Front Cover
 The great tub-race at Point...
 The bee-charmer
 Mary Jane tells about the Spicers'...
 The wings of things
 The witch-trap
 The maid of honor
 The Whirligig Club
 Magic clovers
 A problem
 Silverhair's quest
 The wise professor
 Jane and Eliza
 Seals and seal-hunting in the north...
 The correction box
 Longfellow and the children
 In the garden
 Longfellow's last afternoon with...
 Donald and Dorothy
 A curious rolling bridge
 A true story about a queer fly
 The boy in the moon
 Mayo's mice
 The letter "B"
 The letter-box
 Thr riddle-box
 Back Cover

Group Title: St. Nicholas.
Title: Saint Nicholas: Vol. 9, no. 8. June 1882.
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00116
 Material Information
Title: Saint Nicholas: Vol. 9, no. 8. June 1882.
Series Title: St. Nicholas.
Uniform Title: Saint Nicholas: Vol. 9, no. 8
Alternate Title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner,
Publication Date: June 1882
Subject: Children's literature -- Periodicals.
Literature for Children
General Note: Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
General Note: Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00065513
Volume ID: VID00116
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: notis - ocm0176
oclc - 7405657; (DLC)SF 89099153
oclc - (DLC) 2006255186; 55136171

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    The great tub-race at Point No-Point
        Page 587
        Page 588
        Page 589
        Page 590
    The bee-charmer
        Page 591
    Mary Jane tells about the Spicers' cows
        Page 592
        Page 593
        Page 594
        Page 595
    The wings of things
        Page 596
    The witch-trap
        Page 596
        Page 597
        Page 598
        Page 599
        Page 600
        Page 601
    The maid of honor
        Page 602
        Page 603
        Page 604
        Page 605
        Page 606
    The Whirligig Club
        Page 607
        Page 608
        Page 609
        Page 610
        Page 611
        Page 613
        Page 613
        Page 614
        Page 615
        Page 616
        Page 617
    Magic clovers
        Page 618
        Page 619
    A problem
        Page 612
    Silverhair's quest
        Page 620
    The wise professor
        Page 620
    Jane and Eliza
        Page 621
        Page 622
        Page 623
    Seals and seal-hunting in the north Atlantic
        Page 624
        Page 625
        Page 626
        Page 627
        Page 628
        Page 629
        Page 630
        Page 631
        Page 632
        Page 633
        Page 634
    The correction box
        Page 635
    Longfellow and the children
        Page 637
        Page 638
        Page 639
        Page 640
    In the garden
        Page 636
    Longfellow's last afternoon with children
        Page 641
        Page 642
        Page 643
    Donald and Dorothy
        Page 644
        Page 645
        Page 646
        Page 647
        Page 648
        Page 649
        Page 650
        Page 651
        Page 652
    A curious rolling bridge
        Page 653
    A true story about a queer fly
        Page 655
    The boy in the moon
        Page 654
    Mayo's mice
        Page 656
        Page 657
        Page 658
    The letter "B"
        Page 659
        Page 660
        Page 661
    The letter-box
        Page 662
        Page 663
        Page 664
    Thr riddle-box
        Page 665
        Page 666
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text

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[See page 642.]


JUNE, 1882.

No. 8.

[Copyright, 1882, by THE CENTURY CO.]



ANY one might have thought, that summer
morning, that all the summer boarders at Point
No-Point were ambitious to do their week's
washing at once. From the time breakfast was
over until the first dinner-bell rang, at half-past
twelve, the boys at Mrs. Crane's were rushing
about in every direction in couples, vanishing down
the road or up the lane, to re-appear, after an
interval, carrying tubs between them. These tubs
were deposited on the tennis-ground, where they
immediately became a center of general interest,
and were inspected by a committee of critics, who
discussed their merits, and decided whether or not
they might be called "sea-worthy." There were
new tubs and old tubs; painted tubs and un-
painted tubs; tubs with rusty iron hoops and tubs
beautifully bound in brass and shining with fresh
nails. Some of them suggested the excursion of
the famous three men of Gotham, and in view of
the disasters of that melancholy voyage were at
once set aside and labeled dangerous."
But, finally, eleven were pronounced fit for use,
and were marshaled into rank and file like a fight-
ing regiment.
By this time the second bell had rung, and din-
ner was ready. Although intense excitement pre-
vailed, dinner seemed by no means a matter of
indifference to any of the boys. Fifteen of them
had a table together at one end of the long dining-
room which accommodated Mrs. Crane's houseful
of boarders. It was always a noisy table, but
VOL. IX.-38.

to-day, with so much to talk about, there was a
perfect babel of voices discussing the coming con-
test, until Mr. Long, the lame gentleman with
spectacles, limped over and sat down among them,
and talked so pleasantly that they were all glad
to be quiet and listen. In fact, all the boys felt
that he was a person worth propitiating, for he
was to be umpire of the great tub-race coming off
at three o'clock.
It was not quite two when they arose from the
table, and, as a great deal remained to be accom-
plished during the next hour, and no more minutes
could be wasted in mere forms and ceremonies,
the boys trooped out. In the first place, it was
necessary that they should all change their ordi-
nary dress for bathing-suits; then the tubs had to be
carried to the river-bank; finally, Mr. Long was
to meet the contestants there, and settle certain
questions concerning the management of the race,
-questions which could be decided only on the
Frank Sedgwick and his brother Will were the
first to come forth, fully equipped. They were the
best swimmers, cricketers, and ball-players, and the
handsomest fellows at Mrs. Crane's that summer.
Their mamma had no daughters to make beautiful,
so she spent all her pains on Frank and Will, and
their bathing-suits were handsome-of white flan-
nel, with blue trimmings, cut short in the arms,
and ending at their knees, displaying the well-
rounded, muscular limbs of the wearers. Each




of the brothers seized his tub-the best of the lot,
you may be sure-and carrying it aloft at arms'
length, as if it had no weight whatever, strode
rapidly down to the water's edge.
Next scrambled along Jo Paddock, dragging his
tub behind him. There was nothing of the dandy
about Jo. Although only fifteen, he was already
within an inch of being six feet tall, and it was
no easy matter to cover his long neck and arms and
ankles, all of which protruded from his rusty, gray
flannel suit, making him look like a disjointed
Following him were the Holt boys, all neat,
sober, trim little fellows, each -like the affectionate'
brothers they were helping the other to carry his
tub. Then, racing down, appeared Lemuel Shep-
herd, rolling his tub before him like a hoop, and
after him came Sam Tyson, munching an apple at
his ease, while Timothy, Mrs. Crane's man,
ambled behind, carrying his burden for him. It
was always Sam Tyson's way to escape the trouble
of things; somebody seemed always at hand to
look out for his comfort. He had a knack of get-
ting twice as much at table as the other boys, and
he always kept a supply of dainties besides, bought
with his pocket-money, which he thought was well
spent in luxuries for himself. He was no favorite
among his mates. Before he reached the river-side
the two Crane boys passed him, with Jack Loomis.
Why don't you take it as easily as I do ?" cried
out Sam, who was in an excellent humor. I
gave Tim ten cents to get my tub this morning,
and five more to bring it down here for me."
Why not send him out in it?" asked Jack
Loomis. I would n't have the bother of 1...l iii..
myself, if I were you."
"When the race really begins, I'11 take care of
myself," returned Sam, who, it must be confessed,
excelled in all athletic exercises. I have been in
these races before, and know a thing or two about
them. I might let you into the secret of winning,
boys, but I prefer to keep it to myself."
He looked around at the others with a quiet
smile of superiority. They all knew that smile and
what it meant, and they did not like him for it.
He was not a good-looking boy; he had yellow,
freckled, fi 1.i.1. cheeks, which hung down, and
small eyes, with an expression of lazy scorn in
them, and a wide, disagreeable mouth. As he
stood there boasting of his skill, every one of the ten
who listened had but one feeling in his heart, and
that was-no matter who won the race, it must
not be Sam Tyson. They all felt an antagonism
against him, remembering affronts he had put
upon them at tennis, cricket, and base-ball.
Mr. Long now appeared on the long bridge
which led out to the floating dock, followed by

twenty or thirty boarders, who had come to look
on and see the sport.
And with the Sedgwicks and the Crane boys he
fell to discussing the points still unsettled.
It was decided that the boys were to set out
from the bank, among the rushes, and paddle
to a certain buoy, an eighth of a mile down the
stream, go around that, then return, and land at the
floating dock. They were to start when he should
give the word. Each must keep five feet clear of
his rivals, and must on no account jostle his neigh-
bor. In gaining the goal, it was enough to touch
the planks of the dock with the hand.
"It is five minutes to three," said Mr. Long. To
your tubs, boys, and be ready to start promptly."
The boys all dashed to their places, took their
tubs, and held them over their heads, ready to
plash them into the water when Mr. Long should
give the word. As they stood waiting, a faint
cry arose among the spectators. A speck of blue
had appeared in the distance.
It is little Teddy Courtney," said somebody.
" He seems to be pushing a tub along."
"Teddy Courtney!" cried Jo Paddock, and
throwing down his own tub, he set off up the bank
like a long streak of lightning. Yes, there came
Teddy, in a bright blue boating-dress of the dainti-
est cut and fit, dragging, with enormous difficulty,
an old, rusty, battered tub. The little fellow was
alternately red and pale, his lip was trembling, and
two or three great tears rolled down his cheeks.
He was only nine years old, and had been sent
down to Mrs. Crane's, with his French nurse,
while his father and mother were in Europe.
Everybody petted and made much of the young-
ster, but to-day he had been overlooked.
Oh, Jo !" he cried, trembling with joy, as his
friend appeared. "I was so afraid I could n't get
here in time Marie would n't hurry, and this tub
is so heavy."
"I should think it was," growled Jo. "Poor
little Ted! He took the battered old thing in
his own hands. "The worst of the lot," said Jo.
" However, my baby, you shall have mine. This
will do well enough for me."
There was no time to be wasted. Everybody
was impatient. All the boys were drawn up in
line, holding their tubs ready to be launched. Jo
led Teddy down the bank and gave him his own
place; then he went to the end of the row with the
little fellow's battered hulk.
There was a pause. Then, "Are you ready?
- Go cried Mr. Long, and the boys were off.
That is, of course, they had waded out half a doz-
en feet from the shore to a spot where they could
clear bottom, and had got into their barks that
is to say, I mean some of them had got in. Until




one tries, he does not know how difficult a matter
it is to get into a floating tub -... -,,!1i and to
stay there. A few had contrived to keep up; the
others had keeled over. But those who went
down came up manfully, turned their tubs upside
down to get the water out, righted them, and
tried again.
Frank and Will Sedgwick had had their usual
good luck. They sat well into their tubs, their
legs astride, and were now paddling along with
short, clean strokes, which at once carried them
briskly in advance of the rest. Everybody looking
on at once declared that one of the two was sure

doing very well indeed. He had seemed to be afraid
of being upset by somebody, so he had steered
his craft far to windward, but was now nearing the
buoy, which he promised to round almost at the
time the Sedgwick boys would reach it.
His chances grew better and better every
moment. He was almost as much of a favorite as
the Sedgwicks, and there could be no chagrin at
his good luck. Yet it was, nevertheless, a melan-
choly thing to see Frank reach the stake at the
very same moment as his brother. Then, as they
paddled around it, how could he avoid jostling
Will? Then what hindered his getting upset

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to win. The pretty young lady who had made
the badges for the gainer of the race looked with
satisfaction at the handsome lads, and thought
how well either would wear her blue-and-cardinal
After the Sedgwicks came the two Cranes-
stout, manly fellows, used to all sorts of exploits on
sea and land, but rather too heavily built for the
present race; for, no sooner had they got forty or
fifty feet from the shore, than at the same moment
down went their tubs, and both were lost to sight.
They came up, spluttering and laughing, and,
drawing their perfidious tubs after them, waded
back to begin again. Meanwhile, Jack Loomis was

himself, and, in going down, carrying his brother
along with him ?
The Sedgwicks for once were thrown out of a
competition. They were so used to success that
they could hardly believe in their present ill-luck.
But, having to confess it, they took it good-nat-
uredly, and, feeling sure that their chances were
over, and that Jack Loomis had won the day, they
waded to the dock, climbed up the sides, and sat
on the edge, ready to cheer and applaud him when
he should make the goal.
Jack was now indeed monarch of all he sur-
veyed. But unseen dangers lurked ahead. All
at once, without any premonition of disaster, fate





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overtook him; down went his tub Twice he was
soused from head to foot before he could find bot-
tom and recover himself. Emerging finally, he
looked dazed, confounded, at such an overthrow
of all his hopes.
While a race is going on, however, one has no
time to waste pity on fallen heroes. For a good
while, now, nobody had thought of watching any
of the competitors save the Sedgwicks and Loomis.
After their mischances, the spectators simultane-
ously turned to see if anybody else was coming
up, like the tortoise, to claim the victory lost by
the hare. There soon arose a loud murmur of
discontent. Mr. Sam Tyson followed the three
who had gone down, and now was first in the pro-
Jo Paddock was nowhere; he had, in fact,
gone back and sat down:.- .,i.-.1ii on the bank.
Even if he had had a good tub, his long legs put
out of the question any sort of successful paddling.
The two Crane boys sat beside him, one of them
trying to mend his tub, which had started a hoop.
Lemuel Shepherd was still trying to get into his.
He was a roly-poly sort of a boy, so round that
there was no more chance for him than for an
apple-dumpling. The three Holt boys had gone
on very well, and might have held their own, had
not Sam Tyson run them down. One after another
each had drifted in his way, and when the question
arose in his mind whether his chances or theirs
should suffer, he had not hesitated for a single
moment, but devoted them to destruction by an
adroit kick of his foot.
A trifle behind Sam was Teddy Courtney, float-
ing beautifully. Now and then he leaned over
and paddled a little with his baby-hand, but in
general he was happy enough that he was up-
borne, and did not get overturned; so he made
no effort to get on. He looked like a Cupid, with
his golden curls, blue eyes, rosy cheeks, and
smiling lips.
There could now be no sort of doubt in any-
body's mind that Mr. Sam Tyson not only in-
tended to beat, but was certain to do so. He made
progress very slowly, as he had declared he under-
stood the secret of winning a tub-race. He knew
that by eager 1 ....ili;.._ the tub constantly shipped
water through the holes in the handles, and that
thus becoming "swamped," it was ready to go
down at the least jar. This danger he avoided,
keeping his lower edge well above the ripples. No-
body wished him well, yet, as if wafted by the most
earnest good wishes, he sailed on serenely. Every
other boy at Mrs. Crane's had friends, but he had

none. Yet he was not more than half a bad fellow,
if he could have been less selfish and greedy.
And now, with a long sigh, they all whispered to
themselves he was going to win. He had made
the buoy easily. He was weli on his way back.
He was not more than three yards from the goal.
His heavy face had not for a moment lighted up
with hope or expectation. He bore his honors
calmly so far. He always took everything calmly,
which made it all the more exasperating for those
whom he conquered.
He was within four feet of the floating dock.
Every one watched him, feeling more or less un-
happy. The pretty young lady with the badge of
crisp blue-and-cardinal ribbons, had seated herself
on a camp-stool, and was fanning herself, with an
air of indifference and patience. Apparently the
results of the race were not to justify her disinter-
ested efforts for it, since Mr. Sam Tyson was to
have the badge.
All at once, however, while the crowd looked on,
muttering wrath in whispers, Sam was seen to
move convulsively! A sneeze burst from him in
spite of all his efforts to suppress it. The tub turned
over and sank, carrying him down with it.
Ah, the cruelty of it all! For a triumphant cheer
burst from the party on shore Victory had been
almost in Sam's grasp, but he had lost it. Alas!
alas And there was no sympathy for him. All
the others who went down had had the grace of a
kind Poor fellow but not a word for Sam. He
took his reverse coolly, however, as he took every-
thing else. He scrambled to his footing, got into
his tub, and began to paddle himself back.
And was everybody out of the race? Was no
one to have the blue-and-red ribbons ? Why, yes !
There was Teddy Courtney, who had, by this
time, passed the buoy.
"Carefully, Ted Paddle carefully shouted
Jo Paddock, from the shore. You '11 beat us all
Teddy looked up in amazement. A winning
smile broke over his face. He leaned over, and
did paddle carefully. And a wind came up out of
the south, and floated him straight toward the
dock. His little hands seemed to work wonders,
but, besides, as if some irresistible force bore him
along, his tub went straight toward the goal.
Touch it, Ted, touch it cried Will Sedg-
wick, as he got alongside. And the little fellow
leaned out and touched it.
Then what a cheer broke forth, and how pretty
the young lady looked as she put on his blue-and-
red ribbons !





BY M. M. D.

A FRISKY little faun of old
Once came to charm the bees -
A frisky little faun and bold,
With very funny knees:
You '11 read in old mythology
Of just such folk as these,
Who haunted dusky woodlands
And sported neathh the trees.

Well, there he sat and waited
And played upon his pipe,
Till all the air grew fated
And the hour was warm and ripe,-
When, through the woodland glooming
Out to the meadow clear,
A few great bees came booming,
And hovered ..-i.,ii near.

Then others, all a-listening,
Came, one by one, intent,
Their gauzy wings a-glistening,
Their velvet bodies bent.
Filled was the meadow sunny
With music-laden bees,
Forgetful of their honey
Stored in the gnarled old trees,
Heedless of sweets that waited

In myriad blossoms bright,
They crowded, dumb and sated
And heavy with delight;
When, presto!-with quick laughter
The piping faun was gone!
And never came he after,
By noon or night or dawn.

Never the bees recovered;
The spell was on them still-
Where'er they flew or hovered
They knew not their own will;
The wondrous music filled them,
As dazed they sought the bloom;
The cadences that thrilled them
Had dealt them mystic doom.
And people called them lazy,
In spite of wondrous skill,
While others thought them crazy,
And strove to do them ill:
Their velvet coats a-fuzzing
They darted, bounded, flew,
And filled the air with buzzing
And riotous ado.

Now, when in summer's season
We hear their noise and stir,

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Full well we know the reason
Of buzz and boom and whirr-
As, browsing on the clover
Or darting in the flower,
They hum it o'er and over,
That charm of elfin power.
Dire, with a purpose musical
Dazing the sultry noon,

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They make their sounds confusical,
And try to catch the tune.
It baffles them, it rouses them,
It wearies them and drowses them;
It puzzles them and saddens them,
It worries them and maddens them:
Ah, wicked faun, with funny knees,
To bring such trouble on the bees !

( ..





THEY had lots of cows, the Spicers had,-and
they passed most of their time in our garden.
The reason they did n't stay in the pasture was
because the fences were all broken down; for the
Spicers were the most shiftless folks in Tucker-
town. Why I cared about the cows was because
I had to drive 'em out.
It was the summer that Lucy was sick, and Dot
and I were sent to Grandpa's.
Well, one day, Grandpa said:
"If those cows get into my corn again, I '11
drive 'em up to the pound."
What 's the pound ?" asked Dot.
"It's a pen," said Grandpa, "where you can
drive any cattle you find on your land; and the
owner can't get them out without paying a fine."
Oh, I think that's elegant!" said I. "I
know lots of people's cows I should like to get
into the pound."
When Grandpa went out, I said I would go and
tell Sarah Spicer just what he had said.
"Now, Mar) Jane, you just stay where you are.
You want your fingers in everybody's pies." It
was Aunt Jane-you might know-who said
I might have answered that she was so sparing
with hers (especially mince) that I never could
touch them. But I did n't. I often think of real
smart things, and it's mean that I can't say them.
But, I declare, there is never any use at all in my
arguing with Aunt Jane; for, when I get the best
of her, she always stiffens up and says: "There,
that will do, Mary Jane .Not another word !"

Besides, it is n't right to answer back. So I
just said nothing, but took Dot and marched
straight off to the Spicers'.
We found Sarah and Sam playing in front of
their house. Mercy me I never saw such a gone-
to-wreck-and-ruined place. Half the window-panes
smashed, and the shingles coming off, and the wall
broken down, and not so much as a path up to the
front door I suppose that is so that folks will go
to the back door, as Aunt Jane did that day I
went there with her and found the hens picking
up the crumbs in the kitchen. I should have
thought Mrs. Spicer would be ashamed of that;
would n't you? But, la, she was n't! She said
the hens were company for her, and, besides,
they "saved sweeping."
Aunt Jane says Sarah Spicer 's not a pretty-
behaved little girl," and I should n't think she was.
So saucy! And she swings her skirts when she
walks, and it's real aggravating. Besides that,
she makes up faces at real nice folks. Beth Hall
and I turned round quick once, and caught her
at it.
I thought she was looking more saucy than ever
on this particular day, and I determined to be very
dignified and distant.
How d' ye do, Mary Jane ? said she.
How d' ye do, Miss Spicer ?" said I.
"Mercy me, Mary Jane what airs said she.
It's no use to put 'em on here in Tuckertown, I
can tell you, for folks know all about you."
"There, that will do," said I, as like Aunt
Jane as ever I could. I only came over here to




tell you that we are going to have your cows put
in the pound, the very next time we find 'em in
our garden."
"Poh !" cried out that Hop-o'-my-thumb of a
Sam. "Your grandfather has said so, lots of
times, but he never does."
Does n't dare to snapped Sarah.
I was just boiling mad. The idea of my being
treated so by those low Spicers i
Dare to ? said I. I wonder who you think
would be afraid of such a poor, shiftless set as you
are? My grandfather says your farm does n't
raise :i,..r but weeds and potato bugs. But
I'll tell him it raises plenty of sarce' besides."
And then I took Dot's hand, and just ran for
home, so as not to give Sarah a chance to have
the last word.
Oh, but don't I 'spise her !
Well, that afternoon, Dot and I went into the
barn to play. We played that we were angels,
and made the loveliest crowns of burs, and real
nice wings out of newspapers. When we wanted
to fly, we went to the top of the loft, and flew down


to the hay on the barn-floor; but we did n't care I '11 take off my little crown and stick the prickles
to fly much, it was so much nicer to bounce up into you, Miss "
and down on the clouds-I mean the hay-and That 's what I said, but I knew I could n't get
play on our harps and sing. the crown out of my hair-the old burs stuck so.
We were just in the midst of it, and enjoying I got some out, though, and tied my hal on, set


the fun with all our might, when Aunt Jane
screamed out:
"Mary Jane Mary Jane The cows are in the
garden. Run and drive them out."
Is n't that mean! said I. "The idea of
asking an angel to drive cows "
"Play they are evil sperits," suggested Hiram,
who was cleaning out the stalls.
"No, they're not," said I. "They are just
nothing but cows. Besides, it makes me hot to
run after them, and angels ought never to be hot."
Then Aunt Jane began to scream at me again,
and, of course, I had to go.
"It's too bad!" cried Dot. "Those Spicers'
cows spoil all our fun."
I '11 tell you what," said I, after I had shoo'd
them into the road. I 'm going to drive 'em
right up to the pound. I '11 show that Sarah
Spicer "
"Why, Mary Jane Hunt! cried silly Dot.
"What '11 Grandpa say? I wont go."
"Say? Why, that he is much obliged to me,
to be sure. And if you don't come right along,



my wings against the 1. ..I .i .;
drive the cows with. ['..- 1..11 .1 i iir 1.
as meek as a lamb.
It was n't far to the I...:...... I. I i i.-i i
one cow and her call' :. I 't ,
and, besides, we wall:. .., i I I -
the sunny parts of the i .., 1. .I, : .
time we came to a sha. i.'l 1. .
in the afternoon when .. I. ii ,: !-.i I. .,.i
turned to come horn:.
Let 's go 'round I t. -', .I I
" I don't care if it i. t., r.. i 1 i
shall see Sarah."
"I don't want to -... '- ,,.- -..:I
Dot. "I saw 'nougi. !. : 1 : i,..i, ..
'Sides, Aunt Jane s .l!. i i ....
supper in time, she w .. 1.1i. II L .
Green, you know. 11.I ,. I ...- .
us some pears."
But I was bound .. .. : !: ti:.i:'
so I said: W e 'll h .,, .....I .. -,
and I know we sh r, i.,. r.. .'..1 i
had my way.
W e went quite a di ...: I. 1 : .. 1... -I .:l
then through Mr. Hl : 1 ii.M1.. .I I!!
woods beyond, and c ii ...i .. Ir
in the Spicers' pastu: TI..
sun had just gone d .
and there was a bri .
light behind the row ..!
old, jagged apple-tree.

along by the stone
wall, which was so
broken down in
places that it was
an easy matter for
the cows to stray
away. Dot and I
noticed that there
was only one left
now in the pasture.
I hope Sarah
and Sam will have
a good time hunt-
ing after the oth-
ers; and good
enough for 'em,"
said I. "Perhaps
her father is just
scolding her now
for letting 'em
stray away."
Well, he is n't,
for there he is
now." Dot point-
ed, and I saw
Sarah in the swing

,\~A *r. r' -y
NA a Aa

01 r -
.. tv w



}57__ -


on the butternut tree in front of their house, and
her father was swinging her, up ever so high.
When she saw us she jumped out and ran to
the fence.
Hope you '11 find your cows to-night, Sarah,"
said I.
You had better go for 'em," chimed in Dot.
Hope you '11 find yours," retorted Sarah. If
you don't keep 'em out of our garden, we are going
to drive 'em to the pound."
Te, he," giggled Sam.
What could they mean ? I wondered, as I hur-
ried on, if our cows had got into their garden; and
it worried me so that I told Dot.

" But, la, it 's no use to wait any longer. I'll use
morning's milk."
'"Yes," said Grandpa, who was washing his
hands at the sink. Do let 's have supper. Chil-
dren, have you seen the cows ? "
"Why, no," I answered, "not ours; but Dot
and I drove the Spicers' cows up to the pound."
Those that were in our garden ?" demanded
Aunt Jane, looking straight at me.
I nodded.
Well, of all the little mischief-makers Those
were our cows."
My gracious, goodness me said I; and
Grandpa's got to pay a fine to get his own cows out

W KI : *. i, .'' .:'q'a ','i ,^ 'K '
^'' '" "-J'

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"c "

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I don't believe it, at all," said Dot. "They
just wanted to scare us and get even with us."
Although we hurried so, it was late when we got
home. We were afraid that supper would be all
over, and Aunt Jane would scold us for being late.
But though the table was set, and Grandpa was
home from work, no one had sat down to it.
"Been waiting for the milk," said Aunt Jane.

of the pound? Oh dear! I do hope Sarah Spicer
wont find out about it."
Dot and I did n't go to Mrs. Green's for pears
that night, I can tell you. Instead, we went to bed
an hour earlier than usual; but Sarah Spicer
does n't know anything about it; and after Aunt
Jane went down-stairs, Dot and I had a real good
time playing angel.






As MOLLY sat by her mother,
She heard of some curious things,
For one lady said to another:
"Yes, money has certainly wings."

"Oh, has it?" thought little Molly,
" I never knew that before! "
And, questioning, looked at her dolly,
Who calmly sat on the floor.

Then entered a breathless caller,
With shawl hanging quite unpinned;

Lest a thunder-storm should befall her,
She had come on the wings of the wind."

"I wonder where she would leave them,"
Thought Molly, and looked about;
From the window she could n't perceive them -
They had flown right along, no doubt.

Two facts quite reconciled Molly
To this confusion of things:
She was safely tied to her dolly,
And her mamma had no wings.



THERE she is !" cried Bennie Ruan. "She
was in that patch behind the mulberry-tree when
I saw her first; but I am going to cover the patch
with that big fish-net of Father's, so that she can
not rob us any more."
"Oh, it's not about the pine-apples I mind," ex-
claimed Mrs. Ruan, "but her wickedness is enough
to make anybody cry !-the miserable witch!"
What witch ? I asked. Who is it ? "
"There she is again!" cried Bennie, before
anybody could answer my question. "I believe I
heard her chattering near the big fig-tree !"
We all ran out on the porch, Mrs. Ruan with a
kitchen-knife, Bennie's brother Carlos with a stick,
and his sick father with his crutch. They were
poor Mexican farmers and had no fire-arms. On
the porch, Martin, an old negro servant, was husk-
ing corn, but when the boys ran toward the fig-
tree, he got up and followed me into the garden.
What is all this about?" I asked him, as we
reached the orchard. The old negro put his finger
to his mouth, to enjoin silence, but when we got
behind the copse of currant bushes, he stopped
and began to chuckle.
Well, sir, to de best ob my knowledge, it 's
nothing but a common monkey," said he.
What monkey? "
De witch, as dey call her. Dere wuz a Miss
Gonzales used to live down in Benyamo, an' dey
tried to arrest her for witchcraft, and she has been

mission' ever since. Dey hev got a notion dat she
changed herself into a monkey-de one dat 's
robbin' us all de time. Hush! Here comes that
boy Carlos."
"Come over this way, Doctor," whispered Car-
los-" we shall have some fun now; she 's at the
lower end of the corn field, right where my father
put up the trap. Father is behind the mulberries
back there. Take care-we must keep on this side
of the trees, where she can not see us."
The old farmer was sitting on a wheelbarrow
behind a clump of leafy mulberry-trees, while his
wife was peeping through the branches.
"There are four or five in the weeds, over yon-
der," said she; "they are near the trap right now."
The witch, too?" I asked.
Yes, sir," said the farmer -"she's somewhere
in the corn field."
Where's the witch ?" asked Bennie.
Keep still," whispered his mother. "There
she is now, at the end of the fence there; look! do
you see her red necklace? Here she comes She's
going for the trap."
I could see her, too. A lean, long-legged capuchin
monkey, with a sort of red collar around her neck,
went skipping along the, fence till she reached the
top of the corner rail, where she stopped, and rose
on her hind legs to get a view of the field. Find-
ing the coast clear, she hopped down and slipped
behind a pile of boards at the end of the furrow.






