Front Cover
 Front Matter
 The sister months
 Pippo's ransom
 The bottomless black pond
 My great-grandmother
 The royal stag
 Mary queen of Scots: Part II
 On a grindstone
 A chapter on soap-bubbles
 "I wondered what made Robin...
 Phaeton Rogers
 The shining days of May
 The prince of the birds
 In nature's wonderland; or, Adventures...
 How Polly went to the May-part...
 Waifs from the gulf-stream
 The king and the clown
 Stories of art and artists: Fourth...
 Saltillo boys
 Head-dresses of animals
 The dandelion
 Little to-tote
 Eddy's balloon
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Matter
 Back Cover

Group Title: St. Nicholas.
Title: Saint Nicholas: Volume 8, no. 7. May 1881
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00101
 Material Information
Title: Saint Nicholas: Volume 8, no. 7. May 1881
Series Title: St. Nicholas.
Uniform Title: Saint Nicholas: Volume 8, no. 7
Alternate Title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner,
Publication Date: May 1881
Subject: Children's literature -- Periodicals.
Literature for Children
General Note: Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
General Note: Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00065513
Volume ID: VID00101
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: notis - ocm0176
oclc - 7405657; (DLC)SF 89099153
oclc - (DLC) 2006255186; 55136171

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Front Matter
        Front Matter
    The sister months
        Page 497
    Pippo's ransom
        Page 498
        Page 499
        Page 500
        Page 501
    The bottomless black pond
        Page 502
        Page 503
        Page 504
        Page 505
        Page 506
    My great-grandmother
        Page 507
        Page 508
        Page 509
    The royal stag
        Page 510
        Page 511
        Page 512
        Page 513
    Mary queen of Scots: Part II
        Page 514
        Page 515
        Page 516
        Page 517
        Page 518
    On a grindstone
        Page 519
        Page 520
        Page 521
        Page 522
    A chapter on soap-bubbles
        Page 524
        Page 525
    "I wondered what made Robin sad"
        Page 523
        Page 526
    Phaeton Rogers
        Page 526
        Page 527
        Page 528
        Page 529
        Page 530
        Page 531
        Page 532
        Page 533
    The shining days of May
        Page 534
    The prince of the birds
        Page 535
        Page 536
        Page 537
    In nature's wonderland; or, Adventures in the American tropics
        Page 538
        Page 539
        Page 540
        Page 541
        Page 542
        Page 543
        Page 544
        Page 545
    How Polly went to the May-party
        Page 546
        Page 547
        Page 548
    Waifs from the gulf-stream
        Page 549
        Page 550
        Page 551
    The king and the clown
        Page 552
        Page 553
    Stories of art and artists: Fourth paper
        Page 554
        Page 555
        Page 556
        Page 557
        Page 558
    Saltillo boys
        Page 559
        Page 560
        Page 561
        Page 562
        Page 563
        Page 564
        Page 565
    Head-dresses of animals
        Page 566
    The dandelion
        Page 567
    Little to-tote
        Page 568
    Eddy's balloon
        Page 569
        Page 570
        Page 571
    The letter-box
        Page 572
        Page 573
        Page 574
    The riddle-box
        Page 575
        Page 576
    Back Matter
        Back Matter
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text




'*r* i' I ',,
'i i '


'I I ,' I


,, lj




MAY, 1881.

[Copyright, 1881, by Scribner & Co.]



WHEN April steps aside for May,
Like diamonds all the rain-drops glisten;
Fresh violets open every day;
To some new bird each hour we listen.

The children with the streamlets sing,
When April stops at last her weeping;
And every happy growing thing
Laughs like a babe just roused from sleeping.

Yet April waters, year by year,
For laggard May her thirsty flowers;
And May, in gold of sunbeams clear,
Pays April for her silvery showers.

All flowers of spring are not May's own;
The crocus can not often kiss her;
The snow-drop, ere she comes, has flown;
The earliest violets always miss her.

Nor does May claim the whole of spring;
She leaves to April blossoms tender,
That closely to the warm turf cling,
Or swing from tree-boughs, high and slender.

And May-flowers bloom before May comes
To cheer, a little, April's sadness;
The peach-bud glows, the wild bee hums,
And wind-flowers wave in graceful gladness.

They are two sisters, side by side
Sharing the changes of the weather,
Playing at pretty seek-and-hide-
So far apart, so close together!

April and May one moment meet,-
But farewell sighs their greetings smother;
And breezes tell, and birds repeat
How May and April love each other.

VOL. VIII.-32.



No. 7.




"Now, SIT still, Nina mia, and turn your head
a little more this way, so-that will do."
"But, Pippo, I want to see you draw."
"Impossible, little one; you shall see it directly.
Ah! if only I had one of Padre Stefano's nice, clean,
white sheets of paper, it would be as good as the
wall of the stable, eh, Nina "
"But wont Father be angry when he sees the
great black cow you have drawn on the stable-wall,
Pippo ? I expected to see her turn her head and
look at me when I went in. And then Mother's
face on the plate on which you had your sweet-
meats I have not washed it off yet."
The speaker was a dark-haired little girl, with a
brown face, and large dark eyes, which she fixed
in tender admiration on the young artist, a boy
of about ten years, with thick, fair hair, and a
bright, intelligent countenance, who lay stretched
on the grass, and drew, on a carefully chosen white
stone, with a piece of burnt stick, the portrait of his
pet sister as she sat before him.
The sun was sinking behind the mountains, the
great dome of the Cathedral of Florence was begin-
ning to look dark against the clear blue sky, and
the children were thinking of driving the sheep they
had been sent out to watch toward the little farm
where they lived, when dash!-rush !-into their
peaceful little retreat burst a crowd of wild, dark-
looking men, with fierce black eyes, and rough
beards and hair. The leader called out:
Ha, excellent! Some fine fat sheep, and only
two small children to guard them. Don't let them
run off and give the alarm, now, Giacomo."
Little Nina's bright color faded from her cheeks,
and her eyes dilated with terror, as she flung her
spindle to the ground and flew to her brother, hid-
ing her face in his sheep-skin jacket, while he, tears
springing to his eyes, implored the brigands (for
such they were) to take pity on them, and leave
their sheep.
"Father will beat us both, and Mother will cry,
oh, so much Please, good brigands "
"Hold your tongue, you little fool, or I will give
you a worse beating than ever you had before," said
Giacomo, who, in obedience to the order of his
captain, held the two poor children firmly with his
strong hands.
"Now, then, let us be off, quick!" said the
captain to his men, who had been tying the sheeps'
legs together, and had slung them on their backs.
Ah, well, I know your faces now, and I shall

describe them to my father, and then we shall see.
if we can't find you, you rascals !" cried Pippo,
stamping his feet in impotent rage.
"Very well, young Spit-fire; you shall come
along with us, and so you wont be parted from
your precious sheep," said the captain, with a
laugh. "The boy has a spirit of his own; he is.
worthy of becoming one of us, so pack him up,
Giacomo, and make him hold his tongue, or he'
will have some one upon us."
At this, Nina burst into a passion of sobs:
"Oh, good sirs, leave him; oh, don't take Pippo I
I will give you my little gold cross, my ear-rings,
anything, only leave me my brother; it will break
Mamma's heart, and Father will have no one to.
help him in the fields; oh, do listen to me "
"Thank you for the cross, little one, and the
ear-rings too, since they are gold. And now,
good-bye; don't'cry your pretty eyes quite out; as
for Pippo, he goes with us; and you may thank
your stars we don't take you too, but you would
be in the way, pretty one "
So saying, the robbers started off with their
booty, regardless of the prayers and struggles of
little Pippo. But he was blindfolded, and was soon
quieted by the coarse threats of the ruffians, who
journeyed swiftly through the country. They hid
themselves behind trees and rocks whenever a
sound was heard; this, however, happened but
seldom, as they kept away from the roads and any
houses or cottages near which their way led them.
At last, they reached a large cave, the approach
to which was hidden' by trees and shrubs. On
entering, a huge, burly form raised itself from the
ground, and greeted them with:
Well, what news? I hope you have brought
something for supper; the fire is lighted, but I have
nothing better than chestnuts to cook. Hallo! a
boy and a very pretty one, too; but by his clothes,
I should say not a frincifino [young prince] nor a
marckesino [young marquis], therefore not much
of a ransom to be had for him, eh, Capitano ?"
"Well, who knows, Bonifaccio? Some of these
contadini [peasants] have plenty of money, and,
besides, he seems a bold little lad, and may prove
useful to us. However, just now we are all starv-
ing, so let us have some supper. You see, we
have something else besides the boy."
The brigands all busied themselves in preparing
the meal, and ere long a joint of one of poor Pip-
po's sheep was smoking on the table, flanked with a



i88i.) PIPPO'S

huge bowl of chestnuts, several flasks of wine, and
two or three loaves of brown-looking bread. Boni-
faccio, who looked somewhat less rough and fierce
than the rest of the troop, made room for Pippo
beside him on the rude wooden bench, and pressed
him to eat. But the poor little fellow's heart was
too full, and though he struggled bravely to keep
back his tears, yet there was an uncomfortable
feeling in his throat that took away all his appetite,
particularly when he thought of his home, with the
kind, gentle mother, the dear little sister, and his
father, who, although sometimes rather rough and



fatigue, the tears hanging on his long lashes, and
his pretty curls lying in a yellow tangle on his un-
comfortable pillow.
Little Nina, left alone after the departure of the
brigands who carried off her brother, threw herself
in despair on the ground, sobbing bitterly, but the
darkness, at last, made her think of home, and
accordingly, she set off, running. Meeting her
mother, who had come to the door of their little
farm-house, wondering and anxious because the
children had not returned, Nina burst forth with
an account of what had befallen them, but in such







stern, yet loved him dearly. How distressed they
would be at his having been carried off!
Meanwhile, the supper continued; the robbers,
after each draught of wine, began to talk loud
and tell wild stories of their venturesome exploits.
Then, after some noisy games with a pack of cards,
they laid themselves down on heaps of straw, and
covered themselves with blankets and skins. A
huge dog was then set at the opening of the cave
to guard them while they slept, and soon they all
were snoring.
Bonifaccio showed Pippo a little corner of straw
beside him, saying: "Come with me, little boy,
you shall have a bit of my blanket. It 's of no
use to look at the door; Moro would tear you to
pieces if you should try to get past him. So, good-
night; sleep well."
Pippo, when the darkness quite hid him, quietly
sobbed himself to sleep, worn out with grief and

a state of despair and agitation, that it was some
time before the mother could succeed in under-
standing what had really happened.
Then she, also, was overcome with grief, and
rushed to the door, hoping to see her husband
returning from the town, where he had gone to sell
his wheat. At last, wheels were heard, and the
father, tired, but pleased at getting home, jumped
down with a merry shout. He was about to enter
the house, when his wife and Nina came out, weep-
ing, their faces pale; and, as they stood wringing
their hands, they told him the disastrous news.
"Ah, you see, Maria," said the farmer, "the
rascals knew that all the men would be in town,
as it is market-day, but still, it was very daring.
My poor boy! I '11 go back immediately to Flor-
ence, to consult the authorities, but it will be very
difficult to get a hearing at so late an hour."
Not long after, the father returned, saying he





could obtain no assistance till morning, and even
then, the officer to whom he had spoken said he
feared there was not much chance of finding those
brigands, as they were in strong force and very bold,
and were hiding somewhere in the mountains, where
it would be very dangerous and difficult to approach
them. They all went to bed with heavy hearts, and
it was long ere the anxious parents slept, wondering
on what sort of couch their poor child was lying.
The next morning, the brigands made a hasty
meal of the remainder of their supper, and started
off, saying they expected a rich booty that day, for
the carriage of a nobleman was to come along a
road near by, and they intended to waylay it.
Bonifaccio was left on guard, and seemed pleased
to have a little companion.
Don't be down-hearted, little man; it 's a
very jolly life we lead, and a lad of your spirit will
much prefer it to tending sheep, or working in the
fields all his time."
So saying,, he filled his pipe, and sat down to
"What is this, Signor Bonifaccio?" timidly
inquired Pippo, taking up a wooden palette from
a bench by the wall. It had lain some time, for
the colors were dried upon it.
That is something to do with painting, my
boy, though I don't know what, exactly, and there
is a box with the colors and brushes, if you look a
little farther. Last time I went out with the band,
we came across a tall artist, sitting in the fields,
preparing to sketch, and, as he had no money, we
took away his box, brushes, and even his canvas,
thinking they would, at least, do for fire-wood, if
they should prove of no other use to us. He was
very angry, but he ought to have been only too
glad that we left his skin whole and sound."
Tell me some more of your adventures, Signor
Very well; and Bonifaccio proceeded to relate
how they had once found a richly dressed little boy,
of about Pippo's age, and had carried him off to
the cave, and then sent one of his little embroidered
shoes to his father, threatening to kill the child
unless a large ransom were paid, or if any attempt
were made to rescue him by force. How the ransom
was paid, and the little boy taken back by Boni-
faccio, disguised as a peasant, and how happy the
mother was to have her child back again.
When he had finished the story, Pippo took him
the canvas, on which he had, roughly, but pretty
accurately, painted the head of Bonifaccio.
Bravo Why, I never saw a boy so handy as
you. Why, there are my eyes, my nose, my
beard,-everything complete! Well, you ought
to be an artist, Pippo, not a farmer !" cried Boni-
faccio, dropping his pipe in his' astonishment, and

stroking his beard, evidently much gratified, and
looking with great admiration at his portrait, while
Pippo's cheeks flushed with pleasure.
Oh, what joy it would be if only I could have
a box like that, and paint every day !" exclaimed
Pippo. "Do, dear Signor Bonifaccio, let me run
home now. I can never be a brigand, and should
only be a useless trouble to you all."
Run home, indeed!" said Bonifaccio, not ill-
naturedly. "Well, wait till the captain comes
home, and we shall see what can be done for you."
Pippo described his home, and his little sister,
who had been so distressed at losing him, and had
only just finished his account, when the brigands
came trooping in, very hungry, but in excellent
spirits, throwing money on the table, to astonish
their comrade, Bonifaccio. He, in return, showed
Pippo's work, and the captain, who, being a little
more educated than the rest, appreciated the paint-
ing still more than Bonifaccio, was surprised to find
so much talent in the little peasant.
You shall paint me, now, and then we shall see
what reward you shall have," said he. Pippo took
pains, and succeeded in rendering the fierce back
eyes, and long, pointed -mustache, to the satisfac-
tion of the noble captain, and then he begged, as
his reward, to be allowed to return home. Boni-
faccio seconded the boy, representing to the cap-
tain the uselessness of keeping the child, and,
at last, the leader consented to let him go, first
making him promise solemnly not to betray their
retreat. He ordered him to be led some distance
blindfolded, so that he never could find the way
back, even if the soldiers should try to compel
When the evening twilight had arrived, he sent
Pippo, accompanied by one of the band, and, to
his great delight, with the paint-box and palette in
his hands, down the rough mountain path. At
last they arrived at a forest, and the brigand, tell-
ing Pippo he had but to go straight on toward the
dome of the cathedral, uncovered his eyes, said
"Addio," and left him.
Pippo trudged joyously on, thinking of the
account he would give to his parents of his time in
the cave, and of the arguments he would employ
to induce his father to let him go to Florence and
study painting. After the art had been his ran-
som from the cave, surely his father would not
think it of no use, and a mere waste of time !
But night was fallen, and he no longer saw the
friendly dome. So, fearful of going still farther
from home in the darkness, and being very weary,
he at last crept into a large hollow tree, and, pil-
lowing his head on the treasured paint-box, fell fast
The sun was shining when he awoke, feeling





very hungry. Fortunately, Bonifaccio'had given
him some bread, so he refreshed himself with this,
and a little spring water, and set off in the direction
of his home. At last the dear home roof came in
sight, and Pippo, shouting in his joy, was answered
by the bark of a dog, that came rushing toward
him. Nina followed soon, with sparkling eyes, and
after her came the father and mother, scarcely able
to contain their joy. Pippo was embraced by all
three at once, and even'the little dog appeared to
share in the delight, for he kept jumping up and
frantically trying to lick his hands.
Let him have some breakfast, poor child," said
the mother, "and after that, he can tell us all his
Here, Nina, is your little cross-the captain
sent it back to you; and Father, look here cried
Pippo, eagerly, showing his box.
After his breakfast, he related all his doings in
the robbers' cave, and the means of his deliverance.
He ended, coaxingly: "And now, Padre mio, I
may go to study in Florence, may I not?-and
become a painter like Giotto. You will see what
pictures I shall make; do, please, let me go."

"Well, Pippo, my boy, I shall see. I am afraid
you are not worth much to guard the sheep, so I
shall talk to Padre Stefano, and see if I can afford
it. Meanwhile, paint a portrait of Nina, that I
may take with me to some painter and ask his
opinion of it."
Pippo set to work, and, inspired by the hope of
gaining the long-wished consent, produced a like-
ness, which the Florentine artist looked at with
great interest, finally declaring that it showed much
talent, and expressing astonishment on hearing the
youth of the painter.
Send him to me, my friend," said he to Pip-
po's father; "you have there a genius. I shall be
delighted to guide his efforts, for I am sure he will
hereafter do me honor."
And these words came true, for this little boy
was no other than Filippo Lippi, one of the great
painters of Italy. And his pictures, now more than
four hundred years old, are of priceless worth. Trav-
elers from all parts of the world go to see them.
Most of them are collected and exhibited in Flor-
ence, his native town, where he was employed for
many years by a great Duke of that time.



A\N OVWL,vwik aV-age of Joy,
O\nce (cha{sec ae K^Pt Qveenvay Boy.
TvTwill break In my Ne.w Shoes,
And, rTry (hiar.n" ATivfr-
AT.a ;t Di:Ta-bvt Alas! fo,, Boy.



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ABOUT half a mile from the town of Danford,
there was an extensive and beautiful piece of forest
land. Many of the trees were large and picturesque,
the ground beneath them was generally free from
unpleasant undergrowth and bushes, and, in some
places, it was covered with moss and delicately
colored wild-flowers; there were green open glades,
where the bright sunshine played fantastic tricks
with the shadows of the surrounding trees, and,
altogether, the Danford forest was a delightful
place, and any visitor, of ordinary reasoning powers,
would have supposed it to be a favorite resort of the
But it was not; very few persons, excepting now
and then some boys of a disobedient turn of mind,
ever visited it. The reason for this was the fact,
that near the center of the woods there lay a large
pond, which had a bad reputation. This pond was
so large, that in some parts of the country, where
such bodies of water are not common, it would have
been called a lake.
In ordinary cases, the presence of such a sheet
of water would have greatly added to the attrac-
tions of the place, but this pond exercised an
influence which overbalanced all the attractive
beauties of the woods, and made it a lonely and
deserted spot.
The reason of this was the peculiar.reputation of
the Black Pond. A great many strange things
were said about it. Its color was enough to mystify
some people, and terrify others, for it was as black
as ink. Persons who had stood upon its edge and
had looked down upon it, and over its wide ex-
panse, were unable to see an inch below the surface
of the water, which, instead of being in the least
transparent, appeared, when there was no wind,
like one of those dark-colored mirrors called
Claude Lorraine glasses," in which a whole land-
scape is reflected like a little living picture, with all
its proportions, its perspective, and its colors, per-
fectly preserved.
It might have been supposed that this lake would
have presented an attractive picture, on bright days,
when the sky, the clouds, and the overhanging
foliage were reflected in its smooth and polished
surface; but water which is as black as ink is not
the kind of water that people 'generally like to
look at. There are ordinary ponds and lakes and
rivers, in which the sky, clouds, and trees are re-
flected, in a way that is good enough for anybody.
But although it was, in color, such a blot upon

the beauty of the Danford woods, the blackness of
this pond was not the greatest objection to it. The
most dreadful thing about it was that it had no
bottom! There is something truly terrifying in the
idea of a body of water that is bottomless. There
are persons who would feel much safer in sailing
over those portions of the ocean which have been
proved to be five or six miles deep, than over the
vast expanses of rolling billows, where bottom has
never been found.
And it was well known that bottom had never
been found in the Black Pond. Sons had heard
this from their fathers, and fathers from their
fathers, for Danford was an old town, and the
Black Pond had always been the same, as far back
as the local history and traditions went.
For a long time no attempts at sounding, or
examining, in any way, the waters of the pond had
been made. Any undertaking of the kind would
have been too dangerous. There was no boat on
the pond, and it was not easy to carry one there,
and if persons wished to go out in the middle of the
pond to make soundings, a raft would have to be
built, and the consequences to any one falling off
this would be too terrible to contemplate. Even
the best swimmer would fear to find himself in
water where he would probably become cramped
and sink, and be sucked down, and down, and
down, nobody knows where.
In winter, when the pond was frozen over, and
so might have offered a temptation to the skating
boys of the town,-for there are boys who think
that any kind of water is safe, if it is covered with
ice,-the parents and guardians of Danford so
sternly forbade any venturing on the surface of
that dangerous pond, that no owner of skates ever
dared to try them on the dark ice which covered a
still darker mystery beneath.
In fact, those boys who had ever ventured to the
edge of the pond, in winter or summer, had gener-
ally been fellows, as has been intimated before,
who had been told never to go near it.
And so it happened that the presence of this
dismal piece of water made people unwilling that
their children should go into the woods, for fear
that they might wander to the pond. And, as they
did not wish to do themselves what they had for-
bidden to their children, they took their own rural
walks in other directions, and the woods, thus get-
ting a bad name throughout that country, grad-
ually became quite lonely and deserted.





At the time of our story, there lived in the town
of Danford, a man named Curtis Blake, who was
well known on account of a peculiar personal char-
acteristic. He had no arms. He had been a sol-
dier, and had lost them both in battle.
Curtis was a strong, well-made man, and as he
had a very good pair of legs left to him after the
misfortunes of war, he used them in going errands
and in doing anything by which walking could be
made useful and profitable. But, as there was not
much employment of this kind to be had, he fre-
quently found himself with a great deal of time-
not on his hands exactly-but which he could not
advantageously employ. Consequently he used to
ramble about a good deal in a purposeless sort of
way, and, one summer afternoon, he rambled into
the Danford woods.
He found it very cool and pleasant here, and he
could not help thinking what a pity it was that the
towns-people could not make a resort of these
woods, which were so convenient to the town and
so delightful, in every way. But, of course, he
knew that it would never do for families, or for any
one, in fact, to frequent the vicinity of such a dan-
gerous piece of water as the Black Pond.
And, thinking of the Black Pond, he walked on
until he came to it and stood upon its edge, gazing
thoughtfully out upon its smooth and somber
If I had arms," said Curtis to himself, I 'd
go to work and find out just how deep this pond is.
I 'd have a boat carted over from Stevens' Inlet-
it 's only four or five miles-and I 'd row out into
the middle of the pond with all the clothes-line I
could buy or borrow in the town, and I 'd let down
a good heavy lead, that would n't be pulled about
by currents. I 'd fasten on line after line, and I think
there would certainly be enough rope in the whole
town to reach to the bottom. But, having no
arms, I could n't lower a line even if I had a boat.
So I can't do it, and I 'm not going to advise, any
,other folks to try it, for ten to one they 'd get
,excited and tumble overboard, and there would be
an end of them, and I 'd get the blame of it. But
I 'd like to know, anyway, how soon the bottom
begins to shelve down steep. If we knew that, we
could tell if there 'd be any danger to a little cod-
ger, who might tumble in from the shore. And if
it does shelve sudden, the town ought to put up a
high fence all around it. I 've a mind to try how
deep it is, near shore."
If Curtis had been like other men, he would have
cut a long pole, and tried the depth of the pond, a
short distance from land. But he could not do
that, and there was only one way in which he could
-carry out his plan, and that he determined to try.
He would carefully wade in, and feel with his feet

for the place where the bottom began to shelve
down. This was a rash and bold proceeding, but
Curtis was a bold fellow and not very prudent, and
he had become very much interested in finding out
something about the bottom of this pond. It was
not often, now, that he had anything to interest
He wore high boots, in which he had often
waded, and his clothes were thin linen, of not very
good quality, so that if they became blackened by
Sthe water, it would not much matter. As for tak-
ing cold, when he came out, Curtis never thought
of that. He was a tough fellow, and could soon
dry himself in the sun.
Having made up his mind, he did not further
delay, but stepped cautiously into the water. Even
near the shore, he could not see the bottom, and
he moved very slowly out, feeling his way carefully
with one foot before he made a step. He did not
expect that the bottom would begin to descend
rapidly, very near the shore, but as he got out, ten
or fifteen feet from land, and found the water was
considerably above his knees, he began to take
still greater precautions. He advanced sidewise,
standing on one foot and stretching the other
one out, as far as he could, to make sure that he
was not on the edge of an unseen precipice. In
this way he went slowly on and on, the waterget-
ting deeper and deeper, until it was up to his waist.
He now felt a slight rise in the bottom before him.
This made him very cautious, for he knew that
where there was a great opening down into the
bowels of the earth, there was, almost always, a
low mound thrown up around it, and this mound
he had probably reached. It sloped up very gently
on the side where he was, but on the other side it
might go down, almost perpendicularly.
So no man ever moved more slowly through the
water than did Curtis now. A few inches at a time,
still feeling before him with one foot, he went cau-
tiously on. He was very much excited, and even a
little afraid that he might unaware reach the edge
of the precipice, or that the ground might suddenly
crumble beneath him. He had not intended to
venture in so far. But he did not turn back. He
must go a little farther. He had almost reached
the edge of the great mystery of the Black Pond!
But he had not reached it yet. The ground on
which he stood still rose, although by slow degrees,
so that he was really higher out of water than he
had been, ten minutes before.
Suddenly, he looked up from the water, down on
which he had been gazing as if he had expected to
see some deeper blackness beneath its black sur-
face, and glanced in front of him. Then he turned
and looked behind him. Then he stood still, and
gave a great shout.





The shout echoed from the surrounding woods;
the birds and the insects, and the rabbits, which
flew, and hummed, and jumped about so freely in
those solitudes, must have been amazed! Such a
shout had not been heard near the Black Pond in
the memory of any living thing.
It was repeated again and again, and it was a
shout of laughter!
No wonder Curtis laughed. He was a good deal
more than half way across the pond! He had
walked right over the place where that mysterious
depth was supposed to be, and the water had not
reached his shoulders. The gradual rise in the
bottom, which he supposed to be a mound, was
the rise toward the opposite shore !
When Curtis Blake had finished laughing, he
pushed through the water as fast as he could go,-
he almost ran,-and in a very few minutes he stood
on the bank, at the other side of the pond. He
turned and looked back over the water. He had
crossed over the very middle of the pond !
Then he laughed and laughed again, forgetting
his wet clothes, forgetting everything but the fact
that he, without ropes or leads or boat or raft, or
even arms, had found the bottom of this dreaded
piece of water, that he had actually put his foot
upon the great mystery of the Black Pond !
When his merriment and delight began to quiet
down a little, he waded into the water again, at a
different point from that where he came out, and
crossed the pond in another direction, this time
walking freely, and as rapidly as he could go.
Then he ran in again, and walked about, near the
middle. In no place was it much above his waist.
When Curtis was fully convinced that this was
the case, and that he had walked pretty nearly all
over the bottom of Black Pond,-at least, that part
of the bottom where the water was the deepest,-
he came out and went back to the town.
Curtis met no one as he hurried along the road
from the woods, but as soon as he reached the
town he went into a large store, where he was well
acquainted. There were a good many people
there, waiting for the afternoon mail, for, at one
end of the store was the post-office.
Why, Curtis Blake !" exclaimed a man, as he
*entered. "You look as if you had been half
"I ought to look that way," said Curtis, "for
I 've been to the bottom of the Black Pond."
No one made any response to this astounding
assertion. The people just stood, and looked at
one another. Then Mr. Faulkner, the owner of
the store, exclaimed:
Curtis, I am ashamed of you! You must be
No man ever saw me tipsy," said Curtis, with-

out getting in the least angry. He had expected
to astonish people, and make them say strange
"Then you are crazy," replied Mr. Faulkner,
"for no man could go to the bottom of Black
Pond, and come back alive."
"There is n't any bottom !" cried one of the
little crowd. '"How could he go to the bottom
when there is no bottom there ?"
This made the people laugh, but Curtis still
persisted that what he had told them was entirely
correct. Not a soul, however, believed him, and
everybody began to try to prove to him, or to the
rest, that what he had said could not possibly be
true, and that it was all stuff and nonsense. There
was so much interest in the discussion, that no one
thought of going to see if any letters had come
for him. There could be no more exciting news
in any letter or newspaper than that a man avowed
he had gone to the bottom of Black Pond.
"Well," said Curtis, at last, these clothes are
getting to feel unpleasant, now that I 'm out of the
sun, and I don't want to stay here any longer to
talk about this thing. But I '11 tell you all, and
you can tell anybody you choose, that to-morrow
morning, at nine o'clock, I 'm going again to the
bottom of Black Pond, and any one who has a mind
to, can come and see me do it."
And, with these words, he walked off.
There was a great deal of talk that evening in
Danford about Curtis Blake's strange statement,
and about what he had said he would do the next
day. Most persons thought that he intended some
hoax or practical joke; for a man 'without arms,
and who, therefore, could not swim, could not go
to the bottom of an ordinary river and expect to
come back again alive. Of course, anybody could
go to the bottom and stay there. There was cer-
tainly some trick about it. Curtis was known to be
fond of a joke. But whatever people thought on
the subject, and there were a good many different
opinions, every man and boy, who could manage
to do it, made up his mind to go, the next day, at
nine o'clock, and see what Curtis Blake intended
to do at Black Pond. Even if it should turn out
to be all a hoax, this would be a good opportunity
to visit the famous pond, for, with so many people
about, there could not be much danger. Quite a
crowd of interested towns-folk assembled on the
shore of the Black Pond, the next day, and Curtis
did not disappoint them.
About nine o'clock he walked in among them,
wearing the same boots and clothes which he had
worn the day before, and then, after looking around,
as if to see that everybody was paying attention,
he deliberately waded into the pond.
At this, everybody held his breath, but, in a




moment, there arose calls to him to come back, and
not make a fool of himself. He had no board, no
life-preserver, nor anything with which he could
save himself, when he should begin to sink. But
fearful as the people were for his safety, not one
dared to run in and pull him back.
On he went, as he had gone before, only walking
a good deal faster this time, and the people now
stood still, without speaking a word or making a
sound. Every minute they expected to see Curtis
disappear from their sight forever. The birds, the
insects, and the rabbits might have supposed that
there was no one about, had it not been for the

that Curtis had built a bridge under water, and
that he had walked on it! As if a man, without-
arms, could build a bridge, and walk on it, without
seeing it !
Curtis, however, soon put an end to all con-
jectures and doubts by walking over the bottom of
the pond, from one side to the other, in various
directions, and by wandering about in the middle
in such a way as to prove to every one that there
was no mystery at all about the Black Pond, and
that it was nothing but a wide and nearly circular
piece of water, with a good hard bottom, and was.
not four feet deep in any part.


swashing of the man who was pushing through the
As Curtis approached the middle of the pond,
the excitement became intense, and some men
turned pale; but when he hurried on, and was seen
to get into shallower water, people began to breathe
more freely, and when he ran out on the opposite
bank there went up a great cheer.
Now all was hubbub and confusion. Most peo-
ple saw how the matter really was, but some
persons could not comprehend, at once, that their
long-cherished idea that the Black Pond had no
bottom, was all a myth, and there were incred-
ulous fellows, who were bound to have a reason
for their own way of thinking, and who asserted

The news of this discovery by Curtis Blake made'
a great sensation in Danford. Some people felt
a little ashamed, for they had taken a good deal of
pride in telling their friends, when they went visit-
ing, about the wonderful pond, near their town,
which had no bottom; but, on the whole, the
towns-people were very glad of the discovery, for
now they could freely enjoy the woods, and many
persons were astonished to find what a delightful
place it was for picnics and afternoon rambles.
As if no portion of mystery should remain about
the Black Pond, even the color of its water was in-
vestigated and explained. Some scientific gentle-
men from a city not far away, who came to Danford
about this time, and who heard the story of the:




pond, went out there and examined into the cause
of its inky hue. They said that it was due, like the
darkness of the water of many creeks and pools,
to the overhanging growth of pine, hemlock, and
similar trees which surrounded it. They did not
explain exactly how this darkening process had
been carried on, but they said it probably took
hundreds of years to make the pond as black as it
now was, and nobody doubted that.
But although the woods and the pond now
became a favorite summer resort with the' Danford
people, it was in winter that they really enjoyed the
place the most. Then the Black Pond was frozen
,over, and it made the finest skating ground in that
part of the country. And its greatest merit was its
.absolute safety. Even if a small boy should break
through,-which was not likely to happen,-any
man could step in, or reach down and take him
out. The ice was generally so thick that there was
scarcely three feet of water beneath it, in the deep-
.est parts.
On fine days, during the cold months, people
-came out to the pond, in carriages and on foot, and
they had gay times, with their skating, and their
games on the ice. But they were hardly so gay as
the folks who could not come in the day-time, but
had to do their skating in the evening. On moon-
light nights, the pond was beautiful, but the skaters
came on dark nights, all the same, for lamp-posts

were set up in different parts of the pond (holes
were cut in the ice, and they were planted firmly
on the bottom), and thus the pond was made as
bright and cheerful as the merriest skater could
Among the merriest skaters was Curtis Blake,
for skating was one of the few things he could do,
and Mr. Faulkner gave him a capital pair of
But this was not all the reward he received for
solving the mystery of the Black Pond. Several
of the leading citizens, who thought that the town
owed him something for giving it such a pleasant
place of resort, consulted together on the subject,
and it was decided to make him keeper of the woods
and pond. He had a couple of old men under him,
and it was his duty to see that the woods were kept
in order in summer, and that the pond was free
from snow and obstructions in winter.
And thus the great mystery of the Black Pond
came to an end. But there were elderly people
in the town, who never went out to the pond, and
who believed that something dreadful would hap-
pen there yet. There used to be no bottom to the
pond, they said, and they should not wonder if,
some day, it should fall out again.
"Yes," said Curtis Blake to one of these, "I
expect that will happen,-just about the time my
arms begin to grow."



