Front Cover
 Invitation to Echo
 The boyhood of Oliver Wendell...
 An Idaho picnic
 The highwayman
 Mr. Dream-maker
 The figurehead of the James...
 Ready for business; or, Choosing...
 Winning a commission
 A summer lullaby
 Fiddle-John's family
 How some animals become extinc...
 Juan and Juanita
 The brant
 A great battle in the forest
 Jenny's boarding-house
 The brownies fishing
 For middle-aged little folk and...
 Nantucket sinks
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00188
 Material Information
Title: St. Nicholas
Uniform Title: St. Nicholas (New York, N.Y.)
Alternate Title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner
Place of Publication: New York
Publication Date: -c1943
Frequency: monthly
Subject: Children's literature -- Periodicals   ( lcsh )
Genre: periodical   ( marcgt )
Dates or Sequential Designation: -v. 67, no. 4 (Feb. 1940) ; v. 70, no. 1 (Mar. 1943)-v. 70, no. 4 (June 1943).
Dates or Sequential Designation: Began with: Vol. 1, no. 1, Nov. 1873.
Numbering Peculiarities: Suspended Mar. 1940-Feb. 1943; vols. 68-69 omitted.
Issuing Body: Published by: Century, Aug. 1881- ; by Educational Pub. Corp. -1940; by St. Nicholas Magazine, 1943.
General Note: Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
General Note: Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00065513
Volume ID: VID00188
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: oclc - 01764817
lccn - 04012675
 Related Items
Preceded by: Our young folks
Preceded by: Children's hour (Philadelphia, Penn.)
Preceded by: Little corporal
Preceded by: Schoolday magazine
Preceded by: Wide awake

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Invitation to Echo
        Page 722
        Page 723
    The boyhood of Oliver Wendell Holmes
        Page 724
        Page 725
        Page 726
        Page 727
        Page 728
    An Idaho picnic
        Page 729
        Page 730
        Page 731
        Page 732
        Page 733
        Page 734
        Page 735
        Page 736
        Page 737
        Page 738
        Page 739
    The highwayman
        Page 740
    Mr. Dream-maker
        Page 741
    The figurehead of the James Starbuck
        Page 742
        Page 743
        Page 744
        Page 745
        Page 746
    Ready for business; or, Choosing an occupation
        Page 747
        Page 748
        Page 749
    Winning a commission
        Page 750
        Page 751
        Page 752
        Page 753
        Page 754
    A summer lullaby
        Page 755
    Fiddle-John's family
        Page 756
        Page 757
        Page 758
        Page 759
    How some animals become extinct
        Page 760
        Page 761
        Page 762
    Juan and Juanita
        Page 763
        Page 764
        Page 765
        Page 766
        Page 767
        Page 768
    The brant
        Page 769
    A great battle in the forest
        Page 770
        Page 771
        Page 772
        Page 773
        Page 774
        Page 775
        Page 776
        Page 777
        Page 778
        Page 779
        Page 780
        Page 781
        Page 782
    Jenny's boarding-house
        Page 783
        Page 784
        Page 785
        Page 786
        Page 787
        Page 788
    The brownies fishing
        Page 789
    For middle-aged little folk and very little folk
        Page 790
        Page 791
        Page 792
        Page 793
    Nantucket sinks
        Page 794
    The letter-box
        Page 795
        Page 796
        Page 797
        Page 798
    The riddle-box
        Page 799
        Page 800
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text

p I
93,, .

%`-Jpoig Rk` 143
t1w g

rz. S,


"ECH-O !"



_ ,- -__ . --' .' -. .. .


VOL. XIV. AUGUST, 1887. No. 1o.

[Copyright, 1887, by THE CENTURY CO.]



Two of us among the daisies
In the meadow bright and still,-
You, alone among the mazes
Of the dark trees on the hill;
O sweet Echo,
O fleet Echo,
Can we not o'ertake you, following with a will?
[AA, Will.]
'T is my name-but much I wonder
That you in your hiding-place,
On the shady hill or under,
Things you never knew can trace !
Declare, mocker,
O rare mocker,
What my sister's name is, else you're in disgrace!
[Is Grace!]
What sweet things do you resemble,-
Morning dewdrops, starry gleams,
Flowers that in the light wind tremble,
Beckonings of the rippled streams?
O dear playmate,
Come near, playmate;
Are these fancies true, or naught at all but dreams?
[But dreams!]
Then come down and let us see you;
If you can not come to stay,
Ask the stern old hill to free you
Just for half a holiday.
O glad Echo,
O sad Echo,
To escape your prison can you find no way?
[No way!]




HERE is a pleasant little
house in Beacon Street,
Boston, which is occu-
pied by a gentleman
who has written some
books which have made
his name famous wher-
ever the English lan-
guage is spoken, and
also in many other coun-
tries into the language of which they have been
translated. As he goes along the streets of the
town, with a friendly, observant eye, which has a
bird-like quickness, people sometimes whisper-
those who are unmannered point at him--and
say, See the autocrat "
He is probably referred to thus as often as by
his proper name, and this is because one of his
books is called "The Autocrat of the Breakfast
Table," a volume full of wisdom and humor,
which on one page moves us to tears, and in
the next sets us shaking with laughter. He is a
rather slender gentleman, with white hair, though
no one would guess him to be seventy-five years old,
and the wavy white hair on his head is matched by
white side-whiskers of an English cut. He is not
distinctly a writer for the young: writing of any
kind has not been the business of his life, indeed;
and aside from it he has made himself famous in
the medical profession. But there are few boys or
girls who, though they may not have read The
Autocrat of the Breakfast Table" all through,
do not know by heart The Chambered Nautilus,"
and the story of the deacon's One-hoss Shay."
Have you heard of the wonderful one-hess shay
That was built in such a logical way ?
It ran a hundred years to a day,
And then, of a sudden, it--ah, but stay.
I'lltell you what happened without delay,
Scaring the parson into fits,
Frightening people out of their wits -
Have you heard of that, I say ? "
It is Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes I am speaking
about, one of the two survivors of that splendid
period of American literature which gave us
Longfellow, Motley, Emerson, and Lowell.
The doctor's study in the house in Beacon
Street looks out over the Charles River, and it is
a question whether the view from the windows is
more beautiful at night when the electric lights on
the bridge cast their reflections on the water like

javelins of glittering silver, or in the day, when the
gray stream flowing to the sea, and the spires and
towers of Cambridge, with the green hills of Ar-
lington and Belmont beyond, are visible. It is at
all times a view of which Boston people are very
proud; and, aside from its beauty, it has the added
interest to the doctor of encompassing nearly all
the scenes of his youth, and of his manhood,
He was born at Cambridge, and went to school
at Cambridgeport, and both of those places are
in sight from his windows; all his past is unfolded
there, and when he turns from the book or manu-
script on his desk,-near which hangs the portrait
of his renowned ancestress, "Dorothy Q.,"-he can
see the paths his feet have followed since the
beginning of his life.
He can see himself at various ages: the urchin
straggling to school, through fields which are green
only in the memory now; the Harvard student;
and then, in one person, the college professor and
the famous author. No doubt he finds it hard to
believe that the urchin was not another fellow
altogether, instead of the self-same sapling that he
himself once was; but, though the identity is con-
fusing, he can remember the boy well, and all his
queer fancies, amusements, and chums.
A moderately studious boy he was, fond of read-
ing stories, especially "The Arabian Nights "; fond
of whispering and whittling, as his desk showed;
a little mischievous; sound in mind and in body,
but more than usually imaginative. No Roman
soothsayer," he says in one of his books, "ever
had such a catalogue of omens as I found in the
Sibylline leaves of my childhood. That trick of
throwing a stone at a tree and attaching some
mighty issue to hitting or missing, which you will
find mentioned in one or more biographies, I well
remember. Stepping on or over certain particular
things Dr. Johnson's especial weakness I got
the habit of at a very early age.
"With these follies mingled sweet delusions,
which I loved so well I would not outgrow them,
even when it required a voluntary effort to put a
momentary trust in them. Here is one I can not
help telling you :
"The firing of the great guns at the Navy-yard
is easily heard at the place where I was born and
lived. 'There is a ship-of-war come in,' they used
to say when they heard them. Of course, I sup-

* The portrait of Dr. Holmes and the quotations from his poems presented in this article are included by the kind permission of
Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co.



posed that such vessels came in unexpectedly,
after indefinite years of absence suddenly as fallen
stones,--and that the great guns roared in their
astonishment and delight at the sight of the old-
war-ship splitting the bay with her cutwater. Now
the sloop-of-war, the Wasp, Captain Blakely, after
gloriously capturing the Reindeer and the Avon,
had disappeared from the face of the ocean, and
was supposed to be lost. But there was no proof
of it, and, of course, for a time, hopes were enter-
tained that she might be heard from. Long after
the last chance had utterly vanished, I pleased
myself with the fond illusion that somewhere on
the waste of waters she was still floating, and there
wereyears during which I never heard the sound
of the great guns booming inland from the Navy-
yard without saying to myself, 'The Wasp has
come !' and almost thinking I could see her, as
she rolled in, crumpling the water before her,
weather-beaten, barnacled, with shattered spars
and thread-bare canvas, welcomed by the shouts
and tears of thousands.

unspoken words have articulated themselves in the
mind's dumb whisper, The Wasp has come '"
Dr. Holmes was born on the 29th of August,
1809, and one of the earliest things he can remem-
ber is giving three cheers for the close of the war
of 1812. Until about two years ago, when it was
pulled down, his birthplace stood on the edge of
the college grounds at Cambridge, and the old
"gambrel-roofed" house was one of the sights of
the town which visitors seldom missed.
"'Gambrel! Gambrel!'-Let me beg
You'll look at a horse's hinder leg,-
First great angle above the hoof,-
That's the gambrel: hence gambrel-roof."
It had been the headquarters of the American
army during the siege of Boston, and when Oliver
Wendell was born it was the parsonage of his
father, who was pastor of the First Church. A
rambling, roomy old house it was, with untenanted
upper chambers that were always locked, and a
garret where strange noises could be heard,-the
very place, in the imagination of a little boy, for


"This was one of the dreams that I nursed and
never told. Let me make a clean breast of it now,
and say, that so late as to have outgrown child-
hood, perhaps to have got far on to manhood,
when the roar of the cannon has struck suddenly
on my ear, I have started with a thrill of vague
expectation and tremulous delight, and the long

ghosts and creatures from fairy-land. Then there
was a dark store-room, and peeping through the
keyhole he could see heaps of chairs and tables, and
he fancied that somehow they had rushed in there
frightened, and had huddled together and climbed
upon one another's backs for protection. Some-
times he thought he could hear the swords and



spurs of soldiers clanking in the passages; and the
floor of his father's study was covered with dents
left by the butts of the muskets of the armed men
who had used it as a council-chamber.
Upstairs there was the portrait of a lady with
sword-thrusts through it,-marks of the Brit-
ish officers' rapiers,- and this is the same picture
that now hangs on the wall of the library in Beacon
On her hand a parrot green
Sits unmoving and broods serene;
Hold up the canvas full in view -
Look, there 's a rent the light shines through !
Dark with a century's fringe of dust,
That was a Redcoat's rapier thrust."

Who has not heard of that picture of Dorothy
Quincy, or, as she is familiarly called, Dorothy Q.,

the autocrat's great-grandmother? His musical
verses have engraved it in the minds of thousands
who never saw the picture, or even a reproduction
of it.
Cambridge was then a country village, and it
was a pleasant walk through fields and lanes to the

school in Cambridgeport, to which Oliver Wendell
was sent when he was scarcely out of his infancy,-
pleasant when he had company; but he had more
than his share of childish fancies, and on his way
there was a great wooden hand-a glove-maker's
sign-which used to swing and creak, and fill him
with terror.
Oh, the dreadful hand he says in one of his
essays, always hanging there ready to catch up a
little boy who would come home to supper no
more, nor get to bed-whose porringer would be
laid away empty thenceforth, and his half-worn
shoes wait until his smaller brother grew to fit
Then there were encounters with the Port-
chucks," as the Cambridge boys called the boys of
Cambridgeport, and any
new article of dress was
sure to be criticized by
these young Philistines.
One morning Oliver Wen-
dell had a new hat of
Leghorn straw.

"Portchuck," "you know
th' was go'n'-to-be a race
to-morrah ?"
No," replied Oliver,
innocently. "Who's go'n'-
to-run, 'n' where 's 't go'n'-
to-be ?"
"Squire Mico 'n' Doc-
tor Williams, 'round the
brim o' your hat."
The "Portchuck" put
his tongue into his cheek,
and Oliver saw that he had
been trifled with.
The school was kept by
a stout old lady, called
Dame Prentiss, who ruled
the children with a long
willow rod, which reached
across the room. It was
used for reminding rather
than for chastising, how-
ever, and when one rod
gave out, the scholars had
no hesitation in providing
her with a new one, for
which they themselves went
into the fields. Now and then a ferule was the
instrument of punishment, and on one occasion,
when Oliver had been caught whittling his desk,
the Dame brought it down across his hand with
startling results: it fell into pieces as it touched
his palm, though this was probably due to a flaw



in the material of the ferule rather than to
the toughness of the boy.
When he had outgrown petticoats, he went
to other schools in Cambridgeport, and he
had among his schoolmates Alfred Lee, who
afterward became Bishop of Delaware, Mar-
garet Fuller, and Richard Henry Dana, the
author of that fascinating sea-story, "Two
Years Before the Mast."
So far he had always lived in the old home
with the gambrel-roof, which had been grow-
ing dearer and dearer to him; but at the age
of fifteen he entered the Phillips Academy,
at Andover, and then for the first time he
felt the pangs of home-sickness. His year
there was not very happy.
"The clock was dreadfully slow in striking
the hour when recess began, and the profes-
sors looked as if they were always thinking of
death," he said to the writer of this sketch
not long ago.
But he had pleasant memories of Andover,
too, and in 1878, when the academy was a
century old, he went back and read a beauti-
ful poem describing the sensations with which
he entered it:
The morning came: I reached the classic hall;
A clock-face eyed me staring from the wall;
Beneath its hands a printed line I read:
YOUTH IS LIFE'S SEED-TIME ; so the clock-face said.
Some took its counsel, as the sequel showed-
Sowed -their wild oats, and reaped as they had sowed.
How all comes back the upward slanting floor--
The masters' thrones that flank the central door-
The long outstretching alleys that divide
The rows of desks that stand on either side -
The staring boys, a face to every desk,
Bright, dull, pale, blooming, common, picturesque.

Grave is the Master's look; his forehead wears
Thick rows of wrinkles, fruits of worrying cares;
Uneasy lie the heads of all that rule,
His most of all whose kingdom is a school.
Supreme he sits; before the awful frown
That bends his brows the boldest eye goes down;
Not more submissive Israel heard and saw
At Sinai's foot the Giver of the Law."

After a year at Andover, Oliver Wendell entered
Harvard University, and while he was there he
maintained a fair rank for scholarship. Then he
studied law for a year, and after that he chose what
was to be the occupation of his life,-the study and
practice of medicine.
His literary gifts were already known.. When
he was about twenty-one, the old frigate Con-



stitution, or the Old Ironsides" as she was called,
lay in the Charlestown Navy-yard, and the Gov-
ernment proposed to break her up. Some stirring
lines protesting against her destruction appeared
in The Boston Advertiser, from which they were
copied by other newspapers, and then circulated
on printed slips. They aroused such enthusiasm
in favor of the old ship, that the Government con-
sented to her preservation, and the author found
his name on .every lip: it was Oliver Wendell
Holmes. Other verses came from the same pen,
which were no less popular, and the young poet
had encouragement enough to leave the labora-
tory, and devote himself to the quill. But he
remembered, no doubt, what a wise man once
said about literature as a profession: it is a very
great staff, but a very sorry crutch. He continued
to be a physician, and rose to eminence as a profes-
sor in the Harvard Medical School; but in his spare
hours, he cultivated the genius which is as radiant
as a star in his books.






AUGUST, month when Summer lies
Sleeping under sapphire skies:
Open all the windows wide,
Drink the orchard's fragrant tide,-
Breath of grass at morning mown
Through the leafy vistas blown,-
Hear the clinking of the scythe
Sound mellifluent and blithe.
August, month when everywhere
Music floats upon the air

From the harps of minstrel gales
Playing down the hills and dales:
August, month when sleepy cows
Seek the shade of spreading boughs
Where the robin quirks his head
Contemplating cherries red:
August, month of twilights when
Day half goes, and comes again:
August days are guards who keep
Watch while Summer lies asleep.



1887. 1 AN IDAHO PICNIC. 729



MR. GILMOUR had his wife and children with
him in camp that summer. They had been with
him before, in other camps, in places that had
seemed very distant and strange and comfortless
to their friends securely housed at home in the
East; but an engineer's family soon learns to com-
pare the camp of the present only with the camp
of the past-the last camp, or the one before
that, where water had been sixty cents a barrel,
and muddy at that; and milk, twenty-five cents a
quart, and eggs had traveled far, and butter was
At the camp in the cation they had a cow. It
is true she sometimes broke away and went off
with the herds on the range, and had to be chased
on horseback and caught with a lasso. They had
chickens -all that were left them from night raids
by the coyotes; *- and a garden, the products of
which they shared with the gophers. But the sup-
ply-wagon brought fresh fruit from the town, ten
miles away, and new butter from the valley ranches.
There were no mosquitoes, no peddlers, no tramps,
no book-agents, no undesirable neighbor's chil-
dren, whom one can not scare away as one may the
neighbor's dogs and chickens when they creep
through the fence, but must be civil to, for the
sake of peace and good-will,--which are good
things in a neighborhood.
Jack Gilmour worked at his crude inventions in
the shop, and was allowed to use grown-up tools
under certain, not oo hard, conditions; and Polly
rode up and down the steep path to the river
beach on the shoulders of the young assistant-
engineers and assistant-everything-elses. The
mother was waited on and spoiled, as women are
in camp; she was even invited to go fishing with
her husband and Mr. Dane, one of the young
assistants-in-general. It was a dull time for work
in the camp, and there were good care-takers with
whom Mrs. Gilmour could trust the children. The
boy was the elder. He was learning those two
most important elements of a boy's education, up
to nine years, according to Sir Walter Scott,- to
ride and to speak the truth. But he was only
eight, and perhaps was not quite perfect in either.
He watched the three happy ones ride away, and

Poisoned meat was laid near the chicken-house one night after
the coyotes had carried off some fine young Plymouth Rocks (with a
baleful instinct they always picked out the best of the fowls) and was
eaten by them. Two of the robbers were found next day, dead, by
the irrigating ditch, where they had crept to quench their thirst, and
VOL. XIV.-53.

as they turned on the hilltop and waved good-bye
to the little figure on the trail below, he was long-
ing, with all the strength of desire an eight-year-
old heart can know, for the time to come when he
too should climb the hills and wave his hand
.against the sky before turning the crest, where he
had so often stood and felt so small, gazing up
into those higher hills which locked the last bright
bend of the river from sight.
They were to go up Charcoal Creek; they were
to cross the "Divide"; they were to go down
Grouse Creek on the other side, and camp on some
unknown bit of the river's shore.
The boy went stumbling back, down the dusty
path, to his unfinished work in the shop,- the
engines for a toy elevated road he was making.
But the painfully fashioned fragments of his plan
had no meaning for eyes that still saw only the
hills against the morning sky, and the three happy
ones riding away.
This first trip led to a second and longer one, to
the fishing-grounds up the river, by the trail on
the opposite shore. Jack heard his father and
Mr. Dane talking one morning at the breakfast-
table about riding down to Turner's and getting a
pack-animal and some more riding animals-and
Mamma was going again! What good times the
grown-ups did have And John Wilson, Jack's
particular crony from the men's camp, was going,
to cook and take care of the animals. This word,
"animal," is used in the West to describe any-
thing that is ridden or "packed"-horse, mule,
Indian pony, or "burro." It is never applied to
cattle or unbroken horses on the range; these are
The party were to take a tent and stay perhaps a
week, if no word came from the home camp to call
them back.
Jack slipped away from the table and ,went
out and hung upon the railing of a footbridge
that crossed the brook. Beside learning how to ride
and to speak the truth, Jack was learning to whistle.
He was practicing this last more persistently per-
haps than either of the more important branches of
knowledge,-let us hope because there was more
need of practice; for he was as yet very far from

one was afterward seen, from time to time, in the sage-brush, a
hairless specter. The coyote mothers no doubt told their babies of
this grewsome outcast as a warning--not against chicken-stealing,
which must be one of the coyote virtues but against poison and
other desperate arts of man.




'730 AN IDAHO PICNIC. LAunuar,

being a perfect whistler. It was but a melancholy,
tuneless little note in which he gave vent to his feel-
ings, as he watched the trickling water.
I 'd like to take the boy," his father was that
moment saying at the breakfast-table in the cook-
tent, "if we had anything he could ride"; and
then he added, smiling, "there 's Mrs. O'Dowd."
The smile went around the table.
Mrs. O'Dowd, or "Peggy," as she was variously
called, was a gray donkey, of uncertain age and
mild but inflexible disposition, who sometimes con-
sented to carry the children over the hills at a
moderate pace; her usual equipment being a side-
saddle, which did not fit her oval figure (the curves
of which turned the wrong way for beauty); so
the side-saddle was always slipping off, obliging
the children to slide down and cinch up."*
The engineer's house was built against a hill;
from the end of the upper piazza a short bridge, or
gang-plank, joined the hill and met a steep trail
which led upward to the tents, the garden, the
road to the lower camp, the road up the bluffs,
and all the rest of the children's world beyond
the gulch. One of their favorite exercises with
Mrs. O'Dowd was to ride her down the trail, and
try to force her over this gang-plank. She would
put her small feet cautiously one before the other,
hanging her great white head and sniffing her
way. The instant her toes touched the reso-
nant boards of the bridge, she stopped, and then
the exercises began. Mrs. O'Dowd's gravity and
resignation in the midst of the children's laugh-
ing and shouting and pulling and whacking, was
most edifying to see; but she never budged. She
saw the darlings of the household dance back and
forth before her in safety; the engineers in their
big boots would push past her and tramp over
the bridge.
Mrs. O'Dowd was a creature of fixed habits. Use-
less, flighty children, and people with unaccount-
able ways of their own might do as they liked; it
had never been her habit to trust Mrs. O'D. on
such a place as that, and she never did.
"Yes, the boy might ride Peggy," said Jack's
father. He could keep her up with John and
the pack-mule, if not with us."
"Oh, I should not want him behind with the
men," said Jack's mother,-" and those high
trails If he is to go over such places, he must
ride where you can look after his saddle-girths."
She could hear Jack's disconsolate whistle as she
spoke. I hope he does not hear us," she said.
"It would break his heart to have the hope, and
be left behind after all."
"If the boy's heart is going to break as easily
as that, it is time it was toughened," said his father,
but not ungently. I should tell him there is a

chance of his going; but if it can't be managed, he
must not whine about it."
Jack went to bed by himself always, except Sun-
day nights; then his mother went with him, and
saw that he laid his clothes in a neat pile on the
trunk by his bed,-for in a camp bedroom trunks
sometimes take the place of chairs, -and heard him
say his prayers, and sometimes they talked together
a little while before she kissed him good-night.
That night was Sunday night, and Jack's mother
asked him, while she watched his undressing, if it
ever made him dizzy to stand on high places and
look down. Jack did not seem to know what that
feeling was like; and then she asked him how far
he had ever ridden on Mrs. O'Dowd at one time.
Jack thought he had never ridden farther than Mr.
Hensley's ranch-that was three miles away, six
miles in all, going and coming; but he had rested
at the ranch, and had walked for a part of the jour-
ney when his sister Polly had resolved to ride alone
by herself, instead of behind him, holding on to
his jacket.
It made his mother very happy to tell the boy
that the next day, if nothing happened to prevent,
he was to set out with the fishing-party for a
week's camping up the river. She knew how, in
his reticent child's heart, he had envied them. He
was seated on the side of his bed, emptying the
beach sand out of his stockings, when she told him.
He said nothing at first, and one who did not
know his plain little face as his mother knew it,
might have thought he was indifferent. She took
a last look at him, before leaving the room, with the
lamp in her hand. It seemed but a very little while
ago that the close-cropped whity-brown head on
the pillow was covered with locks like thistle-down,
which had never been touched with the scissors;
that the dark little work-hardened hands (for Jack's
play was always work) lying outside the sheet had
been kissed a dozen times a day for joy of their
rosy palms and dimples. And to-morrow the boy
would put on spurs,-no, not spurs, but a spur,
left over from the men's accouterments,-and he
would ride-to be sure it was only Mrs. O'Dowd;
but no less would the journey be one of the
landmarks in his life. And many older adven-
turers than Jack have set out in this way on their
first emprise -not very heroically equipped, ex-
cept for brave and joyous dreams, and good faith in
their ability to keep the pace set by better-mounted
Jack woke next morning with a delightful feel-
ing that this day was not going to be like any
other day he had known. Preparations for the
journey had already begun. In the cook-tent two
boxes were being filled with things to eat and
things to cook them with. These were to be cov-

* To cinch up is to tighten the girths and straps of a saddle.





ered with canvas, roped, and fastened, one on
each side of the pack-mule's pack-saddle. On the
piazza, saddle-bags were being packed; guns, am-
munition, fishing-rods, rubber coats, and cushions
were being collected in a heap for John to carry
down to the beach to be ferried across the river,
where the man from Turner's horse-ranch was
already waiting with the animals. The saddle-
horses and Mrs. O'Dowd were to cross by the ford
above the rapids. The boat went back and forth
two or three times, and in the last load went Jack
and his mother and Polly in the care of one of the
young engineers. The stir of departure had fired
Polly's imagination. It was not Mamma saying
good-bye to Polly-it was Polly saying good-
bye to Mamma before riding off with "bubba" on
an expedition of their own. She was telling about
it, in a soft, joyous recitative, to any one who
had time to listen. The man from Turner's had
brought, for Mrs. Gilmour to ride, a mule he called
a lady's animal, but remarked that for his own use
he preferred one that would go. Mrs. Gilmour
thought that she did, too; so the side-saddle was
changed from the "lady's animal" to the mule
that "would go."
The pack-mule was packed," the men's horses
were across the ford, Mamma had kissed Polly,
two pairs and a half of spurs were jingling im-
patiently on the rocks--but where was Mrs.
She was dallying at the ford,-she was coy about
taking to the water. Sticks and straps and em-
phatic words of encouragement had no effect upon
her. She had, unfortunately, had time to make
up her mind, and she had made it up not to cross
the river. She was persuaded finally, by means of
a "lasso rope around her neck. Everybody was
laughing at her subdued way of making herself
conspicuous, delaying the whole party, and meekly
implying that it was everybody's fault but her
The camp of the engineers was on a little river
of Idaho that rises in the Bitter-root range of the
Rocky Mountains, and flows into the swift, silent
current of the great Snake River, which flows into
the Columbia, which flows into the Pacific; so
that the waters of this little inland river see a
great deal of grand and peculiar scenery on their
way to the ocean. But the river as it flows past
the camp is still very young and inexperienced.
Its waters have carried no craft larger than a
lumber-man's pirogue, or the coffin-shaped box
the Chinese wood-drivers use for a boat. Its
cautions have never echoed to a locomotive's scream;
it knows not towns nor villages; not even a tele-
graph-pole has ever been reared on its banks. It
is just out of the mountains, hurrying down through

the gate of its last caion to the desert plains. But,
young and provincial as it is, it has an ancestral
history of its own, very ancient and respectable, if
mystery and tragedy and years of reticence can
give dignity to a family history. The river's story
has been patiently recorded on the rock tablets of
the black basalt bluffs that face each other across
miles of its channel. Their language it is not
given to everybody to read. The geologists tell a
wonderful tale which they learned from those in-
scriptions on the rocks. They do not say how
many years ago, but long enough to have given a
very ancient name to our river-had there been any
one living at that time to call it by a name-it met
with a fearful obstruction, a very dragon in its
path, which threatened to devour it altogether, or
to scatter it in little streams over the face of the
earth. A flood of melted, boiling-hot lava burst
up suddenly in the river's bed, making it to boil
like a pot, and crowded into the granite gorges
through which the river had found its way,
half filling them. It was a battle between the
heavens and the earth,-the stream of molten
rock, blinding hot from the caverns beneath the
earth's crust, meeting the sweet cool waters from
the clouds that troop about the mountains, or hide
their tops in mist and snow. The life-giving flood
prevailed over that which brought only defacement
and death. The sullen lava flux settled, shrunk,
and hardened at last, fitting into the granite gorges
as melted lead fits the mold into which it is poured.
The waters kept flowing down, never resting
till they had worn a new channel in the path of
the old one, only narrower and deeper, down
through the intruding lava. When the river was
first known to men, wherever its course lay through
a granite gorge, the granite was seen to be lined
in places, often continuously for miles, with black
lava rock, or basalt, standing in lofty palisades, with
deeply-scarred and graven fronts, and with long
slides of crumbled rock at their feet, descending to
the level of the river. Another part of the river's
story has been toilsomely written in the trails that
wind along its shores, worn by the feet of men and
animals. Whose feet were the first to tread them,
and on what errands ? This is the part of the river's
story some of us would like best to know. But this
the geologist can not tell us.
It was one of these hunters', miners', cowboys',
packers', ranchmens' trails the fishing-party fol-
lowed on its way up the river. Through the cation
they wound along the base of the lava bluffs; then
entered a crooked fold of the hills called Sheep
Gulch, passing through willow thickets, rattling
over the pebbles of a summer-dried stream, losing
the breeze and getting more than they wanted of the
sun. Sheep Gulch is one of the haunts of grouse,




wood-doves, and cotton-tails" (as the little gray
rabbits are called to distinguish them from the tall
leaping "jack-rabbits" of the sage-brush plains,
which are like the English hare).
Above Turner's horse-ranch, Sheep Gulch divides
into two branches; up one of these goes the old
Idaho City road. Where the gulch divides there
is a disused cabin, which Jack remembered after-
ward, because there they saw some grouse which
they did n't get, and there they left the trail for
the old stage-road. As they climbed the little
divide which separates the waters (when there are

to cinch up and to ask a drink all 'round from
the spring which all travelers who have tasted it
The women of the household--a slender, dark-
haired daughter, and a stout, fair, flushed mother
with a year-old baby-were busy, baby and all, in
an out-door kitchen, a delightful-looking place,
part light and part shadow, and full of all manner
of tools and rude conveniences that told of cheer-
ful, busy living, and making the best of things.
They were preparing for the coming, next week,
of the threshers,- a yearly event of consequence


any) of Sheep Gulch from those of Moore's Creek,
they were met by a fresh breeze which cooled their
hot faces, and seemed to welcome them to the hills.
The hills were all around them now the beautiful
mountain pastures, golden with their wind-sown
harvest of wild, strong-stemmed grasses. As the
grass becomes scarce on the lower ranges, the
herds of cattle climb to the higher, along the
spiral trails they make in grazing, taking always,
like good surveyors, the easiest upward grade.
In the fall, the cattle-men send out their cow-
boys, or "riders," to drive the herds down from
these highest ranges, where snow falls early, and to
collect them in some valley chosen for the autumn
At Giles's ranch, on the divide, the party halted