As MOLLY sat by her mother,
She heard of some curious things,
For one lady said to another:
"Yes, money has certainly wings."

"Oh, has it?" thought little Molly,
" I never knew that before! "
And, questioning, looked at her dolly,
Who calmly sat on the floor.

Then entered a breathless caller,
With shawl hanging quite unpinned;

Lest a thunder-storm should befall her,
She had come on the wings of the wind."

"I wonder where she would leave them,"
Thought Molly, and looked about;
From the window she could n't perceive them -
They had flown right along, no doubt.

Two facts quite reconciled Molly
To this confusion of things:
She was safely tied to her dolly,
And her mamma had no wings.



THERE she is !" cried Bennie Ruan. "She
was in that patch behind the mulberry-tree when
I saw her first; but I am going to cover the patch
with that big fish-net of Father's, so that she can
not rob us any more."
"Oh, it's not about the pine-apples I mind," ex-
claimed Mrs. Ruan, "but her wickedness is enough
to make anybody cry !-the miserable witch!"
What witch ? I asked. Who is it ? "
"There she is again!" cried Bennie, before
anybody could answer my question. "I believe I
heard her chattering near the big fig-tree !"
We all ran out on the porch, Mrs. Ruan with a
kitchen-knife, Bennie's brother Carlos with a stick,
and his sick father with his crutch. They were
poor Mexican farmers and had no fire-arms. On
the porch, Martin, an old negro servant, was husk-
ing corn, but when the boys ran toward the fig-
tree, he got up and followed me into the garden.
What is all this about?" I asked him, as we
reached the orchard. The old negro put his finger
to his mouth, to enjoin silence, but when we got
behind the copse of currant bushes, he stopped
and began to chuckle.
Well, sir, to de best ob my knowledge, it 's
nothing but a common monkey," said he.
What monkey? "
De witch, as dey call her. Dere wuz a Miss
Gonzales used to live down in Benyamo, an' dey
tried to arrest her for witchcraft, and she has been

mission' ever since. Dey hev got a notion dat she
changed herself into a monkey-de one dat 's
robbin' us all de time. Hush! Here comes that
boy Carlos."
"Come over this way, Doctor," whispered Car-
los-" we shall have some fun now; she 's at the
lower end of the corn field, right where my father
put up the trap. Father is behind the mulberries
back there. Take care-we must keep on this side
of the trees, where she can not see us."
The old farmer was sitting on a wheelbarrow
behind a clump of leafy mulberry-trees, while his
wife was peeping through the branches.
"There are four or five in the weeds, over yon-
der," said she; "they are near the trap right now."
The witch, too?" I asked.
Yes, sir," said the farmer -"she's somewhere
in the corn field."
Where's the witch ?" asked Bennie.
Keep still," whispered his mother. "There
she is now, at the end of the fence there; look! do
you see her red necklace? Here she comes She's
going for the trap."
I could see her, too. A lean, long-legged capuchin
monkey, with a sort of red collar around her neck,
went skipping along the, fence till she reached the
top of the corner rail, where she stopped, and rose
on her hind legs to get a view of the field. Find-
ing the coast clear, she hopped down and slipped
behind a pile of boards at the end of the furrow.




"Oh, Father! cried Carlos, quick, quick !
Let's get the dog She's coming this way-I saw
her just now in the melon patch."
Here 's de dog," said the negro. Come on
-if he does n't get her, she knows more about
witchcraft than I do. Let 's head her off."
Our plan was to take the dog to the lower end
of the orchard, where he could intercept the witch
on her way to the high timber, while Carlos was

----.- -- --
.. -_--- i: -. .- .. -

i,- ,. .-

.. .. "_-", -,,

, ) [.r _- .., '

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of the melon patch, with Carlos at her heels. He
was driving her straight toward us, and through
the middle of the corn field, when the dog suddenly
broke away before Uncle Martin could grab him.
He had caught sight of her and she of him, for
she turned sharp around, passed Carlos like ii i1.
and disappeared in the copse of currant bushes.
In the next second, the dog reached the thicket,
but while he was racing up and down with his nose

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ |':- r~'~-- t ,-

P i. -- _' -,-: ".. '"

--..,.-- -- .i _-. ,.

on the ground, the sly
witch slipped out at the
other end, and made a
break for the high tim-
her. Our shouts and yells
S brought the dog on her
track, and, spying her in
the open field, he came
sweeping down the furrow
like the wind, and went
over the fence with a fly-
ing leap, but a moment
too late. The capuchin
had reached the first tree,
and mocked him with
chattering grimaces from
a height of sixteen feet.
Just look at her!"
laughed Uncle Martin.
She 's too smart for us,
Yes, she has fooled
i us again," groaned Mrs.
Ruan. "Oh, what a
'. shameful crime is witch-
i craft!"
"Too bad,"said I. "It

these monkeys bother you
S ,' i a .i dam ? "
; ..,.:. lie keeps worrying me from
S..... yesterday evening we had to
r, .. I, -i.i seven to drive her out of the
: .- i .... 1, 1.1 ,,1 1 ..i f that! Getting on top of a
.. L r...: i ,. ..' ie day- a person in her cir-
I.. ,,.. n,,. i .,.. -,,,, ,r,.. : -' !. Iis n't the least bit of self-

.) house, to let us know
'A MOMENT TOO LATE." when we ought to slip
the dog. The farmer was
too lame to join us, but his wife brought with her
a club and a twisted rattan.
I '11 teach her manners, if we catch her," said
she, with a flourish of her weapons.
We had already reached the outskirts of the
wood, and passed the first tall trees, without any
signal from Carlos; but when we were in the act of
climbing the fence a little below the log-trap, the
farmer on the porch gave a great shout, and, at
the same moment, we saw the capuchin dash out

respect, sir."
When we returned to the cottage yard, Mrs.
Ruan's eldest daughter came running out of a side
building. "Oh, Mamma," cried she, "Miss
Gonzales was in our bakehouse last night!"
Why, what has she been about, now?"
"Cook made a dozen dough-dumplings," said
the girl, and there are only ten left, now. They
were covered up in a dish on the oven-bench, and
Bennie says he never came near the oven, and I'm
sure I didn't, either, so it must have been Miss
Oh, the wretch Oh, mercy, what shall we do






about it ? This must be stopped, somehow! Why,
she is robbing us night and day "
"What!" cried the farmer, "you do not be-
lieve that she would eat raw dough, do you ?"
Oh, you do not know her yet," wailed the
good wife; "there 's nothing too wicked for her-
nothing too wicked. A person that will resort to
witchcraft is capable of anything."
Why don't you borrow a gun and shoot her?"
I asked.
"Bless you, no, sir!" said the farmer; "they
would discharge me right off."
Who would?"
"The gentlemen in the convent, sir; all this
land belongs to their game-preserve, and they do
not permit their tenants to use any kind of fire-
Oh, Doctor," said Mrs. Ruan, could n't you
be kind enough to send us some kind of a charm-
a witch-charm, I mean? We would pay you the
full value of it, and be ever so much obliged to
you. If you say so, we can send Uncle Martin
along, and pay you the next time you --"
Never mind," I interrupted, "but let me tell
you what I can do. I will see Mr. Cardenas, and
borrow his American steel-trap for you."
Will that do any good against a witch?" said
the farmer, doubtfully.
Indeed it will, sefnor," said Uncle Martin. I
saw them catch wolves and bears with such traps
down in Texas, and a witch does n't know more
than a cinnamon bear does, I don't care how smart
she is."
It will cripple her if she puts her foot in," I
added. Judge Cardenas lives somewhere out in
the country, and I shall have to hunt up a guide
in San Juan to find his place, or I would get you
the trap before night."
"Judge Cardenas? You mean Judge Pedro
Cardenas?" asked the negro. "Well, selor, you
need n't go very far for a guide, den: he lives on
dis side of de river, an' I can take you to his place
in about three-quarters of an hour. Start now,
efyou say so, sir ? "
Yes, let's go right now," Isaid; we should n't
find him at home after three o'clock. Come on."
We passed the convent hill and a thicket of tali-
pot-palms, and then entered a caucho grove. The
tropical forests are strangely quiet during the noon-
tide heat; every living thing seeks the shade, and
even the parrots sit under the thick foliage, or hide
in hollow trees, like owls, and do not stir till the
day cools off. The air was so still that we could
hear the buzz of a gnat, and the rustling of the
small lizards that skipped from tree to tree through
the dry leaves, but when we entered the caucho
grove we suddenly heard a piercing scream from

the depth of the woods-a curious shrill and long-
drawn screech, like the yell of a big tomcat, and
soon after the deep-mouthed bark of a hunting-
Listen That 's Mr. Cardenas's deer-hound,"
said the old negro. The judge must be some-
where in that thicket down there. Let 's hail
Our call was answered by a loud halloo from a
wooded glen on our right, and, before long, a
hunter stepped from the thicket, and waved his hat
when he recognized us.
"Hello, Judge," I called out, "what's the
matter-have you been cat-hunting on that creek
down there ?"
"No, I was hunting pheasants," cried the judge,
" and what do you suppose I caught? "
"'What was it a wild-cat ? "
No, no," said he. Come along- I '11 show
you; it takes three witnesses to prove it."
My wood-choppers captured a sloth this morn-
ing," said the judge, as we walked toward the
ravine-" a big black sloth- a 'bush-lawyer,' as
the Indians call them. They tied him to the
stump of a tree, and what do you suppose I found,
when I came out to fetch him? Here we are!
Just look at this happy family "
The old sloth lay on his back, near the stump
where the wood-choppers had left him, but in his
claws he held the strangest animal I ever saw in
my life -a black, hairy little brute, about the
shape of a young bear, but with a big tail that
turned and twisted left and right like a snake.
"What in the world do you call that? I asked
-"a monkey or an overgrown squirrel? "
No, it 's a honey-bear," laughed the judge-
"a kinkayou, as we call them. Just look up
there 's half a dozen of them in that tree "
On a catalpa-tree, near the stump, a whole fam-
ily of the strange long-tails were eating their
dinner, not in the least disconcerted by our pres-
ence, as it seemed, though two of them eyed us,
with outstreched necks, as if they desired us to
explain the purpose of our visit.
I stepped back to get a better look at them.
They had snouts and paws like fat young bears,
but in their movements they reminded me of a
North American opossum; they could hang by
their tails and use them as rope-ladders in lower-
ing themselves from branch to branch. Now and
then, one or two of them came down to take a
look at their captive comrade, but the least move-
ment of the old sloth would send them scamper-
ing up the tree with squeals of horror.
"That lawyer of yours has taken the law into
his own hands," said I.
Yes, I suspect those little imps kept fooling




'~~1 -.1 _
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.... ._ _- ___- _--_ _:-:-

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_=.---_ .._m-'' .- I :"",,-. .




with him until he grabbed one of them," said the
judge. Let 's set that thing free, or he will
squeeze it to death."
The old sloth held his prisoner as a spider holds
a fly, encircling him completely with his long-
clawed legs, and while the captive mewled and
snarled, the captor uttered grunts that sounded
like inward chuckles. It needed our combined
efforts to unclasp his long grappling-hooks, and
we were afraid the prisoner would die before we
could liberate him, but as soon as his feet touched
the ground, he bounced up the tree as if the fell
fiends were at his heels.
That fellow wont forget the day of the month,"
laughed the judge; "he will know better than to
meddle with a lawyer the next time."
I explained to the judge that we had come to
borrow his trap, and he told Uncle Martin to go
and fetch it.
Well, Judge, I 'm much obliged to you," said
the old negro, "but I guess we had better try dis
four-legged trap first. You may call her Miss
Gonzales or whatever you like, but if dis here
lawyer would n't squeeze de witchcraft out of her,
we might as well give it up for a bad job. Why,
I could i.. *ii, get his claws off at all; I never
saw the like before."
It 's only the old males of the black variety
that will do that," explained the judge; "the
brown ones are almost helpless, if you turn them
over on their backs. Well, I must go along and
see the fun," said he, "but if you catch that
monkey, please do not kill her; if she can dance,
I should like to take her home, and let my chil-
dren make a pet of her."
The afternoon was far advanced; so when we
reached the farm, all hands were promptly set
to work to get the witch-trap ready without loss
of time.
Near the log-trap, and just below the place where
the monkeys used to cross the fence, we drove
four short stakes into the ground and fastened the
old sloth securely, but in a way that did not inter-
fere with the upward and sideward movement of
his arms and legs. All around him we strewed
the ground with raisins and bits of bread, and
Mrs. Ruan added a large slice of ginger-cake,
which we fastened on a separate stake behind the
living trap.
"We might as well try a wood-lawyer, since the
other lawyer would n't help us," Mrs. Ruan told
me. "Here 's my neighbor, Mrs. Lucas, she
knows a recipe for curing such hags : You must
make them drink a quart of boiling pepper-sauce,
with sulphur and garlic. I 've got a potful on
the stove there, and if we catch her, she will have
to swallow every drop of it. I '11 hold her nose

and make her do it. Yes, sir, witchcraft must be
Here, Carlos, you take this ax," said his
father, "go to the wood-shed, and make all the
noise you can. That witch has a way of turning
up as soon as she hears us chopping wood," he
added. "I suppose she calculates that we can't
watch her as long as we are hard at work."
Mr. Ruan then tied the dog to the bed-post, the
good wife went to the bakehouse, and the rest of us
marched to the south corner of the garden, where
Uncle Martin posted us behind a clump of banana-
Carlos, in the wood-shed, kept up a noise as if a
company of lumbermen were at work with axes
and cudgels, and, before long, the judge tapped
me on the shoulder and pointed to the farther end
of the fence. There 's one now," said he-" a
raccoon or a young monkey."
Hold on! Dat 's de witch herself," whispered
Uncle Martin. I can see her now-she 's peep-
ing over de top rail. Dere she comes-do you
see her collar?"
The old capuchin took a good look at the trap,
and then raised herself to her full length and
surveyed the garden silently and carefully. Some-
how, the prospect did not seem satisfactory, for
instead of jumping down, she jogged along the
top rails to the next corner and peered about the
field once more. The coast seemed clear, and,
after a last furtive glance in the direction of the
cottage, the old marauder leaped down and disap-
peared in the weeds. Was she going to content
herself with corn-ears? She could not possibly
have overlooked the tidbits near the trap.
No, she had n't, nor forgotten them neither, for,
two minutes later, she re-appeared at the right
place, took up a piece of bread, examined it care-
fully, and then eyed the prostrate sloth with evi-
dent surprise.
She does n't know what to make of all that,"
whispered the farmer.
She will find it out mighty suddenly, if she
aint kerful," chuckled Uncle Martin. "De lawyer
is getting ready for her."
The "witch" approached the trap with great
caution, peeped under the boards, smelled them,
and looked thoughtfully in the direction of the
What if it should be some new trick? Mon-
keys can not be too careful nowadays-farmers are
so cunning; that poor fellow on his back, there,
seems to have fallen a victim to their wiles," she
appeared to be saying to herself.
She tapped his head and stole a look at his face.
The lawyer never budged. She went around
and examined him from the other side. Where




did he come from? Is he dead? Why does n't
he try to get away?"
The lawyer lay low.
"A queer customer How did he get fast
there, anyhow? What keeps him down?" She
nosed around the strings, scrutinized the stakes,
and tried to step over the corpse, or whatever it
might be, in order to acquaint herself with the
interior mechanism of this novel kind of trap.
Perhaps she imagined it would take her only a
moment, but in that moment the four arms
clasped her like the fangs of a steel-trap, and a
horrified screech announced the success of our
stratagem. The lawyer had her.
Uncle Martin started off with a whoop, the boys

-- -.
: ;
.- ," ," -, ,


/ .* .

.' *-..- ~*. -'' 'J ,
:'*-'"'' *-" ":'' >-'-% r':, '
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broke from the cottage with a simultaneous rush,
and, a second after, the population of the farm
galloped toward the trap, like race horses on the
home stretch.
When the witch saw us come, the recollection
of her sins made her redouble her shrieks and
struggles, but she might as well have tried to
break out of a straight-jacket and a pair of iron
handcuffs; the old sloth neither stirred nor made
the slightest noise, but held her with the merciless
grip of a boa constrictor. Before we liberated her,
Uncle Martin slipped a stout leather strap through

her collar, fastened it with a triple knot, and
opened a big linen i... 'iL. ... to have it ready for
use. When we got her free, she leaped backward
with a sudden jerk, but finding she could not
break the strap, the poor creature crept into the
sack of her own accord, glad to get out of sight
at any price; but in the bottom of the bag we
could hear her teeth chatter with fear, as if she
expected every moment to be pulled out and shot.
We have got her Mrs. Ruan called to the
cook, who had watched us from the porch. "Run,
Carlotta Get the pepper-sauce ready "
I believe she is going to burn her alive,"
laughed the farmer, who had hobbled out with the
help of a crutch.
"No, no, my friends; that would never do,"
said Mr. Cardenas. "You can not burn a witch
that still has the form of a monkey-it would be
cruelty to animals, and that 's against the law."
You hear that ?" said the farmer. The judge
is right; we must n't get ourselves into trouble.
We 'd better sell her, or set her free on the other
side of the river; witches can not swim, you know,
so she would never get across the Rio Lerma."
"No, sir; that would n't do, neither," said the
judge. "She can not be permitted to run at
large. We must teach her a useful trade, and keep
her locked up for the rest of her life."
"That's right! Lock her up and keep her
hard at work, the miserable huzzy!" cried Mrs.
Ruan, shaking her fist at the bag.
"Yes," said the judge; "but she must n't be
maltreated, and I '11 see if I can take her to board
in my family. Look here, my friends, suppose I
pay you four dollars for the damage she has
caused you, and engage that she shall bother you
no more ? Will that be satisfactory?"
"Why, certainly," said the farmer. "I am
much obliged to you, Judge."
You are kind, sir," said Mrs. Ruan; but--"
Step this way, sir, please," said Mrs. Ruan,
with an uneasy glance at the bag. I want to
talk to you privately, where that creature can not
overhear us." Then, stepping aside with the judge,
she whispered : You know more about law busi-
ness than we do, but I must warn you that you
must keep your eye on her. And it is not enough
to lock the doors-the likes of her find other ways
of escape. If they get hold of a broom, they make
a rush for the nearest chimney, and off they go,
whistling before the wind."
Make your mind easy, my good woman,"
laughed the judge. I am going to watch her
closely. The first time I catch her on a broom-
stick, I shall turn her over to the police."



IND SNIpp(D Off) TH). TIp OF
W oULD su1R)L y B1
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,1 LE THe poO O y\ AID O'
HI~P: l) ANy ON( CouLD.
P- So you 'v LOST THN
STip oF youR -OS !"

g TH DAy IN JUN (,



1882.] THE MAID OF HONOR. 00

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VOL. IX.-39.




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0 ( O THAT WATRy 0AD TO (,1 H






BY L. A. B.

THE Whirligig Club had been in existence more
than two months, and the citizens of West Ridge,
one and all, had several times called it a nuisance,
although they could not help smiling with admira-
tion at the boys as they whizzed past the houses
and street-corners on their "bikes."
As for the mothers and sisters of the members,
they had gradually become reconciled to it, and
were no longer in hourly expectation of having the
youngsters brought home insensible on shutters or
cellar-doors, nor in dread of having to reach out
and pick them off the iron fence, on the sharp
points of which they had seemed determined to
impale themselves at first, so wildly had their
unmanageable steeds wabbled about.
Johnny had just joined the ranks. He had been
an honorary member ever since the Club started;
but now, the ownership of a machine made him at
once a most active working member.
It was a proud day for Johnny when he found
himself the possessor of a bicycle. He was a favor-
ite with all the Whirligiggers," so, when he came

into view, mounted on his new "steed," the group
greeted him with a hearty cheer, and he was taken
into full membership on the spot.
It 's even taller than mine, too," said Bob, as
they all gathered around to admire it; and he said
it so unselfishly that Johnny inwardly resolved to
be his friend as long as he lived; for Bob had
until now enjoyed the distinction of having the
largest bicycle in the Club.
"We ought to do something to celebrate his
initiation," said Frank, after each member had
taken a trial trip on the new machine, and ex-
pressed an opinion on the working-powers.
"We must have a grand ride all together,
some day soon," suggested Bob.
This proposal met with instant favor, and re-
ceived the approbation of the entire Club; but
when Joe suggested that they should go at night,
and that nobody should know a word about it,
some demurred. The proposal was rather start-
ling. But the more they talked it over, the bet-
ter they liked it; and even those who had at first




objected, came at length to the conclusion that it
was the one proper way to have a celebration. So
the Club stifled any whisperings of conscience
about the propriety of going without leave, and
unanimously declared the matter settled.
It took a great deal of talking to arrange the de-
tails of the plan; but it was finally decided that
they should go out on the Mill road, and then
cross over and come in on the West road, and that
Thursday evening, at ten o'clock, would
be the best time for the start.
Johnny and Ned, because the windows
of their rooms were not adapted to a silent
departure, were to get permission to spend
the night with Bob and Joe, who possessed
windows opening upon low roofs, which '
made a quiet exit easy. They were to -
meet at the cross-roads a little before ten,
and to start as near that hour as possible. .
When the evening came, the roads were
found to be all that the most exacting bi-
cycler could ask. Joe and Ned were the
first at the place of rendezvous, but they
had not long to wait until all the others
came speeding up to them, either singly or
in pairs.
Call the roll!" said Ben, as the last
two rolled into the circle-for the Club,
although it numbered only seven members,
never started on any expedition without
attending to this important duty.
Ned Alvin, Johnny Ellis, Joe Gaddis,
Frank Long, Ben Webster, Davie Faxton,"
called Bob Gridley, just above a whisper,
and so rapidly that the owner of a name
had barely time to answer before the next
was called.
"Now we 're ready," added Bob; and
on the instant the entire seven mounted
their machines, and as Bob, who was leader
for the evening, blew three notes softly on
his whistle, away they flew.
Their place of meeting had been just on
the edge of the town, and a few minutes'
ride took them past the last house and
out upon the country road.
They had not gone half a mile when two
notes from Bob's whistle made them slacken
speed, and, as they drew up in a group
around him, Bob suggested that when they
came to the Mill road, which was only a
little way ahead, they should turn off, and go
around by Long Pond. The proposal took away
their breath; but finally Davie found enough to
exclaim: "Why, that is fully an eight-mile trip "
What is eight miles? asked Bob; there is
n't one of us but can do it. To be sure, it is a

little farther than we ever have been, but of course
we can make it."
"But how long will it take?" "More than
twice as far There '11 be a hill to go over,"
came from several members at once. But these ob-
jections were followed by an instantaneous "Let's
go, any way," from the entire Club. And they
filed into line again.
The road was smooth, and away they glided,

7 .% .


Bob leading and the others ,il.. ;,... two and
two. Their course lay straight ahead for a few
paces, and then they turned squarely to the right,
and on again. The moon was shining brightly, and
hundreds of stars twinkled down on them through
the tree-tops which leaned over the road. It was




just the evening for such a trip. They did not
stop a minute to rest, but wheeled industriously
on, sometimes in single file, when the road was
not so good, then again two and three abreast.
Many a clear, boyish laugh and loud halloo echoed
through the woods.
Johnny and Bob regaled them with the air
of Row, brothers, row," sung to words like:
"Wheel, brothers, wheel; the night goes fast,
The road is long and the bridge not past,"

which was received with much admiration by the
other members, although the singers' voices were
rather gaspy, owing to their being somewhat out
of breath from a short race.
"Let 's stop at the split-oak for lunch," called
Frank, who was in the rear.
All right! came from the others, and they
made their wheels spin until they came to the split-
oak, full five miles from their starting-point.
There the brigade stopped; the "bikes" were
stood up against trees, and the boys settled down
in a grassy place by the oak, where the moonlight
was brightest, and where they applied themselves
vigorously to demolishing the cheese and crackers
which they had brought with them.
Say, boys, do you know it 's almost twelve ? "
said Joe, looking at his watch, which was the pride
of his heart. The bright moonlight shone full on
its face, and left no doubt of the time.
Well, we ought to start," said Ned. We 've
been nearly half an hour eating our lunch and
"I tell you, boys, we have got to make pretty
good time the rest of the way," said Johnny, as
each rider brought up his steed and prepared to
Oh, we can easily be home in an hour and a
half; we did n't start until after ten, and the oak
is more than half-way," said Bob.
The road lay straight for the next mile; then
came the hill, up which the Whirligiggers found
it much the easier plan to walk. On the other side,
the hill sloped by an easy grade to the foot, where
the road crossed the pond by a long bridge. So
they mounted again at the top, and made a quick
run to the bottom, their speed increasing every
moment, until, when they reached the foot, they
were going so fast that they rushed across the
planked bridge with a rumbling like distant
The Club was at length beginning to feel the
effects of the unusually long ride; and, as the
party came to the railway, Ben said:
"Let 's rest here until the expresses pass."
"Agreed! said Bob. What time is it, Joe ?"
"After one-ten minutes after. It must be

time for the train now," he answered, looking down
the track.
The up-express was due at fifteen minutes after
one, and the down-express at almost the same
hour, but they seldom were on time. In a few
minutes the trains would surely pass the spot
where the boys now were, and they thought the
sight worth waiting for, because the trains were
through expresses, and always dashed along as if
speed was the only thing cared for.
The boys agreed to wait. Two of them stretched
themselves on the ground by the side of the
wagon-road, and the others sat around on logs,
glad to take a breathing spell, as Joe called it.
"I say," said Davie, suddenly," the railway would
be a splendid place for our machines to run on."
So it would," said Bob. "The places between
the ties have been filled and packed, and so many
people use it as a foot-path, that it 's as smooth
and solid as a floor."
Just then, the up-express came whistling and
roaring along the track, and dashed past them at
tremendous speed, raising clouds of dust, twigs,
and dry grass. The boys held their breath as the
monster swept by them, without slackening speed
even to cross the long bridge over the creek and
the trestle-work beyond.
And then followed a strange crashing sound, as
of earth and rocks rolling down-hill; but soon all
was still again.
"Where are you going, now?" asked Ben, as
Johnny and Ned suddenly jumped up, moved by
the same impulse.
To see how the track will do for our 'bikes,'"
answered Johnny, as they trundled their machines
toward the railway.
Bob had his mouth wide open to suggest that
all the Club should follow, when a startled call
from Johnny, echoed by one from Ned, caused
them to rush down to where the two boys were.
Their faces turned as pale as were Johnny's and
Ned's, when, in answer to their "What 's the
matter?" Ned pointed to a dark heap across the
track, close to the bridge. A moment's glance
showed them that one of the great rocks from the
hill, no doubt shaken loose by the train which had
just thundered past, had rolled down upon the
track, carrying with it a mass of dirt and gravel.
The rock was so large that the boys could not
move it, although they at once tried their best.
It 's of no use," said Joe, as they gave up,
"We must do something: it 's time the down-
express was here, now," cried Davie.
We must signal them in some way. If we
only had a lantern cried Frank, breathlessly.
There is no time to lose !" cried Bob.



Hay !" and with the word Ben and Ned were
off, and, before the others could think what they
meant, they were back with their arms full of dry
hay, from a little shed which they had remembered
seeing a short distance up the hill.
"We had better go beyond the fallen rock,

"The train is coming now, and, besides, our
light wont be seen from around the bend! cried
Ned, as the boys stood staring blankly at one an-
other, for at last they fully realized the danger.
"Some of us must cross the bridge and signal
them from the other side of the river," said Joe.

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and then, when we see the train coming, we '11
set fire to the hay," said Joe, as they hurriedly
divided the hay into several small bundles.
They had just started up the track, when there
came a sound which made them stop. It was a
faint whistle, far away around the curve.


