• TABLE OF CONTENTS
HIDE
 Front Cover
 Frontispiece
 Slang
 The story of King Rhoud
 The biography of Richard
 The Dalzells of Daisydown
 Corny's catamount - Tenth spinning-wheel...
 Youth and age
 Lanty O'Hoolahan and the little...
 The romance of a menagerie
 Lost on the plains
 Aunt Kitty and her canaries
 Another Indian invasion
 Marvin and his boy hunters
 A fete day in Brittany
 Master squirrel's reply
 Historic boys
 "Stop!"
 On teaching the eye to know what...
 The young artist
 For very little folk: The dog that...
 The St. Nicholas almanac
 The gossip of the nuts
 Jack-in-the-pulpit
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover
 Spine






Title: St. Nicholas
ALL VOLUMES CITATION PAGE IMAGE ZOOMABLE
Full Citation
STANDARD VIEW MARC VIEW
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00148
 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
regular
 Subjects
Subject: Children's literature -- Periodicals   ( lcsh )
Genre: periodical   ( marcgt )
 Notes
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: VID00148
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
    Frontispiece
        Page 906
    Slang
        Page 907
        Page 908
        Page 909
    The story of King Rhoud
        Page 910
        Page 911
    The biography of Richard
        Page 912
        Page 913
        Page 914
        Page 915
        Page 916
    The Dalzells of Daisydown
        Page 917
        Page 918
        Page 919
        Page 920
    Corny's catamount - Tenth spinning-wheel story
        Page 921
        Page 922
        Page 923
        Page 924
        Page 925
        Page 926
        Page 927
    Youth and age
        Page 928
    Lanty O'Hoolahan and the little people
        Page 929
        Page 930
        Page 931
        Page 932
    The romance of a menagerie
        Page 933
        Page 934
        Page 935
        Page 936
    Lost on the plains
        Page 937
        Page 938
        Page 939
    Aunt Kitty and her canaries
        Page 940
        Page 941
        Page 942
        Page 943
    Another Indian invasion
        Page 944
        Page 945
        Page 946
        Page 947
        Page 948
        Page 949
        Page 950
        Page 951
        Page 952
    Marvin and his boy hunters
        Page 953
        Page 954
        Page 955
        Page 956
        Page 957
        Page 958
    A fete day in Brittany
        Page 959
        Page 960
        Page 961
        Page 962
    Master squirrel's reply
        Page 963
    Historic boys
        Page 964
        Page 965
        Page 966
        Page 967
        Page 968
    "Stop!"
        Page 969
    On teaching the eye to know what it sees
        Page 970
        Page 971
        Page 972
        Page 973
    The young artist
        Page 974
    For very little folk: The dog that drove his master's horse
        Page 975
    The St. Nicholas almanac
        Page 976
    The gossip of the nuts
        Page 977
    Jack-in-the-pulpit
        Page 978
        Page 979
    The letter-box
        Page 980
        Page 981
        Page 982
    The riddle-box
        Page 983
        Page 984
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
    Spine
        Spine
Full Text














fit" 477









































4 ,


















NICHOLAS.




OCTOBER, 1884.


[Copyright, X884, by TnH CENTURY CO.]



SLANG.

BY LUCIA GILBERT RUNKLE.


"FIVE cents fine, Master Jack !" shouted Kitty.
"You said chousedd me out of my turn'; and
chousedd' is slang."
"Nonsense, Kitty; chousedd' is a good diction-
ary word, I 'm sure. Let 's see if't is n't."
The children dropped their mallets and rushed
into the library to settle the question.
"What now, young whirlwinds?" asked Mr.
May, looking up from his work.
Oh, I beg your pardon, Uncle Jack," said
Kitty; "but we 've such a habit of slang that we
agreed to fine ourselves five cents every time we
used it, to stop the habit; and I said chouse'
was slang, and Jack said it was n't, and is n't it,
Uncle Jack? "
"Well, it certainly was slang," said Uncle
Jack, but I suppose it is n't now, though Web-
ster, I believe, calls it 'low.' When a word has
been tolerated in a language for nearly three hun-
dred years, and for half of that time, perhaps, has
been seen in the good society of well-bred words,
I think it deserves a place. There 's an odd bit
of history wrapped up in that word chousedd,' as
there so often is in bur rich English speech." /
Tell us about it, Uncle Jack."
"Well, you all know how alive England was in
the reign of Elizabeth with the spirit of advent-
ure and discovery. The finding of America was
still a new wonder to be gossiped about. There
were wars and expeditions on every side ; and every
plucky young Englishman wished to sail away to
find a new inheritance with his ship, or conquer


an old one with his sword. A great many young
fellows, with more ambition than money, offered
their services to foreign powers. One of these
soldiers of fortune, Sir Robert Shirley, was em-
ployed by the Grand Seigneur and King of Persia,
and sent on various missions, the most important
being a commercial embassy to England. By this
time King James was on the throne, and anxious
to encourage the trade with Turkey and the East,
which Elizabeth's advisers had begun in a small
way, about twenty-five years before. So this
shrewd Sir Robert sent over a Turkish chiaus, or
envoy, in advance of his own coming, to get the
good-will of the London merchants in the Persian
and Turkish trade. The enterprising chiaus ex-
erted himself so successfully that he pocketed some
four thousand pounds of their money (a large sum
for that time), and ran away with it, leaving his
master to stand the loss and the laugh against
him, as best he could; for the tavern wits were
as much delighted to get hold of a bit of new slang
as you are, children, and they adopted 'chiaused'
(now become chousedd') in the sense of defraud-
ed,' just as you boys, Jack, would now say 'chis-
eled,' I suppose. You will find it in Ben Jonson
and in Shirley as slang, and in Landor, two hun-
dred years afterward, as good English. So you
see, in the etymology of one little word you get
a glimpse of English life in the sixteenth and
seventeenth centuries."
That 's bully !-" began Jack.
"Five cents fine for you !" shouted Kitty.


ST


VOL. XI.


No. 12.








908 SLANG. [OcToBeR,


Oh, I know that's slang, and I '11 pay up. But
a chap can't break off all at once. I noticed you
said plucky,' Uncle Jack, and we thought plucky
was slang. I suppose we can use it now? "
Mr. May smiled. Good English, my boy,"
he answered, "I take to be the English of the
best usage. Thackeray was a master, and he
used 'pluck' and 'plucky' constantly,- as why
should n't he ? If 'heart' and 'hearty' are good
words, 'pluck' and 'plucky,' which come to us by
the same road, certainly are. Pluck was butchers'
slang once, but it proved too good a word to
lose."
"It seems to me," said Kitty, doubtfully, "that
you defend slang, Uncle Jack,-at least, ancient
slang. And Mamma says it is so vulgar, and a
sign of such mental poverty, that she had made
us ashamed of it."
"It 's like that old verse about treason, Kitty,"
observed young Jack.
"'Treason doth never prosper. What's the reason?
Why, if it prosper, none dare call it treason.'

Uncle Jack wont recognize new-comers, but when
all the nobs take 'em up, he '11 shake hands.
I call that time-serving, myself. How do you
know, Uncle Jack, that there may not be just as
good fellows in our slang list as chousee' or
'plucky'? "
"I don't," said Mr. May. "But the fact that
your slang so soon goes out of fashion is the chief
argument against it. It 's at least a year since
I 've heard you say 'that's the kind of hair-pin I
am,' or 'how's that for high,' and perhaps twice
as long since you 've threatened to 'get up on
your ear' or to 'put a head on' anybody. Some
new flowers of speech have grown up in place of
those forgotten ones, I dare say; but the chance
is that they '11 prove equally rootless."
"Well, they were a rum lot, that's a fact," re-
marked Jack, regretfully. But I don't think the
new ones are quite so flat."
"That's the mistake you youngsters make.
You are taken in by a novelty. Now, it seems to me
that 'money,' for example, is a good sonorous
word, sufficient for its purpose, and with a pretty
bit 'of history attached, for it comes from the Latin
moneta, the adviser, a surname of Juno, in whose
temple silver was first coined by the Romans, in
the third century before Christ, about the time
that Rome was making herself mistress of all Italy,
and beginning to amuse her leisure with gladia-
torial shows. And I can't truthfully say that any
of the substitutes of which you and Kitty seem so
fond, such as 'chink,' 'the rhino,' 'the ready,'
'the needful,' 'the tin,' 'spondoolicks,' and some
half-dozen more, appear to me either so expressive,


or so poetical. It strikes me, also, that 'boy' or
' man' means as much as cove,' chap,' 'codger,'
or 'duffer.'"
"Uncle Jack," said Kitty, I 've seen some of
those very words in the stories in ST. NICHOLAS.
Are they any better in print? "
Not a bit, my dear. But if the story concerns
a slangy boy, or a frontiersman, or hunter, or
sailor, or persons in any region of country or walk
of life which gives them a speech peculiar to them-
selves characteristic, prevailing, what we call a
dialect, in fact- then, you see, these people
would n't be real people unless they spoke after
their peculiar fashion. Their phrases must belong
to their place in the world, and their occupation,
as much as their clothes."
"I catch on," said the incorrigible Jack. Go
ahead, Uncle just wax us "
I don't suppose you are unusually quarrel-
some, Jack, but I have certainly heard you propose
to 'whale,' 'lick,' larrupp,' 'leather,' 'lay out,'
'tan,' 'whack,' 'wallop,' 'maul,' 'pummel,'
'pay out,' 'lash,' 'lam,' 'fix,' and 'whop' one
or another of your fellow-beings. You both
say 'grab' or 'prig' for take'; you say 'hook
it,' or 'bolt,' or 'make tracks,' or mizzlee,'. or
'walk your chalks,' or absquatulatee,' or 'cut
sticks,' or 'vamose the ranch,' or 'leg it,' if
you mean to go out or to run away. You call
shoes broganss,' and watches 'tickers,' and clothes
'togs,' and food 'grub,' and feet 'trotters,' and
talk gab,' and your house your 'diggins.' Any-
thing fine or unusual you pronounce stunning';
to be rich or fashionable is to be 'swell' or
nobbyy'; great people are swells' or nobss,' and
to be poor or in trouble is to be 'down on your
luck.' Now, these are mere random quotations
from your every-day speech. If I should set my-
self to remember, I could doubtless repeat to you
a hundred words and phrases still more senseless,
if possible. Do you wonder that your mother
thinks such a dialect vulgar and poverty-stricken?"
"Uncle Jack," said Kitty, eagerly, "it does
sound shocking from you. But somehow it never
did before. And slang is so much more exciting
than dictionary words, you know, and it seems as
if our talk would sound perfectly prim and starchy
without it."
"Yes, Kitty, I dare say' the real charm of
slang to well-taught children, like you, is the sense
of adventure and excitement you get with it. You
are like those old borderers who had cattle enough
of their own, but found the chief delight of life in
making forays across their boundary to 'lift' the
lean kine of their neighbors. We elders have
outgrown the fun, if we ever appreciated it, and
object to the theft. For you see, children, this


908


[OCTOBEP,


SLANG.







1884.] SLANG.


jargon of yours comes from the very lowest
sources. It is the familiar speech of people too
ignorant -to express their few ideas in decent
English. It's the contribution of tinkers, gypsies,
stable-boys, track-layers, deck-hands, and roughs
and rowdies in general."
"'Rough' and 'rowdy' sound slangy," said
Kitty, reflectively.
So they do, chick, and so they were," replied
Uncle Jack. "They are two more examples of
the promoted words; words so necessary to describe
great modern classes that their low origin is for-
gotten in their usefulness. And slang, certainly,
has this great value, that it shows you how lan-
guage grows. The English tongue is so vigorous
that it seizes whatever it needs for growth, just as
it did in its infancy. At that period direct imita-
tions of sounds were constantly made into words,
just as you two young vandals to-day use 'chink'
for 'money.' Farther on in the growth of the
tongue, it took from ordinary speech these imita-
tive words, and converted them to new uses, just
as you say 'ticker' for 'watch,' and 'puff' for
'advertisement.' The contraction of words is
another stage, as 'mob,' now perfectly good Eng-
lish, was at first merely slang for the Latin mobile,
the fickle crowd, as cab' was slang for cabriolet,'
and 'furlong' for 'furrow-long,' the length of a
furrow, and as your favorite 'nob' is slang for
'nobility.' Then there 's another tendency of the
language which slang repeats, and that is an
inclination in difficult sounds to get themselves
altered to suit untaught ears. You think it fun, for
example, to say 'jimmyjohn' for demijohnn.' But
demijohn itself is a corruption, slang in fact, for
the Arabic damagan, itself changed from the name
of the Persian glass-making town of Damaghan."
I see," said Jack; and we make words from
men's names in the same way. I suppose 'boy-
cotting' will be good English soon."
"Very likely, my boy," answered his uncle.
"'Martinet,' which is indispensable, was the
name of a historic general over-strict in discipline.
'Derrick' was a famous hangman of the seven-
teenth century, in honor of whom the roughs
nicknamed the gallows-like hoisting apparatus;
and these are two, only, out of scores of cases."
"Then you think, Uncle Jack, that if a word
is a good one, and its ancestors were n't too low,
we have a right to it?"


"I don't think the ancestry matters much,
Kitty, when the word is a good one. But that is
the question to settle. Many of the respectabili-
ties of conversation were gutter-children. 'Drag,'
for instance, was a thieves' word for carriage, and
'dragsmen' the particular variety of thieves who
followed the carriage to cut away the luggage
from the rack behind. But 'drag' is good Eng-
lish now for a private coach. 'Kidnap' was thieves'
slang for child-stealing; that is, to 'nab a kid.'
'Tie,' for cravat, was as much the slang of low life
as 'choker' is now. 'Conundrum,' and 'donkey,'
and 'fun' were all slang words, though perhaps
not so low. 'Bore' was slang, and so were
'waddle' and 'bother.'"
Jack," said Kitty, what a comfort this lecture
is! We '11 not have to turn our backs on the
whole beloved family of slang terms, after all, but
only pick and choose."
Yes," said Uncle Jack. I think that's a fair
conclusion. It's useless to try to lock the doors
against all new-comers, because they can't be kept
out. On the other hand, why should you be more
ready to adopt every new cant word that is knock-
ing about the streets than you would be to make
a comrade of the low ragamuffin who uses, if
he did not invent it? Besides, the constant use
of cheap language tends to cheapen your ideas.
If you don't try to express yourselves in the most
exact and vivid words, but adopt some ready-made
phrase, you gradually lose both the power and the
desire to talk well. I agree with you, Kitty, that
an occasional slang word of the better sort, that is,
of the sort that conveys a good idea, does give
piquancy to conversation. But you can hardly
be too sparing of that sort of condiment. You
are fifteen years old now, and a hard student.
You don't need to have me tell you, my dear, that
a bright mind does n't require slang to express its
thoughts brightly, and that a stupid one is sure to
use it very stupidly."
"Well," said Kitty, ruefully, "it seems to me
your consent is very much like mother's veto,
after all. How long does it take slang, on the
average, to become good English ? "
"There's an old saying, my child," answered
Mr. May, with twinkling eyes, "that it takes
three generations to make a gentleman; and I
think, as a rule, that 's a fair probation for
slang."


909









910 THE STORY OF KING RHOUD. [OCTOBER,


RESIGNED TO HIS FATE.


THE STORY OF KING RHOUD.

BY MARGARET VANDEGRIFT.


NOTHING is really small. For shame or glory,
For evil or for good,-
All things have influence. Listen to my story,
The story of King Rhoud.
Enemies threatened; even in his palace,
So it was darkly said,
Were those who looked on him with hate and
malice,
And those who wished him dead.

Walking beneath the trees one fair spring
morning,
He and his chosen friend,
Earl Reigin uttered troubled words of warning,
Praying the King to send


Forth from the palace all who were suspected.
Then the King smiled, and said:
" By an Almighty Hand I am protected;
It covereth my head."

" Truly," the Earl replied, "I well might covet
Your faith in that High Power.
But think: Your life-and surely you must
love it-
Is hazarded each hour."
" Ah! said the King, "vain were all self-pro-
tection
Without that mighty Hand;
But, with its comfort and its sure direction,
Serenely I can stand."


THE STORY OF KING RHOUD.


[OCTOBER,


910







1884.] THE STORY OF KING RHOUD. 911


Thus talking, through the forest-paths they
wandered
And by the laughing stream,
Till suddenly, as each in silence pondered,
They heard a piteous scream.
" It is a bird! said Rhoud, intently listening.
Stop We can do no less
Than give it help. For hark!" (his kind
eyes glistening)
'T is in some sore distress."

" Then let it scream! said Reigin, with impa-
tience;
For surely you must feel
That what concerns you now 's the weight of
nations,
Not that small creature's weal! "
"The nearest duty first, both now and ever,".
The King said, with a smile;
" I learned to climb enough for this endeavor
In my own native isle."

" But see, the trunk uprises like a tower,
Without a single branch!"
" I am but small-you surely have the power
To lift me, warrior stanch "
" But you may fall-and would you have the
story
Through all your realm be heard
That the King parted with his life and glory
Just for a little bird?"

" Many have died for less," the King said sadly.
The Earl, unwillingly,
And urging still: "Why will you act so
madly ?"
Helped him to climb the tree.
He came down safely, bearing in his bosom
A little wounded bird,-
A goldfinch, brighter than a tropic blossom,
Whose plaintive cry they 'd heard.

And to his little daughter home he bore it,
Trusting her loving care
To comfort the small prisoner, and restore it,
Healed, to the sunny air.
The courtiers sneered. "He plays the child,"
they muttered, /
And sees not what 's before.
In vain for us the finch had screamed and
fluttered,
With foes at every door."


Meanwhile the traitors planned. Within the
ceiling,
Above the good King's bed,
A heavy beam was loosened. Past all healing
Will Rhoud be, soon," they said.
All was arranged. When the King, sorely tired,
From a long journey came,
Silently watched the traitor who aspired
To take his place and name.

But just as Rhoud had sunk in heavy sumber,
Unbroken by a dream,
And ere the clock the fatal hour could number,
Came the bird's piteous scream.
Forgotten by the careless little daughter
And by the weary King,
The little creature pined for food and water.
-" Oh, thou poor helpless thing! "

The King, remorseful, said: I vowed to cherish
Thy feeble, failing breath;
And now I have come near to let thee perish
By a more cruel death."
He sprang to satisfy the starving creature,
And, as it hushed its scream,
A sudden horror froze his every feature--
Down rushed the loosened beam !

The warriors, wakened by the thunderous crash-
ing,
Rushed to the room, in fright;
The servants screamed with terror; lights came
flashing
Everywhere through the night.
" The King is killed! the King is slain!" Their
wailing
Resounded through the place.
And then they saw him, flushing first, then
paling,
A smile upon his face.

He raised the cage. God's hand is still above
me !"
He reverently said.
" Give thanks, my people,-you who truly love
me.
Your King had now been dead,
But for the cry which broke my mortal slum-
ber;
'T was from this helpless thing.
Ah, the Almighty's forces who can number?
The bird has saved the King!"







[OCTOBER,


THE BIOGRAPHY OF RICHARD.


I PURPOSE to write the brief history of one who
was wise, discreet, and of a simple heart. Taking
it for granted that the readers of the ST. NICHOLAS
admire these qualities, I shall show how they may
be exemplified in the biography of Richard. Now,
Richard was a cat. He was born and reared in the
studio of an eminent artist, whose favorite subjects
are cats and kittens, dogs and puppies, and other
domestic animals. It is hardly necessary to say
that Richard, brought up amidst the surroundings
of an artist's studio, was continually under the influ-
ence of an art atmosphere. In himself he was an
object worthy of an artist's admiration, and from
kittenhood to mature cat-hood he figured in many
pictures that have become famous among men.
But Richard's attractiveness arose from his
strongly individual character rather than from
any artistic training. Indeed, his training was
not in an esthetic direction at all. His master
taught him to be neat, patient, and obedient.
Richard also early learned several diverting tricks.
He would lie down, at word of command, flat on the
floor, stretched at full length, with his head thrown
limply back, as if he were dead, and would jump
up agairi, lithely, when permission was given, and
not before; or, when placed behind the clasped
hands of a person bending over him, he would
leap over them, or would leap when shown a stick
held horizontally and not too high. Sundry other
amusing antics did this learned cat perform, to
narrate all of which would be tedious.
In color, Richard was pure white as to his under
parts, and of a bright brownish-yellow, beautifully
mottled with tortoise-shell markings, as to the rest
of the body. He was graceful in all his motions,
and when he flew after a little ball of bread thrown
for him (an amusement of which he was very fond),
his tiger-like spring and quick recovery of the
body were very charming to behold.
What we may call Richard's mental traits,
however, chiefly commended him to his associates.
When he was full-grown he was presented to
the Lotos Club, an artistic and social organization,
of which his master was a member. With him
went a portrait in oils, an engraving of which is
shown on page 914 of this number of ST. NICHOLAS.


Richard's unfailing good-humor, his steadiness,
and gravity of demeanor, and, above all, his dis-
creet silence, made him at once an acceptable
member of the Lotos Club. Before he had been
in the house a month, he had won many friends,
and was generally recognized as a privileged char-
acter. He never abused his privileges; but, if
objection was made to his taking a leading part in
anything that was going on, the merest hint was
sufficient for him. He withdrew at the slightest
suggestion that he was not wanted.
Whether it was a fault of his studio training or
of his later experience in a club composed exclu-
sively of men, I can not say, but it soon became
evident that he did not like the society of ladies.
It is the admirable custom of the Lotos Club at
intervals to throw open their house, for an after-
noon reception to ladies, who go to see the pictures
and listen to the music performed for their benefit.
On such occasions, Dick, as he was familiarly
called, was greatly disquieted. He detected the
preparations going on, and, having learned by
experience what was about to happen, he fled
to the garret, or to some other friendly shelter,
and there remained hidden until the last of the
(to him) objectionable visitors had gone. At that
time, my private lodgings were in the club-house,
and Richard often secured an entrance into my
rooms before the company arrived, nor did he go
out until the last silken rustle of feminine garments
had ceased.
To test his powers of observation, I once took
him out into the upper hall of the house, near the
close of a ladies' reception. Released from my
hands, Dick cautiously stole to the banisters,
peered down the stair-way, sniffing the odor of
fried oysters and other good things, and then, as if
his keen senses noted a sound or smell, which my
duller perceptions did not, he dashed back into
the room, imploring me with his large and ex-
pressive eyes to close the door and keep him safe.
One strong trait was his sedateness. He never,
except when accidentally hurt, uttered a cry.
Such an expression as "m-e-ouw !" never passed
his lips. Nor did he ever laugh or smile. His
only speech was in his eyes, which were, at times,


912


~t- ae%
~~ Yl~ -~V
- i ooCs
"K X,







THE BIOGRAPHY OF RICHARD.


truly eloquent. A comical sight or an amusing
story never moved him from his beautiful gravity;
but he sat and regarded the scene with a dignified
demeanor, which, as many members have said, was
a perpetual reproof of frivolity.
His friendship for men was very strong. Per-
haps, like most human creatures, his selfish inter-
ests bounded his affections. Certainly, he did not
like people who gave him no kindness. But, on
the other hand, there were gentlemen who vainly
tried to win him by showing him favors. By all
the members of the club, however, he was highly
esteemed and respected. If a gentleman desired
to sit, and found Dick occupying the chair most con-
venient to him, he took some other seat, leaving
Dick in possession. Once it was reported that a
gentleman had turned Richard unceremoniously
out of his favorite seat, to the great indignation
of most of those who beheld it. But the offender
was excused when it was found that he was a new
member and unaccustomed to the usages of the
club.
Possibly it was his consorting thus with men who
live delicately that made Dick dainty and fastidious
concerning his food. Under no circumstances or
stress of hunger would he touch or taste any pork,
bacon, ham, or other product of the American
hog. All "made dishes" he despised. He re-
tained a cat's fondness for fish, lobster being his


tected the odor of a canvas-back duck or quail in
another part of the dining-room, he quit us as
if we were strangers. Once, when he had been
detained elsewhere until the dinner-hour was over,
and nearly all the members had left the dining-
room, Dick came in, apparently dejected by the
loss of his dinner. A tender-hearted and enthusi-
astic friend of Richard, indignant at the neglect
which the cat had seemed to suffer at the hands
of the servants, sent an order to the kitchen and
had a bird broiled and sent up for Dick's dinner.
To his credit it should be said, that Richard
always preferred a cooked bird to one uncooked.
As I usually breakfasted late, it was Dick's cus-
tom to wait about my chamber door, if he could
not get in, until I was ready to descend. Then
he loitered about the hall at my heels, and hung
back until I was ready to sit down at table, when
he stalked slowly in. His seat was in a chair at
my left, and, with his large luminous eyes fixed
on mine, he waited for an invitation to begin. If
I had fruit before breakfast, as I almost invaria-
bly had, Dick gave one contemptuous look at the
plate, and then, turning around, addressed him-
self to considering the street sights. Nor would
he pay the least attention to any remark from me.
By his actions he seemed to say:
"Baked apples! Who in the world eats baked
apples? I have my opinion of the creature who


"A FOX-SKIN, WITH A STUFFED AND MOUNTeD HEAD, WAS A TERROR TO RICHARD." (PAGE 915.)
special weakness, as it were. The predatory and eats baked apples. How remarkable in a man of
sporting instincts of his race were displayed in his the pretensions that this fellow has "
passionate appetite for game of every description. Presently, something else would come on the
Usually he attended at the table where I dined table. Dick's fine sense of smell would warn him
with others, and it was supposed that he was per- of what had come; but, although his sensitive pink
manently attached to our party. But if our table nose quivered with enjoyment, he gave no other
had only a roast of beef or chicken, and Dick de- sign. He seemed to say: This fellow has got






[OCTOBER,


914 THE BIOGRAPHY OF RICHARD.


a bird, as sure as I am a living cat! What shall I
do about it? A bird? A quail, I guess."
Then suddenly turning around, he seemed to
say: "Why, old fellow, how are you? I did n't
notice you before. Nice day What have you
there-a bird? Well, if there is anything I like"-
etcetera, etcetera.
Then, jumping down, he would caress my leg,
throwing into his eyes as much fondness and


d..
Mbe'


PORTRAIT OF RICHARD. ENGRAVED FROM A
desire as he was capable of showing, and that was
a great deal.. If, in rebuke to his selfishness, I
forebore to feed him at once, he tried to attract
my attention by clawing and shaking the table-
cloth; and if this did not avail, he reached up and
deftly pulled the napkin quite out of my lap; and
when I stooped to pick it up, that cat almost
laughed as he met my eyes with his, seeming to
say, "Ha! ha! Great joke,-was n't it?"
One very cold winter morning, Dick came in
late, and, from the far end of the parlors through
which he approached the dining-room, he described
a row of plates put before the open fire to keep
hot for expected breakfasters. Usually Richard's
motions were very slow, sedate, and even pon-
derous. Although he was agile, he moved with
the gravity of an elephant, except when he was in
a hurry, as he was this time. As if saying, My
eye! what a fine spread is set out for me!" he
darted to the plates before the fire. But when he
saw that they were empty, his own foolishness
dawned on him, and he turned and went out of
the room, with his tail hanging down with mor-
tified pride; nor did he come back during the


remainder of that morning. I have seen some-
where an account of a dog doing very much the
same thing, which shows that animals have a
sense of shame akin to that of the more sensitive
human creature.
Richard's strong point, I may say, was his
memory. He never forgot an injury, and never
an unpleasant experience. One of the club mem-
bers, who was my neighbor in the club lodgings,
was presented
with a canary-
bird, and, as
Dick was a fre-
quent visitor to
his rooms, my
friend was at a
loss how to en-
tertain the cat
without sacrific-
ing thebird. So,
-' one day, having
S.put the bird-cage
S '' where Dick was
S able to get at it,
;~" h" e heated a wire
'' -j, ,.. almost to a burn-


,,,; ~ing-point, and
tori~-.:)r invited Dick to
-- inspect the cage.
The poor bird
flew around its
prison in terror
PORTRAIT IN OILS. prison in terror
ORRA OILS. as Dick, confi-
dent of game, pressed his nose against the bars.
Just then, the master of the premises slid the hot
wire down between those of the cage, and Dick,
astounded at the sudden turn of affairs, sprang
away in great alarm and fled the room. Although
his opportunities were often good after that, Dick
never could be tempted to go near that cage. He
believed it to be red-hot; and he never forgot it.
On another occasion, lounging around in my
bedroom, as was his wont of a morning, he
noticed that a drawer in the bureau was left open.
Climbing in, he clawed the contents about until
he had fixed a comfortable bed and cuddled down
for a nap. When I was ready to leave the room,
I said, Come, Dick, I am going down to break-
fast. If you want anything to eat, you 'd better
get out of that."
But Master Richard shook his head. He was
very well satisfied with his position. So, after
vainly coaxing him, I closed the drawer and went
to breakfast. When I returned, shortly afterward,
having breakfasted, I remembered Dick and
opened the drawer. He leaped out, with his tail
moving angrily, darted out of the door, and under


THE BIOGRAPHY OF RICHARD.


914








-] THE BIOGRAPHY OF RICHARD.


no persuasion could he ever afterward be induced It
to get into a drawer of any kind. w
His curiosity was something remarkable. When- hi
ever a new member came into the club, Richard cr
observed him at once. He would take up a posi- hi
tion where he could see him, look him over, and, sc
apparently, make up his mind what manner of w:
man he was. A casual visitor Dick never noticed. ol
In like manner, a new piece of furniture attracted hi
his attention. He inspected it with great care, first ga
with his nose and then with his paws, or, so to en
speak, his hands; for he managed his paws as ap
though they were hands. His curiosity being sat- as
isfied, after a long and careful examination, he
gave the subject no further thought. o0
One day in spring, for the first time, he found bi
no fire in the open grate, in which a coal fire usu- ar
ally burned, night and day. As if saying to him- at
self, "This is mighty queer," he mounted the fl
heap of unkindled coal, sniffed at it, peered up R
the chimney, inspected the fire-brick, jumped dt
down, took in the general look of things, as if for in
future reference, and walked away, entirely at ease b
in his mind. Coming into my sitting-room one su
day in the autumn, when I had just laid down a th
new rug of skins, edged with red cloth, he walked
apprehensively around it, sniffing at the cloth o0
border very gingerly and discreetly. Observing ca
his partly concealed agitation, I took him up and w
dropped him in the
middleoftherug. He
shivered with fright,
and looked about for
a means of escape.
The rug was too big
for him to clear it at
one bound, and it was I "
skins in every direc-
tion. Presently, find-f '
ing that the thing was ,
not alive, he grew '
moreinterested. Then
he gently clawed it,
without awaking any ------- -
response. Finally, he -. -
laid down and rolled --
in an ecstasy of enjoy-
ment, purring and
clawing the skins with delight. The rug was/ever fe
after a source of great comfort to Richard. cl
A fox-skin, with a stuffed and mounted head, a
and glass eyes, used as a foot-mat by my neighbor, p
was an infinite terror to Richard. When it was D
first put down, Richard saw it facing him, with p.
the glass eyes glaring at him. In an abject fright, h
he fled to the shelter of a table in an adjoining "
room, from which he could observe the monster. r


did not move, although Dick sat a long time
waiting for it to show what it would do. Finally,
s curiosity overcoming his fears,'Master Richard
ept stealthily toward the thing, and, planting
mself on the floor, stretched out his head and
rutinized the tip of the tail of the skin. There
as no motion, and Dick was about to enlarge his
servations when the master of the premises took
m and made him face the stuffed head. Dick
ive one dark, despairing look, and, with a fright-
led dash past the creature's tail, bolted from the
artments. He never entered that room again
Long as the frightful mat remained on the floor.
If he came home at any time, and found the
ter door of the house closed, he made no ado,
it silently sat and waited for some one to come
Id let him in. Often, returning to the club-house
a late hour of the night, I would discern Dick
ying about in the gloom, like a fleeting ghost.
recognizing me long before I saw him, he would
ash up the steps, as if in a tearing hurry to be let
to the house. But, the door being fairly open
before him, he dropped into his customary lei-
irely gait, and walked in as if determined to show
tat he knew how to enter with due dignity.
One summer day, when all the outer doors were
pen, Dick came in with a mouse which he had
aught in the grass-plot in front of the house,
here he seemed to keep a private stock. The

...... -; '' .. v .-- -. :.- ".

_.



,
,- .jqLA J ,t,.;'.. /



:' : -. .. .,:,
--- .. "S





TO CATCH THE MOUSE IN THE JAR.
line instinct, long hidden under the guise of a
ub-cat, came out, and Master Dick cruelly
mused himself with foiling the attempts of the
oor persecuted and frightened mouse to escape.
'ick was perfectly aware that the members in the
arlor were watching him, and, with much agility,
e kept up what he would probably have called
a regular circus." Finally, he dropped the
louse into a porcelain jar, and then made as if


915







THE BIOGRAPHY OF RICHARD.


he would conclude the fun by fishing the mouse
out with his paw. But he could not catch him,
being able to get only one paw inside the narrow
neck of the jar. Baffled often, he finally sat
down, with a shame-faced expression of counte-
nance, and considered the situation. Then, as if
a new light had dawned on him, he got up, placed
his forepaws forcibly on the edge of the jar, tilted
it over on its side, and deliberately drove out the
mouse and dispatched him without more ado. It
should be said that Dick, unless under great
pressure of hunger, never ate a mouse. His was
what may be called an educated appetite.
When a bit of bread rolled in a pellet was
thrown, he caught it before it could reach the floor,
no matter how far it was thrown; and if he could
make a pass at it with his forepaw, he struck it


---l-.. --

An Aicc6e
precisely as a base-ball player would. Having
eaten the ball, he would come back and look
eagerly for another; but under no circumstances
did he ever eat bread as a portion of his provender.
To eat the ball was to him a part of the game.


