Front Cover
 The boyhood of Thomas Bailey...
 Piscataqua river
 Historic girls
 The turtle's story
 Juan and Juanita
 A lesson in patriotism
 How doubledarling's old shoes became...
 The song in the night
 Jenny's boarding-house
 Ready for business; or, choosing...
 The tongs
 What a boy saw in Madeira
 A little lesson in French
 Tommy interviews a peacock...
 Paul and Nicolai in Alaska
 A new leaf from Washington's boy...
 St. Nicholas dog stories
 The story of Grumble Tone
 Maggie Grey's bird
 More about gas-wells
 The Brownies' friendly turn
 A letter from a doll
 A queer horse-car
 The bulrush caterpillar
 A lesson in natural history
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00182
 Material Information
Title: St. Nicholas
Uniform Title: St. Nicholas (New York, N.Y.)
Alternate Title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner
Place of Publication: New York
Publication Date: -c1943
Frequency: monthly
Subject: Children's literature -- Periodicals   ( lcsh )
Genre: periodical   ( marcgt )
Dates or Sequential Designation: -v. 67, no. 4 (Feb. 1940) ; v. 70, no. 1 (Mar. 1943)-v. 70, no. 4 (June 1943).
Dates or Sequential Designation: Began with: Vol. 1, no. 1, Nov. 1873.
Numbering Peculiarities: Suspended Mar. 1940-Feb. 1943; vols. 68-69 omitted.
Issuing Body: Published by: Century, Aug. 1881- ; by Educational Pub. Corp. -1940; by St. Nicholas Magazine, 1943.
General Note: Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
General Note: Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00065513
Volume ID: VID00182
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: oclc - 01764817
lccn - 04012675
 Related Items
Preceded by: Our young folks
Preceded by: Children's hour (Philadelphia, Penn.)
Preceded by: Little corporal
Preceded by: Schoolday magazine
Preceded by: Wide awake

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
        Front Cover 3
    The boyhood of Thomas Bailey Aldrich
        Page 323
        Page 324
    Piscataqua river
        Page 325
    Historic girls
        Page 326
        Page 327
        Page 328
        Page 329
        Page 330
        Page 331
    The turtle's story
        Page 332
        Page 333
    Juan and Juanita
        Page 334
        Page 335
        Page 336
        Page 337
        Page 338
        Page 339
    A lesson in patriotism
        Page 340
        Page 341
    How doubledarling's old shoes became lady's slippers
        Page 342
        Page 343
        Page 344
        Page 345
        Page 346
    The song in the night
        Page 347
    Jenny's boarding-house
        Page 348
        Page 349
        Page 350
        Page 351
        Page 352
        Page 353
        Page 354
        Page 355
        Page 356
    Ready for business; or, choosing an occupation
        Page 357
        Page 358
        Page 359
    The tongs
        Page 360
        Page 361
    What a boy saw in Madeira
        Page 362
        Page 363
    A little lesson in French
        Page 364
    Tommy interviews a peacock feather
        Page 365
        Page 366
    Paul and Nicolai in Alaska
        Page 367
        Page 368
        Page 369
        Page 370
        Page 371
        Page 372
    A new leaf from Washington's boy life
        Page 373
        Page 374
        Page 375
        Page 376
    St. Nicholas dog stories
        Page 377
        Page 378
        Page 379
        Page 380
    The story of Grumble Tone
        Page 381
    Maggie Grey's bird
        Page 382
        Page 383
        Page 384
    More about gas-wells
        Page 385
        Page 386
    The Brownies' friendly turn
        Page 387
        Page 388
        Page 389
    A letter from a doll
        Page 390
    A queer horse-car
        Page 390
        Page 391
        Page 392
        Page 393
    The bulrush caterpillar
        Page 394
    A lesson in natural history
        Page 395
    The letter-box
        Page 396
        Page 397
        Page 398
    The riddle-box
        Page 399
        Page 400
        Unnumbered ( 83 )
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text

;~6 ~_-f

. A


[See page 328.1



VOL..XIV. 1 MARCH, 1887. No. 5.

S[Ciyrit. lr- by THE CENTURY CO.]



A GoO) many years ago now. a small., bare-
legged boy set out from his home in Portsmouth,
New Hampshire, for an afternoon's sport with a
gun. He rambled along, as boys will, with his eyes
wide open Ior everything tha: came under them.
as eill as for the game that was the special object
of his expedition, and he had not gone far when he
sa, a chaise approaching, driven by the Governor
of the State. ''
The Governor was a verv popular and dis-in-
guished ian. who i-ias being talked of ifr the
Presidency. and wre should not have liked the-
small boy if he had not been a little o\eraived by
finding himself alone in the presence of so august
a personage. He was equal ti the occasion, how'-
Sever, and as the chaise reached him, he stood
aside to let it pass and gravely presented arms.
. The Governor at once pulled up his horse and
looked with amusement at the little fellow tardncdng
.there a.;s eriou a; a sentry,' with his gun held
rigidly before him.
\- What is .our namn ?" said the Governor.
Thomas Balley Aldrich.'' replied ti-e boy, i th
a military alute.
He viwas ir.n\ted into the chaise, and though i-e
lost his shooting.i what was that in comparp:.:,r, vith
the dis:inction ofridinr into Portsmouth Tou, n vitlh
Governor Woodbury '
This w's fi t : ears ago. and since then Thomas
Bailey Aldrich has earned a place among the fore-

most of American authors by a series of books,
some in prose and some in verse, which are dis-
'tinguisied by:the purity of their torie, the refine-
ment of their style, nrd the picturesqueness or
thei'invention. One of them sc called The Story
of a Bad Boy," and except that some of the names
of persons and place; are changed, it is so faithful
a picture of the author's boyhood that it might be
.called an autobiography. If any one has not read
that book I advise him to do so at once: and % hen
he has finished it, hie uill. I think, be ready to
thank me for introducing it to him.
"Not such a i ery bad boy, but a pretty bid
boy," the author says of' iiniselft:. A pretty good
bo:y .we should call hiiim- a 'boy- who would do
nothing mean, cruel, or \ ulgar. though he wds as-
ready for mischief as any uf his playfellowis. :
Portsmouth was just the place for such a boy.
It is a quaint old-town b, the h-ea, full of quaint
old homresteads. as .,ou have been told in a recent
number of ST. NICHOLAS. It isbuilt at the mouth
of the Piscataqua river, and may be said to have
been founded by Captain John Smith, the famous
adventurer, who, after slaying Turks iri hand-to-
hand c,:inbats, and doihg all sorts of doughty-deeds
in arinus parts of the globe, visited the coast of
New Hampshire in 1612, and recommended this
as the site of a future seaport.
Time was when Portsmouth carried on a great
trade with the West Indies and: threatened to


eclipse both Boston and Ne-v York: it turned out
the best ships and the smartest sailors, and in the
war of i.S2 It equipped many a daring prii-a-
teer. But it- prosperity slipped a'.ay fromI it. and
all the old whar.rs are no., de,-ertd, though v.hen
the sun chines upon them it brings out a .iguie
perfume of the cargo.;e of rumi. iriolas,--_, and
spice that used to be piled upon them.
What boy .hiandering along i harves like the-e.
and hearing froin superannuated sailors of the
former glories of the place, would not long to go
to sea There ,.ire few boy, in Riiermouth, as
it iscalled in The Story ol a Bad Bo,." ho had
not this ambition : and early in life Aldrich begin
the study of navigation, though he v. as not destined
to use his knowledge i, picking paths a:rross the
sea by the aid ot the- s.-un and stairs.
The -iharves iwere not the oni\ stimuluiC to the
spirit of romance in thi old to..n. In the shady
streets .were historic hoj-uses in 'which Washing-
ton. Lafasette. and the Kin. of the Fiench had
been entertained : the ghosts of foiimer greatness
seemed to haunt themni; dark wainscot stood high
against the 'ails: strange car-ings i ith iinged
heads clustered about the doors; :hado.,i por-
traits of be,,igged gentleme-n and furbelo:.ed
dames, ea.:h with some legIend attached to it,
hung from the holdings, and iwining stair'-.,ay-
led into mysterious chambers under the roofs.
It seems to me that an imaginative b,)h brought up
amid such surroundings a3:; bound to become either
a sailor or an author.- that hIe wouldd either yield
to the fascinations of the .,harve. and gto t:sea, or
stay ashore to % rite the stories a nd the poems which
would be sure to come into his head in the pres-
ence of these relics of a historic: past.
In one of those old houses .hiclh still stand in
Court street, where it is no, u'ed as a hospital.
Aldrich "as born, just fortyr-ninc years ago: that
is, in 1837. His father a.as a merchant and
banker who had opened a business in New
Orleans. and it was the custom of his parents td
keep the boy, \ho was their only child, with them
in the South during the inrtei. and to send him
back to Portsmouth for the summer. These visits
were continued until lie reached the age of thir-
teen, when he returned to Portimouth to remain
there for several years, and it %as in this old town
that all which .as most memorable in his boyhood
He was a rather slender little Iello.., but sound
and vigorous, and ever ready for either sport or
mischief. As many mishaps befell him as usually
fall to the lot of a high-spirited and adventurous
boy. He could defend himself from imposition,
and he was expert in the various gaines which
occupied his comrades. He was not a prodigy in

any way ; not marvelous either lbr his scholarship
or his promise of future distinction. But he was
very find of reading, and spent many hotirs in a
delightful old attic, where he found a lot of old
book.:, among others beine "" Robinson Clusoe,"
"Baron Trenck," Don Quixote." The Arabian
Nights," Defoe's History of the Plague in Lon-
don." aiid Tristrani Shandy.' Of all these.
Defoe's ** History of the PI gue" \wa: his favorite.
Like ill attics in old New England houses, this
one was the Iecepta:-le of all kinds of rubbish.-
S"The-, never throw anything away in New
England." Aldrich said to me one day, "- they
always s put it up in the attic,"- and here were cast-
off clothing, legles; chairs. crazy tables, and all
sortsof things which times and changes in fashions
had rendered useless.
Among the rest was an old hide-covered trunk;
and seeing how little hair was le-ft on it. Thomas
Bailey thought he iould attempt to restore it.
He had seen in the ,indow of a barber's shop a
preparation which was highly recommended as a
sure cure kfr baldness, and he purchased a bottle of
this and catefull:, applied it to the trunk. Then
he ,ent upstairs from day to day to watch the
effect. bLut the result w.as not satisfactory: the
trunk remained as bald as ever, and Thomas Bailey
felt that he had wasted his money .
The fir:t school he went to was Dame Bagley's,
and from what he has told me of her. I shall al-
a)ys think of her as a character who ought to
have belonged to one of Hawthorne's romances.
She was a severe and angular person, ahoi had a
peculiar method of punishing her pupils. She
con;tantl) wore on the second Finger of her right
hind an uncomrnonrly heavy thimble, and with
this she Po uld sharply rap the offender on the
head. ** Thoma- Baile, come here." Tap. tap.
tap. tap! It does not seem like a severe penalty;
but she brought her finger demn \with such force,
that the culprit often felt that it was going right
through him.
The boy was not aery happy ith Dame Bag-
ley, whose school was a dreary. uncomfortable
place; the yard was bricked, and lust one brick
had been lifted out to allo, a solitary cucum-
ber vine to spring up: this was what Dame
Bagley would probably have called a richly
..ooded landscape." And then the benches in the
schoolroom were too high for his legs. His feet
could not reach the floor, and hi- back would grow
so tired that sometimes he threw himself backward
upon the floor in sheer desperation.
It was an altogether pleasant change when he
left Dame Bagley's and became enrolled a- a-pupil
atthe Temple Schoo:l.
The Temple School is constantly referred to in


"The Story of a Bad Boy ",as the Temple Gram-
mar School, and nearly everything which relates to
the latter is true of the former, so that the reader
can get a better idea of Aldrich's boyhood from
that book than I can give him here. The mad
pranks of the boys when he was initiated as a mem-
ber of the Rivermouth Centipedes; the fight on
Slatter's Hill, that Gettysburg of snowballs; the
burning of the stage-coach -all the adventures
were. described, from real life. There is a won-
derful pony in the book, and the pony is from
real life, too. According to the story, the Temple
Grammar School was burned down one Fourth of
July by a fire-cracker that flew in through a window.
This was fiction at the time the book was pub-
lished; but five years afterward, as if to make the
chronicle veracious in every particular, the school
was burned in just that way.
To my mind, one of the earliest signs Aldrich
gave of his literary bent was his distaste for figures;
arithmetic staggered him, and he confesses that
he' often had to seek help from his school-fellows.
This was, very wrong, of course, and the only
excuse I can think of may not be regarded as an
excuse at all, but rather as an aggravation of the
offense. In return for .the help he received in
arithmetic, he revised the compositions of the
class, and even went so far as entirely to write

the essays of the boys who, though clever enough
at figures, had no talent for literary exercises.
Before he reached the age of twelve, he had
written a story called Colenz0." It was about
pirates. and buccaneers, and the scene was on a
tropical island which was supposed to lie some-
where out at sea, about seven miles from Ports-
mouth. Then he wrote articles for one of the
local papers, and to these utterances of pre-
cocious wisdom he signed the nom .de hlume,
At sixteen, his school days came to an end, and
his father having died, he was sent to New York
to become a clerk in his uncle's office. But day-
books and ledgers had no more charm for him
than elementary arithmetic, and by the time he
reached twenty, he had broken loose from the
counting-room and won a recognized place for
himself among the most original of American
authors. Fourteen books now stand to his credit,
stories that linger in the mind like memories of
sunny days, and poems that have the polish and
brilliance of diamonds. Portsmouth, sometimes
with its own name, sometimes as Rivermouth, is
revived again and again in them, and in some
charming verses he has celebrated his days on the
Piscataqua, which were among the happiest, no
doubt, that he has ever seen.



THOU singestby the gleaming isles,
By woods, and fields of corn,
Thou singest, and the sunlight smiles
Upon my birthday morn.

But I within a city, I,
So full of vague unrest,
Would almost give my life to lie
SAn hour upon thy breast!

To let the wherry listless go,
Arid, wrapt in dreamy joy,
Dip, and surge idly to and fro,
Like the red harbor-buoy;'

To sit in happy indolence,
To rest upon the oars,:
And catch the heavy earthy scents
SThat blow from summer shores;

To see the rounded sun go down,
4nd with its parting fires
Light up the windows of the town
And burn the tapering spires;

And then to hear, the muffled tolls '
From steeples slim and white,
And watch, amoig the Isles of Shoals,
The Beacon's orange light.

O River flowing to the main
Through woods, and fields of corn,
Hear thou my longing and my pain,
This sunny birthday morn;

And take this song which sorrow shapes
To music like thine own,
And sing it to the cliffs and capes
And crags where I am known !

* Reprinted from "The Poems of Thomas Bailey Aldrich," by kind permission of Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co.






NAULT, of Zealand and
Friesland, Duke of
Bavaria, and Sovereign
T Lord of Holland, held
his court in the great,
Straggling castle which
he called his "hunting
lodge," near to the German Ocean, and since
known by the name of "The Hague."f
' Count William was a gallant and courtly knight,
learned in all the ways of chivalry, the model of the

younger cavaliers, handsome in person, noble in
bearing, the surest lance in the tilting-yard, and
the stoutest arm in the foray.
Like Jephtha, Judge of Israel," of whom the
mock-mad Hamlet sang to Polonius, Count Will-
iam had
'!One fair daughter, and no more,
The which he loved passing well" ;

and, truth to tell, this fair young Jacqueline, the
little Lady of Holland," as men called her,-
but whom Count William, because of her fearless

*Copyright, 1884, by E. S. Brooks. All rights reserved.
t "The Hague is a contraction of the Dutch's Gravenhage- the haag, or hunting lodge," of the Graf, or count.




'887.] HISTORIC GIRLS. 327

antics and boyish ways, called "Dame Jacob," *-
loved her knightly father with equal fervor.
As she sat, that day;:in the Great Hall of the
Kniclis in the massive castle at The Hague, she
could see, among all the knights and nobles who
came from far and near to join in the festivities
at Count William's court, not one that approached
her father in nobility of bearing or manly strength
not even her husband.
Her husband? Yes. For this little maid of
thirteen had been for eight years the wife of the
Dauphin of France, the young Prince John of Tou-
raine, to whom she had been married when she
was scarce five years old and he barely nine.
Surrounded by all the pomp of an age of glitter
and .display, these royal children lived in their
beautiful castle,of Quesnoy, in Flanders,t when
they were not, as at the time of our story, residents
at the court of the powerful Count William of
Other young people were there too,-nobles
and pages and little ladies-in-waiting; and there
was much of the stately ceremonial and flowery
talk that in those days of knighthood clothed alike
the fetir of cowards and the desires of heroes. For
there have always been heroes and cowards in the
And so, between all these young folk, there was
much boastful talk and much harmless gossip:
how the little Lady of Courtrai had used the
wrong corner of the towel yesterday; how the fat
Duchess of Enkhuysen had violated the laws of all
etiquette by placing the wrong number of finger-
bowls upon her table on St. Jacob's Day; and how
the stoAut young Hubert of Malsen had scattered
the rascal merchants of Dort at their Shrovetide
Then uprose the young Lord of Arkell.
Hold, there he cried hotly. This Hubert
of Malsen is but a craven, sirs, if he doth say the
merchants.of Dort are rascal cowards. Had they
been fairly noa-ted, he had no more dared to put
his nose within the gates of Dort than dare one of-
you here to go down yonder amid Count William's
lions .! "
Have a care, .friendOtto,': said the little Lady
of Holland, with warning finger; "there is one
here, at least, who dareth to. go amid the lions-
imy fati'her, sir." .
"I said nothiiinr of him. madam," replied Count
'Otto. "I did mean. these, young red hits hb-hre,
who do no more dare to bait your father's-lions
than to face the Cods of Dort in fair and eqral
At thi- bold speech there was instant commo-
tion. For the nobles andmerchants of Holland,
four centurie- and a half ago, were at open strife.

with one another. The nobles saw in the increas-
ing prosperity of the merchants the end of their
own feudal power and tyranny. The merchants
recognized in the arrogant nobles the only bar to
the growth of Holland's commercial enterprise.
So each faction had its leaders, its partisans, its
badges, and its followers. Many and bloody were
the feuds and fights that .raged through all those
low-lying lands of Holland, as the nobles, or
" Hooks," as they were called-distinguishable by
their big red hats-and the merchants, or Cods,"
with their slouch hats of quiet gray, struggled for
the lead in the State. And how they did hate one
another !
Certain of the younger nobles; however, who
were opposed to the reigning house of Holland, of
which Count William, young Jacqueline's father,
was the head, had espoused the cause of the mer-
chants, seeing in their success greater prosperity
and wealth for Holland. Among these'had been
the young Lord of Arkell, now a sort. of half pris-
oner at Count William's court because of certain
bold attempts to favor the Cods in his own castle
of Arkell. His defiant words therefore raised a
storm of protests.
"Nay, then, Lord of Arkell," said the Dauphin
John, "you, who prate so loudly, would better
prove your words by some sign of your own valor.
You may have dared fight your lady mother, who
so roundly punished you therefore, but a lion hath
not the tender ways of a woman. Face you the
lions, lord count, and I will warrant me they will
not prove as forbearing as did she."
It was common talk at Count William's court
that the brave Lady of Arkell, mother of the Count
Otto, had made her way, disguised, into the castle
of her son, had herself lowered the. drawbridge,
admitted her armed retainers,- overpowered 'and
driven out her rebellious son; and tlat then, relent-
ing, she had appealed to Count William to pardon
the lad and to receive him at court as hostage for
his own fealty. So this fling of the Dauphin's cut
But be.fbre the young Otto could return an
angry answer, Jacqueline had interfered.
Nay, nay, my lord," she,said to her husband,
the Dauphin; '"'t is not a. knightly act thus to
impeach the honor of a noble guest."
But now the Lord of Arkell had found his
"My lord prince," he said, bowing low -with
stately cou rtes'-y. "if, as my lady mother and good
Count William would force me, I am to be loyal
vassal to you, my lieges -here, I should but follow
where you dare to lead. Go you into the lions' den,
lord prince, and I will follow )ou, though it were
into old Hercules' very teeth."-

. 7.:;..:". i- th. Fr,;nch rc..jrir.~ o:' the Dutch Jakobine-the feminine of Jakob, or James. f Now northeastern France.





It was a shrewd reply, and covered as good a
"double dare" as ever one boy made to another.
Some of the manlier of the young courtiers indeed
even dared applaud. But the Dauphin John was
stronger in tongue than in heart.
Peste he cried contemptuously. "'T is a
fool's answer and a fool's will. And well shall we
see now how you will sneak out of it all. See,
Lord of Arkell, you who can prate so loudly of
Cods and lions: here before all, I dare you to face
Count William's lions yourself! "
The young Lord of Arkell was in his rich court
suit--a. tight-fitting, great-sleeved silk jacket,
rich, violet chausses, or tights, and pointed shoes.
But, without a word, with scarce a look toward his
challenger, he turned to his nearest neighbor, a
brave Zealand lad, afterward noted in Dutch his-
tory- Francis von Borselen.
Lend me your gabardine, friend Franz, will
you not ? he said.
The young von Borselen took from the back of
the settle, over which it was flung, his gabardine -
the long, loose gray cloak that was a sort of over-
coat in those days of queer costume.
It is here, my Otto," he said.
The Lord of Arkell drew the loose gray cloak
over his rich silk suit, and turned toward the door.
Otto von Arkell lets no one call him fool or
coward, lord prince," he said. "What I have
dared you all to do, Idare do, if you do not. See,
now: I will face Count William's lions! "
The Princess Jacqueline sprang up in protest.
"No, no; you shall not!" she cried. "My
lord prince did but jest, as did we all. John,"
she said, turning appealingly to her young hus-
band, who sat sullen and unmoved, tell him you
meant no such murderous test. My father! she
cried, turning now toward Count William, whose
attention had been drawn to the dispute, "the
Lord of Arkell is pledged to face your lions "
Count William of Holland dearly loved pluck
.and nerve.
Well, daughter mine," he said, "then will he
keep his pledge. Friend Otto is a brave young
gallant, else had he never dared raise spear and
banner, as he did, against his rightful liege."
"But, my father," persisted the gentle-hearted
girl, spear and banner are not lions' jaws. And
surely you may not in honor permit the willful mur-
der of a hostage."
"Nay, madam, have no fear," the Lord of Ar-
kell said, bending in courteous recognition of her
interest; 'f that which I do of mine own free will is
no murder, even should it fail."
And he hastened from the hall.
A raised gallery looked down into the spacious
inclosure in which Count William kept the living

specimens of his own princely badge of the lion.
And here the company gathered to see the sport.
With the gray gabardine drawn but loosely
over his silken suit, so that he might, if need be,
easily slip from it, Otto von Arkell boldly entered
the inclosure.
Soho, Juno! up, Hercules; hollo, up, Ajax!"
cried Count William, from the balcony. Here
cometh a right royal playfellow -up, up, my beau-
ties and the great brutes, roused by the voice
of their master, pulled themselves up, shook
themselves awake, and stared at the intruder.
Boldly and without hesitation, while all the
watchers had eyes but for him alone, the young
Lord of Arkell walked straight up to Hercules,
the largest of the three, and laid his hand caress-
ingly upon the shaggy mane. Close to his side
pressed Juno, the lioness, and, so says the record
of the old Dutch chronicler, von Hildegaersberch,
"the lions did him no harm; he played with
them as if they had been dogs."
But Ajax, fiercest of the three, took no notice
of the lad. Straight across his comrades he looked
to where, scarce a rod behind the daring lad, came
another figure, a light and graceful form in cling-
ing robes of blue and undergown of cloth-of-gold-
the Princess Jacqueline herself!
The watchers in the gallery followed the lion's
stare, and saw, with horror, the advancing figure
of this fair young girl. A cry of terror broke from
every lip. The Dauphin John turned pale with
fright, and Count William of Holland, calling out,
"Down, Ajax! back, girl, back!" sprang to his
feet as if he would have vaulted over the gallery
But before he could act, Ajax himself had acted.
With a bound he cleared the intervening space
and crouched at the feet of the fair young Princess
The lions must have been in remarkably good
humor on that day, for, as the records tell us, they
did no harm to their visitors. Ajax slowly rose
and looked up into the girl's calm face. Then the
voice of Jacqueline rang out fresh and clear as,
standing with her hand buried in the lion's
tawny mane, she raised her face to the startled
You who could dare and yet dared not to do!"
she cried, "it shall not be said that in all Count
William's court none save the rebel Lord of Arkell
dared to face Count William's lions!"
The Lord of Arkell sprang. to his comrade's side.
With a hurried word of praise he flung the gabar-
dine about her, grasped her arm, and bade her
keep her eyes firmly fixed upon the lions; then,
step by step, those two foolhardy young persons
backed slowly out of the danger into which they





had so .thoughtlessly. and unnecessarily, forced
The lions' gate closed behind them with a clang;
the shouts of approval and of welcome sounded
from the thronging gallery, and over all they
heard the voice of the Lord of Holland mingling
commendation and praise with censure for the
rashness of their action.
And it was a rash and foolish act. But we
must remember that those were days when such
feats were esteemed as brave and valorous. For
the Princess Jacqueline of Holland was reared in
the school of so-called chivalry and romance,
which in her time was fast approaching its end.
She was, indeed, as one historian declares, the last
heroine of knighthood. Her very titles suggest
the days of chivalry. She was Daughter of Hol-
land, Countess of Ponthieu, Duchess of Berry,
Lady of Crevecceur, of Montague and Arlceux.
Brought up in the midst of tilts and tournaments,
of banquets and feasting, and all the lavish dis-
play of the rich Bavarian court, she was, as we
learn from 'her chroniclers, the leader of adoring
knights and vassals, the idol of her parents, the
ruler of her soft-hearted boy husband, an expert
falconer, a daring horsewoman, and a fearless
descendant of those woman warriors of her race,
Margaret the Empress and Philippa the Queen,
and of a house that traced its descent through
the warlike Hohenstaufens back to Charlemagne
All girls admire bravery, even though not them-
selves personally courageous. It is not, therefore,
surprising that this intrepid and romance-reared
young princess, the wife of a lad for whom she never
especially cared, and whose society had for political
reasons been forced upon her, should have placed as
the hero of her admiration, next to her own fearless
father, not the Dauphin John of France, but this
brave young rebel lad, Otto, the Lord of Arkell.
But the joyous days of fete and pleasure at
Quesnoy, at Paris, and The Hague were fast draw-
ing to a close. On the fourth of April, 1417, the
Dauphin John died by poisoning, in his father's
castle at Compiegne- the victim of those terrible
and relentless feuds that were then disgracing and
endangering the feeble throne of France.
The dream of future power and greatness as
Queen of France, in which the girl wife of the
Dauphin had often indulged, was thus rudely dis-
pelled, and Jacqueline returned to her father's
court in Holland, no- longer crown-princess and
heiress to a throne, but simply "Lady of Holland."
But in Holland, too, sorrow was in store for her.
Swiftly following the loss of her husband, the
Dauphin, came the still heavier blow of her
father's death. On the: thirtieth of May, 1417,

