Front Cover
 Stories of art and artists: French...
 An explanation
 Little Lord Fauntleroy
 New bits of talk for young folk:...
 The great snowball fight
 An errand - Savage and cowardl...
 Savage and cowardly (illustrat...
 Taking baby's picture
 Personally conducted: In Florence...
 Pane-pictures - St. Nicholas dog...
 George Wahington
 The new hat and muff
 Wonders of the alphabet
 Quaker Esther's ride
 Among the law-makers
 "Minute sketches"
 The Brownies' circus
 The letter-box
 The Agassiz association: Fifty-ninth...
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover


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mods:accessCondition type restrictions on use displayLabel Rights All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
mods:identifier OCLC 01764817
mods:languageTerm text English
mods:physicalLocation Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in Special Collections, George A. Smathers Libraries
code UF
mods:name personal
mods:namePart Dodge, Mary Mapes
date 1830-1905
mods:roleTerm authority marcrelator Creator
mods:note Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
Suspended Mar. 1940-Feb. 1943; vols. 68-69 omitted.
"A monthly magazine for boys and girls."
Published by: Century, Aug. 1881- ; by Educational Pub. Corp. -1940; by St. Nicholas Magazine, 1943.
funding Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
mods:publisher Scribner,
mods:placeTerm New York
mods:dateIssued March 1886
mods:recordIdentifier source ufdc UF00065513_00168
mods:recordContentSource University of Florida
mods:relatedItem original
mods:extent 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
mods:title St. Nicholas.
mods:detail Enum1
mods:caption Vol. 13
mods:number 13
No. 5
mods:topic Children's literature
Literature for Children
St. Nicholas.
Saint Nicholas
mods:typeOfResource text
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2 5 No. 5
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METS:structMap STRUCT1 mixed
D1 Front Cover
P1 Page
D2 Frontispiece
P3 Plate
D3 Stories art and artists: French painters 3 Chapter
P4 323
P5 324
P6 325
P7 326 4
P8 327
P9 328 6
P10 329 7
P11 330 8
D4 An explanation Poem
P12 331
D5 Little Lord Fauntleroy
P13 332
P14 333
P15 334
P16 335
P17 336
P18 337
P19 338
P20 339
P21 340 9
D6 New bits talk for young folk: "Tit tat"
P22 341
D7 The great snowball fight
P23 342
P24 343
P25 344
P26 345
D8 errand
P27 346 (MULTIPLE)
D9 Savage cowardly (illustrated)
P28 347
D10 Taking baby's picture 10
P29 348
D11 Personally conducted: In Florence Venice 11
P30 349
P31 350
P32 351
P33 352
P34 353
P35 354
P36 355
P37 356
P38 357
D12 Pane-pictures 12
P39 358
P40 359
P41 360
P43 362
P44 363
P45 364
P46 365
D13 George Wahington
P47 366
P48 367
P49 368
P50 369
P51 370
P52 371
P53 372
P54 373
D14 new hat muff 14
P55 374
D15 Wonders the alphabet 15
P56 375
P58 377
P59 378
P60 379
D16 Quaker Esther's ride 16
P61 380
P62 381
P63 382
P64 383
P65 384
P66 385
D17 Among law-makers 17
P67 386
P68 387
D18 "Minute sketches" 18
P69 388
D19 Brownies' circus 19
P70 389
P71 390
P72 391
D20 Jack-in-the-pulpit 20
P73 392
P74 393
D21 letter-box 21
P75 394
P76 395
D22 Agassiz association: Fifty-ninth report 22
P77 396
P78 397
P79 398
D23 riddle-box 23
P80 399
P81 400
D24 Back
D25 25 Spine
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St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00168
 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: UF00065513:00168
 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
    Stories of art and artists: French painters
        Page 323
        Page 324
        Page 325
        Page 326
        Page 327
        Page 328
        Page 329
        Page 330
    An explanation
        Page 331
    Little Lord Fauntleroy
        Page 332
        Page 333
        Page 334
        Page 335
        Page 336
        Page 337
        Page 338
        Page 339
        Page 340
    New bits of talk for young folk: "Tit for tat"
        Page 341
    The great snowball fight
        Page 342
        Page 343
        Page 344
        Page 345
    An errand - Savage and cowardly
        Page 346
    Savage and cowardly (illustrated)
        Page 347
    Taking baby's picture
        Page 348
    Personally conducted: In Florence and Venice
        Page 349
        Page 350
        Page 351
        Page 352
        Page 353
        Page 354
        Page 355
        Page 356
        Page 357
    Pane-pictures - St. Nicholas dog stories
        Page 358
        Page 359
        Page 360
        Page 361
        Page 362
        Page 363
        Page 364
        Page 365
    George Wahington
        Page 366
        Page 367
        Page 368
        Page 369
        Page 370
        Page 371
        Page 372
        Page 373
    The new hat and muff
        Page 374
    Wonders of the alphabet
        Page 375
        Page 376
        Page 377
        Page 378
        Page 379
    Quaker Esther's ride
        Page 380
        Page 381
        Page 382
        Page 383
        Page 384
        Page 385
    Among the law-makers
        Page 386
        Page 387
    "Minute sketches"
        Page 388
    The Brownies' circus
        Page 389
        Page 390
        Page 391
        Page 392
        Page 393
    The letter-box
        Page 394
        Page 395
    The Agassiz association: Fifty-ninth report
        Page 396
        Page 397
        Page 398
    The riddle-box
        Page 399
        Page 400
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text


-A X,



. . . . . .



~* a-"-




(See page 327.)




MARCH, 1886.

No. 5.

[Copyright, 1886, by THE CENTURY CO.]



FRENCH art has not so early a date for its begin-
nings as has that of Italy or German), but, like
Spanish art, can be traced back to about the mid-
dle of the fifteenth century. At first, architecture
was more important with the French than either
painting or sculpture. Many splendid edifices
may still be seen in France which were decorated
by artists from Italy or the Netherlands whom the
French sovereigns invited to their courts before
they had artists of their own.
NICHOLAS POUSSIN,* who was born at Anderlys
in Normandy, in 1594, was the first great French
painter. He must, indeed, be said to be partly of the
Italian school, for while still quite young he made
his way to Rome, in spite of great poverty and
many hardships. There he studied, and really
formed his style from the study of antique art and
from the works of Raphael. In spite of many ad-
versities from which he suffered, he made such a
reputation in Rome that his fame reached France;
and at the request of Louis XIII., he returned to
his native country. He was lodged in the Palace
of the Tuileries and he received many honors; but
he longed for Rome. He soon asked leave to go
there for his wife, who had remained behind; and
as King Louis died shortly after, Poussin never re-
turned to France.
This master was very simple in his tastes and
devoted to art. He received more orders for pict-
ures than he could fill, but he was never rich.
CLAUDE LORRAINE, whose real name was Claude
Gelee, was born in the town of Chamagne, in the

Duchy of Lorraine, in 1600. There are various ac-
counts of his youth and of the way in which he came
to be a painter. We know that his parents were
poor and had a large family, and that they died
while Claude was still young.
One story is that both his parents died when he
was about twelve years old and that he made his
way to Frieburg, beyond the Vosges mountains.
and the Rhine valley, where his elder brother-
Jean was settled as an engraver and wood-carver.
Claude, who had been a very stupid boy over his
books, now showed a true artistic talent, and a
relative of his who was a lace-merchant, and on his
way to Rome, proposed to take the lad to that
great city, where he could learn much more of art
than was known in the Black Forest. Jean Gelee
consented, and Claude departed on his journey.
Very soon the lace-merchant was forced to leave-
him, and Claude, a boy of fourteen, found him-
self alone, with little money and no friends. He
began, however, to study the works of art which
were about him on every side, and made copies
of some paintings. His brother sent him a little
money, and he earned what he could by acting as
color-grinder in the studios, all the while profiting
by the conversations which he there heard, and
by watching the manner in which others painted.
During his fourth year in Rome his brother was
obliged to say that he could send him no more
money, and then Claude set out for Naples, where
he remained about two years. Here he was in the
midst of beauties such as he had not seen, and he

*See page 394.


was deeply moved by them. In many of his pict-
ures the Bay of Naples is seen, and he painted it
with a loving heart.
About 1620, Claude returned to Rome and en-
tered the service of Agostino Tassi. This artist
was a great favorite in Rome, and all the chief
men of the city visited him and conversed upon all
the important topics and events of that notable time.
Claude listened and profited by what he heard,
and conducted himself in such a manner that Tassi
came to regard him as an adopted son. But all
that he learned of painting from Tassi or any other
master was of little account in comparison with
that which he gained from Nature. Early in the
morning, late at night,- at all times, in season
and out of season, he was accustomed to go forth,
beyond the city streets, out on the Campagna,
where he could study sunlight and starlight, note
the changes of the seasons, and become familiar
with all the varying features of the landscape.
In 1625 he determined to return to his home.
He was absent from Rome for more than two years.
He met with many sad experiences; he was ill,
and was twice robbed of all that he had in the
world, so that on his return to Rome he was forced
to tarry in Marseilles and earn the money to com-
plete his journey. Meantime he had seen Venice,
and studied its scenery and its works of art; he
had delighted in the magic coloring of the great
Titian, and in the brilliancy which sea and sky
take on in that City of the Adriatic.
When he returned to Rome in 1627, Nicholas
Poussin was the leader of the Society of French
Artists there, and Claude became one of the circle
which felt the influence of that master.
In spite of his close study of nature, Claude
rarely painted a picture that exactly reproduced
any one view that he had seen. He used his
colors and made sketches out-of-doors, and he kept
in his studio many of these exact copies of scen-
ery, but he made up his pictures by taking bits here
and there from various sketches. He was accus-
tomed to consult one very large work, which rep-
resented the country about Villa Madama on
Mount Mario. It was finished with great exact-
ness and had in it nearly every variety of foliage
found in Central Italy, so that he could turn to it
for any variety of leaves and trees. Pope Clement
IX. wished to buy that picture, and offered Claude
as many gold pieces as would cover it; but even
for so large a price Claude would not sell it. At
length the talents of this master began to be
recognized, and slowly and surely he rose to such
a position that he could afford a studio on the
Pincian Hill, near that of Poussin. Here he
worked industriously upon pictures, which were
rapidly sold.

At length, it happened that the attention of the
great Cardinal Bentivoglio, the confidential friend
of Pope Urban VIII., was drawn to Claude's pict-
ures. He ordered some works for himself, and
when the Pope saw them in the cardinal's palace,
he summoned Claude to an interview, asked him
to paint four pictures for his own palace, and from
that hour the fame and fortune of Lorraine ad-
vanced from one height to another with no lagging
pace. Orders now came to him from sovereigns
and those of highest places in church and state;
and soon such value was put upon his works that
none but the wealthiest could buy them. His
studio was visited by all persons of distinction in
Rome; and in 1636, while still a young man,
Claude Gelee had reached the very summit of
artistic fame.
It was in this year that Claude made his finest
etching. The etchings of this artist are about
forty-four in number; they are very much valued
by collectors, and good impressions are so rare
that they are sold for several hundred dollars
When Lorraine became the landscape-painter
of the world, and his pictures commanded great
prices, other artists began to imitate his works as
nearly as possible, and to sell them for originals.
To remedy this evil Claude prepared a "Liber Veri-
tatis," or Book of Truth," in which he made
drawings of every picture that he painted, and
wrote upon them the names of the persons for
whom they were made and the places to which they
were sent. After that, it was easy to detect the
counterfeits by reference to these drawings. At
the time of his death these sketches numbered
more than two hundred. They were preserved
for a long time by his heirs, but were at length
purchased by a Frenchman who took them to
Paris and offered them to the king. His Majesty,
however, did not buy them, and they were after-
ward purchased by an English nobleman, the
Duke of Devonshire.
There are many other drawings by Claude in
existence; all are regarded as very valuable.
Claude Lorraine lived about sixty years in Rome.
There is one anecdote told of him which shows
his quiet nature more than any other circumstance
of which we know. He had but a single pupil in
all his life. This was a poor cripple named Gio-
vanni Domenico. Claude remembered with so
much gratitude all that Agostino Tassi had done
for him that he wished to bestow like benefits upon
another. Domenico was bright in mind though
deformed in body; he learned rapidly, and for
twenty-five years remained in Claude's studio, and
was well known in all the city. When he was
forty years old, some of his master's enemies per-


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suaded him to claim that he had executed the best
pictures which Claude had sold as his own. Do-
menico left the master's studio and demanded a
salary for all the years he had passed there. It is
difficult to imagine the grief this must have been
to Claude; he would not, however, contend with
one whom he had loved, and he gave Domenico
the sum for which he asked. The traitor died soon
after, and reaped no happiness from the fruits of
his wickedness. The falsehood of his claim was
shown to the world by the fact that Claude painted
his best pictures after Domenico had left him.
To describe the celebrated works of this master,
.or to give an account of the distinguished persons
for whom they were painted, would require a vol-
ume. Many of them are now in celebrated galleries
and are visited by all travelers. I have said that
the prices he received were so large that only the
wealthy could own his works; to-day their worth
.is many times doubled.
Claude Lorraine continued to work to the end
,of his life. In the collection of Queen Victoria
there is a picture painted when he was almost
eighty-two years old. A few months after this was
,completed he suffered an acute attack of gout with
much fever, and he died on November 21, 1682.
.In July, 1840, his remains were removed to the
French church of San Luigi de' Francisi, near the
'Pantheon, where the French Government erected
.a monument to his memory.
Many writers upon art have praised the works
of Claude Lorraine. He is called the prince and
:poet of landscape-painters, and though some im-
perfections were pointed out from time to time,
yet the testimony was in his praise until within the
present century. Some years ago, the English
painter, Turner, declared him to be a very faulty
artist, and presented two of his own landscapes to
the National Gallery, in London, on condition that
they should be hung between two works by Claude.
Ruskin has said some severe things of one of those
works in his "Modern Painters"; but in spite of
Turner and Ruskin, the name of Claude Lorraine
stands too high in the world of art to be brought
down to any common level.
One of his great excellences was in the repre-
sentation of immense space; another was his
color; he seems first to have used a silvery gray,
over which he painted; this gives an effect of
atmosphere which is very real-an effect rarely
seen. His architectural works are superb, but he
never painted animals or figures well. He was
accustomed to say, "I sell my landscapes, but I
give away my figures."
Other French painters of the seventeenth cent-
ury studied in Rome, but neither their lives nor their
works were of such interest as to detain us here.


THIS artist was born in 1684, and inspired by
the picturesque costumes and habits of the court
of Louis XIV., he broke away from all former rules
of the artists of his country, and made pictures of
manners and customs that were distinctly French.
From this departure by Watteau may be said to
date the true French School of Art.
There is little to be told of the life of Watteau.
His importance lies in the fact that he was
original and earnest, and while his art was not of
the loftiest type, he did his work well and in a
manner which entitles him to a good rank among
painters. Many of his pictures represent the ftes
and the merry out-of-door life of the court of Louis
XIV., and reproduce the manners and costumes
of that time with such exactness as to give them
an historical value.
As a rule, his canvases are small and crowded
with figures. They show ladies and gentlemen loi-
tering in groups in charming garden temples in the
midst of beautiful grounds, dancing on green turf,
playing games, or promenading in brilliant cos-
tumes on the banks of quiet streams or beneath
the branches of the forest trees; all above and
around is bright and gay.
His pictures are seen in some of the principal
galleries of Europe, and when they are sold they
bring large prices.


was the next French painter of whom I shall speak.
He was born in 1725, and devoted himself chiefly
to portrait painting. He excelled in pictures of
beautiful women and lovely children. His single
heads of young girls are his finest works, though
there is an affected and extravagant air about some
of them. His color was always pleasing, but some
of his pictures are so finely finished that they look
as if painted upon ivory.
A few of his paintings are known the world over.
The Village Betrothal" is sometimes called his
masterpiece; the Paternal Curse is a celebrated
work; and a favorite one is the Broken Jug."'
Most of the works of this master are in private
galleries, but a few are seen in public collections.
His pictures sell for fabulous sums.
Among the art-students in Paris, in 1770, was a
young girl, Marie Louise Elizabeth Vig6e, known
to us as

She was born in Paris in 1755. The father of Eliza-
beth Vig6e was a painter of little importance, but
he was a favorite with a large circle of friends, and

An engraving of this painting formed the frontispiece of ST. NICHOLAS for March, 1883.



though he died when his daughter was but twelve
years old, he had already so encouraged her talent
and so interested people in her as to make her
future easy. She had a few lessons from Greuze
and others, but she sought to study Nature for her-
self, and to follow no school or system, and to this
she attributed her success. When but sixteen years
old, she was brought to public notice by two por-
traits which she painted and presented to the
French Academy.
At the age of twenty, Mademoiselle Vigee mar-
ried Monsieur Le Brun, who was a careless and
unfortunate man and who spent all that his wife
earned. In her memoirs, she tells us that when she
left France, thirteen years after her marriage, she
had not twenty francs, though she had earned more
than a million.
Madame Le Brun painted portraits of the most em-
inent people; and between herself and the Queen,
Marie Antoinette, there existed a true affection.
Their intercourse was that of devoted friends. In
the great state picture at Versailles, in which Ma-
dame Le Brun represented the Queen surrounded
by her children, one feels the tender sentiment with
which the artist painted her sovereign and friend.
Marie Antoinette used her influence to have Ma-
dame Le Brun elected to the Academy; Vernet
also favored it, and the unusual honor was paid
her of an election before her reception-picture was
finished. This was a matter of great importance
at that time, as only the members of the Academy
were allowed to exhibit their works at the salons,
which are now open to all.
Many tales were told of Madame Le Brun's
extravagance; but her own account of an enter-
tainment which she gave, and which was a subject
of endless remark, shows how little she merited
censure in that instance, at least. She relates that
she had invited a number of friends for an evening
to listen to the reading of a poet. In the afternoon,
while her brother read to her an account of an
ancient Grecian dinner, which even gave the rules
for cooking, Madame Le Brun determined upon
improvising a Greek supper for her guests. She
first instructed her cook as to the preparation of
the food, and then she borrowed from a dealer,
whom she knew, some cups, vases, and lamps, and
arranged her studio with the effect which an artist
knows how to make.
Among her guests were several very pretty ladies,
and they all wore costumes as much like the old
Greek costumes as was possible in the short time
for preparation. Madame Le Brun wore the white
blouse in which she always painted, and added a
veil and crown of flowers. Her little daughter and
another child were dressed as pages, and carried
antique vases. A canopy was hung above the table,

LE BRUN. 327

and the guests were placed in picturesque attitudes,
and the whole effect was such that when the later
comers reached the door of the supper-room they
had a delightful surprise. It was as if they had
been transported to another age and clime; a
Greek song was chanted to the music of the lyre;
and when honey, grapes, and other dishes were
served after the Greek manner, the enchantment
was complete; a member of the company recited
odes from a Greek poet of ancient times, and all
passed off.delightfully.
The fame of this novel affair spread all over
Paris, and its magnificence and its cost were said
to be marvelous. Some of the court ladies asked
Madame Le Brun to repeat it, but she refused, and
they were disturbed by it. The king was told
that the supper cost twenty thousand francs, but
one of the gentlemen who had been present told
His Majesty the truth. However, the sum was
swelled to forty thousand by the time the story
reached Rome. Madame Le Brun writes, "At Vi-
enna the Baroness de Strogonoff told me that I had
spent sixty thousand francs for my Greek supper;
that at St. Petersburg the price was at length fixed
at eighty thousand francs; and the truth is that
that supper cost me about fifteen francs."
Early in the year 1789, when the first mutter-
ings of the dreadful horrors cf the Revolution
were heard in France, Madame Le Brun went to
Italy. She was everywhere received with honor;
and at Florence she was asked to paint her own
portrait for a gallery, which is consecrated to the
portraits of distinguished painters. After she
reached Rome she sent the well-known picture
with the parted lips showing the pearly teeth, and
the hand holding the pencil as if drawing. (See
Madame Le Brun enjoyed her life in Rome so
much that she declared that if she could forget
France she should be the happiest of women. She
could not execute all the orders for portraits which
she received, but after three years she was seized
with the unrest which comes to those who are
exiled from their native land, and, impelled by
this discontent, she went to Vienna. There she
remained three years; but again she longed for
change and went to Russia, where her reception
was most n i~,....; -.
She spent six years in Russia, and into this time
was crowded much of honor, kindness, labor, joy,
and sorrow.
In her Paris receptions during the later years of
her life, the most distinguished people of the city
were accustomed to assemble; artists, men of let-
ters, and men of society, here all met on common
ground, and laid aside all differences of opinion.
Only good feeling and equality found a place


near this gifted woman, and few people are so
sincerely mourned as was Madame Le Brun when
she died, at the age of eighty-seven.
Her works numbered six hundred and sixty por-
traits, fifteen pictures, and about two hundred
landscapes from sketches made in her travels.
Her portraits included those of the sovereigns and
royal families of all Europe, as well as those of
famous authors, artists, musicians, and learned
men in church and state. She was a member of
eight academies, and her works are seen in many
fine collections. As an artist, we can not admire
Madame Le Brun as much as did many of her own
day, but she holds an honorable place in general
art, and a high position among women artists.


commonly called Horace Vernet, was born in Paris
in 1789. As a boy, Horace was the pupil of his
father, and before he was fifteen years old he sup-
ported himself by his own drawings.
The "Taking of a Redoubt" was one of his
earliest pictures of a military subject, and from
that beginning he devoted himself to the painting
of military scenes. Horace Vernet married when
but twenty years old, and soon after began to keep
an exact account of all the moneys he received or
spent. In this record the growth of his fame is
shown by the increase in the prices which were
paid him for his pictures; they vary from twenty-
four sous, or about a quarter of a dollar, for a sketch
of a tulip to fifty thousand francs (ten thousand
dollars) for a portrait of the Empress of Russia.
When twenty-three years old, he began to re-
ceive orders from the King of Westphalia and
other persons of rank. In 1814, when twenty-
five, he fought on the Barribre Clichy in company
with his father and other artists, and for his gal-
lant conduct there he received the Cross of the
Legion of Honor from the Emperor's own hand.
In 1817 Vernet painted the Battle of Tolosa,"
which was the beginning of his triumphs, and he
soon became the favorite of the Duke of Orleans
(afterward King Louis Philippe), whose portrait
he painted in various costumes and characters.
Vernet was not in favor with the Bourbons, how-
ever, and as he had made some lithographs which
were displeasing to the i .. :, it seemed best for
him to leave Paris. He went to Rome with his
father and remained there for some time.
After his return to Paris in 1822, Vernet exhib-
ited forty-five of his pictures in his own studio.
After the exhibition of his works orders and money
came to him abundantly, and in the year 1824 he
received nearly fifty-two thousand francs. About
this time Vernet painted the portraits of some dis-

tinguished persons, and received an order for one
of Charles X.; this made his portraits so much the
fashion that he could not receive all who wished
to sit to him. He took time, however, to paint
some battle-scenes, and in 1825 finished the last of
four which the Duke of Orleans had ordered to be
placed in the Palais Royal.
In 1828 Horace Vernet was appointed Director
of the French Academy in Rome. He lived gen-
erously, and held weekly receptions which were
attended by artists, travelers, and men of distinc-
tion in Rome. These assemblies were very gay,
and it seemed as if a bit of Paris had been set
down in the midst of Rome. Vernet now painted
a greater variety of subjects than before, but he
made no advance in serious work. He soon grew
very impatient of his life in Rome, though it was
full of honor. He wished to follow the French
army, and study new subjects for such pictures as
he loved best.
In 1833 he was relieved from his office and went
to Algiers. There were no active military opera-
tions, but Vernet made many sketches and painted
some Eastern scenes. During the same year, Louis
Philippe ordered the Palace of Versailles to be
converted into an historical museum. The King
wished Horace Vernet to paint pictures of the bat-
tles of Friedland, Jena, and Wagram. There were,
however, no wall-spaces in the palace large enough
to satisfy Vernet, and for that reason two stories
were thrown together, and a great Gallery of Bat-
tle-pieces made.
Louis Philippe desired Vernet to introduce a
certain incident into one of his pictures, which
Vernet refused to do. He therefore left Paris for
St. Petersburg, where he was received with much
honor. He was, however, much missed at Ver-
sailles, and when suddenly called to Paris by the
illness of his father, he was respectfully reinstated
at the palace. When the news of the taking of the
city of Constantine was received, he was sent offi-
cially to Algiers to make sketches for his pictures
in the Salon of Constantine, which in the end be-
came a vast monument to this artist. In 1839.
Vernet went to Egypt, Syria, and Turkey, and
again to Russia, where he made a long journey
with the Emperor. He was a great favorite with
this sovereign, though he did not always agree
with His Majesty. It is possible that this independ-
ence of thought was really welcome to one who
was too much feared to be often addressedwith such
frankness as Vernet used. While in Russia, he
painted the portrait of the Empress, and received
many valuable presents.
After his return to Paris Vernet devoted himself
to portrait painting, but his old love was too strong
to be resisted, and in 1845 he joined the French





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army in the Spanish valley of Aran. The troops
received him with great enthusiasm; they honored
him as the great painter of their hardships, their
bravery, and their victories. During all his life
Vernet received the honors that were paid him with
great modesty, and in this manifested the sterling
common-sense quality of his character. Horace
Vernet died in 1863, full of years and of honors.
Vernet was forced to earn his living when so
young that he had no opportunity for study, but
his quick perception and active mind, with his large
opportunities for observation, made him an accept-
able companion to men of culture and learning.
Horace Vernet was not a poet nor a true artist in
the highest sense of the term; his art was not
imaginative nor creative; he produced no beautiful
pictures from deep resources in his own nature, but
his works have great value and interest as a true
record of events, and he commands our respect as
one who made the best use of all his powers. He
was a trifle vain, and loved to upset a box which
contained all his decorations, and spill them out
pell-mell as if these ribands and stars, which were
the rewards of his life-work, were of no value.
Cheerfulness and industry were two of his chief
Vernet's most remarkable gift was his memory;
he has never been surpassed in this regard by any
other painter, and it is doubtful if any other has
equaled him. He remembered things exactly as
he had seen them. If Vernet spoke with a sol-
dier, although he knew neither his name nor any
facts about the man, yet long afterward the mem-
ory of the artist held a model from which he could
paint the face of that particular soldier.
He painted action well; he knew how to suit
the folds and creases of his stuffs to the positions
of the men who wore them; his color was good,
when we remember what colors enter into military
subjects; for the crude brilliancy of the reds and
yellows in gaudy uniforms are not suited to poetic
effects of color.


born in Paris in 1748, was, at the close of the last
century, considered the first French painter of
his time. So great was his influence upon the
painting of France, that for some years he was an
absolute dictator regarding all matters connected
with it. He was a figure painter, and painted but
one landscape in his life. Many of his pictures
seem to be mere groups of statues; their flesh is
as hard as marble, and there is nothing in them
that appeals to our sympathy or elevates our feeling.
David became the friend of Napoleon, and painted
the "Passage of St. Bernard" and other scenes

from the life of the Emperor. After the overthrow
of Napoleon, David was banished to Brussels, and
his family were not allowed to bury him in France.


born at Montauban in 1781, was the most celebrated
pupil of David. His father was a painter, sculptor,
and musician, and desired that his son should
excel in music. The boy played the violin, and it
is said that when thirteen years old he was ap-
plauded in a theater in Toulouse. But his love
of drawing proved so strong that whenseventeen
years old he entered the studio of David. In 1801
he took the prize which entitled him to go to Rome,
but his poverty prevented his reaching that city
until 18o6; he remained there fourteen years and
then passed four years in Florence.
In 1824, Ingres opened a studio in Paris and
received pupils, and a little later he was appointed
to the Academy. His work was severely criticised,
and this so affected his spirits that in 1834 his
friends obtained his appointment as Director of
the French Academy in Rome. After holding
this office seven years, he went again to Paris,
and this time in triumph. He was now praised
as much as he had been blamed, and until his
death he was loaded with honors, while enormous
prices were paid for his works.
In the great Exposition of 1855, a room was
devoted to the pictures of Ingres, and he received
a grand medal of honor from the jury. He had
no charity for those who differed from him in opin-
ion. His, appearance was not agreeable; his face
has always an expression of bad temper but ex-
treme determination of character often gives a dis-
agreeable air to a face, and it may be this which
disfigures the face of Ingres.
When he first went to Rome he was very poor,
and the utmost economy of his means was necessary
in order to give him a living and leisure for the
pursuit of his art. In 1813 he married, and his wife
stood between him and all the petty troubles of life;
she sold his works for the best possible prices, and
by assuming all his cares gave him quiet days for
labor when he dreamed not of the trials from which
she saved him by her patient devotion.
The works of Ingres are very numerous. He
painted one picture which was sold in England for
sixty-three thousand francs. He executed some
portraits and a few decorative paintings. He was
without doubt a much greater artist than his
master David, but there has rarely been an artist
concerning whom the opinions of good critics differ
so widely. Perhaps justice would neither exalt nor
debase him, but accord to him an acknowledgement
of all that can be attained by patience and industry

See page 394.




through many years, without the inspiration of
great genius.
A list of the honors which were showered upon
Ingres would be almost as long as the catalogue
of his pictures; he was a senator, a grand officer
of the Legion of Honor, a member of the Institute,
and of six academies, and was decorated by the
orders of several countries outside his own.


who is called "Paul Delaroche," was born at
Paris in 1797. He was a very careful and skillful
painter, and made many preparations for his work
before commencing it. At times he went so far as
to make wax models for his groups before painting
them. He had a clear, simple conception of his
subjects, but he was not poetical nor imaginative.
He had an intellect which would have won success
in almost any career that he might have chosen,
but he was not a genius.
The masterpiece of Delaroche is a great paint-
ing called the '' Hemicycle" in the theater of the
Palace of the Fine Arts in Paris, and this work is
so famous that one thinks of it involuntarily when-
ever his name is mentioned. It has seventy-five
life-size figures, and the artist spent three years
in painting it; it represents the arts of different
countries and times by portraits of the artists of
those times and nations.
Among his historical subjects were the Con-
demnation of Marie Antoinette," Cromwell Con-
templating the Remains of Charles I.," and other
similar scenes. The interesting study which he
made for the "Hemicycle," and from which he
and his scholars painted that great work, is in the
Walters Gallery in Baltimore. When the works
of Delaroche are sold they bring large prices; his
"Lady Jane Grey was sold for one hundred and
ten thousand francs, or twenty-two thousand dollars.
Delaroche was a member of the Institute, an
officer of the Legion of Honor, and a professor in
the School of Fine Arts in Paris.


who was born in 1798, was another gifted painter.
While a youth, he lost a fortune, and he was
forced to struggle hard for the merest necessaries
for existence.
However, he had steadfastness and courage, and
when twenty-three years old he exhibited a picture
which attracted much attention, and was purchased
for the Luxembourg Gallery.
In 1830, he traveled in Spain, Algiers, and
Morocco, and painted a few pictures of scenes in
those countries. After his return to France, he
obtained the commission to decorate the new
Throne-room in the Chamber of Deputies. He
was severely criticised by other artists, but when
his work was done it was found to be magnificent
in effect, and from that time he was prosperous.
Some of his large pictures are at Versailles, others
are seen in the churches of Paris, and he also
received the important commission of the decora-
tion of the Library of the Chamber of Peers. In
1857, Delacroix was made a member of the Insti-
tute, having received a grand medal of honor
from the jury of the great Exposition two years
The subjects of some of this artist's works were
very dramatic, and he has been called the Victor
Hugo of painting." There is no doubt that his
forcible imagination is his most noteworthy char-
acteristic. Like all great artists, Delacroix loved
space. This is shown in his decorative works, such
as the Apollo Triumphing over Python," on the
ceiling of the Gallery of Apollo in the Louvre. It
is one of his masterpieces in this kind of painting,
and shows him to have been a genius of great
dramatic power. It was the terrible which pleased
him most, but while the impress of a master's
hand is on his pictures, we are not attracted by
them and can not love them. One writer has
called Delacroix the last of a grand family of art-
ists," and his name is a fitting one with which to
close this paper.



WHEN you see the baby walk
Step by step, and stumble,
Just remember, now he 's here,
Both his wings are gone.-Oh, dear !
Catch him, or he '11 tumble !