Sometimes, when longing for human society,
Richard would come up to my apartments where
I was busily writing, and, mounting the table with
great deliberation, would sit down to watch the
motions of the pen as it traveled across the paper.
Writing he considered evidently a very queer busi-
ness. After a while, weary of waiting for me to stop
and talk with him, Master Richard would put out his
paw and strike the pen; and, if that did not bring
on a crisis, he drew his velvety foot along the line
of writing yet wet with ink. Once he did that
before I could see what he was about, and in my
vexation I cuffed his ears vigorously. Greatly
astonished and indignant at this unusual treat-
ment, Richard bolted from the table, and, squat-
ting on his haunches at a safe distance, regarded
me with mild-eyed reproach. Then, turning over
his foot stained with ink, he exhibited it to me,
saying, as plain as a cat's eyes can say anything,
See what you have done "
This pampered favorite of the Lotos club suf-
fered many accidents, notwithstanding the ease
and comfort of his position. Once, while repairs
were going on in adjoining premises, he leaped
ignorantly into a bed of mortar,-and his legs,
despite the tender care of the servants, were badly
burned. The lime also destroyed the beauty of
his fur for some time, and he kept himself secluded
until the hair grew again. At another time,
attempting to leap on a high and narrow table,
slippery as to top, he lost his footing, scooted
over the surface, and fell into a water-vessel on
the other side. No persuasion, no temptation,
could ever induce him to leap on that table
again.
Finally, during the summer of 1883, while the
club-house was being altered and repaired, Richard,
who had been an inmate for five years, seemed to
absorb particles of lime and mortar, or he was
sickened by the smell of paint which pervaded the
house. He gradually lost his hair; he refused to
eat, and his general appearance was most dejected
and melancholy. It was clear that he could not
live long, and it was an act of mercy to spare him
a lingering and hopeless sickness. I never knew
how the decision of the house committee in his
case was carried out, nor did I want to know.
But his numerous friends were assured that he was
humanely dealt with, and that his quietus was to
him a peaceful deliverance.


[OCTOBER,







1884.]


PART III.

PEACE and harmony now reigned at Dalzell
Hall. The four young people were inseparable,
and for Houghton geologizing had lost its charm.
Mr. Tripton Dalzell saw with satisfaction that his
boys were becoming more refined, more thought-
ful. There were long horseback scampers over
the downs, sailing, fishing, and rowing without
end, picnics on Bear Island, daily plunges in the
surf, and evening" sings" in the long, cool par-
lor, when Mr. Tripton Dalzell would listen, in a
retired nook with his hand over his eyes, to the
fresh young voices.
Neither was the two weeks' yachting trip left out
for the three lads. They all went, though Ranald
heroically offered to stay at home with Molly, a
sacrifice which she with equal heroism refused.
I shall feel very lonesoihe while you 're gone,"
she said, "but never mind; I shall ride and
practice, and the time will soon pass. I would n't
have you miss the trip for anything."
So Miss Peabody was brought up from Daisydown
to sleep with Mrs. Merriam, and Peter removed
from his stable-chamber to a room near the kitchen,
because of the lonesomeness of the big house; for
Mr. Tripton Dalzell was to accompany his boys.
And off they went.

Breakfast is late at Dalzell Hall on the morn-
ing of their return, about two weeks later. It is
full half-past nine when they rise from table,
-all but Mr. Tripton Dalzell, who, after a couple
of hours' sleep in a chair, has taken an early train
for town and business.
Now, what shall we do ? says Molly.
"Go fox-hunting," answers Ranald. "Peter
was telling me just now of a fox that Teddy Capen
saw on the hills beyond the ledges. Let's take
Prince and Poppy and hunt him up."
"We 're not in England, my fine fellow, where
the lords and ladies ride straight over everybody's
land," objects Phil, while Houghton laughs. But
may be we '11 have some fun out of it. It's a nice
cool day, and I 'm in for the hunt if the rest are."
Be careful, my dears," says Mrs. Merriam, with
a shade of anxiety in her soft gray eyes. "No reck-
less riding, I beseech you. Look out for Molly."
Indeed we will," answers Houghton, blithely,
"as the apple of our eyes, I assure you. Come
on, boys."


Off they go to the stable, to create a commotion
among the horses, and drive Peter nearly out of
his senses by twenty different questions and de-
mands in a breath.
Mrs. Merriam, looking from her window as they
prepare to start, says to herself that no brighter,
finer-looking young people are to be found any-
where. Houghton, with his father's air of com-
mand, bestrides proudly that father's black mare,
which neither of the other boys is allowed to touch.
Phil's horse is a dapple chestnut; Ranald rides
as if he and his gallant gray are one; and Molly,
in her dark-blue habit with her brown mare and
handsome equipment, makes a pretty picture.
Two and two they canter down the drive, Hough-
ton and Phil ahead, Ranald by Molly's side, with
Prince, the hound, and Poppy, the Scotch collie,
prancing and barking all about. The gate ever-
greens shut them from view, and Mrs. Merriam,
with a little sigh, leaves her window.
What a fresh wind! And what a blue, tossing sea
over yonder between the hills! What a rustle and
sway in the old willow branches all along the road,
and how the poplar leaves turn their silvery sides
up How glorious to feel your horse bound beneath
you, and to sway lightly to his easy motion !
"A grand morning for a ride," says Houghton.
"I hope we 'll find the fox," says Molly.
"We 've about one chance in fifty!" exclaims
Phil.
"Perhaps we '11 strike the one chance," answers
Ranald, gayly.
They turn from the village street to the quiet
leafy lane that leads over beyond the ledges.
Still further on they strike a cart-path that wanders
under overhanging boughs into the very heart of
Daisydown wood.
"Let's ride slower," says Ranald, removing
his hat. The fox '11 keep, and I 'm very warm."
They subside to a walk, and the boys begin to
give Molly an account of divers stirring incidents
connected with their yachting trip. This continues
for a full half-hour, at the end of which they are
nearly out of the wood, and through the sparse
foliage they catch a view of the sweep of the long
turfy downs that, with here and there a cart-track,
extend for many a mile along the coast.
Suddenly both dogs give tongue at once, and
before one can say "Jack Robinson," ri,: have
disappeared over the sloping crest before them, at
the heels of a smaller, reddish-brown animal that


THE DALZELLS OF DAISYDOWN.




THE DALZELLS OF DAISYDOWN.

BY E. VINTON BLAKE.


917








918 ~ ~ TH AZLSO AIYON OTBR


has unexpectedly started up from no one knows
where.
"Oh, the fox! the fox!" shrieks Phil, and the
next minute four astonished horses, urged by four
excited young riders, are flying at a break-neck
pace over the slope. There are no words wasted.
Neck and neck the horses gallop over the turf,
their riders straining eager eyes after the dogs.
Ah,- there they are Yes, it is surely a fox,--a
rather rare animal around Daisydown, and it is
heading straight over the downs for Denham wood,
three miles away. The hound is close on its heels,
the collie a little in the rear.
Hurrah !" shouts Houghton, as the black mare


But Molly is a daring rider, and is excited now.
She catches sight of the gully just in time; her
whip descends with stinging emphasis on the
brown mare's flank; the astonished and indignant
animal "takes" the gully in gallant style, and, dis-
tancing Ranald, goes tearing over the turf. Ran-
ald, indeed, pulls up for a look at Phil, whose
dapple chestnut balks, refusing the leap.
"Give him the spur, Phil!" calls Ranald;
"conquer him once for all, or he '11 conquer
you."
"I mean to," says Phil, setting his teeth hard
as he fights the unruly steed. "He always bothers
me about leaping. There now-go it! "


~,f
It' s~i-- rr-

7/ "'i Ik~
~-aR
'1- ---.-
(C,'; .


"BUT MOLLY IS A DARING RIDER, AND THE MARE 'TAKES' THE GULLY IN GALLANT STYLE."


leads up the next slope. "This is a fox-hunt,
sure, Molly, and no mistake !"
The horses string out now; Houghton's is the
best of the four, and Phil's dapple chestnut last
of all. Ranald's gray is close up with Houghton,
when they come unexpectedly to the brink of a
narrow, deep gully at the crest of the slope. No
time to stop; Houghton feels one little thrill of fear
for Molly, not himself, as his mare takes the leap;
Ranald follows after; and they both look over their
shoulders rather anxiously to see how their girl
friend will fare. They begin to think of Mrs.
Merriam's warning.


He heads the chestnut once more for the gully,
and, with a stinging blow and sharp thrust of the
spur, enforces obedience. The horse, all in a fume,
takes the gully in a vigorous leap and races by
Ranald's side after the others.
Houghton, still ahead, with Molly a little distance
behind him, catches sight of the fox again as the
dogs close nearer upon it. He catches sight also
of a woodchuck, that dives into the front door of
its residence as the chase sweeps by.
The woodchuck's residence is at the right, out
of Houghton's range, but quite within Molly's,
who diverges for a shorter cut, as she sees the fox


918


THE DALZELLS OF DAISYDOWN.


[OCTOBER,







THE DALZELLS OF DAISYDOWN.


in front sweep also to the right. The woodchuck
has escaped her notice.
The brown mare, by this time as excited as her
rider, obeys the touch of the rein, and clears the
ground in splendid style. Unfortunately, while in
full career, she sinks her right fore-leg into the
woodchuck's hole; there is a stumble, and the
next instant she rolls on the ground with a snort
of pain that chills the blood in the veins of the
four young riders who hear it. Molly, with a hasty
clutch at the animal's mane that somewhat breaks
the force of the fall, is flung forward and rolls on
the ground some distance away. Albeit bruised
and half stunned, she has yet sense enough to
scramble, or roll, further away from the struggling,
kicking animal. Ranald, white as a sheet, picks
up the prostrate Molly; Houghton and Phil are at
her side in a moment, the latter almost crying.
"Molly, you 're not dead, are you? Molly,
Molly, speak to us!" beseeches Ranald.
"No, oh, no !" gasps Molly faintly, shivering as
the brown mare screams again. "Oh, the poor
creature She 's got a bad sprain, Ranald. Oh,
I can't bear to hear her!" and Molly clasps both
trembling hands over her ears.
"But are you all safe; no bones broken? I
can't believe it, Molly; you had an awful fall,"
says Houghton, passing his hand rapidly over her
shoulders and arms.
"I 'm stiff and sore, but I 'm sure no bones are
broken," says Molly, trying to stand alone, but
not succeeding very well. "You see I clutched
the mane when I felt her going, and it broke the
force of the fall a little."
The mare is badly hurt," says Phil, shudder-
ing slightly at the pitiful cry of the disabled steed.
"What can we do, Houghton ?"
There 's only one thing to be done," answers
Houghton. We can't relieve the poor creature's
suffering, and we must just let her wait here until
Peter can bring some men and the horse-doctor,
and some sort of a contrivance to carry her home in.
I hope it 's nothing more than a sprain, but the
mare can't stand up, that 's certain, much less
walk all the way home. I '11 stay here and watch
her, and I '11 trust you, Ranald, with the black
mare, so that Molly can ride your gray to the
nearest place where you can get a carriage for her.
When you 've seen her safely home, you 'd better
come back here. Phil, you must ride off, at once,
to tell Peter about the accident, and get help for
the mare. Be as quick as you can "

PART IV.

"WELL, well, Miss Molly! and how do you feel
to-night ? Ranald tells me you have had a danger-


ous tumble. I am afraid my boys need some les-
sons on taking care of a young lady," said Mr.
Tripton Dalzell on the evening of that eventful
day of the fox-hunt.
Oh, Mr. Dalzell !" cried Molly, choking a lit-
tle, "if you knew how careless I 've been, and
how I feel about your mare;-when you 've all
been so kind to me, too. It almost broke my
heart to hear her, and to see her in such pain."
"We are sorry she had to suffer, of course,"
said Mr. Dalzell kindly, "but our thankfulness
for your own escape puts that quite out of mind.
Don't let the animal worry you in the least. We
hope she '11 recover from the sprain in good time.
You shall ride another horse which I shall have
brought over from the farm for you,--on condition,
however, that we shall have no more fox-hunts to
imperil your precious neck."
I feel as if I could never ride again. But
Papi will pay you the value of the mare, if it
does n't get well-I shall write to him," said
Molly, eagerly.
"Tut, tut," said Mr. Dalzell, good-naturedly,
"have I not told you that is of no consequence?
The fault rests with the boys, who should not have
ridden so recklessly. I can not be too thankful
that you are safe, for you have really had a narrow
escape. But you will be just as ready to ride
when your bruises are whole again."
So he passes it off, and is kindly solicitous for
Molly's comfort, and even has the family doctor,-
worthy soul,-to make sure that there are no
,sprains, dislocations, or what not, that will retard
her full restoration to activity. And, indeed, for
three good days Molly's chief occupation is to lie
on the sofa and read, or play chess, dominoes, or
backgammon with the boys, whose attentions are
constant and devoted.
This trouble over, however, matters go on as
happily as before at Dalzell Hall.
It is now August. The days would be sultry
but for the ubiquitous sea-wind that always tempers
the heat of the sun. August,-and September,
close at hand, will bring Molly's father from the
Adirondacks to Daisydown.
How can I ever endure to go back to New
York ?" moans Molly to Mrs. Merriam at intervals.
They can not bear to think of it!
"You will come out to us again, surely," an-
swers the good lady, who is very loath to lose
the bright girlish face from the quaint old house.
"And besides, dear, it would n't seem like Dalzell
Hall to you with the boys at school. They go, in
September, you know."
But Molly shakes her head. It is not altogether
the boys. The old hall has won a place in her
heart, with its quaint, ivied walls, its gables and


919








920 THE DALZELLS OF DAISYDOWN. [OCTOBER,


nooks and rose-alleys, with its outlook over the
sunny sea, and its wilderness of a garden, wherein
grow all flowers that ever blossomed under the
sun,-or so it seems to Molly.
But the afternoon boat is due soon, and she and
the boys must go down and see it, and stop for a
chat with old Cap'n Azariah, in his funny old store
on the pier. So away with all sad thoughts, for this
is the last week of her stay, and one must be
happy when one can in this work-a-day world.
Vacation's most out-hey?" says Cap'n Aza-
riah, placing a chair for Miss Molly under the
shadow of the morning-glory vines that shade the
side of his little piazza.
"Yes,-we 're sorry to say," answers Phil,
dolefully.
"Wall, now I s'pose ye mean to go back to
the big city schools where ye be'n last year,-
hey ?"
Yes, sir ; to the same one."
Wall, do ye larn anything' there ?- anything I
mean, more worth while than ye could learn at
the academyy here in Daisydown?'"
"Why, of course," says Houghton, looking up
in surprise into the shrewd, wrinkled face of his
questioner. But Ranald smiled. He caught the
drift of the question.
"We study all the common branches, and the
higher ones, such as algebra, geometry, trigonom-
etry, the languages, music,"-goes on Houghton,
fluently.
"And do they put in alongsidee o' all those fine
extries, the larnin' to be a man, a ra'al honest,
God-fearin' man, as wont ever knuckle under to
temptation, ner turn his back on his brother, in a
tight place ?"
Houghton is silent, for a moment. Then he
says:
I suppose we could learn that in Daisydown."
Jes' so; jes' so, my boy," says old Cap'n Aza-
riah, heartily. "Not that I say a word agenst the
big schools. The world 's grown sence my day,
and larnin' must grow with it. But I 've b'en about
a good deal, and I never found a place yit where ye
could n't larn good or bad, jes' as ye 've a min'
to. It's all in the boy, Houghton. There 's a
many temptations in the big school, though, that
ye wont find in the old Daisydown 'Cademy,-
aren't there, now? "
Again Houghton is silent. Then he answers,
"Yes, sir; there are."
"Wall," says the old Cap'n, "look out for your
taups'les, then, all you boys, and jibe and tack
right lively, or you '11 be stove on the rocks. Keep
your course clear, and yer eye on the compass.
I 've seen you chaps grow up, ye know, an' I take


naturally a sort 'o interest in ye. I've seen the
world, too, and I thought seeing' ye was goin' off so
soon, a word from the old man would n't come
amiss."
"Thank you for it, Cap'n," says Ranald, with
an earnest look in his deep gray eyes; "we 'll
remember what you say."
"All right," says Cap'n Azariah, ambling off to
attend to a customer.
And now-who is that tall, gray-whiskered
gentleman with yellow traveling-bag, who walks
up the pier, casting critical yet undecided glances
on all his surroundings.
Oh, Papa! Oh, Papa !" cries Molly, bound-
ing from the piazza with a shout of delight.
The boys come upright from their lounging
positions with expressions of dismay; the tall man
gives Molly a hearty hand-shake and kiss, and
then Ranald, the reserved, electrifies his cousins by
stepping quietly forward with lifted cap. He says
simply: "I want to ask the pleasure of being
introduced to Molly's father."
The others are just behind him. After the
introductions and cordial greetings,-for Mr.
Arnold has never seen his friend's boys,-they all
walk up over the turfy downs through the sunlight,
the breeze, the fresh sea air, to Dalzell Hall. Mr.
Arnold's admiration of it is sincere enough to sat-
isfy even Molly, and Mrs. Merriam and the boys
speedily make him welcome.
In the evening comes Mr. Tripton Dalzell, who
is heartily glad to see his friend. And for the
next few days a series of farewell rides, sails, and
picnics, give Mr. Arnold a chance to know all the
beauties and delights of Daisydown.
But the summer is ended, after all. Summers
do not stay. Well for all of us who carry a per-
petual summer in our hearts. And then it is not
well for us always to lie in the roses ; at least, the
admonitory thorns may do us good. But, after all,
the real work of life has to be done, and such
summers are but resting-places on our journey.
So they part; Houghton, Ranald, and Phil to
plunge into busy school-life again, with all its joys,
trials, temptations; carrying with them the mem-
ory of the kindly eyes and shrewd smile of old
Cap'n Azariah, and the honest, manly admonitions
of Mr. Tripton Dalzell, who gives them always
all the help that a father can. And Molly goes
to her New York home to combat, as well as
she may, her girlish faults, to rebel, often with
reason, against the exactions of a too fashionable
mother, and to train her young voice for the
glorious future which her teacher predicts for
it. Shall they ever again meet at Dalzell Hall?
Who can tell?


[OCTOBER,


THE DALZELLS OF DAISYDOWN.


920






SPINNING-WHEEL STORIES.


IIN" IT
-.- -'













"BRAIDING MOTHER'S HAIR."--DRAWN BY MARY HALLOCK FOOTE.







CORNY'S CATAMOUNT.-TENTH SPINNING-WHEEL STORY.

BY LOUISA M. ALCOTT.


Two boys sat on the bars, one whittling, the
other whistling,-not for want of thought, by any
means, for his brow was knit in an anxious frown,
and he paused now and then to thump the rail,
with an impatient exclamation. The other lad ap-
peared to be absorbed in shaping an arrow from the
slender stick in his hand; but he watched his neigh-
bor with a vexing smile, saying a few words occa-
sionally, which seemed to add to the neighbor's
irritation, though they were in a sympathizing tone.
Oh, well, if a chap can't do a thing, he can't,
and he 'd better give up and say 'Beat,'" he asserted
finally.
"But I wont give up, and I never say 'Bett.'
I'm not going to be laughed out of it, and I '11 do
what I said I would, if it takes all summer, Chris
Warner," was the answer he received.
"You '11 have to be spry then, for there are
only two more days in August," replied the whit-
tler, shutting one eye to look along his arrow and
see if its lines were true."
VOL. XI.-59.


"I intend to be spry, and if you wont tell on
me, I'11 let you into a plan I made last night."
I guess you can trust me. I 've heard about a
dozen plans of yours already, and never told one
of 'em."
They all failed, so there was nothing to tell.
But this one is not going to fail, if I die for it. I
feel that it 's best to tell some one, because it is
really dangerous; and if anything should happen
to me, your knowing my plan would save time and
trouble."
"I don't seem to feel anxious a mite. But I '11
stand ready to pick up the pieces, if you come to
grief."
Now, Chris, it's mean of you to keep on mak-
ing fun when I 'm in dead earnest. You know I
mean what I 'm saying now, and this may be the
last thing you can do for me."
Wait till I get out my handkerchief; if you 're
going to be affection' I may want it. Granite's
cheap up here; just mention what you'd like on


921






SPINNING-WHEEL STORIES.


your tombstone and I '11 see that it gets there, if it
takes my last cent."
The big boy in the blue overalls spoke with
such a comical drawl that the slender city lad
could not help laughing, till, with a slap that
nearly sent his neighbor off his perch, Corny said
good-naturedly:
Come, now, stop joking and lend a hand, and
I '11 do anything I can for you. I've set my heart
on shooting a wild cat, and I know I can if I once
get a good chance. Mother '11 not let me go off far
enough, so of course I don't do it, and then you
all jeer at me. To-morrow we are going up the
mountain, and I 'm set on trying again, for Abner
says the big woods are the place to find the 'var-
mint.' Now, you hold your tongue, and let me
slip away when I think we've hit the right spot.
I'm not a bit afraid, and while the rest go poking
to the top, I '11 plunge into the woods and see what
I can do."
"All right. Better take old Buff; he 'll bring
you home when you get lost, and keep puss from
clawing you. You wont like that part of the fun
as much as you expect to, may be," said Chris,
with a sly twinkle of the eye, as he glanced at
Corny and then away toward the vast forest that
stretched far up the mighty mountain's side.
"No, I don't want any help, and Buff will
betray me by barking; I prefer to go alone. I
shall take some lunch and plenty of shot, and have
a glorious time, even if I don't meet that con-
founded beast. I will keep dashing in and out of
the woods as we go; then no one will miss me for
a while, and when they do, you just say, Oh, he's
all right,-he '11 be along directly'; and go ahead,
and let me alone."
Corny spoke so confidently, and looked so
pleased with his plan, that honest Chris could
not bear to tell him how much danger he would
run in that pathless forest, where older hunters
than he had been lost.
I don't feel as if I cared to tell any liesabout it,
and I don't advise your goin'; but if you're mad
for catamounts, I s'pose I must humor you and say
nothing Only bear in mind, Abner and I will be
along; and if you get into a scrape, just give a yell
and we '11 come."
No fear of that; I 've tramped around all sum-
mer, and I know my way like an Indian. Keep the
girls quiet, and let me have a good lark. I'll turn
up all right by sundown; so don't worry. Not a
word to mother, or she wont let me go. I'll make
things straight with her after the fun is over."
"That's not 'square,' Corny; but it 's not my
funeral, so I wont meddle. Hope you '11 have first-
rate sport, and bag a brace of cats. One thing
you must mind,--don't get too near your game be-


fore you fire; and keep out of sight of the critters
as much as you can."
Chris spoke in a deep whisper, looking so excited
and impressed by the reckless courage of his mate
that Corny felt himself a Leatherstocking, and
went off to tea with his finger on his lips, full of
boyish faith in his own powers. If he had seen
Chris dart behind the barn, and there roll upon
the grass in convulsions of laughter, he would have
been both surprised and hurt.
No deacon could have been more sober than
Chris, however, when they met next morning,
while the party of summer boarders at the old
farm-house were in a pleasant bustle of prepar-
ation for the long-expected day on the mountain.
Three merry girls, a pair of small boys, two
amiable mammas, Chris and Corny, made up the
party, with Abner to drive the big wagon drawn
by Milk and Molasses, the yellow span.
All aboard! shouted our young Nimrod, in
a hurry to be off, as the lunch-basket was handed
up, and the small boys sought the most uncom-
fortable corners, regardless of their arms and legs.
Away they rattled with a parting cheer, and
peace fell upon the farm-house for a few hours, to
the great contentment of the good people left
behind. Corny's mother was one of them, and
her last words were: "A pleasant day, dear. I
wish you'd leave that gun at home; I'm so afraid
you '11 get hurt with it."
"There 's no fun without it. Don't worry,
Mamma; I '11 be very careful."
"I'll see to him, ma'am," called Chris, as he
hung on behind, and waved his old straw hat, with
a steady, reliable sort of look, that made the
anxious lady feel more comfortable.
We are going to walk up the mountain, when
we get to it, and leave the horses to rest; so I can
choose my time. See ? I've a bottle of cold tea in
this pocket, and a lot of grub in the other. No dan-
ger of my starving, is there ?" whispered Corny, as
he leaned over to Chris, who sat, apparently on
nothing, with his long legs dangling into space.
Should n't wonder if you needed every mite
of it. Hunting is hard work on a hot day, and this
is going to be a blazer," answered Chris, pulling
his big straw hat lower over his eyes..
As we intend to follow Corny's adventures, we
need not pause to describe the drive, which was a
merry one; with girls chattering, mammas holding
on to excited small boys, in danger of flying out at
every jolt, Abner joking till every one roared, Cor-
ny's dangerous evolutions with the beloved gun, and
the gymnastic feats which Chris performed, jump-
ing off to pick flowers for the ladies, and getting on
again while Milk and Molasses tore up and down
the rough road to the mountain as if they enjoyed it.


[OCTOBER,







SPINNING-WHEEL STORIES.


About ten o'clock they reached the foot of the
mountain; and, after a short rest at the hotel, they
began the three-mile ascent in high spirits. Abner
was to follow later with the wagon, to bring the
party down; so Chris was guide, as he knew the
way well, and often came thither with people. The


gered in the rear, waiting for a good chance to
" plunge."
He wanted to be off before Abner came, as he
well knew that wise man and mighty hunter would
never let him go alone.
The very next path I see, I '11 dive into the
woods, and run; Chris
can't leave the rest to
follow me, and if I once
get a good start, they
wont catch me in a
hurry," thought the boy,
longing to be free and
alone in the wild woods
that tempted him on
either hand.
Just as he was tight-
ening his belt to be
ready for the run, Mrs.
Barker, the stout lady,
called him; and being
a well-bred lad, he
hastened at once to see
what she wanted, feeling
that he was the only
gallant in the party.
"Please give me your
arm, dear; I 'm getting
very tired, and I fear I
can't hold out to the
top, without a little
help," said the poor
lady, red and panting
with the heat and steep-
ness of the road.
Certainly, ma'am,"
answered Corny, obey-
ing at once, and inward-
ly resolving to deposit
his fair burden on the
first fallen log they came
to, and then make his


escape.
But Mrs. Barker got
on bravely, with the sup-
port of his strong arm,
and chatted away so
delightfully that Corny
would really have en-
joyed the walk, if his soul
had not been yearning
"IN THE SAFE SHELTER OF THE FOREST, WHERE HUMAN FEET SO SELDOM CAME." for catamounts. He did
his best, but when they
girls and younger boys hurried on, full of eagerness passed opening after opening into the green
to reach the top. The ladies went more slowly, recesses of the wood, and the granite bowlders
enjoying the grand beauty of the scene, while grew more and more plentiful, his patience gave
Chris carried the lunch-basket, and Corny lin- out, and he began to plan what he could say to


1884.1








924 SPINNING-WHEEL STORIES. [OCTOBER,


excuse himself. Chris was behind, apparently
deaf and blind to his calls and imploring glances,
though he grinned cheerfully when poor Corny
looked round and beckoned, as well as he could
beckon with a gun on one arm and a stout lady
on the other.
"The hardest part is coming now, and we'd
better rest a moment. Here's a nice rock, and
the last spring we are likely to see till we get to
the top. Come on, Chris, and give us the dipper.
Mrs. Barker wants a drink, and so do I," called
the young hunter, driven to despair at last.
Up came Chris, and while he rummaged in the
well-packed basket, Corny slipped into the wood,
leaving the good lady, with her thanks half spoken,
sitting on a warm stone beside a muddy little
pool. A loud laugh followed him, as he scrambled
through the tall ferns and went plunging down
the steep mountain-side, eager to reach the lower
woods.
"Let him laugh; it will be my turn when I go
home, with a fine cat over my shoulder," thought
Corny, tearing along, heedless of falls, scratches,
and bruised knees.
At length he paused for breath, and looked
about him well satisfied, for the spot was lonely
and lovely enough to suit any hunter. The tallest
pines he ever saw sighed far overhead; the ground
was ankle-deep in moss, and gay with scarlet
bunch-berries; every fallen log was veiled by
sweet-scented Linnea, green vines, or nodding
brakes; while hidden brooks sang musically, and
the air was full of the soft flutter of leaves, the
whir of wings, the sound of birds gossiping sweetly
in the safe shelter of the forest, where human feet
so seldom came.
I '11. rest a bit, and then go along down, keep-
ing a look out for puss by the way," thought Corny,
feeling safe and free, and very happy, for he had
his own way, at last, and a whole day in which to
lead the life he loved.
So he bathed his hot face, took a cool drink, and
lay on the moss, staring up into the green gloom
of the pines, blissfully dreaming of the joys of a
hunter's life,-till a peculiar cry startled him to
his feet, and sent him creeping wearily toward the
sound. Whether it was a new kind of bird, or a
fox, or a bear, he did not know, but he fondly
hoped it was a wild cat; though he was well aware
that that crafty creature sleeps by day, and prowls
by night. Abner had said that they purred and
snarled and gave a mewing sort of cry.; but which
it was now he could not tell, having unfortunately
been half asleep.
On he went, looking up into the trees for a furry
bunch, behind every log, and in every rocky hole,
longing and hoping to discover his heart's desire.


But a hawk was all he saw above, an ugly snake
was the only living thing he found among the
logs, and a fat woodchuck's hind legs vanished
down the most attractive hole. He shot at all
three and missed them, and pushed on, pretend-
ing that he did not care for such small game.
"Now, this is what I call fun," he said to him-
self, tramping gayly along, and at that moment he
went splash into a mud-hole concealed under the
grass. He sank up to his knees, and with great
difficulty got out by clinging to the tussocks that
grew near. In his struggles the lunch was lost,
for the bottle broke and the pocket where the
sandwiches were stored was full of mud. A woful
spectacle was the trim lad as he emerged from the
slough, black and dripping in front, well spattered
behind, hatless, and with one shoe gone, it having
been carelessly left unlaced in the ardor of his
hunt.
Here's a mess thought poor Corny, survey-
ing himself with great disgust and feeling very
helpless, as well as tired, hungry, and cross.
" Luckily, my powder is dry and my gun safe; so
my fun is n't spoiled, though I do look like a wal-
lowing pig. I've heard of mud baths,, but I never
took one before, and I'll never do it again."
So he washed as well as he could, hoping the
sun would dry him, picked out a few bits of bread
unspoiled by the general wreck, and trudged on
with less ardor, though by no means discour-
aged yet.
I 'm too high for any game but birds, and
those I don't want. I 'll go right down, and come
out in the valley. Abner said any brook would
show the way, and this brook that led me into a
scrape shall lead me out," he said, as he followed
the little stream that went tumbling over the
stones, which increased in number as the ground
sloped toward the deep ravine, where a water-fall
shone like silver in the sun.
I 'll take a bath if the pool is big enough, and
that will set me up. Should n't wonder if I've been
poisoned a bit with some of the vines I've been
tearing through. My hands smart like fury, and
I guess the mosquitoes have about eaten my face
up. I never saw such clouds of stingers before,"
muttered Corny, looking at his scratched hands,
and rubbing his hot face in great discomfort,-for
it was the gnat that drove the lion mad, you
remember.
It was easy to say, "I '11 follow the brook," but
not so easy to do it; for the frolicsome stream
went headlong over rocks, crept under fallen logs,
and now and then hid itself so cleverly that one
had to look and listen carefully to recover the
trail. It was long past noon when Corny came
out near the water-fall, so tired and hungry that he


SPINNING-WHIEEL STORIES.


