Front Cover
 Historic girls
 Juan and Juanita
 The fancy-dress ball
 April to May
 A positive engagement - Jenny's...
 Fair weather
 Wanted a map - An only daughte...
 The huge hippocamp - Birds and...
 Lindie's portrait
 A bed-time song
 A genuine Mother Goose
 Winning a commission
 Dolls' hospitals
 A rainy May day in Central...
 Child-sketches from George...
 Sherman's march to the sea
 St. Nicholas dog stories
 The brownies canoeing
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover


St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00185
 Material Information
Title: St. Nicholas
Uniform Title: St. Nicholas (New York, N.Y.)
Portion of title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner
Place of Publication: New York
Publication Date: -c1943
Frequency: monthly
Subjects / Keywords: Children's literature -- Periodicals   ( lcsh )
Genre: periodical   ( marcgt )
serial   ( sobekcm )
Dates or Sequential Designation: -v. 67, no. 4 (Feb. 1940) ; v. 70, no. 1 (Mar. 1943)-v. 70, no. 4 (June 1943).
Dates or Sequential Designation: Began with: Vol. 1, no. 1, Nov. 1873.
Numbering Peculiarities: Suspended Mar. 1940-Feb. 1943; vols. 68-69 omitted.
Issuing Body: Published by: Century, Aug. 1881- ; by Educational Pub. Corp. -1940; by St. Nicholas Magazine, 1943.
General Note: Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
General Note: Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: oclc - 01764817
lccn - 04012675
System ID: UF00065513:00185
 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
    Historic girls
        Page 482
        Page 483
        Page 484
        Page 485
        Page 486
        Page 487
        Page 488
    Juan and Juanita
        Page 489
        Page 490
        Page 491
        Page 492
        Page 493
    The fancy-dress ball
        Page 494
    April to May
        Page 495
    A positive engagement - Jenny's boarding house
        Page 496
        Page 497
        Page 498
        Page 499
    Fair weather
        Page 500
    Wanted a map - An only daughter
        Page 501
        Page 502
        Page 503
        Page 504
        Page 505
        Page 506
        Page 507
        Page 508
        Page 509
        Page 510
    The huge hippocamp - Birds and boys
        Page 511
    Lindie's portrait
        Page 512
        Page 513
        Page 514
    A bed-time song
        Page 515
    A genuine Mother Goose
        Page 516
    Winning a commission
        Page 517
        Page 518
        Page 519
        Page 520
        Page 521
        Page 522
    Dolls' hospitals
        Page 523
        Page 524
        Page 525
        Page 526
    A rainy May day in Central Park
        Page 527
        Page 528
        Page 529
    Child-sketches from George Eliot
        Page 530
        Page 531
        Page 532
    Sherman's march to the sea
        Page 533
        Page 534
        Page 535
        Page 536
        Page 537
        Page 538
        Page 539
        Page 540
        Page 541
        Page 542
    St. Nicholas dog stories
        Page 543
        Page 544
        Page 545
        Page 546
        Page 547
        Page 548
    The brownies canoeing
        Page 549
        Page 550
        Page 551
        Page 552
        Page 553
    The letter-box
        Page 554
        Page 555
        Page 556
        Page 557
        Page 558
    The riddle-box
        Page 559
        Page 560
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text

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(SEE PAGE 487.)

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MAY, 1887.

[Copyright, 1887, by THE CENTURY CO.]


(Afterward known as Catarina Cornaro, Queen of Cyfrus and "Daughter of the Refitblic.")
A. D. 1466.

-7- "WHO is he?
S Why, do you not
know, Catarina mia?
'T is his Most Puis-
sant Excellency, the
Mighty Lord of Lu-
signan, the runaway
Heir of Jerusalem,
the beggar Prince of
Cyprus, with more
titles to his name -
ho, ho, ho !- than
he hath jackets to
-, his back; and with
more dodging than
ducats, so 't is said,
S when the time to pay
for his lodging draw-
eth nigh. Holo,
Messer Principino!
> Give you good-day,
Lord of Lusignan! Ho,
below there! here is
tribute for you "

And down upon the head of a certain sad-faced,
seedy-looking young fellow in the piazza, or square,
beneath, descended a rattling shower of bonbons,
thrown by the hand of the speaker, a brown-faced
Venetian lad of sixteen.
But little Catarina Cornaro, just freed from the
imprisonment of her convent-school at Padua, felt
her heart go out in pity toward this homeless
young prince, who just now seemed to be the butt
for all the riot and teasing of the boys of the Great
"'Nay, nay, my Giorgio," she said to her brother;
"'t is neither fair nor wise so to beset one in dire
distress. The good sisters of our school have often
told us that 't is better to be a beggar than a dull-
ard; and sure yon prince, as you do say he is,
looketh to be no dolt. But ah, see there she
cried, leaning far over the gayly draped balcony;
"see, he can well use his fists, can he not Nay,
'though, 't is a shame so to beset him, say I.
Why should our lads so misuse a stranger, and a
prince ?"
It was the Feast Day .of St. Mark, one of the
jolliest of the old-time holidays of Venice, that
wonderful city of the sea, whose patron and guard-
ian St. Mark, the apostle, was supposed to be.
Gondolas, rich with draperies of every hue that
completely concealed their frames of somber black,
shot in and out, and up and down all the water-
streets of the beautiful city; while towering pal-
ace. and humbler dwelling alike-were gay with
gorgeous hangings and fluttering streamers.

No. 7.


In noticeable contrast with all the brilliant cos-
tumes and laughing faces around him was the lad
who just now seemed in so dire a strait. He had
paused to watch one of the passing pageants from
the steps of the Palazzo Cornaro, quite near the spot
where, a century later, the famous bridge known
as the Rialto spanned the Street of the Nobles, or
Grand Canal,--always one of the most notable
spots in the history of Venice the Wonderful.
The lad was indeed a prince, the representative
of a lordly house that for more than five hundred
years had been strong and powerful, first as barons
of France, and later as rulers of the Crusaders'
Kingdom of Jerusalem and the barbaric but
wealthy island of Cyprus. But poor Giacomo, or
James, of Lusignan, royal prince though he was,
had been banished from his father's court in Cy-
prus. He had dared rebel against the authority
of his stepmother, a cruel Greek princess from
Constantinople, who ruled her feeble old husband
and persecuted her spirited young stepson, the
Prince Giacomo.
And so, with neither money nor friends to help
him on, he had wandered to Venice. But Venice
in 1466, a rich, proud, and prosperous city, was a
very poor place for a lad who had neither friends
nor money; for, of course, the royal prince of a
little island in the Mediterranean could not so
demean himself as to soil his hands with work!
So I imagine that young Prince Giacomo had
anything but a pleasant time in Venice. On this
particular Feast Day of St. Mark, I am certain that
he was having the most unpleasant of all his bitter
experiences, as, backed up against one of the
columns of the Cornaro Palace, he found himself
surrounded by a crowd of thoughtless young
Venetians, who were teasing and bullying him to
the full content of their brutal young hearts.
The Italian temper is known to be both hot and
hasty; but the temper of oriental Cyprus is even
more fiery, and so it was not surprising that, in
this most one-sided fray, the fun soon became
fighting in earnest; for anger begets anger.
All about the young Prince was a tossing throng
of restless and angry boys, while the beleaguered
lad, still at bay, answered taunt with taunt.
At this instant the door of the Cornaro Palace
opened quickly, and the Prince Giacomo felt him-
self drawn bodily within; while a bright-faced
young girl with flashing eye and defiant air con-
fronted his greatly surprised tormentors.
Shame, shame upon you, boys of Venice,"
,she cried, "thus to ill-use a stranger in your
town Is a score of such as you against one poor
lad the boasted chivalry of Venice ? Eh via / the
very fisher-lads of Mendicoli could teach you
better ways "

Taken quite aback by this sudden apparition
and these stinging words, the boys dispersed with
scarce an attempt to reply, and all the more
hastily because they spied, coming up the Grand
Canal, the gorgeous gondola of the Companions
of the Stocking, an association of young men
under whose charge and supervision all the pag-
eants and displays of old Venice were given.
So the piazza was speedily cleared; and the
Prince Giacomo, with many words of thanks to
his young and unknown deliverer, hurried from
the spot which had so nearly proved disastrous to
Changes came suddenly in those unsettled times.
Within two years both the Greek stepmother and
the feeble old king were dead; and Prince Giacomo,
after a struggle for supremacy with his half-sister
Carlotta, became King of Cyprus.
Now Cyprus, though scarcely as large as the
State of Connecticut, was a very desirable posses-
sion, and one that Venice greatly coveted. Some
of her citizens owned land there, and among these
was Marco Cornaro, father of Catarina. And so
it happened that, soon-after the accession of King
Giacomo, Messer Andrea Cornaro, the uncle of
Catarina, came to Cyprus to inspect and improve
the lands belonging to his brother Marco.
Venice, in those days, was so great a power
that the Venetian merchants were highly esteemed
in all the Courts of Europe. And Uncle Andrea,
who had probably loaned the new King of Cyprus
a goodly store of Venetian ducats, became quite
friendly with the young monarch and gave him
much sage advice.
One day- it seemed as if purely by accident, but
those old Venetians were both shrewd and far-
seeing-Uncle Andrea, talking of the glories of
Venice, showed to King Giacomo a picture of his
niece, Catarina Cornaro, then a beautiful girl of
King Giacomo came of a house that was quick
to form friendships and antipathies, loves and
hates. He became infatuated with the picture,-
so the story goes,-and expressed to Andrea
Cornaro his desire to see and know the original.
That face seemeth strangely familiar, Messer
Cornaro," he said.
He held the portrait in his hands and seemed
struggling with an uncertain memory. Suddenly
his face lighted up and he exclaimed joyfully :
So; I have it! Messer Cornaro, I know your
"You know her, sire ?" echoed the surprised
Uncle Andrea.
Ay, that indeed do I," said the King. This
is the same fair and brave young maiden who
delivered me from a rascal rout of boys on the




Grand Canal at Venice, on St. Mark's Day, scarce
two years ago." And King Giacomo smiled and
bowed at the picture as if it were the living Cata-
rina instead of her simple portrait.
Here now was news for Uncle Andrea. Like a
Venetian and a Cornaro, he turned it to the best
advantage. His niece Catarina, he assured the
King, was as good as she was beautiful, and as
clever as she was both.
But then," he declared, Venice hath many
fair daughters, sire, whom the King's choice would
honor, and Catarina is but a young maid yet.
Would it not be wiser, when you choose a queen,
to select some older donzella for your bride ?
Though it will, I can aver, be hard to choose a
It is just such half-way opposition that renders
a nature like that of this young monarch all the
more determined. No! King Giacomo would have
Catarina, and Catarina only, for his bride and
But shrewd Uncle Andrea still feared the jeal-
ousy of his fellow-Venetians. Why should the
house of Cornaro, they would demand, be so openly
preferred? And so, at his suggestion, an ambas-
sador was dispatched to Venice soliciting an alli-
ance with the great republic, and asking from the
Senate for his highness, the King of Cyprus, the
hand of some high-born maid of Venice in marriage.
But the ambassador had special and secret instruc-
tions from King Giacomo just how and whom to
The ambassador came to Venice, and soon the
Senate issued its commands that, upon a certain
day, the noblest and fairest of the daughters of
Venice -one from each of the patrician fami-
lies-should appear in the great Council Hall of
the Ducal Palace, in order that the ambassador
of the King of Cyprus might select a fitting bride
for his royal master. It reads quite like one of the
old fairy-stories, does it not ?
The Palace of the Doges -the Palazzo Ducale
of old Venice--is familiar to all who have ever
seen a picture of the Square of St. Mark, the best
known spot in that famous City of the Sea. It
is the low, rectangular, richly decorated building
with its long row of columns and arcades so well
described by Mr. Stockton in ST. NICHOLAS some
months ago. It has seen many a splendid pageant,
but it never witnessed a fairer sight than when, on
a certain bright day of the year 1468, seventy-two
of the daughters of Venice, gorgeous in the rich
costumes of that most lavish city of a lavish age,
gathered in the great Consiglio, or Council Hall.
Up the Scala d'Oro, or Golden Staircase, built
solely for the use of the nobles, came.these girls of
Venice, escorted by the ducal guards in their rich-

est uniforms. The great Council Hall was one mass
of color; the splendid dresses of the ladies, the
scarlet robes of the senators and high officials of
the Republic, the imposing vestments of the old
Doge, Cristofero Moro, as he sat in state upon
his massive throne, and the bewildering array of
the seventy-one candidates for a king's choice.
Seventy-one, I say, for in all that company of
puffed and powdered, coifed and combed young
ladies, standing tall and uncomfortable on their
ridiculously high-heeled shoes, one alone was
simply dressed and apparently unaffected by the
gorgeousness of her companions,-the seventy-
second and youngest of them all.
She was a fair girl of fourteen. Face and form
were equally beautiful, and a mass of dark gold
hair" crowned her queenly head." While the
other girls appeared nervous or anxious, she
seemed unconcerned, and her face wore even a
peculiar little smile, as if she were contrasting the
poor badgered young prince of St. Mark's Day
with the present King of Cyprus hunting for a
bride. Eh via!" she said to herself, 't is
almost as if it were a revenge upon us for our
former churlishness, that he now puts us thus to
The ambassador of Cyprus, swarthy of face
and stately in bearing, entered the great hall.
With him came his attendant retinue of Cypriote
nobles. Kneeling before the Doge, the ambas-
sador presented the petition of his master, the
King of Cyprus, seeking alliance and friendship
with Venice.
And the better to secure this and the more
firmly to cement it, Eccellenza," said the ambas-
sador, my lord and master the .King doth crave
from your puissant State the hand of some high-
born damsel of the Republic, as that of his loving
and acknowledged Queen."
The old Doge waved his hand toward the fair
and waiting seventy-two.
Behold, noble sir," he said; the fairest and
noblest of our maidens of Venice. Let your eye
seek among these a fitting bride for your lord,
the King of Cyprus, and it shall be our pleasure
to give her to him in such manner as shall suit
the power and dignity of the State of Venice."
Courteous and stately still, but with a shrewd
and critical eye, the ambassador of Cyprus slowly
passed from candidate to candidate, with here a
pleasant word and there a look of admiration, to
this one a honeyed compliment upon her beauty,
to that one a bit of praise for her elegance of
How oddly all this sounds to us with our modern
and better ideas of propriety and good taste.
But, as we know, the King had already decided



to whom the prize of his crown should go; and
so, at the proper time, the critical ambassador
stopped before a slight girl of fourteen, dressed
in a robe of simple whtie.
Donzella mia," he said courteously but in a
low tone, are not you the daughter of Messer
Marco Cornaro, the noble merchant of the Via
Merceria? "
I am, my lord," the girl replied.
"My royal master greets you through me," he
said. He recalls the day when you sheltered him
from danger, and he invites you to share with him
the throne of Cyprus. Shall this be as he wishes ? "
And the girl, with a deep courtesy, in acknowl-
edgment of the stately obeisance of the ambassa-
dor, said simply, "That shall be, my lord, as
my father and his Excellency shall say."
The ambassador of Cyprus took the young girl's
hand, and, conducting her through all that splendid
company, presented her before the Doge's throne.
"Eccellenza," he said, "Cyprus hath made her
choice. We present to you, if so it shall please
your Grace, our future Queen, this fair young
maid; Catarina, the daughter of the noble Marco
Cornaro, merchant and senator of the Republic."
History records the splendors of the ceremonial
with which the gray-haired old Doge, Cristofero
Moro, in the great hall of the palace, surrounded
by the senators of the Republic, and all the rank
and power of the State of Venice, formally adopted
Catarina as a "Daughter of the Republic." Thus
to the dignity of the father's house was added the

majesty of the Great Republic. Her marriage
portion was placed at one hundred thousand ducats,
and Cyprus was granted, on behalf of this "Daugh-
ter of the Republic," the alliance and protection
of Venice.
The ambassador of Cyprus, standing before the
altar of St. Mark's as the personal representative
of his master, King Giacomo, was married as
"proxy" to the young Venetian girl; while the
Doge, representing the Republic, gave her away in
marriage; and Catarina Cornaro, amid the bless-
ings of the priests, the shouts of the people, and
the demonstrations of clashing music and waving
banners, was solemnly proclaimed Queen of Cyprus,
of Jerusalem and Armenia.
But the display did not end here. Following the
splendors of the marriage ceremony and the wed-
ding-feast, came the pageant of departure. The
Grand Canal was ablaze with gorgeous colors
and decorations. The broad water-steps of the
Piazza of St. Mark were soft with carpets of tapes-
try, and at the foot of the stairs floated the most
beautiful boat in the world, the Bucentaur, or
State Barge, of Venice. Its high, carved prow
and hull were one mass of golden decorations.
White statues of the saints, carved heads of the
lion of St. Mark, the Doge's cap and the em-
blems of the Republic adorned it
throughout. Silken streamers of
blue and scarlet floated from its
standards; and its sideswere draped
in velvet hangings of crimson and

.7 i,




..." Y
:' .:. ::~


royal purple. The long oars were scarlet and
gold, and the rowers were resplendent in suits of
blue and silver. A great velvet-covered throne
stood on the upper deck, and at its right was a
chair of state, glistening with gold.

whom he had contended for his throne, or by
some mercenary of Venice, who desired the island
realm for that voracious Republic.
But the Republic was not to find an easy prey.
Theyoung Queen Catarina proclaimed her baby boy

- -~

' at-i

(.4Qa. -

___ -C-


Down the tapestried staircase came the Doge of
Venice, and resting upon his arm, in a white bri-
dal dress covered with pearls, walked the "Daugh-
ter of the Republic"-the girl Queen Catarina.
Soon they seated themselves upon their sump-
tuous thrones, their glittering retinue filled the
beautiful boat, the scarlet oars dipped into the
water; and then, with music playing, banners
streaming, and a grand escort of boats, flashing
with decorations and gorgeous with mingling col-
ors, the bridal train floated down the Grand Canal,
on past the outlying islands and between the great
fortresses to where, upon the broad Adriatic, the
galleys were waiting to take the new Queen to her
island kingdom off the shores of Greece. And
there, in his queer old town of Famagusta, built
with a curious commingling of Saracen, Grecian,
and Norman ideas, King Giacomo met his bride.
So they were married, and for five happy years
all went well with the young King and Queen.
Then came troubles. King Giacomo died sud-
denly, from a cold caught while hunting, so it
was said; though some averred that he had been
poisoned, either by his half-sister Carlotta, with

King of Cyprus, and defied the Great Republic.
Venice, surprised at this rebellion of its adopted
daughter, dispatched embassy after embassy to
demand submission. The young mother, however,
was brave and boldly maintained the rights of her
But he, too, died. Then Catarina, true to the
memory of her husband and her boy, strove to
retain her rule. For years she reigned as Queen
of Cyprus, despite the threatening of her home
Republic and the conspiracies of her enemies.
Her one answer to the demands of Venice was:
"Tell the Republic I have determined never
again to marry. When I am dead, the throne of
Cyprus shall go to the State, my heir. But until
that day I am Queen of Cyprus "
At length her brother Giorgio, the same who in
earlier days had looked down with her from the
Cornaro Palace upon the outcast Prince of Cyprus,
came to her as ambassador of the Republic. His
entreaties, and his assurance that, unless she com-
plied with the Senate's demand, the protection of
Venice would be withdrawn, and the island king-
dom left a prey to Saracen pirates and African-




robbers, at last carried the day. Worn out with
long contending,-- fearful, not for herself but for
her subjects of Cyprus,- Catarina yielded to the
demands of the Senate, abdicated in favor of the
Republic and returned to Venice. The same wealth
of display and ceremonial that had attended her
departure welcomed the return of this obedient
daughter of the Republic, now no longer a light-
hearted young girl, but a dethroned Queen, a
widowed and childless woman.
She was allowed to retain her royal title of
Queen of Cyprus, and a noble domain was given
her for a home, in the territory of Asola, high up
among the northern hills. Here in a massive
castle she held her court. It was a bright and
happy company, the home of poetry and music,
the arts, and all the culture and refinement of that
age when learning belonged to the few and the
people were sunk in dense ignorance.


Here Titian, the great artist, painted the por-
trait of the exiled Queen that has come down to us.
Here she lived for years, sad in her memories of
the past but happy in her helpfulness of others.
The end came, however, and while on her way to
visit her brother Giorgio in Venice, she was stricken
with a sudden fever, and on the fifth day of July,
150o, she died in the palace in which she had played
as a child.
With pomp and display, as was the wont of
the Great Republic, the funeral procession slowly
passed out from the great hall of the Palazzo Cor-
naro, across the heavily draped bridge that spanned
the Grand Canal from the water-gate of the Palace,
and along the broad piazza crowded with a silent
throng. And in the great Cornaro tomb in the
family chapel at last was laid to rest the sorrowful
Queen of Cyprus, the once bright and beautiful
"Daughter of the Republic."



SAY shall make the world anew:
i' Golden sun and silver dew-
Money minted in the sky-
Shall the earth's new garments buy.
May shall make the orchard bloom:
And the blossoms' fine perfume
) Shall set all the honey-bees
Murmuring among the trees.
May shall make the bud appear
Like a jewel, crystal clear,
'Mid the leaves upon the limb
Where the robin lilts his hymn.
May shall make the wild-flowers tell
Where the shining snow-flakes fell:
Just as though each snow-flake's heart,
By some secret, magic art,
Were transmuted to a flower
In the sunlight and the shower.
Is there such another, pray,
Wonder-making month as May?






EVEN Juan did not dare approach the Indian
camp by daylight, and he and Nita remained
concealed on the cliff all the next day until it was
quite dark. It was weary work waiting for the
hours to pass, but there was no help for it; and as
for Amigo, he was disgusted to find himself in
fault no matter what he did. The friendliest bark
or whine seemed to be misinterpreted; an inno-

cent frisk, gambol, or growl was instantly sup-
pressed; and every little diversion in the way of
running into the bushes got him into trouble.
Finally he gave up trying to understand these
senseless whims of his capricious mistress and dis-
agreeable master, and curled himself up at Nita's
feet in a very sulky mood. But when Juan took
himself off at evening to find out what the Indians
were doing, and Nita showed her appreciation of
her four-footed companion's services as a faithful



and devoted friend, by putting one arm around
his neck and confiding to him that she was lonely
and frightened, Amigo weakly relented and be-
came his usual forgiving, loving, slobbering self.
Juan returned sooner than she expected, and
seemed well satisfied with his observations.
"They are all packed and ready to start; they
will be off before daylight to-morrow morning,
you will see," he announced cheerfully, and he
was not mistaken. While it was still dark he
climbed to the top of a great oak that commanded
an extensive view of the surrounding country, and



smiled, well pleased, when he saw the Indians file
slowly out of the woods, their slouching figures
dimly visible in the uncertain light. The band
appeared a black dot on the plain for a time, then
two black dots, as after a halt it separated, one
party turning their faces to the south, the other
toward the northwest. Juan was shouting and
laughing so joyously and triumphantly when he
came scrambling up the sides of the cliff, that he
awoke Nita from a sound sleep in a fright that
she had been discovered by her dreaded enemies.
Gone gone all gone shouted out Juan;

"and now come Don't stay here another minute.
They will not be back here for many a day. They
have sent the old men and most of the provisions
home, and the others, I think, are off on a raid."
Moved by an impulse of natural curiosity they
went at once to the deserted camp. The children
found only the remains of a fire, the scaffolding
on which the meat had been dried and, scattered
on the ground, a few handfuls of corn which they
eagerly picked up. But fortunately, just as they
were leaving, Nita spied a strip of venison that
had been overlooked, hanging from a cross-pole.
When they returned to the river,
Juan exclaimed, "Now that we can
build a fire, I '11 catch some fish. If
the Indians see the smoke, they will
think their own camp fire has caught
some dry wood and blazed up; but
I '11 not make more than is neces-
On examining the pack, however,
Juan found everything except what
he most needed and had counted on.
The fishing-tackle that he had so in-
geniously constructed was nowhere
S. .' to be found It had been forgotten
-- and left behind in a corner of the
V cave, and the children almost quar-
I... '! reled in the eagerness with which
each tried to prove that it was the
fault of the other. But the fact re-
mained, and another fact was equally
S certain-the tackle could not be
_-- duplicated. So they made the best
of a bad situation, and sat down on
the river's bank, under the shade of
a group of grand old oaks, and ate
* slowly and sparingly of the dry corn
Sand drier meat that not all the water
at hand could make very palatable.
The children were further aggra-
vated by the behavior of the' fish be-
low them, which, as if fully under-
standing what had happened, would
swim lazily around and about the
roots of a willow that overhung the stream, bump
their noses against the bank, and eye the children
impudently, as if to say, Oh, you are there, are
you ? Why don't you come and catch us, pray ? "
and then swim lazily away again. They would rush
at little sticks which Juan threw in, showing him
what he could do if only, instead of loose sticks, he
had bait on a hook attached to a line. At last he
could stand it no longer. He could not fish, but he
would shoot. Together the children tramped many
a mile that day, but what little game they saw fled
before them, and it was with great difficulty that,



with Amigo's help, Juan got one rabbit late in the
"Oh, dear! when we get food, we never have
any water; and when we get water, the food
always gives out," complained Nita.
"There is no use in our staying here. We
should starve. The Indians have been here too
long. We will start again this evening," said Juan,
disappointed of the rest and comfort he had ex-
pected, anxious to linger near the river, yet afraid
to do so.
With the fixed idea of reaching Mexico, Juan
took his bearings afresh and crossed the river
before dark, facing southwest. That evening the
children walked eight miles and slept in the open
All the next day they trudged along patiently
under a hot sun. The day after, they began to
suffer again from the old heat and thirst and hun-
ger, the old weariness and depression. At the
close of that day they gnawed eagerly at the one
bone left from their rabbit; it was then given to
Amigo, who ground it to powder with his strong
white teeth and stood at "attention," waiting for
more. They had kept a sharp lookout for some-
thing to eat, but the game was still unapproach-
able. They were so hungry that they could not go
to sleep for the gnawing pain they were enduring,
and Juan dug up some roots with which to satisfy
this craving. At last, overcome by their great
weariness, they dropped off to troubled slumber
and awoke to another ten hours of varied and
acute physical misery. Happily Juan had found
at the camp a leather bottle which had been
discarded or forgotten by the Indians, and this he
had filled at the river. It saved them much suffer-
ing, but a diet of roots and tepid water is not the
most strengthening in the world. That afternoon
they were limping wearily over a high plateau,
across which they had been traveling for two days,
when suddenly they found themselves on the very
brink of a precipice.
Looking across a wide chasm, they could see a
sheer wall of rock on the other side, extending
indefinitely on either hand, and beyond that a con-
tinuation of the plateau. It was a great surprise
to them, but while Nita saw in it only an insuper-
able obstacle to further progress, to Juan it brought
renewed animation and hope. Peering over the
side as fearlessly as though he were a Rocky
Mountain sheep, Juan made out, through the
shadows that were already gathering in the lower
part of the caion, a delightful little river at the
The setting sun sent beautiful oblique shafts of
light down into the opening, and several flocks of
doves wheeled above it. I wish we could' drop

down there as easily as they can," said 'Juan,
pointing to them; "but we must get there some-
how, and before night, too. If we are quick about
it, we may get some game at once. There is always
a chance of it, where there is water. Come! If
there are any deer about, I must get down before
they all have had water and gone out into the hills
again." He took another look into and along the
abyss to see if there was anything that indicated a
break in its surface, and finding nothing, he
started off at random along the brink. By a most
fortunate chance- if it was chance-he had come
upon the cation not a quarter of a mile from an
intersecting, tortuous ravine, the only entrance to
it on that side in a distance of fifteen miles.
Juan knew very well that it was only a chance
whether he should find an opening that night or a
week later; so it was no wonder that he gave vent
to a shout of delight when he came to the deep
ravine, cleft in the plateau by some such convul-
sion of nature as had created the caion. It was
thickly filled with dwarf oaks and pines and under-
growth, and had a distinct trail running down it,
made by game of different kinds.
"Lots of deer and turkeys must come to this
place," he cried. "Just look at the tracks-how
thick they are, and coming in from every direc-
tion! Hurrah! Here we go!"
Tired as they both were, they were so inspired
by the thought of getting food that they fairly ran
down the ravine for some distance. The descent
was not easy, by any means, and was extremely
steep in some places. Their clothes were torn
again and again; their faces and hands were
scratched by the long, sharp mesquite thorns until
they bled; they walked over beds of cacti some-
times, picking their way as best they could.
Twice Nita grew dizzy and, with her eyes either
shut or fixed on the sky above her, had to be guided
by Juan along a narrow ledge that skirted the
rock. The sight of the depths below was more
than she could bear. At last they got on level
ground and found that what had looked like a
very narrow strip of ground, when seen from the
plateau, had widened out into quite a valley, as
green and fresh as possible,-having one most
beautiful feature that has given it the name,
among both the Indians and white men, of the
"Caton of Roses."
How the flowers came to grow there, no one could
say; but there they were, running up to the very
edge of the cliffs, mantling the face of the rocks
for hundreds of yards, blooming in inconceivable
profusion and beauty, perfuming all the air, throw-
ing out myriads of tendrils full of prodigal promise
in folded bud and leaf,-an exquisite sight!
Little short-breathed-cries of "Linda! Her-


mosa / agnifica /* went up from Juan and
Juanita as they sank panting on the earth. Unac-
customed as they.were to noticing such things,
they could not but be struck by the loveliness of
the place. It seemed a little heaven to them, with
its sweet flowers and grass, its trees and river, its
coolness and delicious odors, its soft light and
growing shadows. After the heat and glare and
misery of that journey over the plateau, it seemed
enough joy merely to look and live with such sur-
roundings. But hunger is an importunate creditor
and can not long be put off.
"The evening is drawing down and the game will
be coming in soon," said Juan, when his thoughts
reverted to the great question of food; we will
hide now." Nita agreed to this, and they rose
and carefully concealed themselves behind some
bushes near the plainest trail they could find, and
had hardly done so when several fine old bucks
came trotting fearlessly up the valley, and went
down into the river- but on the opposite side. The
sight of them excited Juan tremendously. What
if he should be on the wrong side of the stream ?
Should he swim across it and conceal himself over
there ? Then he remembered the unmistakable
evidences afforded by the deer-run he was guard-
ing; and rightly concluding that there was also an
opening on the other side of the cahon, which
might well be investigated later, he kept perfectly
still and quiet. The next moment he heard a
little metallic clink of hoofs against the rock, and
then a slight cough. His heart bounded and beat
almost to suffocation. Looking around, he and
Nita saw an old doe and two beautiful little spotted
fawns coming directly down the trail they were
The children scarcely dared to breathe. The
wind was blowing away from the deer; and the
doe, scenting no danger, came on, followed by
her pretty innocents, until she got nearly opposite
the young hunters and very near them. Juan
promptly decided to shoot the doe and then try
afterward to get the fawns, which he knew would
be apt to linger near their mother. Accordingly,
just as the doe got beyond him, he rose to shoot.
But he could not do it He could not so much as
take aim. He trembled so violently that his arrow
bobbed irresolutely up and down as if in a con-
vulsion, nor could he steady it. His knees fairly
knocked together, and although he made the most
violent efforts to control himself, he could not suc-
ceed. He held his breath; he set his teeth; he
was furious with himself; but for the life of him
he could not shoot!
It was no feeling of compassion for the creatures
before him that unnerved him, although they
might very well have appealed to his heart; it

was not that he was overcome by all that he had
lately undergone; it was simply that he was
suffering from an acute attack of buck ague."
This is a disease that all men with a passion for
field sports have felt. Those who have never
known it have never fully enjoyed hunting; but
the worst of it is, it always makes its .appearance
at the wrong time. Juan had never experienced
it before, and could not imagine what was the
matter with him. He kept pointing at the motherly
old doe until she had quite passed by, and then
he feebly tried to aim at.each of the fawns, but.all
in vain. He was so weak that he had to sit down,
Nita staring at him all the while in mute but in-
tense astonishment.
Are you ill ? she whispered, finally, alarmed
by his appearance and behavior.
Keep still," whispered Juan in return. "Keep
still "
He then set to work in earnest to conquer him-
self. He put his bow down, drew a long breath,
and gave himself a severe lecture in this wise,
" You ninny, why are you trembling and shaking
so? You could n't hit the side of a mountain,
much less a deer, in your present state. And what
if you do miss? It is n't the only deer in the
world. Steady yourself, and be cool now, and
take good aim."
Meanwhile the doe and her little ones had gone
down into the river; and a lovely picture they
made as they stood there, the mother dignified,
gentle, protecting; now moving about gracefully
in the clear stream; now stopping and glancing
about her, as if to make sure that all was well and
her children in no danger; now stretching her
neck down and letting the water ripple into her
mouth; and ever casting looks of tender, con-
tented love on the fawns as they frisked about and
drank, and gave playful bounds and leaps here
and there, all joy and innocent beauty. The
whole group ought first to have been transferred
to one of Landseer's canvases, and then to an
animal paradise of perennial grass, limpid waters,
and perfect peace. But alas! Juan was himself
again. His bow no longer trembled, the arrow
had been carefully chosen and fitted into place.
The river episode was the pleasantest of the day
to the fawns, and they were in no hurry to end it;
but the doe, seeing that they had drunk their fill,
and that it was getting late, exerted her authority
and finally succeeded in leading them up the
green bank again. Here, in a moment, she
caught scent of the children, and came on slowly,
stepping very high, with head and tail erect, her
whole expression one of uneasy alertness. Her
great, soft, black eyes roved anxiously from point
to point, while the fawns trotted along at her