When you hear the baby talk
Bit by bit, all broken,
Only think how he forgets
All his angel-words, and lets
Wonders go unspoken I





IT was late in the afternoon when the carriage
containing little Lord Fauntleroy and Mr. Havi-
sham drove up the long avenue which led to the
castle. The Earl had given orders that his grand-
son should arrive in time to dine with him, and
for some reason best known to himself, he had also
ordered that the child should be sent alone into
the room in which he intended to receive him.
As the carriage rolled up the avenue, Lord Faunt-
leroy sat leaning comfortably against the luxurious
cushions, and regarded the prospect with great
interest. He was, in fact, interested in everything
he saw. He had been interested in the carriage,
with its large, splendid horses and their glittering
harness ; he had been interested in the tall coach-
man and footman, with their resplendent livery;
and he had been especially interested in the coro-
net on the panels, and had struck up an acquaint-
ance with the footman for the purpose of inquiring
what it meant.
When the carriage reached the great gates of
the park, he looked out of the window to get a
good view of the huge stone lions ornamenting the
entrance. The gates were opened by a motherly,
rosy-looking woman, who came out of a pretty,
ivy-covered lodge. Two children ran out of the
door of the house and stood looking with round,
wide-open eyes at the little boy in the carriage,
who looked at them also. Their mother stood
courtesying and smiling, and the children, on re-
ceiving a sign from her, made bobbing little
courtesies too.
Does she know me ?" asked Lord Fauntleroy.
"I think she must think she knows me." And
he took off his black velvet cap to her and smiled.
How do you do?" he said brightly. Good
afternoon "
The woman seemed pleased, he thought. The
smile broadened on her rosy face and a kind look
came into her blue eyes.
God bless your lordship !" she said. God
bless your pretty face Good luck and happiness
to your lordship Welcome to you "
Lord Fauntleroy waved his cap and nodded to
her again as the carriage rolled by her.
I like that woman," he said. She looks as if
she liked boys. I should like to come here and play
with her children. I wonder if she has enough to
make up a company ? "

Mr. Havisham did not tell him that he would
scarcely be allowed to make playmates of the
gate-keeper's children. The lawyer thought there
was time enough for giving him that information.
The carriage rolled on and on between the
great, beautiful trees which grew on each side of the
avenue and stretched their broad, swaying branches
in an arch across it. Cedric had never seen such
trees,-- they were so grand and stately, and their
branches grew so low down on their huge trunks.
He did not then know that Dorincourt Cas-
tle was one of the most beautiful in all England;
that its park was one of the broadest and finest,
and its trees and avenue almost without rivals. But
he did know that it was all very beautiful. He
liked the big, broad-branched trees, with the late
afternoon sunlight striking golden lances through
them. He liked the perfect stillness which rested
on everything. He felt a great, strange pleasure in
the beauty of which he caught glimpses under and
between the sweeping boughs-the great, beautiful
spaces of the park, with still other trees, standing
sometimes stately and alone, and sometimes in
groups. Now and then they passed places where
tall ferns grew in masses, and again and again the
ground was azure with the bluebells swaying in the
soft breeze. Several times he started up with a laugh
of delight as a rabbit leaped up from under the
greenery and scudded away with a twinkle of short
white tail behind it. Once a covey of partridges
rose with a sudden whir and flew away, and then
he shouted and clapped his hands.
"It 's a beautiful place, is n't it ? he said to
Mr. Havisham. I never saw such a beautiful
place. It 's prettier even than Central Park."
He was rather puzzled by the length of time they
were on their way.
How far is it ? he said, at length, from the
gate to the front door ? "
It is between three and four miles," answered
the lawyer.
That 's a long way for a person to live from
his gate," remarked his lordship.
Every few moments he saw something new to
wonder at and admire. When he caught sight of
the deer, some couched in the grass, some stand-
ing with their pretty antlered heads turned with a
half-startled air toward the avenue as the carriage
wheels disturbed them, he was enchanted.
Has there been a circus ?" he cried; or do
they live here always ? Whose are they ? "



"They live here," Mr. Havisham told him.
"They belong to the Earl, your grandfather."
It was not long after this that they saw the
castle. It rose up before them stately and beauti-
ful and gray, the last rays of the sun casting daz-
zling lights on its many windows. It had turrets
and battlements and towers; a great deal of ivy


He saw the great entrance-door thrown open
and many servants I .-...I. in two lines looking
at him. He wondered why they were standing
there, and admired their liveries very much. He
did not know that they were there to do honor to
the little boy to whom all this splendor would one
day belong,-the beautiful castle like the fairy

*nt .

, ;j
-e * t*~*.*',j **i3~F~'P: ~ XX. !~

grew upon its walls; all the broad open space king's palace, the magnificent park, the grand old
about it was laid out in terraces and lawns and trees, the dells full of ferns and bluebells where
beds of brilliant flowers, the hares and rabbits played, the dappled, large-
"It 's the most beautiful place I ever saw eyed deer couching in the deep grass. It was only
said Cedric, his round face flushing with pleasure, a couple of weeks since he had sat with Mr. Hobbs
"It reminds any one of a king's palace. I saw a among the potatoes and canned peaches, with his
picture of one once in a fairy-book." legs dangling from the high stool; it would not have


been possible for him to realize that he had very
much to do with all this grandeur. At the head
of the line of servants there stood an elderly
woman in a rich, plain black silk gown; she had
gray hair and wore a cap. As he entered the hall
she stood nearer than the rest, and the child
thought from the look in her eyes that she was
going to speak to him. Mr. Havisham, who held
his hand, paused a moment.
"This is Lord Fauntleroy, Mrs. Mellon," he
said. Lord Fauntleroy, this is Mrs. Mellon, who
is the housekeeper."
Cedric gave her his hand, his eyes lighting up.
Was it you who sent the cat?" he said. I 'm
much obliged to you, ma'am."
Mrs. Mellon's handsome old face looked as
pleased as the face of the lodge-keeper's wife had
I should know his lordship anywhere," she
said to Mr. Havisham. He has the Captain's
face and way. It 's a great day, this, sir."
Cedric wondered why it was a great day. He
looked at Mrs. Mellon curiously. It seemed to
him for a moment as if there were tears in her
eyes, and yet it was evident she was not unhappy.
She smiled down on him.
The cat left two beautiful kittens here," she
said; they shall be sent up to your lordship's
Mr. Havisham said a few words to her in a low
In the library, sir," Mrs. Mellon replied. His
lordship is to be taken there alone."

A few minutes later, the very tall footman in
livery, who had escorted Cedric to the library door,
opened it and announced: Lord Fauntleroy, my
Lord," in quite a majestic tone. If he was only
a footman, he felt it was rather a grand occasion
when the heir came home to his own land and
possessions, and was ushered into the presence
of the old Earl, whose place and title he was to
Cedric crossed the threshold into the room. It
was a very large and splendid room, with massive
carven furniture in it, and shelves upon shelves of
books; the furniture was so dark, and the draper-
ies so heavy, the diamond-paned windows were so
deep, and it seemed such a distance from one end
of it to the other, that, since the sun had gone
down, the effect of it all was rather gloomy. For
a moment Cedric thought there was nobody in the
room, but soon he saw that by the fire burning on
the wide hearth there was a large easy-chair, and
that in that chair some one was sitting some one
who did not at first turn to look at him.
But he had attracted attention in one quarter

at least. On the floor, by the armchair, lay a
dog, a huge tawny mastiff, with body and limbs
almost as big as a lion's; and this great creature
rose majestically and slowly, and marched toward
the little fellow with a heavy step.
Then the person in the chair spoke. Dougal,"
he called, come back, sir."
But there was no more fear in little Lord Faunt-
leroy's heart than there was unkindness he had
been a brave little fellow all his life. He put his
hand on the big dog's collar in the most natural
way in the world, and they strayed forward to-
gether, Dougal i.. im.. as he went.
And then the Earl looked up. What Cedric saw
was a large old man with shaggy white hair and
eyebrows, and a nose like an eagle's beak between
his deep fierce eyes. What the Earl saw was a
graceful, childish figure in a black velvet suit, with
a lace collar, and with lovelocks waving about the
handsome, manly little face, whose eyes met his
with a look of innocent good-fellowship. If the
castle was like the palace in a fairy story, it must
be owned that little Lord Fauntleroy was himself
rather like a small copy of the fairy prince, though
he was not at all aware of the fact, and perhaps
was rather a sturdy young model of a fairy. But
there was a sudden glow of triumph and exulta-
tion in the fiery old Earl's heart as he saw what
a strong, beautiful boy this grandson was, and
how unhesitatingly he looked up as he stood
with his hand on the big dog's neck. It pleased
the grim old nobleman that the child should
show no shyness or fear, either of the dog or of
Cedric looked at him just as he had looked at
the woman at the lodge and at the housekeeper,
and came quite close to him.
"Are you the Earl?" he said. "I 'm your
grandson, you know, that Mr. Havisham brought.
I 'm Lord Fauntleroy."
He held out his hand because he thought it
must be the polite and proper thing to do even
with earls. "I hope you are very well," he con-
tinued, with the utmost friendliness. I 'm very
glad to see you."
The Earl shook hands with him, with a curious
gleam in his eyes; just at first, he was so astonished
that he scarcely knew what to say. He stared at
the picturesque little apparition from under his
shaggy brows, and took it all in from head to
Glad to see me, are you?" he said.
Yes," answered Lord Fauntleroy, "very."
There was a chair near him, and he sat down on
it; it was a high-backed, rather tall chair, and
his feet did not touch the floor when he had set-
tled himself in it, but he seemed to be quite com-



fortable as he sat there, and regarded his august
relative intently but modestly.
"I've kept wondering what you would look like,"
he remarked. I used to lie in my berth in the
ship and wonder if you would be anything like
my father."
"Am I?" asked the Earl.
"Well," Cedric replied, "I was very young
when he died, and I may not remember exactly
how he looked, but I don't think you are like
"You are disappointed, I suppose?" suggested
his grandfather.
"Oh, no!" responded Cedric politely. '"Of
course you would like any one to look like your
father; but of course you would enjoy the way your
grandfather looked, even if he was n't like your
father. You know how it is yourself about admir-
ing your relations."
The Earl leaned back in his chair and stared.
He could not be said to know how it was about
admiring his relations. He had employed most
of his noble leisure in quarreling violently with
them, in turning them out of his house, and apply-
ing abusive epithets to them; and they all hated
him cordially.
"Any boy would love his grandfather," contin-
ued Lord Fauntleroy, "especially one that had
been as kind to him as you have been."
Another queer gleam came into the old noble-
man's eyes.
"Oh he said, "I have been kind to you,
have I?"
"Yes," answered Lord Fauntleroy brightly;
"I 'm ever so much obliged to you about Bridget,
and the apple-woman, and Dick."
Bridget! exclaimed the Earl. Dick The
apple-woman !"
"Yes! explained Cedric ; "the ones you gave
me all that money for-the money you told Mr.
Havisham to give me if I wanted it."
"Ha!" ejaculated his lordship. That 's it,
is it ? The money you were to spend as you liked.
What did you buy with it ? I should like to hear
something about that."
He drew his shaggy eyebrows together and
looked at the child sharply. He was secretly
curious to know in what way the lad had indulged
"Oh! said Lord Fauntleroy, "perhaps you
did n't know about Dick and the apple-woman
and Bridget. I forgot you lived such a long way
off from them. They were particular friends of
mine. And you see Michael had the fever-- "
"Who 's Michael? asked the Earl.
Michael is Bridget's husband, and they were
in great trouble. When a man is sick and can't

work and has twelve children, you know how
it is. And Michael has always been a sober
man. And Bridget used to come to our house
and cry. And the evening Mr. Havisham was
there, she was in the kitchen crying because
they had almost nothing to cat and could n't
pay the rent; and I went in to see her, and
Mr. Havisham sent for me and he said you had
given him some money for me. And I ran as
fast as I could into the kitchen and gave it to
Bridget; and that made it all right; and Bridget
could scarcely believe her eyes. That 's why I 'm
so obliged to you."
Oh said the Earl in his deep voice, that
was one of the things you did for yourself, was it ?
What else ? "
Dougal had been sitting by the tall chair; the
great dog had taken its place there when Cedric sat
down. Several times it had turned and looked up
at the boy as if interested in the conversation.
Dougal was a solemn dog, who seemed to feel alto-
gether too big to take life's responsibilities lightly.
The old Earl, who knew the dog well, had.watched
it with secret interest. Dougal was not a dog
whose habit it was to make acquaintances rashly,
and the Earl wondered somewhat to see how quietly
the brute sat under the touch of the childish hand.
And, just at this moment, the big dog gave little
Lord Fauntleroy one more look of dignified scru-
tiny, and deliberately laid its huge, lion-like head
on the boy's black-velvet knee.
The small hand went on stroking this new friend
as Cedric answered :
"Well, there was Dick," he said. You'd
like Dick, he 's so square."
This was an Americanism the Earl was not pre-
pared for.
What does that mean? he inquired.
Lord Fauntleroy paused a moment to reflect
He was not very sure himself what it meant. He
had taken it for granted as meaning something
very creditable because Dick had Ibeen fond of
using it.
I think it means that he would n't cheat any
one," he exclaimed; or hit a boy who was under
his size, and that he blacks people's boots very
well and makes them shine as much as he can.
He 's a perfessional bootblack."
And he 's one of your acquaintances, is he ? "
said the Earl.
He is an old friend of mine," replied his grand-
son. Not quite as old as Mr. Hobbs, but quite
old. He gave me a present just before the ship
He put his hand into his pocket and drew forth
a neatly folded red object and opened it with an
air of affectionate pride. It was the red silk hand-



kerchief with the large purple horse-shoes and
heads on it.
He gave me this," said his young lordship.
" I shall keep it always. You can wear it round
your neck or keep it in your pocket. He bought
it with the first money he earned after I bought
Jerry out and gave him the new brushes. It 's a
keepsake. I put some poetry in Mr. Hobbs's
watch. It was, 'When this you see, remember
me.' When this I see, I shall always remember
The sensations of the Right Honorable the Earl
of Dorincourt could scarcely be described. He
was not an old nobleman who was very easily
bewildered, because he had seen a great deal of
the world; but here was something he found so
novel that it almost took his lordly breath away,
and caused him some singular emotions. He had
never cared for children; he had been so occupied
with his own pleasures that he had never had time
to care for them. His own sons had not interested
him when they were very young- though some-
times he remembered having thought Cedric's
father a handsome and strong little fellow. He
had been so selfish himself that he had missed the
pleasure of seeing unselfishness in others, and he
had not known how tender and faithful and affec-
tionate a kind-hearted little child can be, and how
innocent and unconscious are its simple, generous
impulses. A boy had always seemed to him a most
objectionable little animal, selfish and greedy and
boisterous when not under strict restraint; hisr
own two eldest sons had given their tutors constant
trouble and annoyance, and of the younger one he
fancied he had heard few complaints because the
boy was of no particular importance. It had never
once occurred to him that he should like his grand-
son; he had sent for the little Cedric because his
pride impelled him to do so. If the boy was to take
his place in the future, he did not wish his name to
be made ridiculous by descending to an uneducated
boor. He had been convinced the boy would be a
clownish fellow if he were brought up in America.
He had no feeling of affection for the lad; his only
hope was that he should find him decently well-
featured, and with a respectable share of sense ;
he had been so disappointed in his other sons,
and had been made so furious by Captain Errol's
American marriage, that he had never once
thought that anything creditable could come of
it. When the footman had announced Lord Faunt-
leroy he had almost dreaded to look at the boy
lest he should find him all he had feared. It
was because of this feeling that he had ordered
that the child should be sent to him alone.
His pride could not endure that others should see
his disappointment if he was to be disappointed.

His proud, stubborn old heart therefore had leaped
within him when the boy came forward with his
graceful, easy carriage, his fearless hand on the big
dog's neck. Even in the moments when he had
hoped the most, the Earl had never hoped that
his grandson would look like that. It seemed
almost too good to be true that this should be
the boy he had dreaded to see -the child of the
woman he so disliked -this little fellow with so
much beauty and such a brave, childish grace !
The Earl's stern composure was quite shaken by
this startling surprise.
And then their talk began; and he was still
more curiously moved, and more and more
puzzled. In the first place, he was so used to see-
ing people rather afraid and embarrassed before
him, that he had expected nothing else but that
his grandson would be timid or shy. But Cedric
was no more afraid of the Earl than he had been of
Dougal. He was not bold; he was only innocently
friendly, and he was not conscious that there should
be any reason why he should be awkward or afraid.
The Earl could not help seeing that the little boy
took him for a friend and treated him as one, with-
out having any doubt of him at all. It was quite
plain as the little fellow sat there in his tall chair
and talked in his friendly way that it had never
occurred to him that this large, fierce-looking
old man could be anything but kind to him, and
rather pleased to see him there. And it was plain,
too, that, in his childish way, he wished to please
and interest his ii.1.i. ., Cross, and hard-
hearted, and worldly as the old Earl was, he could
not help feeling a secret and novel pleasure in
this very confidence. After all, it was not dis-
agreeable to meet some one who did not distrust
or shrink from him, or seem to detect the ugly part
of his nature ; some one who looked at him with
clear, unsuspecting eyes,- if it was only a little
boy in a black-velvet suit.
So the old man leaned back in his chair, and
led his young companion on to telling him still
more of himself, and with that odd gleam in his
eyes watched the little fellow as he talked. Lord
Fauntleroy was quite- 1iii;,. to answer all his ques-
tions and chatted on in his genial little way quite
composedly. He told him all about Dick and Jerry,
and the apple-woman, and Mr. Hobbs; he described
the Republican Rally in all the glory of its banners
and transparencies, torches and rockets. In the
course of the conversation, he reached the Fourth
of July and the Revolution, and was just becoming
enthusiastic, when he suddenly recollected some-
thing and stopped very abruptly.
What is the matter? demanded his grand-
father. "Why don't you go on ? "
Lord Fauntleroy moved rather uneasily in his




chair. It was evident to the Earl that Lord Faunt-
leroy was embarrassed by the thought which had
just occurred to him.
I was just thinking that perhaps you might n't
like it," he replied. Perhaps some one belonging
to you might have been there. I forgot you were an
You can go on," said my lord. "No one be-


a development as this. He felt himself grow quite
hot up to the roots of his hair.
I was born in America," he protested. You
have to be an American if you are born in Amer-
ica. I beg your pardon," with serious politeness
and delicacy, for contradicting you. Mr.
Hobbs told me, if there were another war, you
know, I should have to -to be an American."

'a a
Fj$B. -.-
a. r 'e1~ 4pA- -


longing to me was there. You forgot youwere an
Englishman, too."
"Oh! no," said Cedric quickly. I'm an
American! "
"You are an Englishman," said the Earl
grimly. "Your father was an Englishman."
It amused him a little to say this, but it did not
amuse Cedric. The lad had never thought of such
VoL. XIII.--22.

The Earl gave a grim half laugh it was short
and grim, but it was a laugh.
"You would, would you ? he said.
He hated America and Americans, but it amused
him to see how serious and interested this small
patriot was. He thought that so good an Amer-
ican might make a rather good Englishman when
he was a man.


They had not time to go very deep into the
Revolution again-and indeed Lord Fauntleroy
felt some delicacy about returning to the subject-
before dinner was announced.
Cedric left his chair and went to his noble kins-
man. He looked down at his gouty foot.
"Would you like me to help you ? he said
politely. "You could lean on me, you know.
Once when Mr. Hobbs hurt his foot with a potato-
barrel rolling on it, he used to lean on me."
The big footman almost periled his reputation
and his situation by smiling. He was an aristo-
cratic footman who had always lived in the best of
noble families, and he had never smiled; indeed,
he would have felt himself a disgraced and vulgar
footman if he had allowed himself to be led by
any circumstance whatever into such an indiscretion
as a smile. But he had a very narrow escape. He
only just saved himself by staring straight over the
Earl's head at a very ugly picture.
The Earl looked his valiant young relative over
from head to foot.
"Do you think you could do it? he asked
I think I could," said Cedric. "I 'm strong.
I 'm seven, you know. You could lean on your
stick on one side, and on me on the other. Dick
says I 've a good deal of muscle for a boy that 's
only seven."
He shut his hand and moved it upward to his
shoulder, so that the Earl might see the muscle
Dick had kindly approved of, and his face was so
grave and earnest that the footman found it neces-
sary to look very hard indeed at the ugly picture.
"Well," said the Earl, "you may try."
Cedric gave him his stick, and began to assist
him to rise. Usually the footman did this, and
was violently sworn at when his lordship had an
extra twinge of gout. The Earl was not a very
polite person as a rule, and many a time the
huge footmen about him quaked inside their im-
posing liveries.
But this evening he did not swear, though his
gouty foot gave him more twinges than one. He
chose to try an experiment. He got up slowly
and put his hand on the small shoulder presented
to him with so much courage. Little Lord Faunt-
leroy made a careful step forward, looking down at
the gouty foot.
Just lean on me," he said, with encouraging
good cheer. I '11 walk very slowly."
If the Earl had been supported by the footman
he would have rested less on his stick and more
on his assistant's arm. And yet it was part of his
experiment to let his grandson feel his burden as no
light weight. It was quite a heavy weight indeed,
and after a few steps his young lordship's face grew

quite hot, and his heart beat rather fast, but he
braced himself sturdily, remembering his muscle
and Dick's approval of it.
Don't be afraid of leaning on me," he panted.
" I 'm all right- if-- if it is n't a very long way."
It was not really very far to the dining-room,
but it seemed rather a long way to Cedric, before
they reached the chair at the head of the table.
The hand on his shoulder seemed to grow heavier
at every step, and his face grew redder and hotter,
and his breath shorter, but he never thought of
giving up; he stiffened his childish muscles,
held his head erect, and encouraged the Earl as
he limped along.
Does your foot hurt you very much when you
stand on it? he asked. Did you ever put it in
hot water and mustard? Mr. Hobbs used to put
his in hot water. Arnica is a very nice thing, they
tell me."
The big dog stalked slowly beside them, and the
big footman followed; several times he looked
very queer as he watched the little figure making
the very most of all its strength, and bearing its
burden with such good will. The Earl, too, looked
rather queer, once, as he glanced sidewise down
at the flushed little face.
When they entered the room where they were
to dine, Cedric saw it was a very large and impos-
ing one, and that the footman who stood behind
the chair at the head of the table stared very hard
as they came in.
But they reached the chair at last. The hand
was removed from his shoulder, and the Earl was
fairly seated.
Cedric took out Dick's handkerchief and wiped
his forehead.
"It 's a warm night, is n't it?" he said. "Per-
haps you need a fire because--because of your
foot, but it seems just a little warm to me."
His delicate consideration for his noble relative's
feelings was such that he did not wish to seem to
intimate that any of his surroundings were un-
You have been doing some rather hard work,"
said the Earl.
Oh, no!" said Lord Fauntleroy, it was n't
exactly hard, but I got a little warm. A person
will get warm in summer time,"
And he rubbed his damp curls rather vigorously
with the gorgeous handkerchief. His own chair
was placed at the other end of the table, opposite
his grandfather's. It was a chair with arms, and
intended for a much larger individual than him-
self; indeed, everything he had seen so far,-the
great rooms, with their high ceilings, the massive
furniture, the big footman, the big dog, the Earl
himself,-were all of proportions calculated to make





this little lad feel that he was very small, indeed.
But that did not trouble him; he had never thought
himself very large or important, and he was quite
willing to accommodate himself even to circum-
stances which rather overpowered him.
Perhaps he had never looked so little a fellow
as when seated now in his great chair, at the end of
the table. Notwithstanding his solitary existence,
the Earl chose to live in considerable state. He was
fond of his dinner, and he dined in a formal style.
Cedric looked at him across a glitter of splendid
glass and plate, which to his unaccustomed eyes
seemed quite dazzling. A stranger looking on
might well have smiled at the picture,- the great
stately room, the big liveried servants, the bright
lights, the glittering silver and glass, the fierce-
looking old nobleman at the head of the table and
the very small boy at the foot. Dinner was usu-
ally avery serious matter with the Earl--and it
was a very serious matter with the cook, if his
lordship was not pleased or had an indifferent ap-
petite. To-day, however, his appetite seemed trifle
better than usual, perhaps because he had some-
thing to think of beside the flavor of the entries
and the management of the gravies. His grand-
son gave him something to think of. He kept
looking at him across the table. He did not say
very much himself, but he managed to make the
boy talk. He had never imagined that he could
be entertained by hearing a child talk, but Lord
Fauntleroy at once puzzled and amused him, and
he kept remembering how he had let the childish
shoulder feel his weightjust for the sake of trying
how far the boy's courage and endurance would go,
and it pleased him to know that his grandson
had not quailed and had not seemed to think even
for a moment of giving up what he had undertaken
to do.
You don't wear your coronet all the time? "
remarked Lord Fauntleroy respectfully.
"No," replied the Earl, with his grim smile;
"it is not becoming to me."
Mr. Hobbs said you always wore it," said Ced-
ric; but after he thought it over, he said he
supposed you must sometimes take it off to put
your hat on."
Yes," said the Earl, I take it off occasion-
And one of the footmen suddenly turned aside
and gave a singular little cough behind his hand.
Cedric finished his dinner first, and then he
leaned back in his chair and took a survey of the
You must be very proud of your house," he
said, it 's such a beautiful house. I never saw
anything so beautiful; but, of course, as I 'm only
seven, I have n't seen much."

And you think I must be proud of it, do you ?"
said the Earl.
I should think any one would be proud of it,"
replied Lord Fauntleroy. I should be proud of
it if it were my house. Everything about it is
beautiful. And the park, and those trees,-how
beautiful they are, and how the leaves rustle "
Then he paused an instant and looked across
the table rather wistfully.
It's a very big house for just two people to
live in, is n't it ? he said.
It is quite large enough for two," answered the
Earl. Do you find it too large ? "
His little lordship hesitated a moment.
"I was only thinking," he said, that if two
people lived in it who were not very good compan-
ions, they might feel lonely sometimes."
Do you think I shall make a good compan-
ion ? inquired the Earl.
"Yes," replied Cedric, I think you will. Mr.
Hobbs and I were great friends. He was the best
friend I had except Dearest."
The Earl made a quick movement of his bushy
Who is Dearest ?"
She is my mother," said Lord Fauntleroy, in
a rather low, quiet little voice.
Perhaps he was a trifle tired, as his bed-time was
nearing, and perhaps after the excitement of the
last few days it was natural he should be tired, so
perhaps, too, the feeling of weariness brought to
him a vague sense of loneliness in the remem-
brance that to-night he was not to sleep at home,
watched over by the loving eyes of that "best
friend" of his. They had always been "best
friends," this boy and his young mother. He
could not help thinking of her, and the more he
thought of her the less was he inclined to talk,
and by the time the dinner was at an end the Earl
saw that there was a faint shadow on his face.
But Cedric bore himself with excellent courage,
and when they went back to the library, though
the tall footman walked on one side of his master,
the Earl's hand rested on his grandson's shoulder,
though not so heavily as before.
When the footman left them alone, Cedric sat
down upon the hearth-rug near Dougal. For a
few minutes he stroked the dog's ears in silence
and looked at the fire.
The Earl watched him. The boy's eyes looked
wistful and thoughtful, and once or twice he gave
a little sigh. The Earl sat still, and kept his eyes
fixed on his grandson.
"Fauntleroy," he said at last, what are you
thinking of? "
Fauntleroy looked up with a manful effort at a


I was thinking about Dearest," he said; and
- and I think I 'd better get up and walk up and
down the room."
He rose up, and put his hands in his small pock-
ets, and began to walk to and fro. His eyes were
very bright, and his lips were pressed together,
but he kept his head up and walked firmly. Dou-
gal moved lazily and looked at him,
and then stood up. He walked over
to the child, and began to follow
him uneasily. Fauntleroy drew one
hand from his pocket and laid it on

the dog's head.
He 's a very nice dog," he said.
" He 's my friend. He knows how
I feel."
How do you feel? asked the
It disturbed him to see the strug-
gle the little fellow was having with
his first feeling of home-sickness, but
it pleased him to see that he was
making so brave an effort to bear it
well. He liked this childish courage.
Come here," he said.
Fauntleroy went to him.
I never was away from my own
house before," said the boy, with a
troubled look in his brown eyes.
" It makes a person feel a strange
feeling when he has to stay all night
in another person's castle instead of
in his own house. But Dearest is
not very far away from me. She
told me to remember that-and-
and I 'm seven-and I can look at
the picture she gave me."
He put his hand in his pocket, and .
brought out a small violet velvet-
covered case.
"This is it,"he said. "Yousee,
you press this spring and it opens,
and she is in there "
He had come close to the Earl's

Yes," answered Lord Fauntleroy, in a gentle
tone, and with simple directness; "I do think so,
and I think it 's true. You see, Mr. Hobbs was
my friend, and Dick and Bridget and Mary and
Michael, they were my friends, too; but Dearest-
well, she is my close friend, and we always tell
each other everything. My father left her to me



~---- -:.~_ -- -~

chair, and, as he drew forth the little "' JUST LEAN ON ME," SAID LITTLE LORD FAUNTLEROY, 'I'LL WALK VERY SLOWLY.'
case, he leaned against the arm of
it, and against the old man's arm, too, as con- to take care of, and when I am a man I am going
fidingly as if children had always leaned there, to work and earn money for her."
'There she is," he said, as the case opened; and "What do you think of doing? inquired his
he looked up with a smile, grandfather.
The Earl knitted his brows; he did not wish to His young lordship slipped down upon the
see the picture, but he looked at it in spite of him- hearth-rug, and sat there with the picture still in
self; and there looked up at him from it such a his hand. He seemed to be reflecting seriously,
pretty young face-a face so like the child's at before he answered.
his side-that it quite startled him. I did think perhaps I might go into business
I suppose you think you are very fond of her," with Mr. Hobbs," he said; "but I should like to
he said. be a President."






"We '11 send you to the House of Lords in-
stead," said his grandfather.
"Well," remarked Lord Fauntleroy, "if I
could n't be a President, and if that is a good busi-
ness, I should n't mind. The grocery business is
dull sometimes."
Perhaps he was weighing the matter in his mind,
for he sat very quiet after this, and looked at the
fire for some time.
The Earl did not speak again. He leaned back
in his chair and watched him. A great many
strange new thoughts passed through the old
nobleman's mind. Dougal had stretched himself

out and gone to sleep with his head on his huge
paws. There was a long silence.

In about half an hour's time Mr. Havisham was
ushered in. The great room was very still when
he entered. The Earl was still leaning back in his
chair. He moved as Mr. Havisham approached,
and held up his hand in a gesture of warning-
it seemed as if he had scarcely intended to make
the gesture--as if it were almost involuntary.
Dougal was still asleep, and close beside the great
dog, sleeping also, with his curly head upon his
arm, lay little Lord Fauntleroy.

(To be conlinmed.)




THE saying is a by-word of ill-nature and quar-
reling. "Tit for tat" and "Good enough for
you "- those were the two meanest exclamations
ever heard in the set of children among whom I
grew up. Our differences were due to thoughtless-
ness and not to any bad intent; and those of us
who quarreled most fiercely one day were often
the best of friends the next. I suppose that is just
the way it is with children to-day, and always will
be so long as the world lasts and men and women
have to begin their lives by being boys and girls.
But we should have been a great deal happier if
we had never quarreled; had never said or acted
"Tit for Tat."
Acting it is worse than saying it. It is bad
enough to do a mean or unkind thing to another
person from any motive, from envy or hatred or
hasty temper,-but to do it simply (as the saying
is) to pay back for an unkind thing done to us,
seems to me the very meanest kind of meanness.
It occurred to me once upon a time to try to find
out what the hateful phrase came from. Tit for
tat! "-the words sound as silly as they are ugly,
and I wondered how they had ever come to be in
people's mouths, like a sort of proverb. To my
great surprise, I found that the saying originated
with the Dutch people. In Dutch, it was "Dit vor
dat," and the words mean simply This for that,"
nothing more.
Then how has the saying come to mean always,
the return of a disagreeable or cruel action, by one
of its own kind ? There is a proverb, One good
turn deserves another." When kindness is repaid by

kindness, therefore, why should we not say, This
for that," as well as when unkindness is repaid by
Nobody can give any reason. And nobody can
tell, now, how the ill-natured meaning was ever
fastened to the words; but there it is, fastened close,
and it will always stick, I suppose. Yet it would
be avery jolly little phrase, if it meant a good thing.
The syllables are short and '.;-i. ..- ,,,.i; .. ; and
they are based upon three cheerful vowels: i-o
-a, each with the shortest, merriest sound it has.
Surely, it is a shame to degrade them so when we
might turn the phrase right around if we would,-
inside out, and right side out, at last; and we might
make it mean just the opposite from what it always
has meant, by never using it, except when we had
paid back a bad turn by a good one, an unkind
action by a loving one, a mean deed by the most
generous one we could plan or perform. Then
would be the time to cry out Tit for Tat This
for that, my friend and as often as you treat me
badly, I'll treat you well, and we '11 see which will
get tired soonest!" If the saying ever comes to
mean that, it will be by the children's beginning
to give it that meaning. It would take about a
century, I dare say. But that is only three gen-
erations of children Would n't it be worth while
for the children of to-day to start the new version
of the saying? And then, some time in the far
distant future, say in the year 2090, perhaps some-
body who is interested in searching out the origin
of phrases, will be seeking, as I sought, to find
out where Tit for Tat came from. By that
time, you see, if three generations of American
children have all been steadily working, to give


the new, kind meaning to the words, the phrase
will come to be as good as the Golden Rule in the
New Testament, and everybody will be interested
in knowing about it.
Then this seeker out of meanings, of the year
2090, might perhaps read something like this:
"The phrase, :Tit for Tat' has undergone a
curious change. For a long time it was what peo-
ple said when they returned evil for evil: Tit
for Tat,' This for That,' i. e., this injury I do you
is in payment for that injury you did me."
But in 1886 some American children thought
that they would give the phrase a new and nobler
meaning : would make it the watchword of kind
deeds done in return for unkind ones; in other
words a sort of supplement to the Bible's Golden
Rule. Their example spread among all the chil-
dren in the land, and now in America the phrase
is never used in the old sense."
The more I think of it, the more I feel as if I
must be writing a sort of prophecy, and it would

really come true. Any boy or girl who thinks it a
good prophecy, that ought to come true, can begin
to fulfill it right away. Every good thing that
has ever been done in the world, has been done by
one person's beginning it first! Then this person
makes others think and do as he does, and so the
thing is at last accomplished.
As I have great hopes that some among the ST.
NICHOLAS children will agree with me that we
ought to give poor Tit for Tat" a chance to be-
come respectable, I have written two little verses,
which will be good to help them to remember their
duty in the case:
"It was the Dutchmen said it first.
They called it Dit vor dat.'
It's grown to be an ugly rule,
As we say, 'Tit for Tat.'

