Front Cover
 Tib Tyler's beautiful mother
 What mother says
 The whistler
 Dante and the young Florentine
 An old sea-beach
 The boyhood of William Dean...
 A boy's ideas of travel
 Juan and Juanita
 September - Fiddle-John's...
 Christ's hospital; or, The "blue-coat...
 The song of the bee
 Historic girls
 Ready for business; or, Choosing...
 Fairy gold - A riddle
 The battle of Gettysburg
 The Brownies at archery
 About humming-birds
 For middle-aged little folks
 A real Mother-Goose-rhyme
 The first paper canoe
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover


St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00189
 Material Information
Title: St. Nicholas
Uniform Title: St. Nicholas (New York, N.Y.)
Portion of title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner
Place of Publication: New York
Publication Date: -c1943
Frequency: monthly
Subjects / Keywords: Children's literature -- Periodicals   ( lcsh )
Genre: periodical   ( marcgt )
serial   ( sobekcm )
Dates or Sequential Designation: -v. 67, no. 4 (Feb. 1940) ; v. 70, no. 1 (Mar. 1943)-v. 70, no. 4 (June 1943).
Dates or Sequential Designation: Began with: Vol. 1, no. 1, Nov. 1873.
Numbering Peculiarities: Suspended Mar. 1940-Feb. 1943; vols. 68-69 omitted.
Issuing Body: Published by: Century, Aug. 1881- ; by Educational Pub. Corp. -1940; by St. Nicholas Magazine, 1943.
General Note: Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
General Note: Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: oclc - 01764817
lccn - 04012675
System ID: UF00065513:00189
 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
    Tib Tyler's beautiful mother
        Page 802
        Page 803
        Page 804
        Page 805
        Page 806
        Page 807
        Page 808
        Page 809
    What mother says
        Page 810
        Page 811
    The whistler
        Page 812
    Dante and the young Florentine
        Page 813
    An old sea-beach
        Page 814
        Page 815
        Page 816
    The boyhood of William Dean Howells
        Page 817
        Page 818
        Page 819
    A boy's ideas of travel
        Page 820
    Juan and Juanita
        Page 821
        Page 822
        Page 823
        Page 824
        Page 825
        Page 826
    September - Fiddle-John's family
        Page 827
        Page 828
        Page 829
        Page 830
        Page 831
        Page 832
        Page 833
        Page 834
        Page 835
    Christ's hospital; or, The "blue-coat school"
        Page 836
        Page 837
        Page 838
        Page 839
        Page 840
        Page 841
        Page 842
        Page 843
        Page 844
    The song of the bee
        Page 845
    Historic girls
        Page 846
        Page 847
        Page 848
        Page 849
        Page 850
    Ready for business; or, Choosing an occupation
        Page 851
        Page 852
        Page 853
    Fairy gold - A riddle
        Page 854
    The battle of Gettysburg
        Page 855
        Page 856
        Page 857
        Page 858
        Page 859
        Page 860
        Page 861
        Page 862
        Page 863
        Page 864
    The Brownies at archery
        Page 865
        Page 866
        Page 867
    About humming-birds
        Page 868
        Page 869
    For middle-aged little folks
        Page 870
    A real Mother-Goose-rhyme
        Page 871
        Page 872
        Page 873
    The first paper canoe
        Page 874
        Page 875
    The letter-box
        Page 876
        Page 877
        Page 878
    The riddle-box
        Page 879
        Page 880
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text

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(SEE PAGE 804.)





[Copyright, 1887, by THE CENTURY CO.]



ALL the girls were out on the steps of the Ocean
House at Burton Beach, waiting to see Tib Tyler's
mother. They were girls whose ages ranged from
twelve to fourteen and fifteen-girls, you under-
stand, not young ladies. Tib herself was thirteen.
Her name was Elizabeth, but a little sister had
twisted the long.name into Libbet and Tibbet, and
by and by it had run into Tib. Tib was a nice
girl and a nice-looking girl, a little spoiled, older
people used to say, because she got so much at-
tention. This attention came from her mother's
many friends and acquaintances. Mrs. Tyler was
very popular and very handsome. She was thirty
years old, but she looked twenty. I suppose thirty
years may seem a, great age to the twelve and
thirteen-year-olds who -read this. But if you had
seen Mrs. Prince Tyler, you would think differ-
ently. Tall and slender and graceful, she used
to come down the hotel piazza, with a lovely smile
on her lips; and people who had n't seen her
before would say, Who.is that lovely:girl ?" .
All who knew her, were attracted to Mrs. Prince
Tyler. Her husband's name was Norman Prince
Tyler, and Mrs. Tyler's greatest: admirers anid
friends used often to call her the Princess of
"Tib's a lucky girl, I think, to have such a
mother," said one of the girls who were waiting,
the day that I speak of, to see Mrs. Tyler, who
was coming back to the beach after a fortnight's
visit at Saratoga.
"Lucky?- why?" suddenly asked a new-
comer, who had not yet seen the Princess of
For full three seconds Emily Waring, who had

just made her emphatic statement of Tib's luck,
stared at little Clarry Evanston before answering,
then she broke out still more emphatically:
"Well, it 's clear that you are a late arrival,
Miss Clarry Evanston, and that you don't know
about things. Lucky ? would n't you think it was
lucky to be made much of by everybody, because
you had a mother that was-well, like a sort of
queen ? Now, would n't you ?"
"I -I don't know," said- Glarry.,
Oh! cried the whole flock: of girls at this.
The color flushed Clarry's face a deep pink.
"They think I am envious and jealous," she
thought.. This thought gave her courage to ex-
plain to say shyly:
I- I was thinking I should care -should. be
so proud of her, that I should n't should n't
thihk, of any attentions to myself."
Jenny Marshall, a tall gir1:of fourteen, nodded
her head'approvingly, and said quickly.:
"Yes, of course,-anybody.'d be proud of her.
Oh, she's such a darling!" 'enthusiastically. "She's
just as sweet to us: girls, every one of us, as she is
to grown-up.people."..
It was just at this moment that they heard the
roll of carriages and omnibuses coming up the road,
or street; arid a moment after, with a great clatter,
a landau came wheeling around the curve, and
they saw a girl's head leaning forward out of the
window, nodding gayly to them.
They would have cried, "How-d'ye-do, Tib ?"
then and there, if Tib had been alone; but over and
above Tib's head beamed the face of the beautiful
Princess of Normandy.
Clarry Evanston drew in a deep breath-a


No. ii.


breath of delighted admiration. So this was Tib's
mamma. She stood back a little, and watched
the others,- saw the girls flock forward, and two
or three who were on the piazza, jump up and
run down the steps,-all to speak with, to assist
if they could, that charming creature who sat
smiling at them from the landau. She gave her
bag to one, her umbrella to another, her book
and her shawl to this hand and that, outstretched
with proffers of service. Then the whole troop
followed her in, and one asked for her room-key,
and one offered to fetch this and another to fetch
that, fully repaid, it seemed, by the sweet smiles
she bestowed, and the word or two of thanks.
That night, after supper, Clarry wrote home to
her mother the following letter, which will explain
a number of things to the reader:
DEAR MOTHER: I received the pretty little jacket and the hat
this morning, by express. The jacket is lovely, and so is the hat.
Mrs. Needham says it's the prettiest hat here, and when I told her
you trimmed it, she could hardly believe it. She says she does n't
see how you ever find time to do such work, but I told her you made
time to do everything for everybody; and so you do, dear Mammy.
Mrs. Needham told me to tell you that I am no trouble at all to her,
so you see you need n't worry about that and-think you must hurry
away for that reason. But I do wish you were here, Mammy;
everything is so lovely; and oh, Mammy! there came to-night the
sweetest, prettiest lady you ever saw. She has a daughter about
my age. They call her Tib, and I think I shall like her very much.
I know I shall like her mother,- everybody does. Give my love
to grandmother, and come as soon as you can to
Your loving daughter,

The next afternoon Clarry had just left her room
and was going down the corridor, when she heard
some one call out:
Have you a button-hook ?"
She went toward the open doorway from which
the voice proceeded, and saw Tib Tyler sitting on
the floor in front of a little girl on a big sofa. And
she was trying with her fingers to button a pair of
overshoes on the little friend who had come to her
for help before going to dig in the damp sand. Tib
looked up as she caught sight of Clarry.
Oh, I thought it was Emily Waring, but never
mind,-have you a button-hook to lend me?"
Clarry ran back and soon returned with the
hook, and in three minutes after the two girls
were in the full swing of girl-chat, getting ac-
quainted famously.
Tib buttoned the little girl's boots and sent her
away happy, and then proceeded to do something
that astonished Clarry. This was to sew on to the
front of her jacket a fresh set of buttons. The
buttons were silk, and it was by no means a task
that a girl of thirteen is generally appointed to do.
Tib saw Clarry's look of astonishment, and said,
"I 'm Jack at all trades. If I had to wait for
Felice, I should wait till doomsday."
"Is Felice your nurse?"

"My nurse! A great, tall thing like me with
nurse! No, she's the maid-Mamma's maid
mostly. But ladies have to have so many things
done for them, you know "
Clarry murmured a feeble assent. But she
did n't know anything of the kind. Her experience
had n't been wide; it was confined almost entirely
to her. own mother, who never seemed to have
much done for her. But, then, with a beautiful prin-
cess like Mrs. Tyler-of course it was different.
While Clarry was thinking this, Tib was sewing on
her buttons and running on in a ceaseless chatter.
"Your name is n't only Clarry?-oh, Clarissa!
What an old-fashioned name You were named for
your mother, eh? I was named for an aunt. My
mother's name is Edith. I call her Edith, myself,
sometimes. She does n't mind she laughs she
likes it. Mamma and I are great chums-like
sisters. I have a real sister, though; she 's with
the nurse at Grandma's; it costs too much for us
all to come here. Is that the reason your mother
is n't here ?"
Oh, no, I don't think so answered Clarry.
"My mother went to see my grandmother first,
because Grandmother is n't very well, and the two
boys, my brothers, are with her. I needed sea
air, the doctor said, so Mother sent me here in
Mrs. Needham's care."
"Tib, Tib,--Tibby," called a musical voice,
"There 's Mamma, now, and Felice is away,
I 'm almost sure. Come with me; we'll all go
dcwn together in a minute."
So into the presence of the beautiful Princess,
Clarry was thus summarily taken. The Princess
smiled in her sweetest manner, and captivated
Clarry anew by saying:
Oh, I remember this face, and this fluffy,
yellow hair! She is like our Margie, Tib; I
thought so at once when I saw her last night."
Clarry felt as if she had heard the greatest of
compliments, and looked up in unspeakable admi-
ration into the soft, dark eyes that were smiling
down at her.
Tib, in the meantime, was taking Felice's place,
doing all sorts of little toilet services, in the most
matter-of-course way. Clarry looked on in amaze-
ment. It seemed almost as if Tib and her mother
had changed places in their relationship; Tib
being the active little mamma, and Mrs. Tyler the
dependent daughter. Clarry herself was not an
idle girl at home; she had certain duties assigned
to her which she never tried to shirk; but Tib
did n't appear to have any special duties; she was,
as she had said, "Jack at all trades," and a gen-
erally useful person.
But if Clarry was amazed, she was also amused,




and especially so when Tib, at the last moment
before they left the room, said:
"0 Mamma don't carry that blue shawl; take
the white one with gold stripes." Tib, it seemed,

mandy had arrived, to dazzle and suggest with her
numerous toilets !
When next Clarry wrote to her mother, there
was this little sentence in her letter:

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"The ladies dress so
beautifully here Mrs.
Tyler has a wonderful
polonaise, like a picture,
made out of a brocade
worked with pearls, that
was her great-aunt's.
Couldn'tyou get Grand-
mother to let you have
that pretty old corn-col-
ored brocade that she
used to wear when she
was young?"
"What has come over
the child ?" exclaimed
Grandmother Evanston
as she read this sentence
in Clarry's letter. "I
hope she is n't getting
her head turned with
these fine fiddle-faddles,
SOh no, my Clarry is
too sensible for that,"
said Clarry's Mamma.
"But, Clarissa, if you
would like my corn-col-
ored brocade, you are
welcome to it."
Mrs. Evanston replied
with a laugh. "Oh no,
Grandma, it is n't at all
suited to me. Clarry
has a child's idea of
things, and I thought
you 'd be amused by it,
that's all."
Mrs. Evanston the
elder shook her head.
It looks to me, Claris-
sa, as if Clarry was get-
ting something more
than a child's idea-
that she was getting the
idea of fashion and
"Oh, no, no; I can
trust my Clarry."
Grandmother Evan-

had a very clear idea of clothes, not only for herself ston shook her head. This was Tuesday. On
'but for her mother. And what lovely clothes this Tuesday night Mrs. Evanston wrote to Clarry that
lovely mamma did wear And really what lovely she might expect to see her Wednesday,- that she
clothes everybody wore since the Princess of Nor- would come in the afternoon train.




When the distant rumble of the carriages and
omnibuses reached Clarry's ears at five o'clock the
next afternoon, she ran down the steps of the piazza,
out upon the verge of the avenue, to catch the first
glimpse of her mother, so excited was she. The
little knot of girls left on the piazza laughed as
her fluff of light hair blew out, and her hat blew
off in her speed. First one carriage and then
another rolled up and past Clarry, but her mother
was in neither. Oh, what had hindered her,
what had happened? But presently the omnibus
loomed in sight. Nothing had happened, but
her mother had come up in that, instead of in a
carriage. As the driver saw Clarry's eager face,
he stopped for her to get in, and for a moment
the vague chagrin and disappointment she had
felt that her mother had come up in a common
omnibus, instead of a fine shining landau, was
forgotten, in the delight of greeting the dear
All the little group of girls were waiting, eager
and curious, as the big lumbering vehicle stopped
at the piazza steps.
They saw, not another Princess of Normandy,
but a small, thin little lady, with brown hair, turn-
ing gray beneath her simple gray straw bonnet.
There was nothing stylish about her, either in her
air or her dress. She-smiled a little upon the group
of girls, but that was all. She did not stop, as
Mrs. Tyler would have done, with some sweetly
toned remark, or question if these were her Tib's
friends; and the girls, accustomed as they had
become to Mrs. Tyler's manner, glanced at one
another with vague disappointment.
Not much like -" began Emily Waring a mo-
ment later, when a "hush !" from Tib made her
turn to see Clarry coming back for a hand-bag
that had been left behind. Of course all the girls'
faces wore a look of embarrassment at this crisis,
and Clarry saw it and felt it. She had heard, too,
those unfortunate words, Not much like-" and
divined at once what Emily was preparing to
say,- that the new-comer was not much like Mrs.
At first a feeling of resentment took posses-
sion of Clarry's mind. Her dear "mammy" was
better than anybody, and not to be compared with
anybody, either. But that night, when she waited
while her mother made certain little alterations in
her toilet before going down to dinner, she thought,
"If Mother would only crimp her hair and put it
up high, she would look nicer "; and with Clarry,
" nicer meant, just then, more fashionable. But
the dear mammy did not crimp her hair, nor
put it up high, neither did she wear diamonds nor
grand gowns like Mrs. Tyler and the gay throng
of ladies who followed in Mrs. Tyler's train and

made such a brilliant show. Her hair rippled
softly away from its parting, and was gathered
into a great knot at the back, and her gown was a
pale gray, made very simply, and trimmed here
and there with fine lace. Clarry did not know how
fine this lace was, then.
As she walked through the big hall and into the
dining-room with Clarry's hand in hers, Clarry
noticed that one and another glanced up at the
gray-clad figure with a look of scrutiny. Were
they thinking as Emily Waring had thought?
Were they comparing her-these grown-up peo-
ple, as Emily Waring had compared her--with
Mrs. Tyler?
* The days. slipped by after this in an odd, dis-
jointed sort of fashion with Clarry. She loved the
dear mammy "; there was nobody like her, of
course. But Clarry had entered a new life, before
her mother arrived, which held her and fascinated
her,- a new life where her mother had no part.
"You don't mind, do you, Mother dear, if I
wait with the other girls for Tib and her mamma
to go into lunch ? Tib wants us all at her table
this noon"; or, Mammy dear, Mrs. Tyler asked
me if I would drive with her and Tib to-night.
May I ?" were some of the propositions that Clarry
seemed constantly putting to her mother; and her
mother appeared to be quite willing that Clarry
should take her pleasure in her own way, and
offered no objection to any of these propositions.
There came at last a great occasion at the
hotel,-a concert and grand reception, which was
to be followed by a dance for young and old.
And, 0 Mammy I do wish you had Grand-
ma's beautiful old brocade," said Clarry, regret-
fully, as she st6od at her mother's bureau drawer,
looking over the laces and gloves.
But I have something much more suitable for
me .than Grandma's brocade, dear"; and Mrs.
Evanston lifted from her trunk a pearl-gray silk,
trimmed with white lace.
To Clarry, who had been dazzled for the last
few weeks by elaborate combination-gowns of
various hues and fabrics gorgeously trimmed and
set off by gold cord and fringe and feathers mixed
bewilderingly with lace, this soft, modest pearl-
gray gown looked old-womanish and old-fashioned,
and she gave utterance to something of this feeling
to her mother.
Mrs. Evanston smiled a little. Yes, I know
how you feel-how it seems to you now, Clarry;
but gay gowns are not suited to me, my dear."
It was a very pretty scene that greeted the eyes
of mother and daughter as they went down into
the hall together that night of the festival. All
the rooms were opened as far as the wide doors
would admit, and festoons of greenery and flowers



and potted plants and bright-colored lanterns
gave an enchanted aspect to everything. They
were early, and thus had the advantage of see-
ing the brightly dressed women,--not only of their
hotel, but from the other hotels,-come trooping in.
Oh, it is like Fairyland !" whispered Clarry,
squeezing her mother's hand as the music struck
up; and down the long hall the festoons waved, and
the lanterns swung over the heads of the people.

--; I

CI t NIj Ii; IJ

ter than Tib, and Tib looks much more as if she
belonged to that little Mrs. Evanston."
Clarry had looked up at this, half pleased, half
ashamed and resentful. In a mirror she saw her
mother, from whom she had strayed away, stand-
ing talking earnestly with a tall, awkward-looking
man. Mrs. Evanston had a little defect in her
figure-an unevenness of shoulder, which showed
very distinctly when she stood in certain positions.

,7h ',;

I;,,, { f&

______ lu''' dlv'


The band gave its brilliant little concert, as a sort
of overture, then came what the ladies called a
reception, where two or three of those who had
come to the place the earliest received the others
and welcomed the invited guests from the outside.
Mrs. Tyler was the queen of these receiving
hostesses; she easily looked the queen in her
beautiful white silk dress, set off by Jacqueminot
roses, and with diamonds sparkling at her ears and
throat. Clarry, more charmed than ever by all
this beauty of appearance, hovered about her as a
bee hovers about a flower. More than one,.observ-
ing the two as they stood thus near each other,
had remarked not only upon Mrs. Tyler's beauty,
but upon Clarry's also. At last, Clarry overheard
some one say:
"She looks much more like Mrs. Tyler's daugh-

It showed very distinctly as Clarry looked at her,
and became for the moment a deformity, Clarry
hated herself even then, as she allowed her eyes
to stray to another reflection, that of Mrs. Tyler,
tall, straight, and beautiful, whose companion just
then was a tall, straight, and handsome man -an
elegant, distinguished looking man, Clarrythought.
"Of course my mother is the best mother in the
world," said the girl to herself; "and I could n't
love her any more if she was as beautiful as Mrs.
Tyler; but if she only would wear prettier clothes
like-like-" and Clarry's eyes wandered to the
gay raiment and jewels that shone under the chan-
delier; and perhaps she said to herself, also, as she
looked at her mother's awkward companion, and
at Mrs. Tyler's elegant cavalier, "If her friends,.
too, were only like -like-" It was while she


was thinking these very thoughts, half ashamed all
the time, that a gay, light tinkle of girlish voices fell
upon her ear, and one of the voices suddenly said:
Oh, here she is! "
Clarry turned quickly and saw the smiling faces
of two new acquaintances-- girls she had met in
her search after wild flowers during the past week.
Clarry was very proud of these new acquaintances,
for they were not only, by every external sign,
charming, well-bred girls, but they were the daugh-
ters of a very distinguished literary man.
As she responded to their cordial exclamations,
the elder and taller of the two, Esther Meredith
by name, bent forward, after a moment, and
Introduce us to your mother, do; she is too
Clarry was standing at the left, and a little in
front of Mrs. Tyler, and caught with these words
the double glance that included her with the beau-
tiful woman beside her-the double glance of
admiration that put her for the moment on the
same pedestal of distinction and glory.
Her mother! She looked up at the tall and
stately woman whose shining robes almost touched
her. She began even then to say, "This is
not-" when Mrs. Tyler caught her look,--it was
a strange, confused look,-and noticing at the
same time the admiring faces of the two new-
comers, she said to Clarry:
What is it, my little girl? Are these some new
friends of yours ? "
Clarry's heart beat hard and fast. Mrs. Tyler
had called her "my little girl." It seemed to her
so awkward, so difficult, so impolite, so forward,
to make denial, or explanation now -she could do
that later. Thus, in the flash of a moment, Clarry,
confused and nonplused, without saying, "This
is not my mother," merely repeated the names
of her new friends; and after that moment, how
strangely changed everything seemed The band
played, the flower odors came up from the garden,
the garlands and flags swung, and people laughed
and talked just the same-just the same, but
nothing seemed the same to Clarry. The flutes
and violins, the flying garlands and flags, the
very voices of the people appeared to Clarry to
carry reproach and accusation. She had virtually
denied her mother, that dear, good, sweet mother,
and all because of her own foolish vanity. To be
sure, it was done tacitly. She had simply allowed
her girl acquaintances to be deceived by their own
mistake for the time. Any one might have done
this in the haste, the confusion- might have for-
gotten-might have- But no, no, no; these ar-
guments Clarry very well knew were untruthful
excuses, every one. Though swiftly, she yet had

done the thing deliberately; though there was
haste and confusion, there was no forgetfulness.
She had been ashamed of her mother almost from
the first, since she had seen her beside these gay and
fashionable people-this beautiful Mrs: Tyler. As
she thought this, Mrs. Tyler's sweet voice was say-
ing to the two young girls:
"And your father is here-ah, my dears, I have
always wanted to know your father. Where is he ?
Bring him to me-but no, take me to him."
Esther, the taller of the girls, turned and looked
about her for a moment, then exclaimed:
Oh, there he is, talking to that lady in gray."
Clarry followed the direction of the speaker's
eyes. Could it be that "the lady in gray" she
spoke of was her own mother? Could it be that
the tall, awkward-looking man was the distin-
guished scholar and poet she had heard so much
about? Could it be? Yes; for the next moment
there he was, returning the little familiar smile and
nod of his daughter, and in another moment Clarry
felt herself swept forward in the train of Mrs. Tyler.
For a second she had held back, had tried to drop
behind the rest and escape; for, oh, how could she
face her new friends with her little acted lie strik-
ing back upon her so suddenly? But Mrs. Tyler's
hand was upon her shoulder in a light but firm
pressure, and there was no escape for her then.
She heard, as in a dream, the great man's daugh-
ter's voice presenting Mrs. Tyler as Mrs. Evanston,
Clarry Evanston's mother; then she heard a light
ripple of laughter, and Mrs. Tyler herself contra-
dicting the mistake, and'then her own mother's,
Mrs. Evanston's, sweet voice saying softly:
"Ah, here is my daughter. I thought you had
forsaken me, Clarry." '
Forsaken her! The playful words struck Clarry
like a knife.
The next instant the "tall, awkward-looking
man" was holding Clarry's hand 7? her mother
"This is my daughter." C Il! r, eyes fell; when
she raised them she met the searching, surprised
gaze of her new girl-acquaintance. As the older
people began talking, leaving the younger people
to themselves, the girl said suddenly to Clarry:
I thought that lady was your mother," indi-
cating Mrs. Tyler.
"No-no !" faltered Clarry.
But you introduced her as your mother."
I did not contradict you, that was all. I I-"
A look of distress came into Clarry's face, her
eyes filled, her mouth began to twitch.
Come into the garden," said her companion,
in a low voice; "you must n't cry here." And
taking Clarry by the hand, she slipped away with
her, unnoticed by the rest of the party. The




tears and sobs were coming thick and fast as they
neared the little summer-house at the foot of the
Clarry never knew how it came about-how she
ever had the trust or the courage to do what she
did to tell of all her foolish vanity, her meanness
and wickedness, to this new girl-acquaintance

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

-_ -


whom she had been so proud to know. But she p<
seemed urged on by a desire in some way to ex- d(
piate her offense, to humiliate herself before the
very person she had deceived. Of course this beau- til
tiful Esther Meredith would despise her, would turn
away from her, when she found how unworthy she he
was; but that too would be part of her expiation, st
of her punishment, and she went on to the bitter yc
end. But what was that she heard then? Was m
Esther--this grave, tall, dignified Esther-crying fir
too ? Her own tears ceased to flow in her surprise.
"What is it? why are you crying, Esther?" she th
asked. sa
"Because I am so sorry for you -because I se
pity you so."
"Oh, Esther! you don't hate me and despise pi
me? M
VOL. XIV.-60.

" No, I don't hate and despise you, because you
ite yourself for what you have clone. If you
d n't, I should n't be sorry for you I should
t care for you."
" Oh, Esther you care for me now ? "
Esther bent down and silently kissed the face
turned to hers. For a few minutes the girls sat
hand in hand without speaking, then
Clarry said: If I could tell my mother
and she should understand as you do,
and forgive me, I should feel as if I had
dropped a great load."
Then Esther lifted up her sweet,
thoughtful young face.
S "Of course, your mother would for-
give you; but, Clarry, I think it is mean,
sometimes, to pack off our hurts upon
somebody else. I think that it is part
of the punishment that we must take,
S part of the penalty that we must pay
for wrong-doing, sometimes, not to drop
our load on another's shoulders, but to
4 bear it ourselves, and say nothing. I
S don't think you have any right to hurt
your mother by telling her this."
And it is n't deceitful not to tell? "
No, it is n't deceitful to hold back
from hurting a person needlessly; and
you are truly sorry for what you did."
"But when Mamma speaks to me,
i- and trusts me just the same without a
'. suspicion that I have been so-so
mean, oh i what shall I do, Esther ?"
"Bear it; that is part of your pen-
alty," said sixteen-year-old Esther in a
proud young voice.
"Clarry! Clarry! Whereare you?-
they want you."
It was Tib's high, shrill voice that
called. "Oh, here you are in this
oky little mosquito-box! Come into the house,
o; we 're going to dance."
"But where have you been all the evening
.1 now, Tib? asked Clarry.
"With Felice. Felice has one of her sick
headaches. Somebody has to be with her, so I
aid; Mamma could n't. But good-bye. I'll tell
)ur mother you are coming. She is waiting for
e to find you. She did n't want you to lose the
*st dance."
Both Clarry and Esther thought the same
oughts as they followed Tib; but Esther only
id, So that is Mrs. Tyler's daughter! she
ems like a little mother instead of a daughter."
When the girls came into the bright light of the
arlor, the sets for the Lanciers were forming.
rs. Tyler stood at the head of one of the sets,



radiant and youthful-looking. Esther and Clarry
waited for a moment on the threshold to look at
her. As they stood thus, a voice that seemed to
Clarry the sweetest that she had ever heard said,
just behind them:
I am so glad you have come back I wished
you not to miss the dance."
Clarry turned. But where are you going,
Mammy? "
I 'm going up to sit with poor Felice, who is
ill. Tib has just left her, and I told her that she
need n't go back again, for I would sit with
Felice for the rest of the evening."
When Mrs. Evanston passed out of hearing,

Esther Meredith, with a laughing light in her eyes,
said half mockingly, but with an under-current of
earnestness :
If one could have two mothers I might choose,
for one of them,- society queen like Mrs. Tyler;
but for only one mother, I should choose Mrs.
Evanston." Then, with great energy,-" She's
a darling, Clarry, and see that you deserve her.
But, oh, listen to that lovely music-turn, turn,
titum,"-and Esther flung her arm around Clarry
and waltzed with her down the room. And Clarry,
as she kept time and step, seemed to hear in the
sweet notes of the flutes and fiddles, Esther's tender
admonition: "See that you deserve her "


_. II
- sL~. /

-I I,- -~~



NOw here 's a hand-glass, let me try
If I can this time see
Just one of all those funny things
My mother sees in me.

She says my eyes are violets,-
And what she says is true,-
But I think they are just two eyes;
Don't they look so to you ?

She says my lips are cherries red,
And makes believe take a bite;
They never look like that to me,-
But Mother's always right.




She says each cheek is like a rose;
And this I surely know,
I never would believe it,-but
What Mother says is so.

She says my teeth are shining pearls;
Now that 's so very queer,
If some folks said it, why, I'd think,-
But then, 't was Mother dear.

I only see a little girl,
With hair that 's rather wild,
Who has two eyes, a nose, and mouth,
Like any other child.





Do You know why this bird is called the
It flies so fast that it makes its wings fairly
whistle through the air !
The gunner, waiting in ambush, can tell of its
approach by the shrill sound, and can get ready
and take his position before it comes within
This bird has many other names besides the
Golden Eye, Great Head, and Spirit Duck are
some of them.
The Indians gave it the last name, because it
allows the hunter to come very near it, and then
before he can twang his bow, the duck has van-
ished below the water.
This frightens the superstitious Indian. He
thinks that such rapidity of motion can only be
due to magic, and shudders at the thought that
he has tried to shoot a spirit.

This bird has another strange habit. It builds
its nest in the top of a tall dead tree, so old and
worn that the bark and branches have fallen off,
leaving only a slippery pole.
Nobody knows how the tender young ducklings
get from the nest to the water.
Legend says that the mother bird carries her
babies herself, holding them by the bill, and sup-
porting them by her strong neck until she places
them safely in the water. No wonder that the
ignorant Indians think her an enchanted spirit.
When these birds are alarmed, they make a
strange note, which sounds.like the constantly
recurring good note of an old worn-out hurdy-
gurdy; such a one as is played by old women at
street corners, and is so weak with long use that
only the one goodnote can be heard at any distance.
The Whistler feeds on all sorts of marine insects
and small shell-fish, and in some regions is so dainty
as to prefer salmon spawn above all other food.

-- ---~--

F --tsrk

~~a -aSiSrTr

.~~i--~--; -~-----;i~---% _a- .- -.t .;-- .
Wr-~ T ~ -

17- -L
- -~J3 ~ _--rr -:
-~ '-S- ~ -


_;-- -- __L-~-=~.
j --------




WHEN Arnolfo Lapo was building the church of Maria del Fiore-
In the century of Dante begun, and finished only in ours -
Slowly the great cathedral grew up to the shape of its glory,
Wonder of architects' art and crown of the City of Flowers.

S Block after block was lifted by chains that were strained at their
j. ^ With creak and rattle and groan, the ponderous burden to bear;
SHour after hour, on a stone, in the days when the hours are the
S Dante the poet sat near, as the blocks were swung up through the air.

He with his deep-set eyes, of care and of foresight saddened,
Watched the toilers at work, as ants in an ant-hill that swarm,
Knew them for brothers and souls, and the spirit of Dante was gladdened,
As slowly before him the building began to take substance and form.

