"REMEMBER THE TALE OF THE PYGMY FLEET."
/ LITTLE maid whom I love well
Left in her egg-cup an empty shell-
I took the spoon and pierced it through.
She thought it a "funny thing to do!"
But I said, "It is best to be discreet;
Remember the tale of the Pygmy Fleet!
I shall obey the King's Decree."
Up she clambered to my knee -
"Tell me the story! when-how- why?"
I told this legend in reply:
*' ..~ i
Copyright, i888, by THE CENTURY Co. All rights reserved.
MIeddlesome pygmies long ago
Swarmed in a little kingdom so
That night or day there was no rest
From willful prank and heedless jest.
They pinched the babies till they cried;
''"'. ^ .., 7'/
I'i' ~- ~ ~ .i"''i'11' *''' ^- ^ /^
"'I. \~ 111 1
The hives they robbed, the bees defied;
They stole the clothes hung out on lines,
And changed about the merchants' signs.
They turned the guide-boards all astray,
To make poor travelers lose their way;
/ 'I fear would tire my little maid.
-Ten times a day they stopped the clocks,\
And stole the door-keys from the locks.
To tell you half the tricks they played 13.
I fear would tire my little maid.
At length their impudent assurance
Exceeded even saints' endurance.
Rich and poor overwhelmed the King
With bulky rolls, petitioning
For quick relief no matter how
SMobs were formed and raised a row
Which might have led to revolutions
Threatening ancient institutions!
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: -- .--: : ,, : -#"_ - ,,,ir, <.' ., ,
d,,.B - 2-r---PF"t, "_.'"#.'. ,
---:-: _.-. ,.:[. , -' ,o '-,'1
T2e monarch, seeing they were serious,
Sent decrees in terms imperious,
By chosen heralds riding fast
Who read them thus, to the trumpet's blast:
"Oyez !- Oyez! Now draw ye near,
The sovereign's gracious words to hear!
ie isemen, zads, choa,
a11 conditions, ranks and ages
ivinp far or dwelling- near
tthin the palace strait tpp, E
tinnging all your choicest store-- -
f5ft j modern research, ancient r ore, -
(~katever each considers best -
Sid e realm of g'my est-
"' ied t-Yu win .our. daughter's hand;
S- you are banished from'the land!
-o rash hand this rit deface;
S ost it in every ^ arket-place.
'; o,..ne, or the -sake of the Igublic Real
Ven under our and and
C"'- "The trumpet sounds-" Long live the King!
To saddle springs the herald fleet,
The pebbles fly from the horse's feet;
Before "Jack Robinson" you could say,
-Horse and rider are far away !
From cavern and college, in gloomy rows)
Of rusty black, like starving crows,
The wisemeii came, with sleepy eyes,
Lugging books of ponderous size;
Crowding the roads, for miles along
With such a busy, hurrying throng,
That, if balloons had then existed,
A man, in one, would have insisted
That these were ants, on a moving-day,
Trudging along on their toilsome way.
Throughout the realm there was no quiet; \ T
Dispute and argument ran riot;
They carried their squabbling and their malice
Even into the royal palace! '
i But when one dotard with the gout,
i~trange to say, they ceased their din;
Thou might have heard a falling pinout
f',, ; ,Il:'.- -.. . ,^ -
(His speed was great to the palace yard
By the zealous help of a royal guard),
And when, despite his snowy hair,
He was banished, then and there-
Strange to say, they ceased their din;
You might have heard a falling pinl
lollllll c -_ -
_ ._-.,,," --_--.--i
The King arose in the silent hall
S.And thu addressed the wisemen all:
SOur wisemen, ye are summoned here
.To free our land from constant fear
'Of pygmies and their thoughtless pranks.
We offer riches, royal thanks,' '''' ''"'''
Our daughter's hand, to that wise one'
To banish pygmies and their play
The King no sooner finished speaking, The King arose in the silent hall
Than, all around, derisive squeaking wisemen, ye are summoned here
To keep the council from being dry.
TOf pygmies and their thoughtless pranks
Ove t, b n a
I, I: '''!,
Oh, then arose a deafening shout -
"Your majesty, I can drive them out!"
Pounding his scepter on the table,
The Monarch quelled the awful babel,
Bawling out at the top of his lungs,
"Silence Order! Hold your tongues!
'Drive them out?'-a task for boys!
Pygmies run from any noise;
But when the pests are driven away,
The problem is to make them stay !"
(The pygmies here renewed their jeers
And gave three faint, sarcastic cheers.)
*, I 11Al I; 11` I ___I - WE
According to age the sages spoke
In senile wheeze or youthful croak,
Advising horseshoes, tolling bells,
Ancient charms, old witches' spells,
S Hazel rods and boiling water,
Or, "seventh son of seventh daughter,"
-i Would surely keep the pygmies quiet
If His Majesty would but try it.
Pygmies clinging to roof and walls -'
Received these plans with sneering squalls;
Laughed at horseshoes, chuckled at. bells,
Mocked the charms and mimicked the spells;
Crying, Louder "-" Slower! "-" Faster !
Pelting them all with bits of plaster!
At last the youngest sage had spoken
Silence reigned for a time unbroken,
Save that a pygmy called aloud:
"Who ever saw such a stupid crowd!"
"Ah," said another, "they '11 feel sick;
/I. -ma They 'll be banished pretty quick!"
In richest robes with rubies blazing
The Princess sat. The sages, gazing
(Each one sure that he would win her),
Forgot that it was time for dinner.
InJ /) )f Uff
Not so the King. These plans are old -
Our royal dinner 's getting cold;
Unless some new device we see,
Quick as a wink you '11 banished be."
The pygmies cried with cruel joy:
"You '11 be quite right, my royal boy!"
Despairing silence, like a pall,
Settled on the wisemen all.
The Princess then, with blushing cheek, f
Bashfully dared a word to speak,
Saying softly that she thought her
Nurse would favor "running water;
For pygmies, fays, and elves, it seems,
Can not cross the running streams.
Perhaps a ditch, if deep and wide,
Would guard the land on every side."
Here the pygmies showed dismay,
Many fainting quite away!
Sages shook their heads in doubt;
The King, delighted, shouted out:
"Your sainted mother always said
That nurse of yours had a clever head!
She 's wiser, far, than any man-
Council 's over! We 'll try her plan!"
He banished the sages, burned their books,
Lighted the palace, summoned cooks,
Gave a banquet to his daughter,
A Duchess made the nurse who taught her.
I` ~e /"
The ditch was dug, both deep and wide,
Around the land on every side,
In which a current flowing clear
Came from a rapid river near.
Then boards were laid across the ditch,
Making bridges over which
Pygmies could cross when driven away;
These removed -why, there they'd stay!
Then old and young, with yell and shout,
Beating pans, soon drove them out.
Over the bridges the pygmies ran
Squealing, as pigs and pygmies can;
Over they went like frightened mice-
Up went the bridges in a trice!
In vain the pygmies raged and cried,
They could not cross the flowing tide!
Within the living water's charm
The realm remained secure from harm.
Babies led unruffled lives;
Bees enriched unrifled hives;
Merchants, now, no sign could see
Nailed where another onuht, .to hea
.. Clocks sedately uttered ticks
: Undisturbed by foolish tricks,
; ,., 2 *". '. ,, i
... Such as the pygmies used to play
- .. t ," *,
." ---- Before their exile far away.
.-- -.. ,... .'.:..... . -.
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i i i i ftlu~l~w l l/ ?/ -,- 1^ '. '
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The King and Princess took a walk
And had a confidential talk.
He said: "My dear, you understand
You 've earned the right to give your hand
To the Prince who may your lover be;
Fulfill your royal sire's decree!"
The Princess shyly named a name.
" ,i,. ,'
- A charming Prince to the palace came,
Followed by nobles of high degree,
In great procession, grand to see.
A wedding took place, with joy and laugh-
They happily lived forever after.
*i11 -^1^ o- A-^.
7. I Jay
In restful peace for many years
The people all forgot their fears.
Pygmies' pranks were told as jokes
By patriarchs to younger folks.
But, alas !- one day in the finest weather
The babies' babies howled together!
For pygmies re-appeared that night
And played old tricks with keen delight.
The aged King now grown quite gr,
No princess needs to show the way.
He seeks Her Grace (the former nurse)
And asks the cause of this reverse.
The wrinkled Duchess wagged her head;
"The reason is simple enough," she said.
"Go search along the ditch's side;
You '11 see how pygmies cross the tide!"
Pages run with twinkling legs
And find the empty shells of eggs,
Each equipped like a dainty boat,-
A fairy racing shell afloat!
fi^ ^ I/
These were brought to the Duchess wise,
Who frowned as she said with blinking eyes:
"There 's something strange about egg-shells
Which makes them proof against all spells.
I feared some day the charm might fail,
If pygmies learned in those to sail.
How lucky it is you came to me!
Your Majesty now must thus decree,
By heralds sent to every door,
'Let all egg-shells for evermore
Be either crushed or pierced quite through,
That shells for boats may never do!'"
Decree was signed that very day,
The pygmies driven again away,
And never since did egg-shell float,
Rigged as a. pygmy's tiny boat.
a'i -f W _
''There! You know why your father said
You must break the shell. Now go to bed."
So she did C
As she was bid,
And dreams of pygmies filled her head.
THE BELLS OF STE. ANNE.
BY MARY HARTWELL CATHERWOOD.
"GERVAS" MAKES A MISTAKE.
WITHOUT consciously choosing either end of the
road, Alvine ran on toward Ste. Anne. The rain
slackened, but it was so dark she once came down
the slope against a fence, and once fell over a
wayside trough, the laundry-trough of some peace-
fully sleeping family. Her cautious voice sought
Bruno with repeated calls. The road suggested
rather than outlined its damp gray track to her
strained sight, and when Alvine had blundered
along and in zigzag lines across it until she panted,
it seemed best to get under shelter again and wait
until morning to find Bruno.
The stone ruin was left behind. And she pre-
ferred even waking some family to going back
The masses of unseen things around her might
be houses or barns or foliage. Darkness makes
prisoners of us without any walls. It stands us
literally on our heads in the void, inverting our
Alvine thought she was climbing a steeper grade
of the way when she ran against one of those slat
fences linked together by withes, so common on
the Beaupr6 road. But as a fence was a clew she
needed, she traced it along, hand over hand, until
it yielded and gaped where there was evidently a
gate. To insure herself against wandering out
of the gate again, she closed it behind her. The
stir of wind and pit-pat of ceasing rain did not
cover the oozy sound of Alvine's foot in the sod.
A snarling growl began very close to her, she
could not tell in what direction. Afraid of being
seized by a strange dog, she called out appeasing
words and ran into something which crashed. But
a strong mouth nipped her, and her cries were
piteous for two or three minutes until a disturbed
trampling answered; light broke through the
windows of a house in front of her and the door
Crowding their heads outside the door, with a
candle between them, appeared a fat woman and
lean, black-bearded man. Though so terrified,
Alvine noticed it was the black-bearded man she
had seen in the dog-wagon.
Oh, monsieur," she cried, "it must be your dog
that is biting me "
Gervas, let go thy hold shouted the man
and Alvine felt a welcome relaxing of the grip in
which she was held.
The woman also made exclamation, and cried:
"Whose lost child are you ? "
"Go back to thy bed, Gervas," admonished the
man, shaking his head and candle at the dog.
You see no difference between hog flesh and hu-
Gervas, the mistaken Newfoundland, having
acted with the best intentions, answered by a low
growl. He felt injustice. Still, he was willing to
make amends on his part, and wagged his tail at
Alvine since she found favor with his family; then
retreating under the high gallery which ran along
the front of the house, and on which Alvine had
upset one of a row of geranium-pots, he curled
down again in the comfortable nest he had been
abused for leaving.
