Front Cover
 A birthday greeting
 Little dancing leaves - An old-fashioned...
 Murillo's mulatto
 The knights of the extension...
 The little girl who tried...
 All-hallow eve myths
 Wallace of Uhlen
 The Peterkins give a fancy...
 Slumber song - Some balloon...
 Sir Joshua and little Penelope
 Ollie's dreams - The Verney...
 The carnivoristicous Ounce
 How Johnny's birthday was kept
 The fairy's gift
 One day on a desert island
 A noble life
 The St. Nicholas treasure-box of...
 Recollections of a drummer-boy
 For very little folk
 The magic pen (operetta)
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover


xml version 1.0 encoding UTF-8 standalone no
fcla fda yes
!-- Saint Nicholas : Vol. 9, no. 1 ( Serial ) --
METS:mets OBJID UF00065513_00108
xmlns:METS http:www.loc.govMETS
xmlns:mods http:www.loc.govmodsv3
xmlns:ufdc http:www.uflib.ufl.edudigitalmetadataufdc2
xmlns:xlink http:www.w3.org1999xlink
xmlns:xsi http:www.w3.org2001XMLSchema-instance
xmlns:daitss http:www.fcla.edudlsmddaitss
http:www.loc.govMETS http:www.loc.govstandardsmetsmets.xsd
http:www.loc.govmodsv3 http:www.loc.govmodsv3mods-3-3.xsd http:www.fcla.edudlsmddaitss http:www.fcla.edudlsmddaitssdaitss.xsd http:www.uflib.ufl.edudigitalmetadataufdc2 http:www.uflib.ufl.edudigitalmetadataufdc2ufdc2.xsd
METS:metsHdr CREATEDATE 2009-06-25T11:45:56Z ID LASTMODDATE 2007-05-04T16:35:08Z RECORDSTATUS NEW
METS:name UF
Go UFDC FDA Preparation Tool
METS:dmdSec DMD1
METS:mdWrap MDTYPE MODS MIMETYPE textxml LABEL Metadata Object Description Schema
mods:accessCondition type restrictions on use displayLabel Rights All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
mods:identifier NOTIS ocm0176
OCLC 7405657; (DLC)SF 89099153
(DLC) 2006255186; 55136171
mods:languageTerm text English
mods:physicalLocation Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in Special Collections, George A. Smathers Libraries
code UF
mods:name personal
mods:namePart Dodge, Mary Mapes
date 1830-1905
mods:roleTerm authority marcrelator Creator
mods:note Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
funding Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
mods:publisher Scribner,
mods:placeTerm New York
mods:dateIssued -c1943.
mods:recordIdentifier source ufdc UF00065513_00108
mods:recordContentSource University of Florida
mods:relatedItem original
mods:extent 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
mods:title St. Nicholas.
mods:detail Enum1
mods:caption Vol. 9
mods:number 9
No. 1
mods:topic Children's literature -- Periodicals.
Literature for Children
Saint Nicholas : Vol. 9, no. 1
Saint Nicholas
mods:typeOfResource text
OTHERMDTYPE UFDC University of Florida Digital Collections
ufdc:Collection.Primary JUV
ufdc:SubCollection NICK
ufdc:MainThumbnail 00001thm.jpg
ufdc:BibID UF00065513
ufdc:VID 00108
ufdc:Name Scribner,
ufdc:statement UF University of Florida
ufdc:Type Serial
ufdc:SerialHierarchy level order 9 Vol. 9
2 No. 1
METS:file GROUPID G1 J1 imagejpeg CHECKSUM 936b70a7600e964a6016a36e478ae9a3 CHECKSUMTYPE MD5 SIZE 446777
G2 J2 ce3dc435086201c21794c5526cf11824 119770
G3 J3 a2ec7850522280dd5f7842db296da442 175220
G4 J4 915bcdc380b3215e3007f762b835ed38 287596
G5 J5 f91645cc095aa130ffa3b2b375e9c08d 326745
G6 J6 2b80ae852b28c3dff6f6f56f175a6f11 307087
G7 J7 3747e839e0f7f782ab8891a8f78f3876 302662
G8 J8 42a38ca64b5dc35a53a8db7c9573293a 298770
G9 J9 f9828db76cade41d6b51c0fbd78e10bb 280447
G10 J10 b829e18aa7405db1b986f9c0f8373cf5 231910
G11 J11 ecb0f11873e9664596a27ccc43068f90 281649
G12 J12 1685bedfa821503e44290bc9b090da27 305234
G13 J13 9221295f974675d4fe06430eeb988289 301026
G14 J14 df57c7288fe095e5a6917f6193a032ab 311166
G15 J15 add08fcd847b4424d44a6619b1d6ec0f 299293
G16 J16 6ecd9bf4413406a8aba4160ede27f7fa 301800
G17 J17 430e1de62651d250f8f97128293770c6 305051
G18 J18 76a7f89ae9867d071a02eda782c87458 308234
G19 J19 2803c4e075d3771d0db610ede0b822e2 165361
G20 J20 5eb8cb0d7971a9dad11a81ee8d2ed7fe 287211
G21 J21 a3510994175b7d575bf53a340bfbaffc 274035
G22 J22 9007adda1594f41d29abb28b183962c0 279992
G23 J23 da7794afe834dc1504871b41561485c2 287691
G24 J24 68cd3aedaa1bf14f57784d1101f04c1d 212775
G25 J25 41236b325d5acf33d9ea55cad58a5169 259696
G26 J26 6818a46fbd8f7ddaa27dd38293bdb78a 312875
G27 J27 a163a60270c648a3773b5c8d28a45268 227040
G28 J28 75192a0728843e3a884d1e7412286988 249225
G29 J29 e7df8b2fb5d9d9d2fc97ef3db667c7c1 319756
G30 J30 fd7c1ab2c414b13f050432aadf514987 314823
G31 J31 43b6ca5d26c7f6d7b18eb82adf653cdb 303207
G32 J32 ab38dca2da44f595534c87dcd99a5ce1 234913
G33 J33 14e956c4a79c7b2d8f4e09f114b2077b 296079
G34 J34 58c62e7f4f2536a081c67e3de43a14a3 287918
G35 J35 f58f7f150691a7f9b1c516646e2776ba 296778
G36 J36 33d9928c7a185d9703cfb21433239043 313800
G37 J37 0d165f1ef3624e2be2ee0faf98e62b66 228526
G38 J38 099f89e7857f4720ef238ec5ff2cdaf6 331910
G39 J39 5faf8bdba040bd9a6f380c8e98375ed9 285924
G40 J40 6d9e353b69284208388ebc4c32fdc212 256554
G41 J41 688161c97725ed8d61ba802fa57a2147 252788
G42 J42 501af919a2648a00f2c2376dd9312acf 317691
G43 J43 8a3a4ebb83092fed19679675d5239c16 255479
G44 J44 5ffbf0cbe8f37d395e809ce417f67d00 317908
G45 J45 866f4a1fbdf7a094c75d38bae4272dc9 169472
G46 J46 8d6402935216a124a8ce7261648d1712 301976
G47 J47 966785af271d8dadbdccc626f00e2079 311028
G48 J48 9405af50bb939dbe52c5014f05ec8c7e 325131
G49 J49 84c8da7267461ca13d131e3299af8371 212290
G50 J50 101c15a010ea94a79df79fab12d32904 276242
G51 J51 b5a852f211669532efceb24b01b8af52 234903
G52 J52 e25bd413e0527fd88162721776bfc192 268208
G53 J53 213c6024af082daccbab39285f562dac 192698
G54 J54 d95d66c2e53dde66b65ef04bdbf894a4 280244
G55 J55 3d8d2d6fd0921bdda5ea2e13f802538c 300220
G56 J56 836c123d7455577cee5a6be44ad84940 328521
G57 J57 48b9562d8839eafa3f2ccfd7aa30c644 283612
G58 J58 bc9429ac1a839388030761beea76a11a 280216
G59 J59 7a6afff5a216c2b611c6c6abf2214df3 279077
G60 J60 213171b14f80442accd9b7bf55afebfd 137872
G61 J61 69f8c8c9b1d22c598e89eafa4c801b73 207366
G62 J62 a3389dad2ecd7e4372fc2f61edb9d86a 336717
G63 J63 10a03ed53e8c34b016ab92f6f7bb41e2 310278
G64 J64 1ceb4e42cf72bad6f39c3127d2f75d08 215635
G65 J65 d3e9e6faed980d22be0176e38dc04256 297846
G66 J66 1f2b13832c5e58dd52208b22098ba5f3 285636
G67 J67 ad17c22a47c38a3ab8fba0b883aff559 313706
G68 J68 b00a420613799d675dc0deda4fef186b 268382
G69 J69 5346a9e7c111ca8456856546ba202916 315337
G70 J70 cc251804b97a735211670fafeb3f818c 340472
G71 J71 0bf444bc883b2f26eded36ae6f70b6cb 246797
G72 J72 1f1bad12c375c0584b8cd2de95564c40 353189
G73 J73 8b5eb451a69b41e07e30cccfff3716a7 287346
G74 J74 1d2cf1f213a1657cecd7651e7921a2ac 217089
G75 J75 81181a9d2f179560755f3edac1f929de 162680
G76 J76 e6069e1c501d5ccae0ef0e47063b83b2 323887
G77 J77 772f6101c7af23ecd0c841ccd93a1ee2 301051
G78 J78 365655ce1fbd9a45aa7aed11a29813c2 227696
G79 J79 f33551184f50c10ed297f9ae95890b5a 248862
G80 J80 3b3ffd33bac20f11bdec31e9032ba5b6 290100
G81 J81 419d77ce02396f3998057014246c5697 259474
G82 J82 aa9f626c68087200e97b6d550311c06f 210564
G83 J83 aac2405dedb3eafa8d8a86ef26017699 251661
G84 J84 947d6b1ce52d36aa8971eeb28a35a4f6 225120
G85 J85 ec605801d4e92de6021c473e3788537d 225898
G86 J86 25c272faa2e31fc9d97a3e2a69524904 321293
G87 J87 6a04f028714e5188466955454f3f4b83 287848
G88 J88 0b4ceb1a527da2f099d0cdcde5b31472 301849
G89 J89 e4b7cc2c3f7661f9dbc7fd954f3c776f 199218
G90 J90 7b9e99adff0d821e551054e4535722d3 310852
G92 J92 c844d7831d010ede4e67ab3e5dfb3efa 87852
G93 J93 18f0fc0782aa31f5bfb7bd6d648bce29 556892
G94 J94 eb06866b3cee549a6ecc4860086330ae 210156
E1 imagejp2 55432d68e39774d5c20f6cf5ecca39d1 800021
E2 278a9a2bedcec095651b92137e4c2da0 807437
E3 69ca0d05565bca5fb3be469683ce29ef 731621
E4 130c04305432968040a3a1ae7c7a40d3 741302
E5 f740ebbc5913536cb8e167f8a89daec3 709221
E6 3fc01c20c4bbd70bada23ece2be905a4 736813
E7 8bc7a988ff9988e4febcdedf45fc666b 729525
E8 8c4ee7ff36182ec9b4e8c7ce865fa4a7 741591
E9 86d7b1326492b93868ddc5f06aeb2e0d 742963
E10 ce4666fb788faae9e10e858bf5f63e62 731295
E11 4a2d15b9c3ff422a575c65c9ef4b6eb7 739035
E12 ae0c31d43508b1425a2d356d254b1380 741122
E13 508ada8a69857f19c9448aa2ad5d1899 731895
E14 f79aeb41a2d0136fa96223a0ed76dc27 733137
E15 abe65900c8317713b96c0e7f79bfee89 736109
E16 2f8d8b80ff808381bd36fbc6a1c782e7 733947
E17 78189b9cfe894461beeb410525550d03 723663
E18 78ed38a1a2f10acd4765fcb5e3c1e25b 725260
E19 a16a9a1a6f362672bb5f74b2a7f072ce 721124
E20 474c761e70a47c298a352705e9ce4854 710231
E21 e56188d0b2c1ab51a3696ca08d944375 716381
E22 eca68b27a359257ac5f63cc339efed05 711742
E23 a64311bbf6ea93d999cd896d109ffae1 719898
E24 4ae0863eae44cb1f68da6eb4a7743b76 719575
E25 cd4579c3b301c815e47d81bb4fdda371 709628
E26 0f19cf48f94059b533f32c7a776c3adb 712528
E27 02b3c2891a9dcf0757f7a20a5926f738 706336
E28 a938bd446269dd6dc9cf90d1b8589c73 714896
E29 01d0204c125924e4202b3e2a216b8ae2 719181
E30 abd284d0fd5d54ba8dd18158178cf619 723267
E31 26ddb1cc759787da8bbd4ec7c1f51606 714171
E32 329a28c6fd37c19fcd557870fe162a28 722050
E33 4117acb6c3bcb9f28174f252a2826f7d 713514
E34 eac158bf32af922cbedc028817106db5 712131
E35 ebbd98d0974941fbfe16fb49cb19729a 710951
E36 f8017eb7a67406a50b692c2828f64679 717034
E37 cad05db281bab592170b296f4f16f8fb 715840
E38 45a292bc2d86c9314905de13a9c3b9ff 698426
E39 8470e9bf88d26ef8bad97d21a9470985 710926
E40 ce2a13d2f95edc5b1172d68573bc173b 720103
E41 6ad5c553e7a3b1bdcee017e18d9cbb7c 711980
E42 dd5dfa6bc16a562cbc5dd8ab8897bf9a 713333
E43 58d997277b4076304ad9a2f4a2da3da0 713431
E44 9983d46e97591ec9321d4fc8301093c7 714490
E45 8e79dcd5aa4801617b6fbd2dfc5fce2d 726379
E46 d06fb0da9482d615aab88d025c8e033f 706531
E47 49bb54c4c87364f7d8e98d216db6128b 716095
E48 86d6218a85678223b538c92657d79277 709744
E49 13cf684913e08e85678f32dceef15b27 726907
E50 3f5e75e7eacae931021edd3fcf353a2f 696459
E51 cfeb59f30a4ebe2f0159aa11e8e17d3c 717032
E52 e76eed07f46817eabd6a34f0d4b04db2 707597
E53 b3ca50b92872b368e4b65c5a70f9e417 729512
E54 9798665611be24bd4b9b3961f6176c71 719196
E55 14802591bd4c41a18c98734724ebad37 730242
E56 90554c7bfbc460ca627b274ffba38f87 717276
E57 f0cd867c69792dc7641451350c703787 734574
E58 510a0d3ce671722601da6326eae39fa7 717137
E59 4378bb11664f150b8d0c0039ca6ef85c 722707
E60 80dfdf85ac4e6fe2977b8993ef727eee 716749
E61 2c2bdc2b5b317db1471ccf2b8babbbc3 729863
E62 f1817372860ff024920a404cb8583352 722025
E63 0f0127541075175b972433c9edffb22f 720884
E64 b3e52e02ca74c1e240cc11ddfdac95de 714135
E65 193295aba7d4dede82fb155ef4b2ae35 721356
E66 2dc1e5b3a6354daa8fd8636093291ad5 710286
E67 7b4ea1c9ab68f68991fdf9d83150f09c 709032
E68 5c464b6272abd898822bf4db6d8e5b6c 714614
E69 2701680905278156977ef956525032e9 724512
E70 8557f0dadb48b574351f810fc4339fef 686696
E71 f5e55f79f93e89cb1a03bd661e64595e 711719
E72 28b850b18ce44e844e1017ee5fc48094 708753
E73 9eebfab47afab2ac68af0136ba442bce 709576
E74 7f4a19dd4a3253948603ec3b3dd7b1a8 713792
E75 d730a5a437f5fdec0155cd023ce65da5 722841
E76 66799515a20cb49b48975a71b4f62b05 718577
E77 cffc38033767d74793e580848a6fe8d8 717937
E78 e7642256006599b2b27286f904516add 718673
E79 7ad1d3b6e6c0f83e7ee524e7d7efa66c 709988
E80 00edc8b04b247e91f66b114d1cac234f 696273
E81 49b9196f119e99fd640524576bf5728d 717834
E82 856989f8dd1035802cda0980b57099ad 718827
E83 bb028511d5c17cc144aee47d5bdc6f55 715178
E84 493a7ba307988a6a633b17c2aa764a31 700326
E85 fe364d00955b0c4376c741cbf2f8c728 707261
E86 466c3412db521d16c5b661d9368ad974 708394
E87 7869d3aaeb641a38d14ed97d4561ee7d 728614
E88 9dcd2f23af81ad0ed83d455a17008df0 712053
E89 95e0008eb4ea1145989cfd4700f2bf33 726656
E90 5c2b21ed8422f8a3a6594cb9bfbdfe0f 715527
E92 ddb663662031c344e010ba90b808d396 798378
E93 e70e49abbc50021a9d372d321ac22a0f 809181
E94 bbef5dd133949d3d67cc6f02c5c037ba 174922
F1 imagetiff 6.0 ee24b81028065e87263cdb16f9974d82 19221712
F2 7349dba33578a9fb4a087f12ffb457b5 19395720
F3 fe19467890559ba25d41e50d5d3911ad 5874264
F4 d1c8e3e8d0dbaad718bec38c0424a7f8 5953568
F5 36782cbaaed45a85fa28e918c4d57d9a 5697040
F6 dfdd99399649fae787ae0fa8e41bbcf8 5917372
F7 13b2ec3e147cbed67e1bc2f00d6a885a 5858684
F8 dd6bd5fd455a88a0876cc9339ec242ea 5956832
F9 1001d89280c05e999c6182601eabc3b9 5967068
F10 79b36d36431aea8ebd1b077fa96b64d3 5872484
F11 494c64a5b52c1d7da857ee9e703c28cb 5936916
F12 e0e65ff589131620d9c55bf245a84a79 5952416
F13 9620b261bde2221021bcf2f7d6a6f116 5877792
F14 73dbd3cfad897d37478df4b1831cba60 5888144
F15 5d1aee5dbeab7edc9c33a8eeb9dbcd7d 5911688
F16 8bc1a7913e16a8bdac397ff16317e400 5895408
F17 15eed05397bf9217ec2eb4bb02486d64 5812244
F18 fd1d99b8284f3025857a8acf5d1c2462 5825112
F19 54847271acdabbad17f5c86060a5e83a 5790184
F20 d0a174d5f7e9bd25bb225255bd3d23e3 5705920
F21 1933e62ab65b78d00317327159344917 5753664
F22 4c1032ce2d92d4ca88eef8bae6fb5642 5716892
F23 04cff95457d0c0f089d43e2a4d9daf6a 5782032
F24 b7444488eb39f5a874a38520308fb37a 5778368
F25 4b2159350118749913a701055e1686bc 5698716
F26 57ac15f5b4129f1d2c2b0b302f404a9e 5722656
F27 4c735b63533396edb82454ee0fe2c693 5673808
F28 0f61ff3fb3fe7aa99d7729823a91b141 5741812
F29 b2ddee96fe554919909f8ca3ee3949a7 5775908
F30 2dcee24a816d9fc8a2345025fe020946 5808976
F31 e7739a08834c58f5d9fa78f8e6050ae1 5736080
F32 64a1c4e47c2b1db946f4aaeccb3ce797 5798080
F33 0d08bc550fa07fe020bb92f071a92775 5731604
F34 01f49f7810dd9cd7bd1670f08a85a6d2 5719152
F35 4daa5743f07a572877a10e2cdf545863 5710324
F36 82e196d2e54e4081b64eb6867cb6e7e9 5761272
F37 f70561c44ac46d1ac15284b1d6240406 5749324
F38 f859363b301c5ceb4068a1b404645405 5611012
F39 de0a4221557bb7aaae30d152e0793156 5710540
F40 205fed59bff32a5f865de27fa724b6e2 5783268
F41 cab5142c0739eed464988628aee8e303 5717660
F42 ecec2682f33541623ceebe6f5878be93 5729716
F43 5882b6b99e2add2ac1cb9370b6e9bb69 5731196
F44 70afe22cd9714d212bf2c36510826d39 5738836
F45 ea970fae46d2f2590d9125bf0de5fc37 5832240
F46 48026962455eaa8bcdd632330697a040 5674840
F47 88fd2cbef7d173ce740822bf01f98a6c 5751712
F48 ad2599d67e7faf05b50df312c8c191eb 5701212
F49 9fb551e5b2248034ff0a9bbfa6adf6eb 5837072
F50 248b6a0cac96617acb973aba65cdc008 5596248
F51 697ffc7e917419dbc4fed94f8f248172 5759852
F52 f866b9c3f82ccf07e0461e89a98e0d94 5685088
F53 8960baa4f4bdffc357c426e8cbb1f54a 5857164
F54 c63bd079839b8c21ab88ec266676dce0 5776676
F55 a985ea2420fd39e42928b6a3feecb157 5864852
F56 698ee355fc0b642571bd6b1158ddf350 5761296
F57 69f576e0a8e6f9bfbf00873b552d95e0 5899412
F58 962e97b206e832e941de16d411556c10 5759188
F59 efe80b4f46d04aba8ecbe637c7f19f90 5804264
F60 830cb71bbcf839c7b69ea576a5d72380 5753732
F61 94ba427d93755a541638558c466d2952 5860212
F62 6889ab9a10c30bd34390d80b1ac6ec05 5799592
F63 6f876e03d5e3b725c862fc7ea3ffc4e2 5790284
F64 cd7872492dd68a66d228b8a1fa9e4eb5 5735208
F65 092046d677b3aad5b9ab16e9ad006d5d 5793760
F66 bb511afbb45ec1c038b9b1a7ad3b0cd2 5704960
F67 107e3c9602d77cce32fa66a7c36715d2 5695736
F68 c8e30cdad8fe5e67a7b8b3e2df59653a 5739648
F69 99469849ad7dca156b3161db29425280 5819644
F70 cd758510e16fe11f5f191f6ece383f79 5517292
F71 524813bf5783bf73b9863476e6d536c8 5715392
F72 5d538ee569d146e22bcb8e91e2cb89b1 5693700
F73 07e1eacd289d969b4d3486700fea3ee1 5699472
F74 801e4184ff887f1db8530b0e9d3e8c9e 5732872
F75 147baa85a474ab930b0885ed8e4c2943 5803952
F76 c19928a11c788c8b55a71fed5e1e2e6b 5772792
F77 f397ff0ecedba1e5de51dc72f2f71d35 5766380
F78 b343c84e429f2f17fa8d6cef8950ec8c 5771456
F79 359f3c081f7fe51b31e20d0ba62e1a20 5702808
F80 921c864333c5503548f509b946da7d84 5594372
F81 a1947de7e4411380d8290923d8e8e93a 5766360
F82 f8ccb8c1561379e4733dcc7c489e1543 5773028
F83 84493d71b62f9b7e3fdf11c3d2c0ac37 5744716
F84 931f81f21503f96e945a11e8a7e8c4c5 5624892
F85 904bd31163dec53f34681581bf715d78 5680344
F86 53a0624e93cee3e948e14f349d60d33c 5689388
F87 5c1f78bcdb92d55bb5bf0044c8992293 5851636
F88 4115a41a0e7556295636e190b8840c52 5719192
F89 58cd01cf9648fd2ac50baf765b27ef52 5834752
F90 5b1cf8b13f4eca5294b2573c77fed93a 5747628
F92 f8d146539d804866f386529839bc9caa 19177676
F93 69f985ca1d0a3de2ea561a8fb48be2a6 19439388
F94 b9212fa5c856c67f94f2e95d82c84f73 4216336
T1 textplain 54b723a9ee82dd8d0e06c0a67dccfefe 70
T3 3fc4d4042d8432acde838aadd4d47d59 2202
T4 ee86a6427ab782f2a593fa598b23ad65 3283
T5 529c4a2517dac4379e50305473703583 4917
T6 3c8ca398c5a4652694edfdceee0792ea 3231
T7 44927e9a43ff60abfc84b4c11fbc94a5 5482
T8 728f48272683669b0c154cd3170de02b 2922
T9 1160120d60afc176def3da8a98c1f7fb 2386
T10 89f05c29a112acf5caf47aea0717470f 3440
T11 1cff1d5a97d7e6552ff2bd1b1dde5614 3663
T12 e713fefd7f4324bf8ecf47be6cd193ef 5574
T13 f3fee746e7cfa2851c82c6ccd93b6c90 5455
T14 265ceb5e11697788d881637b7f73455a 4365
T15 9c543a23f0b65ea6e4efccad3cdaba32 4081
T16 17803fbf2521a87456acda868036d68a 5565
T17 56e5943c66da8d7667d8f9cafc579421 5518
T18 d38524e44aec0c05fce96973e9473b83 5607
T19 90b53e1d696b1915b59b032fea61b857 733
T20 a104eb69e8eb1a8667d5ee186226c40c 2032
T21 d2d0c3c63c5d2d2fb087d7e52b47a9ee 4515
T22 1a5a7b7ad83320e4a3b5ef0290ca1015 3773
T23 ea32291d60c0e763ced69cbfe4384afa 4453
T24 2684385ed1a2419ae3211fae258eab6f 3658
T25 42a4c2abb5f57783543ac8ee0665c576 4349
T26 9faa3d84714f5b0943cb3bfcb57868bb 3489
T27 9384aaa26bce570b197d5464914f317e 1449
T28 63752019bfa49d2145ae253a92bda704 3859
T29 5a9db4fbe354cdf6512c0879ce951d9c 5647
T30 6609f47a1874b22a8a165fcf5daf8745 5414
T31 9c5644c1d176b28eb8f72db7e81303b8 5252
T32 ebe8a4a3cf255598a1b92ae272e8cad7 3806
T33 2d688f27d1e003a43ac4a3b08f35e6af 3942
T34 26fb0e1ca4e8014de2eb2dd182b50e6c 1476
T35 c86d204ae95ffc894bf7e70e23990f1b 2322
T36 18fe1066771e35d4f5e233f5d20d771d 1414
T37 48bd3429c9117dc8441ef539d87c4167 2660
T38 45b407a2c5ed4ba6c33049786a4592ee 5182
T39 c9d6cd58dcfd187261f05be8cafe0f4f 675
T40 227360304caad674b50f3c59cc668997 4041
T41 fe7e3ec2fb305b6ee53482ba627fe6f1 1455
T42 f6c407a955659a37df7673bbcdbea14c 5423
T43 c1a9747fdac85391ec9b286fdb5f3535 1705
T44 403abd698ba42e11295eebe07f7db950 5188
T45 49ea4a45afbf87a332e023dab1bbc4ec 1631
T46 9ee4f24b1d1e99d33fc7706f59731fe4 4693
T47 dbfb28c57a66ec2d9267a4c5b2fa5a84 5226
T48 2ebe04b41df77f29b7969685b6e916da 5214
T49 28f24e810a3ba779dd983d46e7a4897f 2616
T50 dd6f5f58ab24449347109f5b44e7ae17 461
T51 7b3d39e1c584a152e26f8f94ef65b4f1 738
T52 724249931a1d4bf1d5953d52297885bc 636
T53 c11b65ef9a0d0d2b8e764d27f1a4494e 2428
T54 7cb7c110089e934d0e928111850bf3d2 2959
T55 b05371888c496dc16f2ddaa4276ef26b 3832
T56 1b939d29250727243e231a7ba0d4e996 5564
T57 529fecc3b9303f9461b79b9bcf008e6a 4588
T58 810a91923a3deae83193a205c74b2a05 3066
T59 f35ce96edbce52ea60764d3a16f2d40a 2018
T60 82097e6aed6f7e0c33b1bab58df1420b 2932
T61 4376a61fe84c6089aeeeb573b59783be 2370
T62 b30eb4978c6548dd28da8e6d4ff8f85b 5654
T63 1f77f7ce6e9de65c13b3c53c2541e648 5487
T64 e158c5ee1841ce4e743e0ddbbaf080e0 3542
T65 46a13cfe1575f7ee98e45d49e8c50412 5320
T66 c0ff1eb7ffd16bf69ace4394f3441549 3824
T67 09ac4367678d4cdb4f540cbb1df2eb2b 4317
T68 2d6b7ae88b15dae350b14fe404f20b4c 3604
T69 548a396a7b3ca21b00228d0783ef1eb0 5328
T70 c82360fa340b81d313cc7f5ab6047fbd 5422
T71 343f59fb411385d39cebb93a3eac2c64 2135
T72 88b245eb7d501efce009c228736080b0 5774
T73 e4bd62c246cccd63165b49d38b13c584 4232
T74 08d8c27bfe7dacda30cd9365fdf80543 256
T75 2dbd932276b6eba0b4d1ca836784eb9e 694
T76 bb9687163f687f300bba328e957149cd 4911
T77 67c80314e05efd1b259af8a934c334b7 3753
T78 ae8a7448039b18bf47485b3898afef7b
T79 eb342938fbfcd454d13918e8390b96af 4096
T80 d6b8f0de39ec942001b718f8f3d5dea6 2658
T81 db63f3f41b986fcb80699d0131085f13 2710
T82 6e2381c4435c2202969796ca115a41dc 3022
T83 9663b57f19d3dfcbd7b5fdf68a86b1ce 3818
T84 670a8ba2f70e47608bb7d1c83dc2fa8e 4164
T85 e3ee7f47832703a3a5737cbb5b05d54d 5714
T86 f33da6bb4ec36daec0fcc7ec3acaf096 10057
T87 b4389b6df866c1b57907f0ddb475678e 9737
T88 19a5279465752a4021c5591c69564215 8243
T89 fadeaa790a0ac4ebfa8bd49354cd2ba1 7159
T90 85aa0abe00a338a9fbfc9e861da49246 6948
T94 cc52d16568134f2c31c02f1152839e13 318
J999999 c33644ad9d29e175dfe8adbf1ad64267 45509
AR1 textx-pro b2053ca0742462685a37aedba2f36767 361
AR2 638b928950218fa91a1838137575d7e1 116116
AR3 87f7c2e25cf8938fadb18084fdf5e365 35726
AR4 e3113a6ffbaf4fcb8807ec6ff1e582dd 49987
AR5 f1d57c11c53c6867f0ce1855c34fa2a9 65705
AR6 8f23fb35a8436414a3df708e5b47e79b 55601
AR7 04b10b9dfb6aa985ed03980d4ca441c2 84824
AR8 0a4ca984c8455526d071bfdfac6d04f6 115644
AR9 a02dd1973582af6fb2a15eaf5c45e328 94461
AR10 8e8a47a1ccc79646f096cdb49b380435 79645
AR11 e1ed3937bbde22a884cb65635bc3408e 88749
AR12 2c92bdce3baa6690a211e9f7b40db23a 133754
AR13 06dabda6a7afd8fa46be8a9a5eb52e64 89072
AR14 36bc0a2ef367f33042bbee298745a891 67625
AR15 bfe4eef9194ebf7f8c945e1dcee839d4 89116
AR16 9d3534f9f2856abbd508fd583a3f4058 56508
AR17 0dd35fa2e9e0ba854a7b12dbb8320bb8 81986
AR18 7b549b38ada4d8cff60818b30735d0a0 83154
AR19 8e6b6d151997e839cb39c84c84ba49e7 74688
AR20 3b452fd8fb4081511d2ec9cf742e6503 88088
AR21 c341823b9ec08101447159597f09959c 85794
AR22 fe88ecd6e728065f5ee64ff70f31512b 137427
AR23 c82d31b733bb72a0b929e6727e2024cf 89191
AR24 96d0e3f6faec620f7c16ed9f39b03a0c 134115
AR25 bdaeaa5305e5d48fb373f81665908acd 88503
AR26 16146f7d2769564c94aa85a552e63901 107053
AR27 64d5e35d81a942222028bb7b6172f40c 92113
AR28 a6b7b197da01c70d3c4c71fc6a72940e 87081
AR29 e7cb063bc44636c06dc6034882d315b4 85841
AR30 908ba6ce5eb65496d5f2779a594471fe 135294
AR31 63f348fe45f9a76344bdee910bea5ba9 89550
AR32 1d5a5a93df175335e5b909bd0c8ee15f 133283
AR33 2ec9742bfe2baae031647c3f9a3c2ccb 90823
AR34 6a7d7e9c28920d0ea1de22918706b96e 136537
AR35 234af1296ac988bfd7f10c82dc1d2686 91613
AR36 4dc3b4026f797fb662efd0aaf79c353d 15279
AR37 9f691c971ed5b13f6e29289eac707e69 57884
AR38 d01ef1380ead15fa9b72d52a4cf017e3 50164
AR39 39219d3822852d45530a3d2d47fc3281 88460
AR40 4a2bb059c1a799129c4a2e0abc48d384 109502
AR41 a6bee71d5eecc23e9ba19121ff65dc83 84881
AR42 aa11efca959d951f4870a1cfb46e9c82 83532
AR43 edbb5ab70cb046eb50544e2b99582a91 88157
AR44 d088142dc76fd8d3c2621f3c6de883d2 94268
AR45 ae665d561613329af564398a5b3a0ab1 89986
AR46 17c47ead7d68d87499796bd07065f5e0 62253
AR47 3006adbb7fec230a26beba0fe52dea41 70292
AR48 057dffc815b3f4642abff9fe48120613 105215
AR49 c687550458cd4be5a4a92b4bf2b1845f 77725
AR50 4bd7b9a5c8bb5acdb800c496004acb4c 84583
AR51 6d4ac2ccfe6d69e35e7987ee9d9bcb15 88706
AR52 f525435bfcb0871d7ddb1ea5cdd5af27 33597
AR53 a01a525b4627cd6c362d201a7151cbc0 73401
AR54 2c6ad4ba9258287cc885300ae70c1735 91263
AR55 fed63af7bcafc48ce674f25c3851afbb 80639
AR56 74d3af5c61627b16d7da2e0cfa0242f2 137491
AR57 b506ebd2a24865b4655c87b0bf76dce3 92094
AR58 52f8451b7ce520d86258bfb620e03edd 133093
AR59 53cf6da8e1c44c7d30a90343beba42c3 92911
AR60 83278b0e9c9d37986e4bd7dcc2a5dc4c 126786
AR61 9684635b04e456a856b42a4585e19699 88879
AR62 816ed6f1736842b0b4805374ef7cf6ca 90370
AR63 5c6366077cfa1d3a2af4b9c38c592bec 74395
AR64 015a6c8378a0d9dc2e1c65b27c85a97c 84367
AR65 416ce72402d6989416a7f9cae99df83c 85316
AR66 48e833f5ba241ad2e30d650c39d40214 36498
AR67 a7a6f20d70cf96f462311859e3bab54a 81633
AR68 316fd2de88b3ba9781562abc1d382c28 56055
AR69 53efbf64402b9d0b53892983f42bcee0 86487
AR70 0da11e5a3b16c7daf87d004013f0f2ec 34771
AR71 c14df55de7e7292f40d55e96a742f594 89301
AR72 60623282a109f716569d5606019db2da 64803
AR73 2caccd023b03b1ab2aec994431f38a41 69773
AR74 e569930328b408736f6ecbc9d7cb1e4c 127126
AR75 d66965237cc3672d8aa8209e44625713 97314
AR76 2a09505276fc0aac1560f58380d23464 16192
AR77 77a0822eb41b7e76c171b949f21d87cf 87041
AR78 96f5076d4da9222a680756436f64db7d 97216
AR79 5d3f74902e6355489f251c07761c7ee1 78020
AR80 c3d44d4bed7e3484e004be63e01e2b1d 35827
AR81 7c2bcb0a216539cd1beab6225119788c 75493
AR82 b84c3e33958218d1b770c5360dcd5926 131389
AR83 b00bda92741a4dc56820ee064b474305 94973
AR84 2c78793c68c51e0a0dadfdb4bd9c487d 41918
AR85 a5538f9dc11fa07dc1aab9d5db106210 77908
AR86 0af9df7c7c09a535eb7e69585b95b015 126262
AR87 209a566539fd416d21e28a5f9c0352ed 94638
AR88 ed934657960db5c02946d5e3cb222517 31188
AR89 7c097be18f24f9f42dc3c766f2ec7820 60811
AR90 5fcea024b6e7781e53c65253e52fa0ea 114148
AR91 d1da408c63687c2862a3bb8eb62cda6c 91478
AR92 6f72c071347ac4f524edb84c8a4b423e 126429
AR93 c4911c14bef7012017882839ef0121ca 92821
AR94 dc4a2254545a009f2e8d64bff1db4466 128291
AR95 5ea9639c294ededd5f57ace7738126c9 97065
AR96 222caac2750572edc0ae8dc7ccb5f86b 62398
AR97 bf0cf2fe9e856c7dcc36604047674b1e 70851
AR98 b08675a29154cd711c44413682514b6b 10345
AR99 cce3b06e5183c3e48ac9548a0c4c219f 97413
AR100 9d30e479790b483cf6e3139b7452d7cf 16678
AR101 6d7106290994c4b3a90ec312c5225827 90722
AR102 1df3f46e66c07164e676fe56a1d50107 14813
AR103 7cb1869b93d7c27587ef1e2e0aca9ad1 97081
AR104 dea932a1512f5118efc517d8d805dd9a 58608
AR105 4ec03618f51aa5659f9e1182006f5b5b 62967
AR106 94104d10d0bd0849f885d0492525fd61 66832
AR107 a805ac75c88a80a593a93bf7fea4a7c9 83717
AR108 653caec2a0b9ee2e0bd687c5e376d5b6 86793
AR109 cb330d8a8c8ff505b3d215fa30415ebf 87841
AR110 df67d3a0f95a6c60f0b11b55e7cbe234 137399
AR111 76d198d9d2a1c830ebb6ba4776f9d0c6 95700
AR112 776c78acc5aebfef4c2cf9cb7b39679e 112352
AR113 bcade817ce128278c9e265f9f42dd1a8 86688
AR114 1c7a7156f60aa77368484fd9b32c64de 73506
AR115 323d70e7f831b8a5a12253c7cbd09adf 83245
AR116 4b2f67a1cae00b8761656bce5114cec7 43293
AR117 f06729f42241e1b7acc391e3e8489416 82715
AR118 64fbabd5a18672531a66266f5a1c2053 42313
AR119 dfdf8bc824fb78b9f48c64dcdb5469f5 47419
AR120 2b919a0feb418844c9291d57a8b3e01b 56877
AR121 31deee28253a2caadba2e315f28e7721 66899
AR122 4c0d4107bac64fae4187840692ee4a10 140089
AR123 4bb0368d871de2be6c29ac1f01273274 94730
AR124 e49f7f9e135b47c8f5ea922494dde936 133391
AR125 ffdd8f7acafdfa7ea931bf196d790dfe 91118
AR126 86cd3e8ec8f75477d140f57b921a3294 77558
AR127 70f5968f8c4c70c2a6f5d0527820b5fb 72434
AR128 f7e8789e5b289d7dbb1a11c4fd771394 128490
AR129 9d01392a8db0580fe523398511dd4140 89444
AR130 fd975473a1f5f41ffa77860e9c95b8e6 81399
AR131 f2effd17dd6a0a8d09aea5287f3ff27b 85565
AR132 5ee858307379af62821e2312081b0f49 93020
AR133 216d35adf261f7e6772da8fe9ea1eccf 92444
AR134 4ebedf59b32337f4f0d6a45838990bda 87783
AR135 fa62c36702b0674eade9aa00663f674a 84513
AR136 577b1c8d49bf18e2067cdff138bfc332 129713
AR137 ca83df56fd795079c8f8eae69a29948d 92300
AR138 b31154d1398c117611946531f570945f 133345
AR139 25724ba8a72094dbbaf7baad52e29a92 99851
AR140 2fa3187404fb6981f3679024d91d2de1 51892
AR141 a4e2af8a0cf480f09d80887120486103 75744
AR142 66c3bf7eaabc958f2a1e33022ee52c03 141677
AR143 1c832ec65fbc0c83c65c7aab3f0fe04d 101034
AR144 c747cca376e731ba2e38c090966ce4aa 102362
AR145 19ccd2f41e550db6640a78aa4012d900 84227
AR146 759a7ea688562bea2c1d6fb9e7a36b2d 5145
AR147 ef73a9cfa3ac1ee618349e823690a70d 74877
AR148 7f06078da1ad7313b1802cd21c38769d 16176
AR149 414c5b66a6936ae05e2c8176a79d7d3a 59438
AR150 999d0f8c650bd774478ae5cffa313beb 119472
AR151 3ccd9748f1a09735e7045dddbd2be1a6 94841
AR152 306967fd9a44169ec35d67e47c6ad4fb 89202
AR153 b7ed0dfa24595a373dfed88f281c20cf 89544
AR154 3c60fc706935dd7d6b0064d2966f2ef0 116530
AR155 ceded8be96be4b019fb162f9a0c8f81e 75069
AR156 d635a807d867bc58215ff600af1ba012 77043
AR157 ee3f561911fcdbd09626f4ba5de87ef4 85942
AR158 9642389dfdc661a8abd95e72e1d536bf 49829
AR159 8406f8fe4f476115799543cc341ea65f 98508
AR160 848b161c79ee077831447cffe0deb3d8 55138
AR161 fd78cbc87f49aa0721a73e4f9e5cd515 89788
AR162 1a60cd3b87e6170a025de571fe1411e1 53700
AR163 064420326359cc9a785e5955f70993ad 75243
AR164 29ff63c72ac9074baedc9bc648bd4f57 77702
AR165 570d416a18bddf6e2cdb00d017b19611 86300
AR166 6935c6f14d7424459c78688a6104e0e4 79952
AR167 1a445c88dc69c8e097fac870676d6467 77913
AR168 916138c433b3b2b75d6ecbdac9e36459 114618
AR169 59c2d1a570ed98cb1f56390f19764642 73528
AR170 d492d39b2567f8b5549e9cb1a97e5c8b 247751
AR171 5c8845976f9da6e0df19ffc332e91980 90510
AR172 45242661de2ec7d46b475e658333d98e 209295
AR173 4cf550644a6cf72f2e1db2f627b8e7c3 84233
AR174 210799b9ff602ad908c9be5694f52498 194127
AR175 f66020e41265bdb18ff507738626dd58 87399
AR176 8e2466877dcf23f67fecd61513fffa28 131189
AR177 6a745be780811978fa054f78d67e25be 66941
AR178 dc87237249911321feebb6fa650f62f9 147455
AR179 50ea1b99b6725983fa979cee389221cf 92173
AR180 86feb5afd2b04e80788df591d01b97dd 30233
AR181 68508d9161c442ef36044c3ab636008f 95928
AR182 ba84f988d627b3265e4a80f4ede62ec6 3703
AR183 fae0fb5a1ed739a5b0a9eeaf71076a87 53352
AR184 2fe83474c3e1de14bacd0154e349aae3 24
AR185 fa8c0df20fe5f9e26c370a2f046f0948 133249
METS:structMap STRUCT1 mixed
D1 Front Cover
P1 Page
D2 A birthday greeting Chapter
D3 Spideree 3
P6 4
P7 5
P8 6
P9 7
D4 Little dancing leaves Poem
P12 10
P13 11
P14 12
P15 13
P16 14
P17 15
P18 16
D5 Murillo's mulatto
P19 17
P20 18
D6 The knights the extension table
P21 19
P22 20
P23 21
D7 little girl who tried to mind
P24 22
D8 All-hallow eve myths
P25 23
D9 Wallace Uhlen
P27 25
D10 Peterkins give a fancy ball
P28 26
P29 27
P30 28
P31 29
D11 Slumber song
P32 30
P33 31
P34 32
P35 33
P36 34
P37 35
D12 Sir Joshua and Penelope
P38 36
P39 37
D13 Ollie's dreams
P40 38
P41 39
P42 40
P43 41
P44 42
D14 carnivoristicous Ounce
P45 43
D15 How Johnny's was kept
P46 44
P47 45
P48 46
P49 47
D16 fairy's gift
P50 48
P51 49
P52 50
D17 One day desert island
P53 51
P54 52
P55 53
P56 54
P57 55
P58 56
P59 57
D18 Elberon
P60 58
D19 noble life
P61 59
P62 60
P63 61
D20 St. treasure-box literature
P65 62
D22 Recollections drummer-boy
P66 63
P67 64
P68 65
P69 66
P70 67
P71 68
P72 69
P64 71
D29 For very folk
P74 72
P75 73
D23 Jack-in-the-pulpit
P76 74
P77 75
D24 magic pen (operetta)
P78 76
P79 77
P80 78
P81 79
P82 80
P83 81
P84 82
P85 83
D25 letter-box
P86 84
P87 85
P88 86
D26 riddle-box
P89 87
P90 88
D27 Back
D28 Spine
METS:behaviorSec VIEWS Options available user for viewing this item
METS:behavior VIEW1 STRUCTID Default View
METS:mechanism Viewer JPEGs Procedure xlink:type simple xlink:title JPEG_Viewer()
VIEW2 Alternate
zoomable JPEG2000s JP2_Viewer()
INTERFACES Banners or interfaces which resource can appear under
INT1 Interface

