Front Cover
 "Little Lord Fauntleroy" as a play,...
 The carving over the Sallyport
 Ruth's birthday
 The queen's navy
 An art critic
 Great Japan: The sunrise kingd...
 Ann Mary - Her two Thanksgivin...
 November in the garden
 The loaf of peace
 The routine of the republic
 In the cellar
 The western meadow-lark
 Elsie's invention
 A lesson in grammar
 The birds' farewell
 A composite cat
 Housekeeping songs, No. VII: My...
 The Agassiz association
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover

Title: St. Nicholas
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00206
 Material Information
Title: St. Nicholas
Uniform Title: St. Nicholas (New York, N.Y.)
Alternate Title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner
Place of Publication: New York
Publication Date: -c1943
Frequency: monthly
Subject: Children's literature -- Periodicals   ( lcsh )
Genre: periodical   ( marcgt )
Dates or Sequential Designation: -v. 67, no. 4 (Feb. 1940) ; v. 70, no. 1 (Mar. 1943)-v. 70, no. 4 (June 1943).
Dates or Sequential Designation: Began with: Vol. 1, no. 1, Nov. 1873.
Numbering Peculiarities: Suspended Mar. 1940-Feb. 1943; vols. 68-69 omitted.
Issuing Body: Published by: Century, Aug. 1881- ; by Educational Pub. Corp. -1940; by St. Nicholas Magazine, 1943.
General Note: Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
General Note: Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00065513
Volume ID: VID00206
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: oclc - 01764817
lccn - 04012675
 Related Items
Preceded by: Our young folks
Preceded by: Children's hour (Philadelphia, Penn.)
Preceded by: Little corporal
Preceded by: Schoolday magazine
Preceded by: Wide awake

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
        Page 3
        Page 4
        Page 5
        Page 6
        Page 7
    "Little Lord Fauntleroy" as a play, in London
        Page 8
        Page 9
    The carving over the Sallyport
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
    Ruth's birthday
        Page 15
    The queen's navy
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
    An art critic
        Page 29
    Great Japan: The sunrise kingdom
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
    Ann Mary - Her two Thanksgivings
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
    November in the garden
        Page 47
    The loaf of peace
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
    The routine of the republic
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
    In the cellar
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
    The western meadow-lark
        Page 63
        Page 64
    Elsie's invention
        Page 65
        Page 66
    A lesson in grammar
        Page 67
    The birds' farewell
        Page 68
    A composite cat
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
    Housekeeping songs, No. VII: My lady-bird's chamber
        Page 72
        Page 73
    The Agassiz association
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
    The letter-box
        Page 77
        Page 78
    The riddle-box
        Page 79
        Page 80
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
Full Text


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THERE is a little girl who hangs upon her
mother's chair, getting her head between her
mother's work and the light, and begs for pictures.
She expects her mother to make these pictures
on some bit of paper treasured for the purpose,
which she offers, with a book to rest it on, and a
stubby pencil notched with small tooth-marks, the
record of moments of perplexity when Polly was
making her own pictures.
It is generally after a bad failure of her own
that she comes to her mother. The pang of dis-
appointment with her own efforts is apt to sharpen
her temper a little; it does not make Polly more
patient with her mother's mistakes that she makes
mistakes herself. But between critic and artist,
with such light as the dark-lantern of a little girl's
head permits to fall upon the paper, the picture
gets made somehow, and before it is finished
Polly's heart will be so full of sunshine that she
will insist upon comparisons, most flattering to
the feelings of her artist, between their different
essays at the same subject.
It is a subject they are both familiar with ; and
it is wonderful, considering the extent of Polly's
patronage, that her artist's work does not better
It is always a picture of a young person on
horseback; a young person about the age of
Polly, but much handsomer and more grown-up
looking. And the horse must be a pony with a

flowing mane and tail, and his legs must be flung
out, fore and aft, so that in action he resembles one
of those crazy-bugs" (so we children used to call
them) that go scuttling like mad things across the
still surface of a pond. In other respects he may
be as like an ordinary pony as Mamma and the
stubby pencil can make him. But the young per-
son on the pony must be drawn in profile, because
Polly can not make profiles, except horses' pro-
files; her young persons always look straight out
of the picture as they ride along, and the effect, at
full speed, on a horse with his legs widely extended
from his body, is extremely gay and nonchalant.
With the picture in her hand, the little girl will
go away by herself and proceed to "dream and
to dote."
She lives in a horse-y country.
Horses in troops or bands go past by the
trails, on the one side of the river or the other.
Sometimes they ford where the water is breast-
high over the bar. It is wild and delicious to hear
the mares whinnying to their foals in mid-stream,
and the echo of their voices, with the rushing of
the loud water, pent among the hills.
Often the riders who are in charge of the band
encamp for the night on the upper bend of the
river, and the red spark of their camp-fire glows
brightly about the time the little girl must be
going to bed ; for it is in spring or fall the bands of
horses go up into the hills or down into the valleys,

Copyright, x888, by THE CENTURY CO. All rights reserved.



No. I.


or off, one does not know where,- to a round-
up," perhaps, where each stockman counts his
own, and puts his brand on the young colts. Over
the hills, where Polly and her big brother go wild-
flower hunting, horses wander loose, and look down
from the summits, mere specks, like black mice,
against the sky; they are plainly to be seen from
miles away, for there is not a tree anywhere upon
these hills. Sometimes a single horse, the chief-
tain of a troop, will stand alone on a hill-top and
take a look all the wide country round, and call, in
his splendid voice, like sounding brass," to the
mares and colts that have scattered in search of
alkali mud to lick, or just to show, perhaps, that
they are able to get on without his lordship. He

., :.*^ '

."-.. .-


the pretty ones, the ones she calls hers. They
stare at her from under breezy forelocks, and no
doubt think themselves much finer creatures than
little girls who have only two feet to go upon. And
the little girl thinks so, too -or so it would seem;
for every evening, after sunset, when she runs about
the house bareheaded, she plays she is a horse
herself. And not satisfied with being a horse, she
plays she is a rider, too. Such a complex ideal
as that surely never came into the brain of a
" cayuse," for all his big eyes and his tangle of
hair which Polly thinks so magnificent.
The head and the feet of Polly and her tossing
locks are pure horse; that is evident at a glance,
as she prances past the window. But the clinched,


will call, and if his troop do not answer, he will
condescend to go a little way to meet them, halt-
ing and inquiring with short whinnies what they
are about. Sometimes, in spite of discipline, they
will compel him to go all the way to meet them;
for even a horse soon tires of dignity on a hill-top,
all alone, with no one to see how it becomes him.
Polly likes to meet stray horses on her walks,
close enough to see their colors and tell which are

controlling hands are the hands of the rider-a
thrilling combination on a western summer even-
ing, when the brassy sunset in the gate of the
caiion is like a trumpet-note, and the cold, pink
light on the hills is keen as a bugle-call, and the
very spirit of boots and saddle is in the wind
that gustily blows up from the plains, turning all
the poplars white, and searching the quiet house,
from room to room, for any laggard stay-indoors.

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Within a mile of the house, in the cafion which
Polly calls home, there is a horse-ranch, in a
lovely valley opening toward the river. All around
it are these treeless hills that look so barren, and
feed so many wild lives. The horses have a beauti-
ful range, from the sheltered valley, up the gulches
to the summits of the hills, and down again to the
river to drink. The men live in a long, low cabin,
attached to a corral much bigger than the cabin,
and have an extremely horse-y time of it.
I should n't be surprised if it were among Polly's
dreams to be one of a picked company of little girl-
riders, in charge of a band of long-tailed ponies, just
the right size for little girls to manage; to follow the
ponies over the hills all day, and at evening to fetch
water from the river and cook their own little-girl
suppers in the dingy cabin by the corral; to have
envious visits from other little girls, and occasion-
ally to go home and tell Mother all about it.

Now, in this country of real horses there were
not many play-horses, and these few not of the first
quality. Hobby-horses in the shops of the town
were most trivial in size, meant only for riders of
a very tender age. Some of them were merely
heads of horses, fastened to a seat upon rockers,
with a shelf in front to keep the inexperienced
rider in his place.
There were people in the town, no doubt, who
had noble rocking-horses for their little six-year-
olds, but they must have sent for them on pur-
pose; the storekeepers did not handle this
So Polly's papa, assisted by John Brown, the
children's most delightful companion, and slave,
and story-teller, concluded to build a hobby-horse
that would outdo the hobby-horse of commerce.
(Brown was a modest, tender-hearted man, who
had been a sailor off the coast of Norway, among




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the islands and fiords, a miner where the Indians
were "bad," a cowboy, a ranchman; and he was
now irrigating the garden and driving the team in
the caion).
Children like best the things they invent and
make themselves, and plenty of grown people
are children in this respect; they like their own
vain imaginings better than some of the world's
But Polly's rocking-horse was no "vain thing,"
although her father and John did have their own
fun out of it before she had even heard of it.
His head was n't "made of pease-straw," nor
his tail of hay," but in his own way he was quite
as successful a combination.
His eyes were two of Brother's marbles. They
were not mates, which was a pity, as they were set
somewhat closely together, so you could n't help
seeing them both at once ; but as one of them soon
dropped out, it did n't so much matter. His mane
was a strip of long leather fringe. His tail was
made up of precious contributions extorted from
the real tails of Billy and Blue Pete and the team-
horses, and twined most lovingly together by John,
the friend of all the parties to the transfer.
The saddle was a McClellan tree, which is the
frame-work of a kind of man's saddle; a wooden
spike, fixed to the left side of it and covered with
leather, made a horn, and the saddle-blanket was a
Turkish towel.
It was rainy weather, and the cation days were

short, when this unique creation of love and friend-
ship which are things more precious, it is to be
hoped, even than horseflesh took its place
among Polly's idols, and was at once clothed on
with all her dreams of life in action.
When she mounted the hobby-horse she mounted
her dream-horse as well; they were as like as Don
Quixote's helmet and the barber's basin.
She rode him by firelight, in the last half-hour be-
fore bedtime. She rode him just after breakfast in
the morning. She took" to him when she was in
trouble, as older dream-riders take to their favorite
" hobbies." She rocked and she rode, from rest-
lessness and wretchedness into peace, from unsatis-
fied longings into temporary content, from bad
tempers into smiles and sunshine.
She rode out the winter, and she rode in the
wild and windy spring. She got well of the
measles pounding back and forth on that well-
worn seat. She took cold afterward, before the
winds grew soft, experimenting with draughts in
a corner of the piazza.
Now that summer gives to her fancies and her
footsteps a wider range, the hard-worked hobby
gets an occasional rest. (Often he is to be seen
with his wooden nose resting on the seat of a chair
which is bestrewed with clover blossoms, withered
wild-roses, and bits of grass; for Polly, like other
worshipers of graven images, believes that her
idol can eat and drink and appreciate substantial
offerings.) But when the dream grows too strong,


L .. -..'
L .


the picture too vivid,- not Mamma's picture, Will the rider be in bondage to the steed? Heaven
but the one in the child's heart,- she takes to forbid for dream-horses make good servants but
the saddle again, and the horse-hair switch and very bad masters. Will they bear her fast and far,
the leather fringes float upon the wind, 'and her and will she keep a quiet eye ahead and a constant
fancies mount, far above the lava bluffs that con- hand upon the rein ? Will they flag and flounder
fine her vision. down in the middle-ways, where so many of us
Will our little girl-riders be as happy on their have parted with our dream-steeds and taken the
real horses, when they get them, as they are upon footpath, consoled to find that we have plenty of
their dream-horses? Is the actual possession of company and are not altogether dismayed? The
"back-hair" and the wearing of long petticoats dream-horses carry their child-riders beyond the
more blissful than the knot, hard-twisted, of the mother's following, so that the eyes and the heart
ends of a silk handkerchief, which the child-woman ache with straining after the fleeting vision.
binds about her brows when she walks, like Troy's It is better she should not see too much nor
proud dames whose garments sweep the ground, too far along the way they go, since "to travel
in the skirt of her mother's "cast-off gown"? joyfully is better than to arrive."
It depends upon the direction these imperious If only they could know their own "blessed-
dream-horses will take with our small women. ness" while the way is long before them !

I h -i r --, z. L. 1. c. i !-I:, t
I i 0 .: 0, d



4t. ALL the children who have read
S--i. Mrs. Burnett's pretty story, Little
Lord Fauntleroy," will, I feel sure,
like to hear how it was made into a
Splay and acted in London. It hap-
S, opened that a gentleman was of the
i1 opinion that the tale would make a
good play, and so he had one, written
by himself, acted in a London theater,
and he called it Little Lord Fauntle-
roy." Now, Mrs. Burnett could not
Legally use the same title for another
version, so she called her play the
Real Little Lord Fauntleroy." How-
ever, before hers was produced, the first play was
withdrawn, because the English law said that it
was not legal to act it; and every one was pleased
that Mrs. Burnett should be able to play her own
piece, made out of her own book, without any rival
in the way.
Mrs. Burnett was very fortunate in getting Mrs.
Kendal a clever English actress, with children
of her own -to see to the play being properly
prepared, and to teach the part of the little lord
to the child who was to act it. This was a nice
little girl named Vera Beringer, who had once
played successfully a small part in her own mother's
play, called Tares." The part of Lord Faunt-
leroy" was a very long one, and Vera was only a
very little girl; but she must have taken great pains
to learn it, and Mrs. Kendal must have taken great
pains to teach her how to act it.
At last, the parts were all learned, the actors
had rehearsed till they were quite perfect, and so
the day for the first performance came. It took
place in Terry's Theater,-a pretty little theater,
said to be the smallest in London, but holding a
great many people, nevertheless. At night, ladies
and gentlemen wear evening-dress in the stalls,
dress-circle, and private boxes, which gives a very
bright and cheerful appearance to the theater.
" Little Lord Fauntleroy made his first bow at a
matinee performance, however, so ladies kept on
their bonnets: and, to tell the truth, at times only
little Vera's head was visible above certain high
hats in the audience.
When the orchestra struck up, every one set-
tled down to gaze and listen, and soon the curtain

rose, and we saw Mrs. Errol's" modest little room.
Such a pretty, winsome Mamma she was, too!
dressed all in black, though, and in great grief
because she had just heard that nearly all her
money had been lost, and she would not be able
to provide properly for her dear child. He did
not feel sad, for he knew nothing about it, and was
outside, in a field, running a race with some other
boys. Mrs. Errol's servant, Mary," wishing to
divert her mistress, persuaded her to go to the
window, and there they stood watching the race.
When it was over, Mary gave a shout, for Cedric "
had won it triumphantly! Then he came running
in- a dear little fellow in a white suit, with pale-
blue sailor-collar, and big blue silk sash, and
black stockings and shoes. He had a round,
bright face, with intelligent eyes, and long dark-
brown hair. Of course he was delighted over
his success, and he had brought with him his two
great friends, "Mr. Hobbs" and "Dick." Dick was
played by an elder sister of Vera's, called Esm6.
She tried to talk like an American boy, but did not
succeed very well.
Well, Mrs. Errol and Mary went out of the room,
and Cedric talked away to Mr. Hobbs and Dick
as you can imagine; showed them the picture of the
Tower of London, and learned that Mr. Hobbs had
a very low opinion of the English nobility in gen-
eral, and of earls in particular. So he was not
sorry to retire with his guests for refreshment.
Then Mr. Havisham" was announced. He had
come to tell Mrs. Errol that the "Earl of Dorin-
court's" sons were all dead, that only one of them
had left a child, and that 'the child was Cedric,
who was now "Lord Fauntleroy!" On hearing
this Mrs. Errol was at first happy to think that her
little boy would be provided for, but, when she
was told that she would have to give up Cedric,
and never live with him any more, she wept so
much that many of the audience wept too She
had to think very sadly and seriously before she
could make up her mind that, since she could
not educate him properly, it was right to part with
him; but at last she consented, and, trying hard
to hide her grief, she called in Cedric, and told
him what had happened.
The first thing the little fellow could think of
was, what would Mr. Hobbs say!


How delighted Mr. Havisham was with the
bright, gentle boy! Here was a real little lord
indeed; -and he heard about Cedric's poor
friends, and gave him money from his grand-
father, of which Cedric quickly made good use, as
you will remember.
When Mr. Havisham had gone, Cedric had much
to tell Mr. Hobbs, and Mr. Hobbssaid : "Well, I 'm
jiggered In fact, he was completely overcome
on hearing that his little friend was to be an earl
some day. I believe from that moment he began
to think better of earls. Poor Mrs. Errol came in
again, and Mr. Hobbs took his leave. Then the
mother talked to her boy, explained that they would
have to live apart, and tried to make light of it,
but Cedric would scarcely be satisfied. Mrs. Errol
told him, too, that every night and morning she
would pray for him, saying, God keep you all
the night; God bless you all the day," and she
clasped him tenderly in her arms. The day had
been so exciting, he said, that he felt quite sleepy.
So his mother soothed and caressed him, and as
he fell asleep, he murmured, God keep you all
the night; God bless you all the day And as
the weeping mother bent over the sleeping boy,
the curtain came slowly down.
When it rose again, we found the cross old
Earl scolding his servant, and making things very
uncomfortable. Mrs. Errol begged him to be kind
to Cedric, whom she had just brought to the Cas-
tle; but the Earl would scarcely listen to her, and
she went away in great distress. Then Cedric was
sent for, and came sauntering in, gazing with
delight at the pictures which adorned the walls,
at the soft carpets, and quaint old oak furniture,
and so up to the big arm-chair, in which his grand-
father sat beside the fire.
The Earl was at once pleased with the appear-
ance of the little fellow in dark-blue velvet knicker-
bockers, blue silk stockings, and cerise silk sash.
He let the boy care for his poor gouty foot, and tell
him about the dog. I am not afraid of him," said
Cedric. "Areyou ?" And then the Earlhadto hear
about Mr. Hobbs, and you would have laughed
at the way in which V6ra imitated the exclamation,
"Well! I'm jiggered!" So much was the Earl
won by the boy, that he allowed him to write to the
bailiff to say that Higgins was not to be turned
out, and Cedric's enthusiastic admiration for Lord
Dorincourt's generosity and goodness made the old
man begin to wish he were what Cedric believed
him to be. Dinner being announced, Cedric bravely
assisted his grandfather, mopping his damp brow,
and begging the Earl not to mind leaning on him,
and explaining that any one would be warm in
such hot weather! So they went out together.
Then Minna" walked in, and when little

Cedric returned from the dining-room, she soon
learned from him what had happened. But how
the poor old Earl despaired and reproached himself
on learning that Minna was his elder son's wife,
and that her child was therefore entitled to be Lord
Fauntleroy! How sorry he was that Cedric was
not the heir, and that this loud, vulgar woman was
his daughter-in-law! He had to tell Cedric, of
course, and Cedric said brightly that he did not
care at all about being an earl, but was he not to
be his grandfather's boy any more ? "Yes always,
always my boy," said the Earl, laying his hand
tenderly on the brown curls. And then down went
the curtain once more, just when we saw that the
hard, proud old man had been melted into love by
the winning trustfulness and affection of a little
When the last act began, Cedric was dressed in
a white riding-suit, and was talking to the groom
about the "new boy," and about Dick and Mr.
Hobbs, who were expected every day. Just at

that moment they arrived, and Cedric's mother,
too, and the Earl was delighted to see her; and all
were quite happy until the hateful Minna came in
again, for she said she had brought Lord Fauntle-
roy" with her. You may imagine every one's delight
when Dick recognized her, and proved that Cedric


was Little Lord Fauntleroy after all! Minna was
soon sent away, and the Earl begged Dearest" to
come and live with him and her boy-which she,
being gentle and forgiving, gladly promised to do.
This was the end of the play, and the audience
applauded till Mrs. Burnett bowed to them, and
then they called for Mrs. Kendal, who appeared on
the stage with Mrs. Burnett, and the two children.
All the actors played so well that it is difficult
to praise one more than another, but you will like
best to hear about V6ra. She made no mistakes,

but said her words perfectly, and played so natur-
ally that we all were charmed. So bright, so affec-
tionate, so courteous, and so generous was her
Cedric that we did not wonder that every one
loved him. The children who were present were
delighted: they wagged their little heads, laughed
cheerily, and clapped heartily whenever they saw
an opportunity !
So the play was very successful, and again, as
in the beautiful story, Little Lord Fauntleroy won
all hearts.


, IV \ t


IN the beginning of the century it lay there, just
as comfortable a bit of green cropping out from
the gray water as it is now. That is, Governor's
Island was as cool and pleasant a spot, so far as
natural features go, as it is to-day. But there are
many things about it at this present which it did not
have then. The garrison quarters, and the neat
houses fronting on the lawns, wherein the officers
enjoy so much sweet peacefulness after training
themselves for the terrible turmoil of war, are
more numerous and more home-like than they
were in those days.
The island has had many vicissitudes. One of
them was the building of Fort Columbus. There
was a fort there before,-Fort Jay; but the good
people of New York thought this was not stout
enough for a defense if the mother country, or
France, were to send men-of-war sailing grimly up
the harbor against the men of war who were sta-
tioned behind the stone walls of the island fortifi-
Mayor De Witt Clinton, and then Mayor Marinus
Willett, desired to do whatever was thought needful
for the well-being of the city they governed, and
they felt that the pretty island must be made useful

as a sentry over the town. The New York Gazette
and the Evening Post (for there was the Evening
Post, even then) could write such dreadful stories
about the unprotected town, and would describe
what the foe might do if the foe only wished to;
and it was very blood-curdling, I assure you.
Finally, our good fathers and grandfathers be-
came so worried about it, that what did they do
but go down to the island themselves, strip off
their coats, and help to build Fort Columbus. It
was a sight to see !-those goodly old gentlemen
puffing over their patriotic toil.
Even the learned professors of Columbia College
laid aside caps and gowns and went to help rear the
stout walls which were to shield the city's defenders.
And the boys--the young fellows! It was a
jolly time for them. Not sorry were they to quit
thumbing their Homers and Ciceros in order to
become patriots. They liked it. It was fun. Of
course, to have those heavy blocks of stone to
carry all the time, to dig and wheel and ham-
mer every day, would n't have been so enjoyable.
But it was only for a time that they must put their
shoulders to the wheel and help the country; and
they did it with exuberant, boyish enthusiasm.


But there was one poor fellow on the island who
did not take so much interest in what was going
on. He had something else to consider-some-
thing even more serious to him than was the de-
fense of the colony to these young patriots. He
was thinking that by the time they had finished
the improvement in the fortification, a body of
soldiers would march him out on the open space
within the fort, then draw up in a blue and white
line opposite to him, and aim at him with their
glistening guns. Then an officer would give the
signal. Bang! would go the muskets; and very
poor marksmen indeed must they be, if they did
not leave him there on the ground- dead !
That was what this young man was considering,
and the thought was not a pleasant one. Not at

there in the sunshine, under the big broad arch
of the sky, and to feel the cool sea-breeze blow
around him in a friendly way. There was a great
difference between this and being kept in his hot
cell, where a small window let in light and air in
such a miserly way.
He began to take considerable interest in the
work on the fortification, after all. As the brown-
stone wall rose, he watched the young collegians
wheeling barrows filled with material, and helping
so generously, and he found much pleasure in the
sight. Sometimes he would sigh heavily when
the thought came that in a few weeks he was to
be shot, for his time was drawing to an end now.
Then he would try to forget it all; indeed, what
was the use of thinking about it ? To brood upon


all. He did n't desire to be shot. He was only
twenty-five. He preferred to live to a green old
age and then die quietly in his bed. But he had
been arrested as a spy, and things had looked sus-
picious when a drawing of the place was found upon
him and he could n't give the countersign.
Then it was a bad thing for him that he con-
fessed to coming from Kings County, which was
then a hot-bed of Tories. But all these things
had happened, and he had been taken before the
court and sentenced, in a dreadfully harsh way, to
be shot. He had only some six months to live.
That was better than being shot as soon as they
captured him, but still it was n't very good. He
greatly preferred not to be shot at all.
He was not treated cruelly in the mean time.
During a certain part of the day he was permitted
to come out of his cell and walk about in the in-
closure of Fort Jay. It was so pleasant to come

his fate would only poison what little life remained
for him.
There was a little girl who interested George
Horton (for that was the prisoner's name) even
more than did the fortifications. She was a child
whose yellow hair shaded her tiny face and fell
almost to her large blue eyes. Her father was the
commander on the island. She often came out
with him to look at what the young collegians and
the others were doing to the fort. She did not
understand much about the art of war, though the
daughter of a soldier. But she liked to see them
set the big stones in place as they hoisted them to
the top of the wall, which was very high, for they
had now nearly finished their labors.
George Horton was a man pleasant to look upon.
He had eyes which were deeply blue, full red lips
delicately curved, and a head of curly brown hair.
He did n't look like a spy, but he was going to be


shot as one. The little Alice did not know that.
They did not wish to shock her tender soul by
so painful a thought.
Why don't you work, and help those black men
and the boys ? she said one day so innocently to
George Horton, looking up trustfully into his face.
It was the honorable faculty of Columbia whom
she described as "black men," because she saw
them in their dark clothes.
Oh, they have enough without me, Little
One," said Horton.
"But I wish you to help, too," said Alice, im-
Well, I '11 tell you what I will do. You ask
your papa to let me have a mallet and some cut-
ting-tools, and two or three blocks of this stone,
and I will carve something to go over the sally-
port," he answered, half in jest, to please the child.
But the little girl took it all quite seriously, and
told her papa that the man who walked around "
wanted stone, and things to cut it with, and he
would make something to put on top of the Sally-
gate." She was her papa's commanding officer,
because her mamma was dead and had left this
little golden-haired angel to remind her husband
of her and of their short but happy married life.
So the commander said the man should have plenty
of stone, and could chip away all he chose. He
can't do any mischief," he said to himself, "and
there 's stone enough and to spare."
The next day he gave orders that the prisoner
should be supplied with the tools he needed, and
said he could have some of the stone blocks. Hor-
ton picked out a sunny spot somewhat apart from
the scene of the men's labors and used it as a
studio. It had a low bench for furniture, upon
which he could put the blocks to be cut, and also
a seat where Alice could sit and watch his work.
First, the young fellow took some brown paper
and on it drew a beautiful design for a piece of
sculpture. In it there were to be cannons, flags,
cannon-balls, and guns, and the whole made quite
an imposing piece for the sally-port. He measured
the walls, and determined the size and proportions
of his sculpture.
See the pretty thing the man is going to make,"
said Alice to her papa, when he came down to the
works one day. Papa looked at the plan and was
surprised. It was much more artistic than he had
supposed it would be. Then as he examined the
proportions, the scale according to which George
Horton meant to carve, his mustaches went up
a little; for he was smiling grimly at the thought
that there could hardly be time to finish all that
before the prisoner would have to be interrupted
in his work -and shot! But he said to himself
that it would do no harm to let him go ahead. It

would please him and would please the little girl,
and it did not matter very much whether the sculpt-
ure was ever finished or not.
Horton looked about among the pieces of brown-
stone, rubbed his finger along their surfaces, and
picked out some of the largest and finest-grained
blocks. He wheeled these in a barrow to the spot
he had selected, put one on the bench, and, with
his design before him, set to work.
Alice did not take much interest during the first
day or two, because he seemed to be simply knock-
ing the stone to pieces, and she was afraid of being
hurt by some of the bits that came flying through
the air from the chisel. But when the piece began
to exhibit the rough proportions of a cannon, and
of a draped flag, and George showed her in the
picture what the part was and where it would be
in the completed work, she became more interested,
and would sit there talking to the young fellow and
watching him with admiring eyes.
"You are truly working on the fort now, are n't
you ? she said to him.
"Yes, Alice, I am making this for you, and it
will be your present to the fort, because it was done
to please you," George answered, pleasantly.
He became absorbed in the work, and it went
on bravely. Alice's papa often came to see it.
He was quite surprised to find that the young
prisoner was really a sculptor. He carved the
brown-stone with true artistic skill.
Day after day his chisel would dig out the form
and outlines of the group, and every day the little
girl came, sat by, and looked at it.
Poor George had done no more than hew the
stone into some rough resemblance to his plan,
however,- and in a week more he was to be shot!
He would not be able to finish it! The commander
came oftener to look on; and as he studied over it,
he would twist his long mustaches and look very
grave. Then he would walk away, biting at the
end of his mustaches, and with his heavy eyebrows
knit. As the time for the execution drew nearer
and nearer, the commander came more frequently,
and used to watch with peculiar interest the sturdy
young fellow who chipped away so vigorously at
the hard stone. Once the officer seemed to sigh
as he saw the young man stop and wipe the per-
spiration from his brow.
One day, Alice for some time had been watching
the cannon which was getting very round and
smooth now as George worked away at it; and
when her papa came she was ready to go away
with him.
Good-bye, George," she said (he had told
her his name) and.held out her hand.
Good-bye, Little One," he said cheerfully. He
had come to love the bright child who seemed to


take such pleasure in being near him. He cared
more for her than for the sky, or the sea breeze -
more than for the sunshine.
She held his hand, and then put up her pretty
I 'd like to kiss you," she said, in a simple
George glanced at her father, who was standing
close by. That stern warrior nodded his head to
the little girl who was his commanding officer, and
Horton lifted her up to his face and kissed her

in a few days has shown remarkable skill in carv-
ing. The group he is making promises to be
quite an ornament to the sally-port. He has
worked very industriously and faithfully. Now, it
seems a pity that he should not have time to finish
his work. It is something that will be a monu-
ment to his name. We are soldiers, and we know
that glory is better than life. It seems hard to
take him away from the sculpture before he has
completed it. The respite will be short.
I have called you together, then, to say," he



r .I
iii ,
4.- '
'^^* ',/


heartily. Then he gently set her down, and she
ran off by her papa's side,- full of childish life and
While he was holding the little girl she had
flung her arms around his neck and clung to him,
and a very pleasant smile had come on the young
fellow's lips at this proof of her artless regard.
The father of Alice had watched the scene, and
kept very stiff and stern. But when they started
to go he said, "Good-bye, Horton," in a brisk
but friendly way.
That evening Alice's father summoned the other
officers to a meeting for the following day in the
mess-room. When they came, at ten o'clock the
next morning, he said to them:
The prisoner who is under sentence to be shot

continued, "to say that I think,-as he can be
executed at any time, and as the work can not be
finished if he is shot,- and especially when we
consider that he has worked so diligently and has
been so well behaved,- I think, I say, that we
ought to reprieve him until he finishes the
sculpture for the sally-port. What do you say,
gentlemen ? "
Well, they were all in favor of it except one old
martinet who would not have put off even his own
execution, and who would have critically examined
the men and their guns while they were drawn
up ready to shoot him. He said no. But all the
rest said yes. They were in favor of it. So the
martinet remained a very small minority indeed,
and did n't count.