But what the Dutch words really mean,
Is simply, 'This for that;
We might make it a Golden Rule,
And still say, 'Tit for Tat! '"



THE boys from Tin Horn were always trouble-
some, to begin with. On the other hand, the village
boys, and especially those belonging to the Boat
Club, were never friendly to the Tin Horn boys.
There was a mill at Tin Horn, and nearly all the
boys worked there, and on Saturday afternoons,
when the mill was closed, they came over to the
Great Pond, half-way to the village, to see the boat-
ing and skating. These mill boys were not ex-
actly bad, but their confined life and hard work
made them rather rough playfellows. Perhaps
this was partly owing to the fact that they had
never felt the soothing influence of a lapstreak
nor the moral support of a pair of good skates.
They were poor boys. The village boys had
skates and lapstreaks and a good boathouse. So
it happened there was not much intercourse be-
tween the two sets of boys. It was even said the
Tin Horn boys stood on the shore and made fun
of the younger members of the honorable Boat
Club. On the other hand, the village boys had
never once invited the mill boys to take a sail,
though there was always room enough in the boats.
In the winter, thepoor little fellows stood and looked
on while the more fortunate boys cut beautiful fig-
ures with their club skates. Perhaps, if they had

never put themselves in the skaters' way, norlaughed
quite so loudly when any fellow sat down uninten-
tionally, the village boys might have been more
friendly. But it did seem as if the boys from Tin
Horn were forever making trouble of some kind.
One night in February, there was a heavy fall
of snow, and the skating on the Great Pond was
greatly impeded. The members of the Boat
Club, knowing that everybody would wish to try
the skating on Saturday afternoon, went down to
the pond, and with brooms and shovels cleared off
the snow over quite a large part of the ice in front
of the boathouse. But the snow had drifted badly
in the night, and the dawn of Saturday broke clear,
cold, and very windy. Parts of the sandy road
along the north shore were bare, and the wind
was northwest. These things the boys'did not at
the time observe, which was a great pity, for had
they noticed them, the great snowball fight might
not have happened.
Soon after one o'clock, the entire Boat Club, ac-
companied by every boy and girl who owned a
pair of skates, went to the pond. When they
reached the cleared place, the skating was com-
pletely ruined. The ice was covered with sand.
Every one said at once that those dreadful mill



boys had spread sand on the ice, out of mischief,
just to spoil the fun they could not enjoy them-
Then James Carter, the President of the Boat
Club, said the sand must be swept off the ice, and
he appointed Jake Stiles, Fred Tinker, and
Tommy Morris as a committee of three to go over
to the Widow Lawson's and borrow one or two
brooms. The Widow Lawson lived in a large
wooden house near the edge of the pond. Her
husband had died several years before, and she
now earned a living by taking boarders in the
summer. The house was beautifully located on
the road that skirted the pond, and the little place
was about half a mile from the village and a mile
from Tin Horn. There was a garden in front of the
house, and behind it a well with an old-fashioned
well-sweep. It was said that the house, the little
barn, and the garden made all the property the
widow had in the world, and taking boarders was
her only means of support.
The committee found Mrs. Lawson busy in the
attic, cleaning some old clothes with naphtha. She
came down to them and even went to the barn and
found three old brooms, which she said had been
very good brooms when they were new. The com-
mittee took the brooms and said they were much
obliged and would do as much for her some day.
Mebby you will," she said. "Folks have been
beholden to children before now. I hope none of
you '11 get drowned. Skating on the ice is danger-
ous-particularly in warm weather."
It is cold enough now," said the chairman of
the committee.
So the folks were saying, and I noticed my well
is nearly frozen up," was the reply. I suppose
there 's not a drop of water for a mile, and the
river frozen and the pond covered with ice. It 's
scurcely weather for ducks, I 'm sure."
The widow always did like to talk, and the
committee bowed themselves out as politely and
quickly as they could. As they crossed the road
to go to the pond, whom should they meet but Teddy
O'Brien on his way to his home at Tin Horn.
"There 's one of the little wretches who put
sand on the ice," cried the chairman of the com-
mittee. Let us tumble him into the snow."
They were three to one. Poor little Teddy was
all alone, and he had a pound of butter in one hand
and a package of tea in the other. He dropped
his bundles and tried to make a brave fight for it,
but they soon rolled him in the snow and ran off,
laughing heartily at his tears. All the boys and
girls saw what was done, and when the committee
arrived some laughed, but others said it was a very
mean thing to do, and that Teddy would go home
and tell the mill boys, and they would take his

part and be sure to do something far worse than
putting sand on the ice.
Three of the big boys took the brooms, and in
a very short time the sand was swept away, and
then the fun began. Teddy O'Brien was forgotten
in the sport, and time flew away more quickly
than they knew. Perhaps an hour had passed
when one of the little boys who had broken his
skate strap, and was sitting on the bank trying to
mend it, saw a great number of boys creeping
quietly along the road beyond the Widow Law-
son's house. They were Tin Horn boys. When
they reached the edge of the pond, they all began
to pick up the snow and to make snowballs. What
did it mean ? What was going to happen ? Were
these enemies preparing for a snowball fight ?
Every one seemed to discover them, at the same
time, and the next moment the boys began to
gather around the President of the Boat Club,
and some of the girls sat down on the bank and
began to take off their skates.
The committee on brooms," said the presi-
dent, has involved us in a nice little difficulty.
Every boy at the mills has come over to avenge
the wrongs of Teddy O'Brien."
One fellow, who had lost three fingers in a hay-
cutter, suggested that it would be well to go home.
No, sir exclaimed the others, adding: "We
must stay and fight it out. If we run away, they
will chase us and get the better of us. The thing
for us to do is to take off our skates, and make a
lot of snowballs."
'" Would n't it be better to make a fort ? "
"No," said the President. There is no time.
The best way is to form a line, and go at 'em as
fast as we can. Unless we drive them off they will
drive us off, and smash the windows of the club-
house afterwards."
The President was made Captain on the spot,
and he at once gave his orders for the fight. The
little boys must go home with the girls, and call
every fellow in the village to come out and drive
the Tin Horn boys back. Some of the girls
wished to stay and see the fight, and care for the
wounded, and every boy declared he was not a
little fellow, and would not go home with the girls,
While this was going on, there came a loud yell
from the enemy, and they were seen advancing
from the shore in a long line over the ice. The
i 1.1 was about to begin, and for a moment there
was some confusion. Every one was making snow-
balls as rapidly as possible, and the Captain rushed
about giving his orders. Suddenly, there were
several shots fired by the enemy. Little 'Tilda
Simpkins had her hat knocked off, and she began
to cry loudly. There was some lively dodging



among the younger boys. Captain Carter stood
up bravely, and received a ball flat on the nose.
He never shed a tear, but squeezed a ball till it
became quite icy.
Stand steady, men Save your shots till you
see the whites of their- "
A particularly icy ball whizzed past his ear and
made it sing.
Form a line, fellows -form a line. Steady
in the ranks. Steady !"
They formed as strong a line as possible and ad-
vanced boldly, while all the girls ran away as fast
as they could, to report the dreadful news in the
village, and to carry 'Tilda Simpkins home to her
Forward cried Captain Carter. Forward,
all together !"
The charge was magnificent, and the mill boys,
who expected to take the skaters by surprise, were
for a moment demoralized. There were skirmish-
ers thrown out in front, and there was a good vol-
ley from the entire army. It was too much for
them and they broke and ran, followed by the vil-
lagers, shouting and firing as fast as possible.
Reaching the banks of the pond, the enemy made
a stand. They had lots of spare balls stored up,
and with these they made a fierce fight. The balls
flew thick and fast. Many a poor fellow had a
sore nose and cold fingers.
It was no use. The mill boys were two to one
against the villagers. Captain Carter managed to
keep his line well formed, but it was too short.
The enemy began to flank him on both sides and
the fellows at the ends were getting badly pun-
ished. Two had fallen out with a cut lip or sore
hands. The fight waged hotter and hotter. Hot
shots were plentiful, which was remarkable con-
sidering the snow was so cold. The Tin Horn
boys fought savagely. They were bound to avenge
Teddy O'Brien and his lost butter and tea.
Slowly they began to press their enemy across
the pond. The shots flew faster and faster. There
were shouts, and perhaps cries of pain, but no one
minded how badly he was wounded, and all flung
the snowballs as fast as possible. The Tin Horn
line of battle was splendidly managed, and just as
Captain Carter had retired to the boathouse to
care for his wounds, Micky O'Toole, the Tin Horn
General, succeeded in breaking the villagers' line in
the center. They were outnumbered, and greatly
demoralized by the loss of their leader, and they
were on the point of breaking up in confusion,
when there came a terrible cry, half a scream, half
a shout of alarm.
'"Fire Fire!"
Mercy on us Can't ye stop your play to hear
me ? My naphtha can fell over and set the roof

on fire. Can't ye run and call the men-folks before
my best things all burn up? "
"What's the matter, mum?" said General
Micky O'Toole.
Mercy on us. Can't ye see my house is all
a-fire Can't ye call the men-folks to bring the
engine "
Yes, the widow's house was on fire. Already a
little wreath of smoke was issuing through the roof.
In an instant, the two armies were running, friend
and foe together, toward the burning house. They
had forgotten their battle in the presence of real
danger and greater disaster. Captain Carter for-
got his bruised chin, and started to follow the boys
running to the fire.
"Will nobody call the men-folks?" cried the
poor widow, as Captain Carter ran past her.
"'T would be of no use, ma'am," he replied.
"There 's not a drop of water to be had anywhere."
"Call the men-folks! Call the men-folks. I'm
only a poor lone woman, and all my best things
are burning in the garret."
Captain James Carter wished to go to the fire.
The poor woman appealed to him to go to the
village for the engine. Here was a good fight
within himself, between duty and selfishness.
I must run to town for the men," he cried, and
was off in a moment.
The village boys and the mill boys reached the
burning house together, and stood perplexed and
alarmed. One corner of the roof was smoking at
every shingle. There were tiny tongues of fire
along the eaves. What could they do ? The pond
was frozen, the well-sweep stiff with ice.
Let us bring out the furniture," cried the
chairman of the committee on brooms.
There was a rush toward the burning house, but
just then General Micky O'Toole sprang on the
top of the fence and cried out:
Hold on, fellows! Ye may get killed entirely
if ye go inside. Let's snowball the roof! That'll
put the fire out."
And he quickly made a soft snowball and sent it
flying toward the house. It lodged on the roof
and rolled down through the smoke into the eaves-
trough, and upon a tiny flame which sputtered and
went out.
"Hurrah! That 's the idea! Snowball the
fire In an instant, a dozen snowballs went fly-
ing through the air. Each sent up a white puff of
steam as it struck the roof. Every boy was a
fighter again, and took good aim at the spark-
ling flames along the eaves.
The snow was deep and soft just there-just right
for making snowballs. They rose by dozens and
scores, and fell like big white rain on the roof.
The fighters stood on every side and put in the




shots from every direction, every man of them a
hero in a good fight.
At first, it did not seem to do much good. The
smoke increased rapidly, and though every shot
told, the fire seemed to increase. Faster and
faster flew the balls. Hurrah! The men were
beginning to arrive from every direction. They
saw the idea at once, and every one went to work
throwing snowballs at the blazing roof. Suddenly
the engine arrived, but it stopped at the gate, and

nearly burned through, but still standing. The
house had been saved by snowballs.
The Widow Lawson said "she was tired out
with shaking hands" with everybody, and she
thanked General Michael O'Toole again and again
for suggesting such a cute idea, and President
James Carter for calling the engine when it was n't
wanted. He meant well, James did, but he was
a little too late," she said; but she thanked him,
all the same.


everyman and boyleft the ropes and joined in the
great snowball fight.
Ah! The smoke is going down. The snow
cannonade is too much for the fire. It hissed and
sputtered, and at last went out, while white clouds
of steam took the place of the brown smoke. The
wind blew the steam away and there was the roof,

They called it a drawn battle, and ever after-
ward the Tin Horn boys and the village boys
were good friends. It was soon known, of course,
that it was the wind that blew the sand on the ice.
Peace was better than war, and every one of the
combatants had proved himself a hero in the great
snowball fight.




" PUT on your hat, my boy, and go
And make your prettiest bow, and say
That your Mamma would like to know
How old Mrs. Weatherly is to-day."

"Well, how do you do, Ma'am?-
I 'm glad to see you, Ma'am."
-Johnny bowed in his finest style,
And smiled his very politest smile.-
" My mother sent me over to say,
How old are you, if you please, to-day?"



IT would be difficult to imagine a more vicious
brute than the wolf. It is so bloodthirsty that
when one of its fellows is disabled by wounds or
illness, it will fall upon the helpless animal and
tear it in pieces. On the other hand, it is so cow-
ardly that when it is captured it is so stupefied by
fear that it makes no effort to defend itself.
The wolf is a native of every portion of the
globe, from the hot tropics to the freezing polar
regions, and everywhere he is dreaded by both man
and beast. When hungry, and they are seldom
otherwise, wolves collect together, and set out in a
band, ready to devour the first hapless creature
that comes along. They are not so very swift, but
they seem absolutely tireless, and keep on the trail
of a flying animal with a long, slouching gallop
that never varies, and that in the end is sure to
wear out the fleetest of runners. The horse and
even the swifter deer sometimes fall victims to
the wolf. Nor is it only by sheer dogged pursuit
that the wolf secures its prey. When a hungry
pack comes upon a fit victim, the fleetest two or
three set off in direct pursuit, while the others,
as if by preconcerted agreement, fall off to the
right and left, ready to prevent escape should
the pursued animal seek to turn. They have even
been known to adopt a finer strategy than this.
A credible story is told by a gentleman who had
gone out to hunt roebuck, of a scene he witnessed
which displayed well-considered planning by two
wolves. He had taken up his station near a trail

where he was quite certain the deer would pass,
and was waiting patiently, when a wolf with hang-
ing tongue rushed across the trail, and was hidden
in the brush before the startled hunter could make
up his mind to shoot at it.
In another moment, from the opposite direction,
a roebuck, with a magnificent bound, cleared a
large fallen tree, and with expanded nostrils and
head outstretched, was making straight past the
brush into which the wolf had disappeared.
The rifle was leveled, when the hunter's quick
eye saw a pursuing wolf scrambling over a tree
not far behind the deer. With a speed that would
have left the wolf behind in a few minutes, the roe-
buck dashed onward. It rose to clear the brush;
it fell back dying. The first wolf had been lying in
wait there, and at the right moment had leaped
at the flying deer, and caught it by the throat.
However, the triumph of the wolves was short. The
sportsman's repeating-rifle put them beyond the
need of roebuck.
In this country we have the prairie wolf, the
coyote, and the black wolf, the last-named being
the largest and most dangerous. In former days,
wolves were common in England, Scotland, and
Ireland, but they were so dangerous to lonely trav-
elers that fierce war was made upon them, and
they were exterminated. In other parts of Europe,
however, they are still to be found, and many
frightful tales come now from eastern Europe, of
the savage doings of the hungry creatures.




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BY A. W. N.

"CARDS? Four dollars. Six for this size.
These will please you best, I think.
I '11 be ready in a moment,
And we 'll take him, in a wink.
Bring in baby. Will you hold him
Sitting in your lap, and-No?
Ah! I see!-Then we '11 arrange him
In this little high chair.-So !-
There, that 's easy.--'Heigho, baby,
Going to take a little ride?
Want to see the pretty birdy ? '
(When I 'm ready step one side.")-

Mamma :
Now, my Bessie, do not whisper;
We must still as statues be.
If we speak, the baby '11 surely
Turn his head and look at me."

(" Now, good Nurse, please raise him up
A little-there!) 'Hear birdy sing?'
(Little more !)-' Where is the birdy ?'
(That's right.) -' What shall NAlrsey bring ?'
(Try to close his mouth.) -' Come, birdy/ '
(Now his head is up too high,-
Easy,-there!) 'Chirp, chirp,-hear birdy?'
Baby see bird by an' by ?
(That's right-keep him so!)-'Good baby,'
(Steady !) -' Baby would n't cry !'-
(Now then!) -'LooK SEE HERE 'S THE
Caught him, first time, 'on the fly'!

"Yes, it's good. I know you 'll like it.
I '11 have proofs without delay.
Can't be better. Finished?--Friday.
Very much obliged. Good day "





i.E left ourselves in Capri,
as you will remember,
not knowing how long we
should have to stay there.
But I am happy to say
that, after having been de-
tained there two days, dur-
ing which we scattered
ourselves over the whole
island, and made up our
minds that it was a place
where we could spend a
summer vacation with per-
fect satisfaction, the steam-
boat came and we sailed
And now we are in Flor-
Sence, having come by rail-
way from Naples, stopping
over night in Rome. As
SI have said before, each
Prominent Italian city is as

different from all the others as if it belonged to an-
other country; and, in fact, at one time or another
they each did belong to a different country.
We can not walk in the narrow streets by the tall
palaces, and in the great open squares of Florence,
called by the Italians La Bella, because it is so
beautiful, without being reminded at every step of
by-gone times; and yet there is nothing ancient
about Florence. It is preeminently a city of
the Middle Ages, and with the exception of the
dress of its citizens, it looks almost as medieval
to-day as it did in the time of Dante and Michael
Angelo. The Romans were here, of course, but
they left few or no ruins behind them, and in our
rambles through Florence we shall never think of
the ancient Romans. This, I know, will be a com-
fort to some of us. It was in the Middle Ages
that Florence raised itself up so that the whole
world might see it, and it was not only political
power or commercial greatness that then was seen,
but a city of poets and architects, of men of learn-
ing, and of thought. One of the charms of Florence
now, will be that we can see it just as it was at
the time of its greatest glory. The lofty, fortified
palaces appear in as good order as when they were



* An engraving of this bell-tower was printed in ST. NICHOLAS for July, 1881.

first built; some of them are still inhabited by
the descendants of the princes and nobles who built
them. In the walls of these palaces are the same
iron rings to which the knights and cavaliers used
to tie their horses, and here, too, are the iron
sockets in which torches were thrust to light up the
street about the palace doors. These things are
sound and strong, and would be perfectly fit for
use to-day if people still tied their horses to
rings in the sides of houses, or thrust torches
into iron sockets. It is a peculiarity of the
city that nearly everything, no matter how long
ago it was made or built, is in good condition.
Florence has been well kept, and if the painters,
and poets, the architects, the sculptors, and phi-
losophers of former days could return to it, they
would probably feel very much at home. Giotto
could look up at the beautiful campanile, or bell-
tower,* that he built, and find it just as he had left
it; and if he had forgotten what he meant by the
groups and symbols which he put upon it, he
could step into the adjoining street and buy a
book by Mr. Ruskin, the English art critic, which
would tell him all about it. Dante could sit on the
same stone (if somebody would take it out of a
wall for him) on which he used to rest and watch
the building of the great duomo, or cathedral.
This stone, now called the Sasso di Dante, was
placed, after the poet's death, in the wall of a
house near the spot where it used to lie, and there
it is now, with an inscription on it. Farther on,
the two architects who built the cathedral would
find statues of themselves, one looking up at the
dome, because he made that; and the other at the
body of the building, because that was his work.
The great, round baptistery, near by, would look
very familiar, with its beautiful bronze doors on
which are twelve exquisite bass-reliefs representing
Scripture scenes. And if these returned Floren-
tines were to go inside, they would probably see
some babies baptized in very much the same way
in which it used to be done in the Middle Ages.
On the opposite side of the street they would still
find the bigallo, a very pretty little building, in the
open porch of which babies were put on exhibition
at certain periods, so that any one who wished to
adopt a child could come there and see if any one
of those on view would suit. It was, in fact, a sort
of baby market. The place is now an orphan asy-
lum, but I believe the babies are not set out for
adoption. In a small street, not far from the

I ii

iI "I





cathedral, Dante would find his old house still
standing; and Michael Angelo could go into his
house and find, in the room which he used as his
study, a lot of unfinished pencil-drawings just as
he left them.
In the principal piazza, or square, of the city
would still be seen standing the great Palazzo
Vecchio, which is a town hall now, just as it used
to be; and near by still stands the vast open
portico adorned with statuary, in which the nobles
and the magistrates once gathered to view public
spectacles or meetings in the open square. But
Savonarola, the famous monk and patriot of Flor-
ence, could not see the spot in this square where
he was burned at the stake. This place has been
covered by a handsome fountain. Here, in the
vast Uffizzi Palace, the Duke de Medici, Cosmo
III., would find that now-celebrated statue of
Venus which he brought to Florence in the six-
teenth century. It was an ancient statue then,
but its great fame has come to it since, and it still
is known as the Venus di Medici and not by the
name of its sculptor-Cleomenes, the Greek, the
son of Apollodorus.
What a grand collection of pictures and sculpt-
ures, with the most of which they would be very
familiar, would the returned Florentines of the
Middle Ages find in the long galleries of the
Uffizzi Palace, and in those of the Pitti Palace on
the other side of the river Arno, which runs
through the city These two palaces are united
by a covered gallery, which forms the upper story
of a very old bridge called the Ponte Vecchio,
which is a curious and interesting structure. Each
side is lined with little shops which, ever since the
year 1593, have been occupied by goldsmiths and
jewelers. The shops are still there, and if the
old-time goldsmiths were to come back, they would
have no difficulty in finding their old places of
The Pitti Palace is a very grand building, with
a front as long as a New-York block from avenue
to avenue. The massive stones of which it is
built, some of them twenty feet long, are rough
and unhewn, and the whole building has a very
massive and imposing appearance. This and the
Uffizzi Palace together contain one of the most
valuable and extensive collections of pictures in the
world. Even the covered way over the bridge has
its walls hung with pictures. Here we shall wander
from hall to hall, and gallery to gallery, and look
upon many of those great works of art, of which we
have so often seen engravings, or which we have
read and heard about.
The Bargello is a large and old stone palace, once
the residence of the Podesta, or chief magistrate
of the town. It is now a museum filled with all

sorts of curious things, i -11i_ relating to old
Florence, such as arms, costumes, etc. There are
also here a great many statues and other works of
art. One of these is that fine figure of Mercury,
casts of which we all have seen. It stands tip-toe
on one foot, and is winged on head and heels.
The palaces of Florence were built for fortresses
as well as for residences, and they still stand, tall,
massive, and gray, looking down upon the narrow
streets of the city. On the corners of some of
these we shall see great lamps surrounded by the
intricate and beautiful iron-work, for which the
artist blacksmiths of the Middle Ages were
It will soon become evident to those of us who
have not remembered the fact, that the Medici
family were once very prominent citizens of Flor-
ence. There are Medici statues in the public
places; the Medici palaces indicate the power and
wealth of the family; and in the church of San
Lorenzo, besides some grand sculptured tombs by
Michael Angelo, we shall see the Chapel of the
Princes, an immense hall, built by the Medici
family as a place in which to bury their dead, at a
cost of over four millions of dollars. The octagonal
walls of the room, which is very high and covered
by a dome, are composed of the most costly marbles
and valuable stones, while upon lofty pedestals
around the room are the granite sarcophagi of six
of the Medici princes, gorgeously adorned with
emeralds, rubies, and other precious gems.
If we happen to be in Florence on Ascension
Day, we shall see a great many people in the streets
who offer for sale little wooden cages, two or three
inches square, which are used in a very peculiar
way. Each person who wants to know what his
or her fortune is to be during the ensuing year,
buys one of these cages, and into it is put a cricket,
great numbers of which are caught on that day by
children, and even men and women, in the fields
and roads outside of the town. Each cricket is
kept in its cage without food, and if it grows thin
enough to get out between the little bars, and es-
capes, then its owner expects good luck during g all the
year; but if the cricket's constitution can not with-
stand privation, and it dies in the cage before it is
thin enough to get out, then the person who impris-
oned it must expect misfortune. Many travelers
buy some of these curious little cages as memen-
tos; but if we do not wish to be troubled by Mr.
Bergh, or our own consciences, we shall not go
into the cricket fortune-telling business.
The suburbs of Florence are very beautiful, and
from some points in them we have charming
views of the city, and the valley in which it lies,
the river, and the mountains all about. To the
north, on an eminence, is the very ancient and




UI~I i


town of Fie-
sole, with re-
mains of great
-. walls, which
-- were built by
the Etruscans
before Romu-
lus and Re-
[~ mus were ever
heard of.

OING on with
our journey,
the next place
"- we shall visit
is Venice, the

"City in the Sea." This lies, as we all know, in a
shallow part of the Adriatic, and is built upon three
large islands, and one hundred and fourteen smaller
islands. Instead of streets it has one hundred and
fifty canals. The railway on which we arrive crosses
abridge more than two miles long; the wide stretch
of water lying between the city and the mainland;
and when we go out of the station, instead of
finding carriages and cabs in waiting for us, we
see the famous long black boats of Venice called
gondolas. There is not a horse, a cab, or a carriage
of any kind in all the city. The people go about
in gondolas or other kinds of boats, or walk in the
alleys, streets, and squares, which are found all
over the city. If any one wishes to cross a canal,
he can do it by that one of the three hundred and
seventy-eight bridges that happens to be most
The Grand Canal, nearly two miles long, and
as broad as a small river, winds through the city.
At one end of it is the railway station, and at the
other the hotel to which we are going. When we
are all ready -four of us, with our baggage, in
each gondola--the two gondoliers, one stand-
ing at the stern and the other at the bow, push
on their long oars and send us skimming over the
water. We shall not make the whole tour of the
Grand Canal, but soon leaving it, we glide into
one of the side canals, and thread our way swiftly
along, between tall houses rising right out of the
water, under bridges, around corners, past
churches, and open squares filled with busy people
-grazing, but never touching, other gondolas going
in the opposite direction, until we shoot out into
the lower part of the Grand Canal, near its junc-
tion with the lagoon, or bay, in which Venice lies.
Tall palaces, with their fronts beautifully orna-
mented, now stand upon our left, and on the op-
posite bank is a great domed church with beautiful
carvings and sculptures, which seems to rise, bal-

loon-like, out of the water. In the open lagoon
is a large island with a tall church-spire. Far
away are other islands, purple in the distance;
vessels sail about with ,;1.rl colored sails, often
red or orange; gondolas shoot here, there, and
everywhere; and a little farther down, large ships
and steamers lie at anchor. Our gondolas skim
around with a sweep, and stop at the steps of the
hotel, which come down into the water.
There are few things about Venice that will be
more directly interesting to us than the gondolas,
which constitute a peculiar and delightful feature
of the city. If ordinary rowboats were substituted
for gondolas, Venice would lose one of its greatest
charms. These boats, which are truly Venetian,
and are used nowhere else but here, are very long,
narrow, and light. The passengers, of whom
there are seldom more than four, sit on softly
cushioned seats in the middle of the boat, and the
portion occupied by them is generally covered in
cold or rainy weather by a little cabin, something
like a carriage-top, with windows at the sides and
a door in front. In hot weather, when the sun
shines, this cabin-top is taken off, and its place sup-
plied by a light awning. Very often, however, neither
is needed, and at such times the gondola is most
enjoyable. At the bow of every gondola rises a
high steel affair, brightly polished, which looks
like an old-fashioned halberd or sword-ax; these
are placed here principally because it has always
been the fashion to have them, and they are also
useful in going under bridges ; if the ferro, as this
handsome steel prow is called, can go under a
bridge without touching, the rest of the gondola
will do so also. There is but one color for a gon-
dola, and that is black; this, especially when
the black cabin is on, gives it a very somber ap-
pearance. Many people, indeed, liken them to
floating hearses, with their black cords, tassels,
and cushions. But when their white or bright
colored awnings are up, or when they have neither
canopy nor awning, their appearance is quite
cheerful. There is nothing funereal, however,
about the gondoliers, of whom there is generally
one to each gondola. It is only when the boat is
heavily loaded, or when great speed or style is de-
sired, that there are two of them. The gondolier
stands in the stern, as we have so often seen him
in pictures, and rests his oar on a crotched pro-
jection at the side of the boat; he leans forward,
throwing his weight upon his oar, and thus sends
his light craft skimming over the water. As he
sways forward and back, sometimes, apparently on
one foot only, it seems as if he were in danger of
tumbling off the narrow end of the boat; but he
never does.-Trust him for that. The dexterity
with which he steers his .craft, always with his oar


.. :


I 1 I I .0

S., iil


on one side, is astonishing. He shoots around corners, giving,
as he does so, a very peculiar shout to tell other gondoliers
that he is coming ; in narrow places he glides by the other
boats, or close tip to houses, without ever touching anything;
and when he has a straight course, he pushes on and on, and
never seems to be tired. Gondoliers in the service of private
families, and some of those whose boats are for hire, dress in
very pretty costumes of white or light-colored sailor clothes,
with a broad collar and a red or blue sash ; these, with a straw ,.
hat and long floating ribbons, give the gondolier a very gay
appearance which counterbalances in a measure the somber- ''
ness of his boat.
The reason that the gondolas are always black is this: In
the early days of Venice the rich people were very extravagant,
and each one of them tried to look finer than any one else; '
among their other rivalries, they decked out their gondolas in
a very gorgeous fashion. In order to check this absurd dis-
play, there was a law passed in the fifteenth century decreeing I
that every gondola, no matter whether it belonged to a rich -
man or a poor one, should be entirely black. And since that
time every gondola has been black. colored sair
I have said a great deal in regard to gondolas because they: In -
are very important to us, and we shall spend much of our
time in them. One of the best things about them is that they DESDEMONAS HOUSE.
time in them. One of the best things about them is that they SDEorn*'S HOUSE.


are very cheap; the fare for two persons is twenty
cents for the first hour, and ten cents for each suc-
ceeding hour. If we give the gondolier a little.
extra change at the end of a long row, he will be
very grateful.
One of our first excursions will be a trip along
the whole length of the Grand Canal. As we start
from the lower end, we soon pass on our right the
small but beautiful palace of Cantarini-Fasan,
which is said to have been the palace in which
Shakespeare chose to lay the scene of Othello's
courtship of Desdemona. The palaces which we

such as the Palazzo Foscari, are grand specimens
of architecture. These palaces are directly at the
water's edge, and at a couple of yards distance
from their door-ways is a row of gayly painted posts,
driven into the bottom of the canal. They are
intended to protect the gondolas lying at the broad
stone steps from being run into by passing craft.
The posts in front of each house are of different color
and design, and add very much to the gayety of
the scene. Before long we come to quite a large
bridge which is one of the three that cross the
Grand Canal. We must stop here and land, for


now see rising up on each side, were almost all
built in the Middle Ages, and many of them look
old and a little shabby, but among them are some
very beautiful and peculiar specimens of archi-
tecture, their fronts being covered with artistic and
graceful ornamentation; many of the windows, or
rather clusters of windows, are very picturesque ;
and the effect of these long rows of grand old
palaces, with their pillars, their carvings, and the
varied colors of their fronts, is much more pleas-
ing to us than if they were all fresh and new. One
of these, the Ca d'Oro, or House of Gold, is par-
ticularly elegant; and some of the larger ones,
VOL. XIII.-23.

this is a bridge of which we all have heard, and
we shall wish to walk upon it and see what it
looks like. It is the Rialto, where many a time
and oft" old Shylock in the "Merchant of Venice "
had a disagreeable time of it. It is a queer bridge,
high in the middle, with a good many steps at
either end. On each side is a row of shops or cov-
ered stalls, where fruit, crockery, and small articles
are sold. This is a very busy quarter of the city; on
one side of the canal is the fish market, and on the
other, the fruit and vegetable market. The canal
here, and indeed for its whole length, is full of life;
large craft move slowly along, the men on board


generally pushing them with long poles; now and
then a little passenger steamboat, not altogether
suited to a city of the Middle Ages, but very quiet
and unobtrusive, hurries by, crowded with people;

and look where we may, we see a man standing
on the thin end of a long black boat pushing upon
an oar, and shouting to another man engaged
in the same pursuit.
Passing under a long modern bridge built of
iron, we go on until we reach the railway bridge,
where we came in, and go out upon the broad
lagoon, where we look over toward the main-
land and see the long line of the beautiful Tyro-
lese Alps. We return through a number of the
smaller canals, the water of which, unfortunately,
is not always very clean, but we shall not mind
that, for we see so much that is novel and curious
to us. In some places, there is a street on one
side of the canal, with shops, but this is not com-
mon; ..-i 11, we pass close to the foundations
of the tall houses, and when there is an open
space we can almost always see a church standing
back in it. We continually pass under little
bridges; at one corner we shall see as many as
five, close together; these connect small streets
and squares, and there are always people on them.
If the day is warm we shall see plenty of Venetian
boys swimming in the canals, wearing nothing but
a pair of light trousers, and they care so little for
our approach that we are afraid our gondolas will
run over some of them. The urchins are very
quick and active, however, and we might as well
try to touch a fish as one of them. I once saw a
Venetian girl about sixteen years old, who was
sitting upon the steps of a house teaching her

--- 'Y'




young brother to swim. The little fellow was very
small, and she had tied a cord around his waist,
one end of which she held in her hand. She would
let the child get into the water and paddle away
as well as he could. When he seemed tired or
when he had gone far enough, she pulled him in.
She looked very much as if she were fishing, with
a small bov fIr biit.
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-, -,: !P ++'"'-+__ i qi mhi

and the other by a rather curious group represent-
ing a saint killing a crocodile. At the other end of
this open space, which is called the Piazzetta, we
see, rising high above everything else in Venice, the


lower part of the front has a yellowish tinge,
shaded off into light pink toward the top. We
next pass a wide open space, reaching far back
beyond the palace, and at the foot of this are long
rows of steps, where great numbers of gondolas
are lying crowded together waiting to be hired.
Near by are two columns, one surmounted by the
winged lion of St. Mark, the patron saint of Venice,

tall camzanilc, or bell-tower. This is in the
Piazza San Marco, the great central point of the
city; and the next thing we shall do is to come
here on foot and see what is to be seen.
When we start upon this walk, we leave our
hotel by the back door, and after twisting about
through narrow passages, we soon find ourselves
in a quite wide and pretty street, filled with shops


and people. The pavement is very smooth and
clean, being one wide foot-walk, and we can
straggle about as we please, without any fear of
being run over. I do not believe the Venetians
indulge in wheeled vehicles, even to the extent
of a wheel-barrow. Crossing a '".;1 .z.l : ;:i;
through a vaulted passage, we ,. r.:i ia: h. -1.
Piazza. This is paved with broad !.i. ,.. -.. rti.
around three sides of it are sh..,-. rI,: i.--r !i,
Venice, where one can buy al'-n. i..i -
reasonable traveler could desire. I,:.: -1I- i1i
a good many cafes, or restauraii-, h.I-'... iil i'l
front of them, out in the Piazza, .1- i .--if.l:,-- .I"
little chairs and tables, at which [.i-."-i'- 'L '-1
drink coffee. This is a very bus ,.l :!', p I :'i.
and on several evenings in the wee I i 1 .. -, r.,' I-.L Ii'.i
plays here, while the people proni- n i:l.: u.I i
and down or sit and listen to it. TI', .11
right, near the end opposite to '..h -
enter, is the bell-tower which .'7 I.i -"
seen; to the left is a tower with L- .

