Front Cover
 An ancient haunt of pirates
 Tracks in the snow
 The Hobart treasure
 The people we meet
 Pansies for thought
 Tom's ride
 The bronzed kid shoes
 Edward Athoy
 Good advice
 Child-sketches from George...
 A pig that nearly caused a war
 Two surprises
 Onatoga's sacrifice
 Drill: A story of school-boy...
 Accidental high art
 A regular boy
 Elsie's pet
 Some work for lent
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00196
 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: VID00196
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
    An ancient haunt of pirates
        Page 323
        Page 324
        Page 325
        Page 326
        Page 327
        Page 328
        Page 329
        Page 330
        Page 331
        Page 332
        Page 333
        Page 334
        Page 335
        Page 336
        Page 337
    Tracks in the snow
        Page 338
        Page 339
        Page 340
        Page 341
    The Hobart treasure
        Page 342
        Page 343
        Page 344
        Page 345
        Page 346
    The people we meet
        Page 347
        Page 348
        Page 349
        Page 350
        Page 351
        Page 352
    Pansies for thought
        Page 353
    Tom's ride
        Page 354
        Page 355
        Page 356
        Page 357
        Page 358
    The bronzed kid shoes
        Page 359
    Edward Athoy
        Page 360
        Page 361
        Page 362
        Page 363
        Page 364
        Page 365
        Page 366
        Page 367
    Good advice
        Page 368
    Child-sketches from George Eliot
        Page 369
        Page 370
    A pig that nearly caused a war
        Page 371
        Page 372
        Page 373
    Two surprises
        Page 374
        Page 375
    Onatoga's sacrifice
        Page 376
        Page 377
        Page 378
    Drill: A story of school-boy life
        Page 379
        Page 380
        Page 381
        Page 382
        Page 383
        Page 384
    Accidental high art
        Page 385
        Page 386
        Page 387
    A regular boy
        Page 388
        Page 389
    Elsie's pet
        Page 390
        Page 391
    Some work for lent
        Page 392
        Page 393
        Page 394
        Page 395
    The letter-box
        Page 396
        Page 397
        Page 398
    The riddle-box
        Page 399
        Page 400
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text

.. ... .. ... ..

' .

r ji




(SEE PAGE 436 )


MARCH, 1888.



IT was on the 26th of February that we took
leave of the hospitable home of our friend the
Governor, on the lower Mississippi, and started for
Grand Isle, which lies on the Louisiana coast of
the Gulf of Mexico, separating the Bay of Bara-
taria from the sea. There were two of us, I should
explain,-the artist and the writer. We wanted to
see the islands, bays, and bayous which, in the
early part of the present century, were the haunts
of the pirate brothers Pierre and Jean Lafitte.
For a conveyance, we had a large half-decked
cat-rigged boat, which happened to tie up at the
governor's sugar plantation while we were visiting
there. Her name was the St. Mary; and her crew
consisted of the captain and one man. This man
was called the mate ; but his chief duties were to
cook the victuals, hoist and lower the one sail, and
laugh at the captain's stories. The captain was
one of those roving fellows who are at home in any
part of the world. A Welshman by birth and a
sailor by choice, he had dug for diamonds in South
Africa and, as a volunteer soldier, had fought with
Bushmen, Boers, and Zulus. At the time we en-
countered him, his business was selling cheap jew-
elry to the negroes on the plantations, up and down
the Mississippi, and buying old bottles, which he
disposed of in New Orleans for three times what
they cost him. He was an odd character, and was
never tired of telling astonishing tales about his
adventures in Africa.
The St. Mary drew only two-and-a-half feet of
water, but that proved to be too much for the
shallow bays and channels we were to cruise in, as

we soon found out to our sorrow. Before you go
sailing, it is well to ascertain how deep the water is
likely to be. This is one thing I learned on the
trip to Grand Isle.
We started from the head of a canal (called
Socorra's Plaquemines Parish Canal), into which
boats are admitted, by locks, from the river. The
Mississippi in all lower Louisiana is several feet
higher than the surface of the country, and is kept
from overflowing the land by levees, which are
embankments of earth built close to the water.
When you sail along the river, you look down
into the fields and the door-yards of the houses,
just as you do in Holland. It is very droll, and
you wonder what would become of the people if the
bank should give way. From the deck of our boat,
in the canal, we could look away up to the grassy
wall of the levee, behind which the swift, yellow
waters of the mighty river were rushing on to the
For a little while we sailed between fields where
negro farmers were plowing the ground to sow rice,
and cattle were grazing. The canal was so nar-
row that the end of our boom frequently swished
along among the reeds on the bank, making the
water-rats dodge into their holes, and once fright-
ening an alligator who was sunning himself in a
soft place on the muddy shore. Soon all signs of
human life were left behind, and we were in those
great lonely marshes, raised only a foot or two
above the tide and covered with rushes and wild
cane, which border the Gulf of Mexico. The only
objects 'that relieved the monotony of these vast,

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


No. 5.



soggy plains were the occasional clumps of live-
oak trees, thickly hung with the long, gray, trail-
ing festoons of Spanish moss. The live-oak is a
noble, courageous tree. As soon as the swamp is
built up, by the overflow of the muddy river, so as
to have the least solidity, with its sturdy trunk and
wide-spreading branches it occupies the ground.
And then comes the moss and fastens upon its
limbs, even out to the smallest twigs, giving it a
mournful look.
Now, as we go sailing along the canal' and the
bayou into which it leads, let us talk a little about

the famous pirates, the Lafittes,
whose boats, loaded with the
rich plunder of Spanish gal-
leons, used to pass through
these same water-courses. Our
grandfathers knew all about
them,- or at least thought
they did,- for many was the
thrilling romance printed at that
time, and eagerly read by the
boys, about the "Bold Bucca-
neers of the Gulf." Much that
was printed, however, was fic-
tion, made up to sell. Pierre
and Jean Lafitte did not call
themselves pirates. They were,
in their own estimation, nothing
worse than smugglers and pri-
S vateers, and, consequently,
gentlemen. A smuggler is one
who brings dutiable goods into
the country secretly, without pay-
I ing tax to the Government. A
i privateer is a man who fits out
S an armed vessel and gets author-
ity from some country at war,
to prey upon the vessels of its
enemy for his own profit. The
nameisalso applied to the vessel
he owns. Privateering is almost
done away with nowadays by
agreements between the great
Nations of the world that they
will carry on war upon the high
seas only with regular war ves-
sels. Smugglers still exist, but
they are sneaking fellows, and
not bold, defiant men like the
Lafitte brothers.
In the early years of this
century, when there were slave
insurrections in the West Indies,
and wars for independence in
Mexico, Central America, and
South America, many people
were driven from their homes in these regions, and
came to New Orleans as place of refuge. Among
them were two brothers, Pierre and Jean Lafitte.
They were Frenchmen born in Bayonne, but they
had lived for several years in the West Indies.
Both were tall, handsome men; but Jean had the
stronger character. For a time, they carried on
the trade of blacksmithing.. Their shop stood on
St. Philip street, between Bourbon and Dauphin.
It was pulled down only a few years ago. Bold
and enterprising in disposition, and of command-
ing presence, the two brothers were fitted by na-



ture to be leaders of men. Jean, especially, was
of an appearance so striking that strangers, meet-
ing him on the streets, turned for a second look
at him.
The brothers soon tired of the hammer and
anvil, and surrounding themselves with congenial
spirits, engaged in smuggling. At first, they were
only the agents in New Orleans for smugglers who
brought merchandise and slaves into the bays and
bayous along the Louisiana coast; but it was not
long before they became the chiefs of the most
powerful organization of lawless men that ever
existed in this country. In 18o1, they made their
headquarters on the islands at the entrance of the
Bay of Barataria, where they built a fort and a vil-
lage. They obtained from the republic of Cartha-
gena, in South America, then at war with Spain for
its independence, letters of marque which author-
ized them to capture Spanish vessels wherever
found. They fitted out and armed fast-sailing
schooners, which were the terror of the Gulf. Ac-
cording to common belief at the time, these vessels
were pirates, which did not hesitate to pick up any
merchant-ship they could overhaul, no matter what
flag it might carry; but the Lafittes denied these
reports, and insisted that they were honorable
privateersmen, only attacking the ships of Spain,
as, under the laws of nations, their letters of marque
gave them the right to do. That they were smug-
glers, violating the laws of the United States, they
did not deny. Louisiana had but lately been
purchased from France, and the United States
tariff-laws were not favored by the people. Like-
wise unpopular was the law which made the bring-
ing of slaves from Africa a crime, putting it upon
a par with piracy. Certain people of Louisiana
wished more slaves, and they wished cheap for-
eign goods. They assisted the pirates of Barata-
ria, buying not only the smuggled goods, but also
the negroes brought over from Africa.
In vain did Governor Claiborne issue proclama-
tions, commanding the people of Louisiana to
arrest the Lafittes and their men. Jean and Pierre
came often to New Orleans, and read the procla-
mations posted on the walls of the old government
building, on the Place aux Armes. Once there was
an effort made to arrest Jean, as he was passing
through a bayou with a boat-load of smuggled
goods. A party of custom-house officers attacked
him from the shore. There was a fight, and Jean
and his crew beat off their assailants. Afterward,
Jean sent a polite letter to the captain of the cus-
tom-house force, in which he said: I am a man
of peace, and do not want to fight; but I would
have you to know that I am at all times ready to
lose my life rather than my goods."
It does not appear that the Lafittes went to sea

themselves. They hired bold and skillful men to
command their ships, and themselves remained at
Grand Isle, to manage the business of selling the
goods and slaves and to govern the pirate com-
rnunity; dividing the gains, and settling the dis-
putes of their reckless followers. They were, in
fact, rulers of a wild band of smugglers and buc-
caneers. They had agents in all the Louisiana
towns. Occasionally they held an auction at Grand
Terre, and many planters came from the interior
to buy negroes and merchandise. After the sale,
there would be feasting and dancing.


I I''


They became very rich, and at one time showed
their power in the courts by securing the dismissal
of a suit brought against them in New Orleans on
account of the wounding of two customs officers in
a fight with one of their boats. They employed two
lawyers to defend them, agreeing to pay each twenty
thousand dollars. One of the lawyers, whom we
will call Marks, was at that time the United States
Attorney, whose duty it was to prosecute the smug-
glers ; but he resigned his office to take their case.
The other we will call Mr. Henderson.
When they had won their case,- so the story
goes,- the two lawyers consulted as to how to
get their money from the Lafittes. "I dare not



go among them," said Henderson. "I am a
respectable citizen, and they might hang me.
Now, you, Marks, are a man of their kind. You
and the pirates will get along together famously.
Suppose you go, and get the money for both of

doubloons. He told his friends that it was too bad
to call the Lafittes and their men, pirates; he had
found them to be high-toned gentlemen.
When General Andrew Jackson came down to
Louisiana to defend New Orleans against the Brit-


us." "I'll go," replied Marks, "if you 'll give
me ten per cent. of your fee." "Agreed," said
So Marks set out, in a boat rowed by a negro.
He was met in Bayou Barataria by Jean Lafitte, in
a fine vessel manned by men in handsome uni-
forms. According to some accounts, Marks was
escorted to Grand Isle, the pirates' capital, and en-
tertained in sumptuous style; others say the money
was paid him on the bayou, and the very spot is
pointed out. Certain it is, that he returned to
New Orleans with his boat loaded with Spanish

ish, at the close of the War of 1812, he denounced
the Lafittes as pirates and banditti"; but he had
then too much on his hands to think of breaking
up their haunt on the Bay of Barataria. After a
while the famous brothers offered their services
and those of their men to help him protect
Louisiana against the foreign foe; but he declared
he would have nothing to do with pirates. A few
months later, however, when the British landed a
powerful army below New Orleans, and Jackson
had only a few regiments of raw militia to oppose
them, he was glad to call the Lafittes to his aid.



They were present at the battle of New Orleans,
with most of their crews; and one of their lieuten-
ants, who bore the odd name of Dominique You,
commanded Jackson's artillery.
This was the one glorious episode in the career
of the Lafittes. On account of their conduct in
the battle, they were pardoned for all their previous
offenses against the United States. However, they
kept up their old trades of smuggling and dealing
in slaves; and in 1816 the Government sent a
force to Barataria Bay under Commodore Patter-
son and Colonel Ross which broke up their ren-
dezvous, capturing several of their vessels and
destroying their fort. Most of the pirates retreated
to Dernier Isle, a little west of Grand Isle. Some
remained on the islands as peaceful fishermen and
farmers; but the more adventurous followed the
Lafittes to the present site of Galveston, Texas.
There the brothers intended to build a fort, and to
carry on their warfare against Spain. Our Govern-
ment thereupon sent a messenger to them, warn-
ing them that, as the United States claimed that
part of Texas, it must not be fortified and made
a base for attacks on Spain. It is believed that
the Lafittes and their crew then went to Buenos


S''l i I .
I I I, I .I.I ;, .i
,1ii a s ,,h
lil i ~ r

died, is not known. This, then, very briefly told,
is the history of the famous pirate brothers.
Now, let us return to the cruise of the St. Mary,
which was left sailing along the bayou. Just where
the bayou empties into a lake, our boat stuck fast
in the mud. Passengers and crew tried in vain to
push her off with poles. The poles sunk deep into
the soft ooze, but the boat would not move. A big
lugger, with a red sail, came sweeping by. I sug-
gested to the captain that he hail her and ask for
help. "Dagos would n't stop for anybody," he
said. Dago" is a name indiscriminately ap-
plied in lower Louisiana to all Italians, who are
fishermen, boatmen, or fruit-sellers. Perhaps it
is a corruption of Diego," a Spanish name.
Our captain, with his skiff, put his passengers
ashore in the marsh, got out his ballast, and, after
an hour's hard work, managed to set the craft
afloat. The mate said the name of the lake was
" Lac aux Cochons," or, Pig Lake; a good name
for the muddy, shallow water, in which our boat
almost wallowed. At its outlet we again stuck
fast. No use to push with poles now, for they go
down so deep in the miry bottom that it takes the
united strength of two men to pull each up. Fortu-


Ayres, in South America. They disappeared from nately, the tide was coming in. Let us have our
the shores of the Gulf of Mexico. What their dinner, and wait for the water to lift us off," I
subsequent career was, and where and how they suggested. The men were quite willing. They




took a long time to prepare and eat the dinner -
not forgetting that we had hired them by the day.
They had a peculiar iron pot, made for burning
charcoal, and this they placed in the little un-
decked space at the stern of the boat. On the
glowing coals, they cooked a big skilletful of rice
mixed with pieces of salt pork; then made tea in
a saucepan, produced some pilot-bread from a
locker, and the dinner was ready. It tasted better
to me than many a meal I have eaten at the great
New York hotels.
At last, after two hours' delay, the rising tide
lifted us out of the mud. We sailed through a
wide bayou, and soon came out into Barataria
Bay, a broad inlet of the sea, with low, desolate,
marshy shores. Save the flocks of wild ducks that
rose out of the reeds, there was no sign of life in
those melancholy marshes. The salt wind dashed
the water into white-caps, and gulls screamed
around us. Everything told of the neighborhood
of the sea. When night was approaching, our
captain, not knowing the navigation of these wa-
ters, was unwilling to run any longer; so he ran
the St. Mary close in-shore, in a narrow bay,
and fastened her, hooking her anchor into the
bank. We built a bonfire of drift-wood, and with
our pocket-knives cut a lot of dry grass and reeds
to make a bed in the hold of the boat,- a dog-
kennel sort of a place, where there was not room

to sit upright. Then we ate some more rice and
pork for supper- the sailors called it cabian -
and turned in, to hear the rain rattling all night
on the tarpaulin pulled over the hatch.
The morning brought fresh trouble. During the
night, the wind had so driven our boat into the
mud that, with the receding tide, it was impossible
to push her off. The rain was falling steadily and
drearily, and a strong north-easter was blowing.
Here was a pretty fix.
Should we lie in our kennel and wait for the next
high tide? The land was a miserable, soggy, un-
inhabited island. The storm might last for days.
Ah the rain moderates enough for us to see a big
lugger lying at anchor out in the bay. We put our
baggage in the small boat, and, wet and unhappy,
row out to her. She was named the Aida.
There were three men on board -" Dagos," our
captain said. They proved to be very kind; they
were Italians from Trieste, and agreed to take us
to Grand Isle for four dollars; they offered us
their best; put us down in the dry forecastle, and
made us some good, strong coffee. Then they
weighed anchor and hoisted the one big sail. The
lugger rig is unknown in Northern waters. A lug-
ger has a very strong mast, and across it hangs,
when hoisted, a long yard, about two-thirds of
which is on one side of the mast. The short end
is high in air, the yard hanging at an angle of




forty-five degrees with the mast. There is no
boom, the sail being fastened to the deck at one
lower corner, and held by the sheets at the other.
A green lugger with a red sail produces a pictur-
esque effect against a background of blue sky.
The rain abated long enough for us to enjoy the
swift motion, the dash of the waves against the
bow, the keen salt air, the sight of flocks of pen-
guins and gulls, and of a big porpoise (which tried
to run a race with the lugger, but was soon left
astern). Soon the slender white shaft of a light-
house appeared ahead, and, close by, the huge bulk
of Fort Livingston, which commands the entrance

on Grand Terre are the light-house keeper and a
Cuban gentleman, named Pepe Lulu, who used to
make sugar until a tidal-wave ruined his planta-
tion, and who now keeps cattle for a living. This
Cuban used to be a famous duelist in his younger
days. During the Cuban war for independence,
he published a letter in a New Orleans paper,
challenging any and all Spaniards to fight him.
Nobody accepted the challenge, for he was known
to be a dead shot.
A good story is told about this combative old
gentleman. He had some difference with a for-
mer light-house keeper, w\ho used to be his friend,

/. //

'- "1

-_. --m .
. -- _-- . .. -- _

_! -: .." ..- .7...

VJ1 .



, i v---.!- -~-=


to Barataria Bay. Light-house and fort are on
an island called Grand Terre. Only one man stays
in the fort, an old sergeant, who looks after the
government property. The other persons living

and for two or three years the two neighbors did
not speak to each other. A mutual acquaintance
ventured to remonstrate with Pepe Lulu.
You two men are here alone on this island,"




he said, and you ought to be on good terms with
each other. You ought to meet and arrange your
little difficulty to your mutual satisfaction. Now,
let me see Douglas and tell him you will meet
him. "
Very well," replied the Cuban, with his strong
Spanish accent, you may see Mr. Douglas, and
say to him that I am ready to settle our little diffi-
culty. I will be on the beach to-morrow morning
with my shot-gun. Let him be there with his shot-
gun, and we will settle to his entire satisfaction."
Pepe Lulu was on hand at the hour he appointed,
but the light-house keeper did not appear, and
their quarrel has not yet been adjusted.
West of Grand Terre lies Grand Isle. The two
are separated by a narrow channel which leads out
into the open sea. It was on Grand Terre that the
Lafittes had their fort. Their people lived on both
islands, but principally on Grand Isle. Behind the
shelter of these islands their vessels were moored,
when they returned from cruising; and the mer-
chandise and slaves they had captured were put
upon luggers and row-boats, and taken inland
through the net-work of bays, bayous, and rivers
which run back from the coast.
The captain of the Aida was not willing to run
up a lagoon which skirted Grand Isle, so as to land
us on the inhabited part of the island, and he put
us ashore near the mouth of the lagoon, on a small
islet, where a negro lived with his family. These
black people were the only inhabitants. They had
a sandy garden, where they raised early vegetables,
and had also a small orange orchard. The man
welcomed us to his cabin. Most of the space in its
one room was taken up by three beds. There
was a big fire-place, where something was being
cooked in an iron pot; and before it sat a little
black girl, with a tame chicken in her lap. There
being two other daughters and the man's wife,
the small space in the cabin was filled up, without
admitting the strangers. There was, also, an old,
battered-looking, white man, engaged in mend-

ing a bucket; and while we were talking the
mosquito-netting over one of the beds was raised
just enough to show a black head, tied up in a
handkerchief, and a hand with long, claw-like nails.
The owner of the head and the claws did not
speak a word, but kept his black, glittering eyes
fixed on the strangers.
Our host said the man was sick, and only
stopping with him till he got well. So there were
seven persons at once in the one room of the cabin.
It had no window, but daylight enough came in
through the cracks. The doors opened out, like
those of a stable.
The white man said he owned the place, but did
not usually live on it. He offered to take us up
the lagoon in a sail-boat, and tried hard to do so;
but there was a stiff wind blowing, and he could
not make an offing. We were driven ashore in a
marsh,- and it was lucky we were; for we should
probably have been capsized in the lagoon, if we
had fairly started on the voyage. The negro man
came to the rescue, in a skiff. He impressed me
afterward, when I had an opportunity to compare
him with the white inhabitants of Grand Isle, as
one of the most capable men in that region. He
was efficient, prompt, and honest. His name, he
said, was Abner Jones; but everybody called him
Charlie Rigaud. His old master's name was Ri-
gaud, but when the war made him a free man he
took a new name. He had been a soldier in a
Federal regiment during the war.
Abner set us ashore near a little group of brown
houses. Some men were unloading a lugger, into
carts, drawn by horses about as big as calves. To
get to the lugger, they drove out into the water
until it was almost up to the little horses' bel-
lies. One of the buildings appeared to be kitchen
and dining-room for the whole settlement. In it
were a number of people, dressed in coarse, brown
clothes. Abner told them, in French, that we
wanted something to eat. An old woman shook
her head and said they were poor people, and had


~-f~c--~-~- --"


sdC~-~7~ ~l/r ~2
cs=-~ -~



nothing fit to give us. I told her we had eaten
nothing since the day before, and would be thank-
ful for anything she had, and for leave to dry our
wet clothes by the fire. Hearing me talk French,
these people who at first had been cold and sus-
picious -became cordial at once. The old wo-
man made coffee and cooked some eggs. She
had no milk or butter; but for hungry men, bread,
black coffee, and eggs made a good enough break-
fast. The oldest man in the company took us to
an odd little house, near by, which he said was
built by his grandfather one hundred and thirty

steel-engravings, of paintings by Le Brun, repre-
senting scenes in the career of Alexander the
Great. They were made in Paris, in the time of
the first Napoleon. The artist wished to buy one
of them; but the old man shook his head, saying:
" I am old; but these pictures are older. They be-
longed to my father. I will never sell them "
When we left, these good people, poor as they
were, would not accept money for their hospitality.
So we shook hands all around; then, piloted by
Abner, carrying the luggage, advanced into the
island, admiring the trim gardens of the inhabit-

,.R' -
V,1-. -

--=--^ "* Tt it^ 't sfl


years ago. The artist made a sketch of it and of
the old man's face, to the great delight of all the
people, who chattered in French and followed with
their black eyes every line he made. "Ah, quel
genie !" said one. Voila !--comme c'est beau! "
exclaimed another. "C'est un grand artiste!"
declared a third. In the old house hung six large

ants, their little pink-and-green houses, and the
gigantic live-oak trees, and listening with delight
to the roar of the surf on the outer shore. Grand
Isle is only a little strip of arable land. On one
side is the sea; on the other the bayou with its
marshes. The farms are narrow belts running
from water to water. Along the backbone of the


island extends a grove of live-oaks. We stopped
to rest at a store, approached through a gate in a
High picket-fence. It was kept by a woman, who,
when she saw strangers approaching, hurried into
her house and covered her face with white powder.
This is the custom of the women of the island.
They think it improves their looks, but it gives
them a ghastly appearance. The store-keeper was
very friendly, and insisted on treating us to claret
After a long walk through the fields, Abner
quartered us for the night at the house of some
people who did not understand a word of English.
They had an orange orchard and a field of
cucumbers and squashes. Although it was in the
month of February, the vegetables had already
sprouted. Each hill was protected by a little hood,
made of stakes and dry grass, which kept off the
north wind from the growing plants. The season is
about two weeks earlier on Grand Isle than in
New Orleans, and the people get a good price for
their vegetables, which they take to the city in
luggers. Our hosts had one of the best houses on
the island. It was pink, with green board shutters,
and had bands of white and blue around it just
above the ground. The stairs led up from the broad
piazza, and the kitchen was in a separate building.
Dinner was served on the piazza. It consisted of
fresh eggs, bread, and very black coffee. All the
French people in Louisiana make coffee so strong
that a stranger hesitates to drink it. They think it
is an antidote to the malaria that rises from the
swamps and marshes.
After dinner we walked through the cucumber
and squash fields, looking, with their rows of droll
little hoods, like the encampment of a Lilliputian
army; and, going in the direction of the sound of the
surf, came suddenly out from among the live-oaks
upon abroad sandy beach, strewn with broken limbs
and trunks of trees. All this wreckage of forests is
brought down to the Gulf of Mexico by the Missis-
sippi river and then thrown back upon the shores
by the waves. The river undermines its banks, and
the trees fall in, to be whirled along in the yellow
current of the river, perhaps for a thousand miles or
more; carried out to sea, tossed and beaten by the
salt waves, and, at last, blown ashore in some hurri-
cane. Some of them then serve a useful purpose,
for the beach is the store-house of fuel for all the
people who live on the islands. Wood costs them
only the labor of chopping the trunks and branches
which the sea casts up almost at their doors.
The people of Grand Isle are of three kinds,-
white, colored, and black. All of mixed blood
are called colored. These three sorts of inhabit-
ants associate together in the most friendly way,
except at parties. There each keeps strictly to it-

self. Their children are not allowed to go to the
same school, and as the islanders are too poor to
maintain three schools, they now have none at all.
All the people on Grand Isle, and on the neigh-
boring islands of Grand Terre and Le Chenier
Comidada, speak of themselves as poor. They
never suffer for lack of food, however, for they
have but to wade out to the oyster-reefs in the
bayous to fill their baskets with nice, fat oysters.
Fish and wild fowl abound, and vegetables grow
luxuriantly in the warm soil; so they always
have enough to eat. But there is not much they
can sell, and they have little money with which
to buy fine clothes and luxuries. Books are scarce
among them, and the only newspaper one sees is
an occasional copy of L'Abeille de la Nouvelle Or-
e'ans, which in English means, The New Orleans
When we were ready to leave Grand Isle, Ab-
ner hired a lugger for us, and brought his skiff
into a little inlet to take us aboard. The water
was so shallow in this creek that the negro had to
wade, pushing the skiff before him through the
mushy mud. Our lugger was commanded by a
black fellow named Isaac. I think he was the
blackest negro I ever saw. He was a good sailor,
and knew every turn in the intricate net-work of
bayous, through which we were to sail to reach
New Orleans. To assist him in working the boat,
he had a Creole lad named Giovanni, who was
mate, cook, and all hands.
Isaac provisioned the craft with oysters, rice,
salt pork, bread and coffee. The cruise, he said,
would last two or three days, depending on the
wind. At last all was ready. The anchor was
lifted out of the mud, the great sail hoisted, and
by the aid of much pushing with a pole, we slow-
ly moved out of the lagoon into the broad Bay
of Barataria. Beyond the bay were the salt
marshes, threaded with innumerable bayous.
Sedgy shores and brown waters all looked just
alike to us; but Isaac knew them all. This jut-
ting Cape was Camp aux Fricots," because the
crews of passing luggers sometimes stopped to
cook their suppers there; this broadening out of
the channel was "Bai Sans Bois"; the other
one, "Bai Baptiste"; this wider expanse, "No
Name Lake." Every turn the lugger made among
the sedges was a landmark to our black pilot.
The day was superb. Although it was February,
we lay upon the deck, without our coats, glad of the
shadow of the sail as a protection from the hot
A porpoise kept ahead of us for a long time, and
was followed by a sea-gull. The gull seemed to
regard the porpoise as an intruder; and every time
his arched back showed above the water, she would





1-- .1 ,


swoop down with angry screams. We saw only one
alligator. His ugly head, just showing above the
surface of the water, looked like a big chunk of rot-
ten wood. Isaac said alligators were getting scarce.
There is such a demand for their skins, that many
negroes make a business of hunting them. A large

damage to the rice crops. Now the rice farmers
wish more alligators.
The only human habitations we saw that day
were two shrimp-factories, run by Chinamen.
The fishermen are Dagos" and Manilla men ";
but the shrimps are put up by Chinese, who sell

-"- -- -A '

~-~rg~ ,

-----_ ;.