"You see there the steps," said the man, show-
ing Alvine an ascending flight at the end of the
gallery. So she entered the house, and when the
partly clothed pair had set right their geranium-pot,
they also came in and closed the door.
She was a limp, muddy girl, and her braids hung
raveled down her back, quite unlike the tidy pil-
grim who had lunched by the roadside; but the
man now recalled her.
"Why did you stay out in the storm, made-
moiselle?" he inquired severely. "I could have
brought you to the Mother Ursule as I came by."
I ran into that old ruined house, monsieur,
when it began to rain. I do not know the Beaupr6
road- I was born on the Chaudiere."
"And where did he bite thee ? queried Mother
Ursule, directly, turning her ghastly visitor toward
the candle on the table.
He bit my ankle, madame."
In a chair with straight back and legs, which was
properly weighted to the floor by bars of wood form-
ing its base, and in fact looked like a chair of another
century, Alvine was placed while Mother Ursule
stripped down the stocking to look at her ankle.
Gervas had seized half of it in his mouth, but as
he held it less fiercely than he might have done, it
was bleeding only in the sockets his teeth had left.
THE BELLS OF STE. ANNE.
Mother Ursule flung up her hands. With out-
cry and waddle -for, like all middle-aged French
women of her class, she put on fat with years and
was as shapeless a mass as one of her feather-beds -
she brought soothing grease and, cotton rags, and
after washing bound it carefully up.
Her husband retreated into a kind of sleeping-
closet, where he sat on the side of his bed, his
elbows resting on his knees.
Mademoiselle, I beg of you to pardon Gervas,"
Monsieur, the dog is not to blame; it is my-
Gervas is the best-mannered lad between here
and the Saguenay. He must have been dreaming
of pigs, mademoiselle- Mother Blanchet's pigs.
They come down-hill and drop into our garden,
and I never have to turn my head from the anvil
when I see them. Gervas attends to that branch
of the business. He is a good son."
Sore pilgrimage will you make on this foot,
my child," grunted Mother Ursule, who knew
most wayfarers along that road to be pilgrims,
" unless you stay with us and heal your hurt where
you got it. Monsieur Pelletier may make his ex-
cuses for that hairy b6b6, that dirt-spreading
Gervas of his, but for myself, I will take an oven-
stick and pound the beast in the morning. Not
to know the difference of smell between pigs and
"But so well he draws a wagon," Alvine put to
the credit of Gervas.
Is it not so ?" exclaimed Pelletier. "I could
load his wagon with all the hay I raise, and Ger-
vas would trot off with it and never know it. But
Mother Ursule has no love for that child. She
sat down on his wagon once, and Gervas laid him-
self flat upon the ground."
He hath reason to flatten himself on the ground
before me," said Mother Ursule. Great paws
of him that mark my floors How long have you
been on your way, my child? And have they
much wool in the Chaudiere valley now ? "
I came not directly from the Chaudiere valley,
madame. It is from Quebec. My sister and I are
in service there, for our father has made his choice."
Ah, ah, ah," said Pelletier, with perfect com-
"Ah, ah, ah," said Mother Ursule, also with
A BUTTERFLY BEFORE THE WIND.
ALVINE rested with her hands in her lap, while
Mother Ursule finished the bandaging. Her eyes,
grown recently used to more stately interiors, yet
enjoyed tracing the white pine room from clean
rafters to broad floor-boards. The walls were
pine also, with no object to break their monotony
of dove-tailed planks except some mottoes done in
bad French and worsted.
A stairway went up at one side of this room, and
in the middle of the floor stood an oilcloth-covered
table on which the light had been placed. An
iron stove, as large as a furnace, was built into the
wall between this room and another.
My mistress and her family have gone to New
Brunswick for the summer," explained Alvine,
coming back with her eyes to the good-humored
face of Mother Ursule; "and she gave me leave
to make the good pilgrimage while our house is
partly closed. But my brother is first to be found.
Have you seen a tall boy, sixteen years old, who
looks like a lumberman, pass on this road?"
What is your name, mademoiselle ? inquired
"Alvine Charland, I am called. My brother's
name is Bruno-Morel Charland. Monsieur and
madame, he is the finest young man you ever saw.
He went directly away to a lumber camp. It was
in the autumn. And then we had no word from
him all winter, except that he was to come back
when the drive was over. I saw him this very
night, madame." Alvine fixed her excited eyes
on the matron. "He stood under a tree in that
old house, and then was gone entirely. Monsieur,
my brother was caught in a break-up of logs in the
Si-so! ejaculated Pelletier.
"Yes, monsieur; it is six weeks ago."
He has not been there ever since ? inquired
Mother Ursule, with gentle caution.
"No, no, no, no, no, madame i "
Alvine spread her hands abroad with a sweep-
ing double gesture, as a French girl does when
she has some surprising story to tell.
He was caught in a break-up at the Chaudiere
falls, and he was under the water no one knows
how long. They could not find him. But, mon-
sieur and madame, my brother was pulled out of
the river by raftsmen."
Cha a! "* exclaimed Pelletier, using aword
which he believed to be expressive English.
"Yes, certainly. And they tended him and
brought him down the Ottawa. He was hurt
about his head by the logs, madame, and is not
like he was, monsieur. For Bruno is strong and
THE BELLS OF STE. ANNE.
feels no sickness. But inside, madame,"- Alvine Who brought you the news ? inquired Mother
struck her fingers on her forehead,--'it made a Ursule, standing up and resting her knuckles on
confusion that drives him like a butterfly before the her sides.
wind. The raftsmen said he was able to help them It was a man who hauled in the lumber camp
with the raft down the Ottawa, but he laughed, he with Bruno-Morel. The ist of June, and of July
"HE WAS UNDER THE WATER NO ONE KNOWS HOW LONG," SAID ALVINE.
danced, he sang, he knew not where he was going. also, brought no Bruno. Whenever we got leave,
After he left the raft he was heard of in the woods I took my sister Marcelline to watch the stean-
of Maine, above Lake Megantic, and he was heard boats unload at Quebec docks. We saw a man
of near Ste. Anne de Beauprd." there many times. He sat and saw all the boats.
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes," murmured He heard us talk, and asked us if we were the
Pelletier with sympathy. sisters of Bruno-Morel. I told him we waited for
THE BELLS OF STE. ANNE.
our brother, and asked him if he had seen Bruno
Monsieur," said Alvine with a gesture of aston-
ishment, "he was at the Chaudiere falls when it
happened, and he had seen the raftsmen after
Bruno left them. Yes, madame; and he had read
in the English papers, for he speaks English bet-
ter than French, and my brother had been printed
about. The man read to us one paper, saying a
boy had been seen singing and playing on the
Beaupr6 road who resembled the boy that had his
head hurt at the Chaudi6re falls. He read, also,
that such a boy was in an engineer's camp above
Lake Megantic; for the man carried the papers in
his pocket, and had carried them two weeks. He
loved my brother. So Marcelline and I got news
What will you do with the boy when you find
him ?" inquired Pelletier. "If his brains be hurt
he will scarce turn himself to work; or he might
serve awhile at my forge holding horse-shoes."
"And the hammer, also," hinted Mother Ursule,
"while my husband smokes at the door."
Our cur6 will take him to an asylum to be
helped," replied Alvine. "I told our curd about
Yes, yes, yes, that will be a good thing," as-
Shall I now make you some tea before you go
to bed ? suggested Mother Ursule.
No, no, no, madame. I thank you; no, no."
Their guest forbade such extreme hospitality with
a beseeching gesture. I had my supper by the
way, as monsieur saw."
You will then have cream? urged the house-
mother, tantalizing a youthful appetite by that
dainty dearest to a French stomach.
Oh la cr&me," murmured Alvine. "Ma-
dame is too kind. La creme, madame it is too
much trouble! "
See you, now," said Mother Ursule. She
straightway entered a side room, and the tinkle
of spring water could be heard while the door re-
mained open,- spring water, which among the
hills is an eternal rain condensed to one channel--
rain shot through with sunshine, and radiating
perpetual promises against drought.
Back with Mother Ursule into the lighted room
came an odor unpleasant to most nostrils not
French-Canadian. She carriedin her hand a pint
bowl wreathed around with flower designs and
filled with a thick yellow mass which brought the
brightness of anticipation into Alvine's face when
it was set before her. The whole inclosed atmos-
phere freighted itself with the sourness of that
cream. It had reached a stage of acidity which
cream could hardly reach unassisted by French
skill; but one more thing was needed to make it
the rich morsel Alvine desired, and Mother Ursule
set down that thing from a cupboard in the wall:
a saucer of black molasses, thick, and tasting
Into this Alvine dipped a pewter teaspoon, trans-
ferring as much molasses as she thought proper
to the bowl of cream. Then she stirred the black
and yellow mixture with exact care, and began to
eat like an epicure.
"Is it good ?" queried Mother Ursule, assum-
ing indifference, and asking the question as if duty
compelled her to it.
Oh, madame this is the best cream I have had
since I left the Chaudiere "
"Ah-ah! responded the housewife in a
gratified note. The maisons de pension send
here from Ste. Anne's for my cream. They could
use many times the quantity. It takes much
cream to fill all the people who come and go
there. I know how it should be prepared. Mother
Blanchet up the mountain,- they buy her cream,
also, when they can get no more of me; but I as-
sure you, my child, it is not fit to eat; it hath no
more taste to it than a sickening cup of milk fresh !
Mother Blanchet would buy, with both her pigs,
my skill with cream."
And thou hast also a sister? Pelletier put in
between Alvine and the treatment of cream.
Yes, monsieur. I have ten sisters, monsieur."
"All in Quebec? "
"No, no, no, monsieur. Did I not tell it is
Marcelline only who remains near me? Though
she is nurse in a family of tradespeople in the
lower town, and my family live on the heights,
we take our children and meet on Dufferin Ter-
race when the weather is fine. Marcelline is hardly
twelve years old. My little sister can get a better
place when she has more age."
Could she not come with you on this pilgrim-
age ?" inquired Mother Ursule.
"Madame, she has gone to Lake Megantic with
her family, because they have relatives there.
That was a wonderful thing for the lumberman to
tell us Bruno had been seen in the Maine woods
above Lake Megantic, when Marcelline was going
directly there and could inquire after him But,
madame, since I have seen him to-night in the
Beaupr6 road, Marcelline need not search for him
The girl laid down her spoon before the cream
Madame, how wet he will be The rain ran
down his cheeks "
That all right, that all right! exclaimed Pel-
letier in English. And, dropping into his own
language, he explained, "You can not hurt these
THE BELLS OF STE. ANNE.
strong, huge boys. They will sleep in wet grass
and wake laughing."
When Alvine had finished her cream her hostess
took the candle and signed toward the pine stair-
way. She was very tired and anxious to lay her
throbbing ankle in horizontal rest. So, gladly
putting her hand on the balustrade and saying,
" Good-night, monsieur," in response to the polite
leave-taking of her host, she limped upstairs, after
the toiling figure of Mother Ursule, to a bare
chamber where a feather-bed awaited guests.
THE POET'S CHILD.
LAKE MEGANTIC, winding among hills and for-
ests, half turning river, and then repenting itself
and spreading out again into lake, has a rudely
built little town called Agnes on one of its bays.
Agnes had sprung with toadstool speed beside a
new railroad, which was penetrating beyond into
the Maine woods. This railroad promised so to
unite American and British interests that its reach-
ing the boundary-line was made an occasion of
on that hot July day which followed the storm on
the Beaupre road.
