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|In English country|
|A big monopoly|
|Winning a commission|
|Three boys of Glendale|
|Katy-did - Katy-did n't - The plowman...|
|A gunpowder plot|
|My lady fair|
|Miss Lilywhite's party - Juan and...|
|A Fourth of July record - The amateur...|
|The kind snail|
|The brownies' Fourth of July|
|How poor puss was rescued|
|The Japanese dolls|
|Bead and wire inlaying|
|The king-bean game|
|A deadly feud|
|Silly Miss Unicorn|
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|Table of Contents|
Front Cover 1
Front Cover 2
In English country
A big monopoly
Winning a commission
Three boys of Glendale
Katy-did - Katy-did n't - The plowman of the Volga Plains
A gunpowder plot
My lady fair
Miss Lilywhite's party - Juan and Juanita
A Fourth of July record - The amateur camera
The kind snail
The brownies' Fourth of July
How poor puss was rescued
The Japanese dolls
Bead and wire inlaying
The king-bean game
A deadly feud
Silly Miss Unicorn
Back Cover 1
Back Cover 2
%`-Jpoig Rk` 143
F- DDLE-JOHN AND THE CHILDREN
F[DDLE-JOHN AND THE CHILDREN.
t.~i% U .
[Copyright, 1887, by THE CENTURY CO.]
1,1! .* '" ol o ),i-ll *
-. ..... I. .
BY HJALMAR HJORTH BOYESEN.
QUEER sort o' chap that Fiddle-John is," said
the men, when Fiddle-John went by.
"Quaint sort o' '-r'atur' is Fiddle-John," echoed
the women; not much in the providing' line."
"A singular individual is that Violin-John,"
said the parson; I can never make up my mind
whether he is a worthless scamp or a man of
genius." "Possibly both," suggested the parson's
wife. "Apartments to let," remarked the daugh-
ter, tapping her forehead significantly.
"Hurrah! There is Fiddle-John," cried the
children, flocking delightedly about him, clinging
to his arms, his legs, and his coat-tails. Sing us
a song, Fiddle-John Tell us a story! "
Then Fiddle-John would seat himself on a stone
at the roadside, while the children nestled about
him; and he would tell them stories about knights
and ladies, and ogres, and princesses, and all sorts
of marvelous things.
"Worthless fellow, that Fiddle-John," said the
passers-by; "there he sits in the middle of the day
talking nonsense to the children, when he ought
to be working for the support of his family."
It was perfectly true; Fiddle-John ought to
have been working. He would readily have admit-
ted that himself. He was well aware that his wife,
Ingeborg, was at home working like a trooper to
keep the family from starving. But then, some-
how, Fiddle-John had no taste for work, while
Ingeborg had. He much preferred singing songs
and telling stories. And a very pretty picture he
made, as he sat there at the roadside, with his
handsome, gentle face, his large blue eyes, and
his wavy blonde hair, and the children nestling
about him, listening in wide-eyed wonder. There
was something very attractive about his face, with
its mild, melancholy smile, and a sort of diffident,
questioning look in the eyes. He had an odd
habit of opening his mouth several times before
he spoke, and then, possibly, if his questioner's
face did not please him, he would go away, having
said nothing. And, after all, it was diffidence and
not insolence which prompted this action. It
would never have occurred to Fiddle-John to take
a critical view of anybody; he approved of all
humanity in general, only he had an intuitive
suspicion when any one was making fun of him,
and in such cases he found safety only in flight
By profession Fiddle-John was a ballad-singer.
A queer profession, you will say, but nevertheless
one which in Norway enjoys a certain recognition.
He had a voice which any singer might have en-
vied him,--a clear and sweet tenor which rang
through the depths of the listener's soul. Hear-
ing that voice, it was impossible not to stay and
listen. The deputy sheriff, who once came to ar-
rest Fiddle-John for vagrancy, when Fiddle-John
began to sing, sat and cried. It "came over"
him so very queer," he said. The parson, who
had made up his mind to give Fiddle-John a
very vigorous reproof for neglect of his family,
the first time he should catch him, quite forgot
his sinister purpose when, one day, he saw the
ballad-singer seated under a large tree, with a
dozen children climbing over him, and, with rol-
licking laughter, tumbling and rolling about him.
And when Fiddle-John, having quieted his au-
dience, took two little girls on his lap, while the
boys scrambled and fought for the places nearest
to him, the parson could not for the life of him
recall the harsh things he had meant to say to
Fiddle-John. The fact was,-though, of course,
it is scarcely fair to tell, the ballad which Fiddle-
John sang to the children reminded the parson of
the time (now long gone) when he himself was
paying court to Mrs. Parson, and sometimes on
slight provocation dropped into poetry.
Thy cheeks are like the red, red rose,
Thy hands are like the lily."
These were the very extraordinary sentiments
which the parson had, at that remote period, pro-
fessed toward Mrs. Parson, and these were the very
words which Fiddle-John was now singing. No
wonder the parson forgot that he had come to
scold Fiddle-John. I suppose that such good-
for-nothings may be good for something, after all,"
he said to his wife as he related the incident at the
Fiddle-John and his family lived in a little cot-
tage close up under the mountain-side, where the
sun did not reach it until late in the afternoon. In
the winter, they were sometimes snowed down so
completely that they had to work until noon before
they could get a glimpse of the sky. The two
boys, Alf and Truls, would go early in the morn-
ing with their snow-shovels, and dig a tunnel to
the cow-stable, where a lonely cow, a pig, and
three sheep were penned up. Their father would
then sit at the window, holding a lantern, the light
of which vaguely penetrated the darkness and
showed them in what direction they were digging;
but, after a while, this monotonous occupation
wearied him, and he would take his fiddle and
play the most mournful tunes he could think of.
It never occurred to him to lend a helping hand;
and it never occurred to the boys to ask him.
They accepted their fate without much reason-
ing; it seemed part of the right order of things
that they and their mother should work, while
their father played and sang. Ingeborg, their
mother, had nursed a kind of tender reverence for
him in their hearts, since they were babes. He
seemed scarcely part of the coarse and common
work-a-day world to which they belonged; with
his gentle, handsome face and his clear blue eyes,
he seemed like some superior being who conferred
a favor upon them by merely consenting to grant
them his company. His songs traveled from one
end of the valley to the other, and everybody
learned them by heart and sang them at weddings,
dances, and funerals. Even though the parishion-
ers might themselves find fault with Fiddle-John,
and call him quaint and queer, they stood up
for him bravely if a stranger ventured to attack
They knew there was not another such singer in
the whole land, and it was even said that people
had come from foreign lands and had made him
enormous offers, if he would go with them and
sing at concerts in the great foreign cities. Thou-
sands of dollars he might have earned if he had
gone, but Fiddle-John knew better than to aban-
don the valley of his birth, where he had been
known since his babyhood, and trust himself to
the faithless foreign world. Thousands of dollars !
Only think of it! The very thought made Fiddle-
John dizzy; ten or twenty dollars would have pre-
sented something definite to his imagination,
which he would have comprehended; but thou-
sands of dollars was a blank enormity which diffused
itself like mist through his dazed brain. And yet
Fiddle-John could never stop thinking of the
thousands of dollars which he might have earned
if he had gone with the foreigner. If the truth
must be told, he himself would have liked well
enough to go; and it was only the persuasions
of Ingeborg, his wife, which had restrained him.
" What could you do in the great foreign world,
John," she had said to him; you, with your want
of book-learning and your simple peasant ways?
They would laugh at you, John, dear, and that
would make me cry, and we should both be mis-
erable. And all the little children here in the
valley, what would they do without you, and who
would sing to them and tell them stories when you
were gone? "
That last argument was what decided Fiddle-
John. He did not believe that people would
laugh at him in the great foreign world, but he
did believe that the children would miss him
when he was gone, and he could not bear to think
of some one else sitting under the great linden-tree
at the roadside and telling them stories. For all
that, he regretted many a time that he had been
soft-hearted, and had allowed the gate of glory to
be slammed in his face, as he expressed it. He had
never suspected it before; but now the thought
began to grow upon him that he was a great man,
who might have gained honor and renown if his
wife had not deprived him of the opportunity.
Every day, the valley seemed to be growing
darker and narrower; the sight of the mountains
became oppressive; it was as if they weighed upon
Fiddle-John's breast and impeded his breath.
With feverish restlessness he roamed about from
farm to farm and played, until every string on his
fiddle seemed on the point of snapping.
"I am a great man," he reflected indignantly,
"and might have earned thousands of dollars.
And yet here I go and fiddle away for boors at
twenty-five cents a night."
And to drown the voices that rose clamorously
out of the depths of his soul, he strummed the
strings wildly; and the peasants whirled madly
around him, and shouted till the rafters in the ceil-
ing rang. The gentleness and the mild radiance
which had made the children love him passed out
of his countenance; his eyes grew restless, his mo-
tions.aimless and unsteady. Sometimes he flung
back his head defiantly and mumbled threats be-
tween his teeth; at other times he shuffled along
dejectedly. Once he lay under a tree, dreaming
of the great world now forever closed to him.
"If I had only dared! he whispered to himself;
oh, if I had only dared !"
At that moment some one stepped up to him
and shook him by the shoulder. Hallo, old
chap," said the man, "you are just the fellow I
want! You are the party they call Fiddle-John ? "
There was something brisk and aggressive about
the stranger which almost frightened Fiddle-John.
It was easy to see that he came from afar; for he
had smartly cut city clothes, a tall shiny hat, and
a huge watch-chain from which half a dozen seals
and trinkets depended. Fiddle-John had never
seen anything so magnificent; he was completely
dazzled. He sat half-raised upon his elbow and
stared at the stranger in mute wonder. "Well,
Fiddle-John," the latter went on glibly; "you
don't seem very cordial to an old friend. Or per-
haps you don't know me. I must have changed
some since you used to tell me stories about the
Ashiepattle and the ogre who stowed his heart
away, for safe-keeping, inside of a duck in a goose-
pond some thousands of miles off. I have often
thought of that story since. The fact is, that is
just the kind of arrangement I am after. I 've too
much heart, Fiddle-John, too much heart. My
heart is always getting me into trouble, and if I
could make an arrangement to leave it behind here
in Norway, while I myself return to America, I
should like it first-rate. You don't happen to know
of any party who would be willing to keep it for
me during my absence,-hey, Fiddle-John ? "
The man here laughed uproariously and slapped
Fiddle-John on the shoulder.
You are just the same old customer you used
to be, Fiddle-John," he said in a tone of cordial
good-fellowship; "but you don't seem as talka-
tive as you used to be,- don't even tell me you are
glad to sepe me. Now, that's what I call hard, Fid-
dle-John. Don't even know the name of your little
friend James Forrest-or-beg your pardon-
Jens Skoug, I mean to say, who used to climb on
your back and listened in rapture to your wonder-
ful voice and your marvelous fairy tales."
A gleam of intelligence flitted across Fiddle-
John's features, as he heard the name Jens Skoug,
and he arose with bashful hesitancy and extended
his hand to the talkative stranger. He remem-
bered well that Jens's family had emigrated, some
ten years before, to the United States, and he re-
membered also vividly the uncouth little creature in
skin-patched trousers and ragged jacket who had
embarked, at that time, in the great steamer that
came to take the emigrants off to Bergen. And
now this little creature was a tall, dazzling man with
a silkhat and showy jewelry, and an address which
a prince might have envied. Thus reasoned Fid-
dle-John in his simplicity. Such a marvelous trans-
formation he had never in all his life witnessed. The
name James Forrest which Jens had dropped, quite
as if by accident, also impressed him strangely.
It seemed to add greatly to Jens's magnificence. A
man who could afford to have such a foreign-sound-
ing name must indeed be a person of enterprise
and prominence. It surrounded Jens with a de-
lightful foreign flavor which captivated his friend
even more than his brilliant talk. Jens," he said,
making an effort to conquer his diffidence, you
have grown to be a great man, indeed. How could
you expect me to recognize you ?"
"A great man," exclaimed Jens, expanding
agreeably under his friend's sincere flattery; "no,
Fiddle-John, I am not a great man,- that is, not
yet, Fiddle-John. But I mean to become a great
man before I die. In America, where I live, every
man can become great if he only chooses to. But I
thought, being young yet, that I could afford to
spend a couple of months in opening to my country-
men the same road to fortune which is open to my-
self, before I settled down to tackle life in earnest.
The fact is, Fiddle-John, as I said before, I have too
much heart. My conscience would leave me no
peace, whenever I thought of my poor countrymen
who were toiling here at home for twenty-five or forty
cents a day, and scarcely could keep body and soul
together, while I could earn five and ten dollars a
day as readily as I could turn a handspring. I posi-
tively cried, Fiddle-John, cried like a girl, when
I thought of you and your small chaps and of all
the other poor fellows here in the valley who had
such a hard time of it, tearing off their caps and
bowing and scraping before the parson and the
judge and all the big folk, while in America we
step up to the President himself, and chat with
him as familiarly as we please. And, likely as
not, if you call upon him with a note from me,
and he should take a fancy to you, he may set you
up in a fat office, where you may feel yourself as
big as the very biggest."
Fiddle-John listened with eager ears and open
mouth to this alluring narrative. It did not occur
to him to question the truth of what Jens said, for
did not his appearance and his independent and
dazzling demeanor plainly show that he was a
great and prosperous man? And, moreover, how
could he have undergone such a startling transfor-
mation in a few years, if it had not been true, as
he said, that the President of the United States or
some other mighty personage took an interest in
him? Fiddle-John had often heard it said that in
America all things were possible; and he had him-
self read letters from persons who there at home
had been poor tenants or even day laborers, and
who in the new country had become colonels, and
merchants, and legislators. Therefore, he was not
in the least surprised at the good luck which had
overtaken his former friend. He was only sur-
prised that the thought of going to America had
never occurred to him before, and he made up his
mind on the spot to sell his cow, his pig, and his
three sheep, and take the first ship for New York.
He could scarcely stop to bid Jens Skoug good-
bye, so eager was he to rush home and commu-
nicate his resolution to his wife and children. He
foresaw that he would meet with opposition from
Ingeborg; but he steeled his heart against all her
entreaties and vowed to himself that this time he
would have his own way. He would not permit
her again to snatch the chance of greatness away
He was flushed and breathless when he reached
his little cottage up under the mountain-wall. It
had never looked so mean and miserable to him
as it did at that moment. The walls were propped
up on the north and west sides with long beams;
and dry, brownish grass of the year before grew in
tufts along the roof-tree and drooped down over
the eaves. His two sons, Alf and Truls, were
playing bear with their little sister Karen, who was-
seven years old. But they rose hurriedly when
they saw their father, and brushed the sand from
the knees of their trousers. There was some-
thing in his bearing and in the expression of his
face which vaguely alarmed them. He stooped
no more in walking, but strode along proudly with
"Boys," he cried joyously, "run in and tell
your mother, to-morrow we are going to Amer-
ica Ingeborg, who was just coming across the
yard with a lamb in her arms, paused in conster-
nation, and gazed with a frightened expression at
"What has happened to you, John?" she
asked gently. I thought that matter about the
foreigner was settled long ago."
I tell you, no !" he shouted wildly; "it is
not settled. It never will be settled, so long as
there is breath left in my body. This time I mean
to have my own way. Jens Skoug has come back
from America, and he says that America is the
place for me. I knew it all along, and whether
you will follow me or not, I am going."
"Follow you, John ? Yes, if go you must, then
I will follow you. But to America I will not go
willingly, unless I know what we are to do there,
and how we are to make our living. It is a long,
long distance, John, across the great ocean; they
speak a language there which neither you nor I
Fiddle-John turned impatiently on his heel, as
if to say that he knew all that twaddle of old;
but Ingeborg, giving the lamb to Alf, went up to
him, laid her hand on his arm, and said:
"You and I have lived together for so many
years, John, and we love each other too well ever
to be happy away from each other Don't let us
speak harsh words. They rankle in the heart
and cause pain, long after they are spoken. If
you must go to America, I will go with you. But
I have a feeling that I shall never get there alive.
I beg of you, don't decide rashly and don't believe
all that Jens Skoug tells you. He was not a truth-
ful child, and I doubt if he has grown up to be a
good man. Let us say no more about it to-night.
We will sleep on it, and see how it will look to us
Fiddle-John was not a bad fellow; ,on the con-
trary, he was quite soft-hearted and easily moved.
This wife of his had toiled in poverty and ill
health all her life long, and he had never offered
to lift a finger to help her. Yet she loved him,
accepting her lot meekly, and never uttering a
word of reproach against him. He had never ob-
served before how thin and worn she looked, how
hollow her cheeks were, and how large her eyes.
He felt for the first time in his life a pang of
remorse. He had not been a good husband, he
thought,- not as good as he might have been. But
then he was a great man, and great men were
never the best of husbands. And when he reached
America, and his greatness became generally rec-
ognized, and fortune began to smile upon him,
then he would shower kindness upon her, and she
should be rewarded a thousand-fold for all she had
suffered. Surely, he would turn over a new leaf-
Thus Fiddle-John consoled himself when his
conscience grew uneasy. When once they got
to America, he reasoned, then everything would
be right. He would have started without delay,
if Ingeborg's health had not failed so rap-
idly that the doctor positively forbade her to
think of traveling. The look of suffering and
sweet forbearance upon her face seemed a perpet-
ual reproach to Fiddle-John, and he roamed rest-
lessly from one end of the valley to the other,
playing, singing, and telling his stories,- in order
to earn money for the voyage, he said to his sons;
but, in reality, to escape from the unspoken re-
proach of his wife's countenance. But the day
soon came when he needed no longer to flee from
One bright day in early spring, just as the snow
was melting, and the bare spots on the meadows
steamed in the sun, Ingeborg closed her weary
eyes forever; and a few days later she was laid
to rest in the shadow of the old church, down on
the headland, where the song-thrush warbles
through the brief Arctic summer night.
(To be continued )
BY FRANK DEMPSTER SHERMAN.
ULY- for you the songs are sung
By birds the leafy trees among;
With merry carolings they wake
The meadows at the morning's break,
And through the day the lisping breeze
Is woven with their tree-top glees.
For you the prattling, pebbly brooks
Are full of tales like story-books.
For you a fragrant incense burns
Within the garden's blossom-urns
Which tempt the bees to hasten home
With honey for their honey-comb.
The river, like a looking-glass,
Reflects the fleecy clouds that pass,
Until it makes us almost doubt
If earth and sky are n't changed about.
July for you, in silence deep
The world seems fallen fast asleep,
Save on one glorious holiday,
When all our books we put away
And every little maid and man
Is proud to be American !
AN ENGLISH MEADOW.
DURING our stay in England we shall discover, if
we pay attention to what people say and do, that
Great Britain is divided into two grand divisions:
one is London, and the other is the rest of the
kingdom. When any one in England says that
he is going to town, we may know that he is going
to London. If he intended to visit any other of
the great English cities, he would mention Man-
chester, Liverpool, Birmingham, or whatever its
name might be. Town life means London life,
and the other cities, no matter how large and impor-
tant they are, are considered provincial, and a little
An American boy or girl, who knows something
of country life in a land which stretches from the
SAtlantic to the Pacific and covers a great part of a
continent, will be apt to think that England, about
as large as the State of Illinois, and with a pop-
ulation of over thirty millions, must be so full of
people that no part of it could have that quiet and
secluded character which belongs to real country
life. But this is a mistake. A great portion of
the population of England is so packed and
crowded into its cities, towns, and villages that
there are wide extents of country which are as
rural and pastoral as any lover of country life need
desire to see, unless, indeed, he be fond only
of the primeval forest or the trackless prairie.
In this little country we may even find forests which
are quite extensive, and far-reaching districts, like
the great moors of Devonshire, which in parts
are almost as desolate and uninhabited as a wild
But the great population of England has had
a peculiar influence upon the appearance of the
country. Where there have been so many peo-
ple at work, a vast deal of work has been done.
The land is well and even beautifully cultivated;
the roads are almost as smooth and hard as a
driveway in a park, and there is a general appear-
ance of order and high culture which could
not be expected in a country like ours, where
IN ENGLISH COUNTRY.
IN ENGLISH COUNTRY.
"PERSONALLY CONDUCTED" SERIES-TENTH PAPER.
BY FRANK R. STOCKTON.
IN ENGLISH COUNTRY.
there is so much to do and so few, comparatively,
to do it.
England owes one of its greatest beauties to
its climate. We need not wonder that its fields
and hillsides are so richly green, and that its trees
and hedgerows are so verdant and luxuriant,
when we consider that the whole country is well
watered nearly every day. Rainy, or at least
showery, weather is so common in England that
most things which flourish when well supplied
with water are bound to flourish there. It is
ent there from what it is with us. A gentle rain is
not regarded, and I have heard two men, standing
under umbrellas in a drizzling sprinkle, remark to
each other that it was a fine day.
I wish my young companions to see for them-
selves what real rural life and rural scenery is in
England, and so I shall take them with me to a
place which is as truly out in the country" as
any spot we are likely to visit on this island. It is
not a wild moorland nor a thinly populated mount-
ainous district, but a place where we can see the
-.. -- >7-
-ce -1-- __ -
AN ENGLISH THATCHED COTTAGE.
not pleasant to be caught in a shower when
one least expects it, or to go out in the rain
because it will be of no use to wait until the
rain is over; but, on the other hand, it is de-
lightful to look upon the charming country which
springs.up under a watering-pot sky. But there
are often clear, sunny days in England, and
while we are in that country we must imitate .the
English people, and when it does rain we must not
mind it. The idea of good weather is very differ-
ordinary country life as we read about it in Eng-
lish books and stories.
We begin our journey by going to Paddington
Station, London, where we take tickets for Prince's
Risborough, a little town on the Great Western
Railway. For a time we roll swiftly along on the
main line of the Great Western, but soon branch
off on a single-track road, on which we go as
slowly, and stop as often, as on some of our own
railroads. In about two hours we reach Prince's
IN ENGLISH COUNTRY.
Risborough, a small town in Buckinghamshire.
This county is generally called Bucks for short.
however, is Monk's
Risbn'ror lr, which /
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r I h" ii 1
h ,_, ',[| '. : .
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,. '^ /_ ---
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sons; and our baggage, which in England is
called "luggage," is carried in a "van," or
spring-wagon. We drive away over a smooth
hard road, and although it is raining steadily, and
we are obliged tn keep the carriaee windows shut,
. "... [, t .-_ ,- ', : .I l ,,- ,, 1. _1 I I tty
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,',, r :.. ._ to
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S : .:. .1 at-
Hcic sC hall L pluczasidly lodged,
the station we take "flies," not blue-bottle ones, and every day we shall have four good meals;
but one-horse carriages, each holding four per- breakfast about nine o'clock,- not the simple meal
IN ENGLISH COUNTRY.
of bread and coffee to which we were accustomed
on the Continent, but plenty of ham or bacon,
eggs, marmalade, water-cress or some such fresh
green, tea and coffee, toast, and bread and butter,
but no hot fresh bread. At two o'clock we have din-
ner, very much like a good country dinner at home,
and if any of us are fond of gooseberry or apple
tarts, we shall probably think that we never tasted
any better than those we have here. In England
a pie means pastry with meat, such as a veal,
a pork, or a chicken pie, while pastries with fruit
are called tarts. At five o'clock the tea-bell rings,
when we sit around a table well supplied with
bread and butter, several kinds of cake, and pre-
serves; while the lady of the house sits behind a
teapot and a hot-water pot, each covered with a
great embroidered cosey," like a giant's night-
cap, and these are kept on when the tea is not
actually pouring out, so that it has no chance
to get cool. Between eight and nine we have sup-
per, which is a substantial meal, consisting of cold
meat, with lettuce or some other salad, bread and
butter, and cheese, and for those who like malt
liquors plenty of brown stout and ale, but no tea or
coffee. We might imagine that such a meal at this
hour would interfere with our night's sleep, but in
this country it does not seem to do so. It is
asserted that there is something in the climate of
England which enables people to eat and drink
more without injury than they can in our drier and
thinner air. Among people in higher life, in coun-
try as well as town, it is customary to have very
late dinners, but we are concerned with the ordi-
nary rural life of what is called the English middle
The next morning we start out to see the country,
and the first place we go to is Monk's Risborough.
This little village, or hamlet, was once part of the
property of the monks of Canterbury, and so came
by its name. It is one of the quaintest and most
old-fashioned villages in England. Most of the
houses are cottages inhabited by poor people.
The roofs are thatched, and the windows, which
are very small, and open on hinges like doors,
have little panes, about six inches high, set in
leaden strips. Many of these cottages have vines
running over their sides and projecting gable-ends,
and pretty little gardens. On the outskirts of the
village there are a few large and pleasant-looking
houses belonging to the gentle-folk." One of
these is the rectory; and not far away is the
church, a very old one, which gives us an idea of
what village churches were a few centuries ago.
On the pews there are some very curious old
carvings, and on a large screen there are twelve
panels, nine of which are now occupied by pict-
ures; each of these represents a man clad in furs
and velvet, and although they were painted so
long ago that nobody knows exactly who they were
intended to represent, there can be but little doubt
that they were meant for the twelve apostles, all
the panels originally having been filled.
Near the village schoolhouse stands the dwell-
ing of the school-master, which is so very pretty,
so very small, and so very neat, and has so prim
and tidy a little flower garden in front of it, that
if baby houses for grown people came packed in
boxes, we might imagine that this had been freshly
taken out of one. As we look upon this little vil-
lage,- and it will take us but a short time to see
the whole of it,- the first impression that it will
make upon most of us will be, that although all
this is, in reality, new to us, we have been very
familiar with it in books and pictures.
As we walk along the broad highway which
leads from the village, we meet a man who may
perhaps surprise us. This is a letter-carrier,
with his bag, briskly walking away into the open
country. The nearest post-office is at Prince's
Risborough, some miles away; but here he is,
delivering letters at the farmhouses and country
seats in the neighborhood, and when he goes
back he will collect them from the little box set
up against a garden wall in the village. This is
very different from what we see in our country,
where it is only in cities that letters are delivered,
and in quite large towns persons who want their
letters must go to the post-office for them. But
in England letters are delivered everywhere, and
even in the quietest country place people can
have the pleasure of hearing the postman's knock
at the door. Some of these carriers must take
very long walks; but English people do not appear
to object to that sort of thing. Two young girls,
the daughters of our hostess, will, at any time,
step over to Prince's Risborough and back, a dis-
tance of more than five miles, and think nothing
But we shall want to see so much in this beau-
tiful county of Bucks, that we shall not be content
with walking; and the next morning we will set
out for a good long drive, some of us in a "fly,"
and some in little pony carriages, which last we
can hire for about three shillings a day, if we drive
ourselves and give the horse some beans for a
midday meal. The day is clear and bright, and
we see that even in this well-sprinkled isle it is
possible to have blue sky and sunny air. The
country we pass through is gently rolling, with
here and there hills of considerable height. Many
of the fields are covered with rich, luxuriant grass,
and those which are cultivated look yery small
compared with American grain and corn fields;
but these little plots are so carefully tilled that the
652 IN ENGLISH COUNTRY. [JULY,
product from one of them is often quite as great
as that from one of our very much larger fields.
But, on the other hand, we see good-sized fields
here planted with things which with us are gener-
ally grown in gardens, such as beans, which are
largely used for horse and cattle feed. Speaking
of corn, we find that in England this name is given
of dainty-flowering and sweet-smelling rows of
hedges is very delightful. It is true that the tall
hedges cut off some of our view, but the haw-
thorn bushes, with here and there a-pretty clump
of green trees, are enough to look at for a time.
After a while we come out upon the brow of a hill
and on a wider road where the hedges have been
A VILLAGE INN.
to wheat, rye, barley, and other kinds of grain.
In America the maize which our forefathers found
was called Indian corn to distinguish it from
the other grains; and when its cultivation became
very general, we called it simply corn, and ceased
to apply that name to any other kind of grain.
We do not see this crop in England, although
it has been introduced into some parts of the
Many of the roads we drive over are just wide
enough for two vehicles to pass each other, and
are almost always bordered on each side by lux-
uriant hedges, often ten or twelve feet high. These
are composed largely of hawthorn bushes; and as
it is now the early part of June, these bushes are
covered with lovely white, and sometimes light
pink blossoms. Driving between these long lines
clipped; and here, stretching around us, are miles
and miles of lovely English scenery. What we
principally see are green fields divided by hedge-
rows, and masses of trees and shrubbery all richly
green, and of luxuriant growth. We seldom see
rows of fences, or wide, unshaded stretches of pas-
ture land. The country is so pretty and so pict-
uresque that one might think it had been laid
out and planted like a landscape garden or a park
simply to make it look beautiful; but, of course,
this is not the case, for the farmers of England,
like most other farmers, prefer the useful to the
ornamental; but centuries of careful cultivation and
rain, added to a considerable degree of good taste
on the part of the great proprietors, have made
England the lovely country that it is.
On the side of a high, long hill lies a very
IN ENGLISH COUNTRY.
IN ENGLISH COUNTRY.
pretty little village called Whiteleaf, and above it,
flat against the green slope of the hill, we see an
immense white cross. It is so large that it is visi-
ble at a distance of many miles. It looks as if it
were about quarter of a mile long, and it is formed
by cutting away the green turf and exposing the
white chalk which, in this part of the country, lies
directly underneath the top soil. This work was
done by an antiquarian society, to commemorate a
great battle fought here between the Danes and
Saxons. The society owns the land, and has
appropriated funds to keep the cross always white,
and clean from grass and weeds.
