Front Cover
 Old pipes and the dryad
 A summer night
 Driven back to Eden
 Grandpa's old slipper and baby's...
 Sheep or silver?
 From Bach to Wagner
 The truant keys
 The busy world
 From Zurich town
 The Aesthetes
 His one fault
 "Princess Papillones"
 The butterflies
 The royal game of tennis
 A berry and fish story
 Cased in armor
 Five little white heads
 Among the law-makers
 A terrible gymnast
 Hurry and worry
 The children of the cold
 Mother Duck
 The letter-box
 The Agassiz association - Fifty-first...
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover


St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00158
 Material Information
Title: St. Nicholas
Uniform Title: St. Nicholas (New York, N.Y.)
Portion of 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
Subjects / Keywords: Children's literature -- Periodicals   ( lcsh )
Genre: periodical   ( marcgt )
serial   ( sobekcm )
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
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
System ID: UF00065513:00158
 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
    Old pipes and the dryad
        Page 561
        Page 562
        Page 563
        Page 564
        Page 565
        Page 566
        Page 567
    A summer night
        Page 568
    Driven back to Eden
        Page 569
        Page 570
        Page 571
        Page 572
        Page 573
        Page 574
        Page 575
    Grandpa's old slipper and baby's new shoe
        Page 576
    Sheep or silver?
        Page 577
        Page 578
        Page 579
        Page 580
        Page 581
        Page 582
    From Bach to Wagner
        Page 583
        Page 584
    The truant keys
        Page 585
    The busy world
        Page 586
    From Zurich town
        Page 587
    The Aesthetes
        Page 588
        Page 589
    His one fault
        Page 590
        Page 591
        Page 592
        Page 593
        Page 594
        Page 595
    "Princess Papillones"
        Page 596
        Page 597
        Page 598
    The butterflies
        Page 599
    The royal game of tennis
        Page 600
        Page 601
        Page 602
        Page 603
        Page 604
        Page 605
    A berry and fish story
        Page 606
        Page 607
    Cased in armor
        Page 608
    Five little white heads
        Page 609
        Page 610
        Page 611
        Page 612
    Among the law-makers
        Page 613
        Page 614
        Page 615
        Page 616
        Page 617
        Page 618
        Page 619
        Page 620
    A terrible gymnast
        Page 621
        Page 622
        Page 623
    Hurry and worry
        Page 624
    The children of the cold
        Page 625
        Page 626
        Page 627
        Page 628
        Page 629
    Mother Duck
        Page 630
        Page 631
        Page 632
        Page 633
    The letter-box
        Page 634
        Page 635
    The Agassiz association - Fifty-first report
        Page 636
        Page 637
    The riddle-box
        Page 638
        Page 639
        Page 640
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text

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"For a moment she stood motionless, gazing on the scene before her." (Page 563.)



VOL. XII. JUNE, 1885. No. 8.

[Copyright, 1885, by THE CENTURY CO.]

A MOUNTAIN brook ran through a little village.
Over the brook there was a narrow bridge, and
from the bridge a foot-path led out from the village
and up the hill-side, to the cottage of Old Pipes
and his mother. For many, many years, Old Pipes
had been employed by the villagers to pipe the
cattle down from the hills. Every afternoon, an
hour before sunset, he would sit on a rock in front
of his cottage and play on his pipes. Then all the
flocks and herds that were grazing on the mount-
ains would hear him, wherever they might happen
to be, and would come down to the village- the cows
by the easiest paths, the sheep by those not quite
so easy, and the goats by the steep and rocky ways
that were hardest of all.
But now, for a year or more, Old Pipes had not
piped the cattle home. It is true that every after-
noon he sat upon the rock and played upon his
good instrument; but the cattle did not hear him.
He had grown old, and his breath was feeble. The
echoes of his cheerful notes, which used to come
from the rocky hill on the other side of the valley,
were heard no more; and twenty yards from Old
Pipes one could scarcely tell what tune he was
playing. He had become somewhat deaf, and did
not know that the sound of his pipes was so thin
VOL. XII.-36.

and weak, and that the cattle did not hear him.
The cows, the sheep, and the goats came down
every afternoon as before, but this was because two
boys and a girl were sent up after them. The
villagers did not wish the good old man to know
that his piping was no longer of any use, so they
paid him his little salary every month, and said
nothing about the two boys and a girl.
Old Pipes's mother was, of course, a great deal
older than he was, and was as deaf as a gate,-
posts, latch, hinges, and all,- and she never knew
that the sound of her son's pipe did not spread over
all the mountain-side, and echo back strong and
clear from the opposite hills. She was very fond
of Old Pipes, and proud of his piping; and as he
was so much younger than she was, she never
thought of him as being very old. She cooked for
him, and made his bed, and mended his clothes;
and they lived very comfortably on his little salary.
One afternoon, at the end of the month, as
soon as Old Pipes had finished his piping, he took
his stout staff and went down the hill to the village
to receive the money for his month's work. The
path seemed a great deal steeper and more diffi-
cult than it used to be; and for some time Old
Pipes had been thinking that it must have been


washed by the rain and greatly damaged. He
remembered it as a path that was quite easy
to traverse either up or down. But Old Pipes had
been a very active man, and as his mother was so
much older than he was, he never thought of him-
self as aged and infirm.
When the Chief Villager had paid him, and he
had talked a little with some of his friends, Old
Pipes started to go home. But when he had
crossed the bridge over the brook, and gone a
short distance up the hill-side, he became very
tired, and had to sit down upon a stone. He had
not been sitting there half a minute, when along
came two boys and a girl.
Children," said Old Pipes, I 'm very tired
to-night, and I don't believe I can climb up this
steep path to my home. I think I shall have to
ask you to help me."
We will do that," said the boys and the girl,
quite cheerfully; and one boy took him by the
right hand, and the other by the left, while the
girl pushed him in the back. In this way he went
up the hill quite easily, and soon reached his
cottage door. Old Pipes gave each of the three
children a copper coin, and then they sat down for
a few minutes' rest before starting back to the
"I 'm sorry that I tired you so much," said Old
Oh, that would not have tired us," said one of
the boys, "if we had not been so far to-day after
the cows, the sheep, and the goats. They rambled
high up on the mountain, and we never before
had such a time in finding them."
Had to go after the cows, the sheep, and the
goats! exclaimed Old Pipes. "What do you
mean by that ?"
The girl, who stood behind the old man, shook
her head, put her hand on her mouth, and made
all sorts of signs to the boy to stop talking on this
subject; but he did not notice her, and promptly
answered Old Pipes.
"Why, you see, good sir," said he, that as
the cattle can't hear your pipes now, somebody
has to go after them every evening to drive them
down from the mountain, and the Chief Villager
has hired us three to do it. Generally it is not
very hard work, but to-night the cattle had wan-
dered far."
How long have you been doing this ? asked
the old man.
The girl shook her head and clapped her hand
on her mouth more vigorously than before, but
the boy went on.
I think it is about a year now," he said, since
the people first felt sure that the cattle could not
hear your pipes; and since then we 've been driv-

ing them down. But we are rested now, and will
go home. Good-night, sir."
The three children then went down the hill, the
girl scolding the boy all the way home. Old Pipes
stood silent a few moments, and then he went into
his cottage.
"Mother," he shouted; did you hear what
those children said?"
Children exclaimed the old woman; "I
did not hear them. I did not know there were
any children here."
Then Old Pipes told his mother, shouting very
loudly to make her hear, how the two boys and
the girl had helped him up the hill, and what he
had heard about his piping and the cattle.
"They can't hear you?" cried his mother.
"Why, what 's the matter with the cattle ? "
"Ah, me! said Old Pipes; "I don't believe
there 's anything the matter with the cattle. It
must be with me and my pipes that there is some-
thing the matter. But one thing is certain, if I do
not earn the wages the Chief Villager pays me, I
shall not take them. I shall go straight down to
the village and give back the money I received
"Nonsense!" cried his mother. I 'm sure
you 've piped as well as you could, and no more
can be expected. And what are we to do with-
out the money ? "
"I don't know," said Old Pipes; "but I 'm
going down to the village to pay it back."
The sun had now set; but the moon was shining
very brightly on the hill-side, and Old Pipes could
see his way very well. He did not take the same
path by which he had gone before, but followed
another, which led among the trees upon the hill-
side, and, though longer, was not so steep.
Before he had gone half-way, the old man be-
came very tired, and sat down to rest, leaning
his back against a great sycamore-tree. As he did
so, he heard a sound like knocking inside the
tree, and then a voice distinctly said:
Let me out! let me out! "
Old Pipes instantly forgot that he was tired, and
sprang to his feet. "This must be a Dryad-
tree he exclaimed. If it is, I '11 let her out."
Old Pipes had never, to his knowledge, seen a
Dryad-tree, but he knew there were such trees on the
hill-sides and the mountains, and that Dryads lived
in them. He knew, too, that in the summer-time,
on those days when the moon rose before the sun
went down, a Dryad could come out of her tree if
any one could find the key which locked her in,
and turn it. Old Pipes closely examined the trunk
of the tree, which stood in the full moonlight.
"If I can see that key," he said, I shall surely
turn it." Before long he perceived a piece of bark




standing out from the tree, which appeared to
him very much like the handle of a key. He took
hold of it, and found he could turn it quite around.
As he did so, a large part of the side of the tree
was pushed open, and a beautiful Dryad stepped
quickly out.
For a moment she stood motionless, gazing on
the scene before her,--the tranquil valley, the
hills, the forest, and the mountain-side, all lying
in the soft clear light of the moon. Oh, lovely!
lovely !" she exclaimed. "How long it is since
I have seen anything like this! And then, turn-
ing to Old Pipes, she said: "How good of you to
let me out! 'I am so happy and so thankful, that
I must kiss you, you dear old man!" And she
threw her arms around the neck of Old Pipes, and
kissed him on both cheeks. You don't know,"
she then went on to say, "how doleful it is to be
shut up so long in a tree. I don't mind it in the
winter, for then I am glad to be sheltered, but in
summer it is dreadful not to be able to see all the
beauties of the world. And it's ever so long since
I've been let out. People so seldom come this
way; and when they do come at the right time
they either don't hear me, or they are fright-
ened, and run away. But you, you dear old man,
you were not frightened, and you looked and
looked for the key, and you let me out, and now I
shall not have to go back till winter has come, and
the air grows cold. Oh, it is glorious! What can
I do for you, to show you how grateful I am? "
"I am very glad," said Old Pipes, "that I let
you out, since I see that it makes you so happy;
but I must admit that I tried to find the key be-
cause I had a great desire to see a Dryad. But if
you wish to do something for me, you can, if you
happen to be going down toward the village."
To the village!" exclaimed the Dryad.
"Why, I will go anywhere for you, my kind old
"Well, then," said Old Pipes, I wish you
would take this little bag of money to the Chief
Villager and tell him that Old Pipes can not re-
ceive pay for services which he does not perform.
It is now more than a year that I have not been able
to make the cattle hear me, when I piped to call
them home. I did not know this until to-night;
but now that I know it, I can not keep the money,
and so I send it back." And, handing the little
bag to the Dryad, he bade her good-night, and
turned toward his cottage.
Good-night," said the Dryad. "And I thank
you over, and over, and over again, you good old
Old Pipes walked toward his home, very glad to
be saved the fatigue of going all the way down to
the village and back again. To be sure," he

said to himself, "this path does not seem at all
steep, and I can walk along it very easily; but it
would have tired me dreadfully to come up all the
way from the village, especially as I could not have
expected those children to help me again." When
he reached home, his mother was surprised to see
him returning so soon.
"What !" she exclaimed; "have you already
come back? What did the Chief Villager say?
Did he take the money?"
Old Pipes was just about to tell her that he had
sent the money to the village by a Dryad, when he
suddenly reflected that his mother would be sure
to disapprove such a proceeding, and so he merely
said he had sent it by a person whom he had met.
And how do you know that the person will
ever take it to the Chief Villager?" cried his
mother. "You will lose it, and the villagers will
never get it. Oh, Pipes! Pipes! when will you
be old enough to have ordinary common sense ?"
Old Pipes considered that as he was already
seventy years of age he could scarcely expect
to grow any wiser, but he made no remark on this
subject; and, saying that he doubted not that the
money would go safely tp its destination, he sat
down to his supper. His mother scolded him
roundly, but he did not mind it; and after sup-
per he went out and sat on a rustic chair in front
of the cottage to look at the moonlit village, and
to wonder whether or not the Chief Villager really
received the money. While he was doing these
two thifigs, he went fast asleep.
When Old Pipes left the Dryad, she did not
go down to the village with the little bag of
money. She held it in her hand, and thought
about what she had heard. "This is a good
and honest old mai," she said; "and it is a
shame that he should lose this money. He looked
as if he needed it, and I don't believe the people
in the village will take it from one who has served
them so long. Often, when in my tree, have I
heard the sweet notes of his pipes. I am
going to take the money back to him." She did
not start immediately, because there were so many
beautiful things to look at; but after a while she
went up to the cottage, and, finding Old Pipes
asleep in his chair, she slipped the little bag into
his coat-pocket, and silently sped away.
The next day, Old Pipes told his mother that he
would go up the mountain and cut some wood.
He had a right to get wood from the mountain,
but for a long time he had been content to pick up
the dead branches which lay about his cottage.
To-day, however, he felt so strong and vigorous
that he thought he would go and cut some fuel
that would be better than this. He worked all the
morning, and when he came back he did not feel


at all tired, and he had a very good appetite for his
Now, Old Pipes knew a good deal about Dryads,
but there was one thing which, although he had
heard, he had forgotten. This was, that a kiss
from a Dryad made a person ten years younger.
The people thereabouts knew this, and they were
very careful not to let any child of ten years, or
younger, go into the woods where the Dryads were
supposed to be; for, if they should chance to be
kissed by one of these tree-nymphs, they would be
set back so far that they would cease to exist. A
story was told in the village that a very bad boy
of eleven once ran away into the woods, and had
an adventure of this kind; and when his mother
found him he was a little baby of one year old.
Taking advantage of her opportunity, she brought
him up more carefully than she had done before;
and he grew to be a very good boy indeed.
Now, Old Pipes had been kissed twice by the
Dryad, once on each cheek, and he therefore felt as
vigorous and active as when he was a hale man of
fifty. His mother noticed how much work he
was doing, and told him that he need n't try in
that way to make up for the loss of his piping
wages; for he would only tire himself out, and get
sick. But her son answered that he had not felt so
well for years, and that he was quite able to work.
In the course of the afternoon, Old Pipes, for the
first time that day, put his hand in his coat-pocket,
and there, to his amazement, he found the little
bag of money. "Well, well! he exclaimed, "I
am stupid, indeed! I really thought that I had
seen a Dryad; but when I sat down by that big
sycamore-tree I must have gone to sleep and
dreamed it all; and then I came home thinking I
had given the money to a Dryad, when it was in my
pocket all the time; But the Chief Villager shall
have the money. I shall not take it to him to-day,
but to-morrow I wish to go to the village to see
some of my old friends; and then I shall give up
the money."
Toward the close of the afternoon, Old Pipes, as
had been his custom for so many years, took his
pipes from the shelf on which they lay, and went
out to the rock in front of the cottage.
What are you going to do? cried his mother.
"If you will not consent to be paid, why do you
"I am going to pipe for my own pleasure," said
her son. "I am used to it, and I do not wish to
give it up. It does not matter now whether the
cattle hear me or not, and I am sure that my pip-
ing will injure no one."
When the good man began to play upon his
favorite instrument he was astonished at the sound
that came from it. The beautiful notes of the

pipes sounded clear and strong down into the val-
ley, and spread over the hills, and up the sides of
the mountain beyond, while, after a little interval,
an echo came back from the rocky hill on the
other side of the valley.
"Ha ha he cried, "what has happened to
my pipes ? They must have been stopped up of
late, but now they are as clear and good as ever."
Again the merry notes went sounding far and
wide. The cattle on the mountain heard them,
and those that were old enough remembered how
these notes had called them from their pastures
every evening, and so they started down the
mountain-side, the others following.
The merry notes were heard in the village be-
low, and the people were much astonished thereby.
"Why, who can be blowing the pipes of Old
Pipes?" they said. But, as they all were very
busy, no one went up to see. One thing, how-
ever, was plain enough: the cattle were coming
down the mountain. And so the two boys and the
girl did not have to go after them, and had an
hour for play, for which they were very glad.
The next morning Old Pipes started down to the
village with his money, and on the way he met
the Dryad. "Oh, ho he cried, "is that you?
Why, I thought my letting you out of the tree was
nothing but a dream."
A dream cried the Dryad; "if you only
knew how happy you have made me, you would
not think it merely a dream. And has it not
benefited you? Do you not feel happier? Yes-
terday I heard you playing beautifully on your
"Yes, yes," cried he. "I did not understand
it before, but I see it all now. I have really grown
younger. I thank you, I thank you, good Dryad,
from the bottom of my heart. It was the finding
of the money in my pocket that made me think it
was a dream."
Oh, I put it in when you were asleep," she
said, laughing, because I thought you ought to
keep it. Good-bye, kind, honest man. May you
live long, and be as happy as I am now."
Old Pipes was greatly delighted when he under-
stood that he was really a younger man; but that
made no difference about the money, and he kept
on his way to the village. As soon as he reached
it, he was eagerly questioned as to who had been
playing his pipes the evening before, and when the
people heard that it was himself, they were very
much surprised. Thereupon, Old Pipes told what
had happened to him, and then there was greater
wonder, with hearty congratulations and hand-
shakes; for Old Pipes was liked by every one.
The Chief Villager refused to take his money, and,
although Old Pipes said that he had not earned it,




every one present insisted that, as he would now
play on his pipes as before, he should lose nothing,
because, for a time, he was unable to perform his
So Old Pipes was obliged to keep his money,
and after an hour or two spent in conversation
with his friends, he returned to his cottage.
There was one individual, however, who was not
at all pleased with what had happened to Old
Pipes. This was an Echo-dwarf, who lived on the
hills on the other side of the valley, and whose
duty it was to echo back the notes of the pipes
whenever they could be heard. There were a great
many other Echo-dwarfs on these hills, some of
whom echoed back the songs of maidens, some
the shouts of children, and others the music that
was often heard in the village. But there was only
one who could send back the strong notes of the
pipes of Old Pipes, and this had been his only
duty for many years. But when the old man grew
feeble, and the notes of his pipes could not be
heard on the opposite hills, this Echo-dwarf had
nothing to do, and he spent his time in delightful
idleness; and he slept so much and grew so fat
that it made his companions laugh to see him
On the afternoon on which, after so long an in-
terval, the sound of the pipes was heard on the
echo hills, this dwarf was fast asleep behind a
rock. As soon as the first notes reached them,
some of his companions ran to wake him. Rolling
to his feet, he echoed back the merry tune of Old
Pipes. Naturally, he was very much annoyed
and indignant at being thus obliged to give up his
life of comfortable leisure, and he hoped very much
that this pipe-playing would not occur again. The
next afternoon he was awake and listening, and,
sure enough, at the usual hour, along came the
notes of the pipes as clear and strong as they
ever had been; and he was obliged to work as
long as Old Pipes played. The Echo-dwarf was
very angry. He had supposed, of course, that
the pipe-playing had ceased forever, and he felt
that he had a right to be indignant at being thus
deceived. He was so much disturbed that he
made up his mind to go and try to find out whether
this was to be a temporary matter or not. He had
plenty of time, as the pipes were played but once a
day, and he set off early in the morning for the
hill on which Old Pipes lived. It was hard work
for the fat little fellow, and when he had crossed
the valley and had gone some distance into the
woods on the hill-side, he sat down to rest, and, in
a few minutes, the Dryad came tripping along.
"Ho, ho exclaimed the dwarf; "what are
you doing here ? and how did you get out of your
tree ? "

"Doing!" cried the Dryad; "'I am being
happy; that's what I am doing. And I was let
out of my tree by the good old man who plays the
pipes to call the cattle down from the mountain.
And it makes me happier to think that I have been
of service to him. I gave him two kisses of grati-
tude, and now he is young enough to play his
pipes as well as ever."
The Echo-dwarf arose to his feet, his face pale
with passion. Am I to believe," he said, that
you are the cause of this great evil that has come
upon me? and that you are the wicked creature
who has again started .this old man upon his career
of pipe-playing? What have I ever done to you
that you should have condemned me for years and
years to echo back the notes of those wretched
pipes ?"
At this the Dryad laughed loudly.
What a funny little fellow you are she said.
"Any one would think you had been condemned
to toil from morning till night; while What you
really have to do is merely to imitate for half an
hour every day the merry notes of Old Pipes's
piping. Fie upon you, Echo-dwarf! You are
lazy and selfish; and that is what is the matter
with you. Instead of grumbling at being obliged
to do a little wholesome work, which is less, I am
sure, than that of any other echo-dwarf upon the
rocky hill-side, you should rejoice at the good for-
tune of the old man who has regained so much of
his strength and vigor. Go home and learn to be
just and generous; and then, perhaps, you may
be happy. Good-bye."
"Insolent creature shouted the dwarf, as he
shook his fat little fist at her. "I 'll make you
suffer for this. You shall find out what it is to
heap injury and insult upon one like me, and to
snatch from him the repose that he has earned
by long years of toil." And, shaking his head
savagely, he hurried back to the rocky hill-side.
Every afternoon the merry notes of the pipes of
Old Pipes sounded down into the valley and over the
hills and up the mountain-side; and every afternoon
when he had echoed them back, the little dwarf
grew more and more angry with the Dryad.
Each day, from early morning till it was time for
him to go back to his duties upon the rocky hill-
side, he searched the woods for her. He intended,
if he met her, to pretend to be very sorry for
what he had said, and he thought he might be
able to play a trick upon her which would avenge
him well. One day, while thus wandering among
the trees, he met Old Pipes. The Echo-dwarf did
not generally care to see or speak to ordinary
people; but now he was so anxious to find the
object of his search, that he stopped and asked
Old Pipes if he had seen the Dryad. The piper


had not noticed the little fellow, and he looked
down on him with some surprise.
"No," he said; "I have not seen her, and I
have been looking everywhere for her."
"You!" cried the dwarf, "what do you wish
with her?"
Old Pipes then sat down on a stone, so that he
should be nearer the ear of his small companion,
and he told what the Dryad had done for him.
When the Echo-dwarf heard that this was the
man whose pipes he was obliged to echo back
every day, he would have slain him on the spot had
he been able; but, as he was not able, he merely
ground his teeth and listened to the rest of the
"I am looking for the Dryad now," Old Pipes
continued, "on account of my aged mother.
When I was old myself, I did not notice how very
old my mother was; but now it shocks me to see
how feeble and decrepit her years have caused her
to become ; and I am looking for the Dryad to ask
her to make my mother younger, as she made me."
The.eyes of the Echo-dwarf glistened. Here was
a man who might help him in his plans.
Your idea is a good one," he said to Old Pipes,
"and it does you honor. But you should know
that a Dryad can make no person younger but one
who lets her out of her tree. However, you can
manage the affair very easily. All you need do
is to find.the Dryad, tell her what you want, and
request her to step into her tree and be shut up for
a short time. Then you will go and bring your
mother to the tree; she will open it, and every-
thing will be as you wish. Is not this a good plan ?"
"Excellent! cried Old Pipes; "and I will go
instantly and search more diligently for the
"Take me with you," said the Echo-dwarf.
"You can easily carry me on your strong shoul-
ders; and I shall be glad to help you in any way
that I can."
"Now, then," said the little fellow to himself,
as Old Pipes carried him rapidly along, "if he
persuades the Dryad to get into a tree,- and she
is quite foolish enough to do it,--and then goes
away to bring his mother, I shall take a stone or a
club and I will break off the key of that tree, so
that nobody can ever turn it again. Then Mis-
tress Dryad will see what she has brought upon
herself by her behavior to me."
Before long they came to the great sycamore.
tree in which the Dryad had lived, and, at a dis-
tance, they saw that beautiful creature herself com-
ing toward them.
How excellently well everything happens!"
said the dwarf. "Put me down, and I will go.
Your business with the Dryad is more important

than mine; and you need not say anything about
my having suggested your plan to you. I am will-
ing that you should have all the credit of it
Old Pipes put the Echo-dwarf upon the ground,
but the little rogue did not go away. He concealed
himself between some low, mossy rocks, and he
was so much of their color that you would not
have noticed him if you had been looking straight
at him.
When the Dryad came up, Old Pipes lost no
time in telling her about his mother, and what he
wished her to do. At first, the Dryad answered
nothing, but stood looking very sadly at Old Pipes.
"Do you really wish me to go into my tree
again ? she said. "I should dreadfully dislike to
do it, for I don't know what might happen. It is
not at all necessary, for I could make your mother
younger at any time if she would give me the
opportunity. I had already thought of making
you still happier in this way, and several times I
have waited about your cottage, hoping to meet
your aged mother, but she never comes outside,
and you know a Dryad can not enter a house. I
can not imagine what put this idea into your head.
Did you think of it yourself ?"
"No, I can not say that I did," answered Old
Pipes. A little dwarf whom I met in the woods
proposed it to me."
Oh cried the Dryad; now I see through
it all. It is the scheme of that vile Echo-dwarf-
your enemy and mine. Where is he? I should
like to see him."
I think he has gone," said Old Pipes.
No, he has not," said the Dryad, whose quick
eyes perceived the Echo-dwarf among the rocks.
"There he is. Seize him and drag him out, I
beg of you."
Old Pipes perceived the dwarf as soon as he was
pointed out to him, and, running to the rocks, he
caught the little fellow by the arm and pulled him
Now, then," cried the Dryad, who had opened
the door of the great sycamore, "just stick him in
there, and we will shut him up. Then I shall be
safe from his mischief for the rest of the time I am
Old Pipes thrust the Echo-dwarf into the tree;
the Dryad pushed the door shut; there was a
clicking sound of bark and wood, and no one
would have noticed that the big sycamore had
ever had an opening in it.
"There," said the Dryad; now we need not
be afraid of him. And I assure you, my good
piper, that I shall be very glad to make your
mother younger as soon as I can. Will you not
ask her to come out and meet me ?"



"Of course I will," cried Old Pipes; "and I
will do it without delay."
And then, the Dryad by his side, he hurried to
his cottage. But when he mentioned the matter
to his mother, the old woman became very angry
indeed. She did not believe in Dryads; and, if
they really did exist, she knew they must be
witches and sorceresses, and she would have noth-
ing to do with them. If her son had ever allowed
himself to be kissed by one of them, he ought to
be ashamed of himself. As to its doing him the
least bit of good, she did not believe a word of it.
He felt better than he used to feel, but that was
very common. She had sometimes felt that way
herself, and she forbade him ever to mention a
Dryad to her again.
That afternoon, Old Pipes, feeling very sad that
his plan in regard to his mother had failed, sat
down upon the rock and played upon his pipes.
The pleasant sounds went down the valley and
up the hills and mountain, but, to the great sur-
prise of some persons who happened to notice the
fact, the notes were not echoed back from the
rocky hill-side, but from the woods on the side of
the valley on which Old Pipes lived. The next
day many of the villagers stopped in their work to
listen to the echo of the pipes coming from the
woods. The sound was not as clear and strong as
it used to be when it was sent back from the rocky
hill-side, but it certainly came from among the
trees. Such a thing as an echo changing its place
in this way had never been heard of before, and
nobody was able to explain how it could have
happened. Old Pipes, however, knew very well
that the sound came from the Echo-dwarf shut up
in the great sycamore. The sides of the tree were
thin, and the sound of the pipes could be heard
through them, and the dwarf was obliged by the
laws of his being to echo back those notes when-
ever they came to him. But Old Pipes thought
he might get the Dryad in trouble if he let any
one know that the Echo-dwarf was shut up in the
tree, and so he wisely said nothing about it.
One day the two boys and the girl who had
helped Old Pipes up the hill were playing in the
woods. Stopping near the great sycamore-tree,
they heard a sound of knocking within it, knd then
a voice plainly said:
Let me out! let me out! "
For a moment the children stood still in aston-
ishment, and then one of the boys exclaimed:
"Oh, it is a Dryad, like the one Old Pipes found !
Let's let her out!"
"What are you thinking of?" cried the girl.
I am the oldest of all, and I am only thirteen.
Do you wish to be turned into crawling babies?
Run run run "

And the two boys and the girl dashed down into
the valley as fast as their legs could carry them.
There was no desire in their youthful hearts to be
made younger than they were. And for fear that
their parents might think it well that they should
commence their careers anew, they never said a
word about finding the Dryad-tree.
As the summer days went on, Old Pipes's mother
grew feebler and feebler. One day when her son
was away, for he now frequently went into the
woods to hunt or fish, or down into the valley to
work, she arose from her knitting to prepare the
simple dinner. But she felt so weak and tired that
she was not able to do the work to which she had
been so long accustomed. "Alas! alas.!" she
said, "the time has come when I am too old to
work. My son will have to hire some one to come
here and cook his meals, make his bed, and mend
his clothes. Alas alas! I had hoped that as long
as I lived I should be able to do these things. But
it is not so. I have grown utterly worthless, and
some one else must prepare the dinner for my son.
I wonder where he is." And tottering to the
door, she went outside to look for him. She did
not feel able to stand, and reaching the rustic
chair, she sank into it, quite exhausted, and soon
fell asleep.
The Dryad, who had often come to the cottage
to see if she could find an opportunity of carrying
out Old Pipes's affectionate design, now happened
by; and seeing that the much-desired occasion
had come, she stepped up quietly behind the old
woman and gently kissed her on each cheek, and
then as quietly disappeared.
In a few minutes the mother of Old Pipes awoke,
and looking up at the sun, she exclaimed: Why,
it is almost dinner-time! My son will be here
directly, and I am not ready for him." And rising
to her feet, she hurried into the house, made the
fire, set the meat and vegetables to cook, laid the
cloth, and by the time her son arrived the meal was
on the table.
How a little sleep does refresh one," she said
to herself, as she was bustling about. She was a
woman of very vigorous constitution, and at sev-
enty-five had been a great deal stronger and more
active than her son was at that age. The moment
Old Pipes saw his mother, he knew that the Dryad
had been there; but, while he felt as happy as a
king, he was too wise to say anything about her.
It is astonishing how wellI feel to-day," said
his mother; and either my hearing has improved
or you speak much more plainly than you have
done of late."
The summer days went on and passed away, the
leaves were falling from the trees, and the air was
becoming cold.



"Nature has ceased to be lovely," said the
Dryad, "and the night winds chill me. It is
time for me to go back into my comfortable quar-
ters in the great sycamore. But first I must pay
another visit to the cottage of Old Pipes."
She found the piper and his mother sitting side
by side on the rock in front of the door. The
cattle were not to go to the mountain any more
that season, and he was piping them down for the
last time. Loud and merrily sounded the pipes
of Old Pipes, and down the mountain-side came
the cattle, the cows by the easiest paths, the sheep
by those not quite so easy, and the goats by the
most difficult ones among the rocks; while from
the great sycamore-tree were heard the echoes of
the cheerful music.
How happy they look, sitting there together,"
said the Dryad; "and I don't believe it will do
them a bit of harm to be still younger." And
moving quietly up behind them, she first kissed
Old Pipes on his cheek and then his mother.
Old Pipes, who had stopped playing, knew what
it was, but he did not move, and said nothing.
His mother, thinking that her son had kissed her,
turned to him with a smile and kissed him in
return. And then she arose and went into the
cottage, a vigorous woman of sixty, followed by
her son, erect and happy, and twenty years
younger than herself.
The Dryad sped away to the woods, shrugging
her shoulders as she felt the cool evening wind.