[OCTOBER,


924







SPINNING-WHEEL STORIES.


heartily wished himself back among the party
he had left, who, by this time, must have lunched
well and who were now probably driving gayly
homeward to a good supper.
No chance for a bath appeared, so he washed
his burning face and took a rest, enjoying the
splendid view far over valley and intervale through
the gap in the mountain range. He was desper-
ately tired with these hours of rough travel, and
very hungry; but he would not own it, and he sat
considering what to do next, for he saw by the sun
that the afternoon was half over. There was time
to go back by the way he had come, and by follow-
ing the path down the hill he could reach the hotel
and get supper and a bed, or be driven home.
That was the wise thing to do, but his pride re-
belled against returning empty-handed after all
his plans and boasts of great exploits.
I wont go home, to be laughed at by Chris
and Abner. I '11 shoot something, if I stay all
night. Who cares for hunger and mosquito bites ?
Not I. Hunters can bear more than that, I guess.
The next live thing I see I '11 shoot it, and make
a fire and have a jolly supper. Now, which way
shall I go,-up or down ? A pretty hard prospect,
either way."
The sight of an eagle soaring above him seemed
to answer his question, and fill him with new
strength and ardor. To shoot the king of birds
and take him home in triumph would cover the
hunter with glory. It should be done! And away
he went, climbing, tumbling, leaping from rock to
rock, toward the place where the eagle had alighted.
More cuts and bruises, more vain shots, and the
sole reward of his eager struggles was a single
feather that floated down as the great bird soared
serenely away, leaving the boy exhausted and dis-
appointed, in a wilderness of granite bowlders, and
with no sign of a path to show the way out.
As he leaned breathless and weary against the
crag where he had fondly hoped to find the eagle's
nest, he realized for the first time what a fool-hardy
thing he had done. Here he was, alone, without
a guide, in this wild region where there was
neither food nor shelter, and night was coming on.
Utterly used up, he could not get home now even
if he knew the way; and suddenly all the tales he
had ever heard of men lost in the mountains came
into his head. If he had not been weak/with
hunger, he would have felt better able to bear it;
but his legs trembled under him, his head ached
with the glare of the sun, and a queer faintness
came over him now and then. For, plucky as he
was, the city lad was unused to exercise so violent.
"The only thing to do now is to get down to
the valley, if I can, before dark. Abner said there
was an old cabin, where the hunters used to sleep,


somewhere down there. I can try for it, and
perhaps shoot something on the way. I may break
my bones, but I can't sit and starve up here.
I was a fool to come. I '11 keep the feather, any-
how, to prove that I really saw an eagle; that 's
better than nothing."
Still bravely trying to affect the indifference to
danger and fatigue which hunters are always
described as possessing in such a remarkable
degree, Corny slung the useless gun on his back
and began the steep descent, discovering now the
perils he had been too eager to see before. He
was a good climber, but he was stiff with weariness,
and his hands were already sore with scratches and
poison; so he went slowly, feeling quite unfit for
such hard work. Coming to the ravine, he found
that the only road led down its precipitous side to
the valley, that looked so safe and pleasant now.
Stunted pines grew in the fissures of the rocks,
and their strong roots helped the clinging hands
and feet as the boy painfully climbed, slipped, and
swung along, fearing every minute to come to
some impassable barrier in the dangerous path.
But he got on wonderfully well, and was feeling
much encouraged, when his foot slipped, the root
he held gave way, and down he went, rolling and
bumping on the rocks below, to his death, he
thought, as a crash came, and he knew no more.
"Wonder if I 'm dead? was the first idea that
occurred to him as he opened his eyes and saw a
brilliant sky above him, all purple, gold, and
red.
He seemed floating in the air; for he swayed to
and fro on a soft bed, a pleasant murmur reached
his ear, and when he glanced down he saw what
looked like clouds, misty and white, below him.
He lay a few minutes drowsily musing, for the fall
had stunned him; then, as he moved his hand,
something pricked it, and he felt pine-needles in
the fingers that closed over them.
"Caught in a tree, as sure as fate!" he ex-
claimed, and all visions of heaven vanished in a
breath, as he sat up and stared about him, wide-
awake now, and conscious of many aching bones.
Yes, there he lay among the branches of one of
the sturdy pines, into which he had fallen on his
way down the precipice. Blessed helpful tree! set
there to save a life, and to teach a lesson to a will-
ful young heart that never forgot that hour.
Holding fast, lest a rash motion should set him
bounding further down like a living ball, Corny
took an observation as rapidly as possible, for the
red light was fading, and the mist rising from the
valley. All he could see was a narrow ledge where
the tree stood; and, anxious to reach a safer bed
for the night, he climbed cautiously down to drop
on the rock, so full of gratitude for safety that he








926 SPJINNING-WHEEL STORIES. [OCTOBER,


could only lie still for a little while, thinking of
his mother, and trying not to cry.
He was much shaken by the fall, his flesh
bruised, his clothes torn, and his spirit cowed; for
hunger, weariness, pain, and danger showed him
what a very feeble creature he was, after all. He
could do no more till morning, and he resigned
himself to a night on the mountain-side, glad to
be there alive, though doubtful what daylight
would show him. Too tired to move, he lay watch-
ing the western sky, where the sun set gloriously
behind the purple hills. All below was wrapt in
mist, and not a sound reached him but the sigh
of the pine, and the murmur of the water-fall.
This is a first-class scrape. What a fool I was
not to go back when I could, instead of blundering
down here where no one can get at me. Now, as
like as not, I can't get out alone Gun smashed,
too, in that ugly fall, so I can't even fire a shot to
bring help. Nothing to eat or drink, and very
likely a day or so to spend here till I 'm found,-
if I ever am. Chris said, 'Yell, if you want us.'
Much good that would do now! I '11 try, though."
And getting up on his weary legs, Corny shouted
till he was hoarse; but echo alone answered him,
and after a few efforts he gave it up, trying to accept
the situation like a man. As if kind Nature took
pity on the poor boy, the little ledge was soft with
lichens and thin grass, and here and there grew a
sprig of checkerberry, sown.by the wind, sheltered
by the tree, and nourished by the moisture that
trickled down the rock from some hidden spring.
Eagerly Corny ate the sweet leaves to stay the
pangs of hunger that gnawed him, and finished
his meal with grass and pine-needles, calling him-
self a calf, and wishing his pasture were wider.
"The fellows we read about always come to
grief in a place where they can shoot a bird, catch
a fish, or knock over some handy beast for supper,"
he said, talking to himself. "I 'm not lucky enough
even to find a sassafras bush to chew, or a bird's
egg to suck. My poor gun is broken, or I might
bang away at a hawk, and cook him for supper, if
the bog had n't spoiled my matches as it spoiled
my lunch. Oh, well! I '11 pull through, I guess,
and when it's all over, it will be a right good story
to tell."
Then, hoping to forget his woes in sleep, he
nestled under the low-growing branches of the
pine and lay blinking drowsily at the twilight
world outside. A dream came, and he saw the
old farm-house in sad confusion, caused by his
absence,-the women crying, the men sober, all
anxious, and all making ready to come and look
for him. So vivid was it that he woke himself by
crying out, "Here I am," and nearly went over
the ledge, stretching out his arms to Abner.


The start and the scare made it hard to go to
sleep again, and he sat looking at the solemn sky,
full of stars that seemed watching over him alone
there, like a poor, lost child on the great moun-
tain's stony breast. He had never seen the world
at that hour before, and it made a deep impression
on him; for it was a vast, wild scene, full of
gloomy shadows and unknown dangers. It gave
him, too, a new sense of utter littleness and help-
lessness, which taught the boy human dependence
upon heavenly love as no words, even from his moth-
er's tender lips, could have taught it. Thoughts
of the suffering his willfulness had given her wrung
a few penitent tears from him, which he was not
ashamed to shed, since only the kind stars saw
them, and better still, he resolved to own the fault,
to atone for it, and to learn wisdom from this
lesson, which might yet prove to be a very bitter
one.
He felt better after this little break-down, and
presently his thoughts were turned from conscience
to catamounts again; for sounds in the woods
below led him to believe that the much-desired
animal was on the prowl. His excited fancy
painted dozens of them not far away, waiting to
be shot, and there he was, cooped up on that
narrow ledge, with a broken gun, unable even
to get a look at them. He felt that it was a just
punishment, and after the first regret he tried to
comfort himself with the fact that he was much safer
where he was than alone in the forest at that hour,
for various nocturnal voices suggested restless and
dangerous neighbors.
Presently his wakeful eyes saw lights twinkling
far off on the opposite side of the ravine, and he
imagined he heard shouts and shots. But the
splash of the water-fall and the rush of the night
wind deadened the sounds to his ear, and drowned
his own reply.
They are looking for me, and will never think
of this strange place. I can't make them hear,
and must wait till morning. Poor Chris will get
a great scolding for letting me go. I don't believe
he told a word till he had to. I'll make it up to
him. Chris is a capital fellow, and I just wish I
had him here to make things jolly," thought the
lonely lad.
But soon the lights vanished, the sounds died
away, and the silence of midnight brooded over
the hills, seldom broken except by the soft cry of
an owl, the rustle of the pine, or a louder gust of
wind as it grew strong and cold. Corny kept
awake as long as he could, fearing to dream and
fall; but by and by he dropped off, and slept
soundly till the chill of dawn waked him.
At any other time he would have heartily en-
joyed the splendor of the eastern sky,. as the red


926


[OCTOBER,


SPINNING-WHEEL STORIES.







SPINNING-WHEEL STORIES.


glow spread and brightened, till the sun came
dazzling through the gorge, making the wild soli-
tude beautiful and grand.
Now, however, he would have given it all for a
hot beefsteak and a cup of coffee, as he wet his lips
with a few drops of ice-cold water, and browsed
over his small pasture till not a green spire re-
mained. He was stiff, and full of pain, but day-
light and the hope of escape cheered him up, and
gave him coolness and courage to see how best he
could accomplish his end.
The wind soon blew away the mist and let him
see that the dry bed of a stream lay just below.
To reach it he must leap, at risk of his bones,
or find some means to swing down ten or twelve
feet. Once there, it was pretty certain that by
following the rough road he would come into the
valley, whence he could very easily find his way
home. Much elated at this unexpected good
fortune, he took the strap that had slung his
gun, the leather belt about his waist, and the
strong cords of his pouch, and knotting them
together, made a rope long enough to let him
drop within two or three feet of the stones below.
This he fastened firmly round the trunk of the
pine, and finished his preparations by tying his
handkerchief to one of the branches, that it might
serve as a guide for him, a signal for others, and a
trophy of his grand fall.
Then putting a little sprig of the evergreen tree
in his jacket, with a grateful thought of all it had
done for him, he swung himself off and landed
safely below, not minding a few extra bumps, after
his late exploits at tumbling.
Feeling like a prisoner set free, he hurried as
fast as bare feet and stiff legs would carry him,
along the bed of the stream, coming at last into
the welcome shelter of the woods, which seemed
more beautiful than ever after the bleak region
of granite in which he had been all night.
Anxious to report himself alive, and relieve his
mother's anxiety, he pressed on till he struck the
path, and soon saw, not far away, the old cabin
Abner had spoken of. Just before this happy
moment he had heard a shot fired somewhere in
the forest, and as he hurried toward the sound he
saw an animal dart into the hut, as if for shelter.
Whether it was a rabbit, woodchuck, or dog, he
had not seen, as a turn in the path prevented a
clear view; and hoping it was old Buff looking for
him, he ran in, to find himself face to face with a
catamount at last !
There it was, the big, fierce cat, crouched in
a corner, with fiery eyes, growling and spitting at
sight of an enemy, but too badly wounded to fight,
as the blood that dripped from its neck and the
tremble of its limbs plainly showed.


Now 's my chance! I don't care who shot it,
I '11 kill it, and own its skin, too, if I pay my last
dollar for it," thought Corny; and catching up a
stout bit of timber fallen from the old roof, he
struck two quick, heavy blows, which finished poor
puss, who gave up the ghost with a savage snarl,
and a vain effort to pounce on him.
This achievement atoned for all the boy had
gone through, and only waiting to be sure the cat-
amount was quite dead and past clawing, he flung
his prize over his shoulder, and with renewed
strength and spirit trudged along the woodland
road toward home, proudly imagining his triumphal
entry upon the scene of suspense and alarm.
"I wish I did n't look so like a scarecrow; but
perhaps my rags will add to the effect. Wont the
girls laugh at my swelled face, and scream at the
cat! Hope there 's a house not very far off, for I
don't believe I can lug this cat much further, I'm
so starved and shaky."
Just as he paused to take breath and shift his
burden from one shoulder to the other, a loud
shout startled him, and a moment later several
men came bursting through the woods, cheering
wildly as they approached.
It was Abner, Chris, and some of the neighbors,
setting out again on their search, after a night of
vain wandering. Corny could have hugged them
all and cried like a girl; but pride kept him
steady, though his face showed his joy as he nod-
ded his hatless head with a cool "Hullo !"
Chris burst into his ringing laugh, and danced a
sort of wild jig around his mate, as the only way in
which he could fitly express his relief; for he had
been bowed down with remorse at his imprudence
in letting Corny go, and all night had rushed up
and down seeking, calling, hoping, and fearing,
till, almost exhausted, he looked nearly as dilapi-
dated as Corny.
The tale was soon told, and received with the
most flattering signs of interest, wonder, sympa-
thy, and admiration.
"Why on earth did n't you tell me ?- I'd a got
up a hunt for you wuth havin'.-You ought n't to
have gone off alone on a wild-goose chase like this.
Never did see such a chap for getting' inter scrapes,
-and out of 'em too, I'm bound to own," growled
Abner.
"That is n't a wild goose, is it ?" proudly de-
manded Corny, pointing to the catamount, which
now lay on the ground, while he leaned against a
tree to hide his weariness; for he felt ready to
drop, now all the excitement was over.
"No, it's not, and I congratulate you on a good
job. Where did you shoot it?" asked Abner,
stooping to examine the creature.
I did n't shoot it; I broke my gun when I took


927






YOUTH AND AGE.


that header down the mountain. I hit the cata-
mount a rap with a club, in the cabin where I found
it," answered Corny, heartily wishing he need not
share the prize with any one. But he was honest,
and added at once, Some one else had put a
bullet into it; I only finished the fight."
Chris shot it, then; he fired not long ago, and
we saw the critter run, but we were too keen after
you to stop for any other game. Guess you 've had
enough of catamounts for once, hey ?" and Abner
laughed as he looked at poor Corny, who was a
more sorry spectacle than he knew,-ragged and
rough, hatless and shoeless, his face red and
swelled with the poisoning and bites, his eyes
heavy with weariness, and in his mouth a bit of
wild-cherry bark, which he chewed ravenously.
'No, I have n't I want this one, and I '11 buy
it if Chris will let me. I said I'd kill one, and I
did, and I want to keep the skin; for I ought to
have something to show after all this knocking
about and turning somersaults half a mile long,"
answered Corny stoutly, as he tried to shoulder his
load again.
"Here, give me the varmint, and you hang on
to Chris, my boy, or we '11 have to cart you home.
You 've done well, and now you want a good meal
to set you on your feet again. Right about face,
neighbors, and home we go, to the tune of Hail
Columby!"
As Abner spoke, the procession set forth. The
tall, hearty man, with the dead animal at his back,


went first; then Corny, trying not to lean on the
arm Chris put round him, but very glad of the
support; next the good farmers, all talking at
once; while old Buff soberly brought up the rear,
with his eye constantly on the wild cat.
In this order they reached home, and Corny
sought his mother's comforting care, and was seen
no more for some hours. What went on in her
room, no one knows; but when at last the hero
emerged, refreshed by sleep and food, clad in clean
clothes, his wounds bound up, and plantain-leaves
dipped in cream spread upon his afflicted counte-
nance, he received very meekly the congratulations
showered upon him. He made no more boasts of
skill and courage that summer, set out on no more
wild hunts, and gave up his own wishes so cheer-
fully that it was evident something had worked a
helpful change in willful Corny.
He liked to tell the story of that day and night,
whenever his friends were recounting adventures by
sea and land; but he never said much about the
hours on the ledge, always owned that Chris shot
the beast, and usually ended by sagely advising
his hearers to let their mothers know when they
wanted to go on a lark of that kind. Those who
knew and loved him best observed that he was
fonder than ever of nibbling checkerberry leaves,
that he did n't mind being laughed at for liking to
wear a bit of pine in his buttonhole, and that the
skin of the catamount, so hardly won, lay before
his study table till the moths ate it up.


YOUTH AND AGE.

BY M. H. F. LOVETT.

A FUNNY thing I heard to-day
I might as well relate.
Our Lil is six, and little May
Still lacks a month of eight.

And, through the open play-room door,
I heard the elder say:
" Lil, run down-stairs and get my doll.
Go quick, now,-right away!"

And Lillie said,--(and I agreed
That May was hardly fair):-
"You might say 'please,' or go yourself-
I did n't leave it there."

" But, Lillie," urged the elder one,
" Your little legs, you know,
Are youngerer,than mine are, child,
And so you ought to go !"


928


[OCTOBER,








LANTY O'HOOLAHAN AND THE LITTLE PEOPLE.




LANTY O'HOOLAHAN AND THE LITTLE PEOPLE.
[Phelim Fagan's Fairy Tale.]

BY FREDERICK D. STORY.


ARRAH then, an' is it a fairy story ye '11 be
after wanting' me to tell to yez? An' what '11
your papa be a-sayin' to me, if I do that same?
" Sure," he '11 say, Phalim, it's a mighty fine
gardener ye are, wastin' your time tellin' fairy
stories to the childher instid of attindin' to your
worruk." Though for the matter o' that, it's
nothing' I could be doin' now, barrin' it 's diggin'
the praties which I finished yesterday, or weedin'
the onion bed which wont be ready till the day
after to-morrow. So, as I have n't the time to
tell yez a regular fairy story, I '11 contint mesilf
wid narratin' a quare adventure of an uncle o'
mine, by the name o' Lanty O'Hoolahan, wid the
Little People.
Now, you must know that me uncle was an old


I i ; :. -, i- : !: L..--,,. .i-, .-I ,- I: n l i ,in.. :ti




r.,. iI.: .-.-. i i n.
Now, me uncle was the broth of a boy, an' he
tuk measures for more ready-made shoes in a week
than he could construct betune Michaelmas-day
and St. Pathrick's. Sure, but he was the swate
timpered sowl, as meek as milk, and as quoiet as
a pig, barrin' that he niver could bear conthra-
diction, and was mighty quick to take offinse,
an' had a rough tongue of his own and a nimble
shillaly, by reason of which he'd bate a man first,
an' argue the question wid him p'aceable and
friendly aftherwards.
Well, it happened one avenin' that Lanty was
traveling home to his cabin across the bog by the
edge of Sheve-na-Cruish, in not the best timper in
the worruld. An' mighty small blame to him
for that same. For after carrying' a perfectly illi-
gant pair of brogues to a skinflint of an agent,


929







LANTY O'HOOLAHAN AND THE LITTLE PEOPLE.


the would miser tould him to take 'em back, be-
ca'se they did n't fit, and hurted his feet in the
bargain.
An' so poor Lanty had to thrudge home ag'in
wid the brogues under his arrum, and wid all the
money the would fellow paid him for thim, in an
impty pocket. Now, as I was after tellin' ye, he
was walking' across a piece av medder-land on the
edge of the bog, an' bewailin' his bad luck, whin
he had the misfortune to stub his fut agin a fairy
ring by the side av the path, an' he fell at full
length upon the flure. Av coorse ye know,
me dears, what a fairy ring is? Then, faith, I
need n't be tellin' ye that it 's the big tufts av
grass in the medders that the Little People dance
around on moonshiny nights. Whin Lanty got
up ag'in, he was in a tearin' rage. Bad luck to
the Little People," says he, "Ia-puttin' the tricks
on a dacent poor man that's goin' home wid a
load o' trouble on his heart I'd wring their


necks for um," says he, if I had um here betune
me thumb an' forefinger." Well, after a dale av
mutterin' an' blatherin', Lanty got home to his
cabin, an' was soon sound aslape, an' by the nixt
morning' was as merry as a fiddler at a wake, an'
had forgotten all about his troubles an' diffi-
culties. But, poor sowl, though he had forgotten,
the Little People had n't; an' it was n't long afore
the most perplixin' an' ixtrornary circumstances
in connixion wid his perfeshun began to deplate his
trisury an' bewildher his narves, to sich an ixtint
that, if it had n't'a' bin for the comfort of the whiff


at his poipe, there's no tellin' what he'd 'a' been
after doin'.
Lanty O'Hoolahan, ye vilyun," says one of his
customers a day or two aftherwards, "what d' ye
mane by sindin' home to me a pair av brogues
like thim ? They 're harder to kape thegither than
a drove av pigs; an' I could niver ha' worn 'em
here if I had n't 'a' carried 'em in me hands an'
walked barefut. It's mesilf that does n't know
how sich tricherous brogues could ixist at all,
onliss yez made 'em out av brown paper, an'
shtuck 'em thegither widpins."
Arrah, be aisy, Patsy," says me uncle, an'
how could I be making' a pair av black brogues out
av brown paper? Sure, they're cut from as foine a
bit av English calfskin as ivver was tanned."
Then, be the powers," says Patsy, if it iwer
rains in England, the calf that wore that skin for
a covering' caught his death o' cowld, for sorra bit
of weather did it turn."
An' what's the matter wid 'em at all, at all?"
says me uncle.
"Begorra, there 's not enough left av 'em to
make material for examination, let alone discus-
sion," says Patsy, and that 's the troublee" says
he. Shame on ye, Lanty O'Hoolahan, for a de-
savin' cratur says he.
An' its thrue for yez, them brogues wor a sight
to behowld. The welts wor a-gapin' as though
they had n't bin aslape for a fortnight, an' ivvery
siperate bit av the uppers was as full av cracks as
Tim Maguire's head after a faction fight at
Donnybrook fair.
Now, if ye '11 belave me, afore poor Lanty was
over wid lamintin' the terrible misfortune that had
befallen him, who should come in but Mr. Fin-
nelay, the attorney, Colonel De Lacey's agint, a-
lookin' mighty put out, an' as red as a beet.
Lanty O'Hoolahan, ye spalpeen 1" says he.
Yer honor !" says Lanty, wid a gentale scrape.
(He see trouble a-brewin', an' was bound to
smooth it over wid perliteness; for it always
tickles an agint to be called yer honor.")
"How dare ye spile me best London-made
shoes," says he, "by convartin' 'em into a botch
like this?" An' he held up afore him a pair av
walkin'-shoes, wid the sowls hangin' to 'em by a
thread or two, an' the heels clane gone entirely.
Musha, then," says me uncle, "but it's the
patriotic sowls they are, to be sure. It 's ivident
they dispise to be bound to the Saxon toyrant or
annyofhisworruks," says he. "Ould Oireland need
n't despair av freedom, whin even inanimate nature
rebels ag'in the furrin yoke. It on'y confurrums
me opinion that there 's nothing' like leather."
"'T is a true word ye 're spakin," says Misther
Finnelay. "I'll go bail," says he, there 's


[OCTOBER,


930







LANTY O'HOOLAHAN AND THE LITTLE PEOPLE.


nothing' that 's annythin' at all like leather in
them shoe-soles, more shame to ye, ye rogue."
"Hark to the improving' discoorse av him !" says


"'HOW DARE YE SPILE ME BEST LONDON-MADE SHOES?' SAYS HE."

me uncle, admirin'ly. See how he catches up
me own words in a twinklin', an' bates me wid 'em.
Sure 't is Parliament 's the place for a gintleman
av ready space like yer honor, an' its mesilf as
would enj'y hearing' ye trate the Tories wid the
rough edge o' yer tongue," says he.
Git out wid yer blarneyin'" says the agint, but
he was played, for all that. But what ails ye,
anyway? says he.
Sorra bit do I know," says Lanty, barrin' it is
that would Kitty Flanagan has been overlooking' me
shoes in rivinge for the illigant batin' I gave her
would man, the time he broke me head, an' laid
me up for the winterr" says he.
Howsomdever, after this, things went from bad
to worse wid him, so that he grew as thin as a
shavin' off the hide av a skinned rabbit, an' as sad
as a wathery pratie, until wan night, as he pat
aslape in his cabin, a-watchin' the imbers av the
pate fire, an' a-thinkin' over his desprit condition,
he heard the quarest little he-he av a giggle that
ivver a man clapt eyes on, coming' out av the other
corner av the room. 'T was just as though a Jer-
sey muskater had become a Christian, an' was
thryin' his hand on an Irish laugh.
The saints betune us an' all harrum !" says me


uncle to himself, but so low that he had to watch
the movements av his mouth to tell what it was he
was after sayin',-"but that's a strange soight,
so it is," says he. An' he was just on the stroke
av jumpin' up an' hollerin' murther an' thaves,"
whin he heard the laugh ag'in, an' looking' beyant,
where his bench stood, he saw a small head near
the size av a middlin' pratie (be way av making'
sure that the coast was clear) a-papin' out av the
lig av one av Squire Kelly's new top boots, which
Lanty was after finishing' that avenin' ready for
takin' to the Hall the nixt morning .
Whin the little man saw that all was quoiet an'
still, "All right! says he, an' quick as a wink,
the binch an' the flure wor covered wid a hustlin'
crowd av little people, as big as me hand or littler,
barrin' the dirrt, a-lapin an' tumblin' an' dancin'
about like parched pays in a fryin'-pan, wid a
shprinklin' av red-hot gunpowther thrown in to
ballast 'em an' kape 'em stiddy. Some av 'em wor
drissed in green, an' some in red, an' the lave av
'em had little chisels an' saws an' knoives in their
hands, wid little baskets to should the chips.
Prisintly one av 'em wid a big feather in his cap,
an' a coat all ablaze wid gould an' di'monds, says:
"Ordher," says he, an' at onct the little folks
wor a-stannin in rows like a corps av Fanians a-
drillin' on the green.
"To worruk !" says he.
,. -

", *it', .. I,,! -| - -__





















'BUT THAT'S A STRANGE SIGHT, SO IT IS, SAYS HE."
An' at it they went, shelter skelter, hammer an'
71il






















tongs, wid chisels an' files, an' knives an' spoke-
shaves, butchering' an' slahterin' the new top boots.
W'-; V -













LBUT THAT'S A STRANGE SOIGHT, SO IT IS,' SAYS HE."
An' at it they went, shelter sketter, hammer an'
tongs, wid chisels an' files, an' knoives an' spoke-
shaves, butcherin' an' slahterin' the new top boots.


931







LANTY O'HOOLAHAN AND THE LITTLE PEOPLE.


Two av 'em wid a small cheese-cutter were a-
nickin' the sti'ches around the sowls, while the
others went to chisellin' grooves on the inside av
the uppers, an' shavin' the leather so thin yez
could see daylight through 'em down a coal-mine
wid the lamps out.
An' all the time me poor uncle was a-lookin' at
the little felluhs, wid his eyes shut for fear they'd
see him a-watchin' 'em, an' quakin' an' .thrimblin,
while the cowld sweat poured down his back till
he had n't a dry rag on him, barrin' his night-cap,
which was a-soakin' wid the lave av his linen in
the tub ready ag'in the nixt wash-day.
Bad luck to 'em!" says he. There goes two
pound an' the interest for ivver! Be jabers!"
says he, "there's one comfort, the boots wont
should thegither long enough fur the squoire to
kick me out o' the house when I take 'em home."
Lanty O'Hoolahan," says he, still a-talkin' to
hisself, "if it takes ye three days to mak them
boots, lavin' out Sunday an' working' two days
more to even it, an' these thavin' little blagg-
yuards destroy thim in the coorse av an hour or
so, how long will it be afore y' are clatterin'
down the road to ruin, wid yer joints greased
for the occasion, an' wid the help av a con-
vaynient landshlip ordered exprissly to expedite
the ixcursion ?"
Wirra, wirra," says he, what have I done to
the Little People that they should thrate me so,
wasthin' me substance, an' desthroyin' me carack-
ther, an' wearing' out the ligimints av me heart wid
grief !" When jist then he remembered the misfort-
unate night when he stumbled over the fairy ring,
an' forgot his good manners, an' gave the Little
People bad names, an' thritened their p'ace an' dig-
nity. That's it! says he in terror. "'T is all over
wid me says he.- If I come out av this shcrape
wid me head on me showldhers, it 'In be by the
mercy av Providence an' the help av me own wit, an'
not from any good-will or lanience of the fairies."
Purty soon the Little People finished their job
for the night, an' wor packin' up their traps to
be off, when Lanty could stan' it no longer; an'
casthin' away all considerations av fear or danger,
he le'pt into the middle av the flure an' made a
grab fur the crowd. Sure, he might as well have
clutched the slippery end av a moonbeam, for they
slid through his fingers like a- stream av ice
weather wid the chill off, an' were gone in a flash.
But, as luck would have it, the little chap wid the
feathers an' di'monds in making' a spring fur the
chimney stumbled over a lump av cobbler's wax
on the edge of the binch, an' went souse into a
pot av glue that was simmerin' be the side av the
foire. Afore he could gather hisself thegither fur
another lape, me uncle had him be the neck.


" I've got ye, at last! says Lanty.
" Ye have," says the little chap.
" Good-avenin' to ye says me uncle, politely.
" Good-avenin' says the little chap.


"'I'VE GOT YE, AT LAST!' SAID LANTY."
"Ye disficable scoundhrel !" says Lanty; "what
d' ye mane be thryin' to ruin a dacent thradesman
as nivver did ye anny harrum ? "
"What did ye mane by thramplin' over my
domain wid yer clumsy brogues, an' blatherin' an'
threatening' me paple aftherwards ? says the little
chap. D' yez know who I am? says he.
Ye 're a rogue that 's jist reached the ind av a
career av crimee" says Lanty.
I 'm the king av the fairies," says the midget.
"An' I 'm the king av the cobblers," says Lanty.
" An' when two kings come as close thegither as
mesilf an' yersilf it 's like to be purty uncom-
fortable fur one av 'em."
Sure, an' ye would n't demane yersilf be takin'
the rivinge out o' me fur a harrumless joke "


[OCTOBER,


932






THE ROMANCE OF A MENAGERIE.


"Faith, an' the laugh that follows that joke '11
be mighty onpleasant," says Lanty, "an' amazin'
unhealthy fur the throat," says he.
What '11 ye be for doin' ? says the little chap.
Wringin' yer neck says Lanty.
We'll 1'ave ye alone for the future," says he.
I'11 go bail that one av yez will," says Lanty.
"We '11 make ye rich," says the little chap.
"The man that has his hands on the neck av his
worst enimy 'ud be grady to ask for better fortune
than that same," says Lanty.
We '11 worruk for ye," says the little chap.
Thrue for you," says Lanty. "' The delicate
attentions ye 've paid to me worruk '11 recave in
the past as in the future the grateful acknowlidg-
mint av me patronss' as Barney Muldoon, the
milk dealer, said in his last circilar to his cus-
thomers,-more power to his pump !" says Lanty.
"I'm in airnest," says the little chap.
"Ye 'll be in glory in a few minnits," says Lanty.
Well, not to repate the whole av the conversa-
tion, by way av making' a long story out av it, the
discussion indid by the King av the Fairies prom-
isin', in consideration av his release, that his paple
should do all Lanty's worruk for him, so that he
cud live the loife av a jintleman. An' niver was
bargain better kipt. In the daytime Lanty sat
down at his aise an' tuk his measures, an' cut out
his leather, an' ivvery night a busy crew av fairy
cobblers was sprawlin' all over his cabin flure, a-
plyin' their elbows like the driving' rods av a stame-
ingine, a-makin' Lahty's brogues and his fortune
at the same time. Afther a while, what wid the
good-will av the fairies an' the increase av his busi-
ness, Lanty kem to be the richest man in the


country, an' kep his carridge, an' had a change
av brogues for ivvery day in the week, wid a pair
av red morocco tops for Sundays an' saints' days.
Sure, the paple kern from all over Oireland to
settle in those parts, to be in the way av buyin'
Lanty's wonderful brogues, ontil they ran rents up
so high that the agint was obliged to go round
collection' em wid a laddher.
"Now," says you to me, "if yer uncle bekem
so rich, Phalim, how is it that ye left sich prosper-
ity as that, an' kem to Ameriky to be a gardener? "
says you, "which, although it 's a respectable an'
gentale profeshun," says you, "is hardly commin-
surate wid yer prospects as the relative av a gintle-
man av yer uncle's wealth an' importance."
An' it's precisely the pint I 'm in process av
elucidatin'. Ye see, the family grew so powerful
in riches an' inflooence, an' so excited the mane
invy an' jealousy av an illiterate an' onrasonable
pesintry, that it wor thought better that some av
us should 1'ave the country, temporarily, to
aquilize the equilibrium.
"An', in the nixt place," says me uncle to me,
" Phalim," says he, "your janius is too ixpansive
fur a contracted shpot like Oireland. Ameriky
is the place for you, an' I'll be buyin' you a steer-
age ticket to go," says he. An', sure, I had to sell
me pig and me bits av shticks av furniture to
scrape thegither enough money to pay for it.
"A steerage passage," says me uncle," '11 tache ye
quality, an' instil raal ginuine Demmicratic sinti-
mints into ye," says he, an' be the time ye 've
bin in the Shtates long enough to be nathralized,
they '11 be after making' a Prisident or a police
capt'in out av ye says he.


THE ROMANCE OF A MENAGERIE.

By JOHN R. CORYELL.


QUEEN is an elephant in a menagerie. Every
boy and girl in the land knows her, because she is
the mother of that very remarkable creature, the
baby elephant Bridgeport." Before she wa the
mother of the baby elephant, however, she was no
more famous than any other of the twenty or more
elephants which belonged to the menagerie.
Why she was called Queen, I shall not pretend
to explain, for I do not know. There is no knowl-
edge that she ever, either wild or tame, held any
rank which would entitle her to the name. Nor


did the keepers show her any especial respect be-
cause of her royal name.
How she did hate the trainer! and how much
more fiercely she hated her keeper If it had not
been for the sharp-pointed iron prod, of which she
was mortally afraid, she would have soon shown
the puny human beings, who made her do such
absurd things in the circus ring, that an elephant
was above such antics. Indeed, the spirit of hatred
was so strong in her that one day she could not
resist an opportunity, when the keeper stood near


1884.]