* Beautiful Lovely Magnificent!




side in happy ignorance of such things as enemies
or arrows.
Nita, too eager to see what was passing, rose
upon her knees just at the moment that Juan was
about to shoot, and accidentally jogged his elbow
as he let his arrow fly. The doe had not had
time fully to make out what Juan was. The arrow
passed over her back, and she wheeled and ran in
the direction it had taken. It struck a dead tree
and knocked down a large piece of bark, which
fell in front of the doe, and she wheeled back
toward the children, confused, and uncertain where
the danger lay. She stopped so near them that
they could hear her breathing, and then walked
back to where the bark had fallen. The moment
had come Juan, whose nerves were now entirely
under control, took aim at her heart, and let
drive his shaft. The doe sprang high into the air
and ran off with outstretched neck, her tail whip-
ping from side to side, a deadly fear for her fawns
at her heart, more agonizing than the arrow that
had given her a mortal wound.
The fawns followed close at her heels, carrying
their noses high in air. Suddenly the doe fell,
turning a complete somersault. Finding their
progress thus arrested, the fawns bounded lightly
over her, frisked playfully on for a little distance,
and then turned and walked back. Astonished,
apparently, to find their mother still lying there,
and much puzzled by her curious behavior in the
last few minutes, they put their little noses down
to her, as if in this way to discover the trouble,
whatever it was. Just then the doe gave a des-
perate, dying kick with both hind feet that
threw the torn-up grass and leaves into the faces
of the fawns, and drawing a deep, guttural
breath at the same moment that frightened them
almost out of their wits, died to them and a cruel
The fawns tumbled back over each other in
utter consternation. Never had their mother
behaved in such a way; and as if for explanation,
they ran straight toward the children, who were
advancing to secure their prize. When they came
quite close, the fawns received an explanation that
even they understood. Nita's bow was strung, and
she was anxious for a shot, so taking good aim,
she sent an arrow deep into the side of the nearest.
Juan also shot and struck the same one.
Bleating pitifully, it ran off down the valley,
followed by its terrified little companion, Amigo
after them, convinced that he had caught a deer
and could hunt as well as some other people.
Juan pursued, and when the fawn fell, seized it
and dragged it back to a place near his camp.
Satisfied with the food in hand, he had allowed
the second fawn to escape.

The change from an empty wallet to an abun-
dance of good meat was a cheering one; and
untroubled by sentimental regret, Juan's eyes glis-
tened greedily as he cut piece after piece from the
doe, which was in excellent condition, and from
the fat little fawn. These he strung, a bit of lean
and a bit of fat alternately, on a pole sharpened at
both ends, and carried it over to the camp, unable
to think of the future until his present longing was
Nita had a hot fire ready, and with a vigorous
thrust he stuck one end of the pole in the ground
before the blaze. The venison soon began to give
out savory odors, and as the children heard the
fat hissing and sputtering, and saw the juices run-
ning out of the meat, they gave vent to a great many
exclamations expressive of the liveliest satisfaction
and pleasantest anticipations. As they watched it
growing browner and browner, they could hardly
wait for it to cook; and the very instant it was done,
Juan stretched out his hand to seize the pole and
actually had it in his grasp, when a tremendous
uproar reached his ears, causing him to replace
it hastily.
The noise sounded like that made by horses'
feet in running, then followed a few short yelps,
and then Amigo rushed into camp with five or
six wolves at his heels. He had been left to
guard the meat at the place where it had been
butchered, but the coyotes had smelt the blood,
and invited themselves to supper. Amigo, finding
the odds too great, had fled and been pursued,
and here they all, dog and wolves, were growling,
snarling, howling terrifically not a dozen yards
away The din and the suddenness of the onset
frightened Nita so dreadfully that she ran away as
fast as her legs could carry her. Great was her
horror of wolves at any time, and it was not sur-
prising that she could not face a pack of them at a
moment's notice.
Juan, however, had been growing more self-
reliant every day since he left the Comanche
camp, and stood his ground bravely. Quick as
thought he seized a. brand from the fire and thrust
it among the wolves. Not expecting an attack at
all, much less one of so startling a nature, they
shrunk back cowed, and slunk off, leaving the
children to feast at their leisure, if not precisely
at their ease.
Juan built up the fire before he lay down for the
night, and even began the process of "jerking"
meat by putting some of it on a little scaffold of
green boughs well above the flame;. but he was
too tired to do much. During the night they
were several times wakened by the whistling of the
deer that came down to water; and Juan, more
than half asleep, would get up, mechanically turn



over the meat, renew the fire, and drop down on the right and left, she slept profoundly; but
again by Nita's side. there was no rest for a certain little fawn which
Nita thought the wolves wei-e upon them each wandered up and down the Talley all the night
time, and would have kept awake if it had been long seeking the mother it had lost, wandering
possible; but her great weariness always got the it knew not where, bleating plaintively in the
better of her fears. Guarded by Juan and Amigo darkness, a most unhappy dear little deer.
(To be continued.)



THEY dressed me, one day, for a juvenile ball,
In a long-tailed coat and a chapeau tall,
'' ',. And ruffles and bows and an eye-glass, too,
And a wig finished off with an odd little queue;
But what I was meant for I hardly knew.

You belong to Directory days, my dear,"
They said, which struck me at least as queer,
For I knew that the mass of the people in town,
From De Courcey and Astor to Jenkins and Brown,
r Were in the Directory all set down.

My sisters strove hard my attention to fix,-
t 1- ~ I heard, No, in France," and In ninety-six,"
..'. YAnd "Turbulent days," and "Yes, there were five";
.'.' ".- And each to out-rattle the other would strive-
.' ..' They buzzed in my ear till I felt like a hive.

'l'"'" Oh, is n't he perfect? they cried in delight
(And, really, I was n't a very bad sight !)
But every youngster, I '11 venture to say,
At the ball, whether peasant or clown or fay,
S'-- Had been praised at home in the self-same way.

Well, all but me were as plain as your hat;
S. At once you could say, they are this or they 're that;
I even knew good little George with his hatchet,
Without, I must own, any sapling to match it;
And you felt, at a glance, he expected to catch it."

I recognized Tell by his high Swiss hat,
His boy with the apple a-top, and all that;
But all of the characters stared at me,
As if to say,- What on earth can he be ? "
And what was the use of my saying, you see,
Why, I? I am from the Directory "


If you go to a fancy-dress party, take care
First to learn all about the queer costume you wear!




- -- -- --

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ac;~~ll.. i.

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You need n't ask Nan to a party,
A dinner or five o'clock tea,
Three weeks from to-day,-which is Thursday,
For "engaged and at home she will be.

She set her white Brahma this morning,
In a box with sweet hay for a bed,
On a dozen great eggs, all a-flutter,
With plumy wings softly outspread.

The hen looks so proud and important,
With her treasures hid under her breast i
Every feather alive if you touch her,
As if warning you off from her nest.

And the capable creature will sit there,
Come sunshine, come storm, or what may,
With her wings and her warmth and her wisdom,
Till exactly three weeks from to-day.

And then oh, the downy soft treasures,
The dear little yellow round things,
That will break from the shells and come peeping,
And stretching their small helpless wings !

Oh you need n't ask Nan to a party
Or a dinner or five o'clock tea,
Three weeks from to-day,- which is Thursday, -
For at home and engaged she will be !





PINNEY was in such distress of mind at being
marched through the streets like a criminal, that
he paid very little attention to anything save his
own sad condition; and his friends and brother-
directors had followed him for some distance before
he had any idea that sympathizers were near.
But at last Duddy, bolder than the others, walked
up close behind him and said quickly, with a
reckless disregard of the officers of the law:
Hi! Pinney, what have you been doin' ? "
Oh, Duddy! cried poor little Pinney, at-
tempting to turn, but forced by his captors to
march straight on; "they've 'rested me for
stealin' things, an' I never took a cent! I was
only doin' a' errand."
Where are they takin' you now ? "
It is not probable that the prisoner knew where
he was being led, but all attempts to gain further
information were prevented by one of the officers,
who at that moment sternly commanded him to

"hold his tongue"; while the other dispersed
Pinney's followers by turning and.shaking his club
at them.
"Hold on, fellers Duddy shouted, after they
had retreated to what was thought to be a safe
distance. "The cops won't foller us, an' we 've
got to know where they 're takin' Pinney. I don't
believe he's been stealin' any money, an' we must
try to get him out of this scrape."
Of course he took it, or else they would n't
have 'rested him," said Sam, with an air of supe-
rior wisdom. I should n't wonder if he got the
money for the medicine after all, an' was trying' to
get away with it when they nabbed him."
You oughter be 'shamed to say such a thing,
Sam Tousey," replied Ikey indignantly. "Was n't
I with him, an' don't I know whether he got it or
He might 'a' gone back after you left him, an'
got the dollar," suggested Sam. I allers thought
he 'd get the best of us if he could."
"See here, Sam," and Tom advanced threaten-
ingly as he spoke; you 're not goin' to say any-
thing mean 'bout Pinney White while I 'm 'round.




- -" -- -

VOL. XIV.-34.



Did n't Ikey bring the
medicine with him?
How could Pinney get
the money back if he
did n't have the bot-
tle ? "
"Come,Tom, don't
waste time talking' to
such as him," said
Duddy, as he gave
Master Sam Tousey
a threatening look.
"It 's no use to pay
any 'tention to him
till you 've nothing'
else to do. We 've
got to help Pinney,
an' we 've got to find
out where they're go-
in' to take him. You
an' I an' Ikey 'll foller
as close as we dare,
an' the rest of the fel-
lers can go to work."
At this proposition
several of the boys
raised objections, as
they thought it was
the duty of all to be
ready to aid the pris-
oner; andDuddyhad
considerable difficulty
in persuading them
to do as he had sug-
"If the whole crowd
chases onbehindhim,
they '11 surely drive
us away; but the cop-
pers won't take any
notice of three of us.
The rest of you fel-
lers stay here, an' we
'11 come right back
and tell you what we
find out."
"We 'd all better
go to work," suggest-
ed Sam. "You may
get into an awful
scrape if you let on
that you know him.
Jest as likely as not
they '11 'rest every-
body in the house, if
they find out where
Pinney lives."



There was no necessity for either Duddy or Tom
to threaten Sam in order to prevent him from mak-
ing any more such unfriendly remarks, for nearly
every other member of the party started toward
him, and it was only by an immediate and rapid
flight that he saved himself from punishment.
"Now come on before the boys get back from
chasing Sam," said Duddy, as he turned and ran
at full speed in the direction taken by the officers
and their prisoner, while Tom and Ikey followed
The pursuers did not think it advisable to
attempt to hold any conversation with the unfort-
unate boy. They remained discreetly in the rear
until they saw the policemen lead Pinney into the
Tombs prison, and heard the heavy doors close
behind him with a clang that sounded ominously
in their ears. The friends of the unfortunate
prisoner stood gazing in silence at the gray, for-
bidding walls which shut out their comrade from
Jenny's boarding-house and liberty.
"Well," said Duddy with a long-drawn sigh,
after a pause of several moments, that jest
knocks me! If it was Sam they 'd locked up, I
would n't 'a' wondered at it so much, but Pinney
White never did any harm to anybody. It would
serve 'em right if all the boys in the city should
get together an' tear their old jail down."
Ikey looked critically at the massive structure,
as if he were trying to make up his mind at what
point they had best begin work, and then said
in a matter-of-fact tone:
I guess we 'd better leave that for this after-
noon. What we must do is to cook up some kind
of a plan to help Pinney."
Yes, an' we promised to tell the other fellers
what we 'd found out," added Tom; so the best
thing we can do now is to go back down town.
Then we '11 tell Jenny what's up, an' p'r'aps she
can think of something' to do."
So excited were the three who had seen poor Pin-
ney consigned to the prison, that walking seemed
to them far too slow a method of getting over the
ground; and they ran as fast as possible, arriving
in front of one of the newspaper offices breathless,
yet eager to tell the story to their friends who
were waiting there for them.
Although every boy who had seen the unfortu-
nate prisoner had good reason to believe that he
would be taken to a jail, each one appeared to be
filled with the utmost surprise and consternation
at the news that Pinney was really in the Tombs.
For several moments no one could suggest any-
thing to be done for the relief of their comrade,
and even Sam was made silent by the sad tidings.
Well, we can't stand here the rest of the day,"
Duddy said impatiently, after he had waited in vain

for somebody to say something; "we must tell
Jenny, an' we ought to know how November is
getting' on."
You an' Ikey an' I 'll go up to the house, while
the rest of the fellers wait for us here," said Tom,
starting off at full speed as he spoke, thus prevent-
ing any discussion on the part of the others. Ikey
and Duddy followed close by his side.
Those who had been left behind stood on the cor-
ner discussing the matter during the best part of
the afternoon, without any thought of going to
work. Many were the plans proposed for the re-
lief of their friend, but all of them so impossible
of execution that it is not probable even those who
originated them believed they could be carried
out; but this discussion at least served to make
the boys feel better in mind.
At the boarding-house the sorrow was intense.
Even November's illness was forgotten for the
moment, and Mrs. Parsons blamed herself severely
for having spoken so sharply to Pinney when, cer-
tainly with the best intentions, he had brought
home the medicine.
Pinney always meant well, even when he was
doing the most mischief," the old lady said, as she
tried to wipe away the tears which would persist in
falling on poor little November's face. "It was
wicked in me to be so cross with him when he
came in with what he thought would cure the
baby. Is n't there anything we can do for him? "
This was exactly what the boys had been asking
themselves without having found a satisfactory
answer to the question; and it was still unanswered
when the boarders came home in the evening,
only to find that owing to her great sorrow the
landlady had entirely forgotten to prepare dinner.
This trifling neglect no one except Sam appeared
to notice; it would have seemed far more strange
if, in view of all that had happened, the boarding-
house had been conducted as usual; and it is
quite probable that there would have been but
little fault-finding if Jenny had said that she did
not intend to cook anything that night.
The physician whom Jenny had called appeared
to think that November would soon recover from
his illness, and, in fact, the little fellow did seem
to improve so rapidly during the evening, that the
inmates of the boarding-house were free to give
all their sympathy to the imprisoned director.
They speculated upon the facilities he would have
for sleeping; wondered if he were troubled in
mind because of November, whom he had every
reason to believe was dangerously ill; and they
tried to picture to themselves the sad scene of
Pinney in a narrow cell, loaded down with chains.
Sam was positive that their brother-director was
not only gagged, but fastened with irons to the



wall of some dungeon; and he drew upon his im-
agination so recklessly that Duddy exclaimed:
Now see here, Sam; it's bad enough to know
that Pinney is in jail, without your talking' so much
about chains an' handcuffs, an' all that kind o' non-
sense. I don't believe they 've got him strapped
up at all; but whether they have or not, we must
think up some way to get him out."
I don't see what we can do," said Tom with a
puzzled look. They would n't listen to us boys
in court, an' we can't get him out of the jail."
"Jest as likely as not we can say something' in
court," said Duddy, and his face lighted up with
hope. Any way, we can hang'round there till
we see him, an' p'r'aps we '11 get a chance to do
something. "
"If you fellers say the word, I '11 go down to
the jail first thing in the morning an' scare 'em
into lettin' him out," said Sam, willing now to be
recognized, as a friend of Pinney's if thereby he
could appear to have charge of the matter.
"You have n't time," said Jack with a laugh.
You 'd have to hang 'round there 'bout seven
years before you could scare anybody!"
The other boys laughed so heartily at Jack's
remark that Master Tousey thought it his duty to
have another attack of the sulks; and he began by
Some of the folks in this house think nobody
can do anything' but themselves. I was willing' to
try to get Pin White outer the scrape; but you 're
all so smart that I '11 let you see what you can do
first. An' after that, p'r'aps you '11 be glad to
have me take hold of the job."
"You can go an' scare the folks that keep the
jail if you want to, Sammy; but it won't be any
harm for us to think up something' to do, if you
should n't make out all right," said Duddy; and
he added, as a sudden and happy thought occurred
to him, I tell you what it is, fellers, let 's all go
down an' stay 'round the outside awhile. It must
be lonesome for Pinney thinking' that every one
of us is up here."
He would n't know we were there," objected
"That's a fact; but we'd know it, an' it would
seem as if we was stickin' by him."
It is probable that Duddy's unprofitable plan
would have been carried out at once, if Mrs.
Parsons had not volunteered her advice. She pro-
posed that they all go to bed as soon as they had
eaten their dinner, because Pinney would not be
benefited, even though they should remain in
front of the jail all night; but that in the morning
some of them should go to the court. It was
possible, she thought, that they might find a
lawyer who would take charge of Pinney's case, if

they promised to pay him as soon as they could
earn the money.
This seemed even better than Sam's idea of
securing the prisoner's release by frightening the
officers; and after quite a spirited argument be-
tween Tom and Duddy, during which the latter
insisted that they should at least walk down to the
Tombs that night, Mrs. Parsons' advice was fol-
lowed. None of the prisoner's friends slept very
soundly, however, and every one was up and
dressed at least an hour earlier than usual.
While they were eating breakfast, Jenny gave
them some very sensible advice, to the effect that
work should not be suspended because of the
trouble which had come upon them. She recom-
mended that Ikey and Duddy go to the court-
room, while the others make every effort to earn
money with which to pay a lawyer for defending
their comrade.
Tom understood at once that two of the party
would be able to do more than a crowd, and he
insisted so strongly that Jenny's advice should be
followed, that no one seriously objected.
The baby was much better, and Mrs. Parsons
assured the boys that they need feel no uneasiness
concerning him. Accordingly they left the house
eager to begin work, hoping thus to help the
comrade who needed their aid so sadly.
Ikey and Duddy tried to content themselves by
assisting Jenny; but the minutes passed so slowly,
and they were so anxious to begin their portion
of the duties of the day, that they could no longer
control their impatience after the clock had struck
the hour of seven. Although Mrs. Parsons in-
sisted that the court would not be opened for an
hour at least, they decided to start at once, in
order, as Duddy said, to get a front seat so 's to
whisper to Pinney when he 's brought in."
As a matter of course, when they arrived at the
Tombs they found the doors of the court-room
closed, and not even a single policeman on guard
to answer the questions they had intended to ask.
They could do no more than seat themselves on
the ice-covered steps, there to wait until such
time as the public should be admitted.
While they were thus waiting, occupied with
gloomy forebodings and a vain effort to keep warm,
Tom suddenly appeared, eager and breathless.
I came to bring what money the fellers have
made, 'cause you '11 need it if you hire a lawyer
for Pinney," he said, as he gave Ikey a handful
of pennies and small coins. "Every feller is working'
jest as hard as he can, an' I '11 bring you some
more in an hour. Don't slip up on any chance to
get him out of the scrape, an' if money is all that's
wanted, we'll have that, sure." Then Tom darted
down the steps shouting, at the full strength of his



lungs, the principal items of news contained in
the morning papers.
Neither Ikey nor Duddy had thought of engag-
ing a lawyer until they should have consulted Pin-
ney; but Tom's words suggested the desirability
of so doing while they had plenty of time at their
disposal, and Duddy said:
You stay here so 's you can slip in the very
minute the doors are opened, an' I '11 look 'round
to see what kind of a lawyer I can find, 'cause
p'r'aps we would n't have a chance after we see
Pinney. I know a place where there are about a
hundred lawyers' offices, an' we can get one there,
I guess, after we flash up all this money."
"Don't stay long," said Ikey, his teeth chatter-
ing with the cold. If I get in before you come
back, I '11 save a seat for you by the side o' me."
Duddy was off like a shot, the pennies jingling
in his pocket as he ran and, as he thought, giving
such evidence of wealth that any attorney whom he
met would be eager to plead Pinney's case.

Ikey evidently expected to see his brother-di-
rector return in a very short time, followed by at
least one lawyer; and he would not have been
surprised had he seen three or four. But the
minutes went by until an hour passed, and Duddy
had not come. One by one a crowd gathered on
the steps; and Ikey almost forgot his own sorrow
as he realized how many other unhappy people
there were in the city. Only the night previous
he had believed that the inmates of Jenny's board-
ing-house were in more trouble than all the rest
of the world combined.
Duddy was still absent when the court-room
door was finally opened; and despite all his efforts,
Ikey did not succeed in reserving what he con-
sidered a desirable seat for his friend. There were
so many who were eager to be where they could
speak to the prisoners, that the treasurer found
himself crowded back half way down the room
toward the door, and even then it was with difficulty
that he reserved a very small space for Duddy.

(To be continued.)



YOUNG Master Robin Early Bird
And Susy Scarlet Feather,
Whene'er the day was warm and fair,
Would take a walk together;
He took along his poodle small,
And she her three black kittens,-
They were not those three naughty ones
That used to wash their mittens.

" I can not quite persuade myself,"
Said young Miss Scarlet Feather,
" That kittens should remain indoors
And miss this charming weather."

, 1.



"h ~- C''

r--- :

Y '







ANOTHER map, an please you, sir !
For why, we can not understand,
In all your great geography
There is no map of Fairyland.

Another map, an please you, sir !
And, afterward, describe in full
How Fairyland is famed for pearls,
And fleeces made from golden wool,

And prancing, gold-shod, milk-white steeds
With bridles set with jewel-eyes:
Tell how the Fairy rivers run,
And where the Fairy mountains rise,

And of the Fairy-folk, their ways
And customs if it please you, sir;
Then, of the journey there, how long
For any speedy traveler.

Another map, an please you, sir !
And would you kindly not delay;
Sister and I would dearly like
To learn our lesson there, to-day !



WAIT for me, Louise. Why are you in such
a hurry ? "
Don't you know? My mother and father are
coming home to-day, and I am going in town to
the Boston and Albany depot, with Aunt Frances
and Tom, to meet them."
"Boston and Albany depot? Why, I thought
your mother was coining from Europe! "
"So she is; but she has sailed by one of the
White Star Line, and the steamships of the White
Star Line don't come into the dock at Boston, but
at New York," answered Louise, with so glib an
air of knowing all about things that Sophy Kit-
tredge felt quite impressed, and for a moment was
silent and thoughtful, her thought consisting of a
sort of admiring speculation which, if put into
words, would have run something in this wise :
"What a fine thing it is to have mothers and
fathers who can go to Europe, and what a lucky
girl Louise Peyton is "
I suppose they '11 bring you all sorts of pretty
things," Sophy found voice to say presently.
"Oh, I suppose so; people always do when
they come home from Europe; but it is not of such
things I 'm thinking," said Louise. I have n't
seen my mother and father for seven years."

Again Sophy felt impressed -not with the seven
years, but with Louise's superiority. She felt
condemned, too; for she, Sophy Kittredge, could
n't have been so above and beyond thinking of
pretty things, if her mother were coming home
from Europe; and Sophy loved her mother, she
was sure. But then she thought of the seven
years. Seven years was a long time.
You were a little girl when they went away,
were n't you Sophy said next.
"Yes, only seven," and then Louise went on
and told what Sophy had heard many times before,
but what she never tired of hearing,-the story of
how Louise came to live in Newtown with her
Aunt Frances Moore. It was like a story out of
a book, for Louise told first of her French nurse -
atall, white-capped girl from Normandy-who had
taken care of her in Paris, just after she was born,
and had come with the family to America, seven
years before. Next Louise told how Nannette had
been sent with her to Aunt Frances's soon after,
when her father and mother returned to Paris,
whither Mr. Peyton's large and thriving business
called him back suddenly; and then continued:
"I should have gone with them and been edu-
cated in Paris, if I had been well enough; but I


had the whooping-cough just as they were going
back, and the doctor said I must stay where I was,
in Newtown, that I should do very well here, but
it would n't be well to take me across the ocean in
midwinter. Both Papa and Mamma had expected
surely to return the next year and take me back
with them, but Papa broke his leg in a railway
accident, and that kept them that year; then one
of his partners embezzled some of the funds of the
company and had to be
prosecuted in the French
courts, and that took an-
other year; and then
Mamma was ill; and so
the time has gone on, until
seven years have elapsed."
As Louise wound up
her peroration, Sophy's
face expressed her hum-
ble admiration for her
companion. Louise nev- -
er used the common word
when she could help it,
and Sophy could never
think to use any but comn-
mon words, and the sim- ,
plest and briefest at that.
Nothing could exceed her i.
admiration for Louise's I i
fine facility in this direc-
tion. "Embezzled the
funds of the company," ,
and "had tobeprosecuted ,
in the French courts !" ", '
How cultivated, how edu- '
cated and grown-up that I
sounded And then,
that "seven years have
elapsed! "-so absorbed
was Sophy in her admir-
ing wonder at Louise's
powers, that she quite for-
got to speak again until
they came to Aunt Fran-
ces's door; then, subdued AND
and overpowered, as she
always was, by Louise's eloquence and elegance, she
bade her a soft, almost a shy, good-bye, and went
dreamily home, thinking to herself what a very
superior person Louise Peyton was in every way,
and how lucky a girl was to have her for a friend!


THE first glimpse that Louise had of her mother
was disappointing. She had a rather dim recollec-
tion of a bright face and airy figure and soft float-

ing garments that smelled of violets. What she saw,
as she stood in the Boston and Albany depot, the
next day, was a little woman not so tall as herself,
in a close-fitting, wood-colored traveling dress, with
nothing bright about her but a bright red silk
knot at her throat. The little woman looked ex-
tremely young, too, to Louise's eyes,-" Hardly
older than I," she thought at that first glimpse.
The next moment a musical voice was saying:

/ I/

S"And this great girl is my little Louise "
Louise looked up no, down into the loveli-
est great dark eyes she had ever seen, and saw
that the red silk knot was not the only brightness
about this little mother. In another moment, as
she felt herself enfolded in a gentle embrace, she
smelled again the sweet, faint breath of violets.
This seemed like the mother she had known seven
years ago.
But, yet, I thought you were taller and larger,
Mamma; when you went away I remember look-



ing up and thinking you quite, quite tall," Louise
said suddenly, as her mother turned and took her
arm to go to the carriage.
"You dear And Mrs. Peyton burst into a
little peal of laughter, and then turning to her
husband, the Papa" whom Louise had just
greeted rather shyly,- Just hear that, George !
Louise is disappointed in me. She expected a
great big mamma. Oh, I 'm so sorry for you,
dearie but you must take Papa for the big one of
the family; you can't outgrow him as you have
outgrown me You thought I was quite, quite
tall,' another merry little laugh, '"you dear
goosie, don't you know it was because you were
then so little that I seemed tall by comparison ?
It is like the little boy who grew up to be a man,
and then went back to his old home in the country.
When he saw the trees that had once seemed so
big and high, they looked like little dwarf trees to
him. So I have become a little dwarf tree to my
big tall daughter 1 "
The playful, caressing tone and manner and
words confused and embarrassed Louise. She
felt as if she were being treated like a little girl
still; and she was not used to being treated so.
Her Aunt Frances usually asked her opinion about
things, and treated her in a very grown-up way.
Her cousin Tom, too, who was nineteen years old,
never treated her as if she were a little girl; and
at school well, her mother would see how things
were when she had been at Newtown a day or two.
She would see that her daughter was no longer
the child of seven in mind any more than in body.
But when Mrs. Peyton had been in Newtown a
week, Louise began to despair of impressing her
mother with her grown-up dignity. At the end
of the week it was still, Come here, my little big
girl," or "Put down your book, my little giantess,
and let 's have a run out over the hills."
"But, Mamma," protested Louise, one day,
I 'm looking over my algebra lessons."
What, in your vacation ? asked Mrs. Peyton.
"Yes, Mamma; I don't want to lose any-
thing, and have to be put back when school
Oh, that 's the way you 've been going on in
Newtown,-cramming algebra, when you should
have been cramming fresh air and fun! But all
this is going to be changed. I don't believe "in
books in vacation time. I wish you to take more
exercise and get some roses into your cheeks. So
fling down the book, dearie, and let 's go out."
But this was not all the change that Louise
saw threatening her own way, which she and so
many of the people about her, from Aunt Frances
to Sophy Kittredge, had come to think so wise and
superior a way.