When she reached the great sycamore, she turned
the key and opened the door. Come out," she
said to the Echo-dwarf, who sat blinking within.
" Winter is coming on, and I want the comfortable
shelter of my tree for myself. The cattle have
come down from the mountain for the last time
this year, the pipes will no longer sound, and you
can go to your rocks and have a holiday until next
Upon hearing these words the dwarf skipped
quickly out, and the Dryad entered the tree and
pulled the door shut after her. Now, then,"
she said to herself, "he can break off the key if
he.likes. It does not matter to me. Anotherwill
grow out next spring. And although the good
piper made me no promise, I know that when the
warm days arrive next year, he will come and let
me out again."
The Echo-dwarf did not stop to break the key
of the tree. He was too happy to be released to
think of anything else, and he hastened as fast as
he could to his home on the rocky hill-side.

The Dryad was not mistaken when she trusted
in the piper. When the warm days came ,again
he went to the sycamore-tree to let her out. But,
to his sorrow and surprise, he found the great tree
lying upon the ground. A winter storm had blown it
down, and it lay with its trunk shattered and split.
And what became of the Dryad, no one ever



YONDER sleep the lilies white
Through the starlit summer night:
Fitful breezes rise and fall;
Fire-flies flash,, and wild birds call.

Here the river winds along,
Deep and silent, swift and strong:
Mighty river--toward the sea
Float my fancies forth with thee!

On the sea the white ships go,
Noiseless, winged, to and fro:
To and fro, and o'er and o'er,
Fancies float from shore to shore.

Happy fancies they, to know
Stars that shine and winds that blow,
Ships that sail, and seas that lie
Silent neathh a silent sky.






IT amused and interested me to see upon the
children's faces such looks of eager expectancy
as they impatiently devoured the midday meal.
Nothing greater than a bonfire was in prospect,

and trample it down a little. It is too loose now.
While we do this, Winnie and Bobsey can gather
dry grass and weeds that will take fire quickly.
Now, which way is the wind ? "
There is n't any wind, Papa," Merton replied.
"Let us see. Put your forefingers in your


yet few costly pleasures could have afforded them
more excitement. Winnie and Bobsey wished me
to light the fire at once, but I said:
No, not till Mamma and Mousie are ready to
come out. You must stay and help them clear
away the things. When all is ready, you two shall
start the blaze."
Very soon we all were at the brush-pile, which
towered above our heads, and I said:
Merton, it will burn better if we climb over it

mouths, all of you, then hold them up and note
which side feels the coolest."
"This side cried first one and then another.
Yes; and this side is toward the west; there-
fore, Winnie, put the dry grass here on the west-
ern side of the heap, and what air is stirring will
carry the blaze through the pile."
Little hands that trembled with eagerness soon
held lighted matches to the dry grass; there was
a yellow flicker in the sunshine, then a blaze, a



crackle, a devouring rush toward the center of the
pile of flames that mounted, higher and higher
until, with the surrounding column of smoke, there
was a conflagration which, at night, would have
alarmed the country-side. The children at first
gazed with awe upon the scene as they backed far-
ther away from the increasing heat. Our beacon-
fire drew Junior, who came bounding over the
fences toward us; and soon he and Merton began
to try how near they could dash in toward the
blaze without being scorched. I soon stopped this.
"Show your courage, Merton, when there is need
of it," I said. Rash venturing is not bravery,
but foolishness, and often costs people dear."
When the pile sank down into glowing embers,
I turned to Bobsey, and added:
I have let you light a fire under my direction.
*Never think of doing anything of the kind without
my permission; for if you do, you will certainly sit
in a chair, facing the wall, all day long, with nothing
to cheer you but bread and water and a sound whip-
ping. There is one thing which you children must
learn from the start, and that is, you are not to play
with fire except when I permit you."
At this direful threat Bobsey looked as grave as
his round little face permitted, and, with the
memory of his peril in the creek fresh in mind,
was ready enough with the most solemn promises.
A circle of unburned brush was left around the
embers. This I raked in on the hot coals, and
soon all was consumed, and eventually the ashes
were spread far and wide.
Early the next morning, Mr. Jones arrived with
his stout team, and, going twice in every furrow,
he sunk his plow to the beam. We followed our
neighbor for a few turns around the garden; then
I went for a half-bushel of early potatoes, and Mr.
Jones showed me how to cut them so as to leave at
least two good "eyes to each piece. I also varied
my labor with lessons in plowing, for running in my
head was an old saw to the effect that He who
would thrive must both hold the plow and drive."
The fine weather lasted long enough for us to
plant our early potatoes in the most approved
fashion, and then came a series of cold, wet days
and frosty nights. Mr. Jones assured us that the
vegetable seeds already in the ground would re-
ceive no harm. At such times as we could work
we finished trimming and tying up the hardy rasp-
berries, cleaning up the barn-yard, and carting all
the fertilizers we could find to the land that we
meant to cultivate.
One long, stormy day, I prepared an account-
book. On its left-hand pages I entered the cost
of the place and all expenses thus far incurred.
The right-hand pages were for records of income,
as yet small indeed. They consisted only of the

proceeds from the sale of the calf, the eggs that
Winnie gathered, and the milk measured each
day, all valued at the market price. I was re-
solved that there should be no blind drifting toward
the breakers of failure-that at the end of the year
we should know whether we had made progress,
had stood still, or had gone backward. My system
of keeping the accounts was so simple that I easily
explained it to my wife, Merton, and Mousie; for I
believed that, if they followed the effort at country
living understandingly, they would be more will-
ing to practice the self-denial necessary for success.
Indeed, I had Merton write out most of the items.
My wife and Mousie also started another book
of household expenses, and I assured them that,
if we only kept up these records, we should always
know just what our prospects were; that weeks
would elapse before our place would be food-pro-
ducing to any great extent; and that in the mean-
time we must draw chiefly on our capital in order
to live.
But Winifred and I resolved to meet this ne-
cessity in no careless way, feeling that not a penny
should be spent which might be saved. The fact
that I had only my family to support was greatly
in our favor. There was no kitchen cabinet that

ate much and wasted more, to satisfy. Therefore,
our revenue of eggs and milk went a great way
toward meeting the problem. We made out a list
of cheap, yet wholesome, articles of food, and
found that we could buy oatmeal at four cents per
pound, Indian meal at two and a half cents, rice
at eight cents, samp at four, mackerel at nine,
pork at twelve, and ham at fifteen cents. The last
two articles were used sparingly, and more as
relishes and for flavoring than as food. Flour
happened to be cheap at the time, the best costing
but seven dollars a barrel; of vegetables, we had
secured abundance at slight cost; and the apples
still added the wholesome element of fruit. A
butcher drove his wagon to our door three times a
week and, for cash, would give us, at very reason-
able rates, certain cuts of beef and mutton. These
my wife conjured into appetizing dishes and de-
licious soups. Such details may appear to some
very homely, yet our health and success depended
largely upon careful and thoughtful attention to
just such prosaic matters. The children were
growing plump and ruddy at an expense less than
that which would be incurred by one or two visits
from a physician in the city.
In the matter of food, I gave more thought to
my wife's time and strength than to the little peo-
ple's wishes. We had variety and abundance, but
we did not have many dishes at any one meal.
The wash-tub I forbade utterly, and the serv-
ices of a stout Irishwoman were secured for one




day in the week. Thus, by a little management,
no one of us was overtaxed. Mousie began to give
Winnie and Bobsey daily lessons; for we had de-
cided that the children should not go to school
until the coming autumn. Early in April, there-
fore, our country life was passing into a quiet rou-
tine, not burdensome, at least, within doors; and
I justly felt that, if all were well in the citadel of
home, the chances of outdoor campaigning were
greatly improved.
In the dawn of each morning, unless it were
stormy, Merton patroled the place with his gun,
looking for hawks and other creatures which at this
season he was permitted to shoot; and he looked
quite as serious and important as if he were sally-
ing forth to protect us from deadlier foes. For a
time he saw nothing to fire at, since he had prom-
ised me not to shoot harmless birds. He always
indulged himself, however, in one shot at a mark,
and was becoming sure in his aim at stationary
objects. One evening, however, when we were
almost ready to retire, a strange sound startled us.
At first it reminded me of the half-whining bark
of a young dog; but the deep; guttural trill that
followed convinced me that it was a screech-owl,
for I remembered having heard them when a boy.
The moment I explained that it was an owl, Mer-
ton darted for his gun.
I disliked the uncanny sounds which the bird
made, and was under the impression that all owls,
like hawks, should be destroyed. Therefore, I fol-
lowed Merton out, hoping that he would have a
successful shot at the night prowler.
The moonlight illumined everything with a
soft, mild radiance; and the trees, with their tra-
cery of bough and twig, stood out distinctly. Be-
fore we could discover the creature, it flew with
noiseless wing from a maple near the door to
another perch up the lane, and again uttered its
weird notes.
Merton was away like a swift shadow, and, screen-
ing himself behind the fence, stole upon his game.
A moment later, the report rang out in the still
night. It so happened that Merton had fired just
as the bird was about to fly, and had only broken a
wing. The owl fell to the ground, but led the boy
a wild pursuit before it was captured, and Mer-
ton's hands were bleeding when he brought the
creature in. Unless prevented, it would strike
savagely with its beak, and the motions of its
head were as quick as lightning. It was, indeed, a
strange captive, and the children looked at it in
wondering and rather fearful curiosity. I granted
Merton's request that he might put it in a box and
keep it alive for a while.
"In the morning," I said, "we all will read
about it, and can examine it more carefully."

Among my purchases was a fresh work on nat-
ural history; but our minds had been engrossed
with too many practical questions to give it much
attention. The next morning we consulted it, and
found our captive was variously called the little red
owl, the mottled owl, or the screech-owl. Then fol-
lowed an account of its character and habits. So
far from being an ill-boding, harmful creature, we
learned that it was a useful friend upon which we
had made war. We were taught that this species
was a destroyer of mice, beetles, and vermin, thus
rendering the agriculturist great services which,
however, are so little known that the bird is every-
where hunted down without mercy or justice.
Surely, this is not true of all owls," I said, and
by reading further we learned that the barred, or
hoot owl, and the great horned-owl, were deserving
of a surer aim of Merton's gun. They prey
not only upon useful game, but also invade the
poultry-yard, the horned species being espe-
cially destructive. Instances were given in which
these freebooters had killed every chicken upon
a farm. As they hunt only at night, they are hard
to capture. Their notes and natures are said
to be in keeping with their dark deeds; for their
cry is wild, harsh, and unearthly, while in temper
they are cowardly, savage, and untamable.
"The moral of this owl episode," I concluded,
is that we must learn to know our neighbors, be
they birds, beasts or human beings, before we
judge them. This book is not only full of knowl-
edge, but of information that is practical and
useful. I move that we read up about the creat-
ures in our vicinity. Would n't it be well, Merton,
to learn what to shoot as well as how to shoot?"
Protecting his hands with buckskin gloves, the
boy applied mutton suet to our wounded owl's
wing. It was eventually healed, and the bird was
given its liberty. It gradually became sprightly
and tame, and sociable in the evening, and afforded
the children and Junior much amusement.
By the seventh of April there was a prospect of
warmer and more settled weather, and Mr. Jones
told us to lose no time in uncovering, our Antwerp
raspberries. They had been bent down close to
the ground the previous winter and covered with
earth. To remove this, without breaking the
canes, required careful and skillful work. We soon
acquired the knack, however, of pushing and
throwing aside the soil, then lifting the canes
gently through what remained and shaking them
clear. "Be careful to level the ground evenly,"
said Jones, "for it wont do at all to leave hum-
mocks of dirt around the hills." And we followed
his instructions.
The canes were left until a heavy shower of rain
washed them clean; then Winnie and Bobsey tied



them up. We gave steady and careful attention
to the Antwerps, since they would be our main
dependence for income. I also raked in a liberal
dressing of wood ashes around the hills of one row
through the field, intending to note its effect.
Hitherto the Sundays had been stormy and the
roads Bad, and we had given the days to rest
and family sociability. But, at last, there came a
mild, sunny morning, and we resolved to find a
church-home. I had heard that Dr. Lyman, who
preached in the nearest village, had the faculty
of keeping young people awake. Accordingly we
harnessed the old bay horse to our market-wagon,
donned our go-to-meetin's," as Junior called his
Sunday clothes, and started. Whatever might be
the result of the ser-
mon, the drive prom- -
ised to do us good. The
tender young grass by
the roadside, and the
swelling buds of trees,
gave forth delicious
odors; a spring haze
softened the outline of
the mountains, and
made them almost as
beautiful as if clothed
with foliage; robins,
song-sparrows, and
other birds were so
tuneful that Mousie
said she wished they
might form the choir
at the church. In-
deed, the glad spirit of
Spring was abroad, and
it found its way into
our hearts. We soon
learned that it entered
largely also into Dr.
Lyman's sermon. We
were not treated as
strangers and intrud- -
ers, but welcomed and
shown to a pew in a
way that made us at
home. I discovered
that I, too, would be
kept awake and given
much to think about.
much to think about. MERTON BRINGS DOWN TH
We remained until
Sunday-school, which followed the service, was
over, and then went home, feeling that life, both
here and hereafter, was something to be thankful
for. After dinner, without even taking the pre-
caution of locking the door, we all strolled down
the lane and the steeply sloping meadow to our

wood-lot and the banks of the Moodna Creek. My
wife had never seen this portion of our place be-
fore, and she was delighted with its wild beauty
and seclusion.
Junior soon joined us, and led the children to a
sunny bank, from which soon came shouts ofjoy over
the first wild-flowers of the season. I seated my wife
on a rock, and we sat there quietly for a time, in-


haling the fresh woody odors,
and listening to the murmurs
of the creek and the song of
the birds. Then I asked:
Is n't this better than a city
flat and a noisy street? Are not
these birds pleasanter neighbors
than the Daggetts and the Rick-
etts ?"
Her glad smile was more elo-
quent than words could- have
P' been. Mousie came running to
S us, holding in her hand, which
': trembled from excitement, a lit-
'. tie bunch of liverworts and
Sanemones. Tears of happiness
actually stood in her eyes, and
she could only falter: "Oh,
S Mamma just look And then
she hastened away to gather
That child belongs to nat-
SCREECH-OWL. ure," I said, "and she would
always be an exile in the city.
How greatly she has improved in health already "
The air grew damp and chill early, and we soon
returned to the house. Monday, another fair day,
found us again absorbed in our busy life, each one
having good work to do. After it was safe to uncover
the raspberries, Merton and I had not lost a moment





in the task. At the time of which I write, we put
in stakes where they were missing, obtaining not
a few of them from the wood-lot. We also made
our second planting of potatoes and other hardy
vegetables in the garden. The plants in the kitchen
window were thriving, and during mild, still days we
carried them to a sheltered place without, that they
might become hardier and inured to the open air.
Winnie already had three hens sitting on their
nests full of eggs, and she was counting the days
until the three weeks should expire, when the
little chicks would break their shells. One of the
hens proved a fickle biddy, and left her nest, much
to the child's anger and disgust. But the others
were faithful, and one morning Winnie came bound-
ing in, saying she had heard the first "peep."
I told her to be patient and leave the brood until
the following day, since I had read that the chicks
were all stronger for not being taken from the
nest too soon. She had treated the mother hens
so kindly that they were tame, and permitted her
to throw out the empty shells, and exult over each
new-comer into its short-lived existence.
Our radishes had come up nicely; but no sooner
had the first green leaves expanded than myriads
of little flea-like beetles devoured them. A timely
article in my horticultural paper explained that if
little chickens were allowed to run in the garden
they would soon destroy these and other insects.
Accordingly, I improvised a coop by laying down a
barrel near the radishes and by driving stakes in
front of it to imprison the hen, which otherwise,
with the best intentions, would have scratched up
all my sprouting seeds. Hither we brought her
the following day, with her downy brood of twelve,
and they soon began to make themselves useful.
Winnie fed them with Indian-meal and mashed
potatoes, and watched over them with more than
their mother's solicitude, while Merton renewed
his vigilance against hawks and other enemies.
With the chicks to watch, and wild-flowers to
gather, the tying up of raspberries became weary
prose to Winnie and Bobsey; but I kept them at it
during most of the forenoon of every pleasant day,
and if they performed their task carelessly, I made
them do it over. I knew that the time was coming
when many'kinds of work would cease to be play,
to us all, and that we might as well face the fact
first as last. After the morning duties were over
and the afternoon lessons learned, there was plenty
of time for play, and the two little people enjoyed
it all the more.
Merton, also, had two afternoons in the week,
and he and Junior began to bring home strings of
little sunfish and winfish. Boys often become dis-
gusted with country life because it is made hard
and monotonous for them.

From the first, I had often thought that straw-
berries should form one of our chief crops. They
promised well for several reasons, the main one
being that they would afford a light and useful form
of labor for all the children. Even Bobsey could
pick the fruit almost as well as any of us, for he
had no long back to ache in getting down to it.
The crop, also, could be gathered and sold before
the raspberry season began, and this was an im-
portant fact. We would also have another and
earlier source of income. I had read a great deal
about the cultivation of the strawberry, and I had
visited a Maizeville neighbor who grew them on a
large scale, and had obtained his views. To make
my knowledge more complete, I wrote to my Wash-
ington Market friend, Mr. Bogart, and his prompt
letter in reply was encouraging.
"Don't go into too many kinds," he advised;
"and don't set too much ground. A few crates
of fine berries will pay you better than bushels
of small, soft, worthless trash. Steer clear of
high-priced novelties and fancy sorts, and begin
with only those known to pay well in your region.
Try Wilsons (they 're good to sell, if not to eat) and
Duchess for early, and the Sharpless and Cham-
pion for late. Set the last two kinds out side by
side, for the Champions wont bear alone. A cus-
tomer of mine cultivates only these four sorts. He
gives them high culture, and gets big crops and big
berries, which pay big money. When you want
crates, I can furnish them, and take my pay out of
the sales of your fruit. Don't spend much money
for plants. Buy a few of each kind, and set them
in moist ground and let them run. By winter you
will have enough plants to cover your farm."
I found that I could buy these-standard varieties
in the vicinity; and having made the lower part of
the garden very rich, I procured, one cloudy day,
two hundred plants of each kind and set them in
rows, six feet apart, so that by a little watchfulness
I could keep them separate. I obtained my whole
stock for five dollars; therefore, even counting the
value of time and everything, the cost of entering
on strawberry culture was very slight indeed. A
rainy night followed, and every plant started
In spite of occasional frosts and cold rains, the
days grew longer and warmer.
I proposed to extend my fruit area gradually,
fearing, with good reason, that much hired help
would leave small profits.
That very afternoon Mr. Jones, with his sharp
steel plow, began turning over clean, deep, even
furrows, for we had selected a plot for corn and
potatoes, in view of the fact that it was not stony,
as was the case with other portions of our little
farm. When, at last, the ground was plowed, he



said: "We 'd better get the potato ground ready
and the rows furrowed out right off. Early planting'
is the best. How much will ye give to 'em ?"
Half the plot," I said.
Why, Mr. Durham, that's a big planting' for
Well, I've a plan about that. I think I can
put Early Rose potatoes in now, and harvest
them in July or early August; and then, if the
books are right, I can set strong plants on enriched
ground early in August and get a good crop next
June. I shall have my young plants growing right
here in my own garden. Merton and I can take
them up in the cool of the evening and in wet
weather, and they wont know they've been moved.
I propose to get these early potatoes out of the
ground as soon as possible, even if I have to sell
part of them before they are fully ripe; then have
the ground plowed deep and marked out for straw-
berries, put all the fertilizers I can scrape together
in the rows, and set the plants as fast as possible.
I 've read again and again that many growers re-
gard this method as one of the best."
Planting an acre of potatoes was no slight task
for us, even after the ground was plowed and har-
rowed, and the furrows for the rows were marked
out. I also had to make a half day's journey to the
city of Newtown to buy more seed. But for a few
days we worked like beavers. Even Winnie helped
Merton to drop the seed; and in the evening we had
regular potato-cutting "bees," Junior coming over
to aid us, and my wife and Mousie helping too.
Songs and stories enlivenedthese evening hours of
labor. Indeed, my wife and Mousie performed,
during the day, a large part of this task, and they
soon learned to cut the tubers skillfully. I have
since known this work to be done so carelessly
that some pieces were cut without a single eye
upon them. Of course, in such cases there is
nothing to grow.
One Saturday night, the last of April, we exulted
over the fact that our acre was planted and the
seed well covered.
Many of the trees about the house, meanwhile,
had clothed themselves with fragrant promises of
fruit. All, especially Mousie, had been observant
of the beautiful changes, and, busy as we had
been, she, Winnie, and Bobsey had been given
time to keep our table well supplied with wild
flowers. Now that they had come in abundance,
they seemed as essential as our daily food. To a
limited extent I permitted blooming sprays to be
taken from the fruit-trees, thinking, with Mousie,
that cherry blossoms were "almost as sweet as
cherries." Thus Nature graced our frugal board,
and suggested that, as she accompanied her useful
work with beauty and fragrance, so we also could

lift our toilsome lives above the coarse and sordid
phase too common in country homes.
In early May the grass was growing lush and
strong, and Brindle was driven down the lane to
the meadow, full of thickets, which bordered on
the creek. Here she couldsupplyherself with food
and water until the late autumn.
With the first days of the month we planted, on
a part of the garden slope, where the soil was dry
and warm, very early, dwarf sweet corn, a second
early variety, Burr's Mammoth, and Stowell's
"When this planting is up a few inches high," I
said, we will make another; for, by so doing, my
garden-book says, we may have this delicious veg-
etable till frost comes."
After reading and some inquiry during the win-
ter I had decided to buy only McLean's gem peas
for seed. This low-growing kind required no
brush and, therefore, far less labor. We also
planted early dwarf wax-beans, covering the seed,
as directed, only two inches deep. It was my am-
bition to raise a large crop of Lima beans, hav-
ing read that few vegetables yielded more food to
a small area than they. So, armed with an axe and
hatchet, Merton and I went into some young
growth on the edge of our wood-lot and cut thirty
poles, lopping off the branches so as to leave little
crotches on which the vines could rest as a support.
Having sharpened these poles we set them firmly
in the garden. My book said that, if the earth were
cold, wet, or heavy, the beans would decay instead
of coming up. The tenth of the month being fine
and promising, I pressed the eye or germ side of
the beans into the soil and covered them only one
inch deep. In the evening we set out our cabbage
and cauliflower plants where they should be allowed
to mature. The tomato plants, which were more
tender than their other companions, had been
started in the kitchen window, and I set them out
about four inches apart in a sheltered place. We
could thus cover them at night and protect them a
little from the midday sun for a week or two longer.
Nor were Mousie's flowering-plants forgotten.
She had watched over them from the seed with tire-
less care, and now we made a bed and helped the
happy child to put her beloved little hurslings in
the open ground where they were to bloom.
The next morning Merton and I began our
great undertaking the planting of the other acre
of ground, next to the potatoes, with field corn.
Mr. Jones had harrowed it comparatively smooth.
I had a light plow with which to mark out the fur-
rows four feet apart each way. At the intersection
of these furrows the seed was to be dropped.
We kept to work manfully, although the day
was warm, and by noon the plot was furrowed one



way. After dinner we took an hour's partial rest
in shelling our corn, and then started in again,
and in the same manner began furrowing at right
angles with the first rows. Merton dropped the
corn after we had run half a dozen furrows. The
hills were thus about four feet apart each way.
"Drop five kernels," I said; for Mr. Jones had
told us that "four stalks were enough and that
three would do," but had added, "I plant five
kernels, for some of 'em don't come up, and the
crows and such varmints take some of the others.
And if all of 'em grow, it's easier to pull up one
stalk at the first hoeing than to plant over again."
We found that putting in the corn was a lighter
task than planting the potatoes, even though we
did our own furrowing; and by the middle of May
we were complacent over the fact that we had
succeeded with our general spring work far better
than we had hoped, remembering that we were
novices who had to take much counsel from
books and from our kind, practical neighbor.
The foliage of the trees was now out in all its
delicately shaded greenery, and midday often
gave us a foretaste of summer heat. The slight
blaze kindled in the old fire-place, after supper,

was more for the sake of good cheer than
needed warmth, and at last it was dispensed with.
Thrushes and other birds of richer and fuller
song had come, and morning and evening we
left the door open that we might enjoy the varied
Our first plantings of potatoes and early vege-
tables were now up nicely, and a new phase of
labor-that of cultivation-began. New broods
of chickens were coming off, and Winnie had
many families to look after. Nevertheless, al-
though there was much to attend to, the season
was bringing a brief breathing-spell, and I re-
solved to take advantage of it. So I said one
Friday evening: "If to-morrow is fair, we '11 take
a vacation. What do you say to a day's fishing
and sailing on the river?" A jubilant shout
greeted this proposal, and when it had subsided,
Mousie asked, Can Junior go with us ? "
Certainly," I replied; I '11 go over right after
supper, and make sure that his father consents."
Mr. Jones said "Yes," and Merton and Junior
were soon busy with their preparations, which
were continued until the long twilight deepened
into dusk.

(To be continued.)



~a-by Sbw K- Shoe


..... .

randpa'5 old slipper and baby'5 new Shoe
Tripping lovingly onward together,
keeping time,
To the rhyme
Of the Sea and the birdS,
Jnd a chime of the bells in the heather
,1. NA






- z.


4 N
;t 11h7N


"You do not mean to say that Waldo and
Ruthven are twins ? It is impossible."
Yes, sir; twin brothers. Are they more un-
like than are their sisters, Hessie and Bessie?
They are twins, also."
Well, all I can say is, that I should never have
believed it. What can poor Mrs. Frierson do
with such a boy as Waldo ? Ruthven is all right.
You would think he was a grown man, But
of all the wild, harum-scarum, rattle-brained boys
I ever knew, Waldo Frierson is the worst. He
is so bright and handsome a fellow, too. Ruth-
ven will be a great help to his mother. And
as for the girls--well, she can depend upon
Bessie, but I am not so sure of Hessie; she is too
much like her brother Waldo,"
This was about the way people talked when
the great calamity befell the Friersons. How that
befell can be told in a few words. Years before,
when living at the East, Mr. and Mrs. Frierson,
then altogether too young and too poor to think of
such a thing (so every one said), had fallen so much
in love with each other as to rush into what was
well considered avery imprudent marriage." Be-
ing young and loving, they laughed at the gloomy
forebodings of their friends, and went to work with
a will, the young husband being half lawyer, half
farmer, while his happy little wife economized and
kept house with an energy which it did one good
to see.
But "No, Bessie, we can't win the fight here,"
the husband was at length compelled to say to his
wife, when Waldo and Ruthven were still babies.
" There is but one thing to do. We must go West.
The farm your grandfather left you in Texas is our
best chance. As soon as you are strong enough, we
will sell out here and emigrate. What do you say ?"
VOL. XII.-37.

As the young couple had but one heart between
them, so they were always of but one mind. In
fact, it was the wife who had long urged the Texas
plan upon her husband, for she was, as every one
acknowledged, the wiser of the two.
Thus it came to pass that by the time their boys
were twelve years old, and their twin girls about
two years younger, they had made for themselves
a very comfortable home on the Texan farm. It
was styled Manchac Springs, and was some twelve
miles west of Austin, the capital of Texas, and
on the road to San Marcos, New Braunfels, and
San Antonio -a road which crossed the vast prai-
ries that stretched away to the Rio Grande and
Mexico. The house was a handsome one, upon
an eminence well wooded with live-oaks, while
the spring was a wonder to all who saw it,
gushing out from beneath the hill, pure and
abundant. By hard. work, slow and steady in-
crease, under the wise suggestion of the wife
and the persistent energy of her husband, the
horses, cows, sheep, and poultry had so thriven
that the household were really very comfortable.
"And the best of it is, our boys and girls have
had such an out-of-door training in this glorious
climate, that they can not fail to be strong and
happy," the husband said one day.
"No, dear," his wife replied, "the very best
thing of all is, that our breaking away from the
East and our rerfioval here have enabled us, their
parents, to do so much more for them than we could
have done had we remained where we were. If we
can but continue to have the same peaceful, quiet
life and here she stopped, with a little sigh, as
if she feared something, she hardly knew what.
So the years passed pleasantly and happily,
until the date of the opening of our story.
Spring had begun early that year, and never had
the prospects of a fine crop seemed so certain,
when suddenly the grasshoppers smote the whole





region like an invading host. Then followed
drought, until the so.ii ciUed burnt to ashes. The
spring ceased flowing. Scores of the cattle choked
themselves to death striving, in their hunger for
something green, tofeed upon the thorny cactus.
The sheep disappeared as into thin air. The.
best horses were stolen by men who had been ren-
dered desperate by the hard times.
One has not the heart to tell all the disasters
which befell them.
It only needed this!" Mr. Frierson said, toss-
ing a letter into his wife's lap as he entered the
house one hot day in August. A glance at the
letter told her of fresh calamity. Her brother
Cyrus had failed in business, having made too
hasty ventures. This meant ruin for the Friersons,
because her husband had helped her brother by
becoming responsible for a large amount of money
which this failure would now compel him to pay.
And she had hardly finished reading the letter
when she saw her husband fallback upon the floor.
A sunstroke had given the last blow to-a man whose
health, never very strong, had been steadily under-
mined by a slow succession of disasters,
For time it seemed as if the widow would never
recover from the shock of her husband's death, at-
tended and followed by so many trials. But grad-
ually her strength returned, and she grew able to
take up her life again. By an admirable law of the
State, the homestead could not be seized from her
and her children; that ard her two boys and her
two girls were literally all that remained. It is
dreadful, dreadful;" Waldo said to his brother every
day. It shatters all of our plans. For oh, howI
had hoped!-- "
The brothers were-sixteen years old by this time.
Waldbo lad long set his heart upon going to college.
-He had been at'school in Austin, working hard to
fit himself for Harvard. He was so bright, so
ambitious, so eager to succeed, that his teachers
prophesied brilliant things for him in college and
in his after life. :His father had been compelled to
drop the law and give himself up wholly to the
farm since he came to Texas, but he had not lost
his old liking for the profession. Over and over
again, when sitting out on the porch of an evening,
he had told Waldo the story of his own youthful
"I had it all arranged," he would say to his
favorite son, who would sit at his feet, listening
eagerly, to make a great name at the bar. Then I
should do'one of two things: either remain a lawyer
and make a large fortune, or go into politics, and
be sent'to the legislature or to congress. People
used to say I made 'splendid speeches, Waldo,
my boy. Oh, well, I must live that life in you.
Study liard; sweep everything before you when

youigo to college. Then come back to Austin.
I know a lawyer who will take you into his office.
In a new State like this, you are certain to make
a grand success. You are far ahead of what I was
at your age, iiy son."
Mrs. Frierson remronstrated with her too-san-
guine husband. "Waldo is over-ambitious as it
is,'' she said; *" you are but adding flame to fire.
And .oUl forget Ruthven."
"No. I don't, Bessie." answered Mr. Frierson.
" But Ruthl\en isdifflrent. Sober old chap thathe
is, all he cares for is to be educated as a machinist,
and a machinist he shall be. As soon as he is old
enough, and we can afford it, he shall go to the
Institute of Technology in Boston. And with Ruth-
ven in Boston, and Waldo at Harvard, I shall have
nothing left to wish for, unless it be to have them
graduated and back here again, making fame and
fortune for themselves "
Neither of the parents had any fears as to Ruth-.
ven, but they always agreed that Waldo would
make the more striking success of the two, if-
if-! The boy was so full of his fun, so daring
when it came to breaking a horse or roping a wild
cow, so mischievous and fitful in his ways, that
there was no telling what he might do.
But when the father, crushed beneath his quick-
coming calamities, so suddenly died, all this plan-
ning seemed to have taken place ages before; and
Waldo, when he saw his long and eagerly cherished
hopes in life so quickly and so utterly overthrown,
changed from a gay and talkative boy, and be-
came as miserable as a broken-down old man of
seventy. He would wander off across the prairie
after supper, and, flinging himself on the ground,
would lie there in the dark and weep and rave.
"I am almost afraid he cares more for the ruin of
his hopes," his widowed mother said at last;to her
other son, than he does for the death of his
"Ifo, it is only for a little'while," Ruthven
replied. "Waldo 'is not selfish at heart. He is
dreadfully cut up just now.' But you will be aston-
ished to see with what enthusiasm he will go into
whatever he may determine to do. His'suffering,
like his enjoyment; always runs to extremes."
"He is your dear father over again," exclaimed
his mother, who could only yield her hand to that
of her son, while her eyes filled with tears. She
needed to say no more. Ruthven understood her.
From the beginning of their misfortunes, he had
grown, it seemed, almost into a man,-and all the
more so since the death of his father. He did not
say much, and he seemed never to leave his
mother's side; yet, whenever needed, he would
be here and there over the whole place, seeing to
everything, attending, as the months rolled by,



1885.] SHEEP OR SILVER? 579

to all the perplexing matters which had to be
arranriged; grave, qiiet, efficient, never thinking
of himself. Often, when his mother would lie at
midnight weeping 'in her bed, she would be aware
of some one kneeling by her side, whispering com-
fort to her. She did not need to be told it was
There was almost as great a difference between
Mrs. Frierson's two daughters as between their
brothers. Hessie was black-eyed, rosy-cheeked,
always having more to say, and upon every sub-
ject, than is common even to healthful and light-
hearted girls: singing to herself, whistling, for
that matter, like a blackbird. Bessie *was of a
heavierframe; her head set more -oldly upon her
shoulders; her ee s ere gray and serious; she had
less to say than Hessie. In 'a word, she was the
counterpart of Ruthven, fully as valuable in her
wv.y, her mother's trusted housekeeper.
"And %et. is it not strange Mrs. Frerson often
thought to herself. -" One would thinkthatBessie
nould be devoted to Ruthven, whereas Waldo is her
idol; \ while laughing, mischief-loving Hessie thinks
there never \as a son or brother'like Rnithven."
.A the sad months went slowly bys. Mrs. Frier-
son gradually] rallied her strength and could look
more calmly at the family fortunes.
It .is very plain." Ruthven said to his mother,
brother, and sisters, one morning after breakfast,
" that ,e must look bur position squarely in the
face. \Vc are deeply in debt. It is impossible to
go pn as ie now are. A new course must be
entered upon, if we are to better ourselves. The
bos and girls of the family, are brave and strong.
There is but one desire among us. We must select
\ isl, and deliberately what is best to be done, and
do it Now. what shall that be \V ho cai tell us?"
It seemed to be the oddest chance in the world;
but juit as he a,,ked the question, the man of all
rmen ~hom they least expected to see walked into
the room,- the man' 't whom so much of their
trouble 'was de',- their mi.ther's only brother,
Uncle Cyrus !