Excursion rates were given from all points along
the route, to the boundary-line, and picnics lured
the inhabitants of one village to spend their day in
another. Men in public life, and others whose
names were celebrated, had been asked to go to
the boundary-line and make brief speeches on the
The train poured out nearly all its load at Agnes;
for there, at the Lake Megantic dock, waited a
wheezy steamer ready to overfreight itself with as
many souls as would trust themselves to it, and
sail-boats and row-boats beside. So many more
people desired to go out on the blue water than
desired to look at an unfinished iron track that it
seemed the train must carry its speech-makers and
officials to spout only to each other at the bound-
ary-line. But Agnes' villagers themselves thronged
into it, loading it well for its concluding run of
Marcelline Charland had been waiting for this
train. Her mistress let her buy an excursion ticket
to the boundary-line, and she was going there to
inquire after her brother.
Marcelline had very dim ideas of a boundary-
line. She expected to find a populous encamp-
ment of laborers, and perhaps the engineer of the
road holding Bruno in his safe grasp until she
could come and claim him. Marcelline's print
gown was fitted to her by a belt and yoke. She
had an old-fashioned air, as if she were a little girl
who had been boxed away twenty-five years and
lately brought out again, untarnished but some-
Before the train came, Marcelline had been down
under a bank dipping her foot in clear brown water,
the water of the Chaudiere flowing over rocks.
This, her native river, had its source in Lake Me-
gantic; and, when Marcelline first learned the fact,
she every day took the children she tended to look
at her river's head. Delicious was the water to
her naked foot as she paddled, thinking where
those very drops were going. Her mind pursued
them no farther than the limits of her old home.
This discovery of the Chaudiere's source was com-
fort to her while quite separated from Alvine.
There were many trout in the water; she would
tell Alvine this. It was as lovely here as in its
stoniest turns along the valley; and she would
have this to tell Alvine. She was paid for coming
to Lake Megantic, even if nothing could be heard
The train whistled while Marcelline probed
limpid depth beside a rock. She huddled her
stocking and shoe on a damp foot, and ran to find
a seat in the second-class car. Her small face
glowed with heat and exertion. She sat on the
sunny side, two larger people squeezing her against
the window. Several miles of the route slid past
her before she took note of anything but her own
discomfort. The second-class car had cushionless,
wooden seats, and was nearly filled with noisy
Marcelline looked through open doors and across
the throbbing platform at those great people in the
first-class car. Crimson upholstering softened to
them the jolts of the train, and they sat in groups
delightfully talking. The contractor of the new
railroad, and all who were to make speeches, were
in that car. One group, at least, was delightfully
talking; Marcelline wished she could hear them;
a father with flying light hair which smeared the
top of his face or stood out from his temples, and
his daughter, a girl about Alvine's age. She was
trimly dressed, and her auburn curls were tucked
up under a helmet-shaped lawn-tennis hat of white
linen. The pair resembled each other, for her
father's face was smooth, his features straight and
delicate. Marcelline had often seen these two in
Quebec. She knew they were the French poet
Lavoie and his eldest child. She had watched
them with serious attention, as an unthinking
robin, waked in the night, may sometimes gaze
at distant stars. Once her master remarked when
she heard him, that the poet Lavoie had married
into one of the oldest and richest families in
Canada, and fortunate it was for him, for a man
would starve to death on poetry. Monsieur Lavoie
THE BELLS OF STE. ANNE.
and his daughter were devoted chums. She was
his companion wherever he went, excepting at
This girl so beloved seemed full of dimples and
laughter, yet she had a droop of the head which
gave her a bashful air. Marcelline watched her
with unnamed sensations. She sat with her back
to the engine, and all the sweet play of her face
was pored over by Marcelline, who stretched for-
ward impatiently if smoke poured down the roof of
the car and veiled it.
So manypine-trees, papa the girl exclaimed.
" What a great old forest "
Yes. I love a great old forest, Aurele."
I also, papa."
What heat those pine-trees could send forth if
they once caught fire "
"Ah, what fun to live in one of those cabins
the whole summer, papa. Why are there so many
cabins so large, and all standing empty? "
They are the contractor's deserted shells,
Aurele. He built them along his line as he needed
Ihem, with store-rooms and kitchens; but, of
course, he could not carry a single house with
him. He must abandon it and build another far-
ther on. See how much wood is cut and piled by
the track ready for shipping."
Papa, if the woods were mine, I should let
people cut only enough to keep them warm, and
to build ships with. Those are ships' knees, those
crooked pieces; are they not ? Perhaps some of
those very timbers will float us far away together."
"Not with smoke for sails, I hope, my Aurele,"
the poet answered, remarking with half-attentive
eye a smoldering stump.
The woods grew denser, and oaks, like hoary
old men, stood bearded with moss. In the midst
of this wilderness their train halted. It had reached
the barrier set up at the end of its iron track.
Beyond, the smooth road-bed as far as eye could
trace it awaited its timber and rails.
The locomotive stood holding its breath with a
low hiss. Everybody poured out, some people
strolling into the woods, where they could be seen
breaking themselves spoil of various kinds, and
others crowding around the speech-makers.
Near the new track stood an iron post which had
been set by British and United States commis-
sioners more than forty years before. On one side
it bore the words, Her Britannic Majesty," and
on the other, United States of America." This
was the boundary-line.
Marcelline could see no army of laborers in their
temporary village. A man on horseback, leading
another horse by the bridle, was waiting for the
contractor, who had five miles farther to ride to his
The brass band, that had come upon a flat car
decorated with evergreens, now stood up in the
woods and made them ring with, God Save the
Queen" and "Hail, Columbia." An American
consul, a member of the Canadian parliament, and
the French poet, in turn, spoke of the development
of this continent, each rejoicing from his own
standpoint, for men love to feel the progress of the
race flowing through their own veins. Cheers
shook the air; some Americans who were present
got on their side of the line and shouted. Pres-
ently the locomotive bell began to ring, and strag-
glers hastened back from the woods to take their
places in the returning train.
Marcelline went timidly to the contractor, who
mounted his horse and waited to lift his hat in
adieu to a company he had brought so far into the
Monsieur," she whispered at his stirrup.
"What is it, my lass?" inquired the English
If you please, monsieur, is my brother, Bruno-
Morel Charland, in your camp? He came from
the Chaudiere valley, and he was hurt among the
logs six weeks ago."
Speak English, speak English, my lass; and
look sharp if you're going on that train. I don't
"Monsieur," besought Marcelline, lifting her
voice, as we all do when our language is not com-
prehended, as if noise would arouse a sleeping in-
terpreter in our listener's ears, "is my brother,
Bruno-Morel Charland, in your camp? I made
this journey to find him, monsieur."
The man who had held the contractor's horse
now spoke up. He talked rapidly in English to
his employer, and in French to Marcelline. He
Told her there were five hundred men in the camp
above, that he had been among them all summer,
and no such person as she described was there.
Marcelline paid her thanks for this certainty,
and solemnly climbed the height of the platform
to the second-class car. She felt that she and her
vital interests were very trivial and not worth the
attention of minds concerned with the large
matters of the world. Her inexperienced heart
resented the cruel and stupid resistance of circum-
stances, as we all resent it before we learn the har-
mony of life.
A FOREST FIRE.
DURING ten miles of the backward run sponta-
neous camp-fires appeared to spring in all directions
through the woods. The sight amused Aurele.
THE BELLS OF STE. ANNE.
"But see, papa!" she exclaimed. "One of
those log houses is burning up. It makes a bea-
con. Who lighted so many fires? "
Perhaps the sparks of our locomotive." The
poet uneasily rose and went to the door. Aurele
followed and hung on his arm, while her smiling
sight moved from flame to flame. Other inmates
were watching the spectacle.
The train, lessening its speed, was soon obliged
to creep cautiously between banks of rose-red em-
bers or solid cords of roaring wood- the wood
which had been cut and piled for commerce. The
pine branches on the flat car ignited, driving the
brass band into an inclosed carriage for shelter.
Men with buckets dropped to ditches beside the
track and dipped up water to throw on the train,
creeping on the platforms again with scorched
clothes and hands and faces blistered.
One who has never been in a forest fire can
scarcely imagine its intense heat, the acrid blind-
ing smoke, the suddenness with which trees flash
from root to crown, and grass blazes far from any
spark, as if the earth itself were burning, the fur-
nace glow of piled logs, the heated air from baked
Incredible sights showed through that nightmare
of fire. Moss-inclosed stumps spurted flame many
times their own height. Young ferns, scarce un-
rolled, sprang green and fresh from one side of a
log, while the other side quivered in living coals.
The train stopped. It could creep in retreat no
farther, for its track was burned, the rails warped
into fantastic curves. Blackened and blistered
paint ran down the car sides.
The doors and windows had all been closed to
keep out smoke and sickening heat. Aurele's
father held her to him and fanned her with his
hat. Every mouth in the carriage gasped for
breath. The floor was so hot it burned their feet.
The window glass could not be touched. They
could all see the wooden sides of the inclosure
When the doomed train had hung a minute in
the midst of this furnace, some one opened a door
and shouted that it was on fire. Into the blister-
ing smoke-darkened air, and out upon a forest
floor spread with embers and quivering with heat,
the people all rushed. Women fainted and were
dragged up and carried by their fathers or broth-
ers. The escape-valve of the locomotive was left
open by its flying engineer, but it uttered its steam
wail briefly, being relieved by explosion.
When days had cooled the forest to blackness, a
distorted boiler and some rows of iron wheels were
found where the train came to a stop.
Aurdle, in her father's grasp, stepped down upon
the burning ground.
The train conductor and his men tried to gather
all the people for a retreat to the lake. Butit was
impossible to shout explanations and commands
as a ship's captain may do when he abandons
ship. Merely inhaling the hot air wilted men
downward on fainting knees. Terror drove every
step taken in that vast fiery furnace. Carrying,
driving, and dragging each other, the crowd ran
toward the lake. Sometimes they could see it,
sometimes they were lost in a world of smoke, the
scorched sod betraying their feet into nests of coals,
and one suddenly seized another's garments to
crush starting flame. They had to avoid dropping
flakes from the trees and rosy columns toppling
just ready to fall. Often a clear space toward
which they fought flashed up and barred their
way, shaking out banners of fire. Yet, by groups
they reached the lake, and dashed in, or let them-
selves down gasping upon its pebbles. Even the
grape-vines were turning to red-hot links and
throwing off sparkles as if worked by a black-
smith's hammer. Megantic, in places, slopes
gradually to its depths, so children and others
unable to swim could run into it from hissing
brands which blackened as they struck the water.
The town of Agnes was visible from this point,
and though the villagers were fighting fire on their
own account,- for the woods enveloped and nearly
swept away their wooden buildings,- they saw the
signal of their land-wrecked friends and relations
who had taken to the water, and sent out all the
boats they could muster.
It could not be learned that anybody perished in
the woods, though some were fatally burned while
escaping. But when one party rearranged itself
and felt able to count its members, the poet La-
voie and his daughter were missed.
Nobody missed Marcelline Charland. The chil-
dren whom she tended and their mother, dazedby
the common calamity and the sight of their tem-
porary home in ashes, took refuge where they did
not hear about the burned train.
Marcelline, crushed among escaping people, fell
into the ditch among quenched brands. But the
fall wet her clothes and was a benefit to her. .Too
hardy to be seriously bruised by the flying herd
who left her behind without knowing it, she got up
and ran through smoke, pressing her dress-skirt
over mouth and nose. It was a dreadful thing to
be stifling in the midst of fire, while her father sat
calmly at his open door in the valley, and even
Alvine knew nothing about it. Like a breath of
air from high hills was the thought that Bruno or
Alvine would run into this danger after her. She
was of great account to them.
