Front Cover
 Great-Grandmother's gardens
 The Tinkham brothers' tide-mil...
 Flowers for the brave
 How Tommy went to jail
 The story of Robin Hood
 An argument
 The Baptist sisters
 Our picnic
 Recollections of a drummer-boy
 The plucky prince
 Swept away
 A good model
 A little lady
 For a great many Neds
 A beautiful charity
 Work and play for young folk: VI,...
 One, two, three!
 "Winky, blinky"
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00130
 Material Information
Title: St. Nicholas
Uniform Title: St. Nicholas (New York, N.Y.)
Alternate Title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner
Place of Publication: New York
Publication Date: -c1943
Frequency: monthly
Subject: Children's literature -- Periodicals   ( lcsh )
Genre: periodical   ( marcgt )
Dates or Sequential Designation: -v. 67, no. 4 (Feb. 1940) ; v. 70, no. 1 (Mar. 1943)-v. 70, no. 4 (June 1943).
Dates or Sequential Designation: Began with: Vol. 1, no. 1, Nov. 1873.
Numbering Peculiarities: Suspended Mar. 1940-Feb. 1943; vols. 68-69 omitted.
Issuing Body: Published by: Century, Aug. 1881- ; by Educational Pub. Corp. -1940; by St. Nicholas Magazine, 1943.
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: VID00130
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: oclc - 01764817
lccn - 04012675
 Related Items
Preceded by: Our young folks
Preceded by: Children's hour (Philadelphia, Penn.)
Preceded by: Little corporal
Preceded by: Schoolday magazine
Preceded by: Wide awake

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Great-Grandmother's gardens
        Page 562
        Page 563
    The Tinkham brothers' tide-mill
        Page 564
        Page 565
        Page 566
        Page 567
        Page 568
        Page 569
        Page 570
    Flowers for the brave
        Page 571
    How Tommy went to jail
        Page 572
        Page 573
        Page 574
        Page 575
    The story of Robin Hood
        Page 576
        Page 577
        Page 578
        Page 579
    An argument
        Page 580
        Page 581
    The Baptist sisters
        Page 582
        Page 583
        Page 584
        Page 585
        Page 586
        Page 587
        Page 588
    Our picnic
        Page 589
        Page 590
        Page 591
        Page 592
    Recollections of a drummer-boy
        Page 593
        Page 594
        Page 595
        Page 596
    The plucky prince
        Page 597
        Page 598
    Swept away
        Page 599
        Page 600
        Page 601
        Page 602
        Page 603
        Page 604
        Page 605
        Page 606
        Page 607
        Page 608
    A good model
        Page 609
        Page 610
    A little lady
        Page 611 (MULTIPLE)
        Page 612
        Page 613
        Page 614
        Page 615
    For a great many Neds
        Page 616 (MULTIPLE)
        Page 617
        Page 618
        Page 619
        Page 620
        Page 621
        Page 622
        Page 623
        Page 624
        Page 625
        Page 626
    A beautiful charity
        Page 627
        Page 628
        Page 629
    Work and play for young folk: VI, silk-culture associations
        Page 630
        Page 631
    One, two, three!
        Page 632
        Page 634
        Page 635
    "Winky, blinky"
        Page 633
    The letter-box
        Page 636
        Page 637
        Page 638
    The riddle-box
        Page 639
        Page 640
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text






VOL. X. JUNE, 1883. No. 8.

[Copyright, 1883, by THE CENTURY CO.]



COME into Great-grandmother's garden, my dears:
The Sunflowers are nodding and beckoning away,
The Balsams are smilingly drying their tears,
And fair Morning-Glories are greeting the day.

How pure is the breath of the old-fashioned Pinks!
How modest the face of the Lady's Delight!
Sweet-William his arm with Miss Lavender's links,
And whispers, I dream of you morn, noon, and night."

The Dahlia looks on with a queenly repose,
Unheeding the Coxcomb's impertinent sighs,
And fierce Tiger-Lily an angry look throws
At Bachelor's Button, who praises her eyes.

The red Prince's Feather waves heavy and slow
By Marigolds rich as the crown of a king;
The Larkspur the humming-bird sways to and fro;
Above them the Hollyhocks lazily swing.

Come, Four-o'-Clocks, wake from your long morning nap !
The late China Asters will soon be astir;
The Sweet Pea has ordered a simple green cap-
Which the Poppy pronounces too common for her.

There 's Southernwood, Saffron, and long Strip6d Grass;
The pale Thimble-Berries, and Sweet-Brier bush;
An odor of Catnip floats by as we pass--
Be careful! nor Grandmamma's Chamomile crush.

Come into Great-grandmother's garden, my dears:
The Sunflowers are nodding and beckoning away-
Ah! the true Grandma's garden is gone years and years-
We have only a make-believe garden to-day.







THE children had been gone about three hours,
when their mother, sitting at her window, which
looked toward Tammoset village, noticed an un-
usual number of boys hurrying down the road
toward the river.
Reflecting that it was the first of May, and prob-
ably a holiday in the schools, she thought little of
the circumstance, until she saw groups of men also
going in the same direction. She then hobbled
to the front part of the house, where she could get
a view of the bridge.
It was thronged with people, and more were
coming from both ways -from Dempford as well
as Tammoset; some stopping on the bridge and
looking off toward the mill, while others climbed
over the rails at each end, ran down the shores,
and disappeared under the high bank by which
the view of the river below was shut off from the
At the same time, the kitchen girl began to call:
Mrs. Tinkham Mrs. Tinkham! What are
all these people doing out here by the mill?"
The widow hobbled to another window, and saw
an amazing sight. Neither boy nor man had en-
tered the yard in the regular way; but the upper

bank was now alive with youngsters scrambling up
from below. Some threw themselves on the turf,
and sat with their backs toward the house and their
legs hanging down the slope. Others stood be-
hind them or looked about for better positions. A
dozen or more got into the great willow, where
they filled the seats or leaned upon the branches.
All appeared eager to witness some great spectacle
taking place below.
The mother of the Tinkhams knew very well
what that was. "0 my boys! my boys!" she
exclaimed, why are you not here ?" and without
waiting to cover her feeble shoulders and gray
hair, she hobbled out of the house.
She heard suppressed cries of: Look behind
you!" "There comes the old lady!" and for a
moment saw the faces of the intruders all turned
her way. There was much silly tittering among
them; and the next moment every boy was intently
gazing down the slope again.
"What does this mean? What are you here
for? she cried, approaching the nearest group.
"We just wanted to see the fun!" was the grin-
ning response.
"What fun?" she demanded, sharply.
To see the dam tore away; for that's what they
are doing," somebody answered, in a loud, insolent
voice from the willow.
Is that Dick Dushee ?"

*Copyright, 1882, by J. T. Trowbridge. All rights reserved.


. [JUNE,


"Yes, that's Dick; he told us we could come
up here."
He would n't have dared show his face if my
sons were at home! said the widow. "I should
think he might be in better business, and the rest
of you, too Make room for me, will you? Whose
ground is this, yours or mine ? "
The loungers on the turf had not offered to move
out of her way, but the lively movement of a crutch
among their elbows and ears made them scatter,
and she stood on the top of the bank.
This is what she saw : both shores of the river
swarmed with spectators, boys and men, and
even women and girls here and there. The plat-
form at the corner of the mill was black with the
crowd. There were boats, also, held against the cur-
rent by young men aboard, probably Argonauts.
In the midst of all, the center of attraction, stood a
line of stout laborers leg-deep in the water, with
picks and iron bars demolishing the dam.
The work had evidently but just begun. The
first planks were yielding to sturdy blows. There
was little noise beside; no loud talking, nor
shouting of commands. Never was disorderly
crowd so orderly and well behaved. There were
even policemen present-Dempford men in blue
coats on one shore, and Tammoset men in gray on
the other-keeping the peace. The whole thing
had been thoroughly planned and organized before-
hand, as the local newspaper boastfully informed
its readers on both sides of the river, in its next
The crippled woman, supported on her crutches
at the summit of the high bank, her gray head
bare- a strange, pathetic figure- called aloud to
the laborers to desist from their work of destruc-
tion. Not one of them heeded her: but all other
eyes were turned upward, while her voice con-
tinued to ring out, tremulous yet clear, entreating
yet commanding:
"Must I stand here alone, and see my property
destroyed? Is there not one who will take my
part, and stop this lawless proceeding? Are you
all on the side of injustice and brute force ? "
There was a brief silence; then a Dempford
man in blue-our old acquaintance, in fact--
made answer from the opposite shore:
"It is not a lawless proceeding, madam. You
were duly notified that the dam must be removed.
As you have not done it yourself, the people have
taken it in hand."
"The people who do it, or witness it without
protest, are a mob! The only law they have on
their side is mob law, and they know it. There is
no other law that can touch my poor little property
here. I see grave-looking men in this crowd, men
who no doubt call themselves respectable citizens.

Are they aware that, by their presence, if not by
their acts, they are making war on a defenseless
woman and her absent children? Well for you,
well for you all," cried the widow, lifting a crutch
and shaking it passionately over the heads of the
crowd, that my boys are not here to-day You,
breaking the dam there, and you assisting by look-
ing on, would not be where you are But you
chose a safe time for your brave deed !"
She stopped to subdue the passion that was
swelling in her voice; then, as nobody answered
her, and as the planks and stakes were still giving
way before the picks and bars, she went on:
If this dam, which we have a right to maintain,
-for I have taken legal counsel on the subject,
and I know,--if it troubles you, why don't you go
to work like honorable men and get rid of it? I
hear that some of you, who are not Argonauts,
have yet subscribed large sums toward building
the club-house. Why have n't you subscribed
something toward abating this nuisance you com-
plain of? A few hundred dollars would have
bought off the previous owner; or my boys would
have come to any just agreement with you. But,
ah! she cried, scornfully, this is not the popu-
lar side You can well afford to give money for a
new boat-house; but one poor woman's mill-dam,
that is in the way of a few pleasure-boats, must be
ruthlessly destroyed Oh, what men you are "
Nobody answered her again. But, if there were
not in that assemblage of two or three hundred
people, young and old, a few hearts that felt and
remembered long afterward her thrilling words
and the tears that now came streaming down her
cheeks, it was a pitiless mob indeed.
"I have had my say," she added, "and now
you will do as you please."
Her cheeks still wet with unwiped tears, she
stood in silence and saw the work of demolition
The planks and stakes, as they were broken
away, were sent floating down the stream; and
soon not a vestige of the dam remained visible.
The end of the platform, with the fish-way attached,
was left hanging in the air. The laborers seemed
to think their work done, and started to wade
Then a little fellow about the size of Web Foote,
standing in one of the boats, swung his hat and
called for three cheers. The spectators responded,
though not very heartily, their feeling of triumph
being sadly chilled by the sight of the pale face
and feeble form supported by crutches on the
But now there was a singular movement on the
farther shore:
A man with coarse, sandy features of vast


territorial dimensions, who had been watching the
show with manifest satisfaction, said something in
a low voice to somebody else, who whispered it to
a third person, who in turn ran to the edge of the
bank and called to the men wading ashore:
Go back! There's one thing you 've for-
gotten "
"What's that, Milt? asked the little Commo-
dore from his boat.
The mud-sill! said Buzrow, for it was indeed
our amiable friend, the cow-smiter's son. Dushee
says they can rebuild the dam without any trouble
if we leave the mud-sill."
Is that so, Dushee ?" cried Web Foote, in a
loud voice.
Certainly it is," Dushee replied in a much
lower tone, after some hesitation.
Even he must have felt the ignominy of openly
giving counsel for the destruction of a dam he had
formerly had to defend, and which he had dis-
honestly passed into other hands. Perhaps, also,
his old hatred of the Argonauts made the situation
awkward for him. But his present hatred of the
brothers he had wronged outweighed other con-
siderations, and he spoke out:
They have only to drive new stakes and nail
on fresh boards. But rip up the mud-sill and
spilin's, and they can't rebuild in the present state
of high water."
That 's so !" exclaimed Buzrow. Up with
the mud-sill !"
So the men went back into the water, and with
their picks and bars attacked the long strip of
timber which, with what Dushee called the "spil-
in's," -sharpened boards driven down several feet
into the river-bed,-had served to keep the water
andc those pioneers of the water, the eels, from find-
ing their way under the dam.
It was the hardest part of their job. The spilings
had been driven to stay; and they were nailed to
the sill. The tops of some of them broke off,
however, while the old, rusty nails in the rest gave
way; then up came the heavy, water-soaked tim-
ber, one end first, and, slowly lifted and swung
around, scarcely floating, went down the strong
current after the stakes and planks.
So much the Tinkham boys had gained by
making 6ne superfluous enemy.



AFTER the funeral, Mart and Lute stopped to do
some business in town, while Letty and the three
younger brothers hastened to take the first train
for Tammoset.

I 've the strangest feeling," Letty said, "that
something is nit right with Mother."
"I don't see what can have happened to her,"
replied Rush. "But I can't help feeling skittish
about the dam."
Starting to walk home from Tammoset station,
they were surprised to meet a number of people
coming up the road, who gave them curious, ex-
cited looks. They hurried on, meeting more and
more; and, passing the brow of the hill, saw two
scattered throngs moving slowly up both shores of
the river, converging at the bridge, and from there
streaming off thinly, in groups and pairs, toward
Tammoset and Dempford.
"The dam the dam!" exclaimed the boys,
making a sudden onward rush.
All was over when they reached home. The
last of the youngsters was slipping from the tree
down the bank, on the summit of which the widow
still stood, with gray head uncovered, propped
upon her crutches.
Mother Mother Rush exclaimed, springing
to her side before the rest. "What is it ?"
She was very pale, but quite calm now, until his
coming caused her emotions to surge up again.
You see what has been done," she said, point-
ing at the spot where the dam had been.
He gave a savage cry of grief and rage.
"There's nothing to be said," she continued,
checking a sob, "but much to be done. Where
are the boys ? "
They are coming in a later train. Oh ex-
claimed Rush, his face in a spasm of fury and
pain, if we had only been here "
It's well you were not. Better suffer wrong,
than to have killed some one, or have been killed
yourselves. For I am sure one of these two things
would have happened!"
Something would have happened!" said
Rush. Oh! to think you were here alone You
saw it all ? "
I saw it all! "
And do you know who did it? "
"How could I? There were only two faces I
ever saw before-the Dushees."
Dick had already been discovered as he tumbled
down the slope at sight of the boys; and Rupert
and Rodman had been for giving him chase and
throwing him into the river.
"Was the old reprobate here looking on?" de-
manded Rush.
He was not only looking on, but you owe it to
him that the mud-sill was torn up."
The wrong seemed too great to bear. Rush
struggled with his bursting heart for a moment,
then said:
"Never mind! this is n't the end! Bring the




clothes-line, boys! we '11 save what we can. Letty,
help Mother into the house "
Letty, whom the boys had outrun, had now
come up, and was clinging to her mother's side.
Rush left them, and hurried down the path to the
lower story of the mill, where he met our old ac-
quaintance, the gray-coated Tammoset policeman.
The policeman smiled-not at all like one
caught in bad business, but rather as if he had
been engaged in some praiseworthy action.
I think," he said, you will find your property
has been carefully protected. I have n't allowed
anybody to go into the mill, or to damage any-
Rush regarded him with wrathful amazement.
"Perhaps you expect some reward from us ? "
I don't ask it," replied the man in gray, bow-
ing complacently, with a look which implied that
a reward would not be unwelcome. "I have only
done my duty. The dam had to go, you know.
We 've seen the last of that."
The last of it?" echoed Rush, with angry
"The last of it!" the man in gray repeated,
positively. An injunction will be applied for at
once, to prevent you from rebuilding it."
"Why did n't you have the mill torn away,
too?" said Rush. "Don't you see it projects
twenty feet into the river? It may be in the way
of some nice little pleasure skiff, some time !"
He did not wait to hear the man's reply to this
fierce sarcasm, but, having bent into a hook-like
shape the end of a long iron rod which he found
in the back shop, he hastened with it down the
river, accompanied by Rupert with a pole and
Rodman with the clothes-line.
They described the mud-sill lodged in a bend,
and some Argonauts in a boat poking one end of
it, as if to set it afloat again.
Let that timber alone! "
Rush sent his voice before him, while running
with full speed. The Argonauts poked and pulled
with their oars harder than ever.
I warn you he shouted. That timber be-
longs to me "
As they did not desist, but seemed hastening to
get the sill out of reach from the shore, he caught
up a stone weighing three or four pounds, and, run-
ning up within hurling distance, flung it with all
his might.
It struck the boat between wind and water, with
a crash and a splash which sent the Argonauts
paddling off in a hurry. Rupe and Rod, following
along the shore, let fly smaller stones, one of which
fell into the boat, while another went whizzing over
two swiftly ducking heads.
"Thieves robbers cowards Rush shouted,

having first thrown the hook-like end of his rod
over the timber. You do your dirty work in the
night-time, or when only women are at home, but
you run from two or three boys Come back here
if you want your boat smashed "
We 've nothing to do with you," a big-voiced
Argonaut shouted back. Our business was with
the dam."
"My business is with the dam, too !" cried
Rush. I know you, Milt Buzrow; and if I see
you touch one of those planks by the shore down
yonder, I '11 follow and stone your boat all the
way to Dempford "
Buzrow exhibited his courage by bellowing back
some heavy threat; but for some reason he and
his fellow-Argonauts did not think it worth their
while to meddle with any of the drift-wood.
Rush called to his brothers, and with their help
soon had the timber hauled alongside the bank.
"We wont try to get it home now," he said.
"The tide will turn in a little while and help us.
Stay here and hold on to it, while I go and borrow
Mr. Rumney's boat."
He hurried back up the river to the bridge,
crossed over, and found the farmer ., !I.:11 leisurely
toward his barn. Rush did his breathless errand.
'My boat? What do you want it for?" Mr.
Rumney replied, good-naturedly.
"Does it make any difference what I want it
for?" Rush asked rather sharply, thinking his
rustic neighbor was also in sympathy with the
Wall, mabby!" said the farmer. If you
want it for any ordinary purpose, I say you can
take it. But if you want it to save your timbers
and put back your dam "
That 's just what I want it for said Rush,
with headlong frankness.
In that case, I don't care to stir up the prej-
udice of the Argue-nots agin' me. So I sha'n't say
you can take it. But see here! the farmer added,
confidentially, as Rush was turning away in furious
disgust; "if anybody should come and take the
boat without leave, and never say I let 'em, they
would n't be prosecuted. They '11 find the oars be-
hind the hen-house."
Thank you," said Rush.
Don't thank me, for I don't know nothing' about
it, you know. I've seen how you boys have been
treated, and I should n't blame ye if you took any
boat you could lay hands on."
The farmer was entering his barn. But he now
turned back and added:
Or anything else, for that matter. By the
way, did you know the Argue-nots are preparing
to build a platform around the side of their boat-
house ? They've got the posts and lumber on the


spot. Don't tell anybody I said that to you,
neither !"
I don't see what that is to us," Rush replied.
" Though they rob us of our dam, we can't go and
steal their stuff in return."
Of course not," said the farmer, with a broad
and somewhat significant smile. "Of course not."
And he entered the barn.
"He thinks we can destroy their property
as they have destroyed
ou:. -....i.hr -

h e l. ..... :1.:. : r ... .

th ,.. I .., i ,


For the first time in his life he felt how revenge-
ful, how desperately wicked, even an honest, well-
meaning boy could be when fired by wrong. He
wanted to go that night, and, by the help of a
match and a few shavings, send the new boat-
house roaring up into the sky in a wild cloud of
smoke and flame.

But he had a steadfast, prudent nature, which
helped him to put all such evil fancies quickly out
of his mind. Beside, he had something else to
think of now.
He had not wished to be seen going directly from
Mr. Rumney's barn to the boat. He therefore
walked back to the bridge; then, appearing sud-
denly to change his mind, he leaped the fence, ran
to the hen-house for the oars, and a minute later
might have been seen
-'-?- pushing off in the boat
-. '.Q-'. and rowing rapidly
-... '-. down the river.



RUSH had taken his
younger brothers on
board, met the turning
tide, and recovered
much of the floating
de'bris,--picking up the
stakes and smaller
pieces, and driving or
towing the planks with the
.slowly backing current,-
when Mart and Lute ap-
peared, hurrying down to-
ward the shore.
i reaching home and learn-
*vhat had happened, they
Sh ,.,:1 made a hasty change of
:il Iing, and Mart had put on
i .. they called the "Dushee
di, .--outs "-a pair of enormous
Si-l: .er boots, inherited from
1rh. former owner, and used,
'.' ..i. rto, chiefly in working
I, .. .t the dam in high water.
Ti,.: ... "i ..'. !lips, and, having been de-
.. ._. 1.1i. .I ;, .1. limbs, they made the lank
;.i. .... .. !.: ., -d into the river, as if he
A :. ...i !'churns.
I ..r ...j. 1 ..t' I- ,.: Lt disaster; but Mart sim-
il., I,... *" "_ .. i.. ..I-,,g well, boys! in quiet
r. ..! .i.. 1, !I.:!h it always did the younger
ones good to hear.
No language, as Lute said afterward, would
have done any sort of j-j-justice to the occasion.
.So, instead of wasting breath over the injury they
had received, they set earnestly about repairing it.
The end of the clothes-line was passed on from
Mart wading in the river to Lute on the shore; and
boat and planks were towed back to the mill.
There the fragments of the dam were heaped on



the bank, and the mud-sill was also hauled up out
of the water.
Bits of the spilings remained nailed to the side
of the sill here and there. But they were few and
small, the nails, when it was wrenched away, hav-
ing in most cases broken, or been drawn through
the soft boards -a fact which Lute observed with
keen interest.
What are the sailings ? Rod inquired.
Mart, who believed in explaining things to
inquiring young minds, explained accordingly-
the more willingly now, because he wanted the
younger boys to understand the sort of work in
which they might be required to assist.
In building a dam of this kind, the first thing
put in place is the mud-sill, laid level across the
river-bed. Then all along by that, on the up-
stream side, they drive a row of boards, set
closely edge to edge, the tops left even with the
top of the sill, and nailed fast to it. Those are the
spilings, and they help hold the sill in place."
"Except when p-p-parties come and r-r-rip it
out," suggested Lute, still studying and examining.
"The spilings are mainly useful," Mart went
on, "to keep other parties, like muskrats and eels,
from working under the dam. Eels are a kind of
Argue-nots; they claim a right of way, and when
they can't wriggle through or over, they try to
burrow beneath."
One little hole in the b-b-bed of the river,"
said Lute, "the water makes it bigger, and the
first you know there's no b-b-bottom to your
Mart then explained that the stakes were driven
on the down-stream side of the sill, and that the
boards of the superstructure rested on the edge of
it, running lengthwise with the timber, and nailed
to the stakes. The sill also served as a floor for
the flash-boards to shut down on. All which the
younger boys had some notion of before, and were
to know pretty thoroughly by experience in future.
Lucky for us the spilings were driven deep
and half rotten," said Lute. If they had n't been,
they'd have p-p-pulled up. I believe we can get
the mud-sill back and make 'em do for a t-t-time."
We could, if the tops of so many had n't been
broken," said Mart. It will be hard fitting the
"We need n't fit the pieces," said Lute. I 've
an i-d-d-dea."
As Lute's ideas were always worth listening to,
the others listened intently.
Dig a trench," he said, and sink the mud-sill
eight inches. That will cover the broken p-p-parts
of the spilings, and the ragged ends left sticking
up over it wont do any hurt."
"Capital!" Rush exclaimed. "The row of

spilings will guide us in digging the trench and
replacing the sill."
Mart said nothing, but walked with a peculiarly
earnest, expectant look, straight into the river, and
began to feel his way among the spilings with his
clumsy boots,
I believe you're right, Lute !" he said. If it
was a time of low water, we could do it at ebb tide
without any trouble."
The tide was but just coming up now, and yet,
owing to spring rains, the water where he stood
was nearly two feet deep.
It's a bad-working job," said Rush, with only
one pair of Dushee's dug-outs among us! The
water is awfully cold yet. I wish it was later in the
"We can build a temporary dam, just a light
fence to keep the most of the water off, while
we 're at w-w-work," suggested Lute.
"If we had boards enough," said Mart.
Plenty of b-b-boards."
"I don't see that. These old planks are so
split and broken that only a few will do to use
again. And though we have looked out for hav-
ing boards enough on hand to rebuild the dam,
we have n't enough for a temporary dam at the
same time."
"Plenty of b-b-boards," Lute repeated, confi-
dently. Rip the siding off the sheds."
"So we can !" exclaimed Rush. "And put it
back again when the temporary dam comes away."
But Mart raised objections.
The old dam," lie said, "was fifty feet long.
The mill projects into the river twenty feet. That
makes something like seventy feet from bank to
bank. And the temporary dam would have to be
three or four boards high, to keep the water from
pouring over."
"I don't propose to build from bank to bank,"
Lute explained. I would start the temporary
dam at the corner of the mill, just above the per-
manent one, and run it across a little diagonally,
to give us room to work between them."
"But the water will come tearing under, I
know said Rush.
"Yes, it will b-b-bother us. But we can stop it
with more boards, and relieve the pressure by
letting it through the mill-sluice. That's one ad-
vantage of starting the temporary dam at the
corner of the mill. It wont take long to drive
stakes and string it across."
Still Mart objected, believing that the temporary
dam would cause more trouble than it would save,
and preferring to work in the water.
The difficulties in the way of either plan were
formidable enough. The brothers were still argu-
ing the question, when Letty came to tell them


that, for their mother's sake, they must come in to
their supper, which had been a long while waiting.
Well," said Mart, it's so late we can't do
much more, as I see; and we can talk over plans
in' the house as well as here."
The supper-table conversation, that evening,
was wonderfully cheerful and quiet, considering
the circumstances. The wrong which had been
done them knit more closely the sympathies of
mother and children; they were never before so
united, hardly ever so happy. The spirits of the
young men had risen to meet the emergency;
their hearts had grown great.
The more I think of it," said the widow, with
glistening eyes, the more thankful I am that you
were not at home this afternoon. If you had been,
we should not be sitting here together now, all safe
and well, with clear consciences and sound limbs -
I am sure we should not "
I am frightened when I think what might have
happened!" said Letty. "What if one of you
had been hurt, as I know you would have been,
before the dam could ever have been torn out!"
We should n't have looked on with our hands
in our p-p-pockets," said Lute, soaking a crust of
dry toast in his chocolate. That is n't the T-t-tink-
ham style."
"Or suppose you had hurt somebody else?"
said the mother; perhaps fatally, and were now
in jail, with the terrible prospect of a trial! Oh !
how much better we can afford to lose a little of
our property, or even all, and begin the world
again with clean hands. We have suffered a great
wrong, but that is better than to have done even a
little wrong. We wont complain of Providence as
long as our hope and strength and love remain,
and we are left to one another."
"I don't know what makes me so glad! ex-
claimed Letty. "I never was so proud of my
brothers. I never felt so sure that they would
come out all right at last! "
It's no use giving in to t-t-trifles," said Lute.
"We mean to have our dam again, and k-k-keep
it, next time."
"We've been pretty indulgent to the Argonauts,"
said Mart. We 've allowed them two chances at
us- one when we were asleep and one when we
were away. That's about enough. Now let 'em
look out! Piece of gingerbread, please, Letty."

"How long will it take to rebuild the dam?"
Letty asked, as she passed the dish.
Mart was explaining that it would depend upon
circumstances, when Rush spoke up:
"That reminds me of what the policeman said-
some nonsense about an injunction being applied
for at once, to prevent our rebuilding it. They
can't, can they ? "
Say it again," replied Mart. He paused, hold-
ing the gingerbread he was about to break, and
listened seriously while Rush repeated the officer's
words. I don't exactly like that he drawled.
Is there anything in it? cried Rush, in a tone
of alarm.
I don't know, but that 's very likely their
game. Now the dam is torn away, the court may
possibly clap on an injunction to prevent our re-
building it. Then we may have to wait for a long
course of law to decide the matter. I don't know
about it; and while we are waiting to consult Mr.
Keep, their trap may be sprung. I prefer to be
on the safe side."
What is the safe side ? Rush inquired.
An injunction," said Mart, is a writ to pro-
hibit your doing something which somebody com-
plains will damage public or private interests.
Now, suppose, before such a writ is issued, the
thing is done? That's what I call the safe side
for us."
You mean to rebuild the dam before we are
ordered not to rebuild it! said Rush. "But can
we ? The order may come to-morrow morning!"
Yes, or a notice that it has been applied for.
Then the rebuilding would be at our own cost and
peril. Boys," said Mart, starting up, "we have n't
a minute to lose "
"No," said Lute! "There'11 be a moon. We
must w-w-work to-night!"
The brothers were on their feet in a moment,
eager, even to the youngest, to begin the tremen-
dous task of circumventing the enemies of the dam.
Amidst the sudden clatter of chairs and clamor of
voices, the mother uttered her remonstrance.
"Oh, boys," she said, rest to-night and do
your work to-morrow That will be better, I'm
"No, Mother replied Mart, with a quiet laugh.
To-morrow may be too late. We '11 work to-
night, and rest when our work is done."

(To be continued.)




[Decoration lay, 1883.]