I '

I'$~ ah:'.~'". i


When the commander went back to his room he
wrote on a slip of paper, Your sentence will not
be carried out until you have had time to finish the
sculpture for the sally-port." He signed his name
to it, and then looked around to find his little
Allie," he said to her, "you see this paper?
I wish you to take it and give it to the man who is
carving the stone."
"That 's George," said Allie, smartly.
Well, you give this to George, then," said her
papa, and he closed her small fingers over the
paper. "Do not lose it."
George was chipping away at a new block when
he saw the blue-eyed creature running toward
him. Her golden hair was tossed by the wind
and blown about her head till it looked, George
thought, like the golden halo around the head of a
saint in an old picture.
"Here, George!" she said, as she came up,
and thrust out her hand holding the paper. He
took it, and she put her hands behind her back
and looked at him to see what the paper would do.
He read it, his face brightened, and he caught up
the little girl, kissed her, and told her she was a
darling. Then, putting the little girl into the seat
she usually occupied, George returned to his carv-
ing. Alice had never seen him show so much
delight in his task.
So the work went on, day after day. George
added new features to the design till it became a
very effective group indeed. The wall was fin-
ished and the young students of Columbia were
ready to return to Homer and kindly old Horace.
But the piece for the sally-port was yet to be put
into place. George Horton had cut and smoothed
and rounded it. It needed all his courage to lay
down his chisel and say, It is done," when the
green sward and the crack of the muskets were to
be the reward of his labor. But he felt he could
do no more. It was done; and all that now re-
mained was to hoist the different blocks to their
places over the sally-port.
Much interest had been taken in it of late. It
was an excellent bit of work. The old soldiers
came and looked at it, and so did the learned
"He 's a good one for clipping stone, he is,"
said a soldier.
"Yes; he seems proficient in the glyptic art,"
said a saucy collegian; whereupon the blue-coat
looked at him with envy.
It was a bright, sunny morning, and the men
were hoisting up the carved blocks. George, with
pride in his eye, was superintending the work.
They had the blocks all in position, and were put-
ting the top-piece into its place. Alice was watch-

ing the operation. She kept near to George, who
was directly below, where he could see everything.
As the men were setting the last block, a rather
heavy stone, Alice saw some pretty dandelions
growing near the wall, just beneath the entrance
to the sally-port. She ran to get them. As she
stooped to pick them up, through some awkward-
ness or miscalculation, the stone slowly toppled,
and in a moment more was falling !
A shriek broke from Alice's father, soldier
though he was, when he saw death hurtling down
upon his lovely little girl. But George Horton
had seen the danger even sooner than the father.
On the instant he dashed forward, and leaning
over against the wall, he screened the body of the
little girl with his own.
Happily the big block did not fall directly upon
him. But it crashed down and threw him to the
ground, and the child too was overthrown. Had
he not stepped forward it would have grazed her
body, but might have left her unscathed. As it
was, she was not hurt, though her fright was great,
and the soldiers who ran up carried her to her
But poor Horton lay there deathly white near
the stone, which had grazed one of his limbs. He
had fainted from the pain. They carefully raised
him and bore him to the barracks.
It was only by the greatest care that his leg was
saved from amputation, for there was danger of
mortification. But there were no bones broken,
and, after five or six weeks' siege in a sick-room,
Horton recovered and could walk about.
Alice's father was greatly touched by the self-
sacrifice of the young fellow. It went to his sol-
dierly heart to see the courageous young man hurl
himself into the breach, and especially, to save his
little golden-haired girl from deadly peril. It did
not take him long to decide what he ought to
do. He prepared a communication to the com-
mander-in-chief, and set forth what Horton had
done. He told of the young fellow's good con-
duct, of his hard, earnest work on the sculpture
for the sally-port ; touched in terms of high praise
on the work itself as a piece of ornamental carving,
and spoke of how great a decoration it was to the
new fort. Then he told of Horton's noble con-
duct in trying to save the little girl from being
hurt by the falling stone, and of the severe injury
and long, painful illness which had resulted.
"Is not this a case for clemency? We, the
undersigned, urge the prisoner's release. He has
shown himself worthy of mercy. If he is released
on parole he is a man to keep his word."
All the officers signed this document except the
dreadful old martinet, who voted that Horton should
be thanked and praised and then -be shot.


At the end of the document, in a large, sprawl-
ing hand, was written:

DERE GENERAL: George saved my Life, and I wish you would
please let him go. He is a good, kind, man. ALICE PRESCOTT.

In a few days the General sent a document in
reply, and it proved to be Horton's release on
parole. When he was told, he was glad enough.
He seized the little Alice the next time he saw her
and said:
"When you grow up, Alice, and see the carv-
ing over the sally-port, you can say, 'That saved
George Horton's life, and except for me it would
not have been made.' Then he kissed her very
heartily, and she returned the kiss with childlike

George Horton married, and some of his great-
grandchildren are yet living in Kings County.
Alice was married, too, and when she brought her
children to see the sally-port she pointed to the
sculpture, and told them it had saved a man's life,
and that a soldier had carved it at her request when
she was a little girl.
And there it is to-day over the sally-port. The
edges are eaten away by the weather, and it looks
a little flaky and the worse for wear. But it lends
an interest to it to know that the young fellow who
carved it lived to a green old age because of this

work, instead of meeting a tragic death on the
green sward of Fort Columbus in his youth.




MY little girl is eight to-day-
That is, she 's just twice four;
Or four times two, perhaps you '11 say;
And maybe that 's a better way
To make my love seem more.

For when my pretty Ruth was two,-
When she was just half four,-
It seemed as if the love I knew
Had grown -or, as she'd say, "had grew"-
Till it could grow no more.

She was a little midget then,
When she was only two,
And used to say "Dear Lord, Amen;
Bress Papa, Mamma, 'n' me again";
'T was all the prayer she knew.

And now she 's four times two dear me,
And writes a big round hand;
And when they 're passed a cup of tea
She makes her dolls exclaim "Merci! "
Which French dolls understand.

When eight? or two ? I scarcely know
Which birthday I would choose.
At eight I 'd have, keeping her so,
Four times as much to love,-but oh !
Four times as much to lose.

At what age did she seem most dear?
Ah, well, to tell the truth,
A different blossom bloomed each year;
They all seemed sweet; but this one here,
You know, is really Ruth.


"- ---l---- L-

-. -,




SINCE the time of Henry VII., the old town of
Portsmouth, in England, has been the headquar-
ters of the British Navy. To English boys the
place is familiar through stories and biographies
of sea heroes. But to American boys a brief
description of Portsmouth will not be without in-
terest. The town is built on the east side of the
harbor, an extensive piece of water running from
the English Channel into the south coast of the
county of Hampshire. Along its east shore and
extending year by year farther north, is the dock-
yard. Let us climb the signal-tower and take a
view of the surrounding sights. The yard, with
its numerous docks, basins, sheds, factories, and
houses, looks like a settlement of no little extent;
but beyond, through the generally smoky atmos-
phere, can be seen the town and its environs.
This vast expanse of brick and mortar gives one
some idea of the necessities which attend so large
an establishment as the dock-yard.
The thousands of workmen employed form a
colony in themselves, and they occupy the parts of
the town toward the north and east; while along
the coast in the same direction, the town of South-
sea stretches away for two or three miles. It is
here that the officers- naval, military, and civil -
for the most part reside, and the view in this direc-
tion, embracing as it does the well-laid-out recrea-
tion grounds, the piers and their crystal pavilions,
the canoe-lake and other ornamental waters, is
most pleasing.

Looking south, we see, over the fort-studded
waters of the Solent, the Isle of Wight the garden
of England. Continuing around the circle of our
view, we come to Stokes Bay, where a huge iron-
clad is tearing along on the measured mile at the
top of her ponderous speed, doing her utmost
to establish a reputation for swiftness. She is
closely followed by an arrow-like torpedo-boat,
which gradually gains on her, yard by yard. But
the torpedo-boat is not matching her speed with that
of the monster. She is out only for trial of her
deadly discharge-tubes, and so, just when the race
is most exciting to the onlookers at the top of the
tower, the little boat shoots off in a direction oppo-
site to that taken by the huge iron-clad.
Glancing to the west side of the harbor, we see
the Naval Hospital at Haslar, a fine pile of build-
ings, which appears capacious enough for all the
officers and men of the British fleet, and not alone
the sick and wounded. Near by is the victualing-
yard at Gosport, with its great bakeries and stores
of clothing and provisions.
Along the north shore of the harbor are the
Portsdown hills, the sky-line of which is broken by
threatening forts, and an occasional chalk-quarry,
while Nelson's monument crowns the ridge. Right
below us, in the harbor, are three venerable men-
of-war. The largest on the right is the Duke of
Wellington," the flag-ship of the Commander-in-
Chief of the port. This vessel served a commis-
sion at sea in the Baltic, during the war against

* The illustrations to this article are copied, by permission, from photographs by Messrs. Symonds & Co., Portsmouth, England.


Russia in 1854, and afterward. She is nearly the
last of her race, as iron soon afterward began to
fulfill the pretended prophecy of old Mother Ship-
ton, the soothsayer, which ran :
SIron in the water shall float,
As easy as a wooden boat."

Next comes the most treasured relic of her naval
struggles which Great Britain possesses. This is the
venerable and venerated Victory," the flag-ship of
Lord Nelson, his battle-field and his death-bed. On
the 2Ist of every October, the old ship is decorated
with garlands in memory of that day in 1805, when
the great and glorious battle of Trafalgar was so
bravely fought and so dearly won.
The third old ship always an object of interest
to strangers visiting Portsmouth-is the "St.
Vincent," a training-ship for boys. The lads were
aloft actively engaged at drill when we saw them.
Nor should we forget the quaint parish church,
built in the twelfth
century, with its peal
of bells stolen by an
admiral from Dover
some hundreds of

years ago, and then
brought round in
his ship to Ports-
mouth; and its old
organ saved from the
wreck of a vessel
which was conveying
it to Spain.
In July, 1887, be-
ing already familiar
with the surround-
ings of England's
great naval center,
we entered the dock-
yard to see the rapid
preparations to bring
forward, for commis-

empty ship, requiring extensive repairs to her hull,
new boilers, and a general refit of her machinery, is
placed in the fourth class.
The ships then preparing were the Inflexi-
ble," "Collingwood," "Edinburgh," and "Impe-
rieuse"; a fast torpedo vessel, the "Fearless";
nineteen small iron gunboats, and nearly thirty
torpedo-boats. As the little torpedo-boats had
already been manned, and were just home from a
cruise, they were awaiting only the return of their
officers and men from the depot-ships, and could
be made ready in about two hours.
It was about nine o'clock on the morning of the
Ist of July. The Inflexible, Collingwood, and
Edinburgh were to be commissioned. The cap-
tains and most of the officers had arrived in Ports-
mouth the night before, and at the hour named
the ensign was hoisted at the staff, and the cap-
tain's whip-like pennant was run aloft to the truck
of the mast with all due solemnity. For some min-

sion, the ships and 'i,. iI.
torpedo-boats about I
to be assembled for '"'7- .... 11- '' ''-
reviewby the Queen, '. .
on the occasion of -
the Jubilee, on July
23d. It should first
be understood that
a ship is said to be
her commander has
been commissioned to man and prepare her for utes there was a continued fire of greetings from old
service at sea. Other ships are in "reserve"; the friends, who stumbled upon one another on the
first reserve containing ships nearly ready for sea deck of the same ship after long years of separa-
service, and so on downward, till a dismantled and tion. But soon the bustle began; the men carried
VOL. XVI.-2.


below the bags containing their kits, the ham-
mocks were stowed in the boxes, and for some time
everybody, from the captain down to Jack-in-
the-Dust," or the steward's small boy, was busy

outfitters, who take care of them until their owners
return perhaps after many years have elapsed.
The stowage of the cabins was soon complete
enough to enable their tenants to occupy them,

-~ .T -


settling down-a brief process with officers who
are well accustomed to it, and whose worldly be-
longings seldom exceed a fair load for a four-
wheeled cab. The officers and their servants work
together with a will to stow into tiny cabins gear
which in chaotic disorder would appear to require
a warehouse for its reception.
Here, an officer, with coat and vest off, is giving
his personal attention to his valued knickknacks,
pictures, and mirrors, while he directs his servant
as to the stowage of his clothing, which is rapidly
transferred from the unwieldy chest, or packing-
case, which refused to go through the cabin door,
into the chest of drawers under his bunk; for, on
board ship, space is so limited that an economy
Goldsmith thought worthy of note in the ale-house
of the Deserted Village"-"a bed by night, a
chest of drawers by day"-is almost the rule.
But by noon, most of the empty cases are on their
way from the dock-yard to the stores of the various

and the disposition of the many ornaments was
left till some more leisurely hour. Meanwhile, a
no less busy scene has been enacted on the men's
mess-deck. The bags having been stowed in the
iron racks prepared for them, the men are busy
putting their broad-brimmed straw hats and their
ditty-boxes overhead.
The ditty-box itself is certainly worth looking
into. It is a plain deal case, with lock and key,
and comes in for its share of scrubbing and clean-
ing with the same unsparing severity as the shin-
ing deck. It contains all the treasures which a
sailor can carry about with him. Now it holds but
little, its contents being only the few articles
necessary to the tailoring which each man must do
to keep his clothes in order, a book or two, a few
home treasures, and maybe a watch and chain.
Occasionally a promising young seaman may
have gone so far as to provide for the likelihood of
his being promoted to the rating of boatswain's-


mate during the commission, and have brought
with him a silver call or whistle, perhaps the pres-
ent of his wife or sweetheart. Before the end of a
commission, the ditty-box probably will be full of
letters from home, and of all bright days in the life
of a sailor on a foreign station, the brightest are
those on which the mail arrives.
But over the ditty-box, we are forgetting the
men themselves. They have been told off to the
different messes in which, generally speaking, they
will live for the term of the ship's commission,
though many may change, from time to time.

boxes divided off by a low bulkhead, or partition,
from the open deck, the messes consist simply of a
plain oblong wooden table, hanging at one end
from the ship's side, and supported at the other
by iron legs. A bench runs along each side of the
table, and a few racks, to hold plates, basins, and
other crockery in security when the vessel knocks
about at sea, complete the furniture of the
The food of each mess is prepared, day by day,
by the member who in turn is cook of the
mess," and by him it is taken to and brought from


Either they leave the ship, or they can not agree the galley, where it is cooked on the stove by the
with their messmates, or they wish to be in the ship's cook. The cook performs this duty for
same mess with their chums or towniess," and so all the messes, except those of the officers, who
are exchanged from one mess to another for the have their own galleys. The men of each mess
mutual satisfaction of all parties. Excepting those are responsible for its cleanliness, and on Satur-
of the chief petty-officers, who live in one or more day, the great cleaning-day, tables and benches


are placed overhead, that the decks may be thor-
oughly scrubbed.
But when noon arrives, the sentry strikes eight-
bells with a vigor peculiarly characteristic of ma-
rine sentries at this hour, and immediately there is
a clattering of tin dishes, plates, spoons, knives,
and forks, above which is heard the shrill piping
of the boatswain's-mates' calls, as they pipe to
dinner with their long-drawn notes and tremolos.
During the busy days of commissioning, the time
granted to the men for their meals is short, and
as, until after the evening quarters, or muster,
their only chance to smoke is during meal-hours,
very little time is lost in conversation at dinner,

I -
S. -"t .I ,, ,. -.- ,,..:. ,. -

ficers in charge, and the gunnery and torpedo
lieutenants; and whenever anything is amiss, the
fact is reported to the captain, who attends to sup-
plying the deficiency.
For some days this goes on. Carts are contin-
ually arriving from the different stores in the yard
with rope, canvas, and the thousand and one last
articles required. At last the ship is ready to re-
ceive her powder and shell, to have her compasses
adjusted, and to run a steam-trial in charge of her
own engineers and stokers.
When her stores are shipped she is hauled from
alongside the dock-yard wall andmade fast to abuoy
in the harbor. Or she goes out of harbor and takes


nearly everybody wishing to secure as much time
as possible for his pipe. When the dinner-hour
is over, out go the pipes and all the men (or
"hands," as they are termed) are told off to
various duties; but to-day the bugle sounds to
exercise at "general quarters," which means, pre-
paring for action. When a ship has been some
time in commission, this is a matter of a very few
moments; but now the gun-gear has to be tested,
and examinations must be made to see that all
articles and stores for working the guns, providing
powder and projectiles, or for flooding the maga-
zines in case of fire, are supplied.
So everything is minutely inspected by the of-

in her powder, has the errors of her compasses
ascertained and recorded, or corrected, and runs
her trial trip. There may be a few defects to be
repaired, after which she probably goes for a week's
cruise in the Channel to test her sea-going quali-
ties and familiarize her officers with her behavior.
Finally, she leaves England for her station abroad.
Such is an outline of the method of commission-
ing a ship; and though the ships for the Jubilee
Review were to be commissioned for only a short
time, yet they went through this whole routine. It
was intended that they should be fitted as if for
general service; and, indeed, their efficiency was
severely tested in the complicated maneuvers.



Shortly after being placed in commission the
big ships went on a cruise to Portland, sixty miles
to the westward of Portsmouth, an : there they
remained until their return to Spithead to take
position for the Review. Meanwhile the smaller
vessels, gunboats and torpedo-boats, were being
prepared; but as the work of commissioning these

their anchorage after the Review. As we go out
toward the fleet we pass close to a little squadron
of six trim sailing-brigs, which are tenders to the
boys' training-ships at Portsmouth, Portland, and
Plymouth. Pretty, toy-like craft they seem in the
foreground of the vast fleet of grim war-vessels.
Our torpedo-boat dashes across the bows of

.. .

-.. .- -. -. .-; .-- .,-. ..:.,'- .* x y:



small craft is comparatively light, it was left till a
later time. By the I8th of July, all the ships were
ready, and two days afterward the magnificent
fleet was moored in its formation. Thousands of
spectators daily thronged the beach, the piers, and
the frequent excursion-steamers which ran up and
down the lines of war-vessels. After dark, prac-
tice with the electric lights began, in order to in-
sure the success of the illuminations which were to
follow the Review.
All the fleet being in position, activity and
order took the place of bustle and confusion. A
glance at the chart (see page 26) shows us that the
big ships were moored in three squadrons, of two
divisions, or lines, each. Between the northern
lines of the squadrons called Second Divisions -
and the shore, were five flotillas composed of smaller
turret-ships, gunboats, and torpedo-boats. This
arrangement was made in order that those ships
which were to maneuver in company might be placed
together and be in convenient positions for leaving

two old-fashioned turret-ships, Prince Albert "
and Glatton," which lead the lines of D Flotilla;
and we pass on under the stern of the Agincourt,"
and board the Minotaur," which is flying the
flag of Vice-Admiral Sir William Hewett, V. C.
These two ships, each having five masts, are just
alike, so that a visit to one will make us acquainted
with both. At the gangway, we are received by an
officer who willingly sends a quartermaster over
the ship with us, as his own duties do not permit
him to leave the upper deck during his watch.
From the raised poop we have a splendid view of
the opposite line of ships, while dead astern of us
is a confused forest of masts, funnels, and super-
structures. Through the gaps between the ships
of the other line we can see the torpedo-boats, but
we must inspect them more closely on our return
trip to the harbor. Looking forward, the bows of
the ship seem to be a tremendous distance away,
while the intervening deck, unincumbered by big
guns, looks like a ball-room floor--for which, our


guide informs us, it very frequently has to do
The admiral is on shore, so, under supervision
of the sentry, we take a walk around his cabins.


.1+ -

it '

man's writing-table is situated. This has a thor-
oughly business-like air, in contrast with its more
romantic surroundings. Electric bells connect the
desk with every part of the ship, summoning by a

:1 4


We expected something very spacious for such a
" monarch of the sea," but we find one compart-
ment almost monopolized by a big 12-ton gun,
ponderous, but harmless in comparison with the
more modern and lighter pieces of ordnance which
we shall see later. On one side of this gun is the
admiral's sleeping-apartment, a comfortable place,
like any gentleman's dressing-room. On the op-
posite side of the gun are the dining-tables, adapted
for the admiral and his staff, or for larger parties,
" for 't is n't often as the admiral does n't have a lot
of people to dinner," remarks the quartermaster.
Then we step into the after-cabin, which is deco-
rated with pictures of ships which the admiral
formerly commanded, and with curiosities from
almost every land under the sun. There is a won-
derful shield and silver gauntlet, and numerous
spears and robes, all presents from the King of
Abyssinia, for the admiral is a member of the
ancient Abyssinian Order of Solomon. There is
a splendidly mounted horn from Norway; there
are trophies from the Soudan, West Africa, the
Cape of Good Hope, and China, in such profusion
that we seem to be paying a visit to a museum.
Many photographs of friends occupy the rest
of the available space, except where the great

touch officers of the staff, sentries, or signalmen;
while baskets of papers, blue-books, and piles of
letters and papers lie about.
Around the stern are glass doors leading out
to a small veranda, called the stern-walk, which
looks pleasant in this July weather. But it would
not be a comfortable place during a bitter winter
night in the English Channel.
Passing out of the cabin, and down a steep lad-
der, we reach the after part of the main-deck.
Behind a screen of red curtains are a stove and
some easy-chairs of cane or wicker-work, for this
is the officers' smoking-room.
For some little distance forward,- or toward the
bows,- on each side, are cabins or offices, and then
we come to the monster guns which seem to reach
almost up to the deck above. We wonder how
it can be possible to live while they are fired in so
confined a space ; but it is said that the noise is
less deafening inside the vessel than outside.
Between the guns are the men's messes, as already
described. There is no room beyond the space
necessary for moving about. Cooking-stoves, huge
chain-cables, and mess-places for the chief petty-
officers, occupy every available inch of the middle
part of the deck, while the guns and tables in the



men's messes fill up the sites, leaving only a nar-
row gangway.
We now dive down a dark hatchway near the
bows, by means of an iron ladder, and coming to
the lower deck we find the cells, capstan, and elec-
tric-light machinery, racks for the men's bags,
and scores of other things. On this deck, and be-
low it, the ship is divided off into water-tight com-
partments, by means of iron walls or bulkheads.
We pass through them by heavy iron doors, which
can be closed at a second's notice. But we are now
nearly below the level of the water outside, and the
only light we get is from the hatchways and some
small windows called scuttles, which are pierced

pies nearly the whole length and breadth of the
room, but a piano is just squeezed in at one corner.
In the bulkhead, at the opposite end of the gun-
room, is a small sliding window, which leads into
the pantry. This window is incessantly opening
and shutting, while the miscellany of articles passed
through it is perfectly astounding.
A gun-room steward must be a man of many
talents, or his life will not be worth living. The
calls on his temper are outnumbered only by the
demands on his stock, and he must learn to brook
the imperious tone of the childlike voices which
command him, half-a-dozen times a day, to bring
me my jam, and look sharp about it; my boat is

~-, ~---.-. -,..-r


through the ship's side. In some places the side
is of great thickness, owing to the armor and its
backing. In this old ship the armor is only five
and a half inches thick, while that of the new In-
flexible" is twenty-four inches thick, and has a
backing of twenty-five inches.
In one compartment we find the "gun-room,"
the mess-place of the younger officers. This is a
dingy cave, lighted now by a dim oil-lamp; but the
young officer who welcomes us informs us that at
night, when the engines are working, the room is
well lighted by electricity. Against the ship's side
are lockers for books and sextants, while hooked on
the bulkheads are numerous telescopes, swords,
dirks, and a hundred other articles. A table occu-

called away." Often enough the order is drowned
in a babel of other shouts from a multitude of
throats simultaneously yelling for various extraor-
dinary articles of consumption- cocoa, biscuits,
tobacco, or fruit. Sometimes the babel is silenced
by a stentorian shout from a sub-lieutenant, who
subdues the tumult by authority, and takes advan-
tage of the lull to enforce his own claim for a
cooling draught. But in response to the bewilder-
ing outcries, the steward gives a cheerful "Aye,
aye; one moment, sir! and before that brief inter-
val has expired, a dozen different articles are thrust
through the window with a precision only acquired
by years of practice.
Just outside the gun-room are the chests of its



occupants, for the young officers have no cabins.
Each chest contains all the worldly possessions of
one officer: which, thus packed, are as inaccessible
as they well can be. Immediately under the lid
are three or four shallow trays. One of these is
fitted as a washstand, with basin, mug, soap-dish,
and receptacle for tooth-brushes. Another till is a
sort of loose box for everything; while a third con-
tains a miscellaneous collection of neckties, hand-
kerchiefs, pipes, money, and a limited stock of
jewelry. Under these trays, and packed more or
less tidily, according to the tendencies of the
marine servant who looks after each young gen-
tleman, are his uniforms, suits of plain clothes,
boots, linen, and articles of haberdashery. After
this explanation, my readers will not find it diffi-
cult to understand why the expression "everything
on top, and nothing at hand, like a midshipman's
chest," is commonly applied to any chaotic disar-
rangement on board ship.
Abaft, or nearer the stern of the ship than the
gun-room, is the ward-room, where the senior offi-
cers live. This is a spacious apartment surrounded
by tastefully decorated cabins, and lighted from
the deck above by a large open skylight, or hatch-

seniors to be much more appropriate to gun-room
From our inspection of the Minotaur we re-
turned to the torpedo-boat which was to convey us
through the lines, and passing down between the
port and starboard divisions of the three squad-
rons, A, B, and C, we turned to come up between
the lines of the flotillas of gunboats and torpedo-
boats. Being anxious to pay a visit to a torpedo-
boat, we selected No. 81, which, being one of the
largest boats, was in H flotilla. She is one hundred
and thirty-five feet in length, and capable of
steaming eighteen knots, or sea-miles, an hour.
This is equal to a speed of more than twenty land-
miles. Her crew comprises a lieutenant, who
commands, a sub-lieutenant, a gunner, an engi-
neer-officer, and sixteen deck and stoke-hold hands.
The men are all specially trained in their duties,
the seamen in gunnery and torpedo-work, the
engine-room artificers and stokers in the care of
the delicate machinery and boilers of these boats.
Her armament consists of quick-firing machine-
guns, which throw a projectile three pounds in
weight, and capable of piercing a considerable
thickness of iron or steel plating. But besides



-. "" ..' -

way. The ward-room differs from the gun-room in these guns, which may be considered as the aux-
its staid and sober quiet, except when some young iliary armament of a torpedo-boat, are the tubes
officers, but recently promoted from the latter mess, and carriages for discharging torpedoes. Fixed
show a liveliness popularly considered by their in the bows, and opening out through the stem,




A:'I i

wft. -




or cutwater, is a tube which fires only directly
ahead of the boat. On deck are other tubes which
can be pointed, or, as it is called, "trained," in
any direction desirable. The torpedo is dis-
charged from its tube or carriage by means of
gunpowder or compressed air, which is called the
impulse. This expels the torpedo with consider-
able force, and during its progress to the water
a small obstruction throws back a lever on the top
of the torpedo, and so admits compressed air, from
the chamber in which it is stored, into the engines.
Thus the screw-propellers are set in motion auto-
matically as the torpedo is entering the water;
and while they continue to revolve the torpedo is
kept moving through the water toward the object
at which the tube or carriage was aimed. The
torpedo can be adjusted, before being fired, to
go through the water at any particular depth
The torpedo itself is double-ended in shape, like
a cigar. At the forward point is a detonating con-
trivance called a "pistol," which explodes the
charge when the torpedo comes into contact with
an object. To insure detonation of the pistol,
even if the object is not struck at right angles,
there are "whiskers" or projections, and these
cause detonation if the torpedo strikes the object
obliquely. Next to the pistol comes the charge of
gun-cotton, the weight of which varies in different

torpedoes, but which may be taken as about one
hundred pounds. The greater part of it is wet
gun-cotton, which is ignited by the explosion of
some dry gun-cotton, called a primer; and this
primer is itself exploded by the action of the ful-
minate contained in the pistol. The torpedo also
contains a chamber of air to give it buoyancy, and
another chamber of compressed air for working
the engines. The engines are contained in an-
other compartment, from which the shafts to
turn the* screws pass to the stem of the torpedo.
There are two screws which work in opposite direc-
tions on the same center. This is accomplished
by putting the shaft of one inside the shaft of the
other. There are rudders for keeping the torpedo
on its course and at its proper depth, and these
are worked by a balance mechanism in the interior
of the torpedo. Small projecting fins on the body
of the torpedo reduce its tendency to roll. Precau-
tions are also taken to render the torpedo harmless
until it has gone a certain distance, and again after
it has run its journey. In the absence of such pre-
cautions it might be more dangerous to friends than
to foes, either by turning round and running back
against the ship from which it was fired, owing to
some defect in the steering arrangements, or by
exploding when picked up by friends.
Half on deck and half below the upper deck of
the boat, are bullet-proof towers, from which the



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officer and steersman maneuver the boat in action.
Inside these towers the steering wheels and the con-
trivances for discharging the torpedoes are placed.
There are narrow slits around the towers through
which the people inside can see what is going on
outside, but which will exclude rifle-bullets.
So much of the bow-compartment of the boat
as is not taken up by the bow torpedo-tubes is
occupied by the men. Then come the engines and
boilers, and the officers' cabin, which will accom-
modate two comfortably, as things go, or more at a
pinch. Though No. 81 boat is designed to accom-
modate four officers besides the commander, every
available inch of space is used for stowing arms,
provisions, cooking utensils, and the many things
necessary for service. In fact, were you to see the
whole of the stores and furniture which a torpedo-
boat carries, placed on the wharf beside her, you
would think it impossible to stow them all away
in so tiny a craft. But our visit to the torpedo-
boat is at an end, and in our own craft, which is
waiting for us, we make for the harbor again.