,- I'

'S. ,t a -'

... -% "a

and artistic, and are bright with red, purple and
gold. In front of the cathedral are three very tall
flag-staffs, painted a bright red, which have been

s 1 ,;-I ,

-- -tL' '*" ' j ,-. Lr :'il.


--" : t' ,. ." .'
-,: ,5

I. -ts

* /' '<


clock in the face of it, on the top of which are
two life-size iron figures, which strike the hours
with hammers they hold in their hands. In front
of us, stretching across the whole width of the
Piazza, is the Church of St. Mark, which, at a little
distance, looks more like a painted picture than
an actual building. The Venetians are very fond
of color, and have shown this by the way they
have decorated their cathedral; the whole front
seems a mass of frescoes, mosaics, windows, and
ornaments. Some of the mosaics are very large

standing here over three hundred years. When
we enter the cathedral, we shall find that it is dif-
ferent from any church that we have yet seen. It
is decorated in the most magnificent and lavish
style, somewhat in the gorgeous fashion of the
East. The floor is covered with mosaic work, and
the ceilings, walls, columns, and altars are richly
adorned with gold and bronze and many-colored
marbles, and some of this ornamental work is six
or seven hundred years old. On every side we find
unexpected and picturesque galleries, recesses with




altars, stairways, and columns, and out-of-the-way
corners lighted through the stained glass of many-
colored windows. There are, in all, about five
hundred columns in and about this church.
In front, over the principal entrance, we see
those four famous bronze horses of St. Mark's, of
which you have already read in ST. NICHOLAS."
If the Venetian children, or even grown people,
do not know what a horse is like, all they have to
do is to look up at these high-mettled coursers,
which, although rather stiff of limb, have been
great travelers, having seen Rome and Constanti-
nople, and even visited Paris.
As we come out again into the Piazza, we shall
be greatly tempted to stay here, for it is a lively
place. We certainly must stop long enough to
allow some of our younger companions to feed
the pigeons of St. Mark, which, if they see any
of us with the little paper cornucopias filled with
corn, which are sold here to visitors, will come to
us by the hundreds, settling on our heads and
shoulders, and crowding about us like a flock
of chickens. For more than six hundred years
pigeons have been cared for and fed here by the
people of Venice, and as these which we see are the
direct descendants of the pigeons of the thirteenth
century, they belong to very old families indeed.
To the right of the cathedral is the Doges'
palace, and this we shall now visit. We pass under
a beautiful double colonnade into a large interior
court, where, at about four o'clock in the after-
noon, we may see numbers of Venetian girls and
women coming to get water from a celebrated
well or cistern here. Each girl has two bright

copper pails, in which she carries the water, and
we shall find it amusing to watch them for a few
minutes. There are two finely sculptured bronze
cisterns in the yard, but these are not used now.
We then go up a grand staircase, and ascend still
higher by a stairway called the Scala d'Oro, once
used only by the nobles of Venice. We now
wander through the great halls and rooms where
the doges once held their courts and councils.
Enormous pictures decorate the walls. One
of them, by Tintoretto, is said to be the largest
oil-painting in the world. We shall take a look
into the dreadful dungeons of which we read so
much in Venetian history, and we shall cross the
Bridge of Sighs, although we can not enter the
prison on the other side; the doors there are
closed and locked, the building still being used as
a prison.
Ever so much more shall we do in Venice. We
shall go in gondolas, and see the old dockyards
where the ships of the Crusaders were fitted out; we
shall visit the Academy of Fine Arts, where we
may study some of the finest works of that most
celebrated of all Venetians, the painter Titian; we
shall take a steamboat to the Lido, an island out at
sea where the citizens go to bathe and to breathe the
sea air; we shall go out upon the broad Giudecca,
a wide channel between Venice and one of its
suburbs; we shall explore churches and palaces;
and, above all, we shall float by daylight and by
moonlight, if there happens to be a moon, over
the canals, under the bridges, and between the tall
and picturesque walls and palaces, which make
Venice the strange and delightful city that she is.

-" -' ~C

* ST. NICHOLAS for March, I881, page 406.


DAINTY frosty paintings
On the glass:
Wooded slopes and forests,
Mountain pass,
All in snowy splendor
Glistening white,-
Clear across them shining
Sunbeams bright!

We within the cities
Cannot see
Winter's royal landscape,
Field and tree.
But he paints them for us,
Hill and plain,
In the dainty pictures
On the pane!


FOR several years, ST. NICHOLAS has been col-
lecting material for a series of stories, sketches,
and anecdotes, illustrating the intelligence, sagac-
ity, devotion, and usefulness of what the great
naturalist Cuvier calls "the completest, the most
singular, and the most useful conquest ever made
by man "- the domestic dog. For ages the dog
has been the friend and helper of man. Thou-
sands of years ago the hound, the greyhound, and
the watchdog were kept in Egyptian homes.
More than this, the dog was worshiped, under the
name of Anubis, as the god of the Nile, and the
city of Cynopolis was built in its honor. The
fifty war-dogs of Corinth saved that famous Gre-
cian city by detecting and defeating a night attack,
though every dog died in the fight. The splendid
Molossian dogs of Alexander the Great would fight
only with lions. The plucky little spaniel of Will-
iam the Silent, saved the life of that great prince
from his foes. The dogs of St. Malo were the only
garrison of that beleaguered city. And many
other incidents could be related, telling of the
watchfulness, self-denial, and heroism of this faith-
ful animal, which a poet has well called,

"The joy, the solace, and the aid of man."

The world's literature is full of testimonials to
the devotion and sagacity of the dog. Boys and
girls would find Robinson Crusoe almost as un-
interesting without his dog as without his man
Friday, and they could better spare some of the
adventurous doings of the Swiss Family Robinson,
than the faithful Turk and Juno, who were at once
the protectors, the hunters, and the packhorses of
that now classic family. And many a boy and girl,

indeed, might be drawn to the reading of the great
authors did they but know of the prominent and
delightful part that the dog plays in literature.
There is Argus, the hound of Ulysses, of whom
Homer writes, who knew his master after twenty
years of separation ; there are the dogs that Shak-
spere speaks of in many of his plays; while the
pages of Scott fairly echo with the barkings and
bayings of the dogs- Fangs in "Ivanhoe" and
Roswal in "The Talisman," Bevis in "Woodstock"
and Juno in "The Antiquary," Wasp and Yarrow
and Plato and Hobbie in Guy Mannering," brave
Lufra in the Lady of the Lake,"

"Whom from Douglas' side
Nor bribe nor threat could e'er divide;
The fleetest hound in all the North,"-

these and many more give interest and excite-
ment to the stories of this foremost lover of the
dog. And who would wish to give up the dogs
of Dickens: Diogenes, the pet of Florence Dom-
bey, a blundering, ill-favored, bullet-headed
dog, with hair all over his eyes, and a comic nose,
an inconsistent tail, and a gruff voice"; Jip in
"David Copperfield," the black-and-tan pet of
Dora, the "child wife," and Bull's Eye, the faithful
dog of the ruffian Bill Sykes, in that gloomiest of
gloomy boy stories, Oliver Twist." Dr. John
Brown's Rab is the hero of that most charm-
ing of dog stories, Rab and his Friends," and is
a dog that every boy and girl should know, while
Wolf, the companion and friend of poor Rip Van
Winkle, "as henpecked as his master," is as much
a feature in Irving's well-known story as is lazy,
good-for-nothing Rip himself. And so, from that
very disreputable Snarleyow, in Captain Marryat's



BY A. C.



story, to the noble Royal in Annie Keany's "Blair "But of thee it shall be said,
Castle"-a book which Mr. Ruskin says contains Ts ondg ath beside bed
the best picture of a perfect child, and of the Watched within a curtained room,
next best thing in creation, a perfect dog"-many Where no sunbeam brake the gloom
a book now famous in the world's literature will be Round the sick and dreary.
found to owe much of its fame to the dog that is Other dogs in thymy dew
one of its leading characters. Tracked the hare, and followed throat
But Truth is stranger than fiction," and it is Sunny moor or meadow;
This dog only crept and crept
probable that each one of the dogs that become Next a languid cheek that slept,
familiar to us in the works of the great story-writers, Sharing in the shadow.
is a picture of some dog that the story-writer knew..
And as you read the ST. NICHOLAS dog stories,- And this dog was satisfied
If a pale thin hand would glide
you will agree that the dogs of real life can be as Down his dew-laps sloping-
wonderful and as ir. .'::r; as the dogs of fiction, Which he pushed his nose within,
and that they are as capable of devotion, watchful- After patfrming his chin
On the palm left open."
ness and care-taking as was Flush, the pretty brown
spaniel so dear to Mrs. Browning, and of which she The mute loyalty of pretty little
wrote awell-known poem, including these stanzas: been shown by many another dog,


Flush has
and grat-


itude for favors is a trait often exhibited by dogs.
A remarkable instance of it is given in the follow-
ing sketch, with hi:ih li1; :..i: s opens.

ONE day, several years ago, a 4 C i0. i ,-, 1' com-
pany with a friend, was searching the dog-pound
in New York, for a missing retriever. As they
passed along the rows of boxes where the inmates
of the canine prison were tied, they were greeted
with many marks of affection by the animals that
were hoping to find friends to release them.
"Please take me away with you," was plainly
expressed by many a pair of doggish eyes; and
sometimes when the visitors paused to pat the head
of a prisoner, their attentions were so warmly
reciprocated that it was not easy to tear them-
selves away. Frequently, as they moved along the
narrow space between the rows of boxes, some of
the dogs they left behind were almost frantic in
their despair at being abandoned to the fate await-
ing them, which they seemed to realize.
The missing dog was found and rescued. While
its owner was settling the terms of its release, the
attention of the other gentleman was drawn to a
small terrier, of the black-and-tan" variety, that
was balancing itself on the edge of the high board
which formed the front of its prison cell. It was
held by a cord, which prevented its jumping to
the floor outside; when at the bottom of the box
it was invisible, owing to the height of the front,
and hence its efforts to retain a position where it
could be seen. An attendant rudely pushed the
dog inside the box, but it immediately climbed
again to the edge of the board and mutely ap-
pealed to the stranger for his friendship. The
painful attitude, and something in the face of the
little terrier, awakened the gentleman's sympathy;
he patted and talked to the animal for a few
moments, noted the number of its prison, and
then hastened away to the house of a friend whose
daughter had recently expressed a wish for a pet
dog. Fortunately he found the young lady at
Come with me, Fanny," said he. "I have
found a dog for you."
Fanny needed no second invitation, and in
a few minutes they were on their way to the
pound, accompanied by a servant carrying a small
At first sight of the terrier, Fanny was disap-
pointed. The dog was thin and weak; its coat was
rough and staring; its feet were all torn and raw
between the toes from standing so much on the
edge of the board; and there was a large scar

along its side where a wound had but recently
healed. But when Fanny looked into its pleading
eyes, and saw how patiently and with what suffer-
ing it maintained its place where it could be seen,
and how much it longed for rescue, she decided to
accept it. The gentleman paid the two dollars
necessary to obtain the dog's release, and the little
animal was wrapped in the blanket and carried
home by the servant. On the way it barely moved
its head; it seemed to have abandoned hope, and
lay as if half dead in the servant's arms. A bath,
good food, and the tender care which Fanny gave
it, quickly restored the patient. In a few days, its
feet were healed; it began to recover flesh and
strength; its coat grew sleek and soft; new hair
covered the ugly scar; and by the end of a fort-
night it was apparently as well as it had ever
been in its life. Fanny named it "Gipsey," and
the two were the fastest of friends. The dog pre-
served a friendly though dignified demeanor
toward the rest of the household, and lavished its
affection upon its young mistress. It obeyed her


in every way, and seemed constantly to desire to
please her. Toward strangers it was reserved and
shunned familiarity, but if Fanny said, Go to
the lady," or Go to the gentleman," it went with-
out hesitation.
It was fully a month after Gipsey's rescue and es-
tablishment in this new home, when the gentleman
who had accompanied Fanny to the dog-pound
made his first call at her house since that event.
Two or three members of the family were in the



-3~ ~i=~
~ --. C~
-- '-:--;




parlor when he arrived, but Miss Fanny was in her
room. In a few minutes she came to the parlor,
followed by the usually shy Gipsey. The latter
looked a moment at the caller, and then at the first
sound of his voice, rushed toward him with many
doggish demonstrations of delight. The little creat-
ure sprang into his arms, licked his face, threw its
fore-legs around his neck as though embracing him,
and then, jumping to the floor, went dancing and
running about the parlor. Around and around it
went, till some of the spectators feared it had lost
its senses ; every little while it paused and renewed
its demonstration toward the gentleman, and then
around and around it went again. It did not stop
again till fairly exhausted with fatigue, and for
the rest of the gentleman's stay the dog sat upon
his knee or lay in his lap, and gazed into his face
with wonderfully expressive eyes. Its actions said
as plainly as though spoken words, I know it
is to you I am indebted for this nice home and so
loving a mistress, and I wish to thank you for it."
And ever after during the five years of her life with
Fanny, Gipsey always welcomed him with the same
delight, while to other visitors she was, as one
might say, doggedly indifferent, The only excep-
tions she made were to those who had shown her
some special kindness or attention, and these she
never forgot. For example, while Fanny was at
the seaside one summer, Gipsey became separated
from her on a certain afternoon and returned to
the hotel. A party was about to go on a sailing
excursion, and Fanny was included, but she feared
to lose her dog; Doctor a gentleman of the
party, offered to go and bring it.
If you will go to the door of my room," said
Fanny, mentioning its number, you '11 probably
find Gipsey there. She always runs there when
she loses me, and she knows the way as well as
the waiters do."
The doctor found Gipsey at the door, but could
not persuade her to go with him; he took her in
his arms and carried her, in spite of several strug-
gles, to the dock, where the party was waiting.
Immediately on finding her mistress, Gipseyseemed
to comprehend the situation; she ran from Fanny
to the doctor, and then from the doctor to Fanny,
as though trying to say, "Excuse me, I did n't
understand it; I'm so sorry I resisted; I see now
that you were my friend." During the whole
afternoon she divided her time between the two,
and when, six or eight weeks later, the doctor
called at Fanny's city residence, Gipsey recognized
him, and renewed her acquaintance of that day at
the seaside.
In playful tricks and ways Gipsey was not spe-
cially unlike other intelligent dogs, however much
Fanny may have believed otherwise, but she cer-

tainly displayed unusual appreciation and grati-
tude. She was easily taught to do many things.
While receiving instruction she looked steadily into
Fanny's eyes, as though endeavoring to compre-
hend what was wanted, and to reason out the de-
sired results. Her previous history was unknown.
From time to time she astonished her mistress
and friends by revealing a knowledge of tricks
which were probably learned in her younger days.
She knew how to sit erect; Fanny taught her to
sit by her side at table, and her dignity and good
behavior were the admiration of everybody. From
time to time she would sit up, with her fore-paws
drooping at right angles in front, and patiently
wait for a dainty morsel. If no attention was
shown her, she would speak in the softest whisper,
making hardly a sound beyond that of closing her
jaws; repeating this two or three times without
success, she would venture upon an audible bark,
but it was always as gentle as she could make it.
She never went to the table without being invited,
evidently recognizing it as a privilege, and not a
right. She never followed her mistress into the
street without invitation; though the door was left
wide open, she gazed wistfully after Fanny de-
scending the steps, but without attempting to fol-
low. She perfectly understood the difference
between Gipsey can go," and Gipsey must
stay at home," but even when the former phrase
was uttered, she always waited for the magic
words, "Come along "
Fanny cites several instances of the reasoning
powers of the dog. Gipsey slept in a willow basket
which contained a soft blanket; one very hot day,
in the early part of the first summer of her rescue
from captivity, she found the bed uncomfortable,
and after vainly trying several times to lie there,
she sat down in front of the basket, apparently
wondering what made it so warm. For five min-
utes she sat there with her head dropped in medi-
tation; then she took the blanket in her teeth,
dragged it to the floor, and lay down upon the cool
willow with a sigh of satisfaction. Ever afterward
on hot days she repeated the performance, and
with a little instruction from Fanny she learned to
drag the blanket back again if the temperature
fell enough to make her old bed desirable.
She slept at night in her basket in Fanny's room,
but at six o'clock in the morning was privileged
to go to the side of her young mistress. As the
clock struck the hour, she left the basket and
went to the bedside. For a long time, Fanny
was puzzled to know holw Gipsey knew the hour,
but finally discovered that it was by a steam-
whistle on a factory several blocks away. The
whistle was blown at six o'clock as a signal to the
workmen; but one night Gipsey mistook the whis-


tie of a ferry-boat for that of the factory, and
went to Fanny's side, thus revealing her method
of keeping time.
Fanny sometimes reclined on a lounge and
played with her pet, but when she wished to rest,
she had only to say in gentle tones, "Be quiet,
Gipsey, and lie down; I am tired." Instantly all
romping ceased and the dog settled to sleep or
retired to its basket.
The old adage says every dog has its day,"
and Gipsey was no exception to the rule. One
autumn she fell ill, lost her sight, and developed
various canine disorders for which no cure could
be found. With patience far beyond that of many
men and women she endured her sufferings, and
down to the hour when she died, the only sound
she ever made was a low moan, though it was
often evident that she was in great pain. Through
all her illness she seemed to appreciate to its
fullest extent the kindness of her young mis-
tress, and swallowed with almost no resistance
the unsavory drugs which the veterinary surgeon
Don't forget to say," remarks Fanny as she
finishes reading the foregoing lines, that Gipsey
was the most sensitive dog I ever saw or heard of,
and more sensitive than most children or grown
people. The slightest word of reproof wounded
her so that she showed her consciousness of it for
hours, and she could n't be happy till it was 'all
made up.' When that was accomplished she
would bark and dance about, and perhaps bring
some of her playthings for a good romp. If you
stepped on her foot, or otherwise hurt her by acci-
dent, you had only to say, 'Excuse me, Gipsey; I
did n't mean it,' and she would pretend she was n't
hurt at all."
I am sure that she knew the difference between
our language and another. Sometimes the doctor
would talk to her in French or German, in the
same tones and with the same meaning as in
English; whenever he did so, she would stand still
and look at him with a puzzled expression which
showed she did not understand, but the moment
he went back to English, she was as demonstrative
as ever, and seemed trying to ask him not to talk
any more in that outlandish way."

How well we all remember Carlo! He was a
dear old dog, and belonged to Mr. Rhodes, the
constable of our town. He was a sharp detective,
and had many a time discovered the hiding-places
of thieves. Even we children used to be a little
afraid of him, for if we had done anything wrong

Carlo would be sure to know all about it, and scold
us for it too.
One day he saved the Mayor's little daughter
from drowning, and from that day he became a
hero. The citizens presented him with a gold
collar for his bravery, but Carlo never showed any
especial pride because of this decoration.
Carlo always made a point of attending all the
fires in the town. He could mount a ladder like a
fireman, and well do I recollect the last of his ad-
It was toward evening on a holiday, and few peo-
ple were in the place, as most of the citizens of the
town were absent on an excursion to a neighboring
I remember feeling sadly disappointed at having
to miss the excursion myself. At about five o'clock
the bells in the churches began to ring very loud
and fast, and Carlo, who had been lazily sleeping
and watching the place, started up, and with two
or three expressive growls that summoned his mas-
ter, ran with all speed for the fire.
There was a general shout that Carlo was go-
ing! and of course all the boys in the neighbor-
hood hastened to follow.
The dog was very busy and intelligent all the
time, dragging down the stairs, with great speed
and care, things of every description.
As the last house was burning, the cry of a child
was heard in the upper story.
Of course it was out of the question for any one
to go up and expect to come back; but Carlo
seemed to take in the situation at a glance. Know-
ing in his dog mind that the first stories were
already in a blaze, he leaped up the ladder and
jumped in through the window. The fire and
smoke soon drove him back, but his master,
who appeared at that moment, shouted to him to
go in, and the people cheered. Whether he
understood or not, he again entered the window,
and when all hope of his return had been given up,
a boyish shout announced his arrival. He was ter-
ribly burned, and fell before he reached the ground;
still holding with wonderful firmness a little babe.
The child did not prove to be greatly harmed;
but poor Carlo's injuries were fatal. The brave
dog received every care, but he died the next day.
He was buried in a pretty spot in the cemetery,
and over his grave a little white stone was placed
with this inscription :

CARLO was not the only fire dog, for a Lon-
don paper tells of Bob, the fireman's dog, at the




Southwark Fire-brigade station in London. When-
ever the fire-bell rings, Bob is in a great hurry to
be off. He runs before the engine to clear the
way and, arrived at the fire, no one is more ready
than he to obey orders. He will run up ladders,
jump through windows and enter blazing rooms


more quickly than any of the firemen. One day
a house was on fire in Duke street. The flames
were spreading rapidly, and threatened soon to
bring the building to the ground. Bob darted into
the burning house, and in a few moments was seen
coming out with -what do you think ?-a poor
cat, in his mouth! He carried pussy very carefully,
and gently dropped her in a place of safety.
On another occasion a house in Westminster
Road was on fire, and Bob was there, as usual. The
firemen thought that all the inmates were out of
the house. Bob, however, knew better. He kept
barking and scratching at a small door. The fire-
men ordered Bob to "hold his noise, and get away."
Although usually a very obedient dog, Bob barked
more loudly than ever, and seemed almost to say,
"Be quick-do open this door!" The firemen
were afraid that if this door was opened, it might
make the fire burn more : .i.i11 but as Bob was so
very boisterous, one of the firemen said: "There's
some reason why Bob makes this ado-let's break
open the door The door was burst open, when
the astonished firemen found a poorlittle child, who,
but for Bob, might have been burned to death!
Bob has been presented with a collar, on which
is the inscription: -
Stop me not,
But onward let me jog.
For I am Bob,
The London Fireman's JDos."

A TRAVELER in Italy relates the following anec-
dote: "A few years since I was sitting inside the
door of a shop, to escape from the rain while wait-
ing for a trap to take me to the railway station in
the old Etruscan city of Ferentino. Presently an
ill-bred dog of the pointer kind came and sat down
in front of me, looking up in my face and wagging
his tail to attract my attention.
'What does that dog want ? I asked of a by-
Signore,' he answered, he wants you to give
him a soldo, that he may buy you a cigar with it.'
I gave the dog the coin, and he presently re-
turned, bringing a cigar, which he held crosswise
in his mouth until I took it from him. Sent again
and again, he brought me three or four more
cigars from the tobacco-shop. At length the
dog's demeanor changed, and he gave vent to his
impatience by two or three low whines.
"'What does he want now?' I asked.
"'He wants you to give him two soldi to go to
the baker's, and buy bread for himself.'
"I gave him atwo-soldo piece, and in a few min-
utes the dog returned with a small loaf of bread,
which he laid at my feet, at the same time gazing
wistfully in my face.
He '11 not take it until you give him leave,'
said another bystander.
"I gave the permission, and the clever animal
seized the loaf in his mouth and disappeared with
it, and did not again make his appearance while I
was in the city.
"'He always does that,' said the bystanders,
'whenever he sees a stranger in Ferentino.'"

A NEWSPAPER paragraph, some time since, stated
that Baroness Burdett-Coutts was usually accompa-
nied by a beautiful collie dog, which was a gift from
Mr. Henry Irving, the English tragedian, and which
had a history. The actor was one day driving over
the Braemar moors, when he lost his Skye terrier,
which had been trotting along behind his trap.
He stepped down to look for it, directing the driver
to go on with the trap. On the moor he met a
shepherd with a collie; and the man, when told
of the actor's loss, offered to find the terrier. At
a word from him the collie darted off, and after an
absence of ten minutes returned. Where is he?"
asked the shepherd, and the dog, lifting one paw,
pointed in the direction of the road. He has
gone after the trap," the shepherd said, and Mr.
Irving, marveling, and, in truth, incredulous, re-
turned to the road, and, coming up with the trap,
found his little favorite awaiting his arrival. He


bought the collie at the moderate price of fifteen
guineas, and on his return to town presented it
to the Baroness.

even a greater price. A servant was provided to
feed the dog and to attend it when its mistress did
not have it in charge.


I ONCE visited a pleasant country-house, the
owner of which had a powerful and sagacious dog
called Major. This dog was highly prized by his
master and by the people of the neighborhood.
He had saved many lives. Once when a swing-
rope became entangled around the neck of a little
girl, Major held her up until help came.
One day the butcher brought in his bill for Major's
provisions. Major's master thought it altogether
too large, and shaking the paper angrily at the
dog, he said:
"See here, old fellow, you never ate all that
meat,-did you?"
The dog looked hard at the bill, shook himself
all over, regarded the butcher with contempt, and
then went back to his rug, where he stretched
himself out with a low growl of dissatisfaction.
The next Sunday, just as service began at the
village church, into my friend's pew vaulted Major;
he had never before been to church.
Our hostess started in affright. Something
must have happened to the children," she said.
"No," said her husband, "the dog would tell
us if that were so."
The Major kept perfectly quiet until we all arose
for prayer; then he sprang upon the seat, stood
on his hind-legs, placed his fore-paws upon the
front of the pew behind, and stared gravely and
reproachfully into the face of the butcher, who
looked very much confused, and turned first red
and then pale. The whole congregation smiled
and tittered. Major's master at once took the dog
home. But the butcher was more considerate in
his charges from that time. Evidently he felt
mortified and conscience-stricken.


A FEW summers ago, according to a daily paper,
the attention bestowed by a California lady upon
her pet dog formed a constant topic of conversation
at a well-known summer resort. The lady was
often to be seen promenading upon the piazza of
her hotel in company with a beautiful little black-
and-tan dog. The small creature was said to have
cost four hundred dollars. During the summer
the lady ordered ear-rings and a gold collar for the
dog. The ear-rings were declared to be worth
two thousand dollars, and the collar, which was
studded with emeralds and pearls, was valued at

A CONNECTICUT journal, in speaking of the
sagacity of dogs, says that it is a very common thing
on all the Connecticut railroad lines for accommo-
dating train men to throw newspapers off the train
at or near the houses of subscribers who live on the
line of the road but at a distance from the stations.
In many instances, it says, dogs have been trained
to watch for the cars and get these papers, and
country dogs, it is noticed, take quite an active
interest in the affair. On the Naugatuck road,
some one had the curiosity to inquire into this
matter of dog messengers. A certain gentleman,
he states, had a dog which would go a mile and a
half every morning to meet the train. The paper
was at first thrown off by the brakeman on the
last car, and there the dog watched for it. After
a while it was thrown from the baggage car. The
dog appeared angry at the change, barked furiously
and waited sullenly for some time before going on
its errand. It was some time before it became rec-
onciled to the new way of delivering the paper.
Below Derby, a dog acted for several years as
newsboy for a number of families. The papers were
thrown out of the car while it was going at full
speed. Whether one or a large bundle of them,
the dog was able to lug them off, making good time
Another dog which became a veteran as a news-
dog and could not, from age and rheumatism, go
down to the cars, managed in some way to train a
younger dog to do its work.
A gentleman residing below Naugatuck, had a
dog which regularly met the early morning train.
The house was a mile away from the railroad, and
the dog never left on its errand until it heard
the train whistle at Beacon Falls station.- Then
it started on a run and waited always at the same
spot, with its nose poked between the palings of
a fence, and its keen eyes watching for the flying
A story is told of one dog that was first taught to
bring a certain New Haven paper, but when his
master changed to another could not be induced
to carry the new one. This seems unlikely. Another
story is that a gentleman of Waterbury had a pet
dog that could readily distinguish the locomotive
whistles of the New England road from those of
the Naugatuck, though the tracks ran parallel, side
by side. For many years the faithful dog always
found its train and car, and stood in waiting for the
daily paper, which it carried home to its master.




I TELL you I have a smart dog of my own
(His name, sir, is Fido);
The cunningest canine that ever was known
To cut up a dido "
His hair it is long and as soft as fine silk
(It 's a sort of a yellow);
He 's so dainty, he likes only sweet cake and
The dear, funny fellow !

He comes when he 's called, and he does what
he 's bid
(Not all boys will do so !);
And he'll stand up and wear a fur cap on his head,
Like Robinson Crusoe!
He barks at all beggars, but persons well-dressed
He treats more politely-
In which he resembles, it must be confessed,
Some other folks slightly !

Throw a ball, and he 'll chase it along anywhere,
Nor stop at your calling;
Toss it up in the air, and he 's sure to be there
To seize it when falling;

Throw a stick in the pond, and at once, with a
He will jump in the water,-
Little Lilly fell in once, and would have been
If he had n't caught her !

He 's so wise that when bad boys once managed
to tie
To his tail a tin kettle,
He turned, picked it up in his mouth, and so high
(Being put to his mettle)
He jumped, o'er the palings and made so much
The sound reached the kitchen;
And the servants ran out and soon caught both
the boys
And gave them a switchin'.

He knows me so well, that whenever he hears
The tone of my voice, sir,
You might think him human, so much he appears
At the sound to rejoice, sir.
So I can't treat him ill, and I 'm certain that he
Loves me well and sincerely;
And he 's always so good and so gentle with me,
That I love him most dearly !






