunges his knife deep into
the shark's belly, as the disappointed monster
passes over his head. This feat is attempted only
by the coolest and ablest divers, you may be sure,
but it is done; and it is one of the most splendid
examples I know of the success of human pluck
against animal force greatly its superior. Should
the swimmer fail in his plan by an
instant of time, his life must pay the
penalty. The pearl-divers in the
Gulf of California are said to employ ,
an equally audacious method of
fighting the sharks which -torment ''
them when at work on the deep-sea
beds of the pearl-oyster. They carry
with them a stick of hard wood about
a foot long, sharp-pointed at both i'1
ends. Finding that a shark is med-
itating an attack, they grasp this
stick in the middle, and calmly await
him. When he opens wide his
mouth, they dexterously shove in the 'l.!iii
sharp stick, crosswise, and then get
out of his way as fast as possible, ,
while the too-eager shark shuts his ll
jaws only to find that he has mor- i '.''
tally wounded himself by punching i' j
holes in the roof and floor of his
mouth. I cannot vouch for this
story; the reader must take it for ,'
what it is worth. " '' .
Not long ago I read, in the New
York Herald, a diver's narrative of
how he escaped from a shark which ''
seemed to have too great curiosity a: 7'
to his edible qualities. This man was k n,:, .
as "On Deck," and he had an eventful Ili. .A
sailor in youth, a diver in manhood, ali,.1 I r:'- r-
do-weel" in old age, he saw more than I'.,Ii ti.:. i,..
lot of most men. In California, in 185 i. .1 i h:,' -:r.
an anchor in the harbor of San Francisco, : i.i "" Oi ,
Deck" was sent for to recover it. While so engaged,
he noticed a shark hovering a few feet above him,
evidently observing his movements. The fish was
at least eighteen feet long, and was known as the
"bottle-nose," one of the most voracious of the
shark kind. This discovery naturally alarmed the
diver. He had found the anchor, made a cable fast
to it, and was about ascending, when the appear-
ance of the shark made him pause. He had heard
that sharks did not molest men in armor. He
doubted this, and did not feel now like risking the
experiment. He moved a few paces from the
anchor-the shark moved, too. He returned to his
former place-the shark followed. He was evi-
dently, to use his own words, "spotted by the
bottle-nose for a supper," and, unless signally
favored, would fall a victim to its voracity. He
hardly knew how to act, when lie thought how the
cuttle-fish often escapes its enemies by darkening
the waters with an inky liquor ejected from its
body. He accordingly stirred up the mud at the
bottom till the water was darkened around him,
cast off weights, and signaled the man to haul him
up. The shark snapped at him as
hP ascended, and three of biq toe'
, ,, i r.: k. n ..IT A
I 1 I"' '"' ', li r ,- i,,. r id hI
," l. I,:,u r
l:..:.:.r l ,
I 1,, I,
! \ ,,', ', ,, I"
II'U. d I'
.1 ir til
water was all
that preserved his life.
The shark's mouth is ATTACKED BY A WOLF.
one of the rior ." I'i.l I
dable means of destruction I know of among ani-
mals anywhere., It is on the under side of the head,
some distance back of the end of the snout, and
crescent-shaped. The teeth are in three to seven
close, crescentic, parallel rows, the largest and
oldest in front, the smaller ones behind-that is,
farthest inside the mouth. Some sharks have
more than 200 of these teeth. They are three-
cornered, exceedingly thin and sharp-pointed, and
in some cases have saw-edges. When the mouth is
wide open they stand erect, and almost protrude
from the lips, but when it is closed they lie down
flat, ott of the way. When those in the front row
wear out or break off, the next row behind is
gradually pushed forward to take their places. The
shark thus has reserves of teeth which, operated by
the tough and exceedingly muscular mechanism of
the jaws, are able to bite through anything, espe-
cially since the bite is nearly always accompanied
by a rolling or wrenching movement which causes
the teeth to act. like a saw, and thus cut through
the quicker. For some of the larger sharks in the
South Seas,, it would be only a moderate mouthful
to take half a man's body in, and clip him off at the
waist. Nevertheless, I believe fewer persons have
lost their lives by sharks than we generally sup-
pose, though many narrow escapes are constantly
There are some other fishes which would regard
it as very good luck to find a human body in
their power,-the old piratical. threat, of making
" food for the fishes" out of their captives, was not
altogether an idle one,-but there are few, if any,
besides the sword-fish, that could do a man much
harm, or would be likely to. A friend at my elbow
suggests the whale; but I object. The whale is
not a fish !
There is a sea-beast, nevertheless, which makes
a formidable antagonist to man, and does not hesi-
tate to attack him, or anything else that comes in
its way. This is the cuttle-fish, which is also
far away, winding in and out among the slimy
rocks and stems of sea-weed, and others are short-
ened up close to the body, as the animal lies con-
cealed in a dark and muddy crevice of a broken
rock at the bottom of the sea, patiently waiting for
its prey. Two enormous round, bulging eyes are
ever staring about, and nothing escapes their at-
tention. Let a living thing come within reach of
those arms, and its fate is sealed. Quick as thought,
the snaky member clutches the prey,, and holds on
by a host of little suckers.and tiny hooks, in the
grasp of which the strongest and slipperiest animal
is fast. Other arms whip out to the help of the
first, paralysis soon overpowers the unfortunate
captive, and slowly the arms are contracted until
the prey is brought within reach of the sharp,
parrot-like jaws, when it is deliberately eaten up.
Some of these cuttle-fishes are.of vast size. They
are abundant in'the Eastern Mediterranean, on the
coast of British Columbia, on the Pacific coast of
Asia, on the Banks of Newfoundland and else-
where. They lurk near the shore, hiding very
quietly among the rocks, where, as they are mud-
color, they are not easily seen.
. The Indians of Puget Sound eat these cuttle-
known as the devil-fish, in allusion to its frightful
appearance and evil disposition. It has a shapeless
pouch of a body, spotted, rough and wrinkled,
from all sides of which branch stout, elastic arms
of a leathery character, some of which are stretched
fishes, baking the flesh in the ground, They go
in canoes and hunt for them, spearing them with
along handled harpoon when discovered. It is
exceedingly dangerous business, and many have
lost their lives at it, besides those who now and
then are dragged down when bathing over the the stony glare of the cold, glassy eyes. The croco-
spot where a cuttle-fish lies in wait. diles haunt the shallows of streams, lurking among
This frightful tyrant over all the inhabitants of the rank vegetation which grows along marshy
the ocean must be allowed a place among our man-
eaters; and a great deal more might be said about
his peculiar and interesting, though always deadly,
habits, were there room.
Turning from salt to fresh waters, no more feared
and hated animals stand in the way of human en-
joyment than the crocodiles and alligators, which
swarm in all tropical rivers from Borneo to Guate-
mala. The most famous of these ugly reptiles are
the long-snouted, hungry gavial of the Ganges,
the crocodile of the Nile, the cayman of the Ama-
zonian region, and the alligator of our own South-
ern States. Their jaws are of great extent and
strength, and filled with strong, sharp teeth, while
the broad tail is able to deliver so effective a blow
as to stun almost any animal which it strikes, and
even splinter a stout boat. Nothing can exceed
the ugliness of their rough, knotted hide, so thick
that a rifle bullet glances off without harm, or equal
shores, or lying asleep upon banks and half-sub-
merged islands of' mud. Sometimes persons,
finding one thus, have mistaken it for an old
water-soaked log of drift-wood, and stepped upon
it. It was fortunate if they discovered their mis-
take in time to get out of the reach of the powerful
tail. When swimming, crocodiles move about with
only the tip of the snout, where the nostrils are, out
of water; and, if they want to escape notice, they
will sink altogether beneath the surface so quietly
that not a ripple disturbs the water. Thus they
stealthily approach any animal swimming in the
stream, or drinking upon the margin, and, making
a sudden rush when close by, drag it down before
it has time to make an effort to escape. The South
American and West Indian species, known as cay-
mans, are the most active and dangerous of all, and
a great many negro slaves and Indians lose their
lives through them every year. The same thing
happens on the Nile, and, to a less extent, in the
bayous of Louisiana and Florida. The people
there get somewhat careless, and forget how quietly
the alligator approaches, and how terrible is his
attack when within reach. In the United States,
however, not many of these disagreeable creat-
ures reach a sufficient size to make them able to
drag down and devour a full-grown man.
The history of the natives of India is full. of dark
and bloody rites, which shock all civilized hearts by
their blind superstition and cruelty. Human life
seems of very small account to those eastern na-
tions, and most of their deities are fearful tyrants,
to be dreaded and appeased rather than loved and
honored. It has always been a pagan idea that,
when any misfortune came upon a family or a
nation, it was an expression of anger on the part
of a god, and that the only way to get rid of
present distress, or avert a threatened disaster, was
to sacrifice, on an altar consecrated to the partic-
ular deity from which the affliction was supposed
to come, something of great value. Sometimes it
was the first of a farmer's fruit or crops; some-
times the fattest ox or the whitest dove; sometimes
quantities of gold and precious stones, which were
given for the support of the temples of this god, or
made into images of him; and along the Ganges,
the Hindoo mothers bid their tender babes a heart-
rending farewell, and set them afloat on the tide
of that vast stream for the crocodiles to eat.
The subjection of India to England has put a
stop to this terrible custom to a great extent, but it
is still occasionally followed. The Hindoo mother
is suffering under some real trouble, or the village
in which she lives is visited by pestilence or some
other calamity, or her priest tells her that a catas-
trophe will follow unless she sacrifices her child.
Perhaps there are many mothers who hope sim-
ilarly to avert the frown of their god and save their
neighbors from calamity,-for I do not believe any
woman would put her baby to death merely to save
herself from suffering; and so these women make
little boats of rushes, dress the laughing and crow-
ing infants as though for a festival, heap the little
boat up with flowers, and, with the semblance of
joy but with hearts almost dead with grief, commit
their darlings to the wide, rolling, merciless river,
and watch the pigmy craft as the eddies toss it this
way and that, while the current bears it on to
where the chubby little hands will be held up in
vain, and the delicate voice be hushed forever.
Surely the crocodiles belong in the horrible
society of man-eaters.
Returning to four-footed beasts, it is hard to find
any, besides the lion and other large cats, that will
attack man without any provocation. Some of the
bears, when severely pressed by hunger, are very
savage, and may perhaps prey upon man at such
times, but instances of their doing so are, I think,
very rare. The grizzly bear of our Rocky Mount-
ains is the most ferocious of its race, and one
authority says-of it: If it is not certain that he
will voluntarily attack a human being, it is certain
that, if attacked, he will pursue the assailant to the
last, nor quit the conflict while life remains." The
bears can hardly be classed among man-eaters, I
think; yet they are very dangerous enemies of
man, and certainly the grizzly and the polar bear
should be numbered with the animals that kill
man. And if such beasts may be mentioned here,
we must not forget the rogue elephant, as cer-
tain old cross leaders of the herd are called, for he
is a very dangerous fellow to be in the same grove
with; and the black rhinoceros of South Africa,
who, when on his native heath, does not wait to do
the polite thing, but introduces himself by a fierce
snort and a headlong charge as unexpected as it is
impetuous. But, of course, the elephant and rhi-
noceros could not eat any portion of their victims,
-their food is wholly vegetable; at the same time,
I do not know of beasts more dangerous to meet.
There are no other animals that I know of which
could properly be called man-eaters, excepting
wolves, and they are timid about attacking, unless
they are in packs and starving. So much has
been written about them of late, that I refrain from
saying a great deal. You cannot do better than
to read Mr. Hamerton's talk on this subject in
his Chapters on Animals." It is very rare that a
man's life is lost by the attack of wolves, though,
like other beasts, they will fight when put in a
corner. On our western plains, there is a tradi-
tion which seems to have a considerable foundation
of truth concerning a mad wolf, which can properly
be told here :
SHalf a century ago, bands of trappers used to
wander through the northern Rocky Mountains,
'shooting and trapping bears, wolves, foxes, beavers,
otters, and other animals, for the sake of their
fur. When winter came on, it was their custom
to settle in a fixed camp at some convenient spot,
and make short excursions, while in summer they
roamed about the cautions. One winter night,
where several companies happened to be close
together, the men were all asleep, when suddenly
a cry of Mad wolf! Mad wolf!" rang through
the silent camp, and frightened men leaped up
from their blankets only in time to see a dark
form vanishing swiftly into the darkness, and hear
shrill howls die away in the distance. It was not
long before the effects began to be seen. Dogs
were seized with hydrophobia and shot, till nearly
all were gone. Not one alone, but nearly all the
camps had been visited, and, one by one, men in
THE STOVE AND THE THERMOMETER.
each of these little, far-isolated communities were
seized with the dreadful disease, and were left to
die. How many lives were thus lost I do not
know, and no one ever can tell, but there were
many; and all through the next summer the skel-
etons and bodies of wolves were found scattered
over that region, and these evidently had been
bitten by the rabid animal and died of hydrophobia.
It is a horrible story to think of, and a fit conclu-
sion to a talk about Man-Eaters."
THE STOVE AND THE THERMOMETER.
BY J. H. TEMPLE.
A CERTAIN Thermometer was very proud of its
high place on the top of the what-not, and one day
said to the Stove :
My sable friend, why do you cause people so
much work for nothing? The maid spends half
her time cramming you with fuel, and carrying off
the dirt you make. But my master is a wise man,
and knows very well who keeps the house warm;
for he comes and looks at me himself a dozen
times a day, while he leaves you entirely to the
care of servants."
The Stove only chuckled to itself a little, and
the Thermometer went on, contemptuously :
If I could n't perform my task without making
so much ado about it, I 'd seek some employment
I was fitted for, and leave the work of keeping
the house warm to those who understand the
IT happened eight years ago, and on the day
that the first bobolink sang.
Of course, I do not mean on the very first day
that the very- first bobolink ever sang, although,
now that I come to think about it, I almost wish it
had happened then, for it would be such a joy to
have been there when the bubble of song began to
burst; to hear the delicious tinkle of that musical
trickle; just to see, you know, what the world
thought about it; to thrill with the throb of the
air; to join in the glad surprise of the bird himself,
and to be a part of the ecstasy of that moment.
However, we like it pretty well, now, the day on
which we hear the first bobolink, and think his,
somehow, the fullest, ripest music of the year.
That is the day on which we go about with kisses
on our lips for the air that bore us the song, and
pray that the gun aimed at the bobolink, when he
is a rice bird, may miss every time.
To think that a bird should make us forget
Charity Carter so long !
Charity Carter was Aunt Silence's little-I do not
know what,-for, really, I never did find out what
relation the woman herself thought she held to
She gave her a home," she said. She took
care of her, she thought. That which she had
done for her was to take her from a charitable
institution, wherein she might possibly have found
a friend, into a country-house, where she would
not let her play with other children.
Charity was a lovely little soul, with big, asking
blue eyes and a vague, misty wonder as to what
God made this world for, anyhow."
This happening was all about a picnic. You
know all about picnics, having been to one or a
dozen,-but Charity had only heard in a far-off
way about them, and had as correct an idea of a
picnic as we have of the North Pole.
Aunt Silence,-everybody called her Aunt,
though why, nobody knew, unless it was just
because she really was aunt to no one,-Aunt
Silence did not believe in picnics, especially for
charity, but this one to he was a church picnic,
a Sunday-school affair, and the minister him-
self had called to invite Charity to go. Right
there, to his face, she did not quite like to say
"No," and she said "Yes," knowing perfectly well
that, if Charity went, Charity must go in a new
dress. The brown one, very heavy, very old, very
dark, would not do in bobolink time, when
everybody whom Aunt Silence knew would surely
be there, and would know, too, that Charity was
her-I don't know what Aunt Silence did call her,
even in her thought; but she had told the minister
"yes," and Charity must go.
The material for the dress was bought a week
before the time. It was checked gingham, green
and white,-good to wash, good to wear.
Charity Carter thought it fine. The child had
had so few dresses of any kind!
Susan Green, the little dress-maker, was up from
the village for half a day, to "fit "it. Aunt Silence
was to make it. Susan Green thought Charity
pretty, and had ambition to make the gingham
into comely shape for the child, but Aunt Silence
objected. Her objection was strengthened by the
want of sufficient material.
I don't want to spoil the child with furbelows,"
said Aunt Silence. "Make it up plain-no fancy
touches on it. I had none when I was a child, and
it 's all nonsense, especially for Charity."
The little dress-maker shivered, and went on with
her work. Charity was out-of-doors, watching, with
interest, the slow drip of lye from a barrel of ashes,
set up near the back door, preparatory to the
making of soft-soap.
Aunt Silence was making soft-soap when Char-
ity arrived at the farm the year before, and the
child remembered the bewildering bother she had
to make the soap "come," and wondered if it was
going to happen over again; so she went into the
house, and said:
"Aunt Silence, is soap-making always just the
same ? "
Why ? and the black eyes of the questioner
fairly snapped the reason out of Charity's lips.
'Cause," she said, if it is, I was hoping you'd
make my dress before you did the soap."
Charity! Go right out this minute, put a
dipperful of water on the ash-barrel, and then
go and weed in the strawberry-bed, till I call you
to come in."