One morning about ten o'clock, when she was
dressing to go into town with her father, her
mother came into her room. As Louise dressed,
she dropped the things she had taken off, just
where she happened to stand. When nearly ready,
she found that the braid that had ripped from her
jacket had not been sewed on, and she exclaimed
rather impatiently:
Oh, dear, there 's that braid Aunt Frances
promised me she 'd sew it on yesterday."
Mrs. Peyton looked up with one of her quick
Aunt Frances? she asked.
Yes, she told me to leave it out on a chair,
and I did."
As Louise spoke, she happened to look toward
her mother. Once or twice before she had seen
that curiously distant, rather haughty expression
on her mother's face. What did it mean-dis-
pleasure ? While Louise was thinking thus, Mrs.
Peyton said:
How long has Aunt Frances performed the
services of waiting-maid for you, my dear?"
Louise blushed, but it was an angry blush.
Why, Mamma, somebody must attend to my
things; I can't."
"What things?"
"Why, mending little bits like that; sewing on
buttons and picking up after me."
You can't do such things-such a great girl?"
But, Mamma, my time is too-too valuable.
I have my lessons, and my music and all that."
'Too valuable '" The distant look vanished
from Mrs. Peyton's face, and in its place came a
crowd of dimples as she flung her head back and
burst into a peal of laughter.
Oh, Louise, you 're as good as a play 'Too
valuable,' and she mimicked her daughter's lofty
little way. "Why, my dear," she went on, you 're
not to learn school lessons merely, you're to learn
to be a woman-a lady."
Angry tears by this time were in Louise's eyes.
"Well, Mamma, if you can tell me where I can
get the time to do any more than I do, with school
from nine until half-past one, and all my music
practice with my other lessons! Aunt Frances
thinks I do quite enough, and too much, now.
She says a girl that does her duty, as I do, by
her studies, should have everything else done
for her."
"Oh, I see, and so she has done everything
else for you?"
"Yes, ever since Nannette went away."
"She mends these little bits of things and
'picks up' after you, as you call it," and Mrs.
Peyton looked at the odds and ends Louise had
dropped in her dressing.




"Yes, always," answered Louise; "for, you
see, I have to attend at once to my lessons."
"Why does n't she send Ann to do this pick-
ing up?"
Ann? Why, Ann can't be spared, I suppose;
Aunty keeps only one servant, you know."
"Yes, I know." Again there was an expression
on Mrs. Peyton's face that made Louise uneasy,
that made her hasten to say:
"Aunty likes to do these things."
"Does she say so?"
"I don't know that she ever said so, but she'
does. She knows I can't do everything- that I 'm
not strong enough."
"Neither is Aunty very strong, I believe, and
she 's not very young. Poor Aunty, she was
always inclined to make babies of people! But
come, my dear; Papa will be waiting for you.
Here, put on this little wrap I brought you from
Paris, since your jacket is n't ready."
With a queer, uncomfortable feeling, Louise
went down to join her father. Aunty inclined
to make babies of people Did her mother mean
that Aunty had made a baby of her? Why,
Aunty treated her far more like a young lady
than her mother did; Aunty quite looked up to
her, indeed, asked her advice about clothes,
and consulted her in many ways. What could
her mother mean? Her father's errand in town
was to look at a house on Beacon street that
they were to rent furnished for the winter.
Mamma had already looked at it, and decided
in favor of it. Louise thought that her father
had brought her to look at it to see if she also
favored it. That would have been quite in the
way of the things that Aunt Frances did. It was
a pleasant, cozy house, but some distance from
the school that had been selected for Louise on
Marlboro' street. Looking out of the window,
Louise suddenly thought of this.
"Oh, Papa! she exclaimed.
"Well, what is it?"
It is too far from my school."
Eh what ? too far from what ?"
"My school-the new school on Marlboro'
street that Mamma has seen about. It's a mile,
Her father looked a little puzzled, and a little
absent-minded or preoccupied, for a moment.
Then he said carelessly:
"Oh, well, that does n't matter."
Louise flushed up, and moved away with a low-
ering brow; but it made no sort of impression
upon her father. He was looking into closets,
testing the draught of chimneys, and the con-
dition of the gas-burners. By and by, he said
cheerfully, Well, my dear, are you tired of

waiting? and with a "Come, we might as well
go now," turned toward the hall. Louise fol-
lowed with a sense of humiliation such as she had
never felt before; so she had not been brought
in to give her opinion. Her opinion was not
considered of any importance. What had she
been brought for? This question was soon an-
swered, when her father said briskly:
Well, Missy, now I 've attended to that mat-
ter, we '11 go and have lunch at Young's, and then
to see the 'Mikado.'"
"Oh, Papa! "
Louise forgot everything but her delight in that
moment. She had been wishing, hoping, longing
to go to see that quaintest of funny operas; and
here she was to be taken to see it in an hour, after
lunching in the most charming dining-room in
Oh, how good of you, Papa, to think to give
me such a surprise! "
It was n't I, dear, who thought of it, it was
Mamma; but I was very glad to have her suggest
But why did n't Mamma come, too ?"
"Well, Mamma thought you'd enjoy it better
alone with me--just you and I together on a little
lark, you see "; and Papa nodded and smiled as
if he, too, quite enjoyed it.
Louise laughed in response, and a bright color
came into her cheeks; and into her heart, along
with the pleasure, came a little feeling of shame
for her previous anger and suspicions. All the
time when she had been thinking herself unthought
of and of no importance, Mamma had been plan-
ning this.

THE Marlboro' Street school was a very differ-
ent affair from the Newtown seminary. There
was not so much cramming; indeed, there was no
cramming at all. A girl was not allowed to take
a dozen studies and spend her days acquiring only
a superficial knowledge of them. Three, or four
at the most, were all that Louise was permitted
in one term. This left a broad margin of time for
other things.
Now," Louise thought, "I can take painting
lessons, and belong to a club." To belong to a
club was her highest ambition just then. The one
of which she most desired to become a member
was called the Four o'Clock Club." Most of the
members were a little older than herself, and they
met to read and talk over new books, and some-
times a member read a composition of her own.
Aunt Frances would have thought this very fine,
and would have encouraged Louise to the utmost
in it. But Mrs. Peyton was not Aunt Frances,



and she laughed at the Four o'Clockers," as she
termed them. "A lot of conceitedlittle pedants,
choosing any books they please to read and dis-
cuss," she said to her husband; I don't wonder
American girls get the reputation of being pert,
if this is one of their fashions."
So the Four o'Clock Club was decidedly neg-
atived, and when Louise brought forward the paint-
ing-lessons plan, that also received a dash of cold
"But, my dear, you seem to want to overwork
just as you did at Newtown," said her mother.
I wish to learn things, like other girls."
"I wish you to learn things, too; but I don't
care to have you learn things that are useless, or
to learn things the wrong way. If you should join
that reading club where the girls choose their
own books, I think you would learn things in a
very wrong way. You might as well try to study
music without some sort of direction. And as
for the painting lessons, there 's time enough for
that yet, especially as you have no real taste or
talent for painting."
Louise looked injured. Her mother saw it, and
went on still more seriously.
Louise, I want you to learn to be my daughter;
to help me; to be my little companion here at
home, as well as to be a school-girl."
Louise looked at her young-faced mother, who
was no taller than herself. There was an air of
the gay world about her. As she spoke to Louise,
she was plaiting and arranging a frill of lace to be
worn that evening.
Oh, I know how it will be Louise said to
herself. Mamma is a fashionable lady, and she
wants me to be something like Fido,- a sort of
decoration,--and at the same time to make my-
self useful, as Molly Preston's mother makes her."
Louise had recovered from the shame she had felt
a while before. With two pet plans going under,
both at once, she had no room in her heart except
for mutiny.
Mamma does n't appreciate American ways,"
she said to her aunt about this time. "She
does n't care for my keeping up with my studies
as you did, Aunt Frances, and being at the head
of my classes."
Oh, you must n't talk so !" replied Aunt
Frances; but at the same time she sighed as she
remembered how she had worked and "slaved," as
she called it, to give Louise every opportunity she
could to be at the head and to outshine the other
girls in her classes, and Here was Louise's own
mother upsetting it all with her fine French no-
tions." So the winter began with dissatisfaction
and disappointment and inward protest, which
came to the surface in various unpleasant ways.

Louise had gained her idea of a fashionable, soci-
ety woman from Mrs. Preston, who went every-
where, as the saying goes,- to balls and parties
and theaters without stint,-leaving her daughter
Mollie to the care of servants, or making her of
use and ornament when she was with her. Aunt
Frances had been the first to impress this picture
upon Louise's mind. Aunt Frances had the old-
fashioned New England idea that the mother
should sacrifice herself to her children, should be-
come, in short, a sort of head nurse and servant
to them. She had been all this herself to Tom,
and later to Louise. When she saw how different
her sister-in-law's methods were to be, she drew
many deep sighs, and with a sad certainty of ill, in-
wardly wondered, "How things would go with
that poor child." "There '11 be a great change
in her by another year, you '11 see, Tom," she con-
fided to her son.
She was right; there was a great change. It was
not, however but I won't spoil my story by antici-
pating. Yes, a great change. It began by slow
degrees and by hard things. The giving up the
club and the painting lessons were two of the
hard things. So hard that Louise thought and
acted very rebelliously and bitterly for a time.
Mamma has everything she wants, and does
everything she likes, but I must have nothing I
want, and give up everything I like," was one of
her bitter thoughts just at the outset. And what
was she to do with the leisure time she had left
from the fewer studies that had been assigned her
-the leisure she had planned to occupy so wisely ?
She asked her mother this question.
Oh, we shall see, presently; there is no need
to hurry; Haste makes waste,' her mother had
answered, smiling. Then, as she saw a shadow
of impatience on Louise's face, My dear, you
canf surely afford to give your mother a little of
your leisure time after all these years away from
And Louise, with a new twinge of shame, felt
all at once a sense of her own ungraciousness.
Giving up the point for the time, she went out
with her mother on bright afternoons, sometimes
to visit the picture-galleries, or to take a brisk
walk, or to attend a concert or an illustrated lect-
ure or a nice play. On Saturday afternoons she was
set the task of learning to mend her clothing, and
of putting her bureau drawers and closets in order.
This last was exceedingly distasteful; but the
afternoon walks and talks and sight-seeing had
proved very agreeable. Several weeks went on in
this way, varied by reading, now and then, some
book that her mother would suggest. In these
weeks, too, Louise knew that her mother was
going out constantly into society, and was herself



entertaining considerably; but she saw little of
these entertainments, for they were principally din-
ner parties and elaborate luncheons not suited to
her age.
There were simple, informal receptions, how-
ever, where Louise was not only permitted to be
present, but where she learned to pour tea and
hand it to the guests. It was after one of these
receptions that she said to her mother, Who was
that lady with the pretty, light hair and the gold
bee in her bonnet, Mamma ?"
"The lady with the 'bee in her bonnet'?"
Mrs. Peyton laughed; and then said in explana-
tion, That is an old saying of the ancient Scots.
When a person had a new notion or fancy, it was
called a 'bee in his bonnet.' But you want to know
who that pretty woman was with a golden bee in
her bonnet. That was Mrs. Eyre. You liked her,
did you? I saw her talking with you."
Oh, I liked her so much! And, Mamma, she
asked me to come to see her, and said that she
had a daughter who was lame, whom she would
like me to know. May I go sometime, Mamma?"
"Yes, I should be delighted to have you make
friends with Katy Eyre."
"Do you know her? Is she nice?" asked
Louise eagerly.
"I have seen her two or three times, and she
looks very nice; but I should be willing to take
Helen Eyre's daughter on trust, any time."


IT was a very grand-looking hall that Louise
saw as the door was opened to her when she went
to see Katy Eyre; and as she followed the servant
up the fine broad stairway, she thought to herself,
The Eyres must be rich people, and I suppose
Katy has no end of nice things; and, of course,
as she is lame, she has nothing to do but be
waited upon."
Oh, do you mind my sending for you to come
up here where all the children are? suddenly
asked a sweet voice as Louise came upon the
second floor. Louise looked and saw a lovely face,
the very image of Mrs. Eyre's; and an outstretched
hand hospitably extended bade her welcome, as
the owner stood in a doorway just at the head of
the stairs.
Mamma is out, and I have the younger chil-
dren with me until she comes home," the sweet
tones went on explaining.
Oh, Taty, Taty, don't do away !" a little
voice cried out from the room beyond at this
Katy laughed. "Nobody 's doing away, but
somebody's coming," answered Katy Eyre; and

here she is, Miss Louise Peyton, a nice some-
body for you to be very kind and polite to, Miss
As Katy turned, Louise saw that she walked
with a crutch, but she seemed to fly over the floor
with it.
There were two other children in the room be-
sides Tottie, -a boy and a girl, one seven and
the other nine years old. They had evidently
been interrupted in a game by Katy's momentary
"How stupid !" thought Louise, as she saw
that she was rather expected to join in this game-
"some silly, childish thing," she was sure. But
when Katy, with a little flush on her cheeks,
looked up and said apologetically, "Would you
think it rude if I just finished this game; it will
only take a few minutes? Louise quite cordially
offered to join in the game herself.
Before the few minutes were over, she was so
much interested that she was quite willing to ac-
cede to the children's proposal for "one more
game." It was, to be sure, a childish game,--a
game of picture-cards, each card bearing the face
of some king or queen in English history. A set
of smaller cards set forth in print corresponding
dates, with a droll couplet attached. Katy would
read the dates and the couplet, which was funnily
descriptive; and the children would find great fun
in selecting the picture-card that corresponded to'
it. Sometimes they would make a mistake, and
then a forfeit of a card would have to be paid.
The couplets were not only funny but witty,
and each made a pointed reference to some his-
torical fact in the sovereign's reign, so that the
memory was caught at once. It was this which
interested Louise.
I never saw this game. Where did' you get
it ?" asked Louise with animation.
"Taty made it," spoke up Tottie.
Louise looked astonished and incredulous. Katy
blushed, and the other children laughed. At this
laugh Totty's face took on an indignant expression,
and she exclaimed, Taty did made it! "
.Tottie's indignation bidding fair to increase still
more if her word were not taken, Katy was forced
to explain that the children had asked so many
questions the previous winter, when she had been
hunting up some dates in a pictorial history of
England, that she had thought of this way to fix
certain facts in their minds.
"And you made these cards, and these verses,
and the whole plan ?" inquired Louise.
Oh, yes The cards are easy enough. I drew
the faces from the portraits I found of the kings
and queens, and then painted them in water-colors.
The rest was easier still, and great fun."




Louise began to say something of her admira- of all! She wrote her mother's notes, and Louise
tion and amazement, when the door opened and had seen how she looked out for the children.
Mrs. Eyre entered. What else did she do? But no doubt she had
"We've been dood--we 've been dood; Taty's plenty of time; she was n't like other girls who
tept us all'mused!" Tottie burst out at sight of had to study to get lessons, and-but Louise
her mother. stopped, as she remembered the game of English
"That 's nice; and what have you done for History. There had been considerable studying
Katy ?" said Mrs. Eyre, smiling upon them all. to accomplish that !
Nine-year-old Amy held
up a pair of gloves.
"Yes, Mamma, Amy
has sewed up all those hate-
ful holes for me, and I feel -i '
as if I had a new pair of
gloves," said Katy, giving
Amy a little look of thanks
as she spoke.
Mrs. Eyre sat down in
the low rocker Amy
brought for her, and began
talking now to Louise, now
to Katy, with a word for
the younger ones in a cer-
tain delightful way that {
was all her own. Louise
at the end of her visit I -"
thought she had never had "
such a charming call.
And would Katy return ..r'
her visit? she asked; and
would she come "'soon, :
very soon? 4IL I
"UOh, yes, I shall be ,-- .
delighted to come! an-.. --
sweredKaty; "butIdon't -- "
believe I can, until after .... ...
Mamma's birthday party.
I have so much to do." '
Louise looked a little
surprised. She was think- '
ing, How can a disabled
thing like Katy have so
much to do, especially in
a family like this, where
of servants ?" Perhaps
Mrs. Eyre saw something of this thought in Louise's One day after the birthday party, Katy was
face, for with a bright half-smile at Katy, she said: brought around to see her new friend. She came,
This is a very busy family, my dear; and Katy, so it seemed to Louise, flying in from the door as if
as the head of my flock, is the busiest of all. I her crutch were a wing,-an airy, joyous creature,
don't know what would become of us, if it were bringing with her all sorts of bright busy thoughts
not for Katy. When she burned her finger last and plans.
winter, and I had to answer all my notes of invita- "How can you get time to do so much ? ex-
tion, I really did n't know but I should have to claimed Louise. "But if you don't go to school,
give up society entirely." of course-- "
Louise went home with a bee in her bonnet. A Oh, I go to school."
very busy family; and Katy, lame Katy, the busiest Do you ? rather faintly.


"Why, yes, I go to Mrs. Lemark's on the next
street to us. Did you think I did n't go because
of my lameness ? I 'n not lame from spinal dis-
ease, or from any disease now. I was hurt when I
was a little child. I was thrown from a carriage,
and my left leg crushed and broken. I am per-
fectly well, but one leg has always been shorter
and weaker than the other, that 's all."
Louise was silent for a moment at the simple
" that 's all." Then she said, "But you seem to
do things for other people so much."
Well, other people do things for me; and I 'm
my mother's eldest daughter, you know. Mamma
and I are great friends," with a little laugh, "and
we help each other as friends do."
Mamma and I are great friends, and we help
each other as friends do A queer, uncomfort-
able feeling assailed Louise at this. She presently
roused herself, however, and said:
I think your mother is lovely."
"Yes, is n't she? But you should come and see
us in the country in the summer; then you would
know her better. Here in the city she has so much
to do; what with her charities, her poor people,
and all that,--and her social duties."
Oh, does your mother like society?"
Like society? I don't know. I never thought
to ask that. She knows people, just as your mother
does; and she goes to see them, and invites them
to see her. I heard her say once that she did n't
care for just a quantity of people; but that to know
and meet different minds and characters- people
who lived in or out of the world, not frivolous
people-was part of one's education. That is n't
liking society for dress and showing off."
Oh, no "
"I heard my mother say, after she met you
at your mother's, that by and by you would have
an opportunity that very few girls have."
I! What do you mean ? asked Louise.
She said your mother and father had for their
friends so many interesting people abroad and
here, that by and by you would find it of the great-
est advantage to you; those were just her words.
I was reading the other day about Sir Richard
Steele, who lived in Queen Anne's day, and what
he said of a lady,- Lady Elizabeth Hastings,-
that to know her or to love her was a liberal edu-
cation. So, I suppose, to know some people is
like that-an education. Mamma said, too, that
your mother was so unspoiled by all the attention
that she had received abroad! -that she was as
simple and unaffected as she was when she went
away, and never, unless somebody asked her about
them, talked of the distinguished people she knew."
Louise felt the hot blood rushing to her face, as
she remembered how she had condemned her

mother as a frivolous little woman of fashion, be-
cause she was "in society"; how she had, on
sundry occasions, tried to show off her own book-
knowledge to her; and how she had expected her
to mend her clothes, and to fetch and carry for her
as Aunt Frances had done. This mother, who
had enjoyed such opportunities, and had profited
by them without any thought of showing off!
Here was this little lame girl, too, a girl of her
own age, who went to school as she did, yet found
time to do other things to help herself and other
people, without neglecting her studies.
Louise was conceited and greatly spoiled, but
she was honest; and when once confronted with
the truth, she did not attempt to, indeed she could
not, shut her eyes to it.
Rome was n't built in a day, and people do not
correct their little vanities and sins in a day, even
when their eyes are opened. Louise's eyes were
wide open now, and never in all her life had she
been so humiliated, so ashamed of herself. She
went home with her busy guest in order to prolong
a visit that seemed all too short, and on her way
back she thought over and over what she had heard.
By the time she ascended the steps, Louise had
her good resolutions all neatly arranged into lit-
tle plans of amendment of this and that, wherever
she felt that she had failed. She was in quite a glow
of self-gratulation as she pulled the bell; for her
little plans looked so fair and promising, so easy
to accomplish She had everything all cut and
dried, she knew just what she was going to do.
Alas for our little cut-and-dried plans! Standing
there tingling with the keen air and her plans,
Louise was suddenly surprised, as the door opened,
to see her father coming down the hall with the
family physician.
"What is the matter, Papa,-is Mamma ill?"
she cried out, as she rushed, past the servant who
had admitted her.
Hush, hush, my dear said the doctor, as
he put up a warning finger. Her father did not
so much as look at her, he was so absorbed in
what the doctor was saying to him. Louise, awed
and terrified, turned to the servant, Oh, Morris,
what is it ? "
Your ma has had a bad upset. She was out
with William and the two horses, and something
scared the beasts; and William was no good, for he
was throwed at the fust corner, and your ma "
"Oh, Morris, is-is-Mamma- ?"
"No, your ma was n't killed. It is a miracle
she was n't, though; but she 's hurt some, and I
guess you 'd better not go up to her just yet, you 'd
only be in the way."
The old serving-man, who had been around the
world with Mr. Peyton, had his own ideas of the



use or uselessness of some people, and on occa-
sions was wont to express himself rather frankly.
Louise drew in her breath and choked the sob
that rose in her throat. Just then her father
turned from the door he was closing upon the
doctor, and met her horrified gaze.
Oh, Papa, Papa, can't I do something ? I -
I -" The sobs were getting the upper hand.
Hush, hush, you must be quiet, my dear!
No, no, there is nothing that you can do. I'm
afraid you 'd only be in the way. But, yes; you
might go with this prescription to the apothecary."
The girl took the slip of paper from her father,
and went toward the door with a heavy heart.
Just as her hand was on the knob, Mr. Peyton
seemed to recall himself from his one absorbing
anxiety and said, Don't worry, my dear; your
mother is severely injured, and the doctor says she
is doing well, but that we must have absolute
quiet for her to do better."
Louise went out with a miserable feeling of
being not only of no use, but very much in the
way. Morris and her father had both said the
same thing, had both feared she would be a trouble
instead of a help. Once, not so very long ago,
Louise would have resented this; now she began
to look back to see what she had done and what
she had left undone, and to contrast herself with
Katy Eyre. Katy Eyre at such a crisis would
have been her father's stay and comfort, all'the
household would have turned to her; but she,
Louise, who was of the same age as Katy, was
only fit to be sent out of the house upon an errand
that any servant could have done. Yet had she
ever before voluntarily gone forward to make her-
self of use in the household ? She had unwillingly
enough obeyed her mother's constant efforts to
teach her to help herself: how then could she
expect that the household would look to her to
help others in any crisis ? Yes, she was only fit to
run upon errands. Suddenly lifting her head
with a new thought, she said to herself, I will
at least do this as well as I can."
A weary time followed for the Peyton house-
hold. It was weeks before Mrs. Peyton saw any
one besides the doctor, excepting her husband
and Aunt Frances. The injuries were of a nature
that rendered recovery slow and tedious. In these
weeks Louise had gradually accepted and fitted
herself into the place that seemed to be assigned
her by the circumstances. She delivered messages,
and on various occasions went upon sundry little
errands that needed immediate attention. She
also got into the way of receiving her mother's
friends and acquaintances who came to make in-
quiries about her condition. One day her father
came down the stairs as she stood in the hall taking

leave of two of these visitors. As the hall door
closed upon them, he came forward with a smile
and said:
My dear, I 'm glad you can be useful in this
way; and you do it very well, I 'm sure; you said
quite the right thing, I observed."
The color deepened in Louise's cheeks, and her
eyes shone. She was of some use, some little use,
though it was only in the little ways of fetching,
and carrying, and answering the questions of
Some little use as the daughter of the house 1
She had always remembered Katy's words about
being her mother's eldest daughter; and Louise
was her mother's only daughter. Oh, what would
she not have given of all her showy school tri-
umphs, if in these weeks of anxious waiting she
could have remembered something that she had
done spontaneously and voluntarily for her mother,
as an only daughter might have done. But she
had done nothing, nothing! And now,. what
if- ? But she dared, not dwell upon the terrible
possibility that, after all, these weeks might not
bring recovery, might not bring that sweet mother
back to her. With this haunting what if" con-
stantly lurking in her mind, Louise went on with
her daily life. Her school vacation had arrived,
and this left her with plenty of time to devote to
the little household errands, the "fetching, and
carrying, and talking," as she called the duties that
fell to her. Gradually, too, she had taken upon
herself to attend to many little beautifying arrange-
ments about the parlors, to see that her father's
library-table was in order, his papers in readi-
ness, and by and by to answer the numerous notes
of inquiry and sympathy that poured in. Nobody
paid any attention to this, or made any comment.
Every one's attention was absorbed elsewhere.
Sometimes a thought would cross her mind, that
what she did was after all of but little consequence,
that her father's clerk who came every day for
business instructions might have answered all
notes with the greatest ease, and that any servant
might have done the rest far better than herself.
" But Papa, no doubt, thinks it occupies and
pleases me to do these things now," she would
conclude with a little sigh, and so allows me to
do them. He is quite right, quite right; I ought
not to expect to be of any better use." So, day by
day, Louise went on with her self-imposed tasks,
glad to be occupied, and getting what comfort she
could from the thought that by and by, perhaps,
she might show her mother how ready she was
to be of real service and value,- day by day,
until one morning her father came suddenly into
the room where she was writing, and called out
in a strange voice:


Louise! Louise! "
She sprung to her feet, her face blanched with
fear. What if--? Oh, had it come, indeed? Her
mother -
"Louise, Louise, what is it? Did I frighten
you ? Her father's arms were around her, and,-
yes,-he was smiling upon her! She stifled her
sobs, and with one great effort steadied her voice,
" Oh, Papa; I thought that Mamma- "
Yes, yes, I see I was too hasty; but it is such
good news, Louise! Mamma is much, very much
better, and she wants to see you. I think I can
trust you now. I have n't been blind, and I 've
seen how you can control yourself and keep quiet."
With all her pretty hair cut off, pale and thin
and looking like a child-was this indeed the
beautiful little mother ? But the lips parted in a
smile, and the weak voice, with the sweet laughing
ring in it, said, "My little great girl!"
Louise knelt down by the easy-chair. She
could not say much, and there was no need for
her to say much. Her mother understood; and
hand in hand they sat for a while, quite silent. It
was her mother who spoke first.
You have been such a comfort-such a help,
my dear Papa has told me all about it, how you
have made everything so pleasant and orderly
downstairs, and answered all the notes. I fretted a
great deal until I heard this; but when Papa told
me, I began to feel easy. Yes, you've been a
great comfort, my dear, a real daughter, and have
done what only a daughter could do."
Oh, Mamma but this was all that Louise
dared say.
Not the least of the lessons that she had learned
was to restrain herself for another's sake. She
could have cried out in joyful amazement, but her
mother could bear no excitement; and after that

'" Oh, Mamma! she sat quite still, holding her
mother's thin hand in hers, but thinking, thinking
all the time the most astonished thoughts. "A
great comfort-a real daughter-what only a
daughter could do." And she had estimated her
work so meanly-hardly more than a servant's

Two years after this, Louise stood in her gradu-
ation dress, receiving the congratulations of her
Such a fine essay, Louise Oh, I knew you 'd
win the prize," cried Sophy Kittredge, ecstatically.
Louise smiled a little absently; her eyes were
seeking some one. Ah, here she was, coming
toward her When she was close beside her,
Louise bent and whispered:
Mamma, did you think it sounded priggish-
was there any conceit in it ? "
"Not a bit. I was proud of my little great
Half-way down the room, two or three school-
teachers stood discussing matters. One had been
watching Louise very closely for the last hour. It
was Miss Richards, her Newtown teacher. Pres-
ently she said to the others:
"I am so pleasantly disappointed in Louise
Peyton "
Pleasantly disappointed? Why?" asked the
Marlboro' street teacher.
"Why? Because when she was with me, she
bade fair to be an arrogant, self-sufficient girl,
always thinking of her own importance. Now she
seems quite a different girl. She was always bright
about her studies, but now there is something
besides brightness,--she is sweet and attractive.
I wonder what has changed her ?"



1V IHfl. I .P

C; .~
,',' 4

There once was a Huge IHippocamp

\A7ho was terribly troubled /with cramp.

And the doctors all said

It would go to his head,

IF he didn't move out of the damp.



DOWN in the meadow the little brown
Build them a nest in the barberry bushes;
And when it is finished all cozy and neat,
Three speckled eggs make their pleasure com-
"Twit--ter--ee twitter! they chirp to each
" Building a nest is no end of a bother;
But oh, when our dear little birdies we see,
How happy we '11 be How happy we 'll be !"

Up at the cottage where children are growing,
The young mother patiently sits at her sewing.
It's something to work for small hobbledehoys
That will tear their trowsers and make such a
" And one must admit," says the dear little
" That bringing up boys is no end of a bother;
But oh, when they kiss me, and climb on my
It's sweetness for me, it's sweetness for me "




ONE morning Belinda Ames woke up in the
usual way, found the day cheerfully sunny, was
washed and dressed and curled and poked around
and around like a ball by her nurse, had her
breakfast served to her with frequent remarks
about the extreme dislike of the table-cloth for
bread and milk, was set upon her four-year-old
feet and allowed to run off to find her mother,-
and was waylaid by her uncle Waldo, who ex-
claimed, ever so loudly and ever so gayly, So
here 's the little girl who is going to be painted "
Now, you never knew when Lindie was going
to be surprisingly wise for her years; but she
was so very often.
I s'all not be painted said she. My face
does not come off when I am scrubbed."
It was no use, so it always seemed to Lindie, to
take the trouble to tell older people that black
was not white; for they only laughed as if common
sense in her quite destroyed any that they them-
selves had possessed. It happened that her uncle
Waldo had helped to paint up Pinkie Littl6nose,
the chief doll of the dolls in Lindie's nursery, when
Pinkie had turned pale after having her head held
in a tub of water; and of course now he burst into a
great roar of laughter, when his tiny niece hinted
in this way that she had more advantages than
her doll.
Why, I mean you 're to be painted just as
grandfather was," he soon resumed. "Would n't
you like to look like that, sitting all by yourself in
a great gilt frame ? "
"No," cried Lindie, pursing up her mouth. I
don't want to look a hundert! I want Mamma."
You are looking for Mamma, pet? Here she
is," called the voice Lindie loved best.
But it was perfectly true, as Lindie found, that
she was to be painted, and hung on the wall in a
big frame. One of her papa's friends was to paint
her; and she hoped it would n't hurt like thorns
and curling-sticks. She certainly wondered why
they wanted a picture of her. She would always
be "around," and always look just the same, she
thought. She decided that grown people had too
many ideas. There was always something which
they would say mustbe done," from being silent
to repeating We' are Seven."
"Now, Lindie, sit down in that chair over there,
in any way you like," said her papa's friend, when
she went with her Mamma to his studio that after-
noon. "In any way you like, my dear."

