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"IF A BODY MEET A BODY?"

ST. NICHOLAS.

VOL. XV. SEPTEMBER, 1888. No. II.

SUNSHINE LAND.

BY EDITH M. THOMAS.

THEY came in sight of a lovely shore,
Yellow as gold in the morning light;
The sun's own color at noon it wore
And had faded not at the fall of night;
Clear weather or cloudy,- 't was all as one,
The happy hills seemed bathed with the sun.
Its secret the sailors could not understand,
But they called this country Sunshine Land.

What was the secret ?-a simple thing
(It will make you smile when once you know):
Touched by the tender finger of spring,
A million blossoms were all aglow;
So many, so many, so small and bright,
They covered the hills with a mantle of light;
And the wild bee hummed, and the glad breeze fanned,
Through the honeyed fields of Sunshine Land.

If over the sea we two were bound,
What port, dear child, would we choose for ours ?
We would sail, and sail, till at last we found
This fairy gold of a million flowers.
Yet, darling, we 'd find, if at home we stayed,
Of many small joys our pleasures are made,
More near than we think,- very close at hand,
Lie the golden fields of Sunshine Land.

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

TWO LITTLE CONFEDERATES.

BY THOMAS NELSON PAGE.

CHAPTER XV.

THE raiders were up early next morning scouring
the woods and country around. They knew that the
fugitive soldiers could not have gone far, for the
Federal had every road picketed, and their main
body was not far away. As the morning wore on,
it became a grave question at Oakland how the two
soldiers were to subsist. They had no provisions
with them, and the roads were so closely watched
that there was no chance of their obtaining any.
The matter was talked over, and the boys' mother
and Cousin Belle were in despair.
"They can eat their shoes," said Willy, reflect-
ively.
The ladies exclaimed in horror.
"That 's what men always do when they get
lost in a wilderness where there is no game."
This piece of information from Willy did not
impress his hearers as much as he supposed it
would.
I'11 tell you! Let me and Frank go and carry
'em something to eat!"
"How do you know where they are ?"
"They are at our Robber's Cave, are n't they,
Cousin Belle ? We told the General yesterday
how to get there, did n't we ? "
"Yes, and he said last night that he would go
there."
Willy's idea seemed a good one, and the offer
was accepted. The boys were to go out as if to
see the troops, and were to take as much food as
they thought could pass for their luncheon. Their
mother cooked and put up a luncheon large
enough to have satisfied the appetites of two
young Brobdingnagians, and they set out on their
relief expedition.
The two sturdy little figures looked full of im-
portance as they strode off up the road. They
carried many loving messages. Their Cousin Belle
gave to each separately a long, whispered mes-
sage which each by himself was to deliver to the
General. It was thought best not to hazard a
note.
They were watched by the ladies from the portico
until they disappeared over the hill. They took
a path which led into the woods, and walked
cautiously for fear some of the raiders might be

lurking about. However, the boys saw none of
the enemy, and in a little while they came to a
point where the pines began. Then they turned
into the woods, for the pines were so thick the boys
could not be seen, and the pine tags made it so
soft under foot that they could walk without making
any noise.
They were pushing their way through the bushes,
when Frank suddenly stopped.
Hush !" he said.
Willy halted and listened.
There they are."
From a little distance to one side in the direc-
tion of the path they had just left, they heard the
trampling of a number of horses' feet.
"That's not our folks," said Willy. "Hugh
and the General have n't any horses."
"No; that's the Yankees," said Frank. Let's
lie down. They may hear us."
The boys flung themselves upon the ground
and almost held their breath until the horses had
passed out of hearing.
"Do you reckon they are hunting for us?"
asked Willy in an awed whisper.
"No, for Hugh and the General. Come on."
They rose, went dipping a little deeper into
the pines, and again made their way toward the
cave.
Maybe they've caught'em," suggested Willy.
"They can't catch 'em in these pines," replied
Frank. You can't see any distance at all. A horse
can't get through, and the General and Hugh could
shoot 'em, and then get away before they could
catch 'em."
They hurried on.
"Frank, suppose they take us for Yankees ?"
Evidently, Willy's mind had been busy since
Frank's last speech.
"They are n't going to shoot us," said Frank;
but it was an unpleasant suggestion, for they were
not very far from the dense clump of pines between
two gullies, which the boys called their cave.
We can whistle," he said, presently.
Won't Hugh and the General think we are
enemies trying to surround them?" Willy objected.
The dilemma was a serious one. "We'll have to
crawl up," said Frank, after a pause.
And this was agreed upon. They were soon on

TWO LITTLE CONFEDERATES.

the edge of the deep gully which, on one side,
protected the spot from all approach. They
scrambled down its steep side, and began to creep
along, peeping over its other edge from time to
time, to see if they could discover the clearing
which marked the little green spot on top of the
hill, where once had stood an old cabin. The base
of the ruined chimney, with its immense fire-place,
constituted the boy's "cave." They were close to
it, now, and felt themselves to be in imminent dan-
ger of a sweeping fusillade. They had just crept
up to the top of the ravine and were consulting,
when some one immediately behind them, not
twenty feet away, called out:
Hello What are you boys doing here? Are
you trying to capture us ? "
They jumped at the unexpected voice. The Gen-
eral broke into a laugh. He had been sitting on
the ground on the other side of the declivity, and
had been watching their maneuvers for some time.
He brought them to the house-spot where Hugh
was asleep on the ground; he had been on watch
all the morning, and, during the General's turn,
was making up for his lost sleep. He was soon wide
awake enough, and he and the General, with ap-
petites bearing witness to their long fast, were with-
out delay engaged in disposing of the provisions
which the boys had brought.
The boys were delighted with the mystery of
their surroundings. Each in turn took the Gen-
eral aside and held a long interview with him,
and gave him all their Cousin Belle's messages.
No one had ever treated them with such con-
sideration as the General showed them. The two
men asked the boys all about the dispositions of
the enemy, but the boys had little to tell.
They are after us pretty hotly," said the Gen-
eral. I think they are going away shortly. It's
nothing but a raid, and they are moving on. We
must get back to camp to-night."
How are you going? asked the boys. You
have n't any horses."
"We are going to get some of their horses,"
said the officer. They have taken ours-now
they must furnish us with others."
It was about time for the boys to start for
home. The General took each of them aside, and
talked for a long time. He was speaking to Willy,
on the edge of the clearing, when there was a
crack of a twig in the pines. In a second he had
laid the boy on his back in the soft grass and
whipped out a pistol. Then, with a low, quick
call to Hugh, he sprang swiftly into the pines
toward the sound.
"Crawl down into the ravine, boys," called
Hugh, following his companion. The boys rolled
down over the bank like little ground-hogs; but

in a second they heard a familiar drawling voice
call out in a subdued tone:
Hold on, Cunnel! it 's nobody but me; don't
you know me ?" And, in a moment, they heard
the General's astonished and somewhat stern reply:
Mills, what are you doing here ? Who's with
you? What do you want? "
Well," said the new-comer, slowly, I 'lowed
I 'd come to see if I could be o' any use to you. I
heard the Yankees had run you 'way from Oak-
land last night, and was sort o' huntin' for you.
Fact is, they 's been up my way, and I sort o'
'lowed I 'd come an' see ef I could help you git
back to camp."
Where have you been all this time ? I wonder
you are not ashamed to look me in the face "
The General's voice was still stern. He had
turned around and walked back to the cleared
space.
The deserter scratched his head in perplexity.
"I need n' 'a' come," he said, doggedly.
"Where 's them boys? I don' want the boys
hurted. I seen 'em coming' here, an' I jes' fol-
lowed 'em to see they did n't get in no trouble.
But "
This speech about the boys effected what the
offer of personal service to the General himself
had failed to bring about.
Sit down and let me talk to you," said the
General, throwing himself on the grass.
Mills seated himself cross-legged near the officer,
with his gun across his knees, and began to bite a
straw which he pulled from a tuft by his side.
The boys had come up out of their retreat, and
taken places on each side of the General.
You all take to grass like young partridges,"
said the hunter. The boys were flattered, for
they considered any notice from him a compli-
ment.
What made you fool us, and send us to catch
that conscript-guard? Frank asked.
Well, you ketched him, did n't you? You 're
the only ones ever been able to catch him," he
said, with a low chuckle.
Now, Mills, you know how things stand," said
the General. "It's a shame for you to have been
acting this way. You know what people say about
you. But if you come back to camp and do your
duty, I '11 have it all straightened out. If you
don't, I '11 have you shot."
His voice was as calm and his manner as com-
posed as if he were promising the man opposite
him a reward for good conduct. He looked Mills
steadily in the eyes all the time. The boys felt as
if their friend were about to be executed. The
General seemed an immeasurable distance above
them.

805

TWO LITTLE CONFEDERATES.

The deserter blinked twice or thrice, slowly bit
his shred of straw, looked casually first toward one
boy and then toward the other, but without the
slightest change of expression in his face.
Cun'l," he said, at length, "I ain't no de-
serter. I ain't feared of bein' shot. Ef I was, I
would n' 'a' come here now. I 'm gwine wid you,

TIM MILLS MAKES A DECLARATION O0

an' I 'm gwine back to my company; an' I 'm
gwine fight, ef Yankees gits in my way; but ef I gits
tired, I 's coming' home; an' tain't no use to tell you
I ain't, 'cause I is,--an' ef anybody flings up to me
that I 's a-runnin' away, I 'm gwine to kill 'em "
He rose to his feet in the intensity of his feeling,
and his eyes, usually so dull, were like live coals.
The General looked at him quietly a few seconds,

then himself arose and laid his hand on Tim Mills'
shoulder.
"All right," he said.
"I got a little snack M'lindy put up," said
Mills, pulling a substantialbundle out of his game-
bag. "I 'lowed maybe you might be sort o'
hongry. Jes' two or three squirrels I shot," he
said, apologetically.
You boys better git
'long home, I reckon,"
said Mills to Willy.
SJ" You ain' 'fraid, is you?
'Cause if you is, I '11 go
with you."
Hisvoice had resumed
its customary drawl.
S'" Oh, no," said both
boys, eagerly. We
are n't afraid."
"An' tell your ma I
ain' let nobody tetch
nothing' on the Oakland
plantation; not sence
that day you all went
huntin' deserters; not
if I knowed 'bout it."
Yes, sir."
"An' tell her I 'm
gwine take good keer o'
S Hugh an' the Cunnel.
Good-bye !- now run
along! "
All right, sir,-
T good-bye."
"An' ef you hear
anybody say Tim Mills
is a d'serter, tell 'em it 's
lit ,a lie, an' you know it.
Good-bye." He turned
away as if relieved.
The boys said good-
bye to all three, and
started in the direction
of home.

CHAPTER XVI.

SWAR. AFTER crossing the
gully, and walking on
through the woods for what they thought a safe
distance, they turned into the path.
They were talking very merrily about the Gen-
eral and Hugh and their friend Mills, and were
discussing some romantic plan for the recapture
of their horses from the enemy, when they came
out of the path into a road, and found themselves
within twenty yards of a group of Federal soldiers,

806

[SEPT.

TWO LITTLE CONFEDERATES.

quietly sitting on their horses, evidently guarding
the road.
The sight of the blue-coats made the boys jump.
They would have crept back, but it was too late -
they caught the eye of the man nearest them.
They ceased talking as suddenly as birds in the
trees stop chirruping when the hawk sails over;
and when one Yankee called to them, in a stern
tone, Halt there and started to come toward
them, their hearts were in their mouths.
Where are you boys going ?" he asked, as he
came up to them.
Going home."
"Where do you belong? "
"Over there -at Oakland," pointing in the
direction of their home, which seemed suddenly to
have moved a thousand miles away.
Where have you been ? The other soldiers
had come up now.
"Been down this way." The boys' voices were
never so meek before. Each reply was like an
apology.
"Been to see your brother?" asked one who
had not spoken before- a pleasant-looking fellow.
The boys looked at him. They were paralyzed
by dread of the approaching question.
"Now, boys, we know where you have been,"
said a small fellow, who wore a yellow chevron on
his arm. He had a thin mustache and a sharp
nose, and rode a wiry, dull sorrel horse. "You
may just as well tell us all about it. We know
you 've been to see 'em, and we are going to make
you carry us where they are."
No, we ain't," said Frank, doggedly.
Willy expressed his determination also.
If you don't, it 's going to be pretty bad for
you," said the little corporal. He gave an order
to two of the men, who sprang from their horses,
and, catching Frank, swung him up behind another
cavalryman. The boy's face was very pale, but he
bit his lip.
"Go ahead," -continued the corporal to a
number of his men, who started down the path.
" You four men remain here till we come back,"
he said to the men on the ground, and to two
others on horseback. Keep him here," jerking
his thumb towards Willy, whose face was already
burning with emotion.
"I 'm going with Frank," said Willy. "Let
me go." This to the man who had hold of him
by the arm. "Frank, make him let me go," he
shouted, bursting into tears, and turning on his
captor with all his little might.
Willy, he 's not goin' to hurt you,- don't you
tell! called Frank, squirming until he dug his
heels so into the horse's flanks that the horse
began to kick up.

"Keep quiet, Johnny; he 's not goin' to hurt
him," said one of the men, kindly. He had a
brown beard and shining white teeth.
They rode slowly down the narrow path, the
dragoon holding Frank by the leg. Deep down
in the woods, beyond a small branch, the path
forked.
"Which way?" asked the corporal, stopping,
and addressing Frank.
Frank set his mouth tight and looked him in
the eyes.
Which is it ?" the corporal repeated.
I ain't going to tell," said he, firmly.
Look here, Johnny; we 've got you, and we
are going to make you tell us; so you might just
as well do it, easy. If you don't, we 're goin' to
make you."
The boy said nothing.
You men dismount. Stubbs, hold the horses."
He himself dismounted, and three others did the
same, giving their horses to a fourth.
"Get down "-this to Frank and the soldier
behind whom he was riding. The soldier dis-
mounted, and the boy slipped off after him and
faced his captor, who held a strap in one hand.
"Are you goin' tell us? he asked.
SNo."
"Don't you know ?" He came a step nearer,
and held the strap forward. There was a long
silence. The boy's face paled perceptibly, but
took on a look as if the proceedings were indifferent
to him.
If you say you don't know -" said the man,
hesitating in face of the boy's resolution. Don't
you know where they are? "
"Yes, I know; but I ain't goin' to tell you,"
said Frank, bursting into tears.
"The little Johnny's game," said the soldier
who had told him the others were not going to
hurt Willy. The corporal said something to this
man in an undertone, to which he replied:
"You can try, but it is n't going to do any
good. I don't half like it, anyway."
Frank had stopped crying after his first out-
burst.
If you don't tell, we are going to shoot you,"
said the little soldier, drawing his pistol.
The boy shut his mouth cloce, and looked
straight at the corporal. The man laid down his
pistol, and, seizing Frank, drew his hands behind
him, and tied them.
Get ready, men," he said, as he drew the boy
aside to a small tree, putting him with his back
to it.
Frank thought his hour had come. He thought
of his mother and Willy, and wondered if the
soldiers would shoot Willy, too. His face twitched

TWO LITTLE CONFEDERATES.

and grew ghastly white. Then he thought of
his father, and of hoiv proud he would be of his
son's bravery when he should hear of it. This
gave him strength.
The knot -hurts my hands," he said.
The man leaned over and eased it a little.
I was n't crying because I was scared," said
Frank.
"Now, boys, get ready," said the corporal,
taking up his pistol.
How large it looked to Frank. He wondered
where the bullets would hit him, and if the wounds
would bleed, and whether he would be left alone
all night out there in the woods, and if his mother
would come and kiss him.
"I want to say my prayers," he said, faintly.
The soldier made some reply which he could
not hear, and the man with the beard started for-
ward; but just then all grew dark before his eyes.
Next, he thought he must have been shot, for he
felt wet about his face, and was lying down. He
heard some one say, "He 's coming to"; and
another replied, "Thank God! "
He opened his eyes. He was lying beside the
little branch with his head in the lap of the big
soldier with the beard, and the little corporal was
leaning over him throwing water in his face from a
cap. The others were standing around.
What's the matter? asked Frank.
"That's all right," said the little corporal,
kindly. "We were just a-foolin' a bit with you,
Johnny."
We never meant to hurt you," said the other.
"You feel better now? "
"Yes, where 's Willy? He was too tired to
move.
"He 's all right. We 'll take you to him."
"Am I shot? asked Frank.
No Do you think we'd have touched a hair of
your head--and you such a brave little fellow?
We were just trying to scare you a bit and carried
it too far, and you got a little faint,-that's all."
The voice was so kindly that Frank was
encouraged to sit up.
Can you walk now ?" asked the corporal, help-
ing him and steadying him as he rose to his feet.
I '11 take him," said the big fellow, and before
the boy could move, he had stooped, taken Frank
in his arms, and was carrying him back toward the
place where they had left Willy, while the others
followed after with the horses.
I can walk," said Frank.
"No, I '11 carry you, b-bless your heart "
The boy did not know that the big dragoon was
looking down at the light hair resting on his arm,
and that while he trod the Virginia wood-path, in
fancy he was home in Delaware; or that the press-

ure the boy felt from his strong arms, was a caress
given for the sake of another boy far away on the
Brandywine. A little while before they came in
sight, Frank asked to be put down.
The soldier gently set him on his feet, and before
he let him go, kissed him.
I've got a curly-headed fellow at home, just
the size of you," he said softly.
Frank saw that his eyes were moist. "1 hope
you 'll get safe back to him," he said.
S"God grant it said the soldier.
When they reached the squad at the gate, they
found Willy still in much distress on Frank's
account; but he wiped his eyes when his brother
reappeared, and listened with pride to the soldiers'
praise of Frank's grit," as they called it. When
they let the boys go, the little corporal wished
Frank to accept a five-dollar gold piece; but he
politely declined it.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE story of Frank's adventure and courage
was the talk of all the Oakland plantation. His
mother and Cousin Belle both kissed him and called
him their little hero. Willy also received a full
share of praise for his courage.
About noon there was great commotion among
the troops. They were far more numerous than
they had been in the morning, and instead of rid-
ing about the woods in small bodies, hunting for
the concealed soldiers, they were collecting together
and preparing to move.
It was learned that a considerable body of cav-
alry was passing down the road by Trinity Church,
and that the depot had been burnt again the night
before. Somehow, a rumor got about that the
Confederates were following up the raiders.
In an hour, most of the soldiers went away, but
a number still stayed on. Their horses were pick-
eted about the yard feeding; and they themselves
lounged around, making themselves at home in
the house, and pulling to pieces the things that
were left. They were not, however, as wanton in
their destruction as the first set, who had passed by
the year before.
Among those who yet remained were the little
corporal, and the big young soldier who had been
so kind to Frank. They were in the rear-guard.
At length even the last man rode off.
The boys had gone in and out among them,
without being molested. Now and then some
rough fellowwould swear at them, but for the most
part their intercourse with the boys was friendly.
When, therefore, they rode off, the boys were
allowed by their mother to go and see the main body.
Peter and Cole were with them. They took the

808

[SEPT.

TWO LITTLE CONFEDERATES.

main road and followed along, picking up straps,
and cartridges, and all those miscellaneous things
dropped by a large body of troops as they pass
along.
Cartridges were very valuable, as they fur-
nished the only powder and shot the boys could
get for hunting, and their supply was out. These
were found in unusual numbers. The boys filled

sleeves bagging down with the heavy musket-car-
tridges. They left the Federal rear-guard feeding
their horses at a great white pile of corn which had
been thrown out of the corn-house of a neighbor,
and was scattered all over the ground.
They crossed a field, descended a hill, and took
the main road at its foot, just as a body of cavalry
came in sight. A small squad, riding some little

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yTHE BOY FACED HIS CAPTORWHO HELD A STRAP IN ONE HAND."
"THE BOY FACED HIS CAPTOR, WHO HELD A STRAP IN ONE HAND."

their pockets, and finally filled their sleeves, tying
them tightly at the wrist with strings, so that the
contents would not spill out. One of the boys
found even an old pistol, which was considered a
great treasure. He bore it proudly in his belt, and
was envied by all the others.
It '.in q.'r.. late in the afternoon when they
tl..usii .-I' turning toward home, their pockets and

distance in advance of the main body, had already
passed by. These were Confederates. The first
man they saw, at the head of the column by the
colonel, was the General, and a little behind him
was none other than Hugh on a gray roan while
not far down the column rode their friend Tim
Mills, looking rusty and sleepy as usual.
Goodness Why here are the General and

809

1888.]

TWO LITTLE CONFEDERATES.

Hugh! How in the world did you get away?"
exclaimed the boys.
They learned that it was a column of cavalry
following the line of the raid, and that the General
and Hugh had met them and volunteered. The
soldiers greeted the boys cordially.
"The Yankees are right up there," said the
youngsters.
Where? How many? What are they doing? "
asked the General.
"A whole pack of'em -right up there at the
stables, and all about, feeding their horses and
sitting all around, and ever so many more have
gone along down the road."
"Fling the fence down there!" The boys
pitched down the rails in two or three places.
An order was passed back, and in an instant a stir
of preparation was noticed all down the line of
horsemen.
A courier galloped up the road to recall the
advance-guard. The head of the column passed
through the gap, and, without waiting for the
others, dashed up the hill at a gallop- the Gen-
eral and the colonel a score of yards ahead of any
of the others.
Let 's go and see the fight! cried the boys;
and the whole set started back up the hill as fast
as their legs could carry them.
S'pose they shoot Won't they shoot us?"
asked one of the negro boys, in some apprehen-
sion. This, though before unthought of, was a
possibility, and for a moment brought them down
to a slower pace.
We can lie flat and peep over the top of the
hill." This was Frank's happy thought, and the
party started ahead again. Let 's go around
that way." They made a little detour.
Just before they reached the crest they heard a
shot, "bang immediately followed by another,
"bang and in a second more a regular volley
began, and was kept up.
They reached the crest of the hill in time to see
the Confederates gallop up the slope toward the
stables, firing their pistols at the blue-coats, who
were forming in the edge of a little wood, over
beyond a fence from the other side of which the
smoke of their carbines was rolling. They had
evidently started on just as the boys left, and
before the Confederates came in sight.
The boys saw their friends dash at this fence,
and could distinguish the General and Hugh, who
were still in the lead. Their horses took the
fence, going over like birds, and others followed,-
Tim Mills among them, while yet more went
through a gate a few yards to one side.
Look at Hugh Look at Hugh "
"Look! That horse has fallen down!" cried

one of the boys, as a horse went down just at the
entrance of the wood, rolling over his rider.
"He 's shot!" exclaimed Frank, for neither
'horse nor rider attempted to rise.
"See; they are running! "
The little squad of blue-coats were retiring into
the woods, with the grays closely pressing them.
Let 's cut across and see 'em run 'em over the
bridge."
Come on "
All the little group of spectators, white and
black, started as hard as they could go for a path
they knew, which led by a short cut through the
little piece of woods. Beyond lay a field divided
by a stream, a short distance on the other side of
which was a large body of woods.
The popping was still going on furiously in the
woods, and bullets were zoo-ing over the fields.
But the boys could not see anything, and they did
not think about the flying balls.
They were all excitement at the idea of our
men whipping the enemy, and they ran with all
their might to be in time to see them -Ichase
'em across the field."
The road on which the skirmish took place, and
down which the Federal rear-guard had retreated,
made a sharp curve beyond the woods, around
the bend of a little stream crossed by a small
bridge; and the boys, in taking the short cut, had
placed the road between themselves and home;
but they did not care about that, for their men
were driving the others. They "just wanted to
see it."
They reached the edge of the field in time to
see that the Yankees were on the other side of the
stream. They knew them to be where puffs of
smoke came out of the opposite wood. And the
Confederates had stopped beyond the bridge, and
were halted, in some confusion, in the field.
The firing was very sharp, and bullets were
singing in every direction. Then the Confederates
got together, and went as hard as they could right
at them, up to the wood all along the edge of
which the smoke was pouring in continuous puffs
and with a rattle of shots. They saw several
horses fall as the Confederates galloped on, but
the smoke hid most of it. Next they saw a long
line of fire appear in the smoke on both sides of
the road, where it entered the wood; then the
Confederates stopped, and became all mixed up;
a number of horses galloped away without their
riders, another line of white and red flame came
out of the woods, the Confederates began to come
back, leaving many horses on the ground, and a
body of cavalry in blue coats poured out of the
wood in pursuit.
"Look Look! They are running--they are

8io

[SEPT.

TWO LITTLE CONFEDERATES.

beating our men! exclaimed the boys. "They
have driven 'em back across the bridge."
How many of them there are "
"What shall we do ? Suppose they see us "
Come on, Mah'srs Frank 'n' Willy, let 's go
home," said the colored boys. "They'll shoot us."
The fight was now in the woods which lay be-
tween the boys and their home. But just then
the gray-coats got together, again turned at the
edge of the wood, and dashed back on their pur-
suers, and the smoke and bushes on the stream
hid everything. In a second more both emerged

the point in the road where the skirmish had been
and where the Confederates had rallied. They
stopped to listen to the popping in the woods on
the other side, and were just saying how glad they
were that our men had whipped them," when a
soldier came along.
What in the name of goodness are you boys
doing here? he asked.
We 're just looking' on an' lis'nin'," answered
the boys meekly.
Well, you'd better be getting home as fast as
you can. They are too strong for us, and they'll

_.'.k"b ,,

'' .I .' _"

''LOOK! LOOK! THEY ARE RUNNING--THEY ARE BEATING OUR MEN!' EXCLAIMED THE BOYS."

on the other side of the smoke and went into the
woods on the further edge of the field, all in con-
fusion, and leaving on the ground more horses
and men than before.
What's them things 'zip-zippin' 'round my
ears ? asked one of the negro boys.
"Bullets," said Frank, proud of his knowledge.
Will they hurt me if they hit me? "
"Of course they will. They'll kill you."
"I'm gwine home," said the boy, and off he
started at a trot.
"Hold on!-We 're goin', too; but let 's go
down this way: this is the best way."
They went along the edge of the field, toward

be driving us back directly, and some of you may
get killed or run over."
This was dreadful! Such an idea had never
occurred to the boys. A panic took possession of
them.
Come on! Let 's go home This was the
universal idea, and in a second the whole party
were cutting straight for home, utterly stampeded.
They could readily have found shelter and se-
curity back over the hill, from the flying balls;
but they preferred to get home, and they made
straight for it. The popping of the guns, which
still kept up in the woods across the little river,
now meant to them that the victorious Yankees

81I

TWO LITTLE CONFEDERATES.

were driving back their friends. They believed
that the bullets which now and then yet whistled
over the woods with a long, singing zoo-ee," were
aimed at them. For their lives, then, they ran,
expecting to be killed every minute.
The load of cartridges in their pockets, which
they had carried for hours, weighed them down.
As they ran they threw these out. Then followed
those in their sleeves. Frank and the other boys
easily got rid of theirs, but Willy had tied the
strings, around his wrists in such hard knots that
he could not possibly untie them. He was falling
behind.
Frank heard him call. Without slacking his
speed, he looked back over his shoulder. Willy's
face was red, and his mouth was twitching. He
was sobbing a little, and was tearing at the strings
with his teeth as he ran. Then the strings came
loose one after the other, the cartridges were
shaken out over the ground, and Willy's face
at once cleared up as he ran forward lightened of
his load.
They had passed almost through the narrow
skirt of woods where the first attack was made,
when they heard some one not far from the side
of the road call, "Water "
The boys stopped. "What's that?" they
asked each other in a startled undertone. A
groan came from the same direction, and a voice
said, Oh, for some water "
A short, whispered consultation was held.
He's right up on that bank. There's a road
up there."
Frank advanced a little; a man was lying some-
what propped up against a tree. His eyes were
closed, and there was a ghastly wound in his head.
Willy, it's a Yankee, and he's shot."
Is he dead ? asked the others, in awed voices.
No. Let's ask him if he 's hurt much."
They all approached him. His eyes were shut
and his face was ashy white.
"Willy, it's my Yankee exclaimed Frank.
The wounded man moved his hand at the sound
of the voices.
"Water," he murmured. Bring me water,
for pity's sake "
I'11 get you some,- don't you know me?
Let me have your canteen," said Frank, stooping
and taking hold of the canteen. It was held by
its strap; but the boy whipped out a knife and cut
it loose.
The man tried to speak; but the boys could
not understand him.
"Where are you goin' get it, Frank?" asked
the other boys.
"At the branch down there that runs into the
creek."

The Yankees '11 shoot you down there," ob-
jected Peter and Willy.
/ain' gwine that way," said Cole.
The soldier groaned.
"I 'II go with you, Frank," said Willy, who
could not stand the sight of the man's suffering.
We'll be back directly."
The two boys darted off, the others following
them at a little distance. They reached the open
field. The shooting was still going on in the
woods on the other side, but they no longer
thought of it. They ran down the hill and dashed
across the little flat to the branch at the nearest
point, washed the blood from the canteen and
filled it with the cool water.
"I wish we had something to wash his face
with," sighed Willy, "but I have n't got a hand-
kerchief."
"Neither have I." Willy looked thoughtful.
A second more and he had stripped off his light
sailor's jacket and dipped it in the water. The
next minute the two boys were running up the
hill again.
When they reached the spot where the wounded
man lay, he had slipped down and was flat on the
ground. His feeble voice still called for water,
but was much weaker than before. Frank stooped
and held the canteen to the man's lips, and he
drank. Then Willy and Frank, together, bathed
his face with the still dripping cotton jacket. This
revived him somewhat; but he did not recognize
them and talked incoherently. They propped up
his head.
"Frank, it's getting mighty late, and we've
got to go home," said Willy.
The boy's voice or words reached the ear of
the wounded man.
"Take me home," he murmured; "I want
some water from the well by the dairy."
Give him some more water."
Willy lifted the canteen. Here it is."
The soldier swallowed with difficulty.
He could not raise his hand now. There was a
pause. The boys stood around, looking down on
him. "I 've come back home," he said. His
eyes were closed.
He 's dreaming," whispered Willy.
Did you ever see anybody die ? asked Frank,
suddenly, in a low tone.
Willy's face paled.
No, Frank; let's go home and tell somebody."
Frank stooped and touched the soldier's face.
He was talking all the time now, though they
could not understand everything he said. The
boy's touch seemed to rouse him.
"It 's bedtime," he said, presently. Kneel
down and say your prayers for Father."