933






THE ROMANCE OF A MENAGERIE.


her without his iron prod, to curl her trunk sud-
denly around his waist and give him a toss against a
wall a few yards away. The keeper was badly in-
jured, and Queen received a severe punishment,
but for that she was too much excited to care.
But if Queen hated her keeper, and indeed all
the men about her, she had a soft place in her
heart for Spot. He was an odd companion for
Queen, for he was a dog; but they were sworn
friends, and she was very lonely when he was
away from her. Spot was on very friendly terms
with all the elephants, but he realized Queen's
special interest in him and always had an extra
wag of the tail by way of greeting to her; while
she showed her satisfaction in elephant language,
which was by swaying her great body to and fro
and emitting a prolonged rumbling sound from
her capacious chest.
Some time before, Queen had had a camel for
her intimate friend, but the owners of the menage-
rie, without the slightest regard for her feelings,
had sold the camel to another showman. Queen
had expressed her indignation at the time by
trumpeting defiance to all mankind and attempt-
ing to push her head through the brick wall of the
building she was in. She also refused to perform,
but a battalion of men finally persuaded her to
change her mind.
No doubt the experience with the camel made
her suspicious, for if any length of time went by
without a visit from Spot, she notified the other
elephants, and together they made such a com-
motion that Spot would be immediately sent for.
Once, when the menagerie was out West, Spot im-
prudently wandered too far away from the tents,
and, being a good-looking dog, he was captured
by some wicked person.
Queen was the first to notice his failure to ap-
pear, and, as before, she suspected the keepers of
having sent him away. In a moment she had
communicated the intelligence of his absence and
her suspicions, and then began the commotion,
of which the keepers now knew the meaning
perfectly well.
High and low they searched for Spot, but, of
course, he was not found. When performance
time came, the elephants were marshaled out; but
they said, as plainly as if they had used human
language, "Bring back Spot, or we will not per-
form." Nor could any kind of force or persuasion
induce them to yield. The next day and the next
found them in the same obstinate mood, and it be-
came perfectly evident that unless Spot could be
restored to them, there would be no more per-
formances with the elephants.
A reward was offered and Spot was recovered.
You know a dog's way. He barked and jumped


and wagged his tail nearly off as soon as he caught
sight of the circus tents. At the first: faint bark,
Queen's eyes lighted up, and she listened intently.
Another bark, and she nodded her head as if to
say-" He's coming !" and then began to rumble
and sway. All the elephants rumbled and swayed;
and when Spot dashed boisterously in among them
and bounded up and down the line, the elephants
bumped against one another in furious glee, rum-
bling out joyfully, Here he is Here he is; just
look at the dear old fellow I And of course the
performances went on all right after that happy
reunion.
But by and by, Spot, who was not a young dog,
grew too old to live any longer, and one day he
barked his final bark and wagged his tail for the
last time. It took his big friends fully a week to
realize that Spot was gone forever, and that week
was devoted solely to mourning. To Queen, par-
ticularly, the blow was very severe, and it is said
that, to this day, if the men snap their fingers and
call for Spot, she will dolefully evince her sorrow
for her lost friend.
No doubt Queen thought she never could be
happy again, and if anybody had suggested to her
that she could ever love anybody else as she had
loved Spot, she doubtless would have been indig-
nant indeed. But just about this time a new
member joined the circus to which the menagerie
belonged, who was destined to be the dearest
friend Queen ever had or would have until little
"Bridgeport" joined the menagerie.
Babies come to all sorts of queer places to light
them up and fill them with joy; and right into the
company of the careering horses, the shouting
clowns, the tumbling acrobats, the giants, fat
men, Zulus, dwarfs, and wild animals, came
laughing little Donald Melville to begin his young
life.
Little Don could not help laughing. That is
what he seemed to have come for, else why all
those dimples? He had dimples all over him;
every little finger and every cunning little toe had
its own dimple, and so Don was charming to look
at, and everybody loved him.
Any other baby might have been afraid of all
those fierce-looking animals in the cages; but Don
was not. Why should he be ? He meant them no
harm The very first time he was taken into the
menagerie,-and he was not many months old
then,-he tried as hard as he could to pat the great
tiger, but, to his astonishment, he was snatched
hurriedly away from the cage. All of the animals
pleased him, and he crowed and laughed delight-
edly as he was carried from cage to cage; but the
elephants were evidently the particular wonders
which pleased and interested him most, for when


[OCTOBER,







THE ROMANCE OF A MENAGERIE.


he was carried to them, he opened wide his big
blue eyes and gave vent to his feelings in a long
" Oo-o-o-o through his puckered red lips.
Queen was still nursing her sorrow for Spot where
little Don, with his blue eyes, red lips, and dimpled


1*


/ i /'
7" ,./ ... "i i i


that sealed the compact. From that time forward
Don and Queen were devoted to each other.
Many parents would have been afraid to trust


their little child with
hated the men about


C" 7


J--



3;--" J_ -
....... ..


.h1 ~i. c" i ~ i.



5.:" -.














1Al
i -;till; -
- LC~ t' '











lrip
I; '*--




.16"
C'- ,~ '-


DON AND QUEEN PLAYING WITH THE BUILDING-BLOCKS.

cheeks, was held up before her and laughed his
way straight into her affection. Spot alive or not,
Queen, in common with everybody else in the big
tents, had to do homage to innocence and joy,
and so she straightway declared her love by a
tremendous rumble and sway, which so delighted
Don that he replied with a cooing Oo-o-o-o "


[SEE NEXT PAGE.]

By and by Don grew
then what games the
Everybody in the sho
see the two strange pl;
just toddle, Don would
chuckle of delight, an
little arms around her


(


1884.]


935


Queen, knowing how she
her; but Don's papa and
mamma were circus peo-
ple, familiar with elephant
ways, and they knew
that Queen would far ra-
ther injure herself than
allow the least harm to
come to Don. No doubt
Queen considered Don as
a new species of being,
entirely different from
the mankind she hated
so bitterly.
Every day, at least
once, must Don be taken
to Queen; and long be-
fore the baby boy could
walk, he crawled about
under the gigantic creat-
ure or rode on her back,
with as much fearlessness
as if she were made of
wood. The first time he
ever stood on his feet by
himself was one day when
he was playing about
Queen. He caught hold
of one of the huge legs,
which he could not half
encircle, and strained and
tugged until he had
gained his feet.
His triumphant "Oo-o-
o-o "wasresponded to by
a prolonged rumble from
Queen, who seemed quite
as proud ofDon's achieve-
ment as were the specta-
tors. Nor could his own
mother have been more
tender of him. Youmight
have tortured Queen, but
she would not have
moved a hair's-breadth
carelessly when Don was
playing about her feet.
older and could walk, and
y used to have together!
w would gather around to
ayfellows. When he could
d run up to Queen with a
d putting his white, plump
great brown hairy trunk,






THE ROMANCE OF A MENAGERIE.


would tug away with all his little strength, as if he
believed he could pull that living mountain over.
And, strange to say, he actually accomplished
his object, for Queen humored the little fellow's
fancy. Swaying and rumbling with delight, she
would gradually allow herself to come to her knees,
and finally to fall over on her side. And it was
touching to see how all the time she kept her eyes
lovingly on the beautiful baby, taking care that
no movement of hers should even disturb him !
When she was at last prostrate, Don would look
around as if to say, See what I can do Then
he would imitate what he had seen the trainer per-
form. He would clamber and climb until he was on
Queen's head, and there he would sit, with the air


THE TWO FRIENDS.
of a conqueror. He was quite likely to thrust his
little fist into the elephant's eye or to swing his
foot into her mouth, but not a motion would the
patient creature make while he sat there, for she
seemed to know that he was not very secure in his
high perch.
Sometimes Don would carry his picture-blocks to
Queen, and together they would build houses. Don
would put on one block, and then Queen would take


one up in her trunk and put it in its place as care-
fully as if she had been used to the game all her life;
and when Don would kick the house down, as he
usually did when it was about half built, his merry
laugh and her thunder-like rumble were something
worth going miles to hear.
It never seemed to occur to Don that there was
anything odd in his companionship with the
gigantic creature; and had it entered his little
head to do so, there is no doubt that he would
have proposed a walk in the fields with her, with
as much innocence as if she had been a small
dog.
All this while there was no better-tempered
elephant in the menagerie than Queen, who
seemed to feel bound to act gently toward
everybody in order to prove her right to
the friendship of little Don. But one day
a change came. A cloud fell upon the great
show. Diphtheria, a cruel disease, took
away the little baby boy. Sunshine gave
place to gloom. The lightest-hearted, the
S most careless, the most reckless, mourned.
': Thi.- i.. Fil tidings found their way into
,the elephants' tent,-who can tell how No-
i,, 'h body could doubt then the love that went
out for little Don from the uncouth giants
chained to the earth. They could not speak,
lii' they could not weep like their human mas-
S ters; but their grief must find expression,
and they acted as if crazed.
And Queen! She could not or would
not realize that the men about her had had
no part in her bereavement. She was filled
with fury. Her other losses she could for-
give, but never this one. Everything was
I done to pacify her, to subdue her, but in
vain. They might kill her, quell her they
could not. The other elephants after a
week of grief resumed their accustomed
duties, but Queen was immovable and even
dangerous, and, therefore, she was sent
from the Far West to Bridgeport in Con-
necticut, where the winter quarters of the
elephants are.
For six months Queen remained in this
condition of furious grief. Never before or since has
there been such an instance among elephants of
persistent affection. Queen has little "Bridgeport "
now, and if one can judge by appearances, she is
perfectly satisfied with him, for if ever mother doted
on baby, she dotes on him; and though, no doubt,
she has reserved one corner of her heart to the
memory of Don, she has too much happiness to
feel much sorrow.


936


[OCTOBER,






LOST ON THE PLAINS.




LOST ON THE PLAINS.

By JOAQUIN MILLER.


ONLY sixteeen or seventeen miles a day. A
long, creeping, creaking line of covered white ox-
wagons, stretching away to the west across the
vast and boundless brown plains. Not a house
for thousands of miles, not a tree, not a shrub, not
a single thing in sight, except now and then, dotted
down here and there, a few great black spots in
the boundless sea of brown.
That is the way it was when my parents took
me, then only a lad, across the plains, more than
thirty years ago. How different now, with the
engines tearing, smoking, screeching and scream-
ing across at the rate of five hundred miles or
more a day !
There are many houses on the plains now. The
pioneers have planted great forests of trees, and
there are also vast corn-fields, and the song of
happy harvesters is heard there. But the great
black spots that dotted the boundless sea of brown
are gone forever. Those dark spots were herds of
countless bison, or buffalo as they were more
generally called.
One sultry morning in July, as the sun rose
up and blazed with uncommon ardor, a herd of
buffalo was seen grazing quietly close to our train,
and some of the younger boys who had guns and
pistols, and were "dying to kill a buffalo," begged
their parents to let them ride out and take a shot.
As it was only a natural desire, and seemed a
simple thing to do, a small party of boys was soon
ready. The men were obliged to stay with the
train and drive the oxen; for the tents had already
been struck, and the long white line had
begun to creep slowly away over the level brown
sea toward the next water, a little blind stream
that stole through the willows fifteen miles away
to the west.
There were in our train two sons of a rich and
rather important man. And they were now first
in the saddle and ready to take the lead. But as
they were vain and selfish, and had always had a
big opinion of themselves, their father knew they
had not learned much about anything else. There
was also in the train a sad-faced, silent boy, hare-
footed and all in rags; for his parents had died
with the cholera the day after we crossed the Mis-
souri river, and he was left helpless and alone.
He hardly ever spoke to any one. And as for the
Srich man's boys, they would sooner have thought
of speaking to their negro cook than to him.
As the boys sat on their horses ready to go,
VOL. XI.-6o.


and the train of wagons rolled away, the rich man
came up to the barefooted boy, and said:
See here, Tatters," go along with my boys
and bring back the game."
But I have no horse, sir," replied the sad-faced
boy.
Well, take mine," said the anxious father;
" I will get in the wagon and ride there till you
come back."
"'But I have no gun, no pistols nor knife," added
the boy.
Here cried the rich man. "Jump on my
horse Ginger,' and I '11 fit you out."
When the barefooted boy had mounted the horse,
the man buckled his own belt about the lad and
swung his rifle over the saddle-bow.
How the boy's face lit up His young heart was
beating like a drum with delight as the party
bounded away after the buffalo.
The wagons creaked and crawled away to the
west over the great grassy plains; the herd of
buffalo sniffed the young hunters, and lifting their
shaggy heads, shook them angrily, and then turned
away like a dark retreating tide of the sea, with the
boys bounding after them in hot pursuit.
It was a long and exciting chase. Tatters"
soon passed the other boys, and pressing hard on
the herd, after nearly an hour of wild and splendid
riding, threw himself from the saddle and, taking
aim, fired.
The brothers came up soon, and dismounting as
fast as their less practiced limbs would let them,
also fired at the retreating herd.
When the dust and smoke cleared away, a fine fat
buffalo lay rolling in the grass before them. Fol-
lowing the example of Tatters," they loaded their
guns where they stood, as all cautious hunters do,
and then went up to the game.
The barefooted boy at once laid his finger on a
bullet hole near the region of the heart and looked
up at the others.
I aimed about there shouted one. And
so did I cried the other eagerly.
Without saying a word, but with a very signifi-
cant look, the barefooted boy took out his knife,
and, unobserved, pricked two holes with the point
of it close by the bullet hole. Then he put his
finger there and again looked up at the boys.
They came down on their knees, wild with delight,
in an instant.
They had really helped kill a buffalo In fact,


937







LOST ON THE PLAINS.


they had killed it! For are not two bullets bet- he wished to go. Then they talked a moment
ter than one they cried, between themselves, and taking out their pocket
'Tatters,' cut me off the tail," said one. compasses, pretended to look at them very know-
And cut me off the mane; I want it to make ingly.
a coat-collar for my father," shouted the other. Now, many people think a compass will lead them


- fi 3xtd, i

'"A~


I ,


'' i .. ,v0' r i



.1,*- ^ ,' -,






Without a word, the boy did as he was bid, and
then securely fastened the trophies on behind their
saddles.
Now let's overtake the train, and tell father
all about killing our first buffalo," cried the elder
of the two brothers.
And wont he be delighted! said the other, as
he clambered up to the saddle, and turned his face
in every direction, looking for the wagons.
But where are they ?" he cried.
At first the brothers laughed a little. Then
they grew very sober.
That is the way they went," said one, pointing
off. "Ye-ye-yes, I think that's the way theywent.
But I wonder why we can't see the wagons? "
We have galloped a long way; and then they
have all the time been going in the other direction.
If you go that way, you will be lost. When we started,
I noticed that the train was moving toward sunset,
and that the sun was over our left shoulder as we
looked after the train. We must go in this direc-
tion, or we shall be lost," mildly and firmly said the
barefooted boy, as he drew his belt tighter and pre-
pared for work.
The other boys only looked disdainfully at the
speaker as he sat his horse and, shading his eyes
with his lifted hand, looked away in the direction


.,i, ...t r,,:t .in. p!-.:.- where they
.r..- T ,I- : 1 : *''' l l, :.
.-A .:.*.rii- ,-: ,: .i.r ,:, I .:.'it ,.. hen you can
nruL ct. ic h uia. Anid c,cn then you must
have coolness and patience and good sense to
get on with it at all. It can at best only guide you
from one object to another, and thus keep you in
a straight line, and so prevent you from going
around and around and around.
But when the plain is one vast level sea, without
a single object rising up out of it as a guide,
what is aboy to do ? It takes a cool head, boy's or
man's, to use a compass on the plains.
Come on that is right, cried the elder of
the two hunters, and they darted, away, with Tat-
ters far in the rear. They rode hard and hot for
a full hour, getting more frightened, and going
faster at every jump. The sun was high in the
heavens. Their horses were all in a foam.
I see something at last," shouted the elder, as
he stood up in his stirrups, and then settling back in
his seat, he laid on whip and spur, and rode fast and
furious straight for a dark object that lay there
in the long brown grasses of the broad unbroken
plains. Soon they came up to it. It was the dead
buffalo They knew now that they were lost on
the plains. They had been riding in the fatal circle
that means death if you do not break it and es-
cape.
Very meek and very penitent felt the two boys as
"Tatters" came riding up slowly after them. They
were tired and thirsty. They seemed to themselves
to have shrunken to about half their usual size.
Meekly they lifted their eyes to the despised boy,
and pleaded silently and pitifully for help. Tears


[OCTOBER,







LOST ON THE PLAINS.


were in their eyes. Their chins and lips quivered,
but they could not say one word.
We must ride with the sun on the left shoulder,
as I said, and with our faces all the time to the
west.- If we do not do that, we shall die. Now,
come with me," said "Tatters" firmly, as he turned
his horse and took the lead. And now meekly
and patiently the others followed.
But the horses were broken in strength and spirit.
The sun in mid-heaven poured its full force of
heat upon the heads of the thirsty hunters, and they
could hardly keep their seats in the hot saddles.
The horses began to stumble and stagger as they
walked.
And yet there was no sight or sound of ,.. -.;,
at all, before, behind, or left or right. Nothing
but the weary, dreary, eternal and unbroken sea
of brown.
Away to the west, the bright blue sky shut down
sharp and tight upon the brown and blazing plain.
The tops of the long untrodden grass gleamed
and shimmered with the heat. Yet not a sign of
water could be anywhere discerned. Silence,
vastness, voiceless as when the world came newly
from the hand of God.
No one spoke. Steadily and quietly the young
leader of the party led on. Now and then he
would lift his eyes under his hat to the blazing
sun over his left shoulder, and that was all.
There comes a time to us all, I believe, sooner
or later, on the plains, in the valley, or on the


beyond them, a feeble, screeching cry that seemed
to come out from the brown grass beneath them
as they struggled on.
Then suddenly they came through and out of
the tall brown grass into an open plain that looked
like a plowed field. Only, all about the outer
edge of the field were little hills or forts as high as
a man's knee. On every one of these little forts
stood a soldier-sentinel, high on his hind legs and
barking with all his might.
The lost hunters had found a dog-town, the
first they had ever seen.
Some owls flew lazily over the strange little city,
close to the ground ; and as they rode through the
town, a rattlesnake now and then glided into the
hole on the top of one of the ten thousand little
forts. The prairie dogs, also, as the boys rode close
upon them, would twinkle their heels in the air and
disappear, head first, only to jump up, like a Jack-
in-a-box, in another fort, almost instantly.
The party rode through the town and looked
beyond. Nothing! Behind? Nothing! To the
right? Nothing To the left ? Nothing; nothing
but the great blue sky shut tight down against the
boundless level sea of brown !
Water," gasped one of the boys; I am dying
for water."
Tatters looked him in the face and saw that
what he said was true. He reflected a moment,
and then said, Wait here for me." Then, leaving
the others, he rode slowly and quietly around the


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

..-"-..."t.-

'-a' --
-I~gfL .~ ,t rco



'- '" -*-


HE RODE SLOWLY AND QUIETLY AROUND THE PRAIRIE-DOG CITY."

mountain, in the palace or cottage, when we too prairie-dog city with his eyes closely scanning the
can only lift our eyes, silent and helpless, to some- ground. As he again neared the two boys wait-
thing shining in heaven, ing patiently for him, he uttered a cry of delight,
At last the silent little party heard a faint sound and beckoned them to come.


939


I :. ,


L. I






[OcTOBER,


AUNT KITTY AND HER CANARIES.


Look there Do you see that little road there
winding along through the thick grass ? It is a
dim and small road, not wider than your hand, but
it means everything to us."
"Oh, I am dying of thirst! exclaimed one of
the brothers. What does it mean ?"
"It means water. Do you think a great city
like that can get on without water? This is their
road to water. Come! Let us follow this trail
till we find it."
Saying this, "Tatters" led off at a lively pace, for
the horses, cheered by the barking dogs, and some-
what rested, were in better spirits now. And then
it is safe to say that they, too, saw and understood
the meaning of the dim and dusty little road that
wound along under their feet.
Hurrah hurrah hurrah Gallant Tat-
ters" turned in his saddle and shook his cap to cheer
the poor boys behind, as he saw a long line of
fresh green willows starting up out of the brown
grass and moving in the wind before him.
And did n't the horses dip their noses deep in
the water! And did n't the boys slide down
from their saddles in a hurry and throw themselves
beside it! That same morning, two of these
young gentlemen would not have taken water
out of the same cup with "Tatters." Now
they were drinking with the horses. And happy
to do it, too. So happy! Water was never,
never so sweet to them before.
The boys all bathed their faces, and the horses
began to nibble the grass, as the riders sat on the


bank and looked anxiously at the setting sun.
Were they lost forever? Each one asked him-
self that question. Water was good; but they
could not live on water.
"Stop here," said Tatters," "and hold the
horses till I come back."
He went down to the edge of the water and sat
there watching the clear, swift little stream long
and anxiously.
At last he sprang up, rolled his ragged pants
above his knees, and dashed into the water.
Clutching a little white object in his hands, he
looked at it a second, and then with a beaming
face hurried back to the boys :
There see that! a chip! They are camped
up this stream somewhere, and they can't be very
far away from here "
Eagerly the boys mounted their horses, and
pressed close on after Tatters."
And how do you know they are close by?"
queried one.
"The chip was wet only on one side. It had
not been ten minutes in the water." As Tatters "
said this, the boys exchanged glances. They were
glad, so glad, to be nearing their father once more.
But it somehow began to dawn upon them very
clearly that they did not know quite everything,
even if their father was rich.
Soon, guns were heard firing for the lost party.
And turning a corner in the willowy little river,
they saw the tents pitched, the wagons in corral,
and the oxen feeding peacefully beyond.


AUNT KITTY AND HER CANARIES,
[A d the Plantain Seed/]

BY AMANDA B. HARRIS.


AUNT KITTY had a cageful of Canaries--that
is, she had five. The children of the neighbor-
hood were always running in to see them; and
she would take the cage down, and answer all
their questions-and you know what children are
at asking questions, I suppose.
Well, the children wanted to know if the Cana-
ries sang-how many of them sang-which ones
sang-where they stayed nights, and if they sat
in their swing.
And what did she give them to eat besides ca-
nary-seed ? Well, she gave them tender cabbage-
leaves in winter; and in summer, chick-weed.
So after that, the children used to come, bring-


ing such handfuls of chick-weed, that the birds
were in danger of being buried alive by it.
They came so often that Aunt Kitty occasionally
sighed at the entry of her clamorous visitors; but
she was always glad to receive the daily call from
pretty Nellie Jackson. Nellie came alone, and
she was not a very inquisitive girl, and, indeed,
she had past the age when little folk are contin-
ually asking questions; and, besides, she knew all
about canaries, for had not her mother kept a pair
of them, ever since she could remember, in the
sunny window of their handsome city home ? But
Nellie's mother was ill now, and had gone far away
to the South in the hope of regaining her health;


940








AUNT KITTY AND HER CANARIES.


NELLIE AND THE CANARY.


and Nellie had come up to spend the weeks of
waiting with an uncle of hers who was a near
neighbor of Aunt Kitty. And what so natural
as that Nellie ere long should run in to Aunt
Kitty's cheery little house, every day, "just to
say good-morning, and to take a peep at the


canaries." She would stand before the cage
and gently thrust in a sprig of chick-weed, or
smilingly tantalize an eager bird by holding the
spray just beyond his reach for a moment, with a
merry, Don't you wish you may get it?" They
don't mind my teasing," she would add, the next







AUNT KITTY AND HER CANARIES.


minute, as she pushed the dainty food through
the bars; they know I 'm only in fun, and that
I love them. They are so pretty, and they remind
me of home."
Aunt Kitty used to say it did her heart good to
see Nellie's happy face, as she stood by the cage
and chatted with the birds; and I think she missed
the visits of the quiet, sweet-natured girl, when
Nellie at last went back to the city to meet the
dear mother, and to play once more with her own
canaries in the sunny window.
But there were all the other children They
had n't ceased coining, and they were just as
inquisitive as ever. "And did n't Aunt Kitty
ever give the canaries something else to eat," they
asked, "'besides the canary-seed, and the chick-
weed, and the cabbage leaves?"
Oh, yes," answered Aunt Kitty, "a baked
potato every morning; and they will eat it all out
clean, and leave nothing but the skin ; and some-
times, a fig; and a lump of sugar; and a bit of
cracker; and a piece of apple; and, once in a
while, lettuce-seed, and cabbage-seed, and turnip-
seed, and mustard-seed."
And on one unlucky day, Aunt Kitty happened
to add-" and flantain-seed "
It was not many days later that she heard a
very small rap at the door. It was so small that
she could scarcely hear it at all. If she had not
been near the door just then, she would not have
heard it.
There were two little children on the door-step;
and they had a great cotton bag between them,
stuffed as full as it could hold, with something.
She knew them. Their names were Teddy and
Mattie. They lived a mile off, on the top of a
high hill. And now, if you will believe it, they had
picked that bag full of plantain-seed, and brought
it all the way-it was not very heavy, because it is
a light kind of seed-to sell to her for the birds!
Now, there was plantain-seed enough in that
bag to have lasted those birds fifty years. But
Aunt Kitty never would have been guilty of disap-
pointing the children; so she took it, and paid
them well, and they went off.
As for the birds, I don't suppose they ate a
spoonful of it all that winter; for, to begin with,
it was too dry; and then they were not very fond
of it, at best.
Aunt Kitty put the plantain-seed on one of the
high shelves in the store-room, and never thought
of it again, till the time came for spring house-
cleaning. On those occasions, she always looked
into every box and bag and bundle in the house.
When she came to the store-room, she climbed up
on the step-ladder, and handed down the things,


one by one, to Mrs. Flanagan, the Irish woman
who was helping her. Just as she was lifting the
bag of plantain-seed, the string broke, and down
it went in a shower all over Mrs. Flanagan. It
is a wonder the woman escaped as she did. She
usually had her mouth open, in the act of singing,
or laughing, or talking; and if it had been open
at this time, she would have been choked to death,
or else she would have had her lungs ruined forever.
"Och! An' what shall I do with it?" cried
Mrs. Flanagan.
Shake it all off," said Aunt Kitty, and sweep
it up, and burn it. It is good for nothing."
That, she supposed, would be the end of it, and
she thought no more about it. After the house-
cleaning was done, she went away on a visit, and
was gone all through the month of June; and
when she came home, her brother Tom, who lived
in New York City, but who always spent a week or
two in summer at his sister's, came back with her.
Tom had been brought up a farmer's boy, and so
whenever he found himself again in his old home
he would go out and work in the garden, or off in
the fields, because he liked it. He would trim
trees, and hoe, and clear the garden of weeds.
If there was anything he detested it was weeds,
and there would not have been any if he had lived
on the place all the time.
He put on an old coat and a pair of easy, old
boots, which he kept there on purpose to work in,
and went out as soon as he had eaten dinner.
But in about five minutes he was back again.
"Kitty!" said he, "I should like to ask what
has been going on in the garden?"
Ask what?"
"Then you have n't seen it? Suppose you
come out a minute! It beats me. Does it ever
rain plantain-seeds, I wonder?"
You would have thought so. Mrs. Flanagan,
instead of burning the seed, had carried it to the
door and given'it a toss; the wind had taken it,
and scattered it broadcast over the garden, and all
the rest of that spring had been sowing it; the
sun and rain had nourished it-and as it is a plant
that does not need much encouragement-well;
words can't express it! There had been more
seed than anybody ever saw before, or ever will
again, and-in short, you ought to have seen that
garden !
Tom grubbed away at the plantains during
every spare moment, piled them in a wheel-barrow,
and carried them down and threw them into the
river. So they never will go to seed, you may be
certain. As for Aunt Kitty, if you ask-her about
it now, she will tell you that her birds "ndoz't eat
plantain-seed!"


[OCTOBER,


942









1884.] 94

(T h L;~





15N
II ;. t I sl~ ii ,d 4.







$ I












11, ''Ii -----

II

~ ~ A,I iiIIII
/ '*r -.



p -- I
I. i i'
"HFO H UTINGGOUD







ANOTHER INDIAN INVASION.


if;
'* *,


APACHES, stealthy and cunning; st
cruel Arapahoes; fierce Cheyennes,
reeded arrows tipped with deadly pois
revengeful Comanches; Pueblos, with
of the Mexican in their bold, black eyes
hair bound with a bright handkerchi
straight and taciturn, with high cheek-
aquiline noses that sniff the battle afar
joes, the gypsies of the Indians, in ga'
and checkered blankets; degraded Digg
thirsty Pawnees; implacable Kiowas, wil
ous, long-bladed knives thrust in tl
gross-featured, thick-set Shoshones; N


I -.'-. act-




glancing sidewise from their slits of eyelids; Mo-
docs and Poncas, Creeks and Crows, and a score of
other tribes besides, tattooed, painted, half-clothed,
squalid, and repulsive, or terrible with scalp-lock
ornament and savage bravery of quill-work, beads,
and fcathers,-all of these in undisputed posses-
sion of a government fort in Pennsylvania, and
i'' unnumbered crowds of savages rallying with won-
derful unanimity and determination toward the
same point!
What a sensational announcement that would be
if displayed in the daily newspapers with judicious
use of capitals, exclamation points, and startling
adjectives And yet, the statement- without the
S adjectives -is strictly true. There has been no out-
break, no massacre, nor flying rumor of Indians
on the war-path but three hundred and sixty In-
dian boys and girls from all parts of the West and
from thirty-six different tribes have quietly started
in little bands toward the same point,-the old bar-
racks at Carlisle.
Do you wonder what the attraction is? .
W ell, it is a school wM m. Ih... I I.:-, i .- r. 1 -
has wisely established ir 1. I -a .: ool -I
where they can learn r[. .'i .id I It -'
and cipher, and stud, niJ -r ..' th.
trades and handicrafts ..t!.:, .1 .:. h .
They are learning her:. ,u.id i i: ...: ~ -
superintendence of Cir',. i'r.,rr rd *
the training of such t 1i.: .i-t n.1
devoted women as MI. o;
strong and Temple, Miss Hyde, .,rd .
with long their assistants, the irn: .
on; little, and intellectual be::.. it
something of civilization; while,
and coarse under mechanical, in- '
ef; Sioux, structors, Indian boys '''
bones and are becoming black- "4
off; Nava- smiths,wheelwrights, .
yly striped carpenters, harness-
ers; blood- makers, printers,
th murder- shoemakers, tailors, .
heir belts; painters, bakers, far-
ez Perc6s, mers, besides learn-


[OCTOBER,







ANOTHER INDIAN INVASION.


MJ4 $1

-i Ir .c -AF7
~IP
r7-.-AP :a' Vl


% Iy7 ;
SN ID Ik
I* ts


ing to drill as soldiers, and Indian girls are taught
to be laundresses, dress-makers, cooks, school-
teachers, nurses, and to fill many useful callings.
You should see the enthusiasm with which they
enter upon these new occupations; how eager they
are to learn and to follow the white man's road "
Our Government has not treated the Indians
justly in time past. It has taken away their lands
again and again, as the I .. .. ..:I.-.- i.:.
driving the Indians further..: i. -i rl. -.. I ..... ,...1-.,
to die. Certain good pe:.i.k lii i-i .:...1 ,i i1 I .-
treaties made with the In.l I- 11 .:. .l- I..: I:. I.,, I
that settlers should be for.l.l- i., I ..- .: ...- .....
on the Indian reservation- I..i. .:. : -o ..i' .. : I:.
live in the West have rep!. .1
That is impossible. I .i,.,l r :.:. ,- .1,
land be kept untilled, unil ...-l. :ii :
and bison to range over ? T r.:.i- ,- .. .::.... .. t. .
the savage in our country i-i. : i. .,! .r. i. I.-i
cruel. Let the Governm.:,r -i,' ll i ..
This does not seem ki'i. I.. Il ,.: :'..1,: ii. ,
right; the Indian ought ir r.:. ..i-!. !i.- -.:..! '. .
his "hunting-grounds, w-i -I : ..I.. i ..-!.1 i!. .:.
starve in the garrets of Fi, ..L :. -l i .. i
caverns that they, too, h.I, .: I:.: ,u : .. I,.i-: ..'
the earth and claim its d,. i:.!-
There is no longer an) ..:.' i.r ..
there is plenty of space IF .l. ir:-. i.. iLl-
American citizens; and .:.:- :.l.. : i i .
discovered a way to sat.I, ri-,.. .i.
mands of the West,-tc i ... i-, ---
the savage and leave
the man. The machine .. .
is a simple one, school .'
at Carlisle Barracks, in- i .
to which wild Indians i ,
are being turned and q' -- -_r


from which
come self-supporting
men and women, skilled and useful
members of civilized society. When this
plan was explained to the old chiefs, they
approved of it gratefully. They said, /
through their interpreters, to the mes-
sengers sent to confer with them : \
S. 1.. i,,: ,,., ,. .:. I \V I i '
ill I'l.l. I ., .rl-.. ., L.',, i, l ,. ,. ,it, | .f '
I. a .


