Front Cover
 Michael and Feodosia
 A timid little woman
 Sara Crewe; or, what happened at...
 Cupid's kettledrum
 Diamond-backs in paradise
 How Polly saw the aprons grow
 She "displains" it
 The story of an old bridge
 The astrologer's niece
 Pictures for little French readers....
 A legend of Acadia
 How a great Sioux chief was...
 Drill: A story of school-boy...
 The brownies and the whale
 For very little folk
 The dolls' complaint
 A wonderful wall
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00195
 Material Information
Title: St. Nicholas
Uniform Title: St. Nicholas (New York, N.Y.)
Alternate Title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner
Place of Publication: New York
Publication Date: -c1943
Frequency: monthly
Subject: Children's literature -- Periodicals   ( lcsh )
Genre: periodical   ( marcgt )
Dates or Sequential Designation: -v. 67, no. 4 (Feb. 1940) ; v. 70, no. 1 (Mar. 1943)-v. 70, no. 4 (June 1943).
Dates or Sequential Designation: Began with: Vol. 1, no. 1, Nov. 1873.
Numbering Peculiarities: Suspended Mar. 1940-Feb. 1943; vols. 68-69 omitted.
Issuing Body: Published by: Century, Aug. 1881- ; by Educational Pub. Corp. -1940; by St. Nicholas Magazine, 1943.
General Note: Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
General Note: Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00065513
Volume ID: VID00195
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
    Michael and Feodosia
        Page 243
        Page 244
        Page 245
        Page 246
        Page 247
        Page 248
        Page 249
    A timid little woman
        Page 250
        Page 251
    Sara Crewe; or, what happened at Miss Minchin's
        Page 252
        Page 253
        Page 254
        Page 255
        Page 256
        Page 257
        Page 258
        Page 259
    Cupid's kettledrum
        Page 260
        Page 261
        Page 262
    Diamond-backs in paradise
        Page 263
        Page 264
        Page 265
        Page 266
        Page 267
        Page 268
        Page 269
        Page 270
        Page 271
    How Polly saw the aprons grow
        Page 272
        Page 273
        Page 274
        Page 275
    She "displains" it
        Page 276
    The story of an old bridge
        Page 277
        Page 278
        Page 279
        Page 280
        Page 281
        Page 282
        Page 283
        Page 284
        Page 285
        Page 286
        Page 287
        Page 288
    The astrologer's niece
        Page 289
        Page 290
        Page 291
        Page 292
    Pictures for little French readers. No. I
        Page 293
    A legend of Acadia
        Page 294
        Page 295
    How a great Sioux chief was named
        Page 296
        Page 297
        Page 298
    Drill: A story of school-boy life
        Page 299
        Page 300
        Page 301
        Page 302
        Page 303
    The brownies and the whale
        Page 304
        Page 305
        Page 306
    For very little folk
        Page 307
        Page 308
        Page 309
    The dolls' complaint
        Page 310
        Page 311
        Page 312
        Page 313
    A wonderful wall
        Page 314
        Page 315
    The letter-box
        Page 316
        Page 317
        Page 318
    The riddle-box
        Page 319
        Page 320
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text

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(A Story of Russian Life.)


IT is Feodosia and Michael Bazaroff who made
this story. Holding it sacred, I shall not alter it.
All is here as it happened. They were the chil-
dren of Prince Ivan Bazaroff, and of the Princess
Nadia. But they were neither rich nor happy.
For the prince and princess, having been accused
of disloyalty to the Czar, had been banished to Si-
beria, and their children confided to the care of
Sergius Bazaroff, the brother of the banished
Sergius had always hated his brother; was it
likely, then, that he would love Michael and Feo-
dosia? Alas! they trembled daily beneath his
black looks and brutal speech, and listened in fear
to his terrible voice, as he raged among his slaves
or shouted out wild Tartar battle-songs until after
Three comforts had the children: They loved
God; they loved each other; and they were ten-
derly loved by those who had them in their care.
Feodosia's nurse taught her to knit, to embroider,
and to carry herself like a Russian princess. She
talked of her father and mother; she reminded
her when the hours to pray for them came. Fre-
quently she would say:
Now we will speak of the good prince, your
father-how brave he was! How pious! How
handsome! When he rode his black horse, and
wore his white-and-gold uniform, there was no
prince in all Russia fit to hold his stirrup. And
how lovely was your mother! I shall be happy to

my dying day only to have seen her! Do you
remember the night she came to you in a sarafan
of silver brocade, buttoned with sapphires ? In her
arms, though they were shining with jewels, she
carried you. Only your guardian angel could love
you better." Ah -Feodosia had never forgotten
the starry look of her mother, and the cooing of her
low words; so it was her great comfort to talk to
Matrena of her parents, and then to go away and
pray for the Deliverer.
Michael was twelve years old. He had a hand-
some face, luminous with the glow of his brave,
bright soul. His dream by night, his hope by day
was to justify his father and mother, and to bring
them home ini triumph. He had an English tutor,
a good man, to whom he told all that was in his
When I am a man, sir, I will fight the battles
of my Mother Russia; and, when I have taken this
and that fortress, I will go to the Emperor and say:
'Oh, Czar how is it possible that I am the son of
a traitor?' And thus I will plead for my father
and mother. I shall not be afraid."
And also, Michael, remember how He pities
and cares for us all--the good Jesus."
Thus they were talking one afternoon in No-
vember. It had been a day of fear and sad-
ness. Prince Sergius had been quarreling with a
stranger, a bad, common-looking man, dressed in
a sheepskin coat. "And yet he is not a stranger,"
said Matrena. "I have seen him here before.

Copyright, 1888, by THE CENTURY CO. All rights reserved.


No. 4.


Smoloff says that he bayed back at Prince Sergius.
Who can the man be, that would dare to do that?
The dogs have been set on a visitor for less."
Every one was weary with the fear and turmoil
of the visit. There had been trampling of horses
and barking of dogs, threats, orders and hurry-
ing of terrified men and women, until the palace
felt as if a great storm had rushed through it.
In the middle of the afternoon Prince Sergius
and his visitor went out together. The stranger
was then smiling and affable, but Prince Sergius
neither looked at him nor answered him. His face
was black and evil, and he kicked savagely out of
his path the dogs that accompanied him.
Then the tutor said: There is half an hour
before sunset. Come, Michael, the fresh air will
calm and strengthen us." And Matrena also rose,
and brought Feodosia her pelisse of fine fox-fur,
and her little cap and muff, and they went to-
gether to the esplanade in front of the house.
The prospect was dreary enough. Except for
the pine-belt, it was one great level of snow, silent
and monotonous, with a few black huts scattered
here and there. The children talked sadly of what
most concerned them-Feodosia, of the bags she
was knitting, Michael, of his studies; and, in a low
voice, of his uncle's anger. Suddenly there arose a lit-
tle swirling wind. It blew a bit of white paper along
the white snow to Michael's feet. He stooped and
lifted it, and, as the teacher talked, glanced at its
contents. It was in French, but he knew enough
of French to perceive in a moment the importance
of the scrap of paper he held in his hand. He be-
came pale and breathless, and, without a word, he
gave the paper .to his tutor, who read the words
and seemed equally agitated. The emotion of
both was intense. They went silently back to the
school-room, and the tutor, looking significantly at
Michael, cut in the collar of his own coat a little
slit, and then hid the paper in it. This act was
scarcely accomplished when Feodosia and Matrena
The footsteps of the prince are to be heard,"
said Matrena; and, only a few minutes later,
Prince Sergius opened the door. His approach
could usually be heard from afar, and this sudden
and quiet visit was not without design. He had
discovered his loss, and he wished to see if those
whom he most feared were also aware of it. He
strode into the middle of the apartment and looked
with keen scrutiny at them; all rose to their feet
and stood awaiting his orders, all with bowed heads
and lowered eyes, except the tutor, who gazed out
of the window with a melancholy and indifferent
air. Sergius looked most keenly at the woman and
the girl. He was sure, if anything was known, that
their faces would betray it; but Feodosia and Ma-

trena knew nothing. Michael had walked behind
them, and they had not even seen him pick up the
Prince Sergius bowed to the tutor, as he said:
"Mr. Cecil, do me the favor to take your seat
again. I am sure your pupil is idle and imperti-
nent. A taste of the whip would be good for him.
Pray let me know if he gives you the least trouble,"
and he looked steadily and savagely at Michael,
drawing together his light, lowering brows as he
did so. Michael did not lift his eyelids, but his
cheeks flushed; and his uncle saw, also, how pas-
sionately the boy clenched his small hands.
Then he turned to Matrena: "Hark thee
Come here! Pack the girl's clothes. To-morrow
the Countess Vasil comes for her. The saints
know I am well rid of such a trouble."
I understand, Prince, and obey."
"Be'off, then!"
For some minutes after the door was shut, there
was a profound silence. No one dared to speak,
to move, hardly to glance at another. But every
heart was full of sad forebodings. In a day or
two, what changes might begin Feodosia was
going to a new life, full of splendor,- perhaps also
full of love, for the Countess Vasil was her mother's
sister, and surely she must love a child so desolate
and bereaved.
But her heart was troubled; she did not re-
member her aunt, she was going among strangers,
she was leaving Michael; perhaps even Matrena
would not be allowed to go with her. Before the
white altar in her room, she knelt a long time that
night. But when she rose, her face was shining
and happy. "An angel has spoken to her,"
thought Matrena. And Matrena was not far
wrong. To an innocent girl, the angels whisper
many sweet things; they delight to guard her, to
bear her pure prayers to heaven, to keep her un-
spotted from the world.
In the mean time, Michael and his tutor sat quiet
near the large porcelain stove. Their thoughts
were too great for much speech; beside, it was
dangerous. But in short, whispered sentences,
they came at length to a decision.
Feodosia must be told, and the letter intrusted
to her, Michael. She will give it to Countess
Vasil. There is no one more able to act upon it."
If I could only go myself! Can not I go ? The
letter came to me. Dear master, can not I go? "
My boy You are a prisoner on this estate -
at the Czar's pleasure. If you attempted to pass
its boundary, your uncle would have the right to
shoot you."
It is terrible and we are all innocent."
Be strong, Michael. There is an hour of great
joy at hand. Your father will come back to his



home. Your mother will come back to her chil-
dren. Try now to sleep."
But the boy sat musing, his face growing finer
and finer, as -
"He built, with neither hammer nor stone,
A grand, fair castle of his own."

COUNT VASIL'S house stood in the heart of Mos-
cow. It was an old Russian palace, with an Ori-
ental look outside; but its interior was furnished
after the most splendid French fashion. The
countess, in a Parisian morning dress, was drink-
ing chocolate; a Parisian maid waited upon her,
and she spoke to her in French, with elegance and
purity. Feodosia alone was out of character with
the surroundings. She still wore her Russian cos-
tume a sarafan of dark blue velvet, buttoned
with pearls, showing long, full sleeves of fine mus-
lin, and a lace ruff at her throat. Her mittens
were of blue silk, worked with silver; her slippers
of blue morocco, and a blue ribbon tied back her
fine, flowing hair.
She looked weary -and anxious, and her aunt
said: "You eat nothing, my little one; are you
tired with the long journey ?"
It is not that, dear aunt. I have in my heart
such a great trouble."
Is it about Michael? Do not fear for him. Mr.
Cecil is his father's friend; he will never forsake
It is much more than Michael. I can wait no
longer. Send every one away."
The countess looked at the child in amazement.
The girl's soul was in her eyes. From her daz-
zlingly fair skin there seemed to emanate light.
She looked taller. She appeared all spirit. It was
impossible to resist the suffering and entreaty that
her face, and words, and attitude expressed. All
together said to the countess, "Control yourself,
and listen."
With an imperative motion, she ordered the re-
moval of the breakfast tray, and as soon as they
were alone, Feodosia took from her bosom the
piece of paper, and gave it to her aunt. It was
soiled and crushed, and the dainty lady took it with
reluctance. But before she had read many lines,
she uttered a shrill cry, and struck the bell with an
impetuosity that brought a dozen servants to
answer it.
The count! The count! she cried. Send
the count here immediately! Without delay!
This moment In the interval, she paced the
room rapidly; she kissed Feodosia in a rapture of
joy; she murmured in Russian, and in French,
prayers and ejaculations; she was like a woman
upon whom had fallen a joy too great to be borne.

When the count answered her summons, she
ran to meet him, and put the letter into his hands.
He had read but a few lines before he rose and
locked the door; and then, laying the paper upon
the table, he went over it, word by word, in a

PRINCE SERG1US BAZAROFF: Thou hast not sent me the money.
I shall come for it in two days. If thou pay me not, I will go to the
police. I will tell them how thou swore away the honor and liberty
of thy brother, and of thy brother's wife. I will tell them the whole
plot. Every one is yet living whom thou didst employ. And thou
wilt not escape with Siberia. For a crime like thine, there is only
the knout- the knout to death.
"at the inn of the Great Bear, street of St. John, Moscow."

Having read these words, Count Vasil questioned
Feodosia closely, concerning the stranger who had
visited Prince Sergius. Then he said: Thisduty
is now in my hands. I will see to it at once. Noth-
ing that I have will I spare. If I can get the Czar's
ear, I shall succeed immediately-but do not fear;
in the end, all willbe right."
The countess had intended to take Feodosia to
the great stores, and to the French modistes. But
for shopping neither had now any desire. To
hope, to doubt, to suffer, to wait- these were the
only things possible to them. And Feodosia did
not wish to be dressed like a French girl. She
was under the shadow of the Kremlin. From its
hundreds of shining domes, the golden cross of her
faith was glittering. On every pinnacle there were
the Russian eagles-huge, black, and outspread.
She was a Russian girl in the heart of Russia. She
loved her country. She loved the great Czar; she
looked upon him as its patriarch and father. She
never thought of him as doing wrong. He was
the savior and comforter of his people. If she
could only reach him If she could fall at his
feet and put into his hands the letter which she
had given to Count Vasil, she never doubted that
in the very next moment he would restore her
parents to liberty and honor, and send their be-
trayer to his punishment.
At the end of nine days, Count Vasil called the
poor child to him. She had scarcely eaten or
slept; she had grown thin and weak; she trem-
bled at a footstep, at the sound of her own name.
He took her in his arms and whispered words to
her which made her sob with joy. Kergoff had
been easily found. He had confessed all. He had
produced his confederates in the plot. The Czar
had listened to the story with pity and anger.
Orders had already left St. Petersburg for the
honorable release of Prince and Princess Bazaroff,
and for the arrest of Prince Sergius. It is even
possible that your parents will be here for Christ-
mas, and oh, little one, will not that be a Christ-
mas festival ?" he asked.


I do not know Christmas, Uncle. Prince Ser-
gius would never permit us to honor it."
"The poor child Count, we will keep for her
the children's feast."
I am of your mind, my countess. However,
my good news is not yet all told. There is a fes-
tival before Christmas-the feast of St. Nicholas-
the fete day of our Emperor, and Feodosia is bidden
to be there."
"Ah what an honor! What is meant by it?"
"Our Emperor is a just man. He said to me:
'Before the nobles, I degraded Prince Bazaroff.
I will as publicly re-instate him. At the feast of
St. Nicholas I will make him a marshal of the em-
pire. The ukase shall be written, and you shall
receive it for him.' And my soul spoke without
being bidden, and before I even thought of the
words I answered:
'Sire, Prince Bazaroff's little daughter is with
me. Permit her to have this great joy and
"And the Czar said: 'Let it be so.'
Well, then, there is nothing else to be done."
"Perhaps he will even speak to you, child.
What will you say? There must certainly be a
little speech prepared."
Dear Aunt, when the heart is full, something
crosses your mind and you speak. I shall find
words, no doubt. But who shall go and tell Mi-
chael ?- Michael waiting in that sad room at
Bazaroff? "
"This very hour, my child, I will send a safe
messenger to him."
The next day they left Moscow for St. Peters-
burg. The feast of St. Nicholas was close at hand
and Feodosia must have garments fit for the royal
presence. But she begged to retain her own cos-
tume. I have been taught how to wear this," she
said, "but in those dresses of France I shall be
awkward and uncomfortable."
Certainly in no dress of France could she have
looked more lovely. Her sarafan was of white
satin broidered with gold, and it had sleeves of
glistening Indian gauze. Her shoes, of white satin,
were trimmed with sapphires, and she wore also a
coronal of the same heaven-blue gems. Her face
was still round and child-like, with large, wonder-
ing blue eyes. Her complexion was fair as a lily.
She was tall and slender, and her easy, dignified
gait had in it something very maidenly and noble.
As she walked she seemed to fill the air with fra-
grance and grace, as a swaying flower does. For
when a young girl has a beautiful body transfigured
by a beautiful soul, how lovely and how lovable
she is!
She was not afraid, and yet she trembled a little
when she entered the magnificent palace of the

Czar. The blaze of light, of gold, and of jewels,
the splendid uniforms of the men, the beautiful
dresses of the women, the flowers, the stirring
music of the royal bands, almost bewildered her.
She glided along between her uncle and her aunt,
as if she were in a dream; quite unconscious that the
presence of a little girl in that august assembly was
causing princes and marshals and grand-duchesses
to look with a curious interest at her.
At length she reached the throne room, and the
Czar and Czarina entered. His impressive figure,
and potent face, fascinated her child-heart. This
mighty Czar had given her back father, mother,
and home; had ransomed those she loved from
suffering and degradation.
There was an intense stillness, as he bowed to
the nobles, and said in a loud voice:
"Nobles of the Russian Empire, it has been
fully proved that Prince Ivan Bazaroff was falsely
accused. I honor my fete day, by restoring to
him all his rights, and by making him Grand
Marshal of my own Guard."
Then Count Vasil spoke to Feodosia, and she
walked straight to the Emperor. Her beauty and
grace charmed every eye, and the ecstasy of love
and gratitude which filled her heart produced in
her an unconscious elevation, precluding all fear
or faltering. A murmur of admiration followed
the child. She had been told to cast herself at
the Czar's feet. She did not think of that;-on the
contrary, she raised her eyes to his face.
My child he said kindly.
My Czar My Czar and, forgetting all else
in that supreme moment of her desire, she stretched
out her arms, and lifted her face to his, as if he
were indeed her father. The action was so natural,
that it compelled its own answer; and a thrill of
sympathy stirred the whole room, when the Czar
stooped and kissed the tears from the child's wet
eyelids. Then the Czarina also kissed her; and
the grand measure of the Polonaise struck up, and
the nobles began to form for its march; but Feo-
dosia knew not anything more till she found her-
self in the Vasil carriage, crying softly in her aunt's
arms, with rapture.

IT was the night before the Nativity, and Mos-
cow flashed light from the spires of all her five
hundred churches. The air was full of bells, and
fanfare of trumpets, and the glad greeting of the
crowds on the streets: -" God with us Count
Vasil's house was illuminated with a thousand wax
candles, and through its splendid rooms, Feodosia,
accompanied by more than two score "dear com-
panions," went singing the hymn of the Nativity.
She was enchanted. Mr. Cecil had often read to


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her the story of the Babe of Bethlehem, and it had
rested on her mind like dawn upon the waters.
But to honor His birthday, to see, and to share its
joy, made it wonderful to her. She had never
been so happy in her life. Forty-eight young girls
had been invited to spend with her the days
between the Nativity and the Epiphany. During
that time they were to be "dear companions."
They had arranged something delightful for every
day-sleighin,:. :1 i;n _, ball-playing in the court,
dancing in the house, and, above all, those singing-
games which are the delight of Russian girls.
Early on Christmas-day the gay house became
gayer. The rooms were full of ladies and gentle-
men flashing with jewels; and everywhere there
was music. In some rooms, the boys and girls
were singing to it; in others, they were dancing.
Can you imagine Count Vasil's banqueting-hall
with its wax lights, its music, and its two tables
bright with flowers ? -one surrounded by happy
children, and the other by ladies and nobles. The
Christmas feast is waiting, and Count Vasil raises
the Christmas song that all Russia is singing:
" Glory to God in Heaven Slaval *
To our Lord on this earth. Slava !
May the right throughout Russia be fairer than the bright sun.
Slava "
It is like fairy-land !" said Feodosia.
After dinner came the famous jewel-game, for
the children. An old woman brought in a deep
dish full of clean water. Another brought in
bread and salt and three bits of charcoal.. Then
all the boys and girls took off their rings, chains,
and bracelets, dropped them into the water, and,
as they did so, they sang:
"May the bread and the salt live a thousand years Slava !
May our Emperor live still longer Slva "

And then the old woman stirred the jewels in the
water, and covered the dish with a napkin. Now,
there are many songs for this game: one foretells
good fortune; a second, a journey; a third, sick-
ness; others, wealth, honor, good marriage, mis-
fortunes, etc. These songs are each one written
on a separate card, and the old woman lifts a jewel
and draws a card at random. The song it calls
for is then sung, and it is said to prophesy the fate
of the owner of whatever jewel is lifted with it;
and while the ring is put on again, or the bracelet
clasped, all chant the chorus:
To her for whom we have sung it, may it turn good !
She who has missed it, must do without it;
Must do without it.- This can not fail."

At length the old woman said, I have lifted a
card. Now let our gracious Princess Feodosia
predict a great and happy marriage"; and Feo-
dosia sang:

" I saw a sparrow-hawk fly from one lane. Slava /
And a little dove fly out from another. Slava l
They flew to each other and embraced each other. Slava I
Embraced each other with their light, blue wings. Slava !
And the sparrow-hawk and dove, they builded,
So happily together. Slava "
And lo! Feodosia had prophesied for herself,
and while they clasped her locket round her throat
they sang:
"To her for whom we have sung it, may it turn good! Slava "

Thus in charming games, in dances, and song,
they passed the time; but Feodosia was always
thinking, "Perhaps my father and mother will
come to-day perhaps this very hour!"
On the eve of Epiphany, the girls were talking
of the wonderful things said to happen during that
holy time. For then, according to Russian belief,
Christ walks on the earth and gives to the sorrow-
ful, comfort, and to the wicked, an opportunity to
repent. "My uncle Volnoff was a great miser,"
said little Elizabeth Jelko; "and on the sixth holy
night, he met an old man who said, 'Stay, for
Christ's sake, and give me a kopeck.' And Vol-
noff felt pitiful, and answered, 'For Christ's sake,
then, take this silver rouble.' Then Volnoff saw
for a moment a face like an angel's, and he knew
the Christ had spoken to him."
And each girl had some story of the same kind
to tell. One knew a cruel noble who had suddenly
taken pity on a miserable slave-child, and had
found it to'be the Christ.
And it was on the eve of the Epiphany, and the
girls were singing their parting song:
"0 stars! stars! dear little stars!
All ye, 0 stars, are the fair children,
Ruddy and white, of one mother!
Sent forth through the christened world,
Dispensers of happiness !

Suddenlysome one called "Feodosia! And she
ran toward the call, and saw Count Vasil embrac-
ing a man covered with furs, and the countess kiss-
ing and crying over a lady whom Feodosia knew at
once to be her mother. In a moment she was in
her father's arms, she was on her mother's breast,
and heard them calling her the sweet, pet names
that all girls love.
The prince and princess had gone first to St.
Petersburg, to pay their duty to the Czar; and
now, having seen their daughter, they were anxious
to reach home. For they had heard in St. Peters-
burg that Prince Sergius had fled from justice; and
it was also rumored that he had shot a servant or
some one of his household before his flight.
Before midnight they were driving furiously over
the frozen plain between Moscow and Bazaroff,
and, by the middle of the day, they once more
reached their home.

* A Russian word corresponding to the English words Glory" or "Hallelujah."



,I ,! 1 I

lii, _.1 i 1, '

M r. 'I.' I .-
l '. : J. .._ -:.] ,,- l

r '

1, I,, :1 i L .I.I
..r',l *.r .r,,:r, '. 1

'iip 'II,

i!.t i h.: I!,..- pur i, I H-, iI* :! I

11. ii .1 IJ 1 d. Ai r.. j1 Ai.

ab-ur --U. J 1- I !- PI C I ni. I.

ii. ., " -

.. a -- -. .ir. iL.-: .-.i tl.:.:. ... I.i .' i liould fear to speak.'
Tl .. I- ri., pI ,D.:. .-ru.:k itl. -., ,, I i. i ,.. i, l. M ichael cried out:
SM ., 1.,rh,c. i rutlh nI .:i i.. i:,, ,: like the angels; it is
.t1 !i.. are a thief, and a
ri ir,...r I tried to save the


t I-
I. i-w -r -.

'y H- I x I i

--l H:r ,.rli


.. .1 .1 hat I could, but
*i.iHi -:l... him-shot him.

' --

I" 1 I"





S. I


.r- which it would be

li-i. his face. 'You are
-,I Iut I do not listen.


three times. The sleigh was at the door. It was
the villain's last act before he went away."
"And what has been done ?"
"Everything. I sent to Moscow for Dr. Livadin;
-the boy has suffered, but is doing well."
Come, let us go to him "; and in a few minutes
they were all at Michael's bedside. His pale face
was transfigured with joy; his weary head was at
last on his mother's breast; his father was clasp-
ing his hands, and crying with mingled tears of
pride and of love. And, oh, what sweet confidences
he had with Feodosia. What great plans Michael
made for the future !
He has realized all he hoped. Behind the fiery


bastions of the Crimea, he thrice won his promotion.
And if any of the readers of ST. NICHOLAS go
to Petersburg, and see, at some great military
review, a general clad in white and gold, towering
above all other men, with blue eyes flashing like
an eagle's, and a face full of sweetness and strength
-that is General Michael Bazaroff, the friend
of his Emperor, the idol of his soldiers, the beloved
of all who know him.
As for Feodosia, she became a great princess;
but often in the winter nights, when the snow fell
and the arctic cold was cruel, she would tell her
children, in words of pity and horror, of the wicked
Prince Sergius, whom no one ever saw again.

r0 7Lntir

Lm o B dRC -Ra


THOUGH as harmless as could be -
He was just a mouse, you see -
He would give the little woman such a fright
That, though tucked away in bed,
With the covers o'er her head,
She could never get a wink of sleep all night.

When her husband heard a squeak,
He would tell her, and she'd peek,
With her dainty little night-cap all awry;
After which, o'ercome with fear,
She would quickly disappear
'Neath the covers, with a terrified Oh, my "



So one day, to rid the house
Of the horrid little mouse,
Her husband in a cornet did invest;
And that night, upon a chair
With his feet high in the air,
He practiced all the latest tunes with zest.

And, though his little wife,
Who 'd been deaf, all through her life,
Said she did n't mind at all to hear him play,
Yet the mouse, without regret,
O'er the cupboard put To Let,"
And next morning all the neighbors moved away !

II, I''
ii 11!

