• TABLE OF CONTENTS
HIDE
 Front Cover
 The brown dwarf of Rugen
 Sara Crewe; or, What happened at...
 The amusements of Arab childre...
 London Christmas pantomimes
 Child-sketches from George...
 The clocks of Rondaine
 Tick-tock
 Poor Mr. Brown
 Balboa
 An affluent Aztec - A hieroglyphic...
 Where the Christmas-tree grew
 Morning compliments
 How the Yankees came to Blackw...
 The peasant king
 A sympathetic reader
 The letter cake
 What did the butcher boy say?
 A girls' military company
 Housekeeping songs. No. I (words...
 Four foolish persons
 Jack-in-the-pulpit
 The babes in the wood: A game
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover
 Spine






Title: St. Nicholas
ALL VOLUMES CITATION PAGE IMAGE ZOOMABLE
Full Citation
STANDARD VIEW MARC VIEW
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00194
 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
regular
 Subjects
Subject: Children's literature -- Periodicals   ( lcsh )
Genre: periodical   ( marcgt )
 Notes
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: VID00194
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
    The brown dwarf of Rugen
        Plate
        Page 163
        Page 164
        Page 165
        Page 166
        Page 167
    Sara Crewe; or, What happened at Miss Minchin's
        Page 168
        Page 169
        Page 170
        Page 171
        Page 172
        Page 173
    The amusements of Arab children
        Page 174
        Page 175
        Page 176
        Page 177
        Page 178
        Page 179
    London Christmas pantomimes
        Page 180
        Page 181
        Page 182
        Page 183
        Page 184
        Page 185
        Page 186
        Page 187
        Page 188
        Page 189
    Child-sketches from George Eliot
        Page 190
        Page 191
    The clocks of Rondaine
        Page 192
        Page 193
        Page 194
        Page 195
        Page 196
    Tick-tock
        Page 197
    Poor Mr. Brown
        Page 198
        Page 199
        Page 200
        Page 201
    Balboa
        Page 202
        Page 203
    An affluent Aztec - A hieroglyphic fragment
        Page 204
    Where the Christmas-tree grew
        Page 205
        Page 206
        Page 207
        Page 208
    Morning compliments
        Page 209
    How the Yankees came to Blackwood
        Page 210
        Page 211
        Page 212
        Page 213
        Page 214
        Page 215
        Page 216
    The peasant king
        Page 217
        Page 218
        Page 219
    A sympathetic reader
        Page 220
    The letter cake
        Page 221
        Page 222
    What did the butcher boy say?
        Page 223
    A girls' military company
        Page 224
        Page 225
        Page 226
        Page 227
    Housekeeping songs. No. I (words and music)
        Page 228
        Page 229
    Four foolish persons
        Page 230
        Page 231
    Jack-in-the-pulpit
        Page 232
        Page 233
    The babes in the wood: A game
        Page 234
        Page 235
    The letter-box
        Page 236
        Page 237
        Page 238
    The riddle-box
        Page 239
        Page 240
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
    Spine
        Spine
Full Text


































































































































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THE BROWN DWARF OF RIGEN.
(SEE PAGE I66.)


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ST. NICHOLAS.



VOL. XV. JANUARY, 1888. No. 3.






THE BROWN DWARF OF
R.GEN.
By JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. ,






[The hint of this ballad is found in Arndt's Marchein, Berlin, '
x8x6. My young readers, while smiling at the absurd superstition,
will do well to remember that bad companionship and evil habits,
S desires, and passions are more to be dreaded now than the Elves and ,-
Trolls who frightened the children of past ages.]

THE pleasant isle of Riigen looks the Baltic water o'er,
To the silver-sanded beaches of the Pomeranian shore; (
And in the town of Rambin a little boy and maid
Plucked the meadow-flowers together and in the sea-surf played.
Alike were they in beauty if not in their degree:
He was the Amptman's* first-born, the miller's child was she.

Now of old the isle of Riigen was full of Dwarfs and Trolls,
The brown-faced little Earth-men, the people without souls;
And, for every man and woman in Riigen's island found
Walking in air and sunshine, a Troll was under-ground.
It chanced the little maiden, one morning, strolled away
Among the haunted Nine Hills, where the elves and goblins play.
That day, in barley-fields below, the harvesters had known
Of evil voices in the air, and heard the small horns blown.
A German local official, or bailiff.
[Copyright, 1887, by THE CENTURY Co. All rights reserved.]
163






THE BROWN DWARF OF RUGEN.


She came not back; the search for her in field and
wood was vain:
/fi They cried her east, they cried her west, but she
came not again.
.W- "She's down among the Brown Dwarfs," said the
Sdream-wives wise and old.
And prayers were made, and masses said, and Rambin's
church bell tolled.

I, Five years her father mourned her; and then John Deitrich
said:
S-" 'I will find my little playmate, be she alive or dead."
He watched among the Nine Hills, he heard the
Brown Dwarfs sing,
S, And saw them dance by moonlight merrily in a ring.

_' And when their gay-robed leader tossed up his
cap of red,
Young Deitrich caught it as it fell and thrust
it on his head.
S ..- The Troll came crouching at his feet and wept
for lack of, it.
S "Oh, give me back my magic cap, for your great head
,i ":' '1 unfit !"
"Nay," Deitrich said; "the Dwarf who throws his charmed
cap away,
-';'' Must serve its finder at his will, and for his folly pay.
-. '' "You stole my pretty Lisbeth, and hid her in the earth;
S And you shall ope the door of glass and let me lead her
forth."
"She will not come; she 's one of us; she 's mine!" the Brown Dwarf said;
"The day is set, the cake is baked, to-morrow we shall wed."
"The fell fiend fetch thee!" Deitrich cried, "and keep thy foul tongue still.
Quick! open, to thy evil world, the glass door of the hill!"
The Dwarf obeyed; and youth and Troll down the long stair-way passed,
And saw in dim and sunless light a country strange and vast.
Weird, rich, and wonderful, he saw the elfin under-land,-
Its palaces of precious stones, its streets of golden sand.
He came unto a banquet-hall with tables richly spread,
Where a young maiden served to him the red wine and the bread.
How fair she seemed among the Trolls so ugly and so wild!
Yet pale and very sorrowful, like one who never smiled!






THE BROWN DWARF OF RUGEN.


Her low, sweet voice, her gold-brown
hair, her tender blue eyes seemed
Like something he had seen elsewhere
or something he had dreamed.

He looked; he clasped her in his arms;
he knew the long-lost one;
"0 Lisbeth! See thy playmate-I am th- .
Amptman's son!"

She leaned her fair head on his breast, aiil
through her sobs she spoke: ,,
"Oh, take me from this evil place, and tr.iL .
the elfin folk!

"And let me tread the grass-green field- and -
smell the flowers again,
And feel the soft wind on my cheek and lhar ,'
the dropping rain !

"And oh, to hear the singing bird, the rn-tiu,
of the tree,
The lowing cows, the bleat of sheep, tl- v\-oi.s of
the sea;


" And oh, upon my father's knee to sit 1,-1i,.l1- th- il,-o:r.
And hear the bell of vespers ring in Railmin hi.irch ouIe mi',e "

He kissed her cheek, he kissed her lips: tL-. Br..-wn Dw)7arf
groaned to see,
And tore his tangled hair and ground hi- l,ug t, -th au-!,rily.



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THE BROWN DWARF OF RUGEN.


But Deitrich said: "For five long years this tender Christian maid
Has served you in your evil world and well must she be paid!

" Haste -hither bring me precious gems, the richest in your store;
Then when we pass the gate of glass, you 'll take your cap once more."

No choice was left the baffled Troll, and, murmuring, he obeyed,
And filled the pockets of the youth and apron of the maid.

They left the dreadful under-land and passed the gate of glass;
They felt the sunshine's warm caress, they trod the soft, green grass.

And when, beneath, they saw the Dwarf stretch up to them his brown
And crooked claw-like fingers, they tossed his red cap down.


Oh, never shone so bright a sun, was never sky so blue,
As hand in hand they. homeward walked the pleasant meadows through!

And never sang the birds so sweet in Rambin's woods before,
And never washed the waves so soft along the Baltic shore;

And when beneath his door-yard trees the father met his child,
The bells rung out their merriest peal, the folks with joy ran wild.

And soon from Rambin's holy church the twain came forth as one,
The Amptman kissed a daughter, the miller blest a son.

John Deitrich's fame went far and wide, and nurse and maid crooned o'er
Their cradle song: "Sleep on, sleep well the Trolls shall come no more!"


166







THE BROWN DWARF OF RUGEN.


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For in the haunted Nine
Hills he set a cross of
stone;
An Elf and Brown Dwarf .....-lt
where door was none.

The tower he built in Ranm'ia, ti ,
boast,
Looked o'er the Baltic wat( t'. -i

And, for his worth ennobled. i 11
Count Deitrich and his lovel.- I. ii.-l
and happy there.


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PART II.

THAT very afternoon Sara had an opportunity
of proving to herself whether she was really a
princess or not. It was a dreadful afternoon.
For several days it had rained continuously, the
streets were chilly and sloppy; there was mud
everywhere -sticky London mud -and over
everything a pall of fog and drizzle. Of course
there were several long and tiresome errands to be
done,- there always were on days like this,- and
Sara was sent out again and again, until her
shabby clothes were damp through. The absurd
old feathers on her forlorn hat were more drag-
gled and absurd than ever, and her down-trodden
shoes were so wet they could not hold any more
water. Added to this, she had been deprived of
her dinner, because Miss Minchin wished to pun-
ish her. She was very hungry. She was so cold
and hungry and tired that her little face had


a pinched look, and now and then some kind-
hearted person passing her in the crowded street
glanced at her with sympathy. But she did not
know that. She hurried on, trying to comfort her-
self in that queer way of hers by pretending and
"supposing,"-but really this time it was harder
than she had ever found it, and once or twice she
thought it almost made her more cold and hungry
instead of less so. But she persevered obstinately.
" Suppose I had dry clothes on," she thought.
"Suppose I had good shoes and a long thick
coat and merino stockings and a whole umbrella.
Arid suppose -suppose, just when I was near a
baker's where they sold hot buns, I should find
sixpence which belonged to nobody. Suppose,
if I did, I should go into the shop and buy six of
the hottest buns and should eat them all without
stopping."
Some very odd things happen in this world
sometimes. It certainly was an odd thing which
68


or What Hbafpenad a MO-5 Minch-in a


6y Pae~r sa hur neft







SARA CREWE; OR, WHAT HAPPENED AT MISS MINCHIN'S.


happened to Sara. She had to cross the street just
as she was saying this to herself -the mud was
dreadful- she almost had to wade. She picked
her way as carefully as she could, but she could
not save herself much; only, in picking her way she
had to look down at her feet and the mud, and in
looking down -just as she reached the pavement


muddy feet peeped out only because the rags
with which the wearer was trying to cover them
were not long enough. Above the rags appeared
a shock head of tangled hair and a dirty face, with
big, hollow, hungry eyes.
Sara knew they were hungry eyes the moment
she saw them, and she felt a sudden sympathy.


- she saw something shin-
ing in the gutter. A piece
of silver a tiny piece trod-
den upon by many feet, but
still with spirit enough left to
shine a little. Not quite a
sixpence, but the next thing
to it a four-penny piece!
In one second it was in her
cold, little, red and blue hand.
"Oh !" she gasped. "It
is true! "
And then, if you will be-
lieve me, she looked straight
before her at the shop direct-
ly facing her. And it was
a baker's, and a cheerful,
stout, motherly woman, with
rosy cheeks, was just put-
ting into the window a tray
of delicious hotbuns,--large,
plump, shiny buns, with cur-
rants in them.
It almost made Sara feel
faint for a few seconds the
shock and the sight of the
buns and the delightful odors
of warm bread floating up
through the baker's cellar-
window.
She knew that she need
not hesitate to use the little
piece of money. It had evi-
dently been lying in the mud
for some time, and its owner
was completely lost in the
streams of passing people
who crowded and jostled
each other all through the
day.
"But I '1 go and ask the
baker's woman if she has lost
a piece of money," she said
to herself, rather faintly.


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"EAT IT," SAID SARA, "AND YOU WILL NOT BE SO HUNGRY." (SEE NEXT PAGE.)


So she crossed the pavement and put her wet "This," she said to herself, with a little sigh,
foot on the step of the shop; and as she did so she "is one of the Populace-and she is hungrier than
saw something which made her stop. I am."
It was a little figure more forlorn than her own The child this "one of the Populace "-stared
-a little figure which was not much more than a up at Sara, and shuffled herself aside a little, so as
bundle of rags, from which small, bare, red and to give her more room. She was used to being






SARA CREWE; 'OR, WHAT HAPPENED AT MISS MINCHIN S.


made to give room to everybody. She knew that
if a policeman chanced. to see her, he would tell
her to move on."
Sara clutched her little four-penny piece, and
hesitated a few seconds. Then she spoke to her.
"Are you hungry ? she asked.
The child shuffled herself and ler rags a little
more.
Ain't I jist she said, in a hoarse voice. Jist
ain't I!"
Have n't you had any dinner? said Sara.
"No dinner," more hoarsely still and with more
shuffling, nor yet no bre'fast-nor yet no sup-
per nor nothing. "
Since when ?" asked Sara.
"Dun'no'. Never got nothing' to-day-nowhere.
I've axed and axed."
Just to look at her made Sara more hungry and
faint. But those queer little thoughts were at
work in her brain, and she was talking to herself
though she was sick at heart.
"If I 'm a princess," she was saying "if I 'm
a princess When they were poor and driven
from their thrones they always shared -with the
Populace -if they met one poorer and hungrier.
They always shared. Buns are a penny each. If
it had been sixpence! I could have eaten six. It
won't be enough for either of us but it will be
better than nothing."
"Wait a minute," she said to the beggar-child.
She went into the shop. It was warm and smelled
delightfully. The woman was just going to put
more hot buns in the window.
"If you please," said Sara, "have you lost
fourpence a silver fourpence? And she held
the forlorn little piece of money out to her.
The woman looked at it and at her at her in-
tense little face and draggled, once-fine clothes.
"Bless us-no," she answered. "Did you
find it?"
In the gutter," said Sara.
"Keep it, then," said the woman. "It may
have been there a week, and goodness knows who
lost it. You could never find out."
I know that," said Sara, but I thought I'd
ask you."
Not many would," said the woman, looking
puzzled and interested and good-natured all at
once. "Do you want to buy something?" she
added, as she saw Sara glance toward the buns.
Four buns, if you please," said Sara; those
at a penny each."
The woman went to the window and put some
in a paper bag. Sara noticed that she put in six.
I said four, if you please," she explained.
I have only the fourpence."
"I '11 throw in two for make-weight," said the


woman, with her good-natured look. I dare say
you can eat them some time. Are n't you hungry ?"
A mist rose, before Sara's eyes..
Yes," she answered. I am very hungry, and
I am much obliged to you for your kindness, and,"
she was going to add, "there is a child outside
who is hungrier than 1 am." But just at that mo-
ment two or three customers came in at once and
each one seemed in a hurry, so she could only
thank the woman again and go out.
The child was still huddled up on the corner of
the steps. She looked frightful in her wet and
dirty rags. She was staring with a stupid look of
suffering straight before her, and Sara saw her
suddenly draw the back of her roughened, black
hand across her eyes to rub away the tears which
seemed to have surprised her by forcing their way
from under her lids. She was muttering to herself.
Sara opened the paper bag and took out one of
the hot buns, which had already warmed her cold
hands a little.
See," she said, putting the bun on the ragged
lap, "that is nice and hot. Eat it, and you will
not be so hungry."
The child started and stared up at her; then
she snatched up the bun and began to cram it
into her mouth with great wolfish bites.
"Oh, my! Oh, my! Sara heard her say
hoarsely, in wild delight.
Oh, my!"
Sara took out three more buns and put them
down.
She is hungrier than I am," she said to herself.
She 's starving." But her hand trembled when
she put down the fourth bun. I 'm not starving,"
she said and she put down the fifth.
The little starving London savage was still
snatching and devouring when she turned away.
She was too ravenous to give any thanks, even if
she had been taught politeness-which she had
not. She was only a poor little wild animal.
"Good-bye," said Sara.
When she reached the other side of the street
she looked back. The child had a bun in both
hands, and had stopped in the middle of a bite to
watch her. Sara gave her a little nod, and the
child, after another stare,-a curious, longing
stare,-jerked her shaggy head in response, and
until Sara was out of sight she did not take an-
other bite or even finish the one she had begun.
At that moment the baker-woman glanced out
of her shop-window.
"Well, I never! she exclaimed. "If that
young 'un has n't given her buns to a beggar-
child. It was n't because she did n't want them,
either- well, well, she looked hungry enough.
I 'd give something to know what she did it for."







SARA CREWE; OR, WHAT HAPPENED AT MISS MINCHIN'S.


She stood behind her window for a few moments
and pondered. Then her curiosity got the better
of her.. She went to the door and spoke to the
beggar-child.
Who gave you those buns ? she asked her.
The child nodded her head toward Sara's van-
ishing figure.
What did she say? inquired the woman.
Axed me if I was 'ungry," replied the hoarse
voice.
What did you say ?"
Said I was jist "
And then she came in and got buns and came
out and gave them to you, did she?"
The child nodded.
How many?"
Five."
The woman thought it over. "Left just one for
herself," she said, in alow voice. And she could
have eaten the whole six-I saw it in her eyes."
She looked after the little, draggled, far-away
figure, and felt more disturbed in her usually com-
fortable mind than she had felt for many a day.
"I wish she had n't gone so quick," she said.
I 'm blest if she should n't have had a dozen."
Then she turned to the child.
"Are you hungry, yet? she asked.
"I'm allus'ungry," was the answer; "but
't ain't so bad as it was."
Come in here," said the woman, and she held
open the shop-door.
The child got up and shuffled in. To be invited
into a warm place full of bread seemed an incred-
ible thing. She did not know what was going to
happen; she did not care, even.
Get yourself warm," said the woman, pointing
to a fire in a tiny back room. And, look here,-
when you 're hard up for a bit of bread, you can
come here and ask for it. I 'm blest if I won't give
it you for that young 'un's sake."

Sara found some comfort in her remaining bun.
It was hot; and it was a great deal better than
nothing. She broke off small pieces and ate them
slowly to make it last longer.
Suppose it was a magic bun," she said, and a
bite was as much as a whole dinner. I should be
over-eating myself if I went on like this."
It was dark when she reached the square in
which Miss Minchin's Select Seminary was situ-
ated; the lamps were lighted, and in most of the
windows gleams of light were to be seen. It always
interested Sara to catch glimpses of the rooms
before the shutters were closed. She liked to im-
agine things about the people who sat before the
fires in the houses, or who bent over books at the
tables. There was, for instance, the Large Family


opposite. She called these people the Large Fam-
ily-not because they were large, for indeed most
of them were little, but because there were so many
of them. There were eight children in the Large
Family, and a stout rosy mother, and a stout rosy
father, and a stout rosy grandmamma, and any num-
ber of servants. The eight children were always
either being taken out to walk, or to ride in peram-
bulators, by comfortable nurses; or they were going
to drive with their mamma; or they were flying
to the door in the evening to kiss their papa and
dance around him and drag off his overcoat and
look for packages in the pockets of it; or they were
crowding about the nursery windows and looking
out and pushing each other and laughing,- in fact,
they were always doing something which seemed
enjoyable and suited to the tastes of a large fam-
ily. Sara was quite attached to them and had
given them all names out of books. She called
them the Montmorencys, when she did not call
them the Large Family. The fat, fair baby with
the lace cap was Ethelberta Beauchamp Montmor-
ency; the next baby was Violet Cholmondely
Montmorency; the little boy who could just stag-
ger, and who had such round legs, was Sydney
Cecil Vivian Montmorency; and then came Lilian
Evangeline, Guy Clarence, Maud Marian, Rosa-
lind Gladys, Veronica Eustacia, and Claude Harold
Hector.
Next door to the Large Family lived the Maiden
Lady, who had a companion, and two parrots, and
a King Charles spaniel; but Sara was not so
very fond of her, because she did nothing in par-
ticular but talk to the parrots and drive out with
the spaniel. The most interesting person of all
lived next door to Mrs. Minchin herself. Sara
called him the Indian Gentleman. He was an
elderly gentleman who was said to have lived in
the East Indies, and to be immensely rich and to
have something the matter with his liver,- in fact,
it had been rumored that he had no liver at all, and
was much inconvenienced by the fact. At any rate,
he was very yellow and he did not look happy; and
when he went out to his carriage, he was almost
always wrapped up in shawls and overcoats, as if
he were cold. He had a native servant who looked
even colder than himself, and he had a monkey
who looked colder than the native servant. Sara
had seen the monkey sitting on a table, in the sun,
in the parlor-window, and he always wore such a
mournful expression that she sympathized with him
deeply.
"I dare say," she used sometimes to remark
to herself, "he is thinking all the time'of cocoa-nut
trees and of swinging by his tail under a tropical
sun. He might have had a family dependent on
him, too, poor thing! "


z888.1






172 SARA CREWE; OR, WHAT HAPPENED AT MISS MINCHIN'S.


- I.; -./i Li 5
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"HE WAS WAITING FOR HIS MASTER TO COME OUT TO THE CARRIAGE, AND SARA STOPPED AND SPOKE A FEW WORDS TO HIM."

The native servant, whom she called the Las- could speak to the Lascar. I remember a little
car, looked mournful too, but he was evidently Hindustani."
very faithful to his master. And one day she actually did speak to him, and
Perhaps he saved his master's life in the Sepoy his start at the sound of his own language ex-
rebellion," she thought. They look as if they pressed a great deal of surprise and delight. He
might have had all sorts of adventures. I wish I was waiting for his master to come out to the car-






SARA CREWE ; OR, WHAT HAPPENED AT MISS MINCHIN'S.


riage, and Sara, who was going on an errand as
usual, stopped and spoke a few words. She had
a special gift for languages and had remembered
enough Hindustani to make herself understood
by him. When his master came out, the Lascar
spoke to him quickly, and the Indian Gentleman
turned and looked at her curiously. And after-
ward the Lascar always greeted her with salaams
of the most profound description. And occasion-
ally they exchanged a few words. She learned
that it was true that the Sahib was very rich -
that he was ill and also that he had no wife
nor children, and that England did not agree
with the monkey.
He must be as lonely as I am," thought Sara.
"Being rich does not seem to make him happy."
That evening, as she passed the windows, the
Lascar was closing the shutters, and she caught
a glimpse of the room inside. There was a bright
fire glowing in the grate, and the Indian Gentleman
was sitting before it, in a luxurious chair. The
room was richly furnished and looked delight-
fully comfortable, but the Indian Gentleman sat
with his head resting on his hand and looked as
lonely and unhappy as ever.
Poor man said Sara; I wonder what you
are 'supposing ? "
When she went into the house she met Miss
Minchin in the hall.
"Where have you wasted your time?" said
Miss Minchin. You have been out for hours "
"It was so wet and muddy," Sara answered.
"It was hard to walk, because my shoes were so
bad and slipped about so."
"Make no excuses," said Miss Minchin, "and
tell no falsehoods."
Sara went downstairs to the kitchen.
Why did n't you stay all night? said the cook.
"Here are the things," said Sara, and laid her
purchases on the table.
The cook looked over them, grumbling. She
was in a very bad temper indeed.
"May I have something to eat? Sara asked,
rather faintly.
"Tea's over and done with," was the answer.
Did you expect me to keep it hot for you ? "
Sara was silent a second.
"I had no dinner," she said, and her voice was
quite low. She made it low, because she was
afraid it would tremble.
"There 's some bread in the pantry," said the
cook. That's all you '11 get at this time of day."
Sara went and found the bread. It was old and
hard and dry. The cook was in too bad a humor
to give her anything to eat with it. She had just
been scolded by Miss Minchin, and it was always
safe and easy to vent her own spite on Sara.


Really it was hard for the child to climb the
three long flights of stairs leading to her garret.
She often found them long and steep when she
was tired, but to-night it seemed as if she would
never reach the top. Several times a lump rose in
her throat, and she was obliged to stop to rest.
"I can't pretend anything more to-night," she
said wearily to herself. "I 'm sure I can't. I '11
eat my bread and drink some water and then go to
sleep, and perhaps a dream will come and pretend
for me. I wonder what dreams are."
Yes, when she reached the top landing there
were tears in her eyes, and she did not feel like a
princess only like a tired, hungry, lonely, lonely
child.
If my papa had lived," she said, they would
not have treated me like this. If my papa had
lived, he would have taken care of me."
Then she turned the handle and opened the
garret-door.
Can you imagine it can you believe it? I find
it hard to believe it myself. And Sara found it
impossible; for the first few moments she thought
something strange had happened to her eyes -to
her mind-that the dream had come before she
had had time to fall asleep.
"Oh! she exclaimed breathlessly. Oh! It
is n't true I know, I know it is n't true And
she slipped into the room and closed the door and
locked it, and stood with her back against it, star-
ing straight before her.
Do you wonder? In the grate, which had been
empty and rusty and cold when she left it, but
which now was blackened and polished up quite
respectably, there was a glowing, blazing fire. On
the hob was a little brass kettle, hissing and boil-
ing; spread upon the floor was a warm, thick
rug; before the fire was a folding-chair, unfolded
and with cushions on it; by the chair was a small
folding-table, unfolded, covered with a white cloth,
and upon it were spread small covered dishes, a cup
and saucer, and a tea-pot; on the bed were new,
warm coverings, a curious wadded silk robe and
some books. The little, cold, miserable room
seemed changed into Fairyland. It was actually
warm and glowing.
"It is bewitched! said Sara. "Or I am
bewitched. I only think I see it all; but if I can
only keep on thinking it, I don't care I don't
care,-if I can only keep it up "
She was afraid to move, for fear it would melt
away. She stood with her back against the door
and looked and looked. But soon she began to
feel warm, and then she moved forward.
A fire that I only thought I saw surely would n't
feel warm," she said. It feels real -real."
She went to it and knelt before it. She






SARA CREWE ; OR, WHAT HAPPENED AT MISS MINCHIN'S.


touched the chair, the table; she lifted the cover
of one of the dishes. There was something hot
and savory in it -something delicious. The tea-
pot had tea in it, ready for the boiling water from
the little,kettle; one plate had toast on it, another,
muffins.
S'"It is real," said Sara., "The fire is real
enough to warm me.. I can sit in the chair; the
things are real enough to eat."
It was like a fairy story come true -it was
heavenly. She went to the bed and touched the
blankets and the wrap. They were real too. She
opened one book, and on the title-page was written
in a strange hand, The little girl in the attic."
Suddenly -was it a strange thing for her to
do ?- Sara put her face down on the queer foreign-
looking quilted robe and burst into tears.
"I don't know who it is," she said, "but
somebody cares about me a little somebody is
my friend."
Somehow that thought warmed her more than
the fire. She had never had a friend since those
happy, luxurious days when she had had every-
thing; and those days had.seemed such a long way
off-so far away as to be only like dreams- dur-
ing these last years at Miss Minchin's.
She really cried more at this strange thought of
having a friend even though an unknown one '
than she had cried over many of her worst troubles.
But these tears seemed different from the others,
for when she had wiped them away they did not


seem to leave her eyes and her heart hot and
smarting.
And then imagine, if you can, what the rest of
the evening was like. The delicious comfort of
taking off the damp clothes and putting on the
soft, warm, quilted robe before the glowing fire -
of slipping her cold feet into the luscious little wool-
lined slippers she found near her chair. And then
the hot tea and savory dishes, the cushioned chair
and the books !
It.was just like Sara, that, once having found
the things real, she should give herself up to the
enjoyment of them to the very utmost. She had
lived such a life of imaginings, and had found her
pleasure so long in improbabilities, that she was
quite equal to accepting any wonderful thing that
happened. After she was quite warm and had
eaten her supper and enjoyed herself for an hour or
so, it had almost ceased to be surprising to her,
that such magical surroundings should be hers.
As to finding out who had done all this, she knew
that it was out of the question. She did not know
a human soul by whom it could seem in the least
degree probable that it could have been done.
- "There is nobody," she said to herself, "no-
body." She discussed the matter with Emily, it
is true, but more because it was delightful to talk
about it than with a view to making any dis-
coveries.
"But we have a friend, Emily," she said; "we
have a friend."