Saint Nicholas : Vol. 9, no. 1
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00108
 Material Information
Title: Saint Nicholas : Vol. 9, no. 1
Series Title: St. Nicholas.
Alternate Title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner,
Publication Date: -c1943.
Subjects / Keywords: Literature for Children
Genre: Children's literature
serial   ( sobekcm )
General Note: Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
General Note: Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: notis - ocm0176
oclc - 7405657; (DLC)SF 89099153
oclc - (DLC) 2006255186; 55136171
System ID: UF00065513:00108

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    A birthday greeting
        Page 1
        Page 2
        Page 3
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
    Little dancing leaves - An old-fashioned Thanksgiving
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
    Murillo's mulatto
        Page 17
        Page 18
    The knights of the extension table
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
    The little girl who tried to mind
        Page 22
    All-hallow eve myths
        Page 23
        Page 24
    Wallace of Uhlen
        Page 25
    The Peterkins give a fancy ball
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
    Slumber song - Some balloon experiences
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
    Sir Joshua and little Penelope
        Page 36
        Page 37
    Ollie's dreams - The Verney ancestor
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
    The carnivoristicous Ounce
        Page 43
    How Johnny's birthday was kept
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
    The fairy's gift
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
    One day on a desert island
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
    A noble life
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
    The St. Nicholas treasure-box of literature
        Page 62
    Recollections of a drummer-boy
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
    For very little folk
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
    The magic pen (operetta)
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
    The letter-box
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
    The riddle-box
        Page 87
        Page 88
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text



VOL. IX. NOVEMBER, 1881. No. i.

[Copyright, 1881, by THE CENTURY CO.]

DEAR BOY AND GIRL who were the first to read the very first number of
ST. NICHOLAS, where are you to-day ? Right here, we hope, looking at this
page; and with you, thousands upon thousands of others. You have grown
older,-several years older, but not too old to play with us, though we are only
eight to-day. Yes, you have grown older; and of the rest, some who were
babies then are reading over your shoulders now; and some who were big
brothers and sisters at that time are perhaps showing the pictures to their own
little ones who were nowhere at all when this magazine first came into life.
Well, have we not all, first and last, had good times together? And do
we not all know more, feel more, and enjoy more, because of each other?
Certainly we do. And most certainly in the full, busy years to come the
friendly, beautiful crowd shall grow larger and larger, wiser and wiser, happier
and happier! ST. NICHOLAS says so. And whatever ST. NICHOLAS proph-
esies must come to pass, because he has a special understanding with the
boys and girls.
Now, on his ninth birthday, snugly settled in his new head-quarters on
Union Square, overlooking half his native city, he naturally forms brave reso-
lutions, and thinking over the past and the future, is sure of some day
becoming "the very model of a modern periodical.
Is he joking? No. Or boasting? -No, indeed. The fact is, he can
not tell exactly all he feels as his ninth Christmas draws near,-that is,
not word by word, any more than you know all that you mean when you
cry "Hurrah!" on a happy day. He is only crying "Hurrah!"
So, dear boys and girls, near and far, on the land, on the ocean, in cities, on
the mountains, wherever, and whoever, you may be, so that you bear the colors
of youth, ST. NICHOLAS greets you,- and wishes you many happy returns !




S .. ,, ~.af ..

; '. i' ,L'' ,p,':, ,
4' ..; .

T -~,;I r. .: ,. , ,i

_. -- .. . .I .,,

,"' *;';"A r. jr/'r t
.,I 'it F

Li-" ll bixhn3 trlttLd aid \.uclidno rti dS Rulntinlc 3 ihap-
pened, they had only to hang them up in hare-bells and columbines, and let the wind rock them to sleep.
Old and young spent their time in merry dancing, and in frolicking, for the were a mischievous
race, and loved to play all sorts of queer tricks on one another and on the animals that lived with
them in the woods and meadows. They would pull the bushy tails of the gray squirrels, and then
hide in the ragged bark of a tree, to watch them stare and hunt vainly about for their tormentors.
They would knock the nut out of a chipmunk's paws, just as he was going to put it in his mouth,
and hop about and giggle with delight, to see the angry little fellow sit up on his haunches and scold
?_ I ,. i,'
i Ir I L I

ff t,_ uI,,r I- !, 'h 1 r'h,
',' F' .-!. '- ,' ii -
H P-, ':'' 1'-, 1- 1' 1 ,-- 1 -1 1" 1
:, : ,, 1,- ,, ,,
f v o cill.. J. ..L- .t :n
'. -L :l,- .. .d._. Lt ,~ I l l! I

I', r.....-1 ,ht -,, L," I I- .- .

-ln., bab,,:; ii'-,CL .r id uad n .J t.I, a: Sui i, ,.- Imp.

Old and young spent their time in merry dancing, and in frolicking, for they were a mischievous
race, and loved to play all sorts of queer tricks on one another and on the animals that lived with
them in the woods and meadows. They would pull the bushy tails of the gray squirrels, and then
hide in the ragged bark of a tree, to watch them stare and hunt vainly about for their tormentors.
They would knock the nut out of a chipmunk's paws, just as he was going to put it in his mouth,
and hop about and giggle with delight, to see the angry little usllow sit up on his haunches and scold





till his voice could be heard
all over the woods. They
used to peep over the edges .
of the nests, and make faces i
at the young birds, until -'' '
the poor featherless babies
screamed harder than ever
for their mothers to come .
home and protect them from '
these naughty elves. They -
took the bees' honey from I;- S'
the holes in the hollow trees
where it had been so careful, r..r. 1., i: I.,
makers; they used no end .I. i-4'-.-: !.:.i
paper on which to write notes L... :.,'.: ii.:.rh.' iI
they stole the spiders' webs fc.r r. 1i-":
But, in spite of all these frc- -i.: ri.-' .,:: i:,...-
hearted, and would not for ti',: ..i I .:1.. ., ,.
harm to any living creature. i r.i..:-.1. ,l.:r r-.. r.
was no rain, and the delicate. i.i.,i,, .:,i.. i,,.-, ;
for want of moisture, troops .:. ft' -.. I.il..l .. r,-Ir.
work hard for hours, bringi, ..-' : -.-::._: !ili .:.I
water from the brook to refre::h ri-.: .-h.:....,., -.
ers; and more than one nestfil ..' ..in: i-.- I i..
had lost their mother were br.:.u : hi p ,i (i,.: ;!!I.
elves, who gave up their pla, r.. :1 i ..r -.:r.c
and worms for the helpless ..i .i.i,: .r-.i -i.:
squirrels and snakes, wasps, L-..-. rin.:l -:il.r:. .II
knew that much as the fairi.- _.--._h I....: I .r : .:.,i.
them, there was no danger of Lheu really IurLung
them. So, in spite of a few quarrels and scoldings,
on occasions when the little people were really too
troublesome, they were all good friends, and very
merry and happy together.
I say that they were very happy, and so they
were, but there was one thing which kept the fair-
ies from being perfectly contented, and made them,
even in the midst of their wildest gayety, keep an
uneasy lookout for the danger which might b6 lurk-
ing near. At that time there lived another race of
beings, who were no bigger than mortal children
of two or three years, but who to the fairies were
terrible giants. These were the goblins; and instead
of playing about in moonshine and sunshine, and
giving all their thought to merry tricks and little
acts of kindness, they were of a cross and gloomy
disposition, and spent their whole time in accu-
mulating great heaps of gold and silver and
precious stones. They thought this the only
thing worth living for, and as fairy fingers were
much finer than their own, and could do far more
delicate work, it was the dearest desire of every
goblin to catch a fairy, and set him to polishing the
hard bits of shiny stone which were the pride of the
goblin heart. Many and many an unhappy sprite
had been snatched from his dance on the soft green
moss carpet, and carried off to this hateful slavery.

.I" .ii-


weary labor

under pitiless masters,- this at least they had
succeeded in finding out.
.:. I .,r.1 1 ,'
r t,[,: .. r :.

Now, at this time, in one of the greenest and

prettiest of dells, decked with ferns, and shadowed
by tall forest-trees, lived, among many others,
three young sprites. The oldest, who was named
Spideree, was very kind to his sister Violet, and

together they both took care of their little sister

it was often a hard task to keep her out of serious
One evening, when the little people were all out
enjoying the light of the full moon, which looked
under pitiless masters,- this at least they had

down with pleasure at their pretty antics, and
together they both took care of them had any thought of dangsister

a dark. shadow suddenly fell upon them, and the
ing of the Goblins, cla so young ang fliing-geart
swooped down like a hard task to keep her out of seizing

Vioet and Moonbeam, one little people were all out
enjoswiftly away with them. Th shout of the full moon, which looked
troop of fairies, when they saw their tw com-s, and
when no one of them had any thought of danger,

panions dark snatched away, was no louder them, an your
fing oftest whisper, yet to Spideree, who was standing-gear,
swoopa little distance off, it sounded like a bird of prey, and seizafening
outcry, and he looked around, just as the goblin was
swiftly away with them. The shout of the whole
troop of fairies, when they saw their two com-
panions snatched away, was no louder than your
faintest whisper, yet to Spideree, who was standing
a little distance off, it sounded like a deafening
outcry, and he looked around, just as the goblin was




starting upward. Quicker than thought, he threw
himself on the foot of the foe, grasped it tightly,
and in spite of all efforts to throw him off, clung
fast as they all rose together toward the sky.
On and on flew the goblin, shaking himself
angrily every now and then, to get rid of Spideree,
who still hung on bravely, determined not to let
go until he had found where his sisters were being
taken, and in what way he could best go to work
to save them from their sad fate. But the goblin
was getting impatient at having this troublesome

lin-letter cut on one of the sides. This discovery
delighted him greatly, for he now felt assured that
the diamond must be the property of the goblin,
who had dropped it in his flight, and who must
have passed over the very spot where the diamond
was lying. Much relieved to think he now knew
in which direction to fly, he started off rapidly,
and flew until he was exhausted.
For some hours he rested in the warm coils of a
woolly young fern, and then he started again on
his wearisome journey. Many times in his flight he

_-_ -- ..----- --- -- r---

elf clinging to him so firmly, and, as e !l-, ':--Ir.
he pinched Violet and Moonbeam, .! .-i: hii,,!
screams so frightened their brother thar 1, !- I: -
ror he loosed his hold, and one more Il, -i: rl,! i
him headlong to the earth, while the :;':.l 1. ,n,-
self mounted rapidly upward until he .- !.:t i.:.
Poor Spideree was stunned by his hard !'. i-i.i
when he recovered enough to raise himi:lf -ir. ..:i
look about, there was no trace of his e -,-. L. L_:
seen in the moonlit sky. Hurt arid cli:....- r i.
he lay upon the grass, unable to thiri: '-tr !-i,
should do, and yet more than ever resc.I ..i ii:.i r..
rest until he had saved his sisters.
At last he rose, tried his wings, ancd ..u.n, rI', r
fortunately neither of them had been broken in the
fall. Round and round he circled, just above the
grass-tops, searching on every side for some little
trace which might show him in what direction those
he sought had flown. Soon, his eye was caught
by a dew-drop, so bright that he bent down to see
what was the cause of its singular brilliancy, and
on coming close to it, he saw that, instead of a
dew-drop, it was a tiny diamond. It was so finely
cut that there were a thousand distinct sides, or
facets, to it, and it was for this reason that it
sparkled so. Spideree picked it up, and found, on
examining it closely, that there was a minute gob-



found bits of rainbow lying on the leaves over
which he passed, and joyfully picked them up, for
he knew that they were shreds of the rainbow
scarf which Violet always wore, and that she must
have torn them off and dropped them for the
special purpose of guiding him aright. Often did
he find himself astray, and forced to hunt around,
until he was cheered by the sight of a rainbow-
hued fragment glistening in the grass, or perhaps
of a tiny diamond flashing light from a myriad
points. Two more of these precious gems he



x88x.l SPID E REE.

found-the second had two thousand, the third
three thousand facets, and on each was the goblin-
letter, so small that none but fairy eyes could see
it, but which showed whose property the jewel was.
At last, after many days, worn out with travel-
ing, with tired feet and drooping wings, Spideree
arrived in sight of a great and gloomy castle, built
of enormous blocks of solid stone, and surrounded
by a moat which prevented any near approach to
it. The draw-bridge was raised when he first came
in sight of it, and he stood and gazed across the
moat at the dark building which he knew must
be the abode of the King of the Goblins, and in
which his little sisters, he felt sure, were con-
demned to perpetual labor, out of sight of the
bright sunlight, the flowers, and the friendly
wild creatures, which make a fairy's life one long
Although he had penetrated farther than any
adventurous member of his race had ever gone
before, and had made his way to the very castle of
the goblins, yet Spideree seemed as far off as ever
from success. Disheartened, he turned toward a
neighboring wood, where he took up his home in
an old tree-stump, and waited to see if perhaps
some fortunate chance would help him to gain his
object. Every day from his hiding-place he saw,
at midday, a long train of elves, chained together
two by two, come sorrowfully out of the castle,
cross the draw-bridge, and take their daily walk
under the guardianship of their harsh keepers,
who would not permit them to talk together, nor
even to take a single step out of the straight path.
Last among them came Violet and Moonbeam,
looking the unhappiest of all, for they had not
yet grown used to the hard life they were forced to
lead. Their brother watched them sadly, wonder-
ing whether he should ever find it possible to
release them from their servitude.
One day, when he was sitting perched on top of
one of the scarlet toadstools, a number of which
grew in his new home, frowning and shaking his
head as he vainly tried to think out some plan for
making his entrance into the big castle, he heard
what to him was a terribly loud voice, crying out.
As it drew nearer he recognized it as the voice of a
goblin herald, coming to announce news of public
importance. Carefully slipping behind his toad-
stool, to avoid any chance of being seen, Spideree
heard with delight the herald proclaim at the top
of his voice that the King of the Goblins had lost
three of his handsomest diamonds, one with one
thousand, one with two thousand, and one with
three thousand sides, and that whoever should find
and restore these to their rightful owner should
have whatever he might please to ask as a reward.
Now Spideree was a prudent as well as a'brave

little fairy, and sat down to think about it, before
taking back the diamonds to the King. Goblins,
he remembered to have heard, were very treacher-
ous as well as cruel; it would be better not to trust
them too far, he thought. And the end of it was
that he carefully hid the diamonds under a corner
of an old stump, and set out alone to see what
was to be thought of the state -of affairs before
bringing out the treasures from which he hoped to
gain so much.
He went toward the castle; the draw-bridge was
down, but at the end of it, just within the gloomy
door-way, stood a cross old porter, who said, gruffly:
"What do you want, Atom ?"
"If you please, sir," said Spideree, politely, I
have news of his diamonds for the King!"
"You !" said the rough old porter. "What you
know can't be worth much. But come along to
my master, and he '11 soon find out what you have
to say for yourself "
Spideree followed the porter through the dusky
halls of the castle, until he stopped before a heavy
door, and knocked.
"Come in some one shouted.
The porter threw open the door, and said, bow-
ing low: I beg pardon, Your Majesty, but here's
a conceited mite of a fairy thinks he 's got your
precious diamonds."
"Ha, ha!" roared the King. "Got my dia-
monds, has he? Hand 'em over, sir, and then I'll
have you and the diamonds, too "
"Please, sir," said Spideree's shrill little voice,
" I thought I was to have anything I wanted for a
So you believed that silly story, did you?"
said the King. Well, it was n't true, as any one
with any sense might have known. So give up
the diamonds."
I have n't brought them with me, please, sir,"
said Spideree.
"As if I 'd believe that! growled the King,
and he picked up Spideree, and looked in all his
pockets, and even inside the lining of his hat, to
see if the gems were hidden anywhere about him.
His Majesty flew into a terrible rage as he went
on, for he thought Spideree had been only fooling
him, and at last, in a fit of anger, he tossed him
out of the window, shouting:
Get out, you miserable, deceitful little mite !"
He was so angry that he threw Spideree far
across the moat, to the hard bank beyond, which
for the little fellow was really very fortunate.
Bruised and sore, he picked himself up and limped
back to his woods. There he soon made for him-
self a healing salve of red cup-moss, and the juices
of some wood plants, well mixed together, which
in a short time restored him to his natural vigor.





For a whole day and night he sat on his toadstool, he raised his hand to rub his head, as puzzled
reflecting. But at last he said to himself, "Nothing people are very apt to do, and no sooner did a ray

_.r -_ .... .

. :---.--; --' .... --. .-: .
i, .,P : .. ., .. -.P.



,, I ,, ~
---I hlC




venture, nothing have !" and taking the thousand-
sided diamond from its hiding-place, he started
once more for the stone castle. When he reached
it, all the inhabitants were out of sight, and the
draw-bridge was raised.

~~--F- -

-. !L. I.'''*l

-j5t 10! i !.% !.:1 ... "
n ur;-r. i-i,

will never hear such a little
voice as mine calling across the moat. How am I
ever to get into their precious old cavern of a castle ? "
As he stood puzzling over this difficult question,

of light from the diamond which he held fall upon
the draw-bridge, than it slowly lowered itself, and
then the way to the castle lay open before him.
Now he felt certain of what he had long suspected,
that the diamonds were magic jewels, and that
it was for this reason that the King of the Goblins
was so anxious to get them once more into his own
Greatly pleased with this idea, Spideree passed
over the bridge, and with a single gleam from the
diamond opened the huge gates which were locked
across his way. But -alas, although the castle
gates flew open before the enchanted rays, he
could not open with them the door of a single
chamber, and was forced to return to the woods
for the two other diamonds, before he could make
his way any farther. When he came back with
these, Spideree soon found that, while the diamond
with a thousand facets controlled only the draw-
bridge and the great gates, the one with two
thousand sides made every door in the castle fly
open. Hastily he made his way to the apartment
which he remembered as the King's. Here he
paused a moment, and then,/taking courage, let
a single beam from the gem fall upon the massive
door. Instantly it flew open, and within sat the
Goblin King, who, the moment he saw the spark-
ling stone in Spideree's hand, started up, shout-
ing : "At last! At last, I have them !" and rushed
toward the door, with his hand stretched out to
seize the jewel. The light which streamed upon
him from it did not seem to affect him at all, and
Spideree, in terror, just had time to draw the third





diamond from his bosom and direct its beams upon across, than the draw-bridge lifted itself up, and th
his enemy. moat began slowly to spread into a wide cxpans
As the glittering radiance fell upon the goblin, of water. A chilling wind blew from the enchanted
the laughter died upon his lips, the brightness castle, turning everything about to ice, and main
faded from his eyes, and slowly he grew still and the fairy band hurry still faster on their homewar
rigid before the wondering
eyes of Spideree, who now
saw in front of him, instead
of a raging foe, only a stat- T
ue of stone, with its hand
outstretched as if to grasp
the empty air. Spideree
knew now that at last he
had found the means of
conquering the goblin tribe
and undoing all the evil
which their avarice and
harshness had worked.
Swiftly he flew from room
to room, changing the in-
habitants of each to stone,
until he reached the apart-
ment in which were con-
fined the elfin work-people.
Here the diamond quick-
ly turned the cruel keepers
to stone, while all the ea-
ger fairies crowded around
Spideree to be loosed from
their chains by the magic
beams. Happiest among
them all was Violet, to
think that it was her own
dear brother who had freed
her and all their captive
friends, while after long
search little Moonbeam
was found hidden far down
in a dark corner, where she
had been put for neglect-
ing her work.
How they all rejoiced to
be going back to their
own happy world again,'
and how many questions
Spideree had to answer
about the beautiful fairy-
land, and the friends that
they had all been longing 0
joyful troop left the castle, and crossed the draw- way. It was not long before they were all once
bridge. Spideree, with Violet and Moonbeam, came more in their favorite haunts, frolicking and play-
last, and as he reached the middle of the bridge, ing at their old tricks, without any fear of the ter-
softly the three diamonds slipped from his hand, and rible goblins, from whom Spideree's patience and
fell into the moat. No sooner were the elves all bravery had saved them for evermore.




LTTTTLr dancing leaves
i,, thr ,'den-bower,
-. i:!-.! i.c-.ag you grieves
iN..i .. 1.:. a flower?
N.:. I... the light leaves say,
.,,,.:i.ri. i the sun all day.

Liinr!: I.:1 .. g leaves,
R...:.1 I. ., to kiss you;
F'..,, ti- c:o.ttage eaves
N.. i- r birds would miss you,-
VX,-.: ,l.]|l tire of blossoms so,
ii *,.. :ii1 to. flowers should grow!

Li!.- l-..,igag leaves,-
...",-:.. terns, and sedges,
N.-,J.dl- r.. the sheaves,
.:'iir .t ti.ngled hedges,-
\XW ., :tlil world would remain
[i ,...1 il .'ere useful grain!

Little dancing leaves,
Who could do without you?
Every poet weaves
Some sweet dream about you.
Flowers and grain awhile are here;
You stay with us all the year.

Little dancing leaves,
When through pines and birches
The great storm-wind heaves,
Your retreat he searches,-
How he makes the tall trees roar!
While you--only dance the more!

Little dancing leaves,
Loving and caressing,-
He most joy receives
Who bestows a blessing.
Dance, light leaves, for dancing made,
While you bless us with your shade!



SIXTY years ago, up among the New Hamp-
shire hills, lived Farmer Bassett, with a houseful
of sturdy sons and daughters growing up about
him. They were poor in money, but rich in land
and love, for the wide acres of wood, corn, and
pasture land fed, warmed, and clothed the flock,
while mutual patience, affection, and courage made
the old farm-house a very happy home.
November had come; the crops were in, and
barn, buttery, and bin were overflowing with the
harvest that rewarded the summer's hard work.
The big kitchen was a jolly place just now, for in
the great fire-place roared a cheerful fire; on the
walls hung garlands of dried apples, onions, and
corn; up aloft from the beams shone crook-necked
squashes, juicy hams, and dried venison-for in
those days deer still haunted the deep forests, and
hunters flourished. Savory smells were in the air;
on the crane hung steaming kettles, and down
among the red embers copper saucepans simmered,
all suggestive of some approaching feast.
'A white-headed baby lay in the old blue cradle

that had rocked six other babies, now and then
lifting his head to look out, like a round, full moon,
then subsided to kick and crow contentedly, and
suck the rosy apple he had no teeth to bite. Two
small boys sat on the wooden settle shelling corn
for popping, and picking out the biggest nuts from
the goodly store their own hands had gathered in
October. Four young girls stood at the long
dresser, busily chopping meat, pounding spice,
and slicing apples; and the tongues of Tilly, Prue,
Roxy, and Rhody went as fast as their hands.
Farmer Bassett, and Eph, the oldest boy, were
" chorin' 'round" outside, for Thanksgiving was at
hand, and all must be in order for that time-hon-
ored day.
To and fro, from table to hearth, bustled buxom
Mrs. Bassett, flushed and floury, but busy and
blithe as the queen bee of this busy little hive
should be.
I do like to begin seasonable and have things
to my mind. Thanksgivin' dinners can't be drove,
and it does take a sight of victuals to fill all these




hungry stomicks," said the good woman, as she
gave a vigorous stir to the great kettle of cider
apple-sauce, and cast a glance of housewifely pride
at the fine array of pies set forth on the buttery
"Only one more day and then it will be time to
eat. I did n't take but one bowl of hasty pudding
this morning, so I shall have plenty of room when
.the nice things come," confided Seth to Sol, as he
cracked a large hazel-nut as easily as a squirrel.
"No need of my starvin'beforehand. I always
have room enough, and I 'd like to have Thanks-
giving every day," answered Solomon, gloating
like a young ogre over the little pig that lay near
by, ready for roasting.
Sakes alive, I don't, boys It 's a marcy it
don't come but once a year. I should be worn to
a thread-paper with all this extra work atop of my
winter weavin' and spinnin'," laughed their mother,
as she plunged her plump arms into the long
bread-trough and began to knead the dough as if
a famine was at hand.
Tilly, the oldest girl, a red-cheeked, black-eyed
lass of fourteen, was grinding briskly at the mor-
tar, for spices were costly, and not a grain must be
wasted. Prue kept time with the chopper, and the
twins sliced away at the apples till their little brown
arms ached, for all knew how to work, and did so
now with a will.
I think it's real fun to have Thanksgiving at
home. I'm sorry Gran'ma is sick, so we can't go
there as usual, but I like to mess 'round here, don't
you, girls ? asked Tilly, pausing to take a sniff at
the spicy pestle.
It will be kind of lonesome with only our own
folks." I like to see all the cousins and aunts,
and have games, and sing," cried the twins, who
were regular little romps, and could run, swim,
coast, and shout as well as their brothers.
"I don't care a mite for all that. It will be so
nice to eat dinner together, warm and comfortable
at home," said quiet Prue, who loved her own
cozy nooks like a cat.
"Come, girls, fly 'round and get your chores
done, so we can clear away for dinner jest as soonas
I clap mybread into the oven," called Mrs. Bassett
presently, as she rounded off the last loaf of brown
bread which was to feed the hungry mouths that
seldom tasted any other.
Here's a man coming' up the hill lively!"
"Guess it's Gad Hopkins. Pa told him to bring a
dezzen oranges, if they war n't too high shouted
Sol and Seth, running to the door, while the girls
smacked their lips at the thought of this rare treat,
and Baby threw his apple overboard, as if getting
ready for a new cargo.
But all were doomed to disappointment, for it

was not Gad, with the much-desired fruit. It was a
stranger, who threw himself off his horse and hur-
ried up to Mr. Bassett in the yard, with some brief
message that made the farmer drop his ax and look
so sober that his wife guessed at once some bad
news had come; and crying, Mother 's wuss I
know she is out ran the good woman, forgetful
of the flour on her arms and the oven waiting for
its most important batch.
The man said old Mr. Chadwick, down to Keene,


stopped him as he passed, and told him to tell Mrs.
Bassett her mother was failin' fast, and she'd bet-
ter come to-day. He knew no more, and having
delivered his errand he rode away, saying it looked
like snow and he must be jogging, or he would n't
get home till night.
"We must go right off, Eldad. Hitch up, and




I '11 be ready in less 'n no time," said Mrs. Bassett,
wasting not a minute in tears and lamentations,
but pulling off her apron as she went in, with her
head in a sad jumble of bread, anxiety, turkey,
sorrow, haste, and cider apple-sauce.
A few words told the story, and the children left
their work to help her get ready, mingling, their
grief for "Gran'ma" with regrets for the lost
I 'm dreadful sorry, dears, but it can't be helped.
I could n't cook nor eat no way now, and if that
blessed woman gets better sudden, as she has be-
fore, we '11 have cause for thanksgivin', and I '11
give you a dinner you wont forget in a hurry,"
said Mrs. Bassett, as she tied on her brown silk
pumpkin-hood, with a sob for the good old mother
who had made it for her.
Not a child complained after that, but ran about
helpfully, bringing moccasins, heating the foot-
stone, and getting ready for a long drive, because
Gran'ma lived twenty miles away, and there were
no railroads in those parts to whisk people to and
fro like magic. By the time the old yellow sleigh
was at the door, the bread was in the oven, and
Mrs. Bassett was waiting, with her camlet cloak on,
and the baby done up like a small bale of blankets.
"Now, Eph, you must look after the cattle like
a man, and keep up the fires, for there 's a storm
brewin', and neither the children nor dumb critters
must suffer," said Mr. Bassett, as he turned up the
collar of his rough coat and put on his blue mittens,
while the old mare shook her bells as if she pre-
ferred a trip to Keene to hauling wood all day.
Tilly, put extry comfortable on the beds
to-night, the wind is so searching' up chamber.
Have the baked beans and Injun-puddin' for din-
ner, and whatever you do, don't let the boys git at
the mince-pies, or you '11 have them down sick. I
shall come back the minute I can leave Mother.
Pa will come to-morrer anyway, so keep snug and
be good. I depend on you, my darter; use your
judgment, and don't let nothing' happen while
Mother 's away."
Yes 'm, yes 'm-good-bye, good-bye called
the children, as Mrs. Bassett was packed into the
sleigh and driven away, leaving a stream of direc-
tions behind her.
Eph, the sixteen-year-old boy, immediately put
on his biggest boots, assumed a sober, responsible
manner, and surveyed his little responsibilities
with a paternal air, drolly like his father's. Tilly
tied on her mother's bunch of keys, rolled up the
sleeves of her homespun gown, and began to order
about the younger girls. They soon forgot poor
Granny, and found it great fun to keep house all
alone, for Mother seldom left home, but ruled her
family in the good old-fashioned way. There were

no servants, for the little daughters were Mrs. Bas-
sett's only maids, and the stout boys helped theii
father, all working happily together with no wages
but love; learning in the best manner the use
of the heads and hands with which they were to
make their own way in the world.
The few flakes that caused the farmer to predict
bad weather soon increased to a regular snow-
storm, with gusts of wind, for up among the hills
winter came early and lingered long. But the
children were busy, gay, and warm in-doors, and
never minded the rising gale nor the whirling
white storm outside.
Tilly got them a good dinner, and when it was
over the two elder girls went to their spinning, for
in the kitchen stood the big and little wheels, and
baskets of wool-rolls, ready to be twisted into yarn
for the winter's knitting, and each day brought its
stint of work to the daughters, who hoped to be as
thrifty as their mother.
Eph kept up a glorious fire, and superintended
the small boys, who popped corn and whittled boats
on the hearth; while. Roxy and Rhody dressed
corn-cob dolls in the settle corner, and Bose, the
brindled mastiff, lay on the braided mat, luxuriously
warming his old legs. Thus employed, they made
a pretty picture, these rosy boys and girls, in their
homespun suits, with the rustic toys or tasks which
most children nowadays would find very poor or
Tilly and Prue sang, as they stepped to and
fro, drawing out the smoothly twisted threads
to the musical hum of the great spinning-wheels.
The little girls chattered like magpies over their
dolls and the new bed-spread they were planning
to make, all white dimity stars on a blue calico
ground, as a Christmas present to Ma. The boys
roared at Eph's jokes, and had rough and tumble
games over Bose, who did n't mind them in the
least; and so the afternoon wore pleasantly away.
At sunset the boys went out to feed the cattle,
bring in heaps of wood, and lock up for the night, as
the lonely farm-house seldom had visitors after dark.
The girls got the simple supper of brown bread
and milk, baked apples, and a doughnut all 'round
as a treat. Then they sat before the fire, the sis-
ters knitting, the brothers with books or games,
for Eph loved reading, and Sol and Seth never
failed to play a few games of Morris with barley
corns, on the little board they had made themselves
at one corner of the dresser.
Read out a piece," said Tilly from Mother's
chair, where she sat in state, finishing off the sixth
woolen sock she had knit that month.
It 's the old history book, but here 's a bit you
may like, since it 's about our folks," answered
Eph, turning the yellow page to look at a picture




of two quaintly dressed children in some ancient
"Yes, read that. I always like to hear about
the Lady Matildy I was named for, and Lord Bas-
sett, Pa's great-great-great-grandpa. He 's only
a farmer now, but it 's nice to know we were some-
body two or three hundred years ago," said Tilly,
bridling and tossing her curly head as she fancied
the Lady Matilda might have done.
"Don't read the queer words, 'cause we don't
understand 'em. Tell it," commanded Roxy, from
the cradle, where she was drowsily cuddled with
"Well, a long time ago, when Charles the
First was in prison, Lord Bassett was a true friend
to him," began Eph, plunging into his story with-
out delay. "The lord had some papers that
would have hung a lot of people if the king's
enemies got hold of 'em, so when he heard one
day, all of a sudden, that soldiers were at the castle-
gate to carry him off, he had just time to call his
girl to him, and say: 'I may be going to my
death, but I wont betray my master. There is no
time to burn the papers, and I can not take them
with me; they are hidden in the old leather chair
where I sit. No one knows this but you, and you
must guard them till I come or send you a safe mes-
senger to take them away. Promise me to be
brave and silent, and I can go without fear.' You
see, he was n't afraid to die, but he was to seem a
traitor. Lady Matildy promised solemnly, and the
words were hardly out of her mouth when the men
came in, and her father was carried away a prisoner
and sent off to the Tower."
"But she did n't cry; she just called her brother,
and sat down in that chair, with her head leaning
back on those papers, like a queen, and waited
while the soldiers hunted the house over for 'em:
was n't that a smart girl? cried Tilly, beaming
with pride, for she was named for this ancestress,
and knew the story by heart.
I reckon she wasscared, though, when the men
came swearin' in and asked her if she knew any-
thing about it. The boy did his part then, for he
did n't know, and fired up and stood before his sis-
ter; and he says, says he, as bold as a lion: If
my lord had told us where the papers be, we would
die before we would betray him. But we are
children and know nothing, and it is cowardly of
you to try to fright us with oaths and drawn
swords "
As Eph quoted from the book, Seth planted him-
self before Tilly, with the long poker in his hand,
saying, as he flourished it valiantly :
"Why did n't the boy take his father's sword
and lay about him? I would, if any one was ha'sh
to Tilly."