So fine had the weather been for weeks preced-
ing the review, that as the day of the pageant ap-
proached, all felt that it must change. When the
barometer fell, and the wind chopped round to a
rainy quarter on the evening of the 22d of July, a
regular downpour was foretold for the next day.
Early in the morning I ascended to the top ot
the high signal tower in the dock-yard, and
gazed around. A thin mist hung over the ships
at Spithead, but this was rapidly lifting before a
light breeze, and the waters of the Solent, with the
magnificent fleet reposing quietly at anchor, were
soon revealed. The sky was clear and blue, and
every outline of the surrounding scenery, compris-
ing hills, buildings, ships, and sea, was sharp and
well defined. Close under my tower lay the har-
bor with the old line of battle-ships, and the
" Osborne," the yacht of the Prince of Wales.
All was quiet and still, except the pacing of a
sentinel here and there, until the bell struck the
hour of eight o'clock. Then were heard a few
sharp words of command, a shrill piping, and there






fluttered aloft a brilliant display of bunting, which,
in the twinkling of an eye, had formed itself into
a rainbow over every ship in view. This change
was magical, for one could not see the men running
away along the decks with the ropes which hoisted
the flags into position. From the main-truck of
the Osborne, the standards of the Prince of
Wales and the King of Greece flew side by side.
The forenoon was not very advanced when people
began to throng the walks along the sea-front, the
beach, the piers, and every possible point, above
and below, from which a view of the expected
pageant could be obtained. Long before the time
appointed for the troop-ships conveying visitors
to move out of harbor, thousands were thronging
into the dock-yard, by special trains from London,
in carriages, and on foot. The jetties were soon
covered with people, and lined by ships two and

.: ........"...
: .. .

I .. .

three deep, which received their cargoes of visitors
as fast as they could possibly crowd aboard. The
five gigantic Indian troop-ships, with their vast
white sides glistening under a bright sun, looked
superb. They were all alike, except that each had a
stripe of color to distinguish her from her sister
ships. The "Euphrates," with the blue stripe,
conveyed the Cabinet Ministers and the members of
the House of Lords, while the Crocodile," which
had a yellow streak, was assigned to carry the mem-
bers of the House of Commons. The "Malabar"
was allotted to Indian officials, while nine other
troop-ships carried general visitors who had been
lucky enough to secure tickets in the tremendous
rush to obtain these coveted bits of cardboard which
had been going on for some weeks. Besides the

vessels already named, there were ten vessels for
diplomatists, naval and military functionaries, scien-
tific societies, and friends of those in the navy.
Punctually at the time appointed for the vessels
to start on their tour round the fleet, they began to
move, and at last a long stream of ships was seen
threading its way between the lines of the men-of-
war anchored in review order at Spithead. Many
of them were to repeat the tour in the Royal proces-
sion, so they dropped their anchors near Osborne
Bay, ready to take position in the line which was
to be formed to follow the Queen's yacht, the
"Victoria and Albert." The others, having seen
all there was to be seen, took places to the southward
of the south line of ships, in the positions which you
will see marked in the chart. Soon after three
o'clock a gun was heard. This was the signal which
announced that the Royal yacht was leaving Osborne
Bay. Immediately the sound
was repeated by another gun
fired from the Inflexible (which
S carried the flag of the Com-
mander-in-Chief),and then the
cannonade of a royal salute
thundered from every ship
of the mighty fleet, till the
S'i .iS air reverberated again. Mean-
while the royal procession
approached, and when the
smoke cleared away, every
eye was strained to catch the
first glimpse of the sovereign.
The way is led by the yacht
of the Trinity Corporation,
which precedes the royal yacht
as a pilot, then comes the
"Victoria and Albert," fol-
lowed by the Osborne and the
Stenders and other ships of the
procession. As the vessels
steam grandly up between
the lines, the cheers of the blue-jackets, who are
manning the yards aloft, or are ranged around
the decks and the turrets of the mastless ships, are
taken up by thousands of throats on shore, and
passed along from point to point till the applause
bids fair to out-thunder the salute still ringing
hoarsely in our ears. Having steamed through the
space between the squadrons of large ships and the
flotillas of coast-defense vessels and small craft, the
royal procession extends its tour to the eastward,
and it is generally supposed that the sovereign is
taking a cup of tea! But after some little delay,
the yachts are seen to turn and again approach the
fleet. As they enter between the lines of the
squadrons of big ships the cheering recommences.
Soon the vessels slow down, and, in obedience to a


signal from the Queen, they stop. Then another
signal commands the attendance on board the
"Victoria and Albert" of all the captains of the
ships of the fleet. With them come also the cap-




tains of the foreign men-of-war, and a levee is held,
at which the Queen addresses a few words to several
of the officers. This done, the captains return to
their ships, the procession proceeds on its course,
and a signal is made to the Commander-in-Chief:
" Her Majesty has great satisfaction and pride in
the magnificent display made this afternoon by the
Navy." Then, when the Queen has left the lines,
the salute is repeated and the Review is over.
After the Review numerous small tenders con-
veyed the visitors from the big ships into the har-
bor, as the tide was too low to allow the troop-ships
to go in.
Soon after eight o'clock the small vessels began
to steam out of the harbor and to take up their
positions for the last but, perhaps, most attractive
part of the day's programme.
When it was dark enough, a signal-gun was
fired, and immediately the form of every vessel in
the fleet was revealed by a rainbow of lights from

the bowsprit, over the mastheads, and down to the
stern. Another row of lamps was placed along
the upper deck; the turrets of all the mastless
vessels were outlined by colored lamps, which
made them look like so many fairy castles, instead
of what they really were, massive towers of strength
armed with ponderous guns, capable of hurling
ruin and death into the ranks of the enemy. Be-
tween the masts of the ships there appeared in
large letters of electric light the Royal initials,
" V. R." Rows of colored fireworks, alternating
with bouquets of high-soaring rockets, illuminated
the scene. Change after change of color and de-
vice awoke the admiration of the thousands afloat
and ashore, till at length there flashed from every
ship a searching beam from an electric light.
These beams lighted up the shores of Gosport and
Southsea on one side, and the Isle of Wight on
the other. They displayed the buildings, and the
crowds of people massed together along the beach
and on the house-tops, and for a time converted
night into day. After some minutes of play from
these electric search-lights, which in warfare would
be used to discover the presence of hostile ships
probably a tiny torpedo-boat stealthily approach-
ing under the cover of darkness, the beams were
directed high into the air, and being turned in-
ward, they met in the clouds between the two lines
of ships, and so formed a series of beautiful, pointed
arches of light. Words can not express the grand-
eur of the scene at this moment. Imagine for
yourselves two long lines of massive ironclads
stretching away till, by perspective, they seem to
meet. The forms of their hulls, the graceful
tracery of their tapered spars, are outlined in dots
of various-colored lights. The waters on which
these vessels proudly ride are gently rippled by
the cool night-wind, till every dancing wave reflects
a thousand tiny rays borrowed from the fairy lamps
around, making the whole surface of the sea look
like a floor paved with deep-blue turquoise, and
densely strewn with diamonds.
Above, the lofty pointed arch of soft white light
conceals from view the dark clouds, and dims the
stars, which seem to vie with the myriad electric
lamps defining the forest of masts and yards on
either hand. We can not believe that we are afloat
on a real sea and surrounded by the implements
of all that is cruelest and most horrible on earth -
War. But the steam-whistles, which have been
used during the evening to order the changes in
the illuminations, now suddenly scream out their
final signal.
As if a curtain had dropped before our eyes, all
becomes suddenly black, the darkness seeming
darker by the suddenness of the change. But as
our vision becomes accustomed to the dimmer


light, the stars shine out, as if in triumph at hav-
ing outlasted their transitory rivals.
And now we realize our sudden return to earth.
The rattle of the chain as the anchor of our little
craft comes up, then the splash of the paddles as
they slowly revolve, tell us that we are once more
bound for the harbor. We pick our way cautiously

through a shoal of other vessels, great and small,
all racing for home now that the great show is
over. The monster pageant has required months of
time and many thousands of hands in its prepara-
tion, but its triumphant success is the best reward
to those who have labored so long and so faith-
fully to achieve it.



A i PANESE dolls, fans,
":' '. screens, parasols, tea-
!i''. cups and tea-pots, and
bric-h-brac of various
kinds are familiar ob-
jects to our girls and
boys. Many have seen some of the Japanese them-
selves, and know that there are several hundreds of
their educated class in this country, in business or
at school, studying our civilization and sciences;
but few young Americans have clear ideas of the
present or former condition of this remarkable
We, the people of the United States, were the
first among nations to knock at Japan's door and
ask to be on visiting terms with our far-off neigh-
bor, who for about two hundred and fifty years
had lived like a hermit. That knock hastened the
Japanese revolution, and this revolution overthrew
their double system of government and restored
the Mikado to his proper place as the real ruler of
the country.
This "land of dainty decoration" is destined to
stand high among the world's nations. The strides
it has made in civilization since that revolution of
twenty years ago remind us of the boy who stole
the giant's seven-leagued boots, in the fairy-tale.
Although they are studying us, as well as our
sciences, our religion, and our civilization, they
have no intention of adopting all our customs. On
the contrary, they are examining our ways care-
fully, in order that they may adopt the good, and
reject the bad or whatever is unsuited to their con-
ditions of life.
Here are a few facts about the Japanese which
will not be difficult to remember.
Before their revolution of 1868, the people other
than the nobility were divided into four ranks:
First: The warrior rank, called Samurai (pro-
nounced sah-moo-ri). Second: The farmer rank,
called Hyakusho (hyah-koo-sko). Third: The

mechanic rank, called Shokunin (skj-koo-neen).
Fourth: The merchant rank, called Chonin (chz-
There were two sets lower than these: the Eta,
workers in raw hides; and the Hinin, squatters on
waste lands--the lowest class of beggars. Both
were outcasts.
The degrees in rank above the main body of the
people stood thus:
First: The Mikado, or Emperor, and the royal
families. Second: The Kug6 (pronounced koo-gd),
or the court nobles. Third: The Shogun (shF-
goon) families. Shogun meant the governing man,
chief general. Fourth: The Daimio (dz-myo)
families. Daimio meant masters of provinces, or
territorial nobles.
There were many subdivisions of rank among
these noble families, but the two great divisions
were the court nobility and the sword, or warrior,
Twenty-one years ago, the Emperor of Japan
was a mere figurehead, and his predecessors for
more than five hundred years had been little more.
They lived in strict seclusion and exercised no rul-
ing power. Only a few nobles of the highest rank
had the privilege of beholding the Emperor's face.
The Japanese throne has never been bandied
about from one dynasty to another. Their his-
tory begins twenty-five hundred and forty-nine
years ago, before Nebuchadnezzar conquered the
Jews. During this time, one hundred and twenty-
three sovereigns have sat on the throne, nine of
whom have been women; and all have belonged
to this one dynasty. It is a nameless dynasty, for
it is beyond the need of a family name.
Jimmu, the first Emperor of Japan, was rever-
ently believed to be the great-grandson of Ninigi,
the grandson of the sun-goddess, sent by her to
rule over the earth. From this belief in the divine
origin of the imperial family, arose two of the many
titles of the Mikado, namely: "Tenshi" (pro-


nounced ten-shee), "the son of heaven," and
"Tenno" (pronounced ten-no), "the sovereign
from heaven," or appointed by heaven." Tenno
is the title required to be used officially.
The form of government was an absolute mon-
archy, and the early emperors were the direct
executive heads. The empire was divided into
gun (goon), or provinces, and these subdivided
into ken. This was called the gun-ken system,
and the whole was under the rule of the Emperor.
There was, from very early times, a Shogun, or
general; but at first his power was small. Yori-
tomo, one of the most celebrated men in Japanese
history, obtained great power during a civil war in
the twelfth century by restoring order and estab-
lishing firm government. He became the most
powerful subject in the empire, and the Mikado
appointed him Sei Tai Shogun (say ti sho-goon) in
1192. This title means Barbarian-quelling Great
General," and it was the greatest honor that could
be bestowed on a subject. The whole country was
placed under military rule, and this was the begin-
ning of the double system of Japanese govern-
ment. Gradually, more and more power was
concentrated in the Shogun's hands, while only
empty dignities and numerous titles were left to
the Emperor.
That "son of heaven," however, though often a
child, was the source of all rank and dignity; and
though the office of Shogun became hereditary in
certain families, and though the Shogun lived
with the pomp and splendor of a king, he always
owed his appointment to the Emperor. The
Shogun assumed the protectorship of the Emperor.
This form of government was called the Sho-
The office belonged in turn to several families.
The last dynasty of shoguns was the Tokugawa
(to-koo-gah-wah) family. The founder, Tokugawa
ly6yasu (e-yd-yas-oo) of the noble Minamoto stock,
seized the supreme power in 1603, and held it with
a strong hand. His dynasty continued in power
until 1868, a period of two hundred and sixty-five
years. This was a period of peace in Japan and
continued until their late civil war.
The rulers immediately under the Shogun, and
owing him military service, were the daimio (di-
myo). There were three ranks of daimio; Koku-
shiu (ko-koo-she-oo), the greater landed-lords;
Tozama (to-zak-malz), the smaller landed-lords;
and Fudai (foo-dT), the generals and captains to
whom the Tokugawa family gave land in reward
for services.
These lords had many subordinate officers of
various degrees in rank, all, however, being samu-
rai, or warriors. Every warrior was attached to
some daimio, and therefore was a kerai (a-rz),

or vassal. Those who left the service of their
lords for any purpose were called ronin (ri-neen),
or masterless men.
The feudal system had a very minute code of
honor, and there grew out of it a most exalted
sense of loyalty and devotion. History is full of
the stories of men who sacrificed their lives for
their lords; but the rule did not work both ways -
the lord did not lay down his life for his vassal.
The farmers and other classes in the province of
the daimio put themselves under his protection, and
paid him tribute. These taxes were enormous, for
upon them depended the support of the unproduct-
ive class, the two-sworded gentry called Samurai,
or warriors. So all revenue came into the hands
of the military class, and the Kug6, or court nobles,
became very poor in this world's goods, but not
poor in spirit. The lowest Kuge was superior in
rank to the Shogun.
Besides the Emperor's family there were set
apart four families of imperial descent, from whom
the Emperor might choose an heir for the throne
in case there was no heir in his own family. The
throne did not always descend to the eldest son,
but the father might choose as heir the son who
seemed to him most suitable. The Emperor's
daughters sometimes married nobles, and some-
times married into the royal families belonging to
the dynasty.
Under this double system of government, the
Mikado and the Shogun, the outside world sup-
posed there were two emperors, one a spiritual,
the other a temporal emperor. This temporal
Emperor" was merely the Mikado's general. The
Mikado, the son of heaven," lived at Kioto, a
city beautifully situated, in a palace much like a
temple in outward appearance, but with little of
the splendor of a European palace. Magnificence
of display, might do very well for upstart generals,
but was unseemly for the semi-divinity of royalty.
The Shogun lived at Yeddo, which was thus the real
seat of government.
In 1853, Millard Fillmore, President of the
United States, sent Commodore Perry with a
large squadron of well-equipped vessels, to convey
a letter to the Emperor of Japan asking that a
treaty might be made between the two nations.
The formidable appearance of the steam-vessels
greatly frightened the hermit nation, but com-
pelled a respectful reception of the mission of the
"savages." A high official was sent to receive the
letter, which was delivered, not to the Emperor,
but to the Shogun, who called himself the Tai
Kun" (TZ-koon), meaning great prince or ruler.
The Mikado never bestowed this title on any one,
and the Shogun had not before formally assumed it.
In 1854 the Shogun made a treaty with the


United States, and shortly afterward with England,
France, Holland, and Austria. These treaties
opened a few ports, and when they were ratified in
1859, these were made ports of trade, as well as
ports of entry and supply. But these treaties had
not received the sanction of the Mikado, and were
not really legal. In making them the Shogunate
pretended to be the supreme power in Japan, while
it was not. This deceit hastened its downfall. A
few Japanese saw the necessity of opening the ports,
but by far the greater part were jo-i (fo-ee), for-
eigner-haters. The original meaning of jo-i was
" Keep back, savage."
There were many deep students and thinkers
among both the kuz6 and the daimio families, who
longed to see the Mikado again the ruler of the
nation. The Americans, English, French, and
Dutch were pressing their claims for entrance and
trade. The Mikado disapproved of the treaties
when they were reported to him, and this excited
intense wrath all over the land. The cry arose,
" Honor the Mikado, and drive out the barbarian."
Civil war broke out, followed by ruin and
desolation. The war cry was, Daigi meibun (DZ-gee
ma-boon), meaning, The King and the subject."
Finally, on November 9, 1867, Tokugawa Keiki
formally resigned the office of Sei Tai Shogun.
The Mikado, Komei (Komay), died about the same
time, and his son, Mutsuhito (Moot-soo-hz-to), a
boy of seventeen, was thereupon declared sole sov-
The office of Shogun was abolished, and a pro-
visional government was formed on the 3d of Jan-
uary, 1868. The government intended to expel
the foreigners, but knew it was then not strong
enough. So they waited in order that they might
gain strength.
Now the followers of the Tokugawa families
had seen that it was the best thing for Japan to
introduce foreign civilization. They being out of
power, it seemed that Japan would relapse into
strict seclusion, and again lead the life of a hermit-
crab. But Mr. W. E. Griffis, one of the professors
of the Imperial University of Tokio, Japan, from
1872 to 1874, says the noblest trait in the Japanese
character is willingness to change, when con-
vinced of error or inferiority. The samurai lead-
ers of the restoration induced the imperial court to
invite the foreign ministers to an audience. A per-
sonal meeting helped to make the court nobles see
things more clearly. They had thought all for-
eigners beasts. They found them honorable men,
and with noble humility acknowledged their error
and made friends.

Peace did not come all at once. There-had been
many murders of foreigners, of Americans, English-
men, and men of other nationalities, by fanatical
assassins, and danger lurked in secret places. But
in justice it should be said that these murders were
often provoked by insolence on the part of the for-
eigners. Nevertheless, the path to modern civiliza-
tion had been opened, and in that path the devoted
Japanese leaders have steadily led their people.
The young Mikado, Mutsuhito, the 123d Emperor
of the nameless dynasty, was the first of his line to
take oath as a ruler.
On the i2th of April, 1868, he made oath before
gods and men that a deliberative assembly
should be formed; all measures should be de-
cided by public opinion; and that intellect
and learning should be sought for throughout the
world, in order to establish the foundations of the
This oath was reaffirmed October 12, 1881, and
the year 1890 is fixed as the time for limiting the
imperial prerogative, forming two houses of parlia-
ment, and transforming the government into a
constitutional monarchy.
The Emperor's capital was changed from Kioto
to Yeddo, which was re-named, and called Tokio.
Feudalism, or the holding of fiefs by the daimio,
came to an end in 1871, by imperial edict, and
the whole of great Japan was again directly under
the Mikado's rule.
The titles of kug6 and daimio were also abol-
ished, both being re-named simply Kuasoku (Koo-
as-o-koo), or noble families. The distinctions
between the lower orders of people were scat-
tered to the winds, and even the despised outcasts
were made citizens, protected by law.
The degrees in rank among the Japanese are
now as follows:
First. The Emperor and the royal families.
Second. The Kuasoku, the noble families.
Third. The Shizoku (Shee-zo-koo), the gentry.
Fourth. The Heimin (Ha-meen), the citizens in
The results of the Japanese Revolution may be
summed up thus:
First. The restoration of the Mikado as ruler,
and ending of the Shogunate.
Second. The opening of the entire country to
Third. The gradual abolition of rank in the
main body of the people, giving all equal rights
under the law.

Old Japan has gone Long live the New !



What is it, child?"
You goin' to put that cup-cake into the pan
to bake it now, Grandma? "
"Yes; I guess so. It 's beat 'bout enough."
You ain't put in a mite of nutmeg, Grandma."
The grandmother turned around to Ann Mary.
': Don't you be quite so anxious," said she with
sarcastic emphasis. I callers put the nutmeg in
cup-cake the very last thing. I ruther guess I
should n't have put this cake into the oven without
nutmeg! "
The old woman beat fiercely on the cake. She
used her hand instead of a spoon, and she held the
yellow mixing-bowl poised on her hip under her
arm. She was stout and rosy-faced. She had crinkly
white hair, and she always wore a string of gold
beads around her creasy neck. She never took
off the gold beads except to put them under her pil-
low at night, she was so afraid of their being stolen.
Old Mrs. Little had always been nervous about
thieves, although none had ever troubled her.
You may go into the pantry, an' bring out the
nutmeg now, Ann Mary," said she presently, with
Ann Mary soberly slipped down from her chair
and went. She realized that she had made a
mistake. It was quite an understood thing for
Ann Mary to have an eye upon her grandmother
while she was cooking, to be sure that she put in
everything that she should, and nothing that she
should not, for the old woman was absent-minded.
But it had to be managed with great delicacy, and
the corrections had to be quite irrefutable, or Ann
Mary was reprimanded for her pains.
When Ann Mary had deposited the nutmeg-box
and the grater at her grandmother's elbow, she
took up her station again. She sat at a corner of
the table in one of the high kitchen-chairs. Her
feet could not touch the floor, and they dangled
uneasily in their stout leather shoes, but she never
rested them on the chair round, nor even swung
them by way of solace. Ann Mary's grandmother
did not like to have her chair rounds all marked up
by shoes, and swinging feet disturbed her while
she was cooking. Ann 'I ,I:, sat up, grave and
straight. She was a delicate, slender little girl,
but she never stooped. She had an odd resem-
VOL. XVI.-3. 3

balance to her grandmother; a resemblance more
of manner than of feature. She held back her
narrow shoulders in the same determined way
in which the old woman held her broad ones; she
walked as she did, and spoke as she did.
Mrs. Little was very proud of Ann Mary Evans;
Ann Mary was her only daughter's child, and had
lived with her grandmother ever since she was a
baby. The child could not remember either her
father or mother, she was so little when they died.
Ann Mary was delicate, so she did not go to the
village to the public school. Miss Loretta Adams,
a young lady who lived in the neighborhood, gave
her lessons. Loretta had graduated in a beautiful
white muslin dress at the high-school over in the
village, and Ann Mary had a great respect and
admiration for her. Loretta had a parlor-organ
and could play on it, and she was going to give
Ann Mary lessons after Thanksgiving. Just now
there was a vacation. Loretta had gone to Boston
to spend two weeks with her cousin.
Ann Mary was all in brown, a brown calico dress
and a brown calico, long-sleeved apron; and her
brown hair was braided in two tight little tails that
were tied with some old brown bonnet-strings of
Mrs. Little's, and flared out stiffly behind the ears.
Once, when Ann Mary was at her house, Loretta
Adams had taken it upon herself to comb out the
tight braids and set the hair flowing in a fluffy mass
over the shoulders; but when Ann Mary came
home her grandmother was properly rii.i ;- i.
She seized her and re-braided the tails with stout
and painful jerks. I ain't goin' to have Loretty
Adams meddlin' with your hair," said she, "an'
she can jest understand it. If she wants to have
her own hair all in a frowzle, an' look like a wild
Injun, she can; you sha' n't !"
And Ann Mary, standing before her grandmother
with head meekly bent and watery eyes, decided
that she would have to tell Loretta that she must n't
touch the braids, if she proposed it again.
That morning, while Mrs. Little was making the
pies and the cake and the pudding, Ann Mary was
sitting idle, for her part of the Thanksgiving cook-
ing was done. She had worked so fast, the day
before and early that morning, that she had the
raisins all picked over and seeded, and the apples
pared and sliced; and that was about all that her


grandmother thought she could do. Ann Mary
herself was of a different opinion; she was twelve
years old, if she was small for her age, and she
considered herself quite capable of making pies
and cup-cake.
However, it was something to sit there at the
table and have that covert sense of superintending
her grandmother; and to be reasonably sure that
some of the food would have a strange flavor were
it not for her vigilance.
Mrs. Little's mince-pies had all been baked the
Saturday before; to-day, as she said, she was
"making apple and squash." While the apple-
pies were in progress, Ann Mary watched her nar-
rowly. Her small folded hands twitched and her
little neck seemed to elongate above her apron;
but she waited until her grandmother took up an
upper crust, and was just about to lay it over a pie.
Then she spoke up suddenly. Her voice had a
timid yet assertive chirp like a bird's.
Well, what is it, child ? "
"You goin' to put that crust on that pie now,
Grandma ? "
Mrs. Little stood uneasily reflective. She eyed
the pie sharply. "Yes, I be. Why?" she returned
in a doubtful yet defiant manner.
You have n't put one bit of sugar in."
For the land sakes Mrs. Little did not take
correction of this kind happily, but when she was
made to fairly acknowledge the need of it, she
showed no resentment. She laid the upper crust
back on the board and sweetened the pie. Ann
Mary watched her gravely, but she was inwardly
complacent. After she had rescued the pudding
from being baked without the plums, and it was
nearly dinner-time, her grandfather came home.
He had been over to the village to buy the Thanks-
giving turkey. Ann Mary looked out with delight
when he drove past the windows on his way to the
Grandpa's got home," said she.
It was snowing quite hard, and she saw the
old man and the steadily tramping white horse
and the tilting wagon through a thick mist of fall-
ing snowflakes.
Before Mr. Little came into the kitchen, his wife
warned him to be sure to wipe all the snow from
his feet, and not to track in any, so he stamped
vigorously out in the shed. Then he entered with
an air of pride. There said he, "what do ye
think of that for a turkey ?" Mr. Little was gen-
erally slow and gentle in his ways, but to-day he
was quite excited over the turkey. He held it up
with considerable difficulty. He was a small old
man, and the cords on his lean hands knotted.
"It weighs a good fifteen pound'," said he, "an'

there was n't a better one in the store. Adkins
did n't have a very big lot on hand."
I should think that was queer, the day before
Thanksgivin'," said Mrs. Little. She was exam-
ining the turkey critically. "I guess it'll do," she
declared finally. That was her highest expression
of approbation. "Well, I rather thought you'd
think so," rejoined the old man, beaming. "I
guess it's about as good a one as can be got,-they
said 'twas, down there. Sam White he was in
there, and he said 't was; he said I was goin' to get
it in pretty good season for Thanksgivin', he
I don't think it's such very extra season, the
day before Thanksgivin'," said Mrs. Little.
"Well, I don't think 't was, nuther. I did n't
see jest what Sam meant by it."
Ann Mary was dumb with admiration. When the
turkey was laid on the broad shelf in the pantry,
she went and gazed upon it. In the afternoon
there was great enjoyment seeing it stuffed and
made ready for the oven. Indeed, this day was
throughout one of great enjoyment, being full of
the very aroma of festivity and good cheer and
gala times, and even sweeter than the occasion
which it preceded. Ann Mary had only one
damper all day, and that was the non-arrival of a
letter. Mrs. Little had invited her son and his
family to spend Thanksgiving, but now they prob-
ably were not coming, since not a word in reply had
been received. When Mr. Little said there was
no letter in the post-office, Ann Mary's face fell.
" Oh, dear," said she, "don't you suppose Lucy
will come, Grandma?"
No," replied her grandmother, "I don't. Ed-
ward never did such a thing as not to send me word
when he was coming in his life, nor Maria neither.
I ain't no idee they '11 come."
Oh, dear said Ann Mary again.
Well, you 'll have to make up your mind to it,"
returned her grandmother; she was sore over her
own disappointment, and so was irascible toward
Ann Mary's. It's no worse for you than for the
rest of us. I guess you can keep one Thanksgivin'
without Lucy."
For a while it almost seemed to Ann Mary that
she could not. Lucy was her only cousin. She
loved Lucy dearly, and she was lonesome for an-
other little girl; nobody knew how she had counted
upon seeing her cousin. Ann Mary herself had a
forlorn hope that Lucy still might come, even if
Uncle Edward was always so particular about send-
ing word and no word had been received. On
Thanksgiving morning she kept running to the
window, and looking down the road. But when
the stage from the village came, it passed right
by the house without slackening its speed.



