Front Cover
 A pleasant painter - Jules...
 Prince Tiptoe
 "What's in a name?"
 The last chance of life: An Egyptian...
 Historic girls
 Buck and old Billy
 A very good girl
 A Spanish tale - Told in the Spanish...
 A matter of opinion - An Aztec...
 Elephants at work
 My other me
 Little Matti of Finland
 How Marie obtained Miss Alcott's...
 Settling the question
 Time and Tommy
 Mary McGee's happy disposition
 What happened to the bride-gro...
 How they came to the picnic
 A report concerning the Agassiz...
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00192
 Material Information
Title: St. Nicholas
Uniform Title: St. Nicholas (New York, N.Y.)
Alternate Title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner
Place of Publication: New York
Publication Date: -c1943
Frequency: monthly
Subject: Children's literature -- Periodicals   ( lcsh )
Genre: periodical   ( marcgt )
Dates or Sequential Designation: -v. 67, no. 4 (Feb. 1940) ; v. 70, no. 1 (Mar. 1943)-v. 70, no. 4 (June 1943).
Dates or Sequential Designation: Began with: Vol. 1, no. 1, Nov. 1873.
Numbering Peculiarities: Suspended Mar. 1940-Feb. 1943; vols. 68-69 omitted.
Issuing Body: Published by: Century, Aug. 1881- ; by Educational Pub. Corp. -1940; by St. Nicholas Magazine, 1943.
General Note: Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
General Note: Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00065513
Volume ID: VID00192
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: oclc - 01764817
lccn - 04012675
 Related Items
Preceded by: Our young folks
Preceded by: Children's hour (Philadelphia, Penn.)
Preceded by: Little corporal
Preceded by: Schoolday magazine
Preceded by: Wide awake

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
        Page 1
        Frontispiece 2
    A pleasant painter - Jules Bastien-Lepage
        Page 3
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
    Prince Tiptoe
        Page 20
    "What's in a name?"
        Page 21
    The last chance of life: An Egyptian adventure
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
    Historic girls
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
    Buck and old Billy
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
    A very good girl
        Page 35
    A Spanish tale - Told in the Spanish way
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
    A matter of opinion - An Aztec hieroglyph
        Page 39
    Elephants at work
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
    My other me
        Page 45
    Little Matti of Finland
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
    How Marie obtained Miss Alcott's autograph
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
    Settling the question
        Page 62
        Page 63
    Time and Tommy
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
    Mary McGee's happy disposition
        Page 67
    What happened to the bride-groom
        Page 68
        Page 69
    How they came to the picnic
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
    A report concerning the Agassiz association
        Page 76
    The letter-box
        Page 77
        Page 78
    The riddle-box
        Page 79
        Page 80
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text

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No. I.



IN the Department of the Meuse, in north-
western France, is the little farming village of
Damvillers, a mere handful of cottages dropped
in the midst of rolling plains which are dotted
with vineyards and ruled off by straight rows of
slender poplars. The well in the village square
is the morning meeting-place of women who clat-
ter over the stones in their wooden shoes to fill
their water pails. Presently you may see the
men leaving their cottage doors on their way to
work among the vines or in the potato-fields out-
side the village. Between their fields and their
cottages they spend their lives. These peasants
do not go away from home. They care most for
the prospects of their crops. Their only time of
merrymaking is the villagef/e. They are interested
in what they can see, and understand, and handle.
But, strangely enough, among them grew up a
peasant, one of themselves, whose eyes were keen
enough to see that this out-of-door life was beauti-
ful; that these figures laboring in the fields were
endowed with a nobility of their own, and that the
orchards and vineyards and grassy pastures of
Damvillers were pictures in themselves.
I suppose that no other of the peasants ever
thought whether their life was beautiful or not.
They were obliged to work hard, and when the
work was done, they were hungry and tired, and
that was all.
Now, this young peasant, who was never so
hungry or tired as to forget the beauty of the
scenes around him, lived exactly like the others.
He was born, it is now thirty-seven years since, in

a little stone cottage with an odd thatched roof,
which stands at the corner of the village square.
There are only four rooms in this cottage, and of
these rooms the pleasantest was the large kitchen
where his father and grandfather used to sit before
a great open fire-place in which hung a generous
pot filled with bubbling pot au feu, or the soup
of black beans," for which his mother was famous.
Jules Bastien, the father, had been a cooper,
making casks for the wine from the vineyards, but
by and by he saved money enough to buy a vine-
yard for himself. Grandfather Lepage, too, was of a
thrifty disposition, and from the earnings of his
hard work he had saved a little sum of which he
made good use, as we shall see. Behind the cot-
tage and the barn was a delightful garden, where
the young Jules and his brother Emile used to play
among rows of hollyhocks and poppies, and under
the shade of some old apple-trees. Many years
afterward this play-ground became famous, as I
shall tell you.
As the peasant boy Jules grew up, his mornings
were no longer spent in play, but he trudged off
after his father to work among the vines. Every
one worked at Damvillers, and so Jules Bastien
saw about him every day the men and women
moving up and down the rows of vines, bending
over the hills of potatoes, spreading hay in the
fields or resting at noon, and the boys and girls
tending the cows in the pastures. There was a
sensitive brain behind his eyes, and something
there was touched by these things.
Another boy equally sensitive might have written

Copyright, 1887, by THE CENTURY Co. All rights reserved.



rude verses. Jules began to draw the sights before
him. He sketched the women drawing water at
the well, and the strong-armed laborers in the
fields. Once he saw some soldiers, and the brill-
iant colors of their uniforms appealed to him.
So he drew soldiers for a time, and Madame Bas-
tien, with a mother's loving pride, gathered and
kept his rough drawings and showed them to any
one who came to see her. I suppose Father
Bastien looked with little favor at first upon
this everlasting spoiling of paper. Probably he
thought that Jules could use his time far more
profitably in the fields. But the boy's interest in
vine-growing was the interest of an artist, not of a
wine-maker. He was sent to school, but the prizes
which he brought home from the college of Ver-
dun, a neighboring town, all were prizes in draw-
ing. Then he looked toward Paris. At first his
father was dismayed at the sacrifices of a life of art,
and wished him to enter a scientific or military
college. But Jules was resolved to become an
Now in France art is recognized and encouraged
by the government. In many towns as well as
cities there are free art-schools, and scholarships
are established for the assistance of promising
students. All this has been a matter of course for
so long that the people of France, even the peas-
ants, have grown to understand the dignity of art as
profession. Accordingly, if a French boy wishes
to become an artist, his choice is regarded as
worth respectful consideration; while in America,
where art receives no recognition from national, or
State, or city governments, the adoption of art as
a profession is looked upon very differently, even
by people much better educated than the French
peasants. In other words, art is a part of the very
life of France, but it is as yet only a feeble trans-
planted growth in America.
So it was not deemed a crazy and unheard-of
project when Jules Bastien asked to go to Paris, to
devote his life seriously to art. But his father,
a well-to-do peasant, could not support Jules during
his term of study. Nevertheless, at the age of
sixteen he left Damvillers for Paris. Too proud
to become a burden to his family, he obtained a
supernumerary clerkship in the post-office, and
his leisure was given to the study of art. He
remained in this uncongenial position for eight
But Grandfather Lepage, who was as confident
as Mother Bastien of the young man's future,
came to the lad's aid with the savings from his
toil; and this help, with a pension of a hundred
francs (about twenty dollars) monthly, from home
(according to one account, the income from a
scholarship fund), enabled the young peasant to
*Pronounced bo-zar. t Drawing class in the

enter the Beaux Arts," as the chief academic
school of fine arts is familiarly called.
Jules's home in Paris was a tiny garret in one of
the narrow, quaint streets of the Latin Quarter,
which has sheltered so many generations of stu-
dents. All day long he was at work. He studied at
the Municipal Courst of drawing and heard lectures
upon anatomy at the School of Medicine. He was
admitted to the studio of Cabanel, and there he
zealously worked at his easel through the day, sur-
rounded by young art students much given to
practical jokes upon each other. But Bastien was
too much in earnest for joking.
Occasionally an erect, dignified man, with white
beard and snowy hair, half hidden beneath a black
velvet skull-cap, walked through the great room,
pausing at this easel and at that for a word of
praise or criticism. This was Cabanel, who is
counted a famous artist; and yet all Jules's idea of
art were opposed to those of his master. Cabanel
is known as an academic painter. His pictures
are correct according to the rules of the schools,
but beyond this they excite no particular feeling.
He paints models as historic or mythological char-
acters, but in all his later pictures, at least, you
think only of the well-trained artist painting pretty
models in his studio. His characters are not
Now, Jules Bastien wished to get away from
this academic art, and from the traditions of the
schools, and to paint nature. As I have told you,
he saw the beautiful side of the out-door peasant-
life at Damvillers, and he wished to render this
real life just as he saw it. So, while the elementary
training in Cabanel's studio was useful, and while
he gained a knowledge of his tools, the pupil and
master were really as far apart as the poles. And
the truth is that the pupil was a man of stronger
individuality than the master.
Jules Bastien was just beginning to put his
training to use when war was declared between
the French and the Prussians. He enlisted in a
company of Francs-tireurs,t and it is said that the
commander, M. Castellani, an artist, saved his life.
Jules Bastien's health was poor, and his spirits so
clouded by the disappointments of his early strug-
gles, that he exposed himself rashly in every battle,
as if more than willing to be killed. M. Castellani,
who knew the young artist's talent and promise,
remonstrated with him; but still Jules was found
in the front of every encounter.
At last, he was slightly wounded. Against his
will, M. Castellani sent him to a military hospital
in Paris, and privately asked the directress and the
physician to find reasons for keeping Jules from
rejoining his company. They did so. When his
wound was healed, he was told that his general

Municipal School of Design.

+ Sharpshooters.


health was too poor to admit of his discharge, and
he was kept at the hospital, an unconscious pris-
oner, until the war was at an end.
This was a time of struggle and poverty, these
early days of Jules Bastien's career. He was glad
to draw designs for a fashion journal, and once he
went down to Damvillers and painted forty por-
traits of the villagers. The cost of living, small as

Saint-Benoit. In the evenings Jules, his brother
Emile, who was a student of architecture, and
other friends met at an odd little caf6 behind the
Odeon, and talked of art, among clouds of smoke.
In those early days he painted a picture of a
peasant girl walking in a forest, in spring, en-
trapped by Loves who were casting their nets before
her feet. This picture was accepted at the Salon

4, I
7 :: .i


his expenses were, was a serious matter. For the
rent of his little attic studio he paid fifty dollars a
year. He breakfasted upon three sous'* worth of
bread and two of coffee, with milk. For dinner,
at a franc and a half, about twenty-seven cents, he
went to the restaurant of Mademoiselle Anna, Rue

in 1873, through the influence of Cabanel, but it
was not sold. It was the first painting that Jules
Bastien exhibited, and its fate was a curious one.
Kind-hearted Mademoiselle Anna understood the
needy state of the young artists who visited her
restaurant, and Bastien was her favorite. When

About three cents.


he lacked the franc and a half for dinner, she
cheerfully gave him credit, and finally she accepted
this picture in payment for a year's dinners. After-
ward, when the name of the artist became famous,
she was offered four times the amount of her bill
for the painting, but she refused to part with it, and
kept the first work of her prot6eg until her death.
So the young peasant painter made loyal friends in
his days of adversity. And, however bitter his dis-
appointments might be, he never failed to recog-

Salon, because nearly two hundred years ago a
man named Mansard first instituted exhibitions of
works by living artists in the Grand Salon of the
Louvre, a government building devoted to art.
In 1874 Jules Bastien brought to Paris a picture
which he had painted at Damvillers. He showed
it in his studio to some friends and listened to their
praise and suggestions. Then, doubtless with
many fears, he sent it to the Salon. It was accepted
by the jury who decide upon admissions. The


nize the merits of work done by more success- opening day came,- and suddenly the young
ful brother artists. He was neither jealous nor peasant painter heard all Paris talking of his

envious. But for a time he was very poor and
Then his simple earnestness began to gain its
reward. Every year in June there is held in Paris,
at the Palace of Industry, a great exhibition of
paintings, sculptures, and other works of art, which
offers young artists their chief opportunity to make
themselves a name. This exhibition is called the

What was it?
He had simply painted the good Grandfather
Lepage sitting under the apple-trees in the garden
at Damvillers, with his handkerchief carelessly
spread across his knees, just as Jules Bastien had
seen him a thousand times. This was the truth
of nature, and the people who crowded around the




J) ,. *

P '''

-- ----- --
..... m--


picture recognized it. The artist had signed it
Jules Bastien-Lepage, that his grandfather's name
might share the praise bestowed upon the painter.
For the young peasant never forgot that his
grandfather gave him the means of studying art.
He divided his first laurel crown with his bene-
Hundreds of pens wrote eulogies upon Jules
Bastien-Lepage. Here is what one French critic
said :
''Diderot exclaimed to an artist, You have made
for me my father as he is on Sundays, and I want my
father as he is every day,' meaning that one ought
to paint a man as he is, familiarly, in the habitual
condition of his actions and life. But that which
makes the merit of the portrait shown by Bastien-

Lepage is that it is a portrait of every day that is
to say, excellent and durable."
Every one saw that this artist was in earnest,
that he was absolutely sincere, that he had gone
out of doors to nature, and was honestly trying to
represent what he found. His brother artists recog-
nized his independence. The jurors voted him a
His first triumph was shared by his friends,
seven of whom went down to join him at Dam-
villers, where, as they drove into the village, they
came upon Madame Bastien clattering across the
square in her wooden sabots with a pail of water in
each hand. The villagefle was at hand, and the
light-hearted artists danced and made merry with
the young peasants. But Jules was not idle. Out



in the garden, his former playground, he painted
the portrait of his parents,--a picture which has
since become famous.
Then he returned to his Paris attic in a narrow
street lighted at night by kerosene lamps swinging
from chains stretched from house to house. He
had gained recognition, but still no commissions
for pictures came to him, and his purse grew leaner
and leaner.
Now, the greatest prize of the many honors open
to young French artists is the Prixde Rome. The
winner is sent to Rome to study for four years
in the French Academy, the president of which
is an officer of the Academy of Fine Arts at Paris.
The government allows the young artist four thou-
sand francs, or nearly eight hundred dollars yearly,
and for four years after his return the allowance
is continued from the fund of Madame Caen.
So for eight years he can devote himself to art
undisturbed by any thoughts of money. Moreover,
the painting to which the prize is given is hung in
the Academy of Fine Arts, with the pictures suc-
cessful in the competitions of preceding years. No
wonder that Jules Bastien-Lepage set his heart
upon winning the Prix de Rome.
The competition is accompanied with curious
formalities. Every design submitted is covered
with tracing-paper, which is sealed down, and a
tracing of it made. This is to prevent the artists
from changing the designs after they are handed
in. Only a few very slight alterations are per-
mitted, and these in accordance with rigorous
rules. The artists selected for the excellence
of their designs to enter the competition are
obliged to remain shut up in separate rooms and
carefully watched for ninety days, so that each
shall paint his picture without any outside assist-
ance. Then a jury of distinguished artists exam-
ines the work, and awards the prize.
The subject given out in 1874 was the Annun-
ciation to the Shepherds" who watched their
flocks in the fields by night, when the angel
appeared to them and announced the birth of
Upon this picture Bastien-Lepage worked most
earnestly. When it was finished, he felt con-
fident of success ; but when the day came for mak-
ing known the award, and Bastien-Lepage, with
his eager friends, gathered at the Beaux Arts,
an ominous whisper was heard that the jury had
given the prize to Comerre. The rumor was con-
firmed. Cabanel, Bastien-Lepage's master, had
voted against his pupil, it was said; and the excited
students fiercely hissed the old artist when he
appeared from the jury-room. Bastien-Lepage,
broken-hearted by the disappointment, exclaimed
bitterly :

It appears, then, that these juries don't know
how to use their eyes."
Afterward it was said that the jury decided
against him chiefly upon technical grounds ; one
reason being that the Annunciation occurred at
night, while Bastien-Lepage painted it as if late in
the afternoon.
That evening all the artists met at dinner in the
restaurant of Mademoiselle Anna. On the smoky
walls hung pictures by artists who had frequented
the place, and all the pictures by men who had
gained the Prix de Rome were decorated with
wreaths of laurel. Comerre, the winner, and Bas-
tien-Lepage, the loser, sat at adjoining tables, each
surrounded by his friends. As the dinner drew to a
close a young American painter rose beside Bastien-
Lepage and said, "Let us crown the picture of
the man to whom the artists have awarded the Prix
de Rome."
He held up a laurel-wreath as he spoke. In-
stantly all the artists in the room were on their
feet. The friends of Comerre angrily struggled
to prevent what they counted an insult. But
the others lifted the young American on their
shoulders, bore him through the opposing crowd,
and he hung the laurel-wreath upon Bastien-
Lepage's picture, Golden Youth." Amid uproar
and conflict the artists testified their admiration
for their peasant brother.
There was the same feeling at the Beaux Arts.
Every day heaps of flowers and laurel-wreaths
were laid before the Annunciation to the Shep-
herds." They were removed by the guardians of
the galleries, only to be renewed the next day. So,
although Comerre was given the great prize, and
Bastien-Lepage obtained only the second, his
failure was really a success.
Now, we see him fairly launched on his career.
A third medal had been awarded him for his
picture of Spring," exhibited at the same time
with the portrait of his grandfather. The second
Prix de Rome was given him, and at the Salon
of 1875 he obtained a second-class medal. The
artists and the critics recognized his individuality
and strength.
Another picture exhibited this year was warmly
praised; it was called The First Communion." He
was glad to sell this picture for fifteen hundred
francs, less than three hundred dollars, for he
needed money; but unhappily for him the pur-
chaser, after keeping the painting for three weeks,
returned it to him. I fancy that purchaser felt a
deeper disappointment than the artist in after
years, when princes and ministers sought the
work of the peasant painter.
But this was nearly the last of the artist's
troubles. Commissions began to come to him.


He painted portraits of M. Hayems, a wealthy
banker, and of M. Wallon, the Minister of Fine
Arts. These dignitaries brought others. Among his
sitters were M. Theuriet, Mademoiselle Sarah
Bernhardt, and Albert Wolff, the well-known critic
of the Parisian journal, Figaro, and finally he was
commissioned to go to England and paint the por-
trait of the Prince of Wales.
I doubt if the English understood him. Once

I M,1


n the opening day of a Royal Academy Exhibi-

tion, the peasant painter appeared in a tall hat,
which was proper, and a short flannel coat, which
was not, and the people who saw him suffered a
dreadfull shock, while the unconscious astien-
lI ,, ',, o

i '/" .. .

Lepage thought of nothing but the pictures.
Somebody said of him that he left in London the

reputation of "a comet in a fog." Well, you
know that London fog has become a proverb.
This portrait-painting is not the really character-
istic phase of Bastien-Lepage's art, although the
French critic Albert Wolff thinks his best work
was in portraiture. The peasant-life which ap-
pealed to him so strongly when he was a peasant
boy was what he liked most to paint.
Once he said:


- V
---_--- ---


I wish to open and to shut the book of life in
the fields, beginning with the birth of the baby
and ending with the death of the grandfather.
Within this extensive cycle I desire to delineate all
those joys that are known as infancy, courtship,
marriage, baptism, the sorrow that is called an
eternal separation, and such varied subjects as the



school, the watching in the sick-room, the tavern,
the forge, and the farm. The interests of rural
life are beyond the limits traced by mere men of
talent. It requires genius to depict them; and
when they have been depicted, they should prove
to be a surprise and a revelation."
His first large picture of this class was called
Les Foins, "The Harvest,"-two hay-makers
resting at noon, the man asleep, wearied with his
work, the woman staring into vacancy with an
expression of dull protest against her toilsome life.
It is a perfect poem of the hard and hopeless
lot of the poor," wrote a critic. You can see how
the peasant painter entered into the dull life of the
peasants among whom he had lived, for you share
his sympathy while you admire his picture.
He painted Father Jacques, The Woodman,"
bending under his load and gazing straight at you
with wistful earnestness. In one picture, "Tired,"
a weary peasant-girl leans on her rake, and in
another a tattered, forlorn beggar turns sadly away
from a cottage-door. "The Potato Harvest"
showed a scene in which the artist himself must
often have taken part, and "The Forge" was
perhaps a picture of the forge at Damvillers.
It was at Damvillers also that he found the sub-
ject of his First Communion." This is a picture
of his little cousin, truthfully painted, her face
darkened by the sun, contrasting strongly with
the clear white of her dress, veil, and garland;
her hands, strangers to gloves, working with naive
awkwardness in a pair much too large, perhaps lent
her by her mother or an older sister. The first
communion is a serious and beautiful ceremony in
rural France. Then the village girls who are
prepared to take the sacrament for the first time
are robed in spotless white by their mothers as if
for a wedding, and walk to the church in a proces-
sion, bearing candles. Several artists have painted
this subject, but none with such perfect simplicity
as this peasant of Damvillers has shown in this
picture of his cousin standing, as she might have
stood before the gathered family, when ready to
join the procession of communicants.
In 1881 Bastien-Lepage exhibited a painting
called "Poor Fauvette." It showed a quaint little
figure wrapped in a ragged shawl, shivering in the
wintry landscape and looking out.at you with big
appealing eyes. Yes, Bastien-Lepage was true to
the peasant-life which he had lived, and you can
see that he sympathized with its toil and grinding
poverty. The poor were his brethren; and, when
he was in London, the little shoeblacks and flower-
girls earning their scanty living in the streets so
appealed to him that he put them just as they
were upon his canvas.
It was a heroine of poor life that he painted in

his famous picture, Joan of Arc," which is owned
in this country, and has been exhibited in Boston
and New York, as many of you know. Bastien-
Lepage was brought up in the country of Joan of
Arc, and in his youth he must have heard how the
peasant-girl, born at Domremy in 1412, fancied she
saw visions and heard voices calling her to fight
for the Dauphin of France; how she put herself at
the head of the French troops and drove the
English from the city of Orl6ans ; how she saw the
Dauphin, Charles, crowned King of France at
Rheims, and how at last she fell into the hands of
the English, and when only nineteen years old was
burned at the stake in Rouen as a sorceress, accord-
ing to the barbarous belief of those times.
No wonder that the thrilling story of the
peasant heroine sank deep into the heart of the
peasant painter. And so, at last, he pictured
her intent upon the voices of her imagined visions,
her dilated eyes fixed and staring from her hectic,
wasted face, like the eyes of one who walks in her
sleep, her hand extended as if for guidance or for
the sword which the apparition of St. Michael
bears toward her from behind.
It was not in glittering armor, nor in ideal attire
that he painted the Maid of Orleans," but in
coarse, ragged peasant's dress. It was the picture of
a poor girl, her nerves strained in a trance of devout
awe, receiving, as she thought, a divine com-
Now, there are many faults in this picture,
but I think we can afford to pass them by. For
we can see that the artist was true to himself,
and that he was in earnest; and real sincerity and
earnestness are worth as much in art as in the prac-
tical affairs of every-day life.
In 1878 he received a third-class medal, and the
next year he was made a chevalier of the Legion
of Honor. He received the compliment of being
imitated-indeed, he may be said to have founded
a school; and some of his followers have already
gained a reputation. It is pleasant to know that
in his prosperity he preserved his tender regard
for the good people at Damvillers. He brought
the father and mother to Paris, and in their peas-
ant's dress they went to the Salon and saw their
own portraits. They were feasted and taken sight-
seeing until they were very glad to go back to quiet
But Bastien-Lepage's brief time of happiness was
nearly ended. He fell sick, and after a little it was
clear that his work was done. Two years of suffer-
ing -and in the early winter, he died. His last
wish was to live long enough to paint a peasant
funeral procession in the spring-time.
His pictures were painted out-of-doors, and you
can see that Bastien-Lepage was true to the out-


of-door peasant-life which he had lived. He sym-
pathized with its toil and poverty, and he did not
paint these peasants in his studio, as he would
have done had he simply desired to make pretty
Painting in the carefully arranged light of his
studio, he would have found it easier to make pict-
ures which many people would prefer. In nature
confusing lights come from all sides, the full sun-
light is trying, the colors of grass and foliage are
vivid and even harsh, and it is difficult to indicate
exactly the relative distances of different objects
and their values in the picture. Bastien-Lepage,
after beginning a picture at a certain hour, would
paint upon it only at that hour in order that the
light and its effects upon the surroundings might
be the same from day to day.
He was called a realist, one who painted things
simply as they were; but the "Joan of Arc and
others of his works showed that he lacked neither

imagination nor sympathetic insight. Certainly
he did more than the recording of facts.
Critics have disparaged his coloring, his use of
"crude greens" and dirty grays; they have
objected that his pictures convey no feeling of
space, or distance, or proportion; that his ideas
of composition, of designing his pictures, were
faulty; that he painted portions of his pictures
very well at the cost of more important parts, and
that his work was coarse and brutal.
There is some ground for these objections, for
Bastien-Lepage died before he had accomplished
all that he wished. But he was a faithful lover
of nature. He found poetry in the events of every-
day life, and, as has been said, one of his peasants
typified the peasantry of France. Dying, when
but a young man, he is not to be ranked with
the greater masters of the century, but he left
an influence and pictures which will preserve the
memory of his earnestness and loyalty to his art.

!. ." '- .

/,,~:' ,
,. j-







" They are never alone that are accompanied with noble thoughts."- SIR PHILIP SIDNEY.