It was a perilous undertaking; but the need was
urgent,-not a second was to be lost As Johnny
reached the bridge, he felt like giving up; but the
thought of what would happen if he should not go,
gave him fresh courage.
Tell 'em at home that I tried to do the best I



"The ties are out from
some places, and we should
have to jump the gaps. Men
were setting blocks under the
rails when I came past there
this evening; they were then
going to leave the gaps, and
replace the ties to-morrow,"
said Johnny.
"There wont be time to
climb down and up the banks,
and cross on the little foot-
bridge, nor to swing across
the gaps by holding to the
rails," said Bob, his voice
shaking as he talked.
"There were boards laid
lengthwise across. I '11 go
over on them," cried Johnny,
remembering that he had
seen men wheel gravel, from
the hill on the other side,
along the whole length of
the bridge, on a narrow path
made of two boards; and he
determined to cross by it,
mounted on his wheel; there
was not time for running.
"Get out all your handker-
chiefs, tie 'em together, and
put them in this pocket. Give
me some matches, Davie--
here, in my mouth. Hurry !
hurry he went on, his fin-
gers trembling as he looped
his own handkerchief around
a bundle of hay, so as to carry
it on his arm and leave both
hands free.
"Youmust n't go!" "You
'11 be killed!" "You can't
cross on 'em they cried,
trying to dissuade him while
yet they went on doing as
he told them.


could, if-- he shouted, but a choke in his Here, little chap, what did you stop us for?"
voice would not let him finish. And he was off. asked an important man in blue uniform and brass
The loose boards rattled and shook as the wheels buttons, coming up to the group around Johnny.

spun over them, and where the ties
were out they seemed to bend be- '- "
neath the weight. Johnny could
hear the sound of the water far be-
low him, but he did not dare to
look down. When he was half-way '
over, he could hear the roar of the
train as it echoed back from the ..
hills, and he was almost afraid to k .
look toward the turn of the track,
for fear he should see the head-light
of the engine gleaming around the
curve.. "
If he could only get over in time '.'....-
Faster and faster spun the wheels,
and faster and faster beat Johnny's
heart, as he reached the end of the
trestle-work, and turned the bend.
The head-light of the coming :.;
train shone bright and clear up the
"Oh, why do they go so fast?"
saidJohnny to himself, as he stopped,
and leaped from his bicycle to light -
his signal. He crouched down beside ,
the track and struck a match against
the rail; but his hand shook so that
the head of the match flew off. The
next one burned, and he sheltered
the flame between his hands until
the hay and handkerchiefs were in --'
a blaze. It seemed a long time to s -
Johnny, but it really was only a
moment until he was up and away
again, on a run along the track,
waving the flaming bundle back -
and forth.
"They must see it! Yes, they ',
are whistling. They '11 surely stop,
now!" cried Johnny, half aloud, still
waving the fiery signal. The flames "H WA
blew against his hand, but he was
too excited to mind the heat. The glaring eye of
the engine grew brighter and brighter. But not
until the train was close enough for him to see the
anxious face of the engineer looking out from his
window, did the brave boy jump from the track.
"They 're stopping," was the last thing he
thought, for he heard them whistle down brakes,"
as he jumped off the track; and he knew nothing
more until some men raised him in their arms and
asked him if he was hurt. Then he opened his
eyes to find his head on some one's shoulder, and
a crowd of strange faces around him.

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"Rock 's tumbled down just across the bridge,"
answered Johnny, wondering why he felt so tired
and weak. Where is my machine ? he added,
trying to look around.
The conductor looked puzzled.
"Reckon this is it," answered the engineer,
coming up with the bicycle and standing it against
a tree.
Well, he 's a plucky chap, sure 's I 'm a-livin',
an' I can tell you some of us came pretty near
getting' dished," went on the engineer, who had
been taking a view of the situation, and hadc




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WELL, Miss Tragedy! What's happened
now?" exclaimed Stevie. He was busy over his
table and tool-chest in the piazza, near the library
window, where his mother sat reading the morn-
ing paper. He had stopped in his merry whistling
at his work when he had seen his sister come into
the room with a very downcast face, and, throwing
her hat on a lounge, sit down dejected beside it.
"Well, you may stop working at that trunk,"
she said. She wont want it."
Goldilocks not want her trunk What ails
her?-prostrated by the heat? -nose melted off?

-collapse from loss of saw-dust? Do tell a fel-
low! I 'm her uncle, you know."
Miss Bailey has shut May up in her room, and
locked her in. I 've been over there, and Miss
Bailey says she 's got to stay there all day."
"What has the little witch done, this time? "
"Why, coming home from school, yesterday,
she wanted me to go with her to Nelson's bird-
store, to look at the parrots and squirrels. I said
no, for I knew Miss Bailey would n't like it,-and
do you know, after she left me here, she went
straight to Nelson's, and staid there till the clerk




brought her home at dark. He was afraid she
might get lost. Miss Bailey means to punish her.
So our fun 's all over."
"Did you see May ?" asked Stevie.
"No; Miss Bailey would n't let me. I begged
her to let May off this time; but, dear me there
was no use in my saying anything to her."
Suppose I go over and try," said Stevie, his
eyes twinkling. "I '11 make my best bow, you
know; and "-turning quickly as his mother sud-
denly appeared at the door-" Mamma! Let me
go over to Miss Bailey's, please? "
"Mamma! Would you go yourself?" asked
Gracie, pleadingly. "We can't take our new dolls
with us on Wednesday, unless we finish their things
to-day. They have n't enough to go visiting with."
Gracie, I don't like to ask Miss Bailey not to
punish May. She 's an unmanageable little thing,
and a great charge. She 's been perfectly spoiled
at her grandmother's while her father was abroad;
allowed to stay home from school whenever she
liked, and to grow up an ignoramus. She does n't
know what obedience is, and it is best she should
learn it. Miss Bailey is strict, but she is kind,
and it 's May's own fault if she has to be shut in.
But I '11 go over and ask if you may take your
work and stay with her, if you like. Will that do? "
"No, Mamma, it would n't. I have to show
May so much about sewing, and it takes time; and
we could never finish without my little machine;
besides -"
Stevie, what in the world ails you?" inter-
rupted his mother. "Are you in pain?-and
what are you upsetting all those boxes for? "
Oh, I was spoiling for the chance to put in a
word," said Stevie. "There's an idea got hold
of me, and it 's tearing me all to pieces. Now
Gracie, look here: all you 've got to do is to run
up to your room, and get to work as soon as you
please. Leave all the rest to me. I '11 have you
and May fixed in no time."
What do you mean ?" asked Gracie, wondering.
But Stevie was hurriedly poking into the recep-
tacles in his tool-chest. "I mean," he said-
"I mean to set up a line of communication be-
tween the outposts. I 'm going to work a charm
for the princess in prison (here is n't twine
enough, either)-- Gracie, does Miss Bailey go
into the kitchen, mornings? Does she keep in the
back part of the house, doing things? "
"Yes; why?"
Is May's room the one over the porch, with
the wistaria round it ?"
"Yes; why?"
Stevie What are you going to do ?" asked his
mother. "I can't have any mischief going on,
you know-any annoyance to Miss Bailey."

"No, Mamma, indeed," said the lad, feeling in
one pocket after another. I would n't do Miss
Bailey the least harm in the world, and I 'm only
going to comfort May's little soul and keep her
from crying her eyes out-- "
He emptied his pockets inside out, and began
selecting some small change from the miscellany
usual in such depositories.
"Five, seven, nine,"he murmured. "Mamma,
lend me ten cents on next week's allowance ?- Oh,
please, do!"
"Tell me what you want it for?"
"Oh, 'never mind the why and wherefore,'
Mamma. There is n't a minute to spare-and
I'm not going to do the least mischief in the
world, 1 promise you."
I 'm to be the judge of that, Stevie. You and
I might not think alike about it. I certainly shall
not give you the money till I know what you are
planning to do with it."
"Well, then; see here," said the boy, and he
began a description to his mother and sister, illus-
trating it with various motions and gestures, which
seemed very amusing to them.
"But, after all," objected his mother, when he
had finished, "is it worth while ? Perhaps I had
better try to get May excused this time. It will
be such a trouble, Stevie; you wont have it ready
till noon."
"Oh, no, Mamma! Don't say a word to Miss
Bailey exclaimed Gracie. "Why, we '11 be
glad May's shut in, now. This '11 be such fun "
And I'11 have everything ready an hour after
I begin," urged Stevie. "Oh, thanks," he said,
taking the change his mother handed to him.
Now, Gracie, fly up to your room, and cut out
your knife-fixings and what d' ye call 'ems. I'll be
back in no time."
And Gracie ran gleefully upstairs, while Stevie
caught his hat and dashed out into the street. As
for Mamma, she sat reflecting a moment, and then
she put on her bonnet, and stepped quietly over to
Miss Bailey's.
In a few minutes Stevie came hurrying back to
his sister's room. He hastened to her window and
began operations there-boring two gimlet holes,
one a few inches above the other, and into these
firmly fastening two pulley-screws. Now, I 'm
off-to May's," he said, and was gone.
Mischievous May had flung herself down on her
bed, when Miss Bailey had locked her in, and had
cried, mightily. But this was dull business, and
did no good. Then she began to cast about for
something to do to amuse her solitude, and she
thought she would play baby-house. She was
busily engaged with her dolls, when suddenly
Goldilocks and her young lady friends tumbled




in a promiscuous heap, one over another. May flew to the window, hearing a familiar whistle. There
stood Stevie, looking up at her. He checked her by a rapid sign, as she was going to call out eagerly
in her joy, and began to climb to the roof of the porch. She watched him with wild delight, clapping
her hands noiselessly, till soon he came close to where she stood.
He shook his head gravely, looking at her, and chanting:
May, May, the runaway!
Got to stay in her room all day!" /
Ci use h c woent ton see the crlirrela nlnr Arrlt

May, laughingly, and in a loud whisper.
"Are n't you sorry? asked Stevie.

ever do so any more ? "
May nodded her curly head many tim
roguishly. "And I wish I
had some of 'em here to play
with this morning," she said.
"But what are you going to
din che -icledr

.11 1 I'lJ

"Will you

/ ,
es, I


I ,

-I I

*t .. ... .- .

S,,":!-, .. ...


t;m &\ .'1
*,-*- ~ ~ ~ ~ I --;.< .*';.*( -,

i : .. :_*- -', _'-- : ',; ,'
.^. -. ,; ." 1.

with his
He sighed-
''and made no
"i reply.
.. I "Tellme,"
/., she said, as he
S' fastened in a
I pulley-screw.
What are
---- you doing ? "
_._-W "Why, you
s ---ee, it 's so
-__"- _- hard to make
a good girl of
-- you, we--
he sighed and
looked at her
-. -mournfully ;
there's go-
.. ing to be a
''- cord fastened
'" to this."
k.< N "What for?"
-:.!t i 1- .with intense inter-
-i. ..i-- ,: :-. i 1,lly set the second

S- -J lat -.. '-- |""- ":!' ". i":! ,.ir,:!. -!,, 1 1 :. iL_ mate.
5 I.. i -ii ,. .- .I. H.: r t ,' from his pocket,
... ., 1 .. ,
.- .I i :. I vhat are you pull-
S, -I''L '' :. i !.- : '..I I :i il:..l '- .- continuedd his work.

.il ... I :i.... :...: ., .I the balls over the
-/ .. \\, .. pulley-wheels, Stevie firmly knotted them together. "Now," he said,
S "' stand here at the window, and don't let the twine slip off the wheels;
be sure you keep it in the grooves of the pulleys; when I draw on it, let it run freely, but always
keep it on the wheels. That 's all you have to do till you hear from me again. It wont be long."



,' I


', (-

.I .. i i.




He let himself down to the ground, and walked
fast toward his own home, the balls meanwhile
unwinding themselves in his hands, till, when he
came opposite his sister's window, only a yard or
two remained. He whistled his signal, and called
to her to lower a string, by which he sent them up.
In a moment more he had joined her. There was
little left to do. The ends were passed through
the pulleys, and then both lines were shortened till
they rose high in the air, floating between the two
windows. Still they were tautened till they could
be drawn no tighter. Then they were tied together,
and the work was done.
Hooray!" cried Stevie. "Now, let's send the
first twinegram across-high and dry. Talk of
cablegrams Who wants a thing after it 's been
drowned? Where 's your parcel, Gracie?-and
the note? I want to add a postscript."
He fastened them to one of the cords, and, draw-
ing the other toward him, the little roll rapidly
began its transit and was soon at its destination.
May could hardly believe her eyes, as she stood
wondering to see it coming nearer and nearer, till
it was stopped against one of her pulleys. She un-
tied it in excited haste, and eagerly read the note:

Is n't this as good as being let out? Now, May, we can get the
things donejust as if you were over here. There's a lot of work all
fixed for you in the parcel. Make another of your stuffs for me to
cut out, and send it over. Tie it to one of the cords and draw the
other one toward you."
Stevie had added:
"Dear Madame. Your patronage is respectfully solicited. All
parcels and dispatches safely delivered. Orders promptly attended
to. Terms, one cent for each twinegram. Payable on demand.
Your obedient servants,
The Stevens' Twinegraph Co."
.I.. ii-. to make up her return parcel and write
her reply. She fastened them to the twine, and
hardly had it begun to move when she felt it
hasten under her fingers, impelled from the oppo-
site side. Soon it had disappeared.
There was a good laugh at the other terminus
when her note was read:
It's like fare stores. It's the best fun in mi life. I was dread-
ful lonesum, an cride and cride. Now I don't care a bit. mister
twinegraph, did yoo think it up yourself. I think yoor the smartes
boy I ever noo. I don't no abowt those turms. yoo must exkuze
mi writing, fur I kant stop to think how to spel it. I wish wurds
dident hav to be spelt only wun wa. if yoo no wot thay meen wi
isant wun wa as good as another. I wos so glad I jumped wen
I herd steevy wissle we sale the oshun bloo. I noo it wos him then.
Send me another note pritty soon."
Work went bravely on. Parcels and messages
passed to and fro, and Stevie went down to finish
his carpenter-work, for he saw Goldilocks would
want her trunk.
After a while he appeared at his sister's door.
Want something nice ? he said; and, behold -
pleasant sight to a busy little sewing-woman on a

hot May day-a glass pitcher, with great lumps of
ice tinkling against it, floating about in lemonade.
Oh, is n't it good? exclaimed Gracie, tasting
it. How I wish May could have some "
"A bright idea!" shouted Stevie, promptly.
"'Happy thought! May shall have some," and
he rubbed his hands merrily together.
"What!" says Gracie. "Lemonade! On the
twine ? "
Lemonade, on the twine," he replied. Wait
a minute and see." He darted out and down
the stairs, returning shortly with his hands full
-a dish with large pieces of ice in one, a bowl
of sugar in the other, and a lemon, with some of
his father's lined envelopes held under his arm.
On one of these he wrote:

Have some fresh water brought to your room. We 're going to
send you some iced lemonade."

Then he filled it with sugar, and, pinning it
firmly round the twine, sent it over.
Hardly, in her amazement, had May taken it off,
when the cord moved again. The next arrival was
a row of envelopes, containing the lemons, rolled
soft, and lumps of ice.
By and by came May's answer:
"1I never laft so in oil mi life; the lemunade is bewtiful:
thares a pitcher full, an don't yoo believe I ges Mis Bailey noes. I
powndid on my dore fur Soozun to cum. She wos sweeping. I told
her to fech me a pitcher, an wen she brot it she was lafing. I made
her waste an hav sum, an i told her not to tel Mis Bailey, and she
sed she gest thare wosent much to tel, for yoor mama an Mis Bailey
wur standing by the parlor windo a wile ago, an looking out an
lafing an wispring abowt sumthing. Ant it fun. send me sum more

The next note was from Stevie:
Gracie is n't up from lunch yet. I 'm afraid she 's eating more
berries and milk than is good for her. When she comes she will
send you the work; you must puff the basque, and put on a shirred
fold. Have a Pompadour kilt-pleating, and trim it with lace fichus.
Take your time; we shall get through nicely, and I 've finished
Goldilocks' trunk. I 'm glad the lemonade was good. You see
I 'm running up a big bill. Don't forget the terms."

Next came a note from May, and one of Stevie's
envelopes filled with chocolate creams. She wrote:

Ime real glad to have sumthing to send yoo, Cappen Bailey gay
them to me. don't yoo believe Ive been to lunch an i ges thay noe.
wen I went in Mis Bailey was saying, 'now, father, don't ilood to it
before the child; you musent kowntnuns her'-wot doos that meen.
Mis Balee dident say ennything to me abowt it; she kep her lips
the wa Stevy ses as if she sed prizzum, but her izelookt as if thay
was lafing; an sumtimes Cappen Bailey lookt at me and laft; he's
fat an shaky all over, but he dident say ennything, an wen he went
awa he put a big paper of choklit creems bi mi plate, an sed thare
was too menny fur me to etc all hi myself, and he gest Ide hav to giv
awa sum an wen he got behind Mis Bailey he kep pointing his thum
over yoor wa, an laft all over I ges if Mis Bailey noes she don't care,
becoz it kepes me out of mischeef, an wen I wos going to pore out
a lot of the choklits bi her plate, she sed, 'no, mi deer, Ime not
edicted to sweets,' but her ize lookt as if she wanted to laf. tel
stevy yes; weel make the things as he ses, an then tel peepl that's
the wa thare tnkle wanted it. ask him if I don't pa the turms, if
Ile hav to go to jale."




Rosalie, Gracie's new doll, was worthy to be an
example, that busy day, to all little girls in dress-
making time. She had no rest, so to speak. So
many things had to be fitted and tried on; and as
she was the same size with Goldilocks, she had to
do double duty. But her face kept all its sweet-
ness through the long ordeal. The smile never
left her lips; and she merely opened her large
blue eyes every time she was lifted, and closed
them tranquilly again when she was laid down.
At last all the cutting and fitting and sewing were
done; and work was laid aside.
Stevie brought up a light basket, filled with
great red and golden raspberries, bordered with
green leaves. He carefully tied soft paper over
basket and all, and fastened it to the cord. The
twine sank downward with its weight, and the
basket began to swing back and forth like a tra-
peze performer. People at the windows stared.
People in the street looked up in wonder, and
stopped to see what that strange thing might be.
Still it moved on, more steadily, however, as Stevie
drew the cord. more slowly, and at last it safely
reached May's hand.
And now came one and another of the chil-
dren's neighboring school-mates to inquire how
they, too, could have twinegrams and express
lines. Captain Bailey looked on, laughing, from
his easy chair in the porch.
"Why," he said to a lad, "I expect you'll
have as much rigging overhead in a week's time,
among you, as there is in my ship. Ho ho "
There was no question about Miss Bailey's
"noeing" now,-as May would have written it,-
for when May took down her basket of beautiful
fruit at dinner, and laid at each plate a saucerful,
with a smile and a kiss for Miss Bailey, that lady
returned both affectionately, and said:
I think these must be a kind of enchanted
raspberries, that climb into little girls' windows
without coming up from the ground. Don't you,
Father ?"
And then she inquired of May if she had passed

a pleasant day, adding that, as for herself, she
did n't know when she had had such an enjoyable
Saturday, with no wild little runaways to be
anxious about.
Gracie was sitting on her father's knee, in the
library, chatting with him, after they all had left
the dining-room. Stevie had gone down street
only a few minutes before, with a school-mate who
had called for him.
When he came back he found Captain Bailey
and May upon the piazza with his father, mother,
and sister; and to them he imparted the news
that many more of the twine arrangements were
going up in the ;i1 ,
"Why, Charlie Morse is rigging one between
his window and Dick Leslie's, and Harry Barnes
says Emma wont give him any peace till he has
put one up for her and Bessie Denison. I 've
been showing half a dozen fellows how to do it,
and the clerk at Steel & Cutter's wants to know
what 's up, with all this demand for twine and
pulley-screws. And we told him there were three
or four hundred yards of linen twine up, already,
and there 'd be several more hundred yards wanted
pretty soon."
And then May, with the Captain's aid, settled
her account for the day with the Stevens' Twine-
graph Company, by handing to Stevie the sum of
eighteen cents in silver and copper coins. Where-
upon that young gentleman immediately returned
them all to her, telling her to present them to Miss
Bailey, with his compliments, as payment of dam-
ages to her property.
I am sorry to say, however, that May never gave
the money to Miss Bailey, preferring to return
it to the Captain, who had given it to her. And
the business>bf the Stevens' Twinegraph Company,
as well as of all the other companies, soon after
came to a disastrous failure on account of the
powerful opposition which suddenly developed
among the grown people of the village.
But Stevie was always proud of his invention,
even although its success lasted only one day.

" WHEN my ship comes in from over the sea,
Such wonderful things it will bring to me! "
So he launched his shoe in the water-pail,
And over the sea his ship set sail.







FROM time imme-
morial it has been
considered good luck
to find a four-leaved
clover. Some have
said that the discov-
erer of one was cer-
tain to become wealthy
and wise; others, that
the fairies would grant
him every wish; and
others, that the little

11 magic leaves could
show where gold was
lying buried in the
earth. And certainly
there does seem to be something very wonderful in
the fact that, in a large field containing millions of
little plants furnished
with groups of three
leaflets, there should .
be only one or two of .
the four-leaved vari- "-. -
ety. I do not mean .

that some varieties of
clover bear leaves all
in groups of four or
five, for this is not
the fact. Perhaps one


four-leaved clover will I
grow upon a plant that
has fifty threes, although occasionally several fours
or fives will be found in a bunch on the same plant.
If the finding of
S four-leaved clovers is
a sign of good luck,
I, truly, am very
i lucky, for I have
-* .- .-_--. found more than


anybody I know.
And I am of the
opinion that very few
persons are aware of
the variety of forms
in which they are
sometimes seen. ,
Figure No. I shows
the usual type of a

four-leaved clover. As a general thing, three leaves
are nearly of a size, while the fourth is somewhat
smaller-though this does not always follow. I

have seen several like
Figure No. 2, in which
the fourth leaflet is borne
out on a separate stalk.
Figure No. 3 shows it
growing on the stem, a
considerable distance be-
low the other three. Fig-
ure No. 4 represents it
very much smaller than
they; Figure No. 5,
smaller still, and grow-
ing directly upon one of
the larger; Figure No.
6, as set upon a distinct
stem above the main

'i ri


leaves; while Figure No. 7 depicts a four-leaved
clover with two leaflets grown into one.
The clovers
shown at Fig-
ures Nos. 8 and



9 are quite un-
common. The

former specimen
has four leaflets,
Sone rolled in-
'' ''! ward, and borne
on an upright
stem, at the base
-of which is a lit-
'* tle bract. The
latter has three leaves of ordinary size ; a fourth,
smaller and turned upward; and a fifth, roll-

ed inward,
and spring-
ing upon a
tiny stalk
from the un-
der side of
the fourth.
clovers, like
Figure No.
Io, occur al-


as four. Fre- i FI,.
quently fours
and fives are found growing together. Some say
that you must not pick a five-leaved clover-it
will neutralize all the good luck brought by a four.
Others assert the direct contrary, and say that it is

1. l 2.








; '
i. r
; ---



, ""


very much more potent
for good than the four-
*' leaved stalk. Accord-
i. ing to one legend, only
i' the holder of a five-
leaved clover can be ad-
mitted to the fairy-court.
Several pretty stories de-
scribe the fortunate one
as standing out on the
grass at midnight, hold-
ing up the magic wand, and presently finding
himself wafted away on invisible wings to Elf-land.

Once I found a seven-leaved
clover, like Figure No. in.
The leaflets were arranged
in two rows, three growing
upon four. I have heard of
fifteen-leaved and seventeen-
leaved clovers,-and seeing
as many as I do of the won-
derful freaks of nature, I do
not doubt that there are such
Aside from the wide-spread



interest attaching to the duplication of the leaflet,
clovers seem special favorites of poets and ro-
mancers. It is said that, when St. Patrick was
preaching to the uncon-
,. averted Irish, some of them
ridiculed the idea of the
Trinity. For answer, he
caught up a trefoil from
-'. --. the sod, and told them that
here was a leaf exemplify-
ing three in one. Hence.
the three-leaved clover, or
I shamrock, was adopted as
the national emblem of
Ireland. Some say that the
common wood-sorrel (Oxalis acetosella) shares
with the white clover the credit of being the true
shamrock. One authority says that this oxalis is a
native of Ireland, while the clover is of compara-
tively recent introduction. In a song by the Irish
poet, Thomas Moore, the shamrock -whether
oxalis or clover he does not say-is mentioned
as Old Erin's native shamrock."

The scientific name of clover is Trifoluimn, or
"three-leaved." The most familiar varieties are
the pink, or field-clover, noticeable for its full,
rich heads and large, dark green leaves, with a
light green crescent in the center of nearly every
leaflet; the white, or
shamrock, with its
smaller, white heads,
and plain, green
leaves ; the rabbit-
foot, with its long- -
haired, silky heads
and narrow, folded.
leaves ; and the
larger and smaller .
yellow clovers, each
with bright, golden
heads and small,
dark leaves. I can
not say whether the
leaflets of any of
these latter are ever grouped in fours or fives or

not-but these varieties, so far as I know, are to be
found mostly among the red and the white clovers.

As I said at first, the
clover was regarded,
even centuries ago, as
an omen of good luck.
But in a poem by
Robert Herrick, who
wrote a short time
after Shakespeare, is a
mention of "lucky four-
leaved grasse"; and,
in another very old
volume, it is soberly
stated that, if a man
walking in the fields
finds any four-leaved
grass, he shall, in a
small while after, find

discovery of a four-leaved


-. '..
** -- ; *.-

some good thing." Several mentions to the same
effect are made in the writings of other poets.
[ hope you will have many a hunt for magic
clovers in the sweet-smelling summer fields; for I
find, in that charming occupation, "luck" suffi-
cient,-even when no "lucky four-leaved grasse "
rewards my search.

VOL. IX.-40.




learned from the other Whirligiggers what a nar-
row escape the train had had; for the boys had
run swiftly across on the foot-bridge, and had now
reached the scene, out of breath from their rapid
climb up the steep bank.
If it had n't been for him, we 'd all 'a' been
down there," finished the engineer, with an ex-
pressive wave of his sooty hand toward the creek,
and a nod to the crowd of passengers.
Johnny did not hear the words of explanation
and praise which followed, for when the conductor
tried to help him to his feet, he fainted away again.
Let me see -I am a doctor. He has had a
rough tumble, and I am afraid he has broken
some bones," said a passenger, stepping forthfrom
the crowd.
The doctor was right; for Johnny's ankle was
badly sprained, and one arm had been broken by
striking against a stump as he fell.
But Johnny knew nothing more of what went
on around him, until he opened his eyes again in
his own room, in his own bed. The first thing he
saw was his mother's face bending over him, and
the first thing he heard was old Dr. Clark's voice
saying, He '11 do now."

"I know we ought n't to have gone without
asking leave," said Johnny, at the end of a confi-
dential talk with his mother, a few days later, when
he was beginning to feel better. I '11 never go
again, that way, but I 'm glad I was there then."

I 'm not afraid of my boy breaking his prom-
ise," said his mother, "but proud as we are of
your courage, there are two kinds of bravery,
Johnny, and it may be harder for you to keep your
promise than it was to cross the bridge."
I don't know," said Johnny, shaking his head,
doubtfully. "I was badly scared, and my heart
just thumped all the time I was going over. It's
a good thing I practiced so much at the gymna-
sium, and walking beams and things, or I could
not have done it," added Johnny, hoping to recon-
cile his mother to the ruinous wear and tear his
clothes suffered from athletic performances.
It was weeks before Johnny was able to be out
again; for the ankle got well slowly, and for a time
he had to use a crutch, even after his arm was well
enough for him to leave off the sling.
The members of the Club were faithful in their
visits, and came every day to see him, as soon as
he was able to have company. They brought him
all the school news, and did everything they could
think of to make the time pass more quickly.
One day, about two weeks after their eventful
ride, a box came by express, marked "John R.
Ellis." When it was opened, there appeared a
great roll of pink cotton, and nestled snugly in
this was a solid silver cup, quaintly shaped and
daintily engraved; but what gave it its greatest
value was the inscription on the plain oval front:
"A testimonial to John R. Ellis, from the pass-
engers who owe their lives to his bravery."



SANDY and Ned were brothers;
Ned was older than Sandy;
And they were busy dividing
A stick of peppermint candy.

Ned was earnestly trying
To make the division true,
And he marked the place with a fish-hook,
Where the stick ought to break in two.

But, alas, for little Sandy
And his poor painstaking brother !
'T was a long and short division-
One piece longer than the other.

Ned gravely looked at the pieces
And their quite unequal length,

And he wrestled with the problem
With all his mental strength.

And, at last, he said: "Oh, Sandy!
I can make it come out right,
If I take the piece that 's longest,
And bite off just one bite."

Their four eyes beamed and brightened
At this plan, so very handy,
Of disposing of the problem
And distributing the candy.

So Ned ate the pieces even-
'T was the simplest way to do it;
And he cheated little Sandy-
And they neither of them knew it!




DOWN in the meadow-land, far and fair, Would not your service, these morning hours,
I met, this morning, sweet Silverhair. Do her more good than a field of flowers?"
" What do you here?" I asked the small rover. Ah, she but murmured over and over:
" Oh, I am seeking a four-leaved clover!" "No, I must find her a four-leaved clover!"
"What will that do for you, little one?" All about us the larks were singing,
"Give me all good things under the sun,- Roses their sweet warm breath were flinging:
Not me, only, but Mother, moreover: Heedless of duty, and pleasure, moreover,
That 's why I look for a four-leaved clover!" Silverhair looked for a four-leaved clover.
Ah, older seekers, the broad land over,
Are looking, to-day, for a four-leaved clover!

T HE .

'--C- -d- -deep,-
S- re wasanolld 't-ofessor whowas won&roau wise
S.--,-_ -noted- forh rehips e to -rrake.the res-les-e.s sl3
S: '- when. i your little be sai.h e,

__/.^ hum oer E-oer -

S- .x-now o .ore, -

.blessmne,there ;osoTaetb n
1 ... .... -..to n a.ina I.. I

AI- incl.,youll persevere /yo ""' "

Sthot sleep i S e o-come .''. .

4z I




DOWN in the meadow-land, far and fair, Would not your service, these morning hours,
I met, this morning, sweet Silverhair. Do her more good than a field of flowers?"
" What do you here?" I asked the small rover. Ah, she but murmured over and over:
" Oh, I am seeking a four-leaved clover!" "No, I must find her a four-leaved clover!"
"What will that do for you, little one?" All about us the larks were singing,
"Give me all good things under the sun,- Roses their sweet warm breath were flinging:
Not me, only, but Mother, moreover: Heedless of duty, and pleasure, moreover,
That 's why I look for a four-leaved clover!" Silverhair looked for a four-leaved clover.
Ah, older seekers, the broad land over,
Are looking, to-day, for a four-leaved clover!