(To be concluded.)


THE AMUSEMENTS OF ARAB CHILDREN.

BY HENRY W. JESSUP.


IF the little Arabs are heathen, they are at least
picturesque heathen. In their colored clothing,
with their dusky skins, their black eyes, and their
lithe, active bodies, they are very picturesque. But,
it must be confessed, they appear best at a distance;
for soap, is not so fashionable among them as
might justly be expected from the. people of a
country which manufactures the most cleansing
soap in the world. In watching the children at
play, one soon notices that the girls do not always
have a good time. Arab boys are not trained to
be gentlemanly and courteous to their sisters,
although they treat their elders with a delightful


deference and respect. Little girls in the East are
never welcome. When a baby is born, if it be a
girl "the threshold mourns forty days." So, in
taking a glimpse at the amusements of the Arab
children, we must be prepared to find that they
are chiefly boys' games, in which the girls seldom
participate.
A little boy in America asked a person who had
lived in Syria if the boys there ever played base-
ball; and on learning that they did not, he said,
" Well, they can't have much fun there." It
is very natural for the children of any country
to imagine that the children in other countries






THE AMUSEMENTS OF ARAB CHILDREN.


amuse themselves in the same ways. And the
number of games that are in reality universal
among children in all countries is really remark-
able. For example, the Arab children often play
blind-man's-buff (they call it gAummaida) and
biz zowaia or puss-in-the-corner, and a game like
"button, button, who has the button?" (which
they play with a pebble), and owal zowah or leap-
frog, and gilleh or marbles. But there are other
ganies of which you probably have never heard -
such as kurd inurboot, shooha, joora, taia-ya-taia,
kkdtinz, and the greatest and most exciting of all
their games-the national game, it might perhaps
be called -jereed. I will briefly describe these dif-
ferent games.
One noticeable feature of all these games is that
they cost nothing. The Arab boy rarely has any
pocket-money, unless he finds it, or gets it as a
gift; and when he has any, he is very certain to
win or lose with it, if he can find any other boy
who also has some.
But in the ordinary games no money is spent.
Every one is so poor,-the government is so
grasping, and the taxes are so heavy,- that any
boy who asked for money to buy something to play
with would be likely to "'sehkzie rutly"- "get a
beating," as their saying goes, from his father's
stick. Probably more than a quarter of the chil-
dren in this bright land have as much money
spent on their toys and amusements in one year
as would feed and clothe as many Arab children
for the same length of time. How happy some
little Arab girl is occasionally made when any of
the kind-hearted little American or English girls
out there give her an old dolly for her own How
she cherishes and treasures it!
But now for the games. Kurd murboot means
"tied monkey." One boy is chosen to be mon-
key. He is tied by the hand with a long string
to a peg driven in the ground. Then the others
tie knots in their handkerchiefs, if they have any,
or use little whips, and beat him with them, until
he manages to catch one of the boys, who then
must change places with him and be tied to the
peg in turn. In all the games in which one is
hit by the others, the young Arabs are remark-
ably good-tempered; and fair play -turn and
turn about--is the rule. When the Arab boy
does lose his temper, he invariably lays hold
of a stone; and after cursing his antagonist's
great-great-grandfather, he lets the missile fly. But
they are not very good throwers, and so, as a rule,
little damage is done. They are, however, very
revengeful. One Moslem boy once had a spite
against a little American boy in Beirut, and he
climbed upon the wall of the American boy's garden
and dropped a large stone upon his head.


Shooha is very similar to kurd murboot, but
instead of being tied to a peg, the boy hangs in
a swing and tries to catch the others without leav-
ing the swing. So he swoops around like a shoo/a,
or hawk. Taia-ya-taia and khdtim are not very
popular and are little played. The former is on the
same principle as kurd murboot, the boy who is
"it" hopping on one foot and trying thus to
catch the rest. Khitim is played with a ring, and
is merely a sort of toss-up to determine who shall
have the right to pound the others.
"How brutal some reader exclaims; "all
their games seem to be based upon hitting and
fighting!"
Not all; joora is a very popular game, and is
played a great deal in the spring about the time
marbles begin. It is played sometimes with mar-
bles, but more often with apricot-stones. The
Syrian apricots are of two varieties,- the lowsy,
or nut almond, the stone of which contains a de-
licious kernel, and a smaller variety, the kelayby, or
" little dog" kind, which is very abundant and
cheap, and the stones of which are about the size
of an ordinary marble.
Joora means almost the same as "hole in the
ground." A hole about six inches deep and four
inches across is scooped in the earth. Then the
players stand about four or six feet away, and as
each one's turn comes, he takes as many stones as
he cares to venture and tries to throw them into
the holeat one toss. His companion, who is not sup-
posed to know how many he throws, calls out "odd "
or "even," and if he calls correctly the number of
those that do fall into the hole, he wins them; if
not, he gives the thrower as many as do go in.
The children who can get the nut almond stones to
play with are much envied; for after the game, they
can eat their winnings or make beautiful whistles
out of them. To do this they wear a hole in one
side by rubbing it swiftly on a stone, with a little
water to moisten it and make it wear off smoothly.
The Arabs play marbles differently from the
American boys. Of course the arrangement of the
marbles to be shot at can be varied in many ways ;
but the young Arabs shoot the marble in a way
of their own and much more accurately than
American lads. The left hand is laid flat on the
ground with the fingers closed together, and the
marble is placed in the groove between the middle
finger andfingeraforinger. The forefinger of the right
hand is then pressed firmly on the end joint of the
middle finger, and when the middle finger is
suddenly pushed aside, the forefinger of the right
hand slips out with more or less force and projects
the marble very accurately in the direction of the
groove on the left hand. Many of the boys become
very expert. I knew one boy who was famous for


1888.]






THE AMUSEMENTS OF ARAB CHILDREN.


ARAB BOYS PLAYING JOORA.


shooting his marble into the air and making its
range so exact that it would drop on the one he
shot at; and he could do this with remarkable
accuracy. Perhaps marbles are almost the only
playthings for which Arab children pay money-
and as a rule only a very small capital is needed.
We come now to the most interesting of the Arab
games--jereed, or "spears." Although I have men-
tioned it as perhaps the only national game, it is
not, however, played so muchnorso engrossingly as
base-ball is in this country. It is hard to gather
enough players to make it interesting, for it is an
imitation of real warfare, and requires numbers.
The establishment of a college like that at Beirut
brought together a body of young men, and itwas
not long before the game was organized. Certain
students soon came to be recognized as leaders,
and the sport was for a time indulged in; but
whether the sudden languishing of the game was
due to the interference of the faculty of the college
or not, it is certain that some influence was brought
to bear and the game was, for the time, stopped.
I remember, one bright spring day, about forty


young Arabs, sinewy and active, gathered on the
campus of the Syrian Protestant College on the
bluff, or promontory, of Ras Beirut, which stretches
westward into the waters of the Mediterranean.
The view eastward from that bluff is very fine; and
reaching north and south to the horizon were the
gray ranges of Lebanon, one peak of which was
still covered with snow. The blue-gray of the
mountains, outlined against the unclouded blue
sky, shades down near the base into the lovely
greens and silver of the olive and mulberry
orchards which reach for miles over the plain.
There, too, was the city,--the Naples of the east-
ern Mediterranean, rising in a semicircle on the
hill from the rocky shore of the bay,-a city of flat-
roofed and French-tiled houses showing through
the foliage of the trees, with here and there a
graceful minaret, a church spire, or the ruins of
a medieval castle tower.
That morning, however, we did' not notice the
scenery we would n't have thought much of it, if
any one had pointed it out. Many of us were very
nervous. I was one of the younger players who


176







THE AMUSEMENTS OF ARAB CHILDREN.


were in for their first game. I was the only Franjy,
or American, in that game, and I was under the
special tutelage of an enormous Arab one who
could throw his wooden spear farther than any other
player present; and he was going to show me how
to play.
The general plan of the game is as follows:
Sides are chosen by the leaders, and lines marked
out, about a spear's-throw apart. This distance
varies with the size and strength of the players,
thirty yards being a fair average. Each player has


him, as it goes by. This sounds more difficult than
it really is. The player dodges as the spear ap-
proaches, so that it will shoot past his side,-the
right side, if possible,-and then, as it passes him,
he sweeps it in with his hand and brings it down to
the side, reversing it so as to throw it back again,
all in a moment.
Under the big Arab's instruction, it soon be-
came possible for me both to catch my spear and
occasionally to cast it very near the fellow opposed
to me.


,: '


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SI.


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,I ,
- ,' i "! ' -


ARAB YOUTHS PLAYING TIE GAME JEREED, OR SPEARS.


a blunt wooden spear, about the shape of a billiard
cue, only not so small in proportion at the smaller
end. It is shaped in such a way that when balanced
on the finger and then grasped, it will not be held
at the middle, but at a point a little nearer the
larger end. Ajereed player must possess skill in
two ways: He must be able to hurl the spear far
and true, and also to catch a spear, when thrown at
VOL. XV.-12.


The object of the game is for one side to drive
the other side back and to occupy its line. But it
is not so rough a game as this purpose would seem
to imply. Not half so many accidents occur as in
base-ball, and it is not nearly so rough as foot-ball,
since the object of the game can be attained very
easily and quickly by throwing the spear over the
head of your opponent; for then he has to run back


'"/






THE AMUSEMENTS OF ARAB CHILDREN.


and pick up his spear,- and that not only weakens
the enemies' line, but gives them, for the time, one
less spear-thrower, .
For so warlike a game, angeris -: i.d.ii shown by
Arab players. There are always some hot-headed
fellows in any country who use games as occasions
and covers for wreaking petty spites. Fair play is
the rule; but in one game that day, two mean
fellows combined against a single member of the
opposing line, and of course he could n't dodge
two spears at once.
The leader of the other side was a handsome,
well-built fellow called Muir, or "Leopard." He
was jumping to catch a spear that was going over
his head, to prevent its falling back of the line,
when another spear hit him full in the forehead
and laid him out flat.
This stopped the game at once. An Arab
could hardly understand the practice of carrying
a disabled man off the field and putting in a sub-
stitute; and the substitute would probably be super-
stitious about taking so unlucky a position.
In itself, jereed is a manly game. It brings all the
muscles into play, and exercises the eye and the
body in quickness and precision of movement. It
is hardly, however, a game for Americans to play.
It is seen in perfection when played by the Arab
horsemen, as they go through the spear move-
ments at full gallop on their beautiful horses,-
hurling the long, quivering spears through the air,
and catching them, in the midst of their evolutions
and while riding at top speed.
Of course an article on Arab children's games
can not have so much interest for girls as for boys,
because of the sad position of girls in Eastern
homes. Their condition is rapidly growing better,
however, and many Moslem girls now know how to
read and write. They go to the Mission schools,
and in their play hours they learn the games that
are taken from this country. Besides, they have
other games of their own,- a sort of "hop-scotch,"
and a few of similar nature.
A word about ball-playing. For the boys will,
of course, want to know if any game of ball is
played by the Arabs.
You all have seen a Mandarin orange. Well,
their ball is of almost that size and shape, and not
a bit harder; and the only game played is hand-
ball. We were playing once on the college
grounds in Beirut, and the son of the president of
the college, an American boy, slyly substituted an
American base-ball for the ordinary "tahby." But
the first player to whom it was thrown took it for
a stone, and there was "sudden trouble." Expla-
nations were of little avail; and if the offender had
not been the president's son, he might have been
hurt.


"Do the Frainy play with stones ? they asked
in ridicule.
There is a beautiful shade-tree in the east called
thezinzalucht. It is, I think, the tree known as "the
pride of India." It bears a small berry, about the
size of a pea. These berries grow in clusters, and
when green are very hard. The children, boys and
girls together, use them in a game based on the
same principle as Jackstraws. A little mound of
earth is piled up,--in which there are many lay-
ers of these berries,-the whole being carefully
shaped into a cone with one berry on the top,
and fine earth sifted over. The game consists in
removing the berries, one by one, on the end of a
pin stuck in a stick, and it is quite cl r1-:.; ; for, as
in Jackstraws, if any berry besides the one for
which you are trying is moved or rolls down, you
lose them both, together with your turn.
Probably the main point that impresses you in
reading of these games is their extreme simplicity.
They are not intricate, they are absolutely inex-
pensive, they are nearly all of them what may be
called unorganized games. But they are suited to
the simple life and habits of the children of Syria.
Life is free and open; the sky is almost unclouded
for four or five months in the year. What a chance
for Sunday-school picnics! No postponements "on
account of rain" there, during the summer. Sim-
ple food, cooked appetizingly, and delicious fruits
in abundance and perfection are amazingly cheap.
Oranges for which American boys pay five cents
apiece can be bought in Syria at the rate of five,
or sometimes six, for a cent. But the money is
correspondingly harder to get. In Syria, a boy
with two small coins can "treat" to two cups of
haleebya booze, or ice-cream, which a turbaned and
trousered Arab peddles on the street.
How American children would enjoy the riding
.in the East! Donkeys, donkeys everywhere for
those who can't ride horses. And such donkeys!
So many kinds, and shapes, and sizes-but mostly
small. The large, handsome donkeys are expen-
sive, and are almost as fleet as horses. Tripoli,
a city north of Beirut, is a mile or so inland, and
the Meena is the name of its harbor. At that port
is a large stable where a great many donkeys, ready
saddled, used to be on hire. They were trained as
soon as they were mounted by a traveler to start for
Tripoli, where there was a similar stand. If a rider
dismounted at any part of the city, he merely turned
the donkey loose and it would trot to its place. They
were so small that one tall man, who had difficulty
in riding them by reason of the length of his legs,
was in the habit of dismounting by the simple ex-
pedient of merely straightening out his legs and let-
ting his feet strike the ground, whereupon the don-
key trotted from under its rider and away to its stall.







THE AMUSEMENTS OF ARAB CHILDREN.


- AI


AN ARAB DONKEY AND HIS MASTER.


But after all, there is no greater fascination for
Arab children than a well-told story, and, as a
rule, there are in every village one or two persons
who tell stories, and who are in great demand at
weddings and feasts. Any stories, short or long,
superstitious or humorous, true or wildly improb-
able, are acceptable; and the narrator is soon the
center of a circle of intent listeners. Their stories
are not, as a rule, involved. They are simple, and
it is sometimes remarkable what close attention is
paid even to a monotonous tale which has no strik-
ing incident or adventure to lighten it.
They enjoy humor, and local hits are quite com-
mon. One story has been told in a book on home-
life in the East, entitled Women of the Arabs,"
which shows this quality.
There was a certain pool or spring to which the
whole of a certain village resorted to draw water.
But there arose a feud between the northern and
southern sections of the village, and they quarreled
about the spring. They finally compromised by
putting a rail fence through the middle of the pond,
beyond which neither side should trespass. But
the temporary peace was broken and the feud re-


newed,because one night a southerner was caughtin
the act of scooping up water in a dipper on the north
side and bailing it over to his side-so flagrant a
breach of faith that the fighting began again at once.
But the stories told to children are simple and
not unamusing by any means.
They have a story to the effect that when the
world began and Satan acquired his license to come
here, he arrived with seven bags of lies which he
expected to distribute in the seven kingdoms of the
earth. The first night after he reached the earth,
he slept in Syria, and opening one of the bags, let
the lies loose in the land. But while he was
asleep, some one came and opened all the other
bags, so that Syria got more than "i.i i : "
In conclusion I give an instance of Arab supersti-
tion. A boy was one day running swiftly along
the street, and turning a corner sharply, le only
escaped knocking down a little child by jumping
over it. He was stopped by hearing frantic shrieks.
Fearing he had hurt the child, he halted and turned,
and was implored by the weeping mother to jump
back again, as, according to Arab belief, his leaping
over the child would stop or stunt its growth.


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LONDON CHRISTMAS PANTOMIMES.

BY ELIZABETH ROBINS PENNELL.


You might as well try to imagine a Christmas
at home without presents as a Christmas in Lon-
don without pantomimes. The best of it is that
the pantomimes do not, like too many candies or
toys, come to an end with Christmas week. They
have a delightful way of making the Christmas
holidays last until the first spring flowers are out
in the woods and fields, and the first Easter eggs
in the shop windows. If you can not go to see
them before the Ist of January, you need not be
troubled as you would if Christmas presents had
not come long before New Year's Day. There
will be plenty of chances next month, and the
month after, and even the month after that.
It is best to explain in the very beginning that
they are not pantomimes at all. Englishmen
love to call things by the names they have long
outgrown, and because once there were really
pantomimes in which not a word was spoken,
these Christmas entertainments of nowadays, in
which there is plenty of talking and even singing,
must keep the old name.
And if they are not pantomimes, what are they
then, do you ask? It is much easier to say what
they are not. Shows so wonderful and gorgeous
you might well think were never to be seen this
side of Fairyland. They are full of dancing and
marching, of joking and tumbling, of gay music
and still gayer lights. They take you into all
sorts of strange places and introduce you to old
friends you have loved ever since you can remem-
ber: to Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, to Alad-
din and the wonderful lamp, to Blue Beard and
Fatima, to Robinson Crusoe and Friday. To be
sure, you would never recognize them if their
names were not given in the programme, but nev-
ertheless they are as ready to amuse you on the
stage as they ever were in the story-book. Be-
sides you learn a great deal about them you never
knew before. And then, too, there are beasts or
birds or fish straight from Wonderland, and just as
you begin to feel that you have seen sights enough
for one day, hey, presto! the scene changes and
in come Columbine and Harlequin, Clown and
Pantaloon, policemen and bad boys, shop-keepers
and market-women.


If you lived in London it would not be worth
while for me to tell you that the greatest panto-
mime of all is to be seen at Drury Lane. Every
London child, from the Queen's grandson to the
little street Arab, knows Drury Lane Theater as
well as, if not better than, Westminster Abbey or
St. Paul's. For three, sometimes four, months
it belongs to him in a way; for, though grown-
up people go to see the pantomime, every one
knows it is meant specially for the children. You
would not doubt this for a moment had you been
with me one Saturday afternoon early in 1887,
when I went to Drury Lane. I thought I had
come in good time, but once I was inside the door
I heard the loudest, merriest singing, so that
a short delay at the ticket-office made me quite
impatient. When I was shown to my seat, to my
surprise the curtain was still down. The music,
however, had begun, and, looking around, I saw
that the great theater was packed from top to
bottom with children, and all were singing an ac-
companiment to the orchestra. Box above box,
balcony above balcony was lined with little faces;
mothers and fathers, older brothers and sisters
thoughtfully taking back seats, while I don't know
how many schools had emptied their children into
the pit. You must know that the part of the
theater called the parquet with us, is in England
the pit, only a few of the front rows being re-
served. "God save the Queen! struck up the
band. "Long may she reign over us! sang the
children. It would have put you into a good
humor at once to look up and down and all around
at the beaming faces and open mouths.
Bang, bang! went the bass drum, the singing
stopped, up went the curtain, and we beheld an
earthly paradise where huge lilac-trees made a
pretty bower for dancing girls, who, as their loose

trousers and clinging skirts showed, had just
stepped out of the Arabian Nights. In the midst
of their dancing, a hansom, the first, I am sure,
that was ever seen in the Mohammedan paradise,
drove up and Aladdin jumped out. He had
come with a message from Mr. Augustus Harris,
the manager of Drury Lane, who wanted a new
Eastern story. Aladdin, you must know, was the






LONDON CHRISTMAS PANTOMIMES. 161
hero of the pantomimes the year before; that he
remained with Mr. Harris as his messenger is not
--- to be wondered at, since on the Drury Lane stage
as strange things happen as in Scheherezade's
stories. What could be stranger, for instance, than
that forty young Arabian knights should consent
Sto leave paradise and humming-birds' eggs and
S jasmine wine to become forty thieves And yet,
; 1 -A wilso willing were they, that when Aladdin suggested
Sit they danced and sang with joy at the very
.-- -- I -thought of the change. So I found out something
'1 the story does not tell me -where the forty
.. r t i thieves came from !
'- I This being pleasantly settled, the next thing was
Sto find Ali Baba, for without him there would have
S1,i 'been no story to tell of the thieves. In a moment,
l houris and knights, Aladdin and lilacs had dis-
S appeared and we were in the bazaar of an eastern
city with people going and coming. On one side
was Ali Baba's shop; on the other, Cassim's. No
Connection with the shop opposite was posted
S* up on each. You remember, of course, how little
friendship there was between the brothers. When
Morgiana and Ganem, Ali Baba and Cogia, Cassirn
Baba and his wife (how familiar were all the
1 names) met in front of the shops,-" Well, I was
i I astonished!" as Joey the clown said afterward
Sin the Harlequinade. Ali Baba was very much
j shabbier and more disreputable than I expected;
i Cogia, it was quite plain, was just making believe
to be a woman; Morgiana's silks and sashes were
I not in the least like the clothes I supposed slaves
Usually wore. And I could only put down to Ori-
Sild ntal manners the fact that every few minutes, no
i. matter what they were talking about, they were
sure to sing and dance. This was a fine opportu-
gv nity for the children looking on.
\" You're all very fine and large,
S' Because you've heaps of cash,"
-I' sang Cogia to the wealthy sister and brother.
SAnd then all the children came in with the chorus,
f t "You're all very fine and large,"
as if they had lived in the same street with Ali and
S -- Cassim all their lives, and the leader of the orches-
/ tra turned round and kept time for them. It was
) great fun.
When they were all singing together it seemed
as if the Babas must have forgotten the family
quarrels. But not a bit of it. I 've an idea,"
whispered Cassim to his wife,
The donkey that we 've bought
Has proved more vicious than at first we thought.
He 's almost sure to kill some oneor other,
So I propose to give him to my brother i "
Ganem brought in the donkey. And what was
"BOX ABOVE BOX, BALCONY ABOVE BALCONY, WAS LINED ane brought in the don And what was
WITH LITTLE FACES the first thing it did? It knocked over Cassim







LONDON CHRISTMAS PANTOMIMES.


with its flying heels; it stood on its head in the cor-
ner; it gave Cogia a friendly embrace; it danced,
it turned somersaults, and at last stretched itself
full length on Cassim's counter. If such a donkey
were in the Zoo, the bear-pit and the monkey-
house would be deserted.
And now you know what is going to happen.
Bazaar and Baba family disappear in their turn,
and here we are away in the depths of the forest.
Dozens of little monkeys are running and playing
and leaping,
while two or
three swing
c- backward


and forward
on long ropes
all of flowers
hanging from
the very tall-
est of trees.
Ali Baba and
S'" Ganem with
hatchets and
caskets come


to get wood,
the faithful
donkey just
at their heels,
and the mon-
keys vanish;
While Cogia
MR. AND MRS. ALI BABA. and Morgi-
ana bring
their luncheon, lobster and tongue, pies and sauces,
for all the world as if they were picnicking in an
English instead of an "Arabian Nights" forest.
A large monkey joins the family circle, and
then what a frolic he and the donkey have!
They steal the luncheon, put their feet in the bas-
ket, upset the pepper and set poor Ali Baba to
sneezing; they dance and play leap-frog, they fight
and make up again," the monkey sits on the don-
key, the donkey puts his head on the monkey's
knees. But, what's that ?" cries Ganem.
"What's what? echoes Ali Baba. There is a
sound of trumpets in the distance. It comes
nearer and nearer.
The famous Forty Thieves, I should n't won-
der Ali declares, and away they all run to hide,
monkey and donkey jumping together into a bar-
rel, and the next minute, to the loudest music,-
for these are gay robbers and defy the police,- the
Forty Thieves march out from under the trees.
They are dressed in a style befitting gentlemen
late from an Eastern paradise and now engaged
in parading through forests at noon with bags of
precious stones over their shoulders. The captain,


resplendent in gold-embroidered cloak and waving
plumes, leads the way; at his side the Honorary
Secretary, Ally Sloper, a hideous creature with bald
head and monstrous nose, who got into paradise by
mistake, but into his present position by his own
free will.
"Open Sesame shouts the captain.
With a deep booming and banging, the rock at
one side opens, and then emeralds and diamonds
and rubies are stored.
Shut Sesame! commands the captain.
Another great booming and banging, and soon,
singing gayly, the thieves are off to their club.
And now it is Ali Baba's turn to open and shut
Sesame, and the treasures that have just been
brought to the cave are soon on their way out of the
forest, this time on the donkey's back. It is very
much more real when you see it all than when you
just read about it.
There would be no use for railroads in Drury
Lane country. The treasure-finders are scarcely
out of sight of the cave when lo, and behold here
they are in Ali Baba's humble home. You know
already what a blunder it was to borrow the
measure from Cassim's wife. She finds, busy-
body that she is, the tell-tale piece of gold sticking
to the lard she has put at the bottom. Of course
no one can tell where it came from, but just then
what should those two troublesome beasts do but
dip hoofs and
paws into the
money-bag and .
jingle it up and
down. There is
no help for it.
The secret must
be shared with
Cassim or else
he will call the
police. But, in
the mean time, in
comes a man to -
be shaved, for
Ali Baba isa -a..
barber by profes-
sion. The mon-
key watches, and .
no sooner is he
left alone in the ;'.[
shopwiththedon-
key than he puts
the latter in the
chairand himself THE HONORARY SECRETARY, ALLY SLOPER.
seizes the razor.
The white lather comes out of the basin in great
stiff patches and foamy flakes. The donkey's eyes,
ears, mouth are soon covered and he never moves.






LONDON CHRISTMAS PANTOMIMES.