Among the things which will appear novel to us
will be the great number of little public-houses, or
inns, which we shall see scattered about the coun-
try, generally at the junction of two roads. These
is the fact that wherever a road crosses a railroad
track, it either goes over it by a bridge or under
it by a little tunnel. There is no driving across
the rails; and the tall sign, with "'Look out for
the locomotive" painted on it, is unnecessary
We are not going anywhere in particular this
morning, and merely drive wherever our fancy
leads us. We pass cottages with thatches on
them sometimes a foot thick; large farmhouses,
and now and then a private residence, generally
standing back, and well shaded by trees; and we
drive through two villages not far from each other,
called Great Kimball and Little Kimball. In the
former is a handsome old church, built of small
stones very oddly arranged, which is interesting
to us, not only on account of its appearance, but
A UIET BIT OF ENGLISH COUNTRY.
A QUIET BIT OF ENGLISH COUNTRY.
have signs with their names, such as "The Three
Crowns," "The White Hart," "The Swan," "The
Plough and Harrow," for instance, and a picture
of these objects painted thereon. English people
drink a great deal of beer and ale, and no matter
how secluded and quiet the spot may be where we
find one of these inns, we shall generally see a wagon
or a two-wheeled spring-cart standing outside,
while the owner is refreshing himself within.
Another thing which makes country driving here
different from what it is at home, and not only
different, but very much more safe and pleasant,
because in the churchyard around it began the
great English revolution of the seventeenth cent-
ury. Here Cromwell, Ireton, and Hampden met
and arranged their plans and projects.
Not far away is Hampden Park, a large estate
which once belonged to John Hampden, but is
now the property of the Earl of Buckinghamshire.
There is a road through this park which is free to
the public, and you may be sure we shall drive
through it. The park is very extensive, and we
are immediately struck by the magnificent appear-
ance of the trees. Some of the great beeches are
IN ENGLISH COUNTRY.
as round and symmetrical as if they had been
trimmed, and the foliage everywhere is very thick
and heavy. Although the park, in portions, is so
thickly wooded that it seems like a little forest, the
trees are well cared for, and each one is allowed
to have plenty of room to expand itself in a natu-
ral and symmetrical way. At a distance we catch
a view of the house, and not far away from it we
see a curious-looking tree called a copper-beech,
the leaves of which are of the color of a bright
English penny. These trees are comparatively
rare, and only a few of them are to be found in
the country. In an open sunny space, we notice,
not far from the road, standing among the thick
grass, two handsome birds as large as our ordinary
poultry. They are pheasants, and do not appear
to be in the least disturbed at seeing us. They
probably know that no one will be allowed to harm
them except in the game season, which will not
arrive for several months. The laws regarding
game are very strict in England, and even in the
shooting season no one who does not "preserve"
game, as the rearing and care of it is here called,
is allowed to kill a rabbit, a partridge, or a pheas-
ant, even on his own property. All such game is
considered to belong to those persons in the neigh-
borhood who have "preserves." If a rabbit should
come into the garden of the house where we are
staying, and be found eating the cabbages, it may
be driven away, but if the owner of the garden
should catch or kill it, he would be subject to a
It must not be supposed that the great proprie-
tors are always stingy about their game. On one
of the estates of the Prince of Wales each poor
man is allowed to come to the house every day in
the shooting season, and get one rabbit. He is
perfectly welcome to the animal, now it is dead,
for the Prince and his friends could not possibly
eat all they shoot; but if he should presume to
deprive the owner of the pleasure of killing it, he
would be a poacher and be put in prison.
As we drive on we see, to the left, a beautiful
open glade, the sides of which are perfectly paral-
lel, running for about a mile through the thick
woods. When Queen Elizabeth once made a visit
here, and was about to return to London, this
opening was cut through the park as a road by
which Her Majesty might reach the highway in
the most direct manner, and so have a shorter
journey to London. This royal road was only
used on this occasion, and the wide avenue is now
covered with rich grass and is called Queen Eliza-
After driving a mile or two among the grand
old trees of the park, we come out upon a public
road and soon reach Hampden Common, which is
a wide, open space, covered with short grass and,
in places, with heavy growths of gorse, which is a
short, prickly bush just beginning to show large
masses of yellow flowers. On the edge of the open
space we see some cottages, and, although all the
land here is the property of the Earl, the poor
people living in these have a right, which has been
possessed for generations, to the use of this com-
mon for grazing and other purposes. Wandering
about on the short grass, we may see a great many
flocks of ducks, most of them young, downy, and
as yellow as canary birds. The raising of ducks is
a great industry among the poor people in this
part of the country, which is not far from Aylesbury,
the home of a very famous breed of ducks. A
number of beautiful black sheep, with black heads
and legs, are grazing not far from us; and as this is
one of the English commons about which we have
so often read, we naturally look for a gypsy en-
campment. This we do not see, although it is
quite probable that if we were to come some other
day we might find one.
We return home by the way of Prince's Risbor-
ough, which is quite a little town, consisting mainly
of a long street of old-fashioned, two-story houses
with queer gables and brass knockers; a funny
little market-house in an open space to one side;
and rather more houses of entertainment for man
and beast than there seem to be men and beasts to
On another day we shall take a drive of about
eight miles to Hughenden, which was the residence
of the late Benjamin Disraeli, afterward Lord Bea-
consfield. Our way takes us through a variety of
pretty shaded lanes,with nowandthen anopenroad;
and sometimes we pass a perfectly green lane, en-
tirely covered with short, thick turf, along which
it must be very pleasant to wander on foot. When
we reach Hughenden Park we first visit the church,
at the back of which is the tomb of the famous
novelist and statesman. On the wall of the church
is a tall tablet containing a long inscription in
praise of the great man's wife, but not a word to
indicate that he himself was anybody in particular.
Other parts of the churchyard are occupied by
old, old graves and tombstones, and in it stands a
picturesque thatched cottage, in which the sexton
lives. Farther on is the rectory, a remarkably
pretty house, surrounded by fine grounds and
shrubbery; and we soon reach the mansion of
Hughenden, which, although a very large house,
is not pretentious-looking nor very handsome. We
pass through great gates of ornamental iron-work,
surmounted by the gilded crown and castle of the
Disraeli coat of arms.
The grounds immediately around the house
are kept in very fine order; the broad gravel
IN ENGLISH COUNTRY.
drive is as smooth and hard as a floor, while
the grass is cut and rolled so that there does
not seem to be a single blade more than half an
inch high. Instead of a portico, we see on each
side of the entrance, door, which is but a step
above the ground, a large space, inclosed with
great panes of plate-glass, filled with most beauti-
ful flowers and tropical plants which give a very
cheerful and bright appearance to the house.
We are met at the door by a neat little woman
dressed in black, who is the housekeeper and
looks at first in a rather forbidding way; but when
she hears we are Americans who wish to see the
house, she smiles very pleasantly and invites us to
walk in. English country houses, during the ab-
sence of their owners, are generally shown to
respectable visitors. This house is occupied at
present by a gentleman who will live here until
the nephew of the late owner comes of age, but
the house is kept in the same condition that it was
when Lord Beaconsfield was alive. It is furnished
with simple elegance, but there is nothing grand
or gorgeous about it, such as we might expect to
see in the home of the man who wrote "Lothair,"
and who made his Queen the Empress of India.
There is a room which was furnished for Queen
Victoria, when she made a visit here; and some
of the girls may take an interest in a chair which
was embroidered by the Princess Beatrice.
When we have taken leave of the housekeeper,
and have dropped some silver into her hand, we
drive out through another part of the park and go
on a few miles farther to the important town of Wy-
combe; and here we have an opportunity of seeing
an English country town on market-day. Many of
the houses are very old-fashioned, having upper
stories projecting two or three feet over the side-
walk, with funny little shops beneath. The main
street is very wide,-and to-day very busy; every-
where we see farmers who have come, some in
spring-carts and some on horseback; all sorts of
people are walking among the vehicles, and a
great part of the street is occupied by little pens,
in which sheep or calves are confined, while cows
are standing by the curbstone, the purchasers and
sellers talking and shouting around them. Passing
the live stock, we see large spaces in the street
covered with cheap tin and wooden ware; and,
besides these, there are displays of dry goods and
all sorts of things which country people would
come to town to buy. It is more like a fair than
a market, and, although we are rather late in the
day to see the best of it, it is a very bustling and
It is now time for ourselves and our horses to
have something to eat, so we go to the Red Lion
Inn, over the door of which is a great wooden
lion, painted red, with a long, straight tail with
a tuft at the end like a dust-brush. This is one
of the old-time inns, such as we read about in
Dickens's stories. We drive under an archway
which leads back to the stables; and on one side
is a door opening into the handsomely furnished
bar, behind the counter of which is a nice buxom
Englishwoman; and beyond this is the tap-room,
where the farmers sit down to drink their ale and
beer. We alight at the door to the right, which
leads to the coffee-room, a large room with a long
wide dining-table in the center. The furniture is
heavy, but very comfortable, and the walls are
hung with a variety of pictures, a series of which
show the various accidents which used to befall the
old stage-coaches. We sit around the table, and
when a great joint of cold beef, the half of a cheese,
a loaf of bread, some butter, some lettuce and
water-cresses, and two or three pitchers of brown
stout or ale have been placed before us, the waiter
goes away, and leaves us to eat and drink as much
as we please. This is the usual fashion in the Eng-
lish inns; a portion is not brought to each one,
but we cut what we like from the joint, the loaf,
and the cheese, and all are charged the same,
whether we eat little or much.
When we have eaten a hearty meal, and have
looked at all the dogs, horses, coaches, and por-
traits on the walls, we "tip" the waiter, "tip "
the hostlers who have taken care of our horses,
"tip" the bar-maid who brings us our change,
and drive away home by a different road from that
We pass a beautiful park belonging to Lady
Dashwood, which extends for a long distance,
and not far from the road we see the family
mausoleum, which is a large temple-like building
on the top of a hill. It seems rather queer to meet
a common cart with Lady Dashwood's name on
it, but all vehicles used for draught on public roads
in England must have painted upon them the
name of the owner, and we may sometimes see an
earl's name upon a hay-wagon or a cart loaded
with gravel. Some of the famous and wealthy
family of Rothschild live in this county, and
whenever we pass one of their farm gates we see
the initials of the owner painted upon it. In our
country it is very seldom that we can find out in
this way the owners of the estates we see.
Very often, when we pass a cottage by the road-
side, we notice, through the open door, a woman
with a little pillow on her lap making lace. A
great deal of lace of a pretty but not very expen-
sive kind is made by the poor women in this part
of the country, but they do not get much money
by it. Near some of these cottages we meet three
or four little girls, coarsely but neatly dressed, who
IN ENGLISH COUNTRY.
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.IN ENGLISH COUNTRY.
of Queen Anne cottages. There are plenty of
cottages of this style around the suburbs of our
large cities; but those we see here were built in
Queen Anne's time, and I doubt if the village has
changed very much since the days of that good
lady. If we happen to want any postage-stamps,
or some pens and paper, it will be well for us to
go into a little shop, which is also the post-office,
and see what a queer place an English country
shop may be, with its low ceiling, its woodwork
darkened by time, its little windows, and the neat
old woman with white cap and apron who waits
When we have driven and walked as much as
we please through this beautiful county of Bucks,
we shall have a good idea of English country life
where the influence of railroads and cities is little
felt. But we could go into other country places,
and find scenes and people very different from
those among which we have been. Although
England is so small, there is much variety in her
landscape and country, as well as in the manners
and customs of the people.
We shall visit various places of interest in Eng-
land, but I can speak of but one of them now. This
is Warwick Castle (here pronounced Worrick),
which once belonged to the famous Earl of War-
wick, the King-maker." As the family is away
(nearly all great country families are in London
at this season of the year), we can visit this cele-
brated castle and get an idea of high life in the
English country, both as it is to-day and as it was
in the Middle Ages.
This immense building is the finest feudal cas-
tle now remaining in England. It stands upon
a high rocky bluff, overlooking the River Avon;
and when we have walked up through the grounds,
we see before us the huge battlements and towers
of a real baronial castle. On one side of the en-
trance is Caesar's Tower, which dates back to the
Norman Conquest; on the other side is Guy's
Tower, a fortress one hundred and eighty feet
high, with walls ten feet thick. Between these is
the arched gateway, with an ancient portcullis
armed with spikes, which, by the orders of the
present earl, who likes to keep up everything in the
olden fashion, is let down and bolted every night.
The inner court is a wide, grassy square, sur-
rounded by the towers and buildings of the castle.
We first enter the great hall, which is large
and lofty enough for a church. All around the
walls we see spears, battle-axes, and other weapons
belonging to the ancient earls, some of them once
used by the great Guy of Warwick, who lived in
the tenth century, and who is said to have been
nearly eight feet high. In this hall is an immense
iron pot, which is called Guy's punch-bowl. From
this room we look, for a distance of three hundred
feet, through a line of splendid apartments. These
rooms, called the red drawing-room, the gilt draw-
ing-room, and so on, are furnished in the most
costly and magnificent manner, many of the tables
and other furniture being lavishly inlaid with silver
and valuable stones.
Farther on we come to the State bedroom, which
was once used by Queen Anne, and among the
other interesting things in the room we- see the
Queen's trunk, which, although a very large and
fine one for those days, is as different in weight
and strength from our trunks as one of our houses
is from one of her fortresses. All these rooms
contain valuable paintings by old and modern
artists, besides works of art in bronze and marble;
and when we reach the corner room, and look out
of the window, we find we are almost level with
the top of a great cedar of Lebanon which is grow-
ing on the river bank beneath us. The boys
will want to stop in the armory, which is a long
passage, crowded on each side with weapons of
many kinds, battle-axes, swords, spears, daggers,
old-fashioned flint-lock guns, bows and arrows,
and some arms of a more modern date. After
passing through some other fine rooms, we go out
again into the courts, where a great peacock is
walking about on the grass, looking as proud as if
he were one of the armed knights who with squires
and pages were so often seen there in days gone by.
The town of Warwick is very interesting in itself,
and when we enter it from the west it is by a gate
which leads us directly through an old church tower.
A most interesting place is the old Leicester
Hospital, which was founded by that Robert Dud-
ley whom Queen Elizabeth made Earl of Leicester,
and who will be well remembered by every one
who has read Scott's novel, Kenilworth." It
was one of his few good deeds. This hospital
supports twelve old soldiers and their wives. It is
a beautifully picturesque group of old half-timber
buildings in excellent preservation, and is now
very much what it was in the sixteenth century.
In the kitchen, which is the common sitting-room,
hangs a piece of embroidery worked By Amy
English country life in grand castles, and in
the mansions of the aristocracy and the upper
classes, is very different from what we have
seen. It is, in fact, more stately, more luxurious,
and more costly than life in town. The great
houses are filled with visitors during the country
season, and hospitality is generally extended on a
magnificent scale, with the finest cooks, fashion-
able hours for meals, and all sorts of entertain-
ments. The life we have been leading is simply
that of well-to-do people in rural England.
658 A BIG MONOPOLY. [JULY,
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have taken many ips to destination near and far;
ve sai iTn eve.r of hip that she restless main;
S traveled ormibus a carriage and a car
Sone rh.. K and then- id h e i''de ahn
t of all the many vehic to de,stinat upon the land and area ;
A train of chairs that runs between the dining-room and hall I
.' /Altho.h you bright not like it xmuch is certainly to me
-Ueyon d-- aou-bt the pleasantest conveyance of them all. .
S Andc the train-conductor aoes around to gather up the r---.
,, m, WThile the dins dion and dell ---
i Of the big diner bell
n a m hty racket mingles with the crashing of thchair..
-- .. -, ,,,-- *", _-=-.
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L --. -'*' *T i-- j -.' ,* -----= -
WINNING A COMMISSION.
WINNING A COMMISSION.
BY GEORGE I. PUTNAM.
BACK IN BARRACKS.
THE corps of cadets having again returned to
barracks and established itself for the year, the
days go by, one very like another, yet very differ-
ent from those in camp. Let us see how one of
these days is spent.
At six o'clock in the morning the corps is aroused
from sleep by the discharge of a cannon, and im-
mediately the shrill music of fife and drum is heard
across the plain, coming nearer and nearer, until
finally the drum-corps reaches the area of bar-
racks; then its members scatter to the halls of the
different divisions, and with additional clatter im-
press upon the heavy sleepers that they must arise
Again assembling, the drummers sound the
last notes of reveille; and as the music ceases,
the lines of the companies are formed and the
rolls called by the first sergeants. The soldierly
virtue of promptitude is evidently not possessed
by all, for some unlucky individuals come rushing
down the steps and dash into ranks just a moment
too late; and to-morrow at parade they will hear
their names published in connection with the re-
port, "Late at reveille."
Immediately after the roll is finished, police-call
is sounded, and now the rooms are put in order
for the day. The cadet in each room who is
"orderly" for that week sweeps the floor, dusts,
sees that the washbowl is inverted, and performs
all the duties connected with making the room tidy.
At fifteen minutes past six, surgeon's call is
beaten. Those on the "sick report" repair to the
hospital, where they describe their condition to the
surgeon, and are "pilled or painted" as the case
may require; for quinine pills and iodine are
sovereign remedies for nearly all cadet ailments.
At twenty minutes past six the two senior cadet
officers in each division inspect the rooms in their
charge; and this inspection brings grief to some
unwary cadets, for one has forgotten to invert his
washbowl, another has no coat on, the table of a
third is in disorder, and still a fourth has not piled
his bedding properly. All these little delinquencies
must be reported, and each of course will bring
The first call for breakfast sounds at twenty-five
minutes after six; five minutes later the "assem-
bly" hastens the footsteps of the laggards, the
companies are again formed, the rolls called, and
the battalion, under command of the senior cadet
captain, marches to breakfast. Twenty minutes
is allowed for this meal, and the battalion then
marches back. The ceremony of guard-mounting
takes place at seven, and those detailed for guard-
duty must attend. For the others the hour from
seven to eight is "release from quarters"; and
during that time they can walk, read, or occupy
themselves as they please.
At eight o'clock the notes of the bugle call one-
half the corps to recitations. The sections are
formed in the area, and marched to their re-
spective recitation-rooms in the Academic Build-
ing, where every section marcher reports to his
instructor, "All are present, sir,".or "Cadets Jones
and Williamson are absent, sir," as he had pre-
viously reported to the officer of the day. The
members of each section then take seats, while the
instructor, after indicating the lesson of the next
day, gives out the subjects for immediate reci-
tation. Looking over his book of marks, the
instructor of the first section in second-year math-
ematics says, "Mister Arden." Fred steps quickly
to the center of the room, faces the instructor, and
receives the statement of the proposition he is to
discuss. Then, facing about, he goes to the black-
board on the right, writes his name in the right
upper corner, and then puts down such work as
may be necessary for the demonstration.
Meanwhile others of the section are given sub-
jects to discuss at the other boards, and others are
called up and questioned on the lesson of this and
the preceding day. As each one at the black-
boards becomes ready to recite, he takes the
"pointer" in his hand, and, facing the instructor,
stands in the position of a soldier until he is called
upon to recite. He then states what he is required
to do, and proceeds with the demonstration to the
best of his ability. His recitation finished, the
instructor says, "That will do, sir!" and marks
him on his recitation. The mark awarded a per-
fect recitation is three, and from this the marks
are graded, by tenths, to zero. So when a cadet
gets a three, he remarks that he "maxed it," or
that he "zagged regardless"; a "two-five" (2.5)
indicates a good recitation, and two stands for a
poor one, while anything below two shows that
the cadet "fessed frigid."
At half-past nine the bugle again sounds, and
660 WINNING A
the sections at recitation ret rn to their quarters,
giving place to the other half -f the corps.
Returning to his room, Fred takes his French
books down and studies, or, as he would say,
"bones," the lesson of the day; for he goes to
that recitation at eleven. But suddenly he hears
footsteps in the hall below, and they are stopping
at each door. The "tac" is inspecting. Fred
casts a hurried glance around the room, brushes
a little dust off the mantel, places the broom so as
more effectually to conceal the sweepings behind
it, for he has not properly policed his room this
morning, and, satisfied that he will not be de-
merited for any disorder, calmly awaits the in-
spection. Soon a single tap at the door causes
him to spring to attention as the officer walks into
the room and notes its appearance. He goes out
again without a word, and Fred congratulates
himself on "no demerit that time." He is some-
what chagrined at parade the next morning to
hear in the delinquency list:
"Arden: Shoes at foot of bed not properly
aligned, at A.M. inspection.
"Same: Sweepings of room behind broom at
At one o'clock, dinner is served; and at two,
recitations again commence and last until four.
During these two hours on alternate days, half of
the third class receives instruction in drawing,
while the other half, divided into two platoons,
practices riding at the riding-hall. It is accounted
" great fun" to witness the first rides of the year-
lings, so we will go down there and laugh at their
Mounting the stairs to the gallery, we look down
upon a large space strewn with tanbark, at one
end of which is a row of some
twenty horses with watering-
bridles. Soon the performers
file in and come to a halt in
front of the horses. Do they
intend to ride with only a water-
-7,I ing-bridle, without even saddle
or blanket? They will try to,
at all events. The instructor
"Stand to horse Prepare to
SIn obedience to his command
the cadets spring, struggle, leap,
s and kick, in their endeavors to
N bestride their steeds. The mo-
f inent they are mounted, several
--- horses develop astonishing buck-
ing propensities, to the anguish
Sj of their riders and the delight
of the gallery. Now they start
'' around the hall at a walk. It
seems rather tame, does n't it?
SBut soon the command trot!"
is given, and the fun begins.
The poor fellows bounce about
on the horses' backs like India-
rubber boys, and wabble from
side to side like jumping-jacks.
The trot is accelerated, the
horses take the gallop, and dash
around the hall, tumbling their riders in heaps
at the corners, while those who. by chance are
still mounted grasp frantically at their horses'
manes. Finally, the gait is reduced to a walk;
line is formed; the dismounted yearlings, nothing
daunted, catch their horses and remount, and then
the performance is repeated.
If we had visited the gymnasium and fencing-
academy in the morning, we should have seen sec-
tions of the fourth class exercising under a rigid
system of instruction ; and if from there we had
gone to the riding-hall at the hour of first-class
attendance, we should have seen exhibited the
high degree of muscular skill and activity to which
the system of training in gymnasium and riding-
hall brings cadets. For the first-class cadets ride
WINNING A COMMISSION.
like Indians. It is immaterial to them whether
they have a saddle or blanket or ride bareback.
They leap hurdles, go through the saber exercise,
and are adepts at pistol practice; they mount,
dismount, vault their horses and pick up articles
from the ground, all while at full speed; they ride
forward, backward, sideways, and double; lying
down, kneeling, and standing up. Visitors at the
riding-hall during first-class hours go to admire,
not to laugh.
Returning from witnessing the third-class ride,
we find that it is four o'clock, and recitations are
over for the day. At this hour, except during the
winter months, there is infantry or artillery drill
for an hour, each day. But when, at the begin-
ning of November, these drills are suspended, the
time from four o'clock until parade is "release
from quarters," and all enjoy it as best they can.
Some start off for brisk, bracing walks. Going
THREE BOYS OF GLENDALE.
through the gymnasium, we find there numbers
of muscular youngsters who have not had enough
exercise through the day, and are working off their
superabundant energy on the trapezes, rings, and
bars. The sound of music attracts us then to the
fencing-academy, and a glance in there shows
quite a party of cadets dancing with one another
to the music of violins and a double bass. .Still
other cadets will be found in the library, reading.
Thus does the corps occupy itself during off hours.
Between five and six in the afternoon, the beating
of the drums causes all to assemble for parade,
and immediately after the ceremony they march
Twenty minutes after the return of the battalion
from supper, call to quarters is sounded, and all
cadets are supposed to hasten to the respective
rooms and begin to prepare the lessons of the
morrow. The members of the guard which was
mounted in the morning are posted as sentinels in
the halls of barracks, charged with the duty of
preventing visiting, and of maintaining quiet and
good order through the evening. They are taken
pff post at fifteen minutes before ten; and at ten,
three'taps on the drum give the signal for retiring,
when all lights must be extinguished and all cadets
in bed. Exception is made in favor of the first
class, who are allowed lights until eleven; but after
that hour, the entire corps sleeps until aroused by
reveille the next morning.
(To be concluded.)
Ne'e ,We t e bL ':, o GedLl.
-&'Y U ep -----Ie P r t--i l coui. .
/7r waulK ot i o t iLo < Lac[e< L2l
;"..S1 o nj'liaO!ft Llif.,Y\Q c ^- ^;_---=&-
^"^^ "'A/tt Ih 'V ntr lo ^ L'L~e, -RI
-, I I
BY MARY E. WILKINS.
WHO was Katy, who was she,
That you prate of her so long?
Was she just a little lassie
Full of smiles and wiles and song ?
Did she spill the cups o' dew
Filled for helpless, thirsty posies ?
Did she tie a butterfly
Just beyond the reach o' roses?
Slandered she some sweet dumb thing?
Called a tulip dull and plain,
Said the clover had no fragrance,
And the lily had a stain-?
Did she mock the pansies' faces,
Or a grandpa-longlegs flout ?
Did she chase the frightened fireflies
Till their pretty lamps went out?
Well whatever 't was, O Katy !
We believe no harm of you,
And we '11 join your stanch defenders,
Singing Katy-did n't," too.
THE PLOWMAN OF THE VOLGA PLAINS.
(From the Russian of Alexis Koltzof.)
BY HENRY TYRRELL.
[Alexis Vassilievich Koltzoff, the Robert Burns of Russian poetry, was the son of a cattle-dealer, and was born in Voronej, Southern
Russia, in 1809. In summer he tended his father's cattle on the steppes, and in winter he drove them to market. He received little
school education, but his intimacy with life on the plains appears in all his poetry. His talent attracted the attention of patrons of Rus-
sian literature, and he was about to go to St. Petersburg to devote himself exclusively to literary pursuits when death cut short his
career. He died in 1842, aged thirty-three years. Koltzoff's songs are among the chief gems of Russian verse.]
UP, my horse, pull!
Three good acres in the field;
To our plow it all must yield,
Moist, dark furrows turning.
See behind the forest dim
Peeps the sun's uprising rim,
On, my horse, pull!
I am master and servant to thee,
Working behind thee merrily,
Plow and harrow minding,
Sowing still in sun and rain;
Then, in time of ripened grain,
Reaping and binding.
Up, then, my horse !
Hurry on the shining share,
Cozy cradle to prepare
For the seedlets' slumber.
Mother Earth will nurse and rear,
Till their tresses green appear--
Blades without number.
On, then, my horse !
Think of the tall corn, waving bold,
Slowly turning from green to gold,
Hung with plump ears mellow.
We shall hear the sickle soon.
Oh, how sweet the rest at noon,
On the sheaves yellow !
Pull! For thee, my horse,
Good feed, water from the spring.
While we toil, my heart shall sing:
Grant, 0 Lord, full measure !
Let no blight of hail or rain
Fall upon my field of grain -
'T is all my treasure.
A GUNPOWDER PLOT.
A GUNPOWDER PLOT.
BY JESSIE C. GLASIER.
S I Reckon we-all's gwine to 'membah dis
yer day long 's we lib !" shouted Clum,
balancing himself for an instant on his
woolly head, then turning a handspring
that brought him down with a bound on
the cellar door, in the
i. .-.r of the little group
S-,::.: .bled there calmly
,r.:iing an April sunset.
-" M -j o"re a clumsy chile !
I' :.- to jounce yo' sistah
.. .. .1 doah 1" cried'Van-
S". -!'.-, frowning at him
.~' ., : smoothed out her
_-. white apron and
closer to her
i Clum, how-
"- .. ever, paid no
.--. heed to her re-
( proof. Jes'
look atdat great
S-- pink an' yaller
S-- cloud!" he broke
out. Looks fer
all de world' like
dat 'Tilda Smif
ien she wuz up in dat gran' charyi't wid her
dress spread out all 'roun' her, an' dem big roses
on her head -"
An' de drums a-bangin', an' dewhistles tootin',"
burst in Abe, rolling his great black eyes at the
"Yas; an' de percession marchin', marchin'!
I kin see dem red coats an' blue trowsahs yit,"
went on Clum. "An' oh, de music dat ban'
An' de Queens o' Beauty an' Maids o' Honah !
-dey was the han'somest," put in 'Vangeline.
" Laws, but did n' deir crowns shine 'Deed, I'se
mighty glad o' 'Mancerpation Day! Ye don' see
sech sights no othah time, now, I tell ye."
The boy stretched at full length on the old cel-
lar door gathered himself up lazily at this.
It '11 do well 'nuff," he remarked with lofty su-
periority ; "but a percession ain' nowha', to my
min', 'thout thar 's some firin'. Now, I've be'n
turning' the mattah ovah, an' I say, right yer, I
cud get up something' a heap sight better 'n what
you-all 's b'en goin' on so 'bout."
Four dusky faces turned to his in astonishment.
'Vangeline was the first to speak.
"Wataloo Bridges! What foolishness is you
a-talkin' ?" she demanded with great dignity.
"Like to know whah 's yo' gwine get yo' uni-
fo'ms ?" muttered Clum.
"An' de ban' to play fur ye? piped Abe.
Waterloo fished a bit of sassafras-root from a
ragged pocket, and bit it in silence until the curi-
osity of his brothers and sisters was at what he
considered the proper pitch.
"'T ain' the numbah of people in a percession,"
he announced finally. Ef I wuz to invite you
all to 'sist me, we cud perduce a cel'brashun sech
as wuz nevah seen inside the Distric' befo' Silvy,
yer, she sh'dbe Queen."
Jes' 's if dey wan' some udder folks a heap mo'
fitten to be Queen!" interrupted 'Vangeline in-
dignantly. Silvy ain' nothing' but a baby."
Silvy sh'd be Queen," repeated the Master of
Ceremonies, with authority. Ain' yo' got sense
to see Abe cud p'ramberlate her 'roun' in his
cart ? i sh'd want you ter march ter the head o' the
percession, nex' to me. I sh'd be fust, in co'se,
an' d'rect the firin'."