THE family griup that fronted this unexpected
visitor was a striking one.
In her favorite chair sat Mrs. Frierson, with
her hair grown whiter by her recent sorrow, but
with a new purity and refinement quite in keeping
with it, which hushed her children into a deeper
love and veneration for her. Hessie and Bessie
had risen and stood a little behind their mother,
one on either side. Hessie was a head taller
than Bessie, slight of frame, quick-motioned,

with always an abundance to talk about or to laugh
over, forever on her feet, eager to please those she
liked, and by far the livelier and prettier'of thetwo.
Sober Bessie, not so agile, all the more home-like
for her freckles and her motherly-and domestic
ways, seemed to be-two years 'the older, and to be
closely in accord with her mother in all her thoughts
and ways. Ruthven was still seated at the break-
fast-table, in what had 'been his father's chair;
without a word said, he had taken the place of his
father in that as in everything, so far as was possible
to a son not yet seventeen years old. Waldo was
on his feet and, in reply to Ruthven, was about to
give his ideas of hat everybc.d' ought to do. He
had no hesitation as to that; and he "as \try eager
and enthusiastic in what he had to propose.
It was as earnest and united a family group as
one could wish to see; but in an instant the same
group 'was as disturbed as if Uncle Cyrus had been
a live coal dropped into gunpowder. After a mo-
ment of blank astonishment at sightof him, Waldo
sprang forward, red '. ith anger, h;i hands clenched
threateningly; 'even Ruthven became ashen, and
coimpressed his lips; wihit, the gtlt started forward
to place thelnelves between their riother and this
unclewhom they had'at onetime loved, but whom
they could rot -forgive for all the-loss and trouble
his rash ventures had brought uponfthem. 'Certain
it was, that 'their losses through him had been the
finishing stroke of the many disasters that had
caused their father's death and beggared them all.
Judged byhislo-.Ik-, heseerimed Ifrtunateenough.
Not as tall as Waldo, he was ahlmot as broad as
both the boys rolled into one. He was robust and
ruddy. Except a pair of side-whiskers, as red and
bushy as his hair, he was closely shaven; well-
featured and fair, yod. could not have desired to see
a face more open and cheery. Any onewoull have
taken him for a very prosperous and popular
banker; and a smile came to one's face at the mere
sight of him, so happy and free from care did he
seem. For a moment only, -as he stood- in the
door-way, his face 'flushed and grew pale. He
knew the misery he had wrought -he could not
help seeing in what light he was regarded.
Mrs. Frierson, though still pale and trembling,
was the first to regain -her composure, and sat
awaiting in silence what her brother hight have to
My dear Bessie he began, and hesitated.
It required a strong will to do so when thus
addressed, but Mrs. Frierson looked steadily at
him. And, at the same time, she seemed to hush
and control her children by the simple raising of
her hand.
Please hear me," said their visitor, in the deep
silence which fell upon them. Do you think that


I do not know all the dreadful work I have done?
No more intending to do it, Bessie, than a baby --
no more intending it no more intending it he
repeated, wiping his forehead with his white hand-
kerchief. Somehow, there was the sincerity, too,
of a child in what he said. "Yes, Heaven

visitor did not take his pleading eyes from hers as
he spoke. "Here I am, not an old man,- young,
strong, willing to- work, eager to do all I can.
Yes, and I can do more for you than you think I
can. I know things you do not. I have a plan
- a splendid plan "


knows how sorry I am Heaven knows Can you
not see what I am here for ? You have known me
always, Bessie; you will understand what I suffer
in coming here -"
What do you come for? Waldo broke out,
refusing to look at his mother, his face. flushed.
"You know why I am here, Bessie! "- the

That is what you told my poor father cried
Waldo. "You had plans, great plans, glorious
plans It was impossible for you to fail! All you
needed was a little money-- "
"I know it, I know it Tears gathered in the
uncle's eyes; his voice was pitiful to hear. "But
why should I force myself on you ? How easily I




could have kept myself far away! I can do you no
further harm. Bear with me for a little while- I
come only to do wlat I can to right things; and
I can right them !"
"You can not bring my husband back," said
his sister, with sad calmness.
Oh, Mother:! please, Mother! It was Waldo
who made the exclamation, his face dreadful to
see, his lips drawn.
Uncle Cyrus did not take his eyes from the
mother's. There was an almost infantile sin-
cerity in the man, a pitiful pathos which not even
Waldo could v.holi:, resist, Ruthven was study-
ing his uncle's face steadily, sternly, "Oh, if I
only could make you believe in me he almost
sobbed. I.kave a plan to help you,-but I can't
say anything about that now. You would hot un-
derstand, would.not trust- Suddenlyhe grew
grave and calm. "Believe me, Bessie," he said,
" I can be of great help to you, Only try me."
"Why can you not go off somewhere and make'
some money, and send it back to us to help make
up? Why do you wish to be with us? Why did
you not write to Mother ?" And yet Ruthven felt,
as he angrily spoke, that-foolish, almost babyish
for a man of forty, as was the course of the uncle
it was entirely characteristic of him. No other
man would have come so unexpectedly upon them
after all'that had happened:; but Uncle Cyrus's was.
a queer nature.
It was the first time Ruthven had spoken, but
his uncle did not look from the mother to the son.
"I follow my heart," he said. "And I have
reasons which some day you will be able to under-
stand. Can't you comprehend that a man who has;
done the mischief I have done to those he loves, has
to do .something to atone for it? Do you sup-
pose," he flashed out, with an angry glance at his
nephews, "that a man of my age would bring him-
self to go down on his knees, to beg, to entreat,
if I did not have good reason for doing so ?"
It was an hour before they arrived at any result.
Mrs. Frierson was more perplexed when she
went to her room that night than she had ever
been before. When their visitor had gone to his
room, she and her children talked over again the
uncle's story-his earlier life, and how he had
ruined them. There had been a time when the
children had loved and believed in him almost as
much as in their own parents. Their long affec-
tion for him before the mischief was done, the un-
doubted earnestness and sincerity of the man, their
pressing need of one older than themselves- these
all had a certain influence in his favor; and, in a
few weeks, good-natured and now energetic Uncle
Cyrus had tacitly assumed his position as a mem-
ber of the household.

Ruthven did not work harder than he. Up
as early in the morning as .any one, the uncle
fed the horses, turned the cows into the prairie, at-
tended to hauling the wood, and-did a dozen things
before the welcome summons to breakfast came.
For the preent,- Mrs. Frierson kept no servants.
The family did not care to hire any help except a
Swede occasionally tb help in an emergency.
The girls could never get used to seeing their
uncle milk tle coiws. Such a thing was not done by
men in the; South, but Uncle Cyrus, like his
brother, was from the East, and he took a certain
odd pleasure in doing again what he once had done
when a boy. What made his dairy-man proclivi-
ties seem still more out of place was that, after a
day of hard work, Uncle Cyrus was wont to slip
upstairs, take a bath, and'come down to supper
dressed in his best; for he loied to loll back in
an easy-chair in the hall or on the porch, listening
to the playing and singing of his nieces, after the
evening meal. -':v
S- Who \ ou Id think that Uncle had been showing
us how to break young steers all day?" Waldo
whispered to Hessie, one evening. There he sits
in his clean linen and broadcloth, doing nothing,
exactly like a bank president at home."
".But he is n't exactly what he used to be before
all this happened," Hessie remarked. He holds
himself aloof from us sometimes."
I am quite sure," Waldo replied, that he has
an idea of some kind that he.is n't quite ready to tell
us about yet, 'Like Bessie and yourself, and
Mother, too,4Ruthven and I are not as free with
him as we used td be before Father died how can
we be? But, Hessie, I am coming, I 'm afraid, to
like him better than before. I 've half a notion
what his idea is, ard it's grand!"
Hark, Waldo Who's there? "
There was- a halloo at the gate opening on the
white limestone highway, for it-was now after dark.
Waldo, silencing the dogs, went to see who it was,
and came back with a tall man whom, as he loomed
up through the night, Hessie knew to be Prince
Braunfels. A live German prince in so thoroughly
democratic a part of the world as Texas may seem
almost an improbability. Yet such was the fact.
Not very long after Mr. Frierson had settled in
Texas, a young prince from one of the smaller
German principalities had bought a tract of land
in the valley of the Guadaloupe, and had emi-
grated thither with a colony of his subjects. The
Prince had a dozen other names besides Braunfels,
but that was as much of a name as a busy people
generally could find time to apply to the set-
tlement he made. Business at the Austin Land
Office called the Prince very often to the capital,
and he had long since grown into the habit of



stopping for' the night at the comfortable house
at Manchac Springs. Living as the Prince did,
among his ignorant colonists, he became singu-
larly fond of Mr. Frierson, who
was almost the only educated
gentleman within a very large ex-
tent of territory. Many an enor-
mous meerschaum of tobacco
had the good Prince smoked in
the company of his American
friend, upon whose hospitable
veranda he often sat talking, in
his broken English, far into the
Rough, and often overbearing
with others, the Prince had al-
ways cherished a great liking for
the wife and children of his friend.
He had attended the funeral of
Mr. Frierson, had seemed to be
deeply touched at the bereave-
ment of the family, and had-al-
ways, when passing, dropped in
for an hour and often for the
"I vants to see your goot
Mutter," he had told Waldo, as
they now walked to the house.
"I haf bizness mit her. How
you yas grown You know I go
back to Schermany; no ? My
foolish peoples- Oh, I tole your
good Fader about it long times
ago! -- mine peoples is got too
big for dere Prince. Dey haf
become A-mer-ri-cans! Dey
don't take off dere hats ven I
rides by. Am I become A-mer-
ri-can? No,minepoy! I goback
to civilization It is bizness I haf
mit your Mutter. Tell your
brudder to come in, too. Not
your uncle-no! no uncle; not
von leetle finger of him."
Somehow," the mother said
to her children at supper the
next evening, "if we do our
duty and put our trust in God,
we may be sure that he will take
care of us. Who would have dreamed of Prince
Braunfels's proposition last night? Yet I can al-
ready see that what he proposes fits perfectly into
our purpose to help us forward."
And so, too, I hope," suggested Uncle Cyrus,
modestly, "you will find it will be with my plan;
when I am ready, that is, to suggest it. It wont
interfere with the other."

Looking up, the mother saw how Waldo's face
kindled with sudden light as his uncle spoke,
and ,her heart sank as she recognized a likeness


between uncle and nephew that- she had not
observed before. Then her eyes sought Ruth-
ven's, as he at that moment looked at her;
and mother and son understood each other
And now, what was the business which had
brought the German Prince? Upon that turned
the future of every one there.

(To be continued.)





(A Series of Brief Papers concerning the Great Musicians.)



OF all musicians who have been creators in their
art, none were more original than Haydn. Unable
to obtain any instruction in musical composition,
he was almost entirely self-taught. This, which
to an ordinary person would have been a serious
drawback, proved highly favorable to Haydn's suc-
cess. Thrown upon his own resources, he made
his, own style and wrought very great changes in
instrumental music.
Joseph Haydn was born in the little village of
Rohrau, Austria, on March 31, 1732. His father
was a wheelwright, and Haydn's early days were
passed in a peasant's cottage. His parents were
simple, industrious people, who were determined
that their children should, above all else, be indus-
trious. The father had a tenor voice, often accom-
panying himself on the harp, though playing
entirely by ear, and the family, after the German
fashion, devoted their evenings to music. Soon
Joseph astonished his parents by the accuracy with
which he sang everything that he heard. Having
seen.the schoolmaster play the violin, it was his
delight to imitate him with two pieces of wood for
violin and bow. A cousin named Frankh was so
delighted with one of the child's performances that
he offered to give him a musical education. At
first it was doubtful if the offer would be accepted,
as the mother wished her son to be a priest or, at
least, a schoolmaster. Finally, his father, who
felt that he himself might have made a musician,
determined that the child's talent should be culti-
vated; so to Hamburg little Haydn went, and found
in Frankh an excellent though a severe teacher.
Haydn said afterward, "At this time of my life, I
got more flogging than food." He was, however,
always grateful to his master for his severity, as it
taught him to be a close student. Haydn now
studied the violin and vocal music. "When I was
six years old," he says, "I stood up like a man
and sang masses in the church choir, and could
play a little on the clavier and violin." The child
was not old enough to take care of himself, and in
afterlife he told how it distressed him at this time
to find his clothes torn and soiled, and not know
how to improve their appearance. There is a story
that one day a drummer was wanted in a certain
procession, and that though Haydn had received no
instruction on this instrument, his master gave him

a few hints and forced him to join the band. The
child was too small to carry the drum, so it was borne
on the shoulders of a boy who marched in front of
him, and an amusing sight the pair must have
been. Haydn afterward became a fine performer
on the drum, and it always remained one of his
favorite instruments.
In 1740 he was made chorister at St. Stephen's,
Vienna, which was a rare piece of fortune. He
now learned singing, the clavier, and the violin
from the best masters, besides some Latin, cipher-
ing, and writing. He worked hard to improve his
advantages, and he has said that from that time he
did not pass even a day without practicing from
sixteen to eighteen hours. He now began to be
anxious to compose, and though he received no
instruction in this important branch of music, he
covered every sheet of paper he could find. It
must be all right," he would say, "if the paper
is nice and full." One day he showed a com-
position to his master, who laughed at it, telling
the boy he must study harmony. Haydn was too
poor to pay a teacher, but he was not dismayed;
he bought a second-hand book on composition,
and in his cheerless attic, without fire, shivering
and sleepy, he toiled over it till he mastered it.
Young Haydn's voice now began to change, and
his prospects grew very black. One day his love of
fun led him to clip the queue, or pigtail,- in which
fashion the hair was then worn,-of one of his
school-mates. The master threatened to flog the
.culprit, but Haydn preferred to leave. Thrust
homeless upon the world, he was obliged to
earn his own living. Friends advanced him money
for his rent, and he received his food in exchange
for lessons on the pianoforte. He now devoted him-
self to study and practice, paying especial atten-
tion to Emmanuel Bach. In after life, Bach de-
clared that Haydn alone understood his works.
In 1761, Haydn was appointed capellmeister* to
Prince Esterhazy, a wealthy Austrian noble. His
patron owned a beautiful country-seat, which, in
addition to its natural beauties, included two thea-
ters for musical rehearsals, and so lovely was the
spot that the Prince arrived there early in spring
and staid until the end of autumn. It made the
members of the orchestra very unhappy to be so
long away from their families, and Haydn, who had
plenty of leisure for composition and musicians
enough to perform his works, was the only happy

* A capellmeister was the conductor of the private orchestra of a court or church.



one. He loved and sympathized with the men,
and at last he wrote for them his Farewell Sym-
phony." They were very home-sick, and, as the
Prince showed no signs of leaving, Haydn hit upon
this novel plan to make him return. In this Fare-
well symphony the instruments, one by one, cease
playing. At its performance in the Prince's thea-
ter, as soon as a musician stopped, he left the stage.
The Prince showed his appreciation of the music
and the joke by returning to Vienna and allowing
the musicians to return to their homes. '
In 1790 the Prince died, and Haydn -determined
to visit London. He spent his last day in Vienna
with Mozart, whom he dearly-loved, and to whom
he was the truest of friends. Haydn was now
nearly sixty; His face, though stern in repose,
softened and mellowed in conversation, and his
dark-gray eyes had a kindly glance for all. "Any
one can see by the look of me," he used to say,
"that I am a good-natured fellow." His manner
was quiet and earnest, and, though a modest man,
he was very sensitive; and enjoyed praise and
Haydn made two trips to London, where he was
very warmly received. There he wrote his Sur-
prise Symphony," so called because a number of
soft passages are followed by a sudden explosive
sound from the drums, which startles one un-
acquainted with the composition, which Haydn
intended as a joke. When he returned to Austria
he received a surprise of a far different kind. Some
friends took him to Rohrau, where, to his astonish-
ment, he saw a monument and bust of himself
next to his birthplace. On entering the house
his feelings so overcame him that he wept, and
kissed the threshold. Pointing to the little bench
by the stove, he said that there his musical educa-
tion had begun.
When in London, Haydn heard the English na-
tional anthem, God Save the King." He loved
his country, and wished that his countrymen,
too, might be able to express their patriotism
in song. Accordingly, he wrote the Emperor's
Hymn," which always remained his favorite com-
During his London visit he also attended a con-
cert where Handel's music was sung. When the
"Hallelujah Chorus" was given, Haydn broke
down and wept like a child. He then determined
to write an oratorio, and, after his return home,
began his oratorio of the "Creation." He la-
bored over it, and poured the greatest enthusiasm
into it. He says: I knelt down every day and
prayed God to strengthen me for my work." He
was so modest, that, though he felt the value of the

"Creation," he did not dare to' think the public
would, and said, on handing it to the publisher:
',' As for myself, now an old man, I only wish and
hope that the critics may not handle my Crea-
tion' with too great severity." While people were
still singing its melodies, Haydn reluctantly con-
sented to write the oratorio of the Seasons."
Although at the time both oratorios were admired,
the Creation" is now by far the more popular
of the two. Haydn overtaxed himself in writing
the Seasons," and his health was never good
The last years of his life were cheered by the
kindness of friends and the attentions of artists,
who loved to honor the great master. After a
long retirement, he appeared once more in public
at a performance of the Creation." He was
carried to the hall in a chair; but the excitement
was too much for him; he became more and
more agitated as the performance progressed, and
it was found necessary to take him home. People
thronged around his chair anxious for a word or
look, Beethoven, who kissed him, being among
the number. Five days before he died, Haydn
was borne to the piano,,when-he played his Em-
peror's Hymn" three times over. The end came
on May 31, 1809.
Haydn was a man who made the most of his
gifts. He was never satisfied, and always strove
to reach a higher ideal. He once said: I have
only just learned in my old age to use the winid-
instruments, and now that I do understand them
I must leave the world." He composed so much
that one would think he wrote quickly, but such
was not the case. When an idea occurred to him,
he would note it in a 'little book that he-always
carried with him, and afterward he would work
it over with the greatest care. He felt his genius
was a gift from God which he must use for the
good of others. God has given me talent," he
said, "and I thank him for it. I think I have
done my duty and have been of use in my genera-
tion." In writing for the pianoforte, he paid great
attention to the melody, which renders his works
equally interesting to young and old.: They are
always fresh and cheerful, and are often founded on
some little romance or incident. Haydn did so
much for musical composition, especially the sym-
phony, and was so genial and kind to his fellow-
musicians, and so fond of children, that in his later
years he was always called "Papa Haydn." The
name is still frequently used in referring to him. An
account of one of Haydn's charming Children's
Symphonies has already been given to the readers
of this magazine, in ST. NICHOLAS for May, 1874.

_ _1 ____~~~~_ __





YES, we are the keys,
The mischievous keys,
Who love to do nothing but bother
and tease.
Now we 're off with a rush!
Don't tell on us!--Hush!
We mean to play truant -as '
long as we please.

Oh, wont it be fun,
When the search has
begun ?.
When up and down stairs all the people
will run?
They '11 rummage the floors,
The bureaus and doors,-
And their patience and breath will be gone
they 're done!


Not a sound or a jingle
Shall make their ears tingle,
Or give them a clew to our snug hiding-place;
We '11 pretend to be sleeping,
While slyly we 're peeping
To see all the wrath and dismay in each face.

- -

-~'-j -k-


The doors all ate locked,
And the closet is stocked
With jam, and with pickles and other good things;
But they can't get a bite, .
Until we come to light -
Who'll say after this, now, that keys are ngt kings ?

They 're coming quite near us,
We fear they will hear us.
Let 's keep very quiet until they have passed.
What a row they are making!
And, oh, what a shaking
We 're certain to get when they find us at last !






ONE lovely summer's' day the sky was blue and
the sunbeams bright; the birds were singing gayly
and the bees humming loudly; the butterflies were
visiting the flowers, and the flowers were saying how
glad they were to see them, and everything was
just as it should be on a lovely summer's day,
when suddenly the breeze, which had been whis-
pering soft and low at early morn, grew angry,-
no one ever knew why,--and, swelling into a bois-
terous wind, hurried the birds back to their nests,
drove the frightened insects into places of shelter,
puffed rudely in the faces of the lilies until they
hung their sweet heads and were ready to cry, and
then flew up, up, up to the sky, where it met some
dark clouds, which it sent skurrying across the
sun, and at last down came a heavy shower.

Well, when the breeze first changed its low mur-
mur to a growl, the insects who were in the flower-
garden fled to the grape-arbor and sheltered them-
selves beneath the spreading branches and broad
leaves of the friendly grape-vines.
Here, for a moment or two, they all remained
motionless and quiet- with the exception of a tiny
Midge that could n't have kept still to have saved
its life, and who whirled, and whirled, and whirled
about in the air; and then an old Wasp, who had
alighted on a dead, dry branch, began sawing off
some of the fibers of the wood with her sharp teeth.
The Midge stopped whirling.
Why do you eat wood, Wasp ? she asked.
I'm not eating it," answered the Wasp, who,
however, by this time was certainly chewing it.



ss885.1 FROM ZURICH TOWN. 587

"What are you doing, then, if I may be so
bold? said the curious Midget.
Making paper," was the reply.
"Making paper ?" repeated the Midge. "How
strange "
"Not at all," said the Wasp. "Our family
were the first paper-makers in the world."
"What for ?" said the Midge.
We build our nests of it," answered the Wasp.
Oh! you build your nests of it ? Dear, dear,
is n't that queer ?" and the Midge began to whirl
around again.
Just then a large and handsome Bee, tired of
being idle so long, spread its wings and hovered
over some scarlet honeysuckles that had climbed
up among the grape-vines.
What are you going to do, Bee ?" asked the
Midge, pausing once more in her airy dance.
Gather honey," replied the Bee.
"That 's jolly," said Midget. "I think, for
myself, I 'd like that better than paper-making."
Our family," continued the Bee, were the
first, and, what 's more, are still the only honey-
makers in the wide, wide world."
How fortunate said the Midge.
Extremely fortunate," said a rasping voice from
the very top of the arbor, and, looking up, Midget
and her companions beheld a brown-coated insect
who; although shorter and stouter, strongly re-
sembled the busy Bee, and who, comfortably
stowed away between two bunches of young
grapes, looked down upon them.

"I don't know when I have enjoyed myself as
much as I have this last half-hour," he went on. "It
has done my heart good to watch such cheerful in-
dustry. Not a moment has been lost since we were
driven in here by the wind and rain. Idlers would
have slept or gossiped till the storm had passed, but
we, my friends, it appears, improve each cloudy as
well as each shiny hour. The Wasp prepared for
the building of the nest from which the dear young
Wasplings are to take their first peep at life. The
Bee gathered honey, and now only waits the sun-
shine to carry it to the hive. The tiny Midge scarce
paused in the practicing of her steps, and when she
did pause, it was to seek for useful knowledge. Now,
all this is very, very pleasant, to be sure, and with
what satisfaction we can all fly to the flower-garden
again when the shower is over. Ah! there is a
sunbeam. Let us go, happy in the thought that
we have not wasted one precious minute while
obliged to tarry here."
'We,' repeated the Honey-Bee, with a scorn-
ful hum.
Who is he ?" whispered the Wasp.
He never did an hour's work in his life," said
the Bee, indignantly. He has always been taken
care of by the other bees. He 's eaten our honey
and never helped us make if. He was driven from
our house this very morning because we found it
impossible to stand him any longer."
But who is he ?" again asked the Wasp.
"The biggest drone in the hive," answered the
Bee, as she flew away.



IN the dark, dull day, through Zilrich Town
Glided the train from the station out,
The while from the window, up and down,
An eager traveler peered about.
Red-tiled roofs with their gables quaint,
Misty mountains, all dim and gray,
Glimpse of the lake's rare color faint,
Came and went as we steamed away.
Under the eaves at a casement queer,
Swung like a door, was a pleasant sight,
For a little Swiss maid, fair and dear,
Was scrubbing the small panes smooth and bright.
And with what purpose and cheer scrubbed she,
Turning the window this way and that,
Pushing it backward and forward, to see,
As perched on the low, broad sill she sat.

Little she knew, as, with such a will,
Toiling she put forth her cheerful might,
How a stranger admired her homely. skill,
And her pretty self, as she passed from sight.
Now, when I remember quaint Zirich town,
There comes, like a picture before my eyes,
With her yellow hair and her homespun gown,
That little maid and her labor wise.
And, somehow, I think she will keep as clear
The window whence her soul must see
Life's various weather for many a year,
And watch with patience what there may be.
And if only the glass of the mind is clear,
She will see it is Light that casts the shade,
And pain less bitter, and joy more keen
By her cheerful spirit be surely made.





THE wild young kitten aroused the cat,
As dozing at ease in the path she sat.
" Oh, Mother he cried,'" I have just now seen
A 'flower that suggested an Orient queen!
'T is yonder by the nasturtion-vine -
Barbaric and tropic and leonine -
(I am not quite clear what these terms may mean,
But they 've something to do with the flower I've seen!)
And the aim in life of a high-souled cat
Is to gaze forever on flowers like that! "

To the wild young kitten replied the cat,
As blinking her eyes in the sun she sat:
" I should hope I had known how sunflowers grow,
I-could n't-count--how-many years ago!
But they never caused in my well-poised mind
Ideas of a dubious, dangerous kind !
And your time henceforth-it 's your Ma's advice-
Will be spent in maturing your views on Mice "



885.1 THE AESTHETES. 589


The wild young puppy disturbed the pug,
As she drowsed in peace on the Persian rug.
Oh, Mother! he cried, "I have just now seen
A plume that suggested a rainbow's sheen!
With a gorgeous eye of a dye divine,-
Blue-green, iridescent, and berylline--
(I am not quite clear what these terms may mean,
But they 've something to do with the thing I 've seen!)
And the only joy of a cultured pug
Is to gaze on such in a graceful jug! "

To the wild young puppy replied the pug,
Composing herself on the Persian rug:
"I would blush with shame through my dusky tan
If I raved at a piece of a peacock fan!
'T would never have raised in my sober mind
Ideas of a doubtful, delirious kind!
I will see that henceforth your attention goes
To perfecting the snub of your small black nose! "

.j: '"f:~ ~ J '
'I~' t *1'4
C .