Charity took down her slat sun-bonnet from its
nail in the kitchen, paid the ash-barrel its due,
and then slowly followed the narrow trail through
chick-weed ard plantain to the garden. When
there, she dropped upon her knees beside the
strawberry-vines and went to work. It was not
disagreeable work at that hour in the morning, for
the eight feet of lilac-hedge that ran along the east
side of the garden shielded one from the sun.
CHARITY CARTER'S PICNIC.
CHARITY CARTER'S PICNIC.
BY SARAH J. PRICHARD.
CHARITY CARTER'S PICNIC.
During the time that Charity was pulling up
weeds, Susan Green was contriving a way to make
the coming dress look a little presentable. She
approached it cautiously, by commending the hue
of the white in the gingham.
Yes, it 's very clear white," said Aunt Silence,
" and will look clean when 't is clean."
"A few yards of cambric edging- began
"Cambric edge, indeed, Susan Green! Do
you think I'm going to spend all my substance on
one dress for that child ? Sweet and clean is good
enough for me."
Aunt Silence made the young woman shiver
again, as she glanced up and received the electric
flashes from her eyes, but in going back to her
work, the meek eyes of Susan chanced to glance
through the open window. She was emboldened
to look up again.
"M iss Silence," she asked, why do you sup-
pose it pleased God to make sweet-williams with
"It's not for you and me to inquire into the
divine purposes, Susan Green."
Susan Green said no more, but went on quietly
with her measuring and cutting and basting; but,
in her own little world, she was still thinking and
contriving how she could slip some trace of pretti-
ness into the dress.
"If she'd only let me take it home and make
it," she thought, I 'd find a way. Charity Carter
has just as good a right to the good times and the
pretty things as any of them."
Presently she said: I guess I '11 go to the well
and get a drink; the water in your well is always
so good and cold."
Although Aunt Silence told her to sit right
still, and she would fetch it for her, Susan Green
threw down her work and went to draw the water.
At any other time, before disturbing it, she would
have leaned over the brown curb and peered down
the mossy stones into the clear water, in the hope
of seeing the trout swim over the white rock that
formed the well's floor; but now the bucket went
down with a splash, and up with a spring. She
took the veriest sip at the cup before watering the
chick-weed with its contents. Then she hurried to
"Do you like to weed things ?"
Charity gave a great start, and turned her head
to look upward.
The little dress-maker laughed. Of course, she
would not have laughed if she had had the time to
think, but she was surprised into laughing by the
queer little face under the slat sun-bonnet.
This is what Charity had been doing-warming
her face with hard work, and then washing it with
a few tears, which she, in turn, wiped away with
the weeds she had plucked.
"I suppose I ought to like it. Aunt Silence
says so. I'd weed here all day, if 't was n't for the
soft-soap that's coming," she said.
"Is that what made you cry ?"
"Yes, ma'am said Charity.
"I want you in about five minutes to try the
dress on; and, Charity, what if I change work with
Aunt Silence, and let her make soap for me, while
I sew on your dress for her?"
I wish you would, for I know she '11 never get
it done in time,-that is what made me cry."
"Well, I 'm willing, if she is."
A slight rustle was heard in a garden border,
and there stood Aunt Silence. She had been
watching to see what went on outside.
Charity buried her face in her bonnet, and held
her bonnet as low down as she could get it, into
the vines before her.
Going to have many berries this year ? asked
Susan, glancing about with the air of one having
been invited into that garden. I thought I 'd
just look around a bit, and make up afterward for
lost time. Your garden is looking first-rate."
"I guess, Susan Green, you 're not gifted in
knowledge of gardens. Mine never was so poor
and backward every way as 't is this year, or I
should n't be having strawberry-vines weeded out
in blossom time."
"And you have n't got to soap-making yet, I
see, by the barrel of ashes out. I 've been think-
ing, this good while, that I ought to take a day or
two from sewing, to tend to mine, only I do like to
sew, and I do hate to touch grease."
It 's easy enough, if you only give yourself up
to it, as I do. Just devote the whole time to the
work till it 's done."
"And I s'pose," said Susan, with an innocent
little air, that it 's about as easy to make a whole
barrel as 't is to make half?"
Don't take a great deal longer, but you don't
want half a barrel of soap! exclaimed Miss
Oh, my, no! A couple of gallons is all that I
should use in a whole year, and I was thinking-
but my this wont get that dress ready to try on,"
and the little dress-maker hurried into the house,
leaving Aunt Silence gathering currant-worms.
"Charity," said she, the minute the back door
closed on the retreating figure, tell me what
Susan Green came out here for."
I-I don't know," stammered Charity, tug-
ging at a very big rag-weed, well rooted.
What did she say? "
She wanted to know what made me cry."
"Did you cry?"
CHARITY CARTER'S PICNIC.
I don't want to tell."
You must tell me. I wont have you cry with-
out knowing the reason why."
Charity was silent, and did not look up from her
"Charity Carter!" said Aunt Silence, in her
It was because "-faltered forth the child-
" because I was afraid you would n't get my
dress done in time for the picnic."
If I see or hear of any more tears between this
and the time, you will stay at home, let me tell
Yes, ma'am," said Charity, firmly resolved not
to let a tear twinkle near her eyes again within a
When Susan Green, in her very best and kindest
manner, suggested that it would be such a help
to herself if Miss Silence would exchange work
with her, the proffer was declined, with very stiff
I 'm not getting so far on in years that I can't
get together a frock for a child like Charity," she
Oh, Miss Silence, I never meant anything of the
kind-only I thought of a real pretty way to make
it, by putting little white pipings on the edge of
everything, and it would n't cost a cent, either-
just pieces of bleached muslin, that everybody has
plenty of, and I did think it was a kind of a nice
job and would bother you some, and I could do it
as easy as you could make the soap."
"I 'm much obliged, Susan Green, but I '11 do
it myself, and if I want help, I'll send to you."
I'll come any time, gladly, and do it for mis-
sionary work, too," said Susan, receiving her due-
twenty-five cents-and walking away toward the
village, feeling a strong desire to shake Aunt Silence
and tumble her house down, or do anything that
would help Charity to a good time. The kind-
hearted little soul had lost her own childhood out
of her life, and knew that, if she were to go on
living forever, nothing that could come to her
would make up for its loss; and she did long to
make Miss Silence open her eyes to see what she
was doing to Charity Carter, in shutting her away
from young, growing life, like her own. To be
sure, Susan did not stop to consider exactly in
what manner shaking was to accomplish it, whether
of Miss Silence or of her substantial dwelling-place,
but she wanted a revolution somewhere.
The day the gingham was purchased was
Thursday. It was "fitted" on Friday, and on
Saturday evening the kind-hearted little dress-
maker ventured to take a walk to the farm.
She went in, brisk and lively, half out of breath,
and in great apparent haste, saying:
"Aunt Silence! Old Mrs. Heminway wants to
know if you wont let her have a handful of catnip.
She is quite sick, and everybody knows how nice
your catnip is."
Aunt Silence "prided" herself, she often said,
on having her garret hung with "pretty much
everything in the way of dried herbs."
It 's dark up garret by this time," said Aunt
Silence, pleased, in spite of herself, at the praise.
of her catnip, "but if you will come along and
carry the lantern, I should n't wonder if we could
find some, somewhere."
Susan Green followed the determined figure to
the garret, with her ears listening and her eyes
watching at every step for some sign of Charity.
She listened and looked in vain.
Aunt Silence appeared to be all alone in the
"Are you a-going to take this catnip to Mrs.
Heminway, yourself ?" she asked, taking down a
huge bunch, which any cat could have found in the
darkest night, without a lantern.
"Yes, ma'am," said Susan.
"Then you may as well take along some of this
boneset and pennyroyal; it's handy to have in the
house," and she proceeded to fill a newspaper with
herbs, savory and unsavory. Susan held the
lantern and tried her best to think of a way to bring
Charity's gingham into the conversation without
She had taken the walk in the hope of getting
the chance to speak to Charity herself, and now
she began to wonder what had become of.the child.
As they went down, she ventured to say:
"I hope to-morrow will be a pleasant day; it 's
always so dull- on a rainy Sunday. Did the gores
in that skirt bother you any ? "
One would have thought, listening to the
sentence, that the Sunday, the gores and the skirt
were all parts of the one subject.
Aunt Silence found it convenient to take a long
time to extinguish the flame in the lantern, and
answered Susan never a word.
There was nothing left for the disappointed
dress-maker to do but to hug her big parcel of herbs,
say good-night, and walk back to the village, no
wiser than she came.
She did half turn at the gate, fancying she heard
a rustle in the white lilac by the window over the
porch; but thinking that probably some chicken
had taken refuge there, she kept on her way.
Meanwhile Charity was upstairs, in bed,-sent to
bed in disgrace,-and all because of the coming
Saturday was Aunt Silence's baking-day. She.
CHARITY CARTER'S PICNIC.
did think she would hurry with the work in hand,
and get time to sew a little on the dress. She had
made gingerbread, all but the ginger, and, behold!
the ginger-pot was empty. Ginger she must have,
and there was n't time to send Charity to the
"DO YOU LIKE TO WEED THINGS?"
village; but there was time to send her across lots,
about a quarter of a mile; that is, if Charity ran
all the way, to neighbor Brown's, to borrow some.
Thrifty Miss Silence detested borrowing, but she
sent Charity this once, bidding her:
"Now, don't stop a minute for anything, but
hurry back as quick as you can come."
Charity ran off, thinking it very nice to be out
of ginger. Now, may be, she should learn some-
thing about the picnic; for Clara Brown would go.
Past the garden, through the field by the brook,
over the fence, into the road, across the bridge
where Trout Brook roared, and on up the
hill t.:. Farmer Brown's, she took her
-.. .. till of expectation.
1. h road up the hill lay in full
_-=-ght from the open door-way,
where Miss Silence worked.
-r-- -' She saw the little figure
mount the hill, and turn in
at the distant gate-way.
She hoped Mrs. Brown
would give her the ginger
quick. Then, when it was
time, she watched for Char-
ity to come from the house.
SThere, she was in sight!
the ginger would be at hand
in a few minutes, now; but
she looked again-there was
the child standing still, and,
Son the stone wall by the
road-side, were two heads in
Miss Silence looked, and
'u' nodded her head three
times in a most energetic
manner. She even said:
? "I wish I had a string tied
to her or the ginger." She
-.. A put her foot down in a de-
cidedly determined manner
as she hurried across to the
mantel-shelf, where hung
Sthe horn used for calling
John, the farm laborer, to
:7" meals. She seized it, and,
: standing on the threshold,
i blew a succession of blasts that
S '-.,' ;med to startle up every blade
"4 ass within hearing.
S1i gave a great jump the instant
.'. I'" : l-.-:iid the horn, and ran downhill,
''I I., h bif the ginger from the cup. She
did not stop until, panting with the exertion,
she had reached the kitchen door-sill.
There was Aunt Silence, so cross, so threatening,
so everything that any poor little girl of ten years
must dread, looking down upon her with those
cold, shiver-giving eyes of hers.
Charity stopped. "Here is the ginger," she
said, almost plaintively.
"What were you doing standing stock-still in
the road, Charity Carter? Tell me that!"
970 CHARITY CARTER'S PICNIC.
Clara and Charley were just a-speakin' to me,
What about ?"
Asking me, Aunt Silence, what you was going
to make for me to take to the picnic."
And what did you tell them? "
"A new green and white gingham dress,"
faltered forth Charity, venturing into the room,
and placing the cup on the baking-table.
What did they say to that? "
They just laughed as hard as ever they could,"
said Charity, and said something I did n't half
hear, 'cause I heard the horn just then,-about not
eating dresses, or something."
Charity Carter, I did n't suppose you was quite
such a fool, and if you had minded what I told you,
and not stopped, you 'd 'a' saved yourself from
being made a laughing-stock."
"What is a laughing-stock?" questioned poor
Charity, making a noble effort to repress the for-
"You can go right upstairs and undress your-
self, and go to bed and stay there till I call you,
and then, may be, you '11 remember to mind me
Going to bed at half-past two on a Saturday
afternoon, when apple-blossoms were snowing pink
and white flakes on green grass; when the sun
was full of shine, and the brook full of ripple, and
the air full of song, and the strawberry-vines
were all weeded out, was a bitter, bitter thing to a
little girl full of life.
How Charity Carter did want to cry But there
was the Sunday-school picnic forbidden to her if
she should let a tear fall.
She pressed her fingers over her eyeballs and
groped her way up the stairs to the little room over
the front porch, undressed herself with tightly shut
lips, and hid herself away from everything bright,
in the night of pillow and bedclothes, wishing, with
all her little heart, that she. could go to sleep and
not awake again until time for the picnic. Down-
stairs was Miss Silence, a lonely, cheerless-hearted,
cheerless-looking woman, thinking, with profound
regret, of the promise she had made to the minis-
ter. Aunt Silence herself had entirely forgotten,
when she made it, that it involved the fitting up of
a basket of "something to eat for Charity to take
to Cedar Dell, the place of the grand gathering.
She had also forgotten, when she sent Charity to
bed, that all the baking-dishes were waiting to be
washed; she wished that Charity was down-stairs
again. She went up the staircase, very softly for
so energetic a woman, lifted the latch and peeped
in. A silent, motionless little mound of suffering
child was in the bed.
"Charity! Charity Carter called Miss Silence,
entering the room, and fully believing that she had
caught the girl crying.
Charity moved, and raised her head from under
the cover. She had held fast her eyeballs so long,
that by this time she did not behold the face of
Miss Silence, nor anything else, very clearly.
Have you been crying? "
"No, ma'am. You told me I could n't go to
the picnic if I cried."
And you have n't been crying?"
Miss Silence looked at the pillow and the sheet.
No tear-drops had fallen on them. She was, it must
be confessed, disappointed. A pretext for keeping
Charity at home on the coming Thursday would
have been a relief to her; but Charity had not
given it, thus far.
Miss Silence went down, washed the dishes, laid
the tea-table, dressed herself, and wished some-
body would come in to see her; but nobody came
until Susan Green made her appearance.
Sunday followed. Monday came-washing-day.
The dress lay unfolded, just where it had been laid
by the dress-maker. Tuesday was ironing-day.
Tuesday night Charity went and stood beside the
chair that held the dress, and just wished. But she
had n't cried,-not a tear,-and she did not mean
to. Wednesday morning, the little piping voice of
Charity was heard singing upstairs, as she dressed
herself in the early light of the lovely morning.
That little song, although the woman knew not
a word of it, touched Aunt Silence's conscience,
stirring it into action more than a whole day of
lamentation could have done.
When Charity went hopping down-stairs into the
kitchen, there was Miss Silence, with the back door
wide open, the fire unmade, and she was sitting on
the very door-sill, in the midst of fragments of
"If you '11 hurry up and make the fire, and see
if you can't get breakfast all alone, Charity,
I'11 get to work on your dress," she said, in the
pleasantest tone the child had ever heard her
How the little girl's heart and words and feet did
respond, and say, "I will! I will!"
Charity made the fire, and got breakfast without
assistance. Meanwhile, Miss Silence was stitching
up seams with vigor. She did "'most wish she had
let Susan Green take the dress home," for, to tell
the truth, she did not like to sew.
Charity washed the breakfast-dishes, made Miss
Silence's bed, John's and her own, and was ready
to do any and every thing, with the prospect before
her of having the dress finished.
Dinner-time came, and it was well begun; tea-
time came, and it had grown a little; bed-time
came, and it was not even half-way done; but
CHARITY CARTER'S PICNIC.
CHARITY CARTER'S PICNIC.
Charity, hopeful little soul of ten, happily did not
take account of the stitches to be added-she only
saw that it was getting made. And she went up-
stairs to bed that night faithful of soul and tired of
hands and feet. Charity shut her eyes, and her
brain grew dizzy thinking over the mysterious hap-
piness of the coming Thursday, until it fell into
the calm of sleep.
Charity Charity called Miss Silence, very
early the next morning.
I guess you 'd better fix your hair nice, and
put on your brown dress this morning, and run
up into town before breakfast, and just see if Susan
Green can't come down and help a little on the
dress. I'm 'most afraid I sha'n't have time to finish
Miss Silence prepared breakfast.
Charity's feet fairly flew through the dew-wet
grass by the road-side, and in a short time she
was knocking at the dress-maker's door. It was a
little door opening into a little house, but it seemed
impossible to arouse the little dress-maker.
Miss Green Susan Green! shouted Charity,
after knocking for several seconds, a good many
Susan Green is n't to home shouted a boy,
who was milking a cow in the house-yard adjoin-
Where is she? Do you know?" questioned
Yes, I do," responded he. "She's gone up
to Mr. Fairchild's. Went yesterday afternoon. I
saw him come and get her "
Charity let go of the fence, suddenly, and came
with a jar to the ground. The boy had no idea
of the sad effect of his words.
Mr. Fairchild's house was at least five miles
from the farm.
Charity went home and told the news as best
she could, and did not want a bit of breakfast, but
she fought down the tears that came to her eyes,
when Miss Silence said:
Never mind; may be it will be done yet. I'll
try my best-don't cry, child."
How fast the minutes slipped by that morning,
and the work "bothered" Miss Silence at every
turn. Twelve of the clock, and the sleeves were
not touched, nor the button-holes made, and at
half-past one, Charity was to be called for. The
child helped all that she could. She threaded
needles and made knots, and wished dresses grew
ready-made, and prepared herself all ready to go
except the dress, and stood by watching it. The
minutes went out and the stitches went in, until
there, at last, full in sight, was the very wagon
coming up the road for Charity, according to
promise. Charity saw it. Miss Silence saw it.