Had Marcelline been able to move through this
wreck of nature without feeling all her pores start
THE BELLS OF STE. ANNE.
sickening dew, or her shoes warp on scorched feet,
or her smarting eyes close to save themselves, the
roaring grand spectacle would have made up for
all the commonplaces of her previous lifetime. For
there was more for Marcelline to look at than the
others had seen. Fire looks ashamed under high
daylight. But this one daubed a lower sky of its
own, a gray and stooping firmament up to which
the woods glared. Solid ranks of pines magnified
their height and stately straightness, as they stood
glowing like coral, their tremulous breath ascend-
ing; stumps were fantastic gems, living color chas-
ing through and through them.
Marcelline fell down again as she ran, and got
up from embers with her clothing afire. The
wetting in the railroad ditch still helped her. She
slapped the places with blistered hands. But it
seemed no use. She was catching all over like the
woods had done.
Through the crackle of trees she heard screamed
somewhere, Oh, papa!" the screamer's breath
gurgling in the heat. Marcelline, slapping her
spurts of fire, could not look away for help.
Whether Aurele Lavoie came from the right or
the left or the front, it was impossible to know.
But Aurele, from some direction, spread the skirt
of her own flannel dress and wrapped it around
Her father seized both girls, and they flew with
him. He raced them over embers and through
burning shrubs. It was the trial by fire. They
must either die, or run death's gauntlet with deter-
mined success. When they reached the lake
border, Monsieur Lavoie flung Aurele first andthen
Marcelline over drift-logs blazing there, before
leaping into the water himself. He sat down with
them waist-deep on the pebbles and dipped the
lake with both hands over them and himself until
the senses of all three were revived.
They were a grotesque group. Holes broke
through their scorched garments. They panted
audibly, and their faces, puffing and whitening in
patches, glistened with a red shine under the trick-
Smoke lay over the surface of the lake thick as
fog. Nothing was to be seen in front of them
except gray ripples lapping. Behind, the roaring
furnace still painted its awful picture, and they did
not look at it. Those refugees to whom the
boats were sent waited on a strip of beach distant
from this; Aurele's return after Marcelline Char-
land changed the direction of her father's retreat,
because places which could be passed one minute
became impassable after that minute's delay.
Marcelline bore Monsieur Lavoie's drenchings
with silent fortitude, but Aurele gasped,
Oh, papa, you will drown me "
Are you yet afire ? "
"No, I am now quite put out. Oh, papa, par-
don me "
"The child you ran after is safe with us, is she
Papa! exclaimed Aurdle. You have been
dipping the lake over her; you should know she is
safe you, who brought her out of the fire. Your
hair is frizzled up to your head. And mine "-
Aurele parted her lips in dismay while she felt
it -" oh, papa, my hair breaks off in handfuls! "
Give me, then, a handful to kiss."
Bah the singed smell is very disagreeable.
We must be monsters. If we were to go down to
the beach, mamma would not know us. She would
say, 'Ernestine, conduct these people away. Raw
beggars are bad enough, but cooked I can not
endure them '"
'Not at all, my Aurele. A very precious mor-
sel will you be to madame your mamma, when she
learns how you cooked yourself. Helpless enough
you were until you looked back and saw the child
burning. Away then goes my moth into the fire
Papa," exclaimed Aurele, patting her father
with a sudden embrace, you talk straight in front
of you, as if you sat at your writing-desk with
Aurele at your knee. Why don't you look at me ?
You can not be thinking a poem now."
I must crave your pardon for my present man-
ners, beloved child," said the poet.
You will yet make a nose at my burns, you so
slight them," complained Aurele, keeping her gaze
on his face.
Her father smiled while replying.
"My eyelids seem melted together, and the
coolness of the water has sealed them. How, then,
can I give myself the pleasure of looking at my
daughter's blisters ? "
Aurele began to cry aloud, the tears smarting
"Oh, papa, my papa, are they burned? those
lovely eyes that are so kind to me Did I drag
you into the fire again to put your eyes out! "
No, no-no, no," the poet repudiated. You
did nothing of that kind. My eyes are not out.
They are in. They are, indeed, far in. They
make their retirement, mademoiselle. They pre-
sent their compliments, and would, if you please,
see nothing but visions for a while."
Do they hurt, papa ?"
"They do hurt, my Aurele. But I think their
state is that probationary state of young kittens.
Perhaps this laving in water will relieve the swell-
ing. If you cry, my sight will struggle to tear
itself out from its cloister. I can not endure unhap-
piness of yours."
THE BELLS OF STE. ANNE.
Aurle -quieted herself and washed the tears "Do you hear that? You are to be called my
from her face. child."
"We were obliged to go back, papa," she "Yes, mademoiselle," answered Marcelline, her
reflected. weazened, small face dripping its silent tears upon
"Certainly. It was a mere duty. The result the ripples. Aurele asked anxiously:
Do your burns, then,
,. e` .'- hurt so much ? "
'I hurt most in my
inside," explained the
child, "for that monsieur
and you should be burnt
while you ran after me."
"That is not thy af-
fair, my child," declared
Aurele. Listen to me;
I must give thee in-
struction. All the people
in the world have their
devoir to do. In this
case it was plainly yours
to let yourself be pulled
out of the fire. You did
so. That suffices. That
is all "
Aurble snapped finger
and thumb, immediately
nursing the blisters she
i thus irritated. What is
your name ?"
i I am called Marcel-
"We are Monsieur
4 Lavoieandhis daughter,"
"Yes, I know," re-
Ssponded Marcelline. "I
have seen you many
Are you also, then,
from Ouebec ? "
I am nurse in a fam-
S' ily there, mademoiselle."
'"But what a little
creature she is for a
- .' nurse, papa! Our Ernest-
Y ineis a giantess compared
Sto her; and she needs to
., be, or the boys would
make an end of her."
S Aur le," said the
S poet, with an air ofhabit-
"HER FATHER SEIZED BOTH GIRLS, AND THEY FLEW WITH HIMII. uallyconsulting hischild,
IT WAS THE TRIAL BY FIRE." "whatshallwe do now? "
is not our affair. Whatever the little girl's name We must reach help. We must go where
is, she shall be called by us Aurble's child." there are remedies for burns. The hurting is so
Aurele leaned toward Marcelline and inquired painful. This water surely cures our faintness,
brightly: but I think it smarts the burns."
THE BELLS OF STE. ANNE.
"I have less fortitude than either of you," said
Monsieur Lavoie. I must have relief as soon as
possible. We can not wade the lake border. Is
there no log in sight which we could sit on and
"None uncharred, papa. A half-burned log
might go to pieces under us even if its heat was
Then, mademoiselle my daughter, what do
you propose to do with us ? "
Poor papa; love you first, and beg those shut
eyes to see Aurele in their visions. We can do
nothing but call for help. We must make un-
ceasing fog-horns of ourselves. We can not pass
through these woods again though we sat here
until they blackened to cold ebony."
Aurele lifted up her voice and shouted across
the water. Her father, in his turn, did the same,
and Marcelline piped afterward.
They kept it up until the grayness around them
turned to blackness; but a blackness pushed far
off upon the lake by flames behind. They were
able to leave the water and sit upon pebbles, for
the fires nearest them were dying out. The even-
ing was chill, and Monsieur Lavoie took Aurele
on his arm and made Marcelline walk beside him
back and forth on the strip of sand. They hob-
bled. The voices of all three in long, anxious
cadences, stretched over the lake:
Au secours! au secours! Vit', vit', vit', au
secours, au secours, vit', vit' "
(To be continued.)
MY UNCLE PETER
BY EMMA A. OPPER.
MY old Uncle Peter 's a famous relater
Of marvelous stories; but my Uncle Peter
Is a vigorous foe and a rigorous hater
Of wile and of guile; he despises a cheater;
He 's frank and sincere on a very large
And this is his manner of telling a tale:
" Oh, once in the chivalric days of old,
In the wonderful long ago,
There dwelt a Giant full bad and bold
(But this is not fact, you know) -
In whose darksome dungeon a maiden fair,
Whom atrociously he had stole;
She languished and wept (to be candid,
Was no such a girl, nor hole).
" But, lo'! on a rapturous morn there rode
A valorous Knight that way;
His snowy palfrey he brave bestrode
(Don't credit this fiction, pray),
And straight he sprang from the noble steed;
His sword it gleamed in the sun,
And the dragon that guarded the gate (a deed
Which he could by no means have done)
" He felled at a blow, and with mighty force
He battered the dungeon wall,
And he seized the sorrowing maid (of course
It never transpired at all)-
And he slew the Giant, the dauntless youth,
And the beauteous maid he wed
(But you must n't imagine a grain of truth
In a single word that I 've said)."
Oh, my old Uncle Peter 's a famous relater!
But I wish, goodness me! that my old Uncle Peter
Could be rather more of a prevaricator-
His stories would be more absorbing, and neater;
I wish his integrity did n't prevail
In so stern a degree-when he 's telling a tale.
THE DISTANCES IN SPACE.
BY D. C. ROBERTSON.
HERE is a well-known saying
that truth is stranger than fic-
tion. The correctness of this
proverb can not well be gain-
said. The most careless ob-
servation of the wonders of
nature as seen in this world
of ours, the most hasty read-
ing of the history of men,
should be enough to place the
matter beyond all doubt or question. The world
itself, its oceans and rivers, its mountains and for-
ests, its plains and deserts, its wonderful human
and animal life these facts are more marvelous
than anything the fancy of man ever has conceived
or ever will conceive. But when we leave this
earth, and, turning our eyes to the heavens, learn
something, however trifling, of the glories which are
there displayed, then are we most impressed with
the feeling that, compared with truth, fiction,
however strange, is poor, dull, and uninteresting.
If the pages of natural history, in every line, tell of
wonders far surpassing any set forth in the most
dazzling romance, what shall be said of the annals
Any one gazing at the sky on a clear, moonless
night, will see what will seem to him a large number
of little points of light, so tiny that many of them
could be held in the palm of the hand; each appar-
ently fast fixed in its place, and all seemingly
within a very little distance, say, within gun-shot,
or a few minutes' walk. What he does see are
huge, fiery globes, so vast that compared with them
our great earth is but a plaything; rushing along
at a speed to which that of the express train, or
even of the cannon ball, is as nothing; at distances
so vast that the mind of man cannot at all conceive
them. Instead of small size, absolute rest, and
trifling distance, he contemplates stupendous size,
fearfully rapid motion, and distance inconceivable.
Among all these wonders of size, speed, and dis
tance, I shall confine my attention to the last, and
shall say a few words about the distances of the
I will take it for granted that my young readers
know something about the solar system ; that they
know, for instance, the names of its chief bodies,
their size, positions, motions, etc. I will therefore
merely remind them that the moon is distant from
us about 240,000 miles; while of the other bodies
of the system, the smallest distances are about as
follows : Venus, 26,000,000; Mars, 48,000,000 ;
Mercury, 56,000,000; the sun, g9,ooo,ooo; the
asteroids, io,ooo,ooo; Jupiter, 384,000,000; Sat-
urn, 780,000,000; Uranus, 1,660,ooo,ooo; and
Neptune, 2,650,000,000 miles.
The distances here approximately expressed in
millions of miles, no doubt seem great enough;
yet the mere statement of them can give no true
idea of their real magnitude. Indeed, no human
intellect can in any way form a just conception of
them. Still, something better can be done than
merely to talk about so many miles, whether in
thousands or in millions. The distances must be
not merely stated, but illustrated. They will then
be made not perfectly, nor even nearly clear, but
somewhat clearer than any bare statement of fig-
ures can make them.
Doubtless our world is enormous. Compared
with the largest of its creatures, and even with the
space within which the greater part of such crea-
tures move about, its size is indeed past compre-
hending. But so wonderful are the means of travel
now at our disposal, that almost any part of the
earth, even the most distant, can be reached in a
very short time. In less than a day the modern
traveler can be carried hundreds of miles. In a
week, he can go from the Atlantic to the Pacific,
THE DISTANCES IN SPACE.
or from America to Europe. A little more than a
month will take him to the ends of the earth.
