Front Cover
 An ivy spray
 Poor Marionette!
 Jubilee cake
 Juan and Juanita
 The Indian trail
 The low countries and the...
 The way to fairy-land
 Ole Mammy Prissy
 Fiddle-John's family
 The strange doings of the kiwi
 Cupid and mutineers
 The boyhood of John Greenleaf...
 Northerly - My dog
 General Grant at Vicksburg
 October - Ready for business
 Work and play
 The sunflower chorus - Grace and...
 For very little folk: How Buzz...
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover


St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00190
 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: UF00065513:00190
 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
    An ivy spray
        Page 882
        Page 883
        Page 884
        Page 885
        Page 886
        Page 887
        Page 888
        Page 889
        Page 890
        Page 891
    Poor Marionette!
        Page 892
    Jubilee cake
        Page 893
        Page 894
        Page 895
    Juan and Juanita
        Page 896
        Page 897
        Page 898
        Page 899
        Page 900
    The Indian trail
        Page 901
    The low countries and the rhine
        Page 902
        Page 903
        Page 904
        Page 905
        Page 906
        Page 907
        Page 908
        Page 909
        Page 910
        Page 911
        Page 912
        Page 913
        Page 914
    The way to fairy-land
        Page 915
    Ole Mammy Prissy
        Page 916
        Page 917
        Page 918
        Page 919
        Page 920
        Page 921
    Fiddle-John's family
        Page 922
        Page 923
        Page 924
        Page 925
        Page 926
        Page 927
        Page 928
    The strange doings of the kiwi
        Page 929
        Page 930
    Cupid and mutineers
        Page 931
        Page 932
    The boyhood of John Greenleaf Whittier
        Page 933
        Page 934
        Page 935
        Page 936
        Page 937
    Northerly - My dog
        Page 938
    General Grant at Vicksburg
        Page 939
        Page 940
        Page 941
        Page 942
        Page 943
        Page 944
        Page 945
        Page 946
    October - Ready for business
        Page 947
        Page 948
    Work and play
        Page 949
    The sunflower chorus - Grace and Betsey
        Page 950
        Page 951
    For very little folk: How Buzz took a ride
        Page 952
        Page 953
        Page 954
        Page 955
    The letter-box
        Page 956
        Page 957
        Page 958
    The riddle-box
        Page 959
        Page 960
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text

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OCTOBER, 1887.

No. 12.

[Copyright, 1887, by THE CENTURY CO.]

-- .


, .


IT can't be done! So I may as wIll .-' ', 1 iir,
and get a new pair. I long for their bur I 'i.'
afraid my nice little plan for Laura will I, e ..:. l':I-."
said Jessie Delano to herself, as shie -.:..:.k i-_,
head over a pair of small, dilapidated slippers
almost past mending. While she vainly pricked
her fingers over them for the last time, her mind
was full of girlish hopes and fears, as well as of
anxieties far too serious for a light-hearted creature
of sixteen.
A year before, the sisters had been the petted
daughters of a rich man; but misfortune and
death came suddenly, and now they were left to
face poverty alone. They had few relations, and
had offended the uncle who offered Jessie a home,
because she refused to be separated from her sis-
ter. Poor Laura was an invalid, and no one
,wanted her; but Jessie would not leave her. So
they clung together and lived on in the humble
rooms where their father died, trying to earn their
bread by the only accomplishments they possessed.
Laura painted well, and after many disappoint-

i n' .:. :lt 1 : "i !.:
t I., h.t l.- ,, .

flowers. Jessie
had a natural gift for dancing; and her former
teacher, a kind-hearted Frenchwoman, offered her
favorite pupil the post of assistant teacher in
her classes for children.
It cost the girl a struggle to accept a place of
this sort and be a humble teacher, patiently twirl-
ing stupid little boys and girls around and around
over the smooth floor where she used to dance so
happily when she was the pride of the class and
the queen of the closing balls. But for Laura's
sake she gratefully accepted the offer, glad to add
her mite to their small store, and to feel that she
could help to keep the wolf from the door. They
had seemed to hear the howl of that dreaded
phantom more than once during that year, and
had looked forward to the long winter with an
anxiety which neither would confess to the other.



~~ F1



Laura feared to fall ill if she worked too hard,
and then what would become of the pretty young
sister who loved her so tenderly and would not be
tempted to leave her ? And Jessie could do very
little except to rebel against their hard fate and
make impracticable plans. But each worked
bravely, talked cheerfully, and waited hopefully
for some good fortune to befall them, while doubt
and pain and poverty and care made the young
hearts so heavy that the poor girls often fell asleep
on pillows wet with secret tears.
The smaller trials of life beset Jessie at that
particular moment, and her bright wits were try-
ing to solve the problem how to spend her treas-
ured five dollars on slippers for herself and paints
for Laura. Both were much needed, and she had
gone in shabby shoes to save up money for the
little surprise on which she had set her heart; but
now dismay fell upon her when the holes refused
to be cobbled, and the largest of bows would not
hide the worn-out toes in spite of ink and blacking
lavishly applied.
These are the last of my dear French slippers,
and I can't afford any more. I hate cheap things I
But I shall have to get them; for my boots are
worn, and every one has to look at my feet when
I lead. Oh, dear, what a horrid thing it is to be
poor!" and Jessie surveyed the shabby little slippers
affectionately, as her eyes filled with tears; for the
road looked very rough and steep now, when she
remembered how she used to dance through life
as happy as a butterfly in a garden full of sun-
shine and flowers.
"Now, Jess, no nonsense,-no red eyes to tell
tales! Go and do your errands, and come in as
gay as a lark, or Laura will be worried." And
springing up, the girl began to sing instead of sob,
as she stirred about her dismal little room, clean-
ing her old gloves, mending her one white dress, and
wishing with a sigh of intense longing that she could
afford some flowers to wear, for every ornament
had been sold long before. Then with a kiss and
a smile to her patient sister, she hurried away to
get the necessary slippers and the much-desired
paints, which Laura would not ask for, though
her work waited for want of them.
Having been reared in luxury, poor little Jessie's
tastes all were of the daintiest sort; and her hard-
est trial, after Laura's feeble health, was the daily
sacrifice of the many comforts and elegances to
which she had been accustomed. Faded gowns,
cleaned gloves, and mended boots cost her many
a pang; and the constant temptation of seeing
pretty, useful, and unattainable things was a very
hard one. Laura rarely went out, and so was
spared this cross; then she was three years older,
had always been delicate, and lived much in a

happy world of her own. So Jessie bore her trials
silently, but sometimes felt very covetous and
resentful to see so much pleasure, money, and
beauty in the world, and yet have so little of it fall
to her lot.
I feel as if I could pick a pocket to-day and
not mind a bit-if it were a rich person's. It's a
shame, when Papa was always so generous, that
no one remembers us. If ever I 'm rich again,
I '11 just hunt up all the poor girls I can find, and
give them nice shoes, if nothing else," she thought,
as she went along the crowded streets, pausing
involuntarily at the shop windows to look with
longing eyes at the treasures within.
Resisting the allurements of French slippers
with bows and buckles, she wisely bought a plain,
serviceable pair, and trudged away, finding balm
for her wounds in the fact that they were very
cheap. More balm came when she met a young
friend, who joined her as she stood wistfully eying
the piles of grapes in a window and longing to
buy some for Laura.
This warm-hearted schoolmate read the wish
before Jessie saw her, and gratified it so adroitly
that the girl could accept the pretty basketful sent
to her sister without feeling like a spendthrift or a
beggar. It comforted her very much, and the
world began to look brighter after that little touch
of kindness, as it always does when genuine sym-
pathy makes sunshine in shady places.
At the art store she was told that more of
Laura's autumn flowers were in demand; and her
face was so full of innocent delight and gratitude
that it quite touched the old man who sold her the
paints, and he gave her more than her money's
worth, remembering his own hard times and pity-
ing the pretty young girl whose father he had
So Jessie did not have to pretend very hard at
being as gay as a lark" when she went home and
showed her treasures. Laura was so happy over
the unexpected gifts that the dinner of bread and
milk and grapes was quite a picnic; and Jessie
found a smile on her face when she went to dress
for her party.
It was only a child's party at the house of one
of Mademoiselle's pupils, and Jessie was merely
invited to help the little people through their
dancing. She did not like to go in this way, as
she was sure to meet familiar faces there, full of
the pity, curiosity, or indifference so hard for a
girl to bear. But Mademoiselle asked it as a favor,
and Jessie was grateful; so she went, expecting
no pleasure and certain of much weariness, if not
When she was ready,- and it did not take long
to slip on the white woolen dress, brush out the



curly dark hair, and fold up slippers and gloves,-
she stood before her glass looking at herself, quite
,conscious that she was very pretty, with her large
hazel eyes, blooming cheeks, and the lofty little
air which nothing could change. She was also
painfully conscious that her dress was neither fresh
nor becoming, without a bit of ribbon or a knot
of flowers to give it the touch of color it needed.
She had an artistic eye, and used to often delight
in ordering dainty costumes for herself in the happy
days when all her wishes were granted as if fairies
still lived. She tossed over her very small store of
ribbons in vain; everything had been worn till
neither beauty nor freshness remained.
Oh, dear where can I find something to make
me look less like a nun,- and a very shabby one,
too?" she said, longing for the pink corals that she
had sold to pay Laura's doctor's bill.
The sound of a soft tap, tap, tap, startled her,
and she ran to open the door. No one was there
but Laura, fast asleep on the sofa. Tap, tap, tap!
went the mysterious noise; and as the sound seemed
to come from the window, Jessie glanced that way,
thinking her tame dove had come to be fed.
Neither hungry dove nor bold sparrow appeared-
only a spray of Japanese ivy waving in the wind.
A very pretty spray it was, covered with tiny crimson
leaves; and it tapped impatiently, as if it an-
swered her question by saying, "Here is a garland
for you; come and take it."
Jessie's quick eye was caught at once by the fine
color, and running to the window, she looked out
as eagerly as if a new idea had come into her head.
It was a dull November day, and the prospect of
sheds, ash-barrels, and old brooms was a gloomy
one; but the whole back of the house glowed with
the red tendrils of the hardy vine that clung to and
covered the dingy bricks with a royal mantle, as
if eager to cheer the eyes and hearts of all who
looked. It preached a little sermon of courage,
aspiration, and content to those who had the skill
to read it, and bade them see how, springing from
the scanty soil of that back yard full of the com-
monest objects, the humblest work, it set its little
creepers in the crannies of the stone, and struggled
up to find the sun and air, till it grew strong and
beautiful,-making the blank wall green in sum-
mer, glorious in autumn, and a refuge in winter,
when it welcomed the sparrows to the shelter of its
branches where the sun lay warmest.
Jessie loved this beautiful neighbor, and had en-
joyed it all that summer,- the first she ever spent
in the hot city. She felt the grace its greenness
gave to all it touched, and half unconsciously imi-
tated it in trying to be brave and bright, as she
also climbed up from the dismal place where she
seemed shut away from everything lovely, till she

was beginning to discover that the blue sky was
over all, that the sun still shone for her, and that
heaven's fresh air kissed her cheeks as kindly
as ever.
Many a night she had leaned from the window
when Laura was asleep, dreaming innocent dreams,
living over her short past, or trying to look into the
future bravely and trustfully. The little vine had
felt warmer drops than rain or dew fall on it when
things went badly, had heard whispered prayers
when the lonely child asked the Father of the
fatherless for help and comfort, had peeped in to
see her sleeping peacefully when the hard hour was
over, and had been the first to greet her with a tap
on the window-pane as she woke full of new hope
in the morning. It seemed to know all her moods
and troubles, to be her friend and confidante, and
now came with help like a fairy godmother when
our Cinderella wanted to be fine for the little ball.
"Just the thing! Why did n't I think of it?
So bright and delicate and becoming? It willlast
better than flowers; and no one can think I 'm ex-
travagant, since it costs nothing."
As she spoke, Jessie was gathering long sprays
of the rosy vine, with its glossy leaves so beauti-
fully shaded that it was evident Jack Frost had
done his best for it. Going to her glass, she fast-
ened a wreath of the smallest leaves about her
head, set a cluster of larger ones in her bosom,
and then surveyed herself with girlish pleasure,
as well she might; for the effect of the simple
decoration was charming. Quite satisfied now,
she tied on her cloud and slipped away without wak-
ing Laura, little dreaming what good fortune the
ivy spray was to bring them both.
She found the children all impatience to begin
their fancy dance and pleasantly excited by the mu-
sic, gaslight, and gay dresses, which made it seem
like "a truly ball." All welcomed Jessie, and she
soon forgot the cheap slippers, mended gloves,
and old dress, as she gayly led her troop through
the pretty dance with so much grace and skill that
the admiring mammas who lined the walls declared
it was the sweetest thing they ever saw.
Who is that little person ? asked one of the
few gentlemen who hovered about the doorways.
His hostess told Jessie's story in a few words,
and was surprised to hear him say in a satisfied
I'm glad she is poor. I want her head, and
now there is some chance of getting it."
"My dear Mr. Vane, what do you mean?"
asked the lady, laughing.
I came to study young faces; I want one for a
picture, and that girl with the red leaves is charm-
ing. Please present me."
It will be of no use; you may ask for her hand



by and by, if you like, but not for her head. She
is very proud, and never would consent to sit as a
model, I 'm sure."
I think I can manage it, if you will kindly give
me a start."
Very well. The children are just going down
to supper, and Miss Delano will rest. You can
make your proposal now, if you dare."
A moment later, as she stood watching the little
ones troop away, Jessie found herself bowing to the
tall gentleman, who begged to know what he
could bring her, with as much interest as if she
had been the finest lady in the room. Of course
she chose ice-cream, and slipped into a corner to
rest her tired feet, preferring the deserted parlor
to the noisy supper-room,-not being quite sure
where she belonged now.
Mr. Vane brought her a salver full of the dainties
girls best love, and drawing up a table began to eat
and to talk in such a simple, comfortable way that
Jessie could not feel shy, but was soon quite at her
ease. She knew that he was a famous artist, and
longed to tell him about poor Laura, who admired
his pictures so much, and would have enjoyed
every moment of this chance interview. He was
not a very young man, but he had a genial face,
and friendly manners which were very charming.
In ten minutes Jessie was chatting freely, quite
unconscious that the artist was studying her in a
mirror all the while. They naturally talked of the
children, and after praising the pretty dance, Mr.
Vane quietly added:
"I 've been trying to find a face among them
for a picture I 'm doing; but the little dears are all
too young, and I must look elsewhere for a model
for my wood-nymph."
Are models hard to find ? asked Jessie, eating
her ice with the relish of a girl who does not often
taste it.
"What I want is very hard to find. I can get
plenty of beggar-girls, but this must be a refined
face, young and blooming, but with poetry in it;
and that does not come without a different training
from that which most models get. It will be diffi-
cult to suit me, for I 'm in a hurry and don't know
where to look,"- which last sentence was not quite
true; for the long glass showed him exactly what
he wished.
I help Mademoiselle with her classes, and she
has pupils of all ages; perhaps you could find
some one there," said Jessie.
Jessie looked so interested that the artist felt that
he had begun well, and ventured a step further as
he passed the cake-basket for the second time.
"You are very kind; but the trouble there is,
that I fear none of the young ladies would consent
to sit to me if I dared to ask them. I will confide

to you that I have seen a head which quite suits
me; but I fear I can not get it. Give me your
advice, please. Should you think this pretty crea-
ture would be offended, if I made the request most
respectfully ? "
"No, indeed; I should think she would be
proud to help with one of your pictures, sir. My
sister thinks they are very lovely; and we kept one
of them when we had to sell all the rest," said
Jessie, in her eager, frank way.
"That was a beautiful compliment, and I am
proud of it. Please tell her so, with my thanks.
Which was it ?"
"The woman's head,- the sad, sweet one peo-
ple call a Madonna. We call it Mother, and love
it very much; for Laura says it is like our mother.
I never saw her, but sister remembers the dear face
very well."
Jessie's eyes dropped, as if tears were near; and
Mr. Vane said, in a voice which showed he under-
stood and shared her feeling:
I am very glad that anything of mine has been
a comfort to you. I thought of my own mother
when I painted that picture years ago; so you see
you read it truly, and gave it the right name. Now,
about the other head; you think I may venture to
propose the idea to its owner, do you ?"
Why not ? She would be very silly to refuse,
I think."
Then you would n't be offended if asked to sit
in this way ? "
Oh, no. I 've sat for Laura many a time, and
she says I make a very good model. But then, she
only paints simple little things that I am fit for."
"That is just what I want to do. Would you
mind asking the young lady for me ? She is just
behind you."
Jessie turned with a start, wondering who had
come in; but all that she saw was her own inquir-
ing face in the mirror, and Mr. Vane's smiling one
above it.
Do you mean me ? she cried, so surprised
and pleased and half ashamed that she could only
blush and laugh and look prettier than ever.
Indeed I do. Mrs. Murray thought the request
would annoy you; but I fancied you would grant
it, you wore such a graceful little garland, and
seemed so interested in the pictures here."
It is only a bit of ivy, but so pretty I wanted
to wear it, as I had nothing else," said the girl,
glad that her simple ornament found favor in such
It is very artistic, and caught my eye at once.
I said to myself, 'That is the head I want, and I
must secure it if possible.' Can I?" asked Mr.
Vane, smiling persuasively as he saw what a frank
and artless young person he had to deal with.



"With pleasure, if Laura does n't mind. I '11
ask her, and if she is willing, I shall be very proud
to have even my wreath in a famous picture," an-
swered Jessie, so full of innocent delight at being
thus honored that it was a pretty sight to see.
"A thousand thanks! Now I can exult over


Mrs. Murray, and get my palette ready. When
can we begin? As your sister is an invalid, and
can not come to my studio with you, perhaps you
'will allow me to make my sketch at your own
house," said Mr. Vane, as pleased with his success
as only a perplexed artist could be.
"Did Mrs. Murray tell you about us?" asked
Jessie quickly, as her smiles faded away, and the

proud look came into her face; for she was sure
their misfortunes were known, since he spoke of
poor Laura as an invalid.
"A little," began the new friend, with a sympa-
thetic glance.
"I know models are paid for sitting; did you
wish to paint my head
because I 'm poor?"
1'1 .. ,' ; asked Jessie with an ir-
,i repressiblee frown, and a
glance at the thrice-
i'I Icleaned dress and the
,' neatly mended gloves.
SMr. Vane knew what
thorn pricked the sensi-
I.''l II o tive girl, and answered
in his friendliest tone:
"I never thought of
such a thing. I wanted
you to help vie, because
I am poor in what artists
so much need,- real
grace and beauty. I
hoped you would allow
me to give your sister a.
e' copy of the sketch as a
token of my gratitude for
your great kindness."
The frown vanished
and the smile returned
as the soft answer turned
away Jessie's wrath and
1'". i made her hasten to say
SI "I was very rude;
Sbut I have n't learned to
Sbe humble yet, and often
-i forget that I am poor.
i Please come to us any
time. Laura will enjoy
seeing you work, and be
delighted with anything
you give her. So shall
I, though I don't deserve
=---- -- "I won't punish you
by painting the frown
Mous PICTURE,' SAID JESSIE." that quite frightened me
just now, but will do my
best to keep the happy face, and so heap coals of
fire on your head. They won't burn any more than
the pretty red leaves that brought me this good
fortune," answered the artist, seeing that his peace
was made.
I 'm so glad I wore them !" and as if trying to
make amends for her little flash of temper, Jessie
told him about the ivy, and how she loved it,-





unconsciously betraying more of her pathetic little
story than she knew, and increasing her hearer's
The children came back in riotous spirits, and
Jessie was called to lead the revels again. But now
her heart was as light as her heels; for she had
something pleasant to think of,-a hope of help
for Laura, and the memory of kind words to make
hard duties easier. Mr. Vane soon slipped away,
promising to come the next day; and at eight
o'clock Jessie ran home to tell her sister the good
news, and to press the little wreath which had
served her so well.
With the sanguine spirit of girlhood, she felt
sure that something delightful would happen, and
built fine castles in the air for her sister, with a small
corner for herself, where she could watch Laura
bloom into a healthy woman and a great artist.
The desire of Jessie's heart was to earn enough
money to enable them to spend a month or two at
the seashore when summer came, as that was the
surest cure for Laura's weak nerves and muscles.
The artist seemed in no haste to finish his work,
and for some weeks came often to the sittings in
that quiet room; for it grew more and more
attractive to him; and while he painted the younger
sister's changeful face, he studied the beautiful
nature of the elder and learned to love it. But no
one guessed that secret for a long time; and Jessie
was so busy racking her brain for a way to earn
more money that she was as blind and deaf to
much that went on before her as if she had been
a wooden dummy.
Suddenly, when she least expected it, help came,
and in so delightful a way that she long remem-
bered the little episode with girlish satisfaction.
One day as she sat wearily waiting till the dressing-
room was cleared of maids and children after the
dancing-class was over, a former friend came
sauntering up to her, saying in the tone which
always nettled Jessie:
"You poor thing! are n't you tired to death
trying to teach these stupid babies ?"
"No; I love to dance, and we had new figures
to-day. See is n't this pretty?" and Jessie, who
knew her own skill and loved to display it, twirled
away as lightly as if her feet were not aching with
two hours of hard work.
Lovely I do wish I ever could learn to keep
time and not jerk and bounce. Being plump is a
dreadful trial," sighed Fanny Fletcher, as Jessie
came back beaming and breathless.
Perhaps I can teach you. I think of making
this my profession since I must do something.
Mademoiselle earns heaps of money by it," she said,
sitting down to rest, resolved not to be ashamed
of her work nor to let Fanny pity her.

I wish you could teach me, for I know I shall
disgrace myself at the Kirmess. You 've heard
about it, of course! So sorry you can't take a
part, for it's going to be great fun and very splen-
did. I am in the Hungarian dance, and it 's one
of the hardest; but the dress is lovely, and I would
be in it. Mamma is the matron of it; so I had
my way, though I know the girls don't want me,
and the boys make fun of me. Just see if this
is n't the queerest step you ever beheld!"
Fanny started bravely across the wide, smooth
floor, with a stamp, a slide, and a twirl which was
certainly odd, but might have been lively and
graceful if she had not unfortunately been a very
plump, awkward girl, with no more elasticity than
a feather-bed. Jessie found it impossible not to
laugh when Fanny ended her display with a sprawl
upon the floor, and sat rubbing her elbows in an
attitude of despair.
I know that dance It is the tzardas, and I
can show you how it should be done. Jump up
and try it with me said Jessie good-naturedly,
running to help her friend up, glad to have a part-
ner of her own size for once.
Away they went, but soon stopped; for Fanny
could not keep step, and Jessie pulled and stamped
and hummed in vain.
Do it alone; then I can see how it goes, and
manage better next time," panted the poor girl,
dropping down upon the velvet seat which ran
around the hall.
Mademoiselle had come in and watched them
for a moment. She saw at once what was needed,
and as Mrs. Fletcher was one of her best patrons,
she was glad to oblige the oldest daughter; so she
went to the piano and struck up the proper air just
as Jessie, with one arm on her hip, the other on
the shoulder of an invisible partner, went down
the hall with a martial stamp, a quick slide, and a
graceful turn, in perfect time to the stirring music
that made her nerves tingle and her feet fly. To
and fro, around and around, with all manner of
graceful gestures, intricate steps, and active
bounds went the happy girl, quite carried away
by the music and motion of the pastime she loved
so much.
Fanny clapped her hands with admiration,
and Mademoiselle cried "Bien, tres bien, char-
mante, ma cherie!" as she paused at last, rosy
and smiling, with one hand on her head and the
other at her temple with the salute that closed the
I must learn it! Do come and give me les-
sons at our house. I called for Maud, and must go
now. Will you come, Jessie? I '11 be glad to pay
you, if you don't mind. I hate to be laughed at;
and I know if some one would just help me alone,




I should do as well as the rest, for Professor Lud-
wig raves at us all."
Fanny seemed in such a sad strait, and Jessie
sympathized so heartily with her friend, that she
could not refuse a request which flattered her
vanity and tempted her with a prospect of some
addition to the "Sister-fund," as she called her
little savings.
So she graciously consented, and, after a few
laborious lessons, prospered so well that her
grateful pupil proposed to several other unsuccess-
ful dancers in the set to invite Jessie to the private
rehearsals held in various parlors as the festival
drew near.
Some of these young people knew Jessie De-
lano, had missed the bright girl, and they gladly
welcomed her back when, after much urging, she
agreed to go and help them with the difficult fig-
ures of the tzardas. Once among them, she felt in
her element, and trained the awkward squad so
well that Professor Ludwig complimented them on
their improvement at the public rehearsals, and
"raved no more, to the great delight of the timid
damsels, who lost their wits when the fiery little
man shouted and wrung his hands over their mis-
The young gentlemen needed help also, as sev-
eral of them looked very much like galvanized
grasshoppers in their efforts to manage long legs
or awkward elbows. Jessie willingly danced with
them, and showed them how to move with grace
and spirit, and to treat their partners less like dolls
and more like peasant maidens with whom the
martial Hungarians were supposed to be disport-
ing themselves at the fair. Merry meetings were
these; and all enjoyed them, as young people do
whatever is lively, dramatic, and social. Every
one was full of the brilliant Kirmess, which was the
talk of the city, and to which every one intended
to go as actor or spectator. Jessie was sadly
tempted to spend three of her cherished dollars for
a ticket, and perhaps would have done so, if there
had been any one to take care of her. Laura
could not go, and Mr. Vane was away; no other
friend appeared, and no one remembered to invite
her, so she bravely hid her girlish longing, and
got all the pleasure out of the rehearsals that she
At the last of these, which was a full-dress affair
at Fanny's house, something happened which not
only tried Jessie's temper sorely, but brought her a
reward for many small sacrifices. So much dancing
was very hard upon her slippers, the new pair were
worn out long before, and a second pair were in
a dangerous condition; but Jessie hoped that they
would last that evening, and then she would in-
dulge in better ones with what Fanny would pay

her. She hated to take it, but her salary at
Mademoiselle's was needed at home; all she could
spare from other sources was sacredly kept for
Laura's jaunt, and only now and then did the
good little girl buy some very necessary article for
herself. She was learning to be humble, to love
work, and be grateful for her small wages for her
sister's sake; and while she hid her trials, with-
stood her temptations, and bravely tugged away at
her hard tasks, the kind Providence, who teaches
us the sweet uses of adversity, was preparing a
more beautiful and helpful surprise than any she
could plan or execute.
That night all were much excited, and great
was the energy displayed as the scarlet, blue, and
silver couples went through the rapid figures with
unusual spirit and success. The brass-heeled
boots stamped in perfect time, the furred caps
waved, and the braided jackets glittered as the
gay troop swung to and fro, or marched to the
barbaric music of an impromptu band. Jessie
looked on with such longing in her eyes that
Fanny, who was ill with a bad cold, kindly begged
her to take her place, as motion made her cough,
and putting on her the red and silver cap, sent
her joyfully away to lead them all.
The fun grew rather fast and furious toward the
end, and when the dance broke up, there lay in
the middle of the floor a shabby little slipper,
burst at the side, trodden down at the heel, and
utterly demoralized as to the bow with a broken
buckle in it. So disreputable a little shoe was
it that no one claimed it when one of the young
men held it up on the point of his sword, exclaim-
ing gayly:
"Where is Cinderella? Here 's her shoe, and
it's quite time she had a new pair. Glass evidently
does n't wear well nowadays."
They all laughed and looked about to find the
shoeless foot. The girls with small feet displayed
them readily; those less blessed hid them at once,
and no Cinderella appeared to claim the old
slipper. Jessie turned as red as her cap, and
glanced imploringly at Fanny as she slipped
through a convenient door and fled upstairs,
knowing that in a moment all would see that it
must be hers, since the other girls wore red boots
as a part of their costume.
Fanny understood; and though awkward and
slow with her feet, she was kind-hearted and quick
to spare her friend the mortification which a poor
and proud girl could not help feeling at such a
moment. The unfortunate slipper was flying from
hand to hand as the youths indulged in a boyish
game of ball to tease the laughing girls, who has-
tened to disclaim all knowledge of "the horrid