at a ranch,- fifteen men, with horses for their
machines, and saddle-horses besides, all to be fed
and slept at the ranch. In the corral behind the
big new barn, there were stacks of yellow and stacks
of green, and between them a hay-press, painted
pink, which one could see as far as one could see
Giles's. Altogether it was lovely at Giles's; but
they were building a new house,-which, of course,
they had a perfect right to do. But whoever
stops there next year will find them all snugly
roofed and gabled and painted white; and it is to
be feared the out-door kitchen, with its dim cor-
ners full of "truck," and its lights and shadows,
will be seen no more.
The old stage-road went gayly along a bit of
high plain, and then, without the slightest hesita-



tion or circumlocution, dropped off into the caion
of Moore's Creek. These reckless old pioneer
roads give one a vivid idea of the race for pos-
session of a new mining-camp, and of the pluck it
took to win. At the "freeze-out," stage-passengers
probably got out and walked, and the driver
"rough-locked" the wheels; but the horsemen
of that new country doubtless took a fresh hitch
on their cinches, and went jouncing down the
break-neck grade with countenances as calm as
those of the illustrious riders of bronze and marble
horses we see in the public squares, unless they
were tired of the saddle and walked down to rest
themselves,- never their horses.
Jack's short legs were getting numb with press-
ing the saddle, and he was glad to walk, and
to linger on his way down the wild descent into
the canon. It was the middle of September;
Moore's Creek had not more than enough water
left to float the Chinaman's drive" of cord-wood,
cut higher up on its banks. Its waters, moreover,
were turbid with muddy tailings emptied into them
from the sluice-boxes of the placer-miners who had
been working all summer on the bars. Above
Moore's Creek the water of the river is clear as that
of a trout-stream and iridescent with reflections
from sky and shore; but after its union with that
ill-fated stream it is obliged to carry the poor
creek's burden, and its own bright waters thence-
forth wear the stain of labor. A breath of cool-
ness as of sunless rocks, and damp, spicy shade,
came up to them from the cation; and a noise of
waters, mingled with queer discordant cries. It
was dinner-time at the Chinamen's camp, and word
was being passed up stream, from man to man, call-
ing the wood-drivers to leave their work. They were
not the sleek-braided, white-bloused, silk-sashed
Chinese of the house-servant variety. They had
wild, black hair, rugged, not fat, sleepy faces, and
little clothing except the boots,--store boots, in
which a Chinaman is queerer than in anything
except a store hat. They struggled with the jam
of cord-wood as if it were some sort of water-prey
they had hunted down, and were now meeting at
bay, spearing, thrusting, hooking with their long
boat-hooks, skipping from rock to rock in mid-
stream, and hoarse with shouting.
The party had now left the stage-road and turned
down the pack-trail along the creek toward its
junction with the river. The pack-trail here
crosses the creek by a bridge high above the
stream; the bridge was good enough, but it was
a question whether Mrs. O'Dowd, with her known
prejudices, could be induced to go over it. It was
quickly decided to get a "good ready," as Jack
said, and hustle the old lady down the trail between
two of the horses, and crowd her on the bridge

before she had time to make up that remarkable
mind of hers. This simple plan was carried out
with enthusiasm on the part of all but Mrs. O'D.
Soon after leaving Giles's, theyhad met a wagon-
load of people townward bound from Gillespie's,
the beautiful river ranch above Moore's Creek.
Mr. Gilmour had stopped them to inquire if a
pack-animal and two riding animals, mules or
horses, could be sent from the ranch up to the
fishing-camp, on a day set for the journey home;
for the mules from Turner's were to go back that
same day, to start the next day but one, as part of
a pack-train bound for Atlanta.
The people in the wagon could n't say." Most
of the horses were out on the range; those at the
ranch were being used for hauling peaches to
town, fording Moore's Creek and the river, and
scaling the freeze-out." But Mr. Gillespie him-
self was at home; the travelers had better stop on
the way up and find out.
So, after crossing the bridge and gaining the
good trail along the river-bank, Mr. Dane spurred
on ahead and forded the river, to make the neces-
sary inquiries at the ranch. Gillespie's is on the
opposite side of the river from the packer's trail.
It is most beautiful with the sun in the western
sky, its hills and water-front of white beach and
pine trees all in shadow, and a broad reflection
floating out into the river at its feet.
The sun was still high and the shadows were
short; but the river ranch was a fair picture of a
frontier home, as they looked back at it, passing
by on the other side; the last home they should
see on the wild way they were taking.
The trail went winding up and up, and still
higher, until they were far above the river, and
could see, beyond the still reflections that darkened
it by Gillespie's, the white-whipped waters of the
rapids above. And the higher they went, the
more hills beyond hills rose along the horizon
widening their view.
Mr. Dane had rejoined the party, with a satis-
factory report from the ranch. He rode ahead,
on his blue-roan Indian pony, twirling his romnl, a
long leather strap attached to the saddle, the end
divided like a double whiplash, by means of
which, and a pair of heavy blunt spurs, "Blue
Pete" and his rider had come to a perfect under-
standing. Blue Pete was a sulky little brute, with
a broad white streak down his nose and rather a
vicious eye, but he was tough and unsensitive, and
minded his business.
Next came Jack's mamma on the mule that
would go," with a will-as far as Turner's,-but
after that needed the usual encouragement; but a
gentle-paced creature and sure-footed on a bad


trail. Then came Jack on Mrs. O'Dowd. The
poor old girl had been vigorously cinched, and it
was n't becoming to her figure; but those were bad
places for a saddle to turn, even with an active,
eight-year-old boy on it.
The boy was deeply content, gazing about him
at the river, the hills, the winding trail ahead, and
serenely poking up Mrs. O'Dowd with his one spur,
in response to his packer's often-repeated com-
mand to "Keep her up!" When Mrs. O'Dowd
refused to be kept up, Jack's father made a rush at
her a kind of business his good horse Billy must
have despised, for Billy had points which indicated
better blood than that which is usually found
in the veins of those tough little "rustlers" of
the desert and the range. He loved to lead on
a hard trail, with his long, striding walk, his
cheerful well-opened eyes to the front. He was
gentle, but he was also scornful; he was not a
"lady's animal"; he had a contempt for paltry
little objectless canters over the hills with limp-
handed women and children flopping about
on his back. He liked to feel there was work
ahead; a long climb and a bad trail did not
frighten him; he looked his best when he was
breasting a keen ascent with the wind of the sum-
mit parting his thin forelock, his ears pointed
forward, his breath coming quick and deep, his
broad haunches working under the saddle. Poor
work indeed he must have thought it, hustling a
lazy, sulky old donkey along a trail that was as
nothing to his own sinewy legs.
After Billy came the pack-mule, driven by the
man from Turner's, a square-jawed, bronzed young
fellow, mounted also on a mule, and conversing
amicably with John Wilson. The lunch-bag had
been passed down the line, but there was no halt,
except for water at the crossing of a little gulch.
The trail wound in and out, among the spurs of
the hills, and up and down the rock-faced heights.
They passed a roofless cabin, once the dwelling of
some placer-miners, and farther on the half-obliter-
ated ditch they had built leading to the deserted
bars, where a few gray, warped sluice-boxes were
falling to pieces in the sun.
Between two and three o'clock they came in
sight of some large pine-trees, sheltering a half-
circle of white sand beach that sloped smoothly to
the river. Above the pine-trees a granite cliff
rose two hundred and fifty feet of solid rock against
a hill, five hundred or more feet higher, that shut
off the morning sun. Between the cliff and the
lava bluffs opposite, the eastern and western
shadows nearly met across the river. There
were deep, still pools among the rocks near
shore, where the large trout congregate. Below
the shadowed bend, the river spread out again

suddenly in the sunlight, which flashed white
as silver on the ripples of a gravelly bar. This
was the spot chosen at sight for the fishing-
A bald eagle, perched on a turret of the lava
bluffs across the river, watched the party descend-
ing the trail. At the report of a rifle, echoing
among the rocks, he rose and wheeled away over
the pine-trees, without hurrying himself or drop-
ping a single feather in acknowledgment of the
shot. It was a dignified, rather scornful retreat.
Where the trail hugs the cliff closest, on its way
around the bend, it passes under a big overhanging
rock. No one, I am sure, ever rode under it for
the first time without looking up at the black
crack between it and the cliff, and wondering how
far up the crack goes, and when the huge mass
will fall. There is a story that the Banoock braves,
following this trail on the war-path, always fired a
passing arrow up into the crack,- perhaps out of
the exuberance of youth and war-paint, perhaps to
propitiate the demon of the rocks, lest he should
drop one of his superfluous boulders on their
feathered heads. The white men who followed
the trail after the Indians had left it, amused
themselves by shooting at the arrows and dis-
lodging them from the crack. The story must
be true, because there are no arrows left in the
crack. Jack stared up at it many times, and never
could see one.

So now they were at home for a week in the
wilderness. Jack followed Wilson about as he
was "making camp," cutting tent-pegs and poles,
and putting up the old A-tent, which had seen
service in the army, and in many frontier camps
since it was "condemned" and sold at quarter-
master's sale.
The man from Turner's had taken another bite
of lunch and returned with his animals, bidding
Jack watch for him as he passed the camp day
after to-morrow with his mule-train for Atlanta.
The kitchen was unpacked down on the beach,
and the fireplace chosen,-a big, wedge-shaped
rock,--in the lee of which John built a fire, not for
warmth, but for the sake of a good bed of coals for
cooking. Mrs. Gilmour was resting in the tent,
under the pine-trees. Mr. Gilmour had gone up
the river to catch some trout for supper.
After four o'clock the sun left the riverbank, but
all the colors were distinct and strong; -the white-
beach, the dark pine boughs against the sky, the
purple colors in the rocks, and the spots of pale
green and yellow lichen on them; the changing
tints in the dark water, swinging smoothly around
the bend, and then flashing out into a broad sheet
of silvery sparkles over the bar. It was as if it



went gravely around the shadowy bend and then
broke out laughing in the bright light.
As it grew darker, the kitchen fire began to
glow red against the big gray rock. In front of
it John was stooping to heap coals on the lid of the
bake-kettle, where the bread was spread in a thin,
round cake for cooking.
There were three big trout for supper, and four
or five little ones. The big ones were a noble
weight to tell of, but the little ones tasted the best
when they were taken out of the bake-kettle on
hot tin plates, and served with thin, curly slices
of bacon and camp bread.
The horses had been turned loose up the trail,
but now came wandering back, Billy leading, fol-
lowed by Pete, who was hobbled, but managed to
keep up with him, and Mrs. O'Dowd meandering
meekly in the rear. They were on their way
home, having decided that was the best place to
pass the night; but John turned them back, and,
after supper, he watered them at the river and took
them up the trail to a rudely-fenced inclosure on
the bluffs, where there was better pasture.
Sleepy-time for Jack came very soon after
supper, but as the tent was some distance from
the camp-fire,-a lonesome bedroom for a lit-
tle boy to lie in by himself,-he was rolled up
in a blanket and allowed to sleep by the camp-
fire. The last thing he could remember was the
sound of the river and the wind in the great pine
boughs overhead, and voices around him talking
about the stars that could be seen in the night sky
between the fire-illumined tree branches. The
great boughs moved strangely in the hot breath
of the fire that lit them from below. The sky
between looked black as ink; the stars blazed far
and keen. John 'was washing up the dishes, on
his knees, by the light of a candle fastened in a
box set upon end to shield it from draughts. Jack
watched the light shining up into his face and on
his hands, as he moved them about. And then it
seemed as if he had slept but a moment, when they
were shaking him and trying to stand him on his
feet, and he was stumbling along to the tent with
his father's arm around him.
How they crawled about in the low tent by the
light of a candle fastened by its own drippings to a
stone, and took off a few clothes and put on more,-
for the September nights were cold; how cosy it
was, lying down in his blankets inside the white
walls of the tent with the curtain securely tied
against the wind, with his father close beside him,
and his father's gun on the outside within reach of
an out-stretched hand; how the light went out and
the river sounded on, and some twigs scraped
against the tent in the wind; this is about all Jack
can remember of his first night under canvas.

The morning was gray and cold. The sun had
been up several hours before it was seen in the
Mr. Gilmour was out with the earliest light for
trout. Jack was the next to leave the tent and go
shivering down to the river to wash, and then run
to warm his red hands and button his jacket at
the kitchen fire, where John was again cooking
bread. John and Mr. Dane had slept on the
beach with only the pine boughs for a roof and
saddle-bags for a pillow.
When Mrs. Gilmour appeared, last of all, Jack
was just finishing his second chunk of last night's
bread, leaning against the angle of the rock fire-
place out of the smoke, which made a pale, blue,
wavering flight upward and aslant the dark pine
The fisherman had returned with trout, but not
a surfeit of trout, for breakfast. The bread was
taken out of the bake-kettle, and the trout put in,
to plump up in their own steam over the coals.
The coffee smelled deliciously in the sweet, cold
air. The broiled ham was welcome, even after a
first course of trout, and Jack was good for a third
of bread and honey. He could use his fingers,
and wipe up the honey with the broken bread until
his tin plate shone, not to speak of his counten-
ance, and nobody observed him except to smile.
But something had happened that morning
besides breakfast. Mr. Dane had lost a tremen-
dous trout, after playing him a long time and
tiring him out. The gentleman had been fishing
from a rock, with deep water all around him.
The big fish seemed quite still and tame as he
drawn in, but, as his tail touched the rock, with
a frantic rebound, he made one last plunge for the
water, and got off. If there had been but beach
to land him on !
Then, a man had been shot the evening before at
Atlanta, the big mining-camp of the Saw-tooth
range, and another man riding a tired horse had
passed the camp at daybreak, on his way to B-
for a surgeon. The horse he had started with
from Atlanta had given out about twenty miles
from that place; he had walked ten or fifteen
miles along the mountain trail in the darkness
before he could get another horse. He wished to
change this for one of the horses from the fishing-
camp, but they were back on the bluffs, and he
concluded to go on and change at Gillespie's. He
had traveled about fifty miles that night, on horse-
back and on foot, over a trail that some of us would
not enjoy riding over by daylight.
His wife and her young child were at his horse-
ranch away back on the hills, alone, except for
some of the cowboys. He had gone up to Atlanta
to attend the ball. The man was a stranger to



him,--had a brother in B- he believed. He
had let his horse breathe a moment while he
talked to John, and took a bite of something to
eat, and then went on his way.
It was strange to think that all this was part of
those dark hours of the night that had passed so

That second day Mr. Gilmour went fishing alone
down the river. John was gathering firewood; the
boy and his mother were in the tent; Mr. Dane
sat in the doorway, tending a little fire he had
made outside, and reading aloud from the new
magazine, while Mrs. Gilmour made a languid

5 "'-:.

y..:: ,-,

a, . i -':
'% '-r '


peacefully to the sleepers on the river beach,- the
miner's ball, the shooting, the night ride in haste,
the wife waiting at the lonely ranch in the hills for
her husband's return.
The day passed with fishing and sketching and
eating, and beauty of sunlight and shadow on
rocks and trees and river,
Wilson had built a table, and placed boxes
around it for seats. The gray-rock fireplace had
got well blackened, and the camp had taken on a
homelike look. And Jack had gone for a glorious
walk up the trail with Wilson, to see if the fence
on the bluffs was all right, and if there was a way
down to the river from the bluffs by which the
horses could go down to drink. There was one, a
rather obscure way; but Billy was clever, and
Pete was a "rustler," and Mrs. O'Dowd could
be relied upon to follow her betters' lead. But
they did not seem to be eating, and Jack fancied
they looked homesick in their high pasture, as if
the scenery did not console them for being sent
off so far from camp.

sketch of him, in his red-hooded blanket robe.
Mr. Dane was the first to hear a shout from down
the river. He threw off the red robe, seized a rifle,
and ran down the shore in the direction Mr. Gil-
mour had taken. The shout meant, to him, game
of a kind that could not be tackled with a fly-rod.
In a moment or two he came running back for
more cartridges. Mr. Gilmour had met with a
black bear, and they were going after him. John
followed with the ax. Some time passed, but no
shots were heard. At last the men came back,
warm and merry, though disappointed of their
game. The bear had got away. It wa' tantaliz-
ing to think how fat and sleek he must have been,
after his summer in the mountains. There would
be no bear-steaks for supper that night, and no
glossy dark skin to carry back in triumph to the
home camp and spread before next winter's hearth
wherever the house-fires might be lighted. Mr.
Gilmour had been walking down the trail when
he saw the bear ahead of him, crossing the high
flat toward the trail and making straight for the




887.] AN IDAHO PICNIC. 737

river. If both had continued to advance, there
would have been a meeting, and as Mr. Gilmour
was armed only with a fly-rod and a pistol, he
preferred the meeting should be postponed. Then
he stopped and shouted for Dane. The bear came
on, and Mr. Gilmour fell back, leisurely, he said,
toward camp. He did not care to bring his game
in alive, he said, without giving the camp due
warning, so he shouted again. It was the second
shout Dane had heard. The way of his retreat
took him down into a little gulch, where he lost
sight of the bear. It did not take very long to tell
the story of the hunt, and then Mr. Gilmour went
back to his fishing. The sun came out. The fire
in front of the tent was a heap of smoking ashes;
the magazine story palled; the sketch was pro-
nounced not worth finishing; and then the pack-
train for Atlanta came tinkling and shuffling down
the trail. Fourteen sleek, handsome mules, with
crisp, clipped manes, like the little Greek horses
on ancient friezes, passed in single file between a

farther down the river, and heard the story about
the bear, and offered to leave his dog, which he
said was a good bear-dog. But the dog would n't
be left, and so the picturesque freight-train went
its way, under the Indian's rock, and up the steep
climb beyond. High above the river they could
be seen, footing with neat steps the winding trail,
their packs swinging and shuffling with a sidelong
motion, in time to the regular pace, while the bell
sounded fainter and fainter.
Bear-stories were told by the camp-fire that
night; and Mr. Dane slept with his rifle handy,
and John with an ax. John said he was a better
shot with an ax than with a rifle. Jack thought
he should dream of bears, but he did n't. The
next morning he went with John Wilson up to the
high pasture to bring down one of the horses.
Wilson was to ride down to Gillespie's and make
sure of transportation for the party home, the next
day but one.
Jack had the happiness of riding Billy bare-


man riding ahead on the "bell-mare," and anoth-
er bringing up the rear of the train, swinging his
leather "blind" as he rode. This one was the
man from Turner's. He had met Mr. Gilmour
VOL. XIV.-54.

backed down the trail, following John on Pete,
Mrs. O'Dowd, as usual, in the rear. Mr. Gilmour
was surprised to see all the animals coming down,
and he noticed at once how hollow and drooping


the horses looked. John explained that they had
evidently not been able to find the trail leading
down to the river, and had been without water
all the time they had been kept upon the bluffs.
He could see by their tracks where they had wan-
dered back and forth along the edge of the bluffs,
seeking a way down. How glad they must have
been of that deep draught from the river, that had
mocked them so long with the sound of its waters!
No one liked to find fault with Wilson, who was
faithful and tender-hearted; and it was stupid of
horses, used to the range, not to have gone back
from the bluffs and followed the fence until they
found the outlet to the river. They quickly re-
vived with water and food, which they could once
more enjoy now that their long thirst was quenched.
Wilson rode Pete down to Gillespie's, and re-
turned in the afternoon with word that Mr. Gilles-
pie himself would come for the party on Saturday,
with the outfit required.
The evening was cool and cloudy; twilight came
on early, and Wilson cooked supper with the whole
family gathered around his fire, hungrily watching
him. There was light enough from the fire, min-
gled with the wan twilight on the beach, by which
to eat supper. John was filling the tin cups with
coffee, when horses' feet were heard coming down
the trail from the direction of B A man on
a gray horse stopped under the Indian's rock and,
looking down on the group on the beach below,
asked what was the show for a bite of something
to eat." He was invited to share what there was,
and, throwing the bridle loose on his horse's neck,
he dropped out of the saddle and joined the party
at the table.
He was the man from Atlanta, returning from
his errand to B--. No doctor had been willing
to go up from B-, so he said, and the friends of
the wounded man had telegraphed to C- and a
doctor had gone across from there. The messen-
ger had stayed over a day in B- to rest, and
was now on his way home to his ranch in the hills.
He gave the details of the shooting,-the usual
details, received with the usual comments and
speculations as to the wounded man's recovery,-
then the talk turned upon sport, and bear stories
and fish stories were in order. The man from
Atlanta knew what good hunting was, from his
own account. He told how he had struck a bear-
track about as big as a man's hand in the woods, and
followed it some distance, thinking it was "about
his size," and all of a sudden he had come upon a
fresh track about as big he picked up the cover
of the bake-kettle -" as big as that." Then he
turned around and came home. It was suggested
(after the man from Atlanta had gone) that the
big track he saw was where the bear had sat down.

It was now deep dusk in the woods; only the
latest and palest sky-gleams touched the water.
The stranger included the entire party in his cor-
dial invitation to stop at his place if they ever got
so far up the river, mounted his horse, and quickly
disappeared up the trail. He expected to reach his
home some time that night.
The next day was the last in camp. It was still
gray, cold weather, and the tent among the pine-
trees looked inviting, with a suggestion of a fire
outside; but there were sketches to be finished,
and last walks to be taken, and a big catch of
trout to be caught to take home. Jack had a little
enterprise of his own to complete the filling of a
tin can Wilson had given him with melted pine
gum, which hardened into clear, solid resin. The
can was nearly full, and Jack had various experi-
ments in his mind which he intended to try with
it on his return. Wilson had told him it would
make an excellent boot-grease mixed with tallow-
and if he should want to make a pair of Norwegian
snowshoes next winter, it would be just the thing
to rub on the bottom of the wood to make it slip
easily over the snow.
Wilson was going back on the hills to try to
get some grouse, and the boy was allowed to go
with him. They tramped off together, and the
walk was one of the memorable ones in Jack's
experience; but Jack's mother would not have
been so contented in his absence, had she known
they were coming home by way of deer gulch,
one of the most likely places in the neighborhood
of the camp for a meeting with a bear.
Mr. Gilmour was the enthusiast about fishing,
and so it fell out that Mr. Dane was generally the
one to stay about camp if John were off duty. The
fishing should have been good, but it was not,
partly because the Chinese placer-miners on the
river had a practice of emptying the deep pools of
trout by means of giant-powder, destroying a hun-
dred times as many fish as they ate. The glorious
fishing was higher up the river, and in its tributaries,
the mountain streams. However, not a day had
passed without one meal of trout at least, and many
of the fish were of great size, and an enthusiast like
Mr. Gilmour cares for the sport, not for the fish!
The last camp-fire, Jack thought, was the best
one of all; it was built farther down the beach,
since a change of wind had made the corner by the
rock fireplace uncomfortable. A big log, rolled
up near the fire on its windward side, made an
excellent settle-back, the seat of which was the
sand with blankets spread over it. The company
sat in a row, facing the fire, and Mrs. Gilmour
was provided with a tin plate for a hand-screen.
Perhaps they all were rather glad they were going
home to-morrow. Mrs. Gilmour wanted to see



Polly, and the sand floor of the tent was getting
lumpy, and they all were beginning to long for
the wider outlook and the fuller life of the home-
camp at headquarters. Beautiful as the great
pine-trees, the sheltered beach, and the shadows
on the water had looked to them after their long,
hot ride over the mountain-trail, there were always
the granite cliff on one side and the lava bluffs on
the other, and no far-off lines for the eye to rest
upon. People who have lived in places where
there is a great deal of sky, and a wide horizon,
are never long contented in nooks and corners of
the earth, however lovely their detail may be.
At all events, the talk was gayer that last night
by the camp-fire than any night except the first one of
their stay. At last one of the company-the small-
est one-slid quietlyout of sight amongthe blankets,
and no more was heard of him until the time came
to dig him out, and restore him to consciousness.
After Mr. and Mrs. Gilmour and Jack-poorlittle
sleepy Jack-had gone down the shore to their tent,
Mr. Dane and Wilson rolled the logsettle upon the
fire. It burned all night, and there were brands
left with which to light the kitchen fire.
Breakfast was a sort of clean-up," as the miners
say. The last of the ham, the last of the honey,
one trout, left over from last night's supper, which
the company quarreled about, each in turn refus-
ing it,- even Jack, who seldom refused anything
in the eating line,- and leaving it finally for John,
who, perhaps suspecting there was something
wrong with it, threw it out upon the beach.
After breakfast, everybody fell to packing, except
Jack, who roamed around, with his leggings and
his one spur on, watching for Mr. Gillespie and
the animals.
Mrs. Gilmour had finished her small share of
the packing, and with Jack climbed up among the
rocks in the shadow of the cliff. Mr. Gillespie had
arrived, and on the beach below he and Wilson
were loading the pack-horse with the camp stuff.
The two boxes in which the kitchen was packed
went up first, one on each side of the pack-saddle,
set astride the horse's back, and in shape some-
thing like a saw-horse. The boxes were balanced,
and made fast with ropes. The roll of blankets
filled the space between them; an ax was poked
in, or a fishing-pole protruded from the heap;
more blankets went up; then the tent was spread
over all, and the load securely roped into place,-
Mr. Gillespie and Wilson, one on either side, pull-
ing against each other, and the patient old horse
being squeezed between.
Mr. Gillespie had brought the usual "ladies'
animal" for Mrs. Gilmour to ride, which, in the
West, always means an article of horseflesh which
no man would care to bestride, but on which it


will do to "pack" women and children about.
Mr. Gillespie recommended it, as the horse his
daughter rode to town. Miss Gillespie, it is prob-
able, could ride with any man on the ranch. She
had reasons, no doubt, of her own for liking to
go to town on this particular animal,- for the
convenience of his steady ways on a trail, perhaps;
or she may have ridden him as a child, and grown
used to him, if not fond of his gait. But when the
old horse and Mrs. Gilmour parted, it was without
regret on either side.
The chief event of the journey home was the
fording of the river, once above Gillespie's and
once below, thus avoiding the highest and hottest
part of the trail, which they would pass at midday.
Neither Jack nor his mother had ever forded a
stream on horseback before. The sun was high,
the breeze was strong, the river bright and noisy.
Giddily rippling and sparkling, it rushed past the
low willows along its shore.
Mrs. O'Dowd was whacked into her place in the
line, between Billy and the lady's animal, and kept
her feet, if not her temper. And so, in due time,
they arrived at the home ford and the ferry.
Wilson and Mr. Gillespie took the animals
across the ford, but the others were glad to ex-
change the saddle for the boat. Polly, in a fresh,
white frock, with her hair blown over her cheeks,
was watching from the hilltop, and came flying
down the trail to meet them. Every one said how
Polly had grown, and how fair she looked and
the house, which they called a camp for its rude-
ness, looked quite splendid with its lamps and
books and curtains, to the sunburnt, dusty, real
campers; and, as Jack said, it did seem good to
sit in a chair again. It was noticeable, however,
that Jack sat lightly in chairs for several days
after the ride home, but he had not flinched nor
whined, and everybody acknowledged that he had
won his single spur fairly well for an eight-year-old.

/ '



- I



ID you ever meet a robber, with a pistol and a knife,
Whose prompt and cordial greeting was, Your money or your
life; "
Who, while you stood a-trembling, with your hands above your
Took your gold, most grimly offering to repay you in cold lead?

Well, I once met a robber: I was going home to tea;
The way was rather lonely, though not yet too dark to see
That the sturdy rogue who stopped me there was very fully
But I'm honest in maintaining that I did n't feel alarmed.

He was panting hard from running, so I, being still undaunted,
Very boldly faced the rascal and demanded what he wanted;
I was quite as big as he was, and I was not out of breath,
So I did n't fear his shooting me, or stabbing me to death.




, ; .. .." *.






In answer to my question the highwayman raised an arm
And pointed it straight at me- though I still felt no alarm ;
He did not ask for money, but what he said was this:
" You can not pass, Papa, unless you give your boy a kiss "

,.I! og''.'" 7--.

: .,, 7. ,,-k ,

', ,, i'- .-'

.. .. .. --_

(A Lullaby.)


COME, Mr. Dream-maker, sell me to-night
. The loveliest dream in your shop;
My dear little lassie is weary of light,
Her lids are beginning to drop.
She 's good when she 's gay, but she 's tired of play,
And the tear-drops will naughtily creep;
So, Mr. Dream-maker, hasten, I pray,
My.little girl 's going to sleep.