Then there was no hope left at all.
"You might jest as well be easy," said her
mother. I guess you can have a good T1-
givin' if Lucy ain't here. This evening' you c,
Loretty to come over a little while, if you wa
an' you can make some nut-
Loretta ain't at home."
"She '11 come home for
Thanksgivin', I guess. It
ain't very likely she's stayed
away over that. When I
get the dinner ready to take
up, you can carry a plateful
down to Sarah Bean's, an'
that '11 be something' for you
to do, too. I guess you can :
Thanksgiving day was a
very pleasant day, although
there was considerable snow
on the ground, for it had
snowed all the day before.
Mr. Little and Ann Mary did i
not go to church as usual, on
that account.' ii'
The old man did not like
to drive to the village before
the roads were beaten out. '-.
Mrs. Little lamented not a w'.l' ,
little over it. It was the -..i \ ''
custom for her husband and '-
granddaughter to attend
church Thanksgiving morn- ,
ing, while she stayed at ,-L
home and cooked the din- .
ner. It does seem dread-
fulheathenish for nobody to
go to meeting' Thanksgivin' .
day,"saidshe; "an'weain't --
even heard the proclama-
tion read, neither. It rained '
so hard last Sabbath that
we could n't go."
The season was unusually
wintry and severe, and lately
the family had been pre-
vented from church-going.
It was two Sundays since any of the family'
gone. The village was three miles away, an
road was rough. Mr. Little was too old to
over it in very bad weather.
When Ann Mary went to carry the phl
Thanksgiving dinner to Sarah Bean, she w
pair of her grandfather's blue woolen socks (
over her shoes to keep out the snow. The
was rather deep for easy walking, but she d

mind that. She carried the dinner with great care;
there was a large plate well filled, and a tin dish
was turned over it to keep it warm. Sarah Bean
was an old woman who lived alone. Her house
was about a quarter of a mile from the Littles'.

Ih f I I

", r I
r', ',,,' ,' ',r a,.r "


When Ann Mary reached the house, she found
the old woman making a cup of tea. There did
not seem to be much of anything but tea and
bread and butter for her dinner. She was very
deaf and infirm, all her joints shook when she
tried to use them, and her voice quavered when
she talked. She took the plate, and her hands
trembled so that the tin dish played on the plate
like a clapper. "Why," said she, overjoyed,


"this looks just like Thanksgiving day, tell your
Grandma! "
Why, it is Thanksgiving day," declared Ann
Mary, with some wonder.
What? asked Sarah Bean.
"It is Thanksgiving day, you know." But it
was of no use, the old woman could not hear a word.
Ann Mary's voice was too low.
Ann Mary could not walk very fast on account
of the snow. She was absent some three-quarters
of an hour; her grandmother had told her that
dinner would be all on the table when she returned.
She was enjoying the nice things in anticipation all
the way; when she came near the house, she could
smell roasted turkey, and there was also a sweet
spicy odor in the air.
She noticed with surprise that a sleigh had been
in the yard. "I wonder who's come," she said to
herself. She thought of Lucy, and whether they
could have driven over from the village. She ran
in. Why, who's come?" she cried out.
Her voice sounded like a shout in her own ears;
it seemed to awaken echoes. She fairly startled
,herself, for there was no one in the room. There
was absolute quiet through all the house. There
was even no sizzling from the kettles on the stove,
:for everything had been dished up. The veget-
ables, all salted and peppered and buttered, were
,on the table -but the turkey was not there. In the
great vacant place where the turkey should have
been was a piece of white paper. Ann Mary spied
it in a moment. She caught it up and looked at
it. It was a note from her grandmother:

We have had word that Aunt Betsey has had a bad turn. Lizz
wants us to come. The dinner is all ready for you. If we ain't
home to-night, you can get Loretty to stay with you. Be a good girl.

Ann Mary read the note and stood reflecting,
her mouth drooping at the corners. Aunt Betsey
was Mrs. Little's sister; Lizz was her daughter
who lived with her and took care of her. They
lived in Derby, and Derby was fourteen miles away.
It seemed a long distance to Ann Mary, and she
felt sure that her grandparents could not come
home that night. She looked around the empty
room, and sighed. After a while she sat down
and pulled off the snowy socks; she thought she
might as well eat her dinner, although she did not
feel so hungry as she had expected. Everything
was on the table but the turkey and plum-pud-
ding. Ann Mary supposed these were in the
oven keeping warm; the door was ajar. But, when
she looked, they were not there. She went into the
pantry; they were not there either. It was very
strange; there was the dripping-pan in which the
turkey had been baked, on the back of the stove,

with some gravy in it; and there was the empty
pudding-dish on the hearth.
What has Grandma done with the turkey and
the plum-pudding?" said Ann Mary aloud.
She looked again in the pantry; then she went
down cellar-there seemed to be so few places in
the house in which it was reasonable to search for
a turkey and a plum-pudding I
Finally she gave it up, and sat down to dinner.
There was plenty of squash, and potatoes, and tur-
nips, and onions, and beets, and cranberry-sauce,
and pies; but it was no Thanksgiving dinner with-
out turkey and plum-pudding. It was like a great
flourish of accompaniment without any song.
Ann Mary did as well as she could; she put some
turkey-gravy on her potato and filled up her plate
with vegetables; but she did not enjoy the dinner.
She felt more and more lonely, too. She resolved
that after she had washed up the dinner dishes,
and changed her dress, she would go over to
Loretta Adams's. It was quite a piece of work,
washing the dinner dishes, there were so many pans
and kettles; it was the middle of the afternoon
when she finished. Then Ann Mary put on her
best plaid dress, and tied her best red ribbons on
her braids, and it was four o'clock before she
started for Loretta's.
Loretta lived in a white cottage about half a
mile away toward the village. The front yard had
many bushes in it, and the front path was bordered
with box; the bushes were now mounds of snow,
and the box was indicated by two snowy ridges.
The house had a shut-up look; the sitting-room
curtains were down. Ann Mary went around to
the side door; but it was locked. Then she went
up the front walk between the snowy ridges of box,
and tried the front door; that also was locked.
The Adamses had gone away. Ann Mary did
not know what to do. The tears stood in her
eyes, and she choked a little. She went back
and forth between the two doors, and shook and
pounded; she peeked around the corner of the
curtain into the sitting-room. She could see
Loretta's organ, with the music book, and all the
familiar furniture, but the room wore an utterly
deserted air.
Finally, Ann Mary sat down on the front door-
step, after she had brushed off the snow a little.
She had made up her mind to wait a little while,
and see if the folks would not come home. She
had on her red hood, and her grandmother's old
plaid shawl. She pulled the shawl tightly around
her, and muffled her face in it; it was extremely
cold weather for sitting on a doorstep. Just
across the road was a low clump of birches;
through and above the birches the sky showed red
and clear where the sun was setting. Everything


looked cold and bare and desolate to the little girl
who was trying to keep Thanksgiving. Suddenly
she heard a little cry, and Loretta's white cat came
around the corner of the house.
Kitty, Kitty, Kitty," called Ann Mary. She
was very fond of Loretta's cat; she had none of
her own.

was afraid to go in. She made up her mind to go
down to Sarah Bean's and ask whether she could
not stay all night there.
So she kept on, and Loretta's white cat still fol-
lowed her. There was no light in Sarah Bean's
house. Ann Mary knocked and pounded, but it
was of no use; the old woman had gone to bed,

The cat came close and brushed around Ann and she could not make her hear.

o. -; ,rt

*- 4.


Mary. So she took it up in her lap, and wrapped
the shawl around it, and felt a little comforted.
She sat there on the doorstep and held the cat,
until it was quite dusky, and she was very stiff with
the cold. Then she put down the cat, and pre-
pared to go home. But she had not gone far along
the road when she found out that the cat was fol-
lowing her. The little white creature floundered
through the snow at her heels, and mewed con-
stantly. Sometimes it darted ahead and waited
until she came up, but it did not seem willing to
be carried in her arms.
When Ann Mary reached her own house the
lonesome look of it sent a chill all over her; she


Ann Mary turned about and went home; the
tears were running down her cold red cheeks. The
cat mewed louder than ever. When she got home
she took the cat up and carried it into the house.
She determined to keep it for company, anyway.
She was sure, now, that she would have to stay
alone all night; the Adamses and Sarah Bean were
the only neighbors, and it was so late now that she
had no hope of her grandparents' return. Ann
Mary was timid and nervous, but she had a vein
of philosophy, and she generally grasped the situ-
ation with all the strength she had, when she be-
came convinced that she must. She had laid her
plans while walking home through the keen winter


-air, even as the tears were streaming over her
,cheeks, and she proceeded to carry them into
execution. She gave Loretta's cat its supper, and
she ate a piece of mince-pie herself; then she fixed
the kitchen and the sitting-room fires, and locked
up the house very thoroughly. Next, she took the
cat and the lamp and went into the dark-bed-
room, and locked the door; then she and the
cat were as safe as she knew how to make them.
The dark-bedroom was in the very middle of the
house, the center of a nest of rooms. It was small
and square, had no windows, and only one door.
It was a sort of fastness. Ann Mary made up
her mind that she would not undress herself, and
that she would keep the lamp burning all night.
She climbed into the big yellow-posted bedstead,
and the cat cuddled up to her and purred.
Ann Mary lay in bed and stared at the white
satin scrolls on the wall-paper, and listened for
noises. She heard a great many, but they were all
mysterious and indefinable, till about ten o'clock.
Then she sat straight up in bed and her heart beat
fast. She certainly heard sleigh-bells; the sound
penetrated even to the dark-bedroom. Then came
a jarring pounding on the side door. Ann Mary
got up, unfastened the bedroom door, took the
lamp, and stepped out into the sitting-room. The
pounding came again. "Ann Mary, Ann Mary! "
cried a voice. It was her grandmother's.
I'm coming I'm coming Grandma !" shouted
Ann Mary. She had never felt so happy in her
life. She pushed back the bolt of the side door
with trembling haste. There stood her grand-
mother all muffled up, with a shawl over her head;
and out in the yard were her grandfather and
another man, and a horse and sleigh. The men
were turning the sleigh around.
"Put the lamp in the window, Ann Mary,"
called Mr. Little, and Ann Mary obeyed. Her
grandmother sank into a chair. I 'm jest about
tuckered out," she groaned. If I don't ketch my
death with this day's work, I'm lucky. There
ain't any more feeling' in my feet than as if they
was lumps of stone."
Ann Mary stood at her grandmother's elbow, and
her face was all beaming. "I thought you were n't
coming," said she.
"Well, I should n't have come a step to-night,
if it hadn't been for you -and the cow," said her
grandmother in an indignant voice. "I was kind
of uneasy about you, an' we knew the cow would n't
be milked unless you got Mr. Adams to come
Was Aunt Betsey very sick ?" inquired Ann
Her grandmother gave her head a toss. "Sick!
No, there wa'n't a thing the matter with her, ex-

cept she ate some sassage-meat, an' had a little faint
turn. Lizz was scart to death, the way she always
is. She did n't act as if she knew whether her
head was on, all the time we were there. She did
n't act as if she knew't was Thanksgivin' day; an'
she did n't have no turkey that I could see. Aunt
Betsey bein' took sick seemed to put everything' out
of her head. I never saw such a nervous thing as
she is. I was all out of patience when I got there.
Betsey did n't seem to be very bad off, an' there
we'd hurried enough to break our necks. We
did n't dare to drive around to Sarah Bean's to let
you know about it, for we was afraid we'd miss the
train. We jest got in with the man that brought
the word, an' he driv as fast as he could over to the
village, an' then we lost the train, an' had to sit
there in the depot two mortal hours. An' now
we've come fourteen mile' in an open sleigh. The
man that lives next door to Betsey said he'd bring
us home, an' I thought we'd better come. He's go-
in' over to the village to-night; he 's got folks there.
I told him he 'd a good deal better stay here, but he
won't. He 's as deaf as an adder, an' you can't
make him hear anything anyway. We ain't spoke
a word all the way home. Where's Loretty? She
came over to stay with you, did n't she ? "
Ann Mary explained that Loretta was not at
That 's queer, seems to me, Thanksgivin'
day," said her grandmother. Massysakes, what
cat's that? She came out of the settin'-room "
Ann Mary explained about Loretta's cat. Then
she burst forth with the question that had been
uppermost in her mind ever since her grandmother
came in. Grandma," said she, "what did you
do with the turkey and the plum-pudding?"
"What? "
"What did you do with the turkey and the
plum-pudding ?"
"The turkey an' the plum-puddin' ? "
"Yes; I could n't find 'em anywhere."
Mrs. Little, who had removed her wraps, and
was crouching over the kitchen-stove, with her
feet in the oven, looked at Ann Mary with a dazed
I dunno what you mean, child," said she.
Mr. Little had helped the man with the sleigh
to start, and had now come in. He was pulling
off his boots.
"Don't you remember, Mother," said he, "how
you run back in the house, an' said you was goin'
to set that turkey an' plum-pudding away, for you
was afraid to leave 'em setting' right out in plain
sight on the table, for fear that somebody might
come in ?"
"Yes; I do remember," said Mrs. Little. I
thought they looked 'most too temptin'. I set 'em


in the pantry. I thought Ann Mary could get'em out of the pantry with dignity. "I 've set'em some-
when she came in." where," said she in a curt voice, an' I '11 find 'em
They ain't in the pantry," said Ann Mary. in the morning You don't want any turkey or
Her grandmother arose and went into the pantry plum-puddin' to-night, neither of you "
with a masterful air. Ain't in the pantry?" she But Mrs. Little did not find the turkey and the

',I .

I --T!,I -

-i' ... I -

,4 i i --r -

repeated. "I don't s'pose you more 'n gave one plum-pudding in the morning. Some days went
look." by, and their whereabouts was as much a mystery
Ann Mary followed her grandmother. She fairly as ever. Mrs. Little could not remember where
expected to see the turkey and the pudding before she had put them; but it had been in some secure
her eyes on the shelf and to admit that she had hiding-place, since her own wit which had placed
been mistaken. Mr. Little also followed, and they them there could not find it out. She was so mor-
all stood in the pantry and looked about. tified and worried over it, that she was nearly ill.
I guess they ain't here, Mother," said Mr. She tried to propound the theory, and believe in it
Little. Can't you think where you set 'em?" herself, that she had really set the turkey and the
The old woman took up the lamp and stepped pudding in the pantry, and that they had been
lok. ban ter heebotswa s uc mstr
An ar oloe hrganmthr hefirya ee. r.Lite ol ntreebr hr

The old woman took up the lamp and stepped pudding in the pantryr, and that they had been


stolen; but she was too honest. "I've heerd of
folks putting' things in such safe places that they
could n't find 'em, before now," said she; "but I
never heerd of losin' a turkey an' a plum-puddin'
that way. I dunno but I'm losin' what little wits
I ever did have." She went about with a humble
and resentful air. She promised Ann Mary that
she would cook another turkey and pudding the
first of the week, if the missing ones were not

Sunday came and they were not discovered. It
was a pleasant day, and the Littles went to the
village to church. Ann Mary looked over across
the church after they were seated and saw Loretta,
with the pretty brown frizzes over her forehead,
sitting between her father and mother, and she
wondered when Loretta had come home.
The choir sang and the minister prayed. Sud-
denly Ann Mary saw him, standing there in the
pulpit, unfold a paper. Then the minister began
to read the Thanksgiving Proclamation. Ann
Mary cast one scared glance at her grandmother,
who returned it with one of inexpressible dignity
and severity.
As soon as Meeting was done, her grandmother
clutched her by the arm. "Don't you say a word
about it to anybody," she whispered. You mind! "
When they were in the sleigh going home, she
charged her husband. You mind, you keep still,
Father," said she. It'11 be town-talk if you don't."
The old man chuckled. "Don't you know, I
said once that I hed kind of an idee that Thanks-
givin' were n't quite so early, and you shut me up,
Mother," he remarked. He looked good-naturedly
Well, I dunno as it's anything so very queer,"
said Mrs. Little. It comes a whole week later
than it did last year, and I s'posed we 'd missed
hearing' the proclamation."
The next day a letter arrived saying that Lucy
and her father and mother were coming to spend
Thanksgiving. I feel jest about beat," Mrs.
Little said when she read the letter.
Really, she did feel about at her wit's end. The
turkey and pudding were not yet found, and she
had made up her mind that she would not dare
wait much longer before providing more. She
knew that another turkey must be procured, at all
events. However, she waited until the last minute
Wednesday afternoon, then she went to work mix-
ing a pudding. Mr. Little had gone to the store
for the turkey. Sam White was over there, an'

he said he thought we was going' right into turkeys
this year," he reported when he got home.
That night the guests arrived. Thanksgiving
morning, Lucy, and Ann Mary, and their grand-
father, and Lucy's father and mother, were all go-
ing to Meeting. Mrs. Little was to stay at home
and cook the dinner.
Thanksgiving morning, Mr. Little made a fire in
the best-parlor air-tight stove, and just before they
started for meeting, Lucy and Ann Mary were
in the room. Lucy, in the big rocking-chair that
was opposite the sofa, was rocking to and fro and
talking. Ann Mary sat near the window. Each
of the little girls had on her coat and hat.
Suddenly Lucy stopped rocking and looked
intently over toward the sofa.
"What you looking' at, Lucy?" asked Ann
Mary, curiously.
Lucy still looked. "Why -I was wondering
what was under that sofa," said she slowly. Then
she turned to Ann Mary, and her face was quite
pale and startled-she had heard the turkey and
pudding story. "Oh, Ann Mary, it does look-
like oh- "
Both little girls rushed to the sofa, and threw
themselves on the floor. Oh, oh, oh! they
shrieked. Grandma--Mother! Come quick,
come quick "
When the others came in, there sat Ann Mary
and Lucy on the floor, and between them were
the turkey and the plum-pudding, each carefully
covered with a snow-white napkin.
Mrs. Little was quite pale and trembling. I
remember now," said she faintly, I run in here
with 'em."
She was so overcome that the others tried to
take it quietly and not to laugh much. But every
little while, after Lucy and Ann Mary were seated
in church, they would look at each other and have
to put their handkerchiefs to their faces. However,
Ann Mary tried hard to listen to the sermon, and
to behave well. In the depths of her childish
heart she felt grateful and happy. There, by her
side, sat her dear Lucy, whose sweet little face
peeped out from a furry winter hat. Just across
the aisle was Loretta, who was coming in the even-
ing, and then they would pop corn and make nut-
candy. At home there was the beautiful new
turkey and unlimited pudding and good cheer,
and all disappointment and mystery were done
away with.
Ann Mary felt as if all her troubles would be
followed by thanksgivings.




LREADY hundreds of young
A Americans have taken up wood-
carving as a pleasure and rec-
reation, and hundreds more
intend to practice the art. Some
hints from a fellow-worker as
to methods of work and uses of
tools may therefore be of service to them. There
is no art in which a little talent counts for so

much. Within certain limits it is the easiest of
the arts. You must draw and paint for years,
before you can attain excellence. But you may
begin carving a chest, or chair, or book-case, with
your first lesson, and finish it so well that it will be
a valuable piece of furniture a hundred years hence.
Some of you may have seen the state bed at Had-
don Hall, in England, in which Queen Elizabeth
once slept. Its hangings were perhaps the best


specimens of English embroidery of that period,
but now the beautiful colors have faded into one
dull hue. The result of years of skillful labor is
valueless, save for its associations. But the carved
oak paneling in the adjoining ball-room is to-
day as fresh as when it was finished, and time
has added only a richness to its coloring.
The Bishop's Palace at
Durham is stripped of its t
former luxury, and its
walls are bare save for a
few fragments of faded
tapestry. But the mag-
nificent staircase, with its
great, carved balustrade,
is unchanged and helps
us to realize what the
palace may have been
when bishops lived there,
and "held court like -
kings." The carving is
not finely executed, and
on close examination sug-
gests rather the ax than
the gouge. But the de-
sign is bold and striking,
and the effect admirable.
When I was a little
boy, I remember hearing
one amateur wood-turner
say to another:
"The secret of all good
workmanship is to have
sharp tools."
I was so young that I
thought I had surprised a
professional confidence,-
one of the hidden mys-
teries of the craft. But
though an open secret, it
is none the less impor-
tant. To know when your
tools are dull and to keep -
them sharp is your first
duty. When you have _
accomplished that, half PANEL D
your task is done.
You should have a soft oil-stone, a "slip" for
the inside of the gouges and V tools, and a leather
strop. Have the tools carefully ground, "'long
bevel," by an experienced man, and after that,
unless some accident occurs, you yourself can
keep them in order for a year or more. Never
use a tool without first ascertaining that it is free
from nicks. By and by, you will learn to make it
literally as sharp as a razor. You will have much
less sharpening to do if you are careful not to let

one tool hit against another when taking them
from the bench or replacing them; for they are
so highly tempered that they will be chipped by
the slightest knock.
The necessary tools are chisels, gouges (see p.
47), and parting-tools; and they are made in such
forms and sizes as may be required by the value


or nature of the work undertaken. "Addis" tools
are the best, and are sold by most large dealers.
By all means avoid "sets" of tools put up in boxes
of six and twelve, and labeled "For Amateur
The cost of the tools you will need, together
with the oil-stones and a mallet (which should be
shaped like a potato-masher), is little more than
four dollars.
In so short an article as this must be, only a few



hints can be given. In beginning, select a large
and bold design. Let us suppose that you are
about to carve a chest. Take some simple design
and enlarge it so that it will cover the whole of an
end panel. You will thus have room enough to
work freely, and
there will be less
danger of breaking
the wood. Besides
these advantages,
you are likely to ob-
tain a more effect-
ive result. In the
choice of his design,
the beginner should
freely avail himself
of the best things
he can find, as orig-
inal designing re-
quires much experi-
ence and practice.
When carving is
to be on furniture,
or used simply as a CARVED PANEL -SWAMP-ROSE.
decorative feature, (BY A STUDENT OF THE CINCINNATI
avoid realistic and ART-SCHOOL.)
choose conventional forms. A natural spray of
wild roses on a bureau drawer, or a fragment of a
blossoming apple-bough over a mirror, is as much
out of place as it would be if carved on the facade
of a building. The smallest piece of furniture
should be in accordance with architectural prin-
ciples, and the decoration should harmonize with
the whole design, and not throw it into confusion.
If you carve a molding, your object is not only
to beautify that particular molding, but to em-
phasize the line which the molding makes. If a
beading be carved on a corner, it helps to soften
the sharpness of the angles. A pilaster may be
carved and adorned without interfering with its
office of a support. But can a twisted bunch of
ferns support a heavy burden, and should it be
made to seem to do so ? If a conventional, vine-
like pattern run around a panel, it may form a
beautiful border, and seem to frame the carving in
the center; but a bunch of plants, growing from
nowhere and spreading over the panel, will always
give an unbalanced and unpleasant effect. In the
same way a panel of flying swallows, covering the
back of a settle, is misplaced. We don't wish to
lean back against flying birds.' On a chimney-
piece they would seem well placed.
If, therefore, you wish to make a piece of furni-
ture, see that its design is fitting and agreeable,
Then your carving will add to it, and appear to
good advantage. In the numberless variety of
publications on the subject of furniture and deco-

ration, there will be no difficulty in finding useful
For carving, it sometimes will be easier to draw
your design on paper and paste it on the wood,
than to draw on the wood itself. If the pattern is
to be in relief, do not cut too close to the design
in taking out the background, but allow yourself
a little margin, and trim off the edges after you
have reached the necessary depth. As a rule,
beginners cut too deeply, seeming to think that
the higher the relief the better will be the carving.
Go over the whole piece once and take out a
moderate depth. Then, if need be, go over it a
second or third time. In taking out the back-
ground you will find the chisel, not the gouge, the
best tool for cutting straight down. When you
have removed most of the wood, the gouge will
complete the work by trimming off the edges.
Always select one that just fits the required curves.
Thus you will work faster, and avoid breaking the
wood. When the background is taken out, roughly
model the design, going over the whole, so as to
get the general effect. Then see whether the work
promises to look as you wish, remembering that
unless it is well modeled as a whole, no amount of
"finishing" will make it satisfactory. It will be a
help to set up your work from time to time, and to
look at it from a distance. In finishing, turn the
piece (or the bench it is on) as you work, so the
light shall strike first on one side and then on
the other, that no ragged edges or splinters may
escape your notice.
No great exer-
tion, and no great

take off thin shav-
ings the work will
go on smoothly and
rapidly. A long .
clean cut, running i
in the direction
of the main line,
should be used for
drapery, acanthus
leaves, and a hun- ,
dred other such CARVED PANEL-HAWTHORN.
made, not by cut- ART-SCHOOL.)
ting in deeply at once, but by taking off a little at
a time, and by often repeating the cut.
Strength not being needed, women have had no
little success in wood-carving, having done much
work that will bear the test of severe criticism.


Some of my own pupils, in spite of their small
hands, have made me proud of their beautiful pro-
ductions. As an example of woman's work and
of a good reproduction in wood, a copy of a por-
trait carved by Miss Eggleston, after a relief by
Mr. St. Gaudens, is given below.

For example, the drapery on a figure may be carved
with all the tool-cuts running with the various folds,
so that the figure will seem almost to move under-
neath the drapery, but if the drapery were filed or
sandpapered smooth it would look as solid as a
piece of pig-iron.


Wood-carving has remained the most backward
and neglected of the arts, because it was left so long
in the hands of unthinking men, who were content
to do the same things generation after generation,
continually lessening the number of designs used,
and losing the spirit in those carved, till their work
became lifeless. Even the execution grew void of
all individuality. One man's carving was exactly
like another's. All Italian work looks alike. All
German work looks alike. Much Italian carving
is, indeed, exquisite in finish, but it too often re-
minds one of the sugar and paper decorations on
wedding-cake. The acanthus leaf has done duty
on everything. Then, to conceal poor workman-
ship, files and sandpaper have scoured it down
till the carving appears as hard and stiff as if cast
in iron. All wood-carving should be cut out clean,
leaving the tool-marks. In this way you get variety
of surface, and your work will look fresh and free.

Wood-carving was once a great art, and men of
genius and imagination devoted their lives to it.
Their thoughts were beautiful, their labor was
conscientious, and the freshness and charm of
their work are to-day as wonderful as ever. If we
are to have such work again, we, too, must have
ideas and give our best skill to our work.
At the very outset, put into your work as much
thought as possible. Then, as you increase in
skill, your ideas will grow in value. Avoid deco-
ration that looks as if it were meant simply to fill
so much space, and strive to have all ornament
harmonize in idea with the thing it is intended to
beautify. For instance, a panel in a sideboard
would be appropriately decorated if surrounded by
a simple border of conventional holly, the center
space being occupied by a boar's head on a plat-
ter. Do you think a jar of sunflowers or a cherub's
head would seem as fitting?