Even as the owl of Minerva, by brightness of sunshine blinded,
Sat on his bough and mused, while around him the pert little birds
Hopped and fluttered and pecked him- the Florentines frivolous-minded,
Seeing the poet so grave, mocked at Dante with foolish words.

Once as he sat and pondered, a citizen idle and youthful
Paused in passing, and spoke to him thus: Messer Dante, I beg
You of your grace to declare me the name of the very best mouthful."
Dante looked up from his thoughts, and replied to the question: "An egg."

Almost we may sec the swift smile, as a taciturn image of laughter,
Curving the subtle red lips of the youth while his lids veil the keen
Almond-shaped Florentine eyes, as he.passed with no thought of it after,
Leaving alone on his slab the poet, majestic, serene.

All through the course of a year had the builders been busy together,
Setting each block in its place as the master, Arnolfo, had planned;
Month after month, week by week, day by day, in the storm or fair weather,
Massive the structure arose which through centuries was destined to stand.

At the end of the year, as before, on his slab sat the poet to ponder,
Again did the Florentine youth approach him and come to a halt:
SMaster, with what?" was his question; and quick, without waiting or wonder,
Dante looked up from his thoughts, and replied to the question: "With salt."



IT is a long way from the ocean now, but still
it is the sea-shore for all that; the sand and silt
and shells and sea-weeds are all there, turned
to stone to be sure, but still telling a story as
plainly as a printed page. It is a sort of a dead
language, however, in which the history of this old
shore is written: obscure and puzzling, but one
which we may understand if we will.
I think that all who walk in the fields, or climb
the hills, or look at the rocky cliffs, ought to know
something about them; it is a shame not to know
the names of the flowers and plants and trees that
we see every day; not to be able to name the
birds; not to know a moth from a butterfly; and
to walk for miles over slabs of fossil sea-weeds,
and to know nothing and to think nothing of the
maze of tangled marks that we see in every stone
of the sidewalk.
It seems strange, and it is hard to realize, but
we know that nearly all the land we see was at
one time covered by the ocean, and that the rocks
were formed by the sand and sediment settling to
the bottom; all the shell-fish and animals and sea-
weeds sank down, and were buried with the rest.
Then, after long ages, the land was slowly lifted
up by some force, and the ocean receded, and left
the muddy bottom bare, and the sun and wind
dried it up, and, as it dried, the mud shrank and
cracked, making the seams and crevices and fissures
that we see in the rocks. Of course, it took an
immense number of years, of drying and freezing,
of heat and cold, of rain and ice, and of immense
pressure to turn all those great mud deposits into
rock. A deposit of sand and mud forty thousand
feet deep for that is about the thickness of the
Silurian rocks. So the geologists tell us.
The pressure that helped to turn these old
mud-banks to rock was of three kinds: First,
that of gravity, downward, the weight of the mass;
second, the pressure upward, caused by the great
heat of the interior of the earth ; and third, the
lateral pressure brought about by the shrinking
and contracting of the mass as it slowly dried up
and turned from mud and sand to layers of solid
I want to take you out for a walk over this old
sea-beach, for, although it is away inland, I am very
sure that the ocean once rolled and thundered
along its rocky shores. It was a very long time
ago, and there have been mighty changes since

The rocks here at Palatine Bridge, on the
Mohawk river, in the State of New York, belong
to that period of the world's history which the
geologists call the Lower Silurian, because they
were first observed and written about in a section
of Wales called The Silures.
We must imagine first how the sea-bottom
looked when the ocean ran off and left it bare : it
must have been a slimy mass of mud, desolate and
dreary, for there were at that early period no land
animals or plants, no birds, and no soil, even, as we
know it; it was only one wide expanse of desolation,
a bottomless abyss of mud, with the older rocks,
the granite and gneiss, standing bare and bleak
as cliffs and mountains along its shores.
Slowly and by degrees, as the mud dried and the
air cooled, little land plants began to appear, and
then shrubs and trees, and animals of strange
form, birds and beasts and creeping things. Great
changes took place, and there were fierce strug-
gles between all forms of animal and vegetable
life with each other, and with the forces of nature;
but still there was, as it were, a constant proces-
sion marching along, races of plants and animals
living and dying, and their places being taken by
others and others, each one leaving the record of
its life in this mud at the bottom of the ocean,
which we can read now almost like a printed page.
This record generally is the plant or animal turned
to stone. As one might say, it has
Suffered a sea change
Into something rich and strange."

Such remains are known as fossils, and the
science which treats of them is called paleontology,
which means a description of the ancient things
of the earth.
As we walk along this old shore, however, there
are many things we must bear in mind if we
expect to understand the wonders of the rocks.
In the first place, we must imagine that the
whole of what is now North America was covered
by the ocean, except a few mountains and islands
of solid old granite rock, lifting their heads out of
the waters. These primitive rocks, as they are
called, appearing, for instance, in the mountains
now called the Adirondacks, are the oldest that we
know anything about, and as there are no fossils
found in them, we may be pretty sure that there
was no life, or very little, in the world when they
were formed.






In the next place, we must imagine this great
ocean, full of all kinds of animal and vegetable
life, of the earliest forms, beating for ages against
the mountains and the rocky shores, and grinding
them up into sediment that settled in layers all
over the sea-bottom, and then that this part of the
continent, now the State of New York, was slowly
lifted up from the north to the south; for we see in
the rocks that we are walking over only sea-weeds
and the lower orders of marine shells; this proves
that these rocks were raised up out of the water
before there were any higher orders of plants and
animals in the world. While this was going on,
the land further south was still under water, and
higher orders of plants and animals had come into
existence ; then this in turn became dry land; but
still the ocean covered a vast extent to the south
and west, and as the air and water had become
more favorable to life, the ocean swarmed with all
kinds of fishes, and huge and terrible monsters,
the like of which can be found nowhere at the
present time.
Let us call the rocks the skeleton of the world,
its solid framework, while the earth which rounds
the hills and fills the hollows and levels the plains
is the flesh and blood, and the trees and grass and
flowers are the gay robes -with which nature has
decked the whole. Now, if we could cut down
through it all, we should see something like this:
On the surface is the soil that the farmer turns up
with his plow-there is not much of this, only a
few feet; then there may be sand and gravel, more
or less, or a thick stratum of clay. The first rock
that we reach is the last one that was formed under
the old ocean; it is called the Utica slate, it being
of great thickness in the vicinity of that place, and
is full of the fossil remains of plants, shells, and
trilobites; it is a black, soft rock that readily
turns back to mud when exposed to the air and
frost. It is yet several hundred feet in thickness,
although it has been much worn and eroded since
it was first raised up out of the sea.
The next rock below the slate is the Trenton
limestone; this is often a mass of shells, trilobites,
crinoids, and other old settlers, but is at this point
only a few feet thick, increasing, however, as we go
westward, until at Trenton Falls it attains its great-
est thickness,-this being the reason why the rock
is so named.
Below the Trenton limestone is the calciferous
sand rock, or the lime-bearing sand rock, the
upper courses of which are called the fucoidal
layers, or sea-weed layers, fromfucus, sea-weed or
kelp. These are the rocks over which we are now
walking; and being low down in the valley are
entirely bare, all the rocks that were formerly
above them or on the top of them, the Trenton

limestone and the Utica slate, having been carried
away by the action of the elements, principally
ice and water. Although this rock is very near
the surface and "crops out" in many places, still
it is covered more or less deeply at other points
with soil, sand, gravel, and boulders; and if we
examine these gravel banks, and these "round
heads as the farmers call them, we will find much
that is interesting. We see upon examination
that they are entirely different from the rocks in
the ledges; they are much harder, the most of
them being granite or gneiss; they are rounded
and worn, and lie scattered about the fields all over
the country, looking like strangers; and they are,
for they have traveled many miles from their origi-
nal place, and are therefore called erratics" or
wanderers. These that we see here have come
forty or fifty miles from the north, for they are
masses of the primitive rocks of the Adirondacks
that have been torn off and borne along, and
crushed and ground and rounded by the irresisti-
ble action of enormous glaciers and the washing
of torrents of water. The natural features of the
landscape are largely due to the action of such
forces: the rounded hills, the deep valleys, the
rugged cliffs, the great gravel beds ard the scat-
tered boulders all show the action, through long
periods of time, of slowly moving glaciers and
rapid, roaring floods of water.
Wherever these deposits of gravel are cleared
away and the rock exposed, we shall find a
beautiful smooth pavement, scored with long
grooves and scratches. These marks are all in
one direction parallel, and do not cross each other;
they are the written record that the old glacier has
left of the Great Ice Age," and they were made
by the bowlders and pebbles imbedded in the ice,
and moving slowly along across the solid rock.
These upper layers of the calciferous are of
great commercial and industrial value, for they
furnish the finest kind of stone for building pur-
poses, and for the burning of lime. We can study
them very easily at a place where a quarry has
been opened, and see the layers of rock lying
piled up one upon another.
The first layer which bears the marks of glacial
action is about three feet in thickness, and is a
hard compact sandstone used extensively for heavy
bridge work, and for the foundations of buildings;
below this there is layer after layer of rock of various
thicknesses, for a depth of fifty feet or more, and
then comes the calciferous sand rock proper, which
is a mass of unknown thickness and of flinty hard-
ness, containing geodes or cavities filled with
beautiful quartz crystals; below this there is prob-
ably the Potsdam sandstone, so called from a
locality in Northern New York -and this was the


first sedimentary rock deposited on the granite
floor of the old ocean that once dashed and roared
along these Silurian shores.
Fossils in the upper layers of the calciferous
along the Mohawk are not abundant, except the
sea-weeds; these are everywhere to be seen.
Whenever the layers are separated, the slabs are
seen to be completely covered with the iniprint of
these old fucoids; the sidewalks in the villages
are a study, for when worn smooth every stone
shows a perfect maze of these fossil sea-weeds,
in which appear here and there the convolutions
of a shell.
But, besides the fossils they contain, these rocks
are worthy of study, and interesting for other prob-
lems and secrets that they hold. Why are the

layers of different thicknesses, some being only
four inches, and some four feet? Why is one
layer sandstone, and the next pure limestone?
Why are they not exactly level or horizontal? Why
do they "dip," as the geologists say, to the south-
west? Why is the edge of this cliff, which is so
many feet above the present river, so worn and
chiseled and eaten into? and what has become
of the Utica slate, which we must believe once
covered these rocks to a depth of hundreds of feet ?
These are only a few of the hard questions that
suggest themselves to our minds as we walk along
this old sea-shore; but they are questions to each
of which we may find a satisfactory answer if we
only have the patience to investigate, and to think
carefully of the way the world was made.







As THE dusk was setting in on a beautiful autum-
nal day about thirty-seven years ago, a man and a
boy were driving a cow along a country road in
Ohio. They had come a long distance and were
weary; but though the boy limped, the conversa-
tion did not flag as they trudged along; and you
might have seen that, while they talked with such
animation, they were alive to the gold and crimson
of the autumn woods, which seemed to have bor-
rowed their flashes of color from the sunset sky.
They were evidently not farmers; both had the
appearance of living a city life, but had they been
observed, the things they were saying, and not
their looks, would have attracted attention; for
they were talking of Cervantes and Shakspere.
The cow needed much urging, and it was late
at -night when they reached some white-limbed
sycamores beside the tail-race of a grist-mill on the
Little Miami River, on the other side of which
was the small log-cabin in which they lived. A
question then arose as to how they should get the
cow across. They did not know the depth of the
water, but they knew it to be cold, and they did
not care to swim it. The elder wanted the boy to
run up under the sycamores to the saw-mill, cross
the head-race there, and come back to receive the
cow on the other side of the tail-race. But with
all his literature, the boy was young enough to
be superstitious, and afraid of the dark; and though
the elder urged him to go, he would not force him.
They could see the lights in the cabin twinkling
cheerfully, and they shouted to those within, but no
one heard them. They called and called in vain,
and were answered only by the cold rush of the
tail-race, the rustle of sycamore leaves, and the
homesick lowing of the cow.
They then determined to drive her across from
the shore, and then to run up to the saw-mill and
VOL. XIV.-61.

down the other bank, so as to catch her as she
reached it. When they came there, she was
not to be found, however; shehad instantly turned
again, and during the night she made her way
back to the town from which they had brought her.
The log-cabin was a small one, with a corn-field
of eighty acres behind it, and it was nearly a quarter
of a century old. The boy who entered it after
this adventure was William Dean Howells, and the
man was his father, who had recently brought his
family from Dayton to take charge of the saw-mill
and grist-mill on the river. The incident illus-
trates, with what follows, the simplicity of the
early life of one who has since become one of the
foremost American novelists.
SMr. Howells was born March I, 1837, at Martin's
Ferry, Ohio, opposite Wheeling, West Virginia.
His father was of Welsh descent,. his mother
of German stock, and both were superior by edu-
cation and tastes to the moderate circumstances in
which they found themselves when this boy, who
was one of eight children, came into the world.
When he was only three years old, they left Mar-
tin's Ferry to live in Hamilton, Ohio, and then the
father bought andedited the Intelligencer, a weekly
newspaper, and his son was scarcely out of his
cradle before he learned to set type. He had little
regular schooling, but he was a great reader and
had a natural gift for composition. He does not re-
member how young he was when he mastered the
mysteries of the printer's trade, but it was certainly
long before he was twelve; at that age he remem-
bers having helped in his father's office to set in
type President Zachary Taylor's inaugural message.
There were leisure moments between the work-
ing hours, and he occupied these in printing
compositions of his own. However precocious they
may be, few young authors see their work immor-



talized by the dignity and permanence of type
before they reach their teens ; but when this lad
was only eleven, he set up and printed an ambitious
work of his own. A thoroughbred is not less fear-
less of ditch and hedge than the budding author is
of the magnitude of his theme. A veteran will
stoop to write about rag-pickers or Punch and
Judy, and go a-foot in search of a commonplace
subject; but the beginner plunges his spurs into
the flanks of Pegasus, and sends the winged horse
galloping along the edge of the dizziest precipices
of Olympus. Mr. Howells is called a "realist"
now; he writes about men and women as they are,
and will have neither villains of deep dye nor para-
gons of virtue in his stories; for he believes that
good and evil are mixed in- all of us. But he was
of a different mind when he wore a white apron
and stood before the printer's case, with its alpha-
betical compartments full of little metal letters.
He boldly launched out then, not in any cockle-
shell of rhyme, but in a five-act, blank verse trag-
edy; and it should be needless to say that the'sub-
jectwas the death of a Roman Emperor. Such
ventures carry too much sail for their ballast, and,
like other lightly laden ships, this has not been
heard from since.
The literary ambition was fixed in him while he
was very young, and it was stimulated by the
scholarly tastes of his father and by his own appe-
tite for reading. In a desultory way he went first
to a public and then to a private school. His favorite
study was history, and the study he cared least for,
and for which he had the least aptitude, was arith-
metic. He liked to read aloud, and could do it
well. Probably he lost less through the infre-
quency and irregularity of his attendance than
many others would have done, for he was one of
the exceptional boys who do more for their educa-
tion by observation and by reading than school-
masters are able to do for them.
His favorite book at this period of his life was
"Goldsmith's History of Greece," and side by side
with it in his estimation were Don Quixote and
the inexhaustible delights of the "Arabian Nights."
The first novel he read was The Trippings of
Tom Pepper; or, the Effects of Romancing," and
the moral it was intended to inculcate struck him
so sharply that he entered into a solemn pledge
with his brother to avoid prevarication under every
circumstance. His admiration for Don Quixote "
was so great that the author of it became his hero,
and instead of contenting himself with the romance
of the Mad knight" and Sancho Panza, as
most readers do, he read besides the other works
of the great Spanish author Cervantes, whom he
still reckons as a peer of Shakspere. He was a
rather delicate boy, and though he was fond of

outdoor sports and games, he was not expert in
any one of them.
In 1849 his father sold the Intelligencer and
moved his family to Dayton, where he purchased
another paper called the Transcript, which he
changed from a semi-weekly to a daily. This
movement was not a success, and at the end of two
years the failure of it was confessed. All the edit-
or's sons, of whom there were four, could set type,
and all of them had helped in producing the paper.
After working in the composing room until eleven
at night, the boy we are writing about was often
obliged to get up at four to carry the paper and
deliver it to subscribers. But the boys took their
misfortunes cheerfully, and when the last issue was
printed, they all went down to the Miami and had
a good swim.
It was then that they took possession of the log-
cabin, and the year they spent there has been
beautifully described by Mr. Howells himself. They
did not regret this change from town to country.
The father's passionate fondness for Nature had
been nourished by the English poets, and he had
taught his children all that he felt for the woods
and fields and open skies. They glazed the narrow
windows, relaid the rotten floor, patched the roof,

and papered the walls.
"Perhaps it was my father's love of literature
which inspired him to choose newspapers for this
purpose," says Mr. Howells; at any rate he did
so, and the effect, as I remember it, was not without
its decorative qualities. He had used a barrel of
papers bought at the nearest post-office, where
they had been refused by the persons to whom
they had been experimentally sent by the publish-
er, and the whole first page was taken up by a
story which broke off in the middle of a sentence
at the foot of the last column and tantalized us
forever with fruitless conjectures as to the fate of
the hero and heroine."
It took some days to make the repairs; but when
they were completed, the boys laid their mattresses
on the sweet, new oak-plank of the floor and slept
hard -in every sense. One night they awoke and
saw their father sitting upright in his bed.
What are you doing? they asked.
Oh, resting he answered, jokingly referring
to the hardness of his bed.
Their life was full of privations, but it was sweet-
ened by their love of Nature and their unfailing
good-humor. The boys slept in the loft. The
rude floor rattled and wavered loosely under our
tread, and the window in the gable stood open or
shut at its own will. There were cracks in the
shingle through which we could see the stars, and
which, when the first snow came, let the flakes sift
in upon the floor. I should not like to step out of




bed into a snow-wreath in the morning, now; but
then I was glad to do it, and so far from thinking
that or anything in our life a hardship, I counted it
all joy."
"Our barrels of paper-covered books were
stowed away in the loft, and, overhauling them
one day, I found a paper copy of the poems of a
certain Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, then wholly
unknown to me; and while the old grist-mill,
whistling and wheezing to itself, made a vague
music in my ears, my soul was filled with this
strange, new sweetness. I read 'The Spanish
Student' then, and Coplas de Manrique,' and the
solemn and ever beautiful 'Voices of the Night.'
There were other books in those barrels which I
must have read also, but I remember only those
that spirited me again to Spain, where I had
already been with Irving, and led me to attack
seriously the old Spanish grammar which had been
knocking about our house ever since my father
bought it from a soldier of the Mexican war. But
neither those nor any other books made me discon-
tented with the small-boy's world around me.
They made it a little more populous with vision-
ary shapes, but that was well, and there was room
for them all. It was not darkened with cares, and
the duties in it were not many."
At the end of a year the foreman of a printing-
office in Xenia came to the log-cabin and asked
the boy to take the place of a delinquent hand,
as he was known to be a good compositor, swift
and clean and steady. He tried the job, and gave
satisfaction, but time did not cure the homesick-
ness he felt on leaving the simple little cabin in
the woods, and he was obliged to return; few as
its comforts were, he was held to it by a bond of
affection which no offer of worldly prosperity could
induce him to break. As long as the family
remained there, he staid with them; and when,
at last, they again went to live in the town, he
took a place as compositor on the Ohio State
Journal, at a salary of four dollars a week.
For several years after this, his literary ambitions
were subordinated to the necessities of mechanical
labor as a printer and reporter, but all the time he
was equipping himself for a higher and better kind
of work; he added French and Italian to his knowl-
edge of languages, and made the great authors of
the world his companions. Then one morning he
gathered courage to knock at the door of The
Atlantic fMonthly with a bundle of verses in his

hand, and they were so good that the editor
accepted and printed them.
His advance was rapid after that, and in time
he became the editor of the Atlantic, a position
which he held for nine years. Meanwhile, he was
doing original work of his own, and he has earned
distinction as a poet, as a writer of plays, and,
above all, as a novelist.

Quite recently he went back to the place where
the old log-cabin had stood, but it was there no,
more. Thirty years had passed, and all that had
happened since seemed so much like a dream that,
when he spoke of his boyhood to a little fellow who
followed him, he himself could scarcely believe that
what he told was true, and he says that he had a
sense of imposing upon his listener.





French flats are more to new Rome's
Than ancient mausoleum.
A horse-car you must take to find
The Coliseum.

IN tales of travel my delight
Has always seemed to be,
And I am eager for the sight
Of lands beyond the sea.
But if in this I 'm to be blest,
I hope the time is nearing;
For all the things of interest
Are disappearing!

The great Atlantic, deep and blue,
Of which I was so fond,
Has shrunk-if what they say be true-
Into a "herring-pond."
And those who cross by what they call
The ferry o'er the ocean,"
Plow straight along through calm and
Without emotion.

In Paris, 't is the hardest work
To say, from what you see,
If it be really not New York,-
For all the styles agree.
Dutch Rotterdam is much the same;
For each progressive nation
Is playing at a mutual gaihe
Of imitation.

Beyond the smiling plains of France
Arise the snow-crowned Alps,
Despoiled of much of their romance
By steam-cars on their scalps.
Hotels amid the glaciers stand;
And oh, the imposition -
Tame chamois are brought up by hand
For exhibition.

In Venice, Adriatic's bride,
The place of carnival,
Not gondolas, but steamboats, glide
Along the Grand Canal.

The mummy and the monument,
Once Egypt's and the Nile's,
Are scattered, with a wise intent,
O'er many thousand miles.
The plundered pyramids yet stand
Beside the ancient river;
The Sphinx has lost its robe of sand -
It seems to shiver.

The Russians, on the Asian plains,
Strike oil, and make it serve
To send adventurous railway trains
Into the heart of Merv.
The boys of mystic India all
Now dress in English fashion.
For roller-skating and base-ball
They have a passion.

In photographs from far Japan,
One very plainly sees
How there they ape the Yankee man,
Though ill at (Japan)ease.
'T is strange they choose our awkward
To wear, from mere bravado,
Instead of stunning robes like those
Of "The Mikado! "

So I discover less and less
Encouragement to roam ;
It might be better, I confess,
To look about at home.
Of my own country I will first
The mysteries unravel;
Then, I perhaps may quench my thirst
For foreign travel.

\ Sa *^S~C- '







LITTLE as they imagined it, the children were
only about seventy-five miles from the Texan fron-
tier when they were overtaken by the norther.
The fact that game grew steadily scarcer and
wilder from the time they left the river made Juan
suspect that they might be nearing civilization;
but it also occurred to him that this might only
mean that Indians were, or had been, in the neigh-
borhood; so he said nothing to Nita about his
suspicions, and kept a bright lookout.
The last wild turkeys they had seen were in the
woodland where Juan and Juanita camped after
crossing the prairie. While they were sitting
quietly by the fire at nightfall there came a sound
of alarm from the trees where the flock had settled.
Out charged Amigo, always ready to accept a
challenge of any kind, and they soon heard him
fighting some invisible animal.
Amigo has the best of it," said Juan, "for
I hear him barking. He must have treed some-
thing. Let us see what is up !"
Together, he and Nita turned out and came
upon Amigo, much excited and still barking, his
eyes fixed intently upon something in the tree he
was guarding. Juan seeing this, made a little
circuit, and crept up on the other side, where he
had a good view of a large wild cat sitting upon a
limb, growling and showing its teeth savagely at
Amigo. So completely absorbed was the cat in
Amigo's barking and boundings, that it did not see
Juan at all, nor did it notice his flank movement
until an arrow whizzed into its side just behind the
shoulder. It sprang into the air and fell with a
great thud mortally wounded.
Amigo, thinking the battle over and the victory
won, pounced eagerly upon the prey, and had a
very nice map of Texas scratched on his face for
his foolhardiness. The cat expired almost immedi-
ately, however, and Amigo, quite convinced that
the triumph was his, looked jubilant and vain-
glorious as he followed the children back to camp.
Nita admired the skin of the cat so much that
she persuaded Juan to save and stretch it, and
they spent a great deal of time on it, using it finally
to ornament Amigo's pack-saddle.
This was their last stirring adventure.
They had now not seen a buffalo for weeks, nor
a deer for ten days; and as the small game gave
evidence of having been hunted, again it became

no easy matter to get food. Water they did not
lack, for they came upon two or three creeks, and
managed to keep their canteens well filled, as a
rule; but something to eat became the great ques-
tion as they went on. A quail or a fox-squirrel
was now a boon to them; and they would really
have suffered, had not Amigo's hunger sharpened
his wits and led him to turn his attention to rab-
bits, which he ran into holes and corners and
hollow trees continually, and nabbed occasionally.
This was but a precarious subsistence, however,
and so it came about that the children went sup-
perless to bed one evening at the close of a long,
fatiguing march. Altogether, they had never felt
more thoroughly downhearted and perplexed than
when they lay down patiently side by side in a
certain little dell at dusk on the I8th of August,
They were so tired that at once they fell into
a doze, from which they were aroused by Amigo.
He had crouched near them, as usual, and
had rudely awakened them by springing up and
growling and barking furiously, all his hair brist-
ling about him, and all the dog spirit in him excited
to the highest pitch. Up rose Juan and promptly
administered a cuff. It was all very well for Amigo
to give warning, if danger impended; but it was
stupid to make such a row as that and attract
attention. Forced to keep quiet, he still stood in
his place, quiveringwith excitement. The children,
looking about them with all their eyes and listen-
ing with all their ears, now heard a faint, very
distant, but unmistakable sound,- that of a dog
barking! Listen as they might, they heard nothing
more, and the barking ceased after a while; where-
upon Amigo became tranquil again, and the chil-
dren lay down.
"It is the Indians!" affirmed Nita, positively,
and quaked afresh with fear.
"It may be white people," hazarded Juan, more
to re-assure her than anything else. But that
bark made it impossible for either of them to
sleep. Awake were they the whole night, and
they feared and hoped, and discussed many things,
and waited with infinite impatience for daylight
and certainty to come. When it was barely light,
they rose and walked rapidly on, keeping near the
shelter of the.wood in case it should be necessary
suddenly to conceal themselves from Comanches
or Apaches. So sustained were they by excite-
ment as hardly to be aware of the fact that their


long fast was still unbroken. On they hurried,
and would have continued to hurry, had they not
suddenly been arrested by another sound which
had upon them much the same effect as though
they had stumbled upon an electric battery fully
And what was it that came to them, clear,
distinct, and apparently quite near, on the still
morning air?
Only the crow of a cock.
Only the crow of a cock do I say ? Only home,
love, joy, liberty, and all that is sweetest in life !
They were safe! They had reached the settle-
ments! They would soon be in their mother's
Is it any wonder that they stopped as suddenly
as though they had been shot, turned pale as
little ghosts, gave a shriek that ought to have
penetrated to the hacienda, and threw themselves
weeping upon each other, and embraced and
laughed and sobbed and gesticulated and danced
about like the frantic, wild things they were? And
then how they did scamper toward that blessed
"cock-a-doodle-doo," with might and main, and
heart and soul, and a speed that they had never
equalled even when the fear of death, instead of
love and life, lent wings to their feet !
They raced on until they were almost breathless,
and then, perforce, ran slower and slower, aston-
ished not to see further evidences of civilization;
deceived, as many an older person has been, in
regard to the distance a cock-crow can be heard at
dawn. They were obliged to subside into a walk
at last, if the hurried, buoyant, joyous tread with
which they got over that prairie can be called a
walk. Amigo, perfectly comprehending that
something delightful had happened, bounded
along beside them all frisks and wags and laughing
content. It had seemed very near, only a few
hundreds yards away. But it was two miles; and,
to their burning, consuming impatience, it seemed
two hundred. Up came the sun to see the
charming spectacle that awaited him; and there,
yes, there was a road, newly-traveled,- assurance
doubly sure! And there was a house! and a
garden! in that garden a white man! Oh, joy!
oh, rapture! Transported with delight, the
children rushed down that road, leaped over that
fence and rushed up to that white man, crying
out, "Seior! Senor! Seior! (Sir)" in accents of
frenzied ecstasy.
At least they rushed toward him. They did not
get up to him, for the simple reason that he no
sooner caught sight of them, than he, .too, made
a rush, but not in their direction; and, although
he was a stout, unwieldy man, he was inside his
house and had the door barricaded almost as quickly

as though he had been the slimmest of youths or a
professional athlete, so alarmed was he by what
he believed to be the advance-guard of a party of
The children, left standing in the midst of his
neat rows of beans and melons, stared blankly in
the direction in which he had disappeared, com-
pletely confounded for the moment by his behav-
ior. It had never occurred to them that their
satisfaction at seeing a civilized being again would
not be shared by that being also. But the pleasure
was anything but mutual. They had made their way
by chance to one of the cabins that formed the fringe
of the German settlement near Fredericksburg,-
a settlement on which the Indians frequently
made raids, and in which a Comanche was more
dreaded than anything in the world; and the
children had given a terrible fright to a worthy
Teuton who had taken himself, his excellent wife,
and seven blue-eyed, flaxen-polled children out
there to subdue the wilderness and make it blossom
like the rose, or rather, like their beloved "Vater-
For six months or more the Indians had left the
settlers in peace, and when the industrious head of
an industrious family had turned out at daylight
that morning to work in the garden, he had gone
armed only with his hoe and a powder for killing
the striped bug which had attacked his melons.
Great had been the horror, then, of Mr. Conrad
Braun at the descent of the supposed savages; and
once indoors, he lost no time in arming himself
and his boys, and in shutting and bolting and
barring every door and window in expectation of a
They are afraid -afraid of us exclaimed
Nita in excessive astonishment. She was so much
more used to feeling terrified than to inspiring
terror that she could not understand how she could
alarm any one.
They take us for Indians!" replied Juan.
"We must explain who we are. But don't go
too near the house, Nita; you will be shot before I
can make them understand, if you are not careful."
Thus warned, Nita dropped into the background,
and Juan went forward a little. Mr. Braun, who
was reconnoitering at a peep-hole, saw him dis-
tinctly, and only waited for him to come a little
nearer before shooting. Juan stopped, puzzled how
to explain the situation by pantomime. The next
moment, he picked up a small, white garment,
that Frau Braun had left out on the grass to bleach
overnight. Vigorously waving this improvised flag
of truce, he walked slowly and cautiously toward
the house again, taking care not to run any risks,
and crying, "Amigos / Amigos /" again and again.
Unfortunately, the Indians had done the same





thing, in one of their forays, as a ruse to gain ad-
mittance to a house in that very neighborhood,
the inmates of which they had proceeded to
treat in any but a friendly way. Mr. Braun's sus-
picions, so far from being allayed, were strongly
confirmed by Juan's conduct. He remained behind
his stout wooden shutters, gun in hand, and had
no idea of being taken in by any such device.
Juan knew that it would never do to follow his
impulse and approach the house. He dared not
move another step toward it, and though angry at
being mistaken for an Indian, he could not hit
upon a plan of action. At last he threw down his
bow and quiver, and holding up his hands, ran
down the path that led to the front door, shouting
out, Mexicanos! Mfexicanos! Captives de los
Indios. Amigos! Amigos!"
Luckily for Juan, Mr. Braun understood Spanish.
He had been a baker in San Antonio for some
years and had learned the language there. Still,
he was by no means sure that this might not be
another Indian ruse, and he meant to make no
fatal mistake. So he waited for some time on the
right side of his door while Juan banged impati-
ently on the other side, repeating vehemently his
Finally, after a long parley, Mr. Braun peeped
and peered all about the yard, and not seeing any-
thing in the shape of a grown Indian, began slowly
and cautiously to unbolt and unbar the door. He
had previously repeated and translated to his wife
what Juan had said. Wholly unconvinced by what
she considered specious fictions, she gave a great
shriek when she saw what her spouse was going to do.
"Thou wilt be killed, Conrad, and our loved
children she cried, and snatched up as many of
her offspring as she could, expecting to see a dozen
savages pour into the room through the opening
door. Hearing this, Mr. Braun repented of his rash-
ness and shut the door suddenly again in Juan's
very face. Finding, however, that nothing dread-
ful succeeded,-nothing of any kind, indeed,- he
plucked up courage to open the door again, a little
wider this time. He held his hand upon the knob,
ready to close the door the instant he saw anything
to alarm him; but he saw only Juan, who kept on
repeating that he was an Indian captive, but not
an Indian,-a Mexican, on the contrary.
Fully re-assured at last, Mr. Braun changed his
tactics completely. He flung wide the door, and
shouted to his wife:
It is true, Minna. Come thou here and he
seized Juan and would have dragged him bodily
into the house, had not that agile young person
slipped like an eel from the ex-baker's large grasp
into the path and called to his sister to join him,
in eager, delighted tones.

