Front Cover
 Front Matter
 In the tower - A. D. 1554
 Thorwald and the star-children
 Poor Jack-in-the-box
 Winter and summer - The giant...
 Cousin Charley's story
 Two visions of fairy-land - Mystery...
 My little Valentine - The goose...
 In nature's wonderland; or, Adventures...
 How Jube waked the elephant
 Johnny's answer
 The Peterkins talk of going to...
 The St. Nicholas treasure-box of...
 The true story of the Obelisk
 Phaeton Rogers
 The tame crow
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Matter
 Back Cover


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mods:accessCondition type restrictions on use displayLabel Rights All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
mods:identifier NOTIS ocm0176
OCLC 7405657; (DLC)SF 89099153
(DLC) 2006255186; 55136171
mods:languageTerm text English
mods:physicalLocation Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in Special Collections, George A. Smathers Libraries
code UF
mods:name personal
mods:namePart Dodge, Mary Mapes
date 1830-1905
mods:roleTerm authority marcrelator Creator
mods:note Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
funding Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
mods:publisher Scribner,
mods:placeTerm New York
mods:dateIssued -c1943.
mods:recordIdentifier source ufdc UF00065513_00097
mods:recordContentSource University of Florida
mods:relatedItem original
mods:extent 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
mods:title St. Nicholas.
mods:detail Enum1
mods:caption Vol. 8
mods:number 8
No. 4
mods:topic Children's literature -- Periodicals.
Literature for Children
Saint Nicholas: Vol. 8, no. 4
Saint Nicholas
mods:typeOfResource text
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METS:structMap STRUCT1 mixed
D1 Front Cover
P1 Page
D26 Matter
D2 3 Frontispiece
P4 Plate
D3 In the tower A. D. 1554 Poem
P5 257
P6 258
D4 Thorwald and star-children 5 Chapter
P7 259
P8 260
P9 261
P10 262
P11 263
P12 264 6
D5 Poor Jack-in-the-box
P13 265
D6 Winter summer 7
P14 266 (MULTIPLE)
P15 267
P16 268
P17 269
P18 270
D7 Cousin Charley's story
P19 271
P20 272
P22 274
P23 275
P24 276
D8 Two visions fairy-land 9
P25 277
P26 278
P27 279
P28 280
P29 281
P30 282
P31 283
P32 284
D9 My little Valentine 10
P33 285
D10 nature's wonderland; or, Adventures in American tropics 11
P34 286
P35 287
P36 288
P37 289
P38 290
P39 291
D11 How Jube waked elephant 12
P41 293
P42 294
P43 295
P44 296
P45 297
P46 298
D14 Jingle 13
P47 299
D12 Johnny's answer 14
P40 292
D13 The Peterkins talk going to Egypt 15
P48 300
P49 301
P50 302
P51 303
D15 St. Nicholas treasure-box literature 16
P52 304
P53 305
P54 306
P55 307
P56 308
P57 309
D16 true Obelisk 17
P58 310
P59 311
P60 312
P61 313
P62 314
P63 315
P64 316
P65 317
P66 318
P67 319
D17 Phaeton Rogers 18
P69 321
P70 322
P71 323
P72 324
P73 325
P74 326
P75 327
D18 Which 19
P68 320
D19 tame crow 20
P76 328
P77 329
D20 Jack-in-the-pulpit 21
P78 330
P79 331
D21 letter-box 22
P80 332
P81 333
P82 334
D22 riddle-box 23
P83 335
D23 24 Back
D24 25
D25 26 Spine
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Saint Nicholas: Vol. 8, no. 4
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00097
 Material Information
Title: Saint Nicholas: Vol. 8, no. 4
Series Title: St. Nicholas.
Alternate Title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner,
Publication Date: -c1943.
Subjects / Keywords: Literature for Children
Genre: Children's literature
serial   ( sobekcm )
General Note: Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
General Note: Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: notis - ocm0176
oclc - 7405657; (DLC)SF 89099153
oclc - (DLC) 2006255186; 55136171
System ID: UF00065513:00097


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Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Front Matter
        Front Matter
    In the tower - A. D. 1554
        Page 257
        Page 258
    Thorwald and the star-children
        Page 259
        Page 260
        Page 261
        Page 262
        Page 263
        Page 264
    Poor Jack-in-the-box
        Page 265
    Winter and summer - The giant squid
        Page 266
        Page 267
        Page 268
        Page 269
        Page 270
    Cousin Charley's story
        Page 271
        Page 272
        Page 273
        Page 274
        Page 275
        Page 276
    Two visions of fairy-land - Mystery in a mansion
        Page 277
        Page 278
        Page 279
        Page 280
        Page 281
        Page 282
        Page 283
        Page 284
    My little Valentine - The goose and the nightingale
        Page 285
    In nature's wonderland; or, Adventures in the American tropics
        Page 286
        Page 287
        Page 288
        Page 289
        Page 290
        Page 291
    How Jube waked the elephant
        Page 293
        Page 294
        Page 295
        Page 296
        Page 297
        Page 298
        Page 299
    Johnny's answer
        Page 292
    The Peterkins talk of going to Egypt
        Page 300
        Page 301
        Page 302
        Page 303
    The St. Nicholas treasure-box of literature
        Page 304
        Page 305
        Page 306
        Page 307
        Page 308
        Page 309
    The true story of the Obelisk
        Page 310
        Page 311
        Page 312
        Page 313
        Page 314
        Page 315
        Page 316
        Page 317
        Page 318
        Page 319
    Phaeton Rogers
        Page 321
        Page 322
        Page 323
        Page 324
        Page 325
        Page 326
        Page 327
        Page 320
    The tame crow
        Page 328
        Page 329
        Page 330
        Page 331
    The letter-box
        Page 332
        Page 333
        Page 334
    The riddle-box
        Page 335
        Page 336
    Back Matter
        Back Matter
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text



(Page 268.)

L __



[Copyright, i881, by Scribner & Co.]

IN THE TOWER.-A. D. 1554.


BY the river deep and black,
Where the countless masts arise,
London's Tower lifts its strength
To the English skies.

Centuries ago it stood
Grim as now, and seemed to frown
On the river's rolling flood,
And on London town.

There, one day, knowing not
If for life or if for death,
Led a prisoner through its gate,
Came Elizabeth.

Not as yet the haughty queen,
But a princess, young and fair,
With no crown upon her head,
Save of golden hair.

Trembling, passed she through the door,
Door of dread and door of doubt,
Where so many had gone in,
Never to come out.

Foes behind, and spies beside,
Questioned, menaced, and betrayed;
None to counsel, none to help,
Went the royal maid.

Through the heavy-hearted land,
Good men prayed with bated breath:
"' Save her, Lord, for Thou canst save-
Save Elizabeth! "
VOL. VIII.-17.

Musing in her dreary cell,
Pacing, all alone, for hours
In a little garden, set
'Twixt the frowning towers,-

Slowly crept the lagging weeks,
Sadly dragged the lingering day;
Not a prisoner might dare
Even to glance her way..

Not a foot might cross her path,
Nor a signal meet her eye;
Thus the edict of the Lords,
Met in council high.

In the Tower lived children four,
Baby-children, full of.glee,
And they nothing knew nor cared
What the law might be.

A new playfellow they spied,
That was all they cared or knew,
And, like flies to honey-pot,
Straight to her they flew.

It was vain to tell them nay;
It was vain to shut the door;
Under, over, any way,
Went the children four.

In like leaping lines of light,
Went they, danced they, full of fun,
Flowers in their tiny hands,
Flowers themselves, each one.



No. 4.

IN THE TOWER.-A. D. 1554.

Soft and sweet the princess smiled,
But, by some instinctive art,
Well they knew, the little ones,
She was sad at heart.

Much they longed to ease her pain,
And they found a little key,
Picked it up, and brought, and said,
Mistress, you are free.

" Now you can unlock the gate,
And can go abroad at will,
Only please come back sometimes
To us children still."

When the mighty Council-Lords
Heard the artless tale one day,
Of the children and their words,
Angry men were they.

" These are little spies," they swore,
Letter-carriers,-dangerous !
We must look into this thing.
Bring them unto us."

So before the Council-Lords
Were the little children led,
And of all their acts and words
They were questioned.

But the babies nothing told;
There was nothing they could tell,
Save "The Lady is so kind,
And we love her well."

Then the great Lords chid the babes
(While the parents held their breath),
And forbade them to go near
"Dame Elizabeth."

Threatening heavy punishments
Should they dare to disobey,
Or to pass the sentries set
In the garden way.

Sorely grieved the little ones
For their playmate fair and good;
Oft they strove to reach the gate,
But they never could.

For the soldiers, tall and strong,
Stood to left and stood to right,
And the mothers kept strict watch
On them day and night.

Only once, a tiny boy,
Slipping past the guardians all,
Sought and found a little hole
In the, outer wall.

Put his rosy lips thereto,
Whispering, Mistress, are you there ?
I can bring you no more flowers,
For I do not dare.

" It was naughty that we came,
So the great, grand Lordships said"-
Then he heard the sentry's step,
And he turned and fled.

Did the Princess hear the boy?
Or, astonished, long to know
What could ail her little friends
That they shunned her so?

Did she ever seek them out
In the happier after-day,
When she reigned great England's Queen?
-History does not say.

But the tender, childish tale,
Like a fragrance from dead flower,
Lingers yet and maketh sweet
London's great old Tower.

Still it stands as then it stood,
Sullen, strong, and seems to frown
On the river's rolling flood,
And on London town.

And a traveler from far lands,
Little known or thought of then
By the haughty Virgin Queen
And her merry men,

Standing neathh its time-worn door,
Where the busy river runs,
Smiles to-day, remembering
Those dear little ones.






.&4' L r.' ALD'Smo-
'- their was
very ill
The fe-
er burned
j '. -"" 3,,..:1 ri, ,.bbed in her
.-ill 11 daylong
; ""' 1 .! ',d ,l. long, with
Si ..I-.: open, and
S i The doctor
'., i .. L.:'-l'. -,nd looked
.: ..... i .. pectacles;
I' I I I1 r i~n I l._ .- .. .: instead of

i 'I 1 T.irli I..: in sleep a
S... r.d. ,. 1 ) .:.:p," he said,
Sr l.. i. is no hope
h l " ."..r .- I fear."
It was to

.- i. - ..
'e :i i.t, ,..- f .. .
11-1 :.. ur 11 P-1
ir i,. .i. r little boy,
S oiIr I1U- little boy,
S, !l I-, .-.-. 1-1. : I.:. r. was sitting
ai ..... l,, ,., :,,,,- i '..- great w olf-
i '' '; ,,. r: ,: ni.,ther's door.
'-" "** i r. rni,, .:i very ill?"
S: : ).1 .. i, -..,,i r, but the
t'Ctio cho0lad lh ..ice, and he
5" hid his face in the hair of
Hector's shaggy neck.
"Yes, child," answered the doctor; "very ill."
"And will God take my mamma away from
me ?" he faltered, extricating himself from Hector's
embrace, and trying hard to steady his voice and
look brave.
"I am afraid He will, my child," said the doctor,
"But could I not do something for her, doctor?"
The long-suppressed tears now broke forth, and
trickled down over the boy's cheeks.
You, a child, what can you do?" said the
doctor, kindly, and shook his head.
Just then, there was a great noise in the air.
The chimes in the steeple of the village church
pealed forth a joyous Christmas carol, and the
sound soared, rushing as with invisible wing-beats

through the clear, frosty air. For it was Christmas
eve, and the bells were, according to Norse custom,
"ringing-in the festival." Thorwald stood long
listening, with folded hands, until the bells seemed to
take up the doctor's last words, and chime: "What
can you do, what can you do, what can you do ?"
Surely, there could be no doubt that that was what
the bells were saying. The clear little silvery bells
that rang out the high notes were every moment
growing more impatient, and now the great heavy
bell joined them, too, and tolled out slowly, in a
deep bass voice, "Thor-wald and then all the
little ones chimed in with the chorus, as rapidly as
their stiff iron tongues could wag: What can you
do, what can you do, what can you do? Thor-
wald, what can you do, what can you do, what can
you do ? "
"A child-ah, what can a child do?" thought
Thorwald. "Christ was himself a child once, and
He saved the whole world. And on a night like
this, when all the world is glad because it is His
birthday, He perhaps will remember how a little
boy feels who loves his mamma, and cannot bear
to lose her. If I only knew where he is now, I
would go to Him, even if it were ever so far, and
tell him how much we all love mamma, and I would
promise Him to be the best boy in all the world, if
He would allow her to stay with us."
Now the church-bells suddenly stopped, though
the air still kept quivering for some minutes with
faint reverberations of sound. It was very quiet in
the large, old-fashioned house. The servants stole
about on tiptoe, and spoke to each other in hurried
whispers when they met in the halls. A dim lamp,
with a bluish globe, hung under the ceiling and
sent a faint, moon-like light over the broad oaken
staircase, upon the first landing of which a large
Dutch clock stood, in a sort of niche, and ticked and
ticked patiently in the r" -i, i. It was only five
o'clock in the afternoon, and yet the moon had been
up for more than an hour, and the stars were twink-
ling in the sky, and the aurora borealis swept with
broad sheets of light through the air, like a huge fan,
the handle of which was hidden beneath the North
Pole; you almost imagined you heard it whizzing
past your ears as it flashed upward to the zenith
and flared along the horizon. For at that season
of the year the sun sets at about two o'clock in the
northern part of Norway, and the day is then but
four hours long, while the night is twenty. To
Thorwald that was a perfectly proper and natural



arrangement; for he had always known it so in
winter, and he would have found it very singular if
the sun had neglected to hide behind the mount-
ains at about two o'clock on Christmas eve.
But poor Thorwald heeded little the wonders of
the sky that day. He heard the clock going,
"Tick-tack, tick-tack," and he knew that the
precious moments were flying, and he had not yet
decided what he could do which might please God
so well that He would consent to let the dear Mamma
remain upon earth. He thought of making a vow
to be very good all his life long; but it occurred to
him that before he would have had time to prove
the sincerity of his promise, God might already

struck him before he seized his cap and overcoat
(for it was a bitter cold night), and ran to the stable
to fetch his skees.* Then down he slid over the
steep hill-side. The wind whistled in his ears, and
the loose snow whirled about him and settled in his
hair, and all over his trousers and his coat. When
he reached Wise Marthie's cottage, down on the
knoll, he looked like a wandering snow image.
He paused for a moment at the door; then took
heart and gave three bold raps with his skee-staff.
He heard some one groping about within, and at
length a square hole in the door was opened, and
the head of the revengeful fairy godmother was
thrust out through the opening.


have taken his mamma away. He must find some
shorter and surer method. Down on the knoll, near
the river, he knew there lived a woman whom all
the peasants held in great repute, and who was
known in the parish as Wise Marthie." He had
always been half afraid of her, because she was very
old and wrinkled, and looked so much like the
fairy godmother, in his story-book, who was not
invited to the christening feast, and who revenged
herself by stinging the princess with a spindle, so
that she had to go to sleep for a hundred years.
But if she were so wise, as all the people said, per-
haps she might tell him what he should do to save
the life of his mamma. Hardly had this thought

"Who is there?" asked Wise Marthie, harshly
(for, of course, it was none other than she). Then,
as she saw the small boy, covered all over with
snow, she added, in a friendlier voice: "Ah!
Gentlefolk out walking in this rough weather?"
"Oh, Marthie !" cried Thorwald, anxiously,
" my mamma is very ill -- "
He wished to say more, but Marthie here opened
the lower panel of the door, while the upper one
remained closed, and invited him to enter.
Bend your head," she said, or you will
knock against the door. I am a poor woman, and
can't afford to waste precious heat by opening both

Skees (Norwegian skier) are a peculiar kind of snow-shoes, generally from five to nine feet long, but only a few inches broad.
They are made of tough pine wood, and are smoothly polished on the under side, so as to make them glide the more easily over the
surface of the snow. In the middle there are bands to put the feet into, and the front end of each skee is pointed and strongly bent
upward. This enables the runner to slide easily over logs, hillocks, and other obstacles, instead of thrusting against them. The skee
only goes in straight lines; still the runner can, even when moving with great speed, change his course at pleasure by means of a
long pole which he carries for this purpose, and uses as a sort of rudder. Skees are especially convenient for sliding downhill, but
are also, for walking in deep snow, much superior to the common American snow-shoes.




Thorwald shook the snow from his coat, set his
skees against the wall outside, and entered the cot-
"Take a seat here at the fire," said the old
woman, pointing to a wooden block which stood
close to the hearth. You must be very cold, and
you can warm your hands while you tell me your
"Thank you, Marthie," answered the boy, "but
I have no time to sit down. I only wanted to ask
you something, and if you can tell me that, I shall
-I shall-love you as long as I live."
Old Marthie smiled, and Thorwald thought for
a moment that she looked almost handsome. And
then she took his hand in hers and drew him gently
to her side.
You are not a witch, are you, Marthie?" he
said, a little tremblingly. For Marthie's associa-
tion with the wicked fairy godmother was yet very
suggestive. Then, again, her cottage seemed to be
a very queer place; and it did not look like any
other cottage that he had ever seen before. Up
under the ceiling, which was black and sooty, hung
bunches of dried herbs, and on shelves along the
wall stood flower-pots, some of which had blooming
flowers in them. The floor was freshly scrubbed,
and strewn with juniper-needles, and the whole room
smelt very clean. In a corner, between the stone
hearth and the wall, a bed, made of plain deal
boards, was to be seen; a shaggy Maltese cat, with
sleepy, yellow eyes, was for the present occupying it,
and he raised his head and gazed knowingly at the
visitor, as if to say: "I know what you have come
Old Marthie chuckled when Thorwald asked if
she was a witch; and somehow her chuckle had a
pleasant and good-natured sound, the boy thought,
as he eyed her wistfully.
Now I am sure you are not a witch," cried he,
"for witches never laugh like that. I know, now,
that you are a good woman, and that you will want
to help me, if you can. I told you my mamma was
very ill" (the tears here again broke through his
voice)-" so very ill that the doctor says, God will
take her away from us. I sat at her door all yester-
day and cried, and when Papa took me in to her,
she did not know me. Then I cried more. I asked.
Papa why God makes people so ill, and he said it
was something I did n't understand, but I should
understand some day. But, Marthie, I have n't time
to wait, for by that time Mamma may be gone, and I
shall never know where to find her; I must know
now. And you, who are so very wise, you will tell
me what I can do to save my mamma. Could n't I
do something for God, Marthie,-something that
He would like? And then, perhaps, He would
allow Mamma to stay with us always."

The tears now came hot and fast, but the boy
still stood erect, and gazed with anxious question-
ing into the old woman's face.
"You are a brave little lad," she said, stroking
his soft, curly hair with her stiff, crooked fingers,
"and happy is the mother of such a boy. And
old Marthie knows a thing or two, she also,
and you shall not have come to her in vain.
Once, child, more than eighteen hundred years
ago, just on this very night, a strange thing hap-
pened in this world, and I dare say you have heard
of it. Christ, the White, was born of Mary in
the land of the Jews. The angels came down from
heaven, as we read in the Good Book, and they sang
.strange and wonderful songs of praise. And they
scattered flowers, too-flowers which only blossomed
until then in heaven, in the sight of God. And one
of these flowers,-sweet and pure, like the tone of
an angel's voice expressed in color,-one of these
wondrous flowers, I say, struck root in the soil, and
has multiplied, and remains in the world until this
day. It blossoms only on Christmas eve-on the
eve when Christ was born. Even in the midst of .the
snow, and when it is so cold that the wolf shivers
in his den, this frail, pure flower peeps up for a few
brief moments above the shining white surface, and
then is not seen again. It is of a white or faintly
bluish color; and he who touches it and inhales
its heavenly odor is immediately healed of every
earthly disease. But there is one singular thing
about it-no one can see it unless he be pure and
innocent and good; to all others the heavenly flower
is invisible."
Oh, then I shall never find it, Marthie!" cried
Thorwald, in great suspense. "For I have often
been very naughty."
I am very sorry to hear that," said Marthie,
and shook her head.
"And.do you think it is of no use for me, then,
to try to find the flower?" exclaimed the boy,
wildly. Oh, Martbie, help me! Help me !"
"Well, I think I should try," said Marthie,
calmly. "I don't believe you can have been such
a dreadfully naughty boy; and you probably were
very sorry whenever you happened to do something
Yes, yes, always, and I always begged Papa's
and Mamma's pardon."
Then, listen to me I will show you the star
of Bethlehem in the sky-the same one that led
the shepherds and the kings of the East to the
manger where Christ lay. Follow that straight on,
through the forest, across the frozen river, wherever
it may lead you, until you find the heavenly flower.
And when you have found it, hasten home to your
mother, and put it up to her lips so that she may
inhale its breath; then she will be healed, and will



bless her little boy, who shunned no sacrifice for her
But I did n't tell you, Marthie, that I made
Thore Hering-Luck tattoo a ship on my right arm,
although Papa had told me that I must n't do it.
Do you still think I shall find the heavenly flower?"
"I should n't wonder if you did, child," responded
Marthie, with a re-assuring nod of her head. It is
high time for you to start, now, and you must n't
loiter by the way."
"No, no; you need not tell me that!" cried the
boy, seizing his cap eagerly, and slipping out
through the lower panel of the door. He jumped
into the bands of his skees, and cast his glance up
to the vast nocturnal sky, which glittered with
myriads of twinkling stars. Which of all these was
the star of Bethlehem ? He was just about to rush
back into the cottage, when he felt a hand upon
his shoulder, and saw Wise Marthie's kindly but
withered face close to his.
"Look toward the east, child," she said, almost
I don't know where the east is, Marthie," said
Thorwald, dolefully. "I always get mixed up about
the points of the compass. If they would only fix
four big poles, one in each corner of the earth,
that everybody could see, then I should always
know where to turn."
There is the east," said Marthie, pointing with
a long, crooked finger toward the distant mountain-
tops, which, with their hoods of ice, flashed and
glistened in the moonlight. Do you see that
bright, silvery star which is just rising between those
two sndwy peaks ?"
"Yes, yes, Marthie. I see it! I see it!"
That is the star of Bethlehem. You will know
it by its white, radiant light. Follow that, and its,
rays will lead you to the flower which can conquer
Death, as it led the shepherds and the. kings of
old to Him, over whom Death had no power."
Thank you, Marthie. Thank you !"
The second "thank you" hardly reached the
ears of the old woman, for the boy had shot like an
arrow down over the steep bank, and was now half-
way out upon the ice. The snow surged and
danced in eddies behind him, and the cold stung
his face like sharp, tiny needles. But he hardly
minded it, for he saw the star of Bethlehem beam-
ing large and radiant upon the blue horizon, and he
thought of his dear mother, whom he was to rescue
from the hands of Death. But the flower,-the
flower,-where was that? He searched carefully
all about him in the snow, but he saw no trace of
it. "I wonder," he thought, "if it can blossom
in the snow? I should rather think that Christ
allows the angels to fling down a few of them every
year on his birthday, to help those that are sick

and suffering; they say He is very kind and good,
and I should n't wonder if He sees me now, and
will tell the angels to throw down the precious
flower right in my path."


THE world was cold and white round about
him. The tall pines stood wrapped in cloaks of
snow, which looked like great white ulsters, and
they were buttoned straight up to the chin-only
a green finger-tip and a few tufts of dark-green
hair showed faintly, at the end of the sleeves and
above the collar. The alders and the birches, who
had no such comfortable coats to keep out the cold,
stood naked in the keen light of the stars and the
aurora, and they shivered to the very marrow. To
Thorwald it seemed as if they were stretching their
bare, lean hands against the heavens, praying for
warmer weather. A family of cedar-birds, who
had lovely red caps on their heads and gray uni-
forms of the most fashionable tint, had snugged
close together on a sheltered pine-branch, and they
were carrying on a subdued twittering conversation
just as Thorwald passed the river-bank, pushing
himself rapidly over the snow by means of his
skee-staff. But it was strictly a family matter they
were discussing, which it would be indiscreet in me
to divulge. They did, however, shake down a
handful of loose snow on Thorwald's head, just to
let him know that he was very impolite to take so
little notice of them. They did not know, of
course, that his mother was ill; otherwise, I am
sure, they would have forgiven him.
Hush What was that? Thorwald thought he
heard distant voices behind him in the snow. He
looked all about him, but saw nothing. Then,
following the guidance of the star, he still pressed
onward. He quitted the river-bed and traversed a
wide, sloping meadow; he had to take a zigzag
course, like a ship that is tacking, because the slope
was too steep to ascend in a straight line. He was
beginning to feel tired. The muscles in his legs
ached, and he often shifted the staff from hand to
hand, in order to rest the one or the other of his
arms. He gazed now fixedly upon the snow, taking
only an occasional glance at the sky, to see that he
was going in the right direction; the strange hum
of voices in the air yet haunted his ears, and he
sometimes imagined he heard words moving to a
wonderful melody. Was it the angels that were
singing, inspiring him with courage for his quest?
He dared hardly believe it, and yet his heart beat
joyously at the thought. Ah what is that which
glitters so strangely in the snow? A starry gleam,
a twinkling, like a spark gathering its light into a
little glittering point, just as it 'is about to be




quenched. Thorwald leaps from his skees and
plunges his hand into the snow. The frozen crust
cuts his wrist cruelly; and he feels that he is bleed-
ing. With a wrench he pulls his hand up; his
heart throbs in his throat; he gazes with wild ex-
pectation, but sees-nothing. His wrist is bleed-
ing, and his hand is full of blood. Poor Thorwald
could hardly trust his eyes. He certainly had seen
something glittering on the snow. He felt a great
lump in his throat, and it would have been a great
relief to him, at that moment, to sit down and give
vent to the tears that were crowding to his eyelids.
But just then a clear, sweet strain of music broke
through the air, and Thorwald heard distinctly
these words, sung by voices of children :
Lead, O star of Bethlehem,
Me through death and danger,
Unto Christ, who on this night
Lay cradled in a manger."
Thorwald gathered all his strength and again
leaped into his skees; he was now on the border of
a dense pine forest, and as he looked into it, he
could not help shuddering. It was so dark under
the thick, snow-burdened branches, and the moon
only broke through here and there, and scattered
patches of light over the tree-tops and on the white
carpet of the snow. Yet, perhaps it was within
this very wood that the heavenly blossom had fallen.
He must not lose heart now, when he was perhaps
so near his goal. Thrusting his staff vigorously
into the snow-crust, he pushed himself forward and
glided in between the tall, silent trunks; at the
same moment the air again quivered lightly, as with
the breath of invisible beings, and he.heard words,
which, as far as he could afterward recollect them,
sounded as follows:
Make my soul as white and pure
As the heavenly blossom,-
As the flower of grace and truth
That blooms upon Thy bosom."

Thorwald hardly felt the touch of the snow
beneath his feet; he seemed rather to be soaring
through the air, and the trunks of the huge dark
trees marched in close columns, like an army in
rapid retreat, before his enraptured vision. Christ
-did see him! Christ would send him the heavenly
flower! All over the snow sparkling stars were
scattered, and they gleamed and twinkled and
beckoned to him, but whenever he stretched out
his hand for them they suddenly vanished. The
trees began to assume strange, wild shapes, and to
resemble old men and women, with long beards and
large hooked noses. They nodded knowingly to
one another, and raised up their gnarled toes from
the ground in which they were rooted, and tried to
trip up the little boy who had dared to interrupt
their solemn conversation. One old fir shook the

snow from her shoulders, and stretched out a long,
strangely twisted arm, and was on the point of
seizing Thorwald by the hair, when fortunately he
saw the coming danger, and darted away down the
hill-side at quickened speed. A long, bright streak
of light suddenly illuminated the eastern sky. Some-
thing fell through the air, and left a golden trail of
fire behind it; surely it was the heavenly flower
that was thrown down by an angel in response to
his prayer! Forward, and ever forward,-over roots
and stumps and stones,-stumbling, rising again,
sinking from weariness and exhaustion, kneeling to
pray on the frozen snow, crawling painfully back
and tottering into the skee-bands; but only for-
ward, ever forward! The earth rolls with a surg-
ing motion under his feet, the old trees join their
rugged hands and dance, in wild, senile glee, around
him, lifting their twisted limbs, and sometimes, with
their talons, trying to sweep the stars from the
sky. Thorwald struggled with all his force to
break through the ring they had made around him.
He saw plainly the flower, beaming with a pale
radiance upon the snow, and he strove with all his
might to reach it, but something held him back,
and though he was once or twice within an inch of
it, he could never quite grasp it with his fingers.
Then, all of a sudden, the strange song again
vibrated through the air, and he saw a huge star
glittering among the underbrush; a flock of chil-
dren clad in white robes were dancing about it, and
they were singing Christmas carols in praise of the
new-born Savior. As they approached nearer and
nearer, the hope revived in Thorwald's heart. Ah,
there the flower of healing was, lying close at his
feet. He made a desperate leap and clutched it in
his grasp-then saw and felt no more.


THE white children were children of earth,
not, as Thorwald had imagined, angels from
heaven. It is a custom in Norway for the children
of the poor to go about on Christmas eve, from
house to house, carrying a large canvas star, with
one or more lanterns within it, and sing Christmas
carols. They are always dressed in white robes,
and people call them star-children. Whenever
they station themselves in the snow before the front
door, and lift up their tiny, shrill voices, old and
young crowd to the windows, and the little boys and
girls who are born to comfort and plenty, and never
have known want, throw pennies to them, and wish
them a merry Christmas. When they have finished
singing, they are invited in to share in the mirth of
the children of the house, and are made to sit down
with them to the Christmas table, and perhaps to
dance with them around the Christmas tree.




It was a company of these star-children who now
found Thorwald lying senseless inthe forest, and
whose sweet voices he had heard in the distance.

The oldest of them, a
boy of twelve, hung up
his star on the branch of
a fir-tree, and stooped
down over the pale little
face, which, from the
force of the fall, was half
buried in the snow. He
lifted Thorwald's head
and gazed anxiously into
his features, while the
others stood in a ring
about him, staring with
wide-open eyes and
frightened faces.
This is Thorwald,
the judge's son," he said.
"Come, boys, we must
carry him home. He
must have been taken ill
while he was running on
skees. But let us first
make a litter of branches
to carry him on."
The boys all fell to
work with a will, cutting
flexible twigs with their
pocket-knives, and the
little girls sat down on
the snow and twined
them firmly together, for
they were used to work,
and,indeed, some of them
made their living by
weaving baskets. In a
few minutes the litter was
ready, and Thorwald,
who was still uncon-
scious, was laid upon it.
Then six boys took hold,
one at each corner and
two in the middle, and as
the crust of the snow was
very thick, and strong
enough to bear them, it
was only once or twice
that any of them broke

It was a pretty sight to see them as they went march-
ing across the river, one small boy of six walking at
the head of the procession, carrying the great star,

j, ."'b .-
- '--- ;--.; -' .,: ..
'Vt, -- ,. --..- 4"-: .1T: @ ... : --: -. .-.?.-. -?: -- .

_.. ..- . .. ..

T R L f T
?,_" FA L -- ; S E. I-N;"- THE -' -- .

... .. .. T:...-
'- -- -.-

through. When they reached the river, however,
they were very tired, and were obliged for a while to
halt. Some one proposed that they should sing as
they walked, as that would make the time pass more
quickly, and make their burden seem lighter, and
immediately some one began a beautiful Christmas
carol, and all the others joined in with one accord.

then the six larger boys carrying the litter, and at last
twelve little white-robed girls, tripping two abreast
over the shining surface of the ice. But, in spite of
their singing, they were very tired by the time they
had gained the highway on the other side of the
river. They did not like to confess it; but when
they saw the light from Wise Marthie's windows,





the oldest boy proposed that they should stop there
for a few minutes to rest, and the other five said,
in a careless sort of way, that they had no objec-
tion. Only the girls were a wee bit frightened,
because they had heard that Wise Marthie was a
witch. The boys, however, laughed at that, and
the little fellow with the star ran forward and
knocked at the door with Thorwald's skee-staff.
"Lord ha' mercy on us cried Marthie, as she
opened the peeping-hole in her door, and saw the
insensible form which the boys bore between them;
then flinging open both portions of the door, she
rushed out, snatched Thorwald up in her arms, and
carried him into the cottage.
"Come in, children," she said, "come in and
warm yourselves for a moment. Then hurry up to
the judge's, and tell the folk there that the little
lad is here at my cottage. You will not go away
empty-handed; for the judge is a man who pays for
more than he gets. And this boy, you know, is
the apple of his eye. Lord! Lord! I sent his dog,
Hector, after him, and I knew the beast would let
me know if the boy came to harm; but, likely as
not, the wind was the wrong way, and the poor
beast could not trace the skee-track on the frozen
snow. Mercy! mercy! and he is in a dead swoon."