But with the first stroke of the razor, the chair
is kicked over and he is in a corner spluttering,
and shaking his head angrily. In a moment he
catches sight of the monkey grinning at him in
derision. And now there is a very interesting
fight, I promise you. The looking-glass crashes
over the donkey's head, the table breaks into
splinters under the monkey's weight. It is a good
thing for Ali Baba that he has just
come into a fortune, for there will be
bills to pay. The monkey tries to
escape, but where shall he go?
Quick as thought he springs up to
the opera-box close to the stage, -
and off he runs on the very edge I
of boxes and balcony. Little look- I
ers-on jump back with frightened
faces. But the donkey is after
the fugitive and soon overtakes
him. Down he slips, holding on
by his hands, his feet dangling over /
the heads of the people in the pit. I
Then both sit and rest, the monkey .
seizing a programme from the near-
est child to fan itself. And then,
I hardly know how it happens, they i
are running a race, one on one
side of the house, one on the other. I
Who will win? Neither. They ---
jump down from the opposite boxes
at the same moment, meet in the
middle of the stage, embrace, make ,
a great ball of themselves, and roll '
over and over, off the stage. I
don't think I should care to live in
Ali Baba's "humble home" with two
such pets about.
Have you not always wished to
see the inside of that famous cave?
Now that we see it, I do not think
it is disappointing. Great walls e
and lofty ceiling of brown rock are
lighted by huge brass lamps; mys-
terious narrow passages glitter with -
gold and lead to untold treasures.
I for my part am not surprised that
Cassim will not go, despite the efforts of Ali Baba
and Cogia.
Boom, boom bang, bang and not only the
door at the mouth of the cave high above his
head, but all those opening into the glittering
passages are shut. It is too late. In vain does
he shout, "Open Sausages! Open Sardines!"
In vain does he weep and wail. But some one
outside gives the true pass-word, and bang, boom
boom, bang the doors are open again.
Yet even now there is no escape. In march


not forty, but four hundred and more thieves, all
in silks and satins, in velvet and plush of every
color, with gold and silver armor and jeweled
spears and swords. There is no doubt of the
industry of these gentlemen robbers. They carry
the proof on their backs. Forward comes the
captain, out-shining all in the glory of his black
and silver brocade, his jewels sparkling from arms


ii\.


___ /1i


______ I __k '._-S_&_%I


THE DONKEY AND THE MONKEY MAKE A VISIT.


and neck and waist, and his cloak so long that it
must be borne by a dozen tiny pages. Above, at
the entrance of the cave, stands Ally Sloper, his
vermilion cloak held out by his arms so that he
looks like a great red bat.
So gay are the thieves that their meeting is
always the signal for song. But I don't think
any one pays much attention to the singing. I
suppose the upshot of their visit to the cave is the
death of Cassim, for not long after he is brought
home, in four pieces, by Ali Baba and Cogia.






LONDON CHRISTMAS PANTOMIMES.


Everything now 1iappf.-r 5 very much as it does in
the story-book, only the Baba family are more
cheerful in their mourning than you might have
expected. Ali's and Cogia's new clothes are in
worse taste than even their previous inexperience
would warrant; while Cogia, -now that she has
no work to do, brings home all the stray children
she finds in the street.
She is not pretty to look at, in her fine new blue-
spangled trousers, short yellow-spangled skirts,
and red-spangled bodice, two long pigtails dang-
ling down her back, a little blue fan in her hand.
But, to make up for it, nothing could be prettier
than the screaming, laughing children who gather
around her. I fancy it is because they are little
Eastern children that they wear such 'queer long
sage-green gowns, with broad belts* and jaunty
caps.
Now they must go to bed, says their adopted
mother. Will they be good children? "Yes, in-
deed as good as good can be." But once her back
is turned, the fun begins. Off come gowns and
belts, blue petticoats and caps, and there they are
in long white night-gowns and tasseled night-caps.
In another minute they are sitting on the floor
pulling off their shoes, and all the time they are
singing, and whenever they have the opportunity,
dancing in time to the music.
Clothes are carefully folded, each seizes her pile,
too big for some tiny arms, and a shoe drops here,
a cap there, but the little ones dance bravely in
and out; not to bed, however, for here they are
again, now armed with pillows. Our pillow-fights
at school, as I remember them, were very rough
and ugly compared with this fairy game, in which
white figures dance to and fro, and white pillows
wave up and down as yellow curly heads and
dangling tassels dodge them.
How the children in pit and boxes applaud!
While they are still clapping, the children on the
stage run out and bring back a lady in black, and
there is more applause, for she it is who has taught
them to go singing and dancing to bed. When-
ever the children are applauded at Drury Lane,
and you may be sure they always are, they bring
forward their dancing-mistress, as if to remind you
that to her must be given all the praise for what
they do.
While they have been pillow-fighting, Abdal-
lah, the captain of the thieves, has placed his jars
in Ali Baba's court. There they stand in two
rows, great tall jars with heads peeping out of
them. The plot is laid. Ali Baba and his house-
hold must be slain this night. But Morgiana by
herself is a fair match for Abdallah with all his
followers. To-tell the truth, I always thought the
thieves in the story sad cowards to let themselves


be scalded to death by one slave girl without a
struggle. And now that I have looked on at
their last moments I have a still poorer opinion of
them. For forty young robbers, boldly defiant in
the daytime, well armed and wide awake too,-
for they had their heads out of the jar but a
minute before,-to be thus cowed by a girl with
a tiny watering-pot and a boy with a dagger quite
as tiny! Well, it is shameful, and I am not in the
least sorry for them.
Abdallah, nothing daunted, comes back to Ali
Baba with some story about his jars. Morgiana
is called upon to dance and she does so, to the cap-
tain's sorrow. He leans forward to applaud; in
goes the dagger; lie falls in Cogia's arms. Now
no story is a story unless in the end every one
marries and lives happy ever afterward. Mrs.
Cassim, the widow, marries that ugly thief Ally
Sloper the sly one, he knew better than to put
himself like oil into ajar! .Morgiana and Ganem
join hands. And immediately the captain (no
doctors needed here!) comes to life without any
difficulty. His services will be in demand to-mor-
row night, he fears, and so he really could not re-
main dead.-Now, I protest that's all wrong. The
next thing we know, Cinderella won't marry the
prince, Jack won't kill the giant, Robinson Crusoe
won't find his man Friday, But it's no use protest-
ing. Ali Baba, and what is more, Morgiana is satis-
fied; and with their victim and Ally Sloper and the
donkey and Ganem, and Cogia and Mrs. Cassim,
they sing and dance good-bye to us.
Do you think this is the end? Far from it;
we're only at the beginning, you might say. It's a
good deal to see in one afternoon, I must admit,
and I notice that the children before me and on
every side of me no longer join in the chorus.
Soon after Ali Baba and his friends have dis-
appeared, we find ourselves in the Temple of
Fame,-a huge statue of Queen Victoria in the
center, women in silken robes and men in glitter-
ingarmor surrounding it. Red, green, goldenlights
burn from every side. Whatever it may mean, I
am quite sure this meeting in the Temple of
Fame is well worth looking at.
And now surely this is the end? Not yet;
patience a minute. From the Temple df Fame
we are carried to a London street, where we find
those best of all old friends, Columbine, twirling
and pirouetting, Harlequin waving his magic
wand. The clown plays his tricks, turns his
somersaults, poor Pantaloon is fooled; the police-
man gets the worst of it; the bad boys escape. It
is the same old story you know so well, but which
somehow always makes you laugh as if it were
brand-new.
But the best fun of all is when Joey, having


184






LONDON CHRISTMAS PANTOMIMES.


dressed a little squealing black pig in baby clothes,
puts it in the baby carriage, and the pig gets loose
and jumps from the stage down upon the big drum.
The drummer does not like it; but the children do,
and, amid shouts of laughter, the pig is caught and
handed to the clown and wheeled out in the car-
riage. Then Joey gets rid of the policeman for a
moment and brings from the nearest shop a small
barrel, from which he takes handfuls of toy crack-
ers and flings them to the nearest children in the
audience. A little girl in white is perched up on
the front seat of a box. "There's my little


a,.'bi I


Af


always may be sure there will be dancing and
singing, gay dresses, and crowds of men and
women to wear them.
Last year, however, there was one Christmas
entertainment not in the least like the others, but
which I thought the best of all. It was a perform-
ance of Alice in Wonderland," at the Prince of
Wales' Theater. It seemed too good to be true,
to have the opportunity of beholding Alice and the
extraordinary and delightful "creatures" which
she met in her two famous journeys. A few of
these creatures, the Lizard, the Mouse, and the


aiir


a


"THERE THEY STAND IN TWO ROWS, GREAT TALL JARS WITH HEADS PEEPING OUT OF THEM."


sweetheart! he cries in his cracked voice, and
throws her one. In the box above, a boy leans
far over with hand outstretched. The clown
holds up a cracker, but just as the little fingers
are about to close on it, he pulls it away. He must
always have his joke, you see. What a laugh
there is on every side! But the next minute, half
a dozen pretty gay-colored crackers are thrown into
the same box. No matter what changes there
may be, each new year, at Drury Lane, the clown
never forgets his barrel of crackers.
Now I. hope you have some idea of what Lon-
don Christmas pantomimes are like. There are
three or four theaters besides Drury Lane where
you can go to see them. A different story is pre-
sented in each, but whether the hero is Ali Baba
or Aladdin, Blue Beard or Robinson Crusoe, you


Puppy, for example, were missing; and on the
stage Alice did not meet with some adventures
recorded in the book. Her head did not go wan-
dering among the topmost branches of trees to be
mistaken for a serpent, neither did she shrink until
her chin and feet met with a violent blow. But most
of the entertaining dwellers in Wonderland and
Looking-glass country the Rabbit and the Cater-
pillar, the Mad Hatter, the March Hare, the Dor-
mouse, the Cards and Chessmen and their Kings
and Queens, Tweedledum and Tweedledee, Hump-
ty Dumpty, and the Knights were there; and as
for adventures, if several were left out, there were
still many presented-enough for one afternoon.
Alice was, just as you would suppose, a pretty
little girl in a simple white frock, and with long hair
hanging down her back. She had fallen asleep, it






LONDON CHRISTMAS PANTOMIMES.


ALICE HAD FALLEN ASLEEP UNDER A LARGE TREE.


seemed, under a large tree with wide-spreading
branches, and when the curtain went up we saw
the kind fairies-they were not any older than
Alice-who brought her -BIHOP.
strange dreams. It is --
pleasant traveling in Won-
derland. Alice had scarce-
ly started when she met -
the White Rabbit splen- I '
didly dressed in a jaunty /
jacket, as you see him in
the picture, and in wool-
ly rabbit-skin trousers, a
high collar and bright red
necktie. In his waistcoat-
pocket he wore his watch,
like any other gentleman.
He was a very timid rabbit,
and the first word sent him PA
PAWNS
scurryingaway. The green
Caterpillar sat smoking its hookah. on the mush-
room and made Alice recite, You are old, Father
William," while the foliage in the background
opened, and there we saw the old man turning his
somersaults, standing on his head, balancing the
eel on his nose, kicking his son downstairs. The
Duchess, who was muchbetter-looking than her pict-
ures, though ugly enough, came in with the baby;
the cook, neat and pretty, her sleeves rolled up, a
fresh white cap on her curly hair, followed with
her pepper-pot and the Cheshire Cat, with his
grin. The latter was as accomplished as the


donkey at Drury Lane, and sang and danced with
Alice, grinning all the time.
I take it for granted you have read the two books


QUEEN


about Alice. Indeed, I believe there are few
young people who can read English who do not
know them both by heart. You remember, then,
the tea-party? Of all her adventures, it was always
my favorite, and I could have clapped my hands


= ,. l-

I'I~
"* --1 1 '--I'




A, ,' .
'Ir'.
l.r I-J







LONDON CHRISTMAS PANTOMIMES.


-t... ,--*. _-o-. t' -




v .__ ',hi '|



THE TEA-PARTY. (FROmI A PHOTOGRAPH BY ELLIOTT AND FRY, LONDON.)


with the children when I saw the Mad Hatter and
the March Hare bring in the table with the tea-
things on it. Among the cups and saucers and


r

'C

'i


*-.






ai A
...i^.... I


and put it on a chair between himself and the
March Hare. It was the Dormouse -the tiniest,
sweetest, sleepiest Dormouse you can imagine.


a-r


11~


I',


4,~it


- i' I /


THE CHESHIRE CAT AND THE WHITE RABBIT.


ALICE AND THE DORMOUSE.
(AFTER A PHOTOGRAPH BY BARRAUD, LONDON.)


bread and butter was a soft gray something, curled Its little gray head was down on the table at once,
up like a pussy-cat. The Mad Hatter picked it up, and it was having its own dreams. The March


C':
r.
- -






I66 LONDON CHRISTMAS PANTOMIMES. UAN.

Carroll's book. When little Alice stood between
the tall green Gryphon, whose brilliant wings
flapped with every movement, and the awkward
Mock Turtle, whose long tail dragged on the floor,
I thought of Beauty and the Beast. Only here were
two Beasts to one Beauty.
I t would be simply impossible to describe all the
things I dreamed with Alice that afternoon. For
her dream did not end with the trial of the Knave
of Hearts, who stole those tarts and took them quite
X away; or when the little Dormouse slept in the
Very face of the court, and the White Rabbit as
Herald blew many blasts on his trumpet, and the
Mad Hatter, tea-cup in hand, gave his evidence,
and Alice herself pronounced the verdict Not
guilty,"
Without once waking up, she went straight from
Wonderland into Looking-Glass Country, where
white and red chessmen sang and danced, Humpty
SDumpty sat on the wall and had his great fall,
and Tweedledum and Tweedledee fought their
S great battle. If you only could have seen Tweedle-
I dum and Tweedledee, fat over-grown boys with tiny
e 'n t caps on their heads, when they and Alice played



"TWINKLE, TWINKLE, LITTLE BAT!
(FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BY ELLIOTT AND FRY, LONDON.) -

Hare wore a staring red waistcoat, and around his --
left ear was a wreath of roses. He looked very
mad. So did the Hatter, in blue and white plaid
trousers and an enormous gray hat placarded with
its price. As you know, it was always tea-time -
with them, and, drinking and eating, they began at -
once their talk -mad as themselves. Every now. T
and then the Dormouse woke up for a minute, to
join in, with the prettiest little voice. I wish you
could have heard the story of Elsie, Lacie, and
Tillie who lived at the bottom of a well on treacle,
and the solemn way in which, when Alice said they
must have been very ill, it answered,
So they were very ill!"
But what a sleepy Dormouse! Down went the
little gray head after every few words, and the
March Hare had to push and push it to keep it
awake till the end of the story. But then it was
such a very young Dormouse; not more than six
years old certainly.
When the Mad Hatter and the March Hare had
carried out the table mnd the sleeping Dormouse,
I was sorry to see -th'ey did :.1r i-.!1:. croquet with
flamingoes and hedgehogs. However, the Mock
Turtle and the Cr, pi,-,.l: danced the Lobster A
Quadrille, and that is a sight only to be seen in
dreams, I can. assure you. The two creatures" ALICE, THE MOCK TURTLE, AND THE GRYPHON.
looked exactly.as they do in the pictures in Mr. (FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BY ELLIOTT AND FRY, LONDON.)






LONDON CHRISTMAS PANTOMIMES.


"Here we go round the mulberry bush"! Why,
such great fun they seemed to be having that it
made one feel like jumping up, joining hands, and
going round the mulberry bush with them. And
the way Tweedledum cried over his rattle I know
a little girl who, when she is angry, screams so
loud her father calls her "the Tuscaroarer "; but
her screams could not compare with Tweedle-
dum's. And then the battle To see those two
big boys who ought to have known better, tying
blankets and bolsters around their waists, and
sticking coal-scuttles on their heads,- well, if it
had not all happened in a dream, certainly it
would have shocked a careful housewife.
After the Carpenter and the Walrus had eaten
up the oysters, and the Lion and the Unicorn had
fought for the crown, Alice was made Queen, and
gave her party, to which all the Chessmen came.
The Cook brought in the Leg of Mutton on a big
dish, and up it jumped and made a bow; the Plum
Pudding walked in, and when Alice cut out a great
slice, a little wee voice, very like that of the Dor-
mouse, cried from the inside :
I wonder how you would like it if I were to cut
a slice out of you "
Almost at once the banquet hall, the new queen,
and all her guests disappeared, and Alice was
again sleeping in the big chair under the tree.
Once more the fairies waved their wands, and this
time Alice rubbed her eyes.
Oh, I 've had such a curious dream she said
when.she awoke. And a pleasant dream, too," I
think all those who woke up with her said to them-
selves.
Just let me say a few more words, to tell you
that one of the charms of the performance was the
pleasure of the children who took part in it and
all but two of the performers were children. You


0- __.__ ..
TWEEDLEDUM AND TWEEDLEDEE.
(FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BY ELLIOTT AND FRY, LONDON.)

forgot that they were not playing merely to amuse
themselves. That they were working seemed as
unlikely as that birds are practicing their scales
when they sing.
Alice's dream ended in due time; but that is no
reason why she may not dream again. The pan-
tomimes of last winter came to an end; but this
season new ones will take their place, and may you
and I be in London to see !


"HUMPTY DUMPTY SAT ON A WALL."


189





































"IS EVERYBODY AT HOME? WE 'VE COME TO WISH YOU A HAPPY NEW YEAR."


CHILD-SKETCHES FROM GEORGE ELIOT.

BY JULIA MAGRUDER.


No. II. "FELIX HOLT."

OB TUDGE was a
little boy whose
father and mother
were dead; and, as
his grandfather was
old and poor, one of
theneighbors,whose
name was Felix
Holt, had taken
Job home, where he
and his mother could
care for the child.
"Job was a small fellow about five, with a germinal
nose; large, round, blue eyes, and red hair, that
curled close to his head like the wool on the back
of an infantine lamb."
One day little Job cut his finger and came to Mr.
Holt to have it bound up. Mr. Holt was a watch-


maker, but also had a class of small boys whom
he used to teach as he sat in front of a table cov-
ered with his watch-making tools. He was sitting
in his place when Job came to have his finger doc-
tored. Two benches stood at right angles on the
sanded floor, and six or seven boys, of various ages
up to twelve, were getting their caps and prepar-
ing to go home." As Mr. Holt took Job on his
knee and began to tie up his tiny finger, a young
lady came into the room. Job had never seen her,
although she was a friend of Mr. Holt's. She
looked sad and was really in trouble; for she
felt very much afraid that Mr. Holt was angry
with her because of some words she had said the
last time they had met; and she had come, under
pretext of having her watch examined, to say that
she was sorry and to ask his forgiveness. Mr.
Holt went on with his task, saying to the young
lady, whose name was Esther Lyon:
"'This is a hero, Miss Lyon. This is Job Tudge,
90







CHILD-SKETCHES FROM GEORGE ELIOT.


a bold Briton whose finger hurts him, but who
does n't mean to cry.'
Miss Lyon seated herself on the end of a bench
and waited until the bandaging was completed,
when Mr. Holt said:
'There, Job,- thou patient man,-sit still, if
thou wilt; and now we can look at Miss Lyon.'
"Esther hadtaken off her watch, andwas holding
it in her hand; but he looked at her face, or rather
at her eyes, as he said, 'You want me to doctor
your watch?'
Whereupon Miss Lyon told him what she most
wanted to see him about, and, as she went on,
she become so much in earnest that the tears ran
down her cheeks. Suddenly little Job, who had
been making his own reflections upon all that took
place, called out, impatiently:
"'She 's tut her finger! '
Mr. Holt and Miss Lyon laughed; and, as the
latter raised her handkerchief to wipe the tears
from her cheeks, she said:
"'You see, Job, I 'm a naughty coward. I can't
help crying when I 've hurt myself.'
'Zoo sood n't kuy,' said Job, energetically, be-
ing much impressed with a moral doctrine which
had come to him after a sufficient transgression
of it.
'Where does Job Tudge live?' said Miss
Lyon, still sitting and looking at the droll little fig-
ure, set off by a ragged jacket with a tail about
two inches deep, sticking out above the funniest of
corduroys.
Job has two mansions. He lives here chiefly,
but he has another home, where his grandfather,
the stone-breaker, lives. My mother is very good
to Job, Miss Lyon. She has made him a little bed
in a cupboard, and she gives him sweetened por-
ridge.'


'Well, why should n't I be motherly to the
child, Miss Lyon,' said Mrs. Holt, who had come
in. I never was hard-hearted, and I never will
be. It was Felix picked the child up and took to
him.'
'Oh, they grow out of it very fast. Here 's
Job Tudge, now,' said Felix, turning the little one
around on his knee, and holding his head by the
back. 'Job's limbs will get lanky, this little fist,
that looks like a puff-ball, and can hide nothing
bigger than a gooseberry, will get large and bony,
and perhaps want to clutch more than its share;
these wide blue eyes, that tell me more truth than
Job knows, will narrow and narrow, and tryto hide
truth that Job would be better without knowing;
this little negative nose will become long and self-
asserting, and this little tongue put out thy
tongue, Job.' Job, awe-struck, under this cere-
mony, put out a little red tongue, very timidly.
'This tongue, hardly bigger than a rose-leaf, will
get large, and thick, wag out of season, do mis-
chief, brag and cant for gain or vanity, and cut as
cruelly for all its clumsiness, as if it were a sharp-
edged blade. Big Job will perhaps be naughty-'
As Felix, speaking with the loud, emphatic
distinctness habitual to him, brought out this ter-
ribly familiar word, Job's sense of mystification
became too painful, he hung his lips and began to
cry.
Look here, Job, my man,' said Felix, setting
the boy down, and turning him toward Esther; 'go
to Miss Lyon, ask her to smile at you, and that
will dry up your tears like sunshine.'
Job put his two brown fists on Esther's lap, and
she stooped to kiss him. Then holding his face
between her hands she said, 'Tell Mr. Holt we
don't mean to be naughty, Job. He should believe
in us more.-But now, I must really go home.' "













THE CLOCKS OF RONDAINE.
(Concluded.)

BY FRANK R. STOCKTON.


ARLA now walked on until she came to a street
corner where a cobbler had a little shop. In the
angle of the wall of the house, at the height of the
second story, was a clock. This cobbler did not
like the confined air and poor light of his shop,
and whenever the weather allowed, he always
worked outside-on the sidewalk. To-day, although
it was winter, the sun shone brightly on this side
of the street, and he had put his bench outside,
close to his door, and was sitting there, hard at
work. When Arla stopped before him, he looked
up and said, cheerfully:
"Good-morning, Mistress Arla. Do you want
them half-soled, or heeled, or a patch put on the
toes?"
My shoes do not need mending," said Aria.
"I came to ask.you if you could tell me who has
charge of the clock at this corner ? "
'" I can easily do that," he said, "for I am.the
man. I am paid by the year, for winding it up
and keeping it in order, as much as I should get
for putting the soles, heels, tops, linings, and
buckles on a pair of shoes."
Which means making them out and out,"
said Arla.
You are right,." said he,." and the pay is not
great; but if it were larger, more people.might
want it and I might lose it; and if it were less, how
could I afford to do it at all ? So I am satisfied."
"But you ought not to be entirely satisfied,"
said Arla, "for the clock does not keep good time.
I know when it is striking, for it has a very jangling
sound, and it is the most irregular clock in Ron-
daine. Sometimes it strikes as much as twenty-
five minutes after the hour, and very often it does
not strike at all."
The cobbler looked up at her with a smile. I
am sorry," he said, that it has a jangling stroke,
but the fashioning of clocks is not my trade, afid I
could not mend its sound with awl, hammer, or
waxed-end. But it seems to me, my good maiden,
that you never mended a pair of shoes."
"No, indeed! said Arla; "I should do that
even worse than you would make clocks."
Never having mended shoes, then," said the
cobbler, you do not know what a grievous thing
it is to have twelve o'clock, or six o'clock, or any


other hour, in fact, come before you are ready for
it. Now I don't mind telling you, because I know
you are too good to spoil the trade of a hard-work-
ing cobbler,-and shoemaker too, whenever he gets
the chance to be one,- that when I have promised
a customer that he shall have his shoes or his boots
at a certain time of day, and that time is drawing
near, and the end of the job is still somewhat dis-
tant, then do I skip up the stair-way and set back
the hands of the clock according to the work that
has to be done. And when my customer comes I
look up to the clock-face and I say to him, 'Glad
to see you !' and then.he will look up at the clock
and will say, 'Yes, I am a little too soon'; and
then, as likely as not, he will sit down on the door-
step here by me and talk entertainingly; and it
may happen that he will sit there without grum-
bling, for many minutes after the clock has pointed
out the hour at which the shoes were promised.
Sometimes, when I have been: much belated in
beginning a job, I stop the clock altogether, for
you can well see for yourself that it would not do
to have it strike eleven when it is truly twelve.
And so, if my man be willing to sit down, and
our talk be very entertaining, the clock being
above him, where he can not see it without stepping
outward from the house, he may not notice that it
is stopped. This expedient once served me very
well, for an old gentleman, over-testy and over-
punctual, once came to me for his shoes, and
looking'up at the clock, which I had prepared for
him, exclaimed, 'Bless me! I am much too
early And he sat down by me for three-quar-
ters of an hour, in which time I persuaded him
that his shoes were far too much worn to be worth
mending any more, and that he should have a
new pair,.which, afterward, I made."
"I do not believe it is right for you to do that,"
said Arla; "but even if,you think so, there is no
reason why your clock should go wrong at night
when so many people can hear it because of the
stillness."
Ah, me said the cobbler, I do not object
to the clock being as right as you please in the
night; but when my day's work is done, I so desire
to go home to my supper, that I often forget to put
the clock right, or to set it going if it is stopped.

















IT


S.


I,


-c-
s-'


----,,i',
---- ;,ll~lhI


"'SO MANY THINGS STOP AT NIGHT-SUCH AS THE DAY ITSRLF-THAT I THINK YOU


OUGHT TO PARDON MY POOR CLOCK.'


VOL. XV. 13.


i;I ,I i"
i I i ,I, ,






THE CLOCKS OF RONDAINE.