;-=-- -~-~--.,~ _

~"~-- --


skin is worth two dollars. In Plaquemines Parish,
a local ordinance has been adopted, forbidding the
killing of them. The alligators eat the water-
rats, and the water-rats eat the rice. Since the
alligators have been hunted so much, the rats
have increased in number, so as to do considerable

them to their fellow-countrymen in California.
We had expected to pass one or two nights on the
lugger, and had filled her hold with dried reeds
and grass, making a soft bed; but her progress
was so slow that we abandoned her that night,
and went on board the only steam-craft navi-

* I, I'
-r -
* 'I!
j. *'*, .1,1.

Ib ii

I' *' 'i
*J x.1


, ] f



gating these waters, -a little tug, commanded
by Captain Mike, a jovial Irishman. Captain
Mike's business was to take the shrimps from
the factories up to the city, and also to buy
from the hunters wild ducks and coon-skins, which
he sold at a good profit. Black Isaac was sorry
to part with his passengers; but when we paid
him the ten dollars agreed upon as the hire of the
boat for the whole cruise, he was grateful and
The tug tied up that night in a bayou, where
there was a store kept by a "Manilla man." I
asked him where his customers came from. He
said they were hunters and fishermen, who came

pulled up on the bank, and went cruising through
the bays and bayous in search of trade.
We slept in bunks belonging to the cook and en-
gineer of the tug, who obligingly passed the night
on the floor of the little cabin that served as kitchen,
dining-room and sleeping-room. Next morning
we were in Bayou Barataria, famous in Louisiana
for its beauty. The monotonous salt marshes were
left behind.
Here we saw cultivated shores, frequent hab-
itations, large groves of live-oaks, and, for a back-
ground on either side, the cypress swamps. We
sat in the pilot-house, listening to Captain Mike's
funny stories and anecdotes of the war. The

in boats. In summer, he put his goods in a sort cook brought up cups of strong, black coffee, and,
of "Noah's Ark" flat-boat, which he showed us, at nine, invited us down to a substantial break-







fast. The tug stopped occasionally to take on a
bale of dried moss or a lot of wild ducks.
After the bayou came Lake Salvador; then an-
other bayou, winding between desolate shores;
then a long, straight canal; then a big lock, cut
in the grassy wall of a levee. We knew that above
us, and behind the levee, ran the swift, turbid
flood of the Mississippi; but we could see nothing
but the gates and muddy sides of the lock, until the
water, surging in from the outer gates, slowly lifted
the tug. What a striking change it was!-to
be raised from the dismal swamp, with its sluggish

Right before us were the huge buildings of the
Exposition. Below, the Crescent City stretched out
its twelve miles of river frontage. Great white
steamboats passed us. In the stream, two French
men-of-war lay at anchor. We met a huge British
steam-ship just come in from sea. All was life and
Soon the tug was fast to the levee, and we were
back in the busy life of New Orleans.
Yet it was only an hour before that we were in
the solitudes of the swamp the great world
seeming far, far away.



water-courses, its reeds and sedges, and its mourn- And so, in a moment, our week's cruise near
ful moss-covered trees, up into the sunlight and the ancient haunt of pirates on the Bay of Barata-
fresh air, and to sail out upon the mighty river. ria came to an end.
VOL. XV.-22.




(Illustrated by the Author.)

OF all the feats common to hunting-life and
woodcraft, none seems to me half so wonderful as
tracking or trailing. As practiced by man, track-
ing is wonderful enough; but far more mar-
velous is the power by which a dog or fox can
follow its prey at full speed, guided only by scent
without erring or being led astray.
To us, the word scent has but little meaning;
it is the name of a power with which man is, com-
paratively, almost unendowed. We go into the
woods and see nothing but a leaf-strewn ground,
thinly scattered over with herbs and thickly planted
with trees; we see no quadruped, and find no sign
of any, perhaps, save the far-away chatter of a
squirrel. But our dog, merrily careering about,
is possessed of a superior power. At every mo-
ment of his course he is gathering facts, and read-
ing a wonderful record of the past, the present,
and even of the future. Here," says his unseen
guide, is where a deer passed a minute ago," or
" an hour ago"; this was the course of a fox a
week ago"; "that was the direction in which a
rabbit flew by a few minutes ago, and, oho! there
was-a weasel after him !" "This is the track of a
woodchuck leading away to yonder hole; there he
lies still, and with the help of your master, you will
take him home with you."
Such is the curious record of scent, revealed to
the dog but hidden from the man, and even inex-
plicable to him; for though we have a theoretical
knowledge of the subject, it is too imperfect to
make us fully understand that not only has every
kind of animal, but each individual animal, its own
peculiar scent. Thus, the dog can distinguish not
only the bucks, does, and fawns of the deer tribe,
but can pick out of a dozen the track of the particu-
lar buck that he is following, and never leave it or
lose it. Moreover, he can tell by the scent which
way the animal is going, and he is never known to
run backward on a trail. Now, when we compare
this wonderful power with our own feeble sense of
smell, we will be ready to admit that it is a faculty
of which man, comparatively, has little.
Let us suppose that you were to awake some fine
morning and find that, as in the old fairy tales, a
mighty genius had conferred on you a new and

wonderful faculty, that enabled you to go forth and
read the running records with even greater accu-
racy and ease than can the hound,- what a marvel
it would be, and how intensely interesting its ex-
ercise to a lover of Nature! And yet this very
miracle is what actually takes place every year in
our northern country. The great genius is old
Boreas, and the means by which he confers the
new power is the first fall of snow.
This first snow-fall makes the beginning of the
real hunting-season with most of the northern
tribes of men; for until then it is chiefly by
chance that the hunters find their game. Now
the hunter has the power of the hound, in that he
can follow a track, and read accurately the record
of the animal's actions, its appearance, and even of
its very feelings. And it was with a view to show-
ing and explaining some of the curiosities of "the
trail," that I made, in the woods, the notes and
sketches here presented. The snow, at the
time, was light and powdery, so that the minute
details of each track were unseen, but to one with
even a slight knowledge of the subject, the size
and general form of the marks is enough to give
all necessary information about the animal that
made them.
In the beginning of this article, I alluded to a
dog's power of reading the trails on the bare
ground. Now here is a sketch of those trails as we
would see them in the snow. First of all, the
large, sharply defined tracks, ending at D, are those
of a deer; not a very large one, because the
marks are small and nearly in one line.
The trail marked F is that of a fox. The tracks
are small, neat, and nearly in a straight line.
The forking of his trail shows that he afterward
returned for some distance on his old tracks.
H is the trail of a white hare, bounding at full
speed, and over it are the tracks of his terrible
enemy, the white weasel or ermine, the stroke in
the middle of the ermine's track being made by
the tail. The small track M, crossing the corner,
is that of a mouse. He came up through the
snow, but found the weather too cold, and decided
to go down below again.
Thus, in this little square, we see a record, not




only of the animals, but of their actions. The deer
was at first walking quietly along; at D P he had
been pawing in the snow to seek for acorns; at
D L he had stopped to lick up some snow; at D S
he was startled by a suspicious sound or scent,
and stood for a moment with one .foot raised
and barely touching the snow, and afterward he
had somewhat increased his speed. The fox was
evidently foraging, and the poor hare running for
its life.
Even in the tracks of the hunters themselves we
may read a curious history. Thus an old hunting
comrade of mine, a broad, athletic man, made a
track like C, in diagram No. 2. Another, a tall,
thin man, made a track like B. A is the trail of
an Indian; D is the trail of a European accus-
tomed to wearing sharp-toed boots. The In-
dian's foot, you see, is set straight, and his stride
is long; the track D shows that the English-
man's foot is much turned out, and his stride
short; while the tracks of the moccasin-wearing
white men are between the two extremes. I
found that in the morning my feet were more
nearly straight than at night also, that by turn-
ing in the toes the length of the stride was increased.
Another advantage from a straight-set foot is that

in returning on one's trail, it is easy to step ex-
actly in the old marks, and in warfare, or in deep
snow, this is often a very important advantage to
the Indians. If D were to come back on his old
tracks his feet would cross them at right angles.
Most of us have read stories in which Indians
give accurate descrip-
tions of persons from
their tracks; and from Ii i.I
this we may learn some
realand applied science,
and understand how
scientific men have been
able to describe, to some
extent, certain extinct
quadrupeds from tracks i ;i
left in the mud which
was once the shore of '
their marshy haunts.
The first diagram was i ll
taken from an open place I.1,
on the edge of the woods
near my prairie home; THE HUNTERS.
and now, in No. 3, we
have an illustration of trails seen in the deepest
woods. In this, the great track like a dumb-bell


is that of a moose. The hoof of the animal went
down, making the round opening at one end of the
foot-print, through the deep snow till firm footing

then, as
the giant
bent forward,
r the thin shank of
his leg cut the up-
per snow and, finally,
FIG, 3. TRACKS OF A MOOSE, per snow and, finally,
A PARTRIDGE, AND A LYNX. the withdrawal of his
hoof made the second
rounded opening. At P A is seen a round hol-
low, which was made by a partridge alighting.
After this, his zigzag-trail shows that he had
been picking off the buds of such twigs as pro-
truded above the drift. But night was coming'
on, and he decided to retire; not into a tree,
but down under the snow-for such is the habit
of the species in cold countries. At P D is seen
the hole through which he went down. At L
we see the track of a prowling lynx, and at
L A it again appears; he has noticed the zig-
zag trail and also the hole in the drift, and now
the poor, unconscious partridge is indeed in
greatest jeopardy. Slowly and cautiously, the
crafty lynx approaches; already his nose indi-
cates to him that the sleeping bird is almost
within reach. He is preparing for a spring; but
so near is he at this moment, that the faint
grinding of his padded feet on the soft snow
awakens the bird. Instantly the bird springs up,
bursts through the roof of his cot, and, bounding
up in the air, eludes the spring of the lynx, and,
in another moment, is safe, far away.
It will be noticed that the partridge seemed to
have turned in the drift, or he would have come out
at X. I always found that this bird thus leaves its
couch, by coming out at one side. The reason for
this is simple: The breath of the bird freezes and
hardens the snow that is just under X, in front, so
that it can not easily force a way through this now


consuming him, sets out to seek his dinner some-
where else.
In diagram No. 5, we see inscribed an incident


icy wall; while the snow at the sides is as light and
powdery as ever.
Next after man and the wolverine, perhaps the
wolf is the most cunning of all the foes against
which harmless birds and beasts have to guard; and
here, in diagram No. 4, we have an instance of its
cunning in the record of a curious game of "dia-
mond cut diamond"; for this represents the attempt
of a hunter to entrap a wolf. At T, the man buried
his steel trap under the snow; carefully covered it
up, leaving as few traces as possible, and then,
after throwing a few scraps of meat about, he
passed on. The wolf, coming from W, scents the
meat; but he also scents the trail of his enemy.
With caution, therefore, he makes his approach;
circling around to catch all possible scent. At
the track in line with W T he turns and slowly
approaches the coveted dainties; in another min-
ute, if the trap is well laid, he will be trotting
about picking up the scraps, and will almost
surely put his foot on the "pan" and be caught.
But he is not rash. Step by step he advances,
sniffing the snow and the air, until almost within
reach of the first bait. He is just about to seize
it, when, suddenly, he stops. What is that?
Too well he knows. Mingled with the delicious
odor of the meat is a taint,- the scent of a
human hand! Not so fast, 0 cunning trapper!
You remembered to rub the trap with blood, that
thereby it might bear scent of neither man nor
steel; you thought you handled everything with
gloves. But, in a heedless,moment, you chanced
to touch that scrap of meat with your bare hand,
and so you spoiled your whole plot. Instantly the
wolf checks his ravenous appetite, steps back in
his own tracks with the utmost caution and pre-
cision, and, in spite of the hunger that is inwardly


in the life of a hare. At A he had been sitting in
his form or couch under a sheltering tussock; his
sitting posture is shown by the deep hollow and
the mark of his tail. But he heard something
which made him move out. B, C, and D show his
tracks at an ordinary pace; at E and F, he began


to go faster, and here we see a peculiarity of the
hare's track. As he increases his speed the hind
feet track as far forward as the fore feet, and at G
the fore feet actually track behind the hind ones.
But at H we see that the foolish creature had been
running right into danger, and here for the first
time we note the track of his enemy, the fox, pur-
suing at full speed (I and J). Poor Bunny's fran-
tic efforts to turn about are plainly graven in the
snow; and his widely spread feet, his vast bounds,
and the far backward marks of the fore feet in the
Subsequent signs, show the tremendous rate of

speed at which he flew. It may be a satisfaction
to some young readers to learn that in a fair race,
such as this, I never knew a fox to catch a hare.
But, in conclusion, I will add another chapter of
hare history, read in the snow, and one in which
the hare found a different and more dangerous
Sa place where I had never before found a hare,
I came on a fresh trail, which showed that Bunny
had been flying from some foe,-but who or what
his foe was, I could not learn from the signs.
After following a few yards, I found one of those
sudden doublings, as at H, in diagram 5, and
very soon another, and again a straight
trailfor a few yards, and more doublings, and
then a few drops of blood. As I followed,
there were more doublings and more blood,
until at length I discovered the remains
of the hapless hare. His enemy had
eaten all but the head and the feet. It
was plain that this was not the deed
of a fox, nor a marten,-for no
track was to be seen. A weasel
might, indeed, have been cling-
ing to the hare during the run, and
so have left no track; but then
a weasel, could not have eaten
the hare, and would not have done
much more than suck its blood. As
I looked about for signs, my eye
caught a broad, soft feather stick-
ing to a sapling near by. "Aha!
a hawk," I thought. But on look-
ing again at the bloody place on the
snow, I saw the faint print of a
large two-toed foot, and knew at once, by its
size and shape, that it was the track of a barred
owl. And then the mystery of the doubling and
running from an unseen foe was solved.
I left the spot; but on returning a few minutes
later, I was startled by a loud screeching, and
immediately the guilty one appeared. After flying
around my head two or three times, he settled on
a limb near by, and gave me an opportunity to
sketch him,- I would rather have shot him, but
I had no gun with which to avenge the death of
the poor unfortunate hare.




THE rain was over. Masses of clouds that had
hung low all day, parted and flew before the fresh
wind that shook the drops from the young leaves
of the maples, and sent the falling apple-blossoms
dancing under the arching branches of the elms
which, for half a mile, made the glory of the village
street. Jenny, as she stood in the door of the old
house, at the turn just beyond their shadows,
looked wistfully down the long arcade, as if wait-
ing for something. Beyond her, on the other
side, lay the valley and the winding river, and the
blue mountain that kept watch over all. Her
eyes turned to it now as if some token must come
from it to her. Many times a day her eyes sought
it involuntarily, for all her life she had felt as if it
held strength, and quiet, and all good things;
everything that she most needed to-day. She
must tell Tom. It had been delayed long enough.
Tom, curled up in the corner of the window
overlooking the orchard, was reading, when she
went in, a lately printed history of the village that
the old Doctor had lent him. He was amazed
to find how much history the village really had.
Nobody had ever told him any of these stories
of the early settlement and of the Indian troubles,
more exciting than any dime novel that had ever
been smuggled into school. He had seen Cap-
tain "Tom" Hobart's grave among those of all
the other Hobarts in the church-yard, and Uncle
Sol, the village shoemaker and the village authority
on all matters of family tradition, had once said that
he was a queer case, and that Tom must n't take
after him. Why had he not said more, for here,

in the book, was the whole story? Tom's cheeks
were red and his gray eyes dark with excitement as
Jenny came in and stood in the door-way. It was
most extraordinary that nobody should say a word
about it; and yet this man whose name, even, he
had never heard, knew it all, and had written it
here where all could read it.
"I 'd have stopped him," Tom muttered.
"It was n't his affair. What business had he to
write it all out?"
Write what out? Jenny said.
"All about the buried treasure,- the Hobart
Oh, that old story ?" said Jenny, indifferently.
"I wish the Hobarts had a treasure. I should
know what to do with some of it."
"Then you knew!" cried Tom, still more in-
dignant. "And you never told! That's just like a
girl! How do you know but what it's there now ?"
"Don't be a goose, Tom. How many times
do you suppose this place has been plowed up-
every inch of it, since great-grandfather bought
it? And it might have been in the wood-lot or
anywhere. There are only two acres right here,
and the 'jog' out of Judge Cushing's land, with
the three old apple-trees on it. There is n't any
Tom shook his head.
"I don't believe it," he said. "He buried it
somewhere, and nobody has ever found it. Now
listen and Tom eagerly read the paragraph that
had aroused his curiosity in the beginning:
"'Israel Hobart, the second, married Hannah


Hapgood. They had four children, sons, all of
whom served in the war of 1812 ; Thomas Hobart,
the eldest, having been the captain of a privateer
and having come into possession of much money.
A portion was invested in real estate in the vil-
lage and elsewhere, but the larger part he gave
many to understand he had buried on the home-
stead, his sudden death preventing any further
knowledge as to where or when. Diligent search
was made, but no trace has ever been discovered,
and the story has become a mere village tradition.
There seems to be no question, however, that a sum
was buried, and that its sudden discovery may one
day enrich the few remaining descendants.' "
"There What do you think of that?" Tom
added, after an impressive pause. "Jenny, some-
thing ought to be done about it. You 're not pay-
ing attention. What 's the matter ?"
"Tom, listen to me," Jenny said. "Do you
know what was in that letter you brought me yes-
terday afternoon ? "
"How should I? It was Mr. Branson's writing.
Money, I suppose."
"Not one cent, Tom; there is n't any dividend.
I don't know what we 're going to do. I 've been
trying to think it out ever since."
Tom had dropped the book, and sat looking at
her blankly.
"No dividend ? he said. "Why, but the divi-
dend is what we live on! It's all the money we 've
got. Where is it? Is it stolen ?"
You must ask the directors," Jenny said, with
a faint smile. Mr. Branson says there has been
cheating and bad management, but he thinks it
will be arranged, after a while. In the mean time,
here we are; -just fourteen dollars in money left,
and not one cent coming in, so far as I can see,
before next January."
I '11 hire out on a farm," said Tom. Unless,"
he added, "you're going to borrow of some-
"Neither borrowing nor begging, Tom; nor
hiring out, either, except to me. We 've got the
house, and the taxes are all paid. There are a
great many things on hand; the hens and the
cow will help us out. I 've a plan, too, that you
can help in. I depend on you, Tom. You 're
always to be depended on, when there is real
Tom colored a little as he caught the cadence in
his sister's voice. He knew what it meant. They
were the best of friends, but his carelessness in all
ways had made her endless trouble in the two
years that she had been his sole guardian.
"Read the letter," she said. "I like to have
you know just what is said."
Tom looked up gratefully. Jenny always treated

him as if they were the same age. Even when she
found fault, she always said : Of course, if you
stopped to think, Tom, you would know how it
is "; and of late he had been making faithful effort
to take more responsibility, and to become what
she seemed so sure he wished to be. He read the
letter carefully, finding nothing in it that her
words had not already made plain.
I 'd choke 'em, every one, if I could get at
'em," Tom said, wrathfully. If I don't hire out
to a farmer, you 'll have to put me to some trade,
"That wduld n't bring any money for a good
while. No, Tom; there is something else -and
if you are willing, it need not interfere with school
or anything else. But you '11 hate it. It will be
hard. I dare say you will feel ashamed."
"The Hobarts have never done anything to be
ashamed of, yet," Tom said, proudly, "unless it
was when that confounded great-uncle Tom buried
that money. Uncle Sol says we've done more for
the town than any six other families together, and
that it's a great shame you have to work so hard."
There are plenty that work just as hard, Tom,
and have n't any one that they care much for to
make it easier," Jenny said, with a look at which
Tom sprang up and tumultuously threw his arms
around her.
By George, Jenny you 're a brick. There
is n't such another sister in town. Out with it!
What do you wish me to do? "
I wish you to turn peddler an hour each day."
"What?" shouted Tom.
Wait a little. I 've thought it all out. You
know what a place that junction is, and that lunch-
counter, with those fat, fried pies and chippy sponge-
cakes. You know there is always ten minutes' stop
there, and the poor passengers get out and look at
the cold beans and the fried pies and the muddy
coffee. Everybody is hungry, and sometimes they
really buy something; but the last time I came
from Boston, I heard a lady say: 'Some woman
that knew what decent food meant might make a
fortune here. I'd give anything for a really good
sandwich and some fruit.' A good many had
lunches, but there were more that had none. Now,
Tom, it may come to nothing; but I want to make
the experiment. There are those crowded express
trains each way, and always new people to buy.
You know how good my sandwiches are? "
Tom's mouth watered involuntarily, but he pre-
served a stern countenance. To peddle sandwiches
struck Tom as the extremity of degradation ; but
Jenny's calm face gave no hint of any sympathetic
recognition of such an opinion.
"You can't make enough to amount to any-
thing," he said. It 's one thing to make them


for the sewing-society or a picnic, and quite an-
other to prepare enough for a whole trainful of
people. Who '11 help you ? "
"I can get help, if I wish it, or need it. I've
calculated it all, Tom: the actual cost of the
bread and the ham, and everything else. What I
wish to do is to give two good sandwiches and a
ginger-cake, or something of that kind, tied neatly
in a white paper, so that all will look fresh and
attractive. I have that great flat basket that
Cousin Myra had here three years ago. Line it
with white napkins; have the whole thing dainty
and spotless and I believe that you could sell
enough in one hour a day to keep us till some-
thing better can be thought of- if anything can
be. Now, Tom, will you do it for me ? "
Everybody in town will be laughing at us,"
said Tom. I should n't think you 'd be willing,
Jenny, to turn cook for Tom, Dick, and Harry,
or to make me into a train-boy "
Tom's tone was one of deep injury, and he
looked reproachfully at Jenny.
I've been cook for Tom so long that I don't see
why I should n't be allowed the variety of catering
for Dick and Harry," she said, laughing, although
her eyes were troubled. It's either this, Tom, or
taking in sewing, and I can not sit and sew all day.
I want you to try this, for me ; but, if you feel that
you can not, I can get one of the boys in the
Hollow. But you will do the thing like a gentle-
man. People will buy of you,.who would not look
at a common boy."
"I '11 think about it," said Tom, thrusting his
hands into his pockets and marching away; and
Jenny, who knew that he would be ready when the
time came, turned toward the sunnykitchen with a
lighter heart. There were so few ways of earning
money in this secluded village. At best there had
been but little money, and she had had to learn
during her father's long illness how to manage it
with closest economy. He had been the village
doctor, like his father before him, and Tom was to
follow in their footsteps. In fact, Jenny's own
ambition for him pointed in the same direction, but
she had been recalled from school by her father's
illness, and by her father's death she became sole
guardian of Tom. He was seven years younger,
and clung to her as if she were mother, rather than
sister. Such money as there was had all been in-
vested in railroad stock, which had in the begin-
ning given large dividends, and seemed to promise
even more. Then had come entanglements and a
steady lessening of the income.
It will take a turn. It is sure to take a turn,"
Dr. Hobart had said; but the turns had been for
the worse, till now this final disaster was upon
them. Jenny's courage had not failed. Tom


should go to college yet, and keep up the succes-
sion. She had tried to keep down all false pride,
but she shared with him the feeling that the Hobart
name must never mean less to the town in the
future than it had in the past. At least, whatever
came, they would neither borrow nor beg, and
Tom was now old enough to agree with her in
full. He loved the old home, and had no wish
for city life; even a winter in Boston having
failed to convince him that anything could take
the place of the open air that was his life. Jenny
made home so jolly; the boys looked up to her
just as he did. Why should he want to leave it?
He went out now, and after an instant's hesita-
tion walked down the garden path into the orchard.
The thought of the buried treasure still so occupied
his mind that it crowded out even any thought of
what he felt himself pledged to do the next day.
There were a dozen or more young trees, apple
and pear trees of different varieties, but in these
he had no present interest. Beyond stood three old
apple-trees whose chief crop had been blossoms,
only a barrel or so of fruit having been gathered
from all combined. Old Uncle Sol could remem-
ber when they were planted, for a butternut had
stood there, and the great storm of 1836 had over-
thrown it.
Tom nodded as he looked. The tallest apple-tree
was in the old tree's place, but the butternut roots
had stretched far and wide. There, if anywhere,
would be traces of the buried money, and he pur-
posed to make such an examination as no one before
him had had enterprise enough to undertake. He
would do it alone. Nobody should know, and for
this reason he would work only in the evening.
He was strong; he could dig like any laborer
along the railroad. With another wise shake of
the head Tom rushed off for a game of base-ball.
He loved study. There was no fear that he ever
would shirk his work, but he loved with equal ardor
games of all sorts, and Jenny had rejoiced to see
the delicacy of his childhood giving place to sturdy
boyhood. She was glad now, as from the window
she watched him for a moment, and saw that his
face was bright, and his playing as energetic as if no
weight lay upon his mind. If only this plan might
succeed so well that there need be no fear of failure!
She minced the ham with an energy that rivaled
Tom's base-ball, and then she made a seasoning
according to a recipe used in the Boston Cooking
School. When the smooth mixture was ready she
put it away, with a conviction, born of actual
knowledge, that a sandwich made from it would
inevitably induce the buyer to call for more.
There were still a few Spitzenberg apples in the
cellar, and when she carried the ham downstairs,
she brought them up and polished a dozen or two,