-n jr .- ii Ii Ni l ,


l ..: !. .1 .11 .:. rn o i.l
In'I




[. :I l, 1, l i i. ,,,, r ,'


S I -1 .. I '



n I -- --. .. .. .. .. .
.. l .: .r... ., I .



il iO t i.1 11 _1S d I 1


IL I I,; ,.t .
in an h. o,


'-'"- -7;--


. I -i 1 -. ,


945







ANOTHER INDIAN INVASION.


beseeching that they, too, might be taken. It was
hard to refuse them,- to tell them that they must
be patient and wait their turn,-and some could not
be persuaded to wait. They sent on their children to
the school without permission, saying: "We will
pay their expenses ourselves, if the great father at
Washington can not afford to take more. Some-
how we will raise the !monnev, hbt the children must


I. ... -; .j : A : ... l | id T.I .



I.. ., 1, i A 1 i 1 ,1*11 J1:" -. A,

t, I ti t'i, i. I 1 ..u i Ii i i!l!. ..L i' l i -, ,






, 1. 1, ,. ;.,,d ,.'t ,i h ,o tl.-,. r rh, -l. .., t


have a brass band, the instruments for which were
given them by a kind Boston lady; and it is
doubtful whether the same amount of money ever
gave more enjoyment. The leader of this band
was at first a Mrs. Curtin, herself a skillful cornet
player and daughter of the leader of a military
band. She trained the boys with untiring patience
and thor-



I :, .. ['. .


i': i I l: I
n .'i'n_ _.-~ .J-1 , _f _- '. -\


filled and that no provision had been made for un-
invited guests. But the boy did not have to go
back, for a Sunday-school in 'Philadelphia volun-
teered to defray his school expenses, and he is now
studying with the others.
Three hundred and sixty-seven Indians-two
hundred and forty boys. and one hundred and twen-
ty-seven girls-are now gathered at the school.
The boys wear neat uniform and go through the
military drill with great spirit and exactness. They


Let me introduce to you the members of the
band as they are grouped on the pretty octagonal
band-stand in the center of the well-clipped lawn,
None of these young men expect to make music
their profession, and though they are enthusiastic
in its study, they regard what some of our white
boys would consider very serious work as only
play. Amos Cloudshield, a Sioux, is a wagon-
maker. Conrad Killsalive is also a Sioux, and in
spite of his murderous name, when not at school


946


[OCTOBrn,


.~t3~~?J(~BE~)








ANOTHER INDIAN INVASION.


or puffing his favorite horn, takes his place on the
tailor's bench. Silas Childers, a Creek, is a shoe-
maker. Little Joe Harris, the drummer, a Gros-
Ventre, has no trade as yet other than peg-top and
marbles. Solomon Chandler, one of the supposed
untamable Comanches, is a carpenter. Joshua
Gibbons, a Kiowa, is the school janitor. Luther
Standing-Bear, the first cornet player, is a tinner.
Lewis Brown, a Sioux, is a shoe-maker; as is also
Luke Philips, a young Nez Perce. Elwood Dorian,
an Iowa, and Edward McClosky, a Peoria Indian,
are both carpenters. They play thirty-six different
pieces,- martial marches, gay waltzes, sweetly
solemn sacred music, and patriotic airs. Ameri-
ca" is a prime favorite. They inflate their lungs
and cheeks to bursting, and pound the floor
with unusual spirit while the grand paan rings
out its praise of the
"Land where our fathers died,
Land of the pilgrims' pride."
"Do they think of the words?" you ask. Per-
haps not; certainly, from their own experiences,
some of them would never imagine our country a
Sweet land of liberty."
But they are not sad nor morose. After the evening
parade, the band plays merrily and the children
frolic on the lawn until sunset, and they often
show a spirit of mirthfulness and mischief quite
foreign to our idea of the Indian character. They
are taught, indeed, from early childhood, to con-
ceal all emotion, whether of pleasure or pain, and
it takes some time for them to unlearn these
lessons, and to give free expression to their feelings.
As an example of their stoicism, it is said that
during a fight with our troops, in the West, an
Indian woman concealed her little girl in a barrel,
telling her to remain perfectly quiet, whatever
happened. After the battle the child was found
with her arm shattered by a minie-ball,-but she
had uttered no sound. Their distrust of the whites
is as characteristic as their self-control. One of the
little girls at the school, who retains her Indian
name, Keseeta, bears frightful scars from wounds
inflicted by her mother with a sharp stone. Their
village had been taken by United States soldiers,
and rather than have her child fall into the hands
of the white men, the poor mother tried to kill her.
Coming from such influences, it is surprising to note
how quickly the young Indians show appreciation
of what is done for them, and the intelligence and
affection which light their great black eyes as they
return the greetings of the noble women who teach
them.
Many of the names of these children, especi-
ally of the girls, sound oddly, for it is common
for them to choose Christian names of their own,


while retaining their fathers' names for the sake
of family distinction. This gives rise to such queer
combinations as Isabella Two-Dogs, Katy White-
Bird, Maud Chief-Killer, Gertrude White-Cloud,
Maggie American-Horse, Anna Laura Shooting-
Cat, Alice Lone-Bear, Hattie Lone-Wolf, Stella
Chasing-Hawk, and Ruth Big-Head. These girls
are neat in their habits, bright, and imitative. Some
of them have very pretty faces and could readily
be mistaken for white children the faces of others,
newer arrivals, have a sadness and vacancy of ex-
pression due to privation and suffering. Yet these
faces, we are told, are not so sad as were some
others which now quiver with intelligence and
feeling.
They are industrious and persevering. Nellie
Cook, a Sioux, made thirty-six sheets in one
day. Nellie Cary, an Apache, the tribe that the
Western settlers describe in the same terms which
St. Paul ascribes to the tongue- (" For every kind
of beasts hath been tamed of mankind, but the
Apache can no man tame ") -hemmed thirty-two.
sheets, and Ella Moore, a Creek, thirty.
They are observant, and quick to notice peculiar-
ities and differences. We read in the School News,
a paper edited by one of the Indian boys, a letter
from a little Pueblo girl who attended Episcopal
service for the first time, and was particularly
struck by the choristers,-
"Six little singing boys, dear little souls,
In nice clean faces, and nice white stoles."
Her great eyes followed them intently, and the
kind lady who took her noticed how eagerly she
listened to the young voices as they thrilled through
the arches. Mattie is profoundly impressed,"
she thought; she will never forget this day."'
Mattie was indeed impressed, but it was by the
externals only, and this is what she wrote to the-
School News that evening:
"This morning we went to church. It's other way they sing
here. They lady are not sing, the boy he sing, and those boys
are not wears coat, they wears white apron "
One of the teachers has fitted up a pretty play-
room for the girls, with a toy cooking-stove not too.
small to be really used, with a full set of tiny
kitchen and laundry furniture, and a wee dining-
table with bright turkey-red table-cloth and pretty
tea-set, and other cunning baby-house things dear
to the heart of every little girl. They meet here
to make.real biscuit, tea, and omelet, and in tri-
umphal procession they carry lunches to their
teachers.
A doll was once donated to this play-room, and
there was much discussion as to the name to be
given it. Some one finally read a list of names,
with their significations, from the appendix to the







ANOTHER INDIAN INVASION.


dictionary; and the girls decided upon Hephzi-
bah, because it meant My delight is in her."
Some of the girls during the vacations have
worked in families and learned to be quite expert
as cooks; to churn,
to make bread and
cake and jellies, and
to preserve fruit.
The bread for the
entire school is
baked by two boys,
who rise every morn-
ing at two o'clock,
without being called,
to mold it down,"
and not once have 4 ""
they failed nor has
the bread been sour.
Their friends in
the West are inter-
ested in their prog- .
ress, and sometimes
come to see them.
Brave Big Horse
writes his son:


1"I am working on farm,
and when you come back
I hope you will find a dif-
crent Indian from the one
you left. I am doing this
all for you. I was plowing
yesterday afternoon till I
gave out and stood in the
field and thought of you-
how, when you come back,
you will be able to run the
farm yourself and know
more about it than I do."


1,4

4f;u


CAPTAIN PRATT, THE OFFICER IN
Red Cloud, the
well-known Sioux chief, visited the school and
addressed them in his own language. A prize of
three dollars was offered for the best translation


You seem like my grandchildren; and now I
went pass through the shops and saw what you can
be done. I saw the shoe-maker, harness-maker,
tailor, carpenter, tinner, blacksmiths, and they all
doing well. Here
you see I wear a
boots which is you
make it. I was sur-
prise that the black-
smith doing very
good. Also the girls
can washing clothes
and sewing. Also I
went pass through
the school-rooms
and I saw some of
you can write very
fast, and read, and I
was glad. Now, this
is the thing what we
send you here for,
to learn white men's
way. There is two
roads, one is good
and one is what we
call a devil road.
'."Another thing is,
you know, if who do
W'. nothing, just put his
R hand on his back
and lie down, so
any dime not come
to in his pocket it-
self, so you must do
something with your
CHARGE OF THE CARLISLE SCHOOL. hands. Now you
must not home-sick
any; but you must try to be good and happier."
The school has other visitors, too. The Society
of Friends, true to the traditions of William Penn,


of this speech. We give a portion of the success- have been the faithful helpers of the red man.
fil'report, made by Luther Standing-Bear: There are two representative Quakerr %oinn. the


948


[OCTOBER,






ANOTHER INDIAN INVASION.


Misses Longstreth, who have quietly and unosten-
tatiously contributed to the Carlisle School and
have induced others to aid it; nearly all the little
comforts and many of the
necessary supplies of the hos-
pital have come through them.
They inquire kindly, "Tell
us what thee needs, and we
will know where to ask for it. .
If dolls, we will get them our-
selves; if wash-tubs, we know ll ,
people who do not approve of j
dolls, but who will give wash-
t.h bi/


IV


II it


It is very interesting to
" went pass through the


some among us have our doubts whether it is
greatly in advance of their native costume in
point of picturesque effect. The boys take kindly
to the change, however,--fourteen appren-
tices are stitching merrily away, putting
frogs of scarlet braid on their uniforms
and tracing curves in colored stitching on
the linings of their jackets. One of the
boys has fitted himself to a jacket, and, as
/1 it is not his time to be served, he wishes it
reserved for him, and sews a label on the
,7.' coveted garment with these words on it:


i. I


.1; 3~L
ii *'UiT


Mr. C., please do not give to another boy this coat.
I made it to myself."

Another apprentice writes home:
I am happy. I try to build coats and pants."

That they succeed in this style of archi-
tecture is demonstrated by the fact that
Clarence Three-Stars made a pair of uni-
form trousers, with sergeants' stripes down

I ,


shops," as Red Cloud' .
did. L., -
There is the tailor's' i --
shop with boys work- ,,
ing at the sewing- iI'
machines, ironing, WI
making button-holes, N, -
and cutting out work. "
On the wall are / .i! .K_^i,.S_.,f ..-il
tacked a number of "
fashion plates; and
the boys study these -- ii
different phases of
civilized dress as they :':' o
stitch away upon their -. -
uniforms, and it is !
evidently borne in
upon tem that the '.-
tailor has a great deal .
to do with making the :.
man; that, somehow, '
clean white collars '. "
and cuffs, neatly fit- ,1 .b
ting gloves, shining 1; ;Y
boots, and a scrupu- -l -
lous toilet generally / iil i" -
are marks of a gentle- / '" '
man. The value of
the lesson at this stage INDIAN GIRLS AND BOYS LEARNING THE "WHITE PEOPLE'S WAYS."
of their development
can hardly be exaggerated. It is well, too, to. make the legs, between eight and half-past eleven o'clock
the garb of civilization as attractive as possible, for in the forenoon of a single day.


1884.]


949


9 :--

L~.f







ANOTHER INDIAN INVASION.


'950


In the harness-shop we find sixteen boys cutting
strips of leather, sewing, and polishing. They
have not wasted a dollar's worth of material in
three years." is the testimony of the superintend-
e -r.





si .* i r I. I ': i I I. i-* I. .." : .. i i. ;
in l -.: .' t r I l _h: .-' t .l : I ,i ,,.: -l, ..L











.t" i- .. : .: .': .: .. _: t, i..l 1 'i l l 't 't i l tt rt l
ain I- : i :i, .l ,r .. 'I i 't F '- *LI...
t Sa t i--.. ..1 t-,' ,... h : ii. lI..u it.r


; ? "--- i ~ -t '-



COBBLERS AND HARNESS-MAKERS.

In the tin-shop Henry C. Roman-Nose is per-
haps the most expert. He is perfecting himself in
his trade, and will soon take charge of a shop at
the Cheyenne and Arapahoe Agency, Indian Ter-
ritory. Frank Twist, a Sioux, says: Sometimes I
make some pint tin cups very well, and I make
some of quart, and little pans I fix very nice to-
gether." Duke Windy made thirty tin cups in two


days; another Cheyenne boy made forty-six. White
Buffalo, another tinman, although scarcely out of
his teens, has gray hair. It was turned so, he re-
lates, when a small boy by the en-
f.i l 1,-i 0'. l i i.1... .'.' 1i.I L ., t ll. ', _t -





it'
ri,,:,. !.. :. ,.=,_1,.r ^ ^


i. r = r e.. a e
,- -" I-,.i ...:..l t|,:, ,, ,ii,,lt: i n 1 d

,' I r ,- i. ,- l- r, :




i l '--" I r' -- i :i i 'i .l i.: .*| i.. i ; t!'r. : r r i i ir r



SAmong the painters, Robert American-Ho l rse



shop, and sent to Oregon and Washington Terri-

















Ellis Childers and Charles Kihiga are printers;
another is dealing ou t quinine u, er te pysi-,
cian, : hospital steward and has aspirations .
shopi _,,:. han'den to.:l Or iegon a. i ngt.o.n: .e.r.ri-
I. t_. r i .-. .-. r ,In ; t f t .



tory: He isI ,: blacks, i as, ar E" .: -_ r.: l l',',it a:
Potr. an Eg-r. ihir -hu nd r,, l. I. ,m ade d i .



,tlh,., % t,,u' ,, :it-t,_| P .:. I, I.: ..I ; i n 1_. r r h 1iii,:.w
:, !,,l ,.-I .,-,r fir i i-r, i '_ I ll: ,- I'llh : 'f l[d Il A p t'- :. ,:., 1 V-
I t- r -, l 1. l 7',:, rin>' ,:,l'i-: _-h! r,.lln r -. t h rn ,_-. i nd

Among the painters, Robert American-Horse
has decorated some wagons made at the school
shop, and sent to Oregon and Washington Terri-
tory. He is a blacksmith also, and., with James
Porter and Edgar Fire -Thunder, has made and put
up two strong double-acting swings, which the girls
enjoy greatly.
Ellis Childers and Charles Kihiga are printers;
another is dealing out quinine under the physi-
cian, as hospital steward, and has aspirations


[OCTOBER,







ANOTHER INDIAN INVASION.


toward being a white medicine man" one of
these days. So the boys work, and we might
lengthen the account with reports from the School
News until it would be far too long for insertion in
ST. NICHOLAS.
During the summer vacation the boys and girls
find employment on farms and in families, many
of them working so well that their employers dis-
like to give them up when school re-opens. They
are very proud of being self-supporting and of cost-
ing the Government nothing during this season. It
frequently happens, however, when the course of
instruction is over, that they manifest great reluct-
ance to return to the Indian reservations in
the West; and whenever situations have
opened for them in the East, and there has
been no special family reason for their return,
they have been allowed to remain. They
have argued, with reason, that they have
learned how to live and support themselves
in a civilized community, but if they return
to the Indian camps the conditions of life
will be altered, and it will be almost impos-
sible for them not to fall back into the old
ways of savagery. It is an easy task to
reclaim the individual and to have him
continually improve under the stimulus of
civilized surroundings, but it is rather un-
reasonable to send one or two to convert a
tribe. If they have been educated to be-
come useful members of society, they should
be allowed to go and come and settle where
they choose. If we can bear the negro, the
ignorant immigrant, and the Chinese amongst
us, there is no reason why the self-supporting
Indians should be herded apart and main-
tained in pauperism at the public expense.
The scholars who have gone back to the
reservations have many of them done nobly,
struggling against an almost overwhelming
tide of opposition. Encouraging reports con-
cerning them come in daily from the differ- -
ent Indian agents. "Chester A. Arthur" and
Alfred Brown carry on the tailor's trade at
the Cheyenne Agency; Thomas Bear-robe is
makingbrickat Caldwell; EtahdleuhDoamoe
is carpentering at the Kiowa, Comanche, and
Wichita Agency; and many others are farm- TH
ing on their own lands, orworking under Gov-
ernment employ at frontier posts. Etahdl9uh's
history is interesting. He was a prisoner in
Florida, studied at Hampton, and was selected by
Captain Pratt to visit with him the Indian tribes,.
and collect pupils for the Carlisle School. He was
intelligent, sober, and industrious, deeply impressed
with the grave problembefore his people,and earnest
in his endeavor to make the best of his own oppor-


tunities. After his return he assisted in drilling the
boys, and continued improving himself in his trade
and studies. One day he came to Captain Pratt,
his serious face even graver than usual. What
is it, Etahdleuh ?" asked the Captain.
Captain Pratt," Etahdleuh replied, twirling his
cap, when I was in Florida, and the good ladies
teach me, I think about what they say about trying
to be good boy. I no think about girls. When I
went to Hampton, I think about getting the good
education. I no think about girls. When I go
West with you, I think about getting scholars and
persuading the Indians to follow the white man's


IE MISSES LONGSTRETH, THE INDIAN CHIEF, "SPOTTED TAIL,"
AND CAPTAIN PRATT. (FROM A PHOTOGRAPH.)
road. I get my sister, and Laura, and all my
friends I can. I no think about girls. When I
come back, I think about learning to be a carpenter,
so I can support myself and be good citizen. I no
think about girls. -But Laura, she think. And now
Laura's father is dead, and Laura say, 'Who take
care of Laura ?' And I think Itake care of Laura."
Etahdleuh was so honest in the matter, and his







ANOTHER INDIAN INVASION.


answer to the question, Who is to take care of
Laura? was so to the purpose that the wedding
took place with the approval of the authorities,
and to the great delight of the pupils, who were
allowed to make a gala day of the occasion.
Etahdleuh had earned two hundred and fifty
dollars, and he took his bride back to the reser-


-.1


14




I...
-7_--AZ


do
~ -, Ii-


C"'


COPY IN BLACK AND WHITE OF A COLOR-DRAWING

ovation, building, a little house upon some land
which had been assigned him by the Government.
The Secretary of the Interior, in his last report
on Indian Education, says :. It is useless to at-
tempt the civilization of the Indian through the
agency of schools, unless a large number of chil-
dren, certainly not less than one-half the total
number, can have the benefit of such schools."


But General Sheridan gives a list of forts which
are no longer of any practical use, and which he
recommends should be turned into Indian schools.
The Secretary of the Interior assures us that,
"with twenty thousand or more Indian children
properly selected in our schools, there will be no
danger of Indian wars." The cost of achieving this
would be very trifling
compared to the twenty-
two millions of dollars
which we have paid an-
nually for the past ten
"' years for military opera-
tions against the Indians !
S,'And as a-result of these
schools, the small rem-
nant of the Indians will
b'e gradually scattered
S among our millions of
mixed I...p.,l r .. n. their
wild customs will be lost,
and in a short time the
wish of the Western set-
S tier will be gratified, the
"i savage will be annihi-
lated and a useful and
educated class added to
our American citizens.
The process is being
BY AN NDAN B hastened by private do-
nations. But, while all praise and thanks are
due to such philanthropists, the chief need is
for the Government to establish more Indian
schools.


" Were half the power that fills the world with terror,
Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts,
Given to redeem the human mind from error,
There were no need of arsenals or forts."


COPY IN BLACK AND WHITE OF A COLOR-DRAWING BY AN INDIAN BOY.


[OCTOBER,


952







MARVIN AND HIS BOY HUNTERS.




MARVIN AND HIS BOY HUNTERS.*

BY MAURICE THOMPSON.


CHAPTER XXIV.
THE PICKETS DRIVEN IN.
WHEN the panther screamed the second time
after Neil and Hugh started to attack it, Mr.
Marvin awoke, and was surprised to see that the
young watchers were not at the fire, where they
had been told to stay.
He sprang from his hammock, and slipping on
his boots (he had not removed any other part
of his attire), began to look about for the boys.
It was a rather startling thought, but it at once
rushed into his mind that they had gone on a
hunt for the panther 1 He remembered having
heard Hugh propose something of the sort while
they were eating supper. He snatched up his rifle,
and was on the point of going in search of them,
when the four reports of their double shots rang
out keen and clear on the still, night air, followed
by an angry scream and the sound of scraping and
scrambling feet.
Uncle Charley and Mr. Gomez were up and
armed in a twinkling. Judge, too, sprang up in
a dazed sort of way, for he was but half awake,
and half aware that some very exciting event was
happening. Catching sight of Hugh, as he rushed
up to the fire, his frightened fancy imagined that
some terrible beast was just behind him; and,
snatching up his empty flint-lock, he hurled it
frantically forward as the best effort at protection
which his scattered wits were capable of making.
The gun narrowly missed Hugh, and, as luck
would have it, fell plump into the middle of the
fire. Both the boys were too frightened to heed
it, however, and by the time Judge discovered it
and drew it from the fire, the stock of the gun was
almost entirely consumed.
Meantime, Mr. Marvin's Winchester rifle cracked
sharply, once,-twice,--three times, in quick
succession.
What has become of Neil ?" Hugh asked him-
self, and turned about to look for him. But he
was nowhere to be seen !
After the boys had fired at the panther as
described in the preceding chapter, they stood
their ground long enough to see the savage
animal come tearing- down the tree, apparently
badly wounded and infuriated; and then Hugh ran
away as fast as he could. Until he reached the
fire he had thought that Neil was close at his heels.
Meantime, the boys' shots had aroused the


camp, and soon the voice of Mr. Marvin, calling
to Uncle Charley and Mr. Gomez, announced
that the panther had been killed. Hugh, there-
fore, hurried back to the spot. The panther
was lying dead not more than two rods from
the tree, and the three men were standing around
it. It was a huge beast, with massive, muscular
legs and a long, lithe body. Its head was like
a cat's head, and its teeth were long and sharp.
"Where is Neil?" inquired Hugh, suddenly
perceiving that his brother was not present.
"Why Where is he, indeed? exclaimed Mr.
Marvin, looking hurriedly around.
"Has he. gone? Is n't he here ? cried Uncle
Charley.
Has n't he been seen?" added Mr. Gomez.
' Who saw him last ?"
Hugh felt a cold chill of fear and dread creep
over him. He gazed anxiously in every direction;
the streaks of moonlight and places of dark shade
made the wood appear solemn and lonely.
"He was with me when I started to run to
camp," said Hugh, and I have n't seen him
since. I thought he turned and ran just as I did."
"You had better call him, sir," suggested Mr.
Gomez, speaking to Uncle Charley, who at once
cried out: Neil! Neil as loudly as he could.
But no answer came.
Uncle Charley called again. And, this time,
they thought they heard an answer, but far away
in the swamp.
Mr. Gomez, who had a strong, stentorian voice,
now called out:
Ho Neil!"
"Whoope-e-e came the answer, apparently
from the very middle of the swamp.
That's Neil's voice exclaimed Hugh.
"But how did he ever get there ?" demanded
Mr. Marvin.
It is very strange, certainly," said Uncle
Charley.
They waited a few minutes, and then called
again. The answer came quite promptly, but
sounded no nearer. Mr. Marvin started in the
direction whence the sound was heard, saying:
"I '11 go and bring in Neil, while you drag the
panther up to the fire."
In about half an hour Mr. Marvin and Neil
came up to the fire, Neil looking very weary and
mud-bespattered. He could not explain how he
came to be where he was found.


*Copyright, 1883, by Maurice Thompson.


953


VOL. XI.- 61.







MARVIN AND HIS BOY HUNTERS.


"After we shot at the panther," said he, "I
turned and ran toward the fire, which I saw gleam-
ing between the trees. I thought Hugh was follow-
ing close after me, though I did not look back to
see. The fire seemed to me to shift its position as
I ran, so that I often had to change my course.
Presently I discovered that Hugh was not with
me. This frightened me and I ran still harder,
thinking I would reach the fire and rouse the rest
of you, and if Hugh did not come in immediately
we would go out and hunt for him. But just then
the fire began to look as if it was zigzaging about,
now dancing here, now glimmering there, and I
could not get any closer to it. I ran over bushes
and stumbled against logs. At last I reached the
edge of the water, where Mr. Marvin found me,
and there I was horrified to see the light I had
thought was our fire, hovering above the surface of
the pond, where very soon it flickered and went out,
leaving me quite bewildered and lost. I did not
know what to do; I felt as if I were in some other
and strange world; everything had so mysterious
and vague a look about it. The dim moonlight
and the ink-black shadows seemed to shift and
waver. I was quite exhausted with my long hard
run, so I sank down on the ground and gave up.
When I heard the shooting, it did not sound as if
it could be in the direction of our camp, but when
you called me I knew your voices."
Hugh was as glad to see his brother as if
Neil had returned from some long journey in
foreign lands.
The panther lay stretched out by the fire, and
Judge was dismally contemplating his ruined gun.
"This big fellow," said Mr. Marvin, touching
the dead animal with his foot, belongs to Neil
and Hugh; for, although I finished it, their shots
had mortally wounded it."
"That panther was a warrior," said Uncle
Charley, "and he charged nobly."
He druv in de pickets and scattered de scrim-
magers," said Judge, grinning lugubriously.
The light that had led Neil astray could only be
accounted for on the theory that it was a "will-
o'-the-wisp" or "Jack-o'-lantern," one of those
strange wandering luminous bubbles sometimes
seen in swampy places. Neil had reached the
other side of the swamp by running around it, in
his pursuit of the flickering light.

CHAPTER XXV.
RULES FOR HANDLING THE GUN IN WING-
SHOOTING.
MR. MARVIN gave Neil and Hugh a good
scolding for having ventured to attack an animal
so dangerous as a panther.


"What would your father say," he exclaimed,
"if he thought that your uncle and I would permit
you to take a risk so terrible ? But for the chance
fact that one of that panther's legs was broken by
a shot, it would almost certainly have killed one
or the other of you."
"Papa will not say anything about that when
we send him the panther's skin," said Hugh.
"He '11 think that we 've become better hunters
than he expected."
Neil did not say anything. He felt the force of
Mr. Marvin's remarks. The startling nature of
the adventure, too, had impressed him strongly.
Next morning he made a sketch of the panther's
head. But he could not draw the will-o'-the-wisp.
They remained in camp at this spot for several
days, during which time they made a fine collec-
tion of bird-skins to add to Mr. Marvin's stock.
Some excellent shooting, too, they had at wood-
duck and teal; but this was quite limited, as they
would not kill a single bird that they did not
need, either for food or as a specimen.
It was during their stay at this delightful place
that Neil reduced to the shortest form Mr. Marvin's
rules for wing-shooting with a shot gun. Here they
are, just as he wrote them in one of his note-books:
Always bear in mind that it is the muzzle of a
gun that is dangerous; therefore, never allow the
muzzle to point toward yourself or any other person.
Never put your hand over the muzzle of a gun,
nor allow another person to handle your gun while
it is loaded.
Use a breech-loading gun with rebounding

hammers. A muzzle-loading gun is both incon-
venient and dangerous to load.
Hammerless guns are beautiful and convenient
weapons, but they are not fit for boys to use, es-
pecially boys who are just beginning to shoot.
A sixteen-bore gun, with barrels of laminated or
Damascus steel, horn or rubber breech-plate, re-
bounding hammers, and twenty-eight-inch length
of barrels, top-snap action, left barrel choke-bored
for long range, right barrel medium choke or
cylinder bore-such is an outline from which any
good gun-maker can build a boy's gun weighing
about six and a half pounds.
Shells for such a gun should be loaded with three
drams of powder and one ounce of shot. Put
two thick wads on the powder and one on the shot.
For any game not larger than woodcock and
quail, use No. 9 shot. For wood-duck, prairie-
chicken, partridge, teal, and the like, No. 6 shot
will be found best when the birds are old; but
early in the season No. 7 will be better. For
large water-fowl and wild turkey, No. 4 shot, as
a rule, will be heavy enough. For deer, bear,
and the like, you ought to have a gun specially


[OCTOBER,







MARVIN AND HIS BOY HUNTERS.


bored for shooting buck-shot, as it is sometimes
dangerous to use shot so large in choked barrels.
In shooting at a flying bird, the first thing to
know is that you must not aim directly at it unless
it is flying straight and level away from you at
about the height of your eye.
If a bird goes away with a rising line of flight,
your aim must be a little above it, but if it flies
level and above the line of your eye straight away,
you must aim a little below it. If it flies to the
left or to the right, you must aim a little ahead of


fire your second barrel, always shooting right and
left.
When a dog "stands," or "points" game, you
should not hurry to flush it. Be deliberate, al-
ways trying to drive your birds in the direction of
light and low covert instead of that which is dense
and high.
Most giddy-flying birds, like snipe and plover,
will rise against the wind, so that the time to shoot
them is just as they turn. To do this, hunt them
down the wind if possible.
Always wait, if the field is open, for your bird
h -L'.: i l- ir i II.I: r: .lh -, .l I. if l i r '- ll

.I ,I ,I 1 -1 Il l.: l ,, .u iJ .. .:w '. ri -.: n


L.| !I-) '-* k.j ; i.- lrl =,"uli id -.. ,u i'.n il- re


"THE PANTHER LAY STRETCHED OUT BY THE FIRE."


it. In fact, the rule is to so fire that the bird's
line of flight and the line of your shot will exactly
intercept each other.
Always move your gun in the direction of the
bird's flight, but do not "poke or follow. Coter
your point of aim by a quick and steady motion
and press the trigger at once.
Shoot with both eyes open, so as to see whether
you hit or miss. If you miss with your first bar-
rel, recover your aim and fire the other, or if there
are two or more birds flushed and you hit with
your first barrel, instantly select another bird and


the game as soon as it falls, because, if you do not,
a wounded bird may run off and be lost, to perish of
its hurt. A true hunter is always anxious to pre-
vent unnecessary cruelty. So long as we eat flesh,
birds and animals must be killed for food, but we
should avoid brutality in putting them to death.
Snap-shooting is done by raising the gun and
firing it as soon as it can be leveled; a mode abso-
lutely necessary in shooting woodcock and quail in
high, close covert, where it often happens that the
gunner merely gets a glimpse of his game and
shoots by judging its position at the time of firing.







MARVIN AND HIS BOY HUNTERS.


Teal and canvas-back duck are very fast flyers,
often going at the rate of sixty-five miles an hour.
How far ahead of a green-winged teal, going at that
rate across your line of sight, must you aim if the
bird is forty yards distant, if your shot fly at the
average rate of eight hundred feet per second ?
Calculate as follows: It takes your shot, practi-
cally, one-sixth of a second to go forty yards. In
one-sixth of a second your bird will fly, practically,
fifteen and one-half feet, which is the distance
you must aim ahead of the teal at forty yards.
Of course this is not the exact calculation, but it is
pr.; ti- .d near enough. A few trials will famil-
iarize the operation, and your e .II soon become
trained in judging distances. Perhaps, under or-
dinary circumstances, at what appears to be forty
yards, your aim ought to be about ten feet ahead
of your bird, if it is 0i.. straight across your
line of sight,- and less if the i.1 is diagonal.
If your game is flying toward you, the best rule
is to allow it to pass, so that you may turn about
and shoot it going from you. This for several
reasons: First, because thebreast-feathers, of water-
fowl especially, are very thick; -. ...li.. because
it is very difficult to allow for the flight of an in-
coming bird; and thirdly, because in shooting a bird
from behind,, you send your shot between its
feathers, and your game is cleanly killed.
Alkyays be sure that your line of sight is along
the middle of the rib that joins the barrels.
In quail-shooting, bear in mind that you rarely
kill your game at a longer range than .:. r1 ; .7 .
and that, under :. .iJi. i circumstances, your aim,
for a c''.-.s- ...; bird, should be about three feet
ahead of it,-i. 1, no fixed rule can be given.
If you are hunting in company with others, be
careful and courteous, always refraining from
shooting at birds that are flushed nearer to your
companion than to you, and do not allow your
gun, under any circumstances, to point at, or in the
direction of, any human being.
Open your gun at the breech and take out both
shells "...:-.;.. :ChI.. *.L over a 1' i -:. getting into a
wagon, going into a house, or 1: ,.-.ll,. the gun
to a person not used to fire-arms.
Never drag a gun toward you, with the muzzle
foremost.
Treatan unloaded gun with the same care that you
would use in h.!r.-I!:'n-.; a loaded one. I did not
know it was loaded" has caused many terrible
accidents.
It is best to 1 .. ......_.1- clean and dry a gun
after it has been used all day, and when not in use
it should be kept in a heavy woolen or leather
case-
Never shoot at harmless and worthless birds
"ju..i to try your hand." Most small birds are


pretty, some of them sing sweetly, and nearly all
of them are useful as insect-destroyers. It is brutal
to kill them for any other than scientific or artistic
purposes.
When out hunting, observe everything, so as to
remember the minutest details of visible nature.
Knowledge thus gathered is invaluable.
Boys, when hunting together, should be very
cautious in thick covert; as there, one may be
quite near another and not see him.

CHAPTER XXVI.

HOW JUDGE'S NOSE WAS BITTEN.

IT would take a long time and a great deal of
writing to tell all that happened during the winter
spent by our party in Southern Florida. We can
not follow them, step by step, from one good hunt-
ing ground to another.
They tried alligator-shooting, but Neil and Hugh
did not like it. The killing of a great big stupid
animal, merely to get its teeth, seemed to them
very poor sport; and besides, they found alligators
much less dangerous than they had been led to
believe them to be.
They killed some of the small, beautiful deer of
the peninsula, and had some lively times with
bear.
Rattlesnakes and moccasins were common in
the woods and swamps, and quite frequently the
warning whir or hiss startled them as they pushed
through the brakes of cane and tangles of air-plant.
Neil made rapid progress in his free-hand
sketching from nature, both with lead pencil and
in colors. His sketch-books contained a wonderful
variety of subjects, from strange insects to wild
beasts, and from a small air-plant spike to a huge
live-oak tree, draped in Spanish long-moss.
Heron-shooting was their principal business, and
the amount of plumes collected was very large and
valuable.
One day's woodcock-shooting, however, was
more to the boys' taste than all the other sport
they enjoyed during the whole winter. They
found, one morning, a fine lot of these noble
game-birds scattered over a thinly wooded tract,
where clumps of bushes and tufts of wild grass
grew in a rather firm black mud, just suited to the
habits of woodcock. They did not need a dog.
The birds flew but a short distance when flushed;
and if missed, could be easily followed so as to be
found again.
Neil and Hugh endeavored to observe every
rule of shooting, and they did .!.in.l: 1.1 i,..- work.
For a long while they kept exactly even in the num-
ber of birds killed, and the race grew very exciting.


956


[OCTOBER,







MARVIN AND HIS BOY HUNTERS.