OH, tell me when does Someday come,
That wonderful bright day,
Where all the best times are put off,
And pleasures hid away!
I know the rest of all the days
Just as they read and run;
Can say and spell them week by week,
And count them one by one.

They bring me, now and then, fine things,
Gay toys, and jolly play;
But never, never such fine things
As are kept hid away
In that great wonder-land that lies
Forever out of sight,
Which I can never, never find
By any day or night.

But sometime, ah, I 'm very sure,
When I grow big and tall,
I '11 find the way to that Someday,
And, hidden there, find all
The treasures I have wanted so,
And missed from day to day-
The treasures they have always said
That I should have Someday.






' HE never expected
me to tell you about
I in fact, she never
_:,pcted me at all.
P Fi:'.ple do not begin
b I, being great-grand-
motniers, though you
m n-,ht have thought
Sh. looked very like
'*& one, if you had

,' ', caught sight
F of her in her
.. quaint dress,
-.: ... tripping along
'-,-"' .'". "' thewidegravel-
.' boutt the spacious
/ ir. funds ; orifyouhad
ic' her leaving the
S steps of the old family
mansion for the visit that
/ I shall tell you about. It
was Sunday morning, and,
although she was not going to church, she had
a leather-covered prayer-book folded in her hand-
kerchief in one hand. In the other was a small
basket covered with a napkin. Her name, Meli-
cent Moore," was written in the book. She
went out and climbed upon the tall horse-block,
and stood there tilting about, first on one foot,
and then on the other, for she had not begun to
feel grandmother, and it was hard to keep still
with the sun twinkling at her through the sweet
gum-tree, and all the birds singing their mer-
riest. Her father came out presently, and when
he was settled in his saddle, and her mother
on a red velvet pillion behind him, he reached out
a strong arm and lifted Melicent up in front of him.
The great horse stepped off as easily as if he con-
sidered the load not worth mentioning, and so they
rode on through the piny woods; for this was in
Virginia, in Ithe good Old Colony times, when
people lived in peace, and prayed for Parliament
and King George. The sandy road was carpeted
with brown pine-needles, and everything was so
sweet, and warm, and spicy, that Melicent began
to chatter, but her father said gravely:
"The Lord is in His holy temple; let all the
earth keep silence before Him."
Melicent did not quite understand, but she kept
silence, and wondered-wondered why the birds

sang on Sunday, and where the Lord staid on
week-days, and why He did n't like to hear little
girls talk.
By and by, they came to a shallow brook. It
was as full of sunshine as it could hold, and carried
it right down through the woods. The road
crossed it, and went on beyond it; but at the ford
a narrow foot-path came in, leading along the bank
as if it was lonesome, and kept close to the brook
for company.
Melicent knew the path yery well. She traveled
it every day to the next plantation, when she went
to lessons with her three cousins and their gov-
erness. She was going now to see Phillis, a very
old negro woman, who had been her mother's
nurse, and who insisted upon living by herself in a
little cabin out in the woods. Phillis was born in
Africa, and had been a princess in her own land,
she said, which might very likely have been true.
She loved her mistress, but she scorned the other
servants, and to the day of her death was an
obstinate old heathen at heart, recognizing the
Bible and the prayer-book, and the heaven they
taught about, as very good for white folks, but
expecting beyond a doubt to go straight to Africa
the moment her spirit should be free.
Melicent's father stopped at the ford, and put
her carefully down from her perch.
Remember the Sabbath day, my daughter,"
said her mother, "and read to Phillis the lessons I
marked in your prayer-book."
Yes, Mamma," said Melicent, and stood a
moment to watch the black horse step slowly into
the bright water, and put down his head to drink
right in a swirl of dancing ripples. It looked as if
the little flecks of gold were running into his
mouth, and she laughed to herself very softly, and
then went on up the brook. Phillis's cabin stood
in a little hollow, so that you could not see it until
you suddenly found the brown roof right at your
feet, as you sometimes find a ground-bird's nest.
The cabin was so weather-beaten, and so covered
with creepers, that it looked a good deal like a nest
in the tangle.
Melicent went on watching the brook, and the
birds, and the squirrels, and thinking that, when
she should become an old woman, she, too, would
have a lovely little cabin in the woods, when, all
of a sudden, she stopped on the top of the knoll,
and looked down into the little empty hollow.
The brown nest was gone as completely as if



some great tricksy fellow had picked it
carried it off in his pocket !
Melicent's heart thrilled with fear and
ishment.. The sunshiny woods seemed
I '. i i.] : I I. d t'' '. 0 L- 1

up and


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Sb n-,..] h,- k-h..,.i ..i "
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b .,,l l,;i..l ; ,.,1 i h ,.I
W l: t ![,2!, *I,.l

doubt of that; she could see the ashes and a
few charred logs, but where was poor old Phillis?
May be they had taken her away to Uncle Hil-

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I' 'i


bur i l, l 1, I -(
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* \yCrca~t CIrsdt~m ris.ra b ~ ._ e

Just then she remembered the verse she had
learned that morning: "Therefore will we not
fear, though the earth be removed." She felt
as if some one had spoken the words to her,
and she walked bravely down into the hollow.
The cabin had been burned: there was no

dreth's, and Melicent looked down the path with
an idea of going to see, when she caught sight
of a handkerchief waved feebly from a little play-
house of rails and pine-branches which she and
her cousins had made just back among the trees.
She was there in a moment, down on her knees by





Phillis, kissing her wrinkled, old face, and calling
her as loving names as she might have lavished
upon her own beautiful grandmother.
Oh, Phillis I thought you were burned up. I
was so frightened. What made the house burn ?"
"Don' know; fire mos' likely; could ye make
me a cup o' tea, honey? The things is all in that
heap, whar I dropped them. The tea is in a blue
mug, and I kivered up some coals in the bake-
kittle; but I 'se powerful weak this morning. "
Melicent remembered her basket, and brought
out a bottle of blackberry cordial which seemed
to refresh Phillis wonderfully, and then the child


that her father was coming to the ford. But it
seemed to her that ages and ages went by, and an
awful stillness crept up from the woods. The
brook was all in the shadow, now. What if they
should forget to stop for her, and she and Phillis
should have to stay there all night ? She looked
at Phillis again, and crept a little farther away.
She was so still, and there was something cold in
her face it made her feel lonesome to be near her.
She got up softly and sat under the big pine, and
watched and listened, and fell asleep.
Away down at the ford the hunting-whistle
sounded sweet and clear. Not very loud, for it was

.^ -. '.A $ -., .' .

.:.) '*, .^A r .' -* "' -. --_-__ "'_

'. "" ,i ]' r. ,-.- : ^ ; 1 :"

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made her a cup of tea. She was sorry for Phillis,
but it was prime fun to have the old woman in her
play-house, and actually to make tea herself, out
there in the woods. There was enough for both
of them in the little basket, and Melicent con-
scientiously read the lessons in the prayer-book,
though Phillis went to sleep. It was a long day,
after all, for. Phillis was too tired to tell her stories,
yet insisted that she should not go away.
Once, when Phillis had been asleep, she began
to talk in a strange language and throw her arms
about, and Melicent was afraid.
"Phillis," she said, "I think I 'd better call
Uncle Hildreth. I '11 run all the way."
Set still, honey. I 'se mighty comf'table; my
j'ints is wrenched draggin' the bed and things out
o' the fire," and Phillis went off in a doze again.
Melicent read her prayer-book, and listened for
the sound of the hunting-whistle that would tell her

Sunday, and the stillness was too sacred to be pro-
faned. The black horse waited, but no Melicent
came dancing down the path, so her father came,
and found her asleep under the pine-tree.
Oh, father," she said, when she waked in his
arms, the cabin is burned up, and Phillis is so
tired, she sleeps and sleeps."
Her father was a quiet man, and he only kissed
her, and carried her to where the black horse was
waiting impatiently, bearing her mother.
Take her home," he said to her mother, and
send Homer back to me. Old Phillis is dead."
Melicent's mother put one arm about her as they
rode home, but she did not ask many questions.
Is Phillis in heaven ?" asked Melicent, timidly.
I hope so," said her mother.
Because," said the little girl, "if they let her
choose, I know she 'd go to Africa, and then I never
shall see her again."





THE Royal Stag is born a pretty little black- structure falls off, and a new pair starts out. For
eyed baby, called a fawn. His coat is a soft about two months he hides himself in the deepest
golden-brown, spotted with white, and he is very solitude he can find, while the antlers grow to their
weak and helpless-like most other babies. He is full size, for during the time they are so soft they
more knowing than some lit- may be bent into any shape.
tle folk, though, for- They are protected by a
helpless as he is--he black skin, covered
knows how to with soft, vel-
take care of vety fur,


himself when men and horses come out to hunt,
and his mamma has to run for her life, leaving him
far behind. This is the baby's only trick, and it
is simply to lie down and keep perfectly still. In
that way he generally escapes being seen, and when
hunters and horses have gone home, and the
mother comes back, she is pretty sure to find her
little one all safe and well.
When the fawn is a year old, he arrives at the
dignity of his first horns, and is called no more a
fawn, but a brocket. Each succeeding year he gets
one more branch to his antlers, and increases in
beauty till he is full-grown and worthy of his proud
name-the Royal Stag.
His antlers are his glory, and are as wonderful as
they are beautiful. Every year the whole great

and are said to .be "in the velvet." When his
antlers are fully grown and hard, the proud stag
rubs them against trees and bushes till he tears off
the velvet in strings and tatters, and then he is
ready to take his place in society once more.
Hunting the stag has been the favorite sport in
Europe from the days of flint-head arrows till now,
when the few that survive the long war upon their
race live in parks provided for them, cared for by
armed keepers, and protected by strong laws.
The deer-parks are large, and inclose ample
forests, for though the beautiful shy creatures will
come hesitatingly around the sheds that men have
built, and timidly eat of the hay, and lick the salt
that men have provided, they are not tame. Ages
of hunting have made them quick to take fright.




In summer, when trees are green, and buds tender
and plentiful, they wander into the deepest parts
of the woods, and enjoy peace and solitude.
The picture shows a winter scene in a deer-park.
The fawns and their-mothers, perhaps more con-
fiding, or more ignorant of the world than the
fathers of the herd, are eating the sweet hay under
the shed, while the stags draw near cautiously,
watching carefully for darigers on the way.
At his post in the tree, is the gamekeeper or
forester, looking with interest at the herd, counting
the animals, and noting their age by the number
of branches on the antlers. He is also a hunter,
and so has a rifle, for when venison is wanted, it is
he who must select and bring it in; and he never
goes into the forest unarmed, since it is a part of
his duty to keep poachers away from the deer.
This park is in Germany, and under the shed-
roof is a loft for hay, which is put in through the
door you see in front. At the back, where the
deer are feeding, the fodder is thrown down into
the ricks, where the animals can get it.
The stag has an American cousin-the wapiti
-which is more interesting because it can be
tamed. Judge J. D. Caton, of Illinois, has kept
a herd of wapiti in a park for more than fifteen
years, and has written many interesting things
about them.
The baby wapiti is a pretty, spotted little fellow,
with one very cunning trick. It "plays 'possum";
that is, it pretends to be dead. One may take it
up and handle it, lay it down and walk off, and it
will be limp as a wet rag, not showing a sign of
life, yet-and this is what is funny-it does not
shut its eyes, but watches every motion with lively
interest. The first time Judge Caton saw one play
the trick, he thought it was paralyzed.
In this'family, the.does-or mothers-are often
tame and familiar, will eat out of the hand and sub-
mit to be stroked; but when they have young
fawns they are usually very shy, though the judge
had one that not only would let him pat her little
one and lift it to its feet, but really seemed to be
proud of his attentions. There is one thing, how-
ever, that always exasperates them to the wildest
fury, and that is the sight of a dog. No matter
how innocent and well-meaning, still less how big
and fierce, no sooner does a dog show his head in
the deer-park than every doe throws forward her
ears, shows her teeth, and flies at him.
No dog is brave enough to face the enraged
creature. To drop his tail and tear madly away,
yelping, and glancing fearfully back at his enemy,
is his irresistible instinct. When the doe over-
takes him, she strikes with her fore feet, and, if the
first blow knocks him down, the second finishes
him. Then the does lay back their ears, and

glance about in a defiant manner, as though they
said: "Now show us another dog "
The bucks care less about dogs, but they usually
join in the chase, following their excited partners,
probably to see the fun, and find, out who wins.
Forty or fifty full-grown deer, furiously chasing one-
small cur, is a funny sight. But often a whole pack
of dogs chase one poor deer, in Europe, so a lover of
fair play can not be very sorry that in this part of
the world the dogs have the worst of it, sometimes.
In winter the wapiti, in Judge Caton's park,
come on a run when the keeper calls, and readily
take food from his hand, crunching a large ear of
corn at one mouthful. He can go among them and
put his hand on them, and they are very tame. But.
in summer, when food is plenty in the woods, and
they are comfortably settled in the cool shade, or
lying in a delightful pool, the keeper may shout.
himself hoarse, and they pay no attention.
The wapiti is generally silent, but when angry
he utters a fearful squeal, so loud and high that it
sounds like a steam-whistle. When one hears that


sound, he may be thankful to have a good wall.
between him and the fierce creature.
It has been often said, and perhaps as often
denied, that deer shed tears. Judge Caton settles.
the question by a story of genuine tears shed by
one of his own animals, when caged and very much
frightened. He says, also, that the wapiti can
smile, or rather, can show "a horrid grin." It is.





when angry and threatening that he throws up his
head, draws back his lips, and uncovers his teeth,
which grate together horribly, as though longing
to bite one. When he is in this smiling mood,
visitors retire. A dig with his antlers, or a blow
with his sharp fore foot, is not to be desired.
However tame the wapiti becomes, and however
many things he submits to, there is a place where
he draws the line. He will not be driven through
a gate. One may open a gate, and leave it, and he
may walk through; but try to drive him, and he 's
off to the other end of the park.
All of this family change their dress twice a year.
The winter suit is of soft, thick fur, with an over-

coat of long, wavy hairs. When this is shed, it
falls off in great patches, hanging down a foot or
more; but the summer coat, which then comes to
light, is silky, fine, and of a bright russet brown.
Young wapiti may be broken to harness, taught
to live in a barn, and to draw loads.
The stag and wapiti have antlers sometimes five
feet long, and every branch has its name. The
body of the antler is called the "beam," the large
branches are called "tines," and the small ones
"snags." The first pair of branches, standing out
from the forehead, are called the "brow-tines";
the next pair the "bez-tines"; the third, "royal-
tines"; and the fourth, "sur-royal-tines."



THREE little maidens chanced, one day,
To meet together while at play;
" I 'm very glad you came this way,"
The first, a social little maid,
Delighted, to the second said:
" Tell me your name, and I '11 tell mine,-
It 's Cora Dora Waterpine."

The second giggled as she said
These words; she shook her curly head.
" Ach, ach ich kann dich nicht versteh'n,"
Back laughingly the answer sped,
Whilst to the third she spoke again:
" Was sagt das Madchen ? Wenn du 's weiszt,
Zu hiren wiirde ich gereizt."




The third-she was a merry wight-
Stood giggling, too, with all her might:
But, suddenly, her cheeks grew bright,
"En v6rit6 En v6rit6 !"
Softly, the others heard her say,
"Je sais que ce n'est pas poli-
Peut-on me blAmer si je ris?"

Three little maidens standing there,
Each with a puzzled, solemn air,
A moment silent, paused to stare
But, "If I ever! Speedily
The first one cried : It can not be
That my words are as yours to me;
Come, tell your names, and I '11 tell mine,-
It 's Cora Dora Waterpine."

But still the second shook her head,
Backward the merry answer sped,
E'en merrier than before she said:
"Ach, ach, ich kann dich nicht versteh'n!"
So to the other spoke again.
" Was sagt das Miidchen? Wenn du 's weiszt,
Zu h6ren wiirde ich gereizt."

And still the third-this jolly wight-
Stood giggling, too, with all her might;
Till once again her cheeks grew bright,
And once again they heard her say,
With accent soft and motion gay:
" En v6rit6 En v6rit6 !
Je sais que ce n'est pas poli-
Peut-on me blimer si je ris?"

Three little maidens, side by side,
Sat down and laughed until they cried,
And cried until they laughed again;
" Ach, ach, ich kann dich nicht versteh'n "
Uproarious burst the old refrain,
" Tell me your name, and I '11 tell mine,"
Cried Cora Dora Waterpine,
" En v6rite En verit6 "
It might have lasted all the day,
But such confusion breeding there,
There came a sudden deep despair-

With fingers in their ears, they say,
Three little maidens ran away.

VOL. VIII.-33.






('1 H. I ..: morning dawned,
.i r king, miserable
r. r '' he was, the poor
..r.. -,.1 murderer Darn-
1,. .r 'nto Mary's room,
a< :h .- -. at once the new
,I1' 11 I,- i ,. i she felt it neces-
"' i 'fl. he humbled her-
'' :h rr.m: t,,i, flattered him
.r 1 .1.i:-1 !ls pity, and grad-
i c.... .- d her influence
Sl 1 1.., a show of false
t '~. !'[r 'ih : ir. d assumed affec-
S..r.. I..1 .. d not feel, and
-.:h It i.-.....: possible that she
:.u-.l .'\r 1:r she worked upon
him so far that he undertook, with the
conspirators, to answer for her that she would not
punish them for what they had done, but would sign
an indemnity and pardon, and forget all that had
occurred, if they would withdraw and leave her un-
disturbed. They consented to do so reluctantly,
with very little faith in the promises made them,
feeling themselves betrayed as Mary had been, and
by the same hand. It was on the Saturday evening
that Rizzio had been murdered. On Monday Ruth-
yen and all the rest withdrew from Holyrood sullenly
with their men, leaving Mary under the guardianship
of her false and foolish husband. At midnight, on
the same night, her bold heart revived by the first
chance of liberty, Mary left the defenseless walls
of Holyrood, and, accompanied by Darnley and
the captain of her guard, rode off secretly, flying
through the dark and cold March night to the
castle of Dunbar. She was in delicate health, and
she must have been terribly shaken by these events,
but she was one of those people whose spirits rise
to every danger, and whom no bodily depression
can daunt or hinder. Fancy her riding through
the night, along the rough roads, with the traitor
husband by her side, whom she could not forgive,
yet pretended to regard with unchanged affection.
Mary, however, was soon at the head of public
affairs once more. She called her faithful nobles
about her at Dunbar, and quickly collected an army,




before which the conspirators fled, and she once-
more entered Edinburgh in triumph. Then Darnley
covered himself with greater shame than before.
He published a proclamation declaring he had had
nothing to do with the late cruel murder com-
mitted in presence of the Queen's majesty," swear-
ing on his honor as a prince that he never knew
of it, or assisted, or approved. It would seem that
he deceived Mary by this protestation, and that she
was disposed to believe him; but his fellow-con-
spirators were so indignant that they sent to her
bonds which he had signed, containing the bargain
between them; which was, that they should bestow
the royal power upon him, if he helped them in
the murder of Rizzio. After this discovery, Mary
had no pity for Darnley. She turned away from
him, and would hold no intercourse with him. He
was scorned and shunned by everybody. Though
he was called king, he was left alone wherever he
went, and was despised by all.
A few months later, their only child, James, who
was afterward James VI. of Scotland, and I. of
England, was born in a little room in Stirling
Castle. It was a strongly fortified place, and only
in such a castle could the Queen of Scotland hope
to be safe, she and her baby, from the fierce bands
that were roaming the country. Armed men,
angry faces, and drawn swords might soon have:
surrounded her if she had been in the more com-
modious rooms of Holyrood.
Stirling Castle is built on a rock, in the midst
of a beautiful valley; the mountains round about
are blue and beautiful, and the Links of Forth, the
windings of the silvery river, flow away through
rich levels to the sea. There could not be a place
more beautiful in a June morning like that on
which the little prince was born. He was to be
the successor of both the queens who then were
reigning within the British seas, and the greatest
monarch of his name; but he was born in a
little bare room of the great, stern castle, with a
gray precipice of rock below; and with soldiers
at their posts, and warders looking out from
the walls to see that no fierce army.was coming
against them to disturb the rest, or, perhaps,
take away the liberty or the life of the mother
and child. It was not a safe lot in those days
to be a queen. But I think, on the whole, Mary,
with her high spirit and her love of adventure,.
took more pleasure in all those risks, defying her
nobles, heading her army, sometimes flying, some-
times conquering, always-in danger and excitement,


than if she had lived safely and splendidly all her
life, and never known what trouble'was.
Now, however, all was dark and terrible before
this unhappy queen. Not long before, she had
recalled from exile a young nobleman, James Hep-
burn, Earl of Bothwell. He was a man as brave
and daring as herself, fond of pleasure as she was,
full of resolution and boldness,-not a weak youth,
like Darnley, but a bold and strong man.
And here begins the question which has dis-
turbed historians ever since, and still makes people
angry in argument, almost as ready to fight for
Mary, or against her, as when she was a living
woman. Some say that Mary and Bothwell loved
each other, and that from this time it became the
great object of both to get rid of Darnley, in order
that they might marry; while others tell us that
Mary was innocent both of loving Bothwell and of
desiring to procure her husband's removal, and
that it was Bothwell alone who was guilty. I can
not clear up this question for you. I do not think
Mary was innocent; and yet I can not believe that
she was so guilty as some think her.
One thing we may be sure of is, that she was
very unhappy. It was impossible for a woman such
as she was to do anything but despise the weak-
minded, cowardly young man who had betrayed
and deceived both her and his own friends. She
had made a terrible mistake in her marriage, and
she knew not how to mend it. I could wish
to be dead," she said, again and again, at this ter-
rible time. Once, the trouble in her mind really
brought on a violent illness, in which she thought
she was dying. All her friends gathered round her
sick chamber in deep anxiety, and her husband
was sent for; but Darnley did not come until she
was out of danger, and then only for a single night.
She was left alone, as far as he was concerned, to
bear the struggle in her own breast and everywhere
around her. Even when she received the embas-
sadors, they would find her weeping, and nothing
seems to have roused her from her melancholy.
Then her nobles, among whom were some of
the conspirators she had pardoned,-the very men
who had killed Rizzio, but who had made their
submission, and had been allowed to return to their
places,-began to pity the' unhappy queen; and
there was a proposal made to her to get a divorce,
and so be free of the husband who was her worst
enemy. She did not accept this proposal, but
neither did she reject it. "Better permit the mat-
ter to remain as it is, abiding till God, in his good-
ness, put remedy thereto," she said. Perhaps she
meant only what she said; but perhaps Mary knew
that there were plots going on which were more
of the devil than of God. And the fierce nobles
about ler, who thought no more of the life of a

man than sportsmen do of a deer's, were not likely
to hesitate about a murder. Bothwell was her
chief counselor, the boldest and fiercest of all; and
whether it be true or not that she loved him, it .is
certain that he loved her, and was ready to risk
everything for the hope of marrying her.
There are a number of letters, which were
found afterward in a casket, and are always called
the casket letters, from which the chief evidence
against Mary is taken. They are supposed to have
been written by her to Bothwell. If they are true,
then she knew all that was going on, and meant
her husband to be killed; but many people do not
believe them to be true. I am afraid I am one of
those who do believe in them. They are full of
misery and sorrow, yet of a wild love that pushes
the writer on when her better self draws her back.
" I am horrified to play the part of a traitress!"-
"I would rather die than commit these things !"-
"My heart bleeds to do them "-" God forgive
me !" she writes. Though these letters are full of
the most wicked purpose, you could scarcely help
being sorry for the wretched lady who wrote them,
and whose heart and life, you could see, were torn
in two. But I must not say more about this, for it
is too difficult a question for you or for me. There
are some very good authorities, and very able
judges, who think these letters are forgeries, and
were not written by Mary at.all.
But this is the history that followed: Darnley fell
ill at Glasgow, where he then was. He had small-
pox, which, you know, is a dangerous and dreadful
disease. Mary had been altogether estranged from
him, and had not seen him for a long time; but
when he was getting better she went to him sud-
denly, without any warning, sat by his bedside,
talked to him of all the complaints they had, one
against the other, explained her own conduct to
him, accepted, or pretended to accept, his explana-
tions on his side, and, in short, became reconciled
to her husband. It was a thing no one had hoped
for, or thought possible; but so it was. They
mutually promised to each other that all was to be
with them as at first, as soon as Darnley should be
well enough to resume his usual life. In the
interval, he was to be brought back to Edin-
burgh, but not to Holyrood, lest the little prince
should take small-pox from his father. This made
it appear quite natural that Darnley should have
a house prepared for him in an airy and open
place, just outside the gates of Edinburgh. The
place was called the Kirk of Field, and several
people of rank had houses there, with gardens, in
the fresh air outside the smoke of the town.
The strange thing about it was that the house
selected was a small and unimportant one; but
excuses were made for this, and the queen herself




went there to receive her husband, and remained
with him for a day or two, occupying rooms no better
than his. The house belonged to a dependent of
Bothwell's. Mary slept in a room immediately below
that of her husband, with a staircase between them,
which was left open and unprotected. For was not
the queen the guardian of the invalid?
One night, the Sunday after his arrival, Mary,
who was with Darnley, suddenly recollected that
she must go back to Holyrood, to the marriage
supper of one of her servants. She had either for-
gotten it or pretended to have forgotten it till the
last moment, and she and her train of attendants
then swept away, leaving the sick man lonely and
alarmed in his room with his page. Down-stairs,
in the room which Mary ought to have occupied,
her bed had been pushed out of the way, and
heaps of gunpowder laid in its place.
What happened in the darkness of that night is
imperfectly known. Darnley was a wretched
creature, not much worthy of pity, but when you
think of him there in that desolate room all alone,
with only one poor page to take care of hini, sick
and weak, and full of fears, you will be sorry for the
unhappy young man. It is said that the two
doomed creatures read the 55th Psalm together,
before they went to bed. Do you remember that
psalm? Fearfulness and trembling are come upon
me. The fear of death has fallen upon me. It is
not an open enemy that has done me this dishonor;
but it was even thou, my companion." Perhaps,
as they read it, they heard the heavy steps below,
the rustle of the powder emptied out of the bags.
A number of Bothwell's men were in full possession
of the house, occupying the room which Mary had
left vacant. Darnley went to bed and fell asleep,
with these enemies under the same roof; but woke
by and bj, and stumbled to the door in the dark-
ness, where he was seized and strangled, he and
his page, and their bodies were thrown into the
garden. Then there was a blaze of light, an ex-
plosion, and the house was blown up to conceal the
secret crime. But the bodies were found unharmed
next morning, notwithstanding this precaution;
the secret was not one that could be hid.
You may imagine what a tumult and confusion
was in Edinburgh next morning, when the dreadful
news was known. Everybody had heard the ex-
plosion, and the people were wild with excitement.
Mary shut herself up in -Holyrood, as if over-
whelmed with grief, and saw nobody but Bothwell,
to whom every suspicion pointed as the murderer.
If she were really innocent, it is impossible to
understand her conduct at this time. While the
town was ringing with this one subject, and the
names of the conspirators were bandied about from
mouth to mouth, she took no steps against any of

them, and kept Bothwell, the chief of them, con-
stantly with her. In a little while she went out of
Edinburgh to Seton Castle, the house of Lord
Seton, one of her most faithful servants, and there
recovered her gayety all at once, and resumed her
favorite amusements,-Bothwell' always remaining
with her, her companion and closest counselor.
Edinburgh, meanwhile, was wild with horror and
rage, putting up placards in the streets, with the
names of the murderers, and beginning to suspect
and to loathe the queen also, who had been so
much loved in her capital. This horror and
suspicion ran like fire through all the courts of
Europe. Wherever the story was told, Mary was
suspected. Everywhere, from England, from
France, from her own kingdom, entreaties came to
her to investigate the murder, and bring the
murderers to justice. But time went on, and she
did nothing; she who had been so energetic, so
prompt and rapid in action. It was not until a
month after that she would do anything. Then
there was a mock trial of Bothwell, before a jury of
his partisans, where no one dared to bring evidence
against him, and he was acquitted shamefully.
After this trial, the course of events was very
rapid. Three months after Darnley's death, Mary
married his murderer. In the interval, she had
been like a creature in a dream, and all that
happened to her was feverish and unreal. To veil
the haste and horror of the marriage, Bothwell pre-
tended to carry her off by force, and the nobles of
his party advised and urged her to marry him; but
these were things which deceived nobody at the
time. The two had scarcely been separate since
the moment of Darnley's death, and no one doubted
what their intention was. One of Mary's most
devoted friends, Lord Herries, took a long journey
to entreat her on his knees not to take this step,
which would convince all Europe of her guilt. But
no argument had any effect upon her. She had
taken her own way and done her own will all her
life hitherto, without much harm; but the same
rule was her destruction now.
Poor Mary! She was as much disappointed in
Bothwell as she had been in Darnley. The one
was too feeble and too fickle to be worth her con-
sideration, the other was harsh and cruel, and
treated her like a master from their wedding-day.
"She desires only death," the French ambassador
says; ever since the day after her marriage she
has passed her time in nothing but tears and
lamentations." And now everybody was against
her,-Elizabeth of England, the king of France, all
her relations and allies; and, within a month, all
Scotland was roused in horror of her and her new
husband. She summoned her forces round her,
an appeal which always, heretofore, had placed