/ I Ii ______
_ 9W'






SARA could not even imagine a being charm-
ing enough to fill her grand ideal of her mysteri-
ous benefactor. If she tried to make in her mind
a picture of him or her, it ended by being some-
thing glittering and strange not at all like a real
person, but bearing resemblance to a sort of
Eastern magician, with long robes and a wand.
And when she fell asleep, beneath the soft white
blanket, she dreamed all night of this :,-"0h i ..:. :.i
personage, and talked to him in Hindustani, and
made salaams to him.
Upon one thing she was determined. She would
not speak to any one of her good fortune -it
should be her own secret; in fact, she was rather
inclined to think that if Miss Minchin knew, she
would take her treasures from her or in some way
spoil her pleasure. So when she went down the
next morning she shut her door very tight and did
her best to look as if nothing unusual had occurred.
And yet this was rather hard, because she could
not help remembering, every now and then, with a
sort of start, and her heart would beat quickly
every time she repeated to herself, "I have a
friend "
It was a friend who evidently meant to continue
to be kind, for when she went to her garret the
next night -and she opened the door, it must
be confessed, with rather an excited feeling- she
found that the same hands had been again at work
and had done even more than before. The fire and
the supper were again there, and beside them a
number of other things which so altered the look
of the garret that Sara quite lost her breath. A
piece of bright, strange, heavy cloth covered the
battered mantel, and on it some ornaments had
been placed. All the bare, ugly things which
could be covered with draperies had been con-
cealed and made to look quite pretty. Some odd
materials in rich colors had been fastened against
the walls with fine sharp tacks-so sharp that they
could be pressed into the wood without hammering.
Some brilliant fans were pinned up, and there were
several large cushions. A long old wooden box
was covered with a rug, and some cushions lay on
it, so that it wore quite the air of a sofa.

Sara simply sat down, and looked, and looked
"It is exactly like something fairy come true,"
she said; there is n't the least difference. I feel
as if I might wish for anything,- diamonds and
bags of gold,- and they would appear! That
could n't be any stranger than this. Is this my
garret? Am I the same cold, ragged, damp Sara ?
And to think how I used to pretend, and pretend,
and wish there were fairies The one thing I always
wanted was to see a fairy story come true. I am
living in a fairy story I feel as if I might be a
fairy myself, and be able to turn things into any-
thing else "
It was like a fairy story, and, what was best of
all, it continued. Almost every day something
new was done to the garret. Some new comfort
or ornament appeared in it when Sara opened her
door at night, until actually, in a short time, it was
a bright little room, full of all sorts of odd and lux-
urious things. And the magician had taken care
that the child should not be hungry, and that she
should have as many books as she could read.
When she left the room in the morning the re-
mains of her supper were on the table, and when
she returned in the evening, the magician had re-
moved them, and left another nice little meal.
Downstairs Miss Minchin was as cruel and insulting
as ever, -Mrs. Amelia wasaspeevish, andtheserv-
ants were as vulgar. Sara was sent on errands and
scolded, and driven hither and thither, but some-
how it seemed as if she could bear it all. The de-
lightful sense of romance and mystery lifted her
above the cook's temper and malice. The com-
fort she enjoyed and could always look forward to
was making her stronger. If she came home from
her errands wet and tired, she knew she would soon
be warm, after she had climbed the stairs. In a
few weeks she began to look less thin. A little
color came into her cheeks, and her eyes did not
seem much too big for her face.
It was just when this was beginning to be so ap-
parent that Miss Minchin sometimes stared at her
questioningly, that another wonderful thing hap-
pened. A man came to the door and left several
parcels. All were addressed (in large letters) to
the little girl in the attic." Sara herself was sent


to open the door and she took them in. She laid
the two largest parcels down on the hall-table and
was looking at the address, when Miss Minchin
came down the stairs.
Take the things upstairs to the young lady to
whom they belong," she said. "Don't stand there
staring at them."
They belong to me," answered Sara, quietly.
To you exclaimed Miss Minchin. What
do you mean ? "
"I don't know where they come from," said Sara,
"but they 're addressed to me."
Miss Minchin came to her side and looked at them
with an excited expression.
"What is in them ?" she demanded.
I don't know," said Sara.
Open them!" she demanded, still more ex-
Sara did as she was told. They contained pretty
and comfortable clothing,- clothing of different
kinds; shoes and stockings and gloves, a warm
coat, and even an umbrella. On the pocket of the
coat was pinned a paper on which was written, To
be worn every day- will be replaced by others when
Miss Minchen was quite agitated. This was an
incident which suggested strange things to her sor-
did mind. Could it be that she had made a mis-
take after all, and that the child so neglected and
so unkindly treated byher had some powerful friend
in the background? It would not be very pleasant
if there should be such a friend, and he or she
should learn all the truth about the thin, shabby
clothes, the scant food, the hard work. She felt
very queer indeed, and uncertain, and she gave a
side-glance at Sara.
Well," she said in a voice such as she had
never used since the day the child lost her father
-" well, some one is very kind to you. As you
have the things and are to have new ones when
they are worn out, you may as well go and put
them on and look respectable; and after you are
dressed, you may come downstairs and learn your
lessons in the school-room."
So it happened that, about half an hour after-
ward, Sara struck the entire school-room of pupils
dumb with amazement, by making her appearance
in a costume such as she had never worn since the
change of fortune whereby she ceased to be a show-
pupil and a parlor-boarder. She scarcely seemed to
be the same Sara. She was neatly dressed in a pretty
gown of warm browns and reds, and even her stock-
ings and slippers were nice and dainty.
"Perhaps some one has left her a fortune," one
of the girls whispered. I always thought some-
thing would happen to her. She is so queer."
That night, when Sara went to her room, she

carried out a plan she had been devising for some
time. She wrote a note to her unknown friend. It
ran as follows:
I hope you will not think it is not polite that I should write this
note to you when you wish to keep yourself a secret, but I do not
mean to be impolite, or to try to find out at all, only I want to thank
you for being so kind to me so beautiful kind, and making every-
thing like a fairy story. I am so grateful to you, and I am so happy !
I used to be so lonely and cold and hungry, and now, oh, just think
what you have done for me Please let me say just these words. It
seems as if I ought to say them. Thank you thank you thank

The next morning she left this on the little table,
and it was taken away with the other things; so she
felt sure the magician had received it, and she was
happier for the thought.
A few nights later a very odd thing happened.
She found something in the room which she cer-
tainly would never have expected. When she came
in as usual, she saw something small and dark in
her chair,- an odd, tiny figure, which turned toward
her a little weird-looking, wistful face.
"Why, it 's the monkey! she cried. "It
is the Indian Gentleman's monkey Where can he
have come from ? "
It was the monkey, sitting up and looking so like
a mite of a child that it really was quite pathetic;
and very soon Sara found out how he happened to
be in her room. The skylight was open, and it
was easy to guess that he had crept out of his
master's garret-window, which was only a few feet
away and perfectly easy to get in and out of, even
for a climber less agile than a monkey. He had
probably climbed to the garret on a tour of investi-
gation, and, getting out upon the roof, and being
attracted by the light in Sara's attic, had crept in.
At all events this seemed quite reasonable, and
there he was; and when Sara went to him, he
actually put out his queer, elfish little hands,
caught her dress, and jumped into her arms.
Oh, you queer, poor, ugly, foreign little thing!"
said Sara, caressing him. I can't help liking
you. You look like a sort of baby, but I am so glad
you are not, because your mother could not be
proud of you, and nobody would dare to say you
were like any of your relations. But I do like you;
you have such a forlorn little look in your face.
Perhaps you are sorry you are so ugly, and it's
always on your mind. I wonder if you have a
mind ?"
The monkey sat and looked at her while she
talked, and seemed much interested in her re-
marks, if one could judge byhis eyes and his fore-
head, and the way he moved his head up and
down, and held it sideways and scratched it with
his little hand. He examined Sara quite seriously,
and anxiously, too. He felt the stuff of her dress,
touched her hands, climbed up and examined her


ears, and then sat on her shoulder holding a lock
of her hair, looking mournful but not at all agitated.
Upon the whole, he seemed pleased with Sara.
But I must take you back," she said to him,
"though I 'm sorry to have to do it. Oh, the
company you would be to a person! "
She lifted him from her shoulder, set him on
her knee, and gave him a bit of cake. He sat and
nibbled it, and then put his head on one side,
looked at her, wrinkled his forehead, and then
nibbled again, in the most companionable manner.
"But you must go home," said Sara at last;
and she took him in her arms to carry him down-
stairs. Evidently he did not want to leave the
room, for as they reached the door he clung to
her neck and gave a little scream of anger.
"You must n't be an ungrateful monkey,"
said Sara. "You ought to be fondest of your
own family. I am sure the Lascar is good to
Nobody saw her on her way out, and very soon
she was standing on the Indian Gentleman's front
steps, and the Lascar had opened the door for
I found your monkey in my room," she said
in Hindustani. I think he got in through the
The man began a rapid outpouring of thanks;
but, just as he was in the midst of them, a fretful,
hollow voice was heard through the open door of
the nearest room. The instant he heard it the
Lascar disappeared, and left Sara still holding the
It was not many moments, however, before he
came back bringing a message. His master had
told him to bring Miss into the library. The
Sahib was very ill, but he wished to see Missy.
.Sara thought this odd, but she remembered
reading stories of Indian gentlemen who, having
no constitutions, were extremely cross and full of
whims, and who must have their own way. So
she followed the Lascar.
When she entered the room the Indian Gentle-
man was lying on an easy chair, propped up with
pillows. He looked frightfully ill. His yellow face
was thin, and his eyes were hollow. Hle gave Sara
a rather curious look-it was as if she wakened
in him some anxious interest.
"You live next door? he said.
"Yes," answered Sara. "I live at Miss Min-
She keeps a boarding-school ?"
"Yes," said Sara.
And you are one of her pupils ?"
Sara hesitated a moment.
I don't know exactly what I am," she replied.
"Why not ? asked the Indian Gentleman.

The monkey gave a tiny squeak, and Sara
stroked him.
At first," she said, I was a pupil and a parlor-
boarder; but now--
What do you mean by at first' ?" asked the
Indian Gentleman.
When I was first taken there by my papa."
"Well, what has happened since then?" said
the invalid, staring at her and knitting his brows
with a puzzled expression.
"My papa died," said Sara. He lost all his
money, and there was none left for me and there
was no one to take care of me or pay Miss Min-
chin, so "
So you were sent up into the garret, and neg-
lected, and made into a half-starved little drudge "
put in the Indian Gentleman. That is about it,
is n't it?"
The color deepened on Sara's cheeks.
"There was no one to take care of me, and no
money," she said. I belong to nobody."
"What did your father mean by losing his
money?" said the gentleman, fretfully.
The red in Sara's cheeks grew deeper, and she
fixed her odd eyes on the yellow face.
"He did not lose it himself," she said. He
had a friend he was fond of, and it was his friend
who took his money. I don't know how. I don't
understand. He trusted his friend too much."
She saw the invalid start the strangest start -
as if he had been suddenly frightened. Then he
spoke nervously and excitedly:
That's an old story," he said. "It happens
every day; but sometimes those who are blamed-
those who do the wrong-don't intend it, and are
not so bad. It may happen through a mistake -
a miscalculation; they may not be so bad."
"No," said Sara, "but the suffering is just as
bad for the others. It killed my papa."
The Indian Gentleman pushed aside some of the
gorgeous wraps that covered him.
Come a little nearer, and let me look at you,"
he said.
His voice sounded very strange; it had a more
nervous and excited tone than before. Sara had
an odd fancy that he was half afraid to look at her.
She came and stood nearer, the monkey clinging
to her and watching his master anxiously over his
The Indian Gentleman's hollow, restless eyes
fixed themselves on her.
"Yes," he said at last. "Yes; I can see it.
Tell me your father's name."
"His name was Ralph Crewe," said Sara.
"Captain Crewe. Perhaps,"- a sudden thought
flashing upon her,-" perhaps you may have
heard of him ? He died in India."


The Indian Gentleman sank back upon his pil-
lows. He looked very weak, and seemed out of breath.
Yes," he said, I knew him. I was his friend.
I meant no harm. If he had only lived he would
have known. It turned out well after all. He
was a fine young fellow. I was fond of him. I
will make it right. Call--call the man."
Sara thought he was going to die. But there
was no need to call the Lascar. He must have been
waiting at the door. He was in the room and by
his master's side in an instant. He seemed to
know what to do. He lifted the drooping head, and
gave the invalid something in a small glass. The
Indian Gentleman lay panting for a few minutes,
and then he spoke in an exhausted but eager voice,
addressing the Lascar in Hindustani:
"Go for Carmichael,"he said. "Tell him to come
here at once. Tell him I have found the child!"
When Mr. Carmichael arrived (which occurred
in a very few minutes, for it turned out that he was
no other than the father of the Large Family across
the street), Sara went home, and was allowed to
take the monkey with her. She certainly did not
sleep very much that night, though the monkey
behaved beautifully, and did not disturb her in the
least. It was not the monkey that kept her awake-
it was her thoughts, and her wonders as to what
the Indian Gentleman had meant when he said,
"Tell him I have found the child." "What
child ?" Sara kept asking herself. I was the only
child there; but how had he found me, and why
did he want to find me ? And what is he going to
do, now I am found? Is it something about my
papa? Do I belong to somebody? Is he one of
my relations? Is something going to happen?"
But she found out the very next day, in the morn-
ing; and it seemed that she had been living in a
story even more than she had imagined. First Mr.
Carmichael came and had an interview with Miss
Minchin. And it appeared that Mr. Carmichael,
besides occupying the important situation of father
to the Large Family, was a lawyer, and had charge
of the affairs of Mr. Carrisford,-which was the
real name of the Indian Gentleman,-and, as
Mr. Carrisford's lawyer, Mr. Carmichael had
come to explain something curious to Miss Min-
chin regarding Sara. But, being the father of the
Large Family, he had a very kind and fatherly feel-
ing for children; and so, after seeing Miss Minchin
alone, what did he do but go and bring across the
square his rosy, motherly, warm-hearted wife, so
that she herself might talk to the little lonely girl,
and tell her everything in the best and most
motherly way.
And then Sara learned that she was to be a
poor little drudge and outcast no more, and that
a great change had come in her fortunes; for all

the lost fortune had come back to her, and a
great deal had even been added to it. It was Mr.
Carrisford who had been her father's friend, and
who had made the investments which had caused
him the apparent loss of his money; but it had so
happened that after poor young Captain Crewe's
death, one of the investments which had seemed
at the time the very worst, had taken a sudden
turn, and proved to be such a success that it had
been a mine of wealth, and had more than doubled
the Captain's lost fortune, as well as making
a fortune for Mr. Carrisford himself. But Mr.
Carrisford had been very unhappy. He had
truly loved his poor, handsome, generous young
friend, and the knowledge that he had caused his
death had weighed upon him always, and broken
both his health and spirit. The worst of it had
been that, when first he thought himself and Cap-
tain Crewe ruined, he had lost courage and gone
away because he was not brave enough to face the
consequences of what he had done, and so he had
not even known where the young soldier's little
girl had been placed. When he wanted to find
her, and make restitution, he could discover no
trace of her; and the certainty that she was poor
and friendless somewhere had made him more
miserable than ever. When he had taken the
house next to Miss Minchin's, he had been so ill
and wretched that he had for the time given up
the search. His troubles and the Indian climate
had brought him almost to death's door-indeed,
he had not expected to live more than a few
months. And then one day the Lascar had told
him about Sara's speaking Hindustani, and grad-
ually he had begun to take a sort of interest in the
forlorn child, though he had only caught a glimpse
of her once or twice; and he had not connected
her with the child of his friend, perhaps, because
he was too languid to think much about anything.
But the Lascar had found out something of Sara's
unhappy little life, and about the garret. One
evening he had actually crept out of his own gar-
ret-window and looked into hers, which was a very
easy matter, because, as I have said, it was only a
few feet away-and he had told his master what
he had seen, and in a moment of compassion the
Indian Gentleman had told him to take into the
wretched little room such comforts as he could
carry from the one window to the other. And the
Lascar, who had developed an interest in and
an odd fondness for the child who had spoken to
him in his own tongue, had been pleased with the
work; and, having the silent swiftness and agile
movements of many of his race, he had made his
evening journeys across the few feet of roof
from garret-window to garret-window, without any
trouble at all. He had watched Sara's move-



ments until he knew exactly when she was absent
from her room and when she returned to it, and so
he had been able to'calculate the best times for
his work. Generally he had made them in the
dusk of the evening, but once or twice when he
had seen her go out on errands, he had dared to
go over in the daytime, being quite sure that the
garret was never entered by any one but herself.
His pleasure in the work and his reports of the re-
sults had added to the invalid's interest in it, and
sometimes the master had found the planning gave
him something to think of, which made him almost
forget his weariness and pain. And at last, when
Sara brought home the truant monkey, he had felt
a wish to see her, and then her likeness to her
father had done the rest.
"And now, my dear," said good Mrs. Car-
michael, patting Sara's hand, all your troubles
are over, I am sure, and you are to come home
with me and be taken care of as if you were one of
my own little girls; and we are so pleased to think
of having you with us until everything is settled,
and Mr. Carrisford is better. The excitement of
last night has made him very weak, but we really
think he will get well, now that such a load is
taken from his mind. And when he is stronger,
I am sure he will be as kind to you as your own
papa would have been. He has a very good heart,
and he is fond of children and he has no family
at all. But we must make you happy and rosy,
and you must learn to play and run about, as my
little girls do -- "
As your little girls do?" said Sara. "I won-
der if I could. I used to watch them and wonder
what it was like. Shall I feel as if I belonged to
Ah,, my love, yes!--yes!" said Mrs. Car-
michael; dear me, yes! And her motherly
blue eyes grew quite moist, and she suddenly took
Sara in her arms and kissed her. That very night,
before she went to sleep, Sara had made the ac-
quaintance of the entire Large Family, and such
excitement as she and the monkey had caused in
that joyous circle could hardly be described. There
was not a child in the nursery, from the Eton boy
who was the eldest, to the baby who was the young-
est, who had not laid some offering on her shrine.
All the older ones knew something of her won-
derful story. She had been born in India; she
had been poor and lonely and unhappy, and had
lived in a garret and been treated unkindly; and
now she was to be rich and happy, and to be taken
care of. They were so sorry for her, and so de-
lighted and curious about her, all at once. The
girls wished to be with her constantly, and the
little boys wished to be told about India; the second
baby, with the short round legs, simply sat and

stared at her and her monkey, possibly wondering
why she had not brought a hand-organ with her.
"I shall certainly wake up presently," Sara kept
saying to herself. This one must be a dream.
The other one turned out to be real; but this
couldn't be. But, oh! hov happy it is "
And even when she went to bed, in the bright,
pretty room not far from Mrs. Carmichael's own,
and Mrs. Carmichael came and kissed her and
patted her and tucked her in cozily, she was not
sure that she would not wake up/ in the garret in
the morning.
And oh, Charles, dear," Mrs. Carmichael said
to her husband, when she went downstairs to him,
"we must get that lonely look out of her eyes It
is n't a child's look at all. I could n't bear to see
it in one of my own children. What the poor little
love must have had to bear, in that dreadful woman's
house But, surely, she will forget it in time."
But though the lonely look passed away from
Sara's face, she never quite forgot the garret at
Miss Minchin's; and, indeed, she always liked to
remember the wonderful night when the tired
Princess crept upstairs, cold and wet, and opening
the door found fairy-land waiting for her. And
there was no one of the many stories she was
always being called upon to tell in the nursery of
the Large Family, which was more popular than
that particular one; and there was no one of whom
the Large Family were so fond as of Sara. Mr.
Carrisford did not die, but recovered, and Sara
went to live with him; and no real princess could
have been better taken care of than she was. It
seemed that the Indian Gentleman could not do
enough to make her happy, and to repay her for
the past; and the Lascar was her devoted slave. As
her odd little face grew brighter, it grew so pretty
and interesting that Mr. Carrisford used to sit and
watch it many an evening, as they sat by the fire
They became great friends, and they used to spend
hours reading and talking together; and, in a very
short time, there was no pleasanter sight to the In-
dian Gentleman than Sara sitting in her big chair
on the opposite side of the hearth, with a book
on her knee and her soft dark hair tumbling
over her warm cheeks. She had a pretty habit of
looking up at him suddenly, with bright smile,
and then he would often say to her:
"Are you happy, Sara ?"
And then she would answer:
"I feel like a real princess, Uncle Tom."
He had told her to call him Uncle Tom.
"There does n't seem to be anything left to
'suppose,' she added.
There was little joke between them that he was
a magician, and so could do anything he liked;



and it was one of his pleasures to invent plans to
surprise her with enjoyments she had not thought
of. Scarcely a day passed in which he did not do
something new for her. Sometimes she found
new flowers in her room; sometimes a fanciful
little gift tucked into some odd corner; some-
times a new book on her pillow;--once
: i!' ..: ', :'i ( .-. .: rl: ... ..r'. lIi I.ii ... .

as fond of the Large Family as they were of her.
She soon felt as if she was a member of it, and the
companionship of the healthy, happy children was
very good for her. All the children rather looked
up to her and regarded her as the cleverest and
most brilliant of creatures -
.. -. // particularly after it was dis-
', .:.. :i ,- that she not only
i./.- stories of every
!'c-, and could in-


was delighted to read the words: I am Boris; had made a serious mistake, from a business
I serve the Princess Sara." point of view. She had even tried to retrieveit by
Then there was a sort of fairy nursery arranged suggesting that Sara's education should be con-
for the entertainment of the juvenile members of tinued under her care, and had gone to the length
the Large Family, who were always coming to see of making an appeal to the child herself.
Sara and the Lascar and the monkey. Sara was I have always been very fond of you," she said.
VOL. XV.- 17.


Then Sara fixed her eyes upon her and gave her
one of her odd looks.
"Have you? she answered.
"Yes," said Miss Minchin. "Amelia and I
have always said you were the cleverest child we
had with us, and I am sure we could make you
happy-as a parlor boarder."
Sara thought of the garret and the day her ears
were boxed,-and of that other day, that dread-
ful, desolate day when she had been told that she
belonged to nobody; that she had no home and
no friends,- and she kept her eyes fixed on Miss
Minchin's face.
"You know why I would not stay with you,"
she said.
And it seems probable that Miss Minchin did,
for after that simple answer she had not the bold-
ness to pursue the subject. She merely sent in a
bill for the expense of Sara's education and sup-
port, and she made it quite large enough. And
because Mr. Carrisford thought Sara would wish
it paid, it was paid. When Mr. Carmichael paid
it he had a brief interview with Miss Minchin in
which he expressed his opinion with much clear-
ness and force; and it is quite certain that Miss
Minchin did not enjoy the conversation.
Sara had been about a month with Mr. Carris-
ford, and had begun to realize that her happiness
was not a dream, when one night the Indian Gen-
tleman saw that she sat a long time with her cheek
on her hand looking at the fire.
"What are you 'supposing,' Sara ? he asked.
Sara looked up with a bright color on her cheeks.
I was 'supposing,' she said; I was remem-
bering that hungry day, and a child I saw."
"But there were a great many hungry days,"
said the Indian Gentleman, with a rather sad tone
in his voice. ." Which hungry day was it ? "
I forgot you did n't know," said Sara. It was
the day I found the things in my garret."
And then she told him the story of the bun-
shop, and the fourpence, and the child who was
hungrier than herself; and somehow as she told
it, though she told it very simply indeed, the Indian
Gentleman found it necessary to shade his eyes
with his hand and look down at the floor.
And I was 'supposing' a kind of plan," said
Sara, when she had finished; "I was thinking I
would like to do something."
What is it? said her guardian in a low tone.
"You may do anything you like to do, Princess."
"I was wondering," said Sara,-"you know
you say I have a great deal of money and I was
wondering if I could go and see the bun-woman
and tell her that if, when hungry children- partic-
ularly on those dreadful days come and sit on the
steps or look in at the window, she would just

call them in and give them something to eat; she
might send the bills to me and I would pay them -
could I do that ?"
You shall do it to-morrow morning," said the
Indian Gentleman.
Thank you," said Sara; you see I know what
it is to be hungry, and it is very hard when one
can't even pretend it away."
"Yes, yes, my dear," said the Indian Gentle-
man. "Yes, it mustbe. Tryto forget it. Come
and sit on this footstool near my knee, and only
remember you are a princess."
"Yes," said Sara, "and I can give buns and
bread to the Populace." And she went and sat on
the stool, and the Indian Gentleman (he used to
like her to call him that, too, sometimes,-in fact,
very often) drew her small dark head down upon
his knee and stroked her hair.
The. next morning a carriage drew up before
the door of the baker's shop, and a gentleman
and a little girl got out,-oddly enough, just as
the bun-woman was putting a tray of smoking
hot buns into the window. When Sara entered
the shop the woman turned and looked at her, and
leaving the buns, came and stood behind the coun-
ter. For a moment she looked at Sara very hard
indeed, and then her good-natured face lighted up.
"I 'm that sure I remember you, miss," she said.
"And yet--"
Yes," said Sara, "once you gave me six buns
for fourpence, and -"
"And you gave five of 'em to a beggar-child,"
said the woman. "I 've always remembered it.
I could n't make it out at first. I beg pardon, sir,
but there's not many young people that notices a
hungry face in that way, and I've thought of it
many a time. Excuse the liberty, miss, but you
look rosier and better than you did that day."
I am better, thankyou," said Sara, "and-and
I am happier, and I have come to ask you to do
something for me."
"Me, miss!" exclaimed the woman, "why,
bless you, yes, miss! What can I do? "
And then Sara made her little proposal, and the
woman listened to it with an astonished face.
Why, bless me!" she said, when she had
heard it all. "Yes, miss,-it 'll be a pleasure to me
to do it. I am a working woman, myself, and
can't afford to do much on my own account, and
there's sights of trouble on every side ; but if you '11
excuse me, I'm bound to say I've given many a bit
of bread away since that wet afternoon, just along
o' thinking' of you. An' how wet an' cold you was,
an' how you looked,- an' yet you give away your
hot buns as if you was a princess."
The Indian Gentleman smiled involuntarily, and
Sara smiled a little too. "She looked so hun-


gry," she said. "She was hungrier than I was." She stepped to the door of the little back par-
"She was starving," said the woman. Many 's lor and spoke; and the next minute a girl came
the time she's told me of it since-how she sat out and followed her behind the counter. And
there in the wet and felt as if a wolf was a-tearing actually it was the beggar-child, clean and neat-
at her poor young insides." ly clothed, and looking as if she had not been
Oh, have you seen her since, then? "exclaimed hungry for a long time. She looked shy, but
Sara. Do you know where she is?" she had a nice face, now that she was no longer

.-A -- _Zr --.:- -
'- 'r ---: t,
:- ,. . .; : ';.,..
!i"' ":: ... "
-:.i` ,': ; 7:. :i,-"%
:"-.-' : .' '.. ,. ': .