I 'VE finished my book, and now what can I do
till this tiresome rain is over? exclaimed Carrie,
as she lay back on the couch with a yawn of weari-
"Take another and a better book; the house
is full of them, and this is a rare chance for a feast
on the best," answered Alice, looking over the pile
of volumes in her lap, as she sat on the floor before
one of the tall book-cases that lined the room.
"Not being a book-worm like you, I can't read
forever; and you need n't sniff at my book, for
it 's perfectly thrilling cried Carrie, regretfully
turning the crumpled leaves of a cheap copy of a
sentimental and impossible novel.
"We should read to improve our minds, and
that rubbish is only a waste of time," began Alice,
in a warning tone, as she looked up from "Ro-
mola," over which she had been poring with the
delight one feels in meeting an old friend.
"I don't wish to improve my mind, thank you:
I read for amusement in vacation time and don't
want to see any moral works till next October. I
get enough of them in school. This is n't 'rubbish'!
It 's full of fine descriptions of scenery-"
"Which you skip by the page; I 've seen you
do it," said Eva, the third young girl in the library,
as she shut up the stout book on her knee and
began to knit, as if this sudden outburst of chat
disturbed her enjoyment of The Dove in the
Eagle's Nest."
"I do at first, being carried away by my interest
in the people, but I almost always go back and
read them afterward," protested Carrie. "You
know you like to hear about nice clothes, and this
heroine's were simply gorgeous; white velvet and
a rope of pearls is one costume; gray velvet and a
silver girdle another; and Idalia was all a 'shower

of perfumed laces,' and scarlet and gold satin
mask dresses, or primrose silk with violets, so
lovely I do revel in 'em "
Both girls laughed as Carrie reeled off this list
of elegances with the relish of a French modiste.
Well, I 'm poor and can't have as many pretty
things as I want, so it is delightful to read about
women who wear white quilted satin dressing-
gowns and olive velvet trains with Mechlin lace
sweepers to them. Diamonds as large as nuts,
and rivers of opals and sapphires and rubies and
pearls, are great fun to read of, if you never even
get a look at real ones. We never see such lan-
guid swells in America, nor such ladies, and the
author scolds them all, and that's moral, I surere"
Carrie paused, out of breath; but Alice shook
her head again, and said in her serious way:
"That 's the harm of it all. False and foolish
things are made interesting, and we read for that,
not for any lesson there may be hidden under the
velvet and jewels and fine words of your splendid
men and women. Now this book is a wonderful
picture of Florence in old times, and the famous
people who really lived are painted in it, and it
has a true and clean moral that we all can see,
and one feels wiser and better for reading it. I do
wish you 'd leave those trashy things and try
something really good."
"I hate George Eliot,-so awfully wise and
preachy and dismal! I really could n't wade
through Daniel Deronda,' though 'The Mill on
the Floss' was n't bad," answered Carrie, with
another yawn, as she recalled the Jew Mordecai's
long speeches, and Daniel's meditations.
I know you 'd like this," said Eva, patting her
book with an air of calm content; for she was a
modest, common-sense little body, full of innocent


fancies and the mildest sort of romance. I love
dear Miss Yonge and her books, with their nice,
large families, and their trials, and their pious
ways, and pleasant homes full of brothers and
sisters, and good fathers and mothers. I 'm never
tired of them, and have read Daisy Chain' nine
times at least."
I used to like them, and still think them good
for young girls, with our own 'Queechy' and
'Wide, Wide World,' and books of that kind.
Now I 'm eighteen, I prefer stronger novels, and
books by great men and women, because these are
always talked about by cultivated people, and when
I go into society next winter I wish to be able to
listen intelligently, and to know what to admire."
"That's all very well for you, Alice; you were
always poking over books, and I dare say you will
write them some day, or be a blue-stocking. But
I have another year to study and fuss over my
education, and I 'm going to enjoy myself all I can,
and leave the wise books till I come out."
But, Carrie, there won't be any time to read
them; you '11 be so busy with parties, and beaux,
and traveling, and such things. I would take
Alice's advice and read up a little now; it's so nice
to know useful things, and be able to find help
and comfort in good books when trouble comes, as
Ellen Montgomery and Fleda did, and Ethel, and
the other girls in Miss Yonge's stories," said Eva
earnestly, remembering how much the efforts of
those natural little heroines had helped her in her
own struggles for self-control and the cheerful
bearing of the burdens which come to all.
I don't want to be a priggish Ellen, or a moral
Fleda, and I do detest bothering about self-im-
provement all the time. I know I ought, but I'd
rather wait another year or two, and enjoy my
vanities in peace just a little longer." And Carrie
tucked her novel under the sofa pillow, as if a
trifle ashamed of its society, with Eva's innocent
eyes upon her own, and Alice sadly regarding her
over the rampart of wise books, which kept grow-
ing higher as the eager girl found more and more
treasures in this richly stored library.
A little silence followed, broken only by the pat-
ter of the rain without, the crackle of the wood fire
within, and the scratch of a busy pen from a cur-
tained recess at the end of a long room. In the
sudden hush the girls heard it and remembered
that they were not alone.
"She must have heard every word we said!"
and Carrie sat up with a dismayed face as she
spoke in a whisper.
Eva laughed, but Alice shrugged her shoulders,
andsaid tranquilly, "I don't mind. She would n't
expect much wisdom from school-girls."
This was cold comfort to Carrie, who was pain-

fully conscious of having been a particularly silly
school-girl just then. So she gave a groan and lay
down again, wishing she had not expressed her
views quite so freely.
The three girls were the guests of a delightful
old lady who had known their mothers and was
fond of renewing her acquaintance with them
through their daughters. She loved young people,
and every summer invited parties of them to enjoy
the delights of her beautiful country-house, where
she lived alone now, being the childless widow of a
somewhat celebrated man. She made it very
pleasant for her guests, leaving them free to em-
ploy a part of the day as they liked, providing the
best of company at dinner, gay revels in the even-
ing, and a large houseful of curious and interest-
ing things to examine at their leisure.
The rain had spoiled a pleasant plan, and business
letters had made it necessary for Mrs. Warburton to
leave the three to their own devices after luncheon.
They had read quietly for several hours, and their
hostess was just finishing her last letter, when frag-
ments of the conversation reached her ear. She lis-
tened with amusement, unconscious that they had
forgotten her presence, finding the different views
very characteristic, and easily explained by the dif-
erence of the homes out of which the three friends
Alice was the only daughter of a scholarly man
and a brilliant woman; therefore her love of books
and desire to cultivate her mind was very natural,
but the danger in her case would be in the neglect of
other things equally important, too varied reading,
and a superficial knowledge of many authors rather
than a true appreciation of a few of the best and
greatest. Eva was one of many children in a happy
home, with a busy father, a pious mother, and
many domestic cares as well as joys already fall-
ing to the dutiful girl's lot. Her instincts were sweet
and unspoiled, and she only needed to be shown
where to find new and better helpers for the real
trials of life, when the childish heroines she loved
could no longer serve her in the years to come.
Carrie was one of the ambitious yet common-
place girls who wish to shine, without knowing the
difference between the glitter of a candle which
attracts moths, and the serene light of a star, or
the cheery glow of a fire around which all love to
gather. Her mother's aims were not high; and
the two pretty daughters knew that she desired
good matches for them, educated them for that
end, and expected them to do their parts when the
time came. The elder sister was now at a water-
ing-place with her mother, and Carrie hoped that
a letter would soon come telling her that Mary
was settled. During her stay with Mrs. Warbur-
ton she had learned a great deal, and was uncon-


sciously contrasting the life there with the frivolous
one at home, made up of public show and private
sacrifice of comfort, dignity, and peace. Here were
people who dressed simply, enjoyed conversation,
kept up their accomplishments even when old, and
were so busy, lovable, and charming, that poor
Carrie often felt vulgar, ignorant, and mortified
among them, in spite of their fine breeding and
kindliness. The society Mrs. Warburton drew
about her was the best; and old and young, rich
and poor, wise and simple, all seemed genuine,
glad to give or receive, enjoy and rest, and then
go out to their work refreshed by the influences of
the place and the sweet old lady who made it what
it was. The girls would soon begin life for them-
selves, and it was well that they had this little
glimpse of really good society before they left the
shelter of home to choose friends, pleasures, and
pursuits for themselves, as all young women do
when once launched.
The sudden silence and then the whispers sug-
gested to the listener that she had perhaps heard
something not meant for her ear, so she presently
emerged with her letters, and said, as she came
smiling toward the group about the fire :
How are you getting through this long, dull
afternoon, my dears ? Quiet as mice till just now.
What woke you up ? A battle of the books? Alice
looks as if she had laid in plenty of ammunition,
and you were preparing to besiege her."
The girls laughed, and all rose, for Mrs. War-
burton was a stately old lady, and people involun-
tarily treated her with great respect, even in this
mannerless age.
"We were only talking about books," began
Carrie, deeply grateful that her novel was safely
out of sight.
And we could n't agree," added Eva, running
to ring the bell for the man to take the letters, for
she was used to these little offices at home, and
loved to wait on her hostess.
"Thanks, my love. Now let us talk a little, if
you are tired of reading and if you like to let me
share the discussion. Comparing tastes, in litera-
ture is always a pleasure, and I used to enjoy talk-
ing over books with my girl friends more than any-
thing else."
As she spoke, Mrs. Warburton sat down in the
chair which Alice rolled up, drew Eva to the
cushion at her feet, and nodded to the others as
they settled again, with interested faces, one at the
table where the pile of chosen volumes now lay,
the other erect upon the couch where she had been
practicing the poses full of languid grace," so
much affected by her favorite heroines.
"Carrie was laughing at me for liking wise
books and wishing to improve my mind. Is it

foolish and a waste of time ?" asked Alice, eager to
convince her friend and secure so powerful an ally.
No, my dear, it is a very sensible desire, and I
wish more girls had it. Only don't be greedy, and
read too much; cramming and smattering are as
bad as promiscuous novel-reading, or no reading
at all. Choose carefully, read intelligently, and
digest thoroughly each book, and then you make
it your own," answered Mrs. Warburton, quite in
her element now, for she loved to advise, as all old
people do.
But how can we know wehat to read, if we may
not follow our tastes ?" said Carrie, trying to be in-
terested and intelligent" in spite of her fear that
a school-marmy lecture was in store for her.
Ask advice, and so cultivate a true and refined
taste. I always judge people's characters a great
deal by the books they like, as well as by the com-
pany they keep ; so one should be careful, for this
is a very good test. Another test is, be sure that
whatever will not bear reading aloud is not fit to
read to one's self. Many young girls ignorantly
or curiously take up books quite worthless, and
really harmful, because under the fine writing and
brilliant color lurk immorality or the false senti-
ment which gives wrong ideas of life and things
which should be sacred. They think, perhaps,
that no one knows this taste of theirs, but they are
mistaken, for it shows itself in many ways, and be-
trays them. Attitudes, looks, careless words, and
a morbid or foolishly romantic view of certain
things, show plainly that the maidenly instincts
are blunted, and harm done that perhaps can
never be repaired."
Mrs. Warburton kept her eyes fixed upon the
tall andirons, as if gravely reproving them, which
was a great relief to Carrie, whose cheeks glowed
as she stirred uneasily, and took up a screen as
if to guard them from the fire. But conscience
pricked her sharply, and memory, like a traitor,
recalled many a passage or scene in her favorite
books which, though she enjoyed them in private,
she could not have read aloud even to that old
lady. Nothing very bad, but false and foolish,
poor food for a lively fancy and young mind to
feed on, as the weariness or excitement which
always followed plainly proved; since one should
feel refreshed, not cloyed, with an intellectual feast.
Alice, with both elbows on the table, listened
with wide-awake eyes, and Eva watched the rain-
drops trickle down the pane with an intent expres-
sion, as if asking herself if she had ever done this
naughty thing.
Then there is another fault," continued Mrs.
Warburton, well knowing that her first shot had
hit its mark, and anxious to be just. "Some
book-loving lassies have a mania for trying to read


everything, and dip into works far beyond their
powers, or try too many different kinds of self-
improvement at once. So they get a muddle of
useless things into their heads, instead of well-
assorted ideas and real knowledge. They must
learn to wait and select, for each age has its proper
class of books, and what is Greek to us at eighteen
may be just what we need at thirty. One can get
mental dyspepsia on meat and wine, as well as on
ice-cream and frosted cake, you know."
Alice smiled, and pushed away four of the eight
books she had selected, as if afraid she Iaad been
greedy, and now felt that it was best to wait a little.
Eva looked up with some anxiety in her frank
eyes, as she said, "Now it is my turn. Must I
give up my dear homelybooks, and take to Ruskin,
Kant, or Plato?"
Mrs. Warburton laughed, as she stroked the
pretty brown head at her knee.
Not yet, my love, perhaps never; for those are
not the masters you need, I fancy. Since you like
stories about every-day people, try some of the fine
biographies of real men and women about whom
you should know something. You will find their
lives full of stirring, helpful, and lonely experi-
ences, and in reading of these you will get courage
and hope and faith to bear your own trials as they
come. True stories suit you, and are the best,
for there we get real tragedy and comedy, and the
lessons all must learn."
Thank you I will begin at once, if you will
kindly give me a list of such as would be good for
me," cried Eva, with the sweet docility of one
eager to be all that is lovable and wise in woman.
Give us each a list, and we will try to improve
in the best way. You know what we need, and love
to help foolish girls, or you would n't be so kind
and patient with us," said Alice, going to sit beside
Carrie, hoping for much discussion of this, to her,
very interesting subject.
"I will, with pleasure; but I read few modern
novels, so I may not be a good judge there. Most
of them seem very poor stuff, and I can not waste
time even to skim them as some people do. I still
like the old-fashioned ones I read as a girl, though
you would laugh at them. Did any of you ever
read 'Thaddeus of Warsaw ?' I re-read it recently,
and thought it very funny; so were 'Evelina,' and
Cecilia.' "
I wanted to try Smollett and Fielding, after
reading some fine essays about them, but Papa
told me I must wait," said Alice.
"Ah, my dears, in my day, Thaddeus was our
hero, and we thought the scene where he and Miss
Beaufort are in the Park a most thrilling one.
Two fops ask Thaddeus where he got his boots,
and he replies, with withering dignity, Where I

got my sword, gentlemen.' I treasured the picture
of that episode for a long time. Thaddeus wears
a hat as full of black plumes as a hearse, Hessian
boots with tassels, and leans over Mary, who lan-
guishes on the seat in a short-waisted gown, limp
scarf, poke bonnet, and large bag- the height of
elegance then, but very funny now. Then too, there
is William Wallace in Scottish Chiefs.' Bless me!
We cried over him as much as you do over your
'Heir of Clifton,' or whatever the boy's name is.
You would n't get through it, I fancy ; and as for
poor, dear, prosy Richardson, his letter-writing he-
roines would bore you sadly. Just imagine a lover
saying to a friend, I begged my angel to stay and
sip one dish of tea. She sipped one dish and flew.' "
Now, I 'm sure that's sillier than anything the
Duchess ever wrote with her five o'clock teas and
flirtations over plum-cake on lawns," cried Carrie,
as they all laughed at the immortal Lovelace.
I never read Richardson, but he could n't be
duller than Henry James, with his everlasting
stories, full of people who talk a great deal and
amount to nothing. I like the older novels best,
and enjoy some of Scott's and Miss Edgeworth's
better than Howells's or any of the modern realistic
writers, with their elevators, and paint-pots, and
every-day people," said Alice.
I 'm glad to hear you say so, for I have an
old-fashioned fancy that I 'd rather read about
people as they were, for that is history, or as they
might and should be, for that helps us in our own
efforts; not as they are, for that we know, and are
all sufficiently commonplace ourselves to be the
better for a nobler and wider view of life and men
than any we are apt to get, so busy are we earning
daily bread, or running after fortune, honor, or
some other bubble. But I must n't lecture, or I
shall bore you, and forget that I am your hostess,
whose duty it is to amuse."
As Mrs. Warburton paused, Carrie, anxious to
change the subject, said, with her eyes on a curious
jewel which the old lady wore, I also love true
stories, and you promised to tell us about that
lovely pin some day. This is just the time for
it -please do."
"With pleasure," replied Mrs. Warburton, "for
the little romance is quite afropos of our present
chat. It is a very simple tale, and rather sad, but
it had a great influence on my life, and this brooch
is very dear to me."
As Mrs. Warburton sat silent a moment, the
girls all looked with interest at the quaint pin
which clasped the soft folds of muslin over the
gray silk dress which was as becoming to the still
handsome woman as her crown of white hair
and the winter roses in her cheeks. The ornament
was in the shape of a pansy; its purple leaves


were of amethyst, the yellow of topaz, and in the
middle lay a diamond drop of dew. Several letters
were delicately cut on its golden stem, and a guard-
pin showed how much its wearer valued it.
My sister Lucretia was a great deal older than
I, for the three boys came between," began Mrs.
Warburton, still gazing at the fire, as if from its
ashes the past rose up bright and warm again.
" She was a very lovely and superior girl, and I
looked up to her with wonder as well as admiration.
Others did the same, and at eighteen she was en-
gaged to a charming man, who would have made
his mark had he lived. She was too young to
marry then, and Frank Lyman had a fine opening
to practise his profession at the South. So they
parted for two years, and it was then that he gave
her the brooch, saying to her, as she whispered
how lonely she should be without him, 'This pansy
is a happy, faithful thought of me. Wear it, dear-
est girl, and don't pine while we are separated.
Read and study, write much to me, and remember,
" They are never alone that are accompanied with
noble thoughts."'"
"Was n't that sweet? cried Eva, pleased with
the beginning of the tale.
So romantic added Carrie, recalling the
"amber amulet" one of her pet heroes wore for
years and died kissing, after he had killed some
fifty Arabs in the desert.
"Did she read and study?" asked Alice, with
a soft color in her cheek, and eager eyes, for a
budding romance was folded away in the depths of
her maidenly heart, and she liked a love story.
I will tell you what she did, for it was rather re-
markable at that day, when girls had little school-
ing, and picked up accomplishments as they could.
The first winter she read and studied at home, and
wrote much to Mr. Lyman. I have their letters
now, and very fine ones they are, though they
would seem old-fashioned to you young things.
Curious love-letters,--full of advice, the discussion
of books, report of progress, glad praise, modest
gratitude, happy plans, and a faithful affection that
never wavered.
The second spring, Lucretia, anxious to waste
no time, and ambitious to surprise Mr. Lyman, de-
cided to go and study with old Dr. Gardener at Port-
land. He fitted young men for college, was a friend
of our father's, and had a daughter who was a very
wise and accomplished woman. That was a very
happy summer, and Lucretia got on so well that
she begged to stay all winter. It was arare chance,
for there were no colleges for girls then, and very
few advantages to be had, and the dear creature
burned to improve every faculty, that she might
be more worthy of her lover. She fitted herself
for college with the youths there, and did wonders,

for love sharpened her wits, and the thought of
that happy meeting spurred her on to untiring
exertion. Mr. Lymanwas expected in May, and the
wedding was to be in June. But, alas for the poor
girl! the yellow-fever came, and he was one of the
first victims. They never met again, and nothing
was left her of all that happy time but his letters,
his library, and the pansy."
Mrs. Warburton paused to wipe a few quiet tears
from her eyes, while the girls sat in sympathetic
"We thought it would kill her, that sudden
change from love, hope, and happiness to sorrow,
death, and solitude. But hearts don't break, my
dears, if they know where to go for strength. Lu-
cretia did, and after the first shock was over, found
comfort in her books, saying, with a brave, bright
look, and the sweetest resignation, 'I must go on
trying to be more worthy of him, for we shall meet
again in God's good time, and he shall see that I
do not forget.'
"That was better than tears and lamentation,
and the long years that followed were beautiful and
busy ones, full of dutiful care for us at home after
of our mother died, of interest in all the good works
of her time, and of a steady, quiet effort to improve
every faculty of her fine mind, till she was felt to
be one of the noblest women in our city. Her in-
fluence was widespread; all the intelligent people
sought her; and when she traveled, she was wel-
come everywhere; for cultivated persons have a
free-masonry of their own, and are recognized at
Did she ever marry?" asked Carrie, feeling
that no life could be quite successful without that
great event.
"Never. She felt herself a widow, and wore
black to the day of her death. Many men asked
her hand, but she refused them all, and was the
sweetest 'old maid' ever seen,- cheerful and se-
rene to the very last, for she was ill a long time,
and found her solace and stay still in the beloved
books. Even when she could no longer read
them, her memory supplied her with the mental
food that kept her soul strong while her body
failed. It was wonderful to hear her repeating
fine lines, heroic sayings, and comforting psalms
through the weary nights when no sleep would
come, making friends and helpers of the poets,
philosophers, and saints whom she knew and loved
so well. It made death beautiful, and taught me
how victorious an immortal soul can be over the
ills that vex our mortal flesh.
She died at dawn on Easter Sunday, after a
quiet night, when she had given me her little
legacy of letters, books, and the one jewel she had
always worn, repeating her lover's words to com-


fort me. I had read the Commendatory Prayer,
and as I finished, she whispered, with a look of
perfect peace:
Shut the book, dear, I need study no more;
I have hoped and believed, now I shall know';
and so she went happily away to meet her lover
after patient waiting."
The sigh of the wind was the only sound that
broke the silence till the quiet voice went on again,
as if it loved to tell the story; for the thought of
soon seeing the beloved sister took the sadness
from the memory of the past.

happiness of my life, and curiously enough I owed
it to a book."
Mrs. Warburton smiled as she took up a shabby
little volume from the table where Alice had laid
it, and, quick to divine another romance, Eva said,
like a story-loving child:
Do tell about it The other was so sad."
This begins merrily, and has a wedding in it,
as young girls think all stories should. Well, when
I was about thirty-five, I was invited to join a party
of friends on a trip to Canada, that being the
favorite jaunt in my young days. I 'd been study-

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"I also found my solace in books, for I was very
lonely when she was gone, my father being dead,
the brothers married, and home desolate. I took
to study and reading as a congenial employment,
feeling no inclination to marry, and for many
years was quite contented among my books. But
in trying to follow in dear Lucretia's footsteps, I
unconsciously fitted myself for the great honor and
VOL. XV.-2.

ing hard for some years, and needed rest, so I was
glad to go. As a good book for an excursion, I
took this 'Wordsworth' in my bag. It is full of fine
passages, you know, and I loved it, for it was one
of the books given to Lucretia by her lover. We
had a charming time, and were on our way to
Quebec when my little adventure happened. I was
in raptures over the grand St. Lawrence as we


steamed slowly from Montreal that lovely summer
day. I could not read, but sat on the upper deck,
feasting my eyes and dreaming dreams as even
staid maiden ladies will when out on a holiday.
Suddenly I caught the sound of voices in earnest
discussion on the lower deck, and, glancing down,
saw several gentlemen leaning against the rail as
they talked over certain events of great public
interest at that moment. I knew that a party of
distinguished persons were on board, as my friend's
husband, Dr. Tracy, knew some of them, and had
pointed out Mr. Warburton as one of the rising
scientific men of the day. I remembered that my
sister had met him years before, and much ad-
mired him both for his own gifts and because he
had known Mr. Lyman. As other people were
listening, I felt privileged to do the same, for the
conversation was an eloquent one, and well worth
hearing. So interested did I become that I for-
got the great rafts floating by, the picturesque
shores, the splendid river, and leaned nearer and
nearer that no word might be lost, till my book
slid out of my lap and fell straight down upon the
head of one of the gentlemen, giving him a smart
blow, and knocking his hat overboard."
Oh, what did you do? cried the girls, much
amused at this unromantic catastrophe.
Mrs. Warburton clasped her hands dramatically,
as her eyes twinkled and a pretty color came into
her cheeks at the memory of that exciting mo-
My dears, I could have dropped with mortifi-
cation! What could I do but dodge and peep as I
waited to see the end of this most untoward accident?
Fortunately I was alone on that side of the deck,
so none of the ladies saw my mishap, and, slipping
along the seat to a distant corner, I hid my face
behind a convenient newspaper as I watched the
little flurry of fishing up the hat by a man in a
boat near by, and the merriment of the gentlemen
over this assault of William Wordsworth upon
Samuel Warburton. The poor book passed from
hand to hand, and many jokes were made upon
the 'fair Helen' whose name was written on the
paper cover which protected it.
I knew a Miss Harper once a lovely woman,
but her name was not Helen, and she is dead,-
God bless her I heard Mr. Warburton say, as he
flapped his straw hat to dry it, and rubbed his
head, which, fortunately was well covered with
thick gray hair at that time.
I longed to go down and tell him who I was,
but I had not the courage to face all those men.
It really was most embarrassing; so I waited for a
more private moment to claim my book, as I knew
we should not land till night, so there was no dan-
ger of losing it.