Please give it to me cried Fanny, trying to
catch it, and glad Jessie was safe.
"No; Cinderella must come and put it on.
Here 's the prince all ready to help her," said the
finder of the shoe, holding it up.
And here are many proud sisters ready to cut
off their toes and heels if they could only get on
such a small slipper," added another young Magyar,
enjoying the fun immensely.
Listen, and let me tell you something. It's
Jessie Delano's, and she has run away because she
lost it. Don't laugh and make fun of it, because
it was worn out in helping us. You all know what
a hard time she has had, but you don't know how
good and brave and patient she is, trying to help
poor Laura and to earn her living. I asked her to
teach me, and I shall pay her well for it, because
I could n't have gone on if she had n't. If any of
you feel as grateful as I do, and as sorry for her,
you can show it in any kind way you please, for it
must be dreadful to be so poor after one has been
Fanny had spoken quickly, and at the last words
hid the tremble in her voice with a cough, being
rather scared at what she had done on the impulse
of the moment. But it was a true impulse, and
the generous young hearts were quick to answer
it. The old slipper was respectfully handed to her
with many apologies and various penitent sugges-
tions. None were adopted just then, however, for
Fanny ran off to find Jessie with her wraps on
waiting for a chance to slip away unseen. No per-
suasions would keep her to supper; and at last,
with many thanks, she was allowed to go, while
Fanny returned to lay plans with her guests as
they disturbed their digestions with lobster-salad,
ice-cream, and strong coffee.
Feeling more than ever like Cinderella as she
hurried out into the winter night, leaving all the
good times behind her, Jessie stood waiting for a
car on the windy street-corner, with the ragged
slippers under her arm, tears of weariness and vex-
ation in her eyes, and a resentful feeling against
an unjust fate lying heavy at her heart. The
glimpses of her old gay, easy life, which these
rehearsals had given her, made the real hardship
and loneliness of her present life all the more irk-
some, and that night she felt as if she could not
bear it much longer. She longed with all a girl's
love of gayety to go to the Kirmess, and no one
thought to invite her. She could not go alone
even if she yielded to temptation and spent her
own money. Laura would have to hire a carriage
if she ventured to try it; so it was impossible, for
six or seven dollars was a fortune to the poor girls
To have been one of the happy creatures who

were to take part, to dance at the Opera House
in a dainty costume to the music of a full band,-
to see and do and enjoy all the delights of those
two enchanting evenings, would have filled Jessie's
cup to overflowing. But since she might as well
cry for the moon, she tried to get some comfort out
of imagining it all as she rumbled home in a snow-
storm, and cried herself to sleep after giving Laura
a cheerful account of the rehearsal, omitting the
The sun shone next morning, hope woke again,
and as she dressed, Jessie sung to keep her heart
up, still trusting that some one would remember
her before the day was over. As she opened her
window, the sparrows welcomed her with shrill
chirpings, and the sun turned the snow-covered
vine to a glittering network very beautiful to see
as it hung like a veil of lace over the dingy wall.
Jessie smiled as she saw it, while taking a long
breath of the keen air, feeling cheered and refreshed
by these familiar comforters; then with a brave,
bright glance up at the clear blue sky, she went
away to the day's duties, little guessing what
pleasant surprises were on their way to reward her
for the little sacrifices which were teaching her
strength, patience, and courage for greater ones
by and by.
All the morning she listened eagerly for the bell,
but nothing came; and at two o'clock she went
away to the dancing-class, saying to herself with a
"Every one is so busy, it is no wonder I 'm for-
gotten. I shall hear about the fun in the papers,
and try to be contented with that."
Though she never felt less like dancing, she was
very patient with her little pupils, and when the
lesson was over, sat resting a moment, with her
head still full of the glories of the Kirmess. Sud-
denly Mademoiselle came to her, and in a few
kind words gave her the first of the pleasant sur-
prises by offering her a larger salary, an older
class, and many commendations for her skill and
faithfulness. Of course she gratefully accepted the
welcome offer, and hurried home to tell Laura,
forgetting her heavy heart, tired feet, and disap-
pointed hopes.
At her own door the second surprise stood wait-
ing for her, in the person of Mrs. Fletcher's maid,
with a large box and a note from Miss Fanny.
How she ever got herself and her parcel up the
long stairs Jessie never knew, she was in such a
frantic hurry to see what that vast box could con-
tain. She startled her sister by bursting into the
room breathless, flushed, and beaming, with the
mysterious cry of-
Scissors quick, the scissors !"
Off went cords and papers, up flew the cover,





and with a shriek of rapture Jessie saw the well-
known Hungarian costume lying there before her.
What it all meant she sould not guess, till she tore
open the note and read these delightful words:

"DEAR JESS : My cold is worse, and the doctor won't let me go
to-night. Is n't it dreadful? Our dance will be ruined unless you
will take my place. I know you will to oblige us, and have a lovely
time. Every one will be glad; you do it so much better than I can.
My dress will fit you, with tucks and reefs here and there; and the
boots won't be much too I. :. 1.-.. 1-. I'm fat I have small feet,
thank goodness! Mamar .i r u at seven, and bring you
safely home; and you must come early to-morrow and tell me all
about it.
In .he small box you will find a little token of our gratitude to
you for your kindness in helping us all so much.
Yours ever,

As soon as Jessie could get her breath and re-
cover from this first delightful shock, she opened
the dainty parcel carefully tied up with pink rib-
bons. It proved to be a crystal slipper, apparently
full of rosebuds; but under the flowers lay five-
and-twenty shining gold dollars. And as if, with
all their devices to make the offering as delicate
and pretty as possible, the givers feared to offend,
a little, card with these words was tucked in one
corner: "We return to our dear princess the
glass slipper which she lost at the ball, full of
thanks and good wishes."
If the kind young persons who sent the fanciful


gift could have seen how it was received, their
doubts would soon have been set at rest; for Jessie
laughed and cried as she told the story, counted
the precious coins, and filled the pretty shoe with
water that the buds might keep fresh for Laura.
Then, while the needles flew and the gay garments
were fitted, the happy voices talked and the sisters
rejoiced together over this unexpected pleasure as
only loving girls do.
I shall keep that slipper all my life, if I can,
to remind me not to despair; for just when every-
thing seemed darkest, all this good luck came,"
said Jessie, with ecstatic skips!
Gentle Laura rejoiced and sympathized heartily,
sewed like a busy bee, and sent her happy sister
away at seven o'clock with a sweet smile, never
letting her suspect what tender hopes and fears
were hidden in her own heart, or how poor a
consolation all the glories of the Kirmess would
be for the loss of a friend who had grown very
dear to her.
There is no need to tell the raptures that even-
ing held for little Jessie, who enjoyed everymoment,
and was brought home at midnight ready to
begin all over again, so inexhaustible is youth's
appetite for pleasure.
To her great surprise, Laura was up and wait-
ing to welcome her, with a face so full of a new
and lovely happiness that Jessie guessed at once

some good fortune had come to her also. Yes,
Laura's well-deserved happiness and beautiful sur-
prise had arrived at last; and she told it all in a few
words as she held out her arms, exclaiming:
He has come back He loves me, and I am
so happy Dear little sister, all your hard times
are over now, and you shall have a home again."
So the dreams came true, as they sometimes do
even in this work-a-day world of ours, when the
dreamers strive as well as hope, and earn their re-
Laura had a restful summer at the seaside, with
a stronger arm than Jessie's to lean upon, and
more magical medicine to help her back to health
than any mere doctor could prescribe. Jessie
danced again with a light heart,--for pleasure, not
for pay,-and found the new life all the sweeter
for the trials of the old one. In the autumn there
was a quiet wedding, before three very happy per-
sons sailed away to Italy, the artist's heaven on
"No roses for me," said Jessie, smiling at her-
self in the mirror, as she fastened a spray of rosy
ivy-leaves in the bosom of her fresh white gown
that October morning. I '11 be true to my old
friend; for it helped me in my dark days, and now
it shall rejoice with me in my bright ones, and go
on teaching me to climb bravely and patiently
toward the light."


BY M. M. D.

POOR Marionette She worked so hard,
And did her part with such precision !
But one cold day, when off her guard,
She tumbled on the cruel floor
And broke herself for evermore.
Then worthless quite -
Poor wooden mite !-
She met with scorn and cold derision.

"Throw her away! the showman cried.
Throw her away. We '11 buy a new one."
And so, despised, and cast aside,
She lay all winter in the snow,
Unmourned, forgotten long ago
By human folk;
And never woke,-
So can a cruel fate undo one.
See page 956.




Poor Marionette In course of time
Sweet May came bringing gentler weather.
Then followed summer in her prime;
And softly, on fair moonlight nights,
Came mourning elves and dainty sprites,
Who, weeping much,
With tender touch
Soon hid her in the warm, sweet heather.

" .1/




THE worst of being a Queen-though I speak
only from hearsay, not from experience--is that
you can never have anything particularly nice.
What I mean is, that as you have the best of
everything every day, how can you possibly have
anything better when you want something unusual?
Some great Englishman-I forget whether it was

Mr. Ruskin or Mr. Carlyle-advised young peo-
ple to arrange all their habits and tastes in life so
that any change forced upon them would be sure
to be an improvement. A Queen's life must be
the very reverse of this; any change, one would
think, from her ordinary superlative diet, must be
for the worse. If a Count were to send word to

uA >




I' '

Uo. .
S" i/,' i
.- ^ .'.I


you or me that he would take tea with us that
evening, we could make a little festival of it by
substituting sponge-cake for our ordinary ginger-
bread; if a Duke were coming, we could make it
pound-cake instead of sponge; if a Prince, it
should be a rich, dark fruit-cake, very full of
plums; and for a Queen, we should not hesitate to
make a grand effort and have a heaping basket of
all three upon the table at once. But what can a
Queen, who, of course, has plum-cake all the time,
give to her guests that is any better than what she
has when she is alone ? No celebration, from the

smallest kind of a birthday to a National Jubilee,
would be complete without a feast, and no feast
would be quite complete without a cake; but when
it came to making a cake worthy of the occasion
when all England wanted to celebrate the fiftieth
anniversary of their great and good Queen's reign,
what could they do that would be remarkable
enough for a Queen ? They could n't make any
better cake, as they always made her the best. It
would be no use to have a great many kinds of
cake, for no one would be dazzled by seeing an
abundance on the table of a Queen.
There was only one thing that could be done:
they could make a bigger cake.
But how big? I wonder whether the cook's
imagination leaped at once to the great size which
finally distinguished the cake, or whether he began
with thinking it should be two feet high, then four
feet, then seven feet, and finally ten feet? It is
almost as large around as it is high, and it weighed
when it came from the oven-by the way, what
did they do for an oven? surely they must have
had to build one especially for it--a quarter of a
ton. Do you suppose they thought of all this in
one grand conception, or did they keep adding
eggs and flour and sugar and plums till they really
had no more to add ?
The same firm made the cake for the Jubilee that
had made the cake for the Queen's Coronation,
fifty years before. Of course they wanted to show
how much they had improved in fifty years, and
they determined to build a perfect cake, very
much as Dr. Holmes tells us of a man who built a
perfect one-hoss shay; the eggs were to be just
as yellow as the butter, the flour just as white as
the sugar, the currants just as many as the raisins,
the spices just as dark as the citron, the combina-
tion just as noble as the occasion. Of course, they
only had the same old materials to work with;
so they had to use a great many-I should say a
very great many-of the ordinary little hens'
eggs such as you and I eat. To be sure, the
Queen rules over a great deal of land in Africa,
and if they had only thought of it in time, they
could have sent over for a hundred dozen or so
of ostrich eggs; but I don't believe anybody
thought of it. By the way, I wonder who beat
the eggs, and how many they did use? Who
stoned the raisins, and how long did it take her?
How did they manage to stir it when it was all
put together, and where did they find a straw big
enough to reach through it when they wanted to
see if it was done"? But however it was done,
they did it; it came out of the oven perfectly beau-
tiful, though I wonder where they found a giant
strong enough to pull it out? I really believe
when it was done, they just had to knock the oven



to pieces away from it. Then they began to deco-
rate it. All the decorations, except the real flow-
ers that they heaped about it, and the winged
figure of Peace with the crown of empire on the
top, and the other figures representing Fame and
Glory blowing from their trumpets the news of the
Jubilee to the world, are of sugar; and yet, with
the addition of its sugar decorations, the cake
weighed twice what it did before, nearly half a
ton! There is a sugar crown guarded by lions
(I suppose lions don't care for sugar, and so could
be trusted to guard it), and medallions, and fig-
ures in relief, and monograms; and all around the
top of the cake, in sugar, an exquisite wreath of
rose, shamrock, and thistle -the rose for England,
the shamrock for Ireland, the thistle for Scotland.
A thousand pounds of cake Think what joy
to have such a cake in the house! And yet, it
would have its drawbacks, which I venture to men-
tion that I may not leave the little mouths of little
democratic republicans watering with envy for
royal jubilee cake. Such a cake would be a good
deal in the way; it would be hard work to get it in
through the dining-room door; the dining-room
table would break down under it; it would have to
stand in a corner, and I am not sure that some
dining-room floors would not have to be propped up
underneath to support it. Then, if you are ever
naughty,- though I hope you never are,- Mamma
might by mistake push you into the dark cake
instead of into the dark closet. At first this might
seem very nice, for I suppose a little girl or boy
could run around in such a cake, just as a mouse
runs around in a big cheese, nibbling its way
out; but how you would hate cake by the time you
had nibbled to the opposite side!
And that brings me to one great disadvantage of
such a cake. From my experience as a child and
as the mother of children, I have discovered that
the great joy of cake lies in the second slice. I
have seen little boys with their eyes and minds
fastened on the second slice swallowing the first as
fast as possible, just for the pleasure of getting at
the second. I even knew a little boy to refuse a
cookie, saying that if he could n't have two cookies
he would n't have any. I have sometimes advised
children to let the first slice go, and begin with the
second; but they seem to be puzzled by this, as the
little boy was who always dreaded the first day at

a new school, and was told that he might stay at
home the first day and begin on the second. Now,
with Jubilee Cake there is no second slice. Of
course, I don't mean that you could n't have a
second slice; there would be plenty of it right
before you, but you would n't want it. The joy of
the second slice consists, not in having it, but in
wanting it. You would n't want a second slice of
Jubilee Cake, so there would be no use in being
able to have it. When I tell you that each slice
weighs fifty founds, you will understand why you
would n't want two.
Then there is another objection to Jubilee Cake:
it takes too long to make it. You could n't run in
suddenly and order one for luncheon, as you could
order our delicious, sensible, North American hot
gingerbread. You would have to waitfour months;

........- --.. .--7


for I am assured it took four months to make and
bake the Queen's Jubilee loaf, and I fear there is
nothing in the world that children would think
worth waiting four months for; certainly they
would not be willing to wait as long as that for
something to eat.





THE children could not understand why they felt
so dull and drowsy all the following day, so indis-
posed to do anything, so thoroughly tired and
spent. It was that, like Shaneco's bow, they were
unstrung; and, after the long tension of every
faculty and feeling, required rest. Frau Braun,
however, understood, and it was no surprise to her
to see them sleep away the greater part of the day.
Even Amigo felt the need of meditation. He
did not like to be accused of losing consciousness
altogether, and always opened one eye when any-
body said in his hearing that he was asleep. He
certainly stretched himself out full length on the
grass in front of the cabin after breakfast for half
an hour, and then, feeling himself free from curious
observation, curled around comfortably in his favor-
ite position and did not move for two hours. After
this he rose, and stretched himself in two motions,
-fore paws well down and hind legs stiff, first, and
then fore legs made suddenly very rigid, and hind
legs allowed to drag a little limply, he yawning all
the while prodigiously. But of course he had not
been asleep. Oh, dear, no not at all.
On the third day all the travelers were brighter,
and went off to the woods with the Brauns, where
Juan's skill in bringing down birds and squirrels
set the Braun children to goggling worse than ever.
Their admiration grew every hour and day after
that. To be with Juan and Nita became the most
precious of their privileges, and to secure it they
shirked as much as possible, and cheerfully aban-
doned, all their former pursuits, games, and pets.
Even the heads of the house felt the force of the
new influence. Mr. Braun spent in questioning,
re-questioning, and cross-questioning Juan, a great
deal of time that might have been given with ad-
vantage to his vegetables; and his wife forgot all
about the bread on baking-day and let it burn in
the oven to a thick, black crust, while Juan's ad-
ventures were being translated for her benefit.
And the story was told over and over again, for the
,benefit of credulous or incredulous neighbors,
who, hearing wonderful tales of what was going on
at the Brauns', rode up in great numbers, for a
sparse settlement, hitched their horses to the
fence, came in, took off yellow sunbonnets or som-
breros, as the case might be, seated themselves,
and showed very plainly that they had come for

the day, claiming Frau Braun's hospitality as freely
as they would have granted it, had they been har-
boring escaped Indian captives. When these
worthy people had settled themselves in chairs and
had accepted "a bite of somedings," Juan and
Nita (designated as "them Injun children," or
" them greasers that got away from the Coman-
ches") were summoned, and gave testimony.
At last one day an old Texan came who said he
"would n't 'light," threw a leg over the pommel
of his saddle, let an eye as cool as a toad's rest on


Juan while he told the old story over again, asked
many leading questions, listened meditatively to
the replies,-and summed up his conclusions in,
"I'm blamed if he ain't tellin' the truth "
Having thus given his official sanction to a tale
that sadly lacked confirmation to many minds, he
nodded to such Brauns as were about, struck his
spurs into his mustang's sides, and rode away
again, leaving Juan's credit above 'par, to use a
commercial phrase; for the old Texan was the
great authority on such matters in that part of the
State. He had lived among the Comanches, had
been an Indian scout and guide for thirty years,
and knew the country over which the children had
passed as well as any Indian of them all.
It took a week for Mr. Braun to collect all the
things that he wished to take to San Antonio, and




it is likely that he would not have got off then
but for the assistance rendered by Juan, who
electrified and fascinated the boys by finding and
skillfully robbing two bee-caves, and pleased their
thrifty father as well by this exercise of woodcraft;
an'd as for pecans, Juan could find, thresh, shake,
and gather them as no other boy had ever been
known to do.
The covered wagon in which the proposed jour-
ney was to be made was piled so high with them
that there was scarcely room for anything or any-
body else. Aware of the admiration he had ex-
cited in the youthful Brauns, Juan did his best.
He was not above showing them what he could
do with Shaneco's bow, for one thing; and even
Nita quietly strung her little bow one day and
brought down a wild turkey. To the Brauns, it
was heart-breaking to think of giving up guests so
delightful, not to mention Amigo, whose pack-
saddle alone was a joy forever. The little Brauns
would have saddled and unsaddled him from morn-
ing until night all that week, had they been per-
At last the day came for leaving, and the high-
shouldered wagon rolled away from the door with
a very miscellaneous load of nuts, honey, butter,
chickens, and children, Mr. Braun driving, Amigo
looking over his shoulder to see that he did the
thing properly. Six inconsolable Braunlings, de-
feated in their efforts to join the party, hung over
the fence and swarmed about the wheels to the
last. One of them appeared suddenly around the
corner of the canvas hood-cover, just as they
started, and thrust upon Nita a white rabbit. The
good Frau with the baby in her arms stood on the
doorstep, and wept as she called down a last
blessing upon Juan and Nita, and predicted that
they would soon be with their mother. Mr. Braun
gave a tremendous crack with his long whip and
they were off.
The children had.been wholly glad to think that
morning that they were to enter upon another
stage of their journey, and were to be taken
without any effort, or anxiety, or care of their
own, to a place where Mexicans abounded, whence
they could easily be sent back to Santa Rosa. But
the overflowing of the Frau's mother-love so
softened their hearts that now, as the brother and
sister rode away, the tears streamed down both
faces, although Juan made desperate efforts to
control what he considered a disgraceful weakness.
What would Shaneco think if he could see me
crying? he thought, and choked down the lump
in his throat and dried his eyes as soon as possible.
They crossed that loveliest of streams, the
Guadaloupe, in the evening, and camped on the

other side. What a relief it was to get out of the
close wagon and to be able to move about freely
again Next morning Juan was allowed to play
postilion and mounted the off leader, a serious old
roan not much like the Indian ponies to which he
was accustomed, but preferable to the coop. Nita
was invited to sit in front with Mr. Braun, and
tried her hand at driving, and wondered why
civilized people went about in cumbersome, heavy
vehicles tied by innumerable straps to such horses,
instead of riding spirited mustangs, as the Co-
manches did.
They arrived at the Cibolo that night; and in a
few days, from the hills north of San Antonio,
they were looking down upon the Alamo City set
in the heart of a beautiful valley the valley of
its own beautiful river the fine domes of the old
Spanish mission-cathedrals, San Jos6 and Concep-
cion, being clearly outlined against a blue sky.
"0 Juan! Mira! mira! Casas, casas, casas!"*
exclaimed Nita, who had never seen so many
houses in her life before and was in a state of great
There are Mexicans there !" said home-sick
I hope butter has gone up," said Mr. Braun,
and turned his horses' heads toward the San Pedro
Springs, where he meant to camp for the night.
It was disappointing to the children to stop at
all, with the city actually in sight; but Mr. Braun
had his own views on the subject and was not to
be persuaded into changing them. Butter might
have gone down, for aught he knew; and the
horses were tired; and he was in no special hurry
to reach town; so Juan and Nita had to resign
themselves to the inevitable as best they could, by
playing in the clear waters of the San Pedro,
wandering among its groves, and catching enough
trout, perch, and catfish for a hearty supper beside
the camp-fire.
The next morning they drove at quite a rattling
pace down into the city, and came to a full stop on
the Military or Grand Plaza,-a great square,
one side of which is taken up by a mellow old
cathedral with an imposing facade and beautiful
dome, the other three sides by hotels, stores, and
private houses. It has a flagstaff in the middle,
about which numbers of other wagons, caritas, t and
vehicles of all kinds were grouped; and about
these were booths, stalls, and long tables piled
high with tomales, tortillas, and feloncillos,t while
around these again were mountains of water-
melons in charge of the most Mexican Mexicans
this side of the Rio Grande.
The sight of them and of the cathedral, and the
whole Plaza, filled the children with rapture. It

O Juan! Look! look! Houses, houses, houses! t Mexican carts. Popular Mexican dishes.
VOL. XIV.-69.



was all so familiar that they stood as in a dream
for a moment after they left the wagon. They
gazed at the burros* near them, so ladened with
hay that nothing of them was visible but their long
ears and four feet as like the donkeys of Santa
Rosa as possible; at the hairless dogs as they
raced past; at the shovel-hatted, cassocked priest
just entering the flat-roofed adobe house opposite,
in short, at the miniature Mexico into which they
had dropped.
Mr. Braun in his best German-Spanish was soon
giving the history of Juan and Nita; and to the
chronic idlers of the Plaza were added men,
women, and children, in ever-increasing numbers,
until the wagon was completely surrounded by an
eager, excited crowd that hung upon every word
that proceeded from his lips. An impulsive and
tender-hearted people, they were touched to the
quick by what they heard. They wept, they
laughed, they cheered, exclaimed, gesticulated,
wept again, seized Mr. Braun's hands and kissed
them, embraced now Juan now Nita ardently,
and were shaken by a tempest of emotion such as
colder races can not understand. The story flew,
the story grew, and so did the crowd. Everybody
wished to see the hero and heroine of adventures
so tremendous. Everybody wanted to entertain
them, caress them, comfort them, help them.
There never was a prettier uproar. Every mother
there seemed to see one of her own brown babies
in the Indian captives; every man's heart burned
within him at the thought of their sufferings; the
shovel-hatted Padre f pressed forward to give them
his blessing; the shrill nasal chatter of the bab-
bling crowd rose to a shriek; the babies, exposed
to a hot sun, cried; the very dogs took part in
the demonstration, and barked, and fought, and
worked their way in everywhere. A Mexican of
prominence stepped forward and assumed the tem-
porary guardianship of the bewildered children,
and Mr. Braun found himself an object of scarcely
secondary interest.
If he had brought a train laden with sawdust,
he could have sold it all; and as, it was, he soon
found he could get whatever he chose to ask for
the contents of his one wagon and that butter had
emphatically gone up! It was long a matter of
regret with him that he had not thought to provide
himself with more "broduce." He parted with
the children with emotion and went back home
that afternoon bearing not only messages from
Juan and Nita, but grateful and affectionate ac-
knowledgments, as of a personal service, from the
Mexicans to Frau Braun. And it shouldbe added
that Mr. Braun always found a ready market for
his wares in that town afterward, among Americans
and Mexicans alike.

As good luck would have it, there was a train of
caritas, just in that morning from Mexico, loaded
withfrijoles, feloncillos, and onions; and before the
children left the Plaza they were told by the major-
domo that they could go back with him as soon as
his cargo was sold, that he had to pass through
Santa Rosa and would gladly go a little out of his
way in order to take them all the way to the haci-
enda. This settled, Juan and Nita were indeed


happy; and in the few days that intervened, every-
thing was done that could be done to heighten and
increase their happiness. It was the next best thing
to being at home to find themselves among their
own people again, and as for kindness and indul-
gence, not even the Sefiora could have surpassed
their new friends in devising pleasures for Juan
and Nita. The interest of the community in them
had not time to flag or grow cold, and the children
would certainly have been spoiled if anything had
kept them long in San Antonio.
A continuous stream of Americans, Mexicans,
Germans, and Frenchmen poured into the house
that sheltered them. They had nearly enough
clothes sent them to have set up an orphan asylum,
quite a sum of money, and as for toys and sweets,

*Donkeys. f "Father"-priest.




they were deluged by them. Nita had not the re-
motest idea what to do with the ten dolls sent her
because she was a girl, and Juan was equally puz-
zled when some foolish sympathizer presented him
with a popgun! Great was his contempt and dis-
gust when its nature and uses were explained to
him. He, with Shaneco's bow and the skill to use
it,- he, slayer of bears and wild cats, to be given
a popgun! Both he and Nita were much con-
founded by the warmth of their reception. They
could not see why it should be supposed that they
had done anything remarkable.
Amigo was of a different mind; he had always
known that there was something remarkable about
him, and consequently it was no surprise to see
his merit win the public recognition it had long de-
served. He took as kindly as possible to so agree-
able a state of things, and with his usual talent for
adapting himself ,to circumstances, lay nearly all
day on a straw mat near the front door, receiving
all comers with much affability. At first he ate
freely of such delicacies as they offered, and sub-
mitted gracefully to their endless caresses. This
state of affairs, however, soon gave way to a polite
toleration and then to something very like con-
temptuous indifference, but not until his courtesy
had been severely taxed, and he had grown weary
of hearing his praises chanted in several languages
by perennial adorers. You should have seen his
reception of a silver collar given him by a promi-
nent citizen with "Amigo, the friend of man"
engraved on it by the first jeweler of the place.
Perhaps he thought it a vulgar demonstration, per-
haps he feared that if he did n't nip the enthusiasm
in the bud he would be a sacred dog before he knew
where he was, and would be shut in a temple and
worshiped as such for the rest of his life,- a career
that would particularly bore a dog of simple tastes
and active habits. Perhaps he was only out of
humor. But when the prominent citizen approached
him, and in the presence of an interested company
proceeded to decorate him as the Friend of Man,"
Amigo barely turned his head to see who was there,
stretched out his neck with an air of studied indif-
ference, and sank down on his mat again without
more ado, having expressed as eloquently as he
could his conviction that "the post of honor is the
private station." During the remainder of his stay
in the city he was content to pose as a mere private
gentleman. It was noticed that he parted his hair
in the middle all the way down his back, and only
recognized such people as had the good fortune to
please him; but somehow he gave no offense.
Everything was generously pardoned in him and
conceded to him on the score of distinguished serv-
ice in the past.
Juan and Nita were becoming very restless,

when the major-domo suddenly appeared at their
door early one morning, and to their great joy
announced that he was ready to start for Mexico.
It would take a ream of paper to tell of ail the
farewells, blessings, presents, good wishes, and
prayers that went with and followed the two
children on this last stage of their journey. Up
to the moment of starting something was being
tucked into the carita for them by somebody; and
when at last they drove away, a great number of
kind hearts rejoiced to think of the great happiness
that awaited the Seiiora, and wished them good
speed and a safe arrival, with more fervor than is
usually put into such speeches,- their sweet,
sonorous adios ringing in the children's ears for
some time, as it was caught up and repeated on
all sides.
After crossing the Medina and Nueces rivers,
Juan was interested to see that the game was plenti-
ful, but after crossing the Rio Grande, he may be
said to have noticed nothing, so absorbed was he in
one thought. When the children found themselves
standing once more on the soil of Mexico, they
were so filled with holy joy, that with the ardor of
their race, they fell down on their knees, and
kissed the brown earth repeatedly, and then with
lightened hearts climbed back into the carita, and
were soon rolling slowly along again in that clum-
siest of creaky vehicles.
And what of the Sefiora for whom this beautiful
surprise was preparing ? Little dreaming of it, or
only in dreams at once consoled and tormented
by an exquisite vision of it, the Sefiora had been
steadily losing heart and hope every day and hour
of these cruel years eternities they always seemed
to her afterward. Despair was settling down upon
her. Constant weeping had so injured her sight
that she was threatened with blindness; yet she
wept on, ignorant of the harm she was doing, ever
mourning for her loved and lost ones.
At sunset .the major-domo's train was winding
across the plain toward the hacienda. Unable to
bear the slowness of the progress, Juan and Nita
leaped out of the carita, and ran on ahead. Soon
they came to the very place where they had been
captured. There was the plain on which the
flocks had been pastured that far-off day; there
was the lake still glittering in the sun; there the
trees under which they had sat with their father.
How well they remembered it all!
Then their eyes fell upon a heap of stones, with
a rude cross which marked their father's grave.
They looked at it with tears in their eyes; but
they were now very near home, and were drawn
to it by a very sweet and powerful influence.
They quickened their pace to the utmost; they
arrived at the gate of the hacienda ; Juan tore it



open, and they rushed across the courtyard, and at first recognize them in these tall, rough, dark
threw themselves upon a lady who was walking creatures.
there with her rebosa drawn close around her face, Just then Amigo bounded up to her and leaped
her eyes fixed sadly upon the setting sun. upon her. He had not changed, and she knew
The Sefiora, who had her back to them, felt the truth. Was it a sob or a cry that she gave, as
herself suddenly seized from the rear, arms were clutching her children frantically to her bosom
she fell upon her knees ?
.-- V There the mother and
." children staid clinging,
clinging to one another,
weeping out the sting
'1.'' ." of their long separation,
SI,:II covering one another
:II' with kisses only the
sweeter for being so
7 long denied, wild with
joy,-a sight to make
.. men and angels glad.
e I 0 "And now old Santiago
came hobbling around
the house, the major-
domo was at the gate,
aij, the herders and the
r women about the place
caught scent of what
was happening, and now
there were shrieks and
teal-s and laughter, and
a Babel of confusion and
talk. And in the midst
of it all the Sefiora
turned faint and had to
go indoors, and went,
leaning on Juan, who
was on one side of her,
and on Nita, who was
on the other, and mur-
n during brokenly, "I am
content to die now. I
have seen my children."
And now the major-
domo had to take him-
self off after being over-
v . whelmed with thanks.
i' And now the servants
hurried inside. And
._ now the sun dropped
. ...out of sight. The day
"MADRE! MADRE! MIMADRE!" of burning heat and
cruel grief was over, and
flung about her, voices shrieked out "Madre! night had come to heal and restore and bind up,
Madre / Mi madre /" Turning, she found her- with influences sweeter than any Job found in the
self in the grasp of two children, her heart felt Pleiades, the wounds that had been inflicted four
one wild thrill at hearing herself called Mother" years before.
again. She had kept the image of her children By the time the lights had been lit in the kaci-
as they looked when she last saw them, and oh, enda, all the neighborhood was astir. Old Mar-
how fondly she had dwelt upon it She did not tina ran all the way from herjacal* when she




heard the glorious news, as though she had been
a girl of fifteen, and disappeared inside a door that
received every relative she had in the course of the
next hour. It is not too much to say that the
whole population of Santa Rosa lived at the haci-
enda for a month, in detachments of from three
to a dozen people; and the wonderful story was
repeated in an ever-widening circle until it actu-
ally reached the ears of the President himself, who
sent the Sefora a beautiful letter of congratulation.
Amigo's behavior was just what might have
been expected. The Se'ora went outside next
morning to get some fresh air and tranquilize her
mind a little, and there, curled up in the very spot
that he had long ago marked for his own, was
Amigo. There was a very pretty and affectionate
interview between them, and Amigo certainly had

no reason to complain of the Seiora's coldness
now. He was doubtless much affected by her
kindness, and vowed renewed loyalty to her and
hers; for that evening he quietly resumed his old
duties, and brought in a strange flock for the first
time, and in two weeks knew every goat, sheep,
and lamb among them.
There is a new adobe wall around the hacienda
now, the Sefiora's oleanders are in bloom and
perfume the whole garden, which is in charming
order and has all sorts of new flowers in it.
Shaneco's bow and Amigo's pack-saddle hang
on the walls of the SeTora's room. Juan has
taken charge of his father's property, and is now
more entirely his mother's staff than ever, and the
Senora bakes tortillas and fan de gloria, spins
yarn and weaves serafas, but no longer weeps.