Firin' cried all four in a breath.
Did n' I jes' say a percession was n' wuth no-
ticin', 'thout they wuz guns or am'nition o' that
natchah bein' discha'ged? I shall procuah pow-
dah, an' I shall-But you child'n wud n't on'erstan',
ef I sh'd 'tempt ter explain what 's in my min',"
and Waterloo fell to biting a fresh piece of sassa-
fras, with an air of great mystery and superior
The little group on the cellar door gazed at their
brother in silence. He had been to them an object
of awe and admiration ever since he came home
from Baltimore, two years before. What marvel-
ous sights had he not witnessed in that great city !
What wonderful knowledge had he not gained since
then, at the colored school around the corner!
What could be more thrilling than to hear him
read from his favorite book, a tattered United
States History,- spelling out the long names, by
the firelight, his eyes sparkling with enjoyment of
the story of battle or bombardment Surely, from
that book he must have gained this latest inspira-
tion! Already he had invented much that was
wonderful for their amusement; but this new plan
1887.] A GUNPOWDER PLOT. b05
promised to surpass anything yet devised. Was
there ever any one so clever, so worthy to be imi-
tated, so much to be admired? 'Vangeline and
Clum, Abe, and even round-eyed Silvy, sucking
her fat black thumb in her sister's lap, would have
said No! unhesitatingly.
Waterloo, meanwhile, was turning his splendid
project over and over inside his kinky pate.
to victory; he would himself perform exploits far
more heroic than anything recorded in his beloved
history. He gloried in the martial sound of his
name, and longed for an opportunity to exhibit his
power to command.
If he succeeded in carrying out this plan, now
dilating in his brain, might he not be treading the
first steps on the road to distinction ?
To mis l ti tev 1y1as lisr r
11 i 4ij ^l J
........ a n- ..._m day ewuldfgory
I~ il' 'II -- q::-- -
"II,' 2 : '2 -- '",ht'r '
Through most of the twelve years of his life he had But now Clum's voice broke rudely on his dream
cherished one great ambition,- some day he would of glory.
be a famous commander, a general perhaps, or "-How's ye gwine to get yo' powdah, 'Loo?
diamonds in the hilt; he would lead great armies selfs, mebbe I might tell ye mo'," he added with
. I; ''.. . ,
kens of his valo. He would wear sword w-_= ,= E o hl' u e ayin yr-
diamon i -" ,e "'lt h "e--- ---7. -ea ge ame lf eb ih tl ad wt
'e, XIV -'--- 'A,.,
A GUNPOWDER PLOT.
condescension. His great idea had grown too big
for one head to hold in comfort.
We '11 nebber tell, sho 's yo' bawn! 'Deed, 'n' we
won't!" cried the chorus, and Waterloo proceeded.
Ovah to ouah school thar 's a boy dat thinks
a heap o' me, an' he wuks 'roun some days in a
sto' whar they sells powdah 'n' shot, 'n' so fofe.
He kin manage to sell me some, ef I arsk him.
Then I '11 git some jes' the right kin' o' bits o' wood
from the rubbish ovah yer to dem new houses, an'
I '11 take an' bo' the inside clean outen the sticks
- foun' something' jus' th' othah day I kin bo' with
easy nuff. Then I '11 cram powdah inta the
holes, an' plug 'em tight, an' have a fuse -"
"W'at's dat?" ventured Clum and Abe, to-
Waterloo frowned sternly.
How often you-uns gwine to interrup' me?
Nevah see sech chil'n! What's a fuse? Why,
it's a -a -you jes' wait, 'n' you '11 see what it is.
I'se read 'bout 'em mo' times 'n yo' kin count. I
kin fix 'em. Lawzee! Won' they mek a glor'us
bangin'! One o' them fired off w'en we 's jus'
gwine start out, an' mo' all 'long while we 's a-
marchin'- tell ye, it 'ill knock 'Mancerpation Day
clean inter the shade "
An' I kin blow de mouf organ cried Abe,
his little thin face beaming with delight. "An'
Clum an' 'Vangeline, dey kin toot de horns we
had las' Chris'mus. Glory, glory! Won' it be
gorgeousome 1 "
Reckin we bettah arsk Micky Barnes ter go
'long; he 's got a bran new cart, heap bigger 'n
Abe's,- do fust rate to tote Silvy in," put in
Clum, turning a somersault to show his apprecia-
tion of the plan.
But 'Vangeline promptly crushed his sugges-
G'way from yeah, boy Don' yo' know bet-
tah 'n ter 'sociate wid Micky Barnes ? He 's got
no mannahs she cried, her small nose elevated
to its utmost expression of scorn.
But Clum was not to be put down.
'Loo, w'at '11 de boy do dat 's gwine fotch de
powdah ? Reckin yo' '11 after arsk him to jine de
'Loo looked serious for a moment, then he de-
I ain' 'bliged to explain w'at fo' I want it; an'
I'se settled in my min' not to have any outside o'
de family in this yer cel'brashun. I '11 get de key
to the back cellah," he went on, lowering his voice
cautiously, "an' sto' all the fixin's in thar. An'
we '11 have it on some day w'en Mammy's to the
Williamses', washin' "
"S'posin' Miss Elsie 'd fin' it out?" whispered
"She don' go neah the coal-cellah. An' be-
sides she an' Miss Kate, dey '11 be into the pahla,
long o' her granma. They won' need know
nothing' 't all 'bout it."
Laws-a-massy, 'Loo Wish 't ye cud begin
born' dem sticks dis bery ebenin'. 'Pears like I
kain't hardly wait!" sighed Abe, his mournful
eyes dilating, and his little frame fairly quivering
"Hurrah fer de percession!" cried the irre-
pressible Clum, raising a shout in which all the
rest joined. Even Silvy, usually silent and wise-
looking as a small black owl, took her thumb from
her mouth long enough to cry "Rah! Rah! "
There is no knowing to what pitch the clamor
would have risen if a little white-clad figure, all
daintiness and grace, from the fair, curly head to
the toe of the small slipper, had not just then
stepped out on the porch above their heads, and,
leaning over the railing, called in a soft, clear
It seems to me you 're making a great deal
of noise down there. Are n't you ?"
"'Deed, Miss Elsie, we done fo'git ou'selfs
sometimes," shouted back Clum, as the tumult in-
"Miss Elsie's word was law with any of Lib-
erty Ann's five children. They all loved her.
Even Waterloo privately thought her wiser and
far more beautiful than any of the queens he had
read about in his history, or the princesses of fairy
tales. But of all the children, Clum was Little
Missy's" ardent admirer and loyal slave. As for
Elsie herself, her loving little heart never held a
thought of resenting the half-respectful, half-con-
descending familiarity of her dusky friends down-
stairs. And that evening, as she went back into
the house singing softly to herself, she only smiled
at the late commotion in the area below.
It never occurred to her to wish that Liberty
Ann and her five uproarious children did not wash
and iron, cook, eat, chatter, and squabble, in three
of the basement rooms that ran underneath the
whole length of the great old-fashioned house.
When Liberty Ann was a slender, swift-footed
young girl, instead of the fat, broad-backed mass
of chuckling good-nature that she was now, she
had been Elsie's grandmamma's own waiting-
maid, and Elsie's mamma's willing nurse. Still
later, she had watched over Elsie's own first fal-
tering steps. Kind, faithful Liberty Ann What
was more natural than for her to come back to
them, when, after Papa's death, Elsie and Mamma
with what little they had left to live upon, re-
turned to the old house, bringing Grandmamma,
now feeble and infirm?
Liberty Ann's strong arms, in half an hour's brisk
1887.] A GUNPOWDER PLOT. 667
rubbing, could drive the pain from Grandmamma's
aching back and shoulders as no liniment could.
Liberty Ann, and no one else, could starch Grand-
mamma's caps to the exact stiffness she liked best,
or bring Elsie's own white dresses and ruffled
aprons to glossy perfection. And as for the
children-how should they ever do without them
when it came to bringing water, and laying fires,
answering the door-bell, sweeping the wide halls,
the porches and the pavement, polishing the brasses
and waxing the floors ?
Send away Liberty Ann and the children? Do
without them? Elsie would have opened her soft,
dark eyes in amazement if you had hinted at such
a thing. So would Elsie's mamma, Miss Kate,"
as she was still called downstairs. So. would
As the fair-haired little figure in white turned
back into the house, Abe looked after her with
Ef we cud on'y have Miss Elsie fer Queen,
now! he said longingly. 'Vangeline nodded.
"Would n' she make de bery fines' kin', tho'?-
wid her yaller curls shinin' an' one o' dem lubly
w'ite dresses on, an' flowahs piled up all ober
her! 'Clar' to grashus! I kin 'mos' seem ter see
her! cried 'Vangeline, clasping her hands over
her knees and rocking to and fro with delight.
But she's a heap too b'utiful, Miss Elsie is, ter
be mixed up 'long ob a darkey show," she added
with a long-drawn sigh.
"She 's too big! declared 'Loo. Cud n't git
her inter Abe's cart;. I saw at wuns she wud n' do
fer Queen on dat 'count, else I sh'd rec'mended
we arsk her."
She 's my Queen, an' always gwine t' be," said
Clum. "Ain' nobody mo' fitten' t' be Queen, I
knows. Laws, dem eyes o' hern sparkle like a
fiah-bug! An' dat voice's so sof'! W'en I grows
up, I'se gwine "
"Wha' 's yo' all at, yo' good-fer-nuttin' young-
stahs? March in to bed, eb'ry las' one o' yo',"
called Liberty Ann, showing her round jolly face
in the doorway, at that moment; and in the chil-
dren went, to dream of pink clouds that had yellow
curls like Little Missy's, and of tin horns that wore
blue uniforms and exploded with a crash, scatter-
ing yellow roses in all directions.
THE old cellar door where these children held
so many conferences belonged to a house that
had been the pride of Georgetown fifty years ago.
It was still pointed out as "the house that once
was grand." Square and high, with broad piazzas
at side and rear, and in front a spacious portico
looking out upon the broad Potomac and the blue
Virginia hills, this old homestead was a mansion
of the true Southern type. Many a time in the
old days had its lofty ceilings and polished floors
rung with the sound of laughter and the tread of
dancing feet. But gone were the merry-makers
that tripped down its great oak staircase and
thronged its wide halls in the days when the
grandeur of Southern hospitality was a proverb.
Gone, too, was the crowd of sable retainers -
slaves, the old house would have called them
-that once trooped in and out, laden with close-
covered dishes that sent appetizing whiffs all the
way across the yard, from the kitchen to the
The soft summer twilight fell no longer on
stately matrons and soft-eyed girls in fluttering
muslins, grouped with their admiring cavaliers on
the wide verandas, perhaps discussing the future
of their beloved Georgetown. For who could have
been blamed for prophesying at that time that this
bustling port, with its packed warehouses and busy
wharves, its mills and its markets, would yet surpass
any of the provincial Atlantic cities? Already it
had far outranked the neighboring scattered hand-
ful of buildings and crooked web of streets that
called itself the Nation's Capital.
Many changes had the old mansion looked upon
in its half century of varied experience. From its
eastern windows it had watched Washington City
rise, fair and stately, along the muddy wastes that
in earlier years had been a laughing-stock. To the
south, it had seen long files of soldiers marching
down the street, over the bridge, on into Virginia.
And when the cruel war was over, once a year in
the fair April weather the old house had looked
down on crowds of joyous black faces, beaming
upon the sable procession that marched past with
flags flying and bands of music pealing out their
gayest strains in honor of the day when slavery's
curse was lifted from the District forever.
Emancipation Day" meant holiday and festi-
val each year to the colored population, far and
wide; but the streets through which the darkies,
of all shades and ages, trooped in their gayest fin-
ery on the day of their last grand parade would
never again look as they did when the old house
was new. To the mansion this was the strangest
change of all. Down by the river the empty
warehouses crumbled along the idle wharves.
Strangers smiled to see the grass growing thick
between the stones in some of the steep, unused
streets; to them the once proud and active city
was simply "Old Georgetown" now. The very
sunlight fell over the quaint town softly, as on the
face of an aged man asleep.
In front of the mansion, the street-level had long
668 A GUNPOWDER PLOT. [JULY,
since been changed, and the great house, with mor-
tar crumbling here and there from its pale brown
sides, was left perched high on a terrace, whence
it seemed to look down with lofty condescension-
on the block of cheap modern houses which had
sprung up on what had been once a part of its own
But that was in the happy by-gone days. Ole
Marse died years ago; and now, as we have seen,
there was no one but Ole Miss," and her widowed
daughter with one fair-haired child of her own,
for the great house to shelter in its spacious upper
stories; and in the basement, one old negro woman
and her five pickaninnies," where once you might
have counted scores.
But upstairs, the two plainly dressed women
lived quietly, even happily; and pretty Elsie throve
and grew sweet-faced and thoughtful, with her
flowers and books, the old family piano, and, occa-
sionally, a favorite playmate, for company.
Sometimes, on rare occasions, a bevy of merry
boys and girls played at hide-and-seek in the halls,
and the house was filled with the echoes of child-
ish laughter, as in the old days.
But these merry-makings were even less frequent,
now that "little Missy" had reached the wise age
of thirteen, with inches and dignity beyond her
years. Great, therefore, was Clum's surprise and
consternation when, on the very morning fixed
upon for the wonderful celebration downstairs, the
bell rung,- not once, but half a dozen times,-
and he himself had to open the ponderous front
door to nine little maids, each with a work-bag on
Poor Clum How should he know that this was
the Mission Band Sewing Society, organized only
the week before with Elsie at its head, now meet-
ing for the first time for a day of serious work ?
Tears stood in Clum's eyes, as he imagined what
would happen now. Soon there would be running
and romping all over the place. There was not a
corner of the old house that these girls might not
peer into, in search of fun and adventure.
'Peared like dis yer mawnin' nebber would
come," mourned Clum. "An' now, w'en we 's
jus' gwine to start, Miss Elsie's company has ter
come, an' knock eb'ryt'ing to Jerryco "
It was ten o'clock already. Liberty Ann, who
usually took herself off to the Williamses'" at
seven, had been groaning all the morning with a
misery" in her back, and was only just gone.
Even Waterloo began to look dejected. After all
his ambitious plans and hard work, only three of
what he called "bomb-sticks" lay hidden away in the
coal-cellar. He had.meant to have at least a dozen;
but the rusty auger had refused to bore through
many of the cross-grained bits of pine, some of
which had split with an angry crack at the first
But he had powder left. Some day he would
show them what he could do with that. In any
case, a great commander should never let himself
be discouraged by trifles.
Don' you look so mis'able peaked," he said en-
couragingly to Abe, whose little, weazened face and
mournful eyes showed to great disadvantage in con-
trast with his roly-poly brothers and sisters even
when poor Abe was in the best of spirits.
"An' yo', 'Vangeline," went on General Water-
loo, deck Silvy out in the fancy fixin's you'se got
ready, an' yo'se'f likewise. I don' po'pose ter 'low
Miss Elsie's pahty ter int'fere with ouah 'range-
The children brightened. Even Abe looked
Mebby dem gyurls ain' reely gwine to kerry
on sech a howdy-do. 'Pears like dey 's b'havin'
deirselves mighty quiet up daiah," commented
An' mebby Miss Elsie won't tek notus like's if
they wan' nobuddy'roun'," suggested Clum. Wa-
"That's 'xac'ly my 'pinion. Now, Cap'n, has yo'
got the charyi't ready? he asked, turning to Abe.
Every one of the Cap'n's white teeth glistened.
"Yis, Gin'rul, de charyi't shall be at de do' right
"An' yo', Cunnel C'lumbus Bridges, is de ban'
in marchin' ordah ? "
"It am, for a fac'," grinned Clum. "An' de
'freshments, dey has be'n 'tended to. 'Vangeline,
she tuk an' kerried off a great. piece o' cohn-cake
right 'fore Mammy's eyes, dis mawnin'. An' dey 's
col' ham, an' dat hunk o' jell'-cake Miss Elsie gimme
yistaday-Glory! Dis mus' be de. Queen o'
Sheby, sho' and Clum tumbled over backward
in admiration as the door opened and 'Vangeline
walked proudly in, leading Silvy by the hand.
Such cast-off finery as could be begged or bor-
rowed had been made to do duty on this great
occasion. 'Vangeline was royal in a dress of pur-
ple and yellow calico; a cast-off sash of Elsie's was
fastened to the back of her gown, and she wore a
scarlet felt hat that had once belonged to a market
man. Two bead necklaces one blue, the other
green- completed her truly sumptuous costume.
Little Queen Silvy stood smiling and-complacent
in one of Elsie's outgrown white dresses, and
pointed with delight to the gay wreath of tissue
roses on her woolly head, and the pink arid blue
ribbons that looped up the stiff, flaring skirt. A
thin veil hung behind her head, suspended from
the wreath, and her face gleamed black against
this filmy background.
1887.] A GUNPOWDER PLOT.
The spirits of the little company went up with a
bound. General Waterloo marshaled his men,
and with a swelling heart brought out the first of
the three "bomb-sticks."
Stan' outen de way he commanded, as he
touched a match to the twine fuse. In breathless
silence the children huddled together in the door-
Bang! came the sharp report. Abe shivered
Clum she called, putting her face out at the
window. There was no answer. She saw nothing
to alarm her.
"When I get to the end of this seam, I will go
down," she thought; but before she stood at the
foot of the stairs, the children were out of sight.
"Why, how queer! It smells like Fourth of
July! she thought, as she hurried through the
basement. Is that smoke? It can't be !"
% "THE PROCESSION FILED
in his tracks, and Silvy began to cry; but Waterloo
looked about him pF! :dly. IT ..i glorious success!
"For'a'd, m&rch he dcied. Queen Silvy was
bundled into l;er chariot, and with braying horns
and joyful hurLahs the procession filed out through
the garden a&n down the street.
Meanwhild,-.upstairs, in the cozy sewing-room,
Queen Elsie had,-opened her parliament; that is
to say, the society was at work. Needles were fly-
ing briskly, and the laughter and chatter were at
their height, when a strange, muffled sound from
the basement caught Elsie's ear.
OUT THROUGH THE GARDEN."
But smoke it surely was, and it came from the
coal-cellar; that was plain. A burning bit of pine
had been thrown into a pile of chips in one corner
of the room. A merry blaze was eating its way
through the rubbish.
Quick to see and act, Elsie tore an old blanket
from its nail in the wall. Such a fire could be
smothered- she had often heard that. She would
not cry out and alarm the house. There! A final
energetic stamp of the small slipper, and the dan-
ger was over.
Elsie looked around at the piles of kindling-wood
A GUNPOWDER PLOT.
A GUNPOWDER PLOT.
olene for the summer stove! And on top of the
barrel, in an old tin can -she knew that strange
stuff, like grains of coarse black sand!
What if she had not come down-
stairs just then E LICK? What if the lit-
and coal, and shudder cornered. Then the big red barrel
on, growing strong and fierce?
in the corner caught her eye. That held the gas-
havene for thened swept ove And on top of theher,
Elsie grew dizzy and faint. can-he knewthat strangehad
just strength enough left to seize
stuff like grains of coarse black sandthe
outer door. Trembling from head
What iffoot, she sank down ad not come headown-
of the cellar steps.
stairs just did then ? What if the listrange
noise blaze in the ornwer had crawled
o n, growing strong and fiercemust know
about the thought of what might
have happened swept over her,
Elsie's brain was nd faint. She had
fresh air revived her somewhat,
just s treng th enough h l eft to seize
the can of poer way in to her mother
oeru roo. Trembling fromhead
to foot, shen Liberty Ank down at the headRECK
of the cellar steps.
at dusk, weary with allmeanher long day's
noise ? the powder ? Where were
the children ? Mamma must know
about this !
Elsie's brain was in a whirl. The
fresh air revived her somewhat, .
but she was still deathly pale when
she made her way into her moth- _-
When Liberty Ann came home ",RECK
at dusk, weary with her long day's
work, she was surprised to find the basement empty.
No fire, no light, no supper, no 'Vangeline, no
Waterloo were to be seen And down into the
darkness and loneliness came Miss Kate's voice,
stern and authoritative as Liberty Ann had never
before heard it, calling to her to come upstairs at
Pow'ful cur'us doin's pow'ful cur'us mut-
tered the old woman as she climbed the stairs
If Miss Kate could be stern, so could Liberty
Ann, when occasion demanded. When she en-
tered the basement again, she walked with a firm
step. There was a gleam in her eye as she
mounted a chair and took down a stout leather
strap from its nail over the cupboard. With this
in one hand and a lantern in the other, she went
forth to administer justice.
W'y don' ye lick'Loo, Mammy ?" whimpered
Clum, shivering with dread as his mother's strong
arm dragged him from his hiding-place behind
Liberty Ann held the strap suspended in mute
"C'ristofer C'lumbus Bridges! Does I on'er-
stan' yo' ter arsk why don' I lick yo' bruddah
Wataloo ?" she demanded.
"He wuz de mos' ter blame," sobbed Clum.
"Miss Kate said so. She made him tell whar he
got de powdah, an' all 'bout how he fix dem
sticks, an' she say ef de hull house hed done
blowed up, 't wuz his blame. 'Cause, Miss.Kate
IN WE ALL 'S GWINE TO 'MEMBAH dis DAY, TOO."
say he wuz de oldes', an' she say he 'riger-
nated de plan, an' she say we all did n' know no
bettah 'n to-"
"Did n' know no bettah?" interrupted his
MY LADY FAIR.
mother, her wrath rising every moment. "No,
in course yo' did n'! Ain' none ob yo' got de
sense to study up sech a t'ing fer yo'selfs! Yore
bruddah Wataloo am wuff two dozen o' yo' all, an'
den yo' arsk me why don' I lick him! An' him
de on'y chile I'se got to 'pend on an' be proud of
in my ole age !"
Ten minutes later, Clum crawled painfully up
the steps to the old cellar door. Abe was there,
half asleep in the twilight, the tears not yet dry
on his cheeks.
"Reckin we-all 's gwine 'membah dis day,
too!" sniffed Clum, mournfully, rubbing his bare
smarting ankles, while his brother gave a melan-
choly grunt; and again closed his eyes with an air
of injured innocence.
MY LADY FAIR.
BY MARTHA DAY FENNER.
)" K-c ~,i
AH, well-a-day, my lady !
How goes the world with you?
The wee, white clouds are fleecy,
The far-off sky is blue.
I passed the young lambs frisking,
And wondered if they knew
That I had eyes for no one else,
My lady-love, but you.
BY A. J. H.
SEVENTY-THREE years ago, when our grand-
mothers were little girls at school, working sam-
plers and reading how
And young Obadias,
All were pious,"
a very wonderful thing happened at Farmer
Lathrop's,- Betty was left in sole charge of the
house one Sunday morning Such an honor had
never fallen to her lot before, and never, since she
was old enough to take her father's hand and walk
along the road to the little white meeting-house on
the hill, had anything but a severe storm excused
her from going. That June morning was bright
and cloudless, and Betty was as well as a healthy
little girl of ten could be -yet her mother had
told her to stay at home !
This was the way it happened. Saturday after-
noon, Mr. Lathrop had brought in a little lamb
that had been badly hurt among the rocks at the
upper end of the pasture. The little creature was
of a valuable breed, and Mrs. Lathrop had spared
no trouble to cure it. It was better this morning,
but not well enough to be left alone, and so Betty
was installed as nurse. Her duties otherwise were
light; for the brick oven, which was still warm
from Saturday's fire, held the baked beans, brown
bread and delicious Indian pudding for the Sunday
dinner. Many were Mrs. Lathrop's directions and
charges, however; and her parting word was an
injunction to Betty not to forget that it was Sun-
day because she did not go to church.
The little girl stood in the doorway, watching
her father and mother as they walked slowly up
the street. Other people were in sight also, and
Betty began to feel painfully conspicuous. Every-
body must wonder why she staid at home, she
thought; so she retired to the shed and looked at
her patient. The lamb was asleep and Betty went
into the kitchen. But it was impossible to stay
indoors such a morning, so she went around the
corner of the house into the garden, where the tall
clumps of tiger-lilies and prince's-feather would
screen her from view. She must not pick one stalk
of sweet-william or London-pride without permis-
sion, but it was pleasant to walk between the rows
BETTY'S SUNDAY. 673
and admire them. She went slowly along until she
came at the same time to the end of the garden
and the beginning of the orchard. The orchard
was a very fascinating place. The trees were old,
I. -~ .I
.1 41- -.
.i, UiiI ;
it~ ,' MI _______ I
II r~7 __
I:II,- U r 1-1'
and the crooked boughs
-- --; --: ,for little people.
I am afraid Betty forgo
went straight to her fav
her usual perch among i
leisurely around the cir
pastures where the cati
meadows which must be
th'e arden and the hnusF
she liked best, the broad
What did she see there
afforded many good seats
ft what day it was, for she
rite tree and climbed to
ts branches. She looked
cle of her view,-at the
tle were feeding, at the
mowed the next day, at
e, coming last to the sight
that morning that almost
BETTY RECEIVES A CALL FROM AN UNEXPECTED
VISITOR. (SEE NEXT PAGE.)
BETTY S SUNDAY.
made her fall from the tree in surprise ? Far out,
near the "outer bar," lay three large vessels!
Brought up among sailors, as she had been, Betty
knew at once that she had never before seen ves-
sels like those. Suddenly, something she had heard
her father say about the war came into her mind,
and she jumped down from the tree and ran at her
best speed to the attic, where Uncle Alex's big
spy-glass was. The good captain had given it to
his brother when he came home from his last voy-
age; and, pleased with Betty's interest, he had
taught her how to turn it on its standard and tb
adjust the slides to suit her eye.
She hastily pulled and pushed the parts into
place and stood on tiptoe to look. In an instant
she seemed to be on deck among hurrying sailors
and men in queer red coats. Along the sides of
the vessels were black holes no, boxes! no,
cannon! like the one on the green by the church !
Betty cried aloud in her fright, "The British! "
Reasoning that large vessels must sail faster than
small ones, she thought she had no time tolose. She
had heard too many stories about the war and the
dreaded British not to know what she must do.
In the cellar was a broad, shallow pit, in which
her mother packed away butter at some seasons
of the year. Two of the huge stone jars were
empty now, and in them Betty deposited all the
silver in the house, her grandmother's gold beads,
her father's great leather pocket-book, and every-
thing else that she thought of special value. Up
and down many times went the little feet, and it
was only when her task was over that she remem-
bered how long she had left the lamb alone. It
did not seem to be any worse, however, so she
gave it some milk and went again to the open
kitchen door. Suddenly a slow, regular sound of
hoofs broke the Sunday stillness, and a moment
later a horseman came in sight. Little Betty could
only stare at the splendid gray horse, stepping
so slowly and proudly, and at its rider's scarlet
coat, cocked hat, and shining sword. To her still
greater surprise, this dazzling vision rode directly
up the driveway to the door where she stood too
frightened to move. Perhaps the British officer
had a little girl of his own at home, or perhaps he
found something amusing in Betty's round, aston-
ished eyes and puckered mouth. Certainly he
smiled, and said pleasantly:
Why are you not at church, my little girl?"
"There thought Betty, "I knew everybody
would ask But she made her queer little bob-
bing courtesy, and answered demurely, "Please,
sir, I had to take care of the lamb."
"I should think somebody would have to take
care of you, instead. Will you give me some
water, please ? "
Betty ran to the well and sent the great bucket
down in a hurry. In a few moments she'returned,
holding carefully in both hands a blue mug, orna-
mented with raised white figures, which her great-
grandfather's father had brought from Holland.
The officer drank the cool water with evident
pleasure, and looked so long and so curiously at the
cup that Betty's heart sunk.
Why did n't I get him a tumbler?" she thought.
But the officer, to her relief, returned the empty
mug, raised his cocked hat, and rode away. As
she looked after him, thoughts came very fast into
her active little brain. Suppose more red-coats
should come riding by They all might not be so
kind as this one, and all the men of the village
were at church.
"Why, I am the only person that knows the
British have come she thought suddenly. If
I could only get to the meeting-house first and tell
them I can! It is twice as far by the road as it
is through the fields, and his horse goes very
In less time than it takes to tell it, Betty had
given a quick glance at the lamb and run swiftly
out of the back door and down across the pastures,
without even stopping to get her hat. Old Brindle
raised her sober head in surprise as the little fig-
ure flew past, and Speckle, the calf, took it for a
challenge, and performed a series of awkward
gambols, quite unobserved, on his side of the
Betty did not once turn her head, but ran on at
her best speed till she came to the churchyard
wall. She had always before walked slowly and
reverently in this quiet place; now she stumbled
among the mounds, caught her foot in a black-
berry vine, and narrowly escaped falling. At last
she came out in front of the meeting-house. The
long, dusty road was quite deserted; she was in
time, and the hardest part of her work was before
Parson Bradlee had just said, in his deep bass
voice, "Thirdly, my brethren," when he saw an
apparition at the church door which almost made
him forget to go on. A little bare-headed girl,
very red in the face and almost breathless, was
creeping in While the minister coughed to cover
his long pause, Betty decided what to do. Her
father's pew was too near the pulpit for her to go
there, and he would be so horrified to see her that
he might not listen to what she had to tell. Two
pews from the door sat the High Sheriff of the
county, so called, in Betty's opinion, because he
was over six feet tall. She stole to his side, laid
her hand on his arm, and, before the astonished
man could speak, poured out her story in a breath-
less gasp :
"The British are here I saw their vessels out
by the outer bar, and one man has just stopped at
our house. I ran through the fields to get here
first, but he 's coming "
Mr. Parkman drew the little girl into the pew
and stood up straight and tall in the aisle. The
minister stopped in the middle of a word, and
curious heads turned from the seats in front.
i -' %
Perhaps, if we look very fierce, he '11 be afraid
of us and take his men away," quavered Joe Snell,
from a safe position in the extreme rear.