She obeyed, shrunk back abashed for a moment
on seeing the whole Braun family assembled there,
caught Juan's eye, and walked with him indoors.
Benevolent, large-hearted Frau Braun, rid of all
fear for the safety of her husband and children and
(incidentally) herself, was at once all excitement
and emotion, her ready sympathies diverted into
another channel. Her broad, mild face radiated
the vivid and kindly interest that she felt, and her
motherly heart went out at once to the haggard,
tattered, wayworn children before her, though she
little knew what cause she had to pity them.
Indian captives So? she said. "Escaped,
you say, Conrad Sit here! Sit here Tell us of
it. But, no Not now. Rest first; you are tired."
She pushed two stools toward Juan and Nita as
she spoke, and continued to regard the children
with the friendliest eyes, but they took no notice of
her offer. They had not seen anything in the
shape of a chair since they left the hacienda, and
while they understood her gesture, felt much em-
barrassed by the proposition, and quickly dropped
down on the floor near each other in cross-legged
Mr. Braun, acting as interpreter, now took a
seat and began to question Juan. The Braun chil-
dren formed in a semicircle and stared at Juan
and Nita as only children, and country children at
that, can stare; the good Frau took her little Con-
radchen on her knee and prepared to listen. Nine
pairs of large blue eyes seemed to grow bigger every
moment as Juan briefly and simply told his story;
and one pair overflowed with pitying tears more
than once during the recital. Frau Braun rocked
violently backward and forward and clasped her
baby more closely in her arms as she heard how
these little Mexicans had been torn away from
their mother. Over their subsequent sufferings
among the Indians, the escape, and journey, she
wept copiously and sighed deeply, and declared
in frequent ejaculations that there had never been
anything like it. And when Juan told of the cock-
crow, and of his joy at finding himself among
white people again, and of his wish to go back to
the hacienda as soon as possible, Frau Braun got
up impulsively, shifted Conradchen to the left arm,
and sinking down on her knees by Juan and Nita,
she encircled both of them with her right arm in
a warm embrace, and without a moment's hesi-
tation kissed the dirty brown faces that were
turned toward her in wondering astonishment.
Her husband only half believed what he had
been told. It seemed incredible to his mind that
any two children could have safely accomplished
such a journey, so he made no demonstrations of
any kind. The Frau accepted the story as truth at
once, and her mother-heart yearned over them in-




expressibly. Itwas a relief to her feelings to set about
getting them a good breakfast, and she laid the
baby in his cradle and set to work at once with this
object in view. Her husband returned to the gar-
den and his vegetables; the little Brauns broke
ranks somewhat, but continued to indulge in ab-
sorbed stares from every part of the room; and as


for Juan and Nita, they found occupation enough
for their eyes when left to themselves. They were
in a house, which was in itself a novel and striking
fact; and cabin as it was, that house was full of
the most interesting objects to them.
There was a bed in the corner for one thing, and
the brother and sister exchanged glances over it.
They had not seen a bed for many a long day.
And there was a table, and chairs, and a fireplace,
and pots and pans, and kettles, and buckets, and
other household effects, and a woman bustling

about almost as if she were the Sefiora. So
strongly were they reminded of their mother by
the Frau, although there was no resemblance be-
tween them except that of womanly kindness and
general motherliness, that the tears rose to Nita's
eyes, and she whispered to Juan, Don't stay here.
Let us go home as soon as we can."
"Si, si," assented Juan and
nodded; and then both found a
S new attraction in the baby which
was cooing and kicking, and gurg-
ling and smiling at them not two
feet away-a baby that promised
to be a shade larger and fairer
than any of its brothers or sisters,
with even bluer eyes, and pretty
little golden curls escaping from
under its close German cap.
When breakfast was ready, one
of the boys ran out to the well and
brought in a pail of fresh water,-
part of which he spilled on the floor
in consequence of the necessity he
was under of looking at Juan and
Nita instead of noticing what he
was about; and another boy being
told to call his father, ran to the
back door and gave his voice, in-
deed, to his work, but scarcely re-
moved his eyes for one moment
from the fascinating strangers in
the corner. Mr. Braun came ; the
family seated themselves at table.
With instinctive politeness the
good housewife had not laid a
place for the Mexican children, and
S did not ask them to come to the
table; but she seized two big plates,
0 and perhaps she did not pile them
i high with smoking meat and
vegetables, and hominy and bread !
;.' Not content with this, she went over
S to a cupboard and added a smaller
heap of preserves, a huge slice of
MADE A RUSI, seed-cake and even some of her
very best sweet-pickle. This last,
by the bye, was pushed aside as soon as tasted,
condiments being unpleasant to the palates of the
half-wild boy and girl.
With a plate each in front of them, Juan and
Nita left their knives and forks to serve an orna-
mental purpose, and furnished such effective sub-
stitutes in the way of fingers that everything was
soon ravenously snatched up and disposed of, the
little Brauns watching the performance with un-
flagging interest. The plates were again filled by
the smiling Frau, and again emptied by the hun-



gry children, who unceremoniously threw the dis-
carded bones down upon the floor, filled their
hands with hominy to be conveyed in bulk to their
mouths, and displayed, generally, Comanche table-
As for Amigo, no one who knows him can
suppose for one moment that he had not shared
in all that had happened,- the reception accorded
his young master and mistress, the morning court
of inquiry, and most important of all -the break-
fast. He had bounded into the
cabin with Nita, sniffed searching-
ly at every member of the Braun t;.
family, made the rounds of the
room to see what it was like, had
consented to be petted by Mr.
Braun, and then had curled up
on the floor at Juan's feet, having
satisfied himself that all was well.
So Amigo returned to that civil-
ization of which he was a bright
ornament, as well-bred and far
more accomplished than when he
left it at the call of duty. He
was not roughened by contact
with rough people; nothing could
make a savage of him. He was
at home alike in the finest draw-
ing-room and in an Indian lodge,
and would have shone as con-
spicuously in the best society as
in the worst.
He now ignored the life he had
been obliged to lead for several
years; and being out of the woods,
relapsed with easy grace into the
habits and manners of polite life.
He was quite tall enough to have
made a snatch at the tempting -
steak and corn-muffins that graced
his-host's board; but as a matter
of fact, what did he do? Why, he
walked around the circle assem-
bled there quietly, at first, merely
to be on hand if he were want-
ed; and then he looked with 4.
intention and expectation now
at one, now at another member THEY BOTH FO
of the family. Finally, surprised
to find himself rudely neglected,
he stood on his hind legs and laid one paw in
remonstrance on Mr. Braun's arm, merely to recall
him to sense of what was due to a guest from a host.
Then, being given an immense bone, he gracefully
expressed his thanks, in the only way left to him,
by repeated wags of his handsome tail; and re-
tired politely out-of-doors with his breakfast, that
VOL. XIV.-62.

he might not get so much as one spot of grease on
Frau Braun's neatly scrubbed floor,- conduct that
defies criticism and challenges admiration in a dog
that had eaten nothing for more than twenty-four
hours, and had spent the best years of his life
among Comanches.
During all the stay of the travelers with the
Brauns, Amigo's behavior kept on this high level.
He was simple, natural, affable, gave himself no airs
of superiority, demanded no sympathy for past tri-


.- -
, ",_,,i , i -.ii _-__


umphs or sufferings, and managed, moreover, to
endear himself to all with whom he was thrown.
He must have been singularly attractive; for
several times that day, the youthful Brauns actu-
ally averted their eyes from Juan and Nita for a
moment in order to look at Amigo. And this was
more than their mother had been able to effect,



although she had given them many a nudge and
frown intended to convey the idea that they had
goggled long enough at the Indians' captives.
But, not content with having satisfied the wants
of the inner man, or rather child, Frau Braun's
mind was full of schemes for improving the outer
Mexican. While she was attending to her daily
duties she kept revolving certain possibilities, men-
tally trying to determine whether Hans's coat and
Carl's trousers would fit Juan,-although Hans
was a great deal bigger, and Carl as much small-
er than Juan,-and whether Faustina's clothes
would do for Nita. The tattered buckskin gar-
ments, the dirty faces and matted locks of the
pair before her were such a contrast to the condi-
tion of her own cleanly, fair, rosy brood, that she
could scarcely wait, until she had finished certain
household duties, to get at the family wardrobe
and see what it would furnish forth.
Before entering upon the work of the day, Mr.
Braun rejoiced Juan's heart by telling him that he
was going to San Antonio shortly and would take
them that far on their road to Mexico-news that
made the boy's large brown eyes sparkle with de-
light and caused Nita literally to jump for joy. It
further appeared that Mr. Braun was collecting a
load of pecan nuts to take with him, and meant to
take a goodly store of honey, butter, and eggs, as
well, to that market. He asked the children
whether they would like to help him, and they did
like; and, accompanied by our two Mexicans and
by six of the seven of his own offspring, he started
out into the woods, where they all staid until
dinner-time and gathered bushels of nuts which
they brought home and deposited under the shed
back of the house.
In the course of this work some advance toward
acquaintance, if not intimacy, had naturally been
made between the German and Mexican children.
With the free-masonry of youth and a few words
and signs, they managed to get on very well in
their joint labors; and a good understanding was
inaugurated, enough to take the edge off the
Braun stare, at all events, and to make Juan and
Nita feel more at home.
All that afternoon Frau Braun had her enor-
mous work-basket beside her, and diligently sewed
upon various garments previously shaped by her
immense shears; and by evening, lo! a neat, if
not particularly stylish, outfit for Juan, and another
for Nita. This done, she prepared baths in the
two rooms overhead set apart for her boys and for

her girls; and, calling to Mr. Braun, arranged the
next step in her admirable programme. The
result was that even Amigo scarcely knew his own
master and mistress at supper that night. They
had been tubbed, and scrubbed, and rubbed, their
hair had been closely cut, their clothes thrown
away, and themselves inducted into a full suit of
garments which were remarkable in cut, indeed,
altered and patched, but as clean as soap and
water could make them.
The brother and sister scarcely knew them-
selves or each other in this guise, but they were
infinitely refreshed and as comfortable as they
could be in civilized clothes which seemed to them
to be constructed on painfully rigid and constraining
principles, and to be unnecessarily numerous, and
very gorgeous. It was well, perhaps, that the
small Brauns wore their feet without any artificial
covering and that no attempt was made to put
Juan and Nita into stockings and stiff shoes just
then. Not all their gratitude to the people who
had so kindly received them could have stood such
a test, I fear.
And how Frau Braun did beam at them when she
seated them with her own children around the tea
table! And how she did butter their corn-bread,
and set a great bowl of bread and milk before
each of them! And how kind Mr. Braun was!
And how well Hans and Gustave and Carl, Albert,
and Faustina, and Bertha, and Wilhelmina Chris-
tine did behave themselves, to be sure!
And, later, what were Nita's sensations at find-
ing herself lying once more under a roof and on a
bed, between sheets! She dropped off to sleep be-
fore she had time properly to realize how cool and
soft and clean and deliciously comfortable it was -
which was a pity! She slept until Frau Braun
called her next morning, and took ten minutes,
then, to get her eyes really open.
It was different with Juan. He tried conscien-
tiously to stay where he was put, and to go to sleep,
but he only tumbled and tossed, and tossed and
tumbled. He could not sleep in a bed. That was
the trouble. It suffocated him, somehow; and at
last he stole downstairs and outside, where he
stretched himself out under the trees and took an
express train to the land of Nod. There Frau
Braun found him, much to her surprise, when she
went out to do her milking, and could n't under-
stand it. Her husband, coming out of the house
just then, saw it too, and shook his fat sides with
laughter over it for fully ten minutes.

(To be concluded.)







HERE'S a lyric for September,
Best of all months to remember;
Month when summer breezes tell
What has happened wood and dell,
Of the joy the year has brought
And the changes she has wrought.
She has turned the verdure red;
In the blue sky overhead
She the harvest-moon has hung
Like a silver boat among

Shoals of stars,-bright jewels set
In the earth's blue coronet.
She has brought the orchard's fruit
To repay the robin's flute
Which has gladdened half the year
With a music liquid clear;
And she makes the meadow grass
Catch the sunbeams as they pass,
Till the autumn's floor is rolled
With a fragrant cloth of gold.




THE life on shipboard did not agree with Fid-
dle-John. Like a spoiled child, he was unhappy
when he was unnoticed. The forecastle was
often deserted, and there were probably not many
among the emigrants who would have been
capable of judging whether his voice was in any
way extraordinary. And yet, one there was who
found an untold amount of comfort in listening
to that clear, sweet tenor of Fiddle-John's, and
that one was the Savoyard boy. It had been his
constant effort, since his encounter with the
purser, to make himself as inconspicuous as pos-
sible,.and it would have gratified him much if he
had possessed some means of making the bear
invisible. As the forecastle was the least visited
portion of the ship, he had chosen to hide himself
there behind the anchor-cable.
He trembled whenever any one approached, and
would throw the end of the tarpaulin which covered
the deck-freight over his friend, the bear. The
only people whose company did not incommode
him were Fiddle-John and his children, for whom
he testified his devotion by smiles and gestures and
all sorts of endearing Italian diminutives which,
on account of his caressing tones, even a dumb
brute could not have failed to appreciate. After
a long and exciting pantomime, Truls ascertained
that his name was Annibale Petrucchio and that
his bear gloried in the name of Garibaldi.

Both boys felt that they had made great prog-
ress in each other's friendship when these facts
had been established, and another hour of dumb
show, intersprinkled with exclamations, resulted
in a still more astonishing revelation, which was
that Annibale and his friend slept every night on
deck, because they feared to arouse once more
the purser's displeasure by invading the steer-
age. Sometimes Annibale curled himself up with
Garibaldi within the coil of the anchor-cable; but
when it rained or when the sea was high, they crept
under the deck-freight tarpaulin. The only trouble
was that the April nights were very cold,- Annibale
shivered all over to show how cold he was,-and
anchor-cables and deck-freight were not particu-
larly soft to sleep upon.
As Alf and Truls became duly impressed with
the unpleasantness of the Savoyard's situation,
they took counsel in order to ascertain how they
might relieve his distress. But all the plans that
were suggested were found to be risky, and night
came before they had arrived at a decision. The
weather had been raw and blustery all the afternoon
and the officer on the bridge had been looking
every minute uneasily at the falling barometer.
After sunset, the gale increased in violence, and
the ship pitched and rolled in the heavy sea. In
the steerage there was a terrible commotion; women
prayed and screamed and moaned, children of all
ages joined in the chorus, the lamps swung forward
and backward in their brass frames, and bottles,



glasses, and loose crockery made a terrible racket,
sliding to starboard and back again to port with
every motion of the ship. The wind howled in the
cordage, and big waves often swept across the deck
and poured out through the scupper-holes.
Alf and Truls, who had been lying awake for
hours listening to the hollow boom of the waves
and the shrieking of the wind, conversed in a
whisper about the poor Savoyard, who had to be
on deck in that terrible weather, and they finally
summoned courage to creep toward the ladder and
slowly to mount it, clutching each other's hands
tightly. It was a risky undertaking, and their
hearts stuck in their throats, as they clung to the
door-knob, hesitating whether they should open
the door. Without knowing, however, they must
have given the knob a twist; for suddenly the
door swung open with a tremendous bang, and
Truls was flung across the deck against the bul-
warks with such force that for an instant he scarcely
knew whether he had alighted on his head or his
He picked himself up, however, without any
serious damage, and half rolled, half crept up
toward the prow, where a couple of lanterns were
swinging. Nevertheless it was so dark that he
could not discern an object ahead of him, and
only groped his way along the bulwarks, until he
stumbled upon a demoralized mass of rope, which
he knew to be the anchor-cable.
Annibale he shouted at the top of his voice,
"are you here ?" But before he had time to receive
a reply, the ship plunged into a monstrous wave,
which rose in a storm of spray and drenched the
whole forecastle back as far as the mainmast. Truls,
in his effort to keep his footing, tumbled forward
and seized hold of something wet and hairy, which
slid along with him for a couple of yards, and then
was hauled back by some unseen force. The boy
crawled along in the same direction and shouted
once more, Annibale Where are you?" And a
voice answered: "Ah, Monsieur Truls, Garibaldi
et moi, nous sommes a demi morts." *
"Now, don't jabber at me, Annibale," Truls
observed, making his voice heard above the wind;
but if you will come along with me, Alf and I
will give you half of our berth; and Garibaldi can
sleep at our feet."
Whether Annibale understood the words or not,
he could not fail to comprehend the friendly feel-
ing which had prompted them. He eagerly seized
Truls's hand and they plunged bravely forward,
but slipped on the wet deck, and the bear and
the boys slid with great speed in the direction of
the descent to the steerage. They were drenched
to the skin and considerably bruised when, after
several unsuccessful efforts, they seized the door-

knob. Alf, as it turned out, feeling too ill to keep
watch, had already preceded them to bed. Gari-
baldi, who had seemed keenly conscious of his dis-
grace since his adventure with the purser, slunk
along as meekly as possible, and only now and then
shook his wet skin and coughed in a dispirited
fashion. He was not as grateful, moreover, as
might have been expected, when he was assigned
his place on the straw at the foot of the berth, but
gradually pushed himself-upward until his nose
nearly touched that of his master; whereupon he
curled himself up comfortably and went to sleep.
It was a very pretty sight to see the blonde Norse
boys and the swarthy Savoyard peacefully reposing
on the same pillow, with the shaggy head of the
bear between them, the Savoyard half-uncon-
sciously clutching his pet in his embrace.
Toward morning the storm began to abate, and
the dim light peeped in through the port-holes.
The steerage was comparatively quiet. Fiddle-
John arose and went on deck; a strange oppression
had come over him. The dim gray light, the all-
enveloping dampness, and the incessant throbbing
and clanking of the machinery wrought upon his
sensitive soul, until he seemed in danger of going
mad. The world seemed so vast and so empty!
The waves heaved and wrestled in their gray
monotony, until it made him dizzy to look at them.
Merely to rid himself of this terrible oppression
Fiddle-John lifted up his voice and sang wildly
against the wind; his beautiful tenor seemed to
cut through the fog like a bright sword and to
flash and ring under the sky. His soul expanded
with his voice; the sun broke forth from the clouds,
and he felt once more free and happy. He scarcely
knew how long he sang; but when by chance he
turned about, he saw to his surprise that a crowd
of well-dressed cabin passengers had gathered
about him. His three children stood holding one
another's hands, looking in astonishment at the
fine ladies shivering in fur-trimmed cloaks, and
wondered why their father was attracting so much
Charming Wonderful! "Magnificent! "
exclaimed the fine people when Fiddle-John had
stopped singing; and a portly American gentleman
with gray side-whiskers, who seemed more enthusi-
astic than the rest, put his hand, on his shoulder,
and said that if he himself were ten years younger,
he would undertake to make a fortune out of
Fiddle-John, which, of course, was a very gener-
ous offer on his part. Jens Skoug, the emigration
agent, translated the remark; and as the American
seemed to have more to say to Fiddle-John, offered
his services as interpreter.
What is your trade ? asked the gentleman.
I sing and play," said Fiddle-john.

* Ah, Mr. Truls, Garibaldi and I are half dead.




But, I mean, how do you make your living ? "Aha, you are a sort of a poet,- an improvisa-
repeated his questioner, tore, as the Italians say. Now I begin to under-
By singing and playing," said Fiddle-John. stand. Perhaps you can make a song about me,"
"You won't make much of a living by that in suggested the American.
America; people won't understand you, unless "Indeed I can!" cried the Norseman.
you sing in English," remarked the American. "Well, let us have it!" urged the other.
It had actually never
before occurred to Fiddle-- -
John that his songs would --- -.

erica. He had supposed
that music appealed equal-
ly to all nations and need-
ed no interpreter. The
remark of his new friend,
therefore, was a positive

ident of America," he
said in an injured tone.
"Jens Skoug there says
that the President will
make me a great man ll w---'-in --
when he hears my voice."
It did not suit Skoug's '
convenience to translate _A -
this remark correctly; -
and he made instead the
jocular remark, with a con-
fidential air, that Fiddle-
John had got into his head
the notion he wanted to
sing to the President. The
American was evidently r-
amused at this, and said,
with a laugh, that he fear-
ed the President was not
so great an authority in
music as in affairs of state.
Fiddle-John was extre
mely puzzled, and a little -
distressed at the jocose
manner of the American
gentleman; it could scarce-
ly be possible that he was -_-
making fun of him. But
American ways were prob-
ably different from Nor-
wegian ways, and he would
taking offense.
"I know a great many songs," he said, with Fiddle-John never needed much urging to sing.
a determination to appear amiable; "and what is He straightened himself up, flung back his head
more, I can make songs about anything you and was about to begin, when his son Truls,
choose." whose ears had been burning uncomfortably during


the whole interview, seized his father's hand and
entreated him not to sing.
"Don't sing to that man, father," he said.
" He is making sport of you. Please don't. Both
Alf and I are distressed to think that the gentle-
man should dare to speak to you as he does. He
"Get out of the way, sonny No one is talking
to you," interrupted Jens Skoug, pushing Truls
rudely aside; but the boy, fired with sudden
wrath, wheeled quickly around.
"It is you who have brought all this misery
upon us," he cried, excitedly. I know you mean
to desert us as soon as we get to New York, and I
only wish I were big enough to give you the thrash-
ing you deserve now, on the spot."
"Why, little chickens can crow like big roos-
ters," Jens Skoug exclaimed; "but if you don't
keep a civil tongue in your head," he added, with
a menacing scowl, I will make you dance a jig
to a very lively tune-the hazel tune; perhaps you
may have heard of it."
This was more than Truls could stand; and with
clenched fists, a flushed face, and eyes blazing
with anger, he rushed at the exasperating emigra-
tion agent. But the American, who thought that
the fun had now gone far enough, seized the angry
boy by the collar and restrained him. Holdon,
my little fellow! he said; "it is time to stop for
refreshments. You are a lively little customer for
your years. I don't know exactly what you are
angry about, but I can assure you it is n't worth
fighting for. Now, simmer a little, and then cool
down! "
During this scene, Fiddle-John had been stand-
ing irresolutely shifting his weight from one foot
to the other and gazing with a bewildered air at
Jens and Truls. He could not understand what
had happened to arouse the anger of his son, and
his excited words had scarcely furnished him with
a cle* to the mystery.
"Why-why-why don't you want me to
sing, Truls?" he stammered helplessly. "I am
sure I sing as well as anybody, and need not be
ashamed to be heard."
"Oh, it is n't that, Father!" the son responded
in a tone of tender consideration, which appealed
strongly to the American. "You sing beautifully;
but these people would not understand you- and -
and-wait till we are alone, Father; I will tell
you what I mean."
It was the manner, rather than the words, of the
boy which gave the stranger an insight into the
relations which existed between him and his father;
and what he saw, and still more what he inferred,
interested him greatly. There was a diffidence in
Truls's tone, and at the same time an air of pro-

tectorship, which, in one of his years, was quite
touching. The American could not help admir-
ing his spirited behavior, and he only wished he
could have told the boy how far he was from wish-
ing to humiliate either him or his father. But
he had lost confidence in Mr. Skoug as an inter-
preter, and he saw no one else, who, for the mo-
ment, could take that gentleman's place. He
therefore put his hand caressingly on the boy's
head, and trusting to his intuition rather than his
knowledge of English, said:
"If you should ever happen to need a friend
in the United States, you must remember to come
to me. My name is Alexander Tenney, and I live
in New York. Here is my card, with my address
upon it."
He gave Fiddle-John and his son each a friendly
nod and sauntered away toward a group of ladies
who were seated in their steamer-chairs, convers-
ing with the captain about the state of the weather.


IT was a beautiful sunny morning in May when
the steamer cast anchor in the bay of New York.
Fiddle-John and his children and a thousand other
poorly clad people from all parts of the world were
carried by little steam-tugs to a large building by
the water, where there was a babel of noise and
confusion. Everybody was shouting at the top
of his voice; children were crying, women hunt-
ing for their husbands, husbands hunting for their
baggage; policemen were pushing back the crowd
of screaming hotel-runners who were besieging
the doors, and an official standing on the top of a
barrel was yelling instructions to the emigrants in
half a dozen different languages.
Fiddle-John, to whom this spectacle was posi-
tively terrifying, could do nothing but stare about
him in a hopeless and dazed manner; while he
pressed his violin-case tightly in his arms and
allowed himself to be pushed hither and thither
by the surging motion of the crowd. He was fi-
nally pushed up to a gate where an official sat writ-
ing at a desk:
How old are you ?" asked the official, or rather
the interpreter who was standing at his elbow.
"Thirty-five years," said Fiddle-John; but a
vague alarm took possession of him at the question,
and his heart began to beat uneasily.
"What is your occupation?"
Occupation ? Well, I sing. I am a singer."
A singing-teacher ? Is that what you are ?"
"No, I don't teach."
"What do you do, then, for a living? Perhaps
you are a sort of theatrical chap-an actor?"



Fiddle-John looked greatly mystified; he had
never heard of such a thing as a theater in all his
life, and the word "actor" was not found in his
vocabulary. Nevertheless, he thought it best to
keep on good terms with the great official, and he
therefore made one more effort to explain the
nature of his occupation.
If you will pardon my boldness," he began,
with a quaking voice, "I may say that I am a
kind of poet -a minstrel-"
Aha, that's what you are," roared the official
with a laugh, as if he had at last found the solu-
tion of the problem; you are a negro-minstrel."
Fiddle-John stood aghast, as the interpreter re-
peated the official's words. He was not a combat-
ive character, but the recent scene with the Am-
erican gentleman on ship-board had aroused his
suspicion, and the conclusion now suddenly flashed
upon him that the official was making fun of him.
The blood mounted to his head and his whole
frame trembled.
How dare you mock me ? he cried passion-
ately; "how dare you call me a negro? Don't
you see with your own eyes that I am as white as
you are?"
Be careful, now, or I '11 have you arrested on
the spot," the other replied coolly. I can't afford
to waste my time on you. So far as I can learn,
you are a beggar who walks about in the street,
singing. Now that kind of thing won't do well
over here; and you 'd better not try it. How
much money have you? "
I have n't any money."
"And what is your destination? Where do
you intend to go ?"
I am going to see the American President, and
sing to him."
Sing to the President! Well, I expected as
much. Why, my good friend, it seems you are a
lunatic as well as a beggar. I shall send you to
an asylum, and you will be returned by the next
steamer to Norway. It is only able-bodied, self-
supporting emigrants we receive here, not street-
singers and crazy people "
The poor Norseman stood as if riveted to the
spot. A sudden faintness came over him, and he
felt as if he were going to sink into the ground. He
made desperate attempts to speak, but his words
stuck in his throat, and he could not utter a sound.
A policeman was called and Fiddle-John was
unceremoniously hustled through the crowd and
forced to board a small steam-tug, where, with
three other forlorn and miserable-looking individu-
als, he was locked up in a dirty and ill-smelling
cabin. All this had been done so quickly that he
scarcely had time to realize what was happening
to him. But now the thought of his three children

came over him with terrible force, and a sickening
sense of his helplessness took possession of him. In
one moment the blood throbbed in his face and
temples, and he burned with heat and indignation ;
in the next, the thought of what was to become of
his dear ones,-alone and friendless as they were,
in a foreign land, suddenly drove the blood away
from his cheeks, and he shivered with dread. He
was in the midst of these tormenting fancies when
the tug gave a couple of shrill whistles and steamed
away through the harbor toward an island covered
with gray, dismal-looking stone buildings, the very
sight of which filled Fiddle-John's breast with
The children, in the meanwhile, had an experi-
ence hardly less discouraging. They had seen
their father led away by a policeman, and had
shouted to him with all their might; but their
voices had been drowned in the general confusion,
and in spite of all their efforts they had not been
able to make their way to him through the dense
throng. They searched for hours, but could find
no trace of him. Being afraid of the man at the
desk, who had been so severe with their father,
they hit upon the plan of slipping through the
gate in the train of a German family which had so
many children that it seemed hopeless to count
them. This scheme succeeded admirably, and
toward evening they found themselves in a broad
square planted with trees and budding shrubs.
They still had some hope of finding their father,
thinking that perhaps his detention would merely
be temporary; and they sat upon the benches or
roamed along the Battery esplanade with a miser-
able feeling of loneliness gnawing at their hearts.
They were hungry, but they did not know where
to turn to obtain bread. The world seemed so vast
and strange and bewildering, that it gave one a
headache only to look at it. To ears accustomed
only to the murmur of the pines in the summer
night and the song of birds and the river's monot-
onous roar, the huge city, with its varied noises
and its incessant deafening rattle of wheels over
stone pavements, seemed overwhelming and
Only Truls, who had a spirit less sensitive and
less easily daunted than his brother and sister,
could summon courage to think,-to devise a
way, if possible, out of their perplexities. He
carefully investigated first his own pockets, then
his brother's, in the hope of finding something
that might be exchangeable for a loaf of bread.
But he could find nothing except a couple of but-
tons, some curious snail-shells, and a folding knife,
the blades of which had been sharpened until
there was scarcely anything left of them. After a
few minutes' meditation, he resolved, although with


an aching heart, to part with his valuable
treasures; and he took Karen by one hand and
Alf by the other, and led the way through the Bat-
tery Park toward Greenwich street, where he hoped
to find a baker's shop.
They had advanced but a short distance, how-
ever, when they caught sight of their friend Anni-
bale, who was sitting on a bench, swinging his
legs with an air of deep dejection. His eyes
lighted up a little when he recognized Truls; he
jumped up, and, pointing to something resem-
bling a-large muff under the bench, exclaimed, in
a tearful voice :
"Garibaldi is very sick. Garibaldi will die.
He has been ill a long time; he will not stand up
any more. He hangs his head like this."
Annibale here demonstrated, with pathetic ab-
surdity, the pitiful manner in which the little bear
hung his head. There could be no doubt; it was
a serious case. Truls was especially conscious of
this, after having stooped down and noted Gari-
baldi's symptoms. His eyes were much inflamed,
his nose was hot, arid he frothed, slightly at the
corners of his mouth. Yes, it was plain that Gari-
baldi was going to die.
Alf and Truls nearly forgot their hunger and
their distress at the thought of this great calamity.
By signs and gestures, they persuaded Annibale to
seek lodgings where his pet might receive proper
care and perhaps stand some chance of recovering.
This seemed sound advice, and Annibale was not
slow in following it, when once he understood it.
But it was a very sad march; for Garibaldi refused to
move, and the three boys had to carry him as best
they could.
A lodging-house was finally found where supper
and bed could be procured for twenty cents; and
though neither was particularly inviting, the boys
were too hungry and tired to be fastidious. The
Savoyard fortunately had a little money, which he
was very willing to share with his Norse friends
as soon as he had gained an inkling of the day's
adventures. Moreover, he had relatives in the
city, and knew the addresses, of many Italian
friends. He therefore had no fear of suffering
want, and, as he asserted in words and explained in
pantomime, could well afford to be generous.
The boys and the bear slept in a little square box
of a room in which there were two beds, while a
kind-hearted servant carried weary little Karen to
her own apartment. Truls, out of gratitude to
Annibale, offered to watch over the bear; but un-
happily, his gratitude was not lively enough to
keep him awake, though he struggled bravely to
keep his eyes open. Toward midnight his head
sank slowly down upon Garibaldi's back, and when
the daylight peeped in through the dusty window

panes, he was yet sleeping peacefully. The sun-
beams crept, inch by inch, across the floor, until
they lighted on Truls's chin, then climbed up to
his nose and reached his eyes. Then he awoke
with a pang, sprang up, and stared confusedly
about him.
Suddenly his eyes fell upon Garibaldi, who lay
immovable at the foot of the bed; he stooped
down and touched him. The poor bear was stone
cold It must have died quietly in the night.
Truls, with a dim notion that Garibaldi's death
was due to his own lack of watchfulness, made haste
to rouse his friend, and explain to him, with tears
of grief and remorse that he had, without meaning
to do it, used Garibaldi as a pillow, and the poor
animal had probably died in consequence. Anni-
bale, however, showed no disposition to reproach
Truls, but, leaping out of bed with a frightened
face, flung himself down upon the bear, hugged
it, and wept over it, overwhelming it with caresses
and endearing names. But it was all in vain.
Poor Garibaldi was really dead. He had caught a
violent cold during the night of the storm at sea,
from'which he had never recovered.
Although it was yet early in the morning, all
the city seemed to be awake and to be surging and
roaring'outside of the windows like a storm-beaten
sea. Stage-coaches, carriages, and enormous drdys
laden with bales and barrels and boxes, were pour-
ing in steady streams up and down the street;
people of all sorts and conditions were hurrying
hither and thither; and out in the harbor, but a
stone's throw distant, there was a forest of masts,
and big and little steamboats rushed shrieking in
all directions. It seemed like tempting Providence
to venture out into this wild turmoil, and Truls
implored Annibale not to risk it, when he per-
ceived that the latter was bent upon some such
dangerous expedition.
Annibale, however, had seen great cities before,
and gave no heed to his companion's fear, but tore
himself away, promising to return before noon.
With a painful fascination Truls stood watching
him from the window, following his lithe and dex-
terous motions as he wound himself through the
crowd and dodged the huge wheels and wagon-
poles as they seemed on the point of knocking him
down. When at last the Savoyard vanished around
a street corner, and Truls was about to relapse into
his sad meditations, the kind-hearted servant girl
caused a sensation by entering with Karen and a
tray, upon which were three pieces of bread and
three cups of coffee. Truls then awoke his brother,
who had slept soundly through the recent excite-
ment, and the three had quite a pleasant meal, con-
sidering their forlorn condition.
They covered up Garibaldi with a blanket. He



had had a hard life of it on board the steamer, and
had suffered much. Now his career was finished.
At least, so Alf and Truls supposed, until a very
extraordinary thing happened.
They had finished their breakfast some little