till they shone like satin. The long brick loaves,
just the shape for a handsome slice, were baking;
and by the time they were done, Jenny had her little
pans filled with the mixture for Grandmother's
spice-cake," the rule for which was in an old book
begun by the grandmother herself, her faded
writing still plain enough to read. Like everything
that Jenny made, they came out done to a turn,
with a spicy smell which was an invitation in it-
self, and she eyed them curiously, wondering how
many would come back to her. Three dozen little
cakes and one hundred sandwiches to be made in
the morning, while Tom was at school. Since he
had had trouble with his eyes, she had allowed
him to go for only half a day, and this left him
free for the afternoon, excepting for his German,
which she taught him orally. She was tired through
and through when night came, quite as much from
anxiety as from actual work, and after a little
reading with Tom went to bed an hour before her
usual time.
It was bright moonlight; and Tom, as the door
closed behind her, seized his cap, went softly
through the kitchen, and then for an hour dug
with great energy on the northern side of the tall-
est apple-tree. He meant to do the work sys-
tematically, filling up one side as soon as he had
settled definitely that there was nothing there, be-
fore he began upon another. The sod was tough
and thick. It taxed all his strength, but Tom was
patient and resolute, and not to be stopped by
ordinary obstacles. He knew it would be no joke,
and had made up his mind to do She work thor-
oughly if he did it at all. He went to bed sore,
and woke up stiff, but did not mind it.
Jenny thus far suspected nothing, and the trees
not being in sight from the road, he hoped to do
the work undisturbed. In any case, there was
nothing to be ashamed of. Noon came. Tom
rushed home from school and ate his dinner with-
out a word as to the new enterprise. The "up
train was due at 1:20, and the "down express "
fifteen minutes later. The junction was exactly
half a mile from the village, and the road went
only to the station,-a fact on which Tom pri-
vately congratulated himself.
Well, Jenny," he said, meaningly, after a gen-
eral talk over the morning's happenings. Jenny
opened the kitchen door and pointed to the basket.
You are a blessed boy was all she said, and
Tom, without a word, but with rather a grim
countenance, took the basket and marched down
the road, while Jenny watched him until he was
out of sight.
Home-made sandwiches," she had written on
a bit of paper pinned to the basket. Tom would
do better if he had no drilling beforehand. She

hurried through her work, her hands trembling
nervously. It was ridiculous to be in such a
state, and she forced herself to move slowly, and
even tried to repeat the verse of German poetry
she meant to teach Tom that afternoon. It seemed
hours before she saw him coming, and then she
could not determine from the way he carried the
basket whether it were full or empty. There was no
doubt five minutes later, for as Tom came to the
turning and saw her at the window he tossed the
empty basket into the air, and then made one wild
rush up the hill and into the house.
Jenny stood there, quite pale, and as Tom shout-
ed: "They 're gone! Did you ever hear of such
a thing? she began to cry, the tears running
down her cheeks as she stood looking at him.
Why, Jenny !-why, Jenny Tom said, and
then, deciding that the best medicine would be a
full dose of all the particulars, pulled her down into
a seat beside him on the sofa.
I tell you, I hated it," he said. But I just
set my teeth, and the minute the train stopped I
boarded it. That little Billy McGuire was there
with oranges, peanuts, and bananas. 'Go ahead,'
I said, 'I 'm not going to interfere with you,'
and I just called, 'Home-made sandwiches, ten
cents.' I did n't think anything about the cakes,
only I knew they were two for five cents, and
I went along. That first car, I only sold five,
but before I 'd got through the second one, a man
called me back. 'Here,- if you 've got more
of the same sort, I want half a dozen,' he said,
and he took them. I was called back three times,
that way. The down-train had an excursion party
along, and I could have sold two hundred, as well
as one. I got change for a dollar at the ticket-
office, and-it 's fun! And, Jenny, what do you
think? A gentleman looked out of the parlor-car
window. 'What kind of apples?' hesaid. 'Good
for anything? Spitzenbergs,' I said. 'By
George !' he said. Come in here.' So I went.
'How much?' he said. Two for five cents,' I
said, and he took every one, and after I 'd gone on
he called me back. 'I paid eighty cents a dozen
for Spitzenbergs, last week, in Boston,' he said.
'Here 's another quarter, and I 'd like to know
why a boy like you is peddling apples ?' I laughed,
and then he laughed, but I had to hurry to get
off. It 's fun, Jenny, though I never thought it
would be. Only, one woman tried to beat me
down, and said I ought to give more for ten cents.
Here 's the money, Jenny, and you won't have to
talk to me any more. It 'sa go, and I'll do any-
thing you like,-but that lunch-counter girl will
be on the war-path. She just glared Now let 's
count. Five dollars for the sandwiches, ninety
cents for the cakes, and sixty for the apples, with



the quarter, thrown in -makes six dollars seventy-
five! Hip, hip, hurrah! What a beginning!"
"We must try it for a week, before we brag,"
said Jenny, cautiously; but there was no doubt in
her face; and, when the week ended, it was quite
certain that the way to earn money had been
Tom kept up his digging with grim determina-
tion. Long before the week ended, Jenny knew
about it. In fact he could not confine his work to
evenings, but at last gave all his spare time, till
every foot of earth had been searched and replaced
again, when Tom gave up the quest with a deter-
mination to begin upon another point as soon as
he could settle where he was most likely to find
In the mean time, the business grew. Billy Mc-
Guire was enlisted and carried a basket devoted
to cakes alone, and his mother also found daily
employment in helping with the mincing and
kneading. Jenny made no change in her pro-
gramme; her sandwiches had become famous,
and it often happened that people looked out as
the junction was reached, and called to Tom:
Hallo Are you that sandwich-boy ? "
"I wish there were more Spitzenbergs," Jenny
had often said, "but they all seem to have died
Plant some more," Tom said, and I'11 go on
a hunt for that gentleman and promise to make
him take the lot at eighty cents a dozen."
Jenny laughed, but a few days later she came in
from the garden and stood by Tom.
Tom, if things go on all right," she said, "I
think you will find that there is treasure under the
old apple-trees, after all."
"Why?" Tom said, too deeply interested in
his book to rouse himself readily.

"The little apples have not tumbled off this
year as they have always done for years. They
are firm and sound. I think your digging has
given the old trees a new lease of life."
"Can't believe it," said Tom, returning to his
book; but by fall he had changed his mind. The
branches hung low with the weight of perfect fruit,
and Jenny put away each as if it had been the last
they were ever to see, and she was able to draw upon
the stock all winter. Fried pies had no possible
chance; and the "lunch-counterman," in disgust,
decided to hold an interview with the young woman
who was spoiling his custom; and, being sensible,
suggested on the spot that if she could be induced
to take an interest in the lunch-counter his fortune
would be made.
To Jenny nothing could have seemed less prob-
able; but, having spent a day in thinking it over,
she decided that it would be quite profitable, pro-
vided she were left to carry out her own plans
without interference.
How this was done need not be told here. It
is sufficient to say that there is, on that particular
line of road, one place where the traveler finds, to
his amazement, food that can be eaten with a
relish, and passes on wondering what mysterious
power has brought about this result.
Jenny is the owner of a thriving orchard of
young trees, producing the very choicest Spitzen-
berg apples, and, thanks to Tom's efforts, the old
trees still yield. Tom is in college, and though
the dividend is still in the future, other dividends
come in with a regularity which renders ownership
of railroad stock an unnecessary luxury.
"There is one Hobart treasure that is sure and
certain," Tom says; "and if any one tries to take
it, he '11 have to look out for himself. It's a jewel
of the first water, and its name is Jenny."





N our travels in the various
countries through which
I have conducted you, the
Ci' people we have met have
contributed very much to
S the interest of our jour-
Sney. The natives of these
i I countries attracted our
S___attention because they
Were French, or Italian, or
German, or Dutch, and
had, as nations, some
habits and customs quite
S different from our own;
but in traveling about we
naturally saw a great deal
of other travelers, and the
peculiarities of these peo-
ple were very often odd and amusing.
You all remember that wherever we went it
seemed impossible to get rid of memorials of the
ancient Romans, long dead and gone. But we
could not fail to notice that it was equally impossible
to get rid of the modern English and Americans,
who, very much alive, are to be found wherever
we go. These two nations are great explorers
and travelers; if there is anything worth seeing
in any part of the world, they wish to go there and
see it. There are now so many Anglo-Saxon tour-
ists on the continent of Europe that it has become
necessary in all good hotels to have some person
who can speak English, and it is only in places
which are seldom visited that we can find no one to
whom we can talk in our native tongue. A Ger-
man, Italian, or French waiter, who can speak
English, finds it much easier to obtain employ-
ment at good wages than those who know only
their own language ; and many continental waiters
and barbers go to London, and serve there without
pay for the sake of becoming acquainted with the
English language.
French used to be, and is still, the language
most general in Europe, and one who speaks it
readily can travel almost anywhere, and make him-
self understood; but in many parts of Europe,

English is now so generally taught in the schools,
that it will not be long before our language will
be as useful to travelers as the French.
Although the English and we ourselves both
speak the same tongue, we do not speak it in the
same way. An American in London can seldom say-
five words before the English people who may hear
him will know that he came from across the Atlan-
tic; and we, on our part, seldom mistake an Eng-
lishman for our countryman. It is in the tones of
the voice and the methods of pronunciation that
the differences exist, and when we first hear Eng-
lish people talking, and when they first hear us,
there is often, I am sorry to say, a little inclination
on each side to indulge in ridicule, but, if there
were no other reason for refraining from such im-
politeness, we should do so, because it stamps us as
ignorant people who have not traveled much.
Both Americans and English, like all patriotic
people, believe their respective countries to be the
best in the world, and many of them consider it
necessary, when they are traveling, to show this.
Persons like these, however, be they Americans or
English, do not belong to the better class of trav-
elers. The more we travel, and the more we see
of other nations, the better we become acquainted
with their merits and virtues. Their oddities and
their faults naturally are the first things which strike
our attention;, but if we have seen nothing but
these, it is a proof, either that we have not trav-
eled enough or that we are not qualified to travel
with advantage. The more the right kind of an
American journeys the more he is likely to be
satisfied that he is an American, but the better he
becomes acquainted with other nations and learns
not only to avoid their faults but to imitate their
virtues, the greater advantage is he to his own
Next to our own fellow-countrymen, I think we
shall like the English better than any other travel-
ers we meet. Most of us will know, if we think of
it, that if our forefathers had not chosen to emigrate
to America we should now be English people our-
selves; and aside from any feeling of kinship, the
English travelers we meet, and in whose company


we may be thrown, are likely, after we become ac-
quainted with them, to prove very good-natured-
and pleasant people. As a rule, they are very well
educated, and speak French fluently, and often
German; but in almost every case we shall find
them lamentably ignorant about America. We,
who have studied at school the geography and
history of England, and know just how that coun-
try is bounded, and what are its principal rivers
and towns, besides a great deal about its peculiar
manners and customs, are, naturally, so surprised
to find that these well-educated English people
know so little about America that we may be
excused from supposing that in English schools
there are classes where ignorance of America is
taught to the pupils. An English lady who had
traveled over the greater part of Europe said she
had a great desire to come to America, and her
principal object in doing so was to shoot Niagara.
I rather' opened my eyes at this, and said that I
thought she must refer to the celebrated trip down
the rapids of the St. Lawrence, but she was very
positive on the subject, and said she meant Niagara,
and nothing else; she had understood that they
did it in a steamboat, and she knew she should
enjoy the sensation.
A well-educated middle-aged gentleman told
me that the reason our civil war lasted so long was
that we had no military men in our country, and
that a war carried on entirely by civilians could
not proceed very rapidly. If any of you have ever
seen an English atlas you will understand why it
is difficult to get from it a good idea of America.
We shall find, in such an atlas, full and complete
maps of every European country and principality,
a whole page being sometimes given to an island,
or to a colony in Asia and Africa; but the entire
United States, with sometimes the whole of North
America besides, is crowded into a single map.
Some of these are so small that the New England
States are not large enough to contain their names,
and are designated by letters which refer to the
names printed in an open part of the Atlantic
Ocean. No wonder that the people who use these
maps have a limited idea of our country.
But it is not only English people who appear to
know very little about America. A German count-
ess once asked me if we had any theaters in New
York, and when I told her that there were not
only a great many theaters in that city, but that it.
possessed two grand opera houses at which, at that
time, two of the leading prima donnas of the world
were singing on the same nights, she was a little
surprised. It is quite common in various parts of
the Continent to hear people speak of the late war
between North and South America. They knew
that the war was between the North and the South,

and as it was in America, the mistake is natural
enough to people who have studied only European
But, on the other hand, we meet with many
travelers, especially English, who, if they do not
know much about our country, are very kindly and
sociable, and glad to talk about American things
and people; and as travel is greatly increasing
across the Atlantic Ocean, it will not be long be-
fore the people of the two continents learn to know
each other better.
Some of the Americans who visit Europe are
such odd personages that it is not to be wondered
at if they give the people they meet a queer idea
of our nation. Some of these are very fond of
boasting that they come from a part of our coun-
try where currants are as large as grapes, grapes
as big as plums, plums the size of peaches, peaches
like melons, melons as big as great clothes-baskets,
and other things to match. Others complain if
they can not have ice-water and griddle-cakes in
every European city they visit; while others again
are continually growling and grumbling because
waiters and drivers expect small fees, not consid-
ering that at home they not only pay very much
more at hotels, and for carriage hire, but sometimes
are expected to give fees which are ten times as
much as the poor people of Europe are accustomed
to receive. I once saw an American girl, whose pa-
rents had become very rich since her education had
been finished, who was walking through the galler-
ies of the Louvre. She had been looking at some
pictures by Raphael, all
_. /-- of which represented
-- -"' l "--- the Virgin Mary, and
S l _-. turning to a compan-
Sion she said: "I do
believe this painter
S la must have been a
I I Catholic "

But such Americans
are not true represent-
atives of their country;
and it is very certain
that Europe contains
no more delightful peo-
ple than many of our
countrymen and coun-
trywomen with whom

AN ENGLISH RAILWAY OFFICIAL. we become acquainted
The English people, whom we may visit at their
homes, are very kindly and hospitable, and give
us a welcome as strong and honest as they are
themselves. Shopkeepers, and tradesmen of all
sorts, are very civil and obliging. The officials
on the English railways are peculiarly pleasing




to Americans, who contrast their agreeable and
efficient way of taking care of travelers with the
manners and customs of many of our railroad
clerks and employees.
In France, the servants, shopkeepers, washer-
women, and nearly everybody who may serve us
for money will be found to do what they have to
do in a very kindly and obliging way. It is a
pleasure to be served by such neat mails as we
find in hotels and "pensions," orboarding-houses;
and the women who wait on us in the shops always
greet us pleasantly, and show a kindly interest in
helping us to select what we want. Of course this
may be attributed to a desire to sell as much as
possible, but this is a very proper desire for peo-
ple in business, and if they endeavor in this civil
way to induce one to buy, it is far better than the
rude and importunate manner of shopkeepers in
some other parts of the world. There are places,
particularly in Paris, where strangers will be dread-
fully cheated if they make purchases without un-
derstanding their value, but people who spend
their money without knowing what they are about
must expect that.

P i

I '
,: I) : -- ,


French servants, as well as those of Italy, Switzer-
land, and some other countries, always salute us
pleasantly when they enter our room, and are
often intelligent, and one may be a little sociable
with them without fearing that they will presume
upon it; they are always ready to give us any in-
formation that they can, and if they can speak even
a little English, they are quick to let us know it.
Sometimes their courteous manners and expres-
sions amuse us, as when a French dressmaker said
to a lady who had expressed satisfaction with her
work: Ah, madame, the skies smile, when the

gown pleases." One
of the most polite and
well- bred personages
with whom I ever had
conversation kept a
little shop in the Latin
quarter of Paris. She
was a middle aged
woman, with sunburn-
ed face and coarse
hands, and wore a blue
cotton dress, and a
plain cap. I frequently
went into her shop,
and though I often
bought nothing more
than a two-cent box
of matches, she always
welcomed me as cor-
dially and courteously
as if she were receiving
me in a fine salon;
and if she had not what
I wanted, put herself
to trouble to tell me

'iJ ~ where I could get it;
7 and, when I went
A FRENCH POLICEMAN. away, bade me good-
bye as if I were a
friend of her family whom she hoped to see again.
It is particularly noticeable in continental shop-
keepers, and persons of that class, that, although
they are very civil, it is seldom that we meet with the
servility and obsequiousness which is somewhat
common among the London tradespeople. It will
be found, also, that although the English servants
are generally most admirably trained and efficient,
it is not as advisable to speak to them as freely as we
do to persons in like positions on the Continent, for
the British waiters or maids are apt to lose respect
for the person who is inclined to be in any degree
sociable with them.
The French people, especially the middle and
lower classes, have strong family ties, and in the
country, when the sons and daughters marry, they
generally remain in the old home, where the father
or grandfather is head of the house as long as he
lives. It is very pleasant to see the old grand-
mothers in the public parks and gardens, busily
knitting, and taking care of the little grandchildren,
who play about them. The French people have
faults enough, but many of these, if the traveler
does not look for them, are not apt to trouble him.
In Italy, as well as in France, we often find a
pleasant disposition to offer service, even if it is
not directly paid for. I was once in a city of
northern Italy, where I needed some articles of


clothing. Having just arrived I was entirely unac-
quainted with the place, and inquired of a clerk at
a forwarding or express office, where I had some
business, the address of a good shop where I could
buy what I wanted. He thereupon put on his hat
and said he would go with me to one. I did rot
wish him to put himself to so much trouble, but
he insisted that as I did not know the city it would
be much better for him to accompany me. He
took me to the best place in town, helped me in
my selection, made suggestions to the shopkeeper,
and when I had finished my business, offered to
go with me to buy anything else I might want.
It is possible that he may have been paid for
bringing purchasers to this shop, but the price
I paid for what I bought was so small that there
could not have been much profit to anybody,
and I do not believe that the large and wealthy :
firm by whom this young man was employed
would allow one of their clerks to go out in
this way merely to give him a chance to make
a little money. Let any stranger in one of
our cities enter an express office and try to
get one of the clerks to go with him to a
tailor's store and help him to select a suit of
clothes, and when he has made known his de-
sire, let him wait and see what happens next.
The Italians of the working-class are generally
very industrious; for the poor are very poor in-
deed, and they have to work hard to live. Even
in Naples, where idleness and beggary used to
be so common, the people have very much im-
proved of late years. Italian beggars, however, are
very persistent, and stick to a stranger like a burr,


until they get something. The easiest way of
ridding ourselves of them is to lay in a supply of
small copper coins (they have coins here which
are equal in value to a fifth of a cent, although

these are not often met with, except among the
very poor), and when a beggar receives anything
he usually will go. This is a sort of toll one has
to pay on the roads about some of the cities of
Italy, and a stranger must generally pay it, or
be very much annoyed. Sometimes a miserable
old beggar with a broken back, one blind eye, one
arm gone and the other one withered, and with,
apparently, only half a leg, bounds in some miracu-
lous manner beside a carriage for a quarter of a
mile or so, until some one throws him a copper.
Then he stops, his back straightens itself, one


arm comes back to him, and the other regains its
power; his legs drop out to their natural length;
and he walks slowly back to his post by the road-
side, where, the momenthe sees another carriage ap-
proaching, all his infirmities again seize upon him.
Children are very annoying as beggars, especially
in the south of Italy; for half a dozen of them will
sometimes cluster around a stranger, imploring
him to give them something. One of the ST.
NICHOLAS artists traveling in Italy had a curious
way of ridding himself of these youngsters. He
carried a toy watch which was a little out of order,
and the hands of which, when it was wound up,
would go round with a buzz, until it ran down.
He would fix this in one eye like an eye-glass, and
turn fiercely upon the importunate youngsters.
The sight of this revolving and buzzing eye scared
the little rascals, and they fled in every direction.
They thought it was the "Evil Eye," of which
they are very much afraid.
There is not much begging in and about Rome.
Even the poorest people seem too dignified for that
sort of thing. We shall meet on the street, how-
ever, men, women, and children who offer all sorts
of things to us for sale, and if we buy any of
these articles, we must be careful or we may
pay too much for them. Even in respectable
shops, Italians generally ask strangers more for
their goods than they are worth, and it is neces-
sary to bargain a good deal if we want to get
things at proper prices. As a rule, purchases can



be made at a very moderate rate in Italy if we
know how to buy.
It is easy to see that Italy is a country of Art,
not only in her pictures, statues, and architecture,
but in the costumes and manners of the people.
They are very fond of bright colors and pretty
effects, and even when they hang up tomatoes and


cabbages in front of a shop, they arrange them as
tastefully as if they were decorating a little stage
for an exhibition.
In Switzerland we see this same disposition to
arrange common things in a tasteful and orderly
way; and although the Swiss are not so artistic as
the Italians, and do not care so much for color, we
sometimes find the winter's wood built up into the
shape of a little dome or pagoda, and even the
smallest piles are arranged as symmetrically and
evenly as if they were never to be moved. The ears
of corn, which we often see hung in a row on the
fronts of houses, are carefully arranged with regard
to their size, and hang in as regular order as if
they were files of well-drilled soldiers. The Swiss
cottages, although they are much more elaborately
decorated with carvings and inscriptions than those
of the poor people in any other country, would not
be pleasant places for any of us to occupy. The
cows and the people live too close together. In

some of the richest parts of the country, the barn,
the stables, and the dwelling-house are all under
one roof.
In our various travels we shall doubtless meet
with a great many Russians, and, as a rule, we
shall find them very intelligent people. I once
met a Russian gentleman who not only spoke
excellent English, but who knew more about
American politics and our affairs in general than
could be reasonably expected of any one who had
never seen our country. All Russians, however,
do not understand us so well. A young lady from
Siberia who was very desirous of hearing about
America, once asked me if it was true that people
in our country could go out and look for gold, and
when they had found it, could have it for their
own. She could not understand why the Govern-
ment did not require them to deliver it up. In
Russia people can not go about digging gold and
silver in uninhabited mountains and plains any
more than they can walk into houses and take
money and jewels; and she thought our Govern-
ment very foolish to allow anybody who chooses,
to go into the far West, and dig up the gold and
silver that he may discover there. She had no
idea of a country which truly belonged to its
It is likely that in Switzerland we shall meet with
a greater variety of travelers of different nations
than in any other country. Some parts of this
land of lake and mountain are very pleasant in the
summer-time, while other portions are agreeable in
the winter. The living here is also very good and
cheap, and there are probably more hotels and
boarding-houses to the square mile than in any
other country. At a hotel, where I once staid,
there were English, Irish, Scotch, Americans,
Spaniards, Germans, Austrians, Russians, Swedes,
Dutch, French, and a family from the Cape of
Good Hope. I once met with a Parsee gentleman
who had traveled a good deal in Europe, and had
some idea of visiting America. He had heard that
it was sometimes very cold here, and asked me
how we heated our houses ; he particularly wanted
to know what kind of stoves we used. When I
told him that these were generally intended for
coal, but that in some places we used wood-stoves,
he looked a little troubled, and after a moment's
reflection asked me how we prevented the wood
stoves from burning up when a fire was made in
them. His knowledge of English was not suffi-
cient to enable him to see the difference between
" wood and wooden.
Mistakes in regard to the meaning of expressions
in English are, of course, quite common among
continental Europeans. A Swiss lady once asked
me if American women took much interest in poli-


tics now that they were allowed to vote. But they
are not allowed to vote," said I. She looked sur-
prised: "Not allowed to vote!" she exclaimed.
" What then is the meaning of the Emancipation
Act of which we have heard so much ? When I
assured her that this celebrated Proclamation
merely referred to negro slaves, and had nothing

Ji!! --,


I -' '
I_ ~ ... .

to do with white women, she said she thought this

When I was in Antwerp I met with a person who
of rooms to the end apartment. There I saw upon

an easel a picture nearly fished, which was a

stool in front of the easel. He wore large, loose

to do with white women, she said she thought this
was a very queer country.
When I was in Antwerp I met with a person who
interested me very much. I was in the picture
gallery there, and had walked through a long line
of rooms to the end apartment. There I saw upon
an easel a picture nearly finished, which was a
copy of a very fine painting upon the wall. I was
attracted by the beauty of this copy, which seemed
to me as well painted as the original close by it;
and I was just going away when I saw a tall, elderly
man come into the room, and take his seat upon a
stool in front of the easel. He wore large, loose
slippers, and, to my astonishment, the first thing
he did was to kick them off. Then I noticed that

his stockings were cut off a little below the instep,
leaving his toes exposed. Leaning back on his stool,
he lifted up his two long and active legs and took
up his palette and maul-stick with his left foot,
putting his great toe through the hole in the pal-
ette, just as an ordinary artist would use his thumb.
Then he took a brush between the first and second
toes of his right foot, and touching it to the paint on
the palette, he began to work upon the painting on
the easel. This artist had no arms, having been
born without them, and he had painted the beau-
tiful picture on the easel with his toes. It was as-
tonishing to see him leaning back, with upraised
legs, and putting the delicate lights and shades
into the eyes of the portrait on his canvas with a
brush held between his toes. He has long been
known as a most skillful and successful painter in
certain branches, and his beautiful work is not only
interesting in itself, but it points a moral which we
can each think out for ourselves.
Wherever we go, in any of the galleries of Eu-
rope, we find artists copying the noted and famous
pictures, sometimes two or three of them at work
copying the same painting. In this way hundreds
and thousands of copies, not only of the great
works of the famous painters, but of their smaller
and less celebrated pictures, are given to the world;
and, in many cases, these copies are very good,
and give a fair idea of the originals. There are
artists, and some of them gray-headed, who never
paint any original pictures, and make their entire
living by copying paintings in the public galleries
of Europe. This copying business, however, is
often a great annoyance to visitors. Sometimes a
person takes a great deal of trouble to go to see a
famous picture, and when he reaches the gallery
he finds that an artist's easel and canvas is set up
before it in such a way that it is difficult for him to
get a good view of it. A young copyist in the
" Salon Carr6," the room in which the finest pict-
ures in the Louvre are collected, conceived the
grand idea of painting the whole room, pictures,
people, and all; and the immense canvas which
he set up acted as a drop-curtain so far as a gen-
eral view of this celebrated hall was concerned.
In some galleries there are appointed times for the
artists, and other times for the public.
It is very natural that we should want to find out
all about the people we meet while we are traveling
in Europe, but we shall soon discover that many
of them are equally desirous of getting infor-
mation from us. This is because we are Americans,
and in the countries we have visited,-- excepting,
perhaps, France, where the people have but little
desire to emigrate,- America is considered as a
land, not very good to live in, perhaps, but as a
great place to make money; a country where the



poorest person can go, accumulate wealth, and re-
turn to spend it in his own delightful native land.
I remember a guide who took me through the
ruins of Pompeii who was a very good instance of
this tendency. He spoke good English, and was
fond of conducting Americans through the dead
little city. The desire of his heart was to go
some day to America, and his mind was so full
of this idea that he cared a great deal more to

ask us about things over here than to tell us about
Pompeii. It. was rather funny to see him sit
down in the Temple of Isis, and to hear him talk
about General Grant and the poet Longfellow,
and other famous Americans whom he had served
as guide. If some people in a higher rank of
life were as anxious to inform themselves about
things American as was this man, I think it would
be well for them.




liJ i

- 7C-,

Sr '

"A11,1A -j 2

I I~li5r'' I' .