I remember a cabinet for birds' eggs, made
by an amateur. The front was of glass, and the
pilasters and side panels were beautifully carved.
The lowest panels were decorated with wading
birds--a pelican on one, and a crane on the
other for these birds would naturally be low
down. Above came two panels containing a jay
and a hawk; and last, a skylark and a swallow
at the top.
I hear you saying, "Such designs are suited
only to those well skilled in the art." Very true,
but the principle applies to the simplest carving.
Variety will add interest to your work. Perfect

harmony can be preserved in a piece, though no
two parts are carved alike. There is a splendid
example of this in Melrose Abbey,-a long row
of tiles carved in stone, which, at first glance,
seem to be alike, the amounts of light and shade
being equal. In fact, however, every tile is dif-

ferent, and the beauty of the designs well repays
study. By securing variety in design, your work
will never become tiresome while you are doing
it, or after it is done.
When we have learned the rudiments of the art
and begin to have more complex ideas, we shall
wish to carve figures. Here, really, we leave sim-
ple carving behind, and advance into the field of
sculpture; for sculpture in wood is as truly sculpt-
ure as if its material were marble or bronze.
We must now take up modeling in clay, and
henceforth our carving will be good exactly so far
as our modeling is good. Carving can not excel its

clay model any more than the marble statue can ex-
cel its clay model. Hence the processes which lead
to success are the same for one material as for the
other. The work is modeled in the clay, a plaster
cast is made, and then a close copy of it may be
cut in marble or wood, or cast in bronze. Of clay



modeling I shall say only this: When you have
grasped an idea, even if a conventional one, go to
nature for your help in working it out. Suppose
you are doing a horse's head. Do not rely on casts
and pictures, but make studies in the stable, and
see how quickly you will learn. You can not hope


for success in figures or draperies without models to
work from. Every material makes a different fold,
and though you may not exactly copy any fold,
you will need to study from the real object.
One word in regard to high and low relief. It
is commonly thought that there is something
intrinsically more artistic in low than in high
relief, because the low relief requires a more deli-
cate and subtle treatment; and that the variations
are so slight, and the whole thing so nearly flat,
that a little has to count for much. But, in reality,
one work of art is just as artistic as another, if it
be as well done, and the question of high or low
relief should be settled by the place the completed
carving is to occupy. When it is to be looked at
from a distance with the light coming from all
sides, as on the gable of a house, high relief is
proper; but for interior work, low relief gives the
better effect. The indoor light being generally a
side light, in low relief one part of the work does

not project and throw the rest into shadow.
When the work is deeply recessed, high relief is
An illustration of low-relief carving is given in
the engraving, one of four panels from a series
which I made for Mr. H. G. Marquand's Snug-
gery," in his Newport
house. These pieces
average sixteen inches
by eighteen inches, with
the highest relief but a
quarter of an inch.
You can learn almost
as much from studying
good pieces of wood-
carving as from a
S teacher; for, if the
carving was properly
done, you can tell just
.: what tools were used to
produce every effect.
But, as good work is
very rare, and as you
are surrounded by bad
examples, you must be
careful not to be led
astray. A great part
of the wood-carving in
S the market is done by
machinery, and only
touched up by hand,
though often described
ashand-carving. Then,
too, so much of the rest
is spoiled by sandpaper
D BY THE AUTHOR. and files that you can
get no instruction from
it. However, you can learn much by examining
good stone-carving. This branch of carving is
further advanced than work in wood, and, in
spite of the fact that the materials are so different,
the one will serve as an example for the other. In
a good piece of stone-carving all the tool-marks
are left, and you will notice how they run; and
how, by allowing the outside edge of the design to
disappear here and there in the background, an
effect is obtained almost as soft as if the design
were modeled in clay. On the newer houses in
New York city there are many good examples.
The best woods for carving are oak, cherry, and
mahogany. Oak is rather hard, but it is so strong
that it will not break unless you get a "stringy"
piece. Cherry is quite strong and not so hard;
and if it be not daubed with stain, but simply left
to itself, it will soon become beautiful in color.
Always get the reddest piece you can. If you can
obtain a good piece of well-seasoned mahogany,


you will find it a delightful wood to use for large
work, though it will not prove strong enough for a
fine pattern. Beginners are often discouraged
because they start with poor wood. I advise you
to take especial care and pains in this particular,
and be sure you have a piece with straight grain,
free from knots and imperfections. Try the wood
before you begin, for it is almost time thrown away
to carve a curly" or cross-grained piece.
To finish, with a brush or rag put on raw lin-
seed oil. When it has soaked well into the wood,
wipe the work clean with a woolen cloth, and
apply a coat of thin shellac. Next day, take one
of those little scrubbing-brushes used for the
hands, and rub the work hard. This rubbing will
remove the unpleasant shine, without taking off
the shellac which protects the carving from dust.
My friend, the late John L. Hayes, of Cambridge,
was one of the busiest lawyers in Boston, yet by his
own handiwork he made his house a marvel to all
who see it. Working sometimes but fifteen min-
utes a day, he accomplished an almost incredible
amount and variety of work. This is the more
surprising because he began wood-carving in mid-
dle life; without any previous artistic training.
The cabinet for birds' eggs, mentioned before, is
his work. Another example is a circular mirror-

frame, composed of a wreath of the flowers men-
tioned by Ophelia. Winding around throughout
the circle of flowers, and ending at the bottom


in a knot, is a flowing ribbon, on which is carved
the quotation: "There 's rosemary, that 's for
remembrance, pray you, love, remember; and
there is pansies, that's for thoughts."
If our young wood-carvers find a few difficulties
removed by the brief hints I have offered them, I
have accomplished all I expected.



THE sunflowers in the garden
Are bending limp and low.
The cornstalks, brown and withered,
Stand rustling in a row.
" We were so fine," they murmur,
" A little while ago "

The sky is gray and gloomy
Without the sunshine's glow.
There is no smiling anywhere
Unless Oh, gladsome show !
Twelve plump and golden pumpkins
All beaming in a row !

They say, "Why so despairing?
We 're always here, you know,
At this unpleasant season
Expressly sent to show
The need of glad Thanksgiving,
In spite of frost and snow."



F the kitchen-door stand
open -and the door of
an Arkansas kitchen is
likely to stand open on a
late February day you
can look from the kettles
of the big stove to the
bend of the Black River,
to the steep bank where
red willow twigs top the
velvet down which will
I be grass, and across the
gray waters to willows
and sycamores and cane-
brakes and a few cabins
in the clearings. Should
you step to the door, you
can see the plantation-
-store and mill, and
a score of gambrel-
roofed white houses. In the fields, the whitish-
brown cotton-stalks lie on the dun-colored earth.
The birds are singing in the cypress forest, and a
red-bird flutters his gorgeous wings on a stray
stalk that has escaped the cutter.
Aunt Callie, one day in February, saw the
fields and the bird, and also a little girl whose
flannel cape was the color of the bird's wing,
and whose thick hair had a gleam of the same
"Humph," said Aunt Callie, "reckon by her
favor, dat war's Haskett's gell coming' by."
"Haskett's gell," otherwise Mizzie Haskett, came
awkwardly and shyly down the walk, and balanced
herself on the kitchen steps. She wore her holiday
attire, a blue-and-white cotton frock, red flannel
cape, and a large bonnet (evidently made for a
much older head) decked with red roses. Her hair
was tied with a bright new green ribbon; and
round a soft and snowy little neck was a large
white frill in which glittered an imitation-gold pin.
Certainly, her pretty skin did not need it, but she
was powdered (or, to be accurate, floured) pro-
fusely; this last Southern touch of art being added
injudiciously, after the putting on of the red cape.
She was, moreover, consumed with embarrass-
ment, which sent a flood of blushes through the
flour layer, over her skin, from the roots of her
hair to the nape of her neck.
"Ye seeking' any pusson, Sissy?" said Aunt

Callie frigidly. She had cooked for the quality "
twenty years, and she knew her own dignity.
"I be'n seeking' Miss Dora, please," the little
girl answered meekly, in a very sweet voice.
Miss Caroll, overhearing both question and an-
swer, hastened to invite the child to come in,
which she did after a long interval of scraping her
shoes outside.
Once in the kitchen, seated, and her feet twisted
behind the rungs of a kitchen chair, Mizzie gasped
twice, then said, "Paw sent me. It dropped
What do you mean ? said Miss Caroll.
"It was sorter sad looking, continued Mizzie,
on the verge of tears. Paw made out to eat it,
but I knowed 'twas n't right."
Eat what? I really don't understand."
The brown bread, ma'am," sobbed Mizzie, big
tears rolling down her cheeks, but persistently
gasping her way through her sentences. I put
it in the steamer, like you-all tole me; but
it--dropped through an' spread out. Did n't
raise up high like you-all's."
"You unfortunate child," said Dora, "do you
mean that you poured your brown bread into the
steamer- without any tin? "
This, it appeared, was precisely what Mizzie had
"'Cause Mis' Caroll did n't say nuthin' 'cept
'Put it into the steamer.' "
Paw an' me made it together," said she, tak-
ing out a square of cotton to wipe her eyes; an'
when it come out so sad an' curis looking' he said
for me to come here to-day, 'cause you-all wud
be making' of yo' bread, an' mabbe wud n't mind
me looking' on. Tole me to shore wipe my feet
dry. Paw 'd hate terrible for me ter pester ye
Aunt Callie visibly softened under this humility.
" Dar, sot still an' watch me, den," said she.
"I'll tell you," said Dora, "I taught Aunt
Callie our New England bread."
She could not have asked a more attentive
scholar, Mizzie watching every motion of the great
wooden spoon with the eyes of a hawk, and her
lips moving at intervals as do those of a child who
inaudibly repeats a lesson to himself.
Presently, the brown batter being safely in the
tin mold, and the mold in the steamer, the small
maid asked:


Please, ma'am, cud we-all buy a tin trick like
that at the store ? "
Being informed that she could, she sighed with
relief, extricated her feet from the chair, and
'made her manners."
I 'm much obliged to you-all, ma'am, an' I
wish ye well."
Hereupon she would have gone had not Dora
detained her to slip a slice of cake and some apples
into her hand.
They saw her stop, a little distance from the

sen' 'er ter school mos' days 'cept washin' day. He
guv 'er dat pin, but mos' times she lends it ter Sal'
Jane. Sal' Jane 's all fur havin' 'er time an' 'er
pleasure; but Mizpah, she 's studyy"
Certainly she looked steady, too steady for her
years, as she picked her way through the mud.
She had stopped at the store, and the "tin trick"
glittered under the crook of her elbow. Passing
through the settlement," she went over the brow
of the tiny hill, down into the cypress brake. She
hastened her pace, tripping along the dim forest

'r----ir- z Ct -- --_I= L 1' 1'Ik r'

q~1 F


house, and carefully wrap the cake in a piece of
She '11 never tech a bite o' dat ar," said Aunt
Callie,-"jes' tote it home to de young uns. She
do dem chil'en good as a mudder. Dey ain't got
any mudder, ye un'erstan'. She keep de housee
alone ebber sence her maw died. Dar's her
paw; and Sal' Jane, dat 's goin' on ten; and de
baby, dat's two; an' her, dat's mabbe fo'teen. De
cooking' an' scrubbin' an' making' de cloze, she an'
her paw, dey do it all. When he making' a crop,
den she do it all. But in winter he makes out to
VOL. XVI.--4

ways. Beautiful ways they are in February, with
the white bark shining like silver, and the velvet
moss which coats the north side of the cypresses and
sycamores, and the glitter of red berries on the
blue-black twigs of the hackberry-trees, and the
ferns waving in the damp places, and the little
"bluets" which deck the ground, first of all the
brave company of spring flowers; but none of
these did brisk little Mizzie see, because she was
too busy planning for the two younger children
Sand for "Paw."
We cud make out right well, ef 't wan't fur that




thar cotton," she said to herself. Well, I wud n't
keer 'bout losin' the cotton, either, ef 't was n't fur
such a sight er bad feeling's. I jes' take the all-
overs* every time I see paw getherin' his gun ter
go out. An' it used ter be so nice!"
Mizzie sighed heavily. By this time, she had
come out upon a clearing and cotton-fields. On
the edge of the cotton-fields stood a bright blue
house. Evidently it was a new house; not only was
its color a surprise to the eye accustomed to the
universal whitewash of plantation taste, but its snug
architecture and straight chimneys proclaimed its
recent building. A little girl sat on the porch
beside a lank Arkansas hound. The hound rushed
across the fields with joyful yelps. Mizzie hushed
him as best she could:
"Down Jeru Down charge You 'll fotch him
out, shore."
The little girl had followed the dog. She was
about Mizzie's age, and her black curls streamed
out behind her as she ran.
My, how long you was!" she exclaimed. Did
she tell ye ? "
Mizzie nodded.
"Yes. You be thar, this aft'noon," replied she,
solemnly, and she added, "I reckon I 'd bes' fotch
'long the baby. Sal' Jane has had 'im all the morn-
in'. You must n't ax too much er them little
"All right. I '11 fotch 'long my doll."
The little girl looked about her with a hurried
and stealthy air, then pushed her pretty face
through the fence rails to kiss Mizzie, saying:
Yo' right good ter fix it fer me so nice An'
I do love you better 'n any gell in this worl'--"
Oh, Doshy cried Mizzie, I see him coming .
Oh, fly! "
Instantly she herself darted across the road and
plunged into the brake. Doshyran swiftly toward
the house. A voice commanded her to stop; she
had been seen. She turned and went back to her
father. He was a short, dark man, who snapped
an ox-goad against his boot-legs in an unpleasant
"Ain't that gell Dock Haskett's? he inquired.
"Warn't that her, here, yesterday, too? "
"Yes, sir," said Doshy.
"Did n't I tole ye I did n't want ye ter have no
more talk with Haskett's folks ? "
Then Doshy plucked up heart to answer. Paw,
I can't help it. She 's so good. An' I like her
better 'n any little gell in school."
Good?" repeated the father with strong deris-
ion. "Good! Ain't she a Haskett? Ain't she
got a red head like his'n ? Aw, them red heads
kin talk an' git 'roun' decent folks, but they '11 do
ye a meanness whenever ye trust 'em. Look at

me Kin I walk right yit? Confound him, I'll
tote that ar bullet er his'n 'roun', long 's I live!
An' my gell a-wantin' ter run with his gell! I
ain't got patience ter enjure hit. Go 'long "
The child made no answer, but, stifling a sob,
flew into the house.
Sullenly the father limped about his work. He
was not at all a harsh father, and that unusual look
of fright and hurt which his girl had worn, smote
his heart.
Now I made the little trick feel bad. Blame
it all he muttered, while he saddled his horse;
and he felt all the more bitter toward Haskett, the
cause of his ill-temper.
Everybody on the plantation knew that there
was open war, a strong and bitter feud, between
Luther Morrow and Dock Haskett. Yet, not six
months before, they had been warm friends. The
quarrel began over a trifle a dispute as to which
of two hunters was the better shot. There was a
match which decided nothing, and a hog-hunt in
which each shot the same number of wild hogs,
and both claimed the last boar. The two men's
tempers waxed warmer, and, by consequence, their
friendship cooled, and foolish friends made the
matter worse. And, finally, Jerusalem Jones, Lu-
ther's pet hound, must needs choose this season of
wrath to steal a ham from the Haskett gallery.
Dock Haskett, unhappily, snatched up his gun
and shot at the beast. He missed Jerusalem
Jones, but he hit Jerusalem's master, who was on
his way to the Hasketts', bent on conciliation,
owing to his wife's entreaties. (He even had it in
mind to tell Dock that he was in no hurry for the
payment of a certain note which would fall due in
February. In their friendly days, Luther had lent
Dock money.) Enraged at such a reception, Luther
brought his own gun to his shoulder, and there
was a very pretty fusillade before Mizzie and the
neighbors could reach the place from the cotton-
fields. Dock had a shot in the shoulder, and
Luther was on the ground with that shot in the
leg, which was not yet healed.
To-day, for the first time, Luther was able to
ride to the store. He went on no pacific mission.
Dock was saving his last bales of cotton for the
higher spring-prices. They were at the gin, near
the store. Luther's business was to have them
attached for his debt. The very first person whom
he met, after he had concluded this business, was
a tall man, lean and awkward, with a kindly
freckled face and red hair in short, Dock
He had heard about the cotton. He rode straight
up to Luther. "This yere ain't no place fer
talking, said he. "If ye reckon I done ye any
wrong, I am ready ter have it out with ye any

* Shivers.



time an' place ye like; but I promised my gell
ter fotch her some flour, and I got ter git it back
ter her fust."
Before the two men separated, they had agreed
to meet an' talk 'bout things that afternoon, at a
lonely spot in the cypress brake, midway between
their houses.
Then they rode home, carrying no very good
appetite to their dinners.
Dock found the new brown-bread over the fire
when he entered the room at home which was the
Hasketts' kitchen, dining-room, and bed-chamber
all in one.
The baby toddled to meet him, babbling an in-
articulate welcome which Mizzie interpreted at
length-the baby was sixteen months old and
more fluent than intelligible of speech.
An apple and a piece of cake had been saved
for the father.
Ye-all had some?" said he. Sal' Jane assured
him they had, all 'cept Mizzie, an' she fetched
"Mizzie an' me '11 go shares," said Dock. "Ye
are callers good ter the little tricks. Reckon I kin
trust 'em with ye."
He sighed in a curious way, Mizzie thought, as
he spoke, and as he kissed her. While she was
laying the table for dinner, he helped her, as usual,
but more than once he caught himself standing
still, dish in hand, staring around the room. To
a mere stranger, it might have seemed bare and
comfortless. The bricks on the hearth and in the
great black throat of the fire-place were uneven
and broken. It was a meager array of tin and delft
that was ranged on the shelf above. The walls were
unplastered, and their sole ornaments were two col-
ored cards,--one, presented with a box of soap, rep-
resenting a very chubby infant washing himself;
the other, the gift of a stray insurance agent, a red
and black sketch of a burning house. The floor
was in waves, and the only piece of carpet was be-
fore the bed. Dock himself had chopped the rude
bedstead out of white-oak timbers, and Mizzie had
stuffed the pillows and the mattress with cotton.
The great cracks in the walls where the clapboards
were warped or broken had been plastered with
mud. There were barely two panes of glass in the
single window of the'room. But Dock looked fondly
at the red cushions covering the broken seats of
the cane-bottomed chairs, at the figured brown oil-
cloth on the table and the bright tin spoons which
shone in the blue glass jug bought by Mizzie's
cotton-money, and the lamp filled with real coal-
oil, and it seemed to him a truly luxurious and
beautiful apartment, only he used no such fine
Don't it look good thought Dock sorrowfully.

"Ye feeling' puny" to-day, Paw?" said Mizzie,
with an anxious look.
Naw, honey, I war jes' studying. In a min-
ute he added, in a serious tone, "Mizzie, do ye
set 's much store by Doshy Morrow now'days ez
ye use ter ? "
Mizzie came up closer to him and leaned her
head against his arm, while she answered, "Yes,
Paw. She ain't hurted you, ye know." She
twisted the cloth of his sleeve, and went on,
"Paw, wud ye- wud ye mind my learning' Doshy
to make this 'ere bread? "
In co'se not, honey. I ain't no ill-will ter the
little trick, nur ter her maw neither. She war pow-
erful kind ter us-all, onct." He muttered under
his breath, Maybe she 'd be kind ag'in, if-- "
Instead of completing the sentence, he kissed
the anxious little face.
Mizzie thought that he was even kinder than
usual that day. After their simple dinner, she
saw him chopping wood. He chopped a great pile,
enough to last a long while, in the mild weather
of February and March. Then he brought the
sack of meal into the gallery from the shed.
" Handier fur ye," he muttered; and he cut up
the half-a-pig which hung in the shed, so that it
was ready for cooking.
By this time, the hour was near three by the
wheezy old clock on the shelf. Dock returned
to the house.
Sal' Jane was poking the fire, at that moment,
with an important air which was explained by her
first speech.
"Mizzie's gone with the baby, an' I 'm to keep
the water b'ilin', so the bread won't spile."
That 's right, honey," said her father. He
kissed her and went out again.
She thought nothing of his having his gun over
his shoulder.

About the same time, Luther Morrow, also car-
rying a gun, was shutting his gate. He looked
grimly and sadly at the cotton-fields and the house,
but he forced a smile when his wife nodded to him
from the door-way; and after he had walked a
little distance he turned to wave his hand.
"Mendoshy 's alluz b'en a good wife ter me,"
he thought; "mabbe she 'd like fer ter 'member
that 'ar, ef anything' happens."

The place of meeting was marked by a blasted
cypress growing on the edge of a ravine or "slash."
A tangle of thorn-trees, papaws and trumpet-vines
made a rude hedge above the bank on the road-
side. Luther's first glance showed him Dock's
tall figure in blue jeans, outlined against the chalk-
white of the cypress. At the same moment, Dock



perceived his enemy, and both men advanced,
frowning. Half-way, they stopped as abruptly as
if shot, with a curious, embarrassed, shamefaced
look. Yet that which had stopped them was but
a child's laugh. Immediately it was answered by
another childish laugh.
They 're down thar in the slash, I reckon,"
said Dock. Say, war n't that yo' gell's voice ?"
Yes; war n't t' other un your'n ? said Luther.
He was seized with an absurd and incongruous
Cayn't we get nearer to see? said he.
Dock jerked his thumb over his shoulder, say-
ing, "Thar 's a opener place a piece back."
All right," said Luther.
Neither man caring to walk ahead of the other,
the two marched peaceably side by side.
Just so,- the abrupt remembering it and the
sting of it made Dock wince,-just so they had
walked over that very road a year before; then they
carried a coffin between them, and the coffin was
that of Dock's wife. She was buried out in the
woods, as she had wished. The spot was not
twenty rods away. Luther had been Dock's good
friend and neighbor then, and it was Mrs. Morrow
who brought the bunch of holly and red berries
that was lying on the coffin. "And how comes
it we b'en walking' yere to-day, seeking' each other's
blood?" thought Dock.
Luther's reflections were of another nature.
"Thar! if that ar bad little trick are running'
with Haskett's gell agin, after my tellin' her I
jes' will guv 'er the bud*-leastways, I '11 skeer
'er up, a-promisin' it ter her "
Dock soon halted, where the underbrush was
less dense.
Each of the men eyed the other sharply before
getting on his hands and knees to crawl through.
Luther, half-way, met with a mishap, catching on
a thorn-tree. A smothered exclamation from him
attracted Dock's notice.
My foot got cotched in the elbow-brush," he
groaned, "and that ar blamed thorn-tree's got
hold er my breeches; I can't reach it with my
han's, nur I can't kick it 'way with my foot! Say,
kin ye cut the ornery branch off ? "
"Waal, ye be helt fas', ain't ye ?" Dock an-
swered, hastening to his aid, without a sign of
levity. He solemnly cut away the limb of the
Thank 'e," said Luther, in a surly voice.
They both crawled to the edge. In some way,
they both felt a disposition to postpone their
quarrel. They looked over the hedge of elbow-
brush" and thorn-tree and leafless trumpet-vine.
Down below, in the hollow, a fire had been built
against a log. Three sticks, crossed above, sup-

ported a kettle on which rested a covered tin
vessel. A savory steam arose from this, crisp-
ing in the air, delicious to the nostrils and beauti-
ful to the eye. Close to the fire, Mizzie and Doshy
sat together. The baby sat on a blanket beside
Mizzie, hilariously playing with Doshy's new doll.
On the outskirts of the group, the dog, Jerusalem
Jones, was chasing a pig.
"Whut they monkeyin' with, onyhow?" said
Hush Hark to 'em !" said Dock.
Doshy was explaining something to Mizzie:
"An' he loves brown-bread a terrible sight. He
eat some ter Mis' Caroll's, an' he b'en talking' 'bout
it ever sence. An' I '11 have this yere fur supper,
an' he '11 eat it, an' he '11 say, 'Who made it?' an'
I '11 say, 'Me'; an' I '11 say you learned me, an'
then he '11 'low yo' 're a real nice little girl."
'"I 'mi 'fraid he won't," said Mizzie ; "my paw
don' mind a bit my likin' you; but yo' paw 'd like
fur ter set the doeg on me."
Naw, he wud n't neether,".cried Doshy. He
jes' lets on ter be cross; he 's real good, inside.
Don' ye mind how he gathered them pecans fur
we-all afore they had the trouble ? He's real kind;
he never whips none o' us. Jes' sez he will but he
S" Blame it all, the pesky little trick She b'en
'cute nuff ter fin' that out," cried Luther, while
Dock stifled a chuckle.
"My paw's good, too," said Mizzie. He
chopped a right smart er wood fur me to-day. I
never have ter chop wood."
Neither does Maw," said Doshy proudly.
"My Paw always does hit, an' he done a heap
to-day, too."
The two fathers exchanged glances; without a
word each read what the other's forebodings
had been, by what he remembered of his own.
And each felt, in a vague and dubious way, com-
plimented by the other's dread of being killed.
A loud scream from one of the little girls turned
their eyes back to the fire. Jerusalem Jones had
worked mischief. He thought it was an unpro-
tected orphan of a pig that he was harassing; so,
barking and jumping, he had chased the wretched
little beast into the brake. But, in a second, he came
back faster than he went, and lJursued by three wild
hogs. These wild hogs are hideous creatures, long,
muscular, with great black heads, and tusks like
scimitars curling upward out of their jaws. They
would have ended Jerusalem Jones's ill-doing in
short order, had they caught him. Jerusalem,
howling with fright, bounded up to the girls, the
wild hogs at his heels, uttering the strange, fierce
sound which these beasts make when they rally to
face the hunters. It is the note of danger. The

* Switch.


^^*^'*' ^l~^^^^-^-.-- _/


girls turned pale. They leaped to their feet.
Mizzie snatched up the baby. With a single bound
and a mighty swing of her strong little arms, she
dropped the astonished infant in the midst of a
thicket of thorn-trees. Then, snatching a brand
from the fire, she stood at bay.
Fight 'em with the fire, Doshy she said;
"don' let 'em git our bread "
Doshy had bravely caught a stick, but seeing
the baby safe, she had flown to the rescue of Jeru-
salem Jones. The dog was rolling on the ground
in desperate conflict with the smallest hog. In his
agony, Jerusalem wrenched himself free and made a
flying leap through the fire, thereby overturning the
gypsy kettle and sending the brown-bread tin head-
long at the hogs. Doshy uttered a piteous scream:
Oh, my bread my nice bread "
Mizzie was on the other side nearer the brown-
bread. Before the huge black noses could touch
the tin, she kicked over the log.
Gether the bread an' run she screamed.
The two hogs turned on Mizzie. Doshy was
running to her playmate's aid; but she was too
far away. Horrified, she saw one infuriated boar
strike the burning stick out of the brave little
hand. "Jeru Jeru she cried in her despair,
while she threw her stick at the hog.
Let it be told to his credit, Jerusalem responded;

though he had run on his own account, though he
was bleeding in half a dozen places, the dog leaped
back into the fray, drove his teeth through the big
boar's ear, and hung there. The boar had caught
Mizzie's skirt; he flung up his wicked head now.
But meanwhile the other boar, with his teeth clash-
ing, his eyes like red coals -
Oh, Lord, Luther gasped Dock, can'tt ye
git a sight at it ? My pore little gell 's square in
front o' me! "
He shut his eyes for one intolerable second; the
next, the ping of a bullet made him crash his way
through the brush, and slip recklessly down the
bank. As an apple falls when hit by a stone, the'
boar tumbled to the ground. Then Dock's bullet
laid the other hog beside him.
The sagacious Jerusalem had loosened his hold
when he saw the gun-barrel. Now he capered
over the body with yells of triumph. But he
ceased his dance and looked in amazement at his
master, who was actually hugging Haskett's girl.
"Please, Mister Morrow," she said, "look a' the
baby. I put 'im in, but I can't git 'im out."
The baby, however, was already in its father's
arms. Doshy was mourning over her brown-
"Put it back in the steamer," commanded
Mizzie, adding: "Oh, please, Mister Morrow, 't


ain't Doshy's fault, bein' with me; I coaxed her
fur ter learn ter make the bread!"
"Honey," her father answered tenderly, it 's
the bes' bread ever was baked !-an' Haskett 'n'
me'll eat it together. Won't we, Dock ? "
"We will so," said Dock, rubbing the tears
from his eyes, an' I guv in, now, 'bout the shoot-
in'. I cud n't hev made that shot jest un'er the
child's elbow! Why, ye got a han' o' iron--"
"An' I guy in 'bout that ar ornery, triflin', no-
'count dog," answered Luther; "ye was right for
ter shoot 'im, Dock. Ye kin kill him off, this
minnit, ef yer wan' ter."
Naw, sir. Not after his tacklin' that hoeg ez
lie did," cried Dock; but ye know, Luther, --
I meant that shot, six months ago, fer him, not fer
you ; an' I are terrible sorry I done hit- "
Shet up said Luther impulsively. "I 've
done ez mean by you ez you 've done by me.
Blamed if I know how it come we-uns was fighting ,

onyhow. Say, let 's take the brown-bread ter my
house an' eat it -an' tell Mendoshy."