KIT was by this time well on his way to Peace-
ville; and two hours later he might have been
seen walking rapidly into the village, with his coat
on his arm.
He was not on the road by which he had either
entered or left Peaceville the day before, and on
overtaking a little, bent old man, he inquired the
way to the fair-grounds.
"The second turn to the left brings you in sight
of the big ox-yoke," said the little, bent old man,
whose gait was slow, and who was very deaf.
Kit hurried on, shifting the coat he carried from
one tired arm to the other, and was just turn-
ing the corner indicated, when the little old man,
now some distance in the rear, called to him.
"What is it ? cried Kit, turning and gazing.
The little old man made an odd gesture, and
came trudging on, with his head down again, at
a snail's pace, as it seemed to the hurrying
"What do you want? called the boy again, at
the top of his voice.
But the little, bent old man neither answered
nor looked up; he probably did not hear.
He thinks I may take the wrong turn,"
thought the boy. "But I can't wait for him to
come up, and I have n't time to go back."
When the little, bent old man did finally look
up, he was surprised to find that the boy had
Could n't he wait a minute ? he said, clinch-
ing his right hand and shaking it emphatically,
while leaning with his left on a stout cane. "Well!
it is of no consequence, I suppose."
Anxious, and not very hopeful, Kit came in
sight of the great ox-yoke over the fair-ground
entrance, which he seemed to have seen in some
past stage of existence,--so long ago, and so like
a dream, appeared his unlucky adventures of the
day before. Had he really encountered Branlow
and discovered Dandy Jim within that thronged
inclosure ?
He had, of course, no expectation of finding
them there now; and remembering how he had
let them slip through his hands when every cir-
cumstance was in his favor, he thought of his
present quest as something very discouraging in-
The same gate-keeper of whom he had made

inquiries the day before was again on duty. He
regarded Kit with no little surprise.
"Why said he, with lively interest, "you are
the boy in the white cap who rode away on the
Duckford horse last evening! "
"I'm the very boy,"'said Kit, putting on his
coat. "And I want to find Mr. Knowles, the
That will suit all'round," said the gate-keeper;
"for I've no doubt Mr. Knowles will be glad to
findyou. Knowles he called out.
The same officer whose acquaintance Kit had
made the previous afternoon turned away from
the race-course, around which the same trotters
Kit had then seen (or so it seemed to him) were
raising the same cloud of dust. Mr. Knowles lei-
surely approached the entrance, but he quickened
his pace on seeing Kit, whom he likewise regarded
with surprised curiosity.
Where did you pick him up? he said to the
gate-keeper; and, quickly stepping forward, he
seized Kit by the arm.
He asked for you," said the gate-keeper.
"Asked for me? Well, what do you want of
me, young man ? "
Aware that he was viewed with suspicion, Kit,
though prepared for the occasion, changed color,
and stammered out:
I want I am after that horse "
"What horse? The one you stole, or tht one
you pretended was stolen, or some other ?" added
the officer.
The one that was stolen began Kit.
"Well, I think you can tell us more about that
than anybody else can I Do you know?" said
Mr. Knowles, scrutinizing him sharply, I have
instructions to arrest you? You act as if you
were n't aware of the fact, but you 're the boy that
took the Benting horse, as sure as you live "
"'Yes, I am," said Kit. He smiled, congratu-
lating himself on his foresight in providing proof
of his innocence for this very emergency. I took
the wrong horse by mistake as you will see,
as I will show you." He fumbled in his pockets.
"I have a paper-somewhere --"
His fumbling became hurried and nervous, and
he suddenly turned pale.
Now what's your game? said the wondering
I have a paper," poor Kit repeated, in accents
of alarm and distress -" or I had it--one that




Mr. Benting gave me." He pulled his pockets
inside out and stared at them in blank dismay,
exclaiming, I 've lost it! "
"What sort of' a paper was it?" Mr. Knowles
"Asort of certificate," replied Kit, "saying
that I had returned the horse which I had taken
by mistake. Mr. Benting gave it to me, so that I
should n't get into trouble on that account while
trying again to find my uncle's horse."
The officer smiled incredulously. "You're a
very sharp boy," he said, "but not quite sharp
enough. I saw through your tricks yesterday,
when it was a little too late; but I think I see
through this one just in time. 'There are no more
horses for you to ride away by mistake at this cattle
show, and you may as well come along with me."
"Do you think," cried the astonished Chris-
topher, that if I had stolen a horse here yesterday
I should be back here inquiring for you to-day ?"
"I should n't suppose so," replied the officer;
"but you seem to have done that very thing.
Though why you should ask for me-a police-
man-is a riddle I can't guess."
"It was because you are a policeman, and I
wished to show you that paper and get your
help," protested Christopher. "The Benting
boys said you could tell me if anything had been
heard of the man who sold the other horse,- my
uncle's horse,-the horse I am looking for; and
that perhaps you would know the man who bought
it. I thought you might at least direct me to the
grocery where the bill of sale was made out."
"I can do that," said Knowles, when I 'm
satisfied you are telling me the truth. But what
were you telling me yesterday? "
"The truth," declared Christopher.
"It did n't appear so," said the unbelieving
officer. If ever I was satisfied of anything, it
was that you and the rogue you are inquiring
for were accomplices. He and you had been seen
together, to all appearances on friendly terms;
and I have positive evidence that he helped you
to ride away with the Benting horse."
He did," said Kit, once more trying to ex-
plain the complication to unbelieving ears. Again
he searched his pockets and exclaimed, almost cry-
ing with vexation, Oh, if I only had that paper!
I am the most careless boy "
See here, my fine fellow! remarked the
astute officer, I don't take much stock in that
paper; and I believe it's my duty to hold you in
By this time a small crowd had gathered 'about
them. Just as Knowles was marching his prisoner
off, up trudged the little, bent old man.
Here, young man," he said; is this yours?"

And his trembling fingers relaxed and disclosed
a crumpled paper, which Kit snatched at eagerly.
"That 's mine! that's it!" he exclaimed
Where did you find it, Mr. Graves ? asked the
policeman, in a loud voice adapted to deaf ears.
"Back in the street, here," said the little old
man. "I thought it dropped out of this boy's
coat, which he had on his arm; and I called to him,
but he did n't seem to know what he had lost.
After I reached home, I put on my glasses and read
it, and thinking it might be important, I followed
him up here."
"You have done me a great favor, and I can't
thank you enough for it! said Kit with fervent
He handed the paper to the policeman, who read
as follows:

'To all whom it may concern :
'This is to certify that the bearer, Christopher
Downimede, of East Adam, who took my horse from
the Peaceville Fair Ground yesterday, mistaking
it for one belonging to his uncle, has. returned it
to me this day in good condition, with a satisfactory
explanation of the circumstances. And I hereby
cordially commend him to all good citizens gen-.
erally, and especially to Mr. Knowles, the officer
on duty at the cattle show, who I am sure will be
serving a good cause by assisting him in his search
for his uncle's missing horse.
'David Benting, of Duckford.'

"This puts a new face on the matter," said the
policeman. It is lucky for you, my boy, that this
paper turned up in time "
"As I carried my coat over my arm," Kit ex-
plained, the opening of the pocket hung down;
I never thought of what was in it. I am one of
those boys," he added, with a cheerful gleam over-
spreading his troubled face, "who can never think
of more than one thing at a time !"
"There 's no great harm done in this case,
thanks to Mr. Graves, here," said the officer;
"though if it had not been for him, I rather think
I should have had to lock you up till the Bentings
could be sent for, in spite of your plausible story
and honest face. Now let 's see what can be done
for you."


I WANT to find my uncle's horse,- that 's the
principal thing," said Christopher. At the same
time I should like to see the rogue caught who
stole him." And. he repeated what the Benting
boys had told him.



I 'm afraid I can't tell you much more," said
Mr. Knowles; except that the horse you say be-
longs to your uncle was sold to a man in South-
mere; I forget his name Baggage, Bradish, or
something of that sort. The rogue slipped away
before we came to the conclusion that he was a
rogue slipped away with an honest man's money,
it seems."
I was afraid of that," said Christopher. Who
is this Mr. Baggage, or Bradish ?"
O4 Bradger; that's more like it," rejoined the
officer. "All I know of him is that he 's a farmer

The little old man nodded and started off. Kit
turned to thank the policeman for his kindness.
"That's all right," said Knowles; "though it
might have been all wrong if it had n't been for
that paper, which I advise you not to lose a second
time, for I 'm not the only officer furnished with
your description and instructions to arrest you."
"That's a pleasant thing to know," laughed
Kit, rather uncomfortably, as he felt for the paper
in his pocket. "But I think I can take care of
myself now."
He left the separating crowd at the gate, and,


over in Southmere; and, from what I can hear,
he 's about as thick-set and stiff-necked and unac-
commodating an old codger as any you '11 be apt
to run against. They can tell you more about him
at Hines's grocery, where the bill of sale was made
That's just the place I want to find said
Mr. Graves is going within a stone's-throw of
it. Mr. Graves!" The officer lowered his face
and raised his voice, shouting in the ear of the
little old gentleman: "Will you show this boy
Hines's grocery? "

guided by Mr. Graves, soon found himself at the
door of Hines's grocery. Again thanking the
little old man for the very great favor he had done
him, he took leave of him at the door, and entered
the grocery with an anxious heart. He felt certain
that he was once more on the track of Dandy Jim,
which horse any but the most blundering boy in
the world might now reasonably expect to find.
Is Mr. Hines in ?" he asked of a smooth-faced
man behind the counter.
"That's my name," the smooth-faced man re-
Kit drew a quick breath and continued:




Mr. Knowles; the policeman,' directed me to
you, Mr. Hines." Mr. Hines bowed. I wish to
make some inquiries about two men who came
here last night- "
"Oh, yes! I know! interrupted the grocer,
with a smile. That horse business. You 're
not the first person who has come to inquire."
"Excuse mefor troubling you further," said Kit;
and he.proceeded to explain the object of his visit.
I think you will have .little difficulty in find-
ing your horse," said Mr. Hines. The boy's heart
bounded exultantly. But as to getting it-
that's another thing."
".You know. the man who bought it- Mr.
Baggage, or Braggage ? queried Kit.
"Badger is his.name; Eli Badger of South-
mere," replied the grocer. I know him very
well; arid I forewarn you that you wont find him
a very pleasant customer to deal with."
"But if I can show that he has a horse that
rightfully belongs to my uncle- began Kit.
"If you, can prove that, you can eventually're-
cover your uncle's property, no doubt. I should n't
like to say that Badger is a man who would buy
a horse, knowing it to be stolen; but having one
in his possession, and having paid for it--well,"
laughed Mr. Hines, all I can say is, I should like
to see the boy of your size who could take that
horse away from Eli Badger of Southmere "
"It will do no harm to try," replied Kit. "At
any rate, it will be a point gained to find the horse
in his possession. You speak as if you did not
consider him a very just man."
He may be a just man in his way," said Mr.
Hines. "But of all the grasping, grudging, cross-
grained people that I ever had any dealings with,
Eli Badger of Southmere is the worst. I pity you,
youngster, if you expect to get a horse away from
him! "
If I can't, may be somebody else can," said
Kit, with a troubled yet resolute face. "About
how far is it to the place where he lives ? "
"It 's a good six miles to Southmere village,
and he lives somewhere beyond that," answered
Mr. Hines. "He has a small farm, and raises a
great quantity of grapes."
"I must try to get there to-night," said Kit,
with an anxious glance at the grocer's clock.
"But first I should like to ask about the man
who sold him the horse."
Having received a very good description of his
friend Cassius Branlow, he went out to make further
inquiries concerning that uncertain individual, at
the Peaceville stove-stores.
Branlow's story of his being employed in one
of them turned out, naturally, to be a little fiction
devised for hoodwinking poor Kit, who found no
VOL. XII.-38.

Peaceville dealer in hardware or tinware who had
ever heard of the itinerant tinker.
Having spent more time and strength than he
could well afford in making these fruitless inquiries,
Kit set off at last, footsore and weary, on the road
to Southmere.
Late in the afternoon he entered the village, glad
to know that the man he was in search of and,
probably, the horse, also, were now not far off. Eli
Badger was well known to several persons of whom
he had latterly inquired the way; and each had
added a stroke to the not very agreeable portrait
that Mr. Hines had so broadly outlined.
"Not a very obliging man," one had said, in
reply to Kit's questioning.
"Grouty," said another.
Obstinate as a pig," declared a third.
Kit was not at all ambitious to encounter the
original of this picture; but the now almost abso-
lute certainty of discovering Dandy Jim cheered
him on.
At dusk, the boy in the base-ball cap that had
once been white, but which was beginning to show
-the effects of travel on dusty roads, paused doubt-
fully on a corner and looked about. Kit was tired,
toil-stained, and hungry. He saw a man coming
out of a summer restaurant, :and accosted him.
How far is it to Eli Badger's place ?" he in-
"Badger? Eli Badger?" The man pointed.
"' He.lives about a.mile away, on this road."
Kit gave a.weary sigh, and remembered wist-
fully the invitation Mr. Benting had given him to
visit the family on his return.
"And Duckford," he said; "how far is it to
"To Duckford Centre"-the man pointed in
another direction-" is about five miles."
Kit stood a moment longer in painful hesitation.
What was the use of his going farther that night?
It was not likely that he could even get a sight of
Dandy Jim before morning. To make any at-
tempt to gain possession of him before then, or to
give notice of his uncle's claim on the horse, might
prove a fatal blunder; and Kit was resolved to
avoid blunders in the future.
I wish Duckford were n't quite so far away," he
said to himself. I might go over to Maple.Park,
and perhaps get Mr. Benting to help me about
Dandy in the morning."
And before the mind's eye of the harassed and
lonesome boy arose the bright image of a young girl
who had befriended him when he most needed a
"If I only had Dandy to ride! or if I could
hop on a wagon going in that direction 1" he said
to himself, as he cast longing eyes up the dim



Duckford road. Then he added, "I might walk
it!" But he dismissed that notion quickly from
his mind, and entered the restaurant to rest his
lame feet and tired limbs, and study the situation
over a clam chowder.
"I '11 not do anything again in a hurry, nor
anything particularly foolish, if I can help it," he
said to himself, as he sat down and waited for his
It was a great satisfaction:to feel that he had
traced Dandy to the hands of a responsible farmer.
"It must .be Dandy, and no mistake," he rea-
soned, recalling all the evidence he had obtained
regarding Branlow's trade, and the descriptions of
the horse Eli Badger had received of him and led
away. "I 'm sorry for the man who has been
swindled. out of his money; but he might have
known there was something wrong about a horse
that was offered at so cheap a price."
The chowder came, and while he was cooling it
he perceived by the sound of voices that three or
four persons were entering the next box. They
laughed boisterously, and gave their orders in a
manner that enabled him to label them in a word-
Roughs! "
There was only a low partition between the
boxes; and from the open space above he could
hear much of their conversation, even when they
stated their tones to the discussion of a business
which demanded privacy. That business he was
also soon enabled to characterize by a single
"Roguery! "
He sipped his chowder, and pondered his own
plans, giving little heed to what was going on in
the adjacent box, until his attention was arrested
by a distinctly pronounced name -
Eli Badger "
Then Kit pricked up his ears.
"You and Mack must be on the spot," one was
saying, ready to give us the signal. If everything
is all right, we '11 stop our team at the corner of
the lane on this side."
"At half-past ten," said another.
"That's too early,-hey, boys?" suggested a
We '11 know by the way things look," was the
reply. If the lights in the house are out at half-
past nine, half-past ten will be late enough;
they '11 all be asleep by 'that time. Badger
would n't spend money to keep a dog, and we
shall make precious little noise."
"It 's just the night for it," said one of the
other speakers. The moon '11 be well up by that
time. You can't do such a job in any kind of shape
without a moon."
"If nothing happens, we 'll strike a bonanza

to-night," was the rejoinder. I went by there
to-day, and the trellises were jest black with
Then another: "He 's leaving 'em as long as
he dares to, but he wont resk 'em many nights
more for fear of frost. They 're ripe enough foi us,
anyhow. It 's to-night or never."
Mostly Concords ?" asked one.
"Concords and Delawares," said another. "We
'11 go for the Concords. They 're easy to handle;
bigger clusters; you can pick two bushels of Con-
cords while you 're picking one of Delawares."
Take both kinds," was the chuckling re-
sponse. All we can get, or our team can carry;
that 's my principle."
Don't talk so loud, boys said a more cau-
tious whisper; "somebody '11 hear us."
"Oh, nobody's nigh," replied another sup-
pressed voice, the owner of which put his head
out of the box and gave a wary glance about the
"But half-past ten is too early," one of the
conspirators insisted. Folks may be going by."
Eleven was finally agreed upon. Then followed
a discussion of the way the booty was to be dis-
posed of, and other details of the enterprise, in the
midst of which, without waiting to hear any further
particulars, Kit slipped out of his box, paid for his
chowder, and left the place.


HE had about made up his mind to spend the
night in the village and go on to Badger's farm in
the morning. But now he said to himself:
"Those scamps mean to rob his grape-vines to-
night. That '11 make him anything but a good-
natured man to-morrow. I wish I could manage
somehow to let him know of their little scheme."
How thankful he himself would have been for
information which might have prevented the steal-
ing of his uncle's horse He thought of that, and
resolved that in this case he would do as he would
be done by.
I '11 go on and tell him inyself. That will make
an excuse for calling on him. Then I willdo what
seems best about speaking of Dandy."
It can not be denied that in this affair Kit's mo-
tives were mixed, as are the motives of most of us.
Christopher Downimede did not by any means
forget his own interests when he resolved to do Eli
Badger a favor. And yet, with his strong love of
justice, he felt an unselfish desire to see even the
disobliging Eli protect himself from the depreda-
tions of unscrupulous marauders.
He made inquiries of two or three persons on


's85.- HIS ONE FAULT. 595

the road for Badger's place, and was told that he
would know it by the grape-vine trellises between
the lane and the house.
It was a gloomy, anxious walk, after the fatigues
of the last two days. Evening had come on, and
the moon had not yet risen. There were few houses
on that dreary road. The fields were lonely and
open; the still stars looked down upon him; noc-


turnal insects trilled in the wayside alders and wild
cherries, the outlines of which were dimly defined
against the western horizon.
He thought of his mother in that weary walk.
and felt sure that she was thinking anxiously of
him. Had she yet heard of his strange and ridic-
ulous blunder in bringing home the wrong horse?
Or was she even then waiting for him to come
dashing in,-as he often did in the evening,-and
tell her the whole story of his triumph in finding
Dandy at the fair the day before?

"I '11 make it a real triumph before I am
through," thought he, as he trudged on. "And
Uncle and Aunt Gray-were they talking of him
and his amazing heedlessness at that moment ?
And the Bentings "
"If I get Dandy," he said to himself, "I '11 ride
him over to Maple Park bareback after the saddle."
And his bashful, boyish heart thrilled at the an-
ticipation of meeting
a certain pair of sym-
pathetic blue eyes.
His mind was re-
called from its wan-
derings by the ap-
pearance of a house,
set well back from
the road.
SThis must be Eli
Badger's," he reflect-
ed. Here is the
lane, anda the corner
where those grape-
thieves talked of
stopping their horse;
over there must be
the trellises." But
looking down upon
S them from the road,
which was somewhat
above the level of
the garden, he could
not make them out
in the darkness. He
had the idea fixed in
his mind, from a de-
scription of thd place
some one had given
him, that the lane
formed the principal
approach tothe prem-
ises. It was open,
and he walked into
it, having no doubt
that it would take
him to the house,
toward which he was

drawn by two dimly lighted windows. He soon
found, however, that he was leaving them on his
He supposed there must be a gate somewhere,
which he had failed to find; and he walked back a
little way, exploring the lane in search of it. But,
as he could discover neither gate nor bars, he
concluded to simplify matters by climbing the
fence and crossing the yard to the house, which
seemed very near.
He climbed over and was advancing carefully,


when an obstacle rose before him like another fence.
This time it was a rather high obstacle; a grape-
trellis, in fact. He was not sorry to make the dis-
covery, for he was beginning to fear that he had
mistaken another place for Badger's.
Here are more trellises he said to himself;
and he was groping to find a way around them,
when a rustling noise caused him to stop in some
The gloom. and strangeness of the place had
excited his boyish imagination, and he was pre-
pared for a good fright, when a dark object, in the
direction of the noise, came out from the shadow
of the heavily draped frames, and advanced toward
Not knowing whether it was man or beast, he
recoiled instinctively and scrambled to the fence.
Immediately the rustle became a rush, and with an
appalling tramp of heavy feet, the creature plunged
after him.
It was no beast,-perhaps the assertion should

be qualified, by saying it was no dumb beast,- but
broad-backed Eli Badger himself, who was out
there, with a stout hickory stick, keeping guard
over his vineyard. Vengeance for the misdeeds
of many plundering youngsters animated the keen
and watchful eyes, the heavily plunging legs, and
the arm upraised to strike.
The arm descended, and the cudgel with it,,just
as poor Kit was climbing the fence.
Thwack! whack! crack! First a blow on the
boy's back, then on his shoulder, then on that la-
mentably slight protection to his skull, the closely
fitting base-ball cap; and a dark body, dreadfully
limp and silent, fell prone at Eli Badger's feet.
It was the blundering Christopher, who, with
scarcely an outcry, had fallen at the third stroke;
the case in which he carried those unlucky brains
of his having proved no match for the Badger arm
and club.
I 've done for him, sure as smoke said Eli,
stooping to lift the limp form of the boy.

(To be continued.)



7 )f F OT very many
years ago, there
-' lived a little In-
w hdian girlnamed
Momo. Her
hundreds of
miles from New
York, in a land
where the win-
ter-time comes
when our sum-
mer: does, and
where, when it does come, it rains instead of snows.
At such times Momo would sit the whole day long
in the door-way of her father's house, listening to
the wailing of the wind and the roaring of the river
as it tore great cavities in its banks, and brought tall
trees tumbling headlong down to be swept away to
the sea. She dared not venture out. She was solit-
tle, and the rain and wind were so strong that, if she
had trusted herself to them, she too would probably
have been swept away to the ocean, like a bruised

and battered leaf on the fierce tide. It was a dismal
time for poor Momo, this rainy season, as it is called.
Little by little the rain would eat its way through
the thatch,of palm branches that made a roof for
the house, until the whole place was afloat and
she could no more sleep in her little hammock than
you could under a shower-bath. Then the store
of bananas and of plantains, of parched corn, and
of meat cut in long strips and dried in the sun,
would give out, and they all would be hungry.
Mawarri (that was the name of Momo's father)
would then carry his old gun, with its barrel nearly
as tall as himself, out into the storm; but more
usually he would bring nothing back but himself
and his long gun, for even the beasts and birds had
hidden from the tempest.
But when it was not raining in Momo's country,
it was very beautiful. The grass grew long and
green, and the wind, as it rustled through the sway-
ing blades, sang softly, like a nurse hushing the
baby to sleep. Overhead the palm branches
clashed like warriors' spears, and birds of gorgeous
plumage uttered strange calls. Momo used to fancy




they were speaking to her, and she had invented
quite a language of her own in which to answer
them. Sometimes she sat for hours on the high
bank of the river, which now went softly by, blaz-
ing in the sunlight like a stream of molten gold,
and she would chatter till the noisy paroquets
cocked their wise little heads to listen, and the
timid humming-bird buzzed like a big bee so close
to her harmless hand, that she might have grasped
it if she wished.
Not that she did wish, for she had never willfully
harmed a living thing. In this lonely place, with
the great mountains all about, and her father away
hunting the whole day long, while her mother
hoed the corn-patch or searched for bananas in the
canebrakes by the river, these busy creatures were
the little girl's only companions, and she loved
them. Even the iguanas, the great, fierce-looking
lizards, with their spiny backs and snake-like tails,
that were green in the grass and turned brown in
the forest, feared her so little that they only blinked
a sleepy eye when she passed them as they basked
in the sun. The beetles drummed and the crick-
ets chirped drowsily in the hot air, and paid no
heed to her, as if they knew or had been told that
she would not harm them. But most of all, she
loved the butterflies.
There were legions of them about Momo's house,
of all colors, forms, and sizes. Sometimes they
made the air fairly glorious with their flitting tints,
like the changing colors of a kaleidoscope. They
came and went in unexpected fashions. Some
days only white or yellow ones would be seen.
Again, noble big fellows from the forest would ap-
pear, blazing with all the colors imaginable. And
out of their coming and going, and all their in-
explicable changes, an odd fancy brightened in the
poor little Indian girl's mind.
She had never heard of fairies, but her father
feared an evil spirit, a somber fiend that he be-
lieved went abroad in the darkness and the storm.
At night, when a loon flew by, uttering its dismal
call, Mawarri would waken with a start and say
that Ukobo, the evil spirit, was on his wanderings.
Now, the butterflies were bright and loved the sun.
They made no melancholy noises. They had often
brushed Momo's face and harmed her not, while
the evil spirit, she was told, caught and devoured
people. So Momo came to look upon the butter-
flies as good spirits, and in secret she begged
them to be always kind and loving to her, as she
would be to them. This supplication of a barbaric
child became in time a formal prayer with her.
And when she found one of her good spirits crushed
and dead, she would bury it in a pleasant place where
Papillones, the feminine of PapillNo, the French for butterfly.
which the butterfly belongs.

the sun could reach it, and she would stamp down
the earth above it to keep the ugly black ants at bay.
One day, strange people came to Momo's house,
-not low-voiced, slow-moving, listless, smooth-
faced people with brown skins, like those who came
to see her father; but men so strange that she was
just a little frightened at them. They had white
faces, and long shaggy hair and beards. They
wore coverings on their heads and queer clothing
on their bodies. They carried guns, and things
somewhat like guns, but smaller, in leather belts
at their waists. They looked thin and tired, and
one of them was so sick he had to be helped on as
he walked; yet all, sick and well, laughed and
spoke with loud voices in a harsh tongue. They
had some Indians with them, who carried heavy
packs. Their canoes in the river were deep-laden,
too. The Indians spoke to Momo's father, as did
also one of the strangers, who, the little girl won-
deringly noticed, could speak her language and that
of his own people too. Then they made a great
fire in front of the house, and cooked and ate
strange things from shining boxes, and drank
from bottles. Momo picked up one of the boxes
which had been thrown aside when emptied, and
the man who had spoken to her father noticed it
and called to her in her own language :
Come here, little one."
He was a big man, with a great shaggy red
beard; but he had bright blue eyes and a pleasant
voice, and Momo did not fear him. He put his
arm around her as he sat on the ground, and asked
her why she had picked up the box.
"Because it is pretty," she replied.
He took a great round yellow thing from his
pocket and showed it to her. Is n't that pret-
tier?" he asked.
"Oh, no !" said Momo, "it is smaller, and it
does n't shine."
They all laughed at something the man said to
them, and Momo became quite indignant, for she
felt that they were laughing at her. But the
stranger held her fast, and the next moment a
swarm of butterflies came fluttering about her
head. Most of the men uttered an exclamation of
admiration. If Momo had understood their lan-
guage, she would have heard them say :
"Beautiful! Splendid!"
"She is a little 'Princess Papillones,' "* said the
big stranger in the same tongue. "And I mustadd
some of her subjects to my collection," he continued.
"Why not ask her to do it, Professor? asked
the sick man. The butterflies don't seem to fear
her, and her little hands will not do them half the
harm our nets will."
Payilionidce is the scientific name for a class or family of insects to


"A good idea," replied the man with the red And while the red-bearded man still held her,
beard, and, turning to Momo, he said in her own and she struggled with puny rage to free herself,
language: "The butterflies are not afraid of you, she spoke of her good friends the butterflies, and
my little one?" how they watched over and protected her. The
Oh, no said Momo. man's face changed a little as she spoke, and when
she had finished he let her go. That afternoon,
when one of his men caught a splendid butterfly
in a fine net fastened to a staff, the Professor called
out to him sharply, and the man set the insect at
Liberty again.
The strangers went away next morning, and
v s .- .--- the Professor called Momo to him, and hung about


You could catch them easily, could you
not? he asked.
I never tried to," answered Momo, in
Well, I want some of them now, and for
everyone you bring me you shall have a box like that
you have in your hand. Do you understand ?" her neck by a fine cord the round yellow thing she
Momo did understand, and, with the hot, red had thought Was not as pretty as the box. There
blood darkening her brown cheeks, she flung the were plenty of boxes left, too, and Momo gathered
box down, angrily, and cried: them about her and sat on the verge of the bluff.
Let me go! You must be Ukobo himself, She watched the boats vanish down the river,
but you can have none of my good spirits,-no, while the butterflies fluttered about her. The
not one man with the red beard waved his hat to her, and
~j ~ 71 __

not one!i man with the red, beard waved his hat to her, and


his big canoe rounded the bend, leaving a ripple
on the water like a rope of gold.

The rains were on, and Costa Rica, from hill-
tops to low levels, was swamped. In the drowned
savannah of the Estrella river-mouth the Sala-
manca Exploring Expedition was killing time as
best it could under shelter of the Old Harbor
Ranche. For a wonder, the storm lifted on the
afternoon of July 29, 1873. The sun came out
in a vast blaze of tropical splendor, and the wet
earth began to smoke as if it were burning incense.
But the brief glory of the sunlight gilded a scene
of melancholy ruin on the river bank-the wreck

of many an Indian village swept away by the up-
country freshets. Among some tangled grasses a
portion of a thatched roof rose and fell softly on
the tide. What first attracted our attention to it
was a magnificent forest butterfly fluttering about
it. The Professor sprang forward, eager to secure
it, and then stopped short with a sudden cry.
Cradled on the sodden thatch, with a smile on
her face, was the body of a little Indian girl, with a
pierced ten-dollar gold piece hung about her neck.
And the butterfly, broken-winged and rain-
drenched, still fluttered lamely over the still form.
One of the subjects she had so bravely protected
had been loyal to Princess Papillones" to the last.



LOOK at the butterflies Purposeless things,-
How idly they float on their gossamer wings!
Over the poppies and over the grass,
Light as the down of a thistle they pass.

Where are they going, and why are they here
In the heat of the day and the noon of the year ?
They flutter awhile in the brightness, and then
They are gone from our sight and they come
not again.

And we-we are wearied with fever and frost,
Whatever we do, it must be at a cost;
We hear, as we journey, the dropping of tears;
We bear on our foreheads the stamp of the years.

But look at the butterflies,-beautiful things,-
Before us and over us flashing their wings!
It may be the Maker who fashioned them thus,
Has sent the gay creatures on errands to us.

Perhaps we go slowly, when we should be swift
To follow the scent of the roses, that drift
Their pink snow about us; more oft we might play,
And yet finish our tasks by the end of the day.

Oh, blest are the eyes that are clear to behold
The wonderful glow of the butterflies' gold,
With leisure to follow their flight as they pass
So gracefully, silently, over the grass !