T HE .

'--C- -d- -deep,-
S- re wasanolld 't-ofessor whowas won&roau wise
S.--,-_ -noted- forh rehips e to -rrake.the res-les-e.s sl3
S: '- when. i your little be sai.h e,

__/.^ hum oer E-oer -

S- .x-now o .ore, -

.blessmne,there ;osoTaetb n
1 ... .... -..to n a.ina I.. I

AI- incl.,youll persevere /yo ""' "

Sthot sleep i S e o-come .''. .

4z I





MANY of our readers, doubtless, remember a very
entertaining paper by Mr. Horace E. Scudder, printed
in ST. NICHOLAS for January, 1877. It was entitled
"Great Grandfather's Books and Pictures," and was
illustrated with pages taken from the New England
Primer and Webster's Spelling-book. All who read
the article, we are sure, must have enjoyed the absurd
little pictures and Mr. Scudder's interesting account of
the school literature of those days.
Now we propose to copy, word for word, a little book
printed in Newark many years ago. It bears the
romantic title of "Jane and Eliza," and has a picture
on every page, Doubtless, it was considered quite a
delightful little work by many a girl and boy of that day.


Come, children, come, the mother said,
Let 's wash your face and comb your head,
For as it is the first of May,
You both must go to school to-day.
Jane and Eliza, 'though yet small,
Obedient to their mother's call,
Were wash'd and dress'd all in a trice
From head to foot, in clothes so nice,

.. .. ..... ..--i: .

I "^ '-7 "'- i

New frocks, new gloves and aprons too,
New shoes, new capes and bonnets blue,
And as the school would last 'til night,
That they might stay their appetite;
Two little baskets were well stor'd
With what the pantry could afford.
Fresh bread and butter and smok'd beef,
But apple-pie it was the chief.
They on their arms their baskets hung,
Then round their mother's neck they clung;
Each kiss'd good bye, nor sullen pout
Mark'd either face as they set out.

The art of engraving on wood has advanced very
rapidly of late, but in the days of our grandparents and
great-grandparents it seems to have not been considered
worthy of attention. Certainly, in those times, the
illustrations of cheap books for little folk were ex-
tremely crude, as you will see by the specimens shown
on this page and the two that follow.
We now leave you to enjoy the thrilling story, with
all its sore temptations, punishments, and repentances;
and you surely will hope, with the distinguished author
of Jane and Eliza," that

Ever since, as he has heard,
Eliza faithful kept her word.

Now hand in hand together walk
Of school and Madam sprightly talk:

And scarce two prettier girls are seen,
Among the whole who trip the green.


r ._-. '_--

But as they wend their way along
Some Butterflies a puddle throng,



--- ~------------~--
~-- ---- ---~.~ r


-'', '!,! __--_ ---. -= .

--.. --- .. --

--- ,,:,
". '.. __ ... J -'-_-7 .

- --- ^ ..\ :'

These caught Eliza's wand'ring eyes,
"Oh sister, see those Butterflies;


J- ,' n .
: -- _- '
,,lI )~~.i>_ --_- I ,-
^'~, : ~-I'l

tDS.--- ^^j ^ S

" Let 's catch them," eagerly she cried.
"No! sister, no," Jane stern replied,

, 1 .- -- -r !


"Let 's go to school as good girls should,
"Nor stop to play along the road."
"0 yes I will! Sweet Butterflies!
" I '11 go and leave you," Jane replies.

" Go! said Eliza in a pet,
And on the grass her basket set,
Then slyly crept to seize her prize,
But as she crept she saw them rise
And fly a little further on,
And there again they settle down.
To catch them she seem'd fully bent,
And in pursuit again she went,
And that she might the more command,
She took her bonnet in her hand,
And when within her reach she thought,
Her bonnet quickly o'er them brought,
But soon to her surprise she found,
Her bonnet only caught the ground.
The Butterflies again took flight,
And very soon were out of sight.
Nor was it all she thus was foiled,
Her bonnet with the mud was soiled.
For Jane she called in sad affright,
But Jane alas was out of sight.
With saddened heart her steps she traced
To where her basket she had placed:
When lo! a hog with muddy snout,
Had turned her basket inside out;
Her bread and butter, beef and pie,
All scattered on the ground did lie.
Jane O sister Jane she cried -
Jane had beyond her hearing hied.
In spite of all could do or say,
The hog, her dinner bore away.
Sobbing and crying now she stood
When traveling along the road,
A gentleman saw her distress
And ask'd her what the matter was?
She told as plain as she could tell,
The mishaps on her way befel.
Ah! naughty girl! the good man said,
This had not happ'd had you not played
The truant, like a little fool,
Instead of going straight to school.
But as it is your first offence,
I hope you '11 learn a lesson hence.
Eliza owned she had done wrong
In staying from her school so long,
And freely promised o'er and o'er
That she would never do so more.
"Here," then said he, "this sixpence take,
"And buy yourself some ginger cake,
"At old Dame Goodie's on the green,
"Which from your school house door is seen."
Eliza, thankful, curtsied low,
Whilst he returned it with a bow;
She onward skipp'd with new delight,
And he soon gallop'd out of sight.
But as the school house now she viewed,
The anguish of her heart renewed.
An angry Madam fancied there,




And little school-mates' scornful sneer.
At length she gain'd the school house door,
Where many a truant stood before;
Trembling she stood nor ventured in,
So great she thought her crime had been.
Her little heart went pitty-pat,
Thinking of this and now of that,
'Till Madam came to chide her stay,
And heard what happened on the way.
" You see, my child," the good dame said,
Eliza trembling with dread,
"How naughty children are repaid,
"Who have their mother disobey'd;
"But as you seem repentant now,
"I will your punishment forego."
So saying, she with tender look,
Seated Eliza at her book,
Nor long she sat; for very soon
The school was out, for it was noon;
And all in playful sports are seen
Among the trees upon the green.
Eliza now old Goodie's sought,
And with her sixpence cookies bought,
Round hearts, long cakes and cookaroos,
And many others which she chose.
Then seated at her sister's side,
She freely did her cakes divide.
Some she exchang'd with a little Miss
For apple-pie, brown bread and cheese.
Thus did the cakes her sixpence cost
Supply the dinner which she'd lost.
Amidst the rambles on the green
Eliza now is foremost seen.
'Till old Good Dame does loudly call
To school! to school! when one and all
With one accord are quickly seen
To leave their sports and quit the green.
Now all are seated at their book,
Nor does the one at t' other look,
Nor can you hear a whisp'ring sound,
Such perfect stillness reigns around.
They conn'd their lessons o'er and o'er,
Until the Village clock struck four;
When all again from school are free,
And hie them home right merrily.
Jane, as she entered, 'gan to tell
Her mother, what mishaps befel
Eliza on her way to school.
Eliza looked like little fool,
Nor could she now from tears refrain,
To hear her faults rehearsed by Jane.

She sobb'd as if her heart would break:
Her mother now did pity take,
And kindly said come, my dear child,
" Though you have thus your bonnet spoil'd

N--- =TIA ---

:I ,'..4- .. ..

-_-; . -n.'

" If you 'll hereafter learn your book,
SAnd always .mind what I shall say,

" And truant 'long the road have played,
" Dry up your tears, be not afraid;
" Your first offence I '11 overlook,
'' If you '11 hereafter learn your book,
"L And alw ays mind what I shall say,
"And ne'er again the truant play,
" Nor let your little wandering eyes
"Be gazing after Butterflies."
"I will, dear mother, as I live,
" If you will only now forgive."

Her mother clasp'd her to her breast,
And on her lips sweet kisses press'd:
And ever since, as I have heard,
Eliza faithful kept her word.







.-\ i. 1' five years ago
i I:.i wablue-eyed,
Lr:. n-haired, and
p.c .-:h-cheeked lit-
!i- girl, just now
.I:,-ilining to read
..in her father
,.,-.:I to call his
I" h rbor-seal." If

S- - .... I d .- cer seen her
down in the
.:r I!.:.-- .. favorite posi-
--- i... -- ...I M ng up her
,,:. ...... I l., ... little head,
-- ..,i .....I !.ve understood
C.- .,!:. _.: 1, he called her
so; for that is precisely the way a seal looks,
when he is resting on a rock or a piece of ice.
Scores of years back, before the settlement of
North America by Europeans, seals were wont
to come to its shores even as far southward as
the Carolinas, and were common visitors from
New Jersey northward. Robin's Reef, in New
York Bay, passed by all the Coney Island steam-
boats, gets its name from the Dutch word robin or
robyn --"seal," because those animals used to
resort there in great numbers. To-day they are
uncommon even along the coast of Maine, scarcely
abundant in the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and are
slowly being driven inside the arctic circle.
Now, this disappearance of the seals from our
own coast has been brought about by incessant
persecution, and it seems to me very unfortunate.
How much it would add to the pleasure of a
voyage down the bay, or a ramble along the
weedy and wave-polished beach, if we could see,
here and there, trim, brown animals creep up
from the water on some projecting rock, and gaze
at us with no fear in their mild eyes, while
shaking the drops of water from their coats But
sadly for our amusement, and for the seals them-
selves, their bodies have a value in the market -
and great fleets every year are fitted out to engage
in this fishery.
The word fishery ought to imply a fish" to
be caught; but the term has become perverted:
for instance, we speak of whale, sponge, coral, crab,
and oyster, or clam fisheries, yet none of these
animals is in the least a fish. Neither is the seal,
although it lives in the water, swims and dives.

It is, indeed, nothing but a warm-blooded, fur-
coated mammal, with all the internal organs and
outside structure of a quadruped.
"What you exclaim, "'all the outside struct-
ure' of an otter, for example ? "
Yes, but not the same appearance. Let me
explain to you how this is: If we study the outlines
of the two heads, and the pictures of the two skulls
-the first, those of the common harbor-seal, and
the second those of the otter,-we shall see at once
how the bones, and the shape and arrangement of
the teeth in one, resemble those in the other. And
if we had also a picture of the skull of a cod-fish,
we should see how different from it are the skulls
of the otter and seal.
Now look at the limbs. I have heard of a boy
who defined a quadruped as an animal having a
leg at each corner. Perhaps that would fit the
otter, but you think that, certainly, it would not
describe the seal, "which has n't legs at all," you
say, but fins or 'flippers.' "
If I had the time, I could prove to you that
the difference between the fin of a fish and the
bone-leg of an otter or of a dog, or your own arm,
is not so very great; and it would be easy to show
how nearly alike the flipper of the seal and fore
leg of a land mammal really are. On examining
diagrams of the bones in a seal's flipper and an
otter's fore leg, you will find that you can match
every bone of the one by a similar bone of the
other. The shapes of the bones, to be sure, are
altered to suit the varied uses of swimming in the
water and walking on the land; but all the parts
of the arm and hand (or fore foot) of the otter, or
any other mammal, are seen also in the flipper of
our subject only there they are shortened, thick-
ened, and covered with a membrane which con-
verts them into a paddle instead of a paw.
The same comparison will hold good for the
hind feet of the otter and the hind flippers or
"tail" (which is not a tail) of the seal; and it is
equally true of the walrus and of the whale, por-
poise, grampus, blackfish, and other cetacea.
Of course, being mammals, these animals must
breathe air. You could drown any of them by
forcing it to remain under the water too long.
Whales can stay down an hour or more, if neces-
sary, and seals can hold their breath for fifteen or
twenty minutes, though they do not like to be
under as long as that. Of course, it is necessary
for seals, therefore, in the arctic seas, where mainly




is their home, to be able to reach the air, even in fish and sharks are after him, the seal will run
spite of the sheet of thick ice which for half the year between his feet for protection. Many seals are
covers the whole ocean. But in large bodies of killed, too, by fighting among themselves, and by
ice there always are some holes, no matter how the fierce storms of the frozen zone.
cold the weather may be; and these holes afford The most ingenious and dreaded enemies of the
the seals of that region an opportunity to come to seal, however (leaving out of sight for the pres-
the surface to breathe. There are some species, ent the white men), are the Eskimos. To them
however, that keep round, smooth-edged air-holes seals are of the utmost importance, and we may
open for themselves by continually breaking away say that in many parts of the arctic world men
the young ice as fast as it is formed; these holes could not live without these animals. The Eski-
are never very large at the surface sometimes mos' methods of hunting this game, and the hun-
only big enough to let one animal poke his nose up dred ways in which they utilize its body, will be
through; they are much like chimneys, indeed, for interesting matters to look into.
the ice may sometimes be a hundred feet thick. The harbor-seal [see page 627] is, perhaps, the
Before I go further, let me say that the
word "seal" applies to several families of
Pinnipeds, only one of which concerns us
at present. This is the Phocide, or family
of earless seals, of which the common har-
bor-seal, the ringed seal, the harp, or Green-
land seal, and the bearded, or hooded seals,
are chiefly to be remembered. Concerning
the gigantic sea-elephant of the antarctic .'
pole, the huge sea-lions of the Pacific, and
the various "fur" seals, we have no occa-
sion to speak. All our subjects inhabit the
arctic zone, and principally the coasts of I:
Greenland and Newfoundland,--washed by
the North Atlantic. '-
While the breathing-holes in the ice afford ". .l
the seals their only possibilities of life, they
often prove to be death-traps, since many
foes lie in wait near them.
The enemies of seals, other than man, are -
not a few, both on land and in the water.
The polar bear, finding their holes, watches L..
as quietly and vigilantly as a cat for a mouse,
and leaps upon them as they rise to breathe,
or even chases them into the sea, and so capt-
ures a great many. The arctic wolves and
foxes, the raven, and probably also the great -
snowy owl, attack the young before they are ,_ .
able to defend themselves or escape. These .
enemies are so active that the heavy and -"
awkward parents have hard work to defend- .-
their babies. The full-grown seals, as well
as the young, are seized in the water by .
sharks and sword-fish, and also by killer- -
whales, which, though of small size, are --
able to murder the monstrous right -whale
by biting out his tongue.
Travelers say that when a sword-fish sees a seal least serviceable of seals, since he is not common
upon a floating pan," or cake of ice, he will get very far north of Labrador; but his flesh is consid-
on one side and tip the pan down to such an angle ered the best, and on the Pacific coast thd Indians
that the seal must slip off, and then will devour take whole herds at once, by stealing upon them
it. So great is a seal's terror of these water-foes when they are basking on the beach or in shallow
that, should a man be on the pan when sword- bays, and drawing a seine around them. The hides




--.__ .'.,_. _


of the old ones are good only for tents, but those
of the young are highly prized; and no present is
more acceptable to a Greenland damsel than the
prettily mottled skin of a kassigiak (as she would
call it), out of which she will make the wide, warm
trousers that serve her in the place of petticoat.
Another seal, of which the Greenlanders do not
get many,- the bearded seal,-is very large, and is
especially prized on account of the thickness of its
skin. Out of it they make not only the slender-
pointed canoe-like boats, called "kayaks," in which
they chase this and other wandering species, but
also the stout lines to which their harpoons are at-
tached. It makes durable soles for their boots, too,
and strong harnesses for the dogs, besides which the
flesh is sweet. It is one of the most easily killed of
all seals, because it is not watchful. The harp-seal
is also readily killed along the edges of the ice-floes,
by the kayaker, but he values it little, excepting to
eat; the hooded seal or square-flipper," on the con-
trary, shows fight, taxing the courage and skill of
the bravest of those hardy natives to overcome its
fierce resistance and avoid its terrible bite.
The one seal useful above all others to them,
and eagerly pursued, is their favorite netsick, one
of the smaller species. It is the one called in our
books the ringed seal, or floe-rat.* It is confined to
the polar seas, rarelywandering south of Labrador,
but it belongs also to the arctic shores of Europe,
Asia, and Alaska, so that not only the Eskimos
proper, but many arctic Indian tribes, regularly
hunt it.
Although it is hunted throughout the year, the
most profitable time for killing the netsick is in
April, when each mother seal is accompanied by a
young one. Here, perhaps, I may digress a little

in order to tell you something of the babyhood of
the Greenland seal.
Of the different sorts of seals I have mentioned,
all but two are migratory-that is to say, the
whole body of them move from north to south
each autumn, and back from south to north each
spring. Upon this important fact the great fleets
of fishermen, of which I shall give an account
presently, depend for their success. The annual
southward journey of the restless harp-seal fur-
nishes a vivid picture of these great migrations
which are so prominent a feature of polar history.
Keepifig just ahead of the "making" of the ice,
or final freezing up of the fiords and bays, at the
approach of winter they leave Greenland, and begin
their passage southward along the coast of Labra-
dor, freely entering all the gulfs and bays. They
appear first in small detachments of half a dozen
to a score or more of individuals; these are soon
followed by larger companies, until in a few days
they form one continuous procession, filling the
sea as far as the eye can reach. Floating with the
Arctic current, their progress is extremely rapid,
and in but one short week the whole multitude
has passed. Arriving at the Straits of Belleisle,
some enter the gulf, but the great body move on-
ward along the eastern coast of Newfoundland,
and thence outward to the Grand Banks, where
they arrive about Christmas. Here they rest for
a month, and then they turn northward, slowly
struggling against the strong current that aided
them so much in their southward journey, until
they reach the great ice-fields stretching from the
Labrador shore far eastward-a broad continent
of ice.
During the first half of March, on these great

A field of floating ice, in the arctic phrase, is a "floe," so long as it remains a firm sheet; when it breaks
up it becomes a "pack," or "pack-ice."


..^-? ^-- ^ 'U "S "- if #" "

-& -


-_ _- __ -: l


floating fields of ice, are born thousands of baby
seals-only one in each family, to be sure, but
with plenty of play-fellows close by-all in soft
woolly dress, white, or white with a beautiful golden
luster. The Newfoundlanders call them white-
coats." In a few weeks, however, they lose this
soft covering, and a gray, coarse fur takes its place.
In this uniform they bear the name of "ragged-
jackets"; and it is not until two or three years
later that the full colors of the adult are gained,
with the black crescentic or harp-like marks on
the back which give them the name of harps."
The squealing and barking at one of these im-

makes a mistake nor feeds any bleating baby
until she has found her own. If ice happens to
pack around them, so that they can not open holes,
nor get into the water, the whole army will labori-
ously travel by floundering leaps to the edge of
the field; and they show an astonishing sagacity
in discerning the proper direction. It is supposed
that they can smell the water at a long distance.
Sometimes great storms come, breaking the ice-
floes in pieces and jamming the fragments against
one another, or upon rocky headlands, with tre-
mendous force. Besides the full-grown seals that
perish in such gales, thousands of the weak babies

'- .,


-, .a -,. ._- -. .,r
--- "- -

."".. "..- ,
PR -- c--- -- .2-

C >t-i---Z-%-,-.-- -j -__


mense nurseries can be heard for a very long dis- are crushed to death or drowned, notwithstanding
tance. When the babies are very young, the the dauntless courage of their mothers, in trying
mothers leave them on the ice and go off in search to get their young out of danger and upon the
of food, coming back frequently to look after the firm ice. And it is touching to watch a mother-
little ones; and although there are thousands of seal struggling to get her baby to a safe place,
the small, white, squealing creatures, which to you either by trying to swim with it between her fore
and me would seem to be precisely alike, and all flippers, or by driving it before her and tossing it
are moving about more or less, the mother never forward with her nose." The destruction caused




by such gales is far less when they happen after
the youngsters have learned to swim.
Does it surprise you that seals, which are con-
stantly in the water, have to learn to swim ? Well,
it might stagger the phocidae to be told that men
have to be taught to walk. The fact is, a baby seal
is afraid of the water; and if some accident, or his
mother's shoulder, pushes him into the surf when
he is ten or a dozen days old, he screams with
fright and scrambles out as fast as he can. The
next day he tries it again, but finds himself very
awkward and soon tired; the third day he does
better, and before long he can dive and leap, turn
somersaults (if he is a bearded seal), and vanish
under the ice, literally "like a blue streak," the
instant danger threatens. But he had to learn
how, to begin with, like any other mammal.
It is when the seals are busy in caring for their
helpless babies and giving the better-grown young-
sters their early lessons, that the Eskimo hunters
seek most diligently to kill them. This is not
merely for the pleasure of it,- not that at all, per-
haps,-but because their flesh and skins are im-
peratively needed. Those pursued by the Eski-
mos, however, are not the species that make the
great southward migrations which I have just
described, but the ringed seals (Phoca fetida)
which remain on the far arctic coasts all the year
round. Upon this animal the Eskimos place
almost their entire dependence for food, fuel, light,
and clothing. Its capture is therefore exceedingly
important to every family.
At the end of winter each of the female seals
creeps up through the breathing-hole (which is
named althk); and under the deep snow overlying
all the ice-field she digs a cave, eight or ten feet
long and three to five feet wide. At one end of the
excavation is the breathing-hole, affording a ready
means of retreat in case of danger. In this cave
the young seal is born, and though protected from
the sight of its enemies, here it is often captured.
About the first of April the Eskimo hunter
leaves his winter encampment, taking his family
and a few bits of furniture on his dog-sledge, and
goes to some locality where he expects to find seals
abound. Arrived there, he cuts out square blocks
of hard snow, piles them up into a round hut with
a domed roof, clearing away the snow from the
inside, down to the hard ground or ice-surface.
Over this hut he throws water, which, in freezing,
cements all the blocks together; and then he has
a good tight house-as warm as :;1.-.1. made of
stone, as soon as he has built his fire. This done,
he and his family are as comfortable as if they
were at their winter home, and if his hunting is
successful, he is contented and happy.
The old-fashioned native manner of hunting -

some of the Eskimos now have guns, and this
spoils the interest--called for much skill and
patience. In it, each hunter has a trained dog
which runs on ahead, but is held by a strap around
his neck from going too fast and far. The dog
scents the seal lying in its excavation under the
snow (the level surface of which of course gives
no sign of the cave), and barks; whereupon the
hunter, who is close behind, hastens forward, and
by a vigorous jump breaks down the cover before
the young seal can escape. If he succeeds in cut-
ting off its retreat, it is an easy prey, for he simply
knocks it on the head; otherwise he must use his
seal-hook very quickly or his game is gone.
"It sometimes happens," says Mr. L. Kumlien,
"that the hunter is unfortunate enough to jump
the snow down directly over the hole, when he gets
a pretty thorough wetting. The women often
take part in this kind of sealing, and become quite
expert. The children begin when they are four
or five years old: the teeth and flippers of the
first catch are saved as a trophy, and are worn
about the little fellow's neck; this they think will
give him good luck when he begins the next year.
As the season advances and the young begin to
shed their coats, the roof of their igloo or cave is
often or perhaps always broken down, and the
mother and young can be seen on sunny days
basking in the warm sunshine beside their atluk.
The mother will take to the water when the hunter
has approached within gunshot, and will leave the
young one to shift for itself, which generally ends
in its staring leisurely at the hunter until suddenly
it finds a hook in its side. A stout seal-skin line is
then made fast to its hind flipper and it is let into
the atluk. It of course makes desperate efforts to
free itself, and is very apt to attract the attention
of the mother if she is anywhere in the vicinity.
The Eskimo carefully watches the movements of
the young one, and, as soon as the mother is
observed, begins to haul in on the line; the old one
follows nearer and nearer to the surface, until, at
last, she crosses the hole at the proper depth, when
the deadly harpoon is planted in her body and she
is quickly drawn out. If, however, the mother
has seen the hunter approaching the atluk, she
will not show herself."
If you were to examine the weapons by which
the Eskimos manage to capture these and other
seals,-specimens of them are in the National
Museum at Washington,-you would be aston-
ished at their roughness. It is very difficult, espe-
cially for the northern bands, to get any wood,
excepting sticks that are washed ashore, and a
piece long enough to make a good spear-handle is
extremely rare. In most cases, therefore, they are
obliged to splice two or three short pieces together,




and this they can only do by slanting both ends,
and binding the pieces at their juncture with
strings of raw-hide or strips of intestine. The
striking end of the spear usually consists of a long
and pretty straight piece of bone, such as can be got
from a whale's or walrus's skeleton, and this is
tipped with a sharp point of bone, or flint, or
(nowadays generally) of iron. Sometimes this tip
is movable, so that when it penetrates the prey it
will come off and only be held by the line, while
the handle floats, secured by a loop. Other spears
have each a skin buoy attached, this making it

up and the Eskimos can go out in their kayaks,
the crankiest of primitive craft, on the ugliest of
voyages; but this is an adventure they never shirk,
and one that their acquaintance with Europeans
has not changed at all. The kayak is eighteen
or twenty feet long, but is so light that it can be
carried by the one man who forms the crew. It
is all decked over, excepting a little round hole
through which the young Eskimo squeezes his
legs and sits down. Then he puts on a tight oil-
skin coat over his garments, and ties it down to
the deck all around him, so that no water can pour

-. 'ltW

.A ,, ,FIES .[ ..
- -" i ,

HO. S E IS I H'. F S A


more difficult for the poor animal to swim away, and
also helping to float the weapon if the hunter misses
his aim. The stout lines are made of seal-hide, or
sometimes of braided spruce roots. The "hooks"
mentioned above have wooden or bone shafts, to
the end of which a curved and sharpened hook of
bone is firmly bound. Besides, there are other rough
weapons, and a kind of net, in all of which the seal's
hide and bones contribute to his tribe's destruction,
and which are marvels of savage ingenuity.
Many of them are used later when the ice breaks

in "'tween decks." But, on the other hand, he
must untie the knots before he can get out; so if
by chance he capsizes, he must either be content
to navigate head down and keel up, or else must
right himself by a sort of somersault, which shall
bring him up on the opposite side-and this he
often actually does.
When the kayaker catches sight of a seal, he ad-
vances within about twenty-five feet of it, and hurls
his harpoon by means of a piece of wood adapted
to support the harpoon while he takes aim." This




is called a tli.. .;--ri.i:, and curiously enough the
Australasians had a similar contrivance for hurling
their javelins. As he throws, the kayaker loosens
the bladder and tosses it off. The animal struck
dives, carrying away the coiled-up line with great
speed; if in this moment the line happens to
become entangled, the canoe is almost certain
to be capsized and dragged away with no chance
of rising again, and many an Eskimo has lost
his life through a similar mischance. But if the
attack has been successful, the bladder moving on
the surface of the water indicates the track of
the frantic animal beneath it, and the hunter fol-

Late in the summer, when the young seals have
grown able to take care of themselves, and the
herds are away enjoying the open sea and getting
fat on the abundant food they find at that sea-
son, the Eskimo has to pursue them with great
caution, crawling over the ice face downward, and
imitating their awkward, tumbling play until near
enough to hurl his spear; or he must get into his
frail kayak and chase the herds far up glacial fiords
and away across the rough and chilling sea, where
they are living on the floating ice,
The food of seals is various, but consists chiefly
of fish, though the young ones, when companies

>" Sri

.*-t. ---.- -~i
..ZL 1


lows with the large lance, which, .li,., ri. h :. i
re-appears, he throws like the haipuun. ihlus hc
does again and again, the lance always disengaging
itself, until the poor seal becomes so weak that it
can be overtaken, and killed by a lunge of the knife.
The flesh of the netsick serves for food all
through the summer, and is "cach6d," or concealed,
in the snow, or dried for winter use. From the
skins of the old seals the arctic natives make their
summer clothing, while under-garments are fash-
ioned from those of the young netsick. Children
often have entire suits of the white skins of the baby
seals in their first fuzzy coat. With the flesh and
skins of the netsick, too, the Eskimo travels south-
ward to the Danish settlements, and trades for
such civilized articles as he is able to buy.

of them first begin to hunt in the shallow water
near shore, seem to like crabs better than anything
else; and to several species of shrimps, abounding
in northern seas, the observant sailors have given
the name "seals' food." Shell-fish of various
sorts, too, are cracked in their strong jaws and
devoured-especially the arctic mussels. They
swallow many pebble-stones also, not for food, but,
it is supposed, in order to aid digestion.
Now I must force myself to leave this hasty
sketch of the natural history of these most interest-
ing and serviceable animals, regretting that I can
not dwell longer upon many of its features, and
turn to the exciting incidents of the chase con-