Thus it happened that the man who passed the
Morrow house that evening had a most extraordi-
nary tale to relate at the store.
"I tell ye, they was all roun' the table, Dock
Haskett an' his baby, an' his two gells, an' all the
Morrowses. An' Luther he kissed Haskett's gell
spang on the forehead, an' he war a-cuttin' her a
hunk o' brown-bread. An' Dock he says, She
did n't do no better nor yore gell'; an' then
Luther he guvs his gell a buss, too, an' they all
were a-laffin', an' Mis' Morrow she laffed till she
Aunt Callie's comment was, Waal, good
cooking' 's never wasted, an' them gells ain't likely
to fergit how to make brown-bread. I ain't sorry
I learned 'er, though, ez a general thing, I 'ain't
no 'pinion er folkses romancin' 'roun' my kitchen."

,.,/ --il .

FROM a far-off part of our Republic lately came --
a queer complaint,- that a two-hours' visit from iJlT \
a revenue cutter was the only sign the people of
Kodiak had seen in four years that there was such
a thing as a United States Government. I
This bit of news, droll as it may seem at first, is, /yI
when linked with other facts, anything but amus-
ing. It tells of national neglect and wrong- the -
story of American citizens, living in the most flour-
ishing district of Alaska, deserted by the Govern-
ment to which they yield their allegiance, and
which, so far as outward evidences go, ignores
their rights and welfare, if not, indeed, their very

And yet I wonder how many American citizens,
living in more favored parts of our dominion, en- I '
joying the benefits of local rule in States and
Territories, surrounded by the operations of Fed-
eral power, and under the shadow of its protec-
tion,-how many of us, when reading that story vkas1us u$o^
of injustice, gave a moment's thought to the
condition of our countrymen in the North, and .y .
paused to compare that condition with our own?
How many of us have ever seriously put the
question to ourselves: What is the Government
of the United States, and what is it doing for us? 4
The young philosopher, pondering over the mean-
ing of strange words, and quietly passing judgment on all subjects as
he grows in years, soon learns to regard the Government as a thing of
Power. From fragments of talk he gathers some idea about the vastness
of its authority and the glory of its achievements. He knows, in a con-

of its authority and the glory of its achievements, He knows, in a con-


fused and dreamy way, that it exists; but he does
not see it, he does not feel it, he does not hear it.
He thinks of it with patriotic awe, as he might
think of something supernatural. To him it is
a vague, mysterious Presence- an invisible, all-
pervading, sleepless Majesty, presiding like some
mighty Genius over the affairs and destiny of the
Later on, when he begins to pore over the daily
papers and read about what is happening in the
world, some of the mystery disappears. He hears
of a Congress, of a President, and of a Supreme
Court, transacting business miles away in the City
of Washington, and he learns to think of them
whenever the Government is named. But as sum-
mer days approach, he reads more news from
Washington: the Justices have closed the Court
and gone; Congress has decamped; and, last of
all, the President has seized a fishing-rod and fled
into the wilderness for rest. What has become of
the Government? Veiled, impenetrable sover-
eignty, unseen and silent, it still exists, still goes
onward with its work.
Certainly, in the loftier sense of the term, the
Government is invisible. Its mention may well
inspire awe -it suggests sovereign grandeur and
authority. Its majesty and power are the majesty
and power of a nation- of the sixty millions of peo-
ple who compose the Republic. The Government
is the people, speaking and executing their own
sovereign will. It is the Republic in action The
power itself can not be seen; the means, or agen-
cies, through which it speaks and acts, are visible.
Those agencies are human there is nothing
supernatural about them.
The older boys and girls whom I address know
all this. You know more, for you have studied
the Constitution of the United States. You know
the theory, the outline, the general plan and pur-
poses of the Government,-in other words, you
understand what it was designed to be. But a
person might know the Constitution from begin-
ning to end-he might be able to recite it back-
ward and yet be utterly in the dark as to what the
Government actually is. A government may be
one thing in theory, and quite a different thing
in practice. According to the Constitution, the
Government of the United States is a system,
grand, protective, just! According to some think-
ers who have freely uttered their thoughts during
the present year, it is a grim and ravenous Mon-
ster, devouring the substance of the people and
threatening them with ruin !
Nor is the reality hid only from the young. It
is safe to say that to the average American (and
the expression sweeps over many an aged head)
the Government of the United States is scarcely

more than a fancy,-his notions as to what it is
doing, and as to how it does it, border often on
the ludicrous. It was a boy who, when asked how
Congress is divided, promptly answered, Into
three classes- civilized, half-civilized, and sav-
age." But it was a man who, stating that he had
seven sons and no daughters, and that, as he under-
stood the law, a man who has seven sons and no
daughters is entitled to a pension, gravely applied
to the Government for his allowance!
It has often been remarked that the American
people, as a rule, know more about ancient and
foreign history than they do about their own. It
is quite in keeping with this view that the man
who knows the least about the Declaration of In-
dependence should be the first on hand and make
the loudest noise whenever the Fourth of July
comes around. And it is not going far beyond the
truth to say that the American who knows practi-
cally nothing about the Constitution and laws of
his country is the wildest in his praise of Ameri-
can institutions and in his talk about the exalted
rights of citizenship !
Passing by what he knows, or what he does not
know, about the local governments of town and
county and State (and he does not know too
much!), what does the average American-the
well-meaning, easy-going, every-day citizen--
know about the management of national affairs?
He knows that this is the province of the Federal
Power the Government of the United States.
He knows that this power works under the forms
of law and through the agency of men; that these
men are, by the Constitution, divided into three
great classes, or departments the Congress, the
Judiciary, and the Executive; that the Congress
makes the laws, declaring what shall or shall not
be done, which it is the function of the Judiciary
to interpret, the office of the Executive to carry
out, and the duty of every citizen to obey. But he
does not read the laws which Congress makes; he
does not look at the decisions which the Judiciary
renders; and, not knowing precisely what the Ex-
ecutive has been ordered by Congress to do, he
can not know what that department is doing, or
have any intelligent conception of his own rights
and duties as a citizen under those laws. Yet,
within a fortnight, he will exercise the highest
right and perform (or, rather, pretend to perform)
the highest duty of American citizenship he will
vote for a man to go to Congress and help four
hundred other Congressmen to make more laws,
and he will vote for a President to execute the
laws those men shall make And, just here, to
show how little he really knows about the Consti-
tution itself, we may trip him on one of its very
first and simplest provisions. He imagines that,



as a citizen of Albany, for instance, in voting for a
man to represent the people of that county in Con-
gress he must name, as his choice, some man who
also resides in that county; whereas (my young
readers are able to inform him), if he and the
other voters of the Albany district prefer to be
represented by some man who lives in Buffalo, or
anywhere else in the entire State of New York,
they have a perfect right (so far as the mere ques-
tion of that man's place of residence is concerned)
to make that choice. He has doubtless read the
Constitution, but he has by no means mastered it.
In one way or another--chiefly through the
public prints--he gets occasional notice of Gov-
ernmental action. Every paper he picks up has
something to say concerning some branch of the
Government service, or some branch of Govern-
ment work. He reads about a fight on the frontier
between a troop of soldiers and a band of hostile
Indians, and he naturally infers that we have an
army; but as to the size of that army, or where
the rest of it is, and in what work engaged, he
does not bother himself to inquire. In the same
way, he hears of a sailing-vessel crashing into a
" United States man-of-war," or of a sham battle.
or torpedo-practice, in which some sailors are killed
and others wounded, and the idea flashes across his
mind that we have also a navy; but as to where
the other ships of the navy are whether floating
on the top, or dismantled and at the bottom, of the
sea- or as to what we would do in case an enemy
should bombard our coast, he has no exact knowl-
edge. From the quips and bantering comments
of the press, the subject seems to be one for
national ridicule and sport, and he drops it with a
smile or jest.
The carrier daily delivers to him his letters,-
some from the remotest regions of the earth,-
and he recognizes in this another agency of the
Government. But the infinite details, the vast
and almost perfect system by which the postal
service is enabled to do its work so promptly and
efficiently, are not considered. He receives his
mail as he does many other things in life,- as a
matter of course and of habit.
He handles the specie, the greenbacks," the
gold and silver certificates, and the bonds bearing
the impress of the United States, together with
notes bearing the names of national banks,-
things which might stir in his mind a multitude of
fiscal thoughts. How does the Government get
the bullion which it coins ? by what right does it
issue greenbacks ? in what do they differ from the
specie certificates ? and why, if the Government
can make money out of paper, should it borrow
money and issue bonds and pay interest on its
debt? and what is that debt, anyhow? and what

has the Government to do with national banks?
And back of all these questions are others: What
is the revenue of the Government? How is it
raised, and how and for what is it disbursed ? If
any of these queries enter his head, he does not
banish a wink of sleep in an effort to answer
them; though perhaps the politicians have
recently accosted him on the subject, and he has
gleaned some facts in spite of their conflicting
At long intervals he meets the census-taker
on his travels, and he understands that the Govern-
ment has had its curiosity aroused and is counting
the population of the Republic. But it would make
his brain whirl to look at the massive volumes the
Census Office turns out, and to read its statistics
of trade and agriculture, and of nearly everything
else that touches the social and business condition
of the country.
Stray items may reach him now and then from
other points. He may hear of men of genius -
men with long names and longer heads-engaged
in a variety of odd tasks. He may hear of some
brooding over craters and lava, musing over mo-
raines, and philosophizing about the strange be-
havior of brooks; of others surveying the coast or
studying the land; of some tracking the course of
an earthquake-of others measuring the move-
ments of tides; of one locating the ores of the
earth-of another mapping the shoals of the sea.
He may hear of one assembling the scattered bones
of a monster brute; of another uncovering the
buried ruins and the history of an ancient race.
He may hear of one stocking the streams with fish;
of another investigating insects and arguing that
wingless spiders can fly against the wind. He may
hear of one stationed on a lofty peak, signaling an
advancing storm; of another sweeping the distant
depths, following the flight of some runaway star
as it tears headlong through space.
But does he see the hand of Government in any
of these things? What are his reflections? The
Constitution expressly refers to armies, to a navy, to
a postal service, to coinage and matters of revenue,
to a census, and to a number of other subjects which
he may readily recognize, when he stumbles across
them in his path, as proper for the Government to
deal with. Well, the Constitution speaks also about
promoting the progress of science and useful arts.
Does he think, for an instant, that under this
provision the Government is paying for scientific
work? If so, then why should not everybody en-
gaged in the pursuit of knowledge, as a pastime or
as a vocation, have the right to be sustained by
national wealth? Tell him that the Government
has invaded science, art, and literature; ask him
to explain where it derives its authority to do so;


ask him to draw the line between the proper duties
of Government and the rights of private enter-
prise- ask him, in short, to mark the bounds of the
system itself. What answer does he give?
These are only a few of a thousand and one top-
ics that might arrest his attention, in his reading
or his observations, and suggest the exercise of
Federal power. To say that he comprehends it
in all its immensity, in all its ramifications, in all its
far-reaching effects, is to pay him a compliment at
the expense of fact. To know the reality, to know
how far it is actually working out the purposes for
which it was established, and how far it has swerved
from its true course, he must know more than
Constitutional principles; he must know the laws,
the agencies created by those laws, what those
agents are doing, and the methods which they em-
ploy. His knowledge, at the best, is but a smat-
tering; to him, after all, the Government is little
else than a conjecture, a fancy-an airy, intan-
gible, invisible theory.
This is blunt speech. For there are tens of
thousands of citizens who have very clear and correct
notions about what the Government is, and about
what it ought to be. The "average American is,
to be sure, an indefinite sort of person, and he is
apt to think and know more about public affairs
than he shows. But there is one class of Ameri-
cans to which he does not belong Americans
who, unfortunately, do take what they call a prac-
tical view" of things. They know the Blue Book
better than they know the Constitution; they look
upon the Government simply as a great collection
of offices; they know the salary attached to every
office; and their highest and only ambition, as citi-
zens, is to secure the best-paying offices for them-
selves. The American with his "theory" and
imperfect knowledge is so far ahead of this type of
"enlightenment" as to put comparison out of all
The American who glories in the majesty of the
Republic, and who values his own freedom, can not
afford to dream; the duty he owes to the common-
wealth, to society, and to himself, he can not, with
honor or safety, ignore. The true grandeur of
our Government depends upon the justice of its

laws; those laws depend upon the virtue, the
patriotism, and the wisdom of the people. The
fight for independence did not end with the Treaty
of Peace; nor did the adoption of the Constitution
settle forever all questions of civil liberty and gov-
ernment. Dangers have appeared in the past;
dangers menace us to-day; dangers will yet arise.
They may come from the direction of the Govern-
ment; or they may come from society, as evils for
the Government to meet. The political struggle
now going on, which the people are expected to
decide intelligently at the polls, is important, re-
garded from the stand-point either of principle or
of policy. For the rising generation, graver ques-
tions and contests are in store. May they be bravely
met and honorably determined by the ballot and
the other weapons of peace and law !
The subject of government is a profound and
momentous one, yet it is not wholly beyond the
grasp of the young. It would be an error for par-
ents or teachers to withhold it from you as a mat-
ter reserved for older minds. You can not be too
much impressed by a consciousness of its gravity;
you can not take too broad a view of national des-
tiny and of your rights and duties as younger cit-
izens; you can not begin to study these things too
You are not expected to plunge at once into the
depths of "political science"; you need not vex
your early wits over abstruse economic" puzzles.
With time and experience will come ability to
handle disputed problems, and to follow the drift
of national policy and power. At the start, the
mask of mystery should be lifted off; the reality
of government should stand before your thoughts.
To this end, these serial sketches have been pre-
pared. They will not acquaint you with all the de-
tails of the system; that is not their aim. They arc
designed to show you, at a glance, the Republic
at its daily work:-to conduct you into the presence
of the Government of the United States ; to intro-
duce you to it, as to a stranger, and, with a few
social remarks about the weather in order to put
you at your ease, leave you to learn, from further
intimacy, the disposition and the habits of your

(To be continued.)

4L Tke CeL

r"- r f I -. HI CfH- Kl.

_-"' -" o2Y
,,' '1 l;, ..-.,r-. '. H ITCHCOCK.



j- a b! 1,

E. p i II i

.i l.:.-! ,i: 1:,. ,.. I [.:.,
the miller's family. Per-
haps the children themselves
were large for their age. At all events, they seemed
to be everywhere; the house overflowed with them,
yet there were always one or two about the mill,
paddling in the mill-pond, or chasing the chickens
about the yard.
Miranda and Sarah grew up in the belief that
chickens, like children, were born to original sin.
Nothing else satisfactorily explained their tendency
to get into the garden.
Sarah, run chase them chickens out o' the
garden," called Mrs. McKenzie, as usual, one fine
morning in the fall. Late though it was, there
were still precious seeds to be garnered from the
yellow vines, and so thought the chickens, too.
Sarah was a very little tot,- the youngest. She
started boldly down the garden-path, but stopped
short on seeing the big rooster, chuckling in low
tones, as busy as the rest among the seeds.
Their mother is with them," she called back
in her little piping voice.
M'rindy, you run help her." Miranda obeyed.
"It is n't their mother at all," she explained.
" She does n't know their mother from their
I guess we 'll kill a young gobbler for
Thanksgiving," mused the mother, looking into
the barn-yard as the children shooed the greedy
fowls through the gate. "A turkey and a green
goose you '11 like that, won't you, Dave ? "
One of the biggest of the big boys was leaning
against a door-post-" Keeping the barn up," he
called it.
"Well, my appetite is very delicate," he an-
swered, regretfully, and then burst into a great
shout of laughter. However good his jokes might
be, nobody enjoyed them so much as Dave himself.
" I can manage to pick a bone, though, Mother."

I 'm hungry," said the listening Sarah, in a
.:lcided tone.
Mercy sakes, child, you 've but just left the
LI eakfast-table !"
It's talking about Thanksgiving that makes
h.'r hungry," David explained. I feel just that
way too."
In fact, it was the same at Buctouche all the
year round. Something in the air made one ready
to eat at any hour of the day or night. There
was the salt air of the sea, and the sweet resinous
smell of the pine-woods, and then all the lumber,
heaped in fresh, clean profusion everywhere, in
piles that towered above the lowly old mill and
hid it from view. Perhaps that was the hun-
griest" smell of all.
Fortunately there was always enough to eat in
the McKenzie family; but it was not turkey and
green goose every day. Oh, no; nor pumpkin-
pie, and cranberries, and plum-pudding! The
little McKenzies lived in Canada, where English
plum-pudding formed part of every festival, but
you see they were American enough to have
pumpkin-pie, too.
Lucky little McKenzies!
Preparations for the day began soon after Mrs.
McKenzie made her first allusion to green goose
and the young gobbler. Before nightfall those
fated birds were hanging by their heels, plump,
snow-white after their plucking, inside the door of
the ice-house.
Miranda helped to make the pies. She was
"handy," her mother said,-a care-taking, ear-
nest child, very unlike the humorous David, his
boisterous brothers Joe, Isaac, William, and Daniel,
or even roly-poly Sarah, who showed an early
fondness for adventure and a distaste for honest
Miranda was her mother's "right-hand-man."
She stoned the raisins, she stuffed the green goose
(after her mother had prepared the appetizing
mixture of bread-crumbs, sage, and onion), while
Mrs. McKenzie prepared the gobbler; and when
stuffed, Miranda's fowl certainly showed the more
beautiful outlines.



When Thanksgiving morning came, Miranda
arose with a deep sense of responsibility.
The pudding must go in at ten," she repeated
to herself. The goose and the gobbler are to
roast until they are done."
Breakfast was no sooner over, than Miranda
was teasing to hang the fowl forthwith. A curious
way to roast fowls was this: to hang them from
the mantel-piece like Christmas stockings, letting
them turn and slowly brown before the crackling
"Is n't it time now, Mother?"
"No, child, not yet. Fetch me the butter,"re-
plied Mrs. McKenzie, still busy over the pudding.
The boys, idle that day, gathered around the fire,
where the sight of their luxurious laziness irritated
Miranda. Like a little Martha, she was cumbered
with many cares, and she wished these to be un-
derstood even if they were not shared by her unap-
preciative family.
"Come, Dave," she said, imitating the sharp,
bustling tone of her mother, "you are too idle for
anything. Fetch the butter for Mother, now;
I 'm busy." Dave opened his big blue eyes in
slow surprise.
Hark to the little crowing hen! Don't you be
saucy, now. That's all I have to say to you." Then,
so far from jumping to obey, the bad boy con-
trived, while he tilted back his chair again, to
thrust out one long leg, just as Miranda impatiently
brushed by, tripping her up, but catching her as
she fell with an affectation of great solicitude.
"Now see the harm of being in such a hurry.
Why can't you be more like me? I'm never in a
hurry." Dave winked at Isaac with one of his
usual smiles. After this the boys felt it their duty
to tease M'rindy all they could. She was, as
Dave said, too "saucy." Something certainly
was wrong with her to-day- the day that was to
have been so happy. She felt angry with the
boys, and was cross even to baby Sarah, who was
playing contentedly in a corner with her kitten.
The boys were mean and hateful to tease her so,-
she, the only one who was useful; if it were not
for her, those lazy boys would go hungry all day
before they would do anything to help. Deter-
mined to be an example of virtue, she fussed and
fretted, worried her mother with questions and
advice, as the good woman bustled about making
the beds and cleaning up," as she called it, be-
fore Uncle Jacob, Aunt Betsey, and the five chil-
dren arrived. A Thanksgiving service was to be
held that afternoon, in the Presbyterian church,
which would be attended by the whole McKenzie
family, as well as by the country people from many
miles around.
Oh, I 'm sure it's time to hang the goose,"

sighed Miranda. It won't be done in time,
Mother. It 's bigger than the gobbler. Can't I
hang it now ? "
I can't think what 's come over you ex-
claimed poor Mrs. McKenzie, out of patience.
" You 're not helping, you 're a-hindering me.
Now, please go and sit down, and stay there till I
call you."
Miranda walked off with a deep sense of injury.
-After all she had done to help What ingrati-
tude Nobody loved her, nobody realized how
much they owed to her. If she should die now,
they would find out. Then they would miss her,
indeed! She would go away somewhere, as her
mother ordered, and then her mother would see
soon enough whether her daughter was a help
or a hindrance.
I won't come until she calls and calls," thought
Miranda, angrily. She was uncertain where to go.
Upstairs it was cold, and she would be too easily
found--she wished to go where no one would
think of looking for her. The cellar! -that was
the place To tell the truth, Miranda seldom
went there when she could help it. A year or two
before, Dave had frightened her badly in its dark
depths by pretending to be a ghost, and she never
got over a secret dread of seeing something"
there. But to-day fear was forgotten in an uglier
feeling. Miranda had resolved to be miserable.
The thought of sitting in the darkness among
potato-barrels and sulking, gave her a grim satis-
faction. It would seem like another injury heaped
upon her patient head by her unfeeling family.
The cellar-door opened from a large store-room
beyond the kitchen. Miranda passed the boys
without being noticed; they were deep in a game of
jack-stones, on the hearth. The fire needed more
wood. Miranda recollected the goose and the gob-
bler and half turned to rekindle it; but she hard-
ened her heart. "Let them look after it,--it
won't be my fault, now, if the goose and the gob-
bler are not done in time." She passed on, took
a candle from the shelf and lit it in the store-
room, then gently opened and shut the cellar-
Now, Dave, gi' me my alley !" shouted William,
falling upon the offender and scuffling with him.
Nobody heard the soft closing of the door. The
big clock in the corner ticked away; the ashes fell
on the hearth; the boys, bent upon some new
plan, rushed out-of-doors; little Sarah, sitting in
the corner, had succeeded in unbuttoning her
frock and buttoning it up again on the unwilling
kitten, where it was held in place by winding the
sleeves around and tying them like a sash.
A few minutes later, Mrs. McKenzie bustled in
and cast an anxious glance at the clock.


Mercy sakes she cried; then she looked at
the fire. "Mercy sakes alive! she repeated
excitedly. You boys why you 've let the fire
go clean out. M'rindy, why did n't you 'tend to
it? -After all your fussing and trying to help I "
But Miranda and the boys were out of hearing.
Mrs. McKenzie went to the door and called:
"Dave, Joseph, Isaac, William, Dan'l,-you
and M'rindy come straight in the house. Now,
what ailed you to let the fire go out ?" she asked
the boys more amiably, remembering the day.
Hev you forgot the
green goose and the
gobbler? Come, it
is time to hang
'em, and high time,
too "
"Hurrah!" shout-
ed Daniel, a silent
youth who seldom
showed enthusiasm.
He now hurriedly
gathered up an arm-
ful of wood and soonr
had a roaring fire in
the great, wide stone-
chimney which took /. I
up all one side of the /,
room. There was a ''
Dutch-oven to the 1 .
right of the fire-
place, the door of
which, being opened, I.: ..u -..'. .:. ..r. ri.
had dragged a chair tc Ih'- ih ,i-,i ir. J I.-, .i-.
ing on it was able to re.t..h il b.b. 'I'L, .- .:, i .i
Here he felt about arol .!'...,i..; r.. l ,i. -_:, .
each of which he faster,.... I i.i '.r ::i .r r ~ I ..
Bring forth the vicr'm- i, .: il..i.
Isaac entered the r-..:.n .: ..i..:i! I., i-i, !-:
green goose, stiff with .-..1.. i... I.,I......:.I t r
the gobbler. How no-l.i- ih.- I...:..- rh...' .*..
birds, portly with stuftin, H1.10 ~igs lihtly
skewered to their sides, their legs crossed with
an air of beautiful resignation The boys then
hung up the birds, amid jokes and laughter in
which Mrs. McKenzie joined freely now that the
pudding was off her mind. She brought two
dishes and placed them under the fowls to catch
the dripping. The boys sat near, delighted to
hear the hissing, crackling sounds with which the
goose and the gobbler roasted. The weight of
the fowls caused them to twirl continually on the
strings; but if one ceased for a moment the boys
made haste to give it a thrust which sent it spin-
ning and bumping against its companion or the
jambs of the fire-place. Now and then Mrs.
McKenzie came and basted them, with a long-

handled ladle. Meanwhile the roasting birds gave
out a most appetizing smell. The boys, like young
epicures as they were, could think of nothing else.
Indeed it would have been difficult for the greatest
sage and philosopher, seated before those fat and
juicy birds, on a frosty Thanksgiving morning, to
fix his thoughts elsewhere,-above all, if the Buc-
touche air had given him a perpetual appetite.
Just at this auspicious moment, there was heard
a sound of laughter and merry voices, the door was
flung open, and with a rush of nipping air, in came

,, 1j,,,

f On. I


the five frisky McKenzie cousins, followed by bluff
Uncle Jacob, who was a sea-captain, and Aunt
Betsey, his wife.
In the darksome cellar, poor sulky Miranda
heard all the merriment. Candle in hand, she had
climbed down the steep stairway, little more than
a ladder, and, turning to the right, gone doubtful
forward, testing with her feet the damp 1i
which she well knew to be full of -;1 il-. for the
;.-.1... r.; :candle-light was not of much use.
The cellar was large and rambling, like the old
house, and divided into skeleton rooms by the
great timbers which supported the partitions


above. The various stores with which country
cellars abound, were distributed into these rooms,
and Miranda was in search of the apple-bins.
Moving this way and that, she was suddenly left
in darkness, for a faint gust of air blew out her
candle. To turn and go back was her first im-
pulse, the cellar was so damp, so dark, and so ter-
ribly still. But there was much obstinate pride in
Miranda. To go back before the. .iwi:-c.l ii:!
seemed like surrender. So she kep.r .:o., i~:. -in-
her way, dimly making out obstacle: b rI,. i._i,
light stealing through holes which -.ui.i .i.:I !,.:I
been left, for ventilation, in the stone .l- inc:i i i 'i.' I
the house. When a barrel came ur.-i .t ih.: I-h:.ii-
she tried its contents. The first held tu' riip th LI
second, beets; and then came a wide .--I-.: 1
of potatoes. A broad patch of li.l,. ..n
the ground gave her a start, but it ri.ir...:i
out to be only cabbages planted he .I:l-i-'.
in a shallow bed of sand. In th. .r
they were kept fresh through the ir-lit.
At last, by a sweet, spicy smell, Mar.J-i,,:
knew that she was in the neighb. irhi:.,:dJ .
of the apple-bins. Presently she touch.:id Il : 'iI
cool, juicy fruit, and taking a deep bi. iri,.''
a luscious apple she settled down w.l1, I.:.
back against a barrel, making believe t:, b.: .
comfortable. "Now I'll wait .
quietly here and enjoy these .'
apples, till I hear the folks
hunting for me," she said. s (it,
Can you imagine a more I
stupid and unpleasant way to
spend Thanksgiving morn-
As she sat there in the .--
chill silence, the same ques-
tion occurred to Miranda.
Little by little, with nothing
to do but think, she began
to change her views, to give
right names to her ill-temper
and her vanity, and to realize
how silly her self-importance
would seem in the eyes of 5 -
her mother and the boys.
I sha'n't stay here any
longer. I '11 go back and try, with all my might, to
really help," she thought, scrambling to her feet.
Now, what follows is perfectly true, although it
seems a queer thing. Miranda found that she was
lost. Lost in the dark: wandering this way and
that among the vegetables, butter-kegs, soap-tubs,
and fish-barrels, groping always for the ladder
leading up to the light. She strained her eyes,
trying to see more plainly. A dozen times the
stairs seemed just before her, but still her fingers

closed on something else. Big girl as she was -
" going on eleven "- she began to cry as she wan-
dered on without ever getting anywhere.
Oh, where is it? Where is it?" she sobbed.
"I wish I had n't come down here,--I wish I 'd
minded Mother "
At that moment the stillness was broken by a


peal of laughter and the trampling of feet over-
head. The sounds were subdued by the stout
beams between, but still were so loud that she
knew the kitchen must be just above her.
They are all having a good time; they don't
even miss me," she thought, angrily. It was a
bitter, though a needed, lesson. But how to get
out of the cellar ? that was the question now as
to whether she was missed or not, Miranda post-
poned inquiring. If the kitchen were overhead,

* ,,4 .l',, r* $J Ir


twenty paces one way or another would lead her
to the stairs. She walked straight ahead for twenty
steps, and her outstretched hands met the founda-
tion-wall. Again and again she tried, but soon
the voices scattered and she no longer knew where
the kitchen lay. This was after the McKenzie
cousins arrived, and were taking off their things in
the best room, and then racing through the hall,
and then sliding down the stairs.
Miranda had swallowed the last remnant of pride.
She had called for help before now; but in the
continuous talking and laughter upstairs nobody
heard her.
Above, the new-comers had asked and answered
many questions. Ben had shot nine wild ducks;
Uncle Jacob had lost half his spring lambs by the
unseasonable cold; Aunt Betsey had been shown
several rolls of fine homespun cloth, and had
instructed her sister-in-law how to make a beauti-
ful purple dye, in which gorgeous tint her daughter
Mary Ann was arrayed presenting the appear-
ance of a very lively larkspur.
It was Uncle Jacob who finally said:
Seems to me I have n't seen all hands. Why,
where 's M'rindy? "
M'rindy, indeed!
Where in the world was she? And presently
all the family were wondering -then searching -
then whistling and shouting. Good Mrs. McKen-
zie had quite forgotten the morning's annoyance,
and, unable to account for Miranda's disappear-
ance, was sadly alarmed. The children formed
scouting-parties and hunted through the garden,
the barn, and the mill. In all the noise, nobody,

for a while, heard poor little Miranda calling out,
" Here I am! In the cel-lar !"
At last Mrs. McKenzie, lifting her hand, ex-
"Hush I heard a cry."
Then every one, breathlessly listening, heard the
doleful voice, choked with sobs, repeating:
In the cellar!"
They rushed to the door, flung it open, and in
two seconds had found the poor little lost sheep,
close by the cellar-stairs. She was crying hard by
this time, and they were trying their best to comfort
her, proving that she was indeed loved and had
been missed in her absence. But she revived as
if by magic when David suddenly shouted:
"The goose and the gobbler are singed to a
coal "
Sure enough In the excitement of the search
for Miranda every one had forgotten the dinner
roasting before the fire; and the flames blazing
up, caught and enwrapped the devoted birds in a
devouring flame.
David's lamentation, in a few minutes more,
might have been literally true. Fortunately the
singeing was but skin deep. The fowls were
rescued, scraped, and set forth in the places of
honor upon a table loaded with the best of fare,
amid the jolliest bursts of laughter. When served,
every one declared them excellent.
The goose and gobbler," said the unquench-
able David, "remind me of the singed cat that
was better than she looked to be."
And Miranda, you may be sure, relished them
far better than her fare of apples in the cellar.