Count William died in his castle of Bouchain, in
Hainault, and his sorrowing daughter Jacqueline,
now a beautiful girl of sixteen, succeeded to his
titles and lordship as Countess and Lady Supreme
of Hainault, of Holland, and of Zealand.
For years, however, there had been throughout
the Low Countries a strong objection to the rule
of a woman. The death of Count William showed
the Cods a way toward greater liberty. Rebellion
followed rebellion, and the rule of the Countess
Jacqueline was by no means a restful one.
And chief among the rebellious spirits, as leader
and counselor among the Cods, appeared the
brave lad who had once been the companion of
the princess in danger, the young Lord of Arkell.
It was he who lifted the standard of revolt
against her regency.. Placing the welfare of Hol-
land above personal friendship, and sinking, in
his desire for glory, even the chivalry of that day,
which should have prompted him to aid rather
than annoy this beautiful girl, he raised aconsid-
erable army among the knights of the Cods, or
liberal party, and the warlike merchants of the
cities, took possession of many strong positions in
Holland, and occupied, among other places, the
important town of Gorkum on the Maas. The
stout citadel of the town was, however, garrisoned
with loyal troops. This the Lord of Arkell be-
sieged, and, demanding its surrender, sent also a
haughty challenge to the young countess, who was
hastening to the relief of her beleaguered town.
Jacqueline's answer was swift and unmistakable.
With three hundred ships and six thousand knights
and men-at-arms, she sailed from the old harbor
of Rotterdam, and the lion-flag of her house soon
floated above the loyal citadel of Gorkum.
Her doughty Dutch general, von Brederode,
counseled immediate attack, but the girl countess,
though full of enthusiasm and determination, hesi-
From her station in the citadel she looked over
the scene before her. Here, along the low banks
of the river Maas, stretched the camp of her own
followers, and the little gayly colored boats that
had brought her army up the river from the red
roofs of Rotterdam. There, stretching out into the
flat country beyond the straggling streets of Gor-
kum, lay the tents of the rebels. And yet they
were all her countrymen,-rebels and retainers
alike. Hollanders all, they were ever ready to
combine for the defense of their homeland when
threatened by foreign foes or by the destroying
ocean floods.
Jacqueline's eye caught the flutter of the broad
banner of the house of Arkell that waved over the
rebel camp.
Again she saw the brave lad who alone of all




her father's court, save she, had dared to face
Count William's lions; again the remembrance of
how his daring had made him one of her heroes,
filled her heart, and a dream of what might be
possessed her. Her boy husband, the French
Dauphin, was dead, and she was pledged by her
dying father's command to marry her cousin,
whom she detested, Duke John of Brabant. But
how much better, so she reasoned, that the name
and might of her house as rulers of Holland should
be upheld by a brave and fearless knight. On the
impulse of this thought, she summoned a loyal and
trusted vassal to her aid.
"Von Leyenburg," she said, go you in haste
and in secret to the Lord of Arkell, and bear from
me this message for his ear alone. Thus says the
Lady of Holland: 'Were it not better, Otto of
Arkell, that we join hands in marriage before the
altar than that we spill the blood of faithful fol-
lowers and vassals in cruel fight?'"
It was a singular, and perhaps, to our modern
ears, a most unladylike proposal; but it shows how,
even in the heart of a sovereign countess and a
girl general, warlike desires may give place to
gentler thoughts.
To the Lord Arkell, however, this unexpected
proposition came as an indication of weakness.
My lady countess fears to face my determined
followers," he thought. "Let me but force this fight
and the victory is mine. In that is greater glory
and more of power than in being husband to the
Lady of Holland."
And so he returned a most ungracious answer:
Tell the Countess Jacqueline," he said to the
knight of Leyenburg, that the honor of her hand
I can not accept. I am her foe, and would rather
die than marry her."
All the hot blood of her ancestors flamed in
wrath as young Jacqueline heard this reply of the
rebel lord.
"Crush we these rebel curs, von Brederode,"
she cried, pointing to the banner of Arkell; "for,
by my father's memory, they shall have neither
mercy nor life from me."
Fast upon the curt refusal of the Lord of Arkell
came his message of defiance.
Hear ye, Countess of Holland," rang out the
challenge of the herald of Arkell, as his trumpet-
blast sounded before the gate of the citadel, the
free Lord of Arkell here giveth you word and warn-
ing that he will fight against you on the morrow "
And from the citadel came back this ringing
reply, as the knight of Leyenburg made answer
for his sovereign lady:
, "Hear ye, sir Herald, and answer thus to the
rebel Lord of Arkell: for the purpose of fighting
him came we here, and fight him we will, until he

and his rebels are beaten and dead. Long live
our Sovereign Lady of Holland!"
On the morrow, a murky December day, in the
year 1417, the battle was joined, as announced.
On the low plain beyond the city, knights and men-
at-arms, archers and spearmen, closed in the shock
of battle, and a stubborn and bloody fight it was.
Seven times did the.knights of Jacqueline, glit-
tering in their steel armor, clash into the rebel
ranks; seven times were they driven back, until,
at last, the Lord of Arkell, with a fiery charge,
forced them against the very gates of the citadel.
The brave von Brederode fell pierced with wounds,
and the dayseemed lost, indeed, to the Lady of
Then Jacqueline the Countess, seeing her cause
in danger,-like another Joan of Arc, though she
was: indeed a younger and much more beautiful girl
general,- seized the lion-banner of her house, and,
at the head of her reserve troops, charged through
the open gate straight into the ranks of her vic-
torious foes. There was neither mercy nor gentle-
ness in her heart then. As when she had cowed
with a look Ajax, the lion, so now, with defiance
and wrath in her face, she dashed straight at the
Her disheartened knights rallied around her,
and, following the impetuous girl, they wielded ax
and lance for the final struggle. The result came
quickly. The ponderous battle-ax of the knight
of Leyenburg crashed through the helmet of the
Lord of Arkell, and as the brave young leader fell
to the ground, his panic-stricken followers turned
and fled. The troops of Jacqueline pursued them
through the streets of Gorkum and out into the
open country, and the vengeance of the Countess
was sharp and merciless.
But in the flush of victory wrath gave way to
pity again, and the young conqueror is reported
to.have said, sadly and in tears:
Ah I have won, and yet how have I lost! "
But the knights and nobles who followed her
banner loudly praised her valor and her fearless-
ness, and their highest and most knightly vow
thereafter was to swear "By the courage of our
The brilliant victory of this girl of sixteen was
not, however, to accomplish her desires. Peace
never came to her. Harassed by rebellion at
home, and persecuted by her relentless and perfid-
ious uncles, Count John of Bavaria, rightly called
"the Pitiless," and Duke Philip of Burgundy,
falsely called "the Good," she, who had once
been Crown Princess of France and Lady of Hol-
land, died at the early age of thirty-six, stripped
of all her titles and estates. It is, however, pleas-
ant to think that she was happy, in the love of her




husband, the baron of the forests of the Duke of
Burgundy, a plain Dutch gentleman, Francis von
Borselen, the lad who, years before, had furnished
the gray gabardine that had shielded Count Will-
iam's daughter from her father's lions.
The story of Jacqueline of Holland is one of the
most romantic that has come down to us from those
romantic days of the knights. Happy only in her
earliest and latest years, she is, nevertheless, a
bright and attractive figure against the dark back-
ground of feudal tyranny and crime. The story
of her womanhood should indeed be told, if we
would study her life as a whole; but for us, who
can in this paper deal only with her romantic
girlhood, her young life is to be taken as a

type of the stirring and extravagant days of
And we can not but think with sadness upon
the power for good that she might have been in
her land of fogs and floods if, instead of being
made the tool of party hate and the ambitions of
men, her frank and fearless girl nature had been
trained to gentle ways and charitable deeds.
To be "the most picturesque figure in the history
of Holland," as she has been called, is distinction
indeed; but higher still must surely be that gen-
tleness of character and nobility of soul that, in
these days of ours, may be acquired by every girl
and boy who reads this romantic story of the Coun-
tess Jacqueline, the fair young Lady of Holland.







I AM a land-turtle with

weighabout fivepounds,
and I acknowledge my-
self to be a very lazy,
good-for-nothing turtle.
Perhaps I ought to call
myself a tortoise and be
dignified; but I don't
take myself as seriously
as most unimportant
people do, and, there-
fore, "turtle" is title
enough for me.
I often think I am very unfortunate in being a
turtle, because I am constantly being picked up
and carried home by boys. A bird can fly away,
and a rabbit can run away,- even from a boy,-
but I can not. If the boy sees me, I am lost-I
mean found. Most people think I am well off
because I live in a hard shell. Yet of what use is
a shell, after I am caught? I should greatly prefer
wings or fleetness of foot. A shell may be very
nice; but when a squirrel, we 'll say, has escaped
from the clutches of a boy, I don't believe that
squirrel sits down and cries because he is not cov-
ered with a shell. If I wish to go through a crev-
ice on my travels, and am too wide for it, I can't
squeeze through, but have to go and find one that
fits me, or change my course.
One day a little boy named Geoffrey Wood
caught me as I was going across a garden path.
I know his name, because he asked a comrade how
it would look cut on my under shell with a jack-
The comrade thought it would improve my gen-
eral appearance; accordingly, I was placed on my
back in the boy's lap and wedged between his
knees, while he did the carving. I was very much
afraid, while the operation was going on, that the
knife might slip, and cut off one of my feet. A
dog may be happy on three legs, or a soldier on
one, but it is different with a turtle. With a foot
off, I should be fit only for a paper-weight.

After the boy had cut the G., he thought he
did not pine for so rich a harvest of blisters on his
fingers as his entire name would have yielded; so
he simply cut his initials on me, and stuffed me
into his coat-pocket, with his knife, a fish-line, a
top, and some shoemaker's wax.
When he reached the house, I was put on the
floor to walk, but I kept well within my shell.
Then he put me in the bath-tub, and turned on
the water. This obliged me to come out in order
to save myself from a watery grave. My fright
and consternation caused Geoffrey and his friend
to shout with delight, and I longed to be turned
into a snapping-turtle and get just one chance at
them !
Then Geoffrey's sister came along and rescued
me. She said it would be a good idea to boil me
out of my shell, and use the latter for a sugar-
scoop. I shut up for reflection. But she turned
me over, and saw the G. W. cut upon my shell.
She immediately concluded that I had at one
time been the private pet of George Washington,
and was, therefore, too valuable as an antiquity to
be boiled. In her excitement, she put me on the
back steps, while she went in to look for her patri-
otic father; and I lost no time in getting out of
the way.
But on the very next morning, I was picked up
again; this time by a little boy in frocks, who
hitched me to a toy wagon with cord.
I did not mind this very much, because I was
Snot hurt nor roughly handled. I managed to
crawl under a fence when the boy was not looking,
and I was traveling off as fast as possible, when I
was suddenly stopped by the wagon, which was
too large to follow me. I was recovered, taken
into the house, wrapped up in a piece of cloth,
and put on a shelf.
The boy's father, having heard him call me a
land oyster, on account of my shell, took me off the
shelf and told him all about me, referring occa-
sionally to a book. Then he spoke my narie in
Latin, and gave a general history of me, using
very high-sounding words. I admit that I felt






much larger than usual. I felt, in fact, like com-
ing out of my shell.
But, may I be converted into combs, paper-
knives, breast-pins, and watch-chains if I
can understand how the man that wrote that
book ever found out so much about me, unless
he was once a turtle himself, which I scarcely
Here I am again, dragging the toy wagon about

all loaded with dolls, tops, and things. Now,
while the little boy is not looking, I will bite the
string. Once more I am a free turtle, and away I
go for yonder currant-bush !
I am there, and the boy can't find me. I will
wait till dark, and plunge into yonder wood, and
never leave it. If ever I do, may I, as I just said,
be converted into tortoise-shell combs, tortoise-
shell bracelets, and tortoise-shell cats!

kheTre once. was an Ichthyoscturus, i|
W1lho jived -when .the earth was acd porous,
but he Antec wvitlh shame
When he first heard his name, _
An.d departed a lonq time before us






WHEN the two weary starvelings had partaken
as freely of their ambrosial repast of broiled fish
as they dared after so long a fast, their one
thought was a place in which to rest. This Juan
undertook to select, although, as he limped off
into the woods, he could scarcely drag one foot
after another. 6
'If he had been alone, he could not have resisted
the temptation to sink down anywhere, so painful
was any further effort; but he had Nita to con-
sider, and her comfort and safety required that he
should reconnoiter the immediate neighborhood
and choose some sheltered spot for the night's
resting-place. Leaden weights seemed to have
attached themselves to his usually nimble feet;
and he could not have felt more bruised if he had
been pounded in a mortar for the last two days.
But he persevered, and in about half an hour came
back to Nita, walking, indeed, as slowly as though
he had been his own grandfather, but with a bright
face that promised pleasant news.
Come, little sister !" he said affectionately,
holding out his hand to help her to her feet.
"Oh, Juan, indeed, indeed, I can't move an
inch! Don't ask me to get up !" remonstrated
Nita plaintively.
But Juan, with a smile, insisted, telling her that
he had something nice to show her. Then he put
his arm around her and carried her off, whistling to
Amigo, who, with his head on one side, was making
dreadful faces over his fish bones, and positively
declined to follow anybody just then. Nita had
not far to go. At the end of five minutes' walk,
Juan stopped, his progress impeded apparently by
a large rock. The river rippled away in a long
shining curve on his right, and on the left rose a
high bluff.
This way I" he said, and, in a flash,-he had
disappeared completely.
"Why, where have you gone ? Where are you,
Juan ?" cried Nita when she had skirted the rock
and could see nothing of her brother. She was
answered by a merry shout with a queer ring
in it:
"Here! here Don't you see me?"
It sounded very near, and she stared all about
her, up the bluff, into the trees, into the river even;
and then, taking a good look at the rock, she saw
Juan's laughing face peeping at her from behind

the leaves of a bush that grew in the angle formed
by the bluff and the rock.
Come here 1 You can just squeeze in, when
you push the bush aside," said Juan encouragingly;
and the next moment, Nita was standing in delight-
ed astonishment inside a beautiful little cave !
"I discovered it quite by accident," explained
Juan. I saw a rabbit dart in here and looked
to see where he had gone. It is perfectly dry and
warm, and there are no snake holes, for I have
looked all about it for them, and here we can stay
just as long as we please. We are as safe as
though we were at home. Are n't you glad you
came, now ? Is n't it a splendid thing to have a
house of our own! He threw himself down with
a sigh of deep content as he spoke; and Nita, who
had thought she could not take another step,
explored every corner of the cave again and again,
and indulged in the most rapturous comments on
it. "0 La buena fortune / Que casa segura
bonisima, hermosa, grandisina /" (Oh, what good
fortune What a safe, nice, fine, big house !)
she cried, and was not half done admiring it then.
The last sounds Juan heard that night were, "Oh,
is n't this just too delightful, too fortunate, for any-
thing !" from Nita, and a loud snore from Amigo,
who had traced them without the least difficulty,
and had promptly sought the repose he needed.
Happy and secure, they all slept on, and on,
until even the cave was quite bright. When at
last they did awake, it was to find themselves the
stiffest, lamest creatures in the world, and the day
well advanced. It seemed at first as if every
motion of the body would result in the dislocation
of a joint. But when people have to find as well

as to cook their own breakfasts, they can not lie
abed; so, with many an exclamation and groan,
Nita took herself off to the river to perform her
morning ablutions; and Juan, after making some
wry faces and yawning prodigiously, followed her
The fresh air soon put new life into them, while
exercise became first endurable and then enjoy-
able. Nita built a fire in Comanche fashion. Juan
got out his fishing-pole, and gave himself up to
the business of the moment. The lesson of the
previous evening,however, had not been wasted on
those Arcadian trout. They had lost confidence in
man and grasshoppers, and they now kept back a
little, prudently waiting to see whether further ex-
perience would destroy or confirm their suspicions.



1887.1 JUAN AND JUANITA. 335

It vas. a blundering, stupid catfish, after all, that
darted at the bail, dalloUed it. made a desperate
plunge bel,'. -and snapped Juan's line
S" My onlr hoolk I" exclaimed Juan, quite aghast,
as he saw the cord disappear, and drew in what
remained of it.
For a few minutes it e':.med as though the chil-
dren were destined to be defeated' by the fishes.
But Juan was by no means at the end of his re-
sources, and he pi'esen l', went poking about and
around in a purposeful sort of way, saying:
"I know what I '11 do! Just wait a minute."
And this is what he did. He found a small
bone not much larger than a quill, and, having
sharpened one end, he tied his line to the bone
within an inch of the sharp end, leaving three or
four inches beyond. He then tied the gills of a
fish to the long and blunt end of the bone. Then
he took a piece of dry wood about five feet long,
and, having fastened his line to it, threw the
wood out into deep water. The next minute he
saw the wood give a dash and begin traveling off
at odd angles, taking an occasional dive under the
water, and popping up again where least expected.
Into the clear water jumped Juan, creating a great
excitement among its innocent inhabitants! The.
wood now rushed upstream at an amazing pace,
Juan swimming after it with long and dexterous
side-strokcs, while Nita, on the bank, shrieked
with laughter as she watched the queer race. It
as a triumphant moments when Juan got hold of
the wood and itoved his prize into shore. It
proved to be an immense flat-headed catfish that
would haxe wei'hed tihirt or forty pounds, and
.great was the your: fisher's pride and joy.
It was a troublesome piece of business for Juan
to get his patent hook out of the fish's throat, until
he hit on the masterly plar of cutting off its head;
th;s o, simpllifed matters that he soon had his tackle
clear. The fact that their breakfast had so nearly
escaped them gave it added zest, though this was
scarcely needed. A more hearty and entirely sat-
isfactory meal was never made, and Amigo got
two large pieces without any bones for his share.
The afternoon was given up to lounging and
talking. The children reviewed all their past life
.at home and among the Comanches, and it was
agreed that the-, should stay in their present com-
ufrt :,bie quarters until they had entirely recovered,
and had laid by such provisions -as they could
carry. In this w.ay th. risk of starvation would be
cniiiderably le-sened. On this subject. Nita had
an in..ptration..
I can c.atry a good deal, and you can take
iom.,, and v hvi should n't Amigo help u? she
exclaimed. If. there are pack-horses, why
'should r't there be pack-dogs?"

Such an idea had never occurred to Juan, but
he highly approved of it now. WVhile they
were still discussing the subjectghey heard the
gobble of approaching turkeys. iPhe evening was
drawing down, and the birds were coming in, as
usual, to roost near. the river.
"We are not going to live on fish altogether,"
said Juan, and straightway began to imitate the
notes of the turkeys with the aid of a little box cut
out of cedar-wood. Shaneco had taught him this
important piece of wood-craft, and had shown him
how to make this "yelper," or turkey-call, and
how to produce the proper tones, by scraping away
on one side with a bit of slate. Juan and Nitd
bbth were ambitious of getting a shot at the tur-
keys, so they strung their bows and hid in some
bushes near a large oak, in which they fancied the
fowls would roost. Juan laid a few arrows down
beside him, in case the first shot was a failure,
though he thought this an unlikely event.
Oh, do you think you will hit one ? I do hope
you won't miss! whispered Nita excitedly, as
the unsuspicious fowls marched down to the river
to drink before settling down, or rather up, for
the night.
"Hit'one?" repeated Juan scornfully; "I
should rather think I would."
He then fell to scraping on his yelper again,
and presently the whole flock came hopping and
skipping and gobbling toward the children, and
almost ran over them! Embarrassed by this
wealth of opportunity, they aimed firstat one and
then at another, urnt it seemed as if the whole flock
would pass without either of the young hunters get-
ting a shot. Juan finally selected his bird, and
shot, but missed. Last in the procession came a
sober, staid old gobbler which stopped a moment
within tenr feet of Nita. Whiz! went her arrow
.square into its breast. After running a few yards
with drooping wings, it tumbled over; then, up
jumped Nita, so transported by her success that
she paid no attention to Juan's warning, Cui-
dado!" (Look out!) and seized the. turkey by the
"You will get hurt!" shouted Juan, running
up; but the turkey had already made such lively
play with its wings and feet, that she had released
it. "Well, well, Nita, I am proud of you he
said, a little condescendingly. But something
must be the matter with my bow. I believe I.
could have done better with the old one." He
carefully examined his bow as he spoke, but found
it all right. It was n't my fault, I know. he
protested .; ii srnome pique.
'" Perhaps the turkeys were at fault," suggested
Nita, teasingly.
"Nonsense! How ridiculous you are to talk


so Do you mean to say that I don't know how
to shoot?" demanded Juan rather angrily; and,
without waiting for her reply, he walked off to
look up his arrow. He found it and came back
with it, saying triumphantly, I knew it! It was
the arrow. See here, how it is warped! It was
all the fault of this crooked thing. I must be
more careful in future, and do as Shaneco told
me. 'Always straighten your arrows before you

ness always does in that land of brief twilights.
There was fish, warmed over, and the breast of
that delicious turkey, which was greatly relished;

,4 ,


rA' '//



start out to hunt or fight,' he said. I remember
now, but it was so long ago, I had forgotten."
With this he picked up the turkey arid walked
back to camp in dignified silence. It was cooked
for their supper'in the open air; and then Nita,
who liked the idea of playing at housekeeping,
built a small fire of very dry wood near the mouth
of the cave.
This served to light the farthest corner of their
apartment, making it indeed a cheerful retreat for
the merry little party that assembled in the cave,
when darkness dropped suddenly down, as the dark-
*" Happy mornings."

there was much laughter and chatter; Amigo was
caressed and complimented, and fed with now a
wing, now a leg, until his eyes glistened with
satisfaction. So secure and at ease were the
children, that by a natural process of association
they began to talk of certain gala-days -that they
remembered at the hacienda; this led to the
old, ever new, subject their mother; and the
evening closed with "Maganitas Allegras," "El
Suefo," f and one or two more of the old songs.
"We must push on as soon as we get some
food. Our mother has waited so long for us, we
t "The dream."




"i"; "~i


must Aot linger," said Juan in final comment; and
much as Nita dreaded the hardships and dangers
that awaited them, she assented to this, though
rather quaveringly, as she looked about her and
thought of the world beyond that safe retreat.
"No, we must not stay. We must go to her.
It may not be so bad. And if it is, we must suffer,
since our mother is waiting. Poor, sweet, little
mother. All! if we were only birds and could fly
to you she said.
"And be shot, perhaps, on the wing," said
Juan. As for me, I prefer to walk."
The children were up at daylight, next morning,
being now thoroughly rested and restored to their
usual state of perfect health and gleeful spirits.
The squirrels darting about in the trees outside
were not more full of joyous life; and even Amigo
was all bounds and frisks and cheerfulness, as dif-
ferent as possible from the dog that crossed the
prairie with drooping head and tail, bowed down by
the weight of his woes. After breakfast, the trio
went on an exploring expedition about their camp,
having been too tired on the previous day to do
anything except provide for their immediate neces-
sities. Not a very sober ramble did it prove, for
the way in which they swarmed up trees and
jumped from one to another, slid down the bank,
dived into the river, floated, swam, and played
there until they were tired, scrambled out again,
chased one another over the prairie, pulled a
harmless snake out of its hole, diffused themselves
generally over the neighborhood in search of
Amusement and adventure, -would have frightened
any elderly persons of civilized habits quite out of
their wits (if any such had been there to witness
the children's antics), and would have turned a
mother, a governess or a nurse gray in less than
an hour by the clock. As it was, they took their
fill of frolic without fear and without reproach or:-
interference. The rabbits scudded away from them,
were pursued, ran up the white flag, and for the
most part escaped, though one was knocked over
by Juan in the course of the morning. The
hawks overhead turned a curious eye upon them,
but, finding out that they were not a new and in-
'teresting variety of poultry, lost interest in them,
and sailed indifferently away. The smaller birds
flew up before them out of the tall grass, disclosing
nests in which were eggs that never developed
into the third brood of the season, for they were
promptly sucked by Juan and Juanita, who were
connoisseurs in the matter of nature's edibles.
Neither guardian, mentor, teacher, pastor, nor mas-
ter these children had; they were as free as air;
but, after all, they did not greatly abuse theirlib-
erty. They tired of play about noon, and be-
thought themselves of dinner. At least, Nita did.
VOL. XIV.--22.

Juan had feasted on berries, and was not yet ready
to go back to camp.
"I think I see some vines over there," he said
to Nita, who was resting from her pleasures. I '11
be back presently, and will bring you enough ber-
ries for. dinner and supper. Wait here for me."
He darted off as he spoke, and in about ten min-
utes Nita was surprised to hear a shout of joy from
him. Come here, Nita! Just look here !" he
called out; and she rushed after him, all curiosity
to know what this demonstration meant. She
found him gazing with delight at a mass of nicely
sealed honeycomb neatly packed away under a
ledge of rock. There it was in full view; and how
tempting it was But, alas! it was much above
their reach. Now, if there was one thing that the
children liked, it was honey. It took the place of
all the candy, bonbons, cakes, custards, meringues,
and jams in which other children delight; and to
see it and not to be able to get at it, was simply
Both. Juan and Nita danced about on the grass
below in their impatience,. and looked, and longed,
and looked again, without being able to think of a
way to rifle the sweets. They ran up and down,
gave their-views as to the way it was to be done,
tried to jump up, and to crawl up, although there
was scarcely footing for a fly on the face of th6e
rock, almost quarreled as to methods, and at
last relapsed into silence only to stare anew at the
treasure so cunningly placed just where, as Nita
said, "no one could get it."
"I don't know about that," said Juan; and
running into the bed of the creek, he picked up a
young tree, long dead and washed down by some
flood. This he propped up against the rock to
serve him as a ladder. He then looked about
until he found a dagger-plant (Yucca Filamen-
tosa), and armed with one of its sharp leaves, he
climbed up near the ledge, Nita looking on, the
while, with the most intense interest. He thrust
the dagger into the comb, and a generous flood of
clear, golden syrup bedewed it and trickled down
the face of the rock, like rich tears, which Juan
would have liked to catch and bottle, Egyptian
fashion. But out, also, rushed a swarm of angry
bees and fairly enveloped him, making so savage a
sortie and putting so much sting into their buzz,
and so much buzz into their sting, that even Juan
the Daring was only too glad to scramble, almost
tumble, down again. He brushed off such bees
as still clung to him and made light of his wounds,
but he did not offer to repeat the experiment.
He and Nita were now more piqued and aggra-
vated than ever; for, after tasting the delicious
honey that still clung to the dagger-leaf, it seemed
an insupportable deprivation to get no more. So,




after scraping off the last drop and rolling his eyes
at Nita in sympathetic enjoyment, Juan deter-
mined that he would not be beaten by any colony
of bees that ever swarmed, buzzed, or stung. Off
he started again, and this time brought back a
long, light pole, on the end of which he tied his
butcher's knife. He then made Nita sweep away
all leaves and dust from the flat stones at the bot-
tom of the cliff, and cover it with large fresh
leaves. This done, he advanced again on the
enemy, going very cautiously up the ladder this
time. While still at a safe distance, he managed
to cut off a large piece of comb, which rolled below
and was at once picked up by Nita, while a golden
cascade poured over the ledge and dropped into
the vessel prepared to catch it. Astonished to find
the bees quiet, Juan mounted higher and higher.
He now saw that his enemies were completely
demoralized, as many a better army has been by
the richness of spoils. No sooner was the comb
broken by his first dagger-thrust, than every bee
bade instant farewell to industry, prudence,
foresight, valor, and every other virtue
for which that insect is noted,
and falling upon the abun-
dant supply of honey
disclosed, it
seized and
carried off all

feelers on.
It never so
much as oc-
curred to the
bees to sting
anybody, so

were they
in plun-
Sells that
they had
built and
Juan saw
this, he
his knife,
he threw
r away the
pole, and,
forward, cut the remainder of the comb loose;
and it bounded down below, burying untold bees

deep in its recesses. Those
which could leave it, did so,
and settled back on their
hive; but
when Ni- S "
ta, who
had run /

cV A

C away in a fright, came back,
it took her some time to re-
move the dead and wound-
ed. Juan came down with
a beaming air of victory,
and, taking up as much honey
/ as they could carry, the chil-
S dren walked back to the cave
well satisfied with their ramble
and its results.
Fresh fish, wild .turkey, dewy berries,
and rich honey made a dinner which an
epicure would not have despised, and with
which Juan and Nita certainly found no fault. It
was served under a wide-spreading oak, from an
extremely esthetic green dinner-service of broad,
cool leaves, beautiful in color and texture. It was
washed down with "agua fura, limnpia, deliciosa," *
,according to Juan, who brought the sparkling liquid
from the river in other leaves pinned together with
thorns, so as to form goblets. And I am afraid the
seiora would have been alarmed if she had seen
the way in which the viands disappeared before
her two healthy, hungry children.
When dinner was over, they bethought them-
selves of the remainder of the honey, and went
back to get it and store it. As they approached
the spot they were surprised to see it through a
cloud of bees, as it were; and they soon discov-
ered that a grand battle, a regular Waterloo of a
struggle, was going on between two armies of
bees the owners of the hive and some neighbor-
ing and thievish soldiers of fortune that had been
attracted by the smell of the honey. After a
really terrible conflict, the home bees, animated,
no doubt, by a deep sentiment of devotion to
their hearths and honeysides, drove off the wicked

* Pure, clear, delicious water.





marauders. But they were not destined to occupy
that "sweet, sweet home" again, for, no sooner
was their victory complete, than Juan reaped its
fruits. Casting about for some means of carrying
the'honey, after some reflection he got a couple
of willow poles; across these he laid large pieces
of bark which he tore from the trees; and, having
thus constructed a sort df litter, he laid the honey-
comb on it, and with himself at one end, and Nita
at the other, the golden treasure was borne to the
cave. The young bearers had to move very stead-
ily, and to pick their way carefully, but they only
dropped one piece of the comb on the road, and
that they recovered.
That evening Juan left his sister to her own de-
vices, and, taking his bow and "yelper," went on
a private and particular hunting expedition of his
own, from which he returned with two large gob-
blers and a turkey-hen of the plumpest and most
satisfactory proportions.
They spent the next day in getting a good supply
of cooked provisions, and that night was their last
in their pretty little cave. Nita abandoned it next
morning with lively regret and a troubled anticipa-
tion of evils to come. But far stronger than this

sense of fear was that impelling power that can
send the youngest, gentlest, most timid creature
in the world into unknown dangers and to death,
if need be- the power of love. Neither Nita nor
Juan could resist the mighty force of a mother's
love that was drawing them across three hundred
miles of wilderness straight to the mother-heart
that generated it. And so, with a sigh or two,
Nita put her little hand in Juan's and walked away
from the place that for the last few days had been
their haven of refuge.
Still bearing away to the southwest, Juan crossed
the river at a shallow ford about half a mile below
the cave, and struck out into the open country
beyond. They took a last look at the pleasant
stream as it rushed around a curve and was bro-
ken into music by the obstructing stones beyond.
Juan threw a pebble at a moccasin-snake gliding
about near the bank; Amigo, who was enjoying
a last swim, came out and shook himself; and
now there was no longer an excuse for lingering.
The cave was again empty, the fish were again
gliding about fearlessly in the cool, clear, quiet,
depths of the river; the children were again facing
the unknown.

(To be continued.)



So the brook in winter sings no more?
I grant he 's gone in and shut the door;
But, bless you! he sings in much the same
He sung as he ran down the meadows of May.
The brook (his old name, remember, was Elf)
Is cunning, keeping his tunes to himself.
I know very well he 's not sung out;
And if you insist on good, full proof,
Just chip a hole in his palace roof,
-Put down your ear, and make an end of doubt.

So the flowers in winter bloom no more?
Roses are gone, but you surely must see
There are blossoms on blossoms, a thousand for
.Thicker than leaves on the summer tree,

Purer than roses ay, whiter than lilies,
And of fairer fields than the daffydowndillies.
Summer may put a flower .on each stem,
But these live blossoms, half bird wh-at oi them?
Millions on millions, everywhere, -
Coming a-dancing out of the air.

So the skies of winter are unkind ?
Watch sharp the stars, and I think you will find
That, instead of looking 'round-the blue,
They glance straight down, and right at you.
The sight of all sights for bright young eyes
Is hung up there, in the winter skies.
And, mark you not how clear the air is ?
That 's the work of the witchingest -fairies,
The same that make pictures on the pane,
And taper icicles out of the rain.






SOME years ago,
when writing for ST.
NICHOLAS a story
of a base-ball club in
Maine, called "The
Fairport Nine," I in-
troduced the "Nine"
as a boys' military
company. Perhaps
some of my young
readers thought that
story was wholly a
fiction, and that no
such boys ever lived
and acted as my
boys did in the story.
It would be just as
well, perhaps, to let
you all remain in the
belief (so far as you
have it); that the
story of "The Fair-
port Nine" was
wholly a work of the
writer's imagination.
But something has
lately come into my
keeping, by way of
reminder of those
far-off days of which
I wrote, that moves
me to think that I
might interest in the
truthful tale thelads
and lasses whom I
ever see before me,
in my mind's eye.
In the chapter of
"The Fairport Nine"
relating to the mili-
tary company of the boys, it is told that those
young heroes had a standard presented to them.
Now this actually happened. Our boys' com-
pany was called The Hancock Cadets, the
county in which our town was situated being
Hancock. The name of the town is Castine,
not Fairport as in the story. There were twelve
of us, and such was the success of our little band
as "trainers," that a rival company was organ-
ized by another clique of boys, who called them-
selves The Castine Guards.