He is of the same height, and will do perfectly
well. If he has any wit, and not too much of it,
he can act the bear as well as if he were born
one. I will prepare the skin for you, and stuff
it just enough to fit his figure. Then you can

*,-.-..- :I I
-~ -' .. 'd

"? ''


"BEHOLD, MY SON, YOUR i.. -i i r: I,.

time, when the door opened, and Annibale entered
with a little, smoky and shriveled-up Italian. He
was Annibale's uncle; his name was Giacomo
Bianchi, and by trade he was a taxidermist. When
he talked, he used his arms, legs, eyes, and mouth,
all with equal vigor. Fiddle-John's children stood
and gazed at him in undisguised wonder; they
had never in all their lives seen anything so lively.
"Ecco !" he cried, pointing excitedly first to the
dead bear and then to Truls; "the fit will be perfect.
VOL. XIV.-63

make as much money as the sands of the sea.
I have a small band-organ at home, and a tam-
bourine which that vagabond Gregorio left me for
a debt. You give me half of what you earn, and I
will lend you all these things. You will become
a rich man before you die. The bigger boy can
play the hand-organ, the little girl can strike the
tambourine, and you yourself lead the bear and
make him dance. Behold, my son, your fortune
is made. Ecco, I have spoken "


Giacomo's dark eyes flashed with enthusiasm as
he unfolded this inglorious scheme, and he flour-
ished his stick so violently in the direction of
Karen, that she grew frightened and began to cry.
Her brothers, too, viewed the excitable little man
with suspicion, and listened in no friendly spirit to
his unintelligible talk. To their guileless Norse
minds his gestures seemed at first to indicate insan-
ity, but after a while they concluded that, for some
reason, he was angry at their sister. Having ar-
rived at this decision they clenched their fists in their
pockets and made themselves ready to pounce upon
him the very moment he ventured to touch her.
His apparent wrath suddenly left him, however,
and he came up to shake hands with each of them,
smiling, and nodding his shaggy head with extreme
affability. Still they could not quite conquer their
distrust of him, and it required a long and lively
pantomime to induce them to accompany him to
his own dwelling. At last they yielded, because
they knew of nothing else to do. Garibaldi was
wrapped carefully in a bag, and Giacomo and the
boys, taking each a corner, carried him easily down
the stairs and put him into Giacomo's little two-
wheeled handcart, which stood before the door,-
a convenient means of transporting goods, and
one without which the average Italian seldom re-
mains unprovided when he sets himself up in trade.
Then they started out for the shop of Giacomo,
who, as leader of the party, took charge of the
cart and easily trundled it along through the
streets. First, however, they went to Castle Gar-
den to inquire for Fiddle-John, but there was no
one there who knew anything about him. An-
other steamer had just come in with over eleven
hundred emigrants, and the officials were too busy
to give heed to the questions of the strange-look-
ing boys who talked a strange-sounding language.
All their attempts to get possession of the baggage
were also unavailing; and with sad, heavy hearts
they plodded along together with the Italians and
Garibaldi, winding their way wearily through a
labyrinth of dirty streets, until they finally reached
a little, ill-smelling bird shop in Canal street.
Here, too, there was a bedlam of noise, and the
young Norseboys remained standing in the middle
of the floor, staring about them in helpless bewil-
derment. Two great blue-and-yellow macaws were
shrieking overhead, an ancient and wise-looking
cockatoo was apparently scolding them for their
undignified behavior, and uncounted paroquets,
pigeons, and canary-birds were chirping, cooing,
and screaming in a confused chorus which would
have racked the nerves of a mummy. The barking
of a number of dogs, which seemed to object to the
limited area of their cages, added to the uproar;
and it was a great relief to the whole juvenile com-

pany when Giacomo at last invited them to ascend
to the floor above, where he had his own personal
The bird store, according to Annibale's assertion,
was a source of enormous revenue, but belonged to
his other uncle, Matteo, who was a citizen of much
weight and influence in the Italian colony. This
great man, however, it was understood, had more
important matters to attend to, and left the busi-
ness in charge of his humbler brother, Giacomo.
A vague impression of these facts Annibale had
managed to communicate to his friends, in spite of
the linguistic difficulties under which he labored;
and the Norse boys, who during the two weeks on
the steamship had learned the Italian names for
many common things and ideas, were pleasantly
surprised at the readiness with which they compre-
hended the mixture of signs, gestures, and words
which constituted Annibale's medium of communi-
Uncle Giacomo's rooms proved a much more
agreeable place than the shop below. The noise of
the birds penetrated the floor only as a subdued con-
fusion of sounds, and did not interfere with conver-
sation. On a little low table at the window there
was a multitude of small, sharp tools, and an array
of bottles which emitted strong but not unpleasant
odors. Some of them had feathers sticking through
their stoppers, and others were labeled "Poison"
in big red letters. Around about the walls there
were rows of shelves, upon which stood bright-
colored birds, perching upon twigs, as if on the
point of taking flight, owls with big yellow eyes
and a dignified sullenness of expression, hawks
with wings outspread, swooping down upon unseen,
unsuspicious rabbits; and besides these impressive
groups and specimens, there were little pet dogs
and birds, whose skins had been preserved by the
taxidermist's art for sorrowing owners.
All these objects the boys and Karen found
highly entertaining, and Uncle Giacomo, who was
bent upon making a good impression, allowed
them to take down and examine anything that
struck their fancy. The work of skinning poor
Garibaldi also served to occupy their minds, and
thus the forenoon passed rapidly until it was time
to sit down to dinner. They did not sit down,
however; for their dinner consisted only of bread
and milk, and that could be eaten just as well
standing. In the afternoon they were allowed to
fetch up some rabbits and guinea-pigs from the
store, and when they had played with them for a
couple of hours, Uncle Giacomo brought them a
green parrot that could talk and scold in both
English and Italian. Alf and Truls and Karen
understood none of its talk; but for all that it en-
tertained them, and served for a time to keep their



minds from dwelling on their misfortunes. They
scarcely knew what was to become of them; the
world seemed so vast and so pitiless, and they them-
selves such a very small part of it. They thought
with flutterings of hope and fear of their father,
and determined never to abandon their search for
him until they should find him.
Their fate seemed strange, incomprehensible.
But a few weeks before they were living happily in
their quiet Norse home, in the little cottage under

the mountain-wall. Now they were flung out,
helpless and alone, into a huge whirlpool of foreign
life; their mother, whom they had loved more than
any one else in the whole world, was dead, and
their father was wandering about, no one knew
where, vainly seeking them, perhaps, and not
knowing whither to turn. Indeed, much can hap-
pen in two short weeks. If they had but known
what was to befall them before they left their
happy home Oh, if they had but known!

(To be concluded.)

Our little Towns-aolk have rare_ sport at the cutting of the last swatLh
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IF some day, when you happen to be in that
part of London called "the city," you see a boy
who has apparently forgotten his hat, and who has
on such a queer dress that at first you are not sure
whether he is a boy or a girl, follow him, if you
can, down and perhaps across the street, in among
the omnibuses and hansoms and wagons, where he
appears to be very much at home.
Keep your eye well on him, for he will sud-
denly disappear down a narrow, slightly winding
passage-way. This will lead you to a brick door-
way, black and grimy with smoke and dust, over
which, in a niche, is a statue of Edward VI. in
robes of state, while above the high wall of the
house is a great cluster of chimney-pots. To one
side is a church; to the other a quiet, shady grave-
yard full of gray tombstones and fresh green grass.
This pretty doorway, hidden from the street, is
an entrance to Christ's Hospital, which is the odd
name of a large and famous school for boys, the
many buildings and three open squares of which
form a large inclosure in one of the busiest parts
of the city.
From crowded Newgate Street you may look
between the iron railings of a high fence, across
a narrow strip of pavement, and then through
another fence, and see the boys as they walk in
the cloisters or play in the quadrangle. If you
should see them only in their quiet moments, you
might think them so many young monks; for
they wear long, dark, blue coats which almost
touch the ground, leather girdles about their
waists, and white bands at their necks. But come
back a little later when, school hours over, they
are running after a foot-ball or playing hockey.
Then the skirts of their coats fly wide open or
else are tucked up high in their girdles, and show
their very unmonk-like gray knee-breeches and
brilliant orange stockings.
But what is stranger still about these boys, is
that they never wear hats or caps of any kind. If
you meet them on the coldest days in winter or
the sunniest in summer, their heads will always be
bare. Their hair is their only protection from heat
and cold. It is because of their peculiar uniform
that the institution is familiarly called the "Blue-
coat School," and the boys who go to it, Blue-
coats" or "Blues."
Their quaint costume is not a modern invention,
but is very much the same as that worn by boys of
the lower classes in the sixteenth century, at the

time the school was founded. There have been a
few slight changes made in it of late years. For-
merly the Blues" wore a yellow petticoat instead
of the present knee-breech'es; and every boy was
obliged to carry about in his hand an absurd little
cap, which, since it was too small to wear, seemed
made for no other purpose than to worry its owner.
Still, the boys in Christ's Hospital to-day dress very
much like the little orphans for whom it was origi-
nally intended as a sort of asylum.
But, by degrees, the institution became more
than an ordinary charity school for poor children.
Many famous men have been "Blues." Rich-
ardson, the novelist; Coleridge, the poet; Charles
Lamb, Leigh Hunt, all wore the blue coat and
yellow stockings in their youth. Boys now consider
it a great privilege to be admitted, and they are
proud of their dress because of its age and associa-
tions. All English people, as a rule, respect it for
the same reason. To understand why this is so, you
must know something of the origin and history of
the school. There are few boys or girls who will
not be interested in the story; for its founder was
a mere boy, not any older than many readers of
Several centuries ago the Monastery of the Gray
Friars stood where the Blue-coat School now is.
The monastery was taken from the Gray Friars
and closed when Henry VIII. drove the monks
out of England. But as many poor people had
depended upon the friars for alms, King Henry
gave, "The church and house of the late Gray
Friars within the city, and all the appurtenances
thereunto belonging,"-as the old deed says,-to
the mayor and citizens of London, intending that
the property should be used in some way or other
for the relief of the needy. But after he had made
this gift, no one took much interest in it. The
King and the mayor seemed to forget all about it.
Edward VI., the only son of Henry VIII., re-
membered it, however, when he came to the throne,
in 1547, a boy king ten years of age. Child as he
was, he was much troubled by the misery of the
poor people in his capital. Only a few months
before he died, when he was fifteen years of age,
he confirmed the gift his father had made of the
old monastery, and converted it into a home for
fatherless and destitute children, where they should
be clothed, fed, and educated. He was so much
in earnest about it that citizens who up to this
time had been indifferent, at once set about repair-


ing and altering the old building, so that in less
than six months the school was opened and three
hundred and forty boys had been admitted.
There was a great ceremony at the palace when
the .young king gave the directors of the new
Christ's Hospital their charter. All the children
who were then at the school were present.

house and in the large hall where the governors
of the school meet; and in the boy's l.in _-1i ii
there is a large picture which represents him in the
act of handing the charter to the Mayor.
What Edward wished above everything was
that his school should be useful. The citizens
who have had it in charge since his time have


They never forgot that day, nor the love and ever remembered this. Therefore when changes
gratitude which they owed to the youthful sove- and improvements seemed necessary to accom-
reign who had been so good and true a friend plish his object, they have been made. But old
to them. A month later, Edward died; but his rules, so long as they do not interfere with the
memory has always survived among the boys. good work of the hospital, are retained in honor of
His statue stands over the entrance to the Hospi- its royal founder. So, since it is quite certain that
tal; there are portraits of him in the counting- the boys can study as well in orange stockings and



blue coats as in the usual colored jackets and trou-
sers, they still go about in the old-fashioned dress.
And, as the sick list" shows that London air is
no less healthful for them than that of Harrow or

Eton is for other English boys
they still live in houses built .1
the very spot where the -r,
friars prayed and preached.
It is not as easy for an En :1 -
boy to get into Christ's HoE r',-
as it is for an American t:, _-:
into a public school. He ni,,-
either be an orphan with.-..
money enough of his ow:,. -.
his support, or the sonof pa .: ri
who cannot afford to ed',:. -r
him. He must not be your .-
than eight nor older than r.:
when application is made for In
admission, he must be perf-.: il
healthy, and he must be .,b!
to pass a certain examiner ..r,
In addition to all this he I -: i
be "presented by a me -!:I-_
of the Board of Governors.
As soon as the successful :p'
plicant puts on his new unif.:.ri
which he is very proud t:. :.:
throwing awayhis hat with -I.-
,he is sent to Hertford, Mi.nr
miles out of London, v hl' r
there is a separate school for t I-
younger "Blues."
They there have
a large green field -
to play in, instead
of paved squares, Rm
and therefore they '"
can romp as much
as they choose,
for, if they tumble
it will be on soft
grass, and not on
hard stones. Oc-
casionally, they
stroll through
quiet lanes and
under shady elms,
in the neighbor-
ing country, with
the much-feared,
much-respected ONE
beadle in com-

sixty, make almost all the linen they and the boys
wear. Once they dressed like charity children in
straight blue skirts, green aprons, white mob caps,
and white capes. But now, though they have a

,N, T

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uniform, it is very
like the dress of
other children.
The older boys
who are at the
school in London
look down upon
the youngsters
fresh from Hert-
ford, and call
them "cads."
When the little
fellows first arrive
at the hospital;
they are sent by
these superiorbe-
to ask the cook
to measure their
mouths for silver
spoons, andto the
treasurer to peti-
day, and on other
equally unprofit-
able errands. But
the new-comers
make the best of
these jokes, for
they are always
glad to leave the
country for the
town, where their
life as "Blues"
really begins. I
will describe what
this life is, by tell-
ing you first how
they work, and
then how they
The school is
divided into six-
teen wards. In
each of these
there are forty-
five boys under
the immediate su-
perintendence of

mand. Sometimes, during these walks, they meet a monitor, who is chosen from among them because
the little girls who form part of the establishment of his high standing in his classes, and his general
in Hertford, but who are led quickly on by the good conduct. But he has to work to retain the
careful matron. These girls, of whom there are distinction thus conferred upon him. It is his duty


to keep order in the dormitory, where all the boys
of his ward sleep, and if anything goes wrong, he is
called to account. He has also to regulate them in
the dining-hall, and to walk up and down by their
tables until they have finished their meal, when he
sits down to his. He is shown some small favors
in return, however. He has another "Blue" to wait
on him. The latter is called monitor's boy, for
the word fag is seldom used in this sense in the
Hospital, though fagging is common enough.
Even the monitor's boy has his boy, who in turn
has a still smaller "Blue" at his command, who
thus becomes, when his title is given him in full,
the monitor's boy's boy's boy. The monitor can sit
up till ten o'clock, long after his less fortunate com-

over seven hundred boys to sit at the tables. It
has high-pointed windows, and at one end is an
organ, and at one side a carved pulpit, where a
" Grecian," or senior scholar, stands at the begin-
ning of each meal and says grace. Every Thurs-
day in Lent there is a supping in public," when
visitors come and watch the Blues" as they eat
their supper. The Lord Mayor, the Treasurer, or
the Governors preside. When supper is over, the
boys sing an anthem and, walking two by two, pass
in front of the principal guests, to whom they bow.
This ceremony is called bowing 'round."
At one time swarms of rats used to come to the
hall and have their supper in it after the boys had
gone to bed. They sometimes were seen running

i' t .':- : ,

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panions have gone to bed, and he has a right to a
late supper of bread and cheese.
The dormitories are the living as well as the
sleeping rooms of the boys. Besides the beds they
have tables and chairs, and they study and sit here
when they are not in class or on the playgrounds,
which is not often in fine weather. A matron, or
" nurse," as she is called, is in charge of each dor-
mitory and takes care of the boys and of their
clothes. She has a little parlor all to herself and
a kitchen, and above these a bedroom with large
window in the wall overlooking the ward.
The boys all eat together in a large hall. This
hall is in the building which you see when you look
through the railings on Newgate Street. It is very
large, as indeed it has need to be, for there are

along the top of the picture-frames, and the Blues"
used to catch them with their hands. They thought
it would show a want of pluck to lay traps for them.
The boys wait on themselves at table. Some lay
the cloth, others bring the salt, still others pass the
bread, and, in a word, each has his special charge.
These charges are known as the "trades," and the
boys are called bread-boys, water-boys, potato-boys,
and so on, according to their duties. It is one of
the great sights of the Hospital to see them prepar-
ing for dinner. About one o'clock the trades-boys
leave the playgrounds, for the dining-hall. Many
of them come in such a hurry that their faces are red
and warm with running; their skirts are still tucked
up in their girdles; and their pockets, stuffed with
balls and other treasures, hang heavily down behind.



The cloth-boys begin work, and very awkward
they are about it sometimes. I once saw one little
fellow who, in his efforts to place the cloth straight,
walked right up the middle of the table on the cloth
itself, giving it little pokes into the right direction
with the tip of his boot. Then the mug-boys,
mustard-boys, pepper-boys, salt-boys, bearing the
articles of their trades in big baskets, follow and
set the tables.
This done, they go below to the hall quadrangle,
where all the other Blues" are assembled. The bell
rings. The warden, who is the chief superintend-
ent of the boys when they are not in school, comes
in to preside. The boys fall into rank, according
to their wards, each detachment headed by one of
the number bearing a colored flag. The bugle
sounds. The sergeant, or drill-master, calls out
his orders, the principal of which is, "Hands out
of your pockets Then the Hospital band strikes
up a march and the seven hundred and fifty boys
march in to dinner. When they reach the cloisters,
certain of the trades-boys leave the ranks and go
down to the kitchen. There, under the superin-
tendence of the cook, they take the dishes of meat,
buckets of potatoes and baskets of bread, that have
been prepared, and carry them upstairs.
When the boys are all in the ball, there is an
intervalof silence. The Grecian" says grace, and
then follows such a chattering and clattering as I am
sure was never heard anywhere else. A matron,
at the head of each table, carves for the boys of
her ward, and the monitors and beadles keep
order. I think of all the trades-boys the water-
boys have the hardest time. For often they have
to fill their cans two or three times during the
course of dinner, and to do this they must walk
downstairs, through the cloisters and half-way to
the Newgate street entrance.
In earlier days, when it was believed by a great
many school-masters besides Mr. Squeers that boys
ought to be hardened by poor food and little of
that, Blues" did not fare very well. There was a
time when they had meat only three times a week,
and roast beef twelve times a year.
Charles Lamb and Leigh Hunt both tell dismal
tales of their meager dinners and still scantier
breakfasts and suppers. If you want to learn more
of old Hospital customs, you should read Charles
Lamb's essay on the subject, and the first few chap-
ters in Leigh Hunt's Autobiography. But there
have been many changes since they were "Blues."
And one of the best is that the boys now have as
good food and as much of it as they would have in
private school.
They are quite ready for dinner by a quarter
after one o'clock, for then they have had three hours
of school and one of play. The morning school

hours are from a quarter-past nine to a quarter-
past twelve, and in summer there is an hour before
breakfast from seven to eight for the preparation
of lessons. Then, after dinner come two more
hours in school, from half-past two to half-past
four, and in winter an hour and a quarter's prepa-
ration school, beginning at seven o'clock. So you
see they are not overworked.
The division of their classes is a little different
from that in any other school. There are, to begin
with, a grammar-school and a junior grammar-
school, with three forms and three sections in each.
These are the lowest classes, and into them the little
boys are put when they come up from Hertford.
Then there is the modern school, with two lower
fourth forms and two upper fourth forms. A great
many boys leave the Hospital from the upper
fourth form. But those who have studied very
hard and have shown much ability are promoted to
still higher classes and prepared for college. These
classes have names which have never been used
except in the Hospital. They are called "Little
Erasmus," "Great Erasmus," "Deputy Grecians,"
" Junior Grecians," and Grecians." Once a boy
is in the Little Erasmus," his schoolmates begin
to respect him. But when he finally becomes a
" Grecian," he is held in the greatest esteem, and
treated as if he were a superior being. Indeed,
the mere fact that he is now allowed a little room
to himself raises him at once to a far higher sphere
than that of the ordinary Blue" who has to sleep
and work in a dormitory with forty-four other boys.
I wish you could see a "Grecian's" room. It is
about the size of a closet, and is in one corner of the
dormitory. It is raised up in the air, projecting
into the room, just as a bow window projects out
over the street, and has a ladder-like flight of steps
leading to it. Underneath is his bed, with little
curtains to draw around it.
A "Grecian" may sit up till eleven o'clock, and
of course he has a boy to wait on him. Another of
his privileges is that he may go and see his friends
at any time out of school hours, while the younger
boys may leave the grounds only at stated times or
by special permission, Then he has fish or bacon
with his breakfast, and jam with his tea, and a late
supper of bread and cheese. He and his fellow-
" Grecians" have a table to themselves in the din-
ing-hall, apart from the others, and when the other
boys are being drilled in the square, they stand at
one side in the cloisters, and walk upstairs in what-
ever order they choose. Is it any wonder the
younger boys call them swells ?
There are about sixteen Grecians," though only
three or four go to Oxford and Cambridge the same
year. But until lately there were seldom more than
two "Grecians" at a time. The fewness of their


number adds to the respect in which they are held.
Charles Lamb tells us that the play of the lesser
boys was stopped, or else its noise silenced, when
the Grecians" came out in the quadrangle. They
seemed so tall, and walked with such stateliness
through the cloisters They never beat nor struck
the boys. "That," he says, "would have been
to have demeaned themselves the dignity of their
persons alone insured them all respect." Even
now, when the boys make too much disturbance

number is sometimes made up of other Blues"
who think they will care for a seafaring life.
There was once a curious fashion of admitting
these volunteers. Some of the older King's Boys,"
when there were any vacancies in their school,
would go around from ward to ward very late at
night, when every one was in bed. In each ward
they would ask, "Who wants to be in the Royal
Mathematical School?" Then they would write
down the names of the boys who said they would

in a ward, and will not be silenced by the nurse or
monitor, the latter calls in the Grecian" from his
study, and he usually restores order at once.
But there is still another class which, though not
so much respected as the Grecians," was at one
time more feared by the younger boy's. This com-
prised the King's Boys ; or, as they are now
called, the Royal Mathematical Boys," who
belong to the Mathematical School. There are
forty of them, and they are being prepared for sea
service. Their school was founded by Charles II.
especially for the sons of naval officers-- -But their
VOL. XIV.-64.

like to join it. This was but a small part of the
night's work. Their principal object was to make
a great deal of noise, and if doors were not opened
for them at the first knock, they pounded the panels
as if they were trying to break through.
The boys enjoyed these visits. But the monitors
and matrons were very glad when they were over,
because they never knew what great mischief might
be done. The "Grecians" always staid away, be-
cause even their influence could not have quieted
the King's Boys," and they did not wish to lose the
respect of the younger boys. These young sailors



were called the First Order." The "Blues" were
afraid of them because they had a fashion of always
walking in a straight line, no matter if it led them
even over the heads of small boys. If any one said,
"The First Order is coming," little fellows would
leave their marbles and tops, and run for dear
The Royal Mathematical Boys wear a medal on
their shoulders to distinguish them, and in the
" good old days of their power they slept in a
ward by themselves. But when their tyranny bade
fair to interfere with school discipline, they were
distributed through the dormitories and only sep-
arated from the rest of the boys during school
hours. This put an end to their greatness. Once
every year they go to Court, and their maps and
charts are examined by the Queen. This has been
the custom ever since their school was founded.
I am not going to give you a list of the books
"Blues" study, for boys' studies in large public
schools are very much the same the world over,
excepting that English boys begin to study Greek
and Latin earlier than American school boys.
There is a commercial school to which all the
boys in the grammar-school go; and there are
French and German and drawing and chemistry
classes which they must attend when they reach
the higher forms.
One very good thing in the hospital is that the
boys are taught to work with their hands as well as
with their brains. They have a large workshop
where they learn to use carpenter's tools. Boys are
always better off for knowing how to handle saws,
planes, and chisels. They do not find it stupid or
tedious, for their teacher, after they have had a
few lessons, lets them make whatever they choose.
You will now want to hear what the Blue-coat
Boys do with themselves during play hours. The
Newgate Street entrance leads into the square which
the boys call the garden, because it was here the
monks had their garden. But, as Leigh Hunt
says, Its only delicious crop for many years has
been pavement." The large pump in the center
to which the water-boys come for water is a favor-
ite lounging-place. Another attraction is the
"tuck" shop, which is on the left as one comes in
from the street. There the boys buy all those
many articles, from tarts to writing-paper, without
which school-boys do not seem able to live. It is
kept by a man known to them all as Johnny."
He must make a very good income, for the tips"
the Blues" get are usually spent over his counter.
There was a time when "Blues" had a peculiar
kind of money of their own which alone was of
value within the Hospital grounds. It was called
"housey-money," and whenever they were given
ordinary shillings and pennies they had to take

them to the beadle to have them changed for their
own coins.
The hall playground is the square in front of
the hall. It is to the left, or west, of the garden,
and separated from it by a large building in which
are dormitories. One amusement here is looking
out on Newgate Street. On Sunday afternoons I
have seen the inner fence lined with boys. Then
to the north of the garden, and cut off from it by
a cloister where the Grecians" usually walk, is
the third playground, called the ditch," because
a town ditch once ran right through it. The
treasurer of the Hospital, the masters, matron, and
warden have houses in this square.
The favorite games played in these playgrounds
are football and hockey. When the boys tuck their
long blue coats in their leather girdles, they can run
fast enough, and can kick the balls as far and as high
as if their coats had no skirts. Still there is not
enough space here for cricket. For this reason the
governors have given them a large playground at a
place called Herne Hill, some little distance from
London. Two wards can go there together once a
week, and sometimes twice. This is a delightful
half-holiday. They go by train with a beadle to
keep order.
The beadles assist the warden in regulating the
boys at all times, except at their classes, when
they are under the control of the masters. These
beadles wear high hats with gilt bands around
them, and a large medal on their coats, and not the
cocked hats and knee-breeches which Dickens and
Cruikshank have made us believe were indispens-
able to men of their calling.
At Herne Hill the boys play cricket to their
hearts' content. They have two "elevens," and
the boys who belong to them can go to this cricket
ground at any time out of schoolhours. They play
match games with the large London schools, play-
ing, as a rule, against the eleven" of Dulwich
College and also of the Merchant Taylors' School.
Therefore, while "Blues" are certainly not as
famous and skilled cricketers as Eton and Harrow
boys, it can not now be said of them, as it often
has been, that they do not know how to play cricket.
The "Grecians" and "Deputy Grecians" have
a boat club, and row on the Thames. They then
change their blue coats for flannels, as, indeed,
they do for cricket, and wear caps or straw hats.
They often take part in public races and have
rowed in the Henley regattas. You may always
know them on these occasions by their badges or
hat ribbons of blue and orange, the Hospital colors.
But the race of the year in which they take most
interest is "the Past vs. Present"; or, that of the
"Grecians" still at the Hospital against those who
have gone up to college.