her at the head of a gallant army; but this time
no one heeded the summons; and she had to flee
in disguise from one castle to another, in order to
escape the hands of her revolted nobles. To give
a color to their rebellion, they represented Mary as
being "detained in captivity" by Bothwell, so that
she was "neither able to govern her realm, nor try
the murderer of her husband." How many then,
and how many even now, would be glad to believe
that this was the case In June, Bothwell and she
together managed to collect a little army, quite
unable to cope with that of the indignant nobles.
They met at Carberry Hill, but the queen's little
force melted away before the other army, and she
was left at last with a forlorn guard of sixty gentle-
men, who would not forsake her. Then Bothwell
and she had a last interview apart. They took
leave of each other "with great anguish and
grief"; they had been a month married, and it
was for this that they had shown themselves
monsters of falsehood and cruelty before all the
world. They parted there and then for the last
time. Bothwell rode away with half a dozen fol-
lowers, and Mary gave herself up into the hands of
those nobles who had opposed her so often, who
had been overcome so often by her, but who now
were the victors in their turn.
You must remember, however, that though these
nobles had justice on their side, this had not been
always the case, nor was it the first time that a
Stuart had been a prisoner in their hands. Almost
all her forefathers had known what it was, like
Mary, to struggle with this fierce nobility, often for
selfish, but sometimes, too, for noble ends. But now
the people, as well as the nobles, were against her.
They waved before her eyes a banner on which
was painted a picture of the slain Darnley, with
the baby prince kneeling beside him and praying:
"Avenge my cause, oh Lord! "; they hooted her
in the streets; they had adored her, and now they
turned upon her. She was taken to Holyrood, not
as a queen, but as a criminal, surrounded by
frowning faces and cries of insult. Thence she was
sent a prisoner to the castle of Lochleven; Loch-
leven is a lake in Fife, full of little islands. On one
of these there was a monastery, on another a little
castle. The island was just big enough to make a
green inclosure, a little garden round the old walls,
now in ruin. Low hills stretch round, and, except-
ing in summer, the landscape is dreary and stormy.
The house was small, with narrow, bare rooms,
and shut round by the waters of the. lake, which is,
at times, almost as rough as the sea. Here Mary
was placed in the most rigorous confinement. She
had two of her ladies with her to take the place of
the gay court and all its amusements, and she was
not allowed to. step forth once from this prison, nor

to send letters, nor to receive them. No imprison-
ment could have been more rigid or more hard.
She was but twenty-five, most beautiful, most fas-
cinating and accomplished; the fairest queen in
Europe, the admired of the whole world.
What a bitter change from all her mirth and
amusements, her gay and free life, her royal inde-
pendence and supremacy Do you not say "poor
Mary!" notwithstanding all the wrong she had
done? And can you wonder that those who thought
she had done no wrong (and there are many still
who do), those who think she was only imprudent,
and that she had been forced to marry Bothwell,
and knew nothing about Darnley's death?-can
you wonder that they are still almost ready to
weep over Mary's sufferings, though they have
been over these three hundred years ? She lived
for twenty years after this, but, excepting for a very
brief interval, was never out of prison again. Nor
did she ever again see Bothwell, for whom she had
suffered so much.
You will find the story of the queen's captivity in
Lochleven in one of Sir Walter Scott's novels called
"The Abbot." No one else could give you such
an idea of what that was, and what Mary was. Sir
Walter loved the Stuarts, and persuaded himself
that Mary had not done much wrong. In his
description, you will see her at the best, most win-
ning, most charming, with her sympathetic mind
and her beautiful smile, and the kindness which
made people love her, and the wit which made them
fear her. If you read it, you will be angry with all of
us who do not believe in Mary; and, when I read
it, I should like to forget that miserable Darnley,
and try to think what a woman she might have
been had she married a man who was her equal, or
had she been like her cousin Elizabeth, wise and
crafty and clever, and never married at all.
She remained about a year in Lochleven, suffer-
ing all kinds of indignities; was forced to sign her
abdication, and was allowed no communication
with her friends save when she could, by elaborate
artifices, elude the t.. of her jailers; but at
last, in May, 1568, she escaped with one small
page, a boy of sixteen, who rowed her across the
lake to where her friends awaited her.
In a moment she was again the Mary of old,
with courage undaunted, and hope that was above
all her troubles. She rode all through the summer
night to Niddry Castle, knowing neither fatigue nor
fear; and there issued a proclamation, and called,
as so often before, her nobles round her. This
time many answered the call, and she was soon
riding in high hope at the head of a little army.
But the Regent Murray, on the other side,-who
was a wise and great statesman,-collecting a large
force, hurried after her, and at once gave battle.




Soon, it became apparent that Mary's day was over.
Her army was defeated, her followers dispersed.
She herself, thinking it better to take refuge with
her cousin Elizabeth, in England, than to fall once
more into the hands of her enemies at home,
crossed the Border, and there ended all her hopes.
She was promised hospitality and help. She
found a prison, or rather a succession of prisons,
and death. She thought she was to be received by
Elizabeth herself, but, on the contrary, she was
removed from one castle to another, from one set
of keepers to another, and never was admitted to
the presence of the Queen of England. I have not
space to tell you all the story of her long bondage.
All the events of her life which I have told you
occupied scarcely ten years.
For twenty years longer she lived a prisoner,
and if I were to tell you about all the schemes on
her behalf, and all the plots that were thought
of, and how many times she was to have
made a new marriage and begun a new life, I
should want a whole book to do it in.
But all Mary's schemes and hopes were now in
vain. For she had Elizabeth to deal with, who was
stronger than she was, and she had no loyal and
loving nation behind her, but only enemies and
stern judges wherever she turned. She was never
free of guards and spies and jailers, who watched
everything she did, and reported it all to the
English queen.
You must remember, at the same time, that it was
very difficult for the English government to know
what to do with this imprisoned queen. Had
Elizabeth died, Mary was the next heir, and she
was a woman accused by her own subjects of terri-
ble crimes. And she was a Catholic, who would
have thrown the whole country into commotion,
and risked everything to restore the Catholic faith.
If they had let her go free, she would have raised
the Continent and all the Catholic powers against
the peace of England. In every way she was a
danger. What was to be done with this woman,
who was braver and stronger and more full of
resources than almost any other of her time? They
could not break her spirit nor quench her courage,
whatever they did. They moved her from one
castle to another, and gave to one unfortunate
gentleman after another the charge of keeping her
in safety. Some men who loved her and took up
her cause, had to die for it. And every year she
lived was a new danger, a continued difficulty.
At last, after twenty years, Elizabeth pronounced
against this dangerous guest, this heiress whom she
feared, this cousin whom she had never seen.
Mary was removed to Fotheringay Castle, in
Northamptonshire, and there tried for conspiring
against Elizabeth, and trying to embroil the

kingdom. She was found guilty, and, indeed, it
was true enough that she had conspired, and en-
deavored, with every instrument she could lay her
hand on, to get her freedom. She was left alone to
defend herself against all the great lawyers and
judges brought against her-one woman among all
these ruthless men. Even her papers were taken
from her, and nothing was heard in her favor
excepting what her own dauntless voice could say.
She was as brave then, and as full of dignity and
majesty, as when all the world was at her feet. But
her condemnation was decided on, whatever there
might have been to say for her. She appealed to
the queen; but of all unlikely things there was
none so unlikely as that Elizabeth should consent to
see or hear her kinswoman. After her condemna-
tion, however, a considerable time elapsed before
Elizabeth would give the final order for her execu-
tion. It was sent at last, arriving suddenly one
morning in the gloomy month of February.
Nothing is more noble and touching than the
story of her end. The sweet and gracious and
tender Mary of Scotland, who had taken all hearts
captive, seemed to have come back again for that
conclusion; her gayety all gone, but none of her
sweetness, nor the grace and kindness and courtesy
of her nature. She thought of every one as she
stood there smiling and looking death in the face;
made her will, provided for her poor servants who
loved her, sent tender messages to her friends,
and then laid down her beautiful head, still
beautiful, through all those years and troubles,
upon the block, and died. It was on the 8th of
February, 1587, almost on the twentieth anniversary
of that cruel murder of her husband, which had
been the beginning of all her woes.
Thus died one of the most beautiful and re-
nowned, one of the ablest and bravest, and perhaps
the most unfortunate, beyond comparison, of
queens. A queen in her cradle, an orphan from her
youth, every gift of fortune bestowed upon her, but
no happiness, no true guidance, no companion in
her life. The times in which she was born, and the
training she had, and the qualities she inherited,
may account for many of her faults; but nothing
can ever take away the interest with which people
hear of her, and see her pictures, and read her
story. Had she been a spotless and true woman,
she might have been one of the greatest in history;
but in this, as in everything else, what is evil crushes
and ruins what is great. As it is, no one can think
of Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots, but with interest
and sympathy, and there are many in the world,
and especially in Scotland, who even nowi, three
hundred years after her death, are almost as ready
to fight for her as were the men among whom she
lived'and on whom she smiled.







THERE 'S a new stone just been put into the
grindin'-room, an' Thompson says that some one
will have to be taught to run it.''
The superintendent of the File Works looked up
from his paper at the speaker, and a smile broke
over his face as he scanned the grotesque figure be-
fore him. It was a boy of thirteen, who seemed to
have been suddenly plunged up to the neck in a
pair of men's overalls. His sleeves were rolled up,
and the small arms had tide marks around the
wrists, showing how high the water rose when he
washed his hands. A similar mark encircled his
neck. A square paper-cap adorned his head.
There was an air of anxiety about him that at
once fixed the attention of his listener, who said:

Well, did your foreman send you to me to ask
who should do it?"
"No, sir," was the reply. "1 thought that as
long as some one must get it, perhaps 't would be
me. 'T would be a savin' to the company, 'cause
I know how to run it already, and any other fellow
would have to be taught."
"Can you grind a file now?" asked the super-
intendent, in a tone of surprise, and eyeing the lad
as if doubtful of his skill.
"Yes, sir. Old Sunset said I could grind small
files better than the Englishman that 's doin' it on
Number Three."
Half a dozen files lay upon a paper on the office
table. The gentleman pointed to them, saying:




See if you can detect flaws in any of these."
The boy took them one by one, and, holding
them deftly between thumb and finger, struck the
"tang a ringing blow upon the iron radiator.
Five of them rung as clear as silver bells; the
sixth had a slight jar in its music. The boy rang
it again.
"That one's cracked," he said.
He next took them one by one, and, holding them
up to the light, looked into the lines of parallel
grooves. He laid two more beside the cracked
one, and, pointing to the others, said:
"Those are perfect."
"What is the matter with those two beside the
cracked one ?" was the question.
They wer' n't ground true."
How do you know?"
Well, ye see," said the little fellow, assuming,
unconsciously, the important air of an experienced
workman,-"ye see, when ye look through the
grooves they all ought to look dark and nice, but
there are light streaks in some of these. Now, this
is an awful pretty file," he continued, taking up
a perfect one; "just as good a piece of work as
ever was done in this place!"
I suppose if you got this job you could afford
to use more tobacco, and drive a better team on
"I s'pose I could," said the boy, "only I don't
happen to use tobacco, sir, an' a fellow like me,
that has a sick mother an' seven young ones to
help along, is n't apt to hanker after top-buggies
on Sundays"
"Send Old Sunset here," said the gentleman,
turning to his desk with a smile.
The boy departed, and soon a tall, raw-boned
Scotchman, wearing a pair of immense green
glasses, entered the room.
McFadden," said the superintendent, "do you
know a boy named Will Storrs, who runs a truck
from the annealing-room ?"
"Wull Storrs ?" was the deliberate reply. Wull
Storrs? I ken a lad named Wull, but I dinna ken
what his surname may be."
This is a little fellow about thirteen, who looks
as if he wore his grandfather's overalls."
Oh, aye-I ken him weel; but ye 're wrong
aboot the overalls bein' his grandfeyther's. They
belonged to myself but were too sma', so I sold
them to him for fufteen cents, simply to make him
feel that they were not a gift, ye ken."
What kind of a workman is he ?"
"The verra best. There 's not a job that he lays
hand on but he can do as weel as any aboot the
"Could he learn to grind small files, do you
think?" was the next query.

"Lerrn? He kens the whole notion already.
One morning when most o' the grinders were oot
on a spree, he took one o' the worst stanes in the
room, and dressed it sae weel that ye could na' tal
whether it was going or stoppit, when it was run-
ning at full speed !"
"Well, I think he can be trusted to run Number
Eight, then. He might just as well commence
now. Suppose you tell him that he can spend the
rest of the day in dressing the stone, and getting
ready to grind small files and cutters to-morrow."
Will was standing in the door-way of the grind-
ing-room when the Scotchman delivered his mes-
sage. The news seemed too good to be true. To
run Number Eight! That meant a dollar and a
half a day,-perhaps more, for the grinders all
worked by the piece. His mother would be able
to have her washing done for her, after this, and
his brothers and sisters could go to school looking
as if they belonged to somebody.
The grinding-room was long aAd narrow, iron-
roofed and well lighted. Twelve grindstones stood
side by side, with only passage-ways between them.
These massive stones, some weighing several tons,
were monsters compared with the grindstones that:
are frequently seen on the farms, or in the machine-
shops. When they were all in motion, each with
a man sitting on a small wooden saddle above his
stone, it seemed to an outsider as if twelve men al-
ways abreast were racing on twelve stone bicycles.
Will's Number Eight was one of the largest
stones in the room, and thought to be the best.
After he had told the foreman of his good luck, he
took some pieces of charcoal, a blunt chisel, and a.
kind of steel adz, and, climbing into the saddle,
set the great stone in motion. Resting his hands.
on the pommel of the saddle, he held a piece of
charcoal toward the stone, moving it nearer till
the first rough bumps on its wide face were black-
ened; then he threw off the belt, and cut down
these blackened places with the adz. Starting
the great wheel again, he let it turn for a while
against the blunt chisel, after which he again
tried the charcoal. It was hard work-the adz.
was heavy, the chisel would "gouge" a little-
when his hands grew tired; but he kept at it, and,
some time before the whistle sounded for noon, the-
charcoal made an even black line around the whole
Old Sunset, who ran a donkey grinder on the
stone next to Will's, told him that it was weell
dune," which meant that it was perfect.
The boy, indeed, felt proud of his work, as,
standing a little way off, he looked at the beautiful
proportions of the revolving stone. As there was.
still a part of the day remaining, Will began to get.
the tools and fixtures necessary in file-grinding.





A half barrel of lime and oil was obtained, in
which to thrust the files when ground, to keep them
from rusting. This he mounted upon a stand
within easy reach. He next went to the office and
'got a set of file-grinder's tools, the most impor-

tant of which were a level and a square, both very
small, and made purposely for this work. These
he put in the little case that hung on his saddle.
He tried the water and found that it was all right.
Everything was ready. Old Sunset had given him
a pair of "thumb-cots," in case his hand came in
contact with the stone, and one of the other grinders

made him a present of a pair of leather stirrups, to.
keep the slate-colored mud from his shoes. The boy
was fully equipped, and fairly aching to begin
work, when the "speed" slackened and the whistle
blew, which signaled that the day's work was over.
The next morning Will was
promptly on hand, eager to begin
the day's toil, but an unexpected
obstacle presented itself. An ac-
cident had happened in the
"annealing shop," and there
were no files ready to be ground.
Old Sunset and most of the other
workmen took it easily, and saun-
Stered off; but Will was too much
excited to do any such thing. He
S staid by his stone, started it
half a dozen times to see if it was.
still true, looked over his tools,
tried the saddle, put on the
thumb-cots, and finally wandered
away to watch the annealers.
".d' "V1 Had he known who was standing
behind the next stone, jealously
Watching his every motion, he
Should never have left Number
SEight with no friend to protect it.
As soon as Will was fairly out
of sight, the watcher stealthily
advanced to Number Eight.
lS I He was a red-headed, thick-set
i'i 1boy, about Will's age, and his
ill; inveterate enemy. The news of
Will's good luck had been more
than his jealous nature could
bear, and he was going to have
some sort of revenge. After look-
ing cautiously around, he clam-
bered awkwardly into the saddle,
and set the big stone in motion.
It almost frightened him to have
the great smooth wheel turning
so swiftly close between his knees.
He felt as if he were going to
topple over upon the monster.
The first dizzy feeling, however,
passed away in a moment, and
he looked about him for means to
injure the smooth surface that
Will Storrshad labored so hard and
so skillfully throughout the previous day to obtain.
At his right, on a frail stand, lay the blunt chisel.
He took it and struck the whirling stone repeated
blows with the instrument. Growing bolder, he
laid the chisel across the "rest," and, pressing its
edge against the stone, cut out great uneven
patches, till its circumference began to have a wavy



appearance, even at the high speed at which it was
But the boy was not satisfied yet, so he held the
sharp corner of the chisel firmly against the stone,
making parallel grooves a quarter of an inch deep
throughout the whole surface.
Just as the young rascal had given the finishing
touch to this piece of malice, Will, coming slowly in
from the annealing-room, saw the red head bend-
ing over his stone, and heard the sharp "scratch"
of the chisel.
Uttering a shout, he darted forward. But another
avenger was before him.
The giant stone, as if unable to bear longer the
mutilations and torture of the young vandal, gave
a strange, rending roar, and, tearing itself free from
the whirling shaft, sent one-half of its mighty
body crashing through the iron roof. An instant
later, a dull thud in the yard told where it had
fallen. The other half crushed its way through
the water-soaked planking, and lay buried in the
The whole thing happened in an instant. The
stone and its fixtures were blotted out so suddenly
that Will was dazed. He hardly knew what was
the matter; but others did. The same rending
noise had been heard before, and the word went
around that a stone had burst.
Within a few seconds the door-way was thronged
with men. Will was pushed forward by the eager,
questioning crowd till he stood close to the wreck.
The wooden saddle lay shivered in pieces some feet
from the place. Around the jagged hole in the
roof were great spatters of oily lime, and the tools
had been flung in all directions. But where was
the boy who had been on the stone?
In the sudden mist of flying objects, Will had
lost sight of him. A moaning cry, and a rush of
feet to the other side of Old Sunset's stone, told
where he was.
Will caught a glimpse of a pale face; then, as the
crowd opened a little, he could distinctly see his
enemy lying across a pile of unground "saw-files."
One of the workmen lifted him up, and, as he did
so, a shudder ran through the crowd: three great
saw-files had cruelly torn and wounded the limp
figure. He was laid upon a table, the sharp
"tangs" were pulled out, and the blood was
stanched. Finally a faint color came back to the
pale face, and consciousness, returned, but only to
bring with it exquisite suffering. A physician
being called, the wounded boy was sent off to
the hospital.
Gradually the hands settled back to their work,
the grinders feeling especially sober. The machin-
ery resumed its clatter.and whirl, the great black

cogs buffeted each other as usual, and the accident
began to fade from the memories of the men.
A new stone was rolled in and named Number
Eight. A new set of tools came from the office,
another saddle was built, and Will began his busi-
ness afresh. He soon was considered one of the
best grinders in the room.
One day, some months later, as he was grinding
busily, a boy entered the room on crutches.
The men did not recognize him. He halted by
Will's stone, and looked up. As soon as he had
finished the file upon which he was at work, Will
threw off the belt, leaped down, and grasped the
other's hand.
"Why, Tom," he said, I 'm very glad you 're
back. When did you leave the city? "
"Last night," said the boy. Then, conquering
a little choke, he said: ," I treated you very badly,
Will, an' I 've thought of it a heap since I 've
been laid up. So I thought I 'd like to give you
something,-this is the only thing that I had. A
good old sailor uncle o' mine gave it to me when I
was a little chap. He said it had been picked up
from a wreck, and was a queer, risky thing, and he
promised to show me how to fire it. But he was
drowned off the coast afore he had a chance to
keep his promise, and mother 's made me save it
as kind o' sacred ever since. But this morning' she
told me I could give it to you for a keepsake, if I
was so set on givin' you something."
He thrust a small package into Will's hand, and
hobbled off.
Will untied it in amazement, and found a piece
of iron pipe, an inch and a half -in diameter,
mounted on a curiously carved wooden block. It
was a queer sort of a toy cannon. He examined
the breech. It was made of a piece of lead,
which was pounded into one end of the pipe and
smoothed over.; a sinall touch-hole had been
drilled below the leaden plug.
Old Sunset came up just then, and Will showed
him the gift. The Scotchman looked it all over
carefully, saying: ,
"Wull ye stand in front or behind it when ye
fire it off, lad?"
"Behind, of course "
"Aye so I thocht. Ye '11 stand behind it and
catch the leeden plug, na doot."
"Do you think it will blow out ?" asked Will.
"Of course it wull. The lad that gave it ye
did na' ken it, probably, and na doot he would
hae fired it himself' without thinking So you can
hae the satisfaction o' feeling' that while he once
saved you from injury by accident, now you save
him from being blown up by a cannon that shoots
baith ways at once."






"A SOAP-BUBBLE" is an uncouth, inelegant
name for such an ethereal fairy sphere. It is such
a common, every-day sight to us, we seldom give
it much attention, or. realize how wonderful and
beautiful is this fragile, transparent, liquid globe.
Its spherical form is typical of perfection, and the
ever-changing, prismatic colors of its iridescent
surface charm the eye.
It is like a beautiful dream; we are entranced
while it lasts, but in an instant it vanishes, and
leaves nothing to mark its former existence except-
ing the memory of its loveliness.
Few persons can stand by and watch another
blowing bubbles without being seized with an uncon-
trollable desire to blow one for themselves. There
is a peculiar charm or pleasure in the very act,
which few persons who have known it ever outgrow.
In the accompanying illustration are shown sev-
eral kinds of soap-bubbles and a variety of ways
of deriving amusement from them.
It is generally known that a bubble will burst if
it touch any hard or smooth surface, but upon the
carpet or a woolen cloth it will roll or bounce
If you take advantage of this fact, you can with
a woolen cloth make bubbles dance and fly around
as lively as a juggler's gilt balls, and you will be
astonished to find what apparent rough handling
these fragile bubbles will stand when you are care-
ful not to allow them to touch anything but the
woolen cloth.
It may be worth remarking that the coarser the
soap the brighter the bubbles will be. The com-
pound known as "soft soap" is the best for the
One of the pictures shows how to transform your
soap-bubble into an aErial vapor-balloon.
If you wish to try this pretty experiment, procure
a rubber tube, say a yard long, and with an aper-
ture small enough to require considerable stretch-
ing to force it over the gas-burner. After you
have stretched one end so as to fit tightly over the
burner, wrap the stem of a clay pipe with wet
paper, and push it into the other end of the tube,
where it must fit so as to allow no gas to escape.
Dip the bowl of your pipe in the suds and turn the
gas on; the force of the gas will be sufficient to

blow your bubble for you, and as the gas is lighter
than the air, your bubble, when freed from the
pipe, will rapidly ascend, and never stop in its
upward course until it perishes.
Another group in our picture illustrates how old
Uncle Enos, an aged negro down in Kentucky,
used to amuse the children by making smoke-
Did you ever see smoke-bubbles? In one the
white-blue smoke, in beautiful curves, will curl and
circle under its crystalshell. Another will possess
a lovely opalescent pearly appearance, and if one be
thrown from the pipe while quite small and densely
filled with smoke, it will appear like an opaque
polished ball of milky whiteness. It is always a
great frolic for the children when they catch Uncle
Enos smoking his corn-cob pipe. They gather
around his knee with their bowl of soap-suds and
bubble-pipe, and while the good-natured old man
takes a few lusty whiffs from his corn-cob, and fills
his capacious mouth with tobacco-smoke, the chil-
dren dip their pipe in the suds, start their bubble,
and pass it to Uncle Enos. All then stoop down
and watch the gradual growth of that wonderful
smoke-bubble! and when "Dandy," the dog,
chases and catches one of these bubbles, how the
children laugh to see the astonished and injured
look upon his face, and what fun it is to see him
sneeze and rub his nose with his paw !
The figure at the bottom, in the corner of the
illustration, shows you how to make a giant-bubble.
It is done by first covering your hands well with
soap-suds, then placing them together so as to form
a cup, leaving a small opening at the bottom. All
that is then necessary is to hold your mouth about
a foot from ybur hands and blow into them. I have
made bubbles in this way twice the size of my
head. These bubbles are so large that they invari-
ably burst upon striking the floor, being unable to
withstand the concussion.
Although generally considered a trivial amuse-
ment, only fit for young children, blowing soap-
bubbles has been an occupation appreciated and
indulged in by great philosophers' and men of
science, and wonderful discoveries in optics and
natural philosophy have been made with only a
clay pipe and a bowl of soap-suds.





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I WONDERED what made Robin sad,
Out on the garden wall;
Though Spring in loveliness was clad,
He could not sing at all.

Above him, in the flower-blown tree,
With drooping head and wing,
Sat his dear mate, as sad as he,
With never a note to sing.

I did not know, until too late,
Why joy had gone away
From Robin and his little mate,
On that sweet morn in May;

Until I found upon the grass,
Ah, mournful sight to see!-
A fair young red-breast dead, alas!
Beneath the flower-blown tree.






WHISTLE sounding loud and clear,
Laughter that I love to hear,
Marbles rattling far and near;
Must be John !

Out at elbow, out at knee,
Hat-brim tattered wofully;
Turn him round and let me see
If it 's John.

Dimples in a ruddy cheek,
Eyes that sparkle so they speak,
Turned-up nose, reverse of meek;
Yes, 't is John!

Yet this morning, clean and sweet,
Speckless collar, hat complete,
Trousers mended, down the street
Whistled John.

"What 's the matter with you, lad?
Where 's the hat-brim that you had?
Whence came all these rents so sad?
Answer, John "

" Marbles." And he kicks his toe.
" Breeches will wear out, you know;
'Knuckle-down' is all the go,"
Falters John.

In his pockets go his hands,
Looking foolish, there he stands.
"S'pose you '11 scold? For stern commands
Lingers John.

Catches mother's laughing eye;
In a flash the kisses fly,
And I hear, as I pass by,
"Bless you, John !"





THE business of the printing-office went on pretty
steadily, so far as Ned and I were concerned.
Phaeton's passion for invention would occasionally
lead him off for a while into some other enterprise;
yet he, too, seemed to take a steady interest in
" the art deservative." The most notable of those
enterprises was originated by Monkey Roe, who
had considerable invention, but lacked Phaeton's
powers of execution.
One day, Monkey came to the door of the office
with Mitchell's "Astronomy" in his hand, and
called out Phaeton.
There's some mischief on foot now," said Ned;
"and if Fay goes off fooling with any of Monkey
Roe's schemes, we shall hardly be able to print
the two thousand milk-tickets that John Spencer
ordered yesterday. It 's too bad."
When they had gone so far frori the office that
we could not hear their conversation, I saw Monkey

open the book and point out something to Phaeton.
They appeared to carry on an earnest discussion for
several minutes, after which they laid the book on
the railing of the fence and disappeared, going by
the postern.
Ned ran out and brought in the book. On look-
ing it over, we found a leaf turned down at the
chapter on comets. Neither of us had studied
"I know what they 're up to," said Ned, after
taking a long look at a picture of Halley's comet.
"I heard the other day that Mr. Roe was learning
the art of stuffing birds. I suppose Monkey wants
Fay to help him shoot one of those things, or catch
it alive, may be, and sell it to his father."
Then I took a look at the picture, and read a few
lines of the text.
"I don't think it 's quite fair in Fay," continued
Ned, "to go off on speculations of that sort for
himself alone, and leave us here to do all the work
in the office, when he has an equal share of our
Ned," said I, I don't believe this is a bird."

* Copyright, x88o, by Rossiter Johnson. All rights reserved.






WHISTLE sounding loud and clear,
Laughter that I love to hear,
Marbles rattling far and near;
Must be John !

Out at elbow, out at knee,
Hat-brim tattered wofully;
Turn him round and let me see
If it 's John.

Dimples in a ruddy cheek,
Eyes that sparkle so they speak,
Turned-up nose, reverse of meek;
Yes, 't is John!

Yet this morning, clean and sweet,
Speckless collar, hat complete,
Trousers mended, down the street
Whistled John.

"What 's the matter with you, lad?
Where 's the hat-brim that you had?
Whence came all these rents so sad?
Answer, John "

" Marbles." And he kicks his toe.
" Breeches will wear out, you know;
'Knuckle-down' is all the go,"
Falters John.

In his pockets go his hands,
Looking foolish, there he stands.
"S'pose you '11 scold? For stern commands
Lingers John.

Catches mother's laughing eye;
In a flash the kisses fly,
And I hear, as I pass by,
"Bless you, John !"





THE business of the printing-office went on pretty
steadily, so far as Ned and I were concerned.
Phaeton's passion for invention would occasionally
lead him off for a while into some other enterprise;
yet he, too, seemed to take a steady interest in
" the art deservative." The most notable of those
enterprises was originated by Monkey Roe, who
had considerable invention, but lacked Phaeton's
powers of execution.
One day, Monkey came to the door of the office
with Mitchell's "Astronomy" in his hand, and
called out Phaeton.
There's some mischief on foot now," said Ned;
"and if Fay goes off fooling with any of Monkey
Roe's schemes, we shall hardly be able to print
the two thousand milk-tickets that John Spencer
ordered yesterday. It 's too bad."
When they had gone so far frori the office that
we could not hear their conversation, I saw Monkey

open the book and point out something to Phaeton.
They appeared to carry on an earnest discussion for
several minutes, after which they laid the book on
the railing of the fence and disappeared, going by
the postern.
Ned ran out and brought in the book. On look-
ing it over, we found a leaf turned down at the
chapter on comets. Neither of us had studied
"I know what they 're up to," said Ned, after
taking a long look at a picture of Halley's comet.
"I heard the other day that Mr. Roe was learning
the art of stuffing birds. I suppose Monkey wants
Fay to help him shoot one of those things, or catch
it alive, may be, and sell it to his father."
Then I took a look at the picture, and read a few
lines of the text.
"I don't think it 's quite fair in Fay," continued
Ned, "to go off on speculations of that sort for
himself alone, and leave us here to do all the work
in the office, when he has an equal share of our
Ned," said I, I don't believe this is a bird."

* Copyright, x88o, by Rossiter Johnson. All rights reserved.