IN days long gone, where rocky cliffs
Rise high above the river's vale,
There was a path of doubts and ifs,-
We called it then the Indian Trail.

In ragged line, from top to base,
O'er shelving crag and slippery shale,
By brush and brier and jumping-place,
Wound up and down the Indian Trail.

No girl, though nimble as a fawn,
No small boy cautious as a snail,
No cow, no dog, no man of brawn,
Could safely tread that Indian Trail.

Beyond the age of childish toy,
Before the age of gun and sail,
The fearless and elastic boy
Alone could use the Indian Trail.

'T was like a great commencement-day,
Like change from little fish to whale,
From tearful March to smiling May,
When first you climbed the Indian Trail.

I 've threaded many a devious maze
And Alpine path without a rail,
Yet never felt such tipsy craze
As touched me on the Indian Trail.

'T was easy by the White Man's Path
For all the lofty cliff to scale;
But boys, returned from river bath,
Preferred to take the Indian Trail.

Ah, that was years and years ago -
To count them now would not avail--
And every noble tree is low
That shadowed then our Indian Trail.

They 've stripped off every bush and flower,
From Vincent to Deep Hollow dale;
The charm is sunk, the memory sour,-
There is no more an Indian Trail.

Dear boys, it takes away my breath,
To think how youth and genius fail!
Those grim pursuers, Time and Death,
Are baffled by no Indian Trail.

Far driven from our hunting-ground,
On breezy hill and billowy swale,
Some wander still; but some have found
The skyward end of Indian Trail.

Life lends such comfort as it hath,
But labor wears and custom stales;
I plod all day the White Man's Path,
And dream at night of Indian Trails.










WE are now about to make an excursion from
London, which will be quite an extensive one, em-
bracing Holland, and Belgium, and a part of Ger-
many. As this is to be what is called a round
trip, in which we shall not stop very long in any
one place, we will take with us only valises, or
such baggage as we can carry in our hands. We
leave London about eight o'clock in the evening,
and go by train to Harwich (pronounced Harridge).
If we were to make a journey at this hour in
America we should not see much of the country,
but in England the twilight lasts a long time, and
in this season of early summer one can see to read
in the open air at nine o'clock, and it is not really
dark for an hour afterward, so that we can see as
much of the rural scenery of the county of Essex
as we choose to look at. At Harwich our train
takes us directly to the steamship landing, and
there we find a vessel ready to sail for Antwerp,
and another for Rotterdam, and our tickets allow
us to go by either way and come back by the
other. We choose to visit Holland first, and so
go in the direction of the signboard painted Rotter-
dam, and take the steamer for that place. Our
trip across the German Ocean will probably be a
pleasant one, for these waters are generally quite
smooth at this season, and we shall go to our berths

soon after we start, and, it is to be hoped, sleep
soundly all the night.
When we wake in the morning we find ourselves
in the river Maas, on which the city of Rotterdam
is situated. On each side of us lies the queer
country of Holland, and the views we have are un-
like any we have ever seen before, or are likely to
see again except in this same country of the Dutch.
The land is flat, and would be uninteresting, ex-
cept for the fact that it is lower than the surface of
the river on which we are sailing. There must be
a certain interest attached to a country when we
think that if the great dykes, or banks, on each side
of the river were broken down, even for a com-
paratively short distance, the whole land would
soon be covered with water, and become a part of
the German Ocean. The people of Holland are
always on their guard to keep out that ocean, and
if ever there is danger from storms, or unusual
tides, the alarm-bells are rung, and men and
women flock out by day or night to help mend any
breach that may be made by the water. This
German Ocean, or North Sea, backed up by its
allies, the Arctic and the Atlantic Ocean, is an
enemy which is continually laying siege to Holland.
If it should ever destroy the strong fortifications
which she has thrown up to defend herself, good-




by to the populous, fertile, and rich land of the
Dutch !
We sail on for several hours, passing a little for-
tified town where the custom-house officers come
on board to examine our baggage, and every
now and then we see small houses, and sometimes
villages, not far from the river. After a time we
notice a town some distance back, which seems to
be a great manufacturing place, judging from the
smoke above it. This is Schiedam, where the in-
habitants devote themselves principally to making

lively places, for Rotterdam does a great trade
with the East and other parts of the world, and
from here most of the Dutch emigrants start for
America. The houses are extremely clean and
neat, many of them four and five stories high, and
most of them so constructed that the lower stories
can be shut up and made water-tight in case the
river should break through the dykes. There are
so many canals in this city, that Rotterdam has
been called a vulgar Venice." These canals are
crossed by a great many drawbridges, and in some


gin. The town is a small one, but it contains
about two hundred distilleries, and it gets very
rich by. supplying the whole world with Holland
gin. Everywhere, scattered about the country, we
have seen windmills, their great arms moving
slowly around. But of these Schiedam seems to,
have more than its share, for around about this town
we can count at least sixty of them. After steam-
ing for several hours over this smooth river and
between these flat lowlands, we reach the city of
Rotterdam, where our steamer stops.
We shall not make a long stay at Rotterdam,
but in a few hours we can see a great deal that is
novel and curious. The quays, which stretch for
more than a mile along the river, are busy and

of our walks we may have to wait while a ship or
barge is passing. On some canals these vessels
are obliged to pay toll, and we shall be amused to
see how this is collected. The toll-man stands on
the bridge with a pole and a line, to the end of
which a little bag is attached. This he holds as if
he were fishing, and lowers the bag to the people
in the boat, who put their money into it.
From Rotterdam we will go by the railroad to
The Hague, which is the capital of Holland, and
on the way we pass Delft, a town once famous for
its pottery, and which is interesting to Americans
from the fact that it is the place from which the
Pilgrim Fathers started on the voyage which ended
at Plymouth Rock. And here we find that even


in Holland we can not get rid of the ancient
Romans. From Delft to The Hague there is a
canal which was made by that everywhere-turn-
ing-up people. The Hague is a large and hand-
some city, but we shall be most interested in its
museum, where there is a very fine art gallery.
Here we see paintings principally by the great
Dutch and Flemish masters, among which are
some of the finest works of Rembrandt, and of
David Teniers, Wouverman, and other celebrated
We now go by rail to Amsterdam, which is the
largest city of Holland, and where we shall make
our longest stay. One reason why we shall not do
much lingering in Holland is that it is a very ex-
pensive country for travelers, and when we com-
pare what we are here charged at hotels and other
places with the exceedingly reasonable prices of
Italy and Switzerland, we feel inclined to see all
there is to see, and get on to some country where
the land is not so low and the charges are not so
Amsterdam is a city of canals, and yet we are
not constantly impressed that it is a water city, as
we are in Venice. The town lies at the end of the
Y, which is a gulf of the Zuyder Zee; and there
are several great canals, shaped like the segments
of concentric circles, intersected by some three
hundred smaller canals; and yet there are so
many streets and squares, and places where we
can drive about as freely as in any other city,
that there really is little comparison between
Amsterdam and the horseless city of the Adriatic.
Most of the houses are very tall, very narrow, and
stand with their gable-ends to the street. These
gables are generally built in an ornamental form,
and present a very odd and varied appearance.
At the top of nearly every house we see a project-
ing beam, with a rope and tackle, by which heavy
goods, marketing, fuel, and such household com-
modities are drawn up from the street or canal
below to the various floors. This saves a great
deal of trouble in getting upstairs.
As we walk or drive about we shall not be likely
to forget that this is a Dutch town. The front
doors of the houses, some of which are approached
by little flights of steps that run up sideways, while
others are so low that they look as if part of the
door was below the street, have such bright brass
plates and knobs, and everything looks so clean
and fresh, that I should not be surprised to be told
that the lower part of every house-front was washed
and polished every day; and if we should see,
standing in the doorway, a Dutch maid-servant,
she would very likely be as clean and bright and
fresh as the houses, which is saying a great deal.
On many of the doors of private dwellings we

see the names of the occupants painted in good
large letters, and this shows that when Dutch
people go into a house they expect to stay there,
and do not move about as much as the inhabitants
of that city they founded on Manhattan Island.
There are over three hundred thousand people
here, and we see a great many of them both in the
streets and on the canals. There is nothing very
striking in the dress of the workingmen, but some
of the women are curiously attired, especially those
who come in from the country. The women of the
different provinces are known by their headdresses,
and some of these look as if the originators of them
had puzzled their brains to see what queer and
fantastic head-gear they could devise. Golden orna-
ments and plates are very frequently seen, some
with spiral twists in front like golden curls. These
adornments, with heavy silver or golden earrings,
are often the principal part of a woman's prop-
erty, and descend from mother to daughter for
There is a large park here, where we may meet
the Dutch aristocracy, who are very fine-looking
people, driving about in their handsome car-
riages. On a street near by is a very curious
house which we must visit. It is built and fur-
nished in the fashion of an old Dutch house of two
or three centuries ago. It is full of all sorts of old
furniture, coins, books, and other interesting relics
of olden times. There is a bedroom, furnished in
a queer ancient style, with old-fashioned clothes,
and so on, hanging about, and a queer cradle with
the cap and socks of a baby whose great-grand-
children probably died of old age long ago. Down
in the kitchen, the walls of which are hung with
all sorts of pots, pans, and other utensils, while
cheese-presses, scales, and such things stand on
the polished floor, we see a woman dressed in the
olden fashion of a cook. She wears a great gold
plate on the back of her head, which makes her
look as if a piece of her skull had been taken out
and this set in its place. Those of us who are
descended from Peter Stuyvesant's fellow-citizens
can get from this house a good idea of how our
Dutch ancestors lived.
One of the great industries of Amsterdain is the
cutting and polishing of diamonds; and nearly all
the finest diamonds in the world are brought here
to be cut into shape. We will make a visit to one
of the principal diamond establishments, and when
we get there I think we shall be surprised to find
a great factory, four or five stories high, a steam-
engine in the basement, and fly-wheels, and
leather bands, and all sorts of whirring machinery
in the different stories. On the very top floor the
diamonds are finished and polished, and here we
see skillful workmen sitting before rapidly revolving




disks of steel, against which the diamonds are
pressed and polished. It requires great skill,
time, and patience before one of these valuable
gems is got into that shape in which it will best
shine, sparkle, and show its purity. Nearly half
the diamonds produced in the world, the best of
which come from Brazil, are sent to this factory to
be cut and polished. Here the great Koh-i-noor
was cut; and we are shown models of that and of
other famous diamonds that were cut in these rooms.
From Amsterdam we go by rail to Cologne,
a short day's journey. For the first few hours the
view is such as we may see nearly all over Holland:
broad flat fields without fences, but divided by

water which used to cover this part of the country.
The cottages and farm-houses are generally small,
and mixed up very closely with cow-stables and
barns. Sometimes we see pleasant-looking villas
and residences, and now and then we pass through
towns and villages. After a time we come to a part
of the country chiefly composed of sand-hills, or
dunes, where the people have little to depend upon
but the fir-trees, the only things that easily grow
here. When a child is born, a certain number of
fir-trees are planted, which will be its property
when it grows up.
At the small town of Elton we pass from Hol-
land into Germany, and here our baggage is exam-


ditches and canals, stretch in every direction.
Most of these are pasture lands, on which great
numbers of fine cattle are grazing. These cows,.
which are all either black or white, or partly
black and partly white, belong to a breed of
great milkers, and they look in excellent con-
dition. Some of them, which probably have slight
colds, are nearly covered with cloth or canvas
securely fastened around them. Portions of the
land are cultivated, and look very dark and rich.
Many of these fields have been reclaimed from the

ined. Before long we reach the river Rhine, which
we cross on a steam ferry-boat, which is propelled
by a very odd sort of a wire cable. The train is
run on board this boat; and when we reach the
other side, a strong locomotive comes down into
the shallow water, on rails which are partly sub-
merged, and pulls us up the bank. This is not
the first time we have crossed this famous river,
which flows into the sea a little north of The Hague,
but we have heretofore merely passed over it as if
it had been any ordinary stream crossed by a rail-



road. The Rhine, although quite broad, is not
much to look at here, but we will wait and see
what we shall see after a while. The porters at
the German railroad stations are dressed in such
fine green uniforms that we shall probably mistake
them for some of the higher officers of the road;
but when we see the conductors and station-mas-
ters, who wear much finer uniforms, and who have
more military airs, we shall get the matter straight
in our minds. The railroad we are on does not,
as in England, cross common roads by bridges
and tunnels, but all roads intersecting it are closed
by gates, and at every one of these, and at every

and old, some of the houses dating from the thir-
teenth century; and the Rhine, which is here
crossed by a long bridge of boats, presents a very
busy and lively scene with its craft of many kinds.
As soon as we can we will go to the Cathedral,
which is the grandest Gothic church in the world.
It was begun in 1248, but was not finished until
1880. It has two immense and beautiful spires,
over five hundred feet high, and nearly the whole
outside is covered with lovely architectural orna-
mentation and sculptures. Inside, the immense
building is wonderfully beautiful and imposing.
Light comes through great stained-glass windows

A- -.


little farm-gate opening on the railroad, there
stands an official, who, as the train passes, draws
himself up in military fashion, toes out, chin up,
with a short stick in his hand, which he holds as
he would a gun. No one can cross one of these
railroads when a train is due.
Cologne is chiefly interesting to visitors on ac-
count of its Cathedral and its Cologne water. To
see the one and to buy some of the other are the
two great objects of travelers here. But, apart
from these principal attractions, we shall find the
city very interesting. Most of the streets are queer

on either side, and from others, also charmingly
colored, high up near the arches of the roof. There is
a great deal to be seen in the chapels and other por-
.tions of this church. In the reliquary are kept the
"three kings of Cologne," which are believed to
be the bones of the Magi who came to do rever-
ence to the Infant Jesus. These were taken from
Jerusalem by the Empress Helena, and presented
to the Cathedral by the Emperor Barbarossa in
1164. We may look through some openwork in
the sarcophagus, and see the three heads, or skulls,
of the kings, each wearing a golden crown.






The real Cologne water is made by Johann
Maria Farina, but when we go out to
buy some, we may be a little per-
plexed by finding that there
are some thirty or forty
people of this name, all
of whom keep shops
for the sale of Col-
ognewater. There
are a great mar,
descendants c f
the original in-
ventor of this -
perfume, and
the law does
not permit
any one to
assume the
name who
does not be- ,
long to the
family; but
the boy ba-
bies of the
Farinas are
generally 1' A
baptized Jo-

ness when
they rowthey

are two or
three shops ,,
where the -
best and "ori-:,!' .Ct.r _
is sold, and at ...i : ..I' .... '
we buy some :. ...- r_ ,,
brated perfum-. '.: ,
sold to travel r :.li
wooden boxes ._rt.,..-r -
four or six b i.. .h .I.
we get at a vei i .:!-, -I I-..
price compare.l ii ha : i:. ir i
Am erica. W e .r I.. i i:, -[ .L II.- I I
because Cologr.. ir.:- ,I .l. ::l .1 i[-.rI: I., thI
custom -house nu.rI i .:r 11- L' ,-l.ii.., 'i .:.,:_
traveler is allc.. .:, i .:. I i :.,i, a -I :,ti :,,. ir,
of it into that .:.-.iiii ,.
The most beautiful part of the celebrated and
romantic River Rhine lies between Bonn, not far
above Cologne, and the little town of Bingen;
and to see this world-famed river at its best, we
must make a trip upon it on a steamboat. It takes

much longer to go up the river than to
come down' with the current; and
so we go to Bingen by rail, stay
there all night, and make
our Rhine voyage the
next day.
"Fair Bingen on the
Rhine," of which
most of us have
.,ad in Mrs.
\ about "the
soldier of the
Legion "
who lay
.\ dying at Al-
giers," is a
very pretty
little town
on the river
bank, near-
ly opposite
the Nieder-
2 wald, a low
On its side
stands the
.l -monument-
al statue of
This great
was recent-
ration of the
unity of the
I Empire. If
we choose,
.= "wecancross
the river,
/ ..~ Fgo up the
1 mountain,
and inspect
this monu-
ment; but
we get a
very good
view of it
from where
we are.
The next morning we go on board a large and
handsome steamboat, and begin a river trip which
has been more talked about, written about, and
sung about, than any other in the world.



The portion of the Rhine, about a hundred
miles in length, over which we shall pass to-day,
lies between low hills and mountains, some of
which are precipitous and rocky, some gently
sloping down into the water, the sides of nearly

mountain-tops, stand the ruins of great castles of
the olden times. Some of these consist of but a
few storm-battered towers and walls; while others,
which have successfully defied man, time, and
storms, are still in such good condition as to be
inhabited. These were
the castles and strong-
holds of the feudal barons
and the robber chiefs of
history, song, andlegend;
and they give to the nat-
ural beauties of the Rhine
a charm which is not
possessed by any other
river. As our boat goes
on over the swiftly-flow-
ing stream, stopping at
many points, every turn
of the river shows us
some new combination of
landscape, and some dif-
ferent beauty.
Soon after beginning
our trip we pass, upon a
little island in the river,
an ancient stone tower,
which is called the Mouse
Tower. There is an old
.- story connected with this
tower, about a certain
bishop who, long ago, for
his cruelty to his people
in time of famine, was
Devoured here by hordes
of rats or mice. Not far
away, and high above us,
stand the ruins of the
tower of Ehrenfels, built
S in 1210. Farther on we
see the grand Castle of
Rheinstein, whose towers
and turrets and walls,
some of which have been
restored, stand as they

S-- .. ----- _- stood six hundred years
ago. A great ironbasket,
or brazier, once used as a
beacon-light, still hangs
THE CASTLE OF RHEINFELS. (SEE PAGE 909.) from the outer walls,
three hundred feet above
all of them planted in vineyards, varied by ver- the river. Farther on is the Castle of Falkenberg,
dant pasture lands, trees, and picturesque bits of once famous as the home of the robber knights.
forest. Sometimes the mountains recede from The towns of the Rhine united against these much-
the shore, leaving room for a town or village, and feared marauders, and nearly destroyed their castle
sometimes the houses seem as well satisfied upon in 1251, but they went back again, and the place
the hillside as on the level ground. High up, on was afterward captured by Rudolph of Hapsburg,
projecting bluffs, and occasionally on the very who hung the robber knights from the windows.



~T~ --~---


We are now passing regions of vineyard, where
some of the most famous wines of the world are
produced, and, although we may be astonished to
see on what steep hills and mountain-sides the
vines are growing, we would have been still more
surprised if we could have seen the manner in
which some of these vineyards were made. Many
of them are on high, rocky terraces, to which the
earth has been laboriously carried in baskets on
the backs of men and women. Some of these
vineyards are so steep that it would seem that the
vine-growers must stand upon ladders in order to

, ,,u h.. [ l,_ .,
mountains and THE CASTLE 0
hillsides would be
much prettier in grass, forest, and beetling crags
than in vineyards; but the wine from this region
is so valuable that if the vines could be made to
grow everywhere, all the land we see would be
covered with vineyards.
We soon pass one of the oldest castles on the
Rhine; it was built in o115. It has gone through
a great many troubles, but has recently been put
into good order, and is one of the country resi-
dences of the royal family of Prussia.
On we go, sometimes passing little towns, one

of which, Lorch, has been mentioned in history
for more than a thousand years; more castles
appear on the cliffs, among them Nollingen, stand-
ing nearly six hundred feet above us, at the sum-
mit of a jagged cliff called "The Devil's Ladder,"
up which, the legends say, a brave knight rode on
his gallant steed to rescue a lady from the gnomes
of the mountain. Now and then we pass an
island, on one of which stands a strangely fortified
little castle, and after a time we come to the
famous "Rocks of Lurlei," which rise to a great
height above a swift and dangerous whirlpool. Here,


the stories tell us, a siren used to sit and sing songs to
passing voyagers, who, when they stopped to listen
to her, where drawn into the whirlpool. As there
is no danger of the captain of our steamboat stopping
for any such tomfoolery, not even the youngest of
us need be afraid at passing this grewsome place.
Near the town of St. Goar stands the immense
Castle of Rheinfels, the largest on the Rhine, and
it presents a grand and imposing appearance,
although it is much in ruins, having had hard
times in many wars.




More castles now come in sight, more mount-
ains, more vineyards, and more little villages, two
of them particularly picturesque, being united by a
long double row of trees. Flourishing towns, too,
we pass, some of them quite busy places; and, after
a time, we see the gloomy old Castle of Marks-
burg, fuller of dungeons and secret chambers aid
dark passages than any other here; and it looks
gloomier yet when we know that it is still used
as a prison.
We now reach Coblentz, a large and important
old town, opposite which is the vast fortress of
Ehrenbreitstein, which is one of the largest and
strongest in Europe, and is called The Gibraltar
of the Rhine." It has stood there for centuries,
and has sustained many blockades and sieges. It
is now greatly improved, and is occupied by soldiers
of the German Empire.
Neuendorf is a little town, from which start the
great rafts of the Rhine. These rafts are made up
of smaller ones, which come down from the timber
regions along the river, and are of extraordinary
size, being sometimes six hundred feet long, and
two hundred wide, or as large as an up-town New
York block. They carry a great number of men,
with their wives and children, who live in little
houses built on the rafts. They are steered by

a a,

interesting because near it is the spring from
which comes the famous Apollinaris water. The
little town is very busy, and boxes and bottles
abound. Near by, on a height, is a most beauti-
ful little Gothic church, built by the architect who
finished Cologne Cathedral.
We also pass a point where Julius Caesar, when
he was at work conquering this part of the world,
built the first bridge across the Rhine. And in
this connection I may say, that the business of
vine-growing on this river was started by the
ancient Romans.
We now pass the.Drachenfels, or Dragon's Rock,
and enter the region of the beautiful Seven Mount-
ains; and when we reach the town of Bonn, we
have gone over the most interesting and pictur-
esque part of the river. Here we leave the steam-
boat, and take rail for Cologne, after a day on the
Rhine, which I am sure none of us will ever forget.
The next day we take the railroad for Brussels,
and on the way pass through some very picturesque
portions of Belgium, and at one point we are not
very far from the battlefield of Waterloo. Many per-
sons visit this place to inspect the various monuments
erected there; but, besides these, there is nothing
to indicate that on these now peaceful fields one
of the greatest battles of the world was fought.

L', : t .- .- . .

r'a^ '-s 'a,- -",,

I h .


very long oars, each held by a crowd of men ; and
these floating islands, with the scenes on them,
will be sure to interest us.
The castles now become fewer, although we see
some very fine ruins, and one new and very large
and handsome castle. The scenery changes some-
what, and at one place there is a wide stretch of
level country. The village of Remagen will be

We find Brussels a cheerful, busy, and very
handsome small-sized city, something like a con-
densed Paris. Many of the streets are wide and
imposing, with tall houses of very attractive and
ornamental architecture, while the shop win-
dows are so numerous, and so brightly and even
splendidly filled, that we can but think of the
Palais Royal and the grand boulevards of the




4. r 9r i -

V a : _

-i -~~---~--- -"--1- ~_


French capital. Everywhere there is an air of
gayety, fashion, and costliness. There" are a great
many fine parks and open places, and long ave-
nues for driving, lined with trees. One of the
public buildings, the Palais de Justice, built for the
courts of law, is a grand and magnificent edifice.
It cost twelve million dollars, and is one of the
finest buildings in Europe.
A small public square is surrounded by a very
novel collection of life-size bronze statues, repre-
senting the various trades. Here is the baker with
his loaves, the carpenter with his saws and ham-
mers, the gardener with his spade and hoe, and
nearly everybody who works in Brussels can come
here and see a bronze personification of his trade.
Statues and monuments are frequent in the city,
and in whatever way money could be spent in
making Brussels beautiful, it has been spent.
In the Grande Place, where stands the H6telde
Ville, or Town Hall, we see some of the fine build-
ings of olden times. The Maison duRoi, or King's
House, was built in the early part of the sixteenth
century, and many of the other tall houses be-
longed to the guilds or wealthy trades-unions of the

middle ages. This open square is full of historical
associations. Here tournaments and pageants were
held, here fierce fights took place, and here some
of the heroes of Belgium were executed. This
place is in the old part of the city, and is full of
life, activity, and interest.
The "galleries," or long covered arcades, are
full of attractive shops and restaurants.
Brussels lace is celebrated all over the world,
and we must not fail to visit one of the places
where this beautiful and costly lace is made.
Here we see a number of women, very quiet, very
neatly dressed, and in some cases with wonder-
fully delicate and soft-looking hands, although
they are all plain working-women. Each is
busy fashioning the delicate pattern of a piece of
lace, and it is said that each woman has a pat-
tern of her own, which she always makes, and
which, perhaps, descended to her from her mother
and grandmother. Some of the women are working
on cushions, with pins and bobbins, and some are
using needles and the finest and most delicate of
thread. We are told that this thread is all made
by hand, and it is so delicate that it has to be spun



in damp cellars, because in the dry upper air it
would break before it is finished. There are old
women in Brussels who have spent nearly all their
lives spinning in cellars.
Brussels is a little city, but it is as bright, as
handsome, and in some respects as grand and
splendid as if it were a large one.
A very different city is Antwerp, distant only
about an hour's journey. This old Flemish town has
long been a great commercial center; and, although

to say that they have grown gray standing there,
and can not be expected to look bright and fresh.
Antwerp lies on the river Scheldt, and its long
water-front is crowded with the ships of every
nation. Not only do they crowd the wharves and
piers, but by means of short canals they come up
into large inland docks, where we can see all the
different kinds of ships that sail upon the sea.
Everything in this part of the town seems intended
in some way for sailors, and the number of little

Antwerp is very wealthy and very busy, it has cabarets, or inns, where the hardy seamen can get
none of the modern splendors of Brussels. It is something to eat and drink, is indeed surprising.
old-fashioned, quaint, and queer. In the more The low, heavy trucks, on which barrels and
modern quarter there are fine streets and avenues, bales and all sorts of merchandise are carried to
with a park and zoBlogical garden, yet it is the and from the ships, are drawn by great Flemish
old quarter of Antwerp which is most attractive to horses, very heavy, very strong, and very well fed
visitors. Here the streets are generally narrow; and cared for. It is a pleasure to look at these
and the tall houses, with their towering gable-ends fine creatures gravely walking through the streets
so curiously notched and curved, stand looking at with great loads behind them which they do not
one another, not with a fresh, bright air, as if they seem to think of at all. There is another class of
were Dutch, but with a quiet manner which seems animals used for draught purposes, which will




'" H V .


VOL. XIV.-70.




perhaps attract our attention more than the stout
horses. These are the dogs which help to pull
the milk-carts about the city. The milk is in
bright brass cans and vessels, which are carried in
a light hand-cart generally pushed by a bare-
headed girl or woman. The dog is fastened
underneath, and, whether he be big or little, he
pulls with such a will that he makes the girl step

women wear lace or muslin caps with a great flap
on each side like elephant ears.
The Cathedral of Antwerp is a very fine one,
and is remarkable for its beautiful spire, which is
so curiously built in a sort of net-work of stone
that it has been likened to a piece of the lace-work
of the country. It is difficult to get a good idea
of the outside of the church, for houses, little


along at a lively pace. Dogs are also harnessed
to carts which carry about vegetables, ice-cream,
and other wares. The ice-cream carts are generally
dressed off in gay colors to attract attention.
The young women of the lower classes go about
the streets without hats or bonnets, no matter what
the weather may be, and it is very pleasant to see
them, with their neat dresses, and their hair so
smooth and tightly braided. Some of the older

and big, crowd around it on all sides, sometimes
squeezing close up to it, as if standing-room were
very scarce in Antwerp. This spire contains a
famous chime of bells, ninety-nine in number, the
largest of which is such a monster that it takes
sixteen men to ring it, while the smallest is no
larger than a hand-bell. These chimes are rung
very often, every hour, every half hour, and every
quarter of an hour, and a little ring between the



quarters. The bells are so harmonious, and have
so sweet a tone, that even if we should stay at a
hotel quite near the cathedral, we should not be
disturbed by them; and should we wake in the
night and hear the ringing of those musical
bells, we would merely turn over and dream the
better for it. The interior of the cathedral is very
large, though rather plain, and contains some
remarkable life-size statues carved in wood, and
Rubens' greatest picture, The Descent from the
Cross," besides other paintings by that master.
Rubens belongs to Antwerp, and the citizens are
very proud of him. There is a fine statue of him
in one of the squares, and his paintings are to
be found in every church. In one of the churches
he is buried, and the house where he lived still
In an open space, by the side of the cathedral,
is Quentin Matsy's Well, with its curious ironwork
cover, which has been well described in ST. NICHO-

LAS.* This artist-blacksmith is another son of
Antwerp, of whom she is proud.
The Museum, or Art Gallery, contains a very
fine collection of pictures by the Flemish school
of artists, and among them a number by Rubens
and Van Dyck.
And now we betake ourselves to the river-front,
and embark on a handsome English vessel, and
steam away down the broad River Scheldt to the sea.
As we look back we shall see for many miles the tall
and lace-like spire of the cathedal reaching up to
the sky. The river-banks are not very interesting,
but we shall see some forts of a rather curious con-
struction, and when we reach Flushing, near the
mouth of the Scheldt, and when we have dropped
into a little boat the pilot who has guided us
through the difficult channel of the river, we sail
out upon the German Ocean; and early the next
morning we are at Harwich again, whence we take
the train for London, and our round trip is over.