Hush there he comes! said two or three
voices, and they watched the approaching horse-
man in silence. He rode leisurely, glancing care-
lessly at the houses he passed, and seemed quite
unaware of the hostile party until he was close
BETTY RAN ON AT HER BEST SPEED.
The British are here, Parson said the sher-
iff. Their ships are in the bay, and one man at
least is in the village. The women and children
must stay quietly in the pews," he added in a
louder voice, as a confused murmur arose; "and
the men must follow me "
He led the way to the door, the other men
pressing close at his heels.
"I wish it were the fashion to carry guns to
church now, as they did in the Indian times," said
bold Dick Fraser, running down the steps in his zeal.
upon them. The company did not present a very
warlike or formidable appearance, huddled together
on the church steps, and the officer seemed more
amused than alarmed at this display of strength.
State your business, sir said Mr. Parkman,
You will readily admit that this is not the day
for business, so of course I have none," was the
"Why do you frighten quiet people in this
way ? asked the sheriff with growing anger.
"I am the one to be frightened, I think; there
are so many of you," with a smiling glance at the
"In any case, you wear the uniform of our
enemies, so I am justified in keeping you a pris-
oner until you can satisfactorily explain your pres-
With these words Mr. Parkman walked forward
to seize the bridle; but at that moment the horse
began to curvet and rear in a very formidable
and mysterious fashion. The Englishman seemed
to have nothing to do with the performance; but
Mr. Parkman was forced to step out of the reach
of the flying hoofs. As soon as he did so, the
horse wheeled and flew up the road at a speed
which rendered pursuit on foot quite useless. The
officer turned in his saddle as he sped down the
hill and raised his whip with a mocking gesture
toward the gilt cock on the church vane.
Look out for your fine bird.! he cried. It
will lay before many days! "
Taking no notice of this joke, Mr. Parkman
rallied the staring and discomfited group of men
and sent the women home to prepare the dinners
for which no one had much appetite now. Decid-
ing, after a brief consultation, that the attack would
probably be made by sea, teams were at once pre-
pared to draw to the beach the three cannon that
the town could boast. Betty, watching impa-
tiently the slow-moving oxen with their heavy
loads, was sure they would be too late; and there
.would have been reason for such fears, had not
the tide been in the Yankees' favor. It was "going
out" when Betty first saw the ships, and now it
was what Joe Snell called dead low water."
No large boats could get to the beach for two
hours at least, so they had time to place and load
the cannon, store the ammuni- tion, and
station the men with muskets, be fore
the ships' boats appeared in '' the dis-
tance. The harborhad so many shoals,
flats, and bars, that only an experi-
enced man could bring in boats of the
size of the British cutters with- out acci-
dent. The men in charge seemed, to realize the
perils of the situation, and the boats came for-
ward very slowly, eagerly watched by the excited
little group on shore. Whether the officer in com-
mand of the attacking party thought the danger
of landing his men singly within easy range of
the enemy's guns would be poorly repaid by the
capture of an unimportant village, or whether an
expected land-force had failed to appear, was
never explained. Whatever the reason, the boats
advanced to within a short distance of the shore
and then turned and retraced their way to the
ships, without a.shot from either side.
Thinking this was probably intended to throw
them off their guard, and that an attack would be
made during' the night, Mr. Parkman stationed a
line of pickets to be relieved at regular intervals.
No one in the village, excepting the little children,
slept that night. The mothers had been busy all
the afternoon packing away their treasures and
preparing bandages and other things likely to be
needed if there were a battle.
All that summer night the men on shore
strained eyes and ears for any news of the ene-
my's movements. Slowly the hours passed and no
sound broke the stillness, even the footfalls of the
sentinels being lost on the soft sand. When the
day broke at last, all eyes turned anxiously toward
the outerbar. Could it possibly be true? The blue
waves were crested with foam under the fresh north
wind, but not a vessel of any sort was to be seen!
Evidently the British had gone to seek more prom-
ising fields, and the home guard had nothing to do
but to return to private life again, to the relief of the
old men and the disappointment of the younger ones.
The oxen plodded patiently back with their burdens;
the cannon were placed in their old positions to be
ingloriously silent until next Independence Day; the
hidden treasures again saw the light, and after a day
or two, all apprehension of an attack passed away.
As for Betty, she is now an old lady with cap
ant spectacles, and her grandchildren are never
tired of hearing about that eventful Sunday, when
she discovered the ships in the bay.
,2, ',,: ,
JUAN AND JUANITA.
MISS LILYWHITE'S PARTY.
BY GEORGE COOPER.
MAY I go to Miss Lilywhite's party?"
But Grandmamma shook her head:
When the birds go to rest,
I think it is best
For mine to go, too," she said.
"Can't I go to Miss Lilywhite's party?"
Still Grandmamma shook her head:
Dear child, tell me how.
You 're half asleep now;
Don't ask such a thing," she said.
Then that -little one's laughter grew hearty:
Why, Granny," she said,
Going to Miss Lilywhite's party
Means going to bed!"
JUAN AND JUANITA
BY FRANCES COURTENAY BAYLOR.
NITA'S wound made her feverish the night after
the quarrel, and Juan could not sleep for thinking
of what he had done. He arose several times and
insisted on bathing her arm freely with cold water,
he made her a bed of fragrant grasses piled high
around her, he woke her more than once to ask
anxiously how she felt. "This is the way in
which I have kept my promise to the mother, al-
ways to take care of Juanita !" he thought in bitter
self-reproach. He made himself very unhappy
lest the wound should not heal well, and further
trouble be in store for Nita. He could hardly wait
for the light to come that he might run off into
the nearest wood in search of certain leaves which
the Comanches use for medicinal purposes.
When Nita awoke, Juan was gone, but in about
an hour he came running swiftly toward camp
holding out his peace-offering, the leaves he had
been in search of and had only found five miles
away upon the plateau. Bruising them between
two flat stones, he made a kind of water-poultice
of these leaves, which he bound upon his sister's
arm. And he insisted on repeating this expedition
and surgical operation every day for a week.
Juan's affectionate care made Nita so happy
that it seemed almost worth while to be shot in
order to be so kindly nursed; and being accus-
tomed to see the gravest illness and most severe
hurts silently endured, she made no sort of lamen-
tation or complaint. She insisted that her wound
was nothing, and would have occupied herself very
much as usual, had she not seen that it worried
Juan to have her use her arm. As it was, she kept
quiet; and this with Juan's poultice so aided the
beautiful process by which Nature soon repairs the
wrongs done a healthy body, that a complete cure
was soon effected, to her comfort and Juan's great
Meanwhile she had to sit and look on while
her brother busied himself in making two things
in which they were both deeply interested,-a
pack-saddle and saddle-bags for Amigo. With
his usual cleverness and ingenuity, Juan in three
days deftly fashioned the first out of a wolf-skin
he had secured and tanned. In three more days
he made a serviceable, if not particularly hand-
some, pair of bags out of the doe-hide. And then
came the necessity of trying both on the being for
whom they were intended, and of reconciling him
to their use.
It was not from any stupidity or a desire to
shirk unpleasant duties that Amigo proved to
be a difficult subject for training as a beast of
burden. It was only that he was a dog. When
JUAN AND JUANITA.
everything was ready, Juan whistled to him, and
he came running out of the bushes readily enough
and bounded up to where the children were sitting,
Juan, with the pack-saddle in his hand, eager to
adjust it, Nita longing to have a share in the trans-
action and deeply interested to see how it would
Both children began talking to Amigo as though
he had been a human being, and no human being
could have looked more intelligent than he did
as he stood there listening, wagging his tail,
smiling in their faces while they explained the
necessity they were under of exacting from him a
service he had never rendered before. He stood
perfectly still while Juan put the saddle on; and
both children were so delighted by his docility
and appearance that they capered about him in
high glee, laughing heartily to see their old friend
in so queer and new a part, and charmed with the
entire success of Nita's plan for securing a porter.
However, they congratulated themselves prema-
turely, for becoming tired of standing still and
being admired, Amigo suddenly sat down when
lo, off slipped the saddle! And thinking the chil-
dren's little game at an end, Amigo bounded off
up the river bank again. He was called back, and
Juan set to work to remedy the fault.
It was not easy for the amateur saddler to man-
age this, and Juan spent an hour contriving a set
of harness that would serve his purpose.
Tie and strap as he would, the saddle usually
slipped off when Amigo sat down, as he did fre-
quently; or it would be shaken off, for Amigo soon
came to think the whole thing a nuisance, and was
minded to get out of it if he could.
Finally, by an ingenious system of straps, Juan
arranged the saddle in such a way that, run and
rub and wriggle as Amigo might, there was no
getting it off; and then he cut some fresh thongs
of leather and bound the saddle-bags firmly into
place. Amigo was then much patted and praised,
and half-coaxed, half-forced to trot down the valley
for about half a mile and back again, with Nita
and Juan holding him in leash. Then he was
released and given a large piece of turkey as a
reward for what, on the whole, was good behavior.
This was the first lesson and it was repeated every
day, the load which was to be carried being grad-
ually added and the distance increased.
For a few days either Juan or Nita always ran
alongside and kept fast hold of a leather strap
fastened around Amigo's neck; but seeing that
the dog was beginning to understand what was
required of him, Juan took off the strap, and, by
a judicious system of rewards and punishments,
eventually converted the sensible shepherd-dog
into an excellent pack animal.
At last a day came when the children had no
longer an excuse for staying in the cation, and
they began to think of moving on. They were no
longer weary or footsore, they had as much dried
meat as they could possibly carry, and there was
no reason why they should not start at once. Nita
was more willing to go after Estrella had taken
leave of them in the manner described in the pre-
ceding chapter, and Juan felt that he ought not to
waste any more time; so one night, when all the
cation was dimly suffused with moonlight and a
mocking-bird close by was pouring out a very
rainbow of song over the heads of the children, it
was decided that the journey should be continued
on the morrow.
"We will take advantage of these fine nights to
travel only partly by day; and now that we have so
much food and can carry so much water, I don't
believe we shall suffer as we have done," said
Juan. Then came a long pause. Juan was revolv-
ing the journey in his mind and thinking out his
plans. Nita had no such responsibility and had
almost dropped asleep, when she was roused by an
energetic shake from her brother. Nita, Nita, I
have been thinking. I have got such an idea!
When I saw those Lipans starting off, why did n't
I think of it, and follow in their trail? But no!
that would not have done, either. They would
have made all the game so wild that we should
Whatever on earth are you talking about, her-
mano mio ? inquired Nita, much surprised and
confused by all these allusions. Follow the Lip-
ans, indeed You must be crazy. What do you
mean ? "
Mean? Why, don't you see ? They did not go
toward Mexico, and I saw them set their faces to-
ward the East, and never thought why. Oh, it is
too much, such stupidity!" exclaimed Juan with
"Well, what if they did? I am sure I did n't
want to follow them, or have them follow us, either,"
said Nita with entire sincerity.
But don't you see? persisted Juan. They
struck for the nearest point- the nearest settlement.
That must be much nearer to us here in Texas than
Mexico is, and if they can go there, so can we. I
can't imagine what made me such a dolt as not to
see it before; I shall change our course and travel
east. There are Mexicans in Texas, I have heard,
and we can easily get to Mexico in some way.
Viva, Nita! It is a capital thought. It is all as
clear as daylight to me now."
The morning star was still shining brilliantly in
the first auroral flush of coming day when Juan
and Nita once more stood together on the plateau
above the cation, which they left in darkness.
* My brother,
JUAN AND JUANITA.
They had crossed the river and walked down three
miles to another opening which they had previ-
ously explored and knew would take them out on
the prairie beyond.
The pleasant murmuring sound of the river run-
ning over a series of rocky ledges and finally leap-
ing into a pool below followed them for some time,
as did the odor of the roses which grew as luxuri-
antly there as at their abandoned camp; and when
they finally reached the plateau and saw the great
wide plain stretching away dimlybefore them, Nita's
first impulse was to beg Juan to go back to the
think we had better go on," and he marched away
at once across the prairie, with Amigo trotting along
at his heels. As the light grew brighter, Nita's
heart grew lighter, and the brother and sister were
soon walking with more spirit and talking with
more cheerfulness than they had done since they
first started on their homeward journey.
"I think that the worst is over for us," said
Juan. "With Amigo's help we can carry enough
water and provisions to last for ten days at a time."
In this faith the party traveled for an entire week
without other stoppages than such as were neces-
AMIGO BECOMES A BEAST OF BURDEN.
cation. It seemed a dreadful thing to start out into
that dark, unknown country. But he was not one
whit dismayed, and broke into a whistle, which he
presently cut short to say, "A good early start
this, Nita! We turn southward now, and we ought
to get a long march done and over before noon -
What are you doing? "
Nita, yielding to a natural impulse, was staring
over the side of the precipice. Juan joined her,
and also looked down into the mysterious abyss.
"Don't you think we-we had better go back?"
suggested Nita timidly.
No! replied Juan with much emphasis; "I
sary. In a few days the character of the scenery
about them began to change for the better, and
they soonentered a lovely country, richly wooded,
looking for all the world, with its short turf and fine
oaks, its glades and dells and its exquisite undula-
tions, like an English park; though the similarity
was not noticed by the little'Mexicans.
They had left the high table-lands behind, and
had entered the delightful region adjoining. They
noticed that the evening star no longer cast a shad-
ow. The heat was still very great, but had lost its
peculiar, oppressive quality, and there were no more
bare, shelterless prairies to traverse, arid wastes,
JUAN AND JUANITA.
oppressive to the imagination, stretching away in
desolate monotony to the very sky-line.
Every day carried them farther into this beautiful
country; and although they only looked at it from
the practical and personal standpoint of its capac-
ity to sustain three travelers cast upon its tender
mercies, yet even so, it was so bright and cheering
that insensibly they were much affected by its
charming aspect. For some time they were very
independent and made no demands upon it, push-
ing steadily on, with no thought of anything except
to get over as much ground as possible. They
were quite free from care for the present, but Juan
was not sorry to see that the country was full of
game of all kinds, from buffaloes to rabbits. The
sight of it excited Amigo very much, and at first
he was for chasing every rabbit and fowl that
crossed his path, but he soon learned that he must
control himself and not give way to such impulses.
It was wonderful to see how well and faithfully he
bore his burdens and played his part.
On the ninth day the children came out upon a
beautiful valley, and had hardly traversed three
miles of it when they were rejoiced to see a river
curving boldly into it and running away in a south-
easterly direction. Now they could see its long
bend sparkling in the sunshine; at the next turn
it would be concealed by its own wooded banks;
but there it was! There were water, shade, rest-
all manner of delightful things, and they pressed
on toward it with the utmost eagerness. When
they came near, Amigo's sorely tried principles
gave way under the strain of a new and overpow-
ering temptation. He dashed off toward the stream,
and in another moment would have been in it, had
not Juan rushed after him and caught him just in
Poor old fellow does he want a bath ? Well,
wait a minute, just one minute, until I get off this
saddle," said Juan, as he fell to untying and unbuck-
ling a dozen or so straps. The moment he was
free, Amigo gave a tremendous bound and rush,
and the next instant had plunged into the water
and was swimming downstream in a state of evi-
dent ecstasy that amused the children immensely.
It was not very long before they were indulging in
the same luxury, and a luxury it was after their
The shadows were now lengthening, but were far
from bringing peace and quiet to the place. The
children found it full of stir and motion. Turkeys
were coming in, all gobble and yelp, to roost for the
night; squirrels were chattering overhead; coveys
of quail flewup under their very feet, making Amigo
jump "out of his skin," as Juan said; whole flocks of
ducks went squawking and quacking past them,
and suddenly three successive clouds of white pig-
eons swept over them, flying so near the ground
that Nita was forced to dodge her head left, right,
left again, to avoid being struck. They were prob-
ably on their way to their roosting-places hundreds
of miles away, and were naturally in a hurry, for at
best they can't get much sleep. Pigeons keep
late hours,-they come in long after dark, and
take so long to settle down for the night, with all
their fluttering, crowding, changes, and confusion,
often breaking the limbs of stout trees by sheer
weight of numbers, that it must be nearly day-
light before they finally close their eyes. Juan
caught sight of some deer feeding in the distance,
but concluded to sup on turkey. Before the sun
dropped quite out of sight behind the distant
mountains, he had two on spits before the fire;
and after the dry fare of the previous week our trav-
elers greatly relished these delicious birds.
The night was not only fine and clear, but moon-
lit and wonderfully brilliant. In that latitude, and
at that altitude, moonlight means a great deal
more than the feeble, glimmering light that gives
such an effect of mournfulness and desolation to
even the most prosperous landscapes in northern
countries. This was not a tearful, unhappy moon
in reduced circumstances, but the beautiful Queen
of the Night, shining afar in splendid state, and
flooding the world with a light as clear as, if incom-
parably softer than, that of her rival the sun. The
wind from across the river was balmy and delight-
ful, the place was full of sweet repose, and ab-
solutely peaceful. The children were tired, young
things, and were soon lulled to sleep, their last feel-
ing being one of perfect comfort and security.
How long Juan slept he never knew. He was. by
education at least, a Comanche, and an Indian
never seems to sleep at all in the sense of losing
all consciousness of what is happening around him;
so perhaps it is not remarkable that Juan, whose
right ear was next the ground, suddenly opened
his eyes, then sat up, then laid his ear down to the
earth again, and again sat up and looked eagerly
He had heard a sound that he very well knew,
and he was awaiting further developments. He
had to wait quite a while for them to come;
and in the interval he gently awoke Nita and told
her in a whisper that he had heard the sound of
horses' feet. He then placed himself so that he
could clap his hand over Amigo's mouth and
smother a bark if need be.
"Oh! Juan! it 's Indians It is the Coman-
ches," whispered Nita in abject fright.
Comanches ? Nonsense There is n't a Coman-
che within a hundred miles of us," he replied.
Then it is the Apaches," said Nita, fastening
upon another tribe, also the terror of the border
JUAN AND JUANITA.
settlements. Oh, do let us run and hide some-
where Don't stay here, Juan! "
Run, indeed! I am surprised at you, Nita.
Never run so long as you are not seen or can hide.
S-sh, not another word! With this, Juan pro-
ceeded to practice the silence he had enjoined,
and Nita could hear nothing but the rustling
leaves about, her. There was a long silence, and
then Nita heard, at first
very faintly and then
quite distinctly, the
sound of which Juan
had spoken. Her heart .
beat with the utmost .
violence as it grew loud- .
er and clearer, but she I"-' .-.
did not disobey Juan ,: .
and shriek or cry. She
just edged.up as close
to her brother as she
could and caught hold
of his arm.
In another moment
the children saw some-
thing that they never
afterward forgot. The
boughs at some little
distance on the right
parted, and a herd of
wild horses came trot-
ting along under the
of the fine oaks and cot-
tonwoods of the grove.
The leader of the band,
a snow-white stallion,
with long flowing mane
and tail, came first and
was not far from them,
when Amigo, as Juan
had foreseen, gave a
bark, or rather attempt-
ed to give one. Juan's
hand was so promptly
applied that only a sti-
fled snort escaped; but,
slight as the noise was, THREE SUCCESS
it reached the leader;
instantly wheeling, he ran back a short distance, the
herd doing the same. The children were in deep
shadow and could see them perfectly, especially
SThe beautiful creature stood there for several
minutes, like a spectral horse, his flanks flecked
with the flickering shadows of the leaves over-
head, his head full in the moonlight, his whole atti-
tude one of exquisite freedom and grace, his large,
brilliant eyes making a circuit of the wood about
him with anxious intentness. Hearing nothing
but the night-wind, and seeing nothing to alarm
him further, he evidently concluded that he had
been mistaken in supposing that there was any
danger, and with a bold toss of his mane, he
bounded forward again with a light, swift move-
ment, indescribably charming, and plunged into
IVE CLOUDS OF WHITE PIGEONS SWEPT PAST THEM."
the river. He was followed by the whole herd, of
Juan and Nita caught a passing glimpse of a
fine black stallion and some mares and colts
as they flashed by. They heard the splash of
water, and were about to get up and go down to
the river to get another look at the beautiful wild
creatures that had so fascinated them, when sud-
denly a sound as of breaking boughs reached
JUAN AND JUANITA. [JuLY,
them, and then a terrific scream of mingled fright
and pain,-unlike anything they had ever known or
imagined -a shriek, human in its agony and
despairing in its tone, rent the quiet night.
Nita fell back against the nearest tree in almost
mortal terror, and Juan sprang to his feet, whis-
tled for Amigo, and dashed off in the direction of
the river. Afraid to be left alone, Nita rushed
after him with all her speed.
While they had been quietly sleeping, a leopard,
or jaguar, had been in hiding in a dwarf-oak not
fifty feet away, waiting for the herd of mustangs
to come in to water; and as the last colt passed
below, he had sprung upon its back and driven
his cruel claws deep into its flesh. Maddened at
finding itself ridden by such a master, the poor
colt galloped frantically out of the wood and up
the bank of the river, plunged into the water,
turned back to the bank again, reared, snorted,
bounded into the wood and tried to rub the leop-
ard off against the trees, rushed out on the bank
again, shrieked again, and finally dropped down
and rolled over in a death-agony, not five hun-
dred yards from where the children were stand-
The herd knew very well what had happened,
and scattered in every direction. The mother
of the colt and the leader of the band, on hearing
the first shriek, both wheeled about in the river
and ran back toward the leopard; but as soon
as they got scent of him, and heard his growl,
they swerved aside and galloped after the herd
with all their might, the leader looking more beau-
tiful than ever, his wet white coat glittering in
the moonlight, his long white tail held out almost
at right angles from his body, his very mane stiff
with fright, as he raced up the bank and disap-
peared in the woods.
The grace and beauty of the lovely creature held
Juan's eyes as long as he was in sight, and it was
with throbbing pulse and a beating heart that at
last he turned to see what had become of the
The children were on the edge of the wood and
were concealed from view, but could plainly see all
that was happening on the bank-too plainly, Nita
thought, as with chattering teeth and dilated eyes
she followed the movements of the actors in the
Some dark, moving objects were still to be seen
in the silvery stream spread out before them,-
the horses that had taken that way of escape,-
but all their attention was now claimed by the
leopard, which, having killed the colt, was drag-
ging it off, quite unconscious of being observed -
luckily for the observers.
Like his African relative, he was a large, pow-
erful, beautiful beast, with a yellow hide that
glowed golden in that mellow light, and was dot-
ted with jet-black spots.
With majestic evil grace, he carried the colt a
short distance, walked all around it as if to
regard it from every point of view, and then care-
fully covered it over with leaves, and walked
slowly away toward his den, which was on the
other side of the river in a rocky cliff.
If the children had watched this performance
with the utmost intentness, so had Amigo. He
bristled up and would have growled and barked
more than once but for Juan's vigorous measures.
For some time after the leopard had vanished,
Juan kept still and laid his finger on his lips, fearing
that their dangerous neighbor might come back
again to look after his prey. But at last Juan left
the shelter of the tree that had screened them,
and began to talk freely to Nita of what they had
seen. Great was her astonishment to find that he
had positively enjoyed a scene that had terrified
her half to death. He was full of satisfaction at
having seen a leopard for the first time.
"They are very scarce, you know, and are
getting scarcer every year, Casteel says. Wasn't
he a beauty How I should like to tackle him if
I were a man! And that white horse! Oh,
if I could only catch it and tame it! What
a war-horse it would make !" he said; and when
Nita had confided in turn all that she had feared
and suffered, she begged him to leave that dread-
ful place without a moment's loss of time.
"It is rather a dangerous neighborhood, and
we'd better get away from it," he agreed.
But Juan first uncovered the colt and cut a
great bunch of hair from its tail. Feeling uneasy
about the leopard, they only waited after this to get
their packs and saddle Amigo, and they started
off down the river; nor did they stop until they had
put a good ten miles between themselves and a
(To be continued.)
JUAN AND JUANITA.
1887.1 THE AMATEUR CAMERA. 683
A FOURTH OF JULY RECORD.
BY LILIAN DYNEVOR RICE.
SWAS a wide-awake little boy
Who rose at the break of day;
-2 were the minutes he took to dress,
Then he was off and away.
) were his leaps when he cleared the stairs,
S Although they were steep and high;
4 was the number which caused his haste,
Because it was Fourth of July !
S were his pennies which went to buy
A package of crackers red;
were the matches which touched them off,
1 And then -he was back in bed.
Sbig plasters he had to wear
To cure his fractures sore;
8 were the visits the doctor made
0J Before he was whole once more.
9 were the dolorous days he spent
In sorrow and pain; but then,
j are the seconds he '11 stop to think
Before he does it again.
THE AMATEUR CAMERA.
BY ALEXANDER BLACK.
ON the irregular bluff which
rises opposite Blackwell's Island
and overlooks the East River is
Sthe house of a busy New York
r physician. In an upper window
may often be seen a glistening
mahogany box, to which is at-
tached some simple but delicate
mechanism. This box is a cam-
era, and its wooden eyelid has
but to wink within the hun-
dredth part of a second to imprison upon the hid-
den glass plate, a perfect picture of the river with
all its activity and bustle at that moment. In
his consulting-room below stairs, the doctor is
able to see what is happening upon the river, and
when he hears the bellowing of a Sound steamer,
and sees it pushing its pompous white nose
through the river, he will (unless, perhaps, he has
stolen its portrait before) touch an electric knob
near his inkstand,-the wooden eyelid winks, and
the picture is taken When the doctor has time,
he goes up and takes out the plate.
Every neighborhood in town and in country now
has its enthusiastic amateur photographer, whose
friends look patiently at his prints, and smile a
little at his zeal. Every amateur photographer is
enthusiastic, because photography is really a very
fascinating as well as a very useful pastime. It
is a very companionable pursuit. The camera
becomes an object of affection, to be cherished as a
stanch friend. And it makes friends with all sorts
of folk. I could tell you of a boy of twelve who
has made some capital pictures, and without an
expensive outfit, just as I could tell you of many
sage elderly men who find the art a source of quiet
The best thing you can do if you wish to take
up photography is to make the acquaintance of
one of these amateurs. You will find him will-
ing to tell you all about it. Indeed, he will very
likely overpower you at first with recipes and
advice. And you will scarcely find two people
who will tell you the same thing. It will be best
at starting to follow implicitly the directions of
some one successful amateur, and then, when you
have mastered the first principles of the processes,
to experiment for yourself. Professional photog-
THE AMATEUR CAMERA.
raphers are often ready to be very kind to those
who make a pleasure of the pursuit, and a great
deal is to be learned in a short visit to a regular
gallery. The difficulty in this case is that the
professional not only works on a much larger
scale and with materials very different from those
which it is possible for the amateur to employ, but
he deals, for the most part, with a different class of
subjects. An amateur will be more apt to know
the particular kind of mistakes the beginner is
likely to make, and will anticipate them in giving
hints at the outset.
With such purpose I set down here a few sug-
gestions for those ambitious boys and girls who
think of taking up photography.
THE kind of apparatus required is the first
thing the would-be photographer wishes to know.
There is an old saying about the poorest workman
being readiest to quarrel with his tools. If you
are careless, you can not make good pictures with
the best camera in the world. If you are prudent
and sincere, you can make admirable pictures with
the cheapest of lenses and a common box. Pa-
tience will go farther than any chemicals yet dis-
covered; so that it is advisable, unless you have
no occasion to consider prices, to get an unpreten-
tious outfit at the start. I have seen some superb
little views made with a nine-dollar camera. Very
good work has been done with cameras costing
even less. But the lens is the most important
part of the camera, and very cheap lenses are apt
to twist the lines of rectangular objects in a very
annoying way. Whatever you pay for the box
part of the camera, be sure that it is strong, light-
tight, and easily adjustable. When you come to
set up a camera out-of-doors on a cold day, you
will be very thankful for every little mechanical
convenience by means of which the exposure can
be made in a hurry,- before your fingers get so
cold that you can not unscrew the tripod when
you wish to pack up. Very handsome boxes can
now be had for eight, ten, or twelve dollars. It is
not a very good idea to pay more for a box than
for a lens. The required capacity of a lens is
regulated by the size of the box, or, rather by the
size of the plates to be used. There are a dozen
good reasons for using a 3 XX4f inch camera -
that is, a box for 3 X4Y+ inch plates -in pref-
erence to one of larger size. Expense and porta-
bility are two important considerations. The
plates for a 3% X44 camera now cost about forty-
five cents a dozen; whereas, for a 4x5 inch cam-
era they cost about twenty cents a dozen more.
Some of the most charming bits of scenery, of
street life, and of portraiture I have ever seen have
been made on 34 X4 inch plates. At least the
amateur should be content at the start with a 4X5
inch camera, with which pictures are made that fit
very nicely in an ordinary portrait album.
I am speaking now of a beginner's materials.
After a time, if the young photographer masters
all the mechanical difficulties and finds the pur-
suit congenial, he may wish to use larger plates,
and may then try a 5 8 inch box, or compromise
upon a very useful size-the 4 XX64 inch box.
A "kit" is a slender frame by means of which a
small plate can be used in a large plate-holder,
thus economizing in material where the full-sized
plate is not needed. Each lens has a certain
" cutting power; that is, it will produce an accu-
rate image up to a certain size. The scope of the
lens is thus a very important element of its value,
and must be learned and carefully considered by
Of varieties of camera there is no end. One of
the most remarkable inventions of recent years is
the "Detective" camera, of which the first was
made by Mr. William Schmid, of Brooklyn, N. Y.