.-I, IMAGINE a long, ir-
S -''i gular street, sandy in
P. i es, but generally hard,
-:: in hite and shining with
I .:r of shells; lined on
.. ..- :..i.- with neat cottages,
.:.-.e o-n,-storied and painted a
q'u -'r r-. with green shutters,
others more pretentious, staring
white and eye-searing with fresh paint.
There are tiny gardens in front, neatly
lined and bordered with curious shells; and one,
facing the sea, has an arbor of a whale's backbone,
over which the morning-glories twine and blossom.
On the other side, seaward, are rows of quaint
sheds and wharves, sail-lofts, and chandleries, an-
chors of all sizes, and huge blocks, old booms,
spars, and masts of obsolete styles,- and over all,
that delightful, indescribable, mysterious, spicy
odor of tar, rosin, and old rope, so dear to boyhood !
Let us go over to that shed halfway down the
wharf, where the old "pinkie" lies listed over to
port, with her nose pointed toward the bright
dancing waters of the channel through which she
will never glide again. Fastened to the shed and
projecting over the wharf is a cracked and weather-
beaten figurehead of what must have been a pow-
erful ship, a clipper of the olden time. It is a sailor
carven in wood, with wide-brimmed hat glazed and
be-ribboned, shirt with flowing collar loosely tied,
and trousers tight at the knee and very loose
at the ankle. Its vacant, staring eyes seem fixed
on some far-off shore, toward which its outstretched
arm is ever reaching. Beneath, through the open
door of the shed, we can see long lines of men
sitting on low benches and sewing away on huge
strips of new canvas; singing in chorus, as they
ply the short, thick sail-needle and waxed thread,
some old-time ditty of the sea. Hark!
Where are you going, my own pretty maid ?'
Hey-ho Blow a man down !
'I 'm going a-sailing, sir,' she said.
Give a man time to blow a man down!"
Archie, my nephew, who is staying with me,-
a splendid specimen of boy, just eleven years
old, and my constant companion in longshoree
rambles,- gave a gasp of delight and longing
at the sight of a fine model of a bark, about

six feet long, complete even to her blocks and
chains, which is mounted against the wall. From
the ceiling hang coil upon coil of rope, oars,
spars, and bundles of old sail. Near the door
was sitting a heavily built, dark-faced man, with
a grizzled beard that grows from under his chin,
up the sides of his face, under his eyes, and
even across his nose, from which a few short,
thick hairs spring. His face was as immovable as
the face of the wooden figurehead above him. He
wears rings in his ears, and his shirt was open at the
"I wonder! said Archie, pointing to the
figurehead, "why they put that wooden sailor up
there "
Mornin'," said the old man by the door, taking
the burden of the explanation upon himself; "I
heerd the little chap say, 'Why did they put that
figgerhead up theer'; an' I cal'late then ye never
telled him 'bout the James Starbuck. I was
thinking' on her this morning when I heerd it
blowin'. There was a whale riz last night, over to
Wood End, an' their' 's a crew gone over to fasten
on him up; but I cal'late this easter '11 blow 'im
off. Whales 're getting' sca'ce yer' now. Time was
when their' were large ones-hunderd bar'lers;
but that day is gone, an' they don't ketch many
now. But come over an' let's sit on the pinkie,
outen the wind, an' I '11 storify to the little feller
'bout the figgerhead of the James Starbuck."
Archie's eyes glistened at the prospect of a story
from Captain Sam, of whom he had often heard
me talk; and I, too, was glad of the opportunity
of again hearing the story which is known all
along the Cape from Provincetown to Sandwich.
So we climbed over the blistered and worm-eaten
side of the old pinkie Albatross of Provincetown,
and settled ourselves under her high stern, out of
the wind. The light clouds overhead threw long
gray shadows over the water, which was of a tawny
hue; flocks of gulls screamed shrilly over some
choice morsel of fish, thrown from the mackerel
fleet which lay off the bay. There had been a
good catch the day before, and the crews were
busy cleaning and salting the beautiful fish. There
were some calkers at work upon a small whaling
schooner, hauled up on the ways; but the town
and wharves were almost deserted by all save the




ancient seamen, the sailmakers, and the ship-
"When that theer figgerhead were sculpted,"
began Captain Sam, as soon as we were comfort-
ably stowed, "was a time when Americy was a
great power on the ocean. When they wa' n't any
steamboats an' iron tanks an' sich truck a-sailin'
of the seas; an' when a' able-bodied seaman meant
a' able-bodied seaman, an' not a passel o' lumpies
wot don't know a stuns'l from a hole in the
"Now, that yer' figgerhead has seen queer
sights, an' I'll tell ye how it comes ter be up theer
with the mornin'-glory a-twinin' on it 'round.
"'T were way back in
eighteen hunderd an'
nine, thet the James Star-
buck, which were builded
down to. Bath, sailed on
the return v'yage from
Liverpool for Bostin, with
a rich cargy of goods an'
three hunderd men, wim-
ming, an' childering. I
heerd thet they hed a ter- -
rible v'yage, what with
head-winds an' sickness
aboard; but 't wa' n't a
passel o' nawthin' along o'
when they sighted High-
land Light, an' other' come
a 'shet in.'* They got
turned about, I cal'late, \\
-'t is n't telled fur sar-
tin,-but shore enough,
they was off the'r reck-
enin'; an' 't wa' n't till
night come on thet their'
come a blow-out, an' the
sea riz with the wind, "'WHEN THAT THEER
an' 'fore they diskivered

where they were, they heerd the
They tried to keep off then,
use The big ship seemed ter w
an' ye knows thet when a ship
head ter go ashore, their' is n't
ag'in it!"
Captain Sam paused. A drea:
over the town; the tack-a-toc
hammers went steadily on; the
block sounded from a schooner
ing her mainsail, and soon eves
schooner swung around to th
filled, and shining in the morn
away, rounded the point, up wer
soon she was a mere white speck

Well, sir, as I was sayin'," continued Captain
Sam, "the sea lifted, an' the hatches were bat-
tened down; all hands hevin' no business bein'
ordered below. The ship were a-rollin' heavily,
an' some o' her cargy shifted ter loow'rd, an' in
course, when this yer' happened, the Capting
could n't make anything' of her. She lay right
over, an' the sea commenced fur ter break over
her-an' then she struck An' a wail went up
from the swimming; an' the men bein' landies'
were wusser nor the swimming, an' they raised
'Martial Ned.'
"Well! the folks that lived yer' on the neck
were what 's called wreckers; an' they heerd


breakers, the guns from the ship, an' they thinked right
but 't wa' n't any away of what they was a-goin' to get, an' not of
ant ter go ashore; the unfort'nit bein's as were a-perishin' out theer
takes it inter her in the bilin' sea. These wreckers were mostly
any use a-kickin' Portuguese an' half-breed Injuns, which were hull
savidges an' had n't any marcy in 'em These yer'
my stillness rested savidge Hottingtots come a-runnin' like mad when
k of the calkers' they heerd the fust gun over by Wood End,-men,
sharp rattle of a swimming, and childering. They see the lights
which was hoist- from the ship go out, one by one; they heerd
n this ceased; the the cries fur help, which they never meant to an-
e wind, the sails swer; an' then they heerd the ship a-breakin' up
ing sun, she sped above the noise o' the wind an' surf. The waves
nt her trysail, and were that phosporous thet they could see each
on the blue water other, a-standin' out black ag'in the white water,
a-waitin' fur the wreckage ter come ashore. An'



then their' comes a raw green light, low down in
the sky, nigh the wave-tops, an' the morning'
dawned; and they see thet nawthin' was left but
the starn of the old ship.
"The men was soon busy opening' the chists and
casks, an' some swimming gathered about a poor
critter wot had come ashore with a leetle baby in
'er arms. Some of the swimming was fur buryin'
the poor souls; but suddenly one woman riz up,
an' says, says she, 'The baby 's alive !' With
thet, the woman picks up the baby, rolls it in her
shawl an' then walks away, unnoticed, from the


crowd of swarthy men an' swimming working away
with no thought but gain and plunder.
"The carts go to an' from the village, loaded
with great boxes an' bales, an' the sand is strewn
with boards, pieces of mast, broken bottles,

an' jugs of curious shape. There is quarrelin'
among the men, an' the swimming jine with shrill
screaming an' over all is the dull gray sky, with
little flicks of yaller light a-peepin' through, jist as
it were this morning ; an' some of the savidge
Hottingtots, a-looking back, see the figgerhead
rise outen the boilin' sea with his finger a-p'intin'
straight at 'em, an' then stick up theer, in the sand,
fast as a mainmast in her step "
Here ensued so protracted a silence, that I
looked to see if the Captain had fallen. asleep.
But, no; his eyes were wide open, and he was
gazing intently at a fly
--..'"-"- that had settled on his
A'- -_s knee. The Captain's
';-- -- "','. ; huge hands began to
.-.-;..- ._move slowly toward the
.- trespasser, when sudden-
._:.--_' ".". -'1 ly the fly,which had been
: ... calmly rubbing its legs,
S took wing, and the Cap-
-2 tain with a disappointed
S look in his eyes, said,
Missed, b' cracky !"
Archie wished to laugh,
-" but in truth he was not a
_" little in awe of the Cap-
Stain who could tell such
S- .. wonderful tales. And
Archie had just seen on
the backs of those hands,
gnarled and bent with
years of handling rope
and furling sail, a clip-
0. per ship in full sail with
the letters S. Q. in red
4.-.$ o, and blue, and a goddess
with a shield and crossed
swords! Under the cuffs,
turned back as they were,
Should be seen the begin-
ning of more wonderful
tattooing. Perhaps, at
t some future time, the
-- Captain might tell him
how it was done.
"Well," said the Cap-
tain, "the woman that
bringed the child from
the dead mother's arms,
KS AWAY, UNNOTICED." seemin"t were a orpheling,
an' she not havin' childer-
ing of her own, cal'lated she'd keep it; she bein'
a' English woman which had married a Portugee.
An' she brung it up, and it come to be a healthy
boy with red cheeks, though 't were some sick for
a spell; an bymeby the boy come to be a man, an'




naturally tuck to the sea, hevin' come outen it,
like (here the Captain paused for a simile), like
a little Neptchun. An' he useter look over ter the
Pint an' see the figgerhead a-settin' up a-p'intin' at
the village. None of the savidges would n't tech
it, 'cause they hed seen it risin' up thet theer night.
The woman which he called his mawther,-not
knowing no difference, ye see,-bein' a' English
woman, an' not a Hottingtot like most on 'em,
bringed him up in the way he should go," said
the Captain, with a wave of his decorated hand.
One day come, when he bein' nigh onto fifteen

year old, their' was a ship, a-fittin' out fur a whalin'
v'yage; an' what sh'd the boy do but ship into
her unbeknownst. An' when the morning' come
they was miles off'n Highland Light, headed
no'th. The Captain was mad fust off, but bein'
ruther short-handed, he ruther rej'iced at havin'
some one ter hit when he felt oncommon ugly,
which was most generally.
Well! he were gone a matter o' four year, an'
the whaler hed hed good luck, an' the lad, he hed
a nice little pile of dollars lyin' in the Capting's
locker ag'in his name. So he makes all sail ter


the leetle cabin among the sand-hills. The figger-
head has sunk a leetle, and the hand pints dee-
rectly ter the cabin. But the door is closed. His
mawther, leastwise her he called mawther,-not
known' any different,-was dead; an' his father
was shipped for Chiny on a long v'yage. So
Sammy, that bein' how he was hailed, bein' nigh
on heart-broken, ships from New Bedford for
another v'yage, and 't was a matter o' ten year
afore he ag'in makes Highland Light.
He finds the people changed on the Cape
summat; leastwise there is n't any more wreckin';
an' the Injun savidges getting' sca'ce, so he buys
the leetle cabin and fixes her up. The old figger-
head lays flat in the sand, nigh kivered on, an'
Sammy takes a mule one day an' hauls it over ter
the cabin. But bein' ruther solemncholy theer,
all alone, he makes another v'yage; an' bein' a'
able-bodied seaman by this time, he gets good
wages, an' follers the sea regular fur a matter o'
twenty year, seeing' pretty much everything .
When one day he says to himself, Sammy,'
says he, 'how's the Cape ? '-An' shore enough,
next day he was on the way hum !
"The v'yage were bright an' 'The wind were
fair', that were the words of the song,-but when
we gets off George's Banks, it come on a blow
o' wind, and their' 's no clear sky fur four days.
And then we kinder lose our way, bein' blew
outen our reckenin', and the fust thing we knows,

we were goin' head on shore. But the Capting of
her were one of the old-time kind, an' he lets go
everything and bymeby she come 'round as pretty as
ye like, losin' only her jib, which was on her to
keep her stiddy, which was blew outen her. The
shore was lined with folks a-watchin' of us, but we
bringed around all right an' made the harbor at
eight bells.
"I tell ye, we wa' n't long a-gettin' ashore,
tho' 't was pooty rough We hed to go down to
Bostin, to git paid off, and then Sammy thinked
he 'd hed enough o' sailin', so he buyed a sail-loft
yer' on this very wharf; an' he's put something' by
fur a rainy day,-leastwise, he married Huck
Davis's daughter.
So I fixed up the figgerhead an' had him
carted over yer' on the wharf an set up, an' the
morning-glories ha' been a-twinin' on him now fur
better 'n twenty year i"
You fixed it up ? Are you -- ?" said Archie,
with eyes and mouth agape, forgetting his awe of
Captain Sam.
"Yes!" said the Captain, "I fixed him up, an'
I 'm that same Sam-the baby that come ashore
over ter Wood End An' I 'm powerful hungry,
bein' it 's noon, an' if ye '11 bring the boy down
hum, Mr. George, I '11 show him some o' the cu-
rious things I c'lected in furrin parts,--leastwise
some of the things thet come ashore with the figger-
head of the James Starbuck."








THE boy who would be a successful journalist
must enter the profession with no vain ambition
to hurry up and get his name in print, or to be
called an "editor." He must make up his mind
to work hard and conscientiously; and, after a
number of years, take the position in the pro-
fession to which he seems to be adapted, resting
content therewith. If he comes to his work with a
collegiate education, it will be well; but it is by
no means necessary.
Journalism, it must be borne in mind, is distinct
from authorship, pure and simple. The journalist
deals with the questions of the day; his knowl-
edge must be on the tip of his tongue, or rather,
at the point of his pen,- ready for use at any
moment. The author, on the other hand, can sit
at home, write leisurely, revise frequently, and con-
sult books of reference to verify his statements.
Some college-bred reporters are occasionally
both pained and surprised at their first newspaper
experiences. Such a young man may look in the
morning paper for his first report, on which, you
may be sure, he has taken the greatest possible
pains. He has given an elaborate description of the
hall, the appearance of the audience, and of the
lecturer he has been sent to report.
Yet he can not find his account, although he is
sure he wrote a column.
May be it 's crowded out," says a brother re-
porter, and then adds, "Why, no; here it is! It
is cut down, and they've put a new head on it."
Yes; there it is, away down in the corner of the
third page, next to the market reports !
It makes a column all but nine-tenths !
Our college-bred young friend may be very
angry at such shabby treatment; but, if he is a
sensible fellow, he soon gets used to it. In fact,
he is compelled to get used to it.
The young reporter-and reporting is nearly
always the first thing a journalist does-is sent
out on "assignments," as they are technically
called, of every possible description. Meetings,
lectures, sermons, trials, weddings, funerals, crim-
inal mysteries, political gatherings, investigations
on all sorts of questions that agitate the public
mind,-in short, everything of public interest
comes within the province of his duty. No one

has a better chance to indulge in that most proper
study of mankind,- man.
Before the reporter, a humble drudge though he
may be, pass in the course of a few years' service
a long procession of all sorts and conditions of
men. He becomes acquainted with goodly minis-
ters and godless infidels; with keen men of the
law and cunning criminals; with honest virtue and
smooth-faced hypocrisy. The rich, the poor, the
ragged tramp, the gouty millionaire, the witty, the
wise, the frivolous, the dull, the joyous, the sad,
the humble, the proud, the saint, and the sinner,
all come and go in quick review.
The immortal Shakespeare could not have seen
more of real life than does a reporter on a New
York newspaper in the active pursuit of his profes-
sion. Remember, I do not say that the reporter
will even approach Shakespeare in his use of what
he sees. That is an entirely different matter.
But he will certainly have the opportunity of
"seeing life," as the phrase goes; seeing it in its
many phases; seeing its joys, its sorrows, its hap-
piness, and its misery. If he keeps his eyes open
and not only sees much but sees deeply, he will find
that what he has seen will be useful to him as an
editor and a newspaper writer in after life.
In the earliest stage of his career he must learn
shorthand. And that reminds me of" David Cop-
perfield," and what he says about the difficulty of
learning the art; and of how, in the little room in
Buckingham street, he took down in shorthand
the speeches of the great men as they were read
from Enfield's Speaker by good-hearted Tommy
Traddles; of the precise but kindly old aunt,
"looking very like an immovable Chancellor of
the Exchequer," throwing in the usual interrup-
tions of No!" and Oh! and Hear Hear! "
of poor old Mr. Dick succeeding often "lustily
with the same cry"; and of young David following
after the reader with all his might and main,-
and the next day not being able to read a line of
the notes he had taken the night before!
That description, pleasant and humorous as it
is, has, I fear, deterred many a young man from
studying shorthand. It must be remembered that
the system Dickens learned was one of the old
systems, that now we have a different system (pho-
nography) which is much easier,-but still quite
hard enough. This question of shorthand is a

Copyright by G. J. Manson, 1884.


very big question, and I have not here sufficient
space to go into all the details of it.*
The young reporter should learn shorthand,
notwithstanding that some of his young news-
paper friends may tell him that he can succeed
without it; and that, if he does learn it, he may
have to work harder for the paper without receiv-
ing much more pay. There is some truth in both
these statements; but there is no question that
shorthand is an excellent crutch upon which to
lean. In hard times, if a newspaper cuts down its
force, the young man who knows shorthand will
almost certainly be kept in preference to his asso-
ciate who does not. And, in applying for a situa-
tion on a city journal, the accomplishment is almost
sure to be taken into account.
Aside from these reasons, the convenience of
knowing shorthand can hardly be overestimated.
An author or journalist by its means multiplies
his power many fold; he saves time and can jot
down quickly ideas or suggestions that come to him.
"What should a newspaper man know?" may
be asked.
Everything, or, at least, something about
everything. The ablest newspaper men we have
had in our country have not been college gradu-
ates; and whether a young man is college-bred or
not, the best part of his education must be gained
in the actual service of his profession. He must
always read a great deal, and he must not read to
waste. He must have a good general knowledge
of history, science, and art; and with the social
and political progress of his own country he must
be thoroughly familiar. But in the early stages of
his career he will find that what he needs most is
quickness of apprehension, good judgment, and
the power to state in writing, briefly and clearly,
what the public wants to know on a given subject.
The young man who is dull of comprehension,
who is slow to "take in" a situation, will never
make a good reporter. Neither will the other
young man who is deficient in judgment, who
does n't know what to take and what to leave; who
is verbose where he should be brief, and brief
where he should be full and explicit in his state-
In the newspaper office, after a great political
meeting for instance, the young journalist will
begin'to learn the worth of various statesmen and
orators in column space. Senator Brown may be
a poor man, but the city editor will say, Give

There are many good books upon phonography published, but
this is not the place to recommend any particular one. Of late years
there have been published some small, cheap books, which present
the principles in the briefest possible space. The difference between
the various "systems" is of very little practical importance. But
the text-book which presents the subject in the fewest possible words
is, by all odds, to be preferred to the ponderous and more expensive

Browninfull." On the otherhand, Colonel Smythe,
the millionaire, may have made a speech, of which,
to save the newspaper men trouble, he has had
copies made for the reporters. The city editor
may say, He is worth ten lines." The young
reporter will discover that the newspaper estimate
of our distinguished men is often widely different
from the estimate they have of themselves, and
does not always agree with that of the great public.
In regard to the pay of newspaper men, it would
be difficult, in fact impossible, to lay down any
exact rule. Reporters on the city papers make all
sorts of wages,-say from $5 to $60 a week. The
amount earned depends entirely on the ability
of the man, his industry, and his acquaintance
with the various editors who purchase what he
has to sell. For many newspaper men are not
paid a salary, but at "space rates"; that is, so
much a column. They work for several papers,
writing one kind of article for one paper, another
kind for another, and so manage to earn a good
It is only experienced newspaper men, however,
who can trust to this method. The novice will
have to connect himself with some one journal,
begin at small wages, learn all he can, make him-
self as valuable as possible, and so, gradually work
up in the business till he can be an independent
I have two suggestions to make to the young
reporter: the first is, that he should, while he is
doing his ordinary work, make himself master of
some specialty in journalism. Let him read, study,
and keep thoroughly informed on art, on music,
on the drama, or, most important of all, on the
politics of his own and the principal countries of
the world. Secondly, he should work with a definite
end in view.
As a rule, it will be advisable to look away from
the great cities when his ambition determines him
to become an "editor." The position of managing-
editor of a great city daily is daily becoming more
difficult of attainment, because of the increasing
number of journalists, and because the standard
of journalism is slowly but surely being raised.
Take a map and look at our great country; think
of the thriving cities, the enterprising towns, from
one end of it to the other. Ponder for a moment
on the intellectual progress of our people-what
readers we are getting to be, what a vast number
of journals are now published. Some of the best

works. If, however, a boy has commenced to study one of these
books, let him keep on in the system he has selected, rather than
begin the work all over again. If he has not commenced, let him
have a talk on the subject with a good practical reporter,-one
who makes, or has made, his living at shorthand reporting, and not a
professional teacher of the art, who may not always be quite un-
prejudiced in the advice he is willing to give.




papers in our country are published away from the
great cities, and the standard of journalism is
growing higher all the time. By the time the am-
bitious reporter is able to be an editor, or to own a
paper, in my opinion, he will find his best oppor-
tunities in the "provinces."
A lad should think long and well before he de-
cides to enter journalism. At the very best, he will
have to work hard; at the worst, he may, as some
do, drift into shiftless habits because the ambitions
of his early youth have not been realized. Many
men seem to think, when they become writers, that
they can dispense with sound business judgment
and common sense, and that the world will assess

them and their work by a different standard from
that used for other people. But the world will do
no such thing.
The journalist must bring to his calling, besides
ability, the same good habits that insure success
in any other vocation.
Those readers who desire fuller information on
this interesting subject I refer to two good books.
The first is an American book, written by A. F.
Hill, entitled "Secrets of the Sanctum: An Inside
View of an Editor's Life." The second is, Jour-
nals and Journalism: with a Guide for Literary
Beginners,"--a book published in London about
four years ago.







i i j. "i Yt

fr h-*. .



THUS busily occupied from morning till night,
Fred Arden found the days slipping rapidly away
through the fall and winter, until spring came
with its high anticipations of approaching fur-
lough. The whole class shared in the pleasant
prospect of again visiting home and putting off
military forms for a season. Furlough surpassed
in interest all other subjects, and was the unfailing
theme of conversation whenever and wherever
knots of yearlings assembled. Many plans were
made for passing the summer in one another's
society, most of which were destined never to be
carried out. In April and May, on warm sunny
Sunday afternoons the whole class would go down
to Battery Knox; and there, lying on the soft green
turf of the parapet, they would talk of furlough,
and dwell, for the hundredth time, on its coming
It was difficult to turn from these delightful
dreams to the contemplation of stern mathemat-
ical facts; but necessity compelled it. Study de-
manded the closest attention from all, and all knew
that remissness on their part would very likely be
followed by failure at examination; and then the
furlough granted them would be by the authority
of the Academic Board, and permanent in its nature.
The long-looked-for day came at last, and Fred
and Craw donned their citizen's clothes again and
walked down to the Mess Hall to breakfast, where
they found that nearly the whole class had already
discarded the gray uniform.
A few of the class did rfot go with the rest, being

kept back for a short time on account of the
number of demerits recorded against them. But
they waved a hearty farewell to their more for-
tunate classmates, who gathered on the upper
deck, as the boat steamed away from the wharf,
and gave three cheers for the "stay-backs," three
for the other classes, three for furlough, and three
for everything that seemed to merit cheers, until
hoarseness compelled them to stop. Then the idea
of a parade occurred to them, and forming line, a
mock ceremony was gone through, followed by a
guard mounting,- all productive of much merri-
ment in the class and among the other passengers
on the boat.
That was a jolly trip, and New York was reached
all too soon; then, with many wishes for "pleas-
ant furlough," the class separated in every direc-
tion for the summer.

The end of August found Fred on his returning
way, after a summer passed among his old friends
in Maine.
In New York he met nearly all the class, includ-
ing Craw, who had arrived from his Mississippi
home the same day; and then followed an ani-
mated interchange of experiences and descriptions
of the summer's occurrences.
The next day, the 28th, saw our friends again
embarked on the steamer Mary Powell, and
approaching West Point. The same party, that
two months before had left so joyously, was now
returning in a very depressed mood to two years
more of work and study.
Soon the old familiar landmarks began to ap-
pear; the buildings at the Point became visible as



the boat steamed around a bend, and some youth,
a prey to melancholy, started the song:
"' Are we almost there, are we almost there?'
Said the furloughman as he came back from home;
Are those the tents that I see up there,
The Riding Hall and the Library dome? "
and all joined in the lugubrious wail.
Ascending the hill to the Library Building, prep-
arations were rapidly made for the rush by which
all returning furlough classes are welcomed. As
the brow of the hill was reached, Fred saw the
whole camp astir; and soon the cadets, shouting
expectantly, began to form a line extending from
the foot battery nearly to the road. Hurry-
ing to the open space in front of the Library, the
returning furloughmen prepared for advance; in a
long line, and with a valise carried between each
two men, they moved forward with answering
shouts, to meet the awaiting classes.
Both lines now advanced, at first slowly, then
faster, until at last, running at racing speed, with
a wild yell they dashed into each other, embracing
rapturously. Hats were thrown into the air, noth-
ing could be heard but shrieks and cheers, and for
a time all was pandemonium. But presently the
swaying, shouting mass of humanity began to dis-
solve, and the furloughmen, escorted by their
comrades, reached the camp and were received
into the already crowded tents with unbounded
The hop in the evening attracted some of the
returned class; but more preferred to remain-in
camp, where the yearlings entertained them with
a display of the talent possessed by the plebe class.
And that night as they dropped off to sleep on the
hard floors instead of in their comfortable beds at
home, their resting-places were softened by quilts
and blankets generously loaned from the some-
what scanty supplies of their sympathetic com-
rades to whom furlough was either an anticipation
or a memory.
The next day, camp was vacated by the corps.
All the morning, cadets were busy carrying their
belongings to barracks on their sturdy shoulders,
leaving in camp only their rifles and accouter-
ments. At ten o'clock the drum-corps beat the
"general" on the color-line, and all hastened to
their tents to await the final signal of three taps
on the bass drum. The tent-cords were rolled up,
the tents steadied by the poles, and at the third
tap, all the tents were lowered together as though
by clockwork.
Then the battalion formed in line, the band
played, and they marched back to barracks for
another ten months.
Fred was now once more plunged deeply in his
studies, and he and Craw, still rooming together,

had many a difficult problem to solve in the
courses of mechanics and chemistry which they
When they came into barracks, Craw, who
during the first two years had received a large
number of demerits for inattention to regulations,
determined to turn over a new leaf. "It does n't
pay to be forever in confinement on extras," he said
to Fred. His room-mate applauded his excellent
resolution, and gave him all the aid in his power.
Craw reached December without a demerit,
and through the month preserved a clean record.
But on New Year's Eve the thought of a game
of cards occurred to him; and rendered care-
less by success, he proceeded to gratify his desire.
Knowing where he would find kindred spirits, he
made a call, after taps, on Delange, who lived on
the fourth floor of the "Tower." Cards were im-
mediately produced, and for a time the game of
euchre went on very pleasantly. Suddenly, with-
out a moment's warning, a single tap at the door
announced the presence of the "tac." Both, in
consternation, sprang to their feet.
"All right, Mr. Delange?"
"All right, sir."
"Mr. Craw, have you authority for this visit?"
"No, sir."
"Go to your room immediately, sir!"
Not a word was said about cards, and both boys
entertained a faint hope that they had not been
seen; but the list next evening destroyed that
hope, for they heard:
Craw: Visiting at inspection after taps.
Same: Playing cards at same.
Delange: Same at same."
They were immediately placed in close arrest,
which debarred them from leaving their rooms,
except for duty; and Craw, who was in the "Im-
mortals" in philosophy, was much exercised in
mind; fearing that, in case he did poorly at the
approaching examination, this act of his would
count against him. But he passed without trou-
ble, as did Delange also, and as soon as the exam-
ination was over, they received the punishment
due,- "To be confined in light prison for one
month, and to walk tours of extra duty every Satur-
day afternoon during that period." In addition,
Craw's demerit list for the six months showed
thirteen against him, instead of the blank for which
he had hoped.
But among the regulations of the Academy there
is a paragraph which provides that when a cadet
receives for an) month a number of demerits less
than eight, the difference between such number
and eight shall be deducted from the number of
demerits then recorded against him. This is called
the credit system," and it enabled Craw to work



~.-. .
1- ~
.r ''~ '''
.i i,


off the thirteen demerits, so that at the end of the
academic year not one demerit remained on his
It is often remarked by visitors at West Point
that the cadets give no entertainments, such as are
customary at other institutions. The fact is that
they have no time for such affairs. The hops given
during the summer and those of occasional occur-
rence throughout the year represent almost their
entire effort in the field of social entertainments.
But once each year, on the hundredth day before
June, the corps exerts itself to present an exhibi-
tion of home talent.
The entertainment is under the direction and
control of the first class, but all classes contribute
to the evening's pleasure, for to all it is an inter-
esting occasion. The corps of cadets, with their
friends and the inhabitants of the Point, assemble
in the Cadet Mess Hall. At one end a stage is
erected, and upon it the different "stars" scintillate
and sparkle with wit and humor. The band plays,
and the evening's entertainment is closed by
reading the Howitzer, a paper published for the
occasion and composed of contributions from the
Considerable skill and talent is displayed in
getting up these entertainments, and especially
was this the case with the one exhibited on Hun-

dredth Night in Fred's second-class year. Expecta-
tion was heightened by the appearance of the
programme, given below, which came out several
days in advance:

WATCHWORD: One Hundred Days to June."
WEST POINT, N. Y., Feb. 23, 1884.
General Orders
No. I.
It is believed the enemy will be found en masse
in the Cadet Mess Hall. The following detailed
plan of attack will be observed:
I. The U. S. M. A. Band will be posted in a
commanding position on the left, and will open the
action at 7.30 P. M. by a simultaneous fire from
all the pieces.
II. Marshal Hale will throw forward a line of
skirmishers to ascertain the strength and disposition
of the enemy's forces, but will, under no circum-
stances, allow himself to be drawn into a prolonged
III. Commodore Noble will send a gunboat, under
command of Captain Russ, to proceed up the river
(with guns firing and bands playing'" The Tar's



Farewell") with a view to diverting the attention
of the enemy's right.
IV. When this is accomplished, General Simp-
son will make a direct attack on the enemy's center,
will push forward in spite of the storms of applause
from the enemy's line, and will break through the
center and attack the left in flank and rear.
V. The Light Batteries under Colonels Thayer
and Walton will keep up a lively fire along the
whole line.
VI. The Heavy Battery under Major Crittenden
will pour in a hot fire of solid shot and shell on the
redoubt on the enemy's left, and will not cease its
fire until their batteries are completely silenced.
VII. The reserve will now be brought up, and
if necessary, all those in the hospital capable of
bearing arms will take their places in the ranks.
VIII. The U. S. M. A. Band will now redouble its
fire on the enemy's right, to prevent its effecting a
juncture with the left, against which the main
attack will be directed.
IX. The howitzer, in charge of Gunner Gilette,
will be unlimbered and prepared for action. The
enemy's line of retreat having been cut off by San-
ford's cavalry, accompanied by Clarke's engineer
troops, who will destroy all bridges and other means

X. The enemy being completely demoralized,
Trumpeter Ramsey will sound the recall.
XI. The troops will assemble as before the bat-
tle, the lines will be carefully inspected by their
respective commanders, and those who have not
fired their pieces will be reported. To complete
the victory and sweep the enemy from the field,
the whole command will move forward, at double
time, colors flying, bands playing, and troops
shouting the watchword,- One hundred. days
to June "
By Order.
Fall Out,-

The entertainment was very successful. Roars
of applause greeted the different sallies, and the
Howitzer proved exceptionally effective. All de-
clared it the best Hundredth Night entertainment
for years ; and in fact, the following year Fred had
to admit that his class had been outdone by the
one preceding.
June was not very long in coming, and with it
came the graduation of '83, promotion, new chev-
rons, and removal to camp. When the new
"makes" were read out, Fred found himself with


of escape, the howitzer will open fire. Gunner
Gilette is particularly cautioned not to be deceived
by any apparent exhibition of weakness on the part
of the enemy, but to continue the fire until the
ammunition is exhausted.
VOL. XIV.-55.

captain's chevrons and in command of "A" com-
pany, which showed how well his bearing and con-
duct throughout the preceding three years were
recognized and appreciated by the authorities of
the Academy.