"You bantam he was only a bit of aboy, and
could n't do anything. Sit down and hear the rest
of it," commanded Tilly, with a pat on the yellow
head, and a private resolve that Seth should have
the largest piece of pie at dinner next day, as re-
ward for his chivalry.
Well, the men went off after turning the castle
out of window, but they said they should come
again; so faithful Matildy was full of trouble, and
hardly dared to leave the room where the chair
stood. All day she sat there, and at night her
sleep was so full of fear about it, that she often got
up and went to see that all was safe. The serv-
ants thought the fright had hurt her wits, and let
her be, but Rupert, the boy, stood by her and
never was afraid of her queer ways. She was a
pious maid,' the book says, and often spent the
long evenings reading the Bible, with her brother
by her, all alone in the great room, with no one to
help her bear her secret, and no good news of her
father. At last, word came that the king was dead
and his friends banished out of England. Then
the poor children were in a sad plight, for they had
no mother, and the servants all ran away, leaving
only one faithful old man to help them."
But the father did come ? cried Roxy, eagerly.
"You '11 see," continued Eph, half telling, half
Matilda was sure he would, so she sat on in the
big chair, guarding the papers, and no one could
get her away, till one day a man came with her
father's ring and told her to give up the secret.
She knew the ring, but would not tell until she
had asked many questions, so as to be very
sure, and while the man answered all about her
father and the king, she looked at him sharply.
Then she stood up and said, in a tremble, for there
was something strange about the man: 'Sir, I
doubt you in spite of the ring, and I will not answer
till you pull off the false beard you wear, that I
may see your face and know if you are my father's
friend or foe.' Off came the disguise, and Matilda
found it was my lord himself, come to take them
with him out of England. He was very proud of
that faithful girl, I guess, for the old chair still
stands in the castle, and the name keeps in the
family, Pa says, even over here, where some of the
Bassetts came along with the Pilgrims."
"Our Tilly would have been as brave, I know,
and she looks like the old picter down to Gran'ma's,
don't she, Eph ? cried Prue, who admired her
bold, bright sister very much.
Well, I think you 'd do the setting' part best,
Prue, you are so patient. Till would fight like a
wild cat, but she can't hold her tongue worth a
cent," answered Eph; whereat Tilly pulled his
hair, and the story ended with a general frolic.



When the moon-faced clock behind the door
struck nine, Tilly tucked up the children under the
" extry comfortables" and having kissed them all
around, as Mother did, crept into her own nest,
never minding the little drifts of snow that sifted
in upon her coverlet between the shingles of the
roof, nor the storm that raged without.

- ~


SAs if he felt the need of unusual vigilance, old
Bose lay down on the mat before the door, and
pussy had the warm hearth all to herself. If any
late wanderer had looked in at midnight, he would
have seen the fire blazing up again, and in the
cheerful glow the old cat blinking her yellow eyes,
as she sat bolt upright beside the spinning-wheel,
like some sort of household goblin, guarding the
children while they slept.
When they woke, like early birds, it still snowed,
but up the little Bassetts jumped, broke the ice in
their jugs, and went down with cheeks glowing like
winter apples, after a brisk scrub and scramble intd
their clothes. Eph was off to the barn, and Tilly
soon had a great kettle of mush ready, which, with
milk warm from the cows, made a wholesome break-
fast for the seven hearty children.
Now about dinner," said the young house-
keeper, as the pewter spoons stopped clattering,
and the earthen bowls stood empty.
Ma said, have what we liked, but she did n't
expect us to have a real Thanksgiving dinner,
because she wont be here to cook it, and we don't
know how," began Prue, doubtfully.

"I can roast a turkey and make a pudding as
well as anybody, I guess. The pies are all ready,
and if we can't boil vegetables and so on, we don't
deserve any dinner," cried Tilly, burning to dis-
tinguish herself, and bound to enjoy to the utmost
her brief authority.
"Yes, yes !" cried all the boys, "let's have a
dinner anyway; Ma wont care, and the good vic-
tuals will spoil if they aint eaten right up."
"Pa is coming to-night, so we wont have dinner
till late; that will be real genteel and give us
plenty of time," added Tilly, suddenly realizing
the novelty of the task she had undertaken.
"Did you ever roast a turkey?" asked Roxy,
with an air of deep interest.
Should you darst to try?" said Rhody, in an
awe-stricken tone.
You will see what I can do. Ma said I was to
use my judgment about things, and I 'm going to.
All you children have got to do is to keep out of
the way, and let Prue and me work. Eph, I
wish you 'd put a fire in the'best room, so the little
ones can play in there. We shall want the settin'-
room for the table, and I wont have them pickin'
'round when we get things fixed," commanded
Tilly, bound to make her short reign a brilliant one.'
"I don't know about that. Ma did n't tell us
to," began cautious Eph, who felt that this inva-
sion of the sacred best parlor was a daring step.
"Don't we always do it Sundays and Thanks-
givings? Would n't Ma wish the children kept
safe and warm anyhow? Can I get up a nice din-
ner with four rascals under my feet all the time ?
Come, now, if you want roast turkey and onions,
plum-puddin' and mince-pie, you '11 have to do as
I tell you, and be lively about it."
Tilly spoke with such spirit, and her last sugges-
tion was-so irresistible, that Eph gave in, and, laugh-
ing good-naturedly, tramped away to heat up the
best room, devoutly hoping that nothing serious
would happen to punish such audacity.
The young folks delightedly trooped away to
destroy the order of that prim apartment with
housekeeping under the black horse-hair sofa,
"horseback-riders" on the arms of the best rock-
ing-chair, and an Indian war-dance all over the
well-waxed furniture. Eph, finding the society of
peaceful sheep and cows more to his mind than
that of two excited sisters, lingered over his chores
in the barn as long as possible, and left the girls in
Now Tilly and Prue were in their glory, and as
soon as the breakfast-things were out of the way,
they prepared for a- grand cooking-time. They
were handy girls, though they had never heard of
a cooking-school, never touched a piano, and knew
nothing of embroidery beyond the samplers which




hung framed in the parlor ; one ornamented with
a pink mourner under a blue .-.:i-..- 11i.. .the
other with this pleasing verse, each word being
done in a different color, which gave the effect of
a distracted rainbow:
This sampler neat was worked by me,
In my twelfth year, Prudence B."

Both rolled up their sleeves, put on their largest
aprons, and got out all the spoons, dishes, pots,
and pans they could find, "so as to have every-
thing handy," Prue said.
"Now, sister, we '11 have dinner at five; Pa will


be here by that time, if he is coming to-night, and
be so surprised to find us all ready, for he wont
have had any very nice victuals if Gran'ma is so
sick," said Tilly, importantly. I shall give the
children a piece at noon" (Tilly meant luncheon);
" doughnuts and cheese, with apple-pie and cider,
will please 'em. There's beans for Eph; he likes
cold pork, so we wont stop to warm it up, for
there 's lots to do, and I don't mind saying to you
I 'm dreadful dubersome about the turkey."

"It 's all ready but the stuffing, and roasting
is as easy as can be. I can baste first-rate. Ma
always likes to have me, I 'm so patient and stiddy,
she says," answered Prue, for the responsibility of
this great undertaking did not rest upon her, so
she took a cheerful view of things.
I know, but it's the stuffin' that troubles me,"
said Tilly, rubbing her round elbows as she eyed
the immense fowl laid out on a platter before her.
S1 don't know how much I want, nor what sort of
yarbs to put in, and he's so awful big, I 'm kind
of afraid of him."
"I aint! I fed him all summer, and he never
gobbled at me. I feel real mean to
be thinking of gobbling him, poor
old chap," laughed Prue, patting her
departed pet with an air of mingled
affection and appetite.
Well, I '11 get the puddin' off my
mind fust, for it ought to bile all day.
Put the big kettle on, and see that
the spit is clean, while I get ready."
Prue obediently tugged away at the
crane, with its black hooks, from
which hung the iron tea-kettle and
three-legged pot; then she settled
the long spit in the grooves made for
it in the tall andirons, and put the
dripping-pan underneath, for in those
days meat was roasted as it should
be, not baked in ovens.
Meantime Tilly attacked the plum-
pudding. She felt pretty sure of com-
ing out right, here, for she had seen
her mother do it so many times, it
looked very easy. So in went suet
and fruit; all sorts of spice, to be
sure she got the right ones, and
brandy instead of wine. But she for-
got both sugar and salt, and tied it
in the cloth so tightly that it had no
room to swell, so it would come out
as heavy as lead and as hard as a
Scannon-ball, if the bag did not burst
and spoil it all. Happily unconscious
of these mistakes, Tilly popped it
into the pot, and proudly watched it
bobbing about before she put the cover on and
left it to its fate.
I can't remember what flavoiin' Ma puts in,"
she said, when she had got her bread well soaked
for the stuffing. Sage and onions and apple-
sauce go with goose, but I can't feel sure of any-
thing but pepper and salt for a turkey."
"Ma puts in some kind of mint, I know, but
I forget whether it is spearmint, peppermint, or
pennyroyal," answered Prue, in a tone of doubt,




but trying to show her knowledge of "yarbs," or,
at least, of their names.
Seems to me it 's sweet marjoram or summer
savory. I guess we '11 put both in, and then we
are sure to be right. The best is up garret; you
run and get some, while I mash the bread," com-
manded Tilly, diving into the mess.
Away trotted Prue, but in her haste she got cat-
nip and wormwood, for the garret was darkish, and
Prue's little nose was so full of the smell of the
onions she had been peeling, that everything
smelt of them. Eager to be of use, she pounded
up the herbs and scattered the mixture with a
liberal hand into the bowl.
"It does n't smell just right, but I suppose it
will when it is cooked," said Tilly, as she filled the
empty stomach, that seemed aching for food, and
sewed it up with the blue yarn, which happened to
be handy. She forgot to tie down his legs and
wings, but she set him by till his hour came, well
satisfied with her work.
Shall we roast the little pig, too ? I think he 'd
look nice with a necklace of sausages, as Ma fixed
him at Christmas," asked Prue, elated with their
I could n't do it. I loved that little pig, and
cried when he was killed. I should feel as if I was
roasting the baby," answered Tilly, glancing to-
ward the buttery where piggy hung, looking so
pink and pretty it certainly did seem cruel to
eat him.
It took a long time to get all the vegetables
ready, for, as the cellar was full, the girls thought
they would have every sort. Eph helped, and by
noon all was ready for cooking, and the cranberry-
sauce, a good deal scorched, was cooking in the
Luncheon was a lively meal, and doughnuts and
cheese vanished in such quantities that Tilly feared
no one would have an appetite for her sumptuous
dinner. The boys assured her they would be
starving by five o'clock, and Sol mourned bitterly
over the little pig that was not to be served up.
Now you all go and coast, while Prue and I set
the table and get out the best chiny," said Tilly,
bent on having her dinner look well, no matter
what its other failings might be.
Out came the rough sleds, on went the round
hoods, old hats, red cloaks, and moccasins, and
away trudged the four younger Bassetts, to disport
themselves in the snow, and try the ice down by
the old mill, where the great wheel turned and
splashed so merrily in the summer-time.
Eph took his fiddle and scraped away to his
heart's content in the parlor, while the girls, after
a short rest, set the table and made all ready to
dish up the dinner when that exciting moment

came. It was not at all the sort of table we see
now, but would look very plain and countrified to
us, with its green-handled knives, and two-pronged
steel forks; its red-and-white china, and pewter
platters, scoured till they shone, with mugs and
spoons to match, and a brown jug for the cider.
The cloth was coarse, but white as snow, and the
little maids had seen the blue-eyed flax grow, out
of which their mother wove the linen; they had
watched and watered while it bleached in the green
meadow. They had no napkins and little silver;
but the best tankard and Ma's few wedding-
spoons were set forth in state. Nuts and apples
at the corners gave an air, and the place of honor
was left in the middle for the oranges yet to come.
Don't it look beautiful ?" said Prue, when they
paused to admire the general effect.
Pretty nice, I think. I wish Ma could see
how well we can do it," began Tilly, when a loud
howling startled both girls, and sent them flying to
the window. The short afternoon had passed so
quickly that twilight had come before they knew
it, and now, as they looked out through the gather-
ing dusk, they saw four small black figures tearing
up the road, to come bursting in, all screaming at
once: "The bear, the'bear! Eph, get the gun!
He's coming, he 's coming "
Eph had dropped his fiddle, and got down his
gun before the girls could calm the children enough
to tell their story, which they did in a somewhat
incoherent manner. "Down in the holler, coastin',
we heard a growl," began Sol, with his eyes as big
as saucers. "I see him fust looking' over the wall,"
roared Seth, eager to get his share of honor.
Awful big and shaggy," quavered Roxy, cling-
ing to Tilly, while Rhody hid in Prue's skirts, and
piped out: "His great paws kept clawing at us, and
I was so scared my legs would hardly go."
"We ran away as fast as we could go, and he
come growlin' after us. He's awful hungry, and
he 'll eat every one of us if he gets in," continued
Sol, looking about him for a safe retreat.
"Oh, Eph, don't let him eat us," cried both
little girls, flying upstairs to hide under their
mother's bed, as their surest shelter.
"No danger of that, you little geese. I '11 shoot
him as soon as he comes. Get out of the way,
boys," and Eph raised the window to get good aim.
"There he is! Fire away, and don't miss!"
cried Seth, hastily following Sol, who had climbed
to the top of the dresser as a good perch from
which to view the approaching fray.
Prue retired to the hearth as if bent on dying at
her post rather than desert the turkey, now "brown-
ing beautiful," as she expressed it. But Tilly boldly
stood at the open window, ready to lend a hand if
the enemy proved too much for Eph.




All had seen bears, but none had ever come
so near before, and even brave Eph felt that the
big brown beast slowly trotting up the door-yard
was an unusually formidable specimen. He was
growling horribly, and stopped now and then as if
to rest and shake himself.
"Get the ax, Tilly, and if I should miss, stand
ready to keep him off while I load again," said
Eph, anxious to kill his first bear in style and
alone; a girl's help did n't count.
Tilly flew for the ax, and was at her brother's
side by the time the bear was near enough to be
dangerous. He stood on his hind legs, and seemed
to sniff with relish the savory odors that poured
out of the window.
"Fire, Eph cried Tilly, firmly.
Wait till he rears again. I '11 get a better shot
then," answered the boy, while Prue covered her
ears to shut out the bang, and the, small boys
cheered from their dusty refuge up among the
But a very singular thing happened next, and
all who saw it stood amazed, for suddenly Tilly
threw down the ax, flung open the door, and ran
straight into the arms of the bear, who stood erect
to receive her, while his growlings changed to a
loud Haw, haw!" that startled the children
more than the report of a gun.
"It 's Gad Hopkins, trying' to fool us !" cried
Eph, much disgusted at the loss of his prey, for
these hardy boys loved to hunt, and prided them-
selves on the number of wild animals and birds
they could shoot in a year.
Oh, Gad, how could you scare us so?" laughed
Tilly, still held fast in one shaggy arm of the bear,
while the other drew a dozen oranges from some
deep pocket in the buffalo-skin coat, and fired them
into the kitchen with such good aim that Eph
ducked, Prue screamed, and Sol and Seth came
down much quicker than they went up.
"Wal, you see I got upsot over yonder, and the
old horse went home while I was floundering in a
drift, so I tied on the buffalers to tote 'em easy,
and come along till I see the children playing' in
the holler. I jest meant to give 'em a little scare,
but they run like partridges, and I kep' up the
joke to see how Eph would like this sort of com-
pany," and Gad haw-hawed again.
"You 'd have had a warm welcome if we had n't
found you out. I 'd have put a bullet through you
in a jiffy, old chap," said Eph, coming out to shake
hands with the young giant, who was only a year or
two older than himself.
Come in and set up to dinner with us. Prue
and I have done it all ourselves, and Pa will be
along soon, I reckon," cried Tilly, trying to escape.
"Could n't, no ways. My folks will think I 'm

dead ef I don't get along home, sence the horse
and sleigh have gone ahead empty. I 've done my
arrant and had my joke; now I want my pay,
Tilly," and Gad took a hearty kiss from the rosy
cheeks of his little sweetheart," as he called her.
His own cheeks tingled with the smart slap she
gave him as she ran away, calling out that she
hated bears and would bring her ax next time.
"I aint afeared-your sharp eyes found me
out; and ef you run into a bear's arms you must
expect a hug," answered Gad, as he pushed back
the robe and settled his fur cap more becomingly.
I should have known you in a minute if I had
n't been asleep when the girls squalled. You did
it well, though, and I advise you not to try it again
in a hurry, or you '11 get shot," said Eph, as they
parted, he rather crestfallen and Gad in high glee.
"My sakes alive-the turkey is all burnt one
side, and the kettles have biled over so the pies I
put to warm are all ashes scolded Tilly, as the
flurry subsided and she remembered her dinner.
"Well, I can't help it. I could n't think of
victuals when I expected to be eaten alive myself,
could I?" pleaded poor Prue, who had tumbled
into the cradle when the rain of oranges began.
Tilly laughed, and all the rest joined in, so good-
humor was restored, and the spirits of the younger
ones were revived by sucks from the one orange
which passed from hand to hand with great rapidity
while the older girls dished up the dinner. They
were just struggling to get the pudding out of the
cloth when Roxy called out: Here 's Pa !"
"There 's folks with him," added Rhody.
Lots of 'em! I see two big sleighs chock full,"
shouted Seth, peering through the dusk.
"It looks like a semintary. Guess Gramma 's
dead and come up to be buried here," said Sol, in
a solemn tone. This startling suggestion made
Tilly, Prue, and Eph hasten to look out, full of
dismay at such an ending of their festival.
If that is a funeral, the mourners are uncom-
mon jolly," said Eph, dryly, as merry voices and
loud laughter broke the white silence without.
"I see Aunt Cinthy, and Cousin Hetty-and
there's Mose and Amos. I do declare, Pa's bring-
in' 'em all home to have some fun here," cried
Prue, as she recognized one familiar face after
Oh, my patience Aint I glad I got dinner,
and don't I hope it will turn out good exclaimed
Tilly, while the twins pranced with delight, and
the small boys roared:
Hooray for Pa! Hooray for Thanksgivin'! "
The cheer was answered heartily, and in came
Father, Mother, Baby, aunts, and cousins, all in
great spirits, and all much surprised to find such a
festive welcome awaiting them.




Aint Gran'ma dead at all ?" asked Sol, in the
midst of the kissing and hand-shaking.
Bless your heart, no It was all a mistake of
old Mr. Chadwick's. He 's as deaf as an adder,
and when Mrs. Brooks told him Mother was mend-
in' fast, and she wanted me to come down to-day,
certain sure, he got the message all wrong, and
give it to the fust person passing' in such a way as
to scare me 'most to death, and send us down in a
hurry. Mother was sitting' up as chirk as you
please, and dreadful sorry you did n't all come."
So, to keep the house quiet for her, and give you
a taste of the fun, your Pa fetched us all up to
spend the evening and we are goin' to have a jolly
time on 't, to jedge by the looks of things," said
Aunt Cinthy, briskly finishing the tale when Mrs.
Bassett paused for want of breath.
"What in the world put it into your head we
was coming and set you to gittin' up such a sup-
per? asked Mr. Bassett, looking about him, well
pleased and much surprised at the plentiful table.
Tilly modestly began to tell, but the others broke
in and sang her praises in a sort of chorus, in
which bears, pigs, pies, and oranges were oddly
mixed. Great satisfaction was expressed by all,
and Tilly and Prue were so elated by the commen-
dation of Ma and the aunts, that they set forth
their dinner, sure everything was perfect.
But when the eating began, which it did the
moment wraps were off, then their pride got a fall;
for the first person who tasted the stuffing (it was
big Cousin Mose, and that made it harder to bear)
nearly choked over the bitter morsel.
"Tilly Bassett, whatever made you put worm-
wood and catnip in your stuffin' ? demanded Ma,
trying not to be severe, for all the rest were laugh-
ing, and Tilly looked ready to cry.
"I did it," said Prue, nobly taking all the
blame, which caused Pa to kiss her on the spot,
and declare that it did n't do a mite of harm, for
the turkey was all right.
"I never see onions cooked better. All the
vegetables is well done, and the dinner a credit to
you, my dears," declared Aunt Cinthy, with her
mouth full of the fragrant vegetable she praised.
The pudding was an utter failure in spite of the
blazing brandy in which it lay--as hard and heavy
as one of the stone balls on Squire Dunkin's great
gate. It was speedily whisked out of sight, and
all fell upon the pies, which were perfect. But
Tilly and Prue were much depressed, and did n't
recover their spirits till dinner was over and the
evening fun well under way.
Blind-man's buff," Hunt the slipper," Come,
Philander," and other lively games soon set every
one bubbling over with jollity, and when Eph struck
up "Money Musk" on his fiddle, old and young

fell into their places for a dance. All down the
long kitchen they stood, Mr. and Mrs. Bassett at
the top, the twins at the bottom, and then away
they went, heeling and toeing, cutting pigeon-
wings, and taking their steps in a way that would
convulse modern children with their new-fangled
romps called dancing. Mose and Tilly covered
themselves with glory by the vigor with which
they kept it up, till fat Aunt Cinthy fell into a chair,
breathlessly declaring that a very little of such
exercise was enough for a woman of her "heft."
Apples and cider, chat and singing, finished the
evening, and after a grand kissing all round, the
guests drove away in the clear moonlight which
came out to cheer their long drive.
When the jingle of the last bell had died away,
Mr. Bassett said soberly, as they stood together on
the hearth: "Children, we have special cause to
be thankful that the sorrow we expected was
changed into joy, so we '11 read a chapter 'fore we
go to bed, and give thanks where thanks is due."
Then Tilly set out the light-stand with the big
Bible on it, and a candle on each side, and all sat
quietly in the fire-light, smiling as they listened
with happy hearts to the sweet old words that fit
all times and seasons so beautifully.
When the good-nights were over, and the chil-
dren in bed, Prue put her arm round Tilly and
whispered tenderly, for she felt her shake, and was
sure she was crying:
"Don't mind about the old stuffin' and puddin',
deary-nobody cared, and Ma said we really did
do surprising' well for such young girls."
The laughter Tilly was trying to smother broke
out then, and was so infectious, Prue could not
help joining her, even-before she knew the cause
of the merriment.
I was mad about the mistakes, but don't
care enough to cry. I'm laughing to think how
Gad fooled Eph and I found him out. I thought
Mose and Amos would have died over it when I
told them, it was so funny," explained Tilly, when
she got her breath.
I was so scared that when the first orange hit
me, I thought it was a bullet, and scrabbled into
the cradle as fast as I could. It was real mean
to frighten the little ones so," laughed Prue, as
Tilly gave a growl.
Here a smart rap on the wall of the next room
caused a sudden lull in the fun, and Mrs. Bassett's
voice was heard, saying warningly, Girls, go to
sleep immediate, or you '11 wake the baby."
Yes 'm," answered two meek voices, and after
a few irrepressible giggles, silence reigned, broken
only by an occasional snore from the boys, or the
soft scurry of mice in the buttery, taking their
part in this old-fashioned Thanksgiving.






7--- 7 -
JI I '' 1,1

'I iiII'

/ -

3 ?

NEARLY three hundred years ago, in the city of
Seville, lived one of the greatest of Spanish paint-
ers-Bartolem6 Esteban Murillo.
Many beautiful pictures painted by this master
VOL. IX.-2.

adorn the palaces of the Old World, while a few
may be found in the possession of wealthy art-
lovers upon this side of the water.
In the church of Seville one may see four beau-




tiful paintings-one, a picture of Christ bound to
a column, St. Peter in a kneeling posture at His
feet, as if imploring pardon; another, a superb
painting of St. Joseph; one of St. Ann; and a
fourth, an exquisite picture of the Virgin Mother
holding the infant Jesus in her arms. These
paintings are largely sought for and long gazed

of six in the morning to take their lessons in draw-
ing and painting in the studio of the great Murillo;
to prepare and stretch canvas, run errands, and be
ready at all times to answer the capricious de-
mands of these high-born and imperious youths.
The poor mulatto boy had, however, in addition
to a generous heart and amiable temper, a quick


upon by all art-lovers who visit Spain, and are par-
ticularly admired by artists for their truthful beauty,
delicate tints, and natural coloring.
But they are not Murillo's.
These noble paintings, the pride and glory of
Seville to-day, were conceived and executed by a
mulatto, Sebastian Gom&z, who was once the slave,
then the pupil, and in time the peer of his illus-
trious and high-minded master.
The childhood of Sebastian Gomez was one of
servitude. His duties were many and constant.
He was required to grind and mix the colors used
by the young seniors, who came at the early hour

wit, bright intellect, and willing hands. His mem-
ory also was excellent; he was not without judg-
ment, and, what was better than all, he was gifted
with the power of application.
Intellect, wit, memory, judgment are all good
endowments, but none of these will lead to excel-
lence if one has not a habit of industry and steady
Sebastian Gomez, at the age of fifteen, found
himself capable, not only of admiring, but also of
appreciating, the work of the pupils who wrought in
his master's studio.
At times he even fancied that he could detect



errors and blemishes which they failed to note in
their studies.
It chanced, sometimes, that he would drop a
hint of his thoughts, when handing a maul-stick,
or moving an easel for some artist student.
"How droll it is that the sly young rogue
should be so nearly correct in his criticisms!"
one of the pupils would perhaps remark, after over-
hearing some quiet suggestion of the mulatto lad.
"Aye. One might think the slave a connois-
seur," would laugh another.
"Truly, it was owing to a cunning hint of his
that my St. Andrew's arm was improved in the
"It was Gomnz who detected first the harshness
in my coloring of this St. Catherine's hands,
and noted the false curve of the lower lip. The
mulatto has the true eye for color, and in truth
he seems to guess at form as readily as some of
his betters."
Such were the remarks that often followed the
lad's exit, as the young seniors lightly commented
upon his criticisms. There came a time, however,
when the poor mulatto received from their lordly
lips far other than light comment.
One day, a student who had been for a long
time at work upon a Descent from the Cross,"
and who, but the previous day, had effaced from
the canvas an unsatisfactory head of the Mater
Dolorosa, was struck dumb with surprise at find-
ing in its place a lovely sketch of the head and
face he had so labored to perfect. The miracle-
for miracle it seemed-was inquired into, and

examination proved that this exquisite head, which
Murillo himself owned that he would have been
proud to have painted, was the secret work of
the little slave Sebastian. So closely had he
listened to his great master's instructions to the
pupils, so retentively stored them in his mind,
and so industriously worked upon them while
others slept,-his custom being to rise at three in
the morning and paint until five,-that he, the
servant of the young artists, had become, uncon-
sciously to himself as to them, an artist also.
Murillo, upon discovering the genius of Gom6z,
was enraptured, and declared that the young
mulatto should be in his sight no longer a slave,
but a man, his pupil, and an artist.
Other masters leave to posterity only pictures,"
exclaimed the glad master. I shall bequeath
to the world a painter! Your name, Sebastian,
shall go down to posterity only in company with
mine; your fame shall complete mine; coming
ages, when they name you, shall call you Murillo's
mulatto '!"
He spoke truly. Throughout Spain to-day
that artist who, of all the great master's pupils,
most nearly equals him in all his varied excel-
lences, is best known, not as Sebastian Gomez
alone, but as Sebastian Gomez; The Mulatto of
Murillo had Gomez made a free citizen of Spain,
treated him as a son, and, when dying, left him
a part of his estate. But Gomez survived his illus-
trious master and friend only a few years, dying,
it is said, about the year 1590.



THE Tournaments began one winter day, in the
midst of a snow-storm. Dick and Belinda sat by
the dining-room fire. Belinda was reading Ivan-
hoe." She was a small girl, with large, innocent
eyes. Dick was older than she, and a great deal
wiser, but he condescended to play with her. Just
then he wanted amusement; and he asked Belinda,
in an injured way, why she was always reading.
"What else is there to do?" said the meek
"We might play War," said Dick, rather slyly.
They had often played War on the extension
table, setting up the tin and wooden armies oppo-
site each other, and throwing an India rubber
ball at each side by turns. But once Dick had

proposed to draft," as he said, the animals from
the Noah's Ark, and call them cavalry. Then he
had drafted into his own army the otters, and other
ugly but very little creatures which Belinda could
not hit with the ball. Belinda, on the other hand,
had chosen the giraffes and elephants because
they looked so stately. Dick had won in a short
battle of two minutes, and Belinda never forgot it.
No, Dick," she said, firmly, I don't want to
play War."
"Well," said Dick, "there 's Tournament.
May be that 's nicer than War."
S"Beautiful! cried Belinda. "Then we need
n't have any animals."
She brought out at once all her battered toys,



and the two began to choose their knights, decid-
ing that each should have six men.
First, Belinda selected hers, naming most of
them after the heroes in Sir Walter Scott's
stories and poems, which both she and Dick
liked to read. She made up her mind to
have James Fitz-James, the disguised king
in "The Lady of the Lake." She I....-; -V
represent him a jointed cavalier, w hr! I .,r ;
jacket and gauntlets; but unfortun.r.! : I
had lost both his legs (in-
cluding a handsome pair
of boots), and had to lean 'l
back upon his arms. '
"Now," she said, "I '- .:
think I 'll have Wilfred of -:
Ivanhoe," and she found -'-f '
a mild-looking wooden : -
soldier with a piece of tin- _
foil tied around him.
She had a market in "BELINDA'S GROUP

a box, with stiff green
poplar-trees and tables full of fish and fruit; and
out of this she took a man on a round yellow stand,
wrapped him also in tin-foil, and named him Rich-
ard Cceur de Lion.
Then she remembered Tennyson's gentle Sir
Galahad, and how he had a habit of riding about
in the moonlight, and wearing silver armor, and
always winning in tournaments because he was so
good; and she got him from the market, too. He
was a woman who had formerly kept a vegetable
Next, in order that another wooden soldier
might look like King Henry of Navarre, she made
a pin-hole in the top of his black cap, or "helmet,"
as she called it, and put a white feather in the pin-
hole. This looked so fine that she gave plumes to
Ivanhoe, King Richard, and Sir Galahad, also.


Lastly, she chose Ferrand of the Forest Brown.
He used to be Shem, in the Ark. Dick never knew
where Belinda found his new name, but evidently
she was proud of it.

You will notice that Belinda selected only one
of the market-women.
"I don't like them," she said. "They have
aprons on, and they don't look nice."

I- 4'




Oh, I '11 take the rest," said Dick, in the most
obliging manner. "This," he went on, lifting a
plum-colored fish-woman with half a head, shall
be Sir Reginald Front de Boeuf, known as the
Savage Baron. This striped one is Lord Mar-
Why, he.forged a letter said Belinda, with
"Never mind," said Dick. "He was a splendid
soldier, and the book says he had a blue flag with
a falcon on it; and his hair was all grizzly, except
in front, where his helmet wore it off-- "
"I don't think I 'd have a knight that was
bald," said Belinda.
"This other striped one," Dick continued, "is
Sir Roderick Dhu, the chieftain of Clan Alpine.
This red one is Sir William of Deloraine, good
at need."
Why !" said Belinda,
again. '" He was a robber!
They were both robbers "
"So they were," said
SDick, cheerfully, seizing a
Brown woman as he spoke.
This is Bertram Rising-
hame, who burned the
castle in 'Rokeby.' "
"But /e was a pirate!"
cried Belinda.
Yes," said Dick, tak-
ing no notice of his sister's
horror, "and if you '11 give me a lead-pencil, I '11
make him a big mustache. Pirates always wear
mustaches. There! This fish-seller, the only
real man I have, shall be Brian de Bois-Guilbert,





the Templar, who carried away Re-
becca of York."
"Dick," said Belinda, solemnly,
"you never will win one tourna-
ment with such knights as those.
They 're just a set of
tramps "
But Dick only said
he "guessed"
he liked them
pretty well.
When all
were chosen,

knights, excepting Sir Reginald Front de
Bceuf? Would you believe that the royal
James Fitz-James, the gentle Sir Galahad,
and the brave- King Henry of Navarre
were all unhorsed" by that plum-
colored rebel? When they attacked him,
Sthe ball, owing to the nervousness of the
S"herald," Be-


Belinda, who liked to draw,
ade a sketch of each
SIR WILFRED FALLS. group, and was pleased to
see that her own had a more military appearance
than Dick's. "Now," she inquired, when the
knights had been placed at opposite ends of the
table, how does a tournament begin? "
In the first place, you of course must a
be the herald for
your knights, and
I '11 be the herald
for mine," explained
Dick. "First,the her-

V J pet, just like this : FERRAND
Tra-la-la-la-la! Then FOREST
you say, 'This blow is from
Sir Reginald Front de Bmuf,'
for instance, 'to Sir Wil-
fred of Ivanhoe,' for instance;
and if you can think of a
SIR GALAHAD IS OVERCOMEI. war-cry, or anything of that
kind, you say that, too." At this point he
flung the ball, and Sir Wilfred of Ivanhoe fell
headlong. "When they fall like that," Dick con-
tinued, "'they are unhorsed; and you know when
a knight is unhorsed, he must n't fight again till
next day."
Belinda sorrowfully re-
moved Sir Wilfred, and
then, with a feeble crow
that she meant for a
trumpet-blast, aimed the '-
ball at the Savage Baron. .
She said that the blow
was from Richard Cceur
de Lion, who, she ad-
ded, was Front de Beuf's JAMES FITZ-JAMES IS WORSTED.
lawful king and master. The ball passed over
Sir Reginald's head, arid, after a few defiant re-
marks, he rolled his lawful king and master off
the table.
Would you believe that, in this tournament,
Dick did not use (until the last) one of his wicked

linda, gener- -a
S. ally strucl:. '
their the ::..
F STANDS tel-piece or
:D. the coal-scuttle.
Once or twice it grazed
him, but he only spun '
about and settled down
into his old position with a
clatter. The artful Dick, when
he obligingly chose the market-


women, had foreseen that their heavy
wooden skirts would hold them steady.
Belinda was almost in despair. Of all her
goodly company of knights, Ferrand alone
S remained. She shut both eyes, shouted,
"Ferrand of the Forest Brown to the res-
cue, ho "and let the ball go where it would.
To her great surprise there was a sharp
OF THE crack, and in an in-
BROWN. stant Sir Reginald
Front de Boeuf lay on the
hearth-rug in two pieces.
Belinda felt almost as
if she had won the day.
To be sure, the piratical
Bertram Risinghame "un-
horsed" Sir Ferrand soon
after. But that did not mend HENRY OF NAVARRE
Front de Bceuf. Neither
would glue, although they tried it. They laid him
in a broken match-box that had a Crusader on the
cover, and they played no more tournament until
next day, all Belinda's knights being prevented
from fighting again by
Dick's rule about "un-
Dick," said Belinda,
as she tried to fasten on
the helmet of Navarre,
which had been knocked
from his head by the
Savage Baron," don't you
think we ought to call
them the Knights of the
them the IKnights of the THE SAVAGE BARON'S FATE.
Round Table?"
But Dick said he thought the Knights of the
Extension Table would be better. And that was
their name as long as they lasted.





SSUSAN, good sister Susan! was a gentle girl of eight,
And Totty was but four years old, when what I now relate
Came to the happy little pair, one bright November day-
A Sunday, too -while good Papa was many miles away.

Good-bye, my darlings! don't forget." The little ones went forth,
Their hearts all in a sunny glow, their faces to the north-
Their faces to the chilling north, but not a whit cared they
Though the pretty church before them stood full half a
mile away.

-' For Mother, with her smiling face and cheery voice, had said:
"I can not go to church to-day, but you may go instead.
Baby will need me here at home-the precious little pet!
7 L -Jji But babies grow in time, you know. She'll go to meeting yet."

S" Take care of sister Sue!" she said, while tying
X/ Totty's hood,-
S "And, Tottykins, I 'm sure you'll be, oh, very
S, still and good!
Good-bye, my darlings Don't forget. Now,
A Sue, you know the pew!
And, Tot, be Mamma's little mouse, and sit
up close to Sue."

A pretty sight it truly was, to see the rosy pair
Walk down the aisle and take their seats, with sweetly solemn air.
And Susie soon was listening, her manner all intent,
While little Tot sat prim and stiff, and wondered what it meant.

The quaint, old-fashioned meeting-house had pew-seats low and bare,
With backs that reached above the heads when they were bowed in prayer.
And thus it was when suddenly a scratching sound was heard,
Faint at the first, then almost loud-but not a person stirred.

All heads were bowed; and yet it rose-that scratching, puzzling sound,
The staidest members rolled their eyes and tried to look around;
Till Susie, stately little maid! felt, with a startled fear,
That, whatsoe'er its cause might be, the noise was strangely near.

Out went her slyly warning hand, to reach for Totty there;
When, oh, the scratching rose above the closing words of prayer!
An empty mitten on the seat was all poor Susie felt,
While on the floor, in wondrous style, the earnest Totty knelt!

Poor Susie leaned and signaled, and beckoned, all in vain; -
Totty was very much engaged and would not heed, 't was plain.
When suddenly a childish voice rang through the crowded house:-
DON'T, Susie! 'cause I've dot to be my mamma's littlee mouse!"

, i


Many a sober face relaxed, and many smiled outright,
While others mourned in sympathy with Susie's sorry plight;
And Totty, wild with wrath because she could be mouse no more,
Was carried soon, a sobbing child, out through the wide church-door.

Now parents ponder while ye may upon this sad mishap,
The mother, not the mouse, you see, was caught within the trap.
And lest your little listening ones may go beyond your reach,
Be chary of your metaphors and figurative speech.