812

[SEPT.

TWO LITTLE CONFEDERATES.

Willy, let 's say our prayers for him," whis-
pered Frank.
'"I can say, 'Now I lay me.'' But before he
could begin -
'Now I lay me down to sleep, '" said the sol-
dier, tenderly. The boys followed him, thinking
he had heard them. They did not know that he
was saying- for one whom but that morning he
had called his curly-head at home "- the prayer
that is common to Virginia and to Delaware, to
North and to South, and which no wars can
silence and no victories cause to be forgotten.
The soldier's voice now was growing almost in-
audible. He spoke between long-drawn breaths.
"' If I should die before I wake.' "
"'If I should die before I wake,'" they re-
peated, and continued the prayer.
'And this I ask for Jesus' sake,'" said the

boys, ending. There was a long pause. Frank
stroked the pale face softly with his hand.
'And this I ask for Jesus' sake,' whispered
the lips. Then, very softly: Kiss me good-
night."
Kiss him, Frank."
The boy stooped over and kissed the lips that
had kissed him in the morning. Willy kissed
him, also. The lips moved in a faint smile.
God bless-- "
The boys waited,-but that was all. The dusk
settled down in the woods. The prayer was ended.
He 's dead," said Frank, in deep awe.
"Frank, are n't you mighty sorry?" asked
Willy, in a trembling voice. Then he suddenly
broke out crying.
"I don't want him to die I don't want him to
die "

(To be continued.)

t888.]

813

*ALL A-BLOWING.

BY KATE M. CLEARY.

WHERE the shadows pass he lies on the grass,
Like a little pink rose a-glowing,
And watches still how the wind's sweet will
Keeps the green leaves all a-blowing.

Rustling they sway the livelong day,
And like a river flowing
By a pebbly beach, sounds their ripply speech,
Oh, the leaves a-blowing, blowing !*

When next they leap from bud-brown sleep,
Their gay green banners showing,
And over the grass where the shadows pass,
Keep blowing and a-blowing -

They'll look for him, dear little Tim,
But will see underneath them, maybe,
A boy who can walk and a boy who can talk,
Instead of a bit of a baby.

He lies on the grass where the shadows pass
With thoughts too deep for knowing,
While the sunlight weaves its gold through the
leaves,
And they keep a-blowing, blowing !

SOME STORIES ABOUT "THE CALIFORNIA LION."

BY E. P. ROE.

ON the Pacific
coast the cougar

1 4' the East) is called
"the California
S lion "; while in
the interior it is
more generally
known as "the
mountain lion."
People who have
t seen this animal
(the most formid-
able of the cat
species on this con-
tinent excepting
only the jaguar), or who have encountered it, have
related to me experiences which may prove inter-
esting to others. But a few years since, these lions
were abundant in the mountain-ranges back of
Santa Barbara, and many still prowl around, chiefly
at night, in search of prey. As a rule, they are
extremely sly and cowardly. The hunter, without

trained dogs, rarely sees them, even though the
signs of them are plentiful. It is probable, how-
ever, that from close coverts the hunter himself is
well watched. Hunger leads them to occasional
reckless ventures in search of food.
A few years ago, one of these immense cats,
weak and emaciated, made its way into the heart
of the city of Santa Barbara, and looked into the
breakfast-room windows of a fine brick dwelling.
The poor beast received a lump of cold lead
instead of a piece of hot steak. It could scarcely
expect any better treatment, however, for all its
kind have justly earned a very bad reputation.
One has been known to kill fifty sheep in a single
night, so insatiable is this prowler's thirst for
blood. Pigs, calves, lambs, colts, and even cows
and bullocks are devoured by these lions, and
therefore they are well hated by the ranchmen.
Every means is used to destroy them, and many
annually are poisoned.
This wily and agile beast when closely pursued
by dogs takes to a tree, like a wild-cat. A friend
who owns a ranch in the Santa Inez valley told

SOME STORIES ABOUT "THE CALIFORNIA LION."

me of the narrow escape of a boy employed by
him. The dogs had treed a lion not far from the
house. So the boy, who was known by the classic
name of "Prospero," procured a gun from the
house and with more courage than discretion
advanced boldly and fired. The wounded animal
sprang toward him, and a second leap would have
brought it to the boy, but the hounds diverted its
attention. A terrible fight followed, and it might
have been one of doubtful issue had it not been
for the fact that the lion was growing weak from
loss of blood. At last the lion sought again to
climb the tree, but the boy succeeded in dragging

just as the animal sprang to climb the tree. The
noose fell over its head, one shoulder and one leg.
First sheering off, to tighten the fatal noose, the
ranchman never relaxed his speed a moment;
but kept on, out into the road, then a half-mile to
the ford of the Santa Inez river, and across the
river to the further bank. The end of the lariat
was fastened to the strong pommel of the Mexican
saddle, and the snarling, writhing lion was dragged
pell-mell along the dusty highway, and through
the rapid stream. The ranchman, however, knew
that the creature had the proverbial nine lives of
a cat; so, having no fire-arm, he was puzzled how

-^ . _- ,-- _- '__" r -

5 -- : -. ., .

r I
X%
., .v -

_-_ ---_- ,
-7

it down and killed it. Had it not been for the
hounds, undoubtedly the boy would have been
torn to pieces: for the cougar of this region is
enormously strong, and its ferocity is terrible when
it is injured or compelled to fight.
A short time since, another lion was captured
near this ranch in a manner which illustrates the
remarkable skill acquired by western cattle-raisers
in the use of the lariat. A mounted ranchman
was proceeding along the Santa Inez road, when
his dogs started this lion in the open ground. It
bounded away, seeking a tall tree, but the ranch-
man was too near and too quick for it. Spurring
his horse in pursuit, he threw his unerring lasso,

to dispatch the beast without danger to himself or
his horse. A tree, standing by itself, gave him
the opportunity he sought. Ata gallop he dragged
his victim to the foot of the tree, whereupon the
animal made such effort to cling to the trunk as
it was still capable of exerting. Instantly the
captor began to ride in a circle around the tree;
and after a few circuits, the lion was wound up
hard and tight. It was then a safe and easy matter
to end the bruised, battered, and half-drowned
creature's existence with a hunting-knife.
A very interesting scene in which a lion figured,
was related to me by a gentleman who was on a
hunting expedition with two or three friends in the

SOME STORIES ABOUT "THE CALIFORNIA LION."

range beyond the Santa Inez mountains. Late
one afternoon they were sitting on a crag, over-
looking a grassy valley which was already in
shadow. Almost beneath them a mare was graz-
ing, with her foal gamboling about her. While
the hunters were watching the graceful little
creature's antics, it gave a startled whinny and
sped toward its mother, and then it was seen that
a mountain lion was in pursuit. The mare at
once offered battle, showing surprising agility and
courage. She always kept between the foal and

ended it is hard to say, for the hunters, after watch-
ing the strange scene a few moments, hastened
down the mountain side in the hope of having
a shot at the marauder, but on the approach of
these new foes, the great cat at once made off,
defying all pursuit among the steep cliffs.
A very common trait in all intelligent animals
is curiosity; and on one occasion a young lion,
nearly grown, indulged its thirst for knowledge in
a way which unpleasantly suggested a thirst of
a more sanguinary character. A few years since

5-.

heels. beginning of one of the numerous ca.ons running.
.was unshod, but more than once was heard the the city. The artist, without a thought of danger
_ ....._--- _- --- ---.-_-: _.....
TMIE MARE DEFENDS HER COLT.

the lion. Whenever the ouragon sought to spring a well known artistof Santa Barbara was sketching
upon the colt, she would interpose herself with in Glen Annie, on the famous Hollister ranch.
incredible swiftness, whirl around and let fly both This glen, with its superb live-oaks, fbrms the
heels. beginning of one of the numerous cautions running
As usual with horses out at pasturage the mare up into the mountains, and is but a few miles from
was unshod, but more than once was heard the the city. The artist, without a thought of danger
thud of her hoofs against the tawny side of the or interruption, was painting busily, when happen
lion. In her unhesitating devotion to her young, ing to look up he saw a lion but a few yards
she made a fine, inspiring picture. Her neck was away. Here was a critic which any artist might
arched, her action most courageous; and when- justly dread; and the worst of it was, that however
ever she struck out with her feet, the force of the indifferent he was to the sketch, he might find the
blows was tremendous. How the contest would have painter only too well suited to his taste. A prob-

816,

[SEPT.

SOME STORIES ABOUT "THE CALIFORNIA LION."

able brush, of a nature very different from the
brush with which he had been laying on color,
now occupied the artist's mind, and he feared
that it might be one which would leave crimson
hues in plenty. What course to take, he scarcely
knew, and for a moment the artist and his visitor
eyed each other. The only weapon at hand was
his camp-stool, which would close up into some-
thing like a club. He dropped his brush and
put down his hand to draw the three legs to-
gether; whereupon the creature began to with-
draw, a few steps at a time, often looking back
as though undecided in mind. It can scarcely
be credited with a wish to become a part of the
sketch, or with any profound interest in the pict-

to spring upon the painter if he could have been
taken at complete disadvantage. Probably the
quiet worker had at first merely excited the lion's
curiosity. A lion, however, never needs any one
to jog its elbow as a hint that a dinner may be
had, with or without leave.
A gentleman, a graduate of Yale College, who
came here years ago for his health, told me of a
remarkable experience with this same stealthy
animal. With a friend he was out trout-fishing
in a wild cafion among the mountains. The
gentleman, whom we will call Mr. A., had taken
his friend, a stranger to the region, into the mount-
ains, intending to give him a chance to catch some
speckled beauties and perhaps to shoot a deer or

"THE LION STOPPED SHORT, BRACED ITSELF, AND GLARED AT ITS HUMAN FOE."

ure itself. The artist, however, interested the
beast deeply; and how far it would have carried
investigation if unobserved it is hard to say.
These creatures rarely attack an armed man, or
one who is alert; but, possessed of unusual cun-
ning, this particular lion might have deemed it safe
VOL. XV.-52.

two. They had their rifles with them, and the
friend was sitting on the bank of the stream with
his gun across his lap. It should be said in his be-
half, however, that he was not accustomed to use the
weapon. It was early in the morning, they had just
reached the stream, and Mr. A. sat on a little sand-

x888.1

817

'X-^-ei.. -

i- ,. ^'

- '. -- '-
:r .r Il =-

SOME STORIES ABOUT "THE CALIFORNIA LION."

spit on the farther side of the brook, engaged in
fastening a fly-hook to a line. His rifle was lean-
ing against a tree several feet away. A little cur
dog, called "Lady," had accompanied them, and
she was indulging in a hunt on her own account.
She soon found the dog's proverbial enemy, a cat,
but one for which poor little Lady would have
made scarcely two mouthfuls. Yelping, she ran
and jumped into Mr. A.'s arms; when, to his as-
tonishment, an enormous mountain lion came
bounding out of the woods after her. He sat
motionless and almost petrified, but did not lose
his presence of mind. The beast was too near for
him to get to his rifle, and, by a sort of instinct,
he felt that his only chance was to keep his eyes
on those of the lion. Evidently it had been so
intent on the pursuit of the dog that it had not
seen him at first, and three or four bounds brought
it to within about five feet of Mr. A. Then it
stopped short, braced itself, and glared at its
human foe. Mr. A., with his hand on a long
hunting-knife in his belt, looked the enraged ani-
mal steadily in its eyes, while Lady cowered in his
lap. Every hair on the lion seemed to stand out

straight, which gave it a most ferocious appear-
ance. For a moment it was difficult to say what
the creature would do; although if Mr. A. had
made the slightest movement, especially a motion
as if intending to shrink away, or had failed for
a moment in his stern, steady gaze, the lion would
undoubtedly have sprung upon him. It is won-
derful how the mind acts at such a time and how
swift and curious are its impressions. While in-
tensely conscious of an extremity of danger, he
was also aware of the ludicrous action of his friend
who, instead of shooting the beast, was jumping
up and down in an ecstasy of terror, shouting
" shoo "scat as though the lion were noth-
ing more formidable than a big tom-cat. It was
well, perhaps, that he took this course, for unless
a cool, steady aim had put a bullet through the
creature's brain, it would have been so infuriated
by a wound that Mr. A. would have had no.chance
whatever. As it was, the lion's eyes faltered and
wavered before the fixed gaze of man, the bristling
fur went down, and then the creature wheeled and
bounded off into the nearest cover By the time
Mr. A. reached his rifle it had disappeared finally.

PICTURES FOR LITTLE GERMAN READERS. No. V.

ARMES KLEINES KIND, ES HAT SEINEN KRUG ZERBROCHEN.

818

d ..
~
;;"J. ii re

"-"-i L- "- rc

-. --.- --

PooR Trurie! Everybody told him
hat he was stupid, and too small to
-, -arn his living, and always in the
\ way; and that it did not pay to keep
a boy to go mooning around the lumber-piles and
among the saw-logs.
"Everybody" meant Uncle Jim and Aunt
Nancy, who lived at the mill in the lumber-camp;
though why they should call it mooning" Trurie
could not understand, since he never was out
except in broad daylight. The truth is, Uncle
Jim hated to be bothered with his questions, which
really were numerous, and sometimes hard to
answer; and Aunt Nancy said he ate too much.
So one day they packed him off to Uncle Nat, in
the big city where the school was, and Miss Violet.
Uncle Nat did not want him either, but there was
no one who did; so he sent him to school as the
easiest method of getting him out of the way.
One day Miss Violet said:
Boys, I am going to the sea-shore, to Crab
Island, for my vacation, and I don't like to go alone.
It's much pleasanter to have some one for company
to run along the beach and find shells, to pull flow-
ers on the marshes, and go out in the sailing-gig
and dip into the sea. I 've no little brothers of my
own, so I want one of you to go with me, and this
is how we will decide which it is to be : you must
each bring a collection of something selected by
yourselves, either from your own homes, or the
shops, or from what your friends give you what-
ever you choose; but it must be a collection of arti-
cles all belonging to one class, and you must be able
to tell something about each one: where it was
found, or made, or grown, or what it is good for. I
will give you three weeks to make ready; and then
on a Friday afternoon we will invite the trustees,
and your fathers, and mothers, and sisters, and
friends, and they shall form a committee to decide
which collection is best, and which boy is entitled
to the prize--and the prize, in this case, shall be
a stay of two weeks with me at the island."
How their eyes shone !
"What is the sea like? Did you ever see one?"

a- tL----'I
.. J- --
1. '

asked Trurie, wistfully, of the boys at luncheon-
time.
Oh, lots of times," said Tommy Needles
grandly, as if oceans were common where he had
lived. "They 're more like a pot of suds when
it 's boiling, than anything; only there's a great
deal of it."
"Does it smell like that ? Trurie asked. He
thought he should not care much for it, if it did.
No, it smells salty; because there 's codfish
in it, I s'pose."
It sounds like a buzz-saw, when it 's going,"
remarked Ned Cantline, with an air of wisdom,
" and it always is going."
Trurie was used to suds. Aunt Nancy was in
the habit of calling him from the mill very often to
help her carry out the steaming pot; and he was
used to codfish,- they had it picked-up for break-
fast at Uncle Nat's ; and he was used to buzz-saws,
- Uncle Jim had one in his mill; and that was
always going, too, tearing the great timbers. He
could almost hear Uncle Jim now, calling : You,
Trurie keep away from that thing, you young
rascal! Would he have to "keep away from
the ocean if he was where it was ? It was some-
what of a puzzle in his mind what the strange thing
could really be, after all; but he would like to see
one and with Miss Violet He loved Miss
Violet.
The boys were wild with plans; all talked at
once; and each one, it seemed, already had enough
beginnings to keep him making collections until
he was a grown man. Trurie had nothing.
Uncle Nat would n't let me have anything," he
thought, disconsolately. He 's got enough to do
to keep me. Uncle Jim wouldn't either. It's no use
trying; but, oh I would like to find something."
He stared hard at his desk, and squeezed several
big drops out of his eyes and shook them off when
no one saw him. As he stared and stared, trying
to wink back some more drops that tried to come,
his gaze centered on a funny brown knot-hole in
the wooden desk-top. He had seen it many a
time before; he used to call it his fish-pond, and-

KNOT-HOLES.

often fished around its edge, with a bit of string
for a line and a bent pin for a hook, until one
day Miss Violet suddenly exclaimed, Trurie "
in such a disappointed way; as if she thought he
was a boy who studied his lesson, even though
her back was turned. After that he did not fish
any more. And now, as he stared and stared at the
little brown hole, a big thought grew and grew.
It grew so big, presently, that it shone right
through his eyes, and laughed over his lips, and
made his heart beat faster, and caused him to
look almost as proud as Tommy Needles.
He 's the handsomest boy on the bench,"
thought Miss Violet, looking across at him at that
moment. Strange that I never noticed it before."
She did not know that it was the big thought
growing and growing which made him look hand-
some.
What are you going to bring ?" asked Bobby
Biglow the next day, as they sat all in a row on the
doorstep at recess and swung their feet. They
were little chaps, and the feet did not reach the
ground. Let 's tell each other."
Corals," said Ned Cantline, with a snap of his
eyes. "They 're uncommon, and we 've got a lot.
Gramper 'n' Grammer gave Mammer a box full
once, when Gramper went to Injy, or somewhere
- combs and neck-chains, and lockets and brace-
lets, and breastpins and ear-rings, and heaps of
things. I 'm studying 'm up."
Everybody seemed discouraged,- corals were
so uncommon,- everybody but Trurie.
Well, I 'm picking up candies," said Tommy
Needles, somewhat recovering. "You've no idea
what a lot of kinds there are: balls, gums, lozenges,
mints, kisses, mottoes, sheets, sticks -more than
I can begin to think of. And it 's easy to tell
about them: they're made of sugar, and come from
the confectioners, and feel sticky, and taste sweet."
"My! but don't they?" Each boy smacked
his lips.
I 'm going to choose Pins." So said Bobby
Biglow, with great solemnity. (From the way it
sounded each letter ought to be a capital.) "It takes
seven men to finish one and put its head on; sister
Lil said so. I 'm going to have all kinds- black
heads, white heads, brass heads, coral tops, real
gold, some garnets, and the finest little pearl you
ever saw. They '11 be awful pretty."
"You can't say 'awful pretty,' Bobby Biglow.
Awful means not nice, and pretty is nice; Miss
Violet 'splained that. What are you going to
have, Trurie?"
They all grinned. They knew very well there
was nothing in Uncle Nat's house that he could
have; and he never had any money to buy with.
What do you think Trurie answered, when he

looked up with such a happy thought in his heart
that it laughed right out before he spoke.?
Knot-holes !"
How the boys did crow! They laughed till
they rolled off the doorstep and over and over, and
one of them a little fellow rolled all the way
down to the gate before he could stop.
But Trurie did not mind. He laughed, too, and
said We '11 see !"

The corals were lovely; all the sisters said so,
and the aunts and the cousins, as they walked
round them softly, and spoke with exclamation
points after each word. The pieces were laid out on
the palest blue velvet-just like the sky sometimes
when the clouds are blown out of it-and how
pretty they were They cost hundreds of dollars,
"Gramper" said proudly, nodding at them as if
he knew each one personally; and they had to
have a glass case over them to keep them safe.
The candies were sweet, indeed.
"It took every cent I 've saved this quarter to
buy them," Tommy informed his friends with much
satisfaction, "besides what was given me. Are n't
those bouncing, striped fellows beauties, though ?
And see that little nibble out of that one! I
just had to taste, to see what it was like. I 'm
going to eat 'em all, some time. Maybe I '11
give Miss Violet some, when we get down to the
shore." The others looked blank. I made
those little shelves, myself," he continued loftily.
"Uncle Henry gave me the black velvet strip to
cover them, when he knew what they were for.
Uncle Henry keeps a store. All sugary things
need money to buy 'em; but when it comes to
Cupids and gimcracks like those over there, they
cost, I tell you."
To Bobby Biglow's friends there was nothing so
nice as his pins; and really you never would have
thought pins could display so well. But Pamela
Biglow, who gave painting lessons, had suggested
what colors to put together. Blues and greens, she
said, killed each other; so Bobby stuck delicate
little pink heads next the blues, and lemon-color
ones beside the greens, and lovely pearls, and fili-
gree silver, and cut-steel, between golds and gar-
nets and jets; and the effect was beautiful. It was
such a novel idea, too, having the large ones set
in a rim around the outer edge of a great stuffed
placque it was of velvet, and white with the
center filled in with the small kinds arranged to
look like flowers and butterflies.
Little Berger had fans, which made a nice dis-
play; and Geoffrey Towers had buttons; and
Charles Ames had soap-cakes, in a beautiful
smelling-box (his father was in the business); and
Harry Crofts had sponges of all kinds and sizes, on

820

[SEPT.

KNOT-HOLES.

a pink cotton-flannel table-scarf; and there were
ever so many others.
Trurie's came last, away down at the end of the
room, where a ray of yellow sunshine slanted in
through a crack in the blinds. It was only knot-
holes- nothing else; some empty, and some with
their knots in them; but, oh, if you could have
seen those knot-holes He had coaxed Uncle Nat,
one Saturday, when there was no school, to let him
go over to Uncle Jim's mill; and no miner picking
solid nuggets out of a gold mine could have been
happier than the boy who during those few hours
poked among chips and saw-logs in that lumber-
camp, picking up knot-holes. If you don't believe
they were pretty, go out to a saw-mill yourself
some time, and see what lovely things you find.
Pamela Biglow never put on canvas such soft colors
as Nature lays around the edge of a knot, in
streakings and shadings so lovely that no one
color shows distinctly, but all run together in a
beautiful hazy way that would make an artist fling
down his brush in despair.
Trurie had an eye to effect, too. He would
have liked well, he had thought of a plush mat,
or a perfectly elegant strip of bronze felt that one
of the boys brought and then-discarded for some-
thing else, but he was too proud to ask for favors.
He had his own jack-knife, and Uncle Nat let him
use the glue-pot, finding it would keep the boy
out of mischief, and Uncle Jim permitted one of his
men to saw out each knot in the center of a little
square block. When this was done Trurie evened
the edges and joined each one firmly to its mate,
and so carefully that it was hard to tell where the
joined place was, except by the difference in color.
It took two weeks' nights and mornings to finish the
whole to his liking; but at the end of that time it
was the neatest and oddest kind of mosaic-work.
There were red knots and yellow knots, brown
knots and black knots ; smooth knots and twisted
knots; knots with bark on, and knots with bark
off; knots that were like animals or faces; knots
with tracings like spider-webs across; knots like
forests and mountains, and windmills and villages;
and one was so very like the picture of Niagara
Falls in the Geography, that Trurie gave it that
name, carving the letters with his jack-knife under-
neath. One showed so good a likeness of Bobby Big-
low's dog, Spotty, that Bobby himself recognized it
and cried, "Hello, Spot !" It had the same shaggy
head, and wise eyes, and long, drooping ears, and a
collar around its neck; indeed, as trustee Crapper
-who was a jolly old man-said, it was all there
but the bark. Then how the whole roomful
laughed when Trurie spoke up innocently: "Why,
it is bark, Mr. Crapper! And sure enough it
was, just as it came from the outside of a log;

and the puckered hole in the center made Spotty's
nose. There was one little frosty-colored knot
that was like a country church with a spire, in win-
ter, with bare trees sticking up around it. Trurie
thought it must have been in a board that was
whitewashed sometime, to make it look so. Then
there was a very high, steeply one, that he liked
best of all, for Miss Violet told him it was an ex-
cellent representation of the lighthouse on Crab
Island, and showed him something that was like
waves dashing up against it at the bottom. He
thought of that one a great deal, and placed it
more carefully than all the rest.
Well, after everybody had looked and looked,
and said what a splendid idea it was of Miss Violet's,
and how neatly the boys had arranged their col-
lections, and how much the dear-little fellows were
learning,- this was after they had told some very
interesting facts about the articles displayed,-
they all sat down, and Miss Violet remarked, with
a heightened color in her cheeks, We will listen
now to the trustees' report, if you please."
There was then so deep a silence that you could
hear a faint munching sound of candy-balls some-
where in the inner recesses of Tommy Needles's
mouth. And poor Trurie was so wrought up by
the day's events that he imagined he heard buzz-
saws going everywhere; and once he thought
Aunt Nancy was calling him, and he whirled
about so suddenly to run and help her take off the
kettle of suds, that he nearly upset a curly-haired
trustee who was just rising to speak.
Beg your pardon I did n't mean to," apol-
ogized Trurie, so prettily that the trustee actually
beamed with pleasure as he said, before he thought
how it sounded:
I 'm glad you did it I mean, I am glad you
are the boy I thought you were; for you are the
boy who collected the knot-holes, are n't you ?
And you have won the prize."
There was a little hush. The boys stared at
each other. Ned looked at his coral-case and
sighed; Tommy glanced at his candy-shelves and
reached over and picked out a peppermint lozenge;
Bobby gazed at his pin-placque, and felt a lump
swelling up in his throat but choked it down. Miss
Violet did not look up at all.
Trurie had to catch his breath quickly to keep
it from slipping away. He looked straight up into
the trustee's eyes, and the trustee thought,-as
Miss Violet had,- He's the handsomest one of
them." He thought as Miss Violet did about a
great many things. But he saw that the boy's
shoes were patched, that his trousers were too
short, and his jacket too small. His cheeks were
thin, too; they needed sea-air and plenty of food,
and kindness, in order to fill them out.

And then how the sound of the buzz-saws Well, well, well laughed old Mr. Crapper.
whizzed in his ears Or was it the people cheer- I finished school long ago, but I have learned
ing? Yes, they were cheering; though he did a pretty good lesson to-day in the Primary."
not know why. But he reached out his arms with To think he won the prize with nothing but
a swift impulse toward them, as though he would knot-holes said Tommy Needles, munching
take them all in. His eyes filled with tears, and another peppermint lozenge. "But you're a fine
when he tried to speak his voice was husky. little fellow, Trurie, and I like you; we all do.
You are so good! You have all been so nice And we hope you'll enjoy yourself tip-top at Crab
to me; and Miss Violet most of all! he cried. Island! "

AN EAVESDROPPER.

BY ANNA M. PRATT.

hi

(I believe there is mischief a-brewing 1
-

SI

For the gay, young cadet

upset
S- -

A DEAR little eavesdropper listened and smiled -
(I believe there is mischief a-brewing!)
For the gay, young cadet
Left his new wagonette
At the foot of the hill; and he seemed to forget
That his high-stepping courser perchance might
upset
His wagon while he went a-wooing.
A dear little eavesdropper listened and laughed -
(My sakes to think dolls are so silly !)
Yes, she heard the boy say,

My sweet Mistress May,
If you '11 marry me now, we will hasten away
To a far-distant clime where 't is cooler by day
And where the nights never are chilly."
A dear little eavesdropper listened and sighed -
(Oh what if their necks should be broken?)
Then she peered round the tree,
But all she could see
Was two dolls, very stiff and as dumb as could be,
And never a sign in the faintest degree
Of so much as one word being spoken.

822

KNOT-HOLES.

WHAT DORA DID.

A TRUE STORY OF A DAKOTA BLIZZARD.

BY MRS. M. P. HANDY.

I WONDER how many of you, outside of the You can not see across the street from one house
North-west (and the city of New York! ), know ex- to another, and men have been frozen to death
actly what a blizzard is. Probably you think that within a few feet of home and safety. The ther-
it is simply a very heavy snow-storm. That was mometer falls many degrees below zero, beyond
my idea of it until Colonel Donan, of Dakota, told the power of mercury to measure it; only the best
us all about it one even-
ing last winter, while the
children and I listened
breathlessly to his story.
"Why don't you write ,
that out for ST. NICHO- I,; ,
LAS ?" I asked, when he
was through., I; '
I don't know," he .
answered. "I never i '
thought of it. You can i '
do it, if you like." '.. "
In the first place, ., '
then, little or no snow '
falls in Dakota, from I
November to April. It
is too cold to snow, and '
the blizzard is not a i
snow-storm (in the or- i ,
dinary sense of the
word), but a cold wind 1
which comes sweeping '' I
down from Behring' .
Strait, with a velocity '
of from fifty to sixty I
miles an hour, bringing I
with it a shower, or, li, nl
more correctly, a blast, ',
of finely powdered ice. '
Imagine a thick fog, all
of ice, blown along by
a high wind; the tiny 1 He
particles, coming with ep .. .
such velocity, sting like ,
a blow from a whip-lash.
Nothing can stand
before it. /
Those buffalo and cat-
tle, who are used to it, "I AM GOING TO THE BARN TO SEE WHAT KEEPS FATHER AND THE BOYS." (SEE NEXT PAGE.)
make for the lee side of
the nearest hill, haystack, or building, and huddle spirit-thermometers can be used for these low tem-
close together for safety, trusting to being covered peratures. When going with the wind you are
by the snow, and thus kept warm; when, if the driven along with resistless force; if against it, you
storm does not last too long, they may escape alive. are knocked down and buffeted about; unless you

WHAT DORA DID.

are so fortunate as to find speedy help and shelter,
you are almost sure to be frozen to death.