"Well, then, it's a fish," said Ned, who had
gone back to his case and was setting type. "They
stuff fishes, as well as birds."
But it seems to me it can hardly be a fish," said
I, after another look.
"Why not? "
"Because I don't see any fins."
"That's nothing," said Ned. "My book of
natural history says a fish's tail is a big fin. And
I 'm sure that fellow has tail enough to get along
very well without any other fins."
This did not satisfy me, and at length we agreed
to go and consult Jack-in-the-Box about it.
"Jack," said Ned, as soon as we arrived at the
Box, did you ever stuff a fish ?"
Do you take me for a cook? said Jack, look-
ing considerably puzzled.
"I don't mean a fish to bake," said Ned. "I
mean one to be put in a glass-case, and kept in a
"Oh," said Jack, "I beg pardon. 'I did n't
understand. No, I never stuffed a fish."
"But I suppose you know how it 's done ?" said
"Oh, yes; I understand it in a general way."
"What I want to get at," said Ned, "is this:
how much is a fish worth that 's suitable for
stuffing? "
"I don't know exactly," said Jack, "but I should
say different ones would probably bring different
prices, according to their rarity."
"That sounds reasonable," said Ned. "Now,
how much should you say a fellow would probably
get for one of this sort? and he opened the Astron-
omy at the picture of Halley's comet.
Something was the matter with Jack's face. It
twitched around in all sorts of ways, and his eyes
sparkled with a kind of electric light. But he
passed his hand over his features, took a second
look at the picture, and answered:
"If you can catch one of those, I should say it
would command a very high price."
"So I thought," said Ned. "Should you say as
much as a hundred dollars, Jack ?"
"I should not hesitate to say fully two hundred,"
said Jack, as he took his flag and went out to sig-
nal a freight-train.
"I see it all, as plain as day," said Ned to me,
as we walked away. "Fay has gone off to make a
lot of money by what father would call an outside
speculation, and left us to dig away at the work in
the office."
"Perhaps he '11 go shares with us," said I.
"No, he wont," said Ned. "But I have an
idea. I think I can take a hand in that specula-
"How will you do it?"

"I '11 offer Fay and Monkey a hundred dollars
for their fish, if they catch it. That 'II seem such
a big price, they'll be sure to take it. And then
I '11 sell it for two hundred, as Jack says. So I '11
make as much money as both of them together.
And I must give Jack a handsome present for tell-
ing me about it."
"That seems to be a good plan," said I. "And
I hope they 'll catch two, so I can buy one and
speculate on it. But, then," I added, sorrow-
fully, "I have n't the hundred dollars to pay for it,.
and there 's no Aunt Mercy in our family, and we
don't live on the Bowl System."
"Never mind," said Ned, in a comforting tone.
"Perhaps you'll inherit a big fortune from some
old grandmother you never heard of, till she died
and they ripped open her bed-tick and let the gold
tumble out. Lots of people do get money that way."
As we arrived home, we saw Phaeton and Mon-
key coming by the postern with half a dozen hoops
-that is to say, half a dozen long, thin strips of
ash, which would have been hoops after the cooper
had bent them into circles and fastened the ends
"That's poor stuff to make fish-poles," said
Ned, in a whisper; "but don't let them know that
we know what they're up to."
They brought them into the office, got some


other pieces of wood, and went to work constructing
a light frame about ten feet long, three feet high at
the highest part, and a foot wide-like that shown
in the engraving.
"What are you making, Fay? said Ned.
"Wait a while, and you 'lI see," said Phaeton.
Ned winked at me in a knowing way, and we
went on printing milk-tickets.'
When the frame was completed, Monkey and
Phaeton went away.
"I see," whispered Ned. "They're going to
catch it with a net. The netting will be fastened
on all around here, and this big end left open for
him to go in. Then, when he gets down to this
round part, he '11 find he can't go any farther, and
they 'll haul him up. It's as plain as day."
But when Monkey and Phaeton returned, in
about half an hour, instead of netting they brought
yellow tissue-paper and several candles.




We pretended to take very little interest in the
proceeding, but watched them over our shoulders.
When we saw them fasten the tissue-paper all
around the frame, except on the top, and fit the
candles into auger-holes bored in the cross-pieces
at the bottom, Ned whispered again:
"Don't you see? That is n't a net. They 're
going to have a light in it, and carry it along the
shore to attract the fish. It 's all plain enough
now. "
"If you '11 be on hand to-night," said Monkey,
"and follow us, you may see some fun."
"All right! We '11 be on hand," said .Ned
and I.
In the evening we all met in the office-all
except Phaeton, who was a little late.
"Monkey," said Ned, in a confidential tone, "I
want to make you an offer."
Offer away," answered Monkey.
If you catch one," said Ned, I '11 give you a
hundred dollars for it."
"If I catch one ?" said Monkey. "If-I-catch
-one? Oh, yes-all right! I '11 give you whatever
I catch, for that price. Though I may not catch
anything but Hail Columbia."
"I wont take it unless it 's the kind they stuff,"
said Ned.
"The kind-they-stuff?" said Monkey. "Did
you say the kind they stuff, or the kind of stuff?
Oh, yes-the kind of Hail Columbia they stuff.
That would be a bald eagle, I should think."
At this moment Phaeton joined us.
"It's no use, Fay," said Monkey. "Jack wont
let us hoist it on the signal-pole. He says it might
mislead some of the engineers, and work mischief."
Hoist it on the signal-pole," whispered Ned to
me. "Then it 's a bird they 're going to catch,
after all, and not a fish. I see it now. Probably
:some wonderful kind of night-hawk."
"Well, then, what do you think is the next best
place? said Phaeton.
"I think Haven's barn, by all odds," answered
"Haven's barn it is, then," said Phaeton, and
they shouldered the thing and walked off, we
Before we arrived at the barn, Holman, Charlie
Garrison, and at least a dozen other boys had joined
us, one by one.
The numerous ells and sheds attached to this
barn enabled Monkey and Phaeton to mount easily
to the ridge-pole of the highest part, where they
fastened the monster, and lighted all her battle-
lanterns, when she blazed out against the blackness
of the night like some terrific portent.
"Now you stay here, and keep her in order,"
said Monkey, "while I go for Adams."

Mr. Adams was an amateur astronomer of con-
siderable local celebrity, whose little observatory,
built by himself, was about fifty rods distant from
Haven's barn. Unfortunately, his intemperate
habits were as famous as his scientific attainments,
and Roe knew about where to find him. I went
with him on the search.
We went first to the office of the "Cataract
House, by James Tone," but we did not find'our
astronomer there.
"Then," said Roe, "I know where he is, for
sure," and he went to a dingy wooden building on
State street, which had small windows with red
curtains. This building was ornamented with a
poetical sign, which every boy in town knew by
heart, and could sing to the tune of "Oats, peas,


"Is Professor Adams present?" said Monkey,
as he opened the door and peered through a cloud
of tobacco-smoke.
An individual behind the stove returned a drowsy
Roe stepped around to him, and with a great
show of secrecy whispered something in his ear.
He sprang from his chair, exclaimed, "Good-
night, gentlemen You will wake up to-morrow
morning to find me famous," and dashed out at the
"What is it ?" said one of the loungers, detain-
ing Monkey as he was about to leave.
"A comet," whispered Monkey.
"A comet, gentlemen-a blazing comet!" re-
peated the man, aloud; and the whole company
rose and followed the astronomer to his observa-
tory. When they arrived there, they found him
sitting with his eye at the none-too-reliable instru-
ment, uttering exclamations of thankfulness that
he had lived to make this great discovery.
Not Biela's, not Newton's, not Encke's-not a
bit like any of them," said he; "all my own, gen-
tlemen-entirely my own !"
Then he took up his slate, and went to figuring
upon it. Several of the crowd, who were now
jammed close together around him in the little
octagonal room, made generous offers of assistance.
I was always good at the multiplication-table,"
said one.
I have a fine, clear eye," said another; "can't
I help you aim the pipe?"




This excited a laugh of derision from another,
who inquired whether the man with the fine, clear
eye did n't know a pipe from a chube ?"
Another rolled up his sleeves, and said he was
ready to take his turn at the crank for the cause of
science; while still another expressed his willing-
ness to blow the bellows all night, if Professor
Adams would show him where the handle was.
They all insisted on having a peep at the

.-. -,I ,i.,k lJu!ri-, k W..d -t

, it':_t '.l ir -, \,., : ir-i] w* ,.ir.:d :,:.ic 'rl, l

his head, and hurled it; and, in the twinkling of
an eye, that comet had passed its perihelion, and
shot from the solar system in so long an ellipse that
I fear it will never return.
Unfortunately, the flying cart-stake not only put
out the comet, but struck Phaeton, who had been
left there by Monkey Roe to manage the thing, and
put his arm out of joint. He bore it heroically, and

~~ I~_Vlr~L:
e :~b
;~ k~ s.s
-----~-- ---i



That old thing bodes no good to this city."
Ah, Professor," said another, your fortune 's
made for all time. This '11 be known to fame as
the Great American Comet. I dare say it 's as big
as all the comets of the Old World put together."
Mr. Wheeler took an unusually long look.
"Gentlemen," said he, "I don't believe that
comet will stay with us long. We'd better leave
the Professor to his calculations, while we go back
and have a toast to his great discovery."
But nobody stirred. Then Mr. Wheeler left the
observatory, and walked straight up to Haven's
barn. He picked up a cart-stake, swung it around
VOL. VIII.-34.

llV etlOLlS And now you wont c

able to do anything in the printing-office for a
long while, just when we 're crowded with work.
If you were not such a very good fellow, we
i I Ni-

should n't let you have any share of the profits

for the next month."



THE printing-office enjoyed a steady run of cus-
tom, and, as Ned had said, we were just now
crowded with work. Almost every hour that we




were not in bed, or at school, was spent in setting
type or pulling the press. It was not uncommon
for Ned to work with a sandwich on the corner of
his case; and, as often as he came to a period, he
would stop and take a bite.
This is the way Barnum used to do," said he,
"when he started his museum-take his lunch
with him, and stay right there. It's the only way
to make a great American success "-and he took
another bite, his dental semicircle this time inclos-
ing a portion of the bread that bore a fine proof-
impression of his thumb and finger in printer's ink.
Though Phaeton was not able, for some time, to
take a hand at the work, he rendered good service
by dir.- 1.oi. things, as the head of the firm. He
was often suspicious, where Ned and I would have
been taken in at once, as to the circuses and min-
strel shows for which boys used to come and order
tickets and programmes by the hundred, always
proposing to pay for them out of the receipts of the
show. The number of these had increased enor-
mously, and it looked as if the boys got them up
mainly for the sake of seeing themselves in print.
Sometimes they would make out the most elabo-
rate programmes, and then want them printed at
once, before their enterprises had any existence
excepting on paper. One boy, whose father was an
actor, had made out a complete cast of the play
of Romeo and Juliet," with himself put down
for the part of Romeo, and-Monkey Roe as Juliet.
One day, a little curly-headed fellow, named
Moses Green, came to the office, and wanted us to
print a hundred tickets like this:



Admit the Bearer.

"Where 's your show going to be?" said
I don't know," said Moses. If Uncle James
should sell his horses, perhaps I could have it in
his barn."
Yes, that would be a good place," said Phae-
ton. "And who are your actors?"
I don't know," said Moses. But I 'm going
to ask Charlie Garrison, because he has a good
fife; and Lem Whitney, because he knows how to
black up with burnt cork; and Andy Wilson, be-
cause he knows 0 Susanna' all by heart."
"And what is the price of admission?" said
"I don't know," said Moses. "But I thought

that, may be, if the boys would n't pay five cents,
I'd take four."
I '11 tell you what 't is, Moses," said Phaeton;
"we 're badly crowded with work just now, and it
would accommodate us if you could wait a little
while. Suppose you engage your actors first, and
rehearse the pieces that you 're going to play, and
get the barn rigged up, and burn the cork, and
make up your mind about the price; and then
give us a call, and we '11 print your tickets."
"All right," said Moses. I'll go home and
burn a cork, right away."
And he went off, whistling O Susanna."
"Fay, I think that's bad policy," said Ned,.
when Moses was out of sight.
I don't see how you can say that," said
"It's as plain as day," said Ned. "We ought
to have gone right on and printed his tickets. Sup-
pose he has n't any show, and never will have one
-what of it? We should n't suffer. His father
would see that our bill was paid. I've heard Father
say that Mr. Green was the very soul of honor."
"Ah, Ned, I 'm afraid you're getting more
sharp than honest," said Phaeton.

From the fact that our school has hardly been
mentioned in this story, it must not be inferred that
we were not all this time acquiring education by
the usual methods. The performances here record-
ed took place out of school-hours, or on Saturdays,
when there was no school. The- events inside the
temple of learning were generally so dull that they
would hardly interest the story-reader.
Yet there was now and then an accident or exploit
which relieved the tediousness of study-time. One
day, Robert Fox brought to school, as part of his
lunch, a bottle of home-made pop-beer. An hour
before intermission we were startled by a tremen-
dous hissing and foaming sound, and the heads of
the whole school were instantly turned toward the
quarter whence it came. There was Fox with the
palm of his hand upon the cork, which was half-way
in the bottle that stood upon the floor beside his.
desk. Though he threw his whole weight upon it,
he could not force it in any farther, and the beer
rose like a fountain almost to the ceiling, and fell
in a beautiful circle, of which Fox and his bottle
were the interesting center. Any boy who has.
attended a school taught by an irascible master will
readily imagine the sequel. Holman recorded the
affair in the form of a' Latin fable, which was so,
popular that we printed it. Here it is:

Quondam vulpes bottulum pofpi beeris in scholar:
tulit, quod in area refonebat. Sed corda laxa, obi




vim beeris, cortex collum reliquit, et beer, sfumans,
sepavimento efudit. Deinde magister cait unum
extremum lori, et vulpes alterum sentiebat. Hec
fabula docet that, when you bring fof-beer to school,
you should tie the string so tight that it can't fof
off before lunch-time.

When Jack-in-the-Box saw this fable, he said it
was a good fable, and he was proud of his pupil,

'.49 N
-; ^ ~c


though he felt obliged to admit that sdme of the
tenses were a little out of joint.
Holman said he put the moral in English because
that was the important part of it, and ought to be
in a language that everybody could understand.
Monkey Roe said he was glad to hear this expla-
nation, as he had been afraid it was because Hol-
man had got to the end of his Latin.
Charlie Garrison, in attempting to criticise the
title of the fable, only exposed himself to ridicule.
"It must be a mistake," said he; for you know
you can't eat beer. It 's plain enough that it

ought to be, VulFes" (he pronounced the word in
one syllable) "drank beer."
This shows the perils of ignorance. If Charlie
had had a thorough classical training, he would n't
have made such a mistake. It was a curious fact
that the boys who had never studied Latin, and to
whom the blunder had to be explained, laughed at
him more unmercifully than anybody else.
But Holman's literary masterpiece (if it was his)

was in rhyme, and in some re-
spects it remains a mystery to this
One evening he called to see
me, and intimated that he had
some confidential business on
hand, for which we should better
adjourn to the printing-office, and
accordingly we went there.
"I want a job of printing done,"
said he, "provided it can be done
in the right way."
"We shall be glad to do it as
well as we possibly can," said I.
"What is it? "
"I can't tell you what it is,"
said he.
"Well, let me see the manu-
script," said I.
"There is n't any manuscript,"

-, said he.
"Oh, it is n't prepared yet?"
said I. '"When will it be ready? "
There never will be any man-
uscript for it," said he.
I began to be puzzled. Still, I
remembered that small signs and
S labels were often printed, consist-
ing of only a word or two, which
S'did not require any copy.
-. Is it a sign?" said I.
"'I' "No."
./ "Labels?"
"Then what in the world is it?
And how do you suppose I am
going to print a thing for you, unless I know what
it is that I am to print ?"
"That's the point of the whole business," said
Isaac. I want you to let me come into your office,
and use your type and press to print a little thing
that concerns nobody but myself, and I don't care
to have even you know about it. I want you to let
me do all the work myself, when you are not here,
and I shall wash.up the rollers, distribute the type,
destroy all my proofs, and leave everything in the
office as I found it. Of course I shall pay you the
same as if you did the work."




q:,t, i .:
i '"" ....'

. ..- -,, i -:,.niy ^ r-s --"
,.. f, -.
f^.~ ". t ^
/1JI Uv P'fllA/.N.* .



"But how can you set the type ?" said I. "You
don't even know the case, do you ?"
"No," said he; "but I suppose the letters are
all in it somewhere, and I can find them with a
little searching."
"And do you know how to lock up a form?"
said I.
"I 've often seen you do it," said he; "and 1
think I 'm mechanic enough to manage it."
"When do you want to go to work ? "
"Duo eques, rectus ab-to-night, right away."
"Very well-good-night!" said I.
When I went to the office next day, I found Ned


Instantly comet




morning, I found the oil all burned out of the big
lamp,--I filled it yesterday,-and these torn scraps
in the wood-box. I got so many together pretty
easily, but I can't find another one that will fit."
It looks as if it had been a poem," said I.
"Yes," said Ned; "of course it was. And oh,
look here It was an acrostic, too "
Ned took out his pencil, and filled in what he
supposed to be the missing initial letters, making
"It may have been an acrostic," said I; "but
you can't tell with certainty, so much is missing."
There is n't any doubt in my mind," said Ned;


. sweetness-


rt rol

with its tor
how I sigh
Going in fan
Looking cros,
I knew er
earest and bes
aspire t
Even in



otus dext

B luNeve~r agl L
g~-3 1


busily at work trying to fit together some small
torn scraps of paper. They were printed on one
side, and, as fast as he found where one belonged,
he fastened it in place by pasting it to a blank
sheet which he had laid down as a foundation.
When I arrived, the work had progressed as far
as shown in the card on this page.
Here 's a mystery," said Ned.
"What is it?" said I.
Did you print this? said he, suddenly, looking
into my face suspiciously.
No," said I, calmly; I never saw it before."
"Well, then, somebody must have broken into
our office last night. For when I came in this

its fleetness,
and rack.

long agone,-
he jo
me dawn
regard ?

" and it's perfectly evident to me who the burglar
must have been. Everybody knows who dotes on
Viola Glidden."
I should think a good many would dote on
her," said I; "she's the handsomest girl in town."
"Well, then," said Ned, "look at that otuss
dext.' Of course it was totus dexter,-and who's
the boy that uses that classic expression? I
should n't have thought that so nice a fellow as
Holman would break in here at midnight, and put
his mushy love-poetry into print at our expense.
He must have been here about all night, for that
lamp-full of oil lasts nine hours."
There's an easy way to punish him, whoever

iuL KC)


he was," said Phaeton, who had come in, in time
to hear most of our conversation.
How is that?" said Ned.
Get out a handbill," said Phaeton, "and spread
it all over town, offering a reward of one cent for
the conviction of the burglar who broke into -our
office last night and printed an acrostic, of which
the following is a fac-simile of a mutilated proof.
Then set up this, just as you have it here."
"IThat 's it; that '11 make him hop," said Ned.
"I '11 go to work on it at once."
"But," said I, "it '11 make Miss Glidden hop,
"Let her hop."
"But then, perhaps her brother John will call
around and make you hop."
He can't do it," said Ned. "The man that
owns a printing-press can make everybody else
hop, and nobody can make him hop-unless it is a
man that owns another press. Whoever tries to
fight a printing-press always gets the worst of it.
Father says so, and he knows, for he tried it on the
Vindicator when he was running for sheriff and
they slandered him."
At this point, I explained that Holman had not
come there without permission, and that he ex-
pected to pay for everything.
"Why did n't you tell us that before?" said
I was going to tell you he had been here,"
said I, and that he did not want any of us to
know what he printed. But when I saw you had
found that out, I thought perhaps, in fairness to
him, I ought not to tell you who it was."
"All right," said Ned. "Of course, it 's none
of our business how much love-poetry Holman
makes, or how spoony it is, or what girl he sends it
to, if he pays for it all. But don't forget to charge
him for the oil. By the way, so many of the boys
owe us for printing, I 've bought a blank-book to
put the accounts in, or we shall forget some of
them. Monkey Roe's mother paid for the 'Orphan
Boy' yesterday. I '11 put that down now. Half
a dollar was n't enough to charge her; we must
make it up on the next job we do for her or
While he was saying this, he wrote in his book:
Mrs. Roe er Monkey 12 orphan boys 50 Paid.
Hardly had he finished the entry, when the door
of the office was suddenly opened, and Patsy
Rafferty thrust in his head and shouted:

"Jimmy the Rhymer's killed! "
"I say Jimmy the Rhymer's killed! And you
done it, too "
I am sorry that Patsy said "done," when he
meant did. But he was a good-hearted boy, never-
theless; and probably his excitement was what
made him forget his grammar.
"What do you mean?" said Ned, who had
turned as pale as ashes.
You ought to know what I mean," said Patsy.
"Just because he had the bad luck to spill a few
of your old types, you abused him like a pickpocket.
and said he 'd got to pay for 'em, and drove him
out of the office. And he 's been down around the
depot every day since, selling papers, trying' to
make money enough to pay you. And now he 's
got runned over be a hack, when he was goin' across
the street to a gentleman that wanted a paper.
And they've took him home, and my mother says
it's all your fault, too, you miserable skinflint! I
wont have any of your gifts! "
And with that, Patsy thrust his hand into his
pocket, drew out the visiting-cards that Ned had
printed for him, and threw them high into the room.
so that in falling they scattered over everything.
"I '11 bring back your car," he continued, as
soon as I can get it. I lent it to Teddy Dwyer last
Then he shut the door with a bang, and ,went
We looked at one another in consternation.
"What shall we do? said Ned.
I think we ought to go to Jimmy's house at
once," said I.
"Yes, of course," said Ned.
And he and I started. Phaeton went the other
way-as we afterward learned, to inform his mother,
who was noted for her efficient charity in cases of
Ned and I not only went by the postern, but we
made a bee-line for Jimmy's house, going over any
number of fences, and straight through door-yards
and garden-patches, without the slightest reference
to streets or paths.
We left in such a hurry that we forgot to lock up
the office. While we were gone, Monkey Roe
sauntered in, found Holman's acrostic, which Ned
had pieced together, and, when he went away,
carried it with him.

(To be cotditnued.)





OH, the shining days of May!
Don't you hear them coming, coming,-
In the robin's roundelay,-
In the wild bee's humming, humming?
In the quick, impatient sound
Of the red-bird's restless whirring,
In the whispers in the ground
Where the blossom-life is stirring?
In the music in the air,
In the laughing of the waters;
Nature's stories, glad and rare,
Told Earth's listening sons and daughters?
Surely, hearts must needs be gay
In the shining days of May!



SF all the beautiful birds
you ever saw, is not the
peacock the most beau-
tiful and showy? Have
you ever thought how beau-
Stiful it is? I suppose the
trader of the South Sea
islands has no appreciation of
the loveliness that we see in
the bird-of-paradise, nor does
the Hottentot fully know the
grace and richness of the os-
trich plumes which he sticks in his
hair. What is familiar to us loses beauty
in our eyes, simply because we see it eom-
monly; and I fancy that if we came suddenly
upon a peacock, his glorious tail spread before our
delighted gaze for the first time in our lives, we
should not hesitate to consider him the prince of
the feathered race.
Peacocks have been domesticated fowls for a
great many years, but have not degenerated and
lost their original tints or shape as have the barn-
yard fowls and ducks, and, to some extent, the
turkeys. Nevertheless, travelers tell us that the
wild peacocks are far handsomer than the tame
ones. It seems impossible. The peafowl is a
native of India, and some of the islands of the
Indian or Malayan archipelago. Various parts of
Java abound with them, yet there are none in
Borneo nor in Sumatra, though these islands are
close by. But then, some other birds of the fam-
ily to which the peacocks and pheasants belong
occur plentifully in Sumatra and Borneo, and
are unknown to Java. On the main-land of Asia,
peacocks of some sort-for there are half a dozen
species-abound, from southern India to the north-
ern table-lands, and even through the high passes
into the forests and steppes of Thibet. Our domes-
ticated variety is the common one in India, where
it is known as the crested peacock. The peacock of
Java is different, "the neck being covered with scar-
let-like green feathers, and the crest of a different
form," but the eyed train is equally large and beau-
tiful. The remote Thibetan species has a lesser
train, and its general color is white, upon which
ornamental feathers are distributed in a most strik-
ing manner.
These birds prefer wooded districts, especially
low, tangled, thickety forests, partly cane and partly
hard-wood growths, called "jungles," and there

they congregate in large flocks. One writer says
that from an eminence he once saw the sun rise
upon more than a thousand of these dazzling birds.
What a sight that must have been How the level
golden beams of light must have been reflected in
a hundred crossed and gleaming rays from the trem-
bling and iridescent plumes I can not understand
how any foreground to a sunrise could be devised
better than the waving green summit of a forest,
covered with a thousand swaying peacocks.
The food of these birds, like that of the argus
pheasant and other such fowls, consists df seeds,
small fruits, buds, or the juicy tops of tender plants,
and insects-particularly beetles. To get this food,
the peacock, of course, spends much of his time
on the ground, and he is sometimes caught there
by being run down with dogs, or by men on horse-
back. He can make good speed on foot, however.
The nest is a rough little heap of grass and straw,
placed on the ground, and hollowed out enough to
keep its dozen eggs from rolling away. The young
are at first as dull-colored as the hen, and it is
only after the third year that the male gets his
full regalia.
It would seem as if a bird carrying so long
and cumbersome a train would find it very difficult
to mount into the air, but he manages to do so by
running a little way upon the ground and then
leaping upward. Once started, he can rise to a
considerable height, and gracefully swing his broad
tail over trees that it would try your muscle to
cover with an arrow from the stoutest bow. One
way of peacock-hunting, which used to be much
pursued, was by falcons. Here was game well
suited to falconry. It gave a glittering prize to the
eager kestrel or gyrfalcon or goshawk, and fitted
the gayly dressed lords and ladies who followed
the falconer, and watched with lively excitement
the flights of their brave hunter of the air.
The peacock's train is his glory. It eclipses all
the burnished tints and reflections of his proud
little head and jaunty crest. I have read a very
good and minute description of this most superb
specimen of Nature's feather-work, which I would
rather quote than try to equal:
"The train derives much of its beauty from the
loose barbs of its feathers, whilst their great number
and their unequal length contribute to its gorgeous-
ness, the upper feathers being successively shorter,
so that when it is erected into a disk, the eye-like
or moon-like spot at the tip of each feather is dis-








played. The lowest and longest feathers of the train
do not terminate in such spots, but in spreading barbs,
which encircle the erected disk. The blue of the neck;
the green and black of the back and wings; the brown,
green, violet, and gold of the tail; the arrangement of
the colors, their metallic splendor, and the play of color
in changing lights, render the male peacock an object
ii of universal admiration."
But this description, good as it is, cannot give as true
an idea of the bird's appearance as any child may have
after taking one glance at his magnificent lordship.
Nearly all my readers probably have had this pleasure,
although some of you city children may, perhaps, have seen only the beautiful plumes, made up into
fans, or displayed as decorations in parlor and library. But we of to-day are far from being the first
to discover this decorative value of peacock feathers. The gorgeous plumage ornamented the thrones

4 .


and palaces of Eastern monarchs, and the houses
of the rich, in far-off centuries; and the beautiful
fan, shown you in the picture on this page, was
copied from one made more than two thousand
years ago, in Etruria, a country of ancient Italy.
The peacock appears very early in history as a
domestic fowl, since the Hebrews had it long before
the days of Solomon. From Asia it went westward
into Europe, as soon as civilization began to pene-
trate what then were savage wilds. In those old
days of Rome, which the poets call its golden
age, when the luxurious life of that splendid city
was at its height, no great feast was without its
peacocks, cooked as the most ostentatious dish.
The body of the bird was roasted, and when
placed upon the table was wrapped in a life-
like way in its own skin, with the tail-feathers
spread. Could anything be more ornamental to
a dinner-table? The custom of having peacocks
served at banquets continued into the Middle Ages,
but it is rarely that one is cooked nowadays, for
most persons consider the flesh dry and tasteless.

The peacock seems filled with an intense admira-
tion of his own beauty. He poses in a stately atti-
tude, or struts about, inviting your attention to his
magnificence; then he slowly bends his proud head
from one side to the other and rattles the quills of
his tail, as he marches off with the parade of a
drum-major, and turns to let the sunshine glint
upon his plumes in some new way. "As vain as
a peacock" is a well-founded proverb, no doubt;
but, perhaps, in justice to the beautiful bird, it
would be wise to remember a short sermon on this
text from your good friend, Jack-in-the-Pulpit, who
said to you, in March, 1874:
I gave a peacock a good talking to, the other
day, for being so vain. But he made me under-
stand that vanity was his principal-merit. 'For,'
said he, 'how in the world should we peacocks
look, if we did n't strut? What kind of an air
would our tail feathers have, if we did n't spread
them?' I gave in. A meek peacock would be
an absurdity. Vanity evidently was meant specially
for peacocks."








"Rocks and lonely flower-leas,
Playgrounds of the mountain breeze."

THE Republic of Guatemala is ,as far south as
Egypt, but its mountains are so high that the
weather is by no means very hot, and when we
approached the heights of the. Sierra Gorda we
had to unstrap our blankets to keep our poor
monkeys warm. The upper sierra was so lonely
that we became a little uneasy about our road, but
the confidence of our guide re-assured us.
"There is no doubt about the right direction,"
said he; "we have to keep straight south, and
if we get up to the ridge before sundown, you
will see the Valley of Antigua."
"I don't think we shall reach a house before
night," said Menito; "this looks like -- He
stopped and- clutched my arm. Look up there,"
he whispered; "there's somebody ahead of us-
something moving in the cliffs over yonder."
The moving something looked like a big red
bag with two little feet,-a traveling bundle of red
shawls, as it seemed when we came a little nearer.
Oh, I know," laughed Daddy Simon, that's
the old sergeant's daughter, with her pack of
dry-goods; I have met her twice before."
"What sergeant?" I asked.
"He used to belong to the mounted police,"
said the guide, "and he 's living somewhere in
this sierra now. His wife makes woolen shawls
and things, and they peddle them all over the
country. Yes, that's the same girl," he whispered,
when we overtook the red bundle.
The bundle turned, and under a heap of woolen
shawls, caps, and mittens, we saw the owner of the
little feet, a black-eyed infant with a sharp nose
,and a big walking-stick-a mere baby, of eight or
nine years, I should say, certainly not more 'than
ten, but quite self-possessed.
"Fine evening," she observed, after answering
our greeting. "Traveling ?"
"Yes, we are going to Antigua," I replied;
"do you know which is the shortest road?"
"I '11 show you by and by, when we get up to
the ridge," said she; "you are all right thus far.
Strangers, I suppose?"
"Not altogether," said our guide; "did n't I
see you in San Mateo two years ago ?"