"I know?" said the woman. "Why, she 's in
that there back room now, miss, an' has been
for a month, an' a decent, well-meaning girl she 's
going to turn out, an' such a help to me in the
day shop, an' in the kitchen, as you 'd scarce
believe, knowing how she 's lived."

a savage; and the wild look had gone from her
eyes. And she knew Sara in an instant, and
stood and looked at her as if she could never look
"You see," said the woman, "I told her to
come here when she was hungry, and when she 'd



come I give her odd jobs to do, an' I found she
was willing, an' somehow I got to like her; an' the
end of it was I 've given her a place an' a home, an'
she helps me, an' behaves as well, an' is as thank-
ful as a girl can be. Her name 's Anne-she
has no other."
The two children stood and looked at each other
a few moments. In Sara's eyes a new thought
was growing.
"I 'm glad you have such a good home," she


;. 14


said. Perhaps Mrs. Brown will let you give the
buns and bread to the children--perhaps you
would like to do it--because you know what it is
to be hungry, too."
"'Yes, miss," said the girl.
And somehow Sara felt as if she understood
her, though the girl said nothing more, and only
stood still and looked, and looked after her as
she went out of the shop and got into the carriage
and drove away.

" OHO said Cupid, I 've spoiled my pens,
And inked my fingers and thumb !
But I've asked our friends, the robins and wrens,
To our holiday dance to come."
Then the merriest Love that floats,
With the prettiest, curly head,
Went off with a bundle of notes,
Tied-up with a spider's thread.

He knocked at each snug little nest,
And he gave, with a bow, the line
That carried the dainty request
For the day of St. Valentine.
The robins and wrens were invited,
And accepted with accents delighted;
The father-birds brushed their coats,
The mother-birds strained their throats.
-But the sparrows, alas were slighted.

So they perched near Sir Cupid's door,
And, with many a hoot and grin,
They jibed at the guests going in
And laughed at the wraps they wore.
For robins were muffled in fur,
Or in mantles old and plain;
One fussy old wren wore a gossamer,
She was "so afraid 't would rain."


:o1i r



Then the sparrows beheld with spite
How each Love, with a white rosette
Did the honors with bows polite,
Or danced in the minuet.
They scoffed when the robins hopped,
Or the wrens cut a pigeon-wing;
They laughed when the music stopped,
And the birds began to sing.



But, oh 1 when they saw them sup
' On delicate, dainty fare,-
Drink dew from an acorn-cup,
Eat bay-berries ripe and rare,-
They vowed, with a vicious air,
They would break the party up
If the owl were only there !
Then they yawned that they did n't care,
And gazed with a silent stare.

When the smiling red-faced sun
Looked in on the ball with surprise,
The dancers had only begun
To humor their sleepy eyes.
So they laughed when they saw by the door
A row of the fluffiest things 1
Those sparrows were sneering no more.
They were silent -asleep by the score,
With their heads tucked under their wings.




UT are there any 'diamond-
backs' in Paradise? "
I demanded of the
good Herr Doctor.
"I have lived in
Paradise seventeen
Years, and in that
time have seen--just
three," he made answer.
Now the "Paradise" of which I write is not
beyond the Jordan, but on the Indian River, in
Florida. It is the local name for the loveliest place
to be found outside of Italy, and we had chosen it
for our winter quarters.
On either side of that Paradise rolls a river,- the
Banana on one hand, the Indian on the other,-
and in front you have a little lagoon, or lake,
which shuts you off from the great thorough-
fare which the Indian River has ever been, and
gives you a delightful sense of seclusion and secur-
ity a sort of a Robinson Crusoe feeling, without
quite that interesting recluse's solitariness. The
house stands on the crest of the rising ground -it
could hardly be called a hill- between the two
rivers; and from it, paths lead down to the shores
of both, scarce two minutes' walk to either. Or-
ange-trees,-there are no oranges in the world that
equal those of the Indian River region, even the
Maltese fruit paling its ineffectual juices in com-
parison,- guava, paw-paw, and India-rubber trees
stretch--the last especially--on all sides. But-
terflies of gorgeous hues, and winged creatures
of .the most brilliant plumage, bananas, sugar-
cane, flowers of all colors, delicious jellies, all and
everything that is supposable in Paradise may be
found before your door--except forbidden fruit:
for here no fruit is forbidden. The prevalence of
serpents was to be expected, of course; hence the
question with which I begin.
The diamond-back occurred to me, in connec-
tion with the story of the older Eden, as a probable
drawback to all this luxury and loveliness. Perhaps
if I say here that the "diamond-back" is scien-
tifically known as crotalus korridus, you will know
what I mean; perhaps you will not. Possibly my
statement of that zoSlogical fact will only make
cold chills creep down your back to no purpose.
For the name itself is appalling, and this perhaps

is the reason that the people of Florida, who wish
to encourage immigration, merely allude to dia-
mond-backs lightly and cheerfully as rattlers."
But there are ''rattlers" and rattlers/ The rattler
of the North is more or less common; few have
gone "huckleberrying" often, without encounter-
ing one. The better the ground and the day for
finding berries, the better the chance for rattle-
snakes, too. But a long stick always made a short
end of crotalus adamanteus of northern New
York; were the engagement with crotalus /hor-
ridus of Florida, though, I should want an un-
commonly long stick, and you might look with
considerable certainty to find me at the extreme
end of it. The common name by which this snake
is known comes from the diamond pattern which
Nature, ever liberal with her dyes and designs, has
printed upon its back. Nothing could be neater
or more becoming. And, so far as looks go, this
crotalus is the handsomest and best dressed of his
kind. But, since handsome is that handsome
does" only, the diamond-back is not generally ad-
mired in the circles wherein he moves, breathes,
and principally has his being. And now you will
perceive the importance of my question to the Herr
Of other sorts of snakes, he, speaking for Para-
dise, confessed that there were plenty; indeed, he
said that he preserved them,- that is, he inter-
fered to prevent their destruction. Rats ate his
sugar-cane, snakes ate the rats; and so the latter
were regarded as his friends and coadjutors in
planting. The more snakes, the more sugar. And
snakes of the harmless sorts came, in consequence,
to be as carefully respected in our Paradise as
ibises, holy cats, or sacred bulls ever were in Egypt.
There was, in particular, one-a huge black snake,
which the good Doctor made a special pet. It
had a haunt near the house, under a guava-tree,
and many a trick we played on the truant if
we found him somewhat distant from the hole
which stood for his "home-base." We several
times attempted to moor him by the tail. But one
might as well try to lay hold of the end of a moon-
beam to arrest the moving of its light, as attempt
to grasp the equally elusive tail of this snake
in the hope of staying his sinuous march. You
were lucky, indeed, could you seize it at all; for


the swiftness with which these clean-heeled con-
strictors (not inappropriately known as "racers")
get over the ground is something surprising. As
you walk through the field, there is a rustle in the
grass or brush at your feet; you hear a black
flash, see a noise, as it were, and the next moment
all is still. You look in vain for any trace or track
of the terrestrial meteor. And, as for strength, if
this black friend of the Doctor's once got but a few
inches of his length inside the hole, no one man's
strength could drag him back or hold him sta-
Of coach-whips we had plenty, too. This is
a slender, striped, gentlemanly-looking snake, that,
to all outward appearances, would not for the world
do anything mean or crooked." Nevertheless,
I once caught one of these demure fellows hiding
a very young chicken within his buff vest.
The black-snake is a skillful climber, and his
favorite climnbing-pole is an evergreen. I have
often seen one curled up like a knot on a branch,
or lying snugly in the fork, just where the branch
joins the tree, apparently asleep, possibly meditat-
ing. It might not be quite true to say that a
black-snake is not rarer in a tree than a black-bird.
but the only black-snake I ever dared to kill, in
the face of the Doctor's prohibition, was in a tree -
and up a tree, in this.wicked wise: My son Karl
and I, as we were butterfly-hunting one day, heard
a bird making a terrible outcry. On reaching the
underbrush whence the cries came, we found a
mocking-bird fluttering about in the greatest dis-
tress. And if any bird can call for help in agonized
tones, if any bird can vent imprecations upon the
head of the destroyer of its home, it is surely the
mocking-bird. Amid the tangle of leaves and
vines, we were for the moment unable to discover
the cause of the commotion; but Karl's young
eyes were not long at a loss. There, in the crotch
of a branch, lay the deftly constructed nest of the
bird, and directly above, like an evil cloud from
which forked lightning darted, we saw the wicked
head of a great black-snake threateningly poised.
Wound closely around the tree and of the color
of the bark, the body of the snake might readily
have been taken to be but a climbing vine. The
cruelty of this snake's raid or its seeming cruelty
-exceeded anything I ever witnessed. It seemed
impossible that any robber could remain unmoved
by the terrible distress of the poor mother-that
even the most cold-blooded of creatures could per-
sist in the perpetration of its wickedness, undis-
mayed by the harsh, discordant imprecations
heaped upon it by the mocking-bird, usually most
musical. But so far from entertaining any idea of
abandoning its wicked work, or of relieving the
mother-bird of her suspense by finishing it at

once, the snake seemed deliberately to delay the
winding-up of the dreadful drama; whether to in-
crease the tortures of the despairing parent or to
tempt her within certain reach, I do not know.
But the truth of the proverb about the probabil-
ity of a slip between cup and lip was confirmed
by the ending of the affair. The vengeance so
despairingly invoked by the agonized mother was
not delayed. The handle of our butterfly-net was
unshipped in less time than it takes to write the
words, there was a swish in the air, and the long
black folds relaxed their hold around the tree.
Limp and lifeless, the body slipped sinuously to the
But the bird never returned to its nest.
Even the Herr Doctor confessed that in this case
I had done exactly right-but he first made cer-
tain that the snake I had killed was not his great
black pet.
With yet another snake I had a personal inter-
view. Annie, the Herr Doctor's daughter, was
in the woods one day, looking for stray .':ill.:.
and hearing her call to us, we quickly ran to her.
As beautiful a snake as ever you saw was "making
itself scarce" as rapidly as it could. About thirty
inches long, banded regularly with red, black, and
yellow (Nature never makes a mistake in putting
her colors together), this was a prize not lightly to
be missed; and having no time to find a forked
stick for its capture,-nor any knife to cut one
with,- I caught the protesting reptile by the tail.
Thereafter "its wiggling was n't any good," as
Karl said. Holding the captive at arm's-length, I
carried it to the house. Not the least idea had I,
all this time, that the snake was poisonous, though
Annie declared that she had been told so by a
gentleman, who was connected with the Smith-
sonian Institution, and who surely ought to know.
However, I took good care not to let the snake
bite me not from any fear of the result, but as a
point of discipline. When it came to putting our
prisoner into a bottle of alcohol, there was trouble;
Annie wished us to first kill him, but one does n't
like to bruise a fine specimen. Alcohol seemed an
unfamiliar fluid -even this hardened reprobate
shrank from it. He would put his head into the
bottle without any objection, but as soon as he
smelt the spirits, back he turned upon his length,
and while half the body was being vigorously thrust
in, the other half was as vigorously and more rap-
idly traveling out. Finally, however, we g'ot him
in, and the cork in, too-and he must have liked
the quarters when he got used to them, for he has
occupied them ever since. Now it may occur to
you, as it since has occurred to me- though not a
thought of it came to any one of us at the time -
that our treatment of that snake was exceedingly




cruel. So pretty a snake, too! Had it been a
rabbit, or even a guinea-pig, we could never have
treated it in that manner. But beauty counts for
nothing, if the race be proscribed. And we subse-
quently learned that the creature was poisonous as
well as pretty. One day, at St. Augustine, a natur-
alist informed us (and the statement is confirmed by
a book issued by the Smithsonian Institution) that
this same snake, the Coral, or Harlequin, snake, is
really very poisonous,-a little less venomous than
the rattlesnake perhaps, but sufficiently poisonous
for all practical purposes. I do not recall all the
other accomplishments attributed to my snake,
but I remember distinctly that he is credited with
"two permanently erect fangs,"- quite too perma-
nently erect to make him desirable even as a
temporary companion. Never again shall I attempt
to catch -even by the tail-a snake of this or any
other species.
The only other poisonous snake in Florida that
I know of is the Moccason- sometimes spelled
"moccasin," and again, at greater length, Trigon-
ocephalusfpiscivorus. If any of my readers, young
or old, do not know what this means in English,

I, fresh from the Latin dictionary, am proud to be
able to inform them that we are to understand it as
saying that the moccason has a three-cornered head
and is fond of fish. This being so, it is fortunate
for him that he is an expert swimmer and diver,
and we see why he becomes a fiequenter of swamps
and marshy places. Perhaps they are called moc-
casons because they are found under our feet, and
are so likely to wrinkle and become uncomfortable
if we walk on them much.
I have seen and shot many moccasons. In my
tramps among the marshes and along the swampy
shores of the Banana, after ducks, I never failed
to take a shot at a moccason-no matter how scarce
my ammunition even at the risk of alarming bet-
ter-flavored game. I must confess, indeed, to bear-
ing malice toward the moccason; but I killed the
first one in ignorance of what I was killing. It was
on Lake lammonia, in northern Florida, where
Alice and I were spending a few days gunning and
fishing. An old negro, whom folk down there
called Uncle Peyton, was poling us for "blue-
peters" (known to us of the North and to ornithol-
ogy as "coots") through or rather over a long



stretch of swamp,-Florida lakes generally are
little more or less than swamps-when Alice
called my attention to a curious-looking head,
seemingly that of a young alligator, just visible
above the muddy, weedy water. My eyes did not
readily catch the object, and I impatiently de-
manded, Where She pointed and held her
finger within three inches of what might have
been a brightly polished and glistening Brazil-nut;
and she would have essayed the capture of what-
ever lay below had not the boat, still gliding on,
carried us too far beyond. After sending a charge
of shot back (to keep the thing there by ballast-
ing it with a little lead" ), we poled back to the
place and picked up a "swamp moccason" (popu-
larly called "blunt-tail," from the stumpiness of
that part of his body). It was more than five feet
in length. Lucky was it, indeed, that Uncle Pey-
ton's pole propelled Alice's indexing hand beyond
that fateful head !
But all this while I have been beguiled away
from the tale I had more immediately in view when
this writing began- a diamond-back's !
One day I was floating around in the Banana, a
few yards from shore-- not for deer, nor for
pleasure. I had gone out for a sail. But it was in
one of those delightfully primitive home-made "
boats which abound on this river, and which sail
equally well whether bow foremost or stern fore-
most. Equally well, I say, but their best is bad.
This boat would not beat to windward at all, and I
was too lazy to row.
I was waiting in the hope that an alligator or
big turtle would perhaps obligingly tow me to
the shore, when from the direction of the house
there came a succession of sharp, ringing shots,
evidently the reports of a rifle. And with these
came the screams of children, the barking of a
dog, and other evidences of an unusual commo-
tion. This was, remember, on the third day after
our arrival in the Land of Flowers. There were
no Indians about, and it did not seem possible that
the house could be besieged by bears; though,
failing some such explanation as the presence of
large game, I could not surmise what this rifle-
fusillade meant. I attempted to pole to the
shore, but it soon became evident that Harry's
boat was no more true to the pole than to her
course in beating to windward; so, to solve the
difficulty, I stepped overboard and waded ashore.
The fun was all over by the time I came on the
field; but there, in the path that led from house
to river, lay a veritable diamond-back, dead;
one bullet through his neck, his spine broken
by another, and his tail lacerated by a third.
It turned out that while the children, with Fan-
nie (a favorite Gordon setter-dog), were running

down to the water, the dog -ahead, as usual-
"pointed" at something in the grass, just out
of the path. Hastening up, in the expectation of
flushing a quail, or perhaps a rabbit, Dotty (my
daughter, aged eight) found this big diamond-back
on the alert and ready for business. As an armed
pirate lights its battle-lanterns, clears its decks, and
beats to quarters, so this terrible cruiser of the land
had kindled his eyes into flame, disposed his body
in a coil, and sprung his portentous rattle. Luck-
ily, our Dot," who had visited museums in St.
Augustine, well knew what all this meant, and
prepared to beat a retreat, calling on "Fan" to
follow. But that innocent creature, all unfamiliar
with diamond-backs, had the curiosity of her -sex,
and invited a nearer approach to see if the thing
were dangerous or not. So, as the snake was but
a few feet off, and time was precious, and the story
of Eve and Eden and the tempter too long to tell,
"Dot" caught the dog by the tail, and dragged
her up-hill and out of danger. Meanwhile, the
alarm had been given at the house, and a gentle-
man, who happened to be at home, re-enforcing the
party with a rifle, the reptile was soon dispatched.
In measurement it fell short of seven feet by only
one inch. And we all thought it a rather large
snake to find within a hundred feet of our dwelling-
house, and almost in the path that we daily trav-
eled in going to and from the river. The Herr
Doctor thought so, too; but, in his seven-
teen years on the place, he had seen but three
diamond-backs, and these were miles from the
house. Uncanny enough the great snake looked
when hung up for skinning, but less formidable so
than when coiled and rattling an alarm of death
with every vibration of its tail. And you may be
sure that during that night, and for several nights
thereafter, I held my little girl very closely in my
arms before we put her to bed, and that limits were
promptly set to the children's explorations of fields
and groves.
As already stated, this was the third day after
arrival at our lovely winter home. Thereafter,
following the trail over to Georgiana whither we
went for letters- or threshing through the brush
in quest of quail, I stepped very high indeed.
Viewing me from a distance, one might have
thought I walked on stilts. And I wore either the
heaviest of canvas leggins or the stoutest of
hunting-boots, even when hunting butterflies. If
a rat stirred in the grass, I started and listened
anxiously for a resumption of the rattle."' But
never a sign of a diamond-back did I see nor hear
in all my tramping over Merritt's Island,- and that
I beat the brush well during my four months'
sojourn, my full bags of game fully attest. Nor
did I meet any one else who had seen a diamond-


back- though all wished to meet one, or, at least,
said that they did. We who lived at the Herr
Doctor's were accounted singularly fortunate; it
was held that our rattler was a show, a cir-
cus, a private exhibition gotten up by the Herr
Doctor for the delectation of his guests; and that
it could not be duplicated, because there were no
more diamond-backs on the Island.
The nearest to a gratification of their curiosity
that any resident of Georgiana got was when I one
day went over for the mail, taking dog and gun
along, as usual. The post-master's yard -which
served, also, as garden -was but a blank space of
white sand. Across this stretch of white, in strange

"out of sight, out of mind." Seeing none for
months, they become as traditions, even to us at
the Doctor's. Meanwhile, however, a sad story of
a diamond-back came to us, brought by a tourist
from the gulf-coast. It was as follows:
An elderly gentleman from New York was out
near Punta Rassa, still-hunting for deer. He wore
neither boots nor leggins, merely low shoes.
After some dexterous maneuvering, he contrived
to get within gun-shot of a deer. But, just as he
was raising his rifle to his shoulder, he heard a
rattle near him, and knew that another hunter was
also taking aim. Without waiting to ascertain
whence came the warning, 'or where the am-


contrast to it, a tremendous black snake was gallop-
ing. Calling to the inmates of the house, who ran
out in response to the clamorous barking set up by
my dog, I inquired if they wished the snake killed.
The answer was an eager affirmative. Very soon
that snake was stretched out-and I must confess
to a feeling of disappointment when I got home
and found that it was not the Herr Doctor's big
pet. For chickens were not very plentiful on our
table, at best, and I always had a suspicion that
the black monster got more than his share of the
poultry. The Georgiana reptile was about the
same size as the Doctor's delight, measuring some
six feet in length. But as for diamond-backs:

bushed enemy lay, he instinctively stepped back-
ward. And as he did so, the bolt was sped-he
felt a sharp stab in the back of his leg, just below
the bend of the knee. Knowing only too well what
this meant, he turned and riddled the head of
the snake-two good shots met that morning on
that fatal piece of upland, near Punta Rassa. But
the human duelist had but little to boast of. His
guide, who came up when the shot was fired, sucked
the wound, tied a handkerchief tightly above it to
keep the venom from going into the circulation, and
putting gunpowder upon, and into, the wound, ig-
nited it. But all in vain. After lingering in great
agony for a while, the poor gentleman died.


Judge B., a naturalist, a correspondent of the he says, while the moccason will strike at anything
Smithsonian Institution, a collector of land-taxes -a stick, or a shadow-and strike all around it. It
by official position, and of rattlesnakes and other will strike at anything out of reach, not seeming to
snakes by inclination, was present, and heard the care whether it misses or not. The diamond-

-.- .... --. ..,-,---.-- -- .

.I ..* -
i : r *i.:. .,~ b


story. By way, perhaps, of enlivening and
cheering up the company, he spoke with a con-
tempt he could hardly conceal of those who feared
even diamond-backs. He had captured hundreds
of them (in proof of which he referred to the col-
lection at the Smithsonian Institution), and had
handled them without injury. Given, a" snake, a
forked stick, and a bag, the fate of that snake was,
with him, only a question of minutes-not many
minutes, at that. A wiggle or two, and he had the
wiggler in the bag. But to the deadliness of the
diamond-back's fangs he bore ample testimony.
" An excellent marksman, it seldom misses its aim,"

back, on the contrary, seems to mean business.
" If you hold a stick toward him," said the
Judge, "he does not strike at the stick--but at
you. If you are not within range, he does not strike
at all. If he does strike at you, the chances are
nine to one that he scores a hit. And to be struck
deeply, or near a large vein or artery, means
death -death, in spite of aid or antidote."
The Judge further told us that he usually carried
in his pocket-book, as a curiosity, a fang of the
largest rattlesnake he had ever seen. He showed
this one day to a friend, who handled it rather



"I warned him," said the Judge, "but he
laughed, saying that once out of the snake's mouth
the fang was but a bit of bone, and he offered to
scratch his hand with it. I replied that his widow
might have cause of complaint against me if I
allowed him to experiment, and suggested that he
try the fang on some small animal instead.
He had beautiful setter-dog. Here, Ponto I'
he called. 'For mercy's sake try it on some-
thing you care less for,' I said.
"Too late! Ponto came at the call. But, in-
stead of the expected caress, his master pricked

the mercury of the thermometer crawled down
nearly to freezing-point, but only to speedily re-
bound. Green peas and most other vegetables, out
of season in their greenness, throughout the winter.
Game of all sorts-provided you can bag it.
And the plumed birds I blush now to think of
it, and them. But my heart was then steeled
by the importunity of fair friends for blue herons
to mount, pelican breasts for muffs, and egret
plumes for their hats. One day Harry and I made
an excursion up New Found Harbor for plumed
birds. In the large boat Mineola, we sailed as


his nose with the fang. Ponto whined and bounded
off, taking it for a jest.
But, in half an hour, he was dead !
And if anybody would like to experiment, I
have the fang still !" The Judge took out a white
and glistening tooth and held it up for inspection.
But no one even asked to see it more closely.
The winter passed, and a lovely winter it was.
To see Nature in her rarest, loveliest moods, one
should go to the Indian River. "Blizzards" and
hail, here at the North; sunshine and oranges,
there. An occasional cold spell," perhaps, when

far as the water would permit, and then taking
to our skiff, poled possibly four or five miles up
the farther bayou. Alligators showed their great
goggle-eyes on all sides of us, but we were after
plumes, not skins. Ducks flew unheeded past,
within easy reach, but we were not out for game.
The wiliness, though, of the artful heron In the
spring of the year, when in full plumage, birds of
the heron kind, you must know, are as careful of
their fine feathers as ever a girl was of a party-
dress." Never, then, do they alight among weeds
and rushes that would fray, nor in mire that would



draggle, their'" trains." Offsandy points, that com-
mand the river for a mile up and down, or near the
middle of the creek, where they can have an eye
on all sides, they poise their lean bodies upon one
leg, and keep solitary watch. At the first dip of a
paddle, or the first glimpse of a boat's nose, away
they go! -their long legs trailing behind them
like banners, and their harsh voices squawking
unmusical farewells. On this occasion, our trip
was barren of satisfactory results. I got a couple of
"snake-birds "-one of which came down from a
great height in answer to the call of my little
twelve-bore gun-a number of green herons, a
few least bitterns, and some very fine grackle, for
mounting; but the one great blue heron that we
managed to secure was in poor plumage, and not
worth the powder expended on it. So, rather
tired, and very disappointed, we were returning
home late in the evening, and it was already dark.
At a bend in the river, we suddenly caught the
sound of a great croaking and squawking near by.
That 's a lot of herons, roosting; let 's find
'em," said Harry.
Anchoring the big boat, we put off in the skiff.
Guided by the noise, we found ourselves near a
small island. It was too dark to see anything dis-
tinctly, but dozens of white ghosts seemed to be
roosting in the mangroves, and the croaking was
unmistakable. "`One two three and at
the word, we fired As a result, we gathered up
fifteen white egrets, five small blue herons, and two
Louisiana herons, all in the fullest and most per-
fect plume. It was a piece of brutality, rather
than sportsmanship, and I write out this humili-
ating confession by way of penance and as a warn-
ing to others. It is with great pleasure, and some
pride in the weapon, that I further record that my
gun "kicked me wofully, and left with me a lame
shoulder and bruised and blue cheek-bone, for a
week. That I ought to have been kicked, I '11
admit; for this was a terrible piece of "potting."
But we had had very hard luck that day; our
bags were nearly empty; Florida is far, far away,
and I never expected to see New Found Harbor
again. Now -having all the plumes I want for
the balance of my life -I have finally resolved
never to do so more.
But (to return once more to my diamond-backs,
from which subject I will not again diverge) after
a pleasant four months in Paradise, we were pack-
ing for the North. The plumed birds, ducks, 'pos-
sums, 'coons, and almost all other wearers of fur or
feathers, were no doubt in high glee over our ap-
proaching departure and with undisguised interest
and impatience watched from afar for our going.
Mrs. Paul was reading, for perhaps the thousandth
time, the story of the Temptation in the Gar-