IN the spring of 1882, I was sitting one day at
the door of my house on the prairies of Manitoba,
watching a furious thunder-storm, accompanied by
a heavy rainfall. The rolling of the thunder was so
incessant that the intervals between the peals rarely
reached thirty seconds; but in such silent intervals
as there were, I was surprised to hear again and
again the sweet melody of the prairie-lark.
Eager to fihd the cheery bird, I took down my
telescope, and from the door surveyed the plain,

in the direction of the singing; and I at length
discovered the brave little musician perched on a
low twig, out in the storm. The rain was beating
on his back and running in a steady stream from
the end of his tail, but still he sang on, in the loud,
melodious strains that have made the Western
meadow-lark famous as a songster. He sat upon
the bough so steadily, with one foot tucked up out
of the wet, and sang with so little apparent intention
of stopping on account of the weather, that I went


for paper and pencil, and, observing him through
the telescope, made a sketch which I afterward
finished more carefully, and now present to the
The other bird, on the wing, was added to show

distinguish them, they are so unlike in voice and
habits that they need not be confounded by the
young naturalist. The song of the Eastern mead-
ow-lark is a pleasing feature of the bird-concerts
in the fields of eastern America; yet the song does


that the prairie meadow-lark also sings in the air, not give the bird a position of superiority, nor even
like a true lark. a place in the first rank of our songsters. But the
It may be well to explain that the bird before song of the Western bird is loud, wild, melodious,
us is very different from the common meadow-lark and varied beyond description, and will yet secure
of the Eastern States. Though they are so much for it the highest place of all in the estimation of
alike in appearance that none but an expert can those who delight in bird-music.



ELSIE has made an invention, and her papa,
who is a lawyer, declares that she must have it pat-
ented, because, if she does not, somebody else will,
as soon as it is seen in public. Nobody was more
surprised than Papa when he was told that his little
daughter had made a useful invention. He knew
that she was rather ingenious in the matter of girl-
ish devices, and she seemed to take such profes-
sional pride in the care of little Fred, her invalid
brother (who had something the matter with his
spine), that the whole family had long ago decided
that she was destined to be either a woman doctor
or a trained nurse.
They were a large family, the Holworthys. Some
of them were already nearly grown and helping
to earn their own living that is, the boys were -
and the older girls were at their wits'-end to devise
some way of doing their share. After much dis-
tress of mind they had decided that, for the present,
the best they could do was to help Mamma, who,
with her household cares and poor little Fred to
fret her,-not to mention the other boys' clothes,-
was rather overburdened at times.
Elsie, as has been said, had gradually assumed,
more and more, the care of the invalid; but of
late his poor little twisted spine had caused
him more trouble than usual. The pillows did
not seem to fit, or else they were too warm; and
though the little fellow tried to be patient, Elsie
saw that he was perpetually uncomfortable, and
she set her brain to work to invent a remedy. She
tried him in the easy-chair, tilted back, but that
would not do ; and in the rocking-chair, but that
was worse. He was lifted into the hammock, and
for a while was comfortable, for he said that it fit-
ted nicely and was cool, and seemed to hold him
in its arms; but, after a while, he slipped down
toward the middle of the hammock and again the
pain returned.
"Else," he said, at length, "I don't believe
anything will do, unless we can melt the easy-chair,
and the rocking-chair, and the bed, and the ham-
mock, all into one. I do believe I could be com-
fortable in that." He did not mean to be peevish
or unreasonable, but the dull, never-ceasing back-
ache and restlessness were more than he could
endure ; and the tears came into his eyes as Elsie
stood before him watching his pale, pinched face.
VOL. XVI.--5.

Fred," she exclaimed suddenly, after ponder-
ing a few minutes, I believe I can do it! "
Do what? "
"Why, melt the rocking-chair and the ham-
mock into one. Yes, and the easy-chair and the
bed too !" And she gave a little skip as her idea
took definite shape.
It won't take long to do it, and you can help.
You know how we netted the hammock. Well,
our new contrivance can be made in the same way.
There is some twine left. I '11 get the needles and
mesh-sticks, and we will go right at it."
Fred was interested at once, entered heartily
into the scheme, and forgot his aching back for
the time; but Elsie would not tell him all her
plans, because, she said, she was not very sure of
them herself, and they might not succeed after all,
and that would disappoint him.
There was a broken-down hammock in the
garret, which entered into Elsie's calculations.
Having procured this, they managed, by mending
a few rents and using a
pair of shears freely, to
keep pleasantlybusy for an
hour, and they constructed
something like Fig. I.
It was merely a little net
About four feet square, with
round wooden rods, about
eighteen inches long, thrust
through the meshes at top
and bottom. To the ends of
one of the rods a line was
fastened, and tacks were
driven into both rods to fasten
the meshes so that they could
S not slip from side to side.
Fred could not conceive
what was to be done with it.
FIG. I. Elsie, with the wonderful tact
that made her so excellent a nurse, managed to
keep his curiosity excited and at the same time to
prevent his becoming cross in consequence of her
refusal to explain.
Now, I must run away with it for a few min-
utes," she said, when the work was done, "and
when I come back it will be all ready for the
'grand combination act.' See! here is the last


ST. NICHOLAS with the rest of the story which you
began last month."
And Elsie produced the magazine, which she had
thoughtfully held in reserve for some such crisis.
Fred received it eagerly and was deep in the
story before she reached the door. Wearied with
her long confinement, Elsie skipped down-stairs
and out to the orchard, where she knew she would
find some camp-stools under the sunset tree."
Placing one of them in the shade, under a con-
veniently low limb of the tree, she placed the lower
part of the net upon it, so that the ends of one
rod rested just under the ends of the cross-pieces.
Then she threw the line over the limb and hoisted
the top of the net until it hung in a curve, as shown
in Fig. 2. Deftly making two half-hitches (an ac-
complishment which her cousin, a naval cadet, had
taught her), she gave a pull to see that all was se-
cure, and then very carefully sat down and leaned
back, prudently reaching up over her head and
taking hold of the upper rod to prevent falling
over backward.
Luckily, she had made a good guess at the cor-
rect length of the line, and she gave a little sigh
of delight which turned into a half shriek as the
camp-stool unexpectedly reared upon its hind legs
and threatened to go over backward. However,
it went just so far and no farther, and Elsie had
only to place another camp-stool within reach of
her feet, and her bliss was complete.
The "few minutes" were gone forever, and
Elsie, wearied with her sisterly cares, and the men-
tal labor of
.... \ slept serenely
S. under the ap-
1 ple-tree in the
Sji \lap of her in-

Who is
2I that in the or-
chard? "
It looks
S like Elsie."
S --~~ What is
'-* she sittingin?"
2. Let 's go see."'
This from the two younger boys as they came
home from school. Over the stone-wall they scram-
bled, and with a common impulse raced down
through the orchard, with difficulty suppressing
a yell when they discovered their sister asleep in
such a strange combination of hammock and camp-
stool. She, however, waked at the rush of feet,
and was at once overwhelmed with questions:

" Where did you get it?" Who gave it to you ?"
"Let us try it?" Elsie was fain to give place to
the boys, who, boy-like, pronounced the invention
"immense and declared that Fred must be im




mediately carried out and placed in what Tom
called Elsie's "self-adjusting, back-acting, ham-
mocky easy rocking-chair."
Mamma's consent was obtained, and Fred -a
pitifully light-weight was soon tenderly placed in
the newly-invented chair, where, for more than an
hour, he was admired by all beholders, including
the entire Holworthy family, and their immediate
neighbors. Before he had not been able to spend
more than half an hour in the open air; but now,
rocked gently by the breeze, he could not bear to
be taken in-doors even at sunset, and nothing
would do but to have Elsie's chair suspended
from the hammock-hook in his own room, with a
camp-stool to complete the arrangement. It is
very singular, but he began to gain from that very
day, and even the doctor says the improvement is
largely due to Elsie's invention.
Of course the boys went right to work and made
hammock-backs for every camp-stool on the prem-
ises. The doctor asked, and, of course, received
Elsie's permission, to introduce them in the hos-
pital; the State Medical Inspector has mentioned
them in his official report, and Elsie has received
so many congratulations that her brothers say she
will certainly be spoiled.
But Mamma and Fred insist that even when she
is spoiled, nobody will know it.
NOTE.-Elsie's invention may be made just as
well from a strip of thin canvas or stair-cloth, of


suitable width. In the case of the latter, the
material may be doubled under, forming a sort of
pocket or bag to fit over the end of the camp-
stool; the lower rod may, therefore, be omitted.
In using a net, it will be found that the meshes
will hang almost straight up and down if suspended
one way, but will draw together in the middle if
hung the other way. The point of suspension

may be the trunk, instead of the limb, of a tree, or
a hook in a wall, or, in fact, anything that will bear
a moderate weight. If a hook can be fixed in the
ceiling above the head of a lounge or a bed, the
hammock-back can be adjusted-the occupant
sitting on the lower part-so that it makes a de-
lightfully cool and easy support in a half-reclining



ONE night, an owl was prowling round
Looking for mice, when on the ground
He spied a cat, and straightway flew
Quite close to it. Tu whit, tu whoo! "
Quoth he, "may I again ne'er stir,
If here, dressed in a coat of fur,
I do not see a four-legged owl.
Oh, what a very funny fowl!
It makes me laugh, so droll-- Ha ha !
Ha! ha! it are,- ha! ha ha! ha!
It are, it are, it really are
The drollest thing I 've seen by far "

" You 're much mistaken, scornful sir,"
The cat said, as she ceased to purr;
" For though, like one, I often prowl
About at night, I am no owl.
And if I were, why, still would you
Be queerer creature of the two;
For you look, there 's no doubt of that,
Extremely like a two-legged cat.
As for your grammar, 'pon my word
(Excuse this giggle), he-he-he-he,
It be, it be, it really be
The very worst I ever heard."



We must bid you good-bye,
For November is here, and it's time we should fly
To the South, where we have an engagement to
But remember this, dear, we '11 return in the spring.
And if, while abroad, we hear anything new,
We '11 learn it, and sing it next summer to you
In the same little tree on the lawn, if you '11 let us.
So, good-bye, little maiden! Please do not forget us.
We 're sorry to leave you too sorry for words,
And we '11 always remain,
Yours sincerely,
P. S.-Please don't mind if this letter sounds flat,
And present our respectful regards to your cat.

f v

" 1


WE took our pussy's photograph,
Then one of a neighbor's cat,
And then a third, and then a fourth,-
A dozen pussies sat.
And then we took the photograph
Of every photograph;
Oh, that is often done, you know;
Indeed you need n't laugh !

We showed Mamma the last effect.
Here is the type," we said,
"Of all the dozen pussy cats -
See what a splendid head "
" Splendid? A terror cried Mamma,-
Quite frank, to say the least.
SEach puss would be a truer type
Than this composite beast!"



ILLE------- -
"UI --

-21 -



GOOD-DAY, my beloved. It is delightful to see
your fresh, bright faces on this cool, clear morning.
Let us open the day, together, with this pretty nut-
ting song sent by our friend Emma C. Dowd:
Autumn has come Now, girls and boys,
Here 's fun that 's worth a hundred joys i
Bring on your baskets and your pails,
And scamper over hills and dales
To where the good old chestnuts stand,
Dropping their gifts on every hand.

Tap I tap the merry nuts fall fast,
No time to take a sly repast !
What fun it is the air resounds
With eager cries and joyous sounds;
Oh, never sport deserved more praise
Than nutting on these autumn days !

After the nutting, we 'll all step across to Italy,
so to speak, and take a look at
IT will be easy to dothis, for the dear Little School-
ma'am has sent you an extract from a delightful
letter she has received from a friend now traveling
in Italy. He writes from Venice, one of the love-
liest cities in the world :
"The famous Doge's Palace and the beautiful
Cathedral of St. Mark's are 'just around the cor-
ner,' so that we walk to them within two minutes'
time. We lunched to-day in the celebrated Caf6
Florian, in the Piazza San Marco, and after-
ward fed the pigeons in fine style. You can't
imagine how delightful we found it. For three
soldi, or pennies, you buy a little cornucopia filled
with kernels, and no sooner do these pretty birds
see it in your hand than they throng about you

seemingly by hundreds, certainly by scores--in
the air and on the ground--eager for the treat.
After scattering some grains upon the ground, I
stood up and held out a handful at arm's-length -
when, whisk / with a great flutter and whirr, half-
a-dozen of the lovely creatures were upon my
wrist and fingers, and were emptying my palm in
a jiffy, with perfect fearlessness. This attracted
others, and, in a moment more, three were walking
around upon my hat, and my head was the center of
a small cloud of wings. I kept up this performance
by filling my hand again, emptying upon my hat
what was left in the paper, and the birds kept up
their part, too, until we had around us quite a little
ring of lounging Venetians, who seemed to enjoy
the spectacle."

SOME of my bird friends who spend their winters
in Mexico have told me how the birds there man-
age to store and eat the acorns, of which they arc
as fond as robins are of strawberries. In order to
save the desired morsel, the birds carry the acorn.
in their bills, sometimes for miles, to the steep dr)
sides of a mountain which in winter is covered with
the hollow stalks of the last year's agave flowers.
Beginning at the bottom, they bore, with their skill
fulbeaks, little holes in these dead stalks. The hole.
are then filled with acorns, and by and by, where
food grows scarce, our birds come back to their
mountain-side store-houses, take out an acorn at ,
time and fly with it to a neighboring yucca-tree,
in the bark of which they bore an opening large
enough to hold the acorn firmly; then they can
insert the nut, break it open, and eat it in
TALKING of store-houses reminds me that this
morning my gay little friend the red-squirrel came
out of his hiding-place in the crotch of a big
elm-tree, whisking his pretty bushy tail and ra-
cing about over the elm's big branches until he had
gained an appetite for his breakfast; and then he
went into his store-house and brought forth a last
year's hickory-nut, carrying it in his cheek until he
came to a spot which suited him for a dining-room.
There he seated himself saucily, curled his tail up
over his back in a jaunty fashion, took the nut in
his handy little fore-paws and began to eat it.
While Mr. Squirrel was munching the nut, I won-
dered if he knew what an ancient ancestry the nut
can claim. Probably he did not know, and very
possibly he would not care anything about it; but
it is true that the ancestors of the hickory-nut that
he was relishing so much, flourished in the land
long before the great ribs of the Rocky Mountains
had risen above the sea.
How is that ? How is what, my chicks ? Oh,
that about the Rocky Mountains having risen above
the sea ? Well, the fact is, I once heard the Little
School-ma'am speak of the matter to the Red
school-house boys, but I can not remember the
confusing particulars now. Ask your geologies.

. [Nov.



DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULIT : I saw something this morning which
may be as interesting to your boys and girls as it was to me.
I was sitting on the piazza, watching the bathers, when I hap-
pened to see a wasp fly through a spider's web, and wasp and spider
come to the ground together. This seemed unusual to me; but I
thought it an accident, and watched idly to see how long it would
take the spider to vanquish the wasp, which seemed to be strug-
gling. The spider was what I would call quite a large one of the
kind that is so frequently seen in sheltered corners out-of-doors. The
wasp was not an ordinary one; it was small, the body striped white
and black, and not so wasp-waisted" as the kind I have gener-
ally seen. After struggling an instant, the wasp broke away from
the spider, but the latter lay motionless. Then I was curious, and
awaited the sequel. Some other ladies who were with me were afraid
of the wasp and tried to kill it, but I begged them not to, so fortu-
nately I saw the end. The wasp flew away, frightened by the ladies'
parasols, but quickly came back and hunted around till it found the
spider, which had never moved, although it did not look as if it were
.lead, as its legs were not curled up, which is always the case when I
kill a spider. The wasp next dragged the spider, which certainly
must have weighed considerably more than itself, a little distance,
then finally lifted it and flew off. It was evidently a deliberate attack
and capture on the part of the wasp.
I know it is the habit of the species of wasp called mud-dauber"
to capture small spiders, but they are generally the soft-webbers -
green ones which live in the trees. This was a large, hairy, brown
I read a little article of Mr. Burroughs's, as to the habits of some
spiders, in a recent number of ST. NICHOLAS. Although interest-
ing, I dislike them exceedingly. The performance of this morn-
ing, however, appeared to me such a reversal of the usual order
of things that 1 thought you might like to tell the true story to your
crowds of readers. I am a "grown up," but Ialways read ST. NICH-
OLAS, and have read it for fifteen years.
Your constant reader, S, K.


THAT'S what I heard a farmer say this morning
when he looked at a great bed of thistles that were
smiling away on a fertile hill-side. They were all
purple with bloom, and I thought they looked very
pretty; but the farmer called them ill weeds and
caused them to be mown down. He said that there
are too many of them; that from the North Pole to
the Equator they grow and blossom and send their
white-winged seeds flying as if the whole earth be-
longed to them. He said there is no climate nor
country where thistles are not to be found. Is that
in accord with your observations, my hearers ?


A BEE has told me- and the bee ought to know,
for he too has a sting, and uses it that long, long
ago, the nettle was a peaceful plant, as unoffending
as a blade of grass, but that, living in constant fear
of beingbrowsed upon by donkeys, trampled under-
foot by cattle, plucked by children, or grubbed up
root and all by the farmer, its temper poor thing!
-became forever soured, and at last drove it into
a restless, feverish, waspish habit of stinging every-
body who touched it.
Bees, you see, have a little fun in them, after
all, though you are not apt to think so while they
are stinging you.

My DEAR JACK: I read in your last number about a large grape-
vine in England, and I thought I would write and tell you about
Santa Barbara's grape-vine. It is forty-six inches around the trunk,
and forty tons of grapes were gathered from it last year. It is fifty-
two years old. My sister Lou and I take riding-lessons. We live
in Albuquerque, New Mexico, but are spending the summer here.
Your loving reader, NELLIE E. H--.


WHO threw this queer jingle upon my pulpit?
It must have been some one who knows the Deacon
as well as the Little School-ma'am. But everybody
knows them; and so -
Ah, I know! It was somebody in .. r.!i,;pi.
with the artist who drew the picture that came
at the same time! Now, for the jingle:

" You are old, my dear deacon," the school-ma'am
"And studies with youth pass away;
Yet you 're quite in advance of the books, I am
Now tell me the reason, I pray."

"In the days of my youth," the good deacon
"I was fleetest of foot in my set;
And I ran on ahead of my studies so fast
That they 've never caught up with me yet."

i I~

_ - ___.L"-- _- 1 --X--

'_,' t.5

- _L_,'.cL'L L


S P 11 11


,P 1

S, r, ,


.4cndanthino con moio.

I. Come up in to La dy- Bird's chanm ber, The sun and the wind, long a -


,7 ~Sz -zS-
wake Are play ing bo peep at her win dows, And La dy-Bird's bed is to
+ ++.+ + -- _ +....


rit. a tempo. acres.

make... So spread up the lav en-dered lin en, With blank-ets tucked in at the


it. ai tempo. I :::

f ) rit. a tempo.

toes... And wish her the soft est of slum- bers, For La dy-Bird's sweet as a

f p rit. a tempo.

rit...... et.... .din ........ pp

rose, For La dy-Bird's sweet as a rose.

it...... et ......di - -
dim. pp rit. pPP

The haunts of the wild-bee and woodbird
Are ringing all day with her glee;
When down in her white nest she cuddles,
With a sigh and a smile -lost is she !
Then shake up the drowsy old bolster,
And plump it across at the head,
And pat-pat the downy white pillows,
To dress up my Lady-Bird's bed,
To dress up my Lady-Bird's bed.



know, is a union of local societies which have
been organized for the study of nature by personal
It is not for the sake of any money you may
make out of it that we advocate the study of
nature. If it were, our association must change
its name; for Louis Agassiz used to say that he
had "no time to make money." We urge you
to join us in this study for the sake of learning
what is true. We honor those who set knowledge
above "gold and the crystal," and esteem the
price of wisdom '" above rubies." There is great
pleasure in the mere seeking of truth. There is a
delight in all discovery.
Now, nature offers to every one of us new gifts
every day. No matter how long a beetle may
have been known to others, until you have found it
for yourself, it is not old to you. So, too, although
the species may be familiar, each new specimen
has the charm of novelty.
But besides the pleasure of learning, it has been
found that one who studies nature aright greatly
improves his powers of attention, discrimination,
and reasoning. The right way to study nature is
to use your own eyes instead of depending upon
printed accounts of what somebody else has seen
with his. It is a lazy boy who hires another to do
his fishing for him. To depend upon the observa-
tion of others will no more increase your mental
powers than it would improve your muscular devel-
opment if a friend should swing Indian clubs for
you. To one who tries to get all his knowledge
of nature from books, everything comes at second-
hand; nothing comes to him as his own discovery.
There is no joy in it, and but little benefit. That
is why the Agassiz Association always insists upon
" personal observation "; which is simply a Latin-
ized way of saying, using your own eyes to see
what you can see.
This statement should make plain the nature of
the work expected from the little clubs we are
organizing in so many cities and towns. The
members are to search and find out what there is
of interest within, say, five miles of home.
In order to do this, they will make excursions
after flowers, minerals, insects, or whatever they
most care about, and perhaps make a map show-

ing just where each sort may be found. Of course,
they will find a few books useful to help them learn
the names of what they find; they will need a
cabinet in which to keep their treasures; and they
will be glad to have wise men lecture to them now
and then, and explain the things that are too hard
to study out for themselves. I can not see that it
would do any great harm even if every town and
village in the land should have its Natural Science
Club, with a little library and museum, and with
wide-awake members ready at any time to give the
curious traveler an account of all the interesting
objects to be found in an afternoon's walk, and
able to show him specimens of each variety, nicely
preserved, accurately classified, and neatly labeled.
All who have read ST. NICHOLAS carefully for a
few years past, know that the Agassiz Association
has organized societies of this sort very success-
fully, and that the boys and girls yes, and their
parents and teachers, too-have found much rec-
reation in these clubs, and learned much natural
history and natural science, as well.
During this very year, and since I last wrote to
you about our Association, more than a hundred
new clubs or Chapters have been added to our
roll- and that means more than a thousand new
members. You see, there must be at least four in
a chapter, and there may be as many more as are
desired. One of our chapters, in New Brunswick,
N. J., has more than four hundred members, with
about a dozen professors to guide them, and there
are microscopes, and stereopticons, and all sorts
of instruments to aid them in their studies.
After a number of these little clubs are fairly at
work in any large city, or throughout a State, they
often wish to become better acquainted with one
another, and so the clubs hold joint-meetings oc-
casionally, and they call these large united gath-
erings 'Assemblies."
These Assemblies elect their own officers, and
hold regular conventions. One of the largest has
been formed this year by combining the various
societies in Massachusetts. We had a very suc-
cessful convention in Boston on Decoration Day.
This holiday happens to occur within a few days of
Agassiz's birthday, which is very pleasant and
convenient for us. There was an address from
Professor Hyatt, of the Boston Society of Natural


History, a man deservedly popular with young
people; and one from Professor Crosby, who has
been conducting for our benefit a very interesting
course of lessons in mineralogy, extending over
more than a year (for which lessons he furnishes
the specimens and necessary instruments). Pro-
fessor Morse, of Salem, the author of an excellent
book on the study of zol6ogy, also lectured to us.
Professor Morse's son is a member of a very active
chapter of the Agassiz Association, so active that
it organized a stock company of boys and built
a house for their meetings. Dr. Lincoln, who is
now helping the members of our Boston Assembly
to make a thorough study of all minerals to be
found within ten miles of the Boston State House,
was also one of our instructors.
Another of our recently formed Assemblies is the
State Assembly of New Jersey. Rev. L. H. Light-
hipe is president of this Assembly, and while I
write (August Ioth), he is conducting a well-at-
tended sea-side meeting. It is to continue for a
week. Every morning the members make an ex-
cursion, under the lead of some expert, and may
have the choice of Botany, Entomology, or Micro-
scopy. Every afternoon they gather in the large
Educational Hall, and examine their "finds," with
the assistance of the Professor who led them in the
morning. Every evening they attend a lecture,
usually illustrated by the gas-microscope, or by
the stereopticon. Professor Austen, the president
of the New Brunswick Chapter, has been very
helpful in organizing and managing this pleasant
sea-side Assembly.
The Iowa State Assembly is about to hold its
fifth annual convention. Iowa conventions are
always successful. All the chapters send dele-
gates, who bring to the meeting not only carefully
written reports of the work the chapters have done
during the year, but also the finest of the speci-
mens collected. The young men, and young
women, too, give most interesting accounts of
their studies, dl.i.ii,: ..- them with specimens,
original drawings, diagrams, and maps. Then
there is a a; r. .. a meeting for the practical demon-
stration of their methods of work, and one or two
excursions. This Assembly offers three prizes
each year for the best work done in any chapter
since the previous convention.
I must not stop to give in detail accounts even
of all our large Assemblies; still less can I under-
take to tell of the individual chapters. Among
so many, it would be impossible to select single
ones for special praise. Merely by way of 1 li r.,-
tion, however, I may mention Chapter No. 3, of
Frankford, Philadelphia, which, under the lead
of John Shallcross and Robert T. Taylor, has
maintained itself in full vigor since the first year

of our extension beyond Massachusetts, and which
was instrumental in founding the Philadelphia
Assembly, the first Assembly in the Association.
The Manhattan Chapter," of New York City,
is a noteworthy illustration of what young people
can do without aid. This society has grown from
a handful of boys, meeting from house to house,
into a club of a hundred young men, renting rooms
at No. 103 Lexington Avenue, and exhibiting there
a fine collection fairly representing the natural
productions of Manhattan Island. This chapter,
like all others, is glad to welcome visitors to its
The largest chapter in Massachusetts is No. 448,
of Fitchburg, with a hundred and fifty members.
This chapter has published a handsome pamphlet,
giving an account of all the flowering plants to be
found in the vicinity.
A new sort of club has been devised and put
into successful operation during the year. Chap-
ters of this sort are called Corresponding Chap-
ters." They are composed of members who do
not live in the same town, but are united by their
common interest in the same study. The first of
these was the Archeological Chapter. Its Presi-
dent is Hilborne T. Cresson, of Philadelphia; Vice-
president, Dr. C. C. Abbott, of Trenton, N. J.;
Secretary, A. H. Leitch, of Dayton, O. The mem-
bers of this club are grown men; and they propose,
under the auspices and general direction of the
Peabody Museum, of Cambridge, to preserve an-
cient mounds from the spade of the vandal and
the speculator, until they can be properly and
scientifically explored under competent supervis-
ion. Two other corresponding chapters recently
added are the Gray Memorial Chapter, for the
study of botany, and the Isaac Lea Memorial
Chapter, for the study of shells.
It is worthy of mention that from the beginning
the girls and women have kept equal step with the
boys and men, not only in :..i.ii and I .i.-- .i;l-
work in field and laboratory but also in the work
of organization and direction. Many ladies are
efficient secretaries, curators, or presidents of chap-
ters, and one girl has held with honor the office of
president of a State Assembly.
We have been asked why we favor the estab-
lishment of societies. Why should not the study
be carried on by individuals ? All true study, it is
claimed by these critics, is prosecuted in solitude
and silence. Great books are not written by a
society of authors; poets do not sing in chorus;
artists do not paint in clubs; and the hr of scien-
tific discovery has come to the world in little flashes
of illumination, which have fallen singly upon the
minds of silent and lonely thinkers,
There is much truth in this argument, and there


can be no good work done either in or out of any
society unless each separate worker acts and thinks
for and by himself. Yet there are important ad-
vantages which are secured by united effort. Every
one who finds anything that interests him, wants
some one to whom he can show it. A pleasure
shared is a pleasure doubled. Thus, at the meet-
ings of our clubs, each member has a friendly
audience to listen to the results of his private study.
Then, too, when several friends join in a society
they are often able to buy more expensive books
and instruments than any could afford alone. A
library may be had, a microscope bought, a lect-
urer secured, a room rented, a building erected.
Think, too, of the pleasure of these social gather-
ings, often enlivened by music and song; think of
the pleasant excursions, picnics or field-meetings,
and the occasional evening receptions.
Besides, when we bring several of these local
clubs into fellowship with one another through
correspondence, exchanges, or a convention now
and then, the pleasures and benefits are greatly
increased, and many things are done which no
single chapter could do. Storms can be traced
and their courses represented on maps; erratic
bowlders can be tracked to their ancient homes;
the routes of travel of birds and insects can be
followed for hundreds of miles, and facts of inter-
est gathered in every department of science.
One of the most important features of the last
year's work has been in this direction. Simple
blanks have been sent to different chapters, with
the request that they be filled out with records
of local observation in particular branches. One
boy has prepared a set of blanks on which differ-
ent observers are writing accounts of all the dragon-
flies they may see, telling the place where each
specimen was found, its name, description, habits,
etc., and other members have prepared similar
blanks for records of observations on birds and
minerals. In. this way distant parts of the country
are brought into friendly acquaintance, and boys
of Maine and boys of Florida, girls of California
and girls of Massachusetts, become interested in
learning one another's thoughts, and in giving one
another information and assistance.