. .... "-7.,,', -" -----' ,

I I *1 I .,
U *jp 'ntt.-

I-, .. it

*- .I *.
.- "I. r i,, ":i I .. .I ii :
V C"- --:**
". -i -,,,.., ,,, ,.'. ., .,

-I '

-: -. ..-."

-'7-*!', '"
., Jl,,- '-I" -1 ,-h ,
.: 1, ,. I ,! I .
'- '-'F' _-~"i' ' ......I. ... !..
:" -"" 1-' I I'' "'.- 't, I. t .n I l ,, .I .

"~~ %"~ f!, 1:,,_-,,.1 I _, 1. ,
--":-.-'1'",. ~ i .... .. ... ,,, . .
'H [, : a : i l : [ ,




IT was a hot morning in early June. The sun
shone brightly, the grass was very green, and the
saucy little dandelions looked like dots of gold
thickly sprinkled on the grass. It was all very
bright and very pleasant, but Tommy got very
tired of it all; so he thought he would go and see
Carry Young, who lived just across the church
lawn and the jail-yard, and in a house that was
really part of the jail, for her father was the
county sheriff.
So off he trudged,-a pretty little boy of five
years, with blue eyes and yellow curls, wearing a
brown Holland dress, with a straw hat planted on
the back of his head,- a pailful of dandelions in
one hand, and a wooden shovel in the other. He
had a tussle with the latch of the gate, but at last
he got out, and as soon as he had tugged up to the
top of the church lawn, he saw Carry in the jail-
yard, and he ran over, calling to her. She was

very glad to see him, and they played together for
a long time, till Carry said she was tired and
hot, and was going into the office to get cool, So
they both went indoors. Tommy had never been
in there before, because his mother had always
said that he might play outdoors with Carry, but
must not go into the house. But, this time, he
had somehow forgotten that injunction.
The office was a queer room, with two doors
that went outdoors, and two doors that went in-
doors, and two more doors that were not doors at
all, but iron gates. Tommy went and looked
through one of the gates, and thought it was the
funniest place that he ever saw in his life, for there
was a long, long entry and big windows on one side,
and on the other many other iron gates--only
they were little ones, not nearly so big as the one
he was looking through. He pressed his face
against the bars, and wondered what it was all
for. When he turned around, Carry had gone,
and Mr. Young was just seating himself.
"Would you like to go inside, Tommy?" said
Mr. Young.
Yes, sir," said Tommy.
So Mr. Young took down a big bunch of keys
and opened the gate, and Tommy went in, and
Mr. Young swung the big gate together behind
him and locked it with a great jangling of keys.
Then Tommy was scared, and he puckered up his
forehead and mouth, and big tears came into his
eyes. Mr. Young was watching to see what he
would do, and seeing the tears, said, "'Oh I'll
let you out whenever you want to come."
Then Tommy felt comforted, and concluded
that he would go on and see what sort of a place
he had got into for this little boy was very curi-
ous, and always wanted to find out about things for
himself. So he walked on to the first little gate,
and there he saw a very little room with a bed and
a chair in it, and on the bed was a man who
seemed to be sound asleep. Tommy looked at
him for a little while, but he did n't speak to him,
because he felt sure he must have a headache, or
some illness, to be lying down in the day-time. His
mamma had headaches, and then nobody ever
spoke to her; so he went on to the next gate.
There sat a man leaning forward, his eyes fixed
on the floor, and he was thinking so hard that he
did n't hear Tommy at all as he came softly up
and stood still before him. The man had a sort
of red cap on his head, and a long red dressing-



gown, with a cord and tassel around the middle.
Tommy looked at him very hard, and then
thought to himself, "He's as nice as my papa,
and I guess he's a prince; they wear long red
gowns and things."
The man sat very still, and Tommy looked at
him for what seemed a long, long time, and then
he said, Good-morning, sir."
The man started so that Tommy jumped too,
and dropped his shovel on the floor. But he need
not have been scared, for the man had a pleasant
face and a pleasant, kind voice, and, after looking
at Tommy for a minute with very wide open eyes,
he said: Why, how did you get in here, and how
do you do?"
I'm very well," said Tommy. Mr. Young let
me come in. I play with Carry."
Oh, you do said the man. What do you
play ? And what's your name ? "
Oh, lots o' things. Carry and me has planted
a garden. My name's Tommy. What's yours? "
Mine ?" said the man. "Well, I have n't any
just now."
They chatted on for a minute or two, and then
Tommy said: Let me in there, I want to sit
down. "
A queer look came over the man's face. "I
can't open the door," he said. You sit down on
the floor."
"Why can't you open it?" And Tommy
looked very much puzzled.
"Because it's locked, and I have n't got the
key," said the man; and then he said, half to
himself, "Wish I had."
I'll get the key," and Tommy turned to go
back to the big gate.
No, no," said the man, in a quick, sharp way,
and Tommy looked at him, and was half scared
again. But by the next minute the man looked
as pleasant as he had at first, and so Tommy sat
down on the floor in front of the gate, with his
legs crossed in front, his little pail of fading dande-
lions on one side and his wooden shovel on the
other, and, with a little dimpled hand on each knee,
prepared to have a nice talk--for Tommy was a
very sociable boy.
He looked at the man very intently for a
minute, and then he said, with a solemn look in
his big blue eyes, Have you been naughty? "
The queer look came into the man's face again,
and he said, "'What makes you think so ? "
"'Cause once I was naughty and my mamma
shut me up all alone in the nursery, and I did n't
have a nice door like this. I had a big, hard door,
and I could n't see out at all, and I did n't like it.
-Have you been naughty say ?"
Well," said the man, yes; I' m afraid I have."

"Wont you be good if they 'll let you out ?"
And Tommy looked very serious.
The man looked at Tommy. He looked at
him so hard that Tommy could only stare back at
him, wondering what made him look so, and then
the man said slowly, I don't know."
Oh, yes, you'll be good. Now, say you'll
be good, an' then you'll mean to be good, an'
you can come out," said Tommy, and he shook
his head so that the yellow curls on either side
waved to and fro. The man did n't answer, and
Tommy went on. "Now, you see, when my
mamma shut me up I was an aiufld bad boy,
'cause I bit Ellen one day 'cause she would n't
bring up and put on my shoes, an' my mamma she
sat down by the door, an' she said if I 'd say
really I was going to be good I would be good, an'
so I said really I was, an' she opened the door an'
I came out, an' I 'm a real good boy now. Now,
you say you 'll be good really, an' then I'll go tell
my mamma, an' she '11 open the door."
Just then a man came up, and, opening a tiny
little door in the gate, handed the man a plate
with something on it.
The man took it and put it on the floor. Have
some ?" he said.
"No, thank you," said Tommy, looking scorn-
fully at the plate. That does n't look good like
what we have. Don't you have chicken? We 're
going to have chicken to-day. I saw 'em when I
came out."
No ; they don't have chicken here," said the
man, and he pushed away the plate with his foot,
as if he did n't like the look of it.
"Well, now, you 're going to be good, are n't
you ? and Tommy put on his most coaxing and
winning air.
The man sat very still, and then he suddenly put
his hand through the bars: "Yes," he said, "I
guess I am going to be good. Shake hands on it."
Tommy jumped up in such a hurry that he
spilled all the dandelions, and put his little hand
in the man's big one, and put up his lips for a
kiss, and when the man had kissed him, Tommy
said, Now I'11 go and tell my mamma, an' she '11
let you out." Then he picked up his pail and
shovel, and said, I guess I don't want those
flowers. There 's lots out in our yard," and then
he stood still a minute looking at the man, who
was looking straight at him. Presently Tommy
opened his eyes and mouth wide. Why he
said, "you aint going to cry-you're too big.
Mamma says I'm too big to cry."
"No," said the man; I 'm not going to cry."
And yet Tommy was sure that big tears were in his
eyes. The man put out his hand. Shake hands,"
he said, "and come again some day."


Why, yes said Tommy; but they'll let
you out now 'cause you're goin' to be good. I 'll
tell 'em. Good-bye. I'll come back right off."
And so he went away to the big gate, passing the
room where the man had been asleep. But he
was sitting up then. Good-morning," said
Tommy, stopping a minute. The man lifted a
sullen, cross face, and said, in a very cross voice,
" Get out with you! and Tommy, fairly scared
this time, ran to the gate crying: Oh, let me out!
quick let me out! And Mr. Young let him
out, and, before he could lock the gate again,
Tommy was running home across the garden just
as fast as his legs could carry him, and he never
stopped until he got safely inside the kitchen-door.
And then he was busy with his dinner, and so
busy after his dinner--for he went to the circus-
that he quite forgot about his visit and the poor
man that was locked up, until he was going to bed;
then he said, Oh Mamma, they have such funny
little beds in the jail; and, Mamma, I forgot to tell
you, there 's a man there,-an' he says he '11 be
really good,- an' wont you let him come out
now ? "
Tommy's mother looked very much surprised,
and said, "Why, where have you been, my little
boy ? "
So, although Tommy was very sleepy, he told
about his visit to the man. After Tommy had
finished his story, his mother held him very tight
in her arms for a minute, and then said, But,
Tommy, you know I said you must n't go into
Carry's house."
SWell, I forgot," said Tommy -" I truly did,
and I wont go any more; only, Mamma, do let him
out, 'cause he 's goin' to be good." Tommy was
very, very sleepy, but he found time to wonder,
before he fairly went off into dream-land, why his
mother's eyes and mouth looked so queer when
she leaned over and kissed him good-night.
"Just like crying," he thought, and, the next
minute, was fast asleep. And at about the same time
Mr. Young stood talking to the man in the jail.
So you had a visitor this morning? "
"Yes," said the man, and I spent the best
half-hour with that little fellow that I 've had since
I took up my lodgings in this hole."
Well, good-night," said Mr. Young, and he
went on.
The man threw himself on his bed, but not to
sleep; he tossed- restlessly all night long, and
through the long, narrow window opposite the door
of his cell the very same stars looked in upon him
that looked in on little Tommy, sound asleep in his
crib. He lay flat on his back, with parted lips and
rosy cheeks, one fat arm thrown over his head
and one extended along his side, with his fingers

thrust out of the bars of his crib, that he might put
out his hand to find his mother's if he should wake
in the night.
A day or two after Tommy's visit to the jail, the
man, with whom he had talked so innocently, and
who called himself Williams, was taken to the
court-room for trial. There was little to be said
in his defense, and the evidence against him
was strong. He
was found guilty 'i
of robbing a f
safe, and so the
judge sentenced .
him to five years
at hard labor in
the State-prison
at Charlestown,
Mass. He was
takenl there at
once and put to
Now, this man
had never work-
ed in all his life.
His father was
a rich man, and
had, for years,
given him plen-
ty of money to
spend. But he
got into bad
company, part-
ly because he al-
ways had plen- Il
ty of money in
when he fell in-
to bad company, his father refused to give him
anymore money, and turned him out of his house.
And he had learned to think it easier to steal than
to work; and one night he, with several other
men, robbed a safe; and that was the way he got
into prison.
He suffered dreadfully when he was shut up and
made to work hard, and never allowed to walk out
except in the dreary prison-yard. He tried very
hard to escape, but he and all the other prisoners
were too closely watched for that; and so after
awhile he gave up trying to get away, and worked
faithfully, partly because he was happier when he
was very busy, and partly because he won the
good-will of all the prison officers by so doing,
and once in awhile obtained little favors from
them, such as a little longer walk in the yard on
Sunday, and, after awhile, work that was easier
for him to do.
So two years went by, and one bright summer




day one of his fellow-prisoners came to him and
told him of a plot among them which, if success-
fully carried out, would give him and several more
the liberty they so longed for. But to carry out
the proposed plot it was absolutely necessary to
kill one of the prison officers; then they would take
his keys, and, before the alarm could be given, get
safely away.
What a temptation it was to Williams! He
wanted so much to get out to breathe the free,
fresh air again, for somehow the air even in the
prison-yard did not seem fresh to him, and he was
only there for such a little while every day. But
to kill the turnkey !-That was a dreadful thing to
think of even !-And yet there was no other way
to get out, and he would be free-yes, he would.
So he agreed to the plan, and the last night came.
At the cell three doors below the one occupied by
Williams the keeper was to be stabbed, and then
within an hour twelve men would be free again.
It had been a very, very warm day; the air was
close and heavy and sultry.
Williams lay on his bed, thinking It is the
last night," when he heard the turnkey coming
down the corridor on his evening round of locking
Every step took him nearer to death. Williams
knew it, eleven other men knew it, and he knew
that these men would if they could kill the man
who should even offer to betray them. But the
keeper came on, whistling a tune as he walked.
The tune was commonplace enough, and worn
threadbare by endless repetition in singing, whist-
ling, and organ-grinding--only the old tune of
" My Mary Ann"; but it saved his life.
For, as the keeper came whistling on, Williams
listened, and then noiselessly sprang off his bed,
while great drops of perspiration gathered on his
forehead, although he no longer felt the heat, but
seemed to have grown suddenly ice-cold.
He saw once more a little face looking in between
the bars of his cell-door, and heard a sweet young
voice that said, Well, you're going to be good
now? "
Why did he think of that little innocent face
just at that moment? Because on that day when

Tommy had been to see him, and just after he had
passed out of sight, with his yellow curls and
big hat and faded dandelions, an organ-grinder
in the street had stopped and played that tune,
and he had heard it very faintly-but clearly
enough to forever associate it with Tommy and
his visit.
Going to be good ?" Yes, he had said he was
"going to be good." And yet that very night he
was going to be bad-aye, worse than he had ever
been !
Tommy's little face grew more and more plain
before his eyes. "Going to be good--going to
be good now" seemed to be shouted in the air
as Williams stood leaning against the wall of his
cell. The keeper came on; he was the next cell
but one above at the next at Williams's own;
in a second he would be gone -it would be too
late. He had already shot the bolt and turned the
key, when Williams, standing in the shadow, with
his finger on his lips, whispered, Stop !" He did
not dare to show himself at the grating, but again
he whispered Stop !" The keeper heard, and
halted with his hand on the lock, bending his head
slightly to listen, while Williams, tremblingly and
half under his breath, told him all the truth. Then,
as the low whisper ceased, the keeper stared wildly
for a moment, but, recovering himself, said aloud,
in careless tones, I '11 get it for you," and with a
quiet, steady step walked back the way he had come.
There was nothing strange in that, for he often
went back for a book or to attend to some question
of a prisoner, as it was his last round for the night;
and so the men, farther down the hall, who were in
the plot thought nothing of it, and waited. But when
he came back there was a tread of many feet, and he
had brought a strong guard with him. The eleven
men were put in solitary confinement, and Williams
received from the governor of the prison his most
hearty thanks. Within a month he was pardoned
out and once more free, and he really did become
a good man. He went away to a foreign country,
where no one knew his story, and from that day to
this he has led a perfectly upright life. And this
is what came of Tommy's visit to the jail; and the
story is a true one.


Y J're WaS a .nife o( bdar. 4e fid o&& f wose degPs

- J '; 'i- to tihnk of preny poems as fie (y awa&e o'gni9ts

Slonce cOmpose an oe, said h"ie, tat no one could! eclipse.

2'i/c0 woud rave cause royname to le forever on men's tjs,

4 o len lt coneV t lan ,ln y.

I caufdn{ recoffect a word / i


" I'", -



but, w her. 4in, I c ,,i"r i"

' Nw wasnf



/, A





AS THE days flew past, the happy yeomen of the
greenwood spent most of the time in hunting.
They roved through the shady forests, with their
strong bows in their hands, killing many fine deer
and a great number of birds. Their bowstrings
twanged musically at every shot, and their feath-
ered arrows fairly whistled through the air.
Meantime, the Sheriff of Nottingham issued a
proclamation inviting all the good bowmen of the
country to meet on his field for a grand day of
target-shooting. He offered as the principal prize
a silver arrow, feathered and pointed with gold.
Hearing of this, Robin Hood called his men
together, and bade them get ready to attend the
meeting and contest for the splendid prize. This
delighted the jolly yeomen, and they at once set
to selecting their best bows and arrows, and their
gayest hoods and kirtles for the occasion. Nor did

they fail to practice at the distances to be shot, so as
to be able to do themselves credit at the match.
It must have been a pleasing sight when Robin
and his men set out for Nottingham. The com-
pany numbered one hundred and forty strong and
comely fellows, the best archers in the world, all
dressed in uniforms of green, and bearing bows of
yellow yew that shone in the sun like gold. They
were confident of success, and sang merry ballads
of life in the greenwood as they marched along.
When they reached Nottingham, they found a
broad, level field set with rows of butts one hundred
yards apart. Against these butts, or walls of sod,
were placed the marks at which the archers were
to shoot. The proud Sheriff was there superin-
tending the proceedings, surrounded by a large
number of his boldest followers and best bowmen.
Robin and his yeomen marched into the field,
relying upon the Sheriff's oath for protection from
The bugles sounded gayly, calling the archers to
their places to begin the merry contest. Bows
began to bend, and bowstrings to ring, and ar-

* Copyright, 1883, by Maurice Thompson.




rows to fly, well aimed at the shining white willow
wands which served for the marks. Robin Hood's
very best archers were five in number: Little John,
Much, Gilbert of the white hand, Reynold, and
Scathelock. They beat every bowman on the
field, save Robin himself, who split the wand at
every shot. The Sheriff stood by the butt at which
Robin aimed, and watched his shooting
with admiration and amazement. The i-. |
stalwart archer's arm was as steady as
a r.niw., Ind hi? c -- I? Tirare nd 1-c-n i. i

Lb,- r,. i h... ,r. r: ,: :., :1 -,I i r..|l Ip- _

have broken your oath to me! When I had you
in my power I did not thus treat you I fed you
and let you go. I have depended on your oath
and your honor, and you have proven false. Shame
upon you I "
By this time, all Robin's men had formed in
a body and began retreating toward the forest,
showering their arrows upon their enemies as they


'' "'

_',' i._ 7 ,

I,, ;
i ,,, ,,, :- -
I': ---

~ 9-
- IN

( ) went. Little John could not
walk-he was so hurt -and
r was about to fall into the
I Sheriff's hands,
: .-- j when Much, the
S .i-'-- miller's powerful
:' son, picked him
up and carried
- him, occasionally
j. putting him down
to launch an arrow
S- at the pursuers.
he Sheriff was determined
.: take Robin Hood, dead or
I hve. He roused all his men
.- id followed closely. The good
S ..omen were greatly outnum-
S. r red, and there was danger of
I rh-ir spending all their arrows.
,' l',il R .:.brn =: thl .-: ..i .:. 1,

' .1- ii -

draw back the cord .
of his powerful yew
bow until the feather
ofhis arrowtouched ROBIN HOOD AND HIS MEN
the tip of his right TAKE REFUGE IN THE CASTLE.
ear, then an instant's pause for aim, and, with
a "twang," away would fly the whizzing ar- -7
row, to strike the very center of the mark a
hundred yards away No one could compare
with him. He won the silver arrow, which he
received from the hand of the Sheriff.
It was now growing late, and Robin called his
company together to depart for the greenwood,
when suddenly horns began to blow on all sides,
and the Sheriff and his villainous followers attacked
our yeomen, with intent to kill or capture them all.
An arrow struck Little John in the knee, wounding
him severely.
"Treason! Treason! cried Robin Hood,
shaking his bow at the treacherous Sheriff. You
VOL. X.-37.

pressed, he suddenly came in sight of a strong
castle situated in the edge of the forest. This
was the home of the knight to whom Robin had
lent the four hundred pounds. He was called Sir
Richard at the Lea. The gentle and honorable
knight was glad to do Robin and his men a good
turn, so he took them into his castle and closed
the gates, and would not let the Sheriff in. The
latter tried to take the castle by siege: but, find-



ing this impossible, he withdrew his men and went
off to appeal to the King.
In the meantime, Robin and his merry men re-
turned to the greenwood, after receiving bountiful
kindness from the grateful knight.
About this time Edward I. had succeeded Henry
III. on the throne of England, and it was to him
that the proud Sheriff went to appeal. The King
said that in a short time he should be coming
up to Nottingham, when he would capture both
Robin Hood and the knight Sir Richard at the Lea.
The Sheriff was very angry when, on returning
from his interview with the King, he round that
Robin Hood and his men had again taken to the
greenwood, but he dared not do anything until he
was sure of success. So he set about watching for
a chance to take Sir Richard at the Lea by sur-
prise, which he succeeded in doing one day when
the knight was out hawking. He ordered his men
to bind poor Sir Richard upon a horse, and so
took him in disgrace along the streets of Notting-
ham. But Sir Richard's wife hastened into the
greenwood, and informed Robin Hood of what had
befallen her husband. Then Robin blew his bugle,
and his sevenscore of yeomen hastened to gather
around him. They were eager to rescue the gen-
tle knight, whom they greatly loved. They bent
their tough yew bows, and killed their baldrics with
arrows. The greenwood echoed with the mur-
mur of their voices and the sounds of their prepara-
tions for the coming attack.



THE proud Sheriff rode along the streets of
Nottingham, his trumpeters blowing their trum-
pets in sign of triumph, because he had captured
the gentle knight, Sir Richard at the Lea, and
the King's archers rode along with him, treating
the poor, bound prisoner with great cruelty and
"Now, if I could get Robin Hood," said the
Sheriff, I should be happy."
Scarcely had he spoken, when there came the
sound of more than sevenscore bowstrings twang-
ing at once, and immediately a flight of arrows
along the street struck down a number of his men.
Turning about, he saw Robin Hood and his com-
pany charging down upon him with loud cries.
The Sheriff, though dishonorable and mean,
was not a coward. He drew his sword, and forth-
with prepared to attack Robin Hood.
Stop cried Robin, drawing his bow; stop
and speak with me. What did the King say when
you went to him ?"

But the proud Sheriff did not deign to answer
him, nor to stop when he bade him. Flourishing
his sword he still advanced. And then it was that
Robin Hood let fly an arrow, killing him on the
The gentle knight was soon released from his
bonds, and went with Robin and his men to dwell
in the greenwood, until such time as it should be
safe for him to return to his castle. He was given
a bow and arrows, and was taught all the ways of
the merry forest yeomen.
The hunting season came on, and the seven-
score archers, with Robin and the gentle knight,
roamed from grove to grove and made great
slaughter of the deer. They feasted under the
greenwood tree, and had a merry time; but they
never forgot to help and protect the poor. When-
ever they heard of a husbandman who was op-
pressed by the rich, they went to him, and ca"'e
him money and gifts of venison.
Meantime, King Edward came to Nottingham
with a strong company of brave knights and finely
equipped soldiers. He was very angry when he
found that his Sheriff had been killed; wherefore
he at once confiscated the estates and goods of the
gentle knight, and began scouring the woods to
capture Robin and his men. In the wood called
Plompton Park, he discovered that his deer had
nearly all been slain by the merry bowmen. This
doubled his wrath, and he offered to give all the
gentle knight's land to whoever would smite off
the head of Sir Richard at the Lea and bring it
to him. But the presence of the King at Notting-
ham could not frighten Robin, nor could the King
and all his troops keep the yeomen from killing the
deer, the pheasants, and the other game in the
forest and streams.
Edward I. was not, in Robin Hood's estimation,
a bad king. The outlaw had been desirous of
making a friend of him ever since he had come to
the throne -a friendship which had been prevented
by the Abbot of Saint Mary's and the Sheriff of
Nottingham. On the other hand, Edward was a
great admirer of bravery, and looked upon the
prowess and exploits of Robin and his men through
the rosy mists of a fervid imagination.
It was not long before the King and the master
yeoman met in the greenwood under most romantic
circumstances, as we shall see in a later chapter.



ROBIN HOOD sometimes did wrong, and at such
times, as is usually the case with those who will-
fully misbehave, he received evil in return.



One day, he met a strange-looking beggar in the
road. The fellow was covered with many thick-
nesses of rags, or clouts; in fact, his cloak was so
patched and repatched that, in its thinnest part, it
was more than twenty-fold. His hat was really
three hats put together so as to form one heavy
covering for his head. He carried a sack of meal
swinging from his neck by a leather strap, fastened
by a strong buckle.
It was near night-fall when Robin stepped out of
the woods, and called to the beggar to stop and

aside your ragged old cloak and offer no further
resistance. Untie your sack, and let me see what
is in it, and, if you make any noise, I will see
what effect a broad-headed arrow can have on a
beggar's hide!"
But the beggar only grinned at the outlaw, and
very quietly said:
"You 'd better let me alone. I 'm not afraid of
your bent stick and little pointed shafts, which are
only fit for pudding-skewers. If you offer me any
harm, I 'll baste you till you'11 be glad to let me go."

talk awhile with him. But the clouted tramp paid
no heed to his words, and walked right on as if he
had not heard.
Stop when I speak to you! cried Robin,
growing angry.
I wont do it," responded the beggar, quite
boldly. It is some distance to where I lodge, and
I don't care to miss my supper."
Lend me some money," jeeringly cried Robin.
"I must have supper, too."
I 've no money for you," responded the beg-
gar, gruffly. "You are as young as I, and you seem
lazy and good-for-nothing. If you wait for your
supper till I give you money to buy it, you '11 be
apt to fast the rest of the year "
This last speech made Robin very angry.
"If you have but one farthing," he exclaimed,
" I '11 take it from you. So you may as well lay

Robin at once flev into a towering passion, and
bent his bow to shoot the beggar; but, before he
could draw an arrow, the clouted tramp struck at
him with his oak staff and knocked his bow into
splinters. Robin drew his sword; but, before he
could use it, the beggar struck his sword hand,
disabling it, and knocking the weapon away. Poor
Robin was in a bad fix. The sturdy vagrant now
fell upon him, all defenseless as he was, and be-
labored him mightily. He basted his head, his
shoulders, his back, his legs, till at last Robin fell
down senseless.
"0 fie stand up, man Don't lie down to
sleep this time o' day! Wait till you get my
money, and then go to your tavern and be
merry!" shouted the beggar, in derision; and
thinking Robin was dead, he trudged on his way,
not caring a whit for what he had done.

.... "

I 'N'
" :- '''" I ,i 1 ', ",
' i i I' -
' ";"1 L + I ' *.,1

_' -. -. 1' '. .
I," ,V.- ,' 1 I -' $

i -,, ..

.1' IIr ~
I, r
II-. ; 7 .r .. '
:7: I ."'*

I -. I I ,
I, / 4,,

I. ., '
''* ^ .i 1, .
IE 1 11 *1' -. ^ ^ llO 1I




Shortly after, Little John, Much, and Scathe-
lock came up to where Robin lay. He was moan-
ing and writhing, the blood flowing freely from his
basted head. They poured cold water on his face,
chafed his hands, and finally restored him to con-
"Ah!" he exclaimed with a deep sigh, "I never
before was so thrashed. It is forty years that I
have wandered in the greenwood, but no man ever
so mauled my back as has that beggar whom you
see trudging away up the hill yonder. I did not
think he could do me any harm, but he took his
pikestaff and beat me so that I fear I never shall
be well again. If you love me, you will run and
catch him and fetch him back to me. But beware
of his staff: get hold of it first, or he '11 pound the
life out of all of you."
"Never fear," said Little John; "Scathelock
and I will take him. Much may stay and take
care of you."
So the two seized their bows and ran after the beg-
gar, who was leisurely pursuing his way over the dis-
tant hill. They did not go along the road, however,
but took a route through the woods, and, running
very fast, got ahead of their victim and hid on each
side of the road. When the beggar came on they
sprang out, Little John catching hold of his staff and
Scathelock holding drawn daggerbefore hisbreast.
"Give up your staff, or I '11 slay you on the
spot cried Scathelock.
The beggar let go his staff, which Little John
stuck in the ground hard by.
Don't kill me cried the beggar in a whining
voice. I never did you harm."
"You have nearly killed our master, who lies

back yonder by the road," exclaimed Little John.
" Come along with us, that he may give you your
sentence 1"
"Now," said the beggar, assuming a different
tone, I know you are honest fellows, and do not
wish to harm me for acting in self-defense. If you
will let me go, I will give you a hundred pounds in
good money which I have in my bag."
To this proposition Little John and Scathelock
agreed. It was a wicked thing; for they intended
to get his money and then take him all the same.
So they bade him count out the money.
The beggar took off his cloak and spread it upon
the ground. Then he unslung his meal-bag and
put it in the middle of the cloak. Little John and
Scathelock drew close, to see him count out the
good money. As they did so, the beggar thrust
his two hands into the bag, and taking up a lot of
meal in each he dashed it into the eyes of Little
John and Scathelock. They were blinded so that
they could do nothing but dance about and rub
their faces. The beggar quickly seized his staff
and began thrashing them terribly. He rapped
them over the head, he basted their backs, he
belabored their broad shoulders till the woods
resounded with the heavy blows.
As soon as they could escape, Little John and
Scathelock took to their heels and ran.
It was with great shame that they returned to
Robin and reported the result of their adventure.
The chief laughed at them, and they all three felt in
their hearts that they had got no more than they
had deserved. They had broken their rules in
attacking a poor man, and had been soundly pun-
ished in turn.

(To be continued.)



SAID Ted: "I 've brought my father's boots--
He wants to have them mended."
The cobbler laid aside his awl
And to the boy attended.
"Vot vill he haf?" the cobbler asked--
"Are dey half-solt to be?"
"Half-soled?" said Ted, with wondering eyes-
"Half-soled? Why, let me see."
He stood in thought, and then ere long,
With brightening face, began:
" I do not think so, sir, because
He 's called a whole-souled man!"