den." The day was Sunday, and in three more
days we were to go. A loud squeak attracted our
What can that be? said Mrs. Paul.
The Doctor's black pet must have captured a
rat," I replied. Now, Mrs. Paul, who is very fond
of natural history, has always been curious to know
how a snake can manage to swallow a creature
larger in circumference than itself; and an oppor-
tunity of this kind was not to be missed. So over
she hurried to where the Herr Doctor sat, with his
wife and brother, on the kitchen steps, and begged
him to make investigations. The Doctor said that
the cry was uttered by one of the pet rabbits that
had just come limping out from under the dining-
room steps, having evidently caught its leg in
some entanglement there, and hurt it. At the
suggestion that possibly his black-snake's jaws
were the entanglement encountered by Brer
Rabbit," the Doctor got up, took a long stick, and
poked about in the grass and under the steps;
but without finding anything. So all returned
to their places. Not ten minutes later, hearing
smothered expressions of surprise from the group
on the kitchen steps, and amazement not un-
mingled with horror, I looked up. Never shall
I forget the sight that met my eyes. Slowly
crawling out from under the dining-room was an
immense diamond-back! Exactly how large he
was, I learned afterward; but he then seemed to
me as big around as a barrel. The sluggish-
ness with which he moved, the deliberation with
which he dragged his slow length along, his
great head raised the while in air, looking in-
quiringly about for something he had evidently
lost or expected to find, all made a picture well
worth the seeing. No hurry in his motions, not a
sign of alarm in his demeanor. Evidently he
was looking for the rabbit he had struck-certain
that he would find it somewhere, and not very far
off. It is said that these snakes have an exquisite
sense of smell, by which they can follow a victim's
track with the unerring certainty of sleuthhounds.
This one seemed to know just where he was going
and for what he was looking. And, hungrily
anxious for the dinner he had taken means to se-
cure,-unconscious that in securing it he had
committed a crime,-on he came; seeminglyignor-
ing certainly paying no heed to the threaten-
ing hands that were now raised against him. The
world for him at that moment had but one inter-
est, and that was dinner.
I rushed to get my gun, but the Herr Doctor
declared that this particular diamond-back must
be fully eight feet long; that the Smithsonian
Institution had for some time wished a specimen
of that size; and that he wished to secure the skel-



eton for them. My shot would spoil the skull,
he said. But think what a trophy for me that
diamond-back would have been slain by my own
red right hand, and by the same hand despoiled of
head, rattles, and all It occurred to me that as the
Smithsonian Institution had not spent four good
months with the Herr Doctor, tramping among
snake-infected jungles and marshes to supply the
common table with duck, snipe, and other tooth-
some game, my claim to the scalp, ornaments,
and weapons of this individual snake ante-dated
and outweighed any that could be set up by the
But as there was not time to present any argu-
ments, I said and did nothing. No doubt, the
better plan would have been to shoot the snake
first, putting my side of the case afterward.
And I determined to do this, when a dilemma
of the kind again occurred. But meanwhile
the Herr Doctor and his brother had fallen
upon the snake-which, from the first, showed no
fear nor misgiving, and neither attempted to make
a coil nor spring a rattle and with clubs they be-
labored him to death. He measured when hung
up to be skinned, seven feet and eight inches in
length, and thirteen inches in girth; and he had
nine rattles and a button."
The skin, minus head and without rattles,
adorns my gun-rack yonder, for the Herr Doctor,
at the last moment of my departure, was moved
-probably by an upbraiding conscience-to put
the skin into my possession. The defect in the
trophy, as a trophy, is that in exhibiting it to
wondering and admiring friends, I can not truth-
fully say that I, myself, killed the wearer of the
As for the rest of the diamond-back, that was
eaten, bones and all, by prowling animals of the
night so the Smithsonian never got the skeleton,
after all.
From the fangs of the monster as he hung, we

forced, by pressing them back against the poison-
bags behind them, at least two tablespoonfuls of
venom -a clear, scentless, almost colorless, though
slightly amber-tinged, liquor. As this liquor, even
when spilled upon the ground, is quite as dangerous.
and deadly as the blood of the fabled hydra, we
carefully gathered up the earth, the grass, the
sticks, everything on which a drop could by any
possibility have fallen, burned all that would burn,
and then buried the residue and the ashes.
I must not omit to say that, searching for the
rabbit, after his assassin was killed, we found the
poor thing under our cottage, dead. Two small
punctures in the fore-shoulder, about as large as
would be made by No. 4 shot, showed where it
was struck. After receiving the wound, it ran
only about thirty feet. But though stone-dead and
cold when found, scarce half an hour later, the
body was not in the least swollen nor discolored,
which contradicted what I had before been told of
the effect of a snake-bite.
Talking the affair over, it seemed strange and not
particularly pleasant, to think that this python had
been prowling about and under the dining-room,
for no one knew how long, and that while we sat
at dinner we had only the floor between our feet
and his fangs. We must often have stepped
over him in going to meals, as he lay hidden there
under the piazza, quietly waiting for his dinner to
come along. And perhaps the thought that such
a monster could be so near, unsuspected un-
til slain, rather mitigated our regret at leaving
Paradise. But is it not strange that the only
diamond-backs of the winter made themselves
visible, one, three days after we came-the other,
three days before we went? Premeditation could
not have planned it better, nor could the exhibi-
tions of these peculiar products of "Paradise"
have been more dramatically arranged if the
leading idea had been to give us a thrilling recep-
tion and a startling send-off !





How I do hate to sew! If aprons only grew
without any sewing !" exclaimed Polly, with a
deep sigh, as she dropped in her lap the little blue-
checked gingham pinafore which her mother had
given her to hem. She was sitting on a little
wooden bench under a great pine-tree, not far
from the house,-her favorite spot in all the big
A moment after her impatient exclamation, a
queer-looking little old man with a hump on his
back appeared suddenly before her, and, to her
great astonishment, remarked in a squeaky little
"Aprons do grow! I've just harvested my fall
If he had not looked at her so kindly with
his little twinkling gray eyes, Polly would have
been afraid of the queer little dwarf; she was,
however, so eager to hear more about his ex-
traordinary crop of aprons that she did not run
away at all, but, overcome with amazement, ex-
claimed :
"A crop of afrons Why, I never heard of
such a thing! "
"Well," said the Dwarf, "where I live, aprons
and dresses, and coats, and hats, and all such arti-
cles, grow as thick as blackberries. It was only
yesterday I picked the very coat I have on, and
if you don't believe it, look at the stem."

In a twinkling off went his coat. Polly saw that
it was quite new; and, sure enough, there inside
the collar, where every coat has a loop, she beheld,
to her boundless astonishment, a kind of woolen
ste /
"I'd like to see that tree !" said Polly, with
"Well, so you can," responded the Dwarf.
Is it far?" asked Polly, doubtfully.
"Yes; but you have only to put your thimble
on your thumb, shut your eyes, and say,
Thimble, thimble, let me go
Where those crops of aprons grow!'
and, before you open them, you '11 be there."
Without waiting to run and ask her mamma's
permission, as she knew she ought to do, Polly
eagerly put her thimble on her thumb, shut her
eyes, and repeated the magic words.
When she opened them again, the pine-tree had
disappeared, and she found herself in a beautiful
garden full of strange plants, the like of which she
had never seen.
"Come !" said the Dwarf, who was now dressed
like a gardener and had a watering-pot in his
hand; come! Let us see the apron crop."
Polly followed him through a. gate into a field
of what seemed to be corn-stalks.
"Here's the Apron Field," said the Dwarf,
plucking an odd kind of ear, from the end of which


hung, instead of corn-silk, two unmistakable apron-
strings. Hastily stripping off the outside husks,
he gave to Polly the little roll which lay inside.
When it was shaken out, there, to her intense sur-
prise and delight, was the prettiest little white
apron imaginable, all trimmed around with white
lace and furnished with two long apron-strings.
The Dwarf allowed Polly to amuse herself pluck-
ing and opening the ears. She found first a
blue-checked and then a cross-barred muslin
apron,-now a long-sleeved and then a tiny bib-
apron; each plant bore a different kind, and the
aprons were little or big according as the ears were
partly or fully grown. Polly's arms were nearly
full of aprons, when the Dwarf said:
"Come now and see the Hat Plant."
A few steps brought them to a row of tall plants
which had leaves somewhat like those of sun-
flowers, but, instead of blossoms, each stem bore a
"Oh, my!" exclaimed Polly with delight, for
there were sailor hats, broad-brimmed garden
hats, sun-bonnets, beavers, tiny bonnets, and all
other kinds besides. The Dwarf let her pick all
she wanted, and helped her select for her baby
brother a little pink cap "just budding," and for

Oh, how be-a-u-ti-ful!" cried Polly, as she
ran from one patch to another, pulling violet rib-
bons, pink, yellow, blue, and cardinal ribbons,
right up by the roots,- the roots themselves being
as pretty as any other part of the ribbon, for they
were delicate fringes of the same color. Polly
noticed that all the watered ribbons grew in a
little pool at the end of the field, and that the
"waterings" or waves were made by the wind
blowing the water in ripples against the ribbon-
Polly's collection was now getting so large that
the Dwarf motioned to another little gardener, who
ran off and soon brought a queer-looking wheel-
barrow, made of a big clothes-basket set upon
two pincushion-wheels. With several yard tape-
measures he strapped all Polly's pickings into it,
and trundled it along after her wherever she went.
As they left the Ribbon Field, Polly asked the
Dwarf where he picked his coat. "Just over
here," said the Dwarf, leading Polly, as he spoke,
to an orchard of Jacket-trees. There she saw
every kind of Jacket-tree from those bearing
nice, tender little baby-jackets, to the strong and
fully developed overcoats for men. The coats
were of all materials, and they hung, like the


her father and mother two straw hats which were
" quite ripe," as he expressed it.
Now we '11 go to the Ribbon Field to find trim-
mings," said the Dwarf, leading Polly by a wind-
ing way through the Hat Plant Garden to a field
of ribbon-grass which grew just one yard high,
and in patches of every imaginable color.
VOL. XV.-18.

Dwarf's jacket, from aster inside the collar. The
Overcoat-tree had a thicker bark, and was in every
way a tougher tree than the others.
"What are these funny bushes which grow all
around under the Jacket-trees ?" asked Polly,
after selecting a full assortment of coats to give to
her father and her uncles.


Vest-bushes," replied the Dwarf; "they never
grow except under the shade of Jacket-trees."
He picked a fine broadcloth waistcoat as he spoke.
"We have developed some remarkable fancy
varieties," he continued proudly. "And do you

trees, which bore gloves instead of leaves. The
fingers and thumbs stuck out stiffly, just like the
divisions of leaves. There were two gloves on each
stem, making a pair; and the stem was shaped
like a glove-buttoner. There were kid-glove trees,


see under these vest-bushes this little dwarf shrub ?
This bears shirts, which are one of the most use-
ful crops we have on the whole place."
Polly, not feeling as much interested in shirts
and vests as the Dwarf, ran on. Suddenly she
stood quite still, and exclaimed:
Oh, my What is that?"
Before them was a wonderful tree which looked
rather like Polly's great pine, except that it seemed
made of silver, for it shone very brightly in the
That," replied the Dwarf, is our Needle-tree.
If anything has to be altered, we use these needles,
which we call pine-needles. They only grow in
the finest emery soil."
"That's what makes them so bright, I sup-
pose," said Polly, as she carefully scooped up a
handful of those lying on the ground. "But
what are these big, hard strawberries ?"
"They are emery-bags, which always spring up
from emery soil, just as toad-stools do in your
country. They almost always grow in the shape
of strawberries."
After supplying herself with plenty of emery-
bags, Polly next followed the Dwarf to the Glove
orchard. There she beheld some very strange

silk-glove trees, and cotton-glove trees. The boughs
being rather high, the Dwarf picked for the de-
lighted and astonished Polly one pair of every kind
and color. What amused her most were several
queer trees which in summer produced mitts and
in winter, mittens; and the Dwarf explained that
they had raised this singular fruit by planting
gloves which were half-ripe and not yet divided
into fingers.
They had returned to the garden, where the
first thing Polly saw was a grape arbor.
"Here are the Button-vines," explained the
Dwarf; I'11 pick you a cluster."
From a kind of grape-vine hung bright clusters
of buttons; here a bunch of mother-of-pearl, there
one of black crochet-buttons; here a cluster of
steel, and there one of shoe-buttons. They grew
to the stem by their shanks, and there were just
six dozen of each kind in a cluster.
"Oh, what a lovely button-string these will
make," shouted Polly, as she ran about, picking
bunch after bunch of many colors.
Soon the Button-vines were left behind, and
they came to another orchard.
Here," proudly remarked the Dwarf, "is our
Dress orchard. We pride ourselves on our choice



variety of dresses. We have three crops a year, to
fit the winter, autumn, and spring styles By
grafting one kind on another, we have obtained
some very rare and curious fashions. Sometimes
a mere accident will produce a new and pretty
style,-for instance, this variety of puffed-sleeve
dresses resulted from an accidental lapping-over
of that part of the dress when it was in the bud.
Our choicest, rarest styles,- our Worth dresses,'
we call them,-are raised under glass; and, of
course, much care is required in putting trees so
large as these, under glass."
But our little country Polly did not know what
Worth dresses" were, nor did she care, for
she was wholly absorbed in gazing around her.
There were Wrapper-trees, Ball-dress trees, Walk-
ing-suit trees, Baby-dress bushes and a dozen
other kinds.
The second little Dwarf, who had by this time
filled three wheelbarrows with Polly's pickings,
now had to fetch another to carry the load of
dresses which Polly, with the Dwarf's help, eagerly
selected. She herself could not, of course, pick
the right sizes so quickly as he, for he knew just
where to find the bud dresses which fitted her, and
the fully grown ones which suited her mamma.
"Now tell me, how do handkerchiefs grow?"
asked Polly, as they presently left the Dress
We 're just coming to the Handkerchief-bed,"
said the Dwarf; and in a moment he stooped to

eral dozens of various patterns, she and her two
companions moved on to new wonders.
The Collar-and-Cuff tree interested her greatly,
for she found the collars and cuffs grew rolled up
inside of a kind of chestnut-burr. She laughed
outright when the Dwarf explained that to turn
out a good stiff fruit," the tree had constantly to
be watered with thick starch-water mixed with
a little blueing.
On a stalk near by Polly found cuff-buttons
growing like peas in a pod, and she amused her-
self for some time shelling a quantity of them just
as if they had been peas. It was odd enough to see
gold, silver, pearl, and rubber cuff-buttons rattling
into the pan which the Dwarf had given her to
catch them as they fell.
When she had shelled about a peck, she ran on
after the Dwarf, who was pulling up from the
grounds something which was like a potato-plant.
Instead of a potato, Polly saw, when the dirt was
shaken from what she would have called the roots,
a perfectly-formed pair of shoes growing upon
stems, with tendrils resembling fine silk shoe-
strings. On examining these shoes, she found in
each a little roll. She pulled it out as she would
an almond from its shell, and there was a stock-
ing just the right size for the shoe, and in the
other shoe was the mate. Polly thought she
should never tire of pulling up these fascinating
plants,- finding boots, slippers, shoes, and even
overshoes of all kinds. (There were, however,


pick a kind of cabbage, the delicate leaves of
which proved to be the very finest of cambric
pocket-handkerchiefs. Each fruit consisted of
just a dozen handkerchiefs; and, when these were
picked off, Polly discovered in the heart, or core,
of the plant a dainty little scent-bag, which im-
parted to each handkerchief a delicate and deli-
cious perfume. Having supplied herself with sev-

no stockings in the overshoes.) When her last
wheelbarrow was filled with shoes, she reluctantly
quitted this delightful occupation and followed
the Dwarf, who this time led her to a burying-
"What in the world is that? exclaimed Polly,
looking at the queer little white grave-stones with
which the ground was covered.



The Dwarf pointed to the writing on one. At
the top of the stone was a singular device, which
at first appeared like the skull and cross-bones so
common on old tombstones; but on looking closer,
Polly saw that it was a thimble, with an open pair of
scissors beneath it. Below she read this epitaph:
Be filled with cheer, ye passers by,
For here a- Scissors Fiend doth lie! "
"Oh, good!" exclaimed Polly, in great glee;
"I am so glad some of them are dead, for they're
always stealing my scissors. If I drop them from
my lap, I never can find them. I knew there were
little fiends who carried them off! "
Having now filled several wheelbarrows from
these strange gardens, Polly asked the Dwarf if
it were not now about time to go home again.
Oho! said he "so you want to go home,
do you? We never let anybody leave here who
has not come with her mother's permission. Now,
you never asked her at all, so I don't see how you
can get away."
Oh, dear! said Polly, beginning to cry; for

what did she care for all these pretty things, unless
she could show them to her mamma?
She kept on crying until she suddenly noticed
her thimble. Struck with a bright idea, she
clapped it upon her thumb, shut her eyes, and
"Thimble, thimble, let me go
Where crops of aprons NEVER grow "
When she opened her eyes, most wonderful to
tell, there she was again on her little bench under
the great pine-tree, her sewing in her lap and her
work-basket at her side. Not a trace of the Dwarf
or her seven wheelbarrow-loads was to be seen;
whether he wished to punish her for going without
her mother's permission, or whether he was one of
those stingy "Indian givers whom Polly despised,
she could not tell. In fact, as she rubbed her
eyes, she could almost have thought the whole
thing was a dream, except for one fact: her thim-
ble was on her thumb and what little girl in her
senses ever wore it there? So, it could n't have
been a dream, could it?



"HAD, too!"
Had n't, neither "
So contended Bess and May,-
Neighbor children who were boasting
Of their grandmammas, one day.

"Had, too! "
Had n't, neither "
All the difference begun
By May's saying she 'd two grandmas,
While poor Bess had only one.

" Had, too! "
Had n't, neither !"
Tossing curls, and kinks of friz,
How could you have two grandmothers
When just one is all they is ? "

"Had, too! "
Had n't, neither!
'Cause ef you had two," said Bess,
You'd displain it! Then May answered:
" My grandmas were twins, I guess "

ti I.'..-;

S '

"- i .-)-i*


THERE scarcely has been a time in the history
of London when there was not a bridge across the
river Thames. Away back in Claudius Casar's
time, only forty-four years after Christ,- when the
great city of to-day was the little Roman colony
of Londinium~,- there was a font or bridge across
the river; and again and again, up to the year
1176, we hear of a wooden bridge being built,
burned, or repaired, between the growing city and
the Kentish shore. One of these was built in the
year 994 by the exertions of a girl-Mary, the
ferryman's daughter; and it was destroyed in the
year loo8 by a boy -Olaf, the northern Viking.
But the Old Bridge of which I particularly wish
to tell you is the massive stone roadway across
the Thames that was built by order of King
Henry II., and designed by the architect-priest,
Peter of Colechurch.
Through the reigns of Henry II., of Richard
the Lion-Hearted and his base brother John, the
bridge building went on, although, in 1205,
after he had been at work upon its massive
arches for twenty-nine years, Peter of Colechurch
died and was buried in a tomb built in the central
The bridge, as constructed by Peter of Cole-
church, had twenty arches and a draw-bridge. At
either end was a gate-house, and over the central
arch was built a church or chapel, beneath which
was the tomb of Peter, the priest and architect.
This church was dedicated to Thomas A Becket
-whom, you may remember, Henry II. liked
better after he was dead than when he was alive -

and there a band of priests held service every day
until the time of Cromwell and the Puritans.
When Peter of Colechurch died, the merchants
of London took up the work, and finished it, in the
year 1209, in princely fashion. Its cost had been
met by a tax upon wool, and hence it came to be
said that London Bridge was built upon wool-
packs." So, though royal hands had something
to do with its completion, you see that a free city
had more, and that it owed most to the energy
of its merchants and to the chief staple of their
Very properly, then, the first thing to go over
London Bridge was London itself. The growing
town spread itself across the Thames, and was
there called Southwark. This was the beginning of
the great suburb which now extends over all the
country southward, as another does northward.
And the larger these cities grew, the more im-
portant became the bridge. For hundreds of years
it was the only highway between them. Westmin-
ster Bridge was not built until 1750, and more and
more the strength of the metropolis centered in the
older bridge, and poured over it; and more and
more it came to be the common ground of kings,
nobles, and people. This, too, you must bear in
mind, as I take you along with me.
Now, singularly enough, the first scene of any
note which there took place was a collision be-
tween a royal personage and the people.
It happened in 1263. Queen Eleanor of Provence,
the haughty wife of Henry III. (who got into
many difficulties both with the barons and with the


people, because he would violate the charter of his
father, King John), one day started with great
pomp, in a gilded barge, from the Tower which was
below the bridge, for the royal castle at Windsor
farther up the river.
The Tower in those days had no enormous guns

reTiad,, t,:, .

m- in ,k C:-
arni: 1.: r
of. rd
loud sa-
lute whenever a monarch left its gates; but it made
a great display of gorgeous banners, and of steel-
clad warriors on its battlements, when the gilded
barge shot out into the stream. If Queen Eleanor
had not sided, in a very insolent and unfeeling way,
with the king and against the barons, whom the peo-
ple considered their friends, all might have gone
peacefully enough with the fair and sumptuous lady.
But this was the period when the common people
were awakening to their rights, and were losing their
respect for kings,- especially for the king upon the
throne, the weak son of the tyrannical John.
The gilded barge sped onward, its stalwart row-
ers bending to their oars, when, with the near
approach to the bridge, came the serious question
whether they could safely "shoot" the low central
arch. It was always a dangerous place, and espe-
cially so when the swift tide was rushing through.
But, as they drew near the semicircle they found
against them another and more threatening tide
of opposition of an unexpected kind.
It was nothing less than the people themselves !
They swarmed upon the parapet, they pushed out
in boats from behind the smaller arches on both
sides; and a shower of mud, and some harder mis-
siles as well, came rattling about the royalboat, strik-

ing the rowers, and bespattering the resplendent
queen. You may imagine the cries, the shouts, the
reproaches with which also they assailed her in all
her majesty, as they bade her go back; -and go
back she did, mortified and enraged at the insult.
But this was only one of many occurrences in
this reign by which the royal family were
taught to know what it cost to oppress and
exasperate the people. The king, himself, wit-
nessed his full share of such manifestations, as
you shall hear.
There was a certain powerful patriot and
baron in the days of King Henry III., named
Simon de Montfort. The king declared that he
feared Lord Simon more than he feared
thunder and lightning. There was reason;
the cloud of rebellion in the kingdom had
begun to look very black; the barons were
its thunder, the people were the lightning,
and Simon de Montfort, their leader, was
the bolt which might at any instant fall.
When at last it did descend, it fell at Lon-
don Bridge.
The king was in possession of the Tower,
so Montfort marched for London with a great
army; the barons wearing the white cross
upon the back and front of their armor, as
they had at Runnymede, to symbolize the
holiness of their cause. They knew the
populace of the city was in sympathy with
them. The vanguard rode upon the bridge,
but orders were given from the Tower, and the
draw was pulled up, making it impassable. Then
Simon de Montfort summoned the warders, and
bade them lower the bridge. It was the voice of
the people against the voice of the king. The
citizens unloosed the chains, and the heavy draw
came rattling into its place.
The populace sided with the patriots, as de Mont-
fort knew they would. The result was a pitched
battle, fought at some distance from London, in
which the king was defeated and made prisoner.
But the greatest result of the revolution was, that
when the barons again assembled in parliament,
representatives of the commons," as the people
were called, met with them, and what is known as
the House of Commons, which is to-day the real
ruler of England, came into existence.
When Edward I. came to the throne, he had
learned wisdom by his father's experience. He
proved to be a wise and good king, and the people
were content. But his oppressive disposition' was
shown in another field. The king laid a heavy
hand upon Scotland and crushed it. Down went its
throne, over went its nobles. But its people were
at length aroused to resistance by the spirit of one
man, William Wallace.



After years of fighting, Wallace was betrayed,
made prisoner, and brought to London. This was
on August 5, 1305. Edward arraigned him as a
traitor, in the judgment-hall at Westminster. The
king even went so far as, in mockery, to crown the
patriot with a garland of oak-leaves, to destroy
his dignity as the defender of his country. He
then had him hanged. With cruel barbarity, his
body, cut in pieces, was sent to Scotland to carry
terror to his adherents there; but the noble head
.of the hero was set up on the northern tower of
London Bridge.
This was then a new use of the towers of the now
.ancient bridge, but it was only a beginning. As the
years went on, many notable heads- sometimes
those of the highest born nobles, executed for trea-
son -were spiked to the parapet of the gate, to
bleach in the sun, rain, and fog, a ghastly sight for
the crowd always passing beneath; a sight more

heralds bearing shields and spears, soldiers in
shining helmets, green-coated archers, throng
the bridge from one end to the other, pouring
in upon it from the streets, pouring out from it
over the road that leads to France, until the head
of the glittering column is lost to sight.
Who comes now? It is the grim King Edward;
and, by his side, a golden-haired boy, not yet with
helmet on, but wearing the plumed hat of a prince.
His fair face is flushed with martial delight, as
his horse prances beside the tall steed of his
royal father. We know what is in his mind. He
has had the promise of knighthood He is to win
his spurs in battle across the channel. History
tells the rest. The scene of the knighting, on the
sand of the sea-shore; the terrific battle of Cr6cy,
won by the gallant boy, while his father looked on
from the windmill; and the capture of the triple
tuft of ostrich feathers, which with the motto

I__~ I i -' :

''I---- I.