One bright morning in January, 1886, Dora
Kent, the sixteen-year-old daughter of a farmer
living near Devil's Lake, Dakota, was busy in her
kitchen, preparing the dinner. She had no mother,
and being the eldest girl in the family, the charge
of the household fell on her shoulders. Her two
sisters, one ten the other four years old, were with
her, helping and hindering; while her father and
three brothers, one being older and the other two
younger than herself, were at work in the barn,
some twenty yards away.
The thickly frosted window-panes did not admit
of seeing out, and the great stove kept the room
comfortable; so that it was not until the room
suddenly grew darker, and there came a rattle
of ice against the windows, as though handfuls of
sand were flung sharply against them, that she was
aware of the change in the weather. A blizzard
had come upon them in all its fury.
It was not her first experience of one, and, feel-
ing thankful that father and the boys were safe in
the barn, she quietly went on with her prepara-
tions, until just as the kitchen clock struck the
noon hour she placed the smoking dishes on the
table, and took down the dinner-horn.
All well-built Dakota farm-houses have double
doors, and she closed the inner door carefully after
her, before opening the outer one. Standing in the
recess between the two, she blew the horn loudly
and long.
Sheltered as she was, the snow blew thick against
her, and the wind was so strong that her stout
young arms could with difficulty hold the horn.
She went back to the kitchen and waited,- fifteen
minutes--half an hour. By this time the dinner
was as cold as a stone; she set it back on the stove
to warm, and going to the door tried to blow the
horn again. This time the snow drove into the
horn, and choked the sounds so that she, herself,
could not hear them. Back to the kitchen for fif-
teen minutes more of anxious waiting; then she
said to her ten-year-old sister:
Alice, take care of Molly and look after din-
ner. I am going to the barn to see what keeps
father and the boys."
Don't, Dora --please don't," begged Alice, who
knew, from having seen frozen cattle and men,
what it meant to be out in a blizzard. "They are
only waiting till the blizzard is over. You can't
do any good, and will be frozen to death just for
nothing "
But Dora answered:
I must. I feel it in my bones that something
is wrong, and I can't stay here "

So, though Alice and Molly sobbed in concert,
she heaped fresh coal on the fire, wrapped herself
in her warmest clothing, drawing on high fur-lined
rubber boots, put a flask of brandy in her pocket,
and took the compass from the mantel-shelf to
show her the way; for not even a shadow of the
barn (although it was larger than the house) was
visible through the storm. Then, taking the
clothes-line, she tied one end of the rope tightly
around her waist, and, making the other fast to
the knob of the outer door, set out upon her
perilous journey of twenty yards due north, where
she knew the barn must be. Again and again
she was beaten down to the ground by the violence
of the wind; but she struggled on, keeping the
direction of the needle of the compass, and at last
reached the side of the barn. Thence she care-
fully felt her way fortunately taking the right
course and, finding the door, beat on it with all
her might. It was opened by her brothers, and,
in the same breath, all asked the same question,
she of them, and they of her:
"Where is father? "
"I don't know. I came to see!" and "He
started for the house half an hour ago, telling us
to stay here until he came back," were simul-
taneous answers.
Did n't he take a rope ? asked Dora, eagerly.
Of course he did. It is tied outside some-
where," said the oldest boy, a year or two her
senior.
Then we must follow it and find him. Alice
begged me not to come, but I felt sure something
was wrong. Come, Joe, we must n't lose a minute.
Harry and Jack must stay here. Do you hear,
boys? "
The younger lads begged hard to come too, but
Dora and Joe did not stay to listen. We must n't
risk their lives, too," she said, huskily. They
found the rope covered with snow, and to their
surprise stretched taut.
He must have got to the house, safe," said Joe,
joyfully.
But Dora shook her head. "No, it does n't point
south, as it would if he were at home. Besides,
I shouted all the time as I came along, and we
could n't have passed each other. He has gone
the wrong way."
Meanwhile, clinging to each other, they were
following the rope, which slanted lower and lower
until, a few feet away, they found it wrapped
around the root of a small tree. It was harder to
keep hold of it now, but Joe had brought a snow-
staff with a sharp hook at one end, and with this
it was possible to follow the rope's course. They
shouted again and again, at the top of their clear,
young voices. There was no answer. Still they

824

WHAT DORA DID.

toiled on, and it was not long (though it seemed
an age) before they stumbled over a snow-covered
heap.
It was the body of their father lying where,
exhausted by cold and fatigue, he had fallen help-
lessly to the ground.
Raising his head, Dora poured part of the con-
tents of the flask down his throat. He moaned
faintly. He was alive! They lifted him, and

had gone around the tree, unconsciously crossing
his rope. Thence he had gone to the end of his
tether, and in trying to get back to the barn, had
found the rope frozen fast to the ground. In his
efforts to free it, he had been blown down, and
thus dropped the end which he held for he had
not taken Dora's wise precaution of tying it around
the body. He was unable to find it with his numb
fingers. He shouted vainly for aid, and, afraid to

DORA AND JOE FIND THEIR FATHER.

dragged him along, vainly trying to make him
walk, since exercise was the best means of saving
his life. Guided by Dora's rope, which she had
wound up after a fashion, thanks to her thick fur
gloves, they at last reached the warm kitchen,
where a vigorous course of rubbing with snow soon
restored their father to perfect consciousness, and
brought him out of danger.
He had lost his way, and in his bewilderment

move in any direction, wisely remained where he
was. He tried hard to keep in motion, but was
overcome by cold, and beaten down by the force
of the storm. He must inevitably have been frozen
to death but for Dora's heroic search for him.
And the boys in the barn? Oh, Joe went back
for them as soon as their father was safe, and they
all ate dinner together, but some three hours later
than usual.

- ----~-- ~- -CCs ---~--~iblLi~ -~--- -R5----

825

'~'"'

THE PINTAIL.

BY ERNEST E. THOMPSON.

N;;
1=-I--=i

DOUBTLESS many older readers will know that
the pintail is a common kind of wild-duck, and
they may also know that its name is derived from
the long and pointed shape of its tail. Some
are perhaps familiar with the bird itself as a
museum specimen, but probably very few have
had opportunities of seeing it undisturbed, and in
its native haunts.

Those readers who are members of the Agassiz
Association will have learned that no one can.safely
undertake to identify any strange bird or beast,
without having it in hand to measure and to ex-
amine; but it must not therefore be forgotten that
valuable knowledge may be acquired by watching
the living creatures from a distance, by means of a
telescope. The pintail standing stuffed in mu-
26

THE PINTAIL.

seums, and the pintail lying all mangled and
bloody, were perfectly familiar to me, but it was
long before I had any idea of the perfect graceful-
ness of the living bird. Nor was it until I began
to use the telescope, as well as the gun, in making
my researches, that my eyes were opened. And
then I found that a new and a delightful field of
study was before me, yet untouched. Ducks far dis-
tant on some pond were brought apparently within
arm's length by the magic of the field-glass; and
shy birds, familiar, while living, only as far-away
blots of black and white on the quiet water, now
were seen to be graceful creatures, full of anima-
tion, quietly pursuing their ordinary way of life,
seemingly by my very side.
Many times since have I thrown myself in the
grass by some reedy lake, and delighted my eyes
with such a scene as that suggested above. All
the drawings, all the dead birds I had ever seen,
and all the descriptions I had ever read, failed to
give me any idea of the beauty and symmetry of
this, the most elegant of all our ducks, the delicate
arrangement of whose colors so added to the effect
of the perfect form as to make the bird even more
strikingly graceful than Queen Swan herself,-
whose form, indeed, is so closely copied by her
smaller cousin with the lengthy train.
In my Manitoban home, I had many good
chances to study the pintail, and so great was my
admiration for its appearance that I had deter-
mined to attempt to tame some for the barn-yard,
and welcomed the opportunity at length afforded
by finding a nest not far from the house. It was
formed of marsh-grass and feathers, and was
placed under a willow-bush, close to the water.

The eggs, nine in number, I took home, and
placed under a hen. In the course of a few days
they were hatched, and the ducklings were at once
given their liberty in company with their foster-
mother, whom they followed closely thenceforth,
and thus learned quiet, domestic habits, before
their wild natures had an opportunity to develop.
When hatched, they were clad in golden-yellow
down, spotted with black. According to my ex-
perience, this is the usual color for the young of
the river duck, whilst the first covering of the sea
duck is, distinctively, black and gray.
They showed marvelous dexterity as fly-catchers,
and would make marvelous leaps to secure these
tidbits. Almost as soon as they were hatched they
could leap out of a common water-bucket, so great
was the length of their legs, even from the very
first. They soon grew so large that the hen was
kept standing all night in an attempt to cover
them, and so tame that they were a perfect nui-
sance about the house. But the intense satisfaction
of seeing them thrive so well, amply repaid me for
all the trouble incurred by the experiment.
Alas! -just as they were beginning to put on the
swan-like beauty and the adult feathers of their
kind, some miserable thief broke into the hen-
house, and took them all in a single night. That
was the end of my tame pintails, for I have not
since had a fitting time to repeat the experi-
ment.
I am satisfied, however, that it would be quite
easy to add this graceful bird to our parks and
ornamental waters, if not indeed to make it a
common sight upon our farm-ponds and in our
barn-yards everywhere.

CIRCUMVENTION.

BY REV. C. R. TALBOT.

ONCE I knew a little maid
Who declared she 'd not be weighed,
Though we tried full half an hour to persuade her.
No entreaties would avail;
She would not.go on the scale.
Shall I tell you how, in spite of her, we weighed
her?

Says Papa: "At any rate,
I must ascertain my weight";
So, with Bessie in his arms (who never guesses
What it is he 's going to do)
He steps on. We weigh the two;
Then we take Papa's weight out, and that leaves
Bessie's.

Once I knew a little lad,
Who the funniest notion had
That 't would, somehow, kurt to have his picture
taken;
And although we plead and plead,
Still he only shook his head.
Shall I tell you how his firm resolve was shaken ?

Says Mamma: Just wait a bit.
Here 's old Rover; he will sit."
So, while Jamie (never dreaming what the game
is)
Holds his paw, brimful of glee,
" Just to keep him still, you see,"-
Lo, in taking Rover's picture, we get Jamie's!

827

.1 -. '1 '

I- --
'1 ". -'

S r r -
h house.
S"'' For he had
,. ,' learned,
S' poor child,
Sto judge of
people by the outsides of their houses. Where
there are children," he said slowly, the folks are
kind; -sometimes," he added, since the best of
rules admit of exceptions.
There were no children in sight; but Paolo could
read signs as well as another. No grown person
had thrown that battered straw hat on the piazza,
or tumbled the hay on the lawn. Grown people
seldom use swings; and never, so far as I know,
leave a child tied in one, in great danger of sun-
stroke, as some heedless little mother had here
left her doll. The little Italian trudged up the
shady lane to the side yard, and there were the
children. Four of them; the eldest about Paolo's
age, but tall and sturdy, and busy with a large
slice of bread and butter.
Paolo had not much English, but such as he had
was plain enough.
Please give me something to eat."
It 's all gone," said the boy, tossing a piece to
the dog and holding out the empty plate with a
flourish. He did not know that he was mocking
real hunger.
Please give me some bread," repeated the
stranger; I work for it."
"You will? That 's a good joke. Come on,
then, there 's plenty of work here," and Dick
Mercer led the way to the corn-field. He offered
a hoe to the boy, who shook his head. Going to
back out, eh ? I thought so."
With many earnest gestures Paolo explained
that he wished to be shown how to work.
"You don't know how to hoe?" exclaimed Dick,
with hearty scorn. "Why, where were you brought

up ?" With a few vigorous strokes he destroyed
forever the hopes of some flourishing smart-weed.
The other was quick to learn, and the two
worked side by side, and were soon in brisk con-
versation. Paolo's share was confined to sundry
shy glances and monosyllables.
An hour had passed, when a tall, broad-shoul-
dered man strode out of the woods, gave a kindly
look at the stranger, and an inquiring one at his
son. Dick explained in an undertone.
You may as well come, now," said Mr. Mercer;
" I see Eliza has the dinner-horn."
The three walked down the hill together.
"Who 's that vagabond? muttered John, the
hired man, as he was washing his hands at the
pump.
It's some of Dick's doings," replied the farmer,
with a chuckle. "I did n't hire him."
Dick had hard work to persuade his boy to enter
the house. He would have preferred to eat with
the dog and chickens, but the stronger will at last
prevailed.
Paolo did not lift his eyes from his plate all din-
ner-time, except once when Dick's mother spoke
a pleasant word to him. But shyness did not spoil
his dinner. How the boy did eat, to be sure!
Dick, whose own appetite had not been hurt by
his hearty luncheon, was fairly appalled to see how
the beef and vegetables, baked apples, and pie
disappeared.
Mr. Mercer kept on passing the dishes as if he
enjoyed it, but could not catch his son's eye.
"Richard, I want to speak to you," said the
father, as he passed his son on the doorstep.
The boy followed to a seat under the trees, where
the noon hour was often spent in comfort.
"What are you going to do with him ?" asked
the farmer, with a nod of his head toward the
house.
"Oh, he 'll be moving along, now he 's had
his dinner."
"Probably not, if he knows when he 's well
treated. What do you propose to do with him,
Richard?"
Dick was digging his bare toes into the earth
with an embarrassed air. Suddenly he looked up.

DICK'S FARM HAND.

"You don't care, do you, Father? I did n't
think you would. You were n't here to be asked,
and I did n't think he 'd eat such a lot," Dick
concluded, much abashed under his father's steady
gaze.
The hearty laugh which he had half dreaded,
half longed for, broke out now, but ended in a
sigh.
Poor child!" said Mr. Mercer, "I did n't
think he ate any too much for a boy who has n't
had any breakfast, and does n't know whether he
will have any supper. He's welcome to the food,
you know that, Dick "
"Are you vexed with me, Father?"
No, my boy; but I shall be if you don't answer
my question."
"What? Oh,- I don't know, I 'm sure. I '11
put him in your hands, Father. Do anything you
like."
"No, no I did n't hire him; you must manage
this, yourself! I like to have you do a kindness,
my boy; but I want you to think what you 're

--
.# _. .-_ . .. _

i -I
'B~.l i).... i' .

DICK AND PAOLO IN THE CORN-FIELD.

doing. I shall hold you responsible for that child and
while he stays. You 'd better keep an eye on your hate
mother's spoons. You must n't let him play with sure

tle ones, or teach you anything wrong. He
sly look that I don't like. I would n't have
bout the place at all, only I know I can trust
n, if I can't trust a stranger."
e look with which this was said, made Dick
nined to deserve his father's confidence.
lo followed him to the corn-field as a matter
urse. Presently he made a false stroke and
his foot. A torrent of angry Italian followed.
ght have been swearing. Dick was not sure,
e took prompt measures. Seizing the hoe, he
ed to the road. "You can go. We don't
that sort of talk here said Dick.
en followed humblest entreaties, and most
ching looks; and the young master relented.
'11 try you again ; but you must mind what
re about! "
ey worked in silence after that, Paolo vaguely
ering at the sudden anger of the queer little
ican for it was not his foot that had been

. Mercer came by, stopped a moment to give
his son an order, and went on.
The stranger looked admiringly after
the man who had spoken so pleasantly.
He no beat you ?"
"I should hope not," said Dick,
T '-, tl-,irteen years old."
Sr.. .:, ..!.1," said the other, with
- I, I .I, :.,1 ile.
i :. old i: you, then?"

SI. .... ,.- now You look it-

S!i ii 1,!, said the boy, so indif-
i. -. II IL r,.czk believed him. My
father, he beat
.. me," he went
S'" on, "oh, many
/ times And I
ran away. I
hate him."
Angry light-
S. ning out of a
S'I clear sky would
S i / not have star-
-. .. .. tied Dick so
much as the
sudden flash of
... those beautiful
dark eyes. He
.'/ .i shrankaway. It
wasbadenough
to be a beggar
friendless; but to have a father whom one
d,- Dick could not understand that. To be
he had not had much experience.

829

DICK'S FARM HAND.

At dusk that day Mr. Mercer, with folded arms,
was leaning against a tree watching a game of
hide-and-seek, when he was surprised by a bear-
hug from his eldest.
What have I done, now? he asked, with a
laugh. He always had played with his children,
but Dick was of an age to be chary of caresses.
Nothing," murmured the boy, only you 're
so good to me." He darted away before anything
more could be said.
Poor child!" exclaimed the father, guessing
his thoughts. He has n't much idea of what it
would be to be homeless. Dick!"
"Sir? No fair, Matt, Father's calling me; "
and Dick ran back to the maple.
Where 's your boy to sleep ? "
Oh, Father! I wish you would n't plague me !"
"I 'm in earnest. You can't expect John to
share his room with a vagabond."
Would n't Mother make him a bed on the
floor?"
I suppose so, but she's had extra work to-day.
I would n't ask her if I were you. He can sleep in
the barn. You 'd better tell him so now. He 's
tired, I 've no doubt."
Dick obeyed, but he did not like it at all. It,
was not his idea of hospitality. He would have
given up his own bed and slept on the hay, and
would have thought it no hardship; but he knew
that it would not be allowed.
People look at things so differently. While
Dick was apologizing for the quarters offered for
the night, Paolo seized his benefactor's hand and
covered it with kisses.
Dick drew back in dismay, and it was an effort
to keep himself from saying, '" Get out as he
might have done to a fawning dog. His face was
so hot with blushes when he returned to the house
that his father guessed how matters stood, and for
once forebore to tease him.
Day after day the stranger lingered, and seemed
perfectly content. He did as much hoeing as
could be expected from a beginner, and full justice
was always done to the well-spread table.
"I can't get rid of him," Dick confessed, at
last. "Father, won't you send him away ? "
The only answer to this was a laugh, and the
words, "' did n't hire him "
Saturday night came, and Dick was called into
the north room, as usual, to receive his week's
wages. It had been a proud day for the boy
when, about a year before, his father had said to
him: Richard, I think you earn more than your
board and clothes. You work steadily, and see to
a great many things that I could n't trust to any
one else. I 'm going to give you fifty cents a
week, and we '11 increase it, by and by. It's your

own money, of course, but I don't wish you to
spend it foolishly. You must keep an account,
and let me look it over. To every dollar you
save I will add another. I can't do as much for
you as I 'd like, when you 're of age, but perhaps
in this way we '11 be able to save quite a sum,
together."
The plan had worked well. The account-book
was carefully kept, and duly inspected. Mr. Mercer
wisely made no comment on one or two purchases
of trifling cost and no value. Only by occasional
mistakes could the boy learn. Dick had a bank
account of his own now, and was anxious to add
to it. When a calf or a colt was given him, the
gift was not the farce that it sometimes is begin-
ning in delight and ending in a heart-wrench. It
was a regular business arrangement. It would be
like this:
Dick, if you 'II teach this blundering fellow to
eat, you shall have half the price when he 's sold."
Now, that calf was part Alderney, and brought
twenty dollars. When half of Dick's share went
to his cherished hoard, three dollars for school-
books, and two for a pair of skates which he had
long desired, his father had reason to think that
Dick was learning both the use and the value of
money.
To-night he looked at his half-dollar, turned it
over, looked at his father, hesitated a little, and
finally said :
"I 'd like to give this to Paolo. May I? "
It's your own money. Do whatever you think
best."
Would you do it, Father ?"
I don't know, my boy. I did n't hi- "
A little hand was laid on the father's lips, and
the talk ended in a merry scuffle. Dick did not
wish to hear that remark again.
But Dick thought it over, and when he wished
his boy good-night put the silver into his hand;
then he drew back quickly, fearing that hand-
kissing ceremony. But the little vagabond had
too much tact to repeat a blunder. He poured
forth his thanks in his own musical language, but
at least the looks and tones were understood.
Dick was made very happy by this gratitude,
and went to bed to dream of Paolo's future. He
would get him a place in the village, where he
might attend school in the winters, and grow up a
good and useful man.
On the morning of the peaceful Day of Rest,
Dick happened to be the first astir. He found the
barn deserted. This surprised him, for his boy
had been hard to rouse in the mornings. At the
barn-yard gate there was another surprise.
Why, she looks like a picture he exclaimed.
His favorite cow was decked with a wreath of

830

DICK'S FARM HAND.

the reddest clovers, the whitest daisies. She something told him that this was Paolo's farewell.
looked up at him with an air of mild surprise, and If that boy 's anywhere around," he said aloud,
tossed her horns impatiently in disapproval of her "he 'd better come in to breakfast."
adornment. Dick never saw the pathetic dark eyes again,
"What a babyish thing to do! thought mat- but it was some time before he heard the last
ter-of-fact Dick; but at heart he was touched, for about his farm hand."

4''

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FUN FOR THE FISHES.

Vl

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--
L

A COMPROMISE.

BY A. R. WELLS.

ONCE two little gentlemen, very polite,
Stepped up to a gate that was narrow -quite.
The one (who was very well bred and thin)
Was plainly intending to pass within.
The other (remarkably bland and stout)
Was just as surely resolved to pass out.
Now what could the two little gentlemen do?-
But say with a bow, "After you !" "Afteryou "
And there they stood bowing, with courteous smile,
Their hats in their hands, for a marvelous while;
For the thin little man was very well bred,

',I.. | .!'I :
f i ,, ,+ ,' I' ,. ', ', ,

fc= --1^ ''*c S r^s r s ^
'J,

.... -1

I, 1 ., i : -
,, r e '' ,
III ,

'-.

And the stout man had not a rude hair in his head.
But there chanced that way a philosopher wise,
Who sagely effected a compromise:
That each in turn should go through the last;
Thus might the troublesome gate be passed.
So first the courteous gentleman thin,
With greatest reluctance passed within.
And then the well-mannered gentleman stout,
With polished obeisance made his way out,
But sadly turned and went back that he
Might share in the breach of courtesy !
Then the thin little man stepped out once more,

I; ,-', r, I J ,
'" 1 '' !, ',,;', | ih I

A h u n n r h i e

832

LITTLE IKE TEMPLIN.

BY RICHARD MALCOLM JOHNSTON.

II.

; '. WHATEVER may have
been the causes that re-
tarded Little Ike Temp-
Slin's normal growth,
,,, every one was becoming
tired. If weakly people
in general could only
S know and would only
reflect how tiresome it
i s to others to wait on
them, perhaps a larger
*ll number of them would
do their very best to get
'' strong and make no
more ado about it. At
'east, Till daily indulged
'L" ,',;, Iliese thoughts about the
.' i ..h irge that had been im-
,.. :.': -.::I upon her by some malign
iii. lluCce ur other, Till did n't know
what. He continued to devour all edible, and
not a few inedible, substances within his reach, and
he seemed to take even an added enjoyment in
the punishments which Till got for her and his own
misdemeanors. If Till's mind was ever troubled
by thoughts that she ought to be a better girl, she
doubtless was consoled by the belief that both
personally and vicariously she was continually
making more than satisfactory expiation.
But Till was destined for better tasks, and she
hailed their advent with delight. About a year
after the scene described in the preceding paper,
she was installed one of her mistress's housemaids.
Her mammy also appreciated the honor of the
promotion, and impressed upon Till that she owed
it all to the manner in which she had been raised.
"You see now whut 't is to have a mammy dat
lights on you 'casion'ly. wid de peachy-tree, ter
stop some o' yer badness. An' I s'pose I got to
go thoo the same 'long o' Neel. Well, de Scripter
say dem dat has chillun got ter have trouble.
Yet, if people kin raise 'em right, den dey kin
git some satisfaction outn 'em. Now, you min'
an' ten' to Miss' business, 'ca'se you know she wan'
no laziness an' no meanness o' no kine."
Till expressed in becoming terms her gratitude
VOL. XV.-53.

for the admirable training that she had received
from the parental hand. Yet she availed herself
more than once, or twice, of opportunities to let
,Little Ike understand, as far as possible, her satis-
faction at being withdrawn from his intimate com-
panionship, and to try to devolve upon him some
part of the gratitude to herself that her mammy
had exacted.
"Laws o' massy, but I 's glad to let my shoulders
an' back git some res' from totin' you roun', an' from
bein' whoop' fer your badness. Ef you wus to live
a hundid year, you could n't pay me back, ef you
wus to try,-an' which you ain' gwine try. An' es
fer you, Neel, I 'm t'ankful time come fer you to
git yo' share. Fer you laugh at me, same as Ike,
an' you boy in de bargain, an' kin stan' it, an' kin
see how 't is. An' now I gwine in Miss' house, I
is, an' I wan' bofe un you to mine how you ev'n
speaks ter me, fer I specks to hav might' little ter
do wid sech es you. You heerd me?"
Ike, though yet he had learned to utter only a
few words, fully understood these valedictory re-
marks of his sister; and she was pleased to note
that he regretted the separation, for though their
relation had been wanting in cordiality, he doubted
whether that with Neel would not be less so.
Neel was a stout, vigorous fellow, a year or so
younger than his sister. He fully shared in her
estimate of Little Ike; but he well knew that his
discomfiture at succeeding to her position need not
be expressed; and so he set to work to discharge
its responsibilities with as little trouble to himself
as possible, and only in order to evade a trouble
of another kind connected not remotely with the
peachy-tree.
That some improvement had been made in Lit-
tle Ike, it would be wrong to deny. His head and
body had developed to the satisfaction of every-
body. Not only so, but his legs had correspond-
ingly lengthened, and lately had begun to take on
a roundness that gave hopes of pleasant results at
some indefinite future period. They even could
be stood on alone, but this was the extent.
Notwithstanding the announcement, hereinbe-
fore recorded, of an intention to withdraw from
the society of her brothers, Till's interest in them
was preserved to such degree that she was always
prompt to report to her mammy whatever of Neel's
33

LITTLE IKE TEMPLIN.

derelictions she happened to observe while engaged
in, or resting from, her new duties; for she seemed
disposed that Neel should succeed to the incum-
brances as well as the emoluments (whatever the
latter might be) appurtenant to his office. Neel,
therefore, thought well to keep out of sight of Till,
so far as possible, until he was relieved of her sur-
veillance. One day, when upon an exaggerated
report by Till his mammy had punished him more
severely than was just, Mrs. Templin, having as-
certained the facts, threatened Till with expulsion
to the field if she did not cease altogether from tale-
bearing. From that time Till meddled no more.
In process of time, it was admitted that Neel
was an improvement on Till. Little Ike cried
much less than formerly. Neel early discovered
that it was worth his" while to conciliate Ike and
gain his confidence and make him, as far as pos-
sible, a recipient of his own. Little Ike was labored
with in order to be convinced of the meanness,
even the enormous wickedness, of everlastingly
telling on people, whether by language or signs.
In time the invalid was made fond of excursions
more extended than those indulged in during the
sister's administration. He was taken into the lanes
fronting, and in the rear of, the yard; to the horse-
lot; to the spring and other interesting resorts.
Often, by silent, unobserved circuits, visitations
were made to the back parts of the garden where
the fruit trees were and the turnip patch. When-
ever Ike took the notion to cry, it had already been
contrived by Neel that this exercise should take
place out of hearing from the kitchen. Afterward,
when drawing nearer home, the crier was given
something good that had been specifically reserved
until then. Then they would come back, both in
jolly mood. Neel had taught Ike to play that
Neel was his horse, and to give in magisterial
tones words of command, prompt obedience to
which pleased the rider much.
Yet, Ike would not learn to walk. At least he
did not; and, as intimated before, people were
growing tired of waiting for an event so cordially
desired.
During this period of anxiety, Mrs. Templin
thought one day that she would go to the length
of offering to Neel a reward of a new silver dollar
as soon as Little Ike was able to walk, without
falling, a-she kindly named a reasonably lim-
ited-number of consecutive steps.
The announcement of this munificent offer made
Neel's very blood tingle through and through him.
He said to several of his companions that he felt it
in his bones that he would win, and that in shorter
time than people expected. His mind began to
revolve big thoughts regarding suitable investment
of the reward he was destined to realize.