This is a rather uncommon book for a woman
to be reading. Some literary lady doubtless. Bet-
ter look her up, Warburton, when she comes down
to luncheon,' said a jovial old gentleman.
I shall know her by her intelligent face and
conversation, if this book belongs to a lady. It
will be an honor and a pleasure to meet a woman
who enjoys Wordsworth, for in my opinion he is
one of our truest poets,' answered Mr. Warburton,
putting the book in his pocket, with a look and a
tone that were most respectful, and comforting to
me just then.
"I hoped he would examine the volume, for Lu-
cretia's and Mr. Lyman's names were on the fly-
leaf, and that would be a delightful introduction
for me. So I said nothing and bided my time, feel-
ing rather foolish when we all filed in to luncheon,
and I saw the other party glancing at the ladies at
the table. Mr. Warburton's eye paused a moment
as it passed from Mrs. Tracy to me, and I fear I
blushed like a girl, my dears," said the narrator,
as she went on with the most romantic episode of
her quiet life.
I retired to my state-room after lunch to com-
pose myself, and when I emerged, in the cool of
the afternoon, my first glance showed me that the
hour had come, for there on deck was Mr. War-
burton, talking to Mrs. Tracy, with my book in
his hand. I hesitated a moment, for in spite of
my age I was rather shy, and really it was not an
easy thing to apologize to a strange gentleman
for dropping books on his head and spoiling his
hat. Men think so much of their hats, you know.
I was spared embarrassment, however, for he saw
me and came to me at once, saying, in the most
cordial manner, as he showed the names on the fly-
leaf of my 'Wordsworth,' I am sure we need no
other introduction than the names of these two dear
friends of ours. I am very glad to find that Miss
Helen Harper is the little girl I saw once or twice
at her father's house some years ago, and to meet
her so pleasantly again.'
That made everything easy and delightful,
and when I had apologized and been laughingly
assured that he considered it rather an honor than
otherwise to be assaulted by so great a poet, we
fell to talking of old times, and soon forgot that
we were strangers. He was twenty years older
than I, but a handsome man, and a most interesting
and excellent one, as we all know. He had lost a
young wife long before, and had lived for science
ever since, but it had not made him dry, or cold,
or selfish. He was very young at heart, for all his
wisdom, and he enjoyed that holiday like a boy
out of school. So did I, and never dreamed that
anything would come of it, but a pleasant friend-
ship founded on our love for those now dead and


gone. Dear me how strangely things turn out in
this world of ours, and how the dropping of that
book changed my life Well, that was our intro-
duction, and that first long conversation was fol-
lowed by many more, equally charming, during
the three weeks in which our parties were often
together, as both were taking the same trip, and
Dr. Tracy was glad to meet his old friend.
I need not tell you how delightful such society
was to me, nor how surprised I was when, on the
last day before we parted, Mr. Warburton, who
had answered many questions of mine during
those long chats of ours, asked me a very serious
one, and I found that I could answer it as he wished.
It was a great honor as well as happiness, and I
fear I was not worthy of it, but I tried to be, and
felt a tender satisfaction in thinking that I owed
it to dear Lucretia, in part at least; for my effort
to imitate her made me fitter to become a wise
man's wife, and twenty years of very sweet com-
panionship was my reward."
As she spoke, Mrs. Warburton bowed her head
before the portrait of a courtly old man which hung
above the mantelpiece.
It was a pretty, old-fashioned expression of
wifely pride and womanly tenderness in the fine
old lady, who forgot her own gifts, and felt only
humility and gratitude to the man who had found
in her a comrade in intellectual pursuits, as well
as a helpmeet for his declining years.
The girls looked up with eyes full of something
softer than mere curiosity, and felt in their young
hearts how precious and honorable such a memory
must be, how true and beautiful such a marriage
was, and how sweet wisdom might become when
it went hand in hand with love.
Alice spoke first, saying, as she touched the
worn cover of the little book with a new sort of
respect, "Thank you very much! Perhaps I
ought not to have taken this from the corner
shelves in your sanctum I wanted to find the
rest of the lines Mr. Thornton quoted last night,
and did n't stop to ask leave."
You are welcome, my love, for you know how

to treat books. Yes, those in that little case are my
precious relics. I keep them all, from my childish
hymn-book to my great-grandfather's brass-bound
Bible, for by and by when I sit Looking toward
Sunset,' as dear Lydia Maria Child calls our last
days, I shall lose my interest in other books, and
take comfort in these. At the end as at the be-
ginning of life we are all children again, and
love the songs our mothers sung us, and find the
one true Book our best teacher as we draw near to
As the reverent voice paused, a ray of sunshine
broke through the parting clouds, and shone full
on the serene face turned to meet it, with a smile
that welcomed the herald of a lovely sunset.
The rain is over; there will be just time for a
run in the garden before dinner, girls. I must go
and put on my cap, for literary ladies should not
neglect to look well after the ways of their house-
hold and keep themselves tidy, no matter how old
they may be." And with a nod Mrs. Warburton
left them, wondering what the effect of the con-
versation would be on the minds of her young
Alice went away to the garden, thinking of Lucre-
tia and her lover, as she gathered flowers in the
sunshine. Conscientious Eva took the "Life of Mary
Somerville" to her room, and read diligently for
half an hour, that no time might be lost in her
new course of reading. Carrie sent her paper
novel up the chimney in a lively blaze, and, as
she watched the book burn, decided to take her
blue and gold volume of Tennyson with her on
her next trip to Nahant, in case any eligible learned
or literary man's head should offer itself as a shin-
ing mark.
When they all met at dinner-time the old lady
was pleased to see a nosegay of fresh pansies in
the bosoms of her three youngest guests, and to
hear Alice whisper, with grateful eyes:
"We wear your flower to show you that we
don't mean to forget the lesson you so kindly gave
us, and to fortify ourselves with noble thoughts,'
as you and she did."

4. -,
i- ''



IN the soft snowy heart of a thistle,
Prince Tiptoe one morning was born;
When the sound of the partridge's whistle
Arose from the ripening corn;
When the sunlight was dreamily tender,
And the hill-tops were smoky and blue,
And a faint, indescribable splendor
In many a cloud-rift came through.

Then a breeze from the South Wind's dominions
Flew by, and Prince Tiptoe was whirled
Away, on invisible pinions,
From his own little silk-curtained world;
He was tossed in the air like a feather,
And twirled till he almost forgot
SHis name, and could scarcely tell whether
He was really Prince Tiptoe or not.

But the gay little zephyr grew weary,
And declared she should soon have to stop;
And she said, "There 's a cottage, my deary,
On its porch you must quietly drop."
It was sheltered and shady and airy,
And an oak-tree high over it rose;
And His Highness came down like a fairy
On the tips of his downy white toes.

And softly he danced to the measure
Of the thrush's song up in the tree,
And forgot in his light-hearted pleasure
That danger anear him might be,-
An urchin was slowly advancing,
Whose pansy-blue, wondering eyes
Saw not in that small atom dancing
A Fairy-land prince in disguise.

But he knew there was nothing to match it
In the length and the breadth of the town;
And he said with a shout, I will catch it -
That beautiful white thistle-down."
Ha the sly little breeze was but hiding,
And watching her nursling at play;
And forth she came noiselessly gliding,
And Prince Tiptoe was up and away !

----- ------ ~. -~-i



"ARE there any mistakes in it, Auntie ? asked pla
Bess, a little anxiously. Her aunt laid down the ne:
envelope she had been examining, and said:
No, my dear. What made you think so?" '
Why, you have been gazing at it for five whole be:
minutes, and if you were n't looking for mistakes,
I 'd like to know what you were thinking of." fro
Of Julius Caesar," replied Aunt Sarah thought- wo
fully. is,
"Julius Caesar exclaimed Rob, who, up to ha
this time had been absorbed in a book; what has ace
he to do with Bessie's letter to Grandma?" col
Not very much, but the address certainly made de'
me think of him. Suppose I tell you all that the ab
address suggests to me," continued their aunt,
picking up the letter and reading again. We'll sai

ins the r. Can either of you tell me what the
xt word literally means ?"
" I know," said Bessie, eagerly. I found it in
leanings of proper names.' It is the 'Christ-
" Yes," said her aunt. The termination is
m a Latin word meaning to carry.' Now, the
rd Smith' comes from the verb to smite. No.'
of course, a contraction for 'number'; but we
ve to go back to the Latin term, mnumero, to
count for the o which is here used. Twenty' is
pounded of two words, meaning twice and a
cade, that is, twice-ten. Now, who can tell me
out Main ?'"
" It means the principal street, does n't it?"
d Rob, with great confidence.
It does here, but main used
to mean something quite different.
You find the original meaning in
the expression : With all his might
and main.' It denoted strength or
power, and afterward came to mean
the strongest part, and hence,
principal. Rob can tell us some-
thing of the next word, which comes
from the Latin verb sterno"
What?" cried Rob, eager to
show his scholarship; from ster-
nere, stravi, stratum, to pave?"
"Exactly," said his aunt; and
so a paved way was called a street,
to distinguish it from a lane or
Does 'Trenton' mean 'on-the-

take the words in their order. 'Mrs.' stands for Trent?'" was Bessie's timid suggestion.
what? Yes, and Trent means a winding river-from
Missis, I suppose," replied Bess, "but I don't the same root as trend, to turn, I suppose."
see any r in missis." I don't see anything about Caesar," said Rob,
If you look in the dictionary, you will find impatient to hear something of his favorite hero.
missis is a contraction for mistress, and that ex- No? Well, we are just coming to him. New

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Jersey was named in honor of Sir George Carteret,
an inhabitant of the isle of Jersey. New was
added, of course, to distinguish it from the English
Jersey. The name Jersey signifies 'Caesar's isle.'
The ending ea or ey denotes an island. Probably
the name was first Caesarea, and was corrupted into
Jersey. Of course this suggests the conquest of
England by the Romans, and many other things
of historical interest."
Where do you find all these things ? asked
All that I have told you can easily be found in
an Unabridged Dictionary."
"What! about 'Caesar's isle,' and all that?"
exclaimed Rob.
Yes, indeed, if you look in the right places.
A great many people use the dictionary merely to
correct their spelling, or to learn the present mean-
ing of unusual words; few realize the vast amount
of information it contains. Let me read you a bit
from Ruskin about word-hunting," said Aunt
Sarah,-taking a bookfrom the shelf. Here it is:
Nearly every word in your language has been
first a word of some other language--of Saxon,
German, French, Latin, or Greek (not to speak of
Eastern and primitive dialects). And many words
have been all these; -that is to say, have been
Greek first, Latin next, French or German next,
and English last: undergoing a certain change of
sense and use on the lips of each nation; but re-

training a deep vital meaning, which all good
scholars feel in employing them, even at this day.
When you are in doubt about a word,
hunt it down patiently. Never let a word escape
you that looks suspicious. It is severe work; but
you will find it, even at first, interesting, and at
last, endlessly amusing. And the general gain to
your character, in power and precision, will be
quite incalculable. You might read all the
books in the British Museum (if you could live long
enough), and remain an utterly illiterate," un-
educated person, but if you read ten pages of a
good book, letter by letter,--that is to say, with
real accuracy,-you are forever more in some
measure an educated person.' "
Read us some more," pleaded Rob.
Tell us some more about words," asked Bessie,
in the same breath.
I have n't time now," said their aunt, as she
replaced the volume; "but even Bessie's letter
suggests many words that would be interesting if
looked up by yourselves. Write them down as I
name them,-' Paper, Pen, Ink, Stamp, Postage,
Post, Mail, Seal, Envelope, Direct, Address, Sig-
nature, Superscribe, Write, Mucilage, Date, Month,
Day, Year, City, County, State.'"
As their aunt left the room, Bessie, eying
her letter thoughtfully, said:
How astonished Grandma would be to know
all that's on this envelope !"




IT was a bright, cloudless, burning day in Lower
Egypt, in the year 1798. Beneath the blistering
glare of the noonday sun, the white, flat-roofed
houses and tall tapering minarets of Suez stood
gauntly out against a dreary background of gray,
sandy, lifeless desert. Not a breath of wind was
stirring in the hot, close, heavy air, and the blue,
shining waters of the Gulf of Suez lay outspread
like a vast mirror at the foot of the rocky headland
of Ras Attakah, on the summit of which sat erect

in their saddles a small group of horsemen in the
rich uniform of French staff-officers.
The leader of the party seemed to be a small,
thin, long-haired man, with a sallow, sickly face,
who sat his horse awkwardly, as if he were any-
thing but a practised rider. His slight figure
appeared quite dwarfish among the sturdy frames
and grim faces of the veteran warriors around him;
but in his keen gray eyes, which seemed to pierce
right through any one to whom he spoke, there
was an expression so stern and commanding that
few men could face it unmoved.


And well might it be so. Young though he
was,-for he had only just passed his twenty-ninth
birthday,-this man had already become famous
as the greatest soldier of his time; and although
he was as yet known only as General Bonaparte,
the day was not far distant when he was to call
himself the Emperor Napoleon.
On the brow of the cliff the General reined up
his horse, and spoke a few words to his guide, who
was quite as remarkable a figure as himself, though
in a widely different way. Tall, strongly made,
sinewy and active as a deerhound, with his black
beard flowing down over his long white robe, his

prayed unto Allah (God) and Allah brought the
sea upon the Sultan and his host, and destroyed
them every one. The Sultan was a great con-
queror," added the Sheikh with grim emphasis, as
he shot a quick sidelong glance at Bonaparte,
"but he could not conquer the sea."
What should hinder us from crossing it our-
selves?" said the General, too eager to notice this
ominous allusion. The water is shallow enough,
and it is no great distance. Gentlemen, have you
a mind to follow in the track of Moses ? How is
the tide, Rustum ?"
"Full ebb," answered the guide, turning his

_~- 1

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snowy turban overarching his keen
dark eyes, his short curving sword
suspended in a sash of crimson silk,
Sheikh Rustum looked the very picture
of an Eastern warrior; and the scars
that seamed his swarthy features showed
that he had many a time looked in
the face of death.
"You say, then," said Bonaparte, addressing
the guide, "that yon sandy patch at the foot of
these cliffs is supposed to be the very place where
Moses led the Israelites through the sea?"
"So have our fathers told us, Sultan Kebir
(King of Fire)," answered the Egyptian, calling
the General by the name under which he was
already famous throughout all Egypt and Syria.
" Along these hills the Sultan of Egypt encamped
with his army, and over those sands he went down
into the sea to pursue after the Benli Irail (chil-
dren of Israel). But the Prophet Moussa (Moses)

- --

face quickly away to conceal the gleam of cruel joy
that lighted up his great black eyes.
We '11 try it, then," said Napoleon, in his usual
tone of decision. We have plenty of time to cross,
and if the tide comes up before we can get back,
it is no long ride around by Suez. Rustum, you can
go back to the town. Follow me, gentlemen."
And off rode the whole party in high spirits,
while Rustum's keen eyes followed them with a
glare of savage triumph which might have startled
the boldest of them if they could have seen it.
He goes down in his pride to destruction," mut-
tered the Sheikh, "even as Sultan Pharaoh did in


- -- ~-- ; =~----~-



--= -'
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/ -*

"I*i -- '




the days of old. Water quenches fire, and the
great King of Fire himself, who has slain my
brothers the Mamelukes, shall be quenched by the
waves of the sea."


MERRILY rode the French officers over the
smooth, firm sand and through the shallow water
beyond it, laughing and joking at the idea of going
across the sea on horseback. This ride, too, was
a much pleasanter one than the last, for the wind
had begun to rise, and was blowing steadily from
the south over the Gulf, bringing with it the fresh-
ness and coolness of the open sea. And so they
rode onward, onward, onward still, until the bold
rocky bluff of Ras Attakah and the tall figure of
Rustum on its summit began to grow dim in the
Suddenly a young captain who rode a little to
the right of the party noticed that the water seemed
to be deepening rapidly all around them. For a
few moments no one thought anything of it; but
ere long the General himself checked his horse,
and looked keenly southward, every line of his
dark, sallow face seeming to harden suddenly as
he did so.
The tide was coming in fast, and they were not
yet half-way across.
Their only chance was to turn back; but, the
moment they did so, the full sweep of the tide,
driven against them by the strong south wind,
caught them with a force that almost whirled the
horses off their feet.
Deeper and deeper grew the water, stronger and
stronger pressed the current. And all this while
the sun shone joyously overhead, and the leaping
waves danced and sparkled in the light, and the
wind waved the feathery tops of the distant palm-
trees, and all around was bright and beautiful.
We have one chance yet," cried Bonaparte,
rising in his stirrups, and lifting his voice as to be
heard by the whole party. "There is a long
sand-bar somewhere hereabout, upon which the
water is only a few feet deep. If we can once find
it, we are saved. Let us all ride in different direc-

tions, and he who strikes the bar must shout at
The commander's cool, clear tones steadied at
once the shaken nerves of his followers, and he
was instantly obeyed. Presently a shout was heard
from the young captain, who appeared to have
risen suddenly out of the water, in which his horse
now stood barely knee-deep. The bar was found !
All the rest immediately headed toward him,
and began to pick their way along the unseen
sand-ridge toward the western shore. More than
once the exhausted horses seemed about to fall,
with safety actually in sight; but, after a long
struggle, they all came safe to land.
When Rustum (who had watched the whole
scene with breathless interest) saw them return
unharmed, he ran to meet them, and, laying his
turban on Bonaparte's knee in token of submission,
said gloomily:
King of Fire, thou art mightier than the
waves of the sea. Take my life, for I will ask no
What have you done, then, that I should take
your life?" asked the young conqueror, on whose
marble features even the peril which he had just
escaped had left no trace whatever.
I am a Mameluke," answered Rustum proudly,
"and even as thy sword had devoured my brethren,
I hoped that the waves would devour thee. When
I told thee it was full ebb, I spoke falsely. The
tide had already turned, and I sent thee, as I
thought, to certain death."
It is wasting good material to kill a man while
you can do anything else with him," said Napo-
leon, as coolly as ever. If I spare your life, what
will you do, then ?"
I will be thy servant," cried the Mameluke,
eying him with a glance of savage admiration.
" Rustum, the son of Selim, can serve none but
the greatest chief on earth, and thou art he !"
So be it," said Bonaparte. Henceforth you
are my servant, and I think I shall find you a
good one."
And so he did ; for in the day of his downfall,
years later, one of the few who remained faithful
to him was Rustum the Mameluke.


THROUGHOUT that portion of the easterly Uni-
ted States where the noble bay called the Chesa-
peake cuts Virginia in two, and where the James,
broadest of all the rivers of the Old Dominion,"
rolls its glittering waters toward the sea, there
lived, years ago, a notable race of men.
For generations they had held the land, and
though their clothing was scanty and their customs
odd, they possessed many of the elements of charac-
ter that are esteemed noble and, had they been
left to themselves, might have progressed so
people who have studied into their character now
believe--into a fairly advanced stage of what is
known as barbaric civilization.
They lived in long, low houses of bark and
boughs, each house large enough to accommodate
from eighty to a hundred persons twenty families
to a house. These long houses" were, therefore,
much the same in purpose as are the tenement
houses of to-day, save that the tenements of that
far-off time all were on the same floor and were
open closets, or stalls, about eight feet wide, fur-
nished with bunks built against the walls and
spread with deer-skin robes for comfort and cover-
ing. These stalls were arranged on either side of
a broad, central passage-way; and in this passage-
way, at equal distances apart, fire-pits were con-
structed, the heat from which served to warm the
bodies and cook the dinners of the occupants of
the "long house," each fire being shared by four
In their mode of life these people a tall, well-

made, attractive,
and coppery-col-
ored folk-were
what are now

I -
1 r--

,,' 'l I .- ._-
o ; ,111 ,h .j .. i ,._ t ,

PiV e.t ,me5to-n For

ists; that is, theylived from common stores and all
had an equal share in the land and its yield,-
the products of their vegetable gardens, their hunt-
ing and fishing expeditions, their home labors, and
their household goods.
Their method of government was entirely demo-
cratic. No one, in any household, was better off
or of higher rank than his brothers or sisters.
Their chiefs were simply men--and sometimes
women- who had been raised to leadership by the
desire and vote of their associates; but they pos-
sessed no special authority or power, except such as
was allowed them by the general consent of their
comrades, in view of their wisdom, bravery, or abil-
ity. This people was, in fact, one great family bound
in close association by their habits of life and their
family relationships, and they knew no such un-
natural distinctions as king or subject, lord or
Around their long bark tenements stretched
carefully cultivated fields of corn and pumpkins,
the trailing bean, the full-bunched grape-vine, the
juicy melon, and the big-leafed tabak, or tobacco.
The field work was performed by the women -
the natural result, where the conditions of life re-
quire all the men and boys to be hunters and


These sturdy forest-folk of old Virginia, who had
reached that state of human advance, midway
between savagery and civilization, which is known
as barbarism, were but a small portion of that
red-skinned, vigorous, and interesting race known
to us by the general but wrongly-used name of
Indians." They belonged to one of the largest
divisions of this barbaric race, known as the
Algonquin family- a division created solely by
a similarity of language and of blood-relation-
ships and were, therefore, of the kindred of the
Indians of Canada, of New England, and of Penn-
sylvania, of the valley of the Ohio, the island of
Manhattan, and of some of the far-away lands
beyond the Mississippi.
So, for generations, they lived, with their simple
home customs and their family affections, with
their games and sports, their legends, and their
songs, their dances, fast and feasts, their hunting
'and their fishing, their tribal feuds and wars.
At the time of our story, certain of these Algon-
quin tribes of Virginia were joined together in a
sort of Indian republic, composed of thirty tribes
scattered through Central and Eastern Virginia.
It was known to its neighbors as the Confederacy
of the Pow-ha-tans, taking its name from the tribe
that was at once the strongest and the most en-
ergetic one in the confederation, having its fields
and villages along the broad river known to the
Indians as the Pow-ha-tan and to us as the James.
The principal chief of the Pow-ha-tans was Wa-
bun-so-na-cook, called by the white men Pow-ha-
tan. He was a strongly built but rather stern-
faced old gentleman of about sixty, and possessed
such an influence over his tribesmen that he was
regarded as the head man (president, we might
say), of this forest republic, which comprised the
thirty confederated tribes of Pow-ha-tan. The
confederacy in its strongest days never numbered
more than eight or nine thousand people, and yet
it was considered one of the largest Indian con-
federacies in America. This fact tends to prove
that there was never a very extensive Indian popu-
lation in America, even before the white man
discovered it.
Into one of the Pow-ha-tan villages, that stood
very near the shores of Chesapeake Bay and almost
opposite the now historic site of Yorktown, came
on a raw day, in the winter of 1607, an Indian run-
ner whose name was Ra-bun-ta. He came as one
who had important news to tell, but he paused not
for shout or question from the inquisitive boys who
were tumbling about in the light snow, at their
favorite game of ga-wd-sa, or the snow snake"
game. One of the boys, a mischievous and sturdy
young Indian of thirteen, whose name was Nan-

ta-qua-us, even tried to insert the slender knob-
headed stick, which was the snake in the game,
between the runner's legs, and trip him up. But
Ra-bun-ta was too skillful a runner to be stopped
by trifles; he simply kicked the snake out of
his way, and hurried on to the long house of the
Now this Indian settlement into which the run-
ner had come was the Pow-ha-tan village of Wero-
woco-moco, and was the one in which the old chief
Wa-bun-so-na-cook usually resided. Here was the
long council-house in which the chieftains of the
various tribes in the confederacy met for council
and for action, and here too was the "long tene-
ment house in which the old chief and his imme-
diate family lived.
It was into this dwelling that the runner dashed.
In a group about the central fire-pit he saw the
chief. Even before he could himself stop his head-
long speed, however, his race with news came to
an unexpected end. The five fires all were sur-
rounded by lolling Indians; for the weather in that
winter of 1607 was terribly cold, and an Indian,
when inside his house, always likes to get as close
to the fire as possible. But down the long passage-
way the children were noisily playing at their
games -at gus-kd-ek, or "peach-pits," at gts-ga-
e-sd-td, or deer-buttons," and some of the younger
ones were turning wonderful somersaults up and
down the open spaces between the fire-pits. Just
as the runner, Ra-bun-ta, sped up the passage-
way, one of these youthful gymnasts with a dizzy
succession of handsprings came whizzing down the
passage-way right in the path of Ra-bun-ta.
There was a sudden collision. The tumbler's
stout little feet came plump against the breast of
Ra-bun-ta, and so sudden and unexpected was the
shock that both recoiled, and runner and gymnast
alike tumbled over in a writhing heap almost in the
center of one of the big bon-fires. Then there was
a great shout of laughter, for the Indians dearly
loved a joke, and such a rough piece of uninten-
tional pleasantry was especially relished.
Wa, wa, Ra-bun-ta," theyshouted, pointing at
the discomfited runner as he picked himself out of
the fire, "knocked over by a girl "
And the deep voice of the old chief said half
sternly, half tenderly:
"My daughter, you have well-nigh killed our
brother Ra-bun-ta with your foolery. That is
scarce girls' play. Why will you be such a po-ca-
hlun-fas /"*
The runner joined in the laugh against him
quite as merrily as the rest, and made a dash at
the little ten-year-old tumbler, which she as nimbly

* Po-ca-zhun-tas, Algonquin for a little tomboy."


"Ma-ma-nototo-wic,"* he said, "the feet of Ma-
ta-oka are even heavier than the snake of Nun-
ta-qua-us, her brother. I have but escaped them
both with my life. -za-ma-no-to-wic, I have news
for you. The braves with your brother O-pe-chan-
ca-nough have taken the pale-face chief in the
Chicka-hominy swamps and are bringing him to
the council-house."
Wa," said the old chief, "it is well, we will be
ready for him."
At once Ra-bun-ta was surrounded and plied
with questions. The earlier American Indians
were always a very inquisitive folk, and were great
gossips. Ra-bun-ta's news would furnish fire-pit
talk for months, so they must know all the par-
ticulars. What was this white cau-co-rouse (cap-
tain or leader) like? What had he on? Did he
use his magic against the braves? Were any of
them killed ?
For the fame of "the white cau-co-rouse," the
" Great Captain," as the Indians called the cour-
ageous and intrepid little governor of the Virginia
Colony, Captain John Smith, had already gone
throughout the confederacy, and his capture was
even better than a victory over their deadliest
enemies, the Manna-ho-acks.
Ra-bun-ta was as good a gossip and story-teller
as any of them, and as he squatted before the upper
fire-pit, and ate a hearty meal of parched corn,
which the little Ma-ta-oka brought him as a peace-
offering, he gave the details of the celebrated cap-
ture. The Great Captain," he said, and two of
his men had been surprised in the Chicka-hominy
swamps by the chief O-pe-chan-ca-nough and two
hundred braves. The two men were killed by the
chief, but the Captain," seeing himself thus en-
trapped, seized his Indian guide and fastened him
before as a shield, and then sent out so much of his
magic thunder from his fire-tube that he killed or
wounded many of the Indians, and yet kept him-
self from harm though his clothes were torn with
arrow-shots. At last, however, said the runner,
the Captain had slipped into a mud-hole in the
swamps, and, being there surrounded, was dragged
out and made captive, and he, Ra-bun-ta, had
been sent on to tell the great news to the chief.
The Indians especially admired bravery and cun-
ning. This device of the white chieftain and his
valor when attacked appealed to their admiration,
and there was great desire to see him when next
day he was brought into the village by O-pe-chan-
ca-nough, the chief of the Pa-mun-kee (or York
River) Indians, and brother of the chief of the
The renowned prisoner was received with the
customary chorus of Indian yells; and then, acting

upon the one leading Indian custom, the law of
unbounded hospitality, a bountiful feast was set
before him. The captive, like the valiant man he
was, ate heartily, though ignorant what his fate
might be.
The Indians seldom wantonly killed their cap-
tives. When a sufficient number had been sacri-
ficed to avenge the memory of such braves as had
fallen in fight, the remaining captives were either
adopted as tribesmen or disposed of as slaves.
So valiant a warrior as this pale-faced can-co-
rouse was too important a personage to be used as
a slave, and Wa-bun-so-na-cook, the chief, received
him as an honored guest f rather than as a pris-
oner, kept him in his own house for two days, and
adopting him as his own son, promised him a large
gift of land. Then, with many expressions of
friendship, he returned him, well escorted by Indian
guides, to the trail that led back direct to the Eng-
lish colony at Jamestown.
This relation destroys the long-familiar romance
of the doughty Captain's life being saved by "the
King's own daughter, but it seems to be the only
true version of the story, based upon his own
original report.
But though the oft-described rescue did not
take place, the valiant Englishman's attention was
speedily drawn to the agile little Indian girl, Ma-
ta-oka, whom her father called his tomboy," or
She was as inquisitive as any young girl, savage
or civilized; and she was so full of kindly attentions
to the Captain, and bestowed on him so many
smiles and looks of wondering curiosity, that Smith
made much of her in return, gave her some trifling
presents, and asked her name.
Now it was one of the many singular customs of
the American Indians never to tell their own
names, nor even to allow them to be spoken to
strangers by any of their own immediate kindred.
The reason for this lay in their peculiar supersti-
tion, which held that the speaking of one's realname
gave to the stranger to whom it was spoken a magi-
cal and harmful influence over such person.
For this very reason, Wa-bun-so-na-cook was
known to the colonists by the name of his tribe,
Pow-ha-tan, rather than by his own name. So,
when he was asked his little daughter's name, he
hesitated, and then gave in reply the nickname
by which he often called her, Po-ca-hun-tas, the
"little tomboy." This agile young maiden, by
reason of her relationship to the head chief, was
allowed much more freedom and fun than was
usually the lot of Indian girls, who were, as a rule,
the patient and uncomplaining little drudges of
every Indian home and village.