Lindie climbed into the big chair and curled
herself up like a kitten, with one hand touching
her toes, and Pinkie in the other erect as a mast.
My darling cried her mamma, "I never
saw you in such a position before! "
I am happy, this way," Lindie replied. "I 've
always enjoyed it. I only wish I had claws and a
My love, get right down, and try again," her
mother commanded.
This time Lindie became the mast, and held
Pinkie by the heel, both of them boiling with
"Why did you begin by asking her to have
her own way?" Lindie's mamma moaned to the
artist friend, who now held a palette big enough
for a doll's dining-table, and was putting dishes
of paint on it, of which Lindie longed to have a
"I shall have to arrange you, dear," said the
artist, coming toward her. I think I can make
you more comfortable than you are now, at any
"Are you going to take me apart," asked she,
very mildly, but ready to become terrible at the
right moment.
Oh, dear, no, you little goose; you 're made
all in one piece, like paper people."
I never saw a paper goose," muttered Lindie,
allowing her arms and legs to be placed at different
angles, but removing them to other attitudes as
soon as her papa's friend had let go of them.
"I meant to say, you are a windmill," retorted
the artist, somewhat distractedly.
Now, dearie, this won't do," said her mamma,
coming to the scene of action, and patting Lindie
on the cheek If I will read you the story of
'The Blue-eyed Rabbit,' will you forget about
your legs and arms? "
Oh, yes !" cried Lindie, enraptured, and at

once making Pinkie ready to listen.
"What a charming pose!" remarked the artist,
setting to work. "Please to stay so, dear."
There was once a little rabbit," began Lindie's
mamma, "who had blue eyes instead of pink
ones. And this was how it happened. The little
rabbit began with pink eyes, as a rabbit is expected
to do ; but one day it wished for pretty blue eyes, no
one could have told why. Why, indeed, should it
want blue eyes ? It could make no difference what
color they were, so long as the cunning little rabbit




could see the sunlight in the kitchen-garden, and
know when to nod good-morning to the rest of
the rabbits. But on a certain day, not long after
the rabbit had wished for blue eyes, it began to
race up and down the path, as if it intended to
have everybody else chase it at the same mad
pace. The quiet rabbits, who sat upon a patch of
soft grass hard by under some shady trees, looked
at our little rabbit in astonishment, although they
did not for a moment think of bestirring them-
selves. Rabbits can sit still for a wonderfully
VOL. XIV.-35.

long time, as much as to say that one place is as
good as another. Up and down the paths flew
the little rabbit, or tumbled heels-over-head in its
hurry, until it looked as if it had half a dozen ears
instead of two, and its little button of a tail was
always bobbing up in the air. The quiet rabbits
on the grass became so dizzy with watching the
performance, that they looked extremely fright-
ened, and stopped munching the bits of lettuce
with which they were amusing themselves. At
last, the little rogue ran directly toward the oldest


rabbit in the group, hit it on the nose with its own,
and thereupon fell fainting on the ground.
Dear me,' said the old rabbit, as soon as he
could speak, I wish this dreadful little rabbit had
been born a few years from now !'
'" 'You are not like the rest of us in your behav-
ior,' said another one, coming up to fan the little
rabbit with a twig of apple blossoms. 'We are
expected to be very quiet, unless there is need of
scampering. Did you need to scamper when there
was n't a dog or turkey anywhere about?'
At these severe remarks our little rabbit
opened its eyes to defend itself; and then every-
body noticed that its eyes were blue They all
drew back in alarm. By this time the little rabbit
had become sufficiently refreshed to get up again;
and it at once stood on its hind legs and danced
and capered as if it were delighted to show its
steps. There was evidently no real repose for that
rabbit, until it should drop dead with fatigue.
But now all the other rabbits knew the cause of its
peculiar behavior, and cried out that it was the
blue eyes which had caused the mischief.
You should have been content to look just
like the rest of the rabbits,' they added. 'Who
knows but that it is our pink eyes which make us
so well mannered, and able to remain on one spot
for half an hour at a time? Most little girls have
blue eyes, and you have seen how frisky they are.
Why don't you wish for yellow curls and a straw
hat?' they went on, still more sarcastically.
"This idea of wearing curls and a hat struck
the little rabbit as so funny that it picked up a bit
of lettuce which happened to be near, and sat down
to think the subject over. Every time it fully
realized the picture it would make in this queer,
unrabbit-like guise, it chewed more rapidly at the
lettuce-leaf, and its eyes sparkled more merrily
than before. And, wonderful to relate, by the
time its quiet little laugh was over, and the lettuce-
leaf was nibbled quite out of sight, the little rab-
bit's eyes had again become pink, and it was re-
stored to its former comfort and happiness."
"Oh, Mamma, how s'eepy you have made
me! exclaimed Lindie, who had not changed
her pose an inch since the story was begun. "All
those still rabbits, and then the jumpy rabbit who
got so tired--oh! Lindie yawned and stretched,
and then leaned her head on the arm of her chair,
and prepared to go to sleep without more prelude.
Gracious! This will never do!" cried Papa's
friend, who was now deeply interested in the
sketch of Lindie which he had made. Can not
we give her a little tea, just for once ?"

"Tea replied Mamma, in horror, as if she
would expect Lindie to grow into an old woman
at once, if she even tasted of a cup of tea.
" What are you stinking of, my dear friend ?
But it is usually the way; a child of her age is all
action, or all asleep, or else all ears. Perhaps I
can think of a story which will rouse her."
As Mrs. Ames covered her eyes with her hand
in order to reflect, and the artist at the easel
dashed in a background to his picture quite furi-
ously,-so that one would have imagined the sight
of the bare canvas made his head ache, and he
was covering it up on that account,-Lindie
opened one eye and watched the big people sit-
ting before her. By the time Mrs. Ames looked
up, ready with a story, and the artist gave a sigh
of relief after his exertions, Lindie was arranging
her doll's apron, with no thought of a nap.
Why, child, I supposed you were sound
asleep cried her mamma.
Oh, not now," responded Lindie. "That
was a week ago And she placed Pinkie on her
own head, and mixed the doll's legs up with her
sparkling eyes and pink nose, so that the artist
threw himself back in his chair and exclaimed:
Lindie if I had not been brought up to be
polite, I don't know what I should say "
I will sing to you about the brown butterfly,"
said her mamma, "if you will sit as you did before,
for ten minutes."
"Well, wait ten minutes first," answered Lindie,
riding, as she sat in her chair, an imaginary horse,
whose gait was none of the softest.
If you will keep your face in that position, you
can jog up and down as much as you like," the
artist consented, kindly.
What is a posisson? inquired Lindie, stand-
ing up in her seat, turning her back, and dangling
Pinkie over the abyss behind the chair.
Papa's friend started to his feet and rammed
his paint-brushes through a hole.in his palette,
and laid it on his chair, and then pretended to
tear his hair out by the handful.
The door opened energetically, and in walked
Lindie's uncle, as merry as a bird.
"Ho, little pet! Open war? What a lovely'
likeness Could n't be more like her, Jarvis, if
you 'd pasted her on! Great success, Louise!
All but done, is n't it? Family heirloom, already!
I can see it descending through future centuries !
Jarvis, you're immensely gifted, my boy! Lindie,
are n't you a pretty little witch, after all ? "
Mamma," called Lindie angrily, turning
around to full view; what is a which ? "




SWAY to and fro in the twilight gray,
This is the ferry for Shadowtown;
It always sails at the end of day,
Just as the darkness is closing down.

Rest, little head, on my shoulder, so;
A sleepy kiss is. the only fare ;
Drifting away from the world we go,
Baby and I in the rocking-chair.

See, where the fire-logs glow and spark,
Glitter the lights of the Shadowland;
The winter rain on the window-hark!
Are ripples lapping upon its strand.

There, where the mirror is glancing dim,
A lake lies shimmering, cool and still;
Blossoms are waving above its brim-
Those over there on the window-sill.

Rock slow, more slow, in the dusky light;
Silently lower the anchor down.
Dear little passenger say, Good-night,"
We 've reached the harbor of Shadowtown.






---' . .

l i '

Slas los t her sl-lo,
TER broke his Ai ddII i- J
And don't know what to do
,'1 7 7 :: .. ...F -, .,. ,. ..




ONE day as Fred Arden was looking over the
columns of a local paper, his attention was at-
tracted by this notice:
A competitive examination for the vacant cadetship at the United
States Military Academy, from the Third Congressional District,
will be held at West Harville, Me., at 3 P. M., Nov. 22. For further
information, address C. H. WILLSON, Oxford, Maine."
That was all; but to Fred it showed a golden
opportunity. He had long desired an appointment
to the Military Academy. Now he saw a chance
for the fulfillment of his dreams, and he at once
determined to take the examination. "I '11 do it,"
he said; and he forthwith devoted all his energies
to the task before him.
The notice did not state what branches of study
the examination would include, and Fred lost no
time in writing for "further information" to the
Hon. C. H. Willson, the congressman from the
Third District. In reply he received a printed
circular, showing the nature of the entrance ex-
amination at West Point, and also a written com-
munication to the effect that the competitive
examination would include only the branches
of study named in the printed circular--read-
ing, spelling, arithmetic, United States history,
geography, and English grammar.
Two weeks nowremained before the examination,
and Fred devoted those precious days to a thorough
overhauling of text-books and brushing up his
slightly rusty knowledge of those subjects.
The eventful day arrived all too soon, and Fred
boarded the first train for West Harville.
He found a vacant seat next to a tall, sloping-
shouldered youth, whom he soon discovered was
bound on the same errand. Mutual introductions
followed, and Fred learned that his rival's name
was Ben Thompson. The two, with no thought
of jealousy, compared notes on the subject near-
est to both of them with perfect freedom. When
they reached West Harville each regarded the
other as a jolly good fellow; and Ben's Well, old
fellow, if I don't get it, I hope you will," was
heartily echoed by Fred.
In the hall where the examination was to be
held, they found half a dozen other contestants
nervously awaiting the ordeal; and promptly at
three o'clock the examining committee, consisting
of a college professor, a well-known doctor, and a
lawyer of repute, put in an appearance, and soon'

after Congressman Willson also came in. Then
the examination began.
First in order was the physical examination,
which all succeeded in passing. Then they were
taken to a larger room and given seats at a long
table; each provided himself with pencil and paper,
and prepared for the real struggle.
After a few hours' hard work, during which the
strains of a wheezy hand-organ in the street gave
an added touch of torture, the examination was
concluded, and the boys filed out of the room
and down the stairs with many conjectures as to
failure or success.
After the lapse of a few days Fred was made
glad by the receipt of the following letter from
Congressman Willson:
OXFORD, ME., Nov. 26, i88o.
MR. FRED ARDEN. Dear Sir: The board of examiners recom-
mended you for appointment to West Point, and I shall send your
nomination to the Secretary of War next week. Please let me know
the number of years you have resided in this Congressional District
"Very respectfully, C. H. WILLSON."
A little later Fred received a letter from Ben
Thompson congratulating him upon his good for-
tune, and pleasantly predicting continued success.
After about two weeks came official papers from
Washington, notifying Fred that the President had
appointed him a "conditional cadet" at the Mili-
tary Academy, and that, if he still desired the
appointment, he was to report at West Point,
N. Y., on the twelfth day of June following, for
the entrance examinations. Fred smiled as he
read the phrase, If you still desire the appoint-
merit." But later, in his first cadet encampment,
he saw its force and application.
Although Fred had passed one examination, he
was not yet a cadet; he had only acquired the
nomination to a cadetship, and had still other
examinations, and severer ones, to pass, before he
could don the cadet gray. All his success at
previous examinations would have no effect or
bearing on those to come. Fred realized this fully
and occupied himself from this time on in making
preparations for leaving home, and in studying
for the coming "preliminary" examinations at
West Point.
At last the day of departure arrived, and with a
heart like lead, Fred was rapidly borne away from
a throng of well-wishers, from his home and all
the scenes of his boyhood.
In due time he reached Garrison's, the small
station opposite West Point.


He crossed the Hudson in the comical old ferry-
boat Highlander, and took a seat in one of the
crowded 'busses for the hotel, where all alighted
and ascended the steps. Just as Fred reached the
porch, his attention was attracted by a tall, slen-
der, ramrod-like young man who passed, attired
in immaculate white trousers and a tight-fitting
gray coat, the forty-four brass buttons on which
glistened and glittered, and reflected the light
until each bit of metal might have been taken for
a small incandescent lamp. It was Fred's first
sight of a cadet in uniform, and he followed the
retreating figure with all his eyes.
Well, is that a cadet? Well- Fred drew
a long breath and went inside and registered.
That same evening the exhibition drill at the
mortar battery took place, and, attracted by the
roar of the mortars, Fred went out to witness the
display; and there he fell in with three other
young fellows, also candidates for admission to the
academy. These boys, who were named Craw,
Delange, and Nolan, all hailed from different
States, from Mississippi, Illinois, and New York
respectively; they welcomed Fred as a "Down
East Yankee," and the quartette thus formed was
a merry party. For two days they busied them-
selves strolling about the pleasant paths, reading
the dates of Mexican battles cut in the ledges
of rock, exploring points of interest, and eagerly
watching the various brilliant military spectacles.
At the same time they refreshed their memories
on examination subjects, until the twelfth of June
should arrive, when they must report their arrival
to the Adjutant of the Military Academy, come
under a severe system of restriction and military
discipline, and commence a new chapter in the
book of their experience-the chapter of cadet

EARLY in the forenoon of the twelfth, Fred,
with his three companions, Nolan, Craw, and
Delange, went down across the broad plain to the
Headquarters Building to report their presence to
the Adjutant of the academy. There, grouped
upon the stone steps of the building, they found a
number of other candidates. One after another,
in turn, they walked into the office, and showed
their credentials to a clerk who recorded each
arrival in a large book, while another inquired
of each one the names of his parents or guardians
and their pecuniary condition, whether "rich,
poor, or medium," putting down the answers in
another volume.
Then each candidate was sent to the hospital
for a physical examination. Here a trio of grave
army surgeons tested, weighed, and examined

thoroughly each arrival, and then furnished him
with a certificate to the effect that he had passed
successfully, or had been rejected, as the case
might be.
Upon receiving their certificates, Fred and his
three friends returned to the Headquarters Build-
ing, where they deposited all their money with the
treasurer, in accordance with a regulation of the
academy, which also prohibits the cadets from
receiving money or supplies of any kind from
outside sources.
When a number of successful applicants had re-
turned from the hospital, they were put in charge
of an orderly, who conducted them to Cadet
Barracks. The orderly, well knowing what treat-
ment was in store for his charges, was very hilarious
at their expense; but if a candidate addressed him,
he suddenly became deeply mysterious.
Before admission to the academy, the candidate
often finds that to cadets he is known only as
a "thing"; after admission he is recognized as a
"plebe," and occasionally as a "conditional thing."
But the term "plebe holds throughout the year,
as though to be one were a disgrace. During this
year the cadet lives under a cloud; no social inter-
course falls to his lot, and to all upper classmen he
is known as "Mister" so and so. Consequently,
though the advent of the candidates is welcome to
all classes, it is hailed with especial joy by the
year-old plebes, or fourth class; for to them it
means not only advancement to a higher class,
but also emancipation from the discomforts of plebe
As Fred's party crossed the area of barracks,-a
very ordinary-looking collection of youths, I must
admit,-their arrival was heralded with shouts
of "Here come the plebes! Turn out, fellows,
and see the show!" and immediately groups of
cadets appeared at the barrack doors and windows,
to observe and comment upon the candidates'
appearance, and to prophesy concerning their
chances and approaching woes.
The orderly took the party to the hall of the
eighth division of barracks, and told them to wait
there quietly, and to enter the office" one at a
time, as their turn came, and report. Then im-
mediately began a course of the treatment known
as "hazing." When Fred Arden opened the door
and walked in, he immediately found himself the
center of a howling mob of cadets, who "would
like to know, sir, what you mean by walking into
this office without knocking, sir? Step out there
and try it over again !"
Fred precipitately backed out, and closing the
door, knocked. A stentorian voice shouted, "Come
in!" and he came. But once again had he
offended in the matter of etiquette, as he soon




discovered from the cries of Take that hat off,
sir "Where were you brought up, I 'd like to
know?" "Don't you know better than to keep
your hat on in the presence of your superior offi-
cers, sir? Get out there in the hall again, sir,
and leave that hat there, and I-want-to-see-you-
button-that-coat-up-this-time-too-sir, do you
understand?" Step out now and be quick
about it."
Fred had not uttered a word in reply to this
tirade, for he was far too surprised. But he



" stepped out" and made the alterations sug-
gested; while his fellow-martyrs, who were still
waiting their turn, looked on in unhappy antici-
Fred's third attempt at entrance was more satis-
factory, and a cadet-corporal approached him in
a very business-like manner and accosted him
with :
"Well, what are you here for? What do you
want ?"
Fred replied that he came in to report.
Well, then, why don't you report,' and climb
out again ? What's your name ?"
"Fred Arden."
"What! "
Fred Arden," in a louder tone.
"Mister Arden, sir," shouted the cadet-cor-

Yes, sir," Fred admitted; that's it."
Then suppose you report properly; I have no
time to waste. What's your name ? "
"Mister Arden."
"Mister Arden, sir!" roared the now apparently
exasperated fledgeling.
"Mister Arden, sir!" repeated Fred with
Ah! now, where are you from? demanded
his inquisitor.
"From Maine-sir!" replied Fred, rendered
wise by experience.
There, now, you have made some progress,"
commented the tormentor. "You have learned
to address old cadets as sir.' Never forget this.
Also, understand that you are now under military
discipline, and that a soldier's first duty is strict
obedience to orders. Here, Jake," he continued,
turning to a cadet near him; take it upstairs
and cage it."
With a gruff "Come along, sir," Jake" led
the way up the iron staircase to a room on the
third floor, and with a gruffer You stay in there
until further orders," left Fred to his own devices.
Fred's first act was to examine his "cage." A
single window, set with diamond-shaped panes of
glass, admitted light into the room, which was
furnished in a style of severe simplicity. From
one wall, a partition which reached to within three
feet of the ceiling, and extended about a third of
the way across the room, divided that portion of
the apartment into two alcoves. In each alcove
was a narrow iron bedstead. A small wooden
table was placed against the wall, under a gas-jet;
and an arrangement of wooden shelves occupied
the corner behind the door. The walls were
whitewashed, the fire-place painted black, while
the floor was bare and unpainted.
The ways of receiving candidates are almost as
many as the candidates themselves, and all con-
ceived in a fun-loving spirit. Craw, who was soon
brought up to Fred's room, told of a reception
very different from Fred's.
He was received with profound bows and a
suave Good-morning, sir. Will you please favor
us with your name and address? "
Somewhat taken aback, he replied that his name
was Craw and that he was from Mississippi.
"Ah, yes, Mr. Craw, I am delighted to meet
you. I hope you are not fatigued after your long
journey. Ah, not at all? So glad to hear it, I
assure you."
The cadet rubbed his hands together and smiled
in imitation of a well-known professor.
So you intend to become a cadet, and ultimately
an army officer? Yes? I am delighted; and you
may rest assured that I shall do all in my power to


make your stay interesting. I perceive that you
will be an ornament to the service, sir. Perhaps
now you would like to be shown to your room.
So sorry we have no vacant single apartments,
but at present they are all occupied. Still, we can
give you a very pleasant room with but one occu-
S pant, on the third floor back. I think it will suit
you. Here Jacob, show this gentleman up to
number twelve."
And "Jake," with a deferential "This way, if
you please, sir," escorted him up to Fred's room,
regretting on the way that the elevator was tem-
porarily disabled.
Fred Arden and Craw, being thus placed to-
gether, became room-mates during the examina-
tions, and established an intimacy that continued
throughout the entire four years' course.
Soon after Craw had been shown to Fred's room,
as the two boys were seated on one of the bed-
steads talking of their new experiences, they were
startled by a shout in the lower hall:
Candida-a-tes, turn out promptly "
Rushing headlong downstairs and out-of-doors,
they found a confused mass of candidates whom
the cadet officers in charge were endeavoring to
form in double rank. This difficult task accom-
plished, the roll was called and the column
marched to the Commissary Building, where each
candidate received a mattress, a pillow, a blanket,
and an arm-chair, and one occupant of each room
received in addition a narrow-minded washstand,
a wooden bucket, and a washbowl. As soon as
each had received all he was entitled to, he
returned to his room, carrying his newly acquired
chattels with him, and arranged them in accord-
ance with precise instructions.
At one o'clock the candidates were turned out
for dinner, and were formed in column in rear
of the cadet battalions and marched to the Mess
Hall. There were boys from every quarter of
the Union, and the difference in size, manner, and
dress, combined with a certain cat-in-a-strange-
garret air, caused them to present a ludicrous
appearance, which was heightened by contrast
with the perfectly "dressed" lines of well "set-
up,"t uniformed cadets who marched just in front.
At the command Candidates, take seats!" Fred
and his companions in affliction sat down at the
tables set apart for them. Each table seated ten
at a side, and one at each end. Those at the head
and foot were called the carvers," and upon them
devolved the duty of seeing that the others received
their share of the food. At each table was also
one of the cadet officers in charge of candidates,
and they were vigilant in preserving a high degree
of decorum among their subjects.
In the course of three days all.the candidates
*Arranged in straight lines and at proper distances.

had reported, and the preliminary examinations
commenced. Five days were required to complete
them, and then all waited with what patience they
could command for the result to be made known.
One day was heard again the familiar cry of
"Candidates, turn out promptly Line was
quickly formed, and the Adjutant read from a list
the names of those who had failed, each as his
name was called stepping a pace to the front.
Nolan was among the "foundlings." He took
his failure so much to heart that he did not return
home, but from New York sailed for Cuba. On
his arrival there he wrote to Fred, but that was the
last any of the three friends ever heard of him.
Of all the candidates-over a hundred-but
seventy-three succeeded in entering, and among
these were Craw, Delange, and Fred Arden.
Thenceforth they were not candidates," but the
class of '85. Officially they were "conditional
cadets," and were so known until the semi-annual
examination in the following January. Unofficially
they were called plebess," and the name clung
throughout the whole first year, and was applied
to everything connected with it,-plebe class, plebe
camp, plebe barracks, plebe year, and plebe course
of study.

HAVING now been admitted to the Military
Academy, the military instruction of the new
cadets was immediately commenced. Every day
they were given the setting-up" exercises, and
were put through "squad" drill remorselessly. For
the purpose of drilling, the class was told off into
squads of five or six, and each squad committed to
the care of a third-class corporal or drill-master.
Fred thought at first that these ambitious "year-
lings," as the third-class men are called, took a
deep delight in making the drill unnecessarily
severe; for he could not observe at first that all
was ordered by an authority higher than a cadet-
corporal. But the peculiar intonation with which
some 'of the drill-masters would command, "Fall
in here, my squad as though they would add,
"and you '11 be glad enough when I let you go
again,"-struck terror to his heart.
Every June, following the graduation of the
first class, the corps of cadets goes into camp for
two months. This is a season of rest from study,
although instruction in military duties goes on
with increased vigor. During the summer, also,
the cadets give a series of hops and germans which
attract many people. The hotels in the neighbor-
hood are well filled, and West Point wears a
holiday aspect. It is on exhibition, and many
come to see and admire.
Accordingly, soon after the result of the exami-
t In proper military style -in fit condition for parade.




nations was made known, Fred's class left barracks
and was marched into camp. Its worldly effects
were rolled up in blankets, and conveyed to the
camp in wagons; while the new class, in column
of fours, marched across the plain to the lively
music of fife and drum.
As a military organization, the cadets of the
academy constitute a battalion, commanded by
an army officer, who is known as the Commandant
of Cadets. The battalion is divided into four
companies, designated as companies "A," B,"
" C," and "D." Each company is in charge of

smaller to C and B." Craw and Fred were
both assigned to "A company, and occupied the
same tent; and as three new cadets were placed in
each of the tents assigned to that class, Delange
too went in with them. They found themselves
somewhat crowded, for the tents are designed for
one rather than three, and most of their spare time
the first day was spent in dividing and arranging
the limited space at their disposal.
That night, upon turning in, Delange carefully
closed all the openings in their canvas house,
which consequently soon became as hot as a


,rl ...i..:. of the army, usually a lieutenant, and
i.i. i.. lition a full quota of cadet officers. The
'-:,ir' .ind lieutenants are chosen from the first
*:I :. ii. sergeants from the second, and the
... i.... from the third. Officers' chevrons are
.:.-, ..!.:..:1 highly desirable, and there is always
;r- 1. i1 -Iry for the honor that attaches to them.
i a i. ..tass was divided among the cadet com-
p-nr":: .r nearly equal portions; the larger men
.2--...i r... "A" and "D" companies, and the

Dutch oven. It was not long, however, before a
corporal made them open up," amid the jeers
of the yearlings, though greatly to their own
comfort. After that, on clear nights the tent was
always left open.
The summer camp is one round of labor for the
plebe. If he were transported to another planet,
there could hardly be a greater change in his life
than that which he experiences when he leaves
the comforts of his home and plunges into the




routine of military drill and discipline of West
Point. He rises at five in the morning for rev-
eille,* and in half an hour marches to breakfast,
the interval being employed in doing the policing
of his own tent, and of the tent of the cadet to
whom he may stand in the relation of special-
duty m\ .- '! : -. ,. I.! .: ..,if i.
depresse -! ...:- : .iii ..l i r lii 1-. 1-i. .: .,
hours o-.' r l 1.' ., _. .nid '.I t,' : ..ir-
w ith par-tl ,: it T i'r. : i ] A ',:r I' ., r..
is at h al -il-*:t : !it. h ,: i ,-,' .- ,. b ,.. I... n ,


couch awaits him. He spreads his blanket on the
tent floor, and spreads himself on that, with a
quilt drawn over him for protection against the
night cold. The only change from this programme
is on Sundays, or on days when he marches on
guard. On Sunday there is the Sunday morning
inspection, and two hours at chapel, making it
anything but a day of rest; and when, as a
sentinel, he marches on guard in the morning, he
walks post two hours at a stretch in sunshine and
in rain, with four-hour intervals, during the whole
twenty-four hours that elapse before the guard is
This much, in general, falls to the lot of every
plebe, in the way of duty. -Aside from this, comes

in the question of his treatment by older cadets.
So far as Fred's own experience went, his annoy-
ance was very slight. Ability to sing, play,
dance, or render one's self entertaining in some
such way is highly appreciated by cadets; and a

hemay posis t p m

e mal te uig s hhe pleI mu bjI
'' IIg
I- I i !i i' "

Of course all did not escape so easily. Many
T i;;i

antly roughed in other ways; but experience
'*a i --_ -;i-,

i i iii' i


readiness to exercise what few accomplishments
he may possess usually saves the plebe much ha-
During his school days Fred had committed to
memory a few humorous poems, and the occa-
sional rendering of them in his plebe camp was
about all the "hazing" to which he was subjected.
Of course all did not escape so easily. Many
had guns to clean and water to carry and bedding
to pile for the upper-class men, and were unpleas-
antly "roughed" in other ways; but experience
afterward convinced Fred that the ill-usage which
a new cadet ordinarily receives is almost always
exaggerated in the accounts which reach the public
through the press.

(To be continued.)
SPronounced rev'-a-lee. t The cleansing of a camp or garrison.
SWhen a cadet is on guard duty, or otherwise employed so as to be unable to police his own tent, this duty is assigned to another
cadet who is called his special-duty man."







ONE needs to go about the world with his eyes
open for a few years only, to find how ignorant
he was before his journeyings began, or to learn
that while he thought himself possessed of ordi-
nary kindness and tenderness, he may in reality
have been deficient in both.
Never was my mind so opened to this fact as
when, walking one day on Wilsdruffer Strasse, in
Dresden, I was arrested by a large sign over the
door of a building that I was passing, the words
of which, translated into literal English, meant
" Dolls' Invalid Hospital." I had all my life lived
in a land where hospitals abounded, had been a
director in hospital boards, had worked in them
and for them during the War of the Rebellion, had
paid dues to them for many years; but here was
an appeal which had never been made to my
heart before. I had never so much as heard of
an Invalid Dolls' Hospital." That great family,
so tenderly beloved, and which has held so im-
portant a part in the world's history-what had
Americans ever done for its afflicted members ?
To our shame be it said, we have been as cruel
as the pariahs of India, who place their sick
fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters and children in
great sheds, and leave them to be sustained by
what charity throws them, or to die unaided when
illness overtakes them. In fact, our method of
abandoning dolls has been worse, as many a rag-
bag, ash-barrel, and dust-heap might testify. And
when I saw that sign, I felt the blush of shame
mantle my cheek; and I tried to excuse the neg-
lect by saying to myself:
We are yet so young Here is Saxony, which
has existed for many centuries, while we are only
one century old She has had time to work up
this reform, which with us is yet of the future."

Now, Germany is really the Doll Country. We
hear at home of the Paris doll as the representa-
tive of its race. It is true that the doll popula-
tion of France, and especially of Paris, is very
large; but it is essentially a class race in the latter
place. As you pass through the streets, you see
them dressed in the latest mode, and looking at
you out of their great eyes for approval of their
style. But in Dresden and- other German cities
you see dolls of every rank. You see them in
every style of dress and undress. You encounter
them of every nationality, represented by its pecul-
iar costume, and not, as in France, all Parisian-
ized. You see establishments devoted entirely to
the fashioning of their clothing; you go to an
adjacent town to visit some manufactory of porce-
lain, or historical monument, and you find whole-
sale makers of dolls' bonnets, and you become

impressed with the importance of the position
the doll occupies in the economy of the world.
The appliances for their comfort accumulate as


time rolls on, and there is nothing which any
nation of refinement possesses which is not fur-
nished to the doll-folk. I saw all the latest im-

I walked through Friedrichs Alle. This is a
broad, unpaved street, which extends a long dis-
tance across the busy part of the town. Rows of


provements, from cooking ranges and laundry
conveniences up to. the luxuries of the drawing-
room, boudoir, toilet and ball-room, repeated for
them in Dresden, until I felt myself to be but a
cipher, in that I was wholly without many of the
appointments which are considered necessary for
even a well-to-do doll.
But these very things-- luxury and the excessive
refinement of life- bring illness and suffering in
their train, and thus I could understand how
necessary were the wise provisions I had seen for
their relief. I was, therefore, the more gratified
when a day or two after passing the Invalid Dolls'
Hospital I saw other like institutions of mercy, as

fine trees line the walks. The houses stand about
fifty feet from the street, and have in front pleasant
yards inclosed by open fences. In the spring,
summer, and autumn it is a charming locality,
airy and attractive. Here one may walk shielded
from the rays of the sun; and the situation is as
healthful as one could wish, and eminently adapted
to the comfort of the ill.
On the great gate-post of one of these houses I
saw a sign bearing this legend, Dolls' Retreat ";
and near it another, "Dolls' Infirmary." I deter-
mined to investigate the workings of all these
institutions and to make them known to my
countrymen, or, more particularly, to my little



countrywomen, who naturally are more interested
in woes of this special sort. I went first to the
Invalid Dolls' Hospital, but found to my dismay
that to none of these dolls' institutions was any
one admitted, save the directors and the families
of patients. I told the head surgeon, as I dubbed
the proprietor, that my desire was to carry back
to America some account of this noble work; and
he very graciously gave me some information
which I take pleasure in communicating to the
readers of ST. NICHOLAS.
He informed me that as a rule doll-folk were
less subject to internal maladies than to fractures

a few cases which may be of interest. One was
a blonde young creature who had lost all her
hair. The injury occurred in a railway accident,
when toy railway cars had come into collision.
She had been projected through a window by the
shock, and her hair had been wound about the
car wheel until it was fairly lifted from the crown
of her head. By an application of a certain cereous
preparation to the wound, and a kind of engrafting
process, which, as he described it, seemed a perfect
triumph of science, the parts had been restored;
and it was expected that she would be discharged
cured within the week.


and ailments which require surgical treatment. Another case in the male ward was that of a
I shall not repeat all the afflictions of which he young doll gentleman who had been on a hunting
told me, lest I should distress you; but he related party where all the horses were rockers; he had




been thrown under one of the steeds, which had cident, related to me by the head surgeon. I give
passed over him, breaking the left leg atd the it in his own words.
right arm. These were in splinters at the time It is," said he, a well known fact that there are


of which I write. I was pleased to hear the sur-
geon say that he would do as much to hasten the
recovery of the poorest and most ungrateful of his
patients as he would to restore this chivalrous
hunter; thereby showing the purity of his profes-
sional character.