This camera has no "legs," but is carried under
THE "DETECTIVE" CAMERA.
the arm, and the pressing of a knob makes an
instantaneous exposure. With one of these, views
may be made from the rigging of a ship in motion,
from the window of a railroad train, or under any
similar conditions. They are intended for use
out-of-doors only, though they may be operated
indoors without the 'ise of the instantaneous at-
tachment. They cost from forty-five to eighty-
Several varieties of the Detective are now sold,
each having its own name and peculiarities. In
each case the inventor has labored to secure two
elements--secrecy and portability. An ingenious
invention recently made is a small camera to be
secreted in a false vest. in which a false button
THE AMATEUR CAMERA.
forms the opening to the lens. But most inven-
tions of this latter sort, while they can be turned to
practical use in some directions, are mere toys;
and the beginner is advised to confine his first
operations to a tripod camera.
The discovery that negatives could be made
upon paper as well as upon glass has made it
possible to take two dozen or more pictures with-
out the changing of plate-holders, to do away with
much heavy baggage, and in other ways greatly to
simplify out-of-door work. These paper negatives
have not yet been made to do all that glass nega-
tives will do, but it is probable their manufacture
will be rendered perfect before long.
II.-TAKING PICTURES INDOORS AND OUT.
IT is easier to make pictures out-of-doors than in
the house, because there is more light out-of-doors,
and it is more evenly distributed. With each lens
comes a series of thin metal plates, pierced by
holes of various sizes. One of these stops, or dia-
phragms as they are called, is slipped through a
slot in the barrel of the lens; the size of the aper-
ture to be used depending upon the amount of
light and the amount of exposure. Thus, if
there is bright sunlight, and you are going to use
the cap,- that is, open and shut the opening with
the hand,-you can use a very small diaphragm.
If you use a shutter," an appliance for making
rapid exposures, the diaphragm will have to be
a great deal larger, according to the power of the
lens; and if the light is not very strong, it may
be best to leave out the diaphragm altogether.
The smaller the diaphragm, the "sharper" the
negative will be. After you have had a little ex-
perience, you will be able to judge of the amount
of "light in the box" by looking on the ground
glass, and to regulate the size of the stop and the
time of exposure accordingly. In the case of mov-
ing objects, a 'rapid exposure becomes absolutely
necessary, and will be the first consideration.
If the exposure has not been sufficiently rapid, the
moving object or the part of the object which
moved most rapidly (the feet and legs in a trotting
horse, for instance) will be blurred: The greater
the distance of the object from the camera, the
better are the chances of catching the movement
accurately. Thus an express train moving at the
rate of a mile a minute may easily be photographed
at one hundred yards, while at six feet a man
walking is a very difficult subject. There is bet-
ter light in summer than in winter, more in the
open country than in the streets of a town, and
more on the sea than anywhere else. It is never
advisable to photograph against the sun, that is,
with sunlight falling on the face of the camera.
Certainly, never allow the sunlight to strike the
lens itself, as such an accident will surely "fog"
the plate. It is better to have the light come
from behind the operator. In every case keep the
focusing-cloth over the box while putting in and
taking out the slides.
Indoors, the problem of exposure is not only
more perplexing, but the object to be photo-
graphed has to be specially lighted,- the dark, or
shadow, side has to be lighted up by reflectors, else
all the shadows will be hard and black. If you
can find any place in the house where a skylight
sends down light from above (as in a professional
gallery), instead of letting it in from the side, like
a window, that is the place for you to make por-
traits or groups. If you have no place but a win-
dow, cover up the lower part with a thick shawl,
and place the chair for the sitter two or three feet
away. This will
give an effect
proaching that of
a top light. Then
light up the shadow '
side by placing a
a screen,- or a c
a bed-sheet or \ fi
something of that
sort over it, on the A \
side of the sitter l .
away from the win-
dow. It is well to
place the reflecting /
arrangement at a
slight angle, so
that the reflection /J
will, in some de-
TAKING A PORTRAIT AT AN
gree, be thrown ORDINARY WINDOW.
upward. There is, A. Covering of lower part of window;
of course, no rea- B B. Angle of light; CC. Angle
son in the world
why the ingenious amateur should not build him-
self a comfortable reflector by stretching some
white muslin on a wooden frame, and adjusting
this to two uprights so that its angle may be
readily changed. As the amateur very rarely
employs a "head-rest" for the sitter, he should
be careful to see that the patient is seated snugly
against the chair-back. The exposure indoors
must be ten, twenty, sometimes, fifty times longer
than out-of-doors. That is to say, where one
might make a picture in the twentieth part of a
second in the open air, it would be necessary
to expose the plate for a full second indoors,
THE AMATEUR CAMERA.
and this would be a very short exposure for the
house. With a medium-sized stop in a fairly
lighted room, it is not easy, even with rapid plates,
to get along with less than four seconds' expos-
ure; and the probability is that you may have to
give seven. In taking children, the exposure has
to be so short that it is generally necessary to work
with the open lens, without stop. It is usually
necessary, too, in the case of little people, to have
the head rest against something, whether the some-
thing be a visible chair-back or some unseen object.
Hang behind the sitter some curtain, shawl, or
sheet, being careful not to allow creases or wrin-
kles to show too plainly. This will give relief to
the portrait, and keep out of the picture objects
which might mar it. In the case of inanimate
objects, fine effects may be secured with a
very small stop and long exposure. If you are
photographing an interior, and can take your
time, use a very small stop and expose the plate
for fifteen minutes, half an hour, half a day if
necessary. If a light window comes within range
of the lens, you will have an opportunity to dis-
play your tact, since the negative will be ruined
unless something be done to diminish the glare
of light. You may be able to blanket up the
intrusive window, excluding every particle of light,
and then get illumination from an adjoining win-
dow, or through doorways from other lighted
apartments. If you have patience, you will then
range. If the light is too strong in any one part
of the room, the corresponding part of the nega-
tive will be "cooked" perhaps before the other
parts are half done, and the result will be unsatis-
factory. The easiest way to photograph an inte-
rior is, of course, to photograph from the side at
which the light enters, or across the angle of light.
After the general interior has had sufficient expos-
ure, it is sometimes feasible to remove the cover-
ings from the windows (after carefully replacing
the cap on the instrument), and to then give the
whole one more second's exposure, according to
the strength of the light at the windows. In such
a case the light should be so arranged that strong
streams of light and lines of shadow do not pro-
duce an unpleasant effect on the floor or elsewhere.
Remember while you are at it that photographing
interiors is the most difficult feature of photog-
III.-To PHOTOGRAPH A CITY DRAWING-ROOM.
THE diagram below shows several methods
of photographing an ordinary city drawing-room.
In making a picture from the points A or B, none
of the four windows (I, 2, 3, 4) will require to be
covered. If the camera is placed either at C or at
E, one window must be covered so as to exclude
all light, while the other three do the illuminating.
The shades of the windows not covered may be
-,- _,'-- - .--- ---
pii" i"m'I -* n i
DIAGRAM FOR PHOTOGRAPHING A CITY DRAWING-ROOM.
take a small wall-mirror, and, keeping it in mo- raised or lowered so as to make the shadows agree-
tion, cast its reflection into the dim parts of the able. After a long exposure with the window
room during the period of exposure. In the covered, put on the cap, remove the coverings,
mean time, you may have sheets hung so that and expose again for one or two seconds or less,
they will reflect light while themselves not within according to the light coming in and the size of
IBa -~6~ --I --C
THE AMATEUR CAMERA.
the stop in use. Operating from the point D, two
windows must be sealed in the same way. Some
black or deep red material is best for so covering
the windows, as the space they occupy on the
plate will then be kept blank until the time comes
for allowing the plate to receive an impression of
them. If the opening 5 be a door, it can be used
as a means of letting in light which may be reflect-
ed through the doorways by the aid of white mate-
rial hung at an angle of forty-five degrees. These
general principles may be applied to the photo-
graphing of any sort of an apartment.
IV.--How TO TAKE YOUR OWN PORTRAIT.
THE illustration on this page shows one method
of photographing yourself. The camera must be
firmly planted, and the box solidly screwed to the
tripod, that there may be no jar. By passing the
string through the handle of a flat-iron or some
other weight on the floor or ground immedi-
ately under the camera, the chances of jarring are
largely overcome. If you wish to take the entire
figure, or to take a group, of which you form a
part, pass the string around the leg of the chair on
which you sit, or around some other solid object
behind or beside you, thence through the handle
of second flat-iron (see dotted line) not within
range of the lens, to the iron under the camera.
The object is, of course, not to have the string
photographed. The separate sketch of the shut-
ter" will indicate how one of these may be made.
This is a time shutter; that is, it is formaking
exposures when there is not light enough to use
the drop," or instantaneous, shutter. The mov-
able center-piece should fit snugly between the
outer and inner pieces, and yet should work easily.
At the top is a light spring, yet sufficient to bring
the shutter gently back as the string is loosened.
V.-DEVELOPING THE PLATE.
Now comes the tug of war. All that you have
done so far will go for nothing if you are not cool
and careful in the operation of developing. A
perfectly dark room is wanted to begin with. At
night it will only be necessary to draw the blinds
of the room to make it sufficiently dark. But in the
daytime every chink that might let in the faintest
ray of light must be covered. Blankets and shawls
will be very much in demand. A large closet
with no windows is sometimes useful. If the
young photographer is camping out, a dark nook
near a stream will answer, unless the moon is
high and full. The first of the dark-room prop-
erties is a ruby glass lantern. The red "non-
actinic" light emitted by a lantern of this kind
does not affect the plates during the time re-
quired for development. At the same time, let
me advise beginning the development with the
lamp-flame turned low, especially if the plates
are "extra rapid." Then there must be a de-
veloping-tray and a tray for "fixing." The
developing solution turns black the parts of the
plate touched by the rays of light; the "fixer"
then clears off the superficial white coating and
makes the whole permanent. Recipes for devel-
opment, like patent-medicine cures for rheuma-
tism, are amazingly numerous. There are two
varieties of developer in common use. One is
called the iron developer, because it contains,
among other things, protosulphate of iron (pho-
tography is quite an education in chemistry); the
other is called the pyroo" developer, because it
contains pyrogallic acid. "Condensed" develop-
ers in bottles are sold, and are a good substitute
for the developer prepared by the photographer
himself. An amateur can not do better at the
NOW, LOOK PLEASANT YOURSELF!
outset than use this ready-made solution. I have
used both Cooper's and Carbutt's prepared de-
velopers and have found both excellent. As for-
mulas are easily obtainable wherever materials are
to be bought, and as directions always accompany
each package of plates, I shall not encumber this
sketch with details. I shall only advise having
the developer a little weak, when you are un-
certain as to the exposure, and giving plenty of
time, in preference to hurrying matters. If you
can watch an experienced photographer, amateur
or professional, develop a plate, before going
about it yourself, the experience will be invaluable
to you. Use plenty of cool water in washing the
plate, being careful to let it flow over the surface
gently. If you can not secure a room with run-
ning water, have a bucketful on one side of you
and a waste-dish on the other. In the case of the
woods at night, a stream will answer for both
bucket and dipper. For fixing small plates, one
ounce of crystal hyposulphite (not -sulfpate) of
THE AMATEUR CAMERA.
i; r0 T.
' '._'-" i S -
A LARGE FAMILY OF SMALL CHILDREN. (COPY OF A PHOTOGRAPH BY MR. ALEXANDER BLACK.)
soda, dissolved in about eight ounces of water, is
to be used. Half an ounce of alum dissolved in
the same amount of water is sometimes used to
immerse the plate in after developing and before
fixing, to harden the film; but I have found it just
as expedient to put the alum in with the hypo "
(without extra water). In summer the alum is
especially necessary, as the film is then exceed-
ingly tender when wet. The fixing preparation
may be kept for some time. The developing has
generally gone far enough when you can see the
outlines of the image from the back of the plate;
the fixing is finished when all the white has disap-
peared, that is, .when the cream-like substance can
not be seen from the back of the plate.
.To render negatives permanent and easy to
handle, it is advisable to varnish them. This may
be done by first warming the glass, and then pour-
ing on the varnish until it has flooded the face
of the plate. All that will then drip off may be
returned to the bottle. Practice this process on
some spoiled plates first, as the negative may be
ruined by a blunder.
WHEN the negative is dry, you are ready to
print. For this process you must have the assist-
ance of the sun. "Ferro-prussiate" paper requires
no special preparation, and after printing, only
needs to be washed. Pictures made on this paper
are called blue prints," and are permanently val-
"MY PIGTAIL." (COPY OF A PHOTOGRAPH.)
THE AMATEUR CAMERA.
"TICK-A-TICK (COPY OF A PHOTOGRAPH BY AN AMATEUR.)
uable. For the regular grayish or silver prints,
silvered paper is necessary. The difficulties and
uncertainties attending the silvering of the paper
make it advisable for the amateur either to get
ready-sensitized" paper, or to procure a silvered
sheet from a photographer. I recommend the
latter course, since ready-sensitized paper is some-
what uncertain when it comes to "toning." A
single sheet, silvered and "fumed" ready for use
(cutting into sixteen 4x5 inch pieces), should not
cost more than twenty-five cents.
The "toning"' of the silver prints is a simple
though delicate process, for which formulas are
easily procured. Remember that if the negative
is weak, if the plate lacks densely black as well as
transparent parts, the print can not be made so
deep in color as could one from a strong negative
-a negative which you could leave in the sun for
a longer time. It is particularly necessary in the
case of the toning and the fixing which again occur
here, that you should first have watched an expe-
rienced hand do the same work. Leave the prints
all night in changing water. If you have the
opportunity, "mount" them in the morning while
they are wet. In case you can not mount them
then, they must be thoroughly wet again before
they can be mounted. The paste (made from
starch) should be like stiff jelly, the water on the
paper supplying moisture sufficient to loosen it up.
There are ways of mounting prints dry, but the
method I have suggested is the easiest and prob-
ably the best.
Do not hesitate to trim down the prints. Very
often a figure, group, or other subject is greatly
improved by the cutting away of superfluous and
uninteresting parts of the picture. The trimming
should be done before the toning. Touch the
surface of the paper as seldom and as gently as
THE best suggestion I could offer as to the selec-
tion or arrangement of subjects would be to study
the illustrations in The Century, in ST. NICHOLAS,
in Art Exhibition catalogues, or in any well-illus-
trated book or magazine. Pictures in black and
white alone give the best ideas of composition,
because they must rely for their effect upon com-
position, light and shade. One is liable to be
deceived by color in considering the effectiveness
of a scene. Objects or scenes, the beauty of which
lies mainly in their color, are not so good material
for the photographer as objects or scenes having
an interest or a picturesqueness independent of
"THE YOUNG; PHOTOGRAPHER HAS HEARD SOME ONE SAY THAT
THE 1IOST NATURAL POSITION IS THE BEST."
the color. But do not fall into the habit of being
too prim about making selections. Almost any-
thing that is photographed well is interesting to
the beginner and to other amateurs. There is one
THE AMATEUR CAMERA.
INSTANTANEOUS VIEW OF CHILDREN PLAYING RING-TOSS ON
important fact to be remembered, however, in try-
ing to make good portraits at close quarters: The
professional photographer uses for portraits a spe-
cial portrait lens, but the amateur generally does
this work with a lens made for taking views. These
view lenses condense" very much; that is, they
exaggerate the perspective by taking in so wide a
field. As a result, if great care is not taken, a
hand or a foot that is nearer the camera than the
rest of the body is magnified in a very uncomfort-
Imagine the young photographer seating his
boy friend before the instrument. He has heard
some one say that the most natural position
is the best, so he permits his sitter to face the
camera, lean back in the chair, and cross his knees.
The result will be very funny, since the near foot
will loom up in most awful proportions, while the
head, being some three feet further away, will
occupy a comparatively insignificant position in
Sometimes in taking a simple profile, if the head
is placed too near the camera, the visible ear of
the sitter, not having a chance to get so far off as
the nose,-which has, let us say, two and a half
inches of an advantage,-is given an alarming
size. Then, in a full-face view, the poor nose has
the worst of it. On this account, a "three-quar-
ter" view is the best for an amateur working with
a view camera; though if a fair distance is allowed
between the sitter and the lens, there need be no
difficulty of either sort.
Be scrupulously clean and exact in every process.
I might emphasize exactness in development and
cleanliness in toning. In toning, keep one dish
for fixing only, one for the gold-bath, and one for
INSTANTANEOUS VIEW OF A MOVING TRAIN OF CARS.
it has been confirming or upsetting ,scientific and
artistic theories. Let the amateur therefore pursue
washing or for holding the prints
S between the other processes.
Do not hesitate to make exper-
Siments. Many of the advances in
photography have resulted from
iI the seeming blunders of amateurs.
To those who, at college or at
home, are engaged in scientific
studies, the camera will afford a
means of interesting experiment.
The camera has been one of the
-,." greatest teachers of this century.
SIt has, for instance, taught Meis-
sonier, the great French painter,
that the horses in his 1807" are
not galloping as horses actually
do gallop. It has taught the sci-
entist who photographed a flying
bullet that the reason the best of
SHIPBOARD. marksmen can not hit a suspended
egg-shell is that a cushion of com-
pressed air precedes the bullet and pushes the shell
out of the way. And in a thousand other ways
THE KIND SNAIL.
his investigations freely in this field of experiment,
and see what discoveries he may make therein.
Keep a record of the date, subject, light, brand
of plate, and time of exposure in the case of each
negative. These entries may be made in a memo-
randum-book, or on the envelopes in which the
negatives are filed away, and will be of great value
not only in determining what to do on similar
occasions, but in recalling the period and circum-
stances under which the picture was taken.
There are five hundred 6r more hints I should
like to give you, if there were space for them, but
I am not sure that the time occupied in reading
them might not be more profitably spent in a
struggle with the difficulties at which they would
L b--- 71
.. .- l. 7.-* \- -. i.
_H HE WE WAS AN 023GING1-YOUNO. 0LAN(ALL
'HO 1WlSHED TO DELIVER THE I AIL,;
^ Q\ -_Wl
Az ND HE SAID THAT THOUGH SLOW
HE WAS SURF HFE COULD GOo
OnICE, A WEEK TO EACH HOUSE WITHOUT TAIL.
BY JAMES OTIS.
IT was a sorrowful-looking and but partially
dressed group that the firemen saw standing in
front of the burning building when they came up at
full speed, the engines pantingand puffingas if eager
to measure strength with the fiery tongues of flame
that were already creeping through the windows
and doors. Some of the neighbors had given the
alarm, neither the directors nor the boarders hav-
ing had sufficient presence of mind to do so; and
in a few moments after the inmates of the board-
ing-house had been driven out of it, half a dozen
streams of water were being poured into it by as
It was too late then to save any more of the
household goods, since even the firemen did not
dare attempt to enter the building until the fury
of the flames had been subdued somewhat; and
Jenny stood weeping over a small heap of frag-
ments, which was all that remained of her board-
ing-house. It is probable that Mrs. Parsons felt
quite as sad as any one, but she was far too prac-
tical to remain very long out-of-doors on a cold
night mourning over her losses. Besides, it was
necessary to find a better shelter for November
than one very thin bed-spread afforded, and so
the old lady began looking about for a place of
refuge before the fascination of the flames had
ceased to hold the others spell-bound.
Some of the neighbors generously offered shelter
to those who had been driven from their home;
but Mrs. Parsons and November were the only
ones who accepted the invitation until the fire
was nearly extinguished, and Jenny's boarding-
house had been transformed into a blackened,
smoking, shapeless mass of ruins.
Poor Jenny bewailed rather the destruction of the
house where she had hoped to earn a livelihood
for her mother and herself than the absolute value
of what had been destroyed. Ikey mourned the
loss of his overcoat, which could be so conveniently
laced up behind; and Tom stood with a rueful
countenance as he realized that, he owned nothing
whatever save the shirt he had on when the flames
prevented him from re-entering his bedroom. Pin-
ney was sad in a general way; he had saved nearly
half of his limited stock of clothing, but he grieved
because of Jenny's sorrow and that he was homeless.
Duddy and Jack were sad because of the wreck-
ing of what, in their opinion at least, had prom-
ised to be the best-managed boarding-house in the
city; and Sam was the only one who could see
anything cheering in the conflagration. Since the
house had been burned, of course the question of
forcing Master Tousey to resign from the board.of
directors could no longer be brought up, and his
loss was far less than that of any other member of
the company. His principal regret was that he
had not been wise enough to sell his share to
Duddy when the subject was under discussion, and
thus have received back his precious dollar and
One grief the boarders and the directors had in
common, and that was occasioned by the loss of
November's skates. Very strangely no one had
thought of those valuable articles in the brief time
before the flames forced them to leave the build-
ing; but after it was too late there was not a
boy among them who did not feel that the baby's
loss was great indeed. It is true that November
could not use the skates, but every one of his ad-
mirers felt certain he would soon have "grown up
to 'em "; and the first thought of all was to replace
them at the earliest opportunity.
When the fire was under control Pinney went
to where Jenny was standing sorrowfully by the
fragments of a bureau, and, touching her lightly on
the shoulder, said softly:
"I 'd try not to feel very badly about it if I
could, Jenny. When you come to think of it, the
house was n't such a very nice one, after all, an'
you know we fellers '11 whoop 'round lively till we
can start another."
"I do try, but I can't help feeling badly, Pin-
ney," replied the young landlady. "I thought
so much of the place, 'cause I believed I could earn
money, an' Mother would n't have to go out work-
ing; but now it's gone, and we 're worse off than
we were before it was started."
Poor little Jenny burst into tears again, and
Pinney could show his sympathy in no other way
than by smoothing her shawl with his hand, until
Tom and Duddy came up to insist that she should
go into the house where her mother had sought
As a matter of fact, it was quite time for all the
homeless ones to screen themselves from the pierc-
ing cold, and the boys gratefully accepted an invi-
tation to spend the remainder of the night in the
kitchen of the same house wherein Jenny and her
mother and November had been provided with a
room and a bed.
At first it seemed impossible for the boys to sleep,
so excited were they all; but their eyes were closed
in slumber before morning, and the German
woman who had given them shelter found them
stretched out on the floor in front of the stove,
blissfully, unconscious of their loss, as she went
to prepare breakfast for her unfortunate guests.
When the question of going to work was brought
up, the unpleasant fact that neither Tom, Ikey,
with which to provide Tom, Ikey, and Pinney with
outfits; "the rest of us will go down town, an'
I '11 ask all the fellers if they 've any clothes to
spare. I 'm most certain Tim Dyer has two coats;
he 'll give us one of them, an' perhaps we '11 get
enough to rig you all out."
This was clearly the only thing that could be
done, since no one thought for a moment of ask-
ing Jenny for the money that had been given her
the night before. To purchase new clothing,
even if they had sufficient funds, was an extrava-
gance of which none of the boys would have been
"THEY WERE ALL "EAGERLY EXAMINING THE ASSORTMENT OF CLOTHING." (SEE NEXT PAGE.)
nor Pinney had sufficient clothing in which to make
a comfortable appearance on the street presented
itself, and for some moments the greatest conster-
nation prevailed. Before they went to sleep, it
had been decided that the original stockholders
(with the exception of Sam, who was replaced by
Duddy) should do their best to provide Jenny with
funds to start another boarding-house; but if three
of the party were to be prevented from working
because of lack of clothing, the prospect of raising
funds was a dismal one.
"I '11 tell you how we '11 fix it," said Duddy,
after it had been definitely settled that there was
not among the entire party sufficient garments
guilty, and the three destitute lads gladly agreed
to remain where they were until their friends could
solicit contributions in their behalf.
It was not until the boys had started out, some
to go to their regular work, and Duddy, with two
or three others, to forage for clothing, that Mrs.
Parsons and Jenny made their appearance. Neither
they nor November had suffered from the exposure
of the night previous; and even before breakfast
had been eaten, Jenny and the three ex-direc-
tors were planning how they might start another
establishment on the plan of the one that had been
"If I can get an overcoat, an' Tom an' Pinney
can scare up some clothes, we '11 work so hard that
the money 'll come rollin' right in. Then you can
look for another house, an' in two or three weeks
we won't even know we were burned out." Ikey
spoke very hopefully; but the bright look faded
from his face as he asked, "Where will you an'
November an' your mother stay till we can rake
up the cash ? "
We must hire a little room somewhere," said
Jenny, trying hard to smile, "and- and-I 'm
goin' to sell papers, too."
You sell papers repeated Tom, while Ikey
and Pinney stared at her as if positive their ears
had deceived them.
"I 've got to do something of course, or how
could we pay the rent of even the smallest room?"
"But you must n't sell papers, an' that settles
it," said Tom very decidedly.
"It 's the only thing to do that I know of-I
mean, it's the only chance that would make me
sure of earning money enough each day to buy
bread for mother and the baby."
"It can't be done!" Tom shook his head,
while Ikey and Pinney did the same by way of
showing that they agreed with him. -"We
would n't stand that anyhow,--would we, fellers ?"
Of course not said Ikey scornfully, as if the
very idea was absurd, while Pinney repeated the
words after him emphatically.
I don't know jest what we can do," continued
Tom; but we '11 talk it over when Duddy comes
back, an' you see if we don't hit on something. "
"Wait till Duddy comes back said Ikey and
Pinney in concert as if the affair had been finally
But Jenny continued, "I thought it all over
this morning, and Mother said I might do it; for
you see we must have money, an' even if I could
get a place as cash-girl in a store, I could n't have
any wages until after I had been there a week.
Now we must have enough to pay for a room right
away -- "
"Well, you 've got what we gave you last
night," said Tom quickly.
Yes; but I would n't use that till I knew how
I could pay you back."
"See here, Jenny," and Tom spoke impressively,
purposely raising his voice so that Mrs. Parsons,
who was talking with her hostess at the other end
of the room, should hear him, "we fellers won't
have you out on the street selling' papers in this
cold weather. Duddy is one of the firm now, an'
he '11 kick about it, an' so will every last one of us!"
We all own a share in the baby," added Pin-
ney, "an'we don't want you to leave him while -
say, fellers, do you s'pose Sam will think he owns
any of November now? "
"Of course not!" exclaimed Tom; "Duddy
took that part, too, when he took Sam's place."
Then Tom went into an elaborate explanation of
how and by whom November was owned; and before
Jenny found an opportunity of again introducing
the subject of selling papers, Duddy and Jack
That they had been successful in their mission
could be seen by the load of antique garments
which each carried.
"It seemed 's if every feller had something' he
was achin' to get rid of," Duddy said, as he depos-
ited his burden on the floor and looked around
with an air of triumph. They did n't know any-
thing about the fire till we got down town, an' I
tell you they stacked things up in great shape when
they heard how much we 'd lost. Some of the
fellers is talking' 'bout raisin' fifty cents apiece an'
lending it to Jenny so 's she can start over ag'in."
No one paid very much attention to the latter
portion of Duddy's story, for they all were eagerly
examining the assortment that had been so gener-
ously given by boys to whom even the most ragged
pair of trousers was valuable. There was suffi-
cient clothing to provide an outfit for half a
dozen, and it was not many moments before Tom,
Ikey, and Pinney were ready to begin work once
more. It is true they did not make a very fashion-
able appearance; but they were well protected
against the inclemency of the weather, and that
Comin' down town ?" asked Duddy, after he
had turned each of his friends slowly around in
order that he might admire the general style and
misfit of the newly acquired garments.
"Yes; we 've got to work harder'n ever now;
but before we go there 's one thing to be settled."
Then Tom repeated what Jenny had said about
Duddy looked at the young landlady in mingled
astonishment and reproof for several seconds; then
he asked her gravely:
Be I one of this firm now or not? "
"The boys say you have taken Sam's place,"
replied Jenny meekly.
Then you can't go out selling' papers 'less we
let you, an' it '11 be a mighty long day before I 'm
willing Jest wait till night, an' if I don't show you
something' fine, I 'll be s'prised. But there 's no
use talking' 'bout your selling' papers.."
"But Mother an' I must find some place to live
in, and I have got to earn the money to pay for it,"
"Hire this woman to keep you here till ter-
morrer," said Duddy.
But where will you boys sleep ?" Jenny asked.
"Down at the Newsboys Lodgin' House if we
can't crawl in somewhere for nothing, said Duddy.
" Don't you fret 'bout us, 'cause we'll be all right.
Now we 're goin' to work, an' you be sure to stay
in the house to-day, 'cause we might water see
you very particular, an' we must know where to
Duddy beckoned the others to follow him as
he left the room, and the homeless boys were soon
on their way down town.
Jenny was greatly puzzled to know just what to
do. She laid the matter before her mother, and
the old lady decided that it could certainly do no
harm to remain where they were for one day, as
Duddy had already proposed. An arrangement
was made with their good-natured hostess for board
with her, and Jenny reluctantly consented to re-
main idle twenty-four hours. But her brain was as
active as ever, and by evening she had decided to
carry out her plan in spite of the boys, when Pin-
ney, his eyes opened to their widest extent and ex-
citement showing on every feature of his counte-
nance, unceremoniously burst into the room.
"Say, Jenny! he. cried in his shrillest tone,
" there 's a lot of the fellers out on the sidewalk
a-sayin' they want to see you. May I let 'em in ? "
"Pinney White," said the old lady severely, as
she peered over the top of her spectacles at the
breathless boy, "you are up to some of your non-
sensical shines again, and don't you dare to deny
'Deed I'm not," replied Master White. "This
is something' very 'portant, and Duddy says as
how they must come up in style."
But we can't have a crowd of boys traipsing
in here," said Mrs. Parsons decidedly. It was
bad enough when we were in our own house, and
I'm sure it would never do here where we 're
hardly more thantvisitors ourselves."
But they've got to come cried Pinney, look-
ing really distressed.
Mrs. Parsons was about to make some reply,
when the old German woman put an end to the dis-
cussion, by insisting that the delegation should be
allowed to enter, and Pinney rushed out of the
house in high glee.