ONCE on a time a Cupid, who
For learning had a bent,
Insisted that young pansies should
To some good school be sent.

He sat him on a spider's web,
And said, with knowing wink,
" Since you young pansies stand for 'thoughts,'
You must be taught to think."

VOL. XV.-23.

'''I,'~" ."

I Iu



IT was a wild ride, and this is how Tom Pierce
happened to take it.
Times were dull in San Francisco; for the first
time in its history men were glad to work for a
dollar a day. Tom's father, Joel Pierce, though
he was a good mechanic, failed to find employ-
ment even at such wages; and so, leaving his wife
and little daughter in the city, he took Tom with
him and went to the country to seek work. But
city and country were alike dull, and at last Joel
was glad to find, a hundred miles from home,
employment in the mountains as a wood-chopper.
Here he built a little cabin of boards split with
the ax out of redwood-trees, roofing it with small,
thin boards, called "shakes," similarly made. At
one end he built a huge fire-place, of stone at the
bottom, and of redwood-sticks and mud at the top.
Opposite the fire-place was the door, and against
one of the side-walls, two bunks, one above the
other, served him and Tom for beds; while the rest
of the space, lighted by a little window, was their
parlor, kitchen, and store-room, all in one.

The hillside on which the cabin stood rose high
above it at the back; while, in front, it sloped
away to a little stream that ran not far below.
Redwoods and pines, with a few other trees, grew
thickly on all the hillside, both above and below
the cabin. Near the foot of the hill ran a
rough road, over which the cord-wood was hauled
away during the summer; but in winter this road
was hardly passable, even by horsemen.. Two miles
away on the road stood a farm-house, where lived
Mr. Gregg, the nearest neighbor the Pierces had,
and, ten miles farther on, was the town. To be
sure, there were other choppers' cabins scattered
about; some even nearer in a direct line than the
farm-house, but to reach them it was necessary to.
climb steep hills, and to.cross deep gulches, so
that they were far more inaccessible than mere
distance made them.
Thus it happened that Tom and his father
sometimes for weeks together saw no other human
being. But they were both too busy to feel lonely.
Joel Pierce labored with ax and saw from sunrise


to sunset, happy to see the great pile of cord-wood
growing, and to know that each blow he struck
so sturdily meant food and clothing for his little
To Tom's lot fell the cooking; he soon became
an expert, and when not thus employed he had many
ways of spending his time which seemed to him
better fun than any game he had ever enjoyed in
his city home. There were trout to be caught in
the brook, and rabbits in the woods, while the
beautiful Californian quail with nodding plume ran
on every hillside. Tom sometimes borrowed an old
shot-gun from the farm-house, and with this, and
with traps of his own construction, plentifully sup-
plied the cabin with food. To get a rifle and
shoot a deer was now his great ambition, for more
than once he had come upon fresh deer-tracks and
lamented the uselessness of following them without
a weapon. Nor did he fail to do a share, though a
small one, of his father's work; for with his light
ax he often added a little to the growing pile of cut
wood, or lopped off the smaller branches from the
trunks and limbs of the trees his father felled. In
a few months Tom, who had been rather a pale
and sickly little fellow, became so bronzed and
active that his mother would hardly have known
him. He learned, too, to ride fearlessly, though
until now he had never even mounted a horse.
Joel Pierce kept a small mustang pony for con-
venience in making trips to the town when neces-
sary. Most of the time the pony roamed the woods
at his own will, finding abundant food in the wild
oats and grasses that grew everywhere. At the
beginning of the rainy season, a little hay was fed
him, and Joel built an open shed for him not far
from the cabin, where he could be sheltered from
heavy rain. Tom hunted the pony up, when
needed, and caught him by enticing him within
reach with a hatful of barley.
On this wild, half-broken horse Tom took his
first riding lessons, and met with more than one
tumble before he learned to hold on in spite of the
little mustang's rearing and bucking. When he
did manage to stay on, though, the battle was won;
for Jack, as Tom named the pony, seemed to feel
kindly toward the boy, and obeyed his young
master thereafter as he would obey no one else.
Mounted on Jack, Tom explored every nook and
corner in the hills for miles around, wherever a
horse could go, and once every two or three weeks
he rode into town to buy supplies, and to get from
the post-office the longed-for letters from home.
Thus several months passed. The rainy season
had begun early and was severe; and by Christmas
many heavy showers had fallen, rendering the
roads nearly impassable, raising high the waters
of every mountain stream, and making the rich



grass start up on every hillside, lately so brown
and bare.
On Christmas morning a heavy storm of wind
and rain from the south-west came on, and raged
all that day and night, nor did it cease the next
day, nor the next. Joel went about the necessary
outdoor work in water-proof from head to foot,
while Tom was kept closely penned in the cabin,
as a moment in such a rain would have soaked him
through. The third day the rain abated a little,
but the wind rose in fury, and the great trees
groaned as it swept through their lofty summits.
Now and then a branch would yield to the gusts.
and, wrenched from the trunk, would come with
a rush, like the roar of waters, to the ground. The
great rain-drops, driven by the fierce wind, sounded
like hailstones on the "shakes" of the roof, and
many fell hissing on the fire through the broad
chimney. But, though so much water was around
them, the inhabitants of the cabin could have
none for their own use without making a trip to
the creek at the foot of the hill; and, on the third
morning of the storm, Joel, buckets in hand, went
out, as he usually had done to fetch each day's
Tom was deep in the pages of "The Swiss
Family Robinson," the delightful book which his
father had given him on Christmas, and he read
on after Joel left the cabin, only raising his head
to glance out when an unusually heavy gust threw
the rain sharply against the little window. But at
last it occurred to him that he had read a long
while, and he began to think it strange that his
father had not yet returned. He became uneasy,
and, opening the door, looked down the path as far
as he could see. But only a few yards away it
turned abruptly to one side, and the thick trees
and brush hid the rest of the path from him. The
slanting rain was still falling, and the wind, though
a little less violent, was shaking the giant branches
against the stormy sky. As Tom looked he saw
one great limb snap off, and heard it fall to the
ground with a rushing sound, like the dash of a
great spray of water, carrying other smaller trees
down with it.
"What if such a limb should fall on Father ?"
thought Tom, a sudden fear seizing him.
Hastily pulling on his rubber coat and cap, he
rushed down the path. A little stream ofwaterran in
the beaten hollow and struck against his heels; the
rain poured from the rim of his cap, and the long,
whip-like shoots of the hazel-bushes, swept by the
wind, scourged him as he ran. The gaunt, gray,
leafless branches of the buckeye mingled with the
dark crimson of the madrona, and above them
towered the redwoods, bowing their lofty tops be-
fore the gale.


Tom ran on, his anxiety increasing as he went, and
in a few moments he found his fears only too well-
founded. A redwood-tree lay across the path, its
branches shattered by the fall into a mass of twigs
and splinters. The trunk itself was smashed near
the top; and the roots, forced from the ground by
the tree acting as a great lever in its fall, had
thrown up a mass of black soil on the hillside
above. Tom heard a groan from among the
branches, and cried:
Father, oh, father! Are you there ? "
Yes, Tom, my boy, I'm here, sure enough! "
replied his father's voice, and Tom, guided by it,
forced his way to the center of the fallen tree.
Joel was lying on the path, the two buckets by
his side. He had an ugly cut on the forehead,
from which blood still flowed. His head and one
arm were quite free, but the rest of his body was
tightly pinned down by the tree. Luckily, the
stumps of two broken limbs supported the trunk
above him, so that he was only held and not crushed
by it.
"It was a narrow escape, my boy," said he, as
Tom reached his side. "This big fellow," waving
his hand toward the tree, "turned up his toes just
as I was passing, and I could n't get away in time,
though I saw him coming. I guess I must'a' been
stunned by a tap on the head, for I did n't know
a thing for a while; and then, when I came to, I
found myself in this fix. These branches are run
deep into the ground, and they just hold the trunk
high enough to let me breathe, but I can't move
an inch."
"Let me get the ax and chop you out, father,"
said Tom.
No, no, Tom, there 's work for men, here.
You must get me free, but not with your ax.
I 'm afraid my leg 's broken, and besides, if this
big log is moved it may crush me. Do you saddle
Jack, and ride down to Gregg's, and tell them
about me, so a lot of their men will come up and
get me out. Then you, or some one, go on to
town for a doctor. Don't be scared, Tom, I can
stand it a while longer, only send the men
Tom wasted no time in talk, but saying only, All
right, father!" he sprang up the path to Jack's
shed, and quickly threw the saddle on his back and
drew the straps tight, paying no heed to the vicious
snaps the mustang made with lips drawn back
from his white teeth. A moment later, he was
plunging down the steep path that led to the road
below, and Joel soon heard the quick hoof-beats die
away as he galloped toward Gregg's.
Tom rode furiously along the rough road, and
soon reached the farm-house. He swung the gate
open without dismounting, and galloped to the

door. Withdrawing his foot from the stirrup, he
kicked vigorously.
Mr. Gregg himself answered to the violent sum-
mons. He was a heavily built, square-jawed man,
with a mass of black beard on his face. He frowned
when he saw the boy on horseback.
"What do you mean, boy?" said he, in his
deep voice. Can't you dismount and knock
properly? "-
Tom interrupted him.
"Father 's caught under a fallen tree, and his
leg's broken. Won't some of your men go up
and get him out ? "
Hello you 're Pierce's boy, I see," said Gregg.
"All right, we '11 go up right away. Say, Dick,"
he added, turning to a man in the room, call the
men together, and get a lot of saws and axes, and
a couple of jack-screws. Where are you bound,
my lad?" he said to Tom, who was turning his
horse's head again toward the road.
"For the doctor," answered Tom; "father's
right on the path to the cabin; you can't fail to
find him, and I can better be spared than one of
the men."
"You 're a thoughtful boy," said Mr. Gregg.
Go ahead, only you 'd better take the hill road,
for the ford road is dangerous after such heavy
Tom only nodded in reply, as he let the strap
fall heavily on Jack's shoulders, and galloped away.
The road lay for a mile along the middle of a little
mountain valley, and then entered a narrow gorge.
Here it forked,- one branch keeping along the
crest of the hills, the other hanging on the side of the
cation wall. The first, Tom knew, was the safest, but
then it was fully two miles longer than the other.
No, he would not lose such precious time; and,
scarcely pausing, he dashed into the ford road. As
he went on, the road rose higher on the mountain-
side, till it became a mere shelf with a precipice
rising high on the right, and sinking away to
depths on the left. The forest raised its mighty,
bristling growth, like the lances of an army of
giants, on the steep slope both above and below
the road, but here and there Tom could catch a
glimpse of the stream below, dashing in foam-
covered currents among the stones. The last time
he had ridden by, there had been scarcely any
water in the brook's bed,- only a few quiet pools
joined by a slender silver thread of trickling water;
now, the noise of the swollen stream rose above
even the moaning of the trees and the whistling
of the wind.
The narrow road was much washed in some
places, but Tom did not slacken his pace on that
account. He knew that every moment might be
priceless to his father, and also that each moment


the water was rising higher at the ford beyond.
As he listened to the roar of the stream below him,
he almost repented choosing this road; but it was
too late to return and, so far, he had met nothing
to delay or to alarm him. The mustang's unshod
feet seemed to cling like a cat's to the slippery
ground; and though he sometimes made a mis-
step, he recovered himself, never falling. Tom's
long lash often played round his shoulders, and
the steady gallop did not pause for an instant.
The rain, driven by the south-west wind, struck
full in Tom's face and nearly blinded him; but he
managed to see far enough ahead to avoid running
full on a fallen tree, or over a land-slide. Most
of the road was thus safely passed, and Tom began
to hope that he would reach, without accident, the
valley where lay the village, when Jack suddenly
turned a sharp curve, and Tom had only time to
see that there was a great gap where the road had
fallen away bodily into the cation below, leaving
a smooth, sheer incline at the break.
Jack saw it also, and tried to check his headlong
pace; but in vain -he was already on the treach-
erous, crumbling edge of the break, and his feet
slid from under him. Tom felt the horse reeling
beneath him, and had but an instant to kick away
the stirrups and to grasp the low branch of a live-
oak tree before the mustang, with a snort of terror,
rolled headlong into the deep gulf below !
Tom could hear him crashing through the under-
growth after he was hidden from sight, and at last
a splash showed that he had reached the stream.
Tom knew that it was useless to attempt to recover
the horse; for, even if by any chance he was unhurt,
it would be impossible to get him up to the road
again. He therefore swung himself down from his
tree and looked about for means of continuing the
journey on foot, heartily sorry now that he had not
taken farmer Gregg's advice and chosen the hill
He examined the slide, and saw that it was made
by a large portion of the hillside, just above the
road, having fallen down upon it and having carried
away the lower bank also. He saw that his only
chance was to climb past above this avalanche of
loose soil. Selecting a place where the bank was
not very high, he clambered up, and then by the aid
of the bushes and ferns on the hillside drew himself
higher and higher, till, with much toil, he succeeded
in crossing many feet above the break. The yield-
ing earth sank under each footstep, and made his
progress very slow; but once having begun his de-
scent, it was as rapid as the ascent had been slow,
and he soon regained the solid road on the town-
ward side of the break. Unhorsed and weary,
there were yet two miles of road and the ford be-
tween him and the town. Fortunately, it was all

down-hill, and he ran on as rapidly as possible,
more anxious about the state of the ford than any-
thing else.
The crossing was just where the cation broad-
ened out, opening into a large valley, and the
road crossed the stream, continuing to the town, a
mile away on the farther side. Tom, from the
bank, viewed the ford with the first feeling of
despair he had yet admitted. The stream, instead
of being the shallow rivulet which only bathed
the hoofs of the passing horse, was now a wide,
muddy torrent, bearing on its turbid surface mass-
ive logs and roots, and every moment increasing
in power and velocity. Tom knew that there
was no other ford for miles below, and yet, how
was he to cross here? He would certainly be
swept away should he attempt it. If some of these
logs which were drifting past would only lodge for
a moment, he might try to cross on them ; or, if that
great, branchless, dead tree leaning over the water
would but fall, what a bridge it would make So
thinking, he looked wistfully at the tree, and saw
that the water was actually undermining its roots,
and that, at any moment, it might fall as he desired.
But then he had seen trees, apparently less firmly
held, which had clung thus for years, defying
wind and storm, and he had little hope that this
one would fall just when it happened that its fall
would be convenient for him. But, even as he
doubted, he saw it topple and bend over the water.
Slowly, then more rapidly, its top described part of
a great circle in the sky, and then the tree struck
the water with a blow that sent the spray high in
the air.
Tom now had his bridge; still, he almost
wished the tree had not fallen, for it made him
shudder to think of crossing by it, though it reached
from bank to bank, making a firm path. But
there was no time to lose, and, gathering his
whole stock of courage together, he jumped upon
the fallen trunk. It was so large and free from
branches that its rounded form did not interfere
with firm footing. But the current ran angrily
against it, and began to rush over it in the mid-
dle, like waste-water over a dam, and as Tom
passed this part he had some difficulty in keeping
his footing, and was glad to cling to some stumps
of branches which here remained on the tree. An
ominous crackling at the same time warned him
to hasten, and, indeed, he had barely set foot on
the firm ground upon the further side, when the
tree, which was quite decayed within, parted in
the middle, and was swept away down the stream !
Tom now tried to hasten on, but found his
progress slower than ever; for the valley soil was a
tough adobe, and stuck to his boots like wax,
making each step an effort. But at last he arrived


358 TOM'S'
at the doctor's house, which, luckily, was the first
one on that side of the village.
The doctor listened to a hasty recital of his ad-
ventures, and made him change to a dry suit be-
longing to his own boy, and swallow a cup of hot
coffee; and Tom felt his troubles were over when,
soon after, he was seated by the doctor in a buggy,
speeding behind a pair of fine horses, back to his
father's aid. But you may be sure the doctor
took the hill road, and crossed the stream far up
the cation on a high bridge.
When they arrived at Gregg's they found Joel


and.raising it by means of the screws, they were
at last able to pull him out; and here he was,-
badly bruised, to be sure, but nothing worse. So
the only prescription the doctor could give was
that everybody, himself included, should take a
good rest; and he hastened home for his share
of it, through the muddy road, under the trees,
now covered with diamonds, sparkling in the rays
of the setting sun, which shone triumphantly over
the fleeing clouds.
Two days later, Tom, to his amazement, found
Jack in the shed. He was covered with scratches,


there, seated in an arm-chair at the fire, and with
no broken bones after all.
He told them that Gregg's men had placed
jack-screws under the tree trunk on each side of
him, and then sawed out the section above him,

but otherwise unhurt. But never, after that ride,
could his young master, either by coaxing or
threatening, prevail on Jack to travel on the ford
road, of which he retained so lively and disagree-
able a remembrance.



6 RIGHT, in the sun, as bur-
nished gold,
And, in the shadows, brown,
A dainty little pair of shoes
My father brought from
For me! for me!
It could not be!
They seemed too fine to wear-
Less fit for treading dusty ground
Than skimming sunny air!

Not, till, close-fitted on my feet,
I saw them brightly shine,
And I had tied the strings, myself,
Could I believe them mine 1
Then, with proud sense
Of consequence,
I felt them press my toes,
And wore them, with the full delight
That only childhood knows!

When Sunday came, thrice welcome day!
As if with sunlight shod,
Down the long street that led to church,
Exultantly I trod.
And when, alas !
It came to pass,
Some dust my shoes made gray,
I took my little 'kerchief out,
And wiped it all away!

But the third time I put them on,
One morning in July,
I chanced, out in the mowing land,
A ruddy flame to spy;
A signal fire !
With glad desire
My childish course was turned -
For where it glowed, I knew the rare,
Tall meadow-lilies burned.

Quick as the thought, I climbed the wall,
And, through the grass, I sped,
Out 'mid the fern, and where the flags
Were higher than my head;
One bound I took,
And crossed the brook -
Nor, for an instant, stopped
Till, down among the lily-flowers,
All out of breath, I dropped.

But, as my hand was on the prize,
Soaked through with heavy dews,
And covered with the brook-side clay,
I saw my precious shoes !
A sorry sight!
Within the light,
No more they gleamed like gold !
But, dingy purple, seemed as though
They had, at once, grown old.

In vain I dried them in the sun;
I could not make them shine;
There was not, neathh the sunny sky,
A heavier heart than mine !
0, what were all
The gay and tall
Black-spotted lilies then ?
I lost them, one by one, as I
Went sobbing home again.

Since childhood's pride, that summer morn,
Those shining shoes brought low,
Ah, from how many glittering things,
I 've seen the glory go !
Now old and wise,
Alone I prize,
As worthy of my care,
Those friends, those pleasures, that will
The test of common wear.

Zj- --
'I' ~


ONE hazy October day, when the Sharp and
the Red Mountains were decked in all the brilliant
hues of the American autumn, one of those misty,
dreamy days when vanishing summer seems re-
luctant to say farewell, a little boy was born. The
cottage in which the little one first opened his eyes
was perched high upon the side of Red Mountain.
Its whitewashed clapboards, straggling slat-fence,
the long eaves (so near to the steep hillside that a
spotted goat had leaped to the roof and nestled
against the huge stone chimney), and the coal-
shed, forming a part of the fence at the roadside,
all indicated the home of a collier.
The big brown eyes looked their first look upon
whitewashed beams overhead. A pretty baby,
indeed; a laughing, crowing, healthful child, that
seemed so soon to grow into a mischievous little
urchin, who chased the chickens, whipped the
hissing geese, rode the goat, and wrestled with
the big white bull-dog which loved to sit upon
the doorstep and dream dog-dreams in the warm
sunshine. The good priest had baptized the
child Edward Athoy," so, all through the
patch, he was known as "Teddy." In the pure
air of the mountains, he became strong and robust.

Climbing the hills, gathering brushwood, driving
the goats, frolicking with the falling leaves, and
chasing the butterfly soon gave him strength and
vigor, and tanned his cheeks until he looked as
brown as a gypsy. His bright, happy life was a joy
to himself and a joy to the toiling father, who, when
returning from his work in the mines, would let
the little fellow carry needle, or scraper, or some
other light tool. Great was the boy's pride when
he, for the first time, marched into the house with
a large needle over his shoulder like a gun, and set
it down in the chimney-corner with a resounding
ring which could be heard at the garden gate.
As Teddy grew, cares were added to his child-
ish pleasures. Two other little brown-heads, a
brother and sister, came to keep him company.
All about him Teddy saw that in the world the
lot of the men was hard work, while the tasks
of women, if not as hard, were seemingly never-
For him, to be able to work was to be a man.
To be unable to work was to be worthless and
Early in the morning, before the dews were dry,
the men went down into the deep mines, or into the


great, black breaker, of which the pointed gables
could just be seen over the opposite hill-top. When
at school in the winter, he heard the larger boys
boastingly tell when and where they should begin
work "next year." He looked forward to the
day when he could go into the black breaker and
carn thirty cents a day by picking slate as the
time when he would begin to be a man.
At last the day came, and all too soon. When
nine years old, his father bought him a little two-
quart tin pail and a tin water-bottle. His mother
packed the pail with bread and butter, bacon, and a
"turned-over" egg; filled the bottle with sweetened
tea; passed the long cord of the bottle through the
bail of the pail, and then, putting the loop of the
cord around his neck, gave him a gentle push,
saying playfully: Be off with you to your work."
Now he was to "work." It was a happy day.
He tramped over the hillside, treading under foot
the frost-touched, dew-decked maple leaves which
looked so clear and fresh in the early morning
sunlight. This was a memorable day, a day he
would never forget. All the world seemed bright
because he was so happy. As he mounted the
crest of the hill, he looked back and saw against
the opposite hillside his home, and his mother
standing in the doorway, with his brother and sister
on either side. He raised his cloth cap, waved it
about his head, and gave a loud, glad shout, and
then turned toward the breaker. Never before
did it look so high, so black, and so dirty. The
great culm-pile stretched far away along the moun-
tain-side and far down into the deep valley below.
As he put foot upon the first step of the ladder-like
stairway which climbed the side of the building,
how the whole structure seemed to groan and
creak, and to tremble, like a thing of life So it
was; filled with life. Through the sashless win-
dows were thrust dozens of heads. Paddy Dooley,
Tim Murphy, little Mike Reilly, and Dutchy
Kootzman who walked all the way from Tre-
mont, over three miles-were all there, and
many, many other boys.
As he reached the top of the stairway and
stepped within the door, he discovered the boys
standing about a big iron stove. Their dinner-
pails and water-bottles were hung on nails under a
long row of windows without glass. There were
big glass slides in the shingle roof, but they were
so covered with dust that little light found its way
through the panes. Huge dust-covered beams
thrust their great black bodies out of one dark
corner only to hide in another. At his feet were
long troughs made of shining sheets of iron, and,
at regular intervals, boards were placed across for
As he looked up the incline of these shining

troughs, he saw the "big screen" turning, and
felt the whir and rumble of the great iron rollers
which crushed the coal. The machinery was all
in motion. Far down below, on the railroad
track, he saw the locomotive push a long train of
empty cars into the switch, and pull out a longer
train of loaded cars piled high with the glistening
coal. He had seen this many times before, but
everything seemed different now. He felt that he
himself was now a part of it all. He belonged to
this great work-house, and, in an undefined way,
it seemed, likewise, to belong to him. Never
before had old Sandy MacGaw (" Old Scotty," the
boys called him) looked so cross. He carried
his long switch lightly clutched under his one arm
while rubbing his iron-rimmed spectacles with a
particular part of the tails of his ragged coat
which he always selected for this especial purpose.
Teddy, despite his joyous heart, felt just a little
awed by his surroundings.
It was his first day. Would the boys play him
tricks? Would they exchange his dinner-pail?
Would "Old Scotty" switch him? Just as he
was wondering what might happen, the whistle
gave a long shriek followed by two little screams,
and the machinery throbbed with increased life.
All the boys took their places upon the seats and
sat expectant. There were a few great puffs from
the big engines,-clouds of steam blew through
the open windows, and then came a short hush,
followed by a heavy jar, a rushing, crushing
sound, a stifling black dust, and then coal com-
menced running through the screen into the iron
troughs. By these sounds Teddy knew that a car-
load of coal had been lifted out of the deep shaft
from the mines below, and was coming through
the breaker. His quick eye soon saw the pieces of
slate, dull and black against the bright coal run-
ning so swiftly beneath him. While his feet in
the trough kept back the running coal his nimble
fingers picked out the slate, and by a quick move-
ment of the wrist tossed it into a box at his side.
When the box was full an old man came with an
empty box, and took the full one away. He looked
its contents over carefully, picked out a few pieces
of clean coal, which Teddy had carelessly mistaken
for slate,'then weighed the slate and dumped it into
a hole in the floor. Old Scotty took the pieces
of clean coal, showed them to Teddy, told him that
he would get the birch if he was not more careful,
and then turned around just in time to see Morgan
Williams let a bushel or more of slate mixed with
coal pass into the pockets below.
Morgan was not a "new hand," so the birch
fairly cracked over his shoulders, while the boy,
without moving a muscle of his face, quietly kept
at his work.