-- '-tE-^-


Fred found but little difference between this and
his yearling camp, except in the matter of freedom.
Absence from camp was more easily obtained now,
and he was not slow to take advantage of it. Drills
occupied much of the time,- too much, the class
thought,-but in the intervals they found time to
form many pleasant social ties, time to plan and
carry out little excursions to points of interest in
the neighborhood, time for many a pleasant walk,
and many a climb to Fort Putnam, time for little
suppers at the restaurant, and time to attend the
hops and germans at the hotels, which constituted
the chief pleasure of the summer.
Return to barracks came all too soon, and Fred
and Craw installed themselves in a tower room,
and prepared to pass their last cadet year. Now
the class began to notice and speak of the last "
occurrences,-the removal from camp to barracks
was the "last" before graduation; the "last"
transition from the white uniform to the gray took
place; the last Thanksgiving, Christmas, and
New Year's came and went; and finally came the
"last" muster and "last" Sunday morning in-
During no year had the class found an easy
course of study, and the first-class course was
like the others in requiring the closest attention.
The class drew strange-looking plans of fortifica-
tions; they built theoretical bridges, and practical
ones also; they slowly mastered the elements of
the Spanish language, and daily shocked the pro-
fessor by their un-Castilian accent; they discov-
ered the analogy between the Laws of the Medes
and Persians and the regulations of the Military
Academy; and they skimmed over the history of
the world from its settlement by Adam to the pres-
enf time. They became adepts in the manufacture
of shot and shell, and all weapons of attack and
defense ; they became deeply versed in law, inter-
national, constitutional, and military; they rode,
they marched, they studied, they drilled; they
built parapets and miniature forts, and then de-
molished them ; they constructed pontoon bridges,
spar bridges and rafts; they would have explained
to you the minutest details, in the manufacture of
gunpowder and dynamite, or told you just where
the plans of battle of great military leaders were
defective. In fact, they became walking encyclo-
paedias of useful military knowledge.
Then June came, and preparations for departure
were seen on every hand. Nearly all the class
had by this time received their citizen's clothes and
lieutenant's uniforms, and many a private pa-
rade did they have in their new suits. The Board
of Visitors appointed by the President arrived early
in the month and was received with all honors.
The battalion was reviewed and inspected, and

every day some new treat in the shape of an ex-
hibition drill was offered the throngs who crowded
the Point. Meanwhile the examinations of all
classes, beginning with the first, were progressing,
and all the members of Fred's class successfully
passed them.
There was a little surprise in store for Fred.
As he finished his examination in the last subject,
and was leaving the library, he was stopped at the
door by one of the Board of Visitors, who expressed
the pleasure it gave him to meet Fred again, and
I have been much pleased with your recita-
tions, Mr. Arden, and am gratified, to see one of
Maine's sons do so well."
Fred blushed and stammered a few words in
reply. He valued the words of commendation the
more highly on account of the source whence they
came; for it was the congressman who had given
him his appointment who now congratulated him
on his success.
When the examinations all were finished, the
graduates' ball was given,- and then came the
last parade. Separation from companions of the
past four years was very near now, and it was a
sober face that Fred carried to that parade. As
the companies marched out to the old familiar
time always played on this occasion, his mind
was busy with the events of his cadet life, now
so nearly terminated. And when the parade
was dismissed, and the whole class, forming line,
marched to the front, it seemed as though some
chord had suddenly snapped in his breast, so deep
were his feelings.
The line moved forward, and halting in front
of the commandant, who received the parade,
removed their hats in salute. The commandant
uncovered his head in acknowledgment, and said
to the class, who had been under his charge for
four long years:
Gentlemen, I wish you all honor and glory in
your profession."
The line broke and the last parade was over!
And yet, not quite finished; for the graduates
formed a second line, extending toward barracks,
and as the companies after marching to the front,
came past them, their hats were again removed.
It was the farewell to the battalion; and the com-
panies came to a carry arms" with a dull clang
that seemed to point and emphasize the pang that
was felt in every heart.
The next morning was fixed for the graduating
exercises; and it dawned bright and sunny, so the
ceremonies were held in the open air. The corps
marched to the front of the library, preceded by
the band playing "Army Blue" and Benny
Havens," and there, under spacious awnings, the



exercises took place. Prayer by the chaplain was
succeeded by speeches by members of the Board
of Visitors; the band interspersed lively music;
and finally, the Secretary of War addressed a few
words to the graduates and then presented each
with his diploma.
The last act of cadet life was now performed,
and nothing remained for Fred and his classmates
but to leave old West Point, now grown dear to
them,-successful graduates. The goal they had so

earnestly striven for was at last reached, and the class
separated once more, never again to be re-united.

Fred proceeded directly to his home, and there
soon received his commission as second lieutenant
in the -- Regiment of United States Cavalry.
On the expiration of his graduation leave, he re-
ported for his new duties at a military post in the
far West.
And there we must leave him.



THE sun has gone from the shining skies;
Bye, baby, bye.
The dandelions have closed their eyes;
Bye, baby, bye.
And the stars are lighting their lamps to see
If the babies and squirrels and birds, all three,
Are sound asleep as they ought to be.
Bye, baby, bye.

The squirrel is dressed in a coat of gray;
Bye, baby, bye.
He wears it by night as well as by day;
Bye, baby, bye.
The robin sleeps in his feathers and down,
With the warm red breast and the wings of brown;
But the baby wears a little white gown.
Bye, baby, bye.

The squirrel's nest is a hole in the tree;
Bye, baby, bye.
And there he sleeps as snug as can be;
Bye, baby, bye.
The robin's nest is high overhead,
Where the leafy boughs of the maple spread;
But the baby's nest is a little white bed.
Bye, baby, bye.






OWN in the valley
the Easter bells
were chiming; the
bell-strokes trem-
bling through the
clear and sun-
steeped air.
Yet there was
commotion in the
valley, in spite of
the fact that it was
Easter Sunday.
Out in the mid-
dle of the fiord
lay a huge black
steamship, which

(i" .' ,'' seemed to pant
and shriek as if it
were in distress, and sent volumes of gray smoke
out of its chimneys. Around about, little black
fragments of coal-dust were drizzling through
the air and swimming on the water; and the
gulls which kept whirling about the smokestacks
were quite shocked when they caught the reflec-
tions of themselves in the tide. With wild screams
they plunged into the fiord. They possibly mis-
took themselves for crows.
The pier, which broke the line of the beach at
the point of the headland, was thronged with men,
women, and children. The men were talking
earnestly together; most of the women were weep-
ing, and the children were gazing impatiently
toward the steamboat and tugging at their moth-
ers' skirts. Some twenty or thirty boats, heavily
laden with chests and boxes, lay at the end of the
pier; and one after another, as it was filled with
people, put off and was rowed out to the steamer.
Only the old folk remained behind; with heavy
hearts and tottering steps they walked up the
sloping beach and stood at the roadside, straining
their eyes to catch a last glimpse of the son or
daughter whom they were never to- see again.
Some flung themselves down in the sand and
sobbed aloud; others stooped over the weeping
ones and tried to console them.
At last there was but one little group left on
the pier; and that was composed of Fiddle-John
and his three children. Jens Skoug, the emigra-
tion agent, was standing in a boat, shouting to

~.- -F---


them to hurry, and the boys weie scrambling down
the slippery stairs leading to the water, while the
father followed more deliberately, carrying the lit-
tle girl in his arms.
There was a Babel of voices on board; and poor
Fiddle-John and his sons, who had never heard
such noise in their lives before, stood dazed and
bewildered, and had scarcely presence of mind
to get outof the way of the iron chains and pulleys
which were hoisting on board horses, cattle, pigs,
enormous boxes of merchandise, and a variety
of other freight. It was not until they found
themselves stowed away in a dark corner of the
steerage, upon a couple of shelves, by courtesy
styled berths, which had been assigned to them, that
they were able to realize where they were; and
that they were about to leave the land of their
fathers and plunge blindly into a wild and foreign
world which they had scarcely in fancy explored.
The first day on board passed without any inci-
dent. The next day, they reached Hamburg, and
were transferred to a much larger and more com-
fortable steamer, named the Ruckert; and be-
fore evening the low land of North Germany
traced itself only as a misty line on the distant
horizon. Night and day followed in their monot-
ony; Russian Mennonites, Altenburger peasants,
and all sorts of queer and outlandish-looking peo-
ple passed in kaleidoscopic review before the eyes
of the astonished Norsemen. It was the third day
at sea, I think, when they had got somewhat ac-
customed to their novel surroundings, that a little
incident occurred which was fraught with serious
consequences to Fiddle-John's family.
The gong had just sounded for dinner, and the
emigrants were hurrying downstairs with tin cups
and bowls in their hands. The children were
themselves hungry, and needed no persuasion to
follow the general example. They unpacked their
big tin cups, which looked like wash-basins, and
took their seats at a very long table, while the
stewards went around with buckets full of steam-
ing soup, which with great iron dippers they
poured into each emigrant's basin, as it was ex-
tended to them. Many of the Russians were
either so hungry or so ill-mannered that they
could not wait until their turn came, but rushed
forward, clamoring for soup in hoarse, guttural
tones; and one of the stewards, after having
shouted to them in German to take their places
at the tables, finally, by way of argument, gave


one of them a blow on the head with his iron dip-
per. Then there arose a great commotion, and
everybody supposed that the angry Mennonites
would have attacked the offending steward. But
instead of that, the crowd scattered and quietly

boy, fourteen or fifteen years old, with yellow
cheeks and large black eyes. He had a thin iron
chain about his wrist, and seemed every now and
then to direct his attention to something under the
table. Alf concluded that, in all probability, he

/ 'ij ', i ,< -


took their places, as they had been commanded. had his bundle of clothes or his trunk hidden
They were an odd lot, those Mennonites, thought under his feet. But he was not long permitted to
the Norse boys, who did not know that their remain in this error. Just as the steward ap-
religion forbade them ever to fight and compelled proached them and extended the long-handled
them to pocket injuries without resentment. dipper, filled with soup, a fierce growl was heard
Next to Alf, on the same bench, sat a swarthy under the bench, and a half-grown black-bear cub
Next to Alf, on the same bench, sat a swarthy under the bench, and a half-grown black-bear cub



rushed out and made a plunge for his legs. The
frightened steward gave a leap, which had the
effect of upsetting the soup-pail over his assailant's
head. A wild shout of pain followed, and every-
body jumped on tables and benches to see the
sport; while the Savoyard boy who owned the bear
darted forward, his eyes flashing with anger, and
fired a volley of unintelligible exclamations at
the knight of the soup-pail. There was a sud-
den change of tone, as he stooped down over his
scalded and dripping pet, and, showering endear-
ing names upon it, hugged it to his bosom.
The emigrants jeered and shouted, the steward
scolded, and the purser, who had been summoned
to restore order, elbowed his way ruthlessly
through the crowd until he reached the author of
the tumult.
How do you dare, you insolent beggar, to bring
a bear into the steerage?" he cried, seizing the
boy by the collar and shaking him. Who per-
mitted you to bring such a dangerous beast on
board this-"
His harangue was here suddenly interrupted by
the bear, which calmly rose on its hind legs and,
showing its teeth in an unpleasant manner, pre-
pared to resent such disrespectful language. The
purser took to his heels, while the steerage rang
with jeers and laughter, and the Savoyard could
hardly prevent his companion from pursuing the
The Norse boys, whose sympathy was entirely
with the bear and his master, quite forgot their
hunger in their excitement over the stirring inci-
dent; and when the Savoyard, feeling that the
steerage was scarcely a safe place for him after
what had occurred, mounted the stairs, dragging
his bear after him, they could not resist the temp-
tation to follow him, at a respectful distance. But
when they saw him crouching down behind the
big smokestack and gazing timidly about him, while
he wiped the bear's head and face with his sleeve,
they could not conquer the impulse to make the
acquaintance of so distinguished and interesting
a personage. They accordingly sidled up slowly,
holding their sister between them, and were soon
face to face with the Savoyard.
"What is your name ? asked Truls with a bold-
ness which raised him 'immensely in his brother's
The Savoyard shook his head.
"What do people call you when they speak to
you? "' Truls repeated, raising his voice and draw-
ing a step nearer.
Non capisco. Je ne sais fas," answered the
boy in Italian and French, giving them the choice
of the only two languages he knew.
Capisco," Truls went on confidently in his

Norse dialect; "that is a very funny name. I am
afraid you don't understand me. It was n't the
bear's name I asked for; it was your own."
The. Savoyard shrugged his shoulders express-
ively, then poured out a torrent of speech which
bewildered his Norse friends exceedingly. If the
bear had opened his mouth and addressed them in
his own language, they would have understood
him quite as well as they did his master.
"You are a very funny chap," Truls remarked
with a discouraged air. Why don't you talk like
a Christian ? "
He was determined to make no more advances
to so irrational a creature, and was about to lead
the way back to the dinner table, when the arrival
of the purser and the third officer of the ship
again arrested his attention. The purser had evi-
dently been hunting for the Savoyard; for, as he
caught sight of him, he made an exclamation in
German and called out to the third officer:
"There is the vagabond! Make him under-
stand, please, that his bear must be shot and that
he must get out of the way. He has taken out no
ticket for his beast, and we don't carry that kind
of freight gratis "
The third officer, who spoke French fluently,
explained the purport of the purser's remarks to
the Savoyard, but in a gentle and kindly manner
which almost deprived them of their cruel mean-
ing. The boy, however, did not stir, but remained
calmly sitting, with his arm thrown over the bear's
neck and one hand playing with its paws.
The officer, seeing that his words had no effect,
repeated his remark with greater emphasis. A
startled look in the boy's eyes gave evidence that
he was beginning to comprehend. But yet he
remained immovable.
Get out of the way, I tell you !" cried the pur-
ser, drawing a revolver and pointing it at the bear's
head. "I have orders to kill this beast, and I
mean to do it now. Quick, now, I don't want to
hurt you "
The boy gazed for a moment with a fascinated
stare at the muzzle of the terrible weapon, then
sprang up and flung himself over the bear, covering
it with his own body. The animal, not under-
standing what all this ado was about, took it to
mean a romp, and began to lick its master's face
and to claw him with its limp paws.
A large crowd had now gathered about them,
and a loud grumble of displeasure made itself
heard around about. The purser began to perceive
that the sentiment was against him, and that it
would scarcely be safe for him to execute his threat.
Yet he found it inconsistent with his dignity to
retire from the contest, and he was just pausing
to deliberate, when all of a sudden, a small fist



struck his wrist, and the pistol flew out of his hand
and dropped over the gunwale into the sea. A loud
cheer broke from the crowd. The purser stood
utterly discomfited, scarcely knowing whether he
should be angry with his small assailant or laugh
at him. He would, perhaps, have done the latter
if the cheering of the people and their hostile
attitude toward him had not roused his temper.
Bravo, Tom Thumb they cried. "At him
again! Don't be afraid because he has brass
buttons on his coat."
Good for you, Ashiepattle the Norwegians
shouted; "go it again! We'll stand by you."
It was Truls, Fiddle-John's son, who had thus
suddenly become the hero of the hour; he had
acted in the hot indignation of the moment and
was now abashed and bewildered at the sensation
he was making. He looked anxiously about for
his brother and sister, and as soon as he caught
sight of them, was about to make his escape when
the purser seized him by the collar and bade him
You are a fine boy, to be attacking your bet-
ters, who have never given you any provocation,"
he said in German, which Truls, fortunately, did

not understand. I am going to take you to the
captain, and he will have you punished."
He made a motion to drag the struggling boy
away, but the crowd closed about him on all sides,
and pressed in upon him with angry shouts and
gestures. The third officer, who had so far taken
no part in the proceedings, now stepped up to the
purser and begged him to release the boy.
Of course," he said, "you are in the right;
but if I were you, I would waive my right this
time. It 's hardly worth while making a row
about so small a matter; and it is always bad pol-
icy to go to the captain with squabbles and griev-
ances, especially when they might so easily have
been avoided. I assure you, you will only injure
yourself by doing it."
They talked for a minute together, while the
ever-increasing throng surged hither and thither
about them. Whether purposely or not, the irate
purser, in the zeal of his argument, released his
hold on Truls's collar, and the liberated boy dodged
away as quickly as possible, and was soon lost in
the crowd. The Savoyard and his bear had long
before seized the opportunity to withdraw from the
public gaze.

(To be continued.)

Twinkle, twinkle, little star-
I don't wonder what you are !
I 've learned more of you, you see,
Than you '11 ever know of me.





MANY readers of ST. NICHOLAS have probably
often wondered why the myriad forms of animals
that peopled the earth in the olden times have
passed away, and how' such changes have come
We know from the evidence of fossils that the
kinds of animals that have become extinct, or
ceased to exist, far exceed in number those now
living. In some localities, as, for example, Cats-
kill Creek, the rocks three miles from the -mouth,
which form a part of one of the great supporting
ridges of the earth's crust in New York State, are
made up largely of extinct forms of shells, now
turned to hard, solid stone. In the curious pot-
holes near Cohoes, New York, have been found
the remains of a great elephant; and in the
locality called Big Bone Lick, Kentucky, the
bones of these and other monsters are found piled
together in large numbers.
What is their story? The rocks can not speak;
yet, if we examine them carefully, they tell a won-
derful history in a mute language of their own.
In the Catskill Creek it is evident that by a
gradual uprising of the earth's crust all the forms
of submarine life there have been lifted high and
dry out of water; and so, deprived of their natural
element, the entire population of this ancient body
of water has perished. But there may have been
another cause. In the Catskills and Helderbergs
we find corals and sponges; and in the latter
mountains we can trace a perfect coral reef upon
the tops of the peaks in one of the coldest parts of
the State. Corals and sponges are animals that
require warm waters for their birth and growth;
and this fact and other indications go to show that
at one time the climate of NewYork State and the
surrounding country was much milder than at
present, and that a gradual change to a colder
temperature had perhaps destroyed these early
forms of life before they were deprived of their
natural element.
The change that resulted in the glacial time,
when this section of country was covered with ice,
undoubtedly caused the extermination of many
forms of animal life. It may have been long ages
in coming about, but the results are none the less
certain, and to it is undoubtedly due to a great
extent the destruction of the great mammoth and
many other forms in the north.
When man appeared upon the scene, he at once
began to destroy animals, and from that time to

the present, various creatures have disappeared,
and others are gradually passing away before our
eyes -the direct result of man's attack upon them.
One hundred years ago, the voyagers to the
Arctic seas were familiar with a large and power-
ful animal resembling our manatee; in fact, it was
a northern representative of this animal, called the
I In general appearance the Arctic sea-cow was a
stupendous creature, as it attained, when full-grown,
a length of from twenty to twenty-eight and, in some
instances, thirty-five feet and a weight of several
tons. The general color was dark brown; and the
skin was thick and leathery and covered with a
dense bristling hair that matted together, forming
a protection from the ice and cold, and was com-
parable in appearance with the bark of a tree.
The head of the sea-cow was small in proportion
to its size, and, instead of possessing teeth, was
provided with two curious masticating plates. The
tail somewhat resembled that of a whale, having
two lobes; and the fore fins, or paddles, were blunt
and without nails, having, instead, a thick growth
of stiff rough hairs.
When first discovered, the sea-cows were pastur-
ing in large herds among the seaweed of the shore
of Behring Island. They showed no fear of man,
even allowing themselves to be touched; but when
one was injured, they are said to have displayed
much bravery in its defense,
This was the state of affairs in the year 1742,
when some of our great-great-grandfathers were
alive. At that time a vessel was wrecked in the
Arctic Ocean. The crew made their way to
Behring Island, where for some time they sub-
sisted upon fish and birds, until finally this game
became scarce; and on the first of June, in the
year mentioned, they commenced warfare against
the sea-cow, which has since been named after
Steller, one of the wrecked party. The sea-cows
were killed with harpoons; and the animals were
so large and powerful that forty men could scarcely
drag a wounded one through the water.
The sailors were at last rescued from the island,
and in 1754 a vessel commanded by a Russian,
Ivan Krassil, visited the place and destroyed large
numbers of the creatures.
In the succeeding year an explorer na)ed Ja-
kovler, seeing that the animals were about to
become exterminated, laid a petition before the
authorities at Kamtchatka, asking that th g4nimals




might be protected by law. His plea was not
heeded, however, and in 1757 another expedition
landed at the island; others followed in 1758 and
1762, and in 1780, the last living sea-cow was seen
by a native of Volhynia, none having been killed
since 1762.
Thus in thirty-eight years from the time these
creatures were discovered, they were totally exter-

edition to the north; and Professor Nordenskidld
found numbers of deposits of their bones which
are now utilized by the natives for various pur-
poses; the ribs, for example, being used for shoe-
ing the runners of sledges. When the animal was
alive, the fur, or hide, was made into boats called
It is supposed by some writers that the extinc-


minated; and to-day not a single skin, and only a tion of the great mammoth* was hastened by early
number of skeleton fragments are in the possession tribes of men, who were of necessity hunters. That.
of naturalists to tell the strange story of the de- the great elephant existed at the same time with
struction of an entire race of great and powerful our ancestors is shown by the fact that in France
animals. and elsewhere their bones have been found to-
Much interesting information concerning the gether with those of man and many animals now
'rhytina was obtained by the recent Swedish expe- extinct.
See page 89, ST. NICHOLAS for December, 1882.



As late as 1834, Nuttall, the famous authority
on birds, wrote concerning the great auk: "As a
diver he is unrivaled, having almost the velocity
of birds in the air. They breed in the Faroe
Islands, Greenland, and Newfoundland, nesting
among the cliffs, and laying but one egg. each.
They are so unprolific that if this egg be destroyed,
no other is laid during. that season. The auk is
known sometimes to breed in the isle of St. Kilda,
and in Papa-Westra; but,
according to Mr. Ei!.:,..:;, i ;,'
no more than a sin -I. pI:i i.a ,. .
had made their aplpe:irani:. ''
for several years pa i."
To-day not' a sin. in;- .'' ,
dividual of this sp.:.:e ,.
auk is alive; and d..i ;l i ; ":'- I' '..
in the Museum of Nial ral ,' .. ,.'i
History, Central Park, I'. h: '.
is valued at over o:.- it!. :.-. s
and dollars, one at \'.;:r '
College, and a fe., '-:th r
are the only spei.:rie- .
known in the world.
Sixty or seventy :.: .ar ag
the birds were exc.:-. -i'li ,
common along the .n,:ri hrnr
coast, coming I -r
south as Nahant. Li .-
fare was commer-:.d
upon them, and.
though it hardly
seems possible,
their extermina-
tion is doubt-
less complete;
the last livirig
bird having
been killed in
1844, on a group .
of islands called -
Funglasker, off th.-
southwest coast of Iceland. THE LABRAD
In the last century, these
birds, which were large, handsome, and striking in
appearance, were common at the Faroe Islands;
and as they were found to be good eating, they
were slaughtered by the boatload, not only for
immediate use, but to be dried and preserved. They
were finally driven to a desolate rock that was con-
sidered inaccessible; but one calm day a Faroese
vessel succeeded in making a landing, and the crew

destroyed nearly the entire rookery. A few birds
escaped to sea and returned after the departure of
the men, and for a time were safe. Then as if nature
herself were in league against them, the rock, a few
years later, was engulfed by a submarine eruption.
The few remaining great auks now assembled
and. formed a rookery on a rock called Eldey,
where, for fourteen years, they lived a precarious
existence. During that time sixty of their num-
ber were taken, and finally
,, ; ihe last pair was destroyed.
',. Their history in other local-
." s is very similar to this.
That the birds
were once com-
mon on the
Maine coast is
,,shown by the fact that
I ,' (h-ir bones are found in the
,'/ ,., ter-shell heaps at various
p 'u ts of the shore.
.A ... .t the same time and in
i" ', i-e same locality with the
'i ....... .... ri lv A lp Th hL r-


the buffalo crowded

d,:r duck, a fine bird, quite
rare even in collections, and
no.v totally extinct. The
Inst known living specimen
was killed by Colonel Wed-
de rburn, of Halifax, in 1852.
in a similar way the curi-
Lous dodo, which was a giant
pigeon, was exterminated.
T he sailors who visited the
i-land of Mauritius used to
I:1l them in mere wanton
The notornis, a beautiful
i [ of New Zealand, has be-
.:'rne extinct probably with-
,n the memory of some of
oi r readers, its extermina-
tion also being due to man.
In our own time, we see
farther and farther into the

mountains, and almost exterminated from our
Western plains. And as civilization is also ad-
vancing from the Pacific, the buffalo, mountain
sheep, prong-horn, and all the noble game ani-
mals of the great West, in a few years will be
represented only by their stuffed skins and dried
bones in our museums.



1'~1. 2'
- >-.

tt,' .4.-




No sooner was Juan awake next morning than
he fell to twisting the horse-hair he had unexpect-
edly procured into.a strong line. This. he:then
fixed to a bone hook, such as has already been
described. He was determined to have. fish for
breakfast, and with a small piece of mustang flesh
for bait, was soon angling successfully, and had six
large perch broiling on the coals before he called
Nita. Tired out with the excitement of the pre-
vious night and the long walk, she was still sound
asleep. Breakfast comfortably disposed of, they
resumed their journey until noon,: when they
stopped and cooked a meal of mustang meat, which
they thought as nice as possible..
"We are well out of that leopard's:way now,"
remarked Juan at dinner; "and.we may as well
rest awhile here and do a little hunting. What do
you say to quail for supper, Nita?"
Nita was well pleased at the prospect of trapping
quail; and she and Juan had no sooner finished
their meal than they set to work to make the
necessary preparations for that favorite sport.
They first made some stout loops of horse-hair,
and fastened them to wooden pegs which they
drove into the ground under the bushes where
they saw the quail were in the habit of congre-
gating. Nita then scattered some seed and berries
about, and having done all they could to lure the
birds to destruction, they further determined to
try another plan. They cut a long, slender pole
apiece, put a horse-hair noose on the end, and with
this simple contrivance started out to catch quail
in a fashion that.is quite common in Western
Texas. Amigo followed them; indeed, they could
have accomplished nothing without his assistance.
They had not gone far before they saw a large

covey of quail run and hide behind some thick
Going. as near as they could without startling
the birds into flight, Juan and Nita waited a mo-
ment and then charged them with loud yells,
setting Amigo on them, too. As eager for good
sport as Juan and Nita, he ran straight into the
covey. The quail flew up and alighted all about
pn the trees, where they sat absolutely still, as if
petrified by fright. Juan and Nita kept up a tre-
mendous din in order that this curious state of
mind might not wear off; and walking under the
motionless birds, they managed, with great dexter-
ity, to slip. the noose of horse-hair over the head
of first one and then another and another fowl.
Each time, a quick jerk .of the pole would bring
the bird in the.bush well in hand, apparently par-
alyzed by. the audacity of the hunters.
They kept up this method of capture until they
had secured all the birds that had perched low
enough to. be reached. Then they went on until
they came upon another covey, which they served
in exactly the same way.
After an hour of capital sport and fun, they
returned to camp with no less than twenty fat birds,
which they proceeded to pick and clean. It was
too soon to think of supping, so they hung the
birds about on the bushes near their camp-fire,
which caused their temporary resting-place to
assume an air of great comfort and plenty. Just
before supper, they visited their snares, and found
several more unwary birds waiting to be transferred
to the larder.
The children sat up quite late that night, cook-
ing and eating and talking. Finding that Nita
was afraid to go to sleep for fear of wild animals in
general and leopards in particular, Juan collected
a quantity of brush, and together they made a little


house of the thorny bushes, into which they crept,
and then pulled more brush in, so as completely to
close up the aperture. Their "lodge," as Juan
called it, fairly bristled with thorns, and would
have effectually defended them from almost any
enemy, but none came prowling about it.
Next morning Nita had seven quail broiling
satisfactorily in preparation for breakfast, and had
filled the canteens, and brought in four faggots of
wood before Juan came yawning out-of-doors.
When they had broken their fast, they cooked the
remainder of their birds.
While they ate, they began to talk of home, and
their conversation lasted for an hour. They settled
a great many things in the course of that talk :
what they would say and do on their arrival; what
the Sefiora would not only say and do, but think;
how old Santiago and the herders would be aston-
ished by what they had to tell; how Padre Garcio
would be sure to weep, for he was always crying
anyhow, and would then give them his blessing;
how Amigo would be lionized, and how every-
body would try to buy him, quite in vain; how
they would herd the cattle and sheep as their
father had done, only much better, and show the
Mexican children a thing or two about shooting
with a bow, and hunting.
It was a delightful talk to them, and they kept
adding to their joyous plans until it was time to
saddle Amigo and be off. The river, happily, was
running in the direction Juan desired to take, so
they kept along its banks.
For the next month the children traveled in an
easy, agreeable fashion, without cares or anxieties
of any kind, and with no very striking adventures.
They had shade when they wanted it, and tramped
many a mile under the leafy aisles of the woods
that fringed the river. They had water at hand,
and were not so much as obliged to fill their can-
teens unless they chose to do so; and as for food,
it had merely become a question what kind or
kinds to select.
Finding the game so plentiful, after a while,
they gave up all idea of providing for future needs,
and left it to chance to supply their wants. They
might have venison, ducks, pigeons, quail, tur-
keys, rabbits, squirrels, fish, and honey whenever
they pleased, to say nothing of berries,-a state
of affairs which was a decided improvement on
certain past experiences. Amigo wore his saddle,
indeed, but had only the empty bags to carry, and
made light of those.
Juan actually grew too lazy to hunt deer, and
contented himself with the small game; but, to
his credit be it said, he killed of this only what he
needed, and did not take advantage of its plenty
wantonly to slaughter whatever came in his way.

He grew very tired, though, so he told Nita, of
shooting the same things every day, forgetting
that, not long before, he would have been only too
thankful to have had anything to shoot. He said
that what he wanted was some real sport. The truth
was that, having been thrown entirely upon his
own resources, he had grown so manly and self-
reliant that he longed for fresh opportunities to
exercise his lately developed faculties.
When he saw the herds of buffalo in the distance
moving in wave-like undulations across the prairie
and blackening it for miles, he sighed afresh for
the milk-white leader of the mustang herd. 'Still,
he would have been content with any well-trained
horse on which to hunt the noble bison; and had
he possessed one, would undoubtedly have post-
poned going back to Mexico until his thirst for
this sort of excitement had been gratified.
So full was he of boyish daring, that he felt
ready to tackle almost anything now, and the need
of tackling something grew upon him consequently
day by day.
At last, one day when he and Nita were using the
roots of a pecan-tree for a breakfast-table, he sur-
prised his sister by saying that he did n't want any
turkey,-he was tired of turkey.
"Take some fish, then," suggested Nita, uncon-
scious of the real cause of his discontent.
"I am tired of fish, too," said Juan; "I think
I must look around and see if I can't find a nice
fat young bear. The ribs would be so good,
roasted! "
A bear 0 Juan !" exclaimed Nita; you are
jesting, surely."
All that day he brooded over the possibility of
getting a bear, and convinced Nita that he was
not jesting, by saying suddenly, in the afternoon:
"We will roast it before a fire of mesquite coals,
and it will be delicious."
Roast what?" she asked.
"That bear!" he replied.
Perhaps he only perversely longed for bear,
because it was the one animal that they had not
seen so far. Yet, strange to say, that very evening,
as they were walking along the river-bank, trying
to settle upon a site for their camp, an old bear
and two cubs came in sight, as if conjured up by
Juan's ardent desire to see them. As a rule, bears
only move late in the evening and early in the
morning; still, Juan ought to have been somewhat
prepared for this encounter, for he had been
rehearsing it in imagination for two days. As a
Smatter of fact, he was taken completely aback, and
stood stock-still and stared at Mrs. Bruin and her
young ones, as though they had been elephants or
giraffes, for fully sixty seconds before it occurred to
him to do anything else.