----- 1- 1-

. I j,.j

.1' Id



worthy of African savages than of a civilized king-
dom; and yet it was one which might be seen until
almost within the memory of the living.
It was about forty years after Wallace's death
that the bridge saw two splendid pageants.
The first was in 1346.
The streets of London resound with the heavy
tread of a mighty army, marshaled by Edward
III. He is going to conquer France. What a
show of banners and pennons: richly clad knights,

" Ict dien," has been borne ever since as the crest
or device of the Prince of Wales.
Now, eleven years have elapsed. Here is another
pageant, but it is marching the other way. Far over
the hills the army of England is seen on its return.
London is bustling with preparation. The streets
are filled with decorations; the house-fronts are
covered with rich tapestries and carpets, with
shields and breastplates, and with all the bright
weaponry of the day, arranged in rosettes, like great


:- "Z_._-_ _



flowers of steel,- as we can now see them in the
Tower. The day of peace has come. King John of
France is expected, a prisoner in the hands of the
Black Prince.
The people of London are all in comity with
King Edward, who has been a long time at home.
They enter into the spirit with which he desires the
occasion to be celebrated. The trade-guilds are
out in all their insignia and costumes. At Edward's

cloth of gold, is soon alive with the triumphant
procession. The people's shouts almost drown the
noise of the trumpets and clarions.
It is the day of chivalry, of courtesy to the van-
quished, of honor to the brave. It is not Edward
the Black Prince who receives the ovation. He
tries to keep out of sight in the crowd, that all the
glory may come to the King who remained fight-
ing when his army had run; to the boy who, when


order, one thousand of the chief citizens come forth his father stood fighting alone, defended him-
on horseback, crossing the bridge to meet the cap- the noble little French Knight, Sir Philip the Bold.
tive king and do him honor.
Amid a brilliant cavalcade he comes, more like PART II.
a victorious than a vanquished prince. The great
merchants close round him, doffing their hats and RICHARD II. was, in some respects, as noble a son
bowing low. The Tower booms with cannon. The as even the Black Prince could have desired. He
bridge, all embowered with bright banners and was very handsome, gallant, high-spirited, and





brave; full of the right-royal blood which becomes
a line of kings. But he became a king too soon,
and this spoiled him. He was only eleven years
old when he mounted the throne. He was but
sixteen when he quelled a mob which had rushed
with terrible fury over London Bridge. The act
had the heroic ring of true royalty, and he did it
by a glance and a word.
Imagine, if you can, a hundred thousand infuri-
ated men, pouring out of the farms and villages
of the counties below London, with Wat Tyler at
their head, breaking into the streets of South-
wark, and making for London Bridge. But the
draw is pulled up, and with good reason. If once
they should enter London, what would become
of the city, -what would become of the king ?
It is now no pageant which throngs the old
structure, but a maddened mass of the common
people, who feel that they have been deeply
wronged. Every boat has been taken to the other
side. The bridge is the only way over, and the
tide is rushing through the long gap made by the
lifted draw. On the other end of the bridge stands
William Walworth the Lord Mayor, with his mag-
istrates, and the citizens armed for its defense.
Above in the Tower stand Richard, his nobles and
his prelates, looking down upon the exciting spec-
tacle. But the boy-king feels no fear.
The scene now before his eyes recalled another
in strange contrast to it. Five years before, the citi-
zens of London had thronged out, brought him
over the bridge, and placed him in the Tower amid
such a tumult of rejoicing as never before was
known. The child had stared in wonder as he
crossed the river into the capital of his kingdom,
where the streets were thronged with glad faces to
greet him, and the very fountains spouted wine -
and now, before his astonished eyes, here was a
mob which, with its black mass, blotted out both
bridge and river-banks, shrieking for vengeance
against his throne.
But such a flood of human might could not be
stayed by a mere lifting of the bridge. They
fiercely shouted, "Drop the draw The chains
rattled, barriers fell, the torrent burst over and
soon covered the hill overlooking the Tower. This
was on June 13, 1381. A herald from the king
proclaimed that if they would retire to some dis-
tance out of the city, he would come to meet them.
He went out to'them almost alone; Wat Tyler,
with his hand on his dagger, grasped the king's
bridle--Lord Mayor Walworth instantly struck
him down. Now, if ever, was the moment of dan-
ger. The rebels drew their arrows to the head,
when Richard, a beardless boy, but at that moment
every inch a king, spurred his horse toward them.
" Tyler was a traitor !" he shouted; I will be

your leader! His courage, his presence, over-
awed them. Soon the citizens of London came in
force to the rescue. The rebels fell on their
knees and asked for mercy.
If Richard had only been as true to his word as
he was brave in giving it, what a leader to his peo-
ple he might have been But he grew up to be a
tyrant over both nobles and people; a king of


-- -A -


pageants, banquets, and tournaments, only, with
no thought but.for his own pleasure and glory. I
should be glad to dismiss him now, if it were not
for two strange spectacles which, during his reign,
took place on London Bridge; one of them will
prove of especial interest to boys, the other will be
better liked by girls.
It was Saint George's Day, 1390, that King Rich-
ard appointed for the first of these spectacles. A
Scottish knight, named the Earl of Craufort, had
a quarrel, or some dispute, with an English knight
who had been ambassador to Scotland, named
Lord de Wells. After the custom of those days a
challenge passed between them, and they were to
settle their difference by what was called a passage
at arms.
Such things were of considerable moment to the
parties concerned, even if no more than a friendly
struggle to see which was the better man. Tour-
naments were the great amusement of the day, and
they were often held at Westminster. Whether
it was because one of the present combatants
was from another country, and the nearest to
neutral ground was required; or whether it was a
whim of the king to give the greatest possible num-
ber of people a chance of witnessing the fray, no
less dangerous a place was chosen for the combat
than London Bridge. Here, accordingly, the lists
were prepared. Tournaments on the water with



boats were frequent, as well as tournaments on
land with horses, but this was to be on neither
land nor water.
Of course they had no doubt that the English
knight would knock over the Scotchman, for the
knights of that country were not believed to be
There was a great array on the bridge, the king
and most of his nobles being present there; and
the populace covered the shores. Lord Craufort
rode into the lists accompanied by twelve knights,
who had been given a safe-conduct to attend upon
When everything was ready, the signal was given,
they put spurs to their horses and, with their lances
in rest, met in a fearful collision midway upon the
bridge. The lances were splintered, neither man
dismounted, but the Scotchman sat as immovable
as a pillar of iron. The Englishman, though he
stood it well, looked for a moment a little awry,
like a tall stove that had lost one of its feet. This
was rather a surprise to the Londoners.
After they had recovered their breath, and the
Englishman had been set upright again, the two
withdrew for another charge. Again came the dash,
and the clash, and the splinters, and the dust, and
the horses on their haunches,-but there sat the
two knights, the Scotchman as firm as the parapet,
but the Englishman somewhat arched over his sad-
dle-bow. The people cheered, but .they were angry
with the Scotchman.
Then they drew off again. It was surely the
best joust of the year. For the third time,
they met. But this time Lord de Wells was
hoisted out of his saddle, and landed on the hard
pavement, like a mass of old iron. He could not
even hear the cruel clang he made. His breath
and his senses had been knocked out of him.
He did not move a limb. Neither for an instant
did the Scotchman, who, having reined in his horse,
looked grimly down upon the ruin he had made.
Such defeat would never do. The enraged and
ungenerous spectators raised the shout, "He 's tied
to his horse He 's tied to his horse! Where-
upon the knight lightly vaulted from his steed, and
discomfited his accusers at once,- and what did he
then ? Vault back again, amid the loud plaudits
they could not forbear to give ? On the contrary,
he turned his back upon his horse, and going
quickly to the fallen knight, lifted him tenderly,
and took off his helmet to give him air, while the
king and all the rest thought he was going to ply
the dagger, as was now his privilege. The chivalry
in his brave heart proved to be as true as was the
stroke of his iron arm. His heart had warmed to
his gallant adversary, and to the amazement of every
one, he watched by the sick bed of his foe for three

months thereafter, until Lord de Wells was mended
of all his ills.
On November 13th, 1396, King Richard, having
been on a visit to the French court, returned with
a new wife. This was the second time he had cel-
ebrated a matrimonial pageant on London Bridge;
and though the former occasion had been as gor-
geous as was then thought possible, this cele-
bration easily surpassed the by-gone splendor.
He had made both a great match and a little
one. His bride was Isabel, the daughter of the
king of France. Every Londoner, with his wife,
was out, of course. So was every Englishman
who could get there. Such a concourse, such a
crush, such an excitement, had never before been
known. Nine people were trampled to death on
the bridge. The crowd at the tournament had
been nothing to this. What was the attraction ?
Was it the extraordinary splendor of the pageant?
No. Was it to welcome the king back ?-they
wished he had never come back. The rumor that
caused it had come on the wings of the wind, say-
ing that the king, now a man of thirty, was bring-
ing home a tiny queen of eight years old Fresh
from the nursery,- perhaps with her doll in her
arms,--the bright little French princess was com-
ing to London. This was enough to draw the mul-
titude. ST. NICHOLAS some years ago contained
a pretty sketch of the fairy creature, whose husband
had to take her up in his arms whenever he would
kiss her. But she did not wear her toy crown long,
for Richard in three years more had lost his own,
and she returned to France, a petite widow of
eleven, to look back on an experience as wonderful
as a child ever had.
I am glad, now, to turn to a nobler king, and to
a more famous event on London Bridge; to a king
more gallant than any who ever sat on the English
throne-Harry of Monmouth-the victor of Agin-
court. The school-boys attending service in West-
minster Abbey have, from generation to genera-
tion, looked up at his helmet, shield, and saddle,
where they hang high above his tomb; and they
do so even to this day with a thrill of enthusiasm
for the hero of that famous battle.
But it was London Bridge which could best tell
how England felt about Agincourt. It had been
another Cr6cy and Poictiers couriers had spurred
across the bridge, with news of ten thousand
Frenchmen killed, of fourteen thousand taken pris-
oners, and all with a loss of only forty Englishmen.
The news had come before the dawn, while the
Londoners were still in their beds. But they ran
to the churches, and in ten minutes every bell in
London was ringing a joyful peal. A few weeks
later, they heard of his landing at Dover, and of
how the people had rushed into the water and borne



him ashore. And so the excitement grew, until
they heard he was close at hand. Then came the
magnificent pageant of his reception.
Twenty thousand citizens went over the bridge
and down the road to meet him; all of them, as
usual, in the picturesque costumes of their trades.
These tradesmen were organized into guilds,"
as they were called, which were privileged, and all


very rich. They escorted him through South-
wark to the bridge, which presented a gorgeous
sight. They had got up what was then distinctively
called a "Pageant," upon it, wherein, after the
curious taste of those days, were all sorts of figures
and emblems, and rebuses; these, when put to-
gether, like the letters of the alphabet, gave out a
great amount of meaning. On the gate-tower,
conspicuous among them, stood a giant,- one
"that was full grim of might, to teach the French-
men courtesy."

The procession formed for crossing the bridge;
the lord mayor and aldermen, in scarlet gowns
and red and white hoods, took their places about the
youthful conqueror; the guilds" followed; the
nobles, in splendid attire, completed the show. The
trumpets and the horns sounded, the people
shouted, the wind waved the bright banners over
the Tower, and the bridge itself seemed lifted up
with pride, as the glorious
Sf array passed under arch after
arch of triumph spanning its
S And the show on the bridge
S.. was only what was in all the
4!ir'": streets, for three miles, until
i:.. i' '-.Westminster Palace was
'i reached. Young girls and
Young men were foremost of
all in showering laurel-boughs
and gilded leaves upon Prince
Hal's handsome head. Some
;,.l i played musical instruments,
others sang anthems and
songs. Behind the lattices
were ladies and gentlemen,
dressed in crimson, fine linen,
and gold. The streets, like
the bridge, were so densely
crowded that the horsemen
could scarcely make their way.
S .And, amid it all, the king
in his purple robe rode along,
-solemn, thoughtful, and
devout, revolving yet greater
plans, and thanking God for
.*'' what he had been enabled to
'- do. For, with all his glory,
j "; England had never a more
high-minded king than he.
He felt that Providence in-
tended him to achieve a yet
more wonderful work in
France, for that country was
in a fearfully distracted state.
And this made him soon
return thither, to carry on
the war. Within seven years more, he had won
the crown of France, he had married the French
princess, and he had nearly restored to that land
order and peace. Paris was as delighted with him
as London had been. The cup of his success was
fast filling to the brim, when it fell from his hand.
He died in what seemed the midst of his great
What a gloom now fell upon London Bridge,
when the black-robed courier came riding over it,
with the sad burden of this news What a pall lay


over the city when it heard that a funeral caval-
cade, with measured steps and slow, was crossing
France, from Paris to Rouen, and from Rouen to
Calais Soon a fleet bore his body to Dover, and
now the citizens awaited the solemn, melancholy
spectacle, which day following day brought nearer
and nearer. The bridge was hung with black, as the

the city, and struck his sword on London Stone,*
shouting, "Now is Mortimer lord of the city "
and followed this claim by pillaging rich mansions,
and other acts of violence, then his popularity
ended, excepting among the mob where it began.
. He retired to Southwark, but was resolved to
enter the city again. This the citizens determined


funeral car passed over it, bearing a waxen figure
of the king, in his robes of majesty, and sur-
rounded by chanting priests, in white vestments,
and knights arid esquires in black armor. The
young warrior's three chargers followed, and when
the coffin was carried through the gates of West-
minster Abbey, and up the long nave, those war-
horses were led up to the very steps of the altar. It
is the saddle of one of them which now hangs,
with the king's armor, above his splendid shrine.
As a contrast to all this, we may stop a moment
to see what happened at the bridge, only eighteen
years after, during the weak reign of King Henry's
son. It is the scene when London was defending
itself against the followers of Jack Cade; a notori-
ous fellow of common origin, who took the high-
born name of Mortimer, and ran a curious race, as
such upstarts always do. At first, Cade was popu-
lar with the citizens of London; but when, with
vulgar ambition, he rode across the bridge, into

he should not do. They removed the draw, and
barricaded the bridge. The insurgents made a
grand rush upon it one Sunday night. But the
Londoners were prepared, and the garrison of the
Tower came down to their help. The fight lasted
all night long; nor did it stop until nine o'clock
next morning. Then Cade drew off his men.
They soon after dispersed, and deserted him. A
large reward was set upon his head. Then there
was a great chase, and at last he was caught. So
he did get over London Bridge, after all; that is,
his head was set over the northern entrance-
a kind of eminence he had not desired, but which
was then thought to be very fitting for him.
Let us now pass on in our account to the reign
of Henry VIII. If we were to linger long over
this reign, we should be dazzled with pageants.
There seems no end to them.
There is, first, King Henry going over in gor-
geous pomp to make war in France. The records

*A prehistoric monument, thought by some to be a landmark from which distances were measured.


fairly take our breath away with their accounts of it,
Again, a few years after, Henry crossed to meet
Francis I. on "The Field of the Cloth of Gold,"
the very name of which hints at the display of splen-
dors on the way. In 1527, Cardinal Wolsey went
over upon an embassy to France, in so glorious a
style as to outshine the king himself; for he added
the magnificence of a cardinal-prince of Rome to
the grandeur of being Lord Chancellor in the
Court of England. Then we hear of an imposing
embassy from France, coming to invest Henry with
the Order of St. Michael. In due time, Anne
Boleyn appears on the bridge, riding beside
Henry, to visit France. It was just after their re-
turn that they were secretly married. In 1544,
Henry goes over again; but now to fight Francis,
of "the Cloth of Gold," his former friend, and he
crosses the channel in a ship the sails of which
were made of cloth of gold. You can see his
effigy to-day in the Tower armory, "armed at all
points, upon a pied courser," just as he appeared
when he set out. And here let us leave him. He
was a great showman, but we can turn from him
without regret.
But were I to tell of all whom he made to pass un-

highway" between the great judgment-hall at
Westminster, and the Tower; and that the Tower
had a gate opening on the water, called the Traitors'
Gate. Need I tell you more? Think of the con-
demned men, who came down in boats with the
headsman's axe turned toward them, stooping their
heads as the axe itself was lowered while they shot
under the low arch of the bridge into the gloomy
archway of their prison. The sight was nothing
new, and it did not end for many years; but the
reign of Henry saw so much of it as to give me
occasion for mentioning it now.
But my space is diminishing so fast that I must
hasten on. Suppose we stop, a moment, and look
at another insurrection with which the bridge again
had something to do. It was in 1554. There
was a rising of the "Men of Kent," under Sir
Thomas Wyat, against Queen Mary. They were
opposed to her coming to the throne,- as they had
good reason to be. Wyat, with two thousand
men, came toward London Bridge. The guns of
the Tower blazed away at them over the river, but
nobody was hit. When he reached the bridge, its
gates were closed and its draw had been cut away.
There were signs of great confusion in the city.


der London Bridge, you would think him a bloody- The shops were shut, the women were shrieking,
minded villain. I do not care to emphasize it; but and the men were running about, seeking for
you may know that the Thames was the silent weapons. Now appeared a proclamation offering a





(By permission of

thousand pounds for Wyat's head. To defy them
the more, he stuck his name in large, bold letters on
his cap- THOMAS WYAT. Three days passed.
The bridge would not let him over. Then he went

Queen Mary had triumphed, but Wyat's act
brought Lady Jane Grey to the block, and came
near causing the death of Elizabeth; and London,
to please the queen, now made great preparations to


up the river and crossed in boats, coming down that receive King Philip of Spain, the proposed bus-
way to the city. But all its gates were closed band of Mary, as he came over the bridge; -this
against him. He had a fight at Temple Bar, and was the very man against whose coming Sir Thomas
then had to yield himself a prisoner. Wyat had struggled.



the New Shakspere Sdciety.)

Never was London Bridge so full of gibbets,
never the bridge so covered with heads, as after
this rebellion. Bloody Mary began to win her
It perhaps surprises you that Sir Thomas Wyat
could have been so easily stopped by the bridge at
that time. If it had been an open roadway, it
could not have stopped him; but it was covered
with tall houses, some of them three and four
stories in height. They were dwelling-houses and
shops, ranged along on both sides, and over-
hanging the parapets. The street between them
was a narrow archway, only twelve feet wide, with
wider spaces at intervals for foot-passengers to get
out of the way of the vehicles. London had not
only gone over the bridge, but had settled down
upon it. This had occurred several times before,
but the houses were but shanties and had been re-
moved. Now, however, they were of quite a stately
character; You may imagine its odd appearance,
and wonder how a decent city could allow such
an incumbrance along its greatest thoroughfare;
but it was the way in those days. Everything was
crowded together. The city itself was a jam of
houses, with but narrow, crooked streets.
In the reign of Charles II. there came a sudden
relief to this state of things upon the bridge-and
a relief which made as summary a change in the
metropolis. A terrific fire broke out, which
burned down almost the whole of London. It
began near the bridge, and then spread away in
all directions. After a while it swept round and
came back, plunging down the hill in a billow of
flame, laying hold of the houses on the bridge, and
leaving it nearly as bare as when it was built.
This was one of the bridge's wildest experiences.
It had always been on the lookout against the water,
and was prepared to let everything go over it, except

rebels and such people. But the fire was a friendly
enemy, and the bridge yielded a passage to it very
gladly, we doubt not, when the fire offered to re-
lieve its old back 'from the burden of all those
houses. It had nothing to fear for itself, though
perhaps its aged stony spine might have been
a little scorched.
The old bridge stood one hundred and seventy
years after this, and looked on a London built much
more substantially than ever before. It still bore
up the increasing tides of its life, flowing back and
forth, and was more and more famous every year,
as its history grew more ancient and the people
remembered what wondrous sights it had seen.
No longer now did its quaint old form appear
in grave history only, but also in chronicles and
stories, in romances and novels, and even in
nursery tales; for it was interwoven with the joys
and sorrows, the lights and shadows, of city life.
Artists even found that they could never draw a
true picture of London without putting in Old
London Bridge. It has been pictured in many
ways, by daylight and by moonlight, in the dark-
ness of midnight and amid the mists of deep fogs.
The fame of it has gone everywhere, and can
never pass away. Its traditions still linger close
beside the magnificent granite structure which
now spans the river in its stead. Some day you
may stand on the parapet of the new bridge, and
look at the place where the old bridge used to be,
two hundred feet nearer the Tower; a place that
will know it no more, except as it may be the
haunt of an invisible ghost of the bridge, over
which I have just tried to take you in a dream-
walk, covering six hundred long years.
But do you know that its memory the mem-
ory of its fame in the days gone by -has already
been among you, in a way that you have proba-


bly never suspected? What would you say if I
could prove that the bridge went over the At-
lantic ocean to America generations ago? What
would you say if I could show it to you in one of
the very games which you have played- perhaps
are playing now to amuse the little ones?
When in your very young days you sang:
Lift up the gates as high as the sky,
And let King George and his troops pass by,"
as two of the biggest among you locked hands and

formed an arch, which the others tried to shoot,"
and were caught; and then when still other arches
were formed behind these, and the great pull set in,
all shouting together what the first arch had begun:
London Bridge is falling down falling down -
what was it but an echo of the past, the ancient
voices of the children in old London-town revived,
chanting their belief in the gray old bridge, that
never, like their own little hands, could unlock its
arches from their hold, break apart, or fall!




THROUGH Sleepy-Land doth a river flow.
On its further bank white daisies grow;
And snow-white sheep, in woolly floss,
Must, one by one, be ferried across.
In a little boat they safely ride
To the meadows green, on the other side.
Lullaby, sing lullaby!

The boatman comes to carry the sheep
In his little boat to the Land of Sleep;
Upon his head is a poppy wreath;
His eyelids droop, and his eyes beneath
Are drowsy from counting, One, two, three,"-
How many sheep doth the baby see?
Lullaby, sing lullaby !

One little sheep has gone over the stream;
They press to the bank. How eager they seem!
Two little sheep, alone on the shore,-
Only two sheep, but he's bringing one more;
Three little sheep, in the flowery fields,
Cropping the grass which Sleepy-Land yields.
Lullaby, sing lullaby !

Four little, five little sheep now are over;
Six little, seven little sheep in the clover,
Deep in the honey-sweet clover they stand.
Eight little, nine little sheep, now they land;
Ten, and eleven, and twelve little sheep -
And baby, herself, is gone with them, to sleep! -
Lullaby, sing lullaby!

111II\1 ,,

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C~5~-t~ Ivw. m



I AM not sorry that I became an astrologer.
The work is monotonous but not wearing, and the
hours are short. As an apprentice I was a hard
student, and frequently consulted the stars; but
now, without conceit, I think I speak within
bounds in saying that I know all there is to know
about planets, stars, asteroids, comets, nebulae, and
horoscopes, and twice as much as any other
astrologer of my weight; so I seldom refresh my
memory by going, through my telescope, directly
to nature.
I admit it is inconvenient to be obliged to wear
a thick woolen robe on warm days. I also admit
that a shorter beard would be less in my way, and
that I might shave if my customers did not object.
I do not deny that my raven, a second-hand bird
which once belonged to Zadkiel, is a nuisance, be-
cause of his continually stealing my spectacles.
As I have only one pair, it is very hard to find them
when I have no spectacles to find them with. The
bird is not sympathetic, and enjoys my annoyance
over the search; croaking derisively as I go stum-
bling around among dusty old books and brittle
glass crucibles. This irritates me; and I put him
on bread and water, which irritates him.
My calculations are a bore; and I am very apt
to pinch my fingers or entangle my beard in the
VOL. XV.-19. 2

celestial globe. My customers are greedy, and
insist upon being kings, duchesses, pirates, and so
on, ignoring the indications which plainly show
them to be intended for hurdy-gurdy players, scis-
sors-grinders, or poets. The planets are all right;
I have no particular fault to find with the fixed
stars; but those vagabonds, the comets, will often
act in the most unfriendly way,- spoiling my very
best combinations. It makes customers ill-na-
tured, and they hold me responsible, just as
though I arranged the comets to suit myself! Per-
haps it is not strange that I am a trifle touchy; I
feel sure astrologers will agree that I am no more
nervous than is excusable under the trials of the
profession. Still, I repeat, I am satisfied with my
vocation. I did hesitate between star-gazing and
saw-filing; but I think my choice was not unwise;
for, as an astrologer, I became more or less familiar
with magic,- a pleasant recreation if pursued with
proper discretion, but not fit for children. While
I lived alone, I had no trouble with it; for although
I made mistakes, I was indulgent enough to over-
look them.
But when my only sister unfortunately died and
left a lovely little daughter alone in the world,
whom nobody else could be persuaded to adopt, I
foolishly consented to bring up that child. It was


an amiable, even admirable, weakness-- but, my
stars what curious things a child can do !
I had had no kindergarten experience. I was
never in an orphan asylum, so far as I know, and I
was an only son. I knew nothing of children, except
such superficial acquaintance as enabled me to
foretell their futures and to advise parents about
bringing them up; and yet in my old age I was
thus, by an accident, forced to take full charge of a
small girl of very decided traits -born with Jupiter
in the ascendant, and Mercury not far off! What
bothered me most was her goodness. A bad child
can be coaxed and punished; but an affectionate,
mischievous, obedient, and innocent girl-what
can be done with her?
I never thought of locking up my books of
magic and she must have read them, I suppose;
for, before I knew it, that youngster was working.
spells and charms, fixing up enchantments, and
making transformations which required more time
to disentangle than I could readily spare from my
business hours.
The first disagreeable experience resulted from
her having read about some old flying horse in
Greece, Turkey, or elsewhere, and she took to
wandering about the fields keeping a bright look-
out for him! I suspect she became discouraged,
and resolved to make one for herself, since she
caught a little colt, fixed a pair of wings by some


__ i
-- iI


i .

.-- ,,i i. ;


spell or other upon the colt's shoulders, and at-
tempted to harness him with flowers; whereupon
he flew away It could n't have displeased the colt,

for he was not at all sedate in character. But the
farmer who owned him did not think of that. He
came to see me about it, thoughtlessly bringing
his pitchfork with him; so I found it best to prom-
ise to remove the wings. Luckily, she had left
the book open at the very charm that had been
used and I was able to undo it; though there was
some delay, caused by the necessity of using a lock
of hair from the head of the Sultan, who was kind
enough to grow one for me as soon as he could.
Now that child did n't mean any harm; she
could n't see why a horse should n't fly,- the little
goose nor could I explain it to her very clearly.
She promised, however, not to do so again, and of
course we said no more about it.
The week after, coming home one day I found
my room filled to the brim, so to speak, with an
enormous green dragon who blew smoke from his
nostrils so profusely that it gave me some trouble
to convince the villagers that there was no fire and
that they were nuisances, with their buckets and
ladders !
Of course my magic-books were inaccessible, and
we took lodgings with a neighbor until the dragon
was starved out. The dragon's skin made an ex-
cellent rug, but the experience was not enjoyable.
I could not reprove my niece for this, because she
explained very frankly that she had made the drag-
on larger than she intended; it was only a misfit.
You may think me absent-minded; but it
never occurred to me to forbid these practices, al-
though, had I done so, she would have obeyed me.
I forgot about it, except when some new prank
brought the matter to my mind, and then I became
absorbed in remedying the difficulty caused by her
experiment. Once I tried to divert her mind by
inducing her to adopt a doll which the raven had
cleverly secured from somebody; but her care of it
was so evidently due to a desire to please me that
whenever she held it I was uneasy. When the
raven took the doll away again (let us hope, to re-
turn it), we were both relieved.
For a time after the dragon incident, my niece
was shy of using the magic-books, and I enjoyed
this quiet interval very much. I was occupied in
manufacturing a horoscope for the innkeeper, who
was quite well-to-do. He had promised me a
round sum for a favorable sketch of his future, and
I was anxious to give satisfaction and to collect my
bill. But the stars indicated that only the strictest
economy would tide him over a coming financial
crisis in his affairs -which made me fear there
might be some uncertainty" about my fee. Ab-
sorbed in this perplexity, I may have neglected
my niece; at all events, she got into the habit of
spending her time with the innkeeper's family.
A commercial magician from Lapland, of great



dignity and little importance, chanced to arrive at discontented. He failed to appreciate the child's
the inn while my niece was there. Overhearing ingenuity and enterprise, and really seemed in-
his negotiation with the landlord, she learned, dined to speak hastily to the poor child, who

R .


I, J ...