^^e iote

_ j^ ___







SKYVILLE is very up and very down; Morehouse. He was the old inhabitant of the region;
in fact, there is nothing but ups -. all the houses to the right of him and to the
and downs in the village. -- left of him were new, and the long streets
Around about it, hills --T '.t-,1ULLL. oine down into the village were new,

s ut I r, 1: I. '- .. .. f -
rru, i ll . ..
sn)1ar r

.. ... iI k i l d .

about fifty feet above the lake. From this the new houses on one of the
.wide and strong, and flanked by barns, store- odd relationship arose one Sunday, when the
houses, corn-crib, and windmill,-lived Farmer children were mere infants, in a church in the city
A i"ulahi. I.-.


LLA I l.. .

An 1 d h.1.- .. h r dv, I1ii~1 pi, n r on of

wide and strong. and flanked by barns, store- odd relationship arose one Sunday, -hen the
houses, corn-crib, and windmilllived Famer children were mere infants, in a church in the city
long hill vilg-w r, un__.. i- sh rl med.,e r rb n la ad wr ,i.n reality,
next" hill--'--: gon up. not eve cosis bthealysai(iher n
--n th far -hos on th-ihaodado h te)"W r ats itr. hsvr
wide2- and. strong an lne ybrs tr-;'}.'L. od eainhpaoeoeSna,_'- w-he lthe
houses, corn-crib, an~idil- amrcide eemr nat,- in:-: a.. churc in the, city




of Hartford, through the rite of baptism; and as
they grew older they laid claim to each other, and
told the children and their teacher, when they
moved to Skyville, "We are sisters."
Why don't you live together, then ? they were
asked. Their invariable reply, 'Cause we are
Baptist sisters," mystified and awed the children,
while it greatly pleased the teacher.
I regret to write it, but the spirit of reverence
was so slight in the young Skyvillains that they
shortened the namws Ora Arabella Morehouse and
Alta Maud Whittlesey to Ora Bap and Alta Bap.
" Bap Bap new-comers would question, when
they first heard this queer appellation. That is
a new name in this region. Where did the Baps
come from? "
Now, Ora had a snug little fortune, all her own,
that had been left to her by her father, and her
grandfather was her guardian. Ora herself would
have divided every penny she had with her Baptist
sister: for the Whittleseys had met with sore mis-
fortune, losing thereby all their possessions. The
family had come to Skyville to begin life anew.
The father and three sons worked in a great mill.
Even the mother and Alta Maud helped by taking
work home from the mill to do, by which they
could add sometimes seventy-five cents and some-
times a dollar a day toward paying for the bright
new house that had been-built for them by one of
the mill-owners. The Whittleseys were fired by
but one ambition-to get the house paid for.
Everything was going on prosperously to that
end; the house was nearly paid for, when-
But I must wait a little, to tell what did happen.
Grandfather Morehouse intended to be very wise
and very economical with Ora's money; but he
had a way, common with grandparents, of indulg-
ing the little elf almost to the extent of her wishes.
One day in June, Ora made known her wish for
a boat. It must be just large enough, but none
too big, to hold her Baptist sister and herself; it
must be very light blue, with a gold edge, and one
oar must have a blue blade, and one a golden
blade, both with white handles, and Ora was
to be put in gold letters on the blue blade, and
Alta" in silver letters on the gold blade. "And
Grandpa," she added, the name of the boat is to
be 'The Baptist Sisters.' "
"Ora," said Mr. Morehouse, do you know
what the boys will call your boat ? "
'The Bap,'of course," said Ora; "but we don't
care, not a bit, if only that we have the boat."
And you really think I am going to order such
a grandiose affair for you ?-do you, child ? Have
you any idea of the cost of a gew-gaw like that ?"
"I don't know what grandiose means exactly,
Grandpa, but look here," and the child tugged out

of a small pocket in her dress a catalogue from a
boat-building establishment, profusely illustrated
with cuts of boats, and containing glowing descrip-
tions of the same.
Here 's my boat Just fifty dollars, Grandpa,
only, maybe, 't would be a little more with the
gold painting on it. I found this up by the boat-
house on the lake. I suppose it was lost by some
of the gentlemen who came up from New York to
Grandpa Morehouse put the little book into his
pocket and walked off toward the big corn-field,
without saying another word.
That was in June. The fifteenth of July was
Ora's eleventh birthday. Vacation began on the
Saturday before The Fourth," so that there had
been about two weeks of it when the time came.
Alta was at work in the morning of that day out
under a quince-bush-the only thing about the
new house that gave shade; and that was there
rather by accident than through any care or fore-
sight of the Whittleseys.
Ora went in search of Alta, and begged her to
come out and play.
You must come," she said.
But my work replied Alta. I 'm trying
so hard to earn fifty cents to-day. I shall have
earned thirty when I have finished this card."
"It's too bad you have to do it at all'; and just
to-day, Alta- come away for to-day, and stay with
me to dinner. Where is your mother? Let me
ask her," pleaded Ora.
No no cried Alta. Please don't say one
word about it. Come back here, and I will tell you
something. On Saturday, Papa is going to make a
payment on this house, and we have all been try-
ing, as hard as we can, to make up two hundred
dollars. Father and the boys were counting it all
up, afid they wanted ten dollars more. Mother
and I never said one word, but we meant all the time
to surprise them by having a ten-dollar bill ready
for them that day. Don't you see ?-And we can't
do it without working every minute ? "
"Really? exclaimed Ora, with sudden enthu-
siasm. What is the use of birthdays when houses
are to be paid for? Give me a thimble and let me
help. I can sew on buttons."
I have only this thimble, Ora, and Mother's is
a great deal too large for you."
Then, I'll run up home and fetch mine, and
sew with you," said Ora.
As the one young girl sped up the hill, the other
one never lifted her eyes from her work, but
steadily sewed button after button on the white
cards, until she had fastened six dozen of them in
place. Dear me! she sighed at last. Here
I have been working away- two dozen on a card,


six cards to a gross, and all for four cents. It
takes seven thousand five hundred stitches to earn
one dollar! But we must n't .give up, and we
shall have such a good time when we hand the
money over to Father and the boys."
Alta did not see Ora come tearing down the hill,
her hair flying, her collar loose, her face fairly
glowing with some new excitement, but she did
hear her voice crying joyously:
Oh, come -come home with me It 's come !
It's come "
What 's come ?" questioned Alta.
Oh, my boat, my boat! And, Alta Whittle-
sey, I say you are to come this minute and see it!
Here Grandpa gave me this, and you.are going
to have it to help make out. See? Catch it! "
And a big silver dollar jingled among the buttons.
"I never even stopped to take one look, at the
boat; did n't want to see it till you did. Come,
come !" Ora was dancing up and down, and
just bubbling over with the joy of anticipation.
Ora!" cried Alta.. "I sha'n't take your
money-your birthday gift."
"Yes, you will," affirmed Ora; and the contro-
versy went on until it was finally decided by Ora,
who impetuously flung the silver dollar into the
well, saying, "Now, it may stay there until some-
body needs it enough to go down and get it."
Ten minutes later, the Baptist sisters were hur-
rying up the height, hand in hand, to see the new
boat. It had arrived during the time of Ora's first
visit to Alta, and the child's unexpected return
for a thimble (which was utterly forgotten) disap-
pointed Mr. Morehouse, who wished Ora to
have her first sight of the boat after it had been
launched. It had been brought in an ox-cart up
the hills from the railroad station in the valley.
When the two girls reached the farm-house, ox-
cart, boat, and all had gone on to the lake.
It was but two minutes' run down the hill to the
lake's edge, and so on to the place where the boat
lay. It was ready for the final shove that sent it
into the water, and they were in time to see it go,
and to behold, in golden letters on its stern, the
words, "The Baptist Sisters"-a name that had
puzzled the boat-makers greatly. Ora was so
pleased and glad that she seized her Grandfather's
hand and kissed it.
Mr. Morehouse remarked that, if Ora and Alta
were sisters, why, then, they must both be his
grandchildren, whereupon Alta seized his other
hand and kissed that. Then it was suddenly
discovered that the bonny blue boat, with the
golden-bladed oars, could not be used that after-
noon, because it leaked a little, and must stay in
the water a day or two until the seams closed.
After that, Alta and Ora decided to spend the

afternoon in the boat-house, sewing on buttons.
The.afternoon was warm and bright and lovely;
the lake was lightly stirred by the breeze that came
over it, and busy young hands made haste to earn
the pennies, until, suddenly, from the depths of
the village below, came up to them the screech of
the great brass-mill whistle, followed by the sound
of the clock-shop gong; and then all the lesser
steam-tongues and bell-tongues of the town were
set going, to tell that six o'clock had come.
* Alta and Ora went home to, tea, and, after that,
they met once more just as the sun was sinking
and the shadows had settled down on the lake.
They had come to say good-night, and to take one
more look at the graceful blue boat rocking itself
to sleep-home-sick, perhaps, but still rocking
itself into the shadows of night.
It's too bad, Ora, and I feel very sorry about
it," said Alta, at the farm-house gate, that I
have n't done one single thing to make it pleasant
for you to-day."
"Oh, yes, you have," said Ora. "You have
given me the pleasure of planting a silver mine in
a well, as well as of earning a few pennies for you.
Was n't it fourteen cents I earned to-day? You
wait until I am of age, and then see what I will
"Just ten years! laughed Alta. "Why, you
may be married before then. I don't think I had
better wait, do you? Good-night. It looks as
though we were going to have a thunder-shower.
I must hurry home." And the Baptist sisters
kissed each other good-night -Alta passing under
the creaking blades of the windmill, and Ora
entering the old farm-house door, with a vague,
hungry feeling in her heart for a real sister, who
could stay all night and every night with her.
Grandmother Morehouse and Aunt Matilda had
been making butter that afternoon. They were
sitting in the gloaming on the veranda overlook-
ing the lake, and watching the gathering clouds in
the west, when Ora went in search of them.
It will be a dark night," said Mrs. Morehouse.
It looks ugly," said Miss Matilda. "We will
go in."
They went in and closed the doors. Meanwhile,
up from the great brass-mill had come Mr. Whit-
tlesey and his sons. This was Friday night, and
on the morrow the payment was to be made.
After supper was over, Mrs. Whittlesey and Alta
sat down to count over their week's work, and Mr.
Whittlesey read the morning paper. The boys
went upstairs, having said good-night, and the
house was very still.
There were ten houses on that fifteenth of July
on one of the streets leading down from the farm-
house to the village. Eight of the houses had barns



belonging to them. The Whittleseys lived in
the third house. In the ten houses were forty-
six persons, at the very moment that Ora and her
Aunt Matilda, standing by a window looking down
upon the lake, saw it become, as it were, a sea of
fire. Suddenly, it was lifted up and opened out

- .<-t 4.-,.

2t~_ -J -

in mountain waves of flame," that rolled into sound
- an awful sound ten thousand sounds; and then
the house seemed caught up was caught up into
flame and wind and wave, and dashed into frag-
ments. Old, old elm-trees had their hearts torn

into shreds as fine as hair, and their branches
braided together like the strands of a cable.
Farmer Morehouse came to himself in the midst
of his pig-pen; Mrs. Morehouse was found under
a feather-bed, unharmed; Miss Matilda returned
to consciousness across the field, in the midst of up-

i .::vf )

--I'_ -

4. -

1. )

J.L'= "

., ut ned trees;
\. I-,, le Ora Ara-
bI-11tI and the
w idmill were
i..r..d togeth-
S Ora all in
..,: piece, the
.:l, iti! n -.r.r- .'..i I. ri.- ch ed. It
-: .: i ,.. ,, .- h [, : :,. .I .: i them and
,:,r .! ., ... s ,t i l. ..- !!i 11
i ..:,,.: 1.1,.,-:-: 0.:tn.- : tlI.:l rh,- ti n ,.:, and th en
.' ,.: *[, I'-. ... r .: :.... i ., t r ,alse in the
ir -- ri1, .:.,,. ...._ i ,, ._ .:, I i:h.-..i 1.,,,i i or candles
anywhere. Neighbors, appalled by the sound of
wind and wave, came hurrying to the scene. And
such a scene as it was Not one entire article of
furniture; not one unbroken bit of crockery; not
one door in all the house but lay shattered on the
ground. The great stone chimney, the mighty
frame of oak, lay burst asunder and helpless; the
very stones of the old cellar were loosened from the
As, one by one, the members of the family gath-
ered in sorry plight, dripping fragments of gar-
ments clinging to them, conscious only of the glad
fact that they were saved alive, the news began to



be brought up the hill that Peter Brown's house
was gone and the widow Blim's and the Whit-
tleseys'; and then up came Will Whittlesey with
the astonishing news that there was n't a house
left on the street, nor a barn, nor ahorse, nor a cow,
nor anything but a few stumps of trees; the folks
had been blown out of the houses, but nobody
killed, he believed; he could assure Ora that Alta
was all right, anyhow.
Such a night as it was! Skyville had seen the
hills above it wrapped in flame and had heard the
cyclone's awful voice, and it hurried to the scene in
the dead stillness of the July night, to offer aid and
sympathy to the suddenly houseless families.
While the Morehouse group was still clinging
together, the women weeping convulsively, and
Mr. Morehouse and the farm-men anxious to see
what had become of the cattle, a curious sound,
smothered and unreal, crept through a mass of
hay near by. Vigorous hands sought out the
source, and found that a cow lay beneath. Being
released, the creature got up and walked away into
the corn-field, with no fence to hinder.
Only three persons out of the forty-six that were
within the ten houses had received serious injury.
Wonderful, indeed, had been the escapes.
Ora and Alta went to different parts of the town
to sleep that night, and did not meet until the next
morning. It was very early, not more than half-
past three in the July dawn, when the owners of
the late houses were astir on the premises, seeking
out whatever of value the wreck might have in
keeping for them. Such a sight as it was! Look-
ing up the hill from below, there was nothing to
be seen but eighteen piles of what appeared to be
Ora and Alta were up before five, and, both
hurrying at once to the scene of the tornado, they
met at the foot of the hill. They rushed together
and kissed each other, Alta gasping, "Isn't it
just awful?" and Ora crying, "What shall we
I would n't mind so much about the house
and the money that was to be paid to-day, and
everything," whimpered Alta, if it was not for
"What is the matter with her?" asked Ora,
S"Why, did n't you hear?" said Alta, keeping
back her tears with difficulty. She went out too
near the seeding-machine, and it fell on her and
cut her dreadfully. Dr. Carson has her all wrapped
up in bandages, and says she must n't move for
ever so long. But everybody has been so kind to
take us in and give us everything we need, that
I don't feel nearly so bad about it as I did at
first. And, Ora Morehouse, don't tell anybody, but

just look at my foot. I would n't tell of it, 'cause
the others had so many hurts." Alta sat down
beside a great pile of hay by the roadside and
drew off her boot. Her stocking was stiff with
blood, and her foot black and swollen, as she held
it up to the gaze of Ora.
You shall come with me up to Deacon Pratt's
this very minute, and Aunt Matilda will do it up
for you. You ought n't. to take a single step on
it," advised Ora.
Hello, there You, Alta! Did you save that
foot out of the tornado?" asked Tommy Glade,
suddenly making his appearance from around the
"Aren't you ashamed of yourself, Tommy?"
cried Ora. To make fun of us, just because your
house was left!"
Well," said Tommy, our barn was n't left,
anyhow, for this is all there is of it-this lot of
hay. And, if you '11 believe it, a carpet that was
tight down on Polly Green's sitting-room floor
went right through on the very tip-top of the tor-
nado; and where do you suppose it is now?"
Where is it ?" questioned Alta and Ora, in the
same breath.
As sure as I live and breathe, girls, that car-
pet is wrapped around John Stone's chimney, a
mile and a half over the hills across yonder. Well,
Alta Whittlesey, your foot did get a bang," he
went on.
"Did you see the wind coming? asked Ora of
See it coming laughed the boy. I heard
it, after it had gone. I just looked out, and every-
thing was all fire; the air was burning up, and
then things went bang!-bang !-bang!-as
quick as that, and it was all over; and a minute
afterward it was so still that you 'd have thought
the whole world had fainted away. Tell a fellow
how you got out, girls ?"
Ora could n't remember anything about it, and
all that Alta knew was that she saw the fire, and,
thinking that the house had been struck by light-
ning, she caught hold of the door-knob to get
out, and the next she knew she was on the ground
by John Knox's house. And," said she, "every
time I tried to get up off the ground, the waves
knocked me down again."
I 'm mighty glad we did n't any of us get
killed," remarked Tommy. "Can I help you any?
Where were you going? "
I was going to see if I could n't find something
to save for Mother," said Alta. Father and the
boys staid up all night, hoping to find the money
we had in the house as soon as it was light, and
I'm going now to see if it is found."
The money was not found. Boards, bricks,




stones, fragments of furniture -all were turned
over, but nowhere could be seen the long pocket-
book, containing one hundred and ninety dollars.
Alta's tears came quickly as the two girls went
into the cellar. There lay little heaps of straw-
berries and raspberries and blackberries, amid
broken glass, rings of rubber, and tops of cans.
"Poor Mamma sobbed Alta. She worked
so hard over these, and-and- "
But Alta's and never came to anything more,
for, with an exclamation of delighted surprise, Ora
ran up from the cellar and to Mr. Whittlesey, with
the news, I know where there is vni' money!"

noon. It was in vain. A few silver spoons were
recovered, and other articles of small value. The
long pocket-book had evidently gone abroad on
the wings of the wind. The next day, the town
of Skyville called a meeting of its citizens, and a
generous sum was raised for the present help of
the families that had lost
everything they owned.
It was a mournful sight,
as the days went on, to
see one and
another of _
the home-


' 1 ,1

Alta checked her tears and ran after her, only
to find that Ora had thought of the silver dollar
she had thrown into the well on the day before.
That dollar will stay there" was the reply which
Ora received, and the search went on until near

less ones still going over the ground, hoping to
find something that once had belonged to the old
Farmer Morehouse gathered up the fragments
from his grounds and began to build anew. He


was not dependent on the bounty of his neighbors.
Mrs. Whittlesey's wounds were slowly healing,
while the brass-mill was again the scene of the
labors of her husband and sons, when, one day,
Ora, Alta, and Tommy Glade chanced to meet
on the hill.
"Tommy," said Alta, "did you ever go down
a well? "
Lots on 'em !" answered Tommy. Used to
keep a board-seat in a well to hide on when I
did n't want to go to school."
"Tommy," continued Alta, "I know where
there is a well with a silver dollar in it."
"Wish I did," responded Tommy.
"I'll1 give you a quarter out of it, if you 'll go
down and find it," said -Alta.
"Is it very deep? The water, I mean. Don't
care nothing 'bout how deep the well is," said the
boy, in a reflective tone.
"It is n't very deep," said Alta; "not more
than-I guess- about fifteen feet. We can drop a
string down and find out."
The three children experimented with strings
and nails, and were assured that the water was too
deep for Tommy Glade to enter. Then Ora started
off for a neighboring house and came back with a
looking-glass, and presently the reflected rays of
the sun illumined the depths. The well-curb hav-
ing been blown away, the opening was covered
with boards. Removing these, and sitting as close
to the opening as she dared, Alta looked for the
silver dollar. Ora held the glass, and Tommy
joined in the search.
"Don't see nothing of it," said Tommy, in dis-
gust. Don't believe it's in there."
Tommy Tommy cried Alta. Ora hold
it still right there and Alta peered once
more, and then she jumped up and said: Tommy,
I guess Father and the boys will have to come to
find it. You can go so much faster than I can.
Wont you please run to the mill, as quick as you
can, and tell Father I want him right away, and the
boys, too. You may have the whole of the silver
dollar, when it is found, if you will."
Guess they wont leave work for that," said
Father will come right away if I send for him,"
said Alta, with dignity.
Tommy ran down the hill.
As soon as he was out of hearing, Alta threw her
arms around Ora and began to laugh just as hard
as she could laugh, crying out: Did you see it?
It's there! It's there! and then she giggled so
that Ora, out of patience, exclaimed: You goose !
Of course it 's there. Did n't I throw it in there
myself? "
It's the pocket-book with the money in it that

I mean," giggled Alta. I 'll hold the glass and
let you look; it lies on a stone close to this side
of the well."
Ora peered through the depth and through the
water, and presently fancied she saw something
long, and the least bit like a wallet of her grand-
father's, lying there.
The time seemed long, and yet it was not fifteen
minutes ere three figures, followed by Tommy,
were seen coming up the hill.
Alta and Ora, laughing together, ran down to
meet them.
"It's my lucky dollar," shouted Ora, "that
did it! "
Papa," said Alta," I've found the money "
When -where ? was the cry.
In the well. The pocket-book is in the well.
I've seen it, and Ora's seen it, and it's there! "
Mr. Whittlesey looked, and the boys looked, and
each and every one had to admit that it certainly
was the long pocket-book, and that the strap that
fastened it was in place.
In less than half an hour the money, thoroughly
water-soaked but legible, was in the hands of its
owner; and it was a happy sight for the Whittle-
seys, soon after, to watch the row of bills drying in
front of a bed of coals, between the proud and-
irons that held the line to which the green-
backs were pinned. Before the Skyville bank
closed, at three o'clock, it was placed to the credit
of the man from whom the house had been pur-
"Now, my boys," said Mr. Whittlesey, "we
will begin the world with free hands. We owe no
man any money. Let us be happy."
The next evening, the great brass-mill being
closed, and all Skyville settling down for a good
August night's rest, just as the moon came up and
illuminated the lake, inquiry was made at the San-
dersons', where the Whittlesey family had taken
refuge, for Mr. Whittlesey.
"Papa is n't here, Mr. Pratt," said Alta, who
was sitting near the door-way.
"And you are the little girl who found the
money in the well, they tell me," said Mr. Pratt,
smiling kindly upon her.
"Yes, sir," said Alta.
Well, my dear," said he, would you mind
taking very good care of this little bundle till your
father comes in, and then giving it right to him.
Don't lay it down anywhere and lose it."
Mr. Pratt wrote a few words with a pencil on the
wrapper of the parcel, and, giving it to Alta, went
away. At the gate he turned back, and said,
"Now, be careful."
"Yes, sir," said Alta.
The twilight was quite gone when Mr. Whittle-



sey returned. Alta had staid awake with the little Mr. Whittlesey took the package, and, holding it
parcel under her pillow, waiting for his step in the under the lamp, read aloud these words:
next room. "My FRIEND: When God took that house away, I had an interest
Alta has something that was left for you," said in it that I don't want to give up. Call and see me to-morrow.
his wife. "A. L. PRATT."
"Papa Papa !" cried Alta, running into the The parcel being opened disclosed one hundred
room in her long white night-gown, and holding and ninety dollars, with which sum the Whittleseys,
forth the parcel toward the lamp. "What does he happiest of the blown-out families of Skyville,
mean ? I read it, but I don't know." began the world anew.



THE teacher sat in her silent hall,
Her glance o'er the playground straying,
And marveled much that the children all
Had suddenly ceased their playing.

No frowning faces her eye surveyed,
Or gesture of childish passion,
But eager groups in the old trees' shade,
Debating in merry fashion.

Their roguish whispers betrayed full soon
Fresh planning for romp and riot;
While she, in the languor of sultry June,
Longed only for rest and quiet.

The picnic, promised for pleasant May,
Had been hindered by wind and weather,
So now, to battle againstt more delay,
They were putting their heads together.

A laughing phalanx at length inpoured,
Brave with the noon-tide hour,
Till she thought of the Liliputian horde,
With Gulliver in their power.

No flash of sabers, or roar of guns,
As this enemy took position;
Their "arms" were loving, not warlike ones-
And kisses their ammunition;





.- 'I I';

I -
.._S I 'li
'.4, .1

* I) 'I"

-'F I'-' -
IiI -'r 'I

They asked that the streets of the quaint old town
Should be changed for the hills so airy;
The school-room carpet for mosses brown,
Red-cupped for the elf and fairy !

The cool, deep shade of the fragrant wood,
June skies in their azure splendor,
Were lures that won her to pliant mood,
As well as their pleadings tender.

For a brilliant sunset we longed all day,
Till we voted old Phoebus lazy,
And weather prophets we bored, till they
Declared we would set them crazy.

But morn came, rosy and fair and sweet,
And soon was the air resounding
With joyous voices and restless feet,
And frolic and mirth abounding.


I ,r',"- ._- a'i -' "' "- '' -. ,

.'_ ,'. '. "- .- l-- 0. /, -

t, ,- >.- ., I'' -_ _.

JF FI.FI ''4 &t
I .". .' I. IB I ++7 ,,2 I Iq .. f lllh '+ ''. +: [, 'i\ ,''

_____ 4.

Over ride, and weather, and feast, each one
Spent sagest consideration:
For the joy that's next to the day's own fun
Is the bustle of preparation.

The street seemed brightened with shining eyes,
As the boys and each beaming maiden
Brought baskets, hiding some sweet surprise,
Like bees, with their honey laden;



\ I


il' .
: ', ",
,I, N :


~ ~'




"' A
I ,-- ., *.;-




- -j

I Hr

ip ~`~f~~

j .



In rustic state came the great farm wain,
Whose ample arms, used to holding
Sweet-scented hay and the golden grain,
Were a richer freight enfolding.

The laughing teacher bewildered grew
In the midst of the blithe young faces,
As the floating raiment-pink, white, and blue-
Came crowding to fill the spaces.

To the doors and windows the neighbors flew,
To view the new illustration
Of the puzzled old dame and her crowded shoe,
And to laugh at the situation.

An inner cluster of wee ones sweet
She placed with the girls in order,
While our gallant boys, with their daring feet,
Perched, jubilant, round the border.

A gay procession, we moved along--
Our music a laughing chorus;
Till the hills reechoed our woodland song,
And waved green banners o'er us.

We went where a clear spring bubbled through,
The emerald mosses stirring;
Where ferns were waving and wild flowers grew,
And the wings- of birds were whirring.

We chased stray butterflies through the trees,
Then hunted the hill-sides over:
For Fortune's pet is the first who sees
The magical four-leaved clover.

Late coronation of May-day's queen
We held then, in pomp and glory,
And a sweeter sovereign was never seen,
Or read of, in song or story.

Her wreath was woven by fingers deft;
With fairest of buds we crowned her;
While her knights and ladies stood right and left,
And her "Maids of Honor" around her.

Her rustic throne, by a gnarled old tree,
We had formed with some crimson draping;
And there each subject bent loyal knee,
A kiss from the small hand taking.

But even butterflies honey sip,
And courtiers have hungry hours;
And a queen's own delicate, dainty lip
Is not above sweets and sours.

So a chosen band spread the damask fair,
The goodly hampers untying;
And fragrant coffee perfumed the air,
With scents of the woodland vying.

The noontide call was a welcome sound;
And gay little lads and lasses
Came quickly trooping the cloth around,
To sit on the fringing grasses.

For once, reality seemed more sweet
Than fondest anticipation;
As sauces dainty, cakes, puddings, meat,
Showed oddest conglomeration!

The buzz and chatter, first low and mild,
Lost seemingly all connection;
Our words got lost in the hubbub wild,
Or went in the wrong direction!

The verbal tangle I can't depict:
The fun waxed wilder and faster,
To culminate when the teacher strict
Said "Dear" to the drawing-master!

Then some went swinging, some played croquet,
While others old sports were trying,
And through Copenhagen's wild mazes they
Went swiftly, merrily flying.

But the brightest day must sink in the west,
And shadows must cover the clover,
And so at last -in each dear home nest
We sighed that our picnic was over.




I. '




-- iI iN




As IT would seem but proper that some explanation of
the re-appearance of the "Recollections of a Drummer-
Boy" inthese columns should be made, the writer desires
to say that, upon the conclusion of the former series, so
many letters from different sections of the country having
been received by the editors of ST. NICHOLAS, as well as
by the writer, expressing regret at the too early con-
clusion of the series, and urgently pressing that they be
further continued if possible, it has been decided to yield
to these kindly demands of many appreciative readers.
There will, therefore, appear in these summer num-
bers of ST. NICHOLAS such additional chapters of his

personal recollections of army life as the Drummer-Boy's
second rummage through his diary, and second inquiry
into his memory of the stirring scenes of twenty years
ago, have afforded. There will be no repetition of
events already rehearsed, albeit the ground will be a
second time traversed from enlistment well-nigh to
muster-out. The new chapters, while observing the
proper sequence of events as given in those which have
already appeared, will be found, on examination, to form
a more or less continuous series by themselves. It is
hoped that they may prove as interesting as did the
former series to the many readers of ST. NICHOLAS,

FIRST DAYS IN CAMP. the Northern States, greeted the name of Abraham
OUR first camp was located on the outskirts of Camp Curtin was not properly a camp of in-
Harrisburg, Pa., and was called "Camp Curtin." struction. It was rather a rendezvous for the
It was so named in honor of Governor Andrew G. different companies which had been recruited in
Curtin, the great war Governor of the State of various parts of the State. Hither the volunteers
Pennsylvania, who was regarded by the soldiers of came by hundreds and thousands for the purpose
his State with an enthusiasm second only to that of being mustered into the service, uniformed and
with which they, in common with all the troops of equipped, assigned to regiments, and shipped to
VOL. X.-38.