As THE world grows old and wise, it ceases to
believe in many of its superstitions. But, although
they are no longer believed in, the customs con-
nected with them do not always die out; they often
linger on through centuries, and, from having once
been serious religious rites, or something real in
the life of people, they become at last mere chil-
dren's plays or empty usages,-often most zealously
enjoyed by those who do not understand their
Still other customs have been parts of a heathen
religion, and when that religion was supplanted
by Christianity, the people held on to the old cus-
toms, although they had lost their first significance.
For instance, when a party of boys and girls are
out in a sail-boat, and the wind dies down, some
one says, Whistle for the wind." A boy whistles,
and they all laugh, for it seems a good joke to think
of raising the wind by a whistle. But it was a
serious thing to the sailors of old time, for to them
the whistle was an imitation of the sound of the
winds, and their intention in making it was that
the gods might hear, and make the real winds blow.
But a better illustration of all this is our All-hallow
Eve festival. Its history is that of a custom which
has passed from the worship of heathen gods into
the festivities of the Christian church, and has sunk
at last into a mere sport.
All-hallow Eve is now, in our country towns, a
time of careless frolic, and of great bonfires, which,
I hear, are still kindled on the hill-tops in some
places. We also find these fires in England, Scot-
land, and Ireland, and from their history we learn
the meaning of our celebration. Some of you may
know that the early inhabitants of Great Britain,
Ireland, and parts of France were known as Celts,
and that their religion was directed by strange

priests called Druids. Three times in the year, on
the first of May, for the sowing; at the solstice,
June 2Ist, for the ripening and turn of the year;
and on the eve of November Ist, for the harvest-
ing, those mysterious priests of the Celts, the
Druids, built fires on the hill-tops in France, Brit-
ain, and Ireland, in honor of the sun. At this last
festival the Druids of all the region gathered in
their white robes around the stone altar or cairn on
the hill-top. Here stood an emblem of the sun,
and on the cairn was the sacred fire, which had
been kept burning through the year. The Druids
formed about the fire, and, at a signal, quenched
it, while deep silence rested on the mountains
and valleys. Then the new fire gleamed on the
cairn, the people in the valley raised a joyous
shout, and from hill-top to hill-top other fires an-
swered the sacred flame. On this night, all
hearth-fires in the region had been put out, and
they were rekindled with brands from the sacred
fire, which was believed to guard the households
through the year.
But the Druids disappeared from their sacred
places, the cairns on the hill-tops became the
monuments of a dead religion, and Christianity
spread to the barbarous inhabitants of France and
the British Islands. Yet the people still clung to
their old customs, and felt much of the old awe
for them. Still they built their fires on the first of
May,-at the solstice in June,-and on the eve of
November First. The church found that it could
not all at once separate the people from their old
ways, so it gradually turned these ways to its own
use, and the harvest festival of the Druids became
in the Catholic Calendar the Eve of All Saints, for
that is the meaning of the name "All-hallow Eve."
In the seventh century, the Pantheon, the ancient




Roman temple of all the gods, was consecrated
anew to the worship of the Virgin and of all holy
martyrs. The festivalof the consecration was held
at first on May 13th, but it was afterward changed
to November Ist, and thus All Saints Day, as it is
now called, was brought into connection with the
Druid festival. This union of a holy day of the
church with pagan customs gave new meaning to
the heathen rites in the minds of the common peo-
ple, and the fires which once were built in honor
of the sun, they came,to think were kindled to
lighten Christian souls out of purgatory. At All-
hallow-tide, the church-bells of England used to
ring for all Christian souls, until Henry VIII.
and Elizabeth forbade the practice.
But by its separation from the solemn character
of the Druid festival, All-hallow Eve lost much of
its ancient dignity, and became the carnival-night
of the year for wild, grotesque rites. As century
after century passed by, it came to be spoken of as
the time when the magic powers, with which the
peasantry, all the world over, filled the wastes and
ruins, were supposed to swarm abroad to help or
injure men. It was the time when those first
dwellers in every land, the fairies, were said to
come out from their grots and lurking-places;
and in the darkness of the forests and the shadows
of old ruins, witches and goblins gathered. In
course of time, the hallowing fire came to be con-
sidered a protection against these malicious pow-
ers. -It was a custom in the seventeenth century
for the master of a family to carry a lighted torch
of straw around his fields, as shown in the pict-
ure, to protect them from evil influence through

the year, and as he went he chanted an invoca-
tion to the fire.
Because the magic powers were thought to be
so near at that season, All-hallow Eve was the
best time of the year for the practice of magic, and
so the customs of the night grew into all kinds of
simple, pleasant divination, by which it was pre-
tended that the swarming spirits gave knowledge
of the future. Even nowadays, it is the time,
especially, of young lovers' divinations, and also
for the practice of curious and superstitious rites,
many of which were described to you in ST.
NICHOLAS for October, 1879. And almost all of
these, if traced to their sources, lead us back to
that dim past out of which comes so much of our
superstition and fable.
But belief in magic is passing away, and the
customs of All-hallow Eve have arrived at the last
stage; for they have become mere sports, repeated
from year to year like holiday celebrations.
Indeed, the chief thing which this paper seeks
to impress upon your niinds in connection with
All-hallow Eve is that its curious customs show how
no generation of men is altogether separated from
earlier generations. Far as we think we are from
our uncivilized ancestors, much of what they did
and thought has come into our doing and think-
ing,-with many changes perhaps, under different
religious forms, and sometimes in jest where they
were in earnest. Still, these customs and observ-
ances (of which All-hallow Eve is only one) may
be called the piers, upon which rests a bridge that
spans the wide past between us and the gen-
erations that have gone before.







BRAVE old Wallace of Uhlen dwells I '11 stand the brunt of many a fight,-
On a castled crag of the Drachenfels. But ghosts are another matter, quite."

White of hair and of beard is he,
Yet holdeth his own right manfully.

Oft and oft, when his limbs were young,
Out from its scabbard his good sword

In castle hall, or in cot of thatch,
With Wallace of Uhlen none might match.

The brave old baron one day had heard
The peasants round by a legend stirred,

Of a ghostly lady, that watched till light
In Keidenloch Chapel every night.

So to his seneschal quoth he:
" Go watch, and tell me if such things be."

" My lord, I 'd fain take many a knock
Than watch in the Chapel of Keidenloch;

Then up old Wallace of Uhlen stood,
And stoutly vow'd by the holy rood,

And all things holy, all things bright,
He 'd watch in the chapel that very night.

With only a sword, from his castled rock
Down he strode unto Keidenloch;

And with the twilight, dusk and brown,
Deep in the chapel he sat him down.

Wallace of Uhlen watched awhile
The pale moonbeams in the middle aisle,

The glimmer of marble here and there,
The oriel painting the dusky air.

Over his feet a something drew;
" Rats!" quoth the baron, with sudden



Then from the stair-way's darkness bleak,
Sounded a most suspicious creak.

Out from the stair-way's darkness came
A creak that should put a ghost to shame!

" Spirits, I fancied, were airy matter;
Hush!" spake the baron," now, have at her!"

Lo! the chancel was all aflame,
And past the altar the lady came.

Sank the flame with many a flicker,
Till ever the darkness seemed the thicker.

Nearer and nearer stole the maid-
A ghastly phantom-a fearful shade !

His blade old Wallace uplifted high:
" Now, which is stronger, thou or I?"

But lo !, affrighted, the lady dread
Back through the chapel turned and fled;

And hasting after with many a blow,
Old Wallace of Uhlen laid her low.

He drew her into a moonlit place,
And gazed undaunted upon the face-

Gazed on the face so pale and dread,
And saw no maid, but a robber dead-

The scourge of many a fertile plain,
By Wallace of Uhlen lying slain.

So up to his castle striding back,
He pledged the ghost in a cup of sack,

And roared with laughter when from his rock
He looked to the Chapel of Keidenloch.



IGHT not something be.done by
way of farewell before leaving for
Egypt? They did not want to
give another tea-party, and could
not get in all at dinner. They had
had charades and a picnic. Eliza-
beth Eliza wished for something
unusual, that should be remembered after they
had left for Egypt. Why should it not be a
Fancy Ball? There never had been one in the
Mrs. Peterkin hesitated. Perhaps for that reason
they ought not to attempt it. She liked to have
things that other people had. She, however,
objected most to the "ball" part. She could,
indeed, still dance a minuet, but she was not sure
she could get on in the "Boston dip."
The little boys said they would like the fancy"
part and "dressing up." They remembered their
delight when they browned their faces for Hindus,
at their charades, just for a few minutes; and what
fun it would be to wear their costumes through
a whole evening! Mrs. Peterkin shook her head;
it was days and days before the brown had washed
out of their complexions.
Still she, too, was interested in the "dressing
up." -If they should wear costumes, they could
make them of things that might be left behind,

that they had done wearing-if they could only
think of the right kind of things.
Mrs. Peterkin, indeed, had already packed up,
although they were not to leave for two months,
for she did not want co be hurried at the last.
She and Elizabeth Eliza went on different prin-
ciples in packing.
Elizabeth Eliza had been told that you really
needed very little to travel with-merely your
traveling dress and a black silk. Mrs. Peterkin,
on the contrary, had heard it was best to take
everything you had, and then you need not spend
your time shopping in Paris. So they had decided
upon adopting both ways. Mrs. Peterkin was to
take her "everything," and already had all the
shoes and stockings she should need for a year or
two. Elizabeth Eliza, on the other hand, pre-
pared a small valise. She consoled herself with
the thought that, if she should meet anything
that would not go into it, she could put it in one
of her mother's trunks.
It was resolved to give the Fancy Ball.
Mr. Peterkin early determined upon a charac-
ter. He decided to be Julius Caesar. He had
a bald place on the top of his head, which he was
told resembled that of the great Roman, and he
concluded that the dress would be a simple one
to get up, requiring only a sheet for a toga.




Agamemnon was inclined to take the part which
his own name represented, and he looked up the
costume of the Greek king of men. But he was
dissatisfied with the representation given of him in
Dr. Schliemann's "Mykenae." There was a picture
of Agamemnon's mask, but very much battered.
He might get a mask made in that pattern, indeed,
and the little boys were delighted with the idea of
battering it. Agamemnon would like to wear a
mask, then he would have no trouble in keeping
up his expression. But Elizabeth Eliza objected
to the picture in Dr. Schliemann's book; she did
not like it for Agamemnon-it was too slanting
in the eyes. So it was decided he should take
the part of Nick Bottom, in Midsummer Night's
Dream." He could then wear the ass's head, which
would have the same advantage as a mask, and
would conceal his own face entirely. Then he
could be making up any face he pleased in the
ass's head, and would look like an ass without any
difficulty, while his feet would show he was not
one. Solomon John thought that they might
make an ass's head if they could get a pattern,
or could see the real animal, and form an idea
of the shape. Barnum's circus would be along
in a few weeks, and they could go on purpose to
study the donkeys, as there usually was more than
one donkey in the circus. Agamemnon, however,
in going with a friend to a costumer's in Boston,
found an ass's head already made.
The little boys found in an illustrated paper an
accurate description of the Hindu snake-charmer's
costume, and were so successful in their practice of
shades of brown for the complexion, that Solomon
John decided to take the part of Othello, and use
some of their staining fluid.
There was some discussion as to consulting the
lady from Philadelphia, who was in town.
Solomon John thought they ought to practice
getting on by themselves, for soon the Atlantic
would lie between her and them. Mrs. Peterkin
thought they could telegraph. Elizabeth Eliza
wanted to submit to her two or three questions
about the supper, and whether, if her mother were
Queen Elizabeth, they could have Chinese lanterns.
Was China invented at that time? Agamemnon
was sure China was one of the oldest countries in
the world and did exist, but perhaps Queen Eliza-
beth did not know it.
Elizabeth Eliza was relieved to find that the
lady from Philadelphia thought the question not
important. It would be impossible to have every-
thing in the house to correspond with all the differ-
ent characters, unless they selected some period to
represent, such as the age of Queen Elizabeth.
Of course, Elizabeth Eliza would not wish to do
this, when her father was to be Julius Caesar.

The lady from Philadelphia advised Mrs. Peter-
kin to send for Jones, the caterer," to take
charge of the supper. But his first question stag-
gered her. How many did she expect ?
They had not the slightest idea. They had
sent invitations to everybody. The little boys pro-
posed getting the directory of the place, and mark-
ing out the people they didn't know, and counting
up the rest. But even if this would give the num-
ber of invitations, it would not show how many
would accept; and then there was no such direc-
tory. They could not expect answers, as their
invitations were cards with "At Home on them.
One answer had come from a lady, that she, too,
would be "at home," with rheumatism. So they
only knew there was one person who would not
come. Elizabeth Eliza had sent in Circumambient
ways to all the members of that society-by the
little boys, for instance, who were sure to stop at
the base-ball grounds, or somewhere, so a note was
always delayed by them. One Circumambient
note she sent by mail, purposely omitting the
" Mass.," so that it went to the Dead-Letter Office,
and came back six weeks after the party.
But the Peterkin family were not alone in com-
motion. The whole town was in excitement, for
"everybody" had been invited. Ann Maria Brom-
wich had a book of costumes, that she lent to a
few friends, and everybody borrowed dresses or
lent them, or went into town to the costumer's.
Weeks passed in preparation. What are you
going to wear?" was the only question exchanged,
and nobody answered, as nobody would tell.
At length the evening came-a beautiful night in
late summer, warm enough to have had the party
out-of-doors, but the whole house was lighted up
and thrown open, and Chinese lanterns hung in
the portico and on the pillars of the piazzas.
At an early hour the Peterkins were arrayed in
their costumes. The little boys had their legs and
arms and faces browned early in the day, and wore
dazzlingly white full trousers and white turbans.
Elizabeth Eliza had prepared a dress as Queen
Elizabeth, but Solomon John was desirous that she
should be Desdemona, and she gave up her cos-
tume to her mother. Mrs. Peterkin therefore
wore a red wig which Ann Maria had found at a
costumer's, a high ruff, and an old-fashioned bro-
cade. She was not sure that it was proper for
Queen Elizabeth to wear spectacles, but Queen
Elizabeth must have been old enough, as she lived
to be seventy. As for Elizabeth Eliza, in recalling
the fact that Desdemona was smothered by pil-
lows, she was so impressed by it that she decided
she could wear the costume of a sheet-and-pillow-
case party. So she wore a white figured silk that
had been her mother's wedding-dress, and over it




draped a sheet as a large mantle, and put a pillow-
case upon her head, and could represent Desde-
mona not quite smothered. But Solomon John
wished to carry out the whole scene at the end.
As they stood together, all ready to receive, in
the parlor at the appointed hour, Mr. Peterkin sud-
denly exclaimed: "This will never do! We are
not the Peterkins-we are distinguished guests!
We can not receive."
"We shall have to give up the party," said Mrs.
"Or our costumes," groaned Agamemnon from
his ass's head.
We must go out, and come in as guests," said
Elizabeth Eliza, leading the way to a back door,
for guests were already thronging in, and up the
front stairs. They passed out by a piazza, through
the hedge of hollyhocks, toward the front of the
house. Through the side windows of the library,
they could see the company pouring in. The
black attendant was showing them upstairs; some
were coming down, in doubt whether to enter the
parlors, as no one was there. The wide middle
entrance hall was lighted brilliantly, so were the
parlors on one side and the library on the other.
But nobody was there to receive! A flock of
guests was assembling,-peasant girls, Italian,
German, and Norman; Turks, Greeks, Persians,
fish-wives, brigands, chocolate-women, Lady Wash-
ington, Penelope, Red Riding-hood, Joan of Arc,
nuns, Amy Robsart, Leicester, two or three Mary
Stuarts, Neapolitan fisher-boys, pirates of Penzance
and elsewhere,-all lingering, some on the stairs,
some going up, some coming down.
Charles I. without his head was entering the
front door (a short gentleman, with a broad ruff
drawn neatly together on top of his own head,
which was concealed in his doublet below).
Three Hindu snake-charmers leaped wildly in
and out among the throng, flinging about dark,
crooked sticks for snakes.
There began to be a strange, 'deserted air about
the house. Nobodyknew what to do, where to go!
"Can anything have happened to the family ? "
Have they gone to Egypt? whispered one.
No ushers came to show them in. A shudder
ran through the whole assembly, the house seemed
so uninhabited, and some of the guests were in-
clined to go away. The Peterkins saw it all
through the long library-windows.
"What shall we do ? said Mr. Peterkin. "We
have said we should be 'At Home.' "
And here we are, all out-of-doors among the
hollyhocks," said Elizabeth Eliza.
There are no Peterkins to 'receive,'" said Mr.
Peterkin, gloomily.
"We might go in and change our costumes,"

said Mrs. Peterkin, who already found her Eliza-
bethan ruff somewhat stiff, "but, alas I could not
get at my best dress."
"The company is filling all the upper rooms,"
said Elizabeth Eliza; "we can not go back."
At this moment the little boys returned from the
front door, and in a subdued whisper explained
that the lady from Philadelphia was arriving.
Oh, bring her here! said Mrs. Peterkin. And
Solomon John hastened to meet her.
She came, to find a strange group half-lighted
by the Chinese lanterns. Mr. Peterkin, in his white
toga, with a green wreath upon his head, came for-
ward to address her in a noble manner, while she
was terrified by the appearance of Agamemnon's
ass's head, half-hidden among the leaves.
"What shall we do ?" exclaimed Mr. Peterkin.
"There are no Peterkins, yet we have sent cards
to everybody that they are 'At Home' !"
The lady from Philadelphia, who had been
allowed to come without costume, considered for a
moment. She looked through the windows to the
seething mass now crowding the entrance hall.
The Hindu snake-charmers gamboled about her.
We will receive as the Peterkin family she
exclaimed. She inquired for a cap of Mrs. Peter-
kin's, with a purple satin bow, such as she had worn
that very morning. Amanda was found by a Hin-
du, and sent for it, and for a purple cross-over
shawl that Mrs. Peterkin was wont to wear. The
daughters of the lady from Philadelphia put on
some hats of the little boys and their India rubber
boots. Hastily they went in through the back
door and presented themselves, just as some of
the wavering guests had decided to leave the
house, it seeming so quiet and sepulchral.
The crowd now flocked into the parlors. The
Peterkins themselves left the hollyhocks and joined
the company that was entering, Mr. Peterkin, as
Julius Caesar, leading in Mrs. Peterkin, as Queen
Elizabeth. Mrs. Peterkin hardly knew what to do,
as she passed the parlor door, for one of the Os-
bornes, as Sir Walter Raleigh, flung a velvet cloak
before her. She was uncertain whether she ought
to step on it, especially as she discovered at that
moment that she had forgotten to take off her
rubber overshoes, which she had put on to go
through the garden. But as she stood hesitating,
the lady from Philadelphia, as Mrs. Peterkin,
beckoned her forward, and she walked over the
ruby velvet as though it were a door-mat.
For another surprise stunned her-there were
three Mrs. Peterkins Not only Mrs. Bromwich,
but their opposite neighbor, had induced Amanda
to take dresses of Mrs. Peterkin's from the top of
the trunks, and had come in at the same moment
with the lady from Philadelphia, ready to receive.




She stood in the middle of the bow-window at the
back of the room, the two others in the corners.
Ann Maria Bromwich had the part of Elizabeth
Eliza, and Agamemnon, too, was represented, and
there were many sets of "little boys" in India
rubber boots, going in and out with the Hindu
Mr. Peterkin had studied up his Latin grammar
a little, in preparation for his part of Julius Caesar.
Agamemnon had reminded him that it was unnec-
essary, as Julius Caesar in Shakespeare spoke in
English. Still he now found himself using with
wonderful ease Latin phrases such as "E fluribus
unum," lapsus ling u," and "sine qua non,"
where they seemed to be appropriate.
Solomon John looked well as Othello, although
by some he was mistaken for an older snake-
charmer, with his brown complexion, glaring white
trousers, and white shirt. He wore a white lawn
turban that had belonged to his great-grandmother.
His. part, however, was more understood when he
was with Elizabeth Eliza as Desdemona, for they
occasionally formed a tableau, in which he pulled
the pillow-case completely over her head.
Agamemnon was greeted with applause as Nick
Bottom. He sang the song of the ousell cock,"
but he could not make himself heard. At last
he found a "Titania" who listened to him.
But none of the company attempted to carry out
the parts represented by their costumes. Charles
I. soon conversed with Oliver Cromwell and with
the different Mary Stuarts, who chatted gayly, as
though executions were every-day occurrences.
At first, there was a little awkwardness. Nuns
stood as quiet as if in their convent cells, and
brave brigands hid themselves behind the doors,
but as the different guests began to surprise each
other, the sounds of laughter and talking in-
creased. Every new-comer was led up to each
several Mrs. Peterkin.
Then came a great surprise-a band of music
sounded from the piazza. Some of the neighbors
had sent in the town band, as a farewell tribute.
This added to the excitement of the occasion.
Strains of dance-music were heard, and dancing
was begun. Sir Walter Raleigh led out Penelope,
and Red Riding-hood without fear took the arm
of the fiercest brigand for a round dance.
The various groups wandered in and out. Eliz-
abeth Eliza studied the costumes of her friends,
and wished she had tried each one of them. The
members of the Circumambient Society agreed it
would be always well to wear costumes at their
meetings. As the principles of the society enforced a

sort of uncertainty, if you always went in a different
costume you would never have to keep up your
own character. Elizabeth Eliza thought she should
enjoy this. She had all her life been troubled
with uncertainties and questions as to her own
part of "'Elizabeth Eliza," wondering always if she
were doing the right thing. It did not seem to her
that other people had such a bother. Perhaps
they had simpler parts. They always seemed to
know when to speak and when to be silent, while
she was always puzzled as to what she should do
as Elizabeth Eliza. Now, behind her pillow-case,
she could look on and do nothing; all that was
expected of her was to be smothered now and
then. She breathed freely and enjoyed herself,
because for the evening she could forget the dif-
ficult r6le of Elizabeth Eliza.
Mrs. Peterkin was bewildered. She thought it
a good occasion to study how Mrs. Peterkin should
act; but there were three Mrs. Peterkins. She
found herself gazing, first at one, then at another.
Often she was herself called Mrs. Peterkin.
At supper-time the bewilderment .increased.
She was led in by the Earl of Leicester, as princi-
pal guest. Yet it was to her own dining-room,
and she recognized her own forks and spoons
among the borrowed ones, although the china was
different (because their own set was not large
enough to go around for so much company). It
was all very confusing. The dance-music floated
through the air. Three Mrs. Peterkins hovered
before her, and two Agamemnons, for the ass's
head proved hot and heavy, and Agamemnon was
forced to hang it over his arm as he offered coffee
to Titania. There seemed to be two Elizabeth
Elizas, for Elizabeth Eliza had thrown back her
pillow-case in order to eat her fruit-ice. Mr. Pe-
terkin was wondering how Julius Caesar would
have managed to eat his salad with his fork, before
forks were invented, and then he fell into a fit of
abstraction, planning to say "Vale" to the guests
as they left, but anxious that the word should not
slip out before the time. Eight little boys and
three Hindu snake-charmers were eating copi-
ously of frozen pudding. Two Joans of Arc were
talking to Charles I., who had found his head. All
things seemed double to Mrs. Peterkin as they
floated before her.
"Was she eating her own supper or somebody's
else?" Were they Peterkins, or were they not?
Strains of dance-music sounded from the library.
Yes, they were giving a fancy ball! The Peter-
kins were "At Home" for the last time before
leaving for Egypt!





HUSH, baby, hush!
In the west there 's a glory,
With changes of amethyst, crimson, and gold:
The sun goes to bed like the king in a story
Told by a poet of old.

Hush, baby, hush!
There 's a wind on the river-
A sleepy old wind, with a voice like a sigh;
And he sings to the rushes that dreamily quiver,
Down where the ripples run by.

Hush, baby, hush!
Lambs are drowsily bleating
Down in cool meadows where daisy-buds grow,
And the echo, aweary with all day repeating,
Has fallen asleep long ago.

Hush, baby, hush!
There are katydids calling
"Good-night to each other down every
And the sweet baby-moon has been II l... and

Till now she is caught in the trees.
Baby, hush !

Hush, baby, hush!
It is time you were winging
Your way to the land that lies-no one knows
It is late, baby, late-Mother 's tired with her
Soon she will follow, you there.
Hush! Baby-Hush!



NEARLY all of us have read and heard so much
about balloons that it is not necessary now to con-
sider their construction or their history. All that
is intended in this article is to give an idea of
some of the unusual experiences of balloonists.
It is nearly a hundred years since the first bal-
loon was sent up in France by the brothers Mont-
golfier, and yet very little advancement has been
made in the science of ballooning. It is true that
we can make balloons that will rise as high as
human beings can bear to go, but this is proved to
be of little practical use. In 1862, two English
gentlemen, Messrs. Glaisher and Coxwell, ascended
to a height of seven miles above the surface of the
earth. At this immense height the air was so thin
and light that they could scarcely breathe; it was
intensely cold, the mercury in the thermometer
going down below zero. One of the gentlemen
very soon became insensible, while the other was
so nearly exhausted that he was barely able to seize
with his teeth the rope which opened a valve in the
top of the balloon. In this way a portion of the
gas was allowed to escape, and they came down
very rapidly. If they had gone up much higher,
it is probable that both would have perished in
that cold and dangerous upper air. This ascent

proves that seven miles is too high above the sur-
face of the earth for human beings to live in
comfort or safety.
Although, as we have just seen, it is perfectly
possible to make balloons go up into the air to a
great height, no means have yet been discovered
by which they can be made to move in any required
direction. Until this is done, balloons can never
be of much practical use.
Many attempts have been made to devise
methods by which balloons can be propelled and
steered, but, up to this time, none of them have
been found to answer the purpose. In Scribner's
Monthly for February, 1879, Mr. E. C. Stedman
described an aerial ship which he invented. His
theories and plans seem to be quite practicable, and
when a ship of this kind is made, it is to be hoped
that we shall be able to navigate the air in any
direction we please. But this is all in the future.
Not many years ago there was made in New York
a balloon' in which three gentlemen intended to
try to cross the Atlantic Ocean. This great balloon
was not to be propelled by any machinery, but to
be carried on its course by a current of air which it
is believed continually moves at a certain altitude
from west to east, across the Atlantic. But this




balloon was made of poor materials, and it burst
before it was entirely filled with gas. It is fortunate
that this accident happened when it did, for if the
balloon had burst when it was over the ocean, it
would have been a sad thing for the three gentle-
men. If this attempt had succeeded, it is probable
that by this time there would be balloons making
regular trips to Europe ; still I do not know of any
breeze or current that would blow them back again.
But, although we are not yet able to direct the

connected with the ground by a rope. From this
balloon the men could see what the enemy was
doing, and how his forces were disposed, and were
high enough to be out of gunshot.
But the most important use to which balloons
were ever applied was during the siege of Paris,
in the late war between France and Prussia. It
was impossible for any one to get out of the city,
excepting in a balloon, and a number of persons
availed themselves of this way of leaving Paris.*
Monsieur Gambetta, the distin-
guished French statesman, was
among those who escaped in a
balloon. These ascents were v-ery
important, because the balloons
not only took persons, but car-

rier-pigeons, and these pigeons
afterward flew back to Paris bear-
ing news from the outside world;
and in no other way could the
besieged citizens get such news.
Some of the balloons came down
in the French provinces, some
were blown over to England, and
one was carried across the North
Sea into Sweden. Some of them
came down among the Prussians,
and their unfortunate occupants
were captured by the enemy. Out
of the sixty-four balloons which
left Paris during the siege, only
two were lost and never heard of
One of the advantages enjoyed
by balloonists is, that they can
in a measure choose their own
weather, especially in the sum-
mer-time. By this I mean that

they can rise above the clouds.
St into clear sunlight, no matter
Show dreary or stormy it may be
near the earth, and they can go
up high enough to be just as cool
e aas they could possibly wish.
d t h In one of their ascensions,
w w A SNOW-STOM ABOV THoE pce leDS. Messrs. Glaisher and Coxwell, of
whom I have before spoken, left
course of balloons, they have, in late years, been the earth in balloon on a cloudy, sultry day in June.
put to some practical use. During our late war, They passed through cloud after cloud, fog after
balloons were used by the Union army for the pur- fog, expecting every moment to come out into
pose of making military observations. Two of sunlight, and to see the blue sky above them ; but
them were attached to General McClellan's army, they went upward t ..i. ,1- this vast mass of fog
and, with the gas generators and other apparatus, and cloud until they had attained a height of four
were drawn about in wagons from place to place. miles; and still they were not out of the clouds.
When it was desired to make an observation of the It was not considered prudent to go any higher,
works or position of the enemy, a balloon with and so they very reluctantly began to descend
several men was sent up to a sufficient height, and without having penetrated through these immense

*See the story of "Puck Parker," in ST. NICHOLAS for April, 1878. Page 416.




layers of cloud and fog. On coming down, they
passed through a fall of rain, and then, some
distance below that, through a snow-storm, the air
all about them being thick with snow-flakes. This,
it must be remembered, was in the summer-time,
when the people, on the earth had no idea that a
:snow-storm was going on above them, or that the
clouds they saw over them were four miles thick.
'On another occasion, three balloonists went upward
-through a snow-storm very much like the one
which Messrs. Glaisher and Coxwell passed through
during their descent.
People who make balloon voyages very often
-take birds with them, especially pigeons, which

they let loose at a great height. When not too
high above the earth, pigeons frequently fly di-
rectly to their homes, but at a height of three or
four miles they sometimes seem bewildered, and
act as if they did not know how to find their way
back to the ground.. They fly around and
around,' and occasionally alight upon the top.of
the balloon, and stay there. Sometimes, when the
height is very great, the air is.too thin to support
a flying bird, and the pigeon drops like lead until
it reaches denser air, when it is able to fly.
Dogs and cats are often taken up. They are
sent down attached to a parachute, which is a
contrivance like an immense umbrella, and is




intended to prevent the rapid fall of anything
suspended beneath it; the resistance of the air
under the wide-spreading parachute causing it
to descend very slowly and gradually. In this
way, cats and dogs have come to the ground from
balloons without receiving any injury, although
it is not to be supposed that they fancied the trip.
Balloonists themselves have frequently come
down to the earth in parachutes, descending from
a height of one or two miles. Generally these
descents have been made in safety, yet there have
been cases when the parachutes were not properly
constructed, and when the unfortunate balloonists
came down too fast, and were killed.
Not only when they descend by means of a para-
chute, do air-voyagers, or aeronauts, as they are
called, run great risks of injury or death, but also
when they come down in their balloons. In fact,
it is much easier and safer to go up in a balloon than

perienced balloonists frequently manage to come
down very gradually and gently, but sometimes the
car of the balloon strikes the earth with a great
shock; and if the wind is strong, the balloon is
often blown along just above the surface of the
ground, striking against trees, fences, and rocks,
until its occupants, or some persons on the
ground, manage to stop it.
But a descent into a river, a lake, or an ocean is
one of the greatest dangers that a balloonist can
expect. As I have before said, there has been
no way devised by which a balloon may be made
to move in any desired direction. Consequently
when one comes down over the water the aeronaut
generally endeavors to throw out all his sand-bags
and other heavy things, in order that the balloon
may rise again, and not come down until it has
been blown over the land.
With regard to rivers and small lakes, this plan

to come down in one. It is seldom possible for may often be successful, but when the balloon is
the aeronaut to know exactly, or to regulate just being carried out to sea, it generally comes down
as he would wish, the rapidity of its descent. Ex- into the water sooner or later, and if the balloonists
VOL. IX.-3.




are not rescued by some passing boat or
vessel, they are almost certain to be
drowned. In cases such as these, the
balloons are often blown for a long dis-
tance over the surface of the ocean, some-
times dipping the car into the waves,
then, perhaps, rising a little and sailing
for a short distance above them, and then
dragging the car and its occupants with
great rapidity through the water. The
lower picture on this page shows an inci-
dent that occurred on the land in Octo-
ber, 1863 An immense balloon, built
by M. Nadar, and appropriately named
"Le Geant" [The Giant], rose from
Paris and made a pleasant voyage in the
air. But when it neared the earth again,
the vast ball was seized by the wind, and
for hours the two-story car of wicker-work
was dashed against rocks, trees, and
houses, until the nine travelers, with
broken limbs and many bruises, were
rescued near Rethem, in Hanover. Many
people would be frightened to death, even
if they were not actually killed, during
such adventures as these; but aeronauts
must, of necessity, be brave men, for if
a man is easily frightened, it is a wise
thing for him to keep out of a balloon.
As I have said, balloons were found
useful during the Civil War in the United
States, but the first time a balloon was
employed in warfare was at tlhe battle of



Fleurus, Belgium, in 1794, between the French
and the Austrians. Upon this occasion the balloon
was managed as a kite, in the manner shown in
the upper picture on the preceding page.
Sometimes balloonists have had very curious
ideas. Mr. Green, one of the most distinguished
aeronauts of England, once made an ascent on the
back of a pony. The animal was so fastened on
a platform beneath the car that he could not lie
down nor move about. His owner then got upon
his back, and the balloon rose high into the air.
They came down in perfect safety, and the pony
did not appear to have made the slightest objection
to his aerial flight. Other aironauts have made
successful ascents on horseback and in various
dangerous ways, but some of them lost their lives
while performing these fool-hardy feats.
Occasionally balloonists make long voyages.
Mr. Wise, our greatest American aironaut, once
made a trip of one thousand one hundred and
twenty miles in a balloon. He was a very suc-
cessful, balloonist. He made several hundred as-
cents, and was one of the few aironauts who
possessed a scientific knowledge of his profession.

He made a study of air-currents, and all matters
relating to ballooning, and wrote a book on the
subject. It is not long, however, since he lost
his life during a balloon journey, so we see that
even the most experienced navigators of the air
are not free from danger.
But the practiced balloonist does not seem to
fear danger any more than does the sailor, who
steers his ship across the stormy ocean. There
seems to be a fascination about ballooning, and
some persons have made a great many ascents.
Mr. Green made more than five hundred ascents
in balloons. He, however, escaped all serious
dangers, and died at a good old age.
The incidents which I have described show that,
although balloons have, so far, been of little prac-
tical service to mankind, the people who are fond
of rising two or three miles into the air very
often meet with curious experiences, and that
these unusual things generally occur when they
are descending to the earth. If any of us could
feel certain that it was not necessary for us to
come down again, it might be a very pleasant and
prudent thing to go up in a balloon.








BY E. S. L.

ST. NICHOLAS already has given to its readers a
paper telling "About the Painter of Little Penel-
ope," but there is one interesting incident in the
history of that same little Penelope and her noble
artist-friend which was not told in the former arti-
cle, and which, I think, you may like to hear. And
first let me say that aside from his renown as a
painter of hundreds of glorious pictures, Sir Joshua
has left many pleasant memories of his kind and
noble nature. It was shown very often in his great
love for children, whose portraits he was so wonder-
fully successful in delineating. Perhaps none of
his paintings are more famous than the two pictures
of little "Lady Penelope Boothby" and "The
Strawberry Girl," both of which ST. NICHOLAS
already has shown you; and still another of his
beautiful pictures of this kind is. the portrait of
little Miss Frances Harris, given as the frontispiece
of the present number. Sir Joshua had many girl
and boy friends to whom he was very much
attached, but perhaps he was most fond of the
sweet-faced Penelope Boothby, the only child
of Sir Brook Boothby. He was never too busy
with palette and brush to grant admittance at
the tiny knock of little Penelope, who often
would be taken by her faithful nurse to Sir
Joshua's studio, and left there for hours, to
beguile her own, ownest friend" by her sweet
ways and her pretty turns of speech. The little
one was always ready to quietly pose for him,
whenever he wished to "take her picture." His
favorite way of portraying her was as she looked
when she was "dressed up" in a fine old cap of
his grandmother Reynolds, from which her baby face
beamed out upon him "like a ray from Heaven."
And now comes the story of the wonderful June
day when this little girl-scarcely then in her
sixth year-was missing from her pleasant home.
"High and low," all over the house, and
all about the lovely grounds, had her anx-
ious mamma, her young aunt Hester, and
every servant, looked after, and called for, their.
little Penelope. She was nowhere to be found-
at least so it seemed--certainly not in the fine old
house, even in the most unused nook or corner.
Her own devoted nurse was very sick in bed that
day, and they did not, at first, venture to disturb
her with news of her missing pet. But, as the
vain search continued, they could not delay any
longer seeking wise Joan's advice and sympathy.
" Go to the studio for her," said the sick woman,

at once; "this is one of the days when I take her
there." It seemed incredible to the distressed
family that their little child, hitherto so tenderly
guarded, could have attempted to thread her way
through the crowded streets of London Yet,
they hastened to follow poor Joan's counsel without
delay, their hearts all the while filled with most
fearful forebodings. So, as soon as the carriage
and horses could be brought to the door, Mrs.
Boothby and her sister were off at a quick pace,
you may be sure, for Leicester square, where Sir
Joshua had his studio.
They never forgot how long that summer morn-
ing's drive seemed to them, or how breathlessly
they each looked up and down every street they
passed through; or how, several times during the
ride, now the mother, and again the aunt, would
fancy, for the moment, that she had surely caught
a far away glimpse of the lost Penelope !
Their keen anxiety, however, was all over the
moment they stepped within the painter's rich
octagonal studio. For there, safe and happy
enough, they found the little runaway, under the
watchful care of Sir Joshua and his beautiful niece,
Offy Palmer. She was snugly curled up, fast
asleep after her long walk, in the elevated-mahog-
any arm-chair, where dukes and duchesses, lords
and ladies, and very many children, had sat for
their portraits.
Upon his little friend's unattended arrival, Sir
Joshua had immediately sent a messenger to her
home, to tell her parents of the child's safety.
But this messenger the mamma and aunt had
missed, unhappily, on account of their coachman's
having driven by a shorter route than the usual
one. But they were glad to feel that even before
they could reach home the sick nurse Joan, who
tenderly loved her little charge, would receive the
good tidings that little Penelope was safe.
You may well suppose that there were great and
wondering rejoicings at the large round tea-table
of the Boothbys, that same evening, especially
when the young daughter's remarkable promenade
was once more told anew to her doting papa,--Sir
Joshua at the same time dwelling with renewed
delight upon his astonishment and pleased sur-
prise at the entrance of his little morning caller.
A very precious memory, too, did this incident
become to the loving heart of the great painter,
when, not long after, his sunny visitor passed on
before him into the better life.

* See ST. NICHOLAS for November, 1875, and April, 1876.




!!b'L -
-- '

' '- ' '-
*l- -L tf''l
*" .. .- o I
,,i ," o*,iiI, i,

'.. .' ,"' "-' ...''. 1 '

'. i.. :' '

'" .S ."...-''I, '
_:lLi -'.} .,, "" -,,, : '
.. : .. .',.-., -. ..,
I~ -, h,_'" "' '/
,, ,~ ",, 1"1 $' '' I.
-:. ._.,...,,,. ,, ., : .I .
~- ,)i6 ., -_'.,- .. __ "- -

,*'".. -




OUR Ollie went to his bed
With tears just back of his eyes,
And a pain, because, as his sister said,
He was "overly fond of pies."
He dreamed the dreadfullest dreams-
As dreadful as they could be;
For a big, big piece of pie, it seems,
Is a bad, bad thing for tea.

He dreamed of a terrible snow
That fell from an inky sky,
And every flake that the winds did blow
Was big as a pumpkin pie!
All in a heap 't was laid,
While the rude winds laughed in glee,
But oh, the deep, deep drift that it made
Was a sad, sad thing to see!

Then he thought the Summer was dead,
And Winter would always stay;
That an iceberg ledge was his only bed,
And a glacier his home by day.
And the Sun, too late he rose,
And he went to bed too soon,
And a long, long icicle hung from the nose
Of the cold, cold Man-in-the-moon.

He turned to his sister; oh,
How lonely and sad he felt
When he found she was made of ice and snow
Which a hug would be sure to melt!
Just think of the dreams he had,
As dreadful as dreams could be!
Oh, a big, big piece of pie is bad
For a small, small boy at tea!