Thus, Mr. Kennan, who is now writing for The
Century" a series of articles on Siberia, reached
the frontier of that distant land in about six weeks
alter he left New York, notwithstanding that he
made several stoppages and traveled several hun-
ired miles by wagon. Thus it will easily be seen
Jiat no single journey upon our earth, however
long, can occupy more than a small part of the
average human life. The time required for a few
tiourneys more or less to China, Australia, or the
Cape of Good Hope, would hardly be noticed in
comparison with an ordinary lifetime.
Let us now contrast these distances with some
C..r of the distances in space, choosing as our
I,de of comparison and illustration the time
, would take to travel each given distance at a
Sdcl rate of speed. We will suppose certain rail-
:, .'s to be built: one round the world in a perfect
(ice, others to various points in the solar system.
.(1 we will further suppose that the trains on
ti.se railways could be kept going at the rate of
-i::Ty miles an hour for any required length of time ;
t at their passengers could do without food or
c, ld be supplied with an abundance of it; that
t)i bodies of such passengers could be made capa-
bi; of enduring the various changes of air, tem-
ip nature, and other climatic conditions, to which
;..: would be exposed.
d1:d on our world this kind of travel would becom-
:- actively easy, and would take next to no time. In
twenty-four hours the passenger could travel 1440
li:es, or considerably farther than from New York
'o Chicago. In forty-eight hours he could travel as
1t: as from Boston to Liverpool; and in less than
s-Linteen days he could go round the world. But,
as icgards the journeys in space, a difficulty in
mo0< cases insuperable would stand in the way.
In order to visit any but a very few of the nearest
bodies in space, the travelers on our celestial rail-
ways would need to have their lives very greatly
prolonged. Were they to set out for any distant
part of the system, they all would die before they
had fairly begun their journey. A voyage to the
m1on, to Venus, or to Mars would, under the above
conditions, be possible; to any other body in the
system it would be impossible.
The journey to the moon would be compara-
tively short. Our companion is distant about
240,0co miles; or, in round numbers, its distance
Contains ten times as many miles as are contained
in the earth's circumference.
Traveling at the rate of sixty miles an hour, and
ever stopping, it would take between 166 and 167
days to reach the journey's end. Compared with
other heavenly distances, this is a mere nothing;
but compared with the distances actually traversed
by the average man, it is very great indeed. Few
ever travel at sixty miles an hour, and then only
for short periods, and at considerable intervals.
Many, probably the majority, of those who live to
a good old age cover less than 240,000 miles dur-
ing their whole lives. A great traveler might do
it in, say, fifteen years. For even a conductor or
engineer of an express train, it would require several
Let us now take a trip to the planet Venus, our
next nearest neighbor. This will be a much more
formidable undertaking. We have seen that a
succession of the longest journeys over this earth
would form but short and passing episodes in a
lifetime. We have seen that, on one of our imag-
inary railways, the traveler could circle the world
in less than three weeks. We have seen, not only
that a journey to the moon is quite possible to the
passengers by our celestial railway, but that equal
and even greater distances are often traveled' on
earth. But a trip to Venus would be a very dif-
ferent matter. Venus, as already stated, is about
26,000,000 miles away ; or, at sixty miles an hour,
without stopping, she is distant a journey not of
three weeks, or six months, but of some fifty years.
On the imaginary railway, such a journey would
be possible, for a great many persons live longer
than fifty years. But in real life no one ever has
traveled, and no one ever will travel, anything
like so far. No human being ever has traveled
5,000,000 miles; and it is safe to say that no one
ever will. To complete this measure of journey-
ing would require an average of 100,000 miles a
year for fifty years. Some few, perhaps, in all their
lives, may have traveled i,ooo,ooo miles, but these
are probably very rare exceptions. So we see that
no one ever has lived who has traveled more than
a small part of the distance to Venus. Yet, com-
pared with other bodies in the system, this star may
be said to be almost a next-door neighbor.
Much the same statement may be made of the
trip to Mars, which would take over ninety years.
To a few of the supposed passengers the trip would
be possible, for some persons pass their ninetieth
year. But on this earth the greatest travelers would
probably have to stop at about one forty-eighth of
Henceforth, however, the circumstances are en-
tirely changed. Even under the impossible con-
ditions above assumed, the smallest of the remain-
ing distances is too great to be traversed within the
term of one human life, even were it to reach the
extreme limit of one hundred years. Mercury and
the sun are comparatively quite near us, yet to go
to Mercury would take more than Ioo years, or
rather more than the time that has elapsed since
THE DISTANCES IN SPACE.
the beginning of the French Revolution; while the
journey to the sun would last about 175 years, or as
long a time as has gone by since the reign of
But after this the distances increase at a much
greater rate. Those already mentioned are trifles
to them. Omitting the asteroids, we will at once
proceed to Jupiter. To get there would take over
730 years. Were such a journey just ended, it
would have begun about the time of Thomas
h Becket, and would have been in progress more
than 340 years when Columbus first set sail for the
But this journey would be mere child's-play, com-
pared with a voyage to Saturn. The traveler to the
ringed planet would be no less than 1475 years on
his way. Supposing his journey just over, he would
have begun it at a time when the Roman Empire
still ruled the world, and 450 years before the time
All the preceding journeys, vast though they are,
could yet have been taken within a time less than
the Christian era. The one we shall have to take
next brings us back to an age far more remote.
Uranus is three thousand years distant. Three
thousand years ago, King David's life had not
begun, and Greece had yet to make for herself a
name in history, or even in fable.
We come at last to Neptune, the outermost of
the planets. This planet is distant more than five
thousand years. Could we imagine Abraham as
living from his birth until now, and that with the
planet Neptune as his destination he had traveled
continuously at sixty miles an hour all that time,
he would still be a long way from his goal.
One more illustration and we will leave the
solar system. Neptune's path about the sun
measures about 16,200,ooo,ooo miles. If bodies
as large as the world were placed side by side,
like beads on a necklace, so as to fill the entire
path, these great beads would number over
2,000,000; i. e., there would be about three times
as many of them as there are words in the Bible.
But, compared with even that portion of space
which the naked eye can survey, the solar system
is something like a small corner lot to a large city.
As Mr. Proctor truly observed, tremendous as
are the dimensions of the solar system, the widest
sweep of the planetary orbits sinks into insignifi-
cance compared with the distance which separates
us from even the nearest of the fixed stars." We
have seen that an express train, going at the rate
of sixty miles an hour, would take five thousand
years to get to the planet Neptune. But to reach
Alpha Centauri, the nearest of the fixed stars,- a
distance of some 20,000,000,000,000 miles,-the
same train would take, not thousands nor hundreds
of thousands, but millions of years ; in round num-
bers, 35,000,000. No one, of course, can form the
least idea of what such a time really is. No one can
conceive what is really meant by I,ooo,ooo years
Few realize the great length of time expressed by
the term i,ooo,ooo days. Think of the days thal
have passed since the founding of the eternal
city" of Rome; yet I,ooo,ooo days ago, Rom'
was a city of the future. One million days ago.
Xerxes, Miltiades, and Leonidas were yet un-
born; the beginning of the Christian era was far-
ther in the future than the Crusades are in the past.
What, then, shall we say of 35,000,000 years ?
To take another example: Suppose one were to
travel every day as far as from here to the sun ;
that is to say, a distance which an express train
would cover in about 175 years. Then while the
journey to Neptune would take about a month,
it would require six hundred years to reach the
star called Alpha Centauri.
SBut awful as is the distance of this star, it is as
nothing compared with that of other heavenly
bodies. Sirius, one of the nearest of the fixed
stars, is at least four times as far away; while
many, perhaps most, of the stars visible to the naked
eye are quite four times as far away as Sirius. And
when we come to some of the stars which only the
telescope reveals, we find that whereas light, travel-
ing at the rate of 10,000,000 miles a minute,
comes to us from Alpha Centauri in considerably
less than four years, it can not reach us from the
telescopic stars in less than thousands, and hun-
dreds of thousands, of years.
Another illustration may be taken from the
motion of the heavenly bodies. Look, for instance,
at the bright star Sirius. Year after year it ap-
pears the same; of the same size, the same bright-
ness, the same distance. And so, no doubt, it has
appeared for centuries past, and will continue to
appear for centuries to come. And yet it is
asserted that Sirius and the earth are shooting
apart at times over twenty miles a second. Let
us stop a moment and see what this would mean.
In one minute, Sirius recedes as far as from New
York to Winnipeg; in sixteen minutes it travels a
distance equal to the earth's circumference; and
in less than three hours a space is covered equal
to that between us and the moon. Yet, to double
its present distance, it would have to go on thus
receding for over 1oo,ooo years; and to become
invisible to the naked eye, that speed of separation
would have to continue over 1,0oo,ooo years.
These few general statements have been writ-
ten with a hope of exciting the interest of young
readers, and urging upon them the advantage of
acquiring some knowledge, however slight, of as-
tronomy-one of the noblest and most wonderful of
1889.] THE DISTANCES IN SPACE. 1 97
the sciences. To most of them, the acquisition of not but be a source of much pleasure and of no
astronomical knowledge either deep or exact, will less profit. If properly studied and appreciated,
be impossible. But even the slight information Astronomy elevates the intellect as greatly as it
which may be gained by the general reader, can interests the imagination.
A Songfor Margaret and Harold.
BY BLANCHE WILLIS HOWARD.
WHEN the great wind sets things whirling
And rattles the window-panes,
And blows the dust in giants
And dragons tossing their manes;
When the willows have waves like water,
And children are shouting with glee;
When the pines are alive and the larches,-
Then hurrah for you and me,
In the tip o' the top o' the top o' the tip of
the popular poplar tree !
Don't talk about Jack and the Beanstalk -
He did not climb half so high !
And Alice in all her travels
Was never so near the sky !
Only the swallow, a-skimming
The storm-cloud over the lea,
SKnows how it feels to be flying--
When the gusts come strong and free -
In the tip o' the top o' the top o' the tip of
the popular poplar tree !
.. ... N ^ ;,-, 1-t,,-,,,-:"_, I.-
WHEN littl C a h
t'i k 'h -to Mamma
WHEN little Claude was naughty once,
At luncheon-time, and said
i. '.. go-- I 'm much obliged to you "'
-. : ,: I -
IBY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY.
WHEN little Claude was naughty once,
At luncheon-time, and said
He 'd not sav Thank you to Mamma,
She made him go to bed,
And cover up and stay two hours ; -
So when the clock struck two,
Then Claude said Thank you, Mr. Clock,
I 'm much obliged to you "
/0 'jf._ -7. ..
S '' '-p BY HARRIET LEWIS BRADLEY.
SONE Oc- the baker's wife. "He was the Piper on the six
S tober day, hundredth Anniversary. The first day, he wore
I in the last a black mantle, and went through the town piping;
S October that and all the little children dressed in gray, to rep-
S ever was, I resent rats and mice, danced after him, down to
Stood in the the river. And the second day," continued the
lower, right- baker's wife, my husband's cousin Wilhelm wore
--"' ... ''.'- n"..'' ,r,- corner-room a many-colored dress; and then the little children
I I wonderfull old followed him out of the town over to the Koppen
!-': rWl house; and mountain. It was exactly as it happened in Ha-
A'i a, . I.i''s wife- this melin six hundred years ago."
same lower, right-hand And do you think it really happened, then ?"
corner-room being now used as a bake-shop- I asked.
brought out the family photograph-album, and They say it happened," answered the baker's
opened it upon the counter. Among the pictures wife wisely. Of course there is no one to ask."
there was one showing a young man in a fanci- In the bake-shop were boxes of bonbons for sale,
ful dress, with a plume in his hat and a fife raised each box holding six sugar mice and a diminutive
to his lips, tin fife; and when, later, I wandered through the
"That is my husband's cousin, Wilhelm," said streets of Hamelin, I noticed that every shop-win-
-- -, \ .