* Great man" or strong one." a title by which Wa-bun-so-na-cook, or Powhatan, was frequently addressed.
t Hee kindly welcomed me with good wordss" says Smith's own narrative, assuring me his friendship and my libertie."


So, when Captain Smith left Wero-woco-moco, panions entertained the English captain with a gay
he left one firm friend behind him the pretty Indian dance, full of noise and frolic.
little Indian girl, Ma-ta-oka--who long remem- Soon after this second interview, Ma-ta-oka's
bered the white man and his presents, and deter- wish to see the white man's village was gratified.
mined, after her own willful fashion, to go into the For in that same autumn of 16o8 she came
white man's village and see all its wonders for with Ra-bun-ta to Jamestown. She sought out
herself. the Captain, who was then President of the col-
In less than a year she saw the Captain again. ony, and "entreated the liberties" of certain of

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~; 4?"


For when, in the fall of 1608, he came to her
father's village to invite the old chief to Jamestown
to be crowned by the English as "King" of the
Pow-ha-tans, this bright little girl of twelve gath-
ered together the other little girls of the village,
and, almost upon the very spot where Cornwallis
in later years was to surrender the armies of Eng-
land to the "Irebel" republic, she with her com-

her tribesmen who had
been detained "- in
other words, treacherous-
ly made prisoners by the
settlers because of some
fear of an Indian plot
against them.
Smith was a shrewd
enough man to know
when to bluster and when
to be friendly He re-
leased the Indian captives
at Ma-ta-oka's wish-
well knowing that the
little girl had been duly
.* I "coached" by her wily
.old father, but feeling
that even the friendship
of a child may often be
of value to people in a
.strange land.
The result of this visit
to Jamestown was the fre-
S quent presence in the
town of the chieftain's
I daughter. She would
come, sometimes, with
her brother, Nun-to-qua-
us, sometimes with the
S runner, Ra-bun-ta, and
sometimes with certain
of her girl followers. For
even little Indian girls
had their dearest
friends," quite as much
as have our own clannish
young schoolgirls of to-
S day.
T ONE I am afraid, however,
that this twelve-year-old
Ma-ta-oka fully deserved,

even when she should have been on her good be-
havior among the white people, the nickname of
"little tomboy," Po-ca-hun-tas, that her father had
given her; for we have the assurance of sedate Mas-
ter William Strachey, Secretary of the colony, that
" the before remembered Pocahontas, Powhatan's
daughter, sometimes resorting to our fort, of the
age then of eleven or twelve years, did get the boyes



forth with her into the market place, and make
them wheele, falling on their hands, turning their
heeles upward, home she would followed and wheele
so herself, all the fort over." From which it would
appear that she could easily "stump" the English
boys at "making cart-wheels."
But very soon there came a time when she went
into Jamestown for other purpose than turning
The Indians soon learned to distrust the white
men, because of their unfriendly and selfish deal-
ings, their tyranny, their haughty disregard of
the Indians' wishes and desires, and their impudent
meddling with their chieftains and their tribesmen.
Discontent grew into hatred, and, led on by certain
traitors in the colony, a plot was arranged for the
murder of Captain Smith and the destruction of
the colony.
Three times did they attempt to entrap and
destroy the Great Captain and his people; but
each time did the little Ma-ta-oka, full of friendship
and pity for her new acquaintances, steal into the
town, or find some means of misleading the con-
spirators, and thus warn her white friends of their
One dark winter night in January, 1609, Captain
Smith, who had come to Wero-woco-moco for con-
ference and treaty with Wa-bun-so-na-cook (whom
he always called Pow-ha-tan), sat in the York
River woods awaiting some provisions that the
chief had promised him,--for eatables were scarce
that winter in the Virginia Colony.
There was a light step, beneath which the dry
twigs on the ground crackled slightly, and the wary
settler grasped his matchlock and bade his men
be watchful. Again the twigs crackled, and now
there came from the shadow of the woods-not a
train of Indians, but one little girl, Ma-ta-oka, or
"Be guarded, my father," she said as Smith
drew her to his side. "The corn and the good
cheer will come as promised, but even now my
father, the chief of the Pow-ha-tans, is gathering all
his power to fall upon you and kill you. If you
would live, get you away at once."
The captain prepared to act upon her advice
without delay, but he felt so grateful at this latest
and so hazardous a proof of the little Indian's
regard that he desired to manifest his thankfulness
by presents- the surest way to reach the Indians'
"My daughter," he said kindly, "you have
again saved my life, coming alone, and at risk of
your own young life through the irksome woods
and in this/gloomy night to admonish me. Take
this, I pray you, from me, and let it always tell you
of the love of Captain Smith."

And the grateful pioneer handed her his much-
prized pocket-compass-an instrument regarded
with awe by the Indians, and esteemed as one of
the instruments of the white man's magic.
But Pocahontas, although she longed to possess
this wonderful "path-teller," shook her head.
Not so, Cazu-co-rouse," she said, if it should
be seen by my tribesmen, or even by my father,
the chief, I should but be as dead to them; for
they would know that I had warned you whom
they have sworn to kill, and so would they kill me
also. Stay not to parley, my father, but be gone
at once."
And with that, says the record, She ran away
by herself as she came."
So the Captain hurried back to Jamestown, and
Pocahontas returned to her people.
Soon after, Smith left the colony, sick and worn
out by the continual worries and disputes with his
fellow-colonists And Pocahontas felt that, in the
absence of her best friend and with the increasing
troubles between her tribesmen and the pale-faces,
it would be unwise for her to visit Jamestown.
Her fears seem to have been well grounded, for
in the spring of 1613, Pocahontas, being then
about sixteen, was treacherously and "by strata-
gem" kidnapped by the bold, unscrupulous Cap-
tain Argall-half pirate, half trader-and held
by the colonists as hostage for the "friendship"
of Pow-ha-tan.
Within those three years she had been married
to the chief of one of the tributary tribes, Ko-ko-
um by name; but, as was the Indian marriage
custom, Ko-ko-um had come to live among the
kindred of his wife, and had doubtless been killed
in one of the numerous Indian fights.
It was during the captivity of the young widow
at Jamestown that she became acquainted with
Master John Rolfe, an industrious young English-
man, and the man who first of all the American
colonists attempted the cultivation of tobacco.
Master Rolfe was a widower and an ardent
desirer of "the conversion of the pagan salvages."
He became interested in the young Indian widow,
though he protests that he married her for the
purpose of converting her to Christianity, and
rather ungallantly calls her an unbelieving
Well, the Englishman and the Indian girl, as
we all know, were married, lived happily together,
and finally departed for England. Here, all too
soon, in 1617, when she was about twenty-one,
died the daughter of the great chieftain of the
Her story is both a pleasant and a sad one. It
needs none of the additional romance that has
been thrown about it to make it more interesting.


An Indian girl, free as her native forests, made
friends with the race that, all unnecessarily, became
hostile to her own. Brighter, perhaps, than most
of the girls of her tribe, she recognized and desired
to avail herself of the refinements of civilization,
and so gave up her barbaric surroundings, cast in
her lot with the white race, and sought to make
peace and friendship between neighbors take the
place of quarrel and of war.
The white race has nothing to be proud of in its
conquest of the people who once owned and oc-

cupied the vast area of the North American con-
tinent. The story is neither an agreeable nor a
pleasant one. But out of the gloom which surrounds
it there come some figures that relieve the dark-
ness, the treachery, and the crime that make it so
sad; and not the least impressive of these is this
bright and gentle little daughter of Wa-bun-so-na-
cook, chief of the Pow-ha-tans, Ma-ta-oka, friend
of the white strangers, whom we of this later day
know by the nickname her loving old father gave
her Po-ca-hun-tas, the Algonquin.



, I

'-'" __.t


I I ,

'5 V



A BATTLE-SCENE witnessed by me some years
ago on my plantation in Middle Georgia reminded
me with some emphasis of the following verses
from Hudibras ":

The ancients make two several kinds
Of prowess in heroic minds;
The active and the passive valiant:
Both which are fari libira gallant:
For both to give blows and to carry
In fights are equi-necessary."

It was in one of my fields near the horse-lot
fence, a few rods above the place where the level
ground joins the steep bank of the gorge made by
the waters from the spring.
The difficulty, and to an outsider the fun, in
this battle grew out of the fact that neither of the
belligerents before, during, or after the engage-
ment, understood the other's method of warfare ;
and this ignorance worked to the disadvantage of
the more powerful and pugnacious.
When the goat fights, he rears himself upon his
hind legs and makes descending blows with head
and horns. The sheep, on the contrary, takes a

running start, and, rushing upon his adversary,
gives him one butt; then, after retreating several
rods, returns for another.
I was walking in meditative mood through the
horse lot, when I heard the sound of a dull, heavy
blow that was succeeded immediately by a loud,
defiant cry. I can not say which began the fight;
but I believe that it was Old Billy, the goat, and
that he did it by trespassing too far upon Buck's
territory in that strip near the fence whither, the
pea-vines and crab-grass being specially fruit-
laden, the sheep had repaired. Buck, the ram,
was of a peaceable nature, though he would fight,
and fight his very best, on occasion; whereas Old
Billy had always been meddlesome and aggressive,
even before he was the head of the goats.
Thus diverted from my meditation, I turned and
walked to the fence. I noticed Old Billy shaking
his big beard, and laughing scornfully it sounded
precisely like a man's laugh at Buck, as the lat-
ter with rapid steps was running away from him.
"You found Old Billy too much for you, eh,
Buck? I am not surprised."

,1 '~t.




I said these words to Buck; but Buck made no
answer, nor did he, so far as I heard, open his
mouth once during the whole engagement. Al-
ready the two flocks, which had been intermingled,
seemed to think it prudent to separate,- the sheep
moving towards the upper, and the goats the lower
portion of the field. Old Billy, after his laugh,
turned away in the manner of one in search of a
foe worthy of his prowess.
But now, lo, and behold !
After retreating about thirty paces, Buck wheeled
and came furiously back. Old Billy heard his
galloping feet, but the onset was so swift that, be-
fore he could turn himself, Buck had given him a
big bump upon his loin. Stumbling about for a
second or so, then quickly recovering his poise,
Billy reared aloft, twisted his neck and head in a
most wrathful, threatening manner, and there was
only one thing in the world to save Buck from a

from his fall! Again he made himself ready, this
time for a very death-blow. But whoever sup-
poses that Buck staid to receive it is widely mis-
taken. By that time Buck was galloping away as
if his life depended upon getting far beyond the
reach of that terrific head-and-horns.
The tumultuous volley that then poured from
Old Billy's mouth I could not interpret with entire
accuracy ; but I felt confident that if put into some-
what modified English, it would have run about
"You coward! You -you pusillanimous sheep!
Hit a gentleman when his back 's turned, and then
run away-shame!" And again the indignant
warrior turned.
By this time I had to lean against the fence,
while nigh exhausted with laughter at Old Billy's
utter inability to understand his doughty adversary's



( A


blow of mighty magnitude, and that was he was
not there. Having put in his stroke in the manner
of his kind, Buck had again retreated, and by the
time Old Billy was ready for him, was far beyond
I do not understand goat-language, nor can Old
Billy speak English; but if I should interpret his
remarks as they sounded to me, they would be
highly derogatory to Buck. He appeared as if
"You mean, cowardly sheep "
He turned again, and was moving away, majes-
tic, slow, when the first thing he knew- Bim /
Oh, how wrathful he looked as he recovered
VOL. XV.-3.

Brave as Julius Cmsar was Billy, as he had shown
himself often, not only among his own kind, but
against other assailants, quadruped and biped; and
if he could have gotten in his blows on Buck, the
latter might have been put where he would not
have known what had hit him. As it was, how-
ever, Old Billy never knew, until too late, what
had hit him.
The unequal combat continued. The oftener
Old Billy was knocked over, and subsequently
viewed Buck retreating, the hotter became his
wrath, the profounder his disgust, and the more
abusive his language. I would be ashamed to re-
peat all the names he seemed to be calling Buck,


as he champed his tongue, stamped upon the
ground, and shook his head; but he was justly
provoked, and evidently he was writhing with high
passion. Besides, I was sure that he was ignorant
of my being within hearing.


I. W I I '' '

' :Itt
S 11101

Now, what do you suppose did Buck? Silently,
resolutely, as before, he measured off his ground,
then wheeling, made ready and again took aim.
Not seeing Old Billy, at first he looked rather sur-
prised ; but evidently concluding that the field had

- -.-. :. ,- .



How long the combat might have been pro-
tracted, if the field had been fairer, there is no tell-
ing. But after many rounds -perhaps I should
rather say straights Old Billy reached the edge
of the gorge, and was working his way around it.
Not less, not more surprised than before, but now
evidently delighted, was he to see Buck rushing for
another charge.
"A-ha! A-ha! I have you at last! his cry seemed
to be.
Then he towered high, inclined his mighty fore-
head, clothed his neck with thunder, and when the
foe was within reach, the awful blow descended.
But, alas! its force was expended in a harmless
slant on the shoulder of Buck, whose head, like
a catapult, struck full upon Billy's breast, and
tumbled him backward over the precipice-heels
over head, head over heels But for the briers
and thorn-bushes that grew upon the side of the
declivity, and the most vigorous employment of
the claws on the bottom of his feet, the old goat
must have been precipitated into the ravine below.

been cleared by the flight of his enemy, he turned
and proceeded to rejoin his flock.
Meanwhile Old Billy had scrambled back to the
level, his face sadly soiled, and his beard badly
draggled. The combat had reached a crisis where-
in it was evident that to save himself from signal
defeat, his powers must be exerted to their utter-
most. Embarrassed by the temporary obstruction
to his vision, he shook his head with great vio-
lence, and wiped his face with his fore legs.
These brief preliminaries concluded, his hind legs
were drawn almost off the ground, as he reared
himself for action.
Why, where ?- why, how ?- why, what? "
These were the first words that he appeared to
say when he found that Buck was -gone Then
he went on at so rapid, so passionate a rate, and I
was so overcome as I leaned on the fence, that I
could not follow his tirade intelligently.
Receiving no answer to his defiant calls, he
looked all along the fence, up and down, across
the field. Putting his head horizontal, he gazed


first with one eye, then with the other, up toward
the heavens. He wheeled himself about and about,
and even searched under himself, if perchance the
coward were behind or beneath him. Then he
went to the precipice and peered as far as he could
into the briers and thorn-bushes.
Suddenly he turned, and-well, other people
may have heard heartier laughing than his, but
I never did.

Nothing could have been plainer to any one
than that from the very bottom of his heart he wxas
triumphing in the full assurance that he had cast
Buck into the ravine, where in all probability his
neck was broken.
Shouting ever, he capered off to the nannies
and the little goats, among whom I could hear
him boasting of the signal victory that he had
won over his ancient enemy.

eiV* ,,~



OUR merry little daughter
Was climbing out of bed-
Don't you think that I 'm a good girl?
Our little daughter said;
For all day long this lovely day,
And all day long to-morrow,
I have n't done a single thing,
To give my mother sorrow "



YOUNG and unmar-
ried man, who had
*few goods, yet who
was ready with his
hands and a won-
derful worker, lived
once upon a time
in Spain. He spent
per much time during
Sthe day among the
mountains, cutting
the hazel-rods, with
which he made at home crates and wattles, to
be sold at fairs and markets. He also tilled a little
piece of hired land, and in partnership with another
he had a small cow. So he went on slowly gaining,
with patched breeches and not very full stomach,
but with good health, and contented,-because,
perhaps, he had known nothing better.
But being one day in the mountains, and in the
most lonely part of them,- because in the least
frequented parts they always find good hazel-rods,-
he cut this rod and that, and lo, he heard the
music of a sea-shell near him! and so sweetly
made that it was glorious to hear. And hearing
the sea-shell so near, he went toward the sound;
and going toward the sound, he parted the bram-
bles; and parting the brambles, he came to a very
pretty little opening, where he saw the sea-shell
alone, against a great mole-hill, sounding without
ceasing. But, for all that, he came nearer the
mole-hill and saw that at its very edge, and with
his little feet in the hole, there was seated a dwarf
smaller than a man's clinched hand, and that it
was this dwarf who made the music upon the
sea-shell. And the dwarf, seeing the young man,
stopped playing, and said to him:
"What is it, good friend?"
I came here," responded the youth, "to know
who makes such fine music; but if I disturb you, I
will go back to the place from which I came."
At this the dwarf said to the young man:

"Disturb whom, man? Know that it was for
you to come that I was playing."
And so the youth and the dwarf got into conver-
sation, and the youth told the dwarf all the troubles
of his life. And after telling him all the troubles
of his life, the dwarf said to the young man:
But, friend, I knew of all this before; and be-
cause I knew of it all, I called you with the music,
to ask you what it is you desire in reward for your
To this the young man responded:
"Besides what I have from my rented ground
and the partnership, if I had twice as much more
with which to live without this labor upon the
mountains, which is what troubles me, I should
believe myself the richest man in the place, and
would not envy the King of the Indies."


"Well, take what you desire, if what you say is
enough," answered the dwarf; and the youth re-
It is enough, and sufficient for me, seeing what
I have had until now, and the evil use I might
make of more because of my ignorance."


Then the dwarf said to him:
"Take up this dirt that you see near me, and
put it into your handkerchief."
But the young man was astonished at this com-
mand, and thought the dwarf was mocking at him.
Then the dwarf said again:
Take it up, man, without hesitation, for I have
my palaces full of it; and to them this passage
goes in which my feet are."
Whether the youth thought this was true or not,
he pulled his handkerchief out from his breast and
threw into it a good heap of the dirt, and then tied
the corners of the handkerchief together. And
then the dwarf said to him:
Now go home, and when you go to bed, put
this dirt under your bed-blanket, as it is in your
handkerchief. When you awake in the morning,
you will see if I have deceived you."
Well, the young man did as he was directed,
and upon awaking in the morning with the sun,
he opened the handkerchief; and behold, the dirt
had changed into golden doubloons and half-doub-
loons-with one and another he had more than a
thousand! The poor crate-maker was almost be-
side himself with joy. But as his senses came back
to him little by little, he began to make his plans:
so many measures of ground so, and so many in
this way; so many cattle of this kind, and so many
of another; a cart of this kind; a house like this.
And you must know that in a little time, with great
care, and with flocks and herds in sight, well-
clothed and fed, and with money left in the top of
his chest, there was such a flutter that the best
girls of the place were kind to him, and sent him
memorials with their eyes. And well did he merit
it; because, besides being a good young man and
rich, he continued to be an honored laborer, just
the same as when he was poor.
But behold, one day it came to his mind to see
a little of the world, something that he had never
seen; so all at once he took up his quarters in the
city. Ah, what did he not see there, of festivity,
courtliness, and dominion? Those, yes, those
were the young ladies, with their silken attire, and
their laces, and their fans, and faces of May roses.
Those, yes, those were the young gentlemen, with
their coats of fine cloth, their golden tassels, and
their shining boots What a life was theirs This
one on horseback, that one in a coach, the other,
with gay companions Going here, going there ;
a good table, plenty of servants, and a big palace-
what would you want but to live so, and live in
glory ?
So it came to pass that the young man went
back to his village thinking himself the most unfort-
unate creature in the world. And going back so
to his native village, he began to doubt about the

good of his humble possessions, and to dislike
work; and he spent whole days thinking of what
he had seen, and of being a gentleman with the
best. And thinking in this way, he wanted the
gay coach and horses, and the servants and



the palace, and a grand lady for a wife; and
one could not mention the girls of his neigh-
borhood to him, because they all seemed un-
worthy such a person as himself. So when he
had entirely stopped attending to his usual labors,
and began to feed upon his vanity, there came
into his mind a certain idea that he did not quite
dare to put in execution. But, you see, as things
were, he had no other way than to do it, because
his vanity was like to make an end of him, and he
would not return to the soil he had stopped tilling.
So one day he yoked his oxen to his cart, put
into the cart half a dozen empty sacks, and went
up into the mountains; and going up into the
mountains, he came to the place for which he was
looking; and coming to that place, he heard the
sound of the dwarf's shell; and hearing the sound,
he went near to the dwarf, and said to him:
Hallo, my good friend I came to thank you
for the kindness you did to me some time ago, and
to ask of you a new one, if it does not displease


"What is there to displease me, man?" re-
sponded the dwarf. If it is anything I can do,
ask it freely."
This answer gave joy to the heart of the young
man, and he said to the dwarf:
Well, I want to fill these sacks, that I have

~~C~p iP

B- ."r-X

f -' -'
-k -,


brought here, with the same kind of dirt that you
gave me before."
All this country is full of it," answered the
dwarf; and that being so, dig where you like,
and fill them to your liking. Don't forget to put
them to-night near the bed, to open them as soon
as you awake in the morning."
And saving this, the dwarf went away into the

passage toward his palaces, and left the young man
alone; and the young man dug and dug, and in a
little time he filled his sacks with dirt, and then
went home with them as happy as the crickets.
And when night came, he went to bed; but he
slept little because of the disturbance which he
carried in his mind, and at daylight he was livelier
than a rabbit; and being livelier than a rabbit, he
thought he would dig a deep well in which to
guard so many doubloons as ought to come out
of those sacks. And, thinking about this, he
opened the sacks; and upon opening the sacks, he
found nothing therein but the dirt he had shoveled
into them in the mountains The poor young man
was in agony; and being in agony, he tried to con-
sole himself with the thought that, looking at
things properly, there was enough for him with
what remained from the first time; and, thinking
so, he went to the chest where he kept the little
money that he had left, and behold, that was dirt
also, like the dirt in the sacks and even the
papers about his purchases were dirt!
Then he went to the stable, and his oxen were
mountains of dirt; and great heaps of dirt were
the herds which he bought with the money of
the dwarf. There was left then not one beast
except the cow of the partnership.
Then he went back to the house, and he saw
that it was the same in which he lived when he
was a poor crate-maker; and at the gate there was
a load of hazel-rods and some half-finished crates.
He sobbed, and beat his breast, the idle fellow,
and went up into the mountains to tell the dwarf
about his misfortune; but the dwarf said to him:
"This which has happened to you I can not
help. I can only say to you that the misery which
has come upon you is the punishment upon your
covetousness; for you wished to pass at one bound,
without meriting it, from the position of a thrifty
crate-maker to that of a gentleman of importance.
But the linnet keeps to its kind."
And the dwarf disappeared in the passage lead-
ing to his palaces; but the youth heard no more
the music of the shell, as if it were a sound from

Sanan azc icro~iypn.
Qn aztee l;icroelypn.
b3V Jl'S^^'.-iZC~'.

This calm, adhesive King
Tells the Owner of thlt thing
He musl pay a triple license on its
lail, tail, lail.
Says the Owner," here 's but one-
\.ncL. I pay for that or none".
-ndc so 1he Guardc has put him in the
jail, jail, jail.




AZY and clumsy-looking as
the elephant appears in our
menageries, where it is merely
an object of curiosity, in Asia
it is as useful an animal as
the horse, and is, indeed,
employed in a greater variety
of ways.
There are few, if any, tasks
which a horse can be trusted to
Perform without careful and con-
-"tant guidance; whereas the el-
..phant is frequently given as
.much independence of action as.
:"L man would have for the same
-vork. This is notably the case
Sn the lumber-yards of Rangoon
nd Maulmein, where the entire
operation of moving and piling
the heavy timber is performed by
male elephants without any spe-
-:ial supervision by the keepers.
-i The logs to be moved are
teakwood, which is very heavy.
They are cut into lengths of
twenty feet, with a diameter, or-
perhaps a square, of about a
.... An elephant will go to a log,
kLdel down, thrust his tusks under the
middle of it, curl his trunk over it, test it to see that it is evenly balanced, and then rise with it and
easily carry it to the pile which is being made. Placing the log carefully on the pile in its proper
place, the sagacious animal will step back a few paces and measure with his eye to determine whether
or not the log needs pushing one way or another. It will then make any necessary alteration of posi--
tion. In this way, without a word of command from its mahout, or driver, it will go on with its work.