"Of course you did," said she; "I go there
every Christmas."
"Quite alone?" I asked. "Don't the sierra
Indians bother you? "
"Not if I know it," said the little milliner;
"they would find out that my father owns a musket.
My name is Miss Cortina, you know."
"But what about ghosts?" said Menito; "they
don't care for muskets. Suppose you should meet
the Wild Spaniard, or the Three Howling Monks?"
"Howling Monks? They had better leave me
alone," said Miss Cortina, with a glance at her
walking-stick. "I'd give them something to howl
The sun went down before we reached the
summit rocks, and it was almost dark when we
halted, in a grove of larch-trees on the southern
"I must leave you now," said Miss Cortina,
when we had pitched our tent. "That black
smoke-cloud over yonder is the Volcano of Mesaya,
so you see that you're going in the right direc-
tion. '11 show you the trail to-morrow morning."
She shouldered her bundle and took camp under
the branches of a fallen tree, some fifty yards from
our bivouac.
"No wonder she is n't afraid of ghosts," laughed
Tommy; "would n't she make a good witch her-
self? She uses that bundle of hers for a bed, it
seems, but I wonder if she has anything to eat?"
"Here, Menito," said I, take her these cakes
and figs, and ask her if she needs anything else."
Menito started for the tree, but soon came back
"She would n't let me come near her wigwam
at all," said he; "she tells me that she can't
receive any callers after eight o'clock "
About midnight, we were awakened by a strange
light that penetrated our tent and threw a reddish
glare on the opposite trees.
"That can't be the moon," said Tommy';
"may be the woods are afire-wait, I 'm going to
see what it is. Oh, come out here, all of you," he
cried,-" the whole sky is ablaze! "
We stepped out, and, sure enough, the whole
southern firmament was suffused with a lurid glow,
and, when we had made our way through the
bushes, we saw the fire itself, a whirl of bright red
flames that seemed to rise from the heart of the



central, sierra, and illuminated the wild mountains
near and far. Every now and then a fiery mass
shot .ul into the clouds and fell back in a shower
of burning flakes.
"That's the Volcano of Mesaya," said Daddy
Simon. May the saints help all the poor people in
that sierra "
He and Menito looked on in silence, but Tommy
had never seen a volcanic eruption before, and was
almost beside himself with excitement.
"Come this way! he cried. "Step on this
ledge, uncle, you can see it more plainly. Why,
talk about battles and fire-works All the gun-
powder in the world could not make a flame of that

height But how strange,-it is all so still! That
volcano must be a long way from here."
About eighty miles," I replied. It is beyond
the border, in the State of Nicaragua."
"What's the matter?" said a squeaking little
voice behind us.
"Who 's that?" I asked. "Miss Cortina?"
Yes, it 's I," said she. What 's up ?"
Can't you see it ?" said Tommy. Look over
"That? Then I had better go to bed again,"
said the little lady. "Well, well; I thought there
was something the matter. Never mind that old
volcano; you can see that any day in the year."
We were not quite sure about that. The night
was a little chilly, but we stood and looked till the
wonder was veiled by the rising morning mist.


can't miss your way now. Where you see that
cross-road, there, I have to turn off to the right. I
have been gone longer than I expected."
I suppose you did not sell much on this trip ?"
inquired Menito, "though it's none of my busi-
Miss Cortina cocked her sharp little nose.
You had better mind your own business, then,"
said she. I shall find a hundred customers before
you sell one of your old monkeys."
"That's right, sissy," laughed Tom. "But we
do not sell our monkeys; do you know anybody
hereabouts who does? We want to buy all the pets
we can get-kittens, cats, and catamounts."
"You do? said she; "why did n't you say so
before ? How would a couple of young bears suit
you? My father could find you a pair of nice ones."


At sunrise the smoke of the volcano stood like a
black cloud-pillar in the southern sky, and when we
continued on our road, we noticed a strange dust in
the air, a haze of fine ashes, that had drifted over
with the night-wind. The lowlands at our feet,
however, were sunlit for hundreds of miles, and
through a gap in the south-western coast-range we
could see the glittering waters of the Pacific Ocean.
The southern slope of our sierra was very steep, till
we reached a sort of terrace formed by the upper
valley of the Rio Claro. Here our little guide
stopped, and pointed to a stone house that stood
like a watch-tower at the brink of the river-valley.
"That 's where my folks live," said she. "You


"What will he take ? asked Menito.
"That's no business of mine," said the little
shrew. You just follow this road; if my father is
home, he will overtake you before you cross that
river. The bears are somewhere in the sierra."
A mile farther down we came to a bridge, where
we had to wait half an hour, till at last
a man with a large musket came run-
ning down the river-road.
"Yes, that's the old sergeant," said
Daddy Simon. "I know him by that
big gun of his."
"Hallo So my girl was right, after
all," said the sergeant. "Her mother
would n't believe that you wanted to
buy those bears."
"Where are they ? I asked.
"Up in the sierra; if you are bound
for Antigua, it 's a little out of your
direction," said he. "But you might
as well go by way of San Miguel, and
get the viatico."
"What 's that ?
"San Miguel is a convent," explained
the sergeant. "And the viatico is the ;'
luncheon they give to all strangers."
"All right! I laughed. "We must 'II;
n't miss that for anything. Come on,
The sergeant was a fast walker, but
we managed to keep up with him some
eight miles, up and down hill through '
the mountains, till he brought us to the
brink of a deep ravine, where our mule
refused to advance another step.
"You had better leave her up here
and let that boy take her along the hill-
side," said our new guide. "They can
meet us at the mouth of the next creek."
When we had reached the bottom of
the ravine the hunter stopped and point-
ed to a pile of boulders on the opposite .'
slope. "That's the bear's den," said
he; she has two cubs, nearly a month
old, I should say; let's fetch them right
Then we had better get our guns ready ?" said
"Never mind the guns," said the. sergeant;
SI '11 get the bears for you; they are only cubs,
and the old one is n't at home."
How do you know ?"
She's out marmot-hunting," said he; there's
a colony of marmottos" (a sort of prairie-dogs) "on
the ridge of this sierra, and they never come out
till the sun gets pretty high, a little after noon, gen-
erally. Now hold my musket a moment," said

he, when we reached the bowlders. He untied a
little bundle, took out a sack and a pair of large
buckskin gloves, and after looking carefully up and
down the ravine, he crawled into a cleft in the bot-
tom rocks of the pile..
"There's something wrong-may be the old

A ... .

1 1
* Y14i.~


bear was at home, after all," said Tommy, when we
had waited about twenty minutes, without seeing
any sign of the, sergeant.
No, I think he knows what he 's about," said
Daddy Simon; he 's the best hunter in this sierra,
and quite as sharp-nosed as his daughter. Yes,
here he comes. Listen !"
A whimpering howl came from the depths of the
cave, and, a moment after, the hunter crawled out
and handed us a creature like a fat, black poodle-
dog. Here, take charge of this old howler," said





he; they are bigger than I expected; I am going
to get his brother now."
There is n't much time to lose," said he, when
he re-appeared with the second black poodle; the
old bear will come home before long. We shall
have to play her a trick, or she may come after us."
"What are you going to do ?" I asked.
I '11 show you," said he ; and taking hold of
the two cubs, he soused them in the creek at the
bottom of the ravine; and then, holding them close
together, he walked slowly toward another pile of
bowlders a little farther down. The drenched
cubs trickled like two watering-pots, and after hold-
ing them over the top of the pile, he rubbed their
wet fur against some of the projecting rocks.
"Let me see that bag now," said he; "chuck
them in, please; that 's it. And now let's get out
of this as fast as we can. Come this way; straight
uphill; the shortest way is the best."
We clambered up the slope on our hands and
feet, till we came in sight of the place where Menito
was waiting with the mule. But before we reached
them, the hunter suddenly threw himself flat be-
hind a rock and motioned us with his hand to keep
down and hide ourselves. "I knew there was no
time to lose," he whispered; "here comes the old
Down below, at the bottom of the valley, a big
fat bear came trotting along the creek with her
nose close to the ground, making straight for the
wet bowlders. There she stopped, and after nos-
ing about here and there, she raised herself on her
hind legs and began to tear down the rocks, one
after another, though some of them could not
weigh less than a ton. Now and then she raised
her head and looked silently all around, and then,
with a fierce growl, she fell upon the rocks again.
I wondered how she would manage the enormous
bowlders at the bottom of the pile, but before she
had finished her work, the hunter slipped away
and beckoned us to follow him.
We are all right now," said he, when we got
back to the hill-road; "she has n't seen us yet,
and before she has finished there, we shall have a
start of a mile at least. How do you like the cubs
-don't you think they are worth four dollars? "
"Certainly," said I; "but I '11 give you five,
for showing us how to outwit a bear."
"Yes, but look here," said Daddy Simon, Mr.
Cortina must n't leave us yet; we should be sure
to lose our way; I have never been in this part of
the sierra before."
"Don't trouble yourselves about that," laughed
the hunter; I want to get my share of that viatico.
But, in the first place, we must have some dinner
now; I '11 take you to a place where we can get
any amount of bread and honey."

What! Is there a house up here ? I asked.
"No, but a honey-camp," said the sergeant;
" old Jack Gomez is living there all by himself,
hunting up wild bees' nests in the rocks. He 's
the funniest old chap you ever saw."
We could not deny that, when Mr. Cortina in-
troduced us to the hermit. The old fellow wore
leather knee-breeches, and a short leather waist-
coat, but nothing else, and from the top of his
bare head to the tips of his toes his skin looked as
if he had been painted with yellow ocher and
coach-varnish; his beard and his long hair were
just one mass of clotted honey.
"How are you, Jack ?" said the sergeant, and
slapped him on the shoulder, but drew back his
hand as if he had touched a pitched kettle.
"Just look at this cried he. "Why don't you
wash yourself, you old monster ? "
Wash myself! chuckled the hermit; what
would be the use, my dear friends? I should be
covered with honey again the very next day. That's
just the fun of it," he continued, pointing to a big
pile of honey-combs. "I find a nest every day!
The young chaps in San Tomas would like to
find out how I do it, but they can't," he tittered,
" they can't I get a keg full before they can fill a
quart-cup. I could get rich at this business," said
he, but my nephew charges me a dollar for every
barrel he hauls to Antigua."
Why don't you take it there yourself? asked
the sergeant.
"To Antigua ? The saints bless you laughed
the hermit,-" the flies would eat me alive! No;
I have to stick to the highlands."
"Where do you sleep at night, Don Gomez? "
I inquired.
Right here," said he, under this tree, or in
that dug-out "-with a glance at an excavation in
the side of the hill. If it 's going to rain, I can
tell it by my weather-prophets, up there."
Behind the cliffs of the honey-camp rose a lime-
stone ridge, so absolutely perpendicular that some
of the rocks looked like tower-walls. On top of this
natural fortress roosted a swarm of king-vultures-
big, black fellows with red heads, taking their ease
as if they knew that their citadel was inaccessible
to human feet. The ridge was honey-combed with
caves similar to the holes in the lower cliffs, and,
as the vultures flew to and fro, their young ones
thrust their heads out of the holes and seemed to
clamor for their dinner.
If it 's going to rain, the old ones go to roost
in those holes," said the hermit. "I never knew
them to make a mistake."
The vulture-rock was too steep to climb, and it
would have been useless to shoot the poor fellows,
but the hermit sold us a pair of mamnottos, or

,881. i



mountain weasels, lively little chaps, looking almost
like yellow squirrels with stump-tails. He had
tamed several dozen of them, and fed them on the
refuse of his wax-caldron. These marmots and a
little dog, he said, had been his only companions
for the last five years.
Let 's go," said the sergeant, as soon as we
had finished our dinner; "we can not get to Sanl

mountain meadows stretched away before us for
miles and miles; but there was not a trace of a.
human settlement. Toward sunset, however, we
passed an abandoned cottage that reminded me
of the shepherds' cabins in the Austrian Alps.
I once tried to camp in that shanty," said the
sergeant, but I did not sleep a wink; there 's a
nest of mountain parrots somewhere on the roof or

*........ ....-.-' ,I_. .i .....

L~L I,
... .

p '- '.. --I. .

i ''"- S' .... ...



Miguel before to-morrow noon, but it wont rain
to-night, if we can trust those vultures, and I am
going to take you to a very comfortable camp."
The southern chain of the sierra seemed to be
almost entirely uninhabited,-wild rocks and lonely



in the chimney, and the old ones screamed all
night like wild-cats."
"I wish we could find some kind of a shelter-
place," I observed; "it will be chilly to-night."
Yes, but not where we are going to camp,"




said the hunter; "just wait till you see the place."
He took us to a dry ravine with an overhanging
ledge, where the winds had heaped .up a mass of
dry leaves from a neighboring live-oak grove. We
raked them together into a large pile, and then


spread our tent-cloth on top; but there were still
leaves enough left to fill a hundred bed-sacks.
"We '11 pile them on top of our blankets," said
the sergeant; "that will keep us more comfortable
than any camp-fire. A fire is apt to go out, and if
it does you are sure to wake up with cold feet, but
these leaves will keep us as warm as a feather-bed."
SThey did, indeed, and we had never passed a
more comfortable night in the wilderness. But
toward morning Tommy waked me before it was
quite daylight.
"How 's that?" said he. I have been sitting
up in my shirt-sleeves for half an hour, and it 's
as warm as ever. It's going to rain, I am afraid."
After a look at the clouds, I made them all get
up and pack their things. The whole sky was
overcast with a grayish haze that looked very much
like the ash-cloud of the volcano.
"There 's a storm brewing," said the hunter;
"I heard something like thunder a while ago. It
must be in the central valley, between this sierra
and the one we left yesterday morning."



That seemed, indeed, the true explanation. We
did not see any lightning, but as we descended the
valley the thunder in the mountains boomed like a
distant cannonade, with an end-
less echo; sometimes like the
deep mutterings of. a human
7onic. and then again like the
\ i mbIiing of a ten-pin ballover
.0 hollow floor. By goodluck,
.., i road went steadily down-
hll. and we pressed for-
V..rd at the rate of five
miles an hour till we sight-
d our destination, the
Convent of San Miguel,
1 in a grove of poplar
andplane trees. Down
S in the valley we set
our mule trotting
S.....^ ld then, for
ri r iunder-peals
S..: lne louder
S. ,.. i. .li louder, as if
the storm
-" e were fol-
-, lowing at
our heels.
T---here 's no
-- :!.. ll we see the
lightning," said the
S. i- .: ; "it 's still all on the .
I [l.- :.l .I (! lie sierra."
Half a mile from the convent we
came to a creek, where we hastily
watered our mule and washed our wire.
baskets and saddle-bags.
"Would n't this be a nice bathing-place ?" said
Menito; "why, it 's as warm to-day as in mid-
summer! "
"Yes, but we had better hurry up," said
Tommy; "I believe I saw a flash of lightning
just now."
"Hallo, your boy -is right!" said the hunter;
" look at the mountains-it 's coming !"
The summits of the sierra had suddenly turned
gray, and even while we ran we could hear the
roar of the storm in the pine-forests of the upper
"Forward!" cried the sergeant; "we can reach.
the convent in ten minutes "
Black Betsy seemed to understand him, and
went ahead, till we had to run at the top of our
speed to keep up with her. Dust and leaves
flew over our heads, but through the rush of the
whirlwind we could hear the loud shouting of the
people at the convent; and just before the storm
overtook us, we reached the gate, amidst the cheers




of the jolly friars, who met us in the court-yard, Would you like to sell me one of those pets? "
and pulled our mule through the portico into the I asked.
lower hall of the convent. I do not know," said the abbot. It's against
In the next minute the rain came down like a the rule; but I think I'11 let you have a pair, and Mr.
deluge, but we were safe. The convent was a Cortina can get me some new ones."
massive stone building, --ith a fl -r..f tat "Why? Is there
had weathered worse stcr... ri i i- !;. '.I. I a law against it ?" I
we brushed the dust tic:.!i .. m .:.:.. r i; asked.
hunter and one of the n...,i-! Il-d 'l. "No; I'lltell you
I i "I' --- ',V ll,,l V i",ll, ", III
Daddy Simon to unpack ril- in. '"' '1'l i '1 how it is," said the
but by some mistake il..: ',l ,l abbot. Come this
buckled the strap that h,_- 1 .- h' ,. way, please."
wire baskets. These tur,.. ,, ,iI.',) He took us to the
bled down, and out jump.. '" '' refectory of the con-
our little friend, Bobt.,.i vent, and showed us
Billy, and was grab- a large picture rep-
bed almost in the resenting a man in
same moment by a -hot pursuit of a bear
savage-looking bull- with a child in its
dog, who would cer- mouth.
tainly have killed This picture was
him if a monk had painted to commem-
not caught him by the 1:.. rI I orate an actual oc-
the nick of time. As currency," said he.
Billy got off with a bad.l :.. '. ii i.. "Some fifty years
but he did not leave irt .-.- a gentleman by the
tearing and whimpering t..i ri.: ''' 'ame of Yegros owned
next ten minutes. ',' i i, 'lli large farm near this
The rain lasted all i. r i..r nvent, and while his
next morning was as cl.: f *i.., i.1 i'i l ..I children were at play in
as a May day in Italy, .,!!-t ..:.. '' I' ie garden one day, a
the abbot took us ovei r.. . .:- l l.ar broke through the
to show us the curiosit.:- .. .. !d.:.:. .:i i.edge and ran off with
They had a collection c.t in.l ,-, I is little son. Don Ye-
idols and weapons, and.. r, ,. ros snatched up his
feather-cloak whichhad '-,..I..- .:J . Tu .usket and started in
to a prince of the na- -''.' i..ursuit, but, seeing that
tion that inhabited --: ,i'. Ie could not overtake
Guatemala before the lie bear, he knelt down
Spaniards came. It i d fired-a well-aimed
was made of coarse line,,. I..,,r lot, as he thought, and
from the collar to the !. .i' om a distance that
seam, continuous rows o t i.lade it easy enough to
dy bird-feathers had been hit such a large brute.
stitched into the weft of the But the bear kept on,
cloth, blue and gray ones BILLY BOBTAIL TURNS PERSECUITOR. and disappeared in the
forming the background, with chaparral [thorn-jungle]
the brilliant plumes of the yellow macaw set around of the neighboring hills. After a long search,
the collar, and red and purple wing-feathers dis- the child was given up for lost, till, some eight
tribute here and there, like flower-patterns on a days after, two of our monks, coming home from
gray carpet. They had also an assortment of a visit to an Indian village, saw a number of
stuffed snakes, and on the porch of the main vultures on a certain tree in the depths of the
building stood a big cage, shaped like a castle, chaparral, and, making their way to the spot, found
with turrets and weather-cocks, and containing a the carcass of the bear, and not far off a little boy
dozen tame king-vultures. They hopped out as of four or five years, who told them his father's
soon as the cage was opened, and followed us all name, and said that he had lived a whole week on
about the porch like dogs. wild raspberries. When Don Yegros got his son




back, he gave this convent a present of fifty acres
of land, besides a sum of money, on condition
that we should feed twelve king-vultures, because
those birds had guided the rescuing party."
Bobtail Billy, after his last adventure, had taken
up his quarters in the convent kitchen, but when
we were ready to start, the little chatterbox had
May be, he is in the yard," said the sergeant.
" That old bull-dog is keeping up a terrible noise
about something or other."
The dog had been chained to a post near an old
garden-wall, and we could not imagine what should
have put Billy in his way. But the hunter was
right: on top of the wall stood our little bobtail,
chattering and trying to aggravate the bull-dog in.
every possible way. The dog barked furiously, and
now and then made a savage leap against the wall;
but his chain was too short, and whenever he
jumped, Billy hit him with a stone or a piece of
mortar. Our calls at last attracted the attention of


the little bombardier, and seeing that we were wait-
ing for him at the gate, he jumped down on the
other side, and tried to reach us by running along
at the side of the garden-wall. But, at the end of
the wall, he had to cross the court-yard, and here
his enemy caught sight of him.
He stepped back, and then throwing himself
forward with a sudden leap, he managed to snap
the chain close to the post, and came charging
down the road like a hunting panther. -Billy was
trotting leisurely along, but hearing the rattle of
the chain, he looked back, and no human voice
could have imitated his squeals of horror as he
came tearing through the gate-way. The affair
might have got us into a scrape, for Tommy had
already leveled his shot-gun, resolved to defend his
pet against all comers; but the heavy chain saved
the bull-dog's life: its weight delayed him, and
so he was a moment too'late; when he overtook
us, Billy had already reached his perch, and was
making faces at him from behind the saddle-bag.

(To be continued.)

There wag a small

servant called Kate,

Whko yat on fhe StairS

very late;

When a5ked kow jhe


She Sa-id Se was


But was etherwiSe ce-

ing firt rat-

Vot.. VIII.--35.




"DEAR me!" cried little Polly Miller, as she
looked out of the window one sunshiny May morn-
ing. "Dear me; sakes alive! Here comes a
percession "
Polly flew out to the porch, her eyes shining, and
her cheeks pink with excitement; for processions
did not often go past the little brown cottage where
she lived. Down the lane there was a tooting of
tin horns, a merry murmur of children's voices, a
flutter of gay little flags, bright ribbons, white
muslin dresses,-and in a minute more the May-
party came marching along. There was a queen,
with a wreath of flowers on her head, and a long
white veil floating behind her; there were four
maids of honor, carrying long wands that were
decorated with pink and blue streamers; there were
ten girls marching two by two behind the maids of
honor; and two big girls to take care of the party;
besides any number of boys, who all carried
baskets, and had little flags stuck in their hats, and
"blew up their horns," as if every one of them was
a Little Boy Blue in his own right.
Polly watched them in breathless delight.
"Oh! she gasped, "it's the loveliest percession
I never did see An' it 's going-why, just as sure
as I 'm alive, it 's going up in my woods! So it
aint a percession, after all; it 's a picnic "
Polly always said "my woods," although they only
belonged to her as they belonged to the birds, and
the tree-toads, and the black ants, and the bright-
eyed, bushy-tailed squirrels that she loved to watch.
She spent a great deal of her time there-almost as
much as the birdies and the bunnies themselves; for
she had nothing else to do with it,-nothing to
signify, at least; and the woods were so close by
her home that her mother could call her from the
front door, if she wanted her. It 's true Polly
did n't always hear her when she called, for she
strayed off sometimes to hunt for wild strawberries,
or to get the flag-root that grew in the marshy bed
of the brook. But her mother knew the woods
were safe, and she never worried. There were no
snakes, and it was too far away from the high-road
for tramps.
Indeed, it was a rare thing for Polly to meet any-
body at all in her woods. Once upon a time there
had been a picnic in them-a Sunday-school pic-
nic, which came up from New York; and Polly's
grown-up sister, who was n't grown-up and married
then, had gone to it. She had told Polly all about
it a great many times,-about the swings that were

put up in the trees; about the long table (made
of pine boards resting on stumps) that was covered
with good things; about the little girls in white
frocks and blue sashes; about the banners and the
badges; and the ladies and gentlemen who played
games with the children; and the songs they sang;
and the ice-cream they ate; and everything! It.
was a story that Polly was never tired of, and the
dream of her life had been to go to a picnic just
,like that one. No wonder her eyes sparkled when
she saw the May-party!
For she never thought of there being any trouble
about her going to it. Susan Ann went to the pic-
nic-that was the grown-up sister: why should n't
Polly go as well as Susan Ann? The only thing
was, they were all dressed up in white frocks.
"But never mind!" said Polly. "I have a white
frock, too."
And she ran upstairs, pulled it out of the bot-
tom drawer of her mother's bureau, and had it on
in a jiffy-as funny a little white frock as you have
seen in many a day. Polly's mother made it after
the same pattern that she had made Susan Ann's
frocks by when she was little; and it was long in the
skirt, and short in the waist, and low in the neck;
it had n't any ruffles, or embroideries, or gores, or
pull-backs, such as little girls wear nowadays, but
the short sleeves were looped up with pink shoulder-
knots, made out of Susan Ann's old bonnet-strings,
and Polly's fat little neck and round arms were left
all bare. They looked cunning, though; so plump,
and white, and babyish that you wanted to kiss.
them. The bright little face was sweet enough for
kisses, too; and the naked little feet-for Polly
could n't bear shoes and stockings in warm weather
-were bewitching. When she put her Sunday
hat on-a big, flapping Leghorn with a wreath of
" artificial round it-she looked as if she had
stepped out of a picture-book; and she had n't the
least idea that there was anything funny or old-
fashioned about her.
There was nobody around when she went down-
stairs, for it was churning-day, and her mother was
busy. Besides, she never paid much attention to
Polly's movements, so there was no one to hinder
the little one from following the May-party. They
had only had time to look about them a little, set
the provision-baskets in a safe place, and begin to
consider how they were going to amuse themselves.
all day, when Polly overtook them.
Is you havin' a picnic ?" she said, walking up,.




with a smiling face, to one of the big girls. "I
likes picnics, myself."
Do you ?" said the big girl, staring at her in a
rather disagreeable way. "Thank you for the
"You 're welcome," answered Polly, innocently.
It was what she had been taught to say whenever
any one thanked her for a favor. I did n't go to
any picnics yet, though," she added, in a confiding
tone. Susan Ann went once, but she did n't take
me. I guess I was n't anywhere 'round then."
What child is that ? asked the other big girl,
who had just discovered Polly. "Where in the
world did you pick up such a funny little object,
Bertha? Is Noah's Ark in the neighborhood? "
Can't say, I 'm sure," said Bertha, moving
away. And I have n't picked her up at all. She
began a conversation with me, which I '11 leave you
to finish."
"Where did you come from, little girl?" asked
the other one, rather hastily; for she had various
things to attend to. You don't know anybody
here, do you? This is a private party."
"Aint it a picnic?" said Polly, a little shadow
of anxiety creeping into her smile. "I thinked it
was a picnic, an' I came to stay."
"Oh, you did?" exclaimed the other girl, laugh-
ing. "But that wont do, I'm afraid. Who in-
vited you, Sissie ? "
Polly shook her head. My name aint Sissie;
it 's Polly Miller; and I came to stay," she re-
A group of girls and boys had gathered around
her by this time, and curious eyes were staring at
the bare little feet, at the funny white frock, at the
old-fashioned, wide-brimmed hat with the artificial
roses on it. "What a guy !" the eyes telegraphed
to one another; and little ripples of not very amia-
ble laughter ran around the group. Polly's eyes
wandered from one face to another with a look that
had suddenly grown wistful. Her happy smile
faded, and a blush stole up into her cheek.
Must n't anybody come to picnics ?" she asked,
"Not unless they are invited," was the quick
answer. "And you 're not invited, you see.
Besides, you don't know anybody here, and all the
other little girls are acquainted with one another.
You would n't have a nice time at all."
"Oh, yes! I think I should!" cried Polly,
hopefully. I aint hard to get acquainted with,"
the winsome smile spreading over her face again.
" Susan Ann says I 'm a sociable little body."
You 're a droll one, anyhow," said the big girl,
with a merry laugh. What shall we do with her,
children? Let her stay?"
Oh dear, no! "-a little miss with long yellow

curls, and a proud little nose very high in the air,
spoke up promptly; and then, with a cold glance at.
Polly, she added: "We don't want that sort of
people at our picnic. Tell her to go away, Lulu."
And two or three others chimed in with-
"Yes, Lulu! Send her away. We can't be
bothered with that little barefooted thing all day,
She 's no right to expect it. Tell her to go hote."
There, dear," said Lulu hastily, and more thari
half ashamed of herself, "it wont do, you see; and
we 're going to be busy, now, so I guess you 'd
better run home right away, little Polly What 's-
your-name! Here 's a caramel for you," taking
one out of her pocket, with an attempt at conso-
But Polly did not accept it. After one wonder-
ing and wistful glance all around the circle of pretty
faces, not one of which had a welcome for her, she
turned her back upon them, and walked away
slowlyv and sorrowfully. The children looked after
her with an uncomfortable feeling; and Lulu said,
"Poor thing! in a pitying tone. But the little
miss in the princess dress and the long yellow
curls tossed her head.
"What else could she expect ?" she cried. "As
if we wanted a lot of ragamuffins! Why, next
thing, 'Susan Ann,' and all the family would have
' come to stay.' I never saw anything so cool in all
my life."
"Oh, well; she 's gone now; so never mind,"
said Lulu. Let 's go and see if the swings are
up yet."
The children scattered about through the woods,
some to gather violets and wind-flowers, some to
sail boats in the brook, some to go flying sky-high
in the long rope-swings that the boys were putting
up. They forgot little Polly as soon as she was out
of sight; but she did not forget them. There was
no anger against them in her innocent heart; only
a great disappointment, a puzzled wonder, and an
unconquered desire. She could not understand
why they did not want her, and she still longed
after the unknown delights of the picnic.
The longing grew stronger as she went farther
away; so strong at last that it was not to be re-
sisted; and Polly turned about suddenly with a new
idea. What was the use of going home, where
there was n't anything to do? She could stay
around in the woods, and hide in her house when
nobody was looking, and "peek" at the picnic,
anyhow. That would be better than nothing.
Polly's "house was a hollow tree, and she lived in
it a great deal, and brought as many treasures to it
as a squirrel does to its hole. She played all sorts
of games in her house: that it was rainy weather,
and she could n't go out; that it was night-time,
and she must make up her bed and go to sleep;




that company was coming, and she had to bake
cake and put on the tea-kettle; that her children
were all down with the measles, and she could n't
get a chance to clean house.
There was no end to the things Polly "played"
in her hollow tree; but one of the best games of
all was when she played that bears and Indians
were around. Then she filled up the door of her
house with bushy green boughs that she broke off
the young trees, and hid herself behind them.
She used to pretend that she was terribly frightened,
and sometimes she pretended so well that she really
did get frightened, and ran home as fast as if the
bears and Indians had truly been behind her. It
was only yesterday that that very thing had hap-
pened, and the green boughs were still in front of
Polly's house, just as she had left them when she
ran away. She remembered it now, and it did not
take her long to make her way badk to the tree.
She was nimble as a hop-toad, and knew just where
to go; so she was safe in her snug hiding-place
before any one got so much as a glimpse of her.
Once there, she could see a good deal of what
was going on, and hear more. The green boughs
sheltered her, but there were plenty of little open-
ings through which bright eyes could peep. She
saw the children running to and fro to gather
mosses and ferns, and heard their shouts, their
bursts of merry laughter, their chattering tongues,
now close by, and now far off. After a while, she
heard somebody say:
S'pose we have the coronation now; what's the
use of waiting till after luncheon ? "
Then somebody else said, "Well, call the chil-
dren. "
And Polly heard a very loud trumpet-blowing, and
all the boys and girls began to flock together in a
green open space which was just below her "house."
She had no idea what a coronation meant; but
she thought it the most beautiful thing in the world
when she heard them all singing, and speaking
pieces, and saw them dance in a ring around the
little girl who was chosen Queen of the May. There
was nothing like that at Susan Ann's picnic, Polly
was sure; and she was so happy, looking at the
coronation, that she quite forgot she was only
" peeking at the picnic, and not really in it herself.
By and by, before she had begun to be tired,
something else happened. The two tall girls, Lulu
and Bertha, began to "set the table." They
spread a long white cloth on the ground, and in
the middle of it they made a little mound of moss,
which they stuck full of ferns and wild-flowers.
Around this they made a circle of oranges, and
then a ring of little-iced cakes, pink, and white, and
chocolate-colored. At the four corners they had
heaping plates of sandwiches; and the rest of the

cloth was filled up with loaf-cakes, and dishes of
jelly, and cold chicken, and biscuits, and custard-
pie. It was a beautiful table when it was all done,
but oh, how hungry it made Polly feel!
Seems as if I had n't had breakfast to-day," she
said to herself. Seems as if I did n't never have
anything to eat! Oh dear me; sakes alive "
"Is it all ready? Shall we blow the horn ?" she
heard Lulu say, presently.
And Bertha answered:
"Yes-all but the Russian tea. Fetch the
round basket, Lulu-the brown one, you know.
The tea is in that, in a covered pail."
Lulu ran away, somewhere out of sight, and ran
back again with a big tin can in her hands-upside
See there, now! Did n't I tell you it would
be safer to bring lemons and sugar, and make the
lemonade here?"
"Why, what 's the matter? Is it spilled ? cried
Bertha, in dismay.
Every drop of it. The basket was tipped over
on its side, and your Russian tea has been watering
the moss all the morning. So much for not taking
my advice, Miss Bertha."
Oh dear! groaned Bertha. "Is n't that too
aggravating? Now there is n't a thing to drink,
and I 'm as thirsty as a fish already."
"Just so. And that brook-water is horrid. I
tasted it."
"It would have spoiled the lemonade, then, if I
had taken your advice. That's one comfort," said
Bertha, laughing.
Lulu laughed, too.
"But that wont quench your thirst," she said.
" I begin to wish we had let little Polly What 's-
her-name stay. We might have sent her for some
water, or milk, or something."
"Some of the boys will have to go," said Bertha,
Only they wont know where to go. Little Polly
had the advantage of being a native."
What 's a native ? said Polly to herself, as she
slipped through the green boughs, and crept around
behind the hollow tree. "What 's a native, I
wonder? Is it anything to drink?
She did n't stop to ask anybody; and she does n't
know to this day what it meant. She knew some-
thing better, though-how to return good for evil
-and the bare little feet went flying through the
woods as if they had wings. It was churning-day
at home, and there would be fresh buttermilk;
there was always plenty of sweet milk, too; and
Polly was n't afraid of what her mother would say.
Before the picnic had fairly sat down to its lunch-
eon,-for they wasted a great deal of breath in
lamenting the Russian tea, and in arguing the




point whether or not it would have been better to
bring lemons and sugar, instead,-Polly was back
again. And such a breathless little Polly! Her
cheeks were redder than roses, her hair was all in a
tousle of damp curls, her Leghorn hat hanging at
the back of her neck; for she could not spare a
hand to put it on her head again when it fell back.
Both hands were full-a pitcher of fresh, sweet,
morning's milk in one, in the other a pail of butter-
milk-and her smile was brighter than sunshine as
she set them down in front of the astonished party.
".I did n't come to stay," she said, innocently.
" I just came to bring you some milk, 'cos your tea
got spilt."
And then she turned to go away, for she did n't
imagine-the dear little Polly!-that they would
want her now, any more than they had before;
and it was dinner-time at home, and Polly was
hungry. She turned to go away, but the picnic
pounced upon her with one jump, and said they 'd
like to see her try it.
"Do you suppose," said Lulu, "do you dare to
suppose, you ridiculous little Polly What 's-your-
name, that we '11 let you go till we know the mean-
ing of this richness? Come, now! How did you
find out that we 'd spilled our tea?"
"I was up in my house," said Polly, not a bit
afraid, for all the faces around her now were smiling
faces. I was up in my house, and I heard you."
She pointed to the hollow tree, which showed the
hollow, now that the green boughs had tumbled
I did n't want to go home till I saw the picnic;

so I staid in my house, and I heard you," she
repeated, triumphantly.
"And then you went home to get the milk for
us? Now, Bertha; now, children, all of you! cried
Lulu, tragically, "I only want to ask you one
question: did you ever? "
"No, I never! said Bertha, solemnly.
And all the other girls screamed, "No, we
never! "
And all the boys threw up their hats, and sang
out, "Hurrah for Little Barefoot! Three cheers
for Polly Buttermilk! "
They made such a noise that the hop-toads went
skipping to their holes, and the birds went flying to
the tree-tops, scared out of their seven senses.
But Polly was n't scared. No, indeed! She
laughed, for Lulu took her in her arms, and kissed
her, and said she was the sweetest little humbug
that ever lived. And Bertha made her sit down at
the table between her and the May-queen, and a
plate was put in her lap, and piled up with the best
of everything. She had more cake, and custard-
pie, and jelly than she could have eaten if she had
been three Polly Millers; and oh! what fun, what
"splenderiferous" jolly fun, playing with all the
girls and boys afterward !
Never as long as she lives will Polly forget that
picnic. Susan Ann has no story to tell her now-
Polly can tell a better one herself; and she does
tell it to everybody that will listen to her, though
all her friends and relations know it by heart
already. As for the folks of that May-party,-well,
I don't think they 'll forget, either.