"Run upstairs, out of sight-quick, child !" said
she. 1 '11 go and speak to them."
Charity needed not a second bidding. She flew
upstairs, seized her old brown dress in her hands,
ran down the back way, out of the back door,
and fled to the shelter of the lilac-hedge, for a
By the time the big wagon, with a place left in
it for Charity Carter, had rolled away from the front
door, that little disappointed waif was out of sight
and sound of human sympathy. She was in the
dim recesses of a many-acred wood-lot, through
which ran roaring brooks.
Charity's disappointment was too bitter to be
borne in human companionship. She went on
and on; her heart filling and filling with grief at
every step, until it could hold no more. She had
hoped against this disappointment so long, and
yet it had come. She sat down by the stream, and
cried her heart easy and her eyes almost out.
"I 'm never, never going to have any of the
good times. I wish I was nt anybody, or any-
where. I just wish God had n't made me, I do.
And I worked so hard, and tried so hard, and did
every single thing I possibly could." And at this
summing up of the case, poor Charity burst forth
again into hopeless tears. She did not even think
what Miss Silence would say to her for running
away. Charity thought she had felt the worst
that could come to her, and was afraid of nothing
that might follow.
She got up and ran through the wood, breaking
down in her flight the loveliest ferns, without see-
ing them. She went out of the wood, up a hill,
where she had never been before, into another
piece of forest-land, and then followed the stream
as it grew into Trout Brook, and ran silent, with
deep places of water, under lonely pines. Charity
was not courageous. At any other time she would
not have thought of going so far. She kept on
and on, until it must have been quite an hour
since she had left home, and she was worn out
with the disappointment and the walk.
It seemed half night in the dell where she was
sitting. Charity even wished it were night, and she
could get to sleep and sleep always. She had not
the slightest idea that a Great God up in the
heavens had anything to do with such a little thing
as a picnic on earth. Of course, He had to do
with such things as telling lies, but nothing to do
with the things the lies were told about. Charity
was thinking-but her own trouble vanished on
the instant, for there, right before her eyes, run-
ning, slipping down the steep hill from above
her, she saw two children-tiny children, half her
size or less-a girl and a boy.
In a frolic they had started; in a fright they were
CHARITY CARTER'S PICNIC.
now, as they felt themselves going down the hill,
both together, to the brook, and could not stop.
Ere Charity could get upon her feet and stand
in their way, as she instantly tried to do, the little
white dress had flashed past her on the moss,
and the blue-stockinged boy had caught at a tree
trunk that grew over the bank, and missed it;
and then, to her horror, Charity saw the black
water of the pool close over the shining pair.
hold upon the tree, and went down with the
children into the pool.
But help was at hand. A dozen anxious faces
peered over the hill-top, and strong men were
hurrying down to the rescue.
When Charity returned to consciousness, she
thought she was in the midst of a beautiful dream,
for, surely, some one was kissing her with just such
a kiss as she had always longed for, even when
* CHARITY CLUTCHED THE GIRL'S DRESS."
Alive to the awful peril of the moment, Charity
uttered piercing cries for help. But no one was
within sight. She must save them herself.
She ran down to the old tree that lay over the
pool. She got out upon the trunk. She threw
one arm around it, pressed her knees hard against
it, and leaned out to catch a glimpse of anything
that might come up to the surface.
At the first gleam of white through the black-
ness below, Charity made a desperate reach, and
clutched the girl's dress in her grasp. She had
but one arm and her teeth to hold by, and her own
face was hardly out of the water as she held on
bravely, saying over and over to herself: Some-
body will come Somebody surely will come! "
The boy held on to his sister, and Charity strug-
gled nobly with both, until she, at last, lost her
she was happy, and had hungered for whenever
she felt lonely or disappointed about anything.
She opened her eyes and found out that it was
all true about the kiss, for there, still bending over
her, was the real, lovely lady who had kissed her.
"Are you better now, my dear?" she asked.
Then Charity knew that she was lying on the
ground with a shawl folded under her head, and,
surely, that was Susan Green's voice saying to her:
Charity Carter, you are at a picnic, and a great
deal nicer one than the church-folk are having;
and, Charity, you have saved Lou and Harry Fair-
child from drowning. Oh, I am so glad Miss
Silence would not let me take that dress home !"
Charity sat up and looked about her. There she
was, in the midst of the loveliest place, all moss and
vines and pine-trees, and two tables just loaded
with things pleasant to hungry eyes. Yes, she was
in the midst of the delights of the best picnic the
Dell Woods had ever seen; and, also, she was at
the beginning of all the good times her little life
knew, but of that she knew nothing then.
"It was a blessed Providence that you were
there," said Mr. Fairchild, bending over Charity,
with beaming eyes. Charity burst into tears.
It was n't Providence at all," she sobbed. It
was 'cause my new dress was n't finished, and I
could n't go to the picnic, and I ran away."
At that moment the horses were announced as
ready to go, and three thoroughly wet children
were well wrapped and put into a carriage. It was
on. her way home from that picnic that Charity
heard the bobolink sing; and ever since that time,
the day on which she hears that sweetest of all
songs, is her best day in the year, for it is full of
thanksgivings that everything which happened in
those days, did happen just as it did; for had the
green gingham been ready for the picnic, not one
of the long train of good things that came to her
out of that disappointment would have come.
When Charity went to live with the Fairchilds, a
little later on, Aunt Silence dropped a tear or two,
and admitted to herself her regret that she had not
tried to make her own home pleasanter for Charity.
And when, six years later, she lay very ill, and that
young girl went to her and gave her the most ten-
der, helpful care through days and nights of weary
pain, Aunt Silence's heart was won; for she kissed
Charity with true affection, and secretly resolved
that the next child she took to bring up should
have just as good a time as she could give her.
(Mamma and Robby at bed-time.)
BY MARGARET VANDEGRIFT.
' COME!" she said; "it is sleepy time;
I will sing you such a sweet little rhyme-
Something that you can understand-
About what they do in Slumber-Land."
" No," he said, I will not be good !
I 'm a robber,-I live in a great big wood:
It is made of cake-and-candy trees,-
You can go to Slumber-Land, if you please!"
" But listen !" she said; in Slumber-Town
Everybody is lying down,
And all the creatures, from man to fish,
Have something better than they can wish !"
" Then they don't know how to wish," he said.
" Think it is stupid to lie in bed!
I am going to burn the world all down,
And I don't want to go to your Slumber-
"But listen!" she said; "in Slumber-Street
You often hear music low and. sweet,
And sometimes, there, you meet face to face
People you '1l meet in no other place!"
" Oh, that," he said, "will not make me go;
I like a hand-organ best, you know,
With a monkey; and I do not care
To meet strange people anywhere? !'
" But listen!" she said; "in Slumber-House
The cat forgets how to catch the mouse;
The naughty boys are never, there,
Stood in a corner or set on a chair !"
" Well, that is a little better,' said he,
" But I am going, at once, to sea;
I 'm a captain, I 'm not a little boy,
And this is my trumpet,-ship ahoy!"
" But listen! she said; in Slumber-Room
Such beautiful flowers you see in bloom;
The best of them all, the very best,
You may pick if you choose-its name is Rest."
SWhy, that's a queer name for a flower," he said;
SBut you need n't think I am going to bed!
I 'm a robber again,-a great big, brave,
Splendid robber,-and this is my cave !"
How quiet the cave grew, presently;
She smiled, and stooped low down to see,
And what she saw was her little brigand
Traveling far into Slumber-Land.
Two curtains white, with their.fringes brown,
Had shut him fast into Slumber-Town,
And she knew that the restless little feet
Were iiirin; softly in Slumber-Street.
974 THE CAT' S-MEAT MAN OF LONDON. [OCTOBER,
A VISIT FROM THE CAT'S-MEAT MAN.
THE CAT'S-MEAT MAN OF LONDON.
THE CAT'S-MEAT MAN OF LONDON.
BY ALEXANDER WAINWRIGHT.
LONDON is a city of big numbers; it has hun-
dreds of thousands of houses, hundreds of thousands
of dogs, and hundreds of thousands of workmen; in
fact, most things there are to be counted by the
hundreds of thousands, and the cat population by
itself is over a quarter of a million. Think of that !
More than two hundred and fifty thousand cats in
one city,-what a multitude of soft, spiteful, purr-
ing, screaming, furry and bristling creatures it is!
And then imagine the food this population must
require! Let any boy or girl who is clever at
arithmetic figure it out-taking the quantity con-
sumed by the kitten at home as a starting point,
and multiplying by 250,000. The result will be
The necessity of feeding this vast number of pets
has created a business employing several thousand
men and a great deal of money.
Once a day, jaunty little wagons, somewhat
like the butchers' carts of New York, only much
smaller, may be seen in the streets where the
dwelling-houses are, and at their approach nearly
all the cats in the neighborhood make their appear-
ance, purring at the windows and peeping out, run-
ning up the area steps, and rubbing themselves
against the railings, and showing other signs of ex-
pectation and satisfaction. It is pussy's dinner-time.
The driver is an old man with a battered hat, a
long coat and an apron. There is not a cat in the
neighborhood that does not know him better than
its own mother. According to the highly deco-
rative sign on his wagon, he is no less a personage
than "Purveyor of Meat to his Canine and Feline
Patrons of the Metropolis"; but he is better known
to his customers as the "cat's-meat man."
Pussy has tastes of her own; she likes milk, of
course, when she is a mere child, but as she grows
older she craves something more substantial.
As far as we have been able to find out, she
has no objection to beefsteak, mutton-chops or
cold roast chicken, if the flavor of the stuffing is
not too strong, and a little cream or milk satisfies
her as a drink; but of all dishes her favorite-we
are almost ashamed to say it-is horse-flesh.
We do not know of any other city besides London
where the purveyor to his feline patrons finds
sufficient trade to support himself, nor where pussy's
singular taste is so well understood; and a London
cat that should be made to live in another city
would very much miss the morning calls of her
old caterer and his brightly painted wagon.
The wagon is a very showy affair, and its outside
is usually ornamented with oil-paintings of scenes
in pussy's life. Much fun is made of rival dealers.
One wagon has a picture of a fine, sleek cat that has
invited a very thin cat to supper. The owner of
the wagon is named Dobbins. "Ah! exclaims
the cat-guest, this is indeed a treat; and while
she is smacking her lips, the host replies with
politeness: Glad you enjoy it. We buy our
meat of Dobbins."
The meat is sold on small wooden skewers, in
pieces that cost a half-penny, a penny, twopence,
or threepence, according to size. The dealer
springs from his cart with a basket on his arm, and
drops a piece of the required size into his customer's
area-the open space that is in front of what are
called English-basement houses. If pussy has
heard him coming, she does not wait to be helped,
but devours her meat immediately; and her eager-
ness sometimes exposes her to a cheat, and this
unhappy incident is illustrated by another picture
on the side of Dobbins's wagon:
A wicked dealer has thrown a skewer, with no
meat on it, down the area, and a poor pussy-cat
sniffs around it, very much puzzled. Her mistress
appears, and supposing that she has eaten the meat
in her usual hurry, pays the deceitful dealer, who
retires with the ill-earned money in his hand, and
a mocking smile on his face. The fraud is so in-
tolerable that Mr. Dobbins drops into the following
poetry under the picture:
"Confusion seize the mind so base
That would rob a cat as in the above case.
Helpless are those he robs, and dumb;
I 'd have such a vagabond shut up in the sewers,
And give him the title of Baron Skewers."
The meat is not raw, but has been boiled for
about two hours, the carcass of the horse of which
it once formed.part having been previously stripped
of its hide and hair.
Small tradesmen,-.mechanics and laborers are
considered good customers. "Old ladies buy
enough," a cat's-meat man once said, "but
they 're awful, bad pay. They will pay a penny
and owe a penny, and then forget all about it."
THE ALPHABET IN COUNCIL.
THE ALPHABET IN COUNCIL.
BY PALMER COX.
ONE day, in secret council met
The letters of the alphabet,
To settle, with a free debate,
This matter of important weight:
Which members of the useful band
The highest honors should command.
It was a delicate affair,
For all the twenty-six were there,
And every one presumed that he
Was just as worthy as could be,
While &, a sort of go-between,
Was seated like a judge serene,
Impartially to hear the case,
And keep good order in the place.
Said S, arising from his seat,
And smiling in his own conceit:
"Now, comrades, take a glance at me;
There 's grace in every curve, you see,
And beauty, which you 'll never find
In letters of the broken kind.
Now, there is I, straight up and down,
How incomplete is such a clown!
Without a foot, without a head,
A graceful curve or proper spread,-
And J and K, and F and L,
Who look as though on ice they fell,
Or Z, our many-angled friend,
Who forms, indeed, a fitting end.
Such homely letters, at the best,
Are heaping insult on the rest."
At this there was a sudden spring
To feet around the council ring,
And every letter, down to Z,
Said such aspersions must not be.
" No personalities," cried they,
" Should be indulged in here to-day,"
THE ALPHABET IN COUNCIL.
While &, good order to restore,
Applied his truncheon to the floor.
Said A, "One moment will suffice
To show you all where honor lies;
Suppose there were no head, like me,
To lead the way for brother B,
What would become of neighbor C,
Or who would ever think of D?
I might go on unto the end
And say you all on me depend."
Then O, arising to his feet,
Said, "I, of all, am most complete;
No waste material is there,
But just enough, and none to spare;
No horns above, no tails below,
An even-balanced, perfect 0."
Said E, "Though all may beauty boast,
In service I appear the most;
Well-nigh to every word I'm called,
And often more than once installed,
While some so seldom are required,
They should from service be retired."
Then into sundry groups they 'd break
To argue points and fingers shake,
Or tell each other to their face
Their plain opinions of the case,
While & kept thumping till he wore
A hole half through the oaken floor.
At last he cried, I plainly see
You 'll never in the world agree,
Though you should stand to argue here,
And shake your fists, throughout the year.
Now, let me tell you, plump and plain,
From first to last, you 're all too vain;
It's true that some, in form and face,
Seem suited for a leading place.
But whether crooked, straight or slim,
Of graceful curve or balance trim,
THE ALPHABET IN COUNCIL.
The best of you, from A to Z
(On second thought you '11 all agree),
Without support would worthless be.
But when united, hand in hand,
In proper shape, you form a band
Of strength sufficient, be it known,
To shake a monarch from his throne.
So be content, both great and small,
For honor rests alike on all."
" He speaks the truth," the letters cried;
" All private claims we 'll lay aside."
So, thanking & for judgment fair,
The controversy ended there.
_ _. .. ._it : .
^ II II _I ___ __
~ ~~___ ~~___
HOW TO SAVE TIME.
HOW TO SAVE TIME.
BY SUSAN ANNA, BROWN.
WHEN people say that they are doing this or
that "to pass away the time," they forget that
" time is the stuff life is made of."
Wasting time is the same thing as wasting life,
and those who know how to economize time, have
learned the only possible.way of lengthening their
Almost every one has observed that, some per-
sons are able to accomplish a great deal, while
others, who have as favorable opportunities, equal
talent, and as good health as they, do very little.
Now, one person has really no more time than
another, only he chooses to use it differently.
When you read the lives of famous persons, you
will always find that they have been great workers.
The celebrated Madame Roland was not only a
politician and a scholar, but a housekeeper. In
her "Appeal to Posterity," she says: "Those
who know how to employ themselves always find
leisure moments, while those who do nothing are
in want of time for everything."
Mrs. Somerville, the famous astronomer, knew
how to crowd a great deal into life. Young peo-
ple are apt to suppose that one who was as learned
as she was must have spent all her life in hard
study, and have had a very stupid time. But Mrs.
Somerville learned to use her moments so care-
fully that she had time for many things besides
her mathematics. She went into very brilliant
society, read and wrote much, and-let me whis-
per to the girls-found time to make her own
dresses and attend to many domestic duties, which
some people would consider unworthy the atten-
tion of a great and learned mind. What helped
her most, in all these varied employment, was that
she had the power of so concentrating her attention-
upon what she was doing, that nothing going on
around her could distract her thoughts.
It is true that all cannot do this, if they try ever
so hard; but many who have not formed the habit
of concentrating attention cannot read to themselves
or write an ordinary letter where others are talking.
Another good way of saving time is to learn to
move quickly, not forgetting, however, that there
is akind of haste which "makes waste.' Try-
to acquire a dexterity in doing those common
things which must be done very frequently. For
instance, the operation of dressing has to be gone
through by all, many times in the course of a
year, yet some people are always dressed at the
appointed time, while others, who have been busy
as long as.they, are sure to be behindhand, be-
cause they have a habit of dawdling.
Whatever you have to do, learn first to do it in
the best way, and then to be as little while about
it as is consistent with doing it properly.
Those who take care of the moments find that
the hours take care of themselves.
Some people keep up a large correspondence by
writing letters in their odd moments, while others
are always burdened with unanswered letters, and
when they do write, are sure to take time which
makes it necessary for them to neglect some more
Another good rule, is not to try to do too many
things at a time. There is a very pretty story by
Jane Taylor, called Busy Idleness," which illus-
trates this. It is an account of two sisters, one of
whom worked hard for two weeks to accomplish
nothing but a collection of beginnings, all of very
useful things, but not one complete; while the
other, without half the trouble, had really done a
good deal, by not attempting more than she was
able to finish.