*.*_. .,.' -; ;_.. "

-'J ,; I o '-e. 1

AR RI IP TH -C 'O E' -c ''-A'' IA

through the foolish talkativeness of the magician,
that the long and imposing train of mules and
other companions accompanying him were not, in
reality, what they appeared to be, but were simply
his performing company of manufactured hallu-
cinations disguised in their traveling shapes.
Imagine the effect upon the curious and ingenu-
ous mind of my playful niece The heedless ma-
gician, with equal carelessness, left his wand upon
the table in the front hall, where anybody could
reach it. You can foresee the result.
It must have been merely by chance that she
succeeded in counteracting the spell by which
these creatures were confined to their every-day
forms. However that may be, you may imagine
what happened while the magician was at dinner
that afternoon. The inquiring spirit of childhood
led my niece to make trial of the wand, when, of
course, the mules and attendants returned to their
original shapes and flew off, a buzzing swarm of
bees I was walking in the village, and so soon
as I saw the swarm I understood what had hap-
pened, and must admit, I was amused.
When I arrived at the inn, the magician was

stood looking on with an innocent pleasure
in her success, which I found charming.
But, since I was there, he only stared help-
lessly about and seemed anxious to say more
than he could wait to pronounce, till I told
him that he must have patience and forti-
tude. As he came to his senses, he showed
signs of knowing what to do. He sent for
the pepper-casters and vinegar-cruets, neatly
changed them into divining-boxes, which
straightway poured forth the proper necro-
mantic fumes, and then remembered that
he needed his wand A long search resulted
in finding it up the kitchen chimney, after
which a careful and laborious cleansing
brought it into a suitable condition to be
handled. All this, my niece greatly enjoyed.
By that time, the magician was very much
irritated and began a powerful invocation
to a muscular spirit who would, perhaps,
have brought the whole party back, in a
jiffy but I interfered, and explained to
him, at some length, that the whole episode
was nothing more than a piece of girlish
curiosity, not calling for any harsh methods
or severe measures. I offered my assistance,
which he declined,- without thanks. I
shrugged my shoulders and was strolling
indifferently away when he began to make
an answer. I saw that he had not an easy

command of language.
What nonsense! -


IN 1 P~ r~

/4/ I)


such a fix I 'm in girlish

// '


C *& -


curiosity Where do you think that pack of irre-
sponsible insects has gone?- I hope they will -



Please to get away! I withdrew. It was not
my affair, but they told me that my niece, inadvert-
ently I am sure, had injured the wand so that it
failed to work, and that the magician made futile
attempts to use it, until the boys laughed at him,
when he desisted. Having lost all his attendants,
materials, and supplies, and his wand being useless,
the magician was almost distracted. He was un-
able to leave the village, and the landlord would n't
have him at the inn, so I took him to board on
credit, at a reasonable charge.
When the magician took up his abode with me,
my niece was somewhat fond of. questioning him,
but apparently found that it was not worth her
time, for she seemed to lose interest in him very
soon. In fact she forgot all about him and about
me as well, and became entirely absorbed in an
attempt to teach the raven to play Jack-stones -
for which recreation he showed very little talent.
As there was, necessarily, considerable noise in her
course of instruction, I requested her to hold the
sessions out-of-doors, and she kindly adopted the
In order to occupy the magician's mind I gave
him some copying, but he was n't interested in
his work. He was restless, and wandered out into
the country searching high and low for the curi-
ous crowd of nondescripts which my careless niece
had liberated in a praiseworthy attempt to gain
knowledge. I called his attention to this view of the
subject and asked whether he did not see it in the
same light, but I must say he was quite unreason-
able and prejudiced. He left the room abruptly,
forgetting his hat, leaving the door wide open and
his quill-pen behind his ear. He was gone for
some time. In the afternoon he came back radi-
ant, crying aloud:
"I have found them -I have found them!"
and dancing with joy. His dancing was very
good, but I was busy and paid no attention to him.
If he had been a man of any tact, he would have
felt my indifference; but some people can not take
a hint, and he went on as eagerly as though I had
shown some interest in the performance.
"As I was walking in the meadows," he shouted,
"I nearly tripped over the body of a peasant lying
flat upon the ground, studying an ant-hill with a
magnifying-glass. I asked him what he was doing
and he told me that he was The Sluggard, and
that he had been advised to go to the ants and
consider their ways and be wise. I inquired how
he was getting on; he said he was getting on very
well, that he had learned to gather all he could,
to store it up where it would be safe, and to keep in
out of the wet."
This bored me extremely, and I coughed sig-
nificantly, but the magician continued rambling:

I asked if I might look through the lens. He
said I might, and I did. Now what do you suppose
I saw through that lens?"
I had not recovered my good humor. I con-




fess that I am sensitive and that my feelings are
easily hurt. This foolish attempt to ask me
rhetorical conundrums displeased me, and I made
no reply. But that man was not discouraged.
He repeated the question. Turning toward him,
I spoke in a way he could not misunderstand.
"Upon applying your eye to the glass," I re-
marked, you were astonished to perceive that
the small creatures which you had supposed to be
common black ants were in reality a colony of
bees, who seemed for some strange reason of their
own to have chosen an abandoned ant-hill for a
hive This anomaly seems not to have attracted
your notice; but, if I had been with you, I could
have informed you that you might have concluded
from so very significant a fact that this was the
swarm which you are so anxious to find. Does
not reflection incline you to agree with me? "
He was disappointed. He had foolishly hoped
to surprise me -such puerility! "You are right,"
he replied, in a muffled sort of voice.
"Very well," said I. "Now, in my turn, I will
propose a question. Your wand being out of order,
how are you to get those wanderers back ?" I en-
joyed his discomfiture. His face was a study, and
I studied it until I learned that he had no suggestion
to make. His face wore no expression whatever.
Then, in a kindly spirit, I said to him: "Bring
me your little wand. Sit down like a magician,
and don't dance about like a dervish, and I '11
fix it for you." He was visibly moved by my kind-
ness, and agreed to all I proposed. He brought
the wand and, after a keen examination, I found a
screw loose and with my penknife I tightened it. A
sickly smile flitted over his face. "You are doing
me a good.turn," he murmured. I gave him a
searching glance; but the smile was so faint, and



faded so quickly, that I decided he did not mean to
be humorous. It was lucky for him, for astrologers
are sworn foes to humorists; and I should have
broken his wand into several fragments if I had
detected the slightest levity. He said no more.
Having mended the wand, I handed it to him,
saying: Go, recover your chattels!" He re-
tired with briskness, and it gives me pleasure to
record the fact that I have never seen him since.
My niece told me, casually, that she was glad
that the magician was gone. I offered to tell her
about his departure, but she assured me she took
no interest in the subject. She did not say any
more about it, and, since I do not believe in en-
couraging childish prattle, I made no more allu-
sions to our boarder.
I have lately asked her whether she would prefer
to qualify herself to study astrology, with magic as
an extra, or would be better satisfied to learn saw-
filing under some well-known virtuoso. She replied

with much discretion, that she thought a quiet life
was the happiest after all. So, although she has
not yet expressed herself more definitely, I feel sure
she is giving the subject mature consideration. I
admire her greatly, and predict that she will do
well if carefully neglected.
As time passes, I notice that I grow older, and,
although I cannot repent having chosen the career
of an astrologer, if my niece chooses the saw-filing
business, I may perhaps take up some similar
musical pursuit, so that we may not be separated.
Meanwhile my niece is attending a very excellent
school, and makes good progress in her studies.
In fact her progress was so rapid at first, that she
came near graduating in about two weeks; but, as
I then persuaded her to give up the use of the
magic-books, she is now making slower and more
satisfactory progress, being quite backward.
The dust lies thick on the magic-books. Magic
is amusing, but it sometimes makes trouble.


-'7 C~7~. OAl



WHO has not heard of the wonderful tides of
Fundy, which are ever rushing up and down that
great arm of the Atlantic, seemingly with the- in-
tention of malting an island of Nova Scotia and so
separating Acadia, with its beautiful legends, from
the rest of the world ?
Strange stories come to us from the Fundy
shore. Now they tell of a drove of pigs in a
wild race with the rushing current; again, some
farmer's chickens wander down the flats and are
borne home on the crest of the "roaring bore," as
the great tidal flow is called. In fact, by a patient
study of all the legends of old Acadia, we would
find that these tidal waves were responsible for
many strange and curious happenings.
One of these natural practical jokes, as they
might be called, forms the subject of our story;
and, although it is told as a legend, it is not only
possible, but the old residents of the land of Evan-
geline state that just such an incident did take place,
and that it is likely to occur again- whenever such
a skipper and crew sail into Minas Basin.
It seems, according to the old story-tellers, that
years ago the captain of a New England coaster
determined to discover the exact location of "Down
East." At every port he visited, from Cape Cod
to Boothbay, the inhabitants all denied that they
lived there, and when asked where "Down East "
was, only pointed mysteriously up the coast.
Finally, when the skipper of The Dancing Polly "
received a cargo of goods for Grand Pr6, he was
highly pleased, thinking that at last Down East"
would be found,- for, in those days, Nova Scotia
was considered "the jumping-off place."
One fine spring morning, the schooner got under
way, and sailed merrily up through the maze of
islands that skirts the coast of Maine. Fair westerly
winds favored them, and on the second day they
entered the famous Bay of Fundy, or Fond de la
Baie, as the French call it.
The skipper had never heard of the great tide
there; and when, the following morning, the mouth
of the Minas Channel appeared on the right shore,
he bore away for it, wing and wing, and he was
soon under the shadows of the old Acadian hills.
The rich green fields and the villages along-
shore seemed to give a friendly greeting; and cap-
tain and crew decided that "Down East" was a
very pleasant region.

But luck is fickle; and as they were bowling
along, up the basin proper, they felt a sudden jar,
then heard a scraping sound; and a moment later
"The Dancing Polly was aground, under full sail.
The small-boat was put out with a kedge, and
the sails were braced this way and that, but all to
no purpose,- the boat was aground hard and fast,
the tide was going out, and skipper and "crew "
would have to wait until the high tide came to float
them off. It was quite late in the day, and ere long
the captain, and the cook, the great Newfoundland
dog, and a yellow-and-black cat, who constituted
the crew, all went.to bed.
Early the next morning, the captain was
awakened by the dog; and when he crawled out
of his berth, he found the floor of the cabin so
aslant that he had to scramble on all fours to
reach the ladder. The schooner was evidently
heeled over. But the captain had expected this,
and made his way on deck as best he could.
Was he dreaming? He certainly thought so;
and then, having some doubts, he reached over
;and gently touched the yellow-and-black cat's tail.
An answering wail assured him that he was awake,
and that he and The Dancing Polly" were really
somewhere high up in mid-air.
The bewildered skipper crept to the rail, his
astonishment all the while increasing. The broad
stream of the day before had vanished. Not a
drop of water was in sight, but far below him
could be seen a vast basin of mud, in which pigs
were rooting and grunting !
For some time the skipper stood and looked;
then, noticing the cook standing by and, like him-
self, lost in wonder, he said:
Wal, John, I reckon we 've reached here at
Reached where ? exclaimed the cook.
"Down East," replied the old man solemnly.
It looks more like up East' and on a power-
ful high perch, moreover," retorted the cook;
"and I 'm for striking inshore."
The two men started forward, and they soon
found that the schooner was resting on a great
ledge of rock like a tower that rose out of the mud.
Lowering a rope over the side, they let themselves
down upon the rock, and even then were several
feet from the muddy surface.
The great pedestal upon which they stood was


covered with olive-hued and black weeds, which
concealed innumerable star-fishes, sea-urchins and
shells, and it gradually dawned upon them that
"The Dancing Polly" had not been transported
inland, but that the water had gone seaward and
left them.
How to get down was the next question, and

Then and there, the Yankee navigator first
heard of the Fundy tides; and several hours
later, from the deck of the little craft, he saw the
"bore come in; first a small stream, growing
rapidly wider and deeper until the entire basin was
filled with the surging waters that rose higher and
higher, until finally "The Dancing Polly" floated

* i

wI \

Ii '' *
\I,, ?;'*.\.
I' -i~


after a debate about leaving the dog and cat, the
two men finally managed to slide, slip, and scram-
ble to the plain below, and through mud waist-
deep floundered to the shore, where they were
received with roars of laughter by a group of fine-
looking Acadians, who had been watching their
descent and their difficult progress.

free, and once more sailed away in the direction
of Grand Pr6.
"You Down Easters have curious ways," said
the captain to his Acadian acquaintances, after he
was safely moored at the dock that night.
"Down Easters? queried one of them.
Is n't this 'Down East' ?" asked the skipper.



Oh, no was the rejoinder; and pointing his
arm in the direction of the sunrise, the Acadian
explained, 'Down East' is up the coast, a way."
"Then I shall never get there," replied the
captain regretfully and he never did.
The curious tides which still rush in and out of
the basin just as they did in the olden times, are
caused by the formation of the coast. The water
crowds into the Bay of Fundy as the tide rises,
and, being unable to spread out in the narrow-
ing and shallowing channel, is forced to a very.
great height. In the Basin of Minas the spring-
tide has been known to rise nearly seventy feet,
and at other times it rises as high as forty or fifty
feet; at Chignecto-Bay the rise is usually between

fifty and sixty feet; and in the estuary of the
Petitcodiac, where the tidal current meets the
river, there is formed the so-called great bore,"
which rushes on with such velocity that animals are
often caught and swept away by it.
These great tides are by no means confined to
the Bay of Fundy. The natives of the Amazon
country tell of their fiororoca, which really is a
great roaring bore, where the tide-water, for a time
kept back by the formations of the bars and of the
channel, suddenly rushes onward in one or two or
three great waves. A similar phenomenon is
noticed in the Hoogly River, and in the Tsien-tang
in China, up which the tidal wave rushes at the rate
of twenty-five miles an hour.



I n.ny In-
i..m to ex-
F .. lives,
0. young
S"readers no
Sdo:ubt have
s11-. n p.,,-ired and
,c.nd.:e ,, the odd
r n .l -i of -..ne. of our
W\ ez t c n i n,:,n as pub-
sh,-d in Lth-z daily
S-. Suchii appella-
I'..,n' :- i- I'H.,le-in-the-
rD-.." T,:.,,ch-the-
Cr,u:,..1." R-di Cloud,"
.,Sp,,rtd-T dl," "Man-
Afraid Im- Horses,"
anc d ..Ic ." (," others
which 1 ;,ib4 call to
mirnd, ni ,.-.t h:. excited
u 'T I- names
aiel, 9. L..long to
indivi %- id -: .,i he Sioux
tt'ib,:, %, i.:h -" t-,e largest
t[',11 ;hL tIl- U united
When these Sioux Indians were little boys and
girls, so small that they had done nothing at all

worthy of notice, they had no names whatever;
being known simply as "White Thunder's little
baby-boy," "Red Weasel's two-year-old girl,"
" One of Big Mouth's twins," and so on, according
to their fathers' names; and, occasionally,- if
Sioux women were talking to each other,- accord-
ing to the mother's name. The earliest striking
incident in an Indian's life may fasten a name upon
him. A little fellow, not able to take care of him-
self, is kicked by an Indian pony, let us say, and,
until some more prominent event in his career
changes his name, he will be known as "Kicking
Horse," or "Kicked-by-the-Horse." Or, a little
girl, while scrambling through a wild-pluni thicket,
may not realize how near she is to the bank of the
stream until a small piece of ground gives way
under her feet, and she goes tumbling head-over-
heels into the water. When rescued and brought
home, she is called Fell-in-the-Water," which
probably will be wrongly translated into English
as "Falling Water"; and we, hearing her so called,
say, What a pretty name How poetical the
Indian names are! We should never have thought
so, if we had seen the ragged little miss screaming
and clutching at the grass as shewent, with a splash,
into the muddy creek. And even if the little girl
herself could be brought to believe that it was a
pretty name, I am sure she would insist that it was
not a pleasant christening. Again, some little
urchins, playing far away from the tepees (as the
picturesque skin-tents or lodges are called), sud-


denly are overtaken by a thunder-shower, and they grow before they could give him so pompous a
come home wet to the skin; thenceforth one may name.
be called Rain-in-the-Face," and another, Little Once in a while, however, the names that the lit-
Thunder, if they are not already named. And tie ones have borne cling to them for life; either
so these slight incidents, some serious, some corn- because nothing happens afterwards of sufficient
ical, give names to the little Sioux, until, as I have importance to cause a change, or because they like

'' '", II ,

.!te^ ^ /, i '


it .


said, other occurrences or feats suggest other
names, which they like better, or which they and
their fellow-Indians adopt.
Three Bears got his name by killing three of
those animals in one encounter, and he must have
been well past his boyhood, or he could not have
performed a feat of such valor.
Pawnee-Killer was not so called until he had
slain a great number of Pawnees, a neighboring
tribe of Indians, most bitterly hated by the Sioux.
He, also, must have reached manhood before being
named. Many names similarly given might be
mentioned, for it is generally the names obtained
late in life that are preferred, as one of these almost
always recalls some great deed that redounds to its
owner's credit; and this gratifies the savage vanity
and pride, of which they have no small amount.
Touch-the-Clouds" received his title from the
fact that he was very tall,- over six feet in height,
I believe; and of course they had to wait for him to

the old names, however simple they may be or how-
ever insignificant the event commemorated. Such
was the case with the great Sioux chief, Spotted
Tail," a leader most famous among them, and one
who has ruled over great numbers of that large tribe,
for it should be remembered that the Sioux nation
is not subject to any single ruler, but is divided into
a number of bands of different names, each with a
different chieftain, who has many sub-chiefs under
When this great chief was a very little fellow, his
father left the lodge, or tepee, one morning, for a
day's hunting after deer, which he expected to find
in the brush and timber along the stream near the
camp. It was an unlucky day, however,- the only
thing he captured being a big raccoon, the skin of
which he brought home. Coming to his lodge, and
seeing one or two Indians sitting in front of it,
watching the antics of his little son, he threw the
raccoon's skin to the boy for a plaything. The


youngster,.pleased with the present, spread it., ut
carefully before the group of Indians; and when he
pulled the tail, covered with black and gray rings,
from under the skin, he was as delighted as a civil-
ized child with a coveted toy, and he jumped up
and down upon the skin, crying:
Look at its tail, all spotted Look at its spotted
tail! "
Those around him joined in his childish glee.
(For it must be borne in mind that the oldest boy-
child of a Sioux warrior is a perfect prince in the
household,- his mother and sisters being his slaves,
and no one but his father above him in authority.
So you can see why all tried to please him.) The
incident was rather amusing, too, for the rac-
coon's tail was not spotted at all, but covered with
black stripes, or rings. So, while the spectators
were laughing, the youngster was immediately
dubbed "Spotted Tail,"-Sin-ta Ga-lis-ka, in
Sioux; sin-ta being tail, and ga-lis-ka, spotted- a
name that has clung to him through all his eventful
life. And certainly there was no lack of thrilling
episodes which could have changed it, should vanity
have made him desire a change. A warrior who
had seen, and had been leader in, so many battles,
of whom countless deeds of personal valor were
recounted, and whose war-suit was trimmed with
650 scalps,* could easily have had a pompous name
had he wished it. But, like all really great men,

whether their lot be cast in civilized or in savage
life, "this great Sioux chief was modest; and in
nothing is this better shown than in his satisfaction
with -the simple name of his baby-days, though it
arose from such a trifling incident, and in his refusal
to choose a name like "Pawnee-Killer," "White
Thunder," or some other high-sounding title.
"Crazy Horse," the great Sioux chief, who was
prominent in the Custer massacre, and who gained
several other victories over us in war, is not given
his right name, strictly speaking, for, in changing
it into our language, it was misinterpreted. He
was a superb rider, noted even among a nation of
fine horsemen, and he could ride anything, however
vicious, wild, or intractable. "Untamable Horse"
would have been a better rendering of his name.
Man-Afraid-of-his-Horses," the great Ogallalla
Sioux chief, is also not rightly named in English.
He was very careful about his horses when on the
war-path, in times of peril keeping guard over
them all night a very unusual precaution among
Indians. "Man-Careful-of-his-Horses," or "Man-
Afraid-of-a-Stampede-of-his-Horses, would be
truer to his real Indian name.
I must leave you to imagine the origin of the
titles Hole-in-the-Day," "Red Cloud," "Two
Strikes," Little Big Man,"" Good Voice," and
other quaint and queer Indian names which you
may see from time to time.

* In trimming a war suit with scalps, only as much of each scalp is used as can be drawn through an eagle's quill, and these little tassels
are then sewn in rows upon the buckskin shirt and leggins.

z z








TRAMP : tramp : tramp : tramp : tramp : tramp :
tramp: tramp: came the rhythmic beat of feet
across the drill-hall floor. A hundred boys in
blue were marching in a long double line that
reached from side to side of the wide hall; and
overhead the great beams and iron rods shook and
quivered in tremulous accord with the throbbing of
the feet below, as the dark-blue ranks swept from
end to end of the long building.
Straight onward marched the battalion, under the
command of the senior captain, as unwavering as
though the wall in front was about to vanish like a
curtain and leave a clear passage out into the world
Clear as a bell came the ringing command of the
senior captain :
To the rear "- yet. on they went, until one
more step would dash the front rank sheer against
the wall --
"March "
Then, as if by magic, each form whirled about
with a single movement, and the ranks were march-
ing in the opposite direction, with eyes fixed and
impassive faces, so individually inexpressive as to
lose for the time all distinguishing characteristics.

The light from the lofty windows fell upon the
double row of gun-barrels in glittering lines, and
shot glancing rays from the gleaming blades of the
line officers. At the regulation distance to the rear,
the sergeants followed their platoons, their guns
at shoulder arms," their arms decorated with
Then came a quick series of commands, and the
two ranks suddenly became a solid column.
Left oblique march 1 "
And they glided away at a diagonal like a huge
crab with a sidelong movement, and what had
been the corner was now the advance guard of the
Halt! "
Down came the upraised feet with a single thud,
and the column was immovable for a second; then
with a half turn they again faced toward the end
of the hall. Another volley of commands, and the
column changed from solid to open ranks, and the
muskets rose to right shoulder arms." Thus it
went on, until the routine drill came to in place
rest and the boys again stood in two long lines,
but leaning on their muskets, drawing breaths of
relief and indulging in brief conversation. The
officers strolled toward the platform at the side
of the hall, where the gray-mustached veteran,

General Long, was criticising the late drill and
the appearance of the command as a whole.
Sharp criticisms, too. The boys winced under
them. He laid down the law without compunc-
tion, and the young lieutenant who was bearing
the brunt grew red with mortification.
It was at Wild Lake Institute that all this hap-
pened, and in the great building which had once
been used as a shelter for the exhibitors at the an-
nual county fairs. Mr. Richards, the proprietor
of the Institute, had at last secured the use of this
building for a long term of years. So the windows
that had looked upon piles of turnips and mam-
moth squashes earlier in the season, now lighted the
evolutions of the school battalion during the daily
two hours' drill. There was room enough for a
regiment upon the floor. It was one hundred
yards in length, and the lofty roof gave promise
of good ventilation. No wonder that Mr. Rich-
ards felt a hearty satisfaction as he walked up and
down the platform on his occasional visits, with his
hands behind his back, or abstractedly pulling his
nose, as he had a habit of doing. The welfare
of the Institute was very dear to him, and he
had a reputation, which was well deserved, of
sending better prepared students to the Harvard
examinations than any other teacher in the
country. When he was present, the General was
less of a martinet than at other times, and that, if
nothing more, made the boys welcome him right
gladly when he appeared.
To-day, however, he was absent, and the General
had it all his own way. On the platform near a
window, a young fellow with the chevrons of a ser-
geant on his arm stood leaning against a post.
There was a discontented expression on his frank
face, which was pale and rather thin. Another
sergeant strolled up and spoke to him.
Hullo, Harry! glad to see you around again.
But what on earth are you looking so solemn
.over? "
Drill!" was the sententious response.
"What 's that to do with it? Has the General
been stirring you up? He 's been lecturing the
second lieutenant for the last ten minutes, and, as
I live, he 's making his company go through the
manual again !"
It was even so. With suppressed indignation,
the unfortunate officer had got his men into line
again, and was snapping out his orders with a
pyrotechnic vim that sent an answering thrill
through the ranks; then they went through the
manual without the word of command, tossing
their muskets into the various prescribed positions
with practiced hands, and the precision of clock-

Harry Wylie, with a red spot showing in each
cheek. "That's the greatest piece of nonsense
in the whole drill; and they keep it up for 'exer-
cise !' where's the good of it? what muscles does it
train? If they only laid claim to its usefulness in
discipline I would n't say a word; but to declare
that a beneficial gymnastic exercise is a humbug.
I 'm sick of it 1 "
You 'd better not let General Long hear you,
if you expect to wear a sword next year," said
Edward Dane, laughing, and stroking his own
chevrons complacently. "Or is 'first sergeant'
the height of your ambition?"
"Hang the sword!" exclaimed Harry, indig-
nantly. What 's that to do with the principle
of the thing? Besides,"-with a laugh-"it 's
the abstract, not the concrete, that I object to."
"Well, Harry, if the principal hears of your
heretical notions, he 'll abstract your name from
the promotion list, as sure as fate; and if I were
you, I 'd stick a tompion into the muzzle of my
Can't a fellow express an honest opinion?"
"Hum! That depends," said Dane, cau-
I 'm only saying what every mother's son of
you believes in his heart of hearts. I came here
to prepare for college, and as it is the best fitting-
school that I know of, I shall stay here till I am
ready to go; but .that does n't imply that I mean
to swallow a ramrod."
"Sergeant Dane, go to your post! Sergeant
Wylie, go to your quarters, and report yourself
after drill hours to Mr. Richards as under, arrest
for mutinous conversation while on duty With
these words, the straight figure of the General
suddenly appeared at the elbow of the astonished
young officers.
Sergeant Dane drew himself up, saluted, turned
on his heel and rejoined his company, which had
been standing at "in place rest" near by. Sergeant
Wylie also saluted, but began to say,
"Perhaps I 'd better explain -"
"No explanations are desired, sir. Go to your
quarters at once, or I will send you under escort!"
So Wylie again saluted, turned likewise upon
his heel, and departed with a new light in his eye,
and wrath in his heart.
Too bad !" muttered a private in the ranks to
Lieutenant Leigh.
Hush !" said the lieutenant between his teeth.
"The old General ison his dignity to-day. He
would fill the guard-house as full as a plum-pud-
ding, and would think nothing of stuffing in a
whole platoon. I 'm sorry for Wylie, but we can't

work. do him any good."
"See that, Ed!" said his brother sergeant, And Leigh, on the whole, was glad that the




order "Attention" was given just then, that con-
versation so dangerous might come to an end.
Wylie, meanwhile, found his way across the
parade-ground, which was a wide field between
the drill-hall and the Institute, and entered his
own room. It was not a large room, by any means,
but it was light and well ventilated, and the walls
were decorated by a few well-executed sketches.
Harry sat down upon his solitary chair with his
arms resting on the back of it, and gazed long and
earnestly up at a picture of his home, over which
was hung a long bow and a sheaf of arrows.
This is the very worst scrape that I 've been
in since I came here," he said to himself. "I 've
a mind to write home all about it hang it, no !
I'11 fight it out by myself." And, jumping up,
he straightened up his bolster against the wall, and
bestowed upon it half a dozen scientific whacks,
quick as winks, and with as hearty good-will as
though the unoffending article of furniture had
been the cause of all his trouble. Then the mal-
treated bolster doubled itself over, and fell across
the end of the iron bedstead to the floor, and
Harry straightened himself up with a hearty laugh,
Heigho I may as well be studying, I suppose,"
and, taking down a book from a little hanging case
upon the wall, he began to peruse "Caesar." The
sunlight on the wall had moved several feet from
its first position since he entered the room, and
was gilding the wings of a stuffed "yellow-ham-
mer "; the great clock upon the tower had tolled
the hours twice, and there was a tramp of feet in
the corridor and the hum of voices. Then the
slamming of doors betokened the beginning of
study hours, and all was quiet along the passages
without. Harry had become deeply interested in
Casar," and he minded the noise no more than
he did the silence.
Suddenly the sentinel at the door of the hall
challenged, and there was the rattle of presented
arms, and then the measured tramp of feet along
the corridor toward his room. His door was flung
open suddenly, and there was a file of soldiers
with Sergeant Dane at their head.
Harry sprang to his feet and snatched at his
watch. Nearly three o'clock! and he should have
reported himself as under arrest at two !
"Oh, glory I forgot all about it."
Dane said not a word, the presence of the com-
mand preventing any audible expression of sym-
pathy. But the look upon his face was eloquent
enough, and said as plainly as speech itself, I'm
sorry for you, old fellow, but this is decidedly the
worst scrape yet."
One minute later Harry Wylie was marching
toward headquarters under escort.