'AT is the way to fairy-land ?
Which is the road to take ?
Over the hills, or over the sand
Where the river ripples break ?

The hills stand listening night and day
As if to a wonderful tale;
The river whispers along its way
Secrets to every sail.

^_ ,^ j They must be listening and whispering there
With the fairy-folk, I know;
For what but this is the sound in the air
So sweet; and soft, and low ?-

The sound that floats o'er the misty hills,
And runs with a little shiver,
As of a thousand musical trills,
Over the running river.

O hills that stand so lofty there,
Listening night and day,
Listen to me and show me where
The fairy-folk do stray !

And river, river, whisper low,
Whisper me low and sweet,
Tell me the secrets that you know
Of the fairy-folk's retreat.
See ST. NICHOLAS for March, 1876.



4, i"f I

- -



COMFORT'BLE? Laws, chile! Dis ole woman
don' arsk no bettah fo'taste o' heb'n dan to en' her
days right yer. W'en I looks roun' at dis yer gran'
house--de furn'chah so splendif'rous--an' de
groun's, an' de gardens, an' de cohnsuwatory so
magnificent' n' hahnsome,-an' my own dahlin'
Miss Looseel looking' like a bressid w'ite rose in dem
fine gowns o' hern, an' nuttin' t' do but enjoy it all,-
wi' dem two regular cherrybums o' child'n an' a hus-
ban'- (well, dey ain' nuttin' dat man 'ud stop at, ef
so be's 't wud please her) tell ye, honey! w'en I see
all o' dese marcies on eb'ry han', mos' de on'y t'ing
bodders me is, how's I gwine be thankful 'nuff?
Ole Prissy ain' fo'got how de sun useter come
sco'chin down out in front o' de mahket, an' how de
win' done screech like tiger-cats roun' dat same
ole cohnah, winter days. An' too, de rain-stohms !
Pow'ful onhealthy 't wuz, fur de rheumaticks, I kin
tell ye, setting' out in de rain all de mohnin',
watching' dern ladies trippin' by so sprightly wi'
deir baskets,- number so much 's turning' an' eye-
lash tow'ds ole Prissy. Glory be gib'n! Chile,
I'se fru working' my ole bones stiff gedd'rin' pussim-
mons an' chink'pins, an' diggin' fur sass'fras.
Ain' goin' t' set out dah no mo', now I tell ye,
mohnin' in an' mohnin' out, an' 'Wat '11 ye buy,
Lady?'-er, 'Yer 's yer fine fresh vi'lets, Lady'-

er it might be aigs, er blackbe'ys, in season an'
den see um march by looking' so uppity, making'
out dey don' number year de ole woman, no mo 'n
ef she 's bohn 'dout a tongue !
"I'se uset' pondah an' study many 's de time, I
tell ye, wond'rin' how long de good Lord gwine to
see ole Priss out dere, brilin' an' freezin', skasely
making' nuff to hol' body 'n soul togedder. 'Pear'd
like de ole woman's luck 'bleeged to tuhn one o'
dem days; an' sho' 'nuff! Missy, delib'rance wuz
at han', an' bime-by it done come! Dat's right,
honey, draw up yo' chair, ef yo 's boun' to help,
wedder erho an' it's a sho' 'nuff fac' 'bout peas:
two kin shell quicker 'n one. So,- dat 's handy
like. Now I kin tell ye- but fust ye mus' oner-
stan' 'bout w'at tuk place longer go, w'en de flood
"'Noah's flood'? Laws, chile En co'se not!
Dis flood wuz down in ole Kaintuck', 'long o' de
Cum'lan' Ribber, an' all ou' troubles ker' wid it.
Ouah folks wuz de Richmon'ses. Dey wuz qual-
ity, now I tell ye! Nuttin' common an' low down
'bout dem. De Richmon'ses wuz blooded, dat dey
wuz, eb'ry las' one on um. 'T wuz a treat jes' terlib
on de same plantation 'long o' dem. An' den ou'
place alongsidee de ribber dah wuz fit fur a king.
'Ribber-view,' dey done name it, an' dere wuz a




view, sho' 'nuff! 'Spechumly w'en de ribber rise
'fo' de flood. Dese yer ole eyes don' wan' to see no
mo' views like dat wuz 1
"'T wuz en de night it kern. I had little Missy
down t' de quahtahs long o' me. I done tek keer
o' dat bressid chile eber sence de day she wuz bohn.
She wuz all dey hed, an' laws, honey 1 dat sweet
little angel lub her ole mammy Prissy mos' better
'n de mistis an' dis time her pa an' ma, dey wuz

how she look dat night; -settin' up dah, an'
laughing en' shakin' dat little yaller head 't me.
Many's de time, sence den, I'se dreamt I seen dat
yaller head go down down an' de little angel
cryin' t' her ole mammy to sabe her, an' all de
time I cud n't, on'y stan' dere like a stun, an' see
her sinkin' down!
'T wuz all happ'nin' en a minit, like. Dere
wuz de cab'n knee-deep o' water; dere wuz de

, = -- -'-__ ...,,


,11 i T
/,'. ,'^ "Y.- '- .'" \. Ii '

i ', 'i

,v .o } \


off trab'lin' roun', an' so, en co'se, Looseel an' me
wuz togedder constant. Gwine on seb'n year ole
she wuz den,- peart an' cunnin 's yo' ebber see,
an' dat hahnsome! I kin seem ter see her now,

niggahs screechin' an' groanin' an' beseechin' de
good Lord ter sabe 'em,-pore, misur'ble sinners,
as dey wuz Dere n uz Looseel waked up an' cryin'
out to me; dere wuz de losses neighin' an' snor-


: i

~ Ji'i

I 1


tin'- de stables went fust; an' dere wuz de crash-
in', smashing grindin', roarin' ribber eb'rywhar.!
Fust t'ing, I wuz dead sartin de las' day wuz cum.
Den I try t' study w'at we sh'd do. De ribber
number riz like dat befo'-nubber kem neah ou'
place till dat night, an' den it kem like a jedg-
ment. None on us wuz perpared. My ole man, he
done de bes' he cud, but he wuz weakly like, an'
he jes' got washed away,-'t wuz w'ilst he wuz
trying' fin' dat boat, an' he up to de shouldahs in
de crazy, roarin' watah. An' den, de nex' t'ing I
knowed, I wuz in dat dug-out somehow, an' I had
Looseel in my ahms, an' we wuz driftin' dis way
an' dat like mad, in de dahkness.
"An' de things w'at come crashin' 'long by us !
Whole houses, sometimes, an' gret trees, an' once
a rockin'-cheer come jam ag'in my side -dey 's a
mahk dere yit--an' 'pear'd like de little boat
mus' sho'ly upset eb'ry minit. I tuk my shawl
an' tied my dahlin' in de bes' I cud, an' den-
fust I knowed, I did 'n know nuttin'! Knocked
plum on de head I wuz, an' tore clean f'um de
boat, an' wedged jam in 'mongst de branches, in
a big tree. An' dere wuz de canoe an' dat precious
lamb a-driftin' off furder 'n' furder down de ribber,
an' me like dead on de tree-top.
"W'en I come to, dey tells me 's how 't wuz
mo 'n a monf sence dat tur'ble night. Folks f'um
de Norf, dey wuz, hed picked me out f'um whar
I 'd a-drifted down t' de bottom o' deir garden,
an' dey 'd 'tended me all fru de fevah. Mighty kin'
an' good dey wuz, sartain; but dey did n't none on
'em know nuttin' 'bout de Richmons'es. An' so de
days parse by, an' de long nights, an' number a
word come f'um dat bressid chile w'at went floatin'
off down de ribber. Bime-by I'se hear how dat
bery same flood wash 'way bridges all 'long, an'
ez how one wen' down jes 's de train o' cars wuz
gwine ober, an' mos' de passenjahs wuz killed in-
stant, an' den dey tell me Massa Richmon' an' mistis
wuz 'mongst um. 'T wuz long 'fo' dey dare tell
me dat. De fevah done lef' me pow'ful weakly.
W'en I hear dat, I gib cl'ar up, an' I say, 'Good
Lord, tek ole brack Prissy, too !' Dar wuz my ole
man gone, dar wuz de bressid lamb w'at I 'd nussed
f'um a baby swep' f'um my ahms an' drowned; -
dar wuz home an' fren's washed int' de ribber,-
an' now yer wuz Massa Richmon' an' his lady tuk,
on top o' all de res'.
"Lonesome days dem wuz fur ole Prissy. De
ole woman like ter fell f'um grace dose dahk times,
honey; but de good Lord knowed bes'. Ye see,
fur one t'ing, I had Massa Richmon' to worry
'bout,-tuk so suddent ez he wuz. I mek no
doubt, chile, but dat bressid wife o' his 'n wuz
an' out-an'-out angel inside de fust five minits!
She wuz nigh about dat already. But, Massa, he

always did tek heap mo' intrus' in his losses
an' his craps dan he tuk in religion. An' I'se
boun' ter cohnfess he cud mek use o' mighty
pow'ful langwidge w'en dem buscuits wa'n't
jes' right ob a mohnin'. Dat wuz de way wid all
dem Richmon'ses. Howsundebber, he wuz a good
Massa, Massa Richmon' wuz. His niggahs always
hed plenty to w'ar an' t' eat, an' he always gib
um a right-down splendid dance, Chris'mus-time.
An' dar wuz de cohnshuck'n's. Libely times we all
use to hab down t' dat ole plantation. An' I reckin
de good Lord done tuk 'count ob all dat, an' fix it
up all squar' long 'fo' dis.
"Well, an' so I jes' stay on wid dem Melroses,
tell bime-by de wah brek out. Dey cud n' nobody
,go 'head o' dem folks fur cl'ar goodness, now I
tell ye! I wuz glad 'nuff ter stay an' wuk w'at I
cud for 'em, dough I wa'n't nigh so sprightly ahter
dat night o' roostin' in de tree-top, like a tukkey-
buzzer. De rheumatiks done lay holt ob de ole
woman all ober. I 'd a tech o' de mis'ry in eb'ry
j'int-- de watah done 'tend ter dat! An' so I jes'
kep' on helping' roun' like de bes' I cud, an' always
on de watch an' lis'nin' fur some wuhd o' dat little
lamb o' mine, w'at wuz drownded,- but dey did n'
no wuhd come.
"But dem days cud n't las' always. Massa Doc-
tah, he went to de wah, an' to dis day ole Pris
ain' nebber year wedder er no he ebber git outen
it;--'kase de family all brek up 'bout dat time, an'
den dis ole woman tuk to driftin' roun'-same 's
we did dat night en de dug-out -an' she jes' drif'
hitherty-yon, tell bime-by she breng up in dis bery
Wash'n't'n City, an' tuk ter setting' front de market,
as I done tole ye. Dem wuz times, yo' bettah
b'liebe Turrible little I cud sell,-an' den dere
wuz de stohms. But dat wa' n't all, neider. Dere
wuz oddah niggahs, likewise, out front de mahket,
on dat bery same cohnah, an' laws-a-mussy sech
a set ob low-down, no 'count brack critters I pray
to grashus I ain' number gwine see no mo'!
Dey cud n't none on um no mo' 'preciate de dif-
f'unce twixtt a common eb'ry-day free niggah an'
an ole family suvvant w'at had always lived right
'mongst de bery top sort Sech an owdacious pas-
sel o' brack-skins I ain' number seen befo'. Dey
useter hab de imperance to laff 'n' mek sp'oht ob
ole Prissy, an' 'low to deirselves as how she wuz a
leetle teched. Dat wuz kase I useter talk it ober ter
myseff 'casionally, an' kase I wuz always watching' de
child'n, de pooty little gals, wat 'd go 'long by,
skippin', and laffin', an' offen-'speshumly ef dey
had yaller curls-I 'd kinder mek fr'en's like, an'
gib de little lady a clump o' wild pinks mebbe er a
han'ful o' nuts. An' one day-'t wuz en de spreng
o' de year, an' I min' jes' how de sweet vi'lets
smelt-'long come a hull passel o' little gals.




Dey 'd been a-rollin' deir hoops tergedder, an' now
dey stopped to look at my flow'rs. An' one on
'em,- de bery little' one ob all,--honey, w'en I see
dem curls shining' like gol', an' dem gre't laffin'
blue eyes looking' up so innercent, my haht jes' go
all jumpity like in a minit, an' I arsk, quick-like:
"W'at yo' name, honey dahlin' ?' and she say,
"' Dolly,-Dolly Burns.'
"An' den my haht it go plum' down ag'in. I 'd

say she 'd hearn her bery own ma tell dat bery same
story, an' ez how she 'd be'n picked up out o' a
boat way down de ribber w'en she wa' n't no
mo' 'n a baby skasely An' she say 's as how her
ma 'd showed her de clo'es w'at she hed on, an'
'speshumly a ring she hed, made out o' blue beads,
't wuz w'at she say her dear old nuss mek fur her,
an' she always 'n furebber gwine ter keep dat, kase
dough she ain't number see sign ob her, er hear a


number heard dat name befo', an' it done seem 's if
somehow my own little lamb done came back ahter
all dese mo 'n twenty years.
So den we fell a-talkin'. Miss Dolly, she wuz
mighty sosh'ble like, an' I gib her a bunch o'
Johnny-jump-ups- 't wuz de bes' I hed to offer -
an' den, I cud n't hol' in no longer; I got to tellin'
her 'bout de flood an' my bressid little Looseel.
"Chile, it am de Gospel trufe W'en I wa' n't
half done tellin', dat little angel bu'st right out an'

wuhd, all dese many years, she ain' number gwine
fo'git her ole Mammy Prissy I
Chile, w'en I hear dat all, I jump clean int' de
air, I did, an' holler like a crazy woman, an' den
I say, Tek me to her!' an' den I fall a-cryin', an'
yo' bettah b'liebe dem brack 'possums alongsidee o'
me pop dey eyes out w'en dey see w'at wuz
gwine on! But w'at I keer fur w'at dey tink er say,
an' w'at I keer how long de way wuz-ef I wuz
lame jes' ez ye see me now ef so be dey wuz one




I ':
i "I-


chance in ten thousand' ob finding' dat bressid chile
at de en' ob it ?
An"so we all set off tergedder, an' w'en we come
yer-honey, I'se hearn Brudder Petah Johnsin
'xpashiate 'bout de millenyum, an' picture' fo'th
de bressidness ob de saints in glory, but I'se shore
dis ole woman kain't nebber feel no happier 'n she

an' grab dis ole woman han's, an' say's how I wuz
her dear ole nurse come home at las', an' den she
arsk mos' a t'ousan' questions all to once like.
Den she tek 'n lay dat lubly boy o' hern in de
ole woman's ahms, an' she say, all laffin' and cryin'
tergedder: 'I '11 gib him int' yore car' to watch
and tend like yo' useter watch 'n' tend de baby


an' crowin' in her ahms; an' her eyes wuz jes' so
blue an' innercent, on'y dey 'd a proud kin' o'
shine in um -an' w'en she see de old woman she
look all trembly an' w'ite, like she 's trying' t' 'mem-
bah things. Den I say, 'Don' ye know me,
honey? Don' ye know yo' ole Mammy?' and she
cry out-'It's Mammy Prissy!' and she mos'
like to drap dat bressid baby; an' she fall a-cryin'

ole Prissy's home now, an' she ain't number gwine
t' leab her no mo', de longes' day she lib !
Den she breng out de bery little dress w'at she
hab on dat dreffle night--'peared on'y yist'day I
seen her toddlin' roun' in dat an' den she try to
tell me all 'bout how she wuz reskied out o' de
dug-out, and tek'n int' sech a fine rich family,
w'at 'd jes' 'fo' dat los' a sweet lamb o' dey own. An'




feel dat glor'us day. Looseel.'
My dahlin' kem down de pa'f to meet us, all Den she tuk de ole woman int' de gran' house
in sof' trailing' w'ite, an' her own b'ut'ful boy laffin' an' all ober eb'ry room, an' she say 's how 't wuz

.-J '. '

7 '
----., ,

', -


so w'en dey did n't nob'dy lay claim to Looseel,-
an' she 'dout nuttin' to tell 'em who nor w'at she
wuz, an' clean fo'got her bery name, all but jes'
'Loosel,' 'count de tur'ble fright and skeer,-w'y
den, ye see, dey wuz mighty thankful to 'dopt her
an' breng her up like dey own. An' so she wuz
raised jes' so keerful, an' wid eb'ry 'vantage dey
cud gib her, and bime-by she done marry de bes'

Massa Doctah ebber git home 'gain, an' den, w'at
come o' J' [ : i : -- I hed dat name-but
de watah done get enter de ole woman's memory,
Ireckin!-'t wuz a mighty cur'us kin' ob name,
hed a kin' o' kafify soun', someway,-Glad-
Gladys/ Dat wuz it. Miss Gladys she wuz mighty
sweet an' pooty an' dat good ter ole Prissy
W'at's dat you say ? W'at 's dat ? Yore ma's name

* I

I, Ii

---, ----.
.--.------ .......r- -.
-=_- =----.._-..---------' n-- -..---- '


man ebber lib', an' come to dis lubly home; an'
she say her husband' be here toreckly t' rej'ice 'long
o' us, kase he know well 'nuff how she 'membah ole
Prissy, an' mohn fur her all dese years. An' den
we all falls cryin' again, fur de joy ob it !
An' so here de ole woman 's gwine to stay,
praise to goodness! An' now de on'y trubble I'se
got is, t'inkin' 'bout dem Melroses, an' wedder er no

useter be Gladys Melrose -An' her pa a doctah?
Don' fool a pore ole woman, chile Dat kin' ob
t'ing 's too good ter happen twice!-Yo' 's in
'arnest? Massa Doctah libin', safe an' well?
an' dat little Gladys married an' thrivin', an' yo'
her own chile ? Yo' a-visitin' Miss Looseel?
De Lord be t'anked! Ole Prissy ain' got no mo'
trubbles lef' !"




NEARLY a week passed before Garibaldi's skin
was properly padded and prepared for the recep-
tion of its new occupant; but then it fitted to
perfection, and was as soft and flexible as an
overcoat. Truls put it on with perfect ease, and
breathed as freely through Garibaldi's nose as if it
had been his own. Fortunately the bear had been
of the shaggy, long-haired kind, and when the
hide was laced together with fine silken cords,
the joining was completely hidden by the fur. The
children had repeated rehearsals in Uncle Gia-
como's room; and they all agreed that Truls made
a very respectable bear. He could walk on his
hind legs beautifully, he could salute with his
right fore paw, and he could even nod with his
head in a very intelligent fashion. In fact, the
great danger seemed to be his disposition to be too
"Now, do remember," Alf would cry out to
him, "a bear can not laugh or whistle. He may be
allowed to sneeze, and even to cough; but he must
not be too frisky and intelligent. And remember
that if you laugh or make any human sound
whatever, the game is up and we are ruined. Uncle
Giacomo only keeps us to make money with us,
but he is not unkind, and as long as we don't
starve, we ought to be thankful. It all depends
upon you, whether we shall have a home or be
thrown into the streets."
It was with a great flutter of excitement that the
Savoyard and his Norse friends started out early
one Monday morning in the middle of May. Alf
was carrying the hand-organ, Karen the tambour-
ine, and Annibale was leading the make-believe
bear by the same iron chain which had regulated
the movements of Garibaldi. They were about to
open their first performance on the sidewalk at the
corner of Broadway and Fulton Street; but two
policemen were immediately on hand, and sternly

commanded them to trot." Trot they accordingly
did; but the sidewalks were everywhere so crowded,
that they seemed in danger of being knocked
down, in case they should offer to obstruct the
hurrying stream of humanity.
It was not until they reached the broad steps
of the Sub-Treasury in Wall Street that they
summoned courage to make a second stop; and
Truls was by that time so tired of the unnatural
four-footed gait, that he rose without invitation, and
began to promenade in a very unbearlike fashion.
The same moment, Alf's hand-organ began to
wail something resembling Home, Sweet Home,"
and Karen struck the tambourine with a vigor
which threatened to ruin both her knuckles and
the drum-skin. A number of newsboys and boot-
blacks instantly scampered up to witness this
attractive entertainment, and half a dozen brokers
and bank-messengers also paused to view the
antics of the little bear. Annibale shouted and
swung his whip, and the animal saluted and danced
slowly and clumsily (as he had been commanded),
and at the end of five minutes quite a shower ofpen-
nies dropped into the Savoyard's hat. The crowd
increased; the newsboys screamed with delight,
and stumbled up the steps pell-mell whenever the
bear approached them. Truls began to enjoy the
fun, and chuckled to himself at the thought that
he could chase a whole flock of big boys who, if
they had known what sort of a creature he was,
would in all likelihood have chased him. This
reflection made him every moment bolder, and he
would have been in danger of overstepping his
part altogether, if Alf had not screamed to him in
"Now, take care, Smarticat; don't be too intelli-
Nevertheless, just as he was resolving to heed
this advice, a little ragged bootblack, while trying
to back away from him, fell, turned a dexterous
somersault, and came down on his feet upon the



sidewalk at the foot of the stairs. The sight was
so comical, that Truls lost control of himself and
burst out laughing; but in the same instant his
brother and sister were at his side, and made so
terrific a noise with their respective instruments,
that his laughter was completely drowned in the din.
Some one, however, must have noticed his mirth;
for there was a shriek of
merriment among the boys,
and one of them cried out:
"Didyouhear that? The
bear is laughing! He is a
jolly old fellow, that bear
No, he was only yawn-
ing," shouted another boy.
" He is a queer old chap,
and he 's up to tricks."
"Those bears are funny
critters," the first boy re-
joined; I once saw one at
the circus; he could ride
horseback and drink out of
a glass."
"And I knew one that
could smoke cigars and kiss/_
his boss," number two shout- i
ed, determined not to be
All these comments es-
caped the bear's brother,
but Annibale began to sus-
pect that something was
wrong, and he accordingly
hastily gathered in the sec-
.ond shower of pennies, and /, i
made a sign to his friends
to stop the entertainment.
They made their way as
quickly as they could down
to the water front, and
thence to the Battery Park,
where there was plenty of
room for another exhibition. I
The newsboys and boot-
blacks followed them for a
couple of blocks, but seeing IN THE BAT
that they had no intention
of stopping, gradually dropped behind, and re-
turned to their accustomed haunts. Alf and
Truls heaved a sigh of relief when the last of
their importunate followers had disappeared; and
it was with a lighter heart that they took their
station under the trees of the park, and resumed the
programme which had been so successful in Wall

been at their first performance, but it was not
nearly so profitable; for the foreign immigrants
and corner idlers who abound in this locality had
probably no money to spare, or they preferred to
have their entertainment gratis. Hardly half a
dozen pennies dropped into Annibale's hat, in
spite of his repeated invitations to contribute. It
was obvious that they had
hit upon a bad locality,
_. where art was not properly
Karen's knuckles were so
lame by this time, that it
was agreed Annibale should
take his turn at the hand-
organ, and give Alf a chance
to distinguish himself at the
tambourine. They had just
completed this arrangement,
and were strolling rather
eac, aimlessly past Castle Gar-
S-- den toward the Coney Island
I ,.. pier, when they saw a dense
.... crowd gathered at the en-
II trance of the great immi-
S'gration depot. Curiosity
prompted them to discover
the cause of the demonstra-
S tion, and as every one fell
aside to make room for the
S bear, they had no difficulty
in reaching the open space
t'' in the center of the throng.
S What was their horror
when they suddenly found
/ themselves confronted with
a real bear,-a huge black
S' beast which was dancing
S slowly upon his hind legs,
I and every now and then,
with an angry yawn, show-
ing a terrible array of teeth !
I They wished themselves
well out of sight again, and
strove with all their might
to avoid attracting atten-
TERY PARI. tion. But instead of that,
they soon found themselves
pushed right into the middle of the ring. And the
moment the huge bear spied a comrade, down
he dropped on all fours and scampered toward
his seeming relative. Whereupon with a wild scream
which was anything but bearlike, Truls rose up
and rushed toward Alf, flinging himself against his
brother's bosom. The keeper of the big bear hit
his charge with his whip, but the beast still

Their audience here was even larger than it had strained wildly at his chain and gave forth furious





growls. The people fled in all directions, and Alf
grabbed his disguised brother's loose chain, and
ran as fast as the two could. The others fol-
lowed, but before they had overtaken him, he was
stopped by a policeman, who inquired whether he
had a license. The boy stared in abject terror at
the officer of the law.
"P1- please, sir," he stammered imploringly in
his native tongue, "don't hurt my brother. He
is n't a bear at all, if you please, sir; and -
and I am a harmless lad who who arrived
from Norway the other day, and and never did
mortal thing any harm as long as I lived, sir i "
Don't jabber yer Dutch at me, ye young scala-
wag! the policeman replied, seizing the boy by the
arm and shaking him. "Ef it is an honest loiveli-
hood ye 're after, why don't ye drap that poor,
dumb cratur' and enlist in the strate-clanin' de-
partment, or go into politics ?"
Alf was altogether too frightened to make any
answer to these suggestions, of which, moreover,
he understood not a word. He only gazed with
his large blue eyes at the policeman, and moved
his lips nervously, without being able to utter a
"P1 please, sir," he faltered, after several vain
attempts to speak, "please let me go." And
Truls, completely forgetting his disguise, raised
two hairy paws imploringly toward the officer and
begged tearfully :
"Please, sir, do let my brother go! "
The policeman's face underwent a sudden and
startling change. His eyes nearly popped out of
his head, his jaw dropped down on his chest, and
the veins on his forehead swelled. Begarra! "
he cried, in breathless amazement, "the dumb
cratur' is a-talkin' Dutch "
He stooped for a minute, with his hands resting
upon his knees, and stared with a perplexed ex-
pression at the supposed bear; then the situation
began to dawn upon him, and he burst out into a
tremendous laugh.
Oh, it is a foine bear ye are, sonny!" he ex-
claimed, seizing the boy-bear unceremoniously by
his arm, and grabbing hold of Alfs collar with
his disengaged hand. A smart young un ye
are, be jabers! It is an alderman ye will be before
ye doi,- if ye only vote the right ticket. 'T is a
shame, it is, ye don't talk a Christian language
such as a gintleman can understand."
He was moving up Greenwich Street, talking
in the same humorous strain, half to himself and
half to his prisoners,when his progress was suddenly
arrested by a little girl who became unaccountably
entangled with his feet.
Mr. Policeman," the child cried in the same
unintelligible Norwegian tongue, gazing up with

a pale and excited face at the tall officer, "if you
are going to arrest my brothers, I wish you would
take me along, too. I 've been with them in all
they did ; and and I don't want to be separated
from them."
Why, who are you ? the officer growled, with
a broad grin. Is it the bear ye are, did ye say,
and lent yer skin to this little chap? Ah, be
jabers! now I begin to take in yer capers. It
is a mighty mixed lot ye are, and up to no end of
tricks. But jest ye wait till his Honor gets hold
on ye, and he will know how to get every one of
ye back into his right skin."
This sinister allusion was lost, however, on the
three culprits, and even if they had understood it,
it would probably not have impressed them greatly.
Their life had been so exciting since they left their
quiet Norse valley, that they had almost ceased to
be surprised at anything that might happen to them.
Alf and Karen plodded on wearily at the police-
man's side, holding on to the tails of his coat, and
showing no desire to part company with him; and
Truls, who was well-nigh exhausted by the labors
and excitement of the day, was only too glad to be
able to rest his shaggy head against the officer oc-
casionally and to cling to the policeman's arm with
his two hairy paws. The officer, somehow, seemed
to enjoy the situation; for he laughed and chuckled
incessantly to himself, as if he were contemplating
some delightful plan which promised a great deal
of amusement. He shook his club good-naturedly
at the crowd which followed him, and pushed his
way onward until he reached a large brick build-
ing, over the gate of which was carved, in big
Roman letters, Police Precinct No. -." Here
he entered with his prisoners, and after having
made an entry in a book, consigned them to a
large, bare, and dreary room, where a few un-
happy-looking people were reposing in various
attitudes upon the floor.
The two Norse boys, who vaguely understood
that this was some kind of a prison, looked with
horror upon the ragged and untidy occupants of
the room, and withdrew with their sister into the
remotest corner they could find, so as to escape
observation. Here they held a consultation,
glancing all the while fearfully about them, and
lowering their voices to a whisper.
"Truls," said Alf, raising his guileless eyes to
those of his younger but braver-hearted brother,
"what do you think will become of us? do you
think we shall have to stay long in this dreadful
place ?"
"Oh, no, you sillibub !" replied the ursine
Truls, with well-feigned cheerfulness; we will be
let out before night; and anyhow, I know what I
am going to do. You remember that handsome




American gentleman on board the steamboat,
whom I wanted to fight because I thought he
was making fun of Father ? "
"Yes, I remember," said Alf.
Well, he gave me his card, which I gave you
to keep in your pocket-book. There is an ad-
dress on the card, and I should n't wonder if he
was a great man whom everybody is likely to
know, and would help us."
Oh, Truls his brother exclaimed, in admir-
ation; "you are always so bright and so clever!

guments were really convincing, however, was
Karen; for she went peacefully to sleep on Truls's
shoulder, and did not wake until the policeman
came and summoned them all into court. They
made quite a sensation when they entered; and
people rose and craned their necks to catch a
glimpse of the curious group. It was probably
the first time that a bear had marched on its hind
legs into a police-court and taken its place behind
the bar as a prisoner. The judge smiled when
he saw it, and leaned over toward the policeman,