WHEN Thorwald waked up, he lay in his bed,
in his own room, and in his hand he held a pale-
blue flower. He saw the doctor standing at his
"Mamma-my mamma," he whispered.
"Yes, it is time that we should go to your
mamma," said the doctor, and his voice shook.

And he took the boy by the hand and led him to
his mother's bed-chamber. Thorwald began to
tremble-a terrible dread had come over him; but
he clutched the flower convulsively, and prayed
that he might not come too late. A dim, shaded
lamp burned in a corner of the room, his father
was sitting on a chair, resting his head in his
palms, and weeping. To his astonishment, he saw
an old woman stooping over the pillow where his
mother's head lay; it was Wise Marthie. Unable to
contain himself any longer, he rushed, breathless
with excitement, up to the bedside.
"Mamma! Mamma! he cried, flourishing his
prize in the air. "I am going to make you well.
Look here! "
He thrust the flower eagerly into her face, gazing
all the while -': .,i .i.1, into her beloved features.
"My sweet, my darling child," whispered she,
while her eyes kindled with a heavenly joy. "How
can a mother die who has such a noble son ?"
And she clasped her little boy in her arms, and
drew him close to her bosom. Thus they lay long,
weeping for joy,-mother and son. An hour later
the doctor stole on tiptoe toward the bed, and
found them both there sleeping.
When the morrow's sun peeped in through the
white curtains, the mother awoke from her long,
health-giving slumber; but Thorwald lay yet
peacefully sleeping at her side. And as the
mother's glance fell upon the flower, now limp and
withered, yet clutched tightly in the little grimy,
scratched, and frost-bitten fist, the tears-happy
tears-again blinded her eyes. She stretched out
her hand, took the withered flower, pressed it to
her lips, and then hid it next to her heart. And
there she wears it until this day.


FRIGHTEN the children, do I ? Pop with too sudden a jump ?
Well, how do you think I felt, all shut in there in a lump ?
And did n't I get a shock when the lid came down on my head?
And if you were squeezed up and locked in, would n't you get ugly
and red?
If you think I 'm so dreadful, my friend, suppose you just try it
Let some one shut you in a box, and set you away on a shelf,-
And then, when the lid is unhooked, if you don't leap out with a
And look like a fright when you spring, I '11 give in, or my name is n't Jack.





OH, I wish the winter would go,
And I wish the summer would come.
Then the big brown farmer will hoe,
The little brown bee will hum.
Ho, hum!

Then the robin his fife will trill,
And the woodpecker beat his drum,
And out of their tents in the hill
The little green troops will come.
Ho, hum !

Now the blossoms are sick in bed,
And the dear little birds are dumb,
The brook has a cold in her head,
Oh, summer takes long to come.
Ho, hum!

When in bonny blue fields of sky
And in bonny green fields below,
The cloud-flocks fly and the lamb-flocks lie,
Then summer will come, I know.
Ho, ho !

Then around and over the trees,
With a flutter and flirt will go
A rollicking, frolicking breeze,
And away with a whisk, ho, ho.
Ho, ho!

Oh, the blossoms take long to come,
And the icicles long to go;
But the summer will come, and the bees will hum,
And the bright little brook will flow,
I know. Ho, ho!



ON a far-away part of our Atlantic coast lies a
large and nearly desolate island, called Newfound-
land. It was one of the first of the western lands
discovered by the daring Norsemen, long years
before Columbus visited America, and it is the first
land approached by many of the ocean steamers
coming from Europe.
Of its interior we know very little; but its shores
are formed principally of rocks, heaped into high
and rugged cliffs in places, and sending out into
the sea many irregular prolongations, inclosing
great bays or fiords, filled with clear, cold water.
In the winter it is very bleak, and covered with
snow, and in the summer it is much less warm
than it is with us. In the spring-time, huge ice-
bergs come down from the north and are stranded
upon its shores, and, during a large part of the
year, thick fogs settle over all the ocean about, and
shut out sun and land from view.
A dreary picture this seems to us; and the sailor
dreads to go that way at times, for he knows
that his good old ship, however strongly built,
may dash to pieces on some hidden rock when
he least expects it. With a region like this,
distant, thinly inhabited, and wild in the extreme,

we associate marvelous things in the animal crea-
tion. Nor should we in this particular instance find
ourselves in the wrong, could we only sit and
plainly watch the busy world of wonders contained
in the limpid waters which surround that coast.
There are surely many strange creatures living
there, the like of which we never dreamed of; but
as they generally swim beneath the surface, they
seldom are encountered. Once in a while, how-
ever, they do appear, and generally it is the poor
fishermen who suffer most from their attacks.
Here is a true story about one of them:
It was on a bright October morning, not very
many years ago, that two weather-beaten fishermen
left their rude huts, built on the grassy slope back of
the beach, entered their little fishing-boat, and sped
away to tend their nets and lines. The sun had
just appeared above the distant horizon, and the
fierce wind that had been blowing for over a week
past was stilled into a perfect calm. The surface
of the water lay nearly as smooth as glass, relieved
only by the long, incessant swell that rolled in from
the open sea beyond. Without a breeze the single
sail could only hang idly about the short mast, and
the men were obliged to put out their oars and





row. They pulled along in silence for some time,
quite unmindful of the beautiful things surround-
ing them on all sides, for they had but a single
object in view, and were only thinking of the num-
ber of fish they might catch, and the money it
would bring them. Thus many minutes passed,
and the boat had gone perhaps a mile, when sud-
denly one of the fishermen espied a queer-looking
rounded body floating on the water right ahead.

us go and see, for we may have found a prize that
will pay us more than all our fishing for many a
month to come."
So away they went, one working at the oars, the
other standing in the bow, with gaff in hand. In
a moment more they were close beside it, when,
to their intense surprise, they saw that it was
neither a wreck nor a bale of goods, nor aught
they had ever seen or heard of before. It was a


What can that be ?" he cried out, jumping to
his feet and pointing toward the spot.
Perhaps a wreck," replied his companion, who
also had turned around, and was gazing intently
toward the unlooked-for object-" a ship cap-
sized in the last heavy storm, and now riding with
her keel uppermost; or may be it is a bale of goods,
washed in from the big steamer that went ashore
on the outer rocks three days ago. At any rate, let

huge, soft, pinkish body, two or three times as long
as their boat, and it evidently belonged to some sort
of animal; but it lay so quiet and motionless on
the surface that they were sure it must be dead,
and were, therefore, not afraid to touch it. Much
better would it have been for them had they
refrained from the rash act which followed.
But no. Down came the light gaff with a rapid
sweep, its sharp hook piercing deeply into the



pulpy mass. The deed was done; it was too late
now for repentance or retreat. They had rudely
challenged to battle one of the largest and most
ferocious of all living beasts; and he was far from
dead. He had only been snoozing for a few mo-
ments, under the soothing influence, perhaps, of
the morning sunlight, and now, smarting from the
cruel wound he had received, he prepared to fight.
He backed off from the boat a few feet, opened
two black, piercing eyes, large as saucers, and
glared fiercely at his tormentors, as though to say:
"Now you are in my power; you cannot escape
me. I have had no breakfast yet."
A quick dart, a sudden splash, and he was upon
them. His huge, sharp beak struck the boat vio-

fortunately, this was not to be. The sight of the
slender, creeping arms had broken the spell, and
aroused one of the men to a full sense of their dan-
ger. A little hatchet lay at his feet. In a moment
it was raised high in the air and came down with
two well-directed blows upon the serpent arms,
where they crossed the gunwale. They were
severed, and the giant fish, feeling the intense pain,
which he so little expected, became fiercely en-
raged, lashed the water about him into foam,
squirted out a black, inky fluid, and darted off.
Very soon he was out of sight, and he never
The half-dead men, overjoyed at their release,
did no fishing that day, but went back to shore as

- -

-----.-..-- .. --- -
a" ......... -. .. .. ... . .. .< t


lently, and ground savagely against its side, but it
safely resisted the attack.
And what were the men doing all this time ?
Nothing. They were paralyzed with terror; they
seemed more dead than alive, and could neither
move nor talk. The end seemed very plain and
very near to them.
The monster giant, finding he could do no harm
with his beak alone, suddenly threw out a long,
slimy, snake-like arm, which the men had not seen
before, and cast it with a squirming movement
completely across the boat. Another followed, and
perhaps others sped out on the under side. Thus
the boat was being rapidly insnared in a living net,
far more deadly and more secure than any the
fishermen had ever used. Soon it would be drawn
beneath the surface, and the two helpless mortals it
contained would come within easy reach of the
monster's jaws, and then good-bye to them. But,

quickly as they could. They had a very big story
to tell, and no one could disbelieve them, for there
in the bottom of the boat lay the two arms. When
these were stretched out on the beach, one was
found to measure thirty-five feet, or six times the
length of a man, and the other less than ten feet.
They were both covered, in places, with large
round sucking-disks, which stuck to everything
they touched, and horrible must be the sensation
of any living object clutched by them.
Since the above adventure, other specimens of
this curious sort of animal have been seen in the
same region, and captured whole; and naturalists
have studied them and determined what they are.
Have any of our readers ever seen a squid-the
common little squid that lives along our coast and
feeds on young fish, and, in turn, is captured by the
fishermen, and used as bait for catching larger fish?
All young folk who have seen these little creatures





, C (Lz


will at once recognize the monster of Newfoundland
as only a giant squid, in the same way that a big
cod-fish is a giant by the side of the little minnows
that play about the shores. The common squid

seldom grows
to be half as
long as a man's
arm; but the
giant fellows
are sometimes
fifty times long-
er than their lit-
tle cousins.
The squid's
body is long
and slender
and round, and
biggest near

r" ---

4 k


the front. It is partly hollow, like a thick skin,
and comes to a point behind, where it has two
broad fins. In front it is open, and lets the water
enter into an inner cavity, where the gills are, and
where the blood is purified. The head is smaller
around than the body, and sticks out of the front
end of it very loosely indeed. It has an immense
eye on each side, and a mouth in front, with a
pair of jaws shaped like a parrot's beak, which
it uses to tear its prey to pieces.
But the head has other and more formidable
weapons. Ten enormous fleshy arms, of which two
are very much longer than the rest, reach out from
around 'the mouth, and serve to capture any fish
that may come near them. The eight smaller
arms are covered all along the inner sides with
small sucking-disks, which, at the will of the ani-
mal, can stick to anything on which they are
placed, and stick so tightly, too, that they often
break off or tear out the skin before they will
release their hold. The long arms spread out near

of his mouth, but just so that his two great arms
can touch him. In an instant they are thrown
about him, and the suckers made fast to the skin.
The fish jerks and twists about, and does every-
thing he can to get away; but in a moment he is
drawn up close to the eight small arms, which also
seize upon him and wind about him, and all the
many suckers holding on make escape impossible.
Now the squid is certain of his victim, but he
always chooses to end his misery at once. So he
thrusts out his sharp beak and nips him in the
back, in such a manner as to cut his spinal cord
in two. This finishes him, and the hungry squid
begins to eat.
The squid swims very swiftly-in fact, we can
almost say he darts like an arrow; and this is the
way he does it: We already have explained that
his body is partly hollow, and opens toward the
front. When he breathes, he swells tremendously,
and a great deal of water rushes in to fill the space.
Now, when he contracts his body again, the water
is forced out; but it cannot go out the same way it
entered, for a large valve closes the opening. It all
has to pass through a little pipe, called the siphon,
lying underneath the head, and through such a
small outlet it will, of course, come with great
force, pushing the body backward like a flash., By
constantly pumping water in this manner, he can
travel long distances, and go at almost lightning
speed. He generally travels backward, but can go
forward, too, and his fins act as a rudder. He
loves to chase and catch fish, and this is his princi-
pal occupation.
Inside the body there is always a little bag, filled
with an inky mixture, which he can squirt out into
the water, so as to discolor it for many feet around,
and thus obscure his whereabouts, when he is
pursued by an enemy. The squid, also, has a
backbone, extending along the back, underneath

...- -_, -
C/'..D, ,sV ;'y



the ends like an oar, and have suckers only at these the skin; but it is very different from our backbone,
broad places. as it is thin and nearly transparent, and is made in
Now, try to imagine how the squid hunts. He a single piece. The cuttle-fish bone on which the
sees a little fish darting by him, far beyond the reach canary-birds sharpen their bills is the backbone of a



kind of squid that does not live on our coast; and
there are still other kinds, with only eight arms,
and with no bone nor fins at all.
You would scarcely believe that the squid is
a near relative of the soft and harmless oysters
and clams; but so he is, and he ranks as the very
highest of his tribe, as he is the most active and
the most intelligent.
Squids like the night much better than the day.
At least, they come to the surface most frequently
in the night time, and then it is that the fishermen
go out to capture them in different ways. Some-
times they use a net, at others a bunch of hooks,
stuck into a cork and smeared over with tallow,
which the squid eagerly seizes, only to become
firmly caught, and then hauled on board. A
bright moon attracts them, and they are said to
gaze upon it with astonishment. As the moon
moves, they also move slowly backward, and fre-
quently find themselves stranded high upon a
beach, which they have failed to notice. The
fishermen often go out in a boat with a big torch,
and imitate the moon so successfully as to drive
whole schools of them ashore.
This is the common little squid we have been
describing so minutely, but our description answers
just as well for the giant ones, which only differ in
the matter of size. Their habits are probably
also the same, and the reason we know so little
about them is that they seldom appear in the day-
time, unless they have been hurt or disabled in
some way. The largest specimens ever measured
were nearly sixty feet long, and must have weighed
two or three thousand pounds. They are the
largest animals living, excepting the whales and
some kinds of sharks, and fearful stories are told of
strong men being dragged down by them to cer-
tain death.
That their power must be tremendous, the fol-

lowing incident will show: A little vessel once
lay at anchor in a northern harbor, and the
sailors were busy about her, cleaning the deck
and fixing the rigging. Suddenly she began to
sink, although she had not sprung a leak. Down,
down she went, until the poor affrighted sailors,
thinking their last day had come, took to their
row-boats and started for the shore. Still the little
craft kept going down, until the water was just
about to close over her, when instantly she rose up
again to her former position. A moment afterward
a monster squid sprang from underneath her, and
darted off out of sight. He had evidently been trying
his strength, by fastening his suckers on the bottom
of the vessel, and trying to drag her down beneath
the waves; but whether in earnest or in play, we
shall never know.
The giant squids almost always appear suddenly,
without any warning, and go as quickly; but they
have been caught entire at times, and one fine
fellow was captured not very long ago, and taken
to the New York Aquarium, where he probably
may be seen to-day. Whales often eat the big
squids, and occasionally we find parts of them in
the whales' stomachs.
In the olden times, squids gave rise to a fabled
monster called the kraken," but at present we can-
not believe that the kraken is real. When floating
on the sea, this creature was said to appear like an
island, several miles around, and his arms stuck up
like the masts of a big ship. The people were very
much afraid of him, and declared that he could
easily master the very biggest man-of-war, and pull
it down to the bottom.
But our little readers who may sail the sea need
have no fear of meeting giant squids, for these
creatures, after all, are generally very shy of every-
thing that is above the waves, and they very, very
seldom appear to man.



G A,
^ ^





HALF-PAST FIVE, or even a quarter to six o'clock,
seems very early on a dark, winter morning; and
so Robbie's mother found it when he woke at that
hour and sat up in bed, calling: Make it light!"
Robbie went to bed at six o'clock, and no wonder
he felt so bright and rested before dawn; but
Mamma, who went to bed at ten, was quite willing
to wait until the sun rose to make it light.
"Why don't you keep him up an hour later,
Helen?" Aunt Jeanie said. "Perhaps he would
sleep later in the morning."
But Grandmamma said:
"Let him go to sleep at six as long as he will;
he will sit up late enough and lie abed late enough
by and by. I always let my children sleep when
they wanted to, and slept myself when I could."
Aunt Jeanie's little boy went to bed at eight
o'clock, but he was five years older than Robbie,
Walter was eight years old, and Robbie looked up

to him in all things quite as if he were a man.
One evening Cousin Charley was telling Walter a
long story. It was a story Walter had heard many
times, but he was not at all tired of it. He never
thought to ask Cousin Charley if he were tired of
telling it. They sat together on the sofa in the
dimmest corner of the room; Cousin Charley told
the story in a low voice, for Grandmamma was
reading, and Aunt Helen and Walter's mamma
were talking over the pictures of boys' suits in a
book of patterns.
"Don't you think this is pretty, Jeanie,-this
one with a sailor collar and plaits in the back?"
Aunt Helen was saying. "But do you think
Robbie looks well in those large collars-his shoul-
ders are so high ?"
While the two mammas bent their heads over
the book, Cousin Charley's voice could be heard,
although he spoke so low: The rain came down,




I -" .

_1- ,


trickling down the trunk of the hollow tree, and
wet his bed. So Mister Wolf thought he would
look around for better quarters."
Charley, don't make yourself too fascinating,"
said Aunt Jeanie; it is nearly eight o'clock."
Oh, Mamma! he 's just in
the best part -.i.-d ,V-i1at:. .
I 'll give 4 ,! i ., n",,-
utes. Can -, .. r6,;h
in that time?" ..

The story : i n-
ished in ten miii,.te-.

-- i
" -. _' .. IL" _2- - ,

more, but Charley talked fast toward the end of
the time.
The next morning, at five o'clock, all was quiet
in Aunt Helen's room. The lamp was unlit, the
fire unkindled, and a pale glimmer of moonlight
shone through the curtain, for the moon had risen
late and was making the most of her time. Tick!
tick! sounded from the hall below, where the old
clock talked to itself all night long and never slept.
Quarter past five, half past, and Robbie still
asleep. Tick! tick! tick !-ten minutes' more rest
for Mamma. Now there is a stirring and heav-
ing of the counterpane; an arm, short and fat,
clothed in white flannel, is thrown out. Robbie
turns over on his back and breathes more quickly.
Robbie is waking. Presently, up rises the tumbled
white head: Mamma! Mamma! Make it light!"
Mamma rouses herself, thinking she cannot have
been asleep more than an hour.
Robbie, do go to sleep again, It is n't morn-
ing yet. Can't Robbie sleep a little longer?"
Robbie throws off the coverlet and sits up in bed.
Robbie don't want to sleep.. Robbie did sleep!
Make it light!"
Come, lie in Mamma's arms a little while.
See how dark it is! That is the moon shining."
Mamma takes Robbie close in her arms, feels
his hands to know if they are warm, and slipping
one hand under his night-gown, softly rubs his

back and smooth, fat legs, hoping to soothe him
into quiet. Listen to the clock ticking-tick! tick!
tick! Everybody in the house is asleep! Grand-
mamma is asleep, and Aunt Jeanie 's asleep, and
Walter's asleep, and Katy's asleep, and pussy's
asleep, down in the dining-room, by the fire.
N. .,, Robbie shut his eyes and sleep, too.
lay be a little dream will come !"
Mamma is almost asleep herself by this
time, and stops rubbing. "Want to
see pussy!" Robbie says, lifting his
.- head. Mamma, get pussy! "
.. "Mamma could n't get pussy now.
Poor pussy! She wants to sleep.
Robbie shall see pussy after break-
Where is breakfast? Robbie
S want breakfast "
S "There is no breakfast yet. Katy
is fast asleep,-the kitchen is all
I dark, and the dining-room is all dark,
- and the dishes are shut up in the
closet, and the bread and butter are
in the pantry, and-Robbie shut his
eyes and try to sleep. When he
wakes up again, may be it will be
Robbie is 'wake-! Make it light
now!" Robbie places both hands on Mamma's
chest and raises himself in bed; he crawls up a
little higher and buries one hand in the pillow;
a braid of Mamma's hair is under the hand.
"Oh, Rob! Don't pull Mamma's hair! Do lie
down! "
Make it light!" Robbie says, and mamma hears
him drumming on the head-board with his fat feet.
Mamma looks at the watch and finds that he has
only wakened at his usual hour, so she puts on
her slippers and wrapper, lights the lamp, places
the screen before it, and touches a match to the
kindlings, already laid in the fire-place. Robbie is
so interested watching all these preparations for his
comfort that he lies quite still. The fire roars and
crackles, and a bright, dancing light chases the
shadows across the ceiling. 'Mamma is just lying
down again, when Robbie calls:
"Ammals! ammals! Want my ammals !"
Mamma puts on her slippers again, and gets the
Noah's ark, with the animals rattling around inside,
most of them without legs, and several of the
species entirely extinct. And the boat!" Robbie
commands, from his high seat on the pillows.
The boat is really the snuffer-tray, an old-fashioned
silver-plated one, which had stood on the high
mantel, holding the snuffers, ever since Mamma
could remember. The snuffers had not been used
for almost as long a time, and were very stiff in




the hinges; but the tray was still in active service,
playing various parts in the children's drama. At
present it was used as a boat, in which the animals
from the ark were ferried over the rolling sea of
bed-covers. Robbie had no faith in the sea-worthy
qualities of the ark. It stood on the bolsters,

and the piggy with one leg, left! He'p Robbie
fin' his ammals, Mamma!"
Mamma was just falling into a doze, unconscious
of the heavy sea and the shipwreck so near, but
now she roused herself and began a search for the
lost animals. The spotted deer had been recovered,


against the bead-board, and represented the city
of New York. It was a stormy passage to New
York. The snuffer-tray-reeled and rocked, and
Japhet, the captain, was lost overboard while
trying to rescue the camel and the spotted deer.
Robbie met with so many losses that at last he
cried out, in his trouble: Mamma, only one e'fant,
VOL. VIII.-18.

and two cats, when there came a rush of footsteps
along the hall, and a knock at the door.
"Aunt Helen May I come in?"
"Walter! Walter!" cried Robbie, bouncing
about in the bed. "Oh, Walter!"
Walter was admitted, and joyfully embraced by
Robbie, who was now quite willing that Mamma






should do whatever she liked. The room was
cozily warm, and Mamma took off the flannel sack
she had put on over Robbie's night-gown. She
put a saucepan of water over the coals to heat,
and sat in her low chair, before the fire, watch-
ing it.
"Can't you play some quiet play, Walter ?" she
asked. "The bed gets into such a state when you
prance about like that. Can't you tell Robbie a
"Oh! I know a story-a good one-Cousin
Charley's story. Want to hear a story about a
wolf and a fox, Robbie?"
Robbie was ready for anything Walter might
"See! We can play it was right here," said
Walter. "Play this is the wood where the wolf
lived. He lived in a hollow tree; it was n't a very
good place to live, because, when it rained, the
rain ran down the trunk of the tree and fell on the
bed. Play this was the wolf, Robbie." Walter
had selected a yellow-and-white cat from the
animals of the ark; and it resembled a wolf from
having once had four legs and a tail. The resem-
blance was now very slight indeed; but Walter
encouraged Robbie's faith by explaining to him
that it was a "funny kind of wolf. We don't
have that kind now."
"Nice wolf," said Robbie. "Where's the tree
wolf lives in ? "
"Aunt Helen, can't you find something we can
play is the tree ?"
Will this do, Walter?" Aunt Helen handed
him one of the tall, plated candle-sticks that stood
on the mantel. "It is light-colored and smooth;
you can play it 's a beech-tree."
Oh, yes But where 's the hollow in the tree?
Never mind !-we '11 play it's on the other side;
and the wolf did n't live there long, anyhow. He's
just going away now, Robbie, because he had such
a bad night with the rain. Here he goes walking
through the wood, and through the wood, and
through the wood, and over the hill, and by and
by he comes to a cave. A great big rock-two
rocks, that lean up against each other,-and inside
there was a big, dark hole, 'way in ever so far! Oh,
Aunt Helen! Please, will you give me the froggyy'
Aunt Helen handed the froggyy" book, and
Walter opened it in the middle, and stood it up
against the head-board.
"Well, he came to this cave, and he thought
he'd look inside. So he went in, and itwas a splendid
place in there to live. It was pretty dark, but wolves
don't mind the dark. It was dry and warm, and he
scraped together a lot of leaves and made a bed, and
so he slept there that night. See, Robbie, there 's

the old wolf fast asleep in the cave! Hear him
breathe! "
Robbie almost stops his own breathing as he
peers into the cave, and listens to Walter's heavy
snorts and sighs. The story is becoming exciting,
"And now it 's morning, and he gets up and
he feels lonesome. It's such a big place to live
in alone. So he says to himself: 'I think I '11
try to find some one to come and live with me.'
He had nothing to eat but part of a chicken, so it
did n't take him long to eat breakfast. Then he
went out of the cave and he walked around, and
walked around, and walked around, till he came to
the hollow tree where he used to live, and there he
found a fox, sitting in front of the tree. This is the
fox, Robbie; it 's a real fox, not a play fox; see
what a sharp nose it has, and a bushy tail."
The fox was one of the few animals which had
escaped mutilation or total destruction in the ark,
and the perils of shipwreck afterward.
'Well, old fellow,' said the wolf, where are you
living, nowadays ?' 'Oh, I 'm not living anywhere
in particular. I slept here last night, but I sha'n't
try it again.' 'Pretty mean place to sleep,' said
the wolf-' I 've tried it myself. I 've found a
first-rate place now; plenty of room for two. Come
and see it, and if you like it you can live there with
me.' The wolf had heard a great deal about the
fox's cleverness. He knew he was n't very clever
himself, so he thought it would be a good thing to
have the fox for a partner."
What 's 'partner' ?" Robbie interrupted.
Oh, never mind, Robbie Cousin Charley said
partner. It's Cousin Charley's story. Robbie
will know what partner is when he gets to be a big
boy. See, here they go, the wolf and the fox,
through the wood, and over the hill, and now they
go into the cave together. The fox says it is just
splendid, just the very thing he had been looking
for. 'All right,' said the wolf; 'make yourself at
home.' So the fox scraped together some leaves
and made a bed for himself. 'Look here,' said
the wolf; 'my cupboard's empty!' Cousin Charley
said there was a kind of shelf in the rocks, like a
closet, where the wolf kept his food when he had
any. Well, he had n't any that day, so he told
the fox he would have to go hunting, and the fox
said he'd go along, and they would divide between
them what they caught. The wolf thought to him-
self, 'Now I shall live like a lord, for the fox must be
a great hunter.' 'Now,' said the fox, 'you go along
this side of the hill, and I'11 go along the other side,
so we wont miss anything, 'and we 'II meet at the
cave. I '11 wait dinner for you if I get home first,
and you wait for me.' So the wolf said he was
satisfied with that plan, and he went along the
hill,-here he goes,-and the fox goes on the other







side. Now, the wolf had good luck. He had n't thing. 'You've been long enough,' said the wolf;
gone far when he heard a rustling in the bushes, 'you must have had bad luck.' 'Luck!' said the fox;
and he kept very quiet, and what does Robbie think 'I had no luck at all. But I suppose you have enough
he saw ?" for us both.' 'I have n't any more than I want for
"What he saw?" asked Robbie, too impatient to myself,' said the wolf. 'But I said I 'd divide, and
guess, so I will.' And the wolf divided, but they had to get
"He saw a 'itty, bitty rabbit, with long ears and up very early next morning and go hunting again.
a pink nose." The wolf was home first that day. It was a good
Oh, a wabbit! A wabbit! cried Robbie. day for hunting, and it seemed to him very strange
And the wolf waited quiet in the bushes till the the fox should come home again with nothing at
rabbit jumped past him; then he pounced on him all. But he did. He had had bad luck again,
and bit him behind the ears." and so the wolf divided. But he began to wish he
Oh, no No, he did n't! cried Robbie, much had n't asked the fox to live with him. The next
excited. He did n't bite wabbit!" day and the next day it was just the same. The
"Why, yes, Robbie-that's what Cousin Charley wolf had to hunt for both, and he got very tired
of it. He thought about
it a good deal, and the
more he thought, the
more it seemed to him
very queer the fox had
such bad luck. One day,
when he was home early,
he thought he would go
in search of the fox, and
see what he was about.
There was snow on the
ground, and he could
follow the fox's tracks.
He followed along till he
came in sight of the hol-
low tree, and there he
S saw the fox. He had
had good luck that day,
sure enough For, on
the ground beside him,
there were a fat goose and
two squirrels. The wolf
Watched him; he was
scratching and digging
in the snow; by and by
he had dug a big hole,
and he put the goose and
"THE FOX DUG UP THE OLD GOOSE AND CARRIED IT AWAY." the squirrels in and cov-
said. He had to, because he had n't anything to ered them up, and wherever there were spots of
eat. I don't believe it hurt the rabbit-only just blood on the snow, he licked them up. 'Aha I'
a minute." said the wolf to himself. 'I know you now,
"Play it was n't a wabbit," said Robbie. "Play Mister Fox Fine good feeding you 've had be-
it was a big-big tween my house and your cupboard The sooner
"Wild-cat," said Walter. we part the better.' But the wolf did n't say a
Yes, yes! A big wild-cat!" word to the fox, because he did n't want to quar-
"Well, never mind what it was; but the wolf rel with him. He was afraid of such a clever
got something for his dinner. He had enough for partner; but. he made up his mind he would n't
himself, and then he went back to the cave, and feed him any longer. He went home to the cave
waited and waited. Here he is," said Walter, prop- and ate all he wanted for his own dinner, and what
ping the wolf against the side of the cave. He 's was left he hid away. When the fox came, he
so hungry he can't stand up. And now back comes found the cave empty. No wolf, no dinner. Nothing
the fox, over the hill here, and he has n't a single but the beds of leaves. The fox waited a long


while, and when the wolf did n't come, he went
back to the hollow tree and dug up one of the
squirrels for his supper. But he went back to the
wolf's house to sleep. The next morning, the wolf
lay asleep in the bed, beside him. The fox spoke
to him and shook him; then the wolf turned over,
and said he was sick and could n't hunt that day.
So the fox went away by himself. It was a bad
day for hunting-very windy; and the snow blew
so, he could n't see far before his face. He lay'in
the bushes and watched, but he could n't find a
thing to eat; so he had to go back to his own hole
under the hollow tree. He was scraping the snow
away from the hole, when a wind blew through the
bare trees-a great wind that came from a long
way off. The fox heard it coming, and heard the
trees creak and rattle their dry boughs. It came
on, whoo-oo-oo till it struck the hollow tree ; over
it went, and the fox was underneath. He lay
there all night; he was n't dead, but he could n't
stir; the tree held him down, and one of his .legs
was broken. He lay there all the next day; and his
leg hurt him so, he could not help crying, and he
was awfully hungry, When it was evening again,
and the moon shone on the snow, he saw a shadow
coming, slow-slow-across the white moonlight.
It was old Master Wolf, who had come to look for
his partner. He was walking softly, for he thought
the fox might be at some of his tricks; but the
fox was quiet enough now. 'Well,' said the wolf,
'here you are!' 'Yes, here I am,' the fox said.
'I hope you have n't waited dinner for me.' The
wolf saw the blood on the snow. He knew it was
the fox's blood, and that he was hurt. 'It serves
him right,' he said to himself. The fox turned his
eyes up at him, for he was fastened down, and
could n't move his head. 'You need n't come
back to the cave,' said the wolf; 'there is n't room
for two. Good-night;' and then he went back over
the hill. But he walked very slowly.. He kept
walking slower and slower, and, by and by, he

stopped and listened. The fox had tried not
to make a single moan while the wolf was there,
but now his pain made him cry out, and the
wolf heard him, for the woods were still. 'After
all,' he said, 'he's my partner. I chose himn
myself.' He thought about it a little while longer,
and then he went back to the tree. 'See here,
now,' he said to the fox, 'I don't owe you any-
thing, but I don't mind doing you a good turn if
you wont expect anything more from me.' I don't
expect anything,' the fox said. 'I never have. I
have n't asked you to help me, have I?' No, you
have n't, but I will.' He worked away at the tree,
digging and gnawing, until he got the fox loose,
and he crawled out and limped away over the snow.
' Better take along what you 've got in your hole!'
the wolf called after him. 'Thank you I '11 leave
that for you,' said the fox. 'I owe you more than
that.' The wolf did n't take it, though he was
hungry. Somehow it seemed to him it would n't
taste good. But the fox came back that night, and
dug up the old goose and carried it away. The
wolf never saw him again."
Now there was silence in the room, and Mamma,
listening for Robbie's voice and not hearing it, rose
and went softly to the bed. Robbie was fast
asleep, and Walter lay on his back, making funny
shadows on the wall with the wolf and the fox.
"Was n't that a nice story, Aunt Helen?"
"Yes; but do you think Robbie understood it,
"But he liked it," Walter said. '"He likes
things he can't quite understand."
When Robbie awoke, Walter was standing by
him, all dressed, and the sun was shining into the
Where is the wolf and the fox?" he said, sitting
up in bed.
There lay the old Noah's ark and the froggyy"
book, but the wood and the cave and the hollow
tree were gone.






NE, with her blue, faint eyes, could dream too much;
One, rosily sun-stained, wanted things to touch.

' She met him on the stair with half a blush:
How late you sleep!" he said. She whispered, "Hush !

"I read that painted book last night, and so
I dreamed about Prince Charming --" "Did you, though?