We waste more time in waiting for ourselves
than we do in waiting for others, and after we have
done one thing, we are often so long in deciding
what to take up next, that when we have decided,
the time is gone which we ought to have given to
it. But those who are always ready to pass quickly
from one occupation to another, will have accom-
plished all they had intended, while we have been
thinking what to be at. If you have some definite
idea in the morning of what you mean to do during
the day, whether in work or play, you will do more
than you will if you simply pass from one thing
to another with no plan; and you will be more
likely to do things at the proper time.
Another help to save time, is the habit of
keeping things where they belong, so that you
will not waste precious moments in looking for
them. Have at least two books always in reading-
one which does not require very close attention, for
leisure moments, when you do not feel like doing
much, and one solid one, which requires more
continuous thought. I suppose this was the, plan
of the old lady who always sent to the library for
"a sermon book, and another book."
It is surprising how much can be acquired by
giving a little time each day to systematic reading.
The story is often told of the young man who read
through Macaulay's History of England, and was
DISCUSSING THE CROPS.
surprised at ending so soon, by a habit of reading
a few pages each day, while he was waiting for his
dinner. Of course, the same rule applies to other
things, as well as to reading.
Do not imagine, after all this, that simply be-
cause you are always doing something you are
industrious. You may be worse than idle, if you are
wasting not only time, but eye-sight and materials.
Work must be to some purpose, to be worthy of
the name. It may be better to be idle all day,
than to be reading trash, or straining your eyes
and nerves over some intricate and useless piece
of needle-work, "-red with the blood of murdered
time." Many of these things are made only "to
give away," because people are too indolent to
think of any gift more useful or appropriate. A
simple, inexpensive present, which shows that you
have thought of what your friend would like best,
is better than a very costly and elaborate one
which is only made from a wish to get rid of an
obligation, and which misuses time in the making.
Whatever you do, do it with all your might,
whether it be croquet, or arithmetic, or base-ball,
or worsted work. If a boy is thinking of his Latin
lesson when he ought to be striking a ball, he will
probably be thinking of the game when he ought to
be saying "Sum, es, est," and the result will be that
he will have neither a good lesson nor a good score.
Now, perhaps, you will say that all this advice is
of no use to you, because you have all the time
you want now; but you' must not forget that
there are a great many people in the world who
find it hard work to crowd into a day all that it
is necessary for them to do, and they would be
very glad to have you give some of your leisure to
them. Unemployed time is a sure indication
of neglected duty. Even the Ant, in the old nur-
sery rhyme, says:
"I always find something or other to do,
If not for myself, for my neighbor."
When you have not enough to occupy you, look
among your circle of acquaintances, and see who of
them needs to have you "lend a hand."
DISCUSSING THE CROPS.
THE HOUSE WITH THE LACE FRONT.
THE HOUSE WITH THE LACE FRONT.
By OLIVE THORNE MILLER.
LESS than a thousand miles from New York
lives a most charming family, in a house with a
lace front. It is a large family, for it numbers
about two hundred; and it is of foreign descent,
having originally emigrated from certain well-
known islands. Every one is beautiful, and half are
delightful singers, though not one of them is more
than a few inches tall. Yellow and green are the
colors they wear, and-as you have already guessed
-they are all canary birds.
The house with the lace front is in the upper story
of a certain residence. It consists of two rooms of
pleasant size,-a parlor furnished with a small tree
instead of sofas and chairs, and a dining-room con-
taining two more trees, a table always spread, and
bath-tubs conveniently placed on the floor. Wire-
gauze windows make it cool in summer, and a fur-
nace keeps it warm in winter. Both rooms are
carpeted with clean sand, and both are full of
birds, flying from parlor to dining-room, from tree
to window-sill, from bath-tub to seed-dish, exercis-
ing their wings, eating, chatting and twittering,
very like families of larger growth.
Few of these birds have ever known the slavery
of a cage. The great-great-grandmother of the
canary babies now sporting their first yellow and
green coats may have stories to tell, on a long
winter afternoon, of her young days when she lived
in a wire prison, but to the youngsters, they are
merely interesting tales. That such a sad experi-
ence as being shut up in prison can come to them,
they never dream; nor will it come while lives
their best friend, whom we will call "Mrs. Nellie."
They are most musical little people. The first
thing one hears, on entering the house-the big
house-is the concert in full blast upstairs,-fifty,
yes, perhaps a hundred, singing at the top of their
voices. A bird-shop is nothing to it for noise.
These little creatures are observing, and ex-
tremely curious. Put a new thing in their home,
and the whole family is at once agitated; songs stop
instantly; the hungry ones-who are always taking
a lunch-are called by energetic peeps; there 's
a great flutter of wings, and the liveliest interest is
manifested by the excited family, till the strange
object is fully understood, or has become familiar.
If it is a new dish, like the end of a large water-
melon, or a new pan for water, they will gather in
a ring around it, stretching up on tip-toe, with neck
craned out, to look into the mystery, presenting a
bright and funny picture of curiosity.
An unfortunate bluebird fell into the hands of
Mrs. Nellie, and was introduced into the lace
house. His arrival caused a genuine panic, and a
wild, frightened scattering. Innocent as the little
fellow was, he was bigger than any of them, and
he was blue,-a fierce, dreadful color, no doubt, in
the estimation of the yellow family. They could
not accept him, and the mistress hit upon a new
device; she put Mr. Bluebird into a cage, and ex-
hibited him in the light of a prisoner to the happy
household. This was another matter; the blue-
bird as a prisoner was not at all alarming; and, on
closer acquaintance, finding that he was not in the
least cruel or a bully, the green and yellow birds
became so accustomed to him that they finally
allowed him to join the family circle.
He is now free among them, and may be con-
sidered one of them; but he is a melancholy
instance of solitude in a crowd. He flies with
them, sits beside them on the tree, no one disturbs
him; but they do not make him a companion, and
he feels his separateness, never eating till the sec-
ond table, nor bathing till every canary has bathed.
Another object of curiosity to the birds is the
dog. It is the nature of Master Rover to kill mice,
and when he first joined the family he did not
observe any difference between mice and birds.
He soon learned, however, that the little yellow
fellows were to be looked at and admired, but not
to be touched.
Sometimes an inquisitive bird will jump upon
his back, as he lies stretched out on the floor. It
is a trial to his doggish nerves, yet he endures it,
breathless,-as the bird hops- up the length of his
back, and upon his head; but the moment it hops
off, with a sigh of relief Master Rover rolls over
on his back, and holds up his four feet in the
air, to make sure that the intruder has gone.
Rover likes to visit the lace house, but generally
stays outside. The birds are quite well used to
him, and do not mind him, unless in his clumsy
way he sometimes happens to lean against the deli-
cate front. The lace yields, and it does look as
though Master Rover might burst through. Then
there is deep interest in the canary family; the
songs stop, the whole tribe gathers about the
scene of the possible catastrophe, and all stand with
craned necks to see what the result will be.
Things do happen, even in this happy home-
accidents, deaths by violence, even murder.
One little creature caught its foot behind a nail,
THE HOUSE WITH THE LACE FRONT.
and, being suddenly startled, flew away and left the
poor little foot behind. Mrs. Nellie, of course, did
everything possible for him, and he did not seem
to suffer, but very soon was flying about, and hop-
ping on his stump of a leg as cheerful as ever.
Another bird, still more unfortunate, hung her-
self to the tree, by a string, and was found in the
morning dangling head downward, and apparently
quite dead. Cold water revived her, however;
she ate a little sponge cake, and in a short time
was quite recovered, although the leg by which she
had been caught, withered and fell off.
At another time, one cold, rough day in April,
there was great consternation in the family when
it was found that one of the babies, only six weeks
old, had slipped out of the door, and gone off. He
was followed up and found, but he was so pleased
with his liberty that he refused to come back.
Poor baby! Little he knew of the harsh outside
world, on a night in April. He found out before
morning that running away was a foolish business,
and actually made his way back to the windows of
his native room. But the wire-gauze that keeps
birds in will also keep naughty runaways out, and
he could not get back until he had flown into a
neighbor's house, and was returned by one of the
children to his grieving relatives, a wiser bird.
The darkest tragedy that has taken place in this
carefully guarded home was a dreadful murder.
The miserable assassin came into the house at the
silent hour of midnight, as was proper for such a
deed, went quietly upstairs, tore a hole in the lace
front, and so got into the room, where every inmate
sat puffed up into a soft feather ball, and fast asleep.
In a few minutes Mrs. Nellie, on the floor below,
was wakened by a commotion in the house, shrieks
of fright, flutter of wings, and cries of distress.
Aid was quickly called, and the domestic police
appeared on the scene and made short work of Rat,
the burglar; but alas! not soon enough to prevent
the death of more than one of the pretty sleepers.
Though not molested since then, the canaries
have a vigilant enemy next door, who lives in an
elegant but strong house of wire. It is four stories
high, and very grand, but the owner spends nearly
all his time in the attic, because from that point he
can look into the lace house; and to look in, and
perhaps to dream of the delight of tyrannizing over
the whole feathered clan, is his greatest pleasure.
He is a splendid great mocking-bird, in a rich
slate-colored coat, with black trimming, and he is
a magnificent singer. His eyes are sharp and
bright, and not a movement among his lively
neighbors escapes them. He turns his wise head,
first one side and then the other, watching in deeply
interested silence everything that goes on. He
acts like a detective in disguise.
The birds don't mind him when he is still, but
let him speak one word, a sort of croak that sounds
like Get out and there is a scamper of wings
into the next room. Sometimes he plays a joke
on them. He can speak canary language as well
as they can, and once, when two birds sat alone in
the parlor, he called out "Tweet!" with the perfect
accent of a native canary. Each of the two birds
evidently thought the other had spoken, and each
at once replied, and then looked with amazement
at the other, as much as to say :
: Who did speak, then, if not you ?"
He is doubtless the bugaboo of the canary fam-
ily. Who knows but Mamma Canary holds up
the Old Gentleman in Drab to the babies, as the
big ogre that carries off naughty chicks who crowd
in the nest, or snatch more than their share of
And there are plenty of babies in that house, I
tell you. When nesting time comes, in the spring,
every little fussy yellow or green Mamma begins
to look about for house-building materials, and
Papa flutters around her, and sings his sweetest,
till Mrs. Nellie provides for their wants. Bits of
string, beautiful feathers, fine horse-hair, and
plenty of soft things, are on hand, while the most
convenient of wire-baskets suddenly appear all
over the walls.
Never was so busy a household as this is now;
never such earnest looking over of treasures,
such careful selection of houses, such dainty build-
ing; but at last everything is arranged, each baby-
house is built, the lovely pale-blue egg-cradles are
placed in them, and Mamma settles down to her
work of sitting, while Papa does his share by the
most delightful singing, the gayest fluttering about,
and the most devoted attention to her wants.
When the babies first show their heads,-their
mouths rather, for they are nearly all mouth,-
they are not pretty, and nobody but their proud
parents cares to look at them; but they grow fast,
and in a few weeks are hopping about, full of fun
and careless frolic.
Before the family grew so large, the baby-houses
were built in the trees, and were very pretty to see.
They perfectly answered the purpose for the first
babies, but those naughty youngsters, when they
had been turned out of the nests, and left to take
care of themselves, while Mamma attended their
younger brothers and sisters, were full of mischief,
and one of their favorite pranks was to seat them-
selves on a branch under the nests, and deliberately
pull out the bottom, to see the eggs or the babies
fall to the floor.
That had to be stopped, of course, so Mrs. Nel-
lie provided wire baskets'to hold the nests.
Another bit of fun to the little yellow rogues is
THE HOUSE WITH THE LACE FRONT.
to play practical jokes on their elders. A sedate
two-year-old canary, sitting quietly on a branch,
was suddenly disturbed by a jerk of one of her
beautiful long tail-feathers. On the branch below
sat two giddy young things but a few weeks out of
the nest, and being on her dignity she resolved to
pay no attention to them. Meanwhile, Mrs. Nellie
was watching, and she saw the joker give a sly
pull to the feathers, and then look away as inno-
cently as though he had n't thought of such a thing.
No response being given, he did it again, and
again turned his head away, much interested, all
at once, in the doings of the bluebird. Still no
response, and, growing bolder, he gave a tremen-
dous jerk, expressing as plainly as though he had
said it: "There! I guess that 'll rouse you!"
It did; this was too much for any self-respecting
bird to endure. The insulted canary leaned over
and administered a great, fierce peck, like a hard
slap,-to the wrong youngster. The amazed look
and the indignant cry of the wrongly punished
infant were droll to witness; but the guilt)' one
plainly chuckled as he flew away. .
This family has its share of unpractical folk, as
well as the human family. They have made all
sorts of experiments, one of which is trying to have
twenty bathe at once, in a tub only big enough to
hold ten; and this trial they have not yet ended
to their satisfaction. They have even attempted to
put in practice the tenement-house system-several
couples building, and placing their cradles in the
same house, with sad results of broken eggs and
Perhaps the most interesting personage in the
lace house is the great-grandmother of all, who
lives there still, though old age has crept upon her,
and she passes her days in blindness. She is as
pretty as ever, and seems to enjoy life as well as
anybody. Of course, she is the object of especial
care and tenderness from Mrs. Nellie, and is very
tame. She will readily perch on an offered finger,
and never attempt to leave it, though freely ca-
ressed and talked to. She knows her mistress's
voice, and will turn at once toward it, smooth
down her feathers (which, when she is alone, are
always ruffled up, as if to protect herself against
possible danger) and listen with deep attention.
She has many privileges of age; not a rocking-
chair in the warmest corner, to be sure, but what
she prizes more highly, a private breakfast-dish,
outside the lace house, where her hungry young
grandchildren cannot crowd. She is a wise little
thing, and knows the feeling of every dish on the
table. If placed on the edge of the drinking-cup,
when she wants to eat, she will not attempt to in-
vestigate its contents, but at once hop down, while,
if put on the seed-dish, she will begin to eat.
Since she became blind, she has never attempted
to build a nest, and she deserves her ease, for, she
and her mate-a faithfully attached couple all their
lives -have raised at least twelve families.
It is pitiful to see her shuffle around on the floor,
trying to find a perch, feathers ruffled up, and
evidently listening sharply. By and by she gets
under the tree, and a bird alights directly over her
head, a few inches above; in an instant, as though
guided by the sound, she hops to the perch beside
him, without mistake.
Mrs. Nellie has never made any attempts to
tame or handle her pets, and though they know
her well, and alight on her head and shoulders by
dozens, they are a little shy of being caught, until
they are in trouble. The moment one is in dis-
tress it seems to recognize its benefactor, comes
to her,,and allows her to do anything for it.
When she starts upstairs in the morning, to give
them breakfast, she calls at the foot of the stairs,
"I'm coming." At once there is a response of
delight, and when she appears, every feather-head
is clinging to the lace front of the house, to wel-
come her with twittering and flutters of joy.
House-cleaning day in the lace house comes
about once a fortnight, when paint and floor are
scrubbed, and a new sand-carpet is laid down; but
the great event of the year is about Christmas
time, when three splendid new trees are set up.
Do they enjoy the green leaves? Certainly they
do; they enjoy picking them off, and they work
like beavers at it; and not till the trees are reduced
to bare sticks do they consider them suitable for
canary perches, and fit ornaments for their home.
This happy family began with two birds, allowed
to fly about in Mrs. Nellie's room, and from. that
small beginning it has, in four or five years, grown
to the present immense family, not more than five
couples having been added.
What a care they are, no one who has not tried
it can imagine,, and they weigh on the mind like
so many babies. There is one now who has suf-
fered for weeks with what seems like a bad cough.
All day it sits ruffled up on the perch, with pants
of distress, and all night it coughs, so that Mrs.
Nellie can hear it in her room down-stairs. Every
night she thinks she will give it a dose of chloro-
form, and end its sufferings, and every morning
she thinks, perhaps, it may get well after all.
There 's a good deal of what we call human
nature, about these little creatures, and, after all,
life in the lace house is not so very unlike life in
the houses of brick and stone around it.
THE LITTLE VIOLINIST.
THE LITTLE VIOLINIST. [SEE LETTER-BOX.]
t8So.] THE AIRPORT NINE. 985
THE AIRPORT NINE.
BY NOAH BROOKS.
A YARN FROM GLOUCESTER.
IN October, Jake Coombs came back from his
fishing voyage. It had been a fortunate venture,
and the appearance of the trim little schooner, the
" Diana," as she sailed up the harbor, laden deeply,
showed that she had a full fare of fish. Jake was,
accordingly, mighty cranky," as the boys said;
for in those days, fishermen on the Banks were paid
in proportion to the extent of the catch.
The very next day after the arrival of the "Di-
ana," as Blackie was lounging in the window of
the house on stilts, which overlooked the harbor,
Jake, slouching along some distance off, upon the
beach, laden with fishing-tackle, made a speaking
trumpet of his hand and bawled:
"Ahoy, lads, ah-o-y "
Sam, in the same humor, shouted back, Ahoy
yourself! What luck?"
Jake soon brought to opposite the house, and
made answer, "Now, if you fellows want to try
another game with the White Bears, before the
fall rains set in, we are ready for you."
"We are always ready for the White Bears, and
you know it, Jake," was Blackie's reply. But
you need n't think that, just because you made a
good thing of your share of the 'Diana's' catch,
you 're a-going to carry all before you."