It was while absorbed in this sport that Hugh,
as he walked through a patch of saw-grass beside
a little pool, stepped upon an enormous alligator.
It was dead, but, feeling it under his foot, Hugh
looked down and received a terrific scare. The
reptile was fully twelve feet long, with a great
rusty body and sprawling legs, and the hunter
who had killed it had propped its terrible mouth
open wide, so as to knock out its teeth when it
had lain sufficiently long. Hugh jumped as high
and as far as he could, and yelled with terror.
Ugh Oh An alligator he cried.
Just then a woodcock rose and went straight


a bird, and Neil none; but the score soon changed,
for Neil achieved a feat rarely accomplished now-
adays. He made a "double shot" on woodcock,
killing the brace in perfect style, right and left.
This put him ahead of the others and made the
race grow interesting.
Judge next missed a fine strong bird that flew
quartering to his right, and Hugh killed it at fifty
yards with his left barrel.
"Dis 'ere gun shoot too quick," said Judge;
"it make me dodge! I done miss dat bird 'fore I
got ready."
The next flush was by Neil, who failed to kill on


away, but Hugh was so frightened that he did not
think to shoot, and Neil's record went one ahead.
The shock of his fright unsettled Hugh's nerves,
and so Neil beat him, though the contest was a
very close one.
The boys went back to camp for a late dinner,
and the sight of their fourteen woodcocks fairly
dazzled Judge's eyes. As a special favor, Uncle
Charley loaned Judge his little sixteen-bore double-
barrel for the rest of the afternoon. This made
the young negro very happy. His face shone like
a lump of anthracite coal with two black diamonds
in it. He took twenty shells and went with the
boys when they returned to the woodcock grounds,
which lay but a short distance from the camp'
Now," said Hugh, "here goes for a fair match.
Let's see who '11 get the.biggest bag of birds."
The challenge was quickly accepted by Neil and
Judge, and so they began to quarter the ground,
that is, they walked back and forth in diagonal
lines across it.
In a very short time Hugh and Judge each had


account of an intervening bush. Hugh banged
away and missed also; and so did Judge, who
just then stumbled against the nose of the dead
alligator and fell sprawling along its rusty back.
Look out!" shouted Hugh, in a spirit of mis-
chief. It's an alligator !"
With a piercing shriek, Judge scrambled off
on his hands and knees, screaming at the top
of his voice. Then he jumped up, and leav-
ing Uncle Charley's gun lying where he had
dropped it when he fell, he started for camp
as hard as he could run.
Neil picked up the gun, and seeing that it was
growing late, he and Hugh followed after the
flying negro.
When they reached camp, Judge was gesticulat-
ing and posturing and pointing in a vain effort to
relate his terrible adventure to the men. The
most realistic part of it was the fact that Judge had
actually skinned his nose on the horny hide of the
alligator, and that he persisted in asserting that
he had been bitten !


JvL6. L,L- f,---6 --!- ""I ) Ll ; i iliLic-







MARVIN AND HIS BOY HUNTERS.


"Dat beas' jis' kep' a-bitin' away, an' I tho't I
done clean gone, fo' sho'!" he exclaimed.

CHAPTER XXVII.

HOME AGAIN.

ALL things have an end, and so the time came
at last for our little party to bid farewell to Florida.
The trip up the coast to Cedar Keys, and thence
to St. Mark's, was performed in a leisurely way,
the sloop anchoring for a day or two here and
there, the boys seizing every opportunity to make
a bag of snipe or shore birds, or to shoot herons
for Mr. Marvin.
But the nearer they approached home, the more
impatient at delay they all became, and it was
with a sense of intense relief that they stood finally
by the little railroad station at St. Mark's, ready
to take the cars for the North, and home They
bade good-bye to Mr. Gomez with regret, for they
had learned to like him very much during their
long voyage.
At Tallahassee they took the dogs aboard.
Don and Belt and Snip and Sly were the gladdest
animals you ever saw, though they had been well
kept and were as sleek as moles.
From Tallahassee Mr. Marvin shipped his plumes.
to New York, and his bird-skins to the Smithsonian
Institute. He received orders here also, for it
was now quite late in April, and the season for
nest-hunting and egg-collecting was at hand, and
some of his customers and patrons desired him to
begin work for them in that line at once. So he
had no time to lose. He could not even go so far
as Uncle Charley's farm with Neil and Hugh, but
had to part from them at Montgomery, Alabama,
whence he went westward.
The boys both cried when he left them. He
had seemed almost like an elder brother to them.
But he promised to come and have a grouse-hunt
with them in Illinois some time during the next
season.
Samson was overjoyed when they reached
Uncle Charley's home, and he asked hundreds of
questions; and Judge told him some wonderful
stories, that made his old eyes stare.
But Neil and Hugh were in a great hurry to re-
turn to Belair and see their father and talk with
the boys. The very next day they left Tennessee,
and in due time stepped off the train at the Belair
station platform. Everything looked as natural as
life, and the first person Hugh saw was Tom Dale.
"Hallo Is this you, Hugh? and if there is n't
old Neil! Why, how brown you are, boys!
What a jolly time you two must have had !" cried
Tom, in an ecstasy of delight.


Neil and Hugh jumped into a carriage and were
driven straight home, while their "plunder" and
luggage followed them in the village express wagon.
Mr. Burton was taken quite by surprise when
his boys, all weather-browned and lusty, rushed
into the library and fell upon him with their rous-
ing caresses. They almost tumbled him out of
his chair; his spectacles fell off, and his face was
covered with kisses.
Of course the boys immediately began to tell
him all about their wanderings and adventures,
but it was many days before they had finished.
The news of the return of the boy hunters
spread through Belair like a breeze.
Neil proposed to invite all their young friends
to come to spend an evening with them, so that
they might have a good time talking together over
what had happened in Belair, as well as what had
been done in the far Southern hunting-grounds,
during the winter.
"That is just the thing," said Hugh, "and
we '11 hang up all your pictures and sketches in
the parlor, and set up our stuffed birds, and dis-
play our collection of eggs. In fact, we '11 have a gen-
uine-what do you call it in French?-salon ?"
"That would be interesting," assented Neil.
"I think all the boys and girls would enjoy it.
Suppose we do it?"
"Shall we invite the girls, too ?" inquired Hugh.
Certainly," said Neil; "girls likefine art quite
as much as boys, you know."
He emphasized the word "fine," as if he meant
to make fun of his sketches, but Hugh knew he
was proud of them.
"What do you say, Papa?" said Hugh, turning
to his father.
I think the plan an excellent one," replied Mr.
Burton. "I '1 see that your guests have a good
supper and the freedom of the house from six to
eleven in the evening."
The boys were delighted, and went to work
with a will, getting ready for what proved to be
the happiest social event ever enjoyed by the boys
and girls of Belair.
Mr. Burton's large parlor was profusely deco-
rated with Neil's sketches and the many trophies
of the two lads' prowess with the gun. More
than fifty guests were present, and all were
delighted.
It was Tom Dale who afterward suggested to
the Belair boys that they should present Neil with
a testimonial. Tom made the presentation speech
in excellent style, on behalf of all the donors.
The gift was an easel, a palette, and a mahl-stick,
with an alligator carved on


THE END.


958


[OCTOBER,







A FETE DAY IN BRITTANY.


-__ _,-_-_ _, '',-'--
. .. '" .




"LITTLE GIRL IN THE GLASS, I THINK I VE SEEN YOU BEFORE!"




A FETE DAY IN BRITTANY.

BY A. C. G.


EARLY on the morning of a bright September
day, a certain little hotel in Brittany, where I
happened to be sojourning, was all astir. It was
evident, from the bustle going on, and the air of
suppressed excitement among the usually listless
inhabitants of the place, that some event of
importance was at hand. I learned from our good
landlady that the approaching celebration was the
annual fete, or gala day, of the village, and she
told me that if I wished to have a good view of the
various performances, I should need to start early,
as the festivities would begin promptly at ten.


As it was then nearly nine, my friend Tom
Jackson and I hastened from the hotel and along
one of the high-roads, in the direction in which
the crowd was moving. On our way, we were
overtaken by vehicles of every description, some
very quaint and primitive, and almost all laden
with peasants from the adjoining towns, gorgeous
in their holiday attire. And among these was a
great number of small boys, who evidently be-
lieved that the day had been instituted for their
especial benefit.
As we neared the scene of the fete, the crowds


1884.]








[OCTOBER,


A FETE DAY IN BRITTANY.


960


~~








A FETE DAY IN BRITTANY


grew dense and more excited; men and boys were
shouting wildly, and scores of people were hastily
clambering upon two stone walls which lined the
road. This road, it appeared, was to serve as a
race-course. Having found a comfortable seat, we
gave ourselves up to contemplating the odd crowd
by which we were surrounded, and with patience
awaited the start.
At last a wild shout arose, Here they come !"
Then dead silence fell over all, as dashing down
the road came some six or eight horses, whose
riders were urging them forward by every means
possible.
The steeds were all without saddles, and they
were supposed to have started at the same instant.
But so anxious was each rider to get the lead that
some had heard the word go a full minute before
the others. As the clatter of hoofs was heard grow-
ing clearer and clearer, the greatest excitement
prevailed in the crowd by which we were sur-
rounded, and all were eager to see which of the
riders would first reach the goal. All the burly
men and the screaming boys prophesied that the
winner would be a certain young man nicknamed
Cayenne, because he had such a fiery temper.
"No one dares beat him," piped a small boy at
my elbow, "'cause Cayenne's the fiercest man in
Brittany!" And, sure enough, he soon came in
view, the foremost in the race, with his red hand-
kerchief flying in the air, and he was greeted with
a loud shout from the assembled crowd.
This first contest was followed by others of a
similar character, but ere long the races were
finished. To us they were very tame perform-
ances, being nothing more than the galloping of a
half-dozen plow-horses. But we derived much
pleasure from watching the breathless and enthu-
siastic interest manifested by the simple people
around us.
From the rude race-track, the crowds repaired
to a large open space in one of the fields behind
the school-house. Here a large circle had been
marked off, and in the center stood a rather feeble-
looking individual, bearing a long pole from which
were suspended various prizes, consisting of gayly
colored handkerchiefs, scarfs, wooden sabots, and
other such trinkets.
Soon we perceived a small boy running around
inside the ring, with his hand high up in the air; this
was a challenge for any one outside the circle to
come in and wrestle with the youthful athlete.
In a few moments the ring was completely filled
with would-be wrestlers, who were struggling in
.each other's embrace in a lively fashion. Every
now and then a man with a drum would com-
mence to beat it in a deafening manner; this was
to indicate that the contest between some pair of


wrestlers was at an end, and that a prize would be
given to one of them.
In the meantime the bearer of the pole with the
prizes had grown very weary, so that to hold the
pole upright was too much for him, and down he
fell, with the whole superstructure on top of him.
A wail of woe went up from all the valiant wrest-
lers, who immediately stopped in the midst of their
combat to gather up the scattered prizes. And
the old man having been set upon his feet, and a
new prize-bearer put in his place, the business in
hand was resumed.
It was curious to see the earnestness and yet the
great good-nature with which the wrestlers con-
tended. At one moment you would have thought
they were mortal enemies engaged in deathly
combat, with such fury did they come on to the
assault; but the next moment the conflict would
suddenly cease, while the combatants adjusted
some article of clothing which had been torn or
misplaced--smiling and chattering with each
other meanwhile in the friendliest manner.
When the wrestling was concluded, the prizes
were distributed, and then might be seen groups
of happy swains, bearing themselves with all the
airs of conquering heroes, and surrounded by ad-
miring groups of relatives and friends, carefully
examining the elegant" prizes.
There was now an intermission of an hour or
more, devoted to luncheon and to visiting the
various shows which crowded the market-place.
The most attractive of these seemed to be the
" Merry-go-round." Not only the little folks, but
the grown people also, would ride around and
around in it, seemingly with the greatest enjoyment.
At two the drum sounded to recall all wander-
ers, and to make known to the boys that the hour
had arrived for them to come forth and display
their prowess in another contest, but of a different
sort.
In front of the hotel had been erected a curious
contrivance made of wood, consisting of two up-
right poles and a revolving cross-piece.
Now, the feat for each of the boys to perform, in
turn, was to climb up one of the poles to the cross-
piece, along which he was to crawl until he reached
the opposite pole. If he accomplished this seem-
ingly easy performance, he was to be allowed to
choose one of many bright-colored handkerchiefs
on a table near by; and if he failed, he would be
sure only of being laughed at by the spectators,
and of getting a tumble of some five or six feet.
The first lad who tried nimbly climbed the pole,
and firmly planted himself on the cross-piece,-
when lo in an instant, before he had a chance to
crawl a single inch, the thing revolved, depositing
him on a bed of straw that had been spread under-








A FETE DAY IN BRITTANY.


neath to prevent any contestant from being hurt
by the fall. What ignominy for the lad, to be
lying there on the ground, when it looked so easy
to reach the other end of the cross-piece !
A second boy now made the attempt, and had
crawled about half-way along the cross-piece when
the thing gave a quick lurch, and left him hanging
with head down and feet convulsively clinging to
the rod, while he writhed and twisted to regain his
hold, the crowd hooting and jeering derisively.
A third, nothing daunted by the failures of his
rivals, nimbly sprang up the pole, cautiously
crawled along the bar, and just as the lookers-on
were about to cheer him for his success,-over he
went, landing flat upon the ground!
But at last a boy was found who reached the
other end of the cross-piece without any mishap;
and loud and long was the applause that rewarded
his efforts as he waved in the air the much-coveted
green and red handkerchief.
For an hour or more this performance was kept
up, only one in every ten being successful, how-
ever; for the cross-piece was so adjusted that
unless the balance was kept perfectly even, it was
sure either to tip or to revolve.
Again the drum beat, this time louder and
longer than before, and soon we saw the crowds
wending their way in the direction of the river.
When we reached it, both banks were already
filled, and it was with difficulty that we found a
place where we could watch the proceedings.
Anchored in the stream was a good-sized boat,
gayly decorated with bright-colored ribbons and
flags. Here were seated the judges and others
having the affair in charge, looking very wise and
important indeed.
The boom of the boat projected some distance
out over the water. It was a good-sized, substan-
tial pole, and would not, ordinarily, have been
very difficult to "walk"; but now it had been
thoroughly oiled, and it fairly glistened in the sun.
On the end were trophies of victory of about the
same value and description as those already dis-
tributed, and including many red shirts and scarfs.
The river was filled with small boats, in readi-
ness to rescue from a watery grave any contestant
who was not an expert swimmer.
By and by appeared the group of boys who were
to attempt the feat,-numbering a dozen or more,
all scantily clothed, as the occasion required, but
looking very determined.
The first fellow stepped carefully on the greased
pole, made one or two convulsive motions with his
arms, and then quietly jumped into the river and
swam for the shore. The second tripped lightly
on the boom, and with great care managed to bal-


ance himself until he had reached the end, and all
the beautiful prizes were within his grasp.
Which should he take ? His fond father on the
shore shouted that beautiful red shirt "; his little
brother cried out "that tin sword"; while he
knew, in his heart, that his mother wanted a rib-
bon. That decided him; a ribbon it should be.
But alas! he had already hesitated too long; he
began to totter, and he made wild efforts to retain
his footing. But in vain. The next moment he
fell like a stone into the river, and he was picked
up by one of the small boats.
But his ardor was not dampened; friends helped
him to scramble up the bank, and in a few mo-
ments he was aboard the boat and trying again;
but this time he was too excited, and he fell in the
river almost at the first step.
Many others made the attempt, with the same
ill success, and but few escaped a ducking. Still,
they tried and tried again, to the intense delight
of the spectators, until all the prizes had been
claimed.
The next performance was the catching the
ducks. And for this, the small boys came forth
again in large numbers, ready to do their best.
A number of ducks with clipped wings were
thrown into the river, and whoever succeeded in
capturing one was entitled to possess it. Wild
and frantic were the efforts made, but the ducks
had a way of their own of escaping their pursuers.
A boy would get so near he could touch the duck
with his hand, but just as soon as he tried to hold
him, the duck, like Paddy's flea, was n't there."
They would jump over the lads' heads and fly in
their faces, meanwhile keeping up a terrible
quacking; but their strength gave out after a
while, and then they fell easy prey to the hands
of their captors.
This brought the day's sports to a close. Even-
ing was fast setting in, and from the market-place
could be heard the strains of the bagpipe and
bignion. This was what the young people had
been waiting for. Couples appeared from every
side and soon were flying through the gavotte,"
the native dance. They would form in lines join-
ing hands, and then with something like a hop,
skip, and a jump, away they would go in a wild
whirl.
The covered market-place was dimly lighted
with candles, and it was a strange, weird sight to
watch the white caps bobbing up and down, here,
there, and everywhere.
By ten o'clock the little village was sound asleep,
and, no doubt, the dreams of its boys and girls,
that night, were of a very rosy hue, for to them
the annual fite is the greatest occasion of the year.


962


[OCTOBER,





1884.1 MASTER SQUIRREL'S REPLY. 963






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HISTORIC BOYS. [OCTOBER,


HISTORIC BOYS.*

BY E. S. BROOKS.


IV.
LOUIS OF BOURBON: THE BOY KING.
.638-1715.
[Louis XIV. of France; afterward known as the Grand
Monarque."'

DID you ever hear or see a mob, boys and girls?
Probably not; but ask father or mother, or uncle,
or any one who remembers the draft riots of 1863
in our own New York, if there is any sound more
terrifying than that threatening, far-away murmur
that grows each second louder and more distinct
until it swells and surges up and down the city
streets-the hoarse, mad shouts of a mob. It was
such a sound as this that on that dreary midnight
of the tenth of February, 1651, filled the dark and
narrow and dismal streets of old Paris, startling all
the inmates of the Palais Royal, as under the
palace windows rose the angry cry:
"The King the King! Down with Mazarin!"
Two anxious-faced young persons; a girl and
a boy of thirteen or thereabout, who were peeping
out into the corridor, looked at one another
inquiringly.
Whatever is the matter, Count ?" asked dainty
little Olympia, the ]l,.-rt. niece of the Queen's
prime minister, Mazarin.
For answer the Il;ht-h' ,r...i young Armand,
Count of Guiche, whom even danger could not rob
of gayety, replied: -- i' ri-:. mam'selle, 't is a
trick that may set us all a livelier dance than your
.J.:lighlItiul ..' bramsle. The people are storming the
palace to save the little king from my lord, your
uncle. They say that the Queen will steal away to
your uncle with his lirti. '.i i-:r and so here come
the people in fury to stay her purpose. Hark!
there they go again !" and as, before the gates,
rose the angry shouts, "the King! the King!
Down with Mazarin!" these sprightly young
people drew hastily back into the security of their
own apartments.
;" Down with Mazarin! It was the rallying cry
that stirred the excitable people of Paris to riot and
violence in those old days of strife and civil war,
over two hundred years ago,-the troublesome
time of the Fronde. The Court of the Queen Re-
gent Anne, the Parliament of Paris, and the great
princes of France were -tru.lrgh; for the mas-
tery, in a quarrel so foolish and unnecessary that
history has called it the war of the children,"


and its very nickname, the Fronde," was taken
from the fronde, or sling, which the mischievous
boys of Paris used in their heedless street fights.
Probably not one half of those who shouted so
loudly Down with Mazarin !" understood what the
quarrel was about, nor just why they showed rage
against the unpopular prime minister of the Queen
Regent, the Italian Mazarin. But they had grown
to believe that the scarcity of bread, the pinching
pains of hunger, the poverty, and wretchedness
which they all did understand were due, somehow,
to this hated Mazarin, and they were therefore
ready to flame up in an instant and to shout
"Down with Mazarin until they were hoarse.
And now in the great palace all is confusion.
"The King! the King! We must see the
King!" shout the swaying crowd. There is a
dash against the trellised gates of the palace, a
dash and then a mighty crash, and, as the outer
gate falls before the people's assault, the great
alarm bell of the palace booms out its note of dan-
ger. Then guards and gentlemen press hastily
toward the royal apartments in defense of the
queen and her sons, while ladies, and pages, and
servants scatter and hide in terror.
But Anne, Queen Regent of France, was as
brave as she was shrewd.
"What is the people's wish ?" she demanded as
the Duc de Beaufort entered her apartment.
"To see his Majesty with their own eyes, they
say," was the reply.
But can they not trust their queen, my lord ?"
she asked.
"Their queen, your Highness? Yes. But not
Mazarin," said the blunt duke.
"Ho, there, d'Aumont," said the Queen to the
captain of the palace guard, "bid that the portals
be opened at once! Draw off your guard. And
you, my lords, stand aside; we will show the king
to our good people of Paris and defeat the plots
of our enemies. Bid the people enter," and, un-
attended, save by M. de Villeroi, the king's
governor, and two of her ladies-in-waiting, she
passed quickly through the gallery that led to
the magnificent bed-chamber of the little King
Louis.
"What is this uproar, madame?" was the
greeting she received from a handsome, auburn-
haired boy of twelve, as she entered the apart-
ment.


* Copyright, 1883, by E. S. Brooks. All rights reserved.


HISTORIC BOYS.


[OCTOBER,







HISTORIC BOYS.


Lie down, my son," said the Queen, and if
ever you seemed to sleep, seem to do so now. Your
safety, your crown, perhaps your life, depend
upon this masking. The people are crowding the
palace, demanding to see with their own eyes that
I have not taken you away."
Young Louis of Bourbon flushed angrily.
"The people !" he exclaimed. "How dare they?
Why does not Villeroi order the Swiss guard to
drive the ruffians out?"
"Hush, my Louis," his mother said. "You
have other enemies than these barbarians of Paris.
Your time has not yet come. Hark, they are
here !"
The angry boy closed his eyes in pretended
sleep, while his mother softly opened the door of
the apartment, and faced the mob alone. For,
obedient to her order, the great portals of the
palace had been opened, and up the broad stair-
case now pushed and scrambled the successful
mob. The people were in the palace of the king.
"Enter, my friends," said the intrepid Queen,
as rough, disordered, and flushed with the novelty
of success the eager crowd halted in presence of
royalty. "Enter, my friends; but-softly! They
said falsely who declared that I sought to steal the
king from his faithful people of Paris. See for
yourselves !" and she swung open the door of the
chamber; "here lies your king!" With ready
hand she parted the heavy curtains of the splendid
bed, and, with finger on lip as if in caution, she
beckoned the people to approach the bedside.
And then came a singular change. For, as they
looked upon the flushed face and the long, disor-
dered hair of that beautiful boy, whose regular
breathing seemed to indicate the healthy sleep of
childhood, the howling, rebellious rabble of the
outer gates became a reverent and loyal -iih.:. .
which quietly and almost noiselessly filed past the
royal bed upon which that strong-willed boy of
twelve lay in a "make-believe sleep.
For two long midnight hours on that memorable
tenth of February, 1651, did mother and son en-
dure this trying ordeal. At length it was over.
The last burgher had departed, the great gates
were closed, the guards were replaced, and, as
shouts of vive le roi" came from the jubilant
crowd without, the boy-king sprang from his
splendid bed and, quivering with shame and rage,
shook his little fist toward the cheering people.
For, from boyhood, young Louis of Bourbon had
been taught to regard himself as the most impor-
tant lad in all the world. Think, then, what a
terrible shock to his pride must have been this
invasion of his palace by the people.
The angry quarrel of the Fronde raged high for
full five months after this midnight reception in


the king's bed-chamber, but at last came the
eventful day which was to fulfill the boy's oft-re-
peated wish-the day of his majority. For, ac-
cording to a law of the realm, a king of France
could be declared of age at thirteen; and young
Louis of Bourbon, naturally a high-spirited lad,
had been made even more proud and imperious
by his surroundings and education. He chafed
under the restraints of the regency, and hailed
with delight the day that should set him free.
It was the seventh of August, 1651. Through
the echoing streets of Paris wound a glittering
cavalcade, gay with streaming banners and a wealth
of gorgeous color. With trumpeters in blue velvet
and heralds in complete armor, with princes and
nobles and high officials mounted on horses gleam-
ing in housings of silver and gold, with horse-
guards and foot-guards, pages and attendants, in
brilliant uniforms and liveries, rode young King
Louis to proclaim himself absolute King of France.
The glittering procession swept into the great hall
of the palace and gathered around the throne. And
there this boy of thirteen, with his plumed and jew-
eled cap on his head, while every one else remained
uncovered, said, in a clear and steady voice:
" Messieurs: I have summoned my Parliament to
inform its members that, in accordance with the
laws of my realm, it is my intention henceforth to
assume the government of my kingdom." Then
princes and lords, from little Monsieur," the ten-
year-old brother of the king, to the gray old mar-
shals of France, bent the knee in allegiance, and
back to the Palais Royal with his glittering pro-
cession, and amid the jubilant shouts of the people,
rode the boy-king of France, Louis of Bourbon.
But alas for the ups and downs of life This
long-wished-for day of freedom did not bring to
young Louis the absolute obedience he expected.
The struggles of the Fronde still continued, and
before the spring of the next year this same
haughty young monarch who, in that gorgeous
August pageant, had glittered "like a golden
statue," found himself with his court, fugitives
from Paris, and crowded into stuffy little rooms or
uncomfortable old castles, fearful of capture, while
not far away the cannons of the two great generals,
Turenne and Cond6, thundered at each other
across the Loire, in all the fury of civil war.
Something of a bully by nature, for all his blood
and kingliness, young Louis seems to have taken
a special delight, during these months of wander-
ing, in tormenting his equally high-spirited brother,
the little "Monsieur"; and there flashes across
the years a very "realistic" picture of a narrow
room in the old chateau of Corbeil, in which, upon
a narrow bed, two angry boys are rolling and pull-
ing and scratching in a bitter "pillow-fight,"


965


i884.1








966 HISTORIC BOYS. LOCTOBE,?,


brought on by some piece of boyish tyranny.
And these two boys are not the frondeurs of
the Paris streets, but the highest dignitaries of
France -her king and her royal prince. Boys will
be boys, you see, whether princes or paupers.
But even intrigue and quarrel may wear them-
selves out. Court and people alike wearied of the
foolish and ineffectual strivings of the Fronde, and
so it was that in the fall of 1652, after a year of
exile, the gates of Paris opened to the king, while
the unpopular Mazarin, so long the object of public
hatred, the man who had been exiled and out-
lawed, hunted and hounded for years, now returned
to Paris as the chief adviser of the boy-king, with
shouts of welcome filling the streets that for so
many years had resounded with the cry of down
with Mazarin !"
And now the gay court of the young Louis
blazed forth in all the brilliancy of pomp and
pleasure. The boy, himself, as courageous in the
trenches and on the battle-field as he was royal
and imperious in his audience-chamber, became
the hero and idol of the people. Life at his court
was very joyous and delightful to the crowd of gay,
fun-loving, and unthinking young courtiers who
thronged around this powerful young king of fif-
teen, and not the least brilliant and lively in the
royal train were Olympia Mancini and the young
Count of Guiche, both proud of their prominence
as favorites of the king.
One-pleasant afternoon in the early autumn of
1653, a glittering company filled the little theater
of the Hotel de Petit Bourbon, near to the Louvre.
The curtain parted, and, now soft and sweet, now
fast and furious, the music rose and fell, as the
company of amateurs-young nobles and demoi-
selles of the court-danced, declaimed, and sang
through all the mirth and action of a lively play.
And, at one side of the stage, waiting their turn
to appear, stood Olympia Mancini and young Count
Armand. With a toss of her pretty head, she was
saying: "And how can you know, Sir Count,
that his Majesty does not mean truthfully all
the pretty things he says to me? Ay, sir, and
perhaps --"
Well! perhaps what, Mam'selle? Count Ar-
mand asked, as the imperious little lady hesitated
in her speech.
"Perhaps-well-who knows? Perhaps, some
day, Count Armand, you may rue on bended knee
the sharp things you are now so fond of saying to
me-to me, who may then be-Olympia, Queen
of France "
Armand laughed softly. Ho, stands my lady
there? he said. "I kiss your Majesty's hand,
and sue for pardon," and he bent in mock rever-
ence. But, come, they are calling us," and, with


a gay song upon their gossipy lips, the merry pair
danced in upon the stage, while a richly costumed
Fury circled around them in a mad whirl. And
amid the plaudits of the spectators the three bowed
low in acknowledgment, but the Fury received by
far the largest share of the applause-for you
must know that the madly whirling Fury was
none other than his gracious Majesty, Louis, King
of France, who, passionately fond of amateur the-
atricals, sometimes appeared in four or five differ-
ent characters in a single piece.
That very evening the most select of the court
circle thronged the spacious apartments of the
queen mother in attendance at the ball given to
the widowed Queen of England, who, since the
execution of her unfortunate husband, Charles the
First, had found shelter at the court of her cousin
Louis. And with her came her daughter, the little
Princess Henrietta, a fair and timid child of eleven.
The violins sounded the call to places in the
brausle, the favorite dance of the gay court, and
Count Armand noted the smile of triumph which
Mam'selle Olympia turned toward him, as King
Louis solicited her hand for the dance. And yet
she paused before accepting this invitation, for she
knew that the honor of opening the dance with the
king belonged to the little Henrietta, the guest of
the evening. She was still halting between desire
and decorum, when Anne, the queen mother,
rising in evident surprise at this uncivil action of
her son, stepped down from her seat and quietly
withdrew the young girl's hand from that of the
king.
"My Louis," she said, in a low voice, "this is
but scant courtesy to your cousin and guest, the
Princess of England."
The boy's face flushed indignantly at this inter-
ference with his wishes, and looking towards the
timid Henrietta, he said, with singular rudeness:
"'T is not my wish, madame, to dance with the
Princess. I am not fond of little girls."
His mother looked at him in quick displeasure.
And the Queen of England, who had also heard
the ungallant reply, keenly felt her position of
dependence on so ungracious a relative, as she
hastened to say, "Pardon, dear cousin, but do
not, I beg, constrain his Majesty to dance contrary
to his wishes. The Princess Henrietta's ankle is
somewhat sprained and she can dance but ill."
The imperious nature of Anne of Austria yielded
neither to the wishes of a sulky boy nor to the
plea of a sprained ankle. "Nay, your Majesty,"
she said, I pray you let my desires rule. For,
by my word, if the fair Princess of England must
remain a simple looker-on at this, my ball, to-night,
then, too, shall the King of France."
With a face still full of anger Louis turned away,


966


HISTORIC BOYS.


[OCTOBER,







1884.] HISTORIC BOYS. 967


and when the music again played the opening
measures, a weeping little princess and a sulky
young king danced in the place of honor. For
the poor Henrietta had also overheard the rude
words of her mighty cousin of France.
As, after the ball, the king and his mother
parted for the night, Anne said to her son: My
dear Louis, what evil spirit of discourtesy led you
to so ungallant an action towards your guest, this
night? Never again, I beg, let me have need
openly to correct so grave a fault."
"Madame," said Louis, turning hotly towards
his mother, "who is the lord of France--Louis
the King or Anne of Austria? "
The Queen started in wonder and indignation at
this outburst; but the boy's proud spirit was up,
and he continued, despite her protests.
"Too long," he said, "have I been guided by
your leading-strings. Henceforth I will be my
own master, and do not you, madame, trouble
yourself to criticise or correct me. I am the
king."
And thus the mother who had sacrificed and
suffered so much for the son she idolized found
herself overruled by the haughty and arrogant
nature she had, herself, done so much to foster.
For, from that tearful evening of the Queen's ball
to the day of his death, sixty-one years after,
Louis of Bourbon, called the Great, ruled as abso-
lute lord over his kingdom of France, and the boy
who could say so defiantly: Henceforth I will be
my own master," was fully equal to that other
famous declaration of arrogant authority made,
years after, in the full tide of his power: I am
the state!"
On the afternoon of an April day in the year
1654, a brilliant company gathered within the old
chateau of Vincennes, for the royal hunt which
was to take place on the morrow. In the great
hall all was mirth and fun, as around the room
raced king and courtiers in a royal game of clig-
nemusette"-" hoodman blind" or "blindman's
buff," as we now know it. Suddenly the blind-
folded king felt his arm seized, and the young
Count of Guiche, who had just entered, whispered,
Sire, here is word from Fouquet that the parlia-
ment have moved to reconsider the registry of
your decree."
The boy-king tore the bandage from his eyes
in a tempest of anger.
"How dare they?" he said; "how dare they
question my demands !"
Now, it seems that this decree looked to the
raising of money for the pleasures of the king, by
M. Fouquet, the royal Minister of Finance, and so
anxious had Louis been to secure it that he had
attended the parliament himself, to see that his


decree received prompt registry. How dared they
then think twice as to the king's wishes ?
"Ride you to Paris straight, De Guiche," he
said, "and, in the King's name, order that parlia-
ment re-assemble to-morrow. I will attend their
session, and then let them reconsider my decree
if they dare "
Olympia Mancini heard the command of the
King. "To-morrow? Oh, sire!" she said; "to-
morrow is the royal hunt. How can we spare your
Majesty? How can we give up our sport?"
"Have no fear, mam'selle," said the King, I
will meet my parliament to-morrow, but this trivial
business shall not mar our royal hunt. Together
will we ride down the stag."
At nine o'clock the next morning parliament
re-assembled as ordered by the king, and the
representatives of the people were thunderstruck
to see the king enter the great hall of the palace
in full hunting costume of scarlet coat, high boots,
and plumed gray beaver. Behind him came a
long train of nobles in hunting suits also. Whip
in hand and hat on head, this self-willed boy of
sixteen faced his wondering parliament, and said:
Messieurs: It has been told me that it is the
intention of some members of your body to oppose
the registration of my edicts as ordered yesterday.
Know now that it is my desire and my will that in
future all my edicts shall be registered at once
and not discussed. Look you to this; for, should
you at any time go contrary to my wish, by my
faith, I will come here and enforce obedience!"
Before this bold assertion of mastership the great
parliament of Paris bent in passive submission. The
money was forthcoming, and in less than an hour
the boy-king and his nobles were galloping back
to Vincennes, and the royal hunt soon swept
through the royal forest.
Thus, we see, nothing was permitted to stay the
tide of pleasure. Even the battle-field and the
siege were turned into spectacles, and, by day and
night, the gay court rang with mirth and folly.
In the great space between the Louvre and the
Tuileries, since known as the Place de Carrousel,
the summer sky of 1654 arched over a gorgeous
pageant. The trumpets of the heralds sounded,
and into the lists, with pages and attendants, gal-
lant in liveries of every hue, rode the gay young
nobles of the court, gleaming in brilliant costume
and device, like knights of old, ready to join in
the games of the mock tournament. But the cen-
ter of every game, the victor in all the feats of
skill and strength, was the boy-king, Louis of
Bourbon, as in a picturesque suit of scarlet and
gold he rode his splendid charger like a statue.
And as the spectators noted the white and scarlet
scarf that fell from the kingly shoulder in a great


967


x884.]