"Why, I was wide awake in time to see
All Fairy-land! I wish you'd been with me."

What was it like ?" Oh, it was green and still,
With rocks and wild red roses and a hill,

And some shy birds that sung far up the air,-
And such a river, all in mist, was there! "

Where was it?" Why, the moon went down on one
Side, and upon the other rose the sun "

How does one get there ?" Oh, the path lies through
The dawn, you little sleeper, and the dew."

(A Story of a- S. S.)

BY *



THE rowers on board "The Jolly Fisherman"
toiled manfully in face of the approaching storm;
but the patched oar was becoming more and more
shaky, the tide was strong against them, and the
shore appeared no nearer.
"If we could get over to that stone house," said
Donald, "we might borrow a pair of oars."
"That wouldn't do," answered Fred. "It
would detain us, and we are too late now."
"We might go across the creek," said Belle,
"and then land and walk to Greystone."
"So we might," said Kitty, ruefully, "if we were
once across; but that is not possible."
"It is not impossible," said Sandy, tossing up his
hat. "Nothing is impossible to an American. If
that is not true, there is no use in being one."

"You are right, Alexander; but how is it to be
done?" asked Donald.
"This way," answered Fred. "We'll turn, go
up the creek with the tide, and then, even with our
broken oar, we can reach the bank."
It was not easy, still the young Americans did it;
but when they came near the banks, they found
they were in shallow water, where the spatter-docks
grew thick and strong, and in front of them rose a
high stone wall. They could not row over the
docks; but with the unbroken oar Donald poled the
boat along, and when at last it ran aground on the
mud, some feet from the wall, Sandy took off his
shoes and stockings, rolled up his pantaloons,
jumped into the water, and with many a cry of
"gee and "haw," brought the boat up close to
the wall. Then Donald gave him a hoist, he found
projections on the wall on which his feet could rest,
and up he went. The next was Donald, the tallest
of the party, and then, between him and Fred, the





two girls were pushed and pulled, until they also
were up. The basket and shawl, the gun, Sandy's
shoes and stockings, were then handed up, the boat
was tied securely, and they were happily landed.
In the first moment of this triumph, Belle distin-
guished herself. It was fast growing dark, it was
beginning to rain, and they were a mile from Grey-
stone. Their path for half of this distance lay on
top of the wall, and this, the boys said, was so full
of musk-rat holes that they would have to walk
with great care, or an ankle might be sprained. At
one side of the wall was the creek, at the other a
dry ditch, well floored with stones. Belle sat down.
She then said she was going to stay there.
"All right," said Fred. We '11 blow a horn
when breakfast is ready, and you can come over."
"What do you mean to do?" asked Donald, in
"I don't know," she replied; "but I can't go
over that walk. I shall be sure to fall one side or
the other, or I shall go into a hole. I should a
great deal rather stay here."
But you can't stay !" cried Kitty. "You know
you can't! And if you do, I shall have to stay with
you, and you know I don't want to do that."
"You need not," said Belle. "The tide will
soon be high, and then a boat can come up and
take me off."
I suppose you will light a beacon," Sandy said;
then added, more gently, grasping her hand: "I
can take you safely along; take hold of my coat
and follow me. We must go at once, or Papa will
be dragging the river for us."
Belle stood up, but she looked at him still in
some terror.
You must! said Sandy, firmly. Think how
troubled Mamma must be."
Belle paused; then, with a little gasp, she took a
firm clutch of his arm, and so he headed the small
procession, carefully feeling the way with the gun,
calling out all the holes, concealed even in the day-
light by grass, but now in the darkness entirely
invisible, and all his followers "larboarded" and
starboardedd" as he directed.
It was not long before they were off the wall,
and then they hastened, almost running, over the
fields, Sandy singing, in a clear, high voice, as
soon as they were near the house:
Oh, say can you see, by the absence of stars,
How bravely we climbed, and how carefully crept,
Where the musk-rats made holes,
And the-"
Is that you, Sandy Baird?" cried a voice in
the darkness.
"It is, your honor!" cried he,-" me and me
family. An' is it you, Patty?"
I am so glad that you have come said Patty,

who now saw them. Is there anything the mat-
ter? Any one hurt? Your mother is almost wild,
and your father and she have been down to the
wharf a dozen and more times. As for your supper,
that is just spoiled. It has been ready two hours."
"Don't say that, Patty," said Fred; "no sup-
per could be spoiled for us! Here we are,
Mamma !" he cried, as a figure ran down the steps
of the porch; "safe and sound, hungry as bears,
and with ever so much to tell you."
When' Sandy came down-stairs, ten minutes
later,-foi all tales of adventure were forbidden, by
Patty's request, until the party come to the table,
-he went through the kitchen to the pump, and
stopped in surprise.
Why, Patty !" he exclaimed; "what a lovely,
charming, delicious smell! What are you cook-
Birds," said Patty, briefly.
Birds !" he repeated. "Boys !" he called out
to the others, who were trooping down, Patty has
birds-a stew of birds Just come and smell
"Smell them!" said Fred. "Easily content
should I be if I should stop at smelling them!
Oh, Patty, do hurry !"
Did Papa shoot them?" asked Sandy.
No, he did n't; and Patty pushed everybody
aside and took the coffee-pot off the stove.
"They were left by some boys, with a whole
pack of nonsense written on a piece of paper.
There it is," and she pointed to part of an old
show-bill, pinned against the wall.
Fred took it down, and on the back was written:
For two days a truce is proclaimed. After that, rash invaders,
beware! THE CHIEF."

"What in the world does that mean ?" exclaimed
"Birds !" cried Kitty, running in. "Oh, they
are the very birds we meant to shoot and did n't!
Did Sandy tell you of our luck, Patty ? It was just
as bad as it could be. First, there was the crane-
and then-oh, Sandy, do you mean to tell? About
the cardinal-bird, you know."
You are not going to tell anything just now,"
snapped Patty. "Be off to the table, every one
of you, and I '11 bring in the dinner."

Poor Kitty's bad luck was not yet over, for the
next morning, when she awoke, her face was
sore and swollen by sunburn. Her eyes were red
and weak, and she was a most forlorn object.
The boys laughed at her, Belle pitied her, and
Patty at once said she must stay at home, and have
her face bathed with sour milk.
"Oh, I can't do that!" she cried. "We are




going to Brighton to-day, and you know you want
sugar and flour. I can't stay at home !"
I think we really must change our plans," said
Mr. Baird; "for you certainly can not go on the
water with that swollen face. We shall go to
Brighton to-morrow."
"We have no flour," said Patty, "and all the
bread in the house, excepting a piece of a loaf, is
on the table."
Kitty looked up. She was never selfish, and she
at once said they must go, and she would stay at
home. She tried to smile as she said this, but
between her swollen face and a desire to cry, she
made a poor success.
The bread, it was clear, must be had. The boys
proposed to go alone. Belle offered to stay with
Kitty, and Mrs. Baird said Belle must go, and she
would stay; but Kitty was firm. She was n't go-
ing to spoil fun, she declared, and she would stay
at home alone. Patty approved of this, and be-
tween them they carried the day. The party went
to Brighton, while Kitty staid to devote herself to a
book, and to a great bowl of sour milk. and a soft
handkerchief, and Patty went off to hunt up enough
flour to make a little cake for her.
It was a long morning. Kitty read, and then she
dozed; she walked out into the old garden, where
the grape-vines trailed on the grass, where the
roses and the syringas were knit together by masses
of woodbine, and where the paths could be traced
only by their short grass. She gathered roses and
filled glasses for the parlor-table; she talked to
Patty, pared potatoes, and then lay down on her
cousin Juliet's bed and went to sleep.
When she awoke, it was growing late in the after-
noon. The boat from the city was just going up
toward Brighton, and the shadows on the lawn
were lengthening.
She ran down to the pump and washed her face.
The soreness was almost gone from it, and when
she ran back to arrange her hair by Belle's little
glass, she thought she looked a little like herself
again. She had just finished plaiting her hair
when she heard, she thought, voices down-stairs,
and she ran gleefully down; but the rooms were
empty, and Patty had seen no one, so Kitty re-
turned to her toilet. Again she heard a voice.
She looked through the window. No one was there.
She went into the hall, and then she heard a slight
noise. It was faint, but she was sure it was the
regular beat of a footstep. It was very easy to
understand this, and with a little chuckle of delight,
she slipped off her shoes and stole softly upstairs.
If the boys had come home, and thought to get in
without her knowing it, how mistaken they would
be They knew she would watch below, and they
therefore meant to steal upon her from above But

she knew them too well for that; and all in a
quiver of delight, she crept on silently. There was
no one on the third floor, but she heard the step
more plainly, and so she went on to the fourth.
She prepared for a sudden spring, and she
sprang-upon a boy !
But it was not Sandy, nor Fred, nor Donald. It
was a strange boy, and he had a gun in his hand !
This gun he leveled at her, and he cried:
"Halt! My goodness, but you frightened me!
I thought you people were all gone."
Kitty jumped when she saw the gun, but in a
moment she cried out:
"Now, Harry Briscom, put that down! Put it
down this moment, or I '11 tell Cousin Robert."
"Will you stand where you are?" replied the
"I wont do anything," said Kitty, "until you
put that gun down."
"You will have to do something; you must
stand still or run away," and the boy returned
the gun to his shoulder, and then, grounding
arms," leaned upon it.
"It will go off in your ear," said Kitty.
"No, it wont," the boy replied: "I am not
I don't believe it is loaded," said Kitty.
"Never you mind," he replied. "Where are
the other folks ?"
"They have n't come back."
"Didn't you go along?"
"No," said Kitty.
"Why? asked he.
"I chose to stay. But what are you doing
here? Where did you come from? Don't you
remember me?"
Of course I do," replied the boy, "but I did n't
expect to see you just now. I knew you were
Tell me what you are doing here."
"I saw you out in the boat the other day," pur-
sued the boy, and I knew you right away. You
' caught a crab'just as you used to up in the Cats-
kills, and you jumped up and looked all around to
see if any one saw you. I never saw a girl, who
could row as well as you do, lose her balance so
Don't you tell Sandy Baird!" exclaimed Kitty;
"he will never stop teasing. Were you one of the
boys in that boat with a striped sail? But what
are you doing here? Does Patty know you are
in the house? I had a lovely time that morning.
I went out alone before breakfast. Did any one tell
you about it ?"
"I never saw a girl who could ask as many
questions as you can," he replied, "and if Patty is
that old woman, she does n't know I am here, and



I should be much obliged if you would n't tell
her. When do you expect the others?"
"I don't know. I thought when I heard you
that they had all come. Don't you want to come
"Talking on guard! cried a voice from a room
in front of which they were standing.
Kitty gave a great jump, while Harry shouldered
his gun and resumed his march, beginning to
"I do think, Harry Briscom," said Kitty, in an
indignant voice, "that you are too silly for any-
thing. I don't believe your father knows you are
To this, Harry replied by a shrug that was expres-
sive, even if not graceful.
"And I am going into that room to see what
you have in there."
He pointed his gun at her.
"Now, see here," said Kitty, "you will have to
stop that. I am not going to have guns pointed at
me, and, perhaps, come to be a dreadful accident
in the newspapers. I do believe you have shot
somebody, and you have shut them up in that
At this moment the voice was again heard, and
it said: Is that a girl? Ask her what time it is."
"I don't know," said Kitty, at once, "but the
stage has gone down to the boat-landing. It must
be after three. Who is that in there?"
"Look here, Harry," said the voice, and the
door opened a very little. "I want'to speak to you.
It is something important."
Harry went into the room, then put his head out
and bade Kitty stay there, and then disappeared
again, a violent whispering following. In a moment
he came out, and saying, "It's a real good idea,"
he turned to Kitty and asked:
"Would you like to turn State's evidence ?"
"Turn State's evidence?" repeated Kitty. "I
don't know what you mean."
"You ought to know," said the boy, "for you
are likely to be arrested, and anyhow I don't mean
to let you go before the Chief comes."
"You don't mean to let me go!" cried she.
"I '11 go this very minute."
"No, you wont," said Harry, stepping in front
of her. You will have to obey the laws, or be
punished. You and your family are invaders, and
now you come to play the spy; I am not sure but
you '11 have to be shot. I suppose you are a perfect
Major Andr6."
"Oh, if it is fun you mean," exclaimed Kitty,
her eyes dancing with delight, "I '11 be State's
evidence or anything. But you ought to remember
that this house belongs to my father."
"The Baron Baird?" said the boy.

"The Baron Baird," repeated Kitty, who could
have screamed with pleasure, but who looked pre-
ternaturally grave.
"It is his no longer," said the boy, making his
gun ring on the floor.
"It has n't any lock! cried Kitty; "that gun
has n't. No one need be afraid of it!"
"Never you mind about that," said he; "the
castle has been besieged, and you, the Baron's
daughter, are my prisoner. Go into that room "
I certainly will not," she replied, with unusual
caution, unless I know what is in there."
"Come forward, prisoner;" and the guard
opened the door, a boy smaller than Kitty, and
with a sunburnt, pleasant face, making his appear-
"You are not afraid of him?" said the guard.
"That's all. Now go in."
"I 've seen him before. His name is either Jack
Robinson or Sam Perry," said Kitty, obeying orders.
"Oh, you recognize him, do you?" said the
guard. "I '11 make a note of that. I don't know
that it will amount to much, but it may prove his
guilt, or that you are a spy," and then he closed
the door; and as he did not at once resume his
march, Kitty fancied he was making his note.
If Kitty had not been perfectly familiar with the
room in which she was placed, she might have
been frightened, for, with the exception of what
light came in around the cracks in the door, it was
perfectly dark. There was no window in it, but it
was large and high. The Baird children had often
wondered for what it was built. Belle said that
the old china-merchant used it as a.dungeon for his
wives; Sandy, however, insisted that he did not,
but, instead, that he cured the hams there.
It was now, however, a dungeon, as Kitty in-
stantly thought, and the two prisoners stood side
by side.
I want you to stay there until I come back,"
called the guard through the door. I should lock
you in, but there is no key."
"We '11 stay," said Kitty, cheerfully. "Make a
rattle as if you had a great bunch of keys."
The guard felt in his pockets, but he had noth-
ing to rattle; so he rolled out:
R-r-r-r-r," and walked off.
"Have n't you a chair to sit on ?" said Kitty.
Not even a heap of straw," replied her com-
"I am tired of standing," said Kitty. "Dear
knows how long he will be gone."
I should n't sit down on the floor,-not if I were
afraid of spiders; there are hundreds, millions of
them here."
"My goodness!" cried Kitty. "You horrid
thing Why did n't you tell me so before ?" and





she dashed out of the room, calling loudly for Harry
Harry had not gone out of sight along the long
entry, and he came back in a great hurry.
"I wont stay in there!" exclaimed Kitty. "That
boy says the room is full of spiders."
"They wont hurt you," replied Harry, impa-
tiently; "you ought to have staid there. There
always are spiders in prisons."
"I can't," said Kitty; "no, not if they were
You '11 have to be on your parole, then," said
Harry; "and come when you are summoned."
Oh, I '11 do that," said Kitty, quickly. "When
will the summons come ? "
Pretty soon," said Harry. "Before your folks
come home."
The door opened, and out came the other boy.
See here," he said, "if the girl 's on parole, I
think I ought to be."
"I don't know," replied his guard, doubtfully.

tied the hands of the prisoner with a piece of twine
he took from his pocket, and marched off with him,
leaving Kitty in high delight looking after them.
I do wish he had told me how he got here,"
she said to herself, as she ran down-stairs. "I
thought they were Catskill people. And oh, I do
hope Sandy and all of them are having a lovely
time, and will stay ever and ever so late "



"DON'T be worried about me, Patty," cried Kitty,
running into the kitchen. "After a while I am
going out, I don't exactly know where, but I shall
not be long."
"Do you want a piece of your cake?" was
Patty's reply.


"The Chief sentenced you; that makes a differ-
"Where is the Chief ?" asked Kitty.
"Ha, ha! replied the guard, in a deep voice.
"I don't care," said Kitty. "But you have to
tell about me, and you can't leave your prisoner, so
take him along."
That's a good idea," said the guard; and he

To this, Kitty at once said yes, and taking her
piece of cake, she went out to the front porch and
sat upon the top step. She did this for two reasons.
In the first place, she had not made any appoint-
ment,with her guard about meeting him; but, she
thought, here she would certainly be in sight; and
besides, she wanted to watch for the boating party.
At last, her piece of cake being all eaten up, she



r ;-I~: "
.r ;--'-
;:'.;~-. ';FSr~~Sr-


became so nervous, between the long delay of the
guard, and the fear that her cousin might come and
she be prevented from unraveling this delightful
mystery of chiefs, and State's evidence, and prison-
ers, that she had to get up and dance a little on
the porch. She would have rushed off to hunt up
the guard, but she feared to miss hini.
But when the shadows were much too low and
long upon the grass, she heard a low whistle, and
she saw Harry Briscom standing near the end of the
empty wing of the house.
She ran to him at once.
"Have they come?" he said.
"No," she. answered, hurriedly. "Not yet.
Where am I to go ? "
"You must go around to the back of the house.
By the garden-gate. There you will meet a mes-
senger. Where is the old woman? In the
Kitty nodded.
I hope she will stay there. And you must say,
'Is it well?' and he will say, It is well.' "
"Who?" said Kitty.
"The messenger, of course. But you will have
to be blindfolded."
"Indeed I wont," promptly replied Kitty. "I
won't go anywhere if I can't see."
"Nobody will hurt you. Just you have confi-
dence. Now, don't you turn on me. I said you
were the pluckiest girl I knew."
This went to Kitty's heart. Rather than forfeit
such a reputation as this, she would have been
carried. So she said she would go.
"Just wait one minute," said Harry. "Count
five hundred, and then you come."
When the proper number was counted out, and
Kitty reached the garden-gate, she saw no one, but
in a moment a figure in an old water-proof cloak,
wearing a large hat, and with a white muslin mask
on its face, appeared from behind some lilac-bushes.
Kitty glanced at the figure. She could see the
brown curly hair, and a shoe not properly tied, and
she recognized both; but she made no sign. She
simply thought that Harry had been quick, for she
had hurried as fast as was fair in her count.
"Is it well ?" asked Kitty.
It is well," replied the figure, in a deep, husky
voice, and then it produced a handkerchief, with
which the prisoner's eyes were to be blindfolded.
Would you mind using mine?" asked Kitty.
"No," said the deep voice; and when Kitty
took it out of her pocket, it added, "It is too
Then Kitty took the ribbon off her hair, tied it
to one end of the handkerchief, and gave it to the
figure. It was now quite long enough, and so
Kitty's eyes were tied up.

The guard then turned her around three times,
and taking her hand, led her, as Kitty could easily
tell, over the grass and but a short distance.
He then knocked at a door, and a voice said:
Are ye true?"
"And loyal!" replied the guide. "Give the
"All is well, and the Duke is dead."
At this mysterious announcement, the door was
at once opened. Kitty's other hand was taken,
and she was led into a close, hot room. The
handkerchief was then taken off her eyes, and she
looked in amazement around her. She knew at
once that she was in one of the class-rooms in the
extreme end of the southern wing of Greystone.
The shutters were closed; a fire burned on the
hearth, making the room uncomfortably warm; i.
front of it sat a boy of fifteen, wearing a red rca
and cloak, and behind him, at either side of the
mantel-piece, stood a small boy, one holding a
pitch-pine torch, and the other a Roman candle,
which he promptly let off as soon as the handker-
chief was removed from Kitty's eyes. There were
but three balls in it, but they made Kitty dodge,
and she did n't like it, and said so. The boy with
the candle had bare legs and arms, and wore a
bunch of feathers in his cap, which was turned
hind-part before. He also had a piece of plaid
around his shoulders, and was sufficiently suggest-
ive of fancy balls to make Kitty sure he was a
Highlander. The others puzzled her. One wore
a dress of shining lead-colored muslin, made like a
butcher's shirt, and had a tin basin tied down on
his head. Another was dressed in green, and had
a bow and arrows; another had a fur cap, and
some sort of a blanket over his shoulders; and
another, in a sailor's suit, had such a projection in
one cheek that Kitty was sure he had an egg, or
a "tom-troller," in his mouth. All these figures
wore masks similar to that worn by the guide,
which were made out of white muslin, with two
holes cut for the eyes. Over at one side stood the
little boy who had been Kitty's fellow-prisoner,
and his hands were still tied.
This is the prisoner," said the guide, pointing
to Kitty, and addressing the boy who was sitting,
and who wore the red cap. This figure, being the
only one provided with a seat, was at once recognized
by the prisoner as the Chief.
"Advance, 0 Champion, and read the charge!"
said this personage.
At this, the guide disappeared into the out-shed,
and in a moment came back attired in a blue
cloak, gracefully draped over one shoulder, and a
hat with a white feather. In his hand he carried
a sheet of foolscap paper, and advancing to the
middle of the floor, he began to read:




"Catherine Baird, the prisoner, was born thir-
teen years ago-- "
"Twelve," calmly interrupted Kitty. "I shall
not be thirteen until next December. And I hope
you spell my name with a K, for I hate Katharine
with a C."
The Champion at once borrowed a pencil and
made the corrections.
Twelve years ago," he resumed, reading with

"Oh, you all have names! What is that one
with a tin basin on his head ?"
"Your Majesty," said the person of whom she
spoke, is this proper language ?"
Truly, my worthy Don Quixote," said the Chief,
skillfully answering the two questions at once, "it
is not! Shall she be sworn?"
Oh, he 's Don Quixote," said Kitty. "I never
read much of that book. It was n't interesting."


great emphasis. Her father is a minister, and she
lives in a village called --"
Goodness !" said Kitty; "do you consider all
that interesting? I suppose Sandy Baird wrote it."
Sandy Baird did not write it," said the Chief;
"he is not here. You know very little of Brother-
hoods if you don't know that they always read the
histories of prisoners."
Is this a Brotherhood?" said Kitty, eagerly.
" Is that why you are all dressed up? I wish Harry
Briscom had told me, and I 'd have dressed, too;
but I am not a prisoner. I am State's evidence,-
whatever that is!"
Harry Briscom is not known here," said the
Chief. "Perhaps you mean Lord Leicester."

The Champion, or Lord Leicester, then cleared
his throat.
"Please wait until I am gone before you read
that," said Kitty. I have ever so many questions
to ask, and I am afraid Cousin Robert will come
There was a little discussion upon this point, the
Champion-who probably was the author of the
biography-being very much in favor of having it
read; but it was decided, as the hour was late, to
omit it.
At that moment, there was a knock at the out-
door, and the countersign being again given, an
Indian girl entered, followed by the boy in green,
who had slipped out unseen by Kitty.




Approach and give your report," said the Chief,
in a tone of solemn dignity. Is it safe upon the
rampart and the river ?"
It is safe upon the rampart, and on the river
all is silent."
And our good Robin Hood," said His Majesty,
"let us hear from you. Have you played the scout
upon the invader ? "
"He has not returned," replied Robin, "and
the old woman is alone."
I war not upon women nor children," said the
Kitty at once concluded that all this meant that
her cousin Robert had not come back, and Patty
was in the kitchen; but, for a wonder, she did n't
speak. .She was thinking.
Has she been sworn ?" said the Chief, abruptly
turning to Kitty.
I don't want to be sworn," she replied. I '11
tell all I know without it."
"But you must swear," said the Chief; and he
arose and unsheathed a'small sword he wore at his
side, and gracefully presented the blade to Kitty.
"Kiss this, 0 maiden, and say thy words are truth."
Kitty was quite equal to this emergency, and she
sank upon one knee, and kissing the sword, said
her words were words of truth. Then she looked
around for approbation; but, if this existed, she
could not know, because of the masks. Then she
Now," said His Majesty, sitting down again,
" we shall proceed."
"Would you mind taking off your masks? said
Kitty. It is n't pleasant to talk to people when
you can't see their faces."
"Is that the price of your revelation ?" asked the
It is," replied Kitty, promptly, and with great
"Unmask!" commanded the Chief, taking off
his own bit of muslin with a relieved air. "It is
awfully hot."
I think," said Kitty, who was nothing if not
suggestive, "that that back door might better be
"Then we might be surprised," replied the
Chief, looking anxiously toward the door.

"Place a sentry," suggested the Sailor, after
taking a hickory-nut out of his mouth.
"I shall. I appoint Captain Kidd as sentry,"
and the Sailor at once took up his station by the
back door, after having opened it, much to every
one's relief.
"In the first place, now," said the Chief, im-
pressively, "how long do you-the invaders-desire
to remain within these walls ?"
"For six moons," said Kitty, who was looking
around at the group and wondering who the Indian
girl was, and who was also relieved not to see Sandy
in the party-"that is to say, until next week."
"And then you go home?"
"We do."
"What does the Baron Baird mean to do with
the property?"
Is this State's evidence ?" asked Kitty.
"It is," answered the Chief.
"Well, it is stupid," frankly replied Kitty.
"Don't you ever play anything? Don't those
other boys ever say anything?"
The Chief made no reply, but sat in silence for a
moment, then he said:
"Soldiers, take the prisoner to the guard-house,"
and the Champion and Don Quixote at once
advanced and conducted Kitty away, though, much
to her relief, not up to the dark room, but to the
out-kitchen. In a moment, the Highlander, with-
out his torch, which had become much too smoky
for comfort, came out to relieve'guard, and the
Champion and Don Quixote went back to what
Kitty supposed was a council.
She sat down on the step, between the rooms,
but was careful not to listen, and in about ten
minutes, or, as she measured time, a half-hour,
the Champion came back, and escorted her into
the room again.
The Brotherhood was now arranged in a circle,
sitting on the floor, and they gave Kitty a place
in the middle. She could not help thinking of
their own dining-room arrangements as she sat
down, but she made no remark.
"We have sent for you," said the Chief, with a
very impressive air, to say that we have been con-
sidering whether or not we should make you an
honorary member."






A LITTLE curly-headed rogue,
With eyes that dance and shine,
And voice as soft as any bird's,-
Such is my Valentine.

He coos, and woos, and murmurs sweet:
" I love 'oo, Mamma mine."
What maiden fair in all the world,
Has such a Valentine?

No matter who may come or go,
His heart is always mine;
No cause have I for jealousy-
My little Valentine !

He tells his love a thousand times
Each day by sweetest sign;
And oh, I love him back again-
My little Valentine!

(A Fable.)

BY J. H. T.

THE goose wished to give a concert, and invited audience is not highly cultivated, and it has been
the nightingale to assist her. hinted to me that they would enjoy the entertain-
"But," timidly said the nightingale, I under- ment more if you should sing the solos, while I tend
stand you do not approve my style." the door, and keep up the fires."
"Not altogether," replied the goose. "But the So the nightingale sang.









THE tumultuous sound of galloping increased
behind us; so the teamster brought our cavalcade
to a halt, and the fire-arms were made ready
"Is it robbers? cried Tommy.

"No, no," laughed the teamster.
" Cimarones-mountain sheep; look back-see
their horns!"
A troop of bighorn sheep (Ovis montana) came
trotting up the road, wheeled around the corner,
stopped, and eyed us with surprise. The leading

ram snorted and stamped his fore feet, but the rear
sheep pressed the frightened leader forward.
Oh, don't shoot, Uncle,-please," whispered
Tommy. Let us see how near they will come."
The foremost ram came within forty yards,
when he got the scent of our wild beasts,-of
the she pan their, probably,
=-turned short about, and
started off in full gallop.
The sheep stared, but
when the second ram
leaped back with a snort
... Uof horror, they took it for
---; granted that something
or other must be fright-
S'S .": fully wrong, and the whole
troop plunged down hill
-. with a rush that sent the
stones flying in every di-
rection. One good-sized
bowlder rolled over a
.:ii:.-, antd :r. b;.un.dng into the valley below and
. a ptc.i .:.1 ..i -r .i:. The sheep kept on at a mad
.!:.p r.il ri., ::i'.'1 .I .reek-bed, far below, where
i_.,r :, .i t i.i. n it the cliffs.
Di .1 .d .. .':r ...: i-,l.h running!" laughed Tommy.
I,- ., t.. i r* -Lr :.: 1-d .:.:.mpletely out of their wits !"
T Th,,. Ir1 n't 1i sense at all," said Daddy
i..', ..k.i it h.: .i- :idJ::3: We are here in the State
.-' T1. '.: 1. anl th: ii-.: is a very strict law against
roll' !,- : i.:.1-- ii, ra ni's corn-field."
i.:- i,:. ..-t :.- r i! .:.-;s had followed the peccary
cl:r .:. .-i th.l *- ..r i, but, an hour afterward, we
Ihi: .1 rlhI.ii !..'.I, .iid' bark in a wooded ravine
-i I. Il. ni,.! d j i ls ahead of us.
"" TIh,, -i, r.: something else now," I said;
a p.: :l d. :: ,not turn upon its own tracks."
-" Thi -i,:.,~.li ,i- comingg this way," said the
r,::i'-,.-r T ,r. rl!.'y are, now !"
T h.: .*J.. t i -.:. .: I.ross the road, but stopped
beL.- ..- :.:.pp!.- .:.' inesquite-trees at the edge of'
t0h. 1c.h. ,. lh l: they stood close together,
h... in i- :i1...: n chorus, when suddenly the
brindled deer-hound whisked up the road with his
nose close to the ground, making straight for the
mesquite coppice. We saw him dive into the
thicket, but in the next moment he rushed back,
howling and bleeding, and ran up to us, with his
tail between his legs, a pitiful sight!