I was amazed at the supply of artificial legs,
arms, eyes, noses, and ears which I saw in the
office of the Hospital. When these have been
adjusted to the maimed patients, and they have
reached a state of convalescence, they are sent to
the Dolls' Retreat, to remain till all scars of the
surgeon's work are removed by time. But for the
testimony of the surgeon himself, I could never
have believed what losses had been sustained'by
those I saw discharged as cured.
The value of this institution and its efficient corps
of workers may be illustrated by the following in-

different orders of beings among the doll people.
Such are occasionally seen to appear, especially at
the Christmas season-winged creatures, who
alight upon the Christmas-tree, and are messen-
gers of joy to all present. This very holiday sea-
son, one of these little beings, which had been
going about gladdening all hearts for several days
without a moment of rest, fell asleep from sheer
weariness while resting upon the tip-top of a tree
filled with all manner of good things. By careless-
ness on the part of some
one, it was jostled over
and fell to the polished
floor, breaking off both
its beautiful golden wings
by the fall. Now, had it
been instantly brought
here, what I am about
to tell you would never
have happened. An in-
experienced person was
called, he put the wings
in position, and the pa-
tient was required to lie
on its face till adhesion
took place. Alas! when
the parts had knit and'

v ,

the bandages were removed, it was found that one
of the wonderful wings was upside down !
The various attendants were deeply grieved
when I told them of our having absolutely nothing



in America corresponding to their merciful insti-
tutions; and the proprietor exclaimed, "What a
pity when I related the woes I had there wit-
nessed with no means of alleviation. I begged
him to issue a circular of his establishment in the
English language, and I promised that it should

be given to many young and influential friends in
England and America.
He kindly complied, and I now present his state-
ment to you just as he wrote it, without attempting
to alter the somewhat German idiom, hoping it
may prove a real comfort to all doll mothers.

WE would to your worthy Highnesses the throughout Germany much-famed Invalid Dolls' Hospital make
known. This much by Royalty and Respectables patronized Institution has since before many years already for
healing and curing of all injuries, accidents, as well as disorders of Dolls, founded been; and has the thanks of
many weeping Doll mothers received, on account of the many cherished Dolls from destruction hereby saved.
This so-called Dolls' Invalid Hospital has best experience to the cure of all cases from Falls, Drowning, Fires,
Knives, Mice, etc., and for supply of all parts, as Legs, Arms, Noses, Heads, etc., equal newness as at first.
Further, we can the fallen-off hair supply; the fresh Complexion put on; to the unspeaking Dolls voices
give, and the crooked eyes straighten. Ordinations we have for the making of Doll gruel, and many medicinal
preparations for the Weak and Feeble to strengthen. Also patent Doll Invalid Beds and Wagons for all sizes.
Doll mothers dare their precious Charges to our care, with sureness of Best Treatment at Reasonable Prices,
Patronized by the High and Mighty Little Princesses of Saxony.
Princess Tuchen, of Tinklewasser. Princess Lisbette, of Rollbetten.
Princess Lisa, of Steckenpferd. Countess Dora Doodelsack-
Princess Gretchen, of Mantelkoppe. Baroness Von Trumphen.



OH, Mattie!" exclaimed Jenny, running to
the window as she sprang out of bed, It rains! "
Rains ?" echoed Mattie. "Oh, Jenny, it
can't rain on May Day 1 "
But it does," said the pitiless little observer at
the window.
Both children dressed as quickly as they could,
with stopping every few minutes to look out at the
sidewalk and the sky. Before many minutes they
hurried into the breakfast-room to consult Papa;
but in their eagerness they had come down long
before Papa was ready for breakfast.
"Let 's look in the paper," said Tom, who had
rushed down from the third story in quite as much
of a hurry as his sisters. Here it is; let's see what
'Old Prob.' says: For New England and Middle
States, slightly cooler with local rains.' Horrid
old thing Everybody says he 's always wrong."
"But we're not New England and Middle States,"
said Mattie. We're the State of New York."
Goosie! said Tom with a superior smile.
"Don't you know that New York is one of the
Middle States ? But see here, girls here's some-
thing more; out West it 's going to be awfully
clear to-day."

"Where 's out West' ?" inquired Mattie.
"Well," said Tom, with a comical glance at
Jenny; "you know we live on the east side of
the Park, and where we 're going for the May
party is on the west side. I wonder if that is n't
far enough out West' for it to be clear "
Just at this moment Mr. Wilson came down-
stairs and there was a general rush.
Oh, Papa, did you ever, ever hear of such a
thing as its raining on May Day ? "
Well, yes, Papa thought he had. But he did
not think it need make much difference; they
could go to the Park to-morrow.
To-morrow! exclaimed Jenny, reproach-
fully. "Why, to-morrow will be nothing but a
day in May: it won't be May Day."
And, besides," added Tom, "we can't go to-
morrow; our permit is for to-day."
Then Papa remembered that he had really had
to apply for a permit for the children, because so
many May parties want to go to the Park, that
there would be hopeless confusion unless each had
a separate place allotted it. The Wilson children
had applied for a permit very early, and had been
fortunate enough to have one given them for the



very, very day. Some children had to wait until
one of the Saturdays at the very end of the month,
because there were so many parties.
And how it was raining! Mamma did her best
to comfort them; she said she would put on her


water-proof and take her umbrella, and run around
to their little cousins' house, and send Susie and
Robert and Hattie, who were to have been of the
party, to spend the day in the house with them;
and they could have a nice dance in the parlor,
and there should be some ice-cream.
Well, it might be all very nice, but of course it
could n't compare with a party in the Park. It
was a very doleful little group that stood at the
window, watching Mamma as she turned the cor-
ner. Even the baby, who was quite too young to
go to the Park, and who had n't the faintest idea
what a May party was, or why they were all so
miserable, rubbed his little fists into his eyes for
sympathy, and murmured sorrowfully, Wain!
wain when anybody looked at him.
"It is n't raining very hard," said Susie and
Robert and Hattie, when they came in a few
minutes later. "Papa says perhaps it will clear
"Anyhow, we'd better get our things on, so as
to be ready," said Jenny; and for a while they
were really quite happy while they dressed Mattie,
who was to be the Queen, in her white dress, and
put on her little white veil and the wreath of
paper roses. And then in the midst of it came a
ring at the door, and a box addressed to Miss
Mattie Wilson! And inside of it was a perfectly
lovely wreath of real pink roses that Mamma had
sent home to make the dance in the parlor a little
more festive. But their faces fell once more when
they stole to the window again in all their finery
and saw the big drops still falling.

That's what the newspaper means by 'falling
temperature,' I suppose," said Mattie.
But there 's luncheon to see to," said practical
Jenny. I will go and get the basket ready, and
perhaps by that time it will be clear."
True enough, when she came back, Susie, who
had been watching all the time at the window,
It is n't raining."
She did not say it with a great deal of enthusi-
asm; for she was conscious that although it did
not actually rain at the moment, the sidewalk was
very wet and the sky very gloomy, and the wind
rather cold.
But, dear me, if it had only stopped raining,.
that was enough Perhaps the sun would be
shining "out West," where they were going.
They could put on their water-proofs and rubbers.
Of course Mattie could n't wear a water-proof; no-
body ever heard of a queen in a water-proof; but
they could take an umbrella to hold over Mattie
in case it should rain again; and without a
thought that Mamma could possibly object, now
that it did not actually rain at the moment, they
were soon trooping down the steps and walking
rapidly out West," where perhaps the sun
would be shining.
From my window, overlooking the Park, I saw
them going through one of the big gates: oh, so
many Matties and Hatties and Susies and Jennies
and Roberts and Toms, on that rainy day in May !
And I wondered what in the world their mammas
could be thinking of, to let them run in the damp



grass and under the dripping trees, with only their
thin little wreaths of paper roses on their heads,
and thin little veils of gauzy stuff over their white
dresses. You see, I did not know about their
mammas' having gone for the ice-cream that was
to keep them happy in the house.


It was not very encouraging, as they went farther
into the Park, and began to see other parties rather
disconsolate in the cold, damp air. A small girl
was blowing her fingers to keep them warm, and
a boy was vainly trying to throw to the breeze a
very damp American flag that had been caught in
the last shower. And very soon- alas alas the
big drops began to fall again.
Is it a 'local shower,' do you think, Tom?"
asked Mattie timidly.


the cake as hurriedly as possible, and then organ-
ized their dance. Mattie was to stand still and
hold the umbrella over her crown of roses, while
the rest of them joined hands and danced about
"But nobody can see I am the Queen," said
Mattie, if I have an umbrella over me."
This was a dilemma, indeed. Then, fortunately,
Susie remembered the wreath of paper roses.
Mattie can wear the real roses," she suggested;

*:t i'' t i

4 -


4 ''

'.- (',~ I -~-
,J,, *,


"We ought to have brought two umbrellas,"
said Tom anxiously,-" one for Mattie and one
for the lunch-basket."
They stopped to consult. It would never do to
let the Queen's flowers be rained on; but then it
would also never do to have the cake soaked
"We might eat the cake," suggested Mattie.
"And then you would n't have to carry it."
This was considered a brilliant idea. They ate
VOL. XIV.-36.

" and we can put the paper roses on the outside
of the umbrella. Then everybody will know
where the Queen is.":
They had just arranged it successfully, when
who should come up-anxious, out of breath,
and almost weeping-but Mamma and Aunt
Sarah They had known just where to find the
children, for they knew the place for which they
had the permit; and in another minute the little
band was hurrying home, where they were made



to change all their clothes immediately, and then to And strange to say, not one of them did take
dance and run and play games to keep themselves cold. I have often noticed-have n't you?-that
warm, and to drink hot lemonade to prevent their we are not nearly so likely to take cold when we
taking cold, until they declared that their rainy are having a good time, as when we are having
May Day had actually been the pleasantest of all. a "horrid" time.

-1 _-

_: HIL ,)-B LA ,E HEL-



IN a certain famous story of English country-
life, entitled Middlemarch," Mr. Caleb Garth is
represented as a Warwickshire land-agent and the
father of Mary Garth, one of the heroines of the
story. Mr. Garth had an office in the town of
Middlemarch, but the house in which he and his
family lived was a little way outside the town -a
homely place with an orchard in front of it." It
was a rambling, old-fashioned, half-timbered
building, which before the town had spread had
been a farm-house, but was now surrounded with
the private gardens of the townsmen. The Garth
family, which was rather a large one, were very
fond of their old house, even to the attic, which
smelled deliciously of apples and quinces."
Mrs. Garth "had sometimes taken pupils, in
a peripatetic fashion, making them follow her
about in the kitchen with their book or slate. She
thought it good for them to see that she could
make an excellent lather while she corrected their
blunders 'without looking';-that a woman with
her sleeves tucked up above her elbows might
know all about the Subjunctive Mood or the
Torrid Zone;-that, in short, she might possess
'education' and other good things ending in
'tion' and worthy to be pronounced emphatically,
without being a useless doll.
Mrs. Garth, at certain hours, was always in
the kitchen, and this morning she was carrying on

several occupations at once there, making her pies
at the well-scoured deal table, on one side of that
airy room, observing Sally's movements at the
oven and dough-tub through an open door, and
giving lessons to her youngest boy and girl, who
were standing opposite to her at the table, with
their books and slates before them. A tub and a
clothes-horse at the other end of the kitchen indi-
cated an intermittent wash of small things also
going on. Mrs. Garth, with her sleeves turned
above her elbows, deftly handling her pastry,
applying her rolling-pin, and giving ornamental
pinches while she expounded with grammatical
fervor what were the right views about the con-
cord of verbs and pronouns with nouns of multi-
tude, or signifying many,' was a sight agreeably
Now let us go through that once more,' said
Mrs. Garth, pinching an apple-puff, which seemed
to distract Ben, an energetic young male with a
heavy brow, from due attention to the lesson. 'Not
without regard to the import of the word as convey-
ing unity or plurality of idea-tell me again what
that.means, Ben.'
Oh -it means- you must think-you mean,'
said Ben rather peevishly. 'I hate grammar!
What 's the use of it?'
'To teach you to speak and write correctly, so
that you can be understood,' said Mrs. Garth,



with severe precision. Should you like to speak as
old Job does?'
Yes,' said Ben stoutly; 'it's funnier. He
says Yo goo;--that 's just as good as You go.'
"' But he says, A s/ip 's in the garden, instead
of a skeep,' said Letty, with an air of superiority.
'You might think he meant a ship off the sea.'
"' No, you might n't, if you were n't silly,' said
Ben. How could a ship off the sea come there ?'
"'These things belong only to pronunciation,
which is the least part of grammar,' said Mrs.
Garth.-' That apple-peel is to be eaten by the
pigs, Ben; if you eat it, I must give them your
piece of pastry.-Job has only to speak about very
plain things. How do you think you would write
or speak about anything more difficult, if you
knew no more of grammar than he does? You
would use wrong words, and put words in the wrong
places, and instead of making people understand
you, they would turn away from you as a tiresome
person. What would you do then?'
"'I should n't care, I should leave off,' said
Ben, with a sense that this was an agreeable issue
where grammar was concerned.
'I see you are getting tired and stupid, Ben,'
said Mrs. Garth. ... Having finished her pies she
moved toward the clothes-horse, and said to the
lad, 'Come here and tell me the story I told you
on Wednesday, about Cincinnatus.'
"'I know he was a farmer,' said Ben.
"'Now, Ben, he was a Roman-let me tell,'
said Letty, using her elbow contentiously.
You silly thing, he was a Roman farmer, and
he was plowing.'
'Yes, but before that-that did n't come first
-people wanted him-' said Letty.
"'Well, but you must say what sort of a man
he was first,' insisted Ben. He was a wise man,
like my father, and that made the people want his
advice. And he was a brave man, and could fight.
And so could my father, could n't he, Mother?'
'Now, Ben, let me tell the story straight on,
as Mother told it to us,' said Letty, frowning.
'Please, Mother, tell Ben not to speak.'
Letty, I am ashamed of you,' said her mother,
wringing out the caps from the tub. 'When your
brother began, you ought to have waited to see if
he could not tell the story. How rude you look,
pushing and frowning, as if you wanted to conquer
with your elbows Cincinnatus, I am sure, would
have been sorry to see his daughter behave so.
"' Now, Ben.'
'Well-oh-well-why, there was a great
deal of fighting, and they were all blockheads,
and- I can't tell it just as you told it-but they
wanted a man to be captain, and king, and every-
thing --

Dictator, now,' said Letty, with injured looks,
and not without a wish to make her mother repent.
Very well, dictator said Ben, contemptu-
ously. But that is n't a good word ; he did n't
tell them to write on slates.'
"' Come, come, Ben ; you are not so ignorant
as that,' said Mrs. Garth, carefully serious, 'Hark,
there is a knock at the door! Run, Letty, and
open it.' "
The visitor proved to be Fred Vincy, a young
man whom both mother and children knew well.
He had come to see Mr. Garth, and came -into
the kitchen to wait for his return; Mrs. Garth
saying, after she had greeted him:
'Do you mind staying with me while I finish
my matters here ?'
"'But we need n't go on about Cincinnatus,
need we ? said Ben, who had taken Fred's whip
out of his hand and was trying its efficiency on the
'No; go out now. But put that whip down.
How very mean of you to whip poor old Tortoise !
Pray, take the whip from him, Fred.'
Come, old boy, give it me,' said Fred, put-
ting out his hand.
"' Will you let me ride on your horse to-day ?'
said Ben, rendering up the whip with an air of not
being obliged to do it.
'Not to-day--another time,' said Fred."
And the children ran off to play.

Ben and Letty had a grown sister named Mary,
to whom they were very much devoted, not only
because she was very kind to them, but also be-
cause she "played at forfeits and made fun and
was always ready to contribute to their amuse-

'Oh, don't sew, Mary!' said Ben, one morn-
ing, pulling her arm down, as Mary took up her
work which she had 'kept on her lap during
breakfast.' 'Make me a peacock with this bread-
crumb.' He had been kneading a small mass for
the purpose.
No, no, Mischief! said Mary, good-humor-
edly, while she pricked his hand lightly with her
needle. 'Try and mold it yourself; you have
seen me do it often enough. I must get this sew-
ing done. It is for Rosamond Vincy; she is to be
married next week, and she can't be married with-
out this handkerchief,' Mary ended merrily, amused
with the last notion.
'Why can't she, Mary?' said Letty, seri-
ously interested in this mystery, and pushing her
head so close to her sister that Mary now turned
the threatening needle towards Letty's nose.
'Because this is one of a dozen, and without
it there would only be eleven,' said Mary, with a


grave air of explanation, so that Letty sank back
with a sense of knowledge."
Soon after this, Mary went to stay a while at
Lowich Parsonage, not far off; and during her
absence, Christy, her eldest brother, came home
for a short holiday. Fred Vincy, coming over
again to see the Garths, "found the entire family
group, dogs and cats included, under the great
apple-tree in the orchard. It was a festival with
Mrs. Garth, for Christy was her peculiar pride and
joy. He was lying on the ground now, by
his mother's chair, with his straw hat laid flat over
his eyes, while Jim, on the other side, was reading
aloud from that beloved writer who has made a
chief part in the happiness of many young lives.
The volume was Ivanhoe,' and Jim was in the
great archery scene at the tournament, but suf-
fered much interruption from Ben, who had
fetched his own old bow and arrows, and was
making himself dreadfully disagreeable, Letty
thought, by begging all present to observe his
random shots, which no one wished to do except
Brownie, the active-minded, but probably shallow
mongrel, while the grizzled Newfoundland, lying
in the sun, looked on with the dull-eyed neutral-
ity of extreme old age. Letty herself, showing as
to her mouth and pinafore some slight signs that
she had been assisting at the gathering of the
cherries, which stood in a coral heap on the tea-
table, was now seated on the grass, listening open-
eyed to the reading.
"But the center of interest was changed for all
by the arrival of Fred Vincy. When, seating
himself on the garden-stool, he said he was on his
way to Lowich Parsonage, Ben, who had thrown
down his bow and snatched up a reluctant half-
grown kitten instead, strode across Fred's out-
stretched legs and said, Take me !'
'Oh, and me, too!' said Letty.
You can't keep up with Fred and me,' said
Yes, I can. Mother, please say I 'm to go,'
urged Letty, whose life was much checkered by
resistance to her depreciation as a girl.
'I shall stay with Christy,' observed Jim; as
much as to say that he had the advantage of those

simpletons; whereupon Letty put her hand to
her head and looked with jealous indecision from
one to.the other.
'Let us all go and see Mary,' said Christy,
opening his arms.
No, my dear child, we must not go in a swarm
to the Parsonage,'" said Mrs, Garth. "' Besides,
your father will come home. We must let Fred
go alone. He can tell Mary that you are here,
and she will come back to-morrow.'"
She turned away to talk with Fred, but before
his interview was half ended, there was a rush
of unintended consequences under the apple-tree
where the tea-things stood. Ben, bouncing across
the grass with Brownie at his heels, and seeing
the kitten dragging the knitting by a lengthening
line of wool, shouted and clapped his hands;
Brownie barked, the kitten, desperate, jumped on
the tea-table and upset the milk, then jumped down
again and swept half the cherries with it; and Ben,
snatching up the half-knitted sock-top, fitted it
over the kitten's head as a new source of madness ;
while Letty, arriving, cried out to her mother
against this cruelty. It was a history as full of
sensation as This is the house that Jack built.'"

So, in and out through this long and wonderful
story these young folk go; loving each other
dearly, but engaging in fierce though friendly
argument over trifles, as brothers and sisters will
do, all the world over.
And the last glimpse we have of them is quite at
the end of the story, where they are found deep in
an argument over the relative value of boys and
girls. Then Ben, so says the story, "immediately
appealed to his mother whether boys were not
better than girls. Mrs. Garth pronounced that
both were alike naughty, but that boys were
undoubtedly stronger, could run faster, and throw
with more precision to a greater distance. With
this oracular sentence Ben was well satisfied, not
minding the naughtiness; but Letty took it ill,
her feeling of superiority being stronger than her
Do not we all know Ben and Letty only per-
haps under other names?





THE first thing for a boy or a girl to remember
in considering war is-that soldiers must eat. It
is generally supposed that the most important
duty of a soldier is to fight; but this is a mistake.
He must eat before he can fight; and more battles
have been lost because commanders could not
feed their armies, than because they could not
fight the enemy. This fact should be especially
borne in mind by those who wish to understand
the March to the Sea.
In 1864, when Grant took command of the
armies of the United States, there were two great
forces of the South to be beaten and destroyed if
the Union was to be saved. One was the army
under General Robert E. Lee, between Washing-
ton and Richmond; the other that in Northern
Georgia, before Chattanooga, commanded by
General Joseph E. Johnston. Grant remained in
person at the East, and undertook to defeat Lee's
army there; while he gave to General William T.
Sherman the task of subduing Johnston's forces.
Chattanooga is in the heart of the Cumberland
Mountains, on the borders of Tennessee and
Georgia. It stands at the junction of the great
railroad which runs east and west between the
Mississippi and the Atlantic, and that other
equally important one running north and south
between the Ohio and the Gulf of Mexico. By
these two railroads the Southern Confederacy,
during the early part of the war, had sent supplies
to its armies. But when Grant won Chattanooga
in 1863, one line was broken; and the Southerners
fell back for communication to other railroads
which met at Atlanta, connecting that place with
Mobile, Savannah, New Orleans, and Richmond.
The control of the railroads is the object of every
great campaign in modern war. Whoever holds
the railroads can mdve troops and ammunition
and food to the important point more quickly
than the enemy. And everything depends upon
being stronger than your enemy at the import-
ant point. One man is nearly as good as another
man, at least on the average. Ten thousand
men of one nation are nearly sure to be worth ten
thousand of another; and certainly in the great
American war, where all of the men were of the
same nation, there was little difference in the
fighting quality of the opposing forces. One
side had more dash, the other more endurance;
one perhaps went into battle more furiously, the
other I should say held out more stubbornly;

but in the end the men on one side were about
as good for fighting purposes as those on the
other. Whoever had most men, therefore, was
most likely to win. But they must be equipped
and fed. To have more men than you can feed,
is worse than not having enough.
When Grant won Chattanooga, he secured the
great highway across the continent from Missis-
sippi to the sea, as well as the gateway into Georgia.
Then he ordered Sherman to advance southward
to the next great crossing of railroads, at Atlanta.
It took Sherman four months to carry out this
order. He had to move through a mountainous
region, by narrow defiles, across numerous streams,
against an army of his own countrymen, as good
soldiers as ever fought, and led by a general who
had no superior in skill or courage on either side dur-
ing the war, who knew how to fight and to fortify,
to put every obstacle in the way of his antagonist,
to hold him off as long as possible, and -quite as
important as anything else-to fall back when he
could hold out no longer. Johnston opposed
Sherman in this way. But Sherman had more
men and equal skill and courage. His military
genius taught him, as a rule, not to attack the
enemy in his strong defenses, but to move around
him, to flank him as it is called,- to threaten his
rear and his communications, to place the National
army in such a position that it could interrupt
Johnston's supplies of food, so that Johnston must
either drive Sherman off by fighting, or lose his sup-
plies, or fall back to another position. He could
not, of course, afford to lose his supplies, for, as I
have said, armies must first of all be fed; and he
had not men enough to attack Sherman with much
chance of success; so in each case, after awhile
he had to fall back. But he delayed Sherman as
long as he could, in the hope of wearing him out,
or in the hope that some disaster might happen to
the Union cause elsewhere, that would compel
Grant to take Sherman away. But Grant held
his own everywhere else, and Sherman did not
get tired. So the succession of flank movements
and retreats and occasional battles went on from
May until July.
Then the Confederate President, with great un-
wisdom, removed the skillful and sagacious John-
ston, because he fell back so constantly (when
there was nothing else for him to do), and put
General Hood, a headstrong sort of soldier, in his
place. Hood at once attacked Sherman, and two



or three heavy battles occurred, in which many
lives were lost and Hood was invariably beaten.
As he had fewer men than Sherman, he was less
able to bear the loss, and was comparatively
weaker at the end of every fight than at the be-
ginning. Finally, he was driven into Atlanta,
and then Sherman made another flank move-
ment, almost surrounding the town, and threat-
ening to block every railroad leading into it.
This compelled Hood to abandon the place pre-
cipitately, in order to save his only communica-

road which he had wrested from the Confederates.
Hood, therefore, flung his army around on this
road at various points between Atlanta and Chat-
tanooga, that is, between Sherman and his base;
and Sherman soon discovered that he was in
great danger. The enemy was highly elated, and
declared that the Union army must either starve
or retreat over the line it had won. Sherman,
however, did not give up Atlanta; but he had to
move a great part of his army back in order to
drive off Hood and re-open the road. But Hood


tions. Thereupon Sherman entered Atlanta, and
the first part of his task was accomplished.
Soon, however, Hood thought he would try
Sherman's game. The Union commander was
now three hundred miles from Nashville, the point
where his food was stored. Now, it is impossible
to carry many days' provisions for sixty thousand
men along with them; armies must therefore
have a "base," that is, a point where their food is
stored; and they must keep open the road to this
base. Sherman was now in an enemy's country;
he could get nothing from the people except by
force, and all his supplies came along the one

could keep up his attacks on the railroad indefi-
nitely; he had his own country behind him, and the
supplies of the South to draw from. Sherman,
therefore, for all his victories, had won little more
than the ground he stood on.
Grant's plan had been that Sherman, after
entering Atlanta, should march on to Mobile,
holding the line that he had gained. This would
have cut the Confederacy in two. But Sherman
found the achievement impossible; and after
chasing Hood about in the rear for a month
or two, and accomplishing nothing but to hold
his own, he conceived another idea,-one of




the grandest and boldest that ever occurred to a
man in war. This was nothing else than to give
up Atlanta and the railroad to Chattanooga, to
abandon all supplies from the North, and to dash
into the enemy's country, depending upon the coun-
try itself for supplies, and then make a way to
either the Atlantic or the Gulf of Mexico. He
proposed to take his sixty thousand men into the in-
terior of the Confederacy, where he could have no
communication with any other Union army, no
help from Grant or the Government, no news from
them for at least a month; to risk meeting what-
ever force the Southerners might collect to obstruct
him, and to depend upon what he could find to
feed his army,-men and horses. No such enter-
prise had ever been attempted in modern war.
Sherman proposed this scheme to Grant, who saw
the necessity of some change of plan at the West,
but at first did not think favorably of Sherman's sug-
gestion. Grant thought that Hood's army would
be set free to go North and attack Kentucky and,
possibly, Ohio. Sherman believed that Hoodwould
follow him into the interior, where he thought he
could take care of the impetuous Southerner. The
Government, that is, Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Stan-
ton,-the President and the Secretary of War,-
were strongly opposed to Sherman's plan; but they

The first thing that Sherman did was to destroy
the railroad in his rear, from Atlanta northward;
lest what had been of so much importance to him
should now become of use to the enemy. Then he
burned everything valuable in Atlanta,- the ma-
chine-shops, foundries and storehouses which had
supplied guns and clothing for the Confederacy.
The population of the town he had previously ex-
pelled. For war is full of horrors, and peaceable
citizens, women and children, in an invaded coun-
try, suffer almost as much as those engaged in
battle. In the civil war of America, however, there
were few peaceable male citizens. The war was a
people's war, and almost every white man at the
South was engaged either actually as a soldier, or
in some occupation that contributed to support
the army.
Generally speaking, there were no non-combat-
ants visible except the blacks and the women and
children. A stray old man or an invalid was some-
times found, but I have been weeks in a Union
army marching through the South and never seen
a man who did not bear arms. There never was
a war in the world in which the population was
more apparently unanimous than the Southerners
were, in our great Civil War.
Sherman started from Atlanta on the I5th of

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left it to Grant to decide. Grant finally deter-
mined to collect another army under Thomas in
Tennessee, which could withstand Hood if he
should turn northward, and then the General-in-
Chief consented that Sherman should attempt his
venturesome campaign.

November. He took 65 cannon, 2,500 wagons,
food--rations, the soldiers call it-for twenty
days, some beef cattle that were driven with the
army, and 240 rounds of ammunition for every
man; there was forage enough to supply the
horses five days. With this stock in hand, the


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army moved. It was uncertain what enemy the
Northern soldiers might meet in front, or what
might follow them; it was uncertain what supplies
they would be able to collect,-and if there should
be much fighting to do, there would be little time
to collect supplies; it was uncertain what point
they might be able to reach Savannah or Mobile,
the Atlantic or the Gulf of Mexico. It was uncer-
tain how long they might be on the way, or when
they could communicate again with their comrades.
They were one hundred and fifty miles from any


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ward, thinking little then of the thousand
miles that lay between them and Richmond.
The army was divided into two columns, with
the cavalry kept distinct, so as to move about
quickly in every direction, and hide the Union op-
erations, while detecting what the enemy might
be doing,- in fact, to serve as a curtain for Sher-
man's movements, that could be withdrawn when-
ever he chose. The first march was to be to Mil-
ledgeville, the capital of Georgia, and one hundred
miles southeast of Atlanta. This point Sherman
hoped to reach in seven days.
The two columns moved by different roads,




twenty or thirty miles apart, so as to give the appear-
ance of intending to strike points on each side of
those they were really aiming at. The troops started
at the earliest dawn and marched till noon. Then
there was a halt for the day, always, of course, near
a stream; water was brought and the cooking be-
gan, and the pine-trees were cut, not only for fire,
but for shelter and beds, for there were no tents
taken with the army; everybody went into bivouac.
The pines grew far apart and without branches
till near the top, and as the soldiers moved
through the groves of fragrant evergreen, hewing
the trunks, collecting the branches, and lighting
the fires, they made a picture which those who saw
it never forgot. At night the great fires blazed
high for miles, and threw a red light over the
landscape long after the blue-coated soldiers had
sunk to slumber on their couches of leaves.
The fences along the road were destroyed
for fire-wood, and all the rails of the railroads
were taken up. Huge piles of the iron were laid


tion of the railroads was one of the principal ob-
jects of the campaign. All bridges were burned
as soon as crossed, and the country was left as
impassable as possible for an enemy.
The column moved at the rate of ten or fifteen
miles a day. As early as three o'clock the bugles
summoned the sleeping soldiers, and long before
sunrise the army breakfast was over. The animals
were fed, the wagons packed, the knapsacks
strapped to the shoulders of the men, and the
troops again fell into line. The column took the
main road, with flankers on either hand to guard
against surprise.
The orders were for the troops to forage liber-
ally off the country. The region was rich and had
never before been visited by an enemy. Meal,
bacon, sweet potatoes, poultry, cows and oxen were
abundant, as well as horses and mules. Parties
were sent out afoot before daylight from every
brigade, on each side of the line of march, to
ransack every farm and plantation within range.