WHETHER in the woods or at his friends' houses,
George Washington was sure, at this time, to hear
much talk of the country which lay to the west-
ward. The English had their colonies along the
Atlantic coast, and guarded the front door to
the American continent. The French had their
military posts along the St. Lawrence and the
great lakes, and in the Mississippi and Ohio Val-
leys. They had entered the continent by other
doors, and the two nations were like two families
living in the same house, each wishing the whole
premises and making ready to oust the other.
The French held their possessions in America
chiefly by means of forts and trading-posts; the
English by means of farms and towns. So, while
the French were busy making one fort after
another in the interior, meaning to have a line
from New Orleans to Quebec, the English were
constantly clearing away woods and planting farms
farther to the westward and nearer to the French
forts. The great Appalachian Mountain Range
kept the two people apart for a time, but English
settlers were every year crossing the mountains,
and making their way into the fertile valleys
The Indians who roamed over the country found
themselves between two fires. They saw very
plainly that if these two foreign nations kept
increasing their foothold, there would be little
room left for themselves. They saw, too, that the
French and the English would not settle down in
peace together, nor divide the land between them.
Nor were the Indians wholly at peace among
themselves. One tribe fought another, and each
was very ready to call in the aid of the white man.
So the tribes divided. The French were very
willing to have certain Indians on their side, when
they should come to blows with the English; the
English sought to make friends with other Indians
who were the enemies of those that had formed
alliance with the French ; and a tribe would some-
times change its position, siding now with the
French, now with the English.
The region of country which was the prize most
eagerly contended for by both nations was that
watered by the Ohio River and its tributaries. As

yet, there were no white settlements in this region;
but both French and English traders made their
way into it and carried on a brisk business with
the Indians. The two nations now set to work in
characteristic fashion to get control of the Ohio
Valley. The French began to build forts in com-
manding positions; the English formed a great
land company, the object of which was to send out
emigrants from England and the Atlantic colonies
to settle in the Ohio Valley, plant farms, and so
gain a real possession.
The company thus formed was called the Ohio
Company. It was planned in 1748, by Thomas
Lee, a Virginian gentleman, who associated with
himself thirteen other gentlemen,- one, a London
merchant who was to act as the Company's agent
in England; the others, persons living in Virginia
and Maryland. They obtained a charter from the
King, and the grant of five hundred thousand acres
of land lying chiefly south of the Ohio River and
west of the Alleghany Mountains, between the
Monongahela and Kanawha Rivers. These gentle-
men reasoned that the natural passage to the Ohio
country lay by the Potomac River and through the
breaks in the mountain ranges caused by those
branches of the Ohio River which took their rise
in Virginia. So they intended that the stream of
trade which flowed into the Ohio Valley, should
take its rise in Maryland and Virginia, and benefit
the people of those colonies ; and in order to carry
out their plans, they proposed to build a road for
wagons from the Potomac to the Monongahela.
George Washington's elder brothers Lawrence
and Augustine were both among the original mem-
bers of the Ohio Company, and when, shortly after
its formation, Mr. Lee died, Lawrence Washing-
ton became the principal manager. He took a
very strong interest in the enterprise, and was par-
ticularly desirous of settling a colony of Germans on
the company's land. The plans of the Ohio Com-
pany were freely discussed at Mount Vernon, and
George Washington, who had made himself well
acquainted with much of the country which lay
on the way to the Ohio, was an interested listener
and talker.
There was other talk, however, besides that of
trade and settlement. The French were every-
where making preparations to assert their owner-
ship of the Western country, and the colonies took
the alarm and began also to make ready for possi-



[A Historical Biograiphy.]



ble war. Virginia was divided into military dis-
tricts, each of which was under the charge of an
adjutant-general whose business it was to attend
to the organization and equipment of the militia.
George Washington was only nineteen years of age,
but his brother Lawrence had such confidence in
his ability that he secured for him the appointment
of adjutant-general for the military district which
included Mount Vernon.
To hold such a post, one must be both a drill-
master and something of a tactician, as well as a
natural leader and good manager. Washington
went to work with a will to qualify himself for his
place. His brother had served long enough in
the army to be able to give him some help, and
Lawrence's comrades in the West Indies cam-
paigns could give even more explicit aid. One of
these, Major Muse, was a frequent guest at Mount
Vernon, and now undertook to teach George
Washington the art of war. He lent the young
adjutant military treatises, and drilled him in man-
ual exercises. A Dutch soldier, Jacob Van Braam,
who was making a living as fencing-master, gave
him lessons in the sword exercise, and Washing-
ton had the opportunity afterward of doing his old
teacher a good turn by securing him a position in
the army of which Washington was an officer.
While he was in the midst of all this military ex-
ercise, which was very well suited to the mind of
one who had been captain of his school company, he
was suddenly obliged to drop his sword and man-
ual, and make ready for a voyage. Lawrence
Washington, whose health had been impaired by
his campaigning in the West Indies, was ill with
consumption; and his physicians ordered him to
take a voyage to the West Indies again,-this time
to recover, if possible, the health which he had
lost there when a soldier. He proposed to pass the
winter at Barbadoes, and to take his brother
George with him.
The two brothers sailed near the end of Septem-
ber, 1751. George Washington, with his method-
ical habits, at once began a diary, which he kept
on the voyage and during his stay on the island.
As two gentlemen from Virginia, they were seized
upon at once by the English officers and other
residents, and treated with great hospitality. The
people who live in a small and isolated settlement
like that of Barbadoes are .-... i very glad to
meet some one whom they have not seen every
day the year around. So the two brothers dined
with this and that new acquaintance, and George,
being robust and not needing to spare himself,
walked, rode, and drove over the island.
Unfortunately, in the midst of his pleasure, he
was seized with small-pox and obliged to keep
by himself during the last part of his stay. Vac-

cination was not understood at that time, and
there was nothing to be done, if the small-pox
were about, but to have it and have it as .l1 l. as
possible. Washington had a strong constitution,
and bore this trying illness well, but he carried
some slight scars from the disease through the rest
of his life.
In his diary he recorded briefly the events of
each day of his journey, but at the end of his stay,
he filled a few pages with general reflections upon
the life on which he had looked, and which was so
different from that of Virginia. Ie was of a frugal
mind himself and was amazed at the shiftless ways
of the people of Barbadoes. How wonderful," he
says, that such people should be in debt, and
not be able to indulge themselves in all the luxur-
ies as well as necessaries of life. Yet so it happens.
Estates are often alienated for debts. How persons
coming to estates of two, three, and four hundred
acres (which are the largest) can want,-is to me
most wonderful."
The exactness which the young surveyor had
shown in his plans and in his accounts is very apt
to go with great prudence and economy. Up to
this time he had had very little money besides what
he had earned; but he shows in many ways that
he had acquired the fundamental principle of
sound living,--never spend money until you have
earned it; and to this principle he held all his life.
I know that prudence and economy are usually re-
garded as habits which one acquires by careful
training, and so they may be. But with George
Washington I suspect these traits were inborn and
very nearly allied to genius. He had a genius for
order and method; it did not sparkle like a genius
for wit or imagination, but one must not think less
of it for that reason. Because he was so careful
and correct, some people thought him mean and
close; but he could afford to be thought so, if his
carefulness and correctness kept him scrupulously
After the two brothers had been on the island
about six weeks, Lawrence Washington, with the
uneasiness of an invalid, was sure that he should be
better off in Bermuda, and he resolved to go there
as soon as the spring opened. But he longed to
see his family, and accordingly sent his brother
back to Virginia, intending that he should return
later to Bermuda with Mrs. Washington. George
had a stormy passage, and reached Virginia in
February. There he awaited orders from his
brother. But Lawrence Washington, with the
caprice and changing mood of a consumptive,
could not make up his mind what he most wanted,-
whether to send for his wife or to go home himself.
At last his disease increased so rapidly as to alarm
him, and he hastened home, reaching Mount Ver-



non only a short time before his death, which took
ple .e in July, 1752.
He left a wife and one daughter. It is a sign
both of his confidence in his brother George and
of his love for him, that he made him, though
only twenty years old, one of the executors of his
will, and his heir in case his daughter should not
live to be of age. As George Washington was
more familiar with his brother's affairs than any
one else, the other executors left the management
of the estate almost entirely to him. From this
time, Mount Vernon was his home,-though it
must have been a melancholy home at first; for
he had looked up to his elder brother since he was
a boy, and now it was as if a second father and
a dear companion had died.



FOR a while George Washington was closely
occupied with settling his brother's estate, but he
was obliged to busy himself with public affairs
also; for there were growing rumors of French
movements to the westward, and to these Virginia,
as one of the nearest colonies and most concerned,
was bound to pay special heed. Robert Dinwiddie,
a Scotchman and surveyor of customs in Virginia,
hadjust been appointed lieutenant-governor, which
at that time meant resident and acting governor.
As a new broom sweeps clean, he was immediately
very active. Virginia was divided into four mili-
tary districts and the militia put into active train-
ing. Washington had shown himself so capable
before, that he was again appointed -..,ii, ...i-
general, with the rank of major; and one of the
districts, including the northern counties, was
assigned to him.
It was not in the colonies alone that preparations
went on. The colonies were a part of the British
empire, and a blow struck at them by the French
in America was an attack on England by France.
England, therefore, sent out cannon and powder
to Virginia, and instructed the governor to make
all speed and build two forts on the Ohio river, in
order to secure the country against French occu-
But the French had moved before the English.
In military affairs, the general who is first on the
ground usually has a great advantage; the French
were a more military people than the English; the
whole occupation by the French in America was
an occupation by soldiers; and so, while the Eng-
lish ministry and Governor Dinwiddie and the
Virginia militia were making ready to start, the
Governor of Canada had dispatched troops and

supplies into the debatable territory, and was
busily engaged in winning over the Indians.
Moreover, it was said that he had seized certain
English traders and sent them, prisoners, to France.
As soon as news of this reached Governor Din-
widdie, he determined to send a commissioner to
the officer in command of the French forces, and
ask by what right Frenchmen were building forts
in the King's dominions, and what they were in-
tending to do; why they had made prisoners
of peaceable Englishmen; and as the two nations
were not at war, why French soldiers were in-
vading English territory. Moreover the commis-
sioner was to see the Indian chiefs and make sure
that they did not form an alliance with the French.
It was no slight matter for any one to undertake
such an errand. He must know something of the
country; he must be used to Indians; he must be
a person whom the French would respect; above
all, he must be strong of body, courageous, pru-
dent, wise, and on the alert; for the journey
would be a severe one, and the messenger would
need to have what is called a level head." The
King's officers in Virginia would have to act on
such information as he brought: how many French-
men there were in the Ohio country; how many
more were on the way; what they were doing; what
were their plans. Of course no one expected that
the French commandant would kindly sit down
and tell the Virginian commissioner what he meant
to do; the commissioner must find that out by his
own sagacity.
Now the persons who were most immediately
concerned were the members of the Ohio Com-
pany. Indeed, it was largely through their agency
that the Governor of Virginia, who himself was a
stockholder, had moved in the matter. Lawrence
Washington was dead, but Augustine Washington
was interested, and the younger brother, George,
had charge of Lawrence Washington's affairs. He
knew perfectly what interests were at stake. Be-
sides, he was a backwoodsman; it was no novelty
for him to follow trails through the forest; he could
deal with Indians; and above all, he had shown
himself a clear-headed, far-sighted young man,
whom every one instinctively trusted. He was
one of His Majesty's officers, for he was Adjutant-
General of the Northern District; and so, though
Major George Washington was but twenty-one years
old, Governor Dinwiddie and his council selected
him for this delicate and weighty mission.
It was no summer jaunt on which he set out.
He waited upon the Governor at Williamsburg,
and was armed with papers duly signed and sealed
with the great seal of Virginia, giving him author-
ity as commissioner. On October 30, 1753,
he left Williamsburg with a journey of more




than a thousand miles before him. He stopped
at Fredericksburg to say good-bye to his mother,
and to engage his old fencing-master, Van Braam,
as an interpreter. Washington knew no French,

The real start of the expedition was to be made
from Wills Creek, now Cumberland in Maryland,
which was the outpost of civilization. Here NWash-
ington arrived on November 14, and made up


and never learned it. Van Braam pretended to
know it well, but really had only an ignorant
smattering of the language. Thence he went to
Alexandria, where he laid in supplies; and to
Winchester, which was the most important frontier
settlement, where he provided himself with horses,
tents, and other camp equipment.
VOL. XIII.-24.

his little company. It consisted of Christopher
Gist, who was in the employ of the Ohio Company,
and was an experienced frontiersman; of Jacob Van
Braam, the French interpreter; of Davidson, an
Indian interpreter; and of four frontiersmen.
The party was now complete, and the next day
they plunged into the wilderness.



. W.~9c

Gist knew the way as far as an Indian village entertained him for a few days with hospitality, but
called Logstown, on the banks of the Ohio, about in the meantime did his utmost to win from Wash-
seventeen miles from where Pittsburg now stands; ington the Indian chiefs who had accompanied
there they were to call together the Indian chiefs him. Fin -,!l however, M. de Saint Pierre drew
and confer with them. It had been raining and up formal reply to Governor Dinwiddie's letter,
snowing so heavily in the mountains, that they and Washington and his party returned by canoe
were a week making their way to the Mononga- to Venango, having sent the horses and baggage
hela River at Turtle Creek. Here they found on in advance.
the river so swollen that they saw it was impossible Now began a terrible journey. The horses were
to cross with their pack-horses. Accordingly, so weak, but so necessary for carrying the baggage,
they sent all their baggage down the river in a that Washington and his companions set out on
canoe, under charge of two of the men, while the foot, while the horses followed behind. Washing-
rest swam their horses across and rode down to ton was dressed as an Indian, and for three days
the rendezvous at the fork of the Ohio, ten miles they kept on in this way, the horses losing strength,
below. the cold increasing, and the roads growing worse.
The Ohio Company had proposed to build a Then Washington, seeing how slowly the party was.
fort about ten miles away from the junction of the moving, determined to take Gist with him, and
Monongahela and Alleghany; herelived a friendly push through the woods, the nearest way, leaving
Indian, Shingiss, and that may have determined the rest of the company together with the horses,
their plans. But Washington, who reached the and baggage under charge of Van Braam to fol-
fork of the rivers before the canoe, began at once low as well as they could.
to look over the ground, and decided without hesi- It was the day after Christmas when he started.
station that the real site for the fort should be the He put his journal and other papers into a pack
point of land which lay between the two rivers, which he strapped to his back, wrapped himself
Shingiss went on with the party to Logstown, in a stout coat, took his gun in his hand and set
and there Washington staid five days, conferring off alone with Gist. They were only a few miles.
with the Indian chiefs and gathering information from Venango, and they meant to follow the path
from some French deserters who happened there. a short distance to an Indian village called Murder-
He was impatient to go forward to the French ing Town, and then go by the compass through
forts, but he knew something of Indian ways, and the woods in as straight a line as possible to the
he was learning more. The chiefs sat and talked fork of the Ohio. The village was well-named;
and smoked, and were silent, and shook their for shortly after they had left it, they were fired at
heads, and said it was a serious matter. Serious, by a French Indian whom they had taken along
indeed, it was to the poor Indians, for the French there as a guide. They pretended to think that
had already told them that they were coming in his gun went off for some other reason; but they
force in the spring to drive the T i-. i;i out of the kept him with them, watching him very closely all
country; but if the English proved too strong day till nine o'clock that night. Then they sent
for that, then French and English would agree and him home. But they knew well that he would rally
divide the land between them. As in that case, his friends and pursue them ; so they walked all
the Indians would have small favor, the French that night and the next day, reaching the Ohio
advised the chiefs to side with them against the river at dark, and rested there over night.
English. They supposed, of course, that they should find
At last Washington persuaded the Indians to let the river frozen tight and could cross on the ice, but
three of their chiefs and an old hunter accompany to their dismay, it was frozen only near the shore,
his party to where the French were, and they fol- while blocks of ice were swirling down the middle
lowed the Alleghany to Venango, now Franklin of the stream. There was no way of getting
in Venango County, Pennsylvania, where were a over," says Washington in his journal, "but on a
few Frenchmen who had driven out an English raft, which we set about, with but one poor hatchet,
trader. But the really important station was Fort and finished just after sun-setting. This was a
le Bceuf. whole day's work; we next got it launched, then
The Frenchmen tried to entice the Indians from went on board of it, and set off; but before we
Washington, and otherwise to keep him from going were half-way over, we were jammed in the ice in
on; but he insisted on carrying out his plans, and such a manner that we expected every moment
toiled for four more days though mire and snow- our raft to sink and ourselves to perish. I put out
drifts until he came to the fort. my setting-pole to try to stop the raft, that the ice
The French commandant, M. de Saint Pierre, might pass by, when the rapidity of the stream
received the Virginian commissioner politely, and threw it with so much violence against the pole
For points mentioned in this paper, see map on page 279 of February ST. NICHOLAS.





that it jerked me out into ten feet water ; but I for-
tunately saved myself by catching hold of one of
the raft-logs. Notwithstanding all our efforts, we
could not get to either shore, but were obliged, as
we were near an island, to quit our raft and make
to it. The cold was so extremely severe, that Mr.
Gist had all his fingers and some of his toes frozen,
and the water was shut up so hard that we found
no difficulty in getting off the island on the ice in
the morning, and went to Mr. Frazier's."
Here they succeeded in getting horses, and in a
few days Washington
was at Williamsburg
and reporting to the .
Governor. He had not ...
merely made a very -- .
difficult journey in the i
depth of winter and
brought back an an-
swer to the Governor's
letter; but he had ,I
made the most minute, '
observations of the ,', "' "'
condition and plans -
of the French; he had i. '.
also strengthened the i', '
friendship of the Eng- I''' i ,
lish and Indians; and i
by patient, unwearied !i't
and resolute attention
to the objectof his mis-
sion, he had brought
backafund of extreme-
ly valuable informa-
tion for the use of the "
colony. There could
be no doubt in the _-
minds of his friends, -- --
after reading his jour- -
nal, that here was a
man who could be de-
pended upon. They
had known him as a
prudent, careful, eco-

nomical, .1. i;i...i r. rather
whose judgment was worth
if they had fully perceived be
courage he had, how fearless
of danger, how keen and wa
an enemy, and how full of res
difficulties arose. Here was


THE House of Burgesses
when Washington made hi

Dinwiddie. But no time was to be lost, and the
energetic governor and council issued orders to
erect a fort at once upon the point of land at
the fork of the Ohio, which Washington had
recommended as the best site. Washington was to
have command of the two companies of men who
were to be enlisted for this purpose, but he was to
remain for the present at Alexandria, organizing
the expedition, while his second in command,
Captain Trent, a trader and frontiersman, went
forward with such men as he could raise in the

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I, .

I' 'A
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silent young fellow, back settlements, and began the construction ot
having; but I doubt the fort.
fore what indomitable Lord Fairfax took a lively interest in his young
;s he was in the midst friend's business, but it was not so easy to enlist
ry in his dealing with men for an expedition of this kind, as it was to
sources and pluck when raise and drill a company of militia, which by the
no sunshine soldier, laws of the colony could not be marched more
than five miles from the boundary line of the
IX. colony. Throughout the winter months Wash-
FORT NECESSITY. ington was hard at work raising his company and
FORT NECESSITY putting them in readiness. He had a sorry lot of
s was not in session volunteers to work with; they were for the most
s report to Governor part shiftless fellows who had nothing else to do,



and scarcely anything to their backs. They were
good-natured, however, and ready to buy clothing
if the Major would pay them their wages; but the
Major had no money of his own to advance, and
he had hard work getting any from the Govern-
ment. He had to reason with his men, humor
them, and fit them for service as well as he could.
It was capital preparation for a kind of work which
he had to do on a large scale afterward.
The Governor, meanwhile, had been stirring up
the governors of the other colonies, and had called
the burgesses together. He could not make every
one feel his own need of action; but he persuaded
the burgesses to vote a sum of money, and thus
was able to enlarge the military force to six com-
panies. There was a proposition to put Wash-
ington in command of the entire force; but the
young major was reluctant to assume such a
charge, when he had had so little experience in
handling troops. I have too sincere a love for
my country," he said, to undertake that which
may tend to the prejudice of it."
Accordingly Joshua Fry, an English gentleman
of education, was commissioned as colonel, and
Washington was given the second place, with title
of lieutenant-colonel. Fry now remained at Alex-
andria and Washington pushed forward to Wills
Creek, with about a hundred and fifty men, in-
tending to join Trent and complete the fort which
he had begun. He reached Wills Creek with his
ragged, half-drilled men on April 20, and soon
received a very disagreeable piece of news.
Trent, for some reason, had left the fort which
he was building, and his second in command hav-
ing also absented himself, the next highest officer,
Ensign Ward, was left in command of the com-
pany, which numbered forty-one men. Suddenly
there had appeared a multitude of canoes and
other craft coming down the Alleghany. It was
a large French force dispatched by the Governor
of Canada to occupy the same point of land.
Ward, of course, could do nothing. He was per-
mitted to withdraw with his men, and the French at
once pulled down the fort which Trent had begun,
and set to work building another and larger one
which they named Fort Duquesne. Here, after
the wars of the next thirty years were over, the
city of Pittsburg began to rise.
The taking of the post by an armed force was
like a declaration of war on the part of France.
It was the beginning of the great seven years' war
between France and England which ended in the
fall of France in America, and led by swift steps to
the independence of the colonies. By a strange
coincidence, the nearest English force was under
the command of a young Virginian officer of
militia, only twenty-two years old, who was after-

ward to be the leader of the colonies in their
war against England, and to have the aid of the
very France which he was now fighting.
Washington did not hesitate. He at once sent
a messenger with the news to Governor Dinwid-
die, and wrote letters to the governors of Mary-
land and Pennsylvania, urging them to send for-
ward troops; for each colony acted independently
of the others. Then he began work with such
men and materials as he had, meaning to push
through the woods to where Red Stone Creek
empties into the Monongahela, about half-way to
Fort Duquesne, and to build a fort there. It was
a spot where Gist had already constructed a store-
house for the Ohio Company. By this plan, Wash-
ington would be keeping his men at work, and
would have a road built for the use of the troops
yet to come. At that point, moreover, there was
water communication with Fort Duquesne.
Washington built his road and marched his men
until he reached a level piece of grassland, par-
tially covered with bushes, that lay at the foot of
Laurel Hill, a spur of the Alleghanies, and was
called Great Meadows. It was a good place for
a camp, and a good place for fighting if he
should be qttrlcked. -- Hic crnfes, hid

S L --- f. I ... n

K -

\ '

a ii,. rh

BI *. ~ hf

C 1I. r
Ficudich paiiy had
leftFort Duquesne wASHINGTON,
and were intending
to engage with the first English forces they should
meet, for they had heard that the English were on
the move.
Washington at once made ready for the attack.
There was a gully crossing the field, which he
turned into an intrenchment. He also cut down
the bushes; but he did not wait for the enemy.
He feared they might surprise his camp ; and get-
ting word from the Indians that they had discovered,
as they thought, the place where the French were



hidden, he took forty men, and at ten o'clock at
night, in the midst of a hard rain, set out to sur-
prise the enemy.
The path," he says, was hardly wide enough
for one man; we often lost it, and could not find
it again for fifteen or twenty minutes, and we
often tumbled over each other in the dark."
At sunrise, May 28, 1754, Washington reached
the camp where his Indian friends were. They
joined him, and the impetuous young soldier led
his combined forces, Indian file, in astealthy march
through the woods to the rocky hollow where the
Frenchmen lay concealed. As soon as the Eng-
lish came upon them, the Frenchmen sprang up
and raised their guns. Washington, who was in
front, gave his men the order to fire, and a
sharp engagement followed. Ensign Jumonville,
commanding the French party, and nine others
were killed. On the English side, one man was
killed and two or three wounded. Twenty-two
prisoners were taken, and Washington marched
back with them to the camp at Great Meadows.
It turned out that Jumonville and his men were
an advance party sent out from Fort Duquesne to
reconnoiter. They had discovered Washington's
force, and being fewer in number, had sent back
to the fort for reEnforcements. Meanwhile, they
were in hiding when surprised by Washington,
and had no chance to escape. The young Virgin-
ian lieutenant-colonel had every reason to believe
that his force was to be attacked, and he acted
promptly. He did not stop to parley with them,
but answered their raised guns with an order to
his men to fire.
The first shot had been fired, and Washington
was the man who had fired it. He knew well
what would be the immediate consequence of his
act; the French would come in force as soon as
they heard the news, and he began at once to pre-
pare for defense. He threw up earthworks and
made a palisade, and named it Fort Necessity.
It was a slight enough protection. He sent his
prisoners to Winchester, and informed Governor
Dinwiddie of what he had done. "Your Honor
may depend," he says, I will not be surprised,
let them come at what hour they will; and this is
as much as I can promise. But my best endeav-
ors shall not be wanting to effect more. I doubt
not, if you hear I am beaten, but you will hear at
the same time that we have done our duty, in fight-
ing as long as there was a shadow of hope."
The camp was now a lively place. The Indians,
afraid of the French, began to flock to it, and the
companies left behind at Wills Creek now came
up; but Colonel Fry was dead, and Washington
was in sole command, after all. Meanwhile, Cap-
tain Mackay came with a company from South

Carolina. He was a captain of the regular army,
and so could not serve under a colonial officer;
but he was a man of sense and courtesy, and, by
mutual consideration, he and Washington avoided
any serious conflict of authority. But the volunteer
and regular troops could not agree so well; the
camp was becoming crowded, and Washington,
anxious to carry out his plans, left Captain Mac-
kay in command at Great Meadows, and moved
his men thirteen miles further, to a place where
Gist had formed a small settlement. It took two
weeks to do this, for the men built a road as they
went, and the way led through a mountain gorge.
Of course this forward movement was made
known to the French by their scouts, and Wash-
ington had his scouts out quite as far as Fort
Duquesne itself. Soon reports came thick and
fast, that the French post had been strongly re-
enforced and that a large body of men was pre-
paring to descend upon the English. Washington
sent for Captain Mackay and his company, and
they arrived near the end of June. A council of
war was held, and the situation studied. The
place where they were was unsuited for defense,
since hills surrounded it. The enemy's force was
much greater than their own, and they were in no
condition to make a successful resistance.
The order to retreat was given. Washington,
who had the courage to lead an attack, had also
the patience, the self-control, and the cheerful
spirit which are so necessary in a retreat. The
horses were broken down and the men had to
drag the heavy guns themselves. Washington
loaded his own horse with public stores and went
afoot. He would not even require the soldiers to
carry his own baggage, as he might have done,
but paid them for the labor. So, on July 2, they
were back at Great Meadows. They did not
mean to stay there, for though it was a good field
for an open fight, it had no natural protection,
and Fort Necessity was a hasty, flimsy affair.
But the men were exhausted; they had been with-
out sufficient provision for some time, and they
were expecting supplies from below.
They strengthened the fort as well as they could,
but the French were only a few hours behind
them. The very next morning they came in sight,
nine hundred strong, not counting Indians. Now
was the time for boldness ; it was too late to retreat.
Washington led his little army out before the fort
as if to invite attack; if the Frenchmen came on, he
might, in a fair fight, beat them; but they did not
come on. They remained at the border of the woods
in a position where they could cut off his retreat, and
began firing from a distance. Washington, accord-
ingly, withdrew his men behind the embankment.
For nine hours the two forces faced each other,


sending shots through the heavy rain and the mist
which almost shut them out from each other's
sight. There had been a heavy loss on both sides,
but when night fell the English were in a desper-
ate condition, half starved, their powder nearly
gone, and their guns almost good for nothing.
The French proposed a parley. Washington
refused, thinking they meant to send an officer
who would find out in what a deplorable condition
they were. But when they proposed that he should
send an officer to them, he consented and sent Jacob
Van Braam, who was now a captain, and the only
uninjured officer who understood French.
Van Braam came back, bringing with him in
writing the terms upon which the French would
accept a surrender. The terms were on the whole
liberal. The English were to carry with them every-
thing in their possession except their artillery, were
to promise to build no more forts there or beyond

the mountains for a year, and were to return the
prisoners taken when Jumonville was killed. As
a security for this last, two officers were to be left
with the French as hostages. Washington ac-
cepted the terms, and the next morning began
his march back to Wills Creek. From there he
and Captain Mackay went to Williamsburg to
report in person to the governor.
Failure is sometimes quite as necessary to char-
acter as success. It must have been with a heavy
heart that the young colonel turned back from
Fort 'j-. -' ;' that 4th of July, 1754, his expedi-
tion broken up, his military ardor damped, his eye
resting on the miserable men whom he was lead-
ing away from the bloody field of Great Meadows.
He was only twenty-two years old. Twenty-one
years after the day when he marshaled his men
before Fort Necessity, he was to draw his sword
at the head of an American army.

(To be continued.)



THERE was a small person who had a new muff
Of bearskin, most shining and long;
And- (as if one fine ornament were not enough )-
She 'd a tall, wide-brimmed hat, richly feathered and
And trimmed in the front with a beautiful bird
That seemed ready to break out in song.

And every one said, What a good little maid,
With her eyes on the ground,
And no glances around!
For pride is, of course, very wrong!
'Tis pleasant to find
A child, with a mind
From vanity utterly free."

"Now, though my new hat and my muff all can see,
I am really as modest as modest can be,
And unconscious," mused little Miss Belle,
S "But I certainly feel
(Though my thoughts I conceal)
I am looking exceedingly well."