"Heigho! that 's a leon" [a puma], said the
teamster. "Look at this hound! Why! he ought
to think himself the luckiest dog in Mexico If
he 'd had that scratch a little lower, it would have
cost him his eyes."
"Do you call that lucky?" said Tommy. "Look
here; the poor fellow is nearly scalped; there must
be a powerful brute in that bush "
"A leon, I think," said the teamster. "Yes, I
was right; here he comes!"
A magnificent puma stepped slowly from the
coppice and advanced to the edge of the cliffs.
There he crouched down and switched his tail left
and right.
Oho! That fellow means mischief," said the
teamster, and took an old shot-gun from the cart.
"He 's going to turn upon the dogs again "
The puma raised his head and advanced toward
the dogs with cautious steps, switching his tail, just
like a cat stealing upon a mouse. It would have
been curious to see the end of his maneuver; but
before I could interfere, the teamster leveled his
gun and blazed away.
The puma reared up with an angry growl, then
turned and whisked along the brink of the declivity,
with the pack in full pursuit. He led them right
toward the steepest part of the abyss, but just before
he reached the edge he turned short, and with a
magnificent side-leap, reached a crevice in the wall
of the precipice, where he disappeared below an
overhanging ledge.
The dogs rushed ahead, and their leader, one of
the big curs, dashed over the brink and fell head-
long into the dark chasm below. The next dog
saw the trap in time to save himself by a sudden
"Was n't I right?" said the teamster. "Is n't
this deer-hound the luckiest dog, after all? If he
had not had that scratch, he assuredly would have
led the pack and broken his neck, instead of my
poor cur."
We looked down into the gorge, but the abyss
was too deep; the poor dog had disappeared for-
My! Just look away over yonder in that grass
valley," cried Tommy. There goes that same
troop of bighorn sheep; and, I declare, they have
not done galloping yet! "
This road of ours is rather a roundabout way,"
I observed. "We have not made much headway
in the last half-hour."
"Yes; but it's the only wagon-road through
these mountains," said the teamster. "I '11 tell you
what we can do, though: if your guide will drive
my car for an hour or two, I will show you a short
cut across the sierras. It 's a steep bridle-path;
but we shall pass by a place they call the 'Altar,'

where you can see the hornitos [little volcanoes] of
Tarifa. We shall strike this road again on the
other side of the ridge."
"That's a good plan," I said. "Come on,
"I shall take my old saddle-horse along," said
the teamster. "She would break away or get rest-
ive if I should try to leave her behind."
Menito had fallen asleep in the cart. He had
been hard at work carrying water the night before,
so we did not wake him.
A few hundred yards above the wagon-road, we
reached the cliffs of the upper sierra, and here the
bridle-path became desperately rugged, but the
teamster's old mare followed us closely over the
rocks, like a dog. Where the ascent was too steep
for her hoofs, she had a curious knack of laying
hold of any bush or shrub with her teeth, and
helping herself up in that way. She was a true
mountain horse.
S"This is the Plateau of Tarifa," said our new
guide, when we had reached a rocky table-land
near the summit of the sierra. That white knob on
the right there is the highest point on this ridge, and
no one has ever been on top of it, as far as I know."
The "white knob," as the Mexican called it, was
a snow-clad peak of the central Cordilleras. Tier
above tier of precipices rose straight up from the
cafon, culminating in a tremendous tower of min-
gled rock and ice, and of such steepness that any
plan of climbing it without poles and ice-shoes
seemed too hopeless to be so much as attempted.
"Come this way, now," said the guide. "Do
you see that steam rising from the valley ahead
there? That 's the smoke of the hornitos."
After a hard scramble over bowlders and fallen
trees, we came to a pulpit-like promontory on the
southern slope, overhanging the valley of the Rio
Negro, with the famous hornitos, or volcanic hillocks,
of Tarifa.
"This is what we call the 'Altar,' said the
Mexican. "Now look down there, if you can.
When I was a boy, we used to come here and try
to keep our eyes on the hornitos without blinking;
it's a courage-test, they say. Hunters generally
blink at them with the left eye as they do in firing
off a gun."
It was, indeed, a test which few human eyes could
stand without wincing. There were about ten
small volcanoes at the bottom of the precipice, and
every now and then one or the other shot up a
charge of fire and pumice-stones, that looked as if
they would fly directly into your face. Experience
had shown that the stones I l hin m Ic i ne- r reached
up to the cliffs of the "Altar," but the clouds of
smoke and cinders rose much higher, and one larger
burst gave us an idea of what it means to look into


the mouth of an exploding cannon. Immediately average, and the bottom was covered with heavy,
after, another hornito went off with a loud report, gritty sand, as if the water had run through
and we felt the rocks shake under our feet when the basalt-caves.
charge of flying stones scattered among the crags. They call this the 'Orphan-creek,' said the

SI-.'. I' *.,

.I .L'.i' T r -1 il ,.
"' HO.'.' r, L2r 1.1d [I-v :[:.-,< : ,.,, "nc rl-, t tii.i 2 i

di" I r,:.-'' kr.mi ." i- ,il II.,.', "" [ nl_,ih i.,,:t[.': t,:L!
ll-.._ trntlth 1 _i.h t 15,.:,r|1i i,',, ,:*'.:-; "'

V '.V .: lI t. 1 i, ii,, er .: .. n .:r, ,,.i r h. rid : id
:;,..,: b !ie ,.- .,,,,i r.-L,: 1 h t!.: J:,. '. .r,-w

i-. i i .iIi'l, ii' f,, ,ik!r t. T !-.-L,' i .-i i .:,.l,- S in ,. -_i.ici p

r."- o h. i iL d,:,i lihal -r tr,':L ari.:.th,-i pl!ri [ 'i .i n,
liausCd it MnLu. Lhlc Cill~fi oi LihC 1icr valley.
Do you know what makes leons and panthers
so plentiful here?" said the teamster. It 's the
caverns; this valley is full of caves and crevices,
where they find shelter for themselves and their
young ones. There are caves here that reach far
in toward the center of the mountain."
We entered one of these caverns, not far from
the road-side, and found it as dark and chilly as a
rock-c:ll r in winter-time. We sent Menito back
for our field-lantern, and, until his return, sounded
the depth of a creek that issued from a vault in the
recesses of the cave. It was four feet deep on the

teamster. "Many years ago, a Mexican miner
went in here to hunt for gold-quartz, and must have
met with some accident, for he was never seen
again. They say his boy came here every day for
weeks and called his father's name, but only the
cave-echo answered him."
When Menito returned with the lantern, we
advanced about a quarter of a mile into the interior
of the cavern, till we came to an abysmal gorge,-
the Caverna del Diablo, or Devil's-pit, as our guide
called it. It seemed to be very deep, for a bowlder





dropped over the brink reverberated in its descent
for several seconds, till the last rumblings died
away in the abyss below. Clouds of bats rose from
the chasm, and flopped about the cave with pierc-
ing shrieks, when they saw the glare of our lantern.
There was a side-vault which led along the brink
of the gorge, but we found the ground covered with
wriggling cave-lizards and serpents, and our bare-
footed Indians beat a hasty retreat.
"There is a puma that has haunted this cave for
years," said the teamster, "but no hunter has ever
discovered its hiding-place. It must have its den
away back in one of the side-caverns."
We camped in the valley of the Rio Negro that
night, and had a better supper than we expected,
for the river abounds with trout, and the ravines
were full of wild pine-apples. In one of the ravines
the boys found a fine spring, and we sent Menito
down with our drinking-cup; but we had to wait a
quarter of an hour, and it was nearly dark when he
returned with the pail in one hand and a large
bundle in the other. He had taken off his jacket,
and we thought he had wrapped up a few more
"Look here, captain, what 's a puma worth in
this sierra ? he asked the teamster.
"About three dollars," said the Mexican.
"Well, sefor, you owe me twelve dollars, then,"
said Menito, and laid the bundle at my feet.
"Here are four of them."
Four of what?"
"Pumas, senior," said Menito, and took four
small, grayish cubs from the bundle. They were
about as large as pug-dogs, but all blind yet, and
wriggling about like caterpillars.
I heard them mewling under a ledge in that
same. ravine," said Menito, "but it took me ten
minutes before I could find them. Are n't theyworth
ten dollars ?"
Ten dollars cried Daddy Simon. What
manner of a boy are you, anyhow? Trying to
cheat this gentleman, are you ? In the first place,
they are very young pumas; and in the second
place, they are no pumas at all. They 're young
ocelots, worth about twenty-five cents apiece."
"Ocelots faltered Menito. "Why, they are
just the color of a puma; an ocelot is speckled like
a panther, is n't it?"
Well, don't you know that young panthers are
as gray as rats? Just ask the teamster, if you
"Yes, you are right," said the teamster;
"those kittens are young ocelots. They '11 get
speckled after a year or so."
Of course they do," said Daddy Simon. It's
their wickedness, if you want to know the reason.
Every time they kill or steal something, they get
VOL' VIII.-19.

marked with a black spot on their heads or legs,
according as they bite or scratch something."
If that is so, they must commit the most des-
perate cruelties with their tails," laughed Menito.
"Just look at that panther How thata, Daddy?"
"Never mind," said the Indian, evasively.
"Hurry up now, and help me unstrap those
blankets. The nights are too short to answer all
your questions," he added, in an under-tone.
We broke camp before sunrise the next morning,
and when we came to the next turn of the road,

... ......._ ...........
. -- -


we saw a broad valley at our feet, and in the dis-
tance the town of Benyamo, with its gardens and
vineyards. But before we left the mountains, we
made a detour to the right, to take a Wok at a
strange rock-temple that used to be a place of wor-
ship before the Spaniards introduced the Christian
religion into Mexico. This temple is a large cave,




which the ancient Indians fashioned into a sort of
under-ground church. The entrance was arched
and chiseled, like a portal, and the lower walls
were covered with mysterious designs, some of them
as fanciful as the emblems on a Chinese tea-chest.
The interior of the temple was a mass of ruins;
the Spaniards had smashed every idol they could
lay their hands on, but a Mexican gardener, who
lived near the entrance of the cave, showed us
some queer statues he had picked from the debris.
One of them had a nose like an ant-bear; and a
fat little image, with its arms akimbo, had a hole
through its head that went from ear to ear like a
tunnel. The gardener told us about a strange idol
that was worshiped with divine honors by the pagan
aborigines. It was made of a kind of grayish-
white stone, that looked like quartz in day-time,
but became luminous after dark, and was supposed
to be a supernatural image of the moon. When
the Spaniards began to demolish the temple, this
statue was removed by the superstitious Indians,
and it is perhaps still worshiped in some secret cave
of the sierra.
Between the rock-temple and the town of Ben-

yam.:,, tl,
ri d,:r !i -k..t .t u .,-
b ,-nd r,, th.: l..tr In r .u, ,.-.,. l

ilnt ;ltr.ghtl ,dicad, ,d l-d
us through a wild hill-country, full
of ravines and thorny thickets. Far-
ther back, the hills expanded into grassy slopes,
and on one of these pastures we saw a queer little
windmill whirling in the breeze. It was not more
than three feet high, and some of its sails were
colored .. I;r a bright purple red. If the wind
turned the sails, it looked as if somebody was wav-
ing first a white and then a red handkerchief.
"What in the name of sense can that be ?" I
asked, pointing to the whirling vanes.

"It's anr antelope-trap," laughed the teamster.
"There 's a pitfall near there."
The whirl-mill seemed to be a sort of bait, for
antelopes are very inquisitive, and want to examine
everything that excites their curiosity. Besides, it
was very useful in warning strangers and children,
who otherwise would be in danger of falling into
the pit.
Our dogs kept up an incessant chase after the
big rabbits that frequent these hill-slopes, but gen-
erally lost them in the hedges of cactus or prickly-
pears that skirted every ravine with a belt of
impenetrable thickets. Some prickly-pears grow to
a surprising height, and we saw one that was high
enough for a good-sized pine-tree, though it had
only a few dozens of those big, fleshy leaves that
distinguish a cactus from all other plants. In the
desert, the thirsty horses and cattle often eat these
leaves; but, in a well-watered country, a cactus is
rather a nuisance, for its prickles are worse than
buck-thorns, and its beautiful red fruit tastes like an
over-ripe gooseberry. Before we entered the vine-
yards in the vicinity of Benyamo, we stopped to
whistle our dogs together. But only two of the
shepherd-dogs made their appearance; the rest still
l.u k...l :o'- I .:1 1: .1 .- tn-i.: hbll- ilhickets.
T ,!i- -! < rii 11.-i. ti-i. rabbits," said the
.: r ... ii.: n -..n get tired of that,
.i.1 :l.-,. L .:kI ..: t .. i !: ... a accord."
-_ L.I i ,i k I hear our dog,"
---- F~.1 -.lly Simon. "There
.'-- ir I.: something at bay,
_-- i.. h. would not make such
-' : bout a rabbit."
SI there any large
nie in this neighbor-
..,d ?" I asked an old
n r an, who came up
the road with a
load of dry sticks
on his back.
"Not much,"
S said he. "Your
dogs have treed
S' a brown bear in
the bottom over
YOUNG OCELOTS. yonder,butbear-
meat is n't of
much account around here at this time of year,
excepting to dogs, may be."
A bear, you say? How far from here did you
see him?"
He 's on a wax-tree in that broad gully back
there," said the man.
I thought so; why, that would be worth while
looking after," said Daddy Simon.
"Yes, come on, boys," said I; "but the team-




ster can drive slowly ahead; we '11 overtake him
this side of the village."
We found the tree by following the sound of the
dogs, and, sure enough, there was a bear in the top
branches, and four of the dogs
were baying him with long h.:. 1.
It was a moreno, as the M,: ..i.
call a kind of light-browr. I 1. i
about half as large as a g.,- '. f
zly. But how could we get i I ..
down without killing him? .
"Just leave that to me." .
said Daddy Simon. "Y ..
stay where you are, Menit...
and watch the dogs. I 'im n
going to get something tha. .
will fetch him. It 's onl) .
half a mile to town."
"All 'right," said I. ,, B
Stay here, Menito, till .
we get back. I owe you .' :~
five dollars for the oce-
lots, and will give you ,, ".
something extra if we l
catch this bear. Don't C _
let him get away."
Indeed he wont!" --
laughed Menito. "You QUEER STATUES FROM T
'11 find him here if you
come back before night." While we walked toward
the village, Daddy Simon collected about a peck
of cactus-pears and put them carefully in his big
leather hat.
I guess we can trust that boy," I observed.
"We might as well find a place for our menagerie
before we go back."
Upon inquiry, we were directed to a man who
had charge of one of those empty convents that are
found in almost every Mexican town,-a building
with a fine garden and hundreds of empty rooms.
We soon agreed on the rent-price, and one by one
our boarders were transferred to more commodious
quarters in a side-wing of the building, where most
of the windows were secured with iron bars. The
housekeeper was an honest-looking but rough sort
of fellow, and jerked out some of the monkeys by
their long tails, because they did not leave their
wire house quickly enough to suit him. When he
grabbed the bob-tail youngster by the leg, the little
rogue bit his hand, and clung to the cage with all
its might. The man ran off then, to get a poker
or something, but, before he returned, Bobby
bolted out, of his own accord, leaped upon Tommy's
shoulder, and chattered away in great excitement.
"Uncle, will you do me a favor?" asked
Tommy, taking the little fellow into his arms.
"Allright. But what is it?" said I.

Let me keep this little fellow for a pet," said
Tommy. He is so small that lie wont bother us
at all, and I will take good care of him."
"Very well," I answered; put him back into
his basket and bring him along."
Ebl.,; seemed to understand every
;. ..r.l .._ : id, for he stuck out his tongue
,,i n.l A,,h,-.id defiantly when we passed
. I' I'..i.. '.eper on the staircase.
"r. On the market-square of
,. the village, Daddy Simon met
I .- us with a big bottle.
" I 'm ready for the bear
now," said he, and if it suits
S you, we might as well fetch
S ), him home here."
." ..' The distance was not
S much more than half a
S mile, so we all went back
to the ravine and found
',, ii; everything in its right
place,-the dogs where we
10 had left them, and the bear
' '.. perched, disconsolate, on
one of the upper branches.
S "He has walked around
.- -'_----. and around that tree-top,"
HE OLD MEXICAN TEMPLE. said Menito, "but has n't

once tried to come down."
He will try it now," said Daddy. "Just hold
this bottle a minute."
He had put the prickly-pears into a little tin pail,
and now proceeded to soak them with the contents
of the bottle-a sort of strong-smelling spirit, made
of distilled peaches. He then put the pail at the
foot of the tree.
"Oh, I see," said Menito, "you are going to
make him drunk! But will he like that mess? "
"Of course he will," said the Indian. "Now
catch the dogs; they wont leave this tree if they
can help it."
With his long leash-rope, he tied the four dogs
together and dragged them off. Come on now,"
said he, "we must give the bear a chance for his
He marched us off to a distance of about two
hundred yards into a coppice of mulberry trees,
where we could watch the bear unobserved.
The moreno noticed our departure, with manifest
surprise, and peeped through the leaves, as if he
suspected a concealed enemy at the foot of the
tree. Seeing nobody, he descended from branch
to branch, and finally grabbed the trunk of the
tree and slid boldly down.
Now he 's going to have his dinner," whispered
Daddy Simon.
The bear stopped, noticed the tin pail, and fixed




JUBE'S life, ever since he could remember, had
been spent in "Ole Isrul's" cabin, underneath a
spur of the Alleghanies,-and a very happy-go-lucky
life it was.
After "freedom come," Israel and Hannah,
Jube's nearest of kin, had drifted from the cotton-
fields of the Mississippi back to "Ole Virginny,"
and to their old life of tobacco-raising on the Alle-
ghany slopes. They had brought Jube with them,
the motherless boy having from babyhood, as
Hannah expressed it, "been fotch up by her
hand in the way he or' ter go." If ever "fotch


up" in the way he should go, the boy, at twelve
years of age, had widely departed therefrom, for no
more mischievous spirit than naughty little Jube
infested the turnpike leading from the cabin to
the village beyond.
The day came, however, when Jube was made to
pay off at least a part of the score being continually
added up against him. Yet the boy himself did
not imagine that such a day of reckoning had ar-
rived on that sunshiny morning, when he arose early
to deck himself for a holiday, which was to be given
entirely to the enjoyment of Forepaugh's Great
Circus and Menagerie. Twice before, during that
week, he had made a pilgrimage to the village, and
had spent hours, each time, inspecting the wonderful

display of show-papers glaring everywhere. Such
riders, such vaulters, such gymnasts, surely had
never been known before, even to Jube's vivid im-
agination. Such animals, too the sacred bull, the
ibex, the llama, the rhinoceros, fiercer than the
lion, and the royal Bengal tiger, fiercer than the
fiercest of all besides.
"Ki, yi, Juba!" saluted Aunt Hannah, as the
boy rushed into her cabin that morning, his white
eyeballs rolling, and his red lips parted in grins
of delight. "Isrul, what you s'pose is up wid
this nigger, now?"
* "Humph grunted the cabin's patriarch, puff-
ing, in the breaks of his sentences, volumes of
smoke from his short corn-cob pipe. I 'specs dat
boy, Hannah "-puff-" have jes' done "-puff,
puff, puff-" gone crazy ober "-puff-"Foreper's
What dat you say? Foreper's surcuss ?
Juba, whar dat money you fetch me fur de garden-
sass an' dem eggs? Ef you jes' done bruk one ob
dem dozen eggs wid yer capers, I '11 Foreper's
surcuss you, see ef I don't."
Jube dodged a blow from the hand that had
"fotch him up," and proceeded without delay to
give up every farthing of his evening's sales.
Aunt Hannah deigned to give a grunt of satis-
faction as the last penny was counted into her
hand. Then Jube sidled into the corner of the
hearth where "Ole Isrul" sat enjoying his pipe.
He stood for a moment digging his toes into the
cracks of the hearth.
"Daddy I" he drawled, by and by. "Daddy "
No answer. "Ole Isrul" never so much as
winked an eyelash, but sat smoking his pipe as un-
responsive as a Camanche Indian.
"Daddy, say 1 May n't I go to Foreper's 'nag-
erie? My! it 'sa show what is a show. There 's
beasts an' beasts-but it's the elerphunt what beats
all holler! Whew! Daddy, dat elerphunt 's a
whale, I tell yer! "
"Juba," said Aunt Hannah, severely, "what
you sayin'-eh? De elerphunt am not a whale.
How kin it be? It 's agin natur'."
Jube subsided.
"Daddy," he whispered, after a few more
desperate digs into the seams of the hearth, and
under cover of the clatter of Hannah's supper
dishes,-" Daddy, may n't I go?"
"Whar to-whar to, Jube?"


(A 'Story of a dreadfully nataghlty little Black Boy.)




"To Forper's 'nagerie. You is gwine fur ter
le' me go? Aint yer, Daddy?"
Sartain, boy; sartain-ef yer kin find a silver
mine twixtt now an' show-day."
Jube looked disheartened for a moment. Then
his face brightened. He was not lacking in expe-
dients, and it was a great matter to have Daddy's "
consent. He began to do a double shuffle, but
brought up in short order as he caught Aunt
Hannah's eyes turned upon him.
"You, Jube! You jis' shuffle out 'er dis, an'
hang dat last load ob tobaccy-cuttin's on de scaffold,
down by de tree."
Jube obeyed with alacrity, as he felt it would not
do to provoke Mammy's" ire at that critical stage
of his plottings. Having tossed up the pile of
tobacco waiting for him, he quickly mounted upon
the shed, in order to hang up the cuttings for dry-
ing. The scaffold was a swinging one, supported
on its lower side by forked stakes driven into the
ground, while on the back, or higher side, the
horizontal poles supporting the stems were, after
the shiftless manner of Jube's race, suspended by
grape-vine twists to the low, spreading boughs of an
oak tree. The tree itself should have been in the
prime of strength and beauty, but, like a parasite,
the clinging scaffold had, through years of gnawing,
eaten into it, until now many of its lower branches
were quite dead. Jube, however, briskly hanging
the tobacco, while marvelously preserving his
balance on the swaying poles, was not concerning
himself with the fate of this tree. His brain, active
as it was, had enough to do to work out the
problem "Daddy" had set for it to solve. How
was he -to find that silver mine? Just two days
more and Forepaugh's menagerie would make its
grand entry into the village. Now, Jube was an
expert at treeing coons, and had ceased to boast of
the ground-hog and rabbit burrows which he had
found-but a silver mine That was different. He
did n't believe "Daddy" himself had ever found
one of them, though with a witch-hazel he had found
more than one under-ground spring. But a silver
mine! "Jeemes's River!" said Jube to himself;
"how I wish a witch-hazel, would point to one of
But suddenly Jube narrowed his range of fancy
to a more promising field.
If he could find a silver dollar, would n't
"Daddy think that the next thing to a silver mine ?
He had heard tell it took acres to make a silver
mine-but a silver dollar a smart boy like him might
find in a sheep's track, or thereabouts. A cunning
look twinkled in the corners of the boy's eyes. He
gave the tobacco a final shove with his toes, then
leaped down and went whistling back to report to
Aunt Hannah, and have his share of the mush and

milk, for which his afternoon's work had given
him a hearty relish.
Next morning, two of Aunt Hannah's biggest
melons were missing from the patch, and a brace
of her fattest capons from the roost; but suspicion
was diverted from the real culprit by the tracks of
huge shoes freely displayed throughout the patch.
"'Pears to me, Isrul," said the woe-begone Han-
nah, "dat thief mus' have wore shoes made upon
his own las'-I nebber saw sich a foot on any ob
my acquaintance."
Dat's so, Hanner; dat 's gospel truf. Der aint
no sich build of foot sca'cely sence de days ob
Yet, as Hannah turned off in perplexed thought,
the old sinner slyly thrust forward his own huge
shoes, giving a significant poke with the bowl of his
pipe at the sand and clay filling the coarse seams.
"Ki," he inwardly chuckled, "dat boy Jube
better not let de ole 'ooman know how close under
her nose he done 'skiver his silver mine. She'll
have her shere of intrus' off o' him, shore as yer
But Jube was as sly as he was naughty. Aunt
Hannah was unsuspecting.
"Juba," said she, tenderly, ef I had the
money, you should go ter Foreper's 'nagerie to-
Jube was prompt to seize his golden opportunity.
"Ef I arned the money, Mammy, mought I go ?"
"Ye-es," drawled "Mammy," cooling a little;
"ef Isrul s'poses he kin spar' yer from the baccyy
gathering, yer mought."
Ef yer fines the silver mine, Jube, ef yer fines
the silver mine, yer kin go," said Israel, pressing
in the feathery ashes of his pipe with the horny tip
of his finger.
This time, Jube executed a double shuffle in good
earnest, and returned to the tobacco-field much
relieved. That afternoon, when he went to the
pasture for the cow, he turned old Brindle's nose
homeward, and hurried off to the village to do a
little trading on his own account. For this, Hannah
had a well-seasoned hickory laid up for him when
he came back, but Jube knew her weak point, and
when he had hauled forth a whole quarter of a
pound of good tea, "which," he said, a feller at
a store had gin him for running' of a arrant," she
was so touched by his thought of her, that the rod
was quietly slipped out of sight, and Jube felt quite
enough in favor to exhibit the tiny square of card-
board which he had brought back as the result of
his stolen expedition. Hannah's curiosity was at
once aroused by the mysterious signs thereon.
"What's dis, Juba ?"
Why, lor', Mammy! Dat 's a ticket of 'mis-
sion to Foreper's surcuss."




Dat is? Sho, now! An' what's dis writing to the village before the sun had lifted his head
Jube? You is a scholar. What do de writing' above the eastern hills.
say ?" Such a day of rare fun and jollity as that was for
It says to le' me into Foreper's 'nagerie an' Jube! His dusky skin fairly glowed and glistened
big show," said Jube, who, having enjoyed three with the fullness of his delight. In all the twelve

cL." ". '.. .. .

...- "-* '- J -T ,

- -.

i -*, y ', *i ^ l

''. "


month .-.f f.i-
tion ID' rid L ..
at a free school, felt '.
tent to render a free I ,-

translation of the

hieroglyphics which so puzzled his illiterate relative.
"Well, land o' Canaan!" ejaculated Aunt Han-
nah. But whar did yer git it, Juba ?"
Jube was ready for the question, and he assured
her that "one of Foreper's surcuss-men had gin it
to him fur carrying' of his nags to water."
Hannah did not look convinced, but she had
learned discretion in argufyin'" with Jube, so
contented herself with a word of warning', by say-
ing: "Remembah, you Jube, ef you 's a foolin'
me, de truf will out someday !"
Jube, however, was content to risk any calamity,
if it should only come after he had enjoyed one day
with Forepaugh's circus. And he had his day, for
next morning, as we have said, he was up and
dressed betimes, and, indeed, was well on his way

- .

years of his life he had
never been to a circus,
so, even before he had
reached the climax of
wonders under the can-
Svas of this one, he had
decided,like the Queen
of Sheba, that he had
not been told the half
of the glories he was

to see.
S, The -rande entrie
'was of itself a stupen-
dous revelation to him.
.. Was there on the earth
/ such another glittering
line of men, women,
S horses, and band-wag-
ons? There, too, were
Scages of wild beasts,
S poking out here a
S '' great foot and there a
S ,' ferocious head, or the
hole terrible animal pac-
; ng restlessly. But the ele-
..-:. :- phant was, as Jube had told
'' / Ole Isrul," thewonderof all.
Z .'-;. My! Aint he awhale !"
h'e said, under his breath, as
S -' if fearful his words might
each Aunt Hannah.
... And just here we may
.. ... hronicle that Jube had an
adventuree with this gigantic
brute before the day was
done. Not content with following in the wake
of his Indian majesty through the whole morn-
ing, the boy, in the afternoon, formed part of
an admiring retinue accompanying him to and
from his bath in the mill-pond, which was the only
bath-tub large enough for his high mightiness.
As this procession returned through the village,
Jube, anxious to secure a more elevated point of
observation, rushed ahead of the throng to perch
himself upon a projecting ledge of a corner store-
house, from which he might view the breadth and
length of the elephant's mighty back; but, in his
haste, Jube had not taken note of the fact that he
was just at the point where two streets converged-
that, but a moment later, the elephant must round
the sharp angle, with barely room to crowd himself
between the ledge and the iron lamp-post beyond.




He was only made conscious of his predicament
when the beast was close upon him. On came the
mountain of flesh to crush him to powder! Jube
sickened with horror, and turned ashy with fright.
He could feel the heated steam arising from the
creature's moist sides-those monstrous flanks which
would sweep him from where he clung, like a fly
from a wall. The great ears flapped at and fanned
him-the small, twinkling eyes were turned upon
him. A shout or cry of warning and horror went
up from the crowd. It was answered by a careless
grunt from the elephant, and in an instant his pro-
boscis was thrown into the air. Jube gave himself
up for lost. He found himself enfolded as by the
coils of a serpent, and immediately there followed a
sensation as of-flying. Another shout ascended
from. the crowd, but this time it was a shout of
derisive laughter at poor Jube's expense, for the
beast had lifted him quickly down from his perch,
and dropped him, not too gently, into the middle
of the dusty street. His majesty and retinue swept
on, leaving poor Jube to whimper, and rub his
shins, as he crept into an alley-way close by. He
was not much hurt, he found, after an examination
of his joints and bones, but he did have a regular
ague-chill from the fright, and so felt revengeful
enough as he.crouched in the shelter of a garden
wall .to recover his strength and spirits.
"The ole tough-hided, ole stump-footed ole
critter .I'll be even wi' 'im yit; ef I don't, I wish
er may die," he muttered, nursing his wrath.
Nevertheless, he. was quite ready to enjoy the
night-exhibition under the canvas, and when the
performance was over, he took his last look at the
actors, horses, wild beasts, and elephant, regretting
heartily that such days could not last forever.
"Only," he thought, sidling past the modern
mammoth reposing in state upon his bed of straw,
" I should like to git a twist at one o' them tails of
his'n-like I twists ole Brindle's, sometimes, when
he wont git outen the paster quick. I wonder, now,
ef I 'd jist stick a pin into dat foremos' one, an' run
fer it, ef he 'd think 't would pay 'im to chase me."
Fortunately, however, discretion, or cowardice,
decided Jube not to encounter the risk, so he started
home in safety from the village with a party of men
and boys going in his direction. Reaching the
cabin about midnight, he crept up the outside lad-
der to his bed in the loft, and was soon rivaling
Hannah and Israel in their duet of snores below.
From the overeating or over-excitement of the
day, his sleep was not of long duration. He was
aroused, an hour or two before dawn, by the sound
of wheels passing along the turnpike. In an instant
he was wide awake and on the alert.
Goodness! he exclaimed, in a quiver of ex-
citement. "Ef 't aint Foreper's surcuss and

'nagerie on its travels! Wish-er-may-die, if I don't
get one more blink at the elerphunt."
In a trice he had slipped from his bed, and was
at the hole in the gable-end which did service for
him as door and window. The moonlight was flood-
ing the pike, and, as far as he could see along it,
there was passing a ghostly procession of men,
horses, vehicles, etc. It was Forepaugh's circus on
its move to the neighboring town. Without more
ado, Jube, in his airy costume, slipped down the
rickety ladder to the ground. He found, near the
tumble-down gate, an excellent covert and outlook.
Crouching in the clump of Aunt Hannah's privet
and lilac bushes, he watched with the utmost zest
until every wagon of the lumbering train had rolled
past, and disappeared, in shadowy outline, far up
the road.
Then his heart sank, heavy as lead. He 'had-
not seen the elephant. It must have gone by, ahead
of the train. He waited five minutes longer, to see
if there were anything more to come. Excepting
that a whip-poor-will, dreaming in the big oak-tree
upholding Israel's drying tobacco-crop, now and
then sounded its plaintive cry, not a sound dis-
turbed the moon-flooded stillness of his watch.
Heaving a profound sigh of disappointment, he
took one more look up and down the turnpike, and
was in the act of turning about to go back into
the cabin, when an object some distance down the
road caught his attention. He crouched again and
waited. Whatever the object was, it drew slowly
nearer, momently increasing in proportions, until it
loomed up, a ponderous mass, clearly defined within
the range of his enchanted vision.
It was Forepaugh's elephant, moving drowsily
along. His keeper, riding alongside, seemed half
asleep, too, as also did the pony he rode. It was
evidently a somnambulistic trio, jogging leisurely
along in the wake of Forepaugh's show. But Jube
was wide awake, and there was a spirit of mischief
awake within him, besides.
I sed I 'd be even wi' the tough-hided, stump-
footed ole thing," he chuckled, squaring, himself
for action. He skeered me to-day, but I '11 gin
him sich a skeer, now, as never was."
On came the somnolent three. Directly, they
were abreast of the gate behind which crouched
the waiting Jube. Suddenly this gate was flung
wide on its hinges, and the boy leaped into the
road with a screech and a yell, flinging his arms
about, and flapping his very scanty drapery al-
most in the face of the beast. You may believe
his Indian majesty napped no longer! In an
instant his proboscis was waved frantically in the
air, sounding his trump of alarm, the prolonged,
screaming whistle fairly deafening its hearers.
Poor Jube had by no means calculated upon this




dire result of his attempt at revenge. His eye-balls judgment could mean those yells and shouts and
rolled, wild and big with terror, as he watched bellowings, turning the calm, moon-lit night into
for a second the cloud of dust veiling the wrestling pandemonium? Clinging together, and quaking,
they managed to reach the

C r ii
- r! -

ii i .r I o- r.

Lliwu h~, laddLr Lu LhL -

cabin ilft. At almost every

step, too, the infuriated beast "THE RESULT OF JUl
sounded his trump. A roar-
struck against a corner of the cabin, jostling
Hannah and Israel from their deep sleep Ter-

rified out of their wits, the old couple tumbled
cabin loft. At almost every
step, too, the infuriated beast THE RESULT OF Ju,
sounded his trump. A roar-
ing blast he gave, as, in his mad haste, he
struck against a corner of the cabin, jostling
Hannah and Israel from their deep sleep. Ter-
rified out of their wits, the old couple tumbled
out upon the floor, and fell upon their knees, think-
ing it was the horn of Gabriel summoning them
from death to judgment. What but destruction and

E'S ATTEMPT AT REVENGE." satisfied wi' you and Ju-
ba, Isrul! You is wick-
eder 'an me-wickeder sinners, you know yer is,
ole man,-you know yer is."
Her "ole man" attempted no self-defense.
With a dexterity quite unusual with him, he had
managed to latch and chain the door, but now he
was leaning up against the lintel, speechless and
knock-kneed with terror.





All at once there was a quick, heavy rap upon
the door.
Hannah howled, and sunk lower on her knees.
"It's de debbil!" she whispered, in a sepulchral
tone. He's done come fer yer, Isrul! Speak
up, ole man-speak perlite, sorter, an' may be he '11
be easy on yer. Answer him, Isrul."
"Who-o-who dar?" chattered Israel, with a
dismal whine.
"Open the door!" shouted an angry voice with-
out. "I thought everybody was dead inside there.
It's nobody but me-the keeper of Forepaugh's
elephant, that's broke loose and will tramp down
all your things here, to say nothing of your ras-
cally boy, who ought to be well whipped. The
beast will kill him if I can't get a pitchfork, or
something. Have n't you a pitchfork somewhere?
Hurry-your boy 's in a lot of danger! Stir about-
will you? Let's have a pitchfork !"
"Ki, yi, Hannah!" exulted Israel, beginning to
straighten his bent knees. Yer debbil's nothing'
but Foreper's elerphunt, arter all. Hi-jes' yer run
an' fetch the pitchfork fer de gemman."
"Yer go an' git it yerself, Isrul; I is engaged,"
was his wife's prompt response.
Hurry up there!" shouted the voice outside.
"Fetch me the fork, or the beast will kill your boy,
for certain."
"I say," answered Ole Isrul," with his mouth
at the latch-hole-" I say, massa, I'se clean
crippled, an' bed-rid with the rheumatiz, an' the
ole 'ooman here, she 's skeered clar inter spasims.
You 'll find the fork in the shed, so jes' help yer-
self, as we's unable ter, massa."
With loud mutterings of anger, the keeper
departed in search of the pitchfork. While he was
gone, the elephant had regularly treed Jube. Too
closely pressed to secure the shelter of his room
in the cabin loft, Jube instinctively had made for
the only other accessible place .of refuge. Into the
big oak-tree he had scrambled, by the aid of the
drying-scaffold suspended from its boughs. Nor,
thoroughly scared as he was, did he stop in the
lower branches. Not knowing what might be the
stretching capacity of that awful proboscis which had
once enfolded him, he clambered, hand over hand,
until at a considerable elevation he reached the
second forking of the tree. Perched therein, he
took time to draw his breath, and look down at his
enemy. Evidently this enemy was determined not
to consider himself baffled. He was charging
Jube's stronghold with the intrepidity of Napo-
leon's "Old Guard" and the concentrated strength
of a battering-ram. But the oak, although its
day of kingly glory was past, was stronger than
Forepaugh's elephant. Its bare limbs trembled
under the shock, yet the mighty roots held firm.