THE eastern coast of Florida, from the St. John's
River to the Florida Keys, forms one vast stretch
of sand, broken only by an occasional inlet. There
are no rocky bluffs nor pebbly beaches; all is sand,
washed by the heavy waves of the Gulf-stream-a
vast body of warm water flowing northwardly from
the Gulf of Mexico, like a broad river, across, and
yet in, the ocean.
This stream brings to Florida's beaches many a
foreign shell and plant, and makes them doubly
interesting to stroll upon. Large cocoa-nuts come,
wrapped in their shaggy outer bark, and full of
sweet pulp and delicious milk; and the remarkable
disk-shaped "sea-beans" are always abundant

after a gale. This bean forms a fruitful source of
speculation and revenue to the natives, who hold it
to be a product of the ocean depths, and sell it to
wondering visitors, after carefully polishing it. But
it is only a waif from the Antilles-the fruit of a
vine whose pods, full of these beans, fall into the
sea and are drifted hither by the Gulf-stream.
A walk 'along any beach, with the roar of the
mighty surf filling our ears and inspiring reverence,
and only the sights and sounds of nature to enter-
tain us, is always profitable. Our eyes notice little
things that elsewhere would pass unobserved. We
examine the tiny circles traced by the leaf-points of
the beach-grass, as they are borne down by the




wind; the timid beach-birds, as they pause upon
one foot, eying us suspiciously, or scurry by with
a pipe of alarm; the bulky pelicans, that stand in
long rows on the sand-bars, or, flying clumsily atop


of the waves, drop with a splash upon unwary fishes,
gulping them up with their pouched bills. Beau-
tiful shells of every hue-blue, purple, scarlet,
crimson, orange, yellow, and pearly white-lie in
windows tossed up by the steady surf, or where
the latest gale has heaped them high upon the
sand. A curious, earth-colored crab runs rapidly
to his hole in the dry sand from the water just in
front of us, where he has been fishing, brandishing
his claws most threateningly as he waltzes along in
his funny, sidelong style.
Do you see these depressions in the sand, looking
as though some one had thrown out a trowel-full of
sand every foot or two, and this broad line marked
between the regular rows ? That is the trail of
the huge sea-turtle, as she comes out of the ocean
in the spring to lay her eggs. And narrow escapes
from death she has, between her two enemies, bears
and men, while she is at this duty. Run a small
stick into the sand, where you notice this exca-
vation, and see if you strike .;i i;.-. If success-
ful, you get a large half-bushel of round, white
eggs, covered with a leathery skin, instead of a
brittle shell. They make a good omelet, and are
much sought after. .Those other depressions, such
as one might make with his closed hand, but larger,
are the tracks of a bear. Bruin walks the beach
during the turtling months, and robs every nest on
Shis route. The dweller on the Florida coast may
lose his share of turtles' eggs, but he lies in wait
for the shaggy thief on moonlight nights, and
enjoys exciting sport in shooting him.

ar down the beach, something reflects rainbow
s, and, only stopping to glance at a stranded
ip of pearl," the fabled Argonaut, we go toward
It proves to be the Portuguese man-of-war *
-a sac or bubble of thin,
transparent skin as large as
one's fist, filled with air.
When alive, this bubble has
long tentacles or hanging
arms, which, with the body,
are gorgeously colored-
pink, blue, and violet; even
in death, the sun playing
over it causes a charming
iridescence. Well are they
named "sea-nettles," for
those tentacles are extremely
poisonous, causing the hand
that touches them to swell
and smart for several hours
A hundred other charm-
ing objects claim notice. I
want to turn your eyes par-
ticularly to two of the least
ceable, and which are excellently represented
he engraving. The figure on the left-hand
hat of a beautiful mollusk called the "violet
I,"-Ian-Thina communis, in Latin. It is a
11 shell, and would hardly attract a glance
e it not for its rich violet hue and its attachment
,hat appears to be a group or string of bubbles
ea-foam. Closer examination shows us that
e supposed "bubbles" are a collection of filmy
air-cells, proceeding from the mouth of the
I within the shell. They serve several irpor-
he violet snail lives all over the Atlantic Ocean,
in the Mediterranean, floating about in the
a sea. It does not sustain itself by constantly
ing hither and thither, but is upheld by means
his buoyant structure of air-cells to which it is
ched. Excepting in the most violent storms,
snail thus floats about unconcerned; and when
water is too rough for his comfort, he can suck
air out of the cells and sink to quiet depths.
a very great convenience to him.
besides performing the duty of a raft, this bundle
ir-cells becomes a sort of family nursery, for to
under surface are glued the egg-cases out of
ch the young are hatched. These cases contain
s and young mollusks in all stages of advance-
it-those farthest from the parent-shell being
rly ready to own a raft of their own, and em-
upon it, while those nearest are totally
his little mollusk is said to have no eyes; and

* See "Jack-in-the-Pulpit" for March, 1881.




in its aimless, wandering life, guided at the whims
of wave and wind, it would often go hungry but
for the fact that its food, minute jelly-fishes, exists
in countless profusion over the whole wide surface
of the ocean. Its body contains a few drops of
violet fluid, which will hold its color for many
years, and is sometimes used as ink.
The little picture-mate of this interesting rafts-
man, somewhat resembling a butterfly in form, is
one of a small group of mollusks called fterofods
(wing-footed), on account of the fin-like lobes or
wings that project from their fragile shells, as
shown in the engraving. The pteropod uses these
wings to fly through the water, just as an insect
flies in the air. Pteropods are found swimming
in enormous bands, sometimes filling the surface
of the sea for leagues in extent; generally these
great congregations occur in the deep, warm waters
of the torrid zone; but one species, at least, lives
northward, for it forms the chief food of the great
Greenland whale. Another species, having a
glassy, transparent shell, carries a little luminous
globe, which emits a gleam of soft light. It is the
only known species of luminous shell-fish. Our
little friend, represented in this cut, has no lantern
to light him on his way; he is remarkable only for
his- wings, and his two tails, which grow through
two holes in his shell, and trail behind him. His
Latin name is Hyalea fri-
dentata. If, as his family
name implies, he really
were wing-foaoed, we might
call him the Mercury of
the sea.
Another curiosity found
in these waters is the por-
cupine-fish. It is often said
by old fishermen and sail-
ors that every living object
found on land has its coun-
terpart in the ocean. They
tell of sea-cucumbers and
sea-corn, sea-grapes andsea-
beans, which, the simple-
hearted old sailor declares,
exactly resemble the pride
of the little garden patches
tended by his wife ashore
while he is away.
And it is true that many of the inhabitants of
the ocean do bear more than an imaginary resem-
blance to many things found on land. The corals,
sponges, and anemones often look much like
flowers or ferns, while various fishes owe their
names to their likeness to certain terrestrial ani-
mals. Among these is the porcupine-fish.

This prickly-looking creature is one of an order
of strange fishes containing the sun-fish (not the
"sun-jelly" or medusa, so- common upon our
coast), the globe-fish, the file-fish, and trunk-fish-
each named from some peculiarity of shape, or
fancied resemblance to a familiar object. Most of
these fishes are covered with spines, or bony pro-
tuberances, which make them very ugly customers
to handle. Some of them possess a peculiar power
of inflating themselves with air, swelling up to twice
their natural size.
The globe-fish is the best illustration of this
strange faculty. It swims near the bottom, next to
shore, all its life, and is either so fearless or so stupid
that it may be lifted up in one's hand. When so
taken out of the water and gently rubbed, it will
swell up to its full capacity, until you really fear it
may burst. Leave the creature undisturbed, and
in a short time it will allow the air to escape, and
shrink into almost nothing but a bony skeleton
covered with skin.
The porcupine-fish, which belongs to the same
family, as I have already said, inhabits the warm
waters about the Bahama Islands and the coast of
Florida, where it is called among the inhabitants
by a variety of titles.
The name I have chosen, however, seems to be
the most appropriate, since its spiny protuberances


do remind one who looks at it, and much more one
who touches it, of the bristling quills of the porcu-
pine. It is not a large fish, being less than a foot
in length, and generally as broad (or round) as it
is long. Its scientific name is Diodon hystrix, the
second word being, as you young students may
know, the Latin name of the hedgehog.





THERE lived a queer old king,
Who used to skip and swing,
And "dance before the fiddle," and all that sort of thing.
In princely robes arrayed,
The games of youth he played,
And mingled with the low buffoons at fair or masquerade.
His royal back he 'd stoop
To chase a rolling hoop,
Or romp in merry leap-frog with the wildest of the group.




At last, a cunning clown
Got hold of mace and crown,
And instantly the people hailed him monarch of the town.

Because the crown he wore,
And royal scepter bore,
All took him for the romping king they 'd honored heretofore.

His Majesty would rave,
And bellow "Fool! and "Slave! "
But still the people bowed and scraped around the painted knave.

Well might the sovereign yell,
And threaten prison cell,
And rope, and ax, and gibbet;-but he could not break the spell.

So passed his power away,
His subjects and his sway,
For king was clown, and clown was king, until their dying day.





BEFORE leaving the subject of ancient sculpture,
I wish to speak of some other beautiful works
which are still preserved, and which the illustra-
tions here given will help you to understand. The
first is from the frieze of the temple of Minerva, or
Pallas, at Egina. This word was formerly spelled
AEgina, and is the name of an island in the Gulf
of Egina, near the south-west coast of Greece. Its
chief city was also called Egina, and.here a beauti-
ful Doric temple was built about 475 B. c., which
was the period of the greatest prosperity and
importance of the island.
Many of the columns of this temple are still
standing, but large parts of it have fallen down;
in 1811 these ruins were examined, and some fine
pieces of sculptured marble were obtained, which
are the most remarkable works still existing from so
early a period. Thorwaldsen, the Danish sculptor,
restored these marbles, and the King of Bavaria
purchased them; they are now in the Glyptothek,
or Museum of Sculpture, at Munich.
The two figures given above formed a part of what
is called the western pediment of the temple; this
pediment contained a group of eleven figures,
almost life-size, and represented in spirited action.
I ought to tell you that a pediment is the trian-
gular space which is formed by the slanting of the
two sides of the roof up to the ridge-piece, at the
ends of buildings, and in the Greek temples the
pediment was usually much ornamented, and gave
a fine opportunity for large groups.
The figures in the center were the most impor-
tant actors in the scene or story represented by the
sculptures, and were of full size, and usually stand-

ing; then, as the space on each side became
narrower, the figures were arranged in positions to
suit it, and the whole composition was so fitted
into the slant as to produce a regular and symmet-
rical outline; thus the whole effect when com-
pleted was grand and imposing, as well as very
ornamental to the building.
The figures in this western pediment of the tem-
ple at Egina illustrated an episode in the story of
the Trojan War; it was the struggle of Ajax,
Ulysses, and other Greeks, with the Trojan war-
riors, over the dead body of Achilles. The Greeks
ardently desired to possess themselves of the body
of their brave leader, in order to give it a fitting
burial, and they succeeded in bearing it off to their
own camp.
The myth relates that the god Apollo guided
the arrow of Paris which killed Achilles, who could
only be wounded in his ankles, because when his
mother, the goddess Thetis, dipped him in the
river Styx to make him invulnerable, or safe from
being hurt by weapons, she held him by the ankles,
and as they were the only parts of his body not
wetted, it was only in them that he could be
It is believed that the warrior in this picture who
is about to send his arrow, is Paris; he wears the
curved Phrygian helmet and a close-fitting suit of
mail; in the whole group there is but one other
clothed warrior, all the rest are nude. The highest
part of this pediment has the figure of the goddess
Minerva, or Pallas, standing beside the fallen body
of Achilles, which she attempts to cover with her
shield, while a Trojan warrior tries to draw the





body away from the Greek who opposes him. The
two figures in our plate are placed at one side,
where the space in the triangle is growing narrow.
You can imagine what spirit there must be in the
whole group, when there is so much in these two
comparatively small figures; how sure we are that
the arrow will shoot out with deadly power, and
how the second warrior is bracing himself on his
feet and knee, and leaning forward, in order to
thrust his lance with all possible force !
These Eginetan statues have traces of color and
*of metal ornaments about them. The hair, eyes,
and lips were colored, and all the weapons, helmets,
:shields, and quivers were red. or blue, and some
portions of the garments of the goddess show that
the statue must have had bronze ornaments. We
know nothing of the artists who made these sculpt-
ures, but critics and scholars think that the works
resemble the written descriptions of the statues
made by Callon, who was a famous sculptor of
Egina, and lived probably about the time in which
the temple was built.
The next four illustrations are from the sculpt-
ures of the Parthenon, the beautiful temple at
Athens, which was mentioned in the first paper of
these stories. This temple was completed in 437
B. C., a little later than that at Egina. The Par-
thenon passed through many changes before it was
reduced to its present condition of ruin. Probably
about the sixth century of our era, it was dedicated
to the Virgin Mary and.used as a Christian church
until, in 1456 A. D., the Turks transformed it into
a Mohammedan mosque. In 1687 the Venetians
besieged Athens; the Turks had stored gunpow-
der in the eastern chamber of the Parthenon, and
a bomb thrown by the Venetians fell through the
roof, and set fire to the powder, which exploded,
and completely destroyed the center of the temple.
Then Morosini, the commander of the Venetians,
attempted to carry off some of the finest sculptures
of the western pediment, but in lowering them to
the ground they were allowed to fall by the unskill-
ful Venetians, and thus were broken in pieces.
Early in the present century, Lord Elgin carried
many of the Parthenon marbles to England, and
in 1816 they all were bought by the British
Museum. Finally, in 1827, during the rebellion
of the Greeks against the Turks, Athens was
again bombarded and the Parthenon still further
destroyed, so that those who now visit it can only

"Go forth and wander through the cold remains
Of fallen statues and of tottering fanes,
Seek the loved haunts of poet and of sage,
The gay palmstra and the gaudy stage!
What signs are there? A solitary stone,
A shattered capital, with grass o'ergrown,
A mouldering frieze, half hid in ancient dust,
A thistle springing o'er a nameless bust;

Yet this was Athens! Still a holy spell
Breathes in the dome, and wanders in the dell,
And vanished times and wondrous forms appear,
And sudden echoes charm the waking ear;
Decay itself is drest in glory's gloom,
For every hillock is a hero's tomb,
And every breeze to Fancy's slumber brings
The mighty rushing of a spirit's wings."

The British Museum now contains very nearly
all that are left of the sculptures of the two pedi-
ments of this magnificent temple. The torso which
is pictured below is believed to be that of a statue
of Theseus.
Torso is a term used in sculpture to denote a
mutilated figure. This figure made a part of the
group of the front or eastern pediment of the
temple, in which the story of the birth of Minerva
was represented. This goddess is said to have
sprung forth, all armed, from the head of Zeus, or
Jupiter, and it is fitting that Theseus should be rep-
resented as present on the occasion, since he was
the greatest hero, and the king, of Athens, of which
city Minerva was the protecting goddess. All the
sculptures of the Parthenon, as you will remember,
are attributed to the great sculptor Phidias, and
his school, and are very beautiful.
Next come three illustrations from the frieze of
the Parthenon. Perhaps you know that a frieze is
a band extending below a cornice, which runs
around the outside of a building, or the inside of
an apartment. The cornice is placed high up
where the roof joins the sides of a building, or
where the ceiling joins the walls of a room; the
frieze is just below, and may be very narrow or
broad, as the proportions of the object it ornaments
require. The sculptured frieze of the Parthenon


was outside of the walls of the temple or the cella,
as it is called in architecture, and was about five
hundred and twenty-two feet long, and three feet



and four inches broad. About four hundred feet
of this are still preserved, so that a good idea of it
can be formed. The portions of this frieze which

conquests of the giants; in later days, when the
Athenians wished to flatter a man, they sometimes
had his likeness embroidered on the peplos, in the


were carried to England were taken down in slabs.
The subject represented is the chief procession of
the Panathenma,* which was the most important
of all the festivals celebrated at Athens.
The festival continued several days, which were
passed in horse-racing, cock-fighting, gymnastic
and musical contests, and a great variety of games;
poets, also, recited their rhapsodies, and philos-
ophers disputed over their doctrifies in public
places; but its chief purpose was to carry in pro-
cession, up to the Parthenon, the garment woven

company of the gods; but this never occurred while
the people were yet uncorrupted by wealthy rulers.
The procession which attended the presentation
of the peplos at the temple was as splendid as all
the wealth, nobility, youth, and beauty of Athens
could make it; a vast multitude attended it, some
in chariots, others on horses, and large numbers
on foot. The noblest maidens bore baskets and
vases containing offerings for the goddess; aged
men carried olive-branches; while the young men,
in full armor, appeared as if ready to do battle for


and embroidered for the great goddess by the Minerva. The peplos was not borne by hands, but
maidens of the city. .was suspended from the mast of a ship which was
This garment was called a peplos, and was made moved along on the land, some writers say by
of a crocus-colored stuff, on which were embroi- means of machinery placed under-ground. When
dered the figures of the gods engaged in their the procession reached the temple, the- splendid
See the story, Myrto's Festival," Si. NICHOLAS for December, i880.





garment was placed upon the statue of the god-
During the festival of the Panathenma, prisoners
were allowed to enjoy freedom, and such men as

these plates;-and, finally, the procession ended
with numbers of youths on horseback, riding gayly
along, and, in one portion, there were others still
occupied in bridling their steeds, mounting, and


merited the gratitude of the republic were then
rewarded by the gift of gold crowns, their names
being announced by the heralds during the gym-
nastic games. We do not know exactly the order
in which all the ceremonies were observed, but it
is believed that the procession of the peplos was
celebrated on the last day of the festival.
It is probable that this frieze was executed from
a design by Phidias. Near the entrance on the
east there was an assemblage of the gods, in whose
presence the peplos was being presented to the
guardians of the temple; near them were the

making other preparations to join the cavalcade.
The wonderful excellence of the design of this great
work is a subject of which art-lovers never weary;
and certainly it is most remarkable that in this great
number of figures, no two can be said to resemble
each other, and that there are such an endless variety
of positions, and so much spirited action in it all.
The whole work bears marks of having been pro-
duced in the time when sculpture reached its
There is at Athens a work of a later period than
the Parthenon, and much smaller and less impor-


heralds and officers of the procession; then there tant than a temple, which also is very interesting:
were groups of animals for sacrifice, and, again, it is the Choragic Monument of Lysicrates. It is
groups of people;--sometimes they were lovely decorated with some very amusing scenes from the
maidens bearing their gifts on their shoulders, or life of Bacchus, and was erected in the year 334
musicians playing on the flute, as seen in one of B. C., when Lysicrates was choragus; that is to




say, when it was his office to provide the chorus for
the plays which were represented at Athens. The
duties of this office were arduous and expensive: he
had first to find and bring together the members
of the chorus, then to have them instructed in the
music, and to provide proper food for them while
they studied.
The choragus who presented the finest musical
entertainment received a tripod as his reward,
and it was customary to build a monument upon
which to place the tripod, as a lasting honor to
the choragus to whom it had been given. There
was in Athens a street formed by a line of these
monuments, called the "Street of the Tripods."
It was the custom to dedicate these tripods to some
divinity, and that of Lysicrates was devoted to
Bacchus. The sculptures represent him seated,
playing with a lion.
While the handsome young god thus amuses
himself, his companions, the Satyrs, are engaged
in punishing the Tyrrhenian pirates, who, accord-
ing to the myth, attempted to sell Bacchus for a
slave. In order to revenge himself, he changed
their masts and oars into serpents, and himself into
a lion; then music was heard, and ivy grew all
over the vessel, while the pirates went mad and
were changed into dolphins. The frieze on the
monument shows the Satyrs venting their anger on
the pirates; some have branches of trees with
which to beat the unlucky victims,-one pirate is
being dragged into the sea by one leg,-some of
them are already half changed into dolphins, and
leap into the water with great readiness; those with
heads of dolphins and with human bodies are very
queer, and the whole design is full of humor and
lively action. Bacchus was regarded as the patron
of plays and theaters, and, indeed, the Greek drama
grew out of the choruses which were sung at his
In comparison with all the works of art which
exist in the world, the remaining pieces of Greek
sculpture are so few that those people who love
and study them know about every one, and almost
consider them as they do their friends from whom

they are separated. Among these famous sculpt-
ures is the statue of the Apollo Belvedere. It is
such a favorite with all the world, and copies of it
are so common, that I fancy you must know it
This statue was found about the end of the fif-
teenth century, in the ruins of ancient Antium.
The Cardinal della Rovere, who was afterward
Pope Julius II., bought it and placed it in the
palace of the Belvedere, in Rome; from this fact
the statue took its present name; the Belvedere
was afterward joined to the Vatican, in the museum
of which palace the Apollo now stands. We do
not know who made this statue, but its beauty and
excellence, and, above all, the intellectual quality
of the expression on the god's countenance, prove
that it belonged to a very high age in art-probably
to the early imperial period.
There has been much speculation as to what the
god held in his left hand, and it was formerly said
to have been a bow; but more recent discoveries
lead to the belief that it was the aegis or shield,
with the head of Medusa upon it. With this he is
discomfiting a host of enemies, for, according to
Homer, this aegis was sometimes lent to Apollo by
Jupiter, and all who gazed on it were paralyzed by
fear, or turned to stone; thus he who held it could
vanquish an army.
In the story of Apollo, it is related that, when the
Gauls invaded Greece, and threatened to destroy
the shrine of Apollo at Delphi, the people appealed
to the gods, and when they asked Apollo what they
should do to save the treasures which had been
dedicated to him, he replied: "I myself will take
care of them, and of the temple virgins! So it hap-
pened that while the battle was in progress, a great
storm arose, and the thunder and lightning were
frightful, and hail and snow were added to all the
rest, and in the midst of this war of Nature and of
men, Apollo was seen to descend to his temple,
accompanied by the goddesses Diana and Minerva;
then the Gauls were seized with such fear that they
took to flight, and the shrine of the god escaped
injury at the hands of its barbarian assailants.

(To be continued.)







*Mr. Hayne, the new teacher, was a tall, fine-
looking young man, with short, curling black
hair, and brilliant, penetrating eyes.
He seemed, in spite of the quiet smile on his lips,
to be looking right through the young culprit before
"You wont?"
Charley Ferris was not smiling at all, but looked
a good deal like a sort of boyish embodiment of the
two big words for which he had been called up
before the school.
The very top of his head, and every inch of his
short, sturdy frame seemed to utter them, and his
bright, saucy, handsome face had taken on a
desperately obstinate expression.
You wont apologize to Joseph Martin ?"
Not a word came from Charley's tight-shut lips,
but his black eyes were making all the answer
"That will do," said Mr. Hayne, in a calm,
steady voice. We are all gentlemen. If any one
of us has not self-control enough to behave him-
self, or if he is too much of a coward to apologize
when he is wrong, he does not belong here."
The defiant look was fading a little in the eyes
of the young rebel by the time Mr. Hayne ceased
The new "select school," with its sixteen
scholars, had been open barely a week, and this
was its first case of serious misconduct.
Mr. Hayne may have expected something of the
kind, sooner or later, and, now it had come, he met
it with a firm intention of making it, as nearly as
possible, the last case also, and therefore of im-
mense value.
"You may take your books and go home, Mr.
Charley was already turning in his tracks, and
he now marched steadily away toward his desk, but
the boy in the next one to it sprang to his feet.
"Mr. Hayne?"
"Mr. Martin."
"I hope not, sir. Not on my account "
"Sit down, Mr. Martin. It is not on your
account at all. It is simply because he is not
manly enough to do right."
Charley Ferris had been vaguely aware, up to
that moment, of a feeling that he had shown won-

derful manliness in defying his teacher, but he
knew now, and without looking around him, that
the public opinion of the boys was against him.
That, too, although he was by all odds a more
popular boy than the quiet and studious youth of
fourteen, a year older than himself, whom he had
offensively described as "Miss Nancy," loudly
enough for half the school to hear.
It was a terrible thing-a punishment about
equal to a sentence of Siberian banishment-to be
compelled to gather his books, dictionary and all,
and strap them together before the eyes of such a
jury as that, and then to have to walk out of the
school-room with them.
Charley was a plucky fellow, however, and he
worked right on, conscious that everybody was
looking at him, until his pile was complete.
Cesar's Commentaries" came at the top, and
the strap was barely long enough to draw across.
it and through the buckle. He got it through, and
was straining to put the tongue of the buckle into
the first hole, when his fingers slipped, and his
whole pack of text-books scattered itself upon the
Joe Martin and two or three other boys forgot
the proprieties of the school-room in their haste to
pick up the fallen volumes, but their owner had
lost all there was left of his unlucky heroism when
the end of that strap slipped away from him.
He sat down instantly, his curly head was bowed
upon his hands on the desk, and he was sobbing
A quick step came down from the little platform
at the other end of the room, and a strong, kindly
hand was laid upon the rebel's curly head.
I think, Mr. Ferris, you did not finish what
you meant to say."
"Had you not better do it now? You began
with, 'I wont,' and I think the rest must have
been, 'do a mean thing.' .Am I not right?"
"Yes, sir. Joe 's a real good fellow," sobbed
Charley Ferris.
"Young gentlemen," said Mr. Hayne, as he
looked smilingly around him, I do not think we
need any further apology from Mr. Ferris, but I
hope you understand the matter fully. I am here
to teach, not to scold nor to flog. Your behavior
is under your own care. Politeness to one another
is all that we ask for. Absolute self-government,
-that 's all."



It was a short lesson, but every boy in the room
understood it.
In fact, a perception of Mr. Hayne's peculiar
views had been growing upon them from the be-
ginning, and they had discussed the matter among
themselves pretty freely that very morning.
"Got to govern ourselves !" remarked John


Derry, the one boy in school who seemed least
likely to do it. I 'd like to know how we can
manage that, and no rules to go by, either."
"Rules! exclaimed Andy Wright. "What
do we want with rules? The youngest boy in the
lot is over thirteen. I 'm sixteen now, and I think

I knew enough to be decent, three years ago."