But so many things stop at night-such as the day
itself-- and so many things then go wrong such
as the ways of evil-minded people--that I think
you truly ought to pardon my poor clock."
Then you will not consent," said Arla, to
make it go right ? "
I will do that with all cheerfulness," answered
the cobbler, pulling out a pair of waxed-ends with a
great jerk, as soon as I can make myself go right.
The most important thing should always be done
first; and, surely, I am more important than a
clock!" And he smiled with great good humor.
Arla knew that it would of no use to stand there
any longer and talk with this cobbler. Turning
to go, she said:
When I bring you shoes to mend, you shall
finish them by my clock, and not by yours."
That will I, my good little Arla," said the
cobbler, heartily. They shall be finished by any
clock in town, and five minutes before the hour, or
no payment."
Aria now walked on until she came to the bridge
over the river. It was a long, covered structure,
and by the entrance sat the bridge-keeper.
Do you know, sir," said she, that the clock
at this end of your bridge does not keep the same
time as the one at the other end? They are not
so very different, but I have noticed that this one
is always done striking at least two minutes before
the other begins."
The bridge-keeper looked at her with one eye,
which was all he had.
You are as wrong as anybody can be," said he.
I do not say anything about the striking, because
my ears are not now good enough to hear the clock
at the other end when I am near this one; but I
know they both keep the same time. I have often
looked at this clock and have then walked to the
other end of the bridge, and have found that the
clock there was exactly like it."
Arla looked at the poor old man, whose legs were
warmly swaddled on account of his rheumatism,
and said:
"But it must take you a good while to walk to
the other end of the bridge "
"Out upon you!" cried the bridge-keeper. "I
am not so old as that yet I can walk there in no
time !"
Arla now crossed the bridge and went a short
distance along a country road until she came to the
great stone house known as Vongereau. This
belonged to a rich family who seldom came there,
and the place was in charge of an elderly man who
was the brother of Arla's mother. When his niece
was shown into a room on the ground floor, which
served for his parlor and his office, he was very
glad to see her; and while Arla was having some-


thing to eat and drink after her walk, the two had
a pleasant chat.
"I came this time, Uncle Anton," she said,
" not only to see you, but to tell you that the great
clock in your tower does not keep good time."
Uncle Anton looked at her a little surprised.
How do you know that, my dear ?" he said.
Then Aria told him how she had lain awake in
the early morning and had heard the striking of
the different clocks. "If you wish to make it right,"
said she, "I can give you the proper time, for I
have brought my own little clock with-me."
She was about to take her rose-clock out of her
basket, when her uncle motioned to her not to do so.
"Let me tell you something," said he. The
altering of the time of day, which you speak of
so lightly, is a very serious matter, which should
be considered with all gravity. If you set back a
clock, even as little as ten minutes, you add that
much to the time that has passed. The hour
which has just gone by has been made seventy
minutes long. Now, no human being has the right
to add anything to the past, nor to make hours
longer than they were originally made. And,
on the other hand, if you set a clock forward even
so little as ten minutes, you take away that much
from the future, and you make the coming hour
only fifty minutes long. Now, no human being has
a right to take anything away from the future or to
make the hours shorter than they were originally
intended to be. I desire, my dear niece, that you
will earnestly think over what I have said, and I
am sure that you will then see for yourself how un-
wise and even culpable it would be to trifle with
the length of the hours which make up our day.
And now, Arla, let us talk of other things."
And so they talked of other things until Aria
thought it was time to go. She saw there was
something wrong in her uncle's reasoning, although
she could not tell exactly what it was, and thinking
about it, she slowly returned to the town. As she
approached the house of the little old lady with
white hair, she concluded to stop and speak to her
about her clock. "She will surely be willing to
alter that," said Arla, "for it is so very.much out
of the way."
The old lady knew who Arla vas, and received
her very kindly; but when she heard why the
young girl had come to her, she flew into a passion.
"Never, since I was born," she said, have I
been spoken to like this My great-grandfather
lived in this house before me ; that clock was good
enough for him! My grandfather lived in this
house before me; that clock was good enough for
him! My father and mother lived in this house
before me; that clock was good enough for them I
I was born in this house; have always lived in it;







THE CLOCKS OF RONDAINE.


and expect to die in it; that clock is good enough
for me! I heard its strokes when I was but a
little child; I hope to hear them at my last hour;
and sooner than raise my hand against the clock of
my ancestors, and the clock of my whole life, I
would cut off that hand 1"
Some tears came into Arla's eyes; she was a
little frightened. I hope you will pardon me,
good madam," she said, for, truly, I did not wish
to offend you. Nor did I think that your clock is
not a good one. I only meant that you should
make it better; it is nearly an hour out of the
way."
The sight of Arla's tears cooled the anger of the
little old lady with white hair. Child," she said,
" you do not know what you are talking about, and
I forgive you. But remember this: never ask
persons as old as I am to alter the principles which
have always made clear to them what they should
do, or the clocks which have always told them when
they should do it."
And, kissing Arla, she bade her good-bye.
"Principles may last a great while without alter-
ing," thought Arla, as she went away, but I am
sure it is very different with clocks."
The poor girl now felt a good deal discouraged.
"People don't seem to care whether their clocks
are right or not," she said to herself, "and if they
don't care, I am sure it is of no use for me to tell
them about it. If even one clock could be made
to go properly, it might help to make the people of
Rondaine care to know exactly what time it is.
Now, there is that iron donkey; if he would but
kick at the right hour, it would be an excellent
thing, for he kicks so hard that he is heard all over
the town."
Determined to make this one more effort, Arla
walked quickly to the town-building at the top of
which was the clock with the iron donkey. This
building was a sort of museum; it had a great
many curious things in it, and it was in charge of
a very ingenious man who was learned and skillful
in various ways.
When Aria had informed the superintendent ot
the museum why she had come to him, he did not
laugh at her, nor did he get angry. He was ac-
customed to giving earnest consideration to matters
of this sort, and he listened attentively to all that
Aria had to say.
You must know," he said, that our iron
donkey is a very complicated piece of mechanism.
Not only must he kick out the hours, but five
minutes before doing so he must turn his head
around and look at the bell behind him; and then
when he has done kicking he must put his head
back into its former position. All this action re-
quires a great many wheels and cogs and springs


and levers, and these can not be made to move
with absolute regularity. When it is cold, some of
his works contract; and when it is warm, they
expand, and there are other reasons why he is very
likely to lose or gain time. At noon on every
bright day I set him right, being able to get the
correct time from a sun-dial which stands in the
court-yard. But his works, which I am sorry to
say are not well made, are sure to get a great
deal out of the way before I set him again."
Then, if there are several cloudy or rainy days
together, he goes very wrong indeed," said Arla.
"Yes, he truly does," replied the superin-
tendent, and I am sorry for it. But there is no
way to remedy his irregularities except for me to
make him all over again at my own expense, and
that is something I can not afford to do. The
clock belongs to the town, and I am sure the citi-
zens will not be willing to spend the money neces-
sary for a new donkey-clock; for, so far as I know,
every person but yourself is perfectly satisfied with
this one."
I suppose so," said Aria, with a sigh; but it
really is a great pity that every striking-clock in
Rondaine should be wrong "
"But how do you know they all are wrong? "
asked the superintendent.
Oh, that is easy enough," said Aria. When
I lie awake in the early morning, when all else is
very still, I listen to their striking, and then I look
at my own rose-clock to see what time it really is."
Your rose-clock ? said the superintendent.
This is it," said Arla, opening her basket and
taking out her little clock.
The superintendent took it into his hands and
looked at it attentively, both outside and inside.
And then, still holding it, he stepped out into the
court-yard. When in a few moments he returned,
he said:
"I have compared your clock with my sun-
dial, and find that it is ten minutes slow. I also
see that, like the donkey-clock, its works are not
adjusted in such a way as to be unaffected by heat
and cold."
My clock ten minutes slow ex-
claimed Arla, with wide-open eyes.
"Yes," said the superintendent, that is the
case to-day, and on some days it is, probably, a
great deal too fast. Such a clock as this- which
is a very ingenious and beautiful one-ought fre-
quently to be compared with a sun-dial or other
correct time-keeper, and set to the proper hour.
I see it requires a peculiar key with which to set
it. Have you brought this with you ?"
"No, sir," said Aria; "I did not suppose it
would be needed."
"Well, then," said the superintendent. "you







THE CLOCKS OF RONDAINE.


can set it forward ten minutes when you reach
home ; and if to-morrow morning you compare the
other clocks with it, I think you will find that not
all of them are wrong."
Arla sat quiet for a moment, and then she said:
"I think I shall not care any more to compare the
clocks of Rondaine with my little rose-clock. If
the people are satisfied with their own clocks,
whether they are fast or slow, and do not desire
to know exactly when Christmas Day begins, I can
do nobody any good by listening to the different
striking and then looking at my own little clock
with a night-lamp by it."
"Especially," said the superintendent, with a
smile, "when you are not sure that your rose-
clock is right. But if you will bring here your
little clock and your key on any day when the sun
is shining, I uill set it to the time shadowed on
the sun-dial, or show you how to do it yourself."
"Thank you very much," said Aria; and she
took her leave.
As she walked home, she lifted the lid of her
basket and looked at her little rose-clock. "To
think of it! she said. That you should be
sometimes too fast and sometimes too slow And,
worse than that, to think that some of the other





I. _' ', I




'i"







.- ,,,_ ,


clocks have been right and you have been wrong !
But I do not feel like altering you to-day. If you
go fast sometimes and slow sometimes, you must
be right sometimes, and one of these days when I
take you to be compared with the sun-dial, per-
haps you will not have to be altered so much."
Arla went to bed that night quite tired with her
long walks, and when she awoke it was broad day-
light. I do not know," she said to herself, ex-
actly when Christmas began, but I am very sure
that the happy day is here."
"Do you lie awake in the morning as much as
you used to?" asked Arla's mother a few weeks
after the Christmas holidays.
"No, mother dear," said Arla; "I now sleep
with one of my windows shut, and I am no longer
awakened by that chilly feeling which used to
come to me in the early morning, when I would
draw the bed-covers close about me, and think how
wrong were the clocks of Rondaine."

And the little rose-clock never went to be com-
pared with the sun-dial. Perhaps you are right
now," Arla would say to her clock each day when
the sun shone, and I will not take you until some
time when I feel very sure that you are wrong."


196


--- --,-_












C-ID







1/
\\ne i~tf^D

j~ W~lljVAei

'/'/: ( 1 .


PICTURES FOR LITTLE
GERMAN READERS.-No.


TICK TOCK.
BY MARIA I. HAMMOND.


"TICK TOCK tick tock "
Says the clock- "half-past three."
"Tick tock! tick tock! "
" Half-past three still we see !
It must be the hands are caught,
That is why it tells us naught,
Tho' it ticks and ticks along
As if there were nothing wrong!
"Tick tock! "


Tick tock tick tock "
Many a word, many a word,-
Tick tock tick tock! "-
Just as useless, I have heard.
These-the folks who tell us naught
Ah perhaps their hands are caught !
'T is the busy ones that know
Something worth the telling.- So
Tick tock tick tock "


I sr~












POOR MR. BROWN.


BY RICHARD MALCOLM JOHNSTON.


MR. TEMPLETON resided about four miles from
the village, near the great wagon thoroughfare
leading eastward to Augusta, the market town of
middle Georgia, situated on the Savannah River.
At this time he had an only son, Baldwin, about
whose education he was becoming somewhat solic-
itous, as the boy, being only seven years old, was
too young to go alone to the country school, a mile
and a half distant. After due consideration of
several other plans, it was understood that he should
be taught in books by his mother during what
leisure she might get from house affairs, and out-
side become more than hitherto a companion of
his father, in the hope of getting occasional oral
instruction that might be wholesome.
The boy ever afterward looked back to this
period, not only with much fondness, but with much
gratitude that such had been his first tuition and
that it had begun so early.
His mother, more pious than her husband, pos-
sessed a lower gift of instruction. She taught
mainly by rote and the rules of schools and books;
while the father gave not set lessons or lectures,
and often when he taught the best, it was not
understood by his son, perhaps not always by him-
self, that he was intending to teach. One instance
of this I learned, and the recollection of it has done
me, I believe, good service.
In those times no railroads were in middle Geor-
gia, and the roads in that region, with its red, stiff
soil, were often rough, even in summer-time; so
much so, that between the villages were occasion-
ally country taverns. Besides these, most country
gentlemen who dwelt near the public road were
accustomed to entertain over night belated trav-
elers and their beasts. I can well remember when
it was considered uncharitable to refuse shelter to a
wayfaring man, unless it was not too late for him
to reach before nightfall the village or the nearest
inn. Mr. Templeton, although it was generally
disagreeable, because interfering with the privacy
of his family, never refused admittance to such
comers, except when a denial seemed necessary.
Country children liked such visitors, having so few
opportunities to see new faces and hear new voices.
Besides, they had a relish for riding travelers'
horses to the spring for water.
Among those who usually stopped with the


Templetons was a middle-aged man named Brown.
He resided, so he said, near the Savannah River,
and he claimed to have a brother in good circum-
stances in one of the counties about three days'
travel westward, his own home being at about that
distance east. To this brother he had been paying
semi-annual visits for several years, always stopping
for a night, going and returning, with the Temple-
tons. He was poor and rheumatic. He rode a
poor horse, which slowly and with much difficulty
bore him, and carried a pair of coarse cotton sad-
dle-bags, always much soiled. Baldwin used to
wonder how it could be that so poor a man and so
poor a horse managed to travel so many miles forth
and back twice a year.
Mr. Brown was so uninteresting a companion
that it was difficult to hold any conversation with
him, even upon the subject of his infirmities. He
usually sat with the family for an hour or two after
supper, listening with moderate interest to their
chatterings; and then-yet never until after the
suggestion had been made by one or the other
of his hosts-retired to bed. Poor Mr. Brown,
as he was called by the family, had become as
well known there as such a man could be, and
it is probable that in the visits of no other trav-
eler was there ever less variety. The scene after
breakfast next morning had been nearly the very
same for years. When his horse was brought from
the lot and hitched by the gate, the following dia-
logue took place :
MR. BROWN.--I think I'11 be a-travelin'. What's
my bill ?
MR. TEMPLETON.--One dollar, Mr. Brown.
MR. BROWN.-I '11 pay you when I come by this
way ag'in. Will that suit you?
MR. TEMPLETON.-That will do just as well; I
can wait.
MR. BROWN.-Well, a good-mornin' to you.
MR. TEMPLETON.- Good-morning, Mr. Brown.
I hope you'll have a safe journey.
They shook hands, a ceremony Mr. Brown
omitted with the others, slightly nodding a good-
bye to them as he turned to depart.
Baldwin had been present at several of these
leave-takings. After the departure, one day, he
asked his father if Mr. Brown had ever paid him
for a night's entertainment.






POOR MR. BROWN.


"No, he never has," answered Mr. Templeton.
Do you believe he ever will, Father?"
"I do not."
He is a very poor man, is n't he ?"
He must be; and he is sickly besides."
After musing some moments, Baldwin asked:
"Well, Father, if he is so poor and sickly, what
makes you charge him for staying all night. Do
you want him to pay you ? "
The father looked down upon his son, smiled,
and said:
"Let us take a walk."
They went into the orchard; for it was in the
spring. Walking slowly along, Mr. Templeton
said:
"Baldwin, why did you ask if I wanted Mr.
Brown to pay for his night's lodging?"
"Because he looks like such a poor man, as
you said he was, and sickly too."
I did, and he shows for himself."
"Well, Father, if he is so poor, and sickly be-
sides, I-" but Baldwin could not elaborate the
idea that was in his mind.
"You mean to say," suggested Mr. Templeton,
"that if you were in my place, such a man as Mr.
Brown might stay the night at your house without
paying or being asked to pay anything. Is that
it?"
Baldwin answered yes.
"Ah, ha! Now I see, my boy, that I ought,
before now, to have explained to you my conduct
with Mr. Brown. I am glad that you are begin-
ning to notice such things. No, I did not, and
never did wish him to pay me anything. He
has been coming by to spend a night with us
four times a year for several years. He always
asks me for his bill, and I always answer that it is
a dollar. He never pays, and I never wish him to
pay. He always promises to pay, and he probably
believes, every time he is here, that perhaps he will
be able to pay the next time he comes. At least
he hopes so, I doubt not. Now, this hope that he
will be less poor some day is a good, a great thing
for him. But for that hope, sickly as he is, the
probabilities are that he would have died before
now; whereas, having that hope makes him feel
that he is able to get upon his poor horse and travel
about like other persons who are strong and well.
And, as you see, he actually does so, not so fast,
and not so far as many others; but fast enough, he
thinks, and indeed a great distance even for men
in good health. This hope, and the exercise he
takes, and the change, perhaps, tend to make him
forget sometimes that he is poor and sickly. Don't
you see what a great thing such a hope is to
such a man?"
Baldwin thought he did, and he said so.


Well," resumed his father, no person ought
to deprive him of it, if he can help it. Now, if you
had a house, and Mr. Brown were to come to it
and lodge for a night, and on leaving it the next
morning were to ask what he must pay, I suppose
you would answer, Nothing.' Is it not so ? Yes.
But do you not perceive that such an answer would
be showing him that you had noticed how poor he
was, that you had no thought that he ever would
be in better condition ? And so you might weaken
this hope which is now such a support to him. I
do not say it would, but it might. This is one
thing that we should not do if we can avoid it, and
at the same time not be guilty of deceit. I ncver
say to Mr. Brown that I believe that he will ever
be any other sort of man than a poor one. That
would be wrong, because it would be false. But
as I believe that he hopes, and that he may ex-
pect, to be in a better way sometime ; and as this
hope does him good; and moreover, as I can not
foresee what Providence, who gives and who takes
away, may do for him before he dies, I simply
try to show, when he is under my roof, that I
respect him as I respect any other man, who, when
he is here, does nothing that is wrong. And I do
respect him as much as I respect any man who is
not better than he is. When he is about to go
away, and asks for his bill, I answer him as I an-
swer others. With one like him this is the best
way, it seems to me, in which I can show to him
that he has the respect which I feel. Although he
does not pay the bill, I have little doubt that he
intends and hopes to do so some time or other.
He sees that I am satisfied with his promise, and
this may serve to make him still more hopeful. Do
you see, sir, do you see ?" and he laid his hand
heavily yet fondly on the boy's shoulder.
Baldwin was satisfied, even pleased, and he sup-
posed that the subject was now dismissed. They
walked among the apple-trees, the elder occasion-
ally subduing a redundant bud, or placing a prop
to a young tree that the March winds had bent.
After a few minutes, he turned suddenly and said:
Baldwin, suppose you were Mr. Brown."
Baldwin shuddered, but only momentarily.
"Yes," continued his father, "suppose you
were a poor, sickly man, named Mr. Brown. Sup-
pose you, like this one, were to be traveling in order
to visit a brother who was well to do. For the
poor, as a general thing, are proud of their wealthy
relatives. It is often no matter how they are
treated by them, and I rather suspect that this
poor man gets little help from his relatives ; for I
think that I have noticed that he is usually more
sad on the returning than on the outgoing jour-
ney. But suppose you hoped some day to be in
as easy fortune as your brother, or at least in bet-






POOR MR. BROWN.


ter fortune than now. Suppose then that you had
spent a night at a gentleman's house, and that,
when you were about to proceed on your travels,
he were to say to you:
'Mr. Brown, your bill is nothing, sir; you
need not pay me anything. You are so poor that
I know you can not afford to pay. You are too
sickly to work, and of course there is no probabil-
ity that you will ever be in better circumstances
than you now are. Therefore you need never ask
me what your bill is, or let the thought of it
trouble you. I never charge such a man as you
anything. Come always to my house when you
are traveling this way (that is, if you should ever
find yourself able to make the trip again) and you
will always find a welcome for yourself and your
poor horse. But please do not ask to pay what
I could not feel, as a conscientious and charitable
man, it was right to accept.'
"How would that sound in your ears, Mr.
Brown? "
Mr. Templeton looked down upon his son's
face, and was pleased to notice his indignation
against his imaginary host. Then, before the boy
could put into words the feeling which was suffi-
cientlyshown byhis expression, the father resumed:
But suppose the gentleman was not quite so
rude as that though some good, kind-hearted men
talk in just that style, without havingany notion
of its rudeness. Suppose he were to say nothing
about your poverty or your poor health, but you
could see that he noticed both, and your torn and
soiled clothes, your stiff, slow-moving limbs and the
wearing sadness upon your face. Suppose then
that the fact that he saw all this made you lose
a part of the hope you had been indulging for
better times to come to you, because it was plain
to you that, in his opinion, such a hope was ut-
terly vain.
Suppose, again, that when you should ask him
for your bill, and get for answer that there was
none, you were sure that this answer was given
because of your poverty which showed for itself in
your every look and action. Once more. Sup-
pose, when you should promise to pay on your
next visit, you were made by the gentleman's
manner to feel that he believed not only that you
would never pay the bill but probably would not
live to come there any more. What then, Mr.
Brown ?"
Tears were now in the boy's eyes. When his
father saw them, some came into his own. After
a pause, he thus concluded:
You see, dear Baldwin, that although it is our
duty to be kind to the poor, yet we should take
some pains in learning how to be so. The kindness
of some men to the poor tends to make them better,


as well as happier. That of others tends to make
them evil-disposed and to add to the bitterness of
their sufferings. The difference is this: some men
have another feeling in addition to pity. This feel-
ing is-Delicacy. Remember that word, my boy,
and study it, and try to find out for yourself all
that it means."
After a brief pause, during which the boy walked
thoughtfully and in silence beside his father, Mr.
Templeton said:
Now there's another side to this case, Baldwin.
I dare say you don't think it exactly right in Mr.
Brown to be going more and more into debt,
especially to strangers, when the chances seem
so little that he can ever pay; or at least you
think he might behave as if he were thankful for
being so treated. It does n't look quite honest,
eh? Aha! I thought so.
But we must suppose that he hopes, and even
expects, to be able at some time, perhaps far in
the future, to pay all he owes. I have not a doubt
of this; for poor as he is, and silent, I think I have
seen in him a great deal of the sort of character
that makes an upright man. As for thanks, I've
come to believe that not always do thosefeel them
the most who are the quickest and the freest to
say them. Besides, we must not expect always to
find among the poor and the suffering the delicacy
that I've just told you about.
Our good Lord, who loves the poor so much,
does not demand of them the same delicate sense
of propriety as of those in more favored circum-
stances. He knows how much pain and how much
failure of many sorts this would cause. My ac-
quaintance with the Bible, I am ashamed to say,
is much less familiar than your mother's. But my
recollection is that not many instances of the say-
ing of thanks by the poor occur in it. For exam-
ple, there is no record that the traveler who had
fallen among thieves thanked the good Samaritan
who relieved him; and of the ten lepers who were
healed, only one, and he a stranger, returned to
thank our Savior.
"Yet He did not chide the others, but said
merely,-' Where are the nine ? There are not
found that returned to give glory to God save this
stranger.'
"Indeed, the good Lord often keeps from His
poor the delicacy that would make their lot harder
to bear. As for poor Mr. Brown, I am satisfied
that he is more thankful than he seems, not only
for the very small favors that I have shown him, but
for my confidence that he honestly intends and ex-
pects to repay me. Come, now; let us go back to
your mother."
Mr. Brown did not come again.
Late in the fall they heard that he was dead.







s888.] POOR MR. BROWN. 201

Some weeks after, one of the neighbors on re- that he had always expected to be able some day
turning from Augusta, whither he had gone with a to repay all the kindness of the family to him; but,
load of cotton, left at the Templetons' a tiny sleigh, that as he was disappointed, he hoped the good
and a shuttle for Mrs. Templeton, and a hickory- Lord would make it up to them in some way.
cane, rudely but elaborately wrought. These had My parents shed tears," said Baldwin, many
been handed to him by one of Mr. Brown's family, years afterward, on receiving these bequests,
who said that on his death-bed Mr. Brown had re- which they kept as long as they lived. I have
quested that they should be sent with the message the three gifts yet."


~";"t ;~pq


WE AND OUR DOLLIES." (PHOTOGRAPHED ROM LIFE.)


"WE AND OUR DOLLIES." (PHOTOGRAPHED FROM LIFE.)











BALBOA.


BY NORA PERRY.





'., *, .- --
"-I -- .

'.:. __ :. %.- a .


WITH restless step of discontent,
Day after day he fretting went
Along the old accustomed ways
That led to easeful length of days.

But far beyond the fragrant shade
Of orange-groves his glances strayed
To where the white horizon line
Caught from the sea its silvery shine.

He knew the taste of the salt spray,
He knew the wind that blew that way:
Ah, once again to mount and ride
Upon that pulsing ocean tide -

To find new lands of virgin gold,
To wrest them from the savage hold,
To conquer with the sword and brain
Fresh fields and fair for royal Spain !


This was the dream of wild desire
That set his gallant heart on fire,
And stirred with feverish discontent
That soul for nobler issues meant.

Sometimes his children's laughter brought
A thrill that checked his restless thought;
Sometimes a voice more tender yet
Would soothe the fever and the fret.

Thus day by day, until one day
Came news that in the harbor lay
A ship bound outward to explore
The treasures of that western shore,

Which bold adventurers as yet
Had failed to conquer or forget:
'.:Yet where they failed, and failing died,
My will shall conquer Balboa cried.
202






BALBOA.


But when on Darien's shore he stept,
And fast and far his vision swept,
He saw before him, white and still,
The Andes mocking at his will.

Then like a flint he set his face:
Let others falter from their place,
His hand and foot, his sturdy soul
Should seek and gain that distant goal!

With speech like this he fired the land,
And gathered to his bold command
A troop of twenty score or more,
To follow where he led before.

They followed him day after day
O'er burning lands where ambushed lay
The waiting savage in his lair;
And fever poisoned all the air.

But like a sweeping wind of flame
A conqueror through all he came:
The savage fell beneath his hand,
Or led him on to seek the land

That richer yet for golden gain
Stretched out beyond the mountain chain.
Steep after steep of rough ascent
They followed, followed, worn and spent,

Until at length they came to where
The last peak lifted near and fair;
Then Balboa turned and waved aside
His panting troops: Rest here," he cried;

"And wait for me." And with a tread
Of trembling haste, he quickly sped


Along the trackless height, alone
To seek, to reach, his mountain throne.

Step after step he mounted swift;
The wind blew down a cloudy drift;
From some strange source he seemed to hear
The music of another sphere.

Step after step; the cloud-winds blew
Their blinding mists, then through and through
Sun-cleft, they broke, and all alone
He stood upon his mountain throne.

Before him spread no paltry lands,
To wrest with spoils from savage hands;
But, fresh and fair, an unknown world
Of mighty sea and shore unfurled

Its wondrous scroll beneath the skies.
Ah, what to this the flimsy prize
Of gold and lands for which he came
With hot ambition's sordid aim !

Silent he stood with streaming eyes
In that first moment of surprise,
Then on the mountain-top he bent,
This conqueror of a continent,

In wordless ecstasy of prayer,-
Forgetting in that moment there,
With Nature's God brought face to face,
All vainer dreams of pomp and place.

Thus to the world a world was given.
Where lesser men had vainly striven,
And striving died,- this gallant soul,
Divinely guided, reached the goal.


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Every boy upon tho0 street,
NV/hich meacde. Appl2e-women 0 0
thrive, beyond compare.























BY MARY E. WILKINS.