:2I -4

-. -~- ____

*- -_-; ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ -i -~----=~~


I have the card here; and I'll not lose it.
But don't you think you 'd better take off your
bear-skin, so that the judge may see you are n't a
bear, but a little boy?"
"I have thought of that," Truls rejoined ear-
nestly; "but the trouble is I have n't any other
outer clothes to put on. So I shall have to go into
court as I am, and take my chances."
A dreary hour passed,- dreary beyond expres-
sion. The two boys tried each to persuade the
other that he was, on the whole, not at all afraid,
but really quite cheerful. The only one whose ar-

who was apparently giving an account of the
"The officer charges you with roaming about
with an unlicensed bear," he said severely, fixing
a stern glance upon Alf. "What have you to
say to the charge ? "
Alf gazed up helplessly, and shook his head.
"Why don't you answer?" repeated the judge,
impatiently. "Why did n't you take out a license
for your bear? "
The policeman again stepped forward and ex-
plained that the prisoners were Dutch, or some



-lc --


other kind of foreigners, and that they did not
understand a word of English.
H'm," observed his Honor, rather grumbling-
ly, adding why did n't you tell me that before?
The court interpreter is absent. Is there any one
in this court room," he went on, raising his voice,
"who understands foreign languages and would
be willing to help the Court out of a difficulty ?"
He looked expectantly about the large room,
but no one volunteered to act as interpreter of any-
thing so comprehensive as "foreign languages."
"The gintleman over there," the policeman re-
marked, pointing out a well-dressed man in the
audience, looks as if he understood furrin lan-
The gentleman in question disclaimed all knowl-
edge of the languages referred to, and the Court
visited him with a look of serious displeasure. It
was very annoying, and there seemed positively no
way of disposing of the case, except to re-commit
the prisoners until an interpreter could be found.
The judge was about to resort to that expedient,
when a new prisoner was led into the court, and
the boys gave a simultaneous exclamation of sur-
prise at beholding Jens Skoug, the emigration
agent. Mr. Skoug had evidently come into collis-
ion with a policeman's club, or some other un-
yielding substance, for his left eye was much
blackened, and he had a great bump on his fore-
head. He had been arrested the previous night for
disturbing the peace.
"That fellow, it appears, is acquainted with
these Dutch children," the Court remarked, nod-
ding to the policeman who had charge of Mr.
Skoug; bring him up."
Do you understand foreign languages? the
justice went on, addressing the emigration agent
in his severest judicial tones.
"Yes, your Honor," replied Jens, drowsily.
"Well," continued the Court; can you find out
anything about this boy and girl? why they did
not license their bear? Who provides for them?
Where do they live ?"
Jens, in turning his back toward the Court, gave
Alf and Karen and the bear a fierce glance, as if
to say that he would make them smart if they
dared in any way to compromise him. Then he
stooped down and talked with them earnestly for
several minutes.
"Your Honor, he resumed, rising and facing
the judge; "these children are utterly destitute,
and have no money wherewith to buy a license for
their bear. In other words, they are vagrants; and
if I may be permitted to make a suggestion, I
think, the Reform School or the workhouse would
be the right place for them."
You may spare your suggestions," the justice

interrupted, curtly; though they happen to fit in
exactly with what 1 had determined to do with
the children. Their bear will have to be killed or
sold, and they are hereby re-committed, and will
be sent to the Island for thirty days."
Mr. Skoug again stooped down and explained
to the two culprits; but he had no sooner men-
tioned the word "kill," than Alf gave a shout,
half of anger, half of dread, pulled his Norse
table-knife from its sheath, and with one swift
stroke slit the bear's skin from the neck down-
ward. The policeman rushed forward, the audience
jumped upon the benches, the judge himself
started at the flash of the knife, and was on the
point of leaping over his desk. What was his
amazement when, instead of a bear, he saw a little
trembling boy in very scanty attire! A roar of
laughter and a deafening salvo of applause burst
forth from all parts of the room, and it was in vain
that the judge hammered with all his might on
his desk, and in thunderous tones demanded order.
The Irish policeman, to whose taste for practical
jokes the whole scene was due, laughed as if he
were going to split his sides. He would not have
ventured to confess that he had planned some such
dramatic incident, although, as he admitted to
himself, it had turned out even more startling than
he had dared to hope.
SWhen order was finally restored, the Court com-
manded that the prisoners be removed; but Truls,
who now comprehended the situation, and was
determined not to submit to further imposition,
marched boldly up to the judge, and put Mr.
Tenney's card before him on the desk.
"This gentleman," he said, confidently, "told
me to send for him if I should ever need a friend.
Now I need him, and if you would kindly send
some one to fetch him, I should be greatly obliged."
The judge somehow understood the purport of
this speech, though the words were unintelligible to
him. Mr. Tenney's name was well known to him,
as that of a citizen of wealth and influence, and his
prisoners immediately rose in his estimation when
he found that they enjoyed the protection of so
prominent a man. He therefore beckoned to a
policeman, wrote a hasty note, and told him to
have it instantly dispatched. The boys and their
sister, in the meanwhile, were permitted to sit
down in the court-room, awaiting Mr. Tenney's ar-
rival. Mr. Skoug, who betrayed a great anxiety to
be off, pleading a variety of business engagements,
was then examined, and fined ten dollars. He had
just managed to disappear through a side-room
when Mr. Tenney's tall and portly figure was seen
at the entrance. He gave the boys a friendly nod as
he walked rapidly up to the judge, with whom he
conversed amicably for several minutes. There was

'All Norse peasant lads wear at the side a sheathed knife, called a "table-knife."




something brisk, energetic, and business-like in all
his movements. He laughed very heartily when
the recent incident with the bear was related to
him, and the judge joined in the laugh, and as-
serted that it was one of the most amusing episodes
that ever had occurred in all his long experience
on the bench.
Then Mr. Tenney apologized for having taken
so much of the Court's valuable time, and the
Court expressed itself delighted to have made
Mr. Tenney's acquaintance and to have been in any
way able to serve him; whereupon Mr. Tenney had
the three children conveyed to his carriage, and
they drove away through the glorious May sun-
shine, up one street and down another, until they
reached a large and stately house on Madison
Avenue. Here they stepped out of the carriage,
and a liveried servant flung the doors open before
them as they entered the house.
Such magnificence the children had never beheld
before: long, wonderful mirrors which looked like
strips of lake standing on end, carpets which felt
soft like fine moss under the feet, and gilt and
carved furniture which seemed to have stepped
right out of a fairy story. It was certainly very
extraordinary; but still more extraordinary was the
kindness and consideration with which they were
treated by Mr. Tenney and his wife. Two small
but pretty rooms were assigned to them on the
fourth floor of the house; little Karen was dressed
in beautiful clothes, and the boys got each a new
suit, the like of which they had never had on their
backs before. They felt like young princes, and
if they could only have talked with the kind people
who took so much trouble on their account, they
would have expressed to them their gratitude, and
perhaps, too, have solicited their aid in ascertain-
ing the whereabouts of their lost father.
Mr. Tenney, however, guessed their thoughts,
and did not need to be told that their minds were
torn with anxiety. He first procured a Norwegian
interpreter from one of the steamship companies,
and when he learned that they did not know where
their father was, he made the boys describe to him
accurately the time and circumstances of Fiddle-
John's disappearance.
Then he wrote letters to the emigration commis-
sioners, inserted advertisements in the newspapers,
and set the whole official machinery in motion to
get a clew by which to unravel the mystery.
Investigations were ordered, detectives were
employed, the Castle Garden officials were ques-
tioned and cross-examined, but there was no one
who had the'slightest recollection of having seen
Fiddle-John. Thus three days passed. The
greater the obstacles that he encountered, the
more determined was Mr. Tenney's to accomplish

his purpose. There was a streak of obstinacy in
his temperament, and there seemed to be an im-
pression abroad that Mr. Tenney was not to be
trifled with when once he was aroused; and that
may have been the reason why'Fiddle-John grew in
the course of a week to be a kind of public char-
acter, so that people asked each other jocosely when
they met in street cars or in hotel vestibules:
How do you do? Seen Fiddle-John? "
Some one, it appears, had seen Fiddle-John, and
that was the purser of the steamboat Ruckert,
whose encounter with the lamented Garibaldi was
yet fresh in the boys' memories. He came late
one evening to Mr. Tenney's residence, and ex-
plained to him that a man called Fiddle-John had
just been put aboard the ship, as a lunatic, to be
taken back to Norway free of charge. The ship
was to sail the next day at noon; and if Mr.
Tenney would hold himself responsible for the
consequences, the purser said he would undertake
to restore Fiddle-John to his family within well,
within five minutes.
Mr. Tenney was quite ready to assume all the
responsibility in the matter, and accordingly the
purser raised the window, and beckoned to a
carriage which had stopped on the other side of
the street. The carriage drove up before the door,
and out stepped Fiddle-John. But oh, how miser-
able he looked! The light from the gas-lamp fell
upon his pale face, his disordered hair, and his tall,
stooping figure. He was led carefully up the
steps, and the children flew into his arms, hugging
him, kissing him, and weeping over him. He sat
down on a low stool, and stared about him in a
bewildered fashion. But gradually, as his eyes
rested upon the dear familiar faces, his expression
softened, the wild look of fright departed from his
face, and the tears began slowly to course down
his cheeks.
"Oh, children!" he said in a hoarse, broken
voice; I thought I should never see you again "
He covered his face with his hands, and wept
long and silently.
"They wanted to make a madman of me," he
sobbed; "and they almost succeeded. Whatever I
did or said it made no difference it only proved
that I was mad. I came to believe it, children,
and the thought was terrible to me; if I had staid
another day, I should never have recovered my


FIVE years have passed since Fiddle-John and
his sons were rescued from misery by Mr. Tenney.
They now live in the porter's lodge of Mr. Tenney's
beautiful Berkshire country-seat; and Fiddle-John,


with all his eccentricities, makes a very acceptable
porter. The little stone cottage at the gate of the
larger villa looks extremely picturesque with the
green vines trailing over it, and it is comfortably and
prettily furnished. Little Karen" is now a ma-
tronly young woman with strict sense of order, and

much interested in him, as a lad of unusual ability
and of singular sweetness of character; and it is ow-
ing to his generosity that Alf has been able to follow
the career for which he is by nature and inclina-
tion adapted. He has his father's beautiful voice,
too, and makes a sensation in the church choir

S -. -.:.-: _- .-. .' -_
7nt A c-t

,i I


many housewifely accomplishments. She goes to
the high school in the morning, but studies at home
in the afternoon, and keeps her father company.
The boys are both big fellows now, and they are
as good Americans as any to the manner born.
Truls brags of American enterprise, and the bless-
ings of democratic institutions, as if every drop of
his Norse blood had become naturalized. He is
an engineer, and earns good wages, and is full of
hopefulness for the future. It need scarcely be
said that his sister adores him, and regards him as
one of the most remarkable men of the century.
Alf, who has inherited his father's handsome
face and incapacity for practical concerns, is at
present preparing to enter college. Mr. Tenney is

every Sunday when he sustains the lovely tenor
solo in the anthems.
He is a rather serious fellow, with thoughtful
eyes, and a frank and open countenance. Some
think he would have a fine career as a clergyman,
but it is difficult to tell whether his inclination, in
later years, will turn in that direction. His father,
however, does all in his power to encourage this
ambition, and it is not unlikely that his hopes may
some day be fulfilled. In fact it is Fiddle-John's
favorite occupation to hope and dream about the
future of his sons.
During the long summer afternoons he sits in
the shadow of the vines, outside of his cottage,
while his daughter reads aloud to him from the



old Norse ballad books which he yet loves so
dearly. And it happens very frequently, then
that the young men and women who are visit-
ing at the neighboring villas come, in a company,
and beg him to sing to them. They throw them-
selves down in easy attitudes upon the soft, close-
trimmed lawn; and their bright garments, their
crimson sunshades, and their fresh, youthful faces
make a fine picture against the green background
of elms and chestnut-trees.
To the gentle and guileless minstrel it is a great
pleasure to see these gay and happy creatures; and
when the young girls hang upon his chair and urge
him to sing, his eyes beam with delight.
"Now, do sing, Fiddle-John they coaxingly
say. You know we have walked miles and miles
to hear your voice. And here is a young lady
from New York, who never heard a Norse song in
all her life, and is disappointed because you look
so nice and gentle, and not wild and savage as a
son of the Vikings should."
Fiddle-John likes this kind of banter very well;
and when finally he yields to their coaxing and
lifts up his clear, strong voice, singing the sad,
wild ballads of his native land, there falls a hush
upon the noisy company, as if they were in the
presence of a renowned artist. These are Fiddle-
John's happiest moments. And it was on just
such an occasion when, one beautiful afternoon in
July, he had been entertaining the young people
with his songs, that a swarthy-looking Savoyard
walked up before his door, and began to whip up
a bear which danced to the tune of "Home, Sweet
Home," played upon a wheezy hand-organ.
"Stop that dreadful noise!" said one of the

young men; we have a better kind of music here
than your asthmatic organ can produce."
The Savoyard, being apparently well accustomed
to this manner of address, swung his organ across
his back and was about to take his departure,
when Karen, prompted by some idle impulse,
stepped up to the bear and patted it. Then a sud-
den change came over the young man's counte-
nance. He stared for a moment fixedly at the
little girl.
"Take care, Carina M11ia," he said, with a smile;
"that bear is a real one!"
"Annibale she cried in surprise; and, to be
sure, it was Annibale!
He had grown five years older, but in other re-
spects he had changed but little. He knew but
very little more English than he had done on the
day of his arrival, and his ambition still did not ex-
tend beyond hand-organs and bears. He reaped a
plentiful harvest of coins that night, but that was
owing to little Karen, and not to the doleful hand-
organ. She ran into the cottage and spread out
upon the lawn a rug, made out of.a small bear-
skin. "Do you know that, Annibale?" she cried,
"Garibaldi, my poor Garibaldi! exclaimed
the Savoyard, while the tears stood in his eyes;
and he stooped down and caressed the furry
Now the curiosity of the young ladies was excit-
ed, and the whole company clamored for the story
of Annibale and the bear-skin. They all seated
themselves in a ring about Fiddle-John, andhe told
the story as I have told it to you. For I had the
good luck to be one of the party.




ALMOST anything might be expected of so ab-
surd a creature as the apteryx; but, really, it is
surprising that it should be so foolish as to put its
babies in prison. And perhaps, to be very correct,
it does not do so, but what is almost as bad, it runs
the risk of having .its little ones imprisoned as
soon as they come out of their shells.
Kiwi-kiwi is the creature's real name, but scien-
tific men call it apteryx, which is a Greek word
meaning wingless, because, though a bird, it has
no wings. That is absurd enough, but it does
not satisfy the kiwi, who seems to have tried to be
VOL. XIV.-71.

as unbirdlike as possible, and, in order to be so,
has gone to very ridiculous extremes.
It not only has no wings, but it has no tail -
not even so much as an apology for one. And, as
if that were not enough, it has no feathers worthy
of the name. Its quills are covered with soft down
for about one-third of their length, and then are
fringed with hair-like webs out to the ends, which
are sharply pointed. It is only as large as a com-
mon domestic fowl, but it has much stronger and
stouter legs and bigger feet.
Of course you can not be surprised to learn that



such a bird looks
It carries its head 1
uncouth fashion, m
however, that it i
ridicl..iin bir.il
\1 h -,' :, .-, i,
r il r ,: .:...I.:l .-. .
tunl.: hIi !-;. Fp!!.-

t'- t -


-* .


the ground, and s
sort of three-legge
beaks or their win-
it would be foolish
ceeding from the k
ing is to kick. It i
one of its ways of
odd a bird. It th
it .o l .. fo-is

at first sight like a quadruped. and if there are any worms in the vicinity, up they
ow and hobbles along in a most come to discover what is the matter.
loving so swiftly when pursued, It would hardly be in keeping with the rest of its
s very difficult to capture this habits for this absurd bird to
lijve iin n ordinary place;
Srh ..,r Ir l.:i lore it should not
r..l .,... r :. Iprise us to know
-- .. .- :.i; that it is found only
j in New Zealand.
When it was first
Described, nat-
M =, uralists refused
S' existence; and
.. vwho can blame
them ? But
S" after a while, a
stuffed specimen
of the apteryx was
S. i-ken to England,
Sd later, several liv-

.. Ie forced to ac-
w i:,owledge its reality.
it is a cousin of the
.- -t.rich, and though
S. plumage has no
o h value for us as
S" r- large relative's
S":, it is very highly
S" 'siued by the natives
Sop tm~'! NewZealand. The
L 'i has a very tough
: i:,n, which, when it
properly dressed,
~ i ,i takes good leather.
Spi T he bird is so small
i i ilst it takes many
... -"i:ins to make a kiwi
.1'- ak, and, as it is
~c y rare and hard to
.' "''-~, *-,pture, it is a dif-
.. *.It matter for a man
r..: btainskinsenough
t..r a garment. In
S.. former times, only
to wear kiwi cloaks,
o makes itself look like a strange and the happy possessor of such a treasure would
d stool. Most other birds use their not part with it for any consideration.
gs or their spurs to fight with, but All this may seem like wandering from the sub-
to expect any such natural pro- ject of how the baby kiwi is imprisoned, but if you
iwi; and, in fact, its plan of fight- did not know how consistently absurd the kiwi
s very fond of earth-worms; and is, how could you believe the crowning piece of
procuring them is worthy of so absurdity?
imps the earth with its big feet, Most birds sit on their eggs; but though the kiwi





lays but one, she sits under it. Yes, she lays only
one egg, but such an egg! The kiwi weighs
about four pounds, and her egg weighs about one
pound one-quarter of the weight of the bird.
Usually this monstrous egg is laid among the roots
of a tree and covered with leaves and moss. Then
Mamma kiwi digs under the egg, so that one end
of it protrudes through the roof of the tunnel she
has made. Having accomplished this, she squeezes
herself into the tunnel and remains there, warming
one end of the egg with her back, while the de-
composing moss and leaves above produce heat
enough to keep the rest of the egg warm. Papa
kiwi takes turns with Mamma kiwi at this curious
sort of brooding, and neither of them appears to

be at all aware of the peculiar danger to which
their little birds may be exposed. For even city
children must have noticed how in the spring the
trees throw out roots and branches in a wonderfully
short time. And it is not at all unusual to see even
the heavy flag-stones lifted out of place by the vig-
orously growing roots. Is it astonishing then that
sometimes the trees selected by the kiwis should
throw out roots which grow over the eggs laid at
their feet? It takes the egg six weeks to hatch,
and during that time the roots have ample time to
become so stout that the poor little kiwis, after
breaking their shells, find themselves securely
hemmed in, able to look out, but unable to get out.
It is thus the baby kiwis are imprisoned.



"JUMP, Cupid, jump! cried a man's harsh
voice. Higher, flou, higher, I say! See how
Pistache and Monsieur are pirouetting yonder,
and Mimi is whirling around like a top. Bah,
stupid one, thou 'rt not worth thy salt Thou 'lt
never make a dancer. Ah, thou dunce! Another
bad step Sacr-r-r-re he exclaimed, rolling the
r with the burr that only a Frenchman's tongue
can give.
It was a bright summer morning, nearly three
quarters of a century ago. The animal our show-
man so wrathfully berated was a pretty white
French poodle. It was dancing wearily to the
sound of a fiddle upon a platform, covered with
spangled red velvet, which had been erected in the
main street of the gay French seaport of Bordeaux.
His companions, five or six other dogs arrayed in
costumes of brilliant hues, kept time alertly to the
shrill notes squeaked by their master's old violin;
but poor Cupid, with drooping head, and tail
tucked forlornly between his legs, looked the very
image of shame, and constantly sidled toward the
edge of the improvised stage, as if seeking an
opportunity to escape. But the Frenchman's keen
eye never left the dog, and his angry shouts and
orders kept up a monotonous accompaniment to
the ear-splitting music.
A tall, handsome man, with the rolling gait
peculiar to sailors, came strolling down the street,
just as the showman, out of patience, struck the
poodle sharply with his bow, shouting, Jump,
Cupid, jump, I say, or thou 'It get naught but
blows for thy supper."
The stranger who was passing-the captain of

an American vessel lying in the port- attracted
by the angry voice and the poor animal's piteous
appearance, stopped beside the gaudy little stage.
I declare he exclaimed, "the dog 's half a
Christian; he knows enough to be ashamed of his
business. I don't blame him."
"He 's a regular good-for-nothing, Monsieur! "
cried the showman. A pretty fellow, as you
see, and clever, too, no doubt of that; but he 's
of no use to me. He '11 never make a dancer.
I 've worked hard for three months to train him,
but 't was mere waste of time. Look at him now,
with his tail between his legs, trying to sneak away.
He 's more trouble than all the rest put together.
He 's not worth feeding. Bah, villain Cupid "
"What will you take for him? asked the cap-
tain suddenly. "If he 's so unpromising a pupil as
you say, I suppose you won't be sorry to get rid
of him ?"
"Ah Monsieur wants to buy him? Yes, a fine
dog, a beautiful animal for a gentleman's pet, as
Monsieur sees," replied the showman, instantly
ready to drive a sharp bargain. But, as he was
really anxious to dispose of the poodle, which,
despite the many good qualities suddenly dis-
covered and vaunted by his owner, had evidently
not been destined by nature to shine in his present
profession, a price was soon fixed; and Captain
Percival, lifting the dog from the stage, said kind-
ly, "There, poor fellow and set him gently on
the sidewalk.
Then Cupid danced for joy,-leaping into the air
to lick his new master's hand, careering around and
around him in circles, rolling over and over at his

* The facts related in this story are literally true.


feet. The liberated animal barked and wagged his
tail till it seemed as if he were really trying to jump
out of his skin in his efforts to express his gratitude
to the friend who had rescued him from misery.
Captain Percival took Cupid to his ship. Soon
after, the poodle crossed the sea and ere long be-
came a welcome pet in his new master's home. But
when the captain sailed on his next voyage, the
poor dog grieved so sadly, and greeted his return
with so many frantic demonstrations of delight,
that his kind-hearted owner, patting the silky
head, said that on his next trip -a voyage to
India-Cupid should certainly not be left behind.
Well for the captain that he made the promise !
The passage was long and stormy, part of his
crew sickened in Calcutta, and on reaching Lisbon
he was short-handed and found himself obliged to
fill the places of the missing men with Portuguese
and Italian sailors,- a desperate-looking crowd.
Many vessels had lately stopped at the port to fill up
their crews, able-bodied seamen were scarce, and
on the last morning of his stay, Captain Percival
still lacked one man of his number. He was sitting
in his cabin writing a letter, when a shadow fell
across the page, and Cupid, who was lying at his
feet, suddenly growled. Looking up, he saw a
tall, powerful fellow with a low, beetling brow,
black eyes, sleek, straight black hair, and a vil-
lainous expression of countenance.
The sailor said that he wished to go to America,
and, hearing that another man was wanted on
board the vessel, he had come to ship for the voy-
age. The captain hesitated, but the Portuguese
handed him recommendations stating that the
bearer was a strong fellow, and a thorough sea-
man; so, as the vessel only had to make the run
across the Atlantic to Boston, Captain Percival
finally decided, though with extreme reluctance, to
take him.
Cupid was a dog given to strong likes and dis-
likes. He seemed to share his master's unfavor-
able opinion of the new-comer, for he growled and
showed his white teeth whenever Jos6 came near
him; but, like a wise animal, he warily kept out
of the sailor's way, and never gave him a chance
to execute his oft-muttered threats of dire ven-
geance on "the captain's cur."
The homeward voyage was a stormy one.
Head winds and gales drove the vessel out of her
course, and taxed the patience of crew and cap-
tain, keeping the latter constantly on deck, and
making the men discontented because of the extra
labor entailed upon them. Jos6, though outwardly
perfectly respectful and even subservient to the cap-
tain and mates, was always ready, when out of their
hearing, to complain of the hard work, to hint that
the officers might make it easier if they cared for

the comfort of their men. By every means in his
power, as was afterward discovered, he endeavored
to increase the dissatisfaction already prevailing
among the motley crew.
At last, when the ship was midway across the At-
lantic, after several unusually tempestuous nights,
the wind lulled toward evening, one day, and Cap-
tain Percival, leaving his ship in charge of the first
mate, went down to his cabin to take the rest he so
sorely needed. Hardly had his head touched the
pillow, when he fell asleep.
But almost immediately, as it seemed to the
weary man, he was roused by Cupid's leaping on
the berth.
"Down, Cupid!" he murmured sleepily, pushing
the faithful dog away, and settling himself to slumber
again. But the animal roused him a second time.
"Down, Cupid he ordered sharply, and the
poodle, with a low whine, crouched on the cabin
floor. But the captain had scarcely closed his eyes,
before the dog was again at the side of the berth;
and now his master was unable to quiet him.
Surprised by the persistence of the usually docile
animal, the captain sat up and listened. All was
still; he heard nothing but the wash of the water
against the sides of the vessel as she plunged onward
through the surging seas. Cupid ran to the table
where the captain had put his pistols, and raising
himself on his hind legs, seized one in his mouth,
brought it to his master, and laid it at his feet.
Just at that moment there was a faint sound over-
head, as if men were scuffling on deck. Cupid
growled fiercely, and ran toward the cabin door.
His master hastily grasped his pistols and rushed
up the cabin stairs, the dog following close at his
heels. An instant more and he would have been
too late. Just as he reached the deck, the mate,
stunned by a violent blow, fell heavily, and two
dark forms glided stealthily toward the stairs.
There was no time to parley. Without a moment's
pause, the captain fired at the foremost, and the
dusky figure, reeling forward, sank at his feet. It
was the Portuguese, Jos6.
Help, men, help shouted the captain; and
at the sound of the familiar voice, his own faithful
sailors rallied around him; the second mate joined
them, and the mutineers, discouraged by their lead-
er's death and the failure of the surprise they had
planned, yielded after a short struggle.
After this exploit, as may be imagined, never
was dog more petted and praised than Cupid. Nor
did his master ever again leave him behind when
he made a voyage. The captain's tall, erect form,
and the pretty snow-white poodle trotting by his
side became almost as well known in sunny Lis-
bon, bustling Havre, smoky Liverpool, and even
fiery Calcutta, as in the streets of Boston.







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THE life of Whittier may be read in his poems,
and, by putting a note here and a date there, a
full autobiography might be compiled from them.
His boyhood and youth are depicted in them with
such detail that little need be added to make the
story complete, and that little, reverently done as
it may be, must seem poor in comparison with the
poetic beauty of his own revelations.
What more can we do to show his early home
than to quote from his own beautiful poem,
Snow-bound" ? There the house is pictured for
us, inside and out, with all its furnishings; and
those who gather around its hearth, inmates and
visitors, are set before us so clearly that long after the
book has been put away they remain as distinct in
the memory as portraits that are visible day after
day on the walls of our own homes. He repro-
'duces in his verse the landscapes he saw, the
legends of witches and Indians he listened to, the
schoolfellows he played with, the voices of the
woods and fields, and the round of toil and pleasure
in a country boy's life; and in other poems his later

life, with its impassioned devotion to freedom and
lofty faith, is reflected as lucidly as his youth is in
" Snow-bound" and The Barefoot Boy."
He himself was "The Barefoot Boy," and
what Robert Burns said of himself Whittier might
repeat: The poetic genius of my country found
me, as the prophetic bard Elijah did Elisha, at the
plow, and threw her inspiring mantle over me."
He was a farmer's son, born at a time when farm-
life in New England was more frugal than it is now,
and with no other heritage than the good name
and example of parents and kinsmen, in whom
simple virtues thrift, industry, and piety -
His birthplace still stands near Haverhill, Mass.,
-a house in one of the hollows of the surround-
ing hills, little altered from what it was in 1807,
the year he was born, when it was already at least
a century and a half old.
He had no such opportunities for culture as
Holmes and Lowell had in their youth. His
parents were intelligent and upright people of


limited means, who lived in all the simplicity of the
Quaker faith, and there was nothing in his early
surroundings to encourage and develop a literary
taste. Books were scarce, and the twenty volumes
on his father's shelves were, with one exception,
about Quaker doctrines and Quaker heroes. The
exception was a novel, and that was hidden away
from the children, for fiction was forbidden fruit.
No library or scholarly companionship was within
reach; and if his gift had been less than genius, it
could never have triumphed over the many disad-
vantages with which it had to contend. Instead of
a poet he would have been a farmer like his fore-
fathers. But literature was a spontaneous impulse
with him, as natural as the song of a bird; and he
was not wholly dependent on training and oppor-
tunity, as he would have been had he possessed
mere talent.
Frugal from necessity, the life of the Whittiers
was not sordid nor cheerless to him, moreover; and
he looks back to it as tenderly as if it had been full
of luxuries. It was sweetened by strong affections,
simple tastes, and an unflinching sense of duty;
and in all the members of the household the love
of nature was so genuine that meadow, wood, and
river yielded them all the pleasure they needed,
and they scarcely missed the refinements of art.
Surely there could not be a pleasanter or more
homelike picture than that which the poet has
given us of the family on the night of the great
storm when the old house was snow-bound:
Shut in from all the world without,
We sat the clean-winged hearth about,
Content to let the north wind roar
In baffled rage at pane and door,
While the red logs before us beat
The frost-line back with tropic heat.
And ever when a louder blast
Shook beam and rafter as it passed,
The merrier up its roaring draught
The great throat of the chimney laughed.
The house-dog on his paws outspread,
Laid to the fire his drowsy head;
The cat's dark silhouette on the wall
A couchant tiger's seemed to fall,
And for the winter fireside meet
Between the andiron's straddling feet,
The mug of cider simmered slow,
The apples sputtered in a row,
And close at hand the basket stood
With nuts from brown October's wood."

The father was a plain, taciturn, yet prompt and
decisive man, who in early life had explored the
vast wilderness which extended from New Hamp-
shire to Canada, and sitting before the fire he told
of his adventures :
Our father rode again his ride
On Memphremagog's wooded side;
Sat down again to moose and samp,
In trapper's hut and Indian camp."