There was weight in that, for Andy was the
"star boy," as well as the oldest, and he was
looked upon with a good deal of veneration, as
being very nearly ready for college. It had been
even hinted, doubtfully, that he would "enter
Sophomore," a whole year in advance, after Mr.
Hayne should have finished with him. Such a boy


as that was entitled to express his opinions, and
Will Torrance backed him up with:
"You see, boys, if he 'd make a lot of rules,
and write 'em out, we 'd all feel in duty bound to
break them, sooner or later. We have n't a thing
to break now."
Such an experiment might have been dangerous




with another selection of boys, but the sixteen now
gathered under Mr. Hayne were in some respects
The little inland city of Saltillo had been
promoted but recently from the lower rank of
"village," and, although it contained several
thousands of people, whose houses were sprinkled
over a pretty wide area, it could boast of neither
"high school" nor "academy." The district
schools were fairly good, but did not answer every
purpose. One consequence had been the special
prosperity of the Wedgewood School, half a mile
away, on the other side of town, and another,
lately, the establishment of Mr. Hayne's select
school for the "Park boys."
All the other boys in town knew them by that
name, by reason of the fact that they lived in the
vicinity of a neatly kept and fenced-in" open
.square, with a fountain in the middle of it, and
were a good deal inclined to be clannish.
Until the arrival of Mr. Hayne, the Park boys
had managed, somehow, to recognize other fellows,
living in other parts of the city, as human beings,
but there was danger that they would hardly be
able to do so much longer.
Moreover, if any one of them, more than an-
other, had resolved himself into an exponent of the
Park feeling, with possible doubts as to whether
he ought to be fenced-in and fountained, that boy
had been Charley Ferris. All the deeper, there-
.fore, had been the gulf which seemed to gape be-
fore him while he was trying to put the strap
around his books.
Those of the volumes which had fallen on the
floor had now been picked up for him, and while
Mr. Hayne returned to his seat and called for the
class in geometry, the whole pile was fast hiding
itself away again under the lid of his desk.
Charley had fully received and accepted his
lesson, and so had most of the others, but John
Derry was satirically wiping his eyes with his
handkerchief, and whispering to his next boy":
Walk chalk, after this '
The school-room was a- quiet place for the re-
mainder of that forenoon, and the several recita-
tions were performed with a degree of exactness
that was all that could be asked for, if it could in
any way be made habitual.
The room itself was a pleasant one, large
enough, but not too large, in the basement of the
new Congregational meeting-house, and the sunny
alley-way from the door of it led to an iron gate,
directly opposite the Park" entrance.
Around that precious inclosure were a number
of pleasant residences, all detached, and some
with grounds and shrubbery.
Take it all in all, the little school and its neigh-
VOL. VIII.-36.

borhood were a thoroughly good example of the
best results of what deserves to be called "Ameri-
can civilization."
Mr. Hayne had undertaken to teach that lot of
bright young fellows how to work, and his first
lesson had been that, to be a good worker, a man
needs first to get his faculties under his own
"I wont do any driving," he told them.
" Every man of you must step forward of his own
free will. That 's what you will have to do when
I get through with you, and you had better begin
He knew, what they did not, that there is no
earthly "driving" equal to that which the right
kind of boy or man will give himself if he is once
properly set about it.



THE young ladies of Miss Offerman's Female
Seminary, a square or so above the Park, had
matter for serious thought and conversation at that
day's noon recess.
Even the necessity of eating luncheon and getting
back by one o'clock did not prevent a knot of them
from lingering on one of the upper covers of the
Park, in what looked very much like a council."
You see, Dora, Belle Roberts was May Queen
last year. Mr. Ayring thinks it wont do to have
another of us this time."
S"I don't see why, Sarah. Has he said so to
Madame Skinner says he has. He wants one
of his music class or one of her scholars. I sup-
pose he does n't want to offend all that Wedgewood
"No girls go there."
"But their brothers do."
I have n't a brother, Sarah Dykeman, nor you
The other girls were listening, thus far. Dora
was the tallest of them all, by half a head, and her
blooming cheeks gave token not only of a high
degree of health, .but of a more than half resentful
excitement over the matter in hand.
Sarah Dykeman was of slighter frame, with
what is called an intellectual cast of features, and
with an easy grace of manner that was already
doing more to make her the awe of her school-girl
friends than was even the .acknowledged beauty of
Belle Roberts, who was now standing a little behind
her, as she said:
Mr. Ayring will probably have his own way."




"Belle," exclaimed Dora, "has Jack told you
what he and the boys mean to do ?"
"No, but I'11 ask him. They '11 be sure to pick
out one of us."
"They wont care a fig for Mr. Ayring," re-
marked a smaller girl.
"They 'll be outvoted," said Belle. He has
more than two hundred names on his singing-list
"Two hundred! I should say so. And some
of them are hardly more than babies," snapped
"They all vote," said Belle. "They did last
year, and they '11 do just what he tells them."
"The boys can't run you again, Belle," said
Dora, thoughtfully. There 's only half a dozen
for them to pick from. Most likely it 'll be Sarah
-or me."
"Jenny Sewell is pretty," suggested Belle.
"She 'd make a nice little May Queen."
"She! She 's a doll. She 's almost as old as
I am, and she 's a head shorter than Sarah."
The other tongues were rapidly getting loosened,
and suggestions of available names were by no
means lacking. It was even noticeable how many
seemed to occur to the mind of Belle Roberts, and
how they all seemed to lack something or other in
the large blue eyes of Dora Keys.
It was a little more than probable that Dora
had formed a clear notion in her own mind as to
the required qualities of a May Queen for that
year. That is, she should be tall for her age, very
good-looking, with a full, musical voice for her rec-
itation,-and, in fact, to be absolutely perfect, her
first name had better be Dora than anything else.
It was enough to provoke a saint-of the name
of Dora-to have Sarah Dykemai remark, so
"It is Mr. Ayring's own exhibition. He gets it
up to help his business, I suppose, or he 'd never
take the trouble."
"He makes the money," added Belle, "and
the children get the fun."
That was aboit the whole truth of the May Fes-
tival business. The enterprising teacher of vocal
music and dealer in all other music and the instru-
ments thereof had managed, for several successive
years, to revive the dead-and-gone custom of
choosing and crowning a May Queen. The ac-
companying exercises of song and recitation were
performed amid as liberal a show of flowers and
green leaves as the season and the local hot-houses
would permit. As to popular interest, he was sure
of filling the largest hall in Saltillo, at a moderate
price for tickets, with the friends and relations of
his numerous juvenile performers.
The social interest attending the several "elec-

tions," in a limited community like that of Saltillo,
had been productive, as a matter of course, of
rivalries and heart-burnings not a few. The present
occasion bade fair to rival any predecessor in that
respect, and its time was at hand, since even a May
Queen, her maids of honor, ladies in waiting,
marshals, heralds, and all that sort of magnif-
icence, required to be taught and trained for their
parts, just as court persons do in real life.
Mr. Ayring was a shrewd man, and anxious to
avoid giving offense, and if there was one thing
clearer to him than another, it was that the Park-
girls and boys-had had glory enough the year
The crown could not safely be sent in among
any of Miss Offerman's pupils, and even, he him-
self was not half so positive on that point as were
the young lady attendants at Madame Skinner's
rival "seminary," only two squares away from
the Wedgewood School.
Every one of these, indeed, whose years entitled
her to aspire to royal honors, felt more kindly
toward all the world, that very morning, when the
Madame mentioned the matter from the rostrum,
after the usual religious exercises.
Only one of you can be chosen, my dear young
ladies, and you cannot yet guess which of you will
win the prize."
Her further remarks were well-timed and judi-
cious, but Mr. Ayring had been trying to make a
close guess at the name of the winner.
Fanny Swayne would look splendidly on a
platform. She 's been away at boarding-school,
but that wont hurt. Jim Swayne goes to the
Wedgewood, and there can't be much fuss made.
She '11 do. She knows how to dress, too."
What if Mr; Ayring had known that Jim and
Fanny already had the matter under discussion ?
Jim was the head boy of the Wedgwood in all
matters which did not too closely relate to books,
and was, therefore, sure of rallying an active
"boy interest" to the support of his candidate,
whoever she might be. Smaller boys who might
have preferences were not likely to air them in the
presence of a tongue and hand so ready and so,
efficient as his.
I'l fix it for you, Fanny," he had said to her,
and so it was hardly by accident that he and Mr.
Ayring had a talk that day, near the latter's music-
store, during the noon recess.
The subject opened a little rapidly under such
"We must keep still about it till the election,
Jim, but I'll tell you what I 'm doing."
He held out a small, white, shining bit of
enameled card-board.
"We '11 have your sister's name printed on




these, for ballots. All the rest '11 waste time
writing out their tickets, and the little folks would
rather vote these anyhow. By the time the big
ones are ready with their written tickets, the voting
.will be pretty much all done."
It looked as though such a splendid piece of
electioneering strategy as that made sure of the
defeat of the Park boys, no matter whom they
might agree upon, and Jim was jubilant.
"All I want of you, Jim, is to see that I have
three or four smart boys on hand to distribute
tickets. I '11 try and manage to have half a dozen
other girls run, and all Fanny will need will be to
come out highest on the list."
Cunning Mr. Ayring !
That very day he took his tickets to the printing
office of the Daily Trumpet, and never paused to-
consider that Mr. Carroll, the editor and proprietor
of that journal, was also the father of Mr. Jefferson
Carroll, and that the latter was member of Mr.
Hayne's "Sixteen."
Very important results will sometimes come from
a very small oversight.



S/ OUTH--especially mascu-
'1 _- line youth-is apt to
S.. be pugnacious. A little
\ before the close of the
noon recess that day,
'--.' \-.- k- there were two good-sized
*", boys on the north-west
.corner of the Park, engaged
in a tussle, while a third,
about as small a specimen
J'. of boyish mischief as could be
SJ expected to wear trousers, was
dancing around them, in what
looked like an impish endeavor
to throw a small clod into some
part of the skirmish. Then followed a "clinch,"
a tug, a roll on the ground, while the small clod
was not in the small boy's right hand any longer,
but, instead thereof, both hands were hugging to
his bosom a monkey-faced cocoa-nut, in its shaggy
Have you got it, Pug?"
I've got it !"
"Let go my hair !"
"You let small boys alone, then-will you ?"
"He 's no brother o' yourn."
Let him alone, that's all."
Hit him again, Jack Roberts Hit him again I "

There was a great deal of resentment in the
excited face and tone of.Pug Merriweather, but
Jack did not act on his little friend's advice. On
the contrary, he sprang to his feet, followed more
slowly by the shabby-looking fellow whose cowardly
attempt at a sort of highway robbery had brought
on that collision.
The young rowdy, indeed, looked as if he were
ready to try the matter over again, for he was not a
bad match for Jack in mere size and strength, but a
glance up the street showed him three or four more
boys coming, each on a clean run, and he knew it
was about time for him to make haste in some other
He ran, but he was not followed, for at that
moment the clock in the church-tower rang out a
sonorous "one," and it was time for Mr. Hayne's
scholars to be behind their desks.
Pug, you run for home. Don't you stop any-
"I will. But did n't I give it to him? Eh,
Jack ?"
There was glee in that, but he acted on the coun-
sel of his chivalric protector, and his short legs
carried him off faster than one would have thought
"Hurry up, Jack-you '11 be late!" shout-
ed Charley Ferris, as he came along, puffing;
and a tall, slender, red-haired boy behind him
added :
Don't stop to brush, Jack; walk right along!"
It was a few steps only, and they three were the
last boys in, just in time to comply with the rigid
rules of punctuality which Mr. Hayne was dis-
posed to insist upon.
Up to that hour there had been no neater, more
orderly-appearing young gentleman in the school
than the handsome, blue-eyed, light-haired, fun-
loving brother of the last year's May Queen.
There was nothing dandified about him, how-
ever, at the moment when Mr. Hayne's ruler came
down upoh the little table on the platform, and the
silence of "hours" followed the rap.
"Mr. Roberts."
"Sir ? responded Jack, promptly, rising to his
"There are bruises and dirt on your face."
Yes, sir; I should say there was, most likely,"
returned Jack Roberts, quietly, with a polite bow
and the ghost of a smile.
And there is dust on your clothes."
I had no time to brush them, sir."
"May I ask if you have been fighting, Mr.
Roberts ? A scholar of this school fighting in the
"Yes, sir; I have."
Before Mr. Hayne could reply, he heard his own






name called from another part of the room, and, which plainly showed how deep an interest they
turning about, he said: were taking in the matter.
"What is it, Mr. Ferris?" That will do, Mr. Ferris. You may take your
"I saw it, sir. I ran to get there and help, seat. So may you, Mr. Roberts."
bur I was n't in time. There was a young rowdy May I go and brush myself? "
took away a cocoa-nut from little Pug Merri- "No, sir. No scholar of this school need be
weather -- afraid to follow your example. The dust you take
Ah That'sit." on in defending the weak when they are wronged


The rascal's always getting into some scrape,"
added Charley, in a lower tone.
"Do you mean Mr. Roberts ? "
:... sir; I mean Pug. Jack's a trump, but
he 's always taking the part of those little fellows."
"Did he get back the cocoa-nut? "
"Yes, sir; he did And he worsted that rowdy

It was clear that Charley was excited.
Was little Merriweather hurt ?"
"No, sir; but he pelted that chap with every-
hil;,- he could lay his hands on. He's gone
Charley was more worked up than Jack him-
self, and the rest of the boys listened with faces

does not need to be brushed off. The second
class in Latin, come forward."
Jack blushed to his very ears, and a sort of
tingle went around the school, from boy to boy.
Even John Derry whispered to the red-haired young
gentleman who sat in front of him:
He is n't such a flat as I thought he was. Good
for Jack, too, I say. But what a weasel Pug Mer-
riweather is, anyway."
At least one small boy of that neighborhood had
evidently earned a reputation of his own.
As for the young outlaw who had robbed him,
he was not likely to forget Pug, until a troublesome
lameness should leave his left arm. That had been
the landing-place of the small clod.




It was well understood that Jack's "dust" was in almost anything he might undertake, but for the
to be looked upon somewhat in the light of a prize second time that day he saw that the public opin-
medal. ion was against him, especially after Andy said
"Stars and garters," as it was explained to him something about beauty being required for a com-
by Andy Wright, after school, plete success, and Otis Burr added -
"That's it," said the red-haired boy; "but "That settles it. He would n't do."
what '11 he remember it by after his face is washed ? I say, boys," interrupted Jack, the girls are
It wont all turn to freckles like mine ? I becoming excited about this May Queen business."
"Freckles, Ote?" exclaimed Jack. "That "They all want to be queens, I suppose," said
would do. Give me one; you've enough for two." Andy, and old Ayring only wants one for his
There was no denying it, for he had the full show."
allowance that belongs to boys-and girls, too--of "Have they pitched on any one girl to vote
his complexion, but the idea of parting with any of for ? asked Joe Martin, as he came up with a lot
them seemed new to him, and he made no reply. of books under his arm.
If there was any impoliteness in his silence, his If they have, they forgot to tell me. I'll ask
friends were too well accustomed to it to care. Belle about it to-night. There '11 be some work
They knew Otis Burr, and never wasted precious for us before we get through."
time in waiting for him to speak. Why, Jack, do you mean to sing at the Festi-
If I 'm not mistaken," said Andy, "we '11 have val ? asked Andy.
more trouble with those fellows from along the "Me? Sing? Well, yes, it 's likely Ayring
canal. They 'ye quite taken the notion of coming will be 'round after me. I did sing a song once,:
over here lately." but nobody 's asked me to sing since that."
Have n't much else to do," snapped Jack. We '11 let the girls and the small fry do the
"There's a perfect swarm of them. And they 're show business," suggested Charley Ferris, with an
of no more use than so many wasps." effort at elderly dignity, "but we must keep our eye
There ought to be a law to compel them to on the politics of it. We must n't let the Wedge-
attend the district school. Then they'd be shut wood boys walk over us."
up part of the time." "They 'll pick out some girl from Ma'am
Pity the teachers, then," said Otis. Skinner's."
"They'd manage it. Might make something "That's what they'll do. They did, last year,
out of some of 'em." and they came within ten votes of winning."
Something or other. It just spoils 'em to let "And they did n't all vote for the same girl,
'em run around loose, with nothing to do. It either. They wont make that blunder again."
would spoil me, I know." We must n't, either."
You and Pug Merriweather 'd have a fight Fresh arrivals of youthful politicians had made
on your hands every day." quite a caucus of it, but the whole question had to
"He'd have three, if there was any chance to be "laid on the table," as Andy Wright called it,
find 'em. I never saw such a little imp. He gives until information could be had as to'the purposes
his mother and sister no end of trouble." of the young ladies. So the group speedily broke
"Glad I 'm not his sister," gravely remarked up, and the boys went their ways.
Charley Ferris. It was likely, however, that Jack Roberts would
You? Well, no," said Andy, I don't think have questions to answer as well as to ask, on his
you'd shine as a sister." arrival home with so much dust of battle still on
Charley had a notion that he was born to shine him.
(To be contrinuetd.)



--- II I I

- I --- I





PERHAPS you think that men and women are
the only ones that have distinctive head-dresses
and are proud of them; but if you should see some
of the animals in other countries, and see how their
masters dress them up, you would find that their
rigging is sometimes very elaborate.
Look at the picture of a Neapolitan donkey, at
the top of the opposite page. This head is perfectly
gorgeous, and his owner thinks it is beautiful. In
the first place, the hair between the animal's long
ears is tied or wound up with bright red worsted,
and makes a bright little upright tuft; then his
bridle is covered with bits of brass which shine in
the sun, and it is all decorated, besides, with red
tassels, while on either side, just over his eyes, are
two very large bunches of red. Coming down a
mountain path against a deep blue sky, or stand-
ing against a white wall, he looks very picturesque.
The horse at his side, though so near him in
the picture, comes from Arabia, and his head is
bandaged up with a most intricate headstall. A
great deal of his master's wealth is lavished on this
bridle; for the Arabs think the world of their fleet
steeds, and even gold and silver, richly embossed,
can be seen on some of the favorite horses.
While we are considering oriental animals, we
might as well notice next the camel's head in the
center of the page; he has on a very odd head-piece,
made up of coarse bits of bright colors, with tassels
ranging down the sides, interspersed with bells.
It looks very ugly in the hand, but on the animal
it is very pretty; and they say that the camels
become so fond of their bells that sometimes they
will not travel without the sound of them.
The great, strong horse near this camel belongs to
Normandy, France, and the great hump on his neck

is his collar, which is made very large and high,
and is covered with a sheep-skin dyed a bright blue;
and, although it appears very ungainly here, still it
looks well on a fine gray Normandy horse.
Below him you can see the head of an ele-
phant, with an ornament hanging down between
his eyes; his trappings are very plain, but some of
them in India are rich and dazzling, especially
those of elephants that carry the native princes.
They cover their animals with the brightest cloths,
embroidered with gold and silver, and when they
are decorated, they look like great masses of mov-
ing color, not at all like the Austrian horse in the
corner, who has to work hard all the day dragging
heavy loads of beer-barrels, besides the weight of
his leather collar, covered with brass knobs.
The Italian post-horse, seen in almost every
town of southern Italy, has a much smaller collar,
but much more brass, besides a bunch of feathers
sticking straight up on top of his head, a row of
bells around his neck, and a long tuft of dyed
horse-hair hanging under the jaw. His blinders
are of brass, and a coronet of brass stands up on
his forehead, while his owner thinks he will com-
plete its beauty by cropping the animal's mane, and
making it stand up on its neck like a mule's.
The savage, wild-looking little head, pictured in
the lower corner, belongs to a mustang, or wild
pony, owned by a Sioux Indian, as wild as his
steed; he has no bridle, but the warrior simply
fastens a leather thong around his under jaw, and
controls him with this and his voice. He also puts
eagles' feathers in his mane and tail, and the horse
and his rider present a very wild appearance as
they sweep over the prairies after the buffaloes, or
dash up to and away from enemies in battle.



LITTLE gypsy Dandelion,
Dancing in the sun,
Have you any curls to sell?
Not a single one !"
Have you any eggs and cheese
To go a-marketing?
" I have neither one of these,
For beggar or for king."

Little idle Dandelion,
Then, I '11 mow you down.
What is it you 're good for,
With your golden crown?
' Oh, I gild the fields, afar,
In the pleasant spring,
Shining like the morning star,
With the light I bring."




No orn would think that lit-tle To-tote was a girl who
S-. could: en-joy stand-ing on her head.
S_ She was as shy as her kit-ten that hid un-der
chairs when-ev-er a strange step came
near; and she scarce-ly ev-er looked any-
one in the face, with-out first let-ting her
long, soft eye-lash-es fall up-on her cheek.
-_._'_ :- And yet To-tote's fa-vor-ite de-light was
to stand on her head.
Her nurse laughed and cried out, "Oh,
To-tote, a-gain on your head!" at which
To-tote would laugh too, and go on with her play.
Now To-tote had for a gift from her good grand-moth-er, a gold
spoon with a fan-cy T en-graved on the han-dle. With this she ate her
sup-per of bread and milk, and with this she sipped her soup at din-ner.
In-deed, it was al-ways laid at To-tote's plate, for wheth-er she re-quired
it or. not, she al-ways want-ed to see it there. And
when-ev-er she saw it she stood, on her head!
"Why, To-tote!" you will say, "How could
you do such a thing?"
Yet you would not be so sur-prised if
you should see her. Take -your
own bright spoon at break-
fast, or at din-ner, or
at tea, look
in-side its shin-ing bowl, and
you will see a ver-y good like-ness
., of a lit-tie boy or girl that you know, and
-it will be wrong side up. That was what To-
tote so much en-joyed do-ing at sup-per. It was
ver-y fun-ny to her pret-ty. French eyes to see the smil-ing
lit-tle la-dy look-ing as if she were walk-ing with her feet in the air.
Oh, oh," she would laugh, "you will get diz-zy in there, Miss To-tote! "
And nurse would add; "Yes, yes, she is ver-y diz-zy. Now bid her good-
night, To-tote, and we will light the can-die and go up to bed."






ED-DY was a lit-tle boy, who lived on a farm. One
day he went with his fa-ther, moth-er, and sis-ter, to 1
the coun-ty fair, four miles a-way.
Ed-dy saw a great man-y won-der-ful things that P
day, but there was noth-ing there that he want-ed so
much as a red bal-loon, so he bought one with some
mon-ey giv-en him to spend "as he pleased."
All the way home Ed-dy held the string, and the
bal-loon float-ed a-bove the car-riage. When he went
in-to the house he tied it to the chair-back, and left
it there, while he sat down and ate his sup-per.
Af-ter sup-per he a-mused
him-self by try-ing to make
the bal-loon stay down on
the floor. As soon as it
rose, he struck it with the i
palm of his hand, and made
it go down a-gain; but, as ,
it jumped up ev-ery time, he .--
had to strike it a-gain and
Now, Ed-dy lived in an
old house, with a large, open
fire-place; as he was chas-
ing his play-thing, all at once
he came to the fire-place; l
the bal-loon slipped a-way
from his hand and went J
right up the big chim-ney. -
Ed-dy and his sis-ter An-ni- i-n in '. .-
the yard, but they could not catcbhi rhi,- t- -a-
way; it rose high-er than the h-i.lU-.... .
They watched it go up, up, UP, n,-til it "
was on-ly a speck a-gainst th,- :,iu- -1:. I-'LL. _
Then it went so ver-y high thai, al-thuugh -
they kept look-ing and look-ing, at length,
they could not see it at all; and that was the last of Ed-dy's bal-loon.


JA -- ."-- P, I


APRIL showers bring May flowers," and May
flowers bring happy hours,-that is, in the country,
-and what can an honest Jack-in-the-Pulpit
know about the city, excepting by hearsay? The
Little School-ma'am says that in New York, and a
few other brick-and-stone conglomerations, the in-
habitants have a way of swapping houses with one
another on the first day of May, and, in consequence,
the streets are filled with carts carrying household
goods and chattels to and fro, hither and thither,
till 'the city is nearly distracted. Then in the
houses, she tells me, the broom-spirit has full sway.;
wives rule the home-universe, and husbands and
fathers stand aside and weep. Busy times, I should
say !
Well, and are not my people busy, too ? Birds
with their cradles and housekeeping; early spiders
with their shiny little hammocks and awnings; ants
with their apartment-houses, and, above all, dear,
rosy, noisy bipeds (known by learned naturalists as
boysandgirlses semiwildses), running about in the
fields and woods, and having the best kind of a
busy time. Bless them! They make me think
of bees, humming with health and cheerfulness,
and storing up sweets and flower-wealth for all to
share who will.
Talking of busy times and hours packed full of
simple enjoyment, my hearers, consider this bit of
true history about
How would you like to have such a bringing-
up as befell Fritz, son of Frederick William the
Second,-King of Prussia? Let me tell you about it.
When the child was in his tenth year, the father
wrote out directions to the three tutors as to Fritz's
mode of life. The'boy was to be called at six
o'clock, and the tutors were to stand by to see that
he did not loiter nor turn in bed; he must get up

at once. As soon as he had put on his slippers, he
was to kneel at his bedside and pray aloud a prayer,
so that all in the room might hear. Then, as
rapidly as possible, he was to put on his shoes and
spatterdashes, vigorously and briskly wash himself,
get into his clothes, and have his hair powdered
and combed. During the hair-dressing, he was at
the same time to take a breakfast of tea, so that
both jobs should go on at once, in order to save
time; and all this, from the calling to the end of
the breakfast, was to be done in fifteen minutes f
At half-past nine in the evening he was to bid
his father good-night, go directly to his room, very
rapidly take off his clothes, wash, and hear a
prayer on his knees. Then a hymn was to be sung,
and Fritz was to hop instantly into bed.
Poor Fritz No room for bed-time stories nor
pillow-fights !
But, not so fast. "Poor Fritz" afterward
became Frederick the Great.

DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT : If yOU were a native of central
Kentucky you would not think of sending your ST. NICHOLAS
children as far as Africa or Buenos Ayres for natural beads, such
as you mentioned in your budget of November, a year ago, for in
Hardin County, near a place called Rough Creek, where we have
sometimes spent the summer, there is a high hill formed of round,
flat stones, from the size of a pin-head to an inch across, with a
round 'hole right through the middle. The hill is called, from
the shape of these stones, "Button-mold Mound." They look
as if they might have been fishing-worms once, had petrified,
and been broken up into 'short pieces. May be, they played
around in the mud with the trilobites, when both felt more like play-
ing than they do now. We find trilobites on the hills around
Cincinnati, when we go visiting there.-Your affectionate friend,
EARLY in May, my dears,-especially those of
you who live in the Middle States,-be ready for
the new-coming of the cat-birds.
You will find them a social set, for they seldom
nest at a distance from a farm-house or other dwell-
ing of man; and, if you 'listen carefully, in the
morning or evening, you may hear their wild,
warbling melody. They belong to the great Thrush
family, you know, most of whom have sweet voices.
They are lively, quick-tempered fellows, and if they
see a snake, will scold fiercely at it; occasionally,
too, they will flock together, and either kill their
enemy or drive him away. It is funny that their
cry should sound so like the "mew" of a cat, for
they dislike. puss almost as much as they hate
snakes; and they often perch impudently just out
of reach, and lecture her severely, calling out
"mew every now and then, as if to taunt her.

ON the whole, taking the parrot, mocking-bird,
canary, -cuckoo, and cat-bird into consideration, it
seems to me sometimes that the birds have rather
an unfair advantage over other creatures in the
way of mimicry.
But I don't know. The Little School-ma'am tells
me that'on March 32d of this year, she heard just
outside her window, a burst of trills and roulades,
and roundelays, and ecstatic airs,-varied with soft
warbles, and sudden chirps and twitters, and sweet,




low lullabies,-altogether making almost the finest
medley of bird songs and glees that ever greeted her
ears. Of course, she listened in rapt pleasure until
there came a pause, wondering all the time, however,
what rival of the nightingale could thus have come
back before the buds and flowers. And when, at
last, the serenade was ended, she hastened to the
window, looked at each bough of every tree, and
finally descried-little dirty-faced, ill-clad Tim Milli-
gan, the newsboy, with cheeks puffed out like
balloons, and pursed-up lips, whence suddenly
issued again that torrent of bird-like melody. Ere
long, he raised his hand and took from between his
teeth a queer little metallic sheet, and instantly the
music ended.
Whence, I say-ho, rollicking, deceitful cat-bird,
revel in thy taunting mimicry; but beware thy-
self, of Tim Milligans, and street-whistles !
"YES," said a tall man with a
sword, as he strolled with Deacon
Green along the foot-path in my
meadow; "yes, my five-year-
old Nelly helped to hold the
fort! Bless her!
One day, we soldiers
rode off in chase of a
band of five hundred In-
dians. After some hours,
we found that more than
half of them had turned
about and were on their
way back to attack the
fort. They hoped to
capture it; for they knew
that it was built chiefly
of adobe [sun-dried
bricks], and they felt
sure that we had left
only a few men to defend
it. We rode back as fast
as our jaded horses could
go, and we arrived not a
moment too soon !
"The women and chil-
dren had gone into the
block-house and were
unhurt; but several of
the soldiers had been
wounded in running to
the same shelter. For
three hours my wife fired
repeating rifles, one after
another. A soldier, hurt
in both legs, loaded the
rifles, and passed them
to little Nelly, who car- DEEP-SEA WO
ried them to her mother,
and brought back the empty ones to be reloaded.
The child grew tired before long, but the attack of
the Indians was so fierce and unresting that even
she, poor mite, could not be spared. The tears came
again and again, and she begged to be let off. But
her mother would say: 'Stand to it, my Nelly!

Stand to it, my little soldier-girl And then the
child would straighten herself-up, and bravely go
on with her wearying task.
"When the little one came to kiss me, after the
fighting was done, her face was so streaked with
tears and gunpowder that, at first, I failed to
recognize my own brave little daughter."


ONE of those prying fellows, the naturalists, has
been bringing queer live things from more than
half a mile deep in the ocean, where there are no
voices, and the day is almost as dark as the night.
Of course, he himself did not go down for them,
but he sank a dredge, or open-mouthed bag, fast-
ened to a rope, and
dragged it along
the bottom.
The things
in the

picture came up in this
dredge, not very long ago.
The lower of the two beau-
tiful filagree marvels is a
sponge, and its stalk is a
bundle of about three hun-
dred threads of glassy stuff
called silica. Indeed, this
material glistens as if it were
in reality the finest spun-
glass; and, although the sil-
very web is so delicate, it is
able to withstand the tre-
mendous pressure of the'
water all about it. The
other sponge, with its spreacd-
ing roots, has been dragged
out of the mud, and is float-
ing in the water. Those two
many-legged shrimps once
frolicked about in their cold,
sunless, soundless home,
NDERS. amongg myriads of just such
lovely forms as these.
That may be all very well for shrimps, but as for
your Jack,-give me the lightsome air, the glow-
ing sun, the merry brook, the rustling green things,
and my bonny birds, that make happy life about my
pulpit, not to mention those rackety, red-cheeked,
dear boys and girls of the Red School-house.



7/ .

Six or seven hundred eager questioners to answer at once-and
but twice as many words to do it with !
First, to the boys who have asked "How can I make a cheap
cabinet ? we offer this simple design.
The right-hand picture shows the cabinet complete, and the plan
beside it is drawn so that every measurement in it is one-sixteenth of
the corresponding measurement in the finished cabinet. No nails
are used. Wood of light color looks well; chestnut is easily worked.
The ends of the top and bottom are mortised into the sides. Close
to the side boards holes are bored through the projecting parts of the
tenons; and wedges are inserted and hammered tight.
The frames of the doors are doweled at the corners, each joint
being made by boring a hole through one piece into the next, and
inserting a dowel coated with glue. The short dotted lines in the
plan help to explain this. The glass should not be set with putty,
but with narrow strips, beading, or rattan, fastened with brads or

"needle-points." Butt-hinges may be used, with ornamental hinge-
plates set outside, as shown. Hook one door to the shelf, and it will
hold the other door shut.
The shelves may be made with raised edges, like trays,-the front
rims are not shown in the picture. These edges will save the con-
tents from rolling off when the trays are taken out. The shelves
slope forward, to show the specimens to better advantage; and they
rest on dowels let into auger-holes in the side boards. To prevent
them from slipping, pegs are set in them underneath, resting against

the backs of the forward dowels. The shelves may be put in flat,
and may rest on screw-eyes screwed into the sides of the cabinet.
Metal ears are set on the back, projecting above the top, for hang-
ing the cabinet; in addition, it is well to drive a screw from the
inside through the back into a stud in the wall.
The scalloping at the top of the back may be done with a fret-saw,
the hole in the center of each scallop is bored right through. The
ornamental lines across the sides are made with a gouge, and should
be painted brown; then the whole cabinet should be covered with
two coats of white shellac varnish. Those skilled in fret-sawing may
like to set in the top the letters A. A., in Old English text. If you
are puzzled over any part of the cabinet, no doubt you "know a
fellow down at the shop who will give you a hint.