It came to pass, before a very long time, that a
friendship, or something like it, rose between
them. A boy can manage a boy, at least in the
case of such management as Little Ike needed,
better than a girl can.
Difficult as the case was, yet the feeling in Neel's
bones continuing to encourage and urge, he sought
with persistence for expedients whose repeated
failures may have fretted, even disgusted him, but
never drove him even to a thought of remitting
them. Sometimes, when both were in hilarious
mood, Neel would sing and dance jigs with utmost
vigor, and, standing his audience upon its legs,
invite and tempt it to imitate his own ecstatic
agility. The said audience occasionally would take
two or three steps, but then, frightened by this
temerity, it would stop and totter. Then the
exhibitor, dreading the discouraging effects of a
fall, would snatch his audience into his arms, and
praise it to the very skies.
"You does beat question !" muttered Neel one
day, in disgust at such long-continued delay in the
realization of his hopes. "Boy, you des' like a
t'yarpin, dat won' move 'cep'n' folks put coal
o' fire on his back,- an' dat whut I gwine do wid
you."
Though remembering his mistress's injunction
that he was always to see to it that the child should
not be hurt, yet it occurred to him to turn his dis-
cipline from the sportive to the serious, with pru-
dent intention, however, to stop far on this side of
the tragic. Luxurious as Little Ike was, he was not
insensible to fear. Various objects of fright, some
real, others imaginary, Neel had purposely exag-
gerated; and sometimes when his pupil would be
standing with his face toward the house and his
back to the rest of the world, Neel would suddenly
ejaculate, "Dar dey come now, dis minute and
then start as if in utmost terror he were going to
flee away alone. Then Little Ike, lifting his
voice to its highest, would plunge forward, and
just before he would have fallen, Neel would
rescue him and scamper away with his precious
charge.
What he meant by dey Little Ike well under-
stood to be a very large pig of the breed called
"razor-back," which nosed about the horse-lot,
and, whenever possible, entered the yard. Its
normal state seemed to be one of raging hunger.
A convicted, reckless thief, even a robber, time
and time again, and that in the broad daylight,
had it been run out of, not only the yard, the gar-
den, the patches around, but the kitchen,- yea,
the very piazza of the white house. Little Ike
stood, perhaps I should more properly say sat, in
mortal fear of Ole Flop-ear," as this beast was
named.

[SEPT.

LITTLE IKE TEMPLIN.

Neel congratulated himself on the superior effi-
cacy of the new method over those that he had
been employing theretofore.
"I 'm boun' fer dat dollar, mist'ess," he said to
Mrs. Templin, one day. Li'll' Ike don' lack but
seb'n steps fer dem you laid off."
"All right, Neel," she answered. "I've a
brand-new dollar, so bright you can see your face
in it. But mind, you are not to let him get
hurt."

-^

C-

I A:~~f

ST

/

/ i'

F .--

projecting roots of a large oak that stood near
the walk, about midway between the gate and the
white house. It was but a brief while before Lit-
tle Ike, yet holding in hand his bread, was dozing.
Neel rose. Just at that moment Old Flop-ear
appeared at the gate and sent inquiring looks
through the pales. Casting his eyes cautiously
all around, Neel moved softly to the gate, silently
lifted its latch, threw it a few inches ajar, and in
a low voice called back the pig, which had retreated

4'4'

I I

<-Jr '

"SOMETIMES NEEL WOULD SING AND DANCE JIGS
WITH UTMOST VIGOR."

"Oh, no 'm, he sh'a'n' git hurted."
Like other luxurious bons vivants, Little Ike was
accustomed to take, for an hour or two after din-
ner, a siesta. Dinner over, he would be dismissed
by his mammy with a piece of bread sauced
with gravy, and afterward set down by Neel in
a comfortable place where he soon dropped
asleep. One afternoon the mammy ordered Neel
not to go beyond the reach of her own call and
that of Little Ike, and directed that as soon as the
latter should fall asleep, he should return in order
to draw and bring to her from the well several pails
of water.
Neel bestowed his charge snugly between two

from his advance. Returning on tiptoe, he fur-
tively withdrew the bread from his brother's hand,
and wrapped it in a fold of his garment. This he
did in order to prevent Old Flop-ear from snatch-
ing it, if the pig should set eyes upon it while
passing that way. His hope was that the child might
be awakened by its movements and gruntings,
and, finding none near to deliver from its jaws,
avail himself of those legs (touching which it
was Neel's settled opinion that it was high time
that Little Ike knew what they were made for),
and would accomplish at least the steps that
were yet lacking to the complement so eagerly
desired.
Then Neel went rapidly to the kitchen, took the
water-pail and repaired to the well. The bucket
had just reached the bottom when was heard the
first of a series of shrieks that sounded as if Little
Ike was doing his best. Kitchen-broom in hand,

835

LITTLE IKE TEMPLIN.

mother Judy ran to the door and rushed out, doing
her best also, in that line. Mrs. Templin, dropping
her sewing, came forth, and she ran screaming.
Neel left the well-bucket where it was, and he ran
screaming. The hands who were at work in a
field near by came running, the women screaming
in concert, although having no conception what it
was all about. Above all, as well it might, rose
the voice of Little Ike.
This is what had happened.
Old Flop-ear, having been actually invited within
the yard, marched in. Following Neel a few steps,
hoping he had something, the beast turned from
the walk and began on a search. When within a
few feet of the white oak, attracted by the smell
of the bread, it approached, and after a second's
nosing, suddenly snatched the tempting morsel,
folded as it was in Ike's clothes. On Little Ike's
awakening and uttering his first scream, the pig

treat. As the animal made its first grab, one of
its feet was planted upon another part of the boy's
clothing, and the part already seized was torn
away. Holding to this, Flop-ear ran on.
Now what would you guess was done by Little
Ike then and there? No sooner did he find him-
self aloof from the spoiler than being convinced
that the pig, after devouring what it already had,
would return for the rest of him, and feeling
throughout his whole being that his only hope of
rescue lay in his legs -he rose, and yet scream-
ing, made for the kitchen. Past Neel, past his
mammy, past his mistress who called to him in
vain in the midst of his rush, he halted not until
he had reached the kitchen step. Quickly climb-
ing this, he entered, and was in the act of shutting
the door-and that with a slam!-when over-
taken by his pursuers.
The mistress had to sit idle for a while, until

THE PIG WHEELED, AND YET HOLDING TO ITS PRIZE, SOUGHT THE GATE, DRAGGING AFTER IT THE VICTIM OF THE
AUDACIOUS ROBBERY."
wheeled, and yet holding to its prize, sought the she could recover from her laughter. In this
gate, dragging after it the victim of the audacious every one joined heartily, except the mother. In-
robbery. The scene was appalling. By good luck dignation, and not mirthfulness, was now agitating
however, it happened that Flop-ear, having cleared her.
the gate, paused a moment for the purpose of get- Ef I had o' known dat, I'd o' sot Ole Flop-ear
ting a surer grip preparatory for more rapid re- atter yer a year ago! Whut der marter wid your

836

[SEPT.

LITTLE IKE TEMPLIN.

837

not bein' able to walk, eh ? You wan' de peachy- in the family all the circumstances attending Flop-
tree; an' ef I'm spared I gwine see you git it." ear's ingress through the yard-gate. And the
Possibly it is due to entire candor to state that not silver dollar had been in Neel's possession for some
until some time afterward were accurately known time before full revelation was made.

WILD PEA-FOWLS IN BRITISH INDIA.

BY THOMAS STEVENS.

/I

ONE of the most interest-
ing portions of my travels
"Around the World on a
Bicycle," was the ride
through British India.
Many readers of ST.
NICHOLAS will be
surprised to read,
as I certainly was
to find, that the
most magnifi-
cent highways
and best-kept
roads in the
world are in

1ic A India. I
traveled on my bicycle//i4 i along four-
teen hundred miles of roadway as
broad, smooth,andwell- kept as are
the finest boulevards to be seen
in the suburbs or parks of any
American city. And for quite a
considerable distance this great
highway, known as the Grand
Trunk Road, is converted into
a splendid avenue by rows i of
shade trees on either side.-
Chief among these trees
are the beel, nim, peepul
and banyan: all of which
the Hindoos have invested
with the odor of sanctity,
as representing some one
of the numerous gods they
worship. Now and then
I came to a tree, the trunk
of which was fantastically streaked with red paint.
These were trees especially selected for worship ;
and often a number of natives would be ranged in
a circle about such a tree, bowing themselves to
the ground and offering up their prayers to the

spreading tree and, through it, to the god whom
it represented.
Roosting and perching among the branches of
these sacred trees, I sometimes saw large numbers
of pea-fowls. These birds of brilliant plumage
run wild in the Indian jungles, strut freely about
the rice-fields, and frequent the sacred trees along
the Grand Trunk Road. Those that frequent the
Grand Trunk Road and stroll about in the vicin-
ity of the villages, are almost as tame and fearless
in the presence of man as the domesticated ones
that so proudly strut about the lawn of an Ameri-
can country-house.
The reason for their tameness is found in the
fact that they also, in common with many things
in both the animal and vegetable kingdoms, are
held sacred by the Hindoos. The natives never
hunt, frighten, nor molest the peacocks in any
way, because they are held sacred to their war-
god Kartikeya. In mythological times, when the
gods made war upon each other, this deity, the
"God of War, and Generalissimo of the Armies
of the Gods," was believed to ride to battle upon
a peacock. In consequence of this tradition, the
pious Hindoo thinks it sacrilege to harm the mar-
tial fowl, or in any way to show it disrespect.
The Rajput warriors used to go to war wearing
peacock-feathers in their turbans, and even now
they believe that these fowls scream when they
hear thunder, because the noise is mistaken for
the din of battle. It was to me a pretty sight to
see these brilliant-plumaged birds stalking about
on the Grand Trunk Road, half-tame in their
sacred security from molestation. As they strut-
ted proudly about, or stood still and spread their
gorgeous tails, it seemed to me fit and proper that
such bright ornaments of the jungle should be
protected from wanton violence at the hands of
man.
In certain districts the British government has
made laws forbidding the shooting of pea-fowls by

WILD PEA-FOWLS IN BRITISH INDIA.

English hunting-parties, or by soldiers from the
garrisons. This is done from the respect that the
government always desires to show to the religious
prejudices of the natives. In other provinces,
however, the natives, while they refrain from
molesting the sacred fowls themselves, offer no
objections to the shooting of them by English
sportsmen.
Where there are no native prejudices to be con-
sulted, the government rather encourages the
sport than otherwise. The officers and soldiers of
the garrisons are usually keen sportsmen, and
every facility is granted them for pea-fowl hunting,
because the sport is considered excellent train-
ing in the use of fire-arms. The true Anglo-
Indian sportsman scorns to shoot pea-fowl with
anything but a rifle, because, with a shot-gun, the
sport is little else than mere slaughter. With a
rifle, however, the killing becomes a matter of
skill, and soldiers who spend a good share of their
time in shooting at flying peacocks with their
rifles, would be sure to acquit themselves all the

A SCENE IN BRITISH INDIA.
more creditably as sharp-shooters on the field of
battle.
In some of the garrisons I visited, a subject of
great rivalry among the soldier-sportsmen was the
bringing in of the finest tails. A soldier who
could boast of having, by the prowess of his own
rifle, secured a very fine peacock-tail, was as
proud of the trophy as an American backwoods-
man of the finest pair of antlers. The choicest

tails were generally spread out upon the barrack-
wall, each above the cot of the soldier who had
brought it in. The officers' mess-room, the
canteen, library, and other public quarters, were
usually decorated with several splendid tails,
presented by the successful peacock-hunters of
the garrison. If I had so desired, I might have
packed a good-sized box with the fine tails offered
me as presents by the soldier sportsmen of various
garrisons.
Wild pea-fowls are very good eating. When the
soldiers shoot a plump young fowl, they generally
bring it home and turn it over to the mess cooks.
I had the pleasure of making a dinner of a fine
young pea-hen at an up-country cantonment one
day. The meat was dark, not unlike the flesh of
the prairie-chicken, and of excellent flavor; but,
like the prairie-chicken, rather deficient in juici-
ness. It reminded me very much of the flesh of a
tender wild-turkey.
The only time I took part in a pea-fowl hunt
was for an hour or so, one evening. I was staying
overnight at the bungalow of
an English civil-engineer, on the
banks of the great Ganges Canal,
near Shikababad. Several young
Englishmen were also staying
with my host to enjoy a few days'
pea-fowl shooting and wild-boar
baiting. Near the bungalow was
an extensive tract of luxuriant
tiger-grass, in which both wild-
pigs and pea-fowls were found in
great abundance. The young
gentlemen had beaten the tiger-
grass every day for a week pre-
vious, so that the game had
become rather wild and wary.
Pea-fowls were still there in
plenty, however, and scarcely a
minute passed without our catch-
ing a glimpse of a golden and
blue form gliding swiftly through
the rank grass.
We were armed with small-bore
rifles, and made a point of never
shooting at our lovely game un-
less we felt pretty sure of bringing
them down. Numbers escaped without a shot being
fired, because we always objected to shooting ran-
dom shots, which might maim the pea-fowls with-
out our being able to bag them. The size and the
bright plumage of the game, made them an easy
prey to our bullets, whenever we obtained a good
shot; and, by taking proper precautions, we
bagged seven fowls, without letting a single
wounded bird escape.

838

[SEPT.

WILD PEA-FOWLS IN BRITISH INDIA.

It seemed to me a great pity to kill the gorgeous
pea-fowls; and this is invariably the feeling at first
experienced by young Englishmen in India. The
squeamishness soon wears off, and in time one
learns to shoot pea-fowls with as little compunc-
tion as though they were partridges.
Some of my readers may often have heard the
assertion that pea-fowls can never be made to stay
about a poor man's house, but will invariably seek
some place where the buildings and surroundings
are superior. Remembering to have had my at-
tention called to this circumstance, in certain cases

in England and America, I kept my eyes open to
ascertain, so far as possible, whether there is any
foundation for this supposition. The result of my
observations was, that where the country was the
loveliest, the jungle most luxuriant, and wherever
were found splendid groves, water-tanks, and
rajahs' palaces--there did the fastidious pea-fowls
love best to congregate; and, consequently, there
was one most likely to find them, strutting
pompously about, spreading their plumage, and
awakening the echoes of the jungle with their
discordant, strident cries.

A CHINESE STORY.

BY W. J. BAHMER.

Two young, near-sighted fellows, Chang and
Ching,
Over their chopsticks idly chattering,
Fell to disputing which could see the best;
At last, they planned to put it to the test.
Said Chang, A marble tablet, so I hear,
Is placed upon the Bo-hee temple near,
With an inscription on it. Let us go
And read it (since you vaunt your optics so),
Standing together at a certain place
In front, where we the letters just may trace;
Then he who quickest reads the inscription there,
The palm for keenest eyes henceforth shallbear."
" Agreed," said Ching, "but let us try it soon:
Suppose we say to-morrow afternoon."
" Nay, not so soon," said Chang; "I 'm bound
to go
To-morrow a day's ride from Hoang-Ho,
And sha'n't be ready till the following day:
At ten A. M., on Thursday, let us say."

So 't was arranged; but Ching was wide-awake:
Time by the forelock he resolved to take;
And to the temple went at once, and read
Upon the tablet, To the illustrious dead,
The chief of mandarins, the great Goh-Bang."
Scarce had he gone when stealthily came Chang,
Who read the same; but, peering closer, he
Spied in a corner, what Ching had failed to see,
The words, "This tablet is erected here
By those to whom the great Goh-Bang was dear."

So on the appointed day-both innocent
As babes, of course-these honest fellows went,
And took their distant station; and Ching said,
" I can read, plainly, 'To the illustrious dead,
The chief of mandarins, the great Goh-Bang.' "
" And is that all that you can spell ?" said Chang.
" I see what you have read, but furthermore,
In smaller letters, toward the temple door,
Quite plain, 'This tablet is erected here
By those to whom the great Goh-Bang was
dear.' "
" My sharp-eyed friend, they are not there," said
Ching.
" They are," said Chang, "if I see anything;
And clear as daylight." "Patent eyes, indeed,
You have cried Ching. "Do you think I can't
read?"
" Not at this distance as I can," Chang said,
" If what you say you saw is all you read."

In fine, they quarreled, and their wrath increased,
Till Chang said, Let us leave it to the priest;
Lo here he comes to meet us." "It is well,"
Said honest Ching, no falsehood will he tell."

The good man heard their artless story through,
And said, I think, dear sirs, there must be few
Blessed with suchwondrous eyes asthose you wear.
There is no tablet with inscription there !
There was one, it is true; 't was moved away,
And yon plain tablet placed there yesterday."

839

BY CHARLES BARNARD.

ELIZA HAMILTON was born on the Hudson
River, somewhere between Albany and Catskill.
Her mother's home was the good boat "Betsey
Jane," of Buffalo, New York, whereof Mr. Thomas
Hamilton was owner and sailing-master. Eliza and
the "Betsey Jane began life about the same time,
for the boat was on her first trip down the Hudson
when the little child came to live on board. So it
happened that Eliza had always been upon a canal-
boat, and had hardly ever spent a night in a house
on shore.
The Betsey Jane" was her home, and her little
chamber was a state-room. The boat was a large
and fine one, ninety-seven feet long and eighteen
feet wide on deck. It was eight and a half feet
deep, and, when empty, stood more than seven
feet out of water. The bows were high and very
full, or round, and the stern was nearly square,
and there was a great square rudder behind. Near
the bows was a windlass, and a small raised deck
which made the roof of a cabin used as a stable
for the two horses. At the stern was another
house, or raised deck, about three feet high. This
had two square windows in front, looking toward
the bows, and three on each side; and there were
green blinds, made to slide before the windows.
Inside the windows were lace curtains fastened
back with blue ribbons; but each window was so
small that, when Eliza looked out, her round face
nearly filled it. At the back of the house was a
door, a very strange door; one half opened on
hinges and the other half slid back over the roof.
Before this door was the great wooden tiller for the
rudder; and near it a hatch opening down into
the hold of the boat. The top of the house was
flat and made a big outdoor table, where, in pleas-
ant weather, the family often had dinner and sup-
per. In summer, there was also an awning, or big
flat tent, covering the after part of the deck, house
and all. The great clear deck, with its two hatches,
was Eliza's playground, while inside the house,
below the deck, was the strange little home where

she lived a happy life with her father, mother, and
baby brother.
From the door you went down five steps to the
kitchen, parlor, and sitting-room, all in one,-the
queerest place that ever was seen. It was a square
room, with windows near the ceiling on two sides,
and two narrow doors opposite the entrance.
There was a tiny stove tucked away under the
deck, and there was just room for one table and
four chairs. Around the walls, on three sides,
were drawers and closets,--lockers they were
called,- so that while the room was too small for
much furniture, the lockers were really bookcase,
bureau, sideboard, and all. The two doors opened
into the tiny state-rooms one for Eliza, and one
for her father and mother and the baby. Her bed
was the oddest thing imaginable; only one foot
high, and tucked away under the deck like a berth
in a ship. There was a carpet, and pictures, and a
clock, nice curtains, and a chair; and it was home,
if it was afloat. You may be sure Eliza thought
it was as sweet a home as any in the world.
Although Eliza Hamilton lived on a canal-boat,
and her home was always afloat, she went to school,
in Jersey City, half of every year. From April to
November, she sailed and sailed, backward and
forward, hardly stopping more than for a day at a
time, between Buffalo, on Lake Erie, and New York,
by the sea. From November to April, the Betsey
Jane lay at anchor in the basin of the Morris and
Essex Canal, at Jersey City. Here were scores of
other boats just like this one, and each with a family
aboard, all closely side by side in the water, thus
making a great floating village. Eliza could walk
from boat to boat all through the fleet; she could
visit the other girls at their boats, or cross the
planks to the shore and go with them to school in
the city.
Thus, for her, every year was divided into two
parts: the summer, when the boat sailed and
sailed, day and night, always going on and on
through daylight and dark; and the winter, when

BROKEN ADRIFT.

it rested for months in a vast fleet of other boats,
snugly anchored out of the way of the storms.
Eliza liked the summer best. The life on board
her moving home was delightful; plenty of fun
with the other children on the neighbors' boats,
or those living along the banks of the canal, and
much to see every day,- ships, steamboats, the
river, the winding canal, towns and cities, great
mountains, and the sea. Once she made a long
voyage, through as far as New Haven, on Long
Island Sound; and twice she went up the canal to
Lake Champlain, and then on to Montreal, in
Canada.
It was in June when it all happened. It was
just before Eliza's twelfth birthday, and on the
second trip of the Betsey Jane from Buffalo to

number of the canal-boats that had come '".i -.i,
from the West with the "Betsey Jane," and ar-
ranged them on the river in a kind of procession.
An enormous tow-boat took her place at the head
of the line, and then great cables were run out,
binding all the fleet together, and making what
was called a tow."
The tow was a strange affair, a village afloat;
men, women, children, horses, dogs, and cats,
living in thirty-nine canal-boats, and all dragged
along by the tow-boat ahead. The tow-boat was
formerly a passenger-steamer, but it had retired
from that business, and all its lofty decks and bal-
conies were gone. There was nothing left but the
great frames, the tall smoke-stack, the engine,
and the pilot-house. Behind the engine on the

III

- '7

. =. ..

along Lli,1 10IL, anLd i-1 lahul CLIUcd .
the boat. Sometimes Eliza rode the
horse, or held the tiller to steer, while
her father went down to dinner or supper.
other times she sat on top of the house, pl
dolls upon the deck, or helped her mother
care of baby. The steering was sometimes 1
but she could always manage the boat, and 1
how to move the rudder to make the B
Jane" keep just the right place in the ca
neither bumping her fat nose into the bank,
running it into the passing boats.
At Troy, the plank was laid to the bank, anc
horses walked on board, and went to their s
room at the bows. Tug-boats brought togetl

- 'I

- II

si I

"THERE WERE SCORES OF CANAL-BOATS, MAKING A GREAT
FLOATING VILLAGE."

At low deck were massive timbers, and about these
ayed were coiled four great cables that stretched astern
take over the water to the four canal-boats at the head
lard, of the tow.
mnew The first four boats were loaded with lumber
etsey from Lake Champlain. Behind these came sixteen
anal, boats, four abreast, loaded with lumber, wheat,
nor oats, and grain. Next came eighteen more, two
and two; and then one more, trailing behind them
i the all. The Betsey Jane" was the right-hand one
tate- of the last pair; and as the odd boat was fastened to
her a the other boat, there was clear water in her wake.

1.1 -~

'ItI

New 'i'.:- ii-
days :'i i.-! -, I I I- .
in t].- .. -I

I.. lIZZ
1:15-

._~~- ---~ --. .-

842

As the boats were lashed side by
bows of one close to the stern of th
and as there were planks laid from
it was easy to go from one end of
other. There were quite a number
board, and Eliza had plenty of play
hours a day she studied with her
cabin, and part of the time she too
baby brother. The rest of the da
liberty to roam at will all over the
lightly from boat to boat. She vi
nice girls on the Sunrise," of Syr
dolls with the lame girl on the "'
of Whitehall; or joined the boys
played school on the white deck
Stevens," of Troy. Of course, they

"ELIZA SAT AT THE SIDE OF THE DE
WISTFULLY AFTER THE
tag, use roller-skates, or trundle hoo
of a canal-boat; but they often play
jackstones, and housekeeping."
The weather was beautiful; and, v
playing, the tow moved steadily f
smooth and easy motion that was de
had passed the Catskills at sunrise.
wash the dishes at Saugerties, studio

BROKEN ADRIFT.

[SEPT.

side, with the and played with the other girls all the way down
e one in front, to Poughkeepsie. After supper, it was said, there
boat to boat, would be a concert on board the Schoharie," of
the tow to the Buffalo. Everybody was anxious to go, and Eliza
of children on got out her blue frock with the white bows, to go
ymates. Two with her father. But she could n't go, for Mother
mother in the had been ironing all the afternoon on deck, and
ik care of her needed a change; so Eliza must stay at home and
y she was at take care of the baby brother. She was dreadfully
fleet, leaping disappointed, and perhaps, when she put away the
sited the two blue frock in its locker, there was a tear or two on
acuse; played its white ribbons.
Ticonderoga," It was eight o'clock when her parents took a
and girls who lantern to go, over the boats, to the concert. Eliza
of the Polly sat at the side of the deck-house looking wistfully
could not play after them, and as they crossed to the boat ahead
she heard her mother say that the tow-line
ought to be repaired, as it was nearly worn
out. Her father said he would mend it in
the morning, and then they were gone.
Eliza watched the lantern, dancing over the
decks for a few moments, and then, with
just a little sigh, she went downstairs to the
cabin. Sarah Tuttle, of the "Flying Fish,"
had lent her a story-book, and she sat down
to read it. The door over her head was
open, and once in a while she caught a note
of the music as it came floating over the
water.
She had been reading for some time when
S '- she heard the deep droning whistle of the
tow-boat. Then, after a little pause, came
another whistle. She knew by this that
there was a steamer coming up the river.
Presently she heard the beating of the
S steamer's paddles, and knew from the sound
i .. that it was a large boat. She heard it pass
Quite near; and then, as the sound died
4 away, the boat slowly rolled from side to
side. She looked up from her book to see
if baby brother had stirred. Not much
danger. He had slept through many a long
voyage, and the waves seemed to make his
home all a rocking-cradle.
Then, for a long time, it was very still;
but as the story-book was interesting, she
did not notice how the time was passing.
ECK-HOUSE LOOKING When she finished the book she looked up
M. at the clock. Half-past ten. She must go
ps on the deck on deck to see if Father and Mother were coming.
'ed jump-rope, Why, what was this? No lights had every-
body gone to bed? No. That could not be, for
while they were there were always lights burning on the deck of
forward with a the last boat. No tow in sight anywhere. Not
lightful. They a boat to be seen. She ran along the deck to the
Eliza helped bow. She was adrift! The tow-line was broken,
ed at Rondout, and the Betsey Jane had separated from the

4. .. '
'. ~i

BROKEN ADRIFT.

tow. The line had probably parted when the boat
was rolled by the wake of the passing steamer.
She called her father again and again. Not a
sound in reply. She was lost on the great river.
She looked all about her over the gray and silent
water. Far away astern were the twinkling lights
of a town. Here and there on each side were
lights, and just ahead were gigantic shadows blot-
ting out half the sky. She knew at once where
she was. The lights astern were in Newburgh;
the great shadows were mountains, for she was
just entering the Highlands, drifting along on the
current. The tow, after the Betsey Jane" broke
adrift, had gone on, and was now out of sight
beyond West Point.
What did she do ? Run back to the cabin and
hide herself in fright,-or fall on the deck and

daylight came. There were two dangers. The
boat might go ashore and be wrecked, or it might
be run down by some passing steamboat. She
knew she must give the boat headway or it would
not steer. There was a cool, fresh breeze blowing,
and as quick as thought she had contrived a plan
to take advantage of the wind.
"If she drifts, this way, she may go ashore!
I must rig up some kind of sail."
She picked up a boat-hook from the deck and
pried open the forward hatch. She went back to
the cabin and pulled out from a locker a large
sheet. She made a knot in one corner, took the
sheet on deck, and pushing the point of the boat-
hook into the knot, she thrust the handle snugly
into one corner of the forward hatch, and then
closed the heavy sliding hatch-cover against it, to

..- --- -- ---.-----:-
-r -

"AS THE BOATS WERE LASHED SIDE BY SIDE, AND AS THERE WERE PLANKS LAID FROM BOAT TO BOAT, IT WAS EASY TO
GO FROM ONE END OF THE TOW TO THE OTHER."
q2.7-$.--. _,- -.- -__ = -_-=__ -
: .l l -= = = -: = -: <--: -: -
.... ~ ~ ~ ~ i "bi h-' :" " -="- - --- --- ..
.' - I l., ,.[ I :--=- -_l; -o --- :--- --:=-=- --.=
3 :. ' ", !,. -_- :: _< = ::: .:: =-= = --:--

'"i -- "= -: ...... -- : z,-- =-
'L -- . . _. :L .. -

GO FR01%I ONUE END OF THIE TOW TO THES OTHER."

cry for help? Not at all. She said, with a brave
heart, though her voice was shaking:
Mother will come back for me, and perhaps if
I try my best to take care of the boat, and baby,
and the horses, God will take care of me."
Eliza Hamilton was the captain's daughter. She
could handle an oar like a sailor, and she knew
just how boats behaved, and what must be done
to control them. The "Betsey Jane" was her
father's boat, her mother's home. It was worth,
with the horses and cargo, thousands of dollars.
She must take it safely down the river till help or

keep it steady. She fastened a piece of rope to
the opposite corner of the sheet, and tied it to the
boat-hook near the deck. With a longer piece
of rope she made what sailors call a "sheet," or
line to control the sail, and by fastening this to
the side of the boat, she had a "leg-o'-mutton"
sail. It was a small affair, but it did the work.
She went to the stern and pushed the tiller over
as far as she could, and in a few moments the
"Betsey Jane" obeyed her helm, came round,
and headed down-stream straight for the black
portals of the Highlands.

BROKEN ADRIFT.