OVER a fir-crested ridge of the Sierras, the sink-
ing sun cast long shadows across the level sward
of a little mountain "park." In the edge of the
timber three or four white tents were pitched,
while half a dozen mules and horses were grazing
near by, and a canvas-covered wagon stood at one
side, within the shelter of the trees. On the green
grass certain squares were marked in broad, white


the ridge from the other side and were looking down
upon the little "park," wondering what it all could
mean,- the net and the queer, flannel-clad figures
that flitted about, knocking white balls back and
forth over the net, and calling to one another
" fifteen!" thirty vantage! and so on,
till darkness compelled them to stop and enter the
pleasantly lighted tents, all unaware of the bright,


lines, and across the squares a net was stretched wild eyes that had been curiously watching their
between two stakes, game..
It all looked very mysterious to Spotted Crow, The sun wended his way, as is his custom, across
an Indian brave, and to his two brown-skinned the shining Pacific and was presently looking down
sons, who, attractedby voices, hadstealthily climbed upon a very different scene in far-off Japan. Two




native girls in their quaint costumes were taking a
promenade near a Japanese town. In the distance
loomed up the snow-clad cone of Fusiyama, the
sacred mountain. The girls drew near a low house
with wide verandas, which had a lawn in front; and
on the lawn were similarwhite squares, and just such

But the sun was well used to this sort of thing.
There was never a continent that he looked down
upon as the round earth daily turned its different
hemispheres upward for his inspection, where he
did not see tennis nets and hear those familiar cries.
He knew that the racket and the net were always

--I- -
-I -- I 7 -


a net as Spotted Crow and his sons had marveled
at a few hours before, as they peered through the
tree-tops of the American mountains, six thousand
miles away. The two Japanese girls stopped and
looked over the hedge. Some young English folk
were knocking balls to and fro over the net, and
crying out, "fifteen 1 "forty "deuce all !"
"game!" and the rest, just as their American
cousins had done on the other side of the wide

in use somewhere; that the empire of lawn tennis
circled the earth quite as completely as does the
boasted roll of British drums.
Ages ago the sun had seen the beginnings of
this game. It is not quite certain whether it was
on the banks of the Nile or the Ganges, or at
Nineveh; but somewhere this same sun saw a group
of half-naked, bronze-limbed youngsters throw-
ing balls or dried gourds back and forth, using
their hands for bats, and doubtless having quite as



much fun, after a barbarous fashion, as we have
nowadays with cork-handled Franklin rackets,
regulation balls, and a set of printed rules.
Generations rolled by, however, before the pio-
neers of tennis had themselves carved on stone
slabs, and still other ages before Gordian III. and
Marcus Aurelius Antoninus had coins struck, in
honor of the Pythian Apollo, bearing devices which

Edward III. (1365) decided that no one but kings
and their associates should be allowed to play it at
all, and his example was followed by Henry IV.,
Henry VIII., and other reigning sovereigns of
England and France. It kept gaining in popu-
larity, however, and some sort of outdoor tennis
was played with inflated balls very early in the
history of the game.
Every little while the royal commands would be
forgotten, or some convenient war would break
out, and, after it was over, tennis would "bob
up serenely," as a very popular amusement.
Henry VIII. had the tennis fever in a violent
form, and the most famous royal set ever played
was that in which Henry VIII. of England and
the Emperor Charles V. were matched against the
Prince of Orange and the Marquis of Branden-
burg, while the Earl of Devonshire "stopped"
(that is, picked up balls and kept count) for one
side and Lord Edmund Howard did a like service
for the other side. The chronicle relates that
they played "XI full games, and were "even
hands at the close, a statement which has puzzled


represented athletes serving and returning balls,
and using their hands as rackets.
Even at that early day it was found desirable to
protect the hand by means of gauntlets, but it
was not until the fourteenth century, so far as can
be ascertained, that bats or rackets were invented,
and the game grew into something not altogether
unlike that which is played to-day.
The regular tennis court of the middle ages was
a very elaborate affair, with divisions and galleries
and railings and "pent-house roofs," and a care-
fully laid stone pavement, all of which made it a
very costly game to play, and only kings and the
richest of the nobility could have tennis courts of
their own. These courts need not be described
here, but they were not unlike the lawn courts
of to-day in size and shape. At first there was a
line stretched across the middle; then a fringe was
added to this line, and by the beginning of the
last century (A. D. 1700) the net was adopted much
as at present used.
The method of counting, too, was not unlike
that followed in our modern lawn tennis, but it
was loaded down with rules that must have made
a medieval game quite a good exercise in mental
arithmetic- for the marker, atleast- as the princes
and lordlings, who alone played tennis in those
days, did not keep their own scores, but had attend-
ants to look after this part of the game for them.
It was, indeed, a royal game; so very royal that


the critics, who can only infer that the historian
made a mistake of one in his figures.
At last, the kings gave up the vain attempt to

* See a description of the game of trigoi in ST. NICHOLAS for February, 1884, in the series of "Historic Boys."






keep so capital a game to themselves, and gra-
ciously vouchsafed it to their loyal subjects, simply
because they could no longer prevent their playing.
Of course, there still remained the difficulties aris-
ing from the great costliness of regular courts, but
these could not interfere with out-of-door tennis.
This was, however, a very unscientific sport, and
was, of course, despised by the gentry who could
afford to play the court game. In the illustration
taken from an old wood-cut, some out-of-door ten-
nis players are seen in the distance.
In fact, it was -not until a very few years ago
that the play-loving English public awoke to
the fact that some one had reduced out-of-door
tennis to a science; that somethingvery likd court
tennis could be played on the lawn, under the blue
sky; and that "pent-house roofs" and galleries,
railings, tambours, chases, and the rest were relics
of the dark ages.
Just about that time, too, England had passed
through just such a roller-skating fever as we had
in America last winter. And there were the empty
rinks all ready to be marked off for tennis, so that
during the occasional spells of bad weather with
which our English cousins are afflicted, the game
could be played under cover.
A great deal of tennis was played last winter in
this country in rinks, and armories, and gymna-
siums, and, it is now, no doubt, fairly established
among indoor winter sports, but the true Court of
Prince Tennis is the smooth lawn, with its springy
turf, or, where turf can not be had in full perfec-
tion, the beach, or such smooth surface as the
average orchard or home-lot can afford.
The advantages of the game are that it can be
played by two, three, or four persons, and keep
them all on the alert from the word "Play 1" As
an exercise it may be as gentle or as energetic as
the player chooses. It is so easily learned that even
a beginner very soon cherishes hopes of success,
and yet so worthy of effort that it fascinates the
finest athletes. Moreover, it is not ruinously costly
in outfit, and one of its best qualities is that it is
very entertaining for spectators, who quickly learn
enough of the game to watch its progress with
interest, and are not in the least danger from iron-
hard missiles, as in the case of cricket and base-
ball. The boy or girl who is an interested spectator
will presently long to send those fascinating white
balls flying over the net, and very soon Prince
Tennis has another courtier in his train.


THE necessary equipment includes at least four
balls, a racket for each player, and a net fitted with
posts and lines so that it can be set up as directed.

The rackets should be, for the use of an average
player, of medium size and weight, say, thirteen
ounces. The balls must be of india-rubber, not
less than two and fifteen thirty-seconds inches, nor
more than two and a half inches, in diameter, and
weigh not less than one and fifteen sixteenths
ounces, nor more than two ounces; these being
the dimensions and weights prescribed by the
National Lawn Tennis Association. The net is
three feet wide and thirty-three feet long, with
meshes of such a size that the ball can not pass
through. When in position, its lower edge swings
just clear of the ground in the middle and its upper
edge is three feet from the ground. At the posts
the upper edges are three feet six inches from the


ground. A perfect court is an absolutely level
lawn of smoothly clipped turf, seventy-eight feet
long and twenty-seven feet wide; but by far the
greater number of courts are somewhat short of
this perfection. (See diagram on next page.)
The net is stretched between the posts A and B,
which are driven into the ground and held firmly
upright by means of guys, as shown. Parallel with
it, and thirty-nine feet distant, are drawn the base-
lines D, E and F, G; and these, in turn, are con-
nected by the side-lines D, F and E, G. Midway
between the side-lines and parallel with them is the
half-court-line H, I, and on each side of the net,
parallel with it, and twenty-one feet distant, are the
service-lines K, L and M, N. The net, it will be seen,
* extends three feet beyond each of the side-lines.
After the court has been accurately laid out
and small stakes set up for guidance, the lines may



be marked on the grass with a paint-brush dipped
in whitewash or marble-dust.*
Complete directions for playing the game can not
be attempted here. The rules are published in a
little pamphlet issued by the Association, and may
be had of all dealers. Let us suppose, however, that
the court is complete, and that two players are
ready to begin a game. They stand on opposite
sides of the net. The one who delivers the first
stroke this having been decided by lot is

39 Feel
- -


boundaries of the front court, diagonally opposite
that from which the service is delivered. Should
he not succeed in his first attempt, it is called a
" fault," and he is allowed another trial. A second
failure scores in favor of his opponent. Should
the ball when in service strike the net in going
over, it is called a "let." Such a ball may not be
returned, and the server is allowed another trial.
But after a ball is "in play," its touching the net
does not constitute a let."

n 39Feet.
--- -- ------------------------------------------------


0 alw
,j I Ft. (0 5L Ft. 21Ft. 21


-- - - - -




called the "server," and the other, the "striker-
out." The server stands with one foot outside
the base-line of the right-hand court, and the other
foot upon or within that line. When all is ready,
he strikes the ball with the racket, aiming to send
it over the net and have it take ground within the

The striker-out lets the ball take the ground
before attempting to return it across the net.
On its first rebound, he gives it a return strike
with his racket, aiming to send it over the net
somewhere within the side and base-lines of
the court, and then the ball is in play." A
"liner," or ball striking one of the white lines,
is considered as within the court bounded by
That line.
These limitations as to the first rebound only
apply to the first stroke of the server-out. After
that has been delivered, the ball may be "vol-
leyed,"-that is, struck on the "fly,"-or
"half-volleyed -taken at the first bound,- and
the return is a fair one if the ball strikes the ground
anywhere within the side and base-lines of the serv-
er's court.
In like manner the server makes his return, and
so the ball flies to and fro over the net until one of

*A very excellent marking-machine may be had of the dealers, or a very satisfactory stencil-board may be made by nailing cleats across
two light boards so as to leave a space of about two inches between their straight edges. These are then laid on the ground and the
whitewash sprinkled between them, the stencil-board being raised and moved along from place to place until the lines are completed.





the players misses it or makes a "fault," which
consists in failing to return the ball into the oppo-
site court, whereupon, the other player scores
" ace "- that is, fifteen.
The server now changes to the base-line of his
own left court, and serves the ball as before, but
into the left front court of the striker-out. The
next stroke, if won by the previous winner, raises his
score to thirty, the next to forty, and the fourth is
"game." But the other player may have won
sundry strokes, and the two may have forty at
the same time. The score in such case stands,
"deuce all." The next stroke won scores "vant-
age" for its player-" vantage in when in favor
of the server, vantage out" when in favor of the
striker-out; but if the next falls to his opponent
the score returns to deuce," and so on, returning
to "deuce," until one of the players wins two
strokes in succession. This ends the first game.
The second is opened by the striker-out of the
first, who becomes server, and so alternately in the
successive games. A, "set" consists of eleven
games. Therefore, the player who first scores six
games wins the set. If both players win five
games, the score is called games all," and the
winner of the next game scores "vantage game."
If he lose the next game thereafter, the score goes
back to games all," and so on until one or the
other wins two games in succession.
In three and four-handed tennis the court is of the
same length (seventy-eight feet), but is thirty-six
feet wide, and the net should, therefore, be forty-

two feet long, so as to extend beyond the side-lines,
as in the case of the smaller court. The dotted
lines in diagram show the plan of the large court.
The same general rules of play apply, but with
a few necessary changes. Suppose, for instance,
that the four distinguished personages mentioned
in the famous royal game referred to, were to un-
dertake a set at modern tennis: Charles V. and
Henry VIII. against the Prince of Orange and the
Marquis of Brandenburg. Charles would serve
the first game; Orange, the second; Henry, the
third, and Brandenburg, the fourth. The two not
serving or striking-out would act as fielders,"
watching for unexpected strokes, or trying to make
good the failures of their respective partners.
If it were a three-handed set, as, for instance,
Henry against Orange and Brandenburg, then
Henry would serve the first game; Orange, the
second; Henry, the third, and Brandenburg, the
fourth; Henry, the fifth, and so on.
There are scores of "tricks and customs that
can only be learned by experience. The ball may
be tossed or sent straight and swift over the net,
or cut," that is, given a rotary motion, so that its
rebound will be at a perplexing angle. Every
player has individual peculiarities, and almost all
have some weak point of play which the keen
server or observer soon finds out. It is impossible
to describe all these here; but enough has been
said to enable any one to begin his tennis practice
with some understanding of the fine qualities of this
truly royal game.





Two little girls, with checked sun-bonnets on
their heads and tin pails in their hands, were
walking along the sidewalk of a certain town in
Maine. One was named Lizzie Pulsifer, and the
other Hannah Cooke. Lizzie was eight years old;
so was Hannah. I would mention the name of
'the town, but they are both women now, with
little girls of their own, and they might not like to
be laughed at. Did I tell you it was a spring morn-
ing? Well, it was in early May. When they
reached Fred Starke's house, Fred, who was out in
the yard, screamed:

"Good-morning, girls where are you going?"
"We 're going blueberrying," said Hannah.
"Ha! ha! ha!" was Fred's reply. "I hope you'll
get your pails full. Blueberrying! Ha! ha! hal"
"Well, I think we shall," replied Lizzie. "I know
where they used to be very thick."
"You do!" said Fred. "I hope they will be
thick now. You'd better go fishing. That's what
I 'm going to do." And he turned away, still laugh-
ing heartily.
When they left Fred, the girls walked along
quietly again until they reached the railroad.




"We shall have to walk along on the track a and Lizzie held hers against the running water, and,
little way," said Hannah; "but we can watch for sure enough, she caught a little one that was corn-
trains." ing down with the current. "Oh, Hannie! perhaps
They walked for some time, stepping froinsleeper we canget enough to fry for dinner !" she cried.
to sleeper, until Lizzie saw smoke in the distance. She put her fish up on the bank in a safe place,
Hannah said it was a train coming, and that they and then she and Hannah went to fishing in good
must hurry off the track as fast as they could. So, earnest.
long before the train arrived, they had climbed a It was rather slow work after that; but, when
fence and were in a pretty pasture on the edge of Hannah had caught three and Lizzie three, they
the woods, heard the clock striking twelve.
There they looked around for blueberries. They So, with their bunches of flowers, ferns, and
foundplentyof lovely pink-and-white arbutus(or, as checkerberry leaves, and their pails of fish, they
they called them, May-flowers), and great bunches started for home. Their dresses were draggled
of purple violets, and white houstonias with their and spattered with muddy water, and they carried
yellow eyes, and grouhd-nut blossoms; and on their shoes and stockings in their hands. They
bushes which looked, Hannah said, very much like did not dare to take time to put them on, lest the
blueberry bushes, they found pretty, white, bell- fish could not be fried for dinner.
shaped flowers, just tinted with pink, but they "How many blueberries have you picked?"
could n't find any blueberries. They picked the shouted Fred, who was on the lookout for them.
young checkerberry leaves which were just peep- "We could n't find the place," said Hannah;
ing out of the ground; and, at last, getting bolder, so we thought we 'd go fishing, and we've had
they strayed a little way into the woods and gath- good luck. Lizzie caught three and I caught three."
ered some lovely ferns. But not a blueberry was What kind are they?- trout?"
to be seen. "Yes, I think so," said Hannah, as she lifted
"It's queer," said Hannah. "I wonder where her pail-cover cautiously, for him to peep -in,
the blueberries are. I know this is the place where Fred was well acquainted with the different kinds
they used to be so thick, 'cause that 's the very of fish in the neighboring streams, but, when he
stump Mother climbed over. She could n't climb saw Hannah's three, he gave a roar of laughter.
the fence anywhere else, you know, 'cause 't was so Oh, my!" he screamed. Trout! Whatbeau-
high. But we '11 keep on searching." ties They'll do to go with the blueberries you
Just then the town-clock, in the distance, struck. did n't get. Oh, dear! that's too rich Hurry
Oh! it's eleven o'clock," exclaimed Hannah, home, girls, or you can't get 'em fried for dinner."
who had counted each stroke aloud, "and Mother The girls went on, wondering what pleased Fred
told us to be home at twelve. We shall have to so much. As Lizzie went up the hill to her uncle's
start, and we have n't got a single blueberry. house, she thought she heard a loud laugh from
What do you s'pose made your Aunt Sarah laugh. Hannah's father. As she went in at the back
so, when I asked her if we could stay till we got our door, she met her Uncle James, who was just
pails full ?" coming out.
"I don't know," said Lizzie, thoughtfully; "and "I never saw such a laughing time as this is !"
Fred laughed, too, when we told him we were going said Hannah to him, with a rather resentful pout.
blueberrying. What was he laughing at? "But I don't care. We 've caught some trout for
"Oh! I don't know, I'm sure," said Hannah; dinner. There are three-one for you, one for
"he's always laughing. But I don't care. We've Aunt Sarah, and a little one for me. It wont take
had a good time, any way." long to fry 'em, will it ?"
They climbed the fence again, and found them- No, I guess not," said Uncle James. "Let's
selves close to the ditch by the side of the railroad. see,"-and he opened the pail.
The spring rains had filled it with water. They Then he laughed boisterously.
could not resist the temptation to take off their Here, Sarah," said he, as soon as he could
shoes and stockings and wade in it. They were speak, "put on the frying-pan--Lizzie's been
having the best time of all then, when Lizzie fishing."
exclaimed: Aunt Sarah took the pail and looked into it.
"Hannie, we might catch some fish. See! "Polliwogs ." said she, contemptuously.
there's one. Let's try." POLLIWOGS ?" said Lizzie, inquiringly.
"We have n't any hooks," objected Hannah. "POLLIWOGS !" said Uncle James, emphat-
"Well, we might hold our pails and catch some"; ically.




THE ar- "-M.I9
madIll.iare -
the mail-clad wairrors ofnature; and
the most completely armored of the
whole odd family of armadillos is a beautifully or-
namented little fellow called by the naturalists
Tolypentes, and, by the Brazilians, "bolita."
"Bolita means "little ball," and the armadillo
was so named because it has the power of rolling
itself up into the shape of a ball. Its various
shields are so arranged that when the bolita rolls
itself up, it makes a perfect ball of hard shell.
A traveler in Brazil tells of watching some little
children at play tossing a large ball, about the size
of a foot-ball. When they were tired of the game
they threw the ball on the ground, and to his sur-
prise it turned into an animal, and ran hastily away.
It was one of these little armadillos.
The same traveler says that he has seen these
animated balls used by a little child in playing with
akitten. The game may have annoyed the bolita,
but it could not have caused it any injury, because
of the perfect protection afforded by its armor.

.'r "" It ha.s need ofall the
protection it can have,
for it lives in a land where the mis-
chievious monkey is plentiful. Anybody
who hai seen monkeys teasing each other,
will be able to gain some idea of the tor-
ment the slo"-wittt-d armadillo must un-
dergo as it is passed about from one to
another :.f a party of monkeys. \Vhen
(/.', ..'.," is -:et upon by the frolicsome
n monke)s. ho%,e.*-r. ;t -uddenly curls up,
and is safe within itself. The bailed tor-
mentors turn it over and over, looking in
great astonishment for the tail they know must
be there. If Toly.entes had any sense of humor
he would certainly laugh heartily within his shell
at the chattering, grinning crowd gathered about
As the bolita, like the other armadillos, burrows
in the earth, it has forefeet suitable for that work.
Its toes are armed with long and hard claws, which
enable it to dig with wonderful quickness. Instead
of walking upon the flat part of its front feet, the
bolita walks upon the tips of its toes, and in doing
so looks comically dainty and mincing. At the
same time it can move with much more swiftness
than would be supposed.
The armadillos live only in South America, and
are, all small in size compared to the gigantic
armadillo that lived ages ago. The largest now
living is not more than three feet long, while that of
former ages was as large as a big dining-table.






FIVE little white heads peeped out of the mold,
When the dew was damp and the night was cold;
And they crowded their way through the soil with pride.
"Hurrah! We are going to be mushrooms!" they cried.

But the sun came up, and the sun shone down,
And the little white heads were shriveled and brown;
Long were their faces, their pride had a fall-
They were nothing but toad-stools, after all.

(A Storyfor Girls written by a Girl.)


OH, Helen, I have good news for you! Mother
has just received a letter from your guardian, and
he says he 's coming to see you on Thursday."
Helen looked up from the plaque which she was
painting. She did not quite agree with ler cousin
Bert in'thinking that he brought good news. She
had seen her guardian but once, and that was when
he had left her with her aunt, more than a year
"What makes you look so frightened?" asked
Bert. One would think he was an ogre coming
to devour you. I '11 tell you, Helen, you might
offer up that plaque that you are painting as a
sacrifice to his ogreship; its beauty would surely
propitiate him. Oh, how I do love the fragile and
beauteous sunflower! he added, in a lackadaisical
tone, and in exact imitation of his cousin's manner.
"Go away, you horrid boy exclaimed Helen.
"You need n't make fun of my painting; and sun-
flowers are beautiful, even if you don't think so."
"Dear me; is that so ? Well, there 's nothing

like being an artist,- is there, Helen ? said Bert.
And away he went, whistling, downstairs.
Helen, meanwhile, had lapsed into a brown
study, dreaming,, and building air-castles, think-
ing that some day she would be a great artist and
paint wonderful pictures. That was her ambition,
and, as she was rather proud of her artistic tastes,
she painted away vigorously.
Her aunt Jane, to whose care she had been left
by her dead mother, worried a great deal about
her. Aunt Jane was very practical, and thought
Helen's ideas about art nonsensical. But as she
would not force her to do.what was distasteful to her,
the girl was generally left her to her own devices.
Her boy cousins, however, teased her unmerci-
fully, especially Bert, the younger, who delighted
in shocking her.
He is really dreadful! she said once in con-
fidence to a girl friend. "He loves onions and
squashes, and all those horrid things, and he doesn't
know a pretty thing when he sees it. One night


VOL. XII.-39.

* See page 634.


he actually ate eleven biscuit for tea, and then
boasted of it afterward, as if it were a thing to be
proud of! "
Thursday came, and with it Helen's guardian.
He arrived in the morning; and by dinner-time,
Helen, whose reserve had worn off, had told him
all her ambitions; that she wished to be a great
artist, and to study in Europe. Her guardian,
Mr. Douglas, seemed rather amused than other-
wise, and at the dinner-table he suddenly turned
the conversation by asking Helen if she could cook
and sew, as he thought all girls should first learn
the household arts.
Helen did not know what to say. She did not
know a thing about housekeeping, and rather
looked down upon it. Her embarrassment was
further increased by Bert, who was nudging her
under the table, and fairly choking with fun.
Mr. Douglas merely added that he would like to
have a little talk with her on the subject after din-
ner. Nothing more was said about it during the
meal; but Bert, at intervals, would incoherently
mutter something about sunflowers, which made
Helen turn very red.
After dinner, Helen and Mr. Douglas had a
long talk. He did not disapprove of Helen's tastes,
but he wished her to first learn that which was
useful; and he therefore made a proposition which
nearly took her breath away.
"I will take you to Europe," he said and let
you study art there, on one condition, and that is,
that the next time I come you will have a dinner
prepared for me, cooked entirely by yourself. We
shall let Aunt Jane into the secret, and she will be
a very good teacher in that branch of the fine arts.
What do you say, little girl?" he added, with alaugh.
"But, Mr. Douglas, it is. so great a reward for
so little a task," said Helen.
"You will not find that it is so little a task
as you think," was Mr. Douglas's reply. "Re-
member, everything must be exactly right, even to
the seasoning; in the meanwhile, I think that, if
I were you, I should paint but little, and should
give my attention to this one thing."
Helen promised.
She was eager to begin her lessons, and the next
day, after Mr. Douglas had gone, she went to work
in earnest, much to the satisfaction of her aunt.
Bert and Rob hung about the kitchen, criticis-
ing her every effort. She did very well, however,
and under her aunt's tuition she improved rapidly.
Bert was her greatest drawback; he would pre-
tend to help her, and then would do just the oppo-
site. One day, when the minister was coming to tea,
her aunt was taken with a severe headache, and the
cook took sudden leave. So Helen coaxed her
aunt to let her make the cake. Bert, apparently

all ardor and devotion, begged to help her, and
asked her to let him read the recipe for her, while
she gathered the ingredients together.
Helen agreed to this, and Bert sat down and read
off the recipe; but, oh, deplorable wickedness he
read most of the quantities wrong !
The cake was made, and it looked very tempting,
indeed; but when it was cut at table, it was found
to be as hard and as heavy as lead. The poor
minister had indigestion for weeks, and Bert was
ignominiously expelled from the kitchen.
At last, after several months, Helen received a
letter from Mr. Douglas, saying that he was com-
ing to spend a day with her, and that he hoped
his "little girl" would have an excellent dinner
prepared for him.
Helen was delighted. She determined to have
a course" dinner-soup, fish, a roast and vege-
tables, and finally dessert, with fruit and coffee.
She was very busy making her preparations,
going herself to market, and giving her orders
with a very important air.
Meanwhile, Bert was concocting a scheme of his
own. The affair with the cake had not taught him
a lesson. The spirit of mischief was strong within
him. He heard that his cousin was going to pre-
pare a dinner for her guardian, and his chief desire
now was to spoil it. Helen had behaved rather
coolly toward him since the cake episode; and, as
he was really fond of her, this did not please him.
So, before the day appointed for, the dinner, he tset
himself to plan what he would do. She will be
so watchful that it will be hard to play the old
worn-out tricks of putting salt for sugar, or sugar
for salt, or of having the cream sour, or the butter
bad. It really is very perplexing," he thought.
"Ah, I have it! theclock;-the clock 's the thing!
I'11 set the kitchen clock ahead when she is out of
the way for a minute, and she '11 be governed by it,
and never notice the change; she is so absent-
minded. Good idea! I'll have things overdone
or underdone, to suit my fancy."

I say, Helen Would n't you like to have
me help you?" said Bert, as he peered through
the kitchen window, and saw Helen, with flushed
face, vigorously beating eggs.
No, thank you Of course not. I am to do this
all myself; and even if I were n't, I fear I should n't
let you help me !"-this last with a decided em-
phasis on-the "you."
Bert said nothing, but turned away, whistling,
and started as if he were going down-town; but,
instead, he stole around the house, and climbed
upon the roof of a small shed, where he could see
Helen's every movement, but where she could not
see him.



How important she looked as she bustled around,
tasting one thing, seasoning another !- very pretty,
too,' Bert thought, with a big pink gingham apron
tied up close to her chin, her cheeks flushed, and
her dark eyes bright with excitement.
Indeed, he almost relented, as he saw her put the
meat into the oven, and heard her say, "Now, if
it only turns out well, I shall be happy."
The vegetables and the pudding soon followed;
and now Bert began to watch his chance to run
in and set the clock ahead. He was beginning to
think that the time would never come; but at last
he saw his cousin drop the cabbage-leaf which she
was using as a fan, and run down the cellar-stairs.
"Now's my chance," he muttered, as he slid
off the roof, and hurried into the kitchen. It was
but the work of a moment to put the clock ahead
twenty-five minutes; and then, his cousin not
appearing, he looked around to see what else he
could do. A box of what looked like cayenne
pepper stood on the table, and he hastily emptied
about a table-spoonful of it into the soup; and
then, hearing his cousin's steps on the stairs, he
retreated, hoping no one had seen him. No one
had: Helen had banished Aunt Jane to the par-
lor, Rob was down-town, and the cook was away
on a holiday.
Helen emerged from the cellar and glanced at
the clock. My How long I 've been down
there!" she exclaimed. I wonder if that old
clock is fast again! It's nearly time for the meat
to come out I '11 just run and take a look at the
table, to see if the flowers are all right. There's
the door-bell. That must be Mr. Douglas.'- What
an odd old gentleman he is, to be sure, to think of
taking me to Europe just for this little job of cook-
ing him a dinner! "
So she soliloquized, as she bustled about and
made her final preparations.
Dear me, I 'm so nervous about that seasoning,
for if it is n't just right, it will spoil the whole thing.
I do hope the meat is as well done as it looks," she
added, carefully drawing it from the oven. "Now
I '11 dish up,' as Bridget says, and I 'd better call
Anne to carry in the things, while I fix myself for
dinner--my dinner," she said, gleefully, as she
buttered the peas, and arranged the corn in an
artistic pyramid. "There,' now, Anne, all is
ready, and you may ring the bell"; and away she
went, singing, upstairs.
Bert, after a while, had begun to feel slightly
uneasy. He did not know that a trip to Europe
depended upon that dinner, but he did know that
Helen had cooked it to please her guardian, and
he began to think that he might have gone a little
too far. I'm always plaguing her, and now she'll
dislike me worse than ever," he said. True,

she's acted very coolly toward me lately, but I de-
served it. Well, now I've done it, and I'm going
to make the best of it that's all."
"Hello, Bert, what makes you look so gloomy?
How's my lady ? I hope you have n't been teasing
her this morning," said Rob, as he entered the door.
"Really," continued he, "you tease her entirely
too much. Mother thinks so. Helen is a fine girl,
and I am sure she has a right to her little whims.
Come along; there's the dinner-bell."
Bert arose and followed his brother. It had been
long since he had felt so. remorseful about any-
thing. Helen was seated by Mr. Douglas, looking
very happy, and talking to him gayly about her
experiences during the last few months.
The soup was served first.
Bert, who was in a brown study, was suddenly
aroused by hearing Mr. Douglas say, The soup
is excellent, my dear. It really does you great
If a cannon-ball had struck Bert, he could hardly
have been more surprised.
He stared at Mr. Douglas with open mouth.
"Why, how can that be?" he said to himself, in
a bewildered way. "I must have put nearly an
ounce of red pepper into it."
Then he tasted it himself; it was excellent, and
the seasoning was perfect.
Soon the meat and vegetables were brought on.
Bert watched both anxiously. But the meat was
done to a turn, and, as in a dream, he heard Mr.
Douglas saying that it was one of the best dinners
he had ever eaten.
"I really don't understand it," thought Bert. I
set that clock ahead nearly half an hour, and the
things ought all to be dreadfully underdone."
"What 's the matter, Bert ?" said Helen; are
you afraid to eat your dinner? "
Then he began to feel that he was hungry, and,
putting aside his feelings, he did ample justice to
Helen's dinner.
A very good dessert followed the dinner; but
by that time Bert was rather annoyed.
Well, that is a good joke on me," he decided;
"and I 've made myself miserable for nothing;
bother the whole thing, anyhow "
He kept out of the way that afternoon, but
toward evening went for a walk. He went farther
than he intended, and then he stopped to see a
friend, and staid to supper.
It was moonlight when he came home, and as
he was going through the garden he heard a voice
say: "Why, Bert."
Turning around, he saw Helen, looking very
pretty in the mdonlight, with her white dress, and
the roses at her waist.
You bad boy, why have n't you come to con-


gratulate me? Where have you been hiding
yourself?" she cried
"Your dinner was a great success, Helen, if
that is what you mean," he answered.
"No, I mean my going to Europe !" she said.
Going to Europe ? Why, what under the sun
do you mean ?"
"I forgot,-of course you did n't know"; and
then she told him of her guardian's offer, arid how
the trip depended on the success of the dinner.
Oh, Helen, I 'm so sorry I did n't know that,"
said Bert, involuntarily.
Why so very sorry ?" queried his cousin.
"Did n't you go by the kitchen clock when
you cooked the dinner this morning?" answered
"By that old thing? No, indeed, I did n't!
It's almost worthless. I went by the watch Aunty
gave me at Christmas time. But why do you ask?"
Bert could hardly speak for laughing; and'then
he told her all.
Helen gave a ringing laugh.
"Oh, you naughty boy!" she said. "To think
that you could have done such a thing! But the
joke was decidedly on you. I don't yet understand
about that pepper, though. Where did you get it? "
It was in a red tin box on the table, and- "

Oh, I see !" exclaimed Helen. "You dear old
goose, that was a kind of preparation that comes
for soups Aunty always uses it. I was n't going
to put any in, but now I see you did it for me."
"Well," said Bert, "I am very glad it ended
so, and I '11 never tease you again, Helen."
"Well, if you keep that promise, I '11 never tell
any one about this affair, and we '11 have the joke
all to ourselves. Come, let us go in now, for it is
growing late."

Helen went to Europe, and studied art there for
a long time. She never was called a great artist,
but she was certainly a very good one.
A picture by her, exhibited at the Royal Acad-
emy, in London, represented a little girl, standing
in an old-fashioned kitchen, with a flushed, impor-
tant. face, beating something in a bowl; while
through the open window there leaned a boy with
,brown, sunburnt face and laughing eyes, looking
in at the little maiden.
SIt excited much admiration, for it was beautifully
done. But it was not for sale; and after it had been
exhibited Helen took it away and sent it to Bert,
who had become a minister, and had the charge
of a large parish.
And it hangs in his study to this day.







(Recollections of a Page in the United States Senate.)