A moment later the heavy tramp of footsteps on
the stairs told that the visitors were coming in a
swarm, and even the complaisant hostess began to
Pinney acted as master of ceremonies, opening
the door and standing on the threshold as if to
welcome the guests; while the remainder of the
directors marched in arm in arm, followed by
seventeen boys, each with a broad grin on his
The visitors remained in the room several mo-
ments without showing any disposition to make
known the reason of their coming, until Pinney
reminded them of business by saying loudly:
"Jenny, these fellers have come to see you for
something' very 'portant, an' if you '11 keep still now,
they '11 tell you."
Jim Chick, thus recalled to the duties of the
position for which he had been selected by his
friends, stepped forward in an easy, if not graceful,
manner, and said, as he handed Jenny a small but
heavy package wrapped in an old newspaper:
When the fellers heard about the house bein'
burned by the fire, they felt pretty bad, 'cause you
see a good many was reckonin' on coming' to board
"It's very kind of them," Jenny managed to
say, as Jim paused for an instant, evidently waiting
for a reply.
"That 's so; but you see they thought it
would n't do you very much good if they did n't do
anything but feel bad, so seventeen of us raised
sixty cents apiece I don't jest know how much
that makes; but it 's all in the paper-an' we 're
goin' to lend it to you till you get another place
"But I can't take this money, when I don't
know how I can pay you; for for Jenny was
wholly at a loss to know what to say. The gener-
osity of the boys, many of whom she had never
seen before, affected her deeply.
"There won't be any trouble 'bout payin' us
back," Jim said carelessly; for we 're all coming'
to board in the house when ybu get another place,
an' then we can-eat it out. See? "
"Well, I declare exclaimed Mrs. Parsons.
I never thought boys had so'much sense."
Jenny tried in :vain to explain that ste could not
receive the money before she had even found a
house. The boys would hardly listen'to her.
"Don't try to make-'em take it back, for it
won't do the least bit o'-good, -Duddy whispered.
"You can begin, the first thing in the morning ,
to look for another place." .
Jenny:finally ceased to protest against receiving
this unasked-for loan, and during the' half hour
that the boys remained,' she gave each one an op-
portunity of at least- touching November, which
was considered by all as a great privilege.
It is impossible to say how long the boys might
have lingered, had not Duddy, seeing that the
noise and general confusion was beginning to dis-
turb Mrs. Parsons, rather broadly hinted that the
visit should be brought to a close, by saying:
Come on, fellers; it's time we cleared out of
Then the noisy company at last filed out of the
room, giving a yell, when they reached the street,
that might have done credit to Comanche Indians.
A FRIEND INDEED.
THE morning after the newsboys had proved to
Jenny how strong were their sympathies for her,
the stockholders were hard at work when .Duddy
was seen coming up Broadway at full speed. He
was in the street, skillfully avoiding the horses and
vehicles, since he could run faster there than on the
sidewalk, which was thronged with pedestrians.
His friends knew, from the look of excitement on
his face, that something remarkable had occurred.
See Duddy run! screamed Pinney. Some-
thin' 's up, sure. I would n't wonder if he 'd had a
lead quarter passed on him, an' he wants us to help
punish the feller that gave it to him."
It so chanced that all the directors were in the
immediate: vicinity, and Tom shouted while his
friend was yet some distance away:
"What's the matter, Duddy?"
"Wha-wha-what d' yer think?" asked Master
Duddy Foss as he halted, panting and breathless,
in front of his brother directors. "What d' yer
think Mr. Barstow says?"
As a matter of course no one had any idea what
the lawyer had said,. and, without.waiting for an
answer, Duddy continued, "He says he will lend
Jenny a whole hundred dollars. to start another
boardin'-house with, if all of us fellers promise to
work hard an' pay him back "
What ? shouted the boys in chorus; and had
they been told that the Brooklyn Bridge was
stolen and carried away, they could not have
appeared more astonished.
"It 's the truth," replied Duddy emphatically.
Come 'round the corner while I tell you all
So excited were the directors by this time, that
they almost tumbled over one another as they
rushed pell-mell to an unoccupied doorway on
"This is the whole story," said Master Foss, as
soon as he could get his breath; "an' you '11 know
it's true, 'cause we '11 all have to go down to his
office with Jenny. You see, I did n't carry him
any paper yesterday, for I had to get you boys
clothes, an' after I 'd done that, it was so late
that he 'd bought one. When I saw him this
morning he asked me in a cross-like way why I
was n't there the day before."
Did n't he know 'bout the fire ? asked Pin-
"Course not. What would a swell like him
know 'bout a fire down in Carpenter Street? I told
him though, an' then he said as how he was sorry
'cause he spoke so sharp. He asked me all about
Jenny, an' how you 'd started the house, an'
what we meant to do now. An' when I told
him everything, he said he 'd lend Jenny money
to get another place if we'd all promise to pay
him back. We must go right up and get her,
for he '11 be in his office all the morning, an' we
water make sure of the cash before he has a
chance to back out."
"How do you know that he 's willing to lend
as much as a hundred dollars ?" asked Ikey doubt-
fully, so improbable did the story seem.
"'Cause that's what he said !" cried Duddy.
"He asked me how much I thought it would take
to start another house, an' I told him as much as
ninety dollars. Then he said as how ten on top
of that would n't be more 'n enough, so he can't
offer any less, can he ?"
"We '11 soon know what he's goin' to do, if we
go down there with Jenny," said Tom. Let's get
some of the fellers to take our papers off our hands,
an' start right after her."
Fortunately, Jim Chick appeared in sight just at
that moment; and after the matter had been hastily
explained to him, he promised to take charge of
the directors' stock-in-trade, it being understood
that he was only to pay for what he sold. Then
the boys started toward Carpenter Street at full
speed, while Jim made haste to sell his wares, and
at the same time to spread among his business
acquaintances the startling news that Duddy Foss
had seen a man "'what was goin' to help him open
a regular swell boardin'-house."
When the boys arrived at the German woman's
house, they found that Jenny had not yet gone out
house-hunting; and Duddy told the wonderful
story in the briefest possible space of time. It was
some moments before his listeners could realize
their good fortune; but, when he had once suc-
ceeded in convincing them, the young landlady
was soon ready to go with the Board of Directors
to Mr. Barstow.
If Jenny had been willing to run through the
streets, the boys might have been reasonably con-
tented; but their patience was sorely tried at
being obliged to walk, although at a rapid gait,
to the lawyer's office.
They arrived at last, however; and found Mr.
Barstow alone and disengaged. He did not. wait
for Duddy to remind him of his promise; but said
I suppose you have come to attend to: the
business of which I spoke to Duddy. This is my
proposition : I will loan Jenny Parsons an amount
sufficient to open a boarding-house-say even one
hundred dollars, for which each of you must become
personally responsible. It is purely a business
transaction, in which I invest my money with a
stock company that agrees to give six per cent. in-
a85~.] JENNY S BOARDING-HOUSE. 697
terest, while I take as security the notes of the
directors. You must pay the interest every three
months, and I shall demand the right to examine
your.books at any time I may think proper."
Ikey looked up in alarm; the expression of joy
that had been on his face, from the moment
Mr. Barstow began to speak, faded into one of
"I-don't believe I could keep the 'counts if we
"ALL YOUR MONEY!" SAID PINNEY INDIGNANTLY. "YOU PUT
was to have a hundred dollars to spend," he said
sorrowfully. It 's been 'bout as much as I could
do when every feller paid in ten dollars."
"But you must do it, Ikey," said Duddy.
"You 've kinder got the hang of it now, an' if you
lay right down to it, you '11 come out square."
If you are doubtful of your ability to keep the
books of the concern, I shall expect you to submit
your work to me at least once each week," said
Mr. Barstow. You can come here every Satur-
day at noon, and perhaps I may be able to give
you some useful hints; but you must not expect
me to aid you except by suggestions." Turning
to Jenny, the lawyer continued, When you have
found a suitable house, let the:owner or agent come
to me for the rent. I will sign the lease, and sub-
let it to you. After that, you can buy such furni-
ture as may be necessary,,and have the bills sent
to me. Here is your authority for purchasing the
goods in my name."
IN TWO DOLLARS AN' EIGHTY CENTS!" (SEE NEXT PAGE.)
The lawyer handed Jeniy one of his business
cards, on which he had written:
"The bearer, Jenny Parsons, is hereby authorized to purchase in
my name such goods as may be necessary to furnish a boarding-
house plainly but comfortably. All bills are to be submitted to me
before the articles are delivered. F. H. BARSTOW."
Duddy shall report progress each morning,"
the lawyer added, "and I claim the right to inspect
your work at any time. I shall loan you only such
an amount as may be necessary for the purchase
JENNY S BOARDING-HOUSE.
of furniture and fuel, and for the first month's
rent; but what you need for running expenses,
Miss Jenny, you must get from the Board of
Directors. Now you had better set about finding
a house at once."
Jenny would have tried to thank the lawyer for
his wonderful generosity; but he showed so plainly,
by rising and opening the door, that the interview
was at an end, that she could do no less than
follow the directors into the street.
The boys were inclined to be extravagant in
their joy when they were out of Mr. Barstow's
office; but Jenny was unusually quiet. The loan-
ing of the money had been treated by the lawyer
so thoroughly as a matter of business, that she
realized the full responsibility that rested upon her,
and said seriously:
Would n't it be terrible if we could n't pay the
money back? "
But we can," replied Duddy confidently.
"When the place is started, we shall make no
end of money, and it won't be any time at all be-
fore we can square up with him. S'pos'n' we all go
'round to find a house ? "
"I think it would be better for you to go to
work, as usual," Jenny said. "You know Mr.
Barstow does n't loan us anything for food and
such things; and we shall need more money
than ve have before we can take a houseful of
But none of the directors felt that it was neces-
sary for them to work very hard, on that day at
least, and were more eager to make known to their
friends and acquaintances the good fortune that
had come to them than to engage in any other
occupation. Duddy painted the future boarding-
house in such glowing colors that, had it been
open then, it would have been filled to overflowing
Sam was the only one who did not rejoice at the
"I tell you what it is, Ikey," he said while
Duddy was again explaining his views on the new
boarding-house; "I ought to have a share in the
concern, 'cause I lost 'most everything when the
other one was burned. I told Duddy he might
have my place, for he was jest about crazy to git
it; but I did n't mean to back out for good."
"You said 't was no use to try to start an-
other," replied Ikey quietly. When Tom asked
if you 'd take hold an' help Jenny, you' said you
did n't want anything to do with it."
I don't know as I said those very words," an-
swered Sam, adding, "but even if I did, I meant
all the time to go in with you."
"Now, Sam, you did n't mean anything of the
kind," interrupted Pinney. You said you would
n't go in with fellers that never gave you a show
to have things as you wanted 'em."
That's jest the way I spected you 'd talk, Pin-
ney White," protested Sam, in an injured tone;
" I put all my money into the concern, an' lost it,
so now you want to put me out."
"All yourmoney! "repeated Pinney indignantly.
"You put in two dollars an' eighty cents, an' got a
whole week's board out of it. When Duddy took
your place, he had to pay back what you 'd bor-
rered of Ikey."
To this Sam had no reply that seemed to fit
the case; but changing his manner he said, with a
"I '11 find out whether you fellers can cheat me
so. You jest wait till I tell that lawyer the whole
thing, an' then we '11 see whether you get your
swell house or not."
Master Tousey strode majestically away as he
ceased speaking, leaving Ikey and Pinney in a very
uncomfortable frame of mind; for they feared that
Sam, by telling the story in his way, might possi-
bly prevent them from receiving the loan.
Tom and Duddy, when told of the threat, pro-
fessed to think that it was nothing more than fool-
ish talk; but they both looked disturbed, and it is
just possible that Master Foss might have paid Mr.
Barstow a third visit on that day, if his attention had
not been suddenly called to a very serious matter.
"Say, fellers, have you seen that 'tisement 'bout
a baby ?" called out an acquaintance, who suddenly
came running across the street at full speed.
"A baby ? repeated Pinney, his face growing
pale despite the bronzing it had received from wind
Yes, a baby An' it looks a good deal to me
as if it meant the one you fellers found," shouted
"Why don't you tell us what it is, an' not stand
there talking' 'bout what you think?" asked Tom
"It 's nothing' but jest a 'tisement. You can
read for yourselves," said the boy, as he handed
the paper to Tom, and pointed out the article.
The directors, all of them looking frightened,
crowded around Tom while he slowly spelled out
On November x8, a child eleven months old was taken from its
home, and, it is believed, was left at some house in this city. Any
information concerning it will be thankfully received by a sorrowing
mother, and the informants will be liberally rewarded.
GILES & BEACH,
It was not until each of the directors in turn had
read the notice, that the paper was given to the
owner, and then five very disconsolate-looking boys
stood silently gazing at one another.
It '11 be rather hard if you have to give the
baby back jest when you 're goin' to get a new
house, won't it? suggested Jim Chick, looking
as sad as if he owned a share in November, in-
stead of being only a prospective boarder.
Who says we 've got to give him back?" de-
manded Pinney fiercely. "Nobody knows whether
that means our baby or not. Besides, I guess
we've a better right to him than anybody else;
for he'd 'a' frozen to death if we had n't taken him
into the house that night."
But there 's the 'tisement," persisted Jim.
"I don't care for a thousand of 'em; that
makes no difference. November belongs to us,
an' that 's all there is to it. Did n't we keep
him from getting' frozen? Did n't we buy milk
for him so 's he 'd have something' to eat? Are n't
we takin' care of him, an' did n't we give him all
the name he has? I 'd jest like to see the feller
that says we don't own that baby."
Pinney actually glared upon the crowd as he stood
in a threatening attitude.
"What do you think, Tom?" asked Ikey in a
"I don't know what to think," said Tom, with
hesitation. "Of course we 're not sure that it
means November; but I s'pose we ought to find
What do you want to go trying' to find out
for?" shouted Pinney. "Let 'em come an' see
if he 's theirs an' if they can get him. I 'm jest
as much of a director as any other feller, an' I
say that nobody shall get our baby."
"We '11 find Jenny and see what she thinks,"
Tom said gravely. Here, Joe, here 're two cents
for the paper. An' now, fellers, let's go home."
At first Pinney stoutly declared that he would
not permit the others even to consult Mrs. Par-
sons and Jenny on the subject; but when he saw
that they were determined, he followed, scolding
at the highest pitch of his shrill voice against those
who would try to take November from them. All
the good fortune of the day was forgotten in the
fear that they might lose the baby.
Jenny was not at home when the boys entered
the house. She had been in for a moment after
her return from the lawyer's office, and then had
started out at once in search of a house.
As the boys were unwilling to tell the sad news
to Mrs. Parsons alone, they waited on the side-
walk for the young landlady, heedless alike of
cold and wind.
When, a short time after dark, Jenny came up,
walking briskly and looking as happy as a girl can
look, Tom handed her the paper, having first
folded it so that the advertisement could be plainly
seen, and said:
"Go into the house an' read that."
"Why, what is the matter?" she asked, as she
observed her partners' sorrowful looks.
"Read that and you '11 find out," replied Tom,
as he pushed her gently toward the door. Then,
as Jenny entered the house, the directors trooped
in silently behind her, waiting anxiously to hear
what she would say.
"Why, Tom, this must mean November," she
cried in excitement, as she read the advertisement
and handed the paper to her mother.
You look as if you was glad," said Pinney in
an angry tone.
"And so I am! We all ought to be thankful
that we can give him to his very own mother.
Only think how badly she must have felt when he
was taken from her said the sympathetic girl.
Bless me, what does the child mean? asked
Mrs. Parsons in querulous tones, as she nervously
and vainly fumbled in her pocket for her spectacles,
which were on her head. "Tell me what the
matter is, Jenny, for I never can find my specs
when I want them."
I'11 read it for you, Mother," replied Jenny; and
when she had done so, the old lady said joyfully:
"I knew we should learn some day who his
parents were Can you find those men who have
advertised, Jenny ?"
"I don't believe I can to-night; but I '11 start
out the very first thing in the morning."
"Then you believe that means November, do
you ?" asked Tom in a sorrowful tone.
"Of course it does. It 's not likely it can be
for any other baby," said Mrs. Parsons; "it's a
very fortunate thing that you boys happened to
see the advertisement."
"Do-do-you mean that you're going to give
him back? asked Pinney.
Certainly we must," replied the old lady.
"Then I '11 see what I can do," and Pinney
shook his fist angrily. I say he 's our baby, an'
there shan't anybody get him, if I have to stand
there with a club to keep folks away !"
(To be continued.)
THE. BROWNIES' FOURTH, OF" JUULY.
THE BROWNIES' FOURTH OF JU-LY.- .
BY PALMER Cox.
WHEN Independence Day was nigh- Trust me to lead you to a place
And children laid their pennies by, Where fireworks of every kind
Arranging plans how every cent Are made to suit the loyal mind.
Should celebrate the grand event, There, Roman candles are in store,
The Brownies in their earnest way
Expressed themselves about the day.
Said one: The time is drawing near -
To every freeman's heart so dear,
When citizens throughout the land,
From Western slope to Eastern strand,
Will celebrate with booming gun
Their liberties so dearly won \ .
" A fitting time," another cried,
" For us, who many sports have tried,
To introduce our mystic art
And in some manner play a part."
A third replied, with beaming face:
And bombs that like a cannon roar;
While 'round the room one may behold
Designs of every size and mold,-
The wheels that turn, when all ablaze,
And scatter sparks a thousand ways;
887;] TTHIE BROWNIES' FOURTH OF JULY.
The eagle bird, with-pinions spread;
The busts. of statesmen .iges sdeadi..,
Arid hiini who led:his tattefed-.:banrd'
Against invaders of the: lahd.::
Until he shook the country free
From grasp of kings beyond the sea.
We may from this supply with ease
And, acting on the plans they laid,
A journey to the. town was made.
The Brownies never go astray,
However. puzzling is the.way;.
With guides before and guards behind,
They cut through every turn and wind,
Until a halt was made at last
Secure a share whene'er we please;
And on these hills behind the town
That to the plain go sloping down,
We '11 take position, come what may,
And celebrate the Nation's Day."
That eve, when stars began to shine,
The eager band was formed in line,
Before a building bolted fast.
But those who think they turn around
And leave because no keys are found
Should entertain the thought no more,
But study up the Brownie lore.
Ere long, upon the homeward road
They hastened with their novel load;
THE BROWNIES' FOURTH OF JULY.
And when the bell in chapel tower
Gave notice of the midnight hour,
The ruddy flame, the turning wheel,
The showering sparks and deafening peal
The largest planets shrunk away;
While twinkling orbs of lesser flame
Appeared to hide their heads in shame.
At times, in spite of warning cries,
Showed Brownies in the proper way
Gave welcome to The glorious day.
The eagles, through the gloom of night,
Looked down like constellations bright;
The rockets, whizzing to and fro,
Illumed the slumbering town below;
While, towering there with eyes of fire,
As when he made his foes retire,
Above all emblems duly raised,
The Father of his Country blazed.
Before the brilliant, grand display,
Some proved too slow at closing eyes;
Some ears were stunned, some noses got
Too close to something quick and hot,
And fingers bore for days and weeks
The trace of hasty powder's freaks.
But there, while darkness wrapped the hill,
The Brownies celebrated still;
For, pleasures such as this they found
But seldom in their roaming 'round;
And with reluctant feet they fled
When morning tinged the sky with red.
ONE beautiful summer evening, the avenues of words and signs they tried to persuade the crea-
a large city were thronged with people on their ture to step on the plank. Puss seemed to under-
way to the different churches. At a certain cor- stand, and put out one paw, but drew it back
ner, however, several persons were standing, gaz- immediately; and at that instant one of the boys
ing apparently into the air. Others
soon joined them, until so large a
crowd was gathered that the way
was completely blocked.
The attention of two policemen
was attracted, and they, too, went
to see what was the matter; but
once on the spot, they stood like
the rest, with open mouths and
eyes, and faces upturned to the
sky. Soon the windows along the s
street were thronged with people,
and a number of persons were seen
on the tops of the houses in the
neighborhood, all intently gazing
in one direction.
And what do you think they
saw? Clinging for dear life to a
jutting ornament, near the top of
a tall church-steeple that pointed A .'-
straight up into the soft evening
air, was a black cat. How did it
get there ?" was the first question
every one asked; and How will
it get down ?" was the next.
The poor creature was looking
down, and at frequent intervals it \\\
uttered a pitiful cry, as if calling to -
the crowd below for help. Once,
it slipped and fell a short distance
down the sloping side of the stee-
ple, and an exclamation of pity
came from the crowd, now intensely interested in accidentally let go his hold, the board turned over,
its fate. Luckily the cat's claws caught on another and the cat would certainly have been dashed to
projection, and for the moment it was safe. the ground had it trusted to that means of escape.
Some looker-on suggested that it be shot in The boys withdrew the board, and soon re-ap-
order to save it from the more dreadful death pearing at the window, were seen to be lowering a
that seemed to await it; but no one was willing basket down the side of the steeple. Pussy, having
to fire the shot. Ere long a little window some now ceased to cry, watched it intently as it slowly
distance above the place where the cat was cling- came nearer and nearer. When it was within
ing was seen to open. Two boys had determined reach, the cat carefully put put one paw and took
to save it; they had mounted the stairs to hold of the side of the basket, then as carefully
where the bell hung, and then by a ladder had repeated the action with the other paw, then drew
reached the window. They had taken a board itself up, and with a violent effort flung itself over
up with them, and they now pushed one end of the side and into the bottom of the basket. The
it out of the window and lowered it till it was next moment it was safely drawn up to the window,
within reach of the cat. Then, by encouraging amid loud cheers from the spectators below.
HOW POOR PUSS WAS RESCUED.
HOW POOR PUSS WAS RESCUED.
BY FLORENCE H. SMITH.
704 THE JAPANESE DOLLS. [JULX,
\f FleaSe he as polite as you caip.
IY 'e' 1 a et o I i Se' r apd ape,
19 purple aAd red like the rape,
A1d cut tI? 1oSt elegapt shape
/ r . ., ueenrlittle de
f ll .'ii'i 'T'f ^S;'-,e
'i? i. ti' i ili '''*t 1) ',' ',l ',' '. ,"l
please be aS polite as you cari, 1 '
/My beaulfful cio-hbeS you Taay :" '
/r puSppe I e apde like-the rape; ..
/ Ad cut -t9 nos+ elegari- sbape "
// tay^^w, / pv a nnf~p=To [iTH"!?3 dr~fcc~c/niftkpri ^
But please do pot handle nry tar.;
'T vWould be reckoped quite rude
My lips are just parted to shoud
My little black teeth itr a roW,
With a IloSS like the back of a
ArPd if you look close apd are
you nay See i? n)y lo10 parropV
A reat deal of v]ell-bped Sur-
That other folkS' teeth are pot
.. ^4 .. .
:.. 4 .,,
T HE JAPANESNE SE DOLLLS.
THE JAPANESE DOLLS.
rI14 T~ hzy t~oljS
Very corrnop your2 try are uWe three,
Very linp at the elboWr ard kr2ee,
Clad ip cheap cotton 0oWrps as you See,
Made up ir9 reat haste With a baste
Apd tied With a ra at the Wuaist
Without ar2y pPetepSiop to taste.
It u5olld be out of taste, ve atree;
for it1 Tokio, o0er the sea,
Feu dollies are loWly as uWe.
Though rnrade oT such Oery cheap clay,
Baked With does besides i11 a tray,
We are quite Poly-poly apd ay.
Our Iinosy Sides shake Wbhep 't is Said
/ \That ouP tripe op the croW oT the head
/ IS p't hair, but youp bristles instead
\ -- Ad it causes us little dismay
That our joiptS uobble 'roupd, they do Say,
Ip a nost upaccouptable uSay,-
7I-- Fp-r As Se peser use these ip the day.
[3ut the rnice apd the pussy-cats See
Fuppy TPolics at pibht Lbhep We 're free,
Apd the rnoop looks ip ober the tree. 6,,_
The lady-doll tied i9 her case,
With a coVer oT silk op her' Tace,
IS too haughty to ooip i1 the race.
We are lad We are pot 1i her place;
It 'S So olly nroPe louly to be.
Though she says it suits her to a T,
Ad a uorshiptul lady is she.
IVOL. XV.-5 1.
ill lit, l
BEAD AND WIRE INLAYING.
BEAD AND WIRE INLAYING.
BY CHARLES G. LELAND.
THERE is a very curious and effective style of
ornamental, or decorative, art, which -though oc-
casionally practiced in Turkey and other Eastern
countries -is by no means very common even
where it is best known. It may be called bead-
inlaying, and it is so easy that any boy or girl ten
years old can achieve excellent results in it by fol-
lowing these simple directions:
Take a piece of wood, let us say beech or ma-
hogany or pear-tree or, indeed, any of the fine-
grained kinds. Let it be half an inch in thickness
and twelve inches in length by six in breadth.
Draw on it your design. This done, follow the pat-
tern with a series of holes, bored in the wood with a
straight round awl or a drill or a gimlet, as close to-
gether as possible without splittingthe wood between
part of the plate and slides through the handle into
the pocket of the tellak, or attendant. Great num-
bers of bathers must at times go out together, to
render such a contrivance necessary, and this plate
is at least a century old, yet every bead is in its
place and somewhat worn- which indicates the
lasting quality of such work when carefully made.
It is evident that no great skill or knowledge of
art is needed to inlay beads. Such taste, in regard
to colors and their contrasts, as ladies use in se-
lecting designs in embroidery is of course required;
but there are, I suppose, few people who do
not believe they possess competent knowledge for
this. In a piece of dark wood, white or light beads
of course make a better show than dark beads;
very dark brown or black beads look well on a
light yellow or pale yellowish brown surface.
, r .- C....-'*~' t
A PANEL DECORATED WITH BEAD AND WIRE INLAYING.
them. Then put the beads into the holes so that
their perforations will show. To secure the beads
in place, the holes may first be filled with glue or
varnish. The work will then be very durable. If
you choose, the holes in the beads may be filled
with a mixture of fine transparent glue and any
coloring matter, such as umber or chrome. The
beads should be sunk rather deeply into the wood.
When the wood splits easily, or it is desirable to
make the holes very close together, the holes may
be bored with a hot iron rod. It will often add to
the effect if a line, or fine groove, be cut with
a penknife or a parting, or V, tool around the
edge of the bead pattern. The ground may also
be stamped, or indented, with a wood-carver's
Small boxes or caskets, thin panels for albums,
indeed any kind of wooden surface, may be thus
decorated. The drawing on this page represents
a plate used by the attendants in a Turkish bathing
house for receiving the gratuities of customers as
they go out. The money is taken in the circular
A TURKISH .MONEY-SCOOP.
The Oriental work acquires great richness from
the occasional intermingling of real coral beads
with those of glass.
BEAD AND WIRE INLAYING.
This art, trifling as it seems, is capable of consid-
erable extension in ornament of different kinds. In-
deed it will be found that the general effect of well
chosen colors in such work is much richer, quainter,
BELLOWS WITH DECORATIVE BEAD WORK.
and far more artistic than would generally be sup-
posed. It does not appear to be either trashy or
trifling; in fact, many persons would not suppose
at a casual glance that it was made with beads at
all. When a very small brass-headed pin or tack
is passed through each bead, the appearance of
the whole is very much improved. Such tacks
may be obtained with convex, or half-round heads
not larger than those of pins.
Of course, work of this kind need not be strictly
limited to beads. The different kinds of the marbles
used by boys may similarly be set in wood; and
they are made in an endless variety of color. A
cabinet thus studded would be increased in value
far beyond the cost of the marbles, though they
were the most expensive agates. Marbles and
beads may be set together. To make the holes for
the former, a center-bit or auger should be used.
Long, straight beads may be used with good effect.
To set them, make grooves with a gouge, and
coat the grooves with mastic or Turkish cement,
or with strong varnish, and press the long beads,
or bugles, into the cavities.
Bead-inlaying is very suitable to picture-frames,
hand-mirrors, hanging shelves, letter-boxes, and,
indeed, to all plain surfaces of wood. It will bear
handling and cleaning. If beads are broken or
knocked out, they may be readily replaced.
It is a perfectly well understood principle in all
repoussi, or sheet-metal, work, that knobs, balls,
and shining points are especially adapted to it.
because they reflect light and catch the eye; and
great numbers of sixteenth century plates and sal-
vers are ornamented with grapes, apples, or other
round fruit. Bunches of grapes are very easily im-
itated with large beads. If a stem or vine is needed
to connect them, it may be made by scratching or
cutting a fine groove in the wood, coating it with
cement, and laying in it wire of any metal. This
is hammered or rolled or pressed thoroughly into
the wood, and then sometimes polished off with
a file. Insignificant as this industry may seem,
thousands of people in Morocco and other Eastern
countries make a living by ornamenting pipe-
: i "" I I'
Ct. C .
I~" 4 9
A DESI- G FOE A BOX-COVER.
A DESIGN FOE A BOX-COVER.
bowls and other objects, by it. Sometimes, as in a
wooden pipe in my possession which came from
Algiers, the wire is twisted in a cord, and after-
ward filed. German silver wire is excellently
adapted to this work. Almost any pattern which
can be drawn in simple lines may thus be imi-
tated in wire, and striking pictorial effects pro-
duced. Picture-frames maybe made very beautiful
by such inlaying, especially if wire of different
sizes and metals be employed.
THE KING-BEAN GAME.
In this connection let me remark that no kind
of industry or art can be regarded as trifling when
a poor person can make a living by it, or when
any number of people, old or young, find in it
amusement, relaxation, or instruction. I have
known many families in which the practice of the
minor arts was discouraged under a mistaken im-
pression that it caused a waste of time, or in-
duced tastes and habits which disqualified the
young from forming "business habits." This is
a great mistake. All practical arts, however small,
induce habits of patience, industry and self-control.