Ha! ha! laughed Jake, you Fairports are
not smart enough to take that pennant from the
White Bears, I calculate, and we are willing to give
you another try at it, just for fun. I 've got some-
thing I want to tell you, Blackie; come down on
the wharf, for half a minute."
Johnson's Wharf, where the "Diana "lay moored,
was a sleepy and quiet place. It was dotted over
with rows of empty sugar-hogsheads, from which
the boys had long since scraped all the loose sugar
left sticking to the fragrant staves. Piles of rusty
chain-cables lay against the weather-beaten store-
house, and two or three huge anchors sunned them-
selves at the head of the wharf. Nailed against the
gable of the store-house, and looking steadfastly sea-
ward, was the figure-head of the old ship Are-
thusa," a once-white nymph, very spare in the face
and very full in the chest, with a broken nose, and
an unseemly wad of tar on her neck, the wanton gift
of some bad boy. It was a delightful old place,
full of the associations of the sea, and redolent of
tar and sailors' yarns. Here, on sunny days, the
returned mariner sat on an anchor-stock and told
to open-eyed and open-eared boys the most astound-
ing tales of moving accidents and hair-breadth
'scapes upon the raging main, and of strange
sights in foreign parts. And here, sheltered from
the October wind, Jake and Sam sat down in the
When we were on the Banks," began Jake,
confidentially, I found a feller on board a Glo'ster
schooner-she was a pink-built schooner, with a
big jib and painted red-and he could spin yarns
just everlastingly. He came aboard of the 'Diana,'
one Sunday,, while we was a-layin' off and on, and
me and him got to talking' about base-ball. It 'pears
that he was the pitcher of the Cape Ann Nine,
down to Rockport; but that's neither here nor
there. What I was coming' at is how we got to
talking' base-ball, and that's about how it was."
And you let on and bragged how you and the
rest of the White Bears had whipped the Fairport
Nine, I suppose ? Hey, Jake ? "
Well, Sammy, I did n't throw away no chances
to say a good word for the White Bears; that
would n't be in natur', now would it, Sammy?"
Jake was very friendly, although he had had a full
fare from the Banks. At least, Blackie thought so.
"But, as I was sayin'," continued Jake, "he
was a yarn-spinner, he was; a 'yarn-spinner from
Yarn-spinnersville,' as old Keeler would say. One
day, I was tellin' him about how smart you was in
the left field, and how you knew more than most
white boys, 'specially about things that run in the
woods and swim in the sea, and he ups and says,
says he, 'Well, now, if that boy's father is the one
that run away from South America in the old brig
"Draco," years and years ago, he must be a mighty
old man by this.' And I said he was."
He 's only sixty-odd," interrupted Sam.
Oh, sho," replied Jake, "he don't know how
old he is. Nobody ever does know how old a
darky is, 'specially a darky.who has been into
"Now don't go off mad," he added, seeing
Blackie making an impatient movement. "I
aint half through my yarn yet, so keep your moor-
ings and hear the rest of it. It's mighty curious,'
says the Glo'ster man to me, says he; 'I know
all about old Tumble, as you call him. My gran'-
ther sailed with Captain Whitney out of Lincoln-
ville, ever so many years ago, and between you
THE AIRPORT NINE.
THE AIRPORT NINE.
and me, he wa'n't too good to dicker in the slave-
trade once in a while. Mind,' says this Glo'ster
chap, I don't say that he was in the slave-trade
regular, but he was n't above taking a dash at it,
once in a while, when the molasses business was
dull. He was in the Trinidad trade, my gran'ther
was, and he had dealings with a skipper that they
called Black Stover," who sailed out of Fairport.
This Black Stover,' said the Glo'ster feller, 'traded
all along the Spanish Main, selling' slaves from the
Gold Coast, as far up north as Oldport, Rhode
Island, and as far south as the RiverPlate.'" And
Jake paused to watch the effect of the yarn.
" I was laughing to think that you should be such
a fool as to believe that anybody would take in
such a tough yarn as that."
"I don't care; there 's the story. All of the
fellers in our crew will tell you the same thing.
Most of 'em heard it. Jim Snowman, Si Booden,
and Steve Morey, I know heard that Glo'ster man
tell that story. He said that he remembered his
gran'ther very well, and that he used to tell his
goings-on all over the world to everybody that
would listen to him; and that his gran'ther actilly
believed that one of the slaves that the Black
Stover fetched from the Congo Coast to South
BLACKIE HEARS JAKE'S YARN.
It 's a good story, Jake," remarked Blackie,
" but I don't see what it has got to do with me."
"Holdhard, youngster; I '11 tell you what it has
got to do with you. This Glo'ster chap, he says to
me, says he, 'Black Stover, he told my gran'ther
that he brung a likely young darky from the Congo
to Rio, and that he sold him there, and that he
afterward saw him on Spruce Island, in Penobscot
Bay, and that he was called Black. And my
gran'ther, who is dead and gone since I was forty-
three, said he saw that identical darky in Fairport,
when he was there, foremast hand on "The Chariot
of Fame," Captain Whitney, of Lincolnville.'
Leastways, that's what the Glo'ster man told me,"
and Jake paused.
Sam laughed loud and long.
Seems like it tickled you, Blackie," said Jake,
a little nettled. Seems as if it tickled you,
though it beats me why it should."
Well," answered Blackie, his left eye closed,
America afterward escaped to the coast of Maine,
the very country that the Black Stover came from;
Blackie did not feel very happy as he walked
slowly up the wharf, turning over in his mind the
tale he had just heard. And he was not at all
cheered by Jake's shout after him to go and have
it out with the Black Stover's granddaughter,
Squire Hetherington's wife."
When he reached home, Sam lost no time in
solving his doubts. "Tell me, Dad," he said to
his father, do you know the name of the captain
of the ship that brought you from Africa to Rio ?"
The old man started, and then, recovering him-
self, said gently:
"It war n't no ship, Sammy, it was a brig,-a
square-rigged brig. I was too young then to
know much about ships and vessels, but I know
now that she was a square-rigged brig, for I
remember just exactly how she looked."
THE AIRPORT NINE.
Sam stood too much in awe of his father to show
the impatience which he felt at this evasive reply,
and, stifling it as well as he could, he persisted:
"Well, what was the name of the captain of the
square-rigged brig that brought you over from
"Well, my son, that was a mighty long while
ago. Reely, I disremember. Mebbe it was Brown.
You remember Captain Brown, Sammy; he that
was lost in the 'Two Brothers.' Dear! Dear!
He was a nice man, was Captain Brown; and he
could splice a two-inch hawser better 'n any man
I ever see. 'Pears to me that all the smartest men
die first; hey, Sammy?"
"Well," said Sam, "I saw Jake Coombs, to-
day, and he said that when he was on the Banks,
this voyage, a Gloucester man came aboard the
'Diana' and told him a long yarn about his grand-
father, who sailed out of Lincolnville, ever so many
years ago, and who knew Captain Stover, and that
he whom they call the Black Stover, you know,
commanded a slave-trader, on the sly, as it were,
and that you came over on his vessel, a square-
rigged brig, say, from Africa to Rio. Now, what
do you think of that for a yarn, Dad ? "
I don't believe a word of it, Sammy !" replied
the old man, with great emphasis.
But Jake says that his grandfather saw you
here, long ago, when he was in here on 'The
Chariot of Fame,'" persisted Blackie. "And he
says that he knew you because of your name, and
that he was sure of your being the same man that
the Black Stover brought from the Congo coast."
And this Glo'ster man's grandfather knows that
I, who was a slip of a boy when the Black Stover
brought me over (now, mind, I don't say that he
did bring me over, Sammy), was the same man
that he saw when 'The Chariot of Fame' came in
here with that cargo of Cadiz salt, the year that the
monument was built on Grindle's Ledge? Why, I
remember it just as if it was yesterday, the year
that that monument was built! And he says I was
the same man? Oh, sho! How folks do talk!
It's nothing to be ashamed of. But it's a shame to
be a-tellin' that Squire Hetherington's wife's father
was ever in the slave trade. It's a wicked, wicked
thing, so it is, Sammy."
"But the Glo'ster man said so," replied Sam,
"Perhaps the Glo'ster man lied," said the old
negro, with a meaning smile.
Sam brightened up and said, "P'.-ih. .ps the
Glo'ster man's gran'ther lied ?"
I should n't wonder the least mite if he did."
And this was all that old Tumble could ever be
induced to say about the yarn which had been spun
at sea by the man from Gloucester.
THE GREAT MATCH.
IF the town of Fairport had not been speedily
stirred up by the news that there was to be a grand
final game between the two Nines, it is likely that
this revival of the old scandals of the Black Stover's
slave-trading pursuits would have caused much
talk. As it was, a few ancient ladies, who took their
tea and their gossip together, whispered to each
other that it was dreffle cur'ous that that old sin
would keep a-comin' up to disturb the Hethering-
tons; and they so stuck-up and set in their ways,
too; only Mis' Hetherington was n't in the least
mite proud; but there was the Squire, who walked
down Main street as if the earth was too mean for
him to step on."
But they never got much farther than this.
And the younger portion of the population were
in a fever over the intelligence that the two Nines
would soon play a deciding match-game for the
During the summer, several "scrub" games had
been played by the Fairports, who had supplied
the place of the absent Jo Murch by putting George
Bridges at the first base. Their opponents were
usually made up from such members of the White
Bears as happened to be at home and at leisure;
and that was not many. Jo Murch had not shown
himself in any base-ball game, excepting to sit
sullenly outside the field and watch the play,
making rough criticism on all that went on. But
when it was noised abroad that the Fairports were
to play the White Bears once more, Jo commis-
sioned his small brother Sam to hand in his written
resignation to the members of the Nine. It had
been all. along understood that he was really in with
the White Bears, though he had not formally
severed his connection with the Fairports.
Tell Jo," said Captain Sam Perkins, with great
severity, "that, we should have turned him out if
he had not resigned. George Bridges has resigned
from the White Bears, and he will have Jo's place.
So it is good riddance to bad rubbish, anyhow."
When Jo Murch received this message, he was
very angry, and sent word to Captain Sam that he
was glad to get out of a Nine that could n't play
any better than the Fairports, and that he was
tired of being bullied around by a petty tyrant like
Sam Perkins. The messenger in this instance
was the mild-mannered Sam Murch, and he con-
veniently forgot to deliver it, and the gallant
captain was spared the mortification of this last
insult from his rebellious ex-player.
Now, boys, we must brace up the Nine for the
grand combat," said Captain Sam. "If we beat
THE AIRPORT NINE.
them this time, it will be a tall feather in our caps,
for they have got one of our best basemen, and we
shall have no other chance to play for the pennant
until next summer."
Billy Hetherington and Blackie were in favor of
recasting the Nine, with the understanding that
' the Lob" should remain at the post of catcher, and
that George Bridges, when elected, as he was sure
to be, should be put in Jo Murch's old place at first
To this the rest of the Nine agreed, and, after
much discussion, the captain took Hi Hatch's
place at second base, Hi going to short stop, the
station formerly held by Captain Sam. Bill Wat-
son and Billy Hetherington changed stations,
Watson going to center field, and Billy to the
The news of this re-organization of the Fairporf
Nine spread through the town like wild-fire. It
was the talk of all the boys and girls; and Jake
Coombs, who had become the leader of the White
Bears, sitting on the end of Johnson's Wharf, with
his big boots dangling over the tide, solemnly
advised Captain Sam Booden to do the same thing
with the White Bears, if he did not want to be
got away with everlastingly."
Sam Booden agreed to carry out this suggestion,
though with some reluctance. He was jealous
of Jake's rising leadership in the Nine. Jake had
already had two fights since his return from the
Banks, and he had come off victorious in each.
Jo Murch had been taken into the White Bears,
the members sitting on the bottom of old Getchell's
boat, which was lying on the beach below the
houses on stilts. So, by a solemn vote of the South-
end Nine, he was put into George Bridges's sta-
tion at second base. Captain Sam Booden then
took the first base, changing with Joe Patchen,
who went to third base. Dan Morey went to short
stop, and Eph Mullett to center field, while Joe
Fitts, who had been the center-fielder, took Dan
Morey's station at left field. It was a complete
When Captain Sam Perkins heard of it, he laughed
and said the White Bears were getting scared.
But it was acknowledged by all the boys that the
White Bears had strengthened themselves by these
changes. This is the way the match was played :
THE AIRPORT NINE.
First Base-George Bridges.
Second Base-Captain Sam Perkins.
ThirdBase-James Pat Adams.
Short Stof-Hi Hatch.
Left Field-Sam Black, "Blackie."
Center Field-Bill Watson.
Rglht Field-Billy Hetherington
THE WHITE BEARS.
First Base-Captain Sam Booden.
Second Base-Jo Murch.
Short Stop-Dan Morey.
Left Field-Joe Fitts.
Center Field-Eph Mullett.
Right Field-Peletiah Snelgro.
The bright blue October sky gave promise of
a fine day when the two Nines and, their friends
assembled in the old fort, once more to try their
skill with each other. The air was a little chilly
for the girls, who were prettily grouped together
on the ramparts, now brown and sear with the
frosts of autumn; but Sarah Judkins, with her
customary superior air, said that she could keep
warm by merely looking at the exercise of the
"And as for me," said Alice Martin, shaking
her yellow curls, "I shall be in a fever until I see
those horrid White Bears so awfully beaten that
they will never dare to say 'base-ball' again as
long as they live. Just look at that dreadful Jake
Coombs, now, strutting around as if he owned the
whole fort! "
"The stuck-up thing! said Comfort Stanley,
who overheard this remark. But Comfort Stanley
referred to Alice, and not to Jake, for whom she
entertained a warm admiration. For Comfort was
a daughter of one of the White Bear families, as
the South-end portion of the population of Fairport
had come to be called.
The members of the two Nines were too much
engrossed in the vast interests which they had now
at stake to pay the slightest attention to the light
gossip and chatter which reached them faintly
from the bright ranks of their girl admirers on the
sides of the ramparts. With grave and even
anxious face, Sam Perkins cried "Heads!" as
the copper cent went up into the air. He lost the
toss, and the White Bears, with an elation they
did not try to hide, chose to take the field first.
"We lost the toss and we lost the game, last
time," whispered Ned Martin to the captain.
"It's a sign of bad luck, is n't it ? "
Sam made no reply, but gloomily took his place
in the line of fellows waiting for their turns at
"There 's no luck in the game, Sam," cheerily
said Mr. Nathan Dunbar, who had consented to
act as umpire. It's good playing, my lad, that's
going to win this game; and the fellows that play
best will carry the pennant back to town." Mr:
Dunbar was a philosopher.
Sam felt comforted, and his spirits rose with
his teniper when he heard Dan Morey say, as he
THE AIRPORT NINE
went to short stop, "This is a-going to be a regular
Ned Martin went first to the bat. He made a
terrific strike at the first ball pitched, which was
exactly where he wanted it. He hit the ball, but
it struck foul and was caught by Captain Sam
Booden, who played first base for the first time,
and whose dexterity was applauded vigorously by
Comfort Stanley and her friends on the fort.
Ned was called out" by the umpire, and his
place was taken by John Hale, who was soon re-
tired, going out on strikes. Next came Hi Hatch,
and when he took up the bat a general murmur of
approval rose from the spectators. Hiram was a
prime favorite. He made a capital hit, knocking
the ball over Dan Morey's head at short stop.
Hi was the first man to reach the first base,
and as soon as Jake Coombs had pitched the ball
to George Bridges, who now took up the bat for
the Fairports, Hi started for second base and safely
reached it. But when he next attempted to run
to third base, Joe Fitts, in some mysterious man-
ner, got in from left field, and Eph Weeks, the
catcher, threw him the ball, and Hi was caught be-
tween the bases and so put out. Thus ended the
first half of the first inning.
"They're blanked! They're blanked!" cried
Hannah Kench, one of the friends of the White
Bears. Sarah Judkins looked calmly over Han-
nah's head, and said to her comrades that she
thought that there were more ill-mannered people
this year than usual.
There was exultation when the White Bears now
went to the bat, the redoubtable Jake Coombs be-
ing the first striker. He led off with a safe base-
hit, Eph Weeks being next after him. Eph struck
the first ball pitched, to Hi Hatch at short stop.
Hi handled it with lightning rapidity to Sam Per-
kins, at second base, and he in turn sent it flying
to first base, and both men were put out by the
skillful playing of these two, amidst great applause
from all the spectators. Even the friends of the
White Bears lent a hand to cheer the Fairports.
Thus the Fairports were credited with a very
fine double-play, and when their old first-base man,
Jo Murch, stood up at the bat, as he came next, a
perceptible smile of triumph spread over the faces
of the martial Nine. There were murmurs of dis-
approbation, too, on the slopes of the fort, where
some of the girls recalled Jo's desertion from his
company. And when he was disposed of by his
ball bounding right into the catcher's hand, even
the champions of the White Bears secretly thought
that it served him right. Somehow, Jo had lost
good repute by his desertion.