THE Verney children were very.proud of their
great-grandfather. It is not every boy and girl
who knows who his or her great-grandfather was.
The Verney children knew all about the individual
who occupied this position in their family; and, as
I said before, they were very proud of him. Mr.
Verney, the children's father, took a great interest
in his family history; and once, when on a visit to
England, had traced back his line of ancestors to
the time of the Norman Conquest. To be sure,
the family name was then De Vernaye, but it
is well known that our forefathers often spelt their
names very differently from the way in which we
spell ours. There was also a break in the line
of ancestry from 1590 to 1670, during which period
a part of the family was supposed to have emi-
grated to America. A good many English fami-
lies did emigrate to America about this time, and
if the De Vernaye family were coming at all, it is
probable that they came then. There was also
another break from the period of this supposed
emigration down to the time of the great-grand-
father whom the Verney children knew all about.
But it was so evident in the mind of Mr. Verney
that these gaps could be satisfactorily filled up, if
he could only get hold of the proper records, that
the omissions in his line of ancestors did not

trouble him at all. While in England, he had
visited the old castle of the Guysters, into which
family the De Vernayes were said to have married
about the time Mr. Verney lost track of them. In
this castle was a mailed figure, seated in a chair,
which figure, Mr. Verney was positive from certain
marks on the armor, was intended to represent Sir
Leopold De Vernaye, who must have been his
Mr. Verney would have been very glad to buy
this figure and set it up in his library at home,
because very few, or none, indeed, of his friends
had mailed figures of their ancestors. But the
idea of having a mailed figure in his library was
so attractive to Mr. Verney that he bought a suit
of old armor in England and took it home with
him. It was not such handsome armor as that
worn by the proud Sir Leopold, but it would do
very well, and was far better in his eyes than the
old Continental uniforms of which some of his
neighbors were so proud.
This suit of mail he had properly set up on a
pedestal in his library, which room was handsomely
furnished with old-fashioned chairs, a high clock,
and other furniture that looked as if it had belonged
at some time to ancient families.
The books had formerly been kept in the library,





but as the book-cases did not suit the other fur-
niture, they had been removed to an upper room.
This figure he showed to his friends as a speci-
men of the kind of armor his ancestors must have
worn. "The brave wearer of this mail," he would
say, "had certainly done some hard fighting, and
these dents and those breaks in the mail were prob-

In course of time this suit of armor, and the
armed figure of the De Vernaye, about which
their father talked so much, became so mixed up
in the minds of the Verney children, that they
really supposed that the figure of the mailed
knight in the library represented one of their an-
cestors, and before very long, some of the younger


ably made when he couched his lance or drew his
sword in the battles of Hastings and Marston Moor."
Some of Mr. Verney's visitors, who remembered
English history, knew that this individual must
have lived a very long life indeed if he had fought
in both the battles of Hastings and Marston Moor,
but they were too polite to say anything about it.

visitors to the house actually began to think it
was the great-grandfather about whom the Verneys
talked so much.
The nearest neighbors and most intimate friends
of the Verneys were the Greens. The children
of this family had no idea who their Green great-
grandfather was. Their father was not living, and



their mother really did not know anything about
her husband's grandfather. She believed that he
had lived somewhere out West, but she was not
positive even about this. She knew who her own
grandfather was, but this did not matter, as she
herself did not actually belong to the Green
family. But in spite of this want of ancestry, the
Green children could run as fast, and jump as high,
and were just as clever at their lessons, and had as
good manners, as the Verney boys and girls with
their family line.
Leopold and Edgarda Verney, who were about
fifteen and sixteen years old, were very proud of
their high descent, and sometimes looked down
rather grandly upon the Greens; whereas the chil-
dren of the latter family, especially Tom Green, a
tall boy of seventeen, were quite fond of making
fun of the Verneys' family pride.
One afternoon, Tom Green called to see Leopold
and Edgarda, but finding they were not at home,
he resolved to wait a little while for them, and sat
down in the library. While there, it struck him it
would be a good idea to try on the coat of mail
which stood in the room. He had often wished to
do this, for he desired very much to know how an
ancient knight had felt when clad in his heavy suit
of mail; but he had never cared to ask permission,
for he knew the Verneys would not like it. But now
he thought it would be no harm just to try on the
things, and so, hastily removing the cuirass and
the other pieces of mail, and their props and sup-
ports, he put them, as well as he could, upon him-
self. He tried to walk about, but they were so
heavy he could scarcely move.
If I wanted to fight anybody," he said to him-
self, "I should take these things off before I began."
He was just about to remove the awkward and
heavy mail, when he heard footsteps approaching
the library-door. "Here come Leopold and
Edgarda," he said to himself, and I will give them
a little scare."
So saying, he took his stand upon the pedestal,
and put himself as nearly as possible in the position
in which the figure had been placed. But, instead
of the older brother and sister, there came into the
room two small children, Fitz Eustace and Rowena
Verney, with their little dog Tip. Fitz, as he was
generally called, wore a paper soldier-cap, and
carried a drum and a toy sword.
Hello he cried, when he came into the
room, here is somebody I can fight with my new
sword. Nurse says I must n't fight you or Tip,
but I can't hurt our old 'cestor, so I am going to
fight him."
"You ought to say 'ancestor,'" said Rowena,
"and you ought n't to fight him either, for I guess
he was a very good man."

I don't believe he was good," said Fitz, draw-
ing a chair near to the figure, and I am going to
stand on this chair and whack his head."
Why was n't he good ? asked Rowena.
Because he was a coward," said Fitz.
Why was he a coward? asked Rowena, who
always had a "why" for everything.
"Because," answered Fitz, trying to reach the
helmet with his tin sword, "he wore these iron
clothes, which nobody could stick him through,
and did n't only fight other fellows with iron
clothes, but he cut and jabbed the poor soldiers,
who had only common clothes on, which any
spear or sword could go through, knowing all the
time, too, that they could n't cut and jab him
back. Tom Green told me all this."
I don't believe he was a coward at all," said
Rowena. "Edgarda has often read me stories
about these old knights, and they were always just
as kind to poor ladies and little children as ever
they could be. That is n't being a coward."
But he did n't have to put on his iron clothes
to be kind," said Fitz. It was only when he had
them on that he was a coward." And the boy
made another crack at the figure's head.
"I don't believe he was ever anything of the
kind," said Rowena, taking the great mailed hand
affectionately in her own, while the little dog Tip
sniffed around the knight's feet in a way he had
never done before.,
This glove feels exactly as if it had fingers in
it," said Rowena.
At this moment the figure spoke.
"If I am a coward, young man," it said, "I
should like to know what you are."
At these words Fitz Eustace dropped into the
chair as if he had been shot, while Rowena stood
as if petrified by fear.
"Here is a boy," continued the figure, "who
comes and strikes a person who can not strike him
back, and then begins to call people cowards."
I did n't know you was alive," said Fitz, almost
beginning to cry, while Rowena ran and threw her
arms around her brother.
I suppose not," said the figure, or you would
not have struck me. Do you know who I am ?"
"Yes, you are our 'cestor," said Fitz, preparing
to slip out of the chair.
"Well, then, you need n't run away," said the
figure. "You have seen me all your lives, and
you ought to know by this time that I will not
hurt you. Would you like to hear a story? "
The idea of hearing a story from anybody was
delightful to Rowena, and a story from the old
ancestor was something she could not resist,
frightened as she was; so she whispered to her





"Let's listen to his story. He can't move. He
can't hurt us."
Rowena now clambered into the chair beside her
brother, and the figure proceeded.
"You think it is a fine thing, do you not," he
said, to have an ancestor who has been very
grand and has done great deeds ? "
"Oh, yes, sir," said Rowena, speaking for her-
self and Fitz, who had not yet recovered.

time of the year, the fairies used to preserve and
pickle a great quantity of chipply-berries."
"What are they, sir?" asked Rowena.
They were a kind of berries the fairies were
very fond of. There are none of them now, so
there is no use telling you what they were like.
They were the fairies' principal food during the
winter, and so they needed a great many of them
at preserving and pickling time. Therefore, on a


"Well, then," said the 'cestor, I want you to
pay particular attention to my story. Once there
was a fairy godmother. She had been godmother
to a great many children, but at the time I am
speaking of, she was godmother to only one boy
and a girl. Their names were Ramp and Bra-
mette. They were not brother and sister, but they
were acquainted with each other. At a certain

certain day of every year, the people of the coun-
try round about used to give up everything else,
and go to work gathering chipply-berries for the
fairies, for it was considered a great thing to be
on good terms with these little folk. When the
day for gathering chipply-berries came, at the
time I tell you of, the fairy godmother called
Ramp and Bramette to her. I am very anxious,'



she said, 'that my two godchildren should dis-
tinguish themselves on this day; and, therefore, I
am going to offer a prize for you to work for.
Whichever of you succeeds the better in the
labors of to-day shall have this diamond, which
you see is as big as the largest chipply-berry.'
The children were delighted at this offer, and
ran away to the chipply-fields. In the evening
the fairy godmother came to see what they had
done. Bramette had a bushel-basket full of ber-
ries. 'Did you gather all these?' asked the fairy.
'Oh, no,' said Bramette, 'they were nearly all
gathered by my father and mother, my grand-
father and grandmother, who are the best chipply-
berry gatherers in this district.' 'But did not you
gather any of them?' asked the fairy. 'I believe
I did pick a few at first,' said Bramette, 'but I.
liked best to measure them as they were brought
in, to see how many we were getting.' 'Then
they are not really yours,' said her godmother.
'Oh, yes, they are,' answered Bramette. 'Father
and mother, and grandfather and grandmother,
said that I could call them all my own, so that I
might try for the prize.'
'And what have you done?' said the fairy,
turning to Ramp. 'I have only gathered these,'
said the boy, producing a quart-pot full of chipply-
berries, 'but I think they are all good ones.'
'Yes,' said the fairy, turning them out, 'they are
fine, sound berries, but are these all you could
get ?' 'Yes, ma'am,' answered Ramp, 'I would n't
pick the little withered ones, and it was hard work
finding these big fellows. I had to climb all day
upon the hill-sides and among the rocks.' 'The
diamond is yours,' said the fairy godmother.
'What you have brought, you have gathered
yourself, and all the credit is your own. Bramette
owes her berries entirely to her parents and grand-
parents. She has a great many more berries than
you have, but she gathered none of them herself.
Let this be a lesson to you, Bramette,' she con-
tinued. 'It is very well that your father and
mother, and grandfather and grandmother, are
the best chipply-berry gatherers in the district;
but that makes you no better, and gives you no
reason to think well of yourself. If you wish to be
justly proud, you must do something to be proud
of, and not rely on what your ancestors have done.'
"That is my story," said the figure, "and I wish
you to remember it, and to tell it to your older
brother and sister. Don't I hear them now, com-
ing in at the front door?"
"Yes, sir," cried Fitz and Rowena. And they
instantly jumped down from the chair and ran to
tell the wonderful news to Leopold and Edgarda,
while, the moment they were out of the room, Tom
Green made haste to take off his hot and heavy

armor, which had begun to be very uncomfortable,
and to set it up as it was before.
As soon as the two children met their brother
and sister in the hall, they began to talk together.
"What do you think! cried Fitz. "The
'cestor has been telling us a story "
He talked just like areal man said Rowena.
"What! exclaimed Leopold.
"He said he was not a coward cried Rowena.
And they gathered chipply-berries," cried Fitz.
"What! exclaimed their sister Edgarda.
And he said if you want to do a thing you
must do it yourself," said Rowena.
"And Ramp only got a quart-pot full," cried
"What! exclaimed Leopold.
And people are cowards when they strike peo-
ple and can't get struck back," said Rowena.
And they pickled and preserved them," cried
"What! exclaimed Edgarda.
"And it don't do for your grandfathers to work
for you," said Rowena.
"And they must have been awful good, and
Bramette had a whole bushel of them," said Fitz.
What do you mean ?" cried Leopold.
"But Ramp did his own work," said Rowena.
"I wish I had been Bramette!" cried Fitz.
She must have had chipply-berries enough for
all the fairies and herself too."
"What are you talking about?" asked Ed-
"But then, Ramp got the diamond," said
"But he could n't eat that," said Fitz.
At this moment, Tom Green walked into the
hall from the library.
Why, Tom !" cried Leopold. Where did you
come from ?"
"I have been here some little time, and I just
waited in the library for you to come home."
Oh, I know now exclaimed Edgarda. 1
know all about it. You have been putting on that
armor in the library, and playing a trick on these
Well," said Tom, laughing, it was n't exactly
a trick. I was only trying to tell them a story "
Had it a moral? asked Leopold.
"Well-yes," answered Tom, hesitatingly, "it
did have a kind of a moral."
'F What was it? asked Edgarda.
"I can't put it into exactly the right words,"
said Tom, "but I meant it to carry out my idea,
that I would rather the people I know should be
proud of me, than to be proud myself of anybody
who is dead. But I did not come here to say all
this. I came to talk about the Archery Club."






THERE once was a beast called an Ounce,
Who went with a spring and a bounce.
His head was as flat
As the head of a cat,
This quadrupedantical Ounce,
'Tical Ounce,
This quadrupedantical Ounce.

You 'd think from his name he was small,
But that was not like him at all;-
He weighed, I '11 be bound,
Three or four hundred pound,
And he looked most uncommonly tall,
'Monly tall,
He looked most uncommonly tall.

He sprang on his prey with a pounce,
And gave it a jerk and a trounce;
Then crunched up its bones
On the grass or the stones,
This carnivoristicous Ounce,
'Ticous Ounce!
This carnivoristicous Ounce!

When a hunter he 'd meet on the shore,
He 'd give a wild rush and a roar-
His claws he 'd unsheath,
And he 'd show all his teeth,-
But the man would be seen nevermore,
The man would be seen nevermore!

4 _--1,:1

J. -

I. : 'I.

I 'd rather-I 'm telling you true-
Meet with three hundred weight of a Gnu,
A Sea-Horse or Whale,
Or a Cow with a tail,
Than an Ounce of this kind-would n'tyou?
Would n't you?
Than an Ounce of this kind--would 't you?

ii ~*~'~t~A

'-.' -. _-





JOHNNY PODGE was writing invitations to a
birthday party, which was to take place the next
Saturday, owing to his being eleven years of age
on that day. He had hurried home from school
and partaken hastily of a few doughnuts, just to
ward off utter starvation; and now he was seated
at a little stand in the kitchen, with his head low
down on his left arm, and his eyes rolling after the
strokes of his awkward pen.
He had ended one invitation with "Yours
respectively," and another with "Yours respecta-
bly," and he was thinking whether some other
word would n't be better, when his mother, who
was making bread at the kitchen table, remarked:
How it does snow! but I hope it will be pleas-
ant on Saturday."
"What for?" asked Johnny, innocently.
"Why, for your party, of course."
Johnny laughed slyly. He knew well enough
"what for," but he liked all the direct allusions to
his party that could be obtained, and his mother's
first remark had not been pointed enough. Feel-
ing very good-natured, now that he had had his
little joke, he condescended to ask his mother's
advice about wording the invitations.
"Would you say, 'Please come to a birthday
party to Johnny Podge's'? or would you say,
'Come to my house to a party next Saturday'?"
"Oh, I don't know," said his mother, musingly,
as she patted a loaf into shape. "Seems to me
they put it a little different, but I can't remember
how. You 'd better wait until Pa comes; he '11
know all about it. Pa 's been a great party
"Oh, I can't wait; I have so many to write, I
sha' n't have them ready if I don't hurry."
, Johnny laboriously completed his third invita-
tion, and addressed it to a little girl; and, as she
was a very nice little girl, and very saucy, too, he
was troubled in mind on account of a large blot
with which he had inadvertently adorned the last
line of his note.
Then there came a soft knock at the back door.
"Go to the door, Johnny; my hands are all in
the dough," said his mother.
Johnny opened the door, and there stood no-
body; but, in a moment, Hugh McCollom peered
around the corner of the shed.
Say, come out a minute, wont you ?" he whis-
"Oh, come in," said Johnny; "it snows so."

"No, you come out; I want to speak to you."
And he held to view a large square parcel, wrapped
in brown paper.
Johnny stepped out and closed the door.
"Now," began Hugh; and then he stopped and
untied the parcel nervously. His face showed that
he had been crying, in the way that boys' faces
sometimes demonstrate grief, namely, by pale
marks where the tears had washed their way.
"What's the matter? asked Johnny. What
makes your face so streaked?"
"Mother, she 's sick, and the doctor he said the
medicine would n't cost much, and it costs a dol-
lar. I 've got a quarter, but the drug man
would n't give me less than a dollar's worth; so I
thought if you 'd let me have the other seventy-
five cents, I 'd give you all my pictures. You
know you wanted to buy them, once ? "
Johnny had been eager to buy the pictures when
he first saw them, but just now he wanted all his
pennies to buy refreshments for Saturday's festivi-
ties; and, for a few seconds, he felt very miserly,
and wished Hugh had staid away. But he
remembered a good many things during those
seconds,-among others, that he once was sick
himself, and that it was dreadful to be sick; so he
said, with a little sigh, as he thought of the van-
ishing candies: "Come in, and let's look at them.
I think I'11 buy them."
Hugh came in, hesitatingly, and took off his cap
to Mrs. Podge.
"How do you do, Hughie? and is your ma
well ?" asked Mrs. Podge.
"No, ma'am; she 's sick."
Why, what 's the matter with her ?"
"The doctor said, a fever on her lungs."
"Oh dear! but that is bad! I must go over to
see her this very evening."
Johnny brought out his diary, in which he kept
his money, and he encouraged Hugh to spread the
drawings on the kitchen table, where they called
forth volumes of admiration from Mrs. Podge.
I never saw anything half so beautiful! she
exclaimed. "Did you do them yourself, Hughie?"
"Yes, 'm," said Hugh, meekly; "an' Johnny,
he said may be he 'd buy them."
The doctor gave him a perskiption, an' it costs
a dollar to make it," said Johnny, explaining,
"and Hughie said he 'd take seventy-five cents
for the pictures; but I 'm not going to keep them
all," he added, bravely.




"Oh, yes, you can have every one," said Hugh,
"No, my son," said Mrs. Podge, shaking her
head. "You sha' n't take them all. That would
be as, bad as robbing the fatherless. I know
they're worth a great deal of money; Mrs. Blakely
has pictures in her parlor, no handsomer than
these, that cost three dollars apiece It might
have been the frames, though-they had beautiful
gold frames, with red cord and everything. But
you must take only a few; Johnny."
Johnny counted out seventy-five cents, which
left the little pocket of his diary almost empty,
and handed the money to Hughie, with several of
the drawings.
Hughie's noon hours and evenings and Satur-
days were mostly spent with his pencil, which per-
haps accounted for his weak eyes, into which the
tears would keep coming, as he shoved on his cap
and hurried away with the remainder of his draw-
ings, muttering a choked sort of thank ye as he
went out.
He ran to the drug store, and again presented
the prescription, this time laying down the money
with it. His mother thought he had been gone a
long time, but it was not her way to complain, and
when he returned, she merely asked:
"Did you get the medicine ? "
Here it is, mother," said Hugh, joyfully. He
brought a cup from the pantry, and prepared the
medicine as directed by the label on the bottle.
The rest of his drawings he had left in the wood-
shed. He had quietly abstracted them from his
box without his mother's knowledge, and in like
manner they were returned when the medicine had
accomplished the soothing effect of putting her to
sleep; and so the good woman did not know for
many days of the sacrifice the boy had made in
parting with his treasured drawings. He stirred
around softly, putting coal in the stove, and getting
his supper of oatmeal porridge and baked potatoes,
with a mind immensely relieved, for he had per-
fect faith in medicine of any sort, if only prescribed
by a doctor.
Mrs. McCollom was very poor, and it did seem
as if she always would be. The neighbors occa-
sionally had spasms of generosity, in which they
gave her all the help her Scotch pride would per-
mit; but these did not go far nor last long, and
before any one knew it, down she was again, poorer
than ever.
Johnny Podge was very silent at supper that
evening, and seemed to be meditating something
unpleasant and perplexing.
Mrs. McCollom is sick," said Mrs. Podge, to
her husband, and I think I '11 run around there
when the baby's asleep."

So, when the dishes were washed, and the baby
was asleep in the cradle, Mrs. Podge put a shawl
over her head, and went to see Mrs. McCollom.
"Is Hugh's mother very sick?" Mr. Podge
inquired of Johnny, as he sat rocking the cradle.
Yes, Pa; an' I bought some pictures of him to
pay for medicine, an' I've only got about thirteen
cents left; an' Pa, I was thinking prob'ly you
would n't want to spare more 'n the three dollars
you promised, so may be I can't have the party
this time."
Well, my son, wont three dollars be enough ?"
No, for I was going to have about twenty come,
and I 'd want as much as six pounds of candy, so
as not to look stingy, and I promised Ma I'd pay
for the raisins if she'd put 'em in thick in the cake;
and there 's a lot of other things to get, besides.
I have n't invited anybody yet, and I could get out
of having the party, easy; and may be you'd let
Hughie have the money, instead. He's an awful
good boy to his mother."
"How many have you told about the party ? "
asked his father.
Nobody but one boy; he sits with me, and I
told him not to tell."
"Probably not more than twenty boys know
about it by this time, then," said his father, laugh-
Oh, no he said 'honest injun' he would n't
tell, and he 's an awful good boy," said Johnny.
" His name is Harry Holdclose."
"His name is enough recommendation," said
Mr. Podge, with another laugh.
The vow of honest injun," in Johnny's opinion,
was one of great solemnity, and he had never
known a boy so depraved as to break it.
Mr. Podge thought the matter over as he rocked
the cradle and gazed out of the window at the sky
bright with a full moon and ever so many stars.
The storm was all gone, and nothing was left to
remember it by, excepting the snow.
Mrs. Podge returned a little depressed. It was
quite late, and Johnny had fallen asleep on the
kitchen lounge. "I never did see folks quite so
poor, but everything is just as neat! And that
Hughie, he can make porridge and get his own
supper, and fix the wet towels on his mother's
head just as nice I only wish Johnny was as
handy. But we 've got to do something for them,
Joseph. If it was n't for Johnny's party we 've
promised him, we might spare a few dollars." Mrs.
Podge was quite out of breath with saying so much.
Johnny has just been at me to give over the
party," said Mr. Podge, in his kindest voice.
"Whatever in the world is that for? Why, he
was a-writing his invitations as busy and happy as
you could ask "



He has spent nearly all his party-money for
those drawings, and he kind of hinted, would I
put in the three dollars I promised, for Hugh's
folks, instead," said Mr. Podge.
"The dear little soul! I do believe, sometimes,
Joseph, that Johnny is growing a good boy," said
Mrs. Podge, in aloud, happy whisper.
That was better than forty parties !" Johnny
thought; but his father and mother never knew
that he had heard it, and he lay like a little 'pos-
sum, waiting for further praises. None being forth-
coming, however, he thought it prudent to stretch
himself and go through the motions of waking up.
"Pa says you talk of giving up the party," said
his mother, gently, when he arose from the lounge.
"Yes, ma'am; I don't care much about it any
more, and I thought you an' Pa would just as lief
give the money to Hughie's, folks. I believe I '11
go up to bed now, Ma."
His mother kissed his sleepy face, and his father
touched Johnny's hair with his fingers, and said,
" Good-night, my son "
So Mrs. Podge, the next day, carried the three
dollars to Mrs. McCollom, who was too ill to
refuse it; and Hughie bought, at his discretion,
such things as they most needed, and the neighbor-
women took turns sitting up o' nights with his
Now, Johnny's school-fellow, with the remarka-
ble name, had to be informed that the party was
given up, and, to Johnny's satisfaction, he found
that Harry had never said a word about it to any-
body. But this young keeper of secrets was an
inquisitive boy, and he wanted to know why the
party had been given up. Johnny, however,
utterly refused to tell, partly because he did n't
want to brag, and partly for fear Hughie would
find out about it.
But Harry Holdclose was a boy with a very busy
brain, and, suspecting that there was a disappoint-
ment somewhere, it entered into his kind heart to
devise a plan. This plan was neatly outlined at
recess, and fully completed at noon.
The day was Thursday, which, as we all know,
is just two days before Saturday; and before
school was out that evening, all the boys and girls
in Johnny's class, and some privileged ones in
other classes, were in a buzz of excitement over the
"s'prise party at Johnny Podge's, Saturday night,
you know! "
All but Johnny. He was a little speck sulky,
because there was so much whispering and laugh-
ing, the nature of which he could n't guess. And
it was the same all through Friday; and at night,
when the scholars trooped along in clusters and
crowds, Johnny went moping silently home. Even
Hughie seemed to have joined the rest, and Johnny

felt deserted and forlorn, and his mother's heart
ached for him when she thought of the pleasure
he had given up.
But by the next morning he had forgotten his
vexation, and all the forenoon he was deep in a
beautiful book his mother had given him. After
dinner, he hurried with his Saturday errands, so as
to have some fun with his sled before the snow
should melt., It was a cloudless day, and the sun
shone magnificently.
"What lovely weather for the party!" Mrs.
Podge thought, with a sigh; and she wondered if
Johnny was very much disappointed.
Johnny had a good time with his sled that after-
noon, and, toward sunset, Hughie joined him.
Mrs. McCollom was better, and the kind woman
who had come to spend that evening with her had
urged Hughie to run out and take the air a little
while. When dark set in, and Johnny went home
to supper, unusually happy at heart, his mother
ventured to say:
"Well, Johnny, we 've had a pretty good time
without the party, have n't we? "
"I 've had a gay time with my book, and
Hughie, and everything, and I 'm hungry as a
bear," said Johnny.
Papa Podge, if I may so allude to him, did n't
come home until ten o'clock on Saturday nights,
for he was a clerk in. a little dry-goods store, which
had a habit of sitting up late evenings on Satur-
day, for customers; so, when there came a tre-
mendous knock at the front door, giving Mrs.
Podge,"such a dreadful start," there was no one
to answer it but herself and Johnny, and, being
the least bit timid, they both went, and carried
the baby along, too.
"My goodness! is it a fire?" exclaimed Mrs.
Podge, as she opened the door and saw what
seemed like a hundred people clustered in front
of the house, all as still as mice.
"S'prise !" said a boy who stood close to the
This was Harry Holdclose.
S'prise! S'prise! said the other boys and
girls, a good many times over, as they tumbled
laughingly into the house.
Dear! how merry that evening was! The little
parlor overflowed into the dining-room, and that
into the kitchen; and it did seem as if every
corner contained a boy, while the girls flitted
about the rooms like fairies and chattered like
parrots. Hughie was there, too, his face shining
with joy, and his generous heart beating many
strokes faster with pleasure at the honor shown
his friend and patron.
They played a good mary games, all of a lively
character, and were in the midst of the enchant-




ments and vicissitudes of "Copenhagen" when the
astonished Mr. Podge arrived. Suddenly, Johnny
heard the door open, and his father say: What-
ever, in all the world! "
"It 's a surprise on Johnny! said Mrs. Podge,
her face glowing with pride and pleasure.
At the sound of his father's voice, Johnny
sprang out, scattering a little crowd of girls, and
cried: "Oh, Pa, I did have a party, after all! "
"Yes, I see you did, my son," said Mr. Podge,
who seemed to feel that the occasion required a
speech; "and I heartily thank all these young
ladies and gentlemen for the honors they have
heaped upon us all, I may say. My young friends,
you are very welcome to this house, and may you
live long in joy and prosperity."
It is true that Mr. Podge's words were almost
drowned in the general merriment; but nobody
minded that; on the contrary, they all rushed
upon him without waiting for introductions, and
dragged him into the game, which he enjoyed
wonderfully. Then the girls got their packages
of cake and cookies, and the boys their papers of

candy, and nuts, and oranges; and, as there
was n't a table in the house large enough, nor a
room that would begin to hold them all, they
passed the refreshments around on plates and
saucers, and sat and stood everywhere, eating and
making merry. Such a jolly party Johnny never
had seen. He had n't dreamed of anything half
so nice in his wildest moments, when he had been
laying his own plans.
As for Mrs. Podge, there never was so proud
and happy a little woman. She felt sure it was
the highest honor that had ever been paid to any
member of her family, far or near, and she thought
it was all owing to Johnny's goodness. He must
be a great favorite at school," she thought.
Dear, innocent heart! it was the wise boy who
sat with Johnny who deserved the honor and the
glory of that festive occasion.
Johnny fully understood and appreciated this
fact; but he went to bed none the less happy for
having been the subject of a "s'prise," and more
than satisfied with the way in which his birthday
had been kept.


. '*

w v
,*.s. 3 ^
>, I *^-:
- -^A-


" OH, dear Papa !" three children cried,
You promised, don't you know?
That next when you should take a ride
All three of us should go."
" I DID," that father said. You know
I never speak at random.
So get your roller-skates. We '11 go
Off in a tearing tandem !"



~._____ !I//-L




\T-* 84\L L- I T B E
Ay. LI TT LE *F A\D?
FAT1 y -T LE ?



ET l vNM -WA'S.

S"TT4r .HE .

j-t,'.'iuit^ X1k (

N, _
P QOL-,r c PGllS

[ nii

0lllll llIlllllllll l 1 l tlilll1lllll [1111 lli ['RMlU



-E sA /A\CROs ,S'T E SUl fy-FI Ei
-UTrJ 4oLD --DM E -A\VA c I 0C--

"GOOD- ^y- '

IQ, J.T.My-TO I L- .

IE-DAA\S .A^g-
LO R-6-- E
___ I



VOL. IX.-4.




[ o l.T EM

S L-L- 'p f-T EE"

E *F\R~y OpE ED

FLEW- 0 UT' FRov.,

11- E '^DEN-W\TCjED-



- --






ER\-4o*T ER,\^l' INLBLE- TEET*
.,,,N-TO- DO- E RpLES U R -
IVE*,E- T Is .-N^,O N D VS- TRE SU'-

ED- N EP.FoR-TI-E.owpJ
E. R-I EA B E R- I .

yf O'W'* VO UvR -

8 E 1U EV< "

w/ Tr- L U C.TE R


you*NOT- CU ESS-
ITS- EA\l4 1CJ

U*I DLE -Vo , O oF.T o-- SE.Y .wo k -\ E~ P
4 EVEfy- *DEI\pLED -F C4ER,







IT was the 30th of May, and the waters of the
great ocean rose and fell slowly, regularly, as if old
Atlantic were gently slumbering. The sun had
not yet appeared, but the rose color that tinged
the mist along the eastern horizon betrayed his
ambush. A slight haze rendered objects at a dis-
tance somewhat indistinct, softening and almost
obliterating the line where sky and ocean met. A
breeze so gentle as scarcely to ripple the surface
of the water fanned the cheeks of three boys
standing in a small cat-boat," gazing eagerly ahead
toward a low island.
Had you seen the boys, you would at once have
noted something familiar in their general appear-
ance, and could scarcely have failed to recognize
them as old acquaintances, for who does not know
"Tom, Dick, and Harry" ? You would also soon
have discovered that they were on a holiday.
An examination of their "traps," or personal bag-
gage, stowed forward, out of reach of salt water,
would have shown Tom to be an amateur natural-
ist, Dick a sportsman, and Harry an artist.

"Well, what is it? Sea-serpent, octopus, or
wild goose?" asked Dick, as Tom leveled a spy-
glass at some distant object on the water.
"A pair of great northern divers," answered
Tom, "and you may as well put up your new,
patent, double-back-action breech-loader, for you
would have to load with expedited chain-lightning
to hit one of them, even if we should get within
"We 'll see about that," growled Dick, as he
pushed a couple of wire cartridges into his pet
breech-loader. Harry, who had the tiller, headed
the "Nomad," as their boat was named, straight
for the birds. The breeze was light, and the
boat glided through the smooth waters, leaving
noiseless little ripples in her wake.
As the "Nomad" neared them, the divers seemed
not in the least afraid; now and again one would
disappear in the water, leaving only two rings upon
the surface to tell where it had been. Tom timed
them, and found that they sometimes remained
under water nearly a minute and a half.





While thus engaged, he was startled by two loud
reports near his head, bang! bang! The two
birds disappeared like magic, the same instant
that two charges of shot splashed up the water on
the very spot they had left.
Tom laughed, as he turned to Dick with a
"Did n't I tell you so!"
But the sportsman could not believe they had
been too quick for him, and he insisted that one
must certainly have been hit. However, the
speedy re-appearance of the divers at a good safe
distance, paddling playfully around, convinced him
to the contrary.
Meanwhile the breeze had died out, and the
boys turned their eyes impatiently toward the dis-
tant island.
While Harry was regretting the time wasted in
chasing "those loons," as he called them, he de-
scried a man in a row-boat putting out from the
island. "Now we are all right, boys," he ex-
claimed, "for that 's Billy Whetmore, from the
light-house, coming to take us ashore."
Feeling relieved on this score, the boys turned

S" We give it up. What are they ?" asked Harry.
"Watch," answered Tom, pointing to one that
had been sailing much nearer the boat than the
others. The bird seemed to hesitate a moment in
the air, then suddenly down it came with a mighty
swoop from its dizzy height, striking the water
astern of the Nomad" with a great splash. After
a few vigorous flaps with its wings, the bird rose
again, with its prey glistening in its talons.
"There's a fisherman for you, Dick!" cried
Tom; "one who fishes without bait or line, and
carries his fish-hooks on his toes. He is, in other
words, the American osprey."
"'Nomad,' ahoy!" shouted some one close by,
and the next instant the red, jolly face of the light-
house keeper's son appeared over the side, as he
scrambled from his dory aboard the Nomad."
Harry, grasping his hand, welcomed him with,
"Well, old Robinson Crusoe, how 's your desert-
island?" And turning to his companions, he in-
troduced Mr. Whetmore, 'Billy' Whetmore, the
best sailor and fisherman in these waters."
"I reckon the island 's all there," said Billy,

*~e-- -
_ R

S -. -

,.'I -; ., "-= -


their attention to some large birds that sailed about "but if you '11 dish me up a sweep, I will have
overhead, you all ashore in a jiffy, and you'can see for your-
Eagles?" said Dick, inquiringly, selves."
Guess again," said Tom. In a comparatively short time the "Nomad" was







riding at anchor in a rocky little cove, and the
crew were all ashore upon the Desert Island.
The boys felt just then more like investigating
the light-house kitchen than the Desert.
It was seven o'clock when they sat down to a
steaming hot breakfast of blackfish, cakes, and
coffee, and many an old dyspeptic epicure would
give a year of his life for the ability to relish a
meal as Tom, Dick, and Harry enjoyed that one.
Breakfast over, the crew of the "Nomad"
lounged on a bench upon a bluff in front of the
light-house, while Billy Whetmore was rigging up
fish-lines, hooks, bait, etc.
Harry began to make a sketch of an osprey's-
nest on one of the rocks below.
This particular rock was a very peculiar one, its
resemblance to an animal being so striking that it
is named Dog's-Head Rock." On the back of
this stone dog the fish-hawk's home was built.