They form habits of thinking; for, as men have
composed books while making shoes, so others
can not help pursuing trains of thought while carv-
ing, basket-making or setting beads. And it is
gradually being found out and recognized that
hand-work of any kind, but more especially that
which interests us, develops the constructive facul-
ties; that is to say, makes us apt with the fingers,
and quicker at perceiving anything, or at inventing
or finding out ways and means to make or do
From this point of view, even setting beads
and inlaying with wire may have their good
effects as moral discipline.
THE KING-BEAN GAME.
BY FRANK BELLEW.
GET a clean pine board of about ten by eighteen
inches, and mark it out in circles of about two
inches diameter, as represented in the chart.
Half the board should be blackened with ink or
paint, as indicated, and the circles colored white.
The other half the board should be white, and the
circles in it colored a light blue or red. Then
make two darts, about six inches long, out of pine
wood, with a feather at one end and a needle at the
other. Soak a number of split beans in water until
they are quite soft, and place one in every circle.
Attach a thread to each of the beans you place in
the circles marked King Bean."
To play the game, the two players now seat
themselves on opposite sides of a table on which
they have placed the bean-board, each holding a
dart in one hand and a string attached to the
nearest King Bean in the other. Having decided
which is to play first, each player in turn shoots
his dart at his adversary's beans all the beans on
the dark half of the board belonging to the player
whose King Bean is on that side, and all the beans
on the light half belonging to the other player.
When a player spears an adversary's bean so that
it can be carried off the board on the point of the
dart, he counts the number marked on the circle
from which it was taken. If he misses, he counts
nothing; and if he strikes on his own ground, in-
stead of his opponent's, he loses five; that is to
say, five is deducted from his score. When
S a player spears his opponent's King Bean,
he counts one hundred. But a player, if
he thinks his adversary is trying to spear
his King Bean, may pull it away by the
S thread. If, however, he pulls it away on a
false alarm before the other shoots, or when
the dart strikes within one of the other cir-
cles, he loses five; that is, five is deducted
from his score. But if the dart strikes within
the King Bean circle, or if it strikes in the
s pace between the circles, but not on the
player's half of the board, neither counts.
It is the object of each player to mislead
his opponent on this point, and make his adver-
sary believe he is about to attack the latter's King
Bean, when, in reality, he is aiming at something
else. Whoever first scores one hundred and ten
wins the game.
Small counters of felt or stout cloth can be used
instead of beans, and will last much longer.
'.1 A DEADLY FEUD. 709
BY ISABEL FRANCES BELLOWS.
SAID the Bumblebee
To the Wicked Flea,
If you keep on long this way,
You '11 certainly come
To make your home
SIn the county jail
7 / some day!"
When out came the Gnat,
In a shiny hat,
With a whip of barley straw;
And in awful tones
He threatened their bones
With the majesty of the law.
And the Bumblebee
And the Wicked Flea
Shivered with fear and dread;
And clasping each other
Like brother and brother,
Precipitately fled !
Said the Wicked Flea
To the Bumblebee,
" You 're a fat old meddling
And if you will fight
With me to-night,
Two pistols I will bring."
FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK.
By ANNA M. PRATT.
" DEAR Mr. Spider," said little Miss Muffet,
" Excuse me for running away from the tuffet,
That was 'cause I was young;
I 'm now very old-just four years to-day.
Mr. Spider, I '11 give you a spoonful of whey
If you '11 hold out your tongue.
Won't you taste of this curd ? It 's much nicer than flies."
Here the spider determined, with tears in his eyes,
He would give tit for tat;
So he turned out his toes, took his hat in his hand,
And made her a bow so exceedingly grand !-
They were friends after that.
FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK.
SILLY MISS UNICORN-
By N. P. Babcock.
S Pid you eVer, sipce eVep you eVer Werpe bor9p,
U eap about little Miss May Upicorp ?
Who Speqt all her noley
Whep she right baVe kept bees,
Arpd obtained it teron? these,
Apd SaOed all the ngorgey
She Spept for the bopey
To Sepd to the heather u'>ay obep the seas ?
Pid you eler, sipce eler you eeep Wrep borp, I
.?eap boW thiS little MiSS May Upicorp?
Suspecti1i that illy"
Bought a scan tor the tbpoat
OT that old billy oat,
Where all be pequiped,
Whep cold or uhber2 tired,
Was to settle binrselT I9 his oup \ coolly coat.
pid you eerp, Sipce eDer you e0er uere bop, /
,.eap bihat this little MiSS May Upicorr
,Opce did to a dolly
S-- She bapdaged its eyes
,,, / While nakit, rnud pies,
!-o' o t-eap that the dolly
--/ Would laugh at hen olly,
'n beWe a dolly, you kpo,
"Ca- pot lau~b it it tries.
J- A I CK- IN THE -PULPIT.
GOOD-MORROW, my Yankee hearers. As the
Fourth of July is at hand, and the Deacon does
not approve of fire-crackers and cannon, it occurs
to me to fire off a brisk newspaper "fact" by way
of a celebration. If it sets you investigating, it will
not have exploded in vain. Now, all attention !
HURRAH FOR THE RED, WHITE AND BLUE!
"A NOVEL flower has been found on the Isthmus of Tehuantepec,
at the San Jose Hacienda, some twenty-two leagues from the city of
Tehuantepec. This floral chameleon has the faculty of changing its
colors during the day. In the morning it is white, when the sun is
at the zenith it is red, and at night it is blue. This red, white, and
blue flower grows on a small tree, and only at noon does it give out
[By the way, the newspaper does n't tell us how
it happens that a flower so exactly suited to the
soil of this great Republic should be confined to
the Isthmus of Tehuantepec.]
And now, having set off my little "fact," I will,
with your permission, send up a small flight of
fable-rockets, prepared for you by Mr. Austin
Bierbower. Each rocket, I must tell you, has a
little stick of a moral, which if it does not hit you
on the head in falling -you may search for and
pick up at your leisure:
THE SQUIRREL AND THE NUT.
A SQUIRREL cracking a nut said, "I have made a discovery!
This kernel was never before seen." There are many things not
in sight," replied the kernel, "which are nevertheless not new."
THE HAWK AND THE FARMER.
A HAWK, stealing a chicken, was reproved by a farmer for taking
that on which he had spent no labor. The hawk replied, I have
spent as much labor to get that chicken as you spent to raise it."
THE AMIABLE QUAIL.
A QUAIL, being missed by a gunner, said, "I grieve for your bad
marksmanship; but, in this case, I gladly forgive your miss."
AN OLD WEATHER SIGN.
Now you shall hear from Anna M. Pratt. The
lady has a pretty good explanation to offer con-
cerning an old weather sign in which almost every-
body has a little faith,-more or less:
When the fair young moon appears
Sliding down the sunset sky,
The weather-wise look up to see
If the coming month will be
A wet one or a dry.
If the silver crescent lie
Slantwise in the fading west,
Ah!" say they, "'t is very plain
This month there '11 be but little rain;
The sign is manifest.
For when the hunter's powder-horn
Will hang upon the curving moon,
It means the weather will be fair;
But if he can not hang it there,
The rain is coming soon."
Why the hunter should himself
Of his powder dispossess
And let the pleasant days go by,
To hunt beneath a dripping sky,
I vainly sought to guess.
Till at last 't was told to me,
By one versed in sylvan lore,
That no rustling leaf betrays
The hunter, when on rainy days
He treads the forest floor.
Thus the old folk read the sign,
Many years ere you were born;
And fair weather was foretold,
If the crescent moon would hold
The hunter's powder-horn.
A VACATION MOVEMENT.
TOMMY BROWN, of the red schoolhouse, has
suddenly become an artist. The approach of
vacation has inspired him to produce his first work
of art. Here it is, and, as Tommy says, it speaks
If you see the dear Little Schoolma'am coming,
boys, you need n't stop cheering. She is as glad
as you are.
HOW DO QUAILS HIDE?
THE Little School-ma'am has heard that a
gentleman of Texas, named Henry Ray, has dis-
covered the secret of the quail's being able to hide
so well. He was walking in a field when a covey
of birds was flushed or, in other words, startled
from its resting-place. One alighted near him,
and the moment it did so, seized a dead oak leaf,
crouched to the ground and managed to hide itself
completely under the leaf. Mr. Ray said that he
had to go and turn over the leaf before he could
believe the evidence of his own eyes.
Now, my young observers and inquirers, after
this, don't forget to take special notice of quail
whenever you happen to be near their possible
haunts. You need n't turn over every oak leaf in
the woods; but keep your eyes open, that 's all.
BUT BEFORE THAT.
JOHN and Ed, aged respectively eleven and nine,
were shelling peas for the cook. Said Ed:
John, where do plants come
from ? "
From seeds, of course !" was
"Well, where do seeds come
from?" persisted Ed.
Oh, they come from other
plants, and those plants come from
seeds, and those seeds come from
plants. But what I 'd like to
know," continued John, "is where
the first seed came from."
"Does anybody know that,
John ?" queried Ed.
"No," said John, as he shelled
peas vigorously. After a moment's ,- .
thought, he added, Well, I don't '-1
see what good it would do if any-
body did know, unless he could
get a patent on it and charge folks-
for telling them."
Now, these two boys were .
brought to the red schoolhouse .'
by a lady, and she says, and the
Little School-ma'am says, and we ,
all say-don't we ?--that John is '
n't likely to waste time in learn-
ing things that are not taught at
the red schoolhouse.
IS IT A MISFIT?
WE talked last month about --
many animals that are born with-
ready-made suits. Most of them,
you remember, are admirably
adapted to the wearers. But, '
with all due respect to Dame Na-
ture, is n't the coat of the snap-
ping-turtle a trifle too small for him ? The Little
School-ma'am says that it either needs to be let
out" in the back or to be "pieced" at the neck.
He not only can not sink his head into his coat-
collar as other turtles do, but, struggle as he may,
he must always leave some part of his graceful
figure exposed to wind and weather. For this
reason he is called the alligator-terrapin, and I 'm
- y Y ". A -
told that many of the Agassiz Association boys
know him as the Chelydia serfentina. Comment
Now, who can tell me of any animal that has a
coat which seems to be too big for him? The
Deacon says that it has always appeared to him
that the coat of the rhinoceros is not a very snug
fit; but, then, it may make up in durability for its
lack in style.
DEAR JACK: I wonder if your young
hearers can repeat rapidly and correctly
this little sentence, which was given to me
by a newspaper-man not long ago:
The sea ceaseth, and dismisseth us with his
blessing." Yours truly, ALBERT H. S.
CONTRIBUTORS are respectfully informed that, between the ist of June and the 15th of September, manuscripts can not conveniently be
examined at the office of ST. NICHOLAS. Consequently, those who desire to favor the magazine with contributions
will please postpone sending their MSS. until after the last-named date.
INjusticeto Mr. Ernest E. Thompson, whose article, The Drum- his pictures after very careful personal observation of the partridge
mer on Snowshoes," was printed in the April number of ST. and its habits, and he states that the bird shown in the drawing does
NICHOLAS, we ought to state that the small picture entitled "A Par- not bear much resemblance to a partridge and that the attitude is not
tridge Drumming," on page 416, is not, like the other illustrations correct. Mr. Thompson therefore should not be held responsible
of the article, the work of the author himself. Mr. Thompson drew for any inaccuracy in the illustration.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS-: I am a little Kentucky girl, but I live in the
"Germany of America," as Belleville is called. There are more
Germans here than Americans.
My auntie gave you to me Christmas, and I love you so much.
I am so anxious for "Juan and Juanita" to reach home safely. I
have one little brother who calls "Juan and Juanita" "John and
Johnita." He is such a funny little fellow. Last summer, when
Mamma was canning fruit, she missed him; and what do you sup-
pose he was dbing when we found him? He was pushing our little
young kittens into a fruit-can, and said he was "tanning tats." He
meant "canning cats." I hope we can take dear ST. NICHOLAS as
loug as we live.
A constant reader, SARAH DEAR E WV- .
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I suppose you remember receiving a letter
last November from Mabel E. Snow. She and her papa and mamma
and her brother used to live here, and are expected home soon.
Three years ago they went to California, and then, I think, to
When I saw her letter, I thought that if little Mabel Snow could
write to you I could.
I am twelve years old, and love to read very much,- so much
that they call me a bookworm. I try not to read much, but I 'm
I have a friend who is about as much of a bookworm as myself
One of her great ambitions is to see Damascus, the oldest city in the
world. I would rather go to Germany, though. I do not know why,
but it seems to have a sort of fascination for me. When I can find a
book or story about Germany I seize upon it eagerly.
We have two pets-a cat and a dog. The cat is very small, and
a part of her pretty far is white. Her name is Pansy. The dog's
name is Wildfire. He is black, with the exception of a white spot
on his breast that we call his shirt-front. His hair is very curly and
silky. He is a cocker spaniel. We have also a beautiful black
horse that we call Crescent, because of a white spot of that shape on
his forehead. He is very handsome, and holds his head high up in
Dear old ST. NICK, I "love you more than tongue can tell," as
we children say. Good-bye. From JESSIE C. K- .
BRONXVILLE, N. Y.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I thought I would write you a few lines to
tell you how much we all like your magazine. We have several
magazines at our school, but I like ST. NICHOLAS best. The stories
are all so nice I can hardly choose which is best, although I think
"Juan and Juanita" and "Little Lord Fauntleroy" are the most
We have taken ST. NICHOLAS for four years; that is, we have
drawn it from our school library for that time.
Our little brother (four years old) loves to look at the pictures in
ST. NICHOLAS, and likes the "Brownies best. He always looks
for the "dude" and the "Chinaman."
Your admiring reader, JULIA C-.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My great-uncle, in New York, has taken
ST. NICHOLAS for my brother and myself for a year. I like ST.
NICHOLAS very much. My mother has begun to read to me "Juan
and Juanita," and I think it is very interesting.
I have four little brothers and one little sister, whose name is
Now it is spring, and the peasant-girls, in their bright costumes,
are coming down from Dalecarlia to make the gardens, and one sees
their pointed caps everywhere.
Our mother is an American, and my oldest brother and I have
been once to America and would like to go again.
I am nine years old.
From your little friend, ANNIE B- .
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have taken you for nine years. I never
read so delightful a story as "Little Lord Fauntleroy," and I wish
Mrs. Burnett would write a sequel to it.
I am very anxious about "Juan and Juanita." I hope they will
get to their mother, have plenty of food, and never meet the Co-
I remain, your interested reader, KATE O- .
P.S.-ST. NICHOLAS "Dog Stories" are splendid.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: This is the first letter I have ever written
to you. I have never seen a letter in your book from this place yet,
and I have concluded to write. At my school, every month, the
pupils contribute to buy your attractive magazine, and that is how
I get it to read. I am twelve years old.
I did not get the beginning of the story entitled "Little Lord
Fauntleroy," and so I did not get it to read; but I like "Jenny's
Boarding-house," and "Juan and Juanita" very much. In the
May number I liked the story about "Sherman's March to the
Sea," because Father was in the army with Sherman. My brother,
who is nine years old, likes the "Brownie Band" the best, for the
little funny men that belong to the Band."
I found all the letters of the alphabet, in the May number, in the
"Monogram." I always like to read the "Letter-box."
I remain, your eager reader, ORVY D-- .
ENGLEWOOD, N. J.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I think that you will become quite vain
if everybody says you are the dearest old Saint in the world; but,
just the same, I really think you are.
Last June I went to England and staid till November. I think
I saw everything in and out of London, and must say, even if you
object, that I like England almost better than America. The weather
is not all fogs and rain; and surely you have no "Westminster"
and "Tower" here. I will never forget my first impression, when
I went from Tilbury Docks to London. It was such a lovely morn-
ing, and the country, with the green grass and darker green hedges,
with here and there an old manor among the trees, looked like some
picture. And "coming in," the chalk cliffs looked so dazzling in
the sun, and Portland Prison so grim against the sky, that it needed
little imagination to believe the cliffs fairy-land, and the prison the
castle of a cruel giant. I staid with a lady ninety-seven years old,
in a house which was nearly two hundred years old. It was built
of brick, all covered with ivy, and in the midst of lovely large
grounds, with lake and shrubbery.
1 am, your affectionate reader, NELLIE C-- .
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: In the May number of ST. NICHOLAS there
is a description of a method for suspending a bottle from a table by
means of a match and a string. It states that the feat can be done
with a match one inch in length. It can be done with a shorter stick
than that. I took a four-ounce bottle and suspended it with a match-
stick cut down to a half-inch in length. I advise all my brother and
sister "ST. NICHOLASES" to try it.
I think ST. NICHOLAS "Dog Stories" are very nice. In fact, I
think the same of all your stories.
Hoping that you will tell your readers what I have written about
the bottle and the match, I remain your faithful reader and friend,
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: You have been coming to my home reg-
ularly for more than five years, and I have always liked you. I am
especially interested in the story of "Juan and Juanita," and wish
to read it first of all. "Jenny's Boarding-house" is also very nice.
My younger brothers became quite excited while listening to the
"Story of the Merrimac and Monitor" in the last number.
Not far from our house is a field in which General Jackson and his
men fought with the Indians seventy-four years ago. In the center
there is a wall of stones inclosing a small, square piece of ground,
which marks the place where Jackson's men were buried. I used
to go there very often to hunt for Indian relics, and I have quite a
number of arrow-heads which I suppose the Indians used in that
fight; also, a piece of a tomahawk. Some of the former are very
small, not much more than half an inch long, and the points are so
fine that they are usually broken off before we find them. 1 think
these must have been used in shooting birds.
At the time of the earthquake at Charleston last summer, there
were a few slight shocks felt here. I know they were slight, from
the accounts given of great earthquakes, but I assure you it was no
slight matter for me. We live in a good-sized, two-story, brick
house, and it was shaken quite badly. At first I could n't imagine
what was the matter with the house, but soon decided it was a cy-
clone, and that I 'd better wake up my two brothers, who had gone to
bed, and run to the cellar. I think I never was so frightened as I
was that night, especially when three other shocks, though very
slight, followed the first. I pity, with all my heart, the poor people
of Charleston, who have to endure so much anxiety every night, and
I congratulate myself that I do not live there.
Your admiring reader, MARY D. F- (15 years).
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have not taken you for very long. I like
you very much. My favorite story is "Juan and Juanita." I hope
"Jenny's Boarding-house" will be as nice. I was much interested
in the account of "Harrow-on-the-Hill."
I have no brothers or sisters. My only pet is a goat. His name
is Pegasus, after the flying horse, but we call him Peg. I keep him
at my aunt's in the country.
From your interested reader, CARA B- (age ten years).
CRADOCK, CAPE OF GooD HOPE.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We have never seen any letters in your
"Letter-box" from little girls in South Africa, so we think you will
like to hear from us.
We think you are just fine, and we can't tell you how much we
You are always sent to us by a friend who lives in the Transkei.
We have got a little dog called Ruby, and he has got a short tail,
and is so very fat; and he teases the cat so it's always thin.
Mary is seven years old and I am nine.
Your lovinglittlefriends, FLORA AND MARY TOWNLEY A-.
"DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have been meaning to write to you for a
long while, but now that a description of Harrow has come out in
your paper, I must, as a stanch Harrovian, say how much I en-
joyed reading it. The pictures of Harrow are very good indeed.
I should have known them anywhere. I liked the description very
much, too; and it will give your readers a very good idea of Harrow.
It is such a nice place, it is no wonder the boys are so patriotic.
I call myself an Harrovian, but I arm not in the school, as I am
a girl of fourteen; but my father has been a master here for twenty
years, so I have lived here all my life, and love it as much as any
boy. We have one' of the large houses, as they are called, which
holds forty boys. Frank Irwin, who writes to your paper, was in it
for a short time. The boys' side of the house is shut off from the
part occupied by our family.
We are a family of ten-six boys and four girls. I am the third
in order. One of my brothers is in the school, in the upper fifth.
I like your paper very much indeed. It is the best I know.
Your loving reader, ELSIE B- .
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little American girl, though I have
a foreign name and was born in Pekin, China, though of course my
name has got nothing to do with my birthplace. I think that I have
traveled a good deal for my age, as I will be thirteen in June, and
I have been in China, India, France, Switzerland, Germany, and
England, besides my own dear land of America. I can talk French,
as 1 have passed four years in Geneva, Switzerland, and of course
can understand everything I read in French in ST. NICHOLAS. That
little" Legon" about the hand took me back to the time when I was
a beginner in the French language, for that was one of the first
things I learned to speak.
Some time ago I made a few verses about the daisy, and, bad as
they are, here they are !
7 r. -
/( /, /
The stately rose is fair to see,
The lily hath a charm for me,
The pansy speaks to me of rest,
But yet I love the daisy best.
Is it the charm of white and gold,
Is it a secret that can't be told,
That lurks within her little breast
And makes me love the daisy best?
She stands amid the long, green grass,
With sunny smile for all who pass,
And children bring their homage meet
To Marguerite, sweet Marguerite!
I remain, yours very affectionately,
CAROLINE E. SCHERESCHEWSKI.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have a little brother, and he is four years
of age. My father is a planter on the Savannah River. There is a
barn near our house, and we children delight in calling out names,
which are echoed back to us from the barn. My little brother asked
Mamma, Where all dem little echoes stay ?" I think that Juan
and Juanita" is such a nice story, and I hope that "Jenny's Board-
ing-house" will be as interesting. In fact, I think I enjoy each
new ST. NICHOLAS more than the last one.
Your devoted reader, LILY D. B- (aged ten years).
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: As I have seen so many nice little letters
m you, I thought that I would write and tell you how I appreciate
your stories. I think that "Juan and Juanita" is just splendid.
They must have been very brave to face 'the Indians with so much
energy. I have not taken you very long, but what time I have, I
could not give you up. I am, your subscriber, ADiLE P-- .
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am Addle's little sister, and am eight years
old. She reads me all of your nice stories.
Your little friend, MARGIE.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: As I have not seen a letter in Latin for some
time, I will send one. Though not very good, perhaps some of
your readers can translate it. MNO
CARUS ST. NICHOLAS: Tu pro quattuor annos cepimus, sed don-
dum epistolam tibi scripsi. Epistolam Latine scribam, pro vos dis-
Scholae hieme in oppidi Mendonis eo.
Te promissus vitam volens, maneo, HARRY W. BALDWIN.
AN ANECDOTE OR FABLE.
Hoedus et Lupus. Hoedus, stans in tecto domus, lupo praetereunti
maledixit. Cui lupus, "Non tu," inquit, "sed tectum mihi male-
Saepe locus et tempus homines timidos audaces reddit.
EAST OAKLAND, CAL.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We have taken you for four years, and I
hope I can take you for many more. I am twelve years old, and
have commenced to go to a public school. I like the story of Juan
My brother brought home a dog the other day, and I named him
"Amigo," after Juan and Juanita's, and he will shake hands, and
is a great pet.
I am living in the land of flowers," and it is very beautiful and
pleasant here. Hoping you are received with as much pleasure by
others as you are by me, I remain your devoted reader,
15 BURNS STREET, NOTTINGHAM, ENGLAND.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl seven years old. Mother
takes your magazine for me, and I like it very much. I like "Juan
and Juanita," and the story of" Prince Fairyfoot."
I have a little sister three and a half years old, and a big brother
and sister. I got a prize at school last term, because I did my home
lessons well. I had a beautiful pussy cat, but some wicked people
poisoned it. I must close now.
From your loving little friend, EADIE C- .
P. S.- This is the fourth year I have had you; but Mother always
said I was too little to write to you before.
MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I thought I would write to you to tell
you what an English sea-side place is like in winter. The trees are
most of them green, and there are plenty of flowers blooming in open
air. In Dartmoor, near here, there are early British and Roman
remains huts and circles of stones. I am an American little girl,
and I came to England last June. I have taken your delightful
magazine ever since 1881. I get you every month from my uncle,
and your arrival is eagerly looked forward to. I like Juan and
Juanita" very much. I will close now, hoping to see my letter
printed, so good-bye. From your affectionate reader, L. W.
P. S.- I am twelve years old.
LITTLE ROCK, ARK.
DEAR OLD ST. NICHOLAS: I look for your coming, my old friend,
with the greatest impatience every month. You are more interest-
ing every month, I think. I have just finished reading the letters in
the Letter-box, and so I thought I would write one, too. "Juan
and Juanita" is such a beautiful story that I generally read it the
first. This is my first letter to you, dear friend,
From your affectionate friend and devoted reader, ALICE J.
PINEY WOODS GROVE, LAWTEY, FLA.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I thought some of your readers would like
to hear from one of the principal strawberry centers of Florida.
Our home is in a town of some thirty or forty families in the
northern part of the State. There are about eighty or ninety acres
of strawberries in this vicinity, and we have shipped berries since
the 2zd of February. One day there were two hundred and thirty-
two bushels went from our station to New York and Philadelphia.;
that sounds like a "Florida fish story," but there are figures to
prove it, and "figures don't lie." My two brothers and I think
everything of you, ST. NICHOLAS, and do not know how we should
get along without you. I think Little Lord Fauntleroy was a
splendid story, and I like Juan and Juanita" very much.
We came from Iowa nine years ago. I suppose there are very
few of your readers who do not know what snow is like, but we
compose part of that few," for although I am older than the boys,
who are twelve and ten, we were too young when we came here to
remember anything about snow and ice.
I am Yours truly, M. DOT S.
MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am writing to ask you if you could
not give a little longer time for answering the puzzles to the'Euro-
pean than to the American subscribers of ST. NICHOLAS. In Eng-
land we have to send the puzzles by the fifth of the month, and in
America they need not be posted till the thirteenth.
Iwas thirteen years old last Sunday, and I like ST. NICHOLAS very
much. "Juan and Juanita" is a very nice story. I have two rab-
bits, and they are both black. The Prince and Princess of Wales
came last Tuesday to open the Exhibition in Manchester, and at
night the streets were all illuminated. I have tried the experiment
of the match and the bottle, and it answered very well.
I remain, ever your loving little friend, MOLLY."
Perhaps "Molly," Ida Swanwick, M. M. G., "Murial," and
other English correspondents have never noticed that answers from
foreign countries are frequently acknowledged in the magazine, but
in the month following the one in which they rightly belong. Thus,
answers to the May puzzles, from English solvers, instead of being
acknowledged in the August number, will be acknowledged in the
September number. Hereafter, answers which are mailed to us from
England before the eighteenth of the month will be acknowledged
as promptly as possible in ST. NICHOLAS.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My mamma reads to me the letters from
other little boys, so I would like to write you one, too. I am six
years old. I live in Berlin this winter, but when I am home I live
in Philadelphia. I like Berlin better because I see so many real
soldiers here. Every day I go walking with my little brother; the
widest street is called, Unter den Linden," because there are so
many linden trees on it. Some days we walk out to the park
through the Brandenburger Thor, and go to feed the goldfish.
Sometimes we walk to the Emperor's palace to see the big statue
of Frederick the Great on his horse. Every day when the "watch
parade" passes the palace, the Emperor comes to the window. I
have seen the Emperor ever so many times; once he bowed right
to me and my little brother and Fraulein. Frlulein is my gov-
erness, and she teaches me every day in German. When I came
here I could not understand what the people said to me, but now I
can talk German all day. Old Kriskringle brought us a real Ger-
man Christmas-tree with lights on it; he brought me a soldier suit
with long trousers, and some lovely big soldiers. I would rather
play with them than have a lesson with Friulein. I can only make
German letters now, so I can't write to you myself. The other day
I went to the circus, but it was n't as nice as Barnum's at home. I
had a ride on the elephant at the Zoo, and we went to the Monkey
Theater" to see the monkeys, dogs, and goats do funny things. I
guess I have said enough this time.
Your loving little friend, GEORGE MORRIS P- .
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have never written to you before. We
are a large family (eight); and we have three families of cousins
living near us; so you may be sure we are never in want of compan-
ions. I have one little brother Humfrey, five years old, who is not
my real brother- he is only adopted; but we think just as much of
him as though he was n't. We live on a large farm quite away
from Albany, N. Y., and we have five dogs. I have a little brown
pony named Fleetfoot, and often go horseback with my cousin Kath-
erine. The roads here are very pleasant, as most of them lead by
the river or through the woods. Our farm is built very near the
river, and the back meadow opens on it. We go out rowing nearly
every pleasant evening. I have a little rowboat named Fanchon.
We have a tutor named Mr. Edwards; he is very pleasant, but I do
not like to study very well. It is tantalizing to have to sit in a close
room studying, when everything is so pleasant out-of-doors. I think
"Juan and Juanita" is a splendid story. I like stories of adventure
best. My sister Anna likes home-stories better than any, for our
tastes are very different.
Your faithful reader, AGNES B-.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: As I never saw a letter from Belgium in
your Letter-box, I write you one.
I am a little boy of nine years old who lives in Brussels, but was
born in Florence. I have two sisters: one is called Jacqueline Clim-
ence, and the other Daisy.
Since October, 1886, we receive your paper, which is sent to us by
Madame Fish, the wife of the American minister, and we enjoy it
very much. These are the stories we prefer: "The Brownies,"
"Juan and Juanita," A Fortunate Opening," "Prince Fairyfoot,"
and "Jenny's Boarding-house." I could write a better letter in
French if you would like. I remain
Your constant reader, JULIO V- .
WE print this interesting account of the effects of a cyclone,-
just as it was written.
STEVENS POINT, WIs., Mar. 22, 1887.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS I think I have something to tell you that
will interest some of your readers. When I was in Rochester Minn.,
I saw a cyclone, and I think it was quite a sight. I did not see it
in the evening when it happened, but I saw it the next morning.