"I 'M afraid that you are a little too severe,
General," said Mr. Richards. "The boys are not
used to it when they come, and they need gentle
handling or they get a distaste for the whole drill."
I am sorry, Mr. Richards, that you decline to
give me your support," said the General, throwing
back his shoulders with an air of offended dignity.
"The drill was simply absurd; half the boys in
the second company were three seconds behind
time, and their muskets went to the shoulder like
a flight of stairs or an arithmetical progression. In
the service we would have kept them at it till they
could do it properly, if it required a week. 'But if
you hamper me in inflicting punishments, you de-
prive me of all authority, and must be responsible
for the demoralization that will result."
Mr. Richards laughed quietly, leaning back in
his chair with his hands clasped behind his head.
"Now, seriously, General, do you think the fail-
ure to go through the manual properly, with six
new recruits in the ranks, a crime that would war-
rant committing a platoon to the guard-house, or a
company to extra duty ? But that was not what I
object to. What I feel the most deeply about is
the free use that you make of sarcasm at times.
Does it not hurt the boys' feelings needlessly? Re-
member they are defenseless, and must bear it
The General rose and paced up and down the
precincts of the library, his face expressive of con-
flicting feelings. The principal took up a book
and leaned back in his easy-chair by the window
that overlooked the campus, watching with a smile
the antics of the boys who had come out from their
rooms for a twenty-minute absorption of fresh air.
It did him good to watch them, and when some
forty of them got up a break-neck race around the
parade-ground he leaned forward eagerly to see
which was the winner.
I believe you are right, Mr. Richards," said
the General, finally. I would resign my posi-
tion," he added, with a laugh, if I did n't know
that you would get a worse fellow next time."
That is not to be thought of. I will tell you
why I have such strong opinions on this question,"
and the principal, in turn, arose and began to pace
the room. "When I was at school, a shy, sensi-
tive, up-country lad, I once was under a teacher
who had no respect for the rights of a pupil. He
really insulted us often. The more hardened
laughed; others were made doggedly obstinate.
When the dullard of the class made some egre-
gious blunder, he would say, 'why, even Richards
ought to know better than that. I don't suppose
he does, though.' And do you suppose that I



shall ever be able to forget those gratuitous, sar-
castic flings? Was that the treatment necessary
to bring out the good latent in every boy's heart?
I have never met the man from that day to this;
but for years I used to wake in the night with a
start, after dreaming that I was back in that
school-room. It has been said that no man can
be a teacher for ten years'without becoming more
or less of a tyrant. When-I adopted teaching for
my profession, I registered a vow that I would dis-
prove that, if it pleased God that I should live so
There was a sound of feet in the corridor, and
the principal's little girl came running in, but
stopped suddenly when- she saw the General, and
made a, grimace of disappointment. The latter
stooped and lifted her in his arms.
What is it this time, pet? "
".I don't like you.to-day, General. You scolded
my boys when they did n't do anything !"
Alice said the principal, quietly.
"Well, he did! she asserted, rebelliously.
The General felt painfully embarrassed, and
actually guilty, although he knew that he. had
but done his duty as he understood it.
."Alice! said the: principal again in the same
.quiet tone. -
She hung her head a moment, and then looked
I know I was naughty, General. I will kiss
you now.'
SAnd the kiss was given. She lingered a mo-
ment when she was put down, but soon ran out of
the room, leaving a silence ofisome duration.
Well?," said Mr. Richards, at length, with an
interrogative inflection.
"Well," echoed the General, I give it up.
You are a better disciplinarian than I." And
they both laughed in unison.
They were.old comrades, these two, and friends.
When Mr. Richards projected his plan for the
Wild Lake Institute, General Long was the first
person whom he consulted,, and it was by his
advice that the military system of government
had been adopted. The principal was not fully
convinced of its usefulness in every respect, al-
though he conceded that so far as it went it gave
the best results attainable. Still, there were some
phases of the discipline that did not altogether
please him, and he had been meditating the
advisability of just such a little private talk with
the General, for some time. He was not sorry
it had been carried through so amicably, as Gen-
eral Long had a veneration for "the service"
and its customs amounting to idolatry; and, as
we have hinted, he was something of a martinet
in his ideas as to military exactions.

They had discussed the matter for some time,
when the General suddenly started and pulled out
-his watch, while his face grew stern in an instant.
"I ordered Sergeant Wylie to report to you
under arrest. He should have been here an hour
"He has been ill," suggested the principal,
"He was at the drill to-day.-With your per-
mission -" The General reached out his hand
toward the electric bell, with a look of inquiry.
The principal nodded, and a pressure on the
knob brought a sentinel to the door with a mil-
itary salute. "Who is sergeant of the guard?"
asked the General, answering the salute.
"Edward Dane, sir."
'! Send him here."
Dane appeared in less than a minute, with the
customary salute.
"Sergeant Dane, I ordered Sergeant Wylie to
report himself here under arrest. He has not
come. Take a squad and find him."
The sergeant disappeared, aid. soon the meas-
ured tramp of feet beneath the window, with the
occasional jingle of accouterments, announced that
he had departed upon his unwelcome mission. In
about ten minutes the detail returned with Wylie
in their midst, marching along with head erect
and flashing eyes, but a face that was paleness
itself. The two sergeants entered the library, the
squad remaining outside, and saluted, after which
Dane withdrew in response to a nod from the prin-
cipal, giving a secret squeeze of sympathy, as his
fingers brushed those of his fellow-student.
"' What is it all about, Dane ?" asked one of the
detail outside, the moment that the door closed
between them and the prisoner.
Why, the General ordered him under arrest,
and Wylie forgot to report!" said Dane, leading
the way to the hall where the guard held their
rendezvous, and where the relief were expected to
prepare their lessons.
A long whistle of astonishment followed the
announcement. Such an act of rebellion had
never occurred. during the term of any of those
"But he really did forget," persisted Young.
"There is no doubt about that. He jumped as
though he had been harpooned when the sergeant
opened the door. I wonder if some one of us
ought n't to tell the principal of it ? "
Yes; I think I see some one of us marching
in upon the proceedings, unasked !" said Fred
Warrington, ironically; and there was a general
laugh at the picture which the suggestion had
called up in each boy's mind.
Dane moved uneasily around the room. Wylie


and he were fast friends and classmates, and it
seemed like deserting his friend in trouble thus to
have to leave him in the hands of the General, es-
pecially since Dane had been the unconscious cause
of his being under arrest in the first place. Once,
under a sudden impulse, he started for the library
door, and had nearly reached it before the absurd-
ity of that proceeding struck him. Manifestly, it
would do no good to interfere, and might do harm,
in that it would make it appear that the disaffec-
tion was wide-spread, instead of being, as Dane
firmly believed, due merely to a fit of petulance in a

not be evaded. Strictly speaking, they ought to
have done that before, and Dane, as the ranking
officer present, was at fault in not enforcing disci-
pline,- a fault that would have brought down a
reprimand upon his head had the General made
his appearance in season to catch them at their
As it was, however, he gravitated between the
window and the door with the regularity of a well-
educated pendulum. Then he had an attack of
thirst, which demanded satisfaction at the water-
tank in the corridor just beyond the library-door.


convalescent. Ordinarily, as he knew, Harry Wylie
was an exemplary student, whether on parade or
in the class-room. Indeed, he took higher rank
there than Dane. Altogether, the sergeant of the
guard was in an unenviable frame of mind.
The others betook themselves to theirbooks, how-
ever, since lessons were imperative evils that could

The sentinel grinned when he saw him, but made
no objection, and Dane was in no haste to finish
his draught. He did finish it at last, and was about
to return to the guard-room, when through the
door of the library came a sharp exclamation; then
the sound of a heavy fall, instantly followed by the
quick, fluttering jangle of the electric bell.

(To be continued.)





S Brownies chanced at eve to
Around a wide, but shallow
Not far from shore, to their
They saw a whale of mon-
strous size,
That, favored by the wind and tide,
Had ventured in from ocean wide,
But waves receding by-and-by,
Soon left him with a scant supply.

And gives him aid to reach the sea."
I catch the hint! another cried;
" Let all make haste to gain his side -
Then clamber up as best we may,
And ride him 'round till break of day."
At once, the band in great.delight
Went splashing through the water bright,
And soon to where he rolled about
They lightly swam, or waded out.
Now climbing up, the Brownies tried
To take position for the ride.
Some lying down a hold maintained;

At times, with flaps and lunges strong
He worked his way some yards along,
Till on a bar or sandy marge
He grounded like aleaden barge.
" A chance like this for all the band,"
Cried one, but seldom comes to hand.
I know the bottom of this bay
Like those who made the coast survey.
'T is level as a threshing-floor
And shallow now from shore to shore;
That creature's back will be as dry
As hay beneath a tropic sky,
Till morning tide comes full and free

More, losing place as soon as gained,
Were forced a dozen
times to scale
The broad side of the
stranded whale.
Now half-afloat and
The burdened monster
circled 'round,
Still groping clumsily
As though to find the
channel out,


And Brownies clustered close, in fear
That darker moments might be near.
And soon the dullest in the band
Was sharp enough to understand
The creature was no longer beached,
But deeper water now had reached.
For plunging left, or plunging right,
Or plowing downward in his might,
The fact was plain, as plain could be -
The whale was working out to sea !

A creeping fear will seize the mind
As one is leaving shores behind,
And knows the bark whereon he sails
Is hardly fit to weather gales.
Soon Fancy, with a graphic sweep,
Portrays the nightmares of the deep;

While they can see, with living eye,
The terrors of the air sweep by.

For who would not a fierce bird dread,
If it came flying at his head ?

VOL. XV.--20.


And th6se were hungry, squawking things,
With open beaks and flapping wings.

They made the Brownies dodge and dip,
Into the sea they feared to slip.
The birds they viewed with chattering teeth,
Yet dreaded more the foes beneath.
The lobster, with his ready claw;
The fish with sword, the fish with saw;
The hermit-crab, in coral hall,
Averse to every social call;
The father-lasher, and the shrimp,
The cuttle-fish, or ocean imp,
All these increase the landsman's fright,
As shores are fading out of sight.

Such fear soon gained complete command
Of every Brownie in the band.

They looked behind, where fair and green
The grassy banks and woods were seen.
They looked ahead, where white and cold
The foaming waves of ocean rolled,
And then, with woful faces drew
Comparisons between the two.
But, when their chance seemed slight indeed
To sport again o'er dewy mead,
The spouting whale, with movement strong,
Ran crashing.through some timbers long
That lumbermen had strongly tied
In cribs and rafts, an acre wide.



'T was then, in such a trying hour, However high the logs were tossed;
The Brownies showed their nerve and power. By happy chance the boom remained
The diving whale gave little time That to the nearest shore was chained,
For them to choose a stick to climb,- And o'er that bridge the Brownies made
But grips were strong; no hold was lost, A safe retreat to forest shade.



; '-'"'- SMALL ROOSTER was a very fine bird. He
was dressed in green and gold feathers, and he
wore a high, bright-red comb. And oh, how
3I proud he was. He was proud of his green and
S. gold dress, and his high, bright-red comb, and he
S .'. was proud because he could crow so long and
loud. Not one of his three big brothers or his five
t I big cousins could crow as long and loud. That
was all very well, but he should not have always
crowed so long and loud just at the break of day,
'.-i:._j when almost every one else was still asleep.
i ,- i "Why will you do it?" said Pretty Hen to
him one morning. Pretty Hen was his mother.
I don't know," said Small Rooster.
Well don't do it again," said his mother.
"Yes, ma'am I mean no, ma'am," said Small Rooster.
But the very next morning, as early as ever, Cock-a-doodle-doo-oo-
oo- Cock-a-doodle-doo-oo-oo !" crowed Small Rooster at the top of his


voice, waking all the fowls for a mile around and startling his mother so that
she fell off the perch. Old Chanticleer ruled the roost, though he was too
old to fly up to it. At the sound of Small Rooster's crowing, he opened his


(Copied by permission from an etching by Bracquemond, published by Dowdeswell and Dowdeswells, London.)

sleepy eyes and clucked angrily to Pretty Hen: He 's a boisterous young
scamp! Scold him well!" And then Chanticleer went back to his dreams.




Cluck-cluck-cluck-cluck-cluck," called Pretty Hen, as she picked herself
up all covered with straw and sand: "What did I tell you only yesterday
morning, Small Rooster ?"
"Ma'am?" said he.
"What did I tell you only yesterday morning? repeated she, shaking
her toe at him.
"Not to crow again at break of day," answered Small Rooster.
"Then why did you do it? said his mother.
"Because- because -I don't know," said Small Rooster.
Well, if you do it again, and don't know, you '11 go without your break-
fast," said his mother.
No, ma'am I mean -yes, ma'am," said Small Rooster, and the very
next morning crowed longer and louder than he had ever crowed before.
Then, his mother was so angry she could scarcely cluck. But when
Small Rooster saw her coming toward him, he called out, Cock-a-doodle-
doo-oo-oo -I know, I doo-oo-oo."
"Oh, you doo-oo-oo!" said his mother. "Well, if you doo-oo-oo,
you 'd better tell me quickly, for I 'm out of all patience with you. And
mind, if it is n't a good reason, no breakfast do you get."
"I crow so long and loud at the break of day," said Small Rooster,
"because- because I want to wake the boy that lives in the house near
our barn, so that he may be ready in time for school. It takes him a long
time to get ready, because because he does n't get out of bed for an hour or
two after I crow."
"How did you know all this? asked Pretty Hen.
I heard the cat talking to the dog about it," answered Small Rooster.
"And now, I'd like to have my breakfast."
Well, I can't see what good your crowing so very early does the boy
after all," said his mother, if he does n't get up for an hour or two after you
crow. And then there 's Saturday and Sunday and all sorts of holidays,
when you do just the same. But, dear me !" She went on wrinkling her
forehead, and looking at him sharply. "What's the good of talking. It 's
my opinion that you crow just to hear yourself crow, as many older and
bigger roosters do."
Then she gave him his breakfast, for she was his mother; and, as you
all know, mothers are so forgiving!


I.. .


-..- ,ZI II

'I'' '

Il1~ II

I.- .1



7,, .

H certainly, open the door:
We have n't the least privacy;
Dear me !
You never do knock

And we have n't a lock.
So you 've come for a Four-o'clock-Tea,
I see.



i :,I I Z:' *
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=:~ -=-~ ------

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li~i"I; i.; i 1'I

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UT how do you know that we dolls
Are happy at Four-o'clock-Teas
Like these?
(Oh! you 're hurting my back,
For I 've had an attack
Of acute fol-de-rols.
How you squeeze-!
Don't, please.)
' 0 Miss Fanny is coming, is she?
And you want us to put on our best?
We're dressed
Twenty-six times a day:
Oh you call it play ?
What we want, it must be confessed,
Is rest."






.- '--- -

i ,

" it 5. '-)2_ Lb


GOOD-MORROW, my Valentines! February is a
short month, although this year--as I am told-
it gives you an extra day,'and even then does n't
quite make a month of itself; but it has done a
good turn for this country by giving us one George
Washington, of whom you all have heard. So we
must not complain.
Then, again, it's supposed to be rather an affec-
tionate, even a sentimental month. It freezes, but
then it thaws, too, and so lays claim to a goodly
share of sensibility. I prefer January myself, or
even blustering March-that one unconvinced
juryman of the twelve, as the deacon calls him,
who never gives in till he is almost ready to go.
But, all things considered, perhaps, for twenty-nine
days before March comes, we may as well agree to
be satisfied with February, and to honor him for
old Winter's sake.

AND now you shall have a letter from a school-
girl, asking
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: A girl in the red school-house re-
cently took a bottle of smelling-salts from her pocket, and when
asked by the dear little school-ma'am what she had there she replied,
"hartshorn," and added that she used it "to help a slight head-
The little school-ma'am, after expressing sympathy with ourschool-
mate, asked if any of us knew anything about hartshorn, and why
it was called by that name.
We all tried, but not one of us could answer her correctly,
though some of us older girls said it had something to do with
ammonia. I have found out since; but I think, with your permission,
I '11 pass along the questions to your larger class, dear Jack. The
little school-ma'am says I may.
Your young friend, A SCHOOL-GIRL.

A FRIEND of Deacon Green, Miss Ellen V. Tal-
bot, has written some lines for ST. NICHOLAS,
which go straight to the old gentleman's heart. He
begs me, therefore, to show them to my boys with
his. best regards, and to say that it would have

saved him a good deal of unnecessary and fatiguing
admiration of himself in early life, had he read
just such verses at that time.
But if you imagine, from this, that our deacon
undervalues a mother's praise, you are wofully mis-
taken, my friends. No, indeed. He only thinks
that, as a rule, mothers do not always give quite
so correct an idea of their sons' beauty as the av-
erage untouched photographs do. That's all.

A MOTHER once owned just a common-place boy,
A shock-headed boy,
A freckle-faced boy,
But thought he was handsome and said so with
For mothers are funny, you know,
Quite so-
About their sons' beauty, you know.

His nose, one could see, was not Grecian, but
And turned up quite snug,
Like the nose of a jug;
But she said it was "piquant," and gave him a hug:
For mothers are funny, you know,
Quite so -
About their sons' beauty, you know.

His eyes were quite small, and he blinked in the
But she said it was done
As a mere piece of fun
And gave an expression of wit to her son;
For mothers are funny, you know,
Quite so-
About their sons' beauty, you know.

The carroty love-locks that covered his head
She never called red,
But auburn instead.
The color the old Masters painted," she said;
For mothers are funny, you know,
Quite so-
About their sons' beauty, you know.

Now, boys, when your mothers talk so, let it pass;
Don't look in the glass,
Like a vain, silly lass,
But go tend the baby, pick chips, weed the grass;
Be as good as you're pretty, you know,
Quite so-
As good as you're pretty, you know.

PARA, November, 1887.
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: You like, do you not, to hear
about out-of-the-way places ? So let me tell you of our experiences in
an Amazonian bathing-place called Soure. This is near Pard, on a
river in the great island of Marajo. The surf-bathing, except for
scenery, is not unlike that at Elberon, New Jersey, though there are
no ropes to hold on to, and the bathing-houses are palm-thatched
chourfanos. The Indian huts about are very picturesque, and not
very untidy, so we often made thirst an excuse to get a glimpse
of the interior and chat with the hospitable occupants. The church
we passed daily was an oddity; the church and prison being in one
building, and the convicts favored with considerable liberty.
Soure is a fishing village, so we had an abundance of fish of rather
indifferent kinds, however.
Visits outside the town are made either by canoe or on ox-back;
the poor, patient oxen looked so queerly when saddled.



The quaintest of all wells ever seen, I think, is the great public
well of Soure. It is in the middle of the village green, glorious
mango-trees bordering it; and here, at all hours of the day, come
and go loitering, chattering blacks, carrying on their heads, like
second heads, jars, pails, old kerosene and butter-tins-in fact,
almost anything that can hold water.
Good-bye, from your constant listener (though at along distance),
AtY E. S--.
DEAR JACK: In reading an interesting book called "A Tour in
Mexico and California," I came upon a part where the author, Mr.
J. H. Bates, speaks of a curious way of obtaining ice. On one very
hot day in February, not far from the city of Leon, in Mexico, he
saw a great number of the leaves of the maguey lying upon the
ground. These were filled with a thin layer of water, and they had
been placed there by tne natives in order to obtain the thin coats of
ice which would be formed on each leafduring the night. These
thin flakes, I believe, are collected and stored away in the ground
for early use. Since then I have read more about the maguey,
and as some of your hearers also may be glad to look into the sub-
ject, I send you this letter. Your faithful friend, MARY D--.

TALKING of Mexico, this same friend (Mary D )
tells me that the cactus grows to a great height in

that country. One variety, the organ cactus, as
she learns from Mr. Bates's book, has a single
straight stem, made up of parts several feet long,
six-sided, and joined so as to make one perfect
trunk, with joints hardly visible." The larger of
these cactus-stems that Mr. Bates saw, not far from
the city of Leon, are six inches in diameter. He
says the people plant these organ cacti side by
side, and so form close, strong, living fences that
answer their purpose admirably.

ARROYO GnAND, CAL., Oct. 16, 1887.
DEAR JACK : There is a sycamore-tree en our land that appears
to be a favorite nursery for birds. Three years ago a pair of
flickers or high-holJers made their hole in it; next year they, or
others like them, used it again, and this year they usedit still again.
After they left this year, a pair of bluebirds made a nest in the hole
and raised their young and went away. Not more than two days
after they left, a pair of swallows came in, took r --... d' ed
their children, and went off. Did you ever know i. .

Fs^=s^~'a=^^^a-s^:/ ^==^ ~sa~~^^-y J)


2y/ f .C4




M .





* '-




FOR nearly three months Karl lay in the chil-
dren's ward of the hospital and looked at a piece of
whitewashed wall. The window was at the head
of his cot, so that he could not look out, and two
screens shut out what was on either side of him.
The doctor said he must not read nor have frequent
visitors, and that he must sleep and "be stupid" as
much as possible. But Karl could not sleep nor be
stupid all the time, and in the long hours between
the visits of the doctor or the comings of the
nurse with beef-tea or milk, when there was noth-
ing to do but lie still and look at the wall, he
thought he would die of loneliness and pain. That,
however, was before he really saw the wall. When
he began to see the people in it, he would not have
exchanged it for a window, a book, or several
ordinary visitors. At first he only noticed that
the fresh whitewash.was chipped off in spots, and
showed the dingier coat below. Then, suddenly,
a soldier with a great hat came out,- a grave-look-
ing soldier marching along,-with his head bent
down as in a well-known picture of Napoleon. He
was tall and thin, though -perhaps he wasWelling-
ton. But look! there behind him was an aid-de-

camp, and the grinning faces of two suspicious
characters. The aid-de-camp did not look serious.
Perhaps it was a holiday procession and the tall
soldier was a drum-major, Karl thought. Why,
of course; there was a funny Punchinello off at the
rear, and in the front two dominos -one holding
a torch. It was the carnival at Venice! Karl's
father had read to him about it from a big volume
a short time before. And there was a man with a
wooden leg. Was he an old tar? Perhaps it
was Mr. Wegg. Karl hoped it was, for Silas had
been one of his favorites. Karl had read a great
deal-a great deal too much, the doctor said,
for a delicate boy of ten. But there had been
little else for Karl to do out of school hours ; for he
could not play in the streets, and he had no brother
nor sister nor mother to play with him at home,
and his father was all day at the theaters, painting
scenes. I don't know what he would have done
in the little room at the boarding-house, if it had
not been for/his father's case of books ; and I don't
know what he could have done in the hospital if
these people had not come out upon the wall; for he
had.a mind and heart that would not stay empty.



44 >


!.. ', f, : .*l 1- -
1' "v^ ^ ^- -'




But every day he could see new figures. By and many puzzling things about the wall. Mr.
by, an old man with a gray beard Friar Tuck, Wegg's being at the carnival was one; and the Lady
Karl thought came
to the carnival, hold-
ing a leather bag of
wine. He poured some
out into a champagne- -
glass that an old wo--
man held. The next .. .
one that came was a I.
most absurdly fantastic i i )
creature, who held her I
skirts with one bony .- .-
hand and courtesied to --- -
the dancing bear with a queer head look- -.
ing like a man's face put on crooked, so
--^M J _--.- a- -

of the Lake's being there, too, was another. She
appeared one day in her little skiff, with a high
cap. She seemed a great way off; but Karl
was sure it was she, and rather hoped she might
come nearer. One morning she came out with
a smaller cap than she had worn the day before.
There was a large-sized flake of whitewash on
the floor beneath.
Karl could tell a great deal more about the de-
lightful, strange, and queer people who came out
of this wonderful wall by the time he became well
enough to walk with the aid of crutches. He
knew them very well indeed before then, and
they made him happy for many hours. I don't
know much more about them, except that the
wall has been whitewashed again and that they
are not there now.


1 ~

I -

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AX -

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look wrong side before, and
Mr. Wegg. Then, behind,
near the Punchinello, two
solemn brothers turned their
backs on the carnival, and
went down into the Cata-
combs with a torch. At least
Karl thought they were
going into the Catacombs;
though it puzzled him to
think that the Catacombs
were in Rome and the car-
nival was at Venice; and
he was not sure, either,
that any body but early
Christians and modern tour-
ists ever went into the
Catacombs, and none of
them dressed like monk,
or bishop, or priest. But
then there were a great


MRS. BARR'S Russian Christmas story, Michael and Feodosia,"
printed in this number, was unavoidably omitted from the January
issue (for which it was written), because the engraving of the large
illustration could not be completed in time for its appearance last
month. The story will be no less welcome to our readers, who in
one sense are now gainers by this after-Christmas gift.