Just then Nig," the cat, came on deck and
began to howl piteously.
Hold your tongue! said Eliza, or I 'll throw
you overboard! "
Poor child She did not often speak so harshly,
but she was excited and perhaps terrified at the
creature's mournful cries. She would have caught
the cat and locked her up in the cabin, but did
not dare to leave the helm. The cat wandered all
over the deck, moaning and crying. Perhaps a

Ah, there were the lights of the hotel at West
Point! She knew the way pretty well; and she
thought it best to keep as close to the east shore
as was safe, in order to steer clear of the steamers.
Though the breeze was strong, the Betsey Jane "
moved very slowly. Still, it did move, for she
could see the mountains that towered above
her on either side slowly change their shapes
against the sky. There were lights on the shore,
as she passed Cold Spring, though she could not

"SARAH TUTTLE, OF THE FLYING FISH,' HAD LENT HER A STORY-BOOK, AND SHE SAT DOWN TO READ IT.'

tear or two came into Eliza's eyes while she clung
to the heavy tiller. She brushed them away, for
she must see plainly in order to steer clear of the
rocky shores.

see the houses nor the iron foundries. The town
and the mountains behind it seemed one solid wall
of blackness.
After a while, Nig seemed to think better of her

BROKEN ADRIFT.

fright, and came and nestled close to Eliza as she
stood leaning against the tiller. Ah! What's
that? A bright light was shining directly ahead.
Thinking it was a steamer's light, Eliza
pushed the tiller over with all her might, '- for

ward and found the sail quite limp and useless. She
took up an oar to pull the boat off into the stream,
and when she put it into the water it struck rock.
In a fright she pushed against the rock with the oar
and the boat slowly swung off into deep water.

y~---' --- ~ P
;- -j1--. -r

jj. x~~'a Li a~i~t ':i
'' rr

f "T.
3A

ELIZA RIGS A LEG-O'-MIUTTON SAIL FOR THE BETSEY JANE."

the purpose of turning the boat shoreward. Then
came a deep roar, making the mountains echo,
and she knew that a train was passing on the
railroad. It was the locomotive headlight, which
she had mistaken for a steamer, and in a moment
the whole train swept past her, close to the
water.
"I thought it was a steamer, sure If only I
had a lantern, I would n't care, for I might wave
it as a signal. If a steamer does come, I '11 hug
the shore and keep out of the way."
The train passed on, the roar and rumble died
in the distance, and the echoes seemed to go to
sleep; for it was very calm and still.
I do believe the wind 's gone down."
No. The boat had sailed into a calm corner
under the shelter of the mountains. Eliza ran for-

"That was lucky. A little more, and I should
have been aground."
The boat drifted sluggishly along for a few
minutes and then the wind seemed to spring
up again. Ah, there was the light-house! She
would steer straight across the point and run the
risk of meeting a steamer. She listened intently
to hear the beating of paddles, but the night was
still,-not a sound anywhere. The boat passed
close to the friendly light-house, and then went
clear across the bend to the opposite side of the
river.
She now ran forward and altered the sheet of
her leg-o'-mutton sail, bringing it back farther, for
now the wind would be abeam. She must now
sail side to the wind, and as the boat had no keel,
it kept drifting in toward the shore; but she felt

845

846 BROKEN ADRIFT. [SEPT.

she must take the risk, in order to.keep out of the many pieces repeated. It was late when the corn-
way of the steamers. pany broke up and scattered over the tow to their
A steamboat hove in sight around the next bend various boats. Twice, on the way home, Mrs. Ham-
below, just as she had fixed the sail. She could see ilton stopped at cabin doors to speak to friends,
its red andgreenlights, and she gave it awideberth, and at one place she even waited to have a cup
._of tea. Mr. Hamilton said he
would go on and look after the
boat, and Mrs. Hamilton sat down
i -I on the deck of the "Flying Fish"
I--' ilil I with Mrs. Tuttle and two other
-I11 il I'i women. While they were quietly
..--. i sipping their tea, they heard loud
'' i.' I shouts from the direction of the
S' boats astern, and in a moment
i ii i ', -' I Mr. Hamilton came running back
.I \ \ I l''''^ ^ i ^over the boats.
I, "The man on the last boat has
i 'I ii i been asleep. The Betsey Jane' is
SI adrift lost "
S :' tow in an instant. Where did it
SThe news spread over the entire
I i / Ihappen? When did she break
i' -- away? It might have happened
--- hours and hours ago, and perhaps
--': the boat was then drifting about,
Smiles astern.
A' fd Eliza's mother heard the news
,' calmly, without a word. She mere-
I ly picked up a lantern and reso-
Silutely started off over the tow as
f ast as she could walk toward the
SI tow-boat.
i| "Where are you going and
!;ii I what are you going to do ?" said
the people.
/ j 1I 'm going to take the steam-
I 1 -' boat if it is possible, and go back
.' 1 o-t" for my children."
,:II All the men said it could not
I' 1 be done. The captain would not
i .. -. stop for the lost boat. The
S"'o "''Betsey Jane" would certainly
i drift ashore. No harm would ever
I:' come to it, stranded high and dry,
'',' I I, i and they could take a boat and
S' : row back and find it.
"My children are on board.
THE CAPTAIN OF THE TOW-BOAT. Some steamer will run them down
in the dark."
keeping close under the shadow of the mountains. This seemed only too likely, and they all ran
It passed swiftly andwithout paying any attentionto on toward the head of the tow; and in a moment
her. In the dark, she could not make out what it or two there were half a hundred men and women
was. She guessed it might be a night passenger- gathered on the great piles of lumber on the forward
boat, and was glad it had gone past in safety, boats. The tow by this time had passed West Point,
and was approaching the great bend just above
The concert was a fine one, and as nobody was lona Island. The men shouted and called to the
in any hurry to get home, the audience wished steamer, but there was no reply. The noise of the

BROKEN ADRIFT.

engine drowned their voices and the steamer went
steadily on, dragging them all farther and farther
away from the lost boat. The steamer was two hun-
dred feet ahead, and the water was beaten into
creamy waves by her great paddles. They were
just then rounding the curve, and every one said
the captain would not stop in such a dangerous
place; so the poor mother had to stand there in
the cold night-wind, while the long, snake-like,
tow crept round the bend in the black and silent
river.
At last a boat was lowered overboard, and Mr.
and Mrs. Hamilton and two men started to catch
up with the steamer. By holding on to the tow-
ing-lines they managed to drag themselves up
to her low stern and climb aboard, leaving the
boat dancing on the creamy water in the wake of
the steamer.
In a moment the poor mother climbed the wind-
ing stairs to the lofty pilot-house where the captain
stood at the wheel.
Oh, sit! The boat is lost."
"Well, marm, I can't help it. The man on
board must look out for her."
"There 's nobody on board but two little chil-
dren."
The captain did not say a word for a moment,
and then he lowered the window and looked all
about over the black river, as if searching for
something.
We can't stop here. I '11 go on to the bay at
Peekskill, and "
Oh, sir, can't you take the steamer back ? "
Just what I was thinking o' doing,- but we
must find a place to anchor the tow, first."
"The night-boats will be coming up. They
will run into the children's boat."
No, marm. They are not due here yet."
It took more than an hour to reach the wide
place in the river, opposite Peekskill, and to swing
the long tow close inshore out of the way of the
passing steamers; and half an hour more to make
the boats fast to a rock on the shore, to free the
steamer from her charge and start her upon the
search for the missing boat.
Two men were placed on the bows below. There
were four more on the upper deck, and from the
windows of the pilot-house the poor mother looked
out with straining eyes into the vast blackness
ahead.
How the firemen piled their roaring fires The
engineer urged the great machine to full speed,
and his men ran to and fro, oiling every joint.
Showers of sparks poured out of the tall smoke-
stack, and the woods and mountains re-echoed
with the furious beating of the paddles. The crazy
old boat seemed to awake to some remembrance

of her famous speed in the days when she was the
fast passenger-boat on the Albany day-line and was
the pride of her captain.
Ah i what 's that ? See that black thing close
under the shore "
That 's not the boat, marm. She could n't
get way down here by this time. We will not
find her this side of Cold Spring, for I reckon
she broke loose at the time the 'Poughkeepsie
freighter' passed us."
On and on they went, rushing round the sharp
bend at West Point, and steaming straight ahead
through the Highlands. The boat would be drift-
ing about somewhere above Cornwall. They would
soon find it.
Nothing to be seen. Not a sign of a boat any-
where. They went up even as far as Newburgh,
and crossed the river, and crept slowly down
stream close inshore. The wind would drive her
over to that side, and she might be aground some-
where along the bank. Then they saw the lights
of a steamer coming up-stream, and they turned
out into the middle of the river to meet her. It
was the "Saratoga," of the Troy night-line.
There were warning whistles, and the two boats
stopped and met in the darkness. Black figures
came out on the lofty decks of the passenger
steamer, and the captain of the tow-boat shouted
through his hands:
Boat lost. Two children on board. Seen
her, as you came up along anywhere? "
No; they had seen nothing. The Albany boat
was just behind; perhaps she had sighted it. The
great white boat moved on again, and left the
tow-boat to continue her search. The Albany
boat was stopped, too, and the same report was
made and the same question asked.
No; they had seen nothing.
I 'm thankful," said the mother, as she leaned
out of the pilot-house window and saw the mon-
strous boat move slowly away in the darkness;
" I 'm thankful,-for that danger is past. I 'm
glad they did n't see it. They might have gone
right over it in the darkness."
So there was one of the perils escaped. The
" Betsey Jane had not been run down, and there
would be no more steamers till daylight. Round
and round went the tow-boat, crossing and re-
crossing the river, poking her slender nose into
every nook and corner; stopping here and there,
blowing her whistle furiously, and listening for
any answering shouts or calls. The sentinel, high
on the bluffs at West Point, paused in his lonely
tramp, and leaned on his gun to look down on the
river, wondering what the strange steamer was
about. He called the corporal; and the corporal,
too, looked down on the black river. He even

BROKEN ADRIFT.

called out the guard, and ..- .- --
sent men down to the
shore with a lantern.
They thought the captain
of the steamer must be .
crazy. Then there ap-
peared a pale glow in the
easternsky, and the steam-
er turned down-stream.
The soldiers went back .
again to their posts upon v -' ,
the heights, for there was. 't I.' -'. -.'
no solution of the mystery. '. i
It grew lighter, for it -
was morning. Now they .
would be sure to find the .
lost boat. The steamer
kept the middle of the
stream, steaming slowly
along, with every one on --
the lookout. On and on I '
they went, round the next --
bend, pastIonalsland,and -
into a bay near Peekskill.
What 's that near shore" T!-!:
" Betsey Jane," sailing serer.. .:l. : I .'il '
inshore, with her leg-o'-mul t..i t :il :- !' : '''.1 '.u .
the breeze! At the stern -'.::,.:i t iF:n Li; ,.
bravely steering straight for- rhl. *i'.:hi..i.-l i..:.
ahead. Swiftly the steam.:r *'.-ii p. uip !.:' .--l.-.
and there was a grand rush :..i I. .i id. "L E.: .:?
Jane"; but the mother w,-i ir:rr. ar..1 te I .i,:
came next, with a tow-line ii !:- !.,..i.
How they did cheer! .i0 rlie .:...,i.: .-- .r i.-.
tow saw them. The stea i.:i i : l Ir I: 11 .ni.1
blew her whistle, till the ..... nii :H I ri...-r-,, r
echoed again. The grim i. .:pi.:. i,,, : ..2
of his lofty window, wipei! hi-,i ,-, ..!, I .
red handkerchief, and told tih, _-l:: i .i .1: ',
biggest trip the old steam :' :i ni ..:. .I ,.
body said Captain Eliza wa- a :pidincd na-i.,iator.

S7
"'S~-;, F_-T----l~I '-I-~~~-

*1"A

---'-I
rL~i- P l:
MA Do

M2

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ill h i

_7AA _

__ __ _ _

848

THE \W TEL
U, L- S E L :.'
A FiLr,!-, L ..ZZ

L-I [-[ L r. i, ," 2" FT.FiL L

I.
FRIENDS, since moving-time has come,
We have changed our little home.
We have left the mill-dam meadow
That the trailing elms o'ershadow,
And to find us, you must look
Further up the stony brook:

II.
Where the waters swirl and hurry,
Where the twinkling minnows scurry,
Where, the limpid ripples brushing,
Bend the margin-grasses tall;
Where the narrowed current, rushing
Down a pathway steep and mossy,
Plunges o'er the brink, a saucy,
Tiny, tinkling waterfall.

III.
You would never guess, 't is certain;
But behind the crystal curtain
That by every breeze is swayed,

VOL. XV.-54.

850 THE WA'

Like a liquid window screening,
All the golden sunshine greening,-
There our cosy nest is hidden !
There our trusted friends are bidden,

There our treasures are displayed
That we watch o'er, night and day-time,
On a bed of mosses laid -
Eggs, you know !
Pale and dainty as a May-time
Apple-blow.

Iv.
While the buds and blooms are waking,-
We shall see
Tiny beaks and talons breaking
From those shells, and hear the cheefp-ing
Of our baby-ousels, peeping,
Wondering what this world may be.
Never dippers' son or daughter
Will be frightened at the water !
Then, oh then, a little longer,
And what glee,

TER-OUSELS' ADDRESS.

When their glossy wings grow stronger,
To fly out !-
Through the shimmering door to lead them,
On the wavy marsh to feed them,

And to show them all the wonders of the
Fairy-land about!

V.
Oh, the summer morns and eves !
Oh, the rich and rustling leaves !
And, at noon,
When the locust's lulling croon
On the throbbing air is heard,
And when man and beast and bird
Fall asleep,
Oh, the dashing
And the plashing
Through the shower and the foam,
To the shadow, cool and deep,
Of our home!

VI.
Come, then, friends, and make a call
Here behind our waterfall,
If you do not mind a sprinkling !
[You can dive through in a twinkling.]
Cascade Ingle, nothing less,
Is our permanent address.

HOW SOME BIRDS ARE CARED FOR.

BY CHARLES FREDERICK HOLDER.

LOVERS of animals delight in making compari-
sons between their pets and those of others, and,
indeed, in drawing parallels between animals' intel-
ligence and that of human beings, often, it must
be said, to the disadvantage of the latter. The
so-called "lower" animals suffer pain from heat
or cold, know the pangs of hunger, have their
likes and dislikes, their times of work and times of
play, and experience both the bright and sober
sides of life in other respects; and very naturally
the emotions provoked by these different,condi-
tions find expression in voice and manner. When
happy, we sing; and, in a similar frame of mind,
the bird carols its song; the cat purrs; the hens
have their peculiar clucking, and the horse neighs
and gallops about. As we distort our visages and
scowl when in rage, so also does the cat and so do
various other animals. When hungry we are some-
times irritable; and this is likewise true of many of
our humble friends. Thus we might easily show
that all animals, from man downward, have the
same emotions and feelings as ourselves, but in a
different degree, and that these emotions find
expression every class of animals having its
own peculiar language.
Some of these strange resemblances bring the
lower animals nearer to the human standard than
others; and perhaps in acts of devotion to their
young, they not only resemble but at times
exceed us. Their affection, tenderness, and heroic
self-sacrifice to protect their little ones, are pro-
verbial, and stand in marked contrast to the habits
of many savage human tribes. What reader of
ST. NICHOLAS ever saw a motherly old hen destroy
one of her chicks because it was in the way, or
was one too many? The larger the brood the
prouder this fussy old mother becomes; and we
rarely hear of her killing a chick because it is
weak or sickly. The weak chicken receives as
much care as the most robust of the brood. Yet
the cruelties suggested, and many more, have
been customs in ancient times among savage
tribes of men in various parts of the world.
Among the birds, we find perhaps the most
striking acts of affection; and, strange to say, most
frequently among the very birds which we would
least expect to show affection. Some of you are
familiar with the uncanny night-hawk, the boon
companion of the bat, which appears at twilight

and prolongs its revels far into the night. Rarely
seen and little known, though the night-hawks
are a large family and of wide distribution, this
bird shows remarkable attachment for its young,
and in protecting them really exhibits more intelli-
gence than many of our domestic birds.
The term night-hawk is commonly applied to
several species, all of which have certain peculiari-
ties. From its curious cry one is called chuck-
will's-widow, this call being uttered so loudly by
the bird that it has been heard for nearly a mile.
About the middle of March they come back from
their winter pilgrimage; and, unlike most of the
birds, they have no housekeeping to keep them
busy, as they build no nests. While the robins,
humming-birds, thrushes, and others, are busily
scouring the country for material with which to
build their nurseries, the chuck-will's-widow is fast
asleep in some out-of-the-way corner, only coming
out in the afternoon and evening to gather its
supply of food.
When the time comes for laying, our seemingly-
lazy bird selects some secluded spot, and deposits
her eggs anywhere on the ground; and the very
first glimpse, if we are fortunate in finding them
at all, explains why she builds no nest. The eggs
are almost the exact color of the surroundings, and
so mottled and tinted that only by the merest acci-
dent are they discovered; and when the two little
chuck-will's-widows finally come out they are
even more difficult to find than the eggs. Being
very sleepy little fellows they rarely move, and,
though standing within a few inches of them,
the observer might suppose them to be two old
brown leaves or a bunch of brown moss, so deceiv-
ing is their mimicry.
Though the eggs and young are so perfectly
protected by nature, the parents are no less zealous
in caring for them, and have been seen to go
through remarkable performances in the defense
of their home. When an intruder is first dis-
covered the mother-bird throws herself upon the
ground, ruffles up her feathers, and limps or flut-
ters, always moving away from the nest; and
when the credulous follower is safely out of the
way, the wily mother, who has led him to think
she can be easily caught, suddenly recovers from
her lameness and darts away to regain the nest
from another direction. If, however, the nest be

HOW SOME BIRDS ARE CARED FOR.

found and the eggs disturbed,
greatest distress. A naturalis
handled the eggs, without rer
then concealed himself in a ne

7.,..

' I

A NIGHT-HAWK CARRYING ITS

the birds show the object of superstitious fear to the Indians. These
t, who had merely birds also lay their eggs anywhere upon the ground,
moving them, and and have been observed to roll them along with
neighboring thicket, their bills; but perhaps the most remarkable sight
is to see the anxious parent seize her shapeless
rhick by the downy feathers of its back, as a cat
:..i -; a kitten, and carry it away over grass and
.:l.-e to some more secluded spot.
-.:cording to Azara, the naturalist, some curi-
h.- beliefs are entertained in South America con-
...: i ng the "ibijan," a night-hawk. It is a large
L...I. but instead of laying its eggs on the ground,
r ..1.: posits them in a hollow tree, and, according to
Ihe natives, fastens the eggs to the wood with a
gum, which the old bird breaks off when
the eggs are hatched and so liberates the
S- / chicks. But this gumming process is
probably an accidental occurrence.
S' There is one of this tribe, and the
largest, the tawny-shouldered pog-
ardus of Australia and New Guinea,
S which takes the young birds in its
mouth, but with a very different pur-
'pose from that of the whip-poor-
will. Generally, these birds live upon
YOUNG TO A PLACE OF SAFETY.

IVk .

saw the parent-birds come skimming over thl
grass, alighting by the eggs in apparent dis-
tress, and uttering curious cries as if
greatly frightened. Finally, after a
consultation, each bird opened its
great mouth (generally used as

an insect trap), took in an egg, ..
and, to the amazement of the -
naturalist, disappeared, carry- --
ing the object of solicitude to
a safer spot. l:'' '
The same habit has been '
observed in the collared goat- Hr' /
sucker of the Cape of Good 4 .
Hope, which, like the night- '-'- :'' -.
hawk, has an enormous mouth. -''I'
They also form no nest, relying '.,
upon the difficulty of discovering -
their eggs, which are like the -- ,i, .
surroundings where they are i ---S.'...i 4/
deposited; and when the eggs
are threatened by any great -v .' ~ .'. ir
danger the parents take them '- I
in their mouths and fly away- \ -
certainly a convenient method v -; .1'"".
of moving the household '' "
The well-known whip-poor- THE WOOD-DUCK CONVEYING ITS YOUNG TO THE GROUND.
will, which is often heard in Central Park, and insects which they catch readily with their enor-
at once recognized by the cry from which it is mous mouths, but during the mating-season, the
named, appears at dusk, and at one time was an great fluffy fellows become veritable cannibals and

852

~ ..

HOW SOME BIRDS ARE CARED FOR.

attack the nests of other birds, taking out the
young, and devouring them, perhaps under the
impression that they have discovered a new kind
of insect.
The demure duck, although a conscientious
mother, and careful of her brood, has never been

/ \}\ lk/

-

ducklings), there is a constant jumping and scram-
bling to obtain a look at the outer world. The
water is so near that they can hear the old folks
diving and splashing about--an aggravating sit-
uation, surely; but the serious question of mov-
ing has been considered by the old birds, for on

a -FU---
I__ _

A FAMILY OF GROUSE.

considered as especially solicitous for her offspring;
but there is one of the family that performs a re-
markable feat -at least, remarkable for a duck.
This is the summer duck-Aix sponsa, one of
the most beautiful of its kind. The plumage of
these birds is exceedingly rich and gaudy, marked
with streaks of white and black; the entire coat in
different lights displaying differing tints of bronze,
blue, and green; while its head, the bill being
red, is surmounted by a crest of glossy bronze-
green, tipped with violet, so that among the green
leaves and branches it forms a striking spectacle.
Unlike most of its tribe, the wood-duck- as it is
also called-builds its nest, often many feet from
the ground, in hollow trees near streams. Here
the oval, shiny eggs are laid, and covered with
down taken from the mother's breast. After a
time, the young appear. For a while they are fed
by the parents; and then comes the momentous
question, asked, perhaps, by the little ducklings
themselves, How shall we get down ? Some-
times they are a foot or more below the window
of their house, which is fifty feet from the ground,
and being very restless little fellows (as are all

the very day that the ducklings are large enough
to be trusted they are released in a very remark-
able manner. The male duck takes his place as
a sentinel on some neighboring branch, uttering a
low "peef-feet," while the mother flies to the nest,
stretches in her neck, and as one of the ducklings
jumps toward her, she seizes it gently between her
bill, either by its soft, fuzzy neck or wing, and
boldly flies off, notwithstanding its objection to
this strange treatment. She deposits it safely on
the ground, at the foot of the tree. Up she goes,
without pausing, and another bird is fished out of
the nest in the same way, and then another, until
in a very few minutes the entire brood are running
about on the ground, wagging their downy tails,
and poking their little bills into every attractive
spot. It is a proud moment for the parents. The
male descends from his watch-tower, and the pair
waddle away to the pond, followed by the entire
family of ducklings, who are soon enjoying the
delights of free,'rollicking life on the water. The
nest is from this time deserted until the ensuing
year; the young brood being led at night to some
deep thicket in the woods.

HOW SOME BIRDS ARE CARED FOR.

The ruffled-grouse -a well-known species -
often start up at our feet and dash away with a
loud whirring noise which is extremely startling to
the novice. Their nest is formed upon the ground,
of grass and small sticks, generally at the foot of
a bush or tree, under cover; and a description of

WOODCOCK AND YOUNG.
WOODCOCK AND YOUNG.

the maneuvers adopted by the mother to protect
her brood in time of danger would almost make a
book.
Sometimes a grouse loses all her brood but one;
and, on one such occasion, the mother's actions were
much like those related of the chuck-will's-widow.
*At the appearance of the gunner, she threw her-
self at his feet as usual, and for a moment exercised
all her arts and wiles; but the little one, not daring
to leave her, rendered them useless. Seeing this,
she hesitated a moment, then seizing the chick by
its down-feathers, with her bill, and rising, she flew
away with it. She disappeared in a thicket, leav-
ing the gunner wondering at her ingenuity. The
hunter who noted this was Wilson, the famous
American ornithologist, and he says, "It would
have been impossible for me to have killed this
affectionate mother, who had exhibited such an
example of presence of mind, reason, and sound
judgment as must have convinced the most bigoted
advocates of mere instinct."
In the far northern countries, innumerable birds
find homes on high cliffs, utterly inaccessible from
the sea; so numerous are they that, as their white
or black feathers are turned seaward, they change

the very appearance of the cliffs to dark or light.
On these crags, at a dizzy height above the water,
breed the guillemots, shapely birds with black
back and head, and white breast; standing on the
rocks, they appear like pigmy men decked out in
white waistcoats. Their eggs are often placed on
the rocks,- there being little
semblance of a nest,- and when
the young bird appears it is
confronted with a leap far more
to be dreaded than that already
described as being before the
S" young ducks; but in this case
also the old bird sometimes
S' comes to the rescue and bears
it safely down to the welcome
Water. This, however, is not
done with the bill, the young
guillemots being probably too
Heavy for such transportation;
so the mother crouches down-
"'.' ''" upon the rock, and by threaten-
ing or coaxing, persuades the
young bird to mount upon her
back, between her wings, and
boldly launches off, dropping
S gently down, perhaps several
hundred feet, upon the water.
In the year 1867, six pairs of
English skylarks were brought
to this country, and released on
the meadows in Central Park,
and since then the descendants have become very
numerous. Hardly an English poet but has praised
the song of the skylark. It is a glorious melody,
and perhaps it would be difficult to find a bird
better known or more widely appreciated; yet but
few are aware of the intelligence it sometimes dis-
plays when rearing its young.
The nest is generally placed in the high grass of
meadows; and a naturalist, in wandering through
a field one spring, came by chance upon an entire
family. Anxious to observe their movements, he
withdrew a few paces, and there witnessed a curious
proceeding. The old birds seemed greatly agi-
tated, and were making a loud noise, and darting
about as if undecided what to do. Finally, the
mother popped into the nest, seized one of the
birds, and lifting it upon her back, rose, and flew
away. Her mate almost immediately attempted
the same feat; but whether because he was unused
to the operation or not, the little bird would slip
off. He succeeded with much difficulty in balanc-
ing his load, and flew after his mate. In a few
moments both returned and repeated their former
action, until they had removed every bird from the
discovered nest.

854

[SEPT.

HOW SOME BIRDS ARE CARED FOR.

The same observer on another occasion
saw a skylark, when startled from its nest,
seize an egg in its claws and dart away.
Possibly it had had some experience with
nest-robbers, and was determined to foil
them this time at least. An examination of
the lark's foot, with its enormously long toe
and fourth nail, will make it clear how this
feat was easily performed.
Not long ago a professor in one of the
Western colleges observed an interesting
exhibition of motherly affection in the wood-
cock. He was out walking when the bird
started up almost at his feet and flew away
over the bush. Pointing his gun, he was
about to fire, when he observed that she held
something between her claws. Curious to
see what it was, he laid down his gun and \A
followed in headlong pursuit through the
bushes. As her flight was somewhat labored,
he came near enough to distinguish a downy
little woodcock,-a mere bunch of fuzz with
a long beak and bead-like eyes,-resting
between the mother's claws; but then, with
her precious load, the cunning mother sud-
denly darted into cover and disappeared.

I '' .o .?

- i ltl' i -
" ^i I L / { "1

-SKY-AR CARRYING AN EGG IN ITS CLAWS.
" KY I N I C. !

SKYLARK CARRYING AN EGG IN ITS CLAWS.

Several other observers have witnessed similar able. Some of the cuckoos deposit their eggs in
occurrences, in this country and in England; their the nests of other birds, among the eggs already
testimony shows that these birds undoubtedly have there, thus shirking maternal cares; but they are
tolerably sure that their off-
spring although thus aban-
doned will be well lodged,
as no sooner are the young
cuckoos hatched than the
little interlopers throw out
--the other eggs, or even
-- the young birds, and thus
obtain the food rightfully
'.'. -belonging to the dispos-
sessed brood.
S- The great-crested-fly-
catcher, and several others,
-. adopt an exceedingly novel
'--other birds or lizards that
-- \ would prey upon their eggs.
--- They wind into their nests
-- --one or more of the old skins
------- : which have been shed by
snakes, so that these ap-
-- -. -- pear to be live snakes coiled
about the nests. So confi-
GUILLEMOT WITH THE YOUNG BIRD UPON ITS BACK. about the nests. So confi-
dent are these birds in this
much more intelligence than is usually credited to protection that we believe a nest of the great-
them. crested-fly-catcher has never been found without
The remarkable devices of various bird-mothers one of these sham snakes as a protection against
for protecting their homes and young are innumer- marauders.

1888.]

/
i ,

AM'

BY LANGDON E. MITCHELL.

THERE was once a knix who lived in the grass
and did nothing but harm.
He had come from the mountains a long time
ago-so long that he had almost forgotten why
he came; but he never forgot to wish himself
back there. For in the mountains he had been
the color of the gold sand that lies in shelves on
the bottoms of the brooks; and very happy, too,
for there he had a great deal to do; but now he
lived in the hill-country, and was idle and morose,
and no color at all, but like a little black Shadow.
One day, as he was in a very ill-humor, he
scrambled up the bed of a stream that wound
through the thick woods. As he went he swung
his hammer in his hand, and with it he gave a blow
to everything he saw.
"Good little stones! he said, savagely; "I
know you like to be cracked and you, little
diamond brook I will shatter you to pieces "
When he hit the stones they answered with ring-
ing voices, and some of them sparkled in anger;
but the stream, where he struck it, only burst into
a peal of silvery laughter, and dashed about him
in a shower of spray.
This made the knix very angry.
I will see where you come from," he said.
Then he stumbled along over the roots of the
trees, and cried to himself, "Yes all the world

is ugly The sky is dirt color, and the sun is a
yellow mud-ball, and the grass looks to me like
little, ugly, flimsy green worms, and the water
here was made just to laugh at me; and everything
is so arranged that it is the most difficult thing
in the world to make mischief. I will stop you,
though," he thought, as he heard the brook mur-
muring peacefully to itself.
Then at length he found himself at the head-
waters of the brook. Here there was a little green
circle of grass, as perfect and round as a full moon,
and in the center a spring bubbled up into a deep
wooden box, which had been placed there to receive
it; over the spring spread a great sycamore-tree.
Scattered about the green ring of grass grew
many beautiful violets, and above the spring stood
a stone spring-house, with two windows and a low
roof; below the house were some boards thrown
over a well with stone sides, and at the bottom
of this well there was about an inch of water and
a ram, or force-pump to force water up to a house.
"Oh! thought the knix, "this is the place for
me to live in; I can stop up the spring every
morning "
So, climbing upon the boards, he peeped into
the well. It was all very dark, but at length he
saw a queer-looking object at the bottom. This
was the ram. It was made of iron and shaped

- '~- -.