- I---~----~--~- -~---------~-~-~-


_--= X .---. i-
; := 2 ,--_.-


ducted against them every spring by ships and crews
from America and Europe. In this case, however,
I am obliged to say that I must not go greatly

larger in point of numbers than any that go out
now, consisted wholly of sailing vessels, many of
which were of small size, notwithstanding the long


into details, since they would present a horrible
picture of blood and cruel wiafare against one of
the most innocent and child-like creatures that
ever breathed. But I suppose that, much as we
might wish it, it will be impossible always to keep
out of our sight objects and acts that make us
shudder; that is, if we are to know what is actually
going on in the world.
The phocine seals of the Atlantic are not hunted
for their fur, as are their Alaskan cousins, but
chiefly for their oil, and secondarily for their skins.
It is an industry which profitably employs hun-
dreds of ships and thousands of seamen, and it
receives the name of "sealing." The principal
sealing-grounds are Newfoundland, Labrador, and
the islands which lie between, but especially the
ice-floes off the coast of Western Greenland, the
Spitzbergen and Jan Mayen seas; Nova Zembla,
the White Sea, and the Caspian Sea. Of these the
most important is that first-named, where, as long
ago as half a century, three hundred and seventy-
five vessels assembled annually, and, twenty-five
years ago, five hundred thousand seals were taken
in a single season. These early fleets, which were

and tempestuous voyages they had to endure. The
most of them hailed from Newfoundland. All
these were concerned in ice-hunting," which is
the most extensive and profitable, though by far
the most dangerous, of all the methods in vogue
for capturing seals.
You will remember that at the end of winter
enormous herds, chiefly of the harp-seals, come
down and congregate upon the floating fields of
ice eastward of Newfoundland, where the young
are born in March. These are the place and sea-
son of the largest fishery, but the locality is never
fixed nor certain; the fields, approached simulta-
neously by sailing fleets and steamers from New-
foundland, Nova Scotia, Scotland, England, France,
Germany, and Norway, must be sought for every
year as though for the first time. This is in the
icy, tempestuous North Atlantic, at the most
stormy period of the year. Dreadful gales may
drive the ships anywhere but where they seek to
go, bergs may be hurled against them, the ice
may jam them between its ponderous edges and
crush the doubly braced hulls into splinters, or
cleanly cut away parts of the bottom, and leave the




vessels to sink and the men to save themselves as
best they may upon broken and drifting ice.
Strange to say, steam-ships are more liable to
harm from the ice than sailing ships, which will

path. Then the ship dashes into it as far as its
power can force it. When, it sticks, the crew leap
overboard, chop and break the field into cakes
which are shoved under the floe or hauled out on
top: or, if it is too thick to be broken, saws are
brought out; and a canal is slowly made for the
ship's progress. This is a time of great desire
for haste, and you may well believe that every man
works with all his might.
"Sometimes," writes an eye-witness, "a crowd
of men, clinging around the ship's bows, and hold-
ing on to the bights of rope would jump and
dance on the ice, bending and breaking it with
their weight and dragging her on over it with all
their force. Up to their knees in water, as one
piece after another sank below the cut-water, they
still held on, hurrahing at every fresh start she
made, dancing, jumping, pushing, shoving, haul-
ing, hewing, sawing, till every soul on board was
roused into excited exertion."
Well, when all this toil and danger are passed,-
sometimes greatly prolonged, and in the midst of a
frozen sea and the most violent storms,--and the
ship has the good luck to sight a herd, then begins
for the crew of hardy sailors a season of about the
most arduous labor that one can imagine.
If the weather permit, the vessel is run into the
ice, and moored there; if not, it sails back and
forth in open spaces, managed by the captain and
one or two others, while the remainder of the crew,
sometimes sixty or seventy, or even more in num-
ber, get into boats and row swiftly to the floe. The

be lifted up instead of crushed. Often a field of young seals lie scattered about here and there, bask-
thin "bay-ice," or a solid floe, will lie right in the ing in the sun or sheltered under the lee of a hum-


i ;!.-- --- -1-" ... -- .._... .1

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

.*',..1- .. ..,I,, .,- .
' .; - -_-7-/ ,, -

-- K:





mock, and they lie so thickly that half a dozen endurance, his nerves to peril, and his heart to
will often be seen in a space twenty yards square. bitter cruelty; -but every pelt is worth a dollar !
By night, after a "seal-meadow" has
been attacked, the decks of the vessel are
hidden under a deep layer of fat, slippery
-, pelts. After these have lain long enough
.A to get cool, they are stowed away in the
'. hold in pairs, each pair having the hair
outward. The hold is divided by stout
S- partitions into compartments, or'"pounds,"

in order to prevent the cargo from mov-
ing about and so rubbing the fat into oil,
which would speedily fill every part of
the hold and the cabins, spoiling all the
provisions. A vessel once had to be
abandoned from this accident, because it
had not been "pounded." The European
ships, however, generally separate the fat
at once and stow it in casks.
Sometimes, instead of bringing the
pelts to the ship as fast as they are ob-
tained, the hunters pile them up and


They can not get away, or at most
can only flounder about, and their
plaintive bleatings and white coats
might almost be those of lambs.
The old seals are frightened away
by the approach of the sailors, and
never show fight, and the young-
sters are easily killed; so the men
do not take guns, but only clubs,
with which they strike the poor
little fellows a single blow on the
head, usually killing them at once.
Having struck down all they can
see within a short distance, the
small squad of men who work to-
gether then quickly skin, or (as
they call it) "sculp them, with
a broad clasp-knife, cutting clear
through the thick layer of fat
which lies underneath the hide,
and so leaving a surprisingly small
carcass behind. Bundles are then
made of from three to seven
"pelts," and each man drags a
bundle toward the boat. This is
sometimes miles distant, the ice is
rough and broken, he must leap
cracks, trust himself to isolated
cakes, and often he falls into the

freezing water, or loses his way in
a sudden squall of snow. It is limb-cracking place a flag on the heap, so that no other crew
and life-risking work, and, to accomplish it suc- will take them, for there may be a score or two of
cessfully, a man must school his muscles to vessels all attacking the herd at once; and this





I ~

~. ~ D~-~ ~.

~- _'--d~8~T


claim is respected. .But in very many cases a snow-
storm hides these heaps, or they break away from
the floe, or the ice "jams" and crushes them, or
the ship itself is driven too far off to return, so
that they are lost and wasted; hence the practice
of thus piling up the pelts is ceasing.
Perhaps I have given you the impression that it
is only the young seals
that are taken on these- --
_ --__ --.- _
expeditions, but that is _- ---
not wholly correct. Two
voyages are ordinarily
made, each lasting
about two weeks. The -
first voyage brings
home few old seals, but -
on the second voyage -
the sealers find the
youngsters pretty well
grown, and as well able -
to escape as the old -
ones. They must there- --
fore use guns somewhat, 1-
and otherwise manage ;
to secure adult, or near-
ly full-grown seals, if
Ih. .... I tanyatall.
Besides the skins and -i
the fat, parts of the flesh
are preserved for food,
and those who are ac-
customed to it recom-
mend it highly. The
flesh is a "universal
remedy" among the
Eskimos. When the
"Pandora" left Eng-
land on her arctic ex-
pedition in 1874, her
interpreter, Joe, an Es-
kimo, had a bad cough,
but he refused all medi- **
cine, saying, "BIimeby,
eat seal, get well." And,
sure enough, his cough-
ing was heard no more
after he had feasted on
his favorite food for a
few days. "For young
ladies and gentlemen ON THE WAY T(
who can not succeed in making their features suffi-
ciently attractive on chicken and cheese-cakes, no
diet is likely to succeed so well as delicate cutlets
from the loin of a seal."
There are several methods of capturing these
animals along the shore, by driving companies of
them into nets, set among rocks or spread under-

neath the ice at their breathing-holes; by surpris-
ing them asleep on the shore and cutting off their
retreat; by shooting, harpooning, and so on; but I
can not weary you in detailing them, although they
are exciting and picturesque.
When a cargo of pelts is brought home, the fat
is carefully removed and converted into oil, either

:. -

M 7--.------ -- -_
r -=2-- _-._-_..-

by the sun or, in less time, by the aid of steam;
but the latter produces a quality poorer in some
respects both for lamps and for the lubrication of
machines. The skins are salted and packed, and
become cured in three weeks, finding ultimate use
as shoe-leather, and as covering for knapsacks,
valises, small trunks, etc. It would be interesting





- .


to enlarge on this point, too, but readers must be
content with only a skeleton of a history of seals
and the seal industries, which they can fill out with
all the more pleasure to themselves by independent
reading in books of arctic travel, of zoology, and of
the fisheries.
The sealing in the North Atlantic alone gives
employment every spring to, say, twenty-five steam-
ers from Newfoundland, built expressly for the pur-
pose, besides unnumbered sailing vessels; the crews

of this fleet making a navy of about ten thousand
eager young men. The starting is a scene of the
greatest bustle, and when the men return with rich
cargoes, and get their pockets full of money, there
is great hilarity around the usually dull towns of
that far-northern island. It is said that in one year,
recently, a round million of seals were taken in the
North Atlantic alone. Yet there seems to be little
or no diminution in the crowds that throng the
ice-floes as each March comes round.



YESTERDAY morning a missionary man came to
our Sunday-school, and told us all about the little
heathen. They don't have to be dressed up, nor
learn the catechism, nor sew patchwork, nor be-
have, nor do anything disagreeable. And they
don't know the value of money; they 'd a great deal
rather have a bright button than a gold dollar.
In the afternoon, when we were ready for church,
Mother gave us each a five-cent piece. "That 's
to put in the correction box," says she. "The
missionary is going to preach, and your father and I
want you to give him something for the heathen."
On the way to church, Johnny said : "It is n't
the least use to send five centses to the heathen.
They 'd rather have a bright button than a gold
dollar, and of course they would n't care about five
cents. And there 's no candy in heathenland, so
what do they want of money, anyhow ?"
Then I said: "If I only had my button-string,
we could each give a button, and spend the five
centses for candy, and so we 'd be pleased all
'round." Johnny said that was a good idea; and
"there 's a button loose on my jacket this minute;
and if I can twist off another before the correction
box comes 'round, I '11 give it to you, Kitty."
I thought it was a lovely plan, for Johnny's but-
tons are just beauties. I heard Mother tell sister
Em that they cost two dollars a dozen. They look
like gold. But when we got to church, they made
me go into the pew first, and Father put Johnny
beside him next the door, so 's we could n't talk.
The missionary talked a long time, and then
they sang Greenland's Icy Mountains," and then
they went 'round with the correction boxes. Father
takes one of them, and they 're on long sticks
like a corn-popper, and deep, so 't other folks
can't see what you put in. I had to drop in my
VOL. IX.-41.

five cents, and then Mother and Em put in their
money, and last of all Johnny put in his button.
He held his hand close to the box when he did it,
and then he looked at me behind the others, and
nodded, so I 'd know he had his five cents all safe.
This morning we bought five lovely squares of
taffy. We did n't have time to eat it before school,
and when we were going home, Johnny said: "Let
us wait till after dinner, and then give everybody a
piece; and then I '11 tell Father what the mis-
sionary said, and may be after this he '11 give but-
tons, and it '11 save him a great deal of money."
So we waited, and after dinner, just as we took
out the candy to divide it, Father pulled something
bright out of his pocket, and rolled it across the
table to Mother. She thought it was money, and
said, "Just what I wanted!" But it was n't
money; it was a brass button.
How did you come by this ?" said she.
"I found it in the correction box, yesterday
afternoon," said Father. Some little rascal put
it in, I suppose, and spent his money for candy,
and whoever he is, he ought to have a wholesome
lesson. If he was my son-- "
And then Mother said, Why, it is just like
Johnny's buttons! And sister Em said, "Well,
there 's one gone off his Sunday jacket. I noticed
it this morning, and meant to speak about it."
Everybody looked at us. Father asked what we
had in that paper, and "John, is this your but-
ton?" And what could we say but yes? They
called us unhappy children, and sent us upstairs.
We 've both had a wholesome lesson. I had
one 'cause they said I put it into Johnny's head.
For two weeks, Father is going to put our pennies
away for the heathen, to make us remember.
Johnny says he wishes he was a heathen.






THE poets who love children are the poets whom
children love. It is natural that they should care
much for each other, because both children and
poets look into things in the same way,- simply,
with open eyes and hearts, seeing Nature as it is,
and finding whatever is lovable and pure in the
people who surround them, as flowers may re-
ceive back from flowers sweet odors for those
which they have given. The little child is born
with a poet's heart in him, and the poet has been
fitly called "the eternal child."
Not that all children or all poets are alike in this.
But of him who has just gone from us-the hon-
ored Longfellow-we think as of one who has
always been fresh and natural in his sympathy
for children, one who has loved them as they
have loved him.
We wish he had given us more of the memories
of his own childhood. One vivid picture of it
comes to us in "My Lost Youth," a poem which
shows us how everything he saw when a child
must have left within him a life-long impression.
That boyhood by the sea must have been full of
dreams as well as of pictures. The beautiful bay
with its green islands, widening out to the Atlantic
on the east, and the dim chain of mountains, the
highest in New England, lying far away on the
north-western horizon, give his native city a roomy
feeling not often experienced in the streets of a
town; and the boy-poet must have felt his imag-
ination taking wings there, for many a long flight.
So he more than hints to us in his song:

I can see the shadowy lines of its trees,
And catch, in sudden gleams,
The sheen of the far-surrounding seas,
And islands that were the Hesperides
Of all my boyish dreams.
And the burden of that old song,
It murmurs and whispers still:
'A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.' "

I remember the black wharves and the slips,
And the sea-tides tossing free;
And Spanish sailors with bearded lips,
And the beauty and mystery of the ships,
And the magic of the sea.
And the voice of that wayward song
Is singing and saying still:
A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.'

Longfellow's earliest volume, "The Voices of
the Night," was one of the few books of American
poetry that some of us who are now growing old

ourselves can remember reading, just as we were
emerging from childhood. The Reaper and the
Flowers" and the "Psalm of Life,"-I recall the
delight with which I used to repeat those poems.
The latter, so full of suggestions which a very
young person could feel, but only half understand,
was for that very reason the more fascinating. It
seemed to give glimpses, through opening doors,
of that wonderful new world of mankind, where
children are always longing to wander freely as
men and women. Looking forward and aspiring
are among the first occupations of an imagina-
tive child; and the school-boy who declaimed the
"Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,"

and the school-girl who read them quietly by her-
self, felt them, perhaps, no less keenly than the
man of thought and experience.
L... i !i.. has said that-

"Sublimity always is simple
Both in sermon and song, a child can seize on its meaning,"

and the simplicity of his poetry is the reason why
children and young people have always loved it;
the reason, also, why it has been enjoyed by men
and women and children all over the world.
One of his poems which has been the delight of
children and grown people alike is the Village
Blacksmith," the first half of which is a descrip-
tion that many a boy might feel as if he could
have written himself-if he only had the poet's
command of words and rhymes, and the poet's
genius! Is not this one of the proofs of a good
poem, that it haunts us until it seems as if it had
almost grown out of our own mind ? How life-like
the picture is !-
And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing-floor."

No wonder the Cambridge children, when the old
chestnut-tree that overhung the smithy was cut
down, had a memento shaped into a chair from its
boughs, to present to him who had made it an
immortal tree in his verse! It bore flower and
fruit for them a second time in his acknowledg-
ment of the gift; for he told them how-




There, by the blacksmith's forge, beside the street
Its blossoms white and sweet,
Enticed the bees, until it seemed alive,
And murmured like a hive.

And when the winds of autumn, with a shout
Tossed its great arms about,
The shining chestnuts, bursting from the sheath,
Dropped to the ground beneath."

In its own wild, winsome way, the song of
" Hiawatha's Childhood" is one of the prettiest
fancies in poetry. It is a dream of babyhood in
the forest primeval," with Nature for nurse and
teacher; and it makes us feel as if-were the
poet's idea only a possibility-it might have been
very pleasant to be a savage baby, although we
consider it so much better to be civilized.

At the door on summer evenings
Sat the little Hiawatha;
Heard the whispering of the pine-trees,
Heard the lapping of the water,
Sounds of music, words of wonder:

Light me with your little candle,
Ere upon my bed I lay me,
Ere in sleep I close my eyelids!'

Then the little Hiawatha
Learned of every bird its language,
Learned their names and all their secrets,
How they built their nests in summer,
Where they hid themselves in winter,

"Of all beasts he learned the language,
Learned their names and all their secrets,
How the beavers built their lodges,
Where the squirrels hid their acorns,
How the reindeer ran so swiftly,
Why the rabbit was so timid;
Talked with them whenever he met them,
Called them 'Hiawatha's Brothers.' "

How Longfellow loved the very little ones can
be seen in such verses as the "Hanging of
the Crane," and in those earlier lines "To a
Child," where the baby on his mother's knee
gazes at the painted tiles, shakes his coral rattle


'Minne-wawa !' said the pine-trees;
' Mudway-aushka!' said the water.
Saw the fire-fly, Wah-wah-taysee,
Flitting through the dusk of evening,
With the twinkle of its candle
Lighting up the brakes and bushes.
And he sang the song of children,
Sang the song Nokomis taught him:
'Wah-wah-taysee, little fire-fly,
Little, flitting, white-fire insect,
Little dancing, white-fire creature,

with the silver bells," or escapes through the open
door into the old halls where once

"The Father of his country dwelt."

Those verses give us a charming glimpse of the
home-life in the historic mansion which is now so
rich with poetic, as well as patriotic associations.
Other glimpses of it he has given us also. Some




years ago, many households in our land were made
happy by the pictured group of Longfellow's three
children, which he allowed to be put into circula-

I' -


tion,-three lovely little girls, who became known
to us through the poet's words as-

'Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,
And Edith with golden hair."

How beautiful it was to be let in to that twilight
library scene described in the Children's Hour :

A sudden rush from the stair-way,
A sudden raid from the hall!
By three doors left unguarded,
They enter my castle wall !
They climb up into my turret,
O'er the arms and back of my chair;
If I try to escape, they surround me;
They seem to be everywhere.
Do you think, 0 blue-eyed banditti,
Because you have scaled the wall,
Such an old moustache as I am
Is not a match for you all?
have you fast in my fortress,
And will not let you depart,
But put you down into the dungeon
In the round-tower of my heart.
And there will I keep you forever,
Yea, forever and a day,
Till the walls shall crumble to ruin
And moulder in dust away!"

Afterward, when sorrow and loss had come to
the happy home, in the sudden removal of the
mother of those merry children, the father who
loved them so had a sadder song for them, as he
looked onward into their orphaned lives :

0 little feet, that such long years
Must wander on, through hopes and fears,
Must ache and bleed beneath your load,
I, nearer to the wayside inn,
Where toil shall cease, and rest begin,
Am weary, thinking of your road "

And later, as if haunted by a care for them that
would not leave him, he wrote the beautiful sonnet

"I said unto myself, if I were dead,
What would befall these children? What would be
Their fate, who now are looking up to me
For help and furtherance? Their lives, I said,
Would be a volume wherein I have read
But the first chapters, and no longer sec
To read the rest of their dear history,
So full of beauty and so full of dread."

Very sweet to those children must be the
memory of such a father's love !
I.....,. II.. loved all children, and had a word
for them whenever he met them.
At a concert, going early with her father, a little
girl espied Mr. Longfellow sitting alone, and
begged that she might go and speak to him. Her
father, himself a stranger, took the liberty of intro-
ducing his little daughter Edith to the poet.
Edith? said Mr. Longfellow, tenderly. Ah!
I have an Edith, too; but 7my baby Edith is twenty
years old." And he seated the child beside him,
taking her hand in his, and making her promise
to come and see him at his house in Cambridge.
What is the name of your sled, my boy ? he
said to a small lad, who came tugging one up the
road toward him, on a winter morning.
"It 's 'Evangeline.' Mr. Longfellow wrote
'Evangeline.' Did you ever see Mr. Longfello ? "
answered the little fellow, as he ran by, doubtless
wondering at the smile on the face of the pleasant
gray-haired gentleman.
Professor Monti, who witnessed the pretty scene,
tells the story of a little girl who last Christmas
inquired the way to the poet's house, and asked if
she could just step inside the yard ; and he relates
how Mr. Longfellow, being told she was there,
went to the door and called her in, and showed her
the "old clock on the stairs," and many other
interesting things about the house, leaving his
little guest with beautiful memories of that Christ-
mas day to carry all through her life. This was
characteristic of the poet's hospitality, delicate and
courteous and -L. i.li.i-.ll to all who crossed his
threshold. Many a trembling young girl, fright-
ened at her own boldness in having ventured into
his presence, was set at ease by her host in the most
genial way; he would make her forget her-
self in the interesting mementos all about her,
devoting himself to her entertainment as if it were
the one pleasure of the hour to do so.




It is often said, and with reason, that we Ameri-
cans do not think enough of manners--that
politeness of behavior which comes from genuine
sympathy and a delicate perception of others' feel-
ings. Certainly our young people might look to
Mr. Longfellow as a model in this respect. He
was a perfect gentleman, in the best sense of that
term, always considerate, and quick to see where
he might do a kindness, or say a pleasant word.
A visitor one day told him- in conversation of a
young lady relative or friend, who had sent to Mr.
Longfellow the message that he was the one man in
the world she wanted to see.
Tell her," said the poet, instantly, that she
is the one young lady in the world whom I want
to see."
Some young girls, from a distant part of the
country, having been about Cambridge sight-see-
ing, walked to Mr. Longfellow's house, and ventur-
ing within the gate, sat down upon the grass. He
passed them there, and turning back, said:
"Young ladies, you are uncomfortably seated.
Wont you come into the house ?"
They were overjoyed at the invitation, and on
entering, Mr. Longfellow insisted upon their tak-
ing lunch with him. They saw that the table was
set for four, and were beginning to be mortified at
finding themselves possible intruders upon other
guests. They so expressed themselves to their
host, who put them at ease at once, saying that it
was only his regular lunch with his children, and
that they would be happy to wait.
One of a group of school-girls whom he had
welcomed to his house sent him, as a token of her
gratitude, an iron pen made from a fetter of the
Prisoner of Chillon, and a bit of wood from the
frigate Constitution," ornamented with precious
stones from three continents. He wrote his thanks
in a poem which must be very precious to the
giver,-"Beautiful Helen of Maine,"-to whom
he says of her gift that it is to him -
"As a drop of the dew of your youth
On the leaves of an aged tree."

Longfellow's courtesy was as unfailing as the
demands upon it were numerous and pressing.
Very few imagine what a tax it is upon the time
of our more prominent authors simply to write
the autographs which are requested of them. He
almost invariably complied with such requests, when
made in a proper manner, wearisome as it must
often have been to do so. Not long since, he had
a letter from a Western boy, who sent his name,

desiring him to translate it into every language he
knew, and send it back to him with his autograph !
The poet was much amused at the request, but it
is doubtful whether he found time to gratify that
Still another incident related of him is that he
was one day walking in a garden with a little five-
years maiden who was fond of poetry and occasion-
ally made up some herself.
I, too, am fond of poetry," he said to her.
" Suppose you give me a little of yours this beauti-
ful morning ? "
"Think," cried he, afterward, to a friend, throw-
ing up his hands, his eyes sparkling with merri-
ment,-" think what her answer was She said:
' Oh, Mr. Longfellow, it does n't always come when
you want it! Ah me,-how true, how true "
The celebration of Longfellow's seventy-fifth
birthday by school-children all over the country
is something that those children must be glad to
think of now-glad to remember that the poet
knew how much they cared for him and for what
he had written. Even the blind children, who
have to read with their fingers, were enjoying his
songs with the rest. How pleasant that must have
been to him Certainly, as it seems to me, the
best tribute that the young people of the country
can pay to his memory is to become more familiar
with his poems.
Of our older poets, whose greatness time has
tested, only a few remain. One of them, writing
of Longfellow's departure, says sadly : "Our little
circle narrows fast, and a feeling of loneliness
comes over me."
We should not wait until a great and good man
has left us before giving him honor, or trying to
understand what he has done for us. A dreary
world ours would be, if there were no poets' songs
echoing through it; and we may be proud of
our country that it has a poetry of its own, which
it is for us to know and possess for ourselves.
Longfellow has said:
SWhat the leaves are to the forest
With light and air and food,
Ere their sweet and tender juices
Have been hardened into wood,
That to the world, are children ":
and something like this we may say of his songs.
There is in all true poetry a freshness of life which
makes the writer of it immortal.
The singer so much beloved has passed from
sight, but the music of his voice is in the air, and,
listening to it, we know that he can not die.





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He is dead, the sweet musician!
He the sweetest of all singers!
He has gone from us forever:
He has moved a little nearer
To the Master of all music,
To the Master of all singing."

IN the early part of March, some lads belonging
to the Dwight School, Boston, wished to visit
Professor Longfellow, with whose poems they were
becoming familiar.
Let us write to him," said one of the boys,
"and ask his permission to call on him some holi-
day afternoon."
They consulted their teacher, who favored the
plan, and the following note was sent to the poet:

HENRY W. LONGFELLOW-Dear Sir: Would it be agreeable
to you to receive a call from four boys of the Dwight School? .. ."

Four names were signed to the note.
In a few days the following answer was returned:

"Mr. Longfellow would be pleased to meet the boys of the
Dwight School on Saturday afternoon."

The boys were delighted. They procured a
choice bouquet of flowers to give to the poet, and
on Saturday afternoon, March 18th, went to Cam-
bridge, and made the last visit to Longfellow that
he ever received. Soon after they left him, he
walked on the piazza of the ancient house, and
being there exposed to the raw March winds, he
contracted the sudden illness that ended his life.
On their way to Cambridge, the boys left Boston
by the Charles River bridge, over which inces-
santly day and night a procession of footsteps
goes and returns, as restless as the tide that ebbs
and flows among the wooden piers and there
makes its ceaseless murmur.
Many years ago, in loneliness and despondency,
the great poet himself had been accustomed to go
over the wooden bridge in the same place; and
often he went at night, when the city clocks around
Beacon Hill solemnly announced the hours. There
was a great furnace then on the Brighton Hills,
and its red light glowed weirdly in the shadowy
distance. That sad time and lonely scene were
in his mind when he wrote:

I stood on the bridge at midnight,
As the clocks were striking the hour,
And the moon rose o'er the city,
Behind the dark church-tower.

I saw her bright reflection
In the waters under me,
Like a golden goblet falling
And sinking into the sea.

And far in the hazy distance
Of that lovely night in June,
The blaze of the flaming furnace
Gleamed redder than the moon."

A horse-car ride of half an hour took the boys
past Harvard College, where the poet had spent
many happy years as a professor, to his home-the
mansion that Washington made famous in history
as his head-quarters. It resembles the one de-
scribed in "The Old Clock on the Stairs":


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F....:......... -, i

-a. I:

by the French words, Tujours!: i amais_ Ja"-

In that house the Psalm of Life was written.
This poem, which to-day is known and admired
wherever the English language is spoken, was at
In that house the Psalm of Life was written.
This poem, which to-day is known and admired
wherever the English language is spoken, was at




first not intended for publication, but was merely
an expression of the poet's own views and purposes.
Longfellow once told the writer of this article the
story of the composition of this poem, and added
the following pleasing incident:
"As I was returning from my visit to the Queen

in London, a laborer came up to my carriage and
extended his hand. I wish,' he said, 'to shake
hands with the author of The Psalm of Life i "'
Few incidents of my life have been more pleasing.
That was a compliment I could appreciate! "
In this house, too, Evangeline was written,
the story being given to the poet by his friend,
Nathaniel Hawthorne. Here, also, was written
" Excelsior," after the poet had been reading
a letter, from Charles Sumner, full of noble
sentiments; here, besides, Longfellow wrote the
" Wreck of the Hesperus," when the sad news of
the loss of the Gloucester fishing-fleet, and the
mournful words Norman's Woe," so haunted
him that he could not sleep. Here were produced
nearly all of his poems that have become house-
hold words in many lands.
The poet received the boys most cordially and
graciously, accepted their present of flowers, and
expressed his pleasure in it. He then showed them
the historic rooms, and the articles associated with
Washington's residence there. He was accus-

tomed to exhibit to older visitors a piece of Dante's
coffin, Coleridge's inkstand, and Thomas Moore's
waste-paper basket.
The old poet, crowned with his white hair, chat-
ted pleasantly awhile with the four boys, whose
faces wore the beauty and inquisitive intelligence
of the years that had vanished from him forever.
One of the lads, a Master Lane, then asked him
a question which must have revived tender memo-
ries: "In your poem on the River Charles," he
said, there is a stanza beginning in some books
with the line 'Four long years of mingled feeling.'
In other books it begins with 'For long years with
mingled feeling.' Will you please tell me which
is right?"
Four long years,' answered the poet,
Is that the River Charles?" asked one of
the boys, pointing outside.
The poet looked out on the flowing stream. It
was almost the last time that he gazed upon it;
perhaps the last time that his attention was directed
to it. Yes," said he, mournfully, in answer,
"that is the Charles."
Years before, when his manhood was in its
prime, he had sung of this river :

"Thou hast taught me, Silent River!
Many a lesson, deep and long;
Thou hast been a generous giver:
I can give thee but a song.

"Oft in sadness and in illness,
I have watched thy current glide,
Till the beauty of its stillness
Overflowed me, like a tide.

"And in better hours and brighter,
When I saw thy waters gleam,
I have felt my heart beat lighter,
And leap onward with thy stream.

"Not for this alone I love thee,
Nor because thy waves of blue
From celestial seas above thee
Take their own celestial hue.

"Where yon shadowy woodlands hide thee,
And thy waters disappear,
Friends I love have dwelt beside thee,
And have made thy margin dear.

More than this;- thy name reminds me
Of three friends, all true and tried;
And that name, like magic, binds me
Closer, closer to thy side.

"Friends my soul with joy remembers!
How like quivering flames they start,
When I fan the living embers
On the hearth-stone of my heart! "

And again, after the death of his friend Charles
Sumner, when age had silvered his hair:




River, that stealest with such silent pace
Around the City of the Dead, where lies
A friend who bore thy name, and whom these eyes
Shall see no more in his accustomed place,
Linger and fold him in thy soft embrace
And say good-night, for now the western skies
Are red with sunset, and gray mists arise
Like damps that gather on a dead man's face.
Good-night! good-night! as we so oft have said
Beneath this roof at midnight, in the days
That are no more and shall no more return.
Thou hast but taken thy lamp and gone to bed;
I stay a little longer, as one stays
To cover up the embers that still burn."