To do any special task, it must, of course, be
directed by the mahout; but it is marvelous to
see how readily this great creature comprehends
its instructions, and how ingeniously it makes use
of its strength. If a log too heavy to be carried
is to be moved a short distance, the elephant will
bend low, place his great head against the end of
the log and then with a sudden exertion of strength
and weight throw his body forward and fairly push

strength and size unfit for such work, yet so docile
and intelligent is it, that it performs the task as
satisfactorily as the horse.
The fact is that the clumsiness of the elephant
is far more seeming than real. No animal can
move more softly and few more swiftly, as many
an astonished hunter has discovered when his
horse has been left far behind by a fleeing elephant.
Its suppleness, too, is vastly greater than would be



the log along; or, to move the log any great dis-
tance, he will encircle it with a chain using his
trunk for that purpose-and drag his load behind
As a rule, however, the work of dragging is
done by the female elephants, since, having no
tusks, they can not carry logs as the male elephants
do. A man could hardly display more judgment
in the adjustment of the rope or chain around a
log, nor could a man with his two hands tie and
untie knots more skillfully than do they with their
In some parts of India the elephant is used to
drag the plow, and, though it seems from its great

supposed from a mere look at its bulky body.
Any one who has seen its performances in the
menagerie will, however, be able to comprehend
that fact.
It is owing to its combined docility, intelligence,
strength, and suppleness that it is enabled to per-
form the extraordinary tasks imposed upon it -
tasks which range between two such extremes as
child's nurse and public executioner. It is not
often, perhaps, that the elephant acts in the latter
capacity, but in the former it frequently does,-
ably, too, for the monstrous beast seems to have
a natural affection for babies, whether human or


away. If the baby
cried, the giant nurse
would rock the cradle
until the little thing
N-or are only the
I-- ------_--- ------- ----- female elephants so
-- -- affectionate with the
I' --V --_ -- -- =---- helpless little ones; the
--i-- _-- _------- male animals are equal-
-Z- --- ---- ly kind. Perhaps this is
because the fathers as
S .. w- well as the mothers
Slamong the wild ele-
a- e pants have the care
h of the elephant babies.
-_ -., --_ Mr. C. F. Holder con-
SI tributes several inter-
-lti ,t k-- testing incidents in this
E -- -- -'' '-. -- connection. In a paper
Sg-_- __ --_ -. --- ___ on the subject he says:
-- --- -- --- How the young
S -- --- -- elephants, in the large
herds, escape from be-
Sing crushed, is some-
S _:_-_ __ thing of a mystery, as
they are almost contin-
ually in motion; but
AN ELEPHANT BATTERY. (SEE PAGE 44.)whenaherdisalarmed
when a herd is alarmed,
In India, where the elephant is treated by his the young almost immediately disappear. A close
mahout almost as one of the family, the grateful observer would see that each baby was trotting
animal makes a return for
the kindness shown it by
voluntarily taking care of ,- '
the baby. It will patiently
permit itself to be mauled
by its little charge, and will _
show great solicitude when
the child cries. Sometimes 1 l '.
the elephant will become so '
attached to its baby friend '
'. .'re f i. _ur' i ,'
as to insist upon its constant
presence. Such a case is
known where the elephant
went so far as to refuse to
eat except in the presence of ..- ,' :- '
its little friend. Its attach- '.. 'l
ment was so genuine that e I'
the child's parents would not i" '
hesitate to leave the baby
in the elephant's care, know-
ing that it could have no
more faithful nurse. And '
the kindly monster never .
belied the trust reposed in -
it. If the flies came about
the baby, it would drive them AN ELEPHANT CARRYING A CANNON.


along directly beneath its
mother, sometimes be-
tween her fore legs, and
in various positions; and
so careful are the great
mothers and fathers, that
even while a herd is charg-
ing, the little ones are never
crushed or stepped upon.
On the march, when
a little elephant is born in
a herd, they stop a day or
two to allow it time to ex- .
ercise its little limbs and
gain strength, and then
they press on, the mothers
and babies in front, the old
tuskers following in the
rear, but ready to rush
forward at the first alarm.
When rocky or hilly places
are reached, the little ones
are helped up by the
mothers, who push them
from behind and in various
ways; but when a river
has to be forded or swum, a comical sight ensues.
The stream may be very rapid and rough, as


i I'. ., ,

0 -

-,,.--.- <-

'" -1 .. ,


*M 'I i i

the Indian rivers often are after a rain, and at such
a place the babies would hardly be able to keep

I 'S '

P e -, ,'
i ,' ,, I .
;/. '^.l.. .-S- '' "'"r .

,,' ,, .: /I _.." '. i i- '
/: .- .. 4 .
,''''",---" %', '3 i ,, '


- I



up with the rest; so the mothers and fathers help
them. At first all plunge boldly in-both young
and old-and when the old elephants reach deep
water, where they have to swim, the young scram-
ble upon their backs and sit astride, sometimes
two being seen in this position. But the very
young elephants often require a little more care and
attention, so they are held either upon the tusks
of the father or grasped in the trunk of the mother,
and held over or just at the surface of the water.
Such a sight is a curious one, to say the least -
the great elephants almost hidden beneath the
water, here and there a young one seemingly
walking on the water, resting upon a submerged
back, or held aloft while the dark waters roar
For hundreds and hundreds of years -thousands
even- the elephant has been trained for the use
of man, though in those long ago times it was used
chiefly for fighting purposes. Now, the strength

and sagacity of the huge animal are for the most
part employed for peaceful ends. In British Bur-
mah, however, the British army has an elephant
battery of twenty-two elephants. On four of the
elephants are carried cannon; twelve carry ammu-
nition, four carry tools, and two are kept in reserve
for emergencies. The elephants are as regularly
drilled in their maneuvers as the human soldiers,
and, it may be said, make as few mistakes. These
elephants are also made to go through a weekly
swimming drill; but for this part of their duties
they seem, strangely enough, to have a dislike.
The mahout in consequence has very often a hard
time of it during swimming drill; for right in the
midst of it an elephant may decide to consult his
own pleasure, and will rush from the water, in
spite of every effort of the mahout.
The wonder is that the elephant does not oftener
take advantage of its prodigious strength to break
loose from its bondage. Fear of the sharp-pointed


hook, which the mahout always carries, is probably
one reason for its submission; but the habit of
implicit obedience which it learns has a great deal to
do with it. If the elephant were not so trustworthy,
its usefulness would be greatly impaired for hun-
dreds of tasks which it now performs. This would
be the case particularly in carrying travelers on its
back through the forests, where the desire for
freedom would naturally be very strong.
Occasionally, however, an elephant will have a fit
of bad temper, and will be as savage as if it had
never been tamed. At such times it is securely
chained and kept so until the fit is over.
Few accounts of the elephant show it to be
otherwise than gentle and kindly in disposition;
and most persons who have had experience with
it are enthusiastic in its praise. Mr. Forbes, for

example, in his "Oriental Memoirs," says of his
"Nothing could exceed the sagacity, docility,
and affection of this noble quadruped. If I stopped
to enjoy a prospect, he remained perfectly im-
movable until my sketch was finished. If I wished
for ripe mangoes growing out of the common
reach, he selected the most fruitful branch, and
breaking it off with his trunk, gave it to his driver
to be handed to me; accepting of any part given
to himself with a respectful salaam, by raising his
trunk three times above his head in the manner
of the Oriental obeisance, and as often did he ex-
press his thanks by a murmuring noise. .
"No spaniel could be more innocent or playful,
or fonder of those who noticed him than this docile



CHILDREN, do you ever,
In walks by land or sea,
Meet a little maiden
Long time lost to me?

She is gay and gladsome,
Has a laughing face,
And a heart as sunny;
And her name is Grace.

Naught she knows of sorrow,
Naught of doubt or blight;
Heaven is just above her-
All her thoughts are white.

Longtime since I lost her,
That other Me of mine;
She crossed into Time's shadow
Out of Youth's sunshine.

Now the darkness keeps her;
And call her as I will,
The years that lie between us
Hide her from me still.

I am dull and pain-worn,
And lonely as can be -
Oh, children, if you meet her,
Send back my other Me !



YONDER, by the wooded hill, stands a cottage
which has a window so small that when one sees
therein the round, fair-curled head of a little boy,
it fills the whole window.
In former days the cottage had a chimney-top of
brick, the walls were painted red, and a nice fence
encircled the house and the small potato-field. But
now it all looks poor- very poor. The smoke rises
through a hole in the turf roof, and the fence has
fallen down. This is because its only grown-up
inmates are an old blind soldier and a wife, as old
as himself. As neither of them could work nor
build, they would have died of hunger if the old
man had not employed himself by binding nets,
and his wife made brooms, and if the parish had
not yearly given them three barrels of corn for
Four or five years before, it had all been much
better. At that time there lived in the cottage,
besides the old soldier and his wife, a young, active
couple,- the son and the son's wife. They were
very industrious, and there was prosperity in the
house, until the calamity came.
It happened one Sunday morning that the big
church-boat, which carried the people of the ham-
let to church, capsized in the middle of the lake dur-
ing a squall, and the young man and his wife
and many more people were buried in the waves.
But the old couple had remained at home that
day,- the old man, because of his blindness, and
his wife to take care of a little child. While the
bells ringing for the church service sounded across
the lake, it was at the same time for the souls of
those whom God had so suddenly called to an
eternal service in heaven.
The two old people were then left alone in the cot-
tage with their sorrow, their poverty, and their little
grandchild. They had now only this little boy, who
was called Matti (Matthew); and, as he was so
small, he was generally called little Matti. He was
as round and ruddy-cheeked as a ripened apple,
with honest blue eyes, and hair as yellow as gold,
which was the only gold little Matti possessed in
this world. It was his ruddy face that used to fill the
window when there was anything remarkable going
on in the road.
If you have passed this place at any time you

have surely seen him. Perhaps you passed along
the road in a dark and raw autumn evening. You
have then seen the fire shine bright and clear upon
the hearth in the poor room. The blind soldier is
binding nets, and the old wife reads aloud from
the Bible about the poor blind human beings who
live in the dark land and who shall see the shin-
ing light. And Matti sits on the hearth-stone in
the firelight, with the cat before him. He listens
piously, as if he could understand very well what
Grandmother reads,- but soon comes sweet slum-
ber over his blue eyes, and his round red cheeks
sink softly down against the old woman's knee.
And even if you were sitting in the most splendid
carriage out there on the road, you would still look
with joy and envy into the poor room,- for there is
devotion and innocence; there is the peace of simple
faith which heals the heart's sorrows; there is con-
fidence in God who brings solace for all the dis-
tress of life. This cot is rich; do you think it
would change its treasure for the palace's gold?
If you pass the same way on a summer's day,
you will see that near the cottage there is a gate.
You have to stop there, if nobody comes to open
it. But wait a moment, it will not be long before
little Matti is there; he is already to be seen at
the door of the cottage. He runs over stick and
stone to reach it in good time, and his long yellow
hair flows in the wind; he is now at the gate.
Have you a penny ? Do throw it to him, he expects
it; but take a new penny, which glitters, if you
have one, fdr that is his joy. He does not know
what the coin will buy; a penny gives him quite
the same delight that a dollar would. But take
care that you do not throw the coin on the road
before the horses and carriage have passed through
the gate; for as soon as he sees the coin, he throws
himself full length upon it, and lets the gate swing
back against the noses of the horses. Don't scold
him for it; when you were a little one, you were
not a bit wiser !
Little Matti had hard bread and herring with
small beer for his every-day fare; sometimes
there was potatoes and sour milk for him, but
they were for feast-meals; yet he grew and throve
on it, and was rounder each year. He could read
nothing besides his prayers and the ten com-


mandments; but he could stand on his head
where the grass was soft; he could fish by the
shore of the lake, when his grandmother was
there washing his shirts; he could drive on the
level road, and ride his neighbors' horses to the
watering-place, especially if some one walked by
his side. On the snow he could distinguish grouse-
tracks from magpie-tracks, and wolf-tracks he
knew exceeding well. He could cut a sledge out of
pieces of wood, and make horses and cows of pine-
cones with small bits of wood for their feet. This


z,;'l T I C
7 ,


was no one but Matti who neither on Sunday nor
Monday had what he ought to have had, and this
caused him at last very much affliction.
It was long before little Matti perceived that he
was in want of something. He walked around in
his little shirt, as brave and glad as if superfluous
clothes had never existed. But what happened?
One Sunday morning, when all the people of the
hamlet were gathering by the shore, going to
church, little Matti declared that he, too, would go.
It will not do, dear child," said his grand-
"Why not? said little Matti.
"You have no clothes," said Grandmother.
Little Matti looked very serious at this.
"I dare say 1
could lend you
S -one of my old
I petticoats," said


was the list of little Matti's exploits and knowl-
edge, and this was learning enough for a little one.
But this was not sufficient, Matti thought. He
wanted in this world an indispensable thing. I
don't know if I ought to talk about it-- he had no
breeches; and there were two reasons for this. In
the first place, his grandfather and grandmother
were very poor; and in the second place, it was
most fashionable among all the small boys of the
hamlet to go without that which little Matti was
without. But this was mostly an every-day fash-
ion,- it was fashionable on Sundays and feast-days
for children to dress more like other people. There

Grandmother; but then shall every one believe
you to be a girl."
I will be a man," said Matti.
"Of course," said Grandmother; man is man,
if he is not bigger than a halfpenny. Stay nicely
at home, you, my little Matti."
And Matti staid at home this time. But it
was not long after this that the assizes were to be
held in the hamlet; and this brought many people
there, and among others came Wipplusti with his
juggling cupboard. Every one wished to peep into
the cupboard, because one saw there so much that
was interesting,-Napoleon Bonaparte with his


crown of gold and his long sword, Princess Sun-
deguld who led the tiger, Ahriman, by a necklace,
the hobgoblin of Abor Castle, and many wonderful
things. Some gave Mr. Wipplusti copper coin,
others gave him loaves of bread, many gave him
nothing at all; but all enjoyed themselves exult-
antly. Little Matti heard other boys tell about


0o '

-~ j irj -r

but Matti did not answer, and when he came to
the farm where the assizes were being held, he
called out so loud that all could hear him: "I
only look like a girl, I am really a man! "
Men and women set up a great laugh. Boys
and girls gathered in a ring around poor Matti,
clapping their hands and shouting:

:~ ----19-

A ,

'- .~AlfL~ _
* i~ .-'SE_ _
'N' -~-ji


this, and declared immediately that he, too, would
go to see the juggling cupboard.
It will not do, dear child," said Grandmother
"Why not?" asked Matti.
"The judge and several other distinguished men
are going there; you can not possibly go without
Little Matti struggled by himself for a time, and
Wipplusti's dolls played in his mind. At last he
"Will you, Grandmother, lend me a petticoat?"
There it is," said Grandmother, and laughed
aloud when the little one staggered across the
floor in the big petticoat.
"Do I look like a girl?" he asked; "if so, I
shall not go. I am not a girl, I am a man."
You surely look rather like a girl," said Grand-
mother; "but you must tell every one you pass
that you are a man."
That is what I can do," thought little Matti,
and so went off.
On the road he met a traveler, who stopped
and said:
Little girl, can you tell me where the assizes
are to be held ? "
"I am not girl, I am a man," said Matti.
You don't look like one," said the gentleman,

Nay, look at little Mary Where did you get
such pretty clothes?"
It is Grandmother's petticoat, and not mine,"
said Matti. I am not Mary I am little Matti,
and that you can well see."
The biggest and worst of the boys then took
Matti upon his shoulder and carried him forth to
the juggling cupboard, and shouted out over the
whole place:
Who would look at a halfpenny fellow ? Who
would look at a man in petticoats ? "
Matti got angry and pulled the boy's hair with
all his might.
It is not my petticoat; it belongs to my grand-
mother he called, and soon he began to weep.
The bad comrade was going on, Who will look
at a man in petticoats? and so went on all around
the assize-place,- the boy shouting out and Matti
pulling him by the hair and weeping. He had
never had this kind of conveyance before.
He wept, he scratched, he struggled, and when
at last he broke away, he ran as swiftly as he could,
but stumbled in the petticoat, crawled up again,
ready to weep, and again stumbled, and so, out of
breath and weeping bitterly, he at last came home
to his grandmother.
"Take the petticoat away," he said; I will
have no petticoat, I am a man."


Don't weep, my Matti," said Grandmother,
soothingly; "when you are big, you shall show
that you are a man as good as any other."
"Yes," said Grandfather; "and next time I
shall lend you my trousers."
The old grandparents were so devotedly attached
to Matti,- he was their only comfort here on
earth,-that they would have given him velvet
breeches embroidered with gold, if it had been in
their power.
Then Matti had a slice of bread and butter, and
with that his sorrow passed. He sat down in a
corner of the room and thought no more about
his troubles.
Some time after this there was gayety in the
hamlet. The road was in a cloud of dust with the
driving and running, because a man of rank, who
was traveling through the country, was expected ;
and he was, one said, of rank near the King. All
the people of the hamlet wished to have a look at
him, and strange things were related of him.
"He drives in a golden carriage with twelve
horses," said one. "He is dressed from head to

which he was going to fling out on the road for
the children. This rumor reached Matti's cars
also, and he declared immediately that he, too,
must go to see the great man. He had already a
little will of his own,- and he was Grandfather's
and Grandmother's darling.
"How can you go? said Grandfather, laugh-
ingslyly. "Perhaps you will have Grandmother's
petticoat once more "
"I will have no petticoats!" cried Matti,
turning as red as a lobster, when he remembered
all the disgrace he had suffered for the sake of
that woolen skirt. I will never more in my life
put on a petticoat. I am going to have Grand-
father's trousers."
Come along, follow me to the loft; then shall
we see how the trousers suit you," said Grand-
Who was so glad as Matti then? He ran
like a cat up the ladder to the loft, so that the
poor blind Grandfather could hardly follow him.
So he reached the big green-painted chest, which
stood far back in the corner of the loft, and for

j /-

BliJ .

/A ^^ 7 1,,. 1


foot in silver and sheet armor." They mentioned
the finest things they knew or could imagine.
But the little children had their own thoughts,-
they imagined that the gentleman would carry a
knapsack filled with trinkets and liquorice-sticks
VOL. XV.-4.

which Matti had always had great respect when
he had been in the loft to set mouse-traps.
The first thing which struck the little boy's eyes
was a big sword with a glittering sheath.
That I will have he cried.


"Ah, pooh, pooh!" said Grandfather, "1
the sword while I get the uniform out of
Matti took the sword; and it was so heavy 1
he was hardly able to lift it.
Grandfather patted him on his cheek kindly
"When you become a man," he said, "
haps it may be that you will carry a sword anc
allowed to fight for your native country. Will
do that, Matti ? "
"Yes," said the little lad, and straight
himself bravely; I shall cut the heads of
every one."
Oh, that depends on whom you are figh
I shall cut off the heads of the wolves,
the hawks, and the nettles, and of every one
behaves badly to Grandfather and Grandmot
Yes, Grandfather, and I shall also cut off
heads of all those who call me a girl-- "
"You must practice gentleness and not
cruel, my Matti,- but here, we have the trous
I suppose you must have the coat, too."
Yes, Grandfather, and the sword, too, and
hat, too."
"Sir, have you any more commands?"


j i 4




d be

f of




, _L~ L/

Grandfather. "Well, you shall have all these
be things on the condition that you don't go farther
ers; away than the gate when the gentleman comes."
Yes, Grandfather."
the The two were scarcely down from the loft
before the coroner came rushing like a tempest
said along the road and cried, To the right and
To the left meaning that the people must
draw themselves aside, because now, in a few
minutes, the honorable gentleman was coming.
Now, there was hurry everywhere, and also
in the cottage. Matti dressed in Grandfather's
trousers, which were gray with blue stripes, and
so wide and big that all of Matti could easily have
crept into one of the legs. Below, the half of
the legs had to be turned up; and above, they
had to be tied up with a handkerchief under
his arms. There was quite as much difficulty
with the coat, which looked as if it had been
made for a giant. When he put it on, the sleeves
and the skirts swept the ground.
"That will never do,"
said Grandmother; and she
pinned up the sleeves as well
as the skirts.
Matti thought all these
arrangements unnecessary.
Now, they put on him the
big soldier hat, which would
have fallen down over his
little face to his shoulders, if
it had not been half filled
with hay. Last of all, he had
the heavy sword; and so was
the little knight ready.
Never had any hero return-
-ing as a victor from battle
SAID GRANDFATHER." been as proud as was Matti


that first time he put on trousers. All his round
little figure disappeared in those big wide clothes,
like a fish in an ocean; and his grandparents saw
nothing but the blue, honest eyes, the ruddy cheeks,
and the small snub nose peeping out from the
narrow space between the coat-collar and the hat.
And then, when he marched out, stately and well
equipped, they heard the sword drag against the
small stones; the pins dropped out, so that the
sleeves and skirts took care of themselves; the hat
made a lurch, now to the right, now to the left;
and the whole brave knight seemed at every step
as if he was going to fall down under the burden
of his heroic courage.
The old couple had not for a long time laughed
so heartily as they laughed then. Grandfather,
who could hear well enough, but could see nothing
of Matti's equipment, wheeled the boy around
three times at least, kissed the small nose and said,
God bless you, little Matti May never a worse
fellow than you wear a Bjorneborgerne's old uni-
form. Take care that you do honor to the governor
when he arrives." And then he taught the little
one to stand as stiff as a stick, and to look very
austere, the left arm by his side, and to raise the
right hand to the forehead in saluting.
Scarcely was Matti at his post by the gate,
before the Governor approached, driving rapidly.
He had heard the horses' speed slackened, and the
driver call out, Open the gate quickly!"
It so happened that the coroner, in his own high
person, had placed himself by the gate, to take
care that everything should go well, and that the
gate should be opened at given signal. This would
give the Governor a very good idea of the excellent
order along the roads, he thought. But when the
carriage approached with the rapidity of lightening,
it happened that the coroner endeavored to bow
most humbly; and unfortunately in doing so, he
fell into the wet ditch by the roadside.
The under-coroner, who was waiting by the
gate for the word of command, when he saw his
master tumble, was so confused that he never
thought of opening the gate without his superior's
command; and so the gate remained shut.
The carriage was now compelled to stop; the
gentleman looked out in surprise, and the driver
kept calling out, Open the gate !"
Then little Matti took courage and stepped for-
ward-though with much trouble-opened the
gate, and made the salute just as Grandfather had
taught him, almost like a trained dog who has
learned to sit erect. The driver cracked the whip,
the horses started, but at the same moment, the
gentleman called out:
Stop "
The carriage stopped for the second time.

What little figure is this in a Bjorneborgerne's
uniform?" the gentleman called out to Matti,
and laughed so heartily that the carriage almost
Matti did not understand ; he remembered only
what Grandfather had told him, and he made once
more a soldier-like salute, as stiff and as solemn
as possible. The gentleman was still more amused
by this, and asked the people standing by about
the boy's parents.
The coroner, who had by this time crawled out
of the ditch, hastened to relate that the boy was
an orphan, who lived with his grandfather, a poor



blind soldier of the name of Hug. The coroner
said this in that contemptuous way which some-
times is used when a dignified functionary speaks
about paupers in the parish. But his surprise was
great when he saw the gentleman immediately step
out of the carriage, and go straight to the cottage.
Grandmother was so astonished that she nearly
tumbled from her chair, when the gentleman step-
ped in; but Grandfather, who could see nothing,
had more courage, and politely pointed to where
he knew the bench was. "Peace be with you, my
friends," said the gentleman, as he shook hands
heartily with the old people. It seems to me, I
should know you, old fellow," he went on, while
he looked hard at the Grandfather. Is it not
Hug, No. 39 of my old company ? "
My good captain !" answered Grandfather, in
great surprise, for he knew the voice.
"Now, thank Heaven that I have found you
at last!" said the gentleman. Have you for-
gotten that it was you, who in the heat of a bat-
tle once carried me on your shoulders and forded
the stream with me, when I was wounded and
faint, and had nearly fallen into the hands of the
enemy? And if you have forgotten it, do you
think that I ever should be able to forget it ? Since

SBjorneborg is a town in Finland.


-.'~:- .. --- .
.. _-^ ^ .- _-_




the peace, I have heard nothing of you; I have vainly
sought you for a long time, and at last I thought
you must be dead. But now I have found you, and
I must take good care of you, and your wife, and
your little boy--and a fine boy he is." With
these words, he seized Matti under the arms, lifted
him up and kissed him so energetically, that the
lad dropped his hat, the sword clanked, and the
rest of Grandmother's pins fell from the coat as
well as from the trousers.
"Now, don't do that! let me alone!" said
Matti; "you have made the hat fall on the floor
now, and Grandfather is getting angry."
"Dear, gracious sir," said Grandmother, quite
ashamed of Matti's talking so; "be good enough
not to mind the boy's impatience he is, alas, not
at all accustomed to intercourse with people."
Grandfather shall have a better hat than this
one," said the gentleman to Matti; "and you,
dear old woman, be easy on account of the boy's
wrath; it is rather good that he is a spirited little
fellow. Listen, Matti. It seems to me that you
are going to be a clever man. Have you a mind
to be a brave soldier like Grandfather ?"
"Grandfather says that it depends on whom I
fight against," said Matti.
"You are a smart boy," said the gentleman,
"and you are not at all lacking in courage."

Ay, sir; that is because to-day is the first time
little Matti has worn trousers, and the courage is
with the trousers." said Grandfather.
Say, rather, it is the Bjorneborgerne's uni-
form," said the gentleman. "There is the smell
of gunpowder, and much honor left in this worn
uniform, and such memories pass from one gener-
ation to another. But now we have a new time
coming, and the boy shall learn to be a defender
of the Fatherland. Are you strong, little man?"
Matti did not answer, he only held out his right
third finger to try its strength with the noble
I can see that you are," said the gentleman;
" and when your arm has grown, you will be as
strong as a bear. Will you come home and stay
with me, and eat white bread, and drink milk
every day ? And may be, there will be, besides,
some cakes and liquorice to be had now and then,
if you are a good boy."
"Am I to have a horse to ride on?" asked
Of course," said the gentleman.
Matti was very thoughtful for a time, his blue
eyes wandered from the stranger to Grandfather,
from Grandfather to Grandmother, and from
Grandmother back again to the gentleman. At
last he crept behind his grandparents, and said:



"I will stay with Grandfather and Grand-
"But, dear Matti," said the blind soldier, in
heartfelt emotion, here, by your grandfather, you
only get hard bread, and salt herrings, and water.
Don't you hear that the kind sir offers you fresh
bread and milk, and other good things, and do you
hear that you are going to have a horse to ride ?"
':I will stay with Grandfather; I will not go,"
Matti called out, while the tears almost rushed to
his eyes.
You are a good boy," said the gentleman, with
tears in his eyes, and he patted the little one on
his round cheek. "Do stay with your Grand-
father, and I shall take care that neither Grand-
father, Grandmother, nor you, shall ever suffer
want; and when you are grown up, and a bold
fellow, you must come to me, if I am alive, and
I will give you land to plow, and forest to hew;

and whether you are farmer, or soklier, that is all
the same, if you are an honest and faithful son of
your Fatherland. Will you be that, Matti?"
Yes," said the boy, stiff and erect.
God bless you, child said the grandparents
with prayerful hearts.
And God bless our dear Fatherland and give
it many faithful sons like you, dear little Matti,"
added the gentleman. There are many children
who run away from the hard bread, and grasp
after the fresh buns; and what do they gain by it ?
Their Fatherland does not gain by it. 'Honor thy
father and thy mother in their poverty, that it may
be well with thee, and thou may'st live long in the
That is printed in my good book," said little
Yes ; but it is not written in every one's heart,"
said the gentleman.