,:i~- I~Plipg

0\4 &
-v ,

-*I ,b

Tamn ;6Shanter 1) ogo
J3tca plaintive piping Frog,
l~ifhaCa\vhose one extrLtvagsmce\ves
"A'evto see cBoLUdtrng BJ-Lg
_D.amee ,u jg~upon. a ru~g,
While a Beetle baltaicecl botfles om
I lrits nose.

( j l


- -- -

. ... -- .._-' --- ...

-- ----




the front as rapidly as possible. Only they who
witnessed it can form any idea of the patriotic
ardor, amounting to a wild enthusiasm, with which
volunteering went on in those days. Companies
were often formed, and their muster-rolls filled, in
a week, sometimes even in a few days. The con-
tagion of enlisting and going to the war was in
the very atmosphere. You could scarcely accom-
pany a friend to a way station on any of the main
lines of travel without seeing the future wearers
of blue coats at the car-windows and on the plat-
forms. Very frequently whole trains were filled
with them, speeding away as swift as steam would
carry them to the State capital. They poured into
Harrisburg company by company, usually in citi-
zens' clothes, and marched out of the town again
a week or so later, regiment by regiment, all glori-
ous in bright new uniforms and glistening bayo-
nets, transformed in a few days from civilians into
soldiers, and destined for deeds of high endeavor
in many a desperate battle.
Shortly after our arrival in camp, Andy and I
went to town to buy such articles as we supposed a
soldier would be likely to need- a gum blanket, a
journal, a combination knife-fork-and-spoon, and
so on to the end of the list. To our credit I have
it to record that we turned a deaf ear to the solici-
tations of a certain dealer in cutlery, who insisted
on selling us each a revolver and an ugly-looking
bowie-knife, in a red morocco sheath.
Shentlemen, shust te ting you vill need ven
you goes into de battle. Ah, see dis knife, how it
shines! Look at dis very fine revolfer "
But Moses entreated in vain, while his wife stood
at the street-door looking at a regiment march-
ing to the depot, weeping as if her heart would
break, and wiping her eyes with the corner of her
apron from time to time.
Ah, de poor boys said she. Dere dey go
again to de great war, away from dere homes and
dere mutters and dere sweethearts and vives, all
to be kilt in de battle. Dey will nefer any more
coom back. Ah, it is so wicked "
But the drums rattled on, and the crowd on the
sidewalk gazed, and Moses behind his counter
smiled pleasantly as he cried up his wares and
went on selling bowie-knives and revolvers to kill
men with, while his wife went on weeping and
lamenting because men would be killed in the
wicked war, and "nefer any more coom back."
The firm of Moses and wife struck us as a very
strange combination of business and sentiment. I
do not know how many revolvers Moses sold, nor
how many tears his good wife shed; but if she
wept whenever a regiment marched down the street
to the depot, her eyes must have been turned into
a river of tears: for the tap of the drum and the

tramp of the men resounded along the streets of
the capital by day and by night, until people grew
so used to it that they scarcely noticed it any
The tide of volunteering was at the full during
those early fall days of 1862. But the day came
at length when the tide began to turn. Various
expedients were then resorted to for the purpose of
stimulating the flagging zeal of Pennsylvania's
sons. At first, the tempting bait of large bounties
was presented,-county bounties, city bounties,
State and United States bounties,-some men, to-
ward the close of the war, receiving as much as
one thousand dollars, and never smelling powder
at that. At last, drafting was of necessity resorted
to, and along with this came all the miseries of
" hiring substitutes," and so making merchandise
of a service of which it is the chief glory that it
shall be free.
But in the fall of 1862 there had been no draft-
ing yet, and large bounties were unknown--and
unsought. Most of us were taken quite by surprise
when, a few days after our arrival in camp, the
County Commissioners came down for the purpose
of paying us each the magnificent sum of fifty dol-
lars; while, at the same time, the United -States
Government agreed to pay us each one hundred
dollars additional-of which, however, only twenty-
five was placed in our hands at once, the remain-
ing seventy-five to be received only by those who
might safely pass through all the unknown dangers
which awaited us, and live to be mustered out
with the regiment three years later.
Well, it was no matter then. What cared we
for bounty? It seemed rather a questionable pro-
cedure, this offering of money as a reward for an
act which, to be a worthy act at all, asks not, and
needs not, the guerdon of gold. We were all so
anxious to enter the service, that, instead of looking
for any artificial helps in that direction, our only
concern was lest we might be rejected by the
examining surgeon and not be admitted to the
For, soon after our arrival, and before we were
mustered into the service, every man was thor-
oughly examined by a medical officer, who had
us presented to him, one by one, divested of cloth-
ing, in a large tent, where he sharply questioned
us- "Teeth sound ? Eyes good? Ever had this,
that, and the other disease?" And pitiable was
the case of that unfortunate man who, because of
bad hearing, or defective eyesight, or some other
physical blemish, was compelled to don his citi-
zens' clothes again and take the next train for
After having been thoroughly examined, we
were mustered into the service, and so made, in



a peculiar sense, the sons of Uncle Sam. As we
now belonged to his family, it was only to be
expected that he would next proceed to clothe us.
This he punctually did, a few days after the mus-
ter. We had no little merriment when we were
called out, formed in line, and marched up to

pantaloons, a coat, cap, overcoat, shoes, blanket,
and underwear, of which latter the shirt was-
well, a revelation to most of us, both as to size,
shape, and material. It was so rough that no
living mortal could wear it, except, perhaps, one
who wished to do penance by wearing a hair-shirt.

I :~, ix ,

-iT... ;"

I -.-3 ., _a_.. ,

-; 1 .
,.. .- ./ .' . .

L I i 'i -
Ij4' a f'- f ,


' --



.. I


the quartermaster's department, at one side of the
camp, to draw our uniforms. There were so many
men to be uniformed, and so little time in which to
do it, that the blue clothes were passed out to us
almost regardless of the size and weight of the
prospective wearer. Each man received a pair of

Mine was sent home along with my citizens'
clothes, with the request that it be kept as a sort
of heir-loom in the family to excite the wonder of
future generations.
With our clothes on our arms, we marched back
to our tents, and there proceeded to put on our



,, ii


new uniforms. The result was in the majority
,of cases astonishing. For, as might have been ex-
pected, scarcely one man in ten was fitted. The
tall men had invariably received the short panta-
loons, and presented an appearance, when they
emerged from their tents, which was equaled only
by that of the short men, who had, of course, re-
ceived the long pantaloons. One man's cap sat on
the top of his head, while another's rested on his
ears. Andy, who was not very tall, waddled forth
into the company street, amid shouts of laughter,
with his pantaloons turned up some six inches or
more from the bottoms. The laughter was in-
creased when he wittily remarked:
"Uncle Sam must have got the patterns for his
boys' pantaloons somewhere over in France; for he
seems to have cut them after the style of the two
French towns, Toulon and Toulouse."
Hello, fellows What do you think of this ?
Now just look here, once exclaimed Pointer
Donachy, the tallest man in the company, as he
came out of his tent in a pair of pantaloons that
were little more than knee-breeches for him, and
began to parade the street with a tent-pole for a
musket. My opinion is that Uncle Sam must be
a little short of cloth, boys."
Brother Jonathan generally dresses in tights,
you know," said some one.
Ah," said Andy, Pointer's uniform reminds
one of what the poet says -
SMan needs but little here below,
Nor needs that little long "
You're rather poor at quoting poetry, Andy,"
answered Pointer. "Because I need more than a
little here below ; I need at least six inches '"
But, by trading off, the big men gradually got
the large garments and the little men the small,
so that in a few days we were pretty well suited.
I remember hearing about one poor fellow in
another company, a great, strapping six-footer, who
could not be suited. The largest shoe furnished
by the Government was quite too small. The poor
fellow tried his best to force his foot in, but in
vain. His comrades gathered around him and
chaffed him unmercifully, whereupon he exclaimed:
"Why, you don't think they are all boys that
come to the army, do you ? A man like me needs
a man's shoes, not a baby's."
There was another poor fellow, a very small man,
who had received a very large pair of shoes, and
had not yet been-able to effect any exchange. One
day the sergeant was drilling the company on the
facings,- Right face, Left face, Right-about face,
-and, of course, watched his men's feet closely
to see that they went through the movements
promptly. Noticing one pair of feet down the line

that never budged at the command, the sergeant
rushed up to the possessor of them, with drawn
sword, and in menacing tones demanded:
"What do you mean by not facing about when
I tell you? I'll have you put in the guard-house."
Why, I did, sergeant !" said the trembling
You did not, sir Didn't I watch your feet ?
They never moved an inch."
Why, you see," said the poor fellow, my
shoes are so big that they don't turn when I do. I
go through the motions on the inside of them."
Although Camp Curtin was not so much a camp
of instruction as a camp of equipment, yet once we
had received our arms and uniforms we were all
eager to be put on drill. Even before we had re-
ceived our uniforms, every evening we had some
little drilling under command of Sergeant Cum-
mings, who had been out in the three months'
service. Clothed in citizens' dress, and armed
with such sticks and poles as we could pick up,
we must have presented a sorry appearance on
parade. Perhaps the most comical figure in the
line was that of poor old Simon Malehorn, who,
clothed in a high silk hat, long linen duster, blue
overalls, and loose slippers, was forever throwing
the line into confusion by running back to find his
slipper, which he had lost in the dust somewhere;
and happy was he if some one of the boys had not
quietly smuggled it under his coat, and left poor
Simon to finish the parade in his stocking feet.
Awkward enough in the drill we all were, to be
sure. Still, we were not quite so stupid as a certain
recruit, of whom it was related that the drill-sergeant
had to take him aside as an awkward squad by
himself, and try to teach him how to "mark
time." But, alas the poor fellow did not know
the difference between his right foot and his left,
and consequently could not follow the order,
"Left Left! until the sergeant, driven almost
to desperation, lit on the happy expedient of tying
a wisp of straw on one foot and a similar wisp of
hay on the other, and then put the command in
an agricultural shape -"Hay-foot, Straw-foot!
Hay-foot, Straw-foot whereupon, he did quite
well: for if he did not know his left foot from his
right, he at least could tell hay from straw.
One good effect of our being detained in Camp
Curtin for several weeks was, that we thus had the
opportunity of forming the acquaintance of the
other nine companies with which we were to be
joined in a common regimental organization. Some
of these came from the western, and some from
the eastern part of the State; some were from the
city, some from inland towns and villages, and
some from the wild lumber regions. Every rank
and class and profession seemed to be represented.




There were clerks, farmers, students, railroad men,
iron-workers, lumber-men. At first, we were all
strangers to one another. The different companies,
having as yet no regimental life to bind them to-
gether as a unit, naturally regarded each other as
foreigners rather than as members of the same
organization. In consequence of this, there was no
little rivalry between company and company, to-
gether with no end of chaffing and lively banter,
especially about the time of roll-call in the evening.
The names of the men who came from the West
were quite strange, and were a standing source of
amusement to the boys from the East, and vice
versd. Then there were certain forms of expres-
sion peculiar to the different sections from which
the men came, which were a long-standing source
of merriment. Thus, the Philadelphia boys made
all sport of the boys from the upper tier of counties
because they said, "I be going deown to teown,"

and invariably used "I make out to" for I am
going to." Some of the men called every species
of board, no matter how thin, "a plank"; and
every kind of stone, no matter how small, "a
rock." How the men laughed one evening when
a high wind came up and blew the dust in clouds
all over the camp, and one of the rural boys was
heard to declare that he had a rock in his eye "
Once we got afield, however, there was developed
such a feeling of regimental unity as soon obliter-
ated whatever natural antagonisms may at first
have existed between the different companies.
Peculiarities of speech of course remained, and a
generous and wholesome rivalry never disappeared;
but these were rather a help than a hinderance : for
in military as in social life generally there can be
no true unity without some degree of diversity-
a principle which is fully recognized in our national
motto, "E Pl-iribus Unumm."

(To be conthimed.)




THERE was, a youthful scion
Of a race of tyrant kings,
Who roused his father's anger
By the way he wasted things.
Quoth then the wrathful monarch:
" Quick from my presence flee !

Yet turn your heedless ear
To this my stern decree:
No fish or flesh or fowl
Shall your hunger's needs supply,
Nor beast nor worm contribute
To the clothing which you buy.



When comes the gloomy night-time,
No oil or vapor light,
No wax or tallow candle,
Shall make the darkness bright.
Nor grains upon the hill-side,
Nor tuberous roots on earth,
Nor fruitful vines, and juicy,
Contribute to your mirth.
Thou prodigal! Avaunt!
Go, starve upon the plain !
Thou never, nevermore,
Shalt waste my wealth again."

His son this law of exile
Conned over at his ease;
" He has," he said, "'left to me
The mighty help of trees."
He gayly snapped his fingers,
He slammed the palace door-
" Stern monarch, I shall flourish
As proudly as before!"

A house he quickly builded;
It all was wondrous fine:
Of English oak its rafters,
Its floors of Norway pine.
On pillars of palmetto
The cypress-shingled roof,
With oaken eaves and gargoyles,
Against the storms was proof.
There curious palm-mattings
Spread over all the floors,
Dyed crimson with the logwood
From warm Caribbean shores.
Quaint furniture of walnut
And perfumed sandal-wood,
With highly polished rose-wood,
Throughout the mansion stood.
" Now," said this Prince complaisant,
" A ball I mean to give,
I'll show the King, my father,
How finely I can live."

The night came on apace
When the house was light as day,
For candle-nuts in sconces
Shed many a golden ray.
Magnolias from the South-land,
Pink apple-blooms from Maine,
All vied with orange-flowers
The subtlest sense to chain.
The noted guests assembled
Found waiting for them all

A fairer feast than ever
Graced kingly banquet-hall.
For dishes, carved in queer ways
That haunt the Chinese mind,
Bore nuts and fruits from every land
Familiar to mankind.

Cassava cakes from Java,
The solid plantain's meat,
With chocolate were proffered,
And maple-sugar sweet.
Fair pomegranates and soursops,
With luscious guava jam,
Stood near the odious durion
From islands near Siam.
Bananas, figs, and lemons,
Dates, cherries, plums, and pears,
All seemed so very common
One passed them unawares.

Amid this festive splendor
The Prince received his guests;
In robes of cocoa woven
He was superbly drest,
While from the crown of laurels
His realm placed on his brow,
Down to his shoes of caoutchouc,
He looked a king, I trow.
"Warm welcomes to my mansion!"-
'T was thus he met the King--
" See what a man you made me
By your cold banishing! "

A genial smile illumined
The monarch and his train.
" O Prince! of you I 'm very proud-
Come to my arms again! "
So spake the King, embracing
His enterprising son,
And then, with jokes and laughter
The banquet was begun.
The court drank so much cider
They complimentary grew,
While the King declared the cashew
Was the finest wine he knew.
To this the Premier added,
He hoped the Prince would grow
Like to the giant banyan,
And live long here below.
Then soon the party ended,
The guests all said Farewell,"
And the wonders of the woodland
They hastened home to tell.



1883.] SWEPT AWAY.





THERE is something indescribably dreadful in
the emotion which comes over us when the earth
trembles and rocks with the earthquake. We are
so accustomed to look on the ground as a solid and
sure refuge that, when it fails us, we feel as though
we were all at sea and adrift on a tempest-tossed
The sensations of Jack, Dollie, and Crab were
something similar when the cabin, after wrenching
itself loose from its foundations, went rocking and
bounding away in the darkness, no one could say
whither. For a few minutes the children did
nothing but cling to the roof, which once or twice
sank almost to a level with the water; but when
they became accustomed to the situation, they re-
laxed their desperate hold, spoke to one another,
and assumed less restrained positions.
Strange to say, the house, from some cause
which was not apparent, instead of keeping an up-
right position, leaned so far to one side that the
roof became almost horizontal, offering a support
something like the floor of the cabin itself.
One side of the house must be heavier than the
other," suggested Jack, when the three had re-
ferred to the curious fact.
"How much of the cabin am afloat?" asked
I know of no way to tell that, answered Jack.
I see that the stone chimney has gone, but some
of the lower floor must have been left, or the house
would n't take such an odd position."
"But will it stay so ? asked Dollie, anxiously.
"I think so, said Jack, for when a house
starts on a voyage like this, it is apt to settle at
once to a level-- though it may swing over from
catching fast to the trees- Heigho!"
It seemed curious, but at that very moment
the three felt the tops of trees scraping against
the raft. The swiftness with which they seemed to
glide from under the cabin showed that the house
was going down the river very rapidly. The scrap-
ing sounds followed each other in such rapid suc-
cession that they knew they were passing through
or rather over a stretch of forest.
The night was so dark that they could scarcely
see anything, and the weak rays of the lantern

were of little service. They could make out one
another's figures, and now and then catch sight of
the bushy and bowing top of a tree, which seemed
to shoot swiftly toward them from out the gloom,
while the cabin waited for its approach.
Then again, some of the trees were so tall and
strong, and so far out of the water, that they did
not bow down and allow this floating Juggernaut
to sweep over them.
At such times, the raft would strike the trees
with considerable force and swing partly around,
but the next moment would continue its journey
without the least slackening of speed.
There was much danger in passing such places,
for, if the building should come in contact with
a particularly large and strong tree, the sides of
the house were liable to be knocked apart by the
violence of the collision, and the three children
might find themselves clinging to separate pieces
of timber.
The boys were good swimmers, but Dollie could
not support herself a single minute above water
without help.
Great was their relief, therefore, when the ob-
structions were all safely passed, and they found
themselves in smooth water again. There was
still constant danger, however, of their striking
against some treacherous sawyer" ; but that peril
would continue to threaten them till they should
reach the channel of the river, where no such ob-
structions existed.
"Jack," said Crabapple, presently, if I are n't
mistooken, I see a light."
So do I," said Dollie, with a promptness which
showed that she also had been studying the matter.
Where ? asked Jack.
"Off dar," answered Crab, stretching out his
hand into the gloom.
There is a light," said Jack, after a moment's
scrutiny; "but it must be a long way off -a
quarter of a mile, at least."
"What exclaimed Crab, in amazement. I
could frow a stone out to whar it am."
Dollie was of the same belief, but Jack insisted
that it was all of a quarter of a mile distant, if not
farther. It is very hard to judge of distances un-
der such circumstances, and, as the parties could
not agree, Jack hallooed across the waters, thinking
with reason that, where a light was visible, there
must be persons near at hand. But though he


shouted and whistled, and Crab joined in the
tumult, no response came back.
While they were hailing the unknown parties,
the light suddenly vanished from sight, and all
around was darkness again.
"No use ob hollerin'," said Crab; de folks
feel so important dey wont notice us."
We don't know that there are any persons
where we saw the light," said Jack. "And if there
were, remember that was a good way off, and they
may not have been able to hear us."
Crab laughed at this conclusion of Jack's argu-
ment, but made no answer, though he still believed
that only a few rods separated them from the star-
like point which had vanished as unaccountably as
it had first appeared.
This curious fact, more than anything else, im-
pressed them with the vastness of the flood.
The evidence that others beside themselves were
afloat spoke vividly of the extent of the overflow-
ing waters.
Suddenly the crow of a chanticleer resounded
across the flood. Somewhere a cock was proclaim-
ing his defiance of the elements around him.


When one of these fowls begins to crow, he gen-
erally repeats his call several times, and this plucky
fellow's voice was heard again and again across the
dark waters until our voyagers were able to locate
him, and almost in a straight line, several hundred
yards below them.
Thinking that the owner of the bird might be
near, Jack and Crab shouted again, but with no
more response than in the former case.

We kin jist as well gib up de shoutin' busi-
ness," said Crab, finally, "for nobody wont say
nuffin back to us."
The three now disposed themselves with the care
of those who expected to make a long stay. The
roof having settled so that it lay horizontal on the
water, this was comparatively an easy matter, and
could they have felt any assurance that there would
be no overturning or shifting, they would not have
considered their situation one of especial danger.
As nearly as could be told in the darkness, the
roof was some three or four feet above the current,
and its bouyancy was such that it would have
floated ten times the weight that now rested on it.
Crabapple Jackson rolled his clothing into a
compact bundle and sat down on it to keep it from
being lost, while Jack laid the bag containing the
provisions near the center of the raft and as far as
possible from the water. Dollie, who had no extra
garment except a shawl, wrapped that around her
shoulders and placed herself close to her brother,
where she meant to stay as long as it was possible.
The weather remained calm and moderate. Had
it been otherwise, the hundreds and hundreds of
people who were then afloat on the Mississippi
would have suffered
terribly, and many
must have perished.


De light am gwine out! suddenly exclaimed
A glance toward the lantern was enough to show
he spoke the truth; the candle which had been
placed inside had burned so low that little was
left of it, and the light of that fragment must soon
I thought it might hive been useful in keep-
ing others from running into us," said Jack;




"but, after all, I don't know that it would have
been of much account."
Do you 'spose," suggested Crab, dat any ob
de cabins will come down faster dan we do, or dat
dey will be cotched in such a whirlpool dat dey
will run up de Massissipp ? "
I'm not afraid of that," said Jack; but if

It ~
:~ ~


a steamer should strike the house, nothing could
save us."
"We must keep awake all de time and watch
out fur dat sort ob business," said Crab, with the
determination that he would not close his eyes
again so long as darkness brooded over the waters.
A few minutes later, the bit of tallow dip burn-
ing in the lantern flickered up, burned brightly a
few seconds, and then collapsed into nothingness.
The little party, afloat on the roof of the cabin,
and sweeping down the Mississippi, were alone in
the starless night, without a ray of light to cheer



FOR several minutes Jack Lawrence had fancied
he heard a series of strange sounds coming across
the water. They resembled the deep and rapid
breathing of some huge animal; but it was hard
to tell the direction whence they came. Some-
times they seemed to be close at hand, then far
away, and he even found himself glancing upward,
as though he expected to find the answer he sought
in the air above him.
But, during the few minutes he spent in trying
to ascertain the origin of these sounds, he was
conscious that, whatever the unknown something

might be, it was approaching him with the steadi-
ness of a hand moving over the face of a watch.
Jack was presently able to locate it. While
peering down-stream through the darkness, a light
burst out in the gloom, like the sudden rising of a
star of the first magnitude. The boy, for a single
moment, believed it was a star, but the next in-
stant the truth flashed upon him: it was a steam-
boat coming up the river.
If it was only day-time now," he remarked, as
he announced his discovery to Dollie and Crab,
" they would pick us up."
"What's to hinder 'em from doing it now?"
asked Crab.
"A good deal," said Jack, gravely. It is so
dark, and the river is running so fast, that they
would n't be able to manage a small boat."
"What's de use ob dar doin' dat?" inquired
Crab. "Dey can jist slide alongside wid de
steamer itself and h'ist us on board."
Not in the night-time, when there is so much
danger of running us down. But," added Jack,
interrupting himself, and rising to his feet in some
alarm, "she is going to pass very close to us.
Now is the time the lantern would have been of
some use."
"We kin yell and make 'em hear us," sug-
gested Crab; den you know I kin whistle like de
'Warrior' when she comes to de wharf for wood."
Crab, who'had also risen to his feet, brought the
palms of his hands together, and then turned them
partly around, thus forming a peculiar hollow, with
a small opening between the thumbs, to which he
placed his thick lips. Then, blowing strongly, he
produced a sound which, when heard rolling across
the water, resembled very closely the whistle of a
steam-boat. It was, of course, impossible that
Crab's whistle should be so loud, but the pitch was
precisely that of the whistle of the well-known
"Warrior," and could easily have been mistaken
for it.
The boys, who had ridden up and down the
Mississippi many times and stud-
ied i. i..r. ...: of the pilot,
kn ic ..- i- the signals,
an, .. utilized
.-' -
-~-- .--

^L-'li ~ _f-iI^;' _' --r" ^-j-~- -- -
-. -


their knowledge in whistling to the unknown boat
the signal which directed it to turn to the right,
with a view of preventing a collision.



All this time the gleam of the steamer's lights
was growing rapidly brighter, showing that it was
approaching swiftly. It continued in such a direct
line that the boys became seriously alarmed. A
collision appeared certain, and in such an event,
as Jack had truly said, nothing could save
their raft from destruction.
Crabapple whistled harder than ever, and, as
though to add emphasis to his signals, danced up
and down and back and forth on the roof. The
lights on the steamer still brightened, the glow
being plainly seen from the top of the smoke-
stacks, which were throwing off sparks in a manner
which showed that she was toiling hard to make
her way against the powerful current. Suddenly,
the puffing of steam stopped, the tinkle of a bell
was heard, and the captain, who had finally caught
the signals of Crab, called out in an angry voice,
wanting to know why the approaching boat had not
her lights displayed.
"We have n't any light," called back Jack,
our lantern went- "
"Your lantern went out I roared the captain,
growing still more wrathful. Have n't you got
but one lantern on board your old hulk? Who
are you, anyway ? Where from ? Where bound?"
"We 're the children of Mr. Archibald Law-
rence," answered Jack, with his servant, Crab
Jackson, and we 're floating down the Mississippi
on the roof of our house."
"But I heard the whistle of a steamer just
now "
Crab broke in with a loud laugh :
"Dat ar war me, cap'n; I blowed for you
to slew off to de
starboard so dat
Iwe mought pass
astern ob your
\,' 'l' i i bow."
l .: As the pilot had

S- t ,

-I i --


heeded the signal and veered his boat toward the
channel, the danger of collision, which had been
so imminent, was now over.
"Shall we take you aboard? asked the cap-

tain, whose feelings had undergone a change the
instant he learned the truth.
If you can, we wish you would," replied Jack;
" but can you do it ? "
It will readily be understood that such a rescue as
the captain contemplated was almost impossible;
the current was sweeping downward with such swift-
ness that a small boat, if it should be lowered and
sent out, would find it almost beyond its power to
stem the current; and this fact, taken in connec-
tion with the darkness of the night, greatly added
to the difficulty and danger of the undertaking.
If the steamer should drift down the river with the
cabin, the boat might pass between them, but even
then the risk would be very great.
Yet the rough-spoken though kind-hearted cap-
tain, ever ready to venture his own life to save that
of another, prepared to make the attempt. But
Jack was so strongly of the belief that they would
thus run greater risks than they incurred by stay-
ing where they were, that he called to him:
We 're much obliged to you, but we would as
soon stay here till morning."
Do you mean that ? called back the captain,
who was not quite sure he had heard aright.
Thanks, all the same, but we would rather
wait till daylight," replied Jack. Good-bye "
"You 're a queer lot," was the commentary of
the captain, as the two crafts drifted apart.
Dat shows de needcessity ob keeping' awake,"
observed Crab, as he seated himself on his bundle
of clothing.
it shows that one of us must always be on the
lookout," said Jack; but we must have sleep at
one time or another."
"IYou may need it, but I don't," replied Crab,
in a preternaturally wide-awake tone.
For a half-hour more the cabin floated silently on
through the darkness. Dollie stillsat close to her
brother, who presently noticed that her head was
nodding. He gently lowered it so that it rested
in his lap, and almost immediately she sank into
profound slumber.
"I don't know that there is any need of both
you and me keeping awake at the same time," said
Jack, speaking to Crab. I feel wakeful, and you
may as well gain sleep while you-- Just what
I expected !"
Crabapple Jackson was also in the land of
Everything depends on me now," thought
Jack Lawrence, at once realizing the situation. I
must, indeed, keep my wits about me."
But in less than half an hour he, too, unused to
night-watching, and fatigued by the unwonted ex-
citement of the day, had sunk into a sound and
.dreamless sleep.






The call was repeated several times, and finally
found its way in a misty and indistinct manner to
the consciousness of the sleeping Jack Lawrence.

\ -. ... ; ---.. -


.-. _:---'-. -%- :; ---4. - '--_-J_-' :-- -=- -. ..-

:~- -


At first he thought it was a dream, and he mut-
tered in his slumber. Then, as his senses grad-
ually returned, he looked up.
"My gracious! I 've been asleep!" he ex-
claimed, gently lifting the head of his unconscious
sister from his lap and laying it on the sack beside
Crab, of course, was still dreaming, and Jack
shuddered to think how remiss he himself had
been; they might have gone to destruction for all
his care of them.
Hallo-o !" again rang across the water, and
Jack, with a suspicion that he had heard the voice
before, called back:
Hallo-o! Where are you ?"
Afloat, off here to the left of you, I suppose,"
answered the voice. "Who are you ? "
Jack answered the hail as he had done that of
the steamer, and his unknown interlocutor imme-
diately exclaimed:
Well, now, that's too bad, for I 'm to blame for
all this."
How do you make that out ? asked Jack, in
some surprise.
"I'm Colonel Carrolton," was the reply, "and
you know I advised you to wait till to-morrow
before making a move."
Yes, but you see I could i't wait," said Jack,
who remembered the advice but too well.
Are you all right?" asked the Colonel, who
appeared to be in cheery spirits, despite his dismal
Jack gave a brief account of what had taken
place since the flood reached the doors of his
house, and the effusive Colonel congratulated him
on his good fortune.
"How are you fixed ?" asked Jack.