Perhaps a more definite idea of what our boys
and girls find in their rambles may be gained from
a list of a few of the topics upon which members
have made original notes during the year. From
hundreds may be named these: Two Rare Fossils
from Catskill, Rose-Leaf Galls, White Blackbirds,
Ivy-Blossoms, Curious Trees, Animals that do not
Drink, Do Salmon Eat Birds? Complementary
Colors, An Abnormal Cabbage-Leaf. A Living
Barometer, Rainbow and Sun-Dogs, Double Ad-
der's-Tongue, New Jersey Butterflies, Eggs of the
Cray-fish, Colorado Ants, Floating Pollen, A
Double Stinger, Frost Pictures, An Experience
with a Heron, A White Weasel, A Strange Mouse,
Girls in a Silver-Mine.
In closing this brief report, I wish, in behalf of
the Agassiz Association, again to invite all who
are in any way interested in the study of Nature
to join us, either by organizing societies in their
own towns; or, if that be impossible, by joining as
individuals. All are welcome, from the oldest to
the youngest. We have a council of fifty scient-
ists always ready to receive from our members
questions about whatever may puzzle them, and
these gentlemen are eager to give all the help they
can. We are just about to begin a course of sim-
ple observation-lessons in botany, open to all our
members. The plan is to send to every one who
takes the course a set of perhaps fifty specimens,
nicely prepared, with printed instructions on the
proper way of so observing them as to see all that
can be seen, and for telling in the proper way all
that is seen--and nothing more. To all who
would like to consider the question of joining the
Association, we will send, free, papers giving full
directions for organizing a club or a chapter, or for
joining alone. We will also send, until the sup-
ply is exhausted, an excellent wood-engraving of
Agassiz, representing him examining a sea-urchin.
This picture is printed on one of the papers of
information, but is one of the best likenesses of
Professor Agassiz in existence. All who are inter-
ested may address:
50 South Street,
Pittsfield, Mass.


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Although I have taken you for nearly
seven years, this is my first attempt at a letter, and I think it will
have the honor of being the first sent to the Letter-box from
Whittier, as our little town is scarcely a year old, although it has
nearly a thousand inhabitants. We think it has one of the prettiest
locations possible, at the foot of the Puente Hills, about twenty miles
from the Pacific, which can be plainly seen. On clear days, we can
easily count the vessels in San Pedro Harbor, twenty miles away.
And the Santa Catalina Island, thirty-five miles from shore, is in
sight nearly all the time. The town is five hundred feet above
,ea-level and overlooks the beautiful Los Nietos and Santa Anna
valleys with their orange orchards, vineyards, etc. The hills are
fifteen hundred feet above sea-level, and with their lovely, although
small, caiions afford splendid opportunities for picnicking and ex-
plbring." We girls are very fond of the latter, and there are very
few of the pretty spots within an afternoon's walk with which we
areunacquainted. The greater portion of the inhabitants of Whittier
are Friends, or Quakers; consequently the most appropriate name
for the settlement was that of the great "Quaker Poet," and all
true Whirtierites love the name of the town almost as well as the
town itself. The Friends' College, to be erected on the Pacific
i r : ;,located a, '".:ii. -. 1 t .. ...: r
I.,-, .. 1I ..p..t. Ij -
... .. '. ; ,i. miles. "The -. I
our best hotel, and it is said to be one of the best in the southern part
of the State, with exception of those in the larger cities. I am four-
ceen years old and my native State is Iowa, but I have also lived in
Kansas and Texas. I like California best, however, for here we have
only to turn around to see ocean, mountains, and valley, perpetual
s:ow and perpetual summer. I am afraid my -I' --ep*,r'w f *e
country is rather "dry," but if this is published i .'i .. -.
about one of our many excursions, picnics, etc. I wish that more of
Sour Northern readers were in this land of sunshine, for I am sure that
they would enjoy it as well as I do. : J.. -r. NICHOLAS,
with love and best wishes from your .- r. i j and constant
reader, Lou H- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I wish to write you a letter, and tell you
how much I enjoy reading ihe ST. NICItOLAS.
Our mails from San Francisco come twice a month, and some-
times we have to wait for the papers. The stories I have liked the
iest are "Sara Crewe," "Santa Claus in the Pulpit," and "The
Clocks of Rondaine."
I think it is ery good of you to publish letters from little girls and
byvs. Reading these letters made me want to write, too, so that I
could have mine published also.
I have lived in Southern California and in Honolulu. I like
Honoluln better; itis not so warm in summer, nor so cold in win-
ter. I must not write too long a letter this time.
From your admiring reader, CLARENCE 1H. S--

DEAR ST NICHOLAS: I aam a little boy, and will be twelve years
old next Saturday. I live near the shore of Lake Michigan. There
are high, sandy 1 1 1 i, t1- e, and the sand-swallows build
ne-s in them ,-.. .I.- I, .. rob the nests.
Once I saw three crows catch a young swallow and tear it to
pieces. The swallows were in --ut distress, but could not defend
Some blackbirds t- the crows away..
.'* -.. ST. NICHOLAs very much. I shall be pleased if you
print this. Yours truly, J. M. A--

DEAR OLD SAINT: For you are truly a saint to the children, big
and little. I suppose I must be called one of the big ones, as I am
eighteen; but I am just as fond of you as when I war "i-4h* Aid
such a as youhave been to r :. I .1 -- a
good deal of interest in history ,.. articles
in astronomy, and the pieces entitled Boy Heroes of Cr' -i nd
Windsor Castle," Little Louis the Dauphin .
the Knights of the Round Table," and nuimen I
articles i your past pages, have been of great interest and help to
me. We lfave all the volumes bound, from the very first, and their
l-nT --71-,f-. E. V ., ; I ... ,
IF I* I o .

to call by name was "ST. NICK'y." One day, when she was only
about a year and one-half old, she said to Mamma, r! ... -: : .
to Ganma's and see SA' NICKV! She loves the I. .. I
can tell the Dude and Chinaman. My younger sister calls Mr. Cox,
"Uncle Palmer."
How much we shall all miss our dear Miss Alcott !
Your interested reader, MOLLY B- .

DEAR ST. NICK: I have seen several stories of little folks in your
"Letter-box," and thought I would write you some of the funny
s-in -c ri,,r Rilqb Kq'es who is three years old.
.,,. :, .. ,.. i to her aunte's; "But Kate, it is dark,"
I ,, .1 i. i i ,I ..I .1 outf; dark dot no teefs; dark tan't
bite," was baby's answer.
She mixes the parts of speech; for instance, she told me, one
day, Polly very bad dirl; she Papa told she not to bloke she
umbrella; her did."
She always i : -' i ,: r ......- the "spring time."
Her papa c I .. ..r '. .. I.. -" but she improved on it, and
when some one called her "a fraud," she answered, No, I is n't a
fi'og, I'se papa shine daughter "
And, indeed, she is a "shine daughter" for us all.

MY DEAR ST. NicHOLAs: I am afraid I am rather old to write
to you, as I am nearly seventeen; but as I still read and love your
.:. ..: ..-. my age does not matter, I suppose.
ii. : ,. -if. -, one of the many suburbs of Melbourne, and
as 1 am an only child, I have a grand time.
The school to which I have been going for six ye .- : .1 :; .
up at midwinter, to my great distress, as by that I 1 : n. .
friend, Muriel, the daughter of my school-mistress, ... .
some nice tableaux at our -.' ;:..r. i :- -.1 of the usual French
or German play. There i. i Ini. I in Arden," "Her-
mione," Present, P -.- i .- and "Rebeccaand Rowena."
We were to have hr I i -' 1- Dream of Fair Women," but
we found that there were not enough fair" girls in the school.
All the Melbourne people are looking forward eagerly to our grand
exhibition of AiT'-t.- ,here are great preparations for it going on
now, and the .' t growing enormous. The pictures are what
I i :r. ii I.. n very fond of painting, and like your
I.. .. i., .. Senhor Lourciro, a Portugiese artist,
teaches me drawing and painting at school, and I am very fond of
I-. r..-,lh. ,icmres from your I. '; I r: Those
'.r I- in "Sara Crewe I I bI I tleroy,"
are my .:-r5 a --orites. I take great ;, i,11 in reading, and
should -' ir.. allover the world to :- r places described
in books. There is a splendid rink cose by our house, where my
friends and I often skate; I am very fond indeed ofit.
I remain, your interested reader, MGGIE M--.

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I live up in the Rocky Mountains. This
valley was named Boulder Valley because there is here, in great
S,-, 7 .. ,- 1- -~aled boulders.

twins, six years old, and my other ir' .; -- r I I
ten. We all enjoy your stories very much.
With love and best wishes, ANNtE L P-- -

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Wee are two little girls f i: -:: --r -i'h
-ea-' V- 'ta .. -' : so Mamrma is doing it fo
:,._ Last summer Papa bought us a dear
little r-- Her name is "Gypsy."
1'. the Brownies" very 1-. u- ~ n te. We have
jist come home from Europe. winter. We like
Lone .... they L. -i I
there .. 1 r I lost : 1 .
and- ..i rI i '. ... asked us what was
then .1. .- I i I ow where we lived.
W e did not know where the hotel- -. I -. 1*:" i '
what to do. Just theawe heard -" .- .... -r i:


of us, if they had seen two little girls straying around, and there was
Mamma. This is the first letter we have ever written to our dear
ST. NICHOLAS, and we hope it will be printed, as it is a surprise for
Papa. Your little readers, LILY AND VIOLET DE K- .

ST. NICHOLAS can not announce before next month the name of
the winner of the ten-dollar prize for the best King's Move Puzzle.
But meanwhile, we present herewith a King's Move Puzzle of one
hundred and sixty-nine squares, sent to us by an English friend
who signs herself" Monica." She says "the number of ways in
which ST. NICHOLAS may be spelled in it is over eight thousand."
Can our mathematical young friends tell whether Monica is right ?


A L 0 H C I N I C H O L A




.. .. --- .. -- ----1---


.... ....... T -- i- --

... -- N I- C B- -0 L


DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I thought perhaps some of your readers
would be interested to see in the Letter-box an account of Gen-
eral Sheridan's funeral.
It would be more complete if I could give an account of the serv-
ices in the church, but I was not one of the few who received tickets
of admission.
The day the funeral party arrived from Nonquitt, we went down
to St. Matthew's Church to see the body taken into it. After some
waiting, policemen cleared the side of the street in which the church
stands, and soon the bell began to toll. A few mounted policemen
rode ahead ofh the escort. Then came the cavalry, which drew up in
line opposite the church. Then came the caisson, bearing the casket,
covered with a flag, and upon the flag were the General's chapeau,
sash, and sword. The caisson was surrounded by a guard, and fol-
lowed by carriages containing those who had been at the station to
receive the train. There was a very brief service, during which the
cavalry remained drawn up outside. Then all but the guard left the
church, and at the word of command, the cavalry rode away. The
next day the church was open to the public. The galleries were hung
with flags, draped with black. At the altar a red light was cast
over the flags hung there. At the back of the church some yellow
cavalry-flags were draped. Fastened to the head of the catafalque
was the General's headquarters' flag, draped, of course. The cas-
ket was beautiful in its simplicity. The flag, falling completely
over one side, hid the heavy draping and gold handles which were
visible on the other. On each side of the catafalque stood a small
table, supporting draped candelabra, in which candles were burn-
ing. An officer stood at the head of the catafalque, and another
sat in one of the front pews. In another pew were two members of
the Loyal Legion." These constituted the guard of honor.
On the morning of the funeral the streets around the church and
along which the procession was to move were crowded, but the
police kept the sidewalks all around the church clear. As I did not
stand near the church, I did not hear the Marine Band play
when the casket was borne from it.
As usual, the mounted policemen rode at the head of the proces-

sion; then General Schofield, leading the cavalry. The artillery
followed, and after it the bands, with the Marine Band in advance.
Only the drum and fife were used. Next came the foot-artillery,
marching with arms reversed. All the principal officers had knots
of crape fastened to the hilts of their swords. Two large flags, with
the names of many battles inscribed on them, were carried, heavily
draped, in the procession. The carriages containing the clergy and
pallbearers followed; then the caisson, drawn by four horses, and
surrounded by a guard. On it was the flag-covered casket, on which
still lay the chapeau, sash, and sword of the dead hero. Following
closely was the beautiful bay horse Guy," saddled and bridled,
with the General's boots fastened to the sides, toes pointing to the
rear. In size the horse reminded me of the pictures of the horse on
which Sheridan took his famous ride. He was led by a sergeant of
cavalry. Poor fellow unlike the other horses, impatient from long
standing, and, in some cases, almost ungovernable-" Guy" hung
his head and followed with slow steps, as if fully realizing that the
master he loved would never mount him again.
Carriages followed containing Mrs. Sheridan, the family, the
President and Mrs. Cleveland, the Diplomatic Corps, the Commit-
tees from Congress, friends of the family, some of the servants, and
others. I did not go to Ailington, and know no more of the services
there than the papers have told.
I hope I have not made this too long to print, and that it will in-
terest some of your readers.
Your admiring reader and friend, ISABELLA C-.

1)EAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a girl thirteen years old. We live
in the country, and have had many different pets. At one time we
had a young alligator, but one day, being left too long in the sun,
it died. I have a sister who, when she was little, said many funny
things. On being told that roe was the eggs of shad, she asked if
Annie (the cook) took the shells off before she cooked them. On
going for the first time through a tunnel, in the train, she exclaimed
to her nurse, Oh I don't want to go to bed yet! This is the first
year we have taken you, but we have read the bound volumes.
I think you are just splendid, and enjoy reading you very much
Your faithful reader, FLORENCE R-- .

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am nearly twelve years old, and have
taken you for five years. I enjoy you so much. I thought "Little
Lord Fauntleroy was just lovely.
I own an engine and boiler which are quite powerful. It is a
three-horse-power boiler, and instead of being heated by coal. it is
heated by gas. The engine is a pony power and is very neat. I can
run many machines with it.
I also own an Indian pony which is not very beautiful, but hi.
strength makes up for it.
Your interested reader, WORTH S-.
P. S.-We call him Broncho."

MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Although we have been taking youe
ever since '74, which I believe was your first year, I have never
written to you before. I always enjoy reading the letters, from boys
all over the world, in your Letter-box." I am just "half-past "
twelve now, so you see I am not the first subscriber from our family.
I have been exploring the country all summer on my bicycle, and
have enjoyed it, in spite of some of the headers I have had. I
always enjoy the stories in your jolly magazine, and especially those
about boys' outdoor sports. I often lend you to my friends who do
not take you, and every fellow thinks you are the best magazine out.
We play base-ball a great deal here, also tennis, lacrosse, polo, and
cricket; and in very narm weather we go swimming in a lovely
fresh-water lake near by. I would rather play base-ball than any-
thing else. I hope I shall always be young enough to read ST.
NICHOLAS, and I think I shall. With the hope that you will find
room for this if it is worth printing, I am,
Your interested reader, EUGENE A--.

WE present our thanks to the young friends whose names here
follow, for pleasant letters received from them :
Leah Tuttle, Gertie Doud, Walter Naish, Elsie, Louis J. Hall and
Thos. W. Hatch, A. Julia G., Millie and Sue, Josie Meighan,
Georgiana M., Tessie and Winnie, P. W. Arnold, Norah Gilhooley,
Frederika M., E. Gertie Smith, Iulu King Whitney, A. C. L. and
G. H., Hugh P. Tiemann, and Elisabeth D. Montague.


EAsy BEHEADINGS. I. H-owl. 2. H-elm. 3. H-all. 4. H-old. ILLUSTRATED ACROSTIC. Autumn tints. Cross-words: i. bAr-
5. H-ire. 6. H-ill. 7. H-art. row. 2. sUnset. 3. sTring. 4. tUrkey. 5. iMages. 6. aNchor.
DIAMOND IN A DIAMOND. I.P. 2. His, 3. Horal. 4. Pirates. 7. sTatue. 8. fIshes. 9. sNails. o1. sTudio. it. iSland.
5. Sated. 6. Led. 7. S. RHoMBOIDs: I. Across: i. Pate. 2. Near. 3. Arid. 4. Lays.
MYTHOLOGICAL ACROSTIC. All-Saints'eve. Cross-words: i. Aso- 5. Leod. II. Across: a. Bacca. 2. Balsa. 3. Mopus. 4. Gerab.
pus. 2. Latona. 3. Lemnos. 4. Somnus. 5. Aurora. 6. Icarus. 5. Rapil.
7. Nestor. 8. Thalia. 9. Scylla. o1. Europa. to. Vulcan. PI. October morning !-how the sun
12. Erebus. Glitters on glowing shock and sheaf,
DIAMONDS. .. I. B. 2. Dot. 3. Laura. 4. Darling. 5. Bou- On apple crisp with mellow gold,
langer. 6. Trinket. 7 Anger. 8. Get. 9. R. II. i. C. 2. Low. On wonder-painted leaf!
. Lamar. 4. Lamprel. 5. Companion. 6. Warning. 7. Reine. October evening:- look, the moon,
8. Log. 9. N. III. i. M. 2. Gar. 3. Caged. 4. Garners. 5. Mag- Like one in fairyland benighted!
nolias. 6. Reeling. 7. Drink. 8. Sag. 9. S. Outdoors Jack Frost bites sharp; within,
CROSS-WORD ENIGMA. Coleridge. Good, our first fire is lighted !
A PvRAMDu. From x to 7, tramper; 13 to 8, Harold; 14 to 9, DOUBLE DIAMOND. Across: i. H. 2. Bob. 3. Rogue. 4. Pu-
ebony; 15 to to, risk; 16 to iI, mee (k); 17 to 12, as; 18, L. laski. 5. Burke. 6. Sty. 7. H.
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 AUGUST NUMBER were received, before August i5th, from Maud E. Palmer- Trix
and Prim "- Wakametoa "- Mary and Mabel Osgood- Jamie and Mamma-" Lehte "- Ada C. H.- Blanche and Fred A. Fiske
and Co.- Miss Flint Mary Beard-Louise Ingham Adams-" Alpha Zeta"- Nellie L. Howes.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE AUGUST NUMBER were received, before August jbth, from Paul Reese, :2 -A. and S. Johnson, 2 -
E. H. Rossiter, 2- M. E. Dalgleish, i Sue F., Marie and Aline, i --Yula Campbell, I D. Bostwick and B. Southworth, x-
"Edgemere," 12--Marion, 3--" Roseba," 3--A. Schmidt, I-A. M., S. R., and A. L. Bingham, 8 Ellershouse, 5- Esther W.
Ayres, i -" Professor and Co.," 5- Ida Wallace, --" May and 79," 12 -J. W. Frothingham, Jr., I J. R. Williamson, i Irma
B., i-"Patty-pan and Kettledrum," 7- Etta Reilly. 2-"Punch and Judy," 2-D. N. S. Barney, i-Effie K. Talboys, 7-
" Grandma," io--" Infantry," an -" Two Little Sisters," 2- W. A. Jurgens, I -" The Currant Pickers," 12 Mary L. Warren, -
" Monell," I Clayton and Perry Risley, 4- Lillie, 4- Carolina M. G., I -" Jo and I," o1 Jennie, Mina, and Isabel, 7- Ethel
West, i No Name, Westerly, 2 -" Hypatia," i -" Yodle Club," rn Mary W. Stone, 12.

THREE names are concealed in each sentence.
1. A boy in a picture-shop opened a portfolio and came across an
engraving of Lake Como or Erie-he did not know which-and
bought it to adorn his mother's cottage, which he liked to decorate.
2. Please tell Mr. Colby, rondeaux will be sung by Emil to-night;
one coming from Cabul we received to-day.
3. In Auburn some lady told me that she rid a number of
houses of mice by using poison; and that, she told Mr. Ladd, is only
one of the many ways to get rid of the pests.
4. It was to welcome the bald, rich man that a bee cherished a
desire to walk on the poor man's head.
5. The ancestral cot, that I was born in, is still standing. In front
of the same, there is a superb urn Ettie bought to mark the grave of
our pet dog, "Hero," extolling his many virtues and telling of our
sorrow at his loss.
6. When William on his travels sets out he, yearly, visits foreign
lands, and states that in Morocco operas are presented on a grand
scale, for he has seen a representation of Moscow perfectly faultless
in all its details. STANHOPE.

My primals name a king of Jerusalem, and my finals name a town
of India.
CROss-WORDS: I. An ancient city in Assyria. 2. The sister of
Ptolemy Philadelphus. 3. A daughter of Priam. 4. An ancient
name for the Spanish town of Denia. 5. An artist made famous by
his pictures of ideal rural life. 6. Without sense. 7. A famous city
said to have been founded by Nimrod.

TAKE one word from another, and leave a complete word. Exam-
ple: Take to send forth, from a hermit, and leave before. Answer,
I. Take one ofa certain tribe of Indians from put into confusion by
defeat, and leave a perch. 2. Take to disencumber from a spear
with three prongs, and leave a pavilion. 3. Take the Roman divin-
ity of plenty, who was the wife of Saturn, from a disease, and leave
ard. 4. Take quick from to secure, and leave to make well.
5. Take a snake-like fish from navigating, and leave a sovereign.
6. Take to perform from custom, and leave estimation. 7. Take a
sailor from setting out, and leave to pain acutely. 8. Take a fluid
from conniving, and leave the side of an army. 9. Take the sum-

mit from paused, and leave hastened. to. Take a beverage from
pilfering, and leave to hurl.
All of the words removed consist of the same number of letters.
When placed one below the other, the central row will spell the name
of a famous battle fought on November 7, i8zn. F. S. F.



0. . .C. .

I. UPPER DIAMOND: I. In Carthage. 2. Part of the foot. 3.
Part of a tree. 4. Part of a store. 5. Part of a house. 6. An ivory
lever. 7. In Carthage.
II. LOWER DIAMOND: I. In Carthage. 2. A step. 3. The
Ottoman empire. 4. Hurting. 5. To pain acutely. 6. A geo-
graphical abbreviation. 7. In Carthage.
III. LEFT-HAND DIAMOND: I. In Carthage. 2. Induced.
3. Delicate fabrics. 4. Acknowledgment of payment. 5. Divinity.
6. To discern. 7. In Carthage.
IV. RIGHT-HAND DIAMOND: I. In Carthage. 2. A bird. 3.
The person to whom a gift is made. 4. Depending. 5. Super-
natural. 6. Conclusion. 7. In Carthage.
Central letter (indicated by a star), in Carthage. From T to 2,
spell two words; from 3 to 4 spell a single word, meaning destroying
the effect of a charm upon. DYKE CLEMENTS.



THE central letters, reading downward, spell one of the muses.
CROSS-WORDS (of equal length) : i. One of the sons of Coelus and
Terra. 2. The wife of Alcinous. 3. The goddess of the earth.
4. The god of love. 5. The goddess of the hearth. 6. A king of
Phrygia. 7. The father of Faunus. 8. The father of Eteoclus.
9. The son of Andramon. zo. The personification of the earth.
iI. The goddess of peace. "LITTLE ONE."


IN the accompanying illustration each of the numbered objects
may be described by a word of five letters. When these are rightly
guessed and placed one below the other, the zigzag, beginning at
the upper left-hand corner, will spell the name of a famous American
artist, sometimes called the "American Titian," who graduated
from Harvard College in i8oo.


ON thramw, no fresenchules, on thalhufle aese-
No tobfaclemor lefe ni yan mebrem-
On heads, no snihe, on busterflite, no sebe,
On fritsu, no slewfor, on veleas, no dribs,


EXAMPLtE: Separate hard, and make a masculine name and an
insect. Answer, Adam-ant.
I. Separate a gas-meter, and make a deep cut and more ancient.
2. Separate one who holds the doctrine of idealism, and make a
notion and a catalogue. 3. Separate a farewell, and make low
ground and language. 4. Separate a tavern-keeper, and make a
hotel and supporter. 5. Separate an aged warrior and counselor
mentioned by Homer, and make a snug abode and a connective that
marks an alternative. 6. Separate a member of an English uni-

versity, and make garments for women and to garrison. 7. Separate
makes more close, and make tense and an old word meaning exist-
ence. 8. Separate a bar of wood used with the hand as a lever, and
make a laborer and an ear of corn. 9. Separate turned away, and
make to assert and to spread new hay. 0o. Separate eminent, and
make a word that expresses denial and a masculine nickname.
ii. Separate money paid for the use of a quay, and make an index
and maturity. 12. Separate several, and make a luminary and
The initials of the first row of words (after they have been sepa-
rated) spell what all should be doing on Thanksgiving Day; the
initials of the second row of words spell two words which name a
place where Thanksgiving Day is most keenly enjoyed.


2 3


FROM I to 2, exhibits; from I to 3, flattery; from 2 to 3,
one of an organized body of combatants; from 4 to 5, con-
gealed; from 4 to 6, hugs; from 5 to 6, a French word mean-
ing acts of civility.


TAKE the smallest article that any one can find:
Build a short extension neatly on behind;
Take the little nickname, reverse it by a sea,
Ten times ten thousand, or a varnish it will be.
Turn about, add nothing; the number, too, will turn
Into jetty darkness which will brightly burn.
Cleave this through the middle, thrust a letter in,
With this work of millions islands may begin.
Add another vowel, stir the mixture well,
Deep, prophetic sayings this will surely tell;
But if you should find it following the sea
On the waves a shallop goes dancing airily;
Add a single article, precisely like the first,
To show a pretty feat which knights have oft rehearsed.


3 x s f


c 4
, e 4


FRom I to 2, merciful; from 3 to 4, impartial; from I to 3, covered
with wax; from 3 to 2, to lament; from I to 4, to compare critically;
from 4 to 2, to rival.
ENCLOSED DIAMOND: i, In pine-apple; 2, a chart; 3, a builder in
stone or brick; 4, emotion; 5, equilibrium; 6, a scriptural name:
7, in pine-apple. "JOHN PEERYBINGLE."


I. i. Gems. 2. An oppressor. 3. A fruit. 4. A girl's nick-
name. 5. To encircle. 6. Horses.
II. i. Irritates. 2. To give way. 3. A Peruvian animal. 4. On
every supper-table. 5. Once more. 6. Ranks.



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