The poet bade the lads an affectionate farewell,
and for the last time he saw the forms of children
depart from his door. He gave them his au-
tograph, and copies of the poem he had written
for the children of Cambridge, after they had pre-
sented to him a chair made from a tree that stood
near the shop of the village blacksmith, whose
honest history he had taken for the subject of one
of his poems.
The last view of the River Charles and of happy
children How the scene must have awakened in
the poet's -mind memories of the past, even al-
though he could not then know that the shadow of
death was so near !
The hand that wrote "The Children's Hour"
now rests in sweet Auburn, Boston's city of the

dead. The River Charles flows by, and its banks
will still grow bright with every spring-time.
Charles Sumner, for whose name the poet loved the
river, sleeps there, and Cornelius Felton, of Har-
vard College, whom also the poet loved. There,
too, rests the universally loved and honored Louis
Agassiz, another of those "three friends," each of
whom left him for years but a majestic memory."
The birds will come there in summer, and sing
among the oaks and the fountains. The children
will go there, too, and never by them will their
own poet be forgotten. They may love to remem-
ber that his last reception was given to children,
and that with them, when the friends of other
years had passed away, he looked for the last time
upon the River Charles.

Come to me, O ye children!
And whisper in my ear
What the birds and the winds are singing
In your sunny atmosphere.

For what are all our contrivings,
And the wisdom of our books,
When compared with your caresses,
And the gladness of your looks ?

Ye are better than all the ballads
That ever were sung or said;
For ye are living poems,
And all the rest are dead."

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THE "G. B. C."

DOROTHY was made very happy one day by
Uncle George handing her the little copy-book
diary, and saying that she and Donald could
read as much of it as they wished.
Oh, Don; see here !" she exclaimed, holding
up the book as Donald, by invitation, joined her
in the Cozy Corner. It 's all right. Uncle says
so. We 'll begin at the first page and read every
single word "
The diary, it seemed, contained nothing start-
ling, but it gave them an excellent idea of Aunt
Kate's happy girlhood. She spoke of many things
familiar to them, and above all they were interested
in her frequent allusions to "our new dog, Nero,"
evidently her own special pet.
Poor Nero! So young then, and now so very
old This was his last winter. He had become
blind of late and very feeble; but, nevertheless,
when the end came, it was a shock to all, and a
Ssore trial to Don and Dorry. Many a time after
that day they would stop in their sports to bend
beside the little head-stone under the evergreens
and talk of him-the faithful friend they had
loved all their lives, who had reached his prime
and died of old age during their own youth.

We must pass rapidly over the next few months,
only pausing to say that they were busy ones for
the D's. In the first place, the new tutor, as Don
expressed it, was worked by steam" and was
one of the broad-gauge, high-pressure sort" ; but
Uncle George noted that his nephew and niece
made great advancement under what he called
Dr. Sneeden's careful and earnest teaching.
But they had, too, their full share of recreation.
Don and Ed found the gymnasium not only a
favorite resort in the way of pleasure, but also a
great benefit to their physical development. After
a few weeks' exercise, their muscles began to grow
stronger and harder, and the startling climbs, leaps,
tumbles, hand-springs, and somersaults which the
boys learned to perform were surprising.
When the summer came, Don and Ed Tyler
secretly believed themselves competent to become
members of the best circus troupe in the country,
and many a boy-visitor was asked to "feel that,
will you ? as each young Hercules knotted the

upper muscles of his arm in order to astonish the
beholder. Even the girls caught the spirit, and,
though they would not for the world have had
the boys know it, they compared muscle in a mild
way among themselves, and Dorry's was declared
by admiring friends to be awfully hard."
Little Fandy Danby, too, became so expert that,
after giving himself numberless bruises, he finally
attained the summit of his ambition by hanging
from the horizontal ladder and going hand over
hand its entire length, though not without much
puffing and panting and a frantic flourishing of
little legs.
Don and the boys had great fun in stumping"
each other, which consisted in one performing a
certain feat and challenging the others to do it,
and if matched in that, then daring them to some
bolder and more difficult attempt.
Uncle George himself took part in these con-
tests, and, though often beaten, threatened to
distance them all after a few months' practice.
"There 's a plentiful share of limberness tied up
in these old muscles," he would say, "and when
it 's set free, boys, look out for your laurels! "
Well, the spring passed away and no bones were
broken. Boating and bathing, berrying and other
sports came with the advancing season; but
the great feature of the summer was the G. B. C.,
or Girls' Botany Club, of which Dorry was presi-
dent, Josie Manning secretary, and Dr. Sneeden
inspire, advisory committee, and treasurer, all in
one. Nearly all the nice girls joined, and boys
were made honorary members whenever their
scientific interest and zeal in hunting for botanical
treasures entitled them to that distinction.
Ah, those were happy days And if the honor-
ary members were troublesome now and then,
scaring the girls half to death with lizards, toads,
or harmless garter-snakes, why it was only "the
boys"; and after all it really was fun to scream a
little by way of lightening the more solid pursuits
of the club. Besides, the boys often were a real
help, especially in rocky places and in the marshes,
and-- Well-it was less troublesome to have
them than to do without them.
So far, only one real shadow had fallen across
the sunny hours, and that was when Dorry had
proposed Charity Danby as a member, and some
of the foolish girls had objected on the plea that
the Danbys were "poor folks."
"Poor folks," indeed! You should have seen

*Copyright, i88x, by Mary Mapes Dodge. All rights reserved.






their president then You should have heard her
spirited remarks, her good, wholesome arguments,
and seen her glowing, indignant presidential coun-
tenance! The opposition had been stubborn at
first, gathering strength in secret and losing it in
public, until at last good sense and kindliness pre-
vailed. The motion to admit Charity as a mem-
ber of the G. B. C. was carried unanimously, and
almost the first she knew about it she was a full
member, eagerly searching hill-side and meadow
with the rest, and wondering deep in her inmost
soul whether she ever, ever could "catch up" to
the other girls. They knew so much from books,
and she had been able to study so little !
Poor Charity-she was wiser than she knew.
Her habit of close observation, and her eager desire
to learn, soon made her a valuable addition to the
club. She knew where to find every wild flower
of that locality in its season, from the trailing
arbutus in the spring to the latest bloom of the
autumn, and Charity Danby says so" soon
became a convincing argument in many a dis-
But we must now go back for several weeks, and
learn how it happened that our busy Charity was
able to accept the invitation of the G. B. C.

It was early in July; remnants of exploded fire-
crackers still lingered in the trampled grass near
Mrs. Danby's white-washed fence. She-busy
soul!-was superintending the mending of her
home-made chicken-coop, now trembling and
quivering under the mighty strokes of Daniel
David. With one breath the mother was making
suggestions to her young carpenter, and with the
next screaming to Helen and Isabella to be careful
or they would tumble into the pig-pen, when,
suddenly, she saw Dorry at the back gate.
Massy Here comes Dorothy Reed, looking
like afresh rose, as she is, and not a thing in the
house to rights. Well, I can't help it ten chil-
dren so, and everything to Ah, Dorothy con-
tinued Mrs. Danby, exchanging her silent thoughts
for active speech, walk right in, dear, and do
please excuse everything. Charity's in the house,
picking up and putting away; I 'd call her out,
No need to finish the sentence. Dorry, with
a cheery: "Oh, no, indeed, thank you! had
already vanished under the morning-glory vines
that shaded the door-way.
"Bless her heart pursued Mrs. Danby, now
talking to Daniel David, but she's a beauty!
Not that my own are humly, either. Charity 's no
fright, by no means, and there 's your sister
Amanda why, only last summer Master Donald's
teacher drew a picture of her, because she was so

picturesky, which I '11 keep to my dying day.
There, Dan Dave, you don't need no more slats on
that side; take this broken one out here, that 's a
good child; it scrapes the old hen every time she
goes under. Look out! You '11 break the whole
thing to pieces if you aint careful. My How
strong boys are "
Meantime, Dorry, as we know, had entered.
The house was out of order, but Charity was doing
her best to improve matters. With one hand she
was picking up and putting away," and with the
other stroking the bumped head of baby Jamie.
Though now able to walk alone, the little one had
just experienced one of his frequent tumbles, and
was crying and clinging to Charity's skirts as he
trotted beside her. No one else was in the room,

.7 ~cr-


- 2

,- -

and perhaps this was why the busy sister was softly
saying to herself, as she worked :
Queen Elizabeth was one, William-and-Mary's
Mary was another, and Lady Jane Grey and
Queen Victoria--Oh, do hush, Jamie, dear, I 've
kissed it twice already there "
Suiting the action to the word, she pressed her
lips of 1,- i -. once more upon Jamie's yellow
hair, and lifting her head again, she saw Dorry in
the door-way, laughing.
Oh, Dorothy, how you startled me I did n't
hear you coming at all. I 'm so glad But you
need n't laugh at me, Dorry -I 'm only trying to
remember a little history."
"I 'm not laughing at you," Dorry protested,
merrily. "But it was so funny to hear you put-
ting the English queens into the pots and pans;
that was all. Here, let me help a little. Come,
Jamie, sit on Dotty's lap, and she '11 tell you all
about Bluebeard."
Oh, no; that 's too old for him. Tell him




about the chickies," suggested Charity, in a busi-
ness-like way, as, .J,-.. i -, -.. her gown from his
baby clutch, she sprang upon a chair, in order to
put something away on the highest shelf of the
It 's no use," she said, jumping down again,
almost angrily, and raising her voice to be heard
above Jamie's outcry. Oh, dear, what does
make you so naughty, Baby ?"
He is n't naughty," said Dorry, soothingly;
"he 's only tired of being indoors. Come, Jamie,
we 'Il go out and play chickie till Charity gets
through, and then we '11 all take a nice walk."
Jamie seized Dorry's hand instantly, and out
they went.
Be careful I called Charity, after her, setting
a chair down hard at the same time. Look out,
or he '11 get right under the cow's feet; he always
I '11 be careful," sang out Dorry. Come as
soon as you can. This delightful air will do you

good." Then, seeing Ellen Eliza, the ten-year-old
Danby girl, standing not far from the house, she
led Jamie toward her.
Ellen Eliza had a very tender heart. Every one
who knew Mrs. Danby had heard of that tender

heart more than once; and so Dorry was not in
the least surprised to find Ellen Eliza in the act
of comforting a draggled-looking fowl, which she
held tenderly in her arms in spite of its protest.
Is it hurt ? asked Dorry.
Ellen Eliza looked up with an anxious counte-
nance as she murmured:
"Oh, no, not exactly hurt; he 's complaining I
think he 's hungry, but he wont eat."
Dear me was Dorry's unfeeling comment;
"then I 'd let him go hungry, I declare if I
would n't."
Oh, no, you could n't be cruel to a poor sick
rooster ?" Here Ellen Eliza pressed the uneasy fowl
to her heart. "May be, he 's got a sore throat."
Do you know what I think?" said Dorry, quite
disregarding the patient's possible affliction.
What? asked Ellen Eliza, plaintively, as if
prepared to hear that her feathered pet was going
into a rapid decline. And Dorry went on:
I think that if people with tender hearts
would remember their sisters sometimes, it would
What do you mean?" interrupted the aston-
ished Ellen Eliza, releasing the now struggling
bird as she spoke.
Dorry laid her hand kindly on the little girl's
I '11 tell you," she said. If I were you, I 'd
help Charity more. I 'd take care of this dear
little brother sometimes. Don't you notice how
very often she is obliged to stay from school to
help with the work, and how discouraged she feels
about her lessons ?"
No answered Ellen Eliza, with wide-open
eyes. "I did n't ever notice that. I think it's
nice to stay home from school. But, anyhow,
Charity would n't trust me. She dotes on Jamie
so. She 's always been afraid I 'd let him fall."
Dorry smiled.
"Oh, that was long ago, Ellen. Jamie can
walk now, you know, and if you look after him
sometimes, you '11 soon be able to help Charity
"All right! was Ellen Eliza's cordial answer.
"I 'I1 do it. Somehow, I never thought of it.
But I often help Mother. She says I 'm the best-
hearted of all the children, and so I am. You
see if I don't help Charity after this."
The conversion seemed too sudden to be very
lasting; but Ellen Eliza, who was really sincere,
proceeded at once to put her new resolution into
practice. To be sure, her renowned tender heart
did not make her all at once an experienced house-
maid, seamstress, and nurse, as Cha..y was; but
from that day it made her, at intervals, a willing
little hand-maiden, and so gave her sister many a




leisure hour for reading and study. More than
this, Ellen Eliza and Dorry became close friends
in Charity's behalf, and one thing led to another,
until Charity actually attended school regularly.
She was behind most of the scholars, of course;
but many a day she spent an hour in the Cozy
Corner, where Dorry helped her to study her
lessons. Her progress was remarkable.
"You make everything so beautifully plain,
I can't help improving," she would say to Dorry.
And Dorry would laugh and protest that the
teacher was learning as much as the pupil, and
that they were a wonderful pair, any way.
All this while, Charity, bright and hopeful, was
doing a goodly share of house duties, and making
the Danby home more sunny with her happiness.
Little Jamie was her delight, as she was his; but
she was no longer jaded and discouraged. Ellen
Eliza looked at her with pride, and willingly sub-
mitted to the school-teaching that Charity, in turn,
was able to give her.
I can't bear'rithmetic," was the tender-hearted
one's comment, but I have to learn my tables,
else Charity 'd worry and Dorry would n't like it.
And jography 's nice, 'cause Pa likes me to tell
him about it, when he comes home. Soon's I
get big, I mean to make Helen and Is'bella learn
their lessons like everything."
Alas! The new educational movement met
with a sudden but temporary check in the shape
of the measles. One fine day, that unwelcome
visitant came into the house, and laid its hand on
poor little Helen. In a few days, Isabella and
Jamie were down beside her-not very ill, but all
three just ill enough to require a darkened room,
careful nursing, and a bountiful supply of Dorry's
willing oranges.
This was why Charity, for a time, was cut off
from her studies, and why she was quite taken by
surprise when word came to her of the G. B. C.,
and that she was to join it, as soon as the little ones
could spare her.
You have seen Charity botanizing on the hill-
side with the other girls, but to understand her
zeal, you should have heard her defend the science
against that sarcastic brother of hers-- Daniel
David. In vain that dreadful boy hung dried
stalks and dead branches all about her room, and
put dandelions in her tea-cup, and cockles in her
hair-brush-pretending all the while that he was
a good boy bringing "specimens" to his dear
sister. In vain he challenged every botanical re-
mark she made, defying her- to prove it. She
always was equal to the occasion in spirit, if not in
One Saturday morning, though, she had her
triumph, and it was an event to be remembered.

Daniel David had listened, with poorly concealed
interest, while Charity was describing a flower to
Ellen Eliza,--how it has calyx, corolla, stamens,
and pistils; how some flowers have not all these
parts, but that all flowers have pistils and stamens,
-when he, as usual, challenged her to prove it."
"Very well," said Charity, with dignity, and yet
a little uneasily; you bring the flowers, and I
think I can satisfy Your Majesty."
Out he ran, and in a moment he came back,
bearing defiantly a fine red-clover blossom.
'"Ha, my lady !" he said, as he handed it to
her. There 's the first flower I came to; now
let 's see you find your pistils and stamens and
Instead of replying at once, Charity looked in-
quiringly at the pretty flower in her hand. She
seemed rather puzzled and crestfallen. Daniel
David laughed aloud; even Mrs. Danby and
the poetic Amanda smiled.
"Oh!" said C I1..'i at last, with an air of
great relief. "I see it now. How funny! I
never thought of it before; but the clover-blos-
som is n't one flower at all--it 's a good many
flowers! "
"Ho! ho!" cried Daniel David. "That's a
good one You can't get out of it in that way,
my lady. Can she, Ma? "
Ma did n't know. None of the rest knew; but
they all crowded about Charity, while, with trem-
bling fingers, she carefully pulled the blossom to
pieces, and discovered that every piece was a
flower. See she exclaimed, eagerly. Doz-
ens of them, and every single one complete. Oh,
my Is n't it wonderful? "
I surrender," said Daniel David.
"But you 've helped me to find out something
that I did n't know before," said the enthusiastic
sister, forgiving in an instant all his past taunting.
"I wonder if Dorothy knows it. Let's go right
over and ask her."
"Agreed," said Daniel David. "Wait till I
slick up a bit." Off he ran, i.,:l!..i-. and in
fifteen minutes he and Charity were with Dorry in
the Reed sitting-room, examining the separated,
tiny clover-flowers through Donald's microscope.
Dorothy explained to them that the clover-blos-
som or head is a compound flower, because a head
is made up of many flowerets, each complete in
But when she went further, and told them that
not only the clover, but every dandelion and daisy
in the field is made up of many flowers, even Char-
ity appeared incredulous, saying: "What! Do
you mean to say that the daisy, with its yellow
center and lovely white petals, is not a flower? "
"No, I don't mean that," said Dorry. Of




course, the daisy is a flower. But it is a com-
pound flower. What you call white petals are
not exactly petals. Anyhow, the yellow center is
made up of hundreds of very small flowers. That
's what I mean. I have seen them magnified, and
they look like yellow lilies."
Daniel David hardly dared to say "prove it to
so elegant a creature as Dorry, but his looks were
so expressive that the president of the G. B. C. at
once proposed that he should go and gather a dan-
delion and a daisy, for them to pull to pieces and
examine the parts under the microscope.
All of which would have come to pass had not
Donald rushed into the house at that moment,
"Dorry Dorry! Come up on the hill! We're
going to set up the targets."



THE targets, eight in number, which had been
made by the boys a few days before, were really
fine affairs. They were painted on sheets of
strong pasteboard, and were each about eighteen
inches in diameter. Every circle from the bull's-
eye to the outer ring was carefully made out, and
all the targets were of exactly the same measure-
ments. Eight rough tripods already awaited them
at the shooting-range, and each tripod had its
upright piece of eighteen-inch plank at the top, to
which a pasteboard target was now to be firmly
On any ordinary occasion one or two tripods
would have been considered sufficient, but on
this special day there was to be a real match,"
and a target to each man would be required, so
that the contestants could show a clear record of
every shot. Experience had proved this to be the
best plan.
The spot selected for the shooting-range was
well adapted to the purpose. It was a plateau or
broad strip of level land, forming the summit of the
long slope that rose from the apple-orchard back
of the Reed mansion. At the rear or eastern limit
of this level land was a steep, grassy ridge, called
by the D's the second hill.
Perhaps you will see the plateau more clearly if
you read this description which Dorry afterward
wrote to a friend at boarding-school:
Don and the boys have made a lovely summer-
house by an apple-tree on the second hill, back of the house. It's
so high up that you can look across our place from it, and see the
lake in front and the village far down at the left. It is beautiful,
looking from the summer-house at sunset, for then the lake some-
times seems to be on fire, and the trees in the orchard between us
and the road send long shadows that creep, creep up the hill as if

they were alive. You see we really have two hills, and these are
separated or joined, whichever you please, by a long level strip
more than a hundred feet wide, forming a grassy terrace. I often
imagine a long row of enormous giants resting there on the grass
side by side, sitting on the great wide level place, with their backs
leaning against the second hill and their feet reaching nearly to
the edge of the first hill. Now, I hope you understand. If you
don't, you will when you come here to visit me this fall. Well, it
was on this level ground that we had the shooting-match I 'm going
to tell you about, and where something happened that I '11 never,
never forget as long as I live. *"

While Don and Ed, assisted by the doughty
Daniel, are at work setting up the row of targets
close to the base of the second hill, so that stray
bullets may be safely buried in the soft earth-
wall, and while Dorry and Charity are watching
the boys from the shady summer-house, we may
look into Mr. Reed's study.
He is sitting in his arm-chair by the window,
but the warm breeze stealing through the closed
blinds is not luiii;. him to repose; his face is
troubled, and he holds something in his hand
which he is studying intently, though it seems to
give him no satisfaction. It is a small gold chain
or necklace, with an old-fashioned square clasp.
On a graceful mahogany stand near by are several
articles carefully laid together beside an open box,
as though he had been examining them also. They
were there when Donald knocked at the door, a few
moments ago, to ask his uncle to come up later and
see the completed arrangements for the shooting-
match. But Mr. Reed, without unlocking the
door, had said he was very busy, and begged Don
to excuse him.
"Certainly, Uncle; but I 'm sorry," Don had
replied, and even while trudging up the hill with
the targets his mind had been busy:
"What is the matter? Something is troubling
Uncle George yet. I 've noticed it very much of
late. There 's more to be told, and I must soon
have a good square talk with him about it.
There 's no use in putting it off forever. I can't
excuse him from the match, though. Why, it
would spoil the whole thing not to have Uncle
see it. Would n't it, Dot?" he asked aloud, as
Dorry at that moment joined him.
Would n't what? "
Why, not to have Uncle here at the match."
I don't understand," she said, looking puzzled.
Why, the study door 's locked and he 's very
busy. I was just thinking it would be a pretty go
if he should n't come up this afternoon at all."
"What a ridiculous idea!" said Dorry, with a
laugh. Why, of course, Uncle will come there.
I '11 bring him myself."
And she did.
Of all the company of boys and girls that came
trooping up the green slope to the shooting-range
that afternoon, not a brighter, happier-looking pair




of faces was seen than Mr. Reed's and Dorry's.
The little maid evidently had chased away his
troubles for that day.
Donald was too busy to do much more than
glance at them, but that glance did him good; his
hearty Ho, Uncle did Mr. Reed good, too.
After a careful inspection of the arrangements,
and a few words with Don and the other boys con-
cerning the necessary rules and restrictions for the
general safety, Mr. Reed retired to the grassy seat
of honor that had been prepared for him. The
other spectators stood beside him, or settled them-
selves comfortably upon the turf near by.
Sailor Jack stood at a respectful distance with
the smallest youngsters about him, explaining to
them as to how they 'd best stand close, and keep
a sharp lookout, for dry land was a pesky dangerous
Place at all times, and now, with bullets flyin'
about, there was no tellin' what might happen.
But if they wanted to see right clever shooting ,
they could just wait a bit, for Master Donald had
the sharpest eye he ever seed in any youngster on
sea or shore."
There were to be eight contestants. All had
arrived excepting Ben Buster. He had been in-
vited to shoot, but had loftily replied that he had
other affairs on hand, but he 'd come if he could.
Anyhow, they 'd best have a substitute ready.
Mr. Reed's two rifles and Don's and Ed Tyler's
were the only arms to be used; for Mr. Reed had
objected to a fully equipped party of young gunners
ranging across his estate. But they were not like
Creedmoor shooters, who must not only use their
own special rifles, but must clean them after every
shot. The Nestletown boys were used to trying bor-
rowed weapons, and though a few had grumbled
at a fellow not being allowed to bring his own gun,
the spirit of sport prevailed, and every face wore a
look of eager interest in the occasion.
Ben Buster was missing, but a substitute was
soon found, and the match began in earnest, four
on a side,-the Reds and the Blues,-each wear-
ing ribbon badges of their respective color.
Dorry had made the four red rosettes and Josie
Manning the four blue ones. Besides these, Josie
had contributed, as a special prize to the best marks-
man, a beautiful gold scarf-pin, in the form of a tiny
rifle, and the winner was to be the champion shot of
the club, ready to hold the prize against all comers.
Ed Tyler had carefully marked off the firing line
at a distance of forty paces, or about one hundred
feet from the targets, and it was agreed that the
eight boys should fire in regular order,- first a
Red, then a Blue, one shot at a turn, until each
had fired fifteen times in all. This was a plan of
their own, "so that no fellow need wait all day
for his turn."

As Ed Tyler was a Blue," and Don a Red,"
they found themselves opponents for once. Both
were considered "crack shots," but Don soon dis-
covered that he had a more powerful rival in
another of the Blues "-one Barry Outcalt, son
of the village lawyer. It soon became evident that
the main contest lay between these two, but
Don had gained on him in the sixth round by
sending a fourth bullet, to Barry's second, into the
bull's-eye, when Ben Buster was seen -!..11.. up
the hill. Instantly his substitute, a tall, nervous
fellow, who had outgrown his strength, proposed to
resign in Ben's favor, and the motion was carried
by acclamation,- the Blues hoping everything,
and the "Reds" fearing nothing, from the change.
Master Buster was so resolute and yet comical,
in his manner, that every one felt there would.
be fun if he took part. Seeing how matters stood
as to the score, he gave a knowing wink to Barry
Outcalt, and said he did n't mind pitching' in."
He had never distinguished himself at target
practice, but he had done a good deal of what
Dorry called "real shooting" in the West. Be-
sides, he was renowned throughout the neighbor-
hood as a successful rabbit-hunter.
Shuffling to his position, he stood in such a
shambling, bow-legged sort of an attitude that
even the politest of the girls smiled; and those
who were specially anxious that the "Reds"
should win felt more than ever confident of success.
If Don flattered himself that it was to be an
easy victory, he was mistaken. He still led the
rest; but for every good shot he made after that,
Ben had already put a companion hole, or its
better, in his own target. The girls clapped; the
boys shouted with excitement. Every man of the
contestants felt the thrill of the moment.
The Blues did their best; and with Outcalt and
Ben on the other side, Don soon found that he
had heavy work to do. Moreover, just at this
stage, one of the Reds seemed to contract a sudden
ambition to dot the edge of his target with holes.
This made the Blues radiant, and would have dis-
concerted the Reds but for Don's nerve and pluck.
He resolved that, come what might, he would keep
cool, and his steadiness inspired his comrades.
Crack! went Don's rifle, and the bull's-eye
winked in response. A perfect shot !
Crack! went Ed's, and his bull's-eye did n't
wink. The second ring, however, showed the bul-
let's track.
Crack The next Red left his edge-dot on
the target, as usual.
Crack went Outcalt's rifle, and the rim of
the bull's-eye felt it.
Another Red went straight to the left edge of the




The third Blue sent a shot between targets, clean
into the earth-wall.
Crack went the next Red. His target made
no sign.
Ben Buster, the Blue, now put in his third center
shot. He was doing magnificently.
In the next round, and the next, Donald hit the
center, but it was plain that his skill alone would
not avail to win the match, unless his comrades
should better their shots; so he tried a little general-
ship. He urged each of the three in turn not to
watch the score of the enemy at all, nor to regard
the cheers of the Blues, but to give attention solely
to making his own score as high as possible. This
advice helped them, and soon the Reds once more
were slightly ahead of the Blues; but the ad-
vantage was not sufficient to insure them a victory.
As the final rounds drew near, the interest became
intense. Each marksman was the object of all
eyes, as he stepped up to the firing-line, and the
heat of the contest caused much wild shooting;
yet the misses were so evenly divided between the
two companies that the score remained almost a
Don stepped to the firing-line. Bull's-eye again !
Ed Tyler next. He gave the Blue's score a lift.
Now for the rim-dotter. He pressed his lips to-
gether, braced every nerve, was five minutes taking
aim, and this time put his dot very nearly in the
center !
Outcalt was bewildered. He had been so sure
Jones would hit the rim as usual, that now he
seemed to feel bound to do it in Jones's stead. Con-
sequently, his bullet grazed the target and hid its
face in the earth-wall.
The third Red fired too hastily, and failed.
Third Blue-a bull's-eye !
Fourth Red-an "outer."
Ben Buster stepped to the line. The Blues
cheered as he raised his gun. He turned with a
grand bow, and leveled his piece once more. But
triumph is not always strength. His previous fine
shooting had aroused his vanity, and now the
girls' applause quite flustered him. He missed his
aim! Worse still, not being learned in the polite
art of mastering his feelings, he became vexed,
and in the next round actually missed his target
Poor shooting is sometimes "catching." For
a while, neither Reds nor Blues distinguished them-
selves, until finally only one shot was left to be fired
on each side ; and, so close was the contest, those
two shots would decide the day.
It lay between Ben Buster and Donald.
Each side felt sure that its champion would score
a bull's-eye, and if both should accomplish this, the
Reds would win by two counts. But if Ben should

hit the center, and Don's bullet even should fall
outside of the very innermost circle, the Blues
would be the victors. It was simply a question of
nerve. Ben Buster, proud of his importance,
marched to position, feeling sure of a bull's-eye.
But, alas, for overconfidence The shot failed to
reach that paradise of bullets, but fell within the
first circle, and so near the bull's-eye that it was
likely to make the contest a tie, unless Donald
should score a center.
Don had now achieved the feat of gaining nine
bull's-eyes out of a possible fifteen. He must make
it ten, and that with a score of voices calling to
him: Another bull's-eye, Don! One more !"
" Don't miss !"
It was a thrilling moment, and any boy would
have been excited. Don was. He felt his heart
thump and his face flush as he stepped up to
the firing-line. Turning for an instant he saw
Dorry looking at him proudly, and as she caught
his glance she gave her head a saucy, confident
little toss as if sure that he would not miss.
Aye! aye Dot," said Don under his breath,
as, re-assured by her confidence, he calmly raised
the gun to his shoulder and took careful aim.
It seemed an age to the spectators before the
report sounded. Then, those who were watching
Don saw him bend his head forward with a quick
motion and for a second peer anxiously at the tar-
get. Then he drew back carelessly, but with a
satisfaction that he could not quite conceal.
A few moments later, the excited Reds came run-
ning up, wildly waving Don's target in their arms.
His last bullet had been the finest shot of the day,
having struck the very center of the bull's-eye.
Even Ben cheered. The Reds had won. Donald
was the acknowledged champion of the club.
But it was trying to three of the Reds, and to the
Blues worse than the pangs of defeat, to see that
pretty Josie Manning pin the little golden rifle on
the lapel of Donald's coat.
Little he thought, amid the cheering and the
merry breaking-up that followed, how soon his
steadiness of hand would be taxed in earnest !
Mr. Reed, after pleasantly congratulating the
winning side and complimenting the Blues upon
being so hard to conquer, walked quickly home-
ward in earnest conversation with Sailor Jack.