The blow, however, dislodged the drying-scaffold,
so that, broken from its fatal clinging, it fell with
a great crash to the ground. In default of other
prey, the elephant at once charged upon this frame-
work of poles, with its burden of half-dried tobacco-
cuttings. He stamped and tore at and pulled to pieces
the structure, tossing the cuttings until his eyes and
mouth and proboscis were well filled with the dust
of the dried tobacco. Frenzied by the fumes and
the taste of the weed he hated with a deadly
hatred, as well as maddened by the agohy of its
smarting and burning, the animal's rage seemed to
know no bounds. Overjoyed at his reprieve from
destruction, Jube began a faint, hysterical laugh as
the infuriated beast plunged and charged, snorting
and sneezing, about the tree. At last the elephant
sounded his trump again frantically, setting off at
the top of his speed for the river flowing at the
base of the hill.
So, for a time, the coast was left clear, but Jube
was too thoroughly scared to think of deserting his
present place of security; and, in a little while, his
majesty, relieved of the tobacco, again advanced to
the attack. This time he was better armed, having
filled his trunk at the river with a copious supply
of water. Taking fair aim at poor Jube, he let him
have the benefit of the whole stream, blowing it
into his face with a directness and force for which
the boy was utterly unprepared. Of course his bal-
ance was destroyed, and, tumbled from his perch,
he doubtless would have fallen headlong to the
ground, but that he had the good fortune to land
in the fork below, where he was just beyond the
reach of the dreaded proboscis. Encouraged by
this success, the beast charged again, but the ground
was now well strewn with the tobacco, and, as he
rushed forward, he was again blinded and strangled
by the pungent powder. Once more he made a
frenzied rush for the river. Thistime, however, his
hind legs became entangled among the grape-vines,
linking the poles together, so that, after some vigor-
ous but vain kicking and shaking, he was com-
pelled to proceed on his way, dragging the scaffold,
and much of the tobacco, with him.
At this juncture, the keeper, armed with Israel's
long fork, appeared on the stage of action. Taking
advantage of the elephant's blinded condition, he
attacked him vehemently, goading him right and
left. Yet the beast, infuriated, would not cry for
mercy. But finally, in one of his blinded plunges,
he rushed upon Hannah's empty root-pit, and, the
slight covering giving way under the enormous
weight, his majesty was pitched headlong in shame
and terror to the bottom of the pit. Then his
proud spirit was conquered by a vigorous assault,
and he trumpeted for mercy.
It was not until he was thus subdued that Jube,




notified by Aunt Hannah, deemed it safe to descend
once more to the ground; even then he did not
think it necessary to show himself to the twinkling
eye of his late adversary. Nor, perhaps, did he
feel safe at all until, with the assistance of returned
showmen and some of the neighbors, the elephant
had been helped from the pit, and had quietly con-
tinued its journey toward the neighboring town.
"Now you, Juba, jes' you mark my words," was
Israel's closing piece of advice when the tumult had
finally subsided and Jube, clothed, and in his right
mind, was sitting on the stool of repentance in the

cabin, ef I ever does hear of you a finding' ob a silver
mine anywheres when Foreper's surcuss am around,
shore 's I is a livin' man, I '11 war out on yer back
some ob dat extry shoe-leather what made tracks
through the ole 'ooman's watermillium patch. You
hear dat, Juba? Now, you jes' clar outer dis, an'
gether up ebery spear ob dat tobaccy what you an'
Foreper's elerphunt hab done scattered from Dan
to Beershebeh. An' min' what I say, dat dis aint
Hanner what 's foolin' long with yer, now."
And since that time Jube has never pined for
the circus on his holidays.

THERE was a small maid of St. Paul,
Who could not be happy at all:
While the cat stole her dinner,
Her dog, little sinner!
Was quietly tearing her ball.



his eye on the pasty contents with a strange ex-
pression of mingled surprise and curiosity, as if he
could not take it all in. He turned the pail around,
and then, quietly seating himself, proceeded to
scrape the pears out one by one, and gravely smelled
them as they dropped on the ground. 1But their
flavor did not seem to suit him at all. He cast a
puzzled glance at the tree, but the wax berries
looked very different from the strange mess at his
feet. What could it be ? After sniffing the breeze
attentively, the bear fixed his eye on our coppice
and cocked his head, as much as to say, "Aha!
that accounts for it! He then cleaned his paws
by rubbing them against the tree, cast a satirical

look at the scattered pears, and trotted off rapidly,
giving a guttural grunt, as if he were chuckling to
"Confound the unreasonable beast! He has
not even touched his dinner," said Daddy Simon,
when we returned to fetch our pail.
"He was a great deal too smart to eat such
stuff," observed Menito.
Stuff! What are you talking about?" cried
the Indian, feeling cross and disappointed. Do
you know what I. paid for that bottle? It 's the
very best brandy in town. Stuff, indeed!" he
muttered to himself. That just shows what boys
and bears know about such things!"

(To be continued.)



JOHNNY, standing four feet two,
In his suit of navy blue,
Aged ten years to a day,
Full of business and play,

Patronizingly looks down
On the little downy crown,
And the little upturned face,
Of the cooing baby, Grace.

What's a baby good for, now?"
Johnny questions, with a brow
Puckered up into a frown,
As he stands thus looking down.

I can do a heap, you know,-
Fly a kite and shovel snow;
Spaded up the garden bed
Just this spring, as well as Ned;

S" Mother said so; but that 's not
Half, nor quarter-there 's a lot,
Oh, a lot more I can do;
Base-ball, hockey, cricket, too.

But this little baby now,
What's she good for, anyhow,
'Cept to spoil a fellow's play,
And to get in folkses' way?

Makes a lot of trouble, too;
Such a heap of things to do !
I don't see why folks can't be
Born grown up as big as me !"

Just here, baby gurgled out
Such a jolly little shout!
Then began to babble fast,
" Ma, ma, ma, ma," and at last,

Yes, as sure now as the world,
Soft the baby lips uncurled,
And commenced to stammer out,
" Don-ny, Don-ny Such a shout

As our Johnny gave at this-!
Then a great big smacking kiss
Fell on baby's cheeks of pink.-
"Mother, mother, only think "

Mother heard him loud exclaim,
" Somehow, baby's learned my name!"
Mother, laughingly, looked on
For awhile, as Master John

Kissed the baby in delight
While he held her close and tight.
Then she mischievously said,
Glancing at the downy head,-

" 'But this little baby now,
What's she good for, anyhow?'"
Johnny turned as red as fire,
Then tossed baby up the higher.

While the baby laughed and crowed,
Johnny, though his blushes glowed,
Answered, bold as brass, just this:
" Why, she 's good to love and kiss !."








LONG ago, Mrs. Peterkin had been afraid of the
Mohammedans, and would have dreaded to travel
among them. But since the little boys had taken
lessons of the Turk, and she had become familiar
with his costume, and method of sitting, she had
felt less fear of them as a nation.
To be sure, the Turk had given but few lessons,
as, soon after making his engagement, he had been
obliged to go to New York, to join a tobacconist's
firm. Mr. Peterkin had not regretted his payment
for instruction in advance, for the Turk had been
very urbane in his manners, and had always
assented to whatever the little boys or any of the
family had said to him.
Mrs. Peterkin had expressed a desire to see the
famous Cleopatra's Needle which had been brought
from Egypt. She had heard it was something
gigantic for a needle, and it would be worth a
journey to New York. She wondered at their
bringing it such a distance, and would have sup-
posed ,that some of Cleopatra's family would have
objected to it, if they were living now.
Agamemnon said that was the truth; there was
no one left to object; they were all mummies
under-ground, with such heavy pyramids over them
that they would not easily rise to object.
Mr. Peterkin feared that all the pyramids would
be brought away in time. Agamemnon said there
were a great many remaining in Egypt. Still he
thought it would be well to visit Egypt soon, before
they were all brought away, and nothing but the
sand left. Mrs. Peterkin said she would be almost
as willing to travel to Egypt as to New York, and it
would seem more worth while to go so far to see a
great many, than to go to New York only for one
"That would certainly be a needless expense,"
suggested Solomon John.
Elizabeth Eliza was anxious to see the Sphinx..
Perhaps it would answer some of the family ques-
tions that troubled them day after day.
Agamemnon felt it would be a great thing for the
education of the little boys. If they could have
begun with the Egyptian hieroglyphics before
they had learned their alphabet, they would have
begun at the right end. Perhaps it was not too
late now to take them to Egypt, and let them be-
gin upon its old learning. The little boys declared
it was none too late. They could not say the
alphabet backward now, and could never remember
whether "u" came before "v," and the voyage

would be a long one, and, before they reached
Egypt, very likely they would have forgotten all.
It was about this voyage that Mrs. Peterkin had
much doubt. What she was afraid of was getting
in and but of the ships and boats. She was afraid of
tumbling into the water between, when she left the
wharf. Elizabeth Eliza agreed with her mother in
this, and began to calculate how many times they
would have to change between Boston and Egypt.
There was the ferry-boat across to East Boston
would make two changes; one more to get on
board the steamer; then Liverpool-no, to land at
Queenstown would make two more; four, five
changes, Liverpool six. Solomon John brought
the map, and they counted up. Dover, seven,
Calais eight, Marseilles nine, Malta, if they landed,
ten, eleven, and Alexandria, twelve changes.
Mrs. Peterkin shuddered at the possibilities, not
merely for herself, but for the family. She could
fall in but once, but by the time they should reach
Egypt, how many would be left out of a family
of eight? Agamemnon began to count up the
contingencies. Eight times twelve would make
ninety-six chances. 8 x 12 = 96. Mrs. Peterkin
felt as if all might be swept off before the end
could be reached:
Solomon John said it was not usual to allow more
than one chance in a hundred. People always said
" one in a hundred," as though that were the usual
thing expected; it was not at all likely that the
whole family would be swept off.
Mrs. Peterkin was sure they would not want to
lose one; they could hardly pick out which they
could spare, she felt certain. Agamemnon declared
there was no necessity for such risks. They might
go directly by some vessel from Boston to Egypt.
Solomon John thought they might give up
Egypt and content themselves with Rome. All
roads lead to Rome," so it would not be difficult to
find their way.
But Mrs. Peterkin was afraid to go. She had
heard you must do as the Romans did if you went
to Rome, and there were some things she certainly
should not like to do that they did. There was
that Brute who killed Caesar! And she should
not object to the long voyage. It would give them
time to think it all over.
Mr. Peterkin thought they ought to have more
practice in traveling, to accustom themselves to
emergencies. It would be fatal to start on so long
a voyage and to find they were not prepared.



Why not make their proposed excursion to the
cousins at Gooseberry Beach, which they had been
planning all summer? There they could practice
getting in and out of a boat, and accustom them-
selves to the air of the sea. To be sure, the cousins
were just moving up from the sea-shore, but they
could take down a basket of luncheon, in order to give
no trouble, and they need not go into the house.
Elizabeth Eliza had learned by heart. early in
the summer the list of trains, as she was sure
they would lose the slip their cousins had sent
them, and you never could find the paper that had
the trains in, when you wanted it. They must take
the 7 A. M. train into Boston, in time to go across to
the station for the Gooseberry train at 7.45, and they
would have to return from Gooseberry Beach by a
3.30 train. The cousins would order the "barge"
to meet them on their arrival, and to come for them
at 3 P. M., in time for the return train, if they were in-
formed the day before. Elizabeth Eliza wrote them
a postal card, giving them the information that
they would take the early train. The "barge"
was the name of the omnibus that took passengers
to and from the Gooseberry station. Mrs. Peterkin
felt that its very name was propitious to this
Egyptian undertaking.
The day proved a fine one. On reaching Bos-
ton, Mrs. Peterkin and Elizabeth Eliza were put
into a carriage with the luncheon-basket, to drive
directly to the station. Elizabeth Eliza was able to
check the basket at the baggage-station, and to
buy their go-and-return" tickets before the arrival
of the rest of the party, which appeared, however,
some minutes before a quarter of eight. Mrs. Peter-
kin counted the little boys. All were there. This
promised well for Egypt. But their joy was of
short duration. On presenting their tickets at the
gate of entrance, they were stopped. The Goose-
berry train had gone at 7.35 The Mattapan train
was now awaiting its passengers. Impossible !
Elizabeth Eliza had repeated 7.45 every morning
through the summer. It must be the Gooseberry
train. But the conductor would not yield. If they
wished to go to Mattapan they could go; if to
Gooseberry, they must wait till the 5 P. M. train.
Mrs. Peterkin was in despair. Their return train
was 3.30,-how could 5 P. M. help them ?
Mr. Peterkin, with instant decision, proposed
they should try something else. Why should not
they take their luncheon-basket across some ferry?
This would give them practice. The family hastily
agreed to this. What could be better? They
went to the baggage-office, but found their basket
had gone in the 7.35 train! They had arrived in
time, and could have gone, too. "If we had only
been checked!" exclaimed Mrs Peterkin. The
baggage-master, showing a tender interest, sug-

gested that there was a train for Plymouth at 8,
which would take them within twelve miles of
Gooseberry Beach, and they might find "a team"
there to take them across. Solomon John and
the little boys were delighted with the suggestion.
"We could see Plymouth Rock," said Aga-
But hasty action would be necessary. Mr. Peter-
kin quickly procured tickets for Plymouth, and no
official objected to their taking the 8 A. M. train.
They were all safely in the train. This had been a
test expedition; and each of the party had taken
something, to see what would be the proportion
of things lost to those remembered. Mr. Peter-
kin had two umbrellas, Agamemnon an atlas and
spy-glass, and the little boys were taking down two
cats in a basket. All were safe.
"-I am glad we have decided upon Plymouth,"
said Mr. Peterkin. Before seeing the pyramids of
Egypt we certainly ought to know something of
Plymouth Rock. I should certainly be quite
ashamed, when looking at their great obelisks, to
confess that I had never seen our own Rock."
The conductor was attracted by this interesting
party. When Mr. Peterkin told him of their
mistake of the morning, and that they were bound
for Gooseberry Beach, he advised them to stop at
Kingston, a station nearer the beach. They would
have but four miles to drive, and a reduction could
be effected on their tickets. The family demurred.
Were they ready now to give up Plymouth ? They
would lose time in going there. Solomon John,
too, suggested it would be better, chronologically,
to visit Plymouth on their return from Egypt, after
they had seen the earliest things.
This decided them to stop at Kingston.
But they found here no omnibus nor carriage
to take them to Gooseberry. The station-master
was eager to assist them, and went far and near
in search of some sort of wagon. Hour after
hour passed away, the little boys had shared
their last peanut, and gloom was gathering over
the family, when Solomon John came into the
station to say there was a photographer's cart on
the other side of the road. Would not this be a
good chance to have their photographs taken for
their friends before leaving for Egypt? The idea
re-animated the whole party, and they made their
way to the cart, and into it, as the door was open:
There was, however, no photographer there.
Agamemnon tried to remember what he had
read of photography. As all the materials were
there, he might take the family's picture. There
would indeed be a difficulty in introducing his
own. Solomon John suggested they might arrange
the family group, leaving a place for him. Then,
when all was ready, he could put the curtain over




the box, take his place hastily, then pull away the
curtain by means of a string. And Solomon John
began to look around for a string, while the little
boys felt in their pockets.
Agamemnon did not exactly see how they could
get the curtain back. Mr. Peterkin thought this of
little importance. They would all be glad to sit
some time after traveling so long. And the longer
they sat the better for the picture, and, perhaps,
somebody would come along in time to put back
the curtain. They began to arrange the group.
Mr. and Mrs. Peterkin were placed in the middle,
sitting down. Elizabeth Eliza stood behind them,
and the little boys knelt in front with the basket
of cats. Solomon John and Agamemnon were
also to stand behind, Agamemnon leaning over
his father's shoulder. Solomon John was still
looking around for a string when the photographer
himself appeared. He was much surprised to find
a group all ready for him. He had gone off that
morning for a short holiday, but was not unwilling
to take the family, especially when he heard they
were soon going to Egypt. He approved of the
grouping made by the family, but suggested that
their eyes should not all be fixed upon the same
spot. Before the pictures were finished, the station-
master came to announce that two carriages were
found to take the party to Gooseberry Beach.
"There is no hurry," said Mr. Peterkin. "Let
the pictures be finished; they have made us wait,
we can keep them waiting as long as we please."
The results, indeed, were very satisfactory. The
photographer pronounced it a remarkably fine
group. Elizabeth Eliza's eyes were lifted to the
heavens, perhaps, a little too high. It gave her a
rapt expression not customary with her; but Mr.
Peterkin thought she might look in that way in the
presence of the Sphinx. It was necessary to have a
number of copies, to satisfy all the friends left
behind when they should go to Egypt. And it
certainly would not be worth while to come again
so great a distance for more.
It was, therefore, a late hour when they left Kings-
ton. It took some time to arrange the party in
two carriages. Mr. Peterkin ought to be in one,
Mrs. Peterkin in the other; but it was difficult to
divide the little boys, as all wished to take charge
of the cats. The drive, too, proved longer than
was expected-six miles instead of four.
When they reached their cousin's door, the
"barge was already standing there.
"It has brought our luncheon-basket! ex-
claimed Solomon John.
I am glad of it," said Agamemnon, "for I feel
hungry enough for it."
He pulled out his watch. It was 3 o'clock !
This was indeed the "barge," but it had come

for their return. The Gooseberry cousins, much
bewildered that the family did not arrive at the time
expected, had forgotten to send to countermand it.
And the "barge" driver, supposing the family had
arrived by the other station, had taken occasion to
bring up the lunch-basket, as it was addressed to
the Gooseberry cousins. The cousins flocked out
to meet them. "What had happened? What
had delayed them? They were glad to see them
at last."
Mrs. Peterkin, when she understood the state of the
case, insisted upon getting directly into the "barge,"
to return, although the driver said there would be
a few moments to spare. Some of the cousins
busied themselves in opening the luncheon-basket,
and a part led the little boys and Agamemnon and
Solomon John down upon the beach in front of the
house; there would be a few moments for a glance
at the sea. Indeed, the little boys ventured in their
India rubber boots to wade in a little way, as the
tide was low. And Agamemnon and Solomon John
walked to look at a boat that was drawn up on the
beach, and got into it and out of it for practice,
when they were all summoned back to the house.
It was indeed time to go. The Gooseberry cousins
had got out the luncheon, and had tried to per-
suade the family to spend the night. Mrs. Peterkin
declared this would be impossible. They never
had done such a thing. So they went off, eating
their luncheon as they went, the little boys each
with a sandwich in one hand and a piece of cake
in the other.
Mrs. Peterkin was sure they should miss the train,
or lose some of the party. No, it was a great
success, for all, and more than all, were found in the
train: slung over the arm of one of the little boys
was found the basket containing the cats. They
were to have left the cats, but in their haste had
brought them away again.
This discovery was made in a search for the
tickets which Elizabeth Eliza had bought, early in
the morning, to go and return; they were needed
now for return. She was sure she had given them
to her father. Mrs. Peterkin supposed that Mr.
Peterkin must have changed them for the Kingston
tickets. The little boys felt in their pockets,
Agamemnon and Solomon John in theirs. In the
excitement, Mrs. Peterkin insisted upon giving up
her copy of their new photograph, and could not
be satisfied till the conductor had punched it. At
last, the tickets were found in the outer lappet of
Elizabeth Eliza's hand-bag. She had looked for
them in the inner part.
It was after this that Mr. Peterkin ventured to
pronounce the whole expedition a success. To be
sure, they had not passed the day at the beach, and
had scarcely seen their cousins; but their object




had been to practice traveling, and surely they had
been traveling all day. Elizabeth Eliza had seen the
sea, or thought she had. She was not sure-she
had been so busy explaining to the cousins and
showing the photographs. Agamemnon was sorry
she had not walked with them to the beach, and
tried getting in and out of the boat. Elizabeth
Eliza regretted this. Of course it was not the
same as getting into a boat on the sea, where it
would be wobbling more, but the step must have
been higher from the sand. Solomon John said
there was some difficulty. He had jumped in, but
was obliged to take hold of the side in getting out.
The little boys were much encouraged by their
wade into the tide. They had been a little fright-
ened at first when the splash came, but the tide
had been low. On the whole, Mr. Peterkin con-
tinued, things had gone well. Even the bringing
back of the cats might be considered a good omen.
Cats were worshiped in Egypt, and they ought
not to have tried to part with them. He was glad
they had brought the cats. They gave the little
boys an interest in feeding them while they were
waiting at the Kingston station.
Their adventures were not quite over, as the
station was crowded when they reached Boston. A
military' company had arrived from the South,
and was received by a procession. A number of
distinguished guests also were expected, and the
Peterkins found it difficult to procure a carriage.
They had determined to take a carriage, so that
they might be sure to reach their own evening
train in season.
At last Mr. Peterkin discovered one that was
empty, standing at the end of a long line. There
would be room for Mrs. Peterkin, Elizabeth Eliza,
himself, and the little boys, and Agamemnon and
Solomon John agreed to walk behind in order to
keep the carriage in sight. But they were much
disturbed when they found they were going at so
slow a pace. Mr. Peterkin called to the coachman in
vain. He soon found that they had fallen into the
line of the procession, and the coachman was driving
slowly on behind the other carriages. In vain Mr.
Peterkin tried to attract the driver's attention. He
put his head out of one window after another, but
only to receive the cheers of the populace ranged
along the sidewalk. He opened the window behind
the coachman and pulled his coat. But the cheering
was so loud that he could not make himself heard.
He tried to motion to the coachman to turn down
one of the side streets, but in answer the driver
pointed 'out with his whip the crowds of people.
Mr. Peterkin, indeed, saw it would be impossible
to make their way through the throng that filled
every side street which they crossed. Mrs. Peter-

kin looked out of the back window for Agamemnon
and Solomon John. They were walking side by
side, behind the carriage, taking off their hats, and
bowing to the people cheering on either side.
They are at the head of a long row of men,
walking two by two," said Mrs. Peterkin.
They are part of the procession," said Elizabeth
We are part of the procession," Mr. Peterkin
"I rather like it," said Mrs. Peterkin, with a
calm smile, as she looked out of the window and
bowed in answer to a cheer.
"Where do you suppose we shall go?" asked
Elizabeth Eliza.
I have often wondered what became of a pro-
cession," said Mr. Peterkin. "They are always
going somewhere, but I never could tell where they
went to."
We shall find out!" exclaimed the little boys,
who were filled with delight, looking now out of
one window, now out of the other.
Perhaps we shall go to the armory," said one.
This alarmed Mrs. Peterkin. Sounds of martial
music were now heard, and the noise of the crowd
grew louder. I think you ought to ask where we
are going," she said to Mr. Peterkin.
It is not for us to decide," he answered, calmly.
" They have taken us into the procession. I sup-
pose they will show us the principal streets, and
will then leave us at our station."
This, indeed, seemed to be the plan. For two
hours more the Peterkins, in their carriage, and
Agamemnon and Solomon John, afoot, followed on.
Mrs. Peterkin looked out upon rows and rows of
cheering people. The little boys waved their caps.
It begins to be a little monotonous," said Mrs.
Peterkin, at last.
I am afraid we have missed all the trains," said
ElizabElizaethliza, gloomily. But Mr. Peterkin's faith
held to the last, and was rewarded. The carriage
reached the square in which stood the railroad
station. Mr. Peterkin again seized the lapels of
the coachman's coat and pointed to the station,
and he was able to turn his horses in that direction.
As they left the crowd, they received a parting
cheer. It was with difficulty that Agamemnon and
Solomon John broke from the ranks.
"That was a magnificent reception! exclaimed
Mr. Peterkin, wiping his brow, after paying the
coachman twice his fee. But Elizabeth Eliza said:
But we have lost all the trains, I am sure."
They had lost all but one. It was the last.
"And we have lost the cats!" the little boys
suddenly exclaimed. But Mrs. Peterkin would not
allow them to turn back in search of them.




IN the December number of this magazine, good read-
ers, "The St. Nicholas Treasure-Box" was opened, and
there you found a story by Nathaniel Hawthorne, and
a poem by William Makepeace Thackeray. The first
enabled you to hear "the airy footsteps of strange things
that almost happened,"-and the second told you of a


"SPEAK! speak! thou fearful guest!
Who, with thy hollow breast
Still in rude armor drest,
Comest to daunt me!
Wrapt not in Eastern balms,
But with thy fleshless palms
Stretched as if asking alms,
Why dost thou haunt me?"

Then from those cavernous eyes
Pale flashes seem to rise,
As when the Northern skies
Gleam in December;
And, like the water's flow
Under December's snow,
Came a dull voice of woe
From the heart's chamber.

"I was a Viking old!
My deeds, though manifold,
No Skald in song has told,
No Saga taught thee !

Take heed, that in thy verse
Thou dost the tale rehearse,
Else dread a dead man's curse!
For this I sought thee.

" Far in the Northern Land,
By the wild Baltic strand,
I, with my childish hand,
Tamed the ger-falcon;
Arid, with my skates fast-bound,
Skimmed the half-frozen Sound,
That the poor whimpering hound
Trembled to walk on.

" Oft to his frozen lair
Track I the grizzly bear,
While-from my path the hare
Fled like a shadow;
Oft through the forest dark
Followed the were-wolf's bark;
Until the soaring lark
Sang from the meadow.


king who made a great discovery-for a king-and
helped you to hate more than ever the vice of flattery.
This time, what do we find ? A ballad, famous for the
past forty years, yet as fresh to-day as is the heart of the
world-renowned American poet who wrote it. The
portrait of Mr. Longfellow on this page was made more
than a quarter of a century ago, but only yesterday he
copied with his own hand, for the "Treasure-Box," the
few lines from the poem which our artist has illustrated.
The poet's preface to this ballad stated that it first came
into his mind while he was riding on the sea-shore at
Newport, Rhode Island. "A year or two before," it
goes on to say, "a skeleton had been dug up at Fall
River, clad in broken and corroded armor, and the idea
occurred to me of connecting it with the Round Tower
at Newport, known hitherto as the Old Windmill, though
now claimed by the Danes as a work of their early
This old tower still is standing at Newport, a pictur-
esque ruin, as you see it in the engraving on page 307.
It is now understood to have been built eight hundred
years ago by Norsemen, or Vikings, the most adventur-
ous sailors of their time, who had even then landed on
these shores, as has been already told to you in the third
volume of ST. NICHOLAS.
What more likely, then, to a poet's fancy than that this
skeleton in rusty armor had been one of the very Norse-
men who, in the first days of the Old Tower, had
"joined the corsair's crew" and flown there, over the
dark sea, "with the marauders"? And what more
likely, too, than that one of those rugged Vikings should
have had just such a wild history as the ballad recounts ?





" But when I older grew,
Joining a corsair's crew,
O'er the dark sea I flew
With the marauders.
Wild was the life we led;
Many the souls that sped,
Many the hearts that bled,
By our stern orders.

And as the white stars shine
On the dark Norway pine,
On that dark heart of mine
Fell their soft splendor.
" I wooed the blue-eyed maid,
Yielding, yet half afraid,
And in the forest's shade
Our vows were plighted.

. ... .--.._-2 ,^ :.. .- -_., T ,-.. --
* __ -. - . -1 ,


*-. ..

9 IUYL~~;Q96SLck 0C.X9I

Many a wassail-bout
Wore the long Winter out;
Often our midnight shout
Set the cocks crowing,
As we the Berserk's tale
Measured in cups of ale,
Draining the oaken pail,
Filled to overflowing.

"Once, as I told in glee
Tales of the stormy sea,
Soft eyes did gaze on me,
Burning, yet tender.
VOL. VIII.-2o.

Under its loosened vest
Fluttered her little breast,
Like birds within their nest
By the hawk frighted.

"Bright in her father's hall
Shields gleamed upon the wall,
Loud sang the minstrels all,
Chanting his glory;
When of old Hildebrand
I asked his daughter's hand,
Mute did the minstrels stand
To hear my story.




" While the brown ale he quaffed,
Loud then the champion laughed,
And as the wind-gusts waft
The sea-foam brightly,
So the loud laugh of scorn,
Out of those lips unshorn,
From the deep drinking-horn
Blew the foam lightly.

When on the white sea-strand,
Waving his armed hand,
Saw we old. Hildebrand,
With twenty horsemen.
" Then launched they to the blast,
Bent like a reed each mast,
Yet we were gaining fast,
When the wind failed us;

ah~-yX O~lAASL~~~$. -

" She was a Prince's child,
I but a Viking wild,
And though she blushed and smiled,
I was discarded!
Should not the dove so white
Follow the sea-mew's flight,
Why did they leave that night
Her nest unguarded?
"Scarce had I put to sea,
Bearing the maid with me,-
Fairest of all was she
Among the Norsemen!--

And with a sudden flaw
Came round the gusty Skaw,
So that our foe we saw
Laugh as he hailed us.
" And as, to catch the gale,
Round veered the flapping sail,
Death! was the helmsman's hail,
Death without quarter!
Midships with iron keel
Struck we her ribs of steel;
Down her black hulk did reel
Through the black water!




" As with his wings aslant
Sails the fierce cormorant,
Seeking some rocky haunt,
With. his prey laden,
So toward the open main,
Beating to sea again,
Through the wild hurricane,
Bore I the maiden.

" Three weeks we westward bore,
And when the storm was o'er,
Cloud-like we saw the shore
Stretching to leeward;
There for my lady's bower
Built I the lofty tower,
Which, to this very hour,
Stands looking seaward.

" There we lived many years;
Time dried the maiden's tears;
She had forgot her fears,
She was a mother;

Death closed her mild blue eyes,
Under that tower she lies;
Ne'er shall the sun arise
On such another!

" Still grew my bosom then,
Still as a stagnant fen !
Hateful to me were men,
The sunlight hateful!
In the vast forest here,
Clad in my warlike gear,
Fell I upon my spear,
0, death was grateful

" Thus, seamed with many scars,
Bursting these prison bars,
Up to its native stars
My soul ascended;
There from the flowing bowl
Deep drinks the warrior's soul,
Skoal! to the Northland! Skoal." I
-Thus the tale ended.


* In Scandinavia, Skoal" is the customary salutation when drinking a health.



A LITTLE more than twenty years before our American
poet thus put life into the old ruin at Newport, our first
great American prose-writer went over the sea to enjoy
the living sights and sounds of old England. In his
"Sketch-Book," published there in 1818, Irving not only
made forever romantic the shores of his native Hudson-
for when can "Rip Van Winkle" and "The Legend of
Sleepy Hollow" be forgotten ?-but he also made Eng-
land itself more interesting to Englishmen and to the
world. He told of familiar things, but always his keen
insight, tender, playful fancy, and exquisite literary skill
gave a new value to the scene described. His histories
and more profound works of biography and travel
will interest you in time; we shall content ourselves
for the present with putting into "The Treasure-Box"
an extract from "The Sketch-Book."

To boys and girls, last month and next month both
are a long way off; but to men and women, who begin
to feel that the close of their life must now be nearer
than its beginning, by-gone years are yesterdays, and the
only future that seems far off is eternity. And so, in read-
ing this vivid account of an English holiday-drive, you
young folks may say, Ah! Christmas went long ago.
Why did not the editor put this in an earlier number
of ST. NICHOLAS ?" and the old folks may think, "Dear,
dear! How timely this is! How pleasant to read it
almost while the Christmas bells are ringing!" But one
and all soon will forget, in the enjoyment of glowing
words, that time has fled, or that time is coming. The
Present is not always in to-day's almanac. In a moment,
you will be with Washington Irving in Yorkshire, on a
glorious December morning, in or about the year 1818.