The same as usual-on a hen-coop," was the
"Any other passengers ? asked Jack, with an
irrepressible laugh at the ludicrous similarity of
the Colonel's aquatic misfortunes.
"Yes," said the Colonel, "I've got two-a
fighting cock and a hen, and I shall try and take
them through this time."
Our stock is all drowned, I suppose," continued
Jack. But where are you going now?"'
"To Vicksburg, of course," replied the Colonel,
in a very matter-of-fact tone. Every time after
this that there comes a flood, I expect to go down
there in this style. I shall tell my friends there
to keep a lookout for a big hen-coop whenever the
Mississippi rises; and, when they see one, they
may make up their mind that I 'm somewhere
about it. Shut up there! "
This last remark was addressed to the game-
cock, which just then essayed a defiant crow-
rudely cut short, however, by the Colonel, who
compressed the bird's neck in such a manner that
the salute was extinguished before it was fairly
I don't mind one blast," explained the Colonel,
" but, when he starts, he never stops till he has
crowed a dozen times or more, and I 'm tired
of it."
We heard a rooster some time ago," said Jack.
" I wonder whether it was yours ? "
No," was the reply, for I 've shut him off
every time he started, till I think it's time he be-
gan to feel discouraged. But it seems to me I'm
going down-stream faster than you are."
Such was undoubtedly the case the space be-
tween them was growing perceptibly greater every
minute. This was due to the fact that the Colonel
had floated into a swifter current. Then, too, he
was nearer the channel, though that would not have
affected his speed under the present circumstances,
when the expansion of the river was so prodigious.
The Colonel, who had lived


-- 7_._ Z

along the turbulent Missis-
sippi until he was thoroughly
accustomed to its moods, and
who was one of those men who
accepted every, event of life
with true philosophy, kept up
a rambling but cheerful inter-
change of remarks with Jack,
until the increasing distance
made conversation too much of
an effort. Then they shouted

a good-bye to each other, and the curious interview
Jack was so afraid of again falling asleep that
he assumed a standing position, picking up the


gun and leaning on that, like a hunter absorbed in
I never heard of a man who stood up without
any support going to sleep, so I 'm safe so long as
I don't sit down," was the logical conclusion of
the tired boy.

- 4


ri'' j

k' I "'' '"

~I -' ,
-- ------'; - -- -- -
..,l^J^:^'^::^^ ^^wI^J^_*'--

A few words of explanation are necessary to en-
able the reader to appreciate the situation of young
Jack Lawrence and his companions at this time.
They were approaching a section of Arkansas
bounded by the converging White and Mississippi
rivers, and which was overflowed not only between
these two mighty streams, but for a great distance
on the western bank of the former and the eastern
bank of the latter. The width of the submerged
lands varied from ten to a hundred or more miles.
The children were, as you see, really afloat on a
vast sea, which was sweeping southward with great
velocity, and bearing on its surface houses, cabins,
barns, boats, trees, and everything else of sufficient
buoyancy to float.
All around our youthful voyagers was engulfed
in thick darkness. The sky was so clouded that
not the first glimmer of a star nor the faintest
gleam of the moon could be seen. There was
little air stirring, though now and then a cool puff
struck the cheek of the lonely watcher. As much
of the water came from the country around the
head-waters of the Mississippi, its coldness lent an
unwonted chill to the atmosphere.
The surface of the Mississippi was comparatively
smooth, though now and then something would
produce a whirling eddy in the current, which
would cause the waves to plash against the logs.
But the sensation was as if the raft was standing
still on the bosom of the mighty expanse of muddy
Suddenly they were swept into a whirlpool,
which began swinging the raft around with such
velocity that Jack was greatly alarmed. It seemed
as if the building had become a gigantic top,
which spun about until the frightened lad became

so dizzy he was forced to lie down on the roof to
keep from rolling off.
Just as he was on the point of awakening Dollie
and Crab, the floating building swung out of the
whirlpool and acquired a steadier motion, though
it continued to revolve slowly for a considerable
Jack had been so well shaken up that he was
sure nothing could lull him to sleep again that
night. But, through fear of losing himself, he
prudently resumed his tiresome standing posture,
grasping his gun as if he were prepared to repel
Dollie stirred uneasily, and her brother noticed
that she was talking in her sleep. As he stood
close to her, listening, he presently caught the
broken words:
"Good-night, Mamma-kiss me to sleep-
there good-night- kiss me, too, Papa- "
Poor girl! In her dreams she was with her
father and mother, though one had been in heaven
many months, and the other was hundreds of miles
distant, and wholly ignorant of the perils to which
his children were exposed in these hours of dark-
ness and wide-spread devastation.
Jack sighed deeply as he recalled the sad hour
when he had kissed his mother for the last time,
and the eyes which had always looked upon him

(--- ----- ---- --


and Dollie with such fond love had faded out for-
Many a time had the brave-souled fellow lived
over the sorrowful moments, as he did now, and
many a time, when no human eye saw him, the
tears had silently trickled down his cheeks. He
gave himself up for a time to the saddening mem-
ories, and then, with a great effort, tried to throw
off the depressing weight.



Something cold struck the uppermost hand rest-
ing on the gun. It was a drop of rain, and he
started and looked up.
If a storm is coming, we shall be in a bad fix,"
he said, remembering, with a feeling of tender anx-
iety for his delicate sister, that they had no means
of placing the slightest covering over themselves.
Fortunately, however, only a few drops fell.
When the cloud from which they came had passed
over, Jack drew a deep breath of relief, for he might
well dread the discomforts and miseries that would
be theirs in case of a fall of rain.
A long distance to the eastward, toward the
Mississippi shore, a faint glow was now dimly
visible, gliding along toward the northward. List-
ening attentively, Jack could faintly hear the throb-
bing noise made by the engines of another steamer
which was laboring upward against the flood; but
he would not have signaled to it, even had it been
within hailing distance.
"I would rather stay where I am until morn-
ing," he thought, watching the glow-worm like
light until it vanished in the darkness. There's
no saying where we may strike or what may hap-
pen to us ; but, come what will, it's the best thing
we can do."
The boy had no means of telling how long he
had slept, but he rightly thought that it must be
now after midnight.

NEVER did the hours seem so dismal and long
to Jack Lawrence as when floating down the Mis-
sissippi on that memorable night, keeping his
lonely watch. Once or twice he started to pace
back and forth, but his quarters were so narrow
that he found himself in danger of stepping off;
so he gave up the attempt.
But, with true grit, he never once sat down dur-
ing those long hours. While Dollie and Crab were
sleeping as soundly as though in their own beds,
Jack continued his lookout for danger.
At last it began to grow light in the direction of
the Mississippi shore, and presently, to his infinite
relief, the beams of the rising sun illumined the
vast waste of waters.
The scene presented to his gaze was one of deso-
lation indeed. In every direction the turbid cur-
rent bounded the horizon. For all he could see to
the contrary, he might have been floating over the
waters of the Gulf of Mexico, or even in the very
center of the Atlantic itself Nowhere could his
straining eye catch the first glimpse of land; even
the towering bluffs along shore were under water,
and it was impossible for Jack to tell whether he

was drifting over the real bed of the Mississippi,
or whether he was fifteen or twenty miles from it.
But one thing was certain: he was somewhere on
the flood, which may have been fifty or a hundred
feet deep under him, and he was being borne he
knew not whither.
A long distance to the westward was a group of
cabins floating downward together, looking, as Jack
fancied, something like a flock of crows sailing
across the sky. They undoubtedly had once com-
posed a village or town, the
buildings of which had started
for the Gulf with singular
-' unanimity. People could be
S plainly seen on the roofs. On
one a number of mules and
cows were grouped, while from
1 \ several others smoke was ris-
Sing, showing that the occu-

I / of cooking ar-
/ ,o rangements.
/ To the east-
,- ward were six or
S :1'-' eight other cab-
,' /s.. ins, the most of
which had peo-
pie on top all
CRAB'S DEVOTIONS. negroes. The
nearest house
seemed to have fully a dozen. A fire was burning,
and while one-a large, fat negress, with a red
handkerchief tied about her head -was preparing
the best breakfast she could under the circum-
stances, the others were singing and dancing as
they used to on the old plantations before the war.
There were musical voices among them, which
came floating pleasantly across the water, and
altogether the scene was a strange one. Between
each verse, a couple of barefooted darkeys, wear-
ing immense flapping straw hats, danced a double-
shuffle with tremendous vigor, while the brethren
and sisters sang and swayed their bodies by way
of accompaniment, even the cook, forget-
ting her culinary duties for the mo-
ment, joining '- .- .. in the chorus. It
seemed as / i though there
might be danger of
the whole of them
breaking through
the roof; but it is
doubtful "DE BAG 0' PERWISIONS." if even
the certainty of such a catastrophe would have
checked the negroes when once they were fairly
launched upon the flood-tide of their song. The
following melody appeared to be one of their
greatest favorites:





-H-e e- e e- e -- p-- e:-.- a- -D -
-- ------- --- --- -
We're gwine to de camp meeting On de road, on de road, We'll hab a hap py meeting ,

E^^^^=^^,,^=,,=hi-^:^^g=i-7fe-=^-- P-^^j -^-^ ^^
--------- -- ---- -9a--
On de road, yes,on de road; Den line in on de chorus, On de road, on de road; Ont-sing dem folks before us,
___- ___ --NH -NA---N -
___--~ Sc__ c a
^^j^'^^j^^'^-.--^:<=j~tf -_e--8'-i r:=N--"--*--q:-rr^r~" -^
On de road, while on de road. We're gwine to de camp meeting Sing, brudder, sing; We
---- -- -- -- ------ --
I------- -N----s--N ----p-- --H--H-H--------H-

We sing,we sing, we sing, we sing,
---=---=-- -=:----=-:-^-- .-3,JS--^S~^^^^P--P'-
-------------- -+ --- ,- --e --.-- -0-- -- -- --0-# --
-- -~e--- ---^~y_ H -' A -
We're gwine to de camp meetin',We sing,we sing,we sing,we sing,We
--H ....--H - -- --- 0 -- -D-- --F--i---iL--F-

Sing, brndders, sing,we sing,

--e --O- -- -- -- - -- -q---i--e-,--
gib you all a greet-in', Sing, sis-ter, sing, We're on de road to glo ry;

^B----_--o -o-_,-o-- ,-_i-_,--,----_-L-_.--'--_Q_--o---[--]-- --\ -- -- ---- -i-
-N-H HH-

We sing, we sing, we sing, we sing,
__ -- = __ .
---N--l -4--
f----i-- Is.- '-- f --I--*-p---g--^~~lt--e-p----- ---o -==-o-.:=s

gib you all a greet in', We sing, we sing, we sing, we sing, We're on de road to glo ry;

S--h---i -f---I-- __--= -- ---9--=- ------ --h I e_--h---:---
---- -- .__----

Sing. sis ter, sing, we sing,

., ---~-_--------N------ ------- --N----- -- -. --

Don't you hear de bu gle call, We'll tell de hap py sto ry Un-to all,.... un to all.

Don't you hear de bu gle call, We'll tell de hap py sto ry Un -to all,.... un to all.
-P -N -I

----'-. --9 --.T pTI-

Yes, on de road to glory, Keep time unto de marches,
On de road-on de road- On de road-on de road-
We '11 tell de happy story, We '11 shout frough heaben's arches-
On de road--on de road; On de road-while on de road.


Come, go wid us to heaben,
On de road-on de road--
Dar day shall hab no eben,
On de road, yes, on de road;
We '11 hab a happy meeting ,
On de road, yes, on de road--
In heaben's own camp-meetin',
On de road-while on de road.
JACK was looking toward the negroes and listen-
ing to their strange and impressive singing, when
Crabapple Jackson gave a prodigious yawn, slowly
opened his eyes, raised his head on his elbow, and
then stared about him in a confused manner for
several minutes. He presently came to himself
sufficiently to inquire :
Jack, is dem perwisions dar? "
"Yes; there 's the bag," was the reply.
"Wall," continued Crab, "does n't you tink
dat dis am a good time to lighten de weight ob
de bag ?"
I don't know but that you are right, Crab,"
responded Jack. We '11 awaken Dollie -
Ah she has saved us the trouble."
The little girl was indeed wide-awake. After
a quick glance at her surroundings she recalled
everything, and then, as was always her custom,
bowed her head in prayer; seeing which action,
Crab was recalled to his duty and did the same.
Jack had already, before the others were awake,
invoked the care of his Heavenly Father in the un-
known perils that still awaited them.
Although the water did not look very inviting,
the children leaned over the edge of the cabin and
washed their faces and hands in the stream, after
which they quenched their thirst.
We 're better off than shipwrecked persons in
one respect," said Jack, as Dollie began taking the
food from the bag; we can never die from thirst,
as they often do."
De Massissipp don't look wery invitin'," said
Crab, "and when we fust come from old Kain-
tuck I war shuah dat I neber could drink it; but
I hab got so now dat I kinder like it."
There 's nothing strange in that," said Jack,
for river-men grow to like it better than anything
"'Ceptin' whisky," amended Crab.
"I mean, better than any other water, even
that from the clearest spring," explained Jack.
"Hark "
The singing of the negroes on the nearest cabin
had stopped some minutes before, but now one of
them was heard speaking in a loud voice.

Looking toward them, the children saw that the
whole party were kneeling, while one of their
number, evidently an exhorter or preacher, was
leading in prayer.
The scene was an impressive one, and our young
voyagers could not but join them in spirit. The
plea of the African was touching in its earnestness
and simplicity. He had a rich, sonorous voice,
which was mellowed and softened in its passage
across the water to their ears.
The negroes must have been hungry, but this
fact did not prevent their leader from making his
petition as long and all-embracing as he was ac-
customed to make it when exhorting his brethren
and sisters in their cabin at home.
Meantime, the three children began their own
breakfast. Jack found it necessary to limit the ex-
tent of Crab's repast, or but little would have been
left for the future.
What 's de use ob bein' so particular ? asked
the disappointed darkey. Like enuff dar '11 be
some steamer along to-day and take us off, and den
we kin get all we want to eat without starvin'
ourselves now."
There 's no danger of starving as long as we
can get one meal a day, such as you have just
eaten," said Jack.
But don't you expect to be taken off to-day ? "
asked Dollie, as she carefully put away the remains
of the meal.
I hope so," answered her brother; "but there
is n't any certainty. Don't you see that the river is
so wide here that we can't begin to see either shore ?
The flood may stretch out fifty or even a hundred
miles further, for we are not yet out of the lowlands
of Arkansas."
"What's dat got to do wid de steam-boat taking
us off?" asked Crab, with some sullenness. He
evidently had no fancy for any theory, however
plausible, that was likely to stand in the way of his
seemingly unappeasable appetite.
"A good deal," said Jack, decidedly. "There
are not half enough steamers on the Mississippi to
cover such a lot of water. We may drift all the
way to New Orleans before being picked up.
That will take several days, supposing we are not
delayed by any accident; and what shall we do in
the meantime if our provisions give out ?"
And then," added Dollie, whose tender heart
was always remembering others, "there must be a
good many who have nothing at all to eat, and
we may have a chance to share with them."
Crab found he was outvoted, and so said no
more, though he looked longingly at the bag
which contained the food, for which he seemed
always to be craving.
Our young friends now observed that the roof


.-: -- -

ali. I. i* ....I ~ ti. -iii i ii rE :
loa cii .i I, rj r I r l. i G rirr
r-- .-- _---_,- ii_ ..
ra Cr I 1. trd
at C. C ... 1 .. h Th1 -
!. n r C : L. 1. ... .-.----

_l-.--- -

.-.. ,- ,, .- -.. ,.. .5
b. ,,: ,,t Ii. .. .. l .,ur r .,r

ird .. .C'. rh. F. I

a. ....r.i
.. ,cr_- -m

1883.] A GOOD MODEL. 009



I HAVE lately been visiting a gentleman whom I
should like to tell about. He lives on the banks
of the Delaware River, not far from Trenton, New
Jersey. The place was the seat of an old Quaker
neighborhood long before the Revolution, and
Washington's soldiers passed along its roads and
crossed its fields many a time. And later, many
men who became famous, particularly as natural-
ists, have lived or visited there.
The Delaware River below Trenton is bordered
by very wide flats, known as "The Meadows."
At one place, fully a mile from the river, a long,
steep bank rises to the level of the farming-lands
behind, and shows the ancient limit of the river-
freshets. In a beautiful grove on the summit of
this bluff stands the picturesque old home of my
friend, with its group of barns and sunny gardens
about it, and the broad grain-fields behind. Thus
pleasantly placed for hearing and seeing what goes
on out-of-doors, this gentleman has taught himself
to be one of the best field naturalists in the world.
By field naturalist" I mean one who finds out the
appearance and habits of plants and animals as
they are when alive and in their own homes, and
who does not content himself merely with reading
what others write about them.
It is very delightful to talk with this gentleman,
and to see how well he is acquainted with the birds
and the four-footed animals of his district, all of
which are under his jealous protection. He has
half a dozen little "tracts" within a mile of his
house, each of which is tenanted by a partly dif-
ferent class of plants and animals, so that there is
never any lack of variety in his studies. The truth
of this will not seem clear to you at first, perhaps,
because you are accustomed to think that, in order
to find any great diversity in outdoorlife, you must
search through great spaces of country. But my
friend's farm would show you that a great many
little differences are ordinarily overlooked, which,
when you come to know them, are seen to be real
and important. And this can be proven in one
place about as well as in another.
For instance, it is easy to divide the estate I
am speaking of into four districts, so far as natural
history is concerned. First, there are the upland
fields and house-gardens; second, the steep hill-
side, grown dense with trees and tangled shrubbery;
next, the broad, treeless, lowland meadows; and
VOL. X.-39.

lastly, the creek, with its still, shaded waters, marshy
nooks, and flowery banks.
Now, while there are many trees, bushes, and
weeds that are common to all these four districts,
it is also true that each of the districts has a num-
ber of plants and animals that are not to be found
in the others. You would not expect to get water-
snakes, muskrats, or any wading birds on the high
fields behind the house, nor do the woodchucks,
quails, and vesper-sparrows of the hill-top go down
among the sycamores by the creek. One quickly
gets a hint here of the great fact that any species of
animal or plant may be spread over a whole State,
or half the continent, yet, nevertheless, be found
only on that kind of ground which is best suited to
it. One of the first things a naturalist has to learn,
therefore, in respect to an animal whose habits he
wishes to study, is what sort of surroundings it loves,
and he will be surprised, particularly in the case
of the smaller creatures, to learn how careful ani-
mals are in this matter, since upon it, as a rule,
depends their food and safety. There are certain
snails, for example, which my friend finds in one
corner of his farm and never anywhere else. A
pair of Bewick's wrens have lived in his wagon-
house for some years, but they are the only pair in
the whole county. It would be no use for him to
look anywhere than on his bush-grown hill-side
for the worm-eating warbler, the morning warbler,
or the chat, though his gardens up above entice
many other birds. Similarly, if the bird called
the rail decides to make its home on his land, it
will not settle along the creek, but in a marshy
part of his meadows. I might mention a large
number of these examples, but these will suffice.
For more than twenty years my friend has
been diligently studying this single square mile
around his house. One would think he knew it
pretty well by this time, and he does-better, I
believe, than any other square mile is known in
the United States. He can tell you, and has
written down, a hundred things about our com-
mon animals which are real news; yet he thinks
that he has only begun, and is finding out some-
thing more every few days.
Here is an instance:
Forty years ago, or more, a small, brightly
spotted turtle was described as living near Phila-
delphia, and two miserable specimens were sent


to Professor Agassiz. It was called Miihlenberg's
turtle, and since then not one has been seen until
last summer. My friend was always on the lookout,
never failing to pick up or turn over every small
turtle he met on the meadows or along the creek,
and examine whether the marks on its under shell
were those of the lost species. Finally, one of the
ditches in the meadows was drained off to be re-
paired, and there, within a short distance, were
picked up six Miihlenberg turtles If you go to
Cambridge, Mass., you can see four of them alive
and healthy to-day. They could easily have gone
out of that ditch into other ditches, and so into
the creek; but, if they ever did, they have suc-
ceeded for twenty years in escaping some pretty
sharp eyes that would have been very glad to
see them.
This little incident has a moral for us in two
ways. One is, that often the apparent rarity of an
animal comes from the fact that we don't know
where to look for it; and the other, that it takes
a practiced eye to know it when we have found
it, and to take care that it does n't get lost sight
of again. Practice your methods of observation,
then, without ceasing. You can not make discov-
eries in any other way. And the cultivation of

the habit will be of inestimable advantage to you
in many ways.
This is the merest hint of how, without going
away from home, by always keeping his eyes open,
a man, or a boy or a girl can study, to the great
advantage and enjoyment not only of himself (or
herself), but to the help of all the rest of us. I
should like to tell you how patiently the naturalist
watches the ways of the wary birds and small game
he loves; how those sunfish and shy darters forget
that he is looking quietly down through the still
water, and go on with their daily life as he wants
to witness it; how he drifts silently at midnight,
hid in his boat, close to the timid heron, and sees
him strike at his prey; or how, concealed in the
topmost branches of a leafy tree, he overlooks the
water-birds drilling their little ones, and smiles at
the play of a pair of rare otters, whose noses would
not be in sight an instant did they suppose any
one was looking at them. But I can not recount
all his vigils and ingenious experiments, or the
entertaining facts they bring to our knowledge,
since my object now is only to give you a sugges-
tion of how much one man may do and learn on
a single farm in the most thickly settled part of
the United States.



S i s -- .., _

K -.

,RI orNT UAITe own l..egs! a r

TRIO OF NATURALISTS: "How now? Six legs! And a dwarf, at that!"




I KNOW a little lady
Who wears a hat of green,
All trimmed with red, red roses,
And a blackbird on the brim.

She ties it down with ribbons,
Under her dimpled chin:
For oftentimes it's breezy
When she comes tripping in.

She 'll drop a dainty courtesy,
Perhaps she '11 throw a kiss;
She brings so many hundred
That one she '11 never miss.

With laughing, sunny glances
She comes, her friends to greet:
There 's not another maiden
In all the world so sweet !

Her name? The roses tell you
'T is in the blackbird's tune 1
This smiling little lady
Is just our own dear June!


1 -
'_ .i p-.--




"RATHER an inhospitable refuge," said Rob
Clinton, with a laugh-"ragged rocks for those
who come from the sea, and bare sands for those
from the land."
"Yet it is when we are among ragged rocks
and bare sands," said Mrs. Eustace, who stood by
him, "that we want a refuge, you wise boy. And
there is the house, which is the real refuge."
"I was n't thinking of the house," said Rob;
"but perhaps, on a stormy night, it might be
better than the rocks and sands, though at pres-
ent I don't think so. But Mr. Eustace is calling
us. He and the girls have regularly gone into
refuge on the piazza."
The Eustace party, which now found itself in a
lonely "House of Refuge for shipwrecked sailors

on the Atlantic coast of Florida, consisted of Mr.
and Mrs. Eustace, their nephew Phil, with his two
sisters, and Rob Clinton, Phil's school-fellow and
best friend. They were taking a trip down the
Indian River in two sail-boats, and the captain
and owner of the larger of these two boats-the
"Wanda"-had selected this place as a very
suitable spot at which to moor their craft and pass
the night. For a hundred miles or more the party
had heard the roar and moan of the ocean on the
other side of the narrow strip of land which sepa-
rates the Indian River from the Atlantic. But,
until now, they had not crossed the barrier. Here
the high bank of sand and rock on which the
"House.of Refuge" stood was so narrow one
could almost throw a stone from the quiet waters



of the river into the roaring surf on the other
The keeper of the Refuge, a young man named
Norman, who, with his wife and child, lived in this
lonely house, met the visitors with a glad welcome.
He had little to offer them save the shade of the
broad piazza which fronted on the ocean; but this
was all they wanted, and, on his part, it was de-
lightful to him to see again some human beings
from the outside world.
Our party remained on the beach until long
after sunset. Mr. Eustace was not strong, and he
sat upon the warm sand; but Mrs. Eustace and
the girls, with Rob and Phil, wandered about
among the great twisted and jagged rocks, at the
foot of which the waves rolled and tumbled. The
unceasing roar of the incoming surf, the splendors
of the setting sun reflected on the eastern sky, the
great pelicans swooping along over the crests of
the breakers, and the far-stretching ocean itself,
made a scene so grand and impressive that our
friends could not bear to tear themselves away.
Darkness had almost set in, and the good-natured
captain of the "Wanda" had three times called
them to supper before they would leave the beach.
In the evening, by Norman's invitation, they
came up to the house and sat in what he
called his parlor, a large, bare room, furnished
with a desk and some rickety chairs and stools.
This house had once been a life-saving station,
Norman told them, but it was now simply a place
of refuge and shelter for sailors and other ship-
wrecked persons who might be cast upon this
beach. Above and below, at distances of a few
miles apart, sign-boards were set up on the beach,
on which were painted, in two or three languages,
directions by which the House of Refuge might be
found. In the second story of the long, low build-
ing were a number of small beds, and the Govern-
ment kept here always a goodly supply of hard
bread and salted meats.
In the boat-house down there," said Norman,
are two life-boats. They are of no use now, as I
am the only man at this place. All I can do is to
take care of any poor fellows who are lucky enough
to get themselves ashore from a wreck. But it
is n't often we have wrecks on this coast, and if it
was n't for a hunter or fisherman now and then,
and the people on board the supply-ship when that
comes along, we should be pretty hard up for
When our friends went down to their boat,
about nine o'clock, they found that the air had
grown colder and that a strong wind was blowing
from the sea. The boats lay under the lee of the
land, but their occupants were a good deal rocked
that night, for the wind grew strong -and stronger.

In the morning, Captain Silas told the party that
he expected to tie up at this place all day. There
was a big storm coming up, and the Indian River
in a gale was no place for a top-heavy boat like the
After breakfast, everybody went over to the beach.
There, for the first time in their lives, they saw a
real storm at sea. It did not rain, but the sky was
full of scudding clouds, the water was in wild
commotion, and the waves dashed high over the
rocks on which the young people had stood the
evening before. The wind and the spray soon
obliged Mr. and Mrs. Eustace and the girls to go
into the house, where they watched the stormy
scene from the windows. But Phil and Rob put
on their heavy coats, and remained upon the beach.
Rob was a tall young fellow, with a full chest, and
big muscles on his arms. He was fond of base-
ball and boating, and delighted in athletic sports
and outdoor life. Phil was of slighter build, and,
though healthy and active, had distinguished him-
self much more in the study of the classics and
mathematics than in boyish games and exer-
cises. Still, it must not be supposed that, because
he did not excel in these latter pursuits, he did not
care to do so. Like many another boy of spirit, he
was just as anxious to perform those manly deeds
to which he was little used, and which were not
expected of him at all, as to be thought proficient
in his studies. For instance, it would give him as
much pride and pleasure to successfully sail a boat
in a stiff breeze as to work out the hardest problem
in differential calculus. He was of a quiet dispo-
sition, and had had little opportunity of engaging
in what are called manly exercises. But he had a
manly spirit, and often envied Rob the dash and
courage that carried him at once into the front of
every sport and adventure. Rob frequently took
the tiller of the "Mary," the smaller boat on which
the boys generally sailed, when Joe Miles, the
boatman, was busy forward. Phil, too, would have
liked nothing better than to take his turn at steer-
ing, but somehow it had never occurred to Joe to
ask him, and Phil was too sensitive to offer his
services; still, he could not help feeling a little sore
that Joe should never think of him as a person
who could steer a boat.
The storm continued, the wind growing stronger
as the day progressed, and finally even the boys
were glad to take shelter in the house. About noon
Norman called the whole party out on the porch.
Look out there he cried, pointing over the
tossing waves. Plainly in sight for an instant,
then lost behind the heaving billows, then up again
in view, was seen the hull of a large vessel, appar-
ently two or three miles from shore.
She was a three-masted schooner," shouted




Norman, but she 's a no-masted one now. She
is driving before the wind right on shore !"
"Do you think there is anybody in her?"
cried Mrs. Eustace.
"I reckon so," answered Norman. She
seems all right, except that her masts are gone.
The storm is worse out at sea than it is here. I
reckon we 're only on the edge of it."
Will she be driven on these rocks ? asked Mr.
Eustace, the noise of the surf making it necessary
to shout the words into Norman's ear.
"Can't say," answered the keeper. She 's
more likely to come in a mile or two below here."
And what will you do then? asked Rob,
"I '11 go down and help all I can," returned
And we '11 go with you cried both the boys
Mr. Eustace and the girls now went into the
house, but Mrs. Eustace, well wrapped up, re-
mained on the porch with the boys and Norman,
where Silas, the captain of the "'Wanda," with the
colored man, his assistant, and Joe Miles, soon
joined them.
The wind now shifted, blowing more directly
from the east, and the men predicted that the ves-
sel would come ashore close to the house.
Shall you get out a boat? asked Rob.
If she comes in here there wont be any need
of boats," Norman answered. She '11 drive right

up on the rocks in front of us. The water is deep
enough, a dozen yards from low-tide mark, to float
a big ship at any time. She 'l1 come close in, if
she comes at all."
Then what she has got to do," said Silas, "is
to drop her anchors as soon as she gets in sound-
ings. If they hold where the water is deep enough,
she may be all right yet."
On came the dismasted vessel, tossing, pitching,
and rolling, and making almost directly toward the
House of Refuge.
"She is American," said Norman. Except
these words, no one spoke, but with rapidly
beating hearts all stood and watched the incom-
ing and helpless vessel. The captain of the
schooner evidently saw his only chance of safety,
for, when apparently but a few hundred yards
from shore, a man was seen to throw a lead, and
very soon afterward two anchors went down, one
at the bow and one at the stern.
Now came a moment of intense anxiety. Would
the anchors hold?
On came the vessel. "She 's got to let out
cable !" said Norman, and in a few moments her
shoreward course was arrested. She rolled and
pitched, but came no nearer the dreadful rocks.
They 're holding' !" cried Silas, as he waved
his hat above his head, and if it had not been for the
noise of the surf his voice could have been heard
on board of the vessel, where many men could be
seen about thu decks.