Some of the houses were blown into such fragments that you would
have thought they were as small as the smallest tree. There were so
many people crushed and mangled that they had to turn a hotel into
a hospital. In some places the houses were not touched, and across
the street may be the house would be all gone. There were chickens
without any feathers on their backs, and where there had been gar-
dens, the ground looked as if it had been burnt. I saw one house
where the side had been blown right off, and there was a look-
ing-glass on the wall and a stove and a chair sitting up just as
straight as if it had not been moved. On the main street there was
rolls of tin from the roofs of the stores as large as a small cottage.
I guess I have told you about all I can remember. So I will close.
I remain, Yours lovingly, EDNA Mi. G.
To ST. NICHOLAS:-
ST. NICHOLAS, I love you
With all my heart,
And I hope that you and I
Will never part.
WE present our thanks for pleasant letters received from the young
friends whose names we give herewith: Elliot H. S., Ruth C., Ger-
trude L. Adams, Helen A. B., Juanita and Gavina, Roland S. T.,
Rebecca Larcombe, Theo. G. A., Charlie M. B., Mary N. Wilson,
" Fannie Fern," Edith G. P., Nellie C., Helen, Edith S. Bridgman,
Elsie Davenport, Genevieve Du Val, Billy Miller, Freddie Kyser,
Allmand, McK; G., Dora and Constance Iris, Bennie W. and John-
nie McD., Walter Coleman, M. C. T., Cecelia L., G. F. Dashiell,
Marie C. M., Wicky," B6 bh, Maud Huston, Ethel Carson, Mabel
Stevens Frost, Grace Norton, Edith M. Parks, N. Fairbanks, Willie
E. Vernon, Violet C., Bessie W., Emma Drake, Carrie A., R. C. H.,
Bessie Ketchum, Gracie L. Dugan, May G., May C. Morton, Ellen
G. Barbour, Alice Carey, Jr., Frank C. V., Minnie S., Adhle, Belle
Bentley, Gracie R., Ralph R., Begien, H. S., Mary, Susie, Jane C.,
Myla Coburn, G. B. and K. M., Waldo Burton, Anna T. Mead,
Louise Hoge, M. B. G., Ellen S., Frank B. B., Edith H. Smalley,
Walton F. Weed, Marion M., Fanny and Mary, Zuzie Evans, J. D.
K., M. O., Daisy K., Marian E. Mason, Madge L. C., Loraine
Lawton, Jerome D. Greene, Hattie F. E., Annie C. S., Louis
Joseph Vance, Bessie B. Taylor, Maud McC., Helen L. Kellogg,
E. P. Mason, Harrington Barlow, Rita W. B., C. M. M., Freddie
D. Jones, M. C. E., Katie F. Millet, Grace A. Higley, Pearl, Edith
G. Baker, C. W. T., Fannie J. R., Paul Alden, Agnes Ward,
Julia, Clara V. J. Frayne, Little Tycoon," Violet, Allison Hings-
ton, Harry, Julia, and Minnie Baer, Mary Ann, Frank W., Egbert,
Gracie, Nellie, Mone, Baby, Willard, Amy B., E. B. F., Fairfax
Jenkins, Emily R., Peggy M., Jack, Bertha Meyer, Willie Baer,
Olga Chase, Ella R., Clare, and Mary Louise Waite.
THE KING'S MOVE PUZZLE.
REPORT CONCERNING "THE KING'S MOVE PUZZLE."--(CONCLUDED.)
THIS month concludes the list of solvers of the King's Move Puzzle," which was printed in the January number of ST. NICHOLAS.
One of the pleasantest features of this puzzle was the delightful little letters which, in many cases, accompanied solutions. Some begged
that ST. NICHOLAS would "print more puzzles like this one." Well, ST. NICHOLAS has others of the same sort on hand, and they will be
printed in due season.
As a rule, the names of the poets were beautifully arranged, in alphabetical order, and numbered. Some gave the name of a poem by
each author, others divided the names according to the nationality of the poets, and still others wrote them down in chronological order.
One friend sent a note numbered as follows, which, by the help of the January diagram, our puzzlers may spell out for themselves.
29-39-28-18 73-83-93-84 31-21 38 26-27-16-6 79-89-80. 73-63 20-9 89-79 41-31-42-53-63 95-84-74-63-64-65 63-62 26-
25-36-56-46-55-66 46-35 63-53-64 67-58-48-47-56.
In conclusion, we present to our readers a list of "'authorities used for obtaining my list," which an enterprising friend consulted; and
the industrious compiler found her name very near to the head of the roll.
i. Coates' "Fireside Encyclopedia of Poetry." a. Gostwick and Harrison's "Outlines of German Literature." 3. Cleveland's
"Compendium of English Literature." 4. Putnam's "The Best Reading." 5. Thomas's Biographical Dictionary." 6. Allibone's
"Dictionary of Authors." 7. Griswold's Sacred Poets of England and America." 8. May's American Female Poets." 9. Bartlett's
"Familiar Quotations." io. "Index to Harper's Magazine." ii. Drake's "Dictionary of American Biography." 12. Chambers's Cyclo-
padia of English Literature." 13. Duyckinck's Cyclopmdia of American Literature." 14. Gates's "Dictionary of General Biography."
15. Hoyt and Ward's "Cyclopmdia of Practical Quotations." x6. Putnam's "The World's Progress." 17. Hart's "American Litera-
ture." 18. Crowell's "Red-Letter Poems." 19. Volumes of ST. NICHOLAS.
43. (Concluded.) Eleanor, Maude, Louise, S. Plants, S. F. Gleason, M. A. P., R. A. S. Kelly, J. A. Wheatcroft, "8530," E. Pelly,
Bertie and Nanno, E. F. Edwards, F. H. Brewin, Gussie, M. E. G., A. M. Dudard, M. Cleveland and M. A. Blair, Mabel, Eva, and
Nell, G. Winter, Al. G. Bra," R. H. Charlier, Peggy and Co., W. N. Timmins, A. and 0. Warburg, M. N. Young, D. M. Cleive, F.
Wehle, E. Digby, D. L. N., Fred Seaman, Lucy E. G., F. Taylor, N. L. Denis, M. A. Russel, Y. Black, R. N. Tower, Elizabeth B. F.,
H. L. Wyman, Mary L M. and Rena E. M., C. B. Bishop, Jr., S. H. C., S. R. Townie, L. Carlisle, G. W. F., S. E. Ellett, R. E.
Swinnerton, R. E. Hall, Mouse," H. Alien, Jr., M. and A. Gray, U. and I.," Kitten," M. C. M., J. iM. B., Lucy E. C. D., M.
G. M., Helen M. D., L. T. W. and A. B. C., G. Smith, I. Dorsey, V. D. Smith, Henry H. W., Hazel, O. N. Wehle, M. P. Warner, H.
G. M., J. E. Esslemont, E. Drake, G. Cool, B. Sims, M. A. Hale, A. and J. Inness, J. Landon, H. S. Paine, C. L. Brown, Muriel, E;
R. Londstreth, L. Stone, Rosaline, M. B. N., E. Dembitz, J., G., and V. Longley, L. Cheney, N. Fritz, J. C. Rittenhouse, H. B. Lee,
J. G. Everett, L. Elms, J. T. P., J. W. Fraser, R. D. Stephens, H. Requa, A. M. Welch, H. A. Hughes, J. E. Shaw, E. C. Allen, M.
E. Snibbets, E. H. Francis, J. Perry, Stella G., Lillian M., F. Harrup, E. R. Bullock, M. G. Calvert, K. Barron, I. Jennings, M. Napier,
E. L. Bensusan, W. L. Odell, "Lollipop," G. Jocelyn, H. P. Nash, Johnny Jumpup," A. S. W., V. Stillman, C. H. S. and E. M. S.,
S. B. M., E. L. Springer, M. Padget, A. Wilbur, C. E. Johnston, "Three Blind Mice," F. B. Foster, L. G. Archbald, N. Hamblin,
G. Threewit, "Omnes," Ella W., L. Fulton, R. E. Braden, M. Harlow, G. Mourraille, Nina S., C. G. Ackley, M. and E. Magrath, C. L. D..
B. Jewell, E. R. Cross, S. M. and H. Donnelsen, N. Baker, "Ransom," W. Thompson, "Lincoln," "Tura," E. K. Nott, A. Day, M.
Jacks, "Rex and Flipp," M. Trowbridge, G. De Bruler, R. C. Smith, L. M. Dressor, E. and B. Frost, Mrs. M. F. Dana, E. Davis, A.
M. Dake, Lulu, One of the Boys," Leonora R., P. Smith, W. H. Bedford, F. L. Smith, H. Mather, B. S. Hodson, M. La Fetra, E. B.
Rodman, W. Johnson, Alice C. Glanbill, B. Taylor, H. H. Burr, J. B. and B. E., L. Martindale, We, Us, and Co., A. M. Marsh, G. and
D. Willoughby, C. A. Mortimer, R. Markey, J. R. Guild, D. S. Campbell and W. Parker, A. F. Greenbaum, C. Lowe, L. R. Yeoman,
C. P. Stewart, E. Macdougal!, M. W. Eutz, C. P. Hollis, M. Bennett, Two Cousins, E. S. Askren, E. Glenn, M. L. Squier, K. I. Arnold,
M. N. Wilder, Carmen," J. R. Allen, H. Sheffield, H. E. Horrocks, "Mae," I. H. Reynolds, L. F. Chase, C. W. Hutchinson, L. M.
Morse, S. Henderson, G. C. Henry, K. Anderson, W. E. Bailey, Frank W. S., R. F. Jackson, P. B. Bradford, C. A. I., B. Hathaway,
I. C. M. B., L. Jones, L. Van Wert, R. Webster, M. S. Scudder, E. Blanc, J. R. Frailey, A. Wilkins, C. H. S., E. D. Denison, M. and
R. Russell, B. Nims, M. C. Johnston, A. Tidd, H. St. John, J. F. Gorke, The Three M's.," H. B. Hawes, A. B. Butler, C. L. Craw-
ford, M. B. Goozee, N. B. Warfield, "Ping Wing," G. R. D., E. S. Packard, Z. Farrar, E. Lidgerwood, A. M. Wildie, M. C. Wilson,
B. Hall, Kittie L. M., R. S. Vinal, B. W. Sweet.
LESS THAN 45. N. W. E., B. Baker, C. Patterson, F. N. Knight, H. S. Husted, M. W. R., E. E. C. and E. S. C., M. L. Witt-
kowski, H. G. G., N. and M. Ludlow, M. Badine, E. Clark, M. R. S. and L. H. R., T. Straus, B. G. Davis, G. O'Brien, H. E. Brown,
B. Beekman, F. O'Boyle, C. A. Libbey, H. O., A. J. Slade, L. L. Stevens, "Topsy," J. M. Isaacs, E. C. Knight, J. G. M. Stone, G. F.
and W. B. Greene, L. Cook, H. M. Stone, M. E. Pierce, C. McGillivray, H. G. Wild, P. H., The Cottage," R. B. Levy, F. C. H. and
M. H. H., R. C. Gorhen, R. Huntington, H. W. and A. E. Saxe, W. B. G. Fox, J. Hirschmann, G. Sturdevant, Y. D. Wake," C. Mil-
ligan and H. Couch, C. H. N., C. E. Squire, N. F. Rae, C. Robinson, Daisy, M. Astheimer, A. A., "Orris Root," L. H. W., J. A. T.,
G. Head, H. Saber, L. L. and E. Howell, N. Clarke, I. S. Adams, L. A. D., P. Gardner, A. Weber, B. Webb, M. Bowen, H. C. Barnes,
"Voltimand," C. A. Hays, J. S. Doar, E. Sander, C. Morton, Philip G., Rose, D. S. Taber, Jr., R. L. Cumming, I. Chapman, "Dyna-
mite," M. H. Nase, B. Burch, E. Witner, E. V. Huntington, H. C. F., M. A. Fletcher, "White Rose," M. Cook, "Maid Marjory," Lill
and I, E. A. W., C. Hale, H. A. Truslow, S. W. Walker, W. S. Prout, C. Bender, C. F., "Al Kohol," E. Thomas, M. Suman, W. R.
Varick, "Dolly," Mrs. J. Snyder, S. B. Jamieson, E. R. W. Brooks, G. G. Lord, Colson," F. Marquis, B. L. Montanye, J. F. Mat-
thews, D. V. Meade, "Kuth," B. O'H., Zip, B. H. Peale, I. Reeve, A. W. Barnes, B. De Blois, "Lynn C. Doyle," A. Black, H. L.
Engle, M. N. E., P, E. Taussig, N. P. H., Caps," A. Walsh, Moss Rose," O. D. Coldewey, E. P. Lewis, E. M. Downs, Elizabeth.
N. J.," F. Thompson, Mary and Martha, H. Patterson, J. G. Carruthers, W. W. A., Phoebe J., G. and A. Galloway, D. and A., Old
Subscriber, L. T. Saunders, I. Tefft, H. J. Cleveland, A. Diven, L. M. Page, Jessy Wakem, "Terrus," M. V. Bent, D. L. Crane, D. De
Lay, B. Downing, Dash, "Fundodge," H. W. Spaulding, G. H. Chadwick, L. Howell, J. R. Goodrich, B. Ross, L. M. Hadley, F. Hol-
man, Lewis S. Hachulan, M. Gray, "-K. McGlinty," "Jefferson School, Grade 8," J. M. M., M. Knox, W. R. Lambert, F. B. Dearing,
B. Spaulding, E. F. Ford, B. W. Hendrick, F. A. Wendehack, N. J. Neall, J. H. Laycock, C. W. Carnes, S. F. Patterson, Edward H. L.,
C. L. Hepbrow, M. E. Deering, "Kib," E. Daval, Walter B., V. Hewling, M. Bain, W. W. Hill, G. S. Miller, W. W. Lauterman,
"Bupsi," "Jo. Crow," "Heete," May B., N. Wells, "Juan and Juanita," F. Stokes, E. E. P., A. A. McFarlane, A. J. Parker,
Mabel D., E. Haldt, C. T. Mueller, R. B. Smith, Mrs. G. C. Sibley, A. A. Hickox, J. L., E. V. S., A. M. Tuttle, Bert, L. Lichtenstein,
J. H. Adams, Mag J., "Atossa," M. C. Davis, C. Bredt, A. I. Rodriguez, E. O. Maguire, S. A. Lake, M. Neuburger, B. H. Wood-
ward, E. V. A., Florence L., J. E. McDowell, Estill and Frank, A. Breck and S. Linney, C. L. Smith, K. Newby, E. B. Morton, J. K. B.,
" Two Little Maids," E. Cheny, E. B. Ovens, N. Davis, M. Hinshelwood, Ida G., Misses Owen, A. H. Toll, I. McC., F. McGibney,
I. Harter, L. Shoenberger, M. I. Farear, G. B. Weston, E. Harland, M. Purinton, M. Thorn, A. J. Porter, F. P. Wood, J. P. Sylvester,
J. I. Swaine, M. Benjamin, E. G. Sutliff, M. C. Callender,-R. B. C., B. Rich, R. Cully, Gertrude, J. F. Payne, N. Taylor, Lizzie L.,
C. Rosalie M., L. F. Tallman, M. Garceau. E. Stivers, C. Dixon, H. Gillian, "Toots," "Papa and Mamma," J. B. L. Grout, F. Tom-
bleson, L. Siedler, Pug, F. Heath, Slim Jim," W. P. Hopkins, M. J. Heckman, L. Bradshaw, J. A., M. H. Gorton, F. White, J. E.
Jones, M. and J. Jones, M. Jacalsen, A. Nock, B. Wheeler, K. E. E., G. E. Clark, R. Byington, S. A. F., Jr., Pernie, M. H. P.,
Z. and W. Esmond, L. M. Lee, G. Sheriden, M. Montgomery, H. L. Stoddard, N. R. Page, Kilkare," Edith G., L. McDougall, L. M.
Faries, E. and S. Fickling, H. S. Packard, "F6odor," M. Doty, F. Wheeler, S. E. H., A. Town, E. G. Quinlan, N. Hurd, A. B. Will-
iams, W. L. E., F. M. Jones, H. A. Southgate, "Wabasha," D. Donnelley, C. M. Summy, A. Weber, A. Adams, C. H. and M. Condit,
F. M. Josselyn, R. E. Dorland, J. Gloster, J. Hemphill, J. B. Sheffield, Hildegarde," D. Bennett, G. M. Wagner, K. F. T., W. H.
Beyerle, S. E. A., A. E, Fraser, Brother and Sister, B. W. Percival, B. G. Scott, M. W. Bonnett, L. Middleton, C. H. Ward, S. Munson,
Edward J. B., A. E. Spafford, E. C. Kupp, V. Eckert, I. and L. Merrell, E. Baere, E. and F. Sheen, P. C. Wilson, E. B. Dalton,
" Rob Roy MacLeod."
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE JUNE NUMBER.
ST. ANDREW'S CROSS OF DIAMONDS. I. I. M. 2. Bad. 3.
Bodes. 4. Madrier. 5. Deist. 6. Set. 7. R. II. i. R. 2. Sum.
3. Subur (b). 4. Rubific. 5. Muffs. 6. Ris (k). 7. C. III. I. R.
s. Tom. 3. Toper. 4. Ropalic. 5. Melam. 6. Rim. 7. C. IV.
x. R. 2. Tom. 3. Tudor, 4. Roderic. 5. Moral 6. Ril (1).
7. C. V. i. C. 2. Mug. 3. Moras (s). 4. Curvity. 5. Gaily.
6. Sty. 7. Y.
EASY BEHEADINGS. Beecher. I. B-lend. 2. E-vent. 3. E-mend.
4. C-lean. 5. H-omer. 6. E-lope. 7. R-over.
HOUR-GLASS. Centrals, associate. Cross-words: i. Mendacity.
2. Mission. 3. Aisle. 4. Rob. 5. C. 6. Aim. 7. Alarm. 8. Beat-
ing. 9. Burlesque.
DIAMOND. I. M. 2. Tab. 3. Tires. 4. Marplot. 5. Belie.
6. Soe. 7. T.
PECULIAR DIAGONALS. Diagonals, Memorial Day and Heroes'
deed. Cross-words: i. Megatherium. 2. Heptahedron. 3. Re-
monstrant. 4. Strongholds. 5. Preordained. 6. Outweighing.
7. Labor-saving. 8. Husbandless. 9. Unfeignedly. io. Mixtilin-
eal. is. Tragicomedy.
CUBE. From i to 2, coventry; 2 to 4, yataghan; 3 to 4, moni-
tion; I to 3, cardamom; 5 to 6, mandolin; 6 to 8, nicotine; 7 to 8.
loricate; 5 to 7, memorial; I to 5, calm; 2 to 6, yarn; 4 to 8, nine;
3 to 7, mail.
ILLUSTRATED PUZZLE. Midsummer eve. Cross-words. i. caM-
era. 2. trIton. 3. saDdle. 4. peStle. 5. crUets. 6. haMmer.
7. toMtit. 8. stEeds. 9. moRtar. to. crEels. as. raVens. 12.
DOUBLE RHOMBOID. I. Across: I. Stop. 2. Door. 3. Port.
4. Font. II. Across: x. Stop. 2. Oral. 3. Brag. 4. Troy.
CROSS-WORD ENIGMA. Lobster.
And what is so rare as a day in June?
Then, if ever, come perfect days;
Then heaven tries the earth if it be in tune,
And over it softly her warm ear lays."
-"The Vision of Sir Lazunfal," by James Russell Lowell.
WORD SYNCOPATIONS. I. Ap-peal-ing. 2. A-bode-s. 3. Cl-asp-
ing. 4. H-eight-en. 5. Fl-out-ing. 6. Sh-ear-ed.
To OUR PUZZLERS: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the i5th of each month, and 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 APRIL NUMBER were received, before April 15, from Maud E. Palmer-Gertrude Kupfer-
Mary Ludlow-A. H. and M. G. R.-Maggie T. Turrill-Mamma, C. and M.-Mabel and Christine-W. E. Goodyear-Winne D.
Booth-"Anglo-Saxon "- Paul Reese-Russell Davis-" Professor and Co."- Mabel Shepard-Effie K. Talboys -"Three Blind
Mice"-" San Anselmo Valley"- Sadie Mabelle Shuman -M. E. d'A.-"Blithedale"- Annette Fiske and Co.- Nellie and Reggie-
Francis W. Islip-" Solomon Quill"-" Chee-Wing "- R. H. and P. M.-" George and Miss Muffet "-" Nickname"-" Rob Roy."
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE APRIL NUMBER were received, before April 15, from Marion P. Dumont, S. C. N., 2- Have-
meyer Street, i- C. G. M., I "Tad," i-J. W. H., M. L. K., I -Jessie and Nellie M., i Louis E. Bailey, E. D. L., I -
Julia P. Ballard, 8- E. F. and F. E. Bliss, Percy H. and Josie S., 2 Mamma and Papa," I -" Dick," i C. N. Kent, Jr., I -
Walter Irvine, I- A. B., 3-C. J. D., 7- F. H. S. and L. A. S., I- "Three Sisters," i- P. A., i Mary A. Granger, Alice
L., 4 Henriette Orr, i-- Mac, 2 --Helen Fisher, Jamie and Mamma, 8 I. Boskowitz, 2 -" Ikey, Pinney, and Duddy," i -
L. A. H., i -" Heathen," M. Flurscheim, 2- Ellie and Susie, 6-"49," I -" Crystal," 7 -" I '11 Try," MayA. B., Ray
and Maidy," 2- Emma St. C. Whitney, 6-" Lehte and Nellie Bly," I -"Columbus Riddle Club," I -" Marjory Daw," i-" Nanki
Poo," i-"Adivinador," 6-B., R., and N., --C. F. M., 6-C. N. R., --F. A. F., i -" Yellow Kitten," 4-B. A. C., i-
Lou Henry, 2- "Puss," i- S. B. S., 2- George Siball, 2 -Alona, 2- Will R., 7- Nell R., 6- H. A. R., 7 -" May and 79," 8-
" The Cottage," 5 -" ip and Tuck," 3 -" Junior," L. T. E., I Ruby and Pearl, 3-" Niagara," 6 -" Goose," -" Livy," 2-
"Nellie Bly," 7- M. G., -"Mrs. Leeks and Mrs. Aleshine," 5--M. 0., I E. M. Benedict, Lehte, 6- Eleanor and Maude
Peart, 3 -"Jack Spratt," 4 -"Family of Three," 4--" Punch and Judy," 7 -" Family Kid," 7--Dorothy Clive, 2 -" Scotia," 2 -
L. C. B., 8--" Fox and Geese," 5 H. D., 6 -" Friends," 6- Io and I, 7-" Do do," i-" Chestnuts," 5-" Lock and Key," 2-
Keokuk, Ia., 3- Arthur G. Lewis, 5 Percy A. R. Varian, 3 -C. P. Hoppin, Susie Vaughn, I Jerome Fargo Fish, i -" Tat," 2-
"Ruddygore," x -Neddie Emerson, i.
I. A girl's name. 2. To give an appellation to. 3. A Turkish
title of dignity. 4. Naught. HERVEY DARNEAL.
EASY aREEK CROSS.
I. UPPER SQUARE: I. A reality. 2. A plant which grows in
warm countries. 3. Lethargy. 4. A water-fowl.
II. LEFT-HAND SQUARE: I. A military station. 2. A hautboy.
3. An ecclesiastical court of Rome. 4. A water-fowl.
III. CENTRAL SQUARE: I. A water-fowl. 2. A river of Spain.
3. An inhabitant of a certain Asiatic country. 4. P-' ii .::.-
IV. RIGHT-HAND SQUARE: I. Part of the ear -IIr. ..
3. Impedes. 4. Otherwise.
V. LOWER SQUARE: I. Part of the ear. 2. Found in every
kitchen. 3. A small globular body. 4. Concludes. NELL R.
CROSS-WORDS (of equal length): i. Methods of computation. 2.
A barbed spear generally thrown by hand. 3. A little ring. 4.
Hooked or bent like asickle. 5. To agitate. 6. To repeat second
time. 7. To puzzle. 8. A water-pipe. 9. Dreadful to look upon.
When these words are rightly guessed and ranged one below the
other, in the order here given, the first five initial letters will spell
worthless matter; the last five letters, the name of a bird. The nine
initial letters will also spell the name of a bird.
The first five final letters will spell to bury; the last five letters,
pauses. The nine final letters will spell concerns. F. s. F.
a. BEHEAD an effigy, and leave an old word meaning a magician.
2. Behead in no degree, and leave continually. 3. Behead those
who are much beloved, and leave part of a dish. 4. Behead to eat
away, and leave was conveyed. 5. Behead round, and leave a
small mass of matter of no definite shape. 6. Behead to rub or
scrape out, and leave to overthrow. 7. Behead the lining of certain
shells, and leave a piece of land. 8 Behead terror, and leave
to peruse. 9. Behead to correct, and leave to reform. to. Behead
the present occasion, and leave formerly, rt. Behead to hide, and
leave above. 12. Behead circumstance, and leave escape.
The beheaded letters will spell a word meaning the direction of
one's own affairs without interference. L. H. L. AND D. M.
ACROSS: I. The sacred book of the Mohammedans. 2. A sub-
stance which will produce fermentation. 3. Thrashed with a walk-
ing-stick. 4. From side to side. 5. A color. 6. If. 7. In triangle.
'I,'" '',,|1 ,''' I /, (_ ___ _____ _
LLuv~L 5l..l 2 t i -- U
ALL of the ten objects may be described by words of equal length. When these have been rightly guessed, and placed one below
the other, one of the perpendicular rows of letters will spell the name of a famous battle fought in July.
LEFT-HAND DIAMOND : -. In crumbs. 2. To furnish with strength
for action. 3. Pertaining to a wall. 4. A quadruped of the reindeer
kind. 5. Pulverized sugar-candy. 6. Fortune. 7. In crumbs.
RIGHT-HAND DIAMOND : In crumbs. 2. Portion. 3. The
Christian name of a lady whose name has been made famous through
the sonnets of an Italian poet. 4. A dressing-room. 5. To run about.
6. To be sick. 7. In crumbs. MYRTLE GREEN."
i. ONE of the Great Antilles. 2. One of the Shetland Islands.
3. The largest island in the world. 4. A group of islands in the
Indian Ocean. 5. An island group in the South Atlantic Ocean.
6. The island prison of a great general. 7. The site of the fifth
wonder of the world. 8. Two islands of the Arctic Ocean which are
separated by a very narrow strait. 9. One of the British West
Indies. io. A large island in the Atlantic Ocean. iz. A British
West Indian island. 12. One of the Aukland Islands. 13. An
island on the east coast of Africa.
The initial letters of each of the islands described will spell the
name of an island which is supposed to be the scene of a veryfamous
THE letters composing each of the eight following words may be
transposed so as to form another word. Example: PEARS, SPARE.
8. Enumerations. "AUNT SUE."
I AM composed of one hundred and fifty-six letters, and I show
what John Adams considered a proper way to celebrate the Fourth
My 95-45-77-12-123-64-35 is an enormity. My 139-128-18-87-
41-51-148 is a small pancake. My 134-105-72-81x-18-6 is a place
where a famous battle was fought in 1862. My 111-56-30-153-26 is
a vagrant. My 47-33-3-69-1i5 may be found on every breakfast
table. My 19-98-155-o12 means a cipher. My 39-109-144-131-120
is value. My 150-136-58-117-49 is a view. My 28-143-16-83-89-
24-42 is gigantic. My 92-79-66-137 is a very thin skin. My 82-113-
86-oo-10 -130-55-60-53 is of one mind. My ro7-44-T4x-74-22-o10
is sagacious. My 62-8-76-5 is a beautiful animal seen by St. Hubert
in vision. My i16-25-93-156-34-7-12x-97-133-70-48 ismenacing.
My 146-13-31-21-14-151 is to pet. My 9-68-9i-lo4-I26-99-29-
149-73-27-4-75 is noisy. My 57-84-I35-2-I38-I52-2i2-61-59 is
giggling. My 67-124-23-11-80-145 is a broad piece of defensive
armor carried oil the arm. My 203-36-50-40-90-38 is a general
scarcity of food." My 52-i42-io6-7i-II9 is fleet. My I0-122-37-
'25 is to portend. My 46-94-"14 is grief. My 63-I47-96-xo is a
benefaction. My 15-85-154-108-132 is a man mentioned in the
Bible who "walked with God." My 127-140-129-78 is pabulum.
My 43-54-88-r7-32-6520 is part of a spinning-wheel.
"AUGUSTUS G. HOPKINS."
ST. ANDREW'S CROSS OF DIAMONDS.
I. UPPER LEFT-HAND DIAMOND: I. In barrel. 2. An abbrevia-
tion meaning "place of the seal." 3 A meadow. 4. An animal.
5 Abo ckname. 6. A verb. 7. In barrel.
II. UPPER RIGHT-HAND DIAMOND: i. In barrel. 2. An excla-
mation. A biblical character. 4. Ratio.. Consumed. 6. A
pronoun. 7. In barrel.
III. CENTRAL DIAMOND: I. In barrel. 2. Mother. 3. Three-
fifths of a word meaning to imitate. 4. A cereal. 5. A unit. 6. A
pronoun. 7. In barrel.
IV. LOWER LEFT-HAND DIAMOND: I. In barrel. 2. Two-thirds
of a quick stroke. 3. An engine of war. 4. Uncommon. 5. A verb.
6. A pronoun. 7. In barrel.
V. LOWER RIGHT-HAND DIAMOND: i. In barrel. 2. A boy's
nickname. 3. Evening. 4. Depravity. 5. Vague. 6. A printer's
measure. 7. In barrel. H. AND HEBE."
THE DE VINNE PRESS, PRINTERS, NEW YORK.