_',.* *r "-. --- .- .-
.--< -- ., c .--' ?i-t j
4 : .. ,. _
II
/' 'I' '-9" --t> '

.. -
. -<.:_-

THE MISCHIEVOUS KNIX.

like an inverted pear. A little rod in the middle
of it sprang up and down, and forced the water
from the spring up through pipes to the house.
But about this the knix knew nothing. He thought
only that he had found the best place in the world
for making mischief and that he would like to
live there; so he moved in. But as he dared not
live in the spring for fear of being seen, he climbed
up the spring-house roof; the very next morning,
however, he was awakened from a nap behind the
chimney by hearing voices.
Some men had come from the house on the hill
above,- the house to which the spring belonged.
They went over to the shed that covered the ram,
and, going inside, worked at it for some time with
their tools.
There was an early drought, and they wished
to have water without the daily trouble of sending
so far. So they set the ram to work, and then
cleaned out the spring, which the spiteful knix
had filled with stones the night before.
",This is, indeed, exactly the place for me,"
said the knix, as the men departed. He arose,
and taking his hammer, knocked a number of
bricks from the chimney and threw them into the
spring. Then he went to the well and climbed
down into it, and there he found the queer little
rod bobbing excitedly up and down in its iron pot,
sending the water in four directions at once.
"Stop it said he, and gave it a blow with his
hammer. Then, climbing out, he sat on the shed
and laughed.
The next morning the men came again, and
mended the ram as before.
It is such an old thing," they said, that we
can hardly expect it to do more than go for a little
while and then stop. But who could have thrown
the bricks into the well ? They cleaned out the
well and went away.
The knix spent that day in trying to keep the
spring from flowing, and it was evening before he
remembered to crack the little iron bobber with
his hammer.
"Take that!" he said.
The third day the men came early, and stayed
a long time. On account of the drought, there
was no water in the well. When they went away
the knix descended into the well as usual.
"Take that, Bobber said he. But this time
the bobber's courage was gone; it snapped short
off, and became silent. The knix felt his heart
swell with happiness. He was so happy that he
went to sleep in the sunshine on the green grass.
From his sleep there he was awakened early in
the day by the men who had come back from the
house. They passed so near to him that they
could have almost touched him. Well," thought

he, that's the oddest thing in the world! They
must be stone-blind they have n't seen me at
all." Then he became quite bold, and followed
them down the well.
"'Ah said they, "some rascal has been here,
and broken the rod !"
"He, he!" laughed the knix; "that is you,
Bobber "
Stealing the monkey-wrench one of the men had
laid on a stone, he climbed out.
"I thought I brought a monkey-wrench down
here," cried the fellow from whom it was stolen.
"I must be losing my wits! he continued. "Any-
how, let's give up this job,-the girl can come down
in the morningand fetch water enough for drinking."
So they went away and the knix, who was very
deft with his fingers, descended into the well again,
and taught himself how to use the monkey-wrench.
Then he unscrewed all the nuts and opened the

HE GRIMACED AT A SQUIRREL WHO CHATTERED IN THE
TREE ABOVE WHERE HE WAS PERCHED." (SEE NEXT PAGE.)

ram. "What an ugly inside you have!" said
he, when he could look into it. Then he scattered
the things all about, cunningly hid the monkey-
wrench, and after he had filled the mouth of the
spring with stones he went to sleep again on the
spring-house roof.
The next morning he was awakened by singing.
At first, he thought it was the oriole who had his

857

I '"
'..' ..

THE MISCHIEVOUS KNIX.

hammock swung from the branches of the syca-
more, but he soon saw it was a child with golden
hair, who came down the path the cows had made.
She carried a pail in each hand.
"Ah !" said the knix to himself; she seems
to be something I never have seen before."
When she was nearer, he saw that she had blue
eyes and flaxen hair, and that her skin was so deli-
cate that it seemed as though one could quite
easily see what she was thinking about.
"If I were as beautiful as she," thought the
knix, I would sit down and think about it a long
time before I did anything at all."
The little girl danced along the path singing to
herself as she went; and the song she sang was
all about how, when the spring came, the cold
white snow melted away and sank into the
ground, and you thought it was gone forever;
and then how it suddenly came up again out
of the ground, only this time in little white and
blue flowers; and how the reason that April
never had any flowers but white and blue ones,
was because they were only the white snow and
its blue shadows, come back once more.
Very pretty, indeed !" said the knix from
behind his chimney, as the little girl passed
under the eaves of the spring-house. She
is as good as gold. Now what will she do ?"
The child went straight to the spring. But
there was no spring left,- only a box full of
stones and a piece of soggy ground around it.
"Ah,-what a pity!" said the child.
What shall I do? The spring is stopped up,
and there is no one to help me! What bad
thing did this ?"
"Bad thing!" said the knix to himself,
"why did you do it ? "
Then he began to laugh, for he was wonder-
fully pleased to have done so much mischief.
The little girl next went to the well, and
looked in; but it was too deep for her to draw
water from, and the spring-house doorwaslocked.
If she goes in there," thought the knix,
I shall certainly shut the door and put the
boards on top "
But the little child did not go in; she only looked
down hopelessly, and then came back and sat down
on the green bank near the spring.
"What shall I do ?" she cried; "what shall I
do?-little tin pail, can you tell me what to do?
There 's no use in having such a loud voice if you
can't tell me what to do in affairs of importance "
"Rocks and Ridges!" cried the knix. "Did
one ever speak so to a tin pail before? Now, if
she had but asked me,- I am such a good little
knix "- and here he grimaced at a squirrel who
chattered in the tree above where he was perched.

Then he remarked: It is quite curious though.
Those mortals have eyes like flowers, but can see
less than nothing,- they are all as blind as bats.
I wonder why they never see us? At any rate,"
he continued, I 'd like to see if her hair is made
of straw or sunshine; or perhaps it is made of fine
beaten gold."
So he climbed down from the tree, and came
out close behind her.
"It is made of fine straw," he said. Then he
put his arm slyly under one of the pails and began to
trot off, but as he ran the pail swung to and fro on
its handle ; and when pails swing to and fro on their
handles, they are very apt to cry out loudly,- and
that was just what happened.

1---

4 4.

I '

SHi-hee' Hi-hee cried the pail as though
in an agony of terror.

'Ah Oh A Oh cried the little girl, for

she was reallysurprised then she looked around
, 'l 'i, ,'

pail.
Brin it back!" said the child.

"Can she see me? thiugt the knix.
*";^1 ''**-

... H-he " c .ed the pai a

in an agony of terror.
"Ah Oh Ah Oh cried the little girl, for
she was really surprised ; then she looked around
inquiringly and saw the knix running off with the
pail.
"Oh !" she cried; then she recovered herself
and said:
"Don't go any farther I see you "
The knix stood stock-still with astonishment.
"Bring it back said the child.
Can she see me?" thought the knix.

858

THE MISCHIEVOUS KNIX.

Come! said she, it is not at all nice of yoi
to run away with it! "
Well, I never! said the knix, aloud; for h
was thunderstruck at being seen for the first time
"Never what ?" said the little girl.
Never was seen before 1 he replied.
Nonsense cried the child; you are as bi
as my cat, and I won't have you run away wit]
my pail; besides, I believe you have been doin
all kinds of wicked things. Have n't you now ?"
I never was seen before," thought the
knix to himself, and it makes me feel very
queer! "
"Come, come cried the child, don't
stand there like that You look as glum as
a puddle on a rainy day."
"Do I ? said the knix, very meekly, for
he found it humiliating to be seen.
Yes, you do said the little girl; and
what 's more, you 've been very naughty,
and you 'd better come right here and sit
down and tell me all about it." The knix
obeyed; but he came to her very cautiously,
and at length put the pail down on its rim,
about ten feet away, and sat down upon it.
The child did not know exactly what to say.
It was so hard to keep up a one-sided conver-
sation with a knix she had never seen before,
and who looked so desperately gloomy. So
she began again: Yes! you have been very
naughty, and I don't believe you know your
catechism "
"What is it to be 'naughty'?" said the
knix; "and who is my catechism ? "
It is naughty to do naughty things," said
the child; "and-'what is your name ?' "
"Knix."
"Very good," said the child,-" that begins
with an N. 'Who gave you this name? '"
I have forgotten," replied the knix. It
was so long ago "
"Dear me said the child. I never
thought of that before How old are you ? "
Seven thousand years "
"Dear me! Perhaps there were no
sponsors, then."
"No," said the knix, who began to feel mot
at home, "there was nothing but rocks." Th
did not seem very promising, so there was a paus
in the conversation. The little girl looked at th
knix, and the knix looked at the little girl. Pre:
ently he said:
I feel very queer when you look at me.
never was looked at before. What is your name ?
"My name is Faith."
"What is your hair made of? continued tl
knix.

u Made of?" cried the child.
Yes," said the knix, a little irritably, "made
e of! Sunshine or straw? "
"Oh Now I see," said she. I suppose it
must be made of- pretty thoughts "
If I had pretty thoughts," said the knix, very
g gloomily, do you think I would have hair like
h straw? "
g "Perhaps," said Faith, laughing. Presently
she added, "Where did you come from ? "

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"'INDEED, YOU 'RE NOT AT ALL A GOOD KNIX,' SAID FAITH.

e From the mountains," said the knix, and
s thought how much he wished himself back there
e again.
S What did you do there? said Faith.
"- Let loose the streams, toppled down the cliffs,
and cut free the ice."
I What for? "
' To hear the noise and see the smoke "
"Who told you to do it?"
e Oh, we all do that that's what we are. The
world could n't get on without us."

859

THE MISCHIEVOUS KNIX.

"Well, I don't think it 's very nice to topple
over rocks on people."
Oh, no we don't. We topple them over on
- on warm days "
"Oh, I see said Faith. "And why are you
not there now ? "
They drove me away," said the knix, and I
felt very sad and came here."
"And then? "
Then I had no rocks to topple over, and no
streams to loosen, and I was much discouraged;
and all the streams laughed at me, and there was
no ice, nor thunder, nor anything! "
And then? said Faith.
The knix looked very much embarrassed, and
began to drum on the tin pail with his heels.
Then you were just naughty and made mis-
chief? said Faith. I know! I 've been like
that, myself, ever so many times."
"Have you?" cried the knix, gleefully, and
sprang up from the pail.
"Sit down again," said Faith. "Yes, I have.
I was very naughty this very day, for I wanted so
much to read about you; and Mamma said I must
go to school, and I would n't, and--"
"Dear me dear me said the knix, breath-
less with excitement. "And and- "
"And Mamma said that only good little girls
who believed what they were told -for she had
told me that school was very important, far more
important than knixes or anything else--saw
knixes or anything, and that good knixes would
hate me and so I went, but I did n't like it any
more; and indeed nurse said I was very 'con-
trarious.'"
I'm not a good knix said the knix, thought-
fully.
"Indeed, you 're not at all a good knix," said
Faith.
Then she suddenly remembered that she had
no water to take home.
"Why did you throw stones in the well?"
"It was such fun!" pleaded the knix, with a
face full of merriment; "and I broke the little
bobber, too! He nodded his head knowingly.
Oh, you wicked knix cried Faith.
Ain't I? said the knix, gleefully.
How could you?" she continued. "You are so
naughty!"
I know," said the knix, a little less contentedly.
"And you are so unhappy, you make a little
black spot wherever you go! "
"Ah !" said the knix sadly, "do you think if I
thought pretty thoughts that I would have golden
hair like yours? "
"You must be good, to think pretty thoughts,"
said Faith, and you are still,-oh, so bad "

I never felt so bad before," said the knix; I
think it is because you are looking at me; and I
don't, to this minute, see how you can see me."
"Then you are very blind, indeed," cried the
child. My name is Faith, and I see everything;
and now, bad knix, you must be good; wont you?
Just as good as gold "
"As good as gold! -that 's just what I asked
ydu," said the knix. Yes, perhaps I '11 be good;
but I don't know how yet, and I don't see why.
And I shall never see the mountains again, and
the beautiful snow, and the rocks and cliffs, and
the streams that roar like thunder! and, oh!
I shall never be happy, and I don't know why I
should, after all."
The knix looked very black whenever he
thought of the mountains -it made him feel
so hopelessly wicked.
"You must n't mind that, little knix," said
the child cheerfully. "You must just be good."
How shall I ? said the knix.
"Oh, just try," cried the child. It 's ever so
easy! "
If I do," said the knix, "then perhaps I shall
be happy, and have hair like gold ?"
"Yes !" said the child, "and at any rate you
have me !"
The knix was satisfied. He felt happier already
than he had in a great while.
"It's so comforting to be seen," he said,-
and then, to the child, he continued disconso-
lately: "But is there much good to do in the
world, little girl? I am afraid there is not. It is
very hard after a while to find enough mischief
to make."
"Oh, dear said Faith, "there 's no end of
good. I have been doing good ever so long,
much longer than you can think, and really
there seems to be more to do every day! And
now, little knix, please fetch me some water, for
it is not at all good of me to have stayed so long
when they needed me at the house."
The knix jumped up, and seizing the pail,
climbed down the well; then he filled it with
water and brought it back to Faith.
"And now, knixie," she said, "will you mind
cleaning the spring out and mending the well?
And when you have mended it you must make it
go, so that we shall have water at the house. So
good-bye, and I think, after a while, you will very
probably get as good as gold."
"Good-bye," said the knix sadly, but he was
very happy, and at once went to work, opening
the mouth of the spring; and replacing the
bricks of the spring-house chimney. While he
was doing this, the squirrel on the bough said:
"Grrrrrr! -ha! ha!"

860

[SEPT.

THE MISCHIEVOUS KNIX.

The knix made a grimace at him, but this time
it was so kind a look that the squirrel dropped a
nut, and said: Well, what 's the world coming
to even you are getting pretty."
"Ah thought the knix, "perhaps I am get-
ting as good as gold."
Then he went to the well, and there was the
broken ram. "You are certainly a broken bob-
ber," said he, "and your inside is very much
deranged, for it has no lid- and all your ribs
are unfastened. I must put you together again."
The knix worked away all the afternoon and
night, and at length he got it together, and set it
going.
The next morning the men came again, and
this time were much surprised. The ram was
working, and there were no stones in the box.
"Well," said one, "she is a strange child
She said she had somebody to help her, and cer-
tainly she must have had, for there it is a-going;
but it is old, and won't last long."
The knix chuckled to himself, and, when they
were gone, climbed down the well, and spent the
rest of the day in making a passage-way to the
spring-box, so that he might live under it, and
keep the ram in.order.

And if you were to go there to-day, I do not
doubt you 'd find the same moon of green grass,
and the sycamore-tree, and the spring-house with
low eaves; and on one side you 'd see the well
with the ram; and if you looked inside, there
you 'd see the bobber jumping excitedly up and
down in the iron pot, and squirting water four
ways at once. But then if you are quiet, and go
over to where the spring runs into the wooden
box, you will see three feet of cold clear water,
with shining pebbles at the bottom, and below the
bottom you willhear the strangest sound-" Klink,
klink,- klink, klink as if a wiry little arm were
wielding a pudgy hammer on an anvil- and that
is the knix at work He is forging a new bobber
for the old one. Or perhaps it is his blows which
are making the bobber jump so in the well; or
perhaps he has taken to making garnets that the
spring may have pretty red gleams in it, when it
runs over the sandy shallows. But whichever he
is doing, if you are lucky enough to catch a glimpse
of him- and for that you may have to wait a long
time you will find that he has turned to a won-
derful rusty gold color, like golden-rod in the
autumn.
In fact he has become as good as gold!

!&b I

FIT, 11 -1 i e Q d he Hu~is rei R

14
be Rev er 3
fidh~ IerR 1 -

861

A LIONESS OF SENEGAL.

AFTER THE ETCHING BY AUG. LANgON. BY PERMISSION OF J. ROUAM, PARIS.
862
862

I,,..
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".- :" i ,'t ;THE.. PAMPERE:D '.-'" -P
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ii.f''",/ ,' 1' ,t ,1."' / '.- ."-.-- :" ; --'"- ... ---"---' .:

,^ ', ',.-- .. -.

\'T -',PMR, POODE..

THE PAMPERED POODLE.

BY JOEL STACY.

THERE was once a little poodle, who so lost his self-respect,
That his honest tail refused to do his wagging.
" For in truth "- the tail explanified --' I can not but object
To the petting he submits to, and the nagging.
" I scorn to wag for any dog who can not gnaw a bone
Without whining for a nurse to come and chop it,
And who sits all day, be-ribboned, like a puppet on a throne,
And I '11 never wag again if he don't stop it.
" What with bibs, and bows, and baskets, and mummery forlorn,
And laziness, and nonsense, he 's a noodle !
And, now you know my reasons, can you wonder that I scorn
To wag for so ridiculous a poodle! "

HOUSEKEEPING SONGS. No. V.

CLEAR-STARCHING.
WORDS BY MARY J. JACQUES. MUSIC BY T. C. H.
,lnimaio.

I. Clip, clap, clap! This is the old fash-ioned way with a cap,

mi t I I, m sln an

p --mp -r-- s -------

This is the way we do ruf fles and puffs, Edg-ings and mus-lins and

b=o . -- -4-&----------

MP= -h-- -^E=^ =^j J-=^=^-=

HOUSEKEEPING SONGS. NO. V.

II.
Pit, pat, pat!
Ne'er was a finer clear-starching than that?
Kerchiefs and stomachers fit for a queen,
Daintiest laces that ever were seen.
Pit, pat, pit, pat,
Pit, pat, pat!

III.
Spink, spank, spank!
Roll them up tightly and let them lie dank.
Snug! or the collars and cuffs will be limp;
Smooth or your furbelows never will crimp.
Spink, spank, spink, spank,
Spink, spank, spank!

TILTING.

BY A. DEF. L.

TILT away, my little men,
Out on Grandpa's lawn again;
Jack is up, and Fred is down,
It makes one laugh, the other frown,-
Like our changeful summer weather.

" Well, never mind, just tilt it back,
Up comes Fred, and down goes Jack !
Up and down, this is the way
The sport goes on, the livelong day,
When two little boys would tilt together."

VOL. XV.-55.

WHAT TO DO WITH OLD CORKS

AND OF CORK-WORK AND BARK-WORK IN GENERAL.

BY CHARLES G. LELAND.

AN old bottle-cork may seem to most people to
be an utterly useless article. But there are few
things which the ingenuity of man can not turn to
some good use. Sea-weed for many ages has been
believed by all mankind to be quite worthless, as
we may judge by the name itself; but modern
chemistry has discovered that it is very valuable.
While as to corks, it is true that negro-minstrels,
and, I might add, many small boys, use them for
blackening their faces, and to make imitation mus-
taches. But there are many other ways of turning
these articles to account, and that, too, at very
little expense.
A cork, if cut into a cube or small brick, bears
a close resemblance in miniature to many kinds
of stone. When a number of these are com-
bined they look like old specked and indented
masonry. They abound in brown, or brownish-
gray, spots and little cavities. Therefore, if you
take a number of such cork-bricks, and construct
from them a model of a small house or any similar
object, with care, it will present a very pretty ap-
pearance. They are easily fastened together, by
passing wire or small rods through them, or by
gluing them together. Good ordinary mucilage,
or strong gum, will answer for this purpose.
It often will be desirable to give the cork some
other shape, or to round the corners.
This can generally be effected with
a sharp penknife and, sand-paper;
but artists who make elaborate im-
itations of buildings in cork, use a
new, keen file. With a very little
practice one can work the cork into DIAGRAM SHO
any shape. Sometimes it is scorched
with a hot iron, to shape it, and to give it darker
shades.
I have seen a model of the .entire city of Paris,
including a tolerably accurate representation of
every house in it, made all of cork. Many museums
in Europe contain models of celebrated cathedrals,
made of this material. Such work would be beyond
the skill or time at the command of any of my
readers; but with bricks made from single corks,
one may very easily construct many objects, beauti-
ful to look at, and which will sell readily.

Small houses, or other imitations of architectural
work, are much used by artists as models. If the
reader can draw, he has but to make one to ascer-
tain by experience that he can copy it, to his
advantage, from many points of view. A house
and a round or square tower can be combined
in many ways. When these are neatly made of
cork, photographs of them can hardly be distin-
.guished from those of real buildings.
The foregoing paragraphs were written in the
town of York, in England; and it happened, very
oddly, that, after they were penned, I went out to
walk and by chance found the first shop I can
remember to have seen in which miniature build-
ings of cork were made and sold. There were
beautiful and elaborate specimens of these, and
also groups of human figures and animals. The
young reader himself, to do all this well, has but
to persevere. Any one can learn to design and
to model in clay, and when this is achieved, no
kind of art need be too perplexing or difficult.
In the Great Exhibition of 1862 there was a mar-
velous piece of handicraft executed by a poor man
in the country, a model of one of the cathedrals
cut in cork-" Cork Cathedral, most likely," says
the writer from whom I take the story. Every
detail was accurately reproduced. It excited a

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

WING HOW A MINIATURE BRICK MAY BE CUT FROM A CORK.

great deal of admiration, and some wealthy peo-
ple collected eight hundred pounds-or four
thousand dollars and bought it. The artist
was a very sensible man, and instead of play-
ing my lord" for a few days with his money, he
built a row of cottages, and on them put the fol-
lowing inscription:

Perseverance, cork, and glue
Built these cottages you view;
See what thesee three things can do,
1862."

WHAT TO DO WITH OLD CORKS.

One day in Brighton, Sussex, I met a poor man
who also got his living from a cork cathedral. He
had made it, and went round the country on foot,
carrying it, and collecting small sums from those
who looked at it.
The dust made by filing cork should be carefully
kept. The finished cork model of a building may,
here and there, as taste may dictate, be touched
with a thin coat of gum, and the dust strewed upon
it. This gives the surface a finely granulated ap-
pearance. More of the dust, mixed to a paste with
the gum, both being well rubbed together or
combined, serves to fill cracks or cavities. When
this is done, some of the dry powder may be
pressed on the surface to make an appearance
uniform with the rest of the cork.

There is, however, a kind of ornament which
may be added with very good effect. If, when a
building is finished, we take a tooth-brush and
charge it not too heavily with yellowish-brown
or dark-brown paint and spray this in dots on
the surface, it will give a mottled, lichen-like, or
mossy appearance. Spraying is effected by hold-
ing the handle of the brush with the fingers
and thumb of the left hand. Then by drawing
the back of the blade of a penknife, or any small
stick, along the bristles, the paint will spatter,
or fly off in small dots. With a little practice, one
will soon master the art. It may be remarked,
incidentally, that this spraying or throwing color
is well worth learning, since it is very effective for
backgrounds in many kinds of designs, such as

LT
II..,.,t

'_:_*.L- __;. ,;" .

3.1

M i ll i it' ,
'__ -- ".', i,,,I=t '
'L'L (---5_

A CORK MODEL OF A CATHEDRAL.

Columns are easily imitated by simply brocke'-
ing, i. e., stringing corks on a stick, as birds
are skewered for cooking. To make the hole,
bore with a thick iron wire, or small round iron
rod heated till it will burn its way through. If a
wire be used instead of a stick, the piercing is not
necessary. An easy way to build a wall of cork-
bricks is to stick a pin through each, as it is put in
place; but rather long pins are advisable, or such
as will go entirely through two of the bricks. It is
not well, in buildings, to paint cork-work, or var-
nish it, or to change in any way the original char-
acter of the material.

those for wood-carving, metal-work, and stencil-
ing. In spraying cork-work, other colors yellow,
reddish, rusty brown, gray, etc.-may be used,
the object being to imitate the minute mosses,
marks of decay, and other signs of age to be seen
on old buildings.
Rough cork, in large pieces, is very cheap, and
may be bought in all cities. It is much used to
cover flower-boxes and ornament arbors. It is
simply sawed or broken into pieces, which are
nailed upon the wood. When there are holes or
defects of any kind, they are easily concealed by
gluing small pieces of bark over them, or by fill-

867

WHAT TO DO WITH OLD CORKS.

ing up with glue and cork-dust mixed. I have
often made a curious and pretty object from a
piece of rough cork, or the bark of a pine-tree, in

,4 7j

-rA

//7f J 57i

/

J-,

,

-

IMAGE MADE OF ROUGH CORK, OR PINE-BARK, THE FACES
SMOOTHED AND PAINTED. (FROM AN ORIGINAL FIGURE.)
the following manner: Take the fragment, break
or cut it into a shape rudely resembling that of the
human figure. Then cut and smooth away with a

-- -------

then varnish it. Next take a large brush with gold
paint-or, if you have no gold, white paint or red
may be substituted and lightly go over the bark,
so that only the
more prominent '
points or ridges --
of the bark will --
take the gold, .
thus leaving all
the hollows and --
cracks in their--
natural colors. _
The effect ofthis -'
is sometimes
very fine. In like -
manner, a pict----l 1
ure-frame may -
be covered with I
the large square
pieces of either
cork or pine-
bark, or, indeed, -_-
any covering of A BASKET MADE OF CORKS.
rough, crusty,
and ragged wood or other substance, and the pro-
jections gilded. Bronze powder, or bronze paint,
may be used instead of gold.

A BOX OF WOOD DECORATED WITH FIGURES CUT FROM CORK AND GLUED ON.
knife and sand-paper that portion which is to form Of course an ingenious workman, by fastening
the face. Rub over this a thin coating of putty, pieces of cork together in the way which I have
and let it dry. Paint the face with oil-colors, and described, may make an endless variety of objects;

868

[SEPT.

WHAT TO DO WITH OLD CORKS.

for example: vases, cups, baskets, and boxes. Such
work would be greatly aided by using large pieces
of cork bark. The red bark of the common pine,
which may generally be obtained in pieces an inch
thick, wherever pine logs are to be found, is per-
fectly adapted to such work, and I have used it for
a great variety of small art-purposes.
Boys sometimes make an amusing toy of old
corks by cutting them across so as to make round
slices. A whole cork is carved into the likeness
of a snake's head, and a sufficient number of the
slices are bored through the center, and strung
on an india-rubber cord or "elastic." Of course,
as the object is to make a snake, the pieces dimin-
ish in size toward the neck and tail. Another small
boy's toy is made by putting corks together, end
to end, by means of a very small stick, so as to
form an imitation candle, which is painted white.
I need not say that when lighted it burns much
more rapidly than is expected.
A rather singular application of a cork is to take
it, wet the end, and rub it on the side of a glass
bottle. This will produce a chirping or whistling
sound, and with very little practice one may thus
fairly imitate the singing of a bird.
A pretty cup or match-receiver may be made by
ornamenting with cork the outside of a round
tin can. Cut corks into slices, say an eighth
of an inch in thickness. Using strong glue,
cover the cup with these. The ornaments
to be applied to this coating are to be care-
fully cut with a sharp penknife from some-
what thicker slices. Of course, they need
not all be in one piece, since different parts
of an ornament are very easily joined together.
Thus, to make a trefoil, one need only cut a cork
into thin slices and glue them together. Corks
split or divided lengthwise are also useful for or-
nament. After attaching the ornaments, they can
be rubbed into shape with a fine file and sand-
paper. If one has only old corks, and these
are broken or full of holes, it need make no
difference. After shaping them, take the cork-

a..-

spheres are easily made from a cork, and these can
be glued on boxes, tankards, etc., with good effect.
As a rule, simple, easy shapes are just as beauti-
ful in such or-
naments as the .'_ -'
more difficult, ,. 4.
though begin- I
ners always -r--
commence with '".
the latter.
Ihave shown --
that a cork may
be cut into the ( '
shape of abrick.. -,---

thus cut away,- i
one from each- ,
side, are neatly IT
removed, they .. I
may be made to --.
serve as tiles for -
the roofs of min- -. .- --
iature edifices. A MATCH-RECEIVER MADE OF A TIN CAN
There is yet COVERED AND DECORATED WITH CORK.
another way ih which the corks may be cut so
as to be used for such work. Slice them in two,

llniii[ nuiimiiiLtt_

length-
wise. Then
take every
other half thus
obtained, and
with a large, half- alN "
round file, make two STRIPS OF CORK USED AS TILES.
grooves in it, in the manner indicated in the dia-
grams below.