Then there is a large,
open square near the hall
playground, which is
used as a gymnasium,
and once a year the boys
have athletic sports on
the cricket field at Herne
Hill, when a great many
strangers come to look
on. They have a swim-
ming bath, too, so that
they no longer go to
bathe in the New River
as they did in Charles
Lamb's time.
For the more studious
"Blues" there is a li-
brary, furnished with
comfortable chairs and
tables, where, at certain
hours, they can sit and
read. Or else they may
take the books with them
to their wards. There is
also a museum, where
they may study at their
pleasure minerals and
specimens of pottery,
stuffed birds and animals.
Another of the more
serious amusements is
the music school, in
which boys who really
care for music, can have
an excellent musical
training, as is shown by
the excellence of their
instrumental band.
Young orators and
philosophers have a
chance to address an
audience and to open an
argument by joining the
Debating Society of
Blues. While those who
care for literary work
can contribute their writ-
ings to The Blue," an
entertaining monthly
school magazine.
Speech day, which falls
toward the last of July
and at the end of the
scholastic term, is the
principal event of the
year at the Hospital. As
I was fortunate enough



to be present on one of these occasions, I will de-
scribe to you all the ceremonies as I saw them.
When I reached the Hospital, I had to show my
ticket to the beadle, for no one was admitted who
had not a ticket. Inside the quadrangle small
detachments of "Blues" were falling into rank
at the sound of the bugle, and marching through
the cloisters to the hall. When I came into
the hall, I saw at one end rows of seats raised one
above the other on either side of the organ.
These were for the boys. At the other end
were more seats for visitors. In the middle were
tables piled with books and prizes; and mas-
ters in their black gowns were busy arranging
them. A Blue," wearing white gloves, and hold-
ing a pile of programmes, came forward and gave
me a place in the center of the hall just behind
the chairs of state reserved for the distinguished
guests, where I could see all that was done.
Presently, after the boys had all assembled and
the visitors had been shown to seats by the polite
master of ceremonies, the band, stationed on the
topmost row at the boys' end of the hall, struck
up a march; and then there came in from the
hall beyond, first, about ten or twelve gentlemen,
carrying long green sticks. These were the Gov-
ernors of the Hospital. Then came a beadle
in a gorgeous blue gown with yellow trimmings.
After him walked an army officer in brilliant red
coat and gold lace with a sword clattering by his
side as he walked, who looked for all the world like
the Major-General in the Pirates of Penzance."
Behind him were two gentlemen who wore pow-
dered wigs and black flowered silk robes with lace
ruffles in their sleeves, and lace jabots at their necks.
These were "Mr. Mace" and Mr. Sword," who
always walk before the Lord Mayor on state occa-
sions. Last of all came that great gentleman him-
self, and his dress was the gayest there. For he
had on a long scarlet cloak, trimmed with sable
and velvet, and over his shoulders was an elabo-
rate gold chain, ornamented with white enameled
daisies, and on his head was a big bonnet, covered
with black ostrich feathers. He sat down right in
front of me, and so I had a good look at him.
When he took his hat off, his curly white hair
stood up all over his head.
As soon as the Lord Mayor was seated and the
march was finished, the Grecians" began the
speech-making. They sat in a semi-circle by them-
selves, below the raised seats. But each one,
when his turn came to speak, stood on a small
platform just opposite the Lord Mayor, and a lit-
tle distance from him. There were several speeches
in Latin, Greek, German, French, and English, and
the boys who delivered them first presented copies
of them to the Lord Mayor and to one or two of

the Governors. There was a great deal of ap-
plause, especially from the younger Blues," who
listened with deep attention.
The speeches over, the boys sang an anthem,
and then the prizes were distributed by the Mayor.
There was one boy who had so many that some
one else had to help him carry them. The small-
est boys, too, were among the most successful, and
the Governors patted them on their shoulders and
complimented them on their successes.
But it was after the prizes were all given out that
the strangest part of the ceremonial took place.
For then the Grecians," whose time had come to
go to college, went around among the audience,
each one carrying a glove. And as the boys passed,
all the guests were expected to put some money in
these gloves to help to pay the college expenses
of the departing Grecians." This has been a
custom for ever so many years, and the Grecians"
are not ashamed of it. In addition to what,
they can collect in this way, each boy is given
sixty pounds .(three hundred dollars), out of the
Hospital funds, so that even the poorest can
provide himself with the books and clothes he
must have on going up to the university. Some of
the gloves when the collection was over were well
Then there was loud cheering by the boys, for
the Lord Mayor and the masters and everybody
present, and finally, one of them proposed, "Three
cheers for our noble selves," and they cheered
louder than ever. After this they all stood up and
sang "God save the Queen," for they are very
loyal subjects, these young Blue-coats. The Lord
Mayor and the audience rose, too, and I saw the
Major-General, and ever so many others, join in the
singing. This ended the ceremonies, and the gay
procession once more fell into line, and headed by
the beadle, marched out again, but not before
the Lord Mayor, with great gallantry, bowed to
the ladies who were sitting behind him, and
begged their pardon for having turned his back
upon them all the afternoon.
What a scene there was in the garden square
when I went downstairs again Visitors were
walking about; boys were running here and there,
loaded down with-bags and boxes, and tripping over
their coat tails in their hurry, for they were going
home for the summer holiday. I saw one little
fellow with a big bag in each hand, a cricket-bat
under one arm and a tin box under the other, but
despite all his baggage he was hatless, for each boy
is obliged to keep on his uniform at home. At
the gate an impatient crowd was gathered around
the beadle, whose blue and yellow gown had been
changed for plain every-day clothes. He was giving
to each boy a paper, which, when he returned


in September, he would have to bring back
signed to certify that he was free from all con-
tagious diseases. There was still another crowd at
" Johnny's," pushing and screaming and climbing
over one another in their appetite for sweets. But
in the cloisters a group of Grecians" and one or
two masters stood talking quietly.
The next day the cloisters and squares were still
and silent. For all the boys had gone. Even
those who are fatherless and homeless have their
holiday outing. They are sent by the Hospital
authorities to Little Hampton by the sea, for the
month of August.
The next most important event in the year is
the visit to the Lord Mayor on Tuesday in Easter-
week. All the boys, accompanied by the matrons
and beadles, go together to the Mansion House.
There the Lord Mayor receives them, shakes hands
with each one in turn, giving them at the same
time a shilling fresh from the mint. Then his
lordship's servant in livery comes forward and
serves refreshments. Charles Lamb, writing about
these visits, says that the Blue-coats always cared
more for the jokes and pleasantries of the

Mayor than for the shillings and the rest of the
Another quaint observance is the pilgrimage
made by sixty Blues every Good Friday to the
Church of All Hallows in Lombard street, where,
after they have sung an anthem, they receive a bag
of raisins and a penny apiece. A citizen in the seven-
teenth century gave a certain sum of money to be
used in this way. But the "Blues," instead of being
grateful made a great deal of fun of him and his
bequest. Only the youngest go to get the raisins;
and when they come back, their schoolmates chaff
them unmercifully. They have made a doggerel
rhyme to ridicule them. This is it:

Come, little Blue-coat boy, come, come, come,
Sing for a penny, and chant for a plum."

But while they laugh at plums and pennies, they
quite appreciate another long-established custom
which gives them free admission at all times to the
Tower of London.
Thus, between play and study, the "Blues," with
their quaint dress and customs, pass, as Leigh Hunt
calls it, a well-trained and cheerful boyhood.



BUzz, buzz, buzz
This is the song of the bee.
His legs are of yellow,
A jolly good fellow,
And yet a good worker is he.

In days that are sunny,
He 's getfng his honey;
In days that are cloudy,
He 's hoarding his wax;
On pinks and on lilies,
And gay daffodillies,
And columbine blossoms
He levies a tax.

Buzz, buzz, buzz!
The sweet-smelling clover

He humming hangs over;
The scent of the roses
Makes fragrant his wings;
He never gets lazy,
From thistle and daisy
And weeds of the meadow
Some treasure he brings.

Buzz, buzz, buzz!
From morning's first gray light
Till fading of day light,
He 's singing and toiling
The summer day through,
Oh we may get weary,
And think work is dreary;
'T is harder by far
To have nothing to do.







A. D. 1636.

THERE were tears and trouble in Stockholm;
there was sorrow in every house and hamlet in
Sweden; there was consternation throughout Pro-
testant Europe. Gustavus Adolphus was dead!
The Lion of the North" had fallen on the bloody
and victorious field of Lutzen, and only a very
small girl of six stood as the representative of
Sweden's royalty.
The States of Sweden-that is, the representa-
tives of the different sections and peoples of the
kingdom gathered in haste within the Riddar-
haus, or Hall of Assembly, in Stockholm. There
was much anxious controversy over the situation.
The nation was in desperate strait, and some were
for one thing and some were for another. There
was even talk of making the government a repub-
lic, like the State of Venice; while the supporters of
the King of Poland, cousin to the dead King Gus-
tavus, openly advocated his claim to the throne.
But the Grand Chancellor, Axel Oxenstiern, one
of Sweden's greatest statesmen, acted promptly.
Let there be no talk between us," he said, of
Venetian republics or of Polish kings. We have
but one King-the daughter of the immortal
Gustavus "
Then up spoke one of the leading representa-
tives of the peasant class, Lars Larsson, the deputy
from the western fiords.
"Who is this daughter of Gustavus?" he de-
manded rudely. How do we know this is no trick
of yours, Axel Oxenstiern? How do we know that
King Gustavus has a daughter? We have never
seen her."
You shall see her at once," replied the Chan-
cellor; and leaving the hall he returned speedily
leading by the hand a diminutive, but by no means
bashful-looking, little girl. With a sudden move-
ment he lifted her to the seat of the high silver
throne that could only be occupied by the Kings of
Swedes, behold your King !"
Lars Larsson, the deputy, pressed close to the
throne on which the small figure perched silent;
yet with a defiant look upon her little face.
She hath the face of the Grand Gustavus,"
he said. Look, brothers, the nose, the eyes,
the very brows are his."

Aye," said Oxenstiern; and she is a soldier's
daughter. I myself did see her, when scarce three
years old, clap her tiny hands and laugh aloud
when the guns of Calmar fortress thundered a
salute. She must learn to bear it,' said Gustavus
our King; 'she is a soldier's daughter.' "
"Hail, Christina! shouted the assembly, won
by the proud bearing of the little girl and by her
likeness to her valiant father. "We will have you
and only you for our Queen!"
Better yet, brothers," cried Lars Larsson, now
her most loyal supporter; "she sits upon the
throne of the Kings; let her be proclaimed King
of Sweden."
And so it was done. And with their wavering
loyalty kindled into a sudden flame, the States of
Sweden gave a mighty shout" and cried as one
man, "Hail, Christina, King of Sweden!"
There was strong objection in Sweden to the
rule of a woman ; and the education of this little
girl was that of a prince rather than of a princess.
She was taught to ride and to shoot, to hunt and to
fence, to undertake all of a boy's exercises and to
endure all a boy's privations. She could bring down
a hare, at the first shot, from the back of a gallop-
ing horse; she could outride the most expert hunts-
man in her train.
So she grew from childhood into girlhood, and
at thirteen was as bold and fearless, as willful and
self-possessed as any young fellow of twenty-one.
But besides all this she was a wonderful scholar;
indeed, she would be accounted remarkable even in
these days of bright girl-graduates. At thirteen
she was a thorough Greek scholar; she was learned
in mathematics and astronomy, the classics, his-
tory, and philosophy; and she acquired of her own
accord German, Italian, Spanish, and French.
Altogether, this girl Queen of the North was as
strange a compound of scholar and hoiden, pride
and carelessness, ambition and indifference, cul-
ture and rudeness, as ever, before her time or since,
were combined in the nature of a girl of thirteen.
And it is thus that our story finds her.
One raw October morning in the year 1639,
there was stir and excitement in the palace at
Stockholm. A courier had arrived bearing impor-
tant dispatches to the Council of Regents which
governed Sweden during the minority of the
Queen, and there was no official to receive him.
It was the period of what is known in history as
the Thirty Year's War "- that era of strife and
diplomacy, war and controversy, that, reaching

* Copyright, 1884, by E. S. Brooks. All rights reserved.




from the year 1618 to 1648, embroiled all the
nations of Europe, developed great generals and
countless unknown heroes, ruined thousands of
families, and laid in woful waste the industries and
homes of Europe. Into this dispute Sweden had
been drawn, and not even the death of her great

to prevent the dust and spiders' webs upon the ceil-
ing from dropping upon the councilors.
The courier gave a sneering look upon this
evidence that the refinement and culture which
marked at least the palaces and castles of other
European countries were as yet little considered


-. I -

I 'D -- G IR I .'

,7 4, ,, "''-t, -


King at Lutzen could end her share in the strife.
Christina, as head of the State, carried on Swed-
en's part in the war, and her captains and soldiers
were among its sturdiest fighters.
The courier to the court at Stockholm evidently
bore important dispatches. His manner was per-
emptory and his bearing impressive. Closely fol-
lowing the lackey who received him, the courier
strode into the council-room of the palace. But the
council-room was vacant.
It was not a very elegant apartment, this council-
room of the palace of the Kings of Sweden. Al-
though a royal apartment, its appearance was ample
proof that the art of decoration was as yet unknown
in that country. The room was untidy and dis-
ordered; the council-table was strewn with the
ungathered litter of the last day's council, and
even with the remains of a coarse lunch. The
uncomfortable-looking chairs all were out of place,
and above the table was a sort of temporary canopy

in Sweden. Then, important and impatient, he-
turned to the attendant. "Well," he said, "and
is there none here to receive my dispatches?
They call for--Ha! so! what manners are
these? "
What manners indeed? The courier might well
ask this. For, plump against him, as he spoke,
dashed, first a girl and then a boy who had darted
from somewhere into the council-chamber. Too
absorbed in their own concerns to notice who, if
any one, was in the room, they had run against
and very nearly upset the astonished bearer of dis-
patches. Still more astonished was he, when the
girl, using his body as a barrier, danced and
dodged around him to avoid being caught by her
pursuer. The startled bearer of important dis-
patches was evidently in use as a "buffer" here
in the very council-hall of the Kings of Sweden -
in a rather rough and exciting game of tag. Scan-
dalized and indignant, the courier shook himself


___ _~


free from the girl's strong grasp. Seizing her by
the shoulder he said, sternly:
How now, young maiden! Is this seemly
conduct toward a stranger and an Imperial
Courier? "
The girl now for the first time noticed his pres-
ence. Too excited in her mad dash into the room
to distinguish him from one of the palace servants,
she only learned the truth by the courier's harsh
words. A sudden change came over her. She
drew herself up haughtily and said to the attend-
ant :
Who is this officious stranger, Klas ? "
The tone and manner of the question again sur-
prised the courier, and he looked at the speaker,
amazed. What.he saw was an attractive young
girl of thirteen, short of stature, with bright hazel
eyes, a vivacious face, now almost stern in its ex-
pression of pride and haughtiness. She had flung
aside the masculine fur cap that had, at her en-
trance, rested upon the mass of tangled light-brown
hair, and this imperfectly tied with a simple knot
of ribbon, fell down upon her neck. Her short
dress of plain gray stuff hung loosely upon a rather
trim figure; while the black scarf that had en-
circled her neck lay crumpled upon the floor. In
short, he saw a rather pretty, carelessly dressed,
healthy, and just now very haughty-looking young
girl, who seemed more like a boy in speech and
manners,- and one who needed to be disciplined
and curbed.
Again the question came, Who is this man,
and what seeks he here, Klas ? I ask."
'T is a courier with dispatches for the council,
Madam," replied the man.
Give me the dispatches," said the girl; I
will attend to them."
You, indeed The courier laughed grimly.
The dispatches from the Emperor of Germany
are for no harebrained maid to handle. These
are to be delivered to the Council of Regents
"I will have naught of councils or regents, Sir
Courier, save when it pleases me," said the girl,
tapping the floor with an angry foot. Give me
the dispatches, I say,-I am the King of Sweden! "
You -a girl- King ? was all that the aston-
ished courier could stammer out. Then, as the
real facts dawned upon him, he knelt at the feet
of the young Queen and presented his dispatches.
Withdraw, sir said Christina, taking his
papers, and visiting upon his recognition of her
station the scant courtesy of a nod ; we will read
these and return a suitable answer to your master."

The courier withdrew, still dazed at this strange
turn of affairs; and Christina, leaning carelessly
against the council-table, opened the dispatches.
Suddenly she burst into a merry but scarcely
lady-like laugh. Ha, ha, ha this is too rare a
joke, Karl," she cried. "Lord Chancellor, Mathias,
Torstenson!" she exclaimed, as the three leading
members of her Council entered the apartment,
" what think you ? Here come dispatches from the
Emperor of Germany begging that you, my Coun-
cil, shall consider the wisdom of wedding me to his
son and thereby closing the war! His son,
indeed! Ferdinand the Craven."
And yet, Madam," suggested the wise Oxen-
stiern, it is a matter that should not lightly be
cast aside. In time you must needs be married.
The constitution of the kingdom doth oblige
you to."
Oblige and the young girl turned upon the
gray-headed chancellor almost savagely. Oblige !
and who, Sir Chancellor, upon earth shall oblige
me to do so, if I do it not of mine own will? Say
not oblige to me."
This was vigorous language for a girl of scarce
fourteen; but it was "Christina's way," one with
which both the Council and the people soon grew
familiar. It was the Vasa* nature in her, and it
was always prominent in this spirited young girl--
the last descendant of the masterful house.
But now her boisterous play-fellow, the young
Prince Karl Gustaf, or Charles Gustavus, had
something to say.
Ah, cousin mine," and he laid a strong though
boyish hand upon the young girl's arm. "What
need for couriers or dispatches that speak of suit-
ors for your hand ? Am not I to be your husband ?
From babyhood you have so promised me."
Christina again broke into a loud and merry
Hark to the little burgomaster," t she cried;
"much travel hath made him, I do fear me, soft
in heart and head. Childish promises, Karl. Let
such things be forgotten now. You are to be a
soldier; I am a King. Have done, sirs You do
weary me with all this. Let us to the hunt. Axel
Dagg did tell me of a fine roebuck in the Maelar
woods. See you to the courier of the Emperor
and to his dispatches, Lord Chancellor; I care not
what you tell him, so you do but tell him no. And,
stay; where is that pompous little Dutchman, Van
Beunigen, whom you did complain but yesterday
was sent among us by his Government to oppose
the advices of our English friends. He is a greater
scholar than horseman, or I mistake. Let us take

Vasa was the family name of her father and of the ancient kings of Sweden.
t Prince Charles Gustavus, afterward Charles XI., King of Sweden, and father of the famous Charles XII., was cousin to Christina. He
was short and thickset, and so like a little Dutchman that Christina often called him the little burgomaster." At the time of this sketch
he had just returned from a year of travel through Europe.



him in our hunting party, Karl; and, look you,
see that he doth have one of our choicest horses."
The girl's mischief was catching. Her cousin
dropped his serious look and, seeking the Dutch
envoy, with due courtesy invited him to join the
Queen's hunt.
Give him black Hannibal, Joiis," Christina
had said to her groom; and when the Dutch envoy,
Van Beunigen, came out to join the hunting-party,
too much flattered by the invitation to remember

Joiis, I would have you know that I am no novice
in the equestrian art. Far from it, man. I have
read every treatise on the subject from Xenophon
downward; and what horse can know more than I ? "
So, friendly Joiis had nothing more to say, but
hoisted the puffed-up Dutch scholar into the high
saddle; and away galloped the hunt toward the
Maelar woods.
As if blind to his own folly, Van Beunigen, the
envoy, placed himself near to the young Queen;


that he was a poor horseman, Joiis, the groom, held
black Hannibal in unsteady check, while the big
horse champed and fretted, and the hunting-party
awaited their new member.
But Joiis, the groom, noted the Dutchman's
somewhat alarmed look at the big black animal.
"'Would it not be well, good sir," he said, that
you do choose some steadier animal than Hannibal
here ? I pray you let me give you one less restive.
So; Bror Andersson," he called to one of the under-
grooms, "let the noble envoy have your cob, and
do you take back Hannibal to the stables."
But no, the envoy of the States of Holland would
submit to no such change. He ride a servant's
horse, indeed!
"Why, sirrah groom," he said to good-hearted

and Christina, full of her own mischief, gravely
began to compliment him on his horsemanship,
and suggested a gallop.
Alas, fatal moment! For while he yet swayed
and jolted upon the back of the restive Hannibal,
and even endeavored to discuss the Melanippe "
of Euripides with the fair young scholar who rode
beside him, this same fair scholar,-who, in spite
of all her Greek learning was after all only a mis-
chievous and sometimes rude young girl,- faced
him with a sober countenance.
"Good Herr Van Beunigen," she said, "your
Greek is truly as smooth as your face. But, it
seems to me, you do not sufficiently catch the
spirit of the poet's lines commencing
6.viprpv 'V so T)Ooi Tro *T(s raTO oSivexa *

*The commencement of an extract from the Melanippe" of Euripides, meaning, To raise vain laughter,
many exercise the arts of satire."
VOL. XIV.-65.



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I should rather say that Tro e),wmog; should be ren-
dered "
Just how too ytXwuo; should be rendered she
never declared, for, as the envoy of Holland turned
upon her a face on which Greek learning and
anxious horsemanship struggled with each other,
Christina slyly touched black Hannibal lightly
with her riding-whip.
Light, however, as was the touch, it was enough.
The unruly horse reared and plunged. The star-
tled scholar, with a cry of terror, flung up his hands,
and then clutched black Hannibal around the
neck. It was but another though earlier case of
John Gilpin:
His horse, who never in that way
Had handled been before,
What thing upon his back had got
Did wonder more and more.
"Away went Gilpin, neck or nought;
Away went hat and wig;
He never dreamt when he set out,
Of running such a rig."
Minus hat and wig, too, the poor envoy dashed
up the Maelar highway; while Christina, laughing
loudly, galloped after him in a mad race, followed
by all her hunting-party.
The catastrophe was not far away. The black
horse, like the ill-tempered broncoso" of our
western plains, "bucked" suddenly, and over his
head like a flash went the discomfited Dutchman.
In an instant, Greek learning and Dutch diplom-
acy lay sprawling in a Swedish roadway, from
which Joiis, the groom, speedily lifted the groaning
would-be horseman.
It is claimed that the discomfited Van Beunigen
never forgot nor forgave this discourtesy, and that
it really prevented an important treaty of friend-
ship between Sweden and Holland.
But this affair of the Dutch envoy was not the
only piece of madcap folly in which this wild young
queen indulged. Even in her zeal for study,
really remarkable in so young a girl, Christina
could not forego her misguided love of power
and her tendency to practical joking. One day,
it is said, she even made two grave philosophers,
who were holding a profound discussion in her
presence over some deep philosophic subject, sud-

denly cease their arguments to play with her at
battledore and shuttlecock.
A girlhood of uncontrolled power, as was hers,
could lead but to one result. Self-gratification is
the worst form of selfishness, and never can work
good to any one. Although she was a girl of won-
derful capabilities, of the blood of famous kings
and conquerors, giving such promises of greatness
that scholars and statesmen alike prophesied for
her a splendid future, Christina, Queen of Sweden,
made only a failure of her life.
At eighteen she had herself formally crowned
as King of Sweden. But at twenty-five she de-
clared herself sick and tired of her royal duties;
and at twenty-eight, at the height of her power and
fame, she actually resigned her throne in favor
of her cousin Prince Karl. Publicly abdicating
her kingly position she, left her native land, and
for many years led the life of a disappointed
The story of this remarkable woman is one that
holds a lesson for all. Eccentric, careless, and
fearless; handsome, witty, and learned; ambi-
tious, shrewd, and visionary,-she was one of the
strangest compounds of unlikee" to be met with
in history.
She deliberately threw away a crown, wasted a
life that might have been helpful to her subjects,
regarded only her own selfish and personal desires,
and died, a prematurely old woman, unloved, un-
honored, and unlamented.
Her story, if it teaches anything, admonishes us
that it is always best to have in youth, whether as
girl or boy, the guidance and direction of some will
that is acknowledged and respected. Natures un-
formed or overindulged, with none to counsel or
command, generally go wrong. A mother's love,
a father's care, these- though young people may
not always read them aright -are needed for the
molding of character; while to every bright young
girl, historic or unhistoric, Princess or peasant,
Swedish Queen or modern American maiden, will
it at last be apparent that the right way is always
the way of modesty and gentleness, of high ambi-
tions, perhaps, but, always and everywhere, of
thoughtfulness for others and kindliness to all.








--- .. IF : boy thinks of fol-
-.- ....ing the sea for a
_-- hlivelihood, let him
--- not start by run-
-i ning away from
r ;'. home. That will
Snot add any
pleasure to the
occupation, nor
tend to cheer him
U up in the hard work
I.: '-ill have to per-
form and the bitter experi-
ences that will surely come to him during the years
he is trying to work his way upward.
Having decided to be a navigator, if a boy has
nothing else, let him at least start with the consent
and blessing of his parents or guardians, and then
go to work with the determination of becoming
nothing less than the captain of a ship.
My young reader can get a good idea of a boy's
progress in the nautical art from the experiences
of a sea-captain, a friend of mine, connected with
one of the large European lines that sail from New
York. I give you his story, as told to me, in his
own words:
My father was a sailor,- eventually a sea-cap-
tain,- and at the age of thirteen I started on a ship
as a cabin-boy. I worked my way up until I be-
came an ordinary seaman.
"You will know how little schooling I must
have had up to the age of thirteen when I say that
six cents a week had been spent on my education.
But while I was a cabin-boy I picked up all the
knowledge I could from such books as lay in my
way, with special reference to my chosen occupa-
tion. I used to study in the forecastle among the
sailors, and my companions were not a very quiet
set of fellows, I can tell you.
"Finally, I became an able seaman, that is, a
grown-up, able-bodied man, knowing a sailor's
duties, such as splicing, reefing, steering, all about
the ship's rigging, and so on. I was an able sea-
man for three or four years, and, in the meantime,
I was always studying navigation.
"This science is simple enough to a boy who
has brains. He must have a thorough knowledge
of the four rules of arithmetic. I have no doubt

that a little algebra would be of service, but it is
not really necessary.
"As soon as I felt myself competent, when I was
about the age of twenty, I passed an examination
before the Board of Examiners' in England, of
which country Iam a native, and obtained a second-
mate's certificate. I went on board a ship in that
capacity, going on a voyage that lasted ten months.
I served two years, then became a first mate, and
finally got my 'master's certificate.'
During all this time I had received no tuition
on shore; all that I knew I had learned aboard ship.
"Then I became connected with the steamship
company who now employ me, starting as a fourth
officer, and finally, at the age of thirty-two, I was
made commander of one of their Atlantic steamers,
carrying on my first voyage a thousand passen-
That, in brief, is the nautical life of my friend
the Captain. It reads smoothly; but between the
lines you ought to be able to discern a great many
trials, privations, and hardships.
Under no circumstances is the sailor's life an
easy one. In some of the occupations of which I
have written in this series we have seen that wealth
and influence have been of assistance to the youth
in gaining success, but here a boy might have "a
barrel of money" and a whole legion of friends,
and they would not benefit him one particle. He
must start at the bottom of the ladder, as a boy,
and doing boy's work, and much of it very unpleas-
ant work, and he can not gain promotion except
through real ability.
At the outset, it would be a good idea for a boy
to go on one of the United States training-ships,
where young Americans are trained to be seamen.
He must be between fourteen and eighteen years
of age, and he will not be entitled to his discharge
until he has gone through the whole course of in-
struction. He must enter the service with the
consent of his parents. On board the training-ship
he will sleep in a hammock instead of a bed, he
will have to mend his own clothes, and learn his
duty to the officers of the ship. After a while he
will be transferred to what is called the flagship of
the training squadron. There he will learn all
about practical seamanship, and receive instruction
having reference to naval warfare. The discipline
is strict, but the rules are not unreasonable.
He will also study the English branches, and

*Copyright by G. J. Manson, 1884.



finally, when he goes aboard a cruising-ship, he will
learn all about furling and reefing sails, knotting
and splicing, and a great many other things that a
sailor has to know. The boys have to behave
themselves, and if a boy is persistently bad and
disobedient, he may be discharged from the ship.
These apprentices are paid, receiving nine dol-
lars a month and one ration. They can be pro-
moted to second-class apprentices, when they will
get eleven dollars, and, on still further promotion,
be made ordinary seamen and receive fifteen dol-
lars a month. When the young sailor is cruising,
he may be made a petty officer," and receive
still larger pay. Finally, when he has completed
the period of service at the age of twenty-one, he
will receive his discharge.
If our would-be seafarer pursues this course, he
will find it to his advantage when he starts life on
a European steamer. Still, he would be possessed
of a great deal of knowledge in reference to naval
warfare which, in that position, would be of no
use to him, and there would be very much that he
would have to learn, in addition to what he already
Starting as an ordinary seaman, he would skip
the drudgery of a ship's boy, and his promotion
would be somewhat more rapid, though not re-
markably so, for on the sea you have to be
thoroughly competent in one position before you
can rise to a higher.
Of the four officers on an ocean steamship the
two senior officers keep the reckoning of the ship
by observation, that is, by means of the stars, the
moon, and the sun. The third and fourth, or two
junior officers, keep the dead reckoning. By this
is meant the calculation of the ship's position,
independently of celestial observations.
The pay of the captain of an ocean steamer
will be from two thousand five hundred to three
thousand dollars a year. The first officer will
receive about nine hundred dollars a year, the
second seven hundred and twenty, the third and
fourth four hundred and eighty dollars a year.
This will be in addition to living expenses on board
In this connection, it may be well to say some-
thing about the pecuniary habits of seafaring
men. You have heard the phrase, He spends
his money like a sailor." That saying represents
the extravagant habits of some sailors in their
dealings with money. They do not earn much,
but they are away so long from land, where money
is constantly used as a medium of exchange, and
their life is so hard, that when once they get on
shore, their first thought is of having "a good time"
with the wages they have just received. But the
example of this class of men tends to strengthen

the purpose of the youth who has determined to
work his way up on the nautical ladder to win an
official position. Instead of being a spendthrift,
he will save his money, and practice all sorts of
little economies in the line of personal expense, not
stinting himself, however, when it comes to the
necessary books on navigation with which he must
become familiar. While his comrades are spinning
yarns in the forecastle, he will be studying.
If you become a sailor, you will find when you
get on board ship that you are in a new world and
among a class of men entirely different from those
you have met, and different from what you sup-
posed they might be. Many of the sailors, you
will quickly discover, are ignorant, and some of
them brutal. You will note that their conversation
is on low and vulgar subjects, and it will take all
your strength of mind to resist the bad influence
of the talk you will hear.
There seems to be no help for a boy under such
circumstances. He must come in contact with the
men and hear their talk: let him make up his
mind in advance that he will not allow it to corrupt
his mind. He will find that sailors have a singular
The time a sailor spends at the wheel is called
a trick" ; he goes to the fore part of the ship,
but he "lies aft" when he is near the stern; he
does not change but "shifts" his clothing. Water
is kept in the forehold of the ship, and sometimes
when the soup is weak the sailor says that it has a
good deal of the "forehold about it.
Sailors on ocean steamers do have not much time
for amusement, and their sports are not so rough
as they used to be. With the short voyages now
made by ocean steamers, and the strict discipline
observed, there is little chance for amusements of
any kind. The fact is, that sailor life, except prob-
ably on very long voyages, has got to be a very
matter-of-fact sort of existence.
Yet nearly all sailors and sea-captains are
prejudiced in favor of their occupation, notwith-
standing the hardships they have had to endure.
If you should ask the advice of one of them as
to whether it would be well for you to follow the
sea, in all likelihood he would say, It is the best
life in the world." The requirements are that a
boy shall have a sound body and a sound mind.
He does not, of course, need much education to
start with; but education never does any one any
harm, and the boy who is going to be a sailor
need not neglect his studies on land simply be-
cause there have been illiterate youths who have
worked their way up to be sea-captains. The
rapid progress of scientific research, and the appli-
cation of some of its discoveries to navigation,
have forced sea-captains to be better informed



than formerly. The knowledge required for suc-
cess as a navigator is of such a practical character
that almost any man will be able to become pos-
sessed of it, provided he has a taste for the occu-
A boy should remember that the seafaring life
is a confined existence. True, he is out on the
broad ocean, but his industrial existence is limited
to the ship. His ambition must stop at the posi-
tion of sea-captain. Beyond that he can not go.
On the land, the field for progress in almost any
employment is almost illimitable, and the young

the respect of those about him, he almost invaria-
bly enjoys the best of health, and his compensation
is large enough to allow him to lay something by
for old age. He follows the sea as long as he is
able to perform his duties. A captain I believe
the ablest captain of one of our largest European
lines, is now seventy-five years old, and he shows
no signs of giving up command.
It must be added that this sketch refers to cap-
tains of ocean steamers and not to the merchant
marine. That being the case, it must be remem-
bered that it is by no means easy for a boy to


I~~..'5-'. -V


man of ability, spirit, and ambition will always
find some higher point which he may struggle to
attain. But when you have got to be a sea-cap-
tain, you have reached the end of your nautical
rope. All you can do is to learn a little by expe-
rience; I say a little, because there will be few
new experiences you will go through. But the
life of a captain- on one of the large European
steamers is a pleasant one for those who like the
sea. He lives in good style, he is constantly meet-
ing educated and refined people, and picking up
all sorts of information. His position commands

attain to the captaincy of a large steamer. The
positions are few and far between, and he should
hesitate a long time, and be very, very sure that he
is right before he "goes ahead" on a seafaring life.
There comes, however, a time when the old
commander must come on shore for good. Happy
will he be if he has a good home in which to "cast
anchor," and a pleasant family to surround him in
his last days, to whom he can relate his reminis-
cences, as he waits for the summons to enter that
other and distant port to which landsmen and sea-
men alike are all bound.