We were armed with lances; a slender rod tipped
with a tin lance-head, and painted of a mahogany
color, being the nearest we could get to a real
weapon. And we thought them very fine indeed.
But we must have a banner. The big sisters of
several of the boys in The Hancock Cadets made
for us a flag with a white ground, in the center of
which was an oval group of red stars, and in the
center of this was a smaller cluster of blue stars-
thirteen, all told. The flag was bordered about
with red worsted fringe, from the cabin drapery of
the good ship Canova, then recently dismantled
in the port; and from the gilded tip that deco-
rated the head of the staff hung cords and tassels
from the same storm-tossed craft.
It was on the Fourth of July, 1840, that the flag
was formally presented to our company by the big
sister of one of the private soldiers. As I was
standard-bearer, it became my duty to receive the
banner and to make a speech. Being of the mature
age of ten, I felt myself equal to the duty of taking
and carrying the beautiful flag on which we had
been permitted to gaze in secret and with glittering
eyes. But the speech was beyond any of us.
In this dilemma, my big sister and the young
lady aforementioned laid their heads together and
produced two speeches, one for the presentation of
the flag, and one for the standard-bearer. This
was in the midst of the political campaign which
General William Henry Harrison was making for
the Presidency of the United States. We all were
enthusiastic Harrison men in our company, and
I remember that my copy of my speech was writ-
ten on what was known as "log-cabin paper,"
bearing in one corner an embossed picture of Gen-
eral Harrison's log-cabin home.
Our noble young captain drew us up in line
before the great front door of the house in which
lived the young lady who was to present the flag
to us. Accompanied by a bevy of her blooming
companions, the young lady came out on the top
step, with great dignity, and delivered the follow-
ing address:
Young Soldiers, it is with pleasure that I meet
you on this glorious day, so dear to every patriot,
and present to you a standard, whose Stars and
Stripes will show you that it is the true American
Flag. If, whenever you march beneath it, you
remember those brave men who, under such a
standard fought so long and nobly for our inde-
pendence, and determine that when a time of





danger shall come, you will defend your country
with firmness and courage like theirs; I can ask
no more of you as New England soldiers !
I do not wish you to love war. True glory
can be gained only when we fight for Freedom.
.But I wish you to love your country! Read the
history of Washington, the Father of his Country,
and of the other heroes who fought the battles of
the Revolution. And read, too, of those, who,
like the illustrious Harrison, have in later times
defended our land against its enemies. Read the
lives of such men, I repeat, and endeavor to be
animated by their spirit! And I would have you
learn more of your country,-what a broad and
beautiful land it is, and how worthy to be a patri-
ot's home. The more you learn of it, the dearer
it will be to you; and you should become more
earnest to do all in your power to make it free and
happy. I wish you to believe that bad citizens are
the worst enemies of their country, for you will
then be likely to grow up good citizens, and try
to make others so.
"And now, after urging you once more to be
always ready to protect every part of our beloved
country, even to the remotest log-cabin that is
built upon its borders, I will place in your hands
the Star-Spangled Banner,

'Forever float this standard sheet!
Where breathes the foe but falls before us;.
With Freedom's soil beneath our feet,
And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us ?'"

The blushing young standard-bearer received
into his hand the Banner of Freedom, and the
captain ordered three cheers, which were given
with a will. It will be noticed that the speech of
presentation alludes to the stars and stripes of
the flag. It was intended, at first, that it should
be a regulation flag, but circumstances prevented,
and the speech, being written, was allowed to
stand as it was. Last summer, while on a visit to
my native town, the original speeches delivered
on that occasion- kept in the family ever since
came into my possession. It is now more
than forty-six years since these pale lines were
written. They lie before me on sheets of rough
paper, yellowed by time, and yet readable on the
worn folds where they were written so long ago.
And now the old fellow, living over again with
the readers of ST. NICHOLAS the youthful days
when, a ten-year-old boy, he received the flag of

his company, copies from the aged record the
words of the reception speech, which he commit-
ted to memory with so many sighs and groans of
laborious care in 1840. This is what the little
standard-bearer said :
Accept my thanks, dear madam, in behalf of
my fellow-soldiers, for the standard thus gracious-
ly bestowed upon us; and I trust that this Star-
Spangled Banner and the- day of its presentation
may alike serve to remind us of our duty to our
country. May we ever conduct ourselves as good
and loyal citizens in order for the preservation of
its freedom and, if needs be, fight, as did the pa-
triot fathers, for that freedom. But may it prove
a banner of peace, and may it float amid our
ranks, and may we march beneath it with the
sweet assurance that all nations harbor toward
us feelings of peace and good-will, and we indulge
the same good feelings towards them."
Twenty years after the time when these speeches
were spoken on the doorsteps of that old home in
Maine-when the young men of New England
flew to arms to defend the life of the Republic -
strangers and foreigners wondered at'their spirit
and readiness. Perhaps some of the peace-blessed
children who now read the story of the civil war
almost as they would read the story of Romulus
and Remus, or of Horatius at the bridge, may see
in these lines, written so long ago, the. secret of
that New England patriotism. For it was by such
scenes as this that New England boys were then
taught the lessons of loyalty.
And now let me tell the sequel:
Of the handful of boys who stood around the
little standard-bearer while that lesson was given
to the miniature soldiers, one, the captain, fell in
the siege of Port Hudson, a willing martyr to the
cause of his country. Another, a private in the
ranks, won in the army of the Republic a title and
a name for courage and skill; and he-was one of
the party who regained their liberty by tunneling
a passage out of Libby Prison. A third, also a
private, went to the wars and, after renowned ser-
vice, came home to spend his days in peace and
honor. A fourth, the drummer of the Castine
cadets, commanded in many a hard-fought naval
fight, deserving well of his country,-and, when
peace had returned, he met his death by the sudden
sinking of his ship, the man-of-war Oneida, and
now lies in his lonely grave on the coast of Japan.
The lesson in patriotism was not in vain.







'ITTLE Doubledarling was going to
bed, and a new pair of shoes was
standing on the chair beside her
crib, ready to put on in the morn-
ing. She was never going to
'I .wear her old red shoes any
m ore, for, indeed, they were
quite worn out. Some of
r ^t"q- he string-holes were-bro-
ken, and the toes were
Sthin and brown; and,
although she had been very proud of them when
they were new, she was glad she was not going to
have them on her feet again, and that there was
a shining pair of black ones to take their places.
Black shoes were a sign that she was growing older,
and Doubledarling was glad of that. All at once she
began to wonder what became of all the old shoes
in the world. If nothing became of them, she
thought the world must get full of old shoes; for
everybody, men and women, boys and girls, and
even little babies, were wearing new shoes into
old ones all the time.
"Grandmamma, what does become of the old
shoes? said she, dreamily.
"The fairies make them into lady's slippers,"
said her grandmamma, promptly.. And that was
the last thing she said, except "Good-night," after
she had heard Now I lay me," and had tucked
the little girl nicely up for. the night; and. so
Doubledarling was thinking of that when she fell
softly into dreamland.
In a moment, she found herself wearing her new
shoes, and walking all alone beside a sliding stream,
which had silver stripes and wrinkles all down the
middle of it. The sides were red and purple and
blue and yellow and brown and green and gray,
just as the flowers were which grew beside them,
and just as the earth was brown, and the grass
and the leaves green, and the rocks gray.
"Oh, what a lovely brook! thought little
Doubledarling, "and what lovely grass and flow-
ers; and what beautiful rocks to jump over; only, I
hope they will not scratch my nice new shoes that
Grandmamma gave me! Then she forgot all
about her new shoes, because everything about
her was so much prettier, and because they all
"seemed alive and having a beautiful time, waving
and bowing and walking together, and calling to

the sliding water, which seemed more alive than
any of them.
She went on and on, just as people do in dream-
land, without ever being tired; and sometimes
she would rise a foot or two above the ground,
and slide along, just as the stream did, until she
had gone more than a hundred miles; and the
stream had grown broader and broader, until it
was like a lake.
The water was quiet now, and the silver stripes
and rinkles were gone, but there were stars shin-
ing in it, and the great, round moon, white as a
lily; and Doubledarling thought the brook had
gone to sleep, and that was why it had been run-
ning so fast home; because it was bedtime.
She walked softly along the banks, for fear of
waking :the brook, until she came to a place
where lily-pads were floating-so many of them
that they quite covered the water.
Just beyond them was a little island, which rose
quite high in the middle, and the sides'were cov-
ered with flower-beds, which shone like pink and
crimson fire in the moonlight. "Oh! oh! oh!
what lovely flowers!" said little Doubledarling. "I
wish I could go over and pick some for Grandma."
Just as she was saying that, she heard a little
rustle and patter behind her, like a child walking
and running. But when she looked around, she
could see no one; only something like a pair of
birds was fluttering and jumping along the path.
When it drew nearer, what did she see but
her own old red shoes coming along quite by
themselves, exactly as if they had a pair of little
feet in them! Now, nobody is ever surprised at
anything in dreamland, and Doubledarling thought
it the most natural thing in the world to see her
shoes come hopping and skipping after her. She
was just going to tell them they need not have
taken the trouble to follow her, for she had not
soiled her new shoes a bit, when, withouttaking
the slightest notice of her, patter, pat, patter, they
rustled by, sprung on one great, green lily-leaf, and
fluttered over the rest, touching here and there,
as if they were scampering over a bridge.
Without ever waiting to think about it, Double-
darling sprung after them. The great, green
leaves swayed and trembled as if they were aston-
ished to find a child running over them; but she
flashed across almost before they knew it, landing





in a moment right among the flower-beds, which
from the other side had looked so like white and
scarlet-and rose-colored flame.
The old red shoes never stopped, although
Doubledarling sprang almost into them; but they
flew on up a garden walk, until they came to a
great, round slope of green turf, high in the center
and falling smoothly on every side to the flower-
Right across the turf pattered the shoes, and
right after them pattered the little girl, until she
suddenly found herself standing before the love-
liest little old lady in the world, over whom she
had nearly tumbled in her haste to recover her

except the beautiful brown boddice and a high
cap like a helmet, which was set over the mass of
fluffy silvery hair, drawn away from the gold-yel-
low face. The helmet was green and white, or,
rather, it was white, with ruffled edges of green,
and just one or two little splashes of pink; and
right on the very top, it curved into a little green
hook, as if the old lady hung it up by that when
she took it off. Although Doubledarling had
nearly tumbled over her, the fairy looked first at
the shoes, and said to them:
How do you do ?"
And the shoes rose up on their toes and bowed,
and answered:



< =v"~


shoes, which were standing soberly beside her
now, looking as innocent as if they had never
gone alone in their lives. Doubledarling had
never-even in dreamland-seen anything like
the little old lady. Her face and hands were as
yellow as a buttercup, and crossed and veined all
over with the finest little wrinkles, like veins in a
flower-leaf. Her hair was as fine and white as
the silver silk in the pod of the milk-weed; and
she wore a sort of vest or boddice, which looked
as if.it were made from the brown flat seeds of the
milk-weed lapped over one another like the scales
of a fish.
All the rest of the dress was soft and cobwebby,

"Very well,.I thank you," just as if they had
talked all their lives.
Then she looked at Doubledarling. "'Hey
day!" said she; "here is a child out of Wake-
land !" and smiled at her quite kindly. Sit down,
my dear," she added, "until I get through with
my work, and then we will play together."
At that, Doubledarling sank down on the grass
at the fairy's feet, and soon all the space was
covered with pairs of shoes that came and ranged
themselves in rows behind the little old red shoes.
All the small ones came skipping' as lightly as
sparrows; and once in a while a pair that was
nearly full-grown came tumbling over each other





in a great frolic; but most of the full-grown shoes
crawled along quite wearily, very close together,
first one little hitch and then another, as if they
had gone a very long journey and were glad it
was near its.end.
When they all were, settled in their places and
there seemed to be no more of them coming, the
fairy turned to the red shoes, which headed the first
row, and said in a very sharp, business-like tone:
Whom did you belong to, and how old are
Please, madam," said the shoes, rising on their
toes and dropping a little courtesy, "we belong
to Doubledarling, and we are just three months
Have you ever tripped her feet and made her
fall ?" asked the fairy.
"Never!" said the little red shoes, blushing
with indignation, "never, because her grand-
mamma said she was a motherless child, and had
nobodyto kiss her hurts. We are not that kind
of shoes at all."
The fairy nodded and looked pleased.
"Did you always run fast with her when her
grandmamma called, and slowly when she wanted
to run away from lessons ?" she said.
"Always," answered the red shoes, in a very
sturdy, honest manner that somehow set Double-
darling thinking and. remembering some things
which made her feel very warm about her ears.
She pushed away her yellow curls from them, how-
ever, and listened with all her might to what the
fairy was saying.
Very well," said the fairy, you might have
lasted longer, but you come of a delicate family,
and on the whole, I am very well satisfied with you.
Run into the garden, and bury yourselves in the
third row from the front. You will come up sin-
gle, and be of a very choice color."
The two shoes bobbed another courtesy, and
flew off to the garden without ever waiting to get
the tearful good-by which Doubledarling was
ready to give them, remembering their three
months' faithful service, and how many times they
had helped her to be good and saved her from
being bad.
She had hardly a moment in which to think, and
to wonder what the fairy meant by sending:them
to bury themselves, and by saying they would
"come up single, and be of a very choice color,"
before she heard the question again:
"Whom .did you belong to, and how old are
you? "
This time it was a pair of very plain, ugly,
smallish shoes that. answered. They were as
*brown as withered leaves. The strings were gone,
and so were the toes, and there were holes worn

right through the soles of them. They were very
shy and. awkward, and sidled against each other,
with their toes turned in, as if they had walked
that way ever since they had been able to walk at
all; but after a moment they both spoke together:
"Please, ma'am, we were Mary Murphy's shoes
in the beginning, and then, when she grew too
old for us, she gave us to Mrs. Mulligan's Tommy,
and that 's how we come to be so bad; and -we
are a year and ten months old." And the brown
shoes put their toes .together,-and-fidgeted, as if
they were not quite at ease in such fine company.
The old fairy smiled like the sun.
"Oh, yes," said she; "I know you! and if
you had come to me from Mary Murphy, I really
don't think I would have kept you at all. You
pinched her toes, and skinned her heels, and
stumbled when she was running, and were very
uncomfortable. But then, you were born boys'
shoes; and you did cure Mrs. Mulligan's Tommy
of a dreadful stone-bruise, and you were always
the first pair of shoes at school while he wore you,
and I only know of your kicking his little brother
once or twice. So you may go and bury yourselves
in the garden, third row from the front; and be
sure not.to trouble the pair next you You will
come up double, and rather mixed in color."
The pair of brown -shoes sidled off with an awk-
ward attempt at a bow, and when they were well out
of the fairy's sight, Doubledarling saw the right one
kick very viciously a poor old slipper which lay quite
by itself at the end of one of the rows. But the fairy
was so busy that Doubledarling did not like to in-
terrupt her by telling her of it; and then she was
so interested in hearing all that was said to the
other shoes that she soon forgot what the naughty
brown one had done.
The very next was a pair of baby's shoes, made
of soft, blue kid, with satin strings and rosettes.
The toes were a little curled up, as if a baby's
toes had wiggled around in them; but otherwise
they were quite fresh and new-looking.
"Well, well! said the fairy; "and how did
you get here ? You never walked in your lives "
"No, indeed laughed the kid shoes, with a
sort of coo like a pigeon's. ".We flew. We could
n't stay on, because the baby's toes would n't keep
still; and we got tired of.being dropped about in;
the nursery,, and we. were afraid we might be
dropped into the fire some day.. So to-night, after
baby was asleep and the nurse had gone down-
stairs, we just flew out of the window and came
The fairy looked at them tenderly, as if they
were real babies. Then she said:
You can not be changed into another shape
until you have done some good in this. Go and




hang yourselves on the Santa Claus tree, until he
comes to gather you. You will do for this little girl's
Christmas doll, and when you are quite worn out
you may come again, and I will make lady's slip-
pers of you."
The baby shoes whimpered, but they saw that
the old lady meant to be obeyed, so they twinkled
into the air like a pair of blue butterflies, and flut-
tered away with their blue satin strings waggling
behind them like little tails.
"Oh! where is the Santa Claus tree? Does
it grow on this island ?" spoke out little Double-
darling-for the idea of seeing the tree from which
Santa Claus gathered his presents was too delight-

They had excellent manners, in spite of their
shabbiness, and although Doubledarling was so
excited about the Santa Claus tree, she could not
help listening to them. And they were saying,
"The school-teacher wore us until the summer
vacation, and then she bought a new pair to go
into the country with, and gave us to a Bible-
reader who lived in the same house. The Bible-
reader walked from Twenty-fifth street to Forty-
second street, and from First avenue to Third
avenue every day, and we did the very best we
could for her. We never slipped on any of the
dark, dirty stairs she climbed; and we made our-
selves as quiet as if we had been made of velvet, in


ful The old fairy lady was very busy just then,
talking with a pair of very shabby cloth gaiters; but
she heard what the little Wake-child had uttered,
and smiled at her, as she went on with her ques-
tioning--a smile that made Doubledarling feel as
if the Santa Claus tree could not be far off.
* The cloth gaiters were the very oldest shoes in
all the rows of old shoes. The sides were all
broken away from the sole, and raveled out as
well. The linings were nearly as black as the out-
sides. They were so shapeless that you would
hardly believe they had ever fitted a human foot,
and yet the old fairy was paying them the greatest

all the sick-rooms where she used to stop. We
were just as easy as we possibly could be for her;
swelling ourselves out until we really burst our
sides trying to keep her tired feet from aching.
She wore us up and down, and in and out for
three months, and we heard so much Bible-
reading that we nearly learned it all by heart.
At last, when we were helping her take care of
little Jim Quinlisk one day,-he had been run
over by a street car,-we heard her promise us to
his mother, who could n't go out to earn a penny
'bekase she had n't a shoe to ler foot.' Mrs.
Quinlisk took us out house-cleaning and washing,
for six weeks, and then she threw us out of the


window into a vacant lot. We were glad enough,
for we had never been warm or dry during the six
weeks; and besides, Mrs. Quinlisk never would
stand us side by side, as the Bible-reader had done,
so that we could have an orderly, quiet chat at
night, but dropped one of us here and another
there, in sprawling attitudes' and dirty corners, so
that we had quite lost our self-respect and feeling
of respectability.
"When she threw us into the vacant lot, we
fortunately fell very near each other; so we seized
each other by a button, and shook off the ashes,

right Mulligan shoe--and that turned out to be-
long to a one-legged soldier.
The old lady took Doubledarling's hand, and
the cloth gaiters and the soldier's slipper marched
solemnly behind them to the garden.
When they came to the' frrit -row of flowers,
Doubledarling saw that they all were lady's slip-
pers and moccasin flowers. Oh; such beauties!
standing like soldiers, rank upon rank, and so tall
that they reached to her waist.
The stalks were all growing in pairs, two by
two; two together, then a little space, and two more

F: ,'' .i' -: :": -~-': '. :;-- ; ': --.- -,'-t "4:.
jar;.:-- 7 ? 77 *".. -' -, -.--
'. .' .-- ..: ' .:: ,' -'i'-- "- .: 7 -.- .-'- ,: .a ' :oT L.
~ ............ ........ .

, LI- .' ... .. 7 ..tj...

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


."., :E ,, -.... .
, ii ' i. i._-. :, 1 4-.".:'-- '.J

,i -_ -' -*. ..'- ,; - -
"; ... .. .. ...
.. .. _. .. .

and said the magic words written in our soles, and
then the next thing we knew we were on the beau-
tiful island."
The fairy smiled until her eyes were nearly
That is the kind of life-story that is good to
hear !" said she. I will plant you myself, in the
very front row. You will be as double as a rose,
and the finest color in the world !"
The old shoes bobbed a courtesy, and crept
aside while the fairy went on with her questions
and decisions.
At last there was only the one old slipper that
Doubledarling had seen so rudely kicked by the

together- salmon-colored flowers splashed with
scarlet, and scarlet dappled with white, and white
streaked with rose pink.
The moccasin flowers were as yellow as gold, or
they were pale crimson spotted with black. All
of them were rocking softly and singing to them-
selves; and although it was only moonlight, but-
terflies and moths and humming-birds were
fluttering among them, paying them evening
visits. The old fairy took a little silver spade in
her hand and dug a hole five or six inches deep,
in among the most beautiful of the flowers. -
"Come!" said she, nodding to the cloth shoes,
and they drew themselves to the edge of the hole,




and siding in, laid themselves side by side at the,
bottom, as if they were going to sleep. Good-
by," said the fairy, gently, "until the blossom of
your lives makes all the island fragrant." With
that; she drew the mold between the flowers.
Doubledarling wondered what was to be done
with the soldier's old slipper, because ever' thing
there,- shoes, and flowers, and all,--were in.
pairs, and what could be done with one old slipper?
.She had heard the fairy say: I suppose you
know nothing abotit your comrade? "
And the slipper had answered quite mourifull,
"No, mum; I was not born a twin."
The fairy pounded three times on the ground
with her spade, and called out loud three tines.
"Mrs. McGlory! Mrs. McGlory! Mrs. McGl ory!"
At that every lady's slipper in the garden turned
its head to look, and from somewhere-there came
shuffling along over the grass the jolliest-looking
old shoe that anybody ever saw; It was broad
and fat, and it seemed to be laughing at every
seam with little smiles'here and here here the
stitches ere broken.
The old fairy motioned it to come'and sand
beside the soldier's slipp r. and then it did actu-
ally laugh aloud, and all the lad.'s slipper:, gave a
little rustle like a chorus.
"There !," said the fiir', to the soldier's slipper.
' Mrs. McGlory.came here a widow, because her
mate fell into the fire and w'as burned to death.
She is very cheerful, and has been waiting fir a
companion, so I bestow her upon yoa "

The old slipper made a stiff, military salute,
standing up very high on his toe, and Mrs.
McGlory made a bob of a courtesy, and the couple
pattered off together down one of the paths, to
bury themselves wherever they found a pleasant
place in the garden.
It is no wonder that Doubledarling forgot all
about the Santa Claus tree while she was in. such
a crowd of lady's slippers, and \while the mother
of all the fairies was holding so interesting a con-
versation with delightful old shoes; but when the
last one was planted, and the silver moon had
dropped down, and the butterflies and humming-
birds had gone to sleep, she began to ask in a
hushed and sleepy voice, which she herself could
hardly hear:
"Where-where-where does the Santa Claus
tree growi" .
All the-time she was saying it, the odors from
the flowers seemed to be rising in a cloud all about
her, -red, and rose, and parti-colored,-until she
could hear nothing, and see nothing, and feel
nothing but waves of color and fragrance, as if
the flowers were all "melted and dissolved in the
air; and then she felt the fairy's haiid upon hers,
and she opened her eyes, and it was her grand-
mamma's iand, and a bright wood fire was burn-
ing in the grate. and red reflections were dancing
all about the room, and a great bunch of roses
was lying on the bed, just in front of her face,
and Grandmamma %as % fishing her Doubledarling
a happy birthday.



A LITTLE bird sang in :he dead of the night,
W\"hen the moon peeped out through a cloud;
He sang, for his heart was so full of delight,
It seemed jlim-st throbbing aloud.

" Hush hush! cried the old birds; "you ifoholsh 3 young thing,
To %ake up and sing for the moon !
Come, tuck your -all:, head under your wing;
You 'II rouse our good neighbors too soon."

But the little bird.flew to the top of the ti ee,
And looked up into the sky.
" Our time for singing is short," quoth he,
And sing in the night will I."

. .

: 887.1







STRANGE IS it nma-, :eem, the baby w,:,uld not
pa, the 'li.-htestr atterticn to the candy i which Ike;,
had purchased, biut persisted in crying lIudly.
despite Tom's alternate scoldin,. peering, arnd
coaing... Each or the boys had tried io do sorme.
thing .tioard amusing the, ni-. boarder :..but the
ungrateful little fell ,i %in ld not e er. Aitt.impt to,
play with any:of the many trcasures his prt-ector;s
offered.him, and-ins:ead of becoming tired fronii
his.exertions, oily cried the harder.
Alter half-an-hour had passed, during W.hi:ch
time ike. and Jack had been kept busy chasing
away boys who were dispoi-ed to stop and niake
sport of the )outhful nurse, Sam proposed that
the\ should If prop ip the ne', boarder on .the
steps, and leave him to cryalone. No one paid
an', attention to that, iuggetiorn. however. Tom
worked; hard trying to still the noisy charge, and
Pinney nearly made himself ill by standing on his
head several minutes at a time, in the hope that the
baby might be amused by seeing him kick his
heels in the air. .
.Neither Pinney's acr:obatc eff:i, t, nor Sam's jig-
dancing had any effect, and if was just when the
boys were g ro, ing discouraged, as well as a trifle
angry with the unreasonable little .urIng-tet, that
Mrs. Parsons aad Jenny ari\ed, both of them
stopping several paces from the house in speech-
less astonishment at th: scene on the doorstep.
I" don't knoi' ,hat ,.e 'd '.e doneif you staidi.
away much longer," Pinney said in a tone of relief
as he ceased his efforts to stand : reet on his head.
" It won't be still no how you can Fi. it, an': we're
'bout worn-out trying' to coax it."...
"But what have you boys got?" asked Mrs.
Parsons, i pi rg the nist from her spectacles much
as if she suspected that the long-used glasses were
playing her a trick.
"It's a baby, of course! Can't you hear it
holler?" and Tom danced the little fellow up
and down still more vigorously. "I won't have
any arms left unless you take it pretty soon."
Where in the world did you get such a thing ?"
asked the old lady, advancing very cautiously a
few paces.
S"We got him right here on the doorstep,"
replied Ikey quickly. "At first we thought it was

a bundle you 'd left outside; but we soon, found
that was a mistake."
"A baby on the doorstep exclaimed the old
lady in Ibe'.ilderrren; and then as her sympathy
began to grew st ingei -than her surprise, she
added, '!We must get him into the house at once,
or he will freeze to death. I suppose you boys
have been cuttcrirg up all kinds of shines with the
poor: little thing, and that 's what makes him
cry -o." :
- "Cuttin' up shines with it.!" repeated .Pinney
iindi;naTiti.:. : We.have n't had any chance to
do. that, 'cause it 's been yellin' this way 'bout ever
5ince ".e found it. I tell you we've had our hands
'ull trymn' to keep it from kicking' up a reg'lar lo'.."
S" Well, biing it into the house at once. Don't
keep at out here -in"the cold," said Mrs. Parsons
niipatienrl. I, J rnni as trying to get a glimpse
of the chubbhv little face; and Pinney's tone was
almost onre of petulance as he replied:
I 'd like to kno:,. how we can do that before
youlet.us in.?"
"Bless me !" exclaimed the old lady- as she
nm-iediatel:, began, fumbling with the lock. I
.Jo really believe i 'm so confused at seeing you
bo-y-s ,lhL a bNab, that I can't even unlock the
Of. course i, :u can't unlock it with your spec-
tacle-case," replied Pinney.
There 's no doubt that you are confused,
Mother," Jenny said, laughing, as she left the
baIby\ l.ng enough to find the key in the depths of
the old lad ,'s pocket ; and in a few moments the
, hole pa ri was in one of the unfurnished rooms,
trying by the aid of a single tallow candle to see
what the new-comer looked like.
SHe 's a perfect little beauty cried Jenny in
delight, as she caught but one glimpse of the
crimson,, tear-stained face, before Mrs. Parsons
took charge of the baby and of the house as
S"You boys must try to put up the stove in this
room," said the old lady, as she succeeded in still-
ing the baby's cries and continued to walk back and
forth in order to keep him quiet. You '11 find
one with the things which were brought this after-
noon. Ikey, while the others are doing that, you
go for some coal and some milk."
This running about, waiting upon a strange
baby, was hardly the way in which the stockholders
of the boarding-house had calculated upon spend-


ing the evening; but they could do no less than
obey the orders which both Jenny and her mother
had no hesitation in giving, and for two or three
hours they were obliged to work very hard, much
to the disgust of Sam and Jack. '
At the end of that time, one room began to
wear something like a home look. The stove had
been set up, and, although the pipe was joined in
a rather hap-hazard man-
ner, a roaring fire had
been built. The baby,
after drinking some milk,
had gone to sleep in Mrs.
Parsons' arms,while Jenny
was bustling about, pre-
paring the supper which
Ikey had bought as a pres-
ent to the young landlady,
her mother, and his broth-
er directors.
A straw bed with plenty
of coverings was placed in
an adjoining apartment
for the boys to sleep on
during this first night, and
Jenny and her mother had
similar accommodations
in the room which served
as kitchen.
After the directors had
rendered all the assist-
ance in their power, they
gathered around the baby
to decide upon what posi-
tion it should occupy in
the family.
It's as nice a child as I
have seen for a long time,"
the old lady said, as she
smoothed his frock affec-
tio n ately.
"What are you goin'
to do with the little shav
er ?" Tom inquired.
What do you want to
do with him ? "asked Ikey.
"Keep him, of course,"
replied Tom. The rule
I made was that he should "IKEY WENT AT HIS TASK M
stay here, an' I stick to it."
But a baby is such a world of trouble !" said
Mrs. Parsons with a very long and very doleful sigh.
"Do you want to send the little thing away,
Mother ?" asked Jenny.
"Send it away?" repeated the old lady.
"Where could we send it, except to the alms-
house? An' I would n't want a dog of mine to go

there Of course we 've got to keep it; but he '11
be no end of trouble."
We'll all help take care of him," said Pinney;
and then as he remembered how hard he had
been obliged to work, trying to stand on his head
in the hope of amusing the little fellow, he added
quickly, I mean that we '11 buy the milk for him,
an' sich things as that."