And now, while the boys have gone for some boards and the
hammer, a word to the presidents of all the ST. NICHOLAS chapters,
which are now found in more than twenty States and Territories,
to say nothing of England and Germany.
The more specific you can make your work, the better. For
instance, ifyou are much interested in entomology, instead ofattempt-
ing to cover the whole field, suppose you direct your attention to the
scales on butterflies' wings. Are the scales on all parts of the same
butterfly of the same shape? Are the scales on butterflies of differ-
ent sorts different in shape? Are the scales of moths essentially
'different from those of butterflies? Can lepidojtera (butterflies and
moths) be classified by their scales, as fishes can?
Let each member of your chapter who has access to a microscope
study some one kind of butterfly thoroughly, and make a report, with
careful drawings, of the scales of both male and female. Then let
your secretary make a report, carefully condensed, from these, and
send it to Lenox with the drawings. We will compare the reports
sent in, and publish the general result of all your observations.
"And what shall I do? I don't like bugs! I love flowers."
"How shall I begin? Minerals are my-- "
Patience! Get your cabinets ready and collect as many specimens
as you can, until next month, when the flowers will be wondering if
it is not time for them to begin teaching again, and when we hope
to find you still eager to "consider" them.

THE prize for drawings of snow-crystals has been awarded to Miss
Mary L. Garfield, of Fitchburg, Mass.
Several other members sent drawings which caused us to hesitate
in our decision. The drawings of Corwin
Linson, especially, deserve commendation.
:' They came too late to compete with the

I- 7 -drawings from Miss Klyda Richardson.
S Unfortunately, the request for these
snow-flakes was not published until late in
S the winter, and we prefer, now, to post-
pone a further report upon them, and to
defer printing the drawings, until next
I : winter, when each one of the members in
S snowy districts can have a good chance
Sto make similar pictures.
B-ut now the snow has got on its sum-
I Ii I imer legs of silver, and has run away from
us. Chrysalids are beginning to crack.
It is the day of resurrection for the cater-
pillar. The woods are again sweet with
wild flowers. Here is May, and we of New England are just begin-
ning to search for the first violets. But, oh dear me! what a country
this is It spreads so widely that there are all kinds of climates in
it at the same time. And we forget that you of California picked
your violets in February, and wrote to us in midwinter, inclosing
the fragrant blossoms, and asking how to press and preserve them.
So, next month, we shall take up this subject, give you a few hints
concerning the pressing and keeping of flowers, and perhaps pass
on to suggest a few things about insects.




What do you all think of a badge? We now number seven
hundred, but we hope to be one thousand before next month.
Address all communications as before.
Lenox Academy, Lenox, Mass.

Address. Members. President.
Philadelphia, Pa., B..... 6..Edwin A. Kelley, 1606 Vine st.
Newberne, N. C..-.... 6.. Mrs. E. C. Gaskins, care Geo. Allen
& Co.
Chicago, Ill., A ........ 8..Winnie Schuttler, 72 Grant Place.
San Antonio, Texas .... 7..P. G. Stevenson.
St. Louis, Mo., A .......0o Maud M. Love, 1916 Wash. st.
Lima, Ohio.. ...... 6..Dora Metzger.
Cedar Creek, Wis ...... 4..Dow Maxon.
Philadelphia, Pa., C..... 6..Eleanor J. Crew, 1926 N. txth st.
Kingsboro, N. Y ....... 2..M. W. Thomas, Fulton Co.
Lakeworth, Fla.......... 6.. Lida P. Brown.
San Francisco, Cal...... 7 .Sewall Dolliver, 22o0 Fillmore st.
Harlem, N. Y ........... 8..Geo. T. Sanford, 108 W. r-ie -t
Oakland, Cal............ 7..Henry C. Converse, 1305 r
Columbus, Wis.......... 4..Florence Tyng Griswold.
Mslnmeh T11 ..-,.... 5. .Dora Brown, Champaign Co.
.-. ill ......... 6..Annie T. Cromwell, 180 S. Water st
: .,. iKansas.. ..John T. Nixon.
S ., ...... 5..H. B. Crucknell, 1233 N. 2ist st.
Newton Centre, Mass .... 4..Robert S. Loring.

ELIZABETH M. MORRIS.-The first volume of.Sr. NICHOLAS is out
of print, and the publishers know of no place where a copy of it can
be obtained. It is not probable that the volume will ever be
reprinted. The publishers will pay the full retail price for a limited
number of the issues of ST. NICHOLAS for November and Decen-
ber, 1873; January, November, and December, 1874; March and
November, 1875; August and December, 1876; and January, 1877;
hut the copies must be in good condition, and suitable Jor binding:.
The covers and the advertising pages may be torn, but the maga-
mines themselves must be neither torn nor soiled.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I was much interested in your April article
about the cochmneal insect, and the colors made from it. One of the
sentences said that: "The best carmine can be made only in fine
weather"; and this reminded me of a little anecdote that I read in
a book, about Sir Humphry Davy, the great chemist.
An English manufacturer agreed to pay c,ooo-about five thou-
sand dollars-to a Frenchman, if he would reveal to him the secret
through which French makers were enabled to produce carmine of a
quality generally so much better than the English. The Frenchman
politely took the money, and said: "You must work only on
clear, sunny days." And this was the whole of the secret; for, in
other respects, the processes followed by both parties were exactly
alike. But it was a dear bargain for the Englishman, because-
says the story-in his country there is very little of the beautiful
sunny weather that is frequently enjoyed in France.-Yours truly,
A. C.

MAY JENNINGS asks us to reprint this little paragraph from the
"Letter-Box" of May, 1874:

May-baskets are very welcome as birthday gifts to May children,
or as offerings to invalids and to little children in hospitals, or to put
before fathers' and mothers' plates on May-day moit .. r
May-basket can be made by trimming a paper-box I .11 1"
do for a small one) with tissue-paper fringed and crinkled, so as to
hang around the outside, and by sewing to opposite sides of the box
a strip of card-board for a handle. This, also, can be covered with
tissue-paper. Moss, wild flowers, and green leaves will soon make
the basket beautiful; and if you have a delicate bit of vine to
wreathe about the handle, so much the better. Narrow white ribbon
bows, with streamers, where the handle joins the basket, give a
pretty effect; and, for very little children, it will do no harm to put
tiny round egg-like sugar-plums in the middle of the flowers.

JOHN J. KEAN.-The "Petite Anse Amateur," mentioned in the
"Letter-Box" of December, I879, is edited by Avery & Mcllhenny,
New Iberia Post-office, La.

CHARLEY G.-You will find a short and lively May-day acting-play
in ST. NICHOLAS for May, 1876. It is called "May-day In-doors,"
and was written by Mrs. Abby Morton Diaz.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Have you noticed that in February and
March of this year the days of thb week fall upon.exactly the same
days of the month? For instance, the Saturdays in both months were
the 5th, i2th, 19th, and 26th; and the Sundays were the 6th, x3th,
20th, and 27th. I suppose this happens always when February has
twenty-eight days, or four complete weeks.-Truly yours,
B. C. T.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have lived here in Dakota about four
months, and have seen many wonderful things. The prairie fire for
instance, which at one time entirely surrounded our home. 'It was
beautiful to look at, but at the same time it was frightful on account
of the danger to our homes.
Our homestead is two and a half miles from the town (Huron), on
the Chicago and North-western R. R. The road is through to Ft.
Pierre, on the Missouri River.
Our town is now about eight months old and it has over seven
hundred people
We shall soon have two churches and a school-house, and itis also
expected to be the county seat..
There is not a tree in sight, but the scenery is beautiful. At times
we have imaginary lakes that look perfectly natural to a stranger's
eye. There are many antelope here in droves from fifty to three
hundred, and during the severe storm in October many were driven
to the Jim River, near town, where the sportsmen shot them.-From
your admiring friend, C. M. S.

M. NICOLL AND OTHERS.-You will find good advice as to how to
care for canary birds in Mr. Ernest Ingersoll's article, "A Talk
about Canaries," printed in Sr. NICHOLAS for February, 1877.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Seeing in your February number a small
rhyme of the Small maid of St. Paul," I thought that I would give
you something similar, which runs as follows:
There was a small girl in Montana,
I think her name was Susanna;
She walked down the street,
With her basket so neat,
To get her mamma a banana.
Yours, etc.,

IN good season to appear with M1r. Beard's "Chapter on Soap-
Bubbles," in the present.number, comes the following letter:
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : Did you ever hear of a "soap-bubble party"?
Well, an English lady gave one not long ago, and, from the account
I read, it must have been very merry. Early in the evening, the
guests seated themselves at a long table, on which were a number
of pretty bowls, half-filled with warm soap-suds. By the side of
each bowl was a common, straight-stemmed clay pipe, ornamented
with little bows of narrow ribbon, and painted in pretty colors. The
blowing of the bubbles began at once, and it must have been funny
to see the guests-all grown up though they were, and some of them
with names well known in social and political affairs-vie with each
other, and try who could blow the biggest and most beautiful bubble;
acting, indeed, as if they had become boys and girls again.
If any of your readers-little folks, grown folks, or folks altogether
-should give such a party, they might let each guest carry away a
pipe as a memento; and, of course, these souvenirs would be all the
more highly prized if prettily decorated, and by the hands of skillful
hostesses. M. V. W.

NELLY B.-It is believed that the Europeans imported brazil-wood
under that name from India, before they discovered South America,
and that the country of Brazil received its name from this red dye-
wood, with which the early navigators were acquainted already, and
which they found there in great abundance.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Your girls and boys may like to hear how
the children of Kent-" the garden of England "-celebrated May-
day fifty years ago. In the morning, numbers of boys and girls
went about in little companies, carrying boughs of hawthorn or other
trees in blossom. In every group, two children bore a May garland,
which was formed of two small willow hoops, crossed, decorated with
primroses and other flowers, and green leaves. Now and then there
would he, in the middle of the garland, a doll May Queen gayly


dressed. At every house the children sang a carol, expecting pen-
nies in return. Sometimes they sang these two lines over and over:
This is the day, the First of May,-
Please to remember the Garland."
But generally there were several verses, or perhaps this one, which
dates hack to the days of good Queen Bess, I believe:
"A branch of May I 've brought you here,
And at your door I stand;
It 's but a sprout, but it's well budded out,
The work of our Lord's hand."
Later in the day, in some places, boys and girls joined in the
merry-making on the village green, around and about the May-pole,
as described by Olive Thome in your May number of 1878.
I am. sorry to say that these pretty customs seem to be dying out,
but, at any rate, it is pleasant to call them to mind.--Yours truly,
W. H. F.

NEw SUBSCRIBER.--. The first number of ST. NICHOLAS is dated
November, 1873. 2. From time to time, the following magazines
have been merged in ST. NICHOLAS: "Our Young Folks," "Little
Corporal," "The School-day Magazine," "The Children's Hour,"
and "The Riverside Magazine." 3. In Paris, a French magazine
entitled "St. Nicolas is published weekly, but it does not at all
represent the American ST. NICHOLAS.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : Will some of your readers tell me why it is
that when you warm a piece of paper by rubbing it between your
knees, it will stick to a piece of wood?-Yours truly,
ZELLA (7 years).

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I live in Chicago, near Lincoln Park, and
in summer often go to the park and down to the lake. One day,
when gathering shells, I found a small snail, which I kept in a bottle
of water. And one time, when giving it some clean sand and water,
I found in the sand a small beetle. I took a look at him through the
magnifying-glass. His shell looked like tortoise-shell, only the
beetle-shell had great, deep ridges in it. He was a queer-looking
insect, for on his stomach there were a great number of smaller
shells, in which live other little insects. Once, when I was looking
at him, one half of his shell came off Inside of his shell he has four
wings,,two on each side, and they glisten like pearl. Still they are
so thin that they look like lace; and you could see the veins and
veinlets in them. In the middle his wings parted, and if you could

look very closely you could see a small portion of his back. The
upper parts of the legs looked very smooth, while the under parts are
covered with small, fine hairs. I just wish you could have seen that
beetle, with his wings so beautiful and lace-like, his legs so smooth
and shiny. I am very sorry I can not write anything about his
head, but the poor beetle was minus a head when I found him, so I
guess I '11 have to leave the 'account of that part till I find another
beetle, when you may have another note from your little friend.
L. H.

HERE are two capital letters from members of the Agassiz Asso-
DEAR MR. BALLARD : Yoir minerals arrived here safely, they are
very nice We have a live porcupine; I will send you some of his
quills if you would like them. There is an opossum in the cage with
the porcupine. Papa was one day showing the opossum to the class,
when he noticed two or three quills in his nose. I think it was too
bad for it must have hurt iim. I wonder if they had been quarreling.
Thank you for the little book you sent me; when the Spring comes
I hope to collect plants. Did ',-" 1"-.-- that the cats have a third
'eye-lid? If you have ;. i rr -..,-, she is asleep lift up her
upper eye-lid, and you II .. a thick veil over her eye. Do you
know if cats like music of anykind? We have a little black-and-white
kitty that seems to like it when papa whistles. Can you tellme what
the pocket in the ear of the cat is for? and if you have ever known
of a cat burrowing in the earth to keep warm ?-Yours truly,
M. N. W.
OUR cat is zz inches high and 19 inches long from the root of his
tail to the end of his nose and his tail is io/ inches long. He has
four legs and walks on the tips of his toes. He has four toes on each
hind foot and on his fore feet five toes on each, one of which he does
not use in walking because it is too high on his leg but he uses it in
climbing. He walks on little cushions on the end of his toes. He
uses his claws, only at will, as when he is climbing, stretching, fight-
ing, etc. His ears are movable at will, but not so much so as a rab-
bit's. His eyes tip in like a Chinaman's. When he is watching'for
his prey he moves his tail from side to side. His tail is smooth and
tapering. There is soft fur all over his body except on the end of
his nose and the cushions on his toes and the inside of his ears. He
is gray with lighter and darker stripes of gray all over his body, tail
and legs.
He lives mostly on bread and milk and what he catches which are
rats mice squirrels rabbits snakes and birds. He will eat dough,
sweet corn, cooked potatoes, and turnips, but does n't like the latter
very well.
When I rub him I can see sparks, and the longer and faster he is
rubbed the more sparks you can see, and at the same time you can
hear a sapping noise. I can, too, feel my fingers tingle. It is
electricity in the hair. LINA ALDRICH.

SOLUTIONS to February puzzles were received, too late for acknowledgment in the April number, from A Hive of Bees," Wimbledon,
England, 9. The names of solvers are printed in the second number after that in which the puzzles appear.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE MARCH NUMBER were received, before March 20, from "Jessamine," 3-N. Eyes, all-Willie Bond,
x-Alice Dunning and Julia Palmer, 2-Walter K. Smith, I-Dora N. Taylor, I-Willie Ross, 3-Edward Browazki, 2-Warner W.
Gilbert, 2- "Artful Dodger," 2-Leon and Naomi, x-Cornelia Mitchell, 3-Anne V. Gleason, 4-Frank R. Heath, x--Fordyce Aimee
Warden, 8-Walter Monteith, i-J. Harry Anderson, 3-Eleanor B. Parley, 2-Carrie F. Doane, 4-Juliette S. Ryall, 2-Violet, 2-
E. L. Myers, 3-John B. Blood, 3-C. H. McBride, 8-Virginie Callmeyer, 9-" The Blanke Family," zr-J. 0., 2-Emma and Howard
Collins, 3-Willie R. Witherle, i-J. Milton Gitternnan, 3-"Antony and Cleopatra," 7-Harriet A. Clark, all-Henry Rochester, 3-
Will Rochester, 5-Ashbel Green, Jr., 3-"Phyllis," 5-E. L. Gould, i-Helen M. Drennan, 3-Henry K. White, Jr., i-Grace
Hewlett, all-Alice W. Clark, all-A. B. C., 5-Mary T. Dean, 3-H. Ware, all-Mary Appleton, Gertrude L. Ellis, 5-Johnnie H.
Fisher, 2-Sallie Wiles, 8-Livingston Ham, 2--H. and F. Kerr, 4-Bessie S. Hosmer, i--Ruth Camp, 3-Thomas Denny, Jr., i-
Willie A. McLaven, 6- Margaret Neilson Armstrong, all- Ella Mane Faulkner, 3-Richard Anderson, 2--Gail Sherman, i- Lizzie C. C.
2- Madge K. L., 2- Herbert N. Twing, all- "Modah," 4- Eddie L. Dufourcq, 4- H. H. D., 2- Caroline Weitling, 6- Fred C. McDon-
ald, all-H. W. R., xx-Bessie Taylor, 6-Edith Boyd, I--"Delta Tau Delta," i-Katy Flemming, 7-F. W. C., 2-"Witch and
Wizard," 7-Marie L., 4-Robert A. Gally, 9- "Adam and Eve," o--Willie T. Mandeville, 3-Alice M. H., 3-Dolly, 9-Florence
Leslie Kyte, io-"Three Puzzlers," 8-Lucy B. Shaw, 9-Susie Goff, 8-Allie D. Morehouse, 6-Alice M. Kt--e. F rank, Noble, and
Anna, x--Henry C. Brown, ir-Edward Vultee, i--W. G. and L. W. McKinnev, 9-Estelle Weiler, 4-J. S i..... .r' .:-"Unknown,"
2-Edward F. Biddle, 6-Jennie M. Rogers, i-Florence Wilcox, i~-" Chuck," all-Jane Bright, --P. C H ..-...1. _'- T :. D. Fyfer,
2-Lizzie H. D. St. Vrain, 9-Effie H. Talboys, i-Mabel Thompson, 2-Mattie K. Watson, 3-"Belle ,I.. I .:.'. -- i W., st-
Florence G. Lane, 3-Newcomb B. Cole, 6-Walter B. Smith, 3-Alice P. Pendleton, i--Mors 0. Slocum, 6-Bessie Meade, 3-"Geor-
gia and Lee," 7-Lulu G. Crabbe, 12-Fannie Knobloch, 6-Kitty H. Hunt, i-Neddie and Tillie, x-Bessie Finch and Bertha Stevens,
i-W. A. T., 2-Norman J. McMillan, r-"X. Y. Z.," ro--Etta C. V. -.. -Mamie L. Fenimore, 5-Lottie G., --Susie Evans, 5-
Barclay A. Scovil, '-Tom, Dick, and Harry, all-Effie E. Hadwen, .- I H...,.: Hazen, 2-George and Emma Huhu, 4-Anna B Mose-
ley, 7-Jessie R. C., i-Grace E. Hopkins, all-Frank L. Thomas, 2-0. C. Turner, all--" Two Boys," 5-Willie D. Ward, all-Letitia
Preston, 3-Sallie Chase, 3-Lizzie C. McMartin, x-Hoffman K. Reynolds, 3-Lizzie M. Boardman, --Isabel Bingay, 8-A. C P.,
5-Annie Mills and Louie Everett, all-Laura M. Jordan, i-Ella and Lulu, 8-Mamie W. Aldrich, 3-" Rose and Bud," 3-M. E. H.,
3-Walter B. Hull, r-Jessie White, 9-Helen L. Woods, 2-"James Shriver and Co.," sz-Kate F. Smith, --Georgia Jones, 3-Willie
F. Woolard, 7-Nellie Caldwell, 5-Charley and Minnie Powers, i-George H. Brown, 3-Annie Buzzard, 4-William and Adolph Gib-
hardt, 5-C. D. W. T., 4-John A. Archer, 2-Ella M. Parker, 3-H. Conover, 3-Allie E. Burton, 8-Clementine Bachelor, o--George
R. Mosle, all-L. B. Longacre, x-"Queen Bess," io-Able R. Tyler, x--F. R. Gilbert, i-" Guesser," iz-Grace M. Fisher, 4-John
S. Hunt, 9--Kenneth B. Emerson, 3-Charlotte F. Potter, i--Wilbur Lamphier, 9-Glen A. Miscally, i-Rosemary Baum, 7-Bessie
Embler, i-Gertrude Jenkins, 6-Charlie W. Power, 7-F. W. Hoadley, 2-Florence P. Jones, --Hettie, Phebe, and Annie, 4-"Bir-
die," 3-"C. A. R.," 6-0. and W. Suckow, 3-Mauch Chunk, 9-Hallie B. Wilson, 3-Ellen L. May, 7-B. B. Potrero, 4-Philip
Sidney Carlton, no. The numerals denote the number of puzzles solved.






WORDS WITHIN WORDS. part of a fence; a shining material; feels a prickly sensation; a
young bird; attending closely; shining with a fitful luster.
THE first word defined is found by beheading and curtailing the III. A consonant; a first person, present tense, of a verb; a hu-
second. Ezxamet.l Human beings in auguries. Answer: Men- man being; the high seas "; an exaggerated whim; a living creat-
omens. ure; consisting of thin plates or layers; pertaining to a border.
I. A basin in bondage. 2. Ourselves in a pitcher. 3. An occur- IV. A vowel; a pronoun; an amount; to meditate; one of the
rence in a number. 4. A stage-player in a building where goods are supposed founders of ancient Rome; an assembly of troops for
made. 5. A fast in abundance. 6. A disturbance in a multitude, parade; a baggage-horse; wind instruments of music. D.
7. Brightness in bunches. 8. An idol in a Chinese temple. B.


THE faces of what three characters" in Charles Dickens's story
of" Oliver Twist" are portrayed in the above picture?

I AM composed of thirty-two letters, and am a quotation from
Shakspeare's play of Richard II.
My 4-18-16-30-19 is to accord. My 9-8-11-13 is to venture. My
i7-3-3X-2i is a water-fowl. My 32-8-6 is an edible root. My 15-
10--1-27 is a cavity. My 26-2-22-29-28 is without color. My
25-7-24-23 is to make search for. My 1-22- 1 is a title of respect.
My 21-5-14-32 is the title given to the wife of a lord. My 12-19-31-20
is adjacent. CHARLOTTE.

SQUARE: I. The seat of the affections. 2. Impetuous. 3. Acute
pain. 4. Tears in pieces. 5. A place of meeting.
INCLUDED DIAMOND: i. In May. 2. An era. 3. Acute pain.
4. Conclusion. 5. In May. F. s. F.

To THE name of a famous American, now dead, add a consonant,
and you will form a word signifying what, chiefly, he was. IVIE.

BEGIN with a single letter, and add one letter at a time, perhaps,
also, re-arranging the letter or letters already used. Each addition
will enable you to make a new word. In the following presentation
of the puzzles, the beginning letter is described first, and then come,
-one after another, in proper order, definitions of the words formed.
I. Beginning with the vowel A, add a consonant, and form a short
appellative for a near relation. Add other letters, one by one, and
form, in succession, new words, meaning: an animal; a fruit; to
festoon; saved; wretchedness: a place of delight; to become
II. A vowel; a pronoun; a bond; a fiat piece of earthenware;

I 'M :...1,. creature, it must be confessed,
Yet .1.1 .I queerness has never been guessed;
For though I am found near the head of a riot,
I 'm always at home in the center of quiet.
For me, men will sacrifice comfort and health;
For my special behoof they accumulate wealth;
Whate'er the pursuit, if there 's fame to be won,
1-I am the spirit that urges them on !

Disposed to be friendly, with ease I 'm at strife,
And appear at my best in political life;
And though universal dominion I claim,
The French and Italians ne'er whisper my name.
I lead the Iconoclasts when they would break
The idols and images I help to make,
And such is my influence over mankind,
Without my assistance they 'd soon become blind.

With kings and with princes I freely consort,
And with the nobility double my sport,
Yet so independent my rank and my mien
With queens, dukes, and emperors I am not seen.
I 'm quite contradictory, too, in my speech,
And by incivilities help to impeach
My credit; and such a strange creature am I
Before tea I unite-after tea I untie.

THE primals form a motto that is heard upon a celebration day
named by the finals.
CROSS-WORDS : i. A forerunner. 2. A bird sometimes called
"golden-robin." 3. Pertaining to coins. 4. Formed of sheets
folded so as to make eight leaves. 5. A clergyman. 6. The muse of
pastoral poetry. 7. Defensive armor for the head. 8. A high-priest
of Israel. 9. A stringed musical instrument. 1o. A fixed allowance
of provisions. ii. Old-fashioned. 12. A view through an avenue.
13. Springiness. M. C. D.

I. My first is in come, and not in go;
My second in bread, but not in dough;
My third is in yes, and not in no;
My whole is a time when daisies blow.
II. My first is in might, but not in power;
My second in branch, but not in flower;
My third is in darkness, and not in light;
My fourth is in battle, but not in fight;
My fifth is in looked, but not in sought;
My sixth is in barter, but not in bought;
My seventh in sound, and also in noise;
My whole is a game much loved by boys.

MY whole, consisting of eight letters, signifies idolatrous nations.
My 1-2 is a personal pronoun. My 1-2-3-4 is to warm. My
1-2-3-4-5 is a cheerless tract of country. My 2-3-4 is to corrode.
My 3-4-5-6-7-8 has been called the "City of Minerva." My 4-5-6-7
is afterward. My 5-6-7-8 are domestic fowls. D. c.

For wee Puzzlers.
I AMI composed of fifteen letters, and am a pretty, spring flower.
My 15-12-8-9-2 is a sweet substance. My 13-14-11 is what clothes
are washed in. My 10-3-4-5 is sometimes used in making fences.
My 1-6-7 is used in making pans. KATIE.



WITH letters of a compound word describing the
central illustration, spell five words that will prop-
e 1i., .3 : .,i rt, 11.- .

.I I r ... I ] ',J; .. v 1i- .1-- -- :-
i. : ; .,,, IJ E l I ,

-saplir ..
whert iv., F. I ~[ -
there am I. T_
THE removed letters, when
arranged in the order here
given, spell the name of a '-AV
famous American writer. ^'
2. Behead a covering of
a head, and leave atmos- "
here. 2. Behead reveren-
tial fear and leave a pronoun. i
3. Behead at what time and
leave a fowl. 4. Behead a
brier and leave the pride of a rhinoceros. 5. Behead a term
applied to the measurement of a horse's height and leave a con-

junction. '6. Syncopate a garment and leave an animal.
7. Curtail a fruit and leave a vegetable. 8. Syncopate
a sovereign and leave cost. 9. Syncopate contemptible
and leave a human being.


THIS cross is formed of five diamonds, as indicated by
the diagram, the outer letters of the central diamond being
used also in forming the adjacent diamonds, which would
be incomplete without them. Each of the four points of
the central diamond is used three times; once as a point
of its own block of stars, and once as a point of each of
the two neighboring diamonds. The words of each dia-
mond read the same across as up and down.
I. Upper Left-hand Diamond. I. In discover. 2. The
name of a fairy-queen. 3. A man's name. 4. An insect.
5. In combat.
II. Upper Right-hand Diamond. z. In rubber. 2. A
meadow. 3. To commence. 4. Purpose. 5. In continue.
III. Central Diamond. I. In caliber. 2. A period of
time. 3. A color. 4. Dread. 5. In diamond.
IV. Lower Left-hand Diamond. i. In defensible.
2. Afur tippet. 3. A goal. 4. Dexterity. 5. In dwindle.
V. Lower Right-hand Diamond. i. In union. 2. The
Greek name of Aurora. 3. Eminent. 4. Fixed. 5. In
ended, DYCIE.
CENTRALS: A beautiful fowl. ACRoss: I. A beast of
S prey. 2. To make happy. 3. Mournfill. 4. One hun-
dred. 5. Watery vapor. 6. Adorns. 7. The Christian
name of Mr. Micawber. H. G.

i each of the following problems, a definition of the original word
i .. ;immediately the anagram made with its letters.
SAD show; darkness. 2. Atruesign; a written, name. 3. Carl
I..:.l it; aids to identification. 4. No vile rout; violent change.
I .,orm a pit; an estimable quality. 6. A try for more; calcu-
I[.. i Fo improve.
S A shell-fish. 2. A kind of grain. 3. 4840 square yards.
4. An edible root. II. i. To plunge. 2. A useful metal. 3. Empty.
4. Terminations. III. i. A small lake. 2. Above. 3. A river in
Russia. 4. A dull color. F. A. w.

Proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim, hawk. 3. Catacomb. 4. Capsize. SUBTRACTION: I. Defaulter.
Hath put a spirit of youth in everything." 2. Canister. 3. Defilement. 4. Carpenter. MULTIPLICATION: 1,
Shak/sfeare's Sonnets, No. xcviii. Tartar. 2. Chowchow. 3. Bonbon. 4. So-so. DIVISION: i. Dodo.
RIMtSS WHEEL. All Fools. I. Amen. 2. Loan. 3. Lean. 2. Sing Sing. 3. Aye-aye. 4. Motmot.
4. Fawn. 5. Omen. 6. Oven. 7. Lion. 8. Soon. CROSS-WORD ENIGMA. Plutarch.
QUticuNx. Across: I. Pray. 2. Rat. 3. Tire. 4. Ode. 5. OUTLINE PUZZLE. April fool.
PL Drive the nail aright, boys, BeAds. 2. CoPal. 3. FiRst. 4. Balm. 5. TiLes. .- 1.i.. 7.
Hit it on the head; MoOre. 8. DrOop. 9. HoLly.
Strike with all your might, boys, DROP-LETTER PUZZLE. Panama Canal.
Ere the time has fled. DOUBLE ACROSTIC. Primals: Easter. Finals: Sunday. Cross-
Lessons you 've to learn, boys, words: i. EaveS. 2. AdieU. 3. SpurN. 4. TimiD. 5. ExtrA.
Study with a will; 6. RallY.
They who reach the top, boys, EASTER CARD. All hail the Easter morn!
First must climb the hill. PROGRESSIVE ENIGMA. Palestine.-- CHARADE. Abbotsford.
FouR EASY WORD-SQUAReS. I. i. Hour. 2. Ogre. 3. Urge. DIAMOND. i. L. 2. LEa. 3. LeAns. 4. LeaNder. 5. AnDre.
4. Reel. II. a. Soap. 2. Once. 3. Acme. 4. Peep. III. 6. SEe. 7. R.
Over. 2. Vine. Ends. Rest3 IV. Gnat. 2 Nine. 3. DOUBLE DIAGONALS. .. Dream. 2. Helen. 3. Utter. 4. Peter.
Anna. 4. Team. 5. Rover.
THE names of those who sent solutions of March puzzles will be found at the end of the Letter-Box in the present number.
SOLUTIONS of the Anglo-Chinese Story were received before March 20, from Katie Payne-Herman A. Vedder-A. G. Gracie-For-
Howard-Bessie Finch-Bertha Stevens-Norman J. McMillan-Barclay A. Scovil-Jessie R. C.-Lizzie M. Boardman-George A.
Corson-An Old Subscriber- Helen L. Woods-Albert F. Pasquay- M. McLure- F. R. Gilbert- Bessie Embler- Robert A. Gally-
> Lucy B. Shaw-Susie Goff.



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