S IN the course of a De-
,,, .*... tour in York-
l. -. I rode for a
i .-: -. .-' .. distance in one
:i ~-~'!''"!;; of the public
Coaches, on
'"": the day pre-
-", ceding Christ-
~a'-'- as. The coach
".. .l'd, both inside
i ~" .'" ith passengers,
_'.: 1:. rh-.:irtalk, seemed
S- i '.i-*,i bound to the
- : ,,, ,: ..... f relations or
i~~, .!i ,... eat the Christ-
mas dinner. It was loaded also with hampers of
game, and baskets and boxes of delicacies; and
hares hung dangling their long ears about the
coachman's box, presents from distant friends for
the impending feast. I had three fine, rosy-
cheeked boys for my fellow-passengers inside,
full of the buxom health and manly spirit which I
have observed in the children of this country.
They were returning home for the holidays in high
glee, and promising themselves a world of enjoy-
ment. It was delightful to hear the gigantic plans
of the little rogues, and the impracticable feats they
were to perform during their six weeks' emancipa-
tion from the abhorred thraldom of book, birch, and
pedagogue. They were full of anticipations of the
meeting with the family and household, down to
the very cat and dog; and of the joy they were to
give their little sisters by the presents with which
their pockets were crammed; but the meeting to
which they seemed to look forward with the greatest
impatience was with Bantam, which I found to be
a pony, and, according to their talk, possessed of

more virtues than any steed since the days of
Bucephalus. How he could trot! how he could
run! and then such leaps as he would take-there
was not a hedge in the whole country that he could
not clear.
They were under the particular guardianship of
the coachman, to whom, whenever an opportunity
presented, they addressed a host of questions, and
pronounced him one of the best fellows in the
world. Indeed, I could not but notice the more
than ordinary air of bustle and importance of the
coachman, who wore his hat a little on one side,
and had a large bunch of Christmas greens stuck
in the button-hole of his coat. He is always a per-
sonage full of mighty care and business, but he is
particularly so during this season, having so many
commissions to execute in consequence of the great
interchange of presents.
Perhaps it might be owing to the pleasing seren-
ity that reigned in my own mind, that I fancied
I saw'cheerfulness in every countenance throughout
the journey. A stage-coach, however, carries ani-
mation always with it, and puts the world in motion
as it whirls along. The horn, sounded at the
entrance of a village, produces a general bustle.
Some hasten forth to meet friends; some with bun-
dles and bandboxes to secure places, and in the
hurry of the moment can hardly take leave of the
group that accompanies them. In the meantime,
the coachman has a world of small commissions to
execute. Sometimes he delivers a hare or pheasant;
sometimes jerks a small parcel or newspaper to the
door of a public house; and sometimes, with know-
ing leer and words of sly import, hands to some
half-blushing, half-laughing housemaid an odd-
shaped billet-doux from some rustic admirer. As

* Born in New York, z783; died 1859.




the coach rattles through the village, every one
runs to the window, and you have glances on every
side of fresh country faces and blooming, giggling
girls., At the corners are assembled juntos of vil-
lage idlers and wise men, who take their stations
there for the important purpose of seeing company
pass; but the sagest knot is generally at the black-
smith's, to whom the passing of the coach is an
event fruitful of much speculation. The smith,
with the horse's heel in his lap, pauses as the
vehicle whirls by; the cyclops around the anvil sus-
pend their ringing hammers, and suffer the iron to
grow cools and the sooty specter, in brown paper
cap, laboring at the bellows, leans on the handle
for a moment, and permits the asthmatic engine to
heave a long-drawn sigh, while he glares through
the murky smoke and sulphureous gleams of the
Perhaps the impending holiday might have
given a more than usual animation to the country,
for it seemed to me as if everybody was in good
looks and good spirits. Game, poultry, and other
luxuries of the table were in brisk circulation in
the villages; the grocers', butchers', and fruiterers'
shops were thronged with customers. The house-
wives were stirring briskly about, putting their
dwellings in order; and the glossy branches of
holly, with their bright-red berries, began to
appear at the windows. The scene brought to
mind an old writer's account of Christmas prepara-
tions: "Now, capons and hens, besides turkeys,
geese, and ducks, with beef and mutton,-must all
die,-for, in twelve days, a multitude of people will
not be fed with a little. Now, plums and spice,
sugar and honey, square it among pies and broth.
Now or never must music be in tune, for the youth
must dance and sing to get them a heat, while the
aged sit by the fire." . .

I was roused from this fit of luxurious meditation

by a shout from my little traveling companions.
They had been looking out of the coach-windows
for the last few miles, recognizing every tree and
cottage as they approached home, and now there
was a general burst of joy-" There 's John and
there's old Carlo and there's Bantam! cried the
happy little rogues, clapping their hands.
At the end of a lane there was an old, sober-
looking servant in livery, waiting for them; he was
accompanied by a superannuated pointer, and by
the redoubtable Bantam, a little, old rat of a pony,
with a shaggy mane and long, rusty tail, who stood
dozing quietly by the road-side, little dreaming of
the bustling times that awaited him.
I was pleased to see the fondness with which the
little fellows leaped about the steady old footman,
and hugged the pointer, who wriggled his whole
body for joy. But Bantam was the great object of
interest; all wanted to mount at once, and it was
with some difficulty that John arranged that they
should ride by turns, and the eldest should ride first.
Off they set at last: one on the pony with the
dog bounding and barking before him, and the
others holding John's hands; both talking at once,
and overpowering him with questions about home,
and with school anecdotes. I looked after them
with a feeling in which I do not know whether
pleasure or melancholy predominated; for I was
reminded of those days when, like them, I had
known neither care nor sorrow, and a holiday was
the summit of earthly felicity. We stopped a few
moments afterward to water the horses, and, on
resuming our route, a turn of the road brought us
in sight of a neat country-seat. I could just dis-
tinguish the forms of a lady and two young girls
in the portico, and I saw my little comrades, with
Bantam, Carlo, and old John, trooping along the
carriage-road. I leaned out of the coach-window
in hopes of witnessing the happy meeting, but a
grove of trees shut it from my sight.

A- -.


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look in wonder at the work of those wonderful old
quarry-men. The high, rocky mountains still
stand bare and hot in the tropical sun; the very
marks of their tools are there; but of the men and
their way of working all trace and record are lost,
and we can only guess at the manner of workmen
they may have been.
If we want a large stone for a column of some
public building, or for a monument, we go to the
quarry with steam-drills and powder, derricks and
steam-engines, and, if we cut out a solid block
twenty or thirty feet long, we think we are doing
something quite wonderful, and make a parade in
the newspapers of our skill as stone-masons. When
we stand beside the. rosy mountains at Syene, we

feel pretty small. Here were stone-workers who
cut and moved away blocks of stone of enormous
size and immense weight,-vast columns, pillars,
door-caps, and monuments,-some fifty, some sixty,
and some more than a hundred feet long and ten
feet square. Such a block we now call a monolith,
which means one stone," or a single stone. If
we travel down the great river toward the sea, we
find these great monoliths set up as parts of tem-
ples, palaces, tombs, and monuments. Not a few
here and there, but by hundreds, scattered all over
the land in profusion. All are now in ruins, some
still standing, many more fallen down and broken
in pieces, countless more lost in the sand, and yet,
though only a small number remains, so vast and

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wonderful are they, that even the ruins of the build-
ings of which they are parts are loftier, and cover
more ground, than any other buildings. When we
see these old quarries and these ruins, we feel sure
that the old stone-masons at Syene must have been
the master workmen of the world.
Among these ruins we find here and there a
strange monument, a monolith, square at the bot-
tom and gently tapering to the top, where it ends in
a sharp point. Some such monoliths still stand,
some are fallen; and many more are lost and
buried out of sight in the sand. The sides of these
monuments were beautifully polished and covered
with writing of a strange kind-half letters, half
pictures-which we now call hieroglyphic writing or
hieroglyphs. Now you guess where these ruins
stand. Syene was in Egypt; these wonderful old
stone-masons were the ancient Egyptians.
The strange part of this is that, though we have
learned to read the hieroglyphs, and found many
pictures on the walls of the ruined temples, we know
little or nothing of the methods the old workers used
in quarrying and moving these monoliths, although
we can see the quarries at Syene. Even unfinished
stones have been found, and in one place is a big
monolith lying broken in two in the bottom of a
quarry. The entrance to the pit is narrow, and
there is no room to turn the stone around, so it is
clear that it must have been lifted straight up the side
of the pit. Perhaps it broke in moving, and so was
left there to puzzle us. It is certain that they did
move and lift such great stones, and transport
them hundreds of miles, and even raise them to
the tops of lofty columns, and place them true
and square in the buildings where they now rest.
How did these old fellows work? What tools did
they use? How did they manage to carry these
stones down the rivers ? There is a picture on one of
their ruined temples, representing hundreds of slaves
harnessed to ropes and dragging a great monolithic
statue, twenty-four feet high, on a sled. There is a
man standing on the statue clapping his hands, as
if to keep time while the men pull on the ropes.
Another is pouring something from a vase on the
ground in front of the sled. From this we may infer
that the road was paved with planks covered with
grease, and thus the sled slipped along over the
greasy boards. We learn from other pictures
that the old Egyptians were highly civilized, but we
can only guess, for we have no way of telling, how
they cut and moved these stones and built temples
and pyramids.
To-day the stone-mason splits stones by blasting
then with powder, or he makes a row of holes in a
line, and fills them with steel wedges, on which he
pounds till the stone breaks. Another way is to
fill the holes with dry wooden pegs tightly wedged

in, and then to pour water over them, when they
swell and split the rock.
Still another way is to make a row of holes in
the stone, build a little fire in each, and then to
put out all the fires by pouring cold water on them
at the same instant, when the sudden cooling of
the rock causes it to split. To lift the stone, the
modern quarry-man uses levers, and ropes, and pul-
leys, and derricks. To move great weights, he uses
a curious tool, called a hydraulic-jack, and in place
of men and horses he uses a steam-engine.
Had the old Egyptian such tools, and did he work
in this way? We cannot tell. He probably had
simple levers and pulleys, and knew how to use a
roller, and, perhaps, he had other and more won-
derful tools, of which we know nothing. It is not
likely he had steam-engines, and all his work must
have been done with men and horses. All is lost
and forgotten centuries ago, and now we can only
wonder at his skill and power.
His greatest works are these upright monoliths,
now called obelisks. He cut them out'of the hills at
Syene, dragged them to the river, and put them on
rafts to float down on the floods. He hauled them
to the pedestals where they were to stand, and then,
resting the base of each in a groove in the pedestal,
pulled them up with ropes by main force till they
stood erect. He used timbers and ropes in pro-
fusion, and thousands of slaves, and set up his
splendid obelisks for our admiration and aston-
Centuries after these old workmen had erected
their obelisks, their country was invaded by the Ro-
mans, who saw these beautiful monoliths, and took
many of them down, and carried them away to
other places, where some of them still stand. Here
is a race of men trying to handle a big stone.
We cannot now learn much of them, for there is no
record of their work. They had curious ideas about
history then. The doings of rulers whose only
object in life seems to have been to make selfish
wars, were recorded, while the splendid deeds of
great workmen were forgotten. We only know that
several obelisks now standing at Rome were by
some means taken down and put on the deck of
a huge ship, manned by three hundred oars-
men, and painfully rowed across the sea to the
Tiber. They were pushed ashore, on to a low
truck, and then dragged and pulled through the
streets on rollers. They were supposed to have
been set upright by pulling on ropes passed over
the tops of tall wooden masts. These workmen had
no better tools than the Egyptians, but they
could build a larger boat to carry the stone, and
actually conveyed it across the sea.
Long afterward, this obelisk, together with some
others that had been brought to Rome, was thrown




down and buried in the ruins of the city, and in 1588
the Pope Sixtus V. had it dug up, and once more set
upon its pedestal. These workmen still used horses
and men to pull the great stone up into place, by
passing ropes over the tops of tall wooden towers.
They were more scientific workmen, and did their
work so well, that the obelisk can be used as a sun-
dial to this day. They knew more about the use

one of the big stones. It so happened that the
Romans, under Augustus Casar, had taken down
two of the stones in Upper Egypt, and had removed
them to Alexandria, and set them up before one of
their temples. The weather and the blowing sands
of the desert had eaten away the bases of the obe-
lisks, so that they would not stand up on their new
pedestals, and the Romans put four bronze castings


of ropes and pulleys, and it is recorded that they did
the work with only forty horses, six hundred men,
and forty-six cranes. The Romans found hard work
to fasten their ropes to the obelisk, and had to drill
holes in the top of the stone, through which the
ropes were passed. The old Egyptians did much
better. They left knobs or blocks on the side of the
monument, and tied the ropes to these, and when
the work was finished, cut off the blocks smoothly.
Then for a long time no one thought of moving

under the corners. These castings were in the
shape of sea-crabs, and on one of the claws they
put the date of the moving and the name of the
engineer. Afterward, the unequal expansion of
these bronze crabs in the hot sunshine caused
them to give way, and one stone fell down.
Alexandria was laid in ruins by war, and still the
old stones remained, too big to be moved by any-
body. It is just possible, however, that the soldiers
found the crabs and stole parts of the metal, and




that this caused the stone to fall. At any rate,
there they remained, one fallen in the sand and
.the other standing, for hundreds of years.

two solid masonry piers, one on each side of it.
One of these was straight and square, and covered
with timbers, the other had a slope or inclined face


In the early part of this century came other
workmen, from France. They first thought of
taking one of the two obelisks at Alexandria, but
finding a taller and better pair at Luxor, they de-
cided to take one of these to Paris, that the people

reaching to LIe uase of te -ugreaL SLUon. I ley Lhn
erected eight enormous spars, pivoted at the
bottom, and all fastened to the top of the monolith
by heavy ropes. Then, from the top of the spars to
the ground, were hung other ropes and chains,
passed through blocks, secured to the ground, and

-, -

~---- __ ,a,. .

J;_ .' ,, "


in that great city might see and admire the skill of then to powerful capstans. These spars leaned
the old Egyptian stone-masons, away from the stone slightly, or about at an angle
Let us see how they did the work. After clear- of seventy-five degrees. Then, at some distance
ing away the deep sand about the obelisk, they built away on the other side, were placed a number of





capstans, firmly anchored in the sands, and from
these, ropes were taken to the top of the obelisk.
It was now firmly held between the two sets of
ropes, and, to lower it, hundreds of men took hold
of the bars of the capstans-a part of them to pull
the stone over, and the others to hold it back. As
it slowly tipped and bowed itself toward the
ground, the great spars lifted till they stood up-
right, then leaned over above the stone. The base
of the monolith easily rolled up the sloping pier,
and the center struck the edge of the upright pier,
and there tilted as on a pivot. Rollers were laid on
top of the piers, and in twenty-five minutes from the
time it started it lay flat on the ground, and began
to roll along toward the river. It was a magnifi-
cent piece of work, and showed great ingenuity on
the part of the French engineers. With infinite
labor the stone was carried on rollers down to
the banks of the Nile. Here a ship, made for the
purpose in France, was hauled close up to the
shore. The entire stem of the ship was then taken
out and lifted by ropes upon tall spars, so that the
stone could roll under it into the ship. Five
enormous pulleys were put in tlie stern, and fastened
to chains passed through the stern-ports to anchors
in the river; ropes were passed through the pulleys
to others at the bows and then led to capstans
beyond, and, with fifty men on each, the big stone
was pulled slowly into the boat. The stem was
lowered into place and made fast, and by the aid
of pontoons the boat was launched. It was then
towed down the Nile, through the Straits of
Gibraltar, over the stormy Bay of Biscay, and up
the Seine to Paris. It was a work of enormous
labor; sickness and the terrible heat delayed the
men sadly, but at last the boat was hauled up high
and dry at the foot of one of the inclined roads that
lead up from the river to the streets at Paris.
The bow of the boat was knocked out, and a
railway of heavy timbers laid up the incline to the
Place de la Concorde. Again the huge pulleys
and massive ropes were brought into use. The
great capstans were set up, and hundreds of men set
to work to turn the bars and drag the stone on
rollers slowly along the street. Once they had to
turn it around, and they built an enormous turn-
table, such as would be used for a giant locomotive,
and with infinite labor pulled it about, and placed it
with the base toward the center of the square.
Then an inclined plane of stone-work was built
from the edge of the road to the top of the pedes-
tal, and along this slanting path the great block
was pulled up by hundreds of men, toiling at the
capstans, while a trumpeter marked the time with
a bugle. Again the great spars were erected on
pivots. The top of the obelisk was fastened to
these, as they hung at an angle of about twenty

degrees above it. Great ropes, passed through the
big pulleys, were fastened to the capstans, and, in the
presence of a vast multitude of people, the obelisk
was pulled slowly upward till it stood upright. The
people cheered and cheered, again and again, and
the king rewarded all the people who had so man-
fully toiled to bring the great monument to Paris.
These workmen set out for the Nile with their ship
in 1831, but it was not until the 25th of October,
1836, that the stone stood upright in the Place de
la Concorde. It was a great work well done, but
it took five years to do it; it required the services
of one thousand men, and cost four hundred and
fifteen thousand dollars.
The next men were Englishmen. One of the
twin stones at Alexandria was given to England.
It had fallen down, and all they had to do was to
clear away the sand, box it up in a round iron shell,
roll it into the water, and tow it to London. These
men used modern tools and steam-power, and han-
dled the big stone in an entirely new way. Their
work shows how different from the old are modern
ways of doing great engineering feats. All the parts
of the shell had been made in England, and sent out
to Egypt. The stone was lifted upon timbers by
hydraulic-jacks, and the shell was built under it
and about it, so that, when it was finished, it was
fastened securely inside the shell. [A hydraulic-
jack is a powerful tool for lifting great weights;
you should look in some mechanical dictionary to
see how it is made and used.] This singular shell
was round and smdoth outside, and with a sharp
bow and stern like a boat. Rings of heavy timbers
were put on the outside, and by laying two tracks of
timber to the shore, it was easy to roll the shell,
cargo and all, over and over into the sea. Tug-
boats pulled with wire-ropes in front, and jacks were
placed behind, 'and, by dint of hard work, the thing
slowly rolled into the water.
The iron boat was finally launched on the 28th
of August, 1877, but not without an accident, for,
in rolling over, it struck a -hidden stone under
water and sprang a leak. The water rushed in,
and the poor old stone must have been chilled.
Perhaps it felt sad at leaving its old home after so
many rough journeyings and mishaps. However,
the hole was mended, the water pumped out, and
on the 8th of September the boat went into the
dry-dock. A deck and cabin were put on, a rudder
was .shipped, and then it was floated again and
named the "Cleopatra." It is rather odd that
they gave it this name, for Cleopatra died several
years before the Romans finished setting up the
two stones at Alexandria, and it is not likely she
had anything to do with either of the obelisks,
called Cleopatra's needles." The steam-ship
Olga" took the queer boat in tow and started for




London, but on the 15th of November it met a
storm, and, to save the steam-ship, the Cleopatra"
was cast adrift. It seemed ready to sink, and in
the storm the poor old stone was left to toss, help-
less and deserted, on the sea. Three days after,
another steam-ship found it and took it into port,
and at last it came to anchor in the Thames on the
2oth of January, 1878.
It was there I saw it, floating at anchor in the
muddy river, just above Westminster Bridge. On
*one side were the dark and richly carved walls of
Westminster Palace, with the Victoria tower rising
high in the smoky air, and the gilded spire of the
great clock-tower looking down on its rusty deck.
On the other side stood the walls of the splendid
hospital of St. Thomas, and not far away are the
green old towers of Lambeth Palace.
Several weeks later I saw it aground lower down
the river, with its rusty box-sides torn open. There
it lay, the old red stone in its iron shell.
Hydraulic-jacks were used to lift the stone on to
the bank, and then two great derricks of timber
were erected on each side. A heavy iron box was
placed about the center and securely fastened to
the stone. Then, by means of timbers resting on
the derricks, the stone was "jacked" up, a step at
a time, till it lay at the top of the derricks. Strong
steel points had been fastened to the iron box, and,
when these rested on the tops of the derricks, the
timbers were taken away. The stone was now
supported by the center on pivots, and it took only
a few moments to tip it over till it stood upright on
its pedestal.
The Englishman's work was remarkably well
done. He did what none before had tried-he
stood the obelisk upright by supporting it in the
center and tilting it over. The Egyptian and
Roman and Frenchman had set the stone up by
resting the base on the pedestal, and then pulling it
up by main force, plainly the hardest and longest
way. They took months and years to do the work,
and employed hundreds and thousands of men and
horses. The Englishman used only twenty-five
men, and had he not lost the boat in a storm,
would have moved the stone in a few months. On
the other hand, he did not move the stone on land
at all. He found it on the edge of the sea, where
the Romans left it, and he set it up close to the
water on the Thames. He certainly had the most
simple and easy piece of work of all, and he did it
quickly and cheaply.
Lastly came the American. He had received
the obelisk that still stood at Alexandria, and it was
his duty to take it down, put it on board a ship,
take it across the Atlantic, and set it up in Central
Park, in New York. His job was more difficult than
the others, for he had a longer voyage to make, and



he was obliged to cross a greater distance on land
than either the Egyptian, Roman, Frenchman, or
Englishman. The way he did it was more original,
more scientific, and far more interesting than any
of their great works. He had greater difficulties
to contend with than they, and he got over them
in the most singular manner, and by methods never
before used in moving such monoliths. He called
the moon to help him lift the stone, he constructed
a locomotive to drag it up hill and down through
lanes and streets, and he hung it in mid air upon
a single pair of trunnions, and even took it over a
lofty bridge, right over the heads of horses and
carriages in the street below. Lastly, he moved
it a greater distance, and with less labor, and in
less time than any workman who had gone before.

On page 310 is a picture of the great stone, as it
stood when the American arrived with his tools, on
the 3oth of October, 1879. On the left is the sea-
wall, at the back is the old fort, and to the right is
the railway station. The stone stood with its base
buried deep in the sand, in a common yard used
to store building-stone.
The first step was to dig down nine feet, and
clear away the sand that covered the pedestal.
There were found the remains of the four bronze
crabs on which the obelisk stood. The crabs rested
on a huge block of syenite, that stood on three
stone steps, resting in turn on solid masonry. The
sand cleared away, stone piers were built at each
side of the monument, and on these were erected
great shears or derricks of steel, made in New
Jersey, and brought out here for this purpose.
At the top of each was a bearing, just like the
bearings for the trunnions of a cannon. The stone
was carefully cased in wood, and then on each side
of the center was placed a steel plate, having on the
edge lugs or projections that clasped the stone.
These plates were joined together by heavy steel
rods, six on each side, and strained up tight by
means of screws and nuts. Then heavy steel bars
were run under the stone between the crabs, and
from these to the steel plates were led steel rods,
carefully tightened up by screws. On the two plates
were trunnions or round knobs, such as you may
see on great guns. These were near the center of
gravity of the stone, and rested on the bearings at
the tops of the derricks. Now, you will observe that,
if the crabs are knocked from under the stone, it will
hang suspended on the trunnions, the center sup-
ported by the plates that tightly clasp it, and the
lower half held up by the steel rods at the sides.
You will see that this is a little like the plan by
which the Englishman mounted his obelisk. Really,
it is very different. The English engineers who
were in Alexandria at the time, said that the




American's method would fail-that on turning on
its trunnions the stone would break in two. But the
stone was turned, and yet it did not break. For this
reason: The plate in the center bore the larger
part of the weight, leaving only the extreme ends
unsupported. The stone would now tip over and
hang suspended in the air, supported only in the
middle. The steel rods reaching to the base
would not help in the least after the stone began
to turn over, and, no doubt, it would have broken
in two in the middle had not the American done


one thing more. To understand this matter, let
us look at these diagrams. If an obelisk is sup-
ported only at the ends, and is not able to carry
its own weight, it may break in two in-the middle.
You can test this with a common lath set on edge
on two bricks, and by suspending one or more
bricks at the middle till it snaps in two.
The first diagram shows such a broken obelisk.
You see it is pulled apart at the bottom and pinched
together on top. It broke under two strains: one
was a pull at the bottom, and the other was a
squeeze at the top. These we call the strain of ten-
sion and the strain of compression. You can
understand that, if the bottom of the obelisk that was
pulled apart in falling had been tied together, say
with a piece of strong string, the obelisk would not
have broken. This tying together of the lower edge
of a beam is very common wherever long beams are
to be supported. To understand this more clearly,


look at the iron-work between the columns on the
Sixth Avenue 'Elevated Railroad. At the top is a
heavy iron beam to withstand the squeezing or
strain of compression; at the bottom are round rods
to take the pulling or strain of tension.
This system of tying the lower edge of a beam
together to prevent it from pulling apart is called
trussing. But, in the case of the obelisk, the
support was to be in the middle, and the ends were
to be free. The squeezing and pulling are still
there, but they have changed places.
The second diagram shows how such an obelisk
would break, pulling apart at the top, and pinching

at the bottom. The American knew this might
happen the moment he turned the stone over on
its trunnions, and he put on a strong truss to tie
the upper edge together, the lower edge in such a
stone easily taking care of itself.
In the picture on page 317, we .see the big stone
just as it appeared on the 5thof December, 1879, the
day it turned over and lay in a horizontal position, the
top resting on a tower of wooden beams, the center
supported by the trunnions resting on the derricks,
and the lower half held up in the air. On top of
the stone you see upright rods, with ropes passed
over the top and fastened to the two ends of the
stone. This is the truss that took the pulling strain,
and held the stone together, thus preventing it
from breaking in two. This was made of a pair of
iron rods, fastened together, and resting on the
stone. Steel ropes of great strength were fastened
to rings at the ends of the obelisk and carried over
the upright. Now, the tendency to pull apart is
taken up by the ropes and given to the rods, but
they rest securely on the stone itself, and would
carry the whole weight of the ends easily. This
curious and interesting work certainly reflects great
credit on our engineer. The Frenchman and the
Englishman knew how to use such means, but it
was the American who turned them to account.
Having swung the obelisk over, it was compara-
tively easy to build up a second tower of wood,
and then to gently lower the stone to the ground
by taking out a beam at a time, aided by the
hydraulic-jacks. First put the jack under the stone
and lift it a trifle, then take off a beam from each
tower and let the jack shut up like a telescope, till
the stone rest on the next beam, and so on. This
is called "jacking it down."
In the pit were the ribs and sides of a large,
barge-like boat. Thisboat, or pontoon, was built
there, and when the stone came down, it rested
in the bottom of the boat. The derricks were taken
away, the masonry was removed, and the sea-wall
knocked down. The boat was finished, and, in
April, 188o, with the big stone on board, it was
launched into the sea. The big hole in the ground
was filled up and the sea-wall repaired, and the
stone was towed around to the other side of the
city to the dry-dock.
The pontoon was floated into the dock as it lay
sunk in the water, and a large iron steam-ship was
brought in, close up to the pontoon. The steam-
pumps were set to work to pump the water out of
the dock, and like a, great raft it rose under both
ship and pontoon, and lifted them high and dry in
the air. The plates of the steamer were taken off
and the ribs cut away, making a great hole at the
side of the bow.
On page 312 is a view of the old stone as it lay in


the dock. The pontoon had been pulled to pieces,
and now it was only necessary to push the stone into
the steamer, precisely as timbers are put into the
bows of our schooners, as you may see at any lum-
ber-yard along the East or North River. This job
was really the hardest of all, for the stone touched
the opposite side of the ship before it was half-way
in, and twice it had to be moved sidewise before
the tip end was fairly inside. At last it was on
board, and snugly stowed away in the hold. The
plates and ribs were repaired, and on the I2th of


June the great dock sank in the water, and the
ship with its precious cargo floated off. All the
tools and the stones of the pedestal had been put
on board. The steam was up, the flag flying,
and all was finished. The bell rang to "go
ahead," the screw churned up the sea, the great

steam-ship forged ahead, and the old, old stone,
asleep in the hold, left its home forever. Three
hundred slaves, whipped up to their work by cruel
masters, toiled at their oars for weeks to take the
Roman stone away. The Frenchman carried his
off in a big boat, towed by a sailing ship. The
Englishman carried his away in a melancholy box,
that looked sadly like its coffin. Our big stone
sailed 5382 miles over the seas in a steam-ship
that dropped anchor, on the 2oth of July, in the
placid waters of the Hudson, under the shadow of
the Palisades.
The pedestal and foundation-stones were landed
and sent to Central Park, and the steam-ship was
taken to Staten Island and hauled out of the water
on the marine railway. Again the bows were
opened and the stone rolled upon the land. Now
came one of the most curious features of the work.
The stone must be put on a boat and taken to the
city, and the engineer called on the moon to help
him. Three rows of piles were driven in the water,
thus making a wharf. On these were laid heavy
timbers, resting on the tops of each row. Upon this
staging over the water the stone was placed, directly
over the middle row of piles, and supported by the
timbers. Two long and narrow pontoons, such as
are used to raise sunken ships, were then towed up
to the wharf at low tide. Such pontoons are hol-
low, and when filled with water just float on the
surface. When the water is pumped out, and they
contain only air, they float quite high out of the
water. In this case, they were empty and floated
high. Now, see how the moon picked up the stone
and started it on another voyage. It was low tide
when the pontoons were placed under the wharf.
The moon, that controls the tide, lifted the waters
of the sea, and the two pontoons rose and gently
lifted the stone, timbers and all, and it hung sus-
pended between them.
This was about an hour before high tide at
Staten Island, and two tug-boats came up and
towed the obelisk from there to the city. Now
the tide at Ninety-sixth street, on the North River,
is about an hour late, so that, by the time the tugs
arrived at the wharf, it was still flood-tide. Here
the pontoons were pushed between three rows of
piles till the stone rested over the center line of
piles. Again the moon might have been used,
and, by-. i; ii,- for the tide to fall, the stone could
be gently laid on the wharf; but this would involve
delay, and as it was in the night, it was thought
best to sink the pontoons. The gates were opened,
the water rushed in, and they slowly sank. The
timbers rested on the piles, and in a few moments
the enormous block of syenite was quietly lying
on the pier. The idea of using the tide to load
heavy weights on board a boat is not new, yet this




is the first time it was ever used exactly in this edge) in the middle. These were fastened in the
manner, and to lift such an immense weight in a boxes in such a way they could not fall out, and
single stone. were yet free to turn around. The stone was then
In the lower half of page 313 is a picture which placed on a heavy timber carriage somewhat longer

IIIL. -. i

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jN 4-- ~ ~js~
i~k I4.,

shows the obelibk stalcld upon Ita lung Journey
to Central Park. Here is the broad Hudson, with
the wooded Palisades in the distance. A railroad
train is waiting for the stone to pass,,and has come
close up to the huge thing snugly sleeping in its
wooden box. The pedestal was carried to its place
on a huge wagon drawn by thirty-two horses. The
obelisk itself was pulled along on iron shot, rolling
in channel-bars. These are long iron beams, having
two edges turned up on one side, making a channel
in the middle, and giving them the name of channel-
bars. One is laid on heavy timbers, and forms the
rail. The other is laid upside down over it, and be-
tween them is placed a great number of small can-
non-balls. The stone, resting on timbers, is placed
over the upper bar, and may then be pulled along
without much difficulty, a thirty-horse-power engine
easily dragging it along by means of ropes and
pulleys. This method of moving the stone on balls
rolling in channel-bars is simple, but not suitable
for long distances; and as soon as the obelisk had
crossed the railroad, quite another plan was tried.
A double line of heavy timbers was laid in the
street, and on each of these was spiked two flat bars
of iron, leaving a narrow space between them.
This made the railroad on which the stone was to
travel. Strong wooden boxes, open at the top and
bottom, were then made, and in each was placed a
number of iron rollers, having a flange (or raised


than the obelisk, and iron bars, of the same pattern
as those on the rails, were placed on the under side
of the carriage. A number of the boxes were put on
the track, and the carriage rested in these boxes on
the rollers. A thirty-horse-power engine and boiler
was mounted in front of the obelisk, strong tackle
was run out in front and fastened to a stout stake
stuck up in the street. Now, when the engine
pulls on the rope, it drags itself, the car, boxes,
obelisk, and all, along the railroad. As the boxes
come out at the end, the men carry them forward
and put them on the rails in front. In like manner,
the rails are taken up behind and laid down in
front of this strange locomotive as it travels through
the streets. This kind of railway is known as a
marine railway, and is used in dragging ships out of
the water; but this was the first time it was ever used
to move a great weight through the streets of a city.
The picture on this page shows this railway,
the engine in front, protected from the weather by
a house. The obelisk went up the hill at Ninety-
sixth street to the Boulevard, then down to Eighty-
third street, then through this street to the Park at
Eighth avenue, passing under the Elevated Rail-
road on its way. To cross the Park it followed the
winding sunken road to Fifth Avenue, and then
went down to the narrow gate behind the Museum.