.. -_. ,- ..-. ,
/ ""- '- .' -t "
e -.-- '"....-.) S\t-", -,t ,,
S- --- -"- --------, ,
"r" "'-- ''" '' ..LL_, ... -, ~~ 1,,,,-"-"..
Tit 91 1'IFI]
telB^^^f^^^Sfc 1[ p._^_ ^ ^^
~.: r~1. Jx*. -e~ --
dow contained rats and mice and merry-look-
ing pipers, made in porcelain, paper, bread, or
The narrow by-way, on one corner of which
stands the wonderful old house, is called the
"Drumless Street"; for (so the baker's wife told
ne) since that day of misfortune, six hundred years
ago, when the children danced down this by-way
to the music of their loved piper, neither the sound
of drum nor fife nor any other instrument is al-
lowed within its limits.
The old tradition of the Pied Piper has be-
come widely famous through two well-known
poems, one by an English, the other by a German
How much of it is true one can not exactly say,
and, as the baker's wife remarked, there is no one
to ask. But certain it is, that something curious
must have happened once in Hamelin town,"
for every traveler who strays to-day through the
Drumless Street, and looks up at the old house on
the corner, can read this inscription:
On the day of St. John and St. Paul, on the 26 of June, 130
children born in Hamelin were led away by a piper dressed in divirs
colors, and lost on the Koppen.
Upon an old house in the market-place, called
the Wedding-house, from being used formerly for
wedding festivities, are these words:
After the birth of Christ, in 1284, 130 children born in Hamelin
were led away by a piper and lost on the Koppen.
IN THE TOWN OF THE PIED PIPER.
V). I r ,'. I-
-X P 5.5 -.-
THE EAT-CATCHER'S HOUSE, HAMELIN.
Thus run the inscriptions, printed in old-fash-
ioned German, above the second-story windows
of these two curious houses.
Every school-child, except the exceptional one,
knows the story of the Pied Piper," and that
Hamelin town 's in Brunswick,
By famous Hanover city."
For the exceptional one, who has yet to read these
familiar lines, here is the story told in prose. It is
a story of too many rats and mice. The pastor
could not preach his sermon. The teacher could
not hear his classes. The old dames could not
enjoy even a comfortable gossip at their spinning-
wheels without being unpleasantly interrupted.
There were rats who had a habit of rambling
through the church during the service; there
were mice who daily danced across the school-
room floor; there were rats and mice who met
together every evening, and held noisy festivities
in the walls, and under the floor, and over the
ceiling of the spinning-room. At this time of great
need, when the Biirgermeister was worn thin with
perplexity, a tall and handsome stranger appeared
in Hamelin. No one knew whence he came, but
the little children loved him at once, because of
the sweet music he used to play to them upon his
fife, and the older people were never tired of hear-
IN THE TOWN OF THE PIED PIPER.
ing the songs he was always ready to sing. This
stranger came to the Biirgermeister and promised
that for a certain sum of money he would fiee the
town of its plague, to which condition the Biirger-
meister gave a joyful assent. When the next full
moon shone upon Hamelin, the piper went through
the streets playing a wonderful melody, and forth
from every corner came all the old rats and young
rats and middle-aged rats, and pretty gray mice, and
the piper led them to their end in the River Weser.
One rat alone remained in the town,
a sad old creature, who, being deaf -
and blind and stiff with years, could
not follow the piper's music. There
was great rejoicing among the
people as this deliverance became ,.
known. The preacher was able to
preach his Sunday sermon, the
school-children to repeat their ':i
week-day multiplication-tables, and
the old dames to finish their evening
gossip without a single interruption.i '11
Such a peaceful state of affairs had
long been unknown in "Hamelin
town." The City Council, however,
having debated during several sittings
the possibility of paying the piper a less
sum than they had promised, finally decided
not to pay him anything, and the piper, in his in-
dignation, resolved to bring as much dismay
:umong the people as he had already brought de-
light. So, on a bright, pleasant morning, when all
the fathers and mothers were safely locked in the
church (it being the custom to lock the church
doors that no belated worshiper should disturb
the devotions of those assembled in proper season),
the Pied Piper went from house to house playing
softly, and the little children ran out to meet him,
crying, Here is our dear piper again." And they
followed him, dancing through the streets and out
of the town to the Koppen mountain.
Of all that merry crowd, the only child who
came back was a poor lame girl, left behind be-
cause she was unable by reason of her infirmity to
keep up with the others.
-As I lingered in Hamelin town," on this Octo-
ber afternoon in the last October that ever was, I
met a bare-headed little girl with a band of flowers
fastened sash-fashion over her shoulder, and from
this wreath hung six heart-shaped cakes. I asked
whether she knew the story of the Pied Piper.
"Ach, ja /" said the little girl, smiling. I was
a mouse. I was the smallest mouse. To-day I
am six years old "
Therefore, although there is some
-r r...-_rtainty concerning what may or
may not have "' I
ago, we know, ',
doubt, that on ,
26th of June, .
not long ago,
this old tradi-
tion became a living thing- for did not the baker's
wife say that her husband's cousin Wilhelm was the
Pied Piper, and has not the birthday-child also told
us that she herself, as the smallest among the mice,
danced after him down to the river on that very day?
LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH.
BY FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT.
NEARLY all the day she sat poor little girl! -
by her window, looking out at the passers-by in
the snowy street. But she scarcely saw the peo-
ple at all. Her thoughts were far away, in the
little village where she had always spent her
Christmas before. Her Aunt Clotilde had allowed
her at such times to do so much! There was
not a house to which she did not carry some
gift no child who was forgotten. And the
church on Christmas morning had been so beauti-
ful with flowers from the hot-houses of the chateau.
It was for the church indeed that the conservatories
were chiefly kept up. Mademoiselle de Roche-
mont would scarcely have permitted herself such
But there would be no flowers this year. The
chateau was closed; there were no longer garden-
ers at work; the church would be bare and cold;
the people would have no gifts; there would be
no pleasure in the little peasants' faces.
Little Saint Elizabeth wrung her slight hands
together in her lap.
Oh," she cried, what can I do ? And then
there are the poor here -so many. And I do
It was not alone the poor she had left in her
village who were a grief to her. As she drove
through the streets she now and then saw haggard
faces; and when she had questioned a servant
who one day came to her to ask alms for a poor
child at the door, she had been told that in parts
of this great, bright city which she had not seen.
there was cruel want and suffering, as in all great
And it is so cold now," she thought, with
the snow on the ground."
The lamps in the street were just beginning to
be lighted when her Uncle Bertrand returned. It
appeared that he had brought back with him the
gentleman with the kind face. They were to dine
together, and Uncle Bertrand desired that Made-
moiselle Elizabeth should join them. Evidently
the journey out of town had been delayed for a
day at least. There came also another message-
Monsieur de Rochemont wished Mademoiselle to
send to him by her maid a certain box of antique
ornaments which had been given to her by her
Aunt Clotilde. Elizabeth had known less of the
value of these jewels than of their beauty. She
knew they were beautiful, and that they had
belonged to Aunt Clotilde in the gay days of
her triumphs as a beauty, and a brilliant young
woman, but it seemed that they were also verl
curious, and Monsieur de Rochemont wished hi:
friend to see them. When Elizabeth went down-
stairs she found the gentlemen examining then
They must be put somewhere for safe keep-
ing," Uncle Bertrand was saying. "It should
have been done before. I will attend to it."
The gentleman with the kind eyes looked at
Elizabeth with an interested expression as she
came into the room. Her slender little figure in
its black velvet dress, her delicate little face with
its large, soft, sad eyes, the gentle gravity of her
manner, made Elizabeth seem quite unlike other
He did not seem to find her simply amusing, as
her Uncle Bertrand did. She was always con-
scious that behind Uncle Bertrand's most serious
expression there was lurking a faint smile as he
watched her but this visitor looked at her in a
different way. He was a doctor she discovered.
Dr. Norris her uncle called him. And Elizabeth
wondered if his profession had not perhaps made
him quick of sight and mind.
She felt that it must be so when she heard him
talk at dinner. She found that he did a great
deal of work among the very poor; that he had a
hospital where he received children who were ill,-
or who had perhaps met with accidents and could
not be taken care of in their wretched homes. He
spoke frequently of terrible quarters where there
was the greatest poverty and suffering. And he
spoke of these things with so much eloquence and
sympathy that even Uncle Bertrand began to
listen with interest.
Come," said the doctor, you are a rich, idle
fellow, de Rochemont, and we want rich, idle fel-
lows to come and look into all this and do some-
thing for us. You must let me take you with me
It would pain me too much, my good Norris,"
said Uncle Bertrand, with a slight shudder. "I
should not enjoy my dinner after it."
Then go without your dinner,"said Dr. Norris.
LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH.
" These people do. You have too many dinners.
Give up one."
Uncle Bertrand shrugged his shoulders and
It is Elizabeth who fasts," he said. Myself,
I prefer to dine. And yet some day I may take
a fancy to visit these people with you."
Elizabeth could scarcely have been said to dine
that evening. She could not eat. She sat with
her large sad eyes fixed upon Dr. Norris's face as
he talked. Every word he uttered sank deep into
her heart. The want and suffering of which he
spoke were more terrible than anything she had
ever heard. It had been nothing like this in the
- I I -,: -- Oh, no, no As she thought of it, there
was a look in her dark eyes that almost startled
Dr. Norris several times when he glanced at her.
But as he did not know the particulars of her life
with her aunt and the strange training she had
had, he could not possibly have guessed what was
going on in her mind, and how much effect his
stories were having. The beautiful little face
touched him very much, and the pretty French
,ccent with which the child spoke seemed very
musical to him and added a great charm to the
gentle, serious answers she made to the remarks
he addressed to her. He could not help seeing
that something had made this little Mademoiselle
Elizabeth a singular and pathetic little creature,
and he continually wondered what it was.
"Do you think she is a happy child?" he asked
iMonsieur de Rochemont when they were once more
Happy," said Uncle Bertrand with his light
smile. She has been taught, my friend, that to
be happy upon earth is a mere frivolity. I think
I have told you that she,- this little one,- desires
to give all her fortune to the poor. Having heard
you this evening, she will wish to bestow it upon
When, having retired from the room with a
grave and stately little obeisance to her uncle and
his guest, Elizabeth had gone upstairs, it had not
been with any intention of going to bed. She
sent her maid away and sat thinking for a long
But just as she laid her head upon her pillow
an idea came. The ornaments given to her by
her Aunt Clotilde -somebody would buy them.
They were her own -it would be right to sell
them. To what better use could they be put?
Was it not what Aunt Clotilde would have de-
sired? Had she not told her stories of the good
and charitable who had sold the clothes from
their bodies that the miserable might be helped?
Yes, it was right. These things must be done.
All else was vain and useless and of the world.
But it would require courage- great courage.
To go out alone, to find a place where the people
would buy the jewels,- perhaps there might be
some who would not want them. And then when
they were sold, to find those poor and unhappy
quarters of which her uncle's guest had spoken,
and to give to those who needed,- all by herself.
Ah what courage it would require! And then,
Uncle Bertrand! Some day he would ask about
the ornaments and discover all, and his anger
might be terrible. No one had ever been angry
with her. How could she bear it. She thought
of Saint Elizabeth and the cruel Landgrave. It
could not ever be so bad as that; but, whatever
the result might be, it must be borne.