THE company slowly dispersed. Some of the
young folk cut across lots to their homes; others,
remembering errands yet to be attended to in the
village, directed their course accordingly. And




finally, a group of five boys, including Donald and
Ed Tyler, started off, being the last to leave the
shooting-range. They were going down the hill
toward the house, talking excitedly about the
match, and were just entering the little apple-
orchard between the hill and the house, when
they espied, afar off, a large dog running toward
The swiftness and peculiar gait of the animal
attracted their attention, and, on a second look,
they noted how strangely the creature hung its
head as it ran.
Hello exclaimed Don, there 's something
wrong there. See He 's frothing at the mouth.
It 's a mad dog! "
That 's so !" cried Ed. Hurry, boys Make
for the trees "
A glance told them plainly enough that Don
was right. The dog was a terrible foe, indeed, for
a party of boys to encounter. But the apple-trees
were about them, and as all the boys were good
climbers, they lost not a moment in scramblingup
to the branches.
All but Donald; he, too, had started for one of
the nearest trees, when suddenly it occurred to
him that the girls had not all left the second hill.
Most of them had quitted the range in a bevy,
when the match was over; but two or three had
wandered off to the summer-house, under the
apple-tree, where they had been discussing the
affairs and plans of the Botany Club. Don knew
they were there, and he remembered the old step-
ladder that leaned against the tree; but the dog
was making straight for the hill, and would be
upon them before they could know their danger!
Could he warn them in time ? He would, at least,
try. With a shout to his companions: The
girls the girls he turned and ran toward the
hill at his utmost speed, the dog C.11...; ;.. and
the boys in the trees gazing upon the terrible
race, speechless with dread.
Donald felt that he had a good start of his
pursuer, however, and he had his gun in his hand,
but it was empty. Luckily, it was a repeating-rifle;
and so, without abating his speed, he hastily took
two cartridges from his jacket and slipped them
into the chamber of the gun.
I'11 climb a tree and shoot him! he said to
himself, "if only I can warn the girls out of the
Girls Girls !" he screamed. But as he
looked up, he saw, descending the hill and saun-
tering toward him, his sister and Josie Manning,
absorbed in earnest conversation.
At first he could not utter another sound, and
he feared that his knees would sink under him. But
the next instant he cried out with all his might:
VOL. IX.-42.

Back! Back! Climb the tree for your lives!
Mad dog Mad dog "
The two girls needed no second warning. The
sight of the horrible object speeding up the slope
in Donald's tracks was enough. They ran as they
never had run before, reached the tree in time,
and, with another girl whom they met and warned,
clambered, breathless, up the ladder to the shel-
tering branches.
Then all their fears centered upon Donald, who
by this time had reached the plateau just below
them, where the shooting-match had been held.
He turned to run toward the apple-tree, when, to
the dismay of all, his foot slipped, and he fell
prostrate. Instantly he was up again, but he had
not time to reach the tree. The dog already was
over the slope, and was making toward him at
a rapid, swinging gait, its tongue out, its blood-
shot eyes plainly to be seen, froth about the
mouth, and the jaws opening and shutting in
vicious snaps.
Dorry could not stand it; she started to leave
the tree, but fell back with closed eyes, nearly
fainting, while the other girls clung, trembling, to
the branches, pale and horrified.
To the credit of Donald be it said, he faced the
danger like a man. He felt that the slightest
touch of those dripping jaws would bring death,
but this was the time for action.
Hastily kneeling behind a stump, he said to
himself: "Now, Donald Reed, they say you 're a
good shot. Prove it! And, steadying his nerves
with all the resolution that was in him, he leveled
his rifle at the advancing dog and fired.
To his relief, the poor brute faltered and dropped
-dead-as Don thought. But it was only
wounded; and, staggering to its feet again, it
made another dash toward the lad.
Don was now so encouraged, so thankful that
his shot had been true, that, as he raised his gun a
second time, he scarcely realized his danger, and
was almost as cool as if firing at the target on the
range, although the dog was now barely a dozen
feet away. This was the last chance. The flash
leaped from Don's rifle, and at the same moment
he sprang up and ran for the tree as fast as his
legs would carry him. But, before the smoke had
cleared, a happy cry came from the girls in the
tree. He glanced back, to see the dog lying flat
and motionless upon the ground.
Quickly reloading his gun, and never taking his
finger from the trigger, he cautiously made his
way back to the spot. But there was :,..li;,. to
fear now. He found the poor brute quite dead, its
hours of agony over.
The group that soon gathered around looked at
it and at one another without saying a word.




Then Dorry spoke: "Stand back, everybody. It's Uncle know. Ask him if we shall bury it right
dangerous to go too near. I 've often heard that." here." "That 's the best," cried Dot, excitedly,

"H C .,' ,

.. -".::-_--: ;. ~-i~-.''._ ''"

Y .=. _- .-j r.I. "v.h i, ,,:i L.. J :--t
posed .i r "".:."
B i .i,. ...- I, ." u 1-
gested 1 : -,,,,1 L- .,,,.. 1 n,,. -,li ,t
" C ert ,, -, .... .. i .- ... I
W hose I..1 .- I :.: : .

the b .' : i i. r s! !i.
was well yesterday." Then, turning pale, he
added: Oh, I must go right home -"
Go with him, some of you fellows," Don said,
gravely; "and Dot, suppose you run and let


as she started off. Jack and I '11 bring spades."
"Yes; but tell Uncle Don shouted after her.

(To be continuedd)



SOME of our readers may remember that in
Robert Browning's famous poem of Herv6 Riel,"
which was reprinted in our Treasure-box of
Literature" for September, 1881, the poet men-
tions the town and roadstead of St. Malo. This
old sea-port town of Normandy is situated upon a

made up his mind to be buried on it. At the
extreme end of the rock, so close to the edge that
it is a wonder how the grave was ever dug, stands
a plain granite cross,-his only monument.
I had often admired the pretty bay, and won-
dered to see so many islands near the land; but


lovely little bay, and the curious contrivance shown
in the above picture was used as a bridge across
part of this bay.
We do not know whether this queer bridge still
exists or not, but you will be interested in the fol-
lowing description of it by an English traveler:
A little after midday, our vessel steamed into
the bay so famous for its beauty and its oysters.
"Just before we entered it, we had passed a
French lightship, and I had been much amused
by watching our union jack being hauled up and
down, to say 'Good-morning' in nautical language
to our foreign friend.
The bay is studded with islands of various
sizes and forms, the largest of all being surmounted
with a fort, while another, near enough to land to
be reached on foot at low water, contains the
grave of the great French writer Chateaubriand.
"He was born at St. Malo, and the towns-
people presented this rocky island to him.
It was rather an awkward present, after all-
too small to live upon, and too large to carry
away and put in a museum; so Chateaubriand

now for the first time I learned the cause of this,
being told by a Frenchman that formerly there
was no bay, but that centuries ago the main-
land had been split by a great earthquake, which
had let in the ocean.
I was interested by this account, and was
wondering over it, when the sight of a ghostly
looking machine, creeping along across our path,
roused me.
It was the rolling bridge that plies between
St. Malo and St. Servan. The 'bridge'is a sort
of railed platform, bearing a small covered cabin,
and supported high in air by slender trestle-work;
beneath the trestle are set the wheels, which run
on rails laid upon the bottom and visible at low
water. The passengers being all on board, a man
sounds a trumpet, and then the machine glides
silently and swiftly across, worked by a little
engine on one side of the harbor. When it is
high water, and the lower part of the bridge can
not be seen, it is most peculiar to watch the
spidery-looking contrivance making its way across
without any visible propeller."





BY L. H.

IT was on Little Snake River, near the Colorado
line, that I saw my queer fly, one bright, sunny
day, in the early summer, when the vegetation was
just blossoming in that high latitude, although
much further advanced in more favored regions.
On a well-beaten path in the alkaline soil, which
the sun had warmed and dried, the fly was hurry-
ing along, dragging, with its slender legs, another
insect, apparently dead, which seemed a heavy bur-
den for it. The little creature would stop every
few minutes to take a breathing-spell, and at these
times it would spread its wings upon the ground
and lie perfectly motionless; then, as if receiving
increase of strength from contact with the earth,
it would shake itself, and return to its wearisome
task. We soon discovered that its purpose was to
find a perfectly dry and safe spot in which to bury
its burden, until the occupant of the egg that she
was about to lay in it should come to life, feed on
the entombed insect, and at last rise from its
grave, expand its iridescent wings, and fly away.
There were four of us, officers of the army,
watching the performance, which was new to all,
and, as the sequel proved, very interesting. After
a few moments, the fly dropped her burden and
went off to select a spot suitable for her purpose.
But, in a short time, apparently fearing that her
treasure might be disturbed during her absence,
she started to fly back. While she was gone, how-
ever, one of us moved her prey a short distance
away from where it had been left, and when she
returned and did not find it, she fell into a flutter
of excitement. She flew ;fi, about in circles,
widening at every round, until she became wear-
ied, when she spread herself prone on the ground
until rested, and then retraced her path, lessening
the circles and never becoming confused. Soon
the insect was placed where she could find it, when
she seized it with unmistakable pleasure and bore it
away to the site of the grave, and, after resting a
second or two, began to dig with might and main.
Her manner of excavating was peculiar; she stood
on her head and, spinning swiftly around like a
top, bored into the ground like an auger, making a
humming noise with her wings. When exhausted
by this violent exercise, she was not satisfied with

merely resting on the ground, but sought the shade
cast by a blade of grass or a leaf of a tiny shrub,
which afforded a cool retreat to her slender body.
The hole was soon bored out, and smoothed to
exactly the right width and depth to receive the
seemingly dead insect, although no measurements
had been made by this Lilliputian engineer, who
had worked with unerring skill, unheeding the
giants watching her. Having completed her task,
she took a good rest within the shadow of her
favorite leaf, and then sought her burden. But,
again, it was gone !
At this, she acted precisely as if she were say-
ing: Oh, dear, dear I laid the thing there, close
by the grave, as sure as sure. And yet I must be
mistaken; for I had paralyzed it with my sting so
that it could neither fly nor walk; and those hulk-
ing giants standing around here would not be so
mean as to steal it from me. Oh, fie There it
is. I fear my brains are in a whirl from overwork
in this hot sun. I could have sworn I laid it on
this side, instead of on that." (One of us had
moved the insect again.) Then she laid an egg
in the insect.
The burial did not take her long; deftly she
patted down the dust, and butted at it, using her
small head as a battering-ram; but before she had
half finished, she was forced from sheer weakness
to seek again the shady covert of the leaf
And during this interval,-so eager were we to
observe the little worker's queer ways,-we took
advantage of her absence to remove the insect from
its hole and lay it on the ground alongside. When
she returned, she looked at it intently for a mo-
ment, and then patiently went to work to put it

back; and this was repeated twice, with the same
result. Finally the patient fly, after resting a longer
time than usual, returned to give the finishing
touches to the grave, and finding it again despoiled,
seemed to become terribly enraged, as if convinced
that the insect was trying to make a fool of her.
She fell upon it and stung it again and again, and
finally destroyed it by repeated blows.
At this unexpected denonemzent, we walked away
to our tents, amazed that so small a head should
contain such a volume of wrath.







A WEE baby boy sitting up in his cradle,
With fleecy cloud-curtains draped high o'er his head.-
He blinks at the dipper," that big starry ladle,
Nor fears that the "great bear" will tread on his bed.
But night after night, as he sails through the heavens,
His cradle is changed to a golden balloon,
And baby, grown older, leans out and looks earthward,
Where children hail gayly the Man in the Moon.



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"WHAT you fink I dot in dis box?" asked Ma-yo, hold-ing out a lit-
tle yel-low pa-per box that once had held ice-cream.
I don't know," said Aunt Ni-na.
"Well, you dess," said Ma-yo.
Oh, must I ? I guess it is ice-cream !"
No !" shout-ed Ma-yo. It is two 'it-tie mous-ies." And o-pen-ing the
box, he dropped in his aunt's lap two ti-ny mice, quite dead.
"Where did you get these? asked Aunt Ni-na.
Mar-gy gave dem to me. She shaked 'em out of a 'it-tie red box."






Oh, poor lit-tle things That red box was a trap; it killed them, and
now their moth-er is look-ing for them. Poor mam-ma mouse !"
"Tell me 'bout it," said Ma-yo, ea-ger-ly, and he climbed to his aunt's
lap and put the mice back in the box. Aunt Ni-na began:
Once up-on a time, there lived un-der the pan-try floor a brown mouse,
and she had two lit-tle mous-ies named Brown-ie and Black-ie. They were
ver-y hap-py. They played hide and go seek, and they had plen-ty to eat,
for the serv-ant let ma-ny crumbs of bread and cake fall on the floor. The
moth-er mouse was al-ways tell-ing her chil-dren nev-er to go near a big
creat-ure that lived in the house, and that had great green eyes and fierce
whisk-ers, and would pounce up-on them and eat them up, if he should
catch one of them.
"So, when Brown-ie and Black-ie came through the lit-tle hole in the
cor-ner of the pan-try, just a-bove the floor, their bright black eyes looked
right and left, and up and down, to see if that dread-ful creat-ure was
a-ny-where near.
Some-times the pan-try door was o-pen, and they would see the creat-ure
sit-ting close by, and then, whew! they would rush back through the hole,
their hearts beat-ing fast be-cause they were so fright-ened. Do you know
the name of that big creat-ure ? "
"I dess it was a nor-ful bear," said Ma-yo.
No; it was a CAT !" said Aunt Ni-na. Let us look at the poor lit-tle
mice in the box. Don't you see that a cat is twen-ty times big-ger than
one of these mice? A cat seems as big to a lit-tie mouse as an el-e-phant
seems to you.
"Well, one day the pan-try door was shut, and out came Brown-ie and
Black-ie to hunt for a break-fast. It was not a dark pan-try, for there was
a lit-tle win-dow in the side of the wall. They whisked and frisked a-round,
and soon saw in one cor-ner a great ma-ny bread-crumbs. In an-oth-er was
a lit-tle heap of su-gar, a-bout as large as a sil-ver dol-lar, and at least half a
crack-er lay near it. Here was a splen-did feast!-too much, in-deed;
so the good lit-tle things car-ried the crack-er to the hole and pushed it
through, so that it might be hand-y when sup-per-time should come.
"' Let 's play hide and go seek,' said Brown-ie, who could not work
for long with-out hav-ing a game of play.
Oh, yes!' cried Black-ie. 'And I '11 be the one to hide first-why,
what's that?' he asked, point-ing with his sharp nose at a small red box
un-der the shelf.
'Let's go and see,' said Brown-ie. Oh, how nice some-thing smells!'
And he went sniff, sniff, sniff-ing, close up to the box. 'Look! There is a





round hole in it! '- sniff, sniff. I do de-clare, it is that lit-tle yel-low lump,
in-side, that smells so sweet! Dear me, Black-ie! It makes me feel so
hun-gry that I '11 have to go and try a bit of it.'
No; let me go!' cried Black-ie.
No! I found it first,' said Brown-ie.
"'Well, so you did,' an-swered the good lit-tle broth-er; 'but don't you
eat it all, will you?'
Why, no I would n't be so mean.' Then Brown-ie ran quick-ly and
put his head through the hole.
Click!' went some-thing, and a shin-y wire hoop, that was ly-ing on
top of the box, flew up and made an arch. Brown-ie's legs kicked a lit-tie,
and then he was quite still.
"' Dear me, how long he stays!' thought Black-ie, quite read-y for
his bite of the yel-low lump. I do be-lieve he means to eat ev-ery sin-
gle bit. I think it is too bad of him.'
He went to his broth-er, and tried to pull him out by his legs, but
Brown-ie did not stir. At this, Black-ie be-came ver-y an-gry, and said:
'I '11 just go home and tell my moth-er how mean he is!' Then he ran
a-round the red box, and what should he es-py but an-oth-er hole, and
in-side of it an-oth-er yel-low lump!
O-ho !' he cried, I can have a feast, too What fun !'
He poked his head, in a great hur-ry, through the hole, and the next
in-stant that sound came a-gain -' Click !' And an-oth-er wire hoop flew up
on top of the box.
And oh, what a pit-y! Both lit-tie broth-ers were caught, and killed
in the cru-el trap -and here they are, dead, in your box. Are n't you
sor-ry ?"
"Yes," said Ma-yo. "Poor 'it-tle mous-ies 'at was a jef-ful bad t'ap to
kill poor fings!" and he took them up gent-ly and smoothed their soft fur.
Then, what do you think that lit-tle boy did? He slid down from his
aunt's lap and went to Mar-gy, the cook, and begged her to give him the
red box; and at last she gave it to him. Then Ma-yo went in-to the gar-den
and poked the trap a-way un-der a cur-rant-bush, where no-bod-y would ev-er
think of look-ing for it. "Bad box!" he said, shak-ing his fing-er at it;
"you s'ant kill a-ny more poor 'it-tie mous-ies!"
He car-ried Brown-ie and Black-ie 'round the house all that day. He
showed them to the gar-den-er, and the toach-man, and the cook; and in the
af-ter-noon his aunt coaxed him to dig a hole un-der a rose-bush, and there
they bur-ied the two lit-tle broth-er mice.
Ma-yo still feels sor-ry for the "poor 'it-tie mous-ies." I do, too. Don't you ?





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How do birdies learn to sing?

From the whistling wind so fleet,
From the waving of the wheat,
From the rustling of the leaves,
From the rain-drop on the eaves,
From the tread of welcome feet,
From the children's laughter sweet,
Little birdies learn their trill
As they gayly float at will
In the gladness of the sky,
When the clouds are white and high,
In the beauty of the day
Speeding on their sunny way,
Light of heart, and fleet of wing-
That 's how birdies learn to sing,

Jack says so, any way.

DEAR JACK: Having just seen a curiosity, one which I am sure
will be found very interesting t. mn.-.- -f your readers, I thought I
would write to you about it. 1' -r Candy," made of v"ibts
grown in Paris. It was given to my uncle in New Orleans, by a
gentleman who had just received it from France.
It is beautiful as well as delicious, for it retains its shape and
color, and, wonderful to say, its flavor also, if I may so express it.
The whole violet, with its stem and everypetal perfect, is conserved,
and in both smell and taste it is as fragrant as a freshly plucked
flower. Yours truly, FRANK BETHUNE.
Poor violets! What are they coming to?


THERE is a mark of a finger-nail minted on a
certain Chinese coin, and it originated, I 'm told,
in the time of the great Queen Wentek. A wax
model of a proposed coin was brought to her for
inspection, and in handling it she happened to
leave upon it the impression of one of her finger-

nails. Nobody dared to efface it, and for hundreds
of years the curious nail-mark has appeared on
that Chinese coin. And it has even been copied
in those of Japan and Corea.

HUMPH a pretty pass things have come to,
when people must know everything about every-
body," said a timid feathered friend of mine when
I told him of a letter I had received, detailing some
particular secrets of Mr. Chanticleer and his family,
and I sympathized with him. "The interests of
science, you know," was all I could say. And
here is the letter:
DEAR JACK: A gentleman friend of mine, who is very familiar
with the habits of chickens, says that the rooster, when danger ap-
proaches, almost always gives a peculiar warning cry of alarm. It
is not noisy, like the crow of defiance or triumph, but when the
human ear has once observed it, it does sound very strikingly like
an alarm. It has a guarded "Look out-something is wrong! "
sound, and is given whenever the rooster is startled, or sometimes
when he is suddenly disturbed.
If there is no rooster about, the hens will sometimes make the
sound described; and the mother-hen will always do her best for her
chicks in time of danger. I have known them to so thoroughly
hide themselves, under her instructions, on the approach of a hawk,
that I did not dare step about in the half-grown clover for fear of
treading upon them; yet she had not staid by them.. I found her
near by, under some tall bushes, the clover probably being too short
to hide her.
My friend raises many chickens, and whenever an egg is near
hatching he can tell, by placing it suddenly close to his ear, whether
the chick inside is a rooster or not; for it will give an alarm note
resembling the one I have told you of.
I suppose he would not be absolutely certain that silence meant a
cunning little Dame Pullet inside, but he says that he has very often
heard Master Chanticleer declaring in advance, while not yet out of
his shell, his determination to protect himself and his friends.
Yours truly, M. A. P.


IF you don't believe it, just read this item from
a trustworthy newspaper:
"The village of West Fairview, Cumberland County, Pa., has
been afflicted with a plague of bees. Two of the citizens keep
some one hundred and thirty hives, and as bad weather made other
food scarce, the interesting insects invaded the stores and houses in
quest of sweets. Half a bushel of them swarmed in one man's
kitchen, of which they remained sole tenants for a week. In that
house, on their account, all fruit canning and preserving had to be
done at night, and for many days all the family had to climb out
and in by the windows, the bees laying siege to the doors. In addition
to this, whole orchards of fruit and arbors of grapes were devoured
by the bees. Dozens of persons were badly stung while passing
along the streets, and a reign of terror was established."
Your Jack has nothing to say for those bees
-excepting that when men "invade" the bees'
homes "in quest of sweets," we seem to see no
newspaper notices of "a reign of terror" But
the bees may take account of it, perhaps, in some
way of their own.
DEAR JACK: In the December number of the ST. NICHOLAS I
read about a music-loving squirrel, which made me think of a story
my mamma often tells us. When she was a little girl, she used to
stand in a window near a stable, in the yard of which there were a
great many rats. As soon as she began to sing, onerat after another
would stick his head out of a hole; but as soon as she stopped, away
they would go. In a house we used to live in, there were a great
many rats, which made such a noise in the garret that it sometimes
frightened strangers who came to stay all night We had a bag of
chestnuts on the stairs. One night the rats discovered them, and we
could hear them pitter-patter up and down thestairs, scamper across
the floor, and then drop the nuts down between the walls. This
they kept up until we spoiled their fun i1. i ... ...r -
Your faithful reader, BLANCHIE 1.:1 .-.. 'Id.





WONDERS will never cease! Who would believe
that in any part of the world men would ride on
ladies' saddles? But an English gentleman,-Mr.
Palgrave,-who has been to Arabia, says that it is
all the fashion in one part of that country, where
both men and women ride their donkeys with side-
HERE is a letter, my friends, which to a land-
lubber, like your Jack, is very interesting, and I
am sure it is true. So let 's read it together, and
take a good look, too, at the picture.
As I am an honest Jack, the enormous, finny,
fish-tailed fellow shown here looks very like a fish.

But the letter says he is not a fish. And I am told
that Mr. Ingersoll says the same thing about those
queer creatures, the seals, in this very number of
By the way, Jack does n't quite see how that
whale ever got up on the shore so nicely. It is n't
enough for some of you clever youngsters to say
that the artist drew him up there. We want some-
thing more scientific. May be, the huge creature
has been thrown up by some terrible storm,--and,
may be, he has been caught by whale-fishermen

and dragged up high and dry for inspection. He
reminds me, somehow, of a story about one Gulli-
ver that the Little School-ma'am tells. But here
is the letter:
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: Here is a picture of a '"great big
fish" that is not a fish at all: and you therefore may be pleased to
show it to your young friends. '1. .1 -hales live in the water,
you may say, they are not really .i r. .. They canl not breathe
under water, and would be drowned, just as we should, if kept there
too long. They hold their breath while below, and when they come
to the surface they blow out the used air through blow-holes near
the top of the head.
The two kinds of whales are called Boned whales and Toothed
whales. The boned whales have no teeth, but have instead a mass
of what is known as "whalebone," hanging down from the rof of
the mouth at each side of the tongue. By means of this whalebone
they secure their food, which consists of very small, soft, floating
creatures. The toothed whales, on the contrary, have stout, strong
teeth, and with these they kill and tear to pieces the great animals on
which they feed. The sperm-whale is the largest of the toothed

varil -, .;. i1 i:- -r .-whale which is represented in the picture 1
send : .. ri..... .. ow to be sixty-five and e' .'. r :.
-. -. TI.. r arm-whale is killed not only for I. I. I.. .1
I I.I I i.. i. it yields, hut also for the spermaceti -a material
which is found in the head of the ma ,: ... ; i. i i .... .. ~
like camphor gum and is used for :... -.... .. i.
Another curious product, which .... .... i .,. i.
of the sperm-whale, and which is worth more, even, than the sperma-
ceti, is called ambergris. It is a substance used in the manufacture
of perfumery, and brings a very high price.
The sperm-whale feeds chiefly on cuttle-fishes, which it easily
destroys with '. .. .. i- r:..... killing cuttles that are
nearly as long .r 1n in I .. ,l in the seas near the
equator, unlike some 1.. i-.:, .... which seem to love the cold.
Will you tell your ti ..... rl. ith my compliments,and be-
lieve me, dear Jack, Yours truly, W. 0. A.






CONTRIBUTORS are respectfully informed that, between the Ist of June and the isth of September, manuscripts can not conveniently be
examined at the office of ST. NICHOLAS. Consequently, those who desire to favor the magazine with con-
tributions will please postpone sending their MSS. until after the last-named date.

As A great many of our new subscribers may not have seen the
earlier volumes of ST. NICHOLAS, they may be glad to read here
one of Mr. Longfellow's contributions to this magazine,-the fine
poem of "The Three Kings," originally printed in the Christmas
ST. NICHOLAS for 1877.


THREE Kings came riding from far away,
Melchior and Gaspar and Baltazar;
Three Wise Men out of the East were they,
And they traveled by night and they slept by day,
For their guide was a beautiful, wonderful star.

The star was so beautiful, large and clear,
That all the other stars of the sky
Became a white mist in the atmosphere,
And the Wise Men knew that the coming was near
Of the Prince foretold in the prophecy.

Three caskets they bore on their saddle-bows,
Three caskets of gold with golden keys;
Their robes were of crimson silk, with rows
Of bells and pomegranates and furbelows,
Their turbans like blossoming almond-trees.

And so the Three Kings rode into the West,
Through the dusk of night over hills and dells,
And sometimes they nodded with beard on breast,
And sometimes talked, as they paused to rest,
With the people they met at the way-side wells.

Of the child that is born," said Baltazar,
"Good people, I pray you, tell us the news,
For we in the East have seen his star,
And have ridden fast, and have ridden far,
To find and worship the King of the Jews."

And the people answered: "You ask in vain;
We know of no king but Herod the Great!"
They thought the Wise Men were men insane,
As they spurred their horses across the plain
Like riders in haste who can not wait.

And when they came to Jerusalem,
Herod the Great, who had heard this thing,
Sent for the Wise Men and questioned them;
And said: Go down into Bethlehem,
And bring me tidings of this new king."

So they rode away; and the star stood still,
The only one in the gray of mom;
Yes, it stopped, it stood still of its own free will,
-.i over Bethlehem on the hill,
i i.. city of David where Christ was born.

And the Three Kings rode -i.. -,. 1. ie gate and the guard,
Through the silent street, 1.11 1. horses turned
And neighed as they entered the great inn-yard;
But the windows were closed, and the doors were barred,
And only a light in the stable burned.

And cradled there in the scented hay,
In the air made sweet by the breath of kine,
The little child in the manger lay,-
The child that would 1 1 .: ne day
Of a kingdom not ...... I .. divine.

His mother, Mary of Nazareth,
Sat watching beside his place of rest,
Watching the even flow of his breath,
For the joy of life and the terror of death
Were mingled together in her breast.

They laid their offerings at his feet;
The gold was their tribute to a king;
The frankincense, with its odor sweet,
Was for the priest, the Paraclete,
The myrrh for the body's burying.

And the mother wondered and bowed her head,
And sat as still as a statue of stone;
Her heart was troubled, yet comforted,
Remembering what the angel had said
Of an endless reign and of David's throne.

Then the Kings rode out of the city gate,
With the clatter of hoofs, in proud army;
But they went not back to Herod the Great,
For they knew his malice and feared his hate,
And returned to their homes by another way.

IN connection with the mention of "The Old Clock on the Stairs,"
in the two articles concerning Mr. Longfellow, given in the present
number, it should be said that the clock upon the stairs in his house
at Cambridge was not the one mentioned in his famous poem. That
special clock stood in the house of Mr. Longfellow's father-in-law,
at Pittsfield, Mass. But the poet was in the habit of pointing out
particularly the favorite old-fashioned clock on the stairs of his Cam-
bridge home, and naturally visitors sometimes made the mistake of
supposing this one to be the old clock of the poem.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: You asked in the April number who could
say more about El Escurial." I think, as I have seen it, I shall
be able to do so. It was built by Philip II., king of Spain, three
.- in memory of a battle fought on the day dedicated to
Si .-.. who was martyred on a gridiron, for which reason
the palace is built in the shape of a gridiron. By some it is called
-.: ..- -. ..ir of the world. It is situated about two hours'
:r. : ,* ... i '.... and on the edge of a hill, in a prominent position.
It is comparatively plain on the outside, but very handsome in the
interior. There is a church in the center, under which is a grand
and beautiful mausoleum, built of marble from all parts of the world.
Many kings of Spain are buried there and several niches are empty,
waiting for future kings. The walls of some of the rooms are inlaid
with woods which came from South America and cost seven million
I am always very anxious to receive ST. NICHOLAs, and all the
time I was abroad I watched for it with as much interest as we did
for letters. Yours truly, EMMA W. COMFORT, 12 years.