DID you ever stop to think how odd it is that
the breath which comes out of the lungs, and the
noises made by the air passing through the throat
and over the inner opening of the nostrils and the
teeth and lips can be changed from mere wind
and sound into things the eyes can see ? In other
words, did you ever stop to think how curious it
is that speech can be turned into writing,-and
that the writing remains for long periods of years-
as long, in fact, as the ink and paper will last?
Just reflect a moment. Open your mouth slowly
and expel the breath, making the vowel sound
"ah." Then write on a piece of paper "A H."
There you have done something very easy, no
doubt, and what any boy or girl can do But there
was a time, though you may have forgotten all
about it, when you did not know enough to write
A or H, or any other of the twenty-six letters.
There are many grown-up men and women who
never did and never will have your wonderful
knowledge! Are you surprised that I call it
wonderful? Well, is it not wonderful that you
can take not only a sound meant for the ears, but
a thought never spoken out loud at all, and put
that thought on paper ? And that you can then
put the paper in a safe place so that, perhaps,
your great-great-great-grandchildren, if you are
lucky enough to have them, will understand what
their great-great-great-grandfather or mother was
thinking of, years and years before ?
In Europe there are very many grown-up per-
sons of the same white race as ourselves, who can
not write their own names, and a few centuries
ago the number was much greater, and among
them were rich people who could have paid a
schoolmaster to teach them. There are, I am
-sorry to say, many just as ignorant to-day among
the poor whites of the United States. Let us
hope, when you are grown up, that schools will
have been furnished for every white and black
child and Indian in the land. But there are mill-
ions of people in other parts of the globe who
can not write, because neither they nor their fore-
fathers ever had such a system of writing, such an
alphabet as civilized children are taught. They
may be able to send a simple message by means
of marks, but they have no alphabet, no true
writing. Their minds, as far as writing is con-
cerned, are about as ours were when we were little

children. They have never imagined that the
separate vowels and consonants that form an
alphabet, could be thought of as so many long
and short sounds (half-sounds we might call the
consonants); nor that several letters combined
could make a syllable like that "A H" you have
put down, and so a part of speech could be fixed
forever on a piece of paper. To a real savage who
has not seen much of white men such a paper is
a deep mystery; he calls it a "talking leaf" and
thinks the person who wrote it and the person
who receives it two dangerous wizards. He, too,
can send a message, after a fashion, but not by
means of queer little black scratches that do not
look like anything he has seen-plant, mineral or
beast, and which seem for that reason the work of
magic. Curiously enough, he uses the same
expression for the paper that we do. He calls it a
leaf. And what is this but a leaf on which the
words you are reading are printed ? No chance
resemblance is this, I assure you. When we come
to talk of the beginnings of the art of writing
among our ancestors you will see that the leaves of
books and the leaves of plants were once the same.
The savage can pronounce words well enough;
he can say "bat," cat," "date," and so forth, but
he can not write them down. If he be taught Eng-
lish by ear, as we were taught when infants, and
then, knowing what we wanted, was asked to write
down "bat, what do you think he would do ? He
would act like a bright-minded child who has never
learned its letters. He would take a slate and
draw a bat with as few lines as possible. Asked
for a cat, he would draw pussy; asked for a date,
he would draw a date-palm, or perhaps merely a
date-leaf, to save trouble. That is the kind of
writing savages have to use. Our wild redskins
who, unlike the Cherokees, Senecas, and other
civilized tribes, have had no schools, or have not
been taught at the Carlisle Training School, in
Pennsylvania, or the Hampton Institute, as some of
the young Sioux and Apaches have been, must put
up with this kind of writing. You can imagine how
slow it is and how much room it takes up; but I
am sure you can not imagine how very hard it
is to read with certainty. Guesses play a large
part in the reading of such records. As it is made
up of so many drawings, or pictures, it is called
picture-writing. Let us see how an Indian of
North America goes to work to write.
Suppose a wild Indian belonging to the great





clan whose members call themselves the Turtles,
makes a raid on a village of huts and wigwams
owned by enemies belonging to the widespread
clan called the Bear clan. Suppose it has taken
the Turtles three days of hard travel through
forests and over the hills to reach the Bears. By
means of their crafty spies, they find that the brave
men of the Bears are away hunting moose, and
that most of the squaws and pappooses are either
in the fields of maize or in the woods, where the
berries are ripe, and only a few old men and women
are left behind to keep watch over some ponies
and oxen. Then the Turtles, each clutching his
bow, creep on the village under cover of the woods,
and with a terrific yell rush at the wigwams. The
old people run into the bushes, frightened almost
to death, as you can well imagine. Then the
Turtles gather up all the ponies and oxen, drive
them off, burn all the wigwams they can, and hurry
home with the cattle. Now these savages think
they have done quite a fine thing in robbing their
neighbors of their cattle and plundering and burn-
ing their homes, as does one great nation in Europe,
when, like our Turtle chieftain, badly counseled by
wicked and ambitious men, it robs another of a
great province, and forces the wretched people who
dwell there to obey the laws of a nation they dis-
like. And they wish to let other Indians know
what clever robbers they have been. So the Turtle
chief chooses a piece of smooth, cream-colored
birch-bark, chews up a little tobacco to serve as
ink, plucks a twig of soft wood for a pen, and with
the tobacco juice draws the following pictures:
First comes a turtle, and it is a very big turtle,
because he thinks that he and his clan are very
great personages indeed. Then he draws as many
waving lines, to represent bows, as there are In-
dians in his party, and perhaps the same number
of Indians with topknots; his lines bend forward
to show in what direction the trail went. Follow-
ing these, a rising sun stands for daybreak, and
three lines under it mean that' three days went by
in going to the Bears. Next, he puts down as
many funny little pyramids as there were Bear wig-
wams, and draws them upside down to show that
they were destroyed. After that, he draws, as
well as he can, a wee, wee bear, very small, in
order to show his contempt for the Bears. Finally,
he draws with the greatest care as many oxen and
ponies as he has captured, because he is chiefly
proud of this part of his exploit and wishes all the
world of the woods to know what a great and suc-
cessful robber he is. He does not tell that the Bear
braves were away when he surprised the camp, and
probably does not care to tell that part of the story.
We may understand it from the absence of any sign
for scalps. Had there been resistance and men slain

on either side, the exact number of dead would have
been noted by drawing just as many human figures
without their heads. Then to call the attention of
all who pass through the wilderness, the war chief
fixes the piece of bark to the top of a long pole,
and plants it on the path so that the most careless
passer can not fail to see it. There is no date on
this singular card of boasting, because he is not
clever enough to use the shape of the moon as a



sign for the day of the month, much less indicate
the season of the year, or the year itself in which
these mighty events befell. But there is not much
need of being so exact, because news runs from
camp to camp with surprising quickness, and any
other war party that sees the card, before rain and
wind destroy it, is quite certain to know something
of the raid to which it refers.
Such is the picture-writing of our wild North
American Indians and of the savage races near them
in rank. They have ways also of reminding them-
selves of past events. Have you ever noticed an
absent-minded person make a knot in his hand-
kerchief, or tie a bit of thread on his finger to
remind him of something ? The great and highly
civilized nation of Peru, ruled by the Yncas," and
often called the Ynca Indians, was found to use
knots tied in woolen strings as memorizers. The
only books in the royal libraries and treasuries of
the Yncas, were flimsy pieces of worsted-work !
The woolen strings, made from the fleeces of
llamas and alpacas, were dyed with different colors,
and the knots were of several different kinds, so
that the system was not easy to use, and special
chiefs or historians were employed to make and
read them. It was their duty to commit to mem-
ory the facts and figures to which the knots and
the colors referred. Men were chosen who had
great memories naturally, and constant practice

* Often spelled Inca; pronounced In-cah.




p~p~ /


made them marvels of exactness. A simple glance
at such strings would enable them to rattle off long
accounts of taxes paid and taxes due, of tribute from
conquered tribes given and still to come, of embas-
sies from other nations and of wars made and trea-
ties concluded. Although used chiefly in affairs of
taxes, we can hardly doubt that now and then great
pieces of news, like an earthquake, or an invasion
of pirates, or the death of an Ynca, or the arrival
of white men wearing beards and impenetrable
clothes made of a dark metal, would be tied
into these curious memorials. They were called
quifpus, and it is said that they are still in use
among tribes of the Andes Mountains. The old
quippus of the Yncas have not all been lost; but
I fear that no Indian now lives, who can explain
just what the knots and colors mean.
There is generally a better chance to recover
a real alphabet when lost. One after another the
writings found in Asia engraved on rocks have
yielded to the study of wise men, and have
been read, or are on the way to being read.
The quifpus can be read only by persons who
have already learned their meanings. Sometimes
old alphabets can be deciphered by people who
have never seen before the name of the ancient
king or priest who caused them to be written.
They work back to the pictures from which the let-
ters started, and so get a hint of what a given sign
meant. But even if, by careful study of the meth-
ods used by the oppressed and sullen Indians of
the Andes, we could get some clews to the meaning
of different colors and different knots in the
worsted quippus, how can we hope to read a sen-
tence ? At most we could guess the general idea.
Yet it would be rash to say that we shall never
make them out after a fashion.
Our North American Indians had a system
similar to the quippu, only they used wampum, or

songs over his new resting-place, used belts of wam-
pum to remind them what verses should be sung.
The beads of wampum, which are slowly made
by hand from the inner part of a certain shell, re-
mind them in what order to place the words, and
recite the sentences they already know by heart.
By this means the great Indian Confederation of
New York State, called the Iroquois, or Six Na-
tions, has kept its records of the founding of the
league by Hiawatha and other great chiefs, word
for word, during many centuries. As the great
chief, to whose family belongs the right to pro-
nounce the words, utters the solemn sentences,
each chief present listens carefully, and should he
vary the words or the order of the words, each
would be able to correct him. When you are
" counting-out," in order to know who is to be
" it," you yourselves know that almost any child
will stop you if you vary one word in the gibberish
that is used. You must say, Ana, mana, mona,
might." But if you say, "Ana, mona, mana,
might," you will be stopped. So with the Indians.
They are so exact that certain words which used to
be employed in their language, but are no longer
in use, still keep their place in these old hymns.
Often chiefs do not know exactly their meaning,
but pronounce them they must.
By means, then, of quippus, wampum belts,
tallies, and other systems, nations that have no
true writing, nor even picture-writing, can hand
traditions down from generation to generation.
If war and pestilence do not ruin them as a nation,
there seems no limit to the time such records
taught from father to son may last. From books
discovered in Ireland, it appears that the petty
kings of that turbulent little island trusted to the
memories of their bards for all sorts of important
matters. Not only were the bards of use to
delight men with ballads, in which they played


strings of colored shells and beads, to jog the
memories of their chiefs. And some wampum
belts are used to this day by Indians who speak,
read, and write English as well as you. Once a
year they meet in a grand council as their fore-
fathers and they have always done. The belts
are brought solemnly out, and the speeches and
hymns which they recall are recited exactly as they
have been for hundreds of years.
Only last year, when the bones of the great In-
dian orator Red Jacket were buried under a monu-
ment in Buffalo, New York, the chiefs who chanted

the part of historians, but for decisions at law, in
which they acted as lawyers, or counsel, and for
matters of finance, in which they were the authori-
ties on taxes and tribute. We have the rough
metrical verses they recited when called on by the
king for a statement of his own rights and those
of his officers and subjects, when taxes were to be
laid, penalties exacted, or tribute asked. These
verses were used long after the writing of the
Greeks and Romans (our writing) had been
brought to Ireland by Christian monks. The
kings, forever at war with one another, could not


make or keep libraries; it was more convenient to
have their library in the brains of a bard. So they
went back to remote antiquity and used methods in
practice among nations ignorant of letters. The
bard, like the ancient Druid who was his superior
and forerunner, felt in honor bound to cultivate
his memory and be prepared for all sorts of ques-
tions from his employers. So you see that it is
unwise to conclude, as have some, who figure as
great historians before the world, that national
traditions are not trustworthy, though these may
have never actually been placed on paper until
many centuries after the occurrences which they
tell. Men have had various ways of keeping their
memories true. The Zuni Indians of New Mexico,
like the old Irish bards, learn to repeat thousands
of lines of poetry that tell in picturesque terms of
their forefathers and give an account of the early
history of their nation.
In writing, then, as in so many other things, we
have the advantage over the poor Indians. But let
us beware how we take pride to ourselves for that
reason. Suppose this advantage should turn out
to be only recently acquired? Learned men who
know all kinds of languages, both those now
spoken and those that have died out, have con-
sulted old books, and puzzled out old inscriptions,
and compared one alphabet with another, and
taken one alphabet and compared the letters as
they now are with those of the same alphabet as
they were when in use one thousand, and two
thousand, and even three thousand years ago.
And what do you think they find? For one thing,
that far back in the beginning of history, our
ancestors were no better off than the Indians.
They used picture-writing only, and helped their
memories with notches, or tallies, cut in wood.
Would you like to know how it came about that
our ancestors gave up writing by means of pict-
ures that take a long time to draw, do not tell
much to the world, and are hard to understand ?
They did not even invent the letters we now use;
other races of people helped them to the alphabet.
In fact they were so much helped, that we can say
that really they borrowed their letters. So you see
that it will not do for us to despise the North
American Indian, for we know that not very many
centuries ago our ancestors had no true alphabet,
and had to be taught one. And from whom, think
you, did our far-back ancestors borrow their let-
ters? From the Greeks and Romans, of course.
But from whom did they get the alphabet? From
a great nation of sailors and merchants, called
the Phoenicians, who were discovering distant
lands, planting colonies, building cities, and driv-
ing back the savage hunters and shepherds when
the latter attacked them, at a period even earlier

than when David and Solomon reigned over the
Jews. This nation belonged to the same great
folk as the Hebrews. It is to them that we owe
that alphabet which enables us to put our thoughts
on paper quickly and plainly, that alphabet which
makes books and newspapers possible, and has
given us the power to have many, many copies
of this page of ST. NICHOLAS printed off. If we
still used picture-writing, a magazine would be
filled from first to last with the pictures needed
to express what is now told in these few pages.
And if we had no alphabet, the chances are that
printing would not have been discovered. Certainly
printing from movable types would not be possible.

We might now be in the same condition that our
ancestors were in five hundred years ago,-only
able to consult a book now and then in a monas-
tery, and then finding it chained to a desk lest
some one should run off with it.
You saw how the savage would indicate a bat, by
drawing its image. Well, suppose picture-writing
of that kind were used a long while by a nation,
until it was found convenient to use the picture of
a bat in words where there was simply a sound like
b a t, even when it has no reference to the odd little
flittermouse that comes out at dusk. Now, sup-
pose some other nation (without as good a system
of writing) should find it convenient to take that
picture-sound ba t, but should use it somewhat
differently. Suppose this nation has so far ad-
vanced on the way to an alphabet that instead
of pictures, or signs, that mean certain things, or
the sounds of the names of those things, they have



signs that mean single short sounds which we call
syllables. A syllable is composed always of a con-
sonant and a vowel, or a vowel and a consonant
side by side, or a vowel between two or more con-
sonants. Consonants are so called because they


sound with a vowel; the vowel is the long, the
consonant the short sound, and it sounds with
the vowel. Bat is formed of the consonants B
and T, which sound with the vowel A. Then,
in the language of this nation I am speaking
of, the little sketch of a bat would be used to stand
for the syllable ba. Suppose by a similar develop-
ment a small sketch of an ant should be employed
to express the syllable at, the sound of n in ant
being slurred over, after a fashion you will find in
many different tongues. Then to write on this
system the word bat, this nation would need two
signs, one originally the drawing of abat, the other
that of an ant; placed side by side, they would
spell ba-at and would be pronounced bat. Note
now, that wherever in the words of that language
those two sounds ba and at occurred, these two
signs could be used. This may seem a clumsy
fashion; you may wonder why it is easier to use
two signs in the place of one; but it is really a
great step onward from pure picture-writing. Let
this be enough for the present. I only wish to hint
to you how pictures gradually grew into letters of
the alphabet during the course of ages. Later you
will, learn how it all took place, so far as we can
make it out from the old forms of writing. The
word syllabary expresses that stage of writing
where ba and at spell bat and a true alphabet had
not yet been born.
It was the Phoenicians then-remember this
name, for it will constantly occur hereafter -- a peo-
ple of Syria and Palestine, and cousins of the He-
brews, who used a true alphabet of only twenty-two
letters. By the hands of successive nations and,
as a rule, westward from Asia Minor, we have bor-
rowed from them our own excellent alphabet. But
did the Phoenicians invent their own alphabet?
Did they see the clumsiness of the syllabary stage
and make the last great leap ? That is a question
many very wise men have labored hard to answer.
Men have given the better part of their lives to
discover whence that alphabet came. And some

are now con-
tent to be-
lieve that a
French pro-
fessor, nam-
was right,
who argued
by a train of
given here,
that the old
Greeks were
truthful in
their tradi-
tions when
they wrote
nicians took
the shapes
for their
letters from
the writing
of the Egyp-
tians, sever-
al thousand
years before
the birth of
Christ. The
theory is
ian traders
in Egypt
the shapes
of the let-
ters of the
alp habet
from the
and handed
these shapes

Phw ician ,sy tina
A Ihabet.
























C, K or G




H or K H












S or Sh


down to us, along with their names, which we re-
tain very clearly in alfpa-beta, or Alphabet. I
shall soon tell you where the Phoenicians lived
and how they came to be in Egypt, and we shall
consider whether they obtained their alphabet
there or elsewhere. Meantime, study over this
old Phoenician alphabet and its modern English
equivalents, and see whether you can trace the
forms of our own letters in the old Phoenician
letters and still older Egyptian symbols.

*M Aander is from the river Meander in ] :. T i.. ..ll of turns and meanderings," whence came the name for a labyrinth or puzzling
system of garden wa Ih. sitess was the "horned asp," or poisonous serpent of Egypt.






ON a fair low plain, cut in two by the gleaming,
narrow ribbon of Camfield River, lies Camfield
town, down below the rolling hills and high downs
that skirt Marshford Coast. The village is a quiet
place, with its small station, its one tavern, its green
" common" in the center, and its pleasant white
houses ranged all around like the circle of a child's
toy village. Out beyond the village, past the rose
thickets, and some way along the rough country
road, twinkle the lights of Ashton Farm. And here
lives Esther-brave, hazel-eyed, twelve-year-old
Esther Garner, with her quiet, resolute will, her
soft voice, her quaint "thee and thou." For
the Ashtons are Quakers. Esther loves Ashton
Farm, though it is so lonely and wind-blown. She
loves the wind and will sooner come out for a frolic
with it than with nine-year-old Matthew, or Gris-
elda aged six.
The children have lived here since the day, five
years ago, when their mother, Mrs. Garner, came
home a widow with three children to her father
and mother at Ashton Farm, and the home of her
childhood received and bade her welcome.
And now, on this gusty May night, when the
very stars seem almost blown out, and masses of
clouds, wind-driven, go flying down the purple
sky, the sturdy old man, Grandfather Ashton,
comes out with a lantern, and by him is Esther
with a shawl pinned over her head.
The wind '11 blow thee away, child," says
Grandfather, patting the head that is close at his
No, indeed, I love the wind," answers Esther,
raising her bright hazel eyes through the darkness,
as if she can really see the wind as it tosses the
fringes of her shawl about her face. And when
will thee be back? Not before midnight ? "
No, child, not before twelve. It is a long ride,
and I shall take Polly and not Dhonabar. I wish
to be sure, even if I am slow."
"Dhonabar goes well in the light wagon," ob-
serves Esther, as Grandfather unlocks the stable
"I want daylight when I drive Dhonabar,"
answers the old man, with a smile, stepping in.
I shall have to sell him, I think. He does no
one any good but me, and Judson hardly under-
stands managing him."
I could manage him," says Esther, under her
breath, her eyes blazing out with a strange, ex-
cited light.

No one knows what a longing she has to touch,
even to be near the great black horse with the
strange Eastern name, and the stranger feroc-
ity of disposition that makes it dangerous for any
one save Grandfather Ashton to go near him or
to handle him. Esther loves horses; within the
slight, willowy figure lives a dauntless little heart,
and Grandfather Ashton's own resolute, indomit-
able will. She admires Dhonabar, and once even
gave him an apple. Nothing but Grandfather's
quick, horrified command kept her from further
"Now, back, Polly," says Grandfather Ash-
ton, as he fastens the traces. "Hold the lantern
more this way, Esther; for Esther, with her head
turned toward Dhonabar's stall, pays but small
attention to her light.
"I thought he was unfastened," says Esther,
looking around again to Polly, the bay mare, and
her grandfather.
"I think not. A little higher, child; this
buckle is a hard one. I told Judson to have it
fixed. By the way, where is Judson ?"
Grandfather steps to the door, and shading his
eyes from the lantern, looks down the grassy
S"He ought to be at home. And are not Mat
and little 'Selda over at Deacon Devine's? "
"Yes," answers Esther, "and Judson is going
for them as soon as ever he gets home."
It'd better be soon," mutters Grandfather;
" or the children will start for home alone, and it
is a lonely mile and a half."
Here Polly steps along with the wagon towards
Grandfather, and in the clatter she makes on the
floor, Dhonabar backs half out of his stall un-
noticed, and turns a large, fiery eye around to
regard the two.
Oh! says Esther just then, and with good
reason, for a black head reaches slowly down over
her shoulder, and a pinkish nose -the only spot
of color on Dhonabar-snuffs silently at both her
hands. She recollects a cookie that she has
dropped into her apron pocket and forgotten.
She holds it up to Dhonabar.
The big, black, sullen brute smells at it, opens
his white, shining teeth, and crunches the brittle
cake with morose satisfaction. On a sudden,
Grandfather Ashton turning, confronts the dire
Esther Esther Is thee mad, child ? "






He makes haste across the floor. Dhonabar
sees him coming and backs away from the child
with many a vicious shake of the head. Still
shaking, he submits to be led back into the stall,
where Grandfather Ashton is still further con-
founded by beholding the halter rope bitten
completely in two.

easily. I have a foreboding of trouble I know
not why, Esther-I saw John Topham in Upton
to-day. He was unwilling, it seemed, to stop and
speak to me. He is at work over there."
"I should n't think thee would wish to speak
to him, Grandfather," remarks Esther, wonder-
"1 have no ill will to John," says Grandfather,

1 . , I 1 -l I . . . l , 1_,. , .
I *. ,. I I : ,. 1.. I


chain to-morrow," he says ; "for with this animal's
keen brain, what is done once can be done again."
Esther does not answer. She feels a little proud
of Dhonabar's sagacity. Grandfather fastens the
unruly animal with another, stouter rope, and once
more turns his attention to Polly and the open
"I wish I had not to go to-night," he says un-

and I remember the black mare. I could not keep
John Topham in my service, but even in discharg-
ing him, I tried to deal kindly with him."
He did n't seem to thank thee for that, Grand-
father," answers the child, still with a touch of
rebellion in her voice, "for does n't thee remem-
ber how he said he would be revenged on us? "
I think we should not judge John by what he



said in the heat of passion," says the gentle old
Quaker ; for it must be that he repented of his
words, when he cooled down. I think he felt
ashamed to see me to-day."
Perhaps he will come over here," observes
Esther a little thoughtfully; Upton is but twelve
miles by rail."
"I fancy not," replies Grandfather smiling.
"But bless me I must be off. And Judson is
not yet come! I shall meet him on the road,
though, and I '11 hasten him up. Go in, child, to
thy mother."
Esther stands with her clothes blown hither and
thither about her, holding up the lantern, and fol-
lowing with her eyes the last glimmer of wheels
down the grassy lane and the long gray road.
Then she shuts the stable door ahd goes up the
broad stone steps.
Quite like a kitchen of the olden time is the kit-
chen at Ashton Farm. Grandmother will not have a
cooking-stove in the house ; and there are the big,
old-fashioned fireplace with its pot and crane, and
its stone seat at the side ; the ancient dresser with
its rows of blue plates; the settle in the corner; the
scoured table; the sanded floor, and-the incon-
gruity of a prim, modern work-basket, standing by
the quaint, high-backed armchair.
This destroys the illusion. But for this, one
might easily have slipped back a hundred years
into the past by making that one step into Grand-
mother Ashton's kitchen.
But the work-basket is the property of Esther's
mother; and Mrs. Garner's room, where she sits
to-night with Grandmother, has more modern
"Thee 'd better go to bed, Rachel, if thy head-
ache is worse," says the soft, calm voice of the
serene old Quaker lady as she pauses on the
~,i..... looking like a beautiful old picture in
the firelight.
I believe I would, Mother, only that Mat and
'Selda are out yet. Judson has gone for them. I
heard him drive away." (She does not know it was
Grandfather Ashton she heard.)
That need not trouble thee, Rachel. I will
see to thy children and put them to bed. They
have had an afternoon of pleasure, I doubt not,
with the Devine children."
It is about the only place I care for them to
go," says Mrs. Garner with a little sigh of anxious
motherhood. They are so pleasant and well
brought up, -the Devine children, I mean-that
I overlook the mile and a half one has to go to get
to them. But I hope Judson will hurry."
"Judson is slow," answers Grandmother Ashton,
peering out the window, but very sure and care-
ful, or we should not have employed him all these

years. He 's getting to be about fifty-five years
old, is Judson."
Then she adds, But thee 'd best go to bed,
Rachel. Thee looks sick. Can't thee trust me
with Mat and 'Selda ? "
I can trust thee with anything, Mother,"
answers Mrs. Garner, smiling up at the placid old
countenance, and I believe I will go. Where is
Esther? "
With thy father," answers Grandmother Ash-
ton." I left him preparing for his ride to Dale
Junction. Thee knows he has to see Aaron Moss
to-night about that property. It is a long ride."
So they talk together, little dreaming of what was
transpiring below stairs.
Esther had come in and stood by the fireplace.
How pleasant it was She did not mind the wind
that blew about the windows, rattled the shutters
and swooped down the big old chimney. It only
fanned the flame to a brighter glow; for the night
was chilly for the last of May.
There was a queer sound outside the kitchen
door,-a sort of thump and step,-and Esther
looked up as it opened. Why, Joe she cried,
however did thee come 'way down here to-night ?
And thee so lame, too."
Joe panted,-he was ten years old,-and
dropped in the nearest chair.
Thee is n't sick, Joe ? "
"No-no," answered the boy.
Thy mother--
No-no, said Joe, with an impatient wave
as he got his breath. "Where 's your grand-
father ? "
Gone away."
Oh Well, where 's Judson then? "
I don't know where he is," answered Esther
anxiously, thinking of Mat and 'Selda. He
ought to be here now to start after the children.
They 're at Deacon Devine's."
I know they be," said Joe, and this is how I
know it. I was up to the depot to-night when
John Topham came on the train. You know him;
he used to work here two years ago, and your
grandfather turned him off because he was so ugly
to the creturs."
"I know," answered Esther.
Well, he acted 's if he did n't want anybody
to know him nor speak to him, an' he hardly
answered when the station-master called him by
name. And I went along home a-thinkin' what
had lie comeback for; an' pretty soon I met Judson,
an' I says, 'Hello, Mr. Judson, father wanted me
to ask you if you was a-comin' after the chickens
that Mr. Ashton bought.' An' he says, Not to-
night, Joe, because 1 've got to hurry home and
fetch Mat and 'Selda, that 's up to Deacon Devine's,



an' I have n't done all my warrants yet.' An' jest
then I looked round, an' there was John Topham
that had heard every word, an' his eyes was shinin'
like the mischief, an' he sneaked around the corner
as if he did n't want Judson to see him."
Oh, do hurry !" said Esther, with a presenti-
ment of what was coming.
Well, when I came down to the next corner, I
waited a bit, an' he passed me, a-mutterin' to hisself
an' walking' very fast, an' he says, says he, 'I '11
have 'em sure this time; I '11 have 'em sure.' An'
all of a sudden, I memberedd how, when he left the
farm, he said he 'd be revenged on your grandpa,
though it do seem mean, don't it, to take it out o'
the children? Now, where do you s'pose Jud-
son is?"
"I don't know," said poor Esther, with a great
pang of terror. She remembered John Topham
very well, and how frightened she had been at his
fierce gestures and extravagant threats on that
April morning two years ago, when gentle old
Grandfather Ashton had told him he could work
there no longer. Brutality to animals was one of
the cardinal sins in Grandfather Ashton's eyes,
and the loss of a valuable Alderney and the lam-
ing of a patient, hard-working black mare pro-
cured John Tophamn his "walking-ticket." Esther's
bugbear, since that day, had been the unspoken
fear that John would some time return to carry
out his threat; -just in what way or by what means
she could not imagine. And now her very heart
was in her throat at thought of nine-year-old Mat
and innocent little 'Selda.
"They wont start to come home alone, will
they?" asked Joe.
That 's just what I 'm afraid of; yes, I think
they will," said Esther, wringing her hands. "It
is growing so late, and Mat is so headlong and im-
petuous, he thinks he can take care of 'Selda all
himself; and even if Thad Devine comes with
them, he 's only thirteen. What could he do
against John Topham ? "
Visions of John's big, burly frame and strong
arms flitted before Esther's mind, and her thoughts
went into a whirl. Polly gone with Grandfather,
Dobbin with Judson,-Dhonabar left! A mile
and a half by road to Deacon Devine's; only a
mile by cart path over Ashton meadows. Not a
wagon left, but Dhonabar was a magnificent sad-
dle-horse, and she had learned to ride on old Polly.
Say, what '11 we do ? where 's your mother?"
broke Joe's voice across her confused thought.
Oh, we can't tell Mother, or Grandmother
either," cried Esther distressfully. '"What could
they do?" She bound the old plaid shawl over
her head and across her chest, tying the ends
behind. Don't make any noise," she said, beck-

oning to Joe as she caught up and lighted the
lantern. And stifling as well as he could the sound
of his crutch, the lame boy followed her flying
footsteps to the barn.
He found her hanging the lantern on its nail,
and pulling down, with might and main, her old
side-saddle from its pegs. A heavy load it was for
the slender figure, and Joe lent her such aid as he
"Why-ee, Esther! you '11 be killed! They
say Dhonabar is so ugly. Is n't there any other
horse ?" he asked.
"No other," answered Esther, standing still for
a moment. Only for a moment.
Dhonabar was nearly asleep; he roused himself
sullenly and opened his eyes as the slender hands
reached under his nose to unfasten the halter-rope.
"Back said the resolute, childish voice, and as
Dhonabar came into the middle of the floor, Joe
clambered fearfully half-way upon the loft-ladder.
Esther stood up in the old chair she used to
mount by, slowly and painfully pushed the heavy
saddle to its place, cruppered the motionless beast,
and fastened the girths. She had purposely left
the bridle till the last,--she used no martingale,--
but as she approached Dhonabar's head, she saw
she had made a mistake. The brute was thor-
oughly awake by this time. A sort of dull fire
smoldered in his eyes, and he held his head very
high up, quite beyond Esther's reach. I do not
know but she would have faltered then, but a word
from Joe spurred her -i -, 111 resolution.
I 'n afraidd that man 'll get there before you
do, Esther."
The courage of desperation awoke in the child.
With a rush she dragged the old chair under the
brute's very nose, flung an empty egg-box upon it,
and, bridle in hand, scrambled to the top of it.
Dhonabar's ears lay close to his head as the bits
clashed against his sullen, closed teeth. If Esther
had shown or felt one atom of fear, he would have
trampled her underfoot. As it was, he half opened
his mouth to bite, but instead received the bit as
Esther pushed it in. Dhonabar felt a sensation of
slow astonishment at this small being who handled
him so fearlessly. When she pulled his ears into
place, he allowed them to stand up in their natural
way, and stared at her with a perceptible softening
of expression.
Esther dragged the chair about to one side,
and was in the saddle before Dhonabar could
realize it. From sheer force of habit he obeyed
the rein, and walked slowly out of the barn.
Shut the barn-door softly, Joe, so they wont
hear it," she said, and don't wait for me. Thee
can never know how I thank thee, Joe, for coming


Pooh! That 's nothing, answered the boy,
reddening with pleasure.
Then the dull beat of hoofs on the turf quickened,
and the blackness of the night swallowed up the
big black horse and the small rider.
Dhonabar's head was still very high; out of
sheer sullenness he refused to put forth any speed.
Esther was well-nigh distracted. She doubled up
her small fist, leaned forward, and beat upon the
black, glossy shoulder with might and main.
The insult of blows was too much for Dhonabar.
He gave a fling and shake, took the bit in his
teeth, and broke into a mad gallop. Not till then
did Esther realize to the full the brute's great
strength and her own weakness. She was really,
however, a very good horsewoman; and as Dhon-
abar ran steadily and straight, she had no difficulty
in keeping her seat. The cart path ended, she
knew, in Deacon Devine's barnyard. The more
speed,- the sooner there. With this thought she
quieted her first thrill of fear.
And now, how the trees rush past i There, al-
ready, is the willow by the brook,- the gnarled
old willow where she and the children often play,-
now it is gone, and she hears above Dhona-
bar's rapid hoof-beats the rush of the stream.
Now the reflection of the stars in the water passes
like a flash, and Dhonabar with the next mad leap
lands in the middle of the brook. There is a great
splash and scramble. Esther clings fast. Up the
opposite bank with a plunge and a bound go the
big black horse and the dauntless little rider.
Now the track winds down the long marshy
meadows,-and now the stars shine out. Still on
and on, with long, tireless leaps, past the frog-
pond, around the hill where blueberries grow thick
in summer, down into a reedy hollow and up
a steep ascent to the bars where Deacon Devine's
pasture-land begins.
Esther has counted on this hill to help her, but
to her horrified amaze, Dhonabar tearsup the rocky
ascent with scarce abated speed. She looks
ahead. The bars are up and- and-- Dhonabar
makes straight for them !
I never learned to leap, on old Polly," mur-
murs Esther.
But she sees that her first lesson has come. All
the old Ashton grit comes to her aid now; she
settles herself firmly in her seat, takes a good grip
of the reins, and the next instant feels as if launched
bodily into space on the back of a Pegasus,-if, in-
deed, the little country maid ever heard of the won-
derful winged horse. Then, with a jerk that almost
unseats her, Dhonabar strikes ground again ; the
bars are behind them; the great horse and his
small rider go tearing along the level pasture track.
Esther looks ahead and becomes conscious of a big,

dark object looming up on the right,-Deacon
Devine's cow-barn in the pasture,- and twinkling
lights in the farm windows beyond. She is almost
Is she too late ? she wonders anxiously; and in
the next breath,-will she be able to stop the horse ?
Is it imagination, or does Dhonabar's speed re-
lax? He pricks his ears forward and snorts.
Esther tightens the rein and speaks with an air
and voice of authority. Dhonabar feels at first a
sensation of astonishment that he is not yet rid of
so insignificant a burden ; then he flings up his
head, shakes it, and slackens his pace !
For all that, he is not yet quite under control.
But Esther feels encouraged; when right under
Dhonabar's nose loom up the barnyard bars. Her
body yields mechanically to the sway and rise of
the powerful black body beneath her; and even in
the instant of the leap, so rapid is thought, she
feels a sensation of wonder at the strength of the
mighty muscles that send Dhonabar plunging
through the air. And then those bars, too, are
passed, and there are the kitchen windows, golden-
bright, with figures passing and repassing within,
and voices approaching the outer door, which
opens directly into the kitchen.
Will she be able to stop him? With all her
childish strength she tugs at the rein, and,
restively enough, he yields to the change of direc-
tion, and heads for the door.
At the very instant of reaching it, and just as
Dhonabar concludes not to run his head blindly
into the wall, the door opens; a flood of light
pours out; there stand Mat and little 'Selda, with
Deacon Devine's big boy, all hatted and shawled,
and in attitudes of departure; the other children
close behind, and the Deacon and his wife just
bidding the little visitors farewell. Into this
group, along with the clang of hoofs on the broad
doorstone, and Esther's shriek of Whoa, Dhon-
abar come the big black snorting head, with its
wide, bright eyes, the panting breath like steam
in their very faces, the mouth pulled wide by
Esther's frantic grip, and dropping foam all over
the broad black chest. For bars do not stop
Dhonabar, and it looks as if house doors would
not, either; since he is up one step and poised
for another, and nobody knows why he hesitates
on the very threshold of the kitchen. Yet he
does hesitate, and so at that moment Esther's
triumph is complete.
They all shriek and exclaim and retreat at sight
of the black horse and the white, excited face of
the little rider, as, shawl and hair blown back, she
sits for one second a statue carved in living marble
against the black background of night.
Then the statue shivers and drops the bridle



and cries out; and Deacon Devine, exclaiming
" Why, what does this mean! catches her as she
slips in alimp state fromthe saddle. Being released,
Dhonabar backs suddenly and morosely out of the
way, and as nobody pays him the least attention,
or tries to prevent him from running away, he

and his wife can learn from her the cause of all
her troubles. When it is told, they look gravely
at each other, not speaking.
And now comes a rattle of wheels, and Judson's
voice says "Whoa, Dobbin!" and a moment later,
" Bless my eyes, if here is n't Dhonabar "

II, '


'concludes it is n't worth while to run ; and so re-
mains quietly staring at them, as if sculptured in
tolack marble.
Oh! I 'm in time! I 'm in time!" cries Esther,
sobbing violently, as she hugs puzzled Mat and
'Selda. Some time passes before the good deacon
VOL. XIII.-25.