Then he recovered himself, and hastily unsad-
died Amigo, who looked alertly about to see what
was going to be hunted. Nita being told to fit
an arrow and come up closer, obeyed, nor once
thought of deserting Juan,-her love for him
being much greater than her fears for herself.
The trio presented a wonderfully brave front to
the enemy. To be sure, they had not the exag-
gerated fear that civilized children have of bears.
Juan bad often seen them killed by the Indians;
Amigo had often helped to kill them, and even
Nita knew that they were not likely to eat her up
out of hand, and that they could be killed if an
arrow was sent into the right place at the right

A '_





toward the bear and hissing Amigo on at the same with very terrible enemies, the old bear rushed
time. Amigo needed little encouragement, for he along the river-bottom as fast as its clumsy legs
was used to the business, and knew very well what could carry it, leaving the cubs to take care of
was expected of him. themselves.
Amazed by this sudden onslaught, Mrs. Bruin When the big bear had quite disappeared, the
stood bolt upright on her hind feet and stared in children eagerly ran up the bank and found Amigo
her turn at her foes. She had never seen either sitting at the foot of the tree in which the cub had


a boy or a dog before, and not caring to face the
unknown, soon turned and took to her heels. The
cubs followed, and Amigo and the children gave
chase. Here was lively work for all parties con-
cerned In a few minutes Amigo stopped nipping
at the heels of the mother-bear and laid hold of
one of the cubs, which bounded on, squealing with
fifty-pig power, and then breaking loose, rushed
up the bank and climbed into a small tree.
More convinced than ever that it had to deal

taken refuge, and barking furiously. The cub was
so taken up with the dog that it had no eyes for
Juan and Nita, who crept up very close and sent
two arrows into it.
By this time Nita was so excited that she was no
longer afraid of anything; but having discharged
her arrow, walked away a little distance. Juan did
the same, and was standing near her, when all at
once the cub came tumbling out of the tree, losing
all hold at once, bear-fashion. Then it righted


itself, and broke into a run, taking by accident the
direction of the children. They, of course, took
to their heels, Nita ahead. Amigo brought up the
rear, and a comical race was the result. Presently
Nita stumbled and fell in the tall grass. Juan struck
his foot against her and went sprawling over her
on all-fours, and the cub ran straight over both,
more scared than either of them, with Amigo close
at its heels.
The children picked themselves up. Amigo
stuck to his work. The cub did not get far.. It
had two arrows sticking in it, and Amigo soon
overtook it; but, badly wounded as. it was, it
stood upon its hind legs; with its back to the
river-bank, and gave Amigo some terrible blows
with its paws.
Seeing this, Juan and Nita came running up,
and gave it a finishing shot. Down it fell, with a
dreadful groan. Nita felt sorry for the poor cub-
ling; but Juan was too proud of his success to
think much of the little bear's last utterances, .and
only regretted that the other bears had escaped
It was quite dark, so he determined to :camp
where they were. A big fire was lighted, the cub was
butchered, and the children soon had the meat cut
off and distributed about on the nearest bushes,.
and the bones put on sticks before the blaze. ,As
for the ribs, they were roasted by mesquite coals,
as Juan had decided they should be, and were
much enjoyed by the hungry hunters. So fat,
sweet, and tender was the meat, indeed, that when
supper was over, the children took the trouble to
build a scaffold of sticks, and barbecue, or rather
dry, the remainder of the meat over a slow fire
before betaking themselves to sleep.
Next morning, Amigo. was taken back to the
place where his saddle had been left, and then
brought to camp again, and loaded down with
bear's meat. He thought this a poor return for
the services he had rendered, and carried his 1oad
with an ill grace for several days.
This stirring experience furnished the travelers
with a staple for food and conversation that lasted
a long while. Juan was always hoping the expe-
rience would be repeated, but it never was. Every
morning when he was awakened by the gobble of
turkeys and the howling of the coyotes, he would
reconnoiter the neighborhood to see if there were
any bear-tracks to be found, and every evening he
would peer through the fast-deepening shadows
about the camp in the hope that luck would
befriend him, but all in vain.
Another interval of monotonous marching now
ensued; and then the children's progress came
very near being arrested forever by a new and
unforeseen danger. The weather had been unusu-

ally hot for several days, and they had felt it
greatly for two reasons. Finding that the river
they had been following veered decidedly away to
the eastward, Juan had reluctantly left it two days
before, and had struck off southwest into an open
prairie, having previously provided the company
with full canteens and a supply of food. The
packs of all three travelers were proportionately
heavy in consequence, and their weight was so
oppressive that at noon Juan's patience gave out
I shall leave this great, hot, heavy thing here,"
he said, giving the Mexican blanket, under which
he had been staggering, an impatient kick. I'11
not carry it another step. What do we want with
a blanket in the middle of the summer, anyhow?
I. am sorry I ever started with it. I only did so
because Shaneco always takes his; and so do all
the other braves. I 'm sure I don't see why., Such
-His face was crimson with his exertions, and he
had worked himself up into an ugly temper. Not
all the water of the large pool near which they had
stopped. could cool his passion, and even dinner
failed to restore his usual good nature.
"We can't stay here; there is n't a particle of
shade," he said crossly, when he lad eaten spar-
ingly and drunk of the tepid water. He was quite
conscious that he was making Nita move on much
against her will, and he took an unhappy pleasure
in making her as uncomfortable as himself. 'He
carried out his threat about the blanket, too,
throwing it down in a heap by the little lake, and
then stalked off with an aggrieved expression
across the prairie, which seemed fairly to blaze in
the afternoon sun.
He had only gone about a quarter of a mile,
when suddenly, in less time than it takes.to write
this, a wind came rushing and roaring across the
prairie like a living thing, and changed him and
everything about him with its first blast. ,An icy
wind that set his teeth chattering in five minutes,
and in five more had chilled him to the bone in
short, the wind which all Texans know and dread,-
a northerr."
No one who has not been caught out in one can
form any idea of its swift descent, its terrible force,
its bitter cold. An old Texan would not trust
himself out on the prairies in July or August with
the thermometer at 960, without his blankets
strapped to his saddle-bow to keep him from fieez-
ing to death if a norther should blow up, as one
may do at any time. Even in the towns, people
are obliged to take to fires and winter clothing;
while the Mexicans in Texas have such a dread of
exposing themselves to it, that the moment one
comes, they collect their children and dogs, retire



into their adobe huts, and keep indoors as long as
the norther lasts, unless imperatively required to
come out.
It will be seen, then, that Juan and Nita were
in a serious position when that bitter blast swept
down from the regions of perpetual ice and snow,
and found them in the most exposed position pos-
sible-in mid-prairie. The shock dissipated Juan's
fretfulness at once, but replaced it with the gravest
anxiety. He looked desperately about him for a
moment to see if there was any shelter to be found,
but there was none. Neither cliff, nor cave, nor
wood was within reach, the nearest approach to
the latter being some straggling bushes of mesquite
quite half a mile away.
"Back! Let us run back!" he cried; and
turned again toward the lake to seek his lately
despised blanket.
Shivering with mingled cold and fear, Nita raced
along by his side without a word; and Amigo,
also alarmed by the sudden change in the atmos-
phere, distanced both, whining out his misgivings
in a melancholy.minor key.
Fortunately there had been no other travelers
passing that way, and the blanket was where it
had been left, so that Juan and Nita were soon
rolled up into a sort of ball under it, with every
particle of air excluded, as close to the prairie as
they could get.
There they stayed for an hour, and then it oc-
curred to Juan that the only shelter to be had was
in the very earth itself, and that unless he meant
to freeze outright in the course of the night which
was fast coming on, he must bestir himself. Ac-
cordingly, he told Nita that they must dig a hole
big enough to hold them; and without losing a
moment, they raised themselves up and proceeded
to scoop out the earth at their feet with an energy
born of their desperate need.
Amigo no sooner saw what they were doing than
he, too, fell to scratching away frantically in the
rear, and though he was soon pushed aside by
Juan, he undoubtedly understood the situation,
and considered he was rendering valuable aid.
The children felt a great deal warmer by the time
they had been digging hand over hand for an
hour; and in another hour they had hollowed out
quite a deep pit. It was smaller, no doubt, than
the one into which Joseph was cast by his brethren,
but it was big enough to bring their heads well
below the level of the prairie when finally they
crawled into it.
There was room for Amigo, too, of which he
was glad to avail himself, and the three huddled
close together for the sake of the warmth to be got
from one another, and covered themselves first

with their blanket and then partially with earth.
Here they were, to a certain extent, protected from
the cruel wind that continued to sweep pitilessly
across the prairie above them; but, even so, they
were terribly cold and cramped from lying in one
position, and scarcely slept at all. If Amigo had
not been a sort of canine stove that radiated heat
without requiring any fuel the whole night long,
the chances are that the children would have per-
ished. As it was, they were very miserable, and
were not in a mood to enjoy the magnificent sun-
rise that greeted them next morning.
The sun rose clear and brilliant from a bed of
rose and gold, and seemed about to ascend his
throne and wield his scepter with his usual force.
Juan was delighted to see the sun, and foolishly
counted upon its routing the norther by noon of
that day. He told Nita as much, but she only
shivered and burrowed a little farther down under
the blanket. With a view to getting some break-
fast, Juan wriggled judiciously out of his place, and
put his head above ground once more, but only to
have it nearly taken off at that instant,- at least,
so it seemed to him, as the knife-like blast whistled
past his ears. On leaping out of the pit, he found
the lake, from which he had drunk tepid water not
seventeen hours before, covered with a coating of
ice, which he broke in order to fill his canteen.
He then took some food from his wallet, and with
aching fingers and a thoroughly chilled body crept
back into the pit again, and he and Nita and
Amigo swallowed their breakfast as best they
Noon came, but the norther still held the sun
by the throat, and would not let so much as one
ray drop to earth without passing through the icy
medium it had prepared. Evening came, and the
sun retired,- defeated. Night brought an increase
of cold, and was very dark and seemed almost
The children had left the pit to get their dinner
and supper, when Amigo frisked briskly about to
improve his circulation, but all three were thank-
ful to crawl back again. So passed three nights
and three days, which seemed to children accus-
tomed to a life of incessant activity, but now prac-
tically buried alive for the time being, a month at
least. Then the norther retired to the north pole
as suddenly as it had come, and they were safe.
The fourth night they did not suffer at all, and on
the fifth day the sun had everything its own way. By
noon on the sixth day, it was midsummer temper-
ature again, and the children resumed their jour-
ney, much subdued in spirit, and not quite so sure
that they had dominated the mysterious forces
which are summed up in nature.

(To be continued.)



$ - - .." '- '

.i , p ,"" .

:. '-/ -

THIS bird is lazy and slow in its flight. Let
me tell you about one of its ingenious devices to
save itself trouble.
It never dives for its food. It waits until low
tide, when the mud-flats are bare, and then it
waddles about among the rock-weeds and water-
plants, and tears up by the roots in great quantities
those best suited to its taste.
When the tide comes in, the surface of the water

is covered with the weeds, and the lazy bird floats
idly about and feeds at its leisure.
When the spring comes, the Brant starts on its
long northward journey-some say to the North
Certain it is that it goes far out of reach of the
most curious naturalist, and that nothing what-
ever is known of its nest or eggs, or its habits while
rearing its young.


J 5*

VOL. XIV.-56.







IN the spring of 1863, the war between the
North and the South was at its height. The army
of the Confederates, protecting their capital, lay
along the southern bank of the Rappahannock
river, about half-way between Richmond and Wash-
ington, while its great antagonist, the Army of the
Potomac, was posted immediately opposite, on the
northern side of the same historic stream. Gen-
eral Lee, who commanded the Confederate forces,
had established himself on a line of hills above the
town of Fredericksburg, and in order to attack
him, the Northern army must either cross the
river immediately under his guns, or else move a
long way off to the right or the left, to effect a
passage of the stream.
Hooker, the Northern general, determined not
to risk his troops in a direct assault; he preferred
to resort to maneuvering, in order to bring himself
face to face with his enemy in the open field. And,
in war, maneuvering is of as much consequence as
fighting. Armies are more often beaten by cun-
ning skill than crushed by. overwhelming force.
To deceive in order to defeat is the especial pur-
pose of a general. This is strategy.
Hooker, therefore, resolved to deceive Lee, in
order to defeat him. The Union commander had
a force of one hundred and twenty thousand men
against about half that number under Lee; but as
Lee would be successful if he only held Hooker off,
Hooker's preponderance was not unnecessary. If
you are only as strong in numbers as your enemy,
you should not go into his country, where he can
defend himself behind works, and expect to con-
quer him. Hooker, however, had a force large
enough to attract Lee's attention in one direction,
while he made his main attack in another, and
this fact determined his plan.
First of all, he sent a body of troops along the
Rappahannock river to a point.twenty miles south-
east of Lee:; this force was to lay bridges, to cross
the river in boats, and to make a great parade of
preparation. The maneuver, of course, drew Lee's
attention, as Hooker had designed, and the South-
ern general sent nearly half his army to watch the
movement, under the famous Stonewall Jackson,
the greatest of his subordinates. Next, Hooker
moved three entire corps, nearly fifty thousand
men, under General Sedgwick, to the north bank of
the Rappahannock, immediately below Fredericks-
burg; five bridges were laid at this point, and
many thousand troops were crossed, all in full

view of Lee. Sedgwick was ordered to be ready
to hold his own, if attacked; or, if the Confeder-
ates turned in the other direction, he was to take
advantage of the opportunity, and spring upon the
works at Fredericksburg.
But, while the attention of the Southern leader
was thus attracted to his own right, the remainder
of Hooker's force was making a march in the
opposite direction, and crossing the Rappahannock
fifteen miles away, on the Confederate left. Then
they had to make the passage of the Rapidan,
another wide and difficult stream that empties into
the Rappahannock west of Fredericksburg; but
all this was accomplished, and Hooker had planted
himself in the rear of Lee before the Confederate
chief was certain on which side he was most in
danger. The movement of Hooker began on the
27th of April, and on the 3oth he was not only on
the same side of the river with Lee, but in a posi-
tion that threatened the roads by which the South-
ern supplies of men and food and ammunition
must arrive.
Now, in the actual movements of armies it is
plain that the possession of roads is of the greatest
consequence. Troops must have roads-if they are
to march. Cannon and the wagons that carry
food can only be moved on roads, and though the
foot-soldiers fight on the hills, and in the woods
and fields, and wherever they can find positions
for attack or defense, even they must march by
the roads. Battles, therefore, are often fought to
gain or keep possession of the roads, and the place
where several roads meet is sure to be the scene
of the heaviest struggle. So, when Hooker came
up in the rear of Lee, to the point where all the
roads in that entire neighborhood either cross or
combine, it was certain that the armies must
fight for the position. This point is called Chan-
Chancellorsville is not a town, but a single house
which had been a tavern, where travelers over
these various roads were glad to rest, and be fed
and sheltered; it was owned by a man of the
name of Chancellor. The site was at the center
of a wild and dismal forest, one of the thickest and
darkest on this continent. The trees stood so
close that a man could hardly ride through them,
and a soldier could not carry his gun unless he
trailed it with the butt just above the ground. The
traveler might ride for miles through this dense
thicket, along the narrow and winding roads, with-





out seeing a single house. The sun hardly ever
penetrated the jungle, and a man had to flatten
his body to pass between the stunted trees. The
whole barren region was given over to the natural
inhabitants of the forest the wild deer, the
poisonous snake, the night-owl, and the whip-poor-
will. Yet this was the spot where mighty armies
were destined to perform their elaborate move-
ments in one of the most tremendous contests that
this world has ever seen.
Lee had sent his cavalry to watch the left, and
notify him of any approach of the enemy from
that direction ; but Hooker was so skillful that he
passed fifty thousand men between Lee's army
and his cavalry, although it was commanded by
Stuart, one of the greatest captains of horse on the
Confederate side. The Union troops advanced
with such celerity and secrecy, that they even cap-
tured the outposts of Lee, so that for a while the

Southern chief was by this time fully aware of his
danger, and had also perceived that Sedgwick was
making no advance on the Confederate right at
Fredericksburg; he, therefore, moved the main
portion of his army promptly up toward Hooker,
on the left and rear. At the same time Hooker
withdrew Sickles's corps from Sedgwick, and
brought it around by the north bank of the river
to add to the principal part of his army. Sickles
had to cross the Rappahannock twice, and make a
march of twenty miles in order to effect this junc-
tion. Thus, on the Ist of May, Lee arrived in
force at the woods, on the east of Chancellorsville,
just as -looker was moving against him in the
opposite direction through the tangle. But neither
army could see the other in the wilderness; they
had each to put out feelers, or detachments of
troops, like blind men stretching their arms in the
darkness, to find an enemy. Very soon, of course,

I -J- S- B I ~. S


Southern general had no news of the approach of
a mighty army against his uncovered flank.
But Stuart, of course, soon discovered the move-
ment, and then rode rapidly with his command
around Hooker's entire force to rejoin Lee. The

the outposts touched each other, and when Hooker
discovered that the whole of Lee's army was in his
front, he drew back into the forest; for the roads
were so few and narrow that whoever attacked in
this wilderness was placed at a disadvantage. The


preponderance of troops was of little avail, because
only a certain number could be used, or even
brought upon the field. So Hooker fell back in
order to force Lee to attack him. At the same
time he sent for another corps from Sedgwick's
It was dark before the armies got into position,
and all through the night the sound of the axe
could be heard, while thousands of soldiers in
each army were hewing trees to make defenses.
For in the American war both sides were accus-
tomed to throw up slight fortifications of wood and
earth which gave the attacking party infinitely
greater trouble, and made those who were as-
saulted more secure. There came times when
each was compelled to leave these field fortifica-
tions, but the fiercest fighting was always about
them and for them; and neither army halted long
without protecting itself with these rough bulwarks.
By the morning of May 2, Lee became certain
that Hooker was too strong to be attacked in front.
The line of the Northern army was now shaped
like two sides of a square. On the left it rested
on the Rappahannock river, and then ran south
for a while till it turned and reached off to the
west for several miles. On the extreme right, how-
ever, Hooker felt more secure. This wing was so
far from the enemy that he did.not extend it to the
river again, and the flank was what soldiers call
"in the air"; that is, it had no cover, or support,
or protection from river or hill, or from other
troops, or even breastworks. It stuck out into
the country like an extended arm with nothing
behind or beyond it. Lee soon discovered this
defect in Hooker's line, and during the night of
the ist of May he held a conference with Stonewall
Jackson. They sat by a camp fire, using as seats
two empty boxes that had contained biscuits or
crackers for the soldiers, and Jackson proposed a
daring plan.
This was to divide the Southern army, let Jackson
move along the whole front of Hooker to the west,
of course far enough off to be out of sight of the
Union army, while Lee should remain at the east
and distract the attention of the Northerners.
Jackson was to steal entirely around to the right
of Hooker, and strike the unprotected flank, and
when Lee heard the distant firing he was to assault
at the other end. The movement was contrary to
all the rules of war, which declare that you should
never divide your force in the presence of the
enemy; it was all the more daring because Lee's
army was so much smaller than Hooker's, but it
seemed the only chance; and Lee consented.
The attempt was only possible in a region like
the Wilderness, where an army might be within
gunshot of its enemy and unperceived.

On the morning of May 2, Jackson moved with
twenty-six thousand men, leaving Lee with twenty-
four thousand more, in front of Hooker's left. There
were besides about ten thousand Confederate troops
under Early, in the neighborhood of Fredericks-
burg, to withstand Sedgwick if he should advance.
It would be hard to imagine a more dangerous situ-
ation for an army, divided thus into three parts,
each in front of a superior enemy. Lee made some
show of attack on his right in the morning, but he
did not wish to draw Hooker into a general fight
lest his own immediate command should be over-
whelmed before Jackson reached his destination.
The leader of the Southern advance was nearly
all day on the road. The cavalry accompanied him,
to mask his march from Hooker, but after a while
the movement was discovered; and as Jackson was
passing the center of Hooker's line, where General
Sickles was stationed with his corps, that officer
perceived the passing column, and moved out to
attack it. It was uncertain whether the great
movement meant a retreat of the Southern army
or an attack on Hooker's right; but, in either case,
it was desirable to stop it, and Sickles made his
dispositions and began the battle; he had captured
a regiment, and was, he supposed, in the full tide
of success, when he was suddenly stopped by ter-
rible news. The head of the Confederate column
had reached the right of the Union army.
As soon as Hooker discovered the passing of
Jackson's column, he had warned his commanders
on the right of their danger, and ordered them to
be prepared. Nevertheless, the proper precautions
were not taken; when Jackson arrived at the point
where he turned to the north, his own force actu-
ally overlapped and overlooked' Hooker's rear.
He made all his dispositions in the woods, and then
mounted a hill and looked down on his enemy in
the jungle. There was only one road, and the
troops must assault directly through the thicket,
in line. At a few minutes past five he advanced.
The first premonition the Union right received
was in the whir and flight of the birds and the stir
of the small game of the forest driven from their
haunts by the approach of a serried army; for the
Confederates came in solid mass, crowded together
by the entanglements of the forest. There were
seven ranks of them, one behind the other. Then
came the crash. A few shells, like the first drops
of a thunder-shower, and next the storm. The
flank was broken at once. There was not time for
the troops to change front to meet the enemy;
often, indeed, they were not in line. The Confed-
erates rushed over the breastworks, and found
their enemies playing games or cooking supper.
The men had scarcely time to run to their mus-
kets, which were stacked close at hand, when the



assailants emerged upon them, with their clothes
torn to tatters in the forest through which they
had forced their way. Nevertheless, there was
some good fighting. Musket-shots were fired in
every direction, and many of the officers strove to
rally their troops. Howard behaved like a hero,
and one or two lines were formed, but all in vain;
and at last the Union soldiers fled in wild con-
fusion. Here and there a stand was made, but
line after line was crushed, and the whole right
wing was destroyed.
It was at this time that word was brought to
Sickles, a mile away; and he who had thought
himself proceeding to victory, found that he was
in the greatest danger, for the enemy was abso-

got into position to fire. Keenan smiled at the
command. With a regiment of cavalry he was to
hold back an army. But he said he would charge,
and started at once down a wood road only wide
enough for two horsemen to ride abreast. This
road struck the main one along which the Confed-
erates were advancing, at right angles.
The regiment rode at a gallop, till they discovered
that the enemy's skirmish-line was on their right,
and the line of battle on the left not seventy yards
away. The firing was thus on both sides of them,
but there was no possibility of returning on the
narrow road. The colonel was now in command,
but Keenan was at the head of the first battalion.
He gave the order: "Draw sabers, Charge and


7 I_., .
... :-. : ~ ~- -- ---= ..- -.-::.

"* - :-'- " ' . ,. ; -. f


lutely advancing in his rear. He was obliged to
turn and defend himself against a force coming on
in the full tide of triumph.
He gathered together what troops he could to
stop not only Jackson's advance but the rush of
the routed Union soldiers, and gave General Pleas-
onton charge of his artillery. Pleasonton began
to collect the flying cannon, but it was necessary
to do something instantly to arrest the avalanche.
He called to an officer of cavalry, Major Keenan,
of the Eighth Pennsylvania,-his name should
never be forgotten. The colonel was not at hand,
and there was no time to lose. Pleasonton ordered
Keenan to charge into the woods in front, and
hold the enemy in check till the artillery could be

the squadron dashed down the narrow road plung-
ing into the very heart and center of Jackson's
corps. Not a man turned, and every horse was at
the height of his speed. For a moment the Con-
federates were struck with terror, for they knew
not what was behind.
But the next instant the Confederate infantry
fired. Keenan was in advance, on a black horse;
he fell, actually among the bayonets of the enemy,
pitching headlong as his horse advanced. Another
hero, Captain Arrowsmith, fell with his horse, man
and beast sinking together. Lieutenant Carpenter,
who tells the story, had his horse shot in the
breast, and the animal reared and turned com-
pletely around. Carpenter thus saw in one terrible


instant the wreck of his squadron. At the moment
when Keenan fell the charge was spent, and the
horsemen broke to the right and left. Only two
of the officers at the head of the column escaped
with their lives. The men leaped their horses
over the rifle-pits that had been built by How-
ard's corps, but thirty of the regiment never
The charge, however, had alarmed and detained
the Confederates, and checked their advance. Time
was secured to rescue the remainder of the regi-
ment, and meanwhile Pleasonton had got a battery
into position, loaded with canister. Other artillery
and troops were formed around this center, and as
the enemy recovered from the effects of Keenan's
charge and advanced, twenty-two cannon opened
upon them. The storm of fire was furious, and
checked for a while the tide of battle. The achieve-
ment was due to the skill and coolness of Pleas-
onton, and the sacrifice of Keenan.
In the meanwhile Sickles was bringing up two
divisions, and the remainder of his artillery; and
at last arrived in Jackson's front. He was none too
soon, for the Confederates had recovered from the
shock of Pleasonton's guns, and were about to
rush upon him with a storm of infantry. But
Sickles not only led his own force to the rescue,
but rallied many of Howard's fugitives, and to-
gether they advanced. This time the Confederates
were definitely checked. Thus Sickles saved
Pleasonton, as Pleasonton had saved the army.
The loud cheers of the Union men at twilight
declared their willingness to renew the fight, but
the battle had spent its force. The whole right of
the Union army had been routed.
After night fell, Stonewall Jackson rode out with
his staff to reconnoiter in front of the line he had
gained. It was his idea to stretch completely
around in the rear of Hooker and cut him off from
the river.
The night was dark and Jackson soon came upon
the Union lines. Their infantry drove him back,
and as he returned in the darkness, his own
soldiers began firing at their commander, of course
mistaking his party for the enemy. Jackson was
shot in the hand and wrist, and in the upper arm
at the same time. His horse turned, and the
general lost his hold of the bridle-rein; his cap
was brushed from his head by the branches; he
reeled, and was caught in the arms of an officer.
After a moment he was assisted to dismount, his
wound was examined, and a litter was brought.
Just then the Union artillery opened again, and a
murderous fire came down upon the party through
the woods and the darkness One of the litter-
bearers stumbled and fell, and the others were
-frightened; they laid the litter on the ground, the

furious storm of shot and shell sweeping over them
like hail. Jackson attempted to rise, but his aide-
de-camp held him down till the tempest of fire was
lulled. Then the wounded general was helped to
rise, and walked a few steps in the forest; but he
became faint, and was laid again in his litter. Once
he rolled to the ground, when an assistant was shot,
and the litter fell. Just then General Pender, one
of his subordinates, passed; he stopped and said:
I hope you are not seriously hurt, General.
I fear I shall have to retire my troops, they are so
much broken."
But Jackson looked up at once, and exclaimed:
You must hold your ground, General Pender;
you must hold your ground, sir!"
This was the last order he ever gave. He was
borne some distance to the nearest house, and
examined by the surgeon; and after midnight his
left arm was amputated at the shoulder.
When Lee was told that his most trusted lieuten-
ant had been wounded, he was greatly distressed,
for the relations between them were almost tender.
Jackson has lost his left arm," said Lee, but
I have lost my right arm."
He wrote to Jackson: "Could I have directed
events, I should have chosen for the good of the
country to have been disabled in your stead. I
congratulate you upon the victory which is due to
your skill and energy."
Meanwhile, the battle was not over. A. P. Hill,
the next in rank to Jackson, was also wounded;
and General J. E. B. Stuart was ordered to assume
command of Jackson's force. It was ten o'clock
before he arrived. He sent at once to inquire
of Jackson his plans, and the exhausted soldier
tried for a moment to collect his faculties, but the
effort was useless; he was too weak, and could only
say: General Stuart must do the best he can."
The new commander decided to postpone fur-
ther operations till morning.
The Union troops, however, were moving all
night to secure positions for next day's battle, and
Sickles attempted to retake a line he had held in
the morning, but which had been captured during
his advance. The reply of Stuart's infantry was
tremendous, and the battle spread on either hand.
The whole sky was lighted with the flames of artil-
lery and musketry, and the forest echoed with
volley after volley and cannon-roar. The battle
lasted over an hour in the dead of night, and finally
the works were regained. Then the uproar ceased,
and the remainder of the night was quiet.
After the news of Howard's defeat, Hooker sent
word to Sedgwick to move at once to join the
main army, and destroy any enemy between Fred-
ericksburg and Chancellorsville. Sedgwick got
the order at eleven P. M., but did not start till




morning. During the 2d, there had been no
fighting by Lee to compare with that of Jackson.
His sole object was to prevent Hooker from turn-
ing with too much force to the west, and in this he
succeeded, for Jackson's triumph was greater than
either had anticipated, and Lee had lost nothing
to compensate. He was therefore fresh for the
next day, while half of Hooker's army had been
On the 3d of May, it was the Confederate
object to join their forces; for in modern war, as
I have already shown, it is all-important that an
army shall not be divided. If a gap is left in the
line, the enemy attempts to enter and destroy one
half before the other can come to its assistance.
Lee and Jackson strove, therefore, to reach out to

when the enemy were pressing the Union troops
on right and left, Hooker was seriously injured.
He was standing on the steps of the Chancellor
house, where his headquarters were established,
when a solid shot struck one of the pillars of the
veranda. The pillar fell on Hooker and gave him
a violent shock. He was rendered insensible, and
it was rumored that he was killed. He recovered,
however, in about twenty minutes, and insisted on
showing himself. He mounted his horse and rode
among the troops, though in great pain. But he
was soon obliged to dismount, and was practically
unfit to command. Still he was full of will, though
his brain was not clear, and he refused to relinquish
the responsibility. This proved most unfortunate;
for delays occurred, and General Couch, the next in


each other, and form a connection in the midst of
battle. Each was flushed with victory, and though
Hooker had formed a new line, this was of such
a shape, jutting out toward the Confederates, that
one point was exposed to attacks from each direc-
tion. The point was called Hazel Grove; and
Hooker determined to abandon it, shortening his
line, and giving up the exposed position. He was
not driven from the place, but simply determined
not to hold it. At this point, however, there was
a hill, which the enemy at once seized, and from
which they were able to pour artillery fire along
Hooker's line in two directions. With the move-
ments around this hill the battle of the 3d began.
The fighting this day was harder than on the
day before; and when the battle was at its height,

rank, was unwilling to assume the authority. From
this time there was no decision, no energy, to control
the Union movements. Troops were not brought
up with promptness. Two entire corps, of forty
thousand men, within reach, were not summoned
at all. Confusing orders were sent to Sedgwick.
The battle raged all day, especially in front of
Chancellorsville. where Sickles and Slocum bore
the brunt, and put in their last reserves. The fight-
ing here was as hard as any during the war.
The forest took fire, and the lines swayed backward
and forward for hours. At last Lee and Jackson
were able to make a connection, and Sickles was
not reEnforced. Then, slowly, the Union center was
withdrawn, and Chancellorsville was yielded to the
Confederates. Hooker formed a new line behind