But there 's no known' how long they '11 hold,"
said Norman. Them breakers are givin' them
an awful strain."
Is n't there any way of saving those people ?"
cried Mr. Eustace, coming out in great excitement.
She 'd be all right if she could hold out till
the storm is over," said Silas.
"But if one of them anchors or hawsers gives
way," said Norman, the other wont hold her,
and she '11 come smashing right on to these'rocks !
What the people on that vessel ought to do is to get
on shore as soon as they can; but there 's not a
boat on her davits. She 's been caught in some
sort of a cyclone, and everything has been swept
Can't you go out in one of these boats and
take the people off ?" said Mr. Eustace.
I '11 go out in the small boat," said Norman,
"if these men will help me; and then, if we can
bring some of the crew ashore, we can man the big
life-boat and take them all off, if there is time and
the boats don't capsize."
I would go with you in a moment," said Mr.
Eustace, if I was strong enough to pull an oar."
Everybody was now on the piazza, and the
general excitement was so great that even the girls
did not seem to notice the fierce wind and the
spray which every minute or two swept in from the
sea. The men on the vessel, apparently to the
number of fifteen or twenty, were scattered about
the deck, holding on to parts of the wreck, and all
anxiously gazing toward shore. Now and then one
of them waved a handkerchief or a cap. It was
very likely that, seeing the boat-house and the
larger building, they judged that this was a life-sav-
ing station,-perhaps some of them knew that it
used to be such,-and they, doubtless, wondered
why the boat had not already put out to their rescue.
If you three men," said Norman, addressing
Silas, Joe Miles, and the negro Tom, "will each
take an oar, and one of these young gentlemen
will steer, we '11 get out the little boat, and pull to
the schooner."
"We '11 go," said Silas, speaking for himself
and the other two, "but I reckon these young
men '11 be afraid to venture out in a sea like that."
"Afraid!" cried both boys in a breath. And
then Rob added, There is no danger of our being
afraid, is there, Phil ?"
Well then, if one of you '11 go," said Norman,
"we are all right." And he hurriedly led the way
to the boat-house.
Mr. Eustace and the girls retired into the house;
but Mrs. Eustace, filled with the excitement of the
moment, drew her shawl around her head, and
followed the men. It did not take long to run the
small boat out of the boat-house, and over the

smooth sand to the water's edge; then the men
buckled on their life-preservers, four oars were
quickly put aboard, the row-locks fixed, the rud-
der shipped, and she was ready to launch.
"Now, which of you is going? cried Norman.
Phil said not a word, but his eyes sparkled.
Can't we both go? asked Rob.
"No," said Silas, who stood nearest, "there's
no need of two, and the other one would just take
up the room of a man from the wreck. The boat
is small enough, anyway."
"Come, hurry up !" cried Norman, who had
taken hold of the side of the boat, and make up
your minds which of you is goin'. It is enough to
make you afraid, I know; but one of you promised
to go, and you 're in for it now Jump in, one of
you, and we '11 run her out "
The men now stood, two on each side of the
boat, ready to push her out behind the next out-
going breaker. Just at this moment there came
through the storm the first sound that had been
heard from the ship. It might have been the
scream of a bird or an animal, but it sounded
wonderfully like the cry of a child.
"There is a woman on board," groaned Mrs.
Eustace. She saw the flutter of her dress.
Whatever this cry was, it seemed to send a
thrill through every person on the beach. The
men, who had already pulled the boat out so far
that the water dashed about their legs whenever a
wave came in, turned around and looked angrily
at the boys. Phil made a step toward the boat;
then he stopped, and looked at Rob.
There was nothing in the world that would have
given Phil such intense delight as to go out in that
boat, and help rescue the crew of the disabled ship.
No hero of chivalry had a braver spirit than he.
No knight had ever desired more earnestly to plunge
into the battle than he desired to steer that boat.
Rob's blood was boiling. For the first time in
his life he had been looked upon as a coward, and
the injustice of the thing stung him to the heart.
Such an adventure was something that suited him
exactly, mind and body. In the excitement of the
moment he had no more fear of those wild waves
than of the rippling waters of a pond.
He, too, made a step toward the boat, and as
Phil looked up at him their eyes met. Rob knew
exactly how Phil felt. He saw that he was trem-
bling with fierce desire to go in the boat, and yet he
knew the boy would never push himself forward
to a place to which he thought he had no right.
The storm of undefined emotions which had
been raging within Rob now suddenly ceased.
He spoke to Phil, but his voice was hoarse and
"Get in," he said.




Do you mean it? cried Phil, with a quick flush
upon his face.
Rob nodded; and in a moment Phil had secured
a cork belt about his waist and was in the stern of
the boat. A wave rose beneath the boat, waist-
deep,into the water ran the men, and then they
clambered in and seized the oars.
"I thought the big fellow would 'a' gone," mut-
tered Joe Miles. And that was all that was said.
Rob stood and watched the boat as eight strong
arms pulled it away in the very face of the in-
rolling breakers. Then his legs seemed to grow
weak beneath him. He felt he had given up the
only chance he would ever have of doing the thing
that of all things in the world he would most like
to do. He sank upon his knees on the sand, and
put his hands before his face. The water washed
up close to him, and the spray dashed over him,
but he did not notice anything of this.
Presently he felt a touch upon his shoulder.
He looked up, and saw Mrs. Eustace standing over
him. In an instant Rob sprang to his feet.
"Mrs. Eustace," he cried, with glowing face,
" I was n't afraid "
The lady took the boy's hand in both of hers.
"Rob," she said, "I never had a brother; but, if
I could have one, I should like him to be a fellow
just like you. You need n't tell me anything about
it. I know why you did it."
Now came Mr. Eustace and the girls hurrying
to the spot. They had been astonished to see
Phil going off in the boat.
"I had thought," said Mr. Eustace to Rob,
"that you would go. You are so much larger
and stronger than he is."
He can steer as well as I can," said Rob, with
an attempt at a laugh.
Phil's sisters turned their tearful and reproachful
eyes on Rob, and Mr. Eustace was about to speak,
when his wife interrupted him.
"Come here," she said, "and you girls too.
I want to speak with you." And she took them
In half an hour the boat returned, bringing three
men of the crew and the captain's wife and baby,
Phil still proudly sitting in the stern and steering.
The little boat was run upon the sand, and the
seven men hurried to the boat-house and brought
out the larger life-boat. In ten minutes it was
afloat, six men at the oars, and Captain Silas at
the helm. Before sundown every living being, and
some of the clothing and property of the crew, had
been safely brought to shore.
The storm continued all night, and, before
morning, the hawsers of the schooner parted, and
she was driven ashore a short distance below the
House of Refuge. She was beaten to pieces on

the rocks, and when daylight appeared the beach for
half a mile was strewn with her broken timbers and
the flour-barrels which formed a part of her cargo.
Phil was the hero of the occasion, for everybody
agreed that no fewer than four men could have
rowed that first boat out to the wreck; and it
would have been hard and doubtful work for them
without some one to steer. Mr. Eustace and the
girls thoroughly understood the whole affair, but
they were no less proud of Phil. After all, he had
gone out in the boat.
As for the captain of the wrecked schooner,
which was an American vessel, bound from Balti-
more to the West Indies, his gratitude and that of
his wife was so great that poor modest Phil longed
most earnestly for the gale to subside, so that the
sail-boats might continue their journey. But the
wind, though much abated, was still so high that
the prudent Captain Silas saw that he would have
to remain at his present moorings until the next
day, and the younger members of our party
found occupation enough in watching and assist-
ing the efforts of the rescued crew to save the
boxes and barrels that the sea had thrown, or
was throwing, on the sands and among the rocks.
The next morning broke bright and clear, with
a fresh but moderate breeze, and, after breakfast,
the "Wanda" and the Mary" were made ready to
continue their trip down the river. Just before the
larger boat, on which the whole party was then
assembled, had cast loose from the little pier, the
captain of the wrecked vessel came on board. He
held in his hand a scarf-pin, surmounted by an
ancient golden coin or medal.
"I have n't much of value," he said, "but this
is a curious Moorish coin which I got in Madrid,
and I want to give it to the noble boy who came
through the storm to help save me and mine."
And, handing the scarf-pin to Phil, he turned and
stepped ashore.
That afternoon, when the two sail-boats were
many miles from the House of Refuge, Rob was
sitting at the open end of the cabin of the
" Wanda," writing in his journal on the little fold-
ing shelf which served as a table. Phil and the
girls were on the other boat, and Mr. Eustace was
taking a nap. Presently Mrs. Eustace arose from
the camp-stool on which she had been sitting, and
went up to Rob. She took from her pocket a
silver fruit-knife, which she laid on the note-book
before him.
"I have n't much of value," she said, "but I
want to give this to the noble boy who did n't go
through the storm to save anybody."
Captain Silas had been watching this little scene
from the stern. I 've been thinking' that that might
be about the rights of it," he said, with a smile.





WHEN Ned was a baby-oh, ages a;
(Well, that is, a matter of six years
There once was a wonderful talking
From upstairs and down-stairs every
When Mamma called: "Come, Sus
Mary Ann !
The most wonderful thing since
Oh, look! Come! See!
Neddie is

or so)

But to-day a more wonderful thing you may see,
For now a bold youngster called Ned climbs a

g. tree,
one ran, Plays at ball, tag, or shinney (and beats at all
an Look, three),
And is ever in mischief and riot.
the world And when this astonishing thing the folks spy,
To one and another they wond'ringly cry,
While amaze at such accident fills every eye:
I"" What a marvel! Here 's Ned silting quiet "



CLOSE by the river, at the foot of a dismal street,
stands a big shed, in which eighteen families eat
and sleep. It is a quarter of New York where
decent people are seldom seen. On every side
there are shanties and rookeries, and the air is
heavy with sickening smells from slaughter-houses.
Dirt is everywhere: a foul ooze of garbage and
standing water in the gutter; solid layers of dust
in dark entries which are never scratched by a
broom; heaps of unclean straw serving for pillow
and bed in the closets which are known as bed-
rooms; and thick coatings of grime, ancient and
modern, on the hands and faces of the children
swarming about the door-ways, as well as in the
shreds, tatters, and patches with which they are
scantily clothed. The midsummer sun heats up
the piles of refuse until they steam with foul
vapors, which are caught up by the windows; and
when the doors leading into the halls are opened
for a draught of fresh air, there is a stifling sense
of closeness and dampness, which makes the
babies sneeze and the mothers cough. The long
wooden building, with its three floors and rickety
staircases, is so unsteady and tottering that one
who watches it in the noontime heat of a July day
fairly holds his breath, expecting to hear a sudden
crash and to see its ragged roof and dingy walls
fall to pieces, disappearing in a cloud of dust.
That ugly shed is known as "The Barracks."
Rubbish heap though it be, it contains within its
patched and slimy shell eighteen homes, with as

many as sixty children. On each of its three
floors there are six families, and no household has
more than two rooms, one of them being barely
larger than a closet, and as dark as night even in
the day-time. In those two rooms the cooking
and washing for the family are done, and at night
the father, mother, and sometimes as many as six
or eight children, have to sleep close together, like
sardines in a box.
"The Barracks" is one of the tenement houses
where the children of the poor live all the year
round. It is a long way from that dismal rookery
to Cherry street, on the East side, where as many
as one hundred and twenty families are lodged in
" Gotham Court," once one of the most hideous
tenement houses in the city, but now greatly im-
proved. Between those two landmarks, and from
one end of Manhattan Island to the other, there
are tenements of all kinds and grades for half a
million or more poor people. Among them are
many well-kept mechanics' floors, where the halls
are scrubbed once a week and the children oftener,
and where there are carpets, pictures, easy-chairs,
and many signs of thrift and comfort. But there
are also thousands of cheerless and comfortless
homes, where the poor lead lives of misery and want
- rear tenements where the sunlight can not enter,
rickety garrets as dark as a pocket, damp cellars
and foul stable-lofts, where a breath of fresh air can
never come, let the winds blow as they may.
The children in these tenement houses always






___ c^ I

,.. B -1 '--- -- --7 -- --^^ -: -- ---- .-; -,- -- -:- -__-_: --_ <;_y_-

.' ',.---' ^ t ---------- -: ---..-7... .

,. "I------ --

S I I ,* "

look older than -A P ', ungovernable temn-
hlook older than ,,---. ; ..! per. Often there is the
they really are. -_--- 'l'e'-- .. look of weariness
-:-., 11 .1 ,, I.I ... :. n, -

I Ol
-- i-- -,.: -. A i !. '1

W i l .ri .... w:, i- ,_
i- ''' L J-- W '

ir, .. I --- T ..S 1 ..,1 a r .
a r l -

II- 11 1' 1q -r1 s^-' ^ '^ J
"':-:'"'' -- '-"T-"-'--- "'. ..:;.-. .'"I, -i,:,. -..-
t. j I ,' I ,- I .

... .. l, '--:,'.,.. ", ,.i ' ~: _.=-
&~ ~~~~~~~~ ,; ,!!: , 7 ." -

: ... ,:,-'' -'' h -' '" :6 --:i~


' ;'",,'. 1,, *''

H'".' , "LjatL!


there is strength to bear them. In one way or
another their looks belie their age. They are
children who have been cheated out of their
childhood In their rags, patches, and everlasting
smudge, they are the little old men and the little
old women of the tenement world.
The childhood which accords with their years, if


not with their faces, can not be permanently restored
to them, for poverty is their birthright, and every
season brings with it privations and misery. But
if they can be helped to be children for two weeks
in the year, the memories of their holiday and the
renewed health which it gives to them will make
them younger as well as healthier and happier.
If, when the scorching midsummer sun falls with a
white glare upon the thin roofs and flimsy walls of
their tenement homes, the children can be taken
out of the narrow closets where they sleep, and the
steaming gutters where they swarm like big black
flies, and set down in the center of the children's
play-ground, which is the country, a new glow will
be kindled in their cheeks, and they will be the
children they were meant to be-not little old
men and little old women.
Now, this is the work of what is called The
Tribune Fresh-Air Fund." People who are rich
or have moderate means furnish the money for the
children's traveling expenses, sending it to "The
Tribune" newspaper. Last summer there were
more than fifteen hundred generous persons, many
of them children themselves, who gave money for
this purpose, the contributions amounting to $21,-

556.91. With this sum, 5599 of the poor children
of New York were taken into the country, given a
holiday of two weeks, and carried back to their
tenement homes. While their traveling expenses
were paid by the contributors to the Fund, the
children were the invited guests of farmers and
other hospitable people living in the country. Dur-
ing the spring, seventy-five public meetings were
held in as many villages in New York, Connecticut,
New Jersey, Massachusetts, Vermont, and other
States, and arrangements were made with com-
mittees and clergymen in as many other localities;
and when the kind-hearted entertainers in the
country were ready to receive them, the children
were sent out from the city in large companies,
and distributed among the villages. The farmers'
wives never knew whom to expect, although they
always had timely notice as to how many were com-
ing and when to meet the little visitors at the railway
station. The children in setting out on their journey
did not know where they were to spend their fort-
night's vacation, but sooner or later they found
themselves separated from their traveling compan-
ions and trundling in a farmer's wagon over a coun-
try road toward what was to be for a few happy
days their home; and although they had to tell
their names and their ages when they reached the
farm-house, and everything was strange and new to
them, they always found a motherly woman bus-
tling about and trying to make them feel at home.
The manager of the Fresh-Air Fund is Willard
Parsons, a bachelor clergyman, who has adopted
the poor children of New York'for his own. Hale
and hearty, with a ruddy face and an eye twinkling
with good humor, he has a heart brimful of
kindness for neglected children, and the energy of
twenty men. He it was who devised this simple
and effective plan of entertaining in the country
the poorest of poor children living in New York
and Brooklyn. The experiment was tried six years
ago, when he had a country parish in Pennsylvania,
and now he is making this the business of his life.
His work has already been crowned with success.
The first year, sixty children were taken into the
country. Last year, 6000 children had an outing
in green fields and pastures new. It is a charity
as popular as it is beautiful, for every heart is
touched by the sorrows of neglected childhood.
The children are selected by those who spend
their lives in working for and among the poor. Last
year, Mr. Parsons was assisted by more than two
hundred physicians, clergymen, city missionaries,
Bible-readers, and teachers, and use was made of
the principal benevolent societies and charitable
institutions, the design being to extend aid only
to those who required and deserved it. All that
was asked of the mothers or friends was that the



children under their charge should be clean when
they started. Now, in tenement houses, water sel-
dom runs above the first and second floors. Fami-
lies living in the remaining floors have to carry
water upstairs in pails, and consequently use it
sparingly. The children are not encouraged to
keep themselves clean from day to day and week
to week, so that something besides a surface
washing is required when they are prepared for
their summer travels. They have to be steamed,
scraped, scrubbed, and shaken; and as their
mothers either will not or do not know how to be
thorough in this process of renovation, the work is
sometimes done at mission-houses and institutions.
The transformations wrought by soap and water are
often startling. One of the little girls at the Five
Points, who did not recollect ever having had a
bath in the course of her short career, caught a
glimpse of her small self in a fragment of looking-
glass, and gave expression to her emotions in the ex-
clamation: Oh! I 'se been born again, just like
Eve In this way, some of the ugliest children
of the street are gradually bleached into comeliness
and decency, and when they are clean, perhaps for
the first time in their lives, they are arrayed in
new clothes provided by the institutions. Often
maternal pride, when the child is washed and
,J -

, ,
a s

* -

/ A

~ssssss- S-t


dressed at home, produces a faded ribbon or a bit
of cheap finery. When these finishing touches are
neglected, the dresses of the girls are carefully
ironed, and the boys' ragged and thread-bare suits
are neatly patched and sponged. So clean and
tidy are they, as with eager, excited faces they set
out on their holiday journey, that it is often hard
for bystanders to believe that these are indeed the
children of the poor. But they are the poorest of

poor children, and are carefully selected by those
who know them and how they live.
One of the largest parties sent out last summer
left the city on the afternoon of July 5th. For an
hour before the steamer's paddles began to move,
troops of from twenty to forty children, conducted
by Mr. Parsons's volunteer aids, had been filing
across the wharf; and, when the last whistle was
blown, four hundred and seventy little travelers
were mustered in the cabins and on the decks.
Each child wore a badge, and carried either a bun-
dle of clothes or a carpet-bag, much the worse for
wear; but there the common points of resemblance
ended and variety began. There were all sorts,
sizes, ages, and tempers. There were veterans in
holiday travel, who, having had an outing the pre-
vious year, knew all about it and were ready to
abash their companions with their superior wisdom.
There were shy little toddlers, to whom this was a
terribly new experience, and who seemed to be
uncertain whether they would find any place like
a bed in that great cinder-mill of a steamer, or
any person like a mother in the wonderful country
whither they were going; and apparently this feel-
ing was shared by a few of the mothers them-
selves, who clung to the little ones with sobs and
kisses, unwilling to let them go, even for two short
weeks, although they knew it would be for the
best. Then there were tall, awkward girls, pain-
fully conscious of the fact that they were wearing
their best clothes; wide-awake boys bent upon ex-
ploring the hold and mounting to the wheel-
house; timid figures cowering silently in corners
where they would not be observed; bolder spirits
elbowing their way through the throng and mak-
ing all manner of racket; and wistful little faces,
which seemed to have been waiting for a day's
pleasure from their birth, and to have found it, at
last, this merry day. It was a strangely assorted
company of sad and joyous, listless and active,
dull and intelligent, sickly and vigorous boys and
girls. Every face was glowing with anticipations
of happiness. Every little figure was quivering
with excitement. Is this the country?" piped a
sweet voice, before the steamer had fairly swung
out of her dock and headed up-stream. Not yet,
little one; for, see, yonder is "The Barracks"
showing its dirty face among the slaughter-pens,
and higher up are the hovels of Shanty-town."
But have patience, for the country is coming soon!
What a wonderful voyage that was How the
children romped, sang, and screamed as the steamer
glided by the dingy piers, and green banks and
tall trees came into view! How quickly the
lunches were whipped out and pocketed in those
hungry mouths! How many bewildering sights
there were for those tenement eyes vessels drift-


.-J I 1%


ing by, trains whizzing in the distance, and, at
last, real mountains towering above them How
unwilling they were to be put to bed, and when
they were once tucked in and the madcaps had
been cautioned to hold their tongues, how quickly
they all were sound asleep, the girls in the cabin
and the boys forward What a scramble there
was when the first urchin rubbed his eyes and
found out that it was morning, and that he was on
a steam-boat with 469 other children, and not in
a close, stuffy tenement house What a famous
breakfast they had, when the boat landed at Troy
and kind-hearted Shepard Tappen led them into

and pickerel pools, and with great mountain masses
looming up in the distance!
This was the first of the holiday journeys. As
the season advanced, parties of children were sent
out in rapid succession, sometimes as many as
eight starting in a single day. From June to
mid-September the children were entertained in
as many as one hundred and sixty villages in
the Mohawk Valley, among the Catskills and
the Berkshire hills, on the Connecticut and the
Sound, in New Jersey close at hand, and as far
away as Bennington and the Adirondack woods.
The average distance traveled by each child in

'I ,1 : I~
SI 'I I!
I, : 'III I I '1 ~

III I i,.e

IIr'III' ~ i
'iii ii

;'I i *I

A1 I.

4~ ~ I:,1 I


1.1 I."ii I


' ~ r'
s'9!.. \ I

_ '- ,l4u ..
.. 'a' -


a great room, where there were seven long tables,
with cold meats, hot biscuits, cookies, oranges,
and a glass of milk at each plate And then came
what was to most of them a first ride on a railway
train. Seven cars packed with children bowled
along through Saratoga and Ticonderoga toward
the villages on the west shore of Lake Champlain,
where the farmers were waiting at the stations for
the expected guests. And now, little one, whose
voice piped so sweetly opposite "The Barracks,"
this is the country; and it is the real country, with
flowers and berries, with farms and cows and chick-
ens, with woods and squirrels, with tumbling brooks

going and returning was 360 miles, and the man-
ager of the Fund has made the interesting calcula-
tion that the aggregate number of miles traversed
by the children would have enabled them, if they
could have gone on a straight line, one starting
where another left .off, to go around the world
eighty-five times !
Whether the children traveled by boat, train, or
stage, whether they went north, east, or west, they
had a common destination. That destination was
the country. Those who had been sent out in
previous seasons knew what to expect. To the
others it was a vague but glittering idea. What




-Ts=a^ _-

1883.] THE FRESH-AIR FUND. 021

is it like, anyway ? was a serious little maiden's
eager question on the cars between the great depot
and Harlem bridge, when her chance acquaintance
on the opposite seat was boasting that she had
been there twice before on the poor children's
excursions. Oh there 's cows," was the quick
response; and then there 's apple-trees and big
mountains and chickens and kind folks; and
there 's big rooms to sleep in, and there 's always
lots to eat, when they blows the horn; and they
blows it frequent!" This crude bit of descrip-
tion appealed to the imagination of the de-
mure little questioner, who had never seen either
grass or trees outside City Hall Park. She opened
her eyes very wide, and bobbed up and down on
the cushioned seat after the manner of little peo-
ple who are in a state of ecstatic expectancy.
Some of the boys, who had been taken to the
country early in July, when the apples were green
and unripe, might have left them out of the
summary of country delights. Don't talk to
me," said one of these experienced boy-travelers
on.one of the river boats, "about apples as grows
on trees. Did n't I climb a tree and bite into 'em
as soon as I got there? and was n't they sour
though! Just give me a good sweet apple as grows
in a barrel in town But if the apples were not
always ripe, the berries were; and if the mount-
ains were sometimes only hills, the country was
always a cool and shady place-a land of cow's
milk and the milk of human kindness, a land of
The children generally reached the farm-houses
in the evening, and were too tired to do more
than stuff their small selves at supper and then
crawl into their beds. In the morning they found
themselves in large, airy chambers, very dif-
ferent from the close closets in which they were
accustomed to sleep in town; and their beds
were so soft and comfortable that they would have
been late to breakfast, if curiosity had not tempted
them to bestir themselves and find out what sort
of place the country really was. The barn-yard
was always the first object of interest, and if there
were children in the farmer's family, they would
take charge of their little visitors from the city
tenements, laughing merrily at their exclamations
of bewilderment. A brown-faced country girl,
in a sensible sun-bonnet and plain frock, would
show a group of shy and awkward city girls, in
fantastic, made-over, and patched-together attire,
how to feed the chickens, the youngest child hang-
ing back half-afraid, and being thrown into a flutter
of excitement whenever a rooster crowed or a
vigorous hen flapped her wings. At the other end
of the barn-yard a sturdy country lad would give
a puny tenement boy a first lesson in milking,

smiling at his pupil's dread of the cow's hind feet,
and bursting into a roar when the little voice
would ask: I say, mister, is she milk all the way
The visitors invariably found out at breakfast
that country milk was something very different
from tenement milk. It was neither blue, thin, nor
watery, but fresh and rich. It 's more like good
bread and butter than milk! said one pale-faced
little invalid, who found it to be, indeed, both meat
and drink. Many of the children, however, were
unable to enjoy it during the first few days, being
accustomed to diluted milk. "It 's too strong! "
they would exclaim, and then look wistfully at the
teapot: for the children of the poor are invariably
given what their mothers term messes of tea in
the tenements. Country milk soon found its way
to their hearts as well as to their stomachs, and
long before the vacation ended they were ready to
take it whenever it was offered to them. Indeed,
if some of the wayside stories are to be credited,
their education in this respect was completed on
the first day's journey. At Albany, for example,
where a party was entertained at a large restaurant,
eighty quarts of milk were drunk by eighty-six
children in fifteen minutes.
Before the first breakfast came to an end, the
waifs of the New York streets were like members
of the farmer's household, and from that moment
until it was time to go back to the city they were
contented and happy. The number of genuine
cases of home-sickness among the six thousand
children taken into the country last year could be
counted on the fingers of a single hand. The be-
wildering pleasures of country life, the flush of
health following the change of air and diet, and the
unwearied attentions of those who were entertain-
ing them, combined to make this fortnight the
happiest ever known in those bare, neglected lives.
The boys naturally took to the water like so
many Newfoundland puppies. Wherever there
were brooks and quiet pools they were to be seen,
at any hour of the day, fishing, swimming, and
wading. One bright-eyed little sportsman, who
had provided himself with two formidable bean-
shooters, gravely asked his host if the woods back
of the barn were gamy." All the boys took an
intense interest in the farm dogs, the woodchucks,
and gray squirrels, and even the tiny field-mice
and tree-toads. Riding horses bareback to the
watering trough was esteemed one of the highest
privileges ; but what a newsboy described as the
boss fun of all was driving a load of hay. When
the big countryman gave him the long whip and
directed him to start up the oxen for the barn,
while the little ones on the hay-cart were eying
him enviously, it was decidedly the most important


moment of that newsboy's life, no matter how
many dreadful murders and startling fires he had
cried in the streets of New York.
The boys were always saying queer things, which
convulsed the jolly farmers with laughter. Who
watered those plants last night ? asked a little

fellow at Guilford, catching a first glimpse of dew
on the grass. My eye what big lemons was
an exclamation called out by squashes in the
garden. I say who owns all the robins round
here?" was another amusing question. At Old
Lyme, an urchin could not repress his astonishment
when he saw a man digging potatoes in the field.
"Have n't you any barrels in your cellar?" he
asked, contemptuously. Why do you keep 'em
stowed away in the ground that way ? "
The girls outnumbered the boys two to one,
the farmers' wives having a decided preference for
them. They were more domestic in their tastes,
but as happy in their quiet way as their noisier and
more venturesome brothers. They were interested
in the work of the dairy and the other household
occupations; they were never tired of playing
croquet in the front yard; they gathered wild
flowers in the woods, and clapped their hands with
delight whenever they found a ground-sparrow's
nest in the meadow; and they went berrying every
day, always contriving to fill themselves with wild
strawberries, or blueberries, even if they did not
have leisure to heap up their baskets.
Some of the smaller girls took their rag-dolls with

them into the country, and were happiest when
they could play by themselves in some shady
place. One little maiden near Essex was not dis-
tressed when she found that she had no playmates
in the house. She had her doll, and that was
company enough. She chose a sheltered corner

of the front yard as her nursery, and every morn-
ing went out to sing her dolly to sleep, her favorite
lullaby being a popular religious hymn. Across
the road lived a country lad of her own age, who
at once began to annoy her by repeating her music
in a high key, with numerous variations. For two
days she paid no heed to her troublesome neigh-
bor. On the third, her blood was roused. She
propped up her doll against a post of the fence,
marched across the road with flashing eyes, and
cuffed her audience of one boy about the ears.
" Now, just see here she exclaimed. I came
here for two weeks' fun, and I mean to have it! "
The boy fled riotously, and the moral effect of
the demonstration was marked. The sturdy little
maiden was suffered to have her fun in peace and
quiet until it was time for her to return to the city.
The farmers, surprised by the intelligence and
good manners of their guests, and moved to com-
passion by the stories of city life which were told,
bestirred themselves to fill the cup of holiday
pleasure until it should be brimming over. They
purchased hammocks, croquet sets, sometimes
even velocipedes, for the use of the children. Long
drives over country roads were arranged for them;





fishing parties were formed, and river and lake ex-
cursions were planned; luncheon was often served
in the woods; and on the sea-board they were
taken to clam-bakes and allowed to bathe in the
surf. In many instances, all the families entertain-
ing children in the same village united in a com-
bination picnic in the woods, with a bountiful
luncheon supplied from the kitchens of the farm-
houses, and ice-cream served from the country
hotel. At one village on the edge of the Adiron-
dack wilderness, seventy-five children were enter-
tained in this way; and at Whitney's Point there
was an ice-cream festival.
At Maple Grove, near Bennington, where Mr.
Trenor W. Park (by whose recent death the poor
children of New York have lost a most generous
friend) entertained several large parties, the chil-
dren found what was to them an earthly paradise.
An old-fashioned farm-house, with piazzas on three
sides, stood in the center of a park of one hundred
and seventy-two acres. A gravelly path led from
the porter's lodge to the porch; a crystal spring, a.
bubbling brook, a rustic bridge, and a summer-
house were to be found under the maples and

pines; and in the background was a great orchard
with vista of meadow and woodland. A matron
and several servants were placed in charge of the

house; a physician kept his eye upon the children;
there was a cabinet organ for use in Sunday serv-
ices in the large parlor; and in September great
fires of pine logs blazed in the open fire-places, and
I- -11

[SEE PAGE 626.]
stories were read or told to the children in the long
evenings. Happy days were these for the little
ones of the tenements Not only the happiest
they had ever known in their meager, neglected
lives, but sometimes the only happy days.
But they were days that were numbered--one
to fourteen As the day for the return to the city
drew nigh, faces would lengthen and sighs and
groans would be heard. "Must we go, rain or
shine ?" the boys would ask; and it was evident
from their manner that they would gladly take the
risk of a brisk tornado or a deluge of rain, if the
methodical Mr. Parsons's arrangements could be
upset and their stay in the country be prolonged
for a week. But never a tornado nor a deluge
intervened in their behalf. Rain or shine, the
wagon would drive up to the door, the muslin bags
stuffed with presents for the folks at home would
be stowed away under the seats, and the children
would be forced to say good-bye to their kind
entertainers, the smallest ones sometimes sobbing
as if their hearts would break. Waving handker-
chiefs and hats to those left behind, they would





-- ._,.- _2_

I ,' "' ,. "- -'; i -', j ,, '-!j )i
Ic .r .
^. *.... -o ,-" ,M ,1,,1. ,. .,^

.. ,l .... '" ,- I --... ,-,S "- -
,, ..--

6 ~ -



crane their necks at the first turn in the road to ages of pop-corn and bags of butternuts, baskets
get a last glimpse of their country paradise; and of fresh eggs and strawberries, bundles of clothing,
F k ,


'Ik T ..