So at last she slept; and there was upon her gen-
tle little face so sweetly sad a look that when her
maid came to waken her in the morning she stood
by the bedside for some moments looking down
upon her pityingly.
The day seemed very long and sorrowful to the
poor child. It was full of anxious thoughts and
planning. She was so innocent and inexperi-
enced-so ignorant of all practical things. She
had decided that it would be best to wait until
evening before going out, and then to take the
jewels and try to sell them to some jeweler.
She did not understand the difficulties that would
lie in her way, but she felt very timid.
Her maid had asked permission to go out for
the evening, and Monsieur de Rochemont was to
dine out, so she found it possible to leave the
house without attracting attention.
As soon as the streets were lighted she took
the case of ornaments, and, going downstairs very
quietly, let herself out. The servants were dining,
and she was seen by none of them.
When she found herself in the snowy street she
felt strangely bewildered. She had never been out
unattended before, and she knew nothing of the
great busy city. When she turned into the more
crowded thoroughfares, she saw several times that
passers-by glanced at her curiously. Her timid
look, her foreign air, and richly-furred dress, and
the fact that she was a child and alone at such an
hour, could not fail to attract attention ; but,
though she felt confused and troubled, she went
bravely on. It was some time before she found a
jeweler's shop, and when she entered it the men
behind the counter looked at her in amazement.
But she went to the one nearest to her and set the
case of jewels on the counter before him.
I wish," she said in her soft, low voice, and
with the pretty accent, "I wish that you should
The man stared at her and at the ornaments,
and then at her again.
LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH.
I beg pardon, miss," he said.
Elizabeth repeated her request.
I will speak to Mr. Moetyler," he said, after
a moment of hesitation.
He went to the other end of the shop to an
elderly man who sat behind a desk. After he
had spoken a few words, the elderly man looked
up as if surprised then he glanced at Eliza-
beth- then after speaking a few more words he
"You wish to sell these?" he said, looking at
the case of jewels with a puzzled expression.
"Yes," Elizabeth answered.
He bent over the case and took up one orna-
ment after the other and examined them closely.
After he had done this he looked at the little girl's
innocent trustful face, seeming more puzzled than
Are they your own?" he inquired.
Yes, they are mine," she replied timidly.
Do you know how much they are worth ?"
I know that they are worth much money,"
said Elizabeth. I have heard it said so."
Do your friends know that you are going to
sell them? "
No," Elizabeth said, a faint color rising in her
delicate face. But it is right that I should do it."
The man again spent a few moments in exam-
ining them, and, having done so, spoke hesitat-
"I am afraid we must not buy them," he said.
" It would be impossible, unless your friends first
gave their permission."
Impossible ?" said Elizabeth, and tears rose in
her eyes, making them look softer and more wist-
ful than ever.
We could not do it," said the jeweler. It is
out of the question under the circumstances."
"Do you think-" faltered the disappointed
child, Do you think that nobody will buy them ? "
'"I am afraid not," was the reply. No re-
spectable firm who would pay their real value. If
you '11 take my advice, miss, you will take them
home and consult your friends."
He spoke kindly, but Elizabeth was overwhelmed
with disappointment. She did not know enough
of the world to understand that a richly-dressed
little girl who offered valuable jewels for sale at
night must be a strange and unusual sight.
When she found herself on the street again, her
long lashes were heavy with tears.
If no one will buy them," she said, what
shall I do ? "
She walked a long way so long that she was
very tired -and offered them at several places;
but, as she chanced to enter only respectable shops,
the same thing happened each time. She was
looked at curiously and questioned, but no one
They are mine," she would say. It is right
that I should sell them." But every one stared
and seemed puzzled, and in the end refused.
At last, after much wandering, she found her-
self in a poorer quarter of the city; the streets
were narrower and dirtier, and the people began
to look squalid and wretchedly dressed; there
were smaller shops and dingier houses. She saw
unkempt men and women and uncared-for little
children. The poverty of the poor she had seen
in her own village seemed comfort and luxury by
contrast. She had never dreamed of anything
like this. Now and then she felt faint with pain
and horror. But she went on.
"They have no vineyards," she said to herself
"No trees and flowers. It is all dreadful! There
is nothing. They need help more than the others.
To let them suffer so and not to give them charity
would be a great crime."
She was so full of grief and excitement that she
had ceased to notice how every one looked at her;
she saw only the wretchedness and dirt and misery.
She did not know, poor child, that she was sur-
rounded by danger- that she was in the midst not
only of misery, but of dishonesty and crime. She
had even forgotten her timidity; that it was grow-
ing late, and that she was far from home and would
not know how to return; she did not realize that
she had walked so far, that she was almost ex-
hausted with fatigue.
She had brought with her all the money she
possessed. If she could not sell the jewels she
could at least give something to some one in want.
But she did not know to whom she must give first.
When she had lived with her Aunt Clotilde it had
been their habit to visit the peasants in their
houses. Must she enter one of these houses -
these dreadful places with the dark passages, from
which she many times heard riotous voices and
But those who do good must feel no fear," she
thought. "It is only to have courage." At length
something happened which caused her to pause
before one of these places. She heard sounds of
pitiful moans and sobbing from something crouched
upon the broken steps. It seemed like a heap of
rags, but as she drew near she saw by the light of
the street lamp opposite that it was a woman with
her head on her knees and a wretched child at
each side of her. The children were shivering with
cold and making low cries as if frightened.
Elizabeth stopped, and then ascended the steps.
"Why is it that you cry ? she asked gently.
' Tell me."
The woman did not answer at first, but when
LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH.
Elizabeth spoke again she lifted her head, and as
soon as she saw the slender figure in its velvet
and furs, and the pale, refined little face, she gave
a great start.
Mercy on us," she said in a hoarse voice, which
sounded almost terrified. Who are yez, an' what
bes ye doin' in a place the like o' this ? "
"I came," said Elizabeth, "to see those who
are poor. I wish to help them. I have great sor-
row for them. It is right that the rich should help
those who want. Tell me why you cry, and why
your little children sit in the cold."
Everybody to whom Elizabeth had spoken that
night had shown surprise, but no one had stared
as this woman did.
"It 's no place for the like o' yez," she said,
an' it black night, an' men and women not
knowin' what they do wid Pat Harrigan inside
s bad as the worst of them, an' it 's turned me
in' the children out he has, to shape in the snow-
not for the furst time, ayther. Shure, 't is starvin'
we are--starvin', an' no other." She dropped
her wretched head on her knees and began to
moan again, and the children joined her.
Don't let yer daddy hear yez," she said to
them. "Whisht now!- it's come out an' bate yez
Elizabeth began to feel tremulous and faint.
Is it that they have hunger? she asked.
"Nayther bite or sup have they had this day
nor yesterday," was the answer. "The good
saints have pity on us."
"Yes," said Elizabeth, the good saints have
always pity. I will go and buy them food -poor
She had seen a shop only a few yards away -
she remembered passing it. Before the woman
could speak again she was gone.
"Yes," she said, I was sent to them,--it is
the answer to my prayer,-it was not in vain that
I asked so long."
When she entered the shop the few people who
were in it stopped what they were doing to stare at
her as others had done-but she scarcely saw that
it was so.
Give to me a basket," she said to the owner
of the place. Put in it some bread and wine -
some of the things which are ready to eat. It is
for a poor woman and her little ones who starve."
There was in the shop among others a red-faced
woman with a cunning look in her eyes. She
sidled out of the place and was waiting for Eliza-
beth when she came out.
"I 'm starvin', too, little lady," she said.
" There 's many of us that way, an' it 's not often
them with money care about it. Give me some-
thing, too," in a wheedling voice.
Elizabeth looked up at the woman- her pure
ignorant eyes full of pity.
"I have great sorrows for you," she said. Per-
haps the poor woman will share her food with
It 's money i need," said the woman.
I have none left," answered Elizabeth. I will
"It's now I need it," the woman persisted.
Then she looked covetously at Elizabeth's velvet
cloak, lined and trimmed with fur. That 's a
pretty cloak you 've on," she said. "You 've
many another, I dare say."
Suddenly she gave the cloak a pull, but the
fastening did not give way as she had expected.
"Is it because you are cold that you want it? "
said Elizabeth in her gentle, innocent way. I
will give it to you. Take it."
Had not all the charitable ones in the legends
given their garments to the poor? Why should
she not give her cloak ?
In an instant it was unclasped and snatched
away, and the woman was gone. She did not even
stay long enough to give thanks for the gift; and
something in her haste and roughness made Eliza-
beth wonder, and gave her a moment of tremor.
She made her way back to the place where the
other woman and her children had been sitting;
the cold wind made her shiver and the basket was
very heavy for her slender arm. Her strength
seemed to be giving way.
As she turned the corner, a great fierce gust of
wind swept round it and caught her breath and
made her stagger. She thought she was going to
fall- indeed she would have fallen, but that one
of two tall men who were passing put out his arm
and caught her. He was a well-dressed man in
a heavy overcoat; he had gloves on. Elizabeth
spoke in a faint tone.
I thank you," she began, when the second man
uttered a wild exclamation and sprang forward.
"Elizabeth! he said. Elizabeth "
Elizabeth looked up and herself uttered a cry.
It was her Uncle Bertrand who stood before her,
and his companion,, who had saved her from fall-
ing, was Dr. Norris.
For a moment it seemed as if they were almost
struck dumb with horror. And then her Uncle
Bertrand seized her by the arm in such agitation
that he scarcely seemed himself at all- the light,
satirical, jesting Uncle Bertrand she had known.
What does it mean?" he cried. "What are
you doing here, in this horrible place, alone? Do
you know where it is you have come? What have
you in the basket? Explain- explain."
The moment of trial had come, and it seemed
even more terrible than the poor child had imag-
LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH.
ined. The long strain and exertion had been too
much for her delicate body; she felt that she
could bear no more, the cold seemed to have
struck to her very heart. She looked up at Mon-
sieur de Rochemont's pale excited face, and trem-
bled from head to foot. A strange thought flashed
into her mind. Elizabeth of Thuringia,- the cruel
Landgrave! Perhaps she would be helped, too,
since she was trying to do good. Surely, surely it
must be so!
Speak !" repeated Monsieur de Rochemont.
"Why is this? The basket, what have you in it?"
Roses," said Elizabeth. Roses." And then
her strength deserted her, she fell upon her knees
in the snow, the basket slipped from her arm, and
the first thing which fell from it was No, not
roses. There had been no miracle wrought. Not
roses; but the case of jewels which she had laid on
the top of the other things, that it might be more
"Roses!" cried Uncle Bertrand. "Is it that
the child is mad? They are the jewels of my
Elizabeth clasped herhands and leaned towardDr.
Norris, the tears streaming from her uplifted eyes.
"Ah Monsieur," she sobbed. "You will un-
derstand. It was for the poor; they suffer so
much. If we do not help them -I did not mean
to speak falsely-1 thought that the good- "
But her sobs filled her throat and she could not
finish. Dr. Norris stooped and caught her up in
his strong arms as if she had been a baby.
"Quick!" he said imperatively. "We must
return to the carriage, de Rochemont. This may
be a serious matter."
Elizabeth clung to him with trembling hands.
But the poor woman who starves," she cried;
" the little children. They sit upon the step quite
near. The food was for them. I pray you to give
it to them."
"Yes, they shall have it," said the Doctor.
"Take the basket, de Rochemont only a few
doors below." And it appeared that there was
something in his voice which seemed to render
obedience necessary, for Monsieur de Rochemont
actually did as he was told.
For a moment Dr. Norris put Elizabeth on her
feet again, but it was only while he removed his over-
coat and wrapped it about her slight, shiveringbody.
"You are chilled through, poor child," he said.
' And you are not strong enough to walk just now.