IT was afternoon recess at No. 4 District School,
in Warner. There was a heavy snowstorm; so
every one was in the warm schoolroom, except a
few adventurous spirits who were tumbling about
in the snowdrifts out in the yard, getting their
clothes wet and preparing themselves for chidings
at home. Their shrill cries and shouts of laughter
floated into the schoolroom, but the small group
near the stove did not heed them at all. There
were five or six little girls and one boy. The
girls, with the exception of Jenny Brown, were
trim and sweet in their winter dresses and neat
school-aprons; they perched on the desks and the
arms of the settee with careless grace, like birds.
Some of them had their arms linked. The one
boy lounged against the blackboard. His dark,
straight-profiled face was all aglow as he talked.
His big brown eyes gazed now soberly and im-
pressively at Jenny, then gave a gay dance in
the direction of the other girls.
Yes, it does--honest!" said he.
The other girls nudged one another softly; but
Jenny Brown stood with her innocent, solemn eyes
fixed upon Earl Munroe's face, drinking in every
word.
"You ask anybody who knows," continued Earl;
" ask Judge Barker, ask -the minister-"
Oh! cried the little girls; but the boy shook
his head impatiently at them.
"Yes," said he; "you just go and ask Mr.
Fisher to-morrow, and you 'll see what he '11 tell
you. Why, look here,"-Earl straightened him-
self and stretched out an arm like an orator,--"it's
nothing more than reasonable that Christmas-trees
growwildwith the presents all on 'em What sense
would there be in 'em if they did n't, I 'd like to
know? They grow in different places, of course;
but these around here grow mostly on the mount-
ain over there. They come up every spring,
and they all blossom out about Christmas-time,
and folks go hunting for them to give to the


children. Father and Ben are over on the mount-
ain to-day -"
Oh, oh cried the little girls.
I mean, I guess they are," amended Earl, try-
ing to put his feet on the boundary-line of truth.
"I hope they '11 find a full one."
Jenny Brown had a little, round, simple face;
her thin brown hair was combed back and braided
tightly in one tiny braid tied with a bit of shoe-
string. She wore a nondescript gown, which
nearly trailed behind, and showed in front her
little, coarsely shod feet, which toed-in helplessly.
The gown was of a faded green color; it was scal-
loped and bound around the bottom, and had some
green ribbons-bows down the front. It was, in fact,
the discarded polonaise of a benevolent woman, who
aided the poor substantially but not tastefully.
Jenny Brown was eight, and small for her age,-
a strange, gentle, ignorant little creature, never
doubting the truth of what she was told, which
sorely tempted the other children to impose upon
her. Standing there in the schoolroom that
stormy recess, in the midst of that group of wiser,
richer, mostly older girls, and that one handsome,
mischievous boy, she believed every word she
heard.
This was her first term at school, and she had
never before seen much of other children. She
had lived her eight years all alone at home with
her mother, and she had never been told about
Christmas. Her mother had other things to think
about. She was a dull, spiritless, reticent wo-
man, who had lived through much trouble. She
worked, doing washings and cleaning, like a poor
feeble machine that still moves but has no interest
in its motion. Sometimes the Browns had almost
enough to eat, at other times they half starved.
It was half-starving time just then; Jenny had not
had enough to eat that day.
There was a pinched look on the little face up-
turned toward Earl Munroe's.






WHERE THE CHRISTMAS-TREE GREW.


Earl's words gained authority by coming from
himself. Jenny had always regarded him with
awe and admiration. It was much that he should
speak at all to her.
Earl Munroe was quite the king of this little dis-
trict school. He was the son of the wealthiest man
in town. No other boy was so well dressed, so
gently bred, so luxuriously lodged and fed. Earl
himself realized his importance, and had at times
the loftiness of a young prince in his manner.
Occasionally, some independent urchin would bris-
tle with democratic spirit, and tell him to his face
that he was stuck up," and he had n't so much
more to be proud of than other folks; that his
grandfather was n't anything but an old ragman !
Then Earl would wilt. Arrogance in a free
country is likely to have an unstable foundation.
Earl's tottered at the mention of his paternal
grandfather, who had given the first impetus to
the family fortune by driving a tin-cart about the
country. Moreover, the boy was really pleasant
and generous-hearted, and had no mind, in the
long run, for lonely state and disagreeable haughti-
ness. He enjoyed being lordly once in a while,
that was all.
He did now, with Jenny-he eyed her with
a gay condescension, which would have greatly
amused his tin-peddler grandfather.
Soon the bell rung, and they all filed to their
seats, and the lessons were begun.
After school was done that night, Earl stood in
the door when Jenny passed out.
"Say, Jenny," he called, "when are you going
over on the mountain to find the Christmas-tree ?
You 'd better go pretty soon, or they '11 be gone."
"That 's so!" chimed in one of the girls.
"You 'd better go right off, Jenny."
She passed along, her face shyly dimpling with
her little innocent smile, and said nothing. She
would never talk much.
She had quite a long walk to her home: Pres-
ently, as she was pushing weakly through the new
snow, Earl went flying past her in his father's
sleigh, with the black horses and the fur-capped
coachman. He never thought of asking her to
ride. If he had, he would not have hesitated a
second before doing so.
Jenny, as she waded along, could see the mount-
ain always before her. This road led straight to
it, then turned and wound around its base. It had
stopped snowing, and the sun was setting clear.
The great white mountain was all rosy. It stood
opposite the red western sky. Jenny kept her
eyes fixed upon the mountain. Down in the valley-
shadows, her little simple face, pale and colorless,
gathered another kind of radiance.
There was no school the next day, which was the


one before Christmas. It was pleasant, and not
very cold. Everybody was out; the little village
stores were crowded; sleds trailing Christmas-
greens went flying, people were hastening with
parcels under their arms, their hands full.
Jenny Brown also was out. She was climbing
Franklin Mountain. The snowy pine-boughs bent
so low that they brushed her head; she stepped
deeply into the untrodden snow,-the train of her
green polonaise dipped into it, and swept it along.
And all the time she was peering through those
white fairy columns and arches for-a Christmas-
tree.
That night, the mountain had turned rosy, and
faded, and the stars were coming out, when a fran-
tic woman, panting, crying out now and then in her
distress, went running down the road to the Mun-
roe house. It was the only one between her own
and the mountain. The woman rained some clat-
tering knocks on the door-she could not stop for
the bell. Then she burst into the house, and threw
open the dining-room door, crying out in gasps:
"Hev you seen her? Oh, hev you? My Jen-
ny 's lost! She 's lost! Oh, oh, oh They said
they saw her coming' up this way, this morning Rev
you seen her, hev you?"
Earl and his father and mother were having tea
there in the handsome oak-paneled dining-room.
Mr. Munroe rose at once, and went forward, Mrs.
Munroe looked with a pale face around her sil-
ver tea-urn, and Earl sat as if frozen. He heard
his father's soothing questions, and the mother's
answers. She had been out at work all day; when
she returned, Jenny was gone. Some one had
seen her going up the road to the Munroes' that
morning about ten o'clock. That was her only
clew.
Earl sat there, and saw his mother draw the
poor woman into the room and try to comfort
her; he heard, with a vague understanding, his
father order the horses to be harnessed immedi-
ately; he watched him putting on his coat and hat
out in the hall.
When he heard the horses trot up the drive,
he sprung to his feet. When Mr. Munroe opened
the door, Earl, with his coat and cap on, was at
his heels.
"Why, you can't go, Earl!" said his father,
when he saw him. Go back at once."
Earl was white and trembling. He half sobbed.
Oh, Father, I must go! said he.
Earl, be reasonable. You want to help, don't
you, and not hinder ? his mother called out of
the dining-room.
Earl caught hold of his father's coat. Father
-look here I I believe I know where she is /"
Then his father faced sharply around, his mother


206






WHERE THE CHRISTMAS-TREE GREW.


and Jenny's stood listening in bewilderment, and
Earl told his ridiculous, childish, and cruel little
story. "I-did n't dream-she 'd really be-
such a little -goose as to go," he choked out;
"but she must have, for"-with brave candor -
" I know she believed every word I told her."
It seemed a fantastic theory, yet a likely one.
It would give method to the search, yet more
alarm to the searchers. The mountain was a wide
region in which to find one little child.
Jenny's mother screamed out, "Oh, if she's


crawled downstairs and into the parlor. In the
bay-window stood, like a gay mockery, the Christ-
mas-tree. It was a quite small one that year, only
for the family,-some expected guests had failed
to come,-but it was well laden. After tea, the
presents were to have been distributed. There
were some for his father and mother, and some
for the servants, but the bulk of them were fcr
Earl.
By and by, his mother, who had heard him
come downstairs, peeped into the room, and saw


;',L.


"THIS LITTLE GIRL CAME FLYING OUT WITH HER CONTRIBUTION; THEN THERE WERE MORE." [SEE PAGE 209.]


lost on the mountain, they'll never find her!
They never will, they never will! 0 Jenny, Jenny,
Jenny!"
Earl gave a despairing glance at her, and bolted
upstairs to his own room. His mother called
pityingly after him; but he only sobbed back,
" Don't, Mother,-please! and kept on.
The boy, lying face downward on his bed, cry-
ing as if his heart would break, heard presently
the church-bell clang out fast and furious. Then
he heard loud voices down in the road, and the
flurry of sleigh-bells. His father had raised the
alarm, and the search was organized.
After a while, Earl arose, and crept over to the
window. It looked toward the mountain, which
towered up, cold and white and relentless, like one
of the ice-hearted giants of the old Indian tales.
Earl shuddered, as he looked at it. Presently, he


him busily taking his presents from the tree. Her
heart sank with sad displeasure and amazement.
She would not have believed that her boy could
be so utterly selfish as to think of Christmas-
presents then.
But she said nothing. She stole away, and re-
turned to poor Mrs. Brown, whom she was keeping
with her; still she continued to think of it, all that
long, terrible night, when they sat there waiting,
listening to the signal-horns over on the mountain.
Morning came at last, and Mr. Munroe with it.
No success so far. He drank some coffee and was
off again. That was quite early. An hour or two
later, the breakfast-bell rung. Earl did not respond
to it, so his mother went to the foot of the stairs
and called him. There was a stern ring in her soft
voice. All the time she had in mind his heartless-
ness and greediness over the presents. When Earl


207






WHERE THE CHRISTMAS-TREE GREW.


did not answer, she went upstairs, and found that "I rather think they belong to her, more 'n
he was not in his room. Then she looked in the they do to me, after what 's happened."
parlor, and stood staring in bewilderment. Earl Does your mother know?"
was not there, but neither were the Christmas-tree No; she would n't care. She 'd think I was
and his presents,- they had vanished bodily! only doing what I ought."
Just at that moment Earl Munroe was hurrying All of 'em?" queried Maud, feebly.
down the road, and he was dragging his big sled, You don't s'pose I 'd keep any back ? "
on which were loaded his Christmas- Maud stood staring. It was
presents and the Christmas-rI%-. be-.--.rd h,.r little phil,-.-.-.' l,--.
The top of the tree trailed in rii: E, .: i- i,
snow, its branches spread over r-,e ..' 1 t i'.u lit .: ,.
sled on either side, and rustled. It '.. -.,. I i i:-
was a heavy load, but Earl tu .;,-d '1 '' .I .:..
manfully in an enthusiasm o: "'.t -, :" -I P1, I '. Ii- l l', i-
morse and atonement,- a fantari.-:, ''" -
extravagant atonement, planne.-d I:.:, .'.:. -
that same fertile fancy which ,d rh i .
invented that story for poor lrtl *
Jenny, but instigated by all the g.._:d. '':i ,l'- ,-.
repentant impulses in the V:,:.. 't:11- :. .. .
nature. ..ol t.i. 1 T- .
On every one of those neat [1.i_- .. lidt .:- ,.:1 -,a .d


eels, above his own name, was ,. r t-
ten in his big, crooked, chilli-h
hand, "Jenny Brown, from-" E:.ii
Munroe had not saved one C'.;lit-
mas-present for himself.
Pulling along, his cheeks brill i r.
his eyes glowing, he met Maud
Barker. She was Judge Barker's
daughter, and the girl who
had joined him in advising
Jenny to hunt on the mount-
ain for the Christmas-tree.
Maud stepped along, plac-
ing her trim little feet with
dainty precision; she wore
some new high-buttoned
over-shoes. She also car-
ried a new beaver muff, but
in one hand only. The
other dangled mittenless at
her side; it was pink with
cold, but on its third finger
sparkled a new gold ring
with a blue stone in it.
"Oh, Earl! she called
out, "have they found Jenny
Brown? I was going up to
your house to-Why, Earl
Munroe, what have you got
there ?"


1 :-L .


"ALL TOO FAR AWAY HAD SHE BEEN SEARCHING FOR THE CHRISTMAS-TREE."


"I'm carrying my Christmas-presents and the big jack-knife, and--a brown velvet bicycle
tree up to Jenny's--so she '11 find 'em when she suit."
comes back," said the boy, flushing red. There "Why, Earl Munroe! what could she do with a
was a little defiant choke in his voice, bicycle suit? "
"Why, what for?" I thought, maybe, she could rip the seams to


208







WHERE THE CHRISTMAS-TREE GREW.


'em, an' sew 'em some way, an' get a basque cut,
or something. Don't you s'pose she could ? Earl
asked, anxiously.
"I don't know; her mother could tell," said
Maud.
"Well, I '11 hang it on, anyhow. Maud, have n't
you anything to give her?"
"I-don't know."
Earl eyed her sharply. Is n't that muff new ?"
"Yes."
"And that ring ?"
Maud nodded. She 'd be delighted with 'em.
Oh, Maud, put 'em in "
Maud looked at him. Her pretty mouth quiv-
ered a little, some tears twinkled in her blue eyes.
I don't believe my mother would let me," fal-
tered she. "You -come with me, and I'll ask
her."
"All right," said Earl, with a tug at his sled-
rope.
He waited with his load in front of Maud's house
until she came forth radiant, lugging a big basket.
She had her last winter's red cashmere dress, a
hood, some mittens, cake and biscuit, and nice
slices of cold meat.
Mother said these would be much more suit-
able for her," said Maud, with a funny little imita-
tion of her mother's manner.
Over across the street, another girl stood at the
gate, waiting for news.
"Have they found her ? "she cried; "where are
you going with all those things ? "


Somehow, Earl's generous, romantic impulse
spread like an epidemic. This little girl soon.
came flying out with her contribution; then there
were more--quite a little procession filed finally
down the road to Jenny Brown's house.
The terrible possibilities of the case never oc-
curred to them. The idea never entered their heads
that little, innocent, trustful Jenny might never
come home to see that Christmas-tree which they
set up in her poor home.
It was with no surprise whatever that they saw,
about noon, Mr. Munroe's sleigh, containing Jenny
and her mother and Mrs. Munroe, drive up to the
door.
Afterward, they heard how a wood-cutter had
found Jenny crying, over on the east side of the
mountain, at sunset, and had taken her home with
him. He lived five miles from the village, and
was an old man, not able to walk so far that night
to tell them of her safety. His wife had been very
good to the child. About eleven o'clock, some of
the searchers had met the old man plodding.along
the mountain-road with the news.
They did not stop for this now. They shouted to
Jenny to come in, quick They pulled her with
soft violence into the room where they had been
at work. Then the child stood with her hands
clasped, staring at the Christmas-tree. All too far
away had she been searching for it. The Christ-
mas-tree grew not on the wild mountain-side, in the
lonely woods, but at home, close to warm, loving
hearts; and that was where she found it.


MORNING COMPLIMENTS.

BY SYDNEY DAYRE.


A LIGHT little zephyr came flitting,
Just breaking the morning repose.
The rose made a bow to the lily,
The lily she bowed to the rose.

And then, in a soft little whisper,
As faint as a perfume that blows:
You are brighter than I," said the lily;
You are fairer than I," said the rose.


VOL. XV.-14,


209













HOW THE YANKEES CAME TO BLACKWOOD.


BY LOUISE HERRICK.


...I rT HE country sta-
.. '\ tion of Black-
i wood might not
.1 '. r '- have seemed an
', q attractive place,
5, ; to grown-up folk,
V " J'" in the spring of
"" [865; but my broth-
er Bruce and I, Nan-
nie Burton, thought
our quarters as good
Ixl as any in Virginia.
; ,'.f /i Of course it would
i' l have been pleasanter to
I' ''' have had enough to eat
S' occasionally; but then we
.' .,could scarcely remember
1 the time when our single
pone of corn-bread had not
been cut into three as equal parts as though it
were to illustrate an example in simple fractions,-
one for each of us, Mother, Bruce, and me. And
though some appetite might be left over, corn-
bread never was.
This was the time during the war when Confed-
erate money had become so worthless that, as some
one remarked, "you went to market with your
money in a wheelbarrow, and brought some pro-
visions back in your pocket-book." However, as
we had little money and less market up here in
the Blue Ridge mountains, we were saved this
harrowing experience. In fact, Bruce and I had
no harrowing experiences. We scampered about
from morning until night on our tireless bare legs,
always hungry,- which enabled us to relish not
only our meals, but any articles of an eatable
nature that fell into our hands.
There was a tradition in the family that we once
had white loaf-sugar every day of our lives; and
I could distinctly remember the time when sor-
ghum, or long sweetening," its army name,-
was an every-day affair. All this, however, in
the spring of 1865, was a thing of the past--
only a sweet memory. Our sorghum was so low
in the barrel, that, when mother turned the spigot,
only the faintest line of black syrup responded and
dripped slowly, reluctantly, into the little brown
jug beneath.


It amuses me to look back on my old self as I
was in those days, and I think what an odd figure
I must have been in my clothes of strictly home
manufacture. My dress of homespun cotton had
been woven by an old negro woman on our
place; it was buttoned up behind, when buttoned
at all, by a row of persimmon-seeds with holes
drilled in them for eyelets. I had a hat (which at
that time I conceived to be very beautiful) of plaited
corn-shucks, just the shape of a rather deep bowl.
The shape, however, was a matter of the smallest
consequence, as it hung down my back by means
of a leather shoestring, except when mother was
pli-.6dil.n:. iTh me about my complexion. Myvery
short, very light hair hung in a frayed plait, down
my back.
Bruce's costume was, if anything, simpler than
mine. It consisted of a shirt and trousers, made in
one, of a piece of striped, bed-ticking; a row of
persimmon-seed buttons followed the curve of his
spine, and a small cap knitted of carpet-ravelings
adorned his jolly little head. We wore neither
shoes nor stockings,-my last pair of shoes, worth
two hundred dollars in Confederate money, had friz-
zled up from being left too near the kitchen fire.
The greatest excitement we had in those days
was the coming of the daily trains. I felt that my
day was very incomplete if by any chance I missed
being on the platform when the great mountain
engines came thundering up the heavy grade past
our house, and stopped at the Blackwood Station,
a few hundred yards above. Our interest was in-
creased when the trains began to bring provisions
and ammunition tip from along the railroad, to
be stored for safe-keeping in the freight .depot.
I did not know there were so many barrels of
sorghum or so many bolts of cloth in the whole
world as were packed into that depot. I think the
buttons impressed me most. It was with a sense
of bitterness and shame that I remembered the
time when I had felt proud of my persimmon-
seeds. Then came barrels and barrels of gun-
powder, and then bomb-shells. I was conscious
of my bravery when I stood by, clutching my skirts
with both hands, and saw these stores rolled up
the inclined plane of logs into the depot. The men
who brought the stores were mostly disabled Con-
federates, a gloomy, untalkative set; but one big







HOW THE YANKEES CAME TO BLACKWOOD.


fellow, in a shirt made of an old plaid shawl,
grumbled all the while he worked, and threw out
such dark hints as to the nearness and terrors of
the Yankee raiders, that a quick succession of
creeps went down to the very soles of my bare feet.
It 's nothing' but foolishness, cartin' up all this
truck here," he said. The Yankees are coming'
here as fast as they kin, and we '11 have to burn it
up to keep them from getting' it."
However, the work went steadily on until the
depot seemed likely to burst with fullness; and
then the trains came less often. A few men were
left to guard the stores ; and a misty, rainy spell
of weather drove us into the house for amuse-
ment.
I had almost forgotten to mention the house,
as it was where we were least apt to be,- and no
wonder, for a more cheerless house it were hard to
find. My father had built it before the war for a
boys' school. It faced the track, which was so
near that the windows rattled in their casements
and the.whole house quaked sympathetically with
every passing train. It also showed interest in the
freight depot, for it reared itself on its white front
pillars and stared across the track at its neighbor
planted there firm and stolid on four clumsy legs.
The kitchen was much cozier than any other part
of the house. Like most Virginia kitchens, it was
a small log-cabin at the back of the house, where
the cook lived and reigned supreme. Its low
smoke-stained rafters and uneven earthen floor
were lighted more by the great fire-place, where
a whole tree burned as a single sacrifice, than by
the small square window.
One raw, rainy afternoon in March, I drew my
stool back into one corner of the fire-place, buried
my feet in the warm, caressing ashes, and, with the
black pot-hooks hanging over my head on their
sooty bar and the fire smoldering lazily in the
opposite corner, felt myself ready for a good long
afternoon with my rag doll,- a dear creature
whose head had been re-covered and whose smile
had been renewed at Christmas for the last three
years. The last Christmas, a fine woolly wig of
tanned sheepskin had been added to her many
other charms. The only thing I would have
altered about Peggy was her profile, which, to tell
the truth, was a little disappointing. I was sitting
thinking rather sadly of this, with Peggy grasped
firmly between my knees, when the kitchen door
opened, mowing heavily inward on the earthen floor
where it had worn for itself a smooth black groove,
and Aunt Patsy, our cook, came in with her arms
full of chips from the wood-pile. My heart sunk
when I saw her, for she looked so glum that I was
sure she would tell me to g' long in de house."
To my relief, however, she took no notice of me,


but throwing her load into a corner near the fire-
place, drew an old splint-bottom chair up to the
fire. I watched her anxiously from my retired
corner and ventured at last, very cautiously:
"Is your rheumatism worse, Aunt Patsy ?"
She looked up sternly from the fire where she
had been gazing fixedly, and said:
Don' pester me, chile I 'se stedyin'."
I relapsed into silent contemplation of Peggy.
After a long silence, and without moving, Aunt
Patsy said in a deep, awe-inspiring tone:
"Nannie, did you ever see a Yankee ? "
"No-o," I said reluctantly ; Aunt Patsy so sel-
dom gave me a chance to tell her anything.
"Wull," still gazing in the fire as if she were
reading there what she said, you 're gwine to
see some mighty soon. Dey suttinly is tur'ble.
dat dey is. Folks say dey's got hoofs and horns."
Then rocking herself back and forward in her
chair, she continued, "I hear 'em coming' now"-
raising her hand in solemn adjuration I hear
de hoofs a-clatterin' "
I sat very still and listened, very much fright-
ened; but as I could hear nothing, my courage
returned. I longed to ask Aunt Patsy more about
the Yankees, but she was "studying again, and
I did not dare interrupt her. As I sat pondering
over her remarks, the door opened vehemently and
Bruce ran in, the rain dripping from a shawl he
wore over his head.
"Nannie," he shouted, "Mother says she
wants you, this minute "
I jumped up, dropping Peggy in the ashes at
my feet, and he and I ran out together, sharing
the shawl.
"What does she want, Bruce?" I asked anx-
iously.
"I don't know," he said tantalizingly; then,
wagging his head significantly, She says she
wants you."
What had I last done that was naughty? I
tried hard to conjecture. I felt a wretched pre-
monition of the gentle, grieved look with which
Mother would soon meet me. I have often won-
dered, since, how any child who so hated to be
scolded could have deserved it as often as I did.
Mother was not in her room when I entered, and
did not come in for several minutes. My heart
beat fast with a vague apprehension as I sat there
with a queer sense of guilt upon me ; the big old
clock on the mantel-piece tick-tacked; and the
green log on the andirons simmered and sent
forth a sappy froth at its ends. At last Mother
came in, looking very anxious and knitting as she
came,-her gray knitting was never out of her
hands in those days.
"Nannie," she said very gravely, "I have







HOW THE YANKEES CAME TO BLACKWOOD.


heard that the Yankees.are coming. They may,
be here before night."
Then it was n't a talking to "; it was only the
Yankees. My spirits went up many degrees.
"We must hide our things at once," she went
on; and you and Bruce must help."
We were all alert in a moment; nothing could


to the rescue; and as he was carried by his yellow
legs through the bare house, the empty halls
resounded with his squawks. We finally locked
him in an unoccupied room. He shook himself
and strutting about, uttered so loud and pompous
a gobble-gobble," that we were sure he would
attract the Yankees from miles around.


') **'" ,,.'' .,
..
_- .. f ," *'*
,-I
_, .

.. .. i_ ...-
- ^saft-^^^:;:.


~tt9


0rAt ble
*

"AUNT PATSY CAME TO THE RESCUE."


have suited our tastes or capacities better. What
a confusing scuffle it was, as we packed the little sil-
ver we had left into a bandbox and dug a grave
for it under the June apple-tree in the garden.
Then we tried to catch Don Quixote, the big tur-
key we had been saving for father's home-coming.
His great wings were so strong that he nearly
beat us to pieces when we ran him into a fence
corner and tried to catch him. Aunt Patsy came


Put him in a dark closet, and then he'll be
good," said Bruce, with the air of one who knew.
Aunt Patsy took the suggestion,; and Don
Quixote was so scared by the dark, that by the
time Bruce had shut the door and turned the
wooden button upon it, he was awed into silence.
When we went downstairs to Mother's room,
a few minutes later, we could not think what had
happened to her, she looked so queer; she told






.HOW THE YANKEES CAME TO BLACKWOOD.


us that she had put on all the clothes she had in
the world, for fear that Sheridan's raiders would
burn the house. As she had done it rather
hastily, she looked very humpy, and stuck out in
the most unexpected places. With every step she
took, she jingled noisily, as she had a bundle of
forks, which had been forgotten when the other
silver was buried, strung around her waist under
her skirt. Then we were hustled into all our
clothes, even my frizzled two-hundred-dollar shoes
were brought out and put on, and I can remember
now just how uncomfortable and stuffy I felt.
It was growing dark, and our work was over.
Mother seated herself stiffly by the fire, like the
stuffed figure that she was, and took out her knit-
ting. As the night grew,blacker, I began to feel
more serious about the coming of the Yankees.
In the afternoon, it had seemed like a big romp,
in which the grown people had consented to
share; but now dim visions of hoofed Yankees
clouded my serenity. I brought my cricket close
up to Mother's chair, and Bruce cuddled on the
other side and laid his head in her lap. The winds
were carousing in the mountains that night, wrest-
ling together until one mighty wind would over-
throw another and send it rolling down the sheer
mountain-sides to fall heavily against the house -
then came a hush, and the contest again began.
Except for this, everything was very quiet as we
three sat there, listening.
"Why, Mother," said Bruce, suddenly raising
his head from her lap; "where is your watch
gone ? "
Mother laughed, and taking up her ball of yarn,
held it to his ear.
"Oh, Nannie," he cried; "listen! It's tick-
ing !"
"Sh!" said Mother, in a mysterious whisper,
looking about her suspiciously. "I have wound
my last hank of yarn around my watch, and I
think the keenest-eared raider will never sus-
pect it."
We sat up late that night, starting if the wind
struck the house a harder blow than usual or
banged a loose shutter. We went to bed at last,
Bruce, in my trundle-bed, which groaned
mournfully as it was rolled out from under Moth-
er's high four-poster, and I in Mother's bed. To
keep our courage up, I remember, Mother lighted
the best of our precious home-made candles,- a
long coil of cloth soaked in tallow, with the lighted
end held up from the rest of the coil by means of
a pin.
The night passed quietly, and, with it, our fears.
The first thing next morning when I looked out
of the window I noticed that, in spite of the heavy
sleet which covered the bare trees with beautiful


armor, the crowd of negroes and neighbors that
had been lounging about the station and freight
depot for the last few days had greatly increased.
Even while I looked, several men straggled up in
ragged uniforms, with as much of the Federal blue
as of Confederate gray in them ; but I knew they
were our men by the hearty greeting of the crowd.
Bruce and I raced in dressing, and he beat me,
because he just touched his hair with the brush,-
mine had to be plaited. But I overtook him on his
way to the depot to find out what the news was.
There was no definite news. The people were
only hovering about with a general sense that
something would happen presently, and that they
would rather not be alone when it did happen.
At least that was the way I felt about it. The
impression of danger was increased by the vague
rumors brought from time to time by the Confed-
erate stragglers. They had become separated from
General Early's command, and assured us that
Blackwood lay in the direct line of Sheridan's raid.
The men who were guarding the stores marched
up and down before the freight depot, looking as
if they knew more than any one else, just because
General Early had told them to bring the stores
there and guard them.
The sun at last thawed. the sleet, and the cold,
raw day lost its only beauty. Somehow the fasci-
nation of lingering about the depot was stronger
than the sense of discomfort. As we stood thus,
listening to any one who took the trouble to talk,
we were suddenly silenced. A rumbling, jarring
sound shook earth and air, and quavered away,
seeming more a movement than a sound. The
whole crowd stood still. Then came a distinct
boom boom! A man who stood near me, one of
the stragglers, stopped talking and threw up his
head. And over his face came an expression I
shall never forget,-so fierce and yet so hopeless a
look. He caught my eye, and said gently:
"Fightin' over the mountain, near Waynes-
boro', I reckon."
It was very terrible to stand helplessly there, as
shock after shock of the cannon reached us,- to
know that with every boom our men were falling
so near us, and yet to gaze stupidly at the blank
mountain-side and know nothing more. After the
first surprise, there was talk among the crowd; but
Bruce and I seemed to be the only listeners. The
men all agreed that the engagement must be be-
tween our men under General Early, and General
Sheridan's army. We did not wait to hear more
than this, but ran home to tell Mother; and we
were so cowed by the sound of the battle, that we
did not venture out for a long while.
At last the cannonading became less violent, and
we found that the crowd had been steadily growing.