Old Scotty was the Slate Boss." His whole
duty was to watch over the work of some fifty boys.
He rarely spoke, but his birch rod was seldom
idle all the day long. This was breaker disci-
pline." Such was Teddy's work and that of many
thousands of boys in the coal regions, some even
younger than he. Soon his face became black
with dust, his eyes looked very white and bright,
the lips unusually full and red, and every time he
smiled his teeth looked like burnished ivory.
Day after day, month after month, year after
year did Teddy stoop over the trough. Soon the
novelty wore away. And how cold his fingers
would get! -so numb that they felt dead. His
feet, ever on the chilly iron, became like icicles;
but still he must pick, pick, pick unceasingly, with
bent back and drooping head in the dust-laden
The warm summer days seemed to laugh at him,
and in mockery to ask whether he remembered
the butterflies on the mountain-side. The great
flakes of falling snow which in winter shut out the
wooded mountains seemed so pure and soft that
Teddy often wondered whence they came, looking
so spotless and innocent. At last, he was pro-
moted. He was put on the "dump," and drove a
mule. He now received fifty cents a day.
He would open a sliding
/ door in the side of the
breaker, let the slate and
coal, too fine for market,
run into a car to which he
had hitched his mule;
and then he would drive
along the mountain-side to
the end of the great waste-
heap, where he would
"dump" the car. The
A DRIVER'S WHIP, AND SPRAG mule was so accustomed
FOR SCOTCH TEWHEELS tO the work that Teddy
had little to do except the
hitching and unhitching, or, whenever "Blind
Jerry" refused to pull or became cross and kicked,
to whip him with a long braided whip.
When twelve years old, Teddy took the next
great step in this school of labor. He went into
the mines. He became a "door-boy.". With a
lighted lamp on his hat, it was his duty to stand
on guard at a great door which served to direct the
flow of air into the workings. This door he would
open whenever he heard the shrill whistle of the
men who were running the coal cars through the
dark passages of the mine. Far back in the dark-
ness would be heard a shrill cry. In a few moments
would follow a dull, rumbling sound of wheels; then
the "trip" of cars would dash through the open
door-way,- the lamps on the heads of the runners

sending out long streams of fire, like the tails of
miniature comets. The heavy door would then
swing back with a muffled, booming sound, and
Teddy would again be alone in the stillness and




Each morning, at five o'clock, the men were low-
ered into the mine and remained there until six
at night. In winter many never saw the light of
day for weeks at a time,- excepting on Sundays;
to such toilers it is a day of rest, indeed.
Being now a big boy, his next promotion
made him a
driver. With
his mule hitch-
ed to a car he
would traverse
the long gang-
way, stopping
here and there
to open a door
in the great
timbers over-
head. Down
through this
door great
masses of coal MINERS' LAMPS.
would fall, fill-
ing the car. Then the car was hauled to the
main road where, with others, it was made up into
trips and run to the foot of the shaft.




Great changes were coming to Teddy. One
winter his little brother fell ill. A cold," the
doctor said. The little hands were hot and fevered;
the great brown eyes looked ever for Teddy,
while the dark ringlets were never at rest,


except when in Teddy's arms. When little
Will grew worse, he cried so piteously while
Teddy was away at work that the boy at last
made up his mind to stay at home for the child's
Not many days were lost. The little hands
grew thinner, the little head heavier, as it lay
against Teddy's arm. Once the child, nestling his
fevered cheek against his brother's, clasped his little
arms about his neck, and whispering, Willie
loves 'oo," sank into a tranquil sleep; so deep a
sleep that the brown eyes did not again open, and
the little form grew cold.
This was Teddy's first great grief. That winter

tavern or the store; and during the long winter
nights, he would sit before the warm stove, in com-
pany of men no better than himself, telling, over and
over again, the story of some great feat of work he
had performed, or some great danger he had
escaped. With each telling, the story departed
further and further from facts, until it at last
became of that weird,
startling type so com- /
mon to the coal re-
gions; a type wherein c'"
the narrator is both ,
the hero and the .
victim, or oftener the
sole actor. For such
a man the future had
no promise. All that /-'\
was worthy and cred- ,
table in his life was
comprised in the '
"had been." Am- '"
bition, or even any -
high purpose, in how- INERS' TOOLS.
ever humble asphere,
was to him undreamed of and unknown. Labor,
grinding labor, held him captive, and was his life;
what he thought "good-fellowship" was his only
pleasure. He was incapable of conceiving any
other condition of life than toil, alternating with

- ..,:-. _"- _ __----_ _

.- -


small-pox raged in the patch. Sister and mother ease, and he thought it happiness if he had enough
were laid beside the little brother. The father, money to satisfy his bodily wants for the time
without wife, children, or the comforts of even his being. Strong drink produced a quick and vio-
lowly home, sought in drink to drown all thought lent excitement, was ready at hand, and, in conse-
.and memory. He became an idler, frequenting the quence, was much resorted to. The future well-



being of his son, or his own failure to perform the
duties of a father, gave him not a moment's disquiet.
Though young in years, he would soon become an
old man physically. Then he would be supported
in idleness by his son. He had done a good work
in life, this father, according to his way of think-
ing. He had "brought up" a strong, robust
youth, who, until of age, would toil for the father's
benefit. Teddy's father considered himself a
manly man, and, in his own way, was perfectly
happy. Though proud and boastful of his son's
strength, he did not see any wrong in spending all
of the son's earnings for his own sole benefit. For
was not the boy underage, and did not the Law of
Pennsylvania make the father sole guardian abso-
lute? A boy could run away from home, to be
sure; but so long as he had enough to eat, clothes
to wear, a little money now and then, to spend at
the church fair or a merry-making, did he not
have all the law allowed? Certainly. The father

man to make good use of such opportunities. The
page under his name was very one-sided,- very
Teddy thought it perfectly right that his father
should spend the money he earned. Though
he often wished for better clothes, or for a little
more spending money, yet he never for a moment
thought himself wronged. On the contrary, he
had a sense.of satisfaction that his earnings were
large enough to permit his father to work or not
as suited the father's fancy. Michael Athoy was
not, at heart, a bad man. He wronged his son be-
cause he knew no better, and the son was perfectly
satisfied to submit. Month after month rolled by,
without change in the life of either father or son.
One day, while the boy was at his usual work,
there came down the gangway a heavy gust of air,
blowing out the lights and filling the place with
stifling dust. Knowing there had been a fall of
" top," or roof, somewhere along the gangway, and


of such a fine, strong youth had a perfect right to
his earnings.
The fact that the youth was a man in stature
and in .wage-earning ability, although lacking
in the requisite twenty-one years, made the
guardianship all the more desirable. There was
more to guard. When earnings were squandered,
was there not the "Company's store,"- that insti-
tution for the improvident, which is so apt to lead
its patrons into debt? Michael Athoy was just the

it being against the rules to relight lamps, he and
the "loaders groped their way in darkness toward
the lamp-station. Arriving there, he saw a mine-
car approaching from the darkness, and there was
a board laid across its top and something lying on
the board.
He had seen just such a sight many, many
times before, so he simply asked, "Who is it?"
"It is Mike, your old man," was the answer.
Teddy stood still for an instant, uncertain how to


act. A great lump rose in his throat when he
thought of his little brother, his sister, and his
mother. Now, the last link in this world that
bound him to them had gone. .The rough, but
kindly mine-boss touched him gently and said:
"Dinna ye mind it over much, laddie."
Teddy choked down a sob, silently put his
shoulder to a car and helped to push it to the
shaft. It was only "an accident," one of those
losses of life which occur daily, in one mine or an-
other; the old, old story of careless indifference
to danger. Rather than perform the extra labor of
setting a few more timbers, Michael Athoy had
been content to work in daily exposure to a danger
threatening instant death. The fall of rock and
coal came, as such falls usually do, without a warn-
ing, and two lives paid the penalty of his reckless-
ness,-being snuffed out as quickly and silently
as was the flame of Teddy's lamp.
This young boy, who had never been beyond
the encircling range of mountains, was now ut-
terly alone in the world. He was self-reliant
and without dread of the future. The loss of
his father did not crush him with the sense of
his loneliness. Even in his sorrow it gave him a
half-defined sense of freedom. Now he was his
own master. Now he could spend his wages to
suit himself. Now the Company store could
not absorb all his earnings to cover and make good
the folly, dissipation, and idleness of his father.
To be sure, his father died in debt to the store, but
that did not trouble Teddy at all. No sense of
obligation weighed upon him. His training in life
had not taught him the higher principles, and, as
he had not incurred the debt in his own person, he
did not think himself responsible for its payment.
Teddy did not study out these questions for him-
self. Custom had clearly defined his course. An
unwritten law guided him in every act. He did
simply as others had done before him-he gave
his father a costly funeral, and had masses said for
the repose of his soul. Just as this course was
established by many precedents, so, by as many
was it enjoined that he should refuse to pay any of
his father's debts. He obeyed the one custom just
as unquestioningly as he submitted to the other.
One day, while listening to a miner, who was
telling of the beautiful Wyoming Valley, where all
the workings, being "flat,"-that is, not going
down into the earth,--are different from anything
he had ever seen, there stirred within the boy
a desire to see more of the world beyond the
surrounding mountains. To conceive a new idea
was, to him, more difficult than to act upon it.
Packing his few belongings into a carpet-bag, he
bade his fellow-workmen good-bye," walked to
the railroad station at Tremont, and was soon on

his way to Pottsville. Here he took the train to
Tamaqua, and from there, through the Nesquc-
honing tunnel, he rode to Mauch Chunk.
The rapidly changing views so charmed the boy
that, pulling his cap tight down upon his head, he
stationed himself on the rear platform of the last
car, and gave himself up to the fullest enjoyment
of the novelty of his surroundings. Past mine after
mine, breaker after breaker, through towns and
villages, along by yards surrounding blast-fur-
naces, and iron-works, the train rushed. At last it
rounded a curve, bringing into full view the rapid,
whirling Lehigh, with its coal-chutes," slack-
water," and canal-boats, and the steep mountains
on either side. After a ride of only a few minutes
more the conductor cried:
Mauch Chunk! All out! "
This was Teddy's first "outing." What a sense
of freedom he felt. How his eyes sparkled and
his cheeks glowed, when he looked, for the first time,
upon the bustle and activity of a railroad town!
Such a strange town, too. One street along the
river was lined with stores having bright awnings,
and hotels with wide verandas and cool, inviting,
waiting-rooms. At every corner were fruit-stands,
piled with bright-colored, tempting fruits from
every clime. Then, too, the moving crowd seemed
countless. Here was a railroad hand, with greasy,
soiled "jumper and overalls"; there, a conductor,
with gold-lined cap and brass buttons. Next there
would be a lady, dressed in some beautiful white
material, and decked with gay ribbons, or a little girl,
wearing a great, wide-rimmed hat. Then he could
see long rows of houses, rising one above the other,
on the steep hillside. Teddy looked upon all this,
and drew a long breath of delight. It was a dif-
ferent, and a brighter, fuller life. This he noticed.
Though having but a few dollars in his pockets,
he gave little thought to the future. He was
strong, self-reliant, and perfectly happy.
A travel-worn tramp begged a few cents for a
meal, and Teddy, touched by the story of hunger,
weariness, and ill-fortune, gave liberally from his
small store. He did not note the thankless grin
which overspread the tramp's unshaven face, nor
did he regret his generosity when he saw the alms
expended for liquor. He had helped "the poor
lad in hard luck," and never questioned whether
he had been imposed upon.
Taking another train, a ride of two hours through
the beautiful mountains of the Lehigh brought him
to "Mountaintop." Far below lay the lovely Wy-
oming valley, golden in the light of the summer day.
Far to the north stretched the wooded slope of the
West Mountain, the peak of "Bald Mount" stand-
ing like a great sentinel, clothed in the dark green
uniform of the pine and the spruce. Through this


mountain ridge the Susquehanna cut its way,
stretching its length through the broad, flat val-
ley, like a shining band of burnished silver, until
shut in and lost between the wooded spurs toward
the Nescopeck.
Almost at his feet lay the city of Wilkesbarre;
throughout the length and breadth of the valley
were the huge coal-breakers, with their clusters of
black, steam-wreathed buildings; and near by were
smaller towns and villages. It is a scene never to
be forgotten. Down the steep mountain grade the

i *- l y. : : .- -. '' _. ,. .-'* ., : .
- -. .. -. _' ,-[-----. .,- '' N-. 7.-

,..,T .,, .,--. 2-- .:-
,- :,- ... ,' '-- --' "

'~;-- e~s V

In Cte 'Wyoming 'v"ne.

train rushed, and Teddy soon stood in the streets
of Wilkesbarre. He did, not know that it was
one of the oldest towns in Pennsylvania. Its his-
tory--the long struggles with the Indians, the

raid of Brandt and Butler, and the story of Wyo-
ming -was all unknown to him. The Court-house
Square, with its shops and street-peddlers, a brass
band, and a roaming Hungarian with a dancing




bear were at once claiming his delighted atten-
tion. Wandering to the river-bank, he stood for
hours watching the people cross the covered bridge.
He paid the toll and crossed, and then recrossed
for the novelty of the experience. A little steamer
attracted his attention, and he hastened down
to the landing-float to take the first sail of his
life. Within a very few days, Teddy found that
his money had dwindled to a single dollar; so one
morning he put on his working-clothes and started
up the railroad track, inquiring for work at every
colliery, until he at last reached the great head-
houses of the "Prospect." Climbing the steep
bank, he lingered about the engine-houses, watched

cerning wages were settled by the Company
rules,"-he simply asked for employment.
The man addressed was seated at a black oil-
stained table, upon which were several "Davy"
lamps, and was tracing a line with his grimy finger
over a great painted map of the workings which
lay unrolled before him. This was the "mine-
boss." He turned to the door and saw a stout
young lad with a frank, open face, large brown
eyes, almost like those of a girl, and a broad, high
forehead upon which fell a tangle of brown matted
ringlets. His quick eye seemed to look the boy
over from head to foot at once. He answered:
"Yes When will you go to work? "


the upcoming cars of coal as the engines lifted
them out of the black shaft, and at last stepped
to the door of the little, weather-stained, dust-be-
grimed office, and asked the question, Can I get
a job a-drivin', sir ? "
He did not ask how much he would receive
for his work,-he knew that all questions con-

"Now," says Teddy.
Well! At twelve-thirty, sharp, report to Jim-
mie Grady, the driver-boss, at the foot."
Teddy gave his name and then seated himself on
an upturned mine-car to await the coming of half-
past twelve, when the "noon-spell" would be over
and work resumed.

(To be conti/-i,. )

"-~I ~ JLa -

I*.* i'



WE all are naughty, cross, or dull,
Sometimes; so hear the cure, dear!
Cast o'er your face a pleasant grace,-
It will work its way in, sure, dear.
For if you think it best to pout
And wear a surly air, dear,
That will not let bad temper out
Nor evil thoughts repair, dear.






"EZRA COHEN" was the name inscribed above
the window of a certain pawnbroker's shop, just
out of the district of Holborn, London.
One morning, when Mr. Cohen was busy with a
customer who had come "to borrow a small sum of
money on the security of two plated stoppers and
three tea-spoons,".a gentleman came into the shop
and asked to be allowed to look at some silver
clasps that were on view in the window. Mr.
Cohen, being engaged, first called his mother to his
assistance; but then "two new customers entered,
and the repeated call 'Addy!' brought from the
back of the shop a group that the gentleman turned
frankly to stare at, feeling sure that the stare would
be held complimentary.
"The group consisted of a black-eyed young
woman who carried a black-eyed little one, its head
already well covered with black curls, and de-
posited it on the counter, from which station it
looked round with even more than the usual intelli-
gence of babies; also a robust boy of six, and a
younger girl, both with black eyes and black-
ringed hair. The young woman answer-
ing to Addy looked like a sort of paroquet in a
bright blue dress, with coral necklace and ear-rings,
her hair set up in a huge bush. The boy
had run forward into the shop, with an energetic
stamp, and setting himself about four feet from
the gentleman, with his hands in the pockets of his
miniature knickerbockers, looked at him," as if to
see what he was like.
What is your name, sirrah ?' said the gentle-
man, patting his head.
Jacob Alexander Cohen,' said the small man,
with much ease and distinctness.
'You are not named after your father, then ?'
No; after my grandfather. He sells knives
and razors and scissors-my grandfather does,'
said Jacob, wishing to impress the stranger. .
'He gave me this knife.' Here a pocket-knife
was drawn forth, and the small fingers, both
naturally and artificially dark, opened two blades
and a corkscrew, with much quickness.
'Is not that a dangerous plaything?' said the
gentleman, turning to the grandmother.
"' He '11 never hurt himself, bless you !' said
she, contemplating her grandson with placid
VOL. XV.-24. 31

"' Have you got a knife ?' says Jacob, coming
'Yes. Do you want to see it ? said the gen-
tleman, taking a small penknife from his waistcoat-
"Jacob seized it immediately and retreated a
little, holding the two knives in his palms and
looking at them thoughtfully. By this time the
other clients were gone, and the whole family had
gathered to the spot, centering their attention on
the marvelous Jacob: the father, mother, and
grandmother behind the counter, with baby held
staggering thereon, and the little girl in front,
leaning at her brother's elbow, to assist him in
looking at the knives.
Mine 's the best,' said Jacob, at last, returning
the other knife," as if he had been thinking of ex-
changing, but had decided not to do so.
"Father and mother laughed aloud with de-
light. 'You won't find Jacob choosing the worst,'
said Mr. Cohen, winking," as if sure the gentle-
man must admire his little son's sharpness.
After this, Mr. Cohen and his customer re-
turned to their business matters, which had been
interrupted, and Jacob heard the gentleman pro-
pose to return in the evening to complete the ar-
rangement they were making.
'Well, you know, this evening is the Sabbath,
young gentleman,' said Cohen, 'and I go to the
School. The shop will be closed. But accommo-
dation is a work of charity; if you can't get here
before and are any ways pressed- .
I could be here by five will that do ?'"
As Mr. Cohen assented, Jacob, who had been
eagerly listening, said :
"'You are coming again. Have you got any
more knives at home?'
"' I think I have one,' said the gentleman smil-
ing down at him.
Has it two blades and a hook and a white
handle like that?' said Jacob, pointing to the
I dare say it has.'
"' Do you like a corkscrew ?' said Jacob, exhib-
iting that article in his own knife again, and look-
ing up with serious inquiry.
'Yes,' said the gentleman.
Bring your knife, then, and we '11 shwop,' said


Jacob, returning the knife to his pocket, and stamp-
ing about," as if satisfied with the bargain.
The gentleman now turned to the little girl, and
caressingly lifting her, he "seated her on the
counter, and asked for her name also. She looked
at him in silence, and put her fingers to her gold
ear-rings, which he did not seem to have noticed.
'Adelaide Rebekah is her name,' said her
mother, proudly. 'Speak to the gentleman, lovey.'
'Shlav'm Shabbes fyock on,' said Adelaide
'Her Sabbath frock, she means,' said her father
in explanation. She '11 have her Sabbath frock
on, this evening.'
And will you let me see you in it, Adelaide?'
said the gentleman.
Say yes, lovey- yes, if you please, sir,' said
her mother, enchanted with this handsome young
gentleman, who appreciated remarkable children."
When the gentleman "arrived, at five o'clock"
that evening, "the shop was closed, and the door
was opened to him by the servant. When she
showed him into the room behind the shop, he was
surprised at the prettiness of the scene.
This room "was agreeably lit by a fine old brass
lamp, with seven oil-lights, hanging above the
snow-white cloth spread on the central table. .
The grandmother was arrayed in yellowish brown,
with a large gold chain. Young Mrs.
Cohen was clad in red and black, with a string of
large artificial pearls wound round and round her
neck the baby lay asleep in the cradle, under a
scarlet counterpane; Adelaide Rebekah was in
braided amber; and Jacob Alexander was in
black velveteen, with scarlet stockings."
He greeted the gentleman with pressing inqui-
ries about the knife, which was promptly produced.
Is that the sort of thing you want, Jacob ?' "
he said.
Jacob looked at it carefully, examining the hook
and blades, and drawing forth his own knife to
compare them.
Why do you like a hook better than a cork-
screw?' asked the gentleman.
''Caush I can get hold of things with a hook.
A corkscrew won't go into anything but corks.
But it's better for you- you can draw corks.'
You agree to change, then ?'" said the gen-
"'What else have you got in your pockets?'
said Jacob, thoughtfully.

Hush, hush, Jacob, love! said the grand-
mother," while the gentleman replied:
I think I must not tell you that. Our busi-
ness was with the knives.' "
Jacob looked up at him doubtfully, for a moment
or two, and then seemed to make up his mind, and
said gravely: 'I '11 shwop.'" And he handed
the corkscrew knife to the gentleman, who put it
in his pocket.
A moment later Mr. Cohen entered the room,
and Jacob immediately seized a little velveteen
hat which lay on a chair and put it on, to approach
his father.
Mr. Cohen kept on his own hat, and took no
notice of the visitor, but stood still while the two
children went up to him and clasped his knees:
then he laid his hands on each in turn and uttered
his Hebrew benediction; whereupon the wife, who
had lately taken baby from the cradle, brought it
up to her husband, and held it under his out-
stretched hands, to be blessed in its sleep."
Soon after this the family sat down to the table,
the gentleman joining them, and watching, with
much interest, the Hebrew ceremonials practiced
at the meal. Mr. Cohen washed his hands, pro-
nouncing Hebrew words the while: afterward he
took off the napkin covering the dish and showed
the two long flat loaves besprinkled with seed,-
the memorial of the manna that fed their wander-
ing forefathers,- and breaking off small pieces,
gave one to each of the family, including Adelaide
Rebekah, who stood on the chair." Mr. "Cohen
then began another Hebrew blessing, in which
Jacob put on his hat to join with close imitation.
After that, the heads were uncovered .
and the meal proceeded without any peculiarity."
This was by no means the last visit the gentle-
man paid to the room behind the shop, and the
children became quite used to seeing him. Jacob
would call out "'Here 's the young swell'" when
he saw him coming, imitating words he had heard
his father use, and the gentleman remembered the
family so kindly that, after a while, when he was
married, they were all invited to the wedding
breakfast, where "Jacob ate beyond his years,
and contributed several small whinnying laughs as
a free accompaniment to his father's speech, not
irreverently, but from a lively sense that his family
was distinguishing itself; while Adelaide Rebekah,
in a new Sabbath frock, maintained throughout a
grave air of responsibility."




LE .:,r r? L

4.-- %- r. -7 -0

-~ : *- -

C) I
-I .O. / .:. -
N /


-\ N;~

II I -9\

I s


'" _



IN no history that I have been able to find, and
in no popular book of reference that I have seen,
after a great deal of searching, is there any account
of the fact that in the year 1859 a pig almost
plunged us into a war with Great Britain. All the
books mention the excitement, but only as a part
of another matter. Yet, when I was in the beauti-
ful, rose-garnished English city of Victoria, on
Vancouver Island, close to the Pacific coast of
Washington Territory, I found many English sub-
jects who had a great deal to say about that pig,
and about the mischief caused by it. Our country
was then on the eve of a war the most awful in all
history, and this comparatively slight' incident
made but little impression upon our people, all

wrought up, as they were, over the great questions
which turned upon the issue of that terrible con-
flict. It was very different with the people of Victoria
and the great island of Vancouver. Theirs was
then, and has since been, a peaceful existence, and
the shock and excitement caused when one of
their pigs all but brought war to their doors made
a deep impression on their minds.
There had been a great deal of trouble over that
extreme north-western corner of our country. It
was not definitely known until fifteen years ago
where our territory ended and British soil began.
The greater part of the corner now forming the
State of Oregon and Washington Territory, and so
highly prized by us, was claimed, at different times,

_ I_


by Russia, by Spain, and by Great Britain. First
Russia withdrew, and then, after Spain and Eng-
land, in 1787, had almost come to blows over it,
Spain gave up her claim. This left England to
dispute the ownership with us; and forty years ago
the dispute waxed so hot that a political party in
this country favored going to war over it.
Fifty-four, forty,-or fight! was the watch-
word of this party, which was led by the great
Stephen A. Douglas. By "54-40" was meant
the parallel of latitude, 540 40',-so that this
party of Americans claimed the land all the way to
the southern end of Alaska. James K. Polk was
our President during the heat of this excitement,
in 1845. The more temperate of our statesmen
advised fixing upon latitude 49 for our northern
boundary; and in 1846 Great Britain agreed, and
it is our present boundary line. But the Pacific
coast, just at that corner of our country, is ragged,
and little islands are thickly dotted along the
shore'. Between two groups of these islands run
two narrow straits of water,- one called the Canal
de Haro, and the other the Rosario Strait. Be-
tween the two is San Juan Island. It commands
both water-ways, and hence it would be of great
value to either country that owned it, in case the
two nations should ever quarrel. The text of the
agreement between the two countries reads that
the boundary at this corner should be "the middle
of the channel," without saying which channel.
From 1846 to 1859, therefore, the dispute con-
tinued, though without the excitement there had
been when there was doubt about the main-land.
The two channels lead for the British to the
Pacific coast of Canada, and for us, to Alaska.
One channel, the Canal de Haro, is straighter
and broader than the other and deep enough for
the largest war-ships. It washes the western shore
of San Juan Island, a little green eminence fifteen
miles long and, in the broadest part, seven miles
wide. Although larger than Manhattan Island,
upon which New York City stands, only five hun-
dred people live upon it. The northern part is
broken up into high hills, while the southern end
is covered with lovely pasture-land. Coal and
limestone are found in the hills, and off the
shore there is splendid fishing for cod, halibut,
and salmon. But it is on account of its fortress-
like position on the main channel and command-
ing both water-ways to Canada and Alaska that it
is most highly prized.
A man named Hubbs, who was pasturing sheep
on the southern end of the island of San Juan,
had for a neighbor, on the north end, a man
named Griffiths. This Griffiths was employed to
raise pigs for the Hudson's Bay Company, that
old and famous institution which has existed for

two hundred and fifty years, and has been main-
tained by brave and hardy men solely for the pur-
pose of trading with the Indians; giving them
money, blankets, food, guns and ammunition, in
return for the skins of wild animals. The pigs be-
longing to this company overran the island and
caused Mr. Hubbs a great deal of trouble; so
one day, in a moment of anger, he warned his
neighbor Griffiths that if another pig came upon
his land he would kill it. The very next day a
pig did trespass there. It is altogether a pity
that there is no record of its age, size, or color, or
of whether it had a name; or, in short, of anything
about it, except that it went on Hubbs's ground
- on that part where he was growing a few vege-
tables which the pigs kept by his neighbor had
already damaged. If any one had dreamed what
an important pig this was, all the facts would per-
haps have been written down.
Mr. Hubbs kept his word and killed the pig.
Griffiths was then as angry as Hubbs had been,
and immediately sailed over to Victoria,- the
busy little city on Vancouver Island, where the
officers of the Government, the soldiers, and the
ships-of-war had their headquarters, -and ob-
tained a warrant (or order issued by a court of
law) for Hubbs's arrest. A warrant-server, or
constable, went to arrest Hubbs, and to take him
to Victoria for trial upon the charge of killing
the pig. But Hubbs refused to go with him. He
said he was an American citizen, and that there-
fore an English warrant was nothing to him.
The constable departed, and Hubbs, well knowing
the officer would come back and try to force him
to go to Victoria, sent over to Port Townsend, in
Washington Territory, for American protection.
That part of our country was called by our War
Department The Puget Sound District," and
was then in command of Brigadier-General Will-
iam S. Harney. He is still alive, and has his
home in St. Louis, where he is greatly admired
and respected, as the oldest officer in our army.
Lieutenant-Colonel Casey, then in command of
the Ninth Regiment of infantry, but now dead,
was at Port Townsend, and General Harney sent
him with a company of soldiers to encamp on the
island and see to it that the English did not mo-
lest our fellow-citizen, Mr. Hubbs.
But, while our soldiers were setting up their
tents on this green knoll in the great Pacific, there
was the wildest excitement in Victoria. The gov-
ernor of Vancouver Island was Sir James Douglas,
a nobleman by nature as well as by title; and the
English ships-of-war, harbored in a little bay near
Victoria, were commanded by Rear-Admiral James
C. Prevost. The admiral was very angry when
he heard of the occupation of the island by the



soldiers of the United States. What he said has
not been written down, but it is remembered, by
those who heard him, that he threatened to take
his great war-ships and blow the Yankees off the
island." He moved his war-ships over to one of the
harbors of the island. His business was fighting,
and his first thought was to do what might have
begun a bloody and terrible war. Sir James Doug-

U .