The mother was a woman of gentle ways, much

loved and honored in the neighborhood, with a
low voice and a benign face:
Our mother, while she turned her wheel,
Or run the new-knit stocking-heel,
Told how the Indian hordes came down
At midnight on Cochecho town;
And how her own great-uncle bore
His cruel scalp-mark to fourscore -
Recalling in her fitting phrase,
So rich and picturesque and free
(The common unrhymed poetry
Of simple life and country ways),
The story of her early days."

Her sister, Mercy Hussey, lived with the family,
and, like Mrs. Whittier, wore the gray dress and
spotless white cap of the Quakers:
The sweetest woman ever Fate
Perverse denied a household mate."

Through years of toil and soil and care,
From glossy tress to thin gray hair,
All unprofaned she held apart
The virgin fancies of the heart."

His father's brother, Moses Whittier, also was a
member of the family -" a simple, guileless, child-
like man "-and a great favorite, especially with
the boys, as may be supposed from this picture:
Our uncle, innocent of books,
Was rich in lore of fields and brooks,
The ancient teachers, never dumb,
Of nature's unbound lyceum.
In moons and tides, and weather-wise,
He read the clouds as prophecies,
And foul or fair could well divine
By many an occult hint and sign,
Holding the cunning-warded keys
To all the wood-craft mysteries.


He told how teal and loon he shot,
And how the eagle's eggs he got,
The feats on pond and river done,
The prodigies of rod and gun,
'Till, warming with the tales he told,
Forgotten was the outside cold.
The bitter wind unheeded blew,
From ripening corn the pigeons flew,
The partridge drummed i' the wood, the mink
Went fishing down the river brink;
In fields with bean or clover gay,
The woodchuck, like a hermit gray,
Peered from the doorway of his cell;
The muskrat plied the mason's trade,
And tier by tier his mud-walls laid:
And from the shag-bark overhead
The grizzled squirrel dropped his shell."

were four children, two boys and two

Our elder sister plied
Her evening task the stand beside;
A full, rich nature, free to trust,
Truthful and almost sternly just,
Impulsive, earnest, prompt to act,
And make each generous thought a fact,
Keeping, with many a light disguise,
The secret of self-sacrifice."

" Upon the motley braided mat
Our youngest and our dearest sat,





Lifting her large, sweet asking eyes,
Now bathed within the fadeless green
And holy peace of Paradise."
For a picture of the poet himself we must turn
to the verses in "The Barefoot Boy," in which he
0 for boyhood's time of June,
Crowding years in one brief moon,
When all things I heard or saw,
Me, their master, waited for.
I was rich in flowers and trees,
Humming-birds and honey-bees;
For my sport the squirrel played,
Plied the snouted mole his spade;
For my taste the blackberry cone
Purpled over hedge and stone;
Laughed the brook for my delight
Through the day and through the night,
Whispering at the garden-wall,
Talked with me from fall to fall;
Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond,
Mine the walnut slopes beyond,
Mine on bending orchard trees,
Apples of Hesperides !
Still as my horizon grew,
Larger grew my riches, too;
All the world I saw or knew
Seemed a complex Chinese toy,
Fashioned for a barefoot boy *
The neighbors were as simple and as frugal as
the Whittiers, though some of them were not so
intelligent. They still believed in witches, and
one night at a husking, when a big black bug
came buzzing into the room, it was declared to be
an old woman who was suspected of witchcraft.
They struck at it and knocked it down, and when
on the next day the old woman was found in her
cottage, they would not believe that the bruises
with which she was covered had been received in
a fall downstairs as she claimed, and insisted that
they were the marks of the blows struck at the
bug. Old Captain P-, who lived near her, and
had a house and several barns, covered them all
over with horseshoes to keep the witch out.
Their simplicity is illustrated by still another
story. A man was seen looking about in the
woods with a gun, and gazing into all the bushes
and up into the trees. At first they thought he
was a lunatic, and then deciding that he was a
British spy, they had him arrested. The judge
examined him, and found out that his only business
was shooting birds.
Well," said the Judge, "what do you do with
them- eat them ? "
Sell them? "
"No; I study them."
He was the celebrated ornithologist, Alexander
Wilson, but the statement that he devoted all his
time to studying -birds was so incredible, that he
would have been sent to jail as a spy if he had not
been able to prove his truthfulness by a letter from
a Boston gentleman which was in his possession.

There must have been some appeal to the imagi-
nation of a poetic youth in this medieval inexperi-
ence, and what charm there was in it Whittier
certainly found. It is not his nature to complain,
and there is no word of self-pity in all his works to
show that he was ever dissatisfied with his condi-
tion in boyhood. But one can not help thinking
that the budding poet, with his delicate sensibili-
ties and perceptions, must have pined now and
then for more books and the conversation of
I doubt if any boy ever rose to intellectual emi-
nence who had fewer opportunities for education
than Whittier. He had no such pasturage to
browse on as is open to every reader who, by
simply reaching them out, can lay his hands on
the treasures of English literature. He had to
borrow books wherever they could be found among
the neighbors who were willing to lend, and he
thought nothing of walking several miles for one
volume. The only instruction he received was at
the district school, which was open a few weeks in
midwinter, and at the Haverhill Academy, which
he attended two terms of six months each, paying
tuition by work in spare hours, and by keeping a
small school himself. A feeble spirit would have
languished under such disadvantages. ButWhittier
scarcely refers to them, and instead of begging for
pity, he takes them as part of the common lot, and
seems to remember only what was beautiful and
good in his early life.
Occasionally a stranger knocked at the door of
the old homestead in the valley; sometimes it was
a distinguished Quaker from abroad, but oftener
it was a peddler or some vagabond begging for
food, which was seldom refused. Once a foreigner
came and asked for lodgings for the night -a dark,
repulsive man, whose appearance was so much
against him that Mrs. Whittier was afraid to admit
him. No sooner had she sent him away, however,
than she repented. What if a son of mine was
in a strange land?" she thought. The young poet
(who was not yet recognized as such) offered to go
out in search of him, and presently returned with
him, having found him standing in the roadway
just as he had been turned away from another
He took his seat with us at the supper-table,"
says Whittier in one of his prose sketches, "and
when we were all gathered around the hearth that
cold autumnal evening, he told us, partly by
words and partly by gestures, the story of his life
and misfortunes, amused us with descriptions of
the grape-gatherings and festivals of his sunny
clime, edified my mother with a recipe for making
bread of chestnuts, and in the morning, when, after
breakfast, his dark sallow face lighted up, and his

* The selections from Mr. Whittler's poems contained in this article are included by kind permission of Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co.




fierce eyes moistened with grateful emotion as in
his own silvery Tuscan accent he poured out his
thanks, we marveled at the fears which had so
nearly closed our doors against him, and as he
-departed we all felt that he had left with us the
blessing of the poor."
This reads like a passage from the Vicar of
Wakefield, and we are reminded of the same book
by the poet's description of Jonathan Plummer,
" maker of verses, peddler and poet, physician and
parson," who, twice a year, came to the Whittier
homestead. He brought with him pins, needles,

Another guest came to the house one day. It was
a vagrant old Scotchman, who, when he had been
treated to bread and cheese and cider, sang some
of the songs of Robert Burns, which Whittier
then heard for the first time, and which he never
forgot. Coming to him thus as songs reached
the people before printing was invented, through
gleemen and minstrels, their sweetness lingered
in his ears, and he soon found himself singing
in the same strain. Some of his earliest inspira-
tions were drawn from Burns, and he tells us of his
joy when one day, after the visit of the old Scotch-

S : -: --


tape, and cotton thread for my mother; jack-
knives, razors, and soap for my father, and verses
of his own composing, coarsely printed and illus-
trated with rude wood-cuts, for the delectation of
the younger branches of the family. No love-sick
youth could drown himself, no deserted maiden
bewail the moon, no rogue mount the gallows
without fitting memorial in Plummer's verses.
Earthquakes, fires, and shipwrecks he regarded as
personal favors from Providence, furnishing the
raw material of song and ballad. Welcome to us
in our country seclusion as Autolycus to the clown
in 'A Winter's Tale,' we listened with infinite
satisfaction to his readings of his own verses, or to
his ready improvisation upon some domestic inci-
dent or topic suggested by his auditors. He
was scrupulously conscientious, devout, inclined
to theological disquisitions, and withal mighty in
Scripture. He was thoroughly independent; flat-
tered nobody, cared for nobody, trusted nobody.
When invited to sit down at our dinner-table, he
invariably took the precaution to place his basket
of valuables between his legs for safe-keeping.
'Never mind thy basket, Jonathan,' said my
father; 'we shan't steal thy verses.' 'I 'm not
sure of that,' returned the suspicious guest. 'It
is written, Trust ye not in any brother." '"

man, his schoolmaster loaned him a copy of that
poet's works. I began to make rhymes myself,
and to imagine stories and adventures," he says in
his simple way.
Indeed, he began to rhyme very early and kept
his gift a secret from all, except his oldest sister,
fearing that his father, who was a prosaic man, would
think that he was wasting time. He wrote under the
fence, in the attic, in the barn wherever he could
escape observation; and as pen and ink were not
always available, he sometimes used chalk, and
even charcoal. Great was the surprise of the
family when some of his verses were unearthed,
literally unearthed, from under a heap of rubbish
in a garret; but his father frowned upon these
evidences of the bent of his mind, not out of
unkindness, but because he doubted the sufficiency
of the boy's education for a literary life, and did
not wish to inspire him with hopes which might
never be fulfilled.
His sister had faith in him, nevertheless, and
without his knowledge, she sent one of his poems
to the editor of The Free Press, a newspaper pub-
lished in Newburyport. Whittier was helping his
father to repair a stone wall by the roadside when
the carrier flung a copy of the paper to him, and,
unconscious that anything of his was in it, he




opened it and glanced up and down the columns.
His eyes fell on some verses called "The Exile's

Fond scenes, which delighted my youthful existence,
With feelings of sorrow I bid ye adieu -
A lasting adieu; for now, dim in the distance,
The shores of Hibernia recede from my view.
Farewell to the cliffs, tempest-beaten and gray,
Which guard the loved shores of my own native land;
Farewell to the village and sail-shadowed bay,
The forest-crowned hill and the water-washed strand."

His eyes swam; it was his own poem, the first
he ever had in print.
"What is the matter with thee?" his father
demanded, seeing how dazed he was; but, though
he resumed his work on the wall, he could not
speak, and he had to steal a glance at the paper
again and again, before he could convince himself
that he was not dreaming. Sure enough, the
poem was there with his initial at the foot of it,-
" W., Haverhill, June ist, 1826," and, better still,
this editorial notice: "If' W.,' at Haverhill, will
continue to favor us with pieces beautiful as the
one inserted in our poetical department of to-day,
we shall esteem it a favor."
The editor thought so much of "The Exile's
Departure," and some other verses which followed
it from the same hand, that he resolved to make
the acquaintance of his new contributor, and he

drove over to see him. Whittier, then a boy of
eighteen, was summoned from the fields where he
was working, clad only in shirt, trousers, and
straw hat, and having slipped in at the back door
so that he might put his shoes and coat on, came
into the room with "shrinking diffidence, almost
unable to speak, and blushing like a maiden."
The editor was a young man himself, not more
than twenty-two or twenty-three, and the friend-
ship that began with this visit lasted until death
ended it. How strong and how close it was, and
how it was made to serve the cause of freedom,
may be learned in the life of the great abolitionist,
William Lloyd Garrison, which was the editor's
The poet's corner of the newspaper did not prove
to be the temple of fame which Whittier imagined
it to be when The Free Press was dropped into his
hands with his poem in it, and he still had an uphill
path before him. But he was not consumed by the
desire for the glitter and noise which satisfy some
ambitions, and he lost thought of himself in the
great struggle for the emancipation of the negro,
in which he joined with his friend Garrison. Fame
never passes true genius by, however; and when it
came, it brought with it the love and reverence
of thousands, who recognize in Whittier a nature
abounding in patience, unselfishness, and all the
sweetness of Christian charity.





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I LOVE my dog- a beautiful dog,
Brave and alert for a race;
Ready to frolic with baby or man;
Dignified, too, in his place.

I like his bark,- a resonant bark,
Musical, honest, and deep;
And his swirling tail and his shaggy coat
And his sudden, powerful leap.

Oh, never a corpulent pug for me,
Nor a Spitz with treacherous snap !
Never a trembling, pattering hound,
Nor a poodle to live on my lap !

No soft-lined basket for bed has Jack,
Nor bib, nor luxurious plate;

But the doorstep brown, that he guards so well,
And the lawn are his royal state.

No dainty leading-ribbon of silk
My grand, good dog shall fret;
No golden collar needs he, to show
He 's a very expensive pet;

But just my loving voice for a chain,
His bound at my slightest sign,
And the faith when we look in each other's eyes
Proclaim that my dog is mine.

He '11 never be carried in arms like a babe,
Nor be dragged like a toy, all a-curl;
For he proudly knows he 's a dog, does Jack,
And I 'm not that sort of a girl.






THE city of Vicksburg stands on a hill two hun-
dred feet high, on the east bank of the Mississippi
River, five hundred and fifty miles from the sea.
The country on the opposite shore is low and flat,
and guns on the bluffs can absolutely prevent the
passage of unarmed vessels below. Thus whoever
occupied Vicksburg commanded the most important
river in America.
The control of this river was the principal object
of the Civil War west of the Alleghanies; for the
Mississippi not only connected the northern and
southern portions of the Confederacy, but was the
only natural avenue by which the North-western
States could reach the outside world. Without this
river they could neither send their products to
market nor receive those of other countries in re-
turn. When the war began, many of the railroads
that now cover the land were still unbuilt, and the
few that existed at the South were soon broken up
by the armies, or held by one side or the other to
the exclusion of the enemy. Without the Missis-
sippi either the North or the South was like a man
so maimed that his life is endangered.
At the outbreak of the rebellion, therefore, the
Confederates seized a number of important posi-
tions on the banks of the great river, and for more
than a year the North was excluded from its
waters south of St. Louis. But one after another
these various points were captured by the Union
armies, till at last only Vicksburg and Port Hud-
son remained to the Confederates. These two
places, however, the Southerners fortified strongly,
and with these they still retained possession of the
Mississippi for a distance of four hundred miles.
In November, 1862, General Grant was placed in
command of the Union forces in West Tennessee,
the nearest territory to Vicksburg at that time
held by the Government. He at once asked per-
mission of Halleck, the General-in-Chief, to'march
south and attack Vicksburg from the land side.
Halleck consented, and Grant started with 30,000
men, and easily drove back any opposition from
his front. But the distance was long; he was in
an enemy's country, and all his supplies came by
a single railroad. He was therefore slow in ad-
vancing, and after he had marched about sixty
miles south, the Confederate cavalry got in his rear,
cut the railroad by which he was supplied, de-
stroyed his principal depot of food, and interrupted
for a week all his communications with the North.
Up to this time, his army had lived on the ra-

tions that came by the railroad, but when Grant
found himself deprived of these supplies, he or-
dered his troops to take the necessary provisions
from the country. But though the army was thus
able to subsist for a while, Grant did not find food
enough to encourage him to proceed. Thus the
Confederate maneuver was successful: it compelled
Grant to abandon his campaign and retrace his
steps to Tennessee. But it taught Grant the les-
son that an army can sometimes live without carry-
ing its supplies; that is, can take its supplies from
the country in which it is moving.
Grant was never discouraged by one rebuff, and
as soon as he reached Tennessee he decided to
move his entire command down the Mississippi on
steamboats and attack Vicksburg on the water
front. It took him a month to assemble his army,
but at the end of that period all was ready, and on
the 30th of January he arrived in person on the
The Mississippi is a meandering stream, often
running north, south, east and west in the course
of ten or twenty miles. Its basin is a low, flat re-
gion, fifty miles in width, bounded on the eastern
side by bluffs that rise precipitously from eighty to
two hundred feet. Through this valley the great
river seems to wander blindly, sometimes washing
the base of the hills for miles, and then suddenly
running off in the opposite direction among the
thickets and forests. Every year the Mississippi
rises above its banks, and as the land is higher
near the shore, the water flows always toward the
bluffs, making its way through a labyrinth of
creeks, or bayous, as they are called, till it strikes
the hills, and then is forced back to the parent
stream. Often the whole region is overflowed,
and the country is only made safe from the freshets
by artificial embankments called levees, which are
raised on each side of the river. Even these some-
times prove insufficient to prevent inundation, and
in the spring of the year the whole valley is little
more than one vast marsh a thousand miles long
and from fifty to a hundred wide, in which the
great river winds its devious way from side to side.
The soil is rich and overgrown with underbrush
and forests of semi-tropical trees, among which
ponds and bayous abound. There could not be a
worse region for the operations of an army.
Heavy wagons, artillery, horses, and even troops,
could hardly be moved along the narrow and often
submerged roads, while it was difficult to find dry



spots large enough for camps. This condition of
the country was one of the most effective of all the
defenses of Vicksburg.
The city overlooks the river at one of its most
remarkable bends. The Mississippi here winds so
as to form a tongue of land on the western bank
jutting out immediately opposite Vicksburg. This
tongue is fot more than a mile and a quarter wide,
but five or six miles long; and as it is low and level
the garrison of the town could throw cannon balls
completely across the peninsula. The Confederates
thus commanded the river for a distance of fifteen
Grant's army was disembarked at Milliken's
Bend, immediately above this tongue, but far
enough off to be out of reach of the guns of the city.
It was, of course, impossible to occupy the low land
in front of or opposite Vicksburg, and the city could
not be attacked on the north, for the bluffs at that
point are so steep that when defended by heavy
cannon aid brave soldiers there was no hope of car-
rying them by assault. Grant therefore was obliged
to devise some means of reaching the high land on
the eastern bank, where he could fight on hard dry
ground. There were three different plans proposed,
each of which he tried.
He first attempted to cut a canal across the
tongue of land in front of Vicksburg, in the hope
that the river would run through, and that he could
then carry his army on steamers, out of reach of
the guns of the enemy, to some point below the
city where he could find dry land. Thousands of
workmen, soldiers and negroes, were engaged for
two months at this task; but just as the work was
nearly complete, a rise in the river occurred, the
banks of the canal broke, and the waters rushed
in, covering the whole region, submerging the
camps, sweeping away machinery and tools, and
the men were obliged to fly for their lives. The
enemy also threw shells all over the peninsula. So
this attempt was abandoned.
But even while he was engaged on the canal,
Grant was working at another enterprise. There
is a system of lakes and creeks on the west side of
the Mississippi, beginning at Lake Providence, fifty
or sixty miles north of Vicksburg. Through this
it was thought that a circuitous channel might be
opened, by breaking banks, connecting streams,
digging canals and removing timber, so that light
steamers might force their way through the forests
and marshes till they reached the Mississippi again,
coming out at the mouth of the Red River, after a
journey of four hundred miles. But the difficulty
of clearing away the timber was prodigious, and it
was found impossible to make the channel deep
enough for the only steamers that could be pro-
cured. The streams, too, widened into swamps till

the channel was completely lost; and this scheme
of sailing over the land was found impracticable.
If it had succeeded, the undertaking would not
only have turned the waters of the Mississippi away
from Vicksburg, but might even have diverted the
mighty torrent into the Atchafalaya River, and left
the great city of New Orleans high and dry, an
inland town. It was a bold adventure-to at-
tempt to change the course of the greatest river on
the globe.
Grant, however, had little hope of accomplish-
ing such results, and while the work at Lake Prov-
idence and on the canal was proceeding, he allowed
his subordinates to undertake still another task.
This was to open a channel on the eastern side,
through crooked and difficult streams to a point
on the Yazoo River northeast of Vicksburg. From
this place the troops could perhaps reach dry land
and attack the city from the interior. But still
greater obstacles were encountered here than on the
western side. The enemy hewed trees in advance to
form rafts and entanglements in the streams; one
of these barricades was a mile and a quarter long,
and composed of no fewer than eighty trees, reach-
ing from bank to bank. Trunks weighing nearly
a hundred tons had to be hauled out of the water,
the men working up to their waists in the stream.
This took them so long that while they were making
their way through the intricate network of forest and
bayou, the Southerners had time to fortify strongly
below. But in one month a passage was cleared
and steamers were able to carry troops through
the wilderness into a part of the stream so deep
and wide that obstructions were no longer possible.
They sailed 250 miles through an unbroken for-
est, and the whole distance from Milliken's Bend,
where the army lay, to the point above Vicksburg
which they hoped to reach, was 900 miles. Finally
they arrived at the fort which the enemy had built
since they started, and Grant now sent re-inforce-
ments around from the Mississippi, while Pember-
ton, the commander in Vicksburg, hurried his men
by shorter lines from the city. It was a strange
situation in the wilderness, each force separated so
far from its chief, and each groping around in
thicket and swamp to find its enemy.
But Grant's troops were now in imminent danger
of being cut off, so far away from any support,
and he determined to dispatch still another force
through still another of these labyrinths to attack
the rear of the enemy. This route was by far the
most intricate and difficult of all in the region.
General Sherman was first sent up the passage
with a division of troops, marching across a narrow
strip of land and building bridges over the swamp;
then he took steamers, while Admiral Porter with
a fleet of gunboats moved in advance to protect




the unarmed vessels. The drift timber obstructed
the channel, and the turns were so short that the
Admiral had to heave his vessels around the bends,
and it took him twenty-four hours to advance four
miles. The trees met overhead, but the limbs
were broken by the heavy ironclads as they made
a way for the lighter transports behind. Trunks
had to be pulled up by the roots, and stumps sawn
off below the surface of the water; chimneys and
pilot-houses were swept away by the branches that
reached down from above and on either hand; the

ger that Porter might not be able to return. The
labor of removing these obstructions was prodig-
ious, and continued night and day under both artil-
lery and musketry fire. Finally, Porter sent back
for General Sherman to come quickly to his relief.
Sherman started at once with all the troops he
had at hand. It was night, and there was hardly
a track of land wide enough to march over; but
he led his men by lighted candles through the
cane-brake, to the assistance of their comrades.
They found Porter with his ironclads three feet

i,' ;','22' -.- '.--

'I z,, -_


gunboats moved like snails, but they pushed all
saplings, bushes and drift aside.
The creek at last became impassable for the
steamers. But there was no dry land, and it was
impossible to march; so the men were put on
tugs and coal barges. In this way the land forces
fell behind, and the naval vessels, now some miles
in advance, were attacked by the sharpshooters
from the shore, who could easily bring down Por-
ter's men, while his cannon were nearly useless in
a fight like this. Trees were hewn by the enemy,
not only in front, but in rear, and there was dan-

below the banks of the river, and thus unable to
reply with cannon to the sharpshooters of the
enemy. The Southerners had a force of four
thousand men in the swamps, and were compel-
lingnegroes to fell trees around the fleet in front and
rear. Ships can not reply to infantry, and if Sher-
man had not arrived so promptly, Porter's whole
fleet might have been lost. But the Union troops
soon drove off the Southern sharpshooters, and the
Admiral was saved. So much time, however, had
been consumed, that the Confederates were fully
prepared for the movement. The creek was block-


aded farther on, and the Southerners could occupy
in force the ground from which they could prevent
the removal of the obstructions. There was noth-
ing to do but to return, and the expedition arrived
at Milliken's Bend just as the troops from the up-
per pass were also disembarking.
Thus every attempt to overcome the difficulties
of the situation had failed; and all because of the
character of the country; for there had as yet been
no serious fighting. Vicksburg was not even be-
sieged. Grant's troops had not reached dry land,
though they had been four months in the swamps.
Their health was affected by the exposure; the
camps were often under water; and dysentery and
fever, those plagues of a soldier's life, had thinned
the ranks and filled the hospitals.
The country at this time was greatly discour-
aged. Attempts were made to procure the re-
moval of Grant. He was said to be a failure.
" He has had a fair trial," many declared, "let
us have another commander." The General-in-
Chief sent him word from Washington that the
President was impatient. But Lincoln replied to
those who thought Grant should be removed: '"I
rather like the man; I think we '11 try him a little
longer." To Grant himself he wrote: "I amcon-
fident you will do everything possible to open the
Mississippi River." Still Grant had sixty thousand
men in his command and had accomplished abso-
lutely nothing in six long, weary months of effort
and delay.
He finally resolved to try still another plan. It
was the last. As soon as the water became low
eliough for the roads to be passable, he meant to
march his army behind the western bank of the
Mississippi to some point south of Vicksburg, and
then cross the river and move up to the high ground.
This movement would be difficult in the extreme,
but even when it was accomplished, and the troops
were landed on the eastern bank, the danger would
be greater than ever.
For Grant would then be entirely separated from
the North. The mighty fortress of Vicksburg
and the Mississippi River would be between him
and all supplies, whether of troops or ammunition
or food. No army in modern times had ever
taken such a step. The very suggestion seemed
to Grant's most trusted commanders like madness.
All who had a right to speak opposed the plan.
Sherman -the soldier whom Grant thought the
greatest of all- presented his objections in writing.
But Grant had determined on his course and was
not to be moved. He gave the orders, and the
very men who had been most urgent in dissuading
now did their best to carry out those orders, and
to make their own predictions false.
It was thirty-five miles from Milliken's Bend to

the new point that Grant desired to reach. Bridges
had to be laid, for the levees were broken at sev-
eral places and the country was deluged; the wagon
road was only twenty inches above water in the
swamp. A canal had to be cut to convey the
barges that carried provisions, and the river was
four inches higher than the land at the point
where the water was let into the canal. The
banks gave way, and one division of troops had to
be ferried across the overflowed forest, while
bridges made of boats or forest timber were laid
for the remainder of the command. Finally, the
advance reached a point on the western bank be-
low Vicksburg.
But while this tedious march was proceeding, a
still more difficult undertaking remained. It was
indispensable to have a number of vessels below
Vicksburg, not only to ferry the troops across the
Mississippi, but in order to convey supplies; and
Grant determined to risk sending three steamers
and ten barges past the Vicksburg batteries, loaded
with rations and forage. Porter undertook to en-
gage the Confederate batteries with seven of his
ironclads, while the steamers, protected with wet
hay and bales of cotton, were to tow the barges
by, under a fire from twenty-eight cannon that
commanded the river for fifteen miles. The at-
tempt was made on the night of the i6th of April.
There was no moon, and at ten o'clock all was
ready. Silently the procession steamed down the
river to the bend. From this point the vessels drift-
ed with the current, the gunboats leading the way.
Porter reached the first batteries without being dis-
covered, but soon after eleven o'clock the artillery
opened from the bluffs and the Admiral replied.
The entire gunboat fleet at once followed his ex-
ample, and the midnight battle between ship and
shore began, while the transports clung to the west-
ern bank, and sought to hurry by under cover of
the smoke.
The night was dark, but the Southerners set
fire to houses on both shores to give them light by
which to aim, and the glare on the water made it
as light as day. When the fleet came opposite the
city, the men at the guns and in the streets of Vicks-
burg could be distinctly seen. Every transport
was struck, as the storm of shot fell on them, crash-
ing chimneys and pilot-houses, and shivering the
machinery, but the men crammed cotton bags into
the openings, and soon after coming under fire the
ropes were cut, and the barges, thus made loose,
swept down the stream. Two were drawn into an
eddy and were whirled around in front of Vicks-
burg three separate times. One was disabled and
drifted with the current till a gunboat took her in
tow; another caught fire from a bursting shell, and
burned to the water's edge, floating along a mass




of flame. Her crew pushed off in small boats to
the opposite shore, where they hid themselves in
the swamps till the firing ceased, and then made
their way back to camp.
The light streamed up from the blazing hull, and
the figures on the vessels and in the batteries could
be seen plainly at their fiery work. One gun burst
in the streets of Vicksburg, where crowds of citi-
zens were watching the battle on which their fate
depended; but the entire fleet passed by without
serious loss, save the one steamer that had been
destroyed. No life was lost, and only eight men
were wounded. The uproar on the hills continued
till the last transport and gunboat were out of
range, and then silence and darkness settled again
on the river and the beleaguered town.
A few days afterward six other transports and
twelve barges made the same attempt: five steam-
ers and six barges got by safe; one man was killed
and six or eight were wounded.
Grant's army and its supplies were now south of
Vicksburg, but there was no road on the eastern
bank north of Grand Gulf, by which, after crossing
the river, Grant could move his troops, and at
Grand Gulf the Southerners had erected a formid-
able fortification. This point therefore must also
be passed by the transports, and Porter again cov-
ered the operation with his gunboats. But finally
all was accomplished, and the army was ferried
across the Mississippi.
The landing was made at an insignificant place
at the mouth of the Bayou Pierre. From this spot
a good dry road leads up to the hills. The troops
were at first without tents or wagons, and Grant
and his staff had crossed the river in advance of
their horses and were obliged to ride on borrowed
animals for several days. The bluffs were reached
before sunset, and the next day, May I, the troops
came in contact with the enemy. The battle
lasted until nightfall, but Grant outnumbered the
Confederates, who had been sent out from Vicks-
burg to oppose him. Pemberton, the commander
there, was still uncertain of Grant's intention, for
the Union general had ordered Sherman to remain
behind with his command and make a sham attack
from the north. This, as Grant intended, distracted
Pemberton, and the force sent out to the Bayou
Pierre was insufficient to withstand the Union
army. Instead of crushing Grant while he was
divided, Pemberton divided his own command in
front of Grant, and was defeated. This fight is
called the battle of Port Gibson.
When the Confederates were driven back, they
left the road open to Grand Gulf, and that place
at once fell into the Union hands with thirteen
heavy cannon. Grant himself rode into the town,
not fifteen miles away, and from there went aboard