So the sketch was dubbed The castle
on the rock." At the suggestion of
Billy Whetmore, the calm waters rip-
pling around the rock were, in the
sketch, whipped up into a storm. It
makes it seem more natural, like," Bill
The wild birds that filled the air with
their screeches and cries were pointed
out, classified, and named by our young
naturalist, who further entertained his
companions with an account of the fish-
hawk or American osprey, telling how
much more cleanly and noble a bird it
is than its European relative, never
. _g touching anything but fish; while, ac-
cording to Figuier, the European osprey
frequently feeds upon wild fowl and
carrion. He explained, also, how some
of the older naturalists sanctioned an
extravagant romance concerning the
construction of this bird's feet, one of
which was supposed to be webbed and
S formed like that of a duck, for swim-
S ming, while the other had the talons
of an eagle, for grasping prey.
Tom also told how a friend captured
S a young osprey just before it was ready
to leave the nest, and with the aid of a
S companion attempted to carry it home,
holding it by the ends of its out-
:i .! I.. -ll wings to avoid its sharp beak and talons.
*.,...1 .: ii the bird flopped completely over, break-
':.: .ing badly at the second joint. Thinking
SI.r ii wounded bird might recover best under
i.h- .r! of its parents, it was left at the foot of the
not LIce, where the old ones could feed it. After
an absence of some hours, the friends returned to
see how the patient progressed, and were some-
what surprised to find that the old birds had killed
their crippled young, by striking their sharp beaks
through its neck and throat.
Once fairly started on his favorite topic, there
was no telling when Tom's lecture would end, but
a loud Peow Pe-ow from Bill Whetmore, on
the beach, notified them that all was ready for the
blackfishing expedition.
The fishing-grounds lay between this island and
the Long Island shore, a distance of some three-
quarters of a mile, in a rocky, dangerous inlet,
through which the tides rush so fiercely as to fleck
the many jutting ledges with foam.
Rigged out from top to toe in oil-skin "togs,"
the party were seated in a row-boat. Bill Whet-
more took the oars and began to back out stern
foremost among the half-submerged rocks, into
the midst of a whirling, bubbling tide that ran with



the velocity of rapids. The boys fairly held their
breath as their little boat dashed, with the speed
of an arrow, at first one and then another of the
sharp edges, against which the rushing tide boiled
and spun in a dangerous manner. Shootingrapids
in a canoe was child's play to this. Just as the
destruction of the boat and the consequent duck-
ing of all hands seemed inevitable, a dexterous
jerk of Bill's oar this way or that would send the
boat in safety past the rock, only to make a hair-
breadth escape from its next neighbor.
Before they reached the fishing-ground the boys
were, to use the mildest term, considerably excited,
but Whetmore was as cool and collected as though
paddling in the calm waters of the bay. The thor-
ough knowledge of every little eddy and cross-cur-
rent, the skill displayed in taking advantage of
them and managing the boat, aroused the boys'
highest admiration. They moved out in a zigzag
course toward a point where two tides met, and
where, although there was no wind, the meeting
of the currents lashed the waters into tumbling
Backing up to the edge of a whirlpool, one anchor
was cast from the bow into the midst of the seeth-
ing waters, the boat was quickly backed until the
line was taut, then another anchor, cast from the
stern, was made fast, and the boat was swinging
easily and safely in smooth water, with the tide
rushing wildly around ugly rocks a few feet to the
right, and bubbling over a submerged reef a yard
or so to the left. From this vantage ground the
boys commenced hostilities against the blackfish;
" chumming for them, Bill called it, meaning that
chopped bait (lobster and clams) was strewn over
the sides of the boat for some time, to attract the
fish. After two hours' good sport, they started on
the return trip towing sixty pounds of blackfish
In the old dining-room of the light-house each
boy paid his involuntary compliment to their host's
dinner; and their remarks on his skill as a boat-
man made Bill blush through all his twenty years'
tan and weather-stain.
I tell you that was a plucky row, and it required
some nerve, too," said Dick.
"Yes," added Tom, "when a man loves his
profession, and gives it his whole mind and atten-
tion, he can accomplish wonders."
Well," remarked Harry, grandly," if I had the
knowledge of art that Bill has of boats, tides,
winds, and weather, I 'd always be on the line at
the academy."
Dinner over, an exploring expedition through the
island had its separate attractions for each of the
boys, and they started, Dick with his breech-loader
and game-bag, Tom with numerous boxes and bags

for capturing and conveying specimens, and Harry
with sketch-book and pencils.
"I guess you had better keep away from that
old hawk on the wood-pile," was Bill's parting
remark, as the party left the light-house.
Once away from the building, it seemed to the
boys as though the whole island was alive with
birds; the sand bluff in front was fairly honey-
combed by the hundreds of bank swallows that
twittered and fluttered in clouds about their homes.
Inland, the long sand-stretches were dotted with
occasional trees, so dwarfed, twisted, knotted, and
gnarled, by poverty of soil below, and severity of
storms above, that each was more like an over-
grown gooseberry bush than a legitimate tree. The
ospreys had taken possession of every available spot
to build their nests, and when they build it is no
delicate moss and twig structure, fastened with
horse-hair, and lined with soft feathers or wool, but
a solid affair, one nest occupying a whole tree. It
has a foundation of sticks, clubs, and pieces of tim-
ber so large and heavy that it would seem an
impossibility for any bird to move them. Piled
up, sometimes to the height of five feet, is fully
a cart-load of sponges, sea-weed, and debris of
all kinds, picked up along the beach; on the top
of this mass is the nest proper, hollowed out like a
basin, lined with grasses and soft material. Many
such massive nests as this were scattered over trees
and rocks, and even on the bare ground. Tom
called the boys' attention to this, saying that
"according to the works on natural history that
he had seen, the American osprey, or fish-hawk,
invariably built in the tops of the tallest trees. Baird
gives as exceptional instances a nest found in a
small pine in Maine and another upon a cliff on
the Hudson River, and I believe Audubon found
one or two on the ground."
One of the first nests they approached was built
on the top of a pile of wood, and from the warlike
looks of the two old birds and the peculiar location
of their nest, the boys concluded that this must be
the old hawk Bill had warned them against molest-
ing. So of this nest Harry decided he must have
a sketch, and seating himself comfortably at a
short distance, he began to work, while the other
boys sauntered on. The old birds looked on sus-
piciously for some time; at length one of them took
wing and after soaring to a considerable height, he
made a sudden dart down toward Harry, with a
shrill cry and a rushing noise that caused our
startled amateur artist to drop everything and
scamper off with very undignified rapidity. And
it was some time before he dared steal back after
his book and pencils. That sketch was never
As Harry reluctantly left the wood-pile nest, the




popping of Dick's gun along the beach told plainly
enough that its owner was enjoying the day, in a
way to suit his tastes.
Off in the distance Tom was visible, standing
motionless, gazing intently on the ground, while
around and over his head circled and flew scores
of swallow-like birds. As Harry approached the
spot, he could see that the birds were much
too large for swallows, and were peculiarly marked
with white, giving the effect of an open space
between the tip and main part of the wings. The
air was full of them, and they darted by close to
his ears with a whirring noise.
Harry found Tom on his knees apparently
searching for something in the sand.
"I say, Tom, if you have lost your senses, you
will never find them again without a microscope,"
was Harry's salutation.
I think I must have lost one of my senses at
least," responded Tom, for I had my eye fixed
upon the exact spot where a bird was sitting, but

when the bird flew off, and I stooped to pick
up the two eggs I knew must be there-presto,
change,-and they were gone. You know, my boy,
these night-hawks don't build nests, but deposit
their eggs upon a flat rock, or on the ground.
The eggs are small, and so closely do they resem-
ble the ground or lichens in color and markings
that it is next to impossible to find them."
"'T is, eh? Well, that depends upon who it is
that is hunting them," cried Harry, as he stooped
and picked up something at his feet which he
handed to his friend, with : Here, friend nat-
uralist. You see, an artist must have a good eye
to distinguish delicate shades of color."
Thanks, old fellow," and Tom, taking from his
pocket a small blow-pipe, made a hole at each end
of the eggs and blew out the contents; then plac-

ing them carefully each in a separate box, he
marked the boxes, May 3oth, 1881. Desert Isl-
and, Chordeiles fpofpetle; location, open, sandy
Here Harry, who had been watching Tom,
Cordelia Puppets, are they ? Well, that proves
how ignorant we of the masses are. Now I
always thought these birds were whip-poor-wills."
"Not so awfully ignorant as you would make
out," responded Tom; although these are not
whip-poor-wills, but night-hawks, or bull bats,
they all belong to the same family, the goat-
suckers, or Caprimulgidce. Hereafter you can
inform inquiring friends that these night-hawks,
although related, are an entirely different bird from
the Antrostomus or whip-poor-will."
"Well, if you will but let up on those jaw-
breaking words-' scientific terms,' I should say-
for just one moment, I was going to tell you that
I found two of these 'Cordelia puppet' night-
hawks sitting on eggs upon the top of the man-
sard roof of our house in Boston."
"That's worth recording," said Tom, taking
out his note-book and jotting down the fact.
Walking on together, the boys found many ob-
jects of interest, and at Tom's request Harry made
a sketch of one of the osprey-nests, to illustrate
and prove the assertion that the American species
will not molest other birds-for in the interstices
on the sides of this nest were half a dozen or more
homes of the crow blackbird, some containing eggs.
On others the mother-bird was sitting, while
still others contained young birds. These facts
Harry discovered by clambering up the next tree.
He even put his hand over the top of the main
nest, exclaiming to his companion: "Three
hawk's-eggs, Tom, and they are warm, too."
"It will be warm for you in about a minute,"
shouted Tom, "for here come the old birds."
Harry had had experience enough of that kind,
so he let go all holds and dropped to the ground
in a hurry; but he had made his sketch, to which
he gave the title "Nature's Commune."
The two friends now turned on the beach to
hunt up Dick, whose gun had reported him at
different points along the shore.
Harry, who was some distance ahead, suddenly
stopped, and called excitedly back to Tom to hurry
up, for he had found a veritable sea-monster, that
was all mouth, excepting his tail, and all tail but
the mouth. He seemed quite disappointed that
Tom should recognize it as a fish known as the
angler, or "fishing frog."* Horrid-looking speci-
mens they are, with huge mouths and fat tongues.
Bucketfuls of fish have been taken from their ca-
pacious stomachs. They are known to catch sea-

* See ST. NICHOLAS for March, 1874, page 256.




gulls and wild fowl which are swimming on the
surface of the water, and to swallow them whole.
A loon was taken from the stomach of one capt-
ured at Ogunquit, on the coast of Maine.
After Harry had secured a sketch of this gor-
mandizing angler, they continued their search for
their sporting friend, and soon found him stretched


First he drew a good-sized circle in the sand; then,
from a dozen or so of the little creatures which
Dick had captured and placed in his hat, each of the
boys chose one for himself. These they compared
carefully, to prevent mistakes in identification.
Dick selected a crab with the largest claw he
could find. Harry, following his example, picked


-- .. .1

- i


^--"^' ^'--^-:^-^^' -
.^~~-=r _~-" ~;- tB _-'"' ^-----_-.;^-. *-= ^.,_

~-;;-ff-- f-- -.-- -:--- "^f
~ TI#1 __~



at full length on the sand. He said he had been
watching some little fiddler-crabs dig their holes,
and that it was fun to see them swing their long-
necked eyes around, to make sure the coast was
clear, and then scamper off four or five feet from
their homes, drop their little load of sand, once
more stop to move their eyes around the circle,
and scamper back to disappear in their holes for
another load of sand.
But, I say, fellows," cried Dick, with a sudden
burst of enthusiasm, I have an idea- "
"Bottle it, Dick, as a specimen for Tom," inter-
rupted Harry; ideas are great rarities nowadays."
Tom is not the only one who wants ideas, even
if they are other people's," retorted Dick, "but
you can both have this one. It's this: Let's have
a crab-race."
"The race of crabs is pretty well established
already," interposed Tom.
But they both entered eagerly into Dick's scheme.

out a saucy big fellow, while Tom chose a small
crab with two small claws. All three steeds were
placed under a drinking-cup in the center of the
ring drawn on the sand.
Now," explained Dick, no one is allowed to
touch his crab under any circumstances, until the
race is decided. I shall lift the cup at the word,
and the first crab to cross the line of the circle wins
the race, and the last one out loses. Now, what
stake shall we race for ? "
It was finally agreed that as they would, in all
probability, have to make an all-night sail to get
home, the loser of the race should stand the first
watch, and the winner the last watch.
Tom gave the word: "Attention! Are you ready?
Go!" and the cup was lifted, freeing the little
creatures. Tom's crab started off sideways, at a
rapid gait, but Harry's and Dick's hesitated. At
this the boys shouted, danced about, and waved
their caps. But the pugnacious little steeds, in-



.-= ------ ;- -. - -_-_- - -- -- _- --



stead of being frightened into running, disregarded was heartily enjoyed, and a few minutes later they
the size of their enemies, and bravely reared up on were once more aboard the Nomad," headed for
their hind legs and showed fight. Tom laughed home, with a fair breeze.
until he was faint, for, taking

--he _ho -'. .i L .-.1 C. 1!.I J -

of "' l
and : l
aw , i I I

.leg : I i Ir
Ha an ri I.. ,:I. l I.

ohf in r I /,
i1.dthc ---

luc .", -, ,, !I. -.;r.-

:-- _-= _-- --_ + =_ -_'-__. --. -- .__-
-;--_' -- -S ll *

I-_--- c I-: _. .- -


The race had hardly ended, when Billy Whet-
more's'" Peow! Pe-ow!" down the beach, start-
led the boys into the knowledge that it was
getting late, and that they were pretty hungry.
After a brisk walk, their supper at the light-house

about a dozen valuable sketches. And Tom, after
ting or his s im c d tt he
: "%Z -- "

n't missed much that day. In fact, they all joined in
the belief that they had crowded about a week's funa

Su r r I -.slnd
Sr I ,, ada

I l ,,- d

r.._I r-, rI. did
-h,-.iid.:. tie

addruon to all
SEA-MONSTR his fun, he had
about a dozen valuable sketches. And Tom, after
counting over his specimens, concluded that he had
n't missed much that day. In fact, they all joined in
the belief that they had crowded about a week's fun
into the twelve hours spent on the Desert Island.

.. -------- -=-




I WATCHED the little children by the sea,
Tempting the wave with mimic forts of sand;
Hillock and pit they modeled in their glee,
Laughing to see them leveled on the strand.
Deep was the music of the breakers' roar,
And bright the spray they tossed upon the shore;
Fresh gales of joy blew landward, but in vain;
The Nation's heart was heavy with its pain.


The little children skipping by the sea,
Bare-legged and merry, challenge its advance,
Holding the sunlight in their hair, they greet
The prone wave's tumult while they shout and dance.
But he who suffers far away grows faint
With longing for the sea-side cheer and plaint; -
Ah, bright the tide, and blue the bending sky,
While stately ships, intent, go sailing by!


What power was this? no tumult on the deep!
The conscious waves crept whispering to the sand;
The very children, awed and eager, shared
The spell of silence holding sea and land;
White wings of healing filled the summer sky,
And prayerful thousands stood expectant by,
While borne on bed of hope,-content and wan,-
The Nation's Man came into Elberon.

'T is well!" the news sped gladly, day by day,-
"Old Ocean sends its strengthening breeze apace!"
Grandly, beneath the shining cottage eaves,
Our country's banner floated in its grace.
When, suddenly, grim shadows gathered near
To overwhelm us with a nameless fear;
Till all along Atlantic's sobbing sands-
Far as it rims our own and other lands;
Across the world; what spot the sun shines on-
Sounded the tidings dread:
Our Man is dead!
The Nation's grief broods over Elberon.


41i l

cv \n -"'--

,,LB I: i
-- V.,; -- 5 ~-- --"--. i :1 *

..... ,- i , T ELBEROMN



No EVENT of modern times has created so deep
and wide-spread a sorrow throughout the civilized
world as the death of James Abram Garfield, late
President of the United States. When he was
struck down by the bullet of a wicked man, every-
body was filled with amazement and alarm. There
was no reason why such an attack on the President
should be expected or looked for. He was a
peaceable and kindly man, full of generous feel-
ings, and with a friendly interest for all men. And
when it was told to the country that this large-
hearted, and upright, and honest Christian gentle-
man had been shot, people could hardly believe
the tale. An assault like that seemed utterly
When it appeared to be possible that the Presi-
dent might recover, there was much relief felt
throughout the length and breadth of the land.
Wherever there were people dwelling, whether in
the crowded cities of the Atlantic sea-board, or in
lonely hamlets and camps afar in Western wilds,

men, women, and children waited and watched
with great anxiety for the latest news from the
wounded President. It was a remarkable sight,
this waiting of a great nation around the bedside
of a smitten president. From lands beyond the
sea, too, came many messages of affectionate
inquiry. Kings and queens, great men and the
common people of every land, hoped and prayed
for the recovery of the President. The powerful
rulers of Europe seemed to forget for a while their
ambitious schemes, and they sent word to their
representatives in this country that they desired the
very latest news, day by day, from the 'White
House, where Garfield lay betwixt life and death.
For eleven weeks, it may be said, the whole civil-
ized world watched for some sign of hope that the
President might live and not die.
This hope was not to be realized, although it did
seem at times that the long suspense was over and
that the beloved chief magistrate was on a fair road
to health. At last, and suddenly, the news was





flashed all abroad that Garfield was dead. Never
before, probably, did ill news fly so fast and so
far. Gradually, there'had seemed to be less and
less hope that the noble sufferer could live, and
so people were partly prepared for the worst.
The brave and gentle spirit of Garfield passed
away at half-past ten in the evening, and before
the clocks struck twelve at midnight, the bells
were tolling in every city in the United States, say-
ing to all the people that the long-suffering, much-
enduring President lay dead by the margin of
the great sea that he loved so well, and on whose
shining waves his last dying glance had lingered.
Everywhere, men went about with saddened
faces and dejected mien. It seemed as if there
was mourning and lamentation in every house in
the land. As soon as people could rally from the
first shock of grief, they began to hang out the
emblems of sorrow on every hand. It was as if
men and women, not being able to go and weep by
the death-bed of the good President, did what they
could to show their real sorrow for what was now
beyond the help of man. From the first, as it
now appears, there was no possibility that the
President could ever really recover. But this was
not known certainly until after his death, and so
long as news came that he was still alive, the peo-
ple prayed to the good God for his restoration to
health. For weeks, millions of men and women
in all lands, Christians of every sect, Israelites,
Greeks, and those of strange faiths, daily offered
up prayer to God that this precious life might be
spared. So, when he died, they who had hoped
and prayed for him were exceeding sorrowful,
and they showed their sadness in many ways.
The whole republic may be said to have been
clothed in mourning. There was never such a
sight in any country as on the day of the funeral
of Garfield, when many of the larger cities and
towns of the United States were completely draped
in the emblems of mourning, and every flag
drooped at half-mast. From beyond the sea
came sympathizing messages from the great
ones of the earth and from friends of America
in foreign parts. The good Queen of England
sent loving and tender words for herself and her
children, and directed the British envoy at Wash-
ington to lay on Garfield's bier a memorial of her,
with a kindly message which she sent. And then,
with mourning and lamentation all over the broad
land, the mortal remains of the President were
carried back to Ohio, and were buried on a height
from which one may look over the sparkling waters
of the great Lake Erie.
This man, whose tragic sickness and death were
lamented as a personal grief by many millions,
and at whose burial the noblest and the best of

Christendom, here and in foreign lands, sincerely
mourned, was, at the "...;nni,; of his public
career, only a modest American citizen. He
served his country with distinguished honor in the
war and on the floor of Congress, and when he
was elected President, many thousands of citizens
rejoiced in the belief that his character and states-
manship gave promise of an unusually wise and
brilliant administration. But he had been in office
only four months when he was shot; he had not
been long known to the people of other countries,
and he had not had time, as president, to show how
wise and how able he would be. Nor did he come
of any lofty or ancient race of men, whose deeds
of prowess or renown could be found carved on
monuments and in noble temples. In his boyhood,
he had been very poor, and had worked at humble
callings for the sake of earning a livelihood, and
securing a good education. Why, then, was there
all this lamentation, sorrow, and spontaneous dis-
play of grief abroad and at home?
The career of James A. Garfield was thoroughly
American. His character was worthy of all imita-
tion. In his poverty when a young boy, he
might have gone to school for two years before
the time when he did enter the school-house,
but that he had no shoes to wear; and this same
needy lad, who afterward drove the horses of a
canal-boat, lived to be the president of the
United States. He carried into his high office a
manliness of character, a Christian courage, and
a sincerity of purpose that are more to mankind
than the highest honors that can be heaped upon
our fellow-man. Every American boy has heard,
at some time, that he may live to become the pres-
ident of the United States. But the life of Gar-
field, and the remarkable spectacle afforded by the
last days of that life, very clearly show that it was
the man, rather than the office, whichmen honored
when the tragical end of his career drew to a close.
The deaths of a president of the republic, and es-
pecially a death so purposeless and cruel, would
have excited the sympathy of the world. But the
history of Garfield's life is a beautiful example of
what may be achieved by a loving heart, a gener-
ous nature, and a high purpose. In that life the
boys of America have a noble model, and one
which they may safely follow. Better than being
president is to be honest, brave, true, manly,
tender to one's mother, courageous for the right,
and a friend to the weak and those who have no
helper. All this, Garfield was, and this is why,
when he fell a victim to the shot of an assassin,
and when he was borne to his last resting-place, a
wave of sorrow swept around the globe.
We are nowhere told that Garfield had aimed at
being president before he was nominated to that




high place. There is no evidence that he had made
any plans for his elevation to the great office that
he occupied when he died. But the reward of a life
of honest endeavor in the path of the right came
to him unexpectedly and without his seeking for it.
And I dare say that, if he had never been chosen
president, he would have reaped full reward in
some other way. For him, at least, it was better to
be right than to be president. And while to possess
by the vote of the people the highest office of the
Republic is an honorable ambition, the example of
Garfield shows that it is far better to win a good
name and to build up a character that shall stand
when all other things perish. We do not now so
much lament a dead president as the tragical tak-
ing away of a high-minded man, an affectionate
father, son, and husband, and a sincere patriot.
Nevertheless, the nation has suffered a calamity
in the death of Garfield. He had the qualities
which would have made him a good president.
If his life had been spared, it seems most likely
that the country would have highly approved of
his administration of its affairs. Then, too, it is a
sad thing that any man should be called to die for
his country as Garfield was. He was not killed for
himself, but because he was the president. If he
had never been chosen by the people to the place
he filled, he would have been alive to-day, as far
as we can know. So there is a feeling of indigna-
tion and anger under all the mourning and sorrow
for Garfield. The nation has been hurt as well as
the family. It is a matter for profound sorrow that
the life of a man is put in jeopardy because he has
been chosen president by a free people. It is our
boast that, in this country, every man has a chance
for himself, and nobody is kept down by circum-
stances which are peculiar to any class, or sect, or
social condition. Garfield was a shining example
of what may be achieved by well-directed labor,
and we are greatly grieved that his life, so
admirably calculated to illustrate the force of
character and the width of the ways to distinction
in which an American boy may walk, should end
in a manner so undeserved and so untimely.
When a boy, Garfield was lively; quick, and
restless. His teacher complained that the lad
was "perpetual motion." He could not study, even
when great sacrifices had been made by his
mother and his brothers to get him ready for
school. When this was reported to his mother,
her heart sank, but she could only say, "Why,
James!" The tone of sorrow and disappointment
went to the boy's heart, and he fell on his knees,
and, burying his face in her lap, cried out that he
would keep still in school, and that he would learn.
He kept his word. From that day, he stuck

manfully to his work, and, whether he was riding
on the canal tow-path, hammering away at car-
pentering, plunging into book-keeping, or toiling
in the hard position of school-teacher, he seemed
to be forever pushed on by the thought that he
had promised to do his best. It was evident that
he believed that the best preparation for the duties
and responsibilities of to-morrow is the faithful
performance of the labors of to-day. No idle
dreamer, he went right on with his work, whatever
it might be, doing his best. He waited for no
applause, and he was not stimulated in his labors
by the hope of reward. With a clear conscience,
a ready hand for those who needed help, a large
heart throbbing for the poor and the distressed,
and with a sincere belief in the goodness of God's
government of the world, Garfield filled up his
days with honest industry and faithful service to
his country and to his time.
Does any boy ask what good can come of all
this, now that the man has died, and has been cut
off, too, before he had arrived at the end of the
natural term of human life ? Garfield has, indeed,
lived in vain if we can not find in his life and char-
acter something worthy of imitation. He has
lived in vain if the influence of his example is not
felt, for generations, upon the forming characters
of the lads who are to be the future rulers and law-
makers of this republic. The President is dead,
but the record of his life can not die. And when
we think of the pathetic figure that he made when
he went out of this life, and of the untimely end of
his career, which seemed to be just about to be at
its best, we can recall with comfort the truth that

In the wreck of noble lives
Something immortal still survives."

Nor need we lament for him who has gone up
higher. Even those who were so near and dear to
this warm-hearted and loving man in his life-
time do not mourn with a sorrow that can not be
comforted. If it is true that, in future ages,
the American youth shall be taught the goodly les-
son of the lives of great men who have gone
before, it is true that such an example as Garfield's
can not perish. And if this is true of the life that
endures upon the face of the earth, as men come
and go, we can with our thought follow into shining
realms the admirable and lovable man just now
gone from among us. What he did lives after him.
And although when he went away the land was
filled with lamentation and weeping,

He passed through glory's morning gate,
And walked in paradise."







LORD, thou hast given me a cell,
Wherein to dwell,
A little house, whose humble roof
Is weather proof;
Under the sparres' of which I lie
Both soft and drie,
Where thou, my chamber for to ward,
Hast set a guard
Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep
Me, while I sleep.
Low is my porch, as is my fate,
Both void of state;
And yet the threshold of my doore
Is worne by th' poore,
Who thither come, and freely get
Good words, or meat.
Like as my parlour, so my hall
And kitchin 's small :
A little butterie,2 and therein
A little byn, 3
Which keeps my little loafe of bread,
Unchipt,4 unflead; 5
Some brittle sticks of thorne or briar
Make me a fire,
Close by whose living coale I sit,
And glow like it.

Lord, I confesse too, when I dine,
The pulse6 is thine,
And all those other bits, that bee


There placed by Thee;
The worts,7 the purslain,8 and the messe
Of water cresse
Which of thy kindnesse thou hast sent;
And my content
Makes those, and my beloved beet9
To be more sweet.
'T is Thou that crownest my glittering hearth
With guiltlesse mirthe,
And givest me wassaile0o bowls to drink,
Spic'd to the brink.
Lord, 't is thy plenty-dropping hand
That soiles11 my land,
And giv'st me for my bushell sowne,
Twice ten for one;
Thou mak'st my teeming hen to lay
Her egg each day;
Besides my healthful ewes to bear
Me twins each year;
The while the conduits of my kine12
Run creame for wine:

All these, and better thou dost send
Me, to this end,
That I should render, for my part,
A thankful heart;
Which, fir'd with incense, I resigned
As wholly Thine;
But the acceptance, that must be,
0 Lord, by Thee.

WE have room in our Treasure-box this month only for the quaint, old-fashioned Thanksgiving hymn given
above. You would not be interested to read the works of Robert Herrick, excepting the few dainty songs
which you will find in almost every book of selected poems; but his "Thanksgiving for his House is so simple
and earnest in its thoughts and so humble in spirit, that it is well worth your reading at this Thanksgiving season of
the year. As the many words in this poem that have gone out of use since it was written might puzzle you,
the following note will explain them. The meaning of the whole poem is plain enough, as you will see.

i. "Sparres," spars,-beams or rafters. 2. Butterie," buttery,-a small room in which provisions are kept. 3. "Byn," bin,-
a box, or an inclosed place. 4. Unchipt," -whole, no part being cut away or broken off. 5. Unflead," unflayed,-not peeled, no
crust stripped off. 6. "Pulse,"-beans, pease, etc. 7. "Worts,"-vegetables, or herbs. 8. "Purslain," fursane,-a pot-herb, sometimes
used for salads, garnishing, or pickling. 9. "Beet,"-the vegetable. xo. "Wassaile," wassail,-a spiced liquor formerly drunk on
festive occasions. ii. "Soiles," soils,-enriches. 12. "Kine,"cows.
*Born in London, August 20, g59z. Died, October, 1674.






THE writer of Recollections of a Drummer-Boy wishes to say to the readers of ST. NICHOLAS that he is writing
no made-up story or fictitious narrative, but is drawing upon his own personal experiences for all he has to say.
He.was a Drummer-Boy in the "Army of the Potomac," having been mustered into the service in midsummer,
1862, and mustered out with what remained of his regiment at the close of the war, in 1865. Opposite to him, on
the wall of his library, in which he is writing, hangs his Discharge," framed in stout hickory, while before him
on his table are three little black books, all stained and soiled with exposure to wind and weather on many a long
march,-journals or diaries kept by him in camp and field,-together with a bundle of old army letters written to
the folks at home. Would the readers of ST. NICHOLAS like to take an occasional peep into the contents of those
three little black books and this bundle of old letters ? Would they like to know something of the actual life of a
Drummer-Boy in the Army?

WHEN, in 186I, the war-fever broke out in the
school I was attending, and one after another the
desks were left vacant where the older boys had
sat, and there were few scholars left but the girls
and the smaller boys, who were too young to think
of following the envied example of their older
fellows, 'you can scarcely imagine how very dull
our life became. We had no interest in study, were
restive and listless, and gave our good teacher a
world of trouble. The wars of Cesar and the siege
of Troy,-what were they when compared with the
great war actually now being waged in our own
land? The nodding plumes of Hector and the
armor of Homer's heroes were not half so inter-
esting or magnificent as the brave uniforms of the
soldiers we saw occasionally on our streets. And
when, one day, one of our own school-fellows was
brought home, wounded by a ball through his
shoulder, our excitement knew no bounds And
so, here is a letter I wrote to my father :
DEAR PAPA: I write to ask whether I may have
your permission to enlist. I find the school is fast
breaking up. Most of the boys are gone. I can't
study any more. T'ont you let me go ? "
Poor Father In the anguish of his heart it
must have been that he sat down and wrote, "You
may go 1" Without the loss of a moment I was
off to the recruiting-office, showed my father's
letter, and asked to be sworn in; but alas! I was
only sixteen, and lacked two years of being old
enough, and they would not take me unless I could
swear I was eighteen, which I could not do,-no,
not even to gain this ardently desired object!
So then, back again to the school, to Virgil and
Homer, and that poor little old siege of Troy, for
a few weeks more; until the very school-master
himself was taken down with the war-fever, and
began to raise a company, and the school had to
look for a new teacher, and they said I could enlist as

drummer-boy, no matter how young I might be, if
only that I had my father's consent! And this, most
unfortunately, had been revoked meanwhile, for
there had come a letter, saying: My dear boy:
If you have not yet enlisted, do not do so: for I
think you are quite too young and delicate, and I
gave my permission perhaps too hastily and without
due consideration." But alas dear Father, it was
too late then, for I had set my very heart on going;
the company was nearly full, and would leave in a
few days, and everybody in the village knew that
Harry was going for a drummer-boy.
There was an immense crowd of people at the
depot that midsummer morning nearly twenty
years ago, when our company started off to the
war. It seemed as if the whole county had sus-
pended work and voted itself a holiday, for a
continuous stream of people, old and young,
poured out of the little village of L-, and made
its way through the bridge across the river, and
over the dusty road beyond, to the station where
we were to take the train.
The thirteen of us who had come down from the
village of M-- to join the larger body of the
company at L-, had enjoyed something of a
triumphal progress on the way. We had a brass
band to start with, besides no inconsiderable escort
of vehicles and mounted horsemen, the number
of which was steadily swelled to quite a procession
as we advanced. The band played, and the flags
waved, and the boys cheered, and the people at
work in the fields cheered back, and the- young
farmers rode down the lanes on their horses, or
brought their sweethearts in their carriages and
fell in line with the dusty procession. Even the
old gate-keeper, who could not leave his post, got
much excited as we passed, gave three cheers for
the Union forever," and stood waving his hat after
us till we were hid from sight behind the hills.
Reaching L- about nine in-the morning, we
found the village all ablaze with bunting, and so
wrought up with the excitement that all thought

*Copyright, i881, by Harry M. Kieffer. All rights reserved.


of work had evidently been given up for that day.
As we formed in line and marched down the main
street toward the river, the sidewalks were every-


where crowded with people-with boys who wore
red-white-and-blue neck-ties, and boys who wore
fatigue-caps, with girls who carried flags, and girls
who carried flowers, with women who waved their
kerchiefs, and old men who waved their walking-
sticks, while here and there, as we passed along,
at windows and door-ways, were faces red with long
weeping, for Johnny was off to the war, and may be
mother and sisters and sweetheart would never,
never see him again.
Drawn up in line before the station, we awaited
the train. There was scarcely a man, woman, or
child in that great crowd around us but had
to press up for a last shake of the hand, a last
good-bye, and a last God bless you, boys! And
so, amid cheering and hand-shaking, and flag-

waving, and band-playing, the train at last came
thundering in, and we were off, with the "Star-
Spangled Banner" sounding fainter and farther
away, until it was drowned and lost
to the ear in the noise of the swiftly
rushing train.
For myself, however, the last
good-bye had not yet been said,
for I had been away from home at
school, and was to leave the train
at a way station, some miles down
the road, and walk out to my home
I' in the country, and say good-bye
i to the folks at home,--and that was
the hardest part of it all, for good-
.i bye then might be good-bye forever.
-/ If anybody at home had been
looking out of door or window that
hot August afternoon, more than
nineteen years ago, he would have
seen, coming down the dusty road,
a slender lad, with a bundle slung
over his shoulder, and-but nobody
was looking down the road-no-
body was in sight. Even Rollo, the
dog, my old play-fellow, was asleep
somewhere in the shade, and all
was sultry, hot, and still. Leaping
lightly over the fence, by the spring
/ at the foot of the hill, I took a cool
S., draught of water, and looked up at
Sthe great red farm-house above,
with a throbbing heart, for that was
Home, and many a sad good-bye
had there to be said, and said again,
before I could get off to the war !
Long years have passed since
then, but never have I forgotten
how pale the faces of Mother and
sisters became when, entering the
room where they were at work, and
throwing off my bundle, in reply to their ques-
tion, "Why, Harry! where did you come from ?"
I answered, I come from school, and I 'm off for
the war! You may well believe there was an
exciting time of it in the dining-room of that old
red farm-house then., In the midst of the excite-
ment, Father came in from the field, and greeted
me with, "Why, my boy, where did you come
from ? to which there was but the one answer,
"Come from school, and off for the war !"
Nonsense; I can't let you go I thought you
had given up all idea of that. What would they
do with a mere boy like you ? Why, you 'd be only
a bill of expense to the Government. Dreadful
thing to make me all this trouble "
But I began to reason full stoutly with poor





Father. I reminded him, first of all, that I would
not go without his consent; that in two years, and
perhaps in less, I might be drafted and sent amongst
men unknown to me, while here was a company
commanded by my own school-teacher, and com-
posed of acquaintances who would look after me;
that I was unfit for study or work while this fever
was on me, and so on, till I saw his resolution
begin to give way, as he lit his pipe and walked
down to the spring to think the matter over.
"If Harry is to go, Father," Mother says,
"had n't I better run up to the store and get some
woolens, and we '11 make the boy an outfit of
shirts yet to-night ? "
Well,-yes; I guess you had better do so."
But when he sees Mother stepping past the gate
on her way, he halts her with -
"Stop! That boy can't go! I can't give him
up! "
And shortly after, he tells her that she "had bet-

' *_ -- .i .-- 1 -- 1


a-~ ~"t

f l r -~.
,- ._ I-- . ,

- G ,FO _


ter be after getting that woolen stuff for shirts,"
and again he stops her at the gate with--
"Dreadful boy! Why will he make me all
this trouble ? I can not let my boy go!"
But at last, and somehow, Mother gets off. The
VOL. IX.-5.

sewing-machine is going most of the night, and
my thoughts are as busy as it is, until far into the
morning, with all that is before me that I have
never seen-and all that is behind me that I may
never see again.
Let me pass over the trying good-bye the next
morning, for Joe is ready with the carriage to
take Father and me to the station, and we are
soon on the cars, steaming away toward the great
camp, whither the company already has gone.
"See, Harry, there is your camp." And look-
ing out of the car-window, across the river, I
catch, through the tall tree-tops, as we rush
along, glimpses of my first camp,-acres and
acres of canvas, stretching away into the dim
and dusty distance, occupied, as I shall soon
find, by some ten or twenty thousand soldiers,
coming and going continually, marching and
counter-marching until they have ground the soil
into the driest and deepest dust I ever saw.
I shall never forget my first
impressions of camp-life as
S Father and I passed the sentry
at the gate. They were any-
"'', .. thing but pleasant, and I could
not but agree with the remark
of my father, that "the life
of a soldier must be a hard
S life, indeed." For, as we en-
tered that great camp, I looked
into an A tent, the front flap
of which was thrown back,
and saw enough to make me
sick of the housekeeping of a
soldier. There was nothing
in that tent but dirt and dis-
order, pans and kettles, tin
Cups and cracker boxes, forks
S and bayonet scabbards, greasy
pork and broken hard-tack in
utter confusion, and over all
and everywhere that insuffer-
-!.. ,1it i'r.: vard, when we got into the field,
.... .::... il-' :' ~ mer-time were models of cleanli-
n. .i i ..I ,i ,-rer models of comfort, as far at
I.,: -i .0.1- L.room could make them so, but
rli- ri,. r:,, -!.p I ever saw, was so abominable,
ri-,..t I !i.. .. 'r.:i wondered it did not frighten the
I', :. I ,., r ,.,1" !' ,1i
rE.n, .......:: i.:-.:Lg the men of the company, all
this was soon forgotten. We had supper-hard-
tack and soft bread, boiled pork, and strong coffee
(in tin cups), fare that Father thought one could
live on right well, I guess," and then the boys came
around and begged Father to let me go; "they
would take care of Harry; never you fear for that,"
and so helped on my cause that that night, about


eleven o'clock, when we were in the railroad sta-
tion together, on the way home, Father said:
Now, Harry, my boy, you are not enlisted yet;
I am going home on this train; you can go home
with me now, or go with the boys. Which will
you do ? "
To which the answer came quickly enough; too
quickly and too eagerly, I have often since thought,
for a father's heart to bear it well:
"Papa, I '11 go with the boys "
"Well, then, good-bye, my boy! and may God
bless you and bring you safely back to me again!"
The whistle blew "off brakes," the car door
closed on Father, and I did not see him again for
three long, long years !
Often and often as I have thought over these
things since, I have never been able to come to any
other conclusion than this: that it was the war
fever" that carried me off, and that made poor
Father let me go. For that war fever" was a
terrible malady in those days. Once you were
taken with it, you had a very fire in the bones
until your name was down on the enlistment-roll.
There was Andy, for example, afterward my mess-
mate. He was on his way to school the very
morning the company was leaving the village,
with no idea of going along, but seeing this, that,
and the other acquaintance in line, what did he
do but run across the street to an undertaker's
shop, cram his school-books through the broken
window, take his place in line, and march off with
the boys without so much as saying good-bye to
the folks at home And he did not see his Casar
and Greek grammar again for three years.
I should like to tell something about the life we
led in that camp; how we ate and slept and drilled,
but as much more interesting matters await us, we
must pass over our life here very briefly. I open
the first of my three little black books, and read:
"Sept. 2d.-Received part of our uniforms, and
I got a new drum. Had a trial at double-quick
this evening till we were all out of breath, after
which thirty-five of our men were detailed as camp
guard for the first time. They stand guard two
hours out of every six.
"Sept. 3d.-Slept soundly last night on the
ground, although the cold was severe. Have pur-
chased an India rubber blanket-' gum' blanket,
we called it, to keep off the dampness. To-day,
were mustered into service. We were all drawn
up in line. Every man raised his right hand,
while an officer recited the oath. It took only a
few minutes, but when it was over one of the boys
exclaimed: 'Now, fellows, I 'd like to see any
man go home if he dare. We belong to Uncle
Sam, now.' "
Of the one thousand men drawn up in line there

that day, some lived to come back three years
later and be drawn up in line again, almost on that
identical spot, and how many do you think there
were? No more than one hundred and fifty.



AFTER two weeks in that miserable camp at the
State capital, we were ordered to Washington, and
into Washington, accordingly, one sultry Septem-
ber morning, we marched, after a day and a night
in the cars on the way thither. Quite proud we
felt, you may be sure;, as we tramped up Pennsyl-
vania Avenue, with our new silk flags flying, the
fifes playing Dixie," and we ten little drummer-
boys pounding away, awkwardly enough, no dotbt,
under the lead of a white-haired old man, who had
beaten his drum nearly fifty years before under
Wellington, at the battle of Waterloo. We were





green, raw troops, as anybody could tell at a glance;
for we were fair-faced yet, and carried enormous
knapsacks. I remember passing some old troops
somewhere near Fourteenth street, and being pain-
fully conscious of the difference between them and
us. They, I observed, had no knapsacks; a gum
blanket, twisted into a roll and slung carelessly over
the shoulder, was all the luggage they carried.
Dark, swarthy, sinewy men they were, with torn
shoes and faded uniforms, but with an air of self-
possession and endurance that came only of experi-
ence and hardship. They smiled on us as we
passed by,-a grim smile of half pity and half con-
tempt-just as we in our turn learned to smile on
other new troops a year or two later.
By some unpardonable mistake, instead of get-
ting into camp forthwith on the outskirts of the
city, whither we had been ordered for duty at the
present, we were marched far out into the country
under a merciless sun, that soon scorched all the
endurance out of me. It was dusty, it was hot,
there was no water, my knapsack weighed a ton.
So that when, after marching some seven miles,
our orders were countermanded, and we were
ordered back to the city again, I thought it impos-
sible I ever should reach it. My feet moved
mechanically, everything along the road was in a
misty whirl, and when at night-fall Andy helped me
into the barracks near the Capitol from which we
had started in the morning, I threw myself, or
rather, perhaps, fell, on the hard floor, and was
soon so soundly asleep that Andy could not rouse
me for my cup of coffee and ration of bread.
I have an indistinct recollection of being taken
away next morning in an ambulance to some hos-
pital, and being put into a clean white cot. After
which, for days, all consciousness left me, and all
was blank before me, save only that in misty inter-
vals I saw the kind faces and heard the subdued
voices of Sisters of Mercy; voices that spoke to me
from far away, and hands that reached out to me
from the other side of an impassable gulf.
Nursed by their tender care back to returning
strength, no sooner was I able to stand on my feet
once more than, against their solemn protest, I asked
for my knapsack and drum, and insisted on setting
out forthwith in quest of my regiment, which I
found had meanwhile been scattered by companies
about the city, my own company and another hav-
ing been assigned to duty at Soldiers' Home,"
the President's summer residence. Although it was
but a distance of three miles or thereabouts, and
although I started out in search of Soldiers'
Home" at noon, so conflicting were the directions
given me by the various persons of whom I asked
the road, that it was night-fall before I reached it.
Coming then at the hour of dusk to a gate-way

leading apparently into some park or pleasure-
ground, and being informed by the porter at the
gate that this was Soldiers' Home," I walked
about among the trees in the growing darkness, in
search of the camp of Company D, when, just as
I had crossed a fence, a challenge rang out:
"Halt! Who goes there? "
"A friend."
Advance, friend, and give the countersign "
Hello, Ellis," said I, peering through the
bushes, "is that you?"
"That is n't the countersign, friend. You 'd
better give the countersign, or you 're a dead
Saying which, Ellis sprang back in true Zouave
style, with his bayonet fixed and ready for a lunge
at me.
"Now, Ellis," said I, "you know me just as
well as I know myself, and you know I have n't the
countersign, and if you 're going to kill me, why,
don't stand there crouching like a cat ready to
spring on a mouse, but up and at it like a man.
Don't keep me here in such dreadful suspense."
Well, friend without the countersign, I '11 call
up the corporal, and he may kill you-you 're a
dead man, any way." Then he sang out:
Corporal of the Guard, post number three "
From post to post it rang along the line, now
shrill and high, now deep and low: Corporal of
the Guard, post number three " Corporal of
the Guard, post number three !"
Upon which up comes the corporal of the
guard on a full trot, with his gun at a right-shoul-
der-shift, and saying:
"Well, what 's up?"
"Man trying to break my guard."
Where is he ? "
Why, there, beside that bush."
"Come along, you there; you '11 be shot for a
spy to-morrow morning at nine o'clock."
"All right, Mr. Corporal, I 'm ready."
Now, all this was fine sport; for the corporal
and Ellis were both of my company, and knew
me quite as well as I knew them, but they were
bent on having a little fun at my expense, and the
corporal had marched me off some distance
toward head-quarters beyond the ravine, when
again the call rang along the line:
Corporal of the Guard, post number three "
Corporal of the Guard, post number three! "
Back the corporal trotted me to Ellis.
Well, what in the mischief's up now?"
"Another fellow trying to break my guard,
Well, where is he ? Trot him out; we '11 have
a grand execution in the morning. The more the
merrier, you know, and 'long live the Union!'"