It 's all right if he 's goin' to stay," and Tom
settled back in his seat contentedly as he spoke.
"You see he was the first boarder that came to
the house, an' I would n't like to have him turned
away. He won't be so much bother, 'cause we '11
get him a dog, an' a sled, an' everything he wants,
so 's he can have a good time."




'" W\h, Thomat Do, ning. hat do ou s:uppci se
a ten-months-old baby could do with a doi and a
sled? That 's Jiut the foolih .ay bo', s '.ill talk!"
cried Mrs. Pa ,isons.
Well. even if lie don't -.ant a dog, he 's got to
have a name, now has n't he? asked Tom. look-
ing sharply at the old lady to see if she under-
stood that he knew a thing. or two about babies,
even if he did happen to make i trifling mistake
regarding the proper kind of phl tliiiis.
Yes." she assented; "1 suppise 'e ougiht to
know i ,vhat to call hin'i."
"* Of course swe ou ht; arid as he belong to all
of us, it 's our business to pick out his name.
\Vbat shall it be, fellei ?" Tom inquired.
He oughter be named after some of us," said
Sam, as he a-.,unied hs favorite attitude in fio nt
of the fire, with his arms f-:ded acres. his breast in
a marner which he thought ver:, beco.n-ing No'.,..
if you sellers a ant t call him Samuel Tousey Par-
sons, I think it would fit him. 'cause he looks as il
he w'a; a pretty smart kind of a bab.."
Well, then he oughter n't be called Sam
Tousey," replied Tom 'with a laugh: and at this
uniland allusion to his indolence, Master Tiousy-
walked sulkily to the window, mentall- resolving
that he \would have nothing whatever to do w.ith
the baby, and that it was n't so very rmuc:h,
after all."
** If we could call him Jenn,, that would be jest
the thing," said Ikey, quite positive that he had
paid the young landlady a very pretty compli-
"Of course you can't call a boy Jenny." Pliine\
said; and Sam thought this a goo-l chance to get
even with the others, by laughing boisterously.
Mrs. Parsons suggested several names, among
which were Obed and Ephr.-im : but Tom had
decided objections to them all, probably because
he had one in his mind which he thought i.ould be
very appropriate.
Pinney proposed that the, give the little fellow
plenty of names by calling hinm, after eveiy .one of
the partners. Isaac Thomas Alpenna Jack Sam-
uel Parsons."
Jenny thought that much too long, and sug-
gested Franci:s.
Tom listen'-d patiently until all had exhausted
their lists of names,_and then he said:
It 's November now, an' we found him on
Carpenter street, so wht-'better do you want than
November Carpenter ? "
It was a brilliant idea, and there was not a voice
raised against the proposition: therefore it was so
settled without discussion, just in rime for the hun-
"gry party to answer Jenny's summons to the long-
delayed supper.

Ever, one ;.as in a condition to do full justice
to the meal; and when it was Finihed, the bo-s
wiee quite willing to jo to bed. L or it ias neces-
sir', that the-', should b.gin r.ork very earl, in the
morning. All were thoroughly tired, and ec en little
November lept so.:idl', until nrictl, daybreak.
Neither Jenny nor her mother expected any as-
sistance from the boys in putting, the house to
rights, save, perhaps, what might be done in the
evening. But it ias important that th,- director~
should pa.,. as qui:khl as possible. the aiiourt of
nmone, they, had agreed to ails.: : therelnie lernny
had breal;fast read\ fo:r them before the day had
fairly da'. ned.
SIt '11 be 'rmot a ve-k before ie a.in take any
other boarder-," she said, in reply to a quietion
of Saiu's. "" -f course ,l:,u bocs, are willing to
-slecp anm\e here, because half the proit.ii will corner
to ou: but we could n't have regular boarders
until "e get things ixed properly I shall .rite
doizi, n e\crit ting I biN. arid hen you come hore
to-night. e will begin to keep a regular account of
ho.v much money we take in and pay out. Sell as
man;, papers as possible to-day, so that 1 .:an get
what we need this %seek."
Even Sam \wa- urged 'nto something apprnaclhng
a:tivity b\ Jernny's air of business. and during that
day all the stockholders worked very hard to eain
money. They were obliged to spend ro small
amount of time answering the questions of those
% ho proposed to become lenny's boarders. as well
as of those who ridiculed the scheme ; but when
they figured up their profits in the evening, it was
found that they had done even better than had
been expected.
)Owing to the fact that November had insisted
on receiving a great deal of attention, NMr-. Par-
sons had not been able to assist Jenny vern much
in the ..ork of putting the house in order: but
the iourng landlady had accomplished wonders, at -
least, so the boys th.:ught. She had set up 'wo
beds, and otherwise furnished three rooms with
the furniture her mother had brought from their
old home : and the houte began icallyto look like
a comfortable place in which t ol he.
Dinner was on the table. when the directors
came in about seven o'clock; and after that meal
had been eaten, the boys settled their accounts with
Treasurer Ikey.
"There 's the whole of it," said the treasurer as
he added together the amounts each boy. had
paid. Now we owe Jenny twenty-five dollars
and a quarter. We must square up as soon as
we can, so 's the boarders may come."
F"Indeed you must," added Jenny, earnestly.
"Mother had furniture enough-to.fix four rooms,
and I want'to get the rest this week if possible.


Things won't be very nice at first; but if you all
help me, we will have the house looking beauti-
ful in a little while. Here 's a book I got for
Ikey to keep the accounts in, so that every one can
see just how much money we make."
The treasurer looked disturbed as he under-
stood that he was to act as book-keeper, for it had
been hard work for him to write, or, rather, print,
even the little that was contained in the four re-
ceipts. But he went at his task manfully, with
many contortions of his face; and while he was
struggling with the letters, which would persist in
being made wrong, Mrs. Parsons said:
Now, boys, something must be done about
the baby."
"Why, he's goin' to stay here, is n't he ? Tom
asked quickly.
He shall, if no one claims him; but it would
never do to .bring him in here without a word to
anybody. You must contrive some way to let
folks know that we 've found him."
Tom looked very uncomfortable at the prospect
of giving up the baby, for he had indulged in con-
siderable boasting during the day about the little
fellow in whom he owned a share. To surrender
their ward now would be, in Tom's mind at least,
like losing the principal attraction of the house,
and he said mournfully:
If you think we oughter tell folks 'bout him,
I s'pose we must; but I don't see how it's goin'
to be done."
It was some moments before any of the direct-
ors said anything; and then Pinney exclaimed, as
he started to his feet:
I know how to fix it! You fellers stay here
while I go down to Nat Taylor's, an' I '11 rig up
something' mighty quick "
He was out of the house before any one could
speak, slamming the door behind him.
By the time the excitement consequent upon
Mrs. Parsons' suggestion had died away, Ikey,
who had been working with his tongue held tightly
between his teeth, announced that he had suc-
ceeded in finishing the first portion of his task.
He had entered in the book the name of every
director, together with the amount of money each
had paid, and was ready for further instructions
from Jenny.
Now, we must decide how much you are to
give each week," she said. I thought we might
charge the other boarders two dollars, and you
just half of that."
Both Ikey and Jack thought that such an
arrangement would be fair; but Sam insisted
that the directors, since they were to contribute
ten dollars each, ought not be charged anything
for board.

What difference does it make if the thing is a
success? asked Ikey. "We 're to divide the
profits, an' then we shall get it back; but if we
don't pay any board at first, Jenny can't get the
place started."
Even Jack could understand that it was neces-
sary for the stockholders to be charged a certain
amount each week; and although Sam was not
convinced, he was forced to content himself with
the arrangement. Jenny had decided that the five
directors should occupy the room in which they
had slept the night previous, and she would thus
have seven other rooms to let. By careful stowing
she thought that at least four boys might sleep in
each room, and if she could fill the house with
boarders, she would have .twenty-eight, without
including her partners. This, she thought, would
be quite as large a family as she and her mother
could care for.
That will give us fifty-six dollars a-week from
the boarders, and five dollars from you boys," she
said, triumphantly. Out of all that money we
ought to make a good profit."
SThe directors were fairly staggered by the im-
mensity of the prospective revenue, and Sam was
even more certain than he had been before that
it was an injustice to ask the partners to contrib-
ute more than the original amount. He did not
advance any further arguments on the question,
however, because he had a plan to propose, to
which .he was anxious that all should agree, and
he was willing to let the matter of paying board
rest for a while.
"If you get so many boarders as that, it '11 be
like a regular hotel, won't it?" he asked.
Jenny was not prepared to claim quite as much
for the boarding-house; but she admitted that
they had an opportunity to do a large amount of
"Then I '11 tell you how it oughter be fixed,"
said Sam, as he stood in front of the fire, where
all could see and hear him without difficulty.
You '11 want a clerk to take care of the fellers
that board here-somebody, you know, who'll
see that they pay their'bills, an' don't kick up
any rows, an' all that kind of thing. Now, if
you say the word, I'll rig up a counter-jest like
the counters they have in hotels-- in the entry close
by the front door, an' I '11 be the clerk."
As he ceased speaking, Sam looked around,
as if he expected to see approval of his very brill-
iant plan written on every face; but in this he was
disappointed. No one appeared to think that
there was any necessity for a clerk, and his brother
directors even laughed at the idea.
"That 's jest a plan of yours to get rid of doin'
any work," said Tom, as soon as it was possible for

1887.] '



him to speak. "We don't want any clerk here,
Sam. But I '11 tell you what we '11 do after we
get the house running' all right; we '11 buy a glass
case, an' put you in it for the boarders to look
at when they want to see something' funny."
All right," said Master Tousey, indignantly,
as he went into the darkest and coldest corner of
the room, in order to deprive the others of even a
sight of himself. You run this house your way,
an' I can tell you now that it won't last very long.
Duddy Foss said the-thing would- bust. up before
Christmas, an' I 'llbet he-'s right."
.This time both Jenny and her mother joined
in the general merriment at the expense of the
would-be clerk, who had just: prepared himself for
a long fit of the sulks, when Pinney burst into the
room, looking very cold.but equally triumphant.
I've fixed it !"he cried, holding the door open
so that the wind blew a' wintry blast directly on
November's' head, which:. caused' Mrs. Parsons
literally to drag the excited boy inside, that the
baby might be protected from the cold. If the
folks 'round here don't know that we 've found a
youngster, it won't be my fault. Come an' look!"
They all, excepting the old lady and Novem-
ber, followed Pinney out on the doorstep, where
by the light of the street lamp they saw, fastened
to the side of the house, a large sheet of brown
paper on which had been printed in. variously
shaped letters the following announcement:

T F_)u A PAP)-



STRANGE as it may seem, neither Jenny nor
her mother appeared to think that Pinney's plan
of advertising the finding of the baby.was a very
brilliant' ore. Mrs. Parsons at first insisted that
he should take the placard down; but the other
directors fancied that it was the only manner by
which they could let the public know that they
had a stray baby, and the old lady reluctantly con-
sented to allow it to remain.
Whatever the others said about it, Pinney was
positive that the placard would serve every pur-
pose of an advertisement, and he thought it such
a work of art that he felt obliged to go out of
Doors to look at it several times before he went to
bed. In fact, he was so charmed with his own

idea that he conceived a dazzling scheme which
he resolved to carry into effect on the following
day, but regarding which he was careful not to
say a word to any one. He had in his mind what
he believed would be a delightful surprise for his
partners, as well as for Mrs. Parsons, and more
than once he slipped into the adjoining room
where he could chuckle over it without betraying
his secret.
Sam continued in the sulks during the remain-
der of the evening, and on the following day he had
.along consultation with Duddy Foss, during which,
so it was reported on the street, he declared that
he wished to sell his interest in the boarding-
house because of the ill-treatment he had received
from his brother directors.
As a matter of course the other stockholders
heard these stories,.which were freely circulated
among the business acquaintances of both parties;
and Tom, Ikey and Pinney asked the .would-be
boarding-house clerk if he really was anxious to
dispose of his interest. The questioners were angry,
as Sam could see by their faces, and he began to
realize that he had made a mistake; so he said in
what he intended:should be a confidential tone:
If I told the fellers anything like that, I was
only foolii'; for what would be the use of my
selling' out before the house is really started ?"
Well, Sam, I've got jest this much to say,"-
and Tom spoke in a very severe tone,-" we can't
have you running' 'round talking' to the fellers as if
the thing was nearbustin' up, 'cause if they thought
that, we could n't get any of them to board with
us. You've only put in a dollar an' fifty-five cents,
an' whenever you want that back, all you 've got
to do is to ask us; we '11 raise it somehow."
During the remainder of the day, Master Tousey
was more carefulhow he spoke about the boarding-
house. Later in the afternoon, when he heard
that Duddy Foss was one of six who were ready.
to become Jenny's boarders as soon as, a room
should be ready for them, he felt that it would
be necessary for him to be very careful in the
future as to what he said, since the boarding-house
seemed to be in a better way of success than he had
When the boys started toward home that even-
ing, Pinney "irs no,..h .re to be seen, and then it
was remembered that he had not been met by any
of the party since noon. At that time he had
gone away alone, saying to Jack that he should not
sell papers in the afternoon, but without explain-
ing why he took a partial holiday. It was unusual
for Master White to remain idle except with some
very good excuse, for he was ever ready to begin
work as early and continue at it as late as any one.
When they entered the house, and before they


I ;~.


had time either to ask any questions or to express
their fears, Mrs. Parsons, who was busy giving
November his supper, inquired in a decidedly
angry tone: ,
Has that boy Pinney come yet? "
"Indeed he has n't," began Tom, "an' we don't
know --"
Never mind, you are just as bad as he is, and
you may as well try to undo some of the mischief
since you encouraged him
in it. I want you to go
right to work an' take that
noticeoffthehouse. Don't
stop to talk now; but do
it at once."
"Why, what is the mat-
ter, Mrs. Parsons?" Tom
asked, in bewilderment.
"Matter?" repeated the
old lady, in great excite-
ment, as she poured sev-
eral sips of milk over No-
vember's chin before she
discovered that it was not
going down his throat.
"That notice has caused
us more trouble than a
dozen babies."
"But what has the no-
tice done?" asked Tom.
Done ?" cried the old
lady. "We have n't had
a moment's peace since
you went out this morn-
ing, for the people that
have been coming in. No
one seems to have lost a
baby; but the moment
any one sees that sign, in
they come and ask foolish
questions about how we
found him, and all that
sort of thing, until we 've
hardly had a minute to
ourselves to-day. I 've
tried and Jenny has tried
to get it down; but that
scamp of a Pinney put it
up so high and so hard "TOM, TAKIN HOLD OF ON
that we can't budge it.
Now you boys walk right out, and don't you dare
to expect a mouthful of supper till every scrap of
it is down "
The boys, dazed by this outburst from the old
lady, left the house in silence, seeing nothing com-
ical in the matter until they were on the sidewalk,
when Ikey said: "It was lucky for November that
VOL. XIV.-23.

there was n't much milk in that cup, or he 'd 'a'
been drown'ded sure."
Then they all laughed, as they pictured to them-
selves a constant stream of visitors invited by Pin-
ney's notice, each boy suggesting some comical
and probable incident, until it was almost impossi-
ble for them to carry out the old lady's commands,
so great was their mirth.
As they seated themselves at dinner, after re-


moving the offending placard, Jenny noticed Pin-
ney's absence for the first time; but before any
one could reply to her questions as to where he
was, a loud thumping was heard at the door.
November, who had but just fallen asleep, awak-
ened with what Tom called "one of his patent
yells." The boys jumped to their feet, fancying



for the instant that some of their enemies were
trying to wreck the boarding-house; and general
confusion reigned until Jenny opened the door,
when the cause of all the uproar was seen to be
Pinney, who, staggering under the weight of a
long board which he had been using as a knocker,
stood on the steps wearing a triumphantly happy
smile on his sunburned face. It was evident that
he had counted upon making a sensation; but
he had succeeded beyond his expectations.
November was screaming.lustily. Mrs. Parsons,
still angry because of her many callers, was trying
at the same time to :(,otlhI the blaby arnd look sternly
at the cause of her trouble, who marched into the
room with the long board which prevented him
from closing the door, while the boys and Jenny
watched him in silent astonishment.
"There! "said Pinney, trying to put the board in
the corner, and knocking the tea-pot from the itor\
in the attempt. "Well, I did n't mean to do that,"
he added, as he dropped his burden on Tom's toes
in his efforts to help Jenny repair the mischief.
"Did n't know where I had gone, did you?" he
asked, as he began to wipe the tea from the floor
with a dresi Mrs. Parsons was making for November.
Put that down!" cried the old lady, as she
darted forward, with the baby in her arms, to save
the garment from total ruin. "We did n't care
where you had gone; but I wish I 'd had you here
just a few minutes this afternoon."
It 's too bad I did n't know it, 'cause I could
'a' come up jest as well as not,":Pinney said, so
unsuspicious of anything but a friendly meaning
in Mrs. Parsons' words that the boys fairly shouted
in glee. I reckon this thing I 've been working' at
'11 make Dud Foss stare when he sees it! You know
how I fixed that notice 'bout findin' the baby?"
"Indeed we do.! replied Mrs. Parsons so em-
phatically that Pinney would have understood
something was wrong if he had not been so en*
grossed with his latest scheme.
Well, I 've got something' here that '11 knock
it all holler. I 'm goin' to put it right over the
front door, an' I tell.you it '11 make this house
look swell! "
As he spoke, Pinney turned the board over, and
held it in his arms so that all might see it plainly.
It was evidently intended for a sign, and de-
spite the paint that had been rubbed from it, which
could be plainly seen on various portions of Pin-
ney's waistcoat, one might read these words in
Master White's peculiar style of printing :


S "There What do you think of that?" asked
Pinney, triumphantly. And then a look of sur-

prise began to creep over his face as he saw Jenny
and the boys shaking in a very curious fashion,
while Mrs. Parsons was actually glaring at him.
"Wh-wha-what is it? stammered Pinney, un-
derstanding now that something was wrong.
After a short but painful pause, Mrs. Parsons
said impressively:
"Pinney White, take that board out of here !
I 've had all the trouble with signs of your making
that I 'm,goin' to have."
"But I 'm goin' to .put this up over the door,
so 's folks will know it's a boarding-house. Some
of the paint has got rubbed off; but it won't be
much trouble to touch.it up agin," explained
Take it away, and never let me catch you put-
ting any more signs on the outside of this house! "
cried Mrs. Parsons.
But you see ," persisted Pinney.
:"Better leave quick," whispered Tom; and,
taking hold of one end of the sign, he fairly backed
Pinney out of the house.
As soon as Tdom could control his laughter suf-
ficiently to speak, he told the would-be artist all
that he knew regarding the cause of Mrs. Parsons'
anger, and concluded by saying:
You see, Pinney, it won't be very safe for you
to bring any more signs 'round here for a good
while. You 'd better put this board somewhere
out of sight. an' come in to dinner."
"But she said she wanted folks to know that
we 'd found a baby," persisted Pinney, who would
not believe that the old lady's anger was caused
by so trifling a matter; but he secreted the board,
as Tom advised, and the two went in to dinner.
Mrs. Parsons recovered her visual good nature
by the time the meal was finished; and as the
directors had tired of making sport of Pinney's
troubles, Jenny thought best to attend to the im-
portant business of the house, even before Ikey
had collected such moneys as the stockholders
were ready to pay. This she did by saying:
I 've one room arranged so that we can take
four boarders to-morrow, and if you boys have
earned as much as you did yesterday, I can be
ready for four more the day after."
An' you 're going' to try to get along 'thout a.
clerk, are you?" Sam asked.
Now don't start any more talk about that idea,
Sam," said Tom coaxingly. Let's choose which
four of the fellers we '11 have come here to-morrow."
"Duddy Foss must be one, 'cause he spoke
first," and Ikey headed the list of boarders with
his name.
"Bart Jones an' Bill Sleeper wanted to come
when Duddy did," suggested Jack.
"Yes, an' Fen Howard told me that if he




could n't be with the first lot, he. would n't come
at all." cried Pinney, who was becoming so inter-
ested in the opening of the house that he forgot,
for the time being, the unpleasant affair of the
"That makes the four," said Tom. "Write
the names down, an' we '11 tell the other fellers
that we will take a new lot every day or two till
the place is full."
"If the boarders are coming we '11 have to get
the rules posted up, or they won't know how to
behave," said Pinney; and then he sighed deeply
as he thought how much more attractive the house
would have looked with his gorgeously painted
sign over the front door.
Let 's go to work an' print out what rules we
want," said Ikey, quickly, fearing.lest his partners
might insist on his doing all the artistic work, if
he did not make this suggestion in time.
"Where are you going to put them?" asked
Jenny, thinking, perhaps, that slips of paper posted
about the house might not be strictly ornamental.
"We '11 tack 'em up in the entry, close by the
door, an' then the fellers can't help seeing' 'em
when they come in," said Pinney.
If we were goin' to have a clerk, he could read
the rules to the boarders every morning' before
breakfast, an' then they'd be sure to know what
they had to do," suggested Sam.
We 'd have to find a clerk that got up earlier
than you do, Sam, for the fellers would all be at
work before you were ready," said Tom, laughing;
and then he added, Come on, now! let's get
to work an' make the things, so we can go to bed
- Five minutes later, each of the directors was
trying his' artistic best, with a lead-pencil and a
piece of brown paper, to outdo the others in mak-
ing his special rule the most ornamental as well as
the most useful of the lot.
Pinney finished his first, posting it temporarily
on the wall of the sitting-room, where all could
see':and admire. Arnd below ma, be found a repro-
duction of his efforts:

fi .- L V r


A iew moments later. Tom had completed his and
placed it beloi Pinn. 's. He found it necessary to
expaiin that the figure on the l'-ft ,va; intended to
represrit one of the boarders who was undecided

as to whether he'would comply with the rule or
not, and that the one on the right was himself in
an attitude that would convince even the most
stubborn how necessary it was that he should obey.
Here is the rule, and if the artist has not made the
figure on the right to look as ferocious as the one
drawn by T6m, he has copied the rule in other re-
spects very faithfully:

C,,' AP ,T d d / 1UM

-, 1/7 L \L

v /eZelorgHT HI RE

Ikey's rule was such a one as the treasurer of a
corporation might be expected to make; and as he
placed it below the others, Jenny decided that it
was the best, from a business point of view:

Sam felt certain that his rule was one which would
meet with the full approbation of his brother direc-
tors, and as he placed it by the side of the others,
he looked as if half the sting of being refused the
position of clerk had been removed from his mind
in the satisfaction it afforded him. In addition to
its being the most important, rule for the boarders
to follow, he was -confident that it was by far the
most ornamental in.appearance:

bVt6 F lelp C /i 0 TZ
T1- PA~&NEkJ OpTrHis
__1 TI ^9

To his great surprise, no one appeared to be
delighted with the result of his labors, and Jenny's
mother even went so far as to say that she thought
it would be unwise to post it with the rest, since
*some of the boarders might take offense.
"It seems as if I can't do anything' in this
house," he said angrily. ff the other fellers
want to do anything they do it; but the minute I
say what I think, the rest make an awful fuss, like


the one you raised 'bout my bein' clerk. That's
one of the best rules we 've got, 'cause it shows
the fellers that they must walk straight."
"It shall go up with the others, Sam," said
Jenny, soothingly; "but if the boarders should
raise any trouble about it, we must tell them you
made it."
"Of course you can do that," replied Master
Tousey, quickly. ."You don't s'pose I'm afraid
of any feller that 's coming here to board, do
you? They 've got to know who the bosses are,
an' that rule '11 show 'em."
"Now let's see what Jack-has made," said
Tom, anxious to change the conversation, lest a
quarrel should be the result.
It's not very much," said Jack, modestly; "but
it was all I could think of, an' if the rest of you
don't like it, I 'd jest as soon take it down as not."
Then Jack placed by the side of the others his
rule, of which the following is an exact copy:

Owing to the rather peculiar method of spell-
ing, the stockholders were at a loss to understand

what the author had intended to say, and it was
with an air of compassion because of their igno-
rance, that Jack explained his meaning. ,
Can't you see what I 've printed? 'No
fighting' allowed in this house'- plain enough for
It was plain after the. explanation, and every
one agreed that it was a good rule, even though
it was badly spelled.
Please paste then up, Ikey," Jenny said; "but
I would n't have any more, for I think they won't
make the house look very much prettier."
Ikey did as he had been requested, and when
his labor was concluded, he intimated that it would
be well for the directors to pay such money into
the treasury as they could afford, in order to lessen
as much as possible the amount of their indebted-
ness. He had enough to complete his payment
of ten dollars, as he .showed his partners; and
although the others could not do as well, they
contributed, according to their means, their profits
from the day's work.
Something over five dollars was the amount
Jenny received; and with that she believed it would
be possible to furnish another room, providing she
did iot spend too much for food.
"If you jest have enough, it don't make much
difference what it is," Ikey said; and all agreed
that quantity, not quality, should be the rule in
providing for the table.

(To be continued.)







"HERE comes a missionary I"
And the bluff Westerner who made the remark
pointed to a slim, well-dressed young man who
jdmiped briskly'off the train and walked quickly
up the main business street toward the' best hotel
in the place.
The young man did not look like a missionary;
he did not act as if he were one; and his trunk,
larger than the largest Saratoga," was not, to
all appearance, such a one as missionaries usually
carry. The fact is, he was not a missionary; he
was a commercial traveler, sometimes called a
drummer." Some people in the West call these
active gentlemen missionaries,"--I suppose be-
cause they come to them from afar.
The young man registered at a hotel. After
he had been in the city about an hour, he found a
number of gentlemen, young, old, and middle-
aged, who were engaged in the same general indus-
try of disposing of goods by sample. There was
one man who represented the chocolate trade,
another the jewelry business, another suspender
manufacturing, another the paper business; there
was a manufacturer's representative, a man in the
silk line, and a man who took orders for railway
These were the commercial travelers, drum-
mers, salesmen, agents, representatives, or what-
ever name they chose to call themselves, whom he
saw. He might have seen others who represented
dry goods, fancy goods, domestic lace goods, im-
ported lace goods, hardware, harness, tailors'
trimmings, ladies', trimmings, fringes, buttons,
shoes, books, plumbers' ware,-in fact, he might
have seen a salesman for almost every important
Trade and business you can mention. This shows
the scope of the occupation. The'census of 1870
stated the number of persons engaged in it to be
7262; while, ten years later, the census of 188o
put the figure at 28,158.
Therfuture traveling salesman,..at the age of
about fifteen,, enters the occupation he prefers,
and learns rhe bu-iness. That-is, he learns all
about the line of goods he is going to sell,-
the prices, the various qualities, the details of
manufacture; in short, every useful fact that he
can gather.

If the boy, by the time he is eighteen or twenty,
has gained a complete knowledge of the goods he
is to sell, he starts out on the road." After he
has recovered from his surprise at seeing the
countless number of brisk young-gentlemen who
have chosen the same occupation that he has, he
wll be painfully startled at one feature of the call-
ing. He has always been taught that the young,
the energetic, the pushing, active, buoyant young
man is the young man to succeed and make his
way in the great battle of life. He is young, ener-
getic, pushing, active, buoyant (at least he was
buoyant when he started); but he soon finds; int
spite of all these admirable qualities, that the old-
men get ahead of him. Merchants gaze upon
our young friend coldly, but to some gouty old,
salesman of forty-five or fifty they give a hearty-
shake of the hand, and cry out: "Welcome, old
boy, I am glad to see you "
As Artemas Ward used to say: Why is this.
thus ?"
Well, it is because the merchants don't know the-
young man; he is just starting in; he is green."
They like the old fellow because his face is famil-
jar to them. These old salesmen do well, and it
must be admitted that they are often a sore hin-
drance to the success of their younger brethren;
but a plucky young man will not be discouraged-
he will work all the harder to be successful. And
here and there, too, will be found instances where,
through careless habits, or too great a reliance on
social popularity, and too little on a thorough
knowledge of his business, the older salesman will
be beaten by the younger man, who has taken
pains to keep himself better informed on matters
relating to the trade.
SNo general rule can be laid down as to where
the salesmen travel. Generally they. go over a
certain territory previously agreed upon. The
Eastern circuit, as it is usually called, is from
New York to Portland, Maine, and from Provi-
dence, R. I., to Springfield, Mass., the large towns
..between.these places being listed or, 'the way. .The
'New YorkiState circuti reached as far as Cleve-
land, and includes all the important places on the
line o:f the Erie and the Central Railroads. A sales-
man for the Southern circuit will probably cover
the territory from Pittsburg to New Orleans, not
going west of the Mississippi River; while a

* Copyright by G. J. MANsoN, 1884.