the gunboats to write dispatches and borrow a
change of linen. He had not been abed nor taken
off his clothing in three days.
Up to this time it had been Grant's intention,
after establishing himself on high dry ground, to
send a part of his army to General Banks, who was
moving against Port Hudson, four hundred miles
below. After that place should be taken, the plan
was for Banks and Grant to combine their forces
and operate against Vicksburg. But when Grant
found himself on the high ground which he had
been all winter striving to attain, having won a bat-
tle and captured Grand Gulf, he was inclined to fol-
low up his advantages; and at this juncture he re-
ceived information from Banks which decided him.
That commander sent word that he could not
reach Port Hudson before the ioth of May, and
that even after Port Hudson fell, he could re-en-
force Grant with only ten thousand men. This
number would hardly equal the losses Grant must
sustain in battle and on the march from wounds
and sickness and straggling and other causes, if
he went to Port Hudson, so that he would be no
stronger if he waited than he was before starting.
He determined accordingly to detach no force to
General Banks, but to begin operations at once
against Vicksburg. This was one of those eventful
decisions which in private life settle the fortunes of
individuals and in war determine the fate of armies
and sometimes of States. To be able to decide
rightly and promptly in a great crisis, is one of
the greatest of faculties, whether in private life or
in war.
But Grant was destined to do still grander things
at this juncture. Up to this time his operations
against Vicksburg had not displayed any marked
intellectual or even military ability. They had
manifested only that untiring persistency and
splendid faith which kept him to his purpose
through all the discouragements of the seasons
and the elements, of tempest and pestilence and
flood, against the opposition of the rugged hills
and the rolling river, the impenetrable thicket and
the treacherous marsh. Hitherto he had fought
Nature, now he was to match himself against the
antagonism of Man. Now his soldierly quality,
his generalship, was to come into play.
At this moment he made one of the most re-
markable decisions in all modern war. He did
what made the Vicksburg campaign so daring,
and so different from other campaigns. His
army, not more than 33,000 strong, was on the
banks of the Big Black River, facing north, and
about thirty miles southwest of Vicksburg. Pem-
berton was in Vicksburg with 50,000 men, while
another Confederate force, of whose numbers
Grant was ignorant, was assembling at Jackson,



fifty miles to the northeast. Jackson is the capital
of the State and at the junction of all the rail-
roads by which Vicksburg was supplied. The
obvious course of a general in such a situation
would be to move to the left against Vicksburg
and besiege the place; but, instead of this, Grant
decided to move first to the right and destroy or
scatter the force at Jackson, break up the rail-
roads there so as to separate Vicksburg from all
re-inforcements of men or food, and then return
and take the town.
But to do this he must move directly between

three days' rations in their haversacks which they
were ordered to make last five. After that they
would have to live upon the country; that is, they
must take from the inhabitants whatever was
needed in the way of food.
But even this was not all. If, while Grant was
moving against Jackson, Pemberton should come
out from Vicksburg, as he was almost or abso-
lutely certain to do, Grant would have to fight a
superior force not only for victory, but for exist-
ence-in order to get his army back to some
point where he could re-open communication with


two forces of his enemy, one greatly superior to
his own, and risk the chance of the two combin-
ing to crush him. More than this; he could not
take supplies; for his only chance of success was
in the celerity of his movements enabling him to
avoid or evade one enemy while he hastened to
strike the other. Now, an army can not move hur-
riedly with a long wagon train: the horses and
mules become entangled, the wagons break down,
and haste is impossible. So Grant determined to
march without any supplies at all, except those
that the troops carried ontheir persons. They took

the North. He had already put the great fortress
of Vicksburg and the mighty Mississippi between
himself and his :-,.. it friends, but in the move-
ment he now proposed, he was to sever connec-
tion even with the river, and to go wandering
about between two hostile armies, each seeking to
destroy him. If the scheme failed, it would cause
the loss of his army, the destruction of his own
fame, and the greatest possible damage to the
Union cause. Nothing but success could excuse
Grant was sure that the Government would for-



bid the attempt if they knew of it, and he did not
inform them till it was too late to be recalled. In-
deed, when Halleck, the General-in-Chief, learned
that Grant had crossed the Mississippi, he at once
sent him word to march south and connect with
Banks. But Grant had already started for Jack-
son when Halleck's dispatch reached the Missis-
Johnston, one of the ablest of the Confederate
generals, was at this time in supreme command in
Mississippi; and it was he who was collecting
troops at Jackson. Grant moved against him on
the IIth of May, marching with great rapidity.
On the 12th he encountered at Raymond a force
that Johnston sent out to obstruct him. But
Grant was again superior in numbers, and in a
battle of a few hours he easily swept away this op-
position, after which he continued his advance
upon Jackson.
Meanwhile Pemberton had come out from Vicks-
burg to attack the National flank and rear; but
Grant paid no attention to Pemberton and hurried
eastward toward Johnston, whose force was again
the smaller. By this operation he avoided a battle
where he did not wish to fight, divided his enemy,
and came upon Johnston, who was unprepared.
The Union army marched in two columns against
Johnston, leaving Pemberton expecting a battle on
their left and rear. On the 14th Grant's forces car-
ried the works at Jackson and entered the town.
Johnston had hoped to hold Grant till his own
re-inforcements came up, but Grant's movements
were so rapid that this purpose was foiled; and, un-
able to maintain the place, Johnston moved out on
the northern side as Grant entered Jackson on the
south. The Union troops at once began destroy-
ing the railways and military stores.
Having thus twice defeated Johnston and then
driven him out of his capital, Grant promptly
turned his attention to Pemberton. On the day
of the, capture of Jackson he faced part of his
force westward. On the next day, the 15th, he
captured a dispatch from Johnston directing Pem-
berton to fall upon the Union rear from the west
while Johnston himself advanced from the north.
But what Johnston thought the Union rear had
now become the front.
Grant of course determined to prevent the con-
centration of the enemy, and at once brought
every man he had away from Jackson, and hurried
his whole force westward, coming up with Pember-
ton before Johnston was able to join his subordi-
.nate. Pemberton was caught in the very act of
changing front to meet the new situation. Grant
attacked him at Champion's Hill on the morning of
the I6th, before the whole Union army had arrived,
and the fiercest battle of the campaign ensued.
VOL. XIV.-72.

It lasted all day, but the Confederates finally
gave way, and Grant pursued them until after dark.
He killed and wounded 3000 of the enemy, cap-
tured 3000 prisoners and 30 cannon, and cut off
one entire division that never rejoined Pemberton's
army. In the pursuit Grant himself pushed ahead
in advance of the column till he was obliged to halt
for the troops to come up. He lay that night in
the porch of a farmhouse that was used for a
Confederate hospital.
At this point he received Halleck's dispatch of
the I th of May, ordering him to return and con-
nect with Banks; but the campaign that Halleck
forbade was already won. Grant was indeed re-
turning, but with a victorious army. No more
countermands now, no more recalls.
On the 17th, the pursuit was renewed, and
Grant came up with the enemy at the crossing of the
Big Black River, where the Confederates held a
strong position; but the panic of the day before
was not over, and at the first assault of the Union
forces the Southerners gave way. In their hasty
retreat they destroyed the bridge before their own
troops were over, and 1750 men and 18 cannon
fell into the Union hands. Grant lost only 29
men killed and 240 wounded.
The enemy did not recover their spirit, but fled
pell-mell into Vicksburg.; the people of the country
followed, and troops and civilians together hurried
behind the hills which they hoped would protect
them from the victorious Northerners. Grant fol-
lowed hard, and on the 19th of May his army
encircled Vicksburg.
It was just twenty days since Grant had crossed
the Mississippi. In that time he had fought and
won five successive battles in the open field: he
had beaten two separate armies, captured 88 can-
non, taken 6000 prisoners and killed and wounded
as many more of the enemy. He had forced the
evacuation of Grand Gulf, seized the capital of the
State, destroyed thirty miles of important railroad,
and invested the great stronghold of- the Missis-
sippi River. Only five days' rations had been issued
in the twenty days. He started without teams,
marched more than 200 miles, and brought his
army to a new base where never again there could
be question of supplies. He had lost only 4335
men in killed, wounded, and missing. Neither
Napoleon nor Cmsar ever made a more brilliant,
hazardous, or important campaign.
The fall of Vicksburg itself was the result of
these twenty days. The siege lasted seven weeks.
There were two assaults on fortified works which
were unsuccessful, and then Grant closely sur-
rounded the place.. Johnston collected a large
force in the rear to compel Grant to raise the
siege, but the Government also sent heavy re-in-



forcements and the Confederates did not dare attack
The garrison was brave and obstinate, but at
last was reduced t.. i-.:.-l;r on mule meat and half
rations. Fodder was exhausted, and the popu-
lation as well as the soldiers suffered intensely.
Finally, when starvation was imminent, Pemberton
made propositions for surrender; and on the 4th
of July, 1863, the Union forces entered Vicksburg.

I72 cannon and 31,600 men, of whom 2100 were
officers, fell into Grant's hands the largest cap-
ture of men and arms which at that time had ever
been made in war. Napoleon's greatest capture
was at Ulm, where 30,000 men and 60 cannon were
The men on both sides at once became friends;
the prisoners were fed, and Confederates and
Union soldiers could often be seen walking arm-


SMore than 30,000 prisoners fell into Grant's hands.
He had not means to send so many to the North,
and released them on parole not to fight again un-
til exchanged.
An hour before noon on the 4th of July the
garrison marched out of the works they had de-
fended so long, and stacked arms in the presence
of the Union army. Then they returned within the
walls they themselves had built- prisoners of war;

in-arm. Seven hundred of the garrison refused to
be paroled, preferring to be sent North to fighting
again against the Union.
In a week the garrison was assembled for the
last time. Each man's name was checked as he
reached the fortifications; and then, without mus-
kets or cannon or flags, the soldiers of Vicksburg
marched out, leaving their fortress in the posses-
sion of the Government.






OCTOBER is the month that seems
All woven with midsummer dreams;
She brings for us the golden days
That fill the air with smoky haze,
She brings for us the lisping breeze
And wakes the gossips in the trees,
Who whisper near the vacant nest
Forsaken by its feathered guest.
Now half the birds forget to sing,
i And half of them have taken wing,
Before their pathway shall be lost

Beneath the gossamer of frost;
Now one by one the gay leaves fly
Zigzag across the yellow sky;
They rustle here and flutter there,
Until the bough hangs chill and bare.
What joy for us, what happiness
Shall cheer the day, the night shall bless?
'T is Hallow-e'en, the very last
Shall keep for us remembrance fast,
When every child shall duck the head
To find the precious pippin red!





A MERCHANT is simply a man who buys to sell
again. You would not think his work was very
hard, and certainly you would not believe it to be
a very difficult thing to attain success in such an
occupation; but, in the present day it requires
more brains and energy to become a really suc-
cessful merchant than probably it ever did in the
history of the world.
It is a favorite saying of some people when they
are advising boys to engage in any particular oc-
cupation, that there is "room at the top." And
that is a true saying with reference to many pro-
fessions and businesses.
But the whole character of mercantile life has
changed very much within the last quarter of a
century. The stores have become palatial in size
and beautifully adorned; where a score of clerks
were once employed, there are now hundreds;
the amount of capital required to carry on some
of these enterprises is beyond the wildest dreams
of the most visionary of the old merchants of
New York. And when a small boy with nothing
but good health and pluck for his capital looks up
at one of these immense mercantile establishments,
he is apt to have grave doubts of his ability to
reach the top," though there may be plenty of
room up there.

Still he has no need to be discouraged. Let us
start out with him, say in a large retail dry-goods
store, and note how he gets along and what finally
becomes of him. We may find that the conditions
for entering this mercantile life are not so bad as
they seem, and that in it there is both honor and
success to be won.
Our boy friend will begin, of course, at the bot-
tom, as a cash-boy in a large retail dry-goods store;
he will do more running about in a day than he
ever did on a Saturday when he played base-ball.
If he is a bright boy he will probably be pro-
moted ere long to the office, where his work will be
more important. In time, he may be intrusted to
go down-town" to fill an order for some goods.
Then, indeed, he would be justified in having a
feeling of importance. Down there, among the
large wholesale houses, he will come across buyers,
jobbers, brokers, agents for the big mills of New
England, and agents from abroad. There, if he
keeps his eyes and ears open, he may learn
many a point in regard to dry-goods and general
business methods. He may learn "the market"
so well that, after a time, he will be assigned to
the purchase of some special class of goods.
Or from a cash-boy he may have been made a
retail salesman. In that case he will quickly learn
about the prices and qualities of goods. The head
of his department will tell him the price, and the

*Copyright by G. J. Manson, 1884.



lady-shoppers will soon give him a great deal of
information about the quality; he will rapidly ac-
quire a fund of practical knowledge.
But an active boy will not be satisfied to remain
a salesman. Of his chances for advancement I
shall have something to say further on.
The boy (now a young man) who was sent down-
town to fill orders, if he is progressive, has, in
course of time, been made a "buyer." His knowl-
edge of goods is now so general that he is sent out
to purchase all kinds of stock. The buyer is sent
into the market, and is allowed to use his own
discretion as to what he shall buy, and what he
shall pay for it. You can at once see what an im-
portant position this is. The buyer must know all
about prices, not only in the present, but in the
immediate past. He must be on the look-out for
"bargains," for that is what customers are always
after. He must be able to judge quickly of the
quality of goods, and have an eye for color and
effect so as to make a choice that will attract the
attention and the purchases of the patrons of the
establishment. And all this must be done in the
great whirl and roar of the down-town business
world, in a crowd of bright-witted men like him-
self, who are there on the same errand, each quite
as anxious as our friend to get excellent, beauti-
ful, and cheap goods for his "house."
While engaged as buyer for a retail house, the
young man will make many acquaintances, and
may be offered the position of buyer for a whole-
sale house. If he should accept such a situation
he will find its responsibilities infinitely greater than
those of the one he has just left. But it is safe to
say he will not be asked to fill such a place unless
he is a young man of great ability. It would be
his duty as a wholesale buyer to go to Europe,
visit the centers of manufacture of the goods in
which his house deals, and there select goods and
contract for as much of them and at such prices as
he deemed best.
I have seen many of these buyers in the New
York custom-house, before what is called the
Board of Re-appraisement,- a sort of court where
testimony is taken as to the value of goods on
which duty is to be paid,- and I do not know of a
brighter, keener set of men. Their quickness and
ability to judge of the quality and value of goods is
almost phenomenal. They will examine a whole
row of silks, for instance, in a few minutes, testing
them by the touch, and sometimes examining them
through a small magnifying glass; nine times out
of ten they will tell, within the smallest fraction of
a cent, what the cost price of every piece of silk is in
Europe. A wholesale buyer commands a large sal-
ary, say from $3000 to $ ,10000 a year, with frequent
trips to Europe, on which all his expenses are paid.

But how will a young man in a retail house be
able to enter business for himself? If he is a buyer,
with a good knowledge of the business, and with
good habits, he will, in many cases, have a chance
of becoming a junior partner in the concern for
which he works. This will be after years of serv-
ice, and he can afford to wait. If he is a prudent
young fellow, he has been laying aside some of his
salary each year. In a few years, when he has a
chance to enter the firm, he has some money and
somethingelse which will count a great deal more-
ability. The ability that is the result of experi-
ence, in any occupation, mercantile or professional,
is of such value that it is always in demand. Look
over the help'wanted" advertisements in the city
dailies some morning, and you will note how many
men and women are wanted in various businesses
who have had "experience." Indeed, experience
very often is far better capital than money.
Let us suppose then that our friend has been
taken in as junior partner. He gets an interest
much larger in amount than his old salary; he still
buys for the house, does his share of attending to
the general business, and speaks of himself, with an
air of justifiable pride, as "a member of the firm."
In the case of the young man who has become
a salesman, and who aspires to have his own store,
the case is different. He, taking advantage of the
opportunity that has been given him, has attained
to a knowledge of the business. I do not think
his position to learn about goods has been quite so
favorable as that of the buyer. Still, in one branch
he has become familiar; he has, for years, been face
to face with customers, of both sexes, of all sorts
and conditions in life, he has acquired a knowledge
of their peculiar ways, and he has been learning
the art of dealing successfully with them. He has
been able to save but very little money; so he will
form a combination.
He knows other clerks who are as restive as he is,
and suggests that they all go in together, and open
a store of their own. May be one of the clerks will
be a book-keeper; so much the better, he will attend
to the clerical part of the business. Possibly there
may be a buyer who is desirous of entering the
combination "; better still, his experience will be
And so these young men put their money and
their brains together, and open a store of their
own. It may not be a very large one, but it is safe
to say that these active young men, representing,
in their collective capacity, a full knowledge of the
business, having invested all they have in the
enterprise, will work with the heartiness that is
prompted by self-interest, and that all the chances
are in favor of their being successful.
Again, sometimes a wealthy man, a friend of




some young man, or of some such firm, who has
confidence in them, may supply the capital, and
let them do the work. Looked at in the proper
light the chances in the mercantile world are good
for the man with pluck, energy, and intelligence.
In regard to going West," opinion seems to
be divided. Certainly there are chances in the
West for bright young men, but it is claimed the
bright young men have just as good opportunities
in the Eastern section of the country.
Besides a thorough and complete knowledge of
the goods in which he deals-where they come
from, how and of what they are made,- the young
merchant should have a good knowledge of the
law as it relates to sales, contracts, warranty, notes,
and the banking business. Of course he will keep

thoroughly posted as to the condition of the mar-
ket, the new styles of goods that are being intro-
duced, the improved methods of manufacture, if
any, brought about by novel machinery. He will
be able to write a good business letter that can be
easily understood. You might say, Any one can
do this," but you would be astonished if you could
know how few men are first-class business cor-

Mercantile life includes a vast number of occu-
pations, and it would take a book rather than an
article to go into the details of all of them. I think
it is safe to say that the course of progress in most
other businesses is very similar to that I have
sketched in the dry-goods business.



Is it toothache, or the first beginning
Of a pout ?
Something very solemn is the matter
Without doubt.
May be you'd feel better if you 'd tell me what 's your sorrow.
Ah "Vacation 's over-or it will be by to-morrow !

" No more boating-parties, no more picnics,
No more fun;
Only lessons and those old examples'
To be done.
Exercises-oh and compositions to be written.
How I wish that I were a canary, or a kitten "

Flowers must grow their roots, my little maiden,
E'en in May-time,
And the birds don't find their lives all singing,
Or all play-time.
Kittens grow to cats, and then they find their board and housing
Much depends on whether they're attending to their mousing !

Honest workers make the merriest players.
Oh, how slowly
Would the time go, if it ever should be
Play-time wholly !
Here 's a parting thought, my maid, to give you resignation-
If there were no school, there never could be a vacation !


I Pen-




i-I HERE was a
S"' :.--. church festi-
val in Hen-
sonvale, and this
Sis the way in which
Miss Belle Ab-
i' bott introduced
a new feature
into the well-
'worn list of such
A placard was prominently displayed at the
festival reading:


All were kept in mystery until the appointed
time, when the manager, stepping before the cur-
tain, spoke of the statue of Memnon in Egypt,
which was accustomed to greet the rising sun with
More obliging than Meninon," he said, cer-
tain stately American sunflowers have been found
ready and willing to sing whenever called upon.
Ladies and gentlemen," he added, "I have been
fortunate enough to secure for our festival a cluster
of these remarkable additions to our native flora,
and have the honor of presenting to you our Sun-
flower Chorus."
The slowly drawn curtain revealed upon a dark
background thirteen large, yellow sunflowers, with
leaves and stalks complete, and in the center of
each a human face. Music came from the piano
near the stage, and to its accompaniment the
cluster of human sunflowers sang numerous selec-
tions from familiar operas, popular songs and
melodies, and college glees.
The Sunflower Chorus was voted a great suc-

cess, and those not in the secret begged Miss
Abbott to tell them how it was done. And this
was her explanation:
One foot behind the stage curtain, hang another
curtain of dark-brown cambric, ten feet square;
attach this by rings to a wire stretched nine feet
from the floor; tie cords to the first and last rings
and, drawing the curtain tightly, fasten these rings
to the wall on each side. The top being now
secured, let the curtain hang naturally; wrap the
surplus cloth about a strip of wood twelve feet
long, two inches wide, and one inch thick; fasten
this to the floor by two large screws, and the
flower screen will be tightly stretched.
Group the singers in a picturesque cluster
behind the screen, with their faces pressed against
the cloth, and at distances from the floor varying
from one to eight feet; mark the position of each
face, and cut, in the screen, a hole into which the
face will closely fit. Going now to the front of the
screen, arrange the flowers and leaves, which
should be fully prepared beforehand. The rays
of the sunflowers may be cut from yellow paper,
and the leaves and stalks from green paper. Paste
the rays around the openings, then arrange the
stalks and leaves in proper position.
When the paste is dry, remove the strip of wood
from the bottom of the screen, unfasten one of the
cords at the top and slide it back until needed for
use, when it may be easily put into position.
If the stage curtain slides, it should be allowed,
when drawn aside, to stop at the ends of the flower-
screen; if it rolls up, it will be necessary to fill up
the space between the screen and the sides of the
stage with drapery.
In summer the natural stalks and leaves of the
sunflower may be used instead of those made
from paper.



OUR little Grace is thinking,
Thinking with all her might,
What she would do for Betsey
If she was n't such a fright.

"You should be married, Betsey,
To a prince or better still,
To a king- or else a cowboy
As grand as Buffalo Bill!




" You should be dressed, my darling,
In trailing, silvery white,
With a long veil and diamonds
And orange blossoms bright.

" You should have little bridesmaids,
All walking two and two,
And the bridegroom saying, 'Betsey,
There 's none so sweet as you I'

"But really, Betsey dearest,
I 'm a little bit afraid
That you '11 never, never marry --
Now don't look so dismayed.

"And don't you grieve, my darling,
For the uglier you get,
The more your mother '11 love you,
And that is better yet "


But, by and by,
Whish! whish!






i Buzz lived in the country, at Farmer Brown's
'AT. house. One day Farmer Brown said, I will
i drive Dobbin into town to-day."
'; I Buzz said, I will go, too"; but no one heard
So Buzz got into the wagon. No one saw him.
He was very little, and he kept out of sight.
he got out of the wagon and rode on Dobbin's back.
went Dobbin's tail, for he wanted no one on his back.

.... -.: -- -_


Buzz then got up on Dob-
bin's head. But he shook
his head and mane so hard .
that Buzz was glad to get -
o ff.. .
What a buzzer that fly i' ,'
is!" said Farmer Brown. ^ 1
Buzz did not care. /
By and by the good /. .
farmer stopped at a house ,
in town, and went in. Buzz '
went, too. He rode on the
brim of Farmer Brown's hat. ,. ---
"How dark it is in here,"
he thought. "Curtains all
down! Shutters closed! No
Buzz flew about the parlor.
"No asparagus in the grate," was the next thing he said.
"No peacock's feathers on the wall! No dog out on the doorstep!.
Why, there 's no fun for a fly here! I must tell Farmer Brown to come
So Buzz crawled along the top of Farmer Brown's ear to whisper to him.
"I guess I '11 be going," said the Farmer. "The flies bite as if it was
going to rain."
Neigh !" said Dobbin. He meant "come "
Buzz said Buzz. He meant "hurry !"
He rode out on Farmer Brown's hat again.
He said in Dobbin's ear, "I told him to come home."
"Thank you," said Dobbin. "But please don't bite my ear."
Oh, no, good Dobbin. Take me back to Rover."
Buzz was glad to get home. He never rode to town again.

S_-_-'--- :-
.... *** 4-: ; Z -_''-'1"" : -"



- '- '' -

I '? "" .
.:.. T


BY this time the summer has gone; and just
before October unfurls her bright colors, Septem-
ber gives us a few rain storms that are considered
peculiarly dismal by girls and boys, who dislike
clouds of any sort. But there's a pleasant way of
looking at a'l things. See now how our good
friend N. P. Babcock looks at the rain -how he
talks to it, in fact, till it seems to shine a sort of
reply to him.


Pretty little drops of rain, raining in a river,
Racing down from clouded skies
With a sparkle in your eyes,
Is n't it a great surprise,
When you reach the river?

I should think you 'd find it queer, I should
think you 'd quiver
At the thought of blotting out;
Do you know what you 're about?
Have n't you the smallest doubt
Of that raging river?

Don't you know that river runs to the dread-
ful ocean ?
Down you come, you giddy things,
Pretty little beads with wings,
Just escaped from rainbow strings
Through a love of motion.

Is that funny swishing noise which you make
in falling
Sign of mirth, or sign of fear?
Into one another's ear
Are you screaming, "Dear! oh, dear!
This is most appalling "

Sisters, cousins, brothers, aunts, racing down
Talk about toboggan slides!
What are they to windy rides
When the reckless rain-drop glides
Down inclement weather ?


THE Deacon and the dear Little School-ma'am
have had a good laugh over a definition which
they tell me is to be found in an old dictionary.
This dictionary is called An Universal Etymo-
logical English Dictionary, by N. Bailey, 'ti),oyoos.
London, MDCCCXXXI." And here is the defi-
nition, Pickadilly, a great street near St. James's,
built by one Higgins, a taylor; and so called be-
cause he got his estate by making stiff collars, in
the fashion of a band, then called Pickadilles, for-
merly much in fashion."
So, you see, you boys with Picadilly collars are
not quite so new and fresh as you thought you


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: In front of our gallery we have trained up
a number of Morning-glory vines. The leaves are so much eaten
that I examined them to see what was doing the mischief. On
nearly every leaf there was what appeared to be a particle of soot;
but when I touched one ofthem, its back opened up like the lid of a
box on hinges. It is a bug, about an eighth of an inch in length,
with six legs, and all along its side thereis a sort of fringe. I found
out all this with the aid of my microscope. I will be very glad -
ifyou have enough room -if you will show my letter; for perhaps
some ofthe members of the Agassiz Society can tell me the name of
this strange bug. I have been taking ST. NICHOLAS for six years.
Yours truly, EDWARO T. MACLEAN.


DEAR JACK : The following little rhyme is about
swimming,-that is, of very little beginners. I hope
you will have room enough to put this in.

I can swim like a feather
And dive like a stone,
When it is good weather
And I am not alone.

I can dive like a feather,
And swim like a stone,
When it is bad weather
And I am alone.

HERE is a little girl's honest opinion of the snap-
ping turtle :
DEAR JACK: Last night my brother came in and
laid on the ST. NICHOLAS I was reading three



little snapping turtles, and a clam. At first I did n't
know what the turtles were, but soon found they
were the ugliest things I ever saw. I had never
seen one before, and I never want to again.
After Vernie had taken them out, 1 found the
picture of one in the July number of ST. NICHO-
LAS. I think it is very correct, and I fully agree
with you that its skin is altogether too tight for
it. The picture you show there is so funny i I am
a constant reader of the ST. NICHOLAS, and never
saw a magazine I liked so well.


HERE is a true story that will interest many
among you who are fond of studying the peculiar
dispositions of household pets, and who know that
cats differ from each other quite as much as chil-
dren do:
DEAR JACK: Two excellent women, wholived
in a tenement house in the city of B- had
a Maltese cat named Pepper." He was a fine-
looking creature, a yard long from the tip of his
nose to the end of his tail, and a foot in height.
He was eight years old when I first saw him. He
had lost some of his whiskers, but his temper was
as hot and hasty as ever. He well deserved the
name of Pepper." He was very frisky for his
age. He would leap over your arm, run after a
ball, and snatch at a string held above him, with
as much agility and grace as a kitten. Strange to
say, he ate nothing excepting raw meat and paper.
Yes, every little bit of paper cast aside from a
package or dropped, on the floor he would snap up
greedily. It was singular that he abhorred anews-
paper. He was once taken to the country, and
while there, without provocation, he attacked a
large Newfoundland dog named Carlo. The bat-
tle was dreadful. Pepper's body swelled to nearly
twice its usual size, his fur stood out as if made
of spikes, his eyes, from a pale emerald color, be-
came yellow as gold buttons, and wonderfully fierce.
However, Pepper's rage and Carlo's astonishment
were so well balanced by their mutual fear of each
other that neither animal was hurt. At last the cat
was caught, to Carlo's great relief, and shut up; but
ever after, when he saw the dog, he would give
a long, ominous growl like distant thunder. Pep-
per by name and by nature, he never lost his spirit
till the day of his sudden illness and death, and,
as his friends mourned his loss, you may be sure
he was not without good qualities.
Yours respectfully, R. B.

Thus it is with cats. Some are dear, good,
gentle little things, who live to catch mice and tor-
ment them before eating them; and some are sav-
age, ungovernable creatures, who eat meat and
paper, and scare big dogs half out of their wits.
By the way, if cats kept children for pets, what
interesting accounts they might send me to show
you !

NATURE is full of odd things. There is no end
to them. To-day my friend L. fell a-thinking.
"There," said she, "is water. I freeze 'it, and
melt it back to just the same amount of Nwatfer
The old Latin conundrum is formed on this fact:
'What is the mother of the daughter, and the
daughter of the mother?'
"And there is camphor. I can bury it and bring
it to life. I put an ounce of gum camphor in alco-
lol and let it dissolve. Then I pour water into this
till all the camphor returns, in flakes. Put these
in the scales, and they weigh an ounce.
If I burn a log, weigh the ashes, the cinders,
and the gases (including the smoke, of course), all
these weigh just what the log did."
I call these queer facts, Mr. Jack, and they may
interest you. No doubt, you (or some of your chil-
dren, at any rate), can think of other instances.
And so we can not destroy matter; we can only
change its shape.
If L. says anything like this, you may be sure
that it is so; whenever she slips into one of these
light, airy talks of hers, she sets me thinking.
How does it affect you, my beloved?


TALKING of queer things reminds me of two
fish which I wish to show you. They serve to prove
that nature sometimes likes extremes, or, rather,
that it is easy for her to adapt eierself to cir-
cumstances. For instance, there are the well-
known fish in the Mammoth Cave of Kentucky. As

'"--4 '-_\ ^" -- --
_--Z -7-s- --


they spend their lives quite in the dark, she very
sensibly allows them to dispense with the sense of
sight altogether. But, as an offset to these fish
who have no eyes to speak of, she has a favorite
four-eyed fish that makes a special point of looking

.-- .L "' -


above the water. This species is called Anableps,
from a Greek word signifying to look up; but this
fish sees beneath the surface, too, and practically
has a pair of eyes for each purpose. The dear
little School-ma'am says, "The cornea is divided
into upper and lower halves, and there are two
pupils to each orbit." But, be this as it may, the
fish is certainly well-off in the matter of eyes. If
ever you go fishing in the rivers of tropical Amer-
ica, you may catch Mr. Four-eyes (who, by the
way, is called Anablefs tetrophthalmus for short),
and give my regards to him.