Then came its last great climb-up a steep wooden
bridge to the very top of the steel derricks, once
more erected on a hill in the Park. Again all the
machinery is brought into use, the wire truss is put
on, and it is tipped over till it stands upright, once
more, on its bronze crabs and mighty pedestal.
This work of moving the monolith through the
streets was the most interesting of all. On level
ground it traveled about as fast as a boy can walk,
and often made six hundred feet in a day. The
engine pulled easily and without jarring or strain-
ing, and, when not at work dragging itself and its
load, helped the men to move the timbers in relay-
ing the rails as fast as it went over them. The
Frenchman was a year in moving his block four
hundred feet and turning it around once. The
American took it nine thousand eight hundred
feet and went around four sharp corners, besides
eleven turns of from twelve to forty-seven degrees.
The way this was done was most curious. When
the stone came to a corner of the street it was
run upon a curved railway, built in a half-circle.
A ring of channel-bars and cannon-balls was
placed on the ground, with a large :i,...h.,l,,.-
jack in the center. Beyond it were two more
curved rails, .-:i-.:! b,.o, a quarter-circle. When
the locomotive ran out on these tracks, the
hydraulic-jack came under the lower end of the
stone, and the engine rested on the outer quarter-
circle. A rope was put out to a stake on the side

of the road, and with a gentle pull the whole affair
swung around the corner with the greatest ease.
The hydraulic-jack here assisted to lift the end and
take off the weight, and thus make a pivot on
which the stone might swing around.
By the time you read this, the work will be fin-
ished, and the great monolith will stand once more
on its bronze crabs on its ancient pedestal. The full
length of the obelisk is sixty-nine feet and two
inches. This includes the point, or as it is called,
the pyramidion, which is seven feet eight and
one-half inches high. At the base, just above
the broken portion, the stone is ninety-two and
three-quarter inches thick, and at the top, at the
edge of the pyramidion, it is sixty-three inches thick.
The pedestal on which it will stand is eighty-three
and three-quarter inches high, and its weight is
ninety-eight thousand pounds, the obelisk itself
weighing four hundred and thirty-eight thousand
five hundred pounds. When finally set up, the en-
tire monument, including the steps and pedestal,
will be just eighty-one feet high. It must be
the happiest stone of all, for it stands under a
clear, blue sky, much like its old Egyptian sky,
and it rests in peace among green fields and pleas-
ant gardens. A stream of carriages passes close
beside it under the trees, and happy children look
up at its strange picture-letters, and wonder what
it thinks of its final home in a land of which its
old Egyptian master never so much as dreamed.









JAMES REDMOND, the boys used to say, was
small for his size and old for his age. He was not
exactly hump-backed, but his shoulders came so
nearly up to the level of his ears that he seemed
so; and he was not exactly an invalid, though we
never counted on him in any of the games or enter-
prises that required strength or fleetness. I have
no idea what his age was. He must have been
some years older than I, and yet all the boys in my
set treated him tenderly and patronizingly, as if he
were a little fellow who needed their encourage-
ment and protection.
Jimmy used to make little ballads, generally tak-
ing for his subject some incident that had occurred
among the boys of the neighborhood, and often
sticking to the facts of the case-at the expense of
rhyme and rhythm-with a literalness that made
him valuable as a historian, whatever he was as a
poet. He was called "Jimmy the Rhymer," and
the polite thing to do, on meeting him, was to ask
him if he had anything new to-day-meaning any
new poem. If he had, he was always willing to
read it, sometimes accompanying it with remarks
in prose that were quite as entertaining as the
ballad itself.
"Hello, Jimmy!"
Hello, boys !"
Got anything new to-day ?"
"Not much."
That means that you have something."
"Well, yes; a little one. I don't think much
of it."
This did n't satisfy us. Jimmy, like many greater
artists, was a poor judge of his own productions.
Some of his ballads of which he had been proudest
were so long and dull that we had almost told him
they were failures; but it would have required a
very hard-hearted boy to say anything unpleasant
to Jimmy. Others, which he thought little of, the
boys would call for again and again.
Let us hear it, please," said Ned.
"I'm afraid I 've left it at home," said Jimmy,
feeling in his pockets. "Oh, no; here it is."
So we sat down on the horse-block in front of the
'Quaker meeting-house, and while Ned whittled the
edge of the block,-which had not been rounded
off quite enough, by previous jack-knives, to suit his
fancy,-Jimmy read his newest ballad.


It is called 'The Unlucky Fishermen,'" said
he; and you probably will recognize some of the
"Joe Chase and Isaac Holman,
They would a-fishing go;
They rose at-sunrise Friday morn,
And called their dog Fido."

"What!" said Ned, interrupting, "the little
yellow cur that Joe bought of Clam Jimmy for a
sixpence ?"
Yes, that 's the one."
But his name is n't Fido-it's Prince. Have
n't you ever noticed that the smaller and snarlier
and more worthless a dog is, the surer it is to be
called Prince?"
"Perhaps that 's the way with princes," said
Jimmy, who had more than once uttered the most
extreme democratic sentiments, expressing con-
tempt for all royalty, merely because it was royalty.
"But I don't know,-I never saw one. At any
rate, I did n't know the dog's name, and I had to
call him something. I think you '11 find that every-
thing else is correctly stated."
I ventured to suggest that it did n't make much
difference whether the dog's name were right or not,
in a poem.
Oh, yes, it does," said Jimmy. I always try
to have my poems true to life; and I shall change
that, and make it Prince-that is, after I have in-
quired of Joe, and found out that the dog's name
really is Prince. I am glad you spoke about it."
Then he continued the reading.

In two small willow baskets-
One white, the other brown-
Their mothers put the dinners up
Which they were to put down.

"They'd dug their hait the night before,-
The worms were live and thick;
Their bamboo poles were long and strong,
Their hooks were Limerick."

My brother Fay says there is n't a Limerick
hook in this whole town," said Ned.
," You can buy plenty of them at Karl's-two for
a cent," said Jimmy.
Oh, no, you can't," said Ned. Fay says you
can't get a Limerick hook this side of New York."
"What is a Limerick hook ?" said I, for I was
not much of a fisherman.
"Why, don't you know?" said Jimmy. "A
hook that's made like a little file on the end where
you tie the line, instead of a flat knob."

* Copyright, 1880, by Rossiter Johnson. All rights reserved.




"A real Limerick hook is one that's made in
Limerick," said Ned. "Those you get in this town
are made in Connecticut, and are only imitations."
I began to suspect that Ned had been nettled at
the failure of his lightning-rod invention, and was
venting his spite on poor Jimmy's literary invention.
"I can't see," said I, that it makes any differ-
ence with the poem, whether they were real Limer-
ick hooks, or only imitation. The poetry is just as
Oh, no, it is n't," said Jimmy; and I 'm glad
to have my attention called to it. I '11 inquire about
that, and if I find they were not true Limericks, I'11
change that line." Then the reading proceeded.

"'Now let us make it doubly sure
That nothing's left,' said Joe.
And 'Totus dexter!' Ike replied--
Which means 'All right!' you know.
These jolly boys set off at once -
When everything was found;
Their fathers said, 'We wish good luck!'
Their mothers, 'Don't get drowned!'"

"Holman's father has n't been at home for four
months," said Ned. "He's gone to Missouri to
see about an iron mine."
I admit," said Jimmy, "that there I drew a little
on my imagination. I did n't know what they said,
and so I put in what I thought they would be likely
to say. But if Holman's father was n't at home,
of course he could n't have said anything at all.
However, I think you '11 find that the rest of the
poem is entirely true to nature.

When they unto the river came,
Where they should cast the lead,
The dew still glistened under foot,
The robin sang o'erhead."

"I doubt if any robin sings so late in the season
as this," said Ned.
Still," said Jimmy, "if one did sing, it would
certainly be overhead, and not on the ground. No
robin ever sings when he's on the ground. You
admit that?"
"Oh, certainly," said Ned.
Then I think that line may stand as it is," said
"All down the road and through the woods
They had a lovely walk;
The dog did frisk, and chase the birds,
And they did laugh and talk."

"He 's been anything but a frisky dog when
I've seen him," said Ned.
"Perhaps so," said Jimmy; "but there are ex-
ceptions to all rules.
But here their luck all left them-
The case seemed very sad:
For everything was good before--
Now everything was bad.

Their sinkers were not large enough,
The current was so strong,
And so they tied on pebble-stones,
To help the thing along.
And bitterly they did regret
They bought their lines at Karl's;
For every time they hauled them out,
They found them full of snarls."

"Of course they did," said Ned. "There's not
a thing in Karl's store that's not a cheat-all imi-
"I am glad to hear you say so," said Jimmy.
"I thought you would see that the rest of the poem
was true to nature.
"When little fish got on the hooks,
They soon flopped off again;
When big ones bit, they gave a jerk,
And snapped the line in twain.

"Isaac told me," said Jimmy, interrupting him-
self, "that that thing happened every time with
him, and every time but once with Joe."
"He probably said that as an excuse for coming
home with no fish," said Ned.
"Oh, no,-Ike would n't lie about it," said
Jimmy. "He 's one of the most truthful boys I
ever knew."
"Everybody lies about fishing," said Ned. "It's
considered the proper thing to do. That's what
they mean by a fish-story."
"But I saw the lines myself," said Jimmy. And
then he hurried on with the reading.

The dog lay by the dinners,
And was told to guard them well-
To let no stranger, man or beast,
Come near, touch, taste, or smell.
But Fido-of course I mean Prince-fell asleep, and kicked.
The baskets in a dream;
The contents tumbled o'er the bank,
And floated down the stream.
And once a bass robbed Isaac's hook,
Just as he tried to haul;
Which made him nervous, and in haste
He let the bait-box fall."

"How could he know what kind of fish it was
that robbed his hook?" said I.
"I did n't think to ask," said Jimmy. But at
any rate, he said it was a bass, and Isaac is gener-
ally pretty correct.
It fell between two rugged rocks,
Where out of reach it lay;
And when with sticks they fished it up,
The worms had crawled away.
Now, when the golden setting sun
Was shining down the glen,
They sadly turned their steps toward home,
These luckless fishermen.
And when they came upon the road,
All tired in foot and side,
They said, Let's hide our poles away,
And try to catch a ride.'




They caught upon an omnibus--
They did not stir nor talk;
But someone cried out, 'Whip behind !'
And so they had to walk."

"That must have been a Dublin boy," said Ned.
"Nobody on our side of the river is mean enough
to holler 'whip behind! '"
"I think it was a Dublin boy," said Jimmy. "If

That's a good poem," said I, as we rose from
the horse-block. "I like that."
Yes," said Ned; "it ought to be printed."
"I 'm glad to hear you say so," said Jimmy.
" But I think I can improve it in a few spots, if I
can get at the facts. At any rate, I shall try."
Jimmy continued his walk up the street, while
we sauntered toward home.

--- ---
-- ---



I can find out for certain, I shall state it so in the I think you were too severe in your criticisms
poem. on the poem," said I. I 'm afraid Jimmy felt
" They came up slowly from the gate, hurt."
And Fido-that'is to say, Prince-walked behind; Do you think so ?" said Ned. "Well, now, I
Their parents sat about the door, did n't mean to be. I would n't hurt that boy's
Or on the grass reclined.
feelings for the world. I suppose I must have been
" Their fathers said-at least, Joe's father did-' It grieves us much a little cross on account of my lightning-rod. But
That you no luck have found.' I ought n't to have played it off on Jimmy, that 's
Their mothers said, 'Our precious boys, a fact." And Ned looked really sorry.
We're glad you are not drowned.'" a fact. And Ned looked really sorry.





"I think he has great genius," said I, "and it
ought to be encouraged."
"Yes, it ought," said Ned. "I've often thought
so, myself, and wished I could, do something for
him. Perhaps I can, now that I have capital.
Father says nothing can be done without capital."
Jimmy's folks are very poor," said I.
That's so," said Ned. I don't suppose his
father ever had fifteen dollars at one time in his
life. Do you think of any good way in which I
could help him with a little capital?"
I don't know of any way, unless it is to print
his poems. I should think if his poems could once
be published, he might make a great deal of money
out of them, and be able to support himself, and
perhaps help his mother a little."
"That 's so," said Ned. "I'll publish his
poems for him. Come over after supper, and we 'll
talk it up."



WHEN I went over in the evening, I found that
Ned had been to Jimmy's house and obtained thir-
teen of his poems in manuscript, and was now
carefully looking them over, correcting what he
considered errors.
I tell you what 't is," said he, Jimmy 's an
awful good poet, but he needs somebody to look
out for his facts."
"Do you find many mistakes?" said I.
Yes; quite a few. Here, for instance, he calls
it a mile from the Four Corners to Lyell street. I
went with the surveyors when they measured it last
summer, and it was just seven eighths of a mile
and three rods over."
"But you could n't very well say 'seven eighths
of a mile and three rods over' in poetry," said I.
"Perhaps not," said Ned; "and yet it wont do
to have that line stand as it is. It 'll be severely
criticised by everybody who knows the exact
I felt that Ned was wrong, but I could not tell
how or why. In later years I have learned that
older people than he confidently criticise what they
don't understand, and put their own mechanical
patches upon the artistic work of others.
"Perhaps we 'd better see what Fay thinks
about it," said I. "He probably knows more
about poetry than we do."
He's in the library, getting Father to help him
on a hard sum," said Ned. "He '11 be here in a
When Phaeton returned, we pointed out the
difficulty to him.

That 's all right," said he. That 's poetic
What is poetic license ?" said I.
Poetic license," said Phaeton, is a way that
poets have of making things fit when they don't
quite fit."
Like what?" said Ned.
Like this," said Phaeton; "this is as good an
example as any. You see, he could n't say 'seven
eighths of a mile and three rods over,' because that
would be too long."
That would be the exact distance," said Ned.
I mean it would make this line too long," said
Phaeton; and, besides, it has to rhyme with that
other line, which ends with the word style."
And if that other line ended with cheek, would
he have called it a league from the Four Corners to
Lyell street ?" said Ned.
"I suppose so," said Phaeton, "though it
would n't be a very good rhyme."
And is that considered all right ?"
I believe it is."
Then you can't depend upon a single state-
ment in any poem," said Ned.
Oh, yes, you can," said Phaeton-" a great
"Mention one," said Ned.
"'Thirty days hath September,
April, June, and November,'"

said Phaeton.
"'That's true," said Ned; "but it's only be-
cause the words happened to come so. At any
rate, you've greatly lessened my respect for poetry,
and I don't know whether or not I 'd better pub-
lish them, after all."
"These poems ?-were you going to publish
them?" said Phaeton.
"Why ?"
To make a little money for Jimmy. You know
his folks are very poor," said Ned.
The papers wont pay you anything for them,"
said Phaeton. "Alec Barnes's sister had a poem
two columns long in the Vindicator last week, and
Alec told me she did n't get a cent for it."
"But we 're going to make a book of them,"
said Ned. "You can make money on a book,
can't you?"
"I believe you can," said Phaeton. '"Wait a
He went to the library, and came back with
three volumes of a cyclopedia, out of which, after
looking through several articles, he read, at inter-
vals, these bits of information:
"Moore received three thousand guineas for
'Lalla Rnokh.' "




"How much is that ?" said Ned.
Over fifteen thousand dollars," said Phaeton.
"Whew !" said Ned.
Scott made a profit of ten thousand dollars on
'The Lady of the Lake.' "
"Good gracious! said Ned.
Byron received more than seventy-five thousand
dollars for his poems."
"Great Caesar said Ned.
"Tupper has made thirty thousand dollars on
his 'Proverbial Philosophy.' "
"That's enough said Ned. "That's plenty!
I begin to have great respect for poetry, in spite of
the license. And I suppose, if the poets make all
that money, the publishers make a little something,
They probably know how to look out for them-
selves," said Phaeton. "But who is going to
publish this book for you? "
"I 'm going to publish it myself. You know we
haven't used up the capital I got from Aunt
Mercy," said Ned.
But you're not a publisher."
"Nobody is a publisher until after he has pub-
lished something," said Ned.
"But that wont be capital enough to print a
book," said Phaeton. "Printing costs like fury."
"Then I shall have to get more from Aunt
Mercy. "
"Yes, I suppose you can-she 'd give you any-
thing; but the truth is, Ned, I-I had a little plan
of my own about that."
"About what?"
"About the fifteen dollars-or a part of it. I
don't think I should need all of it."
"What is it? Another foolish invention? "
"Yes, it is a sort of invention; but it is sure to
go-sure to go."
Let's hear all about it," said Ned.
Will you lend me the money to try it?"
How much will it take? "
Six or eight dollars, I should think."
"Yes; I '11 lend you six dollars on it. Or, if it is
really a good thing, I '11 put in the six dollars as my
share, and go partnership."
Well, then, it's a substitute for a balloon," said
Phaeton. "Much cheaper, and safer, and better
in every way."
"How does it work ?" said Ned.
"It makes a horizontal ascension. I could tell
you all. about it; but I should rather wait a week,
and show you."
"All right! said Ned. "You can have the
money, and we '11 wait."
"Thank you!" said Phaeton. "But now tell
me how you are going to publish Jimmy's poems."
"Why, just publish them, of course," said Ned.

And what do you understand by that ?" asked
Phaeton, amused by Ned's earnestness.
"Take this copy to the printer, and tell him to
print the books. When it's done, load them into
big wagons, and drive around to the four book-
stores and leave them.. After a few days, call
around and get the money, and divide with Jimmy.
We should n't ask them to pay for them till they
had had a chance to look them over, and see how
they liked them."
I don't believe that would work," said Phaeton.
"Why not?" said Ned.
The book-sellers might not take them."
"Not take them said Ned. "They 'd be only
too glad to. Of course they would make a profit on
them. I suppose the price would be-well, about
half a dollar; and we should let them have them
for-well, say for forty-seven cents apiece. May be
if they took a large number, and paid cash down,
they might have them for forty-five."
Phaeton laughed.
"They don't do business for any such small
profits as that," said he.
"I've heard Father tell of a man," said Ned,
" who made his fortune when wheat rose three cents
on a bushel. And who wouldn't rather have a
volume of Jimmy's poems than a bushel of wheat?
If nobody happened to buy the wheat for a year or
two, it would spoil; but that volume of poems could
stand on the shelf in the book-store for twenty
years, and be just as good at the end of that time
as the day it was put there."
All that sounds very well," said Phaeton; "but
you'd better talk with some one who knows about
it, before you rush into the enterprise."
"I 'll go and see Jack-in-the-Box, of course,"
said Ned. "He must know all about books. I
never yet asked him anything that he did n't know
all about."
Ned hardly could wait for the night to pass away,
and when the next day came, off we posted once
more to see Jack-in-the-Box. When we got there,
Ned plunged at once into the business, before we
had fairly said good-morning.
"Jack," said he, did you ever publish a book?"
Jack blushed, and asked why he wanted to know.
"Because I am thinking of publishing one," said
Indeed ?" said Jack. "I did n't know you had
written one."
"I haven't," said Ned. Jimmy the Rhymer
wrote it. But I am planning to publish it."
"I see," said Jack. "I did n't understand you
I thought you would understand all about it,"
said Ned.
"Your expression might have meant either of




two things," said Jack. "When a publisher prints
a book and sells it, he of course is said to pub-
lish it; and when a person writes a book, and
gets a publisher to publish it for him, he also is
said to have published a book."
"I see," said Ned. "And did you ever publish
one ? "
I never was a publisher," said Jack.
"Still, you may know a good deal about it.
You know so much."
I know a little about it," said Jack, and shall
be glad to give you all the advice I can. Is this
the manuscript ?"
Ned said it was, and handed him a roll which he
had brought in his hand.
"Ah, poetry, I see," said Jack, turning over the
"Yes, first-rate poetry," said Ned. "A few
licenses here and there; but that can't be helped,
you know."
Of course not," said Jack.
We want to make as much money as we can,"
said Ned, "for Jimmy's folks are very poor, you
know, and he needs it, and poetry's the stuff to
make money."'
"Is it ? said Jack. "I 'm glad to hear it."
"There was Sir Walter Scott," said Ned,
"made thirty thousand dollars, clean cash, on a
poem called 'The Lady and the Lake'-prob-
ably not half as good as these of Jimmy's. And
Mr. Byron was paid seventy-five thousand dollars
for his poem called 'The Lally Rook,' whatever
that is. And there was Lord Moore got three
thousand guineas-that's fifteen thousand dollars,
you know-for some sort of philosophy all turned
into rhyme. I don't see how a philosophy could
be in rhyme, though, for you know everything in
philosophy has to be exact, and in poetry you have
to take licenses. Suppose you came to the five
mechanical powers, and the line before ended with
sticks, what could you do ? You 'd have to say
there were six of them."
Jack laughed heartily.
"Yes, it would be ridiculous," continued Ned.
"But that 's Lord Moore's lookout. In these
poems of Jimmy's, there is n't any trouble of that
sort. They don't need to be exact. Suppose, for
instance, one of them says it 's a mile from the
Four Corners to Lyell street. What odds? Very
few people know that it's just seven eighths of a
mile and three rods over. I might not have known
it myself, if I had n't happened to be with the
surveyors when they measured it."
Jack laughed again, and kept on turning over
the leaves.
"Where is the title-page?" said he.
What is that ? said Ned.

The one with the name on it-the first page in
the book," said Jack.
Oh! said Ned, "we never thought about
that. Wont the printer make it himself?"
Not unless you write it first."
Then we 've got to name the book before we
go any further," said Ned.
That 's it, exactly," said Jack.
Could n't you name it for us ? "
I might suggest some names," said Jack, and
let you choose; but, it seems to me, the person
who wrote it ought to name it."
"Oh, never mind Jimmy," said Ned. He 'll
be satisfied with anything I do."
It might be called simply 'Poems. By Jimmy
the Rhymer,' said Jack.
His name is James Redmond," said Ned.
"I'll write down a few titles," said Jack, as he
reached into the box under his chair and took out
a sheet of paper and a pencil; and in five minutes
he showed us the list:
"Rhymes and Roundelays. By James Red-
"A Picnic on Parnassus. By James Redmond."
"The Unlucky Fishermen, and other Poems.
By James Redmond."
"Jimmy's Jingles."
Songs of a School-boy."
Minutes with the Muses. By James Redmond."
It did not take Ned very long to choose the
third of these titles, which he thought sounded
the most sensible."
"Very well," said Jack, as he wrote a neat title-
page and added it to the manuscript. "And how
are you going to publish it ? "
"I thought I 'd get you to tell me how," said
Ned, who by this time had begun to suspect that
he knew very little about it.
"The regular way," said Jack, "would be to
send it to a firm in New York, or Boston, or Phil-
"And then what ?"
They would have a critic read it, and tell them
whether or not it was suitable."
He 'd be sure to say it was; but then what ?"
"Then they would have it printed and bound,
and advertise it in the papers, and sell it, and send
it to other stores to be sold."
But where would our profits come from ? "
Oh, they would pay you ten per cent. on all
they sold."
And how many do you think they would sell ?"
Nobody can tell," said Jack. "Different books
sell differently-all the way from none at all up to
a great many."
Ned borrowed Jack's pencil, and figured for two
or three minutes.





Then," said he, "if they should sell a hun-
dred of our book, we should only get five dollars-
and that would be two and a half for Jimmy, and
two and a half for me."
"That's about it," said Jack.
"Then that wont do," said Ned. "Jimmy's
folks are very poor, and he needs more than that.
Is n't there some way to make more money out
of it?"
"Not unless you pay for the printing and bind-
ing yourself," said Jack.
And how much would that cost?"
Jack looked it over and said he guessed about
two hundred dollars, for an edition of five hundred.
"We can't do it," said Ned, with a sigh. "Aunt
Mercy would n't give me so much money at a
time. "
There is one other way," said Jack.
What is it?"
To get up a little printing-office of your own,
and print it yourselves."
"That sounds like business; I guess you've hit
it," said Ned, brightening up. How much money
would it take for that? "
"I should think twenty-five or thirty dollars
would get up a good one."
"Then we can do it," said Ned. "Aunt Mercy
will let me have that, right away."
"Do you know anything about printing?" said
"Not much; but mybrother Fay knows all about
it. He worked in a printing-office one vacation,
to earn money to buy him a velocipede."
"Indeed! What did your brother do in the
printing-office ?" said Jack.
"They called him second devil," said Ned;
"but he was really a roller-boy."
They're the same thing," said Jack. "There's
no harm in a printer's devil; he's only called so
because he sometimes gets pretty well blacked up

with the ink. Some of the brightest boys I ever
knew have been printers' devils."
I 'm glad to hear you say so," said Ned, who
had seemed a little ashamed to tell what Fay did
in the office, but now began to think it might be
rather honorable. In fact, he was first devil one
week, whep the regular first devil was gone to his
grandfather's funeral in Troy."
Then he knows something about the business,"
said Jack; and perhaps I can help you a little.
I understand the trade pretty well."
"Of course you do," said Ned. "You under-
stand everything. And after we 've finished
Jimmy's book, we can print all sorts of other things
-do a general business, in fact. I '11 see what
Fay says, and if he '11 go in, we '11 start it at once."
While Ned was uttering the last sentence, Jack's
alarm-clock went off, and Jack took his flag and
went out to flag the Pacific express, while we walked
away. We must have been very much absorbed in
the new project, for we never even turned to look
at the train; and a train of cars in swift motion is a
sight that few people can help stopping to look at,
however busy they may be.

Readers who have followed this story thus far
will perhaps inquire where the scene of it is laid. I
think it is a pertinent question, yet there is a sort
of unwritten law among story-writers against an-
swering it, excepting in some vague, indefinite way;
and I have transgressed so many written laws that
I should like at least to keep the unwritten ones.
But if you are good at playing "buried cities," I
will give you a chance to find out the name of that
inland city where Phaeton and his companions
dwelt. I discovered it buried, quite unintentionally,
in a couplet of one of Jimmy the Rhymer's poems.
Here is the couplet:
Though his head to the north wind so often is bared,
At the sound of the siroc he 's terribly scared."

(To be continued.)







TIPTOE before the mirror
Ruth, Nell, and May;
Mamma, by the window, sewing,
Hears what they say.

Three in a row make a ladder,
Two; five; eight;-
Beautiful May is the youngest,
Wee curly-pate !

Three pairs of eyes scan the mirror,
Wide with amaze;
Three round, wondering faces
Back at them gaze.

" Which do you think is the prettiest?"
Asks Nell of Ruth,-

Serious elder sister,
Candid as truth.

"Oh, Baby May," answers Ruthie;
Nell nods assent;
May nods, too, though she barely
Knows what is meant.

"Which is the next?" questions Nelly,
You, Ruth, or I?"
Ruth takes a critical survey,
Then artlessly

Answers: I think that I am,
Nelly, don't you ?"
" Yes," says Nelly (God bless her!),
Yes, I do, too! "



~- -~--u~


ONCE up-on a time there lived a crow. He had been tak-en from a
nest when young, and had been brought up on a farm, so that he was
quite tame. Now this crow was ver-y fond of eggs, and he would some-
times vis-it the hens' nests and steal their eggs, and fly a-way with them
to the mead-ow be-hind the barn, where he would break the eggs and
eat them. He found that a nice way to break an egg was to take one
in his claws and fly up in the air and let it fall on the ground. He
would then fly down and dine on the nice white and yel-low egg, as it
ran out of the bro-ken shell. Some-times the egg would fall on the
grass, or on the soft earth, and would not break. Then he would pick
it up a-gain and fly high-er in the air, and let it fall from a great-er
height. If it did not break then, he would take it up a-gain and fly
e-ven high-er, and the third time it would break, and down he would
drop to feast upon the bro-ken egg.
One day, Mis-ter Crow found a nice, shin-y white egg in a nest, and
picked it up and flew a-way to feast up-on it.
My !" said Mis-ter Crow, as he flew a-long. "This is a ver-y heav-y
egg. Per-haps it has a doub-le yolk. Here is a nice hard place. I '11
let it fall on the gar-den walk, where it will be sure to break the first
He let it fall, but it did not break.
"That is strange!" said Mis-ter Crow. "I must try a-gain."
So he did. He flew up high-er in the air, and let the egg fall right
on some stones. It did not break this time.
"The third time nev-er fails," said Mis-ter Crow. "I 'll try once
A-gain he flew up with the egg and let it fall. It did not break e-ven
this time, but just bounced like a rub-ber ball on the stones.
Now, this is strange," said Mis-ter Crow. It is the hard-est egg I
ev-er saw. Per-haps it has been boiled for four min-utes."
He flew down and looked at the egg. It did not look like a hard-
boiled egg, and he took it up a-gain, and flew as high as the wood-en
roost-er on top of the barn.
"This time it must break," said Mis-ter Crow. And it only bounced
high-er than be-fore, and was as whole as ev-er.
I nev-er saw such an egg," said Mis-ter Crow. I am a-fraid it is not





good. I am ver-y hun-gry, and this is tire-some work. I '11 sit on the
top of the barn and rest."
Just then the dai-ry-maid came a-long, and see-ing the egg on the
path, she picked it up and said: Gra-cious me! Here is one of those
Chi-na nest-eggs out in the gar-den."





SJACK -N-I I-' UL- .

MY snow-birds have found out a secret. They
tell me that something came last year, and it 's
coming again-soon-this very month, about the
14th-not to me, your Jack, but to the Lady
Earth. It 's something like this:

ON this sheet of blue sky,
Floating fair overhead,
With the sun at the edge
In a border of red,
Canst read the true message
I 've written thee here?
In dawn-light and cloud-light
The writing is clear:
"Sweet Earth! Thou art happy
And patient and wise,
Well knowing there cometh
A balmy surprise,
When brooks shall be singing
And days shall be long,
And fields shall be waving
In verdure and song.
And so by old Winter
I send thee this line,
And I 'm thine-
FEBRUARY, thy true Valentine."

IT is that chatter-box the Honey-guide, whom
my young hearers in Africa know pretty well.
He is very fond of honey, and is glad to have
help in getting it; and he is also very much afraid
of the honey-makers. Those brave fellows have
stung many a Honey-guide to death in the very
nest he came to rob, and then have shut up his
body, where it lay, in an air-tight tomb of wax.

When a Honey-guide sees a man coming along
in the woods, he perches on a branch and calls
and twitters until he has attracted attention; then
he starts toward some bee-nest of which he knows,
flying in a wavy line, stopping now and then, often
looking back to see if the traveler is following, and
chattering all the while. Arrived at the store of
honey, the man smokes out the bees and helps
himself to their treasure, while the bird, perched
near, waits for his reward in a share of the spoil.
When one nest has been robbed, the guide will
perhaps lead to others. But now and then the faith-
less bird will "sell" the unwary traveler badly; and,
instead of leading him to'a store of dainty sweets,
will suddenly leave him at the brink of a lion's
den or in front of a crocodile's wide-open jaws.
At least, this is what some little birds told me.

DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: We had delightful times in our
house at Christmas. A large triangle was hung from the gas-fixture
in the middle of the parlor, and dressed and festooned with ever-
greens, chains, little flags, candles, cornucopias, and so on. Some
pretty plants were stood in pots underneath. It looked very pretty
when lighted up.
After this, a clothes-horse was stood across the opening of the
folding-doors, and covered with a shawl. On the floor in one room
we scattered various toys, and on a step-ladder in the other room
the very little folk sat and fished, dropping their lines beyond the
clothes-horse. We older ones were hidden by the shawl, and now
and then we hooked a toy to one of the lines. The lucky fishers
were so happy !
On another day, we had a Christmas-tree for the dolls, and that
was fine fun; but I have told you enough already, so good-bye,
now.-Yours truly, K. B.

ONE of your Jack's friends, in Pekin, China,
says: Walking near this city, one day, I heard a
harsh, long-drawn whistling in the air. Looking
up, I saw only a flock of pigeons overhead. "What,"
said I to myself; do Chinese pigeons whistle "
There was a Chinaman passing, so I asked him
about it. He took from his dress a set of small
bamboos, joined with fine wires,-as in the sketch
which I send, -and handed it to me. It weighed
only a few pennyweights.
"That is what makes the whistling," said he.
"We tie these on the backs of carrier-pigeons,
near their tails, looping the strings around the roots

a is'

of the wings. When the pigeon is flying, the wind
rushes into the bamboos, and makes them whistle.
This scares away the hawks, so that the pigeon




can bring its message safely. Sometimes, there is
only one bamboo; but if there are more, they are
assorted so as to make a harsh sound when blown
all at one time."
Now, my young American pigeon-keepers, who
of you will see if pigeon-whistles can scare hawks
away from your own beautiful messenger pets ?

DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: Will you ask the children a
question for me? Perhaps you will say it is "too easy." But I
would caution them to investigate before they all answer together.
I know a family of sixteen persons, old and young, not one of whom
could answer it.
How many toes has a cat? K. L.