" ONCE on a time," the stories say,
The wee green elves would often cast,
Bright heaps of gold in mortals' way ;
But fairy gold would never last.
I know 't is true; you ask me how ?
My dears, they sometimes do it now !

If you some morn will come with me,
My blue-eyed lad, my brown-eyed lass,-
I '11 take you where you '11 shout to see
The gay gold glistening on the grass.
Your small, hot hands you both may fill,
And leave the meadow shining still.

But, hidden watchers, all the while,
Are tittering softly to themselves;
Alas you little guess the guile
And roguish mockery of the elves !
Too soon you '11 find, as I have told,
That buttercups are fairy gold !

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THREE times during the civil war, the Confeder-
ate armies invaded the North in force, but only
once did they penetrate as far as Pennsylvania.
Washington itself was often thought to be in dan-
ger, but in the summer of 1863 Philadelphia and
Harrisburg were threatened as well. After Gen-
eral Hooker's defeat at Chancellorsville, the spirit
of Lee's army was higher than at any other period.
The Southern people were determined that the
North should now experience the miseries of war,
and every one, civilian and soldier, talked of in-
vasion. The commander of the Confederate forces
felt the influence, and the Richmond Government
itself urged him on. When General Lee asked for
rations for his army the Commissary-General told
him to get them in Pennsylvania.
The Southern chief, indeed, was well aware that
what soldiers call "the offensive" is often the
surest of all defenses. In a fight between men, if
he who is attacked is able to knock his antagonist
down, he is safer than when :he merely holds
his enemy off. So Lee determined to move his
army entirely out of Virginia, across Maryland,
and into Pennsylvania. He hoped by this step
not only to obtain supplies for his troops, who
needed them badly, but to threaten Washington
and Baltimore, and if he did not absolutely attack
Philadelphia, to lay it under contribution; in
short, to create such alarm and distress all over
the North that the Government of the Union
would be compelled to come to terms. He might
even, perhaps, dictate a peace on Northern soil.
Of course these were the visions of his more hope-
ful hours; but even when he was most moderate
he expected to do great things, and his soldiers
were far more sanguine than he.

In June, 1863, the Army of Northern Virginia
was stronger that at any period during the war,
except when it defended Richmond against McClel-
lan the year before. The victory of Chancellors-
ville brought back deserters, who, in all armies,
re-appear after success to reap the fruits they have
not earned; thousands'of fresh conscripts arrived,
and Longstreet returned with two entire divisions
from North Carolina. General Lee's force amount-
ed to seventy thousand infantry and ten thousand
cavalry, while he knewthat General Hooker's army
had been diminished. The term of service of thou-
sands of Union soldiers was expiring, and the suc-
cessive disasters through which the Army of the
Potomac had passed had chilled the ardor of
recruiting. Hooker's force was reduced to eighty
thousand infantry, and not more than ten thou-
sand or twelve thousand horse. His men were
depressed by defeat, if not dismayed; while General
Longstreet declared that the Army of Northern
Virginia was in a condition to attempt anything.
Accordingly, Lee determined to invade the North.
At this time the two armies were lying on
the opposite banks of the Rappahannock River,-
Hooker, of course, on the Northern side, between
the Confederate forces and Washington. Lee's
command consisted of three corps, under Long-
street, Hill, and Ewell, while Hooker's army
included six corps, each of which, however, was
only about half as large as one of Lee's. Hooker
guarded the roads leading north through eastern
Virginia, between the Blue Ridge and Chesapeake
Bay; but west of the Blue Ridge lies the fertile
Valley of Virginia, reaching from the James River
to the Potomac, and walled off by mountain bar-
riers from the Union army. Lee's plan was first




to move a portion of Longstreet's corps northward
on the eastern side of the Blue Ridge in order to
attract the attention of Hooker, and then, under
cover of this human screen, to march Ewell's corps
direct to the passes in the mountains and thus into
the Valley. Meanwhile, Hill's corps was to remain

center in eastern Virginia, and its left, now the ad-
vance, was marching rapidly west of the mount-
ains toward the Potomac River.
Hooker at once proposed to attack the corps
under Hill, which Lee had left at Fredericksburg,
and destroy it before the others could come to

3, j




at Fredericksburg to complete the deception of
Hooker and conceal Lee's real design.
But the Northern commander at once discovered
that a movement was in progress in his front and,
by sending out cavalry, he provoked a collision
which disclosed the proceeding of his enemy.
Generals in this way often ascertain the purpose
of their antagonists. A force is sent forward to
"feel the enemy," as it is called; an attack is
made which compels the enemy to reply, and thus
the number of the troops and their position are
disclosed. By his cavalry battle at the foot of the
Blue Ridge, Hooker learned that Lee was in force
north of the Rappahannock with at least two-
thirds of his army. One corps was in reality
facing Hooker, and the other had passed through
the mountains into the Valley of Virginia. The
Confederate army was thus stretched out over a
hundred miles; its right was at Fredericksburg, its

its assistance-a bold and splendid design. But
Hooker was under the orders of General Halleck,
the General-in-chief of the army, who remained at
Washington, but still supervised his subordinates.
Halleck disapproved of Hooker's plan, and, instead
of attacking Hill, who was alone and unsupported,
Hooker was ordered to follow Lee. Had he de-
stroyed, or only seriously threatened Hill, Lee must
at once have been compelled to return, and the
invasion of the North would have been at an end.
For modern war is very much like a chess-board,
where one move often absolutely compels the
counter-move of the enemy; you can force your
adversary to give up his most tempting plans,
if you threaten him seriously in return. But
Hooker fought like a man with one arm tied: he
had a master who told him, You shall not strike
here, but there." He was ordered to follow Lee and,
above all things, to protect or cover Washington.




But Hooker thought the best way to cover Wash-
ington was to fight Lee, and the farther from Wash-
ington this could be done, the better; for in case
of defeat, the enemy would be farther off. Halleck's
plan brought both armies closer to the capital,
where, if Hooker should be beaten, Washington
would be more exposed.
In obedience to orders, therefore, Hooker had
to march his whole force northward parallel with
Lee; then of course Lee drew Hill safely away
from the Rappahannock, and so won the first
move in the game. The Southern general still
masked his main army by Longstreet's corps,
which he kept east of the Blue Ridge, while Hill
followed Ewell through the gaps into the Val-
ley beyond. Ewell by this time had advanced

of grain and other provisions and forage. The
entire North became greatly alarmed. All vet-
eran troops were sent to the front, and the Presi-
dent called for one hundred and twenty thousand
volunteers to take their places at the rear. But
the Confederate advance continued.
On the 24th of June the two other corps crossed
the Potomac, and Lee marched north with his
whole army. *Ewell was still in the van, and now
turned eastward, moving as far as Carlisle, which
he reached on the 27th of June. This town is
within a few miles of the Susquehanna, and at the
very heart of Pennsylvania. Lee, however, had
incautiously sent his cavalry eastward to make a
circuit of the Union army, and Stuart, who was in
command of the Southern horse, was now far


northward and captured Winchester, a Union out-
post near the entrance to the Valley, with four
thousand men and twenty-nine pieces of artil-
lery. This left the road absolutely open for the
Southern army; and on the 22d of June, Ewell's
advance crossed the Potomac and entered Mary-
land. West Pennsylvania was now at Lee's
mercy, and town after town fell into his hands, for
there was no army to protect them. He sent vast
herds of cattle southward and levied contributions
VOL. XIV.-66.

away, so that Lee was unable to know what his
enemy was doing-a point of the utmost necessity
to a general. The cavalry indeed have been called
the eyes of an army; being able to move rapidly,
they penetrate for miles and discover the force and
position of the enemy, just as the eye can see
much farther than the hand can strike or the foot
can follow. But Lee's eyes were now blindfolded,
or put out, for a while, and Hooker was very busy.
The Union general watched his enemy closely



until he was sure that Longstreet had followed the
other Southern corps into the Valley, and was also
passing across the Potomac. Then -Hooker knew
what to do. He also crossed the river, but on the
eastern side of the mountains, and on the very day
that the last of Lee's men crossed at the west.
Earlier than this Hooker had asked that the Union
troops scattered in large numbers in Maryland
should be added to his army, but Halleck refused.
Upon the crossing of the Potomac, however, they
were ordered to report to him ; but fifteen thous-
and soldiers still remained, at Harper's Ferry,
where the Potomac bursts through the Blue Ridge,
and as the enemy had now passed far beyond
this point, Hooker applied to have these troops
added to his army. But Halleck again refused,
whereupon Hooker resigned his command. He felt
himself so hampered at every step by Halleck's in-
terference, that there seemed no chance for suc-
cess. Perhaps it would have been wiser had he
endured everything and done the best he could
under the circumstances; but he resigned. His
resignation was at once accepted, and General
George G. Meade was placed in command of the
Army of the Potomac. Nothing except absolute
defeat could be more hazardous or unfortunate for
an army than this change of commanders at a
critical moment, in the very presence of an ad-
vancing enemy.
Meade had been in command of a single corps
under Hooker, and had known little of the plans or
views of his chief. But Hooker promptly gave
him all the information he could impart in an hour
or two, and then set off for Washington.
When Meade was thus suddenly placed at the
head of the Army of the Potomac, the two great
commands were thirty or forty miles apart, and
both very much divided. The Union troops were
stretched out in the shape of a fan, with the han-
dle toward the Potomac, so as to be able to con-
centrate to the east or west, whenever it might be
necessary to encounter Lee. The Blue Ridge ex-
tends across the Potomac into Maryland and Penn-
sylvania, and east of it is another and lower range
called South Mountain; the space between is known
as the Cumberland Valley, and through this valley
Lee was moving. Only his advance under Ewell
had as yet turned eastward toward the Susque-
hanna; the other two corps were still behind the
South Mountain. Meade, therefore, was between
the mass of the enemy and Washington ; his right
reaching out in the direction of Ewell, and his left
facing westward toward Lee's principal force. It
was in Lee's power to press on to the north and
east around Meade's front and threaten Philadel-
phia, but if the Southern leader took that course,
he exposed his communications to Meade, who

could fall on the roads by which Lee drew his
ammunition, and by which he must retreat in case
of disaster. Now, armies in motion must always pro-
tect a line in their rear, so that if misfortune comes
they may be able to fall back; else they may be
crushed altogether or compelled to surrender. Lee
could hardly be said to have a line of supply at this
time, for he was feeding horses and men off of the
country, but it was indispensable to keep open a
line of retreat. Meade's position enabled him to
menace this line of Lee; and as soon as Lee knew
that Meade threatened his rear, he was forced to
turn and fight, or at least cover this line. He at
once ordered Hill and Longstreet to pass through
the South Mountain eastward, and he recalled
Ewell, who had passed forty miles beyond, as far
as York and Carlisle.
By the night of the 3oth of June, Meade had
discovered this concentration of Lee and knew
that it was made to meet his army. Thus both
commanders were looking for each other, each
knowing that a battle was inevitable, and each
anxious to secure a good position. In truth, each
general threatened the other, and could place
himself so as to endanger the communications or
the rear of his antagonist; and each wished to
place himself in a position so menacing to his
enemy that the enemy would be compelled to drive
him from it. Each was acting on the offensive on
a large scale, but each wished in the battle to be
on the defensive; that is, to compel the enemy to.
make the attack or be ruined. With this view,
Meade wanted to fall back to a position which he
thought would be more advantageous.
The Union left, however, had been thrown fdr-
ward toward the village of Gettysburg. This wing,.
as Meade faced north, was nearest to the enemy,
who was now filing through the South Mountain
toward the same place. For Gettysburg is at the
junction of the most important roads in this whole
neighborhood, and was besides the point at which
Ewell, returning from the Susquehanna, could easi-
est rejoin Lee. Gettysburg was therefore indispens-
able to Lee, if he meant to remain east of South
Mountain; and if he did not remain east of it, his
campaign was a failure.
To Meade, however, Gettysburg was not indis-
pensable, and it was only by a chance that his
cavalry on the left encountered at that place the
advance of Lee. Neither general, indeed, knew
anything about the peculiarities of the ground, or
whether it was suitable for a battle; neither gen-
eral designed or desired to fight at this place.
The Union cavalry, under Buford, reached Get-
tysburg first, on the 3oth of June; and that night
Hill was six or seven miles away to the west, and
Ewell still further off to the northeast. Behind




the Union cavalry, and some miles to the south,
was the left wing of Meade's army. When two
great armies are as close as this, within ten miles
of each other and in motion, they must either
fight or one must confess defeat at least tempor-
arily. Yet neither chief as yet knew the situation;
neither dreamed that his enemy was so near.

from the South Mountain. Cavalry can never
hold its own very long against infantry in modern
battle, so Bufford at once sent word of the situation
to Reynolds, the commander of Meade's left wing.
He then dismounted his troops, and, as is usual,
divided them into parties of four, one man to hold
the horses, and three to fight, and did his best to


Immediately east of South Mountain is a region
traversed by several ridges running north and
south, and varying in height from fifty to a hun-
dred feet. The westernmost of these is called Semi-
nary Ridge, and half or three-quarters of a mile
east of it is Cemetery Ridge. The two run par-
allel for a distance of two or three miles. At
the north foot of Cemetery Ridge is the town
of Gettysburg, with other hills not so high a little to
the north and east. Between these two long ridges
the country consists of farm land, with patches
of wood scattered here and there, while at the
southern extremity of Cemetery Ridge it becomes
very rough and broken, and finally runs into an
abrupt and almost precipitous peak called Round
Top, the highest in all the region, dominating the
whole country for miles. This hill is nearly two
hundred feet high, and thickly wooded; the rocks
at its foot are called Devil's Den. Along these
ridges and peaks, and in these valleys and fields
the battle of Gettysburg was to be fought.
On the morning of July I, 1863, Buford's cavalry
had possession of Gettysburg, and was moving out
westward, when it came in contact with the head
of Lee's command- Hill's corps, -just emerging

keep Hill back till the Union infantry could arrive.
Reynolds rode up in advance of his troops, but
by ten o'clock the head of his column was on the
ground, and the battle began. Reynolds climbed
the steeple of a seminary north of Gettysburg and
took a survey of the field. He was a fine soldier,
and at once determined to arrest the advance of
Meade was still far to the rear, and not respon-
sible for this action. Indeed, Meade, as we have
seen, would have preferred another battle-field, but
Reynolds decided for his chief. His action precipi-
tated the battle at Gettysburg. He promptly ordered
up the corps that he commanded, and at first gain-
ed some advantage. But very early in the day he
was killed, and then a succession of changes in
command occurred. At first, Doubleday, a divis-
ion commander, held the advance; then Howard
came up with the Eleventh Corps; and then Han-
cock with authority from Meade to act for him.
For as soon as Reynolds had brought on the
battle, he sent back word to Meade, and not only
to Meade, but to Howard and Sickles, each of
whom commanded a corps, though both were under





After the death of Reynolds the battle became
furious on the north and west of Gettysburg,
but the Union forces at first were able to hold
their own; and when Howard came up, with the
Eleventh Corps, they were equal in numbers to the
Confederates. Before very long, however, Ewell
arrived from the east, and struck the Northern
command on the right; it was thus attacked on
two sides at once, and the force on the field was
largely outnumbered. After fighting nearly all
day, the Union troops gave way, and were crowded
back into the town of Gettysburg. Here, in the
narrow streets, they fell into confusion, and four
thousand were taken prisoners, principally from
Howard's corps. There was danger of a great
But at this juncture Hancock arrived. He pos-
sessed a genius for war; he had a commanding
presence, a superbly handsome form and face that
alone inspired his soldiers,-but far more than
these, a magnetic influence, a quick eye, and a
power of correct decision in a crisis which, together,
go far to constitute a great commander. He first
calmed and then inspired the discomfited soldiers
whom Howard was endeavoring to post on Ceme-
tery Hill, as the northern extremity of Cemetery
Ridge is called. This was the burying-place of the
little town, but it was destined to be the burying-
place for two great armies.
Hancock had orders and authority from Meade
to inspect the ground and decide whether the army
should remain at Gettysburg or withdraw. But
every soldier perceived what an admirable position
the long ridge would form for the defensive battle
that Meade desired to fight. It blocked Lee from
all further advance, and yet compelled the enemy to
make the attack, where it could be best repelled.
So Hancock returned to Meade and reported that
the battle must be fought at Gettysburg. Mean-
while, Sickles had come upon the field in response
to a request from Reynolds early in the day, but
without orders from Meade, who had, indeed,
planned and directed an entirely different move-
ment for Sickles. During the night all the remain-
der of the Union army arrived: Slocum, Sedgwick,
Sykes, with the three other corps, some of the
troops marching thirty miles. Meade himself
came upon the field at one o'clock on the morning
of the 2d of July.
Thus far only portions of the two armies had
been engaged, but now was to come the shock
of perhaps the most important single battle of the
war. Meade arranged his army along the crest
of Cemetery Ridge. With his right he occupied
a curve of the ridge, where it turns to the north
and east, and takes the name of Culp's Hill; his
center faced west on Cemetery Hill, while his left

ran along the ridge and across the low ground be-
yond, reaching nearly to Round Top, the rugged
and lofty peak at the southern extremity of the
landscape. Round Top itself, by some extraor-
dinary contingency, Meade did not occupy; and
this was the most important position on the field.
The Twelfth Corps held the right, then came the
First and Eleventh; then the Second, under Han-
cock, while Sickles was on the left of the Union
line with the Third Corps. The Fifth Corps was
in reserve behind the right.
Lee's army lay immediately opposite that of
Meade, in a wide curve, almost inclosing the
lines of the Union commander. Ewell was on
the Confederate left, in front of Culp's Hill and
in the town of Gettysburg; Hill was at the cen-
ter along Seminary Ridge, and Longstreet held
Lee's right, opposite Sickles. The Southern line
was five miles long, and in great part covered by
woods; the Union line was little more than three
miles long, but more exposed. The position of
Meade, who did not wish to attack, would have
been as good as any held on either side during the
war, if he had occupied Round Top; but this he
did not do.
This omission Lee perceived, and determined
to avail himself of the mistake. Longstreet, Lee's
greatest lieutenant after Jackson fell, was anxious
that Lee should move around Round Top and the
left of Meade, and threaten the Union communi-
cations with Washington; but Lee determined,
instead, to attack the left of Meade, moving be-
tween Sickles and Round Top. This point was,
perhaps, the weakest-of Meade's line. Meade had
intended that Sickles, who held the left, should
extend from Cemetery Ridge behind the broken
ground and rest on Round Top, but his orders were
not clear, and Meade had not visited the ground.
When Sickles studied his position, he saw that the
rough and high ground in his front gave the enemy
an enormous opportunity, and he determined him-
self to seize it. He, however, reported the fact to
Meade through several staff officers of high rank,
and several times implored the commanding
general to come in person and inspect the ground.
But Meade believed the attack would proceed from
another quarter, and paid little attention to
Sickles's appeals. Finally, Sickles thought him-
self warranted in taking the position he had
But almost before this could be done, the bat-
tle began. Longstreet attacked Sickles with
great vehemence, and Meade rushed to the spot
in person. He disapproved of Sickles's dis-
positions, but it was now too late to change them,
and all that Meade could do was to send
reinforcements rapidly. 'A furious attack was




made on Sickles, to gain the ground the import-
ance of which Sickles had perceived. Meade
pushed troops forward from every part of the
field, and one of the most frightful battles of
the war ensued. Ten thousand troops on a side
were left on this bloody ground. The Devil's
Den, so aptly named years in advance, was filled
with dead and dying; peach orchards and wheat
fields were crowded with troops that pressed back-
ward and forward for hours in the hot sun of that
afternoon in July. Sykes, and a part of Han-
cock's corps were brought to resist the Confeder-
ate onslaught.
In the midst of this fierce fighting, General
Warren, the Chief Engineer of the Union army,
had ridden to Round Top to get a view of the
field, and at once detected the enormous
importance of the position. But he also saw
beneath him a Confederate force approaching to
seize the point. Ordering the signal-officers on
the summit to continue waving their flags as if the
place were occupied in force, he hastily descended
to obtain support. A single New York regiment,
under Colonel O'Rorke, was moving by the foot
of the hill, and Warren immediately pushed it to
the top. But the Southerners also had discovered
the immense consequence of the position, and a
furious battle ensued, each side scrambling up the
rocks to secure the prize. The Union force
arrived only a few moments in advance of their
enemy. They dragged cannon up the height, but
the Southern sharp-shooters struck down the
cannoneers. Gallant commanders and just as
gallant men fell by the side of their pieces. One
dear friend of mine, Colonel O'Rorke, brilliant,
young, heroic, was shot as he led his regiment up
those heights; but the heights were held.
All this while the battle in the valley raged.
Sickles was shot in the leg at 7 o'clock and carried
from the field.* But a struggle like that of giants
clutching each other for life or death went on.
The fate of the war was at issue in the peach
orchard and the Devil's Den, and the men on
each side knew it. They fought, not for the
success of a day, but for the victory of a cause.
At night the Southerners had driven back the
original Union left, but had nowhere penetrated
the line. The farthest point that Sickles had
seized had been wrenched from Meade, but the
fighting had exhausted Lee as much as it.had
Meade. The Union left was intact, and Round
Top was in the hands of the Northerners.
At about the time that Longstreet stopped
fighting, Ewell assaulted Culp's Hill, at the other
Sickles was at an exposed point on his line encouraging an
artillery command to hold its own when he received his wound.
All of his staff had been sent with orders to various parts of the
field, and he had to be assisted from his horse by an orderly, but his

end of the field. The Union strength at that
point had been reduced in order to reinforce the
left, and Ewell was able to gain some important
ground, even seizing the breastworks of the
Twelfth Corps, the extreme right of Meade's line;
but darkness put an end to the battle.
Thus, when night fell, one of the most terrible
battles in history had been fought, yet nothing had
been decided. Lee had pushed back both the right
and left of the Union line, but at enormous expense
of life, and he was no nearer success than in the
morning. The usual situation in the Eastern armies
was reversed; for the Northerners were on the
defensive. Lee was now the invader, and it was
indispensable that he should drive Meade from
the field, or confess himself defeated. But Meade
had all the advantages of position that Lee had
enjoyed at Fredericksburg and on other battle-
fields. The Confederates said to themselves, om-
inously, It is like Fredericksburg, but we are to
In the night, Longstreet urged Lee to withdraw
his army and maneuver. The subordinate felt that
the results of the day did not fit the Confederates
to make another assault. He implored his com-
mander to pass entirely around the Union left and
thus compel Meade to fall back from his strong po-
sition. But Lee determined to attack the Union
lines again. This decision was contrary to all his
general policy, as well as to his usual tactics in the
field; and most soldiers consider it a great mistake.
But it seems as if Providence had destined Gettys-
burg to be the turning-point of Southern invasion;
as if all Southern success was to be checked just
there; and the chief of the Southern commanders
failed in generalship at the crisis of his fame and
his cause. Lee, however, was undoubtedly desper-
ate; he declared: "I am going to whip the enemy,
or they are going to whip me! So he determined
to attack his antagonist in a position that appeared
impregnable. He chose to do this not from the
point where Longstreet had gained some ground,
though at enormous cost, but from the center of
his own line he ordered a charge against Cemetery
Hill, the center of Meade- directly in front of both
armies. Longstreet again protested, but in vain.
For hours the subordinate pleaded with his chief,
but the chief remained inflexible.
In the meantime, Meade was not idle. During
the night the Union troops which had been driven
out of the intrenchments at Culp's Hill on the ex-
treme right, were reinforced, and at four o'clock
they attacked the enemy. The battle at this point
lasted four hours; but Ewell was thrust completely
officers, of course, came around him speedily. For a moment or two
it was uncertain whether he was seriously hurt, and he continued to
give his orders; but he soon became weak and faint, and was carried
to the rear, where his leg was amputated.


from the ground he had gained the night before.
The fighting here was tremendous; hundreds of
trees were killed by the storm of shot, and re-
mained leafless and dry, mementoes of the shock
of war; the hill was crowded with these corpses
of the forest, as the cemetery was with the human
victims of the battle. But this fight, for all its
severity, was only an episode of the main one.
It was important to force Ewell back, for he had
almost turned the right of the Union army; but
when he was once repelled, neither he nor.his im-
mediate antagonists renewed the battle. The great
encounter was on the other front, and the armies
on both sides, at the right and left, looked on,
while at the .center the champions were engaged.
Lee gave Longstreet three divisions for the charge.
Pickett, from Longstreet's own corps, was to lead,
supported by Wilcox and Pettigrew from Hill's.
"This will give me fifteen thousand men," said
Longstreet, "and there never was a body of fifteen
thousand men who could make that attack suc-
But the arrangements went on. All the South-
ern artillery was collected on the heights; half of it

in force-a distance of fourteen hundred yards.
Longstreet's heart was heavy when he gave this
direction, for he foresaw the slaughter and the
result. But Pickett was one of the most gallant
of soldiers, and made no objection to the order.
At about eleven o'clock the Confederate batteries
opened a tremendous fire. One hundred and
thirty-eight cannon were ranged in full sight along
the crest of Seminary Ridge, from the point oppo-
site Gettysburg down to that wrung from the
Union forces on Meade's left the day before, just
under Round Top. They poured across the valley
shot and shell against Cemetery Hill, the center
of Meade's line. Here Hancock was in position
with the Second Corps, and there could be neither
general nor troops better fitted to repel assault.
But it was not known as yet which point the Con-
federates would attack. Artillery fire, of course,
preceded infantry assaults, and a hundred Union
guns were collected, under Hunt, Meade's chief of
artillery, to reply. From Round Top on Meade's
left to Cemetery Hill, the northern extremity of
the ridge, there was a line of flame nearly two
miles long responding to the semi-circle of fire that

--Ap '

-- --"z- ,-, c : '
i -- -- _- .- - _._ _: -. .',^ -: _


extending southward opposite Meade's left, and the belched from the throats of Confederate cannon on
remainder immediately in front of the Union center. the other side. Never on the American continent
The troops for the charge were hidden behind the was seen such a 'storm of artillery. The smoke
crest of Seminary Ridge. Longstreet took Pickett half enveloped and obscured the hills, while sharp
to the front, and showed him what he had to do. tongues of flame darted out all along the ridges,
After a heavy artillery fire, he was to march over and shells in the air formed circles of fire above
the crest, and down the slope of Seminary Ridge, the heads of the combatants; then came the whiz,
and then up the opposite hill where Meade was the explosion, the crash, the disaster among the





ient,- an angle from which the
defender- can fire in Pither di-
.,._, . :,.-, P, i. r h.; t,- ,.: |,.:.-1 the

.:!, : ...i [ l -i ..: .. .. .I h is
S. I, ~ a ..1 _-I ,. r., I I,.r for
.,di -, .,, ,,i ,,, l',: tly

I..: l t ,.1 I ,_ i.,:. r Xhe-

th. Cm- J. II
at,- I, --k i- kl- li--

Ij r r, -.. ri 1 1: .11

as I-.' .r'.I I -_!I

a r. h .- ., r. ... .-I.- r :,: ...: r : il L. I- "

Tlihi CiiJcrra., ,upp.ocd ihui 't-'- "- ---
was proof of their success, and at U
about one o'clock the command
was given for Pickett to advance. Longstreet was
still unwilling. When Pickett came up to ask if
it was time, his commander could not speak, for
emotion. Pickett repeated the inquiry, and Long-
street simply bowedhishead. ThenPickett replied:
"Sir, I shall lead my division forward."
The men advanced in magnificent array. Pick-
ett's troops were fresh; they had not been en-
gaged the day before. He was supported by
Pettigrew on his left and Wilcox on the right, and
they marched down the slope and into the valley
till they reached the Emmettsburg road, which
runs along the foot of Cemetery Ridge. Those
who saw the movement,- Union, Confederate, and
foreign spectators,- all declared the sight one
of the most splendid that could occur in war.
The day was clear; it was the 3d of July; the
sky was without a cloud. Between two long ranges
of hills, on each of which a hostile army was ex-
tended, fifteen thousand soldiers advanced, slowly,
so as not to break the line, and approached the
strongest point in the position of the enemy, a hill
one hundred feet high, where the Union lines pro-
jected, so that they formed what is called a sal-

*;---"-. -,,.---'7.