Americans supported their countryman, and the
English approved of what the Englishman had
done; so, atleast along the coast, both sides wished
to fight. As is so often the case, the soldiers were
the least excited. The officers and men in our
camp became well acquainted with the members
of the English force, and the soldiers of the two
camps not only visited one another, but actually

. .. -- '.'" B ; : -
"- I I -*-i '^ ^~ f"1^ ^ "


,.' I ,r ;. I

S .. _

,0 -

.... I" {I.' "


~;*~'I .41ja I J



' '



las, the governor, was more temperate; he pacified
the admiral, but he thought it wise to send some
British troops over to the island -not to fight the
Americans, but to let them understand that the
English meant to claim San Juan as their prop-
erty. Captain Delacombe, of the Royal Engineers,
was sent with a company of English soldiers, and
their tents were pitched on the northern end of
the island.
For five years that little island was occupied by
soldiers of the two mighty nations. Each camp
displayed the flag of its country on a high staff over
the tents,-the Stars and Stripes fluttering over
the pastures at one end, and the red banner of
Great Britain among the hills at the other, only a
few miles away. On either shore the people were
greatly excited, and many on both sides favored
war. They were no more temperate than the
American, Hubbs, had been when he killed the
pig, or than the Englishman, Griffiths, was when
he tried to secure his neighbor's arrest. The

relieved the monotony of life in that lonely place
by giving dinners and parties, when the men of
one camp would entertain friends from the other.
News of what had occurred was dispatched to
Washington and London; and General Winfield
Scott was sent posthaste, by way of Panama, to the
scene. In the mean time all our available military
force on that coast had been sent to San Juan.
General Scott withdrew all our soldiers, except
one company and induced Sir James Douglas to
leave only one company of British soldiers on the
northern end of the island. This arrangement
was called a joint military occupation." It was
decided to leave to arbitration the vexed question of
which channel was the boundary, and both coun-
tries agreed that each should present arguments in
favor of what it believed to be just. Our Govern-
ment wished the middle of the Canal de Haro to
be the border line, because we claimed that it
was the true ship-channel; but to this the Brit-
ish had never been willing to agree, since that

'. ... ':: ' ^ -: '!"
--,i 'Lr', *' I ,, ,

/ r \ ,' *k .
S ,,. /, i ."
'> I r i
.... I1I ,

/ It'

I i' l

^^ .- ,- .i / ^/
/ i " "j .I

I: "


boundary would give San Juan to our country,
and with that island went the control of the
gate-way to the English possessions. They wished
the boundary to be drawn along the middle
of the Rosario Strait, leaving them San Juan, so
that they could use the broader canal for their mer-
chant vessels and ships-of-war, which could thereby
sail in perfect safety to British Columbia or to our
own Alaska, since both the San Juan side and the
Vancouver side of the canal would then be English
territory. When all the papers had been made
ready (and the English admit that the American
papers and arguments were far better prepared than
theirs), it was decided to give them to the Emperor
of Germany, and to ask him if he would not decide
where the boundary should be.
Of course, the Emperor of Germany did not
actually do this, personally; but he handed the
papers to Herr Grimm, the vice-president of the
Supreme Court of Germany, Judge Goldschmidt,
of the German Tribunal of Commerce, and Dr.
Kiepert, a great geographical authority of Berlin.
They made their report to the Emperor, and, on
October 23, 1872, the Emperor rendered his deci-
sion in writing, and gave a copy to Mr. Bancroft,

for this country, and to Lord Odo Russell,. for Eng-
land. He decided that the American claim was just,
and that the middle of the Canal de Haro should
be the boundary. One month later, the British
cut down their flag-staff and left the island. It was
a great disappointment to the people of Canada and
of Vancouver Island, for it gave to the United States
the important little island of San Juan, and the com-
manding position on the marine highway leading
to the Pacific coast of England's American posses-
sions, and thus our country secured a greater gain
than many bloody wars have brought to fighting
Time makes many changes, but it has not de-
creased the importance of that little island; for
Vancouver Island has ceased to be a province
and become a part of British Columbia. San
Juan, therefore, lies in the water-way between
British Columbia and its principal port, Victoria.
So, although the pig was merely in search of
something to eat (as pigs are, most of their time),
and although Mr. Hubbs desired only to save him-
self from the consequence of an angry act, America
well may be grateful to both-especially to the
pig, for he lost his life for his country.



A WORKMAN plied his clumsy spade
As the sun was going down;
SThe German King, with a cavalcade,
On his way to Berlin town,

Reined up his steed at the old man's side.
"'My toiling friend," said he,
"Why not cease work at eventide
When the laborer should be free ?'

"I do not slave," the old man said;
"And I am always free;

Though I work from the time I leave my bed
Till I can hardly see."

'How much," said the King, "is thy gaining a day ?"
"Eight groschen,"* the man replied.
"And thou canst live on this meager pay?"
"Like a king," he said with pride.

"Two groschen for me and my wife, good friend,
And two for a debt I owe;
Two groschen to lend, and two to spend,
For those who can't labor, you know."

*A groschen is a German silver coin, worth about two cents.


"Thy debt? said the King; said the toiler, "Yea,
To my mother with age oppressed,
Who cared for me, toiled for me, many a day,
And now hath need of rest."

Tears welled up to the good King's eyes.
Thou knowest me not," said he;
"As thou hast given me one surprise,
Here is another for thee.

---- -4 ,~~
~h: 's



L:~-~L~i; ( 111

" To whom dost lend of thy daily store ? "
"To my boys for their schooling; you see,
When I am too feeble to toil any more,
They will care for their mother and me."

" And thy last two groschen ? the monarch said.
My sisters are old and lame;
I give them two groschen for raiment and bread,
All in the Father's name."



II:. *... 'CQ'

a ; i

"I am thy King; give me thy hand,"-
And he heaped it high with gold-
"When more thou needest, I command
That I at once be told.

"For I would bless with rich reward
The man who can proudly say
That eight souls doth he keep and guard
On eight poor groschen a day."

Sr : '- ~ _:

{~- j'-~k




"i .
--. _- L _




ONCE, in the long ago, before the white man
had heard of the continent on which we live, red
men, who were brave and knew not what fear was
in battle, trembled at the mention of a great man-
eating bird that had lived before the time told of
in the traditions known of their oldest chiefs.
This bird which, according to the Indian legends,
ate men, was known as the PIASAU.
The favorite haunt of this terrible bird was
a bluff on the Mississippi River, a short distance
above the site of the present city of Alton, Illinois.
There it was said to lie in wait, and to keep watch

over the broad, open prairies. Whenever some
rash Indian ventured out alone to hunt upon this
fatal ground, he became the monster's prey. The
legend says that the bird, swooping down with the
fierce swiftness of a hawk, seized upon its vic-
tim and bore him to, a gloomy cave wherein
it made its horrid feasts. The monster must have
had an insatiable appetite or a prolonged existence,
for tradition declares that it depopulated whole
villages. Then it was that the wise men began to
see visions and to prophesy the speedy extinction
of the tribe. Years of its ravages followed one


upon another, until at length, according to the
legend, was lost all reckoning of the time when
first that strange, foul creature came to scourge
their sunny plains. Years before had died the last
of the wise men whose fathers once had hunted
the mastodon, or chased the ostrich-like diornis,
where now the grandsons followed the bison and
the deer. The aged men, whose youth was but a
dim memory, could say only that the bird was as it
had always been. None like it had ever been
heard of save in vague traditions carried from the
far Darien Isthmus. There, the legends ran, near
Dobayba, a wild hurricane had once brought a
bird-fiend that plagued their coast for many weary
moon, until a wise man caught it in a snare. But
no snare could save the men of the Illinois tribe,
the "Illini"-they were doomed! Nets, arrows,
stratagems planned by the most cunning warriors,
alike had failed. Still the bird preyed upon them.
There was one, Onatoga, who began to ponder.
Now, Onatoga was the great leader of the Illini;
one whose name was spoken with awe even in
the distant wigwams north of the Great Lake.
Long had he grieved and wondered over the will
of the Great Spirit; that he should look upon the
men of the Western prairies, not as warriors, but as


Stealing away from his tribe in the night, he
plunged far into the trackless forest. Then, black-
ening his face, for a whole moon he fasted. The
moon waxed full and then waned; but no vision
came to assure him that the Great Spirit had heard
his prayers. Only one more night remained.
Wearied and sorrow-worn, he closed his eyes.
But, through the deep sleep that fell upon him,
came the voice of the Great Spirit. And this is
the message that came to Onatoga, as he lay
sleeping in body but, in his soul, awake:
Arise, Chief of the Illini! Thou shalt save
thy race. Choose thou twenty of thy warriors;
noble-hearted, strong-armed, eagle-eyed. Put in
each warrior's hand a bow. Give to each an
arrow dipped in the venom of the snake. Seek
then the man whose heart loveth the Great Spirit.
Let him not fear to look the Piasau in the face;
but see that the warriors, with ready bows, stand
near in the shadow of the trees."
Onatoga awoke; strong, though he had fasted
a month; happy, though he knew he was soon
to die! Who, but he, the Great Chief of the
Illini, should die for his people -for was it not
death to look on the face of the Piasau ?
Binding his moccasins firmly upon his feet, he


deer or bison, only fit to fill the maw of so pesti-
lent a thing as this monstrous bird! Before the
new moon began to grow upon the face of the sky,
Onatoga's resolve was taken. He would go to
some spot deep in the forest where by fasting and
prayer his spirit would become so pure that the
Great Master of Life would hear him and once
again be kind and turn His face back, in light,
upon the Illini.

washed the marks of grief from his face, and painted
it with the brightest vermilion and blue. Thus, in
the splendid colors of a triumphant warrior, he re-
turned homeward. All was silent in the village
when, in the gray light of early day, he entered
his lodge. Soon the joyful news was known. From
lodge to lodge it spread until the last wigwam was
reached. Onatoga's quest was successful!
Then the warriors began to gather. Furtively,

even in their gladness, they sought his lodge, for Great were the rejoicings that followed and rich
the fear of the Piasau was over all. A solemn awe were the feasts that were held in honor of Onatoga.
fell upon them as they gathered around the chief, The Illini resolved that the story of the great
who, it was whispered, had heard the voice of the deliverance and of the courageous love of Onatoga
Great Spirit. Without, on that high
bluff, they knew that the fiend-bird -- -
crouched, waiting for the morning
light to reveal its prey. Within, in .
sorrowing silence, they heard how the
people could be saved; but the hearts
of the warriors were heavy. All knew
the sacrifice demanded their brav-
est and their best! I ]
Onatoga chose this twenty warriors
and appointed them their place, where
the rolling prairie was broken by the
edge of the forest. Then, when the
sun shot its first long shafts of light
across the level grasses, the chief
walked slowly forth and stood alone
upon the prairie. The world in the
morning light was beautiful to Ona-
toga's eyes. The flowers beneath his
feet seemed to smile, and poured forth
richest perfumes; the, sun was glori-
ous in its golden breast-plate, to do q ;
him honor; while the lark and the
mock-bird sang his praise in joyous
songs. Iil
He had not long to wait. Soon,
afar off, the dreaded Piasau was seen
moving heavily through the clear l .
morning air. Onatoga, drawing himself
to the full measure of his lofty height,
raised his death-song. The dull flut-
ter of huge wings came nearer, and a
great shadow came rushing over the
sunlit fields. Onatoga, never ceas- _
ing his chant, faced the Piasau fear- "CUNNING CARVERS CUT DEEP INTO THE ROCK TE FORM OF THE PIASAU."
lessly. A sudden fierce swoop down-
ward! In that very moment, twenty poisoned should not die, though they themselves should
arrows, loosed by twenty faithful hands, sped true pass away. The cunning carvers of the tribe cut
to their aim. With a scream that the bluffs sent deep into the living rock of the bluff the terrible
rolling back in sharp and deafening echoes, the form of the Piasau. And, in later years, when
foul monster dropped dead 1 The Great Spirit young children asked the meaning of this great
loved the man who had been willing to sacrifice his figure, so unlike any of the birds that they knew
life for his people. In the very instant when death upon their rivers and their prairies, then the
seemed sure, he covered the heart of Onatoga fathers would tell them the story of the Piasau, and
with a shield; and he suffered not the wind to how the Great Spirit had found, in Onatoga, a
blow aside a single arrow from its mark,-the warrior who loved his fellow-men better than he
body of the fated Piasau. loved his own life.




WHEN the library door closed behind Edward
Dane, it seemed for a moment to Harry Wylie
that he had not a friend left in the world; and he
stood before the principal and General Long with
somewhat of the same feeling in his heart that
must have stirred the blood of a Saxon captive in
the Roman amphitheater when first he stepped
into the arena and found himself confronted with
savage beasts from the imperial menagerie, or with
still more savage men. Not that, in reality, either
of the gentlemen was in character anything like
the above-mentioned creatures; but the school-
boy mind invests authority with strange terrors,
and it was no rebellious feeling that threw back
Harry's head and brought the glitter to his eye. It
was the bracing of his strength to face the music;
the idea that he was cornered and at bay--not
a correct rendering of the situation, by any means;
but still a natural one. For half a minute there
was a pause, a silence broken only by the sharp
crackle of the fire, that cast a ruddy glow upon the
Wylie," said the General, sternly, did I not
order you to report yourself here under arrest? "
Yes, sir," answered the culprit straightfor-
"Why, then, did you not do so ?"
"I was making up lost lessons, sir. Since I
have been ill I do not seem to remember things
very well--" and pausing, he drew his hand
across his eyes with a perplexed and troubled ges-
ture, that struck both men as singular. I was
reading Caesar, and the time slipped by until I for-
got it entirely."
Forgot that you were under arrest! cried the
To his martial mind the idea was quite incred-
ible, and the doubt was plainly written on his
Sergeant Dane will testify to my surprise, sir,"
and a bright red spot appeared in the boy's cheeks.
It is not necessary, Sergeant Wylie," said the
principal, quietly. "We have no doubt that it
was as you say. You have been quite ill, I
believe ?"
"Yes, sir; and Harry gave a grateful glance

in answer to the tone, losing not a little of his de-
fiant bearing.
"Since you are now here, we will say no more
about that," said the General, more mildly. "You
were ordered under arrest for mutinous conversa-
tion while on duty. If you have any adequate
explanation to offer, we will now hear it."
"I was not on duty, sir," said Harry, respect-
"No? What were you doing there, then?"
and the General bit his lip, feeling that perhaps
he had been too hasty after all.
I was advised by the surgeon to take a short
walk, sir, and did so. I went to the drill-hall
from force of habit. I admit that what I said was
not quite right or wise perhaps; but, as I was
merely a spectator and not on duty, I consid-
ered myself free to express what I thought, even
though it might be indiscreet," said Harry, can-
didly. Here is the Surgeon's certificate," he
added, presenting a folded paper.
The General took the paper, and mechanically
opened it. The principal was smiling to himself,
and remarked, after a pause:
If you had explained that, Wylie, when you
were ordered under arrest, there would have been
no further trouble."
For a brief moment Harry was greatly tempted
to explain then and there why he had not done
so. But it was evident that he had won his case
already, and further pursuit would be mere re-
venge, which was not in accordance with his sense
of honor; hence, after saying only, I suppose
so, sir," he remained silent.
But the General had no idea of allowing the
affair to be dropped in a stage of incomplete
development, and spoke out frankly :
I was at fault there, Wylie, in being too hasty
to listen to you; and for that I owe you an
apology-I beg your pardon."
If the ceiling had fallen, Harry could not have
been more astonished. That stern martinet, the
General, had begged his pardon The idea was
so novel that he wanted to laugh, and he was so
thrown off his guard that he could only stammer
out something to the effect that it was of no con-
sequence "; but a glow of satisfaction crept over
him, and perhaps neither pupil nor preceptor ever

had a more thorough respect for one another than
Harry and the General had at that moment.
"Sit down, Sergeant," said the principal, kindly.
" I understand that you have serious objections to
the drill as it is now conducted. As no human
institution is perfect, I shall be glad to hear in
what respect this does not come up to your ideal.
Perhaps it may be that we can convince you that
it is better than you think."
Wonders would never cease! He, the mutineer
who had been conducted to headquarters by a
sergeant with the relief detail, was invited to sit
down and to informally explain his views! For a
moment he had nothing to say; it would have been
more in accordance with his expectations had he
now been on the way to the guard-house under a
week's sentence. He was quivering in every limb
with excitement, and could scarcely control himself
sufficiently to speak. In a moment, however, he
straightened up and began:
It is n't to the drill, in itself, that I object,
sir. It is to the muskets, for one thing, and to
the lack of exercise for another. The guns are
too heavy for the smaller boys; they can not hold
them steady, and they shake all about, which
counts as a demerit. Then,"- he paused a mo-
ment, and again drew his hand across his eyes
with the same perplexed gesture,-" when I came
here, two years ago, I was an active, muscular boy,
for one of my age. I did not have a superior in
the class, in any sport; and in my studies, I think
the books will show that I ranked fairly well."
"Eighty-eight per cent.," remarked the princi-
pal, in a matter-of-fact tone.
Just so, sir; and the highest is not much over
ninety. I have n't lost much from my studies; but
it is harder to study now than then. I forget things,
little things which I used to have at my fingers'
ends. Then I was athletic; to-day I am -sick.
Why, I do not know; but there must be a reason
for it somewhere."
"But where does the drill come in, in the
present case ?" asked the General, a little impa-
tiently. For I am sure you can not lay your
illness to that."
"Yes, sir, I can-and I do," said Harry, flatly.
"The time occupied in drill should have been
spent in useful exercise, instead of in walking
around the drill-hall carrying a weight."
The General looked at the principal with a dis-
gusted air, as though to intimate that he had heard
enough of such inconsequential discussion; but
the principal did not seem to take the hint. He
looked steadily into the fire, with an abstracted air,
as if thinking it over.
How did you come to know so much about
hygiene, Wylie? he asked, suddenly.

"My brother Tom taught me, sir," answered
Harry, his eye brightening at the recollection.
"He was quite an athlete, and believed that every
boy ought to educate his body as highly as he
did his mind, since if he neglected the muscles
he could not use his brain to the best advantage in
after life. The old Greeks thought so, and he
believed in them; so he taught me a great deal at
one time or another; and then I am seventeen,
and think for myself sometimes," he added, with
a touch of boyish pride. I don't say a word
against the drill in other respects, sir," he vent-
ured to add. I know all the arguments that
are used in its favor as a lesson in discipline, for I
have read up the subject during the last vacation.
In that respect I believe in drill as thoroughly as does
the General. It is only because it does not com-
bine proper exercise with its discipline that I object
to it in its present shape; for not only is it not
beneficial itself, but it takes up time that might be
used more profitably. Then again, I have drilled
two years now. When I came here, my figure
was straight and symmetrical. Now, when I look
in the glass, I see that one shoulder is lower than
the other, pulled down by the musket's weight;
and I feel one-sided, generally. A third of the
other boys are in the same condition. Ask the tailor
who fits the uniforms if he does not have to pad
one shoulder more than he does the other, in order
to make them 'square.' "
Is that so ?" asked the principal, startled. "I
had not observed it. You seem to have unusual
powers of observation, Wylie."
Harry colored with pleasure. He was a little
proud of his eye-sight, and he had formerly
boasted that he saw everything, but his brother
had laughed him out of this as a bit of juvenile
You are sure that you are not exaggerating in
regard to the shoulders, Sergeant? That is a mat-
ter of considerable importance."
The principal looked serious; while the General
tugged at his mustache, seemed about to speak,
and then, as if thinking better of it, relapsed into
No, sir," said Harry, firmly; "I think that fully
one-third of the second class will be found to be as
I say."
Let us hear what Mr. Garrett has to say about
it, and see if his opinion is the same as yours,"-
and the principal touched a knob.
For convenience, he had caused his study to be
connected by wire with the school tailor-shop, that
he might always have a repairer on call."
Mr. Garrett soon appeared with his measuring-
tape still around his shoulders, and, on being ques-
tioned, declared that one-third was a low estimate.




" I should say that fully half the second-year boys
are similarly affected."
When the tailor had gone, there was silence in
the room for some minutes. The General had
nothing to say; the principal was deep in thought;
and Harry, who had been more excited than, con-
sidering his recent illness, was altogether good for
him, felt very light-headed and dizzy, and grasped
his chair to make sure that it was not whirling
about the room with the rest of the apparently
hilarious furniture.
"How did you acquire your fine physique,
Wylie ? the principal asked, suddenly.
By hunting and fishing, sir," said Harry, rous-

that you would not be willing to take half of that
time for gymnasium work ? and Harry was as-
tounded at his own hardihood in suggesting the
Certainly not," said the General, severely.
"Well," said the principal, rising, I shall give
you a week's vacation, Wylie."
The General stared.
"You mean, I suppose, that I am suspended
for that period," said Harry, smiling faintly. He
had expected a severer punishment, although sus-
pension in itself entailed sufficiently objectionable
"No. I mean to give you a real vacation. You


ing himself. "Then, too, I was fond of archery and
practised a great deal."
Bow and arrows! sniffed the General, with a
little sarcastic laugh. "What we need is a good
gymnasium, and there is plenty of room for it in
one end of the drill-hall."
Why are you smiling, sir? he asked, sharply,
as Harry failed t6 conceal a feeling of amusement,
for he was reminded of what the Dutch cornet-
player said when the bandmaster kept telling
him to blow harder, "But vere is der vind ter
gome from ?" -
We spend two hours daily in drill. I suppose

are overworked and need rest. I shall send you
out to Farmer Brown's, and you are not to look at
a book while you are there."
"But what about my class and rank, sir? "
asked poor Harry, with his head in a whirl, and
even yet hardly comprehending.
"I do the ranking," said the principal, signifi-
cantly. "I shall expect a full report of all that
you do, however, that I may judge whether your
memory is improved."
Harry got upon his feet somehow, and made a
military salute. The General seemed to be execut-
ing a war-dance around him, the chairs and tables

to be performing a hornpipe; and he was amazed
to see the principal, the chairs, the tables, and the
General suddenly begin to chase the squirrel around
the room. Then the floor flew up and struck him
with a loud crash. When he came to his senses
again, he was lying on the lounge, with his collar
unbuttoned, the window open, his hair dripping
with water, and Dane and the principal bending
over him anxiously, while the General held a basin
and sponge. The floor, chairs, and tables had
returned to their normal immobility and there was
no evidence of their late unseemly conduct.


How quickly a vacation can pass has never yet
been satisfactorily determined. Whether it is a
week or a month, at the end it rarely seems in
retrospect to have been of more than a day's dura-
tion. But when his leave was up, and Harry
Wylie jumped from the wagon that brought him
back, his long-bow in one hand and a fuzzy
bundle swinging from the other, his face was many
shades browner than-when he went away; there
was a healthy light in his eye, and a spring in his
walk; and he had left friends behind him where
there had been strangers. Farmer Brown had
shaken hands in a reluctant farewell when Harry
had come to say good-bye. Even Aminadab Doo-
little, the hired man, had pressed upon him a remem-
brance from his scanty store of treasures, com-
pelling him to accept an old fife, a relic of army
days, in the use of which the boy was quite expert.
That same evening, Edward Dane rushed out
of the hall door and seized the returned hunter by
the hand, bow and all, with an odd quiver of
suppressed excitement in his grasp.
Come up to my study, old man I've a jolly
fire there, and when you get through with your
side, I '11 tell you a tale that will beat all your
adventures out of sight. We are right on the
eve of a mutiny "
"On the eve of a mutiny! repeated Harry,
stopping short, but still holding his friend's hand.
"Dane, are you-sane?"
"Never saner; but come up and I '11 tell you
all about it. What's that in your hand? Par-
tridges, as I 'm alive "
"Right, old fellow! We '11 have a partridge
stew with baked potatoes for breakfast, if I can get
the cook to make it. I must go and report myself,
but I shall be back right away. Look after my
traps, please"; and away went Harry toward
"headquarters on a run.
The principal was glad to see him, and ques-
tioned him in regard to his week's adventures at
some length, but presently said:

"I see you have already heard of the state of
affairs at the Institute and are impatient to hear
more, so I will not detain you longer; I shall
look to you, Wylie, for support, as far as your
influence allows, since you are in part responsible
for it. You will find a document upon your
table "; and there was a queer twinkle in his eye
as he noticed the boy's bewilderment.
What on earth has happened ? Harry said to
himself. What was it that he was responsible
for, and what was the document the principal had
referred to ? That last question, however, was sus-
ceptible of speedy solution, which made him eager
to get away; so he laid two of his grouse upon the
table, with the request that the principal would
accept them as part of the report, and edged out
before the astonished preceptor could utter a word
of thanks.
Dashing upstairs, three steps at a time, he
rushed into his room, and felt around upon the
table till his hand touched a long envelope; then,
thanking his stars that it was Friday, and there
were no lessons ahead, he hastened to Dane's
"Now, then, Ed, speak quickly, and tell me all
about it."
"It 's broomsticks, Harry said Ed, solemnly.
"That's what it is! Broomsticks! Steady,"-as
Harry made a gesture of impatience,-" I'm com-
ing to it as fast as possible. You remember the
factory across the lake? well, two days ago, a big,
four-horse team came from that factory, loaded to
the muzzle with broom-handles. They were left
at the armory; and four hours afterward, every
blessed musket in the racks was boxed up and sent
to the railway station, marked for some town out
West. When the boys went in to drill, instead of
the guns they were given those broomsticks; and
some of the fellows were so mad that they broke
them across their knees."
More fools they !" interjected Harry.
"But of course the principal soon stopped that.
About twenty of them, led by Lieutenant Rankin,
refused to drill, and every one of them is now in
the guard-house. After they were settled, the
principal condescended to tell us that it was only
a temporary arrangement, and that the 'pikes,'
as he very politely called them, being borrowed,
must be treated gently. But the boys are mad,
clear through, and vow, to a man, that if they use
those things, the battalion will be known as the
' Wild-Lake Witches.' The second lieutenant was
the ringleader, and it '11 cost him his shoulder-
straps, or I'm a Dutchman."
Harry drew a long breath of astonishment.
"It was a stupid thing to do-to get up a
mutiny," he remarked in a moment. "No good




could ever come of that, for of course the General
would have to demonstrate his authority, and he
is n't the most lamb-like man in the world under
such provocation."
Ed burst into a laugh. "That 's a fact," he
asserted, as you ought to know. I say, though,
what's in that big envelope ?"
To be sure; I had forgotten it," said Harry,
as he tore it open and began to read the inclosure,
his eyes dilating with surprise.
"What on earth, Ed just listen to this !
"' SIR: A vacancy having occurred, in recognition of your gen-
eral standing and attention to details while on duty, you are hereby
appointed Acting Second Lieutenant, in place of Lieutenant Rankin,
disrated. HOLWORTH LONG, General Commanding.'