HOW THE YANKEES CAME TO BLACKWOOD.


7 7


I '1,)11 1
''
'9


- 'I,


.. mm.* -


I ,r -- ECG

"I SURRENDER, IF YOU PROMISE TO PROTECT THIS DOUNG LADY."


Several hundred people were huddled together,-
men, women, and children, black and white. Men
who had been hiding in the mountains crept forth,
glad of any kind of companionship, and joined
the motley group. The sound of fighting came
fainter and fainter, until at last all was quiet again.
Then there was a movement in the crowd,--some-
thing definite was being planned. Aunt Patsy ran
in and told us that the men were about to try to
get away on the empty trains, which had been
standing on the track for several days, before the
Yankees came over the mountains and caught
them. My interest was naturally aroused, and I
ran to see what was being done. Yes, the men
were working at the engines to get up the steam.
Even the guards had left their posts and were help-
ing to kindle the fires under the boilers. As I
stood looking on at the unprotected stores, a guard,


who was passing with a bucket of water in each
hand, shouted out:
Go in and help yourself, sissy; for the Yankees
will burn them."
"And all those buttons! I thought, with a
fearful. pang. Then, with -a sudden impulse of
indignation, I rushed in, filling my dress and arms
with cloth, buttons, darning-thread, anything and
everything I could reach,- wretched all the while
with a desperate sense of my lack of arms and
general storage capacity. As I was tugging at a
large bolt of cloth, I was startled by a great shout.
Loaded up to my very chin, I ran to the door and
saw that two of the trains, packed with our men,
were gliding down the track.
Was that why they were shouting?
In answer came a second mighty shout from the
hill-top.


45-'


v'I tr. V.:






HOW THE YANKEES CAME TO BLACKWOOD.


The Yankees!
It was a body of cavalry coming at a swinging
gallop down the steep, muddy incline, shooting as
they came. There was a wild panic in the crowd,
-the negroes screaming and scattering in every
direction, one huge colored woman climbing a
fence, with a twin baby under each arm.
Some of our men ran after the retreating trains,
to overtake them; while others labored frantically
to get the third train in motion. It breathed
heavily and stirred; but on came the Yankees,
c(..i':.- l n.'i; their fire on the lessening crowd.
Bullets and shouts filled the air. With a crazy
impulse I rushed out into the thick of it, still cling-
ing with desperation to my booty. The Yankees
were upon us now, shooting or capturing as their
tastes dictated. A bullet whizzed past my ear, and
then another. The next moment, I was lifted off
my feet and placed in the shelter of the depot.
"Stay there! roared my protector. At that
instant, a man in blue galloped up and demanded
the surrender of my friend.
"I surrender, if you promise to protect this
young lady." With the bullets singing about me,
I felt my heart, under its load of dry goods, swell
with pride when I heard myself called a young lady
for the first time in my life.
From.my shelter I could see all that was going
on. I can see it now. The train is well under way,
and slides down the track. Our men pack in, pile
in, and cling to the platforms. The Yankees
shout wild orders, gallop abreast of the train, now
quickly gathering headway, and pour a steady fire
into the windows. Again I hear the hollow ring
of theirhoof-beats upon the wooden platform, and
the crash of the splintering glass as it falls in. A
cry from the train, now and again, records a tell-
ing shot. On, on they go,--a mad race! The
Yankees, standing in their stirrups, pour a fierce
fire in upon our men. The whole body sweeps on.
The plunging, galloping horses answer to their








Si,

i ~jeA


spurs. Past our house, down the track, on-when
suddenly the whole body of horse bring up upon
their haunches. A culvert! With a derisive yell
from our men, the train sweeps around the grace-
ful curve, and is gone !
There is nothing left for the blue-coats but to
ride back. Their prisoners have already been
marched off by a detachment of their men.
We were huddled together in the front hall ex-
pecting to receive some of their wrath when, sud-
denly, there came an awful roar and crack. The
freight depot was in flames Crash after crash
split the air, as the fire reached the bombs which
had been stored there, and they exploded and
were thrown up and out in all directions. Mother
seized us, and rushing through the hall, we fairly
rolled and tumbled down into the cellar. Even
there the frightful explosions shook us. This din
lasted in all its fury for hours and hours. It
seemed to my childish imagination like a demoni-
acal battle of unseen spirits.
At last the noise became less constant, and we
crawled out and found that most of the bombs had
gone over the house. It had escaped, by some
miraculous chance, although the front door was
burst in by a shell and every pane of glass was
shattered by the concussion. The yard, how-
ever, was riddled with them; and the bombs were
still exploding. In fact, the last bomb did not
explode until a week later.
When we found that we still had a house over
us, we were glad enough to creep back to the
cellar, where our privacy was not molested. When
we ventured out again, there was not a blue-coat
in sight. The bombs had been too indiscriminat-
ing for them, and so what we thought to be our
greatest danger proved to be our safeguard. Many
houses in the 'neighborhood were raided; but I
never saw another Yankee until a few years ago,
when I came to New-York and discovered that
they had neither hoofs nor horns.





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215



















































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"HE BARKS EVERY TIME I TRY TO TASTE IT."

COPIED BY PERMISSION OF MESSRS. BOUSSOD, VALADON & CO., PARIS.


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THE PEASANT KING.


BY R. K. MUNKITTRICK.


/-NE day a certain
Asking grew weary
of the luxurious life
i he was leading, for
one by one his
every pleasure be-
came monotonous,
and at last he knew
Snot what to do to
make his life endur-
able.
So he concluded
'--- that a sure way out
of the trouble would
be to find out how
other kings had lived before him, and to ascertain
what they did to gain happiness and peace of mind.
Accordingly, he ordered a courtier to collect all the
books concerning kings, both in history and fiction,
and to read them aloud to him that he might col-
lect useful information on the subject.
The courtier gathered a great number of these
books and read them aloud to the King, who
still seemed to be at a loss for information regard-
ing the details of royal happiness. When the
King had about given up in despair, the courtier
came to an Eastern story of a ruler who had found
happiness by changing places with a peasant.
That will do," said the King to the courtier;
"I have tried almost every other plan to be
happy, but without success. I shall now try to
find some peasant in my realm who would like to
be King. In all my travels I have noticed how
contented the peasants are. They seem to lack no
requirement of earthly happiness; they are always
singing, even at their work, and I would give
anything to be as happy as a peasant."
As the courtier attempted to go on with the
story, the King held his hand up for him to stop.
"Close the book," said he; "I shall follow the
example of the king in the story. There may be
a peasant in my realm who thinks true happiness
comes to those in power, and who could be induced
to exchange his position in life for mine."
The courtier protested against such an experi-
ment, until he thought the safety of his head was
involved and then desisted.
On the following day, the King started out be-
hind four white horses, in his best purple and


golden crown, to exchange places with the happiest
man he could find.
On an almost deserted road, he espied a little
cabin under some large trees that almost screened
it from view. As the carriage drew nearer, the
King saw the occupant of the cabin digging in a
patch. He seemed as happy as the birds that were
singing on every limb; and he himself sung, while
he pushed the spade into the ground and turned
up the soft earth.
When the carriage stopped, the man dropped his
spade, and came to the fence to see what was
wanted.
The King stepped down and asked him some
questions regarding the prospect of good crops in
the country, and then said:
I should be very well contented if I were as
happy as you are."
"And I," replied the peasant, "should be very
happy if I were a king."
"You are one," replied the King, as he threw
his robes about the man's shoulders, and placed
the golden crown upon his head. "That is your
carriage, and these are your servants, who will bear
witness that we have changed places, and that I
am the peasant."
The joy of the new-made king knew no bounds.
He sat up in the carriage, with all the dignity of
an old king. In his heart he fancied that he must
be dreaming, and pinched his arms, and asked his
attendants to stick pins in him that he might be
sure he was awake. He thought of his great power
with absolute glee, and felt supremely happy in the
knowledge that he could make the country go to
war, and cut off the heads of people who in any way
displeased him. What puzzled him most was the
fact that he had ever been happy before, and he
was at a loss to understand it.
"Whip up the horses," he said; "I wish to
reach the palace before sundown."
But, in reality, he feared that the old king might
have changed his mind, and might be running
along the road to overtake them.
When he reached the palace, there was little
excitement, as all the inmates knew they were to
have a new king, having been informed of the
nature of the old king's mission in the morning.
That night he made up his mind to have a grand
banquet, such as a king should have. So he ate






THE PEASANT KING.


a most inordinate quantity of the richest dishes he
could think of, and he did not stop until almost
midnight, when he retired.
He was awakened several times before morning
with nightmare, and passed so miserable a night,
that he was tired and sleepy when it was time to


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arise for the day. While he was a peasant and
i. ,,- i













But this did not trouble him much. He con-A






royal banquets, and that would be the end of sleep-
less nights. No sooner had he disposed of this
trouble, than it occurred to him that he had heard
trouble, than it occurred to him that he had heard


that it was a common thing for kings to have their
food poisoned. Perhaps his food had been insuffi-
ciently poisoned the night before. In that case the
servants would-make sure to put enough in his
coffee to kill him at breakfast.
This was a terrible reflection, and it harrowed
the King's feelings in a way
-- _. that they had never been har-
rowed before. But he went
to his breakfast, determining
that he would not touch the
coffee. Then he concluded
that they might deceive him
by putting the poison where
S he would least suspect it,
S.''. When he was a peasant, he
'' never knew such fear as this.
He finished his breakfast in
.great alarm. His agitation
Shad been so great that it gave
'him a worried, pale look.
"s your majesty well?"
S asked one of the courtiers.
Si" Why ?" said the King.
-, Your majesty certainly

courtier.
.. Then the King was satisfied
That he was poisoned. So he
threw himself upon a lounge,
Clasped his hands to his fore-
S head, declared he had been
I--. I poisoned, and ordered all the
S- 1 servants to be beheaded if he
should die.
Shortly after, he was satis-
fied that nothing serious was
S- the matter, and he went out
Sin the garden to take a breath
of fresh air. He had n't pro-
ceeded far, when he noticed
S some one following him. His
follower was between him and
the palace, and he could do
nothing but depend upon
___ himself in case of an attack.
D PLACED THE GOLDEN No matter where he walked,
this man followed him, so he
sat down to see if the straggler


would venture nearer. But the man did not; he
stood still and watched.
The King thought that he could never be at-
tacked if he allowed his prospective assailant to
know that he was watched. So he shouted for help,
and in an instant a dozen servants were at his side.
"That man yonder is following me to kill me "
he cried, pointing at the man, who stood near.






THE PEASANT KING.


. "No, your majesty, he is not," replied the
spokesman of the servants. He is the man .who
follows you as a guard, to prevent others from
killing or molesting you."
"Is it then so common a thing for kings to be
killed in this way, that it is necessary to have a
constant guard."
His servants assured him that such was the case.
This disturbed his peace of mind to such an ex-
tent, that he began immediately to q' I:.., rh.-


absolute happiness of being a king.
When he returned to the
palace, there were hundreds of -
people waiting to see him, on -
all kinds of business,- people : =-" =..
to have petitions signed, min- --
isters with schemes of every
description, so that the King's .- /..
head spun, and he did n't have 'r !
time to think.
After he had been a king two
weeks, he was so completely undone, physically
and mentally, that he regretted the day he had
given up his hovel for a palace.
"Perhaps the old king," he thought, is as tired
of my lowly habitation as I am of his crown. I shall
go and see if he will exchange places with me." So
the King put on his finest robe and his crown, as
the old king had previously done, and drove away
in his grandest carriage.

As soon as the old king had placed his crown on
the head of the peasant, and had seen him vanish
in the distance, he went out where the peasant hac
been digging, and continued the work. After he
had worked half an hour, all the rheumatic pains,
of which he could n't rid himself as asking, departed.
And he sang as merrily as the birds in the
trees, and felt happier every minute. At
dinner he had such an appetite that he en-
joyed every morsel in a way that he had -
never done during his entire reign.
That night he slept as he had never been
able to sleep while burdened with the affairs
of his country. He did n't toss about at all, "-
and he did not wake up until the sun was
high. Then he hurried down and had his break-
fast while the birds hopped about the door, or sung
in the rose-bush by the window.
I am as happy as a king is supposed to be," he
cried, "and I should be happy to know that the
present king, poor fellow, would ever be as con-
tented as I am now."
And the old king worked on in perfect content-
ment for days, feeling safe from the conspiracies
of enemies, and on the best of terms with his own
conscience, so that he was indeed a happy man.


I A
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"* -*" '*


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THE PEASANT KING IN HIS OLD AGE OFFERS HIS CROWN TO
EVERY PASSER-BY.


2I9






THE PEASANT KING.


The garden was progressing finely; and the new
occupant grew happier every day, and saw nothing
but sunshine. This continual flow of happiness
was never disturbed until one night when the
king peasant had a terrible nightmare. He awoke
fearfully agitated and in a cold perspiration -
He had dreamed that he was a king again!
He hastily arose and lighted a candle to take a
look at the surroundings, to make sure that he was
not in a palace and was not a king. He was
afraid to go to sleep for fear the dream might be
repeated.
That very day, when he was working and singing
in the garden, he saw a great dust down the road;
and in a few moments, the carriage of the King
stopped at the gate.
How is the garden getting on ? said the new
king.
"Splendidly."
"Would you not like to give me my hovel
back in exchange for your palace and crown ? "
I could not think of it!" said the old king.
" You must go to some one who has never been a
king, if you want to make such an exchange. If
you go on a iull' farther down the road, you may
find some man who would be glad to wear a
crown."
So the new king drove down the road, and asked


the first laborer he met, if he would like to be a
king.
No," replied the laborer; I was a king for a
few days, and that was enough for me; I traded off
my crown for this shovel and pickax, because the
king who had given it to me for a small hut refused
to trade back."
The King rode on; and much to his surprise,
every man he met refused the unhappy monarch's
offer to make him a king, each one stating as his
reason that he had already been a king for a greater
or less period.
It seems that every man in the kingdom had
worn the crown at one time or another, and that
the King, who was trying to exchange places with
the humblest being in the realm, was simply the
last man in the land to get it.
Thus it was that the nation was filled with people
who found the greatest happiness in the humblest
spheres of life, and learned to be contented with-
out nursing an ambition to be great or powerful.
The Peasant King had to rule all his life, for no
one would exchange with him. And when he was
bent and tottering with age, he would go to the
bridge that commanded the main avenue of his
domain, with an umbrella held over him to keep
off the sun and rain, and persistently offerhis crown
to every passer-by. But no one would accept it!


A SYMPATHETIC READER.


BY A. R. WELLS.


OLD Mr. Solomon Reeder has a philosophic mind,
Which is to reading newspapers most wondrously inclined.
"They broaden one's intelligence," he says, with conscious pride,
"And bring us into sympathy with all the world outside;
And make us feel the universal brotherhood of man,
Which knits America to Greece and Chili to Japan."
So every evening after tea he sends "the brats to bed,
That in philosophic silence the paper may be read;
And lonely Mrs. Reeder, as she mutely knits, can see
His every feature glowing with a v. ii. in r. :, i. ip:l i..
Until, at half-past ten o'clock, he lays the paper by,
With universal brotherhood a-glimmering in his eye.


220









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I ii x II *.,i.IIi ''
.7.Ii lll ta111


WHEN GRANDPAPA WAS A BABY.


THE LETTER CAKE.
(A Tiny Christmas Tale.)

BY SOPHIE MAY.


BETTY is deaf and I am blind. Betty is my
maid, and we live on the river-bank in a white
house they say it is white and are as happy
together as two bees in a rose.
There is this difference between Betty and me:
I know I am blind, but she does n't know she is
deaf. I have to ring a very large bell, and half
the time she does n't hear it; and once when it
thundered, she said: Did you speak, ma'am ? "
I pity Betty, and would n't for the world have
her know how deaf she is.
My name is Mrs. Polly Pope; but I am "Aunt


Polly to all the good children in town. Perhaps
the one I hold closest and kiss oftenest is little
Lena Paul. I knit worsted stockings for half the
village, but for Lena I knit nothing but silk. She
is very dear and sweet, and has set me in her
prayers, all of her own accord. Her mother says
that sometimes after her little head is on the pil-
low, she exclaims: O, I fe-got to bless Aunt
Polly "
Then she springs out of bed, kneels down again,
and says : "Please bless Aunt Polly--knits my
stockings- can't see."


221






THE LETTER CAKE.


God has always blessed me, and surely He
always will, when a loving child is asking Him.
One day -it was the day before Christmas -
Lena came to my house just as Betty and I were
starting for the chapel with a basket of clothes for
the poor children. I did not quite like to take
her with us, for she is as frisky, as a squirrel and
chatters quite as much; but go she would.
When we arrived she wanted all the little
frocks, hoods and petticoats, and everything else
she saw. Mrs. Hay called the poor children to the
platform to get some shoes and Lena whispered:
"Iwant a pair of shoes, Aunt Polly."
Fie said I, you don't need them any more
than a fly needs a pair of spectacles."
"My shoes is all wored-ed," said she. We
were glad to get her home, Betty and I. She
took my hand and prattled to me all the way.
Lena is only three years old, and she was un-
commonly full of mischief that day.
"What will I do for a pudding?" said Betty,
after we had been at home about five minutes.
" I had mixed one, ready to bake, and the baby
has thrown it into the ash-barrel."
Little rogue She set the water running in the
kitchen, and I had to go out and stop it, for Betty
did n't hear. And soon Betty was saying:
"Naughty Lena, to pull the needles out of
Aunt Polly's knitting-work, when poor Auntie
can't see."
I brought out the colored picture-books, and
then Lena was happy for a few minutes.
I know every letter there is in this world she
declared; and she began to read some surprising
stories aloud to me, in a little, high, squealing
tone : 'Once there was a little boy and the wind
blowed him, and bime-by it blowed his hair right
off.' Once there was a wee, wee girlie and she had
thou-sands dollies. Could n't hear and could n't
see. Cow came, ate 'em all up.'"
There, now, guess I '11 go out see Betty."
She shut the door behind her so softly that I
suspected mischief. So I went out and told Betty
to give the child some soapsuds and let her blow
bubbles, for I wanted to keep her a good while -
I knew her mother was busy.
"Yes, ma'am," said Betty.
I went back to the parlor, expecting soon to
hear Lena screaming with delight over the bubbles.
But Betty made such a clatter, beating eggs for a
fresh pudding and slamming the oven door, that
Lena's little voice was quite drowned.
"Betty is a noisy woman," thought I. A whole
hour passed, and I did not hear a sound from
Lena. I rang the bell twice for Betty, and asked
what the child was doing. "I thought she was
with you, ma'am," replied Betty.


"With me!" I cried.. "Why, I thought she
was in the kitchen, blowing bubbles."
"Pebbles ?" says Betty. There's no pebbles
in the house, ma'am,-nothing but fine white
sand."
It seemed not a word about bubbles had ever
reached Betty's ears. She had been busy every
minute, and had not thought of the child. Dinner
was ready, now; but I would not sit down till we
had found Lena.
"She must be upstairs," I said.
Betty thought not. Don't you remember
I was in your chamber, ma'am, half an hour
ago, to get you a spool of silk out of your ivory
box, and would n't I have seen her, if she had
been there ?"
"Never mind, Betty. You go again, and I '11
go with you." We went from room to room up-
stairs, calling "Lena!" but no answer came.
Then we searched the attic in every corner, then
the cellar -no Lena was to be found. She could
not have left the house, for we keep every door
locked and bolted. She could not have gone out,
unless somebody from outside had picked a lock
and come in and stolen her That was n't at all
likely. Somebody might have done it while poor,
deaf Betty was down cellar getting potatoes. I
knew this was not so ; still where was the child ?
We hunted the house over and over, till I was
ready to drop; and then I had to send for Mrs.
Paul, and ask what was to be done. She came in,
quite out of breath and sadly frightened, with a
policeman close at her heels. The policeman in-
sisted on searching the house again. This would
make the sixth time; but Betty said not a word,
nor did I; we merely followed him.
"I suppose you've looked in all the closets?"
said he.
In .every one but mine," I answered; "that is
always locked, and she can't have got in there; but
here 's the key, if you like here in my pocket."
He took the key, opened the door and there,
if you '11 believe it, was that missing baby curled up
on a shelf, sound asleep She must have slipped
in when Betty went up after the silk, and Betty had
locked the door upon her without knowing it. You
may fancy how the child was hugged and kissed,
and how her mother cried over her.
"I speaked to Betty. two times," said Lena;
"but she did n't let me out, and did n't let me
out!"
After dinner, when everybody was gone, and I
had taken my nap, Betty came into the parlor,
and I knew by the way she cleared her throat that
she had something to say.
"There 's new coal on in the range, ma'am,
and if you don't object, where 's the harm in just


222







THE LETTER CAKE.


making a Christmas cake for the baby, seeing as I
shut her up, and scared folks so? "
"Not the least harm, Betty. Only be sure you
stuff it as full as it will hold with raisins and citron
and currants and everything nice."
Betty laughed at that. I knew the cake would
be a wonder, and so it was. The very odor of it
put me in high spirits at once.
And now, ma'am, I'm thinking," added
Betty, clearing her throat again, would it do to
frost it ?
Frost it as white as the driven snow, Betty.
And trace her name on the top with little red
candy drops."


Betty was in raptures; but I might have known
she could n't spell. When she brought the cake
to me with great pride, I ran my fingers over the
name, and found it was L-E-A-N-E-R.
"Beautiful," said I, and did n't tell her there
were too many letters in it. I dare say she
thought the darling deserved them all and a dozen
more. Lena was overjoyed with the cake. It
outshone for her the costliest gifts on the Christ-
mas-tree, they said. Dear baby That night she
added to her prayers another "blessing," which
warmed Betty Fay's old heart through and through:
Please bless Betty can't hear made me a
boo-ful Kismas fwosted letter-cake "


WHAT DID THE BUTCHER BOY SAY?

BY JULIAN RALPH.


SIx or eight pigeons were resting and sunning
themselves one morning on the corner of the barn
across the street from my house in Brooklyn. The
pigeons and the barn belong to a rich gentleman,
who leaves them in charge of a gardener, a very
faithful man and known to be the relentless foe
of the enterprising boys of the neighborhood, who
can not always resist their desire to cross the fence
that incloses this man's great garden, with its fruit
trees, flowers, and household pets.
As the pigeons sunned themselves,. a butcher
boy came along, on my side of the street, lugging
a heavy market-basket. He saw the pigeons, and
stopped and put down hisburden. Hetookfromone
of his pockets a bean-shooter, loaded its leather
pouch with a tiny stone, took aim at the pigeons,
drew the elastic as far as it would stretch, and let
fly. All the pigeons spread their wings, and all
but one rose high in the air in rapid flight. That
one fell fluttering head foremost to the ground.
Up to this point the only fact remarkable was,
that the boy should have succeeded in hitting one
of the pigeons. But, after that, everything that
followed was astonishing. In the first place, the
boy did not run; instead, he picked up his basket,
crossed the street, and rattled on the gate until the


gardener came. Could it have been that he did
not know how faithful the gardener was, and how
likely he would be to fly into a passion and beat the
offender, or call the police ?
The boy said something to the gardener, and the
gardener went away leaving the boy standing at
the gate. Presently he returned with the limp,
soft body of the poor pigeon in his hand. He
stroked the dead bird fondly a moment. Then he
handed it to the boy, who threw it into the basket
and went.away whistling.
Now I want to know what the boy said to the
gardener. I have tried again and again to imagine
what he could have said that caused the gardener
to act as he did. I could ask the gardener, and
perhaps I shall have to do so; but, first, I propose
to ask the ST. NICHOLAS boys and girls who read
this to guess what he said. Many solutions will
suggest themselves, and I wish to ask as many of
the readers of ST. NICHOLAS as hit upon any wise
explanation to send it to the editor for the Letter-
Box. It seems to me that some strange and per-
haps hidden principle of human nature may thus
be laid bare. It will be all the more interesting
to ask the gardener later on exactly what the
butcher boy said.
























^ '


BY W. R. HAMILTON, LIEUT., U. S. A.


SOME years ago I was
Son duty, as Professor
of Military Science and
Tactics, at one of the
best and most noted of
l, our Western universi-
ties. The first year of
my stay there was full
of uphill work ; but in
the second year the
good results that I knew
must come from the
thorough administra-
tion of my department
appeared in numbers.
The Cadet Corps,
which on my arrival
7/l/ numbered eighty boys,
had increased to over
two hundred young stu-
dents, who proved them
Shelves, under proper
teaching, capable of do-
S ing the finest kind of
military work. The
S regular drill, as a gym-
nastic exercise, devel-
oped the muscles and
maintained their health;
it gave them a graceful
address and easy carriage; while the military habits
of promptness, neatness, and instant obedience to
orders, and respect for all superior authority, turned
in a useful direction the animal spirits which usually
show themselves in the innumerable foolish pranks
to which college boys are given. The Cadets'


neat uniforms and soldierly appearance seemed to
fill the hearts of the young lady students with a
gnawing envy, at the same time that their eyes
gazed in veiled admiration at the wearers of the
brass buttons.
The college was one attended by both young
men and young women, and no difference was
made. in favor of either in any department, except-
ing in mine. As a rule, the girls equaled and
often excelled the boys in their studies and in the
practical work of the laboratory. But in the mili-
tary department the boys ruled supreme and,
when beaten by the girls in other directions, often
taunted them with such remarks as, Why don't
you join the military department? or Perhaps
you can drill as well as you study! The ex-
ultant soldiers little thought that their words,
like good seed, might fall on soil only too ready
to receive it, and in time bring forth fruit little to
their taste.
One day after drill was over, several young la-
dies of the senior and junior classes came to me as
I was leaving the hall, and one of them said:
"Lieutenant, if you have a few moments to
spare, we should like to talk to you."
Certainly," I replied, and led the way into my
office. After we were seated, the young lady who
had addressed me first, and who had evidently
been delegated by her companions for that duty,
spoke again:
Lieutenant, we girls want to have a military
company."
"Well," I replied, after a second or two of sur-
prise, do you wish to form a broom brigade ? "
No, indeed! she answered indignantly; we
want a real military company just like the boys',






GIRLS' MILITARY COMPANY.


and we resolved to ask you to help us and drill
us."'
"Are you really in earnest, young ladies?" I
inquired.


saying that I would take the matter into consider-
ation and would give them my answer the next day.
Upon reaching home, I related the conversation
to my wife, and spoke of the project in a jesting
way; but, much to my surprise, she, instead of
laughing at it, replied:
"Well, I see no reason why you should not
do what they wish. I have often heard you say
that the 'setting-up' exercises and 'marching'
were admirable gymnastic work, and I 'm sure
they would be as good for girls as for boys."