The first inning was now completed, both Nines
being" whitewashed." The second inning opened
with Pat Adams at the bat. He knocked a daisy-
cutter over to Pel Snelgro, in the right field, so
swiftly that it could not be stopped. This was a
fine hit, and, with great enthusiasm prevailing, Pat
made his second base from it. Sam Perkins fol-
lowed with a single-baser, which advanced Pat
Adams to the third base. Sam Black, who was
next in order, disappointed his friends, as he "hit
Barlow," and was put out at first base, to his own
But the Fairports were cheered by Watson,
who, striking wildly at two balls, hit the third
with a tremendous crack and sent it flying between
center and right fields, thus bringing Pat Adams
home, and sending the gallant captain to the
second base. Billy Hetherington, coming next to
the bat, hit a short ball to Jo Murch at second
base, which gave the White Bears a double play and
ended the second inning of the Fairports, with one
run to their credit.
Again the Bears went to the bat, but with ill-
fortune attending them, as their three strikers
went out in one-two-three order.
"Another blank for the White Bears !" cried
Ned Martin, exultingly, as he came up to the bat.
" It is n't such bad luck to lose the toss, after all;
is it, Sam?" But Ned's elation was soon over.
All three of-the strikers went out, as the White
Bears had just gone, on strikes.
There was a solemn hush inside the fort when
the third inning opened with only one run scored.
The crisis was an exciting one. Some terrific bat-
ting was done in the last half of this inning by
Jake Coombs, Eph Weeks and Joe Patchen. They
succeeded in earning two runs before they were
retired; and the fourth inning began with the
Fairports at the bat. But they were retired with a
blank, only one base-hit being made, and that was
Hi Hatch's. He did not succeed in getting any
farther than first base, the three players following
him striking out. The White Bears watched the
field so closely' that it was impossible to steal
around, and the Fairports took the field again
somewhat downhearted. Ned Martin, as he went
to his station, confided to Blackie his worst fears.
They think they have got us," said Ned.
Blackie laughed confidently and made no answer.
But he knew that the score stood two to one
The White Bears now went in to end the fourth
inning, with Sam Booden at the bat. He led off
with a fly to the left field, which Blackie caught
with one hand, after a long run. Eph Mullett,
who came next, made a fine hit over the center-
fielder's head, on which he got his second base.
Dan Morey followed with a single-base hit which
put Eph to third base, and from there he
TIIE AIRPORT NINE.
attempted to steal home; but he was caught
between the bases and was put out by John Hale,
after a lively struggle. Joe Fitts, coming next to
the bat, sent the first ball pitched to Billy Hether-
ington, in the right field, and Billy held it, and
thus the inning was ended, the Bears being retired
with another blank, to the great delight of some
of the girls,-Sarah Judkins saying that it was just
what might have been expected.
Billy Watson went first to the bat for the
MR. DONBAR ANNOUNCES THE SCORE.
Faiports, and, as he took his station, little Sam
Watson, who could not suppress his admiration for
the martial Nine, shrilly shrieked, "Now give it
to 'em, Billy," to the great scandal of Captain Sam
Perkins, who shouted, "Silence in the ranks "
This made the girls laugh, and Jake Coombs,
at pitcher's station, satirically said that the captain
of the Fairports had not got his sea-legs on yet.
Bill Watson knocked a liner over to center
field, the bally," flying over the head of Ephraim
Mullett. By very hard running, Bill managed to
Teach the third base, where he paused, quite out
of breath. Billy Hetherington followed with a foul
fly which he sent straight into the catcher's hands,
and then he gave way to Ned Martin, who came to
the rescue in fine style. Ned made a fine two-
base hit which brought Watson home amidst great
excitement, the score now standing two to two.E
Then John Hale, otherwishe"the. Lob," went
out on a fly to Dan Morey at short stop. Hi
Hatch hit a grounder to the pitcher and was cut off
at first base, which left Martin on third base, to
which he had stolen, and put the Fairports out.
In the rest of this fifth inning the White Bears
were soon disposed of, Pel Snelgro hitting a fly to
Ned Martin, at pitcher, who held it after a great
deal of fumbling. The next two strikers, Jake
Coombs and Eph Mullett, hit high balls to Pat
Adams, at third base, and he closed on them, and
Umpire Dunbar declared the strikers out.
Even the chattering girls on the ramparts of the
fort were hushed as the sixth inning opened with
the Fairports at the bat. But it was a short in-
ning. Both sides scored blanks, still leaving the
score two and two.
John Hale opened the next inning. He made a
base hit, and Hi Hatch followed with a hit to cen-
ter field. Mullett let the ball pass, Hale got home
on his error, and Hiram went to his third base.
George Bridges, Pat Adams and Sam Perkins
followed with weak hits to short stop and second
base, but the ball was fumbled each time.
The White Bears began to show signs of dis-
may. Jake Coombs, although the air was cool,
was in a state of redness and perspiration wonder-
ful to behold. Before his comrades could recover
themselves, the Fairports had made four runs.
The flutter of the white handkerchiefs on the fort
signaled the triumph there felt at the new turn of
affairs in the field. Perhaps the high beating of
the proud hearts of the Nine caused them to be-
come reckless. The White Bears scored two
unearned runs in this inning, through errors at
short stop, first and third base, and center field.
"This wont do, my lads," whispered Captain
Sam, between his teeth. Here 's the end of the
seventh inning, and we 're only six to four."
But the eighth inning retrieved the day. Cap-
tain Sam's many cautions to his fellows were not in
vain, and the Fairports, with skillful playing and
good running, succeeded in adding two more to
their score, their opponents gaining none.
Now came the ninth and final inning, with
everything looking bright for the Fairports. But
the White Bears were by no means discouraged.
Jake Coombs, their leading spirit, cheered them
by his confident bearing and his rough wit at the
expense of their adversaries.
When the Fairports went to the bat, they did
some first-rate batting, but the ball was handled so
quickly that they found it impossible to gain their
first base once, and were retired with a blank.
Then the Bears went to the bat for their last
time, the inning being opened by Eph Mullett, who
made a two-base hit, Dan Morey following him with
a single hit, which sent Mullett to third base. Joe
WASHING DOLLY'S CLOTHES.
Fitts, who next took up the bat, sent the ball
between center and left field, and thus brought
Eohraim home and Dan Morey to the third base.
When Martin pitched the ball for Snelgro, Joe
Fitts attempted to run to second base, but Hale,
catcher, had the ball there before him, and he was
cut off by Sam Perkins's fielding it home. This
made two men out, and two strikes on third man
at the bat; the next ball might decide the game.
Pel Snelgro, at the bat, hit the ball and sent it
straight to Watson, in center field. Bill closed
on the ball, doubling himself together in his anxiety
to keep it. A great sigh of relief was breathed
through the ball-field, for the game was won, and
the Fairports were victorious. A shrill cheer ran
along the ramparts of the fort, and Phcebe Sawyer,
taking her bonnet by the strings, waved it wildly
around her head. Then the Fairports gave a
yell of triumph, and Mr. Dunbar, after a little
figuring, mounted a bench and announced the
following result of the final championship game:
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9
The Fairport Nine......... o 1 o o 1 0 4 2 o-8
The White Bears.......... oo 2 o o o a -
Time of game, two hours.
Umpire, Mr. Nathan 1)unbar.
Runs earned-Fairport Nine, 3; White Bears, a.
Never mind, boys," said Jake Coombs, stoutly;
they had to work hard for it, and we 'll get that
pennant back, next year; see if we don't."
It 's not so big as the William and Sally's'
burgee, but it is ours cried Blackie, quoting the
very words used by the White Bears when they
had captured the pennant, last July. Jake laughed,
for he saw the joke, and was too good-natured to
grudge the Fairports their hard-earned victory.
Alice Martin and some of the other girls of the
Fairport Nine's friends clustered around Billy
Hetherington, who, as the standard-bearer of the
martial Nine, carried the championship pennant.
It's just splendid," said Alice, with her blue
eyes gleaming, "and I knew we should get the
pennant back again."
We, indeed !" cried Sarah; "I 'd like to know
what we have had to do with it ?"
"Well, I don't care," replied Alice, "everybody
that is anybody is awful glad that our Nine won."
And, as the boys went joyfully down into the
town, Billy Hetherington, who lagged behind with
the pennant proudly waving over his head, whis-
pered to Blackie, I don't believe in luck, but I
felt it in my bones that the base-ball championship
belonged to the Fairport Nine."
WASHING DOLLY S CLOTHES.
FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK.
BY B. W.
LIT-TLE BOB-BY was a lit-tle ne-gro boy. He was very fond of his
break-fast, his din-ner and his sup-per, and if there had been any other
meal, he would have been glad to have that, too.
Bob-by's fa-ther used to say that his lit-tle boy liked his meals bet-
ter than he liked any-thing else, and that, if he did not stop eat-ing so
much, .he :would grow fat and round, like a big pig, and would not look
like a boy at all.
But Bob-by's moth-er thought that her lit-tle boy ought to eat just
as much as he could. "If it makes him fat," said she, I do not mind
that. I like fat lit-tle boys."
Bob-by was al-ways glad when he had mush and milk for his sup-
per, be-cause his moth-er gave it to him in a ver-y large wood-en bowl,
which held a great deal. One day, his moth-er said to him:
Bob-by, my boy, here is your bowl, with your mush and milk. You
can take it out to the back door, and sit on the top of the steps. It
will be nice and cool for you there."
So Bob-by took the bowl of mush and milk, which was so big and
heav-y that he scarce-ly could car-ry it, and went to the back door and
sat down. There was a good deal of milk in the bowl, and not much
mush, be-cause that was the way Bob-by liked it. He had to be ver-y
care-ful how he held the bowl, for fear some of his sup-per should be
spilt. So he put it in his lap and held it tight, be-tween his knees, while
he took his spoon in his hand and gazed at his sup-per.
This is real nice," said Bob-by to him-self, aft-er he had tast-ed
a lit-tle of the mush and milk. "I like it, and I am go-ing to eat
just as much as I can. Mam-my says it will make me grow, and I
want to grow, and grow, and grow, and grow, un-til I am as big as my
dad-dy. Then he wont tell me I must not eat so much. Peo-ple
who are big can eat just as much as they want to. I like to eat too
much. I think too much is just e-nough. And I am go-ing to ask my
mam-my to buy me a big-ger bowl than this one, so that I can eat more
mush and milk, and grow a great deal big-ger than this much mush and
milk will make me grow. And when I am as big as my dad-dy, I
would just like to hear him say I eat too much !"
As he said this, Bob-by let go of the bowl, which he held with his left
1Bso.] FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK. 993
hand, and he sat up as straight as he could, as if he felt he was al-read-y
grow-ing big-ger. Then he gave a great dip in-to the mush and milk,
with the spoon which he held in his
oth-er hand, for he want-ed to be-
gin to eat a-gain, as fast as he could.
He for-got he had let go of the
bowl, and he gave it such a push,
as he dipped his spoon in-to it, that
it up-set and rolled off his knees.
Then it went bang-ing and thump-
ing down the steps, spill-ing some of
the mush and milk on each step, un-
til it got to the bot-tom, when it T
turned o-ver on one side, and all
the rest of the mush and milk ran
out on the ground.
Poor Bob-by sat on the top
step, still hold-ing the spoon-ful of
mush and milk in his hand. His -
eyes o-pened as wide as they would
go, and he sat and looked at the
bowl as if he did not know what
in the world had hap-pened.
But he soon saw that it was of
no use to sit there, and look at the
bowl. He could not make it climb
up the steps, and gath-er up all the
mush and milk in-to it-self as it
came up. All of Bob-by's sup-per
was gone, and there was no help for
it. He gave a deep sigh.
Then the tears be-gan to come
in-to his eyes.
"I 'd like to know how I 'm go-
ing to grow," he said, ruib-bing his
eyes, "if the bowls go and do that
way. Now I shall have no sup-per
at all." But if Bob-by had not been "ALL BOBBY'S SUPPER WAS GONE"
so greed-y, and if he had not thought he knew so much more than-
his fa-ther, he might have had just as much sup-per as he want-ed.
_ K- N -TE P' ULP IT.
J ACK- IN-TIIE-P ULP IT.
WORD comes to me, my dears, of strange
goings-on in the woods these days !
I happen to know by sight, although I see him
rarely, a hermit-thrush, who spends his life in the
very loneliest part of the wood, where he goes
whole weeks and weeks without seeing a boy's or
a girl's face. How he can endure that kind of life
I can't think, but it's clear that he even likes it, for
he sends me a complaint that he has been fright-
ened by crowds of children thronging around his
home of late, and so he must move away.
You may be sure I looked very grave at this
news, because I know of nothing more unlike a
good child than to frighten a hermit-thrush. For,
although he's the most modest fellow in the world,
and so bashful he wont so much as chirp, if he
knows you 're by, yet all accounts agree that he is
a perfect singer.
But, luckily, ou 've escaped a scold-y sermon
from me, my dears, for the thrush's messenger was
wiser than he, and soon explained things to my
Here are the facts of the disturbance:
It seems that more boys and girls visit the
groves at this time than came even in June, when
the trees put on their new spring clothes. Deacon
Green says the woods are full of them. But they
go in groups, and carry bags and baskets.
Ah, you understand now Of course you do.
So did I, the moment my bird told me that.
It's Nutting Time And, of course, boys and
girls will go prowling around anywhere and every-
where to find such treasures as walnuts and hick-
ory-nuts and chestnuts, and all the rest. And
if some of them happen to stroll within sight
of the hermit-thrush's home, why, bless me!
what's the harm ? Not one of them would annoy
*him for the world. Why does n't he come out and
be sociable, and give them a song, as any sensible
singer would? Then he would find out what
happy creatures and gentle companions boys and
girls can be.
Between you and me, I 've a notion that hermits
are not the wisest people in the world, anyhow !
But, speaking of birds, let me tell you of
A BLACKBIRD'S LITTLE JOKE.
ONE day-says L. H.-my cousin John called
at a house to see its owner on business. But the
man was out, and. John waited in the kitchen,
where the man's wife was picking over dried
apples, while a blackbird on the mantel-piece
blinked at her solemnly.
Presently, the woman was called out. At once,
the blackbird was in a tremendous flutter. He
flew down, and, in a violent hurry, hid the greater
part of the picked apples. Then he went and sat
as gravely as ever in his former place.
When the mistress came back, she looked with
surprise at the diminished heap of apples, and
glanced accusingly at John, who could not restrain
himself, but suddenly burst into a hearty laugh.
The woman's face became very red, and she be-
gan to say something sharp. But John smothered
his merriment, lifted a cloth, and, pointing to the
solemn bird, said:
Here are the apples, ma'am, and there 's the
culprit; but he looks so reproachful that I myself
scarcely can believe I 'm not the guilty party."
HOW THEY APPEAR THROUGH A GLASS.
THE microscope tells many curious and inter-
esting secrets, my dears. For instance, look
through it at the fibers of the cotton and flax
plants, and at a single shred of silk just off the
cocoon. You will find strange differences between
them, besides colors and sizes. The cotton will
look like a flat twisted tube bordered at each side;
the silk-but the pictures show it all at a glance.
WHAT STEAM CAN DO.
DID you ever try to count on your fingers the
things that steam can do ? It gently pushes a pin,
an inch long, through two ridges in soft paper, and
it drives a steamer, three hundred feet in length,
through the great ocean waves, doing both duties
with sure obedience to its master.
Of course, you know that this power was dis-
SACK-IN THE -PULPIT.
covered by a boy watching a tea-kettle on the fire
in his mother's kitchen. The water boiled up into
steam, which forced the cover of the kettle to dance
a kind of jig. This boy's name was,-well, now
I come to think of it, what was his name?
Not long ago, the Little School-ma'am sent me a
printed scrap with these rhymes about steam. It
will give you a pretty fair idea of this lid-dancer's
accomplishments, but you 're not obliged to com-
mit it to memory, my suffering ones:
"THE USES OF STEAM.
It lifts, it lowers, it propels, it tows.
It drains, it plows, it reaps, it mows.
It pumps, it bores, it irrigates.
It dredges, it digs, it excavates.
It pulls, it pushes, it draws, it drives.
It splits, it planes, it saws, it rives.
It carries, it scatters, collects and brings.
It blows, it puffs, it halts and springs.
It bursts, condenses, opens and shuts.
It pricks, it drills, it hammers and cuts.
It shovels, it washes, it bolts and binds.
It threshes, it winnows, it mixes and.grinds.
It crushes, it sifts, it punches, it kneads.
It molds, it stamps, it presses, it feeds.
It rakes, it scrapes, it sows, it shaves.
It runs on land, it rides on waves.
It mortises, forges, rolls and rasps.
It polishes, rivets, files and clasps.
It brushes, scratches, cards and spins.
It puts out fires, and papers pins.
It weaves, it winds, it twists, it throws.
It stands, it lies, it comes and goes.
It winds, it knits, it carves, it hews.
It coins, it prints-aye !-prints this news "
A TREE THAT BORE CURIOUS FRUIT.
DEAR JACK: I know of a tree that bore curious fruit. It was
not a curious tree, being merely a poplar, which usually bears no
fruit at all, and yet this tree bore a crop of yellow fruit that had two
feet and ran about. And the same summer it bore a second crop, of
yellow and white fruit that had four feet, and ran faster than that
with two. Does this sound strange? It is quite true.
Poplar trees are not very good for shade, as the branches do not
spread out, but grow straight up. However, a hundred years ago
they were thought very handsome, and were planted in rows on each
side of carriage drives. When old they are easily broken by the
wind, and this particular tree I am writing about had been broken
off about twelve feet from the ground. New branches had grown up
all around the top of the stump, leaving a hollow in the middle
which formed the safest of hiding-places.