IT was quite in keeping with the rest of her mis-
fortunes that she had been named Juno; it was
one of the many indignities that had been heaped
upon her. And the name was always repeated
with a laugh or a jeer whenever any one made poor
Juno's acquaintance,- there was so little that was
goddess-like about her. She had nothing under
the sun in common with the Queen of Olym-
pus, save that at her birth she seemed to have been
intrusted to the Seasons as her sole attendants, for
no mortal ever felt called upon to bestow any
attention upon her.
When I first saw her, she looked around the
corner of the barn at me with a pair of soft, big,
good-natured eyes, which shone under a bulging,
bull-like forehead.-Have I said that Juno was a
calf? And a more neglected, unkempt, and gen-
erally disheveled calf never scampered over a Vir-
ginia farm and that is saying a great deal.
We had gone to the pasture to look at the
pretty Jersey calves, which crowded about us and
allowed their glossy sides to be stroked.
But that is not a Jersey?" I said, pointing to
the shaggy, half-grown black heifer which came
cautiously up to us, prepared either to be petted
or chased away.
Oh, no; that is only Juno," was the answer,
quickly followed by a wail of indignation from my
hostess as she caught sight of a rose-branch dang-
ling from the calf's tail. Juno, you wretched
beast, you have been in the garden again "
Juno could n't deny it, and only gave a gruff,
though not an impertinent, b-a-a-h !" and scam-
pered away to the farther end of the pasture,
whence she regarded us inquisitively.
Is she, like the Juno of old, fond of dittany,
poppies, and lilies ? '" I asked.
She is fond of everything that can be eaten,
from warm mush-and-milk down to arctic over-
shoes," was the despairing reply. "To be sure,
her appetite has its reason for being, for I don't
think that poor Juno has ever seen the time when
her stomach was really full. When she was a
little calf, the black woman we had to look after
the cows said that calves needed very little atten-
tion, consequently she was brought up on darkey

principles. Then when these little aristocrats,"-ca-
ressing the Jerseys,-" came along, we had a well-
trained Scotch lassie who would have gone without
her own supper rather than have let them go with-
out theirs. But it was too late for Juno to profit
by the new regime, for with Scotch thrift she said
Juno was too old to be treated like the wee bit
calfies,' and she chased the poor animal out of
the calf-pen.
"Then poor Juno tried to pretend she was a cow,
and slipped into the cowyard when the bran-mash
was passed around. But this was looked upon as
little less than highway robbery by the immigrant
from the 'Banks o' Dee,' and the pretender was
belabored out for a 'thieving beastie, trying to tak'
fro' the poor coos what they needed to keep up
their milk wi'.' So, you see, Juno has not always
had a bed of roses to rest on, though she has just
come off one."
As we turned to go back to the house, two bright-
haired little people who had stood beside us, drink-
ing in the story of Juno, clamored to be allowed
to stay and have a romp with the pretty, fawn-like
creatures about them. They were popped through
the bars by an indulgent aunt, and allowed to peel
off shoes and stockings by an almost equally indul-
gent mamma, and left to lilt and caper the shining
spring morning away on the tender green grass.
When they came in at noon, warm and tired,
they were followed at a respectful distance by Juno.
We were rather touched by her devotion, and put
it down to an affectionate nature. Its real cause
came out, that night, when the small people were
being put to bed. Then Sister,"a young woman
of seven, and Brother," a man of six, seemed
loath to enter the mysterious land of dreams until
they had unburdened their souls by a confession.
It began with:
Good-night, Mamma !"
Good-night, and pleasant dreams."
"Are you going downstairs at once, Mamma?"
"Yes; good-night again."
"Just wait a minute, please," and a hurried
consultation was held in a whisper, of which I
caught No, you tell, Sister; you 're the oldest."-
No, you tell, Brother, you make things sound so


well, you know."-"Ah, no, Sister, you." Where-
upon I brought things to a crisis by asking what
they wished to tell.
We wanted to know what stealing is."
"Why, it 's taking what does not belong to
"Well, is all stealing very bad? asked Sister,
sitting up in bed.
Yes, is it all very bad ? echoed Brother, who,
being merely a substantial shadow to Sister, also
sat up. "Would you call taking Grandpapa's
things stealing ?"
"Of course."
Oh-h !" looking uneasily at each other.
"Why do you ask? "
"We didn't know-we thought -we-Brother,
you explain," and Sister lay back on her pillow in
desperation. He came boldly up to the mark.
"You see, Mamma, we felt sorry for poor Juno,
and Sister said to me, Let 's make a party for
Juno'; and T said, Say we do'; and Sister and I
went to the barn, and Juno, she walked after us,
so nice and polite, Mamma, and we put her into
Jim's stall, and gave her some oats and corn with
some salt sprinkled on it, and we found some meal,
and made her some porridge in a bucket, and we
set it outside, 'cause Sister said it would cook in
the sun, but Juno did n't wait for it to cook. She
just gobbled it up, and she was so gla-d! and his
eyes sparkled at the remembrance of the satisfac-
tion. If she had n't been quite so greedy, though,
she 'd have had it better, for we were going to trim
the bucket with sweet-potato vines."
"To make it look like salad," explained Sister.
Surely, surely, you would not have taken vines
from Grandpapa's hot-bed If you had, he 'd have
been sorry that I brought you to visit him. About
Juno's party-you '11 have to tell him in the morn-
ing, and ask him to excuse you."
D'you think he '11 be very mad? they asked,
solemnly. "Won't you just mention it to him
when you go downstairs, now ? You know him
so well."
The next morning there was a session in the
library, with closed doors. But I fancy there was
not a terrible scene, for when I "mentioned it"
to Grandpapa the night before, he shut one eye
and shook with silent laughter. When the door
opened, and the three emerged, there was still
a judicial air hanging about Grandpapa, while
the babies looked as if their little souls had been
swept and garnished for the day. As they parted,
Grandpapasaid, "But, remember, as a punishment,
you are to take care of Juno and keep her out of
mischief while you are here; and," tapping his left
palm with his right forefinger, "she is not to
have a taste of sweet-potato vines."

"No, in-deed, dear Grandpapa."
Nothing could be easier than to promise to keep
Juno out of mischief, but they soon found it a very
difficult promise to fulfill. She was large enough
to jump out of the calf-pen, and small enough to
squirm through the pasture fence. She got into
the chicken-yard, and galloped around, scaring
the hens off their nests, and almost throwing the
old turkey gobbler into a fit of apoplexy by bellow-
ing whenever he gave vent to his natural wrath
by gobbling. She enticed the Jersey calves into
the wheat-fields of an adjoining farm (and made
no end of trouble for her owner), took them for a
stroll along the railroad track, and only brought
them back when night and hunger overtook them,
and when all the tired men and boys on the farm
had gone to look for them. Her air, as she ap-
peared over the brow of some old earthworks, with
the calves at her heels, was that of innocence and
uprightness, and seemed to say, "But for me
these inexperienced young creatures might never
have found their way home."
After this last escapade, Juno was given up to
final disgrace by all but her two little friends. She
was made to wear a poke, and her usual calfish
joy was so overcast by gloom that she only had
spirit enough left to gnaw the bark off the young
trees in her prison. Evidently her friends hated
the poke as cordially as she did. And if we all
had not been absorbed in our own unimportant
affairs, we might have seen that a revolution was
Juno looked forlornly out from her prison pen,
and Sister and Brother scampered in wild freedom
over the farm, for they were at liberty to take their
luncheon and be gone all day,-only they were
enjoined to begin their homeward march when
the whistle from the five o'clock express shrieked
through the valley.
One morning, as we afterward remembered, an
unusually large luncheon was asked for, and there
was a great deal of flitting in and out of the barn
before they, with their little express wagon, dis-
appeared through the vineyard in the direction of
the woods.
The sweet spring day wore away, and we were
sitting under the china-tree, enjoying the delicious
change from afternoon warmth to the coolness of
evening, when Grandpapa suddenly rose, looked
about him, and asked, "Where are the children?
It is time they were at home."
The golden glow of coming sunset, which had
seemed so beautiful but that moment to their
Mamma, turned to a cold gray mist, as she rose
quickly and looked in the direction where the two
loved little forms and the squeaking express wagon
had disappeared so many hours before.


They ought to be here," said she. It 's after
six o'clock. They never failed to obey the whistle
"Oh, well," Grandpapa answered re-assuringly,
"they 've not heard it to-day. They 're probably
hunting arrow-heads, or have made some won-
derful discovery, or are down on the low grounds
gathering cresses, and think it's only noon. How-
ever, as it is getting late enough for them to be at
home, I '11 walk down that way and get them."
"And I '11 go to the pasture; they may be
playing with Juno," said Aunt Sie.
And I'll run across to Mrs. Brown's; perhaps
Sol Brown has coaxed them over there," said Aunt
Well, I '11 go on the upper porch and have a
look over the farm, and if I don't see them, I '11
take a run through the vineyard; they often hunt
for arrow-heads there," and, as she spoke, the
mother tried to believe she did n't feel cold around
the heart.
Each started off with alacrity, for there are times
when it is a greater relief to frightened people to
part company than to stay together.
When she reached the porch, which commanded
a view of the lovely landscape for miles around,
she saw nothing but Grandpapa entering the woods
in the hollow, Aunt Sie hastening to the pasture,
and Aunt Lishie taking the shortest possible cut
to Mrs. Brown's. The clear air seemed to ring,
and yet to be horribly silent. There came the boys
up from the cornfield, each riding a mule. Perhaps
in another moment, she would see a yellow head
bobbing up and down behind. But no, the children
were not enjoying the pleasure of a mule ride--
they were nowhere to be seen. She hurried down-
stairs to question the boys as they passed, who, in
reply, assured her that they had not seen the
children that day. She made a quick search of the
chicken-coop and hayloft before running hither
and thither in the vineyard on the hillside. Once
or twice she was sure she heard them, but, when she
stopped to listen, she found that it was only the
boys talking at the well as they watered their mules.
At last she went back to the house and waited.
One after another the scouts came in; when the
last arrived alone, at seven o'clock, she broke down
entirely and cried in earnest.
"There, there, don't be frightened," said her
father; nothing can have happened; there is n't
a dangerous place on the farm. But I '11 start the
boys out, for I feel anxious to get the little ones
in before it grows damp. And it just occurs to me
that they may be at the blacksmith's; I '11 step
across and see," and he stepped off with a brisk-
ness that would have done credit to a man twenty-
five years younger.

The aunties and mother by this time felt the
need of companionship, and went in a group to
the darkening woods, where they shouted as loudly
as their broken voices would allow. At one place
the pasture touched the woods, and here they
made a discovery. The bars were down; and
when they looked at the cows waiting at the milk-
ing-shed, Juno, who of late had affected their so-
ciety, was not with them.
"Juno is out, and they are probably trying to
drive her home," cried Aunt Sie. "The dear
little souls! "
The little angels! sobbed Aunt Lishie.
"The dear, care-worn little creatures! Oh,
that miserable beast, I never want to see her
again," wailed their mamma, who little knew how
glad the sight of Juno would make her.
A little further on they found the prints of small
bare feet, half-obliterated by hoof-marks.
"They have been here, but where are they
now ?"
Ah, yes, where?
It was undeniably dark in the woods. Outside,
the full moon looked down on the lonesome, empty
fields. They could not bear to look at it, for was n't
there "the man in the moon" with whom those
blessed lost babies believed themselves on such
friendly terms? Oh, if he loved them as well as
they believed he did, would he, ah, would he, please
keep an eye on them, and guide them safely back!
The horror of the dark woods was too much for
the three wretched women, and they kept on its
outskirts, like the whip-poor-wills which now and
then broke the awesome silence.
Presently they came in sight of a dilapidated
old cabin which had formed part of the quarters "
in slavery times.
"Do you suppose they could be there?"
"No, I 'm afraid not; they believe the three
bears live in it, so I don't think they would venture
in," answered Mamma.
The memory of the dear imaginative little ones,
whom she now thought she would never again see,
crushed her. She sank down, and her face was
Oh, my darlings, my darlings! "
"B-a-a-h! "
Her sisters clutched her, and dragged her to
her feet.
"It is, it is Juno "
Once more the silence was broken by that voice -
sweeter now to them than any trill of mocking-
bird or prima donna. This time it took on an
inquiring tone.
"B-a-a-h ?"
She 's in the cabin they all exclaimed.
The moon was shining brightly upon the square


opening which had served as a window; and framed
in it upon a background of inner darkness they
beheld the classic head of Juno.
Don't let us hope too much, they may not be
with her. It would kill me not to find them now,"
quavered Mamma, as they hurried forward.
In a moment they were at the door, and a glad
shout pierced the still evening, and reached poor
Grandpapa, as he stood completely whipped
out," as he afterward confessed, not knowing

kindly permitted the aunts to carry their precious
ones, while she led Juno by the poke), that feeling
that Juno was not happy with her poke, and not
well treated, they had decided to take her and
live in the cabin, which, after many cautious sur-
veys from safe distances, they had concluded was
not the home of the bears. They had provided a
load of meal for her, and a good luncheon for them-
selves; and they had intended to live on straw-
berries and water. They were terribly tired."

which way to turn next. They had worked hard all day gathering moss to
The cabin was divided into two rooms, and in make themselves a bed. After putting Juno into

..-.--_._- w=J.--

? -: ---. -

*". -.I _=_-_ ...- I _- _- -. _- ~ r. '



the outer one gleamed the light clothing of two
little sleepers. The suddenness with which they
were snatched from slumber caused a wail from
Brother, It's the bears, Sister, it's the three bears
come home." And in truth the hugs to which
they were treated quite carried out the bear idea.
It seemed as if the supply of tears ought to have
been exhausted, but it was not, only now they were
what the children called fun tears," because
they came from laughing.
Questions were asked and the answers were not
even waited for. The sleepy little ones were
rather vague, but it was gathered during the trium-
phal homeward march (upon which Mamma

her room, they had lain down to try theirs, and
had gone to sleep before dark. They were per-
fectly willing to go home, especially Brother, who
had his own opinion about whip-poor-wills.
Grandpapa met them when half-way to the
house, and as he gathered them both into loving
arms, he was greeted with, You will take off
poor Juno's poke, won't you dear Grandpapa ? "
Juno was urged to eat when she got home, and
although she had fared sumptuously all day, she
consented to worry down a little warm bran
Juno has ceased to be a calf, and we now ten-
derly allude to her as the Sacred Cow.

(A True Story.)


MISS ALCOTT, in Jo's Boys," has
chapter to the trials and tribulations of
ess persecuted by a legion of curiosity-s
autograph-hunters. She has told of the
ingenious means resorted to by this class
to obtain a memento or a signature fror
lar writer; but until this story was v
never knew how her own autograph wa
on one occasion by two of her little adm
Agnes and Marie Chester, like most
girls, were assiduous readers of ST. NIC
was in its pages they had read several o
cott's works, and to them the boys and gi
by the pen of this gifted writer were nr
characters. They were creatures of flesh
whose individual characteristics were
impressed upon the minds of our little i
were those of any of their most intimate
To them Miss Alcott was a species of di
held the power to make or mar the li

young creatures whose histories she
recorded. With one fell swoop of her
pen she could, if she felt so disposed,
take the life of a favorite heroine, or
"make a story end wrong." What
wonder, then, that their affection for
Their divinity should be tempered with
a certain awe.
.Agnes and Marie were the youngest
-- of a family of seven children, and,
their mother having died when they
were still quite young, they had been
......... accustomed to look upon their sister
SDora, who was several years their
i senior, as a second mother, and to
:'I !. r to her judgment in those matters which
W .1.i1 not call for the intervention of the father's
N. .w, it so happened that "Rose in Bloom,"
rli.: :.quel to Eight Cousins," was not pub-
hlrh..-t in serial form, like its predecessor.
',''!:i the book appeared, Dora read it, and
.- .- s and Marie were anxious to do the same.
.i I.: rer was temporarily out of town, however;
r.i ,. in absence Dora hesitated to let the younger
.' .l.-: i -.I the book, fearing that her father might
Sp.-:.:i-M' .bject to placing it in their hands, owing
Lu thli. Ifa that it contained several love episodes.
She therefore refused her permission, much to the
discomfiture of our little heroines, who rose in open
devoted a revolt against their sister's decision. They entreat-
an author- ed, argued, wheedled, and threatened, by turns,
seekers and but all in vain. Dora remained firm in her deci-
many and sion, and the book was securely locked up in her
Sof people bureau drawer.
n a popu- The young rebels threatened to capture that
written she book, by hook or by crook, if they had to pick the
s obtained lock, or even to blow up the bureau with dynamite;
irers. and they racked their brains to discover some
American means of executing their mutinous purpose.
HOLAS. It They had a firm ally in their brother Will, who
f Miss Al- had not the boyish contempt for girls which some
rls created brothers of his age affect.
o fictitious Master Will was no less a personage than the
and blood, editor-in-chief of a weekly publication entitled
as firmly Scrafs, of which Agnes and Marie composed the
heroines as rest of the editorial staff. Scrafs was an influ-
playmates. ential organ among its readers, who, by the way,
vinity who were just three in number, including the staff. It
ves of the did not appear in printed form, but was issued in


^S Js.^ W7


manuscript, and its columns abounded with notes
and comments on all the important events which
occurred throughout that portion of the universe
comprised in the Chester household.
You should have seen the issue which appeared
after Dora's decision had been made known !
The "leader" on the editorial page was devoted
to a learned argument, bristling with precedents
and authorities, to prove that the decision was
"barbarous, unreasonable, cruel, and unjust."
Then came paragraphs at intervals, with startling
head-lines, and teeming with bitter irony and caus-
tic sarcasm. There were even pathetic verses like
the following:

and this:

SI think it's mean that Rose in Bloom'
Is locked up in my sister's room."


When I am dead,
And in my tomb,
You '11 wish I 'd read
'The Rose in Bloom! '

And then the cartoon,-well, here is the cartoon
just as it appeared in Scraps:


morning, '.' I am just going to write to Miss Alcott
and ask her if she did n't intend Rose in Bloom'
for girls of our age as much as for young ladies of
This was said with a contemptuous emphasis
on the words "young ladies," which expressed
volumes of unspoken scorn.
Will shook his head.
"No, that won't do," said he, doubtfully;
"Miss Alcott would n't answer your letter. Do
you suppose she has nothing else to do but to
answer little girls' letters? Why, if she were to
answer all the letters she receives, she would n't
have any time left in which to write her books.
We must think of some other plan, for that won't
do, I tell you."
And the editor-in-chief again shook his head in
disapproval of the proposal of the junior member
of his staff.
But the words were hardly out of his mouth,
when he surprised his reporters by executing a
series of fantastic steps over the chairs and furni-
ture, giving vent the while to unearthly chuckles
and triumphant yells which fairly shook the house.

-eh B^ t' /

-4~24 ?ty~

I _______

kI~tf o JcriP1cc 6 ~-1L

-- -K- '^.~--- ^ "*^
^e ^dL -e- L^- ^ -rM -
< ^'* (

This issue of Scraps was sent to Dora, as you Good gracious! "exclaimed Agnes, "what on
may believe, but even this formidable array of earth is the matter with you now, Will?"
logic, pathos, ridicule, and abuse left the young "Oh I 'm all right rejoined Will. I was
lady unmoved; and still the book remained safely just thinking that Marie's idea is a first-rate one,
locked up in the bureau drawer, after all. Write to Miss Alcott, by all means."
So much for the vaunted power of the press! "But I thought you said we would n't receive
"Well, I don't care!" exclaimed Marie, one any answer," objected Agnes.


Well, I've changed my mind. Now, I know
your letter will be answered. I am just as sure of
it as that your name is Agnes Chester."
"But how do you know ? inquired Marie.
"Never mind, now," retorted Will. Just go
and write your letter, and you will find
out in good time."
Whereupon Agnes and Marie sat
down, and, after several unsuccessful ,.
attempts, they managed to produce a
letter which they passed to Will for
his approval.
Will read it critically. -t -- o-
"Well," said he, "it is rather
long; however, I suppose it will do, -*,
as Miss Alcott will never see it."
Never see it? exclaimed the .
two girls together.
Don't ask questions," Will re-
marked, sententiously, "but you,
Agnes, bring me the Eight Cousins'
from the library table, while Marie
gets me a sheet of tracing paper which she will find
in my desk."
When the desired articles were brought, Will
opened the volume of the Eight Cousins at the
page which is inserted between the title-page and
the preface, containing the fac-simile of Miss
Alcott's writing shown above.

capital letters, and no figures whatever, so that I
am unable to date my letter; and I have been
obliged to guess at the v, u, andj. However, either
I am much mistaken, or this letter will produce
the desired effect. Now, then, to transfer this to a


0 9 -'
&- n^^'
v^* 0^^^ -V^SS-

Uc~-YS ~~I~/
Jtg ~ ed~ ~

o~J- \r

sheet of note-paper. I have an odd sheet in my
writing-desk, which is unlike any that we have in
the house. Of course, it would not do for Dora
to recognize the note-paper."
So saying, Will procured the sheet in question,
and placing a sheet of carbon paper upon it, he
proceeded to transfer his note. He then went

"Now," said he,
"Miss Alcott will re-
ply to your letter."
Then, after carefully
studying the fac-simile,
Will laboriously com-
posed the following
note :
The book was written for all my
boy and girl friends ; it is best,
however, to be guided by your
sister's judgment, truly your
friend, L. M. ALCOTT."

This done, he placed
his tracing paper over
the fac-simile of Miss
Alcott's writing, and
traced letter after let-
ter until he had pro-
duced the result here

"There," he exclaimed; "of course,
could tell that is n't genuine, but it is nea
I think, to deceive Dora. I have n't
to say just what I wanted, because this
is so short that it does not contain all
ters of the alphabet. It has only four

&--- Les~- 9^o^- MI

-^-^ ^A ^ 2 v^. ~o-^ o iSL-YV^M -^r7'0B

-ILA, c

an expert over his work with pen and ink, and at last con-
r enough, templated the finished letter.
been able Agnes and Marie had followed his every opera-
fac-simile tion with intense interest, and expressed their
the let- satisfaction at the result.
kinds of "But," objected Agnes, "is not this a forgery?"

NzCo ALe- f X-^ -U^V

v v

Well," said Will, I suppose it is; but it is
only to be used as a joke, you know, for of course
we will tell Dora what it is, just as soon as you
receive the book."
But," said Marie, I don't believe Dora will let
us read the book even now; for the note advises us
to be guided by her judgment, and she will hold
this up to us."
Oh, you goosey! "exclaimed Will; "that is just
the very reason Dora will let you read the book.
Don't you see the note says plainly enough that
the story was written for girls of your age, just as
well as for older girls. You don't suppose Miss
Alcott would write you not to mind what your
sister said, but to do just as you pleased, do you ?
If I had written that, Dora would have seen at
once that the note was n't genuine. You just wait."
The next day, after Agnes and Marie had left
for school, Dora found an envelope on her dress-
ing-table, bearing her name. It inclosed two let-
ters. One was the draft of the note composed by
Marie and Agnes, and addressed to Miss Alcott.
The other was Will's elaborate manufactured reply.
Dora was astounded! "The little imps," she
exclaimed to herself, "I never supposed they
would carry out their threat "

She hardly knew whether to be more pleased or
vexed. She was glad to have the opinion of Miss
Alcott herself as to the advisability of letting her
sisters read the longed-for book; but she was dis-
pleased at the spirit of insubordination displayed
by the young rebels. She never for an instant
suspected the genuineness of the note.
When Agnes and Marie returned from school,
Dora quietly went to her room, and came back a
few minutes later with "Rose in Bloom," which
she handed without a word to Agnes.
Agnes and Marie exchanged swift glances with
Will. They felt they could not take advantage of
Dora's unsuspecting confidence. Agnes, therefore,
returned the book, and the three conspirators
related the story of the forged note.
Dora laughed heartily and good-naturedly.
"But, you young wretches!" she exclaimed,
"here have I proudly displayed that autograph to
a dozen people, and now I shall be obliged to con-
fess how I have been duped. Several of them
went so far as to ask me for it Well, well, I sup-
pose you might just as well read the book now, or
there is no knowing what will occur to you to do
And Agnes and Marie read Rose in Bloom."

Miss Alcott, to whom the foregoing story was submitted before its acceptance by ST. NICHOLAS, sent us this
good-natured comment concerning it:
The account of the boy's hoax is very funny, and I have no objection to its publication. I enjoyed the joke, was
taken in by the forgery, and admired the cleverness of' Brother Will.' But I hope he will 'never do so any more,'
or he may come to a bad end. The illustration is delightful, and I trust the persistent goslings' were not dis-
appointed in the book when they read it.- L. M. A." -EDITOR.



WHO shall sing to bleak November,
Month of frost and glowing ember ?
Is there nothing, then, to praise
In these chilly thirty days ?
Ah, and who shall lack for song
When the nights are still and long
When beside the log-wood fire
We may hear the wood-elves' choir
Making dainty music float
Up the big, brick chimney's throat;

When within the flames and smoke
We may see a fairy folk
Coming hither, going thither,
Vanishing we know not whither?
Unless perhaps they all depart
For the frozen forest's heart,
To tell the stark, forsaken trees
Of the fireside's mysteries,-
How they saw some other elves
Just as funny as themselves !