Fancy the grim smile with which the General wrote
that "
Ed looked at Harry, and Harry looked at Ed.
Then simultaneously they broke into a laugh.
"I congratulate you, and; as I have remarked
before, why was I not born with opinions worth
considering?" said Dane, with a sigh. "But you
must keep quiet over the share you had in turn-
ing us into broomstick-riders, old fellow, or you '11
find your path rather a thorny one."
"It's only an acting commission, not a regular
one; and it is likely to be canceled at any time
when they deem Rankin sufficiently punished,"
said Harry, sagely. I shall not put on any airs
over it."
"Don't you believe it," Dane declared. "I
have known three acting-commissions in my brief
time, and every one of them was confirmed later
on. You 'l1 be Major yet! and with that proph-
ecy ringing in his ears, Harry rose and bade his
friend good-night. There was not much sleep for
him, however, he had so much to think of. How
unspeakably jolly it would be His letters would
now come addressed to "Lieutenant" Harry Wylie,
instead of the more plebeian "Sergeant." Yet,
at the time, he had been proud of the step that
raised him to the latter rank. How old Tom
would rejoice, and shake his hand when they next
met, and what a thing to have the boys at home
know! He must write to Tom that very night.
Then, without further delay, he must study up the
duties he was to undertake, lest he should make
mistakes in delivering his orders; and he straight-
way found his copy of "Upton's Tactics," and
spent several hours very profitably in reviewing
the manual, and putting himself and his command
into imaginary situations, and then extricating
them by rule.
As for Dane, he sat looking into his fire for a
long time afterward, seeing visions. He saw the
battalion marching out of the drill-hall into the

parade-ground, and forming. He saw himself a
private in the ranks, with Wylie by his side. He
heard the order read that made his friend a corpo-
ral, and was once more applauding with the rest.
Then the scene and the time of year changed,
and the same battalion was in the drill-hall, wit-
nessing another promotion to corporal-this time
his own. Then half a year later they were made
sergeants together. But Wylie's first little start
had widened, and his friend was first" sergeant
and he "second." Now the rift was opening still
more, for the gap between first sergeant and second
lieutenant was wider by far than that between the
previous stages. Throughout, Wylie had kept just
a step ahead. It was so, too, in the class-room.
When his percentage was eighty, Wylie's would be
eighty-five. He was like the horse that tried to
walk fast enough to catch the hay that swung be-
fore his nose, and Ed moodily recognized the fact.
He was not actually jealous, nor yet envious. He
would have scorned to do anything to pull Wylie
down, but he could not help wishing that some
lucky chance would arise to bring them more on
a level, and to give him an even chance once more.
But that does not often happen twice, either in a
man's life or in a boy's career. The two had started
as equals when they entered the Institute, and it
was Dane's own fault that he had not profited more
by his opportunities. If he had been as earnest
as his friend had been, and less content to let well
enough alone, he might have stood even above him,
since Wylie was not an unusually bright scholar.
At about the same hour, the General sat in the
library, examining the grouse which Harry had
given to the principal, while doubt struggling
against conviction was clearly expressed in his
Do you mean to say that that boy shot these
birds with a bow and arrow? Are you sure that
they were not killed with a rifle ? The wounds look
to me like those made by a thirty-two caliber rifle-
The twist of the arrow in flying would produce
much the same wound as a small-bore rifle-ball
when it struck," said the principal, oracularly.
Then changing the subject, he said: "But I have
made up my mind definitely. It was high time for
a reform, for Wylie's statement as to the physical
condition of the boys was based on practical ob-
servation. He seems to be unique among them
in quickness of eye a result of his hunting habits,
perhaps. It seems to me that for the last week
I have done nothing but write letters to manu-
facturers and dealers. It was fortunate that I so
easily found a market for the muskets, for other-
wise the change would have cost a small fortune.
I have found a manufacturer who has a reputa-


tion for honest work and low prices; and really,
the terms which he offers leave a small balance in
my favor. Do you know any one who understands
quarter-staff play ? "
How should I ? said the surprised General.
We must have some one, however," said the
principal, musing. There is that little English-
man at Fairhaven. I believe that he does. At
all events, I'll write to him and find out."
Well, Mr. Richards," said the General, rising,
"as you know, I have n't much faith in the vent-
ure; but I will not be a drag upon it. I can not
now promise any enthusiasm, but I will not fail to
do my best with the boys, in sustaining you. Per-
haps I am too old. We old fogies should give way
to younger and more progressive men. I saw,

but it was because they did not understand my
plans. When they comprehend them in all their
bearings, they will regret having grumbled now
and will have more faith in me in future. And
that reminds me; what shall we do with Lieuten-
ant Rankin? I do not wish to have him reduced
to the ranks; it would be beneficial to the rest,
perhaps, but would be very bad for him. I think
it would riin him."
"Nonsense It will do him good, and take the
conceit out of him," said the General, somewhat
impatiently; but the principal shook his head.
"If there were time, it might; but he will be
here only a year more, and he would go out under
a cloud that would remain throughout his life.
We must temper justice with mercy, my friend.


however, that Boston recently voted ten thousand
dollars for the purchase of muskets for its school
"Ten thousand dollars wasted !" cried the prin-
cipal, with energy. My broom-handles cost me
but ten cents apiece, and the hard-wood ones
ordered in their place, when ready, will be ex-
changed for them at an expense of. only ten
The boys revolted at the idea of broomsticks,

I have been thinking that we might appoint
Sergeant Wylie a special instructor to assist you in
the new drill, and, after a proper interval, we could
reinstate the lieutenant."
"Well, it is your plan, not mine; and I must
go to work upon the new manual of arms at once;
but I may have to journey to New Mexico for
material before it is finished, so beware of a heavy
bill for traveling expenses," said the General, jest-
ingly, as he left the room.

(To be continued )




-s~~ ~


WANTED,- Something to do "
Thus a great many young persons, and not a few
of their elders, might word an advertisement truly
embodying the wish which is uppermost in their
minds. The greatest enjoyment which can be
imagined by an active person is to have some
pleasant work which will occupy brain and hand
at the same time.
Most amateurs are tired of pretending to be wiser
than they are, and yet, having formed a habit
of making pictures, would like to exercise it,
if only they could do so without seeming to pre-
tend to be artists. For the name "artist" is one
not lightly to be bestowed; although lately it has
been taken down and dragged about until it has
become rusty and dusty,--like some old garment,
once worn at a wedding, which the children have
been permitted to take for their masquerad-
ing. Of course we all know that there is noth-
ing very new in this; in fact, I doubt whether
there is such a thing as a very new truth; but,
still, even some old things may be worth new con-
The other day, as I was thinking about our child-
ish efforts to attain artistic results without having
to undergo the toil and trouble of artistic labor, I
was startled by a very emphatic slap on the back,
and the whispered suggestion: Try accidental
pictures!" I was pleased with the idea, and,
at the first opportunity, put it to the test of act-
ual trial. Some years ago a friend told me of a
similar plan, but all, beyond a recollection of its
VOL. XV.-25. 3

results, was forgotten, and so I began by experi-
First, I took a saucer, put into it about a tea-
spoonful of water, and thickened the fluid by
rubbing in it a stick of india-ink, till I had a mixt-
ure not quite black enough to write with, and still
not light enough for any mere tinting.
Next, I got a soft, old, linen rag, some bits of
paper of divers sizes and various grades, from note
to heavy straw paper, and then I went to work.
Dabbling ..
the rag in
the ink, I
soaked up a :
large por- ,
tion of that
somewhat '
irresolute -
fluid, and .,
moist rag i .
down upon ..I
a sheet of .
paper, tak- '
ing care to ,. '. ,'..
smudge it a .
little, with" --- -
before lift- OF CHINGI.E YEDDI PAN.)
before lift-
ing. Result? Nothing, except inky fingers. I
tried it again, with fluid a little thicker, and the
inky fingers became still inkier. Five times more,

;:,-S -4-

i V


-- i -- -- -?

J-,, _I-i- =_ .



and I was beginning to feel discouraged, when I
thought I saw, upside down, something like a
picture. I turned it around, felt encouraged, and
went on, having frequently to replenish the saucer.
Then all at once the rag, and the ink, and I, to-
gether, without consulting one another, produced
a picture, to copy which would puzzle a Chinaman.
It was a veritable Felis Angora accidentalis (you
will not find that in any zoological work). On the
whole it proved to be so fair a representation of an
Angora cat that I shall give it to you now with-
out a single additional touch.
This was inspiring; the more so as it was fol-
lowed by two or three other masterpieces (with
only a failure or two between), and each one show-
ing a certain "freedom of handling," grasp of
subject," and range of style," that would have
made Turner mad with envy. I made up my


Continuing my artistic career, I soon came to
the conclusion that a rag makes a very good labor-
saving machine indeed, but requires a little prac-
tice if one would use it to the best advantage.
For instance, if one gets a more closely packed
and inkier wad at one end, and a sort of flowing
skirt to trail off at one side or to sweep freely about,
there will be much more likelihood of accomplish-
ing a group of figures, or trees, or hop-toads,.
with an effective background of sky, water, or gar-
den vegetables. A fine effect of strong lights and
shadows, such as one sees in Rembrandt's etch-

,pf~o ---



ings, may be attained by putting a great deal of
decision into the ink, rolling the rag into small com-
pass, and striking the paper in such a way as to
Stake it entirely by surprise.
A "Claude Lorraine" can not
be made in so simple a way, how-
-- ever; that takes much dexterous
wrestling with the rag; and the
result is apt to be smudgy, even
after all your painstaking efforts.
For clear art, altogether un-
trammeledby subservience to any
school or system, I can heartily
recommend the method already
described in this paper.
"" A still better way, especially if
-- one wishes to keep within a lim-
ited field of action, is to have two

mind that the first magazine that wanted to employ rags and two saucers.of fluid- one a little lighter
so masterly a rag must pay me my own price,-and than the other. The first, if used moderately dry,
the price advanced with each new masterpiece. lightly wrung out, will provide the sky and back-





I ~



- .*6 -
.7 '~

" i.
:'* ': .. -

?. /.



- *


ground; and the second, freely used, dashes in a
foreground. Sometimes the light and dark rags may
be used together, to advantage. Or still another
method-substitute a roll of thick tissue-paper for
the linen, and work out your own variations.
The occupation is a fascinating one, and harm-
less, since india-ink, unlike ordinary ink, will readily

wash out. A thousand changes may be rung on the
process, and still there is room for invention. Coffee
may be used to stain the pictures, giving them
the appearance of photographs; and sometimes
a few lines added to a chance picture will make it
"a thing of beauty," while the cheapness of the
process is a joy forever."


i ',,

_,;7 -F 7 i-
J ; .






... ." r,

HE was not at all particular
To keep the perpendicular,
While walking, for he either skipped or jumped.
He stood upon his head awhile,
And, when he went to bed, awhile
He dove among the pillows, which he thumped.


He never could keep still a bit;
The lookers-on thought ill of it;
He balanced on his ear the kitchen-
And did some neat trapezing,
Which was wonderfully pleas-
On every peg in Grandpa's harness



From absolute inanity,
The cat approached
To see him slide the
banisters, so rash;
But once, on that ma-
While trying to tobog-
gan, he
Upset his calculations
with a crash !


And since that sad disaster
He has gone about in plaster,-
Not of Paris, like a nice Italian toy;
But the kind the doctor uses,
When the bumps and cuts and bruises
Overcome a little, regular, live boy !


6- in xovnitiV ..~ J ~SI



S DID you ever see a Bullfinch ? It is such a pretty bird.
One day little Elsie was very good, and Mamma gave her
.i'S'.,,S, a present. It was a sweet little Bullfinch, in a cage. He
"'^-i could whistle a tune. Elsie loved him very much, and she
liked to listen to him. Besides, he was very clever. He soon
learned to know Elsie, and when she called, "Bully! Bully!"
and chirruped to him, he would put his head on one side and
look so knowing! If she took a seed between her rosy lips
i' and held them near the cage, Bully would look first one
/ way and then another, with his bright eyes, and hop, hop,
hop,- until he came quite near, and then he would give
a quick, little peck with his beak, catch the seed, and eat it up! Oh, he
was a bright little bird!
Every evening, when Elsie went to bed, Mamma opened his cage and

let him fly all over the room; and then she did not shut him up for the
night, but let Master Bully perch where 'he pleased. Sometimes he would
settle himself upon the table, or the bureau standing with his bright eyes
shut and his head underhis
wing. But every morning -
he woke up at the same
hour; just as the clock was -
striking seven. He would -
perchon little Elsie's pillow
and peck, peck, peck at her ...
soft cheek till she awoke! -
One cold frosty morn- k ..
ing something sad hap- .
opened. Nothing perched .
on Elsie's pillow,-no little
Bully came to wake her
up! When Mamma had
looked everywhere around the room for him, she found him, at last, on the
mantel all cuddled up in a heap. She took him very gently in her soft hand,
but poor little Bully shivered when she touched him. She tried to make
him stand up, but she found that one little leg was quite crooked. Poor
Bully was lame from the cold !
Little Elsie was so sorry But Mamma thought she could help Bully, so
she brought hot water and bathed his poor leg. Then she put some soft,
white wool in his cage, and laid him down upon it, very tenderly. After a
while Bully opened his beak, and gave a little "ckirp, chirp / When Elsie
heard it, she sprang out of bed and said:
"Oh, I know he is hungry!"
Then she pattered about the room with her bare little feet, found the seed,
and took some in her fingers and held it up to him. At first Bully would not
take it; he scarcely opened his eyes; but, after she had waited a little, he
gave a sharp peck, and caught it from her hand. Then Elsie gave him some
more, and after a while Bully fell asleep. When Elsie was dressed she went
to look at him again. His eyes were open, so Mamma bathed his poor foot
once more.
Soon it was better, so that Bully could stand upon it quite well, and even
hop about again; but Mamma was afraid to let him fly about the room at
night. And now Elsie must wake herself in the morning, for Bully does not
come to peck at her cheek!



ONE day when Philip was very miserable with
a horrid cold, and Harry-who was his sister, and
not his brother-very cross with the same trouble,
the children quarreled all the morning. Harry
usually began the discussions, and she was the
most disagreeable in them, because she was al-
ways "the most" of everything. She cried the
loudest, and laughed the merriest, and scolded the
quickest, and forgave the soonest. Her cold had
been worse than Philip's, but she was getting well
first. Their last quarrel was because she would
pretend that her doll's music-teacher had come,
and wanted her to take her lesson on the piano in
the nursery, and Philip did not like it because his
head ached. He said he would n't care so much
if Harry could sing, "but she never got a tune
right, and she banged so."
Harry replied that she was n't singing, it was
"If Margery could sing," he retorted, "she 'd
have a better voice than the one you lend her, and
she 'd have some sort of an idea of the tune to
'Hold the Fort.'"
How do you know ?" said Harry. "You don't
know what my doll would do!"
Well, I know what mine would if I had one.
She would n't yell like that."
Oh,'your doll would do wonders," said Harry,
and off she started again, but this time she sang
" Annie Laurie," and poor Philip put his fingers
in his ears.
It was then Jeanette looked up from her
"My goodness," said she to her mother, "if
two sick children are so disagreeable, what must
a whole hospital be ?"
They would n't have a dreadful old piano in a
hospital," said Philip, in an aggrieved tone.
Oh, Philip!" cried Harry, jumping off the
piano-stool and throwing Margery into Jeanette's
work-basket. "Let 's finish our hospital cards!"
Considering," said their mother, "that Easter
is only two weeks away, and that you chose those
cards for your Lenten work, and that not one-half
of them are done, it would not be a bad idea to
give some time to them."
By this time Harry had opened a table drawer,
and had pulled out a pile of large, delicately tinted
cards about seventeen inches long and thirteen
wide. Next she had appropriated Jeanette's scis-

sors from the basket and her mother's from her
lap, and pushed everything on the table out of the
way. Then she dragged up the piano-stool.
"Come, Philip," she cried, I 'm all ready."
"Just have patience for one minute," said her
mother, rising. She removed everything from the
table, and spread out a newspaper. On this she
laid the cards, the boxes containing the pictures
for pasting, and the scissors. Philip brought the
mucilage and sister Harry pulled up a comfortable
chair for him.
Now they really were ready for work.
They had quite an assortment of gay advertising
cards, and some Christmas cards, and plenty of fig-
ures cut from illustrated newspapers. They cut
whatever figures they fancied, out of the cards, and
then pasted them on the large sheets of cardboard.
When they first thought of doing this work, they
intended to make a picture scrap-book, but a
friend told them that if they pasted the pictures
on separate leaves, these, being divided among the
children, could be seen by many at once.
Harry often said she hoped the sick children
would get as much pleasure from the cards as they
gave her and Philip, and they used to wonder if the
others would guess out the stories they made up
about the pictures. They put all sorts of figures to-
gether, such as are in the big illustration, where
hardly two are from the same picture, and com-
posed them into some funny groups. Then they
made other kinds of cards; one of these was made
up entirely of flowers, and a bright, pretty one it
was. On another, Philip made a menagerie, and
this contained only animals; and on still another
was a Noah's ark." This they made together.
The procession wound all about from top to bottom
of the card. It was a curious procession, and, I am
sure, would have astonished Noah. There were
dancing bears, and elephants with howdahs on
their backs, and circus horses, and monkeys
dressed like Italian lazzarozi, and pigs with
apples in their mouths, and even a Christmas
turkey carried on the heads of three geese.
They spent days over this card, selecting the
animals, and plenty of fun they had over it.
The card which I borrowed from Harry, and of
which the picture opposite is a copy, except that the
pretty, bright colors are not given, is not the best of
them, but it is one that was not finished when Easter
Monday came, and so did not go to the hospital with


the others. Some of these figures, cut from stiff
cards, were not easy to paste, but the children
spread them (on the wrong side, of course), with
rather a thin, boiled flour paste, and let
them lie for a few moments. They .,
then became softer and more pliable. .

telling how grateful his poor little patients were
for them, and how cards were handed from one
bed to another, and how they were exchanged,





.B-<-,I i

-- and how each child
had a favorite.
But the two children had
to work very hard all the
Saturday before Easter to
finish them, .because, when
their colds were better, the last
snow came, and they naturally
had to give a great deal of
.time to that, but still they

The young doctor in care of whom these cards kept their resolution, and it was on Easter Monday
were sent wrote the children the nicest of letters, that the package was sent to the hospital.





MAKE way, make way for mad King March !
I hear his heralds in the larch
Above my head.
Blow on, ye braggart buglers, blow !
Ye can not fright us, well we know
Winter has fled.
Your king's wild reign is brief, at best;
Before the April robins nest,
Ye will be dead !

Yes, it is only fair, I suppose, to talk in this se-
vere way to the noisy winds. But I do not do it of
my own accord. A ST. NICHOLAS writer, Emma
C. Dowd, "put me up to it," as you boys say.
Yet March is a good old month, and, as I half sus-
pect, not a bit more mad than other blusterers.
The Deacon says that March in former times
was counted as the first month of the year. Now,
as you know, he stands third on the list, and he is
not overpleased, I suppose. Look into this mat-
ter, my dears,- that is, look into the Encyclope-
dias, if you can lift them,--and you '11 see that
the Deacon is right.
Poor March! Fair play is a good thing. This
is the way the Little School-ma'am once talked
to March:
DEAR, bustling March, my F. ".. ,* come !
First month to-day, as first of old.
Thine the fresh song and wakened hum;
Thine the glad rill's recovered flow,
And thine the stir the sod below.
Thy rap and tap and summons bold,
Startle the earth from slumber's hold.

0 month content! My heart to thee !
No clamor now, no sudden throe -
The earth is roused; her soul is free;
How calm art thou, thy victory won,

How restful, in the restful sun !
The maiden April cometh slow,
Thou 'It greet her like a king and go.

HERE is a new subject for consideration. Inau-
gural addresses, to be sure, don't grow in my
meadow, but boys do, and any American boy, if
he is n't careful, is liable to bloom into a president
under favorable circumstances, so you shall have
Robert's letter:
DEAR Mr. JACK: I have been reading about the inaugural ad-
dresses of the Presidents of the United States, and one statement, or
rather several statements in one, concerning those of Abraham Lin-
coln, and a few other Presidents, specially caught my attention. So
I shall copy the figures out carefully for you to show to the boys.
It appears that the first inaugural address of President Lincoln (every
one knows that he served two terms of office) contained 3588 words,
and among these the pronoun I appears just 43 times; but the
second inaugural address (March, 1865) contained only 588 words,
and the pronoun I is used but once.
George Washington's two inaugurals, it appears, in disproportion
were somewhat similar to Lincdln's. The first contained 13co
words, including 2o I's; and in the second, which had 134 words, he
said I only 6 times.
"Well, what of it?" some of the boys will say. That's just
what I want to know. There is no steady law in the matter, either,
for James Monroe, who twice served as our President, gave the
people 1144 more wordsin his second inaugural than he did in his
first, and he used his personal pronoun 7 times oftener than on the
former occasion, that is, 24 times. In fact, his second inaugural,
which contained 4466 words (enough to fill nearly five pages of ST.
NICHOLAS) is the longest inaugural with which any President has
yet favored our country. Yours respectfully,
SoME creatures flit through this life in a few
hours, and some come to stay. As instances,
there are the day-fly and the elephant. How long
can a healthy specimen of each live ? But I warn
you not to attempt to give me their united ages.
That sort of calculation has its malignant side,
and can not be allowed near this pulpit.

MY birds tell me startling stories of big foreign
spiders whose webs are strong enough to take
unwary little feathered songsters captive. They
mention also the mygale, of South America. Now,
what is that ?
That story of the great spider-web puzzles me.
My birds are truthful as the sunlight itself, and
yet -well, I only know that every spider-web in
my meadow vanishes at the very touch of a bird's
wing, and, by the way, the spider himself gener-
ally remembers another engagement at that same
DEAR JACK: Here is something that I read
in a book, and I want you to please find out if it
is a true account:
The inhabitants of the Andaman Islands are the smallest race of
people in the world. The average height of a full-grown Andaman
is four feet and five inches, and the average weight about seventy
pounds. They are very swift of foot, and, as they smear themselves
over with a mixture of oil and red-ocher, these little men present a
very strange appearance. Few travelers care to encounter any of
these warlike mites, for their skill in throwing the spear and in using
the bow is only equaled by their readiness to attack strangers.
Now, Jack, please, is this true ? and if it is, what
dear little things the Andaman children must be!

* The German word for spring or spring-tide.



I should like so much to have one for a pet! If
you cannot get the facts from your birds, do show
this letter to the St. Nicholites (as my brother
and I call the readers of our dear magazine).
May be they will help me to learn more of these
little islanders.
Your constant hearer, ALICE B.

Now, my friends, how should you, who not so
very long ago were in your cradles, like to hear
about a rocking-stone big enough to set a thou-
sand babies a-dozing ?
You 'd like it very much? I knew it. There-
fore, we will proceed to read this account sent to
my pulpit by Miss Florence Stoddard:


A very wonderful thing is the great Piedra
Monediza, or Rocking-Stone, which is poised on
the top of the highest mountain on the eastern

-s?' 9'

S' fa

it is crushed to powder; but, though it moves,
no power can throw the huge stone from its place.
The peak on which the stone rests is one of the
Tandil Mountains, in the southern part of the
province of Buenos Ayres.
There is a legend telling how this province,
once very rich, was attacked by a much-dreaded
Gaucho chief, who tried in vain many times to
conquer it. Then, hearing of a tradition that this
province could not be overcome so long as the
stone remained in place, he determined to pull the
stone from its seat. He caused ropes to be netted
around it, and then harnessed to the ropes hun-
dreds of wild horses, newly caught by his men with
their lassos.
All were strong and vigorous animals, to which
even the slight harness necessary to secure them to
the ropes leading from the great bowlder was an
insult not to be tolerated for a moment. Imagine
how they must have plunged, kicked and struggled
when they felt the whip for the first time !

t, "

*,, -i ....


coast of the far-off Argentine Republic, in South
America. It hangs there as though it were as
light as air, and could be blown away by the gusts
of wind that always are playing about the mount-
ain. Yet it is a huge bowlder of at least twenty
tons' weight, though it can be moved about in a
small socket and rocked by pushing it with the
hand. In very windy weather, too, it is seen to
move perceptibly. Travelers put all kinds of arti-
cles beneath it, in the socket, to test its movement;
for, when the stone rocks, anything that is under

When all was prepared, the poor beasts, already
frantic with restraint and terror, were beaten and
shouted at, so that, to get away, they pulled and
tugged with might and main; but, for all their
effort, the Piedra did not swerve from its place; and
the chief, proud and mighty as he was, was obliged
to acknowledge himself vanquished.
The stone hangs there still, and as it is the only
wonderful natural feature in the whole country,
the natives are very proud of it, and many curious
visitors go to see it every year.