Perhaps few readers of the little poem on page 892 will need to be
told marionettes are little loose-jointed puppets, or dolls, that are
moved by strings or wires, and exhibited by showmen. In England,
and sometimes in America, there are little Marionette theaters, in
which funny plays are acted, all the characters being represented by
these wooden puppets.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My sister has taken you for nine years,
and I enjoy you quite as much as she does. I must now try and tell
you about a little city here in France (Tours). We went there to
spend the winter and to learn French. We met some nice English
boys and they had an old Chateau Rougemont (a castle); that is,
their father rents it, and we used to have lots of fun there playing.
There are two large towers of the time of Louis XI. of France,
whom the readers of Quentin Durward will not forget. Also at
Tours there is the house of Tristan l'Hermite, the executioner to
Louis XI., whose castle of Plexis-les-Tours is said to have had no
fruit on the trees surrounding it, but instead men, real men, hung up
on all of them, while Louis XI. would look on from the towers and
windows of his castle. At Tours is an old cathedral, and the tower
of Charlemagne and the tower de I'Horloge, which belonged to the
Church of St. Martin, probably the richest in all Europe at that time.
The only thing that is left are these two enormous towers. I am a
little American boy eleven years old, and so, with best love to all the
readers of ST. NICHOLAS, I will say

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl nearly seven years old.
I take you regularly and am only sorry that you don't come every
week. I have no little brothers or sisters, but my dog Frisky is
equal to a whole nursery; Mamma says worse. We live close to the
"Alamo," and if your little friends don't know about that story they
ought to read it. I like "Prince Fairyfoot" and the "Brownies,"
and did you ever since ever you ever were born."
Your little friend, KATE D- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I have taken you some time and thinkyou
are very nice. I am eleven years old, and have one brother and sister.
My brother is four years old. His name is Richard. He likes the
"c Brownies" best. He always looks for the "Dude" and others.
My sister is a little baby. We have two pets rabbits. One is white.
The other is partly gray and white. We have a large Newfound-
land dog. Some boys shot him through the leg. He limps a little
yet. We have a man taking care of him for us, and when he gets
well we are going to bring him home. His name is Don.
I remain, your constant reader, AGNES L. P-.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I write to tell you how much I enjoy your
nice stories. I count the days until you come. I like "Juan and
Juanita" very much, and I do hope they will get home all safe and
sound. I have never seen a letter from here, but there are several
boys and girls who take you and like you very much. I must not
forget to tell you that I like Jenny's Boarding-house very much.
I have spoken several pieces out of your interesting pages. I must
stop now or you will say, Oh, dear! I can never put that letter
in my pages, for she will never stop." So, with many good wishes
I remain, Your constant reader, M. L. S- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have never seen a letter from Wilming-
ton in the Letter-box, so I thought I would write to you. It is hardly
necessary to tell you that we all love you very much, and could not
do without you. I have two brothers and one sister, all younger
than myself. My little sister is eight years younger than I am. My
little brother, who is nearly four, calls his mother "Dearest," like
Little Lord Fauntleroy." In fact, he got it from that story. Your
stories are all so charming that it would be rather hard to decide
which I prefer. I am very fond of flowers, and have a good many
that I have raised. They are all doing splendidly. Father has pro-
mised to have a pit built for me. Well, dear ST. NICHOLAS, I must
close, with the wish that you may live for many years to come; and
may make other homes as happy as you have made mine.
I am your devoted and constant reader, MARY M-- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : Will you kindly allow me space in the
"Letter-box for the following request? I should like to ex-
change, through the mail, sea-mosses just gathered from Rye,
(N. H.) Beach, for those found this season elsewhere. I will for-
ward specimens to the address of anyone who will send me speci-
mens, with the name of the locality where they were found. Address,
Public Library, Natick, Mass. I float the mosses as I find them, to
learn if they are desirable, then dry and keep them until I am ready to
mount them. When dry they can readily be sent by mail."
ST. NICHOLAS is very much enjoyed by theyoungpeople of the
place, for whom our library takes two copies, and the bound volumes
are literally, almost "read to pieces." They would doubtless he
glad to unite with me in the wish thatyou may long be permitted to
furnish the pleasure and benefit always to be found inside the covers
of ST. NICHOLAS. Respectfully yours,

ST. Louts, Mo.
MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I have never before written to you,
neither have I ever seen a letter from this city, though many of my
friends take your delightful magazine. I think your stories are the
best I have ever read. 1 like "Juan andJuanita," King London,"
"The Monitor and the Merrmmac," "Historic Girls," and "Mil-
let and the Children," the best. I wish ST. NICHOLAS would tell
us some more about artists, as my greatest pleasure is in that line,
though, as to pleasure, I think I would call myself a "Jack of all
pleasure." I am a girl of fourteen years, am the youngest in our
family, and have only one sister and one brother. Last June I
passed for high-school, and this September I shall attend. This sum-
mer I am going to a place in the country where battle was fought
with Indians, and we always find many arrow-heads and other relics
in the woods and fields. I have only one pet, and that is a beautiful
poodle Spitz dog that can beg, and jump a stick, and do many other
little tricks; his name is Lito." If I should get another dog, I
would surely name him "Amigo."
I suppose all your United States readers have heard of the Great
Globe and Post Dispatch Balloon that went up from here, but per-
haps some of your foreigners have not. We saw it rise from our
school windows, and could see it until an hour before it fell, fifty-five
miles away. It was made of varnished muslin, and was a grand
sight. I wished so to be in it! On the 4th of July we saw the
fire-works of our whole city, from a veranda on the top of a three-
storied house; the whole sky was a continual mass of stars, and we
had many bonfires in our neighborhood. I suppose it seems funny
to foreigners that we make so much ado about the 4th of July,
but we know for what we are doing it. I remain your affectionate
friend and reader, HELEN H. B- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am eleven years old, and I live in Chi-
cago, although I am out on my summer vacation.
I have just been reading something called, "Rules for Dolls."
Perhaps some of the little girls who take ST. NICHOLAS would like
to know them.
"A wooden-headed doll should be careful not to hit her head
against her mamma's, lest she should break it.
"A doll should try to keep away from rockers, as the rocking-
chair may break loose and crush her. A crushed doll never regains
her spirits.
A rag doll should try in every way to improve her mind. Knowl-
edge is more than beauty.
"Often an old doll, with cracked head and sweet smile, is more
beloved than a new doll with a sour face.
"A doll should never be proud. Also, a doll should never be
jealous when she sees another doll more finely dressed. Looks are
nothing, behavior is all.
A doll should never go out without her mamma's leave."
I have a little friend in the same house I am in who has fourteen
dolls. We had a doll's wedding the other day.
I think my letter is pretty long.
Your loving reader, R. C- .

ST. Louis Du HA, HA.
MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little boy who has just returned
from the Rocky Mountains. My father was building the Canadian
Pacific Railroad. When we went out there, there was no railroad at
all, and we had to ride twenty miles on horse-back; it was very hard
riding, for the horses were sometimes above their knees in mud.
There were a great many Italians, "Dagos," as they call them out
there, and they are a very funny set of people; they do not let the
railway company board them, but live in little mud hovels they
make them themselves, and they live chiefly on bread and macca-




roni. They won't buy meat or vegetables because they say it is too
expensive; so to keep them in good health the contractors used to
"make them buy a certain amount.
Once, when we were out walking, we met aherd of wild cattle; the
cowboys were driving them to be killed, and we had to hide behind
trees, for if they see a man, woman, or child on foot, they will at once
stampede. A. A. C- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am one of the subscribers to your de-
lightful magazine. I live in Norfolk, Virginia, which is a very nice
summer place, as it has so many resorts. Virginia Beach and Ocean
View are the most popular, and the trains are crowded every even-
ing with young men and maidens, old women and children; and the
surf-bathing is splendid. On the road to the beach the cars pass over
Lake Holly, a beautiful piece of water filled with water-lilies. I
should like to describe to you some of oui picnics, where we have
lots of fun; it would make my letter too long, and perhaps tire you.

I envy you, ST. NICHOLAS,
The pleasant trips you '11 take
This summer, as you travel
Over mountains, vale, and lake,
And the pleasure that you '11 carry,
As on your route you go,
To all the little girls and boys
Who love to read you so.
Your constant reader, LIZZIE F-- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have never written to you before, but I
love you all the same. I think your stories are lovely. I like "Jenny's
Boarding-house." I want to tell you about some eggs my brother
found in the woods one day. They were long eggs, and looked
like rubber, and when we pierced them with a pin, out of each came
a young lizard. I remain, your loving reader, KATIE K-.

ST. NICHOLAS: I read your article in the March number about
gas-wells, and, as Muncie is about the center of the gas-belt, we have
seven flowing-wells. The first well was begun about October 21,
and is burning better to-day than the day after they shot it. 1
might as well describe how they shoot wells. The nitro-glycerine
is a very dangerous fluid, and can not be shipped on the cars. They
have to bring it overland in a buggy. They freeze it first, and before
they use it they draw hot water out of the boiler and melt it, and
then put it in long cans which they lower into the well, and then
cover them over with water, and when all is over they drop the
" go-devil," as described in your article "Among the Gas-Wells."
A man drops it and has time to get away. It takes several seconds
for it to reach the cap, and then a low rumbling sound is heard, when
up come rocks, water, and stone. Gas is always found in Trenton
rock. We have two arches of natural-gas lights, one across Walnut
Street, and the other across Main Street. The first night they lit
the one on Main Street, it had been raining hard all day, and it dried
the street around it so much that it became dusty.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am ten years old. I have a good old
bachelor uncle in Baltimore who sends me St. NICHOLAS. I have
been reading it over a year, and it is my favorite. We are the pioneers
of American civilization, and are situated near the great American
desert. Your entertaining magazine does much to afford us a
pleasant oasis. May you continue to carry on your noble work.
Yours gratefully, HENRY A. W- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I like you very much, and I like "Juan
and Juanita," and I hope they will get back to their mother. We
have a pet cat, and its name is Ginger. He is on my shoulder now.
This morning I made a jacket for him, and I am going to make
him a pair of trousers. Your friend, MARCUS L. H-- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I want to tell you about something that
happened here the last ofJune. Some of the ladies of the First M. E.
Church concluded to have an entertainment for the benefit of their

church, and selected that charming little operetta, "The Children's
Crusade," which was published in your April number. A good
deal more music than is in the piece was composed for it by two of
the best musicians the city affords.
Every one said it was "too nice for anything."
I have been taking ST. NICHOLAS ever since I was five years old,
and that was nine years ago. I think it grows better every year.
Your constant reader, W. L. F--

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I live near a small village twenty miles
from Philadelphia. A little girl, who is younger than I am, boards
here in the summer time. We have very good times. We go to a
little wood near here, and build a fire, and cook potatoes and eggs,
and stay away all day. There is a creek running through the
woods. We have nice fresh water to drink when we want it. I
have taken ST. NICHOLAS for almost seven years. I was fond of
"Little Lord Fauntleroy," and I think "Juan and Juanita" is
lovely. I like "Personally Conducted," and "Historic Girls and
Boys very much. I will be thirteen the x8th of October. I have
two pets: a little French poodle which I call Bijou, and a little
turtle called Willie. My little dog can beg, sing, and climb a
ladder. Your interested reader, LILLIE R. G- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: One day my sisters and I were playing on
a bank of the road in front of our house. Sophia (my second
sister) lifted up a stone, and under it was the inside of an ant-hill;
there, in the middle of it, was a pile of white things, shaped like
eggs, and a good many ants were there too; there were five passages,
and when the stone was lifted every ant took one of the white things
(I suppose they are eggs, but I am not sure), and went down one
of the passages, and came up again for some more, till the pile was
gone. Your devoted reader, MEYER S. C-- .
P. S.-I am a boy ten years old.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We have just been looking over the
"Letter-box" in your last number, and thought we would like to
write to you, as well as the other girls. We have no ponies like
Evie M--- named Pickle and Billy, but we wish we had.
We have never seen any letters from this city, and so thought we
would write one. One of the girls who wrote you a letter thought
eighty-six degrees "warm"; perhaps she will call it "hot" here,
when she hears that it has been one hundred and eight in the shade,
and was above one hundred for six days in succession. The pictures
of soldiers drilling at West Point remind us of the soldiers drilling over
at Government Island, across the river. We like "Juan and Juan-
ita" better than the other stories. But, if we don't close, our letter
will be too long. Yours truly, B. A-- AND C. V-.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I think you have received letters from
almost all parts of the globe but this, so I thought I would write
and tell you something about the sleepy old town in which I live.
Annapolis, though the capital of the state, is a very quiet, old-
fashioned place, and is only enlivened by the gayety at the Naval
Academy. Every Saturday night they have a hop: one week given
by cadets, and the next by the officers, and so on all through the
winter. In June theyhave the Graduating Ball when the Academy
closes, and just before the cadets go, on their summer cruise.
One of the greatest points of interest here is the Presbyterian
church, which was originally built and used as a theater, and was
the first one in America.
In going through the State House, the janitor is always very
particular to make you stand in the exact place where Washington
stood when he resigned his commission. I have been a subscriber
to ST. NICHOLAS for six years, and think it is the nicest magazine
published. Donald and Dorothy" was one of my greatest favorites
of all the serials you have published, only I would like very much
to know if they are now living, and if in New-York, and if Dorry
did n't marry Ed. Tyler, and if-if-in fact, I wish Mrs. Mary
Mapes Dodge would write a sequel to it, and tell us all about them.
I hope I have not wearied you with my very long letter.
Your affectionate friend, R. B. C-.

My DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: YOU were given to us, four years ago
by a very kind Auntie, and we three sisters love you very much. I
am longing for the next number to come in, as I am greatly inter-
ested in "Juan and Juanita." I thought that Little Lord Faunt-


leroy" was a lovely story, and it ended delightfully. I have not
seen many letters from Canada, and have never seen one from
Now, dear ST. NICHOLAS, I must say good-bye.
Ever your loving little friend, HELEN M .
P. S. (From an older sister)--I think Helen's praise of Little
Lord Fauntleroy" very mild. I think it is just splendidly Every
person here is raving about it, and it was mentioned in the London
News. I like Mr. Birch's illustrations so much, too.
Your affectionate reader, KATE M-- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: So many children read your' good book,
that I would like to tell them what four little girls of about twelve
years did in three days. They made fancy articles and held a fair
on the lawn of one of their houses, the proceeds, twenty-two dollars
and five cents ($22.05), went to the Fresh Air Fund. The names
of three of these girls are, Dora Adams, Carrie Adams, and Lena
Ketchem. Can not some of your other readers do likewise ?
Good-bye, dear old ST. NICHOLAS. I enjoy you very much.
From the fourth little girl, ETHEL J-.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I spent more than a year in Santa Rosa,
near which Miss Baylor locates the home of Juan and Juanita. I
would like to say that her account of the home life and customs
of the Mexicans is the most correct that I have ever seen. They
are fond of, and indulgent toward, children. I have watched the
making of tortillas and tomales, have eaten them too, and like them.
I have heard many a story of the Indian troubles. Sixty-three men
of that town were killed by the Lipans in four years, being mostly
ambushed and picked off one by one. They were finally captured
and taken to the City of Mexico. C. C--.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: In reading about English schools, we
always find that the boys are punished by having to write lines."
What is meant by this ? If a boy were told to write a hundred lines
how wouldhe go to work ? Lines of what? MARIE.

The task of "writing lines," often given as a punishment in English
schools, requires the student to compose in Latin, strictly according
to the rules of versification, a stated number of lines upon any sub-
ject he may choose.

HERE is a letter in rhyme from a little girl:
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: There was a crow, his name was Jim, and
he did not know what was good for him; so he studied the law, and
thought with his jaw, and all he knew was, caw, caw, caw !

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I want to write a story for you to print.
I have felt like it for a long time. Mamma says a good many grown-
up people feel like that, so it can't be very silly, can it ?
I am nine years old, and now I am a boy; but once I wore dresses
like a girl, and played with a doll. That was a long, long time ago.
When I was a little bit of a thing in dresses, I once broke my
dolly, I cried so hard that Mamma told me to wrap bandages around
her, and put her to bed. I did it. The next morning 1 asked Mamma
if my dolly was getting well, Mamma said: Go and see"; and
I said: I have been to look, but she is so wrapped I can't see."
Then Mamma said: Go and take off her bandages." I did, and
it seemed as though my dear dolly had got quite well. I never saw
a more beautiful doll, the same size, and the same everything as the
other, but oh, so pretty with both legs, two whole arms, and all of
her head. I was very glad, and thought bandages a good thing.
One day, a long time after, I was rummaging in a cupboard; what
do you think I found ? Why, the skeleton of the old doll, with one
leg, half an arm, and her head smashed in, just as she used to be,
only worse, because she was all over dust. Mamma said it was the
dust of ages gathering-about her.
Did you ever hear that there is a skeleton in every house ?
Mamma says it is a proverb. I dare say it is true, because I found
a skeleton in my cupboard. RALPH R-.

THE young friends, whose names are given below, have written
pleasant letters to us, and we acknowledge the receipt of them with
thanks: D. L. Crane, Lola Beach, Marion R. Brown, Margaret G.
King, Bessie, Lilian C. Stewart, Beatrice B., Mercedes F., Bertha
M., Grace M., Gertrude R. Sperry, Lillie F., Elsie L. R., Ella M.
P., E. T., Mary K. Hadley, Jamie M., Beryl and Pearl, Bessie H.,
Willis C. Mitchell, Addison J. Throup, Martha B. T., Bessie P. S.,
Irene R., Margaret and Elizabeth B., A. A. Cunningham, Alma S.
Clair, S., Phoebe E. Lindson, Edith Crane, Eva G. Merriman,
Annie M. H. Hamilton, Luvena B., Chelian P., Lily R. S., Louise
H. P., Florence O., Waldo Burton, Grace M., Anna M. R. F.,
Carrie M. B., Gardner H. C., Florence 0., Maude W., and Nellie D.

MR. RAT: Good-day, Miss Rodent i Sorry to go, you know; but I have eight engagements for this afternoon!"
Pussy: Yes, he 'll have one with me within two minutes! "





ILLUSTRATED WORD-DWINDLE. Sturgeon, surgeon, grouse, rogue, A STAR PUZZLE. From i to 2, perjurer; 2 to 3, relative; 3 to 4,
ogre, ore, or, r. endeavor; 4 to 5, rhomboid; 5 to 6, discount; 6 to 7, turquoise; 7
BEHEADINGS. Bismarck. i. B-read. 2. I-deal. 3. S-able. 4. to 8, sturgeon; 8 to 9, national; 9 to Tr, larboard; so to I, deanship;
M-arch. 5. A-lack. 6. R-each. 7. C-lock. 8. K-inks. 2 to 4, roar; 4 to 6, rest; 6 to 8, town; 8 to to, need; so to 2. deer.
PECULIAR ACROSTICS. Primals, Corn-flowers; Centrals, Harvest- DIAMONDS. 1. I. P. 2. Gas. 3. Gales. 4. Paladin. 5. Se-
home. Cross-words; i. CusHion. 2. OceAnic. 3. ReaRing. 4. dan. 6. Sin. 7. N. II. i. C. 2. Lie. 3. Limns. 4. Cimeter.
NaiVely. 5. ForEver. 6. LooSely. 7. OraTion. 8. WasHing 5. Entre. 6. See~.7 R. III. i. R. 2. Rub. 3. Rebus. 4.
9. EspOuse. to. RhyMers. II. ShiElds Rubicon. 5. Buchu. 6. Sou..7. N.
HALF-SQUARES. I, I. Dilated. 2. Imaged. 3. Laden. 4. DOUBLE CENTRAL ACROSTICS. I. Fourth row, Stillwater; fifth
Aged. 5. Ten. 6. Ed. 7. D. II. a. Obesity, 2. Bonito. 3. row, California. Cross-words: i. preSCind. 2. casTAway. 3-
Entry. 4. Sire. 5. cityt. 6. To. 7. Y. III. i. Laminar. 2. thrILled. 4. molLIent, 5. coaLFish. 6. outWOrks. 7. sweARing.
Abodes. 3. Moved. 4. Idea. 5. Ned. 6. As. 7. R. 8. parTNers. 9. besEIger.* so. OutRAged. II. Fourth row,
A TRIANGLE. From I to to, Wellington; oi to 21, Demosthe- Wellington; fifth row, Whitefield. Cross-words: I. gloW-Worm.
nes. Cross-words: ix, D; I to 12, we; 2 to 13, elm; 3 to 14, leno; 2. freEHold. 3. outLined. 4. sheLTers. 5. relIEved. 6. dowN-
4 to 15, Lewis ; 5 to 16, invest; 6 to 17, nourish; 7 to r8, graduate; Fall. 7. marGInal. 8. canTEens. 9. strOLler. to. staNDard.
8 to 19, tarpaulin; 9 to 2o, oppressive; to to 21, natalitious. HIDDEN FISHES. I. Pike, turbot, herring, minnow. 2. Bass,
RHOMBOID, Across: I. Meter. 2. Demon. 3. Niger. 4. salmon, eel, shad. 3. Oyster, cod, clam, pout. 4. Skate, dace,
Tumor. 5. Eolic. sprat, perch.-- RIDDLE. TIMID (TMD divided by II).
A BASE-BALL PUZZLE. From H to IB, semihoral; H to 3B. A DOUBLE ACRos-Tc. Primals, Afganistan; finals, Madagascar.
semi-proof; IB to 2B, licitness; 3B to 2B, fore-reads; 2B to R. F., Cross-words: i. AluminiuM. 2. FredericA. 3. GraduateD, 4.
secession; 2B to C. F., sandstone; 2B to L. F., sinuously; R. F. AlexandrA. 5. NumberinG. 6. InamoratA. 7. SprinkleS. 8. The-
to C. F., natrolite; C. F. to L. F., equitably. Centrals, Shortstop. oretiC. 9. ApocryphA. xo. NavigatoR.
Cross-words: I. sandStone. 2. semiHoral. 3. natrOlite. 4. fore- EASY WORD-SQUARES. Candidate. I. i. Can. 2. Ada. 3.
Reads. 5. equiTably. 6. seceSsion. 7. liciTness. 8. sinuOusly. Nab. II. i. Did. 2, Ice. 3. Den. III. 1. Ate. 2. Tub. 3.
9. semiProof. Ebb
*As the correct spelling of this word would not solve the puzzle, we print it as given by our contributor, regretting that his error was
overlooked last month.--EDITOR.
To OUR PUZZLERS: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the i5th of each month, and should
be addressed to St. NICHOLAS Riddle-box," care of THE CENTURY Co., 33 East Seventeenth St. New-York City.
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE JULY NUMBER were received, before July i5th, from J. Russell Davis Maud E. Palmer -
Grace Kupfer--" Keewaydin "- K. G. S.--H. S. and M. S.- No Name, New York- Louise McClellan-" Socrates "- Ida C.
Thallon -" Willoughby "- The Towner Children -" Tillie Boy"- Francis W. Islip.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE JULY NUMBER were received, beforeJuly i5th, from J. G. Bolander, Jr., i -Paul Reese, ro- No name,
Phila., I Lillian M. Stevens, Mabel and Christine, so- W. Inez Vivian and W. Ivanhoe Vivian, a A. M. Tuttle. i H. S. Nut,
Jr., 7-"Booney, 3-" L. E. Nor," 2 Fairy, i -Nellie and Reggie, to -Sadie and Bessie Rhodes, 7 -" St. Olaf's Kirk," 8- Fannie
D., 4 -" May and 79," 8 -" Beauclerc," i -" Colonel and F Lucy and Edith A., i Effie K. Talboys, 8-" The Louises," i-
Cornelia Bedford and Margaret C. Moore, i- Mamma and I ..i ., 5-Jay Laret, Jr., 8-" Fanatic," 7-"Jo and I." 7 Adele and
Laura, 6 -" Chestnuts," 8 -Swift M. B., so-- L. C. B., 9 -" Fox and Geese," io- N. L. Howes, 7 -" Odd Fish," 4- Charlotte C.
Lowry, I -Grace Bass, A. C., M. A., and H. A. Russel, 2 -Eleanor and Maude Peart, 6 M. L. G., 9-E. Muriel Grundy, 8-
" Lady of the Lake," 2 Thomas P. Tucker, 3 -A. M. M., 6 Gertrude Dwight, 5 Katy R. Raymond, 5.

a -2 .1____ 7 1,1 T-



- l~;c~i'', j I,


WHEN the names of the four central objects have been rightly
guessed, and arranged like the black dots on the edge of the picture
(the first and last letters of each word being used twice), a hollow
square will be formed.
ACROSS: i. A river of England. 2. Deputies. 3. A property
which a person possesses. 4. An angel of the highest order. 5.
District. 6. A mathematical instrument.
DOWNWARD: i. In October. 2. An exclamation. 3. Era. 4.
A mixed mass. 5. To enlist in. 6. Gazes at rudely. 7. An om-
nibus. 8. An heroic poem. 9. Very warm. o1. Nay. it. In
October. L. LOS REGNI."

I. UPPER SQUARE: I. Alandlord. 2. Upon. 3. To remain.
4. Playthings.
II. LEFT-HAND SQUARE;: To endure. 2. The part between
the tenor and soprano. 3. A support 4. Fi .. ...
III. CENTRAL SQUARE: i. Playthings i-i. .- *i 3. A
celebrated .- 4. A vehicle.
IV. ...'.. SQUARE: I. A vehicle. 2. Halt. 3. A girl's
name. 4. Beloved.
V. LowER SQUARE: I. Much used in the winter season. 2. Sol-
itary. 3. Concludes. 4. An article of furniture. "THE CAT."




*s4. ~




jI Ii


-EXAMPLE: What number becomes even by
subtracting one? ANSWER, S-even.
Sr. What number, by adding one, becomes
S sound? 2. What number, by adding one, be-
comes isolated ? 3. What number, by inserting one, becomes finely
ground meal? 4. What number, by subtracting one, becomes a
vegetable growth? 5. What number, by subtracting one, becomes
a preposition ? 6. What number, by subtracting one, becomes an

I AM composed of seventy-
three letters, and form two
lines of a poem by Robert Burns.
My 45-13-71-35-23 is singly. My 56-
54-39 is plentiful in the country during the
Early summer. My 59-2-64-2 is a circu-
lar body. My 62-48-8-66-26-37 is a texture
of sticks wattled together, serving for a gate.
My 16-32-52-57-30-43-65-17 is a song of
lamentation. My 2--5-27-63-x is a strap
of leather used for fastening anything. My
18-9-41-36-60-73-31 is not averse. My 4-
24-64-28-50 is a piece of money stamped
with the image of a crown. My 12-34-19-
69 is a conceited fellow. My 61-46-10-40 is an
air. My 70-1-42-25 is an animal often seen.
My 55-51-67-15-7-38 is twisted. My 44-22-
29-3-33-49 is formerly. My 47-72-53463-58
is to have a particular direction.


IN panic, not in fright;
In lurid, not in bright;
In palter, not in shirk;
In churches, not in kirk;
In drunkard, not in sot;
In palace, not in cot;
In locket, not in ring;
In hammock, not in swing;
In pawning, not in pledge;
In summit, not in ledge;
In weeping, not in plaint;
In varnish, not in paint;
In gentle, not in kind;
A night of omens call to mind;
And one more name for same please find.


S2 3
4 7
5 8 g
6 *9
1o II 12

FROM 4 to 7, a fruit; 5 to 8, subsequent;
6 to 9, to pilfer; x to 1o, a hamper; 2 to t1,
comrades; 3 to 12, a weapon.
The letters indicated by stars form a double
word-square which answers to the following
ACROSS: i. To knock. 2. Devoured. 3.
A shrub which grows in China. DOWNWARD:
i. An animal, 2. Consumed. 3. A garden
vegetable. H. N. D.




exclamation of contempt? 7. What number, by subtracting one,
becomes a costly substance ? ODD FISH."

C. 5....)3

4 6 .

AcRoss: I. So wet that water may be wrung out. 2. An old
word meaning unpolished. 3. An act of religious service by night.
4. Driven up a tree. Sooner than. 6. 111 hour-glass. 7. To
loiter. 8. To command. 9. A vast body of floating ice. 0o. A
story. x. A raking, or weeding with a rake.
Diagonals, from x to 2, An aromatic, creeping evergreen, having
bright red berries; from 3 to 4, a word familiar to every butcher;
from 5 to 6, between the radii, or rays. "L. LOS REGNI."


ARRANGE the above twenty-five letters in the form of a square, so
that a surname of Circe (composed of five letters) may be spelled in
sixteen different directions,-horizontally, perpendicularly, and
diagonally. "NO NAME."
I. AcROss: i. In shake. 2. To undermine. 3. A bird. 4. An
Algerian governor. 5. In shake. DOWNWARD: i. In shake. 2.
Pensive. 3. Wise men. 4. To perform with diligence. 5. In
II. Across: I. In shake. 2. A spring of mineral water. 3. A
cheerless tract of country. 4. A unit. 5. In shake. DOWNWARD:
i. In shake. 2. A body of water. 3. Room. 4. Consumed. 5.
In shake.
III. Across: In shake. 2. A girl's name. 3. A concussion.
4. Skill, 5. In shake. DOWNWARD: I. In shake. 2. An exclama-
tion. 3. To worship 4. To perform. 5. In shake. DvcIE.

Soups. a. To jeer, and a kind of dove. 2. The name of "the
piper's son," a letter, and part of the foot.
FIsH. I. Only. 2. To roll, toss or tumble.
ENTREE. To cower, served with a philosopher, on a sentiment.
ROASTS. A country. 2. An essayist. 3. A tailor's implement.
VEGETABLES. I. A vessel, an article, and part of the foot.
2. Letters of the alphabet. 3. A watchman's course. 4. A coupe
and a generation.
DESSERT. I. TO regret, part of an arrow, and a mass of unsorted
type. 2. Swimming, and what Australia is.
NUTS. i. A wooden trunk. 2. Terra firma. 3. On every
FRUITS. i. The fruit that urges you to travel. 2. The fruit that
tells tales. 3. Unites in couples. 4. An anathema, an article, and a
conjunction, M. A. H.