I 'm sorry, Corporal, but the fact is I killed
this chap myself. I caught him trying to climb
over the gate there, and he would n't stop nor give
the countersign, and so I up and at him, and ran
my bayonet through him, and there he is! "
And sure enough, there he was,-a big fat
All right, Ellis; you 're a brave soldier. I '11
speak to the colonel about this, and you shall have
two stripes on your sleeve one of these days."
And so, with the 'possum by the tail and me by
the shoulder, he marched us off to head-quarters,
where, the 'possum being thrown down on the
ground, and I handed over to the tender mercies
of the captain, it was ordered that:
"This young man should be taken down to
Andy's tent, and a supper cooked, and a bed made
for him there; and that henceforth and hereafter,
he should beat reveille at daybreak, retreat at
sundown, tattoo at nine P. M., and lights out a
half-hour later."
Nothing, however, was said about the execution
of spies in the morning, although it was duly or-
dained that the 'possum, poor thing, should be
roasted on the morrow.
Never was there a more pleasant camp than ours,
there on that green hill-side across the ravine from
the President's summer residence. We had light
guard duty to do, but that of a kind we esteemed a
most high honor, for it was no less than that of
being special guards for President Lincoln. But the
good President, we were told, although he loved
his soldiers as his own children, did not like being
guarded. Often did I see him enter his carriage
before the hour appointed for his morning depart-
ure for the White House, and drive away in haste,
as if to escape from the irksome escort of a dozen
cavalry-men, whose duty it was to guard his car-
riage between our camp and the city. Then
when the escort rode up to the door, some ten or
fifteen minutes later, and found that the carriage
had already gone, was n't there a clattering of hoofs
and arattling of scabbards as they dashed out past
the gate and down the road to overtake the great
and good President, in whose heart was charity
for all, and malice toward none."
Boy as I was, I could not but notice how pale
and haggard the President looked as he entered
his carriage in the morning, or stepped down from
it in the evening after a weary day's work in the
city; and no wonder, either, for those September
days of 1862 were the dark, perhaps the darkest,
days of the war. Many a mark of favor and kind-
ness did we receive from the President's family.
Delicacies, such as we were strangers to then, and
would be for a long time to come, found their way
from Mrs. Lincoln's hand to our camp on the

green hill-side; while little Tad, the President's
son, was a great favorite with the boys, fond of the
camp, and delighted with the drill.
One night, when all but the guards on their
posts were wrapped in great-coats and sound
asleep in the tents, I felt some one shake me
roughly by the shoulder, and call:
Harry Harry Get up quick and beat the
long roll; we 're going to be attacked. Quick,
now! "
Groping about in the dark for my drum and
sticks, I stepped out into the company street, and
beat the loud alarm, which, waking the echoes,
brought the boys out of their tents in double-quick
time, and set the whole camp in an uproar.
What's up, fellows? "
"Fall in, Company D shouted tlhe orderly.
"Fall in, men," shouted the captain, "we 're
going to be attacked at once "
Amid the confusion of so sudden a summons at
midnight, there was some' lively scrambling for
guns, bayonets, cartridge-boxes, and clothes.
I say, Bill, you 've got my coat on "
"Where's my cap?"
Andy, you scamp, you 've got my shoes "
"Fall in, men, quick; no time to look after
shoes now. Take your arms and fall in."
And so, some shoeless, others hatless, and all
only half dressed, we form in line and are marched
out and down the road at double-quick for a mile;
then halt; pickets are thrown out; an advance of
the whole line through the woods, among tangled
bushes and briers, and through marshes, until, as
the first early streaks of dawn are shooting up in
the eastern sky, orders are countermanded, and
we march back to camp, to find- that the whole
thing was a ruse, planned by some of the offi-
cers for the purpose of testing our readiness for
work at any hour. After that, we slept with our
shoes on.
But poor old Jerry Black,-a man who should
never have.enlisted, for he was as afraid of a gun
as Robinson Crusoe's man Friday,-poor old Jerry
was the butt for many a joke the next day. For,
amid the night's confusion, and in the immediate
prospect, as he supposed, of a deadly encounter
with the enemy, so alarmed did he become that
he at once fell to- praying Out of considera-
tion for his years and piety, the captain had per-
mitted him to remain behind as a guard for the
camp in our absence, in which capacity he did
excellent service, excellent service But oh, when
we sat about our fires the next morning, frying our
steaks and cooking our coffee, poor Jerry was the
butt of all the fun, and was cruelly described by
the wag of the company as the man that had a
brave heart, but a most cowardly pair of legs "






WELL, fellows, I tell you what! I 've heard
a good deal about the balmy breezes and sunny
skies of Old Virginny, but if this is a specimen of
the sort of weather they have in these parts, I, for
one, move we right-about-face and march home."
So saying, Phil Hammer got up from under the
scrub-pine, where he had made his bed for the

inland in the direction of Falmouth, and had
halted and camped for the night in a thick under-
growth of scrub-pine and cedar. The day of our
landing was remarkably fair. The skies were so
bright, the air was so soft and balmy, that we were
rejoiced to find what a pleasant country it was we
were getting into, to be sure; but the next morn-
ing, when we drummer-boys woke the men with
our loud reveille, we were all of Phil's opinion,
that the sunny skies and balmy breezes of this new
land were all a miserable fiction. For, as man after


night, shaking the snow from his blanket and the
cape of his overcoat, while a loud "Ha ha!" and
an oft-repeated What do you think of this, boys? "
rang along the hill-side on which we had found our
first camping-place on Old Virginia's Shore."
The weather had played us a most deceptive
and unpleasant trick. We had landed the day
before, as my journal says, at Belle Plains, at a
place called Platt's Landing," having been brought
down from Washington on the steamer Louis-
iana"; had marched some three or four miles

man opened his eyes at the loud roll of our drums,
and the shout of the orderly: Fall in, Company
D, for roll-call!" he found himself covered with
four inches of snow, and more coming down. Fort-
unately, the bushes had afforded us some protec-
tion; they were so numerous and so thick that one
could scarcely see twenty rods ahead of him, and
with their great overhanging branches had kindly
kept the falling snow out of our faces at least, while
we slept.
And now began a busy time. We were to





build winter quarters-a work for which we were
but poorly prepared, either by nature or by circum-
stance. Take any body of men out of civilized
life, put them into the woods to shift for them-
selves, and they are generally as helpless as chil-
dren. As for ourselves, we were indeed Babes
in the Wood." At least half the regiment knew
nothing of wood-craft, having never beei accus-
tomed to the use of the ax. It was a laughable
sight to see some of the men from the city try
to cut down a tree! Besides, we were poorly
equipped. Axes were scarce, and worth almost
their weight in gold. We had no "shelter tents."
Most of us had poncho blankets; that is to say,
a piece of oil-cloth about five feet by four, with a
slit in the middle. But we found our ponchos
very poor coverings for our cabins; for the rain just
would run down through that unfortunate hole in
the middle; and then, too, the men needed their
oil-cloths when they went on picket, for which pur-
pose they had been particularly intended. This
circumstance gave rise to frequent discussion that
day: whether to use the poncho as a covering for
the cabin, and get soaked on picket, or save the
poncho for picket, and cover the cabin with brush-
wood and clay ? Some messes* chose the one alter-
native, others the other; and as the result of this
preference, together with our ignorance of wood-
craft and the scarcity of axes, we produced on that
hill-side the oddest looking winter quarters a regi-
menteverbuilt! Such an agglomeration of cabins
was never seen before nor since. I am positive no
two cabins on all that hill-side had the slightest
resemblance to each other.
There, for instance, was a mess over in Company
A, composed of men from the city. They had one
kind of cabin, an immense square structure of
pine logs, about seven feet high, and covered over
the top, first with brush-wood and then coated
so heavily with clay that I am certain the roof
must have been two feet thick at the least. It was
hardly finished before some wag had nicknamed
it "Fortress Monroe."
Then, there was Ike Sankey, of our own com-
pany; he invented another style of architecture,
or perhaps I should rather say, he borrowed it from
the Indians. Ike would have none of your flat-
roofed concerns; he would build a wigwam. And
so, marking out a huge circle, in the center of
which he erected a pole, and around the pole a
great number of smaller poles, with one end on
the circle and the other end meeting in the com-
mon apex, covering this with brush and the brush
with clay, he made for himself a house that was
quite warm, indeed, but one so fearfully gloomy
that within it was as dark at noon as at midnight.
Ominous sounds came afterward from the dark

recesses of "The Wigwam"; for we were a
"skirmish regiment," and Ike was our bugler,
and the way he tooted all day long, Deploy to
the right and left," "Rally by fours," and "Rally
by platoons," was suggestive of things yet to come.
Then, there was my own tent or cabin, if indeed
I may dignify it with the name of either; for it was
a cross between a house and a cave. Andy and I
thought we would follow the advice of the Irish-
man, who in order to raise his roof higher, dug his
cellar deeper. We resolved to dig down some
three feet; "and then, Harry, we 'll log her up
about two feet high, cover her with ponchos,
and we 'll have the finest cabin in the row It
took us about three days to accomplish so stupen-
dous an undertaking, during which time we slept
at night under the bushes as best we could, and
when our work was done, we moved in with great
satisfaction. I remember the door of our house
was a mystery to all visitors, as, indeed, it was to
ourselves until we got the hang of it," as Andy
said. It was a hole about two feet square, cut
through one end of the log part of the cabin,
and through it you had to crawl as best you could.
If you put one leg in first, then the head, and then
drew in the other leg after you, you were all right;
but if, as visitors generally did, you put in your
head first, you were obliged to crawl in on all fours.
in a most ungraceful and undignified fashion.
That was a queer-looking camp all through. If
you went up to the top of the hill, where the
colonel had his quarters, and looked down, a
strange sight met your eyes. By the time the
next winter came, however, we had learned how to
swing an ax, and we built ourselves winter quarters
that reflected no little credit on our skill as experi-
'enced woodsmen. The last cabin we built-it was
down in front of Petersburg-was a model of com-
fort and convenience; ten feet long by six wide, and
five high, made of clean pine logs straight as an
arrow, and covered with shelter tents; a chimney
at one end, and a comfortable bunk at the other;
the inside walls covered with clean oat-bags, and.
the gable ends papered with pictures cut from.
illustrated papers; a mantel-piece, a table, a stool;
and we were putting down a floor of pine boards,
too, one day toward the close of winter, when
the surgeon came by, and looking in, said:
"No time to drive nails now, boys; we have
orders to move But Andy said:
"Pound away, Harry, pound away; we '11 see-
how it looks, anyhow, before we go "
I remember an amusing occurrence in connection
with the building of our winter quarters. I had
gone over to see some of the boys of our company
one evening, and found they had "logged up"
their tent about four feet high, and stretched a.

*A "mess" is a number of men who eat together.




poncho over it to keep the snow out, and were sit-
ting before a fire they had built in a chimney-
place at one end. The chimney was built up only
as high as the log walls reached, the intention
being to "cat-stick and daub" it afterward to a
sufficient height. The mess had just got a box
from home, and some one had hung nearly two
yards of sausage on a stick across the top of the
chimney, to smoke." And there, on a log rolled
up in front of the fire, I found Jimmy Lane and
Sam Reed sitting smoking their pipes, and glanc-
ing up the chimney between whiffs every now and
then, to see that the sausage was safe. Sitting
down between them, I watched the cheery glow of
the fire, and we fell to talking, now about the jolly
times they were having at home at the holiday sea-
son, and again about the progress of our cabin-
building, while every now and then Jimmy would
peep up the chimney on one side, and shortly
after, Sam would squint up on the other. After
sitting thus for half an hour or so, all of a sudden,
Sam, looking up the chimney, jumped off the log,
clapped his hands together and shouted:
"Jim, it's gone "
Gone it was; and you might as well look for
a needle in a hay-stack as search for two yards of
sausage among troops building winter quarters on
short rations !
One evening Andy and I were going to have
a feast, consisting in the main, of a huge dish
of apple-fritters. We bought the flour and the
apples of the sutler at enormous figures, for we
were so tired of the endless monotony of bacon,
beef, and bean-soup, that we were bent on having a
glorious supper, cost or no cost. We had a rather
small chimney-place, in which Andy was super-
intending the heating of a mess-pan half full of
lard, while I was busying myself with the flour,
dough, and apples, when, as ill-luck would have
it, the lard took fire and flamed up the chimney
with a roar, and a blaze so bright that it illumi-
nated the whole camp from end to end. Unfortu-

nately, too, for us, four of our companies had been
recruited in the city, and most of them had been in
the volunteer fire department, in which service they
had gained an experience, useful enough to them
on the present occasion, but most disastrous to us.
No sooner was the bright blaze seen pouring high
out of the chimney-top of our modest little cabin,
than at least a half-dozen fire companies were on
the instant organized for the emergency. The
"Humane," the "Fairmount," the "Good-will,"
with their imaginary engines and hose-carriages,
came dashing down our company street, with
shouts, and yells, and cheers. It was but the
work of a moment to attach the imaginary hose
to imaginary plugs, plant imaginary ladders, tear
down the chimney and demolish the roof, amid a
flood of sparks, and to the intense delight of the
firemen, but to our utter consternation and grief.
It took us days to repair the damage, and we went
to bed with some of our neighbors, after a scant
supper of hard-tack and coffee.
How did we spend our time in winter quarters,
do you ask? Well, there was always enough to
do, you may be sure, and often it was work of the
very hardest sort. Two days in the week the
regiment went out on picket, and while there got
but little sleep and suffered much from exposure.
When they were not on picket, all the men not
needed for camp guard had to drill. It was nothing
but drill, drill, drill: company drill, regimental
drill, brigade drill, and once even division drill.
Our regiment, as I have said, was a skirmish regi-
ment, and the skirmish-drill is no light work, let
me tell you. Many an evening the men came in
more dead than alive after skirmishing over the
country for miles around, all the afternoon. Re-
veille and roll-call at five o'clock in the morning,
guard mount at nine, company drill from ten to
twelve, regimental drill from two to four, dress-
parade at five, tattoo and lights out at nine
at night, with continual practice on the drum
for us drummer-boys-so our time passed away.
continued )

-.- 2**- --l "



By the fence, a-mid the clo-ver,
Stand brave Bob and blithe-some Bess;
He peeps up, and she peeps o-ver.
What is the se-cret? Who can guess?




As I WENT down to Lon-don town,
The cit-y for to see,
My lit-tie lad, all brave-ly clad,
Came step-ping up to me.
" Good-mor-row, pret-ty sir! said I.
The same to you!" said he.
I curt-sied low, and he did bow,
And doffed his hat and feath-er.
Said I: "The day is fair and gay."
Said he: "'T is charm-ing weath-er.
I, too, go down to Lon-don town,-
Shall we not go to-geth-er? "
A-way we went, on pleas-ure bent,
The cit-y we did see,
And when the sun was sink-ing down,
Carme home right mer-ri-ly.
" It was a pleas-ant day!" said I.
We '11 go a-gain !" said he.



J" .. I' ' -PU'LPIT,,


BLESS me How bleak November must be in
books Why, they say there that it is as gloomy,
windy, dreary a season as one can well stand; that
the earth is dead, as it were, and the sea in such a
rage about one thing and another that it is as
much as one's life is worth to venture upon it !
Well, all this may be so, but your Jack doubts
it, and so do Deacon Green and the dear Little
School-ma'am. You see, we believe in November.
It's a good honest month, November is. It does
n't put on any spring airs, nor freeze you with stiff
winter manners, but just shakes its crisp yellow
leaves at you (the fewer the merrier) and crackles
its stubble under your feet and meets you in good
hearty fashion, ready at any time for a romp. If
you light a fire in its honor, up goes the smoke!
out fly the sparks! and ho for a roaring blaze!
If you go out on the sea to find it, there it is-
strong, brave, and in dead earnest, every wave
alive, and a gale in every breath. And what a sun
it has none of your scorchers, but a clean-cut cool
flood of life and light. Then its stars-how they
do sparkle! and all the while if any sturdy little
outdoor thing wants to grow, and really means
business, there is sure to be a warmish little corner
for it somewhere.
Look out for November, my little lads and ladies !
Be as honest, crisp, and bright as itself when it
shakes hands with you-and give it Jack's best
Now let us take up the subject of

YOUR Jack can not say that he ever actually
heard it himself, but it often has seemed to him
that the Sun must have something to say which is
very pleasant to hear; else why the answer of joy
that bubbles up from the meadows and trills from

the woods, when he gets up bright and rosy of a
morning? I'm told, though, that he has a real
voice, and that a Mr. Graham Bell has caught its
And long ago, when the world was a good deal
younger and, perhaps, quicker-eared than it is
now, a man named Pythagoras said: "The stars
in moving produce a heavenly melody which they
who are wise may hear"; and that melody he
called the music of the spheres."
Perhaps Pythagoras was right; but, even if he was
not, why here in our day, as the dear Little School-
ma'am tells me, stands Mr. Graham Bell, and in
his hand is a piece of rounded glass called a lens;
this he sets up so that it will gather and send on
their way side by side some of those parts of a sun-
beam that are called dark rays,"-all you young-
sters who have learned about the spectroscope will
know what they are,-these dark rays he lets fall
upon the flat surface of a delicate telephone, and
immediately a musical note sounds forth; and that
is one tone of the great Sun's voice !
So, then, perhaps there may be literal truth as
well as sublime poetry in the solemn phrase which
I once heard Deacon Green chanting over and
over to himself:
"The Morning Stars sang together
And all the Sons of God shouted for joy."

TALKING of the Sun's Voice and those who
answer it reminds me that, according to the Little
School-ma'am and, doubtless, other authorities,
there was in ancient Egypt talk of a certain stone
statue of Memnon, seated, gazing eastward across
the Nile. This statue was said to give forth a
musical note as soon as the sun shone upon it in
the morning, and it sang all day long; but when
the sun sank in the west, the stone sent up a wail-
ing cry, as if in farewell to the dying light.
Now was n't this a noble old statue ? ST. NICH-
OLAS* has told you all about this appreciative
stone gentleman, but I thought it well, just here, to
call him to mind.

YOUR Jack lately overheard Deacon Green
telling the Little School-ma'am that, one day last
spring, when he was strolling with a friend in a
beautiful Connecticut valley, two white crows and
two black ones flew over his head in company;
and he added that he had seen a white blackbird,
but never until then had he seen white crows.
A wood-wanderer down in Florida sends word of
another queer crow. Says he: "I had tripped,
and bumped my forehead against a tree, and was
stooping over a quiet pool to examine my hurt in
the watery mirror, when a harsh, unfeeling voice
behind me cried, Haw, haw !' It was just as if a
man had laughed in derision, and I turned quickly,
feeling a little out of temper at what I thought the
rudeness of a perfect stranger. Looking up, I saw
on a branch not far away a black crow, sitting as
gravely as a judge. Just then his bill opened, and

[* See ST. NICHOLAS for October, 1874, page 695.-ED.]




out of it sounded the hoarse 'Haw, haw!' again.
Of course that set me laughing, and away flew
the 'perfect stranger,' no doubt deeply shocked at
my want of politeness! "


DEAR JACK: Near my home is a field where the corn stands in
rows like the rank and file of an army; and I love to watch it as I
lie and swing in my hammock beneath the trees. One warm but
damp summer-night, I lay there wide awake and quite still, and the
moonlight fell upon me from between the leaves without flickering,
for there was not a sigh of wind to stir them: even the plumes and
tassels in the neighboring corn-army were quiet. But all at once there
came a shy little sound, then another, and several more, and each
was like the sudden tearing of a piece of soft paper, low but distinct.
And all the while the air was motionless. And do you know, dear
Jack, I really believe that then and there I actually heard the corn
grow, and that those little sounds were made by the bursting of the
sheaths of its buds? Of course, I know anybody might say:
"Pshaw The idea! you
must have been dreaming!"
But I was wide awake, and I
do not think I was mistaken.-
Yours truly, AMICE G.

Perhaps Amice did
hear in the great still-
ness the breaking of
the sheaths and the
pushing out of the
budding growths. But,
any way, Jack has just
heard that, by applying
a new-fangled electrical
affair, men have made
the growing of a plant
show its progress to the
eye, by the motion-of a
pointer around a dial,
and have compelled it
to make itself heard at
short intervals by the
regular tinkle of a bell!
What next?


Now and then on sum-
mer days some beauti-
ful member of the Scale
Wing tribe pays a flying
visit to your Jack's neigh-
borhood. And right
pleasant it is to see him
hover a moment in the
air,-and alight on some
sweet blossom, slowly
opening and folding up -
his mottled wings,- and
next floating away in the -'-
sunshine, hither and
thither, as light and free
as if he were a sprite from
Fairy-land. Well, my
dears, here is a picture
of some pretty creatures of this kind, and here,
too, is the true story about them:
During the summer a party of grown-ups were
camping-out somewhere in Wisconsin, and one
day they saw at a little distance a tree-branch with

what seemed to be its own white blossoms having a
rare frolic with the wind; for they were blowing off,
and blowing on again, fluttering up and down, and
circling about, in a very frisky way. But on going
close up it was found that what had appeared to be
flying flowers really were a score or more of butter-
flies clustering around the branch,-a sort of sur-
prise party of white-winged beauties.
Your Jack has heard, too, that in Monterey,
California, there are three pine-trees called the
Butterfly trees because for at least twelve years
they have been covered almost all the time with
live butterflies. The trees measure about eighteen
inches through the trunk, and they bear quite as
many butterflies as they have leaves.
It may be that these particular trees give out an

odor or yield a sap which the butterflies like very
much; but my birds have not told me yet about
this, and perhaps one of you youngsters will be the
first to explain to me why butterflies are attracted
in such numbers to these curious perching-places.


,N' ,

:-Z W-v c'
*', *i !- &^ s '>*:^l. '

.*^ A'^^ ^ ^

-----~ --~_ I -- ----

- -I ---I


(An Operetta for the Children.)

Author of The Land of Nod."

The Lord of the Magic Pen.
Mr. Fact, and Prince Fable: -His Councilors.
Fancy Bright, and High Desire:--Petitioners on behalf of the
Columbus, Joan of Arc, and Washington:- Followers of Fact.
Jack the Giant-Killer, Cinderella, and Robinson Crusoe:- Followers
of Fable.
The Gnome Man. Puck, the Pen's Messenger.
The Herald from Gnome Man's Land.
Dolly, Dot, and Dick:-The children's, delegates.
The Musical Frolics. The Page of the Pen.
The Standard-Bearer. The Elephant Driver.
The Elephant.

Half of this operetta is given in this number of ST. NICHOLAS, so
that all who wish to study it for representation may take up the
first part of it now. The concluding portion will be given next
month, in ampl ie ime forrearation for the holidays.

The design of this operetta is to suggest that under all its song
and show lurks a meaning, to the effect that children's stories, to be
effective, must combine all the elements of interest and fancy, of fact
and fable. The costumes here set down can be added to or departed
from according to facilities at hand or the taste of the managers. The
construction and management of the mechanical effects introduced,
viz., the Elephant and the Gnome Man, are known to all, and
can be undertaken by supple and willing young men. The full
effect of the presentation will be found to lie in the strength and
training of the Chorus of Frolics, which should be as large as prac-
ticable (not less than six; and fifteen if possible), in the accuracy of
movement, and in the proper attention to stage arrangements and
details. The bell accompaniment to the choruses, the proper construc-
tion of the Gnome Man (or dwarf), the elephant and his car, and
the artistic arrangements of the tableaux, require most care, but the
result will amply repay the labor expended.

The Lord of the Pen. Student's gown of black silk; blouse of

worn in English colleges, surmounted with imita-
tion quill-pen in silver; gray beard, scepter, car-
dinal stockings, and slippers.
Mr. Fact. A straight-cut modern black suit,
high black silk hat, cane and eyeglasses.
Prince Fable. Prince's suit of pale blue, white,
and silver; pale blue stockings, slippers, cap
with white plume; cloak to match.
Fancy Bright. Pink tarletan dress, with silver
HT OF HH stars and bands; coronet, with silver star; pink
HAT OF HIGH stockings.
DESIRE.,, stockings.
High Desire. A tall boy, with high conical or
Tyrolean hat. Black, gold, and cardinal court dress; cloak of same.
The Page of the
Pen. Cardinal
blouse and short
cloak, with silver
braid; skull cap,
same colors; car-
dinal stockings.
He bears the Mag-
ic Pen on a large CUSHION AND MAGIC PEN.
cushion of black or crimson.
Columbus. Underdress of lavender silesia, puffed sleeves; over-
dress: purple, trimmed with gold braid ; lavender stockings; som-

brero, with lavender or white plumes. (See picture on any five-dollar
Joan ofArc. See picture in Tuckey's Joan of Arc (Putnam, pub-
lisher); short purple dress, purple cap, with white plumes; armor
of silver and gold.
George Washington. Continental suit (see picture in Lossing's


Field-Book of the Revolution); sword; blue coat, buff trimmings;
buff pants, lace ruffles; three-cornered cap, black stockings, buckles
on shoes.
Jack the Giant-Killer. Blouse of green and buff, red sash, long
gray stockings, cap, with red plume; sword and bugle.
Cinderella. Fancy ball-
."j ] address of white tarletan, with -
Sgold stars and bands; train; .
veil; band for hair.
Robinson Crusoe. Brown-
GNOME MAN'S CAP. ish Canton flannel blouse or THINKING-CAP.
frock, the rough side out,
sleeveless; pointed cap of same; gray leggins, strapped across
above the knee; belt, with pistol; stuffed or imitation parrot on
shoulder; gun.
The Standard-Bearer. Tight-fitting suit of cream-white, with
bands of gold and cardi-
nal put on,' military style;
cream-white stockings;
buckles; fatigue cap of
same, with cardinal and gold
Dolly, Dot, and Dick. Or-
dinary children's dress, with
ulsters over coats, and hats
or caps on. They each carry
a toy balloon.
Puck. Dressed as a "Dis- li JthA. '
trict messenger-boy." HERALD'S TRUMPET.
The Frolics. Fifteen little
girls dressed in white tarletan, as nearly alike as possible; gauze
wings, white stockings, white shoes; each with chime of bells.





The Elelhant Driver. Moorish dress, white blouse, turban; half- with trimmings of crimson and gold; background, maroon; chair,
bare arms, bracelets; large gold circlets in ears. same.
Tlh Elelhant, constructed as in engraving, p. 156, "Art of Amus- The Gnome Man's Alcove. A curtained dais, which may be set
ing," or as shown in John Spooner's Great Human Menagerie," in a recess; drape with Turkey red.
ST. NICHOLAS for April, 1875. OtherProPferties. The banner should be cardinal, with the device
The Gnome Man, as in illustration, pp. 94 and 95, "Art of Amus- of a quill pen in silver crossing a broken sword, in gold, and is lined
ing." His dress is of dark blue, pale blue, and silver; Phrygian with pale blue. Three toy balloons for Dot, Dolly, and Dick. Two
cap of same. thinking-caps, like polo caps; one of crimson and gold, and one of
The Book Car. Platform fitting over a good-sized child's wagon, blue and silver.
so arranged that it can be drawn by the two boys who represent The Herald. Brown blouse and cloak trimmed with red, blue,
the elephant; the back made in imitation of a book-cover, and gold braid; skull-cap, with same colors; trumpet of cardinal
The Throne and Drapery, Canopy draped with green and silver, and gold, and blue and silver drapery.


SCENE.--Court of the Lord of the Magic Pen. Throne-empty.
Enter the FROLICS, singing:
Music by Anthony Reiff.*
This Symphony before each verse.
A llegretto.

W=_ W_ -

____ *: mp a

c. Here and there, here and there,Thro'the spring day's
2. Where they play, thro' the day, Race we, chase we,
Fine. :: >

= =_


b-l i I .

verdure fair; Here and there, here and there,Thro' the balmy
bright and gay;Where they play,thro' the day,There we dart a-

11 ^^^ -[^^^IE^

summer hours, Troop we all........ to the call
blithe and free; Sing-ing slow ...... soft and low,

\-~---- --------

Of the chil-dren blithe and small. Chasing show'rs,
To the Mag-ic Pen we go. Blithe and free,

- .^.. .

'midst the flow'rsThro' the pleasant summer hours, Troop we
Frolics we,-Childhood's Frolics,blithe and free,Singing slow,

j j
4W j _-_

g f i -i__=_ s .g - -

---'y _--^-c --^ -0 -i_=--=j

-: CODA after
Scres. ===- :;: last verse.

[pleasant to the call Of the children blithe and small.
summerair. Chasing show'rs'midst the flowers,Thro'the soft and low, To the Magic Pen we go.
cross their way. Blithe and free,Frolics we,-Childhood's :: [ Fine.

S Fi ".'> '" D. C. -l ..
F ine. D. C.
5- _ -
,* Copy~-t ..~-e by At~-- on -y re s.

SCopyright, t88I, by Anthony Reiff.


We're Fancy Bright and High Desire!
Reaching, ever, high and higher,
Ours the hands that never tire,
Ours the feet that climb-
As we build for childish pleasure
All the joys that children treasure,
As we set to childish measure.
Life's sweet morning-chime.

They who take are ever yearning,
Still for new delights are burning;
So we hasten,--turning, turning,
From the homes of men.
On the mighty Master calling,
For some childish tale enthralling,
From the store that's ever falling
From the Magic Pen.
Chorus of FROLICS, with bell accompaniment:
Music by Anthony Reiff.*
Allegrefto. Scherzo.

mp Fed. BELLS. *

l --------------------

7. .

j ed. BELLS. *

Tingle, tangle,

tj HL.. R.H.
___ ---t

jingle. Tingle, tangle, tingle,

i Fed. BELLS. *

Jingle, jangle, jingle, Sing the bells,

1 E -=-d- ---

SlawE;3 =- i=E^ = R

ring the bells, Jingle, jangle, jingle.


GIRLS. p Boys GIRLS. i Boys. / ALL.

Jingle, Jangle, Jingle, Jangle, Thus we call our


Master with our bells. Jingle, Jangle, Jingle, Jangle,
-L ______ N

Thus we call, Thus we call our Mas-ter with our

* Copyright, 1881, by Anthony Reiff.



S tingle, Jingle, jangle, jingle,


Sound the bells, sil-ver bells. Jingle, jangle,
I -p:

40J i t -Z


s~-~ - ~~=i~ct~t--F


-~h--------- hh--~=iL-~--A--~------,

11 6 1 --



-n- c L


at -vO

i I




ft 1

I I- .


hail! Prince of the thoughts of men Hail! hail! hail!


bells, Thus we call, Thus we call our Master with our

=,Ei i-F E

0 Master of the Magic Pen,
Great Wizard of the Brain,
Come-as we voice our wishes here!
Come--mighty Master; quick--appear!
Nor let us call in vain:
Now, as we lift our song again,
Come- Master of the Magic Pen!
Chorus of FROLICS, as before.
Enter MASTER OF THE MAGIC PEN, seated on his book-chanot,
drawn by elephant in charge of elephant driver. The MASTERis
preceded by the STANDARD-BEARER, and followed by the PAGE
OF THE PEN (who bears the Pen on a velvet cushion), and by
MR. FACT and PRINCE FABLE, FROLICS salute with chorus,
as follows:
Music by Anthony Reiff.*

Hail! hail I hail! Prince of the thoughts of men!
.nj, /\^ T^


Hail! hail! hail! Lord of the Magic Pen Hail hail!

Who is it calls?
We, gracious Master!-
Fancy Bright and High Desire.
To thee we haste
(Thought flies not faster),
And for thy boundless aid aspire;
Kneel before him.
And bending low,
Before thy feet,
With joy and love
Our sovereign greet.
MASTER descends from car and ascends the throne; standing before
it, says to DRIVER:
Lead off the car.
But wait without until I call, and then
Bear me to other fields afar,
Where countless labors waiting are
Still for the Magic Pen.
DRIVER salams low and leads off elephant-car. STANDARD-BEARER
and PAGE stand at foot of throne; FACT and FABLE stand
higher, at right and left of MASTER.
MASTER, from the throne, standing:
I 'm the Lord of the wonderful Magic Pen;
I 'm the Master of every Tongue,
And my stories old for the children I 've told,
Since the days when the earth was young.

*Copyright, x88r, by Anthony Reiff

0E- E


I I -

bells. Jingle, jingle, jingle, Jingle, jingle, jingle, Merry
tr. tr. tr. tr.

) BELLS, till end of Voice- art.

-hells. BELLS. 8va..................

I ff Ped. BELLS.




=CZ i _LI




-- I

7~(1C. '

I I -*W*

,_jI I-r- --r-F


Far back, far back, in the misty years,
In the young world's morning glory,
My Magic Pen for the children then
Traced many a wondrous story.

And the ages came and the ages fled;
But still has my Pen kept going,
And the children small love the stories all
That fast from the Pen are flowing.

And so, Fancy Bright and High Desire,
You shall have what to give I am able--
With the aid of the Pen and my Councilmen-
My servitors- Fact and Fable.
Seats himself.
I 'm Fancy Bright!
I 'm High Desire!
Mine are the schemings,
Mine the fire,
That still with thought,
Mount high and higher
In every childish brain.
And the children,
Ever yearning,
Now for something
New, are burning.
Some new story,
Ask they now again.

BOTH, kneeling at foot of throne:
Mighty Master,
Give us, give us
Something grand that shall 'outlive us,
That shall stir the hearts of men.
Then should Fancy
And Desire
Never more to lead aspire;
This might lift the children higher
By the mighty Magic Pen.
What ho, my trusty page!
Give quick, give free,
The Magic Pen.

PAGE, kneeling, presents the pen.
Now Fact, now Fable,
Come to me,
And say what shall
This story be,
To touch the children's ken!
Quick, Page,
The thinking-caps for both.

PAGE presents caps to FACT and FABLE.
MASTER continues:
Think Fact-think Fable.
Be not loath
To guide the Magic Pen.

FACT and FABLE place the thinking-caps on their heads, fold their
arms, and pace slowly up and down the stage, lost in thought,
while the FROLICS sing very soft and low this chorus:

Music by Anthony Reiff.*
Moderato con Jisterioso.

Legatiss. p

SSat l Voce.
sotto Voce.

Hush! hush! hush Still all noise and rush,

-g --- --------

Let no sound be heard; Think think! think!


40- 01



Let no mortal wink, Silence, bee and bird.

Ped.." *

Hush! hush! hush! Hush! hush! hush!

As we think a-gain; Hush! hush! hush!

i n

* Copyright, 188I, by Anthony Reiff.





As we think a-gain; Hush! For the Magic

-- --4 -f--,- ---_=-_ -*-- 7--


Pen, For the Mag-ic Pen, For the Mag-ic

S --*- 40= . .-- ---
--r--- I---


MR. FACT, removing cap and bowing to the throne:
I am plain Mr. Fact, always ready to act
In the service of sense or of reason;
Let, 0 Master, the Pen, for the children of men,
Give but facts-which are always in season;
For the truth is the truth and a lie is a lie !
Howsoever in jewels you dress it;
If my speech is too plain, I regret-but in vain
Can I seek for soft words to express it.
Let the little ones know that their duties below
They must do just as conscience impels them;
Let them read every day only facts, I should say,
In the stories that History tells them.
Bows and steps aside to the right.
PRINCE FABLE, removing cap and bowing to throne:
No, Master, no! oh, write not so,
Lest dull and dry thy stories wither;
Bring joy and light, and pictures bright,
And day-dreams tripping hither, thither.
Let elf and fay the livelong day,
Hold fast and rapt the childish fancies;
While far and near, on childish ear,
Fall only sounds of songs and dances.
Age travels fast, youth soon is past.
Let then the Pen, 0 Master, lighten
The children's hour; thou hast the power
Closed ears to ope, dull eyes to brighten.
Let Mr. Fact, who knows not tact
But simple sense, teach rule and table;
The wondrous tale will more avail
Than dull, dry facts-thus counsels Fable.
Bows and steps aside to the left.
MASTER, rising:
" Who shall decide when doctors disagree ?
Thus, the Pen tells me, an old poet said-
If so confusing must your counsels be,
We might as well go home and get to bed;
VOL. IX.-6.

Nothing the children could obtain to-night-
You are both wrong, and yet, you both are right.
Your thinking-caps put on seek further speech!-
Or, stay! that sooner we the end may reach,-
Ho, Fact and Fable, summon quickly here
Some of the tales you 'd send the children dear.
FACT and FABLE, both:
Lift, Frolics all, the song and call,
And bid our thoughts appear.
Come, stories old, so often told,
Come to the Master here.
Chorus of FROLICS:
N. B.-The singers in this chorus should have bells, and shake
them gently at each note they sing, like sleigh bells; these should
be shaken loudly at each of the three notes in the closing symphony,
marked Ding, Dong, Bell
Allegretto JModerato.

Tinkling, tinkling, swelling, falling, Iear our mystic

- ----- -

bell-notes calling, Calling softly, call-ing slow-ly.
--- m -
^7 :. S~g -*S -* -
^ -r _iZ -- f!| S --- f P|,,= -y:;9 :

!^^^^= =^cE _^:

While the children, loft y, low- ly, Still are watching,

F---l--^^l^--.^!:_ o--i^--.----_-.--.

- I-- 1 -J s- -
taN .. .. .................... . . a ten, o,

still are waiting For our stories worth re lat-ing.


- |---- -- --
or^^ ?~EEE==E~j--a-
fl; -1 Lw- a1^ C




Come, then, come to Fact and Fable; Come, then, come from



nook and gable; Song and sto ry, haste ye, when

.." ,

SON CRUSOE. They cross to PRINCE FABLE and bow to him.
FABLE presents them before the throne.
Mighty Master-these my stories,
Age-enshrined in childish glories,
Jack the Giant-Killer, bold!
JACK bows to throne.

Cinderella, never old!
CINDERELLA bows to throne.
Crusoe, from his island-hold!
CRUSOE bows to throne.
Trooping here from field and fen,
Take them, Master of the Pen!
You are welcome, Fables all,
To the great Pen's council-hall.

PRINCE FABLE and his followers step aside. Then enter, left,
cross to MR. FACT and bow to him. FACT presents them
before the throne:
These, the followers of Fact;
Golden deed and glorious act,
Each one here has known;
Take, oh take them, Master mine,
See in each a truth divine,
Bending at thy throne.
Great Columbus, ne'er afraid!
COLUMBUS bows to throne.

Fair Joan, the soldier-maid
JOAN bows to throne.
Washington, the patriot staid!
WASHINGTON bows to throne.
Take them for thine own!