WE have received several letters complaining that the Song of
the Bee," recently printed in this magazine, had been published long
before, and in several quarters; and, later, a communication from
Marion Douglass has come to us, in response to our inquiries, stating
that she wrote the poem in question for the Nursery" in the year
We can only regret our recent reproduction of the same lines,
under the signature of another writer. They were accepted in good
faith by ST. NICHOLAS, as at that time we had, of course, no knowl-
edge of the earlier publication.


A CORRESPONDENT at Cambridge, Mass., writing of the use of
cyanide of potassium in making ferrotype pictures, calls attention to
the danger arising from its character as a poison, and urges the use
of hyposulphite of soda instead of the cyanide as advised in the
paragraph on ferrotypes in the December ST. NICHOLAS. In mak-
ing tin-types by the old method, cyanide is commonly held by
photographers to produce a much better result than the "hypo,"
and is the ingredient in general use. Fortunately, the new dry-
plate method of tin-typing does away with the necessity for using
the poison. This new method, referred to in the November num-
ber, is, for this and other reasons, much better for the amateur.
Hyposulphite of soda is used in fixing the dry-plates.
At the editor's request, I would here warn amateur photographers
that they should remember that many of the chemicals they use are
more or less poisonous. Sulphuric acid, for instance, used in mak-
ing up developers, is to be handled with the greatest care. Bottles
containing such acids should be kept in a safe place, and distinctly
labeled. Itis not a bad plan to wear a pair of gloves when handling


[An answer to Grace Denio Litchfield's poem, "My Other Me,"
in the ST. NICHOi.As for November.]

O CHILDREN in the valley,
Do you ever chance to meet
A little maid I used to know,
With lightly tripping feet ?
Her name is Alice; and her heart
Is happy as the day;
I pray you, greet her kindly,
If she should cross your way.

But you need n't bring her back to me;
To tell the truth, you know,
I have no wish to be again
That child of long ago.
Of course, it 's lovely to be young,
Sheltered from heat and cold;
But let me whisper in your ear:
It's nice, too, to be old."

You see, my lessons all are learned;
A voir and tire I know
Clear through, subjunctive, que and all,
That used to bother so.

Geometry I touch no more;
And history 1 read
Instead of learning it by heart
As I had to once, indeed.

It's true, I don't read fairy tales
With quite the zest of yore;
But then I write them with a zest
I never felt before.

Of course, I'm very old; but then,
If I wish to play, you see,
There is up here upon the heights
Another little me.
He 's ten years old and he 's a boy;
A mischievous young elf;
But I like him every bit as well
As I used to like myself.

You need n't send that little girl,
Whose heart was full ofjoy,
Back to me now; I 'd rather keep,
Instead of her, my boy I
Don't fearto climb, dear children,
So slowly day by day,
Out of the happy valley
Up to the heights away.

I know it 's lovely to be young,
Sheltered from heat and cold;
But let me whisper in your ear:
"It 's nicer to be old."

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I saw a letter in the November number
about a kitten, and thought I would tell you about mine.
It -is a dear little Maltese kitten, and came all the way from St.
John. Iam surdmy kitty enjoyed her day in the drawing-room car,
although you maybe sure she was not there much of the time. Far
from it- she was everywhere.
As my mother was leaving the station, she was handed through
the window by the son of the lady whom mother had been visiting.
The basket had a net over the top, but pussy soon got her head
through that; indeed, it was wonderful she did not choke getting out
of that basket. One minute she would be in the smoking-car, on
some gentleman's back, and the next she would be sleeping peace-
fully in mamma's lap. However, she was brought home safely, and
is now learning to jump and beg very nicely.
I enjoy your magazine very much, and indeed the whole family
do, especially my father. I have taken you for five years.
Your admiring reader,
EsSIE T--.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl eleven years old, and live
in Sonoma. I love to read you. "Juan and Juanita" was a very
pretty story. I always enjoy the Letter-box. I think it might
interest some readers to hear about my pets; as my dog is dead, I
have only four, but one is a very rare one. I have a pony, who is
rather old: a black cat, a canary, and a monkey. He is a very
curious little fellow; his name is Yetto "; his size is about one foot.
"Yetto has smooth gray and black hair, a small pink face, and a
funny long tail; he has large, brown, expressive eyes; I have tried
for a year to tame him, but in vain; he runs and romps about in
Papa's conservatory, and at night curls up in a box, in a soft shawl.
He lets me feed him with bananas, grapes, apples, and milk, and
bread; but if I try to touch him he makes a queer noise, chink,"
and rushes up the big gum-tree. I don't go to school, but take
lessons at home, English, German, French, and music, and in the
afternoon I play with my four little cousins,- our gardens lie oppo-
site,- theirnames are Willy, Frida, Doris, and Ernest, the baby. We
have glorious times, and splendid games together. Good-bye, dear
ST. NICHOLAS. Your constant reader,


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I seldom see letters from thiscityin your
I enjoy the "Personally Conducted" series by Mr. Frank R.
Stockton the most of all. We take them to school, and our teacher
reads them to us as we come to the countries. I hope that Mr.
Stockton will write some more.
I have not any pets, as most of your correspondents have, but I
have something that is much better, five brothers and sisters.
With hopes that you will publish my letter, I remain, yours truly,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl, eight years old. I was
born here in Washington, and all my life have lived where I could
see the beautiful Capitol, with the "Goddess of Liberty" on
top of the dome. I used to think she was an Indian, when I was
younger. We have been taking you a long time. I enjoyed the
story of Little Lord Fauntleroy" ever so much, and hope the same
lady that wrote it will soon write another one as sweet as that was.
I like your dog stories, too. We had a dear little dog. Her name
was Belle. She was so smart! One day we went out for a ride, and
shut her up in the back-yard; but when we returned she had dug a
hole under the fence, and was having a fine frolic out in the street.
The next day, when we went out. my brother chained her up in the
stable. When we came home, she had hung herself by jumping
over a beam. Fortunately, she was still alive. We concluded she
was too lively for a city dog, and gave her to a kind farmer.
Your little friend, PEARL L. H-- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I see in your Letter-box many questions
and answers, so I thought I would get you to answer one for me;
or, if you have not time, please publish it, and let any who will,
answer it.
The distance from Station A to Station B, on the railroad, is five
miles. The caboose of a freight-train one mile long leaves Station A;
the conductor is on the caboose. When the engine reaches Station
B, the conductor is on the engine, having walked the length of the
train while it was moving. How far has he ridden ? and how far has
he walked?
I do not ask this for mere idle curiosity. I am seeking informa-
tion; and by answering, you will greatly oblige
Your sincere friend and well-wisher, FANNIE F- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We have never seen any letters from this
place, so we thought we would write one. We are two chums (in
school-girl I... ., and are members of a delightful club called
the "Belmo.. '-.c have no dumb creatures for pets, asmostboys
and girls who write to the ST. NICHOLAS have; but one of us has a
dear little baby brother, who is just the cutest and liveliest little fel-
low you ever saw. His name is Tom; and as the the other has no
pets, we go halves," so to speak. We are looking forward to the
completion of a high-school building with great delight, as we ex-
pect to enter the school as soon as the building is completed. We
both think the ST. NICHOLAS the best and most interesting mag-
azine published, and were wild over Little Lord Fauntleroy and
"Juan and Juanita," besides numerous other stories--especially
Miss Alcott's. Hoping that our letter is not too long to be pub-
lished, we remain
Your devoted admirers,
BAv S-. and HELEN P. K- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have never written to you before, but I
hope my letter will be printed. I have taken you for more than a
year, and like you very much. My two favorite stories are "Juan
and Juanita" and "Jenny's Boarding-house." I havejust had one
year's copies bound, and am going to have the same next year. We
havejust come home from the sea-side,where we were staying for two
months; my brother and I bathed every day, and very often west
out fishing. I am the only oneat home, as my brother goes to school.
We had two little canaries, but one died the other day, so now we
only have one. It is so tame that it will perch on my fingers or my
head. It flies about the room nearly all day, and once I found it in a
room with the window open but it never attempted to get out. I
must now end, as I have nothing more to say. Believe me,
Yours sincerely, EVELYN G--.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We have two cats. Their names are
Beauty and Smut. Smut likes pop-corn and candy. We have a
weather-strip on our front door; it is loose at the bottom, and when
we lock Smut outdoors she will knock on the door by pulling the
weather-strip with her paws; we can hear her in the third story.

Beauty is timid and does not play so much, except when you pull a
string around the room. She plays with the little kitten sometimes,
not often.
Beauty will knock on the door if she is left out long enough. Once
Beauty brought one of the little kittens up-stairs to the third floor
from the cellar, but she had to drop it on every step; when she
got on the last step she was so tired that she had to pant. One day
my mother went up-stairs, and there was Beauty and the kitten.
She went to the lounge and took the little kitten in her hands, but
Beauty knocked it out. My mother thought it might be a mistake,
but she did it again. Just then our dressmaker came in, and my
mother told her about it. Then to show that it was true, she went
to the lounge and took itin her hand, but Beauty knocked it out the
third time. Smut will take pop-corn in her paws and eat it just the
same as a squirrel would eat nuts. We think a good deal of our
cats. FRANK T-.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have a question that I would like to ask
your readers. Probably some of your English friends can answerit.
Why were not all the kings of England crowned immediately
upon ascending the throne?
I will this Christmas commence my eighth year of taking the ST.
NICHOLAS. I would n't give it up under any considerations.
Your friend, iM. M-- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl, not yet seven years old.
None of your little friends love you more than I do. My Uncle
Jack who lives in Battleford, N. W. T., sends you to me. I have
had you one year. I like your stories so much, and can read them
quite well. This place is called after Shakespeare's birthplace,
and the river, too, is called Avon, and the wards of the city after
characters in his plays, such as Romeo ward, Hamlet ward, etc.
We have great fun here in winter, -.1. ;; ..:..; and sleigh-rid-
ing. I hope I may see this in print, r. i .: often written to
you but never made my letters neat enough to send. I do not go to
school my mother teaches me for one hour every day.
Your loving little friend, NORA M-- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS Auntie says I may tell you how we saw the
Prince of Wales.
We were walking in Green Park, London, when we saw a num-
ber of carriages passing, full of officers in full dress.
I went up to a very tall policeman. He said if we walked fast we
would see the Prince go from Marlborough House to St. James's
Palace. We got there just in time to see the royal carriages drive
out. First came the carriage with Prince Christian in it, and in the
second carriage (which was all of red and gold, with coachman and
three footmen in red plush and white satin liveries, and lots of gold
lace, and large white powdered wigs) sat the Prince of Wales in
scarlet uniform and holding his hat in his lap. He is very hand-
some. As we walked back, we met the tall policeman ; he asked if
I had seen the Prince?
I said "yes," and asked why the footmen wore those funny wigs ?
He replied:
"0 miss, it's to keep the 'eat off their 'eads."
How I did laugh. Your devoted reader,
(aged io years.)

MY DEAREST ST. NICHOLAS: For eight years you have brought
joy and pleasure into our home every month. I was nine years old
when my grandmother sent you to me; I am seventeen now, but
enjoy your interesting stories as much as ever. I can hardly await
the day of your coming; and, when you do come, I have time for
nothing else till I have read you through. Amongst all your charm-
ing stories, it is hard to say which I like best. I enjoyed "Little
Lord Fauntleroy" and "Tinkham Brothers' Tide-mill" very much
in their time. The Brownies" possess a kind of fascination for me,
and I study them by the hour. "Fiddle John's F ....i is well as
"Juan and Juanita," I thought lovely stories. .'. ... the city
in winter, and at Newport in summer. When here, I study at the
Art Students' League so you can well imagine what pleasure your
pretty illustrations furnish me.
Ever your affectionate reader, CLARE S-- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I see a great many letters in the "Letter-
box," but have seen none from our town. 1 thought that the read-


ers of the "Letter-box" would like to hear a rather queer way to
get a butterfly. One afternoon I found a butterfly-chrysalis and put
it in a box. About two weeks after, when I looked at it, it was a
butterfly. I think "Juan and Juanita and "Little Lord Faunt-
leroy" are the best stories I ever read. I have taken you two years,
and I don't see how I could get along without you. So good-bye.
Your affectionate reader, G. C. R-.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I take your lovely magazine, and enjoy
you so much. We'take several magazines, but I like none of them
so much as you. I enjoyed Juan and Juanita very much, and
also "Jenny's Boarding-house." I love to read books, and write
stories myself. I am eight years old.
Your loving reader, CLARA LouSE R-- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Perhaps you have never had a letter from
Sioux City. Like many Western cities it has grown rapidly, and now
numbers 30,000 inhabitants. Beginning October 3d, we had a grand
harvest jubilee. The first corn palace ever erected was built and
covered with ears of corn of various colors, arranged in many beautiful
designs. A statue of King Corn sat on top over the main entrance.
The palace was lighted by electric lights, and the President and Mrs.
Cleveland honored it with their presence. At every crossing down
our main street there were large arches of different colored globes,
also one in front of the palace. The city was decorated in every pos-
sible manner with corn, and presented a fine appearance. There were
street parades every day, including the different trades, and pioneer
parades. Every afternoon there were Indian, horse, and bicycle
races. Nearly all the Indians from the reservation were allowed to
come into the city during the jubilee. Next year itis intended to build
a much finer palace. This part of Iowa is noted for the fine crops

that are raised. I was formerly an Eastern boy, but came West a
few years ago. Your beautiful magazine is enjoyed by many families
in Sioux City. I have taken it for three years. With best wishes
for your future prosperity, I remain, your faithful reader,
FRED. R. H- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have subscribed to you ever since 1878,
and yet this is my first letter. I have a question to ask which I
hope some of your young readers will be able to answer, or give some
explanation of.
A person of moderate weight lies down on the floor, and six others
stand around. Each of the six persons puts two fingers under the
body of this person on the floor, and at a given signal each oneof the
seven holds his breath, and without the slighest effort the body can
be lifted as high as the arms can reach.
Now, what is the explanation of this ? I have seen the experiment
tried, and I know that it can be done, if the directions are strictly
Hoping that some of your readers will be able to explain this sin-
gular fact, I remain, yours truly, FAITH M. L---.

THE young friends whose names here follow have sent us pleasant
letters, for which we present our thanks: Hortense Leffingwell,
Louise Murphy, Harrie P. Avery, Ralph W. McHoes, Ida S., E.
S. Coxe, Eleanor A., Amy Hamlet, Alice T. R., Joseph Haines,
Lillian H., Evalina Hamilton, "A Texas Cadet," Mabel H., Helen,
A. M. G., Bride Curtiss, Rita and Kitty C., Madge M. Lamb, Hor-
tie O'Meara, Neva M. Vail, Colette, Clara G. Ambrose, Sophia P.,
and Julia B. Hill.




SQUARE REMAINDERS. S-par-k, m-ada-m, s-nap-s.
MALTESE CROSS. I to 5, Polly; 6 to 8, tap; 9, n; So to 12,
ice; 13 to 21, New Castle; 22 to 24, ask; 25, t; 26 to 28, tea;
29 to 33, screw; 34 to 39, Venus; 36 to 38, pea; 15, w; 19, t; 41
to 43, fly; 40 to 45, fresh; 3 to 31, Lancaster.
WORD'SYNCOPATIONs. Benjamin Franklin. I. re-Bate-d. 2. r-Ever-
end. 3. am-Nest-y. 4. re-Join-ed. 5. se-Arch-er. 6. s-Mart-ing.
7. cl-Inch-ing. 8. sen-Nigh-t. 9. de-Feat-ed. o1. be-Rate-d.
xr. w-Aver-ing. 12. be-Numb-ing. 13. s-Kill-et. x4. col-Late-d.
15. f-Into-ed. 16. ho-Nest-y.
DOUBLE ACROSTIC. Primals, Charade; finals, Enigmas. Cross-
words: i. Charge. 2. Hidden. 3. Alumni. 4. Rising. 5. Asy-
lum. 6. Dahlia. 7. Easels.
EASY BEHEADINGS. Grant. L. G-oat. 2. R-eel. 3. A-den.
4. N-ape. 5. T-ray.
x. Bayonet, e, botany. 2. Ponder, d, prone. 3. Thimble, m, blithe.
4. Bundle, u, blend. 5. Wonder, n, dower. 6. Candle, d, lance.
7. Marble, b, realm. 8. Scout, u, cost 9. Somber, r, besom.
io. Sketch, k, chest. xi. Hermit, e, mirth.
INVERTED PYRAMID. Across: i. Pensioner. 2. Noetian. 3. Mealy.
4. Sly. 5. Y.

GEOGRAPHICAL BEHEADINGS. i. K-opal. 2. P-rone. 3. K-raw.
4. H-owe. 5. S-wan. 6. J-ava. 7. T-anna. 8. P-alma. 9. R-hone.
PI. O sad-voiced winds that sigh about my door i
Ye mourn the pleasant hours that are no more,
The tender graces of the vanished spring,
The sultry splendor of long summer days,
The songs of birds, and streamlets murmuring,
And far hills dimly seen through purple haze.
FINAL ACROSTIC. Napoleon. i. HeaveN. 6. BananA. 3. EntraP.
2. GrottO. 8. BraziL. 4. ScrapE. 5. TomatO. 7. NapkiN.
COMBINATION STAR. From i to 2, doubted; I to 3, dreaded;
2 to 3, dandled; 4 to 5, pouters; 4 to 6, patents; 5 to 6, saddles.
Enclosed Diamond: i. T. 2. Kit. 3. Tired. 4. Ten. 5. D.
Easy Square: i. Kit. 2. Ire. 3. Ten. Kitten.
HIDDEN ANIMALS. I. Llama, goat, buffalo, paca. 2. Bear, lamb,
horse, ounce. 3. Tiger, jackal, deer, ermine. 4. Lion, camel, rat,
panther. CHARADE. Car-a-van.
ENIGMA. A, A. D., or, do, ado, ore, rod, red, doe, roe, ode, add,
dead, dear, read, road, dread, adore, adored.
NUMERICAL ENIGMA. A regularly orthodox jolly Christmas is
suggestive of big fires, plum puddings, and family gatherings."

To OUR PUZZLERS: Answers, to be -n--+---l?'l-] in the magazine, must be received not later than the 15th of each month, and
should be addressed to ST. NICHOLAS r. I. I ..i .:are of THE CENTURY Co., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City.
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE NOVEMBER NUMBER were received, before November I5th, from Maud E. Palmer Louise
McClellan-" Willoughby"- Russell Davis- A. Fiske and Co. -A. H. R. and M. G. R. -Jo and I-" Shumway Hen and Chickens"
-" San Anselmo Valley Francis W. Islip. V
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE NOVEMBER NUMBER were received, before November 15th, from Janet B. M., i-Gladys Delavie
and Violet Howard, r -" Erminie," i Julia P. Mitchell, i -" Tad,"i Marie La Brede, i -" Jolly Joker," 5 Fannie and Marion,
2- Mrs. Annie S. Baumann, 2 -"Nance," i -" January Shrub," 3-Paul Reese, 8- L. A. H., i H. Hirshinger, i -Annie W. and
Minnie C., i "Noornabin-Noorka," 3 -Belle Larkin, i Isabel W., z -Marion Strong, i C. and N. Willis, i -"Jettry," 4-
"Goosie," 5 -Jennie F. Giblett, i-" New York City," 2-Mary P. Farr, i -" We, Us and Co.," 5 -W. Leon Ingalls, i Annie Van
Pelt, i -" Sally Lunn," 8- Effie K. Talboys, 7- Maud S. and Martin C., 4 Frances S. Merriman, 2 Genevieve," Laura F.
Warren, i -" Buffie," x -L. L. L. and E. M. L., 4 Max Miln, I -" Lilian," i -" Anne Hathaway," i Susanna Johana Riesa, 7 -
W. S. T. and A. E. T., 9 Harry and Peter, 4 Nellie and Reggie, 9-" Livy," 2 Jamie and Mamma, 9 M. B. Lersch, 2- Harry
C. Carr, I- Miss Flint," o10-" Alpha Alpha, B. C.," 8 W. C. F., 3 F. W. and L. E. Maas, i Kafran Emerawit, 9 -" May
and 79," 8- A., C. and M. Kane, 4-" Tomatoo," 2 L. Rettoy and others, 6 A., S. and A., 2 V. P. C., I- E. A. S., 2 Sister
and I, L. Estelle S., 4 Katie Mather, i -" Fox and Geese," 6 Hikeydum, 8 Hattie B. Well, 3 Irvin Gillis, 4 Diana
Vernon," I-" Eureka and Miss T. Roe," 5 -A. C. R. and H. A. R., to -" Lynn C. Doyle," 3-" Henry and Margaret," I -
Charles Leonard Rigby, 3.


CROSS-WORDS: I. Epochs. 2. Acellar. 3. Javelins. 4. Farm-
ing utensils. 5. A song of triumph. 6. The chief officer of a
municipal corporation.
When these words have been rightly guessed, and placed one
below the other, one row of letters will all be the same, and the row
next to it will form the name of an extensive country.

i. Behead a basin, and leave to assert. 2. Behead an effigy, and
leave a magician. 3. Behead approaches, and leave parts of the
head. 4. Behead pacifies, and leave charity. 5. Behead a fruit,
and leave wide awake. 6. Behead a tag, and leave a Biblical name.
7. Behead an iridescent substance, and leave a piece of land.
The beheaded letters will spell the name of a famous American.


12 2
13 3
T4 4
15 5
16 6
17 .... 7
18 . 8
19 . 9
20 . 10

I, a Roman numeral; 12 to 2, a pronoun; 13 to 3, arista; 14 to 4,
prosecuted judicially; 15 to 5, the joint on which a door turns; 16 to
6, one of two kingdoms into which the Jewish nation was divided

on the death of Solomon; 17 to 7, pernicious; 18 to 8, overshoes;
19 to 9, a town of Central Africa, in Soudan; 2o to zo, to expand;
21 to 21, a treaty.
From I to In, the name of a famous musical composer, born on
February 6, 1809. From 12 to 21, the name of a great and good

IF a man will, too much, myfrst,
Ignoring, too much, my second,
When worst has come to worst,
He will the whole be reckoned.
And when he's reached the end,
Then, like the Lord of Linne,
He should resolve to mend,
And second, then begin. J.


i. In sleigh. 2. To increase. 3. One of the Muses. 4. A win-
ter amusement. 5. The name of a Scottish loch. 6. Single. 7. In
sleigh. DYCIE.

1 AM composed of eighty-two letters, and am a quotation from
My 30-78-5-44 is the monarch of Persia. My 13-65-41-63-1-75-6-
26-24-39 is excitable. My 55-57-67-43-11 is the reverse of salt. My
18-79-20-4-68-69-42-62 is an important class of animals. My 33-34-
81-36-r7-o1 is to occur. My 35-72-14-80-22-23is a seasoning. My
32-47-16-54-28 48-29-49-60 is often alluded to as Boreas. My 45-
76-7-8 is a bird which the ancient Egyptians considered sacred.
My 2-31-38-66 is store. My 50-3-64-56-9-46 is celebrated. My 25-
37-73-58-19 is part of a door. My 61-59-53-70-82 is a pnckly
shrub. My 71-12-40-74 is part of a boat. My 21-77-51-52-27-15 is
said by Emerson to be "its own excuse for being."
R. C. R. F. G.



THE eight words of this acrostic are pictured instead of described.
When the words are rightly guessed, and placed one below the
other, in the order in which they are numbered, the central letters,
reading downward, will spell the name of one of the United States.


I. AcRoss: r. Imbecile. 2. A mountain nymph. 3. An old
word meaning to endeavor to excel. 4. To workfor. 5. Appears.
DowNWARD: i. In salad. 2. Nay. 3. Rage. 4. Found in all
optical instruments. 5. The edges of the roof of a building. 6.
Dreadful. 7. A Biblical name. 8. A printer's measure. 9. In
II. ACRoss: i. Combats. 2. To supplicate. 3. A girl's name.
4. An instrument for threshing. 5. To enrich.
DOWNWARD: I. In weed. 2. Aloft. 3. A shade tree. 4. Part
of a plant. 5. A valuable fur. 6. An ecclesiastical dignitary. 7. A
cover. 8. An interjection. 9. In weed.
III. ACROSS: i. A small leaf. 2. To terrify. 3. Concise. 4.
An oral utterance. 5. A store-house.
DOWNWARD: x. In bestow. 2. Letters which every English
artist would like to place after his name. 3. An ecclesiastical
tunic. 4. To find fault. 5. Three objects united. 6. A lake. 7.
A dandy. 8. An interjection. 9. In bestow.

MECO wenh eth rasin
Heav gazeld bet nows dan holdcet eth reste whit cie,
Wehil eht stain nus fo brafyure sprou
Tino eth browes a lodof fo tiglh.
Poarchap !
Eth critnused acesurf halls pearub tyh petss
Dan het borad chingar spaltor fo eth verog
Wecolem yth rentgine.

EXAMPLE : Separate a certain kind of cloth, and make a humble
dwelling and a measure. Answer, cot-ton.
i. Separate a cloister and make to study and a small aperture.
2. Separate a very hard substance, and make a masculine name and
an insect. t. Separate an ornament, and make part of a bottle and
a delicate fabric. 4. Separate the corner of a leaf in a book, turned
down, and make certain animals and spikes of corn. 5. Separate a
city in British India, and make fortune and at this time. 6. Separate
a certain part of the day, and make smooth and current. 7. Separate
an island in the North Atlantic, and make fashioned and a masculine
name. 8. Separate reciprocal succession, and make to change and
a people. 9. Separate renders keen, and make acid and entity.
The initials of the first words will spell the name of a religious
festival celebrated on February 2d. The initials of the second
words will spell the name of a saint whose festival occurs on Feb-
ruary 14th. CYRIL DEANE.


I. UPPER LEFT-HAND SQUARE: i. An apology., .2 To in-
cline. 3. To gain by labor. 4. A feminine name.
II. UPPER RIGHT-HAND SQUARE: I. Watches. 2. A famous
college. 3. A feminine name. 4. A bench.
111. CENTRAL SQUARE: I. Artifices. 2. Scarce. 3. A vege-
table growth. 4. Perceived.
IV. LOWER LEFT-HAND SQUARE: i. Domestic animals. 2.
An imaginary monster. 3. An affected laugh. 4. To dispatch.
V. LowER RIGHT-HAND SQUARE: I. A nozzle. 2. Part of a
range. 3. To hurl. 4. Concludes. ALI, GERTY AND ELLA.

EACH of the words described contains the same number of letters.
When these are rightly guessed, and placed one below the other, in
the order here given, the initial letters, reading downward, and the
fourth row of letters, reading upward, will each name a famous
CROSS-WORDS: I. Charming. 2. An old word meaning an ad-
dress. 3. A colonist. 4. Longs for. 5. Frivolity. 6. Beginners.
7. A coronal. 8. Ploughing. 9. Motives. o1. The sea-unicorn.





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