E. C. G. SENDS a letter with more information
about the lovely Victoria Regia, of which your
Jack told you, in November,
that its leaves sometimes are
used for cradles. She says:
" The fruit of the Victoria Regia
grows as big as a girl's head,
and has a prickly outside; but
inside it is full of small seeds
that look like maize, for which
reason the fruit is called water-
Smaize. These seeds are ground
to meal, and cooked "much as
New England folk cook Indian-
corn meal. My little brother,
when we were in the Amazon
country, years ago, on first
tasting water-maize bread, at
once called it 'Johnny-cake,'
which it much resembles; and
now, in our family, the Victoria
Regia is best known as the
'Johnny-cake Plant.' "

told us in a late number about the power
of steam, makes me want to tell you what
I have learned about the power of the
water that plunges unused over the preci-
pice at Niagara. Not quite unused,
though, I believe; for the rushing water
above the Falls is now made to drive ma-
chinery and produce the electric lights
which illuminate the wonderful cascade at
night. Here are the facts as they were
told to me:
The amount of water passing over
Niagara Falls has been estimated at one
hundred millions of tons each hour. The
force represented by the principal fall alone,
amounts to sixteen million eight hundred
thousand horse-power. If that amount of force were to be pro-
duced by steam, it would require two hundred and sixty-six million
tons of coal every year. Or, in other words, all the coal mined in
the whole world scarcely would be sufficient to produce the amount
of power that "runs to waste" every year in the principal fall at
Niagara.-Yours truly, L. H. F.

ON with your thinking caps, all of you i And
"study out the meaning of this picture and fable
which Deacon Green sends to you. It may be
that some of you pretty nearly grown-up listeners

can find in them a cheering message for your-
selves. He says,-while' a kindly light twinkles
far back under the roof of his eye :
Here is a little something that may help those
of your friends who try to do too much all at once,
or who are never satisfied, even when they have
done their very best."'
A certain philosopher offered sacrifice every day
in Jupiter's temple, and made always the same
prayer. At last, the god became weary of hearing
over and over again the one request, and said:
"What would you have ?"
"I crave to become a contented man," was the
philosopher's reply. Never yet have I enjoyed
one really peaceful day, for I never have been en-
tirely contented. Even now, aged as I am, there
always is something that I long for."
Consider well what you ask," said the god,


sternly; "there is but one way in which you can
secure the boon you seek."
"And what is that?" asked the philosopher,
I must strike you dead; for in death only can
man be free from discontent."
"Upon mature consideration," replied the phil-
osopher, without hesitating a moment, I think
that I should be better contented to remain dis-
contented." And, putting on his hat, he hastily
withdrew from the temple.






presented with it, telling where found, when, by whom, describing
it, and giving any facts of interest you have been able to learn about
it. These written accounts we call "reports." That's how to start
a "chapter."
II. If you cannot form a chapter where you are, you can join our
home-chapter at Lenox, on the same conditions as our boys and girls
here can. These conditions are indicated in our by-laws, and this
brings me to question
III. The more important of the by-laws in force in our chapter
Si. "The name of this society shall be," etc. See ST. NICHOLAS
for November, 188o, page 29.
2. The initiation fee shall be the sum of twenty-five cents.
3. Each member shall work in such branches of natural history as
he and the president of this chapter may agree on.
4. The order of exercises at each meeting shall be: a. Roll-call; b.
Minutes of last meeting; c. Treasurer's report; d. Reports of mem-
bers on specimens found and presented; e. Report of corresponding
secretary; f. Miscellaneous business; g. Adjournment.
IV. With regard to the fourth question, it is not necessary that
every member of a chapter be a subscriber to ST. NICHOLAS.
Get as many persons interested in the society as you can.
V. One of the things which those who live in cities can do, is to
- make drawings of snow-crystals to exchange for specimens more
easily found in the country. Catch the crystals, as they fall, on a
dark cloth. Look at them through a magnifying glass, if you have
one, and draw as well as you can from memory.
The drawings should be made of a uniform diameter of half an inch.
Six drawings may be made nicely on a card as large as a postal card.
For convenience in exchanging, we all may make them of the same
size and arrange them in the same way, as follows:


MR. HARLAN H. BALLARD'S first report concerning the 'Sr.
NICHOLAs branch of the Agassiz Association (started by him in our
November number) shows that a great many boys and girls are
heartily interested in the project. We print the report in full, with
much pleasure, and commend it to all our readers, only reminding
them, that letters relating to the Association must be addressed, not
to us, but always to Mr. Harlan H. Ballard, Lenox Academy,
Lenox, Massachusetts.

The pla n proposed in the November ST. NICHOLAS f organizing
a Natural History Society is meeting with unexpected favor. More
than two hundred boys and girls have sent their names to be enrolled
as members of the "ST. NICHOLAS Branch"; and "chapters," con-
taining each from four to twenty members, have been started in many
cities and towns. Still every mail brings letters full of eager ques-
tioning. Our Lenox Chapter has been obliged to resolve itself into
a committee of the whole for the purpose of answering these interest-
ing letters, and specimens of insects and minerals have begun to take
long journeys in Uncle Sam's mail-bags. The questions which have
puzzled most of our correspondents are these:
I. How can I start a chapter?
II. How can I join the Association if I can not get enough others
to form a chapter with me?
III. What are the "by-laws" of the Lenox Chapter ?
IV. Can any one be admitted to a chapter if he is not a subscriber
V. What can I do in a great city ?
VI. What can I do in the winter?
VII. How can I make a cabinet?
VIII.-M. Questions relative to the collection and preparation
of specimens.
To these questions, answers have been sent equivalent to the fol-
I. We have decided to let four, or more, members constitute a
chapter. Therefore, to start one, get at least three besides yourself
Choose a president, secretary and treasurer, and curator. The cura-
tor will care for the cabinet, arrange specimens, etc.
Then appoint a committee to draft your by-laws. These are minor
rules by which your meetings are to be guided; and embrace such
points as what officers you will have, how long they shall hold office,
what initiation fee you will require, what fines you will impose for
absence, what duties shall devolve upon your officers and members,
and what order of exercises you will follow in your meetings. Next,
each member, in consultation with the president, should choose what
subject he will work on. One may prefer to make a collection of
flowers, another of insects; and a third to collect, generally, what-
ever he can find. You are now ready for work. Get your cabinet
ready, collect your specimens; write a brief account of each to be

To have these crystal pictures valuable, we must notice the condi-
tions which prevailed as the snow fell. Look at the thermometer and
barometer, and note the strength of the wind, as well as the date.
An attention to these details will enable us to decide whether or not
snow-crystals vary in shape with heat and cold and density of
air, etc.
Another thing you of the city can do is to suspend seeds over
water in bottles, and study the growth of different plants as the tiny
leaves unroll. Make neat cases also for insects, or minerals, and
exchange these for specimens. Collect specimens of veneers from
cabinet and piano shops, and prepare them for exchange. Nearly all
the grains, and nuts, and spices, and fabrics, and seeds and barks,
and woods and metals can be found in city shops, and for these you
can readily get anything you may wish from the country. Again,
many of you have books or pictures on subjects of natural history
which are old to you, but which some member of the Association
would be very thankful to get. These, also, can be e::changed.
VI. As these te things can be done in winter, I have partially an-
swered the sixth question; and need but mention, birds'-nests aban-
doned in leafless trees, cocoons suspended from bushes and tucked
away under fence-rails, beetles burrowing in old stumps, sections of
wood and bark, cones and buds,-to show that there is plenty 3f out-
door work even in winter; while, inside, cabinets are to be built,
specimens labeled and arranged, minerals identified, philosophical
experiments to be performed, books to be read, and letters to be writ-
ten. But I am exceeding the limits kindly allowed for our depart-
ment, and must postpone till another number answers to the remaining
questions. Meanwhile, organize your chapters; or send us your
names individually, if you prefer. If you have any specimens which
you wish to exchange, send them along, and we will send you in
return the best we can, and agree to "trade back" if you are not
satisfied. If we have not what you wish, we will give you the address
of one who has. Initiation fees may be sent in postage-stamps; and,
.; 1 ..: of stamps (would you believe it?), more than three-quarters
. i1 I have written have forgotten to inclose a stamped envelope,
addressed to themselves, for a reply! So, now, away and to work!
and we will send a copy of The Scotclh Nalturalis to the boy r ,:
who shall send us the best collection of snow-flake drawings 1-.
March i, x88i.
Drawings sent in competition for this prize must be made on cards
of postal size, as before explained, and they will be preserved in'our
Home Cabinet. Each card must have the name and age of the artist
plainly written on the back.

We give, from Mr. Ballard's letter, a list of those ST. NICHOLAS
Branches of the Agassiz Association which had been formed up to




the date of his communication. Undoubtedly a number more have
been started since. Mr. Ballard has received, also, the names of
seventy members who are not yet connected with any chapter.
No. of Members. Address.
Lenox, Mass ................ 35. .H. H. Ballard.
Potsdam, N. Y............... 6.. Miss Annie Usher.
Peekskill, N. Y........... ... .C. S. Lewis.
Nichols, N. Y .............. 7. .G. M. Cady.
Sparta, Ga.................. 4.E. B. Baxter, Granite Farm.
East Orange, N. J............ 8..Farnham Yardley.
Baltimore, Md ............... 6..J. S. Hughes.
Philadelphia, Pa............. 7.L. B. White, 4410 Osage ave.
Washington, D. C............ 6. .Rdse Purman, 1318 V st.
Aurora, Ill .................. 6..Lilian L. Trask.
Berwyn, Chester Co., Pa..... 6..J. F. Glosser.
Forreston, Ogle Co., Ill...a... ..Pare Winston.
Trenton, N. J ............. .. 5Anne H. Green, 234 W. State st.
Detroit, Mich............... .. E. G. Root, 665 Cass ave.
Ottumwa, Iowa .............. 6..W. Lighton.
Lebanon, Pa................. 4..C. E. Hare.
Northampton, Mass ......... 6..F. Maynard.
Kenosha, Wis.............. 6..Norman L. Baker.
Brooklyn, N. Y............. 7..Lucy Tupper, 171 Clinton st.
Fairfield, Iowa............... 6..Walter S. Slagle.
Nashua, N. H............. 4..F. W. Greeley, Box 757.
Grahamville, Marion Co., Fla.. 4- E. P. Lisk.
Stroud, Gloucestershire, Eng.. 6..G. C. Ruegg.
Boston, Mass................ 6..Frank A. North, 52 Woodbinest.
Freeport, Ill... .... ........ 5..Anne Jenkins.
Detroit City, Minnesota....... 5..C. C. Dix.
Pittsburgh, Pa.............. 6..Mrs. R. H. Mellon, x9th Ward.
Portland, Oregon.......... 8..Alice M. Chance, 415 Second st.

IN connection with this month's installment of the ST. NICHOLAS
Treasure-Box of English Literature, the editor's thanks are due to
Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co. for kindly permitting the use of
Mr. Longfellow's poem of" The Skeleton in Armor," and to Messrs.
G. P. Putnam's Sons for their consent to the reprinting of the
extract from Washington Irving's "Sketch-Book."

THE two pictures of Trucking the Pedestal" and "The Obelisk
crossing the Hudson River Railroad,"-on page 313 of the present
number,-are copied, by permission, from artotype views pub-
lished by Messrs. Harroun & Bierstadt, No. 58 Reade street, New
York City. These gentlemen have issued a series of beautiful views
illustrating the history of the obelisk, from the time of its arrival in
New York Bay until its setting up in Central Park. The views,
although they resemble photographs, are not really photographs,
being printed by a peculiar process.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: It was suggested a few months ago, by
some good-natured body, that those of your readers who knew any
simple games for home amusement in the long winter evenings
should impart them through the Letter-Box," for the benefit of their
" mutual friends." There is one which my little people enjoy very
We take the alphabet in regular order and construct sentences in
which the name of a place, a verb expressing action, and a final noun
or adjective must all begin with the same letter. For instance, the
first one says: I went to Atlanta and Ate Apples." The second:
"I went to Boston and Baked Beans." The third: "I went to Cleve-
land and Caught Crabs." The fourth: "I went to Dayton and
Danced Delightfully." And so on.
To construct a grammatical sentence quickly requires rapid think-
ing, and will be found both instructive and amusing.-Sincerely

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Can you tell me how to make my tapestry-
work come straight when it is done? The canvas seems right
before I begin, but all askew when the work is completed. The
Germans have some way to remedy this. Do you know what it is?
Canvas-work can be kept straight only by doing it in a frame.
The over-stitch being uniform, from left to right, or from right to
left, the open-meshed foundation is necessarily dragged awry, unless
so held that the needle goes through perpendicularly, instead of hori-
zontally and obliquely. Usually, tapestry-work done without a
frame cannot be made perfectly straight. But if it be well dampened
on the, wrong side, carefully stretched, and very closely pinned to a
nailed carpet, where it should remain for some days, it will be much
improved. Or a border of stout muslin or linen may be sewed around

the dampened canvas, which should be tightly stretched in a quilt-
ing frame, or tacked to an old table-top, or door, if you have any
which would not resent such treatment.

HERE is some information about the green rose.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: In the August (1880) "Letter-Box," several
green flowers are mentioned, but nothing is said about a green rose.
Mamma has a rose-bush that bears nothing but green flowers, and I
have put one in a little box to send to you.-Yours truly,
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My wife has seen a veritable green rose.
It was bought, one in a lot, as a dark red, but on flowenng proved
to be green. When she saw it, it had four pale-green blooms,
perfectly double, and of good size.-Yours truly, F. W. W.
There is such a thing as a green rose, and it may be explained in
this manner. Theoretically, botanists regard a flower as a branch
developed in a peculiar way for a certain purpose. Among other
departures from the usual form of the branch, its joints-spaces
between the leaves-are so shortened, as to bring the leaves close
together, and the leaves themselves are different in shape and text-
ure from the ordinary leaves of the plant-are often finely colored and
known as petals.. In the green rose, instead of the delicate and
beautiful tinted petals, or "rose-leaves," Nature puts in their place a
crowded cluster of green leaves. The green rose is not at all hand-
some, and is not like a rose as we usually know it-only with green
petals. There are no proper petals, but in their place a confused
mass of very irregular and badly shapen green leaves.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: In the ordinary books upon Geography,
the highest mountain in the world is said to be Mount Everest, one
of the Himalayas. But I have seen it stated lately that, on a voyage
to New Guinea, a certain Captain Lawson made the discovery that
Mount Hercules, in that island, has a height of 32,686 feet; thus
being more than 3,000 feet higher than Mount Everest--Truly yours,
G. A. J.

OF the books lately received at the ST. NICHOLAS office, the
editors take pleasure in calling especial attention to the following:
ALL AROUND A PALETTE. By Lizzie W. Champney. Illustrated
by J. Wells Champney (" Champ"). Lockwood, Brooks d& Co.:
A JOLLY FELLOWSHIP. By Frank R. Stockton. Illustrated by
J. E. Kelly. Charles Scribner's Sons : New York.
MORE BED-TIME STORIES. By Louise Chandler Moulton. With
illustrations. Roberts Bros.: Boston.
for girls and boys. By Susan Coolidge. Illustrated. Roberts
Bros. : Boston.
THE BOY'S KING ARTHUR. A Companion Volume to The
Boy's Froissart." By Sidney Lanier. With illustrations by Alfred
Kappes. Charles Scribners Sons: New York.
.MR. BODLEY ABROAD. By Horace E. Scudder. With illustra-
tions. Hougl/ton, Mifflin & Co. : Boston.
THE FAIRPORT NINE. By Noah Brooks. With illustrations by
A. C. Redwood. Charles Scribner's Sons: New York.
FIVE MICE IN A MOUSE-TRAP. By Laura E. Richards. With
illustrations. Estes & Lauriat: Boston.
JACK AND JILL. By Louisa M. Alcott. With illustrations by
Frederick Dielman. Roberts Bros.: Boston.
ALL AROUND A ROCKING-CHAIR. By Mrs. Kate Tannatt Woods.
Illustrated. James Miller: New York.
tion Tour of the Zigzag Club in Spain, Portugal, France, Italy, and
Greece; with its Adventures on Sea and Land. By 'Hezekiah
Butterworth. Illustrated. Estes &s Lauriat: Boston.
QUEER PETS AT MARCY'S. By Olive Thorne Miller. With
illustrations. E. P. Dutton &- Co. : New York.

HERE is an interesting letter from the other side of the world:
Sharp-Peak Sanitarium, Foochow, China.
Mv DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My papa is a missionary of the
American Board, at the large city of Foochow, but during the hot
months of July and August we come down to this place for the sea
air and bathing. Sharp-Peak is an island at the mouth of the river
Min, where there are three sanitariums belonging to three different
missions. We children enjoy very much being here. We have a
fine beach, and almost every evening we go down to the sea and




bathe. We can all swim, excepting my little sister Gracie, who is only
seven years old. She floats on a triangular bamboo frame. We
have fine times in the water. When not swimming, we sometimes
lie on our backs and float. I have two brothers in America, and two
sisters here. I have not seen my oldest brother for more than eight
At our home, in Foochow, we have pretty pet doves and a little
white mouse. The mouse is very tame. We can hold it in our
hands, and let it run up our sleeves.
We have no carriages, no horse-cars, nor rail-cars, here in China.
The streets are very narrow, and roughly paved with large, flat
stones. When we go out, we ride in sedan-chairs, carried by two or
three men called coolies. We have taken ST. NICHOLAS ever since
it was published, and have the volumes bound. We like to read
the stories over and over.
My elder sister Mary is twelve years old and I am nine; 'but we
have never been to school. There are no schools here for foreign
children, and Mamma has always taught us at home. When we
are older, we shall have to go to America to be educated, as our
brothers have done.-Your little friend, G. L. W.

PERHAPS those "Letter-Box" readers who also are students of
the French language will find a useful hint in this letter from an
industrious Chicago girl:
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I think I will tell you how I came by my
small knowledge of French. I have never taken one lesson, and I
know very little about the verbs or pronouncing correctly. I can
only translate a little.
A year ago, Mamma (who knows a little about French) began with
me to read the New Testament in French, translating it into English
and having the English Bible near by for a dictionary. We read
from ten to fifteen verses a day, and it is r...l ,:, how much I
have learned by it.-Your constant reader, i! I MADISON.

Boston, Mass.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have a new canary, and I want to know
what to give him to eat, and how to tame him to eat from my hand.
Give my love to "Jack-in-the-Pulpit" and the "Little School-
ma'am."-From your constant reader, E. S. F.
In ST. NICHOLAS for February, X877, is an illustrated article which
tells you how to feed and take care of a canary. To teach him to eat
from your hand, you must be very kind and patient with him. Every
day, before giving him fresh food, put a few seeds in your hand and
offer them to him gently and quietly. At first he may not peck at
them, but, after trying him once a day for some time, he will become
used to you and feel that he can trust you; and, at last, he will eat
from your hand without fear.

"OPERETTA."--Music has been written by Mr. W. F. Sherwin
for the songs, "Now, nid, nid, nod, my bonny boys," "With my
Lady Fortune's wheel," and "Cling, cling," of the operetta, the
"Land of Nod," given in the Christmas number. Printed copies of
the musical score may be had without charge from Messrs. Scribner
& Co., 743 Broadway, New York city.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We are two little girls and live in Boston,
and we thought that perhaps some of the readers of the "Letter-Box"
would like to know how to make this kind of candy: Take a large
sheetof paperand turn up theedges, pinning the corners together; then
spread over the bottom of it some powdered sugar, and pour enough
water over it to wet it all thoroughly; then put it on the stove, and
keep turning it around so as not to let it get cooked more in one
place than in another; but do not stir it at all, for that would burn it.
Keep trying some of it in water, and when it becomes hard on first
putting it in, put about a tea-spoonful of vanilla or lemon flavoring in
it. Then take it off the stove and put it in a pan of cold water. When
it becomes cool, take it out, and the paper will peel right off.-Your
interested readers, O. AND H.

THE following funny little letter is from a five-year-old little girl
who lives in Washington, and who, it seems, called at the White
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Last week, on Saturday, I went to see Mrs.
Hayes. Mrs. Hayes was very well indeed. She seemed very glad
to see all of her callers. There were a great many,-about twenty-
one or twenty-three,-a great crowd! She shook hands with all her
callers. She shook hands with me, and gave me a pretty rose out of
her bouquet for my dollie. I took one of my children with me.
Mrs. Hayes's face was becoming to her, because she had her hair
down over her ears. I can't remember her dress. Nursie wanted
to know about it, because she wanted to make one like it. I don't
see how she can do it, though.
She looked very happy all over her face. When she saw me com-
ing, she said: "Oh, I see a dear little bright-eyed girl coming!"

And she hurried to finish up the others, so she could give me the rose.
She lives at the White House. Her parlor is very pretty, indeed.
All lights up high, and shineleers down below the lights.
I went and looked out of the window, but I could n't see anything
but carriages, they were so high up. ALLIS M. SHERMAN.

THE outline pictures representing the form and structure of
the squid, printed with Mr. Rathbun's story in the present num-
ber, were prepared originally for a scientific memoir, and are the
property of the Connecticut Academy of Arts and Sciences. Our
readers owe to the courtesy of Professor A. E. Verrill, of that
Academy, the opportunity to*study these pictures in ST. NICHOLAS.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I should like to know the authors of
"Hail Columbia," Red, White, and Blue," and My Country, 't is
of Thee." Will you please answer these questions, and oblige a boy
of fourteen years, who enjoys ST. NICHOLAS.
"Hail Columbia."-This song was written in 1798, by Judge
Hopkinson, LL. D., at x32 Spruce street, Philadelphia, to the well-
known tune of the "President's March," which was either com-
posed by Roth or Roat (? Philip), at 25 Crown street, Philadelphia,
between 1791-1799, or by Phyla, of Philadelphia, whose eldest son
assisted in its performance at Trenton, when Washington was
inaugurated. The descendants of Hopkinson hold Washington's
letter of acknowledgment.
A young man, whose benefit was to take place at the Philadelphia
Theater, being greatly discouraged by his prospects, called on
Hopkinson for a patriotic song one Saturday afternoon, to increase
his chances of success. By Sunday afternoon it was ready; on
Monday morning it was advertised to be sung that evening. Its
success was then so great that it was repeated more than once every
night, and the audience joined in the chorus. War with France was
then considered inevitable. The song was sung by crowds in the
streets at night, both parties and members of Congress taking part,
as the words suited either.
"The Red, White, and Blue."-This song was written and
composed by Thos. A'Becket, Sr., and published by T. Osborn,
Third street, above Walnut, in Philadelphia (but, on his failure, the
plates went to Benteen, of Baltimore), under the title of "Colum-
bia, the Gem of the Ocean." It was written for David T. Shaw,
of Philadelphia, to sing at a Philadelphia concert. He published it
as his own work, and it was so copyrighted in 1843 by George
Willy, of Philadelphia.
As "Britannia, the Pride of the Ocean," it was sung nightly in
London, and published, without any author's name, by T. Williams,
Cheapside. The name Nelson, in last verse, was substituted for
Washington, and in 1847 it was claimed as an English composition.
The author, T. A'Becket, was, however, English by birth, and this
accounts for the order "red, white, and blue" being adopted. To
be distinctively American, the order should be blue, red, and white.
This song was extremely popular in England during the Crimean
war, and in America during the late civil war.
"My Country 't is of Thee," as "God Save the King" was
first sung by Henry Carey, at a public dinner, to celebrate the taking
of Portobello by Admiral Vernon (Nov. 20, 1739). The words and
music first appeared in Harmonia Anglia," 1742 or 1743. It became
popular as a loyal song during the Scottish rebellion in 1745. The
Pretender was proclaimed at Edinburgh Sept. i6, and the song was
sung at Drury Lane Sept. 28, harmonized by Dr. Arne. Dr.
Burney wrote the harmonies for Covent Garden Theater.
This song soon crossed the channel, and was used as a Danish
national air, at Berlin as a Volkslied, and is now the Prussian and
German national anthem. The words are said to be culled from many
sources, and the music also. The melody, which was once claimed
for Carey and Lully, is similar, in technical points, to the Scotch
carol, "Remember, 0 Thou Man!" and the song "Franklin is
Fled Away." Dr. John Bull also wrote a similar theme in his MS.
sketches, page 98, in 1619. 1 1
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: In your November number I read an
article, in Jack-in-the-Pulpit," stating that the Victoria Regia was
only to be found in the warmest parts of South America. I have
myself seen it growing in great abundance in the island of Java, where'
I spent three months and a half, not long ago. I saw there, also, a
great many curious trees. Among them were the Banyan and the
Fan-palm, which is about thirty or forty feet high. It is perfectly
flat, the leaves spreading out on either side, giving it the appearance
of a giant fan.-Yours sincerely, L. L. S.





REPLACE the dashes with consonants, using only eightof the twenty-
one, and make a rhomboid consisting of twenty-seven words (none
repeated),-thirteen reading across, and fourteen downward.
-e e-
-e e-
-e e-
-e e-
-e e-
-e e-
-e e-
-e e-
-e e-
-e e-
ee M. c. D.


THIS differs from the ordinary hour-glass puzzle, in that the
words forming it are pictured instead of described. The words are to
be placed in the order in which the pictures are numbered, and the cen-
tral letters, reading downward, are represented by the central picture.

I AM composed of thirty-three letters, and am a line from
Thomson's "Seasons."
My 7-4-31-20-29 is a large river in Scotland. My 25-X2-2-28-9 is
a name given to Afghan rulers. My 22-23-32-29 is that part which
keeps both a man and a pin from going too far. My 14-x5-8-6-21-
01-33 is the name of a Grecian herald whose voice was as loud as
those of fifty men combined. My 30-18-19-3 is the name given to
the Christmas log which was placed on the hearth with much cere-
mony, in former times. My 17-i6-10ro-5-18-14 is the name of a fa-
mous Roman actor. My 1-27-19-24-i3-26 is a precious metal. H. G.

THESE puzzles are to be solved by taking the letters of the first
word described and re-arranging them so as to form the other words
described. For example: Transpose the name given to an inhabi-

tant of a certain ancient city and form the name of a noted Americant
artist; again, and form land belonging to a nobleman; again, and
form the name of a celebrated opera. Answer: Roman; Moran;
Manor; Norma.
i. Transpose a hard mineral and form a pacer; again, and form one
who censures; again, and form to rove.
2. Transpose enmity and form scarcity; again, and form a small
twist of flax.
3. Transpose poetry and form to cut through; again, and form to
do duty; again, and form turns.
4. Transpose old and form a kind of stone; again, and form to
pilfer; again, and form stories; again, and form certain web-footed
fowls; again, and form smallest. sI. c. D. AND G. P. C.

Mv first wakened early this morning,
Expecting some rare good fun,
For my second from far in the north land,
To make him a visit had come.

Then dress yourself warmly," said Mother,
If down to the pond you would go,
Or my wlmole will snap at your fingers."
"Yes, yes," said my first; "that, I know."
I. I. THE bend of the arm. 2. A cone-bearing tree. 3. A support
or prop. 4. To happen. 5. At what place.
II. x. Pertaining to a kind of poplar. 2. A drudge. 3. Plates of
glass. 4. Incident. 5. Homes of certain animals. N. T. M.


S* 5 *
S* 10ro
READING ACROSS: i. Empty. 2. Made due return. 3. Recounted.
4. A story. 5. A girdle. 6. To obstruct. 7. A species of goat. 8.
Soon. 9. A son of Noah. o1. A raised platform.
Zigzags, I-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-to, fanciful letters. G. F.

My name is composed of sixteen letters, and America does not
contain my counterpart.
My 1o-7-12-I6-2 is used for edged tools. My i-s5-4-xo-i3-7 is
a small apartment. My 5-8-6-i1-1-3 is to spring or bound. My
2-9-14 is what every President of the United States once was.
E. J. N.


HALF-SQUARE. I. Fortified houses. 2. Declared openly. 3
Firm. 4. To taunt. 5. Conducted. 6. A boy's nickname. 7. In
INCLUDED DIAMOND. i. In Artaxerxes. 2. A pledge. 3. Firm.
4. Sense, 5. A Roman numeral. F. E.

THE initials and finals spell the name of a former President of the
United States.
CROSS-WORDS: i. The name given to the Angel of Death by the
Mohammedans. 2. The surname of a musical composer who was
born at Catania, in Sicily, in the year 1802. 3. A dried grape. 4. Per-
taining to Asia. 5. A great river of China. 6. That which comes
yearly. 7. The Syrian god of riches. HARRY WITBECK.







CHARADE.-Scarabe.- EASY CROSS-WORD ENIGMA.-January. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.-- DOUBLE AcROsTIc.-Initials,
CENTRAL SYNCOPATIONS AND REMAINDERS.-Happy New Year. Benjamin Franklin. Finals, The Water American. Cross-words: x.
i. AcHes. 2. StAir. 3. RaPid. 4. HoPes. 5. PaYne. 6. LaNce. BeaT. 2. EartH. 3. NamE. 4. JackdaW. 5. AromA. 6. MeriT.
7. BrEad. 8. PaWns. 9. WaYne. o1. SpEar. r-. CoAst. ii. 7. IrE. 8. NeveR. 9. FleA. io. RuM. Is. AlonE. 12. NeveR.
CuRbs.-- NEW YEAR MAZE.-See diagram above. 13. KadI. 14. LaconiC. 15. IdeA. 16. NatioN.
ANAGRAMS.-i. Sheridan's Ride, by Thomas Buchanan Read. DIAMOND.-. P. 2. CAp. 3. CaRat. 4. ParAgon. 5. PaGan.
2. The Charge of the Light Brigade, by Alfred Tennyson. 3. The 6. TOn. 7. N.- WORD-DWINDLE.-I. Steamer. 2. Master. 3.
Death of the Flowers, by William Cullen Bryant. 4. Pictures of Steam. 4. Team. 5. Mat. 6. Ma. 7. M.
Memory, by Alice Cary. 5. The Old Clock on the Stairs, by NUMERICAL ENIGMA.-Elephant.-- RIDDLE.-Potentate.
SOLUTIONS TO NOVEMBER PUZZLES were received too late for acknowledgment in the January number, from Isabel Bingay,
Yarmouth, Nova Scotia, 6-Cynthia and Donny, Hanover, Germany, 7- Kittie Hanaford, 2.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE DECEMBER NUMBER were received before December 20, from "Suzette," 5-Bessie and her Cousin, 9-
Henry and Haedus, xo-Eddie A. Shipman, i-Cortlandt Field Bishop, i-Helen Drennan, 3-Ed. Browaski, x-H. G. Tombler, 3-
O. C. Turner, 9--Albert and Sheldon Emery, 7-Ella M. Faulkner, 3-Robert B. Salter, Jr., 8-Lizzie C. Fowler, 8-Olin W. Harwood, x-
Hattie Rockwell, 9-J. Buchanan Johnston, all-Anna and Alice, 7-Pansy, i-F. W. Blodgett, 3-Kenneth B. Emerson, 4-" Betsey
and I," all-Louis M. Fanning, 9-Dycie Warden, 8-Mamie Goddard, 3-Hermann D. Murphy, i-Lizzie H. D. St. Vrain, 7-Philip
De Normandie, 3-Belle and Bertie Baldwin, 9-Grace E. Hopkins, all-E. Stickney, 3-Sunflower and Daisy, all-Juliet S. Ryall, i-
Herbert Osborn, all-Wm. Jas. Battle, 5--Harriet B. Bandeau, 3-" Cal. I. Forny," 6-Willie Abbott, 5-Ellwood C. Lindsay, 9-
Lettie and Edith Sands, 4-Bertie Bassett, 8-Geo. A. B., 2-W. M. H., 2-Charles H. Bigelow, 3-" Georgia and Lee," 7-The Dawley
Boys, 6--"We Three," 7-Dora Landman, 4-Margaret S. Mcllvaine, 8-Bessie Taylor, 4-" X. Y. Z." and "Nameless," 7-Henry
B. Montague, 2-Frank Hill Moore, --Gertrude C. Eager, 8-Susie Goff, 5-Will J. Parkes, x-Lecie Riggs, --Maud Wotring, 2-
R. L. Milhau, 9-Floy, 6-E. C. Carshaw, 8-Laura Moores, i-"Dandelion and Clover," 5-Clara Willenbucher, 7-F. H. Roper, 8-
John M. Gitteman, 3-Bessie L. Barnes, 3-Philip Sidney Carlton, 8-Marguerite, 9-Wm. T. Frohwein, 3-Richard O. Chester, 4-Wm.
F. Woolard, 4-" The Stowe Family," 9- Constance M. Gerry, -" Firefly," 8-May Beadle, 6- Frank Heath, 9- R. T. Losee, 9-
Lizzie D. Fyfer, x--Able Ray Taylor, 5- "Buttercup," x- G. A. Lyon, Jr., 6--Maggie and Louisa Kelsay, I--S. Blair Fisher, x-
"Trailing Arbutus," 3- G. M. Fisher, 4- Helen's Babies," 9- Ella Louisa Bryan, 7- Three Larrabees, 4-Tom and Dick, 6- E. Vul-
tee, all-A. M. Kyte, 8-T. B. Dixcy, all--"So So," 8-R. A. Gally, 8-W. T. Mandeville, 4-F. L. Kyte, all-J. P. Cook, 9-
B. Manier, 7-" Sid and I," 8. The numerals denote the number of puzzles solved.