L 5_




I 'M the brightest pug on the face of the earth,
So says my handsome master;
I am just brimful of frolic and mirth,
And nobody can run faster."

I 'm a Skye of one of the loveliest blues,
My mistress says so daily;
I can wear eyeglasses and read the news,
And entertain callers gayly "

I can do all tricks, I 'm a cunning elf,
And I cost an even eighty."

That amount was paid for my very self,
For my pedigree 's long and weighty."

What a price for a Skye But if I were you,
I 'd pay that sum for a shearing."

And if I were so sleek that my sides shone through,
I 'd feel like disappearing."


I -




" Well, if I could n't tell my tail from my head,
'T would deprive me of locomotion !"


" If my nose were smutty, 't would kill me dead;
I would drown myself in the ocean."


" I assure you that pugs bring the highest price
In the market, sir,- that 's decided "


" Well, I tell you, no dog, by any device,
Ever brought so much money as I did !"

St. Bernard.

' Come, stop your quarreling, foolish curs !
You 're the silliest pair in collars;
I can settle your question at once, good sirs,-
For I cost a thousand dollars."





. -t5




OH !" yawned Tommy Tedman as he shut his
astronomy with a slam and curled himself up
among the cushions of the big lounge near the
I wish Archimedes could have got a fulcrum
and a long enough lever, and that he had given
the earth a big shove back and set her going the
wrong way around the sun! I do wonder what
would have happened! he soliloquized.
Now this seems a queer idea to come from the
brain of a merry, red-cheeked boy of fourteen; but it
would not have caused Mrs. Tedman the least sur-
prise; for he was always propounding the oddest,
most unheard-of questions, which nobody on earth
could answer. But as neither she nor any one

else was at hand to comment on Tommy's original
query, he pondered over it by himself for awhile,
and then, feeling uncommonly comfortable, fell
He had not slept long, when he was suddenly
aroused by a great shout in the street. Without
waiting to find his cap, he rushed out to see what
was the matter. A great crowd was hurrying past
toward the City Hall Square, but they all were on
such a run that nobody looked at Tommy, and
finally the distracted boy had to seize a man by the
coat-tail to make him wait while he asked:
What's the matter? "
The man looked around scornfully at him and


Why! don't you know? The earth 's going-
the wrong way "
Why, how odd thought Tommy; that's
the very thing I was wondering about this after-
noon "
How did it happen? he called after the man,
who was now running on again.
"The National Academy of Sciences did it";
came the reply.
"How ? shouted Tommy; but the man was
out of hearing, so Tommy joined the crowd and
rushed along with it to the City Hall Square. In
front of the great clock-tower a man, who wore
big spectacles and looked like a professor, was
making a speech.
Yes, fellow citizens he was saying, "the
'great experiment has been successfully performed.
The earth is now moving backward in its orbit
and revolves from east to west instead of from west
to east, as you will see by watching the clock."
Tommy looked, and though he remembered
hearing the clock strike four when he was studying
his astronomy, the hands now pointed to two, and
as he stood watching, the minute hand slowly
moved back to four minutes of two.
Yes fellow citizens the professor continued,
"the earth is going back! Time is going back!
We all will now grow young instead of old! "
'Three cheers for the National Academy!"
shouted a man near Tommy, and all the grown-
up people gave three rousing cheers,-but the
boys and girls kept still, for they wished to grow
old, not young.
After the professor had explained more in detail
how the earth was turned back, and also how it
was made to revolve from east to west instead of
the old way, the crowd dispersed; but while Tommy
stood staring at the clock to see its hands going
the wrong way, he saw Todd Boggins coming to-
ward him.
Hallo, Todd !" said he, queer idea, is n't
it,-the earth going around the wrong way?"
I don't know that it's any queerer than its
going the other way replied Todd carelessly.
I 'm in a hurry to get home to dinner."
Dinner? cried Tommy; "'you mean sup-
per "
Dinner repeated Todd loftily; it's quar-
ter of two now, and it will be half-past one by the
time I get home, and that 's dinner time."
Jiminy Hoe-cakes so it is said Tommy
gleefully at the thought of another dinner so soon.
Will you come over and play ball after dinner ?"
he continued.
Not much said Todd emphatically; we '11
have to go to morning school again after or, per-
haps I ought to say, before, dinner."
VOL. XV.-5.

)TOMMY. 65

: Oh, dear oh, dear oh, dear !" ejaculated
Tommy all the way home.
He found the family just sitting down to dinner,
and it certainly was the oddest meal Tommy ever
ate. The dessert was served first, then the meat
and vegetables, and finally the soup. When his
father then asked the blessing, Tommy almost
burst out laughing; but as every one else took
things as a matter of course, he restrained himself
as well as he could.
It was half-past twelve when dinner was through,
and he started off with his books to school. As
soon as he had taken his seat in the school room,
he found that the closing exercises were going on.
How is this ?" whispered he to Todd, who was
his seatmate, am I so very late ? "
Oh, not at all," replied Todd seriously, we 're
just beginning."
Soon after that, Miss Goggles called up the
geography class.
Oh, dear said Tommy out loud, I have n't
studied my lesson! "
"No matter," said Miss Goggles. "Recite it
first, and study it afterward."
Tommy thought that was queer; but when,
after the recitation, he began to study his lesson,
he found it queerer still; for he was obliged to
begin at the end of the book and go back, and the
longer he studied, the less he knew and the more
he forgot, and so it was with all his lessons. They
were recited first and studied afterward, and all
the books were learned backward.
At last, when the clock-hand had moved back
nearly to nine, Miss Goggles called the roll, and
school was over.
"Well this beats the Dutch exclaimed
Tommy improperly but expressively to Todd on
their wayhome. As Todd made no reply, Tommy
said presently, "will you come over and play
tennis after dinner ? "
"Dinner! exclaimed Todd, "I 'm going to
breakfast and then to bed! "
"Bed cried Tommy; well, I never !"
But as, after breakfast, at about seven o'clock,
all the rest of the Tedman family bade one another
good-morning and went off to bed (except the cook,
who said of course she 'd wait till six), Tommy
trundled himself off too. He was so excited over
the strange events of the day that he did not get to
sleep for a long while, but lay still, listening to the
clucking of the hens and the chirping of the birds
outside. Soon the milkman came, and not long
after he heard the cook creaking upstairs to bed.
It seemed odd to be going to bed by daylight, but
by the time the cook went up, he heard the cocks
crowing and it was quite dark; for it was late in
November. Presently Tommy fell asleep and did


not wake until he heard his mother telling him it
was time to get up. Though it was pitch dark
and the stars were shining brightly, he arose, lit
the gas and dressed.
When he went downstairs, he found the family
playing games in the parlor.
Good evening, Tommy said his mother.
"Why, how long have you been up?" asked
Your father and I nearly two hours," replied
she, and the others not much longer than you."
Tommy remembered that he, being the young-
est, always used to be sent to bed first, so he was
quite pleased at the idea of lying abed so much
longer. It crossed his mind that after all there
were some advantages in the earth's going back-
It was half-past eight when he came down, and
by the time it was seven the games were discon-
tinued and they all sat down to supper, and no
one but Tommy seemed to think it at all unusual to
eat cake and jam first and oatmeal and bread and
butter afterward. As Tommy feasted upon the
cake and jam before the edge of his appetite was
taken off by his usual portion of bread and butter,
again he thought what a delightful thing it was
for the earth to have been turned back. After
supper he went out to play tennis, though it was
still rather dark.
At first he was quite nonplussed by the new
way of counting,-" Game, forty, thirty, fifteen,
love and especially when a set was concluded,
to see them toss up for first serve. Soon, how-
ever, Todd Boggins appeared, greeting him with,
"Good-bye, Tommy and Tommy threw off his
overcoat, began to play, and soon became used to
the new style.
Although the weather was quite bleak and cold
when Tommy first went out, by four o'clock it was
very comfortable. About three, Todd left him
with a "How do you do, Tommy? and Tommy
went home to study the lessons he had recited the
day before. Then came dinner and school again.
That day had been Monday, so when Tommy
awoke the next evening, he found his clean Sun-
day clothes all laid out for him on a chair. After
a quiet evening and afternoon, Tommy went with
the family to church. After the closing prayer
came a hymn beginning with the last verse, and
then the contribution box was passed. Instead of
beginning with empty boxes, the deacons started
out with them all quite full and proceeded to dis-
tribute the money among the congregation. Al-
most every one took out a piece of money large or
small. Next came the sermon beginning with the
general conclusion and practical suggestions and
gradually working down to the text.

After the minister had read the notices of the
meetings of the past week, the service was con-
cluded by the opening hymn and prayer, and they
all went home, Tommy noticing that the church
bells were just beginning to ring as they reached
the house.
The next afternoon Tommy was hunting for a
book in the library, when he heard his father, who
had a newspaper in his hand, say to his uncle:
Yes, this is a very convenient thing to be able
to read in a newspaper each evening just what is
going to happen during the day. Now I know to
a certainty what stocks will be this morning! "
"Yes," replied his uncle, newspaper reports
are much more satisfactory than they used to be;
though after all, the old method of preparing them
was not so very different. Many reports were.
written up before the events took place, and often
widely missed the mark."
Tommy did not understand his uncle's last
observation, so having found his book, he began
to read. Soon, however, the conversation turned
on going to college; and as Tommy was always
interested in that, he listened again.
I suppose I shall enter college before long,"
his uncle was saying.
"Yes," rejoined Mr. Tedman, You '11 take
your diploma first, and then go back through
senior year and on till you are a freshman."
"And that," said his uncle, who was fond of
moralizing, "is n't so very different from the old
way, either. I remember I entered college think-
ing I knew everything worth knowing, and the
longer I staid, the greater I discovered my ignor-
ance to be. It will be something like that, now."
Just then Tommy heard Todd Boggins whistling
for him outside the house.
"Dear me!" said Tommy to Todd as they
walked along, I don't quite like this idea of
growing young all the time; I 'm young enough
already. At the rate we 're going on in school,
we '11 be learning our A B C's again pretty
"Of course we shall!" said Todd, "and then
we '11 begin to play with blocks, and then we 'll
creep instead of walk, and then we '11 get to play-
ing with rattles, and all that sort of business."
It 's awful !" exclaimed Tommy, in great con-
"I should say so!" assented Todd. "You
ought to hear my grandfather talk about it. He 's
only three weeks young! and he says -- "
"Three weeks!" shouted Tommy. "You're
Come and see him! said Todd. So the two
boys went on to Todd's house.
There they found an old gentleman with white



hair and wrinkled face in a large arm-chair, and
sitting surrounded by the whole Boggins family.
"Bless you, dears!" the old gentleman was
saying; this is a pleasant world, and I 've come
to stay. We shall have a good time together;
for I 'm sure of a good long life before my baby
limbs are laid away. I want you all to promise,
my dears, that none of you will bring my childish
curls (which I shall then have) in sorrow to the
grave! "
Oh, no I 'm sure we won't," replied Mrs.
Boggins with tears of joy on her face. And I 'm
so glad you won't die till you 're a little baby, for
then you '11 know nothing about it, and it won't be
sad at all."
But though it appeared to be very nice for old
Grandfather Boggins, the more Tommy thought
about it on his way home, the more dreadful it
seemed to him that he himself must grow younger
and younger, without a chance to become a man
and make the great name for himself which had
been his great ambition ever since he put on his
first trousers.
I don't want to be a baby !" he said to him-

self; "I don't want to be put to bed and have
to drink milk, which I hate, and play with a rattle!
bah !"
He became so wrought up over the idea, that
he felt if only he had Archimedes's lever, he could
pound the heads of all the National Academy.
Just then the City Hall bell rang and Tommy
saw the Professor with big spectacles hurrying on
to address another meeting of citizens in the
"There! exclaimed Tommy, I '11 begin by
pounding his head."
But as he was hurrying on with this charitable
intention, a voice like a cannon shouted in his
"Waffles and maple syrup for supper! The
bell has rung Hurry up, Tommy, or I '11 eat
them all up "
Tommy rubbed his eyes, looked hastily toward
the clock, where to his immense relief he beheld
the second hand going around the right way, and
then rushed to supper to lose the memory of his
strange dream in that dish so dear to a school-
boy's heart,-hot waffles and maple syrup.

/l'R^k7KXE5 HAPP>- P i5porqT

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IT was really a magnificent display in the pastry-
cook's window.
Under the dome of the pastry temple, on a very
rich fruit cake, heavily frosted, stood the little bride
and bridegroom.
The bride's dress was white, to be sure, and as
it says in Annie Laurie, her brow was like the
snow-drift, her neck was like the swan's "- a candy
The bride wore a wreath of fine, large lily bells,
and an illusion veil which was so coarse that the
meshes of it resembled tiny windows.
She held one of her hands extended before her,
and in the other she modestly carried a book of
devotion, made out of the same material as the
temple. And she smiled very sweetly.
The bridegroom was attired in evening dress,
but his shoes were white to match the bride. His
eyes were blue and his hair brown and wavy.
There was a bright little patch of color in each
cheek, and he wore a ruffle on his shirt-bosom.
He was standing in the attitude of Daniel Web-
ster, making a gesture with his right hand, and
with his left trifling with a handsome watch-guard,
which evidently came with the suit.
Two generous fountains,- you might mistake
them for horse-hair, but the cunning confectioner
had manufactured them from the finest sugar,-
gushed from the sides of the cake into rustic,
snowy tubs.
The whole affair was ornamented with silver
leaves and finished with a wooden platter and
costly paper lace.

"it s w

The bride and bridegroom could not get married
until somebody bought them and gave them a
This made them watch eagerly every person who
passed the pastry-cook's window.
The lady who kept the millinery store a few doors
below remarked to the pastry-cook's fat wife that
the groom was "sweet."
The pastry-cook's fat wife laughed and shook
her brass ear-rings, and replied that such was the
fact. But, for all that, the milliner did not purchase
the cake.
The boy who was going on seven, with the full-
rigged ships on his calico jacket, who used to bring
the small girl, quite smart in the infant's scalloped
flannel shawl, pinned with a hat-pin around her
shoulders, would have liked to buy it; but crullers
were more in vogue then, and it could not be
bought for a penny.
One day a pretty young lady, who blushed con-
siderably, entered the pastry-cook's shop accom-
panied by her mother.
The cake, the temple, and the bride and bride-
groom were ordered to be sent home. They were
packed carefully in shavings, the lids of the paste-
board boxes were tied down over them firmly, and
darkness descended.
When they were uncovered and stood up again,
they found themselves in a scene of glory.
There they were in the middle of a splen-
did supper-table. A lofty tower of macaroons
and nougat rose on either side of them. Ripe
fruits peeped at them from low epergnes. Can-


dies and frosted cake sparkled from crystal
Even the napkins were folded into the most
curious shapes. Ices and creams and flowers glis-
tened everywhere about. The table was lighted
by wax candles, shaded with rose-colored silk
shades, and placed in silver sticks.
Now," thought the bride and bridegroom, it
is going to happen."
They were to be married at last. They trem-
bled with happiness.
The colored waiters had left the supper-room
for an instant.
At that moment the bridegroom discovered a


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pair of greedy eyes staring hungrily at him from
between the embroidered portibres. The portibres
began to move wider and wider apart.
The bridegroom gradually distinguished first a
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pair of greedy eyes staring hungrily at him from
between the embroidered portieres. The portieres
began to move wider and wider apart.
The bridegroom gradually distinguished first a
pair of bright eyes, then a pair of ripe little lips, then
a small nose and an absurd, dimpled little chin.

Presently the bridegroom beheld a little brides-
maid enter the supper-room and glance about
She had on white silk stockings and a tulle dress
spangled so gayly that it made her look lovely.
Her hair was frizzed.
The bridesmaid, with that greedy look still in
her eyes, marched over to the table, clutched the
table-cloth, climbed upon a chair, and grabbed the
bridegroom off the cake.
The bridesmaid deliberately bit off the bride-
groom's head.
In the confusion, an orange and several walnuts
bumped down on the table and rolled off over the rug.

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But the bridegroom was not candy as the brides-
maid had expected he would be, he was only
horrid sweet stuff," she said.
Nevertheless, that was the end of the bride-
groom. But the bride kept on smiling although
the bridegroom was beheaded.



THIs is the way they came to have a picnic in the woods that fine
autumn day. Blue Bird went under the big oak-tree to look for some
worms or grass-seeds to eat, when something fell from the tree upon her
head. "Dear me," said she, "what was that?"
And off she flew to tell Gray Squirrel about it.
SGray Squirrel was in a hole in a tall tree.
Good-day," said Gray Squirrel, when he
/- saw Blue Bird. But Blue Bird did not say
S'. "Good-day." She said, "Oh! Gray Squirrel,
S something fell from the big oak-tree and struck
... -. me upon the head! "
Did it hurt?" asked Gray Squirrel.
It did," said Blue Bird.
"Did n't you look to see what it was ? asked Gray Squirrel.
No; I was so frightened, I flew right away," said Blue Bird.
Let 's go and tell Field Mouse about it," said Gray Squirrel. "I will
call my mother, and
my two sisters, and
my three brothers, -
and they can go too." .
So Gray Squirrel
and his mother, and .i '
his two sisters, and his '
three brothers went --
with Blue Bird to call -
on Field Mouse. Field "".._-
Mouse lives in a hole .-.-
in the ground. She "
peeped out of the hole -
when she heard them .. '"
"Good-day, Blue .
Bird," said she. But
Blue Bird did not say "Good-day." She said, "Oh! Field Mouse, some-
thing fell from the big oak-tree and hit me upon the head!"


"Did it 'h- "ke F .M u,- ,'....e .


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Then Gray Squirrel and his mother, and his two sisters, and his three
brothers, all said at once, Yes, something fell from the big oak-tree and
hit Blue Bird on the head!"
Did it hurt? asked Field Mouse.
It did," said Blue Bird.
And Gray Squirrel and his mother, and his two sisters, and his three
brothers, all said at once, "It did."
I will call my five little mice," said Field Mouse, and we all will go and
see Wise Frog. He will, no doubt, be able to tell us how to find out what
it was."
So Field Mouse and her five little mice, and Gray Squirrel and his
mother, and his two sisters, and his three brothers, all went with Blue Bird
to call on Wise Frog. Wise Frog lives in a brook that runs through the
Good-day, Blue Bird," said he. But Blue Bird did not say Good-
day." She said, Something fell from the big oak-tree when I was under
it, and hit me on the head "
Then Gray Squirrel and his mother, and his two sisters, and his three
brothers, and Fied Mouse and her five little mice, all said at once, Yes,
something fell from the big oaktree and hit Blue Bird on the head "
"Did it hurt? asked Wise Frog.
It did," said Blue Bird.
And Gray Squirrel and his mother, and his two sisters, and his three

brothers, and Field Mouse and her five little mice, all said at once, It
Then Wise Frog said, Let me think." And they let him think.
Then he said, "We must go to the foot of the big oak-tree and find
out what it was that came down and hit Blue Bird on the head. I will
call my friend Speckled Toad, and he can go too."
So Gray Squirrel and his mother, and his two sisters, and his three

brothers, and Field Mouse and her five little mice, and Wise Frog and his
friend Speckled Toad, all went with Blue Bird to the foot of the big oak-tree.
And what do you think they found there?
Nothing but an acorn, and a very small one at that!
Dear me," said Blue Bird, "how silly I was to be so frightened !"
Very silly," said Wise Frog. And Very silly! said Speckled Toad,
and Gray Squirrel and his mother, and his two sisters, and his three
brothers, and Field Mouse and her five little mice, all at once.
Then Blue Bird said, "But now that we are here, all together, let's
stay the rest of the day and have a good time."
"We will," said Wise Frog and his friend Speckled Toad, and Gray

- WEP77

Squirrel and
Field Mouse


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his mother, and his two sisters, and his three brothers, and
and her five little mice, all at once. And they did
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his mother, and his two sisters, and his three brothers, and
and her five little mice, all at once. And they did.


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A NEW month Well, well, it seems hardly a
week since we all were here together; but ST.
NICHOLAS says it's a full month, and he knows.
How fare you, my friends? I hope you are hav-
ing a happy autumn, and that many of you have
enjoyed bright foliage overhead and found tempt-
ing nuts underfoot. And I trust you 've kept your
eyes and ears open for other things too. For in-
stance, there is


How many of you have seen a harvest spider
this autumn, I wonder There were a few here in
my meadow, and it was comical to see their pe-
culiar way of frightening off any invader who came
to molest them. Or was it an ingenious way of
catching insects who were too wary to enter the
web at a dash ? I saw a dainty little girl one day
stand silently admiring the beautiful web of one
of these spiders. It was very large, and it stretched
from a post-and-rail fence to a bush near by, the
weaver keeping guard at its center,-grim but
superb in his coat of yellow and black. Finally the
girl touched one delicate filament very lightly with
a twig. Instantly the entire web began to swing
backward and forward, backward and forward, as
though some invisible fairy were pushing it. The
spider did not move; but the little girl did, for she
scampered off like a second Miss Muffet.-Talking
of spiders, here is a letter that may interest you.

DEAR JACK : Have any of you boys and girls looked out on the
fields of a .... ... .. .. and noticed the grass covered with little
cobwebs? '.. ... c..ch web there is a spider that comes out
of a hole in the ground, and all the spiders are alike. When these
webs are on the grass, it is quite sure not to rain. So you see some
spiders are weather prophets, like a great many other things. To be
sure, it is ple-'nt on -'r,- many days when there are no webs to be
seen. Pc- I: .... can tell why they appear some days and
not others. Yours, ORA.


MY birds have twittered with pleasure at this
idea suggested in a pretty verse by our friend
Richard E. Burton. How does it strike you ?

The King-bird's tail is tipped with white:
For once upon a winter's day,
The swift snow caught him, fast aflight,-
And though he strove to get away,
Just touched his tail a tiny mite.
And ever since, the King-bird wise
Goes south, to shun the winter skies.


DEAR JACK: I have copied for you something
which I read in The Observer yesterday. Do please
show it to other girls, so that each may find an
acorn this autumn, and start a little tree.
I am your attentive reader, JENNY C.

"To PRODUCE one of these dainty little plants, take an acorn and
tie a string around it, so that the blunt end, where the cup was,
is upward. Suspend it in a bottle or hyacinth glass containing a
small quantity of water, but be careful that the acorn does not reach
within an inch of the water. Wrap the bottle in flannel, and leave
it, undisturbed, in a warm, dark place. In a month or less, the
acorn will swell, burst its coat, and throw out a tiny white point.
This is the root, and when half an inch long the water may be
allowed to rise higher, but must not touch it until the neck of the
root begins to turn upward. As soon as this stem commences to
shoot, the baby oak will require small doses of light every day, and
the root can now extend into the water. In a week or so it will be
ready to be removed to a window, where you can watch the devel-
opment. Atfirst the tiny trunk that is to be will resemble a whitish
thread, covered with small scales. Then the scales will expand and
the end become green. Little leaves will appear, veins will branch,
and old leaves fall off, until you have a perfect miniature of the great
kings of the forest."


DEAR JACK: Our papa read to us the other
day something that is most curious, and I will
copy it for you from the paper, Science. If I try
to tell it in my own words, I get mixed. Papa says
velocity means speed, and that Professor Mees is a
learned man who was addressing a meeting in New
York, for the advancement of science; so now I
will give it to you.

"It is striking evidence of the great velocity attained in tornadoes
that straws and bits of hay are often driven like darts into pine
boards, and even into the dense bark of hickory-trees. Professor
Mees found that, to obtain similar results by shooting straws from
an air-gun, velocities of from one hundred and fifty to one hundred
and seventy-five miles per hour were necessary."

If any of us ST. NICHOLAS boys, after a tornado,
ever find any bits of hay or straw driven into pine
boards or hickory-trees, we must remember to send
you word.
Your faithful little friend, JOHN T. C.

DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: Allow me to write you asking some
information relative to a worm whose feat I witnessed one day last
In front of my papa's store door there is a large sycamore-tree.


I chanced to observe, suspended from a limb of the tree, say forty-
five feet high, by a single thread, or web, a worm or other insect. On
noticing it for some time, I found it to be slowly descending to the
ground. There was formed over the entire body a covering, made
principally, as it seemed, of the bark of the sycamore-brown and
light colored. The lower extremity had coiled around it a small
piece of dead leaf. This covering concealed it from view, except its
head, which it continually moved about. Finally it reached the
ground, allowing only its lower extremity to touch. Remaining on
the ground about two minutes, it raised itself up about six inches,
kept itself suspended two minutes, and again lowered itself till its
lower extremity touched the ground. This alternate self-suspension
and lowering was repeated three times, remaining in each position,
each time, two minutes. The fourth time it raised itself, it did not
return, but continued its slow ascent to the limb from which it was
suspended. The entire length of its web, about forty-five feet long,
could be seen at times when thie sun would shine on it. Its return
to the limb from which it suspended itself required four hours. From
what I couldobserve, it was enabled to return by means of taking up
its web in its mouth and depositing it on one side, and on a level
with its head, which it continually moved from side to side. I came
to this conclusion because, soon after it began its ascent, I discovered
a very small tuft of white to one side of its head, on its incasement
or covering; and as it ascended the tuft of white increased in size.
This tuft of white was its web being collected together.
Now, what is the name of this worm? and for what purpose did it

make a visit to earth, remain a few minutes, and then return to its
leafy home ?
I have never written to you before. AICE.
Who can answer? Alice is a careful observer,
and I shall be much pleased if any of my hearers,
whether belonging to the Agassiz Association or
not, can reply correctly to her queries.
HERE is sad news for my poor distant owls, but
you young folk will not object to it. There is now
in Australia an electric light, said to be the largest
in the world, which the dear Little School-ma'am
tells me sheds as much light as could be thrown
by one hundred and eighty thousand candles i
Think of that This light is very properly set in
the Sydney light-house, whence it can throw out its
guiding beams far over the sea. Sailors many miles
away can see it and steer for home accordingly.