,~., 58 READY FuR BUSINESS. 1N1 '.F.C.-i.

drummere" for the \Weitet n section will start frirn
Pittsburg and go through to Missrouri, \ilich is
usually the limit ol thi-s means of trade ir that direc-
tion, althi ouh i nael I: gradual], reaching beyond
that point. A Ie,. firmin iri the dr) gi:ood buine.s
now send their agrint- to:C California. Tra-clirig is
nearly always done by night, Time being very
precious, the days.must be g;iver up t:o .ork. No
"license" is requnied t:.- sell goods._ except in one
or r..,o of the Sjutnern Stats. and there. through
some tech:ricalitr of the law, it- payment, as a
direct fee, is often not required.
The salesman, travels almost throughout the
twelve months of the year, though the length of
his tour depends in lnire deg-ree upon the kind of
business in which he is engaged. F,:r inrtancc,
drygjxods agents are :.ointimes a ay for a year at
a time, going on ver) lon:. trip-. hlde the repre-
sentative of a jeweler will take :,ony shol t jiourn.; \y,
and will return:to New York, or the city % here he
haS his hcadquart[., once in every six or. eight
weeks. One -man, having'been absent from his
liearth.-ton. rieail\ all the time for five years, re-
mrarked gravel) to a friend that he thought of
retiring rroi:, the b:.i.nes:., not because he was hot
making money, but because he wished to get ac-
quainted with his family.
\Whie soliciting orders, the commercial trav-
eler has, as a rule, enough to do to occupy his
time. : Sometimes it will happen that he has
only two or three firms to see in a city, and
then finds himself unable to catch: a train to his
next destination for several hours. But such in-
stances are rare.
Salesmen start on their journeys at all times
of the year, dependent upon the trade they repre-
sent and the length of the season" they are sell-
ing for. In the winter, they are soliciting orders
for goods that people willneed in the summer.
From July until Christmas is the busiest time for
those who sell furs for the winter, and the "new
Styles" in spring goods, which, when they are
placed in the retail store, will furnish a pleasant
and inexhaustible fund of talk for our sisters and
our mothers. Each particular business has its
"season," while in a few industries there may be
as much demand at one time of the year as at
-As to the" pay, or, rather, the earnings, of sales-
men, the minimum amou rt may be placed at $800,
and the maximum at $5o0o'a year, though there
are salesmen Who make more than this.- There is
no other occupation, perhaps. where the earnings
depend more absolutely upon the-man himself.
There are three methods of remuneration:
," .. A man may be paid a salary. He come; to
a store; and says to the frin : "I am M\r. Sell-

iill; you hare heard of me ? Very good. No,,
I aish to make a change; and if \ou "ill pay me
a -alary of $5oo,. I i ll guarantee to sel for your
h,us -- thousand dollars' north of gools. iilli
a )ear" (tratng. of course, the value of the goods
which he will agree to sell).
The firm may not accept his offer: but we will
say that Dhrygoods & Co. have heard of thii man;
the; knoi,, he is a good man to have, and they
know when he comes to their house he wishes to
imiak:- a permanent engagement; it % o:ild be very
foolish for him to say he could sell such an amount
of goods and then fail to do it. In order to keep
the respect of business men, if for no other rea..on.
he would use every effort to acconmplish a hat he
had promised. And so Dhrygoods& Co. engage
2. A man ma\ be paid a salary and also a com-
tmissnio n rn hart.he sells.
3. He may not be paid any salai y. but work on
commission entirely.
In the miijoriy of cases. one of the first two
plans is adopted. But whatever the plan may be,
the price he is paid for his services depend en-
tirchl on the amount of good- he .:atn sell And it
reins to be arn ax,:m among bu-irines mien that the
high-priced -travelers are the cheapi-: in ihe end.
Sometimee: an 'agent will be confined to a conpai-
atively small ditrict. say New- York State.:. He
aill o rk orn r:omrmiision, and will receive a com-
missiofi on all the country% orders in his district,
whether the:, have beer given to hiri or not.-
.The reason for. this is because his eiiployer
wishes the agent in every way to build up the
trade of the house, and to make a thorough can-
vass of the places to which he is sent. instead
of calling only on the best customers: which
might alienate the smaller houses ihich he had
Hotel and traveling expenses are netarl, al,.nai s
borne by the firm for which he is traveling. A
salaried man has his salary and his expenses; but
a man working on a commission may receive a
high commission, and pay his own expenses. A
man's expenses, of course, vary according to the
amount of his baggage and his style, of hotel
living. The matter of sample-trunks--square,
double-boarded, iron-bound, m rinstrout; afiai t is
a large item in the expense aiciount. f he cans dc
so, he will endeavor alha\s to ntop at the best
hotels. But sometimes. of course, he v.,1l b,-
obliged to put up at a poorer hou-e, and mut-
mur, like Touchstone: W\\hen I was at home.
I was in a better place; but travelers must be
When the .salesman tales an order in his book
(usually a common blank book), he makes a copy



L[ l ECH,


of it on a printed slip about seven inches long, with
some such heading as this:

Order No..... (I)......

........ ( ) ........ x88..

............... .. (3) ..................

Please send the following goods to
...... .. .... (4) ..................
............... (5).............. ... Salesm an.

Terms.... (6)...... Time.... (7)...... Shipvia......(8)......
(9) (o) (1n)

Exzlanation.--. Number of the order taken by salesman.
2. Date of taking the order. 3. Name of firm for whom he works.
4. Name offirm ordering the goods. 5, Nameof salesman. 6. Terms
of payment, as 5-30; that is, five per cent. off the bill, if paid within
thirty days. 7. The time (so many months hence) within which
the bill must be paid. 8. The "line" by which goods are to be
shipped. 9. The number of the "lot" from which goods havebeen
bought. ro. The quantity bought. ix. The price charged.

A successful salesman does his best to interest
a man; if he can induce the merchant to look at
his goods, the chances are that he will make a sale.
If the merchant does not buy the particular arti-
cle to which his attention has been called, he may
purchase something else. Then, too, a salesman
must inspire confidence in the buyer, and I suppose
the best way to inspire confidence is to have con-
fidence in the goods one is selling and in the work
one is doing. The salesman must not be afraid,
as some are in starting out, to ask a good, fair
profit on his goods. And he must make a study

of the moods of men. One man will say "no"
when he means "yes"; another will tell him to
"call again" when he might just as well remain
and make a sale. He should stick to one business.
Some young men have a smattering of half a dozen
occupations, but a thorough knowledge of none.
His object is to sell all the goods he can, and,
finally, if possible, to become a member of the firm
for which he is working.
A good salesman will heed his own work and
mind his own business. He will not talk about his
sales to his salesmen acquaintances, or, to use a
stronger term, salesmen friends. "Thy friend,"
says the Talmud, hath a friend, and thy friend's
friend hath a friend; be discreet."
Commercial travelers are convivial, smart, good-
natured fellows. They meet one another far away
from home. Is it any wonder that they should
be friendly, and like to get together and tell sto-
ries and exchange experiences ? Up to a certain
point, this is all well enough, but many of them
get into habits that are likely to do them much
harm. On long journeys such as I have men-
tioned, many temptations must come to a young
man. In the excitement and companionship to be
met with in large cities, or in the dullness often ex-
perienced in small towns and villages, he will be
urged many a time to become a party to that most
pernicious and silly of all habits "treating." For
the sake of his health and business success, if for
no better reasons, the young salesman should re-
fuse to partake of strong drink. Let him, at the
commencement of his career, firmly but good-na-
turedly, decline all such invitations; not in a churl-
ish or Pharisaical way, but courageously from a
simple love of decency and of the principles which
should animate a true gentleman.






] C. Lydi Gouldf

OMEforth, old Tongs, from chimney-place!
Perchance your history well may grace
Some rhythmic age of poet's skill,-
At least, some corner snuglyfill.

li What would'st thou tell of all the years
That swift have flown,- the hopes and fears
That mark Dame Fashion's onward way,
Whose mandate human folk obey?

A quiet voice methinks I hear.
In mute attention I draw near,
To listen to your story gay,-
Or grave, perchance; speak on, I ray.

In shining steel of brightest hue
I stood, when first this world I knew.
A grand success all said was mine;
For, surty, I was bound to shine.

In parlor grand I t.en uia-. la.ced -
A quiet little corner graced;
My mate the shovel, too, was there,
Just opposite, all bright and fair.

And of that home,- why, words would fail,
In this not very lengthy tale,
To speak its wonders, sing its praise;
Suffice, I wished no better days.




x887.] THE TONGS. 301

But time rolled on, and lo a change:
Self-feeders, grates, and modern range
Came trooping in, to my dismay:
Alas! I knew I 'd had my day.

Then forth I went, and up the stairs
To dingy garret. There the wares
Of bygone years lay side by side,
And there I knew I must abide.

In dusky silence sped the years;
Alternate were my hopes and fears,
Till Time, great worker of all change,
At last my rescue .might arrange.

From cobwebbed nook, from dusty wall,
Came, at the relic-hunter's call,
A rusty train of antique wares;
And marshaled forth, we went downstairs.

Such din, I ween, was never heard:
The spinning-wheel to spinning stirred;
The bellows blew and puffed and wheezed;
We all with frantic joy were seized.

In pleasant room each finds a place,
While I my little corner grace;
My mate the shovel, too, is there,
Just opposite, all bright and fair.

If now a lesson you would learn,
It is of patience for your turn;
For good and ill must both have room
Within the web of Life's great loom.




ONE of my young friends, whose name is George
Tyler, once took a three-years' cruise in a man-of-
war, and during the cruise he made a visit to Ma-
deira. He was very glad when the ship dropped
her anchor at Funchal, the port of Madeira, and
very anxious to get ashore to see the island. When
his turn came to-go ashore, George and a friend of
his called one of the many boats that continually
surrounded the ship, and, stepping into-it, were
soon landed on the beach.
Leaving the boatman, George and his friend
walked up to the open square which is quite near
the water, and sat down for a moment to look
about them.
Here under the shade of the trees with which
the square is planted, they saw quite a number of
the inhabitants. The peasants attracted their at-
tention at once; George thought the little funnel-
shaped caps which most of the men and some
of the women wore, were'the oddest he had ever
seen. A group of beggars soon grew so trouble-
some with their pitiful petitions that George and
his friend were glad to leave the square for a saun-.
ter through the streets. These they found curi-
ously paved with small pebbles, and very slippery.
George's feet, unaccustomed to the small paving-
stones, soon grew tired, and, as there are no side-
walks in the city, he suggested to his companion
that they should hire one of the street-cars," as
he called the "bullock carts" on runners.
Engaging one of these at six hundred reis per
hour (the rei of Madeira is about the same as our
mill, or a tenth of a cent), they spent a long time
in riding about the city. The driver walked be-
side the cart with his goad, shouting occasionally

at the top of his voice. His shout consisted of a
long succession of calls, "Ca-oo-oo-oo-a.h! Ca-
oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-ah preceded or followed by
Portuguese phrases, which George could not catch.
Just ahead walked a boy calling out now and then
in his shrill voice, "Ca fara mim boi! (Come
here to me, oxen )
The oxen were small, but handsome and well
cared for. Occasionally the boy would stop for the
cart, and allow first one runner and then the other
to pass over a little bag of grease,which he carried
in his hand. In this way the runners are greased
so that they may glide along easily, and this is
what makes the street so slippery.
Everything is drawn on runners in Madeira. At
the time when George was there, there was but
one wheeled carriage on the island. The greater
part of the people walk. A few ride in the carts, a
few in hammocks borne on men's shoulders, and
for long distances they ride horseback. Merchan-
dise is drawn on sledges, many of which are seen
in the lower parts of the city.
It was a new experience to George to be where
every one spoke a language he could not under-
stand; to ride through the streets hour after hour
without seeing a single carriage on wheels; to be
in a land where every month has its flowers, and
bees gather honey summer and winter; where fruit
succeeds fruit through all the seasons, and the air
is soft and mild through all the year.
When he went off to the ship at night, and.saw
the beautiful island in the shade, with its many
lights far up and far along the hillside, and
heard bells now and then breaking the silence of
the night, he could hardly realize that it was not




all a dream from which he should awake the next
morning wondering whither the beautiful island
.had vanished.
But when he went on deck the next morning,
there it was, far more beautiful in the sunlight than
it was the night before. George was charmed with
the wonderful lights and shades which the passing
clouds produced on the many mountain-sides, and
he wondered how a simple collection of mountains
could be so lovely. The sea was smooth, but the
long swells came in from the Atlantic, and, break-
ing on the shingly beach, formed a fitting frame for
the picture.
There is a church at Funchal, nearly two thou-
sand feet above the level of the sea, called the
church of Our Lady of the Mount," which
George had watched from the ship, and which he
set out to visit the next time he was allowed to go
ashore. Accompanied by his friend, he went to a
stable to hire a horse to ride up the hill. After
some delay in making a bargain, they were seated
in their saddles. Each horse was attended by a
"burriqueiro," or horseboy, and as soon as they
were ready each burriqueiro seized the tail of his
horse, and shouted a little Portuguese command.
Away they went at a brisk pace, the boys follow-
ing. Coming to a comparatively level place in the
road, they struck into a run, trying to see if they
could shake these boys off. They did not succeed,
for the little fellows clung to the horses' tails, and
never thought of letting go or giving up. It was
nearly three miles to the church by the way they
went, and in some places the road was so steep
that there were steps cut for the horses to place their
At first, the road was walled in, so that they
saw nothing but the tops of the houses and the
trees in the gardens. In many places the walls
were overhung with flowers of different hues which

filled the air with a grateful perfume. Farther up,
the walls were not so high, and a little beyond,
there were none at all. Myriads of lizards were
basking in the sun, but they were not poisonous;
indeed there are no poisonous reptiles on* the
island. The horses walked up the hill very rap-
idly, and the boys followed as easily as if they
were walking for pleasure. They stopped to rest
but once, and in little more than half an hour were
at the church.
They sent their horses back to the stables, for
they were to go down in a quite different way.
The view from the church steps comprises all the
town, the harbor with its shipping, and the broad
But George was too much excited at the thought
of descending the hill to care much about the view,
and he hurried his friend to the sledge-stand near
by. Here he selected his sledge, which is made
of willow, stoutly braced and placed on runners.
With one attendant on each side and one behind,
every one holding on with a leather thong in his
hand, the sledge was started. They dashed down
the steep way as a boy slides downhill in winter,
and the skillful attendants guided the sledge, no
matter how fast it went, with a dexterity that has
often surprised older and more experienced trav-
elers than George. Down they went with fearful
rapidity, turning corners without upsetting, but
with long slides to leeward, always going on; with
many an-exclamation from George, who could not
feel quite safe while flying at so furious a rate. In
nine minutes they were at the foot of the hill, more
than two miles from the church.
George thought that this beat all the sliding
downhill that he had ever imagined, and he
would gladly have walked back for the sake of
another slide if he could have found any one to
go with him.





LE pouce, le premier des cinq doigts de la main,
Dit au second : "Ah que j'ai faim "
L'index, le second, dit: "Nous n'avons pas de pain."
Le doigt du milieu: "Comment faire ? "
Comme on pourra! dit l'annulaire.
Piei piei pied dit le plus petit,
"Qui travaille vit,
Oui travaille vit."





"WHAT can you see with that big eye of
yours? ?'asked Tommy, as he climbed upon a
chair, and gazed fixedly at a tall peacock feather
in a vase on his niother's table. -
"Alas!" sighed the Peacock Feather, "I can
not see anything."
":Not see anything, with so beautiful an eye?
Why, what is your eye for ?"
"I don't know," said the Peacock Feather,
sadly. "But I think," it added, timidly, after a
moment-"I think there are some other people
who have eyes and can't see."
Yes, I know," said Tommy, quickly,--"blind
No, I don't.niean blind people; I mean
'people who have. eyes and could see, but won't
"I don't wish to contradict you," said Tommy,
politely. But I really don't think there are any
such people."
Well," said the Peacock Feather, thought-
fully, "tell me something you can see. You have
very bright eyes. I wonder if you always see
everything there is to be seen ?"
My mother says I do."
Well, tell me something that you see."
"I see," said Tommy, gazing wildly about, as

if he saw so much that he could not possibly limit
his vision to one thing, "I see -I see a fiee-! "'
"But I can't see a tree, you know, so I have n't
the least idea what a tree. is: You must describe
it to me. Hovdoes a tree grow? or does n't. it
grow at all? What is it made of? What feeds it?
Do the leaves fall off in winter, or do they stay
on? Does it bear fruit, or only flowers, or does n't
it even have any.flowers ? What colors the leaves
green ? If the leaves turn red in the autumn, what
makes them red? What is a tree good for? Did it
grow wild where you see it, or. was it planted
there ? How many kinds of trees are there ? What
effect on the amount of rain in any. country does
the number of trees have ? .What -"
" Dear me! interrupted Tommy.." Wait.a min-
ute. You can't expect a fellow to. see all that."
"No,' said the Peacock Feather, quietly; "I
did n't. I thought you were one of the'people who
have eyes and yet can't see."
Oh, but see here "
"Is it kind of you," inquired the Feather with
dignity, "to tell me to see here,' when you know
I can't see ? "
"Excuse me, please," said Tommy, blushing
violently to think he had hurt the Feather's feel-
ings. "What I meant to say was 'look here i'"




"And of what use is it to me to look when I
can't see?" demanded the Feather, a little snap-
"Oh, no !- yes -of course!" stammered
Tommy in embarrassment. I only meant to tell
you that I don't see all' those things you asked
about now; but I could see them if I had a mind
Ifyouhad a mindto? What.is that? I sup-
pose I could see them, if I had a mind to."
Now this was a very old joke indeed; a joke as
old as the funny things that Charles Lamb used to
say; but then you could hardly expect a Peacock
Feather to have read Charles Lamb, and the poor
thing thought it was saying something original.
Yes, of course you could; but this is the dif-
ference, you see --"
You what? snapped the Feather.
"Excuse me; I meant to say, 'You know';
this is the difference: you have n't any mind to see
with, and I have n't any mind to see. What I
mean is, that there 's a kind of an eye in my mind
that can see all those things you asked me about
whenever I choose to make it. If I chose to go
and read a lot of books, and ask my father a lot of
questions, and listen to a lot of my teachers' lect-
ures, I should soon know every one of those things
you asked me about. It's a kind of an eye inside
of me, and I can open it and find out things when-
ever I please. Now, you have n't any mind, you
know;- and so of course you could never understand
any of these things, if you tried ever so hard.
See? "
"Yes, I see," answered the Feather, thought-
fully. a
"But I thought you could n't see," retorted
Tommy, a little wickedly, rather pleased at having
at last caught the Feather who had tripped him
up so many times in his remarks.
Oh, I am seeing with my inner eye," answered
the Feather, calmly. "I, too, have a kind of an
eye inside of me. It is not a mind's eye,- of course
I don't make any pretension towards having a
mind,-but it 's a very good eye of its kind, and it
sees some things very clearly. It sees, for instance,
that a little boy who could see and won't take
the trouble to see is a much more pitiable being
than a poor Feather who could n't see anything
if it should try a year. Do you really mean to

say," it added with increasing emphasis, lifting
all its little fibers in astonishment to its face, as
a light breeze swept through the room-"do you
really mean to say, little boy, that you actually
have a mind, and that you don't care anything
about it?"
"Oh, yes! I care about it, some," answered
Tommy, sheepishly.
"But not enough to take the trouble to open
your mind's eye very wide. Very well; good-bye,
little boy."
And the Feather waved its delicate fibers again,
as if to dismiss so insignificant an object from its
"So I'm a 'pitiable being,' am I," muttered
Tommy, as he pushed his chair back against the
wall, "just because I don't happen to know every-
thing there is to be known about trees ? Well, I
guess the Feather is right about that inner eye of
its own; it certainly saw some things that never
struck me before. I 've a great mind--"
"You 've a great mind repeated the Feather,
with delicate irony. Have you, indeed, a great
"I mean, Feather," said Tommy, with a very
low and polite bow-"I mean, that, having a mind,
I 'm going to make it a great mind if I can. I 'm
going to begin with finding out all that you asked
me about the trees. I can find out, if I choose
to, and I 'm going to choose to. You will see to-
morrow how much I shall know."
I shall see, to-morrow ? exclaimed the Feather,
Oh, no, no, I beg your pardon! I did n't
mean to excite any false hopes in your heart. I
meant to say that you will hear to-morrow how
wise I have become. You see, you know, you are
really so intelligent, and have such a very beauti-
ful eye, that I keep forgetting your limitations."
"Little boy," said a soft voice, with a sigh, as
Tommy closed the door, appreciate your oppor-
And Tommy went to school half an hour earlier
than usual that day, and was so very attentive,
and asked so many intelligent questions, that his
teachers were greatly delighted. But it all came
from his interview with a Peacock Feather, and
from his discovering how sad a thing it is to have
eyes and yet not to be able to see.







j "'_-^y s.t."." ^-

" '- -'^

-_ -




NICOLAI NICOLOFF stood on the shore at Sitka
watching the Russian ships as they disappeared on
the horizon, carrying with them .his best compan-
-ions. He brushed a tear away with the back of
his chubby hand, and turned resolutely home to
the pilot's house. It was hard to carry a cheerful
face to the little lame sister.
Alaska had been sold to the Americans; and all
was now finished, to the very last. The Russian
Prince Maksoutoff and his pretty wife had sailed
away to-day, taking with them every Russian -
even every one that claimed to be a Russian -
save only the few, the very few, who remainedbe-
hind from choice, unwilling to forsake their only

Nicolai, or Collia, as he was most often called,
trudged along, gulping down great sighs, which
ended in groans, half of anger, half of desolation.
Had he not a right to be angry as well as desolate ?
For to-day his Russian mother, of whom he had
been so proud and fond, had deserted her home,
her husband, and her children. This day she had
gone back to her Russia, taking the pretty daugh-
ter Alickneeda.
The boy, with an impatient shake of his shoul-
ders, followed for a short distance the road leading
from the deserted wharf, and then turned into an
open square. Around this square were built sub-
stantial log houses, some of them rude stores, some
already the homes of American officers.
On an eminence to the right stood a clumsy pile
of buildings, once the Prince's palace, now the
home of the American commandant.
As Nicolai approached the rude, ice-covered

36 7


steps that led to this "palace," a cheery voice
called to him from the height above; and he
stopped, half reluctant to be seen in such a plight
of grief, yet from long habit of obedience not
thinking to disobey a summons.
A fur cap was lifted from a crown of yellow curls
and waved to him with swift impatience. Ho,'
Collia! here is my sled. Come with me to the
Indian River "
Even as he shouted, a little lad coasted peril-
ously down a steep pathway near the steps, and in
the next moment stood beside Collia.
Paul, the son of the new American commandant,
was a handsome lad; and he looked so brave and
friendly as he smiled a welcome at Nicolai, that our
poor little Russki already felt almost comforted.
Boy-like, they darted off together; .and a brisk
run soon brought them to the Greek church, whose
clamoring chime of bells i ca.illing the Aleuts and
Indians to one of its frequent services. Here they
found a group of Indians, who half filled the open
space in front and quite blocked the sidewalk.
They were not collected for any devotional pur-
pose;. but squatted cr.:."-legged in the snow and
ice, Ldly go.ssping and garrbling o ith one another.
Paul and Nicolai, in order to pass them, turned
from rhI~ talk into the rough frozen road; arid
the little -led, dragging behind Paul, brushed too
clo'il3 the outstretched foot of an Indian girl. With
a sharp, angry cry, she immediately gave chase to
the boys, who ran on, unconscious of any offense..
When within reach of Paul, she snatched his hat
from his head, and tossed it far out into the un-
trodden snow, while with saucy lips she pelted him
with some rather rude Chenook words.
-W\hen Paul, on turning, found his assailant was
only a little Indian girl of his own height, his first
impulse of anger gave way to a merry laugh, and
droppiirg the:rope of his sled, he stepped out into
the drift to'recover-his insulted cap. .
The girl watched him with a .malicious gleam
in her great black eyes. He had not:gone- nany
feet out into the drift, when, with a sudden toss,
she drew her Indian blanket over her arms, and,
seizing the rope of the deserted sled, made off
with:it, leaping and, bounding like a young deer.
Every now and then she threw over her shoulder a
defiant whoop, and was almost:at once out of
reach of the two astonished boys. Nicolai was the
first to give chase, and he called to his comrade
to follow. The girl ran back upon the straight
road, or street, over which they had just come,
until she reached the open square; then, turning
abruptly to the right, and running along that side
of the square until beyond its nearest corner, she
came to a gate in a heavy barricade of upright logs.
This gate connected the Indian village with the

white settlement. But at sundown the Indians,
who had the freedom of the garrison by day, were
marched home, their unwilling steps closely fol-
lowed by a sentinel, who barricaded the gate and
kept guard until sunrise.



IT was still an hour before sunset, and there
was neither sentinel nor other observer when
Alounka, the Indian girl, with a last whoop of
triumph, slipped through the gate and, all breath-
less, ran into the market-building. In this great
open shed, the Indian hunters every morning sold
venison and other game; here squaws brought
the earliest salmon-berries, blueberries, and cran-
berries; and here. fishermen sold their salmon,
halibut, and the oily eulachon, or candle-fish,
which is used literally as its name suggests.*
These commodities were the main dependence of
the garrison. The building was deep, and in its
distant corn-rs dark enough for arefuge. Alounka
thrust herself and the sled under a pile of deer-
skins--and waited.
Collia arrived at the gate shortly behind the
girl, but waited for Paul to join him, and there the
two took counsel. Collia knew well enough the
treachery of their dark-skinned neighbors, and he
quickly explained to Paul, the stranger boy, how
great a risk they both must run to enter this yil-
lage unprotccted and claiming stolen property.
But Paul was too angry and impatient to listen
to prudent counsel, and brushing past his little
Aleut friend he entered the village and stood for
.one. moment in front: of the market-place, uncer-
tain what to do next. Alounka was nowhere in
sight. Before him. was an apparently empty shed
running parallel with the beach, its back to the
water and its black opening facing-him.
Far along the shor tretc.hed, one after the
other, great, clumsy rstiuciures of hewn logs-
the Indian houses. Paul had arrived in Sitka only
a few days before, and, except from shipboard, had
not yet seen this curious place. In front of each
structure was planted a huge pole, or log, elabo-
rately carved, called a totem.
These poles looked like dreadful monsters to
the boy's unaccustomed eyes. They were gayly
painted in all colors -one hideous head rising out
of and over another, and one hideous frog, reptile,
or figure rising out of another, continuously, in an
ugly, confused mass, looming to the height of an
enormous Alaska cedar. These threshold guar-
dians, standing solemnly one in front of each
round entrance, looked so horrid and forbidding,

*See p. 393, ST. NICHOLAS for March, 1886.



that the American boy, hesitating, turned-to find
Nicolai standing beside him, pale and quiet, but
plainly resolved not to leave him.
The market seemed quite deserted and empty;
so, after a brief survey, Paul and Collia left it, and
ran through the Indian village its whole length,
searching as they went, not venturing yet to enter
a lodge, but looking closely at groups of Indians,
in the hope of finding Alounka.
In a few moments, the boys themselves became
objects of interest and curiosity, and they were soon
surrounded, and their progress blocked by a leer-

uttered a few rapid words to one of the largest.
braves, at the same time gesticulating angrily
and pointing at Paul and Collia. Before the boys
could quite realize what had happened, they were
seized and roughly dragged toward the opening
that answered for a door in one of the Indian
These openings are the only means of entrance,
except by the roof, and are at a considerable height
from the ground. The two boys were lifted, hus-
tled, hurried through one of the holes, and imme-
diately found themselves in a large apartment, or


ing crowd. Braves, squaws, pappooses pressed
around, and peered curiously into their faces;
shaggy, wolf-like dogs snuffed and snarled at the
heels of the new-comers, who with difficulty main-
tained a brave appearance.
They were returning toward the market-place,
when suddenly, Paul quite forgot the crowd around
him at sight of Alounka, whom he now beheld
lazily sauntering on the beach, skipping pebbles
over the water and apparently unconscious of
their presence. He ran quickly toward her; and
Alounka, turning at the same instant to face him,
VOL. XIV.-24.

rather square court. A fire burned on the earthen
floor, the smoke disappearing overhead through
a large opening in the roof. A wooden platform
ran around the sides of the court, and many small
doors opened upon the platform. These doors,
Nicolai afterward told Paul, belonged to tiny
rooms, each occupied by an Indian family.
Many Indians were already assembled there, and
a large number swarmed in after the boys, until the
space was filled. For some moments there was a
very bedlam of voices. Alounka and the large
brave were prominent in an apparent dispute with




two powerful Indians who had risen from their
pipes on the entrance of Alounka and her captives.
These two Indians talked apart with Alounka.
She had drawn her scarlet blanket closely around
her, squaring her shoulders and elbows, and lifting
a defiant, wayward, mocking face, as she answered
them daringly.
The blanket parted below, showing a dark blue
cotton slip, or narrow gown, and under it Paul
could see a little moccasin every now and then pat
the floor impatiently.
Collia held Paul firmly by the hand, and said:
"Be not fear.- Ez gurl is make hers father
minorga cultus- (much mad).- Wait now.- Be
not fear !"


THE Aleuts are a race small of stature, ;entl-.
and almost timid. Their origin is uncertain, but
some wise men believe that they came from Asia,
across the Pacific or by Behring's Strait. The
Aleuts believe themselves to be Russians, and they
speak a Russian dialect, but their appearance is not
unlike that of the Chinese. Nothing insults them
more than to be thought related to the Indians.
Collia, was the son of Father Nicol, the pilot,-as
Russians, Aleuts, and Indians called him. Nicol,
besides being the skillful and only pilot at Sitka,
was also the owner of the Russian baths, to which
the whole populace flocked, and was the Aleut of
chief influence in the Alaskan capital.
Nicolai Nicoloff was his father's only son and
great pride. Collia always went with Father Nicol
in the little pilot-boat to meet incoming vessels.
There was never weather too stormy for the boy,
who had been trained from babyhood to think it
gay sport to go tossing over the crests of high
waves. Besides his training at the Russian school,
Collia, from frequent intercourse with English and
American sailors, had picked up bits of their lan-
guage; so that when the Americans took posses-
sion of Sitka, he could understand them, and make
himself partly understood in broken English.
Paul, looking at Collia now, saw that he was
pale to the lips. Still holding Paul's hand, the
little Aleut stepped out into the open space near
the fire, and raised one hand high. Standing thus,
he faced the excited Indians, and their loud voices
became still at a gesture from Annahoots, their
chief. Collia now spoke in their own tongue, and his
voice was quiet and low. Paul, listening to him,
began to feel a sense of protection; and his own
fast-beating heart beat less wildly, even though he
could not understand this strange language. As
the boy continued to speak, in quiet, even tones,

Paul saw that the Indians looked at one another
uneasily. Once Collia pointed toward Alounka,
and her eyes dropped as she turned half away.
Once he-drew-himself up proudly and looked
about into those dark faces, while among a few
hurried utterances could be heard the words
"Russki" and "Czar." Then followed some
rapid, excited speech, as he pointed at Paul, and
then, with a gesture of horror, toward the garrison.
He once more drew Paul to him, and, with an
arm over his friend's shoulder, made motion
among the throng in the direction of the entrance.
Paul had not looked for this, and he was aston-
ished to find the Indians give way before the boy.
Soon the two again stood under the open sky.
Skurrai, Paul! Skurrai/ that they not
change. Come!" said Nicolai, as both boys
started on a run for the gate.
When almost there, the sound of pursuing feet
made them hurriedly glance over their shoulders.
They saw close behind them the elfish face of
Alounka, and with it, to their terror, that of her
scowling father.
This man, Hintza, was a son of Annahoots,
chief of the Sitkas. Peaceful old Annahoots
wished always to be on good terms with his neigh-
bors; but Hintza, since early youth, had been the
means of getting his father into difficulties with
the Russians and with the neighboring and
remote Indian tribes. Hintza found an enemy in
every man he encountered; and he was himself a
very terror to his own tribe, since they were fre-
quently at war with other tribes on his account.
When Collia saw that they were pursued by this
Indian, a wild terror seized him, but he still held
Paul's hand, and urged him on. The boys ran
for their lives, but seemed to run in vain, for the
Indian gained upon them with every stride. His
crooked legs, grown misshapen as they had from
a cross-legged existence in a canoe, were yet fleet
enough to outstrip his prey; and twenty yards
from the gate he seized them both, dragging them
roughly behind him toward the nearest lodge.
Both boys cried out for help--but gained
nothing by it. Even if the sentinel had already
arrived at the gate with the straggling crowd of
Indians for the evening barricade, he would only
have supposed these cries to come from two pap-
pooses getting their usual paternal correction.
And so, piteously pleading and struggling, Paul
and Gollia were now close to the entrance of
another prison-house.
But just then something happened td Alounka.
Instead of trying to help her father, as he had
expected, in this second capture, she was standing
apart on the very tip-toe of eager anticipation. Her
breath came quickly, andher gaze was fixed, not upon

* Hurry.



the capture which she had instigated, but out upon
the water, where, just beyond the almost intercept-
ing market-house, a large black object, surrounded
by a multitude of smaller specks, was rounding the
point of land swiftly and noiselessly. In another
instant, suspicion became certainty. Alounka ut-
tered a peculiar piercing call, which caused every-
thing in the village to change as if by magic.