2t_/._

dust made by the file, work it into a paste with I, represents the cork as cut in two at a, a; 2,
glue or mucilage, and with this fill and smooth shows one half when it has been grooved with a
all cavities and breaks. Round knobs or half- round file; 3, the half, sidewise; 4, the pieces

869

WHAT TO DO WITH OLD CORKS.

joined with glue to the round halves, so as to make
a slab, or flat surface. Instead of a file, a very
sharp gouge may be used to cut the groove. This
is most easily effected, not by pushing or shoving
the gouge, but by giving it short turns to the right
and left, and, so to speak, working it along.
Every fragment of cork, however small or irreg-
ular, may be used in making models (especially
those representing ruinss, for filling crevices, imi-
tating broken stone, and giving a fragmentary,
broken appearance to the whole. In this art, as
in every other, the one who practices it should try
to invent or to think, and not merely repeat what
has been told or shown him. "Fancy-work" is
the execution of a minor art without the exercise
of thought. Thus, people make wax flowers, work
in embroidery, paint on china, or model clay blos-
soms and stick them on vases, just as they see
others do, without attempting to do better or dif-
ferently. Art demands a display of skill influenced
by thought. No true or real work of art can be
made by machinery, and people who work like
machines do not produce art-work. But if you,
even in work so simple as making up old corks
into small models of buildings, study the originals,
and think out or invent some new way to give
effects, you may create a work which will be more
artistic than the "showiest" or most expensive
object made without invention.
It should be borne in mind that by taking flat
slabs of cork, great or small, and fastening layers
of them, one to the other, any thickness whatever
may be built up, and then anything may be cut
or shaped. This may seem a very simple idea
to many; yet it is mentioned in books on wood-
carving, as a great invention of Grinling Gibbons,
the celebrated artist, that he obtained a high, or
additional, relief, not by cutting all his work out
of one block, but by gluing on additional layers of
boards as he needed surface.
A curious curtain, to be hung before a door so
as to shade and screen the room, yet which per-
mits air to pass, and through which one may
walk by separating it, is made as follows: String
corks lengthwise on a cord. If the cork be half
an inch in diameter by one inch in length, and the
door to be curtained be, let us say, three feet
wide and six feet high, you will need sixty-four
strings, each holding seventy-two corks. Take a
round, narrow stick, place it across the top of the
door, and hang the strings of corks from it. The
corks may be colored. Simple black and red make
the best contrasts with their natural brown hue.
These curtains are also made of differently tinted
pieces of straw, of seeds in great variety, or of
sticks of lightwood. There are many plants, and
even weeds, whose stems or shoots may be used for

this work. It is, however, most advisable to use
corks, because it is hardly possible to break them,
and because they make no noise. When window-
curtains are thus made, the continual tap-tapping
of the lower end against the sill is often annoying.
To obviate this, the edge of the curtain should
either swing clear of the sill or be made of a fringe
of cloth or tassels.
A festoon of corks, every other one dyed black
in ink, with a pendent tassel, has been used for a
frieze. The effect, though odd, is not ungraceful.
And here I would give a reason why such orna-
menting, though it be only with strings of old
corks, or any such rubbish," as many would call
it, is in the highest degree sensible. It is very
sensible in this world to try to find the beautiful
or agreeable--that is, to discover some means
ofenjoyment-in everything. There are too many
people who have the idea firmly fixed in their
minds that by the fine arts is meant nothing but
pictures and statues, and that no species of or-
nament is really legitimate or safe unless it has
been regularly supplied by a regular manufacturer,
and has cost money. That it shall have cost a
great deal of money is, in the eyes of the really
vulgar, its sure proof of merit.
Of late years, since everybody who wishes to be
"cultured," or well educated, studies decorative
art and learns that a house may be made beauti-
ful without pictures, and even without much out-
lay of money, people are beginning to find real
enjoyment in artistic ingenuity. There was noth-
ing in old-fashioned upholstery to attract thought.
But in every new decoration which causes the
beholder to observe that a good effect has been
produced at little expense, and without wearisome
toil, there is an incentive to observe and think for
one's self.
Since this article was begun, I have visited
Rievaux Abbey, or rather its ruin, in Yorkshire.
There, in the porter's lodge, I saw a piece of cork-
work done in a way which was new to me. A com-
mon picture-frame of any kind is made a clever
boy could make one by shaping a frame out of a thin
board-and on this, bits of broken cork, of all
sizes and shapes, are stuck with glue. Some were
half an inch long, and some like grains of rice,
and so on down to dust. The effect was very good.
I was puzzled at first to know of what material it
was made. With plenty of old corks, cork bark, or
bark of any kind, this rough incrusting could be
carried out on a large scale with good effect.
Curious toys may be made of cork. One of
these is the well-known little tumbler, such as is
generally constructed of pith; but cork, especially
if it be hollowed, will answer the purpose. Make
the puppet of three or four corks, shape and paint

870

[SEPT.

WHAT TO DO WITH OLD CORKS.

it as skillfully as you can, and glue to the feet, or
under them, a hemisphere of lead. When thrown
into any position, the figure of course rights itself,
and, like a cat, always falls on its feet. It is quite
possible to make a cat, also of pith or cork, which
will indeed always fall upon its feet.

S.-.- -

,'- : ii i

'--7-, ,-.^ ;g....--.,-?':-.

A PICTURE-FRAME ORNAMENTED WITH BITS OF BROKEN CORK.

Another toy is a duck of cork, which is also
ballasted with lead, and which can outride any
storm. These are made by gluing square pieces
of cork together, and then shaving the whole into
shape with a sharp knife. These ducks would
meet with a ready sale at the water-side in any
place where summer visitors congregate. A duck
or swan of cork, containing a piece of iron, can be
placed on a sheet of paper, etc., and made to move
by a magnet concealed beneath the paper.
A more difficult toy is the walking man." A
puppet is made from cork, the legs being movable
at the hips, yet so constructed that the body does
not fall backward or forward. The soles of the
figure are shod or plated with iron. A horse-shoe
magnet is then moved under a tambourine or other
frame covered with paper or parchment, and as the
soles follow the poles of the magnet, the figure, of
course, may be made to walk over it.
While writing this article, I have seen in the
museum of Whitley, England, a model of the
Cathedral of York, made entirely from cork. It is
truly a work of art, and a critical examination of
it convinced me that there is probably no material
whatever which is so easy to work, yet at the same
time so much like old stone, in miniature, as that
from which it is made. Yet there is nothing in
the whole of it which any boy, who is a tolerably

clever whittler, could not have cut. Such a model
would be a treasure to any architect.
It is worth while for people to know that there
is an immense and profitable field, not only of fancy-
work, but of decorative art, which any boy or girl
of from nine or ten to fourteen or fifteen years of
age can enter and in which either can succeed, as
well as a grown person. Boys and girls can cut
cork, as I have said, into artistic shapes; but they
can do more. They can carve wood, model in clay,
stamp sheet-leather for covering furniture, cut sten-
cils for ornamenting walls, break stone into small
pieces with a hammer, and set the pieces in mosaic
pavement. They can work sheet-brass into beauti-
ful and salable objects. During the last week
that I passed in America, I paid to three boys, of
fourteen years of age each, from ten to twelve dol-
lars for brass-work, made to order, which they
had executed at odd hours during a week or ten
days. I have had perhaps a thousand pupils

rFKI

CORK PUPPETS. WITH BASES OF LEAD.

in the decorative-art schools of which I was direct-
or, but I never had one among all those boys and
girls who was incapable of mastering any of the
minor arts, so soon as they knew how to design
and draw at all. And what these children learned
to do any child can learn.

T888.]

JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.

J ACK IN THE -P ULPIT.

GOOD-DAY to you, my friends, from the -very
littlest to the almost very big. And now draw near;
here comes a poet, one Henry Moore, with a rhyme
for your pleasure:

REVERIES OF AN APPLE.

MY cheeks are plump, my glowing skin
Is flecked with red and yellow dapple,
And lofty hopes arise within,-
I am a most ambitious apple.

Shall I, puffed up and high of heart
With pride I feel but may not utter,
Rise glorious into regal tart,-
Or sink in shame to apple-butter ?

Shall I in rare roast-goose's train
As dainty sauce bid joy betide her,
Or by some churlish rustic swain
Be sucked up through a straw as cider ?"

Alas the pretty hopes were spoiled
Which used its reveries to sweeten,-
'T was in a vulgar dumpling boiled,
And in a dumpling it was eaten.

Well, well! No one likes to end one's days in
a dumpling. Of course not, though it must be
rather an easy death, I should say. Yet, if I were
an apple I'd rather have almost anything happen
to me than to be placed upon the top of a boy's
head and shot at. They say you live in history
after meeting a fate like that -but what of it?

THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A FRUIT AND A
VEGETABLE.
So many letters in reply to Anna Talcott's
question concerning the distinction between fruit

and vegetables have come to this pulpit, that I can
not attempt to show them all to you. However,
here are a few of the leading answers, and I thank
the writers, one and all, in A. T.'s name; but
whether they have settled the matter or not, I
do not pretend to say: and the dear Little
School-ma'am is off on her Vacation."

ANNA J. H., of Geneva, N. Y., thinks that the differences between
a fruit and a vegetable are: A fruit contains more sugar and less
starch than a vegetable, when ripe; therefore, vegetables and unripe
fruits have to be cooked before eating. The fruit is the ripened seed-
vessel of a plant, and the vegetable is the root.

ARTHUR J. SLOAN, of Groveton, Trinity County, Texas, says: I
think that fruit is the edible covering of the seedformed from the
flower, as pease, tomatoes, and corn. The fruit of the potato-plant is
the little ball formed from the flower; but the vegetable part is the
root which we'eat. Custom has made us very careless in expressing
the difference between fruit and vegetable.

JEssIE T., of Chicago, fears that her answer hardly will satisfy
Miss Talcott, but she notes a few "differences." She adds: For
instance, you never find a vegetable on a tree, and never a fruit under
the sod [Are peanuts vegetables, Jessie ?], and you find both fruits and
vegetables on bushes. I think, too, that vegetables are more useful
than fruits, for if you were compelled to be without fruit, I think you
still could live; but if compelled to be without vegetables, I think one
could n't live any very great length of time.
Fruit, she says, is generally very beautiful, while very few vegetables
have any great beauty. After all, fruit differs in appearance, growth,
flavor, and everything else.

NEXT, Winifred Johnson writes from Bay City: Fruit is that
part of the plant which contains the seed, especially the juicy, pulpy
products of certain plants, covering and including their seeds, as the
apple, plum, pear, peach, berries, figs, melons, and others.

AND the latest letter comes from a little New
York girl. You shall see it word for word:
DEAR JACK. I think my School teacher is quite as nice as the
Little School Ma'am any way she is lovely.
I asked her about the fruit and vegetable question in the May
number and she said that the difference is pricibley this,
The fruit contains the seed of the plant and takes its nourishment
from the tree or vine, while the vegetable takes it from the ground.
Some vegetables can be eaten raw such as the salad redish and
tomato.
Dear Jack do you think this will suit Anna Talcott
I hope the Little School Ma'am will not be offended.
I remain your admirer ELSIE M. R.

MY robins tell me that cherries are fruit and
trees are vegetables; and my sparrows had quite a
squabble the other day as to under which head one
should class bread-crumbs. But in point of fact,
for real, straightforward, solid satisfaction, I 'd far
rather put a question to you, children, than to my
birds. When you are wrong, you are so very
wrong, you know; but birds are always pluming
themselves on their own experiences.

DEAR LITTLE RABBITS!

THIS is what the children of the red school-
house call them, whether the shy, brave, frisky,
motionless little creatures are white, or gray, or
dusky as the night. Not so are they called to-day
in Australia, in California, or in New Zealand. In
these countries rabbits have become so numerous
and, like all of their kind, are so destructive in their
ways that they are truly a scourge. Everybody
in Australia is interested in the hoped-for discov-
ery of a method of overcoming the rabbit-pest.
Trapping and shooting afford little relief; the
great majority escape, and still their numbers

JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.

increase and increase, till the plague baffles all
efforts to conquer it. During the past eight years,
I am told, eleven millions of dollars have been
spent, in New Zealand alone, in this war with the
rabbits; and in some parts of California, men,
dogs, and horses by hundreds are engaged in the
rout; thousands of rabbits are killed, and still the
trouble grows. The shy, innocent-looking tor-
mentors peel fruit-trees, overrun and destroy the
crops, and attack the vineyards without mercy.

TOO MANY CRICKETS.

AND right in the wake of these stories come
accounts from Algeria of a plague of crickets!
According to the Deacon's pet newspaper, their
dead bodies may be found on the ground in some
places to the depth of a foot, and railway trains
have been stopped by them. The only way to
stop approaching swarms of these insects is to
dig a long and deep trench and erect on its farther
side a fence of cloth. The advancing insects
strike against the cloth, fall into the trench, and
they are then covered with lime. The Algerian
authorities have already spent seven hundred
thousand francs, or about one hundred and forty
thousand dollars, in destroying them; and they
intend, if need be, to spend two hundred thousand
dollars more.
Dear dear! What with rabbits and crickets
and poor little pugnacious sparrows (by many men
denounced as a fell nuisance), there seems to be
sore need of a new Pied Piper of some kind.
But if one should arise, my children, beware of
him! These pied pipers are very dangerous folk,
I am told.
THE STORMY-PETREL.

DEAR JACK : I want to show you what I saw about the stormy-
petrel in "Wood's New Illustrated Natural History."
"It is mostly on the move in windy weather, because the marine
creatures are flung to the surface, by the chopping waves, and can
be easily picked up as the bird pursues its course The
name of petrel is given to the bird on account of its powers of walk-
ing on the water, as is related of St. Peter. .
This bird possesses a singular amount of oil, and has the power
of throwing it from the mouth when terrified.
"The inhabitants of the Faroe Islands make a curious use of the
bird when it is young and very fat, by simply drawing a wick
through the body, and lighting it at the end which projects from the
beak." JULIAN.

My birds are quite excited over Julian's letter,
and I feared at first they would not allow it to be
read. They wish to know whether the young
petrels that are thus made into lamps are gently
put to death first or not. Who can answer
them ?
A SERPENT IN THE ROCK.

DEAR JACK: I am eagerly expecting my August
ST. NICHOLAS, because I 've heard that it is going
to have in it an article about the sea-serpent.
Once I read in dear ST. NICK a letter from Pro-
fessor Proctor about a sea-serpent (it is in my
bound volumes now, on page 700 of Vol. IV), and
I always read everything I see on such subjects.
Now, I '11 tell your chicks something queer that

I read in the Portland Transcrift some weeks ago.
It says that off the Lizard coast in Cornwall "a
freak of nature has been re-discovered which may
have something to do with the name of that part
of the coast. In the lime-rock is a picture of a
gigantic serpent, coil after coil reaching down to
the sea, just above the surface of which the scaly
head, and even the eyes, can be seen." Is n't
that wonderful?
Tell your girls and boys, dear Jack, to look out
for this tremendous serpent--as I shall, if ever
an opportunity offers.
Your little Maine friend, AMy T. N.

MORE ABOUT HENRY OF BLOIS.

A KINDLY Londoner writes to you and your
Jack, my children, about the hospital of "St.
Cross," of which I told you last January.

"KNOWING that the city of Winchester, in Hampshire, sixty miles
south-west of London, is full of time-honored customs," he says,
"I took down a volume of John Timbs's 'Abbeys, Castles,' etc.,
and found the identical custom mentioned in 'Jack-in-the-Pulpit.'
"Henry of Blois--Bishop--was King Stephen's brother, and
founded the Hospital of St. Cross between the years 1132 and 1136
'for the subsistence of thirteen resident poor men, in every necessary
of life, and for affording one ample meal in each day to one hun-
dred other indigent outboarders, who were fed in the apartment still
called "Hundred Men's Hall," as likewise for the support of a
master, steward, four chaplains, thirteen clerks, and seven choristers.'
There were other pensioners, to the number altogether of seventy
persons, who were here entirely supported, besides nuns who tended
the sick.
"The present institution consists only of a master, chaplain,
steward, and thirteen resident poor brethren. Certain doles of
bread are distributed to the neighboring poor at particular times,
and a piece of bread and a horn of beer are given to every person
who knocks at the porter's lodge and calls for relief.'
There are many of these ancient charities still existing m Eng-
land. But that I have already trespassed too far on your time, I
could mention particularly those of Coventry and Warwick.
"Yours truly, E. C. TRAICE."

SEARCHING QUESTIONS.

Is an eel a water-snake? Is an oyster a fish?
Is a crab a back-slider? And under what general
term can you group the turtle, the seal, and the
frog?
THE EGG AS A TOP.

J. S., of Sag Harbor, Long Island, requests me
to ask you a question : I should like to know,"
he says, "why a hard-boiled egg will spin around
upright on the large end and a raw egg will not."
Who can answer the gentleman? The Deacon
says it is quite a rest, after the old Columbus story,
to hear of an egg set spinning at last.
Now, what does he mean by that?

A GOLDEN NEST.

DEAR JACK: Is n't this a very pretty true story ?
I read it in a paper called the Swiss Cross, and
Mamma said I might tell it to you:

THE girls in the Philadelphia Mint, last spring, made a favorite of a
sparrow that was permitted to pick up their lunch crumbs. A little boy
stole its nest one day, and upon drawing his hand from the box it was
found full of shining particles. An examination of the box showed it
to be flecked not only with gold-dust, but that it was carpeted with
sparkling, soft, yellow gold. The sparrow had been regularly carry-
ing away gold-dust in its feathers, which it shook out when making
its toilet.

I888.]

873

THE SCENT OF DOGS.

BY THEO. B. WILLSON.

-< .R sense of smell is
Hardly keen enough
to enables to under-
f' stand how it is pos-
sible for the dog to
Sdo all he can do
i t 4 with his nose. We
Scan not, for instance,
\ I,, distinguish by the
smell a rabbit's foot
from a piece of bark,
/A "JI I f which it seems most
to resemble--prob-
ably because the bark is the strongest-smelling
substance with which the foot usually comes in
contact.
But not so with the hound, or even with many
common cur-dogs. Not only will they recognize
the scent of the foot itself, but, hours after the
rabbit has passed along, they can follow him un-
erringly by the scent of the spots where he touched
his light feet to the ground. What proportion of
the odor of the foot can there be left upon a spot
where it has merely rested for an instant? And
yet a dog with a good nose first will find an in-
visible track, and then will determine, by snuffing
for a few yards back and forth, which way the
animal passed. Then he will follow all the wind-
ings and doublings which the animal has made,
either in searching for food, or, after he is up,"
in escaping his pursuers.
If this be wonderful, what is to be said of a
dog's never confusing the track of one rabbit with
that of another? After a dog has once seen that a
rabbit is dead, he will never notice its track again,
but will set off upon some other track, which often
is much fainter than that of the one just killed,
though the two may cross each other and be inter-
mingled in innumerable places. The bloodhound,
which is the keenest-scented of all dogs, can follow
his master or his victim, no matter how many
others may tread in the same path.
We can hardly believe that these things are
done solely through the sense of smell; but that
is the best that science can make of it as yet.
SThere are many other facts which demonstrate

the power of the dog's scent. I once knew a
hound which would never eat bread, and yet was
quite fond of raised biscuit, the same thing in
every respect, save that it contained a little shorten-
ing. One might take in one hand a piece of
bread half the size of a pea, and in the other the
same amount of biscuit, and the hound would
smell of both, and never make a mistake in select-
ing the biscuit.
The power of scent of even the keener-nosed
common dogs, such as the bull-dog, can be tested
by fastening a bit of meat to a string and dragging
it about the yard when the dog does not see you,
hiding it at the end of the trail, and then afterward
putting him on the search for it where you started.
If he has a good nose, he will go over the same
path you took and find the meat. Leave no string
on .the meat, however, as it might injure him to
swallow the string.
All hounds save the greyhound run entirely by
scent. When they come upon the faint scent of a
track they will work along it until it grows fresher,
and then begin to bay or give tongue." There
is always a correspondence between the baying
and the trail. An experienced hunter can tell by
the baying not only where the dog is, but, by the
frequency and confidence of the sound, how fresh
the trail is that is, how close upon his game the
dog is. All hunted animals have a way of doub-
ling, or running in circles. Hence, if a hunter
observes by the baying that his dog is going away
from him, he waits patiently, sometimes for min-
utes, sometimes for hours, until the circle is made,
and he hears the dog approaching. Then he is
on the alert for a shot, for the game is probably
not many rods in advance of the dog.
A hound is seldom lost. His nose is his com-
pass. Whenever he pleases, he can take up his
master's track and find him, or he can retrace his
own steps homeward.
Dogs do not seem to enjoy those odors that
please us. A dog will turn away disappointed and
indifferent from the finest of perfumes. Except
the scent of those things which he would like to
eat, I have never found anything that seemed to
delight a dog's sense of smell.

874

A SCHOOL LEGEND.

BY EDWARD R. SHAW.

HE teacher of our school was
called from the room one
morning by a man who drove
S up to the door.
"Study your lessons,
scholars, while I 'm gone,"
he said. "I shall be back
in five or six minutes."
I was in the A, B, C class, and sat upon a low
bench. My only work was to be called up
three times a day to read to the teacher what were
then called the a, b, abs. The page of my book
was filled with words like these: ab, eb, ib, ob,
and so on. Each one was to be spelled, and then
pronounced. There were no pictures that I could
look at and think about, and the school hours
were very dull and very uninteresting to a little
boy. Of course, I could not study as the larger
pupils could, but I did my best to imitate them,
and looked steadily on my book.
For the first two minutes after the teacher went
out there was brisk study; then the pupils began
to look around and to whisper. Some of the
larger boys dared even to leave their seats. One
of them slipped away from his desk, came around,
and sat down on the low bench beside me.
Why a larger boy should take any interest in
me, I did not then know. But I have since noticed
that larger boys do take interest in smaller boys,
and show them many bits of knowledge they would
never otherwise learn, for their parents or grown-up
men would never think to teach them such trifles.
Well, the larger boy who had seated himself
beside me, took my book from me, and turned
to some reading in the very first part of it, which
I had never noticed.
"There 's something," he said, pointing to a
long word printed in large capital letters, that
you '11 find in every book."
There it was, like this:

PREFACE.

Then, pointing to each letter, he read out of
that word a very funny story. It ran, P-eter
R-ice E-ats F-ishes A-nd C-atches E-els."

And when he had read through the word in that
way, he began at the other end, and read back-
ward a still funnier story :
"Eels Catch Alligators, Fish Eat Raw Pota-
toes."
He read it but once, and then slipped back to
his desk, for the teacher was coming.
Then I read it over. I had not the least trouble
to remember it. I do not know how many times
I read it over that day; but a great many. Every
time I was tired or wished recess would come, I
would read over the story of Peter Rice. And I
read it many a day afterward. It never lost its
charm.
Whether that large boy really knew he was
doing a kindness, or whether his coming to my
seat grew out of the feeling of comradeship which
a big boy has for a little boy, I never really knew.
I half suspect, though, it was the latter. But one
thing is clear to me. From that morning I began
to learn to read. I could see that P was a
part of the word Peter, and that R' was a
part of the word Rice, and I got an idea of
their sounds, and was no longer misled by their
names.
When I grew to be a large boy, I told the story
to a small boy, just, of course, as it had been told
to me. He, I have no doubt, told it to others,
and they to many others, and in that way the story
is going yet.
The story, though, did not start with the boy
who told me, for he had been told by an older
boy; and that boy, when small, by a boy who was
older than he. So you see the story or legend of
Peter Rice is a very old one, and runs away back
to the time when little boys first had books in
school.
When I grew to be a man, and visited widely
separated places in many different States, I had
some curiosity to know whether, in the schools
of those places, the legend of Peter Rice was
being handed down from older boys to younger
ones. It was still being told, I found.
Thousands upon thousands then, you see, know
it; yet this is the first time, so far as I know, that
it has been told in print.

THE LETTER-BOX.

CONTRIBUTORS are respectfully informed that, between the Ist of June and the 15th of September, manuscripts can not conveniently be
examined at the office of ST. NICHOLAS. Consequently, those who desire to favor the magazine with contributions
will please postpone sending their MSS. until after the last-named date.

KIOTO, JAPAN.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We enjoy you very much. A friend, who
takes you, lends you to us.
I am an American boy, born in New England, and am fifteen
years old.
One thing that amuses us greatly is English as she is spoke
and writ" by the Japanese. They are very ambitious, and many
shops in the city are decorated with sign-boards in "idiomatic
English." The following is one over a hardware shop: THINQS
OF METABS MANUFAITURE. Another over a book-store:
ALL COUNTRIES BOOK-SELLING. And on a bakery:
BAKING THE CAKES FOR HEALTH.
It is very lonely out here, but we see many strange and interesting
sights, which I can not now stop to describe.
Yours truly, JOHN M. G-- .

TOKIO, JAPAN.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have never seen any letters from Japan,
so I thought I would write to you, and as this is the first letter I
have written to you, I hope you will print it.
I am a little girl twelve years old and have never been out of Japan
in my life, but I expect to go to America next year, and stay there
four years, and then go to Germany for two years, to study music,
which is my favorite study.
I like your magazine very much; we take several others, but I
shall never like any so well as dear old ST. NICHOLAS.
Believe me, your constant reader, EDITH H. H -.

DAMASCUS, SYRIA.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have been what seems to me a long while
away from home, and most of the time in countries where its com-
forts and pleasures are greatly lacking; but aside from my friends,
I think I miss ST. NICHOLAS more than anything else, for it is
not to be found in the mountains and deserts of Asia and Africa.
I am not yet twelve, but have taken it for over three years, and
like it very much, especially its nice stories, such as Little Lord
Fauntleroy," "Juan and Juanita," and the campaigning stories of
the Civil War.
Now as I am deprived of its company for a time, I will do as old
friends sometimes do in such cases -that is, write.
I came here to this far-away land with my papa, and have seen a
great deal of the world for a little boy, I think.
My home is in Detroit, Mich., and we left there last November,
first going through England, spending a month in France and
Switzerland; then to Rome and Naples, where we saw the many
beautiful works of art, and the ruins and antiquities of those coun-
tries, including Pompeii and Vesuvius.
From Italy we went to Egypt, visiting Alexandria, Cairo, the
Pyramids, Suez Canal, etc.
The Pyramids are wonderful relics. Think of their being four
thousand years old, and still well preserved
They are almost five hundred feet high, and the largest ones cover
twelve acres of ground each.
Just consider how large that is, and how it was possible to build
them out of such immense stones as were used, and how they got these
from the quarries, which are nine or ten miles away. And the great
big Sphinx is there, seventy feet high, just as natural as its picture.
From Egypt we came to Palestine, visiting Jaffa, Jerusalem, Beth-
lehem, Jencho, Dead Sea, river Jordan, Bethany, etc.
Jerusalem is a wonderful and interesting city. We visited there
the tomb of Christ and the place where he suffered. The spot is
covered now by an immense church, called the Church of the
Holy Sepulcher, where thousands of pilgrims go to worship every
year.
In crossing the desert and mountains, I rode on horseback all the
time; in fact, I had to, because there are no carriages nor carriage
roads, and all the traveling is done on horses, donkeys, or camels.
In Damascus the streets are narrow (as in all Eastern cities) and
very dirty, and are thronged with Turks and Mohammedans.
The most interesting features of Damascus are its bazars and

mosques. In the bazars they have one long street devoted to one
thing, and another to some different line of business, and it is very
convenient for those who wish to buy.
Some of the stores are about as big as good-sized dry-goods boxes,
and the merchant sits cross-legged in them, smoking, and is ap-
parently indifferent to all the world around him; but, when a cus-
tomer comes, he is very quick to show his goods, and generally asks
twice as much as he expects to take.
Turkish and Oriental goods are the principal articles for sale, and
most of them are very curious to us. Silk is manufactured in great
quantities in the houses of the workmen, many of which we visited;
also, silver and brass are worked by expert hands into rare and
curious articles.
From Damascus we shall go back to France on our way home,
and I expect to send this to Marseilles by a steamer that will leave
in a day or two from Beyrout.
Good-bye, WILLIE C- .

RIVERSIDE, CAL.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I want to write to you to tell you that I think
the ST. NICHOLAS is the best magazine that I have ever read; for I
read a great many papers and magazines. I am greatly interested
in ornithology, and have a large collection of birds' eggs. Mother
says that if any of our hens want to set she will buy the eggs, and I
may let them set, and that I may have the little chickens, if any hatch.
I am very much interested in the story of "Drill." I can not say
which story that has appeared I like best, for they are all good. My
letter is getting too long to be printed, I am afraid, so I will close.
Your true friend, WM. PAUL G .

WASHINGTON, KAN.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I have never seen a letter from this county
in your magazine, so I will send you one.
I am ten years old, and I have to ride two miles and a half to school
on my pony, Fan. I found a wolf's den in our pasture last week,
and I saw a big rattlesnake there, asleep.
I am reading "The Life of Frederick the Great"; but I like
the Scottish Chiefs best of all our books. I read so much that
I hurt my eyes, and had to stop for a while.
I like the ST. NICHOLAS so well, and wish I could get one every
week. Your friend, "a farmer's boy," LESLIE M --

PATERSON, N. J.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: During the intervals between the times of
your appearances I can hardly wait for you. We think you are
delightful. When you are delivered to us my brother and I always
have a scramble for you, and the result is that Mother takes the
magazine from us, and will not give it to us until the next Sunday.
Hoping you may continue to bring happiness to many young people,
I remain, MICH'L W. H-.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: He [the dog] can tell by the scent which
way the animal is going, and he is never known to run backward on
a trail."-ST. NICHOLAS for March, r888.
When my father and uncles were young men their favorite deer-
hound, a black-and-tan, was a fine hunter, but, like his human
friends, he had his moods. When Old Tyler's humor suited, no
one of the party could manifest more pleasure in the preparation for
the chase, nor could any of his fleet-footed companions do more
than follow where he led. But how different his behavior on morn-
ings when he did not wish to hunt! In vain were the horses and
guns brought out; in vain was the mount, the winding of the horn,
the frolic of the yor -'r 1-^' 1-1 -11 the bustle incident to the occa-
sion. Old Tyler :..- .- I -, it were to him a scene utterly
devoid of either interest or m-nnin7 He followed at the heels of
the horses, ears, head. and t .1, .11 1 -., the very personification of
dogged" sullenness. Woe betide any one hunting with Old Tyler
876

THE LETTER-BOX.

on such a day, who was unacquainted with his peculiarities; for if a
"cold trail was struck, he invariably took the back track. No
amount of whistling, of coaxing, of riding or maneuvering sufficed to
change him from his obstinate purpose of trailing away from the
game. No resource was of any avail save to dismount and, holding
him by the back of the neck, lay on a severe whipping with the
hunting-horn. Then release him, mount, and away! For Old
Tyler, even on the days when hunting was his greatest joy, worked
not nearly so hard, and brought to bay not nearly so much game as
on those when, in his young master's expressive phrase, his con-
trariness had to be thrashed out of him."
No matter how far he might have gone on the back track, the
moment he was released from his chastisement he took the nearest
course at full speed to the place where he first had struck the trail,
and there went to work the other way as if his life depended on his
success.
This story of Old Tyler's peculiarity has too often gratified my
childish fondness for stories of the time "when Papa was a boy,"
and too deeply roused my childish sympathy for Old Tyler (who, I
verily thought, ought to have been allowed to stay at home when he
did not wish to hunt) for me to make mistake as to his actually trail-
ing backward. His singular action is thus explained by my father:
It is the fetlock of the deer which leaves the scent on the grass. As
the foot comes down, it brushes that side of the leaves and grasses
which is toward the direction the deer is taking. Hence in working
up a cold trail the dog must continually pass around the clumps and
tufts of grass to find the scent (faint from the lapse of time since the
passingofthe deer), which ofcourseis moretime-consuming, awkward,
and troublesome to him than to trail backward, when his nose as he
runs would come first in contact with that side of the herbage bear-
ing the scent. So Old Tyler, by going away from the deer, was
making his present work light, and if we may allow him the sagac-
ity accorded by his young master, he well knew that in this direc-
tion lay no hard running for the future.
Yours very truly, H. F- .