- 1


THOSE who have enjoyed Mary Cowden Clarke's Girlhood of
Shakspere's Heroines," or are familiar with her famous Concord-
ance to the plays, will be glad to know of a Biographic Sketch"
of her husband, Charles Cowden Clarke, which has just been printed
in London. The unaffected simplicity and earnestness of the recital
will more than interest our readers. It is writtenby herself, and is a
beautiful picture of their long life together. The book is published
by Novello, and if it cannot be procured in America, we hope that
our young English readers, at least, will meet with this beautiful
tribute from a wife who was in truth, as she says, her husband's
"second self."

EIGHT years ago, this month, ST. NICHOLAS told its readers the
touching story of Babie Stuart," which was the pretty pet-name
of an infant daughter of Charles I. It is more than two centuries
and a half since she was born, and she died before reaching four
years of age. We showed you then a picture of this sweet child;
and now our frontispiece, this month, is another rendering of her
portrait recently engraved for ST. NICHOLAS, by Mr. T. Johnson,
from Van Dyck's celebrated painting.
No one can look upon the face of this little princess without be-
lieving that during her short life she must have been a most lovable
little girl; and that her parents dearly loved her none can doubt
who knows how like other fathers and mothers, in tenderness for
their children, were the first Charles of England and his wife,
Queen Henrietta Maria.
THE Little School-ma'am requests us to say that in speaking of
St. Cross Hospital (see ST. NICHOLAS for January), Jack-in-the-
Pulpit should have described it as being just out of Winchester, in-
stead of two and a half miles from Westminster." Jack and her-
self are desirous that his accidental error should be corrected.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have read you with much interest, and
often thought I would like to contribute to the "Letter-box." But
this is my first attempt. In your December number, I like "Sara
Crewe; or, What Happened at Miss Minchin's," by Frances Hodg-
son Burnett. I have often played with her youngest son, and I
lived a neighbor to her for over a year. I also like Three Miles
High in a Balloon." I live in St. Louis and was present at the
balloon ascension, and the illustrations are very true.
I remain yours devotedly, LOTTA B. C- .

DEAR OLD ST. NICHOLAS: We have had you for a year. A
cousin in Washington sends you to us every month. This is the
first time I have written to you, so I hope you will print my letter.
I have never seen a letter in your box from this island. I like all
your stories very much, but the one I like best is "Juan and Juan-
We have a great many pets: three hawks, three dogs, two cats,
two rabbits, a pair of pigeons, and a hoody crow. I have five sis-
ters and three brothers. My youngest sister is called Iona, after
the island where papa was born. The island is famous for having
been the residence of St. Columba for a good many years. There
are the remains of a fine old cathedral on the island, and in an old
burying-ground quite clse to the cathedral a number of kings are
I must stop now, or my letter will be too long to print.
I am your Highland reader, FLORA A. P. MAcV-- .

MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: This is my first letter to you. We
have taken your magazine for several years. We enjoy the stories
very much. We live on an island eight miles long and four miles
broad. It is very beautiful. There are a great many herring caught
here. First they are salted with rock salt, then hung up in the
smoke-house over a wood fire, then dried and packed in boxes for
market. There are three large hotels on the island; their names
are Tyn-e-coed, and Tyn-e-maer, and the Owen House. We have
a very pretty little church and a large Sunday-school. Our day-
school is close to the Rectory. I have a little brother nearly seven
years old, and two big brothers, and a big sister; a Newfoundland
dog, named Jack; a kitten called Ginger, and a canary bird. I am
nine years old. Your little reader, AGNES P-.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAs: As I have not seen a letter from Tasma-
nia in your "Letter-box," I thought I would write to you and tell
about our pets. Our house is called Newlands, and I live near
Hobart. I am eleven years old, and 1 have a sister a year older.
I think ST. NICHOLAS is the best paper for children ever pub-
lished, and we have been taking it for nearly three yeats.
I like Little Lord Fauntleroy" very much, and I wish you would
have another story like Davy and the Goblin."
Among a great many pets of all kinds, we have two very tame
parrots- one green called Solomon, and one white, called Baby.
They both came from the Solomon Islands. Baby is named so be-
cause he was so tiny when we first got him. He sleeps in our
room at night, when we go to bed, and the first thing in the morning
he comes to us to get warm. He is never in his cage except at
night, and when he is shut up as a punishment for biting the chairs;
he is usually on the trees.
I think if I make my letter much longer there will not be room
to print it; so good-bye. I remain your constant reader,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We have been spending a month here, and
I thought some of your readers would be interested in an account of
a Florentine funeral. I saw one last week from the window of our
parlor. The burial always takes place after dusk, and by torch-
light. The funeral which I saw was that of a celebrated singer, and
it made quite a sensation in Florence. I heard a noise in the
street and went to the window. It was after five o'clock and very
dark. This is what I saw:
First came a procession of monks dressed in black, carrying
torches and chanting a hymn; then some members of the Miseri-
cordia (Mercy) Society dressed in black and masked; then came
the coffin, which was carried by eight nuns in long white robes ard
wearing masks. The coffin was concealed by a black velvet pall,
richly embroidered with gold, and this was quite covered with
wreaths of flowers. After the coffin came six priests, gorgeously
dressed in scarlet and gold; then a long procession of nuns in
black, unmasked, and carrying torches. Then followed the funeral
guests. They never have hearses in Florence, the coffin being car-
ried on the shoulders of nuns, if the deceased is a woman, and of
monks, if it is a man.
Every one in the procession is on foot, and, with the exception of
the pall-bearers, they all carry torches.
The ceremony is very impressive, and rather ghastly.
I enjoyed Little Lord Fauntleroy very much, and I met Mrs.
Burnett last week, here, in Florence.
Yours sincerely, C. ELEANOR S- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have been wanting to write to you for a
long time, but I was afraid I could not write a nice enough letter.
But finally I made up my mind I would. I am a boy, twelve years
old, and I have taken you three years. You were given to me for a
Christmas present, and I like you very much.
I have'many pets; a pony, two sheep, and twelve chickens. I
did have three rabbits, but they died. I like my pony best of all.
He is very gentle, and I can ride him standing up even when he is
going very fast.
I think the continued story, "Sara Crewe; or, What Happened at
Miss Minchin's," is very good.
I am in the high room at school, and every Friday morning we
have to give historical news items, and the ST. NICHOLAS helps me
a great deal. I have several friends who take you, and they like
you very much. With best wishes,
I remain your faithful reader, MAYNARD H. S- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We have been taking you ever since 1879.
As I have never written before, I thought that would I write and
tell you about a paper which my brothers and myself publish and
print. My oldest brother makes the cuts. His name is William,
and he is fifteen years old.
Sam, who is thirteen, is editor and business manager, and I, who
am two years younger than Sam, am printer and "devil" in gen-
eral. We have been printing the paper for half.a year. The con-
tents are entirely original; poetry, or whatever you choose to call it,
and everything else.
I liked "How the Hart Boys saw Great Salt Lake very much,
and "Juan and Juanita much better.
Your loving reader, THOMAS M. A-


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little boy, ten years old. I liked
the new continued story "Sara Crewe" very much; but, of all
your stories, Little Lord Fauntleroy is the very best.
I have a baby brother, who was two years old on Christmas
Day. We call him Carroll, and he calls me rubberer" He has a
little dog named Nig," and we are training him to ride on my ve-
locipede. You don't know how funny he looks. Sometimes he
loses his balance, and then there is a general collapse.
I remain your loving little reader, FIELDING J. S-- .

ST. Louis, Mo.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl twelve years old. lMy
papa has taken you ever since volume three, in 1875. I was born
that year, and of course I cannot remember when we have not had
you to read. I was very much interested in Sara Crewe; or, What
Happened at Miss Mmchin's." Papa has all of the magazines
bound. I.took volume eleven to school last week, and read that
very amusing story called "Griselda's New-Year's Reception."
In the afternoon I read Little Maud's Story." I have no sisters;
only one brother, who is eighteen years old. I spend most of my
time out of school in reading.
Your constant reader, GRACE H-- .


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: By following the directions given below,
an inflated ball of paper may be made.
Take a square piece of paper, not too stiff, and fold it as follows
(see Fig. i): Bring together the corners marked A and D, making
a crease diagonally. Then open, and bring together C and B in the
same way, making another crease at right angles. Turn the paper
over, and fold iton the line E, F (see Fig. 2). Open it flat on the
table, having the same side uppermost as at first; hold the center
with one finger, and bring together the ends E and F of the third
crease made, and flatten the paper into a triangle (Fig. 3). Then,
holding the longest side of the triangle away from you, fold the
two farthest corners to the point which is toward you (Fig. 4).
Turn the paper over and repeat the last folding, making a square.
Bend the nearer half of the opposite corners of the square, marked
G and H (see Fig. 5), to the center line, making them meet. Turn
the paper over and repeat, making Fig. 6. One point marked I.

will be found to have four loose ends; bend these down, one by
one, on the line K, L, and put them snugly into the little pockets
J, K, on both sides of the paper. Then blow smartly into the oppo-
site point, marked M (Fig. 6), and the ball will be inflated
(Fig. 7). Yours truly, GEORGE G. DEAN.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have never written you before. I hope
you will print this. I have taken you for five years.
We have an ice-palace here every winter. It is beautiful. The

TER-BOX. 397

last one we had was 194 feet wide, 217 feet long, and 135 feet high.
It looked like pictures of palaces you see in story-books. The ice
carnival opened with the Ice King's entering the town and taking
possession of his palace. The next day the Fire King came and
tried to capture the ice-palace, but was driven off. But he was not
discouraged, and tried again with his troops to help him. This
time he succeeded, and the Ice King was driven off. The battles
were -... :1. ;'i. fire-works. The fire-works for one battle cost $io,-
oco. lI.. i .. !.ing had polar bears for an escort, while the Fire
King had men dressed like demons, who blew fire out of their
mouths. Your constant reader, Ron ROY T--.

DEAR ST. NICHOI.AS: As we have never seen a letter from Strat-
ford, in print, we thought we would write you one.
We have an Audubon Society here for the protection of birds.
The society gets its name fiom John James Audubon, the great
naturalist of North America. If there are any ST. NICHOLAS read-
ers who would like to form a society where they live, they can get
information from No. 40 Park Row, New Yoik City. Many of the
ST. NICHOLAS boys and girls are doubtless members, since so many
thousands have joined in the United States. Our mother is the sec-
retary here, and we have ninety-two members. We have great fun
in the winter tohndes-nin and +- tin As there is a new rink just
finished, and .. the I.t. 1 .. of the city, we don't have
far to go for sleigh-riding or tob( gganing.
We are all very fond of you, like all your readers, and look for-
ward to the new number every month.
Your affectionate readers, BESSIE AND CHARLIE s V--.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I thought I must write some time and tell
you how much I admire you and your charming stories and pictures,
the pictures of Mr. Birch being especially beautiful. I have lived all
my life in the West, but have learned to draw a little by myself: so
I drew a picture of a little girl who loves ST. NICHOLAS, and always
hugs you when you come. I hope some day to be able to draw and
write for you. As this is my first letter to you, I hope very much to
see it in print; but if my letter is not good enough, I will make
another attempt some time. Wishing you a long and happy life, I am
Yours truly, M. W-

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I like, best of all papers, ST. NICHOLAS,
in it, Prince Fairyfoot," "Maggie Grey's Bird," and several
other stories ; but "Little Lord Fauntleroy' especially. I like the little
letters most of all, and The Brownies." Mammais very interested
in "Juan and Juanita," and "Jenny's Boarding-house." I have


five dolls; one is called Electra, the other Irene, the other Carmine,
the other Beulah, and I have one boy doll that is called St. Elmo. I
have a pet dog, called Fanny. My sister, Grade, had a pet dog,
also, but it was run over by a hand-car. I have got a box of paints.
Nearly every night I paint a little picture. First I mark them on
paper, then paint them -but not very well.
From your devoted reader, ANNETTA A. G- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We do get lots of pleasure from reading
your book. I can't say which story we like best, because we enjoy


them all. We are a family of three girls and one boy. Year before
last my papa gave you to my older sister for a birthday gift; this
year you have been all my own, and next month is my last number.
Next year you go to our baby Bertie. She is baby, but she is
almost seven, and is going to school next week. We are all healthy,
bright, and happy, and have lots of good times. I know you love
children, and will be glad to hear we are all well, although you have
never seen us, because you would not try so hard to entertain and
make the moments pass happily, if you did not love children. With
best wishes for continued success in your noble work, I remain your
little admirer, JULIA CONTEE G- .
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Your interesting book has been enjoyed by
our family very much. I like the stories written by Frank R. Stock-
ton and Miss L. Alcott best, though I like all the rest very much.
Yesterday I took my dog over and had his picture taken, but he
had two noses, so I shall have to have him taken again.
Will you please ask Miss Alcott to write another of her pretty little
I have a very naughty little brother named Hambleton; he is
always getting into mischief Mamma says, He 's a real boy."
My papa addressed a letter to me once, Miss Topsy B., and
it reached me safely. Just think I suppose I will have to stop now,
though I hate to. So good-bye from your constant reader,

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl ten years old. I have
some very nice pets: 1 have nineteen pigeons, a cat named Tabby,
and a pony named Daisy, and whenever she sees me out in the
yard she neighs at me and comes to me.
The other day, as I was coming home from school, she saw me
coming in the front gate, and she came down to meet me and she
followed me up to the door.
I have taken you for six years, but have never written to you be-
fore. I like your stories very much; my favorites are "Juan and
Juanita" and Little Lord Fauntleroy."

I tried the experiment of hanging a bottle by a match, and suc-
ceeded. I tried to make the "Nantucket Sinks," but I could not
get Fig. 5. I could go no farther, of course, but I intend to get
papa to show me how.
You are the most interesting magazine that I ever read.
Please excuse this long letter, but it is the first I have ever writ-
ten to you. I remain your devoted reader, MARY E. H--.

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

WE thank the young friends whose names are given below, for
pleasant letters which we have received from them: Helen S. H.,
Ada M. Langton, Stewart Moore, Fred, Lou, and Nan, F. W. F.,
Alice L. Feder, Ellen G. Barbour, R. G. Perkins, R. Richards,
May E. B., Nannie and Mary Blake, Alice B., Robbie H. Wescott,
C. E. Langford, Jr., Mattie J. S., Lillie F., Clare F., Josephine D.,
L. Guernsey, Mabel M., A. T. Jones, Bertha Mann, Anna H., M.
J. B., Emmet P., J. S. C. Robinson, Ollie S. Bryant, Elizabeth
Bacon, Robert F. Howard, Mamie and Charlie Higgins, Mary
E. H., Bianca, Maude and Naomi L., Bessie and Charlie W.,
Mary D. Maginnis, Mary W. A., Rob Roy Tallman, Carrie R.
Gaulbert. Lewis D. Mackoy, Tom A. Clements, K. N. and F. E.,
Hilda Bragg, Annie Osborn, Bettie Jones Barksdale, Beulah W.,
Emma Lyons, Annie V. P., James Perry, Clare N., and Bessie R.



SINGLE ACROSTIC. Turkey. Cross-words: I, daTes; 2, vaUlt;
3, daRts; 4, raKes; 5, paEan; 6, maYor.
BEHEADINGS. Lincoln. I, L-aver; 2, I-mage; 3, N-ears; 4,
C-alms; 5, O-live; 6, L-abel; 7, N-acre.
A TRIANGLE: From x to II, Mendelssohn; from 12 to 21, Wash-
ington. I, m; 12,, we; 13to 3, awn; x4to 4, sued; 15 to 5, hinge;
16 to 6, Israel; 17 to 7, noxious; 18 to 8, galoshes; 19 to 9, Tim-
buctoo; 20 to o1, outstretch; 21 to ii, negotiation.
DIAMOND. I. S. 2. Eke. 3. Erato. 4. Skating. 5. Etive.
6. One. 7. G.-- CHARADE. Spend-thrift.
NUMERICAL ENIGMA. If a man is unhappy, remember that his
unhappiness is his own fault, for God has made all men to be
I, steAmer; 2, spaRrow; 3, masKers; 4, carAvan; 5, spiNner;
6, whiStle; 7, speAker; 8, parSnip.
ACROSTIC. Washington, Wellington. Cross-words: i. Winning.
2. Alloquy. 3. Settler. 4. Hungers. 5. Inanity. 6. Novices.
7. Garland. 8. Tilling. 9. Objects. o1. Narwhal.

RHOMBOIDS. I. Across: i. Anile. 2. Oread. 3. Envie. 4.
Serve. 5. Seems. II. Across: i. Duels. 2. Plead. 3. Mabel.
4. Flail. 5. Endow. III. Across: I. Bract. 2. Alarm. 3. Brief.
4. Parol. 5. Depot.
Pr. Come when the rains
Have glazed the snow and clothed the trees with ice,
While the slant sun of February pours
Into the bowers a flood of light,
The incrusted surface shall upbear thy steps
And the broad arching portals of the grove
Welcome thy entering.
BROKEN WORDS. Candlemas, Valentine. r. Con-vent. 2.
Adam-ant. 3. Neck-lace. 4. Dog's-ear. 5. Luck-now. 6. Even-
tide. 7. Made-ira. 8. Alter-nation. 9. Sharp-ens.
WORD SQUARES. I. I. Plea. 2. Lean. 3. Earn. 4. Anna.
II. x. Eyes. 2. Yale. 3. Ella. 4. Seat. III. Arts. 2.
Rare. 3. Tree. 4. Seen. IV. i. Dogs. 2. Ogre. 3. Grin.
4. Send. V. I. Nose. 2. Oven. 3. Send. 4. Ends.

To OUR PUZZLERS: Answers, to be 1 .7. I. 1 ..] in the magazine, must be received not later than the i5th of each month, and
should be addressed to ST. NICHOLAS I I I .-l. are of THE CENTURY CO., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City.
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE DECEMBER NUMBER were received, before December i5th, from Maud E. Palmer- Russell
Davis-- Jo and I -" Kanuck and Yank."
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THEDECEMBER NUMBER were received, before Decembl-. -l. from Allan F. Barnes, --E. and L.
Grieninger, i Male H. Munroe, 2 S. W. F., a Noorna Bin Noorka, 3- Three C r 2- M. D. M., I -" The Rs and Ss,"
2- P. V. Moses, 2- Alice E. Traver, 2 Marion Strong, I Bertha Van Kleeck, 2 Louise B. Murphy, i Clifford and Amy, B.
F. Muckleston, 2-"Peter G. and Patrick M.," 2-Annie Van Pelt, 2-Reuben C. Hale, r-L. Raymond B., i-Adele E. Hartrauft,
i -Polly and B., I- Eleanor A., 2- We, Us & Co.," -James M. Hobbs, i Blanche, 2- Josephine Hyde, E. M. and F. E.
Kaiser, --Carrie R. Gaulbert, I-George Seymour, 6-Paul Reese, io-H. R. Metcalf, --Samuel W: Boardman, Jr., 5-Mary
Louise M., I- Edna R. Fisher, 2 Lulu Day, i Anne B., 5-Fannie H. Tolman, I-- Marie Hubbard, I Effie K. Talboys, 7- W.
E. S., z-Annie F. Burbank, --Olivia B. Hazelton, -- K. G. S., o--A. Love R., 2-F. E. and E. M. Kaiser, 4-"Juan and
Juanita," 2-Amy Youngs, I-"Socrates," 5-E. Daisy Eastlake, o- "Crystal," 3-"Complexion," 2-Twinkle Craig, 2-Belle
Larkin, 2-Ida, --Nellie and Reggie, io-" Puss," i-Alice B., I-A. C. Rowe, Alma and Francis, 5 -Alicia T. Hayne, i-
Annie M., Susie R. and Amey L. Bingham, 6-no name, St. Johnsbury, 8-A., C. and M. Kane, 6-S. T. Metcalf, x-A. Fiske and
Co., Ix -"Alpha, Alpha," B. C., 6--Joseph L., 3- L. L. L. and E. M. L., 5- "Livy," 3 -"Sally Lunn and Johnny Cake," 5-
Jennie S. Liebmann, 4--A. H. R. and M. G. R., 9-" Three Graces," 3-" Bethlehemite," 5 Elsie Davenport, 3-" Dick and Co.,"
6-" Pop and I," 4-Clifford and Herbert, 3- Ethel H. Hart, 8-Willie and Ned Gordon, 2- Hikeydum," Marie Anne S., 6-
"Ninepin," 8 Crooks, i Lila Higgin, 2 Ali, Ella and Gerty, 7 Griffin and Whale," 4 F. W. Islip, II.

.VV S t G W t9 9 %GV J tZ :

How many can find a word-dwindle in the above line of music ?

HIWT shuring diwsn dan mogloy kises
Het kard dan brutsonb trinew seid:
Raf-fof, sunene, Sigpnr laftiny scire,
Didbing ehr lasterie hilcd sear ;

THE central letters, reading downward, spell a word meaning to
CROSS-WORDs: I. Accused. 2. Vervain. 3. A heating appara-
tus. 4. A feminine name. 5. In vervain. 6. An insect. 7.
Poignant. 8. A dish. 9. Length of life. F. s. M.

1. BEHEAD tiny, and leave a level, shaded walk, 2. Behead to-
gether, and leave tedious. 3. Behead angry, and leave to appraise.
4: Behead a plant on which the cochineal bug feeds, and leave a pre-
cious stone. 5. Behead to follow with exactness, and leave alineage.
6. Behead a location, and leave a pretty fabric. 7. Behead to divert,
and leave to ruminate. 8. Behead to drill, and leave to shower.
9. Behead to absolve, and leave to eject. so. Behead hackneyed,
and leave a ceremony. xx. Behead the name of an English general


who distinguished himself in India, about the middle of the eighteenth
century, and leave active. 12. Behead a small anchor, and leave
The beheaded letters will spell the name of the patron saint of
Ireland. "Y. D. WAKE."

I . 2

5 6

7 .....

FROM i to 2, plentiful; from 2 to 4, to hesitate in speaking; from
I to 3, unites firmly; from 3 to 4, to reel; from 5 to 6, to pray ur-
gently; from 6 to 8, desires food; from 5 to 7, a wave breaking
into foam; from 7 to 8, a famous king of Egypt; from i to 5, an
animal which has ten legs; from 2 to 6, a decorative girdle; from
4 to 8, hastens; from 3 to 7, acid. "ODD rISH."


EAC Of the twelve little pictures in the above illustration sug--

gest the name of a kind of rab. Name the crabs in the order in
hich they are numbered.

It --

A' '" '," zZ ; .. -' -

3. A w er 4. To spin Ou. 5. In seer. ..

if. UPE RIGHT-HAND DIAMOND: i. In seer. 2. A period.
<7L1 " \ ,.' ''l r .i.__

punge. A snake. 5. In seer.

EACH of the twelve little pictures in the above illustration sug-
gests the name of a kind of crab. Name the crabs in the order in
which they are numbered.


I. UPPER LEFT-HAND DIAMOND: I. In seer. 2. Consumed.
3. A wager. 4. To spin out. 5. In seer.
II. UPPER RIGHT-HAND DIAMOND: I. In seer. a. A period.
3. To obliterate. 4. A serpent. 5. In seer.
III. CENTRAL DIAMOND: In seer. An epoch. To ex-
punge. 4. A snake. In seer.
IV. LOWER LEFT-HAND DIAMOND : I. In seer. a. A man's
name. 3. To corrode. 4. A girl's name. 5. In seer.
V. LOWER RIeHT-HAND DIAMOlND: nd t ses. a. T.Recompense.
3. A corrosive. 9. An affirmation. 5. In seer. SCULPTOR."

THE central word is the only one which reads the same perpendiot
ularly and horizontally.
CRO es-WORDS: a In Sisyphus. 2. The god of flocks and shep-
herds. 3. A sorceress who lived on the island of lett a. 4. A sur-
name of Apollo, under which he was worshiped by the Dorians. 5
A mountain sacred to Apollo and the Muses. 6. The son of Zeus
who married Andromeda. 7.'The leader of the Argonauts. 8. A
name for Aurora. 9. In Sisyphus. "KATASHAW."

ALL of the words described contain the same number, of letters.
When these have been rightly guessed and placed one below the
other, in the order here given, the fifth row of letters (reading down-


.,. I>
_"--- --. -_ ', .A,

ward) will spell the name of an English statesman who died in March,
773. The sixth row of letters will give the surname and the initials
of an American poet who died in March, 1882.
CROss-woRDS: I. A cemetery. 2. Words under the last lines of
pages, repeated at the top of the next. 3. That which urges cr drives
forward. 4. The science of language. 5. Electric flashes that pre-
cede thunder. 6. Pertaining to a college. 7. Mightily. 8. Bar-
gaining. 9. To win over. so. Dispersing. ir. Revealing. 12. Small
vipers. F. S. F.
I. I. A couch. 2. Harmonies. 3. A clumsy workman. 4.
To form by means of incisions upon wood. 5. Detained. 6. To
separate. 7. A color.
II. i. Performed. 2. Decreased in size. 3. One who hangs
about others. 4. An ungrateful person. 5. Tarried. 6. To hinder.
7. A color.
III. i. A carriage. 2. A species of eel-pout. 3. A piece of
furniture. 4. Capacity. 5. Fishes of the tunny kind. 6. A sur-
gical operation much practiced in former years. 7. Transposed, I
spell the name of an inclosure for swine. CYRIL DEANE.

Mvfirst is oft a kind of exercise,
From which a serious second may arise.
My third, to hunt, the prey is in the air.
Myrfirst again, a mineral, far from rare;
My second also means a sort of series;
My third sometimes a busy mason wearies.
My first is found on every ship that floats,
My second, sailors do, in smaller boats.
My thirds done by peddlers to sell goods.
Mvfirst-second flees unto the woods,
When chased by its enemy, my third,
Which the whole names in full; it's a bird.

ACROSS. r. To curtail. 2. To impel by rowing. 3. Burden-
some employment. 4. An animal. 5. A preposition.
DIAGONALS (beginning at the lower left-hand corner): i. In re-
publican. 2. To make frown. 3. The sea-shore. 4. A rope with
a noose. 5. To weary. 6. In republican. DYCIE.





University of Florida Home Page
© 2004 - 2010 University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries.
All rights reserved.

Acceptable Use, Copyright, and Disclaimer Statement
Last updated October 10, 2010 - - mvs