his old one, and the field was in the possession
of Lee.
But just as the Confederate general thought he
had won everything, news was brought him from
Fredericksburg which arrested his movement.
Sedgwick had advanced, not so rapidly as Hooker
had desired, but, after furious fighting, he had
carried the heights of Fredericksburg, and was
now marching up the road in the rear of Lee.
The Confederate commander at once turned in
that direction, and leaving only a portion of his
force in front of the defeated Hooker, he moved
against Sedgwick, and before sundown was able
to check his career. If Hooker had. been him-
self, now was his chance. Had he hurled one
of his fresh corps against the Confederate force
in his front, and sent another after Lee, he must
have changed the situation, and wrung victory
out of disaster; but the Union general was still
stunned by the physical and mental blow; he
remained quiet, and made no attempt to repair his
On the morning of the 4th, Lee did not feel
himself strong enough to attack Hooker in his new
position, but determined to drive Sedgwick back
or surround him. Sedgwick, indeed, had advanced
so far, in order to connect with Hooker, that there
was danger of his being entirely cut off from the
river. The only communication between him and
Hookerwas by the north side of the Rappahannock.
The route was long and difficult, and messages
crossed each other; orders were confused, and
Hooker directed Sedgwick to do things which
when the orders arrived, were impossible. Doubt-
less, also, Hooker's condition made his orders less
clear, or even less correct than if he had been
well. He was, indeed, partially paralyzed, though
the fact was not recognized by himself or his
subordinates. The consequence was that he sent
no reinforcements to Sedgwick, and did nothing
whatever to aid him, when Lee withdrew from
Chancellorsville; and being unsupported, Sedg-
wick, in the night of the 4th, contrived to cross the
river above Fredericksburg, escaping from the
antagonist he had set out to assail.
On the 5th of May, Lee still remained quiet, not
attempting to annoy Hooker, or to take any advan-

stage of his victory. Hooker, also, although the
superior in numbers, thought himself unable to
attack. He had brought only eight days' rations
for his men, and of these seven were already gone.
During the night of May 5, the army that had
marched out so successfully, and had hoped for so
brilliant a victory, recrossed the Rappahannock in
a storm, to avoid its enemy. That army had never
fought better nor deserved better fortune, but the
mistakes of several of its officers, and the mishap
to its chief, had rendered useless the skill of the
remainder, as well as its own heroism; it had been
unduly exposed in one instance, incompetently led
in others, and though its courage and spirit were
still undaunted, its mortification at the result was
extreme. On the Southern side, there was natural
and legitimate elation. A smaller force had de-
feated a larger; an invasion had been repelled, a
disaster averted. Lee had recovered from the
position into which Hooker at first had thrown
him; he had avoided Sedgwick, and by a daring
movement crushed the right of the enemy's army;
then joined his two wings in the presence of his
adversary, and driven back a superior force. After
this, when his rear was threatened, he turned
rapidly in that direction and met the danger there;
crowded Sedgwick back across the Rappahannock,
and was ready to meet Hooker again in the open
field. Few more brilliant or daring achievements
are recorded in the history of war.
But Lee and the Southern army had, neverthe-
less, sustained an irreparable disaster. They had
lost Stonewall Jackson, who died of his wounds
within a week of the battle; a man beloved by the
South and by his own command beyond any other
leader, unless the chief himself; a man with char-
acteristics that even his enemies respected and the
world will always admire. Full of devotion to his
cause ; of extraordinary courage, not only personal
but intellectual; conceiving the most extraordinary
designs, and able to carry them out; inspiring the
regard of his chief, whom he almost rivaled, and
of his troops, whom he never spared; tender to
fallen enemies, but terrible so long as they opposed
him; religious, strangely so, for a soldier,-such
was the man whom Lee called with truth his right





i""- MATTHEWS was
calling the roll in her
slow, exact manner.
She had finished the
.;JI F's and was just be-
ginning the G's.
There were only
three G's in the room
l Gardner, Gaunt,
and Gold. She be-
I gan with Gardner,
as she always did,
and at the sound of
the name a bright-
Sfaced girl looked up
Sand answered alertly,
"Here," and almost
at the same moment, by an expressive glance,
which was partly made up of a lift of her eyebrows
and partly a little sidewise nod at a vacant seat at
her left, she conveyed to her seat-mate the un-
spoken comment:
"'Late, as usual, you see."
The seat-mate understood, nodded back affirma-
tively, and the next moment answered to the sec-
ond G, which was Gaunt.
Oh, if Miss Matthews had only waited, three -
two minutes, one minute longer. Waited? no,
one did n't expect her to wait. But if she had
only had a fit of sneezing, coughing, or had tip-
ped over the vase of flowers at her right hand,
as she had once been known to do, so that just
sixty seconds might have elapsed before that voice
of fate had spoken! But not one of these things
did happen. Straight on she went from "Gaunt"
to "Gold," in her even, precise tones; and as no
response followed the latter name, she looked up
and across at the vacant seat, with a little lift to
her eyebrows, and an expression that said as
plainly as Kate Gardner's, "Late, as usual," and
then pounce, down went that blackest of black-lead
pencils in a mark against the name of Gold. And
just a second after, Miss Mary Gold herself came
stepping timidly over the threshold, her cheeks
flushed, the "bang" on her forehead parted and
uneven, and her brown eyes seeking Miss Mat-
thews' face with a pleading, deprecating, "so
sorry look in them.
You might have thought, perhaps, that Miss
Matthews would, or should, have forgiven that
VOL. XIV.-57.

second of tardiness; have taken off that black
mark just for that once when the girl was so very
Just for that once? If it only had been just for that
once,-but three days out of the six when the roll
was called, the name of Gold met with no re-
sponse. Sometimes it was one minute, sometimes
it was three, sometimes it was five minutes, and
sometimes the loitering little sinner would n't show
that brown head of hers for a quarter of an hour
after school had opened, and then she would be
senthome for "a written excuse,"-an explanation
from her mother. This last was the hardest thing
of all to Mary.
"It is all my fault, so punish me, please, and
not my mother," she said one day to the aston-
ished Miss Matthews.
"Punish your mother! -What in the world do
you mean by saying such a thing to me ? I hope
you are not going to add impertinence to your
other misdoings, Miss Gold?" indignantly re-
plied Miss Matthews.
"Oh, no, no explained Mary very quickly;
" I only meant that Mother was not to blame, and
that she will feel so-so sorry, and so disappointed
in me."
"Then, why in the world don't you try to do
better? Your mother, I suppose, thinks that you
are on time, because I dare say you start in season
from your home. Now, why do you loiter by the
way, and where do you loiter? A great girl like
you -nearly fourteen can't stop to play on the
street, and I hope a pupil of mine is not so unlady-
like as to stand gazing into shop-windows."
Mary colored up hotly at this. Miss Matthews
was near-sighted, but she saw that red flag of
guilt, and with an emphatic nod she exclaimed
in an exasperated tone:
"So that's what keeps you? -looking- in-at
-shof-windows!" The disdain with which this
was slowly delivered was overwhelming ; so over-
whelming that poor Mary felt as if she had a fool's-
cap of disgrace set upon her head; and she was so
confused that she could find no words to explain any-
thing, while Miss Matthews went on talking about
the vanity and silliness of school-girls in thinking
so much of dress and ornament. Once the girl did
venture to say timidly and deprecatingly:
It is n't dress and ornaments I look at," but
this made no impression upon Miss Matthews.


It was of no use to argue such a matter as this
with Miss Matthews. She had been brought up
in the old Puritanic fashion. But the girls, these
very modern girls of 1886, perhaps were none the
worse for suggestions of a stiffness of propriety that
served to curb their own independence; at any rate,
they had the sense to see that Miss Matthews was
genuine, and, in their irreverent fashion, they rated
her "a dear old thing in spite of her stiffness."
It was n't strange that so exact a lady as this
should find "little Marigold," as the girls called
her, very trying; for "little Marigold" did n't seem
to know what exactness meant. It was not only
that she was tardy three days out of the six, but
four days out of the six she boggled and blundered
with imperfect lessons. These lessons were, in Miss
Matthews's eyes, the most important of all, for they
were in arithmetic and grammar.
I can not understand, child, how it is that you,
who always speak so correctly, are yet so dull at
comprehending the rules of grammar when you
see them before you."
Poor little Marigold was not then old enough,
and wise enough to explain to this dear, exact lady
that her correct speaking was the force of daily
example in her own home, and that her failure to
comprehend the set rules as laid down in the book
was because the rules were written in a very of-
course-you-know sort of way by grown-up wise-
acres who, of course, did know and had forgotten
the time when they did n't.
"But there were all the examples, the models,"
some keen practical girl who reads this exclaims,
remembering her language-lesson books; "how
could this Marigold fail to understand, with these
before her? She must have been very stupid."
Well, I shall admit that my Marigold was stu-
pid on some points -some points that, to the keen,
practical girl who has always had her eyes open to
the plain, practical facts that confront her, seem
like A, B, C.
She was stupid in those grammar rules, and in
mathematics still more stupid. But in history, in
geography, in English literature, and English
composition, she was certainly far from stupid.
But somehow these did n't seem to count against
the mathematical failures.
One day Nanny Evans, who was a great crony
of Kate Gardner's, spoke up for little Marigold
on this very point.
"I can't see why mathematics is put at the
head of everything, and made the test of- good
scholarship in all the schools. Why are n't geog-
raphy, history, literature, and composition equal to
it, I should like to know. Here 's Marigold now,
who can beat you and me out and out, Kitty, on
history or geography, but she does n't compare

with us in her record, because we are ahead in
mathematics. It is n't fair."
"Mathematics take the lead," said Kitty sen-
tentiously, "because they belong to the exact
sciences -because they are the exact sciences, if
you please; and don't you know that Professor
Wylie says they are of the greatest use in disciplin-
ing the mind ?"
I should like to know how much your or my
mind is disciplirled by working out algebraic puz-
zles! retorted Nanny. When it comes to dis-
cipline, why is n't it just as good discipline, and
better, to have a memory full of pictures of history,
as Marigold has. Do you remember, last week,.
when Miss Matthews had been talking about
French history, and asked one of us to relate any
fine heroic exploit that she could recall of any
epoch, how Marigold told of the exploits of Henry
of Navarre of his asking pardon of the GermanL
colonel of one of his regiments before they went
into battle for his roughness of speech sometime-
before; and then that lovely story of his turning:
away and raising the siege of Paris, because he-
learned that the authorities were sending out the-
poor and aged, and sick-all the useless people,--
and how he fed the people who were starving, and
withdrew his troops, and declared that he never
would take a town by famine? Well, I should
like to know if to have such splendid deeds as.
those standing out in one's memory in bright.-
colors, is n't of about as much use as to be thor-
oughly 'up' on mathematical questions ? "
Well, yes, in one way, but I don't know that:
it is discipline," answered Kitty.
"Discipline, indeed"! laughed Nanny; "how-
you do worship that word. I'm sure it is n't much
discipline to me to work out a problem -it 's fun,
because I like it. Oh, you need n't preach at me-
any more about the high and sacred uses of math-
ematics. Don't wish to pull down the great M,
not I; I only want fair play, and to show people
that there are other things of- well, we '11 say of
equal importance."
But the good-natured and generous Nanny
did not succeed in convincing Kitty Gardner or-
any other of her schoolmates, for that matter,
that other things were of equal importance with
the great M. Perhaps, if she had, this little story
of Marigold would never have been written; for Mar-
igold would have found herself in a very different
position, and would accordingly have conducted her-
self in a very different manner. As it was, notwith--
standing occasional outbursts from fair-play-loving-
Nanny, matters jogged on in the same old fashion
at the school, the great M lording it as usual over
all the other studies; and Marigold joggedon also,
in her same old fashion of-- as the girls and Miss;


1887.] MARIGOLD. 779

Matthews thought it-stupid idleness and lazy
"If the girl would only try- would exert her-
self! exclaimed Miss Matthews, one morning at
recess to an under-teacher; but she never tries
-she does n't care-she is the most utter little
good-for-nothing I ever saw."
It was the middle of the term, and Miss Matthews
was tired and fretted with a great many things that
had gone wrong; and Marigold that morning had
been especially exasperating with her stupidity over
her algebra.
The under-teacher suggested that this little
good-for-nothing should be severely dealt with.
"Why not send her back into a lower class in
another room ? she suggested.
Miss Matthews shook her head.
"No, I can't do that now; but I think I shall
get Nanny Evans to take her in hand to coach
her,' as the English say. Nanny is an excellent
mathematician. At any rate, what with this added
work of preparing the girls for Professor Dexter's
history and literature class, I shall have no time to
waste on stupid laziness."
Nanny Evans was good-natured, and fond of
talking about fair play, and fond of having fair
play, too,- if she could have it easily; but, like a
great many older people, she did not like to sacri-
fice herself and her comfort. It was not with a
very good grace, therefore, that she acceded to
Miss Matthews's request, and undertook to "coach"
Marigold. Marigold was not too stupid not to
perceive at once that she was a very unwelcome
pupil to Miss Nanny, and this did not tend to
re-assure her, or to give her ease. If she had been
dense and dull with Miss Matthews, she was duller
still with bright, impatient Nanny, to whom every
form of mathematics was "fun." In the face of
this impatient brightness all the timid little ques-
tions which arose in her mind, which if asked and an-
swered properly would have shown her the way out
and up from her dull fog, died upon her lips. She
was ashamed not to know what Nanny seemed
to think everybody ought to know, and she was
ashamed to ask the questions that would have
helped her to knowledge.
Poor Marigold; no one guessed what a wretched,
lonely time she had of it at this period of her ex-
istence. I don't know what she would have done
if it had n't been for one outlet, one relief; and
that was the great interest she took in the prepara-
tion for Professor Dexter's history and literature
lessons. Here she was in her element. But she
was very quiet about it; she made no show of
herself, for she never had the least idea of putting
herself forward. The only thing that Miss. Mat-
thews knew was that this girl who gave her so

much trouble with the big M was ready enough
with her lessons in history and literature. They
were quite general, almost elementary lessons, for
Miss Matthews was simply preparing the girls for
Professor Dexter's lessons. The result was so
satisfactory, however, in Miss Matthews's estima-
tion, that she declared aloud to the whole class,
the day before Professor Dexter entered upon his
work, that she felt quite proud of her pupils, and
was sure that Professor Dexter would own that
they had been well grounded.
But alas for Miss Matthews's satisfaction One,
two, three weeks went by, and Professor Dexter,
instead of owning that her young ladies were well
grounded, showed week by week a growing ten-
dency to criticise them and to find fault. He did not
criticise individually at first, but in a general way
declared that their method had been all wrong-
that they had very confused ideas and a great lack
of true interest. At the end of the third week
they came to the Trojan war in their history of
Greece, and Professor Dexter then brought for-
ward Homer's "Iliad." It was Chapman's Homer
that he used, and the professor was quite sure that
the long, flowing lines, full of rich description of
the Trojan heroes and their deeds, would fix and
interest those young minds. It was after the third
recitation, while he was reading one of the most
stirring descriptions -the "Embassy to Achilles"
-that he happened to glance up, and caught two
of the girls telegraphing to each other by some
school-girlish signs, while another was busily
counting the beads of her onyx bracelet. The
professor's voice, which was in the full swing of a
musical line that he loved, stopped short, and
Chapman's Homer went down upon the table with
a bang; and at the same moment up rose the pro-
fessor, with a look of wrathful impatience upon
his face.
"It's of no use, young ladies," he cried, "no
use whatever, to try to interest you."
Miss Matthews, who had been sitting for the
last few minutes, unobserved but not unobservant,
in a dusky corner, came forward hurriedly here
with mortified apologies and deprecation.
She hoped he would excuse and overlook the
inattention of some- she was sure that all were
not inattentive nor uninterested.
You are right," the professor answered;
"there is one shining exception-this young lady
at my left," and he gave a little emphatic nod
of his head, and a glance at Marigold. "From
the first her interest has been intelligent, and her
attention undivided. Her recitations have not
been merely letter-perfect, she seems to have a
clear idea of the period of history that we are
studying, and to be able to follow the literary


chronicles that go with it. Now, I have a prop-
osition to make that this young lady shall come
down, with the rest of the class, to my house on
Friday afternoon, and go over again what I have
read here, with a set of Flaxman's illustrations
to aid her in fixing the narrative in these young
ladies' minds. I have a very fine set of the
Flaxman illustrations, and I am sure that no one


can see them without being impressed to remem-
ber the story connected with them. You are fa-
miliar with these Flaxmans, are n't you?" the
professor suddenly questioned, turning to Mari-
gold. "Yes, I thought so," he said, as Marigold
answered affirmatively. "Well, then, with Miss
Matthews's permission, we shall consider the mat-
ter settled-that you are to come down to my
library on Friday, and coach these classmates of
yours for the coming lessons and readings; and
with this conclusion, the professor jumped up
with evident relief, and with a look on his face

which said as plainly as a look could say, I 'm
not going to waste my valuable time giving pri-
mary instruction "
Miss Matthews rose, too. She could not oppose
the professor, for she had a great respect for hisjudg-
ment and his learning, but she was deeply mortified,
and she would make one attempt to set her pupils
in a better light; so coming forward, she said:
I am very sorry that my girls
are not as advanced in history
I'.' as you expected; but if you were
S to examine them in mathematics,
"':,i ,, you would find them everything
that could be desired. They
have paid great attention to
SPossibly, to the neglect of
i other things of equal import-
ance," added Professor Dexter.
"I Yes, I see-I beg your par-
don, Miss Matthews; but has it
not been a fashion for some time
to place mathematics at the head
of everything ?"
Poor Miss Matthews-she
colored scarlet at this. If any-
body were to blame, she knew
i perfectly well that it was her-
self; for at the St. Botolph school
she had great authority and much
--" The study of mathematics is
of immense value in its way," the
professor went on, "but to me
it seems to lack the large, high
kind of value that pertains to
literature and history and art.
Mathematics cultivates the mind
Sin one practical positive direc-
tion of quantities and magni-
tudes; the study of literature,
history, and art-- the three be-
long together and make one
PICTURES." grand whole cultivates the
mind in various directions, and
helps to form and elevate the character. But I
must bid you good-morning, Miss Matthews; I
have an engagement at the college at twelve
If Miss Matthews was mortified and astonished,
how do you suppose those eleven girls felt to be
addressed as the rest of the class in contrast to
little Mary Gold, and to be parceled off by Pro-
fessor Dexter to accompany her to his house to be
"coached "-little Mary Gold, whom they had
looked down upon and pitied in a patronizing way?
And then to hear their great M assigned to the




second place If it had been anybody but Pro-
fessor Dexter who had talked like this, they might
have opposed their opinions; but Professor Dexter
- well, Professor Dexter was Professor Dexter, and
one might as well question Harvard College in a
body as to question Professor Dexter. It was
humiliating, but there was no help for it; and so
on Friday off they trooped, ten of the girls, "the
rest of the class," with Marigold to the professor's
library. They went in, ten rather rebellious and
decidedly uncomfortable girls. They came out
after an hour and a half, surprised, subdued, and
-some of them-admiring.
Nanny Evans was one of those admiring girls.
I went into that library, Kitty," she said to her
friend Miss Gardner, who had been at home sick
with a cold, "feeling positively hateful. 'The
idea of setting that ridiculous Marigold,' I thought,
'to coach us- to show us a lot of pictures, as if
she knew better than we Well, Kitty, she did
know better. Professor Dexter met us-just said,
'How do you do?' and then left us, telling Marigold
that the Flaxman illustrations were on the round
table in the corner. The minute she touched those
illustrations, Marigold was another creature. She
had been uneasy and shy before, and I don't won-
der, for we all of us had shown plainly how we
felt; but when she turned and opened that great
book of plates- well, you should have seen her!
She did n't need the Homer with the professor's
marked passages she had it all at her tongue's
end, and she knew all about Flaxman; and what
do you think, Kitty? -she is a little artist, herself,
and this is the way it came out: Lucy Grant, in
the midst of her talk, suddenly said to her:
'How you must have studied up on all this
to remember it so!' and Marigold turned and
answered in that queer dreamy fashion of hers, as
if she were just waking up:
Studied? No, I don't think so, not what I
call studying. I read about it, and I asked some
artists who visit our house, and-oh, it was so in-
teresting, how could I help remembering? I like
it- as you like mathematics;' and then she took up
a pencil and drew a sheet of paper toward her, and
with a few strokes, there was ahead of Homer like
the Flaxman! 'You see,'she said, 'it comes natural
to me ; you must n't praise me for being what I am
not-a hard worker.'
And in the whole time, Kitty, she was just as
simple and modest, and unconscious She did n't
seem to remember how patronizing and impatient
I had been with her when Miss Matthews set me
to coach her in mathematics. And then, what do
you think, Kit ? it all came out why she has been
so tardy. We got to talking, to asking questions,
and we found that she goes round by the picture

shops and looks in at the windows to see what
they have new, and Kit, she goes into the galleries
to study the pictures, and mouses around there;
and she has been copying, in charcoal, a head by
some famous artist, at the art-museum, and that's
another thing that 's made her tardy. Oh, I felt so
mean, so cheap, to think that I had been so hateful
and patronizing, that I had to say something, and I
asked her how she could be so patient and oblig-
ing in answering so many questions; and then she
colored up as red as a carnation pink, and said she
had to ask so many questions herself that she ought
to be patient with others. I knew what she was
thinking of- oh, I knew, and I just spoke right
out then and there:



'You did n't learn patience from any of us,
Marigold, that is very certain;' and afterward, when
we left the professor's, I slipped behind the others,
and put my arm in hers, and said rather laugh-
ingly, you know, 'Now, Marigold, if you are going
to coach me in art, you must let me coach you
again in mathematics.' Kitty, she looked scared
out of her wits nearly, and began to say, 'Oh, no,
no; I 'm too stupid,' when I told her I knew now
how horrid I 'd been about mathematics, and she
must let me try again, and not be afraid to ask me
questions, for she could n't be stupider than I 'd
been in the literature and history class. Well, Kit,
I gave her a lesson a private lesson that very


night at her own house, and she did ask me the
queerest, simplest little questions; and I answered
them; and then she began to understand, and you
can't think how pleased and grateful she was.
And to-day she came to me and showed me her
problems, and when I told her they were all right,
she flung her arms around my neck and said I was
'so kind.' Oh, Kit!
Well, I 've learned one lesson,-never to count
a girl stupid because she does n't excel in just the
direction that I do."
And Miss Matthews? Poor Miss Matthews It
was impossible for her to feel the enthusiasm that
Nanny felt, but she did try to do justice to Mari-
gold after this; to see, as Nanny very aptly quoted,
that "there is one glory of the sun, and another
glory of the moon, and another glory of the stars;
for one star differeth from another star in glory."
But it was hard for Miss Matthews to bear the
reproach of Professor Dexter's judgment-to feel
that her idol, mathematics, was assigned to the
second place instead of the first, and to know that
her class of girls, that she had so prided herself
upon, had been condemned by the higher author-
ity. It was not to be expected that she could say
boldly, as Nanny said, I've learned a lesson";

but perhaps she confessed it to herself. At any
rate, she tried to give Marigold full credit for her
abilities; and though the good lady had no eye for
art, she had respect for anybody who could do any
one thing well. Her growing respect for Mari-
gold made her less impatient of the girl's back-
wardness in mathematics, and thus she became less
appalling and confusing to her pupil, when the lat-
ter appeared before her with the hardly conned and,
thanks to Nanny, better understood lesson.
It is just a year ago that all this happened, and
to-day Marigold is a happy girl studying art in
She'll be famous yet! Nanny Evans proudly
prophecies, when news of her friend reaches her
now and then.
But Miss Matthews shakes her head.
She '11 be spoiled, I fear," is her verdict.
It is in vain that Nanny Evans tells her of the
simple home-life that Marigold is leading, having
lessons every day in other studies suited to her
years -even in mathematics. Miss Matthews
still shakes her head. She has no faith in any-
thing being simple and wholesome in Paris, nor in
any scheme of education outside of her dear New
England, and the St. Botolph school.








WHEN Pinney had announced that he would
not allow November to be taken away, no matter
who might come to claim him, every one in the
room knew that he did not fully mean what he
said. Pinney was very fond and proud of the
baby, and his rash assertion was an outburst of
grief rather than a threat which he intended to
carry out.
Mrs. Parsons and Jenny had shown delight when
they read the advertisement, simply because they
were thinking of the mother's joy when her baby
should be restored to her. Really, they felt almost
as sad as the boys at the thought of parting with
the chubby little fellow.
It was a very mournful company that sat talking
in hushed tones of the baby they feared would
soon be taken from them. Not once did either
Jenny or the boys speak of the new boarding-
house, although Mrs. Parsons attempted several
times to turn the talk in that direction. After a
short while, Pinney ceased to make threats, but
refused to take any part in the conversation, and
sat gloomily by the box that served as cradle,
looking earnestly at November.
Jenny proposed, and the directors agreed, that
they should leave the matter entirely with Mr.
Barstow. If, after -proper investigation, he should
find that November was the child referred to in the
advertisement, the mother should have the baby
without delay. The directors again spent the night
on the floor of the kitchen, gladly accepting the
German woman's invitation, for they were con-
vinced it was the last time they should sleep under
the same roof with their baby.
There was no thought of going to work the fol-
lowing morning until the one important question
had been settled. As soon as Mr. Barstow was
likely to be in his office, they all set out, Jenny
carrying the clothes and shawl which the baby had
worn when he was found.
The lawyer looked unpleasantly surprised when
they entered his office, but became interested at
once when he learned the reason of their early
You can go home, and I will attend to the
matter immediately," he said, as he took the pack-
age from Jenny, and made a few notes of her story.

" I think you will soon be relieved of a little fellow
who must have been a troublesome boarder."
"But we don't want to be relieved of him," said
Pinney, quickly. "I s'pose we '11 have to give him
back if his mother comes for him, 'cause Mrs.
Parsons an' Jenny say so; but we don't want to
let him go if we can help it."
"Would you really like to keep the baby?"
asked the lawyer in surprise.
"Indeed we would!" replied Jenny, quickly.
' We all love him dearly; but if you find his mother,
why, of course, we '11 have to give him up."
"And are you boys willing to work to support
the baby whom you found on the doorstep ?" asked
Mr. Barstow.
"Yes, siree," Tom spoke up. "November has
had everything he wanted since we found him, an'
he would have all that was goin' if we could keep.
"Well, well, every one to his taste," said Mr.
Barstow. Then he added, Go home now, and
perhaps I will call some time during the day."
Jenny and the directors left the office, as sad as
they had been happy when they had walked out
of the same room the previous afternoon.
On arriving at the house, the boys let the
young landlady go in alone, feeling it would be
better not to spend all their time in the kind Ger-
man woman's little home. Pinney retired a little
distance and sat by himself on the icy curbstone.
The others seated themselves on the steps, and dis-
cussed in low tones the faint hope that November
might not be the baby to whom the advertisement
referred. Ikey and Duddy had argued themselves
into a quite cheerful frame of mind, when a car
riage stopped in front of the door.
The directors were on their feet in an instant,
watching eagerly as Mr. Barstow, with another
gentleman and a lady dressed in deep mourning,
alighted from the vehicle.
"Show us where your baby is," Mr. Barstow
said to Duddy; and the latter very reluctantly led
the way into the house, the other boys following a
short distance behind.
On reaching the room where Jenny and her
mother were, Duddy first knocked and then
opened the door. The visitors entered, Mr. Bar-
stow first, then the lady; the strange gentleman
went in last, closing the door after him.
Thus prevented from seeing what occurred, the
five directors stood for some moments listening


eagerly, but hearing nothing which might relieve
their painful suspense. When Pinney could control
his impatience no longer, he softly opened the
door and peeped into the room. In a second he
stepped back into the hallway, saying in a hoarse
It's no use, fellers; we 've got to give Novem-
ber up."
What did you see?" asked Ikey, mournfully.
"Oh, they 're all smilin' an' as happy as you
please, an' the lady is setting' there rockin' the baby
an' cryin'. I don't see what she's got to cry about,
now she 's found him."
Pinney's eyes were fast filling with tears, while
there appeared to be something in his throat that
made it difficult for him to speak. Just for an
instant did he stand irresolutely in front of the
door, then he went hastily down the stairs, followed
by the other boys.
Ten minutes later, when Mr. Barstow came out
to look for the directors, they could be found
neither in the house nor on the street; but as he
stepped upon the sidewalk, he saw all five sitting
on the ruins of Jenny's boarding-house. Big tears
were rolling down the cheeks of Ikey and Pinney,
who, in their attempts to dry their faces, had
daubed them with smut from the charred timbers,
till they had nearly as many stripes as a zebra.
Tom, Jack, and Duddy were not crying, but
looked as if tears would have been a welcome
"Well, boys!" said Mr. Barstow, speaking
cheerfully, "November has found his mother, or,
rather, she has found him."
'"Yes, sir," replied Tom, meekly.
And now she would like to see the boys who
have shown themselves to be such faithful guar-
dians of her child."
Is she goin' to take him away with her ? asked
Duddy; and his voice was full of tears, even
though his eyes were dry.
"Certainly, and if you come now, you will have
one more chance of seeing him. There is no doubt
that she is his mother," said Mr. Barstow, gravely;
" and you ought to feel glad because he is no
longer a foundling. Besides, November, as you
call him, is heir to some fine houses and a lot of
money, and that was what tempted some wicked
persons to steal him from his home."
The boys gave little heed to this explanation;
and, after waiting a moment, Mr. Barstow asked
them again if they would go to see Mrs. Hooper.
'" I won't be where she is! cried Pinney; I
wish we'd never seen her old 'tisement! "
"But don't you want to see the baby once
more ? "
That question decided even the angry Pinney,

and the directors solemnly followed the lawyer into
the house.
Mrs. Hooper, tremulously happy, was holding
the baby in her arms as though she feared she
might lose him again if she allowed any one to
take him; and when the boys entered, she at-
tempted to clasp each by the hand while speak-
ing of her gratitude. Ikey and Pinney, who
both looked upon her as their worst enemy,
waited for their opportunity, and, while she was
engaged with Tom, stole around behind her
chair, gave November two or three resounding
kisses on the very top of his head, and then ran
at full speed to their refuge among the ashes of
the boarding-house.
Come to my office this afternoon, and bring
the boys with you," Mr. Barstow said to Jenny as
he left the house and got into the carriage with
Mrs. Hooper, the baby, and the strange gentle-
Poor little Jenny Wren! She had bravely kept
back her tears while the visitors were present; but
as soon as they had departed, she hid her face in
the pillows, and wept as heartily as did Pinney and
Ikey on the ash-heap.
It was late that afternoon before Jenny remem-
bered what Mr. Barstow had said to her, and then
she feared that it might be hard to find the boys.
But all five were still among the ruins, where
Pinney, having recovered somewhat from his grief,
was laying before his brother-directors a very
elaborate plan for buying November from his
mother, when Jenny and her mother came to tell
them what the lawyer had said.
Pinney, you and Ikey go into the house and
wash your faces," she said. "We will walk slowly,
and you can overtake us before we have gone very
Ikey and Pinney joined the party after a few
moments, and so little curiosity was felt regarding
the purpose of the visit they were about to make,
that it was not even spoken of during the walk
down-town. All believed that they had been
asked to call upon Mr. Barstow simply to settle
some matter relative to the new boarding-house.
They were considerably surprised, then, on enter-
ing the lawyer's office, to see the gentleman who
had come with Mrs. Hooper in the morning.
Mr. Barstow introduced him to the boys, by
This is Mr. Greyley, Mrs. Hooper's brother.
He has been waiting for some time to see you."
It was my fault that we did n't come sooner,"
Jenny said, meekly; "I forgot to tell the boys
that you wanted them, because I could n't seem
to think of anything but that we 'd lost No-



"Well, now that you are here, we can attend
to business. Mrs. Hooper owns a house a short
distance from where you are now staying; there
is nobody living in it now; and as I had told
her of the plan that you and your mother had
for a boarding-house, she wishes to lease you
that building for as long a time as you may
need it. She gives it to you rent-free, instead
of paying the reward mentioned in the advertise-
Do you mean that we are to have it for taking
care of November?" asked Jenny, hesitatingly.
"Yes," said Mr. Barstow; "practically, that is
what the offer amounts to."
Then I don't think we want it," said Mrs. Par-
sons, promptly, while Jenny added very slowly and
gravely, We took care of the baby because we
all loved him, and we would n't like to be paid
for doing that."
"Of course not," said Tom. "There 's
nothing' she could give us that we want, 'cept
November himself,-an' I don't s'pose she 'd care
to do that, would she?"
I think not," replied Mr. Barstow; and he and
Mr. Greyley and Mrs. Parsons laughed, although
neither Jenny nor the directors thought there was
anything very amusing in the matter.
There is no reason why you should not take
the house," said Mr. Greyley kindly, address-
ing Mrs. Parsons and Jenny. "It need not be
given as a reward, but simply as an expression
of Mrs. Hooper's gratitude. It is just such a
place as would please you, I think. There are as
many as twenty small rooms; it was used as a
boarding-house by the last tenant. I am sure
that you can find nothing else so suitable for your
purpose." ,
"I think I can understand how you feel in regard
to the matter," added Mr. Barstow; "but since I
am interested in this boarding-house scheme to the
extent of acting as your banker, Miss Jenny, I shall
take upon myself the responsibility of accepting
Mrs. Hooper's very generous offer."
I spoke just as I felt," said Jenny, apologeti-
cally, and before I had really thought of what
you told us. We should be very glad to have the
house, and-"
"And we thank her very much," added her
An' if we make any money we '11 pay her rent
for it," interrupted Duddy.
"We can talk about that afterward," said Mr.
Greyley, as he handed Jenny a bunch of keys.
" These belong to the house, and the address is
on the little tag. Mr. Barstow will draw up a lease
for my sister to sign, and on the day you open the
boarding-house, Clarence or November, which-
VOL. XIV.-58.

ever you prefer to call him shall pay you a
. Will you let us keep him as long as we want
to ? asked Pinney, quickly.
"Judging from what I have seen and heard, it
would hardly be safe to promise that," said Mr.
Greyley; "but he shall stay two hours at least,
and he also shall be a frequent visitor."
"That's better'n nothing I s'pose," said Pin-
ney, doubtfully; and Ikey showed that he agreed
with him by nodding his head gravely.
Then I can't see that we have anything more
to do now," said Mr. Barstow with an air of busi-
ness. I will make out the lease while you are
looking at the house. If you take my advice,
Miss Jenny, you will buy the furniture as soon as
possible. Judging from the number of rooms, it
will be necessary to make more extensive pur-
chases than you expected when we talked the
matter over yesterday. Don't hesitate to get suf-
ficient to furnish the house comfortably, for if I
have not advanced money enough to pay for every-
thing, Mr. Greyley says he will make a contribu-
tion. We will attend to the lease now, if you
please, Mr. Greyley, and let these folk go to see
the new boarding-house."
The directors, hardly knowing if they were dis-
missed, stood in uncomfortable indecision, until
Jenny, seeing that she was to have no opportunity
of expressing her thanks to the already busily-
engaged gentlemen, left the room, and the boys
filed out behind her. When they were on the
street once more, and Tom was about to set out
at full speed in his impatience to visit the house,
Pinney said, with an air of perplexity:
"See here, now. Before we go any farther, I
want to know what that feller meant about No-
vember's bein' a frequent visitor,' and what con-
tributions' are? "
Oh, that don't'mount to anything," said Tom,
after a brief pause. "He did n't mean anything'
worth talking' about, so hurry up, for I water see
the new place."
It is possible that Pinney might have refused to
proceed, so suspicious was he that Mr. Greyley
would not act fairly in the matter of allowing
November to visit theth, if Jenny had not ex-
plained the meaning of the words.
"Are you sure that 's what they mean?" he
asked, after she had concluded.
Of course I'm sure, Pinney, and I've almost
a mind to be ashamed of you for not knowing
more," replied Jenny.
"I know enough not to let anybody get the
best of me with big words," said Pinney; and then,
all doubts having been removed, the party set out at
a rapid pace to view Jenny's new boarding-house.