HIISTORIC BOYS.







HISTORIC BOYS.


band, and the scarlet hat with snow-white plume,
they saw, by looking at the fair young queen of
beauty," Olympia Mancini, in her drapery of
scarlet damask and white, that King Louis wore
her colors, and thus announced himself as her
champion in the lists.
And Count Armand could see by the look of
triumph and satisfaction in Olympia's pretty face,
as she ruled queen of the revels, that already she
felt herself not far from the pinacle of her ambi-
tion, and saw herself in the not distant future as
Olympia, Queen of France !
But alas for, girlish fancies Louis, the King,
was as fickle in his affections as he was unyielding
in his mastership.
Sire," said the Count de Guiche, as the next
day a gay throng rode from. the. mock tournament
to another great hunt in the forest of Vincennes,
" why does not the fair Olympia ride with the hunt
to-day? "
"Ah, the saucy Mazarinette,"' the King said,
surlily, using the popular nickname given to the
nieces of his minister, "she played me a .pretty
trick last night, and I will have none of her, I
say "; .and then he told the condoling count, who,
however, was in the secret, how at the great.ball
after the tournament, the maiden, whose. colors he
had worn, had exchanged suits with his brother,
the little "Monsieur," and so cleverly was the
masquerading done, that he, the great King Louis,
was surprised by the laughing Olympia, making
sweet speeches to his own brother, thinking that
he was talking to the mischievous maiden.
This was too much even .for the young courtier,
and he burst out a-laughing. But the King was
sulky. For Louis of Bourbon, like many a less-
titled lad, could enjoy any joke save one played
upon himself, and the mischievous Olympia lived
to regret her joking of a king. Once at odds with
her, the King's fancies flew from one fair damsel to
another, finally culminating when, in 166o, he mar-
ried, for state reasons only, in the splendid palace
on the Isle of Pheasants, reared specially for the
occasion, the young'Princess Maria Theresa, In-
fanta of Spain, and daughter of his uncle, King
Philip the Fourth.
From here the boy merges into the man, and
we must leave him. 'Strong of purpose, clear-
headed and masterful, Louis the Fourteenth ruled
as King of France for seventy-two years-the
most powerful-monarch in Christendom. Hand-
some in' person, majestic in .bearing, dignified,


lavish, and proud; ruling France in one of the
most splendid periods of its history-a period
styled "the Augustan age" of France; flattered,
feared, and absolutely obeyed, one would think,
boys and girls, that so powerful a monarch must
have been a happy man. But he was not. He
lived to see children and grandchildren die around
him, to see the armies of France, which he thought
invincible, yield again and again to the superior
generalship of Marlborough and Prince Eugene,
and to regret with deep remorse the follies and
extravagance of his early days. "My child," he
said to his great-grandson and heir, the little five-
year-old Louis, you are about to become a great
king; do not imitate me either in my taste for
building, or in my love of war. Endeavor, on
the contrary, to live in peace with the neighboring
nations; render to God all that you owe him, and
cause his name to be honored by your subjects.
Strive to relieve the burdens of your people, as I,
alas! have failed to do."
It is for us to remember that kings and conquer-
ors are often unable to achieve the grandest suc-
cess of life,-the ruling of themselves, and that
flattery and fear are not the true indications of
greatness or of glory. No sadder instance of this
in all history is to be found than in the life-story
of this cold-hearted, successful, loveless, imperious,
all-supreme, and yet friendless old man-one of
the world's most powerful monarchs, Louis of
Bourbon, Louis the grand monarque, Louis the
worn-out old man of Versailles.




FROM the patrician emperor of old Rome to the
patrician citizen of modern America these sketches
of historic boys have extended. They represent
but a few from that long list of remarkable boys,
who, through the ages, have left their mark upon
their times,-lads who, even had they died in their
"teens" would still havebeen worthy of record
as "historic boys." The lessons of their lives are
manifold. They tell of 'pride and selfishness, of
tyranny and wasted power, of self-reliance and
courage, of patience and manliness. History is
but the record of opportunities for action, and op-
portunities are never wanting. :They exist to-day
in the cities of the New World, even as they did
ages ago in the valley of Elah and in the Forum
of Rome.


968


[OCTOBER,






x884.] A FAMILY JINGLE. 969



"STOP!"






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VOL. XI.-62.






[OCTOBEa,


ON TEACHING THE EYE TO KNOW WHAT IT SEES.


WORK AND PLAY FOR YOUNG FOLK.


ON TEACHING THE EYE TO KNOW WHAT IT SEES.

BY FRANK BELLEW-


ONE of the most experienced artists in New
York remarked recently that he believed the time
would come when schools would be established to
teach the eye how to see, just as schools are formed
now to educate the voice. Such schools undoubt-
edly are needed. Many of my young readers
have heard or read about optical illusions, the
curious mistakes which the eye sometimes makes
concerning an object at which it is looking; but
few of us know how frequently we ourselves are
the victims of optical illusions of one sort or
another. The facts, we see nearly as much with
our experience as we see with our eyes. We know
an object to be of a certain form in one position,
and of a certain color in one light; and we are
too apt to fancy that we see it of that form and
color in all positions and lights, regardless of the
fact that, seen from another stand-point, the con-
tour of it may appear entirely different, and that a
different light may totally change the color of it.
We all know that the actual color of clean boots
is black, and a beginner in painting almost always
paints them perfectly black, whereas the direct
rays of the sun or of an artificial light may make
them appear nearly white in parts; while if they
be placed near some bright substance, such as a
piece of orange-peel, or a crimson scarf, they will


reflect the color of that object, and so become
orange or red in parts, and an expert painter
would so represent them. We hear people speak
of "the white of the eye," and beginners with
the brush often give a very ghastly expression to
their attempts at portraiture by painting the white
of the eye pure white; whereas, owing to the pro-
jection of the brows, the lids, and the lashes, it is
often thrown into deep shade, and may be even
darker than some of the flesh tints. Now, if their
eyes were trained like those of a skilled artist,
they would know the true color of all objects they
beheld. But this is the very hardest thing an
artist has to learn, namely, to know really what
he does see.
In coloring, almost everything depends upon
the nature of the light. A white handkerchief is
black in. a dark room.
An excellent aid to the study of color is to
take a white card, and with your paints try to
match on it some tint in any oil-painting,
chromo, or even colored fabric which you may
have. Then cut a small hole in the card adjoining
your tint, and place the card over the tint you have
copied, so that you can see it through the.hole,
side by side with your own attempt. Then you will
see at once how nearly you have matched the tint.


BR BRR06dREBFRBR5


jn +Tis department, next month, i. RicRolas will

maKe offer of One Hundred Dollars in prices for the

baest 9l:at toPy for G irls, written by a irl. Pull

particulars will be piven in the Rovember issue.


_ ~


970








ON TEACHING THE EYE TO KNOW WHAT IT SEES.


Some people, as we know, are color-blind, or
unable to distinguish one color from another;
while some races, particularly the people of India,


FIG. I.-A MECHANICAL AID TO DRA

can perceive a great variety of shades, which the
most cultivated European eye fails to distinguish.
But if color is deceptive, so are form and size;
and, as to these, we see, even more than in the
case of color, with our experience rather than with
-our eyes. If it were possible for a person who had
been born blind to be suddenly endowed with
:sight, and with the faculty of drawing, I have little
doubt that he would delineate objects presented
-to him more correctly than one who had always
had the use of his eyes. It is good practice for
beginners in drawing to make strenuous efforts to
look at all objects as merely masses of light and
shade. To this end it is well to look at the thing
to be delineated, with half-closed cyes, so that


its details may appear dimmed; or, to attain the
same effect, a piece of gauze may be held before
the eyes. And while suggesting expedients, I
may mention that you can
make for yourself a capital
mechanical aid to accurate
drawing by taking a hollow
frame,- a box with the bot-
tom removed is the best,-
and dividing one of the
open ends into squares by
means of threads placed
cross-wise and perpendicu-
larly, as shown in the illus-
tration. Set up this frame
at a distance of several feet
from your eye, between you
:- and the object you wish to
draw, so that you see the
object and its surroundings
(or the piece of landscape)
through the frame, divided
into squares by the threads.
Then divide your paper
S into similar squares with
pencil lines corresponding
to the threads, and, guided
S by the threads and the lines,
you have only to copy the
picture that is framed by
the box.
As an illustration of our
natural tendency to see
with our experience, rather
than with our eyes, observe
how children when they
first begin to draw gener-
ally represent the nose of
a full face, in profile,--and
put a full-face eye into a
WING. profile face, as represented
in Figures 2 and 3.
In his first attempts, too, the school-boy pictures
the feet invariably in profile, and the hands flat,







ON TEACHING THE EYE TO KNOW WHAT IT SEES. (OCTOBER,


as if spread out on a table. To put either a hand the experiment of trying to-indicate the supposed
or foot in any other position, utterly baffles him. height of a silk hat. It is probably familiar to most
But hands and feet are the most difficult things of you. Ask any one who has not tried it, to indicate
on the wall, with the point
of a cane, the level to
which he thinks a gen-
tleman's silk hat would
reach if placed upon the
FIG. 8.
floor. In nine cases out
Soften, the person asked
S. will touch the wall at a
I .,-.- -.,- -" / height of from ten to
-twelve inches above the
S'' floor, whereas a silk hat
.. is rarely more than six
S .- inches high... How de-
ceptive, too, is the length
.- ofahorse'shead. Itseems
S'r almost incredible that it
S- should be as long as a
Sflour-barrel; yet such is
S. the fact. Thorough-bred
V.) ,I, steeds have smaller heads.
S' i than ordinary horses; but
SI find that the -1. -.. of
a certain famous racer
Measures two feet and
two inches in length, while
I the height of a flour-barrel
Si is but two feet four inches.
-.' There are few things
... .--- i j. so puzzling to estimate
'- 7 correctly, at sight, as the
size and form of objects
-_ "'-- "-'---'- .... -- .._ -' seen "in perspective," as
FIG. 9. the artists say. To illus-
trate this: Look at the
which even the artist finds to draw. Look at triangle.shown in Figure 8. That :.rbl. triangle
these two black forms, Figures 4 and 5. Would would hardly suggest, to the unpracticed eye, the
you think that they represented the outlines of a rails of several miles of railway; yet two lines of










FIG. 4. FIG. 6. .*
hand and a foot? Yet a glance at the annexed
diagrams, Figures 6 and 7, will show you that the FIG. FIG. 7.
hand and the foot very often assume the forms which
are outlined, respectively, in the two silhouettes, the same triangle appear, as the rails, in the sketch
The extent to which form will influence and above (Fig. 9), wherein the track is seen in per-
pervert our perception of size is well illustrated in spective."


972







ON TEACHING THE EYE TO KNOW WHAT IT SEES.


As a simple aid to the
study of perspective, I
have devised a little in-
strument, which may be
improved into a pretty
and amusing toy, as well
as an instructive one.
Take a sheet of card-
board about eight inches
high and five inches wide,















































and on it trace a copy of
the diagram shown on
this page Cut a round
hole at A, and cut away
the corners of the card-


board all around, down
to theouterrule. Then,
turning your card on
its face, lay a flat ruler
across it from M to K,
and with the point of a
sharp penknife cut a
line into the card-board
(but not through it) be-
tween these points, so







ij I.






































that the side will easily
bend squarely up, along
the line of the cutting.
Do the same from L to
N and from G to F


973







THE YOUNG ARTIST.


and from H to I. Cut entirely through the card-
board, however, from G to B, from F to E, from
H to C, and from I to D. Now fold the four
sides of the diagram up into the form of a box, and
paste the corners of the ends (marked Gum ")
to the outside of the sides.
Now, if you look through the round hole, A,
you will see a very long street, the roadway of the
greater part of which will be formed by the little
triangle, which looks so insignificant in the draw-
ing.
Of course, the effect will be improved if you are
enough of an artist to make the drawing upon a
larger scale than that of the one here shown, -
or if some friend will make an enlarged drawing
for you. In that case a good way to make the
model is to draw your diagram on paper and then
paste its parts on the inside of a long box. The
boxes in which ladies' corsets are packed are admi-
rably suited for the purpose. By this means you
get a stronger and stiffer model, although you may
find a little trouble in pasting the drawing neatly
and accurately inside the box.
By coloring the houses red, and brown, and
white, and the sky blue, the effect will be very
much improved.
From a careful study of this model, you will get


a very good idea of the first principles of perspec-
tive, which are very difficult to acquire from any
kind of written explanation. Your eye will thus
be taught to know what it sees when it views forms
"in perspective," and you will realize that you
have not before understood many of the reports of
your own eyesight.
I do not know how useful this education of the
eye might be to the world at large, except on the
general principle that, in all things, accuracy is
preferable to inaccuracy; but for all persons who
are destined to be engaged in works of skill, from
the mechanic to the artist, the training would
undoubtedly be of great benefit.
In the present day, accuracy of eye is necessary
in a great variety of callings, not only for the me-
chanic, in the production of manufactures, and the
merchant, who must judge of the products, but for
the thousands of employees on railroads, steam-
boats, and ferries, where the safety of life and
property often depends, in great degree, upon this
accuracy.
With the artist, the training of his eye to know
what it sees should precede all other studies, or, at
least, should keep step with every advance which
he makes in the skill and dexterity belonging to
his art.


THE YOUNG ARTIST.

BY R. W. LOWRIE.

OUR Bessie drew something, quite quickly and well,
But what was intended, could nobody tell;
It was not a dog, and it was not a cat,
So she gave it a tail and she called it a rat.
But the tail was so funny, we all had to laugh,
Then she rubbed it all out, and she next drew a
calf.
The calf, we all told her, was much like a sheep,
Or a pig half awake, or a goat half asleep.
And never was artist in greater distress,
Nor more persevering than poor little Bess.
Her fence was too crooked, her trees were too
straight;
Her house always toppled half over the gate;
Her windows were never alike in their size,-
She could n't see right for the tears in her eyes.
But Uncle and Aunty soon bought her a rule,
And a book and a pencil, and sent her to school.
And the dear little artist is learning so well,
That her pigs from her cows you can easily tell.


974


[OCTOBER,






FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK.


THE DOG THAT


/
WATCH is a good dog. His master has a cart full of new potatoes.
Watch holds the reins in his mouth, and drives the gentle old horse while
his master goes along the sidewalk, from house to house, saying: "New
po-ta-toes Want to buy any fine new potatoes to-day, ma'am?"
Watch and Old Steady, the horse, are great friends.


975


Isl i~

'' '" J::








976

10th
I MONTH.


9RHE ST. nIGHOLAS PIlMANAG

BY ROYAL AND BARR HILL. |


OCTOBER,


OcTOBER now invites the Sun And so he leaves us for a while
A Scorpion chase to try, To sweep the southern sky.

Day Day Moon's Moon's Sun on
of of Age. Place. Noon Holidays and Incidents.
SM Week. Mark.
H. M. SPORT FOR THE MONTH.
1 Wed. 12 Aqua. 11.49
2 Thur. 13 Pisces 11.49 Andre executed, 1780. PARTRIDGE in the fields are drumming.
Hark! The hunters now are coming.
3 Fri. 14 11.49 Now each boy gets out his gun,
4 Sat. FULL 11.49 C eclipsed in rising. And with hope for sportsman's fun
5 5 16 Aries 11.48 17th Sunday after Trinity. Speeds away, away, away,
6 Mon. 17 11.48 Venus and Jup. nr. Reg. To the woods so brown and gay.
7 Tues. 18 Taurus 11.48 Jupiter very close to Reg.
8 Wed. 19 11.47 Alfieri, died 1803. EVENING SKIES FOR YOUNG ASTRONOMERS.
9 Thur. 20 Orion 11.47 C near Saturn. (See Introduction, page 255, ST. NICHOLAS for January.)*
10 Fri. 21 Gemini 11.47 Benjamin West, born 1738.
11 Sat. 22 Cancer 11.47 America discovered, 1492. OCTOBER 15th, 8.30 P. I.
12 n rinty. SATURN is just on the eastern horizon and will be a fine
12 23 11.46 18thSundayafter Trinity. object in the eastern sky about eleven o'clock. Aldebaran in
13 Mon. 24 Leo 11.46 Taurus, which we saw near SATURN in January is not very
14 Tues. 26 Sextant 11.46 C nr. Venus and Jupiter. far off, for SATURN moves so slowly among the stars that it
15 Wed. 6 Leo 11 4,6 takes him thirty years to make that circuit of the zodiac
15 Wed. 2 Leo 11.46 constellations which the sun appears to, and the earth really
16 Thur. 27 11.45 Kosciusko, died 1817. does, make in one year, and the moon makes in less than a
17 Fri. 28 11.45 Burgoyne surrend'd 1777. month. In fact, the moon changes her place among the stars
S1 Sat. NEW 11.45 more in a single day than SATURN does in a whole year.
SSat. .NW 11. Low down in the south is the most southern of the bright
19 &. 1 11.45 19th Sunday after Trinity. stars we see during the year. It is Fomalhaut. To persons
20 1Mon. 2. 11.45 Moon near Mars. living at the Cape of Good Hope or in Chili in South Amer-
21 Tues. Scorpio 11.45 B e of Trfa ica this star passes overhead, just as Lvra does with is.
21 Tues. 3 Scorpio 11.45 Battle of Trafalgar, 1803. The Square of Pegasus is now nearly upright, and the first
22 Wed. 4 Ophiuch 11.44 two stars, Markab the lower one and Sheat the upper one, are
23 Thur. 5 Sagit. 11.44 Marshal Junot, born 1771. within less than an hour of being over our south mark.
24 Fri. 6 11.4 Daniel Webster, died 1852 High up in the east below the W of the constellation of
2 F DanielWebster, died 18 Cassioeia, is the constellation Perseus. It lies mostly along
25 Sat. 7 11.44 (26) C p. ov. star 9.15 P.M. the Millky Way to the east of Capella. Its most prominentstar,
26 8 Capri. 11.44 20th Sunday after Trinity. the highest on the edge of the Milky Way, is Mirfac. The
27 Mon. 9 Aqua. 11.44 Capt. J. Cook, hborn 728 other bright star to the south of it is the remarkable variable
7 Mon. 9 Aqua. 11.4 Capt. J. Cook, born 1728 star Algot, which fades and brightens again very mysteriously,
28 Tues. 10 11.44 Cuba discovered,. 1492. once in every period of about two days and twenty-one hours.
29 Wed. 11 11.44 Metz surrendered, 1870. Don't forget the occultation, as it is called, of Beta Capri by
30 Thur. 12 Pisces 11.44 B She n, bn171 the moon, on the evening of the 26th, and the near approach of
11.4 R.B.Sheridan,bo 1. VENUS and JUPITER to the star Regulus, before dawn, on
31 Fri. 13 11.44 All Hallow E'en. the morning of the 6th.


THE BEAR AND THE RABBIT.


How is your October ale?." said the Rabbit to a big black Bear. "I heard you were bruin, so I
thought I would step round and bring you some hops."
Glad you did! said the big black Bear, as he gobbled him up; I have been waiting for a nare-bit for
some time."
Mercy! said the rest of the Rabbit family, who had been watching at a safe distance. ".Guess we 'd
better go home without the ale; or something will ail us." So saying, they turned around and hopped off.

*The names of planets are printed in capitals,- those of constellations in italics.


j


I








977

I 31
1884. Fo0 BOYS AND GIIRLS. DAYs.


















pi
















WINE will be plenty thiis year cried October, staggering in under a great load of vines. I shall
have about all I can do to attend to these, Mother, and I 'm afraid the trees will not be so brilliant as usual
this year, for I don't see how I shall get time to dye them, and you know there is plenty of other work to
be done."
It does seem as if all the odds and ends of the year were left for you, my clearr" said Mother Nature,
"and I know you have a busy time of it. But I should miss my pretty scarlet leaves and berries so much !
You must ripen the nuts, and, if possible, give a bit of frost before you go, to open the burrs a little; the squir-
rels are growing impatient, to say nothing of the children. You ought to get the robins started, too, on their
way to the South."
"Well," said October, I have a sunny temper, and I '11 be as lively as I can; I suppose I must do what





SAID the Shagbark to the Chestnut, Miss Chinquapin will come with them,
Is it time to leave the burr?" And appy I shall e."
"I don't know," replied the Chestnut,
"There's Hazel Nut- ask her. Then Butternut spoke up and said:
"'T will not be long before

Besides, I 'm in no hurry
To increase the squirrels' store. With Hickory and Walnut,
Good company I'll keep,
SA telegram from Peanut says And there, until Thanksgiving,
That she is on the way; Together we shall sleep."
And the Pecan Nuts are ripening,
In Texas, so they say." Said the Shagbark: "I am tired
Of being cooped up here;
Just here the little Beech Nut, I want to go to see the world;
In his three-cornered hat, Pray, what is there to fear?
Remarked in tiny piping voice:
SI'ml glad to hear of that; I'll stay up here no longer;
I'l just go pouncing down.
"For then my charming cousin So good-bye, Sister Chestnut!
So very much like me, We 'll meet again in town."








JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.


I .n
,.


l '\ I


..




















expect to find in a century of Octobers.
Bless him, my girls; throw qp your caps for
him, my boys; and one and all give him three
hearty cheers. Let everybody come to his Birth-
Now I read you a letter about








"GARDEN QUESTIONS" ANSWERED.

HERE is the first correct set of answers to A
Few S NICOLAS" is eleven years old thi month,
and a fine, lusty young magazine as one cold







expect to fin read in a century of October of S. NICHLA
your few sim, myple garden questions, and thought I would try to
him, my boys; and one and all give him three
heart k cheers. Let everybody come to his Birth-
day Party, here on my meadow, next month.







The fern grows its seed under its surface. I have never fond about
"GARDEN QUESTIONS" ANSWERED.






HERE i s th e first correct set ofr a nstant reader of
Few Simple Garden Questions":





DEAR JACK I read in the August number of ST. E. M.NICHOLAS
your fews imp le garden questions,ho ol-ma'am, who sauld that
answer some.




The leaf thaears the letter V isfound the clover; the leaf that bears
show him this old "jingle" byhorse-shoe is the geranium. If you pull theeditor:
Star of Bethlehem to pieces, the stamens and pistils will form a lyre.
In the larkspur, which is a double sam-flower, are very pretty doves.
The fern grows its seed you a pair its surface. less have never found two
eces of ribbon-grass exactly alike. From a constant reader ofthis do,






I 'H pluck a heart-flower* just for you.
ST. NICHOLAS. L. E. M.






The dear Littlets hang close on a bending sprays that
L. E. M. has nod every heart found the best lyre, asks me to






How shall you find it? I 'll tell you true:
You gently sunder the heart in editor:






And, under the color, as white as milk,
I know where there with its strings of silk."hoe-
Tiny and fair and ready for you;
It hides away in the balsam-flower,
But I'II find you a pair in less than an hour.

"t Thank you my laddie; now this I'I do,
I '11 pluck a heart-flower* just for you.
The hearts hang close on a bending spray;
And every heart hides a lyre away.

How shall you find it. I'II tell you true:
You gently sunder the heart in two,
And, under the color, as white as milk,
You '1 find the lyre with its strings of silk."


THE SQUIRREL AND THE DOG.
MADISON, Wis., August 9, 1884.
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: I want to tell you a little story about
;- ri.:-.; i. i i-. i.r 1.. i the park here. There are lots of little
.* i..: .. i One day a dog began chasing one of
II'.] rl.. -....rr.i r ... ,. tree, and the dog began barking athim.
1 -.: :.i,:i i.:. l.. -i ling back to the dog as much as to
say to him, you're a great deal bigger than I am, but you can't
1.. :.: ....h ',,.r rl.- ........ii ,i ... i r. he had teased the
0 : :.,.,, Ir,: ';..r-ri .-i r ., *; ..: Ji ur' the dog'sback, and
1- .: ... ,ii i.-. .. i. I....: away. The squirrel
ran back up the tree in great glee. From your affectionate little
reader, KATIE M. THOMPSON.

VENERABLE DOGS AND HORSES.

You probably remember, my attentive friends,
ihL ;ii J[uly last we read a great many replies to
ti-.: qL L. T1- 1v 1 1::kLed -., :, i April concerning

.- I .iak-.l "nly ,r .r ie.p I:.: b-:a- upon personal
knowledge, it was surprising to see how many au-
thentic instances were then made known of dogs
livinIr over fourteen,, and horses over thirty years
.-.f ,ie. Well, they were not all. Many letters
were laid over for the personal consideration of the
Deacon and the dear Little School-ma'am; and now
I am requested by those two very good and hon-
ored friends of yours to complete the record. So.
here is the pith of the most interesting replies :

ALBERT W. C., of Brooklyn, sends authentic account of Sor-
rel," a horse of thirty-five years now living, and adds: His owner
keeps him more for what he has been than for what he is now."

WALTHAM.
We have a neighbor whose horse is known to be thirty-six years
old. It may interest your readers to know that I had a canary-bird
that lived to the age of thirteen years. Your friend, JosIE FORD.

STREATHAM, S. W., ENGLAND.
We had a gray and black Pomeranian dog, called "Rab," which
was fifteen years old when he died, last July. ETHEL M. M.

NELLIE PHELPS, of Cuba, knows two dogs which are past eighteen
years of age. M. C. G. says that his friend B. S. Gifford, of West-
port, Mass., owned a black-and-tan dog that lived to be seventeen
years old, and was then killed by an accident. L. M. D., of Cali-
fornia, writes that he has adog "twenty-one years of .? sd Il *e
yet." H. F., of Govanstown, Md., sent a fine photog. i. I. .'-1
Sam," a favorite horse of Gen. Berry, of Baltimore; also an account
in a local newspaper of the death of this noble animal -" a bob-
tailed bright bay, having reached the remarkable age of thirty-nine
years, eleven months, and seventeen days." This veteran horse
would have been forty years old had he lived fourteen days longer.

RUTLAND, VT.
My uncle, who lives in Burlington, Vt., used to own a horse that
is now thirty-one years old, and shows no sign of.dying yet.
My cousin had a dog that lived to be nearly sixteen years old, and
then did not die a natural death, but was shot.
My father once had a pony that lived over thirty-four years.
C. W. ALLEN.

GREAT BARRINGTON, MASS.
My grandmother had a horse that lived to be forty-one years old.
Grandmamma has now in use a horse thirty-three years of age. Mr.
B., a friend of ours, owns one which has lived twenty-seven years,
and is as spry as one of six.
Then, I knew personally of a Newfoundland dog sixteen years old.
Yours truly, JOHN H. C.

DANVILLE, ILLINOIS.
Our neighbor had a dog which was bought for his eighteen-year-
old son, when a baby. They kept him until last fall, when he had
to be destroyed, for he had the rheumatism, and suffered dreadfully.
I mean the dog, of course.
Ever your ardent admirer, GRACE MILDRED B.


* Dicentra carcullaa.


[OCTOBER,








JAC-K-I-N-THE-PULPIT.


SAN FRANCISCO, CAL.
I think it may interest you and the readers of ST. NICHOLAS to
hear about a little dog of my uncle's. It is now sixteen years old,
and is so small that my uncle has carried it all over Europe with
him in his pocket. It is a very valuable species of black-and-tan.
It was named after some great Russian general. I believe it is Von
Moltke Your friend, L. F. H.

OFFICE OF CHIEF OF POLICE, CITY HALL,
PROVIDENCE, R. I., May 28, 1884.
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: I have gathered the following facts
in relation to our fourfooted companions, viz., dogs, from the
owners personally; the following-named persons have dogs over
fourteen:
Sylvester L. Ripley, Chatham Street, Newfoundland, aged fifteen.
Ellery Sears, hotel, Canal Street, skye terrier, sixteen years old.
Michael Cummings, Broadway, yellov ( i:. ..... -. years old.
Peleg A. James, Chalkstone Avenue, ...'...ul_.,, A.,, ged fifteen.
Wm. H. Fenner, 133 Fountain Street, Scotch terrier, aged fifteen.
Thomas Lincoln, Providence, black-and-tan, fifteen years old.
Edwin Gorham, Providence, greyhound, fifteen years old.
Samuel M Noyes, of this city, has an Fsquimaux dog that is in
the neighborhood of fifteen years of age, the dog invariably comes
with Mr. Noyes to my office, and sits up on his haunches near me
while I make out the necessary paper to ensure his longevity.
After making out the license, I give it to the dog, who carries it
to his master, and then returns to me, .ri- ,...r,.-. i.'. I .. ; hI e
evinces his pleasure after paying by *.-j, I. -- r I arl i.,. i ... -
tinual wagging of his tail, and a knowing look as he passes out can
be construed that he knows he is all right for one more year. And,
as far as the license paper is concerned, he is. :' -.
One gentleman in this city owns afine .. 1 ... I.. rI nby
all his neighbors, and they are in the l.bI..l .:I .-, .. i.- I.:.r i-en-

-- 4*-


nies, which he takes to his master, a trick taught him by a former
owner, and being rewarded by a soda-cracker. The gentleman in-
formed me that during one year the dog collected nineteen dollars
and eighty-five cents. The animal will take nothing but a penny,
refusing nickels and silver. He is a great friend of the children, and
many a penny teased from indulgent fathers, which otherwise would
be spent for candy, goes into the dog's mouth.
Yours truly, S. F. BLANDING.

WESSINGTON, DAKOTA.
I have seen a horse that was thirty-five; and then he did not
die a natural death, but fell from a cliff.
At the place where we boarded when I was a little girl, they had
a dog that was eighteen years old.
I have always kept at a respectful distance from mules, and so
can tell you nothing about them. Yours truly, FANNY SHANNON.


A BRAVE CAT-FISH MOTHER.

IT is rarely that the fishes, with their staring eyes
that can neither open nor shut, and expressionless
faces, make any great display of their likes and
dislikes, but when they do, they are very apt to
astonish us. Can it be possible, we say, that a fish
has any power of feeling emotion ? But hear what
my friend Mr. Holder tells me. He says that Dr.
C. C. Abbott, the well-known naturalist, or some
one whom Dr. Abbott knew, once saw a young
brood of cat-fish (or kitten-fish, whichever you
please) following their mother in a creek; and,
securing them with a net, he placed them all in a
glass globe two feet from the water. The mother
fish seemed to know at once that something un-
usual had happened, and swam about for some
time, evidently observing her babies alive and
well, though not able to understand it. Several
times she approached near the globe, then swam
back as if undetermined; but finally she swam
into shallow water, and using her side, or pectoral,
fins as feet, fairly wriggled on dry land to the base
of the globe. Here their captor carefully liberated


the young fishes, when, to use his language,
"they immediately clustered about her, and fol-
lowed her into deep water." Now, you see this
cat-fish not only showed a motherly anxiety for
the fate of her young, but she was willing to do a
difficult and very dangerous act in order to go to
them. She bore the severe suffering of being out
of the water, and braved all the pain and unusual
strain upon her fins in crawling upon the ground
after her little ones. After this I shall have more
respect for even the minnows that sport in the lit-
tle brook running near my pulpit.


1884.]


979


~








THE LETTER-BOX.


THE LETTER-BOX.


OUR frontispiece this month, drawn by Mr. George F. Barnes,
almost tells its own story. The court jester, weary of his quips
and cranks, has sought a few moments' respite from the scenes of
royal pomp or pastime. In this secluded corner, he has thrown
down the monk-like hood, or cap, such as nearly all court jesters
wore in the olden time, and he-has beenthinking, perhaps, the seri-
ous thoughts that even jesters must sometimes know. Or perhaps
he has be n laboriously devising some new joke with which to make
the castle ring, or sharpening a shaft of wit which shall pierce some
pert upstart of the royal company or at least please-his rather
tedious Majesty, the King. When, suddenly,-just asheis looking
grave and even care-worn (for what task can be more difficult than
that of always trying to be funny?)- -his face lights up with a sur-
prised smile. Somebody actually is amusing the jester himself! It
is the little prince, who, in his wanderings about the castle, has
come upon the weary man, and in a spirit of fun has dc'.':>d ..:
jester's cap, making its bells jingle cheerily with every sac." :V. sa
.of his young head. His little Highness is quick and i.i.i7,, ..
Already he has upon his lips some witty taunt, for that is what he
'has heard most often from the jester himself.
Here we shall leave them, content to feel that the sober-minded
merry-maker and the happy but royalty-trammeled boy may at
least have a few moments of mutual enjoyment, and perhaps of
friendly talk,- who knows ? It is not easy to deceive a bright lit-
tle boy, prince or no prince, and he may ask a question or two that
will give the jester the comfort of saying, with a sigh: Go to,
Little Master One who must jest for others in order to live and
to dress in fine motley, must sometimes sigh and weep for himself."
"Nay, then, I'll be thy little Fool, and cheer thee," says the
prince, softly. Give me thy bauble! "
WILLOW HILL.
DEAR OLD ST. NICHOLAS: Some of us girls are greatly inter-
*ested lately in the question of slang. We have acquired the habit of
using it, and it has grown on us until people are beginning to shake
.their heads at us, andwe get hints from s -:.. t.,r i; .. .r i i
.like accomplishment; but it is so hard r.. .r i ,r.. .,.:i hi, ,
use it, that we are very loath to give it 1,1 H 1L.. I.
.are a pretty gay set of girls, we do want '. .: ... I
we would e..: ,.. 1i:.,l. ., r ,: i,..ii; : we really
believed : ,. :. ,' -J I.-, ,. : ,. r. -.:;.].. haverather
;broadly '.....:..I .r ,, N ., ,i : I her you,-
or the .!.: i. ..-r i ,111- .1.:..i..- -,,-I. I: ,, w hat you
-think al:. ,r .E ir -.:... i ..r tion would
sound extre....l r ..I i : ,.- r*..: ibited from
indulging ir l ,.' a. ',, i ,..: FI .. ,11 :. ,J: by your
-decision in tl,. n-, r:.. r.. ,I :i., I. I- .
S. J I -I. NELL.
You and I- *-.r. :r I'....-. 1 I 1i .ii I:, i : nfident, be
much interested r : .r,- ; h. .. I r ., ..I, Ier of



Perhaps you' could have answered your own question about the
propriety of using slang, had you stopped to consider what slang is.
Broadly speaking, it is the colloquial tongue, the familiar speech, of
*the lower classes; of people too ignorant and too indolent to ex-
press their ideas in correct English. Should you not say, then,
that the constant use of this makeshift must tend to blunt the
faculty of expression ? If you use slang freely, just notice your
,own speech, and you will observe that you do not try to convey
your thought, whatever that may be, in the most exact and
vivid words, but that you adopt some ready-made phrase, more
or less inappropriate. As 'a lady, you -would be ashamed
to wear tasteless, flashy, and ill-fitting gowns. Ought you to
be less fastidious about the clothing of your thoughts, the im-
,mortal part of you "? As a studious school-girl, Nell, remember
that, next to developing ideas, it is the business of your education to
-develop fit and refined forms of utterance for those ideas. And'if,
as your letter implies, you fear that a state of semi-speechlessness
will follow your rejection of slang, you may be sure (you and the
-other girls who are devoted to that low-bred intruder) that your
.dependence on it is already hazardous, and that your ideas stand in
.danger of becoming as limited as their form; of expression.