Union artillery at once began to fire. Forty guns
opened on the assailants, but they pressed on.
Hancock was at the center of the position to be
attacked, Howard was on his right, and a portion
of the First Corps under Doubleday was on the left.
When Pickett changed direction, Wilcox, who
was on his right, did not follow, but continued
moving forward. This left a gap in the Con-
federate line, and when Pickett advanced again,
his right was still more exposed. Doubleday saw
his chance, and at once moved forward Stanard's
brigade and struck Pickett's right with tremen-
dous force. But the splendid Southerner still ad-
vanced, and all his men were heroes. The whole
line pressed onward up the ridge, among rocks
and trees, against Hancock's center. They seized
for a moment the crest of Cemetery Hill, and
Lee could discern from the opposite ridge the blue
flag of Virginia waving over the Union lines. But
Hancock came to the rescue. Webb and Gibbon,
his two division commanders, led their men for-
ward. The fighting now was terrific. Hancock,
Webb, and Gibbon all were wounded. General
after general on the Southern side was killed. One

7- ___



Union artillerist, Lieutenant Cushing, hardlygrown,
was mortally wounded, but exclaimed, I must
give them one more shot," then fired, and fell.
The Confederates, too, performed prodigies of
valor, but in vain. Pickett's force had gained the
ridge, but it was impossible to remain. The Union
men rushed in on them from every side. Stanard
on the right, Hancock in front, enveloped them.
Pettigrew had given way on the left, Wilcox never
reached the crest on the right; and here was Pick-
ett thrust forward two-thirds of a mile from Lee,
and unsuccessful. The great column was mowed
down like grass before a scythe, and the men sur-
rendered in masses. They rallied now and then,
but two-thirds of Pickett's command were killed,
wounded, or captured. Every brigade commander
and every field-officer but one in his column fell.
The hill and the plain were covered with fugitives.
The mass did not retreat: none but disorganized
stragglers returned. The flag that had waved in
victory over the Union parapet was in Union hands.
The assault was over in less than half an hour.'
The battle was lost-the Union was saved-the in-
vasion was at an end. Everybody in each army
knew the result. As the stragglers came up, dis-
organized, Lee endeavored to rally them, and nobly
admitted his error. "It was all my fault," he cried
to his men; and every one set to work to prepare
for a counter assault. Longstreet brought up the
troops that had not been engaged. The artillery
was posted again, though its ammunition was
nearly exhausted.
But Meade determined to make no counter
attack. He came upon- the ground after the
charge, and, though Hancock, wounded and in an
ambulance, urged him to carry on the battle and
reap the result of the victory, Meade was cautious,
and believed that Lee had not exhausted himself;
so, nothing more was done on either side. The
Army of the Potomac had repulsed its great an-
tagonist in a pitched battle. It had saved the
capital. Meade had won, and he was satisfied with
this without risking more. Nothing had been ar-
ranged for the offensive. This complete success
had not been anticipated, and on the morrow Lee
remained unmolested, though many in both armies
anticipated a renewal of the battle.
During the night of the 4th of July, Lee with-
drew from his position on Seminary Ridge, and on
the 5th he was in full retreat behind South Moun-
tain, moving towards the Potomac. The anguish
of this moment to the great Southerner must have
been intense. He knew then that the Confederacy
could never conquer its independence. When he
withdrew, defeated and disabled, from Seminary
Ridge, he had lost the greatest chance his cause
had ever enjoyed. Henceforth he must fight

on the defensive, and his only hope was to tire
out and exhaust the patience of his adversary.
His soldiers, however, did not reproach him.
"The old man is not to be given up for one
mistake," they cried. They lovedhim, and clung
to him still. But he knew the meaning of the dis-
aster, and many of his followers shared his despair.
Meade had no intention of pressing hard, no
desire to provoke the desperate man to battle
again. He followed at a respectful distance, but
made sure that Lee should by no possibility either
remain or return. When the Southerners reached
the Potomac, they found the river risen and the
bridges gone, but still Meade did not overtake
them till the Confederate leader had time to fortify
his army. Then again Meade declined to fight,
and Lee crossed over in safety. The President
and the country were greatly dissatisfied with so
little result from so great a victory, and Meade
was rebuked by the Government for the delay.
He offered his resignation, but it was not received.
But though certainly not half of the harvest was
reaped from the field of Gettysburg, the results
were greater than from any eastern success which
at that time had been achieved. The North was
relieved from invasion; the Government and the
country breathed freer; the prestige of success was
secured; the greatest leader and the greatest army
of the South had been fairly beaten, on even terms,
for the Northern force was hardly larger than its
enemy. Everyone felt that the war was nearer
its end because of Gettysburg. The Army of the
Potomac,-so often defeated by the blunders and
faults of its commanders rather than by any
remissness of the men,- had redeemed itself. It
had shown itself worthy of the foe, and won a vic-
tory equal to the most brilliant successes of any of
the other armies.
This great achievement was due, not only to the
splendid resistance of the center at Cemetery Ridge
on July 2, but to the stubborn defense made both
days before on the right and left of the Union line.
The Southern strength and spirit were almost ex-
hausted before Pickett's charge was made. This
was shown by Longstreet's unwillingness to attempt
the assault, and quite as plainly by Lee's desper-
ate determination, as well as by the fact that when
the Confederates found themselves repelled, they
made no effort to redeem the day. For the battles
of the Peach Orchard, Round Top, Culp's Hill, and
the Devil's Den were all essential to the result at
Gettysburg. Sickles and Reynolds did their part
to repel Pickett as really as Hancock and Howard;
and every Union soldier engaged on any of those
three days may claim his share in the victory. As
President Lincoln said to General Sickles: "There
is glory enough to go all around."





ONE night the Brownies strayed around
A green and level stretch of ground,
Where young folk oft their skill displayed
At archery till evening shade.
The targets standing in the park.
With arrows resting in the r.1 r
Soon showed the cunning Biu r.... I:.-.i
The skill of those who tried ilh. r I-,,,d.
A few in outer rings were fa-r.
Some pierced the gold," an.l d mI..- 1 i i-.l .I i-. :
Without a touch, until they -. I.:
In trunk of tree or grassy bank!
Said one: "On page and pa, :ii c .:I. ld.
The story often has been toll.

How men of valor bent the bow
To spread confusion through the foe;
And even now, in later times,
As travelers find in distant cimes,
Some savage tribes on plain and hill
Can make it interesting still."
VOL. XIV. -67.

Another spoke : A scene like this,
Reminds me of the valiant Swiss,
Who in that dark and trying hour
Revealed such nerve and matchless power,
And from the head of his brave son
The apple shot, and freedom won.


While such a chance is offered here,
We '11 find the bows that must be near,
And as an hour or two of night
Will bring us 'round the morning light,
We '11 take such targets as we may,
And bear them off without delay
To safer haunts some miles away.
Then at our leisure we can shoot


'-',' -_- .... '-t l, "
_- : -. .-:; !,:..:_. _' .: -. ., ,.4

F -

The targets from the ground they drew,
While buildings that were fastened tight
Against the prowlers of the night
At the wee Brownies' touch and call,
Soon opened and surrendered all.

So some with bulky targets strode,
That made for eight or ten a load,



At bulls' eyes round or luscious fruit,
Till like the Swiss of olden time,
With steady nerve and skill sublime
Each one can split an apple fair
On every head that offers there."

As time was short, to work they flew,

And called for engineering skill
To steer them up or down the hill;
Some carried bows of rarest kind,
That reached before and trailed behind.
The English "self-yew" bow was there,
Of nicest make and "cast" so rare,
Well tipped with horn, the proper thing,




With "nocks," or notches, for the string.
Still others formed an "arrow line"
That bristled like the porcupine.

When safe within the forest shade,
The targets often were displayed.





F"r- : f& -.

But practice soon improves the art
Of all, however dull or smart;
And there they stood to do their best,
And let all other pleasures rest,
While quickly grew their skill and power,
And confidence, from hour to hour.

When targets seemed too plain or wide,
A .- .... i 1.:! ,. rk the Brownies tried,
E:, t in .-.I.:i- member took his stand,
.-nd ridl:.-.l is head to serve the band.
F. .r. .:.s! .i-.-. i were prompt to hold
A. r.,uij..i:,in [I in halves it rolled,
Ar,.i t.r i-. rirnip, quince, or pear,
S...:,!u: .: i be shot to pieces there,
T .ll ri..r al..,.. the apples flew
Ii I1.i ..:1 i,.:1.:.re their arrows true,

At first, however near they stood,
Some scattered trouble through the wood.
The trees were stripped of leaves and bark,
With arrows searching for the mark.
The hare to other groves withdrew,
And frighted birds in circles flew,

But even plums and cherries small
At length seemed mark enough for all;
For Brownies, as we often find,
Can soon excel the human kind,
And carry off with effort slight
The highest praise and honors bright.





sONE day in

an excited lad
brought to his
mother a young
-._ The child had
the capture so
deftly, with his
-- straw hat, that
the wee, deli-
cate creature had suffered no injury,-not a feather
was ruffled. The lad's home was a country place
where, to shut out mosquitoes and other annoying
insects, the house was completely barricaded with
wire-gauze, like one of Sir Humphrey Davy's safety-
lamps. Wire windows an'd wire doors, from garret
to cellar, made the cottage a safe and spacious
cage where the bird could roam at will.
It was caught on the very day when it first
flitted from its tiny nest, before it could discover
how wide the world is, and therefore it felt no
sense of captivity. We called it "Hum," after
Mrs. Stowe's son of Buz," and it responded to
its name as eagerly as a child or a kitten. The
one thing it did not love was solitude. Its joyous
flutter when any of the family entered the room
seemed the greeting of a happy sprite. Its rest-
ing-place was the tassel of the window-shade,
whither it withdrew when tired of flitting from
room to room. Stairways were no obstacle to it,
and it loved to explore the garret whenever the
door was left open.
The only food we gave Hum was sugar, dissolved
in water, which stood ready in a silver cup. When
hungry or thirsty, he hovered about the cup and
received his drink from a spoon I held up, while
he balanced himself in the air. And he would
vibrate over a bunch of petunias from the garden,
thrusting his long tongue into each flower, and
drawing out the honey with evident enjoyment.
He spent much time at the top of the windows,
going back and forth, just touching the glass
with his tongue. We thought he was longing for
the world outside, until, with something of a shock,
we discovered that each thrust of his tongue im-
paled a gnat so small as to be almost invisible; and
we soon found that these minute insects answered
for the solid half of his luncheon.
I was an early riser in the country, but Hum

generally awoke me by buzzing over my eyelids,
until I opened them. Whether he did this be-
cause he was lonely, or because he wanted a drink
from the cup that stood at hand, I could not
decide. In the family was an aged lady, whose
custom it was to take a nap on the sofa every
summer afternoon. When she awoke, Hum was
always perched within an inch or two of her cap.
Sometimes he would alight upon the top of his yel-
low-haired captor's head as composedly as if the
head had been a sunflower or a daffodil. Though
perfectly tame, he never confided in any other
member of the family to that extent. When we
went to dinner, we were obliged to close the doors
against Hum, for he hovered over the table with
so much curiosity that we feared he would pounce
into some hot dish. Once I gave him a bath in a
saucer of water. How small and helpless he
looked after it! -not larger than a humble-bee.
Until the sun had dried his regalia, he was unable
to move because of the weight of water in the
feathers. I did not repeat the wetting.
All summer long Hum gladdened us with his
company, and the neighbors far and near came to
see him.
When autumn came, the birds of passage seemed
to linger for a while on their way to the South.
Not far from our house a florist had a bulb-
garden of several acres in extent, and count-
less humming-birds flocked about his gladiolus
plants and the Japan lilies. From these, one
glorious September Sunday, they came by troops
to our trumpet-creeper, and it was plain that they
were mustering for a final flight.
Then we thought of poor Hum, and pictured
him left behind this gay throng,- lonely, and per-
ishing in an unfriendly climate. A family council
was called. Dear Grandmother said, "Give Hum
his freedom." Father and Mother appealed to the
children. They replied, almost tearfully, We must
let Hum go." Then we called to our pet, and he
came with his quick, bright chirp. We opened
the mosquito bar. He passed out leisurely into
the bright sunshine, then with quick darts sprang
forward and upward to the trumpet-creeper, and
soon joined his winged brethren. For days he
hovered about, and when his silver cup was held
up, he would approach; but he never came back
to his cage. And by and by he disappeared with
his companions.
The humming-birds, of which there are more




than two hundred and fifty different kinds, belong
wholly to the American continent, and chiefly to the
tropical portions. The West India islands, and the
glades of the upper Amazon are particularly their
home. Central America and Mexico have less num-
ber, and about a dozen species penetrate the United
States in Arizona and New Mexico. A few of them
spread through California and the Rocky Mount-
ains, while one solitary species bends its course
eastward, and in rapid flight wings its way to the
Middle and Atlantic States, to Canada, and even
to the far forests of Hudson's Bay. This is the
ruby-throated hummer, and Hum and his friends
about the creeper-vine were of that race.
The "Ruby-throat "-charming and expressive
name !-generally appears here in May, and begins
its nest-building in June. The nest is a little
cup, holding perhaps two thimblefuls. Its
walls are usually made of the soft down from fly-
ing seeds or fern-stalks.
It is then thickly and
prettily covered with
wood lichens, and the
whole is firmly attached
to the upper side of a -.
branch. One species, | .
known as the black .
humming bird, uses ,
cotton instead of down, : '.
and other great dif-
ferences are to be '
found in the archi- j "
tecture of the different E sient ..-
sorts. Many South Am- .
erican species, for instance, -
tuck their warm beds into
the curled pocket-like tip of .-.11-
a pendent leaf on some outer
drooping branch of a tall tree. _-
The eggs of every known hum-
ming-bird are pure white in '
color, which is remarkable;
and those of our ruby-throat are smaller
than peas in size. After ten days of sit-
ting, the mother-bird is rewarded by the
cracking of the shell, and the appearance
of the two little ones. While the eggs are
hatching, the parent birds guard them with
keen interest and care; and should any
enemy approach their home, the tiny creat-
ures fly at its eyes, picking with their sharp
bills; their throats swell, they shriek, and really
become little winged furies. They will even fly at
a man and strike him.
The baby birds resemble blue-bottle flies both
in size and appearance. Most persons suppose,
as we thought when we caught Hum, that the food

of humming-birds is wholly the honey of flowers.
But to get and keep their strength they must have
meat; and insects, therefore, form the staple of the
hummer's diet. These they procure to a great ex-
tent by striking them down in the air, spearing them
with their sharp tongues, as our pet speared the
gnats at the window, where he could see them-
well against the light. If you watch one of these
"bright little, light little, slight little hummers"
in the woods, you may notice him constantly leav-
ing his perch and darting into the air on short
journeys. This is his way of insect-catching.
The nectar-cups deep in the heart of open-
mouthed, sweet-scented flowers give the humming-
birds their dessert. Poising on whirring wings before
one of these deep blossoms, the bird thrusts in its
long beakand
slender head,
I until with its
tongue it can
sugar fount-
!,'! ain at the base
-I oftheblossom
'' /"; is growing. Its
':- -'. .... : s as sharp as
.:-- -in a I. and it is easy
-.. ,- .:.rk ,..r it to pierce
r li ..-. .Ey-capsule and
S-I l i-p i. te sweets. But
~I. r.: 0I. humming-bird
.:,.Ir.i I nr.-Ls otherdelicac-
S lI, t'i! he sweet, sticky
S,' ir. .:i the flower at-
i .:i.- h:ney-loving in-
[i :-.:.: .. ho, caught in
IV tilts pleasant trap, can
"not pull their feet out
of the nectar, and so die at once
.''' or live but a short time in vain
''i struggles. Botanists will ex-
plain how this maybe a curious
t arrangement for the benefit of
Sthe plant; but the humming-
S bird knows not whether the
S plant thrives by this sort of
:L :food. He knows only that
T.:" ', ,_ he himself is very fortunate
.'-' when he finds such a well-
stored flower,- a sort of top-
shelf where his preserves are kept.
The peculiar humming noise which gives the bird
its name is made by the exceeding rapidity of the
beating of its wings against the air as it poises
before a flower or elsewhere. If it could not move
its wings very swiftly, it would be impossible for it




thus to balance itself; and if its wings were not
very large, long and pointed, quite out of propor-
tion to its size, it would be impossible for it to
endure the continued exertion necessary in thus
sustaining its stationary position in the air. The
muscular power of a humming-bird's wings is
undoubtedly greater, in proportion to the weight
of its body, than that of an eagle. The length of
the wings is so great that their quills often reach
far beyond the end of the tail; and when they are
shut, the tips of the wings cover each other above
the back.
The only voice belonging to most if not all of the
hummers is an exceedingly fine little shriek or
squeal; just such a sharp, thin note as you would
expect from so needle-like a beak. I have known
persons who thought they heard them sing, but I
think this must be a fancy and not a fact.
It is one of the pleasantest qualities of these
gem-like, flashing, miniature birds, that they can
easily be tamed. Hum's docility has been told;

many similar instances are recorded, and I once
received a letter from a little friend near Los An-
geles, California,-Anna F. Ruth,- who wrote as
I wish to tell you a little story that I think will
prove interesting, and it is every word true. One
day, when our flower-garden was being watered, a
little humming-bird which was flitting from flower
to flower became senseless from the effects of dart-
ing into a spray of the cold water.
So sister and I took it into the house and laid it
in the sun on the table. It soon began to show
signs of life, when we fed it with sugar out of a
petunia, which it ate quite heartily, and then it
drank water out of a tea-spoon; after which it
was so far recovered that it. flew about the room.
We then let it fly out of doors; and for several
weeks afterward it would come and light on a
rose-bush by our window and look in at us, not
flying away when we would open the window and
reach out our hands toward it."

r kh areyou sAudying,
7 my litle mTaia
Im ealMIgI 1 reas{ [n.\ abookXl\& ait
'And-what i5 yourlfavorit wordai d I
"Tver the ite nnmaiden made reply,
Big AL is Ike ricestword 1imow."
Ancdwhen I askeol wky ske.thoughk it So,
SShe gravely answered -
(Txe Sly I itffe Tot, !)
kBeauise Tbig A, S-aS Pea' Iot.do

- ^ *1






Ltery, mintery, cuitery, oiti
-~--i J',rFPe-5Eff and P p1T:-ThLFN.~
g~B -r'll I Xmmn ~~, il1ll;Dr-RL La
AVITree COALINejS in a flock:-
One flew -r1.'5- and one flewvv 'WAS
id onie flew over' the ,r'T;.' p

V" -- .- .' -
-IS.1_ Lii_~ L4

11~\11 ~---- --Ilk

'I fl.~ -.


. . I !,I

I, -


872 JACK IN THE PULPIT. [Sarmainna,

r ir

II '


I HAVE some queer things to mention this
month, my beloved,- such as a boy with the ear-
ache who evidently had considered both sides of
the subject; a charming snake that was anything
but agreeable; a toad who paid a visit by invita-
tion, but hurried home again without leave; some
varieties of weather that may strike you as being
either too much weather or no weather at all,
according to your way of looking at things,- and
finally, an account of some scientific holes that
are not as easily seen through as some holes are.
So you perceive there is no time to be lost. Besides,
you all are going back soon to the school-book
schools; and while I don't wish to hold you back,
I do want you to run around in nature's school as
much as you can before the bell rings.
So now, we '11 start off with
THIS is a change, my hearers, from the very
warm weather you have been enduring of late,
but even the other extreme has its drawbacks, as
you will see from this account, copied for you by a
friend. Perhaps it will cool you off to hear it:
It is impossible to form any idea of atempestin the polar seas.
The icebergs are like floating rocks whirled along a rapid current.
The huge crystal mountains dash against each other, backward and
forward, bursting with a roar like thunder, and returning to the
charge until, losing their equilibrium, they tumble over in a cloud of
spray, upheaving the ice-fields, which fall afterward like the crack
of a whip-lash on the boiling sea. The sea-gulls fly away screaming,
and often a black shining whale comes for an instant puffing to the
surface. When the midnight sun grazes the horizon, the floating
mountains and the rocks seem immersed in a wave of beautiful light.
The cold is by no means so insupportable as might be supposed.
We passed from a heated cabin at thirty degrees above zero to forty-
seven degrees below zero in the open air without inconvenience. A
much higher degree of cold becomes, however, insufferable if there
is wind. At fifteen degrees below zero a steam, as if from a boiling
kettle, rises from the water. At once, frozen by the wind, it falls into
a fine powder. This phenomenon is called sea-smoke. At forty

degrees the snow and human bodies also smoke, which smoke at
once changes into millions of tiny particles, like needles of ice, which
fill the air and make a light continuous noise like the rustle of a stiff
silk. At this temperature the trunks of trees burst with a loud re-
port, the rocks break up, and the earth opens and vomits smoking
water. Knives break in cutting butter. Cigars go out by contact
with the ice on the beard. To talk is fatiguing. At night the eyelids
are covered with a crust of ice, which must be carefully removed
before one can open them."

ON the other hand, here is an account of a little
During our march the simoon was fearful, and
the heat so intense that it was impossible to draw
the gun-cases out of their leather covers, which it
was necessary to cut open. All woodwork was
warped; ivory knife-handles were split; paper
broke when crunched in the hand, and the very
marrow seemed to be dried out of the bones. The
extreme dryness of the air induced an extraordi-
nary amount of electricity in the hair and in all
woolen materials. A Scotch plaid laid upon a
blanket for a few hours adhered to it, and upon
being withdrawn at night a sheet of flame was pro-
duced, accompanied by tolerably loud reports."
A friend of the Little School-ma'am's, who sent
me this account of warm weather, asks me to tell
you that she found it in Sir Samuel Baker's book
entitled In the Heart of Africa."

DEAR JACK: When I was a little girl I was,
like all children, very fond of listening to stories;
and there were none I liked so well as those my
mother told me of her own childhood in the far
West." The following is an account of one of her
adventures when she was about twelve years old:
One bright day in April she had gone with a
cousin of her own age to the woods to seek morels.
Their baskets were full, and they were homeward
bound, when suddenly they heard a strange noise.
It was so peculiar that the children stopped and
looked about. They could see nothing, but pres-
ently they heard the sound again.
It seemed to be a cry of distress, but they were
unable to guess what animal could be making it.
It sounded close by, and, as they were peering
under some May-apple plants, they again heard
the cry and saw a toad jump.
The children at first supposed they had fright-
ened the toad and made it jump. But they pres-
ently saw that it was not taking any notice of them.
It sat still awhile, then jumped again with another
Wondering what could make it act so strangely,
the girls cast their eyes about and presently saw
lying alongside of a log a large black snake. It lay
there still as death, but its eyes glittered like dia-
The children watched the toad as it slowly
jumped toward the snake, and, when it was within
one length, the snake opened his mouth, and the
toad jumped down his throat.
Each girl quickly armed herself with a stout
stick, and the snake was soon killed, when, to their





surprise, the toad backed out and hopped off, appar-
ently unharmed by his Jonah-like experience.
Now, what was the power which drew the toad
to the snake ?
I spoke of morels. I wonder how many of the
readers of ST. NICHOLAS know what they are. They
are a sort of mushroom, and are delicious. I have
gathered and eaten many of them, and I do not be-
lieve, you see, that they are a species of nut-gall,"
as some botanists have called them. M. E. P.

HERE are some verses by your friend Charlotte
W. Thurston, who knows the boy that said it: "
The doctor says I 'm careless,
And Bridget says, "That 's so,"
And nurse says I am naughty,
And Mother says, Oh, no "
I know I sha'n't get better;
I think I 'm going to die;
I have a dreadful ear-ache
That almost makes me cry.
I don't know how to bear it;
I really can't! 0 dear!
I think I 'd stand it better
If 't were the other ear!

THE strange object in this picture looks like the
home of some wonderful sea-animal, made odd
and unattractive outside to. discourage hungry
fishes from making a meal of the owner. It would

what was their use. The first man who seems to
have told the world about them, nearly two hun-
dred years ago, in the middle of Europe, thought
they were formed by fires inside the earth, and
were sent up through the sand. In those days the
doctors used very droll things for medicines, such
as deer's horns, corals, and crabs' eyes, and these
strange objects were added to the list as a cure for
As time went on, more of them were found, and
more guesses made as to what they were; and now
it is generally agreed that they are holes made by
lightning passing into the earth. Glass, you know,
is made from sand, and so hot is the lightning that
it instantly melts the sand and forms a glass tube
around itself as it goes.
Sometimes the tube is long and nearly straight;
now and then one has branches of different size
and length. Some are found that are large enough
to provide a convenient home for the largest rat,
and others would scarcely admit his tail. The
rough outside is caused by particles of sand that
are melted to the glass tube by the heat, but the
wing-shaped pieces that stand out all around, as is
shown in the cross-section view on the left-hand
side of the picture, are still not accounted for.
Mr. Darwin and several other scientific observ-
ers think the tube is at first very large, and that,
while still soft, it is pressed into these strange-
shaped folds by the surrounding sand. Others,
again, consider them made by the vapor into which
the lightning turned the moisture of the sand, on
its sudden passage through. Mr. G. P. Merrill,

certainly provide a comfortable retreat for many a
little creature of retiring disposition, for it is hollow
and is lined throughout with smooth, clean glass.
Sometimes specimens of its kind are found that
are more than twenty feet in length.
These mysterious glass-lined tubes are, however,
not found in the sea, but in dry, sandy places,
where no water-body can live a moment. For a
long time no one knew how they were made, or

who has lately published a study of these curiosi-
ties, believes it to be due to the very violent manner
in which the electric fluid entered the sand.
These lightning-holes, or fulgurites, have been
found in several places in Europe, in South Amer-
ica, and the United States. The one from which
the cut is made is the latest reported; it was
sent by Mr. J. Abbott, of Marshall Co., Kansas,
to Mr. James C. Beard, who has drawn it for you.



WHEN I was a boy and lived in England, a young friend taught
me to make a little boat out of a piece of paper, which for ingenuity
and completeness is the neatest piece of paper-folding that has ever
come under my notice. Very often I amuse my child-friends now
by folding one for them, and many a fleet of paper barges I have
made, on the shore of some little pond, which, wafted by summer
breezes, have carried their young owners' ventures over to the farther
shore,- some laden with the treasure of a cent, like Spanish galleons
making their way across their mimic ocean. Generally the voyage
is successful, for they are stanch little craft.
I have seen many children who could fold as far as the "catama-
ran," which is one of this series; but the catamaran has no sail and
drifts aimlessly about. Though there may be, and doubtless are,


Take a piece of thin and pliable paper and from it cut a square of
from four to six inches; the more exactly square it is, the neater will
be your barge when completed. Double it over from the opposite
corners to get the exact center,.so that your square looks like Fig.
i, in which, as in all the illustrations, the dotted lines show creases.
Then fold each corner down precisely to the center, as in Fig. 2, so
that when all the corners are folded you will have Fig. 3. Smooth
all the creases down with your thumb-nail closely. Next turn back
each comer to the middle of the newly formed side where it is
marked by the crease, so as to open the center; then you have Fig.
4. Now fold two opposite sides over to the middle (Fig. 5), so that
when both are folded, you have Fig. 6. Then double it back on
itself with the edges of the folds outside, as in Fig. 7. Rub all the

,Xg .2

-7~ 4


- --------

....... ; ....

.tg. fa


jXi. /7

Yg oe

,y. 1



4ly 2 o


children in America who can carry the series through to the com-
plete "barge," with its cabin and sail, I never met with any of
them. It is an intricate piece of folding and doubling, and I have
often wondered who made the first one, and how surprised he must
have been when he saw the result of the last step. Was the first one
made of papyrus on the shore of the Nile, or did the deft fingers of
some citizen of the Celestial Kingdom make it for journey down the
Yang-tse Kiang? Who knows ?
Intricate as the foldings are, with the help of the illustrations,
which show every step, any smart boy or girl can make the little

creases down with your nail so that the folds are all smooth and true
and that the paper will stay in shape. Now bring the edge of one
side up to the middle crease (Fig. 8), and do the same with the other
edge, and you will have Fig. 9, in which your paper is like a W
with the edges inside. The symmetry of your finished work will
depend largely upon the care you take to make each side of the W
of the same length. Your next step is a little more intricate, for you
now begin to unfold. Lay the paper down on the table, and open
the top fold while you hold the rest down with your finger, and you
can open the corner as in Fig. to, in which the sharp projecting cor-
ner A is formed, in fact forms itself as you spread it open, from the




BY H. E.





\Ba A"


correspondingly marked corners not picked out in Figs. 9 and io.
By opening each fold and bringing out all four corners, you have
the catamaran Fig. ii. Though the catamaran is often made and
put into the water, it is not a good boat, for it is not stiff enough and
it soon opens out into a shapeless piece of paper.
The next step is to take hold of the corner B of the paper on the
inside of the catamaran, and bring out the side into a large flap like
the upper part of Fig. 12. Be careful not to tear it as you bring it out.
This done, the corners of the flap are to be refolded outside (Fig. 13),
and then the upper part of the flap C turned down as in Fig. 14.
When this is done with both sides of the catamaran, and the center
crease spread a little so.that it can be placed astraddle of the finger,
you have a pair of panniers (Fig. 14) like those which in Europe are
used to place on donkeys' backs to carry vegetables to market.
The next step is to lay these panniers down on the table, flatten-
ing down the center crease, and pull on the sides of the panniers
(Fig. 15). This will make the sides that join the two panniers rise
from the flat bottom, and they can be nicely straightened out with the
fingers into the box (Fig. 16). These boxes make nice little trays,
the flaps being used for handles. We boys used to keep silk-worms
and other live things in them, turning the flaps over the top of the
box for a lid; they can be pressed down a little way into the top and
will stay very well. Just now, however, we will keep the flaps
down, as in the farther one in Fig. 16, and take the next step. This
consists in folding the side of the box down and out, bringing the
top edge even with the bottom and following the fold along till it
meets the ends of the box as shown in Fig. 17, pressing the crease
nicely down with the fingers of one hand, while you support the end

of the box with the other. When you have done this with both sides,
you bend the ends of the box back under the bottom, and flatten it
out carefully, and then you have the picture-frame (Fig. x8). Be
sure that the bottom edges of the ends so turned over meet nicely in
the middle at D, which they will do if youhave conducted your opera-
tions neatly up to this point. Now double the picture-frame back
upon itself, with the folds that formed the ends and flaps of the box
inside, and the front of the picture-frame outside as in Fig. 19, and
you are ready for the next step, which is a real transformation. In-
deed, it is difficult to believe that simply pulling on such a plain
shape as Fig. 19 represents can produce such a complicated object as
is shown in Fig. 20. Hold the doubled-up picture-frame firmly with
the thumb and finger of each hand at the points E E, andpull gently
and firmly apart. As you pull, you will find that the fold you pull
on will slide out from under the fold at F F, and what complicated
foldings, unfolding, sliding and doublings take place during this
operation it is not worth while to describe;. but the effect is that the
whole thing assumes an entirely different shape without any assist-
ance from the fingers, until, as if by magic, when the folds are en-
tirely pulled out, we have our little barge as shown in Fig. 20, with
its two little decks and square cabin, and little gang-ways on each side
of it. The sails-for it has two-can be hoisted or furled at will.
Fig. z2 shows one opened out. It is formed by pulling up the upper
part of one of the decks, and when you have done with it, you can
fold it together and put it back. When you sail your barge, you
must put a little weight in it for ballast, else, like larger ships, it will
lie over upon its side.
Bon voyage !