S- -



Hintza, with a swift glance over his shoulder at or now
the water, loosed his hold of Paul and Collia, and whole
in that instant forgot them. He, too, gave to the could
startled village that same piercing call, which was worth
caught up, as though by a thousand echoes, all seen w
along the beach. Out from the houses poured a rapidly
swarm of braves: every man armed, every man them t

occasion demanded action at once. guide
Multitudes of canoes, fully manned, pushed out attack.
from the beach as with one stroke; and before the The
invading chief Kauklutz and his monster Chilkat Officer
war-boat, with its attendant canoes, were abreast and he
of the market-house, the Sitkas were already there safer o
awaiting the attack; both tribes, meanwhile, alarm- were o
ing the garrison with cries of defiance and menace, neighb
ing the garrison with cries of defiance and menace. neighh:

'aul and Collia the whole thing meant only
-life. They did not wait to see the gath-
iraves; their push from shore; the squaws,
ises, and dogs howling on the beach; the
battle of the two fleets. They only put
nto their young legs, and hardly noticed the
g Indians, whom they met rushing through
:e at the call of their tribe.
Even when safely almost
across the open square, or
parade, they did not slack-
enspeed,butran although
pursued by both tribes;
and so, all breathless, they
'. rushed pell-mell into the
S arms of an artillery officer,
j who was hurrying to rouse
:*-L the guards. Nicolai, the
usuallystolid, quiet-voiced
Aleut, shouted out a tor-
rent of Russian English:
"Skurrai, 0 Excellenza !
Skurrai! Minorga Koot-
zenoos! Minorga Chil-
kats Minorga Stick-
ines! Seechasf come-
plenty come "



--. -_ THIS officer, Colonel
Wentworth, was Paul's
father. He had but lately
been placed in command
of Alaska. So little was
known by the American
troops of what they might
expect from these north-
ern Indians, that the clam-
filling the air was naturally alarming to the
settlement. In the gathering dusk nothing
be seen, nothing was known. Colonel Went-
at once discovered that the two boys had
ith their own eyes-something; so, as he
Walked to the guard-house, he directed
o keep with him and tell their story.
en they had' finished, he knew enough to
him in stationing his guards in case of an

n followed an anxious night for the garrison.
s' wives and children, and many other weak
:lpless people, flocked to the palace, feeling
n the hill, at the foot of which the soldiers
n guard, than they could below, in dangerous
orhood to the Indian village.

* Many. t Immediately.


The two boys who had so lately been together
in a pressing danger were now fast friends. They
were at once sent to the hill by Colonel Wentworth,
and with them went Nicol, the pilot, and Collia's
little lame sister, Oftotia. Paul conducted his three
friends to Mrs. Wentworth's presence, relieving at
once her motherly anxiety at his prolonged ab-
sence, and gaining for his friends a kindly welcome.
Nicolai became the hero of the hour when Paul,
with much enthusiasm, told the story of their
There was little sleeping throughout that long
night. Paul and Collia mixed with the crowd
assembled on the hill, and for hours watched a
moving myriad of torches that flashed around the
Indian village. Sometimes these torches seemed
chasing up and down the narrow beach; again they
flashed in long reflections from the water; and, al-
most without'ceasing, the horrid cries continued.
Paul looked carefully to the comfort of little
Oftotia, and was rewarded by a grateful smile
from the pale, patient child. As for Nicolai and
himself, having grown accustomed to the ceaseless
din, and even to the suspense and uncertainty,
they by-and-by grew heavy-eyed, and curled up,
each in a corner, and fell fast asleep.
At sunrise, the gate of the barricade remained
barred, of course ; but with the aid of field-glasses
the garrison could easily watch the battle between
the Chilkats and the Sitkas.
The Indians showed no disposition to intrude
on the white settlement, and it was decided not to
interfere with them. Colonel Wentworth learned
from the pilot that this quarrel with the Chilkats
dated back to former years. Hintza, while visiting
the Stickines, had killed a Chilkat brave in a
hasty quarrel, and the offense had never yet
been forgiven. The rule with Indian disputes
required an extended feud of probably years' dura-
tion, all captives taken in battle being perpetual
slaves to the captors; or else, absurd as it may
seem, a cultus potlatch ended the feud. The cul-
tus potlatch was a gift, usually of blankets, to
appease the anger of a grieving and aggrieved
relative- so many blankets for the murder of a
brave, so many for that of an old woman, and so on.
The garrison being assured of its own safety,
people returned to their homes; but, for the three
days in which this little war lasted, no one was
quite easy in mind. The invaders interrupted
their siege with an occasional rest on lovely
Japonska Island, just across the narrow channel.
On the third day, Nicol discovered the approach of
an American man-of-war; and when he had con-
ducted it to its moorings, immediately opposite the
Indian village, there was a sudden end to hostilities.

Guns that thrust their black muzzles from the
ship's sides opened fire to salute the flag of the
garrison. And at this, Chilkats and Sitkas were
alike convinced that the terrible noise threatened
punishment to both, and they made immediate
preparations for a cultus fotlatck.
Hintza, wisely remembering his.recent offense,
disappeared altogether. Old Annahoots sent am-
bassadors with grave ceremonial, begging the great
Tyees, or leading officers of the fort and of the man-
of-war, to be present at the grand peace-making
between the tribes. Paul obtained from his father
permission to attend the ceremony with Collia;
and so, to the sound of tum-tums and Indian rat-
tles, the boys entered Annahoots' lodge, this time
with the great Tyees, and were led to seats of honor
with solemn parade and ceremony.
While the painted and much ornamented war-
riors performed their cultus fotlatch dances with
frightful howls to the shaking of their gaudy wooden
rattles-a weird, almost terrible scene-Nicolai
and Paul, after the first novel emotions, cast their
glances about in search of Alounka. So far from
disliking that peculiar little maiden, they began
to feel a sense of disappointment that she was
nowhere in sight. Then for a while their atten-
tion was again engaged as the imposing cere-
mony of the cultus fotlatch was performed, while
Kauklutz and his braves condescended to accept
with dignity the pile of blankets bound with bark
Paul was gazing at a particularly ridiculous
dancer, when turning toward Collia, his fun-loving
face aglow with merriment, he saw instead of the
little Aleut the roguish black eyes of Alounka.
She stood close beside him-in one hand a bas-
ket, which she offered him, with a gesture that was
partly shy and friendly, and partly defiant. This
basket, such as only Alaskan Indians can make,
was cunningly woven, delicately shaped, and of bril-
liant colors. The straw, dyed stitch by stitch, and
of all colors, was woven in, also stitch by stitch, over
the under-plaited rootlets in a manner resembling
the work on old tapestry. It contained a number
of walrus-ivory and black-horn carvings carvings
for which the Alaskan Indians are now famous, and
in which none were more deft and cunning than
the elfish maid Alounka. As Paul colored and
hesitated, Alounka besought his acceptance of her
gift with a real Indian laugh-half guttural utter-
ance, half childish mirth, and wholly bewitching.
Then, as the basket lay in his hand, she said, in a
soft, broken way, Alounka cultus fotlatch."
And even as she spoke, though Paul impulsively
thrust out his free hand to detain her, the girl
slipped away, and was lost in the pressing throng.







GEORGE WASHINGTON, as every schoolboy
knows, was the son of Augustine Washington, of
Westmoreland County, Virginia. Lawrence Wash-
ington, George's half-brother, and fifteen years his
senior, was, while George was yet a schoolboy,
an officer of Virginia troops fighting for the
English flag against the Dons," at Carthagena
and on the Spanish Main. Colonel William

Fairfax, of Belvoir, a great man in the old Vir-
ginia days, was the county lieutenant, mem-
ber of the Governor's Council, and the resident
manager of the vast Virginian estates of his
cousin Thomas, Lord Fairfax. Belvoir lay among
the Potomac hills in that beautiful stretch of
country that many readers of ST. NICHOLAS have
doubtless seen from the great white dome of



the Capitol. After his father's death, Lawrence
Washington built a home, which he called Mount
Vernon, upon his inherited estate of 7000 acres on
the Potomac, and he married Annie Fairfax, the
daughter of the great man of Belvoir.
SSo to that beautiful home, his school days
over, came .young George Washington, a bright
boy of fourteen. Madame Lawrence Washington's
brothers and sisters at Belvoir were, most of them,
of a companionable age for young George, and he
soon grew intimate and familiar at the Fairfax
mansion. The abundance of youthful society made
Belvoir very attractive to a lad of Washington's
tastes, surroundings; and disposition.
The sports of the open air and the pleasant in-
door amusements led to a friendship that colored all
of Washington's life. The elder of the two Fairfax
lads, George William Fairfax, early won the admi-
ration of Washington, and his influence is shown
in a curious way, by the fact that, just as Wash-
ington grew into manhood, he changed his sig-
nature and fashioned it anew upon the model
of George Fairfax's autograph.
When Washington was seventeen years of age
he wrote his name thus:

George William Fairfax's signature, still to be
seen on a score of documents at Fairfax Court
House, is as follows:

After Washington had been acquainted with
Mr. Fairfax for some years, and had corresponded
with him, he changed his autograph to this:

The second of the Fairfax boys bore the name
of Thomas. This lad young Washington never
saw, but it was this absent Thomas who exerted
the strongest influence over young George Wash-
ington's developing youth, and excited.a spirit of
manliness and emulation that none of his actual
associates could inspire. Before Washington be-

came intimate at Belvoir, young Thomas Fairfax,
then scarcely more than a child, had been made a
midshipman in the King's Navee," and had sailed
away to foreign seas.
But, though away from Belvoir, he was by no
means forgotten in the loving family circle into
which George Washington had been admitted.
Indeed, the absent lad Thomas Fairfax was the
hero of that Virginian home. Around his name
there hung the glamour of romance, and to the
home-folk the boy's doings and experiences were
of far more importance than were the events of
which they formed a part.
In March, 1744, all Europe became involved in
the strife over the claims of Maria Theresa, the
great Archduchess of Austria; and France declared
war against England. In the fall of 1744, a Brit-
ish squadron, comprising two ships-of-war of sixty
'guns and one of twenty guns, under the flag of
Commodore Barnet, sailed from Portsmouth,
England, with orders to cruise against the French
in the East Indian seas; and on one of these--the
ship-of-war Harwick, Captain Cartaret command-
ing-sailed young Thomas Fairfax, Midshipman.
The fleet was to cruise in the Bay of Bengal,
mainly between Ceylon and Madras; but no sooner
had it appeared in East Indian waters, than Mon-
sieur Labourdonnais, commandant of the Isles
of France and Bourbon,* and an adventurous and
daring sailor, hastened to oppose their maneuvers.
Embarking a crew of three thousand untried men,
of whom seven hundred-were negroes, on nine
leaky vessels, he sailed to the attack; but with an
unseaworthy fleet, and an equally unseaworthy
crew, the ocean defeated him even before he met
the enemy. One of his ships was wrecked on the
coast of Madagascar, and he was obliged to put
back for repairs. So not until 1746 did the hostile
squadrons meet. They joined then in what the
chronicles of the day call "a distant and almost
bloodless action," in which "neither party could
lay claim to any decided advantage." But that
"almost bloodless action," of which the histories
of India scarcely make mention, had its effect, in
one way, upon the future of what is now a nation
of fifty millions of people. For on the deck of the
Harwick, His Britannic Majesty's ship-of-war, fell
the young Virginian, Thomas Fairfax, the brave
boy midshipman.
With the first winds of winter came the sad
news to Belvoir; and young George Washington,
then about fifteen, joined in the deep but stately
grief of the stricken family, and, under the inspira-
tion of the report of courageous deeds, woke to
a new ambition that never died.
Funeral rites were performed at Belvoir for the
young hero who had been.buried at sea. His

*Now known as Mauritius, and famous in literature as the scene of the story of "Paul and Virginia."




father inscribed upon the marble that commem-
orated his death that quaint epitaph:-

Who died fighting in his Country's cause on board the Harwick
Ship of War in an engagement with Monsieur Bourdenaye, com-
mander of a French Squadron on the Indian Coast
the 26th ofJune 1746,
and in the 2rst year of his age,
Beloved by his commander, Captain Carteret, and highly favored
by his friend Commodore Bamet for his politeness of manners. He
was a comely personage, of undoubted bravery, skilled in the theory
of the profession; excelled by few as a Naval Draughtsman, gave
early promises, by a pregnant genius and diligent application, of
a consummate officer for the service of his country. But the Wis-
dom of Heaven is inscrutable: human life is ever in the hands of its
author; and while the good and brave are always ready for death,
resignation becomes their surviving friends. Convinced of this duty
yet subdued by the sentiments of a tender parent this tablet
was inscribed and dedicated by his sorrowing father.

May, Britain, all thy sons like him behave.-
May all be virtuous and like him be brave.
Thy fiercest foes undaunted he withstood,
And perished fighting for his country's good.

A manly boy is quick to. listen and ready to
respond to the story of manliness in others. To
young George Washington the dirges for the
dead midshipman at Belvoir came rather as a note
of triumph than a song of sorrow, for they.told of
a heroic death--the epic of a boy, scarce older
than himself, who had fallen under the enemies'
guns on far-off eastern seas, where the flag of his

ship, unstruck, waved at the peak above his ocean
Bold, ambitious, accustomed to see no boy excel
him, full of high sentiments of honor, loyalty, and
duty-who can doubt what pulses thrilled the
heart of Washington, when this example was
brought face to face with him every hour of his
life ? Who can fail to see in these events the motive
which led him to seek, like Fairfax, a midshipman's
commission? You all know the story: how a ves-
sel waited in the Potomac; how Washington's
luggage was sent on board; how his mother,
agonized lest her son, too, should die among stran-
gers on far-off seas, intervened; and how, at her
entreaties, he abandoned a career that seemed to
him full of promise and of glory,- all these are
familiar themes. He laid his ambition at his
mother's feet, and turned his steps to the then
quiet paths that lay about his home. And soon
those paths extended into scenes of peril and
adventure that gave him fame even before he
reached the age at which Thomas Fairfax fell.
But the influence of the midshipman's example did
not stop there. And the heights of Boston and the
field of Yorktown witnessed in after years the dis-
play of the martial spirit that was quickened into
life by the memory of Thomas Fairfax and of his
death in that unchronicled fight, when the Vir-
ginia boy builded his life into the foundations of the
Empire of India.



.; & ~-"

*r N


4 '4-~.-

'* \~i" .'- '-,




*..- s^-::-



(A true story.)


JACK was a little yellow dog, with a very long
body and very short legs. When I bought him
of one of the soldiers of our post at Madison Bar-
racks, on the shore of Lake Ontario, Jack was but
a puppy, and he had a slim tail that in after years
curled, up over his back like the curve of an old-
fashioned Dutch skate. His eyes were sharp and as
bright as two stars, his ears had been well trimmed
to points, and with the exception of a long pointed
black muzzle, he was as yellow as a pumpkin all
over, and his skin was as soft as silk. He could lay
claim to more good blood than. his appearance
warranted, and he was one of the most intelligent
dogs I ever saw. He had a rare streak of fun in
him that was simply irresistible, and a saucy way
of looking up at you with his head cocked on one
side. He was a comical little chap, always ready
for a frolic; the expression of his face was so human
that it seemed as if he was about to say, I know
such a good joke Come on, now! 'Hurry up,"
Jack was death on cats. So long as they would
run away from him, how he would chase them,
and bark, as much asto say, "You just wait till
I catch you and eat you up"! He once ran straight
through a bed of live mortar, so great was his
haste to catch a fleeing puss-and of course he
suffered severely.in consequence. But let one of
those much-pursued cats stop, turn around, and
look Jack square in the face -and with a yelp
of terror, he would stop so quickly that he would
tumble heels over head, scramble to his feet, turn
and run for home with his tail between his legs,
howling for dear life, as much as to say, "For
mercy's sake, let me alone. I'm not touching you."
When Jack first came to us, he had a little old-
fashioned sleigh-bell fastened around his neck with
a string. The string was replaced by a new collar to
which the little-bell was attached, and excepting
once or twice when the bell was temporarily lost,
its tinkling always heralded his approach. The
very tone;,.pf4t -was peculiar, and-I believe I could
have recognized it had I heard it in China.
Jack proved to be a very teachable dog. When-
ever he desired to attract my attention, he would
sneeze: vigorously; and he was taught to sing

in a manner peculiarly his own. He would throw
his head back, a little on one side, and 'begin,
" Row-iow-row-row-row-row!" bobbing his head
with every "row," until the listener would be
fairly convulsed with laughter. I bought him a
rubber ball, and taught him to find it and bring
it to me. Hebecame quite expert at catching the
ball in his mouth. No matter whether it was
tossed directly at him, or thrown into the air, Jack
was always at the right spot when the ball came
down. At times, when he could n't get any of us
to play, he would go out with the ball in his mouth
and hunt up some boy to play with him.

n :a

-- t-


One day when Jack was coming into the house
throughthe front door, it shut ih aslambeforehe
and his tail were through. This resulted badly.for
the tail, for the tip ,% as held fast by the closed door,
and there Jack sprawled and howled until the door
was opened. Upon his recovery,.there was a perma-
nent crook in the end of his:tail, as if a knot had
been tied in it.

9887.1 *


I ~


After that occurrence Jack never went through
a half-closed door, unless some one held it open.
If it was wide open, he would make a wild dash
through, all ready to yell, with his tail between
his legs--for safety, not because he was afraid--
oh, no !
One of the officers of the post, who had recently
come in from the plains, had ten or a dozen large
greyhounds, which had -there been used to chase
Notwithstanding its size, the greyhound, when
alone, is an arrant coward, unless cornered; then
he becomes a dangerous antagonist. And when
greyhounds run together.in a.pack, in pursuit.of
an animal, and catch it, their sharp teeth soon tear
it to pieces.
Jack was a coward, too, but he knew by instinct
that a single greyhound was even a greater coward
than himself; and when one of the hounds would
stroll along by the house, it was ludicrous to see the
little scamp rush out quivering with excitement,
and barking as if he would eat Mr. Greyhound.
Invariably, the greyhound would turn tail and run;
Jack would follow a few steps and then return with
a look in his face which plainly said, "Did you
ever see such a coward ?"
But one day Jack was taking a walk with me on
the parade-ground down toward the lake, and
some distance from the house. All at once the
whole pack of hounds, as if urged by one common
impulse to get even with him for the indignities
he had heaped upon them singly, started in a body
for Jack. At first he did not notice them, but
when he did, instead of coming to me for protec-
tion, he turned and struck out for home in the
usual manner, with his tail between his legs and
with the usual accompaniment of howls. How he
did run! He was running this time for his life, and
he knew it. He looked like a tiny'yellow speck as
he scampered toward the house. The pack of
hounds keeping well together, gained on him at
every jump. Twice I thought they had him, and
half turned away my head; but, no he doubled
on them and fairly flew in another direction. The
hounds could not turn as quickly as he could, and
fell over one another in their attempts to do so. As
Jack reached the terrace in front of the quarters,
he flew into the house through the open door,
safe! The door was closed by my wife-who had
been watching the desperate race-just as the
hounds met in a body over a boy's straw hat that
was lying upon the grass before the door. In
about two seconds there was nothing left -of that
hat; it was torn into ribbons before they found
out it was n't Jack, after all! But from that time,
Jack was not on speaking terms with any of those

One day he accompanied me to the little village
of Sackett's Harbor, and while in one of the stores,
the proprietor called me back into the counting-
room to see a cat and a litter of kittens that were
in a large wooden box on the floor. Jack was
not invited, but with his usual impudence, he


followed me, and evidently wondered what we
could be looking at.
S. His curiosity got the better of his judgment, and
he raised up on his hind legs to look over into the
box, when, with a tremendous "miaouw!" Mrs.
Puss made one jump and, fastening her claws well
on Jack's back, rode the astonished dog through
the store to the front door, which, fortunately for
him, was wide open.
How that yellow dog did howl! I do not really
suppose that Jack ever knew what struck him, it
was done so quickly. Without once turning
around, he dashed through the door, the cat fall-
ing off; and away he started for the barracks, yelp-
ing with pain and chagrin, positive in his own
mind that he was still pursued by some ferocious
animal which would devour him whole if he should
be caught.
Many times after that, .I tried to coax him to
enter that store, but, no--he had learned his les-
son, and would quietly wait for me on the outside.
In the summer after Jack came to us, our com-
mand was ordered to Fort Adams, Rhode Island,
and Jack, of course, went along. Much of our
leisure during the summer was devoted to fishing,
and as we sat upon the stone dock, trying to lure
the mackerel or the skipper to our hook, Jack was
always on hand, quite as interested in the results
as were we.
One day we were short of bait, and asked a
passing fisherman to throw us a live lobster. As
soon as it struck the dock, Jack decided that here
was something to be attended to at once; but,
while walking around and sniffing at it, he was




fairly caught in the jaw by its strong claw. In
his. attempts to free himself, Jack's eyes almost
bulged out of his head, and his agonizing yelps
were enough to deafen any respectable lobster.
His captor, however, held him in its powerful grip
without relaxing. As soon as we discovered his
predicament we flew to the rescue, and I was act-
ually obliged to break the lobster's claw, in order
to release Jack. Once free, he started for home
and never stopped till he was. safe in his own bed.
From that day he lost his interest in fishing, and
the sight of a lobster would make him shiver as if
he had a chill.
In December of the following year our regiment
moved South, and Jack accompanied us to Fort
Barrancas, Florida.
Thus far his trials had been few in comparison
with those he was to undergo.
The short grass that covered the parade ground
was of peculiar nature; it is a hardy kind of spur
grass which grows in sand, needing little or no
moisture, and has small cockle spurs which are
indeed a thorn in the flesh to all animals with ten-
der feet. There was an abundance of good brick
walks, however, in every direction, and after a brief




experience, every dog at the post soon learned to
Keep off the grass.
It was very amusing to see Jack, when as some-
times happened, his ball would be thrown out into
tie spur grass. He would watch where it went, and
then run up and down the walk barking and crying,
as much as to say, Oh, dear, how shall I ever get
that ball? He would sit down on the walk at the
point nearest the ball, and with his ears drooping
and the tears fairly rolling from his eyes, he would
cry in the most piteous manner, until finally real-
izing that he must go' after it, he would pick his
way gingerly along, until he struck a spur with one

of his feet, when he would give a quick, short yelp,
and hobble along on three feet until another foot
was crippled, and then in sheer desperation he
would make a few stiff-legged jumps, and get the
ball in his mouth; then he would rush crying. for
the walk, drop the ball, and set himself to. work
to extract the spurs with his teeth, occasionally
transferring one to his lip during the operation.
That would generally settle him, and he would
sit there crying for some one to come and help
him. He learned, after several experiences of that
sort, to lie down on his back, and hold up his four
paws to have the spurs extracted.
Leading from my quarters to the adjoining
house was a board walk with wide cracks, a fine
resort for snakes, and one day as Jack was tak-
ing his constitutional along this walk, a snake
popped up its head and struck at him. Fortu-
nately it did not hit him, but the effect was well nigh
as bad, for, as usual, Jack made a dash for home,
yelling with terror. After that experience, when Jack
was following me along that walk, I have seen him
several times, just before reaching the spot where
the snake had interviewed him, step deliberately
off into the spur grass, and go entirely round the
place, filling his paws with the spurs, rather than
run the risk of meeting another member of that
family of moccasin snakes.
On many a rainy day when we would all be
seated around the room, some reading and others
sewing, Jack would waken from a nap, fetch his
ball and go through the following programme with
each person in the room, until he would find some
one to play with him.
First he would lay the ball at some one's feet,
look up in his saucy way, his bright eyes sparkling
with fun, his head a little on one side, and give a
short, quick, quiet sort of a bark, as much as to
say, "Oh! give me a toss just one If that
proved unsuccessful, he would give two or three
barks, and then sneeze, and follow it up with two
or three sneezes, all the time looking up in an
appealing sort of a way that meant, Come on
now You might !" That generally would accom-
plish his desires; but if it did not, he would again
go through the whole performance, and then kick
out with his hind foot, scratching the carpet, by
which he expressed, Hurry up, for pity's sake! "
If all that did not touch his friend's heart, Jack
would repeat it all faithfully, and then taking the
ball in his mouth, would rise on his hind feet, place
his fore paws on the obdurate one's lap, quietlylay
the ball thereon, and holding it by one paw, would
simply stare the person out of countenance, until for
very shame the ball would have to be thrown for
so persistent a beggar.
One evening, during a severe norther, we were



about ready to retire, when some one said,
"Where 's Jack ? I looked in his box, where
he generally slept, but he was not there. I whis-
tled and called him, but no answering tinkle of his
bell could be heard. I went from room to room
and searched everywhere, calling and whistling
repeatedly, but with no response. I opened the
front door, went around the house, but no Jack.
At last, we retired to our bedroom, and gave up

." .


the search, feeling assured that he would eventu-
ally turn up all right; but just as I turned down
the bed-clothes, there, in the very middle of the
bed, between the sheets, was Mr. Jack, with his
bright eyes twinkling, all curled up in a heap, as
comfortable as you please, with that saucy look in
his face meaning, "Don't fret about me! I'm
all right!"
How do you suppose he got there without leav-
ing a mark to indicate that he had even touched the
bed ? When we entered the room, the bed looked
immaculate, the pillows and the shams were not
even disturbed, and there was no lump visible in-
dicating his presence; but we found out that he had
jumped into a chair that stood at the head of the
bed. had carefully picked his way behind the pil-
lois close to the headboard, until he reached the
middle, and then had burrowed his way down to
the place where we found him.
The little rascal was so cunning that we could
n't punish him, although I ordered him, in a very
stern voice, to march straight to his box in the ad-
joining room.
In the following autumn, we were transferred to
Charleston, S. C.; and, while quartered in the cit-
adel in that city, Jack's great delight was to ride
at the baby's feet in his little carriage, to the
amusement of all the children in the vicinity.
Indeed the fame of Jack had spread abroad, and
every officer, lady, and child in the regiment knew
so much about his funny tricks and wise ways that
he was frequently borrowed for the purpose of
amusing friends.

His reputation as a canine singer was simply un-
equaled, and his performances afforded great fun
to those who heard him.
On one occasion, an officer took him to the
Charleston Hotel, for the purpose of showing his
accomplishments to some ladies.. When he was
taken up into the parlor, the officer held up the
ball, called Jack's attention to it, and then threw it
down, saying: "Now, Jack, bring it to me!" But,
no! Jack did not propose to show off on that occa-
sion; he retired under the piano, and laid down
with his nose on his paws, his ears drooping and a
disgusted look in his eyes, as much as to say:
" This business of having to make a display is tire-
-some !" They coaxed him, offered him his dearly
loved cake, did everything to induce him to play,
threw the ball for him-he wouldn't even look at
it! So finally the exhibition had to be given up.
Jack's stubbornness would not yield.
During the hot season the troops were all re-
moved to Summerville, back in the piney woods
about thirty miles from Charleston. It is a place
infested with fleas and abounding in various kinds
of snakes, including rattlesnakes and moccasins,
which live in the swamps and low grounds.
One day I was sitting in my tent, when I heard
the tinkle of Jack's bell and a peculiar moaning
cry that was almost human, and in he came, crying
and rubbing his head with his paws. I examined
the spot and saw indications of a snake's fangs
having punctured the skin. I rubbed it with
whisky, notwithstanding his heartrending cries, but
in a short time his head was dreadfully swollen;
he refused all food, and seemed to suffer much
pain, although in a few days the swelling decreased.
Poor Jack would scratch the place with his paws,
so I had him regularly consigned to the hospital.
An attendant took charge of him and bandaged
his paws so that he could not scratch at all while
the wound was healing. The only time the ban-
dages were removed was when Jack was brought
over to see the baby, when he exhibited the most
marked and human satisfaction in again being at
home; he seemed to understand that as a convales-
cent he was not expected to work and play, so he
would quietly settle down at our feet and sink into
the most profound slumber. Perhaps we would
forget his presence, until the tinkle of his little bell
attracted our attention, and we would'see him lying
flat on his back, a most dejected look on his face,
his four paws held straight up in the air,--and
"What for?" do I hear my readers ask? He had
recognized the step of the attendant in the dis-
tance, long before we knew of his approach, and
had placed himself in readiness to have the rags
wrapped around his paws, preparatory to returning
to the hospital.