Deacon Devine hurries out with the lantern.
Then all go to the door. There is more excited
talk; and in the midst of it the evil man, who
has been listening to it all from the lilac hedge at
the fence corner, creeps silently away, through
the starlight and shadow of that windy May night,


and goes back disappointed and baffled to town,
seen by no one and hastened on by the wind.
He was ashamed and afraid. He left on the early
morning train. He did not stop at Upton, but dis-
appeared, and nobody about Ashton Farm has
heard of him to this day.
But Esther quiet, resolute Esther -had saved
the children and had conquered Dhonabar, though
her good grandfather chided her daring, and, even
in the midst of his caresses, trembled to think of
that perilous ride.

Yielding to Esther's intercessions, Grandfather
Ashton never sold Dhonabar; and it came to pass,
after the roses of several Junes had bloomed in
the roadside thickets, that Esther became a young
lady, and used to ride often uponthebighorse. And
Dhonabar, in a strange, savage kind of way, always
manifested an attachment for the child who had so
fearlessly braved him. He was kept until he died
peaceably of old age, in his stall, as a well-behaved
horse should die; which was a much more respect-
able end than the village gossips prophesied for him.





THERE are countless things in regard to our
government that I must leave untouched. I have
told you of the great principles underlying
the system, but into all the intricate details I
can not go. Within the space iil.. ..... I have not
been able to do full justice to the '' Law-makers ";
much less have I been able to treat of all the
departments of government, the various lights and
shades of national affairs, the myriad ramifications
of the Law throughout the mighty structure of Soci-
ety. Such an undertaking would have been indeed
stupendous !
I have given you only a general idea-a mere
"bird's-eye view"-of the duties, responsibilities,
and privileges connected with the law-making
power of the republic.
During my four years of service as a page in the
Senate, I witnessed the two Houses of Congress in
the exercise of nearly every one of the general and
special powers and prerogatives conferred upon
them by the Constitution. I started out with a
vague intention to conduct you carefully over the
ground I traversed as a page. i r. .... ii. enough,
having once begun, I have asked you to stroll about
with me in all directions. Thus I have wandered
idly along, with much of the ground still unex-
plored; and yet, in my zigzag ramblings, I have
called your attention to a variety of incidents and
objects that came within our range of observation.
I have taken you upon the dome of the Capitol,
conducted you through its mazy rooms and corri-
dors, and led you down into the very caverns of

the earth. You have heard, in imagination, the
halls of Congress echoing with the sounds of mirth,
and you have seen them draped in black and
hushed in the stillness of death. You have beheld
laws made, a President inaugurated, statesmen
and pages at their work and play. If, in my
description of congressional scenes, I have in any
place spoken in too light a vein, ascribe it to the
fact that for the moment I regained the audacity
of my youth; if I have anywhere been dry and
uninteresting, charge it to the seriousness of ma-
turer years.
That you might understand the importance of
the trusts committed to Congress, I have explained
the theory of our government -the simple delega-
tion, by the people, of their sovereign authority, to
three separate and distinct departments, each of
which is, so far as necessary to the proper perform-
ance of its duties, made independent of the others,
but with the officers of all three departments re-
sponsible to the people for the honest exercise of
the power confided to them. I have not intended
to disparage any of these departments. The func-
tions of the Executive are of vital consequence.
The trusts committed to the Judiciary are sacred.
But in Congress are reposed the mightiest attri-
butes of national sovereignty. The legislators voice
the will of the people ; it is for the President and
the courts to see that those commands, when prop-
erly declared, are duly executed and obeyed.
If you should be in Washington at any time
during the sessions of Congress, do not neglect to
visit the Capitol. Listen to the deliberations of
the Federal Law-makers. You may hear debates,
perhaps grave, perhaps humorous,-you may wit-
ness scenes solemn or amusing, but do not form the

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





erroneous impression that the moving panorama
before your eyes is the acting either of a tragedy or
of a farce. Remember, always, that the exercise
of power is one thing, but that the power itself is
something else. Although occasionally enlivened
by incidents of humor and hilarity, the proceedings
of Congress, as a whole, are serious, and they
involve matters of the greatest moment to us all.
It may be that there are those among its members
who are unfit to discharge the duties of their office,
and that the country would be better off without
them; yet nearly all recognize their responsibili-
ties, and seek to protect and promote our national
interests and welfare. As one of the three depart-
ments of the Government, the Congress of the
United States is entitled to profound regard; as
an institution representing the majesty and guard-
ing the liberties of the American people, it should
be revered by every patriotic citizen.

A year ago, I visited Washington and took a
glimpse about me. I had been absent only a few
years ; but how swift had been the changes of those
years The city itself had, as if by magic, been
transformed into one of the fairest cities of the land.
Mean-looking buildings had disappeared, and on
their sites had risen palaces and dwellings worthy to
be the abodes of princes and of kings. The muddy
thoroughfares were no more; in their stead were
miles of glistening concrete over which the carriages
rolled without a jostle, and boys and girls glided
joyously upon their bicycles and skates. Even the
grand and venerable trees that had surrounded the
Capitol, and in the shade of whose branches I had
so often roamed, had fallen beneath the axe of the
landscape artist. But here was a change that, in
my humble opinion, was not an improvement.
I entered the Capitol, and noted everywhere
the ruthless hand of Time. I went to the Upper
House and looked in. All the officers were strange.
No Two forms I recognized. There they sat,
one on each side of the TI .- .;.;. officer, in the
very same chairs, I suppose, about which I had so
often frolicked. May they both live many years
to grace that Chamber by their presence !
Then I scanned the Senate for the old Law-
makers. But how few I found! Of the many
Senators whom I had met during portions of three
Congresses, there were but sixteen to be found;

of the seventy-four members belonging to that
body when I first entered it as a page, only
seven* remained to answer to the roll.
But there was another blow reserved for my
feelings. The pages seemed a different order of
beings. I met one of them and spoke to him with
the air of a father. Had any visitor spoken to me
in such parental fashion when I was a page, I
would have withered him by a look! Yet this
small fellow stood it, and in a mild and gentle-
manly manner gave me all the information I re-
quested. His statement was a revelation. Times
had indeed changed !
Sadly I walked to the House of Representatives.
I entered the gallery and gazed about me. I was
among strangers. I knew that several of the old
Representatives were still members, but I was un-
able to discern their faces in the turbulent crowd
that thronged the floor. Where," I mused,
"are the legislators of the Forty-second, the
Forty-third, the Forty-fourth Congresses ? I
answered my own query. Some of them had
been transferred to other spheres of public useful-
ness; others had withdrawn from the turmoil of
business and retired to private life; many had
gone to their eternal rest !
I remained in the Capitol for a short time to
watch the proceedings of each House. The great
work of legislation was going serenely on. The
House was just as noisy; the Senate as efficient and
industrious as in my time. My mind went back to
that Monday in December, 1872, when I made my
first appearance in Legislative Halls. I fancied
that I heard a voice exclaim, "The Senate will
come to order and that I was again a careless,
happy boy. But it was only fancy. My revery
was broken by a touch. The visions of the past
faded from my sight, and the reality of the pres-
ent rose up before me. And yet, as I came away
from the noble edifice and the scenes of my early
joys and troubles, the same mysterious voice was
ringing in my ears:

"Administrations terminate and Congresses
expire as the years pass by, but the nation lives
and grows and prospers, to be served in the future
by those equally faithful to its interests and equally
proud of its growing influence among the nations
of the earth "

* Messrs. Bayard, Edmunds, Logan, Morrill, Ransom, Saulsbury, and Sherman. Senator Bayard has now become our Secretary of State.




. oet _o -
io a ante.

'l a

( -) C <. ) -q 1 _

Five little hatheadea cafps
stepping q-glt along.



i, V


'Well'.e!l ,

f etpa
oluttle "MRY

* See page 394.




oan .-aowm.

a clon-

~Ldr;v;n~ y~ir~n



rmt oF a W EOt -mWl-

_-- _ -. _

A goot place
to looK- out at.,




ONE night the circus was in town
With tumbling men and painted clown,
And Brownies came from forest deep
Around the tent to climb and creep,
And through the canvas, as they might
Of inner movements gain a sight.
Said one, "A chance we '11 hardly find
That better suits the Brownie mind;

To-night when all this great array
Of people take their homeward way,
We '11 promptly make a swift descent
And take possession of the tent,

And here, till morning light is shown,
We '11 have a circus of our own."
"I best," cried one, of all the band
The elephant can take in hand;
I noticed how they led him round
And marked the place he may be found;
On me you may depend to keep
The monster harmless as a sheep."

The laughing crowd that filled the place
I-ad hardly homeward turned its face,
Before the eager waiting band
Took full possession as they planned,


And round they scampered left and right
To see what offered most delight.
Cried one, "If I can only find
The whip, I '11 have a happy mind;
For I '11 be master of the ring
And keep the horses on the spring,

The wire that not an hour before
The Japanese had traveled o'er
From end to end with careful stride,
Was hunted up and quickly tried.
Not one alone upon it stepped,
But up by twos and threes they crept,

Announce the names of those who ride,
And snap the whip on every side."
Another said, "I '11 be a clown;
I saw the way they tumble down,
And how the cunning rogues contrive
To always keep the fun alive."
With such remarks away they went
At this or that around the tent;

Until the strand appeared to bear
No less than half the Brownies there.
Some showed an easy, graceful pose,
But some put little faith in toes,
And thought that fingers, after all,
Are best if one begins to fall.
When weary of a sport they grew,
Away to other tricks they flew.



`~ :=r


They rode upon the rolling ball
Without regard to slip or fall;
Both up and down the steep incline
They kept their place, with balance fine,
Until it bounded from the road,
And whirled away without its load.

Their mystic power controlled the beast,-
He seemed afraid to move the least,
But filled with wonder, limp and lax,
He stood and trembled in his tracks,
While all the band from first to last
Across his back in order passed.

They galloped round the dusty ring So thus they saw the moments fly
Without a saddle, strap or string, Till dawn began to paint the sky;
And jumped through hoops both large and small, And then by every flap and tear
And over banners, poles and all. They made their way to open air,
And off through lanes and alleys
In time the elephant was found passed
And held as though in fetters bound; To reach their hiding-place at last.


"'_ ,,,' : ... ..t..., ,, ** '*' "**'. I
1 "- '_ . . .. .. ..

I'-, JAC K- I N THE -P U L .

ABOUT this time of the year, my friends, Nature
begins to stir, and soon the order comes-MARCH !
Straightway the winds blow, the clouds divide and
scatter, the trees rock, the dried grass flutters and
struggles and tries to feel alive again; the ground
begins to soften ; the sunshine takes fresh heart;
then a general mildness sets in, and we feel that
Spring has arrived. This event, however, does
not take place till Nature has been March-ing for
about two weeks, which may or may not account
for what the Little School-ma'am tells me. She
says that, according to scientific records, the first
of March is not the first day of spring, as many
people suppose. This will not be news to all of
you, my hearers, for it has been mentioned from
this pulpit before, but I allude to it again in order
to introduce gracefully a true account of certain

DEAR JACK: One of the pleasantest and odd-
est sights to be seen in our neighborhood on a
certain cold windy day, last year, in the dreary
month of March, was a great cluster of dande-
lion blossoms. There they stood, as bravely and
cheerfully, right in the midst of the huge, shining
snow-drifts, as if the bright blue skies of May
were above them, and warm, soft grasses crept
about their slender stems. The old tumble-down
mill, beneath the window of which they grew, was
in a lonely, out-of-the-way sort of place, but they
could n't escape from the bright eyes of children
passing by, on their way to school. The shouts
of delight with which the happy youngsters greeted
these bold, daring strangers made the whole neigh-
borhood ring.
And yet the blossoms were not so very brave,
after all, for they never would have shown their
golden heads at such an unheard-of time of year,
if they had not made a funny mistake. It hap-

opened in this way: Through an opening in the
side of the mill ran a steam-pipe, from which the
warm water oozed and dropped all the time. At
last it reached the roots of the plants, on which it
fell, quickening into life the shivei-ii tiny things,
down deep in their winter prison. 'hy, surely,"
thought they, "summer is here earlier than we
ever knew it to come before-we hardly know
what to make of it all; but, really, this June sun-
shine is delicious! Let us put forth a few stray
blossoms here and there, and spread out our green
leaves just as fast as we can, for we 're quite tired
of this do-nothing sort of an existence."-And into
life and activity they sprang. Poor little blossoms t
they were not to blame, if they did mistake the
heat from an ugly black steam-pipe for the warmth
of a summer sun! Yours truly,

DEAR JACK: You have told us much about weather-prophets
lately, but there is one to whom you have not yet done justice. In
1 .. ri-1I I ... iust outside the village and near the woods,
i** *, .. i. *: i the house of Professor Woodchuck; and he
is a famous weather-prophet. The house is of good size, and the
entrances to it are skillfully made to slant upwards, so that even the
cunning wind can not find its way inside without permission. A
. .... : ... :... ith nuts, acorns, preserved fruits, and
vegetables, .- ... i- the Professor does not forget to make
proper provision for his family.
In personal appearance, it must be admitted he does not resemble
the ideal philosopher. He is short and thick, somewhat inclined to
clumsiness, and his countenance has by no means an intellectual
expression. Yet his face shows watchfulness, shrewdness, and
In the autumn he may be seen almost any day, carefully survey-
ing the landscape and the sky, and drawing conclusions as to the
-,. i,..-r., of the coming winter. So trustworthy are his
S. .. if -11 the little animals of his acquaintance base their
calculations as to winter stores upon his decisions. In the first week
of February, he comes forth to take his spring observations. If the
sun is shining so that he can see his own shadow, he concludes that
six weeks more must elapse before the weather will permit spring
trade to open; but if the sun is obscured and the wind is at rest, he
decides that cold weather is nearly over .... I i-,., not far off.
Thrmtihmr all the Middle States implicit ..,. I..... is felt in the
- .. pinion.
He has many friends and few foes. Among his acknowledged
......: .; i... i ...i I..t in summer he and hi, family set out
: ". i i ..:1I. 1. I :r-fields, he always posts sentinels to
., -...... .- .,i' of this adversary. Yet if he is obliged
S.-`, I-. .i ... i.. .I., r he displays undaunted courage, and
almost invariably either makes his escape or conquers his antagonist.
Yours truly, JUSTINE B.

THE Deacon wishes me to say that C. E.'s letter,
which I showed to you in January, about "Life
in a Snowflake," was sufficiently astonishing, but
that he happened upon an item in a newspaper
the other day which may perhaps cause you young-
sters to resolve never to handle snow again.
Read for yourselves," says the Deacon: "A
Swiss scientist, Floegel, is said to have found, in
i.'. 1 ,;., ti e residue from the evaporation of
**-I..i_, l.i!.: snow, living infusoria and algce,
bacilli and inicrococci, mites, diatoms, spores of
'fungi' (whatever all these Latin things may be),
also fibers of wood, mouse-hairs, pieces of butterfly
wings, skin of the larvae of insects, cotton-fibers,
pieces of grass, pollen-grains, rye and potato flour,
grains of quartz, minute pieces of roofing-tiles,
with bits of iron and coal. And still, poets con-
tinue to use snow as a symbol of absolute purity "



And so it is, my dear Deacon-and so the young
folk will agree. This special specimen of pure snow
happened to have fallen through atmosphere in
which those Latin things and the rest were float-
ing, and so it carried them to the ground. I '11
warrant you that if the snow-storm continued a few
hours the later specimens were not so laden. No,
sir. It was mixed snow. Dr. Floegel should have
waited till the atmosphere was swept clean by the
busy little messengers that sometimes come to port
like white ships bearing varied cargoes.

PERHAPS some of my hearers may be interested
in colors. Black is not a color at all, I hear.
What do you think of that? Blue and .-!l..
they say, make green; the more blue, the darker
the green; the more yellow, the paler. Other
colors may be mixed, too, I understand. Will
some of you, my hearers, tell me of these ? Is it
not odd," said the Little School-ma'am the other
day, that the flower known as the pink is not
always pink at all, but may be any one of many
colors. And so of rose-color, too; of all the hues
of roses, only one is called rose-color-a pretty
pale-pink hue. 'Tyrian purple,'" she went on,
"known as such a thousand years ago, was really
red-about the tint of our present mauve or sol-
ferino," and it was obtained from certain shell-fish
that -
But, as I have no doubt some of you will wish
to look up these matters, I shall leave the rest of
the Little School-ma'am's talk until another time.
I hope to hear further from you on this color
DEAR JACK: You asked in the June number of the ST. NICHOLAS
if anybody could tell aboutthe ....r.- ,1 ,
so I thought I would answer : i .. .-...
South America, and the juice needs no preparation to make it into
ink. It is at first of a reddish color, but afterward changes to
black. Your interested reader,
DEAR JACK: I had two snake-turtles, and both winked as J. L. S.
said the common mud-turtle did. We could not keep them long,
so we put them in the pond.
Your constant reader,

COULD N'T you stand their habit of winking,
PEOPLE do not get candles from water, as a
rule, I believe, but nevertheless there was a time,
the Little School-ma'am says, when men were in-
debted to the ocean for much of the light that
made their homes pleasant at night. The best
candles and oil of your forefathers' time came from
whales, says the Little School-ma'am. She sends
you a picture, this month, of a very remarkable
light-giver, which is nothing more nor less than a
small fish. This fish is so very oily that all you
have to do, after it has departed this life, is to
fasten it by its tail between two pieces of wood,
touch a match to its head, and a pale flame will


arise from the fish's mouth that lasts until, like a
candle, the fish is slowly consumed.
The useful fish, moreover, is a very important
one to people living on the north-western coast of
North America. At certain seasons the candle-fishes
swarm the bays and rivers in vast numbers, and
every native man, woman, and child is engaged
in .:, l..11;1,. them. And how do you suppose they
catch them r They actually comb them in. The
boats drive them in shore, where each native,
armed with a gigantic weapon with teeth eight
inches long, sweeps or combs them up by the


When the boats are loaded full, the fish are car-
ried ashore, where women and children take charge
of them. After being dried and smoked, they are
ready for candles. They are also used as food,
and in that case the oil is tried out and put away
for winter use.
But where do you suppose these natives find
bottles in which to stow the oil away? The Little
School-ma'am says they find their bottles also in
the sea. Far down at the bottom of the cold
Pacific grows a great weed with a hollow stem.
This the natives in some way manage to obtain;
they then cut it into lengths of about three feet
each, and stop up the ends with fish-skin. And so
they obtain light, food, and bottles from that ex-
cellent provider, Old Ocean.



FOR the benefit of those young readers who may not have studied
French, we give below the pronunciation (as nearly as it can be ren-
dered in English) of the names of the principal artists mentioned
in Mrs. Clement's article on "French Painters," which opens this
number of ST. NICHOLAS. These are, in the order of mention:
Poussin (Pu-san); Gelee or Lorraine (Zhal-lai, Lor-rain); Jacques
Louis David (Zhak Lu-e Dah-veed); Antoine. Watteau (Ahn-twahn
Wat-toh); Jean Baptiste Greuze (Zhan Ba-teest Gruzz-- as in
dit); Vernet (Vair-nay- aias in hair): Le Brun (Le.Brsn-u as
in urge) ; Ingres (Angr); Hiefolyte Delar-ocke (Hip-po-leet Del-
ah-roash); Delacroix (Del-ah-crwah).
The final paper of this series, entitled Stories of Arts and Artists,"
will appear in an early number, and will relate to English painters.

THE "minute sketches" by Mr. Brennan on page 388 of this
number are especially interesting from the fact that each one was
made in a minute or less time, and without any previous idea, in the
artist's mind of what he wished to make. These instantaneous effects
are sometimes very comical and often quite striking. The "five
little bald-headed men," for instance, were made from five ink-blots;
the "French soldier's head," from six; the "powder-mill" grew
from a finger-blot; and just think of making such a seeming army
as that "lot of little men" out of straight lines and in less than a
minute !
These sketches only prove how quickly an artist's brain and hand
can work, and they are full of suggestions for any boy or girl who
is handy with a pen.


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Nearly all the letters in your Letter-box
come from American or English children, but I should like you to
know that some African children also are very fond of your maga-
zine and the lovely stories. I and my brothers and sisters were all
born at the Cape of Good Hope. We are now in England at school,
but we like the Cape best, because there we nearly always have beau-
tiful bright weather. I never saw snow until I came to England. We
generally have picnics at Christmas, because it is too hot to dance. I
read with pleasure The African New Year's Card." I have often
eaten prickly-pears; they are very nice, but such a trouble to peel,
on account of the hundreds of tiny thorns.
I am your constant reader, BERTHIE HELEN.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We are a little ba""" 'd -;rl who live in the
country nearly all the year round. We ' .I you about our
pets; we have two lambs, a flock of fantail pigeons, two dogs, and a
pony. Thelambs'names are C ...i i r,. ...... ,i. -. .'s
isMerrylegs, and the dogs'nar...- '.*.l.... I. .. i. ,is
will be printed, as we have a little sister, and our mother, who will be
very glad to see it We have just received the January number.

My DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have been longing for ages to write
a letter to you; and now that I have the opportunity, I will tell
you how much pleasure you give, not only me, but also some dear
little children far away in New Zealand, where they have such few
b o o l r . , J . j l. . .,.; I,,; , i I.. i m -
ply .,
but ', :, ., ,.,.: . ,, r _. ,,, .r m -
ing ST. NICHOLAS. I did enjoy Miss Alcott's "Spinning-wheel Sto-
res so very much, but am now deep in "Little Lord ,.... i
and "From Bach to Wagner," which latter is both ,I.. ,.-i..
tive and amusing combined. So, with three hearty cheers for ST.
NICK, and a very long life to it, I shall now sign myself,
Your very devoted reader, "LouIsE-- "

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Perhaps it may amuse the readers of your
magazine to know what two little Quebec girls once did.
ii ._.;i ..- :.,. :,, i 1. .. 0, , .. to do some-
tfIn-, I j. i .. I ,.-: 1 :I ..- I .. i.. I children, hap-
py. So one winter a very rich uncle of theirs came to their home
to spend Christmas. Well, Dora and Jessie, what would you like
for Christmas?" said he a week or so before that happy festival.
But neither girl could decide, until the next day, and they told
their uncle that no present would make them as happy as if he
gave them money enough to give a dinner to the poor children of

the neighborhood. Of course Uncle Richard let them have their
way, and they had the satisfaction of seeing ten poor little waifs
seated around a bountifully spread table on Christmas Day. Now I
will say good-bye. My cousin D." sends her love; for she takes
you. Yours sincerely, J. E. M.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I think horses and colts are very interest-
ing animals.
We have a colt by the name of Billy. He rings a bell for his sup-
per and shakes hands. If we drop a handkerchief, he will pick it
up and bring it to us; or, if we hide it he will find it. To pay him,
we give him some corn or oats.
One evening Uncle gave him some oats for supper that he did not
like. He began lookingaround as if in quest of something. At last
he found a piece of white cloth, which, I suppose, he took for a
handkerchief. He brought it to Uncle, and looked up into his face
with an expression that seemed to say: Here is your handker-
chief: now give me some goodoats." Your interested reader,
M. I. C.

DEAR COMPANION ST. NICK: I am a little boy, six years old.
When I am at home I live in Camptown, a very small settlement in
Idaho. We moved there from Pittsburgh. My Mamma re-wrote
this after I composed it. Please print this letter. My sister Anna
said you would n't publish a letter from a little boy, and I want to
show her that you will. Your loving little reader,

MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have a brother who is thirteen, and
two sisters, one eleven, one four, and I am nine. We take you, and
all enjoy you very much. Your new continued story, Little Lord
Fauntleroy," is very nice, and I always read it first. Christmas
Every Day was very funny, but I am sure I would not like to be
the litde girl; for she must have got sick of the presents. I read
S="ret- m--.- ^f th-. letters, and like them very much. In one of
,, i.,'riI.. I .,.J that she gathered some roses on the 17th Dec.
i I .-'. ri..-- Your constant little reader, C. B. O.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have just finished reading the January
number, and think it very interesting. I want to tell you about our
club; perhaps some other little girls would like to have one like it.
We got the idea fiom Miss Alcott's "Little Women." Each mem-
ber contributes so much a month to buy necessaries. Our meetings
are weekly, and we write a paper to read at them. We do not have



time to compose our stories, so we copy a great many of them from
ST. NICHOLAS. I like "Little Lord Fauntleroy very much, and
am anxious to hear more about him.
Your constant reader, L. W.

ST. NICHOLAS : I am a constant reader of your i nd in
looking over some old numbers of it, I found, in an .. .. r num-
ber, an article on Coasting in August." The writer seemed quite
surprised when she first saw such coasting. But the summer is the
only time we can coast here.
In and around Macon there are long hills, and some of them are
covered with pine-straw, which is so smooth and slippery that no
tallow is needed. And then another good thing about it is that it
stands a large amount r .1 .-.. before wearing out, and whenit is
all worn, a few days .11" *.I,, tL repair the place if left alone.
Yours, etc., W. B. F.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little boy about ten years old. I
used to have a great many pets. I have not any now. I had two
cats, called Victoria and Bismarck. I also had a dog called Gip.
They were very friendly, indeed; once in a while they would

Hotel, Golden Gate Park, the numerous cable cars, the private resi-
dences, and the schools will each and all testify that California is the
pride of the West.
The eternal snows of the Sierra Nevadas, the orange groves of Los
Angeles, the uniform temperature of San Francisco, the many and
varied pleasure resorts, combined, bring invalids, tourists rich and
poor, 1-. thousands to this coast. And the ST. NICHOLAS helps
many I .i .-. and adults to enjoy themselves.
Without doubt, many r ... 1.. re enjoying themselves by
playing in the snow. I. i. i .., i. hills are green with grass
that has been growing since October, and the sun is rapidly drying
the streets. It has snowed here three times in twenty years. Out
in the garden are blooming violets, nasturtiums, roses, anemones,
g.-n'"T ;;- ,-;-e tc -1- i-mine, heliotrope, California wild
,,,, ,., 1 ,,- ,,-. 1.1 s. 1- I l.-. I ...I-. .I. . I ..... i.
i i .. ... ..... ,t ..-., e ,,, I,,,I ,, ,. ...... -, ,,, ,. ,Id ,, .
nia, geraniums being used as evergreens in making hedges.
I remain,
Your Californian friend, EDITH N. A.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Mabel thinks Davy and the Goblin" is
a splendid story; and I like Little Lord Fauntleroy very much.
I hope the end will not come for a long time.
From your little friend, ETHEL S. L.


have a fight; it always wound i .rl. *i, *-,.... -.
cats would always follow him. '! .r- -.. t .
me; even the dog would gowhim.t a ...* l ...j .'. *.4.
ute I appeared they would come running up as fast as they could
go. I must say that I think ST. NICHOLAS always has nice stories
in it. I wish you would please print my letter, for I shall look for
it Your constant reader, JACK BUTLER.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: On Christmas-day, 1876, a friend gave me
a volume of ST. NICHOLAS, and since that time I have been your
constant reader, though school duties prevent my reading everything
found within your covers.
I live in California, forty miles north of San Francisco. It is ad-
mitted by all who have visited that city of seven hills, that the chil-
dren are the healthiest and best looking to be found in the country.
Many persons in the Atlantic and Southern States think that Cal-
iforians are ignorant, uncivilized, and heathen, and that gold-dust
is as common as flour. It is true that gold-dust in the form of coins
takes the place of paper currency ; but if any one doubts our educa-
tion and civilization, let him come to San Francisco.
The bay is full of vessels from all countries, while ferry and river
; boats are crossing it continually. The tall brick buildings, the Palace

Mv DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have taken you for two years.
I have two little baby brothers; one of them gets mixed up when
he is talking. Once he was trying to say pin-cushion, and he said
kun-pincheon! It ..... -..
Your friend and c -... . .. :. NELSON STEELE.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: In your Christmas number, I noticed a
letter written by Arthur Dart, who is inclined to be skeptical when
told that a base-ball can be made to "curve" when thrown in a
certain way, and seems to think that the author drew on his imagina-
tion in that clever story, How Science Won the Game," when he
brought out the hero as a "curve-pitcher." Several years ago, I
thought, as Arthur does to-day, that it was impossible to make a ball
curve, and when one of my "chums" said he had seen it done, I
laughed at him; but he insisted so strongly that when I wenthome I
asked my father. He was an old-time player, and when he said it
was impossible to make a ball "curve," that settled it with me.



Then I was certain my friend had been deluded. Not long after-
ward, however, I saw a game between two professional clubs, and
as I sat directly back of the catcher, and could see the ball from
the time it left the pitcher's hand, there was no longer any doubt
i in my mind about a ball being made to "curve." Moreover, I
learned myself, after weeks of hard practice, to throw a curve ball,
and many times since then have had the satisfaction of "strik-
ing out" hard hitters, who were unused to "curves." "What
causes a ball to curve ?" is a question asked by many, and I would
offer the following original explanation
When a ball is thrown through the air, the resistance of the air is
only on one-half of the surface, that is the half facing the direction
the ball is thrown. The other part of the ball may be considered as
the "dead half."


Lilve Sjal. Bead IHalt.

K- 4', --"


Suppose the ball is thrown from A to B, and gi -' i ', ,': r ;,..
movement on its axis, as indicated by the anrros I "-i, I. I
"holding"and 1.1: ,..- the ball a certain , .
then is only on I. I. i-malf," which is rotating from M to N:
hence it is seen that the ball will be influenced by this, and will
be constandl .... ., r true line curving toward K, and will
describe a ... F,
This was the explanation I offered to my father, who still insisted
that it was merely a theory, and could not be demonstrated. So one
summer afternoon a number of us boys prevailed upon him to join

us in a game of base-ball. Now, a great many years before this,
Father ad been a member of a local club, which "had downed
every club it ever played," as he said, and so he had made up his
mind to show us youngsters a thing or two." When he stepped
up to the "home" plate ready to strike, it was with determination
to show us that our so-called curves were simply optical illusions
which he would soon dispel. I was the pitcher, and the first ball I
threw was a slow out-curve (that is, it curved away from the stri-
ker;- curves are designated as "outs," in-shoots," "drops," and
"raise"). Father drew back the bat and struck at the ball as though
he would knock the cover off, but he missed it. He tried again and
again, but could not even make a foul tip "; so finally he gave up
and consented to watch for a short time from behind the catcher, and
was soon convinced that a curve ball was not an optical illusion, but
an accomplished fact. After a short time he started slowly home,
but, as he left us, he said: Well, boys, you are right; the game is
:r: r .;.:..n :;: .' 1... -.id I guess my base-ball days are over."
.-i,,, S o .. oi. I. ,I--. . Yours truly,

THE young friends whose name are n e given below, will please
accept our sincere thanks for the pleasant letters which we have re-
ceived from them:
Lida B. Graham, Bessie W. Pratt, Lin Peterson, W. H. Maclay,
Mattie Greene, Edith E. Andrews, Ellen B. Wickersham, Charles
Weber, Grace Bidwell, Sue Elise Stuart, E. P., N. M. P., Bancroft
Gherardi, Louisa Guernsey, Perry C. Hill, Elsie D., Fannie Lud-
low, Ethel B. B., J. A. C. K., Marion and Frank Mellen, Amos F.
Barnes, R. Winchester, H. A. K., Helen S. and Helen G., RitaE.
Lord, Charles Wright, Roy Parkhurst, Edward Balkan, Bessie B. A.,
Mattie Clark, Mabelle, Lloyd and Howard F., B. F. T., Olive and
Eva P., Flora A. Skinner, Grace Fleming, Wallace Durant, C. G.,
Helen L. Soule, Maud G. and Leslie E., Audry Raymond, Ida E.
and Hattie W., Minnie E. Waite, Hattie and Mattie, Maytie Crane,
Grace Cameron, Sam C. Moffat, Agnes B. James, Florence,"
Winnie Sheldon, Robert Richardson, M. S. Lukens, Francis Mac-
kenzie, Annie M. Graves, Minnie Spencer, Ruble Foley, Lucie Ward,
Nora Ashmead, Emma Weeks, "Pussie," Jessie Katherine Mac,
Jack H., Eugene M. Mitchell, Eleanor Seney Lutes, M. J. R.,
Nettle Johnson, Edith H. J., Julian W. Farnsworth, Leigh Bierce,
Helen D. Kelly, Hattie F. and Mary C. Evans.