4 /

- --
i tfaa ft. ''-'M ^-- ^'1

; ,



A adoa .start like a fine race .

y ;. .r

Jut this os just the iay
viith these tiresomne dnkies!
Always eating thiitles:'


'1;~ *


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We are a club of six girls, and we all enjoy
your stories and letters very much. We each have a different club
name. We took them out of books. They are Kit and Kat, Daisy
and Demi, Donald and Dorothy; in regular pairs. We are a charity
club; we meet every week, and each brings one cent. The day be-
fore last Christmas we took two Christmas dinners; and at one
house, after we had given the dinner, we said, Wish you Merry
Christmas and some one called out, "You 're welcome! We
have had our club for nearly two years. We must stop before this
gets too long. Yours truly, J. D. K. CLUB.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We are two very merry girls, already in
the honorable age of 21 and 20, and very good friends, not sisters.
We wanted to ask you to print this, as it is so funny to read one's
own words printed in an American magazine. As good Saxon girls
we were much interested in "Dolls' Hospitals," though our dolls
need no more to be cured With great interest we always look out
for the new number of ST. NICHOLAS. We are now for some time
together in the country, and would enjoy it much more if the weather
was not so bad. The castle where we dwell is an ancient cloister,
and has a very beautiful park. We, our brothers--in short, both our
families,--like very much the Brownies and all the other funny
pictures. Some of the other nice pictures we have copied on paper
boxes. In the hope that this will not be too long for print, We
remain, Yours truly, CHARLOTTE AND CAROLA.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I often see letters in your magazine from
readers from all the different parts of the world. I came to Europe
last spring with my mother and sisters, and we have been in Dresden
since October. German schools are very different from our schools
in many respects. The school hours are from eight to one, Satur-
days included. After each hour we have fifteen minutes recess.
I visit the picture gallery very often, and like Raphael's beautiful
Sistine Madonna the best.
There has justbeen one of the most beautiful of the spring festivals
here, that is, Whitsuntide. The schools are closed for a week, and
during the holidays everybody takes long excursions into the
charming surroundings of Dresden.
My brother sends you to me every month, and we are always very
glad to get you. Your constant reader, P. D. G--

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Although I have taken your nice mag-
azine for a long time now, I have never written to you before. I
want to tell you about my little brother, he is such a cunning little
fellow with big brown eyes and little white teeth. He always calls
my little sister Gibony," and she calls him "Pinkerton." He has
three little friends, Eddie, Orlie, and Richie, and sometimes when
they come to our house and want to be amused, I get out ST. NICHO-
LAS and read them a nice little story. They like "Little Lord
Fauntleroy best of all, and my papa says it's the best story he
ever read. Your little friend, BONJIE S .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: In the March number of ST. NICHOLAS
Rosalie Caswell asked if any of your readers could tell how many
toes a dog has without first looking to find out. I thought that it
might be interesting to you to know (even if I did look) that St.
Bernard dogs have six toes on each foot, the five and an extra one.
I have three St. Bernards, each of which has twenty-four toes. It is
said that the extra toe is a mark of their being thoroughbred.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: You were given to me by my papa on my
tenth, and again on my eleventh birthday, for a present, so this is
the second year I have enjoyed your pages.
I live in the country where the largest volcano in the world is.
Its name is Mauna Loa. The native legend is that it is ruled over
by a fierce goddess named Pele. I live two miles from town, at a
place called Punahow, with my papa, mamma, grandma, and sister
Emma, who is eight years old.

The kinds of birds we have in this country are linnets, English
sparrows, mynahs, doves, rice-birds, tropic birds, herons, and many
other kinds, some of which are native and others foreign. We have
had a great many birds of many of these kinds; at present we have
a canary named "Chippie." We have also a cat named "Beauty,"
a horse named "Peggy," and some goldfish. We have had five
goats at different times, each in turn named Nannie. I remain,
Your loving reader, ISABELLA E. L- .

MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am going to tell you a story of two
horses belonging to Papa's hauler. They were cart-horses, brothers,
named Captain and Jolly. Captain was older than Jolly, and blind
from age. One night they were both put into a field which had a
deep dry ditch on one side, into which Captain stumbled and was
found there in the morning unable to get out. With great difficulty
he was rescued from his uncomfortable position, but he could not
stand, and was laid on the grass; but Jolly would not allow any one
to approach his brother or himself. After much trouble Jolly was
secured and put into the stables, but he refused all food, and was so
wild and restless that a blind halter was put on him, and he was
taken to a field some distance from where he had been the previous
night. Captain, meanwhile, had to be shot, as his injuries were very
severe. In the night, in spite of his blind halter and his distance
off, Jolly had found his way to his dead brother, and had worn
a path with walking around and around him in his distress. He was
again put into the stables, but he would not eat anything for two
days, until he began to work again, then he ate a little. Since
then his appetite has returned, and the keenness of his grief worn
away. Your devoted admirer, ALISON H-.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Seeing so many interesting letters from
your subscribers, I thought I would write to you. I am a little
twelve-year-old boy, and for the past two years I have been con-
fined to my bed with hip-disease. We have had the ST. NICHOLAS
in our family for almost ten years, but during my sickness I have
found it doubly interesting, and I await the appearance of each num-
ber very impatiently.
It would be useless for me to try to decide which of your stories I
have enjoyed most. they are all so very interesting. I remain,
Your constant reader, BERT B. H -.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We like the stories "Juan and Juanita,"
"A Christmas Conspiracy," and "Prince Fairy-foot" very much
We think the Brownies are very odd, especially the dude.
We have a secret society, of which the initials are G. A. We sew
for our dolls, and have badge-pins made from ten-cent pieces, with
the initials, and '87 engraved on them.
One of us has a play-house, which she calls the Chalet." It is
six feet wide, eight feet long, and five and a half feet high. It has
two rooms separated by a curtain, three windows, and a door. We
play out there, and sew for our dolls.
We live about three-quarters of a mile apart, but we are together
a great deal, and have very nice times together. Your devoted
readers, ALICE and MOLLY.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl ten years old, and I have
two little sisters, their names are Ethel and Bessie. I have for pets,
a dog named Bingo, a cat, Daisy, a bird named Dick. and mamma
has a little pug. whose name is Jip. I have taken ST. NICHOLAS for
one year, and like it very much. I am very anxious for Juan and
Juanita to get home to their mother. I remain, your devoted
reader, MARION B-.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: In your July number I saw a letter in
Latin from one of your readers, and although some of the words in
the letter are not in my vocabulary, I think the correct translation
of the fable is this:
A kid, standing on the roof of a house, railed at a wolf passing by.
To whom the wolf replied, "Not you, but the roof rails at me."
Often place and time makes timid men bold.
Ever your faithful reader, LAURA P. W -.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have never written to you before, but I
have seen so many letters in your magazine, that I thought I would
send a short letter to you. I think you are one of the loveliest
magazines I ever read.
I don't know what I would do without you. I live in the country,
and very often I saddle my own horse, and take a ride. I am never
so happy as when I am galloping over the country. Your constant
reader, FLO. C. H- .
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have never written to you before, and I
never saw a letter from here in your magazine, so I thought I would





represent Atwater. My sister Jessie and I take you, and like you
ever so much. I like to read about the "Brownies," and look at the
pictures, and hunt for the Dude, Chinaman and Uncle Sam. I think
"Winning a Commission" is very interesting, and so are the
"Dog Stories." I have no pets to talk about, as my bird died one
night, but'I will tell you about a picnic I went to last week. We
went in a big wagon, with seats all around it, and at every rough
place in the road our driver would start up the horses, and bounce
us unmercifully; but we had lots of fun, and were pretty well tired
when we got home. Good-bye, KATE.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am thirteen years old, and have enjoyed
your delightful magazine for nearly eight years. I have one sis-
ter named Leila, and three brothers, all of them little boys. I
was here during the earthquake of August 31, 1886, and it was
fearful; but I suppose your readers know all about it, so I will say
nothing of my experience. I am very fond of reading; indeed, I
am a regular book-worm. My favorite stories are "Little Lord
Fauntleroy," "Juan and Juanita," and all of Miss Alcott's stories.
The climate is excessively warm now, indeed it has been so since
the latter part of April. Your Northern subscribers will be surprised
when I tell them that I have never seen snow, excepting once in
January, I think, when we had a ridiculous snow-drizzle.
I go on a great many yachting trips in the summer, and it is de-
lightful to go gliding over the lovely green water, with old Fort
Sumter on one hand, Charleston on the other. I must now tell you
good-bye. I remain, your devoted reader, MAY W-- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Would any of yourreaders like to know how
to get an egg into a bottle with a narrow neck ? Soak a hen's egg
in vinegar for four or five days the longer the better and the shell
will dissolve in the vinegar, leaving a brownish film instead. It will
be soft, and you can pinch it as you can a rubber ball, and slip it into
the bottle. When in, pour cold water on it, and then drain off the
water, and in a day or two the shell will harden again, and people
will wonder how it got in there.
Yours truly, ELIZABETH D. L- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We have taken you ever since you began. I
write to ask Miss Nellie C- if she does n't think she must be mis-
taken about saying that Englandisbetter than America ? Instead of
Westminster we have all the old buildings in St. Augustine, and
instead of the Tower we have the round tower on the coast of New
England, but, of course, not in beauty but for antiquity. And for
beauty tell her to go to San Francisco. Tell her also to read "North
American Antiquity," and then see what she thinks. I thought that
poetry of Caroline Scherichewski's lovely.
From your faithful reader, ELSIE S .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: As I have never seen a letter from Woon-
socket in your magazine, I think I will write one. We arefrom Chi-
cago, but have been in Dakota nearly two years. Papa is a doctor.
I was thirteen last May Day. I had quite a number of birthday
presents. We have taken your magazine re 1 _'.n-.: We all like
it very much. In looking them over the -rh. J-i I saw one of
1879. Mamma wrote to you once, and her letter was printed. We
all felt very proud over it. I enjoy the "Letter-box" very much.
We all like "Juan and Juanita," and "Jenny's Boarding-house,"
very much. I have an elder sister who is sixteen, and a younger
brother who is nine. Sidney, my brother, enjoys the-"Brownies,"
and looks out for the Chinee, and the Dude, and Uncle Sam.
We live about thirteen miles west of the "Jim," or Dakota river.
Well, dear ST. NICHOLAS, I am afraid this is getting too long, so I '11
close now. Believe me,
Your constant reader, ETHEL T. 0 .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : As I have never seen a letter in your maga-
zine from this place, I thought I would write you one. I have lived
in Elmira thirteen years and four months, or all my life, and am sure
it would seem strange to live elsewhere than in this pleasant city. I
think the ST. NICHOLAS is a splendid magazine, and I am very
much interested in queer names for things," so I send you some :
The "pitch" of a tune, the "apple" of the eye, the drum "core "
(corps), the "seal of friendship, the" frame" of a house, the bor-
der of a State, the "running of a clock, and the bowl of a
lamp. I made these up all myself, but the first one.
Your constant reader, GRACE E. D-- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I am a little girl eight years old, and I can
write on my papa's type-writer. I began to take the ST. NICHOLAS

last Christmas, and I like it very much. I like Juan and Juanita"
the best, and the Brownies next. Papa and mamma laugh very
heartily over the pictures of them. Good-bye.
Your friend, DOLLY C -.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : As I have nothing to do, I thought that I
would write to you and tell you how much I love you. I do not know
what I would do without you, now that I have once had you. I
think that you are the best magazine that I have ever seen. I have
not got many pets; only two cats, a bird, and, best of all, a darling
baby sister. I am very much interested in Prince Fairyfoot,"
"Juan and Juanita," and "Jenny's Boarding-house." I remain,
Your affectionate reader, HATTIE P- (aged ten years).

This is a composition written by a little girl who is just eight
years old:

I went to the (Philadelphia) Zoo with Uncle. The Echidna that
Uncle went to the Zoo to see, was dead. A hippopotamus had
died, too, that weighed one thousand four hundred pounds; and
the one they have now is heavier still. The keeper made him open
his mouth, and then he put his hand in, and felt his teeth. He had
a great big mouth. Then came that animal with the funny skin,-
all wrinkled. He had a horn on his nose. He was a rhinoceros.
The two elephants had their feet chained. They were eating straw.
I saw one lion, and two lionesses. The lion was lying down and he
looked at me sleepily. He winked, as if he said, "What are you
making that noise for? Don't you know I want to go to sleep?
I 'd eat you up if I could get out of here." There were four bears. A
little boy was looking at them, and his hat dropped off into the bear-
pit, and three bears ate it up; one had the ribbon, one the brim,
and one the top; and one was left without any. There is nothing
to tell about the peacocks except that they were noisy, and bright
and pretty. I want to tell about the deer. There were two little
deer; one had antlers, and one had n't. There are little houses, with
fences around, where they keep the deer. A man took one little deer
into a house, and then came back and took the other one. There
were packs of other deer where they were going. I gave them some
grass. The keeper was feeding the seals some fish; he threw two
fish on the grass by mistake; a gentleman took his wife's parasol
to push a fish where a seal could get it, and the parasol broke; but
the seal came up and took the fish, and laid down on the parasol.
Then the seal went down into the water again, and the gentleman
took the parasol, and said: "This is worth a good deal now, for it
was covered with seal-skin." When we were lookingat the parrots,
I said: "How do, Polly!" to one, and he winked one eye, and
blinked the other at me. MAUD C. W-.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My brothers and I have many chickens, and
some bantams, too ; two of our hens hatched out to-day, and now we
have two broods more. We have two ponies, one is a Texas mus-
tang, about five years old, which our uncle gave us; the other is a
little English pony about twelve hands high: we drive her in cart.
But the bigger one, Firefly, will not go in any wagon. Nellie, the
little one, is very fat; we have had her six years, and she is four-
teen years old now, but she can go" still. I have a thoroughbred
Jersey heifer, registered; she is rather cross, which is a great pity,
mamma thinks. I have an Irish terrier puppy, not quite a year old.
I have some canaries.
I suppose you think I am never going to stop, but I will now.
Good-bye. T. C--.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS Santa Barbara is a small city in the
southern part of California, where we have been living nearly
three years, returning to our home in New York the first sum-
mer. There are many Mexicans and Spaniards here, and there
are also many Chinamen, which some people have for cooks and
gardeners. State street is the principal street of the city, at the lower
end of which is a long wharf leading into the Pacific Ocean, from
which steamers from San Francisco and Los Angeles sail every few
days. The climate is quite warm throughout the year, and some of
the fruits are olives, grapes, figs, loquats, persimmons, and a few
others. Before I close, I must tell you a little about my family and
our pets. I have one sister, who is ten years old, and I am fourteen.
I have a very pretty pony, of which I am very fond; then we have
two dogs, a beautiful Mexican collie and a Skye terrier, besides a great
many chickens; some are so tame that they will eat from our hands.
My aunt has been sending me your charming magazine for over a year,
and I have been interested in all your stories, especially Lord Faun-
tleroy," and "Juan and Juanita."
Your constant reader, E. M. H--.



MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am English, and I am thirteen. I
like you very much.
My papa takes you for me, and as he generally forgets to take you,
I usually get two numbers at a time. I have two brothers, one of
eleven, whose name is Reginald, and who is at a school at Westgate-
on-Sea, and one of six, whose name is Robert. I have a daily gov-
erness. I like "Juan and Juanita" very much. I have only had
you since November.
We have "Little Lord Fauntleroy bound, and we like it tre-
I have a canary-bird whose name is Goidy; he will eat out of my
hand, and flies about all the time I am at my lessons. I like the
"Letter-box" very much. Good-bye.
Your interested reader, MARGARET W--

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Hatty, Lotty, and I have made up some
poetry, which we thought we would send to you. We have not had
any help from the the big people, and we hope very much it will be
I think the stories for little folks, in your magazine, are very nice.
Hatty's big sister Helen is copying this for us, so that you can read
it. I am your devoted little reader, DAISY.
This is the poetry
By three little maids, Daisy, Hatty, and Lotty:
Why is the house so dark and drear,
So gloomily standing alone;
So dim, so ghostly, and so queer,
A massive bulk of stone ?
Behind the avenue of trees,
Whose branches wave on high,
'Mid mossy lawns and flowery leas,
One hears the cricket cry.
One hears the hums of the busy town,
As the crowds pass to and fro,
First they look up, and then look down,*
And then away they go.
No children play on the mossy leas;
Nor scamper across the lawn;
No children play in the tall old trees,
For, oh! they all are gone !
No children from the windows gaze,
Or play in the old stone house,
And during the sultry nights and days,
The inmate is a mouse; -
A lonely mouse, whose days are passed
In longing for goodies and pies,
Who starves, and moans, and then at last
He lays him down and dies.
And while the children are brimming with fun,
As they play by the far sea-side,
The little mouse's life is done,
As he lies there where he died.
The house stands still so dark and drear,
And still so gloomy and lone,
For the children are gone -not one is here
In that old brown house of stone.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We are two little girls Daisy is ten
years old, and Rose is twelve. We live near each other, and are
great friends. Daisy has blue eyes and light brown hair. I have
dark brown eyes and hair. We like to read Miss L. M. Alcott's
stories very much, and wish she would write soon again. We go to
school and study arithmetic, geography, grammar, reading, spelling,
writing and drawing; also music. We hope our letter is not too
long to print, and that you will print it. We remain your loving

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I thought I would like to write and tell
you about a white cat we had, called Flossy. Her kittens were al-
ways drowned while they were too young to feel any pain. After
this had been done several times, Flossy at last found a place to
hide her kittens in. We could not find them anywhere. However,
the gardener watched her, and one day he saw Flossy cross the
garden, go through another garden into a field, and climb up into a
They look up to the windows, and not seeing familiar faces,
disappointed, look down again.

tree, so we guessed her kittens were there. She had chosen a very
good hiding-place, for the trunk was hollow, and the branches very
high, so no one but herself could climb up. After sr.. :.
saw the kittens peeping through the leaves. They v ... l...
and looked so pretty playing about the branches. She did this with
several litters of kittens, and never brought them down till they
were quite big, when they were very wild. Good-bye. From one
of your little English readers, K. W. T-- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: This is the first time I have written to you.
I like the stories of "Juan and Juanita," and "Jenny's Boarding-
house very much. The graduating class of our school gave the
"Human Melodeon at an entertainment, and it was very much
liked by all.
I remain, your affectionate friend, ALBERT L -.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Seeing a letter in last month's Letter-
box with an account of a cyclone, I thought you might like to
hear of one I saw. We lived about a square from the Missouri
River, and could see the river from our back windows. One Sunday
afternoon Papa told us to come to the window quickly, and we
looked out and saw a grayish, funnel-shaped cloud right over the
river. Every little while it would dip down and suck up the water
and sand until it turned a clayish color. It finally went over the
river and disappeared. The same afternoon there was another
cyclone south of us, that did great damage. This may sound rather
large, but it is not.
We have taken ST. NICHOLAS eight years and like it very much.
Fearing I am making my letter too long, I remain,
Your Western friend, LABELLE.

DEAR OLD ST. NICK.: We have been taking you for about three
years, and every number seems better than the last.
I have younger sister and brother named Helen and Fred. My
only pets are a Maltese cat and a shepherd dog. I think the
"Brownies" are very funny. Papa is a merchant, but when he
has time he loves to make things for us. He made us a play-house
out-of-doors, and is going to make us one up in a tree, so we can sit
up there and work or read.
I love your "Letter-box" because I like to hear from other
children. Ever your devoted reader, ANNA T--

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My aunt gave your beautiful magazine to
.me as a present on my tenth birthday, and I am now eleven years
old, so I have been taking you for two years. I like to read your
magazine very much, and my two small sisters and brother like to
see the pictures and rub their little faces on your smooth pages; but I
am much more interested in your stories, which are just lovely.
Your constant reader, DUDLEY D. S- .

Mv DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little boy eight years old, and have
taken you ever since I can remember, but this is the first time I have
ever written you a letter. I like the story of "Juan ard Juanita "
better than any I have ever read. Their dog Amigo reminds me of
mine, named Bang, that I had to give away when I left the town
where I used to live, Hewas very fond of me, and whenever I go
back to pay a visit, he wants to stay with me instead of his new
master. My papa often takes me to Lincoln Park to see the wild
animals. I like the deer best; as they are so gentle and tame; they
will eat out of your hand, and almost thank you with their eyes.
From your little friend, GEORGE W-.

BIRCH'S ADMIRER : We can not answer your questions in the
Letter-box," but if you care to forward your address we will reply
to them by post. Your card was received after the August number
had gone to press.

THE young friends whose names here follow have sent us pleas-
ant letters, for which we present our thanks: Gracie, Clare B., H.
S. and E. M., Mabel C. Van W., L. R. Coleman, Jr., Irene Cavins,
Sallie, Grace and Bessie, Betty D., L. C. L., Belle K., A. B. S.,
Carrie M. Estes, Jennie S. Bailey, Mata Brown, Louise P. Putnam,
Ruby Smith, George F. G., Emma G., Roger M. Newbold, E. C.
P., Mildred and Elsie, Allan C. Rowe, A. C. Haas, Nancy and Jane,
Effie Arnold, Mabel W. B., John Y. Clare Kenamore, and Daisy






THREE EASY STARS. I. From i to 3, reek; 2 to 4, trees; 5 to 3,
meek; 4 to 2, seer; 5 to 2, meer. II. From I to 3, moon; I to 4,
moot; 4 to 2, took; 5 to 3, noon; 5 to 2, nook; 3to 5, noon.
III. From I to 3, deer; I to 4, deed; 5 to 2, deem; 3 to 5, reed;
2 to 5, meed.
HALF-SQUARES. I. I. Oration. 2. Return. 3. Atone. 4. Tune.
5. Ire. 6. On. 7. N. II. i. Bravado. 2. Ramona. 3. Amity.
4. Vote. 5. Any. 6. Da(le). 7. 0.
FLOWER PUZZLE. Hay-time. i. cHamomile. 2 dAisy. 3. mYrtle.
4. sTrawberry. 5. lily. 6. aMaranth. 7. pEriwinkle.
PECULIAR ACROSTICS. Third row, paideutics; sixth row, peda-
gogues. Cross-words: i. Improper. 2. Stampede. 3. Brigades.
4. Moderate. 5. Presaged. 6. Cautious. 7. Cottages. 8. Jointure.
9. Reciters. Yo. Despised.
WORD-SQUARE. i. Wrest. 2. Rompu. 3. Emmet. 4. Spent.
5. Tutti.
HEXAGON. I. Bare. 2. Atoms. 3. Romans. 4. Emanate.
5. Snared. 6. Steed. 7. Eddy.

A FISH PUZZLE. I. Sword-fish. 2. Trunk-fish. 3. Horn-fish.
4. Star-fish. 5. Bill-fish. 6. Squirrel-fish. 7. Cat-fish. 8. Frog-
fish. 9. Box-fish. o1. King-fish. x. Rudder-fish. 12. Bat-fish.
13. Log-fish. 14. Drum-fish. 15. Barrel-fish. 16. Dog-fish.
17. Saw-fish. 8. Rose-fish. 19. Parrot-fish. 20. Pipe-fish.
Honor and shame from no condition rise,
Act well your part, there all the honor lies.
BEHEADINGS. Donatello. Cross-words: i. D-ale. 2. O-range.
3. N-ear. 4. A-base. 5. T-old. 6. E-bony. 7. E-wer. 8. Lark.
9, O-pen.
WORD SYNCOPATIONS. Robespierre. i. w-aRm-ed. 2. s-cOw-
ling. 3. w-eBb-ing. 4. al-lEg-e. 5. cl-aSp-ing. 6. c-aPt-ion.
7. s-llp-ped. 8. por-tEn-t. 9. wh-eRr-y. ro. p-oRt-ray. is. ro-
NOVEL HOUR-GLASS. Across: I. Natural gas. 2. Material.
3. Malady. 4. Hebe. 5. Biennially. 6. Heartaches. 7. Clam.
8. Hyeres. 9. Bassanio. so. Pittsburgh.

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 15th 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 JUNE NUMBER were received, before June i5th, from Maud E. Palmer -Russell Davis-
A. H. R. and M. G. R.-Jo and I Carrie S. Seaver K. G. S. Annette Fiske and Co. Willoughby M.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE JUNE NUMBER were received, before June 20, from S. A. C., Jr., St. Olaf's Kirk," I-B. F. Muckle-
ston, x -S. W. Burnham, Hazel, 2- Joseph L., I -E. O. W., x Fayette," 2 Paul Reese, 9 Kate Bell, 5 Di and Mary, 6-
EffieK. Talboys, 6-" Blithedale," 9 -May R., 3 -M. A. D., I I. L., Madison, Wis., I H. S. Nut, Jr.," 5 "Anthony Guptil,"
I Patience, 5-" May and 79," 5 -N. L. Howes, 7- F.'s and B.'s," i Sadie Mabelle Sherman. 8- Ruby," 2- A. C. Haas,
2-James B. Smith, 2- Lou Henry, 2 L. C. B. 4 Nellie and Reggie, 9- Nell R., 4 Eleanor, Maude and Lousie, 3 Solomon
Quill," 5- Freda H. H., 3 Lyman T. Wilson, 6 -" Foster," 8- "Tilly Slowboy," 3- L. A. N., 4.


and leave a distributive adjective pronoun. 7. Behead a useful little
piece of mechanism and leave to fasten. 8. Behead twists, and leave
colored fluids.
The beheaded letters will spell the name of a famous statesman
now living. "ODD FISH."

My primals spell a flower which is found in-the fields in summer,
and my centrals spell a song which is sung by reapers and
CRoSS-WORDS: I, A pillow. 2. Pertaining to the ocean. 3. Rais-
ing. 4. Artlessly. 5. Perpetually. 6. Negligently. 7. An ha-
rangue. 8. Cleansing by ablution. 9. To wed. to. Versifiers.
ix. Shelters. "ODD FISH."

I. i. Expanded. 2. Reflected. 3. Loaded. 4. Advanced in
years. 5. A number. 6. A boy's nickname. 7. In laundry.
II. I. Fleshiness. 2. A fish of the Tunny kind, found on the
American coast. 3. Ingress. 4. A father. 5. Three-fourths of a
large town. 6. A preposition. 7. In laundry.
III. 1. In thin plates or layers. 2. Homes. 3. Agitated. 4. A
notion. 5. A boy's nickname. 6. An old Roman coin. 7. In
laundry. "LOU C. LEE."

'4 15

5 16
6 17
FIND a word of eight letters that will rightly describe one of the 7 . .
objects here pictured. Remove one letter, and transpose the re- 8 ...
maining letters, and the name of another object will be formed, and .......
so on till only a single letter remains, 9. . .20
10 . 21

BEHIEADINGS. II. Always in doubt and danger; i and 12, a pronoun; 2 to 13, a
beautiful tree: 3 to 14, a kind of gauze for curtains; 4 to xI, a mas-
i. BEHEAD a familiar substance, found .on every breakfast table, culine name; 5 to 16, to array; 6 to 17, to feed; 7 to S1, to receive
and leave to peruse. 2. Behead visionary, and leave to give in por- a degree; 8 to 19, a piece of tarred canvas; 9 to 20, burdensome;
tions. 3. Behead a small carnivorous animal, which is found in the to to r2, relating to one's birthday.
northern latitudes of Europe and Asia. and leave having sufficient From i to ro, a celebrated English general who died on Septem-
skill. 4. Behead military progress, and leave an arc. 5. Behead her 14, 1852; from ax to 21, a renowned Athenian orator who was
an exclamation of dismay, and leave to want. 6. Behead to extend, born 322 B. C. BOB CRATCHETT."



AcRoss: i. An instrument for measuring. 2. An evil spirit.
3. A great river of Western Africa. 4. A morbid swelling. 5. Per-
taining to the god of the winds.
DOWNWARD : I. In numeric. 2. A masculine nickname. 3. A
number. 4. To discharge. 5. A knave. 6. A character in a book
by Jules Verne. 7. Three-fourths of a word meaning to turn.
8. Half of a word which means matured. 9. In numeric.


S. .. .- .. 0 -* 2 .... .. .. ..

8 4

7. $

FROM I to 2, one who willfully takes a false oath; 2 to 3, a rela-
tion; 3 to 4, to strive; 4 to 5, a geometrical figure; 5 to 6, an allow-
ance made upon an account; 6 to 7, calaite; 7 to 8, a large fish;
8 to 9, pertaining to a race; 9 to o;, the left-hand side of a ship;
xo to I, the office of a dean; 2 to 4, to cry loudly; 4 to 6, peace;
6 to 8, a small city; 8 to o, -. r. j... i: r- 2, an animal.

I. I. In terrapin. 2. An elastic fluid. 3. Tempests. 4.. A dis-
tinguished champion.. 5. The place where a German victory was
won on September ist, 1870. 6. Iniquity. 7. In terrapin.
II. i. In ridicule. .. A fiction. 3. Draws.. 4. A short Turk-
ish sword. 5. A French preposition meaning "between." 6. To
descry. 7. In ridicule.
III. i. In persimmon. 2. To scour. 3. An illustrated puzzle.
4. A small river which Julius Cssar crossed,- the name of which
is now associated with a little phrase which means to commit oneself
to a difficult enterprise. 5. A plant. 6. A small French coin.
7. In persimmon. DIPUS," AND E. R. C.



which derives its name from the dusky pigment which tinges the
skin, and which soils the fingers like moist coal. 6. Outer fortifica-
tions. 7. Affirming upon oath. 8. Colleagues. 9. One who is
employed in a siege. o1. Affronted.
The fourth row of letters, reading downward, spells the name of a
place where a battle occurred on September 19, 1777; the fifth row
spells the name of a State that was admitted to the Union on Sep-
tember 9, 1850.
II. CROSs-wORDS: x. A luminous insect. 2. An estate in real
property of inheritance or for life, or the tenure by which it is held.
3. Sketched. 4. Protects. 5. Mitigated. 6. Destruction. 7. Per-
taining to a margin. 8. Vessels used by soldiers for carrying drinks.
9. A vagabond. o1. An ensign of war.
The fourth row of letters, reading downward, spells the name of
an eminent military character who died on September 14, 1852; the
fifth row spells the name of a famous English clergyman who died
on September 30, 1770. "'AMl PEGOTTY."

FOUR fishes are hidden in each sentence. Example: Candies melt
as soon as heated. Answer, smelt.
x. Last summer, said the Bishop, I keenly enjoy bathing, and I
do not wish to disturb others in the same pleasure; but many boys
in this parish err in going into the water when they are overheated.
Now, 1 would say, swim in no water when you are too warm."
2. Tell Job as soon as I saw the Hebrew psalm on the table, I
gave Elder Brown a copy, and he has had it translated.
3. Some boys terrified a Saco damsel, who had been suffering from
chronic lameness, by dressing up outlandishly.
4. Do not risk a ten-cent piece in lotteries; do not spend a cent
foolishly; yet do not hold your money with too tight a grasp.
Rather be charitable, and if you would prosper, cheer the poor with
needful articles. F. s. F.

TAKE one thousand, five hundred, and one-third of ten
(But not in the order I've named them), and then
Divide those three letters by two;
And I pity the woman, but more yet the man,
Who's described by the adjective which you will scan,-
Most sincerely I hope it's not you. A. S.

3 B.


RF.C. C. F L. F.

ALL of the words described contain nine letters each. When
they have been rightly guessed and arranged, one below the other
(though not in the order here given), the central letters will spell the
name of one of the players in every game of base-ball.
From H. to x B., half-hourly; from H. to 3 B., half-proof; i B.
to 2 B., lawfulness; 3 B. to 2 B., signifies by tokens; 2 B. to R. F.,
the act of seceding; 2 B. to C. F., a rock made of sand more or less
firmly united; 2 B. to L. F., windingly; R. F. to C. F., soda
mesotype; C. F. to L. F., impartially. "SOLOMON QUILL."

ALL of the words described contain the same number of letters.
I. CROSS-WORDS: i. An old word meaning to cut off. 2. A
reprobate. 3. Penetrated. 4. Assuaging. 5. A species of cod


DIVIDE each of the ten letter-circles in such a way that the letters,
in the order in which they- now stand, will form a word. These ten
words, when rightly placed, one below the other, will form a double
acrostic. The initials spell a country of Asia, and the finals a large
island in the Indian Ocean. "E u. GENE."


.1. A cup or vessel. 2. A girl's name. 3. To seize by a sud-
den grasp.
II. i. Performed. 2. A useful substance. 3. A retreat.
III. i. The goddess of revenge. 2. A small cask. 3. To retire.
The first words (indicated by stars) will, when read'in connection,
spell a word meaning one who offers himself for an office.