IT is useless to attempt to describe the delight
of Jenny and her mother and the young directors
when they had inspected the building which,
through Mrs. Hooper's generosity, they were to
occupy rent-free as long as they chose to keep a
boarding-house. In comparison with anything to
which they had been accustomed, it was a palace;
and although other and more favored children
would probably have thought it shabby-looking and
dingy, they were quite confident that it was as fine
an establishment as could be found in the city.
The rooms had been arranged with a view to
economy of space, and so greatly impressed was
Pinney that he declared it would hold every
newsboy in town." He almost forgot his grief at
the loss of November, in the delight caused by the
fact that he would be one of the directors of the
"swellest boardin'-house in the city."
Duddy was so enthusiastic that he at once rushed
down-town with a general invitation for "every-
body to come up and see the new house." As a
matter of course, this was accepted in the same
spirit as given, and after the place had been critic-
ally examined by at least fifty boys, there was only
one whose opinion was not fully in accordance
with the views of the directors.
Sam Tousey was the one who would not bestow
full praise upon the place, and the only objection
he could raise to it was that it was "so awful big,
they 'd never get boarders enough to fill it!"
When it became known that the work of fur-
nishing the house was a question only of time, not
of money, Ikey was kept busy until a late hour in
the evening, writing the names of the would-be
guests, each one of whom insisted that he should
be "the very first boarder." And Mrs. Parsons
and Jenny found that, large as the house was, they
would really have some difficulty in accommodating
all who wished to board with them.
While Ikey was making a list of the future mem-
bers of the household, Tom bought three candles,
some wood and a bushel of coal; and a fire was
built in the kitchen range, for the directors had
decided to spend the night in their new home.
Jenny left them before dark; and after she had
gone, Tom conceived the brilliant scheme of giv-
ing a party. An invitation was extended to any
boy who was willing to contribute something
toward a feast; and when this informal house-
warming, which lasted until nearly ten o'clock,
was ended, both guests and hosts laid down on
the kitchen floor to sleep, quite sure that they had
been having a wonderfully jolly time.

The week that followed was a busy one for Jenny,
and for the boys, who insisted on helping her in
every possible way. They even found it quite a
difficult task to prevent a squad of a dozen or
twenty of their prospective boarders from following
them while the furniture was being selected.
Mr. Barstow was informed each morning by
Duddy of what had been done the preceding day.
About as severe a task as the directors had, was
the signing of the notes, in the lawyer's office, for
money loaned. Each boy was just a trifle ashamed
to show- a specimen of his penmanship; but the
ordeal could not be avoided. If they did not suc-
ceed to their entire satisfaction, they at least wrote
their names so that even a stranger could have read
them; and Mr. Barstow appeared to be satisfied.
When the house was completely furnished, on
the day set for the formal "opening," Pinney in-
sisted on paying a visit to the lawyer to remind
him of Mr. Greyley's promise that November
should be present.
"We 're goin' to have a swell dinner at seven
o'clock," Pinney said to Mr. Barstow, "an' we '11
buy more 'n three quarts of milk, so 's November
'11 be sure to get filled up."
"But that is a rather late hour for a baby to
make a call," Mr. Barstow said, laughingly; "and
besides, you will be so busy welcoming your
boarders, that you will hardly be able to give
proper attention to him. Now I should suggest
that you be at home to see the baby about three
o'clock in the afternoon, and then he will be out
of the way before the important business of the
day begins."
Pinney looked at the lawyer suspiciously for a
moment, as if trying to decide "whether there was
any scheme to get the better of him "; and then,
evidently satisfied by the scrutiny, he said:
"Well, perhaps that will be best; but we '11
look for him sharp at three o'clock."
"I shall send a note to his mother immediately,
and I feel sure that he will be there as promptly
as you could desire."
Pinney scrutinized the lawyer's face once more
to satisfy himself that the long words were not
used for the purpose of "fooling him," and then
walked out of the office with an important frown
on his brow.
As early as two o'clock the five directors assem-
bled in the little sitting-room to meet the baby
whom they had once thought was their exclusive
property. Before half past two, Pinney was in a
high state of excitement, saying every few mo-
ments that he believedd they were goin' to fool
him after all," and watching the clock as if he
fancied that it, too, had joined the conspiracy to
defraud him of the baby's visit.




But, quite regardless of Pinney's angry frown,
the hands of the clock continued their usual move-
ments until, a few moments before they marked
the hour of three, Ikey, who had stationed himself
at the window, shouted:
Here he comes! Here he comes! Will you
look at the style he 's put on ?"
The directors, and even Jenny and her mother,
ran to the window just in time to see a smartly
dressed nurse, with a baby in her arms, descend-

profusion of fur and lace and ribbons that they
did not dare touch him.
Neither Mrs. Parsons nor Jenny showed that
they were disappointed in the baby's improved ap-
pearance; they hugged and kissed him exactly as
they had done when he was looked upon as a per-
manent boarder, and they seemed to enjoy his visit
keenly. Pinney, after he had gazed at November
some moments in silence, and glared at the nurse
until, had she been of a timid nature, she would


ing from a private carriage that had been drawn
up in front of the door.
If the truth must be told, not only Pinney but
all his brother directors were disappointed when
the baby was brought into the room. The nurse,
who acted as if it was a great condescension on
her part to bring her charge to the boarding-
house, would persist in calling him Clarence, when
the boys had publicly declared that to them he
should always be November. Then again, the
little fellow did not look natural. They had been
accustomed to seeing him in a very plain cotton
dress; while now he was decked out with such a

have fled in affright, beckoned his brother directors
to follow him into the kitchen. Arriving there,
and satisfying himself that the doors were closed
so that he could not be overheard by those in the
sitting-room, he said, angrily:
I knew all along that they 'd try to fool us,
an' now they've done it."
But the baby 's here, just as Mr. Barstow said,"
urged Duddy, completely puzzled as to the cause of
Pinney's anger.
"Yes, he 's here," replied Pinney in a loud tone;
"but we can't get any good of him. That woman
just sits there, holding' of him in her lap, an' how



can we have any fun? An' then they 've got him
rigged up so 's we could n't even touch him if
she 'd let us."
But how can we help ourselves ? asked Ikey,
beginning to think that perhaps they had been
defrauded in some manner.
"We can't, an' that's the worst of it! wailed
Pinney. But I 'm goin' down to see that lawyer;
an' if there's any sich thing as havin' November
as he used to be, so's we can have fun with him,
it '11 be done -that 's all !"
Well, you can't help yourself now," said Tom,
philosophically; "so let's go back and see him as
long as he stays."
"You can, if you want to; but I won't stir a
step. Why, I 'd jest as soon have 'em call that
baby Clarence, if they want to; but what I 'm
after is November,-just the same November he
used to be when he was here."
And Pinney really refused to go into the sitting-
room again while the baby was there. He re-
mained in the kitchen trying to form some plan to
gain possession of the original November, while the
other directors were content to stare at Clarence
At five o'clock the nurse departed with the baby,
after telling them that she was to bring him there
once each week. Then every one in the house
plunged into the excitement of preparing for the
coming of the boarders.
The directors made a formal tour of inspection
through the bedrooms, looking with pride at the
neatly made beds with their bright-colored counter-
panes, at the snug little chests of drawers with tiny
looking-glasses hanging just above them, and at the
gay rugs which served in place of carpets,. until
they were satisfied that everything was as near
perfection as is possible in this world. Hardly had
they finished the final examination, when the first
of the boarders arrived with his wardrobe neatly
packed in half a newspaper; and from that time
until a few moments before Jenny announced that
dinner was ready, they continued to come, singly,
in pairs, and in groups of half a dozen.
Every room had at least two boy-occupants;
and it would have been impossible to have taken
another boarder unless he would have agreed to
sleep on the floor. Dory Lyons was there with
his trunk in which he took such pride, even though
it contained only a portion of an old coat and a
straw hat with but a fragment of a crown. Sam
was also among the boarders. He had not at-
tempted to carry out his threat of appealing to Mr.

Barstow for justice; and finding that it was im-
possible to become a director again, had asked,
almost humbly, that he be received as a boarder.
Every one was as good-natured as he was -hungry;
and when all had been summoned to dinner, it
may easily be imagined that they were more than
S S S *

The story of how Jenny started her boarding-
house has been told. It would be impossible to
explain what became of each one who has been
introduced, either as partner or boarder, since
they are even now but just beginning to carve out
names for themselves in the world.
The boarding-house is still in successful opera-
tion, and has the same list of directors as when it
was opened, nearly two years ago. It only remains
to answer a few questions that have been asked by
inquisitive readers, and then we must say farewell
to Jenny and her mother and their boarders.
"Did the boys repay the money Mr. Barstow
Indeed they did. Perhaps it would be more
nearly correct to say that they did with Jenny's
aid. But even before the landlady had received
any income from the house, they had paid some-
thing; and it is now nearly six months since they
received back their notes from the lawyer, having
paid both principal and interest.
"Did they serve Mr. Barstow regularly with
papers ?"
Duddy has never failed to do so, and probably
on this very morning he was at the lawyer's office.
Mr. Barstow at first objected to taking the papers
without paying for them, after that one week was
ended; but the directors were so persistent that he
has now come to look upon this attention quite as
a matter of course.
"How did Ikey succeed as book-keeper ?"
If the truth must be told, it was many months
before he.could keep the books to Mr. Barstow's
satisfaction; but during the following winter,
thanks to his strenuous efforts to improve, he did
so well that now he is expecting, through the law-
yer's influence, to have a position as third assistant
in the counting-room of a certain dry-goods estab-
"What became of November ?"
He lives in New York, and-appears to be very
well pleased with his regular weekly visits to those
kind-hearted folk who once cared for him as ten-
derly as if he had been their very own.







WHEN glassy lakes and streams about
Gave up their bass and speckled trout,
The Brownies stood by water clear
As shades of evening gathered near.
Said one: Now country lads begin
To trim the rod and bend the pin
T o 21,:] -. h )r>,- .1 .-. I l [I [--: L .,r..
T hai n i !.' b ,- .:,i._ : i-l d ,:i-. :- I h-.
W hdi. c.',- ,:l.ir, ,lh !,::-h- ,:,:, dr-,. rn.
A nd 1, _-r.i. h I.., -ird E.,i- i,. l. ,.
A n d im .- ,- I ( ,i, .,-i -.I'l ,? ': Ir _-
Thai' e rMoitli. N.it.i !' : -
W ith i.,-.rn: ,:.. :,-t:, l .l

A nd i n.l ,- i,. ,- I..'ti: ,.- i- -- "-'4

Thui; -!i pr arp r.:.:i .r : r :
O rB .l.:,,y d .r l.: .: .l ...
T h e -,' I k., l l -h !',..i, .. ,,,.J [,:."!
B y l'-ill ,: ~tr" I-,,l |-rt r '-_: -Irt r-,(li .'..

There must indeed be pleasure fine
Behind the baited hook and line.

" Now, off like arrows from the bow
In search of tackle some must go;


5.,"' -II,

-" K
-'*t 'afi

Another said: "I've often lain
In secret nook through sun and rain,
With bated breath and peeping eyes,
To watch an angler fighting flies,
And thought, when thus he stood to bear
The torture from those pests of air,

While others stay to dig supplies
Of bait that anglers highly prize,-
Such kind as best will bring the pout,
The dace, the chub, and 'shiner' out,
While locusts gathered from the grass
Will answer well for thorny bass."


Then some with speed for tackle start,
And some to sandy banks depart,
And some uplift a stone or rail
In search of cricket, grub, or snail;
While more in dewy meadows draw
The drowsy locust from the straw;
Nor is it long before the band
Stands ready for the sport in hand.

It seemed the time of all the year
When fish the starving stage were near;
They rose to straws and bits of bark,
To bubbles bright and shadows dark,
And jumped at hooks, concealed or bare,
While yet they dangled in the air.
Some Brownies many trials met
Before their lines were hardly wet,
For stones below would hold them fast,
And limbs above would stop the cast,

And hands be forced to take a rest,
At times when fish were biting best.
Some stumbled in above their boots,
And others soiled their Sunday suits;
But fun went on, for many there
Had hooks that seemed a charm to bear,
And fish of various scale and fin
On every side were gathered in.

The gamy bass, when playing fine,
Oft tried the strength of hook and line,
And strove an hour before his mind
To changing quarters was resigned.
Some eels proved more than even match
For those who made the wondrous catch,
And, like a fortune won with ease,
They slipped through fingers by degrees,
And bade good-bye to margin sands,
In spite of half a dozen hands.
The catfish left his bed below,
With, croaks and protests from the go;
And nerve as well as time it took
From such a maw to win the hook.
With horns that pointed every way,
And life that seemed to stick and stay,
Like antlered stag that stands at bay,





T ~--~-~.-Ii-.
,,,; .
: i

i -I \ ii

- I

I / ,I I

/i -
* '' ,. */

He lay and eyed the Brownie band,
And threatened every reaching hand.
The hungry, wakeful birds of air
Soon gathered 'round to claim their share,
And did for days themselves regale
On fish of every stripe and scale.

Thus sport went on with laugh and shout,
As hooks went in and fish came out,
While more escaped with wounded gill,
And yards of line they 're trailing still;
But day at length began to break,
And forced the Brownies from the lake.



"--' t I" :.-

i. .- *

' :


A C K -I N i E PUL -1 T.

GOOD-DAY, friends You see I must give you
as cool a welcome as possible this time, because
of the warm weather. And now, by way of chilling
you still more, we will partake of some
ONE very warm day lately, just before school
broke up, the ice-cream man crossed my meadow
on his way toward the Red School-house. He
had timed his visit so that the children would be
out-of-doors at their noon play. His "five-cent-a-
glass "rang out loudly, and brought dozens of bright
faces in sight; and pretty soon, when the man had
gone on his way heavier in pocket and lighter in
ice-cream, the Deacon read about a little account
of what he called natural ice-cream. It had so
cool a sound that nearly all the children listened.
This is what he read :
"The people of Siberia in winter buy their milk in chunks instead of
quarts. For convenience it is sometimes allowed to freeze about a stick
which comes as a handle to carry it by. The milkman leaves one
chunk or two chunks, as the case may be, at the houses of his cus-
tomers. The children in Irkutsk, instead of crying for a drink of
milk, cry for a bite of milk. The people there in the winter time do not
say Be careful not to spill the milk,' but 'Be careful not to break
there is an opportunity to saV the piece. Irkutsk people hang
their milk on hooks instead of putting it in pans, though, ofcourse,
when warm spring weather comes on they have to use the pans or
pails, as the milk begins to drop down from the hooks."
AN observing correspondent, Mr. G. B. M.,
sends me a letter about my friends, the orioles, or
rather about one of these birds that had an eye to
business and who did not believe in neglecting any
good opportunity. "It is curious," says Mr. G.
B. M., what a variety of materials Baltimore
orioles will use in the construction of their nests.
In the lawn of one of the prettiest homes in the
State of Maryland a pair of orioles selected a tree'

in which to build. It was a large fir-tree, about
forty-five feet from the house. The lady of the
house was sewing by one of the windows opposite
this tree early one beautiful summer morning, and,
on being called away to some other room, she
placed her spool of cotton on the window-sill.
When she returned she found the spool was gone,
and on looking for it, discovered it on the floor of
the porch which was just outside of the window.
She found that a considerable length of the cotton
was unwound, and looking for the end of it she
traced it up to the nest of the oriole, and saw the
bird busily weaving it into the nest. The lady
placed the spool in the window, and it was shown
as a curiosity to all who visited the house. I was
one who was so fortunate as to see this curious
proof of bird ingenuity."

THE earth-worm does not stand very high in the
community, I admit; but I happen to know that
he is an honest, innocent, hard-working, and very
useful fellow. Therefore I assent to this printed
statement which has been laid on my pulpit:
The earth-worm eats the earth in order to assimilate a little of the
soil that it contains. He harms no root, and only uses a little of the
material in which he lives. This indefatigable and silent laborer
brings the earth to the surface from below, and the pits and galleries
which he makes allowheat and moisture andall the atmospheric agents
to penetrate the earth, thus rendering it lighter and consequently
more favorable for the growth of the roots of trees and shrubs. As
he enters these galleries he draws in with him leaves and mosses;
and the very important results of thus burying them is to hasten their
decomposition into mold. The earth-worm drains, cultivates, and
enriches the soil."
So, girls, don't scream when he happens to
squirm quietly across your path,- and you, boys,
let him alone; take something else for bait.

DEAR JACK: Our Portland Transcript" states
from some high authority that mosquitoes are a
deadly enemy to young brook-trout. The paper
tells of an observer who, one day in June, 1882,
while sitting by the Tumichie Creek in Gunnison
Valley, Colorado, where the water was clear and
shallow, saw a number of newly-hatched mountain
brook-trout swimming about. When one of these
came to the surface of the water, a mosquito would
fly at him and drive his trunk into the little crea-
ture's head. When the mosquito flew away, the little
fish turned over, dead. Indeed, in the course of
half an hour, he saw about twenty trout killed in
this way. HARRY C. F.
This is a serious charge against a busy and mu-
sical member of our community, my hearers. But,
if true, it should be noised abroad. In the Dea-
con's opinion, the mosquito is capable of almost
any crime, but he advises careful investigation.
Let those of you who happen in the future to be
near trout-streams when the young trout are about,
watch sharply. If you see a mosquito attack a
young trout,-and you probably will,--report the
fact at once to this pulpit.





YOUR friend Maria I. Hammond has requested
me to mention to you the following facts concern-
ing an article with which I am not familiar, but
which she says all boys and girls have seen. The
lady has a pretty, musical way of putting things,
which I rather like:
Half-way in and half-way out
Of its tiny house,
Nearly all the time, no doubt,
Still as any mouse.
But quite suddenly, mayhap,
It will turn around,
Say abruptly, Click or Clack "
Make a rattling sound.
Very fond of keeping still
In its little home,
It will go, too,- if you will,-
Anywhere you roam!
Keep on its right side, and learn
'T is a trickish sprite;
Or, perhaps, 't will take a turn,-
Shut you out some night!
Are you wondering where and how
This strange thing can be?
Well-you need not puzzle now-
I '11 give you the key. M. I. H.

A VERY wise man, Professor Baird by name,
seems to think that, accidents excepted, a fish may
live as long as it pleases. Carp, for instance, he
says, have attained an age of two
hundred years. He also says that
within fifty years a pike was living
in Russia whose age, according to
tradition, dated back to the fifteenth
century. Another learned fish-ob-
server has asserted that in the royal
aquarium of St. Petersburg there
are fish to-day that have been
known by the records to have been
in them one hundred and forty years.
Some of them are, he adds, over five
times as large as when they were -
captured, while others have not
grown an inch in length. Then the -.
Deacon says he knows a man, who i
knows another man who has read
an account by a Chinaman, who says
that there are sacred fish kept in
some of the palaces of China that
are even older than any of those in
Russia. Goldfishes have been known
to have belonged to one family in
this country for over fifty years
If all this be so, then your Jack's advice to the
fishes is, to get into a museum or aquarium as rap-
idly as possible. But what must be the feelings of a
boy when he reflects upon the years of existence that
might have been the happy portion of certain fishes
of his acquaintance but for his hooks and lines !

WHO knows what it is ? A snail's pace is slow -
of that we may be sure -but in how long a time
can he go his mile?
This interesting question at last has been defin-
itely settled. I am told that some bright Westerners
recently made the following practical experiment:
They allowed half a dozen snails to crawl be-
tween two points about ten feet apart, and, by
careful watching, the average pace was learned,
and it was proved beyond dispute that an unmo-
lested snail can crawl a mile in exactly fourteen
But it does not follow, you know, that we need
imitate him when sent on an errand.

A COMMITTEE of three bees came to see me the
other day, but as they all buzzed their business at
the same time, it was difficult at first to discover
what they wanted. They were furiously indignant
and not a little discouraged that was evident--
and they made some stinging remarks; but when
they finally made me understand that they had
seen at the village grocery a jar of their own pre-
cious honey, duly labeled and ready for sale, I
could not help sympathizing with them, especially
as the jar was tightly closed, and while the contents
could plainly be seen, no bee on earth could get at
it. But just as I was wondering what to say by
way of comfort, the clover blossoms all about us
began nodding and smiling, and sweet messages
from the dear little School-ma'am's flower-garden


,Wel that cool .'t
came pouring in, and the biggest bee buzzed
cheerily :
"Rouze up, fellow! no uze drowzing here,
there 'z a thousand doz-zen flowerz to be viz-zited
yet-Zip !"
And off they flew.

M... ...ti. ...-E i ,, _-
_-. -'.. .. T-: _t -_, -,

. ----




* ^ ..
T!) i~

ON'T be frightened, you
young folk who were plan-
ning to spend your vacation
on that cool, breezy corner
of Massachusetts. Take
" Sinks as a noun and not
as a verb, and read on
There are many ways of
folding paper into pretty
little things. There are
boxes of several kinds, and
the neat three-cornered notes

.. that old English ladies fold;
Then I have seen people with
their skillful fingers make a
wonderful outfit, raised to dignity by the great name of Napoleon.
How enchanting it was to see Napoleon's "breast-pin" transformed
in an instant into his "steamboat," his "chafteau" made into his
"dust-pan," and so through all the magic changes !
When I want to do something in return for such a pleasure, I
make a sink" such as I learned to make years ago in my island
home. And unless some Nantucketer was looking on, I have never
met with a person to whom it was not new. Was the art invented

F /Z


4 F15 5.

This is the way to make a "sink."
Take a square piece of letter paper, and after creasing it from cor-
ner to corner, both ways, to get the exact middle, fold the four cor-
ners down to the middle, as in Fig. i. Every fold, all through,
should be creased down to a sharp edge. The beauty of the finished
work will depend upon its exactness and neatness. Fold next on the
dotted line A B, turning the upper half away from you, which will
give Fig. 2. Then fold on the lines D C and F E, turning one part
toward you, and the other from you, giving Fig. 3. It will be a
"soldier-cap." Put your fingers in and pull it out to a square, Fig.
4. This may be called a square pocket with a slit from top to bot-
tom on each side. Put a finger in this slit and bring the lower point
up to a, smoothing the paper out nicely and creasing it down in the
way that it can not help going, and you will have Fig. 5. Turn the
paper over and do the same with the other side. The oblong figure
above the triangle you will find is a double wallet. Take the upper
outer edge of one of the wallets and bring it down to the lower edge,
which you can only do by making a little three-cornered wallet at
each end, as in Fig. 6. Do the same to the other side. Bring the
three-cornered wallet of each side together, folding by the line L M,
first on one side then on the other, and you will have Fig. 7.
Observe always that the solid lines represent the shape of the
paper at the successive stages; the dotted lines are only to fold by.
When you have Fig. 7, fold as shown by lines O N, O P, both

Fig 8.

Fig 0s

in Nantucket? Or did the early English settlers bring it from their sides the same, which gives Fig. 8. Fold the right and left hand
old homes in Kent or Devonshire or Norfolk? These are questions edges exactly to the middle line, by folding on Q R and S T. Do
for the antiquary; I can not answer them. the same with the other side; this gives Fig. 9. Turn up the low-




est point on both sides, folding on the line U V, which gives Fig. 10.
Fold once more, turning up on the lower edge each side on the line

rig 10. F'g 11.

W X, and the folding is done You have a sink in your hands,
though it is upside down. Now turn it over and open it out, push-

ing up the middle point until the bottom is quite flat and pinch its
edges into sharp angles. If your paper was a true square in the be-
ginning and you have worked with exactness, you have a sink that
will stand on its equal legs with pleasing firmness. If you have n't
succeeded, try again till victory perches on your banner.
I know one ingenious youth who sometimes takes a double square
of paper,-that is, a rectangle twice as long as it is wide,--and
working on it by a similar process as for the common sink, it comes
out long and narrow. But the ingenious youth tells me that while
he was learning this variety of sink, it would frequently end with the
legs pointing in different directions,- those at one end down and the
others up in the air. That can never happen. in making a square
But try this variation if you choose; "Patience and perseverance
will move mountains,"- a motto for your encouragement in many
things besides "sinks."


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.