THE first regular session of the Forty-third Con-
gress lasted until the twenty-third day of June,
1874. Both Houses then adjourned sine die, and
met again on the seventh of the following Decem-
ber for a second session. That Congress came
to an end on the fourth of March, 1875, and
with it, as usual, the terms of the representatives
and many of the senators. A special session of the
Senate was then called by President Grant. This
began on the fifth of March and terminated on the
twenty-fourth of that month. The first regular
session of the Forty-fourth Cdngress began on the
sixth of December, 1875, and adjourned on the
fifteenth day of August, 1876. With that session
I gave up my position as a page, having served
through four regular and two special sessions of
the Senate, extending over portions of three Con-
During that period, the ordinary routine of legis-
lation went on with general smoothness; and, apart
from a few novelties, we need not follow in detail
the proceedings of each session. I shall therefore
sum up my experiences, and treat the subject in a
general way, without regard to the strict order
of events. ,
It is scarcely necessary to state that we pages
made the most of our leisure time during a session.
Nearly every morning in fair weather we played
match games of base-ball with the House pages,
in the large plaza east of the Capitol. Frequently
the stroke of twelve from the clock would stop us
in the midst of a game, and we would rush into
the Senate Chamber just in time to hear the
words, the Senate will come to order." We
were absolutely indispensable during the morning
hour, carrying up to the Clerk's desk petitions,
bills, and other papers. It required a large amount
of will-power for a troop of boys to leave an
exciting game of ball and, within an instant,
change to the hard mental work of legislation!
But we did it. This shows the versatility of our
talents. Frequently a senator, about to enter
the Capitol, would pause for a short time to take
part in our game; and it was no uncommon sight
to see a dignified law-maker jumping from :his feet
to catch a ball flying above his head, while it was

even less uncommon to see him muff" or miss it
altogether. Still, they were merely a little out of
practice,-so they said,- and they enjoyed the
sport as much as we did.
On summer evenings we would frequently go
boating upon the beautiful Potomac, and prove on
the water as well as on the land our superiority
over our rivals of the Lower House. On one occa-
sion four of us put off in a row-boat,-a delicate
outrigger,-and pulled up the Potomac as far as
the rapids, and then we turned about. On the
homeward trip we had a pleasant time for a while
-now singing a choice selection from an opera,
now quietly gliding along, with no sound but that
made by our oars. But as we neared the city
the other pleasure parties gradually retired, and


_.- -


the river was left entirely to us. Having no one
else to bother, we had but one recourse for excite-
ment-to row a race between ourselves. As we
were all in the same boat, this feat may seem to
the average intelligence quite impossible. But
here we manifested our genius. Two of us pulled

* Copyright, 1884, by Edmund Alton. All rights reserved.




one way and two the other! It was an interest-
ing tug of war. For some time the little craft
remained almost motionless in the stream; but
finally, as in the old-time wagers of battle, might
prevailed, and the shoreward oars won the victory.
The House pages lost what prestige they may
ever have had as oarsmen by one disaster. Not
many years ago a canal flowed through the streets
of Washington -(that is, if such thick and slug-
gish waters as it contained can be properly said
to "flow"). It was a useless disfigurement to the
city; but it was near the Capitol, and it served
the purposes of the pages.
One morning about fifteen of the boys
-all pages of the House-decided to
while away an hour or two upon the "placid
bosom" of this canal. Finding a rickety
and abandoned raft, they boarded it and
poled their way along with piratical enthu-
siasm. They had not gone far, when they
observed the flag floating from the Capi-
tol, announcing that the. House had con-, I'
vened for the .day. Applying their united

,I "-

-; 'y
'. . :* _--- ----





strength, they attempted, with one herculean shove,
to send the raft to land. But, alas, their effort
was too great. The'raft capsized, and in an instant
the shipwrecked mariners were struggling with the
"waves!" When fished out, they were the most

wretched-looking objects imaginable. Their uni-
forms were completely spoiled.
Disastrous calamities and desperate exploits were
not confined, however, to the pages; and I might
mention several legends" told of certain Con-
gressmen. But as the design of this story is not
to tell you everything that everybody did, but
merely to give you "samples" of Congressional
life, one instance will suffice.
When I first went to Washington, the western
approach to the Capitol, before the pending im-
provements were commenced, was through a fine
old park, the heavy fo-
liage of which in spring
concealed much of the
Capitol from view. The
approach then led up
~ two steep parallel ter-
races, which, extended
0 the whole length of the
building. The pages,
i l in winter-time, took ad-
vantage of these decliv-
ities for coasting. In-
stead of sleds, however,
they used certain large
paste-board envelope-
// / boxes, which they ob-
tained from the folding-


-, 'Af

One day, the terraces
and park grounds were
covered with a thick,
hard coat of sleet; so
the envelope-boxes were
brought out, and the
lively tobogganing be-
gan. In the midst of
the sport, General Ben-
jamin F. Butler, accom-
panied by a few other
representatives, came
along, and stopped on
the parapet to witness
the fun. As he seemed

to enjoy the sight, one
of the pages asked him
64' if he would take a ride.
//1 After a brief delibera-
7 tion, the General re-
AKS. marked: "Well, I think
I will."
In a moment, a box was placed at his disposal
near the edge of the parapet, or upper terrace.
In this, with considerable difficulty, the portly rep-
resentative ensconced himself, and soon he stated
that he was ready." At the word, the pages gave



him a vigorous shove, and down he went with
lightning swiftness, to the great delight of the
assembled spectators. As with increased mo-
mentum he struck the second terrace, the box
parted, and, with terrific speed, he finished the
trip, "all by himself." And he was still going
when lost in the distance of the park !
As we pages shared with the law-makers the
onerous work. of legislation, it was but fair that we
should share the legislative pleasures. Partak-
ers in every peril,-in the glory we were entitled
to participate." The justice of this principle was
never disputed; and accordingly, whenever or
wherever senatorial ceremonies or festivities were
under way, we were t6 -be found in the company
of the senators.
During my last session as a Senate page, I took
part in two gala frolics. Of course, you all know
of the great Centennial Exposition at Philadelphia
in 1876. While the buildings were being erected,
the citizens of Philadelphia invited the members
of the Senate and House, together with the
President, Judges of the Supreme Court, and
certain other Government officials, to visit that
city and see how the work was progressing. The
invitation was accepted. Quite a number of pages
went along, and this holiday journey did not cost
any of us a cent. A special train was provided
for the accommodation of the guests, and on Fri-
day, December 17, 1875, we said au revoir to
Washington. and started on our journey to the
Quaker City. We reached the station in West
Philadelphia in the evening. Carriages were
in waiting, and the members of the visiting party
were driven to hotels, and, on the morrow, to the
Exposition grounds.
Arriving at the grounds, we were shown various
buildings and sights, and then taken to Horticult-
ural Hall, where the festivities were to culminate
in a grand banquet. Great preparations had been
made. In the center of the large room were thir-
teen long tables, and all around us were exotics
and choice plants and flowers. President Grant
was given the seat of honor at the middle table,
and the other guests were distributed about mis-
cellaneously, we pages being placed together at.
one table, where we could have a good time and
enjoy the feast undisturbed.
When all the guests at the other tables had done
justice to the viands, the remainder of the time was
devoted to speech-making. But the fact that we
pages were still busily engaged in satisfying the
lusty appetites of boys is my excuse for not giving
you a more detailed description of the proceedings
of our seniors.
Later on, we made another journey to Philadel-
phia. The members of Congress received an invi-

station to attend the opening of the Exposition,
and, as before, the pages went, too. On May 9,
1876, cars were placed at the senators' disposal,
and most of the pages left oh the early train. We
had to take a roundabout journey this time by the
way of York, Pennsylvania; but we enjoyed it.
Whenever the cars stopped, if only for an instant,
we would spring to the ground and then jump back
again. I suppose many people wondered at the
meaning of this. Our object, however, was to be
able to say that we had honored the soil of that
particular place by touching it. As we crossed the
Susquehanna River, the train slowed-up," and we
at once alighted upon the long bridge and began to
admire the river. Some of the pages came from the
rear car, and so lost in their study of the scenery did
they become that they only recovered their wits in
time to see the train darting through the town of
Columbia, half a mile away from them. It was
fortunate that it was the first section of the Con-
gressional train. After waiting for several hours,
they boarded the second section; but I think the
little episode of the bridge caused them to take no
further interest in the scenery during the remain-
der of the trip.
On the next day the great International Exhibi-
tion was to be formally opened, and the city was
literally overcrowded with visitors. A large stand
had been erected on the grounds, just outside the
main building, and reserved for distinguished
guests. To reach it the guests were obliged to enter
a certain gate and pass through the main build-
ing, to the rear of the stand. After a sumptuous
breakfast, one of the pages went to the entrance
and told the gate-keeper that he was one of the
invited guests. The official wished to see the
page's invitation, but he replied that, he was in the
company of Senator who had the invita-
tion. As an evidence that he was not an impostor,
he presented his railroad pass, which indicated
who he was. But this did not satisfy the gate-
keeper, however, and he would not permit the page
to enter. But a page is not easily baffled. He took
a carriage and rode all the way down-town to the
hotel at which Senator was registered, only
to find that the senator was not there. Of course,
it would have been useless to search for him. There
was nothing for the page to do, therefore, but to
return to the Exhibition. The streets were crowded
with people and vehicles, and he feared he would
not be able to arrive in time to join in the opening
ceremonies. Finally, however, he reached the main
building again, and went to the gate, expecting to
meet some of the senators who would vouch for
him. He waited a long while, but no senators
came. Then, for the first and last time in his life,
the page had occasion to make use of a member



of the House. For, at thHt moment, he saw Mr.
Williams -a well-known representative from the
State of Indiana about to present his card of
invitation. Mr. Williams did not know the page
at all, but the latter stepped up to him and said :
"Mr. Williams, I am with Senator but
as I can not find him, and as he has the invitations,,
will you kindly pass me in on .yours?" The
representative paused and stammered, as much
as to say that he would like to oblige his young
friend, but did not know whether he had 'a right to
do so. The page, however, was burdened with no
doubts on the subject, and just as Mr. Williams
was passing through the gate, the page squeezed
in ahead, and very complacently went on his way.
He reached his destination, and, as usual, took
his place among some of the highest people in the
And on the next day the Congressional train
carried back to Washington a goodly company of
law-makers, among whom none were more tired
and weary from' the unusual exertions of the great
ceremonial than the Senate pages.



So FAR as the personal preferences of the pages
were concerned, night sessions were our "happy
hours." It was then that our propensities for mis-
chief obtained full play. During the dying days
of a Congress, when resort was had to evening
work, as previously described, it was customary for
the Senate late in the afternoon to take a recess
for an hour or two, in order to afford its members
and officers an opportunity to take their dinners
and enjoy a temporary rest.
Upon re-assembling after this recess, the Senate
would proceed with its ordinary business of legis-
lation, and for the first few hours everything would
proceed in excellent order. If, as was probable,
the House was in session also, the whole Capitol
would be illuminated, a brilliant light being placed
in the dome to indicate that Congress was in ses-
sion, as people, of course, could not see the flags.
This was a grand sight to a person at a distance.
The huge edifice loomed boldly against the even-
ing sky, and shone out in the darkness like a celes-
tial castle, with a splendor that could be seen for
miles around. And within the building the scene
was still more beautiful-it was brilliant-yes,
enchanting, and reminded me of the scenes in
fairy-land of which I hqd read so much in my
younger days.
For the first few hours, every one realized the

romantic beauty of the occasion. Visitors, attracted
by curiosity or bent on amusement, crowded the
great building, and the senators, feeling the influ-
ence of the scene, would move about the Chamber
with a remarkable buoyancy of step, and seem, for
the time being, to have regained the activity of
By midnight, however, there would come a
change.-a change .more to our fancy. The
visitors, having "seen the shown would return to
their lihmes and leave the galleries to a few idle
"owls," as .,e called the late stayers. The sena-
tors would g-radually grow more and more drowsy,
and retire one by one to the cloak-rooms, com-
mittee-rooms, or wherever else they could find
unoccupied sofas, in the effort to catch a moment's
rest. From this time forward, our principal work
was to seek out, rouse, and summon the senators
when wanted.
As the night advanced, we began our practical
jokes, of which we had a choice assortment. When
the House also was in session, we combined our
ingenious talents with those of the House pages,
and roamed the Capitol from one end to the other
in search of prey. Although, ordinarily, we looked
upon one another as enemies, whenever it came
down to mischief or fun-making, we were the
warmest friends.
Most of our pranks, however, were mild. If we
put torpedoes under the gavel, they had no other
effect than to make the Vice-President jump, and if
we "inadvertently" dropped salt instead of sugar
into a glass of lemonade, the senator for whom it
was intended did not, as a rule, discover the fact
until he had drained the glass to the dregs and the
page had disappeared from sight.
There was one page, named Arthur, who hailed
from the same State as myself, and was known as
my colleague." He was of a rather romantic dis-
position, and thought that it would be an adven-
ture worth boasting of to spend a night on the
dome of the Capitol. So one warm day in summer,
he came to me and broached his plans. But there
was one difficulty in the way of their accomplish-
ment that seemed almost insurmountable. The
doors leading to the dome were locked every even-
ing (the police having first required all visitors
to descend), and they were not re-opened until
the morning of the next day.
When I told Arthur that I could obtain the keys,
he was so delighted that he said: Well, if you
will get them, I will set up a banquet fit for a king."
Then, after a pause, as if he had received a sudden
inspiration, he exclaimed: "Yes; we shall have
a banquet, and eat it on the dome I The very
thing !" And he went into raptures over the
prospects, and urged me to go about the matter at



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once, and also to invite a reasonable number of
pages to join in our undertaking.
We decided to have our banquet that same night,
after the adjournment of the Senate; and at the
appointed time I appeared at the rendezvous, where
Arthur and the other pages were impatiently await-
ing me. The jingling of the keys sounded like
music to their ears. Arthur, in the mean time,
had procured from a caterer a sumptuous repast;
and, thus equipped, we cautiously approached the
entrance to the dome and soon had opened the
door. Without locking the door behind us (a fortu-
nate oversight, as events proved !), we began the
ascent of the long and intricate stairs in a joyous
procession. I led the way to open the doors, hold-
ing, besides the keys, a taper to light our path;
then came Arthur, carrying a heavy basket, while
the other pages followed on, each with his arms full
of precious packages.
Reaching the dome in safety, we deposited our
bundles, and were all duly impressed by the scene
before us. Hundreds of feet below lay the city of
Washington, with its myriad of twinkling lights.
Around its boundaries ran the waters of the Poto-
mac, forming a silvery path that led our eyes
toward the South, where the eye could catch the
glimmer of the ancient village of Alexandria and
the dark outlines of the hills of Maryland. It was
a calm, pleasant, beautiful night! The stars were
doing as well as could be expected of such tiny things,
and the moon was riding through the heavens with
her customary grace -now hiding behind one of
the few clouds that, with the best intentions, had
coihe out to help her in her vigil,-now emerging
into the clear blue of the sky like-like -
But just here we missed Arthur. I walked
around to the opposite side of the dome, and there
I found him, gazing into vacancy-by which I
mean, gazing heavenward with a look of profound
contemplation worthy of an aesthete. I did not
disturb him, but came back and told my com-
panions that he was safe. Then George, who
was chronically hungry, remarked that it was a
good time to attack the hampers. We instantly
began to act upon the suggestion, and devoured
the luxuries with marvelous avidity. This inter-
esting proceeding lasted quite a time. As the
last jar was emptied and the last crumb disposed
of, we heard Arthur's footsteps. Without a word,
without a signal, we instinctively fled through the
door and down the stairs, and in a few moments
we heard him following us, screaming at the top of
his voice. It was an exciting and dangerous flight;
but on we went through the darkness, the iron
steps thundering beneath our feet, the vaulted
passages echoing the noise, and the vast rotunda
hurling it back with tenfold rage and horror, until

the Goddess of Liberty upon the dome, hundreds
of feet above, must have shuddered to think of the
pandemonium over which she was thus forced to
preside. But we made the descent in safety, and
just as we reached the corridor, Arthur burst
through the quivering doors, empty basket in hand!
- Here let us draw the veil!
It was by no means during the actual night
sessions of the Senate that we had our fun. If
the Senate adjourned after or about midnight, we
did not go to our homes, but, obtaining the keys
to the cloak-rooms or to several committee-rooms,
we remained at the Capitol until morning. But not
to sleep. That would have been impossible. We
were veritable owls; and as soon as the lights in
the building were extinguished we emerged from
our hiding-places.
We had an ambition to go where no one else had
ever been; and, with this laudable motive, we ex-
tended our explorations through every opening in
the building, whether in the subterranean caverns
far below, or in any secret recesses upon the roof,
which the genius and tender foresight of the archi-
tect had left sufficiently large to permit the intro-
duction of a human head. And whenever a boy's
head went through, he soon managed to pull the

body after it.
Once we crawled into the pneumatic tube, con-
structed for the purpose of transmitting documents
to the Congressional printing-office, a half mile dis-
tant; and having crept like an army of snakes, for
several hundred feet, backed out again,- the tube
being hardly wide enough to permit our passage,
much less our turning around. We derived im-
mense satisfaction from this exploit. This satis-
faction was increased when the engineer informed
us, as we emerged begrimed with dirt, that in an-
other instant we should have been annihilated by
the ball that, filled with documents, was shot with
lightning velocity from the farther end. This
may have been true, or it may have been said to
"scare" us.
Our rovings were often rewarded by finding
rooms and articles, the existence of which few
about the building knew or suspected. In the large
room of pillars, which is often called the crypt
(although it is really the room above the crypt,
where it was intended to entomb the remains of
General Washington), there was a trap-door.
Once, opening this, we descended an old stone
staircase, and, reaching the bottom, soon found our-
selves in a circular room, damp and cold, and nearly
filled with broken statuary of every description -
statesmen, griffins, lions, and other images. The
flickerings of our lights against these marble fig-
ures produced a ghastly effect that threw us into
an ecstasy of bliss.







BUT the mbst interesting excursions, after all,
were those to the "Cave of the Winds," where the
waves of sound roar and rumble and dash against
one another like the breakers of the sea, and where
the moving stalagmites and eyeless fish- What 's
that you say? You do not know where it is?

heavy atmosphere of philosophy, generally make
a brief visit to the Senate, and, after thus pre-
paring themselves, drop into the Supreme Court
room and gratify their philosophic desires to their
hearts' content. There they will sit for hours
and listen to the black-gowned judges and black-
letter lawyers discussing grave questions of Con-
stitutional law and the weighty problems of human
government and civil liberty.
But such as retain their youthful love of enter-


Why, I am surprised No, it is not down in your
geographies. The Cave of the Winds is one
of the titles by which the House of Representa-
tives is known. Perhaps it is irreverent to speak of
it in that way; but I may say with truth that while
the House of Representatives is undoubtedly a very
important assembly, it is also a very noisy body.
This, however, constitutes its chief charm to a
great many sight-seers.
Visitors to Washington who like to inhale the

tainment go to the House of Representatives.
There is something captivating about the continu-
ous buzz-buzz-buzz that distinguishes that body,
in so marked a manner, from the Senate.
The babel of voices in the House is really per-
plexing to one accustomed to the serenity of the
Senate. There is as much difference between the
two bodies of Congress in this respect as there
is between the quiet of a country church and the
turmoil of a city. If you wish to test 'the matter,



when in Washington, let me tell you how to do it:
First, go to the Senate, then walk right across to
the House. Another good plan is to go to the
House just as it is called to order. I tried the ex-
periment last session.. When the Speaker brought
down his gavel, there was instantaneous silence.
The members rose to their feet, and the chaplain
offered a prayer. After that, the noise broke out.
Then I tried to analyze it. I did not succeed very
well; but there was in it a little of everything that
makes a noise, from the little fly to the raging
ocean. It was a buzzing, gurgling, and roaring, all
combined in one general noise !
How far the title of Cave of the Winds is due
to the acoustic properties of the hall, I do not
know. But I know one thing : -the sound waves
could not clash unless put in motion. Now, who
puts them in motion? I shall tell you:
The galleries contribute somewhat to this noise,
but the members are principally responsible for
it. They gather around the desks or stand in the
narrow aisles or in the area behind the outer
row of seats, and discuss, in knots of from three
to a dozen or more, some interesting question of
politics, or possibly narrate funny anecdotes. And
it is a very usual sight to see one of the represent-
atives making a "spread-eagle" speech.beating
the air with his arms, and shouting away vehe-
mently, and not one of his three hundred and twenty-
four associates showing the least interest in what
he is saying. Of course, everything that is' said
by such a speaker is taken down by the reporters,
so that the other members do not lose an% ihin r by
not listening. Frequently a Congressman does not
go to the trouble of delivering a speech, but writes
it out and then obtains leave of the House to have
it printed in the Record, where it can be seen by
those who may be sufficiently interested tp read it.
Sometimes, however, a member thinks that he
would at least like the privilege of hearing him-
self talk, and becomes annoyed by the excessive
confusion in the hall. Then the Speaker will com-
mand order and exert all the muscles of his good
right arm in beating with his gavel. But often
the other members persist in their conversation,
notwithstanding the Speaker's cry of order,"
Each group of culprits feeling that it is not making
much noise and ignoring the fact that every whis-
per adds to the objectionable disturbance. Under
these circumstances, it often becomes necessary for
the Speaker to take extreme measures; and the
most effective way to secure quiet is for him to sus-

pend the proceedings and direct the Sergeant-at-
arms to take the mace and force the members to
take their seats. The mace is a sort of scepter,
surmounted by a silver eagle, which, guarded by
the Sergeant-at-arms, rests on a narble stand at
the right of the Speaker.* This the Sergeant-at-
arms carries in front of him when so directed by the
Speaker, and, as he walks about the room, every one
retreats before this ensign of authority, and retires
to his proper place. To face it would be to oppose
the power of the House of Representatives. Silence
being thus restored, the proceedings are resumed.
It frequently happens, however, that before you
can say "Jack Robinson most of the members are
"at it again," engaged as deeply as ever in con-
versation, and violating the injunction of their pre-
siding officer. It is almost an impossibility to
make three hundred men fold their arms like
school-boys, and sometimes the Speaker can hardly
do more than preserve sufficient order to enable
the reporters to hear what is being said.
If an entertaining speaker obtains the floor, the
members will cluster around his chair and clog the
aisles and the area of freedom only to be driven
back to their seats by the Sergeant-at-arms. I have
seen such a crowd dispersed by the Speaker half a
dozen times in an hour- but back they were sure
to come. They are as curious as boys, and fully
as impetuous.
Even when it comes to the important question
of voting, the members do not keep silence.
If a division" or "rising vote is ordered, you
will hear them shout, "Up up or "Down !
down as the case may be, to warn their friends
what to do; and on nearly every roll-call of the yeas
and nays the Speaker is compelled to suspend pro-
ceedings and compel members to be seated, in
order that the Clerk may hear the responses of the
Such a state of affairs does not always exist. I
have seen the House of Representatives almost as
quiet as the Senate. But that was late at night,
when most of the members were asleep, or when
there was some august ceremony going on such
as the counting of the electoral votes, at which time
the Senate and House met in joint convention.
But I will tell you more in regard to the differ-
ences between the two Houses anon. The design
of this chapter was merely to point out one feature
of dissimilarity- the noise and hubbub of the
House of Representatives as compared with the
quiet dignity of the Senate.

(To be continued.)
When the House goes into Committee of the Whole, the mace is taken down, and not replaced until the committee rises and
the Speaker, as the presiding officer of the House, resumes the chair.







AID and Roderick
Kingsley were in
training for the
of the Flush-
ington High
School Gym-
nasium. That
is to say,. David
was; but his cous-
in Roderick, con-
fident of. his superior
prowess, was careless of his
training, and exercised in the gymna-
sium hall so irregularly that his special partisans
at last called him to account.
"If you don't look out, Rod, you 'lL miss the
prize," said Jack Dinsmore. "Dave is in the Gym
mornings and evenings, as regular as clock-work.
He does n!t like to be beaten.even at leap-frog,
you ktjw, and I tell you, you '11 have to practice if
you n-i. to be captain. Is n't that so, boys? "
Tihe b.-ys thus appealed to echoed Jack's senti-
ments, and Dennis Mpore added :
What you need, Rod, is to learn some new
tricks on the bars or the trapeze, so that Dave
can't get ahead of you."
And here comes the very fellow that. can put
you up to a thing or two in that line," said Nappy
Scruggs, pointing in the direction of the village
Quelipeg ? That's so said Tommy Hicks, as
the boys glanced at the gaunt figure approaching
themhe, and Roderick recalled the injunction of his
Father to'have nothingwhatever to dowith Quelipeg.
But the criticisms of the boys had roused Roder-
ick's determination, and as the objectionable Quel-
ipeg, with his sharp-ribbed terrier, was slouching
by, he called out: Hey, Quelipeg, show us your
flying leap and somersault on our trapeze,- wont
you ?"
The new-comer, nothing loath, swaggered into
the school gymnasium with the crowd of boys, and
was soon whirling and turning in what he.called
the "Giant's Spring."
For Quelipeg was a helper and hanger-on of
the circus company which had gone into winter-
quarters on the outskirts of the village, and he had
gained notoriety not only as a scape-grace, but as
a daring and excellent gymnast.
So the boys admired and applauded his agility,

and then, just in the midst of his remarkable
" Giant's Spring," the door opened and David
Kingsley entered.
How did that fellow happen to come in here ?"
he asked of Roderick.
We asked himin, that's how he came," curtly
replied his cousin.
"Don't you think Uncle Roderick might object
to his being here?" said David, calmly. "You
know what he told us about him."
Well, I don't think he 's likely to know any-
thing about it," replied Roderick ; "unless--"
David finished the sentence. "Unless I tell
tales out of school, I suppose you mean."
Roderick flushed, but said, laughingly, I say,
Dave, if one of the fellows should take lessons from
Quelipeg, you and I might give up all hopes of the
championship, eh ?"
"Likely enough," answered David; "but I 'd
give up my chance of being captain ifI had to owe
it to his teaching."
"Well, I 'm glad I 'm not so particular as all
that," said Roderick, with a contemptuous curl of
the lip.
"Why, you don't mean to say you 're going to
take lessons from him, Rod?" asked David, quickly.
" If you 've any respect for yourself, you '1l keep
clear of him. You know that such a scamp is not
a fit companion for you."
Low as the words were spoken, Quelipeg heard
them. He was at David's elbow in an instant.
"Take that back," he said, threateningly, "or
I '11 make ye "; and he threw himself into the
regulation boxing attitude.
David faced him quietly. Thank you," he
said, coolly, I do not care to box this afternoon."
Ho, you 're afraid, I see !" said Quelipeg.
There was not a Flushingtonian who did not
understand the forbearance of David Kingsley as
he straightened himself and eying Quelipeg, said:
You heard me say that I did not care to box
with you."
Quelipeg caught up a piece of chalk from the
scoring-board and drew a glistening white circle
around the calm-faced lad.
Ef you '11 jest step across that line," he said,
"I 'll show you who 's who."
David Kingsley took one step forward. In an-
other instant he was across the chalk line and
grappling with his foe.
The Flushingtonians were quite as-much sur-


prised at the onslaught as was Quelipeg. For
David Kingsley was not reckoned among the school
fighters, though he was known to be absolutely
The struggle was brief, but determined. David's
course of training for the championship stood him
in good stead, and almost before the boys could
form a ring about the combatants, Quelipeg was
flat on his back.
The spectators set up a ringing cheer over the
victory of their comrade, but David, staggering
to his feet, gave his cousin a look full of meaning
and passed out of the hall.
Roderick, however, paid no heed to his cousin's
glance, and, indeed, as if David's exhibition of
prowess had but roused him to deeper determina-
tion, that very evening he arranged with Quelipeg,
who was still chafing over his defeat, to meet him
at the circus encampment on the following after-
noon to take acrobatic lessons in the great trapeze
in the practice hall.
Punctually at the time appointed, Roderick ar-
rived at the encampment. But he found Queli-
peg in a high state of excitement. Things had
gone wrong because of his absence at feeding-time
the day before, as many of the company were away
giving winter evening exhibitions on their own
account, and the force was short-handed. The ele-
phant and the big Bengal tiger, thus delayed in
their customary meal, had come in collision; the
elephant had charged on the tiger's cage and over-
turned it; the tiger, in return, had given a savage
scratch to the elephant's trunk, and was vicious,
red-eyed, and ferocious. Since then the tiger had
grown calmer, but was still sullen, and Quelipeg fed
it with trepidation, hoping all the while that the
cage was tight. The men had gone to town after
feeding the animals, and Quelipeg was left in
charge, with strict orders to see that nothing was
Hey, Quelipeg," said Roderick, as he entered
the practice hall; I hope you 're out of the sulks
Quelipeg scowled, Out of'em? Oh, yes," he
said, "till my time comes."
Roderick laughed. Nonsense," he said, "you
should n't bear a grudge against Dave. But, I
say,--show me the Bengal tiger,-wont you? "
No, Sir," said Quelipeg. I 've strict orders
not to meddle with the beasts."
"Oh, pshaw," said Roderick. "All the men are
gone. Come on, take me around and let 's end
up with the tiger."
Quelipeg assented at last. He did not often
have so fine a visitor, and he could not resist the
opportunity to play the part of showman.
They finished their tour of inspection, and


entered the tiger's division as noiselessly as possible.
But the beast heard them and was on the alert at
once. As they approached, it raised its great head
and showed its teeth, growling. Roderick laughed
and moved closer. The tiger leaped to its feet,
and as the foolish youth flirted his handkerchief
at it, the great brute sprang forward, with a sav-
age roar, and shook the iron bars furiously.
Ouelipeg caught Roderick's arm. Come
away he shouted. "If he smashes those bars,
we 're lost "
Terrified for once, Roderick obeyed, but when
Quelipeg had drawn him into the practice hall,
and barred the door, the fool-hardiness returned.
He insisted on unbarring the door and taking
another peep at his tigership. Quelipeg, who was
putting on his gymnasium suit, begged him to
come away.
"Pshaw, Quelipeg," said Roderick, dropping
the bar, I thought you were braver."
I know it's best not to anger that beast," said
Quelipeg, climbing into a trapeze. So you 'd
better let him alone and come and'tend to business."
"All right," said Roderick, leaving the door, and
proceeding to don his practice suit.
In a moment or two he was ready. Shall I
come up there where you are? he asked.
Quelipeg made no reply. The face that was
looking down upon Roderick suddenly grew white
and ashen. His staring eyes were fixed on the
door leading to the tiger's cage.
"The tiger The tiger he cried.
Roderick gave one terrified look toward the
door. He thought he had latched it, but it was
ajar now, and through the crack a pair of fiery eye-
balls were blazing. The latch had only partly
caught, and was but feebly resisting the tiger's
weight. Roderick knew that it could not long
A cold sweat started from all his pores, as,
blinded and sick, he heavily drew himself up until
he grasped Quelipeg's trapeze. This touch roused
Quelipeg, who, as if spell-bound, had been watching
the deadly persistence of the tiger. For an instant
he glared at Roderick, as though he would thrust
him off to meet his fate. Then a sinister smile
distorted his face.
"Well," he said in a harsh whisper, you may
have this trapeze. I '11 take the one above; only
don't you come up there, or I '11-- "
The threat was cut short, and his movement up-
ward accelerated by the crashing in of the door.
The tiger was in the room Roderick drew him-
self up into the deserted trapeze, and clung there,
watching the beast, as it advanced leisurely along
the hall, lashing its sides. All too soon the blazing
eyes were lifted to him. The creeping, sinuous



movement stopped instantly, and the animal
crouched as if to spring. Roderick was only
a few feet above those cruel jaws.
Beneath the roof Quelipeg sat, guarding
his perch. Roderick dared not climb to
Quelipeg for refuge. A mist came before his
eyes; the outlines of his hideous foe were
vague; even the cruel eyes seemed to grow
dim and far away, when suddenly he heard
a sharp call: //
"Roderick! Roderick Leap to the tra-///
peze back of you "
The command reached the youth's faint- R
ing senses. Summoning his suspended en-
ergies he whirled over, giving his swing the
pendulum sweep. The tiger was evidently non-
plussed, and at a loss as to the direction in which
to spring. Its brawny neck and shoulders swayed
to and fro, following the motions of the young
But only for a moment. Then it gathered itself
together, and made its leap into the air In the

I /

same instant, however, Roderick had made a des-
perate spring, and had caught the other trapeze
hanging some distance beyond.
So true had been the aim of the tiger that, as
the deserted swing whirled back, its bar passed
quite underneath the slender, striped body launched
against it. Caught thus in its own toils, the beast,




feeling itself borne upward by the impetus of its
weight and bound, doubled about the bar, and
clutched it with the grasp of desperation.
Roderick had a keen sense of the ludicrous, and
even in the midst of his danger he had an hysterical
inclination to laugh at this sight of the royal beast
transformed into a swinging gymnast!
But he was conscious of his continued peril, and
he was conscious, moreover, that his cousin, David
Kingsley, was bravely periling his own life to save
him. To induce Roderick to withdraw from his
association with Quelipeg, David had followed him
to the encampment. A glance through the window
had shown him the imminent danger of his cousin.
It was his voice that had saved him from the tiger's
claw. Seizing his opportunity, when the beast was
hanging to the trapeze, he darted into the hall,
and passed swiftly through it, springing upon the
step of an empty cage that stood in an alcove.
The tiger was attracted by the slender figure
speeding past him, and as the oscillations of the
swing slackened, the big cat dropped from the bar,
andnoiselessly crept toward David. The boystood
still, keeping his brave eye on the brute as it drew
closer and closer.
Presently the creature crouched for a spring.
David turned swiftly, and with a bound passed
through the entrance into the lion's cage, on the
step of which he had been standing. It was the
work of a second for the furious beast of prey to
leap through the still-open door, in pursuit !
Suspended from his trapeze, Roderick saw David
enter and bound out of sight. Then an awful
silence followed. Oh, could nothing be done to
save the noble life whose sacrifice would lie at the
door of his own willfulness and disobedience!
Animated by a faint hope, Roderick descended
from the trapeze and courageously advanced to-
ward the alcove.
After a step or two, he stopped, transfixed.
Roderick at the same instant called a ring-
ing voice that had a note of triumph in it, "can't

you help me out of this ? I've captured the tiger!
But I 've captured myself, too "
Tremulous with joy, Roderick hurried to the
cage, through the bars of which, almost alongside
of the protruding paw of the baffled tiger, David's
brave hands were stretched out to him. For his
cousin was captured, in truth. The prison-house
in which he and the Bengal were captives together,
had been constructed for the purpose of taming a
lion and lioness. In the cage were sliding bars,
acting on springs, intended to divide the cage into
three compartments. Two of these divisions the
lion-tamer had used for the purpose of separating
and separately subduing the animals in his care.
In the third and smaller chamber, he found secu-
rity for himself when his beasts proved refractory.
Hither David had retreated, sliding the panel be-
tween himself and his insatiate pursuer. The
beast had followed in hot pursuit, but only to hurl
itself with baffled rage against the stout bars,
shutting it from its prey, and while it was vainly
tearing and scratching at the barrier protecting
David, the youth had touched the spring con-
trolling ,the first division panel, as he had more
than once seen the lion-tamer do, and the panel
had sprung into place, effectually imprisoning the
great brute. A door led out from the compart-
ment in which David was confined; but it was
locked, and the lion-tamer, Quelipeg said, had
the key. Nothing remained, therefore, but for the
boys to exercise patience, while Quelipeg, now
thoroughly frightened but greatly relieved, made
sure that the other animals were safe, and then ran
for the lion-tamer.
In the meantime, the cousins had a long and
confidential talk together, whilst those fiery eyes
watched them ceaselessly.
There was no contest for the captaincy in the
Flushington gymnasium that year; but Roderick
Kingsley never forgot the lesson he had learned in
the contest with that terrible gymnast the Ben-
gal tiger.