2 -- i r'-' .

*: '*,- ._- .

-v .. 4

--- ,. '- F ~- -


then they would be homeward bound to "The
Barracks," to Gotham Court," and to Shanty-
town." Homeward bound, their cheeks ruddy with

health, their little heads stored with precious mem-
ories, and their arms loaded with plunder-pack-
VOL. X.-40.

boxes of vegetables, sometimes even a brood of
chickens, or a gray squirrel securely caged.
By stage, train, and boat their journeys were

retraced, and when they arrived at the wharf or
depot in New York, what exclamations fell from


--. '/=-- \kl-- I,.. ., ^ -

- .- . t,_ ".. I1f~'t .I' r : ',''j_-:- : -
- / .. __~ t .-. -:-_-: 1" : ;

_- .1 --
-' -f. 1" ' .- -.-
_~ '. ,L' 7' ; "' "' -: '
., : "- ;, -

: ,l' :, ,'4
-: ," 1 [ - -
4 I *1 ,1

.- .._-- -:

i i

J ^



the lips of those who met them to take them back
to mission-school, asylum, or tenement! Pale,
sickly faces had grown as brown as russet apples.
The lean, hungry look had gone. Sad, wistful
faces had lapsed into content. The hollow-eyed,
listless maiden, who had explained to her hostess
on her first morning in the country that she never
could eat any breakfast at home, because there
were six of them in two rooms and she had to
sleep on a mattress close by the cooking-stove,
came back plump, rosy, and cheerful. Some of
the children seemed to have nearly doubled their
weight. The sick bahie-. the nprvonl chil-
dren who had been 11, ir l ':..-.. I .:-
months, and manyar .:..ih.., .:. -- -
worn mother, who hI.i.i I.i:- p
away because physic: i, :. i.l -.i -
that their lives deF.p ._l.-..l u.i..:.r
their having the cou-rO, r.:- ---: -
turned wonderfully irni-.:. '-i ---
health. They were al! -r hI:.o i -
again, many of their, ,tr..i,
reclothed, every one iii.:.4-.-r,
fresher, and happier. 1i.- -h
children's vacation .:. .
Some of the good ip.:...!.. '
the country were gli:l rlI Lt It
was over. There wa it.: -r. wi, r--
deacon, who was sori, .-i.: [_.-
pointed when the b.:. i:-
girl at his house beg.1 ,.. ii
be excused from goinr ,.. .
church one Sunday, i,.:l
greatly horrified to f n., r.
at the close of the se r-
ice, that they had ,
taken advantage of -~~
the occasion to in-
vade the pig-pen
with a pot of black ....
paint, and touchup
every ear and tail
in a new litter of
little pigs. He was
glad to have such
mischievous chil-
dren go back to town. Then there were a few
weary farmers' wives, who had listened too credu-
lously to the exaggerated accounts given by the
children of their city homes, and become painfully
oppressed with the thought that they were being

imposed upon. But these instances of dissatisfaction
were rare. As a rule, the children's conduct was
excellent and their departure was viewed with keen
regret. Here and there a child was adopted by a
farmer's family, or given a home for six months
or a year, and often the vacations were prolonged
a second or even a third fortnight at the request
of the entertainers. The pathos of neglected child-
hood softened many a heart. There was the moth-
erly little maiden who, accustomed to looking after
her agile brother, discovered on the second day
that he had shed a button, and sedately produced
from the depths of her pocket a large pill-
I:..:. !.,l.eled, For Johnny. Take one
., hour." The hourly dose was
..... a button, which she proceeded
S th great earnestness to sew on
isjacket,but the child's thought-
fiulness and sweetness touched
the sympathies of every mem-
ber of the household. In many
ways the children transplanted
from back alleys to green fields
have exerted a good influence
upon those who were gener-
ously contributing to their
As for the little ones them-
selves, they were always sorry
S to have their vacation over, but
they consoled themselves with
Sthe reflection that what had
happened once might happen
again. They were right, for this
is surely one of those works
7 of mercy which appeal to every
heart in town or country, and
Which will flourish year after
--- year.
-" What do you think Heaven
--- -- will be like ? asked a teacher
Sin one of the city mission-
S schools during the autumn.
Oh, I know! I know!"
exclaimed the smartest girl
in the class, her face brighten-
ing with a look of delight,-' It will be like the
country Perhaps she had seemed thankless and
indifferent while she was there, but the coun-
try remained in her mind, a blessed and restful






I. II.

A SUMMER morning, cool and fair;
A whisper soft in the sunny air,
And a sound of rippling laughter.
A distant patter of dancing feet;
A chorus of eager voices sweet,
And a happy silence after.

A motley, merry crowd of youth,
With garments ragged and worn, forsooth,
But never a step that lingers.
Lads and lasses in laughing bands,
Babies that hold to guiding hands,
With clinging, anxious fingers.



Faces merry, or grave, or sad,
Lit up with expectation glad-
Where are the children going?
Away from dust, and noise, and heat,
The bustling city's narrow street,
With crowded life overflowing.

To sunny fields of daisied grass,
Where cool the fitful breezes pass
Above the blossoms leaning.
Where, far from walls and boundaries,
With birds and butterflies and bees,
They learn the summer's meaning.

Under the wonderful blue sky,
The mighty arms of tree-tops high,
In green woods arching over;
Where spicy perfumes lightly stray,
In breezy meadows of new-mown hay,
And fields of purple clover.

On sandy shores beside the sea,
Where roll the tides incessantly,
And dancing ripples glisten;

Where whispering shells repeat the tale
The ocean thunders in the gale,
To rosy ears that listen.

Sorrowful, wistful, patient eyes
Grow bright with rapturous surprise,
Or soft with happy wonder,
And cheeks as white as the winter snows
Blossom in tints of brown and rose,
The summer sunshine .under.





Wise Mother Earth to sad young hearts
Her choicest gifts of all imparts,
Their careful thoughts beguiling;
She breathes her secrets in their ears-
Their eyes forget the smart of tears,
And catch the trick of smiling.


They learn sweet lessons, day by day,
While speed the winged hours away,
In gray and golden weather;

They find, in flower or bird or tree,
Faint gleams of the beautiful mystery
That clasps the world together.


Perchance some serious, childish eyes,
Uplifted to the starlit skies,
Read there a strange, new story;
And dimly see the Love that holds
The round world safe, and o'er it folds
The mantle of His glory.

..~~i~ ~4$


A distant patter of dancing feet,
A chorus of happy voices sweet,
Amid the summer splendor.
Glad voices, rise through all the land!
Reach out, each little sunburned hand,
In greeting warm and tender,

To those whose thoughtful hearts and true
Have lightened lovingly, for you,
Your poverty's infliction;
And on each helpful spirit be
For this-the lovely charity-
The children's benediction !






BoYs like to know what boys can do. Let me
tell you what a few Philadelphia boys have done.
The Boys' Silk-Culture Association of America"
has a large room over a corner store in Phila-
delphia. You might suppose from the name that
it is a large company. But it has only five mem-
bers. These members, however, are so active and
devoted that they have made their enterprise not
only successful but well known throughout the
Hearing that they were glad to see visitors, we
called. In the shop-window some of the boys'
work was displayed--a.frame of light wood, with
silk-worms feeding on mulberry leaves, some co-
coons in jars, and others in the little paper cones
where they had been spun. There was, also, a
pamphlet for sale at twenty-five cents, which had
on its cover the modest statement, Compiled by
the Boys' Silk-Culture Association of America."
We were quite disappointed on being told that
the "Association was out at the park gathering
mulberry leaves; but we were all the more curious
to see it. An Association that would travel two or
three miles to the park to gather fresh leaves for
its silk-worms must be worth seeing.
So we called again, and this time were fortunate
enough to see the President of the Association
himself, a bright-looking boy of about fourteen
years, who showed us the various apparatuses, and
explained everything very politely.
The center of the room was occupied by a'large
stand of about five tiers of trays, made of light
wooden frames, with a net-work of twine tacked on
They were not hard to make, but they took a
tremendous lot of tacks," said our informant.
Here lay sheets of paper covered with the little
grayish eggs, not as big as a pin-head. On some
'the eggs had hatched, and the little brown worms
were already feeding on the leaves which the boys
had chopped fine for them. Each paper had the
date of the hatching marked on it, so as not to get
worms of different ages mixed.
This is a very late brood," explained the young
silk-culturist. "It is a lot of eggs we sent to Paris
for in a hurry, because we had more orders for eggs
than we could fill from our own raising, and they
were delayed."
"So you boys have dealings with foreign

business houses ?" we inquired. "Do you corres-
pond in French or English ?"
"In English," was the reply. "And we have
sent orders to Japan, too. We never have any
trouble about the language. I suppose the houses
from which we order have persons in their employ
who understand English. The French eggs are
the best; but the French are careless in making
up their packages. When we send for an ounce
of eggs, we don't want old wings and legs of moths
and bits of leaves mixed up with them. Not long
ago I wrote to ask what they meant by sending
us such light weight. They replied that it was
' French weight.' And that was all the satisfaction
I got."
We suggested that it must be a new denomina-
tion of French weight that had not got into the
tables yet: "Several hundred moth wings and
legs make one ounce of silk-worm eggs."
He laughed, and proceeded to show us some
full-grown worms that were preparing to spin.
Picking one up gently, he showed us its legs and
eyes and breathing-holes; explained about the in-
visible little spinnerets on each side of its mouth;
and afterward showed us a chrysalis and a moth,
so as to give us a clear idea of the insect from the
beginning to the very end of its existence.
Then he showed us his jars of cocoons, looking
like fresh pea-nuts, and the twists of reeled silk,
softer, finer, and more shining than the most beau-
tiful golden hair, and a piece of satin, with the
initials B. S. C. A." embroidered on it in silk of
:*our own make."
It was interesting to watch the caterpillars feed-
ing. In the last stage they are smooth and whit-
ish, and two or three inches long. We fancied we
could actually hear them chewing, they ate so
No," explained the young President; "that is
only the crackling of the leaves as they are pulled
over each other. But they are great gluttons.
They seem to eat all the time. No matter how
early I am up, I find them at their breakfast, and I
leave them eating at night."
Do they never sleep? we naturally asked, on
hearing this.
I never saw them at it. And, by the way the
leaves disappear during the night, I don't think
they take much time for sleep even then. But they

* See also the article on Silk-Culture for Boys and Girls," in ST. NICHOLAS for January, 1883, page 225.




can sleep enough in their cocoons. Now see them
crowding together in the corner of the tray. They
will do that, no matter how often we separate
them. I suppose they are like people. When one
finds something good, the others flock around to
share it."
Here a worm in the center of the tray stood up
on its tail and waved its head from side to side.
"What does that mean ?" we asked. : Is he
tired of eating at last ?"
Yes; he is ready to spin now," and the boy care-
fully dropped the worm into a paper cone, where
it at once began to spin its delicate threads and
fasten them on the paper. Some people let them
spin on twigs," he added, "but we like the cones
better. We made them in the evenings last winter."
Sure enough. There were piles of the little
paper cones neatly stacked on a shelf.
A worm now tumbled over the side of a tray.
The boy stooped to pick it up and replace it. He
was gentle, even with a worm.
"Every cocoon counts for something," he said.
"We can't afford to lose even one."
At one side of the room stood the reel which the
boys had invented and made themselves.
"You wont find a reel like that anywhere else,"
said the President, with pardonable pride. When
I planned that I had never seen a silk-reel. Of
course, I knew the principle, and worked according
to that. And I got a carpenter to make the wheel,
but the rest we did ourselves. It works very well,
too. We sand-paper the part the silk is wound on
every time we use it."
Then he showed us the very first silk they had
reeled, and a specimen of the later reelings, which
an expert had pronounced equal to the best:
The boys had also experimented with chemicals,
and had dyed some of their silk in bright colors.
In the corner stood what looked like an old
"That's a twisting-machine," he explained.
"A gentleman who visited our place gave it to us
to twist our silk on."
"Why, really, you do everything here but
weave," we could not help remarking.
Yes," said he, and we are not going to stop
till we learn weaving, too."
It looks as if you were going to make it a
business for life," we continued, inquisitively.
I don't know about that," said the boy ; "but
I like to do thoroughly anything I undertake."
"How long have you been interested in silk-
worms?" we next asked.
"About three years," he replied.
I suppose," we continued, it keeps you busy
only in the spring, while the worms are feeding?"
No," said he; "we can always find something

to do. We made all our own apparatus, and we
read all the books we can find about silk-culture.
Then our correspondence is pretty large. People
write to us from all parts of the country."
"I suppose boys who are interested in silk-
raising write to you?" we inquired.
"Yes; boys, and grown people, too."
"Probably they think you are head-quarters for
information," we rejoined, with a smile.
I suppose so," he answered, laughing.
Do you find your interest in your silk-worms
interferes with your studies? we asked.
I never let it," was his reply. When I 'm in
school, I attend to my lessons; and when I am here,
I attend to my silk-worms. I always keep them
separate. We give the worms enough leaves in the
morning to keep them busy till we get back."
Who could help admiring such a spirit!
But, between them, don't they keep you too
closely confined for your health ?" we could not
help inquiring, with natural anxiety.
Oh," said he, you know we have to walk out
to the park for the mulberry leaves. That gives
us plenty of exercise. It is inconvenient rais-
ing silk-worms in the city, where we are so far
from the mulberry-trees; but we have a branch
establishment in New Jersey, where the trees are
right on the place. Two of the boys live there,
and we communicate by mail."
"How is it you have so few members?" we
The Association was only established for the
mutual information and help of boys who are in-
terested in silk-raising," he rejoined. "There is
no money to be made by joining. Every boy has
to do his own work and earn his own money."
How is the money to be made? we asked.
We sell eggs and cocoons," said he, and give
lessons in the business; and we take in reeling.
Before long we shall have reeled silk to sell. But
we make the most money on the eggs."
We here picked up the little pamphlet published
by the Association, which our young friend, with
innate refinement, had not shown to us, lest it
might have the appearance of asking us to buy it.
We purchased a copy as a souvenir, and after inscrib-
ing our names in the visitors' book, took our leave.
Soon after, we were pleased to read in the col-
umns of a Philadelphia daily, in an account of the
trades' procession at the time of the Bi-centennial
in October, 1882, the following item :
The Boys' Silk-Culture Association next appeared with a wagon
ingeniously arranged with a good display of cocoons, silk, etc. A
part of a mulberry tree, on which silk-worms feed, was also shown,
together with a reeling machine, with which the boys reeled silk as
the wagon passed over the line of procession. This Association was
started a few years ago by four school-boys, who, it is said, have
been greatly successful in their venture."




By M. J.

ONE, two, three !
A bon-ny boat I see.
A sil-ver boat, and all a-float,
Up-on a ros-y sea.

One, two, three!
The rid-die tell to me.
The moon a-float is the bon-ny boat,
The sun-set is the sea.




WE will open our June meeting this time, my
hearers, with this wise little song, written for us by
our friend Jessie McGregor:


IF words
Were birds,
And swiftly flew
From tips
Of lips
Owned, dear, by you;
Would they,
Be hawks and crows?
Or blue,
And true,
And sweet? Who knows?

Let 's play
We choose the best;
Birds blue
Ard true,
With dove-like breast!
'T is queer,
My dear,
We never knew
That words,
Like birds,
Had wings and flew!


THE Deacon must have some very clever friends.
I heard him repeating what he called "a good
thing" the other day, adding very quietly,
Franklin said it." The good thing" was this:
Laziness travels so slow that Poverty soon over-
takes him."
If any of you happen to meet this Mr. Franklin,
I 'd like to hear from him again.

YOUR JACK has been much interested of late in
the telephone, that wonderful instrument which
ST. NICHOLAS has explained to you so clearly.*
I say "so clearly," not because I know how clearly,
but because the children of the Red School-house
seemed to understand the Little School-ma'am when
she made the remark. Yes; I've heard them all
talking, and talking, and talking about the tele-
phone, and how the instrument and its wires
enable folk to hear each other's voice when miles
and miles apart, and how all you have to do is to
say: "Connect me with such or such a party,
please!" and straightway that person shouts
Halloo at you out of the telephone's trumpet,
held close to your ear, and how you shout
Halloo back, and then enter into conversation
with that person, just as if she, or he, or it (if it 's
a telephone operator at the central station) were
right at your elbow.
And the thing has grown so amazingly! im-
proved, I should say. At first, persons could talk
from one street to another, or across a few fields
or a little stream like the British Channel; but
lately they have been talking from New York to
Cleveland, and at greater distances, perhaps; and
now, as a, final touch, what do you think they
find they could do with the telephone if they
wished ? Why, they think that in time they could
make it connect city folk, in their own ugly brick
houses, with the woods and the streams of the
country! Make them hear the very winds that
sigh in the trees !
Imagine it! Frogs croaking, by request, in
city parlors; forest birds singing to order in
lawyers' offices; brooks babbling at elegant din-
ner parties. I can 't imagine it, being, you see,
only a Jack-in-the-pulpit. But Deacon Green and
the Little School-ma'am imagined it the other day,
and they enjoyed it amazingly.

LEST some of you very, very wise and knowing
big chicks should think the Deacon and the Little
School-ma'am expect too much of the telephone, I '11
just give you here a paragraph that landed on my
pulpit one day. It came from an English publica-
tion of good repute, I 'm told:
A short time ago, while Mr. N. G. Warth, manager of the Mid-
land Telephone Company, Gallipolis, Ohio, U. S., was conversing
by telephone with Major H. B. Hooner, of Pomercy, Ohio, some
twenty miles away, he was surprised to hear the croaking of frogs
and songs of wild birds very distinctly. The telephone wire is
June, 1878, p. 549,-[ED.



known to pass through some dense woods on its course, and the ex-
planation is that some loose joint in the wire acted as a microphone,
and taking up the woodland sounds, transmitted them to the tele-
phone at the end of the line. The accident shows that it would be
possible to have wild-wood music brought into the heart of the city
every morning along with fresh milk and flowers."

WHY is this smiling little girl sitting here, my
chicks? She can't be waiting to go out for a
walk, because, you see, she has on thin shoes and
a summer dress. If these are suitable, then the
warm muff and the great feathers are sadly out of
place. What, then, is she doing? Who is she ?
I '11 tell you who and what she is. She 's a text.
Now, do you understand? No? Well, then, you
shall hear further. She is illustrating a fact.
You must know that it is very early June, and
the little girl's mother (who should have attended
to the matter earlier) is packing her winter clothes
and curtains and what-not away for the summer,
so that the moth now flying about may not lay
eggs in them. For these eggs in time would hatch
into tiny larvae, or worms, that would eat the
fabrics and make unsightly holes in them.

Furthermore, you must know that there are many
kinds of moth. Some kinds attack feathers, some
attack furs, some attack woolens, some attack car-
pets, and some, I am told, do not trouble any
of these things. The history of these various
moths is very interesting, but I can not tell it here.
It would take too long. And that is why the little
girl, with her muff and her feathers and her

woolen cushion, is sitting in your midst. She
says: Study the moth, and you'll know more
to-morrow than you do to-day."

I HAVE noticed a slightly consequential air about
the moon of late, a sort of set-up manner, so to
speak, and I have been somewhat at a loss to
account for it,-for the silvery little lady always
has been as modest and simple-minded a moon as
one could wish to see,-but to-day I have found
out the cause. She has developed a new talent.
Yes, the Little School-ma'am says-and it must
be true-that there are now such things as lunar
photographs, or photographs taken by moonlight !
Think of that Not likenesses of persons, but of
places, lovely hills, lakes and streams and meadows.
And the pictures are lovely, they say-soft, low,
and rich in effect, besides being clear and well de-
fined. Well, well! That beats anything your Jack
has heard of for a long time. Quite a new field for
the moon, is n't it ? I suppose in this case the fact of
her finding out this new power late in life will make
but little difference. "Late and early are syn-
onymous terms with the heavenly bodies, I'm told.
Would n't it be too bad, now, if the moon has
known all this time that she could make nearly as
good photographs as the sun, if somebody only
would give her a chance? I can't imagine a more
trying situation.
Come to think of it, have n't you often noticed
how, at night, she sometimes winds her way in and
out among the clouds as if she were searching for
something? I have, often. What if it's a camera
she 's been looking for all these years ?

Now, I love dogs, and honor them. A dog is
a noble animal; and a pug dog, while it can not
exactly be called noble, may still be a confiding
friend. But what do you say, my chicks, to this
OH, DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: I must send you these two
paragraphs, which came from two different papers. Mamma found
one, and I found the other:
Canine fashions in Paris are guided by as strict rules as those for
human beings. Thus, no poodle belonging to a fashionable mistress
must wear the metal bracelet which replaces the collar on the right
foot, but the tiny ring must always encircle the left paw just above
the fringed tuft which ornaments the ankle. If "Mustache" is
black, his bracelet should be silver, but if his shaven coat is snowy
white, a golden circlet is more becoming.
A young lady entered a prominent engraver's the other day, with
an order for the engraver to furnish her with a hundred visiting
cards for "'Bijou,' No. East Fifty-seventh street." The
fashion for engraved visiting cards for pet dogs has caught like
wildfire. The ladies say it's so pretty and so novel; besides, it
gives the dog's maid (many of the pets have a special attendant) an
additional duty in keeping up calling lists and reception days.
Do show these to the boys and girls, dear Jack. Your young
friend, MAMIE G--

WILL find it, I am told, in this month's Letter-

/i -, ''' '

_: / "- -
' .

--. _-- --

.:- ., _

& '^& -


WINKY, blinky, niddy, nod !
Father is fishing off Cape
Winky, blinky, sleepy eyes,
Mother is making apple

Cuddle, cuddle, the wind 's in the trees!
Brother is sailing over the seas.
Niddy, noddy, up and down,
Sister is making a velvet gown.

Winky, blinky, can not rise,
What 's the matter with baby's eyes?
Winky, blinky, cre, cri, creep,
Baby has gone away to sleep.



By M. H. B.





CONTRIBUTORS are respectfully informed that, between the ist of June and the i5th of September, manuscripts can not conveniently
be examined at the office of ST. NICHOLAS. Consequently, those who desire to favor the magazine with
contributions will please postpone sending their MSS. until after the last-named date.

WE are obliged to postpone to the July number the report (prom-
ised for this month) concerning the compositions received in answer to
our offer made in the April issue. The number of these compositions
sent in has greatly exceeded our expectations, making it impos-
sible to examine them all in time for this number. There are still
several hundred to be read, but we shall print next month the best
composition on each of the two subjects: A Shark in Sight and
"Robert Burns," together with a Roll of Honor containing the
names of those who shall have almost won in the competition.

As THE four composition subjects for this month, we present the

MR. FORD'S admirable article in this number on "The Tribune
Fresh-air Fund" can not fail to enlist the interest and sympathies
of all our readers in the beneficent work which he describes. And
there is perhaps no charity more deserving and practical than this
of giving a fortnight in the country, with all its attendant blessings
of joy, rest, and new life to the neglected poor children of the city
tenement houses. "The New York Tribune" receives and credits
subscriptions to the Fund, whether large or small, and last year the
names of many boys and girls appeared in the lists of donations.
Indeed, this, like the "Children's Garfield Fund," is a charity to
which the subscriptions of young folk are especially fitting.


A GREAT many of our young readers have tried to answer that
fierce-looking animal who stalks across page 395 of the March num-
ber of ST. NICHOLAS asking for a name, and declaring that he is
"not to be trifled with." He would be furious, indeed, ifhe were to
hear the scores of titles that our correspondents have given him.
We must stand bravely between the savage fellow and all those
who have mistaken his name, but the following answerers," though
not exactly correct, may approach him, we think, with safety:
Eddie Chenevert--Annie B. Harter Mabel Milhouse- E. Hunt
- Carleton Radcliffe Harry Kellogg.
Meantime, we take pleasure in showing, one and all, a correct
description of the animal taken from Cassell's Natural History."

"This little-known form-the 'Oceloid Leopard,' as it is some-
times called-was discovered by Prince Maximilian of Neuwied, in
Brazil, where it inhabits the great forests, and is often killed for the
sake of its beautiful fur. In color it is not unlike the Ocelot, in size
it is inferior to it, and its longitudinally elongated spots are neither
so large nor so well marked. It is chiefly distinguished from other
forms by its long bushy tail and its big staring eyes. It is consider-
ably smaller than the preceding species (i.e. the 'pampas cat'), the
body being about twenty-seven inches long, the tail fourteen."

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: In Mr. Forbes's article, on .. TT .. 1-.
number), he uses lurid in reference to crimson i. -..I ... i i.
Trowbridge says, on page 354, Mart showed his "lurid brows."
One of these is certainly incorrect. Yours truly, CLARA T. P.

WARSAW, N. Y., Feb., 1883.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I received my magazine to-day. I have
taken the ST. NICH. ever since 1876. It has been given to me every

year by one of my brothers. I never have written to you before,
and presume you wish something had happened to me before I did
now; but I am threatened with "quinzy," and am rather hard up
for something to do. So I went to work at your first puzzle. In
hopes it is right, I will tell you the way I read it. *
Yours truly, JULIA G.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: "Bob's Wonderful Bicycle," in the April
number, is something like a case I know of, but the boy (his name
was Charlie), instead of proving himself a genius as Bob" did by
making a bicycle, thought he would try one already made. At first
he tried riding a cart-wheel, but it went too fast, orhe went too slow ;
anyway, he did n't ride it but once. And then he tried a grind-
stone. I don't know what happened then, but he did n't feel very
well for the next few days, and I have n't heard him mention "Bi-
cycle" since. I am fourteen years old. I study algebra, philos-
ophy, and lots of other things, especially mischief.
Yours truly, SADIE C.

MENDON, Dec. 22, i882.
EDITORS OF ST. NICHOLAs: My father has a very curious cat
and cow. My brother has seen the cat lying between the cow's
horns, and the cow will stay perfectly still, as if she liked it; and
my brother has seen the cow lapping the cat, as if she thought it
was a calf, and liked to do it. Yours truly,
PAUL WILLIAMS (aged 9 years).

SAVANNAH, March 8th.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I saw in your March number that you
were surprised to hear that the little girl in San Francisco, twelve
years old, never saw a snow-fall. Why, I am fifteen years old, and I
have never seen one, and neither has my brother, who is twenty.
With much love to you, I remain W. T. H.