To THE EDITORS OF ST. NICHOLAS: So long as American boys
and girls read the account of the nation's achievements, they will find
no chapter more fascinating than that which tells of Sherman's March
to the Sea."
Thus ends an article in the May number of your magazine, which
" American boys and girls," my children, who have been for many
years subscribers, have just read and called to my attention.
The writer of your article, after coldly recounting the facts, that
the people of the Southern States embraced in the Confederacy were
all devoted to the cause of independence; that no troops of any con-
sequence whatever could be got together to confront Sherman's
sixty thousand; that the country was fearfully desolated by him in
an unparalleled manner, the foragers bringing in from homes only
occupied by women and children, "even articles of furniture, or
clothing, for war is often only organized robbery "- after recount-
ing all this, he makes the concluding statement noticed above. Can
" American boys and girls find "no chapter more fascinating than
W without 1: ., ;.. l-. 1:r. 1 ..i.:. .. ,. rTre is "organized rob-
bery," or ci r ... I L ii II.:-' 't" I'- .. I.. points in the article, I
merely ask, in the interest of "fair play," to be allowed to add but
a few lines, out of many of similar and sadder import I could write,
to I. ., I. ., .. of horrors.
-.-r .. ri.- disbanding of the C .,,. 1., ., ,.... ,. I had occasion
r-.... J-, t part of Nortl '.. I.... I' i-. Sherman had
.1 r -...lI .ri one morning I stopped at a house to endeavor
to obtain some food for my nearly exhausted horse and for myself,
of which we both stood in sore need. The region was what is
known as "pine-land," very poor and desolate at best, with resi-
dences "few and far -. r md these of the humblest
description, many of which I i. I I .. en burnt. The one at which
I stopped showed in its surroundings that the cruel hand of destruc-
tion .:. Ii ::.. i. .- ri, but it seemed in this respect no worse off
than i.1 l... '.. ... the "swath" made by "the scythe" of
which your writer speaks. As I rode up to the entrance, there was
no one to be seen; so, leaving my horse standing (he could do little
else, poor fellow) by the steps of the piazza, I knocked at the front
door. For some time there was no response from within, and I was
beginning to think the place deserted, when I heard tottering steps
slowly approaching; then the door was opened a few inches only,
and I seemed to be confronted by the wan, emaciated face, the sharp

features, and the dull, lack-luster eyes of a corpse. I will never
forget the heart-sickening look of that woman, for it was a woman,
though little resembling one. She asked me what I wanted, in a
feeble, inanimate tone. I explained my horse's and my own
"Be you a sodger ? she said.
"Yes; I am returning from our disbanded army."
"Waal, you're welcome, then. Come in. I ain't got nothing' for
your horse, but I kin give you something' to eat."
Motioning me to a seat on broken chair, she took a dish from a
shelf and placed it on a table and, apologizing for lack of plate or
spoon, which had disappeared in the milita--- Tpni as your
writer has termed it, invited me to fall to. 'I i. -i.in was corn
boiled whole, and though certainly far from attractive food under
ordinary circumstances, I should have been then, in my famished
condition, very thankful to devour it, intending to make payment
out of a very scanty stock of silver, Confederate money, of course,
being useless. But it occurred to me -l. '1.'.l,- : 'I woman had
little else for herself and family to eat, .'.;J i I .. .r hesitated to
consume what had been placed before me. So I asked her if she
had more food in the house.
"A little more corn like that; I ain't had nothing else since Sher-
man's company cum yere."
"I am glad they left you some corn."
"They did n't leave none. I picked some off 1 e :, aind where
Sherman's men'fed their horses; me and Liz did. I ... horses had
tramped it some, but I washed it."
"Where's your husband? "
"In Mr. Lee's company, in Virginia, ifhe ain't dead."
"Who is Liz?"
"Liz she said, her hitherto r. I -: .. 1 ....i
up with the maternal instinct; "L. .: i... 1 i
she was my little gal, but she's d. .1 -. ..
hungry, but when she 'd eat, sh:- .- r ... I .i'.
then she got thinner and 4i ..; ...-. i I,.:. -r-.: .. I I ,,1 '
hurt a big man like you. I .r P r It.1: [ '
This can not be fascinating reading" for .i..; 1. -
in any States of the Union. I L '.
No, this sad story is not fascinating reading, nor is it the sort of
reading that was furnished by the ST. NICHOLAS article. Every
human being with the least sense of compassion must deplore the


sufferings caused by war and especially that which befalls non-
combatants. For war is in itself terrible; and calamities are to be
found in its track as inevitably as in the trail of a tornado. The fact
that every war involves woe for the innocent does not make its cruel-
ties or wrongs any more excusable or less lamentable. But the task
of recording these cruelties and wrongs belongs to the patient chroni-
cler and historian, who will investigate special instances of hardship
and abuse on both sides, and sift the mass of testimony concerning
them. Any attempt to present in a single magazine article, more-
over, an account of a whole campaign must, of necessity, be very
general, and the ST. NICHOLAS article dealt with its subject simply
as a military movement. If E. L. W. will re-read the account dis-
passionately,-" in the interest of fair play,"- he will see that the
phrases which he quotes are misleading when separated from the text
which accompanied them, and that he has been inaccurate in his
allusions to the "facts" which he charges our article with "coldly

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am only nine years old, and my home is
in California. I have been here nine months, and I am going home
the last of next month. My brother has taken the ST. NICHOLAS for
three or four years, and I have enjoyed reading it, especially "Juan
and Juanita," "Little Lord Fauntleroy," and Jenny's Boarding-
I have not enjoyed the winter here, for I was sick for two months;
besides, I miss my pets at home. I live on a ranch, and have my
little dog "Fido," my cat "Spot," and lots of kittens, and my
brother's pony, "Brownie."
I hope you will not think my letter is too long; but I want very
much to tell you about the little birds which were brought to me
from New York. They were a pair of American goldfinch. They
were so tame that they would perch on my finger, and on my head,
and were just as cunning as they could be. I am sorry to say that
a neighbor's cat came in an open window and killed them both.
This naughty cat's name is Beauty, but she is the homeliest cat you
ever saw, and she does n't look pretty to us after doing such a naughty
thing to my dear little birds. We hope to get another pair before
we return to California.
I like to write letters, but I have never written to you before. Now,
good-bye, dear ST. NICHOLAS.
Your interested reader, FLORENCE A. DE L-- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I thought that I would write to you
to tell you that folk in Wichita like you just as well as anybody else.
I am a little girl ten years old, and I have taken you ever since I can
remember. 1 have quite a number of books, but thebest of all is the
ST. NICHOLAS. Wichita is a very large city, and from where we
live we can see the Arkansas River. So it makes it very pleasant
here in summer-time.
We have seven rose bushes in our yard, and two of them are in
bloom; one is a red-rose bush, and the other is yellow, and there are
three more in bud.
I take music lessons, and I like it very much. When I get big
I 'm going to be a music teacher. Our school had a May picnic last
Thursday, and, oh, what fun we did have!
This letter is getting pretty long, so I guess I '11 stop. From your
constant reader, LAURA M. H-.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I am a little girl, eleven years old; and we
have been taking you for four years, but this is the first letter I have
ever written you. I live on the border between the United States
and Mexico; and I can go to a foreign land whenever I wish to,
at the expense of twenty cents. Paso Del Norte is just on the other
side of the Rio Grande river, and they sometimes call it the mud-
town, because it is built of mud and is very old. There is an old
church over there which is three hundred years old. The dark eyes
of the senoriias are seen peeping from under a blue ribosa. Well,
1 must close, so, adios (good-bye).

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I do not think you have had a letter from
the Northwest before. I used to live in Japan, which is very hot; so
at first it was very curious to have things sticking to my fingers,
because of the cold. We had it forty-five degrees below zero last
There are some wild cattle about here, and in the winter a great
many died of starvation; some were so weak that when they tum-

bled down they could not get up again. One tumbled into our spring,
and we had to pull its tail to help it out.
I think "Juan and Juanita" is very interesting. Good-bye.
Yours, MARGARET R. W-.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Last year my papa occasionally bought a
copy of you, and my sister Carrie and I (she is eight and I am nine)
enjoyed reading the stories very much, some of them are so funny.
Before the holidays Cousin Louise ordered you sent to us for one
year as a Christmas present, and now we receive it regularly.
Was n't that nice of her? We are very much interested in "Juan
and Juanita," and when we read "Jenny's Boarding-House," it
makes us laugh and we are so anxious to know what becomes of
November, the baby, that we can hardly wait for the next number.
The "Brownies," too, are very "cunning."
Your loving reader, ANNETTA W. T-.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have been taking you for two years. I
had intended to write before. I am a little girl nine years old. I
have a large St. Bernard dog; he weighs one hundred and fifty
pounds. His name is Ringgold. As soon as the fire-bells ring he
tries to make us go, and sometimes goes right up to the engine. He
is very pretty. He is black, with a white ring around his neck.
That is the reason I call him Ringgold.
Your constant reader, EMILY A. W-.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I will begin my letter by telling you where
I live, and that is in Yarmouth, Nova Scotia. Most of the people in
the United States think that Yarmouth is a mere fishing port, where
the people do nothing but fish. But if they should come and see,
they would find it quite large town. This is my first letter, and as
I had never seen any letters from Yarmouth, I thought I would like
to write to you. I think your magazine is the best I ever saw for
children. I think "Juan and Juanita" and "Jenny's Boarding-
House" are very interesting, and I always want to see what comes
next. I go to the Seminary school. It has eight grades, and I am
in the seventh. I have a little sister seven years old, and she is very
fond of having me read to her out of the ST. NICHOLAS. She likes
the "Brownies" best.
I remain your constant reader, JEANETTE C-- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have a dog named Uriah Heep. We
named him that because he wriggles around so much. I like the
Brownies," and always look for the Chinaman, the dude, the Irish-
man, and Yankee; 'but sometimes the Chinaman does n't turn up;
but that's when he 's boycotted.
Your little friend, MILAREA K- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We have taken your delightful magazine
ever since z879, and we all love you as much as though you were a
"real live" person who comes to see us and has a great many nice
things to tell us about. The stories which I most enjoy reading
are, "ST. NICHOLAS Dog-Stories," "Juan and Juanita," "Historic
Girls," and "Jenny's Boarding-House."
The Flower Festival took place not long ago. .4 1- 1 il-l.. -
containing many flowers was devoted to the Festival I -..: .. .
kinds of flowers, used in making many representations, among which
were those of a boat made of flowers (roses), and called the Ship
of State "; a shoe made of marigolds, containing a figure of an old
woman and some other figures of children, all representing the "Old
Woman in the Shoe "; also a wharf made of various kinds of flowers,
representing the wharf at Santa Monica; and a ship,in full sail, on an
ocean of violets, with white flowers for foam. Each night there was
a procession which marched through the hall, sometimes persons
dressed to represent flowers of different kinds; and at other times
the militia would march.--I am thirteen years old.
Your affectionate friend, GRACE K-.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have a little brother seven years old.
His leg was broken this winter by a load of hay going over it.
I like that story about "Jenny's Boarding-House" very much. I
have four cousins that live in the same yard with me,- two boys


1887.] THE LETTE.R-BOX. 797

and two girls. There are a good many in Lapeer that take your
magazine. My papa is editor of the "Clarion," and I have to fold
papers. My little brother likes the stories about the Brownies." I
will be twelve years old the 4th of September.
Your little friend, BLANCHE W-- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have taken your magazine since last Sep-
tember, and like it very much. I am reading "Juan and Juanita,"
"Jenny's Boarding-House," and several others. I hope Juan and
Juanita got safely home to Mexico. During vacation I go out to my
grandpa's in western New York. There are several salt-wells a few
miles from where he lives. My uncle took us through the Living-
ston salt-works at Piffard. There are two wells in the building.
The brine is pumped by machinery into large wooden vats and then
boiled down by steam-pipes running through the vats. When you
enter one of the large rooms it looks like a boiling lake. The men
work with theirshoes untied, as they sometimes make a misstep and
step into the boiling brine. This is table-salt; but there is one mine
where rock-salt is mined like coal. We saw one of the miners going
home for the night with his lamp fastened to the front of his hat. We
brought home some very nice specimens of salt that are shaped like
icicles. I remain
Your affectionate reader, HARRY W- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS ; I am a little girl, thirteen years of age. I
have a good many friends, so I have a very nice time. I go to the
Lincoln School, which is the pleasantest public school in Oakland.
I am very much interested in your magazine, although I have only
taken it since Christmas. My cousin is up in the mountains, and
does not get anything to read excepting your magazine. He likes
you very much.
Your loving reader, GRACIE BELLE W--.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: "Juan and Juanita" and "Jenny's
Boarding-House" are such good stories I could n't keep from writ-
ing and telling you. When I get through these stories, I can hardly
wait for the next number to come. I like the ST. NICHOLAS more
every number.
The 25th of August I will be twelve years old. My sister is six-
teen, and enjoys the ST. NICHOLAS as much as I do. The verse
about Rather Crowded I thought was so good I taught it to my
little cousins, who will be four this summer.
Well, I must itop.
Your reader, who loves the ST. NICHOLAS so, CAROLINE.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I:have taken you ever since November,
1884, and have enjoyed your stories very much, especially "Little
Lord Fauntleroy," Driven Back to Eden," and His One Fault."
Have read Driven Back to Eden" twice, and am now reading
His One Fault" for the second time. I am very much interested
in "Juan and Juanita" and "Jenny's Boarding-House."
Some time ago I read a letter from a friend of mine in St. Louis
who had been to Texas. She spoke of her Aunt Bessie, with whom
I was acquainted. I ha ve seen several letters from Texas, but not
I have no pets, but had a canary that died.
It is very warm down here. The thermometer has been as high
as eighty-six degrees this year, and will be higher this summer.
I have visited the city of New York twice, but prefer to live in the
South. I remain,
Your constant reader, CARRIE E. C- .

MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I am a little English girl aged twelve
and a half. I have taken you for three years, and like you better
than any other magazine I know. My sister Irene is still too young
to understand you, but I think she will soon like the "Brownies." I
have got a brother called Godfrey, and another little sister who is
only a week old. I think "Little Lord Fauntleroy" is the best
story that I have read for a long while; Juan and Juanita" is very
interesting too. I have got a great many pets: eighteen guinea-
pigs, a lot of canaries and three linnets in a large aviary, sixteen
doves, a dog, and two ponies whose names are Pickle and Billy;
the former I ride, and the latter I drive in a little cart called the tin.
I remain,
Your loving reader, EVIE M--.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I think you are just as jolly as you can be.
I have taken you for five years, and I keep liking you better and
better all the time.
"Little Lord Fauntleroy" is the sweetest story I ever read, I
think, and "Juan and Juanita" interests me very much. I only
hope they will get home to their mother, the Seiora, all right.
I think the dear little "Brownies" are too sweet for anything,
especially the "dude" and the Chinaman.
I am thirteen years old, and live in Camden, Maine, a lovely little
seaport and watering place on Penobscot Bay.
Your most devoted friend and reader, Louis E. S--.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I think it will interest all the readers of
ST. NICHOLAS to hear about my little marmoset, which came all the
way from South America, and my dear little canary-bird, which I
love very much.
I did not know that marmosets, in their own country, eat the little
birds, so I put my two pets in the same room. Very soon my mother
heard a little noise, and found that the wicked monkey had climbed
on Dicky's cage and was trying to kill him. Th e poor little bird was
badly bitten, and although my mother did all she could for him, I
am afraid he will never sing again.
I hope you will publish this letter, so that if any of the readers of
ST. NICHOLAS have a marmoset they will not be so foolish as to put
him in the same room with a canary.
Your interested reader, HENRIETTE DE R--.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a boy seven years old, and I like you
very much. I read your easy stories aloud to my mamma and
sister, and they read the hard ones to me.
I like "Lord Fauntleroy," the "Brownies," and the "Griffin,"
but I don't think any of them can beat Nimble Jim," "Hippity
Hop," and "Tommie's Cousins," in some back numbers of ST.
NICHOLAS that my brother took when he was a little boy. He is
a cadet at West Point now, but still likes ST. NICHOLAS; he says
several of the cadets take you, and they all like to read you. If you
print this, perhaps he will see it and will know it is from his little
brother, PAUL 0--.

MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl thirteen years old. I
thought as I have not written before, I would write now and tell you
how much I enjoy you. We have taken you ever since you have
been published, except the first year. I enjoy "Juan and Juanita"
so much, and "Jenny's Boarding-House." I played "Roses Red"
over on our piano, and think it is a very sweet little song. I think
the "Brownies" are very cunning. My little brother Henry, aged
five and a half years, is never tired of hearing some of us read to him
"The Strange Horse-Car." The only pet I have is a minnow which
was caught a short time ago in a creek not far from our house. I
have three brothersand no sisters. I am afraid my letter is too long,
so I will say good-bye.
Your affectionate reader, NELLIE D-.

MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We are two little girls seven and nine
years old, living with our grandpapa all alone in this great house.
We have taken ST. NICHOLAS for four years, but this is the first
letter that we have ever written to you. We like the "Brownies,"
and think Mr. Cox must be very nice.
We are your little friends, JENNIE AND ANNABEL.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am twelve years old, and I have never
written you a letter before, so I hope this will be published. I have
taken the ST. NICHOLAS for ten years. I enjoyed "Little Lord
Fauntleroy and all the other stories ever so much. I took another
magazine for a year, but I went back to the ST. NICHOLAS. I have
taken it ever since I can remember.
Your loving reader, KITTY D-.

DEAR JACK IN THE PULPIT )": I have been taking the ST. NICH-
OLAS for nearly five years, and like it very much indeed. I shall be
twelve years old in July. I enjoyed "Little Lord Fauntleroy" and
"Prince Fairyfoot" very much, and am very much interested in
"Juan and Juanita."
I write this note to ask if any of the readers of the ST. NICHOLAS


can tell what mistake Mr. H. A. Ogden has made on page 522 of
the May number of ST. NICHOLAS, in Winning a Commission."
Now I must close, for fear my note will be too long to be put in the
ST. NICHOLAS. Your interested reader, NANNIE W-.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I receive you every month and enjoy you
very much. We passed last summer inWiesbaden for my painting and
violin (though I prefer the mandolin), then went through beautiful
Switzerland into Italy. Queen Marguerite is lovely. We then came
to the south of France to Biarritz, where the Emperor Napoleon III.
and the Empress passed their summers in the days of the Empire.
The Villa Eug6nis was opposite our hotel. This is a pretty little
forest village on top of a hill, and quite near where the earthquakes
were, but we did not feel them. Many refugees came here. We
had the highest tide this week ever known on the coast of France,
called by many a tidal wave. It did no damage, however. I collect
old coins, postage stamps and everything, and am very fond of ani-
mals, especially as I am an only girl and my brothers much older. I
ride horseback or in the dog-cart in the morning, and in the afternoon
walk in the forest with my French governess. I was born in San
Francisco fifteen years ago, and have been traveling ever since I
was six months old. Excuse this long letter from
Your friend, K- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I began taking you last November, and
am very much interested in you. I like your stories of "Juan and
Juanita" and "Jenny's Boarding-House," and I think the "Brown-
ies" are full of mischief.
We have five pets,- two dogs, a cat, and two kittens. The dogs'
names are Tom and Chance. Tom is very young, but he wants to
fight every dog he sees. The other dog we call Chance because he
followed Mamma home. The cat is a Maltese, and a very good
ratter. The kittens are little April fools, for they were born on the
ist of April. One is very lively and gets out of the box a good
many times a day. The other does not get-out of the box so much.
Their names are Tabby and Jumbo.
Your loving reader, GEORGE H. H-- .

HERE are some rhymes by an eight-year-old poet of Detroit, Mas.
ter Jack Prentis:

THE sunshine is a glorious thing,
That shines on sea and land;
On battle-plain and field it shines,
And everywhere I stand.

The sunshine is a glorious thing,
That shines on great and small;
It shines on rich and poor alike,
And rock and towered hall.

And now may you and every one
Be faithful to the sun,
And try and shine in your own light
As bright as it has done.

WE present our thanks for pleasant and welcome letters to the
young friends whose names are given in the following list: James
Wilber Tate, Fred Burwell, Florence R. Greer, A. Griggs, May
Sanders, Ogden K. Lodge, A. R. B., Bessie Robbins, E. K., Ab-
bie R., Daisy F. Barlow, Florence V. Thorpe, Grace Van W.,
Arthur T. Jones, Mary A. Cook, Stella Mardis, "Cuckoo," John
Warren, Alice Smith, Will H., Fannie H. M., Camilla Van K.,
"Mirandolina," Crom H., Grace E. Miller, H. P. Adams, E. G.
L., Daisy and Lena, Sam Harper, Carrie M. A., The Two L's,"
Otto Fleming, Bessie F. Carpenter, Clara R. Warren, Agnes M. C.,
Ruth Holmes, Jeannie M. Graves, Frankie Willis, Florence F.
Keith, Mollie Orr, Florence W. H., Anna Wetmore, F. L. C.,
Grace C. Dotten, Jennie B., Allan F. Barnes, La Verne Hopper,
and Irene R.

0' I

tj ;' 4
2. 1






WORD-SQUARE. I. Inez. 2. Name. 3. Emir. 4. Zero. SINGLE ACROSTIC. Juan Fernandez ("Robinson Crusoe").
EASY GREEK CROSS. I. I. Fact. 2. Aloe. 3. Coma 4. Teal. Cross-words: i. Jamaica. 2. Unst. 3. Australia. 4. Nicobar.
II. x. Fort. 2. Oboe. 3. Rota. 4. Teal. III. i. Teal. 2. Ebro. 5. Falkland. 6. Elba. 7. Rhodes. 8. Nova Zembla. 9. -.,r:; .
3 Arab. 4. Lobe. IV. t. Lobe. 2. Oval. 3. Bars. 4, Else. io. Newfoundland. ii. Dominica. 12. Enderby Island.
V. a. Lobe. 2. Oven. 3. Bead. 4. Ends. zibar.
DOUBLE ACROSTICS. Primals, chaffinch; finals, interests. Cross- REMARKABLE ANAGRAMS. I. Nostalgia. 2. Senator. 3. Gnash-
words: i. Calcull. 2. HarpooN. 3. AnnuleT. 4. FalcatE. 5. Flut- ing. 4. Usurper. 5. Spermaceti. 6. Antagonist. 7. Platitudes.
teR. 6. IteratE. 7. NonpluS. 8. ConduiT. 9. HideouS. 8. Mountaineers.
BEHEADINGS. Independence. i. I-mage. 2. N-ever. 3. D-ears. NUMERICAL ENIGMA. "It ought to be solemnized with pomp
4. E-rode. 5. P-lump. 6. E-rase. 7: N-acre. 8. D-read. 9. E-mend. and parade, with shows, games, sports, guns, bells, bonfires, and
so. N-once. xx. C-over. 12. E-vent. illuminations from one end of this continent to the other, from this
TRIANGLE. I. Alcoran. 2. Leaven. 3. Caned. 4. Over. 5. Red. time forward for evermore."-Letter to Mrs. Adams, July 3,
6. An. 7. N. 1776.
ILLUSTRATED PUZZLE. Gettysburg. i. faGot. 2. spEar. 3. alTar. ST. ANDREW'S CROSS OF DIAMONDS, 1. B, S. 3- Lea.
4. otTer. 5. drYad. 6. buSts. 7. saBot. 8. frUit. 9. cuRve. 4. Bear. 5. Sam. 6. Am. 7. R. II. R. R Ha. 3. Ham.
o1. paGes. 4. Rate. 5. Ate. 6. Me. 7. E. III. R. Ma. 3. Mim
CROWDED DIAMONDS. LEFT-HAND DIAMOND: I. C. 2. Man. (ic). 4. Rice 5. Ace. 6. Me. 7. E. IV. R. 2. Ra (p).
3 Mural. 4. Caribou. 5. Nabit. 6. Lot. 7. U. RIGHT-HAND 3. Ram. 4. Rare. 5. Are. 6. Me. 7. L. V. i. E. 2. Ed.
DIAMOND: 1. B. 2. Dot 3. Laura. 4. Boudoir. 5. Troll. 6 Ail. 3. Eve. 4. Evil. 5. Dim. 6. Em. 7. L.
7. R.
To OUR PUZZLERS: In consequence of advancing the date of issue, hereafter answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must
be received not later than the x5th of each month. Answers should be addressed to ST. NICHOLAS "Riddle-box," care of THE CENTURY
Co., 33 East Seventeenth St., New-York City.
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE MAY NUMBER were received, before May x5, from Maud E. Palmer-Russell Davis-
Grace Kupfer-A. H. R. and M. G. R.-" Blithedale,"--Maggie T. Turrill-K. G. S.-Mamma and Fanny-A. Fiske and Co.-
Francis W. Islip Margaret, Muriel, and Edith Grundy.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE MAY NUMBER were received, before May 15, from F. Boskovoitz, 2-" Piccola, Noel, Arthur, and
Lance," 3-Heliotrope and Mignonette, -" L. E. Nor," 4-Amy F., i --Sister and I, 2-" Venus and Minerva," 0o-Ida Rowland,
i-" Little Buttercup," 2 V. de B., i -" Auntie and I," io-" Odd Fish," 2 -Melanie, I Rose and Oak, i C. O. D., i-Everett
P. Babcock, i -Fred Grabill, i -Tote, 1-"Four Merry Girls," I-" Livy," 2- Louise B. Murphy, i-W. K. C., 4- :i. -. i iE -ii
i Gertrude Allen, i Gertrude L. Sprague, i- Anne Maynard, C. F. H., J. D. H., and Mamma, 9-Ellen S., i-- ..-i f I J' ,
io -" Paul and Virginia," J. F. Entz, r Lou L. B., 4 -Wm. D. Keep, 2-Alvin Barry and Violet, 2 -" May and '79," 6 Helen
and Ed, 4 -" Miss Tommy and Eureka," 8--Effie K. T l. .. 7-"H. S. Nut, Jr.," 5 Patience, 4- Gladys and Kyrle, 5-" One
Third, i -M. E. Plummer, 2-" Cadet 94," I-" St. (Cl. ik.rk," -" Tweedledum and Tweedledee," 2-" -.: .1 i -" Nellie
Bly," o-H. D. H., i- Buff and Rychie, 4-Elise Ripley, 9-R. V. 0., 6-" Three Graces," 2-Scotty, 8 i..-. Burrows, i-
"Lehte," ra-Halle P. Adams, i -Nella ieand Reggie, x Paul Reese, 7-Hester Drayton Boylston, 3-Prince Leo, 6-"Rose,"
I -" Apple-blossom and Sweet-pea," 5-"X.," 4 -" Mrs. Aleshine," 4 Low Henry, 2 -"Triangle," 4 -John G. Ames, Jr., 4- L.
C. B., 8-" Family Kid," 6 -"Professor and Co.," 7-" Ben Zeen," 5 FFodor, 3- Stewart, i -" Scotchie," I P. M. S, 2 M.
F. R., I-" Fanned," 5 Jo and I, 6 Nell R. 7 No Name, Thornton Lodge, 8 Annie Boone, 2 Birdie Koehler, 9-" Solomon
Quill," 7 Q. L., r No name, Brownsville, Tex., 2 Mary A. Cook, i -" Yenoh," Frankfort, 5.


5 2

4 3
I. FROM i to 3, to exhale; from 2 to 4, small Portuguese coins;
from 5 to 3, humble; from 4 to a, a wizard; from 5 to 2, a lake.
II. From i to 3, the subject of many poems; from I to 4, to de-
bate; from 4 to 2, captured; from 5 to j, part of the day; from 5 to
2, a corner; from 3 to 5, mid-day.
III. From i to 3, an animal; from i to 4, an exploit; from 5 to
2, to think; from 3 to 5, a pastoralpipe; from a to 5, recompense.


I. i. AN elaborate discourse. 2. To repay. 3. To expiate. 4.
Harmony. 5. Anger. 6. A preposition. 7. In preposition.
II. i. An arrogant menace. 2. The title of a book by H. H."
3. Friendship. 4. To elect. 5. Some. 6. Half of a valley. 7.In
opera. "DYCIE.


THE second letter of each of the flowers which compose the an-
swer, when added together, will spell a season, part of which comes
in August.
1. The emblem of energy in adversity. Shakespeare has said of
this flower, "The more it is trodden on the faster it grows; yet
youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears."
2. The emblem of faithfid love. It has derived this meaning,
perhaps, from the poet Chaucer, who states that the fair queen Al-
ceste, having sacrificed her life to preserve that of her husband, was
changed into this flower.
3. The emblem of love in absence. This flower was dedicated to

Venus. At Athens it was an emblem of civic ,; .:. ...
the ancients this plant was a great favorite for : i i- ... I r...
and its fragrant, evergreen leaves.
4. This is the emblem of perfect goodness, and it is said to be
sacred to the fairies.
5. The emblem of beanuy anduirit-y. It was consecrated to Isis
and Osiris; and the priestesses of Isis wore wreaths of this flower.
6. The emblem of lwpe. One variety of this flower is the Life
7. The emblem offriendskifi. Thetis, the mother of Achilles, is
represented by the ancients as of dark complexion, with disheveled
hair about her shoulders, and upon her head a coronet of these
flowers. "FLORIST."

EACH of the ten following groups of letters may be transposed so as
to form one word. When these ten words are placed one below an-
other in the order here given, one perpendicular row of letters will
spell aword meaning the science of instruction, and anotherrow will
spell a word meaning teachers of children.
I. I M P R P E.
2. DEE M SP A T.
3. DE SI G A B.
4. D E AR T 0 M E.
5. SA P G R E E D.
6. I T A U C 0 U S.
8. R I T U N J 0 E.
9. C R ITRE E.
10. D E E P S I D S.
i. To EXTORT by violence. 2. A term used in heraldry. 3. An
ant. 4. Wasted. 5. A musical term meaning that all the singers
or players shall perform together. EUREKA.




'. '' ri.- -

.S., m .. .^ .'m.,, ... "-a-- '

numbered. -
.... --I : -_ .___.

,',' ,,'-. ,-, -. .S
LAC!oft hetwentylittlepctures.intheabov illustration s t, nme.f a fh N


r. UNFURNISHED." 2. Minute ; i .1-- One of the books of the
Bible. 4. To proceed from. T. 1..- 6. A horse. 7. A
whirlpool. CYRIL DEANE.

a small poisonous insect from enclosing, and leave to adhere. 6.
Take quick from the heading of a chapter, and leave a young shoot.
7. Take an edge from slid, and leave hastened. 8. Take a number
from an omen of ill, and leave a harbor. 9. Take to mistake from a
boat, and leave for what reason. to. Take a fragment from to de-
scribe, and leave to supplicate. in. Take a cave from an animal of
a certain class, and leave to decay.
All of the words removed consist of the same number of letters.
When these have been rightly guessed, and placed one below the
other, in the order here given, the central row of letters will spell the
name of a notorious character in the French revolution, who was
executed on August 28th, 1794. "ANNA CONDOR."

I AM composed of sixty-nine letters, and am a familiar couplet
from Pope's "Essay on Man." .
My 37-14-66-21-2-18-59 is to salute with kindness. My 48-30-25- *
55-39 is to utter with a quavering of voice. My 44-42-34-6 is to cry
loudly. My 50-3-56-68-8 was a woman of ancient times who was
noted for her beauty. My 41-50-46-t6 is a period of.time.. My -' v 4'
11-54-65-9-27-1-6T-20-24 is courage. My 13-63-23-32-577-4-4- '
64-10 is enormous. My 35-40-12-29 is a tribe. My 60-28-19-38 is a
stone for sharpening razors. My 62-5-36-52-31-49-67-22-43-69 is '
nourishing. My 15-x7-3-26 may be seen near the altar in many .
churches. My 58-33-7-45 is a pile. "V. IRGIL."

I. BEHEAD a valley, and leave a beverage. 2. Behead a fruit, and ACROSS: I. A recent wonderful discovery. 2. Substantial. 3. An
leave to roam. 3. Behead close, and leave part of the head. 4. illness. 4. The Greek goddess of youth. 5. Once in two years.
Behead to degrade, and leave the lower part of a column. 5. Be- 6. Mental pangs. 7. A bivalve i. \, ... i ..., TI since, 9. A
head said, and leave venerable. .6. Behead a kind of wood, and leave character in the Merchant of : -.- 'i. t is greatly
emaciated. 7. Behead a large basin, and leave to assert. 8. Behead benefited by the discovery named in the first cross-word.
a frolic, and leave an ancient ship. 9. Behead public, and leave an CENTRALS (reading downward) first row, unpitying; second row,
inclosure. an eastern country and one of its inhabitants.
The beheaded letters will spell the name of a great Italian sculptor. DOWNWARD: I. In pushing, 2. A verb. 3. The Christian name
"ODD FISH." of the hero of one of Burns's poems. 4. A territory of the United
States. 5 (right-hand side of central rows). A girl's nickname.
WORD SYNCOPATIONS. 6. Joyous. 7. A boy's nickname. 8. In pushing.
DOWNWARD (beginning with the first letter of the last row) : In
i. TAKi. :f .1. r, n .: ,r..1 ,-, ..1..r i 1. li... r, ... pushing. 2. A prefix meaning "double." 3. A covering for the
2. Take .,i.. ,i- ii.l1l ... I....,.,., .. I .. I. I. .. ,,I I .1' head. 4.A sac. 5 (right-hand side of central rows). A carte du
to decline I. ... i ., l ... .1 1- ii- l. ,lil ..i I. I.1 i j I .1 jour. 6. A title. 7. A giantking slain by the Jews under Moses.
part ofa -h Ir I ., J.r .l:. ..1. 3 1..:. c I ..:..:.j..I ..,4u I I 8. In pushing. GERTRUDE.



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