BY C. C. S.

HURRY and Worry were two busy men;
They worked at the desk till the clock struck ten.
They gained high station, power, and wealth,
And lost youth, happiness, and health.






--- |__ L .'i1 would seem very strange and perhaps
not very pleasant to my young readers to
hear a tallow candle or the shin-bone of a reindeer
S called candy. And yet these things may really be
considered as Eskimo candy, because they would
delight the children of the cold in precisely the way ---
that a box of bon-bons would delight you.
There is a certain kind of water-fowl in Arctic --
countries known as the dovekie. It is about the -- =
size of a duck, is quite black, has a prominent
white stripe on its wings, and its webbed feet are of
a brilliant red. When sitting in rows on the edge
-- of some mossy, dark-green rock, these little red feet
are very conspicuous, and, together with the white r
stripes on the wings, make the dovekie a very pretty ,
bird. Sometimes, when the men have killed a
s----- ) number of dovekies, the Eskimo women cut off the -
bright red feet, draw out the bones, and, blowing
into the skins, distend them as much as possible
so as to form pouches. When these pouches are
thoroughly dried they are filled with reindeer tal-
low, and the bright red packages, which I assure r
you look much nicer than they taste, are little
: fs Boreas's candy. In very cold weather the Eskimo -Ir // -
'1-zsi children eat great quantities of fat and blubber; s- -
and this fatty food, which seems to us so uninviting,
helps to keep them warm and well.
The only other kind of candy that the Eskimo ,
children have, is the marrow from the long leg or
shin-bone of the slaughtered reindeer. Of this,
also, they are very fond. Whenever a reindeer is
killed and the meat has been stripped from the
bones of the legs, these bones are placed on the


*Copyright, by Frederick Schwatka, 1885.

VOL. XII.--40.


floor of the igloo and cracked with a hatchet until
the. marrow is exposed. The bones are then
forced apart with the hands, and the marrow is
dug out of the ends with a long, sharp, and nar-
row spoon made from a walrus's tusk. I have eaten
this reindeer marrow frozen and cooked; and after
one becomes accustomed to eating frozen meat raw,
it is really an acceptable tid-bit; while cooked and
nicely served, it would be a delicacy anywhere.
Sometimes, if Toolooah was unusually lucky, he
would have eight or ten reindeer on hand that he
had killed during the iday, and as each deer has
eight leg-bones, from which the marrow .can be
extracted, quite a meal could be -made from this
very peculiar candy.
There is one kind of play in which the Eskimo boys

then away they go on a rolling race downhill, sud-
denly spreading themselves out at full length, and
stopping instantly at the bottom of the hill. Every
now and then when a playful mood strikes a boy,
he will double himself up and roll downhill with-
out waiting for the rivalry of a race, but it is vio-
lent exercise, and it bumps the little urchin severely.
Another athletic amusement in which the boys
indulge, and which requires a great deal of
strength, is a peculiar kind of short race on the
hands and feet. The boys lean forward on their
hands and feet, with their arms and legs held
as stiffly as possible, and under no circumstances
must they bend either the elbows or knees. In
this stiff and rigid position, resting only on their
feet and on the knuckles of their clinched fists,
they jump or hitch forward a couple of inches
Sby a quick, convulsive movement of the whole
body. These movements are rapidly repeated,
perhaps once or twice in a second, until the con-
testants have covered two or three yards along
the hard snow-drifts. Then they become ex-
hausted, for, as I have already said, this exer-
cise calls for considerable strength, and is indeed
a very fatiguing amusement; so that, by the
time a boy has played quite energetically in this
way, if only for a minute, he feels very tired, and
is willing to take a breathing-spell. It is not a
very graceful game, and if you were to take a
carpenters wooden horse and jog it along by
short jerks over the floor, you would have a tol-


seem always ready to indulge -a roll downhill.
They select a small but steep hill, or incline, well
covered with snow, and, seating themselves on the
top of the ridge, thrust their heads between their
legs, pass their clinched, gloved hands over their
ankles, pressing their legs as closely against their
bodies as possible. They thus really make them-
selves into big balls covered with reindeer hair, and

erably fair representation of this awkward game of
the Eskimo children. The best part of it all is the
exercise it gives them, and often one will see
a single boy jumping along in this stiff-legged
fashion as if he were practicing for a race, a slight
downhill grade being preferred.
Another method of racing, somewhat similar to
the above, is also practiced; folding the arms





across the breast, and holding the ,knees firmly
rigid, with the feet close together, the contestants
paddle along as fast as possible by short jumps
of an inch or two. It is a severe strain on the
feet, and one can not go very far in so awkward a

exercise. Whenever the ball drops to the ground,
or the players fail to keep it flying, it is a signal
for a rest. Simple as is the game, the little Eskimo
manage to gain much fun and excitement from it,
and whenever you hear an unusual amount of


way. The little girls, standing in a row of from
three to five, often jump up and down in the
same manner, keeping a sort of time with the
thumping of their heels to the rude songs that
they are spluttering out in jerks and gasps as
unmusical as the hammering of their heels. A lot
of these little damsels would favor us with a short
version of this stiff-jumping, spluttering melody
whenever they were particularly grateful for some
small gift we had presented to them. -
A capital game played by the little girls, and by
some of the smaller boys, is a rude sort of ball-
game. Thick sealskin leather is made into a ball
about the size of our common base-ball, and then
filled about two-thirds full with sand. If com-
pletely filled, it would be as hard and unyielding
as a stone, and the singular sliding way it has of
yielding because of its being only partially filled,
makes it much harder to catch and retain in the
hands than our common ball. The game is a very
simple one, much like our play with bean-bags,
and consists simply in striking at the ball with the
open palm of the hand, and, when there is a
crowd of players, in keeping the ball constantly in
the air. This is a favorite summer game when
the snow is off the ground and the people are living
in sealskin tents. No doubt it affords considerable

shouting and loud and boisterous merriment out-of-
doors, you may be almost certain of finding, when you
go to your tent door, that all' the children of the
village are engaged in a game of sand-bag ball."
Another Eskimo out-of-door amusement much
resembles the old Indian game of" Lacrosse." It
is played on the smooth lakee ice, with three or four
small round balls of quarti, or granite, about the
size of an English walnut. These are kicked and
knocked about the lake, with plenty of fun and
shouting, but utterly without any rules to govern
the game.
SIt takes a long time to grind one of- these
irregular pieces of stone into a round ball, but the
Eskimo people are very patient and untiring in
their routine work, and with them, as with the
Indians, time is of hardly any consequence what-
ever. The number of years that they will spend
in plodding away at the most simple things shows
them to be probably the most patient people in
the world. -
When we were near King William's Land, I saw
an Eskimo working upon a knife that, as nearly as
I could ascertain, had engaged a good part of his
time some six, years preceding that date. He
had a flat piece of iron, which had been taken
from the wreck of one of Sir John Franklin's



ships, and from this he was endeavoring to make
a knife-blade, which, when completed, would be
about twelve inches long. In cutting it from this
iron plate he was using for a chisel an old file,
found on one of the ships, which it had taken him
two or three years to sharpen by rubbing its edge
against stones and rocks. His cold-chisel finished,
he had been nearly as many years cutting a straight
edge along the ragged sides of the irregular piece
of iron, and when I discovered him he had out-
lined the width of his knife on the plate and was

the same purpose. We had with us a great num-
ber of glovers' needles, and these we traded for the
iron ones, which to us were great curiosities. The
women do some wonderfully neat sewing with these
needles, considering the nature of the implements
and the coarse thread of reindeer sinew which
they use. This sinew is stripped from the rein-
deer's back in flat pieces about eighteen inches
long and two inches wide. The Eskimo woman's
spool of thread consists of a bundle of these strips
of sinew, hung up in the igloo, from which she


cutting away at it. It would probably have taken
him two years to cut out this piece, and two more
to fashion the knife into shape and usefulness.
The file which he had made into a cold-chisel
was such a proof of labor and patience that it was
a great curiosity to me, and I gave him a butcher's
knife in exchange for it. Thus almost the very
thing he had been so long trying to make he now
unexpectedly found in his possession.. When I
told him that our factories (or big igloos," as I
called them for his easier understanding) could
make more than he could carry of such butcher-
knives during the time we had spent in talking
about his, he expressed his great surprise in pro-
longed gasps of breath at this manifest superiority
of the Kod-loou-sab, as the Eskimo call the white
Among the women of this same tribe I found a
number of square iron needles that they had taken
months to make, slowly filing them on rough,
rusty iron plates and occasionally using stones for

strips a thread whenever she needs one. It is
very strong, and will cut through the flesh of one's
fingers before it can be broken. The Eskimo braid
it into fish-lines, bow-strings, whip-cord, and nearly
always have a ball of it on hand in the house braided
up and ready for use.
Before the Eskimo became acquainted with white
men, and learned to use their better implements,
many household articles were made from bone and
the ivory walrus tusks. Among these were forks,
spoons, and even knives, of which a few designs
are shown on the next page. Very few are in exist-
ence now, but some of them were much more orna-
mental than those in the illustration, for, as I have
said, the northern natives do not hesitate to begin
anything for want of time in which to complete
it; and if they only have the ingenuity to manufac-
ture odd or pretty designs, they have plenty of
leisure and plenty of patience to carve them out.
SMany of the smaller and odd pieces left from the
tusk are carved into figures of birds and animals.





Occasionally you will see some old woman of the
tribe with quite a bagful of ivory dogs, ducks,
bears, swans, walrus, seals, and every living thing
with the form of which they are familiar. They
will make rude dominoes and sit and play with
them for hours at a time during their long winter
evenings. And not toys only, but many articles
of utility also are thus carved from the ivory taken
from the tusks of the walrus. Walrus and seal
spear-heads, and the sharpened head of the lances
they used in killing the musk-ox and polar bear,
were formerly thus made. In fact, it would have
been almost impossible for the Eskimo to exist
without this valuable portion of the walrus, before
an acquaintance with the white men enabled them
to secure iron and guns to replace their own rude im-
plements. The principal use now made of the tusks
is to trade them in quantities to the whalers, who
pay for them in such merchandise as the natives
The Eskimo have no money of any sort, and
know nothing of its use. In fact, they know very
little about the true value of any one thing as
compared with others ; and if they desire a needle,
or any other small article, they are ready to give
in exchange for it a garment or object which you,
brought up to compare the values of things, would
know to be worth ten, or possibly one hundred, times
as much. The poor creatures are thus often badly
cheated by unprincipled persons who take advan-
tage of this trait of their character, and they fre-
quently receive little or nothing for things which
in our own country are very valuable. I once saw
such a man give twenty-five musket-caps to an
Eskimo boy for five pretty, white fox skins, which,
at that rate, would have been one cent of our money
for three fox skins; and the skins could readily be
sold for five dollars when he reached the United

A favorite Eskimo amusement is one which both
the white and Indian boys sometimes play with the
bow and arrow. It is to see how manyarrows can
be kept in the air at one time. The Eskimo boy,
with his quiver pulled around over his shoulders
so that he can get the arrows quickly and readily,
commences shooting them straight up into the air,
and when the first arrow thus shot up strikes the
ground, he must at once stop. The number of
arrows he has shot indicates his score, which he
will compare with that made by the other boys.
Sometimes they will only count those that in de-
scending stand upright in the snow, and in this
case they will shoot all that are in their quivers.
At another time they will count only those that
stick upright within a certain area, generally a circle
of from twenty to thirty yards in diameter; these
must all be shot from the bow by the time the
first arrow strikes within the space marked out,
and in this case considerable precision and rapidity
in shooting are required to make a good score.
The boys will often shoot a single arrow high into
the air and try to intercept it with another one sent
straight horizontally above the ground as the first
one rapidly descends. The Eskimo and Indians and
other savage tribes who are skilled in the use of the
bow and arrow, can shoot an arrow so that it will
go somewhat sidewise. They practice this way
of shooting when trying to hit a descending arrow,
or one stuck upright in the ground. It must, how-
ever, be remembered that the Eskimo are not as
good bowmen as are many of the other savage
tribes, who gain a part or all of their living by this
instrument; the Eskimo use spears and lances
much more frequently, and where accuracy is
especially needed, bows are seldom employed.
With those Eskimo who come into frequent con-
tact with white men, guns have now altogether
taken the place of bows and arrows.

(To be co btitnued.)








ONE day, as the swans were swimming about the duck-pond, and the
two gray ducks with black heads were keeping out of the swans' way, a
pretty cream-colored duck, with ten yellow, downy. ducklings, came wad-
dling down from the duck-house. She showed her babies to the swans, but
drove the black-headed ducks away when they came near her ducklings.
At first the little ducklings kept very close to their mother, and paddled up
and down the pond with her. But before they were ten days old, they
grew very greedy and unkind. They would peck at one another, and I
am sorry to say that Mother Duck did not try to teach them good manners.
But when they were big enough, she did teach them to swim. She
called them to her and said, "Quack, quack!" which meant" Attention,
children!" and then she put her head far down under water. After she
came up, the ducklings put their heads under water, in the same way.
Then she took a deep dive, and swam a little under water, but only one
duckling was brave enough to do that. So they both tried it again, and
the duckling who could dive was so proud of what he could do that he
kept diving all the time, and helped his mother very much in teaching
the others.
By and by, all the little ducklings had learned to dive and swim under
water, except the very biggest one. But his mother would not let him stop
learning. She chased him all about the pond, flapping and quacking,
while all the little ducklings quacked, and even the swans became excited,
and the black-headed ducks ran off in a fright; and at last, when the
naughty duckling found it was of no use to disobey his mother, he flopped
under the water and swam farther than any of the others. Then all was
quiet again, and Mother Duck taught her children how to stretch them-
selves, and stand on tip-toe, and flap the water from their wings, and dry
themselves off after a swim. She showed them how to comb out their
feathers with their bills, and how to smooth their breast-feathers. After the
lesson, the whole family went to sleep, and Mother Duck tucked her head
under her wing, as if she felt she had done her duty.
Next day all the little ducks were swimming about by themselves, and
now they are as jolly little swimmers and quackers as you can find anywhere.




-~I, -I

r ii -

1111~ 1i. l

I 2A




,, r



t }

. Z7:



A BRIGHT June welcome to you, my friends !
And now for
My birds tell me of a curious thing known as the
ink-plant. It grows somewhere in South America
(who knows exactly where ?), and the juice can be
used for ink as soon as it is squeezed from the
plant. Perhaps some of the young folks living in
South Americ will tell us something about this
wonderful vegetable production..
DEAR JACK: Will you please ask your congre-
gation if any of them ever saw a rainbow in the
A year ago last October, a friend and. I went to
spend the evening at a neighbor's house. While
we were there a heavy rain-stor'rm, with wind and
lightning, came, on,, and lasted till nearly eleven
o'clock. It was still raining slightly when we
started home, but the heaviest of the'clouds had
just passed over to the east when the moon,.which:
was nearly full, suddenly came out in plain view
low in the- west, arid then we saw a beautiful
rainbow I It was of a brilliant white, and it lasted
a minute or more, till a cloud drifted over the
moon and ended the show.
I have never seen nor read of another moon-
rainbow, and I think they must be very rare.
YONKERS, N. Y., March to, 1885.
and think it very nice. I saw a question in it (in February or No-
vember, I think) about ants. Last summer we had an ant city (size
about sixty square feet) in one of oir garden terraces. It was bur-
rowed all over, and looked like an immense honey-comb. We tried
everything we could think of to kill them. Kerosene oil did it, and
millions were killed every day.
We wondered what they did with their dead, so we watched.

The live ones would take two dead ones each, and drag them up
the. steps to the- next to the-top,-leave-the-dead ones-there, and go
back for more. When the step was nearly full they would stop.
Then they would get some grains of sand and put them on top of
the dead ones till they were all covered. Then they would fill the
nextstep, and so on. This they kept up for two or three weeks, and
then they stopped, until we put more kerosene on; then they
would go to work again.
Some of the ants got food for the others while they were working.
I remain, W. G. S., JR.
February o2, 1885.
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: I hope it is not too late to write con-
cerning the ants G. M. B. asks about My mother and I have seen
two ants, each three-fourths of an inch long, carrying a dead ant
between them. I do not know what they did -with it, but I do know
that I once watched an ant eat another one, and I have seen them
eat bees of all kinds.
Your constant reader, H. C. WILLIAMS.

"How MANY hundred answers to the Golden
Gate question have'you received ?" asks Bertha
Rowell, in her letter on the subject. Well, really,
Bertha,. your Jack can't say. He has "lost count";
but certainly, if old King Solomonwas correct when
he said, In. a multitude of counselors there is
safety," then Jack should be. as wise on this San
Francisco question as good King Solomon himself,
or as all the owls that:ever blinked. It is almost as
hard to fit a key to the. Golden Gate as it was to
wind the right note on the Golden Horn. But here
is what some. of this multitude of counselors say.
Of course, the California boys and girls ought to
be the best authority on this question; and, as
Sidney P., who writes from San Francisco, says,
"The California boys' chance to' come out strong'
has arrived." So California shall lead off in the
answers. Bertha L. Rowell explains that "the
Golden Gate is a beautiful:strait, about a mile wide,
connecting the Bay of San Francisco with the
Pacific Ocean. At the right of the entrance is
Point Lobos, and at the left Point Bonita. These
points are fimiliarly known as 'the Heads..' This
strait derived its name of the Golden Gate from
the fact that it is the entrance to the 'land of
gold,'- the El Dorado,- as, it, was through this
gate-way that the gold-seekers, in 1849, entered the
harbor of San Francisco from the sea." Sidney
P.. says much the same, and adds that "the strait
is about a mile. and a half wide, and every evening
it is beautifully tinged with the- golden rays of the
sun, which sets: in the ocean directly behind it."
Sidney declares that he once heard some New
York people ask, when they first saw this channel,
" Where is the.gate ? and he says that he really
hopes "none of the ST. NICHOLAS readers imagine
there is.a gate to open and shut! "
Alice M. Rambo's letter says: Many persons
think the Golden Gate is so called because it is the
entrance to the 'Golden State' of California, but
it is not so. Long years ago, when the Spaniards
first came to California, as they sailed through the
entrance to the harbor of San Francisco, they
looked back through the narrow passage and saw
the beautiful, golden-hued sunset in the Pacific
Ocean. And they called the passage-way the
Golden Gate." Isabel Clarke, who is eleven this
month, sends both the explanations already given,
and says that the ST. NICHOLAS readers may





choose the one they think the more probable.
Ernestine S. Haskell says the Golden Gate is an
every-day sight to her, and that the reason gener-
ally given for its name is because it is the entrance
to the land of gold now the land of golden grain.
She says: It was through this gate that I watched
the Jeannette' sail to its fate, and saw the' Tokio '
bringing home General Grant from his tour around
the world."
These are all San Francisco boys and girls; and
here is James Alexander Barclay, of Merced, Cal.,
who says that the name was given because of the
great wealth of the State to which it was the sea-
Going as far in the other direction for an an-
swer, here is H. von Sobbe, of Liverpool, England,
who says that "the Bay of San Francisco is gen-
erally called the most beautiful bay in the world.
It faces the west and receives the glory of the set-
ting sun, and hence the entrance is called the
Golden Gate." Violet Campbell, who is ten years
old, writes from Kingston, Canada, to say that
" the entrance to the harbor of San Francisco is
between two big rocks, and as the sun sets just
opposite these rocks, the reflection makes the
water between these rocks look just like gold. It
is not a real gate, though it is called the Golden
Gate." Susy Lewis, of Hyde Park, Ill., says it is
called a gate because it affords safe passage for
ships, and is called golden because the setting sun,
seen between the hills on either side, looks like a
golden ball." Clarence A. C., of Mount Hope,
N. Y., says that as the narrow passage into the Bay
of San Francisco is the only opening on the west-
ern side of the United States and leads in among the

gold regions, it is called the Golden Gate." Emily
S. Walker, of Hinsdale, Mass., who is twelve years
old, grows poetical on the subject and gives her
answer in this wise to Jane's question:
"Dear Jane: Your question has troubled me of late,
To find what is called the Golden Gate.
On the coast of California State
SSan Francisco is situate.
To reach its harbor you pass through a strait,
And that is called the Golden Gate."

Hattie V. Woodard, of Osage, Iowa, thinks that
the entrance to San Francisco harbor is called the
Golden Gate because it is shaped like a gate-way,
and because it is the most western part of the
United States; and she adds that "in one of
Whittier's poems it is spoken of as the 'Golden
Gate of Sunset.' "
These replies show you what most of the boys
and girls have to say about the Golden Gate. Of
course Jack can't begin to publish all the answers,
so he lets you see these, and thanks all those who
have written him in reply to Jane Elva B.'s ques-
tion, including: Agnes M. Bristow, Harry J.
Childs, Sam Bissell, "Violet," Willie E. Caveny,
Mary McLean, Lotta B., F. T., Helen M. Dud-
ley, Walter I. Cooper, W. T., A. B. Linch,
Mamie Dudley, J. A. C., Virginia Holbrook, Geo.
Willis Cummings, Nena C. A., W. S. Johnson,
Ellie and Susie, C. E. S., Alice E. Hubbard,
Stuart M. Beard, Schuyler E. Day, Nannie Duff,
Fred. H. H., Carrie L. Land, Harry Taylor,
Helen L. D., Karl S. Harbaugh, H. E.. B., Minnie
May, Anna Hammond, and George S. Strong,
David Foster, Emily A. Whiston, and very many





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

OUR thanks are due to the proprietors of The.Field, 346 Strand, "HELEN'S Prize Dinner,'! the story which won the second prize
London, England, for their kind permission to reproduce in ST. in the recent competition for the best story for girls written by a
NICHOLAS the pictures which form the illustrations to The Royal girl, appears in this number, beginning on page 609.
Game of Tennis," in this number.


FLORIDA, Mar., '85.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have taken you for a long time, but have
never written to you before; so I hope you will find room for my
letter. I have a great many little chickens, which I feed with bread
and milk and hard-boiled eggs while they are very small. When
they were first hatched I tied little ribbons around their necks, and
they did not mind, but some larger chickens tried to pick them off
It was very cunning. It is very warm here now.
Your loving reader, RITIE.

MILWAUKEE, Feb. 9, 1885.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I would like to tell the boys about some-
thing I play nearly every day. I take a long piece of fine wood and
whittle it into a sword; I then take off my shoes and put on a pair
of overalls overmy trousers and stockings, put on a pairof stockings,
roll them down to my ankles, put a pair of slippers on, put a strap
around my waist for a belt, put my sword in this belt, and play I
am a knight of old.
Your faithful reader, GEORGE A.

BUFFALO, N. Y., Feb. sI, 1885.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have taken the ST. NICHOLAS for more
than two years, and I like it very much. I have a sister older than
myself, and two younger sisters. My elder sister, Ida, and I attend
the Normal school. I have two grandpas, and they both have farms
in the country. Every summer I go out in the country to spendmy
vacation. We generally have ten weeks' vacation, and I divide the
time equally between the two places. I ride horseback a great deal
and use the saddle Mamma had when she was a little girl. Ida is
thirteen, I am eleven, Jessie is eight, and Georgiana is three. I have
an Aunt Carrie; she lives in the country; she is fourteen years old.
Last summer, when I was out in the country, we all went down the
lane and took some lunch with us and built a little stove out of
bricks, and baked somepotatoes and apples, and ate our dinner there;
we had a very nice time. I expect to go there again this summer,
and I suppose I will have fun, as I always do. Good-bye.
From your friend, HELEN B. J.

CAIRO, ILL., Feb. 17, '85.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I want to tell you all about my happiness.
I have been taking the ST. NICHOLAS for over a year and found it
very interesting. St. Valentine's was my birthday; I was fifteen
years old, and what do you suppose was my present ? My kind papa-
and mamma had the numbers of ST. NICHOLAS bound into a book,
and a handsome one it is. My favorite storiesare: "Davy and the
Goblin" and "His One Fault" Yours,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have a goat, and her name is Nancy.
She is very intelligent. Once when I was hitching her up to my
ivagon 1 felt something pulling my dress, and when I looked around
I found that Nancy had been chewing on my dress. Perhaps you
think I 'm a boy, but I 'm not; I 'm a girl, and my name is

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I thought, as so many wrote to you, that
you could find room for my letter. I live five miles out from the
city; it is pleasant here all the year round. We have a great many
picnics in the summer, and we go boating and bathing, and have
splendid fun. I have a dog that came from the Highlands of Scotland.
I have been to England and Scotland, and have found both beautiful.
We visited Ayr, and went to see Burns's cottage; it was so very
small the windows were only a foot square. There is a beautiful
monument, which was put up in memory of the great poet, in
the lower part. They sell little wooden things made of the wood
which grew on the banks of the Doon.
I remain, yours truthfully, ETHEL K. M.

INDEPENDENCE, Mo., Feb. 5, 1885.
DEAR St. NICHOLAS: I read you whenever I can, in the evenings
after school, on Saturdays, and on Sundays. At school I am in the
next highest room, and am trying to fit myself for college when I get
through the public schools. I read every word in you, and am very
fond ofyou. Your best stories are, I think, "Davy and the Gob-
lin" and "His One Fault." I was so sorry that Cassius Branlow
took Dandy Jim away and changed him for another horse.

CHICAGO, 1885.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl ten years old, and like
your stories very much. I was very much interested in Miss Alcott's
" Spinning-wheel Stories." At school we read in you instead of a
reader, and my teacher likes you ever so much.
Your admirer, RUTH J. B.

LANCASTER, N. Y., Jan. 2, z885.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have intended to write before, but I have
not had time, as I go to school. There was a funny thing happened
not very far from our house on a farm; there was a white cat andit
had some white kittens, there was also a hen sitting on some eggs;
they were both in the barn. So one morning when one of the family
went out to see the kittens, what should they see but the hen on the
kittens and the cat on the eggs. That day they did not disturb
them, but went back to the house. The next day they found them
the same. And the next day they went out and took the old hen off
the kittens and they found them most dead. They took the cat and
put her on the kittens. And I guess she saw her mistake, for she
neverleft them again. Perhaps some may not believe this story true,
but it is. I remain ever your constant reader and friend,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I dare say you will be surprised to find that
the ST. NICHOLAS magazine has found its way up to the wild
North-West," the Great Lone Land (by the by, it is not such a
very lonely place). We live quite close to a little village called Rus-
sell. I am very much interested in the story by J. T. Trowbridge,
"His One Fault." I intend to make asalt crystal glass. I half made



one, but it was so cold I had to keep it under the stove; but it was a
bother, and I must wait till the summer. And now, dear ST.
NICHOLAS, hoping that you will put this in, as it is my first letter,
I am your loving little reader,
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Here comes a Jayhawker to have a little
chat with you and the circle. I have always lived in sunny Kansas,
on a farm. I live about eighteen miles from the exact center of the
United States. The prairies, in spring, look most beautiful, the
grass so green, and so many pretty flowers, of so many colors. Blue
and white daisies come first, and they are eagerly hunted for by us
children, as we go to school. We keep our teacher's desk well sup-
plied with bouquets. I like to go to school, and I like to read better.
I like the stories, His One Fault," "Driven Back to Eden," and I
don't know what I don't like in them. I am eleven years old. I
have three sisters and two brothers. One day at school the teacher
asked a boy in my class what they made out of ivory, and he said
ivory soap. My teacher is the best teacher I ever went to. I
never wrote a letter to a paper or a magazine before. I will stop.
Well, good-bye to the readers of the ST. NICHOLAS. I send my
love to all, from one who would read all the time if she could.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: When I was a little girl we used to sing.
our multiplication table, the States and their capitals, and the kings
and queens of England. Gail Hamilton's charming versification
this month brought the old rhymes and tunes to my mind again. I
wish I could give you the tune, but here is the old rhyming list
which we sang, as we stood, hand in hand, before our old teacher,
swaying back and forth as we sang.
Very truly your devoted admirer, L. F.