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across the fires till the metal was softened, and
then the soldiers took it to the neighboring trees,
and twisted it, red and hissing, around the juicy
saplings, so that it might not be used to repair the
road after the army had passed; for the destruc-

Usually they procured a wagon or perhaps a family
carriage, and loaded it with provisions,-meal,
bacon, turkeys, chickens, ducks, hogs,- what-
ever could be useful for food or forage, and
then returned to the roadside and waited till

* General Sherman's headquarters were four hospital "flies stretched over poles and backed with brush.


their commands came up. The spectacle of these
halting squads was very amusing as the column
passed. The men were all mounted on horses,
mules, or even cattle, sometimes with saddles
but oftener without; the animals were packed with
hams, live fowl, bags of grain or flour, and even
articles of furniture or clothing; for war is often only
organized robbery. The parties were surrounded
by crowds of negroes, who everywhere left their
masters to follow the Union army; men, women,
and children, all knew they were emancipated.
They swarmed around the column, clinging to
the horses, kissing the hands and feet of the offi-
cers, frantic with joy at the arrival of those whom
they looked upon as their deliverers.
As Grant had predicted, Hood at once turned
northward when Sherman started South, so that no
enemy followed the army. This, however, was
not known to Sherman, and every precaution was
taken against pursuit or surprise. In front the
Southerners were full of alarm. No one of their
great armies was within reach, but at various
points detachments of troops had been stationed,
and every effort was made to get these together
to obstruct the Union advance. But nothing
could be done against a force so large as Sher-
man's, and except at one point the army met no
opposition whatever on its way to Milledgeville.
Once a Southern force was found apparently willing
to dispute the advance, but it was swept away with
a fight that was hardly a skirmish. Sherman
reached Milledgeville, as he had expected, in
seven days. The Governor and other officers of
the State had fled, but the inhabitants remained.
Sherman burned the arsenal and the public build-
ings that might prove useful to an enemy, and the
next day the second stage of the march began.
The same general plan was followed as before, the
army moving in two columns, each apparently head-
ing a different way, in order to confuse the enemy,
who knew not which point to guard. The cavalry
was now directed to move in advance to a place
called Millen, where many thousand Union captives
had been confined, and to attempt a rescue. By this
time, ten thousand Southern cavalry had been got
together in Sherman's front, but even these were
insufficient to meet such a force as he commanded;
and the two wings moved on, tearing up the rail-
roads and feeding on the fatness of the land. They
swept like a scythe across the State of Georgia,
making a swath sixty miles broad, and leaving
desolation and poverty where they had found
peace and abundance.
At one point the population themselves set fire
to stacks of fodder standing in the fields, pre-
ferring to burn it rather than furnish it to the
invaders. But Sherman at once made known

that any attempt to destroy food or fodder on the
part of the citizens would insure a complete devas-
tation of the country. Then the destruction by
the Southerners ceased. It was better to lose
something than all, better to be stripped bare
than to be stripped and have their houses burned
besides; for the population was absolutely at the
mercy of the invader; they must submit to what-
ever he chose to impose.
The Southern cavalry, however, held back Sher-
man's horse long enough to remove the Union
prisoners from Millen, and one object of the cam-
paign was.unaccomplished. The captives still lan-
guished in other prisons, and the advance of their
friends only served to disappoint them and thus to
aggravate their sufferings.
Meanwhile, the Southern authorities were vainly
appealing to one another for help; and when these
appeals were found to be in vain, they abandoned
posts, and transferred garrisons, and destroyed
machinery, while Sherman moved steadily on.
He had no desire to fight a battle, for his com-
mand must then have been encumbered with
wounded men and his march delayed. It was
all-important to him to reach the sea as a base of
supplies, for this living off the country could not
last. Every day he exhausted a great region.
Sixty thousand men are a population of them-
selves, and when they arrive at a point unexpect-
edly, it takes more than a market to feed them.
What Sherman aimed at was to destroy the rail-
roads that connected the Southern armies, and to
annihilate the resources of the region. So, when
he reached Millen, which lies southeast of Atlanta,
he swung his army around as if on a pivot, and
headed due south for Savannah, where Grant had
promised to have supplies to meet him.
Grant, indeed, all this while, as General-in-Chief,
was caring for Sherman in a double way. He was
sending great store-ships to both Savannah and
Mobile, with millions of rations and cartridges,
and thousands of shoes and uniforms, so that
wherever Sherman's command appeared it should
find supplies of food and clothes and powder and
ball. He was collecting an army to meet Hood,
to prevent him from following Sherman, and he was
keeping every other Southern force engaged so
that none should be free to intercept the great
march. This was a time of great anxiety with
Grant. I was with him and know how earnestly
he studied the maps, how he examined prisoners
and scouts and Southern newspapers, for these
were the only sources through which he got news
of the lost army. The people of the North and
the Government were more anxious still; espe-
cially the mothers and wives and children of the
men who were with Sherman. But Grant was



calm and confident. He always said that Sherman
would come out right; that he was strong enough
or skillful enough to overcome or evade every dan-
ger or difficulty. He praised Sherman to every-
body he met, and infused his own faith in him into
the nation.
After leaving Millen, Sherman entered a differ-

Still no enemy opposed them. A faint rever-
beration on the left or rear perhaps told that the
cavalry was skirmishing, and once or twice a Con-
federate division appeared in front and then fell
back, as if to show the way to Savannah; but this
was all that looked like war. The flankers right and
left found no enemy lurking in forest or swamp; and


ent region. The lofty pine forests had disappeared
and the country was now sandy and barren; corn
and grass were scarce, but the rice fields furnished
other food as well as forage. The weather of the
Southern winter was fine, the roads were good, and
the men marched easily their fifteen miles a day.

the soldiers said they wer only making a great mil-
itary picnic or promenade.
Once the column turned out of the highway,
where torpedoes had been discovered planted in
the road, to explode when trodden on. Sherman
immediately ordered a squad of Confederate pris-


owners to be armed with picks and spades, and
made to march along the road, and either explode
their own torpedoes or discover and dig them up.
They begged hard, but he was inexorable, and
they stepped gingerly on, and removed ten of the
concealed torpedoes.
In the swamp region it was often necessary to

the rice fields had been flooded, and the only
approaches to the city were by five narrow cause-
ways, each commanded by the enemy. The
place was well fortified; it had a good garrison
and an able commander, General Hardee, and
it might hold out for weeks. But it was necessary
for Sherman to communicate at once with the


build what the soldiers called corduroy roads
because they resembled the ribs in corduroy cloth.
The rail fences were pulled apart, the trees cut
down, the branches stripped off, and the wood
was laid closely, stick by stick, and side by side,
till a solid footing was obtained across the marsh,
or over the quicksands that abound in this treach-
erous soil. At one or two points, as they neared
Savannah, the bridges had been burned, and the
advance was delayed till new ones could be built'
or the pontoons brought up.
On the ioth of December the army came up
with the defenses of Savannah. The city lies on
the west bank of the Savannah River, about
twenty miles from the sea. The Ogeechee River
is twelve or fifteen miles west of the Savannah,
and empties into Ossabaw Sound on the Atlantic.
The country between was one great swamp, for

Union fleet at Ossabaw Sound. The Ogeechee
River, as I have said, empties into the sound, and
Sherman had struck that river, but between him
and the sound there was a Confederate fort called
McAllister. This must be carried before Sherman
could reach the sea. He at once gave orders to
surround Savannah on the land side, and directed
General Hazen to take McAllister by storm. The
work was strong, but its capture was indispensable
to the safety of the army and the success of the
campaign. Until the route which it commanded
was uncovered, Sherman was still cut off from his
supplies and from every other Union force.
He went himself to a rice mill, where a signal
station had been established. A platform had
been built on the roof of the mill, and from this
spot he could see Fort McAllister, with the South-
ern flag flying, between his army and the sea.




While he was watching for Hazen's assault the sun
was getting low, and Sherman became very im-
patient. He is not a patient man at the best, and
now his eagerness became intense. At this mo-
ment one of the party perceived a faint cloud of
smoke in the distance, and an object gliding ap-
parently over the tops of the high grass down
by the sea. Little by little it came nearer and
nearer, and at last the watchers made out a
steamer with the United States flag flying,-the
first they had seen, except those they carried
themselves, since they left Atlanta. The steamer
was in reality beyond the fort, but by the turns in
the river it was closer to Sherman than to Hazen.
They could distinguish a group of officers on deck,

advance in three lines, above, below, and in rear
of the fort. The three parties reached the work
at the same moment. There was a crash, a cloud
of smoke, an explosion of torpedoes; then a hand
to hand fight; and in less than half an hour
McAllister was carried by storm.
The night was clear; there was a moon; and
Sherman determined to go to the fleet at once.
He found a small boat and was pulled down stream.
About six miles below McAllister he saw a light,
and was hailed by a vessel at anchor: it was the
advance ship of the squadron. Sherman went
aboard. The March.to the Sea was over.
That night Sherman met General Foster, the
Union officer in command at Port Royal, a station


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who signaled that Hazen was about to attack and on the coast a few miles north of Savannah, which
that the Union fleet was below. had been for three years held by Northern forces.
The assault went on under Sherman's eyes. Foster told that abundant supplies were waiting;
He could see Hazen place his troops and then and as Sherman was the superior, he gave Foster
During the storming of Fort McAllister, part of General Hazen's command began to forage for chickens while the others
were completing the capture of the fort.

/ C.


orders; for always in war the superior officer is
entitled to command any troops or generals of his
own side that he comes in contact with, whether
they belong to his army or not. It was arranged
that supplies should be brought from Port Royal
on steamers, of which Foster had an abundance.
On the 16th of December Sherman summoned

hundred and fifty heavy guns and plenty of ammu-
nition; also about twenty-five thousand bales of
cotton." This message reached the President on
Christmas Eve, and was published in the Northern
newspapers on Christmas Day. Savannah was a
big present to put into the nation's stocking.
Meanwhile a great battle had been fought be-

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Hardee to surrender Savannah, but the Confed-
erate commander refused. There was still one road
out of the city, on the northern side, that was left
unclosed; and Sherman went up to Port Royal to
order Foster to close that road. While he was
absent, on the night of the 2ist, Hardee evacuated
the city by the still open road, and when Sherman
returned, on the 22d of December, he found his
own troops in possession of Savannah. He tele-
graphed to the President: I beg to present you,
as a Christmas gift, the city of Savannah, with one

tween Thomas and Hood at Nashville, in which the
Confederates were utterly routed; so that at both
ends of the line there was victory for the Union.
It was thirty-one days after starting from At-
lanta before Sherman re-opened communication
with the North. In that time he had destroyed two
hundred miles of railroad, and broken up every con-
nection between the Confederate forces east and
west of Georgia. He had done more than a hun-
dred million dollars' worth of damage, consumed
the corn and fodder, as well as the cattle, hogs,



sheep, and poultry of a region three hundred miles
long and sixty broad, carried away ten thousand
horses and mules, and liberated countless num-
bers of slaves. Sixty thousand men and thirty-five
thousand animals had been abundantly fed, and
when the troops reached the coast they needed no
provisions but bread. They started with five
thousand head of cattle and arrived with ten
thousand. The teams were in splendid condition,
and not a wagon was lost on the road. The army
had captured so many horses that Sherman ordered
them to be shot, because it demoralized the troops
to ride.
In all the March Sherman had only once been
forced to form line of battle. He lost 103 men
killed, 408 wounded, and 278 missing. He had
captured 1338 prisoners.
The army had never once been impeded, nor
its commander compelled to change his plan. He
had moved through the innermost part of the
South, where war had never before penetrated, and
brought home its horrors to a population up to

that time as secure as if in New York. He had
shown the Southerners that no part of their
territory was safe against invasion ; that they had
no force left to guard their homes, or hold
their slaves; and he carried his army to a point
from which it could be moved so as to co-operate
with Grant in the final events of the war.
The success of the campaign was equal to its
daring, and although its dangers proved less in
reality than in anticipation, the skill of the com-
mander and the courage of the men are none the
less to be admired. The romantic character of the
march is unsurpassed. That an army should dis-
appear from sight for a month, marching unharmed
through hostile regions, its whereabouts unknown
to its friends, and emerge at last as if out of a wil-
derness, with undiminished numbers and increased
renown, is a circumstance that equals in interest
any in history; and so long as American boys and
girls read the account of the nation's achievements,
they will find no chapter more fascinating than
that which tells of Sherman's March to the Sea.




IT was a lovely day in autumn. Little Lotty,
the curly terrier, was asleep at my feet in the warm
patch of September sunshine that lay on the floor.
I had been sitting still a long time, so busy with
my work that I had thought of nothing else.
Looking up at last at the crimson hollyhock that
stood, tall and splendid, outside the window, I
caught a glimpse of the blue sea beyond, and the
clear, warm sky, and realized how beautiful the
afternoon had grown.
Come, Lotty, wake up I cried to the little.
dog, "let 's go for a walk."
Lotty jumped up, wide awake in an instant, and
barking like mad with delighted expectation, as
all her kind are wont to do at such a prospect. I
gathered my sketching paraphernalia together
and calling the little maid to help me, I set out
down the grassy slope to the sea's margin, which
sparkled and flashed, edged with the flood-tide's
lazy surf, hardly more than a stone's throw from
the door. Lotty, in an ecstasy, frisked, barking
wildly, before and behind me, like a small hurri-
cane of joy. Down the field, through the bars,

into the cart-path for a few steps -wild rose bushes
bright with scarlet haws on either side-across the
coarse sea-grass and rough pebbles at the top of
the beach, out at last upon thebeautiful level stretch
of gray sand, smooth and hard as a floor, half a
mile long, and curved like the crescent of the new
moon. We traversed about one fourth of its dis-
tance, then I arranged my umbrella and my easel,
and sat down ready for a good time. Lotty came
to anchor likewise, and sitting bolt upright on the
sand, eyed me curiously from under her comical,
frowsy locks.
Well, my dear," I said, "what do you think
of it? "
With a shake of the head and a wag of the tail,
she crept close to my feet and lay down as if she
meant to make the best of it, at any rate. I pro-
ceeded to begin my sketch. But the place was
so enchanting, on every side so beautiful, I found
it hard to do any more than to look and love every-
thing I saw, for a long time. The sea was the
most delicious turquoise blue, and where it ran up
over the shallows, the color melted into trans-
parent emerald, the long, slow billows lifted
themselves lazily and rolled in with soft rush and
whisper, almost too lazy to roll at all. Where the
foam sparkled at the edge of the sand, kelp and


weeds were scattered in broken lines of rich brown,
dull purple, crimson, and olive green. Far away
a few sails were dreaming; a group of snowy gulls
rose and fell on the long swell of the ocean close at
hand. On the left, tall marsh-grass came down to
the top of the beach in streaks of yellow, red-
brown, and ripe green, with patches of crimson
samphire beginning to glow in the rockier places;
all about me were the wild rose bushes with their
scarlet berries. I turned away from the water and
looked up to the house I had left; its red roofs and
dull yellow-green walls steeped in the sunshine--
rich and deep in color- the vines and flowers about
it, and the huge old elm in front of it, the broad
fields and mellowing woods seemed so peaceful
and happy that I spoke aloud, How heavenly
it is "
Lotty perked up her head and looked at me.
Laughing at her funny expression, I turned to my
sketch and began working in earnest. The crickets
simmered pleasantly, the sweet sad cry of myriad
goldfinches among the drying sunflower stalks and
weeds sounded incessantly; a crow cawed now
and then, a gull high aloft in the blue uttered a
harsh cry which the distance softened; a little
beach-bird flew piping along the sand. Lotty
pricked up her ears.
No, no, my dear !" I cried. You are not
to run after any little bird whatever. Stay here
and behave yourself like a good dog," for she had
jumped up and was already starting away to chase
the feathered creature. With a very aggrieved
and reproachful expression she returned and sat
down a few feet from me. But I only contin-
ued to laugh at her, and went on with my paint-
ing, presently becoming so engrossed in it that I
forgot she was there.
Some time passed. Suddenly a small paw was
thrust into my paint-box, and there was poor
Lotty standing on her hind feet looking at me, as
much as to say:
"Oh, dear, I 'm bored to death. Why don't
we take a walk? Why have you planted yourself
here, where you are doing nothing at all? Why
don't we go home if we can't go to walk? Oh
dear, oh dear!"
And she actually began to cry.
"Well, go home! you little goose," I cried,
greatly amused. "I don't want you to stay!"
She left me, went a little way toward the house,
then turned back and looked at me, whining and
coaxing. Suddenly she came running and cud-
dled down again affectionately, as if she thought,
"Well, I'm sorry you're such an idiot, but I
won't desert you, though you do behave in this
extremely foolish and unreasonable manner."
So she lay patiently watching me from under her

tangled shock of hair till I began to put up my
brushes, and made ready to depart.
The sun was nearing the western horizon in a
golden glory as I shouldered my easel and took
my way toward home, Lotty dancing with delight.
I could not call the little maid to help me back, so
I arranged the things as well as I could. I had
not a regular sketching outfit, and my long easel,
though light, was rather difficult to carry. But I
put my head through the V end, resting the two
legs on my shoulders. I had also to carry a small
chair, a large umbrella, my sketching-block, a tin
pail in which I had brought fresh water, and over
my left arm I hung a leather bag containing paint-
boxes, brushes, etc. This was quite heavy, and
the whole load was as much as one person could
take, but I had not far to go, so trudged slowly
along till I turned from the beach into the green
field that sloped from the house to the sea; Lotty
all the while capering and barking, rejoicing that
I had regained my senses at last. Her noise was
presently heard by the other dogs, which joined in
the chorus afar off, and I saw appear at the upper
edge of the field the two great St. Bernards, Cham-
pernowne, and Nita, looming large against the sky.
They stopped, gazing at us from the distance, as
if taking in the situation; then in a moment they
began to rush down toward us with long, loping
canter, and knowing their affectionate impetuosity
I said to myself.
Now I am lost! they will come full tilt against
me and all these traps, and I shall be a total
Amused, and more than half dreading the onset,
I stood still and waited, admiring the magnificent,
tawny, lion-colored creatures as they swept toward
me, their beautiful eyes beaming with intelligence,
and all their motions full of grace.
Suddenly the great dog Champernowne, as
he reached me, stopped perfectly still without
touching me, and before I knew what he was going
to do, stood upright on his hind feet, as tall as
myself, quietly slipped his under jaw through the
handles of the bag which swung on my arm, and
with the grace and courtesy of a grand duke,
nothing less, gently and firmly drew it off, and
turning, proceeded decorously up the path that
led to the house, bearing it with the utmost
Astonished and delighted, I cried, "Bravo,
Champ! Good dog! fine fellow! You saw I
needed help, and you gave it like a gentleman,
did n't you? But who would have thought you
had so much sense?" Then Nita, hearing all
these praises lavished on her comrade, wished to
have her share also; and joining Champ she too
seized hold of the bag, and both together trotted



side by side all the way to the house, where they
arrived some time before I reached it, and where I
found them faithfully keeping guard over my prop-
erty on the threshold.
Well, you are certainly the very handsomest,
best, and dearest dogs in the whole world!" I
cried as I opened the door and allowed them to
crowd into the pleasant room, Lotty and two or
three of the smaller dogs accompanying them with
much frisking and barking. But Champ and Nita,
appreciating to the utmost the importance of the
occasion and the magnitude of the favor extended
to them, took their
seats on the hearth
before the open fire-
place with the greatest .
dignity. This was the
summit of delight to
them, to be allowed to
sit in the house before
the fire and enjoy the
society of their human
friends-a favor not too
often accorded them.
A handful of driftwood
had been kindled on
the hearth to take off
the chill of the evening .
fast closing in. Pres-
ently they spread their
big bulks out on the
rug before it in bliss- .
ful satisfaction, while I
patted their heads and
stroked their long fur, '-
and told them how I -i
admired them, how = --' -
proud I was of them, --
till their eyes shone --
with delight and they -
fairly laughed for joy !


rattlety-bang down -_._ _---.
the street clattered a
tin can tied to the tail
of a poor, friendless,
and frightened dog A
crowd of boys followed at the runaway's heels,
with cries and shouts, increasing alike his terror
and his speed, until, at last, he had distanced his
pursuers, but not, alas that horrible, noisy thing
that clattered and rattled at his heels.
Thoroughly tired, and quite as thoroughly ter-
VoL. XIV.-37.

rifled, the poor dog looked to right and left as he
ran, for help or shelter. At length he spied,
at the corner of a cross-street not far away, a
large, friendly-looking, Newfoundland dog. With
piteous cries and an imploring look, the ex-
hausted dog dragged himself and his noisy appen-
dage to the Newfoundland, and looked to him for
Nor was his appeal unheeded, for the New-
foundland seemed to appreciate the position and
at once showed himself to be a generous dog. A
patient gnawing at the string finally released the



can; and then, lifting it in air, the Newfoundland
flung it from him with a triumphant toss of the
head, while the other dog joyously bounded up
from his crouching position-thankful to be rid
of the troublesome burden which his human tor-
mentors had inflicted upon him.


(A true story.)


TWINKLE had a pleasant home and a kind mis-
tress, but he was, nevertheless, a very unhappy
little silver-haired doggie.
He lived in constant terror of Monday, for that
was Twinkle's wash-day. Every Monday, he was
put into a tub and washed and soaped and scoured
and rubbed, and then wrapped, snarling and shiv-
ering, in a blanket to dry.
Twinkle had done everything that a dog could
do to escape this terror. He had run away, only
to be brought back again and scrubbed harder
than ever. He had bitten his mistress, only to be
cuffed and soused clear under the water; and once
when they were getting his bath ready, he fled
down cellar and crawled into the soot box of the
furnace. It proved a good hiding-place, and it
was a long time before they found him; but it
was the terrible scrubbing that followed his dis-
covery that Twinkle always dreamed about there-
after when his digestion was out of order.
One day a stray kitten came to the house. She
was very thin and untidy-looking, not a pretty
kitten at all; but Twinkle's mistress took her to
the kitchen and gave her some milk. The kitten
drank it greedily, and then curled herself into a
little round ball under the stove. Twinkle sat and
watched her while she slept; he had known from
the first moment he had seen her just what he
ought to do; the thing to be considered was how
to do it,-for Twinkle meant to wash that small
All the rest of the day Twinkle tried to be very
kind and gentle; when the kitten tried to put up
her weak little back and spit at him, Twinkle
would only wag his tail good-naturedly; and his
mistress praised him, calling him her own kind
little doggie. But all the while Twinkle was
thinking just what he should do to-morrow.
Early the next morning, he went into the gar-
den. Kitty was there, curled up in a sunny spot,
asleep. There was something else in the garden-
a tub of water, out of which the chickens drank.
Twinkle seized the poor little cat by the back of
her neck, ran to the tub, and dashed her up and
down in the water. Poor Kitty choked and strug-
gled, but Twinkle soused her up and down until
he thought she had been washed enough; then he
put her down on the walk. Poor, poor pussy!
she tried to put her wet little paws, one after'the
other, to her. face, to clear away the strangling
water; then she drawled away very feebly. Twin-

kle looked at the wet trail she made on the walk,
and felt that he had done his duty. Then he ran
away perfectly happy.
The next morning, he washed her again, and the
next after that, too; while his mistress wondered
why, with the best of food and care, that kitten
remained so thin and weak.
One morning Madge, coming to sweep the steps,
saw something that made her turn suddenly and
run back into the house; and when Twinkle, hav-
ing bathed his charge, laid her as usual on the
walk quite a row of people stood at the top of
the steps looking at him. He tried to run away,
but his mistress caught him, and, breaking off a
switch from the lilac bush, she then and there, in
spite of his struggling and crying, switched him
Twinkle was disgusted. He ran away after his
whipping, and staid out all night. When he re-
turned, he found that the tub had been taken away
and that the cat was kept in the house; so for two
days she did not get washed. On the third morning,
however, Twinkle found her. He caught her up in
an instant. There was no water anywhere in the
yard, so he was obliged to drag her through a hole
in the fence, and into the garden next door. There
he found a pail; the water was not very clean, to
be sure; it had bread-crusts and potato-parings in
it, but it was the best that Twinkle could find, so
into it went poor pussy.
She did not struggle much.. To Twinkle's, great
surprise, she did not move when he put her down;
she only gasped once or twice and then lay very,
very still. Twinkle sat down and looked at her.
Could it be possible that she was dead ? He had
not wanted her to die; he only wanted to wash her;
but she would not move. And the neighbor, whose
pail he had used, came out and handed the little
dead kitty over the fence to Twinkle's mistress.
They cried about it at home; Twinkle heard
them, and he saw great tears in his mistress's eyes,
and she would not speak to him-would not even
look at him. It was too much for one little dog to
understand. Madge washed him on Monday, and
why should he not wash the kitten?
About a week after this, Twinkle's mistress went
out to make some calls.
Twinkle went, too; he liked to run about the
gardens and pry into things while she visited. At
the first place where they stopped, Twinkle dashed
around the house in great haste, and almost ran
over a big black cat. The cat was asleep by the
side of a tub of water. As quick as a flash, Twinkle
had that cat by the back of her neck. Then there
was one swift flash of steel-like claws, one most
astonishing yowl, and Twinkle's face was torn and
bleeding, his eyes scratched severely, and his long




silvery hair pulled out in patches. And the worst
of it was that his mistress said -" It served him



FOND of old Dan, sir? Indeed I am !
I reckon I ought to be -proud of him, too !
Brave as a lion, sir, mild as a lamb,
And the wisest fellow you ever knew !
Just wait till I tell you what he did,
Though it 's not to my credit, as you '11 see;
For it came from my doing a thing forbid
That Dandie showed what a dog can be.

We were in the potato-patch one day,
Dandie and Hal and I and Fred,
And to save my life I could n't say
Just how the mischief got into my head.
Father had said we were n't to do it,-
But roast potatoes are very good !
And Hal had matches. Before we knew it
We had a bonfire lit in the wood.

Fathers know best, on the whole, I guess;
At all events, I can safely say
'T would have kept us out of a jolly mess
If we had believed he did, that day.
For, not to spin out too long a story,
That youngster you see there -Fred 's his
name -
Contrived to cover himself with glory
By getting his petticoats all aflame.

We never thought of his skirts, you see,
For he 's just as much of a boy as the rest;
And, to tell the truth, between you and me,
It's a silly old way for a boy to be dressed.
Why can't he have trousers right from the first ?
For, of all the despisable" things to wear,
Those niminy-piminy frocks are the worst.
I know how it is, for I 've been there.

However, the poor little chap, as I said,
Was all of a blaze,- and how he did yell!
Hal began to pitch things at his'head,
And I stood as if I was under a spell;
For both of us lost our wits completely,
And only for dear old Dan,- well, there,-
If you want to know, I '11 own up to it sweetly -
I am a-crying, and I don't care !

You 'd know how it was yourself, I think,
If you 'd been in my place, and seen old Dan;
He went for that boy, sir, quick as a wink,
Grabbed his frock in his teeth, and ran

Straight to the brook with him, bumpety-bump !
And there the two took a douse together.
By the time we followed him, on the jump,
I tell you what, it was squally weather !

Fire was put out, though? Well, I should smile
(I reckon I shouted then for joy);
Though, as for Fred, you might walk a mile
And not come up with a madder boy.
Mad as a hornet-and dripping wet!
Such a little scarecrow you never saw !
But here 's the dog, sir, we shan't forget -
Shall we, old fellow ? Give us your paw !



AN artist owned a little Scotch terrier that was
endowed both with brains and with an uncertain
temper. Usually it was playful and affectionate,
but, like some people we know, it had bad moods.
The artist made a great pet of Scotchy, as he called
the dog, and taught it several tricks. He taught it
to stand between its master's legs and leap over his
clasped hands and then leap back again; to sit back
on its haunches and shake hands; and to spring
into the artist's lap, put its paws on each cheek arid
kiss him like an affectionate child.
When the artist went to the country in summerhe
took Scotchy with him, and the dog usually was his
companion on sketching expeditions. As is gener-
ally the case with evil tendencies that are not over-
come,thebad, snappy moods became more frequent,
and the artist began to debate in his mind whether
he ought to keep the dog, fearing lest in one of these
irritable moments it might bite his little boy. One
day, when out sketching, this question was settled.
The dog lay beside him as he worked, and pausing
a moment, he reached out his hand to give it a
caress. The terrier's response was a snarl and
a snap. Believing now that a well-deserved lesson
was needed, the artist cut a switch, and, seizing
the dog by the collar, gave it a sound whipping.
The moment his grasp was relaxed, the enraged
little beast turned upon him, and taking hold of
the leg of his trousers, shook with all its might.
"Go home, you bad dog!" cried the master,
giving it a cut with his whip. Yielding, Scotchy
started off in the most leisurely, independent man-
ner imaginable, venting his spleen by ill-tempered
barking right and left. In manner the dog virtu-
ally said, I 'll go, but I '11 take my own time, and
you can't help it." A surly man could not have
shown more temper than Scotchy, going slowly
homeward, barking and growling all the way.



An apparent reconciliation took place when
the artist returned, but he had decided that he
would not take the dog back to the city. Soon
after, he gave it to a friend in the village where he
was sojourning. This slight was never forgiven,
and it would seem that Scotchy brooded over it
continually. A year later the artist went to call
on the friend who had received the dog. The
ladies of the household were on the piazza, and so
was the terrier. As soon as it saw its old master
coming up the walk, it seemed almost wild with
rage. Every hair on its back stood upright, and
its eyes became green with anger. Snarling and
growling, it showed its teeth and looked as if
determined to use them.
Scotchy, come here said the artist sternly.
As if compelled against its will by the old voice
of authority, the dog slowly obeyed, growling at
every step.
Position "' said the artist, in his severest tone,
and Scotchy growled his way between his former
master's legs. Now, jump !" Fairly trembling
and yelping with rage, the dog sprung over the
artist's clasped hands as it had been taught long
before. "Jump back!" Snarling its bitter pro-
test, back it sprung. Sit up Scotchy rose
on his haunches, meanwhile gnashing his teeth.
" Shake hands Out came the paw and a most
portentous growl at the same instant.