The old white hen found it, and scratching in the soft, dead
wood, made a cozy nest. Here she laid thirteen eggs. At the end
of three weeks, we saw her bustling and clucking at the foot of the
tree, and, on climbing up, we found eleven little yellow chickens
in the top of the tree. These we soon removed to a place safer for
Not long after, old Tabby discovered the same retreat, and put
her new kittens there. Every day we saw her clamber down from
the tree and run to the kitchen for food, and then -, -11 :. t 1;
again. We climbed again and looked, and, behold, f-.(. ir ,..
and white kittens! We left these to come down when they were
grown old enough, as we knew they would not fall.
Did you ever know a tree to bear such fruit? M. A. C.
THE BRILLIANT SEA-MOUSE.
IN August we talked about a field-mouse, and
a field-mouse is a pretty enough little fellow, frisky
and soft, and with very bright eyes. But there is
a mouse that is even more beautiful,-the bright
and brilliant sea-mouse,-one of the prettiest creat-
ures that live in the water.
Of course, your Jack has never visited him in his
home, but persons who have seen him say that he
sparkles like a diamond and is colored with all the
hues of the rainbow. Yet he makes his home in
the mud at the bottom of the sea. His shape is
somewhat like that of a mouse, but he is as large
as a small cat. His beautiful glittering scales
move as he breathes, shining through a fleecy
down; and out of the down grow fine silky hairs,
which wave to and fro and keep changing from
one bright color to another.
A very fine fellow is this dazzling sea-dandy, but
I am afraid his finery must help his enemies to
catch him, when their dinner-hour comes round.
THE SALAMANDER DRESS.
DEAR JACK : Your August remarks about the salamander
remind me that I once saw a man actually "sit in a blazing fire with
comfort." He wore a "salamander dress," and this was air-tight
excepting about the face, and was made of the fibers of asbestos-
stone, which cannot burn. It was a double dress, one part fitting
loosely over the other; and it covered all but the wearer's eyes,
nose and mouth. Abig bonfire was made, and just before the man
walked into the flames, a tube, covered thick with asbestos, was
attached to his dress. Through this tube, air was blown with great
force. It rushed out from around his face; and, when he was in the
midst of the fire, this air blew away the smoke and flames so that
he could see, and breathe fresh air and take his ease. At least, this
is what I understood of the explanation that was made to me at the
time.-Yours truly, G. M.
THE VOYAGE OF A CRICKET.
C. S. R. SENDS this picture and story :
On a farm where I used to live, there was a little
round pond down by the edge of the woods. It
was surrounded by alders, blackberry-bushes, and
tall maple-trees, which were very beautiful in the
fall, with their gorgeous mantles of crimson, green
Well, I took my gun one day, and strolled down to
the pond to shoot some musk-rats, that had bothered
us a good deal. The surface of the pond was very
clear, excepting that a few twigs had fallen from
the maples, and were floating on the water, form-
ing little rafts; and some dry leaves were drifting
about, as the wind stirred them, like tiny canoes.
While I was peering around, I saw a little cricket
jump from the root of a maple into the pond, and
begin swimming toward the other side. I was
very much surprised, for crickets do not like the
water. By and by, when he got tired, he turned
on his back and floated. Then the wind blew a
dry leaf near him, and he hopped on that, and
sailed away gayly. But as soon as the leaf began
to drift out of his course, he sprang into the water,
and swam until he came to a twig raft, on which
he floated and rested for a while.
Thus,by swimming, and floating on the dryleaves
and twigs, he reached the opposite side, in a straight
line from the spot whence he had started; and he
leaped up the bank, and hopped into a hole in a
hollow stump, which, I suppose, was his home.
Was n't that voyage a great trial of courage,
skill and endurance for such a little thing?
THE Publishers of ST. NICHOLAS wish to say that, on account of
the increased number and size of the pages, it will be necessary to
bind the monthly issues for the present volume in two parts,-one
comprising the numbers from November, 1879, to April, i88o, inclu-
sive, the other containing the remaining six. The Publishers will
bind the numbers for the year in the two parts described, or will sup-
ply covers for the purpose, in accordance with their notice on the
contents page of the cover of the present number.
WE are sorry to say that the papers by Mrs. Oliphant about two
Queens of England, and the proposed new department for choice
specimens of English literature, which were to have been given in
the present volume of ST. NICHOLAS, have been unavoidably crowded
out by more timely articles. But we trust that all our readers who
have been looking for the promised papers will have found compen-
sation for their absence hitherto, in the articles entitled "Paper
Balloons," A Happy Thought for Street Children," Small Boats:
How to Rig and Sail them," "A Talk about the Bicycle," and "The
Girls' Swimming Bath." And we now assure them that Mrs.
Oliphant's papers and the English literature selections will appear
in the eighth volume, which begins with next month's number.
THE LITTLE VIOLINIST.
Miss NORTHAM'S full-page picture, on page 984 of the present
number, is taken from life, and a very true portraiitis. The original
is young friend of ours, named Lulu, who interested us, first, because
she is a very happy, winsome little girl, and, next, because she plays
the violin remarkably well for a child of ten years.
Lulu lives in Brooklyn, and spends her time very much as other
little girls do. But, besides studying her lessons, frolicking in the
sunshine with her friends, and taking care of her dollies, she has the
great joy of playing, upon her beloved violin, music so sweet and rich
that the eyes of her father and mother sparkle with happiness as they
Lulu plays pretty well," they say softly to each other, and then
they take "solid comfort" in the thought of how patiently she has
struggled through her first lessons, and how vigorously she has prac-
ticed. A punning friend of hers says that Lulu has had more terrible
"scrapes" than almost any little school-girl he ever knew. So,
you see, the sounds of that violin have not always been as sweet as
they are now.
But we must tell what led our little friend into all these scrapes.
One day, hardly a year ago, Lulu's father took her to a concert, and
there she heard a little lassie of about her own age play upon the
violin. She was delighted with this music, and on her way home,
and for many days thereafter, begged and coaxed her parents to allow
her to learn to play.
Papa," she would say, "if you only let me take lessons on the
violin, I promise you I will not give it up, and I will not be discour-
aged, but will learn to play well."
Finally, he yielded, and bought a small violin for her, secretly
thinking it would prove, like a new toy, an amusement of which she
soon would weary.
But Lulu had an absorbing love of music, and, by careful and
industrious practice, she soon developed unusual powers. Her
teacher, after a few lessons, pronounced hislittle pupil very talented;
and he thinks that she promises to attain great skill upon her favorite
instrument. And, even now, after only one year's practice, she often
delights her parents and friends by her beautiful playing.
HERE is an exact copy of a quaint story written by a little friend
of ours, seven years old. It is her first attempt, and while it certainly
shows that the little maid has much to learn, it shows also that she
has a lively imagination.
I wish I were a little bird, to sit upon a tree and sing the live-long
day, the song that I 'd sing is a pretty song and the place that I 'd
sit in is a pretty place and the house that I 'd live in is a pretty
house; and I think I will go to bed now, and if I should wake up in
the morn and find myself a bird what would I do? Well, what kind
of a bird would I like to be? I guess a sparrow. I 'd better go to
sleep. Now it is morning, mamma calls me, but no answer, but a
little song I sing, then mamma comes into the room and finds a little
bird in my bed. Mamma looks out of the window, and out I go, and
she says, "Come back, come back little birdy," but I do not come.
I go and sit on a nice little place in the tree and sing all day, and at
night I go on a large tree and in the morning I set forth to build a
nest, at first I sing a song, then go and get the things to build it
with, I get some moss, wool, hair, and a few other things in a few
days I 'd have it builded, and then I played three nice i. :r1: :: ..
next I got three little birdies, I left them once and t..I1 Ii-..-, .r ,.
let the old cat see them, and they did not, then they got to be quite
big ones and then I went to see mamma again she said is this my
little girl and I said yes. I have come to see you again I have some
little birds. I will go and call them now. Yes I would like to see
them how do you like to be a bird May very much said she
would n't you like to come and live with me. I don't know said
May. Good-bye and I flew back to my home again. LOUISE B.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My cousin lives out in the country n the
summer. One day I went out there, and we went fishing. Among
other things we caught a large bull-frog and took it home.
My cousin's mother thought it best not to keep it, so we gave it to
a little boy that lived near.
Next morning, the boy met us, and told us that he had put the
frog into his mother's aquarium, and it had eaten all the fish and died
itself.-Your faithful reader, P. T. BaowN.
ARTHUR S. sends this interesting account of a visit paid by a polite
young sparrow to a good-natured canary-bird :
I have a very pretty canary named Dick, who will perch on my
finger, lay his little bill lovingly against my cheek, and take crumbs
of sugarfrom my tongue. One pleasant evening in sprng, Dick was
hopping about in his cage by the open window, when a sparrow flew
up, perched on the cage, and began to eat seed from Dick's store.
I sat writing near by, and saw the little visitor making himself quite
at home, encouraged now and then bya chirp of hearty welcome from
The sparrow ate until satisfied and then flew off. Dick was again
alone, and I went on writing.
Presently, however, the sparrow came back, bringing in his bill
some chickweed, which he dropped inside Dick's cage. Having been
made welcome to a delightful feast, the grateful wild bird brought a
dainty morsel to his friend in recognition of the kindness. Dick ate
the chickweed with relish, and, giving a cheerful chirrup, the spar-
row flew away, to return no more.
MR. ERNEST INGERSOLL, in his article about Some Man-Eaters,"
printed in the present number, mentions the loss of human life caused
by wild beasts in Hindustan. It is not generally known how terribly
great this loss is; but government reports show that in Hindustan,
during the year 1877, snakes alone killed 17,000 persons, and tigers,
elephants, leopards and ether wild beasts, nearly 3,000 more.
The number of man-killing animals in that vast country must be
very great. In the same year, x27,000 snakes and 22,ooo00 wild beasts
were killed, at a cost of $50,000 in special rewards, and yet, it is said,
the total of man-destroyers did not seem diminished.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Though a rather old boy, now, there are
some boyish things I have not yet put away. 1 read ST. NICHOLAS
regularly, and can sympathize with its younger readers and corre-
spondents. One of the latter has touched me in a very tender spot,
Master Robert Wilson, Jr., and his new microscope, bnng back the
time (how long ago it seems!) when I was taking my first glimpses
of the fairy land which the microscope reveals to us. Then I, too,
wanted to know the names of the strange things I saw in the stag-
nant water; but I had no one to tell me, and no ST. NICHOLAS to
write to for information. However, I found out some things after a
while, and I have kept on 'finding out more ever since, and yet 1
have made only the least little step toward acquiring the immense
fund of facts which the microscope is capable of disclosing to those
who use it properly.
In the first place, I should judge from Master Robert's descriptions
that some of the "animals" he saw were not animals at all, but tiny
vegetables which, during a portion of their lives, have the power of
swimming freely about in the water. Into this class I think we must
put the "very small round ones" and the "big-little-ones"; but the
description is not full enough for me to give their names
Most of the other forms were probably animalcule (little animals).
Those which Robert called potato-bugs" and leeches" were per-
haps different varieties of Paramecia. The "snails" and the "scis-
sors-tails" were doubtless two varieties of Rotifers (see "Web-
ster's Unabridged" at the word "Rotifer"), very curious fellows,
indeed, who get their name from a row or rows of cilia (hair-like
organs) surrounding what may be called their heads, and which,
when in motion, have the appearance of revolving wheels. To show
these plainly would probably take more magnifying power and
greater skill than a boy usually has at his command during the first
year that he owns a microscope.
Master Robert's "tied-tails" I take to be Vorticelle (or little whirl-
pool-makers)-formerly known as Bell-animalculm, from the bell-like
shape of their bodies. (See "The Microscope: and what I saw
through it," in ST. NICHOLAS for December, 1878.)
I have not been very positive in my classifications, because my
young friend's descriptions are very indefinite, though quite suffi-
cient to show that he has the material in him for a good observer.
G. E. B.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have heard that "in China only those
possessing a high order of intellect and uncommon attainments are
reckoned among the aristocracy." Please tell me if this is so, or ifit
is an inherited right, and oblige T. F. T.
There is a nobility of birth in China, but there is a nobility of sta-
tion, as well. This latter is open to all who have successfully
passed literary examinations. In no other country is education held
in higher esteem than in China, where the government encourages
learning, by making it the road to distinction.
W. H.-" Macrame is derived, it is said, from an Arabic word
signifying "fringed border."
G. L. sends us these verses about some little friends of hers and
their "Lesson in Subtraction ":
Your little basket holds, dear Nell,
Five apples round and red,
And Teacher took them out: "Now tell
What have you left," she said.
Sweet Nell looked up with rounded eyes,
Of treasures all bereft,
And answer gave most wondrous wise,
I have my basket left."
O, fie!-Come hither, little Sue,
And shame your sister Nell.
If I five apples take from you,
The difference can you tell?"
Sue's dimpled cheeks grew rosy red;
A moment thought she,-then,
No difference, ma'am," she sweetly said;
You 'II give them back again."
SusIE H.-The Editor will be glad to examine the old book of
children's papers," which you mention, and will send it back
promptly, if you will write your full address on it.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I want to tell all the boys, who read your
interesting letters, about this beautiful country near San Gabriel, Cali-
fornia, full of sweet-scented orange groves and beautiful flowers. But
best of all are the hunts the boys have in the mountains. My cousin
and I went for a holiday up to the mountains to a place known as
Butler's Caron. We were riding along and we came suddenly
upon two wolves. The lazy fellows turned around and gave a con-
temptuous glance at us, then trotted slowly away. Our dogs ran
back, refusing to pursue them. We did not have-our guns with us,
so we did not attack the wolves.-Truly yours,.
F. S. VAN TREES.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I ..' i 1.. ..,.; :,.-A.. of this maga-
zine have heard of thePa. : i I. .. '. '::d thisyearin
Ober-Ammergau, a little village in Germany? It is a place in the
Bavarian Alps. Similar villages are scattered all through Germany,
but this one is world-renowned because of its Passion Play.
This play is the representation, on the stage, of the last few days of
the life of our Savior. The idea appears very strange at first, but
those who have seen the play do not feel that it is irreverent, because
they see the unfeigned religious spirit in which it is performed.
Several hundred years ago. this play was first acted. In those
times, when only the upper classes knew how to read, the priests
used to instruct the ignorant poor people as we teach little children
now-that is, through their eyes and ears, instead of by means of
books. As the people could not read the Bible, the priests used to
have its scenes acted. When we go to the theater, it is for amuse-
ment. but these miracle-plays, as they were called, given by the
priests, were for instruction, and to go to one was considered just as
much a religious act as it is for us to go to church. As time went on,
however, the miracle-plays were gradually given up. But in this
little village of Ober-Ammergau the custom still remains.
In former years, when such plays were common, a dreadful pesti-
lence prevailed in all the villages around, spreading from one to
another, and in Ober-Ammergau the inhabitants expected that the
plague would soon come to them. In their fright they made a vow,
that if the sickness should not touch them, they would take their
escape as a sign that God had kept it away in answer to their
prayers, and they would, as a thanksgiving, perform a miracle-play
every ten years forever. The sickness did not come, and the villa-
gers kept their promise.
Every ten years, the play is given every Sunday through the
summer; and this summer just gone by was one of those in which
it was performed.
The actors and actresses are drawn from among the mostrespectable
people of the village. They are not only careful about this, but also,
as I was told, those who are to play the principal parts do not go to
dances and concerts during the year of the play, but try to lead an
especially sober and religious life. On the Sunday morning when
they are to act, they always go to church first, and celebrate the Last
Supper as a preparation for the play; so, you see, they consider it a
religious duty, and not a mere amusement, like a common play.
The people of Ober-Ammergau receive as boarders the strangers
who come to see the play. All the villagers wesaw appeared far above
the same class of people in other places; it seems as if the Passion
Play were a means of education to them. Nearly every family takes
part, and they are obliged, in the planning and arranging of their
play, to use a great deal of thought and study. The grouping and
costuming are as nearly exactcopies of the famous pictures of the great
painters as they can make them, and they show great knowledge of
those wonderful worksofart. The actors are obliged to speak a pure
German, very different from that spoken by the people in their own
part of the country.
The play also has obliged the people to study music. The orches-
tra is entirely composed of native musicians, and is considered a very
good one of its kind. One boy of sixteen not only took part in the
orchestra, but played also upon four or five instruments for his own
amusement, beside his regular occupation of wood-carving. The
constant intercourse of the villagers with strangers must also add
much to the number of their ideas. They see a great many of the
better classes of all countries, with whom they associate upon equal
terms, and this, of course, brings them ease and refinement of man-
ner such as are unusual with their own poor country people. As the
play is always performed in exactly the same way, I will tell you a
little about how it was done in 1870, when I saw it.
During the afternoon on Saturday we took several walks through
the village, which was swarming with foreigners. We also visited
the empty theater, an immense building only partly covered. That
is, the stage was a house in itself, open in front, and the space occu-
pied by the audience stretched before it, a wilderness of benches, of
which only those farthest from the stage were covered.
.Long hair is a sign of a player, and we saw constantly in the streets
men and boys with picturesque locks reaching to their shoulders.
The principal actor, Joseph Mayer, had a special permission from
the king of Bavaria to wear his hair long, while he was in the army,
during the late war, in order to preserve it for the Passion Play.