The bite left an ugly scar, but Jack soon re-
covered his health and spirits.
After we returned to Charleston, he frequently
used to go up to the arsenal, about a mile and a
half from the citadel, to see his friends, and after
he learned the way, would go alone, and be gone
sometimes all day long. Poor Jack! He made
the trip once too often, for one day, as it happened,
he was missing; night came and went without our
hearing the tinkle of his little bell.
Toward night, on the second day of his absence,
a soldier from the arsenal met me and put in my
hand a torn and bloody collar with a little old-
fashioned sleigh-bell attached to it, without saying
a word. I looked up and saw tears in the man's
eyes; he controlled himself sufficiently to tell me
that dear little Jack was dead.
A big bull-dog had throttled him at the entrance

of the arsenal, and his mangled body was found
by some of the soldiers, and tenderly buried under
one of the live-oak trees.
Every one who knew Jack mourned for him;
he had more friends than usually falls to the lot of
a dog, and it was many days before we could speak
of him at all. His like we have never seen.

. A '. ;, '- '



THERE was a boy named Grumble Tone, who ran away to sea.
" I 'm sick of things on land," he said, "as sick as I can be !
A life upon the bounding wave will suit a lad like me "

The seething ocean billows failed to stimulate his mirth,
For he did not like the vessel, or the dizzy rolling berth,
And he thought the sea was almost as unpleasant as the earth.

He wandered into foreign lands, he saw each wondrous sight,
But nothing that he heard or saw seemed just exactly right,
And so he journeyed on and on, still seeking for delight.

He talked with kings and ladies fair, he dined in courts, they say,
But always found the people dull, and longed to get away,
To search for that mysterious land where he should like to stay.

He wandered over all the world, his hair grew white as snow,
He reached that final bourne at last, where all of us must go;
But never found the land he sought. The reason would you know?

The reason was that, north or south, where'er his steps were bent,
On land or sea, in court or hall, he found but discontent;
For he took his disposition with him everywhere he went.




-"_A_ /- ,ia t sa b l e y f m

MAGGIE GREY'S father was a laboring man,-when there
S' owas any labor to be done; at other times he managed
to live as best he could. Maggie's mother was an invalid,
but the bright little five-year-old girl could chase goats out
of a vacant lot, or throw stones at a cow, with any boy of
Sheer own age and weight in the district. The Greys lived
S in a little shanty built chiefly of mud and tomato cans,
S in a vacant lot on the outskirts of a great city.
\ eOne dull afternoon, Maggie was sent on an errand
to a comparatively well-to-do 'neighbor, the nearest way
Sto whose house was over the hill and through the pine
,i, u woods. Maggie took the nearest way. Just as she had
crossed the brow of the hill, she saw, some. thirty or forty
I feet in front of her, a strange, black bird, fluttering and
... % struggling in the snow; it looked almost exhausted, and
I ''-- h seemed to be wounded. Maggie instinctively rushed for-
/ .' ward, and after a little struggle managed to secure it.
SHere was a treasure for a little girl without a toy in the
S' Magworld, save one home-made doll with a cotton head. A
eal live bird! If it would only live! Maggie carefully
*4" tucked it away in a warm place inside her ragged little
cloak, and then trotted home as fast as she could go, all
unmindful of the errand on which she had been sent.
"Oh, Mother "she cried, rushing into the little shanty
she called home, "see what I've found -a real live bird !"
The mother, who was a kindly body in spite of her lum-
bago, seemed as delighted as her daughter, and told Mag-
gie to put the bird in a basket lined with cotton-wool, not
too near the fire, and to give it something to eat. This
Maggie did, in a flutter of ecstasy. The poor bird, how-
ever, would eat nothing, but lay panting with its mouth
half-open and its eyes half-shut, as though quite ready to
give up its little, black ghost.
Maggie was now questioned as -to the result -of her
mission to the neighbor's house, which, we may as well
state here, was to obtain the temporary loan of a small




invoice of tea and, sugar. When she explained
that she, had considered the necessities of the bird
as of more immediate consequence than anything
else, her mother told her that she had done right,
but that she must now immediately scamper off,
and try to effect the desired negotiation.. Maggie
was very loath to leave her new-found treasure,
but she knew what tea and sugar meant to her
mother; so without a murmur, off she went.
On her return home she was delighted to find
the yellow-billed stranger much improved in gen-
eral physical health. Its eyes were open, and it
could even hold up its head at intervals.
Next day the ornithological foundling showed
still greater signs of improvement. It could stand
on its legs after a fashion, and partake of food.
.This was delightful. Even Maggie's soft-headed
doll was forgotten in the excitement of the hour.
The whole day was devoted to yellow-bill. It was
named Lily, after much discussion. It was fed. It
was moved from place to place. It was addressed
with much gibberish such as people bestow upon
children and pets, and it would have been washed
and dressed had such attentions been possible.
After the excitement of the day, the Greys slept
soundly that night until about four o'clock in the
morning, when they were suddenly awakened by a
loud voice in the room, uttering the words:
"Here, here; have it cut-have it cut! They
all sat up in their beds, and Mr. Grey groped about
in the dark for a stick, or a spade, or some other
weapon. Ho! ho! ho cried the intruder.
Mind your work-mind your work! This way,
sir; this way! "
"Who 's there?" cried old Mr. Grey, jumping
out of bed and seizing a chair, and what do you
want here in a poor man's house ? "
With trembling hands he struck a match, and
with some difficulty held it steadily enough to light
their solitary lamp. Then he went about the room,
peering into every nook and corner, with the light
in one hand and the ax in the other. When he
poked his head into a corner closet which served
as larder and lumber-room, he was startled by a
harsh voice crying out behind him:
Hello this way, sir this way "
He turned around like a flash, but could see no
one. Then he went into the wash-house, whence
the voice seemed to come, but he was scarcely in-
side it, when the voice was heard again, still behind
This way, sir this way; does it hurt does
it hurt ? "
Maggie's father was now nearly crazy with terror
and bewilderment; he rushed back to the living-
room, with his hair flying. He had almost made
up his mind to flee from the house, and seek aid,

or shelter outside, when his attention was attracted
by Maggie, who stood with open mouth and star-
ing eyes. Following the direction of her gaze, her
father saw the sable stranger perched on the back
of a chair.
"It's- the- the -b-i-r-d," gasped Maggie.
"The bird i" cried her father, as he fell back on
the bed, where his wife lay, frightened and cower-
ing. The poor woman thought her hour had come.
The bird, excited by the woman's screams, be-
gan flapping its wings and hopping from one side
of the chair-back to the other, crying out, all the
time, "Next next next this way, sir,- this
When the three scared people had somewhat
recovered their senses, they were more astonished,
though less frightened than they had been before.
To find they had picked up a talking bird in the
woods was something incomprehensible, and de-
cidedly uncanny. However, by daylight they had
accepted the fact as a thing not explainable, and
there they let it rest.
For several months they enjoyed the society and
conversation of the bird, teaching it many new
words and phrases; among others the suggestive
remark, "twenty-five cents." They also renamed
it Mino, from a habit it had of frequently repeat-
ing "Poor Mino !-poor Mino "
The fame of Mino spread abroad through Shan-
tytown, and hosts of the neighbors came to see the
wonderful creature, bringing with them tribute, in
the shape of eggs, bacon, tea, and other commodi-
ties, which greatly improved the condition of the
Grey family. When spring came, Mino's cage
would often hang outside the door, and Maggie
would talk to the bird while she did her work.
One day while thus engaged, she was surprised to
see a tall, dignified gentleman, who looked like a
foreign diplomat, walking straight toward the
door and only a few yards from her.
So, so! he exclaimed, "I see you have
mine bird. They told me I should find him here.
Where you gets him, eh ?"
Sir ?" queried Maggie in astonishment.
"Where you gets that bird? He is mine, and
I wants him."
Your bird, sir? No, sir! I found it in the
snow, in the woods, last winter; nearly frozen he
was, too! "
Now, it must be known that the visitor was no
diplomat after all, but a well-to-do German barber
who had a shaving establishment in the city,
and a pretty little home on the outskirts, not
far from where Maggie lived. He was very
fond of animals, and he had a choice collection
of rare birds, both in his shop and at his resi-
dence. It seems that this mino bird had somehow



managed to escape through an open window a
few hours before Maggie found it; but, after fly-
ing as far as it could, it had succumbed to the bitter
cold and fallen in her path as has been described.
Of course it would have died very soon had it not
been discovered, for mino birds come from Suma-
tra and Java, two of the East India islands, where
it is always hot. -They are very rare birds, and very
valuable, being able to talk better than parrots,
when properly'taught. This the barber explained
to Maggie, and told her that Mino was worth quite
a sum of money.
"Well, -little one," he said, when he had suffi-
ciently enjoyed Maggie's perplexity, "I will not
worry you. Do not be afraid; I lose me my bird
--he is dead to me; you finds him he is yours.
I gets another mino bird some day."
Then he patted puzzled Maggie on the head, and
began to talk with Mino. He laughed heartily at
the bird's newly acquired vocabulary, especially

when he heard "Poor Mino-twenty-five cents."
He chatted a little longer-with Maggie, asking her
many questions about her father and mother, and
her mode of-life, and as'he turned to go he gave
her a silver dollar. Maggie breathed freely vhen
he left her. Mino was hers, and she had a whole
dollar for her ownn.
That -night a banquet of fried liver-and bacon,
tea, white bread, arid-you will hardly believe it,
gentle reader -a: whole ten-cent mince pie-
graced the table in the little shanty.
The life of the Greys was now one of-peace and
plenty. The fame of Mino brought many visit-
ors and many quarter-dollars; but what was better
still, it brought friends, who found work for Mag-
gie's father and medicines for -her poor another's
lumbago; who took an' ifiterest, too, in pretty little
Maggie, teaching her to read arid write and sew,
and to do many other: things that wouldd help to
make her a good woman when she grew up.



~" :~.i

::L~c~iLe~t~ -;




READERS of Mr. Samuel W. Hall's article
"Among the Gas-Wells," printed in the February
ST. NICHOLAS, will be interested in the accom-
panying illustration. It is taken from a photograph
of a burning gas-well which was discovered in Find-
lay, Ohio, about fifty miles south of Toledo, on Jan-
uary 20, 1886. The gas was conducted forty-eight
feet above the ground, through a six-inch iron pipe,
and when lighted the flame rose from twenty to
thirty feet above the pipe, as shown in the picture.
It is difficult to exaggerate the magnificent and
impressive effect of this burning well at night.
The noise of the escaping gas is like the roar of
Niagara. It has frequently been heard at a dis-
tance of five miles ; and under favorable conditions
it is said to have been heard even fifteen miles.
The whole town is brightly illuminated by the
light of the flame. When I left Findlay, I watched
from the rear of the train the fading glare of
the great torch, and, although the night was clear
and the moon full, I could distinctly see the light
of the gas-well for fifteen miles. It is said to
have been observed on a dark night from a dis-
tance of fifty-five miles.
When I made my visit to the well, one evening in
February, 1886, snow covered the ground to the
depth of three or four inches; but for a distance
of two hundred yards in every direction, the heat
of the flame had melted the snow from the ground,
and the grass and weeds had grown two or three
inches in height. The crickets also seemed to
have mistaken the season of the year, for they
were enlivening the night with their cheerful song.
The neighborhood of the well was also a paradise
for tramps. I noticed one who lay soundly sleep-
ing with his head in a barrel, and the rest of
his body projecting outward to receive the genial
warmth from the flame high up in the air above.
Cold as it was all around, he slept in perfect comfort
upon the turf and in the open air. There was no
danger of his suffering within that charmed circle.
The amount of gas furnished by this well is
enormous, and has been estimated by competent
judges to be as great as 40,000,000 cubic feet per
day. As 000oo cubic feet of gas require for their
production fifty pounds of soft coal, it follows that
the heat daily generated at this single burning
well is equal to that which would be produced
by the burning of Iooo tons of soft coal. The
pressure of the gas at this well has not been
measured. But in some of the wells of Western
VOL. XIV.-25.


Pennsylvania, the pressure has been calculated to
be as high as 750 or 800 pounds to the square
inch, which is five times the pressure of steam in a
locomotive-boiler when doing effective work.
The use of natural gas for fuel has grown
rapidly during the past three years. In 1882, the
total capital employed in this, business throughout
the entire country was estimated, at only $215,000;
while two years later the amount had increased to
$1,500,000; and in September, 1885, fifteen hun-
dred dwellings and one hundred and fifty fac-
tories and mills in the city of Pittsburg alone were
depending upon natural gas: for fuel. The gas
used in Pittsburg in one day at that time had a
heating capacity equal to that of 1o,ooo tons of
coal. Formerly Pittsburg rested continually under
a dense cloud of smoke from the vast quantities
of soft coal.that were. daily consumed, and clean
cuffs and collars were almost-unknown. But now
Pittsburg is often called the ex-smoky city."
How long the gas will continue to flow is not
only an interesting question, but to capitalists and
all persons concerned a very important question;
for to build a mill or a furnace adapted to the use
of natural gas for fuel, and just as it was com-
pleted, to have the gas cease to flow, would be
very disastrous.
And the gas does sometimes cease to flow.
A large well was discovered in Olean, New York,
in 1877. For four years it continued to yield a large
supply of gas, and then gradually ceased to breathe,
and has since been only an insignificant oil-well.
Perhaps one after another all the gas-wells in due
time will thus subside. But the supply may be
kept up for a long time, like that of oil, by the
sinking of new wells or by the discovery of new
gas-fields. In western Pennsylvania,. several cities
are now supplied with gas. carried from twenty to
fifty miles through wrought-iron pipes. How far
it can thus be carried is not yet determined.. But
it is much easier to move their gas through pipes
to cities than to build new cities in the vicinity of
the wells.
The territory in which gas in profitable quanti-
ties has been discovered is not large, nor is it con-
tinuous. One center for its production is in the
neighborhood of Olean, New York; another is in
the neighborhood of Oil City, Pennsylvania; there
are several centers between Pittsburg and Wheel-
ing; and others are reported near the boundary
between West Virginia and Kentucky. All these
gas-fields are in or near the coal region, and the

gas is found not far below the coal measures,, and
about twelve hundred or fifteen hundred feet be-
low the surface. But tth. .- il at Findlay, described;
on the preceding page, is a hundred miles: or more
outside the coal region.. The Findlay well brings
its gas from the Trenton limestone, at a. depth of
about twelve hundred feet. To reach, this lime-
stdne in western Pennsylvania, wells would have
to be drilled at least three thousand feet. To find
gas in these old rocks was a great surprise to geol-
ogists. How it is formed and what is the cause of
the enormous pressure under which it is confined
are not known.
The use of natural gas as a fuel is sometimes'
'-*.set with great danger. The gas is invisible, and
some of it is without odor, so that there is often no
warning of its presence until an explosion occurs.
In several cases, explosions have occurred in dwell-
ing-houses into which no pipes to convey the gas
have been permitted to enter. For if a leak occur
in the main pipe outside, the gas will at times
pass through the loose soil into the cellar of a
neighboring house. Now, gas and air in certain
proportions form a very explosi\ v compound; and:
a person going with a light into a cellar where the
gas ha; been collecting, usually finds everything
ready for' a first-class explosion, which will send
the walls of the house flying in every direction.;
But with the continued use of natural gas as fuel:
have come many safeguards by which accidents:
can generally be prevented. Most of the gas in.
western: Pennsylvania is inodorous;' that at Find-i
lay, bhC .ic' V-r, iha a strong odor.
The dis:ov.-ir, ol these founta-in: of gasimpresses'
one with the lavish way in which this generation is
living upon the reserved stores of Nature. Our
lumbermen are busy cutting down forests which,
have been growing for hundreds of years. The
farmers of the West are reaping great crops of
'.heat rrom soil that has been fallow for thousands
of years. The coal with which we warm ourselves
was formed long ages ago. And now deep down
in the earth we have struck these yast reservoirs
of compressed gas. What will come next is more
than any one can conjecture. There is now, how-
ever, almost a superabundant supply of good
things; and it is not surprising that the coal-
miners in the vicinity of Pitt-burg complain of
the prodigality with which Nature pours out her
treasures. As one expressed it, he did not see
the necessity of discovering gas before he had had
a chance to sell his coal






ONE night while snow was lying deep
On level plain and mountain steep,
A sheltered nook the Brownies found,
Where conversation might go 'round.
Said one:
"The people hereabout
Their wood supply have taken out;
But while they stripped the timber lot,
The village.parson they forgot.
Now odds and ends, the story goes,
Must cook his meals and warm his toes."

Another spoke:
The way is clear
To show both skill and courage here.
You 're not the sort, I know, to shirk;

The signs of change are in the air;
A storm is near though skies are fair;
As oft when smiles the broadest lie,
The tears are nearest to the eye.
To work let every Brownie bend,

-.. ... ..

And coward-like to flee from work.
You act at once whene'er you find
A chance to render service kind,
Nor wait to see what others do
In matters that appeal to you.
This task in waiting must be done
Before another day has run.

And pr6ve to-night the parson's friend.
We '11 not take oxen from the stall,
That through the day must pull and haul,
Nor horses from the manger lead;
But let them take:the rest they need.
Since mystic po: e r is at our call,
By our.own selves we 'lI do it all.




Our willing arms shall take the place
Of clanking chain and leather trace,
And 'round the door the wood we '11 strew
Until we hide the house from view."

At once the Brownies sought the ground
Where fuel could with ease be found,-

The wind that night was cold and keen,
And frosted Brownies oft were seen.
They clapped their hands and stamped their
They rubbed with snow each numbing nose,
And drew the frost from every face
Before it proved a painful case.

V j4 1

A place where forest fires had spread,
And left the timber scorched and dead.
And there through all the chilly night
They tugged and tore with all their might;
Some bearing branches as their load;
With lengthy poles still others strode,
Or struggled, till they scarce could see,
With logs that bent them like a V;
While more from under drifts of snow
Removed old trees anid made them g6
Like plows along the icy street,
With half their limbs and roots complete.

And thus, in spite of every ill,
The work was carried forward still.

Around the house some staid to pile
The gathered wood in proper style;
Which ever harder work they found
As high and higher rose the mound.

Above the window-sill it grew,
And next, the cornice hid from view';
And, ere the dawn had forced a stop,
The pile o'erlooked the chimney-top.




That morning, when the parson rose,
Against the pane he pressed his nose,
And tried the outer world to scan
To learn how signs of weather ran.
But, 'round the house, behind, before,

In front of window, shed, and door,
The wood was piled to such a height
. But little sky was left in sight !
When next he climbed his pulpit stair,

He touched upon the strange affair,
And asked a blessing rich to fall
Upon the heads and homes of all'
Who through the night had worked so hard
To heap the fuel 'round the yard.

His hearers knew they had no claim
To such a blessing, if it dame,
But whispered: We don't understand -
It must have been the Brownie Band."




"THE NURSERY," February, 1887.
/ EAR CHILDREN: Don't ever believe a single good
', thing you hear about cats. They are cross, ugly things,
'i and they have no respect for dolls. I am a very nice
doll indeed, and I have a lovely mother named Daisy.
SShe is four years old. She likes me because she is a
Good girl, and she likes her ugly cat because she does n't
know any better. Sometimes the cat gets mad at me
and shakes me, and I can't shake the cat at all. I am too
weak. I wish my mother had a fierce dog to fight for me.
Don't you think I am good to let the ugly -' thing alone? We
are both pets, but I am the nicest. This is all I have to
say. I have a pain in my side to-day; "" and so would you
if your little mother had a pet cat. Your poor friend,


ONCE there was a little boy named Neddie, and he had three cats. One
day he and his pets had so much fun that even when he went to bed he was
still thinking of the pussies. And may be they were thinking of him, for
as soon as he fell asleep they came to him, with several of their cat-friends,
and begged him to get up and have some more fun. Well, almost before
Ned knew what he was doing, he and his visitors were having a grand time !
First they played that they were tigers, and Ned was a big hunter man.
He carried a great pop-gun, and every time he would shoot a tiger the
tiger would fall down and roll about, laughing and mewing at a great rate.
This sport made them tired, and so, by way of resting, they said, Let 's
play horse-cars "
Oh, yes said Ned. So, in a twinkling, they put the chairs behind his
best hobby-horses, and made a very nice horse-car. Everybody had a seat,
and no one was crowded. There was a dude in the corner, and old Tom



"THE NURSERY," February, 1887.
/ EAR CHILDREN: Don't ever believe a single good
', thing you hear about cats. They are cross, ugly things,
'i and they have no respect for dolls. I am a very nice
doll indeed, and I have a lovely mother named Daisy.
SShe is four years old. She likes me because she is a
Good girl, and she likes her ugly cat because she does n't
know any better. Sometimes the cat gets mad at me
and shakes me, and I can't shake the cat at all. I am too
weak. I wish my mother had a fierce dog to fight for me.
Don't you think I am good to let the ugly -' thing alone? We
are both pets, but I am the nicest. This is all I have to
say. I have a pain in my side to-day; "" and so would you
if your little mother had a pet cat. Your poor friend,


ONCE there was a little boy named Neddie, and he had three cats. One
day he and his pets had so much fun that even when he went to bed he was
still thinking of the pussies. And may be they were thinking of him, for
as soon as he fell asleep they came to him, with several of their cat-friends,
and begged him to get up and have some more fun. Well, almost before
Ned knew what he was doing, he and his visitors were having a grand time !
First they played that they were tigers, and Ned was a big hunter man.
He carried a great pop-gun, and every time he would shoot a tiger the
tiger would fall down and roll about, laughing and mewing at a great rate.
This sport made them tired, and so, by way of resting, they said, Let 's
play horse-cars "
Oh, yes said Ned. So, in a twinkling, they put the chairs behind his
best hobby-horses, and made a very nice horse-car. Everybody had a seat,
and no one was crowded. There was a dude in the corner, and old Tom


had plenty of.room
to read his morning
paper, while little
Blackie sat by his.
side. Miss Mouser
.and Miss Kitty, in
the double chair, kept
talking to each other
all the time. Mother
Puss, in the last seat,
hugged up her baby
kit and would not pay
any fare forhim. Then
the conductor became
so excited that he
rang his bell-punch
four times by mistake, t
and never saw old
Marm Tabby, who tn
rushed after the car
calling, Hey, hey!
Miaw, mee-ow! Stop
that car !" But the car
went so fast that a
great big cat-police-
man, who was help-
ing a lady across the
street, stopped the
horses, and shout-
ed so loudly at the
driver, that the -car
all fell to pieces, the
.horses ran away, the
cats jumped into no-
where, and Ned sat
right up in the middle
of his bed, and I,




THE certainty with which we always find one an-
other here, my beloved, as each month approaches,
is truly delightful. This time it's March, made to
order as a blusterer and a roisterer But with all
respect to His Roaring Highness, I must say that
if he were a month of real spirit, he 'd begin to
come in more quietly, instead of always doing ex-
actly as he is expected to do.
Eh?--Ah, here is a rhyme just laid upon my
pulpit by our good sister, Maria I. Hammond. As
it 's to the point, you shall hear it:

Oh, MARCH why blow and bluster so ?
Why howl and rush and rage as though
Of Winter storms the wildest pack,
Like hungry wolves, were at your back ?
Instead of which, on gentle wing
Floats in the fair and flowery Spring.
Hush, noisy March; your shouts, I fear,
This little Spring will overhear.
Hush, noisy March; in all the years,
You frighten April into tears !


DEAR JACK: I saw in the paper, the other day,
a question How many toes has a cat on all
four feet ? and I wish to know if any of your
readers can tell me how many a dog has, without
first looking at a dog to find out.
Ever your devoted reader,

To these the Deacon requests me to add a few
more gentle queries.
In the first place (no ants being present),-
How many feet has an ordinary field ant? how
many feet has a house-fly ?
How.many wings has a dragon-fly?
How many legs has a grasshopper?

How many teeth has a mole?
How many wings has a bee ?
Answer me these queries correctly, my friends,
without making fresh investigations, and you '11
surprise us all.
THAT question about the bees, by the way, re-
minds me of an interesting letter sent me by a
little girl. You shall see it.
I want to tell you a funny thing that our bees
did last summer. They swarmed and settled on
a limb of an apple-tree in the orchard. Uncle
Miles climbed the tree in order to cut off the bee-
laden bough, when the queen bee lit right on his
nose. In a very few minutes his face and hat were
entirely covered with bees. He climbed down
from the tree as soon as possible, and bending
over the hive that he had prepared for their recep-
tion, he gently brushed the queen into it. She
was immediately followed by her loyal subjects,
and before long he was left entirely free, and with-
out a sting.
Who can explain this matter ?

THE dear Little School-ma'am wishes me to
show you a number of old sayings which Miss
Charlotte M. Thurston has cleverly strung together
in rhyme:
Wild as a hawk, meek as a lamb,
Gentle as.a dove, happy as a clam;
Brave as a lion, strong as an ox,
Fierce as a tiger, cunning as a fox;
Nimble as a squirrel, spry as a cat.
Proud as a peacock, gray as a rat;
Dumb as an oyster, ripe as a cherry,
Red as a lobster, brown as a berry;
Wise as an owl, black as a crow,
Bright as a button, dull as a hoe;
Rich as a Jew, dirty as a pig,
Dizzy as a coot, merry as a grig;
Fine as a fiddle, cold as a frog,
Fresh as a daisy, tired as a dog;
Still as a mouse, bright as a spoon,
Deaf as a post, crazy as a loon;
Sound as a nut, cross as abear,
Mad as a hatter or a March hare;
Grave as a judge, wise as a seer,
Gay as a lark, swift as a deer;
Quick as a flash, fair as the dawn,
Mute as a fish, timid as a fawn;
Keen as a razor, dull as the times,
Old as the hills, or as these rhymes.
"And- now, Dear Jack," says the Little School-
ma'am, show them this other list which a friend
clipped from a newspaper and sent to me not long
ago. It contains only seven of the sayings given in
Miss Thurston's verses: "

As poor as a church mouse,
As thin as a rail;
As fat as a porpoise,
As rough as a gale;
As brave as a lion,
As spry as a cat;
As bright as a sixpence,
As weak as a rat.

As round as an apple,
As black as your hat;
As brown as a berry,
As blind as a bat;
As mean as a.miser,
As full as a tick;
As plump as a partridge,
As sharp as a stick.



2887.] JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT. 393

As proud as a peacock, As clean as a penny,
As sly as a fox; As dark as a pall;
As mad as a March hare, As hard as a millstone,
As.strong as an ox; As bitter as gall;
As fair as a lily, As fine as a fiddle,
As empty as air; As clear as a bell:
As rich as a Croesus, As dry as a herring,
As cross as a bear. As deep as a well.
As pure as an angel, As light as a feather,
As neat as a pin; As hard as a rock;
As smart as a steel trap, As stiff as a poker,
As ugly as sin; As calm as a clock;
As dead as a door-nail, As green as a gosling,
As white as a sheet; As brisk as a bee;
As flat as a pancake, And now let me stop,
As red as a beet. Lest you weary of me.

DEAR JACK: In the January number of ST.
NICHOLAS you asked us to explain why the
Frenchman was wrong in calling the lobster the
"cardinal of the sea." The reason is, I am sure,
that lobsters are nevey red till they are boiled.
When they are in the sea, they are a sort of dark
olive-green, not at all like cardinal.
I have never written you a letter before, as I am
only nine, and I have n't been old enough to
understand your questions.
With a great deal of love to the Little School-
ma'am and yourself, I remain,
Your little reader, BERTIE RUNKLE.

" How many's a dozen and half a dime ?"
To put such a question is just a crime !
The answer comes different every time.
And spelling comes dreadfully hard to me,
And, oh, to remember geography!
But, Aunty, already I 've made a plan
To be, when I 'm grown up, a learned man.

Of course, all this learning I want to know,
But as for the study, I hate it so!
I've studied and studied, and tried and tried,-
I wish I 'd been born with it all inside !

DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: Two of your read-
ers were interested in the Queer Names for
Things." A six-year-old little girl suggested one
good addition to the list,- the '"head of a pin."
Her big brother could not think of anything that
was correct, but kept us all laughing with his
funny mistakes Different members of the family,
even the parents, were pleased to try and think.
And I send you the names we thought of:
Knuckle of veal. Hands and face of a clock.
Heart of a city. Head and foot of a bed.
SYours sincerely, ELIZABETH G. STRYKER.

To TINY ants that creep and crawl
The grass blades seem a forest tall.

The bees amid the flowers red
Think rosy clouds are overhead.

The water-spiders on the lake
Their ponds for boundless oceans take.

The beetles climb and look around;
Their mighty mountain is a mound.

--I 'd like to see their world, and then
Change back to my own place again.

IN conclusion, my dears, we will now throw upon
the white-board a scene appropriate to the season.

-~/flhiz~ rar a

I -




AMONG the most curious productions of New
Zealand is the singular plant (called by the
natives Awheto), the Sphaeria Robertsia, or bul-
rush caterpillar. If nature ever takes revenges,
one might imagine this
to be a case of retalia-
tion. Caterpillars live
upon plants, devouring
not only leaves, but
bark, fruit, pith, root,
and seeds; in short,
every form of vege-
table life is drawn upon
by these voracious rob-
bers. And here comes
a little seed that seems
to say, "Turn about is
fair play," and lodges
on the wrinkled neck
of the caterpillar, just
at the-fime when he,
satisfied with his thefts
in the vegetable king-
dom, goes out of sight,
to change into a chrys-
alis and sleep his way
into a new dress and a
new life. A vain hope.
The seed has the situa-
tion. It sends forth its
tiny green stem, draws
its life from the help-
less caterpillar, and not
only sends up its little
shoot with the bulrush-
stem capped with a tiny
cat-tail, but fills with its
root the entire body of
its victim, changing it
into a white pith-like
vegetable substance.
This, however, pre-
serves the exact shape
of the caterpillar.; It is
nut-like in substance,
and is eaten by the natives with great relish.
A friend who has recently spent some months in
New Zealand brought the specimen, a drawing of
which ishere shown to the readers of ST. NICHOLAS.
There are other cases of this vegetable retali-
ation, but none so curious as this of the bulrush

caterpillar. The larva of the May beetle is at-
tacked by a fungus which grows out of the sides
of its head; but while this growth destroys the
life of the larva, it does not change the larva into
a vegetable substance.
A near relation of the murdered caterpillar is
the larva of the New Zealand swift moth, upon
whose tapering head sometimes appears a similar
growth, which feeds upon the life-blood of the
caterpillar, until it dies from exhaustion.
A very curious sight must be one of these
heavily-burdened crawlers moving along with the
banner that announces its doom solemnly floating
above it. For, when the young caterpillar bears
this growth upon its head, it heralds the slow but
certain death of the overloaded insect.