DRESDEN, SAXONY.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am eleven years old, and have lived in
Dresden three years; all that time I have attended a German school.
Ever since I left America I have been intending to write you a letter,
for you are an old and.dear friend. Last Monday was the birthday of
the King of Saxony and, as usual, there was a grand review of the
troops before him, which took place on a very large platz, opposite to
which we had a window, and could see everything beautifully. When
it was one o'clock all the bands struck up God save the King," and
just then the royal party drove in. The king rode a very black horse,
and the queen was with a princess in a beautiful state-carriage drawn
by four horses, with postilions and outriders; there were many other
carriages, and lots of officers in splendid uniforms, on horseback.
There were thousands of soldiers who marched in small regiments,
and then in large ones, and always in such perfect time that each
line moved like one man. The large regiment of cavalry looked very
handsome, for the horses were all the same color, brown, and the
officers wore light-blue uniforms, all new for the occasion.
The bands on horseback were funny, for the drummer, needing
both his hands to play with, had to guide his horse by reins attached
to his feet.
The Crown Prince of Germany was expected to command one
regiment, but owing to the serious illness of the emperor, of course
he did not come. It was a pretty sight, and I wish all the ST.
NICHOLAS boys and girls could have seen it.
Your friend, LEILA F- .

NEw YORK.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I want to tell you how very, very much
I enjoyed the two articles about dear little Josef Hofmann, that
appeared in the May number of the magazine. I enjoyed them both
so much that it is impossible to say which I liked best. He is
such a wonderful little fellow, and seems so unspoiled by his great
genius and by all the attention he has received, that I think no one
can help caring for him who has seen him and heard him play. I
had the great privilege of seeing him for a few minutes at his own
house. He spoke French to me, and he has a perfect accent. I felt
so ashamed of my French beside his. They say that his sister, who
is twelve years old, can play beautifully, and paints very well indeed.
She is, however, too timid to play in public. Josef is very fond of
her, and missed her very much while over here. Her name is Wande.
Does it not seem strange that Mozart, Mendelssohn, and Josef have
all had sisters a little older than themselves for whom they cared
very much ?
I can not believe that Otto Hegner, the new musical prodigy, can
play as well as little Josef, although they say he plays better. I have
two of the little musician's autographs. He signs his name J6zio.
I could write a great deal more about him, but I am afraid of tiring
you. An admirer of Josef, LOUISA B--

NEW YORK.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I was delighted when you replied to my
note to you, saying that an article about Josef Hofmann, the won-

derful boy-musician, would appear in the May number of the maga-
zine. My friends and I were still more pleased when the ST. NICHOLAS
appeared at our respective houses, for we all admire Josef so much.
I have a good many photographs of the little fellow, and among
them is the one which was reproduced to accompany the article
you published.
A very pretty story was told me of the complete absence of pride
and vanity in his character. When lie .-..;: r here in the
steamer he kept running to play such r.. ..I Doodle on
the piano, until at last his father forbade his playing any more until
they landed. One day lie heard a gentleman playing a waltz of Cho-
pin's, which Josef renders beautifully. He was attracted by the
music and came and stood by the player. When the latter had fin-
ished, Josef said:
That 's not right."
"Well," cried the gentleman, not knowing to whom he spoke,
" I should like to hear you play it better." Josef received permis-
sion for ,. this once," so he sat down, and the stranger could
hardly I i. his ears. He, of course, praised him a great deal,
but the dear little fellow only said, quite simply:
Yes, but I have a sister who plays much better than I do."
He could not help knowing his own great talent, but he was
willing to acknowledge that some one else had more.
I wish you would print this, as I have a book in which I paste
articles about the little pianist, and I would so like to add this to
them. Your friend, M. M- .

ToRONTo.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I must write to tell you how I enjoy your
nice magazine. I take several others, but would .1 .; them
all up than lose ST. NICHOLAS. I like the store i',.i very
much, and am interested in the skate-sailing, which I, much to my
cost, tried on the bay. I had read a good deal about the sails, and at
last constructed one on the triangular plan ; and one day last win-
ter a party of us went down to skate, and I carried my sail. The
ice had heaps of snow drifted on it, which was troublesome, for when
I was going at full speed I would bring up suddenly in a snow-drift,
for I did not know how to manage the sail at my first trial. Unfor-
tunately, this day was the one when a blizzard struck Toronto, and
the thermometer was o5 below zero in the city; and you can
imagine what it was on an unprotected bay. The result was that
we all were frozen more or less badly, and had to stop often to rub
some unlucky comrade's ears or face with snow. This happened on
our return trip, which we made in the teeth ofa fierce north wind. I
felt the results of that freezing for a long time, and did not try
another sail. I hope this will not be the fate of other beginners, but
such was mine.
I belong to the Young Men's Christian Association," and our
" Outing Club had a hare-and-hounds run on Saturday last, which
we all enjoyed. HERDERT 1-- .

AMERICUs, GA.
DEAR ST NICHOLAS: I am a little girl, eight years old, and am
very fond of reading ST. NICHOLAS; and have a little sister, six, and
nearly seven; she is also fond of it, and can hardly wait to eat when
Papa comes home and announces that he has ST. NICHOLAS. We
hope to be able to take it as long as you publish it. I wish all my
little friends would subscribe for it. I know they would like it, and
be improved by it.
Your little friend, BESSIE W-

LEXIGTON, KY.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I live in "the dark and bloody ground,"
but Idon't think it is as bad now as people think it is; anyhow, we
have some of the prettiest scenery in old "Uncle Sam's" domain,
in our mountains.
Last summer I went up on the Cumberland river, and you don't
know how much fun I had; but this summer I am going out camp-
ing with Father. He says he can't get along without the mountains,
so he goes up on the Cumberland every summer; but this is the first
time he has taken me.
I must close now, as my letter is too long already.
Your devoted reader, J. H. McC .

FoRT WAYNE, INDIANA.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little boy, six years old, and I
think you are splendid, especially the "Brownies." My papa and
mamma have taken you for my elder brother almost ever since you
were first published.
I want to tell you about a dog and a turkey we used to have.
We had a pointer-dog named Hector, and also a cat, and they
played together hour after hour; and the cat, as she was dainty and
nice, was allowed in the house, but the dog was so large and rough
he could not come in. So the dog would chase the cat until she was
in close quarters, when she would just run over the doorstep and
sit down, about three feet away; and doggie would sit down on the
other side and look at her wistfully, and whine and turn his head
from side to side, but never think of disobeying orders and crossing

THE LETTER-BOX.

the doorstep. Sometimes he would pretend to run away, but would
creep back and hide at one side of the door, and wait patiently until
kittie came out, when he would jump out and catch her. Sometimes
she would run up the door and sit on top of it, and he would try his
best to shake her down by shaking the door with his forepaws; but
kitty would hold on, and seemed to wink at him. They were great
friends, slept together and ate -:rl.:.- ,...1 tluarreled. Poor
Hector was shot by a farmer i ..-.:..-. I.. ..-l- ens.- And now
about the turkey. Wehadan ..1 '-....l ':-: :r"andabantam
hen; and the hen had a brood of chickens, and one of them fell in a
slop-bucket and was eternally disgraced in the eyes of its mother,
who would have nothing whatever to do with the poor little halt-
drbwned chicken; and what did Mr. Turkey do but take the chicken
and raise it. He scratched food for it, and picked seeds for it, and
carried it on his back through the tall grass, and at night flew upon
the fence to roost, with the little chicken on his back.
The little chicken thrived under such good treatment, and grew
to be the sauciest, fattest little one among the whole brood; and
what seemed strangest of all, the turkey seemed to take delight in
driving the hen and her brood away from their food, and giving it to
his nursling. The turkey took care of the chicken until he himself
was killed for a Christmas dinner. The chicken seemed to miss his
protector, although he did not need him, as he was quite capable of
taking care of himself. My mamma has written this for me to
amuse me, as I have often wanted her to tell you about these smart
creatures, and I am now sick.
Your loving friend, HOMER ALMON H-- .

NORFOLK, VA.
My DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Having heard this little incident of
the Crown Prince's life through the Rev. Mr. R. M. Saunders, Prin-
cipal of the Norfolk Female College, who is my teacher, and who
was in Germany at the time, I send it to you thinking you might
like it.
THE CROWN PRINCE OF GERMANY.

Little princes and princesses are thought to be given up very
much to the care of nurses, who have full control of them; but the
way the present Crown Prince was sometimes managed is very
different, as you will soon admit. Every day as the royal carriage
passed through the street all the people saluted it, and the guard at
the gate presented arms. Of these honors the little boy was very
proud. One morning the nurse came to the empress and told her
that the crown prince positively refused to let her wash and dress
him. The emperor, being in the room, said Let him wash and
dress himself." The little boy was very proud to think he was to
wash and dress himself, though he made very poor work of it. The
emperor then sent an orderly to tell the guards at the gates not to
salute or take any notice of the royal carriage as it passed in going
to the park; he also ordered the marks of royalty to be taken from
the carriage. When the royal children passed through the streets
no salutes were made, and the carriage was not noticed at the gates.
Coming back, there was the same neglect, and the crown prince was so
enraged that when he reached home he wished his father to have all
the people punished. But the emperor replied, My son, do you
suppose any one would recognize you as the son of the Emperor of
Germany ? Never, until you are properly washed and dressed, and
your hair is combed." After that his nurse had no more trouble with
him. BLANCHE C- .
TERRE HAUTE, INDIANA.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: In one of your numbers I read the story
of the "Piasau" bird, and it interested me very much, because
Mamma and Papa were married in that very Alton, and have often
told me the story of the bird.
We have taken the ST. NICHOLAS ever since "Under the Lilacs "
was begun in it, and I was quite a small girl then. I have read it
all along ever since. I enjoyed it as a little girl, and I enjoy it as a
big one. When Deacon Green gave prizes for illustrating those
three poems (or was it four?), I drew a picture of "Christina
Churning," but didn't get theprize. I had never taken anylessons.
I hope to study at an Art School next year. Please print my letter.
Your devoted reader, E. M. D- .

BARROW-IN-FURNESS, ENGLAND.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a boy, fourteen years old. I have
never seen a letter from Barrow in your Letter-box," so I thought
I would write to you. My favorite sports are cricket and foot-ball.
I enjoy reading the letters very much, and we all thought "Little
Lord Fauntleroy" was splendid. I like the "Brownies" very
much, and wish Mr. Palmer Cox would publish something more
about them. For my summer holidays I am going to the Isle of

Man and the Windermere lakes. I am learning to play the violin,
and like it very well.
I remain, your friend and reader, HARRY T-.

SHASTA, CAL.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Having never seen a letter from this place
in northern California, I thought I would write to you. I do not take
ST. NICHOLAS, but borrowit; but the school here took it for a year.
1 read your story of "Diamond-backs in Paradise," and was inter-
ested in it. We do not have diamond-backs here, but have the regu-
lar rattlers "; they have been more numerous this year, and several
have been killed already. One that had ten rattles and a button.
Shasta is twelve hundred feet above the sea, but the thermometer is
sometimes 1o80 in the shade. It is three miles from the railroad at
Middle Creek, but that does not help Shasta any; and the county-
seat having been removed to Redding, poor old Shasta will soon be
deserted. There are many mines in Shasta county, silver and gold,
although there are more of gold. The Iron Mountain silver mine
is the largest in the county. It is eight miles from here, located in a
canyon. I have been up there once, but it was not fully developed,
and I did not see the reduction works. They formerly shipped the
ore to Colorado for reduction ; but now the company have works of
their own, and crush, roast, and reduce the ore, and cast it into
bricks.
Hoping that I may take ST. NICHOLAS myself, I remain,
NEIL N--.

"Two JAP. GIRLs," of Yokohama, Japan, send the names of
thirty-eight novelists which they found in the "King's Move Puzzle,"
printed in the May number of ST NICHOLAS. The list arrived too
late to be acknowledged in an earlier number.

ARLINGTON, N. J.
MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: This is the second year we have taken
ST. NICHOLAS, and we like you very much.
I do not know what my brother and I would do without you.
The way we came to get you, was not to eat pie for a whole year,
and Mamma gave you to us for a prize. We like Sara Crewe ".
very much, and the story of "Juan and Juanita," also, and we were
glad when they got home. My brother is seven and I am nine.
FLORENCE W-
W--, 0.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: The picture and story in the June ST.
NICHOLAS reminded me of a cat we had once. A hen had stolen
her nest on the hay-mow, and but two or three chickens hatched.
One of them got upon the floor in some way. We supposed that the
cat took the chicken into her nest, where she had two kittens, for we
found it there. It would run around the barn-floor, and when it was
tired would go back and nestle in her fur. She kept it with her
kittens from Monday until Friday, when it was killed. We have
taken ST. NICHOLAS for several years, and like it very much.
Yours truly, FRANCEs A. P-.

OAKLAND, HANOVER COUNTY, VA.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We have taken you for three years. I
am now staying at Oakland, the home of the "Two Little Con-
federates." The author is my cousin, and he is coming up to spend
next Sunday with me. We see old "Balla," the carriage-driver,
very often; he is over eighty years old.
Your affectionate reader, ROSA N-.

WE thank the young friends whose names here follow for
pleasant letters which we have received from them: Florrie M. K.,
Mary E. Hinkle, Mary, Essie, May and Bessie, Katherine C. Porter,
Helen S., Edward Crosby, "John Bull," Geoffrey B., "Mai
Pontes," Mamie B., Florence M. Beach, Mary B. Jenkins, Ella
Sadler, Edith A. D., Berenice Lauder, Louise Jackson, Grace G. S.,
Harold S. P., Kate E. Butters, Hattie D. Fellowes, Robert K. C.,
Roger M. Newbold, G. M. M., Lilian H., H. G. J., Helen E. B.,
Elsie B., S. L. K. and E. D. L., Clifford M. T., Julia Gillespie,
Nina F. Jackson, Lilian Bartlett, Millie D., L. M. S., Henry F.,
May K., Anna A., Mabel Palmer, Florence May B., Maud 0.,
Amy Humphrey, Chattie Miner, Edna Shipp, May S. Meserole,
Martha M. Bassett, Cosie B. and Anna S., L. S. J., Charles
Barrows, Cecil R. N., Lillian M. Marsh, Frances, "Zigzag,"
Edgar H., Lulu S. Grimm, and Edith L. Gould.

878

THE RIDDLE-BOX.

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE AUGUST NUMBER.

EASY TRANSPOSITIONS. I. Eats, seat. 2. Nails, snail. 3. Pots,
spot. 4. Ways, sway. 5. Table, bleat. 6. Wolf, fowl. 7. Pear,
reap. 8. Rose, sore. 9. Lame, meal. o1. Life, file. i. Bury,
ruby. 12. Mash, sham.
PI. Rejoice! ye fields, rejoice! and wave with gold,
When August round her precious gifts is flinging;
Lo the crushed wain is slowly homeward rolled:
The sunburnt reapers jocund lays are singing.
Ruskin-" THE MONTHS."
DOUBLE CENTRAL ACROSTICS. I. Centrals, Farragut and An-
dersen. Cross-words: i. Prefacer, 2. Recanted. 3. Guarding.
4. Sacredly. 5. Disarmed. 6. Songster. 7. Innuendo. 8. Part-
ners. II. Centrals, Herschel and Napoleon. Cross-words: i.
Rashness. 2. Revealed. 3. Sharpers. 4. Dissolve. 5. Proclaim.
6. Gathered. 7. Aureolas. 8. Foulness.
ZIGZAG, Joseph Rodman Drake, author of The CulZrit Fay."
Cross-words: i. Jam. 2. fOp. 3. yeS. 4. bEg. 5. Paw. 6.
aHa. 7. fuR 8. cOb. 9. Din. o1. iMp. x. spA. 12. eNd.
13. Daw. 14. iRa. 15. erA. 16. eKe. 17. Emu.
INSERTIONS. I. Lammas Day. i. ru-l-ed. 2. st-a-ir. 3.
li-m-es. 4. ti-m-es. 5. Sp-a-in. 6. po-s-se. 7. me-d-al. 8. gr-a-in.
9. Ho-y-le. II. Gule of August. i. ro-g-ue. 2. po-u-nd. 3.
co-l-on. 4. ch-e-at. 5. st-o-op. 6. ra-f-ts. 7. he-a-rd. 8.
ro-u-se. 9. re-g-al. 1o. mo-u-th. II. mi-s-le. 12. ma-t-in.

A UNION JACK. From i to 3, retreat; 4 to 6, astound; 7 to 9,
sunders; i to 7, relates; 2 to 8, removed; 3 to 9, tenders; I to 9,
revokes, 3 to 7, thrones.
TRIPLE ACROSTIC. First row, charm; second, aurora; last,
dryads. Cross-words: i. Candid. 2. Hunger. 3. Argosy. 4.
Rosina. 5. Orchid. 6. Naiads.
CUBE. From i to 2, dolphin; 2 to 4, Nemesis; I to 3, dudgeon;
3 to 4, nonplus; 5 to 6, heights; 6 to 8, surplus; 5 to 7, Holland;
7 to 8, dubious; 5 to i, hard; 6 to 2, span; 8 to 4, says; 7 to 3,
dean.
WORD-SQUARES. I. i. Tack. 2. Area. 3. Celt. 4. Kate.
II. i. Malt. 2. Aloe. 3. Lone. 4. Teem. III. Veil. 2.
Ease. 3. Isle. 4. Leek.
RHaYED TRANSPOS1TIONS. I. Slate. 2. Least. 3. Tales. 4.
Stale. 5. Steal.
THREE DIAMONDS. I. I. L. 2. Aam. 3. Armor. 4. Lam-
poon. 5. Moose. 6. Roe. 7. N II I I. M. 2. Lap. 3. Lines.
4. Mandrel. 5. Per se. 6. See. L. III. i. L. 2. Ant. 3.
Anser. 4. Instead. 5. Teeny. 6. Ray. 7. D.
ILLUSTRATED NUMERICAL ENIGMAA:
The flighty purpose neveris o'ertook
Unless the deed go with it. -" Macbeth."
BEHEADINGS. Sherman. i. S-hunt. 2. H-arm. 3. E-rase.
4. R-after. S. M-other. 6. A-bound. 7. N-arrow.

To OUR PUZZLERS: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the i5th of each month, and
should be addressed to ST. NICHOLAS Riddle-box," care of THE CENTURY Co., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City.
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE JUNE NUMBER were received, before June i5th, from Maud E. Palmer-Paul Reese-
" May and 79"- Elise Ripley Jo and I-- M. Josephine Sherwood Fred and Ness Louise Ingham Adams S. E. L.- A. H. R.
and M. G. R.-D. L. 0. and M. C. O.-Russell Davis-Nellie and Reggie-Edith Woodward-Emilie C. Robins- A. Fiskeand Co.-
Louise McClellan- C. B. D.- Howard Kennedy Hill-" Willoughby"-Aunt Kate, Mamma, and Jamie -Louise Wainwright- Rob
and Ruth- Kafran Emerawit My Wife and I Ada C. H.- Grace Olcott- H. A. R. and A. C. R.- Francis W. Islip -A. Gride.

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE JUNE NUMBER were received, before June 15th, from Mary S. Bird, I Amy F., 3-" Mrs. Ippi," I -
A. Cleather, i Romulus and Remus, 4- Olive Lejeune, I Abigailiza, e Mattie Darling, i Erminie, 1 M. and R. Smith, I -
Amy F. I Elsie and Enna, 3 Alice M. R., I A. H. and G. M. R. Holmes, I Mary E. Foster, I A. E. Burnham, 4 Pansy, I -
H. W. B., --M. Prince, J. Stoddard and R. Simmons, --Pauline Clephan,4-J. J. E., M. C. Jenkins, x-Louise C. Bur-
pee, 3 -"Amme Gurbnil," i Katie V. Z., 2--L. I. H H.2 -J. H., I -" Mignonette," 3--John J. Cabe, Jr., I--Louise Jack-
son, I Grace H. Frisby, I Hattie Fellows, 2 Anna B. Rogers, 3 Ella and Ophelia Howell, I Margaret and Helen, i J. and
L. Rettop, xo--No Name, Peekskill, ix -Mary A. Root, 4-E. S. Bates, i-Gerda Goldfrank, I-" Dute," I-Laura Morse, -
"Down-we-went," i -" Pandora," 8 -" Bendicut," 2 W. A. M., --Pewee Rose, M. B. M., 3 Kittie and Ralph, i- "Prin-
cess," 4 Effie K. Talboys, 9 Willie Tully, 2 Harold Rexford, 5 K. G. S., 6 Muriel, I M. and A. W. Bartlett, 2 Inez and
Ivanhoe, 4 R. Colclough, 2- Quartette, 7-- G. E. Mercer, 4 Hypatia," 2 Fannie White, I Margaret and Chatty, 4 Hilde-
garde," i Carolyn C. Rittenhouse, 6- Maud 0., 3 Belle Abbott, 3 Florence M. B., I W. A. Jurgens, i Odd Fish," 6-
"Alpha, Alpha, B. C.," 8- i. Cassels, i- F. S. Merriman, 2- May, 2-Nellie L. Howes, si R. Lloyd, 5- Grace Honton, I Clara
and Emma, I J. McH., 4-- Arthur E. W., Grace Cormack, i -" Pattypan and Kettledrum," 7 George R. Dunham, 2 -" Amer-
ica," 6--A. M. C., 12-Harry of Monmouth, 3- Kate L. R., 2-Pet and Pug, 3- L. and E. Allyne, 4-" Ragtag," io--Grace A.
Hill, 2- Pearl Skinner, 2- Marion and Mamma, 8 -"Pussy Willow," 9- Jennie, Mina, and Isabel, 8-Jennie S. Liebmann and Louis
Hirsh, x2 -Alena Church, 5 -A. K., i-" Four Beans," c -" Lethe, o W. D. Ward, I -" Graces, C. D. W.," E. Richmond
and A. Hartich, 6- Miss Flint, ix-" Infantry," 9-E. S., 5- Dorothy Lambton, 5-C. V., x-E. Clifford Fry, 6-Paquerette and
Adrienne, 4 -Bertha and Nina, i- No Name, San Francisco, 2-"Zigzag," 4- E. W. S. and B. S. O., 5.

COMBINATION RHOMBOID.

i. In Leander. a. A French article. 3. The first mechanical
power. 4. To rest. 5. In Leander. R. H. OrBOOI."

S. WORD-SQUARE.
5 s I. NEW. 2. The weight of twelve grains. 3. A musical term
S* a meaning a rapid flight of notes. 4. Chosen. 5. Courts of criminal
jurisdiction within a township. EUREKA."
ACROSS: i. A scriptural name, meaning "foolish." 2. Measures
of distance. 3. An evil spirit. 4. A few threads drawn through A PYRAMID.
the skin by which an opening is made and continued. 5. To
repulse.
REVERSoD: I. The brother of Rebekah, mentioned in Genesis.
2. A name borne by three emperors of the Turks. 3. Existed.
4. Missives. 5. A sick person.
DoWNWARD (before reversion): i. In Leander. a. A verb. 3. *
To order. 4. Certain beverages. 5. A mechanical power. 6. Situ-
ation. 7. To cut off 8. An abbreviation for a certain direction of ALL the letters represented by stars are the same.
the compass. In Leander. CROSS-WORDS: i. In Miltiades. 2. The Altar. 3. Manilla hemp.
INCLUDED DIAMOND. Across: i. In Leander. 2. A French 4. A State. Central letters, reading downward, an inhabitant of an
article. 3. A demon. 4. To place. 5. In Leander. Downward: Eastern country. JENNIE M. THOMAS.
879

THE RIDDLE-BOX.

THE above rebus contains the names of six authors (one on each
book) and six artists (one on each palette). Who are the twelve
famous people ?

PECULIAR ACROSTICS.
ALL Of the words described contain the same number of letters.
When rightly guessed, and placed one below the other, the third
row of letters will spell a certain religious festival occurring in
September; the seventh row will spell a certain dish very frequently
partaken of in England on that day.
CROSS-WORDS: I. Pertaining to a substance which is not liked by
moths. 2. The study of language. 3. To behead. 4. Recital.
5. One who fought in a Roman arena. 6. Determines beforehand.
7. The dark-colored resin obtained by the distillation of turpentine.
8. The commander of a squadron. 9. One who practices. To.
Those who animate. CYRIL DEANE.

A LETTER PUZZLE.
By starting at the right letter in one of the following words, and
then taking every third letter, three familiar words may be formed:
TIPS, SHAKERS, HAUTBOY, NO, CLIMBER, IDE, SKATE, SHAM,
ALERT, ARID, IMPS, BROKEN, CRAVEN, ADDER, MANOR, ERECT, ADO,
ANNOUNCE.

CUBE.
I 2

5 6

.3 ..........6

7 8

FROM I to 2, the youngest daughter of King Lear; from 2 to 4,
tempered; from i to 3, a knight; from 3 to 4, bent downward or
backward; from 5 to 6, drifted on shore; from 6 to 8, crowned;
from 5 to 7, to feign; from 7 to 8, accomplished; from i to 5, cov-
erings for the head; from 2 to 6, dry; from 4 to 8, exploit; from
3 to 7, hoar frost. x. v. z.

HALF SQUARES.

I. I. THE name of a distinguished English statesman who died
on September 3, A658. 2. To take. 3. The eighth tone in the

scale. 4. The number of five hundred. 5. To marry. 6. The
latter part of the day. 7. A French article. 8. In tilting.
II. o. A distinguished traveler and discoverer, who was born on
September 14, 1769. 2. Not assisted. 3. Defaced. 4. A certain
class of bipeds. 5. Lyric poems. 6. Conducted. 7. Two letters
which may sometimes be added to the names of professional men of
a certain class. 8. In tilting. FRANK SNELLING.

PI.
ETH krictec pirchs lal yda,
O stifear Semrum, yast I "
Eht quilserr seey skenaca eth stunchest bringown;
Eth wlidflow fyl faar
Oveab ehtyamfo rab,
Dan tenhas thawrouds ree eth sikes rea grownfin.

ANTONYMS.

I. BEHEAD the opposite of to deny, and leave the opposite of to
speak calmly. 2. Behead the opposite of to scatter, and leave the
opposite of an enemy. 3. Behead the opposite of to honor, and
leave the opposite of a summit. 4. Behead the opposite of always,
and leave the opposite of at no time. 5. Behead the opposite of to
hold aloft, and leave the opposite of to speak gently.
The beheaded letters will spell the name of a very famous man.
PRINCESS.

BEHEADINGS.

I. BEHEAD a person having peculiar ideas, and leave exuberant.
2. Behead reluctant, and leave a solemn affirmation. 3. Behead to
consume slowly, and leave was conveyed. 4. Behead to boast, and
leave a relation. 5. Behead lifted up, and leave slow. 6. Behead
smallest, and leave toward the rising sun. 7. Behead use, and leave
a thin cover. 8. Behead the present occasion, and leave formerly.
9. Behead a bill of exchange, and leave a float. io. Behead rapidly,
and leave a measure of distance. xi. Behead Roman dates, and
leave belonging to an individual. t2. Behead to pierce, and leave
a brook. 13. Behead to weave in ridges, and leave purpose. 14. Be-
head a thicket of bushes, and leave the brink. 15. Behead useful,
and leave a piece of baked clay. 16. Behead turbid, and leave
greasy. 17. Behead virtuous, and leave spoken. 18. Behead to
shun, and leave unoccupied. o9. Behead an Indian fig, and leave
a gem.
The beheaded letters spell three very familiar words.
A. B. HUNT.
ANAGRAMS.
(A rlicles of Apfarel.)

I. CORA votes. 2. Sanoo plant. 3. Rose rust. 4. It was a cot.
5. We mark nets. 6. Sole piano. 7. A gnarl.
"FOUR BEANS."

THE DE VINNE PRESS, PRINTERS, NEW YORK.

880

i ~~ %.~
:

	Front Cover
	Frontispiece
	Sunshine land
	Two little confederates
	All a-blowing - Some stories about...
	Knot-holes
	An eavesdropper
	What Dora did
	The pintail
	Circumvention
	Dick's farm hand
	A compromise
	Little Ike Templin
	Wild pea-fowls in British...
	A Chinese story
	Broken adrift
	The water-ousels' address
	How some birds are cared for
	The mischievous knix
	The pampered poodle
	Housekeeping songs. No. V (words...
	Tilting
	What to do with old corks
	Jack-in-the-pulpit
	The scent of dogs
	A school legend
	The letter-box
	The riddle-box
	Back Cover
	Spine

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