SYes, indeed! We are, we are!" they
,replied in chorus.
"You see," continued the fair young
speaker, "we are on the same terms.
:as the boys in very department except-
ing the military, and we think we can do
as well as the Joys in that. There are
about forty girls who wish to join the
company, and ye have been talking over
the plan for sbme time. We can not
,see why we should n't try it. And we
once heard you say that you believed Ex
military drill would be a good.thing for
girls."
I saw that they were thoroughly in earnest, and "But," I answered, girls can't drill. Why,
so, not to disappoint them too abruptly, I stated their dresses prevent."
many objections to the experiment, and ended by "Oh, as for that," she replied, "it is easy
VOL. iV.-5.






A GIRLS' MILITARY COMPANY.


enough to devise a uniform which will be pretty and
no hindrance to them."
We fully discussed the suggestion; and the more
I thought of the scheme, the more I liked it.
So the next afternoon, I was ready with an answer;
and when the girls had come in, I made a little
speech to them, beginning:
Young ladies, I have thought over your plan
of organizing a girls' military company, and I be-
lieve that if you enter into it with proper spirit, it
can be carried out, and that it will please andbenefit
all of you." Here they clapped their hands. I
went on: I am willing to undertake the work,
but only upon two conditions, which must be ful-
filled on your part. The first of these is that every
one of you must bring me the written consent of
her parents or guardians for her to become a mem-
ber of ilL. company. The second is that every
member of the company must sign this paper,"
and I then read the following agreement:
We, the i :;... .J, students of the -- University, do herby
agree to join r-.: .: Ladies' Military Company of said Univer-
sity, and to continue therein for the college term ending -, x88-,
unless officially excused. And we do further agree to attend all
drills, and to abide by such rules and regulations as shall be made
for our discipline and drill, and to obey the orders given us by proper
military authority."

"Now," I continued, "if you can get thirty
young ladies to sign that paper, and to bring me
the necessary written consent, I will obtain the
Faculty's permission, and next week we can begin
work. But I wish it understood that our project
does not mean play, but faithful effort. I shall
rely upon your promises."
The girls agreed that the conditions were not
hard, and they went away, all smiling and happy.
Before the close of the following day, thirty-seven
young ladies from fifteen to twenty years old had
brought me the written consent required, and had
signed the paper; and at their meeting I laid the
matter before the Faculty that night. There was
some criticism at first, but after a full discussion of
reasons and objections, I received cordial support,
and the consent was soon obtained.
My intention was to make the drill a gymnastic
exercise for the girls. As with all students, their
daily work and lack of exercise tended to make
them round-shouldered and to give them an un-
graceful carriage.
I had often noticed how little real or lasting
benefit the so-called calisthenics brought to young
women--often, indeed, doing more harm than
good. Either the exercise is too hard at first, and
some muscles are overworked and others neglected,
or else there is not enough exercise, and little good
is done. Often the loose dress worn is removed as
soon as the exercise is over, and a tight dress put


on again. I believed that a system of military
gymnastics, properly applied, would remedy all
these: defects.
I allowed two or three days to pass by before I
called a meeting of the girls. Then I told them the
programme of work. First of all the uniform was.
to be procured, and with-the assistance of my wife
the following dress was designed: a kilt-skirt made
full and short, reaching below the tops of the boots;
a blouse-waist with a wide, open sailor collar; skirt
and waist of navy-blue cloth, stitched with gold
thread, and waist trimmed with brass military
buttons; a large necktie, tied sailor fashion; a na-
val officer's cap, with a gold cord and laurel-wreath.
The boots were broad-soled, with low heels. No.
garment was to be tight about the body, corsets
were forbidden, and all clothing was to.be sus-
pended from the shoulders. The belt around the
waist was of broad white canvas, with a pretty brass
clasp,
After the uniform was decided upon, the first
regulation I made was that it should be worn from
the time of going to morning prayer until after
drill-hour in the afternoon. All the members of
the company were delighted with the uniform.
They ordered cloth by the bale, and held two or
three "sewing-bees" with their mothers and sis-
ters. I had the caps and belts made to order by
a military furnisher, who also supplied the brass
buttons; and in three weeks the company was.
equipped. The cost of each uniform was about
seventeen dollars.
The uniform was so becoming to all, and so
comfortable, that the young ladies seemed to be
proud of it, and they soon began to wear it even
at the reception given by the college societies.
There were forty-three girls in the (company by
this time; and, taken together, I never saw
healthier and prettier young women than these
same forty-three at the end of three months' drill
I held the drill every day but Stnday, at first
for a half hour only, but soon increasing the time to
an hour. For the first month spectators were rigor-
ously excluded. The boys *, -i .: "--'r, curious to
know how well the girls could '.1 I L.'ut they were
compelled to wait for the public exhibition.
The exercises first taught were the "setting-up"
drills as used in the United States kArmy; then fol-
lowed the various marchinggs" 'salutes," and
"facings." I found that the girls seemed to show
better natural capacity for the drillthan the boys.
This was perhaps due to a keener seivhe' of time and
cadence, and a greater liking for symmetry and har-
mony. Certain it is, I have never sedn wheelings
and alignments so well executed by \boys as by
those girls after three months' drilling. \ I exhorted
them to practice the "setting-up" exercises for at


Ii







A GIRLS' MILITARY COMPANY.


least fifteen minutes every morning and night,
after rising and before retiring; and I think the
good results obtained were largely due to this habit.
After the first month of drill, I advised the elec-
tion of a captain, a lieutenant, a first sergeant, two
duty sergeants, a color-sergeant, and four corporals.
The sergeants and corporals wore the regular gold
chevron on the arm, indicating their rank; and
the captain and lieutenant wore the gold bars upon


THE EXHIBIT


their collars, and also carried trim small swords
made expressly for them. After a while, I gave
the company sticks, or wands; but these were not
military enough to satisfy them. As the boys'
rifles would have been too heavy, I had wooden
muskets made of the same size as the rifles, but
only four and a half pounds in weight. Then I
taught the company the manual of arms; and in
this, also, they excelled the boys.
At the close of the term, the girls gave an ex-
hibition drill. Then the boys were invited to wit-
ness the drill; and as there was much curiosity to
see what the girl-soldiers could do, the hall where
the drill took place was crowded.
To say that the boys were surprised is putting it


very mildly. They had absolutely nothing to say,
except to admit the perfection of the drill. And
it is not surprising, for I never saw prettier drilling
in my life, more beautiful marching, nor more ac-
curate execution of the manual of arms. The girls
were encored time and time again, until the pretty
senior who was captain, blushing with pride, was
compelled to say to the applauding spectators that
the company was too tired to repeat the evolutions.






AJ ,





1 i i,


IIJ
,. 7Z ,
























a will, and to such purpose that during the year
they added lasting honors to their Alma Mater by
taking first prize in artillery and second in infantry,
I-i,,--- !'






















at the greatest drill since the war, in competition
with the crack militia organizations from all over
the country.
But to me the greatest pleasure was the success of
the girls' experiment, and many and hearty were
the thanks and congratulations I received from the
fathers and mothers of the girls, and from the girls
themselves, for bringing the healthy color to their
(I'
























cheeks and the clear look to their eyes And how
those girls would walk! Straight, and dignified,


227






* A GIRLS' MILITARY COMPANY.


and graceful as young queens it was a pleasure
to see them move. The newspapers which at the
beginning had made fun of the experiment, with
jesting allusions to the "future Grants and "Sher-
mans to come from the gentler sex," now com-
pletely changed their tone and praised the system,-
some even claiming they had always advocated it.
They had learned to give prompt, implicit obedi-
ence to orders from all proper authority, to com-
bine courtesy and firmness in speech with decision
and quickness in action. During the drill-hour


they were as military in their behavior as the regu-
lar army, scrupulously saluting and addressing one
another by the proper military titles. The girls,
too, had learned other lessons as valuable as any
they had taught.
The next term the company continued and it
recruited many new members; and it was gratify-
ing to hear these exclaim, a few weeks after being
mustered in, that the old aches and pains had ceased
to exist. And during that term we got up a famous
exhibition drill, to raise funds to furnish an armory.


HOUSEKEEPING SONGS.


No. I.


Words by MARY J. JACQUES. Music by THERESA M. HOLMES.
( Con anina.


d'm. -..........- ----..--------..........







x888.] HOUSEKEEPING SONGS. NO I. 229


cresc ................... ...............
S --

jin gle and rhyme; Buck ets and scour ing sand, pol ish and rags,



---------------- -- -- --. .- -- ..... ..................................... .........







Woe to the house-maid that loi-ters and lags! Hey-did dle ho! Ho did-ale hey!




-- -- -- --- -------.-- --- -- -. f--


Ped. *
II. III.
Hey-diddle, ho-diddle, silver and brass, Hey-diddle, ho-diddle, Betty's scoured floor,
Rubbed till they shine like a new looking-glass; White as the foam on the sandy sea-shore;
Andirons, candlesticks, shovels and tongs, Clean as a custard-pie, sweet as a pink,
Elbows and marrow-bones, sighings and songs: Is there a home like this anywhere, think?
Hey-diddle ho! Ho-diddle hey! Hey-diddle ho Ho-diddle hey !
NOTE.-This is intended for a motion song; the words suggest the appropriate action.








I' I



4 I,




'. ..





7h .-L--'.-
4.'r










FOUR FOOLISH PERSONS.


savage animals; but one day, when
she was at home, a pretty little four-
footed creature, not nearly so big as
her shoe, ran across the room, and
Nancy jumped up on a chair and
screamed. The little creature did not


ONCE a little boy named Herbert
sat down and cried on his birthday,
because he was afraid he would not
have a birthday present. And at that
very moment a beautiful horse was
going to him as fast as it could! It
was of just the right size for a little
boy, and it was said to be a very fast
horse, too; and Herbert was very
fond of riding lively horses.

ONCE there was a big girl named
Nancy. She liked to go to the Cen-
tral Park,in New York, and look at
the lions, tigers, panthers, and other


wish to harm her, and it ran and
hid itself in a hole-but Nancy
screamed, just the same, till some one
came to see who was trying to kill
her.





FOUR FOOLISH, PERSONS.


ONCE there was a little girl who had a
lovely doll and a pretty live kitten. One
day the pretty kitten lay down on the doll's
lap and took a nap. This crushed the doll's
fine new dress. Then the little girl was very i J
angry at the kitten for doing this, and she) '
would not give the poor kitten any supper.
The kitten cried, but he did not know what --
he had done. He was only a kitten.

ONE day a foolish farmer started to take
a bag of corn to the mill. As he had strong '.
arms he held the bag so very tightly that he
burst a big hole in one corner of the bag, -
and the corn began to spill out. It spilled
out slowly all the way to the mill; but the
man did not see it, and he was much puzzled. "My bag grows very light,"
he said and why do so many geese follow me ? They cackle for me to
give them some of my corn, but I can not spare any. Geese are the foolish-
est things I ever did see. Heigh-ho! It's a long way to the mill."


.,*... , 'o o .




'l'.' "

.^^. S .. M,
I,"i'1 -_ ,


,-, ,' ... -K'" -

IIi I l ,I4(d"


231







JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.


.- .... .^ I,^ ... .
.. .-.

J JACK-IN -THE -PULPII.

A HAPPY NEW YEAR to all, to-day !
Though winds are blowing and skies are gray,
And snow and icicles fill the air,
While mercury stands I '11 not say where -
And each one's thinking, Oh, dear oh, dear!
A pretty way to begin the year "

But I '11 change that if you '11 kindly wait,
For, if you please, I am '88.

I promise you sun and skies of blue
(And rain and snow-storm and tempest, too).

But it lies with you, I'll whisper here,
To make me a sad or a merry year;
For all the sunshine that's in the sky
Will not bring smiles if you choose to cry,
Nor all the rain that the clouds can hold
Will tarnish a soul that's bright as gold.
And so, whatever your score may be,
Just please remember, and don't blame me -
For once again, as I close, I 'll state
I am
Yours submissively, '88.

A hearty welcome to you, Master '88, from Jack
and the children! and our thanks likewise to Lillian
Dynevor Rice, who has sent your spirited message
to our meadow.
Now I will proceed to mention

A GOOD OLD CUSTOM.
HAVE my hearers everheard of St. Cross Hospital?
It is two and a half miles from Westminster, in
London, I am told. The other day three gentle-
men from New York walked up to it and rang
the bell of the front door. The upper half of the
door swung open, and a woman handed them
each a slice of bread and something in a horn cup


to wash it down with. This mark of attention has
been shown to every traveler who has called since
the year 1136; but, of course, not by the same
old lady,- dear me, no, for that would make her
seven hundred and fifty-one years old. Henry
of Blois, they say, left money by his will for the
express purpose of carrying out this custom. The
bread given to our modern travelers was fresh and
good; and they had a merry time over it.
By the way, who was Henry of Blois?

ANOTHER JACK.
How many of our Jack's congregation know
what a Jack-screw' is ?" writes R. P. G., of Phila-
delphia. "Everybody knows what Jack-straws'
and Jack-stones' are, but 'Jack-screws' are not
so well known, even by the grown people. There
are still other curious 'Jacks' besides boot-jacks
and Jack-o'-lanterns; perhaps some one will find
them out in trying to place this loose screw."

"CAT-BIRD" PARENTS.
LAMBERTVILLE, N. J.
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: In a bound volume of ST.- NICHOLAS
I notice an inquiry about mocking-birds poisoning their young when
caged.
That is beyond my knowledge, but I do know by sad expert-
ence that cat-birds will poison their young,- for I have vainly
tried to raise within five years over twenty baby cat-birds. The
longest time I could keep them was ten days. When they were a
few days old the mother-bird always would find them, no matter where
placed, and would bravely enter a room where two or three persons.
were sitting, and, though repeatedly driven away, invariably man-
age to give poison to the little birds. The last one I had I carried
around with me faithfully for nine days, never letting the cage
out of my hands or off my lap. The side of the cage farthest
from me was covered, so that by no possible means could Mrs.
Cat-Bird reach her baby, who was fed from my hands. The tenth
day I was invited to dine with some friends, and was reluctant
to go, fearing harm to the little one; but after much chaffing, I
finally took the bird-cage up to a third-floor back-room, closed the
wifdow-sash, shut and locked the door, taking the key with me, so
that by no possible means could harm come to the little bird. On my
return I hastened to get the cage, and as I opened the door, behold !-
poorbirdie layon hisback, stiffin death. As usual, I cried and blamed
everybody, and would not be comforted, though reminded that I had
taken with me the only key in the house which could unlock that
door. Of course every one was puzzled. At last we found some
glass on the floor under the window; then the sash was examined.
A window-pane (that was known to be cracked across) was
found broken, and sticking to the rather small hole were some
breast-feathers, showing the devoted persistence of the parent who
Should not allow her young bird to live if it must pine in a cage.
That a poisonous berry was given, I am certain; but what it was
I neverfound out, as all my "scientific subjects," as the family called
them, were carefully entombed under a hedgerow, and I foolishly
would not let the graceless medical students of my step-father hold
post-mortems over them, thinking death was bad enough for the-
poor birds, without being cut into bits. Miss TORBERT.
Ho Cat-birds what say you to this? It evi-
dently is a true account. It is hard to see one's
children raised only to be prisoners, but are you
knowing enough and bad enough to murder them
rather than allow them to live in captivity? Let
me hear from you or your friends as soon as pos-
sible.
YOU DO NOT SEE THEM ALL.
IF I were to ask the children of the Red School-
house: Who can see at night all the stars shin-







x888.] JACK-IN-TI

ing in the sky overhead ?" every little hand would go
up, and every pair of bright eyes would be quite
sure that it could see every star visible from their
part of the world; is n't it so ? would n't it?
Well, the fact is, no human eye could see them
all without the help of a telescope, or something
of that sort. I am led to make this remark be-
cause of a scrap from a scientific paper, that the
birds have brought to my pulpit. Here it is:
"According to a celebrated French astronomer, the total number
of stars visible to the average naked eye does not exceed six thou-
sand. An ordinary opera-glass will bring out twenty thousand; a
small telescope will bring out nearly two hundred thousand, and the
most powerful telescopes one hundred million."

Yet every star, never mind how long it may re-
main unknown and unnoticed, is ready to shine a
welcome to every human eye
that is helped to see it. That
strikes me pleasantly.
Some eyes, of course, can see
further than others. There
are near-sighted and far-
sighted folk, you know; and -----
some who try to see, and some
who don't try; but all need,-- -
sometimes, the aid of a good
telescope. --
The Deacon requests me
to remark, here, that our bless-
ings are like stars. Some folk
can count them more readily
than others, but one and all
seem to need considerable l
help before they can discover
any blessing that is n't of the
first magnitude.


THE PORCUPINE'S FIRST
COUSIN.

YOUR friend, Mr. John R.
Coryell, has written for you
this month an account of a
certain little animal whose fur
very often is used to make
tippets and muffs forlittle girls.
He sends, also, a picture of the tiny creature for
you to look at.
By the way, have you ever observed, my hearers,
that to the eye there is apt to be a stronger family
likeness among human-kind relations than be-
tween cousins in the rest of the animal world?
However, that is no reason why you should doubt
the fact that your furry little friend is, as Mr.
Coryell says, the porcupine's first cousin."

TELL the children, Mr.Jack,thatthere isjust this difference between
the porcupine and his first cousin: the one is a very spiny, touch-
me-not, "fretful" sort of chap, and the other is a soft, fluffy,
dainty, little bit of a fellow. No sensible person would ever
think of wearing the porcupine's coat about his neck for a "com-
forter," while it takes the coats of nearly half a million of his first
cousins to meet the demand made for them each year.
This first cousin is called the chinchilla, and has its home on the
slopes of the Andes mountains. For hundreds and hundreds of years


IE-PULPIT. 233

it has been doing the best it could to add to the comfort of its human
neighbors; for they do say that when Pizarro, the Spanish soldier,
went to Peru and stole its accumulated treasures, he found among
other things most beautiful blankets woven from the long, silky wool.
of the little chinchilla.
No doubt a blanket of such wool would be exquisitely soft and
delightfully warm; but as it would require the wool from about a
thousand chinchillas to make it, it is unlikely that we ever will give
up our sheep's-wool blankets in order to do as the Incas did.
Like its second cousin, the rabbit, the chinchilla lives in burrows
which it makes in the ground; and like still another cousin, the
prairie-dog, it sometimes shares its home with a little owl. Perhaps
the owl is an unbidden guest; but the chinchilla is too gentle and
timid a little creature to be rude to its visitor, and so the companion-
ship goes on for life.
The chinchilla is so very gentle that it requires none of the taming
customary for animals caught wild, but submits at once and, without
the least show of resistance, to the will of its captor; taking up its
home in his bosom or pocket, and eating readily from his hand. As.


r-
:-,+"- ?- -


---



,---



=-

A CItNCHILLA.

it is not much over six inches long, not including the tail, it makes a
pretty little pet; and so it is no wonder if the children of Chili and
-Peru are often seen with them clinging lovingly to their necks like
so many animated tippets.

A SOFT SPOT.

I AM informed on pretty good authority that,
near a place called Mackinaw, in Illinois, there is.
a large patch of ground-about an acre, they say
-composed of a very dry soil (so dry that it is
like the finest powder), and a strange gas that
issues from the place shatters any vessel in which
it is confined. Snow falling upon this spot, I am
told, melts instantly, however it may drift and heap,
itself on the surrounding land.
Now, my girls and boys of Illinois, have any of
you seen this queer acre -and have I been told-
the truth about it?


_~


P
.,









THE -BABES IN THE WOOD: A.GAME.


BY FRANK BELLEW.

YOU all have read the melancholy tragedy of the figures to represent the Ruffians, two to represent
"Babes in the Wood." But here is a game in the Wolves, two Babes, and two Robins. Bybend-
which a skillful player can save the Babes, and ing back the lower part of each figure, you can












S7
[J h I


make it no tragedy after all. Two or more per- make a sort of pedestal for it to stand upon, as in-
sons can easily play the game. dicated in the diagrams above.
First draw on card-board, and then cut out, two Perhaps you will criticise the Robins as being
234






THE BABES IN THE WOOD: A GAME.


ARRANGEMENT OF THE FIGURES.


rather large in proportion to the other backward, two are either taken from
figures; but you must excuse their his score, or, if he prefers, added to
size by what is sometimes called ar- that of his opponent,-or of every
tistic" license. one of his opponents, if more than
Stand the figures so that they will PO ND two are playing.
form a row at one end of a table, If the Babe or Robin falls forward,
about two inches apart, in the order it takes off only one point.
here shown. In front of them, about If the arrow falls into the saucer,
three inches from the row of figures, or pond, the player is said to be
place a saucer; and at eighteen inch- "drowned," and his entire score is
es from the saucer place a. paper- wiped out, and he must begin again.
weight or book. Each player takes three shots in
Each player now takes a strip of succession,- picking up his arrow,
stiff writing paper, about an inch wide, and shooting from the paper-weight
and rolls it up into what is commonly as at first, but leaving any of the fig-
called a spill. An ordinary steel pen ures he may have knocked over lying
slipped into the small end of a spill, where they fell until the next player's
between the folds of the paper, will turn.
make it shoot with a more accurate If he knocks a Babe or a Robin
aim. All draw lots to determine I down before he has made any score,
which shall begin. i then of course every one of his op-
The first player takes his spill j ponents scores.
(which is called his arrow) between If he is drowned before he has
his finger and thumb, and, planting made any score, then every opponent
one end on the table against the counts six.
paper-weight, presses it down, so that The player who first counts twenty
it will shut up, after the manner of a wins the game, unless one of the
telescope; then, if suddenly released, players has so far avoided knocking
it will spring off in the direction of the down either of the Babes or Robins.
row of figures. In that case the game goes on,
Now, the object of each player is and if that player can count twenty,
to knock over with his arrow one of without knocking down either of the
the Ruffians, or one of the Wolves, Babes or Robins, before any one of
and to avoid touching either the his adversaries counts thirty, then he
Babes or the Robins. is said to have saved the Babes, and
If he knocks one of the Ruffians or wins the game.
Wolves over backward, he counts two points; if it If,however, every player knocks down a Babe or a
falls forward, he only counts one. Robin, the player first making twenty of course
If he knocks either of the Babes or Robins over wins the game.






THE PAPER SPILL, OR ARROW.


235
















THE LETTER-BOX.


HOLYOKE, MASS.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Papa and I have been very much inter-
ested in the articles that came out in the August and September ST.
NICHOLAS about folding paper. By reading them carefully, we
easily found out how to make everything described, except the long
sink. We tried a good many times to make that, but did not suc-
ceed until last Thursday. We thought you would be interested to
know how we finally succeeded. Itwasin this way. First, by making
a square sink, of good paper, we found we could open and make it
again, without folding it all at once; that is, we could finish one leg
before beginning another. Then we undid the square sink, and
taking an oblong piece of paper, folded it so as to make creases like
those in the paper which had been made into a square sink. After
that was done, we made a long sink by making each leg separately.
Still, we could not easily make a long sink, because this way was
very awkward, to say the least; and so we tried to learn how to make
it by folding in the usual way. This we learned by first making the
long sink backward,- I mean, unfolding it, and in the opposite order
from that in which it should have been made. Then it was easy
enough to.make it in the usual way.
Your constant reader, WINSLOW H- .
P. S.-Papa says that the above is a very good example of the
flowers of analysis and of synthesis.
Winslow's father adds, Winslow can now make.the oblong sinks
in two ways: with the handles on the short ends, or with the handles
on the long sides "

NEW YORK.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: As soon as I received the September num-
ber I tried the paper canoe and made it after a little trouble. A great
many have tried it and nearly all have succeeded. This is my first
letter, though I have taken you for four years. You were a birthday
present to AN AMERICAN BOY.

SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA.
MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I thought as I had never written to
you before, that I would write and tell you about a very funny ex-
perience we had, last summer, on the beach beyond Fort Point. We
ate our lunch on the hills, and then took our things down to the
beach, and while Papa was reading a book, my sister and I went in
wading.. We had.no sooner gone in than a large wave came dash-
ing around us, carrying our coats, shawls, shoes and stockings,
and lunch-basket out to sea; and we were left to get home the best
way that we could. We were very much frightened, but were
thankful for our lives. Since then we have heard of two other people
who went through the same experience as ours.
I hope this letter is not too long nor uninteresting to be printed as a
warning to all other little boys and girls who visit the beach as fre-
quently as we do. Your friend and faithful reader,
E. S. B-
NEW YORK.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We are two little girls, and one little boy,
four years old. We all love ST. NICHOLAS. "Juan and Juanita"
is the best story we ever read. We love "The Brownies,"
especially the Dude. We can not write very well, so Papa writes
this for us. We wish we could have the ST. NICHOLAS every day;
it has such good stories.
We are your little friends, LULU, SOPHIE, AND JULIUS.

CHETOPA, KAN.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: How many happy hours I have spent
perusing your interesting pages!
How I have laughed till I cried at the antics of the "Brown-
ies "; mourned or rejoiced, as the case might be, over the adven-
tures of Little Lord Fauntleroy," Juan and Juanita," and others
of your heroes and heroines !
I tried to make one of those crystallized glasses," but it got
broken.
I have made many of the Nantucket Sinks," described in your
last number. I wish you long life and much happmess.
L. M-.

FORT WORTH, TEXAS.
DEAR.ST. NICHOLAS: My home is in Fort Worth, Texas. But
I spent the summer with my aunt and cousin, in Missouri; they
live in a big brick house, on a farm. My cousin and I rode horse-
back very often, and nearly every night we rode up to the pasture
after the cows. and drove them home, which I thought great fun.


I liked "Juan and Juanita" very much, and was glad they got
home all right. And I also liked "Jenny's Boarding-house"; and
the funniest of all are the Brownies."
I have taken you two years, and like you better than any magazine.
I will now say good-bye.
Your constant reader, ETTA B- .

CARTHAGE, TENN.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Some time since I wrote you a letter, and
in it I spoke of my red-bird, and said I would tell any one who would
write to me how to rear and educate a red-bird. So many have
written to me that after writing to some, I have decided to tell the
rest through you as a medium.
Get the birds when about two weeks old. A little bread moistened
with water, with occasionally a berry, is the best food. Drop a drop
or two of water from the end of your finger into their mouths after
feeding. They should be fed every two hours until old enough to
eat by themselves. After they are six weeks old a little scraped-
apple is good for them. When they can pick up their food readily,
or perhaps later, you can feed them all sorts of fruit, berries, and
many kinds of seeds. They relish plantain seed, melon seed, pepper-
grass, and a few hard-shelled beetles. They should be handled from
the first. Be tender with them, and do not scare them. You will find
them very tractable, gentle, and knowing (for birds). When you
wish them to do anything, show them through the whole perform-
ance at once, and make them do it (with your aid) before you stop.
Then repeat it at will, and they will very soon learn what you wish
them to do, and do it in such a manner that you will probably ex-
claim: "Oh, how clever After you think they are sufficiently
tame, they can be loosed in a room and even outdoors.
Your friend, JosIE c .