MR. WILLSON'S article in the February ST. NICHOLAS, on "How
to Run," has, it seems, proved very popular among the boy-readers
of ST. NICHOLAS; and the following, which is one of the best letters
that we have received, shows how practical and useful Mr. Willson's
hints have been:

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We read that article in your number for
February on running, and we tr 1 .1.:.. through our noses.
Though not able to run a quarter .. I. i ., yet the first time I
tried it I ran nearly three-quarters of a mile, and I can now run a
mile and a half without any difficulty, and my sister, who is writing
with me, ran a mile the first time she tried.
In connection with this article, also, we must add the following
newspaper items concerning two famous runners, which have been
sent to us by kind correspondents:
Count Eugene Kinsky, of the old Czechian nobility, was noted in
Austria as an athlete and runner. A friend of his in Pesth was the
other day singing the praises of the 'Orloff' trotters, which at one
time did excellent work in tl. -. ,- r ,-. -..: ;., Vienna. The Count
made a large bet that he .1j i. .r I.. f dr on foot at a short-
distance race, viz., half a length of the Pesth Rondeau, some two



hundred yards. The race came offpromptly, the Count getting well
away .' .''-, ,.. coming in some fifteen feet before the horses,
much i, i.. .. .., their owners."
The pedestrian feats of the present day are cast into the shade by
the recorded exploits of Ernst Mensen, a Norwegian sailor in the
English navy, early in the present century. Mensen first attracted
attention by running from London to Portsmouth in nine hours, and
soon after he ran from London to Liverpool in thirty-two hours.
Having distinguished himself at the battle of Navarino, in 1827, he
left the navy and became a professional runner, .: ........ a
number of matches he undertook the feat of running. *. I ... to
Moscow. Starting from the Place Vend6me at 4 o'clock in the
afternoon of June 1n, 1831, he entered the Kremlin at o1 o'clock A.M.
on June 25, having accomplished the distance, r -F- miles, in thirteen
days and eighteen hours. The employment of .. as a 'courier
extraordinary' soon became a popular amusement in European
courts. He ran from country to country, bearing messages of con-
gratulation or condolence, and despatches, and always beat mounted
couriers when matched against them. He never walked, but inva-
riably ran, his only refreshment being one biscuit and an ounce of
raspberry syrup per day, and two short rests of ten or fifteen
minutes each in twenty-four hours. These rests he took standing,
and leaning against a tree or other support; at such times he
covered his face with a handkerchief and slept. After the nap, he
i 1 i.: ly as much refreshed as -i .. i. had slept for hours.
!. ,- i -I'. in the employ of the ', I. ,. Cnmrm n'- Mensen
was charge i ;.i. i-.. ... ;- ; i I r i.. i, .... ..,,, to Con-
stantinople T ...- ,.. The distance is 5,615 miles,
which the :.. .-... ...., .. I ... fifty-nine days, or in one-third
of the time made by the swiftest caravan. At last he was employed

to discover the source of the Nile. Setting out from Silesia on May
or, 1843, he ran to Jerusalem, and thence to Cairo, and up the
western bank of the river into Upper Egypt. Here, just outside the
village of c-- -. h --- seen to stop and rest, leaning against a
palm tree, '... i with a handkerchief. He rested so long
that some persons tried to wake him; but they tried in vain, for he
was dead. He was buried at the foot of the tree, and it was years
before his friends in Europe knew what fate had befallen him."

THE author of "The Children's Fan Brigade" (printed in
ST. NICHOLAS for January, 1881) writes to us to say that repeated
trials have shown that the Drill Prompter, suggested in that article,
is rather a hinderance than an aid, as it is confusing to have a voice
break in when the drill must go bar by bar with the music, and each
bar brings the next movement to mind. The drill is essentially a
silent one, as each child carries the movements mentall, and the
music itselfis the prompter.
She calls attention also to an error in one of the illustrations of
the article. In the picture entitled Gossip," there should be only
one straight line of girls, instead of two. The directions concerning
this movement are correct, as they include but one row of girls.
The Fan Brigade has proved to be one of the most popular enter-
tainments ever printed in ST. NICHOLAS, and we gladly make room
for these corrections for the benefit of any persons who are thinking
of performing this entertaining and picturesque drill.


AT the time of making our latest report the highest number on our
register was 2e43. Now we number 2630-making a gain, in two
months, of nearly 500. At this rate, we may hope for a membership
of 5000 before Christmas. .

Minerals.-H. E. Sawyer, 37 Gates St., So. Boston, Mass.
Other flowers, for any violets e-'rpttn,- r~'^z ciucullata, blanda,
ICedata, firbescens, sagiifrea, ano -F. T. Griswold,
Columbus, Wis.
Foreign and native nods -..P-n-mr- sy wood-mosses, shells, ferns,
flowers, and minerals.- ... i '-I New Bedford, Mass.
Geodes, from the size of a walnut to the size of a water-bucket.-
Z. T. Snively, Wayland, Clark Co., Mo.
"The Mysterious Island," "Dropped from the Clouds," and
Abandoned," by Jules Verne.- Russell D. Jannez, Marietta, 0.
Birds' eggs and woods, for eggs.-I. B. Russell, 95 Belleville Ave.,
Newark, N. J.
Encrinite stems for sea-shells.-John T. Nixon, Osage City, Kan.
A great variety of minerals, for others or Indian relics.--A. J.
Martin, Jr., 1914 Spring Garden St., I'i-. i ii.:. -.
Sea-shells and sand-dollars, for ores I I,.i. ..cker, Jr., Gal-
veston, Texas.
Insects.-G. W. T .. Taunton, Mass.
Five cocoons of .- Cecropia, for one living cocoon of At-
tacus Lucma. Also, ores and pearl shells for exchange.--Thomas B.
Emery, 3238 Dearborn St., Chicago.


OTTUMIWA, IOWA, Feb. 28, I882.
Within the year we have added to our cabinet many specimens of
minerals and precious stones; 173 -; .''. ;1 ..i ... .. i
woods; 20 species of river shells i..... i. ..-. -
shells ; and about zoo miscellaneol. ... -. ..I ..
tion is now valued at more than $250.

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Late in the fall, my brother and I found in the river a very large
chrysalis. At first I thought it was dead, but when I got home and
was showing it to Mother, it moved, and I am now anxiously wait-

ing for the appearance of the moth. It has a curious stem-like
appendage growing from the head, curved backward, and fastened
to the middle of the back. I inclose a drawing of it.
[Questions for the A. A. : I. Whatwillthe mothbe ? IT. What is
the appendage ? III. How did the chrysalis get into the river ?J

Our collection is: ,11' in .m: .. :;r. F .... irt is
a tarantula's nest. i -... .-. ... I .- I i. trap-
S.. i I, 1. .. hinges. The spider enters, closes the door,
... 1 .1. open it. The only visible fasteningis a small
white spot, just inside the door; but the manner of holding it closed
is a puzzle, as yet unsolved. Can any one throw light on it ? We
wish to exchange California flowers for sea-weeds and mosses. We
will mount them, and wish others to do the same. Please reprint the
secretary's address, giving the name of Yours truly,

LoCKPORT, N. Y., Feb. 27, 1882.
This branch was organized on Wednesday, the 25th of January,
1881, and although the society is only a year old, in the treasurer's
book are recorded the names of one hundred and t---.nt- F-- mem-
bers. We have a cabinet filled with specimens, :li i II worth
of which we purchased.
We have a small library of volumes by the very best authors in
natural history. We have everything we need, .,'- .. a micro-
scope, and we intend to purchase one some j have a
picture of Louis Agassiz hanging over our cabinet.
[This letter is truly inspiring. It is an illustration of what might
be done in hundreds of towns if young and old, school committees
and teachers, parents and children, would all unite. Not much sale
for dime novels in Lockport!]

PIGEON COVE, MASS., Feb. 27, 1882.
We now number nine active and two honorary members. We
i- ..... i ..... .8 and now our cabinet overflows with valuable
......**** most of the common minerals in our vicinity.
[Good!] We have for exchange marine curiosities and Cape Ann
minerals, some of which are found nowhere else. Please refer us to
Chapters in the West and South.
Will you admit us as a Chapter of your Association ? I am a
type-setter, and work ten hours in the office, and walk four miles
besides, every day. [Think of that, boys, who think you "have n't
time! This is a voung lady, too- you must know!] Three
others are my sisters, from nine to nineteen. Seven others are bright,




1 .. 1. .-l economical German boys and girls, and the rest are
We none of us know anything, in a systematic way,
about natural history, but some of us know all about where the ear-
liest flowers grow, can tell ever so many different kinds of wood
in the lumber, and all know marvelous stories of the instinct and
"human ways" of domestic animals. We have few books and
almost no books of reference. We have little time, and less money
to spend. Now, do you want us? We are ready to do our best.
[Thrice and four times welcome! A Chapter after our own heart.]

CHICAGO, Feb. 25, 1882.
'We have ten members. Our aim is not to have a large num-
ber, but to have a few good workers. We have honorary mem-
bers, among whom are Prof. Bastin of th. I .. University, and
Prof. Delfontaine of the High School. I -. ... recently gave
us a lecture on the "Motions of Climbing Plants." We use
Gcikie's Geology, printed in the Science Primer edition, and assign
-- laborated by our members. One of our number was
I. .I I .i .... -enough to win a $Io microscope, in a prize exam-
ination in microscopy open to the students of any incorporated col-
lege in this city. C. S. BROWN, Sec., 117 Park Place.
[The whole "A. A." will feel pleased that one of its members has'
won this fine instrument. The adjective "fortunate" is entirely
too modest.]
GENEVA, N. Y., Feb. 27, 1882.
The scholars and teachers ofthe Quincy School" have been much
interested in the Agassiz Association. We haveformed a Chapter under
the name Geneva A. A.," with twenty-five members. Our first
meeting was held last week. We talked about sponges. Six boys
took part. At the close of a very interesting discussion, a Venus
...1 .. ...... 1 to us. Our next talk will be on game-
Si .. i correspond and exchange with other
chapters. Miss N. A. WILSON, Sec.
[These school Chapters constitute one of the pleasantest features
of the A. A. Teachers and scholars work much more frequently
side by side than formerly, and it is an excellent thing for them
COLUMBUS, Wis., Feb. 26, 1882.
Our time has been divided among flowers, insects, and minerals,
and we have good collections of each.
We consider our seventy-five specimens of flowers as only a begin-
ning. We have them nicely mounted, with a full analysis of each, and
we are very anxious for spring, that we may again search the woods
and meadows. There are so few of us, that we think of having
painted badges. Yours for the cause, F. T. GRISWOLD, Sec.
DEPERE, Wis., Feb. 27, 1882.
We have eleven new members, making twenty in all, to which num-
ber we have limited our Chapter for the present. Our badges are of
double-faced satin ribbon, pink on one side, and blue on the other.
They are stamped with A. A. in gilt, and painted, on the blue side,
with trailing arbutus. The pink side, being used to distinguish theoffi-
cers, is painted with wood violets and grasses. At our last meeting,
some very convincing evidence of animals' counting was given, in
the case of a water-spaniel. If his master, while hunting, drops two
birds, he will not return to the boat without both, and if only one
has fallen, he returns satisfied when he has found that one.
MRs. R. W. ARNDT, Sec.
At first we were six, but we now number twelve. There is not a
boy among us, and we are going to see what the girls can do alone.
We are making mineralogy a study. We have a very simple
method for making spirit-lamps: Take a glass bottle with a wide
mouth, a cork to fit it tightly, a thimble without a top, and some
cord wicking or piping cord. The thimble must be forced through
a hole in the cork, and the wick drawn through the thimble. With
alcohol in the bottle, the lamp is ready for use. For a blow-pipe,
we use a common clay pipe, placing the bowl at the mouth to blow.
I notice, in my letter printed in ST. NICHOLAS, it says that Agassiz
was born by Lake Geneva. I should have written Neuchatel Lake.
We have to pay a good deal, because almost *"--r-I-d-- nu- a
postal and no stamp: i. r, .
NEW BEDFORD, massS, Feb. 28, 1882.
I collect caterpillars and keep them under glasses, feedingthem
until they change. I sometimes have a hundred glasses at a time. I
learn what they eat, and their habits. My two sisters are interested
alike with ... .. i .... Wehave Edwards's,
Harris's, i,,... i .:1i,-...! i- i i i ... have great difficulty in
finding the right names. Are there catalogues of butterflies and
moths, with descriptions of Massachusetts insects? Last July, I
found near a pond what looked like a caterpillar covered with chin-
chilla feathers. Its body was a beautiful pink underneath. Black
head, and some black lines on the body. The most beautiful colors
I have ever seen on a caterpillar. In less than half an hour it went
into a pink cocoon, half wrapped in a blackberry leaf. The cater-

pillar was about three inches long. The moth came out yesterday.
It measures about two inches from tip of wing to tip. It is of a
duskyreddish brown. Thereare zig-zag lines of darker shade, blend-
ing into white. On the upper wings a sort of diamond spot which
looks like a Polyf1emuyns. Both upper and lower :... il..-.i
the edges white, with a line of black inside. Under ri- .... ..I 1 :
glass it isjust the color of a fox with snow dusted over it. I wish to
learn its name. WILLIE C. PHILLIPS.
[Here is a fine opportunity for a little study. Who will be the
first to send me the name of this beautiful insect, and the' name of a
satisfactory and exhaustive insect manual?- H. H. B. ]
Some people have spoken of the wisdom of bees and wasps in
constructing their cells in a hexagonal shape. Now, on the con-
trary, others believe, and I have been taught, that their wisdom has
nothing to do with it. If a bee begins to build around himself as a
center, he naturally makes a cell in the shape of a cylinder. As the
different bees build, and their cells press against one another, they
will be crowded into the form of a hexagon. A good way to illus-
trate this is to take a small tube and some not too soapy water, and
blow air through the tube so quickly that the bubbles formed on the
surface will be crowded together. They will be pressed into hex-
agonal shape. A. B. G.
[A. B. G.'s reports are always very suggestive and interesting.
The Chapters may like to discuss this question. If the above theory
is correct, the outer row of cells should be cylindrical, since they are
not subjected to pressure. Is this so? Will a bee make a cell if
placed alone in a glass case ? Let this be tried, and if he makes a
hexagonal cell, the pressure theory is disproved; and vice versa.]

















Name of Cha/ter. Members. A address.
Peoria, Ill. (B)............ 1o..Eddie Smith,
1143 So. Adams St.
Ashtabula, Ohio (A) .... 15.. May H. Prentice.
Geneva, N. Y. (A)........ 25..Nellie A. Wilson.
Albany, N. Y. (A)..... .. 7..J. P. Gavit, 3 Lafayette St.
Newport, R. I. (A) ...... 5..R. S. Chase.
West Medford, Mass...... i5..Edith Samson, Box 175.
Duncannon, Pa. (A)..... 12..Annie J. Jackson.
New York, N. Y. (E).... 4..Harry L. Mitchell,
23 W. i2th St.
Waterbury, Conn. (B).... .1. ...
Providence, R. I. (A)..... 1 1 .... r ...
261 Pine St.
Minneapolis, Minn. (B).... 7..Burtie W. McCracken,
oa16 Western Ave.
Rutland, Ind. (A)......... 5..Birdie Blye.
Dayton, Ohio (A)........ 24..AbbieL. Dyer.
Philadelphia, Pa. (G) ...... 6.. Geo. Cattrell,
1934 Jefferson St.
Philadelphia, Pa. (H)...... 6..W. R. Nichols, 2o6 Arch St.
Wellsboro, Pa. (A)........ i..Margaret S. Potter.
Germantown, Pa. (B)...... 4..Frank Brown, 123 Price St.
Fitchburg, Mass. (C)...... 12..Ellen Snow.
St. Louis, Mo. (C)....... o..Letty M. Follett,
3014 Cass Ave.
Frmin-hlnm Mass. (A).. 4..C. F. Cutting.
Si ......, Cal. (C).... 5..Bert. W. Stone,
2o04 Jackson St.
Waco, Texas (A)......... 23..Jennie Wise,
(care Rev. S. P. Wright).
State College, Pa. (A).... 5..Geo. C. McKee.
Bowling Green,Ky. (A).... 5..Jessie P. Glenn.
Washington, D. C. (D).... 6..W. B. Emory,
1234 6th St. N. W.
Brownville, N. Y. (A).. .. 7.John C. Winne.
Lowell, Mass. (B)........ 7..Geo. A. Whitmore.
Pittsfield, Mass. (B)...... 5..R. H. Peck.
So. Boston, Mass. (B).... 8.. Homer C. Clapp, 79 E. 4th.
Fort Wayne, Ind. (A)..... 13..John L. Hanna,
219 Madison St.
Austin, Minn. (A)........ ..Please send address.
The Oaks, Tioga Center,
N. Y. (A)............. 4..Angie Latimer.
Allegheny City, Pa. (A).. 7..David K. Orr,
138 Jackson St.
Hyde Park, Mass. (A).... n.. Lillian E. Rogers.
Clinton, Mass. (A)........ 6.. Gerald Alley.
Taunton, Mass. (B)...... xo..A. C. Bent.
De Pere, Wis. (C)......... 14..Jessie R. Jackson.
De Pere, Wis. (D)........ 7..Carrie Dubois.
Highgate, Eng. (A)...... 4..Geo. S. Hayter, Gleuggle,
Woodlane, Highgate, N.
Cambridge, N. Y. (A).... 5..W. J. B. Williams, Box 33.
Canbridgeport, Mass. (A). 5..Frank T. Hammond.
Burlington, Kansas (A).. 7.P. M. Floyd, Lock-box 9.




THE above should first be read as a rebus. The answer will be a
six-line stanza, which forms a cross-word enigma. This should, in
turn, be solved as if it were printed like similar enigmas.

FROM what poem by a leading American poet is the following
Tinsa aguestuin! Lewl hats touh dais,
Htat fo rou cevis ew nca farme
A delard, fi ew lilw tub dreat
Thenbea oru efte ache eded fo mashe.

My first is in corn, but not in sheaf;
My second in mutton, but not in beef;
My third is in school, not in vacation;
My fourth is in speech, not in oration;
My fifth is in bad, but not in good;
My sixth is in victuals, but not in food;
My seventh in period, not in time;
My whole is a flower almost in its prime.
II. MY first is in taper, but not in torch;
My second in burn, but not in scorch;
My third is in wren, but not in-lark;
My fourth is in flame, but not in spark;
My fifth is in court, but not in yard;
My sixth is in minstrel, but not in bard;
My seventh in sweet, but not in sour;
My whole is a little woodland flower. DVCIE.

ALL was quiet on the ship. "A risky piece of business," mur-
mured the steward. "Over the side with you," said the mate;
" the best way is to wait until the captain takes his nap on the sofa;

then see if he 's fast asleep; he' ... .. .... ... Now,
sail on; do nothing rashly, thoul I .. I through
the port, and, obeying the instructions of the mate, he ransacked
the cabin thoroughly. From each locker he took bags of silver.
On a small table he found a jewel-box. Here's a picnic ejacu-
lated the steward, as he took the contents for his part, and kindly
reserved the box for the mate. H. T. J.


EACH of the lines describes a word, and the initial letters of the
-.. ent-"n r-laced in the order given, spell the name of a ruined city
that of the place in which it stood.
s. The wealth which God bestows upon the poor.
2. Temptation, which the '. *.. I nay allure.
3. A burden which weighs I .. ,. purest hearts.
4. A gift which to the giver most imparts.
5. The truest sacrifice of piety.
6. The sure reward of good society.
7. The genius that insures all true success.
8. A numeral than which none is reckoned less.
9. The trade that vainly seeks to make a man.
0o. The trait thlt 1-t:-- tl, Idier to the van.
Ii. The home .1.1 I ... id of king.
12. The door tl.....-. i. i. I..- both begins and ends.
13. A treasure one acquires but never lends.
14. That which the foolish duellist tries to gain.
15. A mystery which time can not explain.
16. What bad men fear, and for which good men hope.
17. The topmost burden laid upon a Pope.


THIs cross is formed of five diamonds, as indicated by the dia-
-r. th.. ~uiter letters of the central diamond being used also in
i- r. ..-; adjacent diamonds, which would be incomplete without
i.. i. of the four points of the central diamond is used three
times; once as a point of its own block of stars, and once as a point
of each of the two neighboring diamonds. The words of each dia-
mond read the same across as up and down.
I. Upper Left-hand Diamond: I. In appears. 2. To view. 3
Fruit. 4. A period of time. 5. In appears.
II. Upper Right-hand Diamond. i. In soon. 2. A unit. 3.
A spectacle. 4. A termination. 5. In need.
III Central Diamond: i. In host. 2. An animal. 3. Scanty.
4. To blunder. 5. In keep.
IV. Lower Left-hand Diamond: I. In summer. a. The god-
dess of revenge. 3. T- -^ i-- -. it- 4. Before. 5. In stone.
V. Lower Right- I 1........ .. I. In space. 2. Uncooked.
3. Earnest. 4. Damp. 5. In root. GEORGIA HARLAN.

My first is in January; my second is in October; my third is in
April; my fourth is in June; my fifth is in November; my sixth is
in February; my seventh is inAugust; myeighth is in September;
my ninth is in March.
My whole is the name of a patriotic maiden who was put to a
cruel death on the 3oth of May, 1431 M.. D.





I. 1. A kind of grain. 2. A trembling fit. 3. A melody.
4. Observed. II. I. A time of blossoms. 2. Employed. 3. Neces-
sity. 4. A current. WESTON STICKNEY.

ENTER at one of the openings in the stem, and trace a path to
the center, without crossing a line. E. R. s.

I AM composed of fifty-six letters, and form one line of a short
My 1-9-41-23-31-52-15-23 is poet laureate of England. My 5-

54-26-22-29-36-18 discovered the satellites of Jupiter. My 45-8-40
-55-56-x5-23 is a castle rendered famous by Byron. My 2-54-10-
i2-9-1 is the hero of one of Shakespeare's plays. My 43-22-20-6
-33-37 is a number. My 27-4-4- 3-41-4-4-21-48-47 is the name
of a battle which occurred in 1708, in which the French were de-
feated by the Duke of Marlborough and Prince Eugene. My
'- :-- .- is the name of a famous battle fought in
J, -. i - 9 was killed in the latter battle. My 46-
4.9-7-35-7 is a number. -1.- --4- :ckname some-
times given to a naval Ir. .- i -4 1 name one of
Queen Elizabeth's favorites, who was beheaded in 61bo. My 45-1c
-39-45-32 was an enchantress. My 26-27-50-38-I6-9-56-12-3-28
is the name of the poet who adapted from the German the stanza
from which my whc!e is taken. LILA.

EACH of the following puzzles may be answered by the name of
a bird. Example: A consonant and a rank or file. ANSWER:
I. A time of darkness, a preposition, and. a high wind. 2. A
metal, part of a fish, and one-half of a word meaning idle talk. 3.
A consonant and a place of safety. 4. A beverage and a consonant.
5. The young -of a fowl, a vowel, and a consonant. 6. Fruit,
and the cover of an opening in a ship's deck. 7. A boy's nick-
name, a vowel, and part of a chain. 8. A sound made by a bird,
and a consonant. 9. A fowl, a vowel, and a number. io. To cut
quickly, and a vowel. in. A scourge, impecunious, and a nick-
name. I1. A girl's nickname, and an article of food. x3. A man-
ner of drinking, and a side-building. 14. One-half of a word
meaning a E:'.r .-J -bove. 15. A monarch and one who
angles. 16. I i....: I ... .- i' a word meaning a slender cord, and a
snare. 17. To disfigure, and a metal. 18. To box, and to impel
by means of oars. 19. A number, and a tin vessel. 20. One-third
of a word meaning a royal seat, and to move with rapidity.


THE initial and central letters, when read downward, form three
words; these name a famous event which took place on the x8th
of June, less than one hundred years ago.
AcRoss: i. An arbor. 2. To degrade. 3. An appellation.
4. Something given for entertainment. 5. A kind of tree. 6. A
girl's name. 7. Oxygen in a condensed form. 8. To scowl.
M. C. n.


TRANSPOSITIONS. Levi live- veil vile-evil.
2. Ti-R-ed. 3. Pa--nt. Pa-n Pa-S-te. 5. Ti-T-le.' 6. Ca-I-rd. 7.
Bo-D-le. 8. Ab-E-le. 9. Ha-S-te.
INVERTED PYRAMID. Across: i. Foliage. 2. Folio. 3. Old. 4. S.
He that leaves certainty, and sticks to chance,
When fools pipe, he may dance.

Two WORD-SQUARiES I. Masts. 2. Annie. 3. Snore. 4.
Tired. 5. Seeds. II. i. Elect. 2. Laver. 3. Evade. 4. Cedes.
ofbright flowers.
NUMERICAL ENIGMA. What weighs an ounce in the morning,
weighs a pound at night. 4
DOUBLE DIAGONALS. 1. I. AluM. 2. GNAt. 3. URNs. 4.
YulE. II. o. SnoB. 2. SHOt. 3. HOOk. 4. TimE.

J. F. B. and others: Answers to puzzles should be addressed to "St. Nicholas Riddle-box," care of The Century Co., 33 East i7th
Street, New York City. The names of solvers are printed in the second number after that in which the puzzles appear.
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE APRIL NUMBER were received from Marna and Bae."
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE APRIL NUMBER were received before April 2oth, from North Star" and "Little Lizzie,"8-" Sun-
flower," 6- Myra Doremus, 3- Alise M. Ballou, i -" Warren," 4 -V. P. J. S. M. C., 6- Genie Callmeyer, 12- Severance Burrage,
2--Nellie Blodgett, 5-Arthur, 4--Emma Drake, 3-Annie Falge, 7- Edith M. TI. -i 7 G. L. and J. W., 5- Florie Baker, 7 -
Seyon, 4-May Beadle, 8--Anna Guion, 2-"Bantam," 5--Joseph H. Targis, ...... B. Murray, 12-E. F. G., i-"Rory
O'More," 8-Florence E. Pratt, ix-Everett Lane Jon' Jesse S. Godine, 2--'. ....I Mansur, 8-Jenny Noyes, 5-Robert
Hamilton, 3-C. F. Home, 13-May L. Shepard, 5-' 1"'- Walker, 8-Edith i Ti,... .. .Iton, 5-"Two Cousins." 5-Stella E.
Goodlett, i-n ,: .*. Joplin, 3-Bessie H. Smith, 7-Nellie Mott, --Anna I.1.. I I I... K. Talboys, I--Henry L. M. Mitch-
ell, 5--Lizzie i 5 .., 5--"Griffin," 8-" Alcibiades," 13-John W. G.. --H.i .. Philips, 3-" D. and D.," 5-Josie Mitchell,
i-"Partners," zo-May, Bessie, and Jennie, 8-George F. T--. 1 P. I .i Co.," I3 -"H. F and B. B.," 8-Mary D.
Reeve, i-James R. Moore, 5-Eliza L. McCook, 5-Katie I I- .., 8-Amy Mothershead, 9-Paul England & Co., 12-
Zaita, 4-Raymond D. Thurber, ro-Eleanor Telling, 7- D. B. Shumway, 8-Anne Lovett, i -Sallie E. Hewit, o- Lalla E. Croft,
I-Carrie H. Wilson, 2-Sidney and Charlie Russell, 2-Bertie Bushnell, i2-Marguerite, 7-Mamie Baker, i-Ariana Moore, xn-
Edith McKeever and Amy Elliott, 7-C. O. B., 7 -Grace and Blanche Parry, 2- Nellie Caldwell, 5- Ethel and Oscar Weekes, ii -
E. F. Biddle, 9 Charles H. Parmly, 9- Louise Kelly, 5- Algernon Tassin, 8- Frank and Maud, x Virginia Crater, 6- Maud and
Sadie, 6-Lena, Elsie, and Luzia, 6-Emma D. Andrews, 8-Clara and her Aunt, 13-Bessie C. Rogers, 12--Vin and Alex, 8-Louise
Gilman, 9-Kittie, Mary, Flora, Dora, and Birdie, 4-Appleton H., 13-The Two Millies, 4-Carrie L. and Anna C. Lindholm, 3-
Julia T. Pember, ix-Louis F. Zimmerman, 8-Livingston Ham, 2-Hugh Burns, x--Busy B's, x3-James H. Strong, ro-Fred.
Thwaits, 3- X. Y. Z., o--T. W., 8-" Queen Bess," 2- Sallie Viles, io-B. B., 7-Robert C. Steans, 6 ; 1 Tolderlund, 4
-Adele, 5- Emilie and Rosa, 7- i..- n and Susan Jane, 5--LydeW. McKinney, o--Lottie A. Best, 2 ... Barnum, 4-
Helen E. Mahan, o--Florence i 'i. ,., o1-Mlaud Badlam, I-J. S. Tennant, to-M. W. and W. Stickney, 3-R. Kilboure, I-
F. P. Jones, I-Eirie, 6-G. E. M., 2-D. F. and E.. B Barry, 7-R. S. and H. Lowrie, I-M. D. and Polly, 3-A., M., and F.
Knight, i-S. R. Marshall, x-ClaraJ. Child, I -Frederick Pember, I.





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