Hail, glorious Facts! the Magic Pen
Records your virtues yet again.

FROLICS in chorus, speaking:

Valiant Facts and gleaming Fables,
Trooping here from nooks and gables,
You are welcome, welcome when
Summoned by the Magic Pen.
By each tinkling, tankling bell,
Speak, we charge you, fair and well;
Stories children love to hear,
Tell now to our Master dear.

The followers of FACT and FABLE stand alternately before the
MASTER and speak their lines, saluting him both before and
after speaking.
JACK THE GIANT-KILLER, with spirit. (Let the "tra-lil-la" be in
imitation of the notes of a bugle):
Where castles gleam, and banners stream
By hill, and sea, and river;
Where helmets flash, and chargers dash,
And bright swords clash and shiver,
I scour the land on every hand,
My bugle sounds: tra-lil-la/
My arm is strong; loud rings my song;
I am Jack the Giant-Killer

From Dover's boats to John O'Groat's,
From east to western waters,
I ride in might, with armor bright,
Beloved of England's daughters.
And still my song rings loud and long,
My bugle sounds: tra-lil-la!
I fear no fray, come night or day,
I am Jack the Giant-Killer!

With courage bright, I 've faced in fight
A score of monstrous giants;
By pluck and art I played my part,
And gave them hot defiance.
They're met-they 're slain! and o'er the plain,
My bugle sounds: tra-lil-a !
My arm is strong, loud rings my song-
I am Jack the Giant-Killer.

Hail, mighty Jack! thy deeds so bold
The Pen has told for centuries back.
Jack steps back
Is there aught, 0 mighty Master,
In the fairy tales of yore,
Can surpass my wondrous story,
Told the children o'er and o'er?

A simple maid of France,
My dream-eyes saw in trance
How king and country should be saved by me;
My hand should bear the lance,
My plume lead war's advance,
My life-blood, pledged to France,
Should set my country free.



- F -


So, not a whit dismayed,
Nor once set sore afraid,
By jeer or laugh, by insult, threat, or frown;
In armor all arrayed,
A simple soldier-maid,
I led the cavalcade,
And gave my land renown.

Up from the dust and mire,
I raised my country higher,
And crowned my king, victorious o'er his foes.
Mine not to rest nor tire
Till Right o'er Might aspire,
Nor did I dread the fire
That 'round me wrapped and rose.

By my story, mighty Master,
I would show to girl and boy,
Still may come-by faith and patience-
Victory, glory, peace, and joy.
Brave-hearted girl, full well I heed
How, in your country's direst need,
Your faith so strong gave victory then,
As well records the Magic Pen.
JOAN steps back.
Never yet, O mighty Master,
Was there boy in boyish days,
But his heart beat fast and faster
As he listened in amaze
To my deeds of pluck and daring,
Shipwrecked on the stormy main-
How I struggled, nothing sparing
Till I reached the land again.
How I built my island fortress;
How I lived from day to day;
How r builded boats, and fashioned
Useful things in wood and clay.
Still my cats, and goats, and parrot,
Still my dog and gun so sure,
Still Man Friday, happy savage,
In boy-hearts shall long endure.
Restless eyes and breathless longing
Tell how strong the story's strain,
As the fancies, rushing, thronging,
Crowd the busy, boyish brain.
Heigh-ho! Poor old Robinson Crusoe!
While your story lives, all boys will do so.
But for pluck and for push still may boys and may men
Profit well by the story you give to the Pen.,
CRUSOE steps back.
On Genoa's walls the sunlight falls,
On Spain's fair fields of glory;
And high and proud their legends crowd
The page of ancient story.
But, Master mine, not Genoa's line
Nor knights of Spain were able
To find, like me, across the sea,
Realms only known in fable.

One summer day I sailed away
Across the western waters,
To where the breeze o'er sunset seas
Fans dusky sons and daughters.
In doubt and pain I sailed from Spain,
But backward soon returning,
Gave joy serene to king and queen--

A new world, worth the earning!
Mine were the hands that gave the lands,
Mine all the praise and glory;
And, teaching still the worth of will,
I live in childish story.
And still, Columbus, shall your deeds again,
For worlds new-told, live by the Magic Pen.
CoLUMBUS steps back.
Low in the meadows the daisies are springing,
Lowly the violets hide neathh the grass;
High in the heavens the rainbow is swinging,
Light o'er the hill-tops the bright sunbeams pass.

Patient and helpful, in silence and cinders,
Never complaining, nor moaning her lot;
Slaving, herself, while no pleasure she hinders,
Work-her day's portion; at night-her hard cot.
Hark! with a crash vanish kitchen and hearth-stone;
Pumpkins are coaches-mice horses-rats men;
Gorgeous in laces and jewels the maid shone;
Come palace, come ball-room; come prince, joy,-
and then-
Naught but once more cinders, hearth, and-a slipper
Humbleness, drudgery, patience, and thought!
Then-the shoe fits the fair feet of the tripper,
Then the prince finds the one maiden he sought.

Low in the meadows the daisies were springing,
Lowly the violets hid neathh the grass;
Now both wreathe the bride's crown, while bells
madly ringing
Proclaim Cinderella a princess at last.
Cinderella, Cinderella! Shall I ever, lass, forget
The glory of your story, that the Pen is writing yet?
CINDERELLA steps aside.
Truth is mighty, truth is noble;
This my text, 0 Master mine;
This the story to the children
I would utter, line on line.

The hurrying years have rolled away,
And turned a century's score,
Since--captain of the patriot host--
I fought at Freedom's fore.
Years earlier, when a happy lad
On fair Virginia's plains,
I spoke the truth in spite of wrong,
In spite of error's pains.
My father's joy was blest reward
For truth so fairly spoken,
And from that day this rule I kept-
"Let not your word be broken."
Whatever now of great renown
My name and fame surroundeth,
Whatever glow of honest worth
In my life-work aboundeth,
To this firm rule is doubly due -
This rule, to youth appealing:
"Speak truth; stand firm for simple right;
Avoid all double-dealing! "
Still, noble Washington, to teach
To all the sons of men,
Thy precepts,-to time's farthest reach,
In every land, in every speech,-
Shall flow the Magic Pen.
WASHINGTON steps aside.

(To be concluded next month.)






THE following letter from Master Willie P. Herrick was first
printed in the New York Evening Post, of Sept. 27th, just as this
number was going to press, but we gladly reprint it here, and hope
it will be carefully considered by every reader of ST. NICHOLAS :

I felt very badly when our President died, and my brother and
I think it would be very nice to have a home in the country for little
sick children. Mamma thought that each little boy or girl could
give from one cent up to twenty-five cents. We thought we could
call it the Garfield Home, and we also thought it would be very nice
to have a picture of President Garfield in it. We would like all little
boys and girls to join in this. Please put this in the paper, and also
put in for the parents to tell the children. WILLIE P. HERRICK.
Newport, Sept. 27th, 1881.

We wish to add our hearty praise to Willie's suggestion, and to
say that we propose to enlist this magazine in the effort to carry it
out. THE CENTURY CO., publishers of ST. NICHOLAS, have volun-
teered to receive and credit all subscriptions for the Garfield Home
that may be sent them-with the understanding that if the total
amount subscribed should prove insufficient to found a home, it may
be applied as a "Children's Garfield Fund" to the benefit of "The
Poor Children's Summer Home," or some kindred charity of New
York City. We believe there are thousands of boys and girls all
over the land who felt as anxious an interest as their elders during
the long weeks of President Garfield's illness, and as keen a grief at
his death. And all such young folk will welcome Willie's sug-
gestion and the offer of THE CENTURY CO. as an opportunity to
fitly honor the memory of the good President by helping to accom-
plish a great practical good. Letters and subscriptions may be
addressed to THE CENTURY CO., Union Square (North), N. Y.
For the further encouragement of all those who may wish to sub-
scribe to the fund, we shall supplement Willie's letter by a sweet lit-
tle letter from Nellie Satterlee Curtis, which came to us a few weeks
ago, inclosing ten dollars to send five poor children of New York
City on a week's visit to the Summer Home. We forwarded the
letter and the money to the Superintendent, Mr. Fry, and received
in reply the admirable letter which also is given in this "Letter-box."
It shows clearly enough how much good could be done by the pro-
posed "Garfield Home," and little calculation is needed to convince
any reader of ST. NICHOLAS that a large sum can be quickly realized
from a great number of small subscriptions. The project of the
"Children's Garfield Home" is worthy alike of the good and great-
hearted President and the generous, patriotic boys and girls of
Here is Nellie Curtis's letter:
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: This is eight dollars, for four children to
go to the place that was written about in ST. NICHOLAS last June,-
but not this very last, but the summer before this. And this is the
way of all of it. When Mamma read me that, I thought it was
splendid, and I wished I could send the little girl in the picture that
is down-stairs helping the tiny one down. But I had not two dol-
lars. But soon after there was a picnic. It was fifteen cents on the cars
to the place, and Papa gave me the money to go, and when it was
Thursday, Mamma was sick and I was bound to go, till Mamma
looked so sad in fear I should get hurt, and I did not go; and I just
thought I would start with that fifteen cents and earn some more,
and send a child to the sea-shore. And my Auntie she is awful kind,
and gives so much, I just thought I would ask her if she would try
and earn some. And Auntie she thanked me, she was so pleased.
And most of the money was given me to buy things with, but I had
rather send the children; and some I earned sewing, and other
ways. And then when Mr. Pratt and Mr. Deitrich gave me some I
thought I would start for another child, and that dear, sweet, precious
Auntie she said she would try, and four dollars she sends, and her
name is Harriet N. Austin, and four dollars I send, and I hope the
children will be happy. I did not want the children to go till water-
melons came. That piece in ST. NICHOLAS told in the picture how
they loved it. Will you try and write in your paper if they have a
splendid time ? Oh, I wish I could see them so happy, because I
have enjoyment all the time And Auntie does like it so about the
children, and every week she writes me just a beautiful letter And
I ought to be happy, and Cousin Mary she thinks I ought to be

good, when I have such good friends. When next summer comes,
I hope some more can go with money I will have, and I will ask
some other children and send awful poor sad ones. Good-bye.

P. S.-What do you think! Mrs. Phebe Howe wrote my Auntie
that her children would send me two dollars to send a child; and
so, after my Papa had got the money fixed, here came two dollars
from Louie and Emma Howe and their brother, and I am more
pleased than for myself. And now another child will be happy, and
I think it was so kind for them; and good Papa got it fixed to ten
dollars in place of eight dollars.

And here is the letter from Mr. Fry, which, we are sure, will make
generous little Nellie and her friends more than ever happy in hav-
ing saved and sent the money:
BATH, L. I., Aug. 27, 188x.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Mr. Macy, our assistant secretary, has
just brought me a very sweet letter from Nellie Satterlee Curtis,
inclosing ten dollars, to send five little girls who are not so fortunate
as she, to spend a week each at the Children's Summer Home,
Bath, L. I. Only a little girl with a heart warm, pure, and tender,
while surrounded by all the comforts and luxuries of life, would have
thought of the two hundred and forty destitute children at the
Home, and so we value her kind words. I hope you will thank her
even more for them than for the money. I have sent for five little
girls from the neighborhood of Cherry and Water streets, in New
York, and they will come Monday prepared to enjoy a week with
us. When they come I will read Nellie's letter to them, so that
they may know they are indebted to her and her little friends for the
pleasant time they will have. Perhaps I may get them to write to
her, or, if not, then I will write, and tell her all about them that I
think will in any way interest her.
I wonder if Nellie and the other little girls know that we have a
new Home, larger and finer in every way than the one she read
about in ST. NICHOLAS for June, 188o? It may interest them to
know something about it; but I must make the story very short, for
you may well imagine the guardian of two hundred and forty little
girls has but little time to spare for letter-writing.
The old Home, very near here, was small- an old-fashioned house
with but scanty room inside, and not very spacious grounds sur-
rounding it. Not much space for romping, and swinging, and such
other amusements as children love. Then, too, the dormitories were
small, so that we could only have about a hundred and fifty
children there at one time, and were obliged to turn away a number
of poor little girls, who would have enjoyed a week at the sea-shore.
But, worst of all, we only rented the house, and did n't know but we
might have to give it up, and so would have no Home at all. But
one day Mr. A. B. Stone thought he would go down to Bath and see
the children in their Summer Home. Well, he came, and saw how
happy they were; and, just like little Nellie, he said, "I want to
have more children enjoy a week in the country," and so he bought
for twenty thousand dollars a beautiful piece of land called Bath
Park. It is about as big as Union Square in New York City, and
fronts right on the bay outside of the Narrows. It has a grassy
knoll, shaded by a number of large trees. There is a very large
pavilion, that makes a fine play-ground for the children in wet
weather. Mr. Stone gave all this beautiful land to the New York
Children's Aid Society. They put up a nice large building and
furnished it, so that now the poor children who attend the industrial
schools of New York will have a Summer Home by the sea for all
time to come. We have a large dormitory, one hundred and tell by
forty feet, and two smaller ones about forty feet square, giving us
ample room for two hundred and fifty little folks. Our dining-room
is large enough to seat the entire number at once. We have a nice
kitchen, a laundry, a wash-room for the children, a room where they
keep their clothing, twenty-eight swings, and a merry-go-round with
seats for twenty-two. So you see we are not badly off Then we
have a beautiful sandy beach, and the Atlantic Ocean for a bath-tub.
Once a day the children bathe, and I am sure you would be greatly
amused to see perhaps a hundred and sixty little girls splashing
and screaming with delight, while the teacher in charge stands upon
the shore, looking a little like a hen with young ducks. From the
bath they go to the dining-room, where a bountiful meal awaits
them. They have roast beef, potatoes, bread and butter, and rice-
pudding for dinner to-day, and the nice salt bath has sharpened
their appetites. From the dining-room they make a grand rush for
the swings and the merry-go-round. Some gather in little groups
about the trees, while many form rings, and so they amuse them-
selves until supper-time. We have ten cows, that supply us with
pure country milk, and I assure you the children enjoy their whole-
some supper of bread and milk. After supper comes a walk on the
beach, or a stroll through the fields,in search of wild flowers. Then




the retiring-bell rings, a hymn is sung, and soon they are tucked
away in their clean little beds, and lost in a rfr .rhin: sleep, that
lasts until the sun, peeping in at the window, c ,I -:... to another
day of fun and frolic. And so the week slips away like a long pic-
nic. On Saturday they go home on the train, and on Monday
another company of two hundred and fifty is whirled out from the
crowded city in the same way- many, perhaps, getting their first
view of the beautiful country. I often wonder what they think of
their small, dark, and dirty bedrooms at home as they contrast them
with our large, clean dormitory, with its snowy sheets and woven-
wire mattresses. I am sure they must long to return, and must feel
very grateful for all the comfort and fun of the week.
I have told you something about the Home in this letter, and I
think now it would, perhaps, have been better had I told you more
about the children and the wretched homes they live in. Twenty-
five hundred little girls have already spent a week each at the Home
this season, and a thousand boys are anxiously waiting for the first
Monday in September, so that they may visit us.
Sincerely your friend, CHAS. R. FRY.

OUR thanks are due to Messrs. Henry Graves & Co., of London,
for their courtesy in permitting us to copy, as the frontispiece of the
present number, their beautiful engraving of Sir Joshua Reynolds's
portrait of Miss Frances Harris.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I was twelve years old last week, and my
sister decorated two dozen sheets of writing paper with water-color
pictures, in the upper left-hand corners, for my birthday present.
Every sheet is different, and some are very pretty. Perhaps the
readers of ST. NICHOLAS who have a taste for painting would like
to know how to decorate paper like this for Christmas presents.
Many pretty pictures can be taken from this magazine. Fluffy is a
very cunning little girl to paint. The poem and illustrations about her
are in the May number, 1877. Another good thing for painting is
in the February number of the same year; it is three little children
crying. Each figure makes a complete picture.
First draw the outline of the picture with a lead-pencil, tint it with
water-color laid on very thin, and then re-line with burnt sienna. It
is best to use paper without lines. For a child that can not write
straight without them, get watered lines. -Your little friend,
PEORIA, Sept. 15, '8.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I saw in the September number how to
make corn-husk dolls. I made some the day I got the ST. NICHO-
LAS, and they look very funny. I am sorry the corn is gone, because
I can't make any more dolls. I like to read the stories in the ST.
NICHOLAS very much. IRENE.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am one of your English readers and reside
at Congleton. I am thirteen years of age. I have read your stories
by Mrs. Oliphant of Lady Jane Grey and Mary, Queen of Scots, and
since reading them I have been to Westminster Abbey and the
Tower. I looked with great interest at the tombs in the Abbey, and
like your correspondents, Carl and Norris, I saw the monument to
Mary, Queen of Scots, and also that of her rival, Queen Elizabeth.
I saw the fac-simile of the letter in James I.'s handwriting, giving
directions respecting the building of the monument to his mother.
I also saw the chapel where Queen Elizabeth's tomb is placed, and
where Oliver Cromwell, and John Bradshaw, who presided at the
trial of Charles I., were buried; but it was stated that the bodies
were taken away from there after the Restoration. I felt all the
more interest in this because Bradshaw was born a short distance
from this town, and was the mayor in 637. For many years he lived
in this town, and fearful stories about ghosts with clanking chains
haunting the house used to be told to our grandfathers when they
were children. I saw where Queen Elizabeth was lodged as a
prisoner while in the Tower, as well as the great keep built by
William the Conqueror, and the Traitor's Gate, and the gloomy-
looking tower called the Bloody Tower. I thought most about
Lady Jane Grey, and where she was beheaded, and where the two
princes were murdered and buried. I saw what seemed to me to
look awful,-a block which had been used in the beheading of
Lord Lovat, and some other noblemen, in 1745, and the marks
where the ax had struck the block, and the ax used for beheading;
also the mask of the executioner. I thought of Lady Jane Grey lay-
ing her head down on such a block. I shuddered, and was glad I
was living in a less barbarous age. ADA BUXTON STATIHAM.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I think I can interest some of the readers
of the Letter-box by telling them of a Pig-a-graph from which I
had great pleasure. I took an old account-book, and asked each
person I knew to draw a pig in it with their eyes shut, and then sign
their name under it.-Your constant reader, W. MENGEL.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I tried making soap-bubbles with a spool,
by Maie Stevenson's direction, and succeeded nicely. The bubbles

were very large, and blue, pink, and yellow, and as they floated off,
the colors looked like colored pearl set in the bubbles. I wrote this
to show you that the spool is a success. A READER.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I think many of your readers may like to
know, if they have not already found out, what pretty little things
can be made out of the good ends of burnt matches.
I will try and describe to you as well as I can how I made a house,
which, kept carefully as a "show-thing," has lasted a long time. Of



course any one who is fond of using his wits and fingers for pretty
presents can try other things-churches, dog-kennels, pin-trays, and
so forth. I am only going to tell of one house, the first I ever made.
The materials needed are
s Q\old wooden matches, of
which you must first make
Z a great collection, card-
board for the foundation,
S mica or very thin glass for
Z7 | the windows, and glue and
I a paint-box; also a sharp
tM IIr

FIG. 2. FIG. 3.
knife is indispensable. Take a piece
of thickish white card-board, about
five inches square, and toward one
corner draw the plan of your house,
and paint the floors of both rooms
with red and blue tiles.
The walls are made of matches,
and you see in Fig. 2 are 2e inches
by 23~, and sx inches by 2, for the
large and small room respectively.
Fig. 3 shows how the
Matches are cut and
glued together, and
how the windows cut
FIG. 4. out and finished. At
the back of the framed
window-holes mica or thin glass is fastened, and two thin cross-
splinters are then delicately glued in front to form the panes. White
paper blinds are put inside, while crimson curtains and a red pot
containing a green bushy plant are also painted inside on the mica
or glass, and give a charming effect. Fig. 4 is the front view
of the house, and shows both rooms, their windows, the rustic
porch, and the chimney. The backs and the left sides of both rooms
are quite plain.
Now glue the walls down in their proper places, pressing them
well together, and do not be afraid of the glue, as it helps to stop up
any little gaps, and makes the little dwelling snugly free from draughts.
Before putting the roof on, fasten down to the floors of the rooms
any little furniture, such as a three-legged table made of a cross-
section of a sugar-cane and three points of wood, a wee wooden
dresser, and so on.
The roof for the main room is in two pieces, and made the same
way as the walls, and is just glued in so as to make two sloping
sides from the topmost point of the back and front, but no gables,
and you will find the right and left walls make two triangles which
stand up from the roof and form a pretty addition to the whole
effect. The small room should have deep projecting gables. The
chimney is shown in Fig. 4. Paint the card-board round about
green for grass, and lay out the garden with walks as your fancy
suits you, and for proper gravel-walks gum them and sprinkle
with sand till well covered. Put bits of mossy bark in appropriate
places and make as rustic a garden as you can, and finally inclose
it all with a fence and gate.-Yours truly,
EMILY H. S., 15% years.





., 4

--- -

-= -

iT may be well to explain to the many children who are now read-
ing the pages of ST. NICHOLAS for the first time, that the Agassiz
Association is a society organized for the purpose of studying natural
objects. The Association has been in existence for about seven years,
but has consisted of less than a hundred members, chiefly living
among the Berkshire hills of western Massachusetts, until last No-
vember, when a general invitation was given, through the columns of
ST. NICHOLAS, to all who were interested in nature, tojoin this society.
At that time a general outline of our plan was given, a simple
constitution was presented, and the kind endorsement of Professor
Alexander Agassiz was noticed. To the several numbers of ST.
NICHOLAS since October, 1880, then, we beg to refer all readers who
would know more of our society. We will repeat, however, that the
invitation to membership is unrestricted by considerations of age,
ability, or place. Most of our members are under twenty years of
age, many are not yet ten; but we are happy to count in our ranks
a large and increasing number of fathers and mothers, teachers and
college professors. We need the older to help us answer the ques-
tions of the younger, and we must have the little ones to help us
puzzle those who have been growing wise for many years.
Our plan is to have small branch societies, consisting of not less
than four members, formed in different towns. These local "chap-
ters," while adopting the general name of "Agassiz Association,"
and conforming to our constitution, are at perfect liberty to frame
their own by-laws and arrange their own plans of work.
There is no initiation fee to be paid to the Central Lenox Chapter,
and nothing is required of the chapters excepting a monthly report of
progress, including such details as names of new members, reports
of discoveries, accounts of expeditions, etc.
It is our aim to make the Agassiz Association direct its members
to courses of reading, to methods of observation and collection, answer
their questions when not too difficult, and help them to exchanges
among themselves of such duplicate specimens as they may have to
spare. Since last November we have heard from about twelve hun-
dred young people, nearly all of whom have become active and
enthusiastic members.
While we prefer to have independent local chapters formed,
wherever four persons can be found who take sufficient interest in
what lies in the fields about them, yet when it happens that only
one or two wish to join, we have arranged to receive them as corre-
sponding members of our home chapter at Lenox, on the same terms
as we receive the boys of our own academy, viz.: the payment of
twenty-five cents initiation fee, and the agreement to send us a
monthly report on some subject agreed on between them and the
president. These reports are read at the meetings of our Lenox
chapter as a regular part of our proceedings. Among the questions
most uniformly put to us by new correspondents have been these:
How can I join the Association ? How can I make a cabinet?
How can I catch insects? How can I kill them? How can I pre-
serve them? How am I to press flowers?"

All these questions have been carefully answered and illustrated
in previous reports of the A. A., and we must request new members
not to repeat these inquiries, but to refer to the back numbers of
When a new chapter is formed, there are two items which the
secretary thereof should always make a point of noting in his first
letter to us. ist. The names of all the members, 2d. The special
branch of study in which each is interested.
Now, in accordance with our report of last month, we will allow a
few of our friends to have the floor:
"DEAR SIR: We are a 'Chapter' of the Agassiz Association,
No. 83; and are trying to improve our minds in natural history
by corresponding with persons interested in that science, and
exchanging specimens.
"We first started about the last of February, and painted and
papered our room for meetings, and made cabinet cases, which we
have already filled. We have two hundred minerals, as many
shells, and over one hundred insects. We have also deposited in
the savings-bank a number of dollars which we have earned. We
wish to correspond with others and to exchange minerals and other
specimens. F. F. FLETCHER, Pres., Box 368."

We would suggest that applications for exchange be more definite,
and expressed in as few words as possible-for example:
The Lenox, Mass., Chapter will exchange labeled specimens of
sea-weed for mounted and labeled wild flowers of Colorado.
It is well also, in asking for exchanges, to be rather too modest
than too bold in your requirements. One member seems to err a
trifle in this regard, for he writes:
"I have two bugs which I wish to exchange for a piece of gold
ore and silver ore."
Still, it depends on the bugs !
We must make room for a bright letter from a little Bennington,
Vt., girl of eleven. It shows how to study without a text-book.

DEAR MR. BALLARD: I would like to join the Agassiz Associa-
tion, if you please. I make little discoveries in a pool of dead water
near our house. Of course, what I call discover-
ies, is finding out things without looking in a book.
In the pool there are some things that I call snails,
but they are black, and their shells don't look like snails'
shells. One day I took two old pans and filled them
with water. Then I caught some of the snails and
put them into the pans. They had horns. I took some
water-soaked leaves out of the pool and most of them
had a kind of substance like yellow jelly full of white
specks on them. The snails ate the decayed leaves
greedily, but after they had had one "square meal,"
they did n't seem to eat any more for a long time.
"Their shells are fastened to their necks I think-
for they take every part of their bodies out of their
shells except their necks.
"Pretty soon the little white specks began to come
out of the jelly. I looked at them closely, and they
were baby snails. They were white, and had little "WHAT I
shells on. CALL A
"Some of them fastened on to the shells of the big SNAIL."
snails and went sailing around with them. The longest
of the big snails were half an inch long. I call these things snails
because they look more like them than anything else; but I wish
you would tell me what they really are.-Good-bye.
Will some member of the A. A. please express an opinion on this
We have a red-cap's nest in our porch, and would like to cage
them for pets, but do not know what to feed them on, or whether
they would live in a cage. Please answer.
We are sure that, on second thought, no members of the A. A.
will wish to "cage" any bird which has shown sufficient friendli-
ness and confidence to nest so near their home. Watch the habits
of the little red-caps and let them fly away.
It is now time to be on the watch for snow-crystals. Let them fall
on a black cloth. Examine them through a hand-glass, and draw
them as accurately as you can. We shall hope to receive a large
number of drawings during the winter. Please remember always
to note the temperature and the force of the wind at the time of
observation. Write your letters on one side of the paper only;
make them as terse as possible. Write your address very plainly,
and inclose stamped envelope for reply. All such letters receive
prompt attention. .HARLAN H. BALLARD,
Lenox Academy, Lenox, Mass.




Seine. Cross-words: i. Pamasm
IndiaN. 5. SevillE.

APe. 3. R. 4. COd. 5. HaNd

I AM composed of twenty-nine
sell's definition of a proverb.
My 19-3-13 is a beverage. My
9-25-8-18 is a condition of the mir
My 20-5-28-1 is to imply. My
My 4-2-xo-6-I2 means belonging


panion. 4. Four-sevenths of a
satisfy. 7. The central part of i
window. xo. A town of Italy,
there by Napoleon I. against th
book. 12. To cast off. 13. To i
Zigzags, beginning at the top,
e'en" is sometimes called.

WHEN the following transposit
middle letter of each word, read
name a festive occasion.
I. Transpose an old-fashioned
ways. 2. Transpose a pang, an
kingly, and make a brilliant ligh
the seven-hilled" city, and mak
pose a large nail, and make lan
make ornamental vessels. 7. Tr
dishonest person. 8. Transpose
9. Transpose a herd of cattle, and



OSTIC. Primals, Paris. Finals, EASY SYNCOPATIONS AND ABBREVIATIONS. i. C-l-ow-n. 2.
suS. 2. AdigE. 3. RiminI. 4. F-1-ir-t. 3. H-y-en-a. 4. P-e-ar-1.
IGMA. Harvest home- harvest "True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings;
Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures, kings."
s. Rich/ord III., Act V., Scene 2.
Two WORD-SQUARES. 1. i. Hides. 2. Ideal. 3. Delta. 4.
Eaten. 5. Slant. II. i. Champ. 2. Hagar. 3. Agate. 4.
Mates. 5. Press.
CROSS-WORD ENIGMA. Organ grinder.
"Autumn laying here and there
A fiery finger on the leaves."
TENNYSON'S "l IMlfemoriam," Part XCIX.
You hear that boy laughing? You think he 's all fun;
But the angels laugh, too, at the good he has done;
The children laugh loud as they troop to his call,
And the poor man that knows him laughs loudest of all!"
DIAMOND. I. P. 2. REd. 3. ReArs. 4. PeaNuts. 5. DrUry.
6. STy. 7. S.
DOUBLE CENTRAL ACROSTIC. Third line, Hallow-e'en. Fourth
line, All Saints'. Cross-words: i. AgHAst. 2. ReALly. 3.
BaLLad. 4. NeLSon. 5. ClOAks. 6. SaWIng. 7. BlENds.
8. BeETle. 9. CeNSus.
PROVERB REBUS. A penny saved is a penny earned.
setts. 3. California. 4. New Jersey. 5. Maryland. 6. Idaho
7. Indiana. 8. Florida. 9. Arizona. so. Dakota. i.' Iowa.
Apron. Across: i. TrAmp. 2. I2. Illinois. 13. Ohio. 14. Nebraska. 15. Oregon. 16. Minne-
dy.- RIDDLE. Hearth. sota. 17. Wisconsin. 18. Delaware. 19. Missouri. 20. Colorado.

L ENIGMA, slender twig, and make without color. sx. Transpose observed
closely, and make tuned. 12. Transpose yawns, and make attend-
letters, and am Lord John Rus- ants upon a nobleman. G. F.

S2-27-z4-29-15 is currency. My iTWO WORD-SQUARES.
id. My 11-23-17-7 is to discover.
22-16-26-24 is to cause to float. I. A CITY of Europe. 2. Out of the way. 3. Ascended. 4.
to whom. ALICE K. M. Opinions. 5. Reason.
II. i. A cone-bearing tree. 2. Cerulean. 3. Pertaining to the
ZAG. country. 4. A wading bird. 5. A woman's name.
I. ALL of the words described are of equal length. The letters of
the second and fourth lines, reading downward, name mythical
Scandinavian deities. I. Outer coverings. 2. A western territory
of the United States. 3. One unreasonably devoted to a cause.
4. Greatly incensed.
II. This may be solved similarly to the preceding; the letters of
the second line, however, reading downward, name the religious
book of the old Scandinavian tribes; and those of the fourth line,
reading downward, name an heroic legend of the Norsemen. I. A
sumptuous entertainment. 2. Wholly imaginary. 3. A maxim.
t hand. 2. To scorch. 3. A com- 4. Pertaining to the highest dignitary of the Romish church.
young fowl. 5. A weed. 6. To
ruit. 8. The rind. 9. Part of a CHARADE.
made famous by the victory won
e Austrians. ai. A division of a IN double form my first is famed,
nform. In fable and in history;
spell a name by which "Hallow- Great, good, and true,-small, shy, and false;
DYKE CLEMENTS. Solve, if you can, this mystery.
My second figures in romance,
ON PUZZLE. In ballad, and in story;
Has lain above the lover's heart,
ions have been rightly made, the And grasped the sword of glory.
ing in the order here given, will
",Far from the madd'ning crowd" my ao/sole
conveyance, and make entrance- Exists for beauty only;
Id make different. 3. Transpose It shuns the city's crowded ways,
t. 4. Transpose an inhabitant of And springs in hamlets lonely. l. W. G.
:e a nobleman's estate. 5. Trans-
ices. 6. Transpose rescues, and DIAMOND.
anspose a red color, and make a
delicate shades, and make to limit. i. IN commencing. 2. A vehicle. 3. A frolicsome leap. 4. A
Make roamed. o1. Transpose a chief officer. 5. A domain. 6. An edge. 7. In ending.




THE solution of this rebus consists of
Three lines from a well-known poem by
SRobert Burns.
I. BEHEAD wandering, and leave a
-broad, flat vessel; again,
and leave a line of light.
t 2.Behead a strip of leather,
IIS and leave a device for snar-
ing animals; again, and
leave a smart blow. 3.
SBehead tasteless from age,
-. and leave a story; again,
and leave a beverage.

5 ',.--


ACROSTIC. ''jS~y f
T "- o
0 0

READING Acnoss: To tie together.
2. A loud sound. 3. An operatic air.
4. Voluble.
Initials, read downward, to boast. In-
itials, read upward, external appearance.
Finals, read downward, a dull color.
Finals,readupward, a poet. DYIE.


My primals and finals each name a celebrated naturalist
CROSS-WORDS: I. An eminent Roman commander who was
father-in-law to the historian Tacitus. a. A species of antelope.
. To rectify. 4. A French coin of small value. 5. A sailor who
has been credited with wonderful adventures. 6. A coloring mat-
ter. 7. A small stringed instrument. D. c. L.

THE syncopated letters, read in the order here given, spell what
Shakespeare says has been "slave to thousands."
i. Syncopate a leaf of the calyx, and leave to mark with a stamp.
2. Syncopate discovered, and leave over-affectionate. 3. Syncopate
an animal, and leave a flexible pipe. 4. Syncopate the tanned
skin of a sheep, and leave to deliver from arrest. 5. Syncopate to
extract the essence by soaking, and leave a pace. PERRY ADAMS.

I AM a word of letters three;
Many changes lie in me:-
First, about the air I fly;
Next, beneath your window cry;
Here, I'm found beneath your feet;
Next, you wear me in the street;
Now, I am a small boy's name;
Then, an Irish birth I claim;
Here, a trap is set for me;
Now, a verb I chance to be;
By feasts and plenty now I'm made;
Next, brewers use me in their trade.
Change but my head each time and see
How these queer turns can in me be.
MARY 0. N.

ANSWERS TO AUGUST PUZZLES were received, too late for ac-
1 ... I. ..- .... in the October number, from Emma A. Bryant, 3-
,I Ii 3- Margaret B. and Beatrice C. B. Sturgis, Paris,
France, all- Geo. Smith Hayter, London, England, 5- Archie and
Charlotte Warden, Havre, France, 5-"Dycie," Havre, France, Ii
-Hester Powell, Gloucestershire, England, 8--M. H. M., Hants,
England, i.
were received, before September 2o, from Frank R. Heath- Pro-
fessor and Co."-J. H. Eaton-John Payne-Dorothy-Grace
R. Ingraham and Josie M. Robbins-Fred C. McDonald-Grace
E. Hopkins-Charlie and Josie Treat-J. Deane and E. Poole-
Herbert Barry-P. S. Clarkson-Rowland H. Jackson-" Boccac-
cio"-"Skipper"-H. and B.-Henry C. Brown-Luther M.
Scroggs-Hattie B. Hawes, and Carrie L. Borden-Edward Vultee-
"Chuck"-Daisy May-Trask-Nellie, Grace, and Harold-J. S.
Tennant-" Queen Bess"--" Partners "-" 80 and 8x "-" Engi-
neer "-" Daisy and Kittie"- Florence Leslie Kyte- "Guesser"
-Madge Clark.
before September o2, from George Gillespie, 3-" Edgewood," 3-
Etta Hawxhurst, --"Will O. Tree," 3-H. A. Vedder, 4-
"Crystale," 5-Camille Giraud, 8-" Sweetie and Pet," 4-Mars,
3-H. H. Bobkid, ii-Archie F. Hassam, i-Gertie Jenkins, 7-
"Y. A. C.," 2-J. Milton Gitterman, 2-"X. L. C. R.," ix-
"April and May," 5-Edith Beal, 6- Male P. Bartlett, i-E. B.
S., i-No name, ii-Theodore Tankauer, 4--ennie French, 9-
Harry Thorne, --Annie J. Pique, -" Fairview Nursery," i -
Edward Liddon Patterson, I--Everett W. Stone, 6-Lizzie C.
Carnahan, 4-Weston Stickney, 3-Eleanor Telling, 6-Lottie A.
Lacey, 8-Milton S. Lacey, i--John Z. Miller, i-Irene Bethune,
--E. J. Campbell, 7 -Elise Mercur, I--" Somebody," 2--Lida
P. Bostwick, 9-Grace Redpath, i-Kenneth B. Emerson, 5-
Jessie, Ernst, Maud, and Jinks, 4-"Atlanta," 3-" Ghost," x-
C. M. Mathews and family, in-"Bell," --Lizzie B. and Charles
J. Townsend, 5-Belle Prindwille, i-Corme and May, 8-"Clovis,"
"Charles," and "Beetle," ii-Caroline Stuart Dickson, i-Alice
Fuller, 6-Effie K. Talboys, 9-Incognito, i-Lulu Clarke and
Nellie Caldwell, ii- Josie Hamilton, i- Julia Sturdevant, 3- Rose
Raritan, 3-Marjorie Murray and Tommy Pillsbury, i--"Mig-
non," 2-Rory O'More, 3-C. L. K. and M. N., Jr., i-"G. U.
N. Powder-maker," 2-Bessie Taylor, 6-"Puss-in-Boots," I-
Lucy Chandlee, 6- Rebie S. Webb, 7-Florence Beckett, 3- Sal-
lie Viles, ii-Clara and Jim, --Anna and Alice, o0-Carrie
Hitchcock Wilson, i- Leslie W. Hopkinson, 4-"Susie," I-
Conrad and Frank, 9-Clara Mackinney, 7- Gipsy Valentine, i-
May Beadle, x-- Edith and Townsend McKeever, 8-" Cinderella,"
i-Raymond Carr, i-Virginie Callmeyer, 7-Lizzie McM., --
Lizzie Barker and Mattie Colt, 3-Sadie E. Maddox, i-Mollie
Weiss, 5-Walter 0. Forde, 8-" Peasblossom," 2-M. and W. S.
Conant, 8-Lizzie Fyfer, 9-Florence R. Radcliffe, 3-D'Aubry
and Wilhelmina Amsterdam, 3-Mamie Magovern, i-Charlie W.
Power, 8-" P. Nut," 4-" Daphne," 4-Perry Beattie, 4- Tillie
Minot, 5-Belle Huntley and Emma W. Myers, o--O. C. Turner,
zx- Mollie Swipes, 2- Caroline Larrabee, 8-Edith and Jessie, 7-
Marion, Lilla, and Daisy, 8- Nellie J. Gould, 7-" Two People," 7
-Charles H. Phelps, 4-Alice M. Kyte, ii-Stowe Phelps,9-
"Dick Deadeye," 9-Arabella Ward, 5-Dollie Francis, -" Fast
Friends," 8- Sairey Gamp and Betsey Prig," 9- Amelia E. Jen-
nings, 2-Florence Provost, 2-X. Y. Z., 7-Alice Bryant, 4-
John W. Wroth, io-Bessie C. Barney, ii--Nicoll Ludlow, Jr., 7
-Belle and Bertie, 8-Esther L. and Geo. J. Fiske, 7-Alice
Rhoads, 5- Carol and her Sisters, ao-J. OUie Gayley, 6- Katrna, 8.




Wj m-

. . . . . !!!


J ."' ..........



ad 1.


Why V A! TKA, MU