"Oh!" cried the ladies, "do drive the dog
away; he will surely bite you. Here, Scotchy,
come here, come away "
Sit still! said the artist.
Ur-r-r-r," responded Scotchy, yet seeming un-
able to disobey.
The artist now sat down and commanded, "Come
and kiss me "
"No, no !" cried the ladies; "'he will bite your
nose off."
So probably Scotchy would have done had the
artist relaxed his stern, quiet demeanor, or shown
the least fear. He only repeated the command more
severely, keeping his eyes fixed on those of the
dog. As if compelled by some mysterious, irre-
sistible power, Scotchy sprung into the artist's lap
with a terrific snarl, and with all his white teeth
Kiss me thundered the artist. Scotchy could
not resist. The spell of the stronger will kept the
mastery, and the dog did as it had been wont to do
in earlier days. Now go lie down and keep still! "
Scotchy drew the line at keeping still. That
he would not do, but growled and snarled at his
old master throughout his entire call. The same
scenes were enacted whenever the artist came to
the house; and though Scotchy, in spite of all
protest, was compelled to yield obedience, he never
abated one jot of his deep-seated grudge.


" M' Y A ..





As DAY in shades of evening sank,
The Brownies reached a river bank;
And there awhile stood gazing down
At students from a neighboring town,

We '11 take possession after dark,
And in these strange affairs embark."
They all declared, at any cost,
A chance like this should ne'er be lost;
And keeping well the men in sight
TI... J:.11.:. ...:1 closelyy as they might.

i,: ii, .....- :,i climbing o'er the hill,
t!h,: ,: I -: I.,:.ting by the mill,
Sh.-r1 n..ri i L!.:i building on the sands
i! i.:.: r.; ...: -hoved with willing hands.
.' ..... rnodel some explored,
r: i .: n !-I.i.iased they rushed on board;
i h.: .!-" "" F.:r rboro'," too,
I" I ir iters- and a crew.

4 *4

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

"' ', .. .r:.
- _, """ "' J t '' 4

Whose light canoes charmed every eye,
As one by one they floated by.
Said one, We '11 follow as they go,
Until they gain the point below.
There stands a house, but lately made,
Wherein the club's effects are laid ;

The Indian Birch-bark seemed too frail
And lacked the adjunct of a sail,
Yet of a load it did not fail,-
For all the boats were in demand;
As well those which with skill were planned
By men of keenest judgment ripe,


b,~, *
'i ~ ~ i~ A-.; '




As those of humbler, home-made type.
And soon away sailed all the fleet
With every Brownie in his seat.

The start was promising and grand,
But little skill was in demand.
They steered along as suited best,
And let the current do the rest.

All nature seemed to be aware
That something strange was stirring there.
The owl to-whooed, the raven croaked;
The mink and rat with caution poked
Their heads above the wave, aghast;
While frogs a look of wonder cast
And held their breath till all had passed.
As every stream will show a bend,
If one explores from end to end,

So every river, great and small,
Must have its rapids and its fall;
And those who on its surface glide
O'er rough as well as smooth must ride.

The stream whereon had started out
The Brownie band in gleeful rout
Was wild enough to please a trout.

At times it tumbled on its way
O'er shelving rocks and bowlders gray.
At times it formed from side to side
A brood of whirlpools deep and wide,
That with each other seemed to vie
As fated objects drifted nigh.
Ere long each watchful Brownie there,
Of all these facts grew well aware;
Some losing faith, as people will,





In their companions' care or skill,
Would seize the paddle for a time,
Until a disapproving chime
Of voices made them rest their hand,
And let still others take command.

TA i.: r .. -i ii i ir .

A l I ]i .. ,i hi :. i l i I i.t h i .

As pallid cheek and popping eye
On every side could testify;
So all agreed that wisdom lay
In steering home without delay.

The Brownies drifted onward still;
And though confusion baffled skill,
Canoes throughout the trying race
Kept right side up in every case.
But sport that traveled hand in hand
With horrors hardly pleased the band,

But morning light came on apace
Before they reached the starting-place;
So landing quick, the boats they tied
To roots or trees as chance supplied,
And plunging in the woods profound,
They soon were lost to sight and sound.


'. -

S', ',. P ,

,, -


THE dear Little School-ma'am was ill. It was
early in March, and there was snow on the ground.
The postman brought a little box, and, behold,
there was spring in it, for it was filled with arbu-
tus-from Virginia. After many days the snow
melted and the warm air came in the window
when the nurse opened it to air the room. And
one morning, in came a bunch of arbutus- bought
in market.
The old colored woman who sold it gathered
it in the Jersey woods this morning," said the
pretty girl who brought it.
The very next week the scholars sent in a bowl
full of the same flower-gathered in their own
woods; and the School-ma'am said that she had
never been so rich in arbutus. But, behold, in
May, when the apples were in blossom and the
violets were budding in the fresh green grass,
there came a letter from northern New-York, and
it said: I send you a box of arbutus so that you
may have a taste of spring in your room, you dear
The dear Little School-ma'am laughed when she
opened this box.
Truly," she said, never have I had so long
a spring as this one !

A GENTLEMAN traveling in England, not long
ago, hired a saddle-horse for a ride in the neigh-
borhood of the town where he was staying. When
he returned and asked the stable-keeper for his
bill, it was given him in this shape:
Anosaafada ........................ 2s
Afortheos ........ ...... .. ....... is
He paid the seven shillings, and then spent his
leisure moments for several days in trying to get a

translation. Finally another stableman saw it,
and read the riddle at once, thus:
An 'oss a alfaa day................... .s
'A y for the 'oss ................... .. s
An' a-gittin' 'im 'ome again...........45
Mr. Ernest Ingersoll, who sends me this ac-
count, says,- It 's a fact, dear Jack, I assure
HERE 'S a jingling bit of true philosophy for you,
my dears, sent to my pulpit by your very sensible
friend, Mrs. W. S. Reed:
What 's the use of fretting ?
What 's the use of crying ?
What 's the use of dreading ?
What 's the use of sighing ?
What 's to come will come -
Now, that there 's no denying;
And what is past is past-
To that there 's no replying.
To make the present beautiful
Is what we should be trying,
In kindly words and noble deeds
With one another vying.
So let 's have smiles instead of sighs,
And all our tears be drying.-

THIS is what a boy of ten wrote after joining the
Audubon Society:
There was a bird that lived in spring,
And he had a beauteous feathery wing,
And a beautiful voice to rejoice and sing;
He could fly up to the sky,
And see the moon with his little eye.

It happed one day that a cruel hunter came that
And he shot the bird with the feathery wing;
And he stood and laughed with scorn,
Because the Audubon Society was born.

Then down came a condor quick as light,
With his broad black wings as dark as night;
He took the cruel hunter in his beak
And flew to his nest in the rocky peak.

Then that awful condor, he
Made his breakfast and dinner and tea
Of the man who laughed with scorn
When the Audubon Society was born.

You know Audubon was the man who knew
and wrote so much about birds, and loved them
so well. It is very fitting that the Society for the
Protection of Birds should take his name. If you
want to know more about the society, and to get
some of the pledges to sign, and, after you have
signed, to receive the society's pretty certificates,
you have only to send your address to the Audu-
bon Society, No. 40 Park Row, New York.
It seems strange that any one needs to pledge



himself not to kill and torment the beautiful creat-
ures that fill our woods and gardens with life and
music. If it were snakes, now, or rats, or flies,
one might be tempted to exterminate them. But
birds-well, boys will call it sport to rob them of
their homes, their young, and their joyous life.
But after all, it is n't nesting or hunting that is
killing off the birds. It is decking out the toilets
of the boys' mammas and sisters that is costing the
birds their existence, at the rate of millions yearly.
"Oh, you wicked, bad, cruel boy !" exclaimed
a young lady sister one day last spring, when her
brother Tom came in, a thrush's callow brood
fluttering in his cap.
"I like that, Miss Feathertop," retorted the
picked, bad, cruel boy. "Look at your head,-
fit for an Injun chief on
the war-path. I 'm go-
ing to raise these fellows,
if you or Mother don't
wring their necks to trim
your bonnets."
Look out, girls, or the
boys will be making
verses in which you will
figure as the cruel hunter
whom an awful condor
teaches the lesson of tit-


reading the "Well-
spring," I saw an item
which I thought would
interest the readers of
The title was, "The
First Watch." At first
the watch was about the
size of a dessert-plate. It
had weights, and was '6 /
used as a" pocket-clock."
The earliest known use
of the modern name 5 V
occurs in the record of
1552, which mentions
that Edward VI. had
" one larum or watch
of iron, the case being -:"- -
likewise of iron gilt, with
two plummets of lead."
The first watch may read-
ily be supposed to have
been of rude execution.
The first great improvement -the substitutic
springs for weights -was in 1560. The ea
springs were not coiled, but only straight p
of steel. Early watches had but one hand,
being wound up twice a day, they could nc
expected to keep the time nearer than fiftee
twenty minutes in twelve hours. The dials
of silver and brass; the cases had no crys
but opened at the back and front, and were

or five inches in diameter. A plain watch cost more
than fifteen hundred dollars; and after one was or-
dered, it took a year to make it.
This is quite different from the present time,
when watches are so plenty that even boys can
have them. CHARLIE H. PEASE.
AN ingenious and artistic friend of yours, one
Alfred Brennan, sends you this wonderful mono-
gram, in which each one of you, my beloved
thousands of hearers, can find all the initials of
your own name. In other words, it contains every
letter of the alphabet from A to Z.
In order to be perfectly fair, you see, Mr.
Brennan shows you below the monogram a table

n of of the letters, which gives an outline of every one
rliest as it is to be found in his surprising group.
ieces Young folk are becoming so knowing in these
and, days, that the Deacon says it is barely possible
t be that before many centuries the alphabet may be
n or taught at one clip," in some such way as this.
were Try it on your baby brothers and sisters. The
tals, poor little things must be tired of crying for
four nothing.


GB os g 9 ~5~C J4

A-B xi I
~ 41r:57 LiV


777 p



DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I have been going to write to you many
times to thank, you for all you have been to me. I am one of your
older children, for my age is nearer thirty than twenty. In fact,
when I was the latter age, I first made your acquaintance, and now
eight volumes are on my shelves. I have read you carefully. I
have recommended you far and wide, and have got you into some
fifty houses or so.
When I first made your acquaintance, I was a layman in London,
and went out frequently to tell your stories to Bands of Hope and
Sunday-school festivals. Now I am ordained, I carry on the same
work; and in the parish where I am curate, I have a children's
meeting every week,which I call "The Children's Hour"; we play
games, sing songs, have drill, and, last of all, I tell a story; and
two-thirds of my stories I have to thank you for.
Your stories have done me an immense deal of good, for they
have kept me in touch and sympathy with children, and I thank you
Now, I have to ask a favor: will you please put me in com-
munication with the writer of "Ten Times One is Ten," or some
one who has to do with "The King's Daughters" Society?
With all good wishes for many happy years to ST. NICHOLAS and
its editor, I remain, yours sincerely, E. P. GONNER.

As we already have written to the Reverend Mr. Gonner, Mrs. M.
L. Dickinson, of 230 W. 59th street, New York, of the Central
Society of The King's Daughters," has kindly offered to reply to
any queries regarding the organization.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have read Mr. Frederick Wright's ac-
count of Gas-wells." We have natural gas here; and, in fact, I
am writing this letter before a natural-gas fire.
Papais manager of the gas plant that's here. We are having much
trouble with the gas here; every now and then there is a break on
the pipe-line which is caused by frost. It is carried fifty miles from
gas-wells near Franklin, Pa. The gas here has a strong smell of
petroleum, and we can always tell when it is leaking. We have
two iron-mills run by gas here. Sometimes the pressure rises to two
hundred pounds and over.
Youngstown, a city west of us, in Ohio, received gas a few weeks
after we did, and they lit it, and we saw the light distinctly, a dis-
tance of fourteen miles. I saw the gas lit, and it looked just the
way it is in the picture. The noise made by it was deafening.
From your constant reader, OLIVER S--

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl twelve years old, and
have taken you four years, and like you very much. I think "Little
Lord Fauntleroy" was one of the loveliest stories I have ever read,
and I like "Jenny's Boarding-house," too. I think the Brownies"
are very funny, and I see that in their Friendly Turn they got a
Chinaman to help them. I have a camera, and take pictures of all
sorts of things, dolls, paper dolls, cats, and all of my playmates; I
think it is great fuh.
My sister has a copy of The Battle of the Monkey and the
Crabs," that was printed in Japan- I play paper dolls a great deal
and have dolls of all shapes and sizes, and have whole families; I
guess that I have about twenty in all.
Last summer some bees in our neighborhood swarmed and lit on
a tree. A man went up the tree and the bees lit all over his coat-
sleeves and hands, but he did not get a sting. It is very pleasant
here in summer but cold in winter; in winter we coast and have lots
of fun, although it is cold; but in summer we play out-of-doors almost
all the time. Your little friend, ELEANOR L-

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: A few months ago, I saw in your pages a
letter from a little girl who lived in Wailuku, Maui, who spoke only
of vegetable clothing, so I thought perhaps you would like to hear
a little about the country and the people. In winter it is very rainy,
but the rest of the year it is quite dry. There is no snow anywhere,
except on the three high mountains-- Mauna Kea, Mauna Loa,
and Haleakala. It will seem funny to the little children who read the
ST. NICHOLAS, when I tell them that on Christmas or New Year's

Day here, we run about in the warm sunshine, among the trees and
flowers, while they (except those who live in the Southern States)
are playing in the deep snow. There are twelve islands in the
group, but only nine are inhabited. The country is full of beautiful
little valleys and hills. This island (Kauai) is said to be the most
beautiful of the group. It is sometimes called the Garden Island,
because of its pure air and healthy climate.
Now I will tell you something about the natives. Their language
is a very pretty one, for they have only twelve letters in their alpha-
bet,- five vowels and seven consonants. The natives have black hair,
large eyes, and dark skin. All the people, men and women, are
called by their Christian names. Nearly all of their names have
some meaning, such as Ripe Blossoms, Dark Eyes, Evergreen,
and The Hot Day. There is nothing very different in their dress
from other people, except that the women never wear tight dresses.
They wear a loose Mother Hubbard wrapper, which is known as
the Holoku." The men all wear a bright-colored handkerchief
around their necks. All of them go barefooted.
I am ten years old, and my auntie (who lives in New York) has
taken your paper for me for nearly a year. I think it is one of the
nicest papers I have ever read. I think both "Little Lord Faunt-
leroy" and "Juan and Juanita" are perfectly lovely. I am read-
ing the latter to Mamma, and she likes it, too. I can hardly wait
until I get your paper. I go barefooted most of the time. I ride
horseback and enjoy riding our pony with only a blanket and a rope.
I am nearly as brown as a native. I have lived in the islands three
years, though I was born in New York City. Hoping my letter is
not too long, as it is the first I have ever written to you, I will say,
Aloha Nui (Good-bye).
Your affectionate reader, GRACE M. A-.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little sick boy. I have been an
invalid for almost a year, and am confined to my bed nearly all the
time. My sister had to write this for me, as I am not able to write.
The only thing I can do is to read. We have taken ST. NICHOLAS
a long time. I can scarcely wait for it to come. My little baby
brother thinks the "Brownies" is the nicest piece in the book,
and we have to read it over and over again to him.
Your constant reader, CASPER N- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little French boy, born and living
in Paris, a famous grand city full of all sorts of beautiful things to
see on holidays; and I have seen at the Invalides all the old-time
arms and armor that you pictured in the October number.
I love all your stories, every one of them, and understand them
well; but little Lord Fauntleroy is the grandest of all heroes.
I hope that Juan and Juanita will not fall again in the hands of
the Comanches.
I hope they will find their poor mamma soon, and that she will
know them right away, and love them again, even more than before,
for all they have lost.
Your interested reader, Louis L-.

MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I have taken you for a year, and have
only written to you once, and I want to write to you again. I sup-
pose most of your readers have not been to Utah, the land of the
Mormons. Mamma and Papa and I were the only Gentiles there
at one time. The little Mormon children are great curiosities. The
Mormons did not know what a Christmas-tree was until the first
Christmas we were there, when Mamma said, "Let us have a
Christmas-tree," and they did not know what it was. But Mamma
got three or four men to get a tree, and they went and cut down one,
and a good many came to see it. I hope this is not an insult to the
Mormons. Your affectionate reader, BIRDIE C-- .

P. S.- I am deeply interested in "Jenny's Boarding-house" and
"Juan and Juanita." I am nine years old.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: It is storming so hard I can't go out. I am
waiting for Mamma to get through her work so that she can read you
to me. We live one mile out of town at a little place called Argo
I think "Juan and Juanita" is a splendid story, and the Brown-
ies" I like next, although "Little Lord Fauntleroy" was the best
of all.
Your faithful reader, HARRY E. M- .


587.] THE LETTER-BOX. 555

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Nearly two years ago our grandmamma,
in America, sent us your magazine for Mamma to teach us English,
for our lessons have all been in French and German, although we
are little Americans. I am nearly eleven years old, and my brother
is nine. We do enjoy your book very much, and my brother wishes
he was more like Lord Fauntleroy, he was so nice. We have just
received the January number, and read "Prince Fairyfoot" all
alone; so you see we have learned English, as Grandmamma wished.
We are only eight miles from the sea, and we go there very often.
We find beautiful shells.
We are going to America this summer; it will be our seventh
trip. One day we hope to live there, for we like it better than
France. Your affectionate readers, WACIL R-

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am very glad to hear of Little Lord
Fauntleroy. I would like to have him for my brother. I have a
little kitten, and it is so playful that it runs after our toes when we
undress at night, and tries to bite them; we jump on the bed and
chairs to get away from it. Its name is Selina. I am a little girl,
five years old, and am just learning to read and count. I have three
brothers and only one sister.
Your loving MARY B. V-.

This interesting little picture is sent to you by your friend Mr.
Culmer Barnes.


II 1I*
II' I ~ -

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We are twins, and read you together. If
you should print this, my would n't we read it and laugh at Grace,
who does n't believe you will, and is such a creature to laugh Do
you suppose you will ?
We are -that is, our house is -higher than Trinity Church steeple,
over inNew York. Papa says so. We wonder what he means by
saying some people are so tall that they go upstairs to put on their
hats. We think a great deal, but some things are so hard to think
about, all by yourself !
The postman brings our ST. NICHOLAS in a wrapper. One day,
Grace slipped one of the old numbers in an old wrapper, for fun.
When we took it out with a great rush, as we always do, we could
hardly believe our eyes. We knew every picture, every story by
heart already. We thought it was a very sad mistake till we hap-
pened to look into Grace's eyes.
Now, you will put this in, won't you, so we all can laugh?

M. H. L. Many thanks for the cleverly rhymed version of the
February puzzle.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: This is my first letterto you. I have taken
you since September, 1886. I liked little Prince Fairyfoot" very
much, and was sorry when it ended. I live for the present in Fort
Apache, A. T., and I am ten years old. My papa is a cavalry officer
in the U. S. A., and we change our place of residence as often as
he is ordered to a new station. Last year, when General Miles
ordered Colonel Wade, our post commander, to capture the Chiri-
cahua Apache Indians, I climbed up on the top of the adjutant's
office and watched the troops under the colonel advance to where
the Indians were having a court, and saw them capture every
Indian, disarming and placing them under guard as prisoners. There
is no school that I can attend here, so my mamma and my sister
have to be my teachers.
Apache is surrounded by rugged mountains, all covered with dark-
green pine-trees that are very beautiful to look at. I am, with much
love, your admiring reader, PAUL WARD B- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have long been wishing to write to you.
I am a boy twelve years of age. I have taken your delightful mag-
azine for six years, and hope to take it several years longer. My
favorite author is Mr. Stockton, although I like James Otis and
Frances Burnett. I think the Brownies" are very funny, and I
was much interested in "Prince
Fairyfoot" and "A Fortunate
Opening." I hope Juan and
Juanita got safely home to
S -" l Mexico, and I am very much
'i, 1 '''!"' i interested about the baby in
S"Jenny's Boarding-house." But
I 'I must stop now, so good-bye.
' I' -: 10 Your sincere friend,

.,i. ,, ,,.,, ... i .. .,:': I (r I
-- '- papa gave you to me for Christ-
I mas. I think the "Brownies"
Very funny indeed: they make
me laugh every time I see them.
I enjoyed "Victor Hugo's Tales
S to his Grandchildren" very much.
I am very anxious to hear the rest
of Juan and Juanita," it is such
an interesting story. Mamma
-"- paints a great deal and I read
aloud out of ST. NICHOLAS to her.
S Ever remaining, your loving
-- -- reader, BESSIE S-.

;- your magazine in the schools and
-' think it very nice. I see your
'_- 5 paper has a story in it about adog
that does not eat when it rains. I
S thought I would write you a line
about a lecture I heard one night
a year ago.
The man said there was a little
girl that went to a spring and
picked up the cup and did not notice what was in it. It was a tree-
toad, and it slipped down her throat, and she did not know it till it
was down. Since that, she said it would often come up in her throat
and make a little noise, and whenever it did so, it was sure to rain.
I remain, your true friend, BERTRAM A. B-.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little American girl, and have been
in Europe three years, and am going to spend the winter in Dresden.
I have taken you for five years, and appreciate you more every
I have been ill for two months, and my greatest comfort has been to
read your lovely stories. We have the beautiful picture gallery and
lovely opera quite near, and we go very often.
I like Louisa Alcott's stories very much, and hope she will write
more. Your interested reader, NEVA MAY -- .



DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: To suspend a bottle from a match laid on
the edge of a table may seem an impossible feat; but the experiment
will prove how easily it may be accomplished. Tie a piece of twine
securely around the neck of the bottle; then lay a match on the
cork, hold it firmly, bring the ends of the twine up over it, and tie
a tight knot, forming a loop. You may remove the match to show
that you have simply tied a loop. Then insert the match through

the loop, rest one end on the cork, and lay the other on the project-
ing edge of a table where the bottle will swing clear of any obstruc-
tion. If the match is but an inch in length, it will support the bottle
quite as readily and make the feat appear all the more surprising.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: This is the first letter I have ever written
to any magazine. I have wanted to write to you for a long time,
to tell you how I love your magazine; it is the nicest one I have
ever seen.
We have only taken you for one year, but we all love you dearly;
and we all thought Little Lord Fauntleroy" a charming tale, and
I like Juan and Juanita," as far as it has gone.
I am eleven, my brother nine, and my sister seven.
My brother and I learned that pretty comedy, Dicky Dot," and
acted it at a children's Band of Hope.
My little sister is too young to understand many of your tales,
but she is very fond of the Brownies," and always looks out for the
"little man with the top hat, eye-glass, and stick."
The only pets we have are pigeons and a bad-tempered cat.
Your interested reader, ETHEL.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : This is the first time I have ever written to
you. I write this because I have never seen any letters in the ST.
NICHOLAS from Mexico. You may think it strange that I know
English, but I have lived in New York seven years. There is a fine
military school here in a castle on a high hill; it is called Chapul-
tepec. When boys graduate, they get a salary for whatever they
have studied for; a civil engineer, $1oo a month.
Yours truly, ALFONSO I. R-.
P. S.-I am farther south than that girl in Savannah, and I assure
you that the Southern friends love dear ST. NICHOLAS.

MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have taken ST. NICHOLASfor a long
time; it is the best book I have had yet, and Little Lord Fauntle-
roy" is the prettiest tale I have ever read.
I was born in San Francisco; and when my mother died, my father
brought me over to Wales. I live with my aunties now; they are
very kind to me; they keep a school, and I am in it.

I don't know much about America, because I was only two years
old when I was brought over. I have an uncle in Kansas, and I
sometimes write to my cousin. I can play the piano, and I have
begun to learn the violin, French, and Latin; if it is wet in the
evenings, we have the trapeze, and I like that better than lessons.
My father lives in New Zealand, and I write to him very often.
My birthday is on the 4th ofJuly, and Auntie says it is a big day in
With much love, and wishing you a happy New Year, I am, dear
ST. NICHOLAS, Your loving reader, Louis J-
P. S.-- am nine years old.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I want to write to you to tell you how
much I enjoy this beautiful magazine. I receive it at the end of the
year, bound in two volumes, as a Christmas present, and have taken
it since 1874. I was very much interested in Little Lord Fauntle-
roy," and could hardly lay it aside for anything else until I had fin-
ished it. I enjoy the Letter-Box, and think the "Brownies very
funny, as I see most of the boys and girls of ST. NICHOLAS do.
I am very anxious to go to school this winter, but as I have just
recovered from a severe sickness, I think I shall have to wait awhile.
I have only one bird for a pet. I do not seem to succeed very'well
with kittens and dogs, but I am very fond of all kinds of pets. I
ride a very gentle pony named Topsey, and think there is nothing
more pleasant. Your loving reader, ALLIE C-.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We are two little girls, and both of us are
eight years old, so we are twins. We have n'tmany friends, because
we don't go to school, but have dear Miss W. to teach us at home.
We play with our pets. They are two Irish setter-dogs named Bob
and Bess.
We ride on our Shetland ponies a great deal. On holidays
we take our ponies, with Bob and Bess following after, and Tim-
othy, one of our men, to show us the way, and take our lunch into
the woods. Almost every night we ride down to the station to meet
Papa, who goes to Boston every day to his business. To-day it
rains, and we can not go out, so we thought we would write a letter
to you. We took you last year for the first time, and liked Little
Lord Fauntleroy ever so much. We have it in a book now, and
Miss W. readsit to us.
We like to read the letters in the Letter-Box. Miss W. corrected
this for us, and Papa is going to take it to Boston and put it in the
post-box. Yours, with love,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am an Oppidan, and I wish to correct a
few mistakes in the article published in the January number of your
magazine. First of all, Eton claims the proud privilege, which it
only shares with Winchester, of being a college, and not a school.
Again, no boys under Middle Fifth can read in either school library.
It would be termed "great side" of a lower boy. On the 4th of June
the crews do not go to Henley, but to Surly, about four or five miles
from Eton. Eton now never rows against Winchester, but occasion-
ally encounters Radley at Henley Regatta. Hoping that you will
publish this, Believe me, yours truly, AN ETONIAN.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have seen very few letters in your col-
umns from Ontario. I live away up in Parry Sound district, on
the shores of the Georgian Bay. I have taken you :: -
and I hope that I will not have to quit taking you for : -
years more. We have very few amusements up here. My favorite
pastime is hunting. I have a shot-gun and a Winchester rifle.
Game of all kinds abounds. From your admiring reader,
W. B. W. A-.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I must tell you how much I have learned
to love you since our town reading circle, Rev. Mr. Lewis, President,
first subscribed to you for my benefit, nearly two years ago, al-
though the grown people enjoy reading you too. I am the only
child ir the reading circle. I love to read the letters, especially
those from Russia, Australia, and all those far-away places. I have
noticed that all the children tell you how many brothers and sisters
they have, and how old they are. I suppose they think you take more
interest in them, when you know something about them; if so, I
must tell you I am twelve years old, and an only child; but I have
so many to pet and love me, that I do not mind it much. I hope
you will not get many letters before mine this year, so this will not
be thrown in the waste basket. Hoping you will give me a welcome,
I am, your loving reader, MAUDE DU R-.




DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : Ever since I was seven years of age (and
I am now twelve) my mamma has always given me a very nice
book for one of my Christmas presents; but to my great surprise
this year, among my other gifts, I found a beautifully bound book,
entitled ST. NICHOLAS." I really love reading, and so you may
imagine the delightful time I have had in reading Little Lord
Fauntleroy," and all about the Brownies" ; and I do hope next
year Mamma will give me another volume. With best wishes, your
great admirer, MABEL M--.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Our school takes ST. NICHOLAS, and now,
as it is vacation, I am the first one, generally, to get it. I think
very much of it.
I have many pets. Among them are a little monkey and a parrot.
They have great times together. They fight all the time. Any-
thing he sees you do, the monkey will do the same. I had a cat,
and he choked it nearly to death. After doing this bit of mischief,
I chained him up for two days, and now he acts much better. My
parrot's name is Fred, and my monkey's name is Harry.
Your true reader, MINNIE M. K- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little boy ten years old. I am
spending the winter in Asheville, N. C. It is a very quaint old
town. The people here ride on a horse, or a mule, or an ox. The
scenery here is grand; there are high mountains rising all around.
I have three sisters. We have a little pony; he will follow me any-
I like "Juan and Juanita" very much, and hope it will turn out
all right for the children. We have taken your magazine ever since
I can remember, and like it very much.
Yours truly, PERCY H. G-.

EDITOR ST. NICHOLAS: In the February number of ST. NICHO-
.Ls I saw a representation of a frost-picture on a pane of glass.
In January, 1882, on one of my windows, Jack Frost drew the
outline of a picture as shown at A in the accompanying sketch.

) A

-. .t 'u)ij:

_ _____ I _

It suggested to me (and required but little imagination) the picture
at B, which I that morning placed in my note-book in order to
preserve it. The frost-picture of Mr. Whiteley called it to remem-
brance. I send it only as a curiosity.
Yours respectfully, H. E. V--

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Your paper comes to me through the
news-agent here, and no magazine or paper is hailed with as
much genuine pleasure as is yours. The stories are so pure, fresh,

and so natural. I have often thought since I got my first copy,
some three years ago, that I could not do without it, and I could
not, I know. "Juan and Juanita" is a most excellent story, as is
also Lord Fauntleroy." I do not remember ever seeing a letter
from Dakota. I suppose most of the readers of ST. NICHOLAS
think Dakota out of the world,-a land of buffaloes and Indians. But
they are mistaken. I live forty miles east of the Missouri River.
We very rarely see Indians, and then they are civilized. We
have very cold weather in winter. It has been as low as forty de-
grees below zero the past week. But in summer our country is quite
pleasant. We have very beautiful flowers, and our two great pleas-
ure resorts are Chamberlain on the Missouri River, and Wessington
Springs. I spent a day and a half last summer at the latter place,
and found it more beautiful than it had been pictured. The people
are very energetic, and take great pride in beautifying their naturally
beautiful place. Wessington Hills, though thirty or more miles from
here, look to be hardly a mile at the times of the mirage, which is
one of Dakota's greatest wonders. We once saw a windmill, which
is five miles from town, plainly revolve. Such is Dakota. When
she's nice she's very nice, and when she 's not, she's torrid.
Believe me, your true friend and faithful reader,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I would like to tell you about a doll's May-
party we had in the country one summer.
My doll Bella was the Queen, because she was fair. She wore
blue shoes and socks, a white tarlatan dress, and a veil and a wreath
on her head. The maids-of-honor were Jeannette and Laura, my
little cousin's dollies. They wore pink cashmere dresses, and the
guests wore dresses of a variety of colors. We made all the dolls
dance and talk, eat fruit and cake, etc. When the party was over,
I discovered that the poor Queen had danced so hard that she had
danced off one of her china legs, and her crown and veil were gone
too. I was obliged to give up looking for the lost articles, for they
were nowhere to be found; and Bella was, of course, very lame;
but Clara (my little cousin) begged me to give Bella to her so that
she could have her for a sick dollie. I think we were silly, now
that I look back at it all; but I think, if I remember correctly, that
I enjoyed it very much at the time. Yours truly, JOSIE M- .