~,i 1! .. p
AI- -

I Nf 1R 1P .

Amonc the important events tobenoted in this report is the publica-
t i ,i. ; .. .. _.!- t Chapters, ofa handsome pamphletcon-
t...... . i . I ii .. .. ... Vascular Cryptog-
a ..... I I..,r ,, .11 .i ..: .. i .,i,. -. vork of m making this
catalogue has not been done exclusively by members of the A. A.,
S.I 1 1.: ,.. ..." F the Fitchburg High School, assisted by Pro-
S i -1i their science teacher. The number of speci-
mens named is eight hundred and sixteen. We regard the
publication of this pamphlet as an "important event "in the records
of our Association, for it is a substantial contribution to science, and
proves that boys and girls can do good, thorough work.

THE union of the Chapters of cities, counties, or States into assem-
blies, having their own officers and by-laws, will, it seems to me, be
the next great step in our growth as a society. The remarkable suc-
cess of the Philadelphia and Iowa assemblies, for example, proves
that great good and strength come from such union. The organ-
ization of the entire Association is necessarily elastic and generous in
the extreme, and our constitution is so broad and simple as toin-
clude almost every student of anything directly or remotely connected
with nature, from entomology to astronomy. The smaller organiza-






tions of city or State assemblies can profitably work under stricter
rules, be more variously officered, and have more frequent conven-
The purpose which such assemblies will serve is to band together,
look after, stimulate, and perpetuate the Chapters which, though
near in space, might otherwise remain comparatively isolated.
These two assemblies may prove of 7r.. importance as attractive
centers for the biennial conventions I whole Association. Here
again I must repeat the caution, that there is only one Agassiz
Association, and it is quite out of order for any single Chapter"
to speak of itself as "The Elanktown Agassiz Association." or to
foster the notion that there are nearly a thousand of these Associa-
tions scattered throughout the world. We use the word "Asso-
ciation in the sense of "an affiliation of local societies or clubs."
These local societies are branches or "Chapters" of The A. A.,"
and should always be so designated, especially in any printed
account of their proceedings.


DR. H. P. NOTTAGE, President of Chelsea, Mass., Chapter, de-
sires the addresses of any who are interested in the spectroscopic
observation of the "rainband," or in the spectroscope generally.


I. BOTANICAL. i. No. 2. XVo answer. 3. The rings of a beet indi-
cate the number of leaves borne by the plant. 4. The heart of an old
exogen is never alive, but that of an old endogen is. 5. A head of
scarlet berries on the spadix. 6. In selecting edible mushrooms,
avoid-a, bright colors; b, those that change color when broken;
c, those that have a milky juice; d, those that deliquesce; e, those
that have a repulsive odor or an acrid taste; f, those that have a
ring around the bottom of the stem ; g, those that have warts on
the upper surface of the pileus. Above all, do not risk your life until
you have learned all the distinctions from living teacher. 7. Thirty-
three. 8. A red berry, five-lobed, m-;- .. 1 1 1 .i.
II. LNTOMIOLOGY.- I. An anim..I. I -. I' .-, class,
Insect. The body has three divisions:-a. Head. b. TIhorax. c. Ab-
domen. It has six legs, and passes through a metamorphosis. It
is called "insect," because the parts are so segmented. 2. By means
of spiracles on each side of abdomen, which lead to tracheae, which
ramify to all parts of the body. 3. Not insects-the body is divided
into only two segments, and has eight legs. They are Arachnids.
4. Fly, 2. Bee, 4. 5. A glutinous fluid exudes from a small ball
between its claws. 6. They do not turn over; they leave the line
of upward flight, and when the ceiling is reached turn half around.
7. Mosquitoes, butterflies, and other insects. 8. Not answeered.
III. MINERALOGY.-I. Minerals are the individual constituents
of rocks. 2. Quartz. 3. Gold, iron or aluminium. 4. By A qua
regia. 5. Decomposed feldspar, called kaolin. 6. A preventive
of intoxication. 7. The color shown when the mineral is scratched,
or the color of its powder.
IV. ORNITHOLOGY.-- Th- lir-c f --.... -1--er is the Campce-
fiilus, or the majestic .-. i- I i. It is nearly
the same size as the common crow (Cot-us frugivorus), meas-
uring on an average about twenty inches from the tip of the bill to
the end of the tail. It is so called because of the long white bill,
the nostrils of which are concealed by 'r nasal tufts. The
male is larger than the female; his crest .. 'a beautiful scarlet
color faced with black; in the female the crest is wholly black.
He is :i .... i :n the Louisiana swamps. The colored folk
and th. '. I,. .It them by the peculiar name of "woodcock."
2. If we except (as we have to) the Texas beardless fly-catcher (Or-
nilhiun imberbe) and the little buff-breasted fly-catcher (Mltre-
..ggs of which are -;-.1---- the smallest
fl .. ..- .: inb/ic s, or the : fly-catcher,"
whose eggs measure 0.60 in. to 0.69 in. long, and average 0.65 in.
by o.5 in.; there are I 4. '-. , .. .. . 1 1 . .1 speck-
led. 3. Thenestof i.. ,. I- r ..... :. moss,
etc., lined with hay s... I I.. i. .... ..r would
call pretty. "The typical nest is affixed to the side ofa vertical rock
over water, c I,-. .- I .-.. ..- ., ... ir i .lilds anywhere about
houses and I ..*. I. :.. :is remarkable for its
cruelty,: ... 1 :.. ..l habits. It decoys birds by imitating
the note .u ,,e-..,. I ...d then when they are near him, it
swoops down upon its prey. I have often read, and have also heard
it stated, that the shrike after eating his meal, if he has a surplus,
generally impales the victim upon a thorn or other sharp point,
much the same as the "jay-bird stores its food in a hole. Although
they belong to the iasseres, they have a beak adapted to tearing
flesh, as in the raptorial birds. 5. The catbird (i/imus Caroliein-
sis), like his first cousin, the mocking-bird (Mimus :
a great mimic, and stands next the mocking-bird i. '-..- ". I',
imitate. The ln c ..-, i .... I I. ** .. bird are impossible to
describe, but i .. .,. i.. harsh cry somewhat
resembling the mewing of a cat; hence its name.

The best set of answers in Ornithology is given above, and comes
from Percy S. Benedict (aged 14), Sec. of Ch. 331, New Orleans.
The best papers on other topics were received from Ch. 448, Wash-

ington (G), among which one by G. Du Barry deserves mention.
Miss Julia C. Loos, Fred Crane, of Ch. 891, Schenectady, N. Y.,
Geo. A. Briggs, Howard L. Morehouse, MissJennie Judge, Miss
Mamie Mockler, and Charles Upson Clark.


WE shall now listen to the reports from our first century, onlv
premising dhat while from the nature of the case more have fallen
out from the ranks in this than in later centuries, yet those that re-
main rank among the ... : 11 branches. We shall take
little time for our LeCnc I.- We are active, and
pleasantly engaged in studying minerals. The Central Collection is
large, valuable, and growing. We are limited by vote to six active
members, but have, of course, a wide and delightful circle of corre-
sponding members. Most of our energies are devoted to the gen-
eral work of the Association, sometimes to the neglect, it is to be
feared, of our local interests.
8, Philadelpfia (A). Since our comingtogetherlast fall, swehave
prospered; all the meetings have been fully attended, and the Chap-
ter is on a much stronger footing than last *-nr w, l-.-- --- taken
up mineralogy and astronomy, which we r... I .... . ..: One
of our members has given us a fine cabinet' i . Sec.
Tr, Berwyn, Pa. Sickness, death, and removals have interfered
sadly with our plans, and we are reduced to our original member-
ship within our own family. It we meet with no further success, I
can say that it has proved of inestimable value to our children, who
one and all have learned to love and study Nature mainly through
the organization of the A. A.-John F. Glosser.
[Bu t this Chafiter, which the A. A. can not afford to lose, will
meet with further success, as this extract from a later report
shows: Report Berwyn Cha/ter as still active ']
18, Ieinosha, Wisconsin. Limited means, facilities and especially
time, have opposed us, but we I .. i. .. .:., f giv ing up. We
are taking ST. NICHOLAS now, : .i t.. i......- and do not feel so
isolated. We are engaged upon the frozen forms of water, making
drawings of snow and ice crystals, studying the pictures of frost,
and the philosophy of frozen water.--yron E. Baker, Sec.
[YVo better suggestion could be offre d to any Chapier that feels
"isolated! "]
o2, Fairfield, owan. One of the members of this Chapter ob-
served a bee caught in a spider's web. A i .I .
and gnawed its head, abdomen, wings, and I.. i...
with which it flew away. I have never before known of these
insects, feeding their young on anything but spiders. Has any
one ? "-C. C. Trine, Curator.
23 (A), Castle Bank, Stroud, Gloucestershire, England. During
the year 1885 our Chapter has shown more interest than ever in the
study of Natural Science. The meetings have been well attended
and held regularly. We have come to the conclusion thatit is better
to take one branch of Natural Science and study it all together, than
for each member to have a separate study. We have been trying to
learn som thing :i ... .... ,... -. ........ ... ...
and 1 1 : .... I .. ...
1-i .1. I . have entered nearly three hundred names of
S quite sure have been found, in a book kept for the
purpose. This book contains the names of all the natural orders and
families, with a space to enter all species of floweringplants growing
in Great Britain. During the winter we are going to study Ento-
mology. Eight members have undertaken to give an account of
the eight principal orders, each taking one, and giving an outline of
the peculiarities of the order, the different families, and some species
Si .. .. tich. We have been advised to study Botany without
1. I ..1 books. I think we have made a mistake in depend-
ing too much on the help we get from them, and neglecting to use
our eyes. In the early part of the New Year we are going to
have an entertainment, when all the specimens we have ourselves
and all we can borrow from friends will be exhibited ; there will be
some music, and two or three papers will be read. Our "Question
and Answer Book" has been kept up well throughout the year, and
has proved very useful.
Our Chapter wishes you the compliments of the season and would
like to take this opportunity of saying how useful the reports in ST.
NICHOLAs have been, and of thanking you for the trouble you have
taken to help us through the past year. T. Cor. Sec.
24, MiZ/atafa, lMass. We are now. . .... interesting the
members in our work. We desire c c-"-r-'len-"- Any one who
can describe to us the Fauna or the I -i I ace where he or
she lives, is invited to address us.- Mary C. Lovering, Sec.
27, Pittsburgh (A). I can assure you that we keep the lamp
burning, no matter how faint the glimmer may sometimes appear.
I begin to realize the importance of talking more and more about
our A. A. to outsiders, iffor no 'E. i.n order to keep in their
minds the memory of the grew ..... -. scientist. In our new
library .- 1 -- window, partly of stained glass. In the
middle i A. --- an; d on either side symbols of the
Arts an.i-. ...- I *. Sec.
q9, Philadelphia (B). In its earlier history, our Chapter was
earnestly industrious, and two or three of us can still be depended



on for its reorganization. We, whose privilege it was to undertake
the arrangements for the first convention will, of course, be ready to
aid the Iowa State Assembly in all ways in our power.- Edwin A.
K elley, Sec. .. :i .. :...i
48, FitcAb; .1' '. .... ber has now formed an herba-
rium of about 650 species. We have discovered several new varieties
of plants and one new kind of violet, which we call the V. parva. It
is described as follows: Leaves, serrula,. .. .. elliptical
acute, ..:..- 1 : : wingless I I. I. ,. l ..... .blade.
Plant i-: i,. i ... Petals, beardless, obtuse, lower one
deep purple, but white at apex; one or more stained light-blue by
this purple one, which is i i them, the rest white with pur-
ple veins. Corolla, very .. .1- i- Muddy shores of Robbin's
Pond, Rindge, N. H. This resembles the V. lanceolta more than
any other species, but can easily be seen to be much different. I
should be glad to hear whether any one else has found it.- Arthur
B. Simonds.
58, Philatdelpia (2D). We are making wonderful progress. We
have fourteen members, ,..'I -, ...- .-_ ... to be very attractive,
for we always have serve. I .. . : purchased a black-
board, and we have also the nucleus of a library, in which, besides
books, the greatest care is taken of papers read by our members.
Under the head of "miscellaneous," we have lectures by the various
members. The Chapter is divided into sections on Geology, Ento-
mology, Bota... I !...... Jos. McFarland, Sec.
64, Cedar i . .. .-, you c -1 : at its year-book,--a
retrospect of plans formed and carried .., i progress in its various
studies, and decided advancement in its work.
We devoted the first seven months to The eu . .. and its
revelations," studying from nature as far as .- ..' ^ I t -'' t
we took up entomology, ornithology, and botany, and **I -
tinue our research in these three branches for some months to come.
Several of our members formed themselves into a Linn County
Investigation Committee," and explored a large part of our county,
_.., .,..- ,i. : i ...:\ of their expeditions to the society.
i. t .. over a hundred dollars in the purchase of instru-
ments and in increasing our facilities for scientific research; have
entertained the Second Annual Meeting of the Iowa Assembly of
th ^ _--- citation and have increased our library by the ad-
1 .. .. .of I volumes, and our collection by several hundred
We now possess a collection numbering several thousand speci-
mens.. l r:.. l ... t ...1 i. rt ...,. science; which,
with I . i .. . .- .. i us to study to

e ..' e t 1' .1 by the meeting of the Iowa Assembly
-ri.. '. is .i. i. i, held here last August, has done much
S- -.o ou ..._. formedth -esl-. e int "a"i nnirCi-o to the
next, to be held next August, .. I .. I 11. ..... I as the
National Convention.
In behalf of the Iowa Assembly, I extend to the members of the
A. A. ans earnest invitation to be present next August, and help
make the Second National Convention a grand success.
Yours in the A. A.,
E. P. Boynton, Cor. Sec. Chap. 64,
Pres. Iowa Assembly of the A. A.
65, Wiesbaden, Germany. Our travel:; C I.,1. .-: il: ., .
France a want of butterflies and here a v .' i.... .
much collecting, and more than half the specimens we did secure
were tipped over by the servant and destroyed. If we follow a rare
specimen into a field we are liable to arrest.-Kenneth Brown, Sec.
87, New York (B). This has been the most prosperous year of
our existence. Our Annual Exhibition proved very succe ssfl.
Tn. C .. ,.f -- I 1 1 i receiving the members of our
r.. .i. .... '- i ,. i i. -. I lie exhibition caused some of
our members to decide to study special branches of Natural History.
W ae had twenty-thre d lectures and discussions. Enjoyable
excursions have been made to Croton Lake, and elsewhere; moth-
hunts have been made in East New York, and more actual work has
been done than erbeore. Many :..i .. e been received, of
which 600 botanical specimens fror.' I. i i.i..- and :- ecimens
of shells from Mr. Linsay, deserve special mention. i i. library
has increased surprisingly. But the hiring of our present hall is
the realization of the object for which we have been most longing.
Here we can spend the '-1-l E-in bir ?.e---in7- in -"-arm and pleasant
room, having t' ., ,.. and can quietly
work at our spe ..:.. I-ii ... .1. .r i.. marked by still
harder work, I I 'd "'i, ... i... *I -.d F. Groth, Sec.
91, Bitffao, N. y. (iA). The fourth annual report which Chap-
ter 9g has had the pre.iln of sending to Lenox, is forwarded at the
beginning of this .., fiomia hopeful band of workers, who
look back upon the past twelve months' study with interest and
profit, and forward to the next year's efforts with pleasure.
Our members at present number thirty-four, sixteen of whom are
active, fourteen passive, and four honorary. TI- '..'. i...:..
the year have been held ro--l- -l- .;t but few 1. i.
day evenings, and the . I . . has consisted of scientific
committee reports; an essay, discussion, debate or microscopic exhihi-
tion, observations, questions, miscellaneous science, and necessary
business. In addition to the regular weekly meetings, we have
celebrated during the year our fourth birthday as a Chapter of the
A. A., have given a microscopic reception to our friends and the


other members of the Buffalo Association; have held a pleasant
meeting in memory of Agassiz on May 28th; and have enlivened
the monotony of the regular work by occasional socials. Besides
this, an essay is prepared each time for the union meetings of Chap-
ters A, B, C, F, I, H, and K, which are held on the second Mon-
day in every month.
Our treasurer reports six dollars always kept on hand in the
treasury for contingent expenses, and a snug fund laid aside in the
savings-bank for microscopical work.
Our collection, in charge -f s. nr-,-r e-n--i of a cabinet of
insects, a herbarium which i' .'..... .... .... and which now
consists of over two hundred plants, and a cabinet of miscellaneous
specimens, several of them of value. A catalogue of all objects is
The Librarian reports, as a nucleus for a future society library,
nine volumes of the Humboldt Library collection, files of the Scien-
Htic A merican for 1884 and 1885, and the Sufiplement for 1884,
several works on local botany and geology, and various pamphlets.
With a good, binocular :.. .. ..... the property of the society,
the microscopic work of I. I' q -- perhaps the most thorough
and effective that we do. A microscopist is elected each term, who
appoints monthly two assistants, and holds with them weekly or
semi-weekly meetings, at which the principles of microscopy are
studied, and specimens mounted. Thus, in a year, each active
member has been assistant at least once. Of the one hundred and
forty-five specimens which have been mounted, I send you a list of
some of the newer ones to show what kind of work we are doing.
With cordial assurances of the continued and hearty interest ot
Chapter 91, in the A. A. and its work, I am, yours respectfully,-
Cora Freeman, Cor. Sec.
roo, Hartfird (B). Our Chapter has just now seven members in
actual attendance, and three others who will come to the meetings a
little later in the season. The older boys and girls have outgrown
our simple talks on birds, flowers, and insects, although none of them
have lost their interest in out-of-door sights and sounds. I am sure
that the A. A. has made all of them : .. . :..; ,1. ,.. they would
have been without it. The childr. .... "" I..-' .. just now are
from eight to thirteen years old. We are studying butterflies this
winter, and I inclose the result of two mornings' careful inspection
of the Atalanta, taken down from their own lips. We have no officers
.. r ..i .. 1 .11 1. s ose them in the spring.
i.. .. .. .....,. I who had been a faithful member of our
Chapter for three years, was drowned at Fenwick on the third of last
.. He was eleven years and four months old, a sturdy,
.,.. r. -ci fellow, with the promise of a character combining man-
..,... -. i entleness. Yours sincerely,-C. M. Hewins, Secretary
fro tem.

Fossil .il, 1-...1 fern impressions, and insects.- Edward D.
Keith, . ..I-.. [., Moore street.
Quartz er, ,at. .1 [-, ., .. -. i.irk's teeth, four inches
across.- I : I ,- .erstown, Pa.
i 1 . i .., -,.I .. and territories.- A. W .
... .. ... i 79 7.
.:* i- *. ..* .A. A. Chapters, with number if
desired, for minerals or natural curiosities.-C. F. Hotchkin, 1on
Main street, Binghamton, N. Y.


No. Name. No. of Members. Address.
922 London, England (E)...... 6..H. L. -. ....
Cres't, i .
923 Columbus, 0. ............ 6..Russell Kilbourne,
550 E. Iowa Street.
924 Lancaster, Pa. ()........ o..Geo. F. Alter, East King St.
925 East i -r-'1, 0. (A) .... 6..W. M. Hill, Box 395.
926 New ., Y. (Y).... 5..Wm. Coman, New York, N.Y.
927 i i I i..,. (I).......... 5..F. M. Vogel, 2454 Nicholas St
928 i_. .... iV Washington
Territory (A) ........... 20. Clarence Van Sant,
San Juan Co.
929 Doylestown,Pa., (A) ..... 2.. Miss Katherine Grimes.


93 Taunton, Mass. ...............H. G. White.
9o Rozetta, IlI ........... .... Miss N. M. Crouch.

Secretaries will please confine their reports within the limits of
three pages, commercial note, and invariably set at head of first page
-both number and name of Chapter, as they appear in our printed
reports. Reports from Chapters 20 300, inclusive, should be sent
in as near March ist as possible. All are invited tojoin the A. A.
Address the President:
Principal of Lenox Academy, Lenox, Mass.




THE names of those who send solutions are printed in the second number after that in which the puzzles appear. Answers should be
addressed to ST. NICHOLAS "Riddle-box," care of THE CENTURY CO., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City.
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE JANUARY NoUMBEP "p'e. r ir"erl f-r a Tln--Trv 20, from Clifford and Coco"- Paul
Reese- "B. L. Z. Bub, No. i"- "B. L. T "-' .. I .. Melville "Chawley Boy"--Maud E.
Palmer- Edith, Neil, and Mamme 'T T. ..... i Cha ., .. Maria "- Sallie Viles Ida M. Preston-
W. R. M.-" \Ma" and "Billy"- .1.1 "--Lucia C. Bra J .. i. i ; chickenss "-Emily andSusie- X. Y. Z.-
Georgie H. Meleker- Edith Hunnewell--" Eureka"-" L. Los Regni"-Charlotte B. Capen-Deiwn and Abebrt Elrwy -" N. C.
..:., T. I and A. I.-" Mohawk Valley "-Sadie and Bessie Rhodes -Hazel and Laurel-Nannie S. Barker- Ida C. Lusk-
II -.I . i Bertha Heald--Francis W, I. -. : . 1 Grace Davenport- Mamma and Tokie "-"Navy Yard"- Nellie G.,
Valley"-Agnes Zimmerman ... .. Gerhard-" Frying-pan"-"The Spencers"- Katie L. Roberison-
Fanny R. Jackson.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE JANUARY NUIMBER were received, before Januar fi.-r. c L. S., I -" Tarr H. E. J.,
2-"Daisylina," 2-Carrie B., 5-"Grace and Arthur," 6-" Chippie Bird," 7- ... i." 4-Emma Du 2- Nellie L.
-.-Alma M. 1-'i I ..... I e Emmerieh, 4-Carrie, Willie, and ... ..: T -T P .: 1- P.mna M* Tuttle, 2:
- ,.r. Crane, i -i .. ... I Idaand Hattie, -- Harry Hayc .- I- .. .. i and Mamma, 8:
!. - Zulu," 3 -" A Pair," 7- Grace Fleming, I Eleanor I. Schultz, I- R. Eatl .. I- Barry, 3- Mar-
: ..' 3 3 B. W. W., -Celia Loeb, 2- Fritz G., I- Helen L. U., i- Alice -i i 1.1 i -Daisy and
" R. I. Chard," 7- Sam Bissell, 4- Richard P. Kent, 3- Willie H. Beers, I Edith Hump.. I ... I -" Yum Yum,"
7-"Pottsville," 3--Ge-r' C i-'-ti T1 1. ; -N. Phelps, 4- Helen S. and le .. -- ... Ames, Jr., 2-
Charlie D. Mason, 5 -. -' i 1i K. T 11 - Cmma St. C. Whitney, 8- Walter S. Hamburger, K-Phili
R. Coats, 2-" Cousin Hattie" and Lottie Harmon, 7 Estelle i- r --Justus P H-m i-- Chas. H. Urmston, 6--" Goose,"
2-L. B. B., 2--Amelia N. Junk, 2--Ellen de B. Wickersham, i- .i i- .- i i! .ii Couch, 7- Nanki Po" and others,
4 Mamie R., 7 -"M. I. Kado," 7- Genio Abner T g-noli i -- .. L., 2 -"Co-Co and . 4 Laura
Whitson, 2-Adelaide Schoonover, Mamie, 6- i i 6-Elliot I. Seward, 8-- i..,, ..apper, Willie K.
Cornwell, 2- Florence Aithaus, r -" Betsy," 2-Mollie Ludlow, 7 Nettie Johnson, 2 Lizzi ....... 3- I i . 5-Willie
H. Dorrance, 4- Ned L. Mitchell, -- . t.ie Brooks, 3- Fannie S. Merriman and .i' ..... i Millie B. ... i -
Alice Gibbs, 2-Philip James Faulk...... i... Sprecher, 3-C. C., Alice Frame, r-Florence Foley, 2 I 2-
Agnes Converse, I- Eva Sherwood, 2-" Two Marthas," 8 -J. F. and H. S. K., 2- G. P. G. and M. N. W., 7- Nannie, 5 -Jennie
and T. A. G., 8-Clark Holbrook, 3-W. H. and M., 6-Ethel 3 I .. a-l-Eleanor, Maude, and Louise Peart, 5-"R. U.
Pert" and "Theo. Ther," 8- "Lyons, Ia.," 8 -Pearl 11 md I 8-Lulu Belle Murdoch, 7-Julian and Grace, 2-
"Fan," 4-"Seb and Barn," 7-"Frisco," 4-Laura E. i- Carrie C. Howard, 6-Grace Roome, 2-W. D. .Keep, 2-L. C.
B., 5-" Brother Jonathan," 5-" Sun Dial," 6-A. W. Lindsay, 5-L. L. L. and G. A. P., 8--H. Allen. ir.. 2-- George 'T IITi- -
- S. and Ray Freeman, A. Mulligan, 3-M. Webb, 3-E. M. Gower and F. S. Merriman, I-- i, Amie, and I .i
Maggie Dobbs, - ...-- P Reynolds, 3-John Vanderbery, 2-Florence I. Crandall, 3-Cora Stroman, 3-Era Bear, 3-Mary
Etheridge, 3- I ... I 11 -.. 1 3 -M. Helen Grant, 3 -Sara Irene Cann. i. i ... : I.--ge, 3- Odie G. Turner, 3-J. Litchfield,
3- Victor Caffes, 3 Florence Jones, 3 Ella Frances Kight, 3 Maggi i I i 8--S. S., 7- 1 One of P. E.'s
Pets, 2-W.A.LaBar, 5- '. i., 5--LouiseandHenri, 5-Jas. J.Connor, 3-Hattie, Lilie, I .. i. ,5-F.D.,6
-Jerome and Eddie, 3 C. : r.-. ...., Young and J. Dupuis, 8 M. Ferris, 6-B. F., 7-J. Judge, 5 -" Puzzled Family at
Leipzig," 5.


UPPER DIAMOND: I. In jarred. 2. A lawless crowd. 3. A bird.
4. Waggish. 5. Frustrates. 6. A verb. 7. In jarred.
LEFT-HAND DIAMOND: I. In jarred. 2. The name of a dog
famous in fiction. 3. To renovate. 4. A porter. 5. The smallest
of Venetian coins. 6. To court. 7. In i..r.l
RIGHT-HAND DIAMOND: I. In jarred. I I, I '. 3, A sweet
substance. 4. Refreshed. 5. A. claw. 6. Three-fourths of a frac-
ture. 7. In jarred.
LOWER DIAMOND : i. In jarred. 2. A kind of grain. 3. To hap-
pen. 4. Having a raceme. 5. Swelled up. 6. A color. 7. In
The nine central letters in the above diagram (seven stars and two
dots) form a double word-square.
Across: i. A verb. 2. 2/. .." -1i c-- 3. A kind ofgrain.
Diamond: x. To court. 2. 3. Placed.

EACI of the words described contains seven letters. When these
are ightly guessed, and written one below the other, in the order
here given, the third row of letters .. .... downward-" .ill Pii "1
name formerly given to the fourth ... I ... Lent, I '
of 1., ; i i latthe tenth i i. .- r"
S.... certain bounds. 2. Confines
with arope, as a horse. 4. A man of letters. 5. A .1, 6. The
title next to a baron. 7, Published. 8. Used by soldiers for carry-
ing drink. 9. Those who govern in the place of kings. o1. Acts

in opposition to. In. Cautious to avoid harm. 12. A command.
13. Absence of conceit 14. A kind of soft leather. 15. Maxims.


C.- "

I- ~ -,
-: ,ryi. ;
j~I+d ''wR

CI.. -.

.A~ I

- .1

THE words forming this enigma are pictured instead of described.
The answer, consisting of sixty-four words, is a quotation fiom a
Shakespearean play.




L .- '

THE answer to the above rebus is a proverb concerning the month
of March. A. I.

UPPER LEFT-HAND SQUARE. Across: I. To stop. 2. A tune.
3. To ogle. 4. To abstain from food. Downward: i. A moiety.
2. Surface. 3. Falsehoods. 4. Al :.1 I i -
UPPER RIGHT-HAND SQUARE. -. ,I. used in pairs
for drawing a vehicle. 2. The name of the ship which carried Jason
and his companions to Colchis. 3. A gold coin used during the
reign of Queen Elizabeth. 4. To try. Downward: i. Sour. 2. A
large lake. 3. Turkish chief officers. 4. A conical hill with a
smooth top.
LoWER LEFT-HAND SQUARE. Across: i. Immovable. 2. A
Peruvian title for a chief ruler. 3. A distinguished theatrical per-
former. 4. Domestic fowls. Downward: i. An aquatic animal.
2. Before. 3. To scrutinize. 4. Sailors.
LOWER RIGHT-HAND SQUARE. Across: i. Trial. 2. To pain.
3. A South American bird, similar to the ostrich. 4. Pieces of turf.
Downward: I. Marines. 2. To resound. 3. To emit. 4. Drinks.
Centrals across (seven letters), most rapid; centrals downward,
persons having irritable tempers. L. F.


i. BEHEAD a hard substance and leave a sound. 2. Behead
naarv and leave proportion. 3. Behead a wanderer and leave above.
4. I 'I.. ,I ,. -.. .,. 7 and leave to distribute. 5. Behead an untruth
and leave a conservative. 6. Behead to reconcile and leave a sound.
7 Behead single and leave solitary. 8. Behead a violation of the
law and leave hoar-frost. 9. Behead at no time and leave always.

CHINESE PROVERB. When the heart is out of tune, the tongue
seldom goes right.
M1 A G o G A P E 1D
H E RF A T A x

R O M A N o R
W A V E S E T 0 N
S E V E N S E P 0 v
INVERTED PYRAMIDS. I. I. Patagonian. 2. Natives. 3. Robed.
4. Men. 5. S. 11. l. Catamaran. 2. Marines. 3. Pined. 4.
Dew. 5. D.





io. Behead a black substance and leave attenuated, is. Behead in
what place and leave in this place. 22. Behead a kind of meat and
leave mature. 13. Behead oxygen in a condensed form and leave a
girdle. 14. Behead an iridescent substance and leave 4840 square
I -.. i .1 .. IrI ii ii the name and title of a famous man


ACROSS: I. Requiring to be subtracted. 2. Prongs. 3. Plays
on a fife. 4. More domesticated. 5. A measure of capacity.
DowWxARo: a. In trim. 2. A pronoun. 3. To pinch. 4. One.
5. Part of a flower. 6. A Latin word meaning half. 7. To place.
8. A note in music. 9- In trim. "YOURS TRULY."


I. A coal-scuttle. 2. Part of a coat. 3. Malignant. 4. To act.
5. Calumniated. 6. Ancient musical instruments. 7. Conducted.
F. L. F.
My first is in coffee, but not in tea;
My second in breakers, but not in sea;
My third is in morning, but not in day;
My fourth is in March, but not in May;
My fifth is in rumble, but not in roar;
My sixth is in -'r- but not in door;
My whole is a 11 -. of early spring,
And promise of summer doth surely bring.

WORD-SQUARE. i. Balls. 2. Allah. 3. Llama. 4. Lamed. 5.
DOUBLE ACROSTICS. I. Primals, Little; finals, Dorrit. Cross-
words: i. LanD. 2. .;r" 3. TeaR. 4. TieR. 5. LevI. 6.
ExiT. II. Primals, .. finals, Adams. Cross-words: i.
AffA. 2. DeaD. 3. AreA. 4. MaiM. 5. SeaS.
BROKEN WORDS. Longfellow i....r ., Cross-words; i.
2. Over-Act. 3. Green-Horn. 5.
'I ,. I Ear-Nest. 7. Looking-Glass. 8. Loads-Tar. 9. Ode-
On. so. Win-Now.
Pm. Never a night so dark and drear,
Never a cruel wind so chill,
But loving hearts can make it clear,
And find some comfort in it still.
DIAMOND. R. 2. Bib. 3. Cedar. 4. Beadles. 5. Riddle-
box. 6. Baleful. 7. Rebut. 8. Sol. 9. X.
ZIGZAG. The mating of birds. Cross-words: i. Trap. 2. tHem.
3. plEa. 4. shaM. 5. drAm. 6. sTop. 7. Ivry. 8. aNon.
9. leGs. io. JunO. it. waFt. 12. eBon. 13. Iron. 14. tRip.
15. biDs. 16. misS.
ILLUSTRATED WORD-DWINDLE. Basket, skate, teas, sea, ea, a.