A FRIEND of ST. NICHOLAS has written for "The Letter-Box"
this harrowing ballad, which he calls
REMORSE.

BY S. CONANT FOSTER.

ONCE a sweet little boy sat and swung on a limb,
Tweedledum, tweedledum, tweedledum dee;
On the ground stood a sparrow-bird looking at him,
Tweedledum, tweedledum, tweedledum dee.
Now, the boy.he was good, but the sparrow was bad;
So it shied a big stone at the head of the lad,
And it killed the poor boy, and the sparrow was glad.
Tweedledum, tweedledum, tweedledum dee.

Then the little boy's mother flew over the trees,
Tweedledum, tweedledum, tweedledum dee;
"Tell me where is my little boy, sparrow-bird, please,"
Tweedledum, tweedledum, tweedledum dee.
SHe is safe in my pocket," the sparrow-bird said,
And another stone shied at the fond mother's head,
And she fell at the feet of the wicked bird, dead.
Tweedledum, tweedledum, tweedledum dee.

You imagine, no doubt, that the tale I have mixed,
Tweedledum, tweedledum, tweedledum dee;
But it was n't by me that the story was fixed,
Tweedledum, tweedledum, tweedledum dee.
'T was a dream a boy had after killing a bird,
And he dreamed it so loud that I heard every word,
And I jotted it down as it really occurred.
Tweedledum, tweedledum, tweedledum dee.


OCEANIC, N. J., July, 1884.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Mamma suggested last winter that on
rainy days we should spend our time in making fancy articles, and she
promised, that if we finished what we began and succeeded in getting
together enough articles to hold a fair, we should have one on our
lawn during the summer.
With the help of little friends, we had our fair on the 5th of July,
when we made $150.oo for the Fresh Air Fund. This goes to
show how much little girls can do, after all.
We are city children, but enjoy our summers in the country so
much that we were anxious to make other children as happy as
ourselves. LULU, BERTHA, AND ISABEL.


ST. GENEVIEVE CO., MO.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My brothers and I have been taking your
magazine for two years, and we like it very much. Its pleasant face
stopped coming a few months ago, and I now write to renew our
subscription again, as we are quite lost without it. My brother
Joseph likes best to read such pieces as the Brooklyn Bridge,"
the "Obelisk," and the '" Telescope," but I must confess I like
"Grandmother's Pearls much better.
During the long evenings last winter, Mamma read aloud to us the
"Tinkham Brothers' Tide-mill," ) i. i, r.:-..-.. .. r, We
all thought it splendid. Mr. Trowbndge is such a good writer. We
live in the country, seven miles from the Mississippi river. Last
Sunday, as papa was coming home from St. Mary with two other
gentlemen, and as they were crossing the Big Salim' Bridge, just as
they came near the middle pier, with a loud crash it gave way
beneath them, precipitating horses and riders a distance of about
twenty-five feet into the deep muddy waters below. Papa escaped
with some severe bruises, but one of the gentlemen was very badly
hurt in the head, and is now very sick. Papa was riding a nice big
horse we call "Jeff," who got fast in the heavy timberand came near
being drowned, staying in the water about an hour, until assistance
came. With the aid of a skiff and an axe, he was finally secured,
with but few scratches.
This is a very long letter for a little girl, so I will stop writing.
Your constant reader, LOUISE A. P.

LOUISE A. P. and her brothers will be glad to learn that Mr.
Trowbridge has written another long story, which will appear in ST.
NICHOLAS next year.-


980


[OCTOBER,


_








THE LETTER-BOX.


IN connection with Mrs. Champney's paper on the Indian School
at Carlisle, Pa.,- printed in this number, -the following letter
from an Indian girl in the far West will interest our readers:
ST. JOHN'S SCHOOL. May, 1884.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am one of the Indian school-girls at St.
John's Boarding-School. I am twelve years old. Five years ago I
did not know aword of English nor a figure. In one number of ST.
NICHOLAS I read a story of an Indian boy named Onawandah. I like
Jack-in-the-Pulpit best. We had The Three Somber Young Men "
on Christmas. The girls song the part that went to the tune of
"Lightly Row," and a gentleman sang Santa Claus's part. He was
so little that Mr. Kinny had to put pillows in his buffalo overcoat
to make him big enough. He had a belt with-little bells on it, and
while we were singing Hark! How Clear," he shook himself till
the bells all rang.
Now, I must tell you a little about the fruits. We have more
buffalo.berries and wild grapes than cherries or plums. The buffalo-
berries are as large as cherry-stones, and they are bright red. To
gather them we put sheets on the ground, cut branches, and hit
them with a stick to shake off the berries. It is pretty hard work
to pick them, but they make nice jelly.
Yours truly, LOUISE C.


g90 NUNANu AVE., HONOLULU, H. I., June, 1884.
MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I write this .l*.. i. .. I.: -r .- 1 i be
printed and put into the Letter-box. i .-. ... .. girl,
nine years old, living out in the Sandwich Islands. I have taken
you for a ._-r- mn-- years, and I think you are the best magazine
I evei :. i .the story'of the "Philoperfa" very much
indeed. MADGE K. W.

Sr ; i ? .l y, 1884.
MY DEAR ST. NiCHdLAS: i .- I .: ':rI I long time,
ever since 188o, ;... i i.I y:. t i... -.. h- ,nuch inter-
ested'in Marvir *,1 'I... Boy Hunters," and I am very sorry that


"The Scarlet Tanager" is ended. I have a little white mule
named "Tom," and I hope he will live to be as old as that one of
Professor Mapes's. This is a very queer old place; there is an old
fort here. The officers and their families used to live inside the walls
of the old fort at the time when the Indians were so bad, three
years ago. I would like very much to see my letter in print, as it
is the first I have ever written. Yours truly, G. 0.

NEW ORLEANS.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little lame girl, and I live in New
Orleans. I have a lovely pony; it is pure white, and I have a little
phaeton. I go out driving nearly every evening. My pony is
named "St. Nicholas." Oh! I do love that magazine so much.
Miss Alcott's stories are lovely. Please print this letter. I am
eilht'years old. I wrote this letter all by myself, but sister told me
how to spell a few words. Your constant reader, MAY.

NEw ORLEANS.
DEAR, DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We read the S. F. B. P.," in the
August number, and find that with misspelling two words George
could have had the whole alphabet .-, I.. .. the shield and thus
translated it': Alice Benedict C -...i 1-. .. F,'tHnr F-r
George Himself Inwardly Judged Kind Little '.1... 1.-. ....1-
Oh, Pretty Qua;.. iT Sister, Tell Us Veraciously What,
Xplain Yourself .. As this may interest some of your numer-
ous readers, will -you not-print it and oblige your admirers, Prue,
Fanny, Carrie, Nan, Mark, Hugh, Harry, Frank, Jack, and "the
twins," Madge and Connell.

WE are sorry to disappoint so many of our young friends by not
being able to print their pleasant letters to us, but there is space
for only a small number. Our thanks are due especially to:
.John F. Kaufman, Anna Tidball, X. Y. Z., Hester M. F. Powell,
Bertha E. Firth, Marion M. De Vere, "Bessie B.," Hattie B.
Knox, Bluette and Blanchette Durval, Allie B. M., H. H. Eastburn,
Annie F. Talbot, and S. K."


AGASSIZ ASSOCIATION-FORTY-SECOND REPORT.


ON returning home from a delightful vacation by the sea, we find
a deskfull of pleasant letters from old and new friends of the
Association, all expressing earnest interest, and many breathing
real enthusiasm. We note first the following


NEW CHAPTERS.

No. Name. No. of Members. Address.
684 Gilbertsville, N. Y. (A).... 7..Miss Katherine Gilbert.
685 Michigan City, Ind. (A)... 8..J. F. Clearwater.
686 Lunenburg, Mass. (A)..... 5..James S. Pray.
687 Adrian, Mich. (A)........ ..Arthur P. Lewis, Lock-box
296.
688 Landis Valley, Pa. (A).... 4..H. K. Landis (Lancaster Co.)
689 Coldwater, Mich. (A)...... 12..Miss Bertha Rose.
690 Butler, Missouri (A)...... 4..Harvey Clark (Bates Co.)
691 Red Bank, N. J. (A). .7..P. B. Sickels, Box 277.


REORGANIZED.

174 Easton, Pa. (B)............ 7 .Thomas S. March..

DISSOLVED.
147 and 466.
ExcHANGE. /

Correspondence desired in regard to exchanging insects.- Geo.
W. Dunbar, Jr., Williamsville, N. Y.
Soil of Pennsylvania or New Jersey, for that of any other State. -
Alden March, care Prof. F. A. March, Easton, Penn.
Skins of small animals. Western correspondents preferred.-W.
B. Olney, East Providence, R. T.
Crinoid stems and zoiphytes, for a medium-sized, live horned
toad.--E. M. Traber, box 161, Hamilton, Ohio.
Pressed ferns (maiden-hair), for birds' eggs.- Miss Mabel Foye,
Saratoga, Santa Clara Co., California-


Petrified wood, mosses, and ferns, for a second-hand Packard's
Geology.- Miss Fannie Staples, Linden, California.

REPORTS FROM CHAPTERS.

The present Secretary of Plantsville, Ct., B, No. 257, is Albert
L, Ely. [II is very important thai the office of Secretary bep erma-
nent, unless guile impossible.]
Frederick H. Scott, of Westfield, Mass., asks whether chipmunks
eat fish, and, if so, whether they take them from the water.
Philadelphia, H, 198, has "a library of 145 books, and a reading-
room, which is open once a week."
Since our organization, April l8th, this year, we have held regular
meetings every week. Although we have few specimens as yet, we
intend to enlarge our collection rapidly. We have not been idle,
but have had quite a number of essays read, and our President, W.
C. Watts, delivered three lectures on the Construction of Plants,"
which were very interesting. Members of our Chapter were very
much pleased with the new hand-books, and theirinterest in the study
of nature is doubled. All agree that since we joined the A. A." we
have seen and learned more of the things around us than we ever
dreamed of before.- Frank M. Davis, Sec. Chapter D, No. (38, of
St. Louis, Mo.
SAN FRANCISCO.
I send you our report of work done during the last three
months. We took the course of botany recommended in
ST. NICHOLAS, and found it very interesting and instructive.
We bring in reports regularly on optional subjects, or such as
may be selected by the President. We have had one debate,
whIch was fair, considering that it was our first attempt. Since
our admission we have elected three new members, making a
total of nine. We have a cabinet, which contains many valuable
things, including minerals, coins, birds' eggs, and shells. We meet
every Friday evening. When we have money enough we intend to
buy a microscope.- Yours sincerely, N. Sinclair, Sec. Chap. G,
No. 527, No. 633 Tyler St., San Francisco, Cal.
The Secretary from Pomfret Center, A, writes: "I can not tell
you the delight we have in belonging to the Association. A walk
has new meaning to us because of it."
Dorchester, Mass., No. 429: The meetings are much more
interesting, and better order is preserved than last year."








THE LETTER-BOX.


i- r.. 7i 4- *.,- I. ve held meetings at the school-house
-, r, i,..n ,,..r-. ;. J various papers have been presented
i .... .'. -. ..: -.1 I 1 .: .: :.i-.': have been on familiar topics, as
1: i- ..:, ..., j. .- r. and all statements given are the
.. .., t ...r ir..:. The very minutest details are called
S -..: teaches the value of accurate description, and illustrates
r..r ,.:.t 'The wise man's byes are in his head, but the fool
I I..i-,. ,, darkness.' "-iH. Ada Stowell.


already have a "cabinet" and some cases of insects grouped and
classified. There is a promise of good times and evenings well-
spent for the coming winter. We have read with a great interest
"our" department in ST. NICHOLAS every month.
But this was to be only a note, as I know you have plenty to do
with all your time.--Wishing success on our common brotherhood,
I am truly yours, S. D. Sammis, Sec. N. Y., N.


The plan ofelecting members shown by the next letter is worth
,.: i:,-, ; .,r ,. 1 gratified by the ingenuity of our considering by other Chapters. The tree-idea is also new, ingenious,
( i, .. ,.. I., ;.nd methods. See the following andfretty:
X -I-r I .. ... 1 .... Tt- )"


The r I r l-. I .a i I.-. [wo of unnsua
Chapter '.' .' 1.1 i.:l !or our enter
work ci 'I..: I.Ht .i'.' I .. i ur hands full.
mentv ... : .:r .... netting us the
.. } : ,.: ..- j sult, as our e:

i-i jl:.1 J .. 1. ..r e
is cor r :. ,: : ,'-1 .:are additions
increa '.-: c I .- l.-- :...: prosper. Our
exhibit.-.- r i. .ur kind answer
always .,i .-.: '- '. -:.: .. r, and we thin
interest .: ..I [. : a ,.: .* I [ ,e you, and te
alread- :. .- r. ri.J [I : .5 ociation.-Yo
Fredeic Schneieir.

Herefollows a -
with specimens:

OL- Ct i-r:.. .'. .IJ-- '..".-.t...:r: '. r-..- '-
start J. r, : i 'i .. .-rr. .: n-, ... ;
room i-..h I. *. L rl-. 4 rl..: .:.1" .. .-
and tl-. ...II.. -: ,.. .- -' ..: r t,.: ih -1
w i t h I i.: I I I ,, 6 .. .: ,' r .2 ? r ..:
Chapter, f ... h ,i 1,- .., .1 many o0
In one of 7i,; '. : : r.- : :ri I. i. r-.[ eggs, mo
collected b, i-.: ri -..,. I.. r .i::. In another
our bird-skins. i- a.., 'these are rare, and they
by the members i i. collection is fast incre
summer we hope to add many more. In the rest o
shells, the larger part of which were presented b
We 1, A .:. .: .:a es of insects. We have bee
have .: ..-r:'...... ..: we call them. We spend a
noon .,t r-. ih: t':l.i. or woods getting what spe
Every specirr.:i .. : .... r i.... .: cursions is
the Chapter. in i. .- .: g it manyof our
Our favorite i. .i- .1-,: ,li:.- Zodlogy of I
Vertebrates,' i. i i-..- .- S. Packard's
ZoSlogy," a. i .1 :, fairy-land of S
very truly, ( I-' .: i -i. : terville, Me.
Sewickley, Pa., No. 532, writes: "Since our
Chipterhas beenti :,. -. .: ". i .. found a
on the banks oftht -i.. 'X\. I, I .. nI great di
them out whole, having tried a great many instrut
them very often.. Will some one please tell us a
out?-B. H. Chr'-i :_.:. box4i.

[., r .''" information to the P
of ". "

a52, Baltimore, G, writes: "We have one I
month, when We give all the specimens we ge
museum."
SANDUSKY, O
"J'". ..-i : i r:'...l' r.; ir enthusiasm shown
W e i-.i-: i..I. t,.,-.Ir. i:,l: Expect to give
soon :-, ,;-. -.-.. .: ...y member brings i
we are getting quite a library.-J. Youngs, Jr., C

The following wide-awake letter is the type of s
stantly receive, and that as constantly rejoice our

I suppose you almost imagine that our Chapter
be dead and gone, because we have never once wr
contrary, it is not dead, nor has it any consumpt
has all the youth and strength of a vigorous
few spare 'moments now, and so I thought I wol
of our existence.
Since the genesis of our Chapter we have had
but, at the ; mn time, steady growth. What me
held have ..., at my "study," and without a
have been well attended and full of interest. We
confined our "talks" and.subjects to entomology
an abundance to interest and instruct in this


BARABOO, Wis.
I am happy at last to be able to thank you for your kindness in
1 activity in our writing to me while I could not see. The sight has almost
ainment and the all returned to one of my eyes, and the other is improving quite fast.
Our entertain- Our Chapter now numbers thirteen members, and there are
e handsome sum several who wish to join, but we try to get only those that are inter-
xpenses were not ested, and have adopted a new way of finding out; we let any
'Birds and their wishing to join come to two meetings before voting on their names,
tc. Our cabinet then if they still wish to join and have shown interest in the work
, our library is :... ,:ii .: admitted.
anniversary and \. .11 tave silver engraved badges, and were pleasantly sur-
ers to our reports prised when we received them to find them much prettier than we
k that the more had expected. A short time ago we had Prof. Butler from Madison,
nd to elevate the Wis., to lecture for us. We have rented a room which opens into
urs respectfully, the room which the Art Association of Baraboo occupy. I think
that art and nature are very good companions. Don't you? Our
Chapter intends to hold meetings once a month to which visitors
Chapter cabinet will be invited.
Our collection of bird's-nests and eggs is quite large, and we have
arranged them in the branch of a tree that is fastened in the corner of
the room and spreads on each side about six or eight feet; to the top
.ir with which it branches we fasten wasps' nests, etc.; at the foot the ground-bird's-
.We have a club- nests are arranged among grasses, ferns, and mosses. We make a
of our members, rule that the nests must not be robbed of all the eggs, or the nest
'"which are filled taken until after the birds have left it.
President of our In answer to- .,' i: rl..: ..b:::.: TT,v number of ST.
f our specimens. NICHOLAs, I thinly r t i i-..- ..,-. -....-. r ying insects that
st of which were are injurious tovegetation. Flies are useful as scavengers- Squirrels
drawer we keep do drink water when they are caged, and I suppose they do when
all were collected free. I have heard that prairie-dogs, unless in the vicinity of a
asing, and next stream or lake, get water by digging wells. I have two praine-
f the drawers are dogs, and they drink a great deal of water. They were very wild
y our President. when I received them about a week ago, but now they are as tame
n accustomed to as my Guinea-pigs, with which they are quite friendly. One or two
morning or after- of the girls with myself have begun an herbarium.-Yours respect-
ecimens we can. fully, Marie MacKennan.
for the cabinet of
finest specimens.
nvertebrates and Every young botanist till be stimulated by this report from
Briefer Course in Wilmington:
cience."- Yours

Last report our My father is a florist and botanist, so I have a fine chance to study
great many fossils botany. Last summer I examined about four hundred flowers, and
fficulty in getting I am going to begin again as soon as spring comes. Papa has a
ments. We split collection of over three thousand plants, which he says he will give
way to get them to me if I make a botanist of myself. .
I have a great many minerals; I wish I knew more about them.
I have also a collection of butterflies and moths, and some cocoons,
which I am keeping until the insects come out. Last summer and
resident it will be the summer before I caught caterpillars and kept them in a box,
and fed them until they spun their cocoons. They did not burst
until May or June of the next year. I have one butterfly very
Saturday in each much like the "Papilio Asterias" in form, but the fore-wings are
Satura inh eaha velvety, black, and without spots, slightly greenish near the hind
Sto the Chapter border; the hind wings are peacock-blue, very glossy, with five
small, irregular, white crescents, instead of the" blue and yellow
., Aug. 4, x884. spots on the "Asterias." I have seen but one like it. I keep my
Sby all members, butterflies in a large pine box; on the bottom I spread insect
an entertainment powder, and laid over it a sheet of white paper. I have never seen
n a new book, so any signs of insect pests.-Yours truly, Mary H. Tatnall, Wilming-
;h. 650. ton, Del.
NORTH GRANVILLE, N. Y.
cores that we con- I have the honor to submit to you the first bi-monthly report of
hearts: the Granville A, Chapter 594, of the "A. A." Our number has
increased from nine to thirteen. We have a room in which weekly
meetings are held, and also a cabinet and some specimens. All have
must by this time been greatly benefited by the formation of a Chapter.-Yours
itten ; but, on the respectfully, James E. Rice.
ive symptom. It
growth. I had a
uld let you know At the time of going to press it is too early to give any account

a somewhat slow, of the meeting in Philadelphia.
etings have been President's address:
single exception
have principally HARLAN H. BALLARD,
, and have found Principal of Lenox Academy,
one branch. We Lenox, Berkshire Co., Mass.


982


[OCTOBER,








THE RIDDLE-BOX.


THE RIDDLE-BOX.


DOUBLE DIAGONAL.
THE diagonals, reading downward, from left to right, and from
right to left, each form a word meaning genuine.
CROSS-WORDS: I. Torn. 2. A graceful plant. 3. Belonging to
two. 4 Pernicious. HELEN R. D.

ST. ANDREWS CROSS OF DIAMONDS.











I. UPPER LEFT-HAND DIAMOND: I. In miser. 2. The juice of
plants. 3. A city in New England. 4. An inclosed seat in a
church. 5. In miser.
II. UPPER RIGHT-HAND DIAMOND: I. In miser. 2. A sailor.
3. A manufacturer. 4. A color. 5. In miser.
III. CENTRAL DIAMOND: I. In miser. 2. Conflict. 3. The
chief magistrate of a city. 4. To decay. 5. In miser.
IV. LOVER LEFT-HAND DIAMOND: I. In miser. 2. To obstruct.
3. The land belonging to a nobleman. 4. Sixteen and a half feet.
5. In miser.
V. LOWER RIGHT-HAND DIAMOND: I.. In miser. 2. A point. 3.
One who is carried. 4. A powerful weapon when skillfully wielded.
5. In miser. JOHN K. MILES.

TIlE PRISONER'S PUZZLE.


EACH of these sixty-four squares represents a prisoner's cell.
There are four doors in each cell,- one on each side. There are
supposed to be no doors in the edge of the diagram, beside the one
indicated. In the cell indicated by a star is a prisoner, who has
been told he may have his liberty if he can reach tyIp entrance
marked "door," and not go through any cell twice excepting his
own. He must, however, go through every cell. Show the path
by which the prisoner reached the door. WALTER C.

NUMERICAL ENIGMA.
I AM composed of sixty-nine letters, and am a couplet written by
Herrick.
My 45-26-13 is to enumerate. My 56-65-39-7 is a suggestion.
My 33-27-15-47-52-21 is something very inflammable. My 61-i8-
25 is a bog. My 29-53-68-40-9-50-11-54 is the relation in which
Queen Victoria stands to Edward, Duke of Kent, fourth son of


George III. My 64-35-8 is a very small spot. My 48-67-34-12-20-
69 is a covering for the head. My 36-49-51-41-59-4 is a scuffle.
My 1-3-66-46-14-55-23-38-19-o1 is engaging. My 32-30-63-16 is
a uniting tie. My 22-44-31-2-42 is closes. My 5-62-17-28-43-57
is a very small fresh-water fish. My 6-37-58-24-60 is a small glass
bottle. "CORNELIA BLIMBER."

CONCEALED WORD-SQUARES.

ONE word is concealed in each sentence.
I. i. Sister Anna directed the workmen where to go. 2. Ws
went to Balmoral one day to view the castle. 3. Why does your
kitten, Tabby, doze nearly all the time? 4. The miner threw the
money down carelessly. 5. He pays his rent so promptly, he is
considered a good tenant.
II. I. Be careful not to rub lancets of such fine make with so
rough a stone. 2. Has Ella borrowed your ball? 3. I want to
borrow a bat Ed promised to loan to me. 4. It is no test of strength
to merely lift an Indian club. 5. Shall Alec rest under yon tree
while I return to the cottage? "ALMA" AND "HARRY."

CHARADE.

Mv/irst is a band of brothers,
A noble band, and strong,
Who spend their lives in doing good
And striking out the wrong.
My whole must be my second,
My second my whole may be,
Or ne'er to myfirst be admitted,
For such is the decree. M. C. D.

QUOTATION PUZZLE.
FIND the names of the authors of thefollowinmg quotations. Then
take the fourth letter of the name of the author of the first quotation,
the second letter of the second name, the fourth letter of the third
name, the first letter of the fourth name, the fifth letter of the fifth
name, thefourth letter of the sixth name, the third letterof the seventh
name, the third letter of the eighth name, the seventh letter of the
ninth name, and the first letter of the tenth. The letters thus ob-
tained will form a poet's name:
i. Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory.

a. No flocks that range the valley free
To slaughter I condemn;
Taught by the power that pities me,
I learn to pity them.
3. Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers
To deck her gay, green-spreading bowers.

4. Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind.

5. The hooded clouds, like fr;-
Tell their beads in drops .

6. True friendship's laws are by this rule exprest,
Welcome the coming, speed the parting guest.

7. Where go the poet's lines?
Answer, ye evening tapers
Ye auburn locks, ye golden curls,
Speak from your folded papers!

8. He prayeth best who loveth best
All things both great and small.

9. Howe'er it be, it seems to me
'T is only noble to be good.

xo. The primal duties shine aloft like stars;
The charities that soothe, and heal, and bless,
Are scattered at the feet of Manlike flowers.
EVERELD SIMPSON.
WORD-SQUARE.
i. The water-rat. 2. Alien. 3. Oblong pulpits in the early
Christian churches. 4. A half or short boot. 5. Pertaining to a
mountain in Sicily. 6. To take ill. "REX FORD."


1884.]


983








.THE RIDDLE-BOX.


[OCTOBER.


EASY BEHEADINGS.

.. EACH of the words described contains the same number of letters; and the beheaded letters, read
in the order here given, will spell the name of an English soldier and statesman.
I. Behead a word meaning at what time, and leave a fowl. a. Behead the name of a famous
S English college, and leave a measure of weight. 3. Behead a whip, and leave a kind of tree.
7 V4. Behead a bird, and leave a refuge. 5. Behead a boy's name common in Russia, and leave
the front of an army. 6. Behead a part of the neck, and leave a monkey. 7. Behead de-
parted, and leave a unit. 8. Behead a journey, and leave a possessive pronoun. 9. Be-
1/ -ad a sign, and leave mankind. o1. Behead a part of the hand, and leave to be
S-indisposed. EDITH LEAVITT.


THE answer to the above rebus is a maxim to be remembered in
correspondence.


PI.

BROOTEC durnet ym laspme sevael ot dolg;
Het stom rea neog own; heer dan heert noe slergin:
Noso sethelilw lips mrof tou het gsiwt kawe dohl,
Keli snoic weteben a gindy sismer rigfens.
SYLVIA D.

ANAGRAMS.

EACH of the following anagrams may be transposed to form the
title of a well-known fairy tale.
a. Little King Jackhare.
2. Stealing the Upy Bee.
3. IL .-1 the Black Snake. .
4. Li,1l,.:, or, the Odd Ring.
5. Tauset and the Abbey.
6. Le Rice Land. DAISY.

DOUBLE FINAL ACROSTICS.

EACH of the cross-words contains five letters. The fourth row of
letters (reading downward) spell a word leaning faculty; the
fifth, amusements.
CROSS-WORDS: x. Satisfies. 2. A narrow piece ci L.. ,.l. .
The name of some famous books by Jacob Abbott. 4 : .. ..1.
5. To limit. 6.' Horned animals. CYRIL DEANE.


ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE SEPTEMBER NUMBER.


DIAMOND. I. F. 2. Car. 3. Panel. 4. Caracal, 5. Fanati-
cal. 6. Recited. 7. Laces. 8. Lad. 9. L.
ANAGRAMS. i. Ivanhoe. 2. Kenilworth. 3. The Antiquary.
4. The Fortunes of Nigel. 5. Old Mortality, 6. Redgauntlet. 7.
The Monastery.
ZIGZAG. Cleopatra's Needle; country from which it came,
Egypt. Cross-words: 1. 'D...i :. 2. Plural. 3. Breeze. 4.
Morose. 5. Europe. 6. Enr-m, 7. Enmity. 8. Parrot. 9.
Gratis. io. Psalms. ix. N.mt.i 12. Pestle. 13. Amends. 14.
Saddle. 15. Riddle. x6; Damage.
PI. Suppose life does n't please you, nor the way some people do,-
Do you .i,;i.i l..: I....-- .r. t:.'-' will be altered just for you?
And'is-n I '. I ." the nicest, bravest plan,
Whatever comes or does n't come, to do the best you can?
CUBA. From 2 to 3, epode; 4 to 5, elude; 6 to 7, eagle; 3 to 5,
edge; 2-to 4, Erie; I to 6, erse; 4 to 6, endue; 5 to 7, erase; 2 to I,
elope.
DOUBLE ACROSTIC. Primals, Waterloo; finals, Napoleon.
Cross-words: I. WodeN. 2. AgrA. 3. TuliP. 4.-EchO. 5.
RauhaeL. 6. La FayettE. 7. OrlandO. 8. OccupatioN.


REBUS. Large boats may venture more,
But little boats keep near the shore.
HALF-SQUARE. I. Runaway. 2. Unison. 3. Niche. 4. Ashy.
5. Woe. 6. An. 7. Y.
DOUBLE DIAGONALS. From left to right, Leaden; from right to
left, Golden. Cross-words: I. LovinG. 2. mEteOr. 3. feALty.
4. soDDen. 5. lEavEn. 6. NatioN.
HOUR-GLASS. Centrals, Othello. Cross-words: i. schOlar. 2.
caTch. 3. tHy. 4. E. 5. pLy. 6. baLmy. 7. endOrse.
TEA" PUZZLE. If the tea" is not "ready" (red E), the sum
of the matter is one ought to wait for tea.
WORD SYNCOPATIONS. Initials of syncopated words, Thebes.
i. pi-Tie-nt. 2. w-Her-e. 3. n-Ear-est. 4. for-Bid-ding. 5.
b-Egg-ed. 6. re-Sum-ed.
TRIANGLE. From i to 8, Flagrant; from I to 15, Fathomed. i.
F; 2, LA; 3 to o1, ArT; 4 to nr, GusH; 5 to iz, RomeO; 6 to
3, AffirM; 7 to 14, NomineE; 8 to 15, TroubleD.
PROGRESSIVE DIAMONDS. I. e. P. 2. Pet. 3. Petal. 4. Petaled.
5. Taled. 6. Led. 7. D. II. I. P. 2. Pas. 3. Paste. 4. Pastern.
5. Stern. 6. Ern. 7. N.


THE names of those who send solutions are printed in the second number after that in which the puzzles appear. Answers should be
addressed to ST. NICHOLAS "Riddle-box," care of THE CENTURY Co. 33 East Seventeenth street, New York City.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE JULY NUMBER were received, too late for acknowledgment in the September number,, from Willie
Sheraton, Pictouns, Canada, 4-Hester M. F. Powell, Lincolnshire, England, 6- Lida Bell, British Columbia, 3.
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES I"- -r; A.c'-Ti NUMBER were received, before August 20, from Paul Reese- Maggie T. Turrill-
Julia Law- "Tiny Puss, Mitz, and i. i t'" j --..ny Duck Sisters Twain."
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE AUGUST NUMBER were received, before August 20, from G. W. H. H -- li-- V ('rifth, 2-
Sarah C. Moore and Minnie B. Turell, Brainerd B. Thresher, Frank Matthews, i- Ida Maude I ,.: .,, ; r : /' 4-
Willie Mossman, 3-Hobart DeLancey Rapson, --H. N. Merwin, 2-Birdie.Pierce, i.-Bab and Lou, 4-H; G. and "A.
Marguerite," 4--" Navajo," 9 -Carrie Cogswell Howard, 3-J. A. Keeler, i-Alice R. Douglass, 2-"Nan," 4-M. E..H., 2-
Randolph M., 2-" Mudpuddle," i--Yappey, i -Alex. Laidlaw, Ii- Winnie Gibbs, I S. H. Hepner, I Kittle H. Scott, i -
Fannie.Teller, i Bessie Ely, i Oscar M. Steppacher, i- M. Wolfer, I Sam, 3- Effie K. Talboys, 8- L. C. B., 2 Mary P.
Stockett,- o- James Clark, 3- "Cousins," xo- R. H., Papa, and Mamma, 2 -Ocean," 4- Edith, L:1 ., .,. 1 T.rnie l r. rer ..-
Jennie Julrand, i-Willie-Sheraton, 3-Ada Hallett, -Bessie Burch; 5- Minnie Carson, I Mamma, H .rl-,. i Ir, -..1 I -..... -
"Dux," 2- Pernie," ix-Emily Danzel, r E. Muriel Grundy, 7-Francis W. Islip, :. Ch.r P.-.-cr-. r --S. R T :- ,
Lippincott and-M. Alice Barrett, 2-"Dycie," 9--"Captain Nemo," 7-Georgia Gilmor -- I-, r .:I I_- J. ',' : M., m.i
4 A. Cramer, --Eva Cora Deemer, 2-Dorrie Dyer, 8--Charl.. I- i., i .


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