WE present our thanks, for pleasant letters received, to the young
friends whose names here follow: Eleanor 0., Millicent W., Anita
B. C., Nellie J. P., "Adelaide" and "Penelope," G. Russell,
" Holder Club," Eleanor H., Laura M. H., A. E. W., M. F., W. R.,
Ellen B. H., Mabelle S., Jessie B. W., John Gould R., Jack Bliss,
Robert L. R., Fanny A. H., Jessamine B., A. L. H., S. Arthur
Graves, Fanny E. McI., Agnes C., Theodore Simson, Roy Mc.,
Floy S., Allie M. L., Lillie C. F., Hattie S., Pauline L. D., Stewart
M., Grace F. W., Louis Asher, Fullerton L. W., Ella B., Trudy,
E. I. Brown, Katie R. S., Jay E. Carter, Elsea and Addie, Helen B.,
C. C. Stockton, Flora Frances S., Rebecca A. W., Roxy P., Maud
Durrell, "Puss," Nan, Henry S. D., Ruth C., Myra V., Robert
J. H., Louise T., Ethel M., Mabel T., David W., Vera Rowe, H.
L. Moore, Alfred B. C., A. M. P., Libby D., H. M. H., Eleanor
Sewell G., Arthur K. F., A. S., Edwin K. C., Daisy M. B., Kirk
J. E., Arthur T., Charles Gray, Carrie L. Morse, Julia McC., Sybil
M. C., Rob Roy," Edwin N. N., Elinor S., M. and B. Scott,
Etta B. R., Mary M. C., Maidie T., Daisy May A., Jacqueline and
Muriel, Gussie G., Winnie C., Ethel G., Gerald B. W., Bessie G.
H., J. Walter Best, Wallace L. D., Ellen G. B., M. N., E. M..L.,
Ethel, Julian C. V., Annie G., Bina H., Sidney V., Earl R. M.,
Isabel D., Alice O. S., Ira, May i and 2, Dora E. T., Richard R.,
Miles B., Charlie C., Edna S. R., Dorville L. Jr., Kate M. H.,
Jenny H., Lynde T., Edith W., Kittie T., Clarke L. J., Hunter R.,
Jennie D. H., Margaret G. T., H., Edith M. K., Gracie N. H.,
Inez S. H., Florence S. H., Elizabeth L. G., Edna A. D., Henry F.,
Fanny D. B., John U. B., Lolo K., Guy R. H., Carrie G. A.,
Beatrice S. H., Punch Milar, Stella A. G., Bessie B. W., Edith
May C., Ralph F. B., Willie and Lyle, Adrian T., E. W. Bridge-
man, Agnes J. A., M. A. J., Fanny R. M., Caro L. Du B., Ernes-
tine D., J. L. R., May L. E. H., A Subscriber, Gretchen L., B. C.
Cole, Gertrude G., Hattie S., Una R. J., Edith S., Helen L. M.,
Arthur C. M., Helena B. B., Two Mites' Band, Lucy L. C., "Yum
Yum," Geo. W. S., Bessie De W. W., E. B., Laura L., May D.,
Wild Rose, Alta D. F., Carrie B., Edward S. G., Two Little Maids,
Ida M. C., Hattie F., Bertha R., Kitty S. B., Louis P., Frank C.,
Bessie S., Richard S. S., Eva A. B., Minnie, Oswald L., Nannie L.,
Phebe V., Geo. A. M., Mildred S., Gertie E. Moore, Ned Evans,
Laura P., Etta K., Ed. C. C., Alice C., Charles W. L., Polly B.,
Bessie M. B. and Grace L.

' '\


(See ST. NiCHOLAS for Aril, page 478.)
FROM 50 TO 6o.--(Concluded.) "Tracy," C. B. Knight, G. P. K., F. A. Marvin, L. McK. Champlin, A. D. Hall, I. and E. McCready,
A. M. Hammond, H. andB. Dawes, Daisy Dean, S. W. Jones, M. Hallett, I. Welch, H. R. Kellogg, C. P. F., E. Bendon, A. W. Makooski,
M. Gray, M. M. and G. Hopkins, F. and W. Morrison, R. H. Vaile, C. R. F., R. E. Conger, M. D. R., A. C. Webster, Sun, Moon, and
Stars," R. S. Dana, M. A. Groff, R. N. Woodbridge, A. S. and C. M. Linney, B. H. Putnam and others, M. H. Sloo, M. D. Kirby, A.
S. Donnally, C. A. B., C. H. Smith, Palm Tree," R. Whitney, Parke R. D., "Ruby," R. G. Perkins, F. C., B. O. Runnells, Bertha C.
P., K. S. P.," B. S. Thompson, E. K. Martin, C. Jamp, San Anselmo Valley," C. and G. Stratton, M. L. Merrill, "John Quil," M.
G. Foster, C. N. B. C., S. and H. Bostwick, A. H. W., W. L. H., M. E. Nye, "Zyx," H. S. Dormitzer, W. M. Blinks, M. P. Hunter,
A. Hervey, H. S. E., M. W. Dame, I. H. Hall, H. L. Bigelow, J. Homan, H. Griffith, C. J. D., W. C. Emerson, F. H. Searer, E. R.
Woodruff, H. H. Meadows, Mary," Bert Ball," O. Smith, L. B. Justice, L. A. Hobbs, A. R. Thompson, G. G. Dennett, Hilltop,"
" Budge,"J. E. Sharp, N. and A. Kent, F. Hudson, H. Oustin, E. Hyde, E. Hill, A. Moore, J. M. Maynard, B. C. Wheeler, I. E. Cotton,
F. Wardwell, T. P. Woodward, L. T. V., G. Vielie, Fox Bros., J. H. Browne, M. Smith, M. B. E., "Ouidus," A. S. Murphy, W. G. Libby,
" Snip," N. Freeman, Ben Zeene" and Tom Ascat," G. F. De Wein, G. Schute, "Marchioness," I. A. Hackett, J. B. D. and
M. F. D., G. T. Rowland, B. Stuart, R. C. Bean, F. E. Bonsteel, E. S, Parke, "Trudie, Lee, and Scotty," F. H. Hamilton, E. G. M.,
A. S. Read, J. B. Potter, M. L. Haines, J. L. P., Cub," C. C. Hyatt, S. S. Posey, "The Jays," Dorothy, Helen, and Mabel, E. L. Mills,
K. Nelson, J. M. Field, A. LoveR., N. Barlow, C. Strickland, L. T. Crawford, E. Lee S., C. F. Potter, H. Greene, F. D. Stone, E. Cooper,
"Gopht," C. Goodhue, Molly and Ted, Mohawk Valley," E. C. Reifsnyder, Aio," S. F. Spear, K. F. S., W. Davey, Ida, Alice, Jessie,
and Lucy, G. D. McBirney, M. L. Eabes, B. Tucker, C. H. Royce, "Reader," A. R. Tredick, A. R. Barrow, J. R. P., H. B. MacKoy,
Astoria, A. T. P., D. Jackson. I. and E. Swanwick, Mrs. A. F. Crole, J. G. R. Flemming, F. P. Price, M. Petsch, Hyacinthe,"
L. C. Jones, F. H. Roberts, J. Tolson, N. Hovey, B. A. Mayhew, "Commune," D'A. A. Porter, J. R. De Witt, A. B. F., I. Parmelee,
F. A. Bragdon, J. C. Coleman, Jr., L. E. Dains, M. M. Hewitt, H. L. and S. R. Swan, O. T. Crissey, S. Bassett, Carrie G. H., G. C.
Brown, M. Leake, G. Maw, L. D. Cree, J. A. Taylor, C. S. Seaver, W. P. Smith, H. E. S., A. E. Paret, H. Blydenburgh, A. L. Brown,
"The Spencers," L. F. Entwisle, "Lilu," A. W. S. and C. H. K., J. and B. Corbus, R. McA. Leland, F. G. Barlow, M. S. Betts. M. L.
Radcliffe, A. Forster, A. Holliday, "Pansy," M. E. Smith, L. S. Love, S. M., B. S. Newhall, M. D. Emery, J. A. H. H., L. Harris,
L. B. Stevens, M. Hempstead, W. H. Graves, Jacques," Nellie and Tom V., Russ Wilkins, G. and G. Shoup, Tate"J. and M. Bartlett,
C. J. Downey, H. W. Warner, R. W. Bradlee, R. S. Hooker, M. M. Wolfe, C. N. B. C., W. C. Emerson, A. L. Liebmann, F. H. Vincil,
H. O. Oakley, G. P. Paine, F. S. Fay, M. L. Cromwell, S. Packard, E. C. and E. F. Staples, W. P. Sullivan, A. Baker, S. M. Pollock,
S. M. Spencer, Jr., L. E. Piper, I. M. G., M. H. Alien, S. Fleisher, A. Moore, H. W. Cowles, Bessie and Mabel R., N. F.. Cary,
Mrs. W. G. Robbins, I. Murray, C. C. Wright, M. Burton, F. B. Noonan, L. A. M., M. C. Davis, May B., A. M. Wickam, G. A. Ferguson,
H. Saviar, L. M. Brownson, B. B. Holmes, M. A. Tilden, A. S. Fulton, C. and E. Bourland, M. Thompson, F. G. French, L. Giles,
E. Conway, W. L. Grant, H. G. and W., E. R. Morgan, E. A. B., G. W. Emmerson, G. H. and M. B. G., Pollux," L. B. K., S. Chester,
E. Herbert, Mrs. C. H. Raynor, C. S. Parker, Mrs. J. H. Brewer, Priscilla and G. Washington," C. W. Frederick, F. White, A. R.
Vredenburgh, E. I. Brown, C. R. Osborne, O. B. Dilson, Sotsy and Wotsy," E. Dean, R. C. Porter, F. W. M. and H. L. M., A. E. Linn,
H. R. Holmes, Peggotty," J. L. Nelson, R. M. McCloud, L. C. Norris, L. S. Johnson, P. L. Anderson, L. D. Case, K. J. Drumm,
M. Marston and W. Kerr, E. Brooks, C. Cooley, M. F. Smith, "Mrs. Lecks and Mrs. Aleshine," M. Reynolds, "Busy Bee," Connie
and Annie, R. S. Sinclair, R. E. N. D., A. M. McK., Les deux Cousins, C. F. Doyle, Jr., L. F. Warren, B. E. Smith, E. W. Bartan,
F. Warren, J. C. Burrell, Miss Flint," B. E. K., Mrs. Wilson, J. M. Wile, Jule H., H. and B. Dawes, P. T. Burrows, G. F. R.,
W. B. Smith, E. F. De Witt, Mrs. C. M. Leete, L. Bell, E. Clark. V. B. Belnap, F. A. Cooke, H. M. Slade, V. Barrett, M. E. Ladd,
B. Hunt, J. H. Bulnam, A. M. Grozelier, E. A. P., W. S. Greene, J. H. D., "Mess," "B. Me.," M. L. Gerrish, "Jo and I," E. M. K.,
" Malice," C. Wettstein, Puck," L. B. Kimball, L. Freeman, R. Wood and C. White, F. R. F., J, C. Breckinridge, Jr., M. Kennard,
A. C. Willetts, "Ninepin," E. Rayner, J. Earle, Francis," Bootles' Baby," G. W. M. B. G. P. B., F. and M. Galloway, K. A. T. R.,
W. T. A., W. R. Parsons.
FROM 45 TO 50.- S. D., A. M. S. and H. A. M., E. Prescott, C. A. Lee, L. E. Henon, T. Jenks, R. K. M., W. J. Greanelle, A. N. Frink,
A. Aldrich, L. V. K., J. C. Parsons, L. A. H., R. Wilkinson, A. B. Shaw, Bessie and Carrie, B. P. Hale, Lillie M. M., C. H. Strang, E. S.
Fechheimer, F. F. Evans, H. H. Burdick, R. Strang, C; J. Brown, F. I. and G. W. Whittemore, J. Hirshinger, C. L. Hoffman, J.
Moore, H. G. Walker, M. Taylor, "Lady Macbeth and Juliet," A. E. B., W. H. S., M. C. Wight, F. S. Henderson, L. H. Cole,
E. Stockwell, Ruth H., E. Robins and M. R. Thouron, F. M. Hicok, Two Lous," A. Travis, Puzzler," A. Adams, M. D. Du Bois, M.
Butler, S. Hubbell, M. L. Westgate, A. H. R. and M. G. R., S. O. Haven, B. Hamrick, J. Kaplan, M. C. Keene, N. S. Conover, L. Collins,
M. Passano, J. L. March, L. J. Arrowsmith, May-Lou," B. H. Smith, M. Boise, E. White, G. A. Hall, I. W. and A. P., Joe, Ella, and
Emma, A. Fitch, J. P. Richardson, "Pansyand Lilac," L. Arder, L. J. Frankenthal, F. Adams, M. M. M., Two Redheads," R. Eugene,
C. M. Smith, G. L. S. Parker, G. A. Toffey, L. M. Keith, W. Chapman, C. and S. McLaren, E. Brookes,J. H. M. R., Clifford and Coco,"
H. Lengel, R. C., Glen Ridge, C. S. Gore, "The McA's," C. D. H., S. L. Fox, J. Dobell, Vivian V. V., W. D. Keep, "Don Guzman,"
M. Carver, A. T. Day, E. MacElroy, H. C. Woodman, "Ohnja," B. Koehler, F. B. Morse, J. C. Howell, C. Mischka, A. Cadwell, J.
F. Roberts, J. C. Newlin, J. J. Shuman, I. C. Dunkerson, G. A. Muns, M. Crosby, K. W. Nelson, W. A. Adriance, E. H. E., R. Bab-
cock, A. F. Lewis, M. Bombay, Deerfoot, E. Haswell, F. Gibbs, R. R. B., F. Wood, H. Norwood, L. W. T. and M. S. E., C. E. Slocum,
B. Suppiger, E. R. Jones, E. G. Davis, H. Biggeret, M. M., A. Travis, A. D. Pratt, H. Wagner, A. G. Baker, G. F. Koon, J. S. C., M.
and H. Hall, "Castor and Pollux," M. A. Locke, S. Sax, L. Pinney, E. Reizenstein, C. B. Wiener, A. H. Woodward, H. Murray, Mrs.
F. M. Tompkins, L. Ward, "Etc.," W. G. Peck, H. Rommel, Mrs. C. H. Emmons, M. Burns, E. M. Aiken, N. Hamilton, J. F. McBrien,
E. A. Warren, S. G. B., S. G. T., Jr., F. W. Crosby, Ross Street, L. H. S., Clara and Robert, L. A. Logan, Ned and Abbie, C. Howe,
F. A. Tooker, G. Capen, H. A. Whiting, N. E. Winer, G. C. and J., G. F. and M. Dashiell, J. M. Nye, E. T. C., V. and L., Chris, K.
M. Mason, H. and J. Hamilton, E. E. Gisburne, M. B. Stabler, M. E. Bushnell, A. B. M., "Nemo," F. E. Stanton, Dora, C. M. Moore,
S. H. Teall, Grace and Adda, M. Connolly, G. Daniels, N. Baur, Professor and Co., M. E. Mixter, E. Kirudson, A. T. Miner, L. Levan,
A. R. Stevens, M. C. Jones, "O for Joe," Gip, M. Raymond, Blanche and Fred, O. P. Renning, F. W. Merrill, A. Oliver, F. M. Boyd,
W. R. Dorr, F. W. Phelps, C. M. Hunter, A. Mason, B. Lake, F. M. Dodge, E. Cape, H. Kempe and N. Clark, L. S. and Teeto-
taler," G. L. M., H. E. D., F. E. Barton, E. F. Knips, C. S. D. P., J. Sewell, C. Robinson, L. D. Buell, G. H. Sargeant, G. H. Pum-
phrey, B. and S., G. C. Gammon, P. Overlin, S. Yeates, L. J. Owen, M. Walton, M. R. Brown, P. Granbery, Alice S., S. Comstock, L.
D. Hart, S. A. Franks, H. F. Shrimpton, Q. Wheeler, E. L. Nichols, M. McC., F. S. Church, C. Orcutt, P. Ferris, H. and I. Knechler,
P. Allen, M. E. Locke, H. P. Gur, L. C. Baker, F. P. Ripley, A. Brooks, Isabel C. A., D. and B. Cumming, R. D. Spry, E. C. H., L.
B. Cain, C. P. Reed, L. Maxon, A. E. Abernethy, I. E. M., H. T. Gould, A. V. Pierce, C. T. Wilder, J. L. Hildreth, J. J. Craig, P. Reese,
" Nemo," Mollie, J. Lindsley, E. L. Umpleby, Tet, C. E., N. S. and E. E. Carey, S. Rutledge, I. Lebermann, Lorane, A. and E. William-
son. 0. Smith, E. E. Carman, M. S. Tracy, B. F. and J. W. H. Porter, L. Sparks, A. McLenegan, E. Stanton, M. and R. Cole, C. Blos-
som, R. andLe R. Opdyke, L. G. A., H. J. Woodworth, Mayo, F. G. Adams, F, Botsford, M. P. Hitchcock, R. M. P., G. C. Tyler, E. C.
G., D. H. B., P. R. Coates. E. Stoy, W. R. Fisher, C. L. A., M. D. Seese, F. A. and C. P. Foster, N. Norris, L. G. Parkinson, F.
Allen, B. Richards, M. C. Eames, G. H. Curtiss, "Gif," Somebody," "Walnut," Checkmate," S. E. Clapp, E. M. Poland, A. Hin-
man, E. Riffle, H. L. S. and W. F., A. Duryee, Grace E. K., E. Van Deusen, S. Pierce, E. S. Black, K. W. and L. A. Denson, B.
Fudge, A. W. Booraeur, N. Oglevee, T. B. Robinson, E. D. Colwell, E. G. Fiss, "Pie," H. L. Eason, R. K. MacLea, A. Zagallo, M. F.
Miller, L. Prior, O. Engelmann, W. S. F., G. W. Smith, E. C. Gardner, "Eureka," "Brightwood," F. Moss, F. C. Waller, W. G. Little,
L. Wilson, E. Crocker, H. E. Deats, I. Erhardt, L. A. Hallock, C. E. Ruth, D. C. D., Nannie D., R. W. Meyers, A. G. Farwell, B. K.
Marshall, E. Embros, M. S. Searls, C. F. Hoagland, J. de P. Watts, G. D. O., W. S. Gilles, May and 79," M. L. Masters, G. E. M.,
Nina, A. F. Van Bibber, F. P. Loomis, S. J. Howe, A. C. Nelson, M. Prentis, A. W. Jamison, F. Eaton, H. H. Clark, A. D. F., Mignon,
S. E. Martin, S. E. W., E. Pickings, E. Phillipps, M. E. A., E. G. W., Winnie and Rhoda, A. H. Withington, J. Chubb, H. C. F.
McCreery, "The Doctor," A. B. C., W. L. Fenn. "Toboggan," H. A. Kuehn, M. Gimson, N. L. Howes, I. J. Fisher, R. Lyon, F. A.
Bryant, S. Mulhull, E. L. Hanington. P. M. W., Willie and Kittie, S. F. Hall, E. S. Griffith, M. F. Paul, G. J. Graves, Jr., A. L. Pickett,
L. Arnold, C. M. Gray, M. N. Stokes, J. D. Flandrau, J. A. Jannev, E. L. Young, A. K. Brainerd, F. F. Campbell, C. L. Smith,
A. and J. Brevoort, B. Hofford, E. E. Sprague, W. D. Van Blascom, S. Tollansbee, M. S., A. L. Schnecker, G. P. Hitchcock, W. L.
Cochran, A. Taylor, E. C. Moreley, A. Johnson, "Nan," A. Eldridge, A. and F. Walmsley, M. Haney, Agnes J. B., A. E. Anderson,
"Fire-fly," M. A. C., H. M. Jones, N. M. Bond, "Theo.Ther," C. Appel, "Ordie," J. Christian, E. H. Sackett, Albert and Grace,
E. M. S., S. S. D., M. S., E. Dick, W. A. Payne, W. A. Preston, Jr., Sadie W., E. F. Howard, J. Tryon, E. M. Bennett, M. and E.
Upton, Otis S., M. Higby, S. Collins, S. M. L., G. L. M., C. B. Pratt, G. D. Leach, Winnie B.. A. and H. W., F. S. Salisbury, W. S. A.,
E. and K. Weld, M. C. N., S. C. W., B. Temby, F. H. Gregory, I. H. Peck, H. M. A., O. J. Healing. (To be continued.)




EASY GREEK CROSS. I. I. Harp. 2. Area. 3. Reap. 4.
Papa. II. Hasp. 2. Anna. 3. Snip. 4. Papa. III. i.
Papa. 2. Arid. 3. Pine. 4. Aden. IV. a. Aden. 2. Dire. 3.
Eras. 4. Nest. V. i. Aden. a. Dove. 3. Even. 4. Nero.
CROss-WORD ENIGMA. Thermometer.
SOME EASTER EGGS. Cross-words: i. Entrance. 2. Talisman.
SDisgusts. 4. Scatters. 5. Speakers. 6. Armature. 7. Trac-
tile. 8. Vicinage. 9. Madrigal. ao. Caressed. Zigzag, from r to
Io, Easter-tide; from ii to o2, Easter eggs.
DOUBLE ACROSTIC. Primals, Palanquin; finals, Cabriolet. Cross-
words: i. PacifiC. 2. ArenA. 3. LamB. 4. AmeeR. 5. Na-
omi. 6. QuartO. 7. UnequaL. 8. InvitE. 9. NuggeT.
Royal. 4. Tan. 5. L. II. 1. L. 2. Set. 3. Lemur~.4. Tun.
5 R. III. L. 2. Net. 3. Lever. 4. Tea. 5. R. IV. i.
L. 2. Nut. 3. Lunar. 4. Tar. 5. R. V. i. R. 2. Air. 3.
Ripen. 4. Red. 5. N.

CONNECTED WORD-SQUARES. Upper square: i. Mead. 2. Ease.
3. Asia. 4. Dean. Lower square: i. Slat. 2. Lane. 3. Anil.
4. Tell. Diagonals, Mainsail.
Pt. Come up, April, through the valley,
In your robes of beauty drest,
Come and wake your flowery children
From their wintry beds of rest.
Come and overblow them softly
With the sweet breath of the south;
Drop upon them, warm and loving,
Tenderest kisses of your mouth.
EASY CUBE. From I to 2, heaven; 2 to 4, nation; 3 to 4, red-
den; I to 3, hinder; 5 to 6, gander; 6 to 8, rodent; 7 to 8, sprout;
5 to 7, genius; i to 5, hang; 2 to 6, near; 4 to 8, neat; 3 to 7, rags.
CONNECTED PYRAMIDS. Reading across: i. P. 2. All. 3.
Green. 4. Rotator. 5.. S. 6 Cub. 7. Aural. 8. Impetus.
Centrals downward, Pleasure.

To OUR PUZZLERS: In consequence of advancing the date of issue, hereafter answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must
be received not later than the a5th of each month. 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 FEBRUARY NUMBER were received, before February 20, from E. Ripley-- Clifford and
Coco--Bessie Jackson- Mary Ludlow-R. B. Stone-Nellie and Reggie -San Anselmo Valley -Harry H. Meeder-Percy H.
Thomas- Edward L. Lyon -K. G. S.-M. E. P.-Paul Reese-" Witches"-" Three Innocents"- Francis W. Islip -Tony Atkin-
son -" Blitbedale."
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE FEBRUARY NUMBER were received, before February to, from Charlie and Herbert, 2- Ramona, i-
F. E L., C. T. R., I M. F. C., i-Maggie T. Turrill, i- Bea and Kit, 4-H. M. Rochester, -Buffand M, s-J. D. Mal-
lory, I-F. N. K., I Primary, --Lotta, 3-Uno and Ino, 2-J. M. G., 7-L. H. L. and R. D. S. M., 8-Alice and Belle, i-
Patience, to-H. W. G., 2--Don, 2--Bess, --W. R. Moore, -J. G. Vogt, 5-Jamie and Mamma, 9--Puffy, a -Bluebell, i -
Sidney, 2-" Wild Rose," i Puss, a Mab, i Hildegarde and Eloise, 2 -" Mother Cary's Chickens," i Yellow Kitten, i Eva
Smith, 3- C. Griffith, i Hyacinthe, 2 -" Tycoon," J. H. Batchelor, 2 Somitodyeke, i-Lucy L. Brookes, 6- Effie K. Tal-
boys, 8- Family Kid, 6-B. D. P., z -L. H. L. andD. M., 2-Professor and Co., 8-J. N. Carpenter, L. H. W., 3 Puck, 2
- Fred W. Mile, I -" Friends," 9- Martha Barrie, i Murphy, I Percy Varian, 8-"Sally Lunn" and "Johnny Cake," 8-
Claude Still, 3- Adonis and Rosetta, i--No Name, Marigold and Carnation, 4-" May and 79," 9 -" Rotide," 2 -S. and B.
Rhodes, to- W. G. U., I Princess, 2- Madeleine E. P., x E. A. Baumann, i- L. C. B., 6-Mrs. Leeks and Mrs. Aleshme, 4-
Lock and Key, 4 H. D. H,, i-Tad, i Mamma and Jean, i Elsie R. S., Gladys Delavie, i -" Le Brecht," 7- R. H. and
P. M., i Belle Abbott, 2-" Fanned," 9 -B. Z. G. i F. A. Mily," 8 -" Lehte," 5 -W. K. C., 3 -J. L. H. and E. B. H., 3 -
"Electric Button," ix G. L. M., 8 -" Council of Three," 9 N. L. Howes, 6 A. G. L., 8 -" L. Rettop," 5 -L. L. B., 2 Jones
Children, I -" Two Cousins," 7.


3 To
4 55
4 ii
5 .- 12
6 3
7 14
8 15

READING ACROSS: 1. In familiar. 2. A verb. A word which
expresses assent. 4. A wharf. 5. To seize and hold possession of
.. i1 6. An inhabitant of a certain northern country. 7.
J ..*r. To mention.
From i to 8, the name of a famous poem; from 9 to 15, an object
which will soon be quite common. KATASHA."


FROM one word of thirteen letters every word in the following sen-
tence may be formed. No letter is used twice in any word unless it
occurs as many or more times in the original word, which contains
the five vowels of the English alphabet in their regular order. What
is the word of thirteen letters ?
I can count one nose on a face, ten toes on feet; use an ounce
of tea; sit at ease on a fence to cast a net; cut fustian into a fine
coat; entice an acute cousin to factious action; tease ten cats in a
season; cast an aunt's faction into aeons of fusion; cite facts to
fasten sin on a saint." CHARLEY B.


I. BEHEAD unfurnished and leave a verb. 2. Behead tart and
leave a famous epic poem. 3. Behead a contest and leave a unit. 4.
Behead a journey and leave a pronoun. 5. Behead injury and leave
an inlet of water from the sea. 6. Behead a presage and leave man-

kind. 7. Behead wisdom and leave metal. 8. Behead obscure and
leave a place of safety. 9. Behead an image and leave to study.
The beheaded letters spell the name of a man whom Americans
should honor. LIT TLE TYCOON."
CROSS-WORDS (of equal length): i. To muse. 2. Benches. 3-
Supported. 4. A tree whose leaves are used for decoration. 5. A
kind of high shoe anciently worn.
The central letters, reading downward, spell the surname of an
American general.
When the letters forming this name have been removed, the re-
maining letters of the cross-words answer to the following definitions:
i. A small quantity. 2. Places. 3. A hard substance. 4. Sacred.
5. A small animal. E. COPPEE THURSTON.

i. The center. 2. Impetuous. 3. To be in accord. 4. Pipes.,5.
A ringlet. "ODD FISH."

4 ,,, 53


FROM I to 2, fault: from I to 3, sharply notched; from 2 to 3,
capable of being touched; from 4 to 5, a souvenir; from 4 to 6, a
species of parrot; from 5 to 6, an elaborate discourse.




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i :f the twenty little pictures in the above illustration suggests the name of a bird. Name
the birds in the order in which they are numbered. G. B.

ACROss: I. To spin. 2. Frames for holding pictures. 3. To
threaten. 4. Wheel-shaped. 5. A rent-roll. 6. Narrated.
DOWNWARD: I. In digress. 2. A pronoun. 3. An engine of
war. 4. A tribe mentioned in the Bible. 5. General meaning. 6.
Puffs up. 7. Not plentiful. 8. A feminine name. 9. To consume.
ao. An article much used by the-French. it. In digress.

knot. 2. A dance. 3. Always. 4. In kindness. 5. To interro-
gate. 6. Nimble. 7. To differ in opinion. Centrals, reading down-
ward, a famous hero. "SOLOMON QUILL,"
MY primals spell the Christian name, and my finals the surname,
of an English poet who was killed at the siege of Zutphen.
CROSS-woRDS (of equal length): I. Seven stars of the constella-
tion Taurus. 2. Sincerely. 3. Excited. 4. To make longer. 5.
Rude. 6. A boastful display of knowledge. FRANK S.

I AM composed of nineteen letters, and am the name of a famous
Egyptian king.
My 8-3-6-1-14-7 was a Roman general. My 13-5-4-1-9-g o was
Sa small town which was the seat of a famous oracle. My 12-5-19-3
-1 was a fabulist. My 13-10-13-3 was a celebrated queen of Car-
thage. My 6-14-6-8-17-o0-r9 was an ancient Egyptian city. My
8-15-12-2-3 was an Athenian philosopher. My 2-0o-2-18-19 was
an emperor of the Romans. My 4-7-23-10-12 was a country of
Asia Minor. My 6-1o-19-2-15-5-2-3-14 was an object of supersti-
tious veneration by the Druids. My 18-4-7-19-19-5-19 was afa-
mous Greek hero. My 12-2-2-10-4-12 was a famous king of the
Huns. My 2-9-2-4-14-19 was the most celebrated of the seven
Grecian sages. My 19-7-4-15-12 was a noted Roman tyrant.

I. LEFT-HAND HOUR-GLASS. Across: a. A large city. 2. Lin-
eage. 3. A young'ammal. 4. In kindness. 5. Past. 6. A fish.
7. Warded off. Centrals, reading downward, more juvenile.
II. UPPER DIAMOND: x. In kindness. 2. To be ill. 3. To
abrogate. 4. Related by birth or marriage. 5. Very pale. 6. In-
duced. 7. In kindness.
III. LOWER DIAMOND: I. In kindness. 2. Mankind. 3. A
bird of the parrot family. 4. Determined, 5. An old word meaning
a spot. 6. Very small. 7. In kindness.
IV. RIGHT-HAND HOUR-GLASS. Across: I. In the form of a

My first is in cotton, but not in silk;
My second in coffee, but not in milk;
My third is in wet, but not in dry;
My fourth is in scream, but not in cry;
Myfifth is in lark, but not in sparrow;
My sixth is in wide, but not in narrow;
My seventh in pain, but not in sting:
My whole is a flower that blooms in spring.



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