First William the Norman,
Then William, his son;
Henry, Stephen, and Henry,
And Richard and John.
Then Henry the Third,
Edwards one, two, and three,
And again, after Richard,
Three Henrys we see.
Two Edwards, third Richard,
If rightly I guess;
Two Henrys, sixth Edward,
Queen Mary, Queen Bess.
Then Jamie, the Scotchman,
Then Charles, whom they slew;
But received after Cromwell
Another Charles too.
James, Second, the Stuart, ascended the throne;
And William and Mary together came on,
Queen Anne, Georges four,
And fourth William, all past,
God sent us Victoria, may she long be the last.

BOSTON, Feb. 15, 1885.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : We are two littleisisters, and our home is
in the Far West. We are spending the winter in Boston. Our aunt
is very kind; yet we miss our mother, and the rambling life we have
heretofore led, so different from the life one leads in the East. Auntie
takes the ST. NICHOLAS, and we sit in the parlor and pore over it in
the long winter evenings. We hope you will print this, as it is our
first letter.
Your ever admiring friends,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: In one number of ST. NICHOLAS you
prmted a story called "Margaret's Favor Book," and some of us
little girls got up a society called the "F. B. S." (Favor Book
Society), and we each had a little book, in which we wrote, every
night, the favors we had received during the day. We each had
a motto which we wrote on the first page of out book, and badges.
We had a meeting every Saturday, and the president read aloud all
the favors which had been received during: the week. But we had
to give the society up a little while ago, because most of the mem-
bers moved away. I thought, perhaps, some of your readers would
like to have such a society. I remain your faithful reader, .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: As I have not seen any letters from
Adrian, I thought I would write one. I am a little girl, only nine
years old, so you must not expect a very good letter from me. I
think Louisa Alcott's tales are lovely, and Frank Stockton's are per-

fectly magnificent; for instance, "The Philopena," "The Queen's
Museum," "The Magician's Daughter,"and "The FloatingPrince."
I am very sorry The Spinning-wheel" stories have come to an end.
"What Wakes the Flowers? in the March number, is very pretty.
I am going to speak it in school.
Ever your constant reader, ELIZABETH C.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: This is the first letter I have ever written
to you, and I hope to see it printed. We have taken you for six
years, and I think you are very nice. I have never read much of
you until lately. The stories and pictures of the Brownies" I
think are very funny. I noticed in every one of them a dude and
a policeman. Yours truly, MARY -.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: A literal translation of George W. Steams's
letter, in the March number of ST. NICHOLAS, is:
There was a man in the city, and he was very wise, and rushing
into thorns, he. was deprived of his eyes. I will say that, when he
perceived himself to be blind, rushing into other thorns he got his
eyes. A free translation is the nursery rhyme:
There was a man in our town,
And he was wondrous wise," etc.
Yours truly, GEO. H. S.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I wrote these verses when I was nine
years old. I was herding fifty cows in the corn-stalks, out in
Nebraska, when I thought them out. I am ten now. We children
have taken ST. NICHOLAS for four years, and we think it splendid.
Your friend, CHAUNCEY C.

The cows were grazing in the field,-
A soldier crouched behind a shield,-
When suddenly an arrow flew,
And split the largest cow in two.

The other cows were awful mad,
And said it really was too bad;
The soldier hid behind a stone,
For cows' horns are made of bone.

CATSKILL, April x, 1885.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I am having lots of fun, fooling people.
I told my little sister this morning to say to Papa: Look on the
wall; is not that a funny shadow? April fool! When Papa came
in, she cried, Aper foo! which made us all laugh. Three years
ago, when we were in Gardiner, Maine, Papa said one morning:
"See the boats on the river! We looked, but did not see any boats.
Then Papa said, "April fool! "It is the 3rsto' March," said
Mamma, as she looked at the calendar.
I love you so much, dear ST. NICHOLAS. I run for you the min-
ute you come. Your devoted reader, G. H. C.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I send you these lines, which I cut from
the Congregahaonalt, hoping that you would print them, as I
thg thought they would interest many of your readers. I have taken
you, dear ST. NICHOLAS, ever, since you were born, and I am only
four years older than you are.
Your constant reader, LIZZIE C. B.
"Everybody who sings or hears sung Bums's pretty song of
'Coming Through the Rye' is apt to picture to himself a field of
this grain through which the lassies are seen coming. This con-
ception is now said to be incorrect, the reference being to a small
stream in Ayrshire called the Rye. It was easily waded, but the
lassies in going across would have to hold up the skirts of their
dresses. While in this attitude, mischievous lads like Robbie Burns
would wade out and snatch a kiss, which the lassies would be
obliged to allow, or else let their skirts fall into the water."

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have never seen a letter from Falls City
in the Letter-box, and hope that this one may find a place there.
Louisville, which claims to have about x2o,ooo inhabitants, is a
Very pretty town, situated'on one of'the widest parts of the Ohio
River. We have here the Southern Exposition, which is said to be
one of the largest in the world. I am very much interested in all
your stories, and wait impatiently for the 26th of each month, which
is my "St. Nicholas Day."
I wonder if any of your readers have ever ridden on a tandem
tricycle. I guess the Prince of Naples, the Crown Prince of Russia,



and many of your European friends have. I have, at least, and had
quite a nice time. As it was my first attempt, I had to learn to keep
my feet on the pedals, which seemed quite hard at first.
Your constant reader and faithful friend,
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have taken you five or six years, and like
you better every year. Last summer I called on Mr. Whittier, and
asked him to write in my autograph album. He was in his study,
which opens from the dining-room by folding-doors. There was a
fine picture of Mr. Longfellow on the wall, and a desk, at which,
I suppose, Mr. Whittier writes some of his poems.
I am thirteen years old. I have a pug dog, of which I am very
fond. Your constant reader, A. E.. J.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We have been taking your magazine for
three years, and have found it the best for young folk. There are
three of us reading your ST. NICHOLAs, and when it arrives we have
quite a hard time in deciding which is to have it first.
We remain, your dear-readers,

PARIS, France. S
MY DEAR OLD ST. NICHOLAS: I have been taking you for nearly
seven years, but have never given myself the pleasure of writing to
you. I am a little American girl of thirteen. I have been living in
Switzerland for the last three years. I speak French better than
English, but I am very glad to say that I am on my way home. I
am now staying in the beautiful city of Paris. I have already seen

lots of old churches and palaces six or seven hundred years old.
The other day we went to see a palace which was.built by King
Louis IX. in the thirteenth century, now the Palais de Justice.
Attached to it is La Sainte Chapelle, still the most beautiful in
Paris. The windows in it are made of gorgeous colorings, and the
floor is made of mosaic, with the emblems of France and Spain on
it (lefleur de s). I also saw Napoleon's tomb at the Hotel des
Invalides. I have been to a great many other places, which I
should like to tell you about, but it would take up too much of your
precious space, so I must say good-bye. The May number of your
dear magazine I hope to read m my native land.
Always your affectionate reader, MARIE L. C.

WE can only acknowledge the receipt of the pleasant letters sent us
bythe followingyoungfriends: Lu H., LauraLarimer, Pet Kinneand
Teenie S. Haskell, Robert R. Peebles, Tony T., Ernest B., "Gol-
dilocks," Maud, Frousie, Julia Mintzer, Clara E.Veader, Maggie M.
Murray,.Ellie T. Hitchcock, Mary M. B., J. Alice Gernaud and
Roberta Owens, Florence Willard, Louise M. Johnson, H. E. C.,
Rose, George Nicholas, Thomas Hill, Emily, Elsie H., Oman
Ramsden, Bertha Cross, Willie and James Armstrong, Amos P. Fisk,
Ethel M., Valliant Turner, Louise Joynes, E. M. T., Charlie Leon-
ard, Grace E. Chambers, Mary Brotherton, "Janet," Lottie G. Day,
Josie B. Ervay, Maud H. and Nellie R., G. Beyer, Amy F. C.,
Lousia Kausch, Sidney M. Hauptman, Charlie Faulkner, Grace
Williams, Blanche and Lotta, E. Hagemann, Mable Harvey, Milton
Frank, Maria Sykes, G. E. M., Lizzie Parks, Ella Brookings, Orra
H. King, M. J. E., Lilian Trask, Will Smiley, Fred. H. D., Gracie
I., Clemence Frank, Ethel Watts, and Rex Dickinson.



THE contest for the prizes offered last Novem-
ber for the best drawings of snow-crystals has not
been so spirited as we hoped. Still, some very
excellent work has been done, and some very
beautiful forms observed. The first, prize was
easily taken by Chapter 742, Jefferson, Ohio, A. E.
Warren, Secretary. We may give engravings of
these drawings at a later day.
The second prize was awarded to Miss L. V.
Makrille, of Washington, D. C.
Mr. R. H. Keep, of Norwich, Conn., won the
third prize, and Mr. C. H. Paddock, of Chapter
613, Winooski, Vt., the fourth. The next five sets
were so nearly equal in merit, that it was decided
to rank them all alike, and to award a prize of equal
value to each one of the five. The names of the
successful five, arranged alphabetically, are:
Miss Julia Dwight, President of Chapter 579,
Hadley, Mass.; Miss Edith C. Hohnes (a corre-
sponding member of the Central Association of
Lenox), Auburn, N. Y.; Miss Alice Heustis, of
Chapter 729, Boston, Mass.; Henry A. Stewart,
of Chapter 489, Gettysburg, ,Pa.; Theodore G.
White, New-York City.
A study of the drawings received tends to con-
firm the statement of the books that water crystal-
lizes in six-pointed figures, or at the least, in stars

having each either three points or a multiple of
three. Still (as was the case last year) a few draw-
ings showing four and five pointed crystals were sent
in, and a very few showing seven and eight angles.
The four-pointed figures are readily accounted for,
on the supposition that two rays have been broken
off. Here is one (Fig. I.), for example, in which
the hexagonal form is readily restored
by the addition of a perpendicular
cross line. But what shall we say of
the forms shown in Figures 2 arid 3 ?
It 'should be stated, however, that
all these exceptional
forms occurred in the ,
sets that were most
carelessly drawn. ,
The only approach to .
irregularity that occurs
in a prize set is that shown g B
in Figure 4, and found
during a high wind, in Washington, D.
C. In this case the six points appear,
and the angles are correct. The follow-
ing extract from the letter accompanying
one of the best sets submitted, may
throw some light on the question:

"In regard to this snow-crystal drawing, don't you think it im-
possible to make a fair drawing by jist looking at the object, and
then putting it down from memory? By doing so, one could fix up




an extremely fascinating little picture, because he would be led on
from making a little touch here to adding another there, till he
thought there could n't havebeen any more lines, and then he has an
exaggerated, and almost half "made-up "picture. Merely to catch
a glimpse of one of these frail forms before it melts, and then
to try to picture it accurately, is more or less unsatisfactory, so far
as truth goes. It was very cold sitting outdoors before breakfast,
drawing these crystals, but I did not see any other honest way
out of it. So I can say truthfully, they are as nearly natural as they
could be made by a fellow holding his pencil with almost numb
fingers,-and a mitten on at that."

Now that boy has the true scientific spirit, and
the hearty love for truth that must characterize
every earnest student.
It will not do for us to leave the question thus.
Next winter we must try once more-all of us.
We must get a thousand sketches and lay them
side by side. We must have them all made as
conscientiously as possible, and that, too, not for
the sake of a prize, but from that anxiety to learn
the exact truth with regard to a crystal of water,
which must be finding its way by this time into
the mind of every member of the A. A. who has
the least inclination toward mineralogy. By the
way, this question was sent in a few days ago:
"Is water a mineral? "
What do you think about it?
Before giving a summary of Chapter reports, we
have the pleasure of offering an extract from a
letter of Professor H. T. Cresson, 224 South Broad
street, Philadelphia, who has aided us in the de-
partment of Ethnology:

"I do not consider it any trouble to answer questions th# tmay be
directed to me; on the contrary, it affords me great pleasure. The
thought occurs to me that some of our friends in the Indian districts
could send us valuable information about that much-neglected
branch of ethnology, Indian music, both vocal and instrumental.
With best wishes for the success of the Association,

Read also this from Professor Putman-Cramer,
of Brooklyn:

"You are, perhaps, aware that we have here an Entomological
Society, boasting some forty members, among them some prominent
entomologists. As president of that society for the current year, I
express, I am sure, the opinions of the society when I say that we
should be glad to see any member or members of the A. A. at our
monthly meetings, which are held on the first Tuesday of each
month in the Polytechnic Institute, Livingstone street, near Court
street; at 8 P. M."

This invitation is one that no member of the
A. A. interested in entomology, and able to accept,
can afford to slight. Even if one is not a student of
inject li fe he can learn much about methods of work,
and the ways of conducting scientific meetings, by
observing how these things are done by experts.
In addition to the chemists whose offers of aid
ha'. already appeared in ST. NICHOLAS, we are
pleased to give the address of Mr. Charles P.
"'V.rr.c;r'- r. Newtonville, Mass., who will cheerfully
answer such questions as may be sent him.


275, Washington, D. C.(E). I saw a wasp and a Hessian fly
fighting. The fly killed the wasp: At another time I saw a fly,
with red eyes and an abdomen-checked with green, attack and kill a
good-sized dragon-fly. The electric lights on the dome of the Capi-
tol attract many insects. Our rarest specimens have been caught
there. The large water-beetle (Dynasticus marginatus) has been
found in large numbers. This is rather high for them. I once saw
it stated, as a rare incident that one had been found on a two-story
house-about thirty feet high. I have found as many as twenty-
five in one morning at least three hundred and forty-five feet from
the ground. Water-scorpions, wheel-bugs and other hemiptera,
bees, flies, various neuroptera, and all kinds of nocturnal lejidoAtera
are found there.-Alonzo H. Stewart, Sec.
286, Stockfort, N. Y. One of our members has seen red squirrels
and chipmunks swimming.-W. J. Fisher, Sec.
56, St. Johnsbury, Vt. We have been slowly growing since we
began with four members, until now we have twenty-four, all active
workers. The principal of our academy has given us a fine cabinet,
of which we are very proud.-Thornton B. Penfield, Sec.
638, St. Louis (D). Our members are exceptionally united in
study. We have raised our initiation fee to one dollar, so that we
may be sure of obtaining members who take a live interest in
nature. During less than a year more than-fifty essays have been
read, seven lectures delivered, and we have had two select readings
at each meeting.-Frank M. Davis, See.
S485, Brooklyn, Ohio. We have now twenty-six members. We are
fortunate in having among us a few who have studied special
branches, and also in having near us professors who are interested
in our work. We are studying zoSlogy. We began with Proto-
zoans, -and are taking each of the sub-kingdoms in order. For
particular work, our affections are divided between entomology and
botany.-F. H. Pelton.
556, Philadelphia (R). I have used the following arrangement
for cultivating molds: I take a glazed stone jar, and fill it with rich
earth, which must be kept slightly damp. On this I place the
"bait"--cheese or bread, or some substance that will mold. This
I cover with a small flower-pot. Then I set the whole in a warm
place for a few days. Such beauties as some of the common molds
appear under the microscope truly make one forget time, place, hun-
ger, and cold. Some which I found growing on blackberry jam
were especially beautiful, resembling- tea-roses scattered through
brown moss.-Wm. E. McHenry, Sec.
600, Galveston, Texas. We have entered upon a new year with
new hopes. During the last three months we have had twelve very
interesting papers and six select readings.-Philip C. Tucker, jr., Sec.
480, Baltimore, Md. (F). Professor Riley, the entomologistof the
Agricultural Department,had kindly promised to show us some part
of his collection of insects. It is hard to saywhich gave us the more
pleasure-recognizing old friends among the moths and beetles, or
the sight of strange tropical insects, with gaudy wings and mon-
strous forms. When I remind you that this is a chapter of girls,
you will not be surprised to learn that there was a constant chorus
of" oh! 's."-Miss R. Jones, Sec.
440, Keene, N.-H. We have ten moth-proof boxes for insects;
also, a compound microscope and an aquarium. We go out on the
hills hunting moths and cocoons. The latter we found most easily
when snow was on the ground, as the leaves were off the bushes.-
Frank H. Foster, Sec.
136, Columbia, Pa. Our room is large, and there are blackboards
on two sides of it. On these our botanists illustrate their topics by
drawings. Our specimens are placed on printed cards. The re-
ports in ST. NICHOLAS stimulate chapters to renewed energy in hope
of seeing their own reports there.-James C. Meyers, Sec.


We wish to exchange soil of N. Y. or N. J. for any other.-W.
W. Allen, Sec. 771. Box x2, Sloatsburg, N. Y.
Will some one exchange dried ferns with me?-Wm. Wardrop,
Gowan Cottage, Linlithgow, Scotland.
Copper ore, for fossils and insects.- C. F. McLean, 3120 Calumet
Avenue, Chicago, Ill.
I am interested in botany and geology, and should like to cor-
respond with some one who would have patience with a beginner
who is also an invalid.-Mrs. A..H. Robinson, 13 Gorham street,
Madison, Wis.
Alligators' teeth, banana leaves, orange blossoms, Spanish moss,
er for bird skins or eggs.Percy S. Benedict, Sec. 331, 1243 St.
I..-rli- Avenue, New Orleans, La.
Correspondence with distant chapters.-Wm. H. Plank, Wyan-
dotte, Kans.
A fine specimen of fossil coral, 3in.x in., and pieces of petrified
leaves and wood.-C. A. Jenkins, Sec. 447, Chittenango, N. Y.
We desire to correspond with Western chapters.-James S. Pray,
Sec. 686, Lunenburg, Mass.
Marine shells of Northern New England, for those of Southern or
Western coast, or for minerals.- H. E. 'Sawyer, Sec. 12, 37 Gates
street, So. Boston, Mass.



Name. .. ,r .l."e..' ,s .1.uif.v:
Favetteville. N. Y. Yi k C. W Aun
Eryn M? , Pa. (Al A H I.Ltii
Norristown, Pa (bI H.A F .ji.ir.B.., ::.i Ful.ni
B.i.u\"k,. N \'. (LI R Seenet-st li-1.,m5 I
ia na.n:,rre Ki.. iAl ..rc., \ H FI'lar,
F..i:hm:.d, I~td r .X1 ..... 6:.Jessie S. Reeves,
S, 222 N. loth St.
Philadelphia, Pa. (El) .... 5, ..C. E. Oram, x62o Brown St.
Morristown, N.-J: (A) .... 7. .James Chambers, Box 69.
Burlingtoa Iowa (A) ..... 4..Cary Carper, 815 N. 7th St.
Lisbon Center,-M. (A)..-. ,: 't.ur Hi.-...
Milwaukee, Wis.(F)..... .. .I ii L:..-.us Jones,
S, 816 Marshall St.
Orchard Park, N. Y. (A) ..30o Mrs. E' Husted.
Nyack-on-Hudson, N. Y.
(A) ................. .. 7..C. S. Brownell
Davenport, Iowa, (C).....24..Amos Spencer,
i4th and Farnam Sts.
Waupaca, Wis. (A) ....... 5..Richard M. Gibson.
Roxbury, Mass. (A)....... 4..Frank Hersey,
3088 Washington St.
Brooklyn, N. Y. (M)...... 4 .H. S. Hadden, 69 Remsen St'
Cambridge, Mass. (A) .... 5..Robert L. Raymond, 5 Lee St.
Philadelphia, Pa. (F)...... 8..W. P. Ciesson, Jr.,
2244 S. Broad St.
Newark, N. J. (D)........ 8..Pennington Satterthwaite,
a West Park St.

No. Name. No. of Members. Address.
819 Hinsdale, Ill, (A) .......... o..Fred. A. Menge,
(Du Page Co.)
820 Boston, Mass, (G) ........ 4..T. H. Fay, Box 60.
82a New Bedford, Mass. (A) .. 5.. Frederick, 247 Fourth St.
822 Ogden, Ohio, (A) ......... 5..CliffHale.
823 Farmdale, Ky. (A) ........ 5.'. Fardale Chapterof the A.A.,
Box38, K. M. .
824, Fall River, Mass. (B)...... 4..J. B. Kichards, '8 Banaby St.
825 Greensburg, Pa. (A).......30..J. K. Johnston.
826 Newark, California (A) .... 3. .Miss OllieJaryvs.
374 Brooklyn, N. Y. (E) ..... .. A. D. Phillips, 167 S. 2d St
752 Cincinnati, 0. (C) ............. Has joined 561, Cin., 0. (B)
SAlphonse Heuck, Sec., care
Heuck's Opera House.
557 Philadelphia, Pa. /S) ...... 3..W. E. Walter.
Present Secretary of 556 is Wm. E. McHenry, 1713 Oxford street,
Philadelphia,. Pa.,; and of 793, is Elmer Stoll, Box 454, Ashland,
Address all communications for this department td
Principal of Lenox Academy,
Lenox, Mass.



WHAT famous poet translated from the German the lines from
which this "pi" is made ?
Ojy dan prenematec nad spree
Smal het odor no eth codrot's osen.
E. M. S. AND B. H. P.


. .

THE above cross consists of four nine-letter diamonds, connected
in the center by'a'five-letter word-square. The letter of each of the
four diamonds which is nearest to the square helps to form the mid-
dle word of the square.
UPPER DIAMOND: I. In "A. P. Owder, Jr." 2. A projecting
part of a wheel. 3. Small fishes of the gudgeon kind. 4. To com-
fort. Pertaining to sparrows. 6. The act of confining a ship to
a particular place by means of anchors, etc. 7. A familiar contriv-
ance for throwing stones. 8. An abbreviation for a certain country.
9. In Cyril Deane." -
RIGHT-HAND DIAMOND: I. In "Royal Tarr." 2. The plural of
the yllable representing the second tone in the gamut. 3. Denomi-
nations. 4. Asylum. ;. Refreshes. 6. Fumed. 7. urfeits. 8
To scatter. 9. In "Alcibiades."
LOWER DIAMOND: I. In "Rex Ford." 2. An undeveloped

flower. 3. One who inquires narrowly. 4. Quite new. 5. Demo-
lition. 6. The bony part of the teeth directly beneath' the enamel.
7. Restrains. 8. Misery. 9. In "Lyon Hart."
LEFT-HAND DIAMOND : I. In Hyperion." 2. The cry of a cat.
3. Plays with dice. 4. An error. 5. A variety of the peach, with
a smooth rind. 6. Having on. 7. Peels. 8. An abbreviation for a
certain country. 9. In "Dycie."
CENTRAL SQUARE: -. A fall of hail or snow mingled with rain.
a. To depart. 3. Impetuous. 4. Levels. 5. Concise.

THE central picture is a rebus, and' represents a word of nine
letters. Thisforms the central word of the huir-glass. The dross-
words are pictured around the rebus:





.CONCEALED WORD-SQUARE, hard outside covering. My 67-85-31-19 is small bundle of straw.
My 24-21-57-80-94-87 is an opening in the wall of a building My
SELECT five words concealed in the following sentences, and 70-3-58-ro is a masculine name. My 46-I03-2-53-91-ia69 was
arrange them so that they will form a word-square. founderofIslam.y -6-76-35-47-89-
There was a youth from Posen selected for the dangerous journey. 30- 8 is an early spring flower. My 4-49-40-52-97-65 is another
The dense undergrowth in the forest delayed him as he started. To spring flower. My 64-73-98-8 is a summer flower. My 28-42-6-
have nobody seehim grasp a decidedly rusty fowling-piece was consol- g92-oi is a fall flower. "CORNELIA BLIMBER."
ing, to say the least. GERTRUDE.
MY firsts are in high, but not in low;
My seconds, in bread, but not in dough;
My thirds are in lark, but not in dove;
My fourths, in slipper, but not in glove;
My fifths are in bird, but not in lark;
My sixths are in nut, but not in park;
My sevenths in taught you may find if you wish.
Both of my answers name salt-water fish.
I. ACROSS: i. In drawing. 2. Something steeped in liquid. 7A TON V. W.
3. To wander. 4. The Ottoman court, 5. A constellation of the EASY DOUBLE ACROSTIC.
zodiac. 6. To know. 7. In drawing. Downward: I. A water- CROSS-wORDs (of equal length): I. A girl's name meaning
ingplace. 2. A large bird. 3. Troubled. 4. A small plate. 5. An good" or "kind." 2. A boy's name meaning "fame of the
affirmation. II. Across: I. In stranger. 2. A projection on a land." 3. A girl's name meaning "the ruler of the house."
wheel. 3. Washed. 4. A Roman magistrate. 5. That part of a Primals, to furnish with weapons; finals, a girl's name meaning
piece of wood which enters a mortise.;,-6. A number. 7. In "happiness." Primalsand finals connected, a squadron.
stranger. Downward: -i. To permit. .-. A id.irL-r, .4 3. DYCIE.
Gorges. 4. A fruit. 5. A cave. CUBE.

I. HARMONIES. 2. A territory belonging to the UUnited States.
3. A siesta. 4. An expression of inquiry. 5. In prognostication. 3 .- 4
I AM composed of one hundred and four letters, which form two 5 . 6
lines from Longfellow's Tales ofa Wayside Inn.
My 63-93-15 is a beverage. My 51-36-54-23 is to whip. My 8
60-25-72-12 is an elevation. My 5-27-56-102-78 is an important 7 .
country of Asia. My 79-33-48-61 is part of a bellows. My 5o-66- FROM i to 2, a kind of stone; from 2 to 6, .u;e birds; from 5 to
84-29-7 is to bewitch. My 41-13-99-75 is to stir. My 74-37-20-95 6, fears; from i to 5, failed; from 3 to 4, to .: 1i.'jl from 4 to 8, a
is a message. My 90-43-17-45-22 is a musical composer. My boy's name; from 7 to 8, wished; from 3 to 7, a relative; from i to
77-32-68-34-9 is to change. My 71-88-38-1 is a clenched hand. 3, human beings; from 2 to 4, part ofthe face; from 6 to 8, sorrow-
My 39-81-89696-55-0oo is a long step. My 4-82-62-16-104 is a ful; from 5 to 7, moisture. ALBERT W. (7 YEARS OLD).


PI. When wake the violets, Winter dies;
When sprout the elm-buds, Spring is near;
When lilacs blossom, Summer cries,
"Bud, little roses! Spring is here!"
From ." Spring Has Come."
DIAMOND. P. 2. Pod, 3. Pared. 4. Portion. 5. Deign.
6. Don. 7. N. ....
A NOVEL PUZZLE. I to 2, Grover Cleveland; from 3 to 4,
Inauguration Day. Cross-words: I. Dey. 2. Anear. 3. Aid.
4. Lin. 5. Ego. t. A ll 7. Creator. 8. Fallacy. 9. Encored.
ao. Through. ai. lecihi. a1. Devours. 13. Brocade. r4. Co-
rinth. 15. English.
ZIGZAG. Mayflowers. Cross-words: I. Mary. a. mAid. 3.
baYs. 4. -deaF. 5. siLk. 6. fOld. 7. Wolf 8. wEed. 9. biRd.
so. beeS.
The voice of one who goes before, to make
The paths of June more beautiful, is thine,
Sweet May!

COMBINATION ACROSTIC. From I to ,,papally; .2,to 1o, prim-
ary; 3 to Ii, earnest; 4 to x2, forever. The letters from 5 to'8 may
be transposed to form name, amen, mean, and mane.
. STAR PUZZLE. From I to 3, plat; a to 3, riot; I to 2, pear; 4 to
5, melt; 6 to 5, moat; 4 to 6, maim.
Tapir. 4. Ton. 5. N. Downward: I. T. 2. Rat. 3. Capon.
4. Gin. 5. R.
CRoss-woRD ENIGMA. Pansy.
C-rime. 2. Sp-a-in 3. W-e-at. 4. S-pain. 5. Ste-a-m. 6.'
2.. Alto. Room. 4. Made.
WORD-SQUARES. L I. Marsh. 2. Agate. 3. Racer. 4. Steed.
5. Herds. II. i. Erase. 2 Raven. 3. Avert. 4. Serve. 5.
INVERTED PYRAMID. Across: I. Chariot. 2. Educe. 3. Ale.
4. E.

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 C.,. 33 East Seventeenth St., New-York City.
ANSWERS TO Pu:'-- E iN Tr- MARCH'NUMBER were received, too late for acknowledgment in the May number, from F. L. andD. A.
Watson, England, 7- '* ,n A i,. tlmo Valley," xa Maud Mudon, London, England, 3- Bella and Cora Wehl, Frankfort, Germany, 8.
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE APRIL NUMBER were received, before April 20, from S. R. T. Frances M. Crawford -
Carey E. Melville- "Joe and Paddy Cripsy"- Lucy M..Bradley Lottie G. Tuttle- Tiny Puss, MitzandMuff" Morris D. Sample
-" Hyslop Willie Serrell and friends- "Puz"-A. B. D.- Edipus" Betsy Trotwood "San Rafael Clifford and
Coco" Maggie and May Turrell -Philip, Nettie, and Papa Bugaboo Bill" and Papa- Grace and Mary Howe- Shumway Hen and
Chickens -Txebor Treblig -- Phil. 0. Sophy "-- "Judith "-Francis W. Islip Hughand Cis-" Pernie "-"We Girls"-" The Carters"
- "Pansy "- Sadie and Bessie Rhodes Harry M. Wheelock.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN TH*F APRIL NUMBER were'received, before April 2o, from Stuart and Powers Symington, I -A. L. Zeck-
endorf, --Paul Reese, o-- Edna I., I --Helen R: Tufts, 4-"Lynx," 4- Grace C. Ilsley, i Alice R. Douglass, 2-" W.," 2-
M. D. D., I- Effie K. Talboys, 8'-" Patience," 3 -C. 'Fred. Spensley, I-John Morton, i- Helen W. Gardner, 3- Clara G. and
Mabel S., I Amelia N. Fand Annie L: D., '-- Lucy M. Graham, i Israel N. Breslauer, i Sadie Van Praag, r -" Kit Sheu," 3
-Richard P. Appleton i T'. S TL i \ "'' l.Tude and Edith," I-Ellie and Susie, 3-Maude Guild and Lizzie Eastman, i-
Mary B. B. -Alice Wauer --II .-.,e .. ., E.JJ.],. A1.-, 5-Adele and Leo, r-"Hank," r-"Bee Hive," Harry B. Lewis, I-
Leonard Wippert, 3 --Genme and Meg, 6 'Jennie F.'Balch, 6--Josie M. Hodges, I Puss and Hebe," 4- A. E. Hyde, 3 Marion
S. Dumont, I -Eliot White, 6 "Juventus,' 5 Phenie and Brownie," 2 "Niggerizy," 8-Polly, 5-"Lady Ann. 3- R.H.,
Papa, and Mamma, Ada M., 5- Frank Boyd, -Hallie Couch and "D.," -Lillie, Ida, and Olive G., 6- "Pepper and Maa,"
10--Josephine K. C., 2 -L. A. Payne, I "Locust-Dale Folks," 3--Alice C. Schoonmaker, 8- Edith and Jennie, 5 Fanny, May,
and I, 3--George Habenicht, Lulu M. Race, 8 -F. D., 7- John and Lawton Kendrick, ,-Emily Danzel, a -Sallie Viles, 7-
Fanny R. Jackson, o0-- M. McDonough and M. Gomm, --Zoe St. L. Barclay, 8 -James B. Pridham, --Willie Sheraton, 3.




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