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LAST January, when the Agassiz Association left the protecting
wing of ST. NICHOLAS, we promised to keep our friends informed of
its progress and condition. I hope that you all are kindly interested
in the fulfillment of that promise. In most of the forebodings which
came to us with the beginning of our more independent life we have
been happily disappointed.
At first, it is true, many of the weaker Chapters fell away, but
not so many as we had anticipated; and after a short time new re-
cruits began to enlist in large numbers, so that now, in August, we
find by careful census that we have more really active Chapters and
a larger present membership than at any former period since we
began, in 1880. Since our invitation was first carried by the ST.
NICHOLAS to the young men and women of America to unite in
forming an association for the study of natural science by means
of personal observation, we have enrolled eleven hundred branch
societies, with a total membership of twelve thousand one hundred.
Besides these, there have been perhaps four or five hundred persons
who have joined as individual students.
Many of these local societies, or Chapters, were organized merely
as temporary classes, for the purpose of pursuing some one or more
of the courses of practical work with minerals, plants, or insects,
which we have been able to present. These have naturally dis-
banded on the completion of the courses in which they were en-
gaged. Other Chapters have been organized with a view to per-
manence. These have in many cases rented rooms, or erected
buildings, in which to hold meetings, establish libraries, and build
up local museums. All these still remain with us, and are steadily
growing in power and usefulness.
Many Chapters have been established in connection with schools.
When these have been aided and superintended by the principal
teachers, they are usually long-lived or permanent. When they
have been organized and controlled by classes of students, indepen-
dent of local residence or established teachers, they have usually
disbanded at the graduation of the classes. A large number of little
societies have been formed by the parents and children of single
families. These have been broken up rarely, except by the sad in-
trusion of sickness and death. After deducting withdrawals from
all these and other causes, we find by an examination of our books
to-day that we have a total of six hundred and sixty-seven
active, working Chapters, representing a total membership of
seven thousand three hundred and sixty-three. In other words,
out of all who have in any way connected themselves with us,
either as temporary classes or established branches, during the
past seven years, we retain as active members more than sixty per
cent. This membership is distributed as follows:

Alabama ......
Arkansas ......
California .....
Colorado ......
Connecticut ...
Dakota .......
Dist. Columbia
Illinois ..
Indiana .......
Iowa .........
Kansas .......
Louisiana .....
Maine ........
Maryland ....
Massachusetts .
Michigan .....
Minnesota ....
Missouri .....

Montana ......
Nebraska .....
N. Hampshire.
New Jersey...
New York ....
North Carolina
Ohio ........ .
Oregon ...
Rhode Island.
Tennessee ....
Utah .... ..
Texas ........
South Carolina
Vermont ......
Wash. Ter.....
Virginia ....
W. Virginia...
Canada .......
England ......
Japan .........
Scotland ....

During the year, we have offered a course in mineralogy, which
has been conducted by Professor W. O. Crosby, of the Boston
Society of Natural History, and which has been largely patronized
by conscientious and enthusiastic workers. We have emphasized
the feature of special assistance to our members, by enlarging the
corps of scientists who voluntarily hold themselves in readiness to
answer questions and determine specimens for any members who
may apply to them. There are now forty-five of these gentlemen,
who together form what we call the Council of the Agassiz Associa-
Being interested to know what sort of question our young friends
have been in the habit of launching at these kind specialists, a little

circular was sent to them quite recently, making a few inquiries,
which will be inferred plainly enough from the answers which follow.
Of course, I give only a few, but they are interesting as showing in
the first place the noble spirit of unselfishness which animates a true
scientist; and, in the second place, the spirit of courteous deference
which inspires the earnest searcher for knowledge. I take selections
nearly at random:
"Perhaps fifty or more have applied to me for help. The
questions appear to come from beginners, and have been generally
regarding the names of insects sent."-C. H. Fernald, Amherst
College.- "The letters have indicated intelligent interest."-
William Trelease, Shaw School of Botany.-- The letters have
invariably been courteously worded, accompanied by return post-
age, sensible, intelligent, and indicative of a real desireto learn."
--Leland O. Howard, U. S. Dept. Agr.-" I have had a
goodly number apply for help in conchology, but not one-quarter as
many as I should like. I should like to hear from every Chapter."-
Thomas Morgan.--"It gives me great pleasure to say that I shall
be most happy to continue. Without exception, all queries have
been characterized by an earnest spirit, and by intelligence, and
have been courteous in every instance and invariably accompanied
by postage."-W. R. Lighton.- About forty have applied for
help in ornithology. I have been quite surprised at the character of
some of the questions which were so indicative of an earnest desire to
learn on the part of the quizzer."-J. de Benneville Abbott, M. D.
- "Large numbers have corresponded with me, and it is note-
worthy to remark the great good sense and discretion observed by
the majority. With a most earnest desire to use my best ability to
further the cause of the A. A."- 0. Bruce Richards.-" I am
willing to render all the assistance I can to members of the A. A.
who are interested in birds and reptiles. I always esteem it a
privilege to help those who are trying to help themselves in original
investigation."-Amos Butler.-- "It affords me pleasure at all
times to assist in smoothing the way and solving the doubts, so far
as I am able, of all who apply to me. These applications have
been numerous. The correspondence has uniformly been kind, and
to me useful."- A. W. Chapman.- A great many specimens
have been sent, always accompanied by intelligent questions, show-
ing fair discrimination. I shall be very happy to continue to be of
what service I can, as I consider the effort that you are making an
extremely valuable educational one, because it teaches young per-
sons to discriminate between differences that are slight, and to cul-
tivate habits of observation and judgment. There are very few
enterprises with which I have become familiar in recent years that
have a greater interest for me than this one that you are engaged
in."- Thomas Egleston, Columbia College.- Regarding the
A. A., for which I have the greatest interest, I will gladly continue
to answer questions in general biology. I regret that I have not
kept a list of the questions received: Allwere to the point."-C. F.
Holder.-" I have now labored with the Association for three years
past as an assistant in my specialty, and since that time have received
and answered many inquiries upon ethnology and archaeology, which
come from all parts of America, and occasionally from Europe.
These communications come from both young and old people, and
are steadily increasing in volume. I speak of the young people first,
from the fact that they seem much interested in collecting archmo-
logical specimens, and in asking for information concerning the best
methods of study, the geographical distribution, habits,-songs, arts,
folk-lore, etc., of our wild tribes."- Hilborne T. Cresson.
A prominent feature of the year's work is the increased number
of older persons who have united with the A. A. While the large
majority of our members are still children, and while the youngest
are eagerly welcomed, yet we have been greatly strengthened by the
accession of very many young men and women of from seventeen to
twenty-five years of age, and also by the enrollment of large num-
bers of parents, teachers, and adult pupils. It is charming to find
that the fascination of out-door study does not wear away. Those
who have once fairly tasted the pleasure of carefully examining the
structure and growth of flowers and insects, usually continue,
throughout their whole lives, to draw increasing delight from renewed
observations. Those who have once known the pleasure of unearth-
ing a vein of crystals, or of making a complex mineral yield its
secrets to the flame of the magic blow-pipe, never find cause for
ennii, so long as they can get hold of a hammer and a stone. Those
who have once raised a moth or butterfly from the egg to the perfect
imago have secured a source of enjoyment as lasting aslife and as un-
limited as the insect world. All members of the Agassiz Association
have the kindliest feelings for ST. NICHOLAS, and rejoice to see that
this magazine retains all its love for the strange and beautiful objects
of nature. It makes little difference to what special society one
belongs, or whether he belong to any. The important thing for
each one of us is to come to the early use of the seeing eye, the hear-
,ing ear, and the understanding heart.


YOUNG students of American history who may read Mr. E. S.
Brooks's account of "Pocahontas," in this number, will note with
interest that her real name was not "Pocahontas," nor that of her
father Powhatan ; also that she did not save the life of Captain
Smithin the manner so often described, and that she was really a
young widow when she married the rather sanctimonious Master
Those who wish to read the history of Pocahontas and Captain
John Smith, in full, should obtain a copy of Charles Dudley
Warner's very entertaining biography of Captain John Smith,

in the series called "Lives of American Worthies," published by
Henry Holt & Co.

ALL readers of ST. NICHOLAs will be glad to see the amuing
illustrated verse by Mr. J. G. Francis on page 39, and to know
that Mr. Francis has prepared a series of these comic pictures which
will appear during the coming year. And those young folk who have
seen in books copies of the Aztec hieroglyphics, will appreciate the
cleverness with which Mr. Francis has caricatured those old rude but
expressive drawings without losing their special characteristics.


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Though Mr. Stockton has visited England,
he has made some slight mistakes in the description he gives of
Buckinghamshire, my mother's native county.
The greater part of my mother's childhood, at least every summer,
was spent by her father and mother in a large farm-house on the top
of the hill on which lies the White Cross, of which he speaks as being
made by an antiquarian society to commemorate the battle fought
by the Saxons and Danes, in which the former were victorious.
The fact is that the cross was cut by the Saxons themselves, to
commemorate the victory, in about the year 600. It is kept in order
by funds from St. John's College, Oxford.
The name of the village, Whiteleaf, is a corruption of Whitgelt,
who was son of either Hengist or Horsa, and commanded the
Saxons in this battle. The other village he mentions, which we also
know well, is spelt Kimble, not Kimball, and was named after the
British hero Cymbeline, about whom Shakspere wrote the play.
I hope, dear ST. NICHOLAS, Mr. Stockton will not mind my
writing this letter, but I thought it would interest your readers.
Now I must close. I am your c-n-t- .i 1 ...: .; reader,
-,, ,G- .
(Aged ii years.)

DEAR OLD ST. NICHOLAS: Mamma subscribed for you when I
was eleven years old, as a birthday present. I have taken you ever
since (I am nearly thirteen now).
i Perhaps, like very modest people, you don't like to be praised, but
you most certainly deserve a great deal of it.
SLaura Scott (a friend of mine) and myself were very much in-
S terested in the paper foldings which have appeared in the Septem-
ber and August numbers.
We tried the Nantucket Sinks," and did n't succeed, but we
astonished ourselves with the "First Paper Canoe." We made
some on the scale of four and three-quarter inches, and we intend to
try one on the scale of twelve inches.
We bored holes in the center of each side of our canoes, through
which we passed tooth-picks for oars. Laura made a paper man who
sat in a very dignified manner with the oars (or rather tooth-picks) in
his hands.
We had grand times with our boats in the bath-tub. We also
had a fleet of several smaller boats.
My favorites are: "ST. NICHOLAS Dog Stories," "Juan and
Juanita," "Little Lord Fauntleroy," "Jenny's Boarding-house,"
and all of Miss Alcott's stories; I am also very much interested in
the "Brownies" and Letter-box."
I am afraid my letter is getting too long, so I will say good-bye.
Ever your constant reader, ETHEL R-- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I have taken your magazine since January.
I like "Jenny's Boarding-house," and it is too bad it was burned.
I think the Brownies are funny little creatures. I must tell you
about my little sister Mary, two years old. She gets her prayers
and Old Mother Hubbard mixed. The other night she said, Now
I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord to give the poor dog a
bone." She makes lots of fun for us, and often talks about Brown-
ies. I wish you would make my mistakes right. I must stop now
and give the others a chance.
Your little reader, W. M. S-- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have taken you only two months, and I
think you are the T-r titr nf-tnT n'-'.- T have ever read.
We used to live .... .. ..i i. ... Washington nearly
two years.
I went down to Alexandria not long ago, and went into the
Braddock House, where General Braddock held a council of war
one night, and saw the church where General Washington went to
I will be thirteen years old the 4th of September, and we are
going to have a play called Ten Dollars," which we saw in the ST.
NICHOLAS for January, 1879.
We have a friend who has the ST. NICHOLAS in bound volumes
from the first number issued.
I am your constant reader, PoRTIA 0-- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: In reading some of the letters in the
"Letter-box," I have seen some strange things told, and I want to
add to them.
I was sitting in the sewing-room half an hour or so ago, when my
married sister came, holding what looked like a baked pear. "Fritz,"
she said, don't you want a baked pear? I said, as I had never
tasted one, I would like to have it, and I took the hot pear she
offered me, and bit into it. I looked up and remarked that it was
very good, when she broke into a peal of laughter. I asked
what the matter was, and she said, "Harry [her husband] and I
put these pears out in the sun to ripen, and when I took them in to-
day, that is what I found." All of the six pears were baked soft and
juicy by the sun. The pear was hot, as if it had just come out of the
oven. I took them to my mother, and she also thought they were
very nice. How she laughed when I told her that they had been
baked by the sun! From one who loves dear old ST. NICHOLAS
dearly, FREDERIKA P-

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl, eight years old, and I
live in Nova Scotia. Once we had a little kitten; she was my pet,
and she got into the oven one day, and we could not find her for a
long time.
I have two brothers and two sisters. A gentleman in Boston has
sent you to us for two years.
Douglas can not read you yet, but I can. I think "Jenny's
Boarding-house is a delicious story.
Your affectionate friend, GRACE H. P-
P. S.--My kitty was dreadfully frightened. She trembled for a
long time, but she was n't hurt.- G. H. P.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: FMy grandmother gives you to me every
year for a Christmas present; I have always enjoyed your stories.
I am thirteen years old. My sister tried the Human Melodeon "
once, and it worked splendidly. I have a dog named Uno; he is
very intelligent,- he will play hide-and-seek with us ; one of us holds
him while the others hide. I am very much interested in "Juan
and Juanita," and I hope they will get to their mother in the end.
I remain your constant reader, ARTHUR C. J- .


My DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little Buckeye girl, but 1 am
spending the summer in a mining camp in Nevada. The ST.
NICHOLAS is sent me every month. I am seven years old, but I
can't read yet, and my mamma reads the stories to me. I enjoy them
very much.
I have not been down in the mines yet, but when I go it will be in
a bucket. The sage-brush is all around us. The other evening 1
saw two coyotes, a large one and a small one. My auntie said
they looked like greyhounds, only they were shaggy. There
are mountains all around us, and it seems as though I am inside
of a round ball.
I have another book, but it is not half as nice as the one you send
Every night I see the stars that form a dipper, and the moon, and
the evening star go down behind the mountain.
My mamma is writing this letter for me, but I tell her what to say.
Your true little friend, MARY P- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am an English girl. I am ten years old,
and I am writing to tell you that I was born on your day, 1876. We
all like your magazine very much, and I especially like Miss Alcott's
Spinning-wheel stories. We have taken you for nearly seven years,
and I hope we shall take you for a great many more years.
I am ever your constant reader, HILDA G- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Although I have only had the pleasure of
reading your pages for two years I don't suppose any of your
readers enjoy them more than I do. The First Paper Canoe" in
the last number interested me very much, so much that I worked
one whole day over it before succeeding. Please let the author know
that at least one American girl can carry the series through. I am
eleven years old. I, like several of your readers, am very much
interested in the fate of "Juan and Juanita." I remain,
Your constant reader, KATE C. GREEN.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Since I have read of the curious utilizations
of a square of paper, all our lesser ornaments have given place to
Nantucket sinks and sail-boats, and I want to tell you how much we


., -
"i',"" ;- -- -

-, ,* -


I i '".
'! .) % + '*i.-

appreciated your piece about paper boats, and how much amuse-
ment we derived from it.
The other day my sister and I collected our fleet from the numer-
ous dry-docks, launched it in the bath-tub, and witnessed one of the
most exciting races of the season. My sister, with a huge palm-
leaf fan, impersonated Boreas, while I assumed the offices ofjudges,
crews, reporters, and spectators.
The Volunteer, being favored by Boreas, won the race, and with
it the Nantucket sink, although, in 1'-r-e- :r the course,
she damaged her keel, and had to be I ,. .. ri. ...
The Mayflower sprung a leak in rounding a light-house strangely
resembling a tooth-powder bottle, but with the united efforts of the
captain, who, being a bean, swelled to such an extent that the safety
of the crew of collar-buttons was imperiled, and the sailors, who
were kept busy pumping, she came in second.
The Thistle in dry-dock was a handsome craft, but upon being
launched she showed her inferior make by collapsing.
The Puritan lost one man overboard, but he was a light weight
and floated until rescued.
The Sachem was stranded on a sponge half-way across the sound.
I am a very big little girl, fifteen years old, but have been very
much interested in the transformations of a square piece of paper,
and hope you will send other designs for the benefit of your devoted
peruser, EDITH L. H- .

WE present our thanks to the young friends whose names here
follow, for the receipt of pleasant letters which they have sent:
J. M. Brown, Jr., Sherman W. Bowen, Evelyn P. Willing, Jennie
Hawkins, Sarah Chambers, Alice H. M. and Rachael A. S., Emma
and Agnes, May G. B., Agnes J. Arrott, Julia Robinson, Joe G.,
Nellie B. Bridgman, Joe C., Lucy Lee Brooks, Alice Hirsh, Bertha
Crane, Kittie and Louie, Lily A. H., Cherry, Rosa P. L., Nina D.,
Jessie C. Drew, Grace W. Stoughton, Louise Hall, A. G. Robinson,
Bessie D. P., A. N., Charlie C. S., Kitty, Gertrude A., Marie C,
Chase, Florence M. Keith, Annie W. Mays, Jessie A. Wardrope,
Carrie C. A., M. E. B., Mary K. Hadley, Edward A. Selkirk,
Henry Kramer and May Southgate, Rowena M. B., Maysie L. E.,
Nellie R. Mason, Gertrude W. Hepworth, Carrie M., Emma E. S.,
Agnes, Arthur D., Kate B. Conrad, Anna P. Hannum, Lottie G.,
Madge H. Lyons, Mary S. G., Elise Ernest W., Kathleen Pictor,
Helen Howe, Edward E. J., Gertrude B., Clara B., Bertha Danforth,
Jessie Doak, and Edna Shepp.



HOLLOW SQUARE. Spade, easel, level, spool. HOUR-GLASS. Cross-words : r. Wringing-wet. 2. Inconditc.
RHOMBOID. Across: I. Thames. 2. Agents. 3. Estate. 4. 3. Nocturn. 4. Treed. 5. Ere. 6. R. 7. Lag. 8. Order.
Seraph. 5. Region. 6. Sector. 9. Ice-isle. io. Narrative. xi. Sarculation.
EASY GREEK CROSS. I. i. Host. 2. Onto. 3. Stay. 4. Toys. LETTER-PUZZLE. A E A E A
II. I. Last. 2. Alto 3. Stay. 4. Toys. III. i. Toys. 2. E E E E E
Oval. 3. Yale. 4. Sled. IV. i. Sled. 2. Lame. 3. Emma. A E A E A
4. Dear. V. i. Sled. 2. Lone. 3. Ends. 4. Desk. E E E E E
All-cheering Plenty, with her flowing horn, DOUBLE DIAMOND. I. Across: S. 2. Sap. 3. Eagle. 4.
Led yellow Autumn, wreathed with nodding corn. Dey. 5. S. II. Across: i. S. Spa. 3. Heath. 4 Ace. 5.
"BrigsofAyr," Line27. E. III. Across: i. A. 2. Ada. 3. Shock. 4. 4. Art 5. E.
DOUBLE CROSS-WORD ENIGMA. "All Hallow's Eve," and Tomato. FISH. a. Sole. 2. Flounder. ENTREE. Quail with
"Nutcrack Night." Bacon, on Toast. ROASTS. I. Turkey. 2. Lamb. 3. Goose.
DOUBLE SQUARE REMAINDERS. From 4 to 7, grape; 5 to 8, VEGETABLES. I. Potato. 2. Peas. 3. Beets. 4. Cabbage.
later; 6 to 9, steal; i to ro, crate; 2 to xi mates; 3 to 12, spear. DESSERT. i. Rhubarb pie. 2. Floating Island. NUTS. I.
NOVEL ARITHMETIC. I. T-one. 2. L-one. 3. F-l-our. 4. Chestnut. 2. Ground-nut. 3. Butternut. FRUITS. I. Orange.
T-h-ree. 5. T-w-o. 6. Fi-v-e 7. F-o-ur. 2. Peaches. 3. Pears. 4. Bananas.
To OUR PUZZLERS: Answers, to be c-1-n--1t-A -l in the ---- must be received not later than the i5th of each month, and
should be addressed to ST. NICHOLAS i -I. I arc of T '. *' Co., 33 East Seventeenth St.,' New-York City.
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE AUGUST NUMBER were received, before August I5th, from Francis W. Islip -J. Russell
Davis- Maud E. Palmer A. Fiske and Co.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE AUGUST NUMBER were received, before ..:. r' ... "".. 1: and Wyandotte," 6-Helen S. H., 2-
Marion S. Dumont, i Violet and Pansy," I- Paul Reese, 9 Willie 1I. -i. .1 i.. ,i Ethel, and Dorothy H., I -" Cherokee
Sam," 2 -"St. Olaf's Kirk," 3 -E. G. S., and E. K. S., i -Effie K. Talboys, 7 -No name, i I... ii. .., 8- K. G. S., 0o-
M. L. G., 8-" Fanatic," 7-" Fanned," 8- Gertrude Harrison, I M. A. R. and H. A. R., -J i 8--"Sculptor," 8-
Jamie and Mamma, 8 Alpha Alpha B. C., 5 L. E. Nor, 4- Scotchie and 777," i Tweedledum and Tweedledee," c,--
Parrot," i I-elen, I N. L. Howes, 7- W. R. M., 1o D. H. Dl-1e T Amelia Donnally, 2- Nellie and Reggie, 7 ; .
79," 5- Fox and Geese," 9- Towner children, 8 "Hikeydum, Ethel, Dorothy and Eva Ruth, and Uncle Andrew, 3-
"Chanito," 8.

OCTAGONS. Any system of faith and worship. 9. Survives. so. Providing food.
ii. A two-masted vessel. i2. A word corresponding with another.
I. I. SERIOUS. 2. Tobereave. 3. Strokes. 4. A little air. 5. An 13. To reflect. 14. A vessel for holding ink. IS. Not retarded.
order of insects having only two wings. 6. Nitrate of potassa. 7. A F. s. F.
very large body of water. A LETTER PUZZLE.
II. i. A verb. 2. The great poet of Greece. 3. Shaped like a
dome. 4. To counterfeit. 5. Groups consisting of ten individuals. / ,
6. Regular charges. 7. One-half of a word meaning to diminish.

3 . .

m % SAD I E; r. 1
S... ...s ..l

FROM I to 2, a composition for five voices; 2 to 4, an inhabitant
of the earth: 3 to 4, an object often seen about Easter; I to 3, four- .
fold; 5 to 6, the body of an army that marches in the rear of the *. Q f U
main body to protect it; 6 to 8, the act of dictating; 7 to 8, man- R U l .
ner of speaking in public; 5 to 7, to revive; to 5, to vibrate; 2 to
6, effaced; 4 to 8, smoked ham; 3 to 7, to empower.

NEOG thha eth grinsp, hwit lal sit slowref,
Dan geon het smursem mopp dan hows, .
Nad nutamu, ni hsi slaflese browes,
Si gainwit rot eth trinsew wons.

ALL of the words described contain the same number of letters.
When rightly guessed and placed one below the other, in the order
here given, the third row (reading downward) will spell what we
all should give at the time named in the sixth row of letters. By starting at the right letter in one of the above words, and then
CROSS-WORDS: I. Vigorous. 2. Entwined. 3. An ensign of taking every third letter, a quotation from Shakespeare's plays may
war. 4. Filtered. 5. Assaulted. 6. Disperses. 7. Forebodes. 8. be formed. LU. C. LEE.


I Ils_ C


aSC ~ '. Jur 4' -


Il*', I /
K! E;"j -'~ 'Ku. fb i

I r\ .

"' 'I

THE words forming this numerical enigma are pictured instead of
described. The answer, consisting of thirty-seven letters, is a
maxim. The Latin quotation above the puzzle embodies the same



I. UPPER SQUARE: I. Scrutinizes. 2. A song ofjoy. 3. To
mount. 4. A nozzle. 5. To rest.
II. LEFT-HAND SQUARE: I. To urge. 2. To untwist. 3. To
escape. 4. A plant which grows in wet ground. 5. To rest.
III. CENTRAL SQUARE: I. To repose. 2. An insect in the first
stage after leaving the egg. 3. Ospreys. 4. Occurrence. 5. A
meat pie.
IV. RIGHT-HAND SQUARE: I. Like paste.. 2. Burning. 3.
Paternal ancestors. 4. To entertain with food or drink. 5. Foaming.
V. LOWER SQUARE: i. Uncooked. 2. To worship. 3. Per-
taining to the sun. 4. To discipline. 5. Yearns.

A GIRL'S nickname. 2. To detest. 3. A title which gave place
to that of baron." 4. A species of column whose distinguishing
feature is the volute of its capital. 5. Upright. ROBERT.

PRIMALS: A warrior brave, I seek my home
From distant Palestine;
But seized by treacherous foes, I 'm cast
In prison walls to pine.

FINALS : Through many lands, in tower and town,
I seek my master dear;
In castle strong, at last with joy
His well-known voice I hear.
WORDS : i. The first name of a Scottish outlaw bold,
Whose feats in song and story still are told.
2. Eyes have I, yet I can not see at all;'
In heathen lands I worshiped am by all.

3. How fair this lake lies neathh Italian sky !
Sure in your travels you 'll not pass it by.

4. The loveliest woman earth has ever seen;
She looked a goddess and she walked a queen."
5. This noble king was England's pride and boast
Ere Norman William conquered Harold's host.

A CLASSICAL SQUARE. 6. If one writes not in prose, nor in blank verse,
He surely must in this his tale rehearse.
I 2
7. If you don't guess this riddle, by and by,
This adjective to you I must apply. N. B.

3 . 4 CROSS-WORDS: i. On this side of the Atlantic Ocean. 2. Con-
stancy. 3. The daughter of Sithon, King of Thrace. 4. Sufficient.
FROM i to 2, a surname of Hera or Juno; from 2 to 4, an ancient 5. Very large. 6. In capacity. 7. To urge importunately. 8. A
name for the River Tiber; from I to 3, a name by which the south- covering for the head worn by ecclesiastical dignitaries. 9. Inhabi-
eastern part of Italy was once known; from 3 to 4, a name by which tants of Ionia. io. Resemblance. to. A race or people.
Minerva is sometimes called; from I to 4, the daughter of Cyrus; The central letters, reading downward, will spell one belonging to
from 2 to 3, a division of Greece. A. c. CAMERON. a diminutive race. R. V. O.

_ I



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