WE are now beginning to be surprised, dear W. T. H., at the
goodly number of ST. NICHOLAS readers who have never seen a
snow-fall. Besides the little California girl and yourself, there is,
at least, one other, as the following letter shows. And we can not
help wondering whether the many thousands of people in the
tropics, to whom snow is only a name for a thing they have never
seen, share Minnie V.'s idea that it "fell in chunks, and would hurt
people when falling on them."
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Please allow me to say to Miss Annie
Keiller, before I close this letter, that I have the advantage of her. I
was born and raised in San Francisco, and had never seen anysnow
until this winter when I came to Lowell. I always had an idea that
snow fell in little ctunks, the size of my finger, judging from the
snow I had seen in pictures, and thought it would hurt people when
falling on them. Judge of my pleasant surprise when I saw real
snow falling so softly and noiselessly.
Yours truly, and au revoir, MINNIE V.

WE gladly print the following letter, and see much to commend in
the suggestion made. Who will be the first of our young readers to
respond to it with some sample rhymes ?

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: May I venture to suggest an idea to you
which might, if it should strike you favorably, be made to combine
both instruction and amusement? I have long wished that some en-
terprising Mother Goose could be found in this generation who
would undertake to put some usefid facts in jingling rhyme. Who
of us ever forgets the doggerel of his babyhood, with its red-and-
yellow pictures? When I see how easily these stick fast in the
memories of my children, and how much drilling a little geography
and history require (especially dates and numbers), I mourn at the
waste of memory.
How many of us recall at once the number of days in each month
without mentally rehearsing: "Thirty days hath September," etc.?



And I for one am always indebted to the old rhyme: "First William
the Norman, then William, his son," and the rest, for my knowl-
edge of the succession of the English sovereigns. One of Mother
Goose's rhymes says:

"The King of France, with twenty thousand men,
Marched up the hill, and then marched down again! "

No child ever forgets his number, or that the king was French.
I think if ST. NIICHOLAS would suggest some such idea in its
pages, and ask the young people for contributions, a good deal
of fun, as well as benefit, might come of it. Certainly, there is
enough that is odd and strange in history to furnish material
equal to that of the most grotesque and tragic Mother Goose rhyme,
and if illustrated by some of your bright artists, I think the result
of this plan might be both useful and entertaining.
Yours very truly, MARY T. SEECOMB.

Is N'T this good, young friends, for a nine-year old poet? Thanks,
Master Willie, and we 'II print it with pleasure:


Who roameth ir the wintry wipd?
The deer.
Whom doth the hound pursue?
The deer.
No doubt he often feels forlorn
When startled by the hunter's horn-
The timid fallow-deer.

That creature beautiful and mild,-
The deer,-
With eyes so large, and brown, and soft,-
The deer,-
O hounds and hunters, leave your prey!
Let him pursue his woodland way-
The pretty fallow-deer.
WILLIE GAUNETT (nine years old).

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I send you the following charade. It is
not original, but I never have seen it in print:

Myfirst, beloved by ancient dame,
Within my next, from ancient countries came;
Oh, fragrant whole, of which each forms a part,
Thou art not science, but thou teaches art.
Did you ever hear, dear ST. NICHOLAS, of a certain teachers'
convention where each teacher was given a pretty memento a tiny
tea-chest, suitable for a watch-charm, which bore the words Tut
does ? Your readers who are studying Latin will see the joke.
Your constant reader, J. W. P., JR.


WITHOUT stopping to refute the careless error of those who think
that in winter "there are no specimens to be found," let us all
make the most of these bright May and June days, when Nature is
so lavish with her richest treasures. Probably the greatest obstacle
to the young naturalist has been the difficulty in naming his speci-
mens. Is it not a thousand times repeated story that a boy begins
to make a collection of minerals or plants, and after a few weeks of
diligence and enthusiasm finds his shelves covered with a confused
mass of unknown stones and flowers, despairs of attaining exact
knowledge or orderly arrangement, and presently suffers his dusty
minerals to become dispersed, and his neglected plants to be burned
or broken ? And, certainly, it is no light task definitely to analyze
either mineral or plant. To do this requires a wider and more pre-
cise knowledge of language, and a finer training of mind and eye,
than most young people possess. It is a work that, fortunately,
may be largely left for riper years.
But what we all can do is to find our specimens and study them.
We can set in our note-books the date and the locality of each. We
can write our descriptions in our own language, using the best
terms of our own vocabulary. We can test in our own way
hardness, weight, color, elasticity, clearness, crystal-shape, and
fusibility. If by chance or friendly aid we learn the name of a

specimen, we can study about it in our text-book, dictionary,
and encyclopedia, and compare the technical characteristics there
given with our own simpler and less accurate description. We
shall soon be able to make the broader distinctions, and to recognize
at a glance many forms of quartz, limestone, and iron. It is well to
remember that the name is not by any means the most important
fact about a specimen. But it is a very necessary thing to learn;
and, as we said in the beginning, it is most discouraging not to
know it. For this reason we are peculiarly grateful to the gentle-
men who have recently offered us their services in the matter of
determining for us the names of our refractory pebbles, ferns, and
beetles. It is now possible for each of us to proceed intelligently
and with satisfaction, even if slowly. With the new offers of aid
this month, which we thankfully accept, we have a specialist to help
us in nearly every department known to the A. A.
I shall be happy to answer questions in the ornithological line.
"JAMES DE B. ABBOTT, Germantown, Pa."
I will help you out in anything that pertains to the microlepi-
doptera, including Pyralidrl, Torlricidie, Tineidze, and Pterofipor-
ide; and my son, H. L. Fernald, with me, will answer questions
on the Hemiifera. C. H. FERNALD,
Prof. Nat. Hist., Maine State College, Orono, Me."
"I will undertake to answer questions referring to Pacific Coast
(U. S.) Mollusca, and also most of the land and fresh-water shells
of N. A. I am also willing to exchange with any who have desirable
"HARRY E. DORE, 51I Clay st., San Francisco, Cal."
In response to your call for a mineralogist to identify speci-
mens that members of the A. A. may collect, I beg to offer my serv-
ices, as far as my time may admit. F. W. STAEBNER,
"Late Mineralogist Ward's Nat. Sc. Establishment,
Rochester, N. Y."
"WATERVILLE, MAINE, March 20, 1883.
I read with much interest the account of the Agassiz Associa-
tion in last ST. NICHOLAS. It is a work that has my heartiest
sympathy, and I would like it to have also what little cooperation I
may be able to render. I shall be happy to answer questions relat-
ing to the mineralogy of Maine. CHAS. B. WILSON,
"Instructor Nat. Sc., Colby University."
I chanced to pick up a number of ST. NICHOLAS this even-
ing, and learned for the first time of the A. A., and saw evidences of
its good work. I also noticed your call for an entomologist, and
desire to offer my services. Our facilities here for identifying species
in the great group of insects are exceptionally good, and I should be
very glad if I could help any boy or girl in his or her studies in this
direction. LELAND O. HOWARD "
We add the following Department directions for sending insects:
All inquiries about insects, injurious or otherwise, should be ac-
companied by specimens, the more the better. Such specimens, if
dead, should be packed in some soft material, as cotton or wool,
and inclosed in some stout tin or wooden box. They will come by
mail for one cent per ounce. INSECTS SHOULD NEVER BE INCLOSED
LOOSE IN THE LETTER. Whenever possible, larva (i e. grubs,
caterpillars, maggots, etc.) should be packed alive in some tight tin
box,- the tighter the better, as air-holes are not needed,- along with
a supply of their appropriate food sufficient to last them on their
journey; otherwise, they generally die on the road and shrivel up.
Send as full an account as possible of the habits ofthe insect respect-
ing whichyou desire information; for example, what plant or plants
itinfests; whether it destroys the leaves, the buds, the twigs, or the
stem; how long it has been known to you; what amount of damage
it has done, etc. Such particulars are often not only of high scien-
tific interest, but of great practical importance. In sending soft
insects or larva that have been killed in alcohol, they should be
packed in cotton saturated with alcohol. In sending pinned or
mounted insects, always pin them securely in a box to be inclosed
in a larger box, the space between the two boxes to be packed with
some soft or elastic material, to prevent too violent jarring. PACK-
My class in Botany are very anxious to make a substantial addi-
tion to our herbarium by thebh owUI ex.ertions. To this end they
propose collecting a number of sets (each to include at least noo
species), characteristic of this 'lower lake region.' These they hope
to exchange for corresponding sets-east, west, north, and south- of
the flora of many localities. Of course only field, swamp, and forest
specimens, none cultivated, will be included, and they wish justsuch
in return. Can you not put in motion the machinery of your very
admirable A. A. and help us to arrange for such general exchanges?
We will collect through the entire summer, and have our sets ready



for distribution by Oct. 5s. I will say,just here, that it will give me
great pleasure to determine and classify any botanical specimens
which may be sent me. Indeed, I will do anything to help on this
good'work. EDWARD L. FRENCH."
[This proposition of Prof. French seems to us one of the very best
and most practicable plans possible. No Chapter, or member who is
botanically inclined, should by any means fail of seizing this rare op-
portunity of securing a fine collection. We suggest, in addition, that
the Chapters be not content with collecting a single set for this ex-
change, but that several be made at once, which is scarcely more
difficult. These can then be exchanged with other Chapters, and
thus scores of excellent herbariums be built up in an exceedingly
cheap and pleasant way. ]
"To observe correctly and to register accurately is a greater educa-
tion than to acquire the artificial systems of analysis in half a dozen
branches of science. As a test of how much is obtainable from the
Chapters in the way of direct observation as opposed to mere 'book
larnin',' I will ask all who will to observe what they can about the
growth, flowering, and seeding of the geranium plant (Pelargonium
Zonale) and report to me by the i5th of October. Geraniums are
everywhere. In this plant are some interesting details, which are
not in the books. We will see how many of them they can catch.
As far as I can command time, I am at the service of the A. A.
WM. M. BOWRON." [F; C. S.]

the fluid. The surplus glycerine is then washed off, the brain is
dried and varnished and placed on a piece of glass. The Chapter
has also examined alge under the microscope, and detected the
grains of chlorophyl. Animalcula have been studied, and the fol-
lowing facts reported: The skin of the whale is insensible, for bar-
nacles grow upon it. The flesh of the whale is red and coarse.-
168, Buffalo C, is prospering. All Buffalo Chapters meet together
once a month.-91, Buffalo A, has at length bought a very fine
microscope, for which it has been working a year and a half. It is
an "Improved National Binocular," and cost, with two objectives,
$137. Cora Freeman, Sec. [Accept our congratulations.]-W. M.
Patterson, Sec. Chicago G, sends a good article on the Proteus,
which he finds to be a batrachian, with a naked, slimy skin, about a
foot long, half an inch in diameter, pale flesh color, and with bright
crimson branchial tufts. It is found only in the subterranean waters
of some caves in Europe, especially in the Adelsberg cave in Cari-
ola. Its food consists of aquatic worms, insects, and molluscs.-374,
Brooklyn, now numbers 15, and is about to buy a ten-dollar cabinet.
-Germantown B is prosperous, and wishes to know whether any
fossil animals are found in coal.


(15) Water Lilies.-What becomes of the water lilies when
through blooming? By observation, we find that the closed lily
sinks in an upright position, and disposes'ofits long stem by coiling
it around and around on the bottom of the river.

[Prof. Bowron can not fail to pique the curiosity of our boys and (16) Beetle.-I have a beetle like the Planeus, excepting the
girls; and, unless we are mistaken, many of them will discover how horn. Is it the female? [Yes.]
the geranium scatters its seed, and but we must n't anticipate.]


iVo. Name. Members. Secretary's Address.
444. Rockland, Me. (A).......... 15..Miss Grace T. Cilley.
445. Hamilton, Ohio (A)......... 9Ed. M. Traber, Box 198.
446. Saco, Me. (B) .............. Miss Helen Montgomery,
Box 713.
447. Chittenango, N. Y. (A)...... n..Ch. A. Jenkins.
448. Washington, D. C. (G) ...... 6. Miss Isabella McFarland.
[ Will the Sec. please send full address?]
449. Richmond, Va. (B)......... 6..W. 0. English, 707 East
450. Fitchburg, Mass. (D)....... 8..G. F. Whittemore.
451. Sydney Mines, C. B. (A). ... 4..Miss M. T. Brown, Beech
452. Burlington, Vt. (A).. .... 4..H. B. Shaw, 253 S. Union.
453- Oswego, N.Y. (A)......... 7:.W. A. Burr.
454. Rochester, N. Y. (B)........ 8..Miss Mary E. Tousey, 263
N. St. Paul St.
[This Chapter of Deaf Mutes is specially welcome to the A. A.]


Insects and minerals.-Ernest Stephan, Pine City, Minnesota.
Iceland spar, for fossils.-E. R. Heitshu, Lancaster, Pa.
Petrified shells (Spirifer radiata), for a male and female silk-
worm moth.-E. R. Lamed, 2546 S. Dearborn st., Chicago.
Electric and chemical apparatus ($3), for minerals-Kenneth
Hartley, Fort Scott, Kan.
Correspondence, North and West.-P. S. Benedict, 1243 St.
Charles st., New Orleans, La.
Southern woods, sea-shells, and minerals.-Isaac Ford, 1823 Vine
st., Philadelphia.
Mistletoe from Kentucky, and red hematite from Balboa, Spain,
for army worm, its eggs or larvm.-Wm. W. Mills, Reading, Pa.
Gbld ore and amethyst. Write for particulars.-R. J. Wood, 134
Jackson st., Jackson, Mich.
Woods, eggs, minerals.-Winfred H. Trimble, Princeton, Ill.
Insects, woods, petrified wood, for fossils and minerals.-A. A.
Crane, Auska, Minn.
Silver ore.-Dr. Jos. A. Stiles (Sec. Ch. 306), Belmont, Nye Co.,


Jamaica Plain (124) has been studying the formation of ice, and
send good drawings.-Newton Upper Falls (256) is taking in-
creased interest in the work, making individual collections.-Wash-
ington, D. C. (o09) has been studying the brain of the dog. The
specimen was prepared by Robert Bigelow, according to Giacomm's
method. The brain is first soaked for about a week in a saturated
solution of zinc chloride. On the second day the membranes are
removed. It is then put in alcohol for at least a week. Then it is
soaked in glycerine, in which it floats, until it sinks to a level with

(17) Snakes' Eggs.-We found some garter-snakes' eggs while
digging bait. Two of them broke, and we saw the young snakes,
which were alive.
(I8) Pollen.-As nearly as I can determine, the pollen grain of
Nasturtium is a triangular prism. I can think of no other way of
explaining the shapes which appear under the glass. I show the
principal appearances at A, B, and C, all of them being very common.

B 0C.

Figures At, BI, and CI represent what I imagine must be the real
shapes of the outlines shown at A B C:


a z3 Z
Z-S^ ,- /

(19) Leaves.-Some years the ash leaves before the oak, and
some years the oak leaves first. SYLVIA A. Moss.

(2o) Polykhemus.-I have found this larva on oak, elm, willow,
and birch; Promethea on ash, cherry, and lilac; Cecropia on apple,
maple, and willow. PHILIP S. ABBOT.

(21) Sleep of Plants.-We brought home some locust beans, and
were surprised one night to find them asleep. At sunset, the leaflets
at the top of the stalk began to close. The only way I can illustrate
the closing process is to join the two hands by commencing at the
wrist, and place each finger against the corresponding one on the
other hand, as we do when praying. Will some one tell me what
causes a yellow spot on hawthorn leaves ? A READER.

Those of our members who avail themselves of the services of
the specialists mentioned in this and the two previous numbers of
ST. NICHOLAS must remember the directions for correspondence
already given. If any members are studying in any department in
which no specialist has yet volunteered assistance, they will please
communicate with the President of the A. A.
Any person may join the Association, whether a subscriber to
ST. NICHOLAS or not; but those who are not members can not
have notices of exchange mentioned here,
Address all communications, excefp questions in the several de-
fartments, to the President,
Principal of Lenox Academy, Lenox, Mass.



S* *- ,- ,





IN silence sweet the morning broke;
The air was still, 'mid beech and oak,
Till the song of myfirst rose high and clear,
And waked from sleep a startled deer,
Who bounded off with eager feet
The brightly dawning day to greet.
As near the edge of the wood he came,
He crossed the path of a rustic dame,
Who tied my second beneath her chin
As she cheerily called the cattle in.
By a distant pool with boughs o'ertopped
The timid animal, listening, stopped.
Ah! then with sure, unerring aim,
A deadly arrow swiftly came
From the hand of a marksman steady and true,
As with eagle eye the string he drew-
One of a band of outlawed men,
Of courage tried and warlike ken;
With lawless freedom and greed of gold
They followed my whole, a chieftain bold. M. s.

EACH dt the words described contains four letters. The zigzags,
beginning at the upper left-hand corner, will spell the name of a
great reformer who was born on the x7th ofJune, 1703.
i. A Chinese vessel. 2. A harbor. 3. A continuous pain. 4.
Nine inches. 5. A monk's hood or habit. 6. A drink made of
water and honey. 7. The principal body of a tree or plant. 8.
Amusement. 9. Habitual food. to. A small horse. tM.

IN Tuesday. 2. Red ochre. 3. Jeopardy. 4. A period of
religious awakening. 5. A great Greek tragic poet, born 481 B. c.
6. Distributed. 7. Loaded. 8. Allured. 9. In Tuesday.
1 2 3

4 5 6

7 8 9
Io II 12
READING ACROSS: From I to 3, a kind of collar; from 4 to 6, a
girl's name; from 7 to 9, the sun; from Io to 12, a measure.
READING DOWNWARD: From I to to, foundation; from 2 to Ir,
an image; from 3 to 12, a sphere.
From z to to and from 3 to 12, when read in connection, name a
game. GILBERT F.
IN each of the following sentences the omitted words are formed of
the same letters transposed. Moreover, the omitted letters of one
sentence may be found by adding one letter to the omitted letters of
the preceding sentence.
i. This is puzzle.
2. The *, commonly called the Aar, falls into the Rhine
above Basle.
3. We *told that Dr. of Edinburgh, is famous
among the physicians of our for treating diseases of the

4. I have just * the pamphlet by our *
5. Which was the more unfortunate-Major * or
Enoch * *?
6. As we * the city, we learned how the mayor,
in attempting to himself to one party, had *
* the contempt of all good citizens.
7. The dean, weary of the turmoil of London, *
for the quiet of his * *. P. \W.

I Ams composed of fifty letters, and am two lines from one of
Longfellow's poems.
My 32-43-3-7 is resembling. My 39-1-6-26-42-5-4 is amaze-
ment. My 9-2t-15-23-20-40-41-34 is the direction in which most
emigrants travel. My 23-40-30 is a river of Scotland. My

47-37-2-38 is to unite. My 17-46-36-5 is in the highest degree.
My 14-4-18-19 are what all doctors like. My 6-27-10-11 was
the vulnerable point of Achilles. My 28-25-45-22 is dumb. My
29-33-17 is a purpose. My 39-35-12-1 is being in health. My
31-49-48 is a horned animal found in South Africa. My 24-13-
8-36 is to throw. My 6-16-44-50-30 is a sweet, thick fluid.


) ..


o- E -, 1 -.

THE answer to the above puzzle is a four-line stanza. The first
and third lines are written out; the second and fourth lines are each
represented as a rebus. The first and second lines rhyme, as do also
the third and fourth.


i. SYNCOPATE a domestic animal, and leave an article of clothing.
2. Syncopate brief, and leave a piece of lead. 3. Syncopate to
strike, and leave location. 4. Syncopate to puff, and leave part of a
boat. 5. Syncopate a royal personage, and leave cost. 6. Synco-
pate immense, and leave a large tank. 7. Syncopate a course, and
leave a wand. 8. Syncopate a part of the body, and leave a stag.
9. Syncopate destruction, and leave to hasten. 1o. Syncopate a
reason, and leave a covering or sheath. G. s. HAYTER.


ACRoss: I. To bruise. 2. Often on the breakfast-table. 3.
Clamorous. 4. A perch. 5. A combat. DIAGONALs, reading up-
ward from left to right, beginning at the upper left-hand corner: i.
In mutiny. 2. A meadow. 3. Amphibious animals. 4. Uneven.
5. To augment. 6. In mutiny. DYCIE.



DEFINE each of the italicized groups of words by one word.
When rightly guessed, and placed one below another in the order
here given, these will form a word-square.
I walked out in a leafy monthly and saw one iwho miaks use of a
liking, who was not far of picking berries to eat. I stopped him,
knowing they were poisonous, and afterward said to myself, "Even
he sometimes makes mistakes."


MAKE the above diagram without removing the pencil from the
paper, and without going over any line twice.


ACRoss: i. Sluggish. 2. Open to view. 3. A famous epic poem.
4. Narrative. 5. Marks made by blows.
DOWNWARD: I. In assistance. 2. A word of denial. 3. A biblical
character. 4. To lease. 5. To set the foot. 6. A plate of baked
clay. 7. A haunt. 8. A familiar abbreviation. 9. In assistance.
H. H. D.


PROVERB REBUS. A fool and his money are soon parted.
RHOMBOIDS. Across. I. I. Dove. 2. Hive. 3. Mere. 4.
Name. II. i. Reel. 2. Deal. 3. Lion. 4. Room.
PI. The robin, the forerunner of the spring,
The bluebird with its jocund caroling,
The restless swallows building in the eaves,
The golden buttercups, the grass, the leaves,
The lilacs tossing in the winds of May,
All welcome this majestic holiday.
Longfellow, "Lady Wentworth." Line 113.
SYNCOPATIONS. Wisconsin: i. Se-W-er. 2. Bra-I-n. 3. Do-S-e.
4. S-C-old. 5. B-O-at. 6. K-N-it. 7. Re-S-in. 8. Pa-I-n. 9.
To-N-e. CHARADE. Mason.
DOUBLE ACROSTIC. Primals, maypole; finals, garland. Cross-
words: I. MockinG. 2. ArabiA. 3. YeaR. 4. PeaL. 5. OsceolA.
6. LeaN. 7. ElanD.
MYTHOLOGICAL NUMERICAL ENIGMA. A little that a righteous
man hath is better than the riches of many wicked. Psahls,
xxxvii., 16.
NINE-BLOCK PUZZLE. Remove i, and move 4 up, 7 up, 8 left, 5
down, 6 left, 9 up, 5 right, 8 right, 7 down, 6 left, 9 left, 5 up, 8 right,
7 right, 6 down, 4 down, and replace i.


CENTRALS (reading downward): An eminent English statesman.
ACROSS: i. A range of mountains in the United States. 2. A
portion of the British Isles. 3. A country of Europe. 4. A mount-
ain of Crete. 5. In United States. 6. A town of Brazil, situated
on the Tiete river. 7. A river of Europe flowing into the Mediter-
ranean Sea. 8. A city of Spain. 9. A county of England.


My firsts are in jewel and jacinth;
My seconds in purchase and buy;
My thirds are in doughnut and cruller;
My fourths are in flutter and fly.
If you look through the words I have given,
You may see the two answers quite clear;
A couple of words of but four letters each--
They are two pleasant months of the year.


WORD SYNCOPATIONS. I. De-cid-e. 2. T-win-ed. 3. Fam-in-e
4. Re-war-d. 5. Str-etch-ing. 6. N-ear-est. 7. Be-long-ing. 8.
Li-mite-d. 9. Re-call-ed. io. F-or-eign. ii. S-cold-mg. 12.
GEEEK CROSS. Upper Square: o. Star. 2. Tare. 3. Arts. 4.
Rest. Left-hand Square: i. Pair. 2. Abbe. 3. Ibis. 4. Rest.
Central Square: i. Rest. 2. Ella. 3. Slur. 4. Tare. Right-hand
Square: i. Tare. 2. Adit. 3. Rien. 4. Etna. Lower Square:
i. Tare. 2. Acid. 3. Ride. 4. Eden.
FAN PUZZLE. From 14 to 2, overlap; 15 to 3, outpour; 16 to 6,
observe; 17 to 5, outstep; x8 to 6, Otranto; 19 to 7, Ottoman; 20
to 8, off-hand; 21 to 9, outrage; 22 to 1o, officer; 23 to 'I, Octavia;
24 to 12, outpost; 25 to 13, offense. From 2 to 23, preponderate.
PATRIOTIC PI. How sleep the brave, who sink to rest,
By all their country's wishes blest!
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallowed mould,
She there shall dress a sweeter sod
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.
DIAMOND. I. C. 2. Cam. 3. Camel. 4. Camelia. 5. Melon.
6. Lin(ger). 7. A.

ANswERS TO PUZZLES IN THE MARCH NUMBER were received, too late for acknowledgment in the May number, from Bella and Cora
Wehl, Frankfort, Germany, 9.
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE APRIL NUMBER were received, before April 20, from Paul Reese--Cuchee Smith--
F. H. Davis- E. F. L.- "A. P. Owder, Jr."- E. and S. Blake- Two Subscribers-"Alcibiades"-Jennie and Birdie-J. P. Den-
ison -Carl. E. Ton--The Cantine Family-Pinnie and Jack--Molly and Martyr- LI:.1..]. '- Charles J. Durbrow--Ciara J.
Child- Louis R. Custer- Madeleine Vultee Town and Country "- Arthur Gride !1 .1-. -. .1 Bae"- Francis W. Islip.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE APRIL NUMBER were received, before April 20, from G. D. L., 5-Frank A. Burling, 5-Pansy,
0o C. W. Woodward, 5 Etta M. Taylor, I Eugenia B. Hay, I Theodore Yankauer, 2 G. M. T., 6 Arthur W. Tidd, 3 Geo.
Earle Hicks, 3--Charley Weymouth, 4- Lorenzo Webber, Harry and Joe Apple, i- Samuel H. and Ruth D. Camp, 8-"June and
November," 6- Belle Patterson, 6 -Sallie, 6- Howard Coale, I- Edith L. B., 7--F. H. W. and M. M. D., 6- Charlotte Gandil, 3
-"Bardell and Pickwick," 1o-L. I., 12 -"Oskaloosa," i -Hessie D. Boylston, 9- "Proteus," 4- Edith L. Field, 3-Edith M.
Hallock, Willie Trautwine, 9- Gaylord Boys, 5- Frank Harper, David R. Hawkins, 2- "Mama and I," 2 Sadie Chase, 5
-Marion A. Knox, ix-Nannie McL. Duff, 7- Arthur Hoopes, 5-G6nie J. Callmeyer, so-V. P. J. S. M. C., 7-Warren, 5-Carl
Niemeyer, 6-Philip Embury, Jr., x2-Austin H. Pease, 2-Mother, Ruby, and Mabel, 3-"Houghton Family," X2-Alice Wann, 2-
Irving Easton, 12-Addie L. and Mary E. Fries, 6 Maud Bugby, 5 Georgie Draper, 6-" Blue Beard," 4-- Lydia Bostwick and
Lizzie Kurtz, 12-Mary Mitchell and Nanny Stevens, I- Effie K. Talboys, 9-B. T. Hynson, i- Bernice Elise P., 4-Edith, Millie,
and Wallie, 4 M. D. T., 3 Minnee A. Olds, 7 Nellie, Katie, Tom, and Frankie, o George Lyman Waterhouse, 12 Rochester,
Pa.," 4-Louise Gilman, xo-MaryC Burnam, 7-W. R. Hamilton, 5-Ellen L. Way, 3-Arthur C. Hixon, 12-" Silhouette," 8-
Chas. H. Wright, 4--Vin and Henry, Ix-" Fin. I. S.," 2- Helen M., 6-Charlie M. Philo, i-Florence G. Lane, 6-M. Florence
Noyes, 6- Livingston Ham, 4-Helen E. Matran, i -L. H. B., 6-Sallie Viles, I -" Patience," 4-Mary E. Baker, 4-H. L. P.,
8-Lottie A. Foggan, 5-D. B. Shumway, io-"Professor and Co.," Ix-Lalla E. Croft, 7-Daisy Talman, I-" Ignoramus" and
"Nonentity," 7-Clara Small and Emeline Jungerich, 9-Mamma and Willie, I- Mary P. Stockett, 8-MaryT. Garnett, i-Charles
Haynes Kyte, xx-Vessie Westover, 6-Maggie T. Turrill, 2--Lausina and J. Wallace, o-- "J. Checkley," --M. G. and M., 6-
Stiles A. Torrance, 5-"Ethel Leontine," 6-" Dycie," I -Meg, 3-Frank White, --Mary E., 7-Jennie M. Elliott, 8-Lulu
Culver, 7-Hazel, x2-Valerie, 9. The numerals denote the number of puzzles solved.





". K"eep yur Card ithi. Pocket and return it
.- with -lie'book to the library.

.' ,.. -:LP .

........Aperso i wfilly and maliciously .
-' ri s uion- or injares a60'k, plate, picture,
S.'. :engraving or etatue belonging to a-law, town
republic li.rary, sli1 be fined not more than
ione thousan-d dollars, nor less tharinfive dol-
Sars." Section .6978, of the General Laws
6 :f f:Verrnont, 191..



University of Florida Home Page
© 2004 - 2010 University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries.
All rights reserved.

Acceptable Use, Copyright, and Disclaimer Statement
Last updated October 10, 2010 - - mvs