A transformation as curious, perhaps, in an op-
posite direction, is that of the insect Drilus, which,
in its larva state, lives upon the snail-animal life
drawn from animal, instead of vegetable, substance.
This beetle larva with its sucker-like feet attaches
itself to the shell of the snail, watches its oppor-
tunity, and slips inside. -It lives upon the snail
(sometimes using'three snails before changing to
the chrysalis state), and then, after it has finished
its last meal, it closes the door of the last shell and
sleeps into its winged life. If insects think us cruel


in putting out their little lives rather roughly; or
if they complain thWit sometimes revengeful seeds
change them into miniature caterpillars of salt,"
as it were:
Just let them study how they treat each other,
And learn more tenderness each for his brother;
How innocent the small ant-lion,- sleeping
Beneath his pit of sand, while slowly creeping
Upon its edge a little ant comes near him,-,
Then quickly, ere the ant has time to fear him,
Seizes his prey (the small deceitful sinner! )
With no compunction, for his stolen dinner!
The dragon-fly, in gauzy lace, and airy,
Sailing about like some delightful fairy,

Cares he what beauties butterflies embellish?
He darts upon, and eats them with a relish !

In spite of all, if cruel still they style us,
Just let them think upon the thieving Drilus,
Who helix-back is very fond of riding.
And also into neighbors' homes of gliding.

And takes his meals without thanks to the donor,
Sleeps in his house and lives upon its owner.
Three rides he takes, three little homes up-breaking;
Of three poor snails three traveling-pantries making.
A fortnight lives in each, the third one keeping
Quite to himself, at last; and soundly sleeping,
Waits for his change new life in some fair garden;
But quite too late to ask the poor snail's pardon!



" I SUPPOSE you think you know me, child,"said he,
" But things are seldom what they seem to be,
And your ignorance I can not but lament.
I can give some information
For your mental cultivation,
If you listen with a mind intelligent."

" O, thank you, sir! she said in tones polite,
Though her teeth they chattered audibly with
" Then give me your attention," he began,
And please do not grow fidgetty-
My family is Strigidc,
And Symium Cinereum my clan.

" My customs, I may say, are quite nocturnal,
Though my cousins, the Nycteas, are diurnal
(They are dear but distant relatives of mine).
My habits are carnivorous
And sometimes insectivorous,
To rodents I especially incline.

" My eyes are rather luminous, I own,"
He continued in a meditative tone,
" But if it would oblige you, I could wink.
My pupils are dilating,
But the lids are nictitating,
Which enables me to give my noted blink.

" I grieve to say that persons superstitious
Abuse me in a manner most malicious,
But you -regard me not with careless eyes!
Let me ask you to observe a
Final fact- that to Minerva
I am sacred,-and I 'm counted very wise."

" I thank you very kindly, sir," said she,
" But all your Latin words are Greek to me;
Don't think me rude--you are a learned
And I much admire your feathers,
So suited to all weathers;
But-excuse me!-are you not our common
owl ? "




DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I received the January number of your
splendid magazine to-day, and have just finished reading "A Christ-
mas Conspiracy," and I think that all of us could profit by it by
taking our gift money, no matter how little we may have, and spend-
ing a part of it for some one poorer than ourselves. I have enjoyed
" Lord Fauntleroy" so much, and was very glad when he came out
so nicely after all his troubles. I thought I would write to you last
month, but have been very busy dressing dolls for my three small
sisters, as Mamma is an invalid, and was not able to attend to it this
year. I am deeply interested in Prince Fairyfoot," as is also my
sister next younger than myself. Papa is an editor, and we have a
large number of magazines and papers, but ST. NICHOLAS is mine,
as I chose it, and I am well satisfied with my choice, as I like it bet-
ter than any of the other papers or books. I remain
Your sincere friend and admirer, A. B. J--.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I am a little girl eight years old, and live in
one of the oldest towns in the United States, in the Craddock house.
At the time of the Revolutionary war it was used as a fort. I have
no brothers or sisters, or even cousins, being the only grandchild.
I have taken you for a year and am always glad when I see you
coming in at the door. EDNA J. M- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have had such fun in my holidays coast-
ing, skating, and tobogganing on a friend's slide, but I have not yet
acquired the art of snowshoeing.
I go to the Wellesley Public School, and was promoted at the Christ-
mas examination to the Senior Fourth Book. Though I live in
Canada, I am still one of Uncle Sam's boys, or "Yankee," as the
" Canucks" call me. I came from New York City when I was eleven,
and have been here three years; butI hope to see it again soon.
Hoping that dear old ST. NICHOLAS will continue to bring as
much happiness to others as to me,
I remain, affectionately, HERBERT M--.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I earned money to take ST. NICHOLAS by
husking corn. I am eleven years old.
Yours truly, LAWRENCE W--.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am very fond of your stories, and I want
to write and tell you so. I have been taking you for years, and
enjoy you better every time I get you. I enjoyed Little Lord
Fauntleroy" very much, and I just love "Juan and Juanita," and
think "The Story of Prince Fairyfoot" very interesting. I am
twelve years old. Your faithful reader. A. B. H-- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a boy ten years old. I was born on
the 4th of July, x876. Papa brings me your splendid magazine
every month. I am verymuch interested in your story named "Juan
and Juanita." I can hardly wait for the next number to come out.
I can not write any more, so good-bye. COURTNEY H- .

MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a new subscriber to ST. NICHOLAS.
I like "Juan and Juanita" the best of all the stories, and Brownies"
next. I am eight years old. I am interested in the planets. I am
up every morning at twenty minutes past five and can see several of
them. JOSEPH B. E--.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: It is storming so hard I can't go out; so,
as I 've nothing to do, I 'II write to you. But the next thing is

to think of something to say. I think that the ST. NICHOLAS is
the best magazine ever printed. We have taken you fifteen years.
I like "The Story of Prince Fairyfoot" about the best of all. I was
eleven years old last September. Last year, the year of1886, I wrote
a letter to you, and it was not printed; so I think it was not good
enough to print, 'for none of mine have ever been printed. I think
if I write much more, it will be too long to be printed. I remain
Your constant reader, FRED B. W-- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am four years old, and can not write; so
I am telling my big sister what to say to you. I have three kittens
and one big dog, which runs after me and pulls me down when I am
eating anything he wants. I have a pony and a cunning little dog-
cart, and I take a long drive with my nurse every morning. I have
a little baby sister, but I don't like her, for she cries most all the
time, and then I can't help slapping her, and then nurse slaps me;
so I don't like her one bit. They are going to call her Elizabeth
Eleanor, and I don't like that either, for it's too hard to say. Good-
bye. Yours lovingly, DONALD A. E- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have been receiving your paper for three
years, and I always have been charmed with your pretty stories. I
take much interest in the Brownies, and especially in the dude.
I like the story of "Juan and Juanita" very much, and I may say
that I am named just like the poor mother. I remain,
Your faithful reader, ANITA C--

DEAR ST. NICIOLAS: I read two letters in your November issue,-
"Budd's Idea of the Revolution of the Earth," and "The Value of,
Observation,"- both about two clever little boys.
Here is another story of a small boy only five years old. His
mother found him one night at the window, and looking outside so
intently that his little nose was all flattened against the pane.
"What are.you looking at, Bertie?" said she. It is so dark
out there that I can see nothing. Come and stay with me by the
fire." Bertie was evidently much interested in something, for he did
not stir.
What are you looking at, Bertie ?" asked his mother a second
time, a little later.
At last he answered: I want to see God hang up the moon.'
Your constant friend and reader, NETTIE M. T- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little army girl, and, as I have
never seen a letter from Arizona, I thought I would write one.
First, I want to tell you that I see eight or nine Chinamen every
day, which, I think, is rather unusual up North. I have not seen
snow (except at the distance) for nearly two years, and have not
been on the cars for about the same time; but Papa says some little
children have not been on the cars for ten years.
I thought Little Lord Fauntleroy" was a lovely story; and I
find "Juan and Juanita" very interesting so far. Last year we
were troubled with hostile Indians, but they were captured and sent
to Florida. I guess by this time you think I am never going to
stop; but I am.
Your devoted reader, DAISY M. B-- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Not very long ago I sent a letter to you;
at least I thought I did. I looked in all the books for about three
months for my letter. I was at last quite angry, and I said, Father,
now I believe it is still in your pocket," and Father told me I might
look, but I did not.
The next morning Father brought it out of his pocket, so old look-



ing, you would almost tear it, if you handled it. I was just ten the
twelfth of last July. One of your little readers,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am eight years old and my little brother
is five. We live in Munich this winter, and we want to write you a
letter on St. Nicholas Eve, because it was in our ST. NICHOLAS that
we read about keeping this holiday. Last year Mamma put a pres-
ent in our shoes, and we expect to find something to-morrow. We
love our ST. NICHOLAS better than all our other books. We have
seen the King's horses and carriages, all velvet, fur, and gold. We
have seen many long processions with music, but the King's funeral
was the longest of all. We saw the Schafflers' dance and the
Butchers' leap last winter.
Yes, we did have a present, dear ST. NICHOLAS, in our shoes last
night. I had a little inkstand, and Malcolm had a little box of pict-
ures to paint. Good-bye. From your affectionate friends,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: In last month's number of your nicest of
magazines, I noticed a letter signed Subscriber," criticising your
article Keeping the Cream of One's Reading."
I should like to tell him (or her) that I find it useful and conven-
ient to carry on both methods suggested.
While I never scruple to mark my books, I copy short and striking
passages, bits of verse, and many things that I may want to use
quickly, without having to search through a large book.
I am studying English literature, and constantly copy scraps of
the author I am reading into my quotation book.
My latest hobby is a quotation book of descriptions of historical
characters, by famous authors. I can get passages from borrowed
books, and thus will probably, in the course of a few years, have a
collection of quotations that I would otherwise have to ransack a
library for. Yours, in all admiration,

have been studying chemis-
try for three years, and I
have small laboratory. Last
winter I went to the barn and
found that a bottle of sul-
phate of zinc in solution,
which I had left there over
night, was frozen and had
pushed up a slender column .
of ice two or three inches -
above the mouth of the bot-
tie. I saw an account of a
similar instance in the Sci- ).. .
entific American" soon after.
Now, I have seen a still
more curious formation. I
was trying experiments in
fermentation, and I filled a
bottle with a solution of yeast
and molasses. To-day it has -
frozen, and I send you a .
sketch of the remarkable
shape it took. The ice is of
a beautiful light-yellow color. 'I
The cork, being loose, was.
pushed up on the very top
of the column. The length
of the column is about three
and one-half inches. .'
We have been subscribers
to ST. NICHOLAS-or have .
bought it since the begin- I
ning of 1877, and are among I
your most loyal friends. I
think if you could see the "-
many invalids, country chil-
-dren longing for books, and i
friends away from home in
the summer time, that have
pored over our copies, you .
would realize what good
service ST. NICHOLAS has
done for us.

M. N. M.- If you will '
send your name and address, ..
your question will be an -
swered by post.

DEAR OLD ST. NICHOLAS: Just think, I am eighteen years old,
and stricken down with that dreadful disease, the mumps To think
of lying here, with my cheeks swollen like two puff-balls, and my
neck so stiff that if I move it ever so little I am racked with pain, to
be waited on like a baby who has n't even learned how to walk All
I do is to think, till it seems as if I had thought of everything that
could be thought about, everything I ever saw, every book I ever
read, every picture in the ST. NICHOLAS for December, how Juan
and Juanita felt when they were being carried off by the Indians;
how the man and his wife felt in "A Fortunate Opening," when
they returned to the big ship, and knew that it would sink when
the next storm came up; and, in fact, I have grown so weary of
thinking, that I am willing to bear a little pain just to do some-
thing with my hands. So I thought I would write to you.
Your affectionate friend,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have something quite wonderful to tell
your readers. I live in Minneapolis, Minn., and we have a very
high electric-light mast. I think it is the highest in the world.
When they were putting in the engine, a man got hold of a wrong
rope, which ran over a wheel at the top of the mast, and had a heavy
weight on the other end of it; and the weight slipped off a beam
and pulled the man to the top of the mast in about one second. The
man was knocked off the rope, and fell a little way down, but he
caught himself, and was not injured.
I have taken you for five years, and like you very much.
Your constant reader, WILLIE B-.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: One of my kind uncles (he is my godpapa)
has taken you for me for about three years; and, as I like you so much,
I want to tell you of a very strange thing that has just happened. My
papa is having some rooms in our house made larger, and after some
plaster was put on the wall inside, we noticed a piece of it swelled
up, just like a person with a face-ache, and two or three days after,
the piece of plaster fell off, and there, in the hole, was a French bean
growing: it is so firmly fixed in that we can not move it. Don't
you think this is very funny ? I like reading the letters the little
children send you, and I think, perhaps, they might like to read this.
From your loving little friend, HILDA MAUDE L- .
P. S.- I can not write very well, because I am only eight years

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My brother Herbert and I have a scramble
every month to get you first. Herbert is thirteen, I am eleven.
I am to have a history examination at school in a fortnight, just
about William Rufus and his father and Edgar Atheling and those
times, and it is all ever so much more interesting to me after reading
"Edith of Scotland," in November number, 1886.
Papa has been on haciendas in Texas and Mexico, and tells us
that "Juan and Juanita" is sure to be a fine story, and that every-
thing is correctly described in it.
I remain your loving little friend, S. EDITH S- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am eight years old. I love dearly to read
what Jack has to say every month. I live in Saltville, where they
make salt. The snow is three feet deep, and it looks like the salt
we make at our furnaces. I wish all your little boys and girls could
see how salt is made here. MARGARET H. D- .

My DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have seen so many nice letters in
your magazine, until I thought I would send a short letter just to
tell you what a comfort you are to me, and I want you to know
that I love you.
All the children tell about their pets, and, though I have a great
many, I will only tell about my horse and dog. My horse is named
St. Claire, and my dog is called "The Don"; we call him Don
all the time, and he knows his name as well as a boy. He is a shep-
herd dog, and very intelligent.
I live in the country, and saddle my own horse, and when Don
sees me get my bridle he jumps up and runs ahead, barking all the
time with joy. But pony is better even than doggie, and I am
never so happy as when galloping "over the hills and far away."
I have, or rather we have, taken you ever since you commenced,
and I would n't give you up for anything.
I have a little cousin living with me now; his name is Frank, and



nothing pleases him better than for me or Grandma to read your
stories to him. He likes the- "Brownies," and. always finds the
funny little dude. This letter is too-loni now, :. ::..j'l.: rom
your reader, r. L -- .-

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We, like many others, think there' is no
magazine like yours; and should the month pass without bringing
us our number, we would feel lost. Each one of us tries to get the first
look at it We have taken you nearly twelve: years, and, as I, am
only twelve, you can-see that I have been used to it all my life. Some
of your readers may like to hear how we spend our winters at the sea-
side. We enjoy it more than summer. For several weeks we.have
had a great deal of sport on Deal Lake shooting ducks. We were
out gunning, the other day, and Papa shot some quail; one was
only winged. It is living, and is as livelyas a cricket; it is getting so
tame it sits in its box, and whistles. My favorite sport in winter is
ice-boating. Our ice-boat has a lateen-sail, and goes so fast you
would think you were flying, Saturday the ice-boating was grand;
Deal Lake, Sunset, and Wesley are all frozen, and are fine for ice-
boating or skating; so you see we have a good deal of sport in winter.
We have a pointer dog; he is stone blind, but he is very good for
gunning. One day, when we were going across a bridge, he fell
right off into the lake.
I hope ST. NICHOLAS will excuse all mistakes, and believe me a
warm friend. WILLIE D. P- .

THE publication of the present, number of ST. NICHOLAS in ad-
vance of the regulardate of issue has made it impracticable to print,
this month, the report concerning the King's Move Puzzle, which
appeared in the Riddle-Box of the January number. The report
will be published in the April ST. NICHOLAS.

WE wish to express our thanks for the pleasant, letters we have
received from the young friends whose names are given herewith:
Clinton, G.. P. W., Ruth J. H., E. H. Pope, Robert W. P., Jr., K.
M: Cathcart, "Morag," Wallace L. Durant, Rosa L. C., Clara
Estabrook, Mabel G., Edgar H., Faye Dunkle, Mamie S. Wilson,
Katie H., Fannie Michel, K. E. N., Grace S., Alice R., May Hart-
ley, Annie. May Wallace, Amy F. Dart, F. H. M., _Frank A. B.,
Josephine Sewall, C. E. C., Etta H., Clara Louise R., Marion C.,
Henrietta D., Mabel D., Louie. Linder, Celia Loeb, Laura Cook,
Maude McAllister, L. Marx, Dottie Russell, Meta Warburten,
Judith Verplanck, Cora S. Harrison, Daisy May G., Pearl, Lottie
F. B., Beatrice Dyer, Marian Murray, Marian Tooker, Able Hooley,
Ellen A. and Susy B., Grace Stevenson, James A. D., Ada Matthias,
Charles Ross. G., Belle Rogers, Muriel, Philip R. B., Harry G.,
Julian C. Verplanck, Mary G; W., Alice B., Henry H. K., Winifred
Lawrence, Pearlie Gleason, S. R. P., Mabel H. Chase, Georgia







MONUMENT. Central letters, Gettysburg. Cross-words: i. G.
2. gEt. 3. aTe. 4. eTc. 5. eYe. 6. aSk. 7. aBe. 8. eqUip.
9. paRty. o1. misGive.
BEHEADINGS. I. Charleston. i. C-rush. 2. H-asp. 3. A-gate.
4. R-ice. 5. L-one. 6. E-bony. 7. S-wing. 8. T-race. 9. O-bey.
xo. N-umber. II. Madison. i. M-art. 2. A-bet. 3. D-ash. 4.
I-con. 5. S-how. 6. O-men. 7. N-ice.
HOUR-GLASS. I. Tarnish. Cross-words: i. Station. 2. Stamp.
3. Pry. 4. N. 5. Pin. 6. Taste. 7. Rushing. II. Support.
Cross-words: i. Bluster. 2. Tough. 3. Ape. 4. P. 5. Row.
6. Array. 7. Wistful.
DOUBLE ACROSTIC. Primals, Napoleon; finals, Waterloo.
Cross-words: x. NarroW. a. AlpacA. 3. PatenT. 4. OpaquE.
5. LingeR. 6. EspiaL. 7. OportO. 8. NunciO.
A FLIGHT OF STAIRS. Guacharo. Woo, orb, baa, aha, act, tar,
rue, egg.
ZIGZAG. George Washington. Cross-words: i. Give. 2. bEat.
3. frOg. 4. seeR. 5. toGa. 6. tErm. 7. Wane. 8. pArt. o.
paSs. ro. ricH. i. trIm. I2. sNug. 13. Grip. 14. sTop. 15.
prOp. 16. spiN.

Armor. 4. Almeria. 5. Bored. 6. Rid. 7. A. II. i. A. 2.
Rum. 3. Shred. 4. Aurania. 5. Mends. 6. Dis. 7. A. III.
i. A. 2. Dum(b). 3. Dosed. 4. Austria. 5. Merge. 6. Die.
7. A. IV. I. A. 2. Hum. 3. Hired. 4. Aurelia. 5. Melon.
6. Din. 7. A. V. i. A. 2. Era. 3. Exile. 4. Arizona. 5.
Aloud. 6. Endp.7. A.
ILLUSTRATED PUZZLE. The eye of a master will do more work
than both of his hands.
WORD HEXAGON. From I to 2, ninth; 2 to 3, hello; 3 to 4,
ovate; 5 to 4, ladle; 6 to 5, extol; I to 6, noble; I to 4, novitiate;
2 to 5, heretical; 3 to 6, over-trade.- RIDDLE. D I M.
COMBINATION PUZZLE. I. Let "Never Despair" be your
motto. 2. A blithe heart makes a blooming visage. 3. Folly is the
poverty of the mind. 4. A guilty conscience needs no accuser. 5.
A penny saved is a penny earned. 6. Idleness and poverty are well
mated. 7. All blood is alike ancient. 8. He who studies his con-
tent wants it most. 9. Little strokes fell great oaks. io. A hasty
man never wants woe. Centralletters, "Valentines." Cross-words:
i. ne-V-er. 2. he-A-rt. 3. fo-L-ly. 4. ne-E-ds. 5. pe-N-ny. '6.
ma-T-ed. 7. al-I-ke. 8. wa-N-ts. 9. gr-E-at. 1o. ha-S-ty.

To OUR PUZZLERS: In sending answers to puzzles, sign only your initials or use a short assumed name; but if you send a complete
list of answers, you may sign your full name. 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 DECEMBER NUMBER were received, before December 20, from Paul Reese- Maud E.
Palmer Sandyside Maggie T. Turrill Russell Davis Nellie and .Reggie Beth Birdie Koehler Mamma and Fanny F. W.
Islip -" Spoopendyke "- Mary Ludlow.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE DECEMBER NUMBER were received, before December 20, from A. J. N. G., I Boz, i -Tad, 2-
C. M. Knight, 2--Bebed, I-Nina T., 3- Eddie B., I -"Colonel," --T. C. S., i Wm. D. Keep, 2--R. Chapman, Jr., -W.
K. C., 2 -Annadora Baer, -- May Granger, i Gus and Marie S., i-- R. Hoffman, Jr., I- M. D. B., 2 -" Block and Chip," 4 -H.
A. W., i-Mignon,3 -H. H. K., Jr., i-M. L. Masters, i-U. S. and Co., 3-Justus Holme, --W. P. B., x-A. F., 2- L. C.
B., I-" Lock and Key," Lucy Lee Brookes, 3 -M. H. E., 3--George Seymour, 5 Yum Yum," I--W. X. Y. Z., I Co-
maya, r-Louise A. Hofmann, x-Papa and Karl Webb, io-"Sally Lunn" and "Johnny Cake," 8-"V. U. L. Can," 2-
"Wamba," -" Carl," I Susie M., I- Faith, Hope, and Charity, 3- Daisy Colton, i -M. Blake, I S. and B. Rhodes, 9--Effie
K. Talboys, 8 Jew, 2 R. A. Bartley, I T. S., I -" Pop and I," 9 Blithedale, 9 Irene M., -" Livy," I Adele F. F. Lock-
wood, -Lizzie W., -" Clito," W. H. P., -"The P's and K's," 4-Dick and Kittley, 4 -The Stewart Browns, 6 -Professor
and Co., o Jamie and Mamma, r --Bricktop, I- R. V. 0., 6 -" Diana Vernon," 3 -" Nan Dell," 3 -" Buffalo Will," 4 Sammy
Cotton, 2 Martha Nicholson, 2 Essie C. Adams, 2 Ethel Tebault, 2 Lilian Tebault, 2 Andrew Moody, 2 Charles T. Land, 2
- Herbert Davis, 2 Blanche Rolland, 2-Eda Beck, 2- Lily Alt, 2 Essie A., 2- Carry Whitehurst, 2 Grace Boiler, 2- Rosa V.
Bloxsom, 2 Mister Y., 2 Elsie Clark, I- A. F. Lockwood, I Colonel and Reg, 5 Two Cousins, 9 M. Williams, 2 -Dash, I -
"Ben Zeene," 6-"Cleo," 5 -Jo and I, xs-B. G., Grace L. Dunham, I-J. J., 7-A. L. L., 2-Arthur G. Lewis, 7-"May
and 79," 6-M. G. F. and M. L. G., 8- M. P. Farr, 2-- Original Puzzle Club, 6 Jock and Sandy, 3- Alona, 4-V. S. G., 3.

A PENTAGON. ural name which occurs in I. Chronicles, vi. 5 ; from 6 to 14, vater-
pitchers; from 7 to 15, a famous French astronomer; from 8 to 16,
Perimeter of wheel (from i to 8), the name ofa distinguished French
statesman and orator who was born March 9, 1749. Hub of wheel,
(from 9 to 16) the name of a distinguished American statesman who
was born on March 9, r773.
II. From I to 9, a mountain mentioned in the Bible; from 2 to
.o, a feminine name; from 3 to II, a wanderer; from 4 to 12, a low
dwarf tree; from 5 to 13, a punctuation point; from 6 to 14, a
native inhabitant of Hindostan; from 7 to x5, uniform; from 8 to 16,
ACROSS: I. In the Riddle-box. 2. A household deity among the of a lead color.
Romans. 3. An Egyptian aquatic plant. 4. A network of slats or Perimeter of wheel, the name of a distinguished astronomer. Hub
rods. 5. Demolished. 6. Place ofoccurrence. 7. A delightful region, of wheel, the name of an English authoress who died on March 9,
This reads thesame up anddown as across. "L. LOS REGNI." 1825. CYRIL DEANE.
READING ACROSS: I. Parsons. 2. The human race. 3. On
I every dinner-table. 4. A poem. 5. In hour-glass. 6. A feminine
name. 7. A beverage. 8. A scamp. 9. Speaking indistinctly.
S2 The central letters, reading downward, spell a word which means
to run away with precipitation.' AGGIE M. D.
I6 o0 MY first is in cabbage, but not in plum;
7 1 My second in hautboy, but not in drum;
7 5 3 Mythird is in hammock, but not in swing;
4 I2 My fourth is in March-wind, but not in spring.
13 My whole is a man of world-wide fame,-
It has but four letters, pray tell me his name.

I. IN diamonds. 2. A Spanish coin formerly current in Ireland.
5 p. Narrow roads. 4. A large artery. 5. Unvaried tones. 6. To
I. FROM I to 9, gayety; from 2 to so, a country in Asia; from 3 indicate. 7. A geometrical term. 8. A hauimi 9. In diamonds.
to Ii, a runner; from 4 to z1, defensive arms; from 5 to 13, ascript- "DON ALVAREZ."



-1- ,rts: p.,:,J0of
t ...r..-. r 5fty-

I. ...

/-- ~ forpleasure trips. My 10-143-4-54-5-02-27is cut.
My 132-39-147-82-36-17-63-:99-93-72 is healthy. My 79-130-
ii4-74-90-28-X4--66-25-3 is. a note to help the memory. My
69-86-135-96-I46-46-128 is to restrain. My 47-85-11-56-122-.04
is a very small amount. My 78-o8-126-67-139 30 is a poetical
word meaning a prayer. My 62-17-55 is a marsh. My 77-15-89-
98-8-i2r-i37-xs is very clean. My 34-84-51-70-49-38 is to-de-
cide. My 19-91-18-4 is a prong. My 87-7-115-80-58-14-x 27 is
joyous. My 43-149-68-97 is a mournful cry. My 31-92-133-8-71
-145-2-119-I1 is pleasant to the taste. My 35-142-37-64-23 is to
scatter. My 134-13-95-3136-io--or is to starve. My 40-129-75-42
is a groove. My 61-9-1oo-o2-33-1i5-53-24-105 is a Jewish coun-
cil. My 13-59-21-45-123-57-120 is superficial. My 65-148-73-29
-94 is an Egyptian plant similar to the water-lily. My 1-26-113-16
76-o7 is of poor quality. My 116-118-14-44-48 is a heavenly body.
My 41-r09-81-50-103-6-22-144 is hardihood. JOHN;

S. 5 6 I 15
2 a 4 s a 7 2 9 ** 12 14 *
S 3 2 8 1 2 2 23
2 1 4 2 7 2 9 1 12 2 14 4
142 5 6 1011 i
The letters represented by the figures from i to 15, beginning at
the qpper left-hand corer, spell a familiar maxim. The letters from
i to 15, beginning at the lower left-hand corner, spell what the maxim
should be. The whole was quoted in a famous speech by Abraham
CROSS-WORDS (reading downward): i. A moving power. 2.
Conclusion. 3. A stake. 4. A feminine pronoun followed by a
masculine pronoun. 5. To reproach.' 6. A proverb. 7. Deadly.
8. An Oriental begging monk. 9. A hand-to-hand fight. ro. An
opening. i. Rhubarb. x2. One who imitates. 13. A spectre.
14. The sameas number 4. 15. Implied, but not expressed.
E. L. E.
(Two birds are concealed in each sentence.)
x. We saw, on our tour, a company of gypsies wandering about.
2. Ned caught a rat in a mouse-trap --in tail first it was, too !
3. She began nettling me, else we would n't have had a word.
4; Yes, he is a very sharp young fellow, and very smart in his
5. It is seldom a visitor uses such awkward expressions.
6. Mr. Jones will not rebuild his wall, owing to the high rate
allowed masons. "ROSE MADDER."
I. i. To devastate. a. A stage-player. 3. A gem. 4. A medicine.
5. Upright.
II. I. To bite into small pieces. 2. Caprice. 3. To entertain. 4.
A famous law-giver. 5. To urge. F. L. F.
EXAMPLE: Separate things furnished as food, and make a small
draught and works at closely. Answer, Sup-plies.
i. Separate moved in regular order, and make a month and a mas-
culine nickname. a. Separate the sail of a windmill, and make cur-
rents of air and to be sick. 3. Separate instruments used in old-
fashioned fife-places, and make a conjunction and smoothes. 4.
Separate a name for the hawthorn, and make a month and to flower.
5. Separate several, and make a heavenly body and arid. 6. Sep-
arate the middle name of a famous novelist and make to fashion and
tranquillity. 7. Separate a certain kind of line, aid make garments
and a slender cord. 8. Separate bleached, and make pure and a
masculine nickname: 9. Separate a musical term meaning rather
slow, and make a conjunction and a-prefix meaning "before." 10.

Separate a town in England, and make female servants and sound.
r. Separate codfish cured in a particular manner, and make of a
dark color and to.angle.
The first parts of the words separated will, when read in connec-
tion, form an old-fashioned adage of two lines, relative, to two of the

ACROSS: I. A fowl. 2. Part of a wheel. 3. Unfurnished. 4. A
chicken. DOWNWARD: x. In rhomboid. z. A prefix meaning
twice. 3. A mariner; 4. Ayoungfowl. 5. Rage.. 6. A familiar
prefix. 7. In rhomboid. FRED.


FROM the ten objects here shown, construct a "double diamond";
which is one that will ead differently across and iup and'doivn.
'The two central words are shown by the two largest objects.




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