POCOPSON, CHESTER Co., PA.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I made some verses about da'-fairies
which Mamma said you might perhaps put in the Letter-box I
made them all myself.
"Juan and Juanita" is very nice, but I liked "Little Lord Faunt-
leroy" better.
I am eleven, and Papa calls me a Centennial baby.
TINA H. G--

WE FAIRY FOLK.

We fairy folk are happy;
We play in the sun all day,
And then at night, under curtains white,
We sleep till the sun's first ray.

Some sleep in the laps of the lilies,
And some in the wild-rose tree,
And some in the tall oak branches,
Higher than one can see.

In the day we do not slumber,
For we have work to do;
And the flowers, that grow without number,
Need our help, and the brooklet, too.

For we have to make the water run,
Which makes the mill-wheel turn;
And we have to paint the flowers
And the tiny mountain fern.

'You say you sleep at evening,
Under your curtains of white;
I thought you had your dances
When the moon was shining bright."

No! no! you mistake, little maiden,
It is not we who dance;-
We would very gladly do it,
If we only had a chance.

But, you see, we are so weary
When the night begins to fall,
We do not feel like reveling
In any greenwood hall.







THE LETTER-BOX.


ST. Louis, Mo.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I first made your acquaintance three years
ago, when I was twelve years old, and have read every number since
then, from cover to cover, except the riddles and advertisements,
with much amusement and instruction to myself. For instance, an
article in ST. NICHOLAS some years ago launched me on amateur
photography. I carefully preserve and bind each volume. I often
wonder how you manage to think of something new for every new
number to interest us boys with.
The other day my father told me about what he called "Paper-
shadows," which he used to know when a boy. They are made
with paper cut out in such a manner that if you hold them between
a bright light and a white wall, the shadows look like the figures of
animals and of men, like copies of paintings and portraits of celebrated
persons. If you know how to make them, perhaps more boys would
be glad to read description in the ST. NICHOLAS. Such paper
work would be pleasant for long winter evenings.
Last summer I went to swimming-school. I saw a great many
boys learning how to swim. Perhaps you have some useful hints to
offer us about the art of swimming and other aquatic performances.
Truly an admirer of yours, HENRY W. A- .

ARTICLES concerning both the subjects suggested by our young
correspondent have already been printed in ST. NICHOLAS. See
ST. NICHOLAS for March, 1883, "Shadow Pictures and Silhouettes,"
and also for July, 1877, "A Talk about Swimming."

VEVAY, SWITZERLAND.
MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have been away from America
fifteen months, most of the time in Germany and Switzerland.
I like ST. NICHOLAS better than anything that I have seen over
here. Myfavoritestories are Juan and Juanita," "The Brownies,"
and Little Lord Fauntleroy."
We are on Lake Geneva. Sometimes when there is a storm the
waves come over the sea-wall.
I have learned to row, and am now learning to swim.
I remain your affectionate reader, DUDLEY H--.


NEW ROCHELLE, N. Y.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I can not help telling you how beautiful
"Juan and Juanita" was. My name is Juanita in Spanish also.
While I was spending the summer with my grandmother, one day
an organ-grinder came and played on our steps, and he had a
monkey; it was great fun to watch him. My cousins would hold up
a penny, and the monkey would jump for it and put it in a little
pocket m his coat; then my cousin would put a cent in his pocket,
and the monkey would put his hand into the pocket and bring out the
cent. He was very much afraid of our dog, and he would cry just
like a human being whenever the dog came near him.
I must stop, for my letter is getting long. I am a little girl eleven
years old, and my name is JENNIE D. H-.

SALEM, MASS.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have just finished reading your Letter-
box, and I thought I would write; I wrote a letter to you once before,
but I guess it was too long to print, so I will try and not have this
one so long, because I want it printed so that "H. E." (who wrote
about Paper Canoes," on the 874th page of the September num-
ber) can see that there are three American children who can make
these little boats. It is rainy to-day, but the next pleasant day we
are going to have a boat-race in the canal with these little boats.
My letter is getting too long, so I will stop.
Remaining your delighted reader, IRENE T. S-.


WHITE SULPHUR SPRINGs, WEST VIRGINIA.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: As I have never seen a letter from White
Sulphur, I will write you one.
I have three sisters,- one is twenty-two years old, one is nine, and
the baby is five. The baby says such funny things. One day she
was speaking for one hand, and then for the other. She spoke for
her left hand, and said: "Where are you going?" Then she
spoke for her right hand and answered, To heaven." Her nurse
asked her where she learned that word. She said, In my
prayers." She is such a funny little chap.
I have taken your delightful magazine for two years, and my favorite
stories are Juan and Juanita," "Little Lord Fauntleroy," "Jen-
ny's Boarding-house," Fiddle-John's Family," and "Winning a
Commission."
I am afraid my letter is getting too long for you to print.
Your interested reader, EDWARD E. I-.
(Eleven years old.)

SAN FRANCISCO, CAL.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: The C. C. C. is the name of a cooking-
club, of which I am treasurer. This club consists of six little girls,
who meet at my house every Friday afternoon. I have a model


range, complete in every respect. Our badges are little kettles, tied
with bebi ribbon. We cook biscuit and fried potatoes, chocolate,
coffee, tea, and broiled chops. This is our usual mnu. Now, dear
ST. NICHOLAS, good-bye.
Your affectionate reader, CORALIE N. K- .


PHILADELPHIA.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I am a little girl, fourteen years old, and
have taken you for seven years, but have never written to you before.
I think my favorite stories are Little Lord Fauntleroy," and "Don-
ald and Dorothy." I am studying French and go to a French school,
andam goingto begin Latin soon. I have but one pet, a little canary,
named "Chico," after Mrs. Carlyle's bird. He is very tame, and also
cunning. His cage is at the window, and whenever he hears a car
coming he gives a little chirp. I hope this letter is not too long to
print soon. Yours devotedly, SARA T. N- .


MANSFIELD, PA.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I read in the September number Miss
Elsie S- 's letter. I think she is right about the comparison be-
tween England and America. I have often wished to see West-
minster and the Tower, also the mountains of the West, and the
" Golden California." But I think that America's greatness does not
consist in great armies, old towers, and stately buildings, but in the
good things she does,- homes for homeless children, benevolent
institutions for the unfortunate, which she has built all over the land.
I hope we shall hear some of Miss Alcott's stories soon, and hear
more of "The Dalzells of Daisydown." I like you, ST. NICHOLAS,
very, very much. Yours truly, GRACE S-- .


WESTGATE-ON-SEA, THANET.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little New Brunswick girl, living in
England. I like your magazine ever so much. I have a little bro-
ther Dentin; we liked "Juan and Juanita best of all the stories.
Mr. Stockton has made a slight mistake in his article, The Low
Countries and the Rhine." I went from England to Holland last
summer with my papa; we did not take the steamer at Harwich but
at Parkestone Quay, and Harwich is pronounced by English people
as if spelled" Harrich," not Harridge."
I think your pictures are lovely; we are going to have you bound
in volumes.
I remain, your affectionate friend, ADDLE R-.
(aged 9 years.)


GENtVE, SWITZERLAND, VILLA CLAIRMONT."
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have written you many letters, but none
havingbeen printed; I write again, thinking you will publish one from
European shores. I left America last April, and was living on Lake
Constance all summer. I am now with my three sisters at school
in Geneva, and we are learning the French language. We are
all infatuated with Geneva. We were sailing on the lake one day,
when all at once I looked up and remarked how white the clouds
were, when my friend answered, "They are not the clouds but the
three peaks of Mt. Blanc." At present the Jura and Savoyan
mountains are covered with snow, and one can hardly distinguish
them from Mt. Blanc.
Geneva itself is a lovely city, but not very lively; it has but one
theater, but none, either in New York or Philadelphia, surpasses it;
it is decorated by magnificent statues and portraits. I have been
twice to the theater; once I saw "Mignon," and the other time
saw Coquelin in two of Moliere's plays.
We study very hard at school, and every time I have a few minutes
to spare I employ them in reading my favorite ST. NICHOLAS.
We all enjoyed "Juan and Juanita" very much, and thought
"The Ivy Spray" one of the prettiest stories ST. NICHOLAS ever
published.
Your interested reader, CECELIA L-- .

KANSAS CITY, MO.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS:
As you will be fifteen years old in November,
I send you a letter (I am an old member).
I pity all children who don't see your pages,
You are charming to all; you suit all the ages.
Even Grandpa and Grandma, as they sit by the fire,
Your stories read over, your pictures admire;
And Baby, who sits at their feet on the mat,
Crows over the likeness of a dear little cat,
Which he sees in the volume of ST. NICK for March;
And all of the children, who in the fire parch
Their chestnuts so crisp, soon leave them to cool
As they look at the pictures of the Brownies at school.
ST. NICHOLAS, please put this in the Letter-box,
And thank for the Brownies good Mr. Palmer Cox,


237







THE LETTER-BOX.


And all other authors who have long helped to make
ST. NICHOLAS a treasure. But now I must take
My leave of them all, with a loving good-bye,
And hope that ST. NICHOLAS never will die.
SARAH C- (age 12 years).

FLORENCE, WILLIAMSON Co., TEXAS.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: On page 767, in the tale "Juan and Juan-
ita," the writer has made a serious mistake with regard to the
"Northers" in Texas. The "Northers" do not come in the sum-
mer times as stated, but only in the winter months. The tempera-
ture ranges high, generally for two or three days previously, and then
comes the wind which all Texans know," but do not particularly
dread. Although we would certainly not choose to have them if we
could avoid it, at the same time they are of great benefit to the State;
for were it not for these "Northers," we would generally be unable
to preserve our meats for the ensui, : .: r. -.i purify the
air, and are of great value on this -. :i i... : ...- winters are
mild.
I would also wish to state that we read with interest your various
articles on English life and scenery, and that they are always written
with general accuracy and impartiality. As I am an Englishman,
it is pleasing to be able to state this; some publications are so far
from coming up to this standard.
Yours respectfully, 0. BARNES.

LONDON.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: You are much harder on English school-
boys than are their masters. "To compose in Latin, strictly accord-
ing to the rules of versification,' is not a punishment, but an ordinary
lesson. To write lines as a punishment is a very different thing-it
means that the boy has to stay in and copy out of any book so many
lines, to be handed in at a certain time. The boys agree that it is not
a very severe punishment, and the masters think it rather a waste
of time. ELIZABETH ROBINS PENNELL.


RoxBURY, MASS.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I enjoy your stories very much, and look
forward to their coming with great interest. 1 succeeded in folding
the Nantucket sink and the boat, and have made them of all sizes
imaginable. We girls in school use the Nantucket sinks to hold
our pencil-sharpenings, which purpose it answers very well. Hop-
ing to see Mrs. Burnett's new story in the next number,
I remain, your devoted reader, MARY D. B-.


WE have received pleasant letters from the young friends whose
names follow and to whom we present our sincere thanks: Leslie
T. Webster, Norman Odgers, May S. Pierce, Jeanne, Florence E.,
Raymond and Winthrop Howard, Mary Farr, Edward B. Hyde,
Mabel P., Orlie C. Dake, Elsie L. Farr, Olive K. Roberts, Agnes J.,
Pauline Batchelder, .Mabel M., Ida N. H., Katie Kendall, Clara P.
Curtiss, Allmand McG., Alice Slosson, W. F. and H. E. Kay,
Bessie Newton, Clara C. J., Laura May Hadley, James M. F., Nell
R. E., Hortense N. Leffingwell, S. T. and A. S., Ruby E. S., Myra
Beaumaris, Harold and Cecil, Ruth Gist, Guy C. F. and Effie J. C.
Holland, Anna Eva and Ninie, Sadie F. Platt, Nellie F. P., Susie
R. and Margaret E. Pollock, Marie, Amy Beach, Maude Brown,
C. D. and M. H., Geraldine Harrison, Bertha Weber, Cora Sanford,
Florence B. Hull, Ethel H. Shook, Kathleen Ashley, Maggie Elliot,
Mary Walton, E. A. W., Florence L. C., Tamaqua, H. W., J.
Maude Durrell, Madge J. J. D., Rissie, Helen A. White, Ruby
and Birdie, George F. G., Leslie W. M., Herbert H., Annie P.
Rogers, Dell B., Maggie F., Louis A., Nora C., Annie Van P.,
Joanna Augustin, Jessie W. Kirker, Gertrude Parker, Beatrice
Dunder, B. L., Sam Davis, A. Belle Cady, E. H. Chambers, Mattie
T. J., Anna W., Ross. A. Curran, Merle M., Effie A. P., Eugenia
G. S., L. C. W., J. Coit Harris, Clara S. Well, and Kathleen.


238
















THE RIDDLE-BOX.



ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE DECEMBER NUMBER.
MYTHOLOGICAL HOUR-GLASS. Centrals, Bellreophon. Cross- NOVEL RHOMBOID. Across: I. Cowed. 2. Salem. 3. David.
words: i. Hyperborean. 2. Agamemnon. 3. Apelles. 4. Aello. 4, Milan. 5. Lemon.
5. Aea. 6. R. 7. Nox. 8. Capys. 9. Amphion. 0o. Ama- CUBE. From i to 2, Cleveland; 2 to 4, departing; i to 3, Car-
zonian. x. Polymnestor. calla; 3 to 4, asserting; 5 to 6, portrayal; 6 to 8, liberally; 5 to 7,
A MOTHER GOOSE RHYME. paternity; 7 to 8, yesterday; I to 5, creep; 2 to 6, droll; 3 to 7,
Old King Cole allay; 4 to 8, glory.
Was a merry old soul, STAR PUZZLE. From I to 2, discern; i to 3, derived; 2 to 3,
And a merry old soul was he ; nodated; 4 to 5, desired; 4 to 6. dreaded; 5 to 6, devoted.
He called for his pipe, CENTRAL ACROSTIC. Centrals, Boston Tea Party. Cross-
And he called for his bowl, words: i. saBot. 2, slOpe. 3. biSon. 4. saTin. 5. brOwn.
And he called for his fiddlers three. 6. baNjo. 7. meTre. 8. shEll. 9. frAme. o1. riPer. i.
A DOUBLE DIAMOND. Across: I. S. 2. Act. 3. Deois. 4. chAin. 12. luRid. 13. toTal. 14. roYal.
Ate. 5. I. Downward: i. D. Aea, 3. Scoti. 4. Tie. ILLUSTRATED PUZZLE. "Extend courteous greeting to every
5. S. one, whatever be his faith."
Two DOUBLE ACROSTICS. I. Primals, Christmas Night; PI. December closes on the scene,
finals, Forefather's Day. Cross-words: r. Caitiff. 2. Horatio. And what appear the months gone past ?
. .Relater. 4 Inspire. 5. Shereef. 6. Taffeta. 7. Melilot. 8. Fragments of time which once have been
Anguish. 9. Seclude. io. Nettler. zz. Intorts. 12. Grudged. Succeeding slowly, fled too fast!
13. Hosanna. 14. Tragedy. II. Primals, Christmas Gifts; finals, Their minutes, hours, and days appear
Christmas Carol. Cross-words: I. Cabalistic. 2. Hieroglyph. Viewless in that small point, year. BARTON.
3. Rencounter. 4. Illuminati: 5. Scourgings. 6. Tantamount. WORD-SQUARE. i. Valid. 2. Aside. 3. Libel. 4. Ideal. 5-
7. Mythoplasm. 8. Alexandria. 9. Searedness. 1o. Geognostic. Dells.
II. Icosandria. 12. Fabricator. 13. Tiaguanuco. 4. Seraphical. CROSS-WORD ENIGMA. Austerlitz.
To OUR PUiZLERS: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the 15th of each month, and
should be addressed to ST. NICHOLAS Riddle-box," care of THE CENTURY CO., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City.
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE OCTOBER NUMBER were received, before October 2oth, from Paul Reese Maud E. Palmer-
K. G. S.-S. R. H. and D. M. H. Nettie Fiske and Co. Effie K. Talboys Louise McClellan "Anglo-Saxon "- Rainie S.-
Maggie T. Turrill Shumway Hen and Chickens "- J. Russell Davis Willoughby J. Laret, Jr. F. W. Islip.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE OCTOBER NUMBER were received, before October 15th, from Addle and Mona Satterthwaite, 2 -
" Skipper," 2 -" Puffball," 5 H. Tardif and A. Pancoast, J. W. Gardner, Jr., i Grace Kupfer, 9- Socrates," 9 Edward
S. Hine, 5 Mary F. Kooser, i Ruth, 2 Noora-bin-Noorka," 7 Charlie Ferris, i Goosie," 3 Blithedale," to -
Susie I. Myers, i Josephine A. Sherwood, s R. V. O., 7 E. Gull, 7 Clara Ennemoser, i Kafran Emirawit, 8 S. B. S.,--
Nellie and Reggie, 9 F. Ries, 8 -Jennie S. Liebmann, 7 The Chums," 4 Tommy Traddles," i --Annie M., Susie R., and
Amey L. Bingham, 3-"Jamie and Mamma," 9 Boabalt, 3 Kate L. Oglebay, 2 Mona and Euna, 4 Percy A. R. Varian, 5 -
B. F. Muckleston, 2 "Tartie Ruin," 6 "Pussy Willow," 7 Ritta, i Sally Lunn," 7 V. P. L., 3 G. L. W., 3- "Crys-
tal," 3 Jeannie and Marian Swords, i E. H. D., I Annie and Mrs. Aleshine," 8 L. Reltop," 8 L. M. B., 5 Helen
O'Neill, 5 "Pop and I," 8 Jos. B. Sheffield, 6-" Solomon Quill," 7 F. F. V., 2 The Cottage," 7 -" May and 79," 7-
" Grandma," 5 N. L. Howes, to Fox and Geese," ro- Junket," 6.


SQUARE REMAINDERS.
BEHEAD and curtail a small shining body, a title for a lady, and
breaks, and the words remaining will form a three-letter word-square
which will read differently across and up and down. H. H. D.

MALTESE CROSS.

X 2 3 4 5
6 7 8
34 9 40
35 36 To 01 12 41 42
13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 S2
37 38 22 23 24 43 44
39 25 45
26 27 28
29 30 31 32 33
FROM x to 5, a girl's nickname; from 6 to 8, a gentle blow; 9, in
town; from no to 12, common at Christmas-time: from 13 to 21, a
city of Delaware; from 22 to 24, to request; 25, in town; from 26
to 28, a beverage from 29 to 33, to twist; from 34 to 39, the most
brilliant of the planets; from 36 to 38, a plant and its fruit; 15, in
town; i9, in town; from 41 to 43, to run away; from 40 to 45, re-
cent; from 3 to 31, a seaport town of England. "LITTLE ONE."

WORD SYNCOPATIONS.
EXAMPLE: Take to work on metal from expanding, and leave a
small rope. ANSWER, str-etch-ing.
I. Take to lessen from blunted, and leave a color. 2. Take
always from worthy of veneration, and leave to lacerate. 3. Take


a cozy place from a general pardon, and leave a girl's name.
4. Take to unite from replied, and leave a musical instrument.
5. Take roguish from an examiner, and leave a prophet. 6. Take
a market from feeling a sharp pain, and leave to carol. 7. Take a
measure of length from grasping, and leave to adhere. 8. Take
close at hand from a week, and leave transmitted. 9. Take an
exploit from frustrated, and leave an achievement. to. Take to
estimate from scolded, and leave a stratum. ii. Take to assert
from hesitating, and leave the side of an army. n2. Take torpid
from stupefying, and leave existing. 13. Take to slay from a small
kettle, and leave placed. 14. Take recent from compared critically,
and leave reserved. 15. Take within from palmiped, and leave
nourished. 16. Take an abode from uprightness, and leave a small
vessel usually rigged as a sloop.
Each of the words removed has the same number of letters.
When these are placed one below another, in the order here given,
the initial letters will spell the name of a famous statesman,
scientist, author, and inventor, who was born on January ytth,
1706. CYRIL DEANE.

DOUBLE ACROSTIC.
MY primals name a certain kind of puzzle; my finals name
riddles.
CROSS-WORDS: i. An impressive command. 2. Concealed.
3, Graduates of a college. 4. Mounting. 5. A place of refuge. 6. A
large and beautiful flower. 7. Frames for holding pictures.
"TWO STONES."

EASY BEHEADINGS.
I. BEHEAD an animal, and leave a grain. 2. Behead a dance, and
leave a fish. 3. Behead a gulf, and leave a cave. 4. Behead part
of the neck, and leave an animal. 5. Behead a useful article, and
leave a beam.
The beheaded letters will spell the name of a famous American
general. MIRANDOLINA."

39







THE RIDDLE-BOX.


.7 Y AVORD _YNCOPATIONS
SAND ItERilAINDERS..
FROM a word meaning part of a gun,
syncopate one letter, and transpose the re-
maining letters to form a wdrd meaning
S. a branch of natural history. 2. Syncopate
\" .? and transpose to consider, and leave disposed.
3. Syncopate and transpose a small metal
cap, and leave merry. 4. Syncopate and
.- transpose a number ofthings tied together,
and leave to mix. 5. Syncopate and trans-
p pose astonishment,'and leave an endowment.
'6. Syncopate and transpose a wax-light, and
leave a spear.. 7. Syncopateand transposea
kind of calcareous stone, and leave a domain.
8. Syncopate and transpose to sneer at, and
leave expense. 9.- Syncopate and transpose
gloomy, and leave a broom. To. Syncopate
and transpose a rough draught, and leave
a large box. ii. Syncopate and transpose
Sa recluse, and leave merriment.
The syncopated letters will spell the name
of a famous man,' born January ist, 1730,
S who said, He that. wrestles with us
S.strengthens our nerves and sharpens our
.skill. Our antagonist is our helper."
DYCIE.
PI.
0 DAS-VICEDO swind hatt gish'tubao ym rodo!
Ey noimu eth tealspan shour ahttera on remo;
Eht terden sagcer fo eth shedivan gripsn,
Eth lustry droplens fo glon rummes sayd,
Eht gonss fo sbrid, dan tremsletas grimurnum,
Dan raf shill mildy sene troughh lerpup heaz.
INVERTED PYRAMID.
ACROSS: I. A dependent. 2. A follower of Noetius. 3. Far-
inaceous.. 4. Subtile. 5. In pry.
DOWNWARD: 'I. In pry. 2. Half an em. 3. In French, a
name. 4. Dioceses. 5. A country. 6. Unctuous. 7. No. 8. A
prefix. 9. In pry. SIDNEY J.
GEOGRAPHICAL BEHEADINGS.
I. BEHEAD a town of Russian Toorkistan, and leave a jewel. 2.
Behead a town of British Burmah, and leave a city of Italy. 3. Be-
head an isthmus near the Malay Peninsula, and leave uncooked. 4.
Behead a cape of Australia, and leave to be in debt. 5. Behead a
river of West Australia, and leave pale. 6. Behead an island in the
Malay Archipelago, and leave a city of India., 7. Behead a town of
British India, and leave a girl's name. 8. Behead a fortified town
of Spain, and leave a girl's name. 9. Behead a large river of Europe,
and leave a stone used for sharpening instruments.
"LITTLE ONE."
CHARADE.
Two vehicles in one by an article united
Making a conveyance once used in lands benighted ;
That which joins these two, is in each one contained;
The whole has therefore three, as need not be explained.
My first is what Americans have chosen as the word
To signify what Englishmen prefer to call my third.
Each came later than the whole, for they were not invented
When mankind, with the whole, were forced to be contented.
My second is the first thing that's used in preparation,
In giving little learners an English education.

FINAL ACROSTIC.
EACH ofthe words described contains the same number of letters.
When these have been rightly guessed and arranged one below the


..-Eh-r l,.:.-,gh r.:-T. r. itre order here given), the final letters will give
Lihi rn.u, e. r.ar, .I ahom it has been said: "Grand, gloomy, and
peculiar, he sat upon the throne, a sceptered hermit, wrapped in the
solitude of his own originality."
CROSS-WORDS: i. The abode of bliss. 2. A cavern. 3. To
catch. 4. To abrade. 5. A vegetable. 6. A tropical fruit. 7.
A little towel. 8. A large country. LUCY LEE BROOKS.

COMBINATION STAR.


4



x


t


2 3


STAR. From I to 2, distrusted; from I to 3, feared; from 2
to 3, fondled; from 4 to 5, a variety of the domestic pigeons;
from 4 to 6, writs granted by public authority, conveying exclu-
sive right to use some new device; from 5 to 6, -encumbers.
ENCLOSED DIAMOND : I. In date. 2. -A small violin. 3.
Wearied.. 4. A number. 5. In date. -
EASY SQUARE (contained in the diamond) : I. A tub for
fish. 2. Rage. 3. A number.
The first and last words of the word-square will, when read
in connection, form the name of a small animal. F. s. F.
HIDDEN ANIMALS.
FOUR animals are concealed in each sentence.
L. I call a man noble who will go at any honest work, let each
rebuff alone and help a careful friend. 2. Do not disturb earnest
scholars or repel ambitious ones; do not be harsh or severe with
dullards or pronounce them beyond help. 3. Jack studies Sanskrit;
I, German; and Jack allows no rude, errant being to retard his pro-
gress during his term in Exeter College. 4. I saw Eli on the sofa
when I came later in the evening; he seemed to suffer at times from
a severe cut, and the doctor thought he would have to trepan the
right side of the boy's head. "JOHN PERRYBINGLE."
ENIG1VA.
I AM composed of six letters.
One letter is an article; two, a well-known abbreviation; two, a
conjunction ; two, to perform; three, tumult; three, mineral; three,
a measure; three, a color; three, a deer; three, a roebuck; three,
a poem ; three, to annex; four, inactive; four, costly; four, to
peruse; four, an open way; five, a great fear; five, to love; six,
regarded with profound respect. BELLE.

NUMERICAL ENIGMA; -
I AM composed of eighty-five letters, and form a Z4u.:r ,.:r. *ii.i. ..
private to the holiday season.
My 43-3--64-82-13-23 is ostentation. My 47-8-57-35-79 is much
desired at the close of a fox-chase. My 61-52-1-73-68 is to filter.
My 85-41-5-16-75 is to con over. My 66-60-28-54-3-18 is a county
of England. My 49-21-33-62-39 is to move gently. My 70-27-37
is a tropical fruit. My x9-5x-76 is a quick dance. My 50-9-45-34-
40is a silken substance. My 56-Ix-36is a girl's nickname. My 46
-6-15-20-69 is a freshet. My 77-81-63-29-25-72-80-78-42-24 and
my 32-59-44-22-74-48-83-38 and my 65-26-7-58-30-7x-x2 and my
84-53-x7-4-2-67-55-14-xo each name something studied daily by
many readers of ST. NICHOLAS. "AUGUSTUS G. HOPKINS.


240





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