When we were at last quietly settled in our seats, on the first Sun-
day, our feelings were not altogether pleasant. Although I had
longed to see the Passion Play, I had looked forward to it with dread,
as something that would be very painful; and, now that it was fairly
beginning, I wondered how I was going to bear it. However, the
reality was less terrible than the anticipation.
I will not try to describe all the details of the play. It kept closely
to the text of the New Testament in the scenes of the Savior's life,
his own words being used throughout. The first scene was the entry
into Jerusalem. Toward the last there were the supper in the house
of Simon the Leper; the Last Supper; the scene in Gethsemane;
the Betrayal; the death of Judas; all the different scenes in the
Savior's trials before the Roman governor and before the priests: and,
finally, the Crucifixion and Resurrection.
The scene of the Crucifixion was, of course, dreadful in theextreme.
Although we had grown familiar with the constant representation of
it in pictures, none of them could equal the living scene then solemnly
Almost as touching was the Descent from the Cross. This, and
indeed every other scene, were in such exact imitation of the old
paintings, that the whole play seemed to us to be one series of mov-
The representationwas interspersed with such tableaux from the
Old Testament as were supposed to have-a connection with scenes
in the life of Jesus.
The play lasted eight hours, and the strain of watching it caused
us intense fatigue. We had one intermission of an hour, during
which we went home and dined.
I think the most distinct feeling upon waking next morning was a
sense of relief that the Passion Play was over. It was so entirely
over, that it seemed strange to remember how it had occupied every
mind the day before. Monday morning saw the towns-people,
including the actors and musicians, returning to their work, some to
wood-carving and some to field-work; nearly all the strangers dis-
appeared, and the whole place assumed the appearance of a quiet
country village. ALICE PARKMAN SMITH.
L. W. H.-The third line of the first stanza of the hymn "Amer-
ica begins with the word Of," not On," as wrongly printed in
telegraphic characters in the July "Riddle-Box." Accompanying
this is a diagram of a "Morse Telegraphic Alphabet," such as most Nel
telegraph operators use. Some operators use alphabets slightly dif- son
ferent, but probably all would understand a message spelled in ley
accordance with this diagram. Dot
DEAR ST NICHOLAS: I write to tell you of a visit from my father M.
and his family to one of his parishioners, a farmer. Sim
The farmer's wife came out to welcome mother; she had on ablue Ric
gingham frock and a nice white apron. Next came the farmer,
In his domestic suit and pair of knit suspenders, which his good
wife had made. It was the month of October, and he had
been pounding cider, and a large pile of apples lay near the
trough. I saw an ox-wagon coming in, piled with corn in the
shucks, that was to be husked out that night. A large old
colored woman was bringing in hampers of potatoes.
Father and the farmer sat at the cider-press, talking about
affairs of state and church. I did not understand all they said,
but it was about gold and greenbacks; they wanted more of
Presently, I heard the farmer's wife say to mother: "Please
excuse me, I must see about dinner." The little boy followed
her, crying: Ma, Ma, don't kill my chicken "
I am not going to describe the dinner; I only wish that the
farmer and his wife were on our "committee of sustentation."
While seated at the table, the farmer said to my father:
"Parson, what makes preachers' children so much worse than
other children ?"
I looked at mother's face and saw a cloud upon it, as she
said, I am not sure that that is the case."
Father then mentioned a number of good and great men who
were the sons of preachers. He concluded by saying: "Gen-
erals Harrison and Jackson both had pious mothers." He did
not see his mistake until we began to laugh. MOCKING-BIRD.
Let us be like the vine, growing in grace and purity of heart, cling-
ing to the arbor of virtue; being content to do the work that the good
God has given us. EDITH MERRIAM, AGE 14 YEARS.
Translations of the fable La Vigne et la Truelle were received
before August 20, from A. J. McN.-Klyda Richardson-" X. Y,
Z."-Florence Burke-Lillian Gesner-Gertrude Abbott-Cece
Bacon-Mathilde Weyer--Leslie W. Hopkinson-Annie H. Mills-
Gertrude Hiudekoper-Bessie Beebe-Mary and Carrie Craighill-
Marion B. Hudson-Emily R. Childs-Mabel Gordon-Belle M.
Chandler-Cintra Hutchinson-Rosalie Carroll-Thomas Hunt-
lie Chandler-Alice M. Hunt-Ann Hay Battaile-Kate Samp-
-Florence M. Easton-Nelly Granberry-Lancelot Minor Berke-
--Jennie H. Sieber-Clara E. Comstock-Edith Hamilton-
ritta L. Sanford-Mary G. Kelsey-Laura G. Jones-Eddie C.
dd-Euphemia Johnson--Julie Wickham and M. F. Smith-
ly Adams-Mildred Grace Roberts-Clay V. Faulkner-Varina
ne Mitchell-G. E. Debevoise-Florence Van Rensselaer-Edith
Pollard-M. Jeannette Brookings-Ritta Leche-Lucy B.
ms-Helen E. Stone-Mary M. Madison-Beatrice Brown-
hard C. Harrison-William Henry Gardner-William L. Miller,
v ^\ ^ ) r t
-, ., c W < < ,/-K-
MANY translations of A. J. McN.'s French fable, La Vigne (
et la Truelle," have been received. Perhaps the best was sent i S
by Edith Merriam, and it is now printed. But several of the
others-especially the one sent by L. W. H.-came very near ,
the same degree of excellence. The accidental errors of printing, -
which appeared in the French original, were discovered by
many of the translators. The phonographic English version of -
the fable, also given now, was sent in with the remark, This is
written in Graham's elementary style."
THE VINE AND THE TROWEL. .. .
A TROWEL. was resti- -..-;.- .-. arbor about which a little "" 7 4 :
Vine was creeping. I. I the discontented Trowel,
"must I work while you do not work ? For my part, I should
like to have you do as I do." \ --/ -
"Indeed,' replied the little Vine, "I do not think I am idle. '
I am trying to climb to the highest part of the arbor this sum-
mer, because I think that it will please the gardener."
A neighboring apple-tree, delighting to point a moral, concluded of Toronto-Grace D. Gerow-C. B. Zerega-Mardochde la Juive-
thus: Mary D. and Sallie D. Rogers-Hattie F. Head-Nellie Henderson-
"Of yourself, Trowel, you are unable to move an inch. Besides, Lila G. Alliger-Ethel Richmond Faraday, of Levenshulme, England
we all are almost like tools in the hand of our Creator, and without -Florence Antonia Sterling, of Plymouth, England-Harriet Susan
His aid we could not move more than the Trowel." Sterling, of Plymouth, England.
A B C D E F G H I J
K L M N O P Q R S T
U V W X Y Z &
I 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 0
EASY NUMERICAL ENIGMA.
I HAVE seven letters, and I come once a year. My 5-4-6-7 is a
Dutch colonist of South Africa. My 2-1-4-3 is a water-fowl.
PICTORIAL NUMERICAL ENIGMA.
THE answer is a famous riddle, given in the Old Testament; and
it contains sixty-one letters, here represented tin their order as they
stand in the answer) by Arabic numerals.
The key-words are not defined in the usual way, but are repre-
20-21-22-23-24-the cries of certain animals. 25-26-27-28-29-- hugged
rocks. 30-31-32-an epoch. I-6-33-X9-24-flowerless plants. 3-7-
33-i8-22-a pointed weapon. 5-8-33-17-2--a kind of fir. :
6-13--a mark used when interlining. 27-31-33-15-xx-to L.
bargain. 29-32-33-14-9-a thin woolen stuff. H. AND B.
EASY DOUBLE ACROSTIC.
THE initials name a season when it is customary to gather the
agreeable, many-colored things named by the finals.
CROSS-WORDS: i. A land, part of which the Romans called
it, i, ,. ,.,
I I- I. t.,L i 5 ,.: ,-,
Roman numeral III.
1. 7-8-15-13-26. II. 434-405-35-37 III- 53-58-49-54. IV. 24-20-
25-28-9. V. 61-51-41-42-47. VI. 5-1-31-42-3. VII. 16-4-58-2-23-55-
28--r. VIII. 50o-o-44-T2. IX. i _':-- -. X. 22-19-24.
XI. 38-32-45-34-48 XII. 6-17-27 ii 9. XIV. 60-57-
56-46. XV. 52-15-26. H. H. D.
THE anagrams are formed upon the names of two celebrated men,
and the rhymes refer to their chief works. The first one is made
very easy to guess, so as tu show the plan of the puzzle, which might
be turned into a game for long evenings.
HON. J. TOMiwN.
GRAND sightless man Thy godlike inward eye
Ranged through all space and pierced beyond the sky,
Thy world, once gay, a mourning garment wore;
Yet blindness brought lost paradise to view,
And Fancy wrought one paradise the more;
For paradise regained then bloomed anew.
HE left his Scottish moors,
And made tremendous tours.
He tried to find a River's source,
But, tumbling in, was drowned, of course. c. c.
Tms puzzle appears more difficult than it is. .The letters of the
words that comprise it are represented by numerals, so that the de-
scription may indicate clearly the direction in which each word runs.
I 2 3 4 5
25 6 7 8 9
26 30 14 10
27 3x 33 15 xx
28 32 16 I2
29 r7 18 19 13
20 2t 22 23 24
1-2-3-4-5--easily broken. 6-7-8-a point of time. 9-o10-11-2-
13-to strain. x4-5-166-a word addressed to oxen. 17-18-r9-to study.
-.. i-i h.,: 1 II, Ti,
.' .r-, .. I-. I I
,, -1 e h -. ,,,;. .1 1 ,. -, r -
SIMPLE SEXTUPLE CROSS.
i. Across: A company traveling over a desert. 2. DowN: The-
ability to contain. 3 HEAD: A covering for the head. 4. FooT:-
A large town. 5. LEFT ARM: A heavy truck. 6. RIGHT ARM: A
closed carriage. DYCIE.
MY first is mixed in woful plight,
To printers' eyes a sorry sight;
My second, whether high or low,
The worth of something tends to show;
My whole oft takes another's right,
By stealthy craft and wicked might. P. B. SHERRARD-
EASY HOUIR-GLASS PUZZLE.
1 2 3 4 5
6 7 8
10 11 12
13 14 15 '6 17
1-2-3-4-5-A person filled with rancor and detestation. 6-7 8
-Before. 9-In abracadabra. 0o-11-12-To free a person from
some trouble. 13-14-t5-16-17-Fishes of a kind highly esteemed
in England. 3-7-9-1x-i5-A track. i-6-9-12-17-Tops. 5-8-9-1o-
x3-Brings up. G. F.
I. A FREQUENT visitor on cool autumn nights, proving that winter
is coming soon. 2. A person who cannot be trusted; a bad-tem-
pered elephant turned out by the herd. 3. A town in one of the
Territories of the United States. 4. An adjective seldom used, mean-
ing "evenly spread." 5. M.vable shelters; the only dwellings of
some Asiatic tribes. R. M. T.
EASY PICTORIAL PUZZLE.
THE puzzle presented in the accompanying illustration is one
made especially for younger puzzlers. The word on which it is
based is in comrnon, even in dily
DIAMOND IN A SQUARE.
IN solving this puzzle, first find the five words which make the
square, and which must agree with the definitions given. Then
write down these w-rds in the form shown by
,Ji , 'A ..III / "pv r '5 v tiel:-: u *-J
", .:h ..'.',, '. *
I-t- -. .".
-,, *.*: '," t`. solved by finding
hi r.; and letters of the
'. J ,. > Garments. 2.
-"-l ,r`. 1 3. To wash. 4,
.tl. il 't ii.. "tutes away quickly.
Y' '- i-' t.,, are believed to
S--'_ 1 INCLUDED DIA-
S MOND. i.Always
in trouble. 2,
SA large wood-
en tub. 3. To
wash. 4. A
I useful article.
5. Always in
I... I .. \ t L., .
' I 1 .j. l ... .:. .i .I'..: .-rl' ..
11.: u r. ,
MY first is in cat, but not in dog;
My second in ditch, but not in bog.
My third is in lame, but not in slow;
My fourth in display, but not in show.
My fifth is in silver, but not in gold.
My sixth is in mention, but not in told;
My seventh in yard, but not in rule.
My whole is a kind of Public School.
H. AND M. D.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE SEPTEMBER NUMBER.
RHYM1NG RIDDLES. I Smiles; Mile. II. Clover; Love. III.
Pinks; Ink. IV. Fringe; ring. V. Paper; Ape. VI. Berry; Err.
"To gild refined gold, to paint the lily,
To throw a perfume on the violet,
To smooth the ice, or add another hue
Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light
To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish,
Is wasteful and ridiculous excess."
King Jokn, Act IV., Sc. 2
METAMORPHosES. L Brush, i. Crush. 2. Cruse. 3. Crude.
4. Prude. 5. Pride. 6. Price. 7. Trice. 8. Twice. 9. Twine.
so. Swine. IT; Shine. zx. Shone. 13. Stone. 14. Stove. II.
Linen. I. Lined. 2. Pined. 3. Piped. 4. Piper. 5. Paper. III.
Hand. i. Band. 2. Bond. 3, Fond. 4. Food. 5. Foot. IV.
Book. i..Cook. 2. Cork Core. 4. Care. 5. Case. V. Hard.
i. Hart. 2. Hast. 3. East. 4. Easy. VI. Great. i. Treat. 2.
Tread. 3. Triad. 4. Trial. 5. Trill. 6. Twill. 7. Swill. 8.
Swell. 9. Smell. ro. Small.
EASY TRANSPOSITIONS. 3. Pines; Spine. 2. Ports; Sport. 3.
Tones; Stone. 4. Piles; Spile. 5. Cares; Scare. 6. Malls;
Small. 7. Tares; Stare.- PCTORIAL METAGRAM. Moonlight.
SHAKSPEAREAN NUMERICAL ENIGMA.
". The whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school."
As You Like It, Act II., Sc. 7.
PUZZLE BIRDS. I. Eagle. 2. Raven. 3. Owl. 4. Bobolink. 5.
Robin. VERY EASY NUMERICAL ENIGMA. Sewing machine.
DOUBLE '%r?-rT- Primals: August. Finals: Summer. Cross-
words: x. .-... J]- 2a. UnaU. 3. GeraniuM. 4. U1M. 5. SpreE.
BROKEN WORDS. Imp-roved. 2. Has-ten. 3. Use-less. 4.
Feat-her. 5. Disc-over. 6. Sal-lying.
FIVE EAsY SQUARE WORDS I. Earl. 2. Aloe. 3. Rosa. 4.
Lear. II. i. Shah. 2. Hate. 3. Atom. 4. Hemp. III. Keel.
2, Eddy. 3. Eden. 4. Lynx. IV. I. Crib. 2. Rode. 3. Ides. 4.
Best.. V. Hasp. Able. 3. Slag. 4. Pegs.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE AUGUST NUMBER were received, ber- ..,-,. i-t fr)m "P. and Q.," 3-Mittie F. C. Cowling, -Grace
Jackson, 4-Annie H. Mills, 4-Ella Pratt, 3-Eugenie A. Smith, u J.. 2 -Lizzie R. Atwood, -Maud Lamb, i -Maturin
L. D. Jr., i-Cintra Hutchinson, T-Carrie F. Doane, 5-Pip and Charles I., x-A. J. H., 3-H. A. H., ix-Willie V. Draper, x-
Lillie, 6-Lizzie H. D. St. Vrain, 6-Foster, 7-May Shepard, i-Josie Milliken, 3-H. Stevens, i-"Conundrum," 3-Mary J. Hull
and Sadie A. Beers, 4--Bertie Bassett, 5-J. Bolgiano, Jr., 2-Belle Baldwin, 3-Olive H. Causey, x-C. and M. F. S., 2-H. W.
Faulkner, 8 -Bluebells, 5 -Mabel Grace Foster, I -Maude M. Macbride, 3 -W. R. Springer, 4 Jemima, Mehitable and Natalie Dobbs,
i-Robert B. Salter, Jr., 5-"Violet" and "Water Lily," I-May G. Hamblen, 4-Jessie L. Kirk, z-Alex. H. Laidlaw and G F. L.,
6-Howard G. Kitt, 3-Lizzie C. Fowler, 7-"Dandelion" and "Clover," 7-"Trailing Arbutus," 7-"Violet," 7-Belle and Dora, 2
-Edna C. Spaulding, 2-Mlinnie I. Swift, 2-May Westervelt and Lillie A. Rusling, i-Agnes V. Luther, 2-Frederic S. Elliot, I-
Lilly and Sadie, 4 -Mabel M. C.,,2-Rosamond Thorne, 4-Nanie and May Gordon, 4-BellaWehl, 3-Lucy C. Kellerhouse, 2-Etelka
G. La Grange, 5-G. M. and K. L. S., so-Richard C. Harrison, 4-William L. Miller, 4-A. M., 3-"Fen and Mac," 4-Edward
Vultee, 9-P. S. Clarkson, 8-Mamie G. Packer, 3-Ellen L. Way, a-"X. Y. Z.," 8-H. T. McMillan, --A. C. McMillan, i-Gussie
C. McMillan, r-A. M. P., 7-Hallie B. Wilson, 3-Gertrude Thwing, 2-A. C. E. and A. G. B., 5-Abie Ray Tyler, 2-"Carol," 3.
The numerals denote the number of puzzles solved.
. .. ..