You must let me carry you."
It was true that a sudden faintness had come
upon her, and she could not restrain the shudders
which shook her. She had not recovered from
them when she was placed in the carriage which
the two gentlemen had thought it wiser to leave
in one of the more respectable streets when they
went into the worse ones together.
What might not have occurred if we had not
arrived at that instant! said Uncle Bertrand, when
he got into the carriage.
"As it is, who knows what illness- "
"It will be better to say as little as possible now,"
interrupted Dr. Norris.
It was for the poor," said Elizabeth, trembling.
" I thought I zmust go. I did not mean to do wrong.
It was for the poor."
And while her Uncle Bertrand regarded her witli
a strangely agitated look, and Dr. Norris held her
hand between his strong and warm ones, the tears
rolled down her pure, pale little face.
She did not know until some time after what
danger she had been in ; that the part of the city
into which she had wandered was one of the lowest
and worst, and was, in some quarters, the home of
many wicked people. As her Uncle Bertrand had
said, it was impossible to say what terrible thing
might have happened if they had not met her so
soon. It was Dr. Norris who explained it all to
her as gently and kindly as was possible. She had
always been fragile, and she had caught a severe
cold which caused her an illness of some weeks.
It was Dr. Norris who took care of her, and it was
not long before her timidity was forgotten in her
tender and trusting affection for him. She learned
to watch for his coming, and to feel that she was no
longer lonely. It was through his care that her
uncle permitted her to send to the Cur6 a sum of
money large enough to do all that was necessary;
it was through him that the poor woman and
her children were clothed and fed and protected.
When she was well enough, he had promised that
she should help him among his own poor. And
through him though she lost none of her sweet
sympathy for those who suffered-she learned to
live a more natural and childlike life, and to find
that there were in the world innocent, natural pleas-
ures which should be enjoyed. In time she even
ceased to be afraid of her Uncle Bertrand and to be
quite happy in the great beautiful house. And as
for Uncle Bertrand himself, he became very fond
of her, and sometimes even helped her, to dispense
her charities. He had a light, gay nature, but he
was kind at heart, and always disliked to see or
think of suffering. Now and then he would give
more lavishly than wisely. And then he would say,
with his habitual graceful shrug of the shoulders:
Yes, it appears I am not discreet. Finally, I
think I must leave my charities to you, my good
Doctor Norris- to you and Little Saint Elizabeth."
,--'-: ; =-- - -- ---- -.
i'9 ','11, ..... -.
!- :_ -~7-~-I-~~-- :,______-~-___,I~I.--_-_ ~~
... .. .~_ -- _ :____ -- -
SHINNEY ON THE ICE.
VOL. XVI.- 14.
THE GOLDEN CASQUE.
By LUCY G. PAINE.
f.~ NE rarely enters a gal-
( ..' ~ie lery of modern paint-
t. 7 ings in Europe without
seeing one or more views of
SScheveningen upon the walls.
SAlso in our own exhibitions, of
i late years, charming bits of the
Picturesque town are often seen.
It has become a favorite re-
sort for artists of every country;
for this village, though but two miles from the
Hague, the most beautiful city of Holland, seems
set away back in the forenoon of history. Its .peo-
ple, though mixing with those around them, never
mingle, and seem like foreigners in the midst of
their own countrymen. They rarely marry out of
their beloved village, and retain, with their primi-
tive dress and ways, a gentleness of manner and
purity of life almost unique.
A person entering Scheveningen at about noon,
on a bright January day not long ago, might have
believed himself to be looking through a magni-
fying-glass at a picture by Gerard Dow.
The same women and children whom Dow
painted two hundred years ago seemed threading
the street, basket or dish in hand; or they could
be seen through the polished windows sitting in
the deep shadow of the rooms, bent over some bit
of handiwork; or scouring their copper utensils
at little side-entrances; or perhaps leaning over
the half-door of the house, talking with a neighbor,
the head and shoulders relieved with fine effect
against the dark background of the interior.
On their heads were the same close white caps
which the old Dutch painters have made familiar,
and they wore the same bodices and the same
short petticoats, ballooned by some mysterious
Scattered up and down the street were the fish-
ermen, fathers, sons and brothers, standing in
knots and talking, as they encountered one
another while going from their dinners to their
The bricks of the cottage yards had been re-
cently scoured. By many doors stood frames of
tent-like form, holding flannels and clothing hung
out to dry; not the general wash, but little dabs of
casual washes, frequently interpolated throughout
the week, by those who labor on small means.
Before the quaintest of the many-colored little
houses of this quaint town stood, in every position
of heel and toe, fourteen wooden shoes, looking
at first glance more like a flock of ducks nestling
against one another, than the shoes which are
always put off on entering the house by every in-
habitant of Scheveningen.
There was a world of character in these shoes.
They were of all sizes; some were so large that one
of them might almost be used for a baby's bath, and
they dwindled down to wee shoes which seemed
to seek shelter under the protection of those more
grown up. But just beside the door stood two
apart, resting with their toes on the ground, and
their heels daintily posed against the house. There
was an individuality about these which bespoke
their owner. They might have been bought from
the same lot as the others, but they showed selec-
tion; or had become so pervaded by the character
of the one who wore them, as to have an air and
fashion of their own. Also a poesy, for as the pe-
destrian approached nearer to the little house with
its two green doors, one divided horizontally, the
other with a tiny pent-roof, closed in on the north
side to shut out the prevalent winter wind, he
might have beheld in the toes of one pair of shoes
a few fresh roses and hot-house flowers, evidently
deposited there but a moment before -long enough,
however, to give the donor time to escape obser-
It offered a pretty bit of color to brighten up
the white winter day, and indicated a delicate
devotion on the part of some affectionate friend.
Presently the door of the cottage opened, and
three stalwart men, a father and two sons, came
forth in their stout brown stockings, every one
stepping from the threshold into his own shoes,
as if by intuition he knew his own from the others
thus huddled promiscuously together.
As they turned to leave, the eyes of the elder
son were attracted by the flowers, and he called
back into the doorway, Oh, Truitje, here are more
roses in your shoes !" and in an instant a girl of
THE GOLDEN CASQUE.
fifteen, erect in carriage and with carnation cheeks,
came running to the door. Her old-time costume
set off her beauty admirably, and her feet were
,lipped into the pattens, consisting of a sole with
toe-piece, which the women wear about their
work when indoors.
She stooped, and lifting the flowers caressingly,
mut them to her face, and inhaled their perfume.
Then, with a warm flush on her cheek, she stood
looking wonderingly up and down the street, and
even up into the air, as if to discover whence they
had appeared. It was not the second or third
time that the coquettish little wooden shoes had
been thus glorified. This was January. The
bathing season at the watering-place outside the
village e had closed unusually early, and every two
weeks since, the flowers had sprung in Truitje's
lhoes, planted there as by some invisible hand. It
was a delicious mystery. Truitje had sacrificed
many a dinner to solve it, but the flowers must
have been in the secret, for they never came when
he was on guard, notwithstanding she was so
pretty a spy.
That Truitje Meeris was the pride of Scheven-
ingen was beyond dispute. That all the Scheven-
ingen girls acknowledged it, was proof. It was also
proof that Truitje deserved the distinction, for it
showed her to be high-minded as well as comely.
She was indeed full of a sweet charity which
iltumined her countenance and sent a warmth
into the lives of all who came in contact with her.
Truitje took the nosegay into the house and
showed it, with bright eyes, to her mother (who
always sympathized with her children in their
pleasures), and they commented, as they had many
times before, upon the enigmatic sender.
We must leave the sweet roses to tell their secret
later, while we go back a whole year, to a day as
white and beautiful as this, and follow Truitje as
she sets out on an errand for her mother, to the
tiny shop which stands at the point where the long
street curves, and takes itself out of view of the
You might fancy her mind would be considering
how much flour, and potatoes, and groceries of
different sorts her mother had told her to buy.
You would never suppose that she was thinking of
a golden coronet or anything of that sort,--our
dear, little, simple-hearted Truitje. Yet some-
thing akin to this was really agitating her thoughts
as she walked along in her stout stockings and
strong wooden shoes.
The girls of Scheveningen have an absorbing
ambition, made rightful by the sympathy and en-
couragement which their parents accord them in
it. Indeed, in all Holland it is the same. It is to
have, as early as possible after leaving childhood
behind them, a golden casque to wear beneath
their lace or muslin caps. It serves to distinguish
a family when its daughters can don this head-
gear at an early age. It is purchased at great
sacrifice by peasants who are not well-to-do, for
it costs a hundred dollars of our money, and
often more. This is a great sum for a poor peasant
to lay by, when the daily wants of his family are
hard to meet. Sometimes these head-dresses come
to them from some childless widow or a spinster
aunt, or in descent from generation to generation,
but a woman or girl who wears a casque carries her
title of distinction and consequence with her.
Naturally, then, parents having so pretty a daugh-
ter as Truitje, and one so sweet and tender withal,
felt that she, above every girl, deserved a casque.
It was a grief to see her on fite-days, among the
maidens, without the gleam of the casque shining
through her cap, or the pretty ornaments which
keep it in place projecting in front of her ears.
They had promised Truitje that a certain propor-
tion of the fish she took to market should be hers,
and that the proceeds should be laid by toward the
purchase of the casque. Her brothers occasionally
made extra, money, after their return from the her-
ring-fishery, and this they contributed to the store.
The dear mother put by many a gulden in secret,
denying herself a need, to swell the amount, and
Truitje herself added to the sum by taking the sum-
mer visitors at the hotels to drive in her dog-cart.
Several times it had seemed as if Truitje were
on the very eve of possession, when perhaps a fish-
erman of the village would be lost, and his family
left destitute, and she would draw upon her store
for the widow and helpless orphans; or old Mother
Steen would be attacked with rheumatism and need
flannels and remedies, and again Truitje would
come to the front; or little Betje Kals would be
taken down with the fever and her poor grand-
mother have no comforts for her, and the fund
would be lessened once more.
And now as she walked toward the shoppie, a
new anxiety oppressed her. Her two dogs which
she drove before the cart that carried her and
the fish to market at the Hague, two miles distant,
were ailing. This had never happened before, and
it was suggested that they had been tampered with
by some envious person, as they were acknowl-
edged to be the fleetest dogs in Scheveningen.
They were large, rough-coated animals, driven
without reins and guided by the touch of a stick
and by the voice. Sometimes they outran the swift-
est horses. There had been no way of taking her
fish to town that day, and on the morrow, the great
market-day, she had hoped to make up the sum
for the casque. While pondering over it, and
deciding what to do, she reached the shoppie,
THE GOLDEN CASQUE.
a tiny box about eight feet square, filled with all
sorts of trifles to meet the unexpected wants of a
community which makes the bulk of its purchases
at the Hague, bringing them back in the dog-carts
in which the women and girls take their fish to
market. For some time Truitje twisted upon her
wooden shoe, waiting for some one to take her
order. She finally stepped down into a cheery
room, a foot below the level of the shop floor, the
windows of which were filled with beautiful flowers,
and called, Vrouw Werff! Vrouw Werff! "
Then there came running from an inner room
the mistress of the shop, with hands red from scrub-
bing, and with many apologies for her tardiness.
Dear Vrouw Werff, I hope you are well," said
Truitje; for it is always a proper thing to pass the
compliments before making a purchase in Schev-
eningen. They then gossiped a little in a harmless
way, and Truitje explained that her purchases
were so numerous because she had not been able
to drive her dogs to town. "But I shall go to-
morrow," she said as she bade Vrouw Werff good-
bye. Gertje and I will carry the fish to my cousin
Dirk's boat, which goes by. early in the morning."
When Truitje next morning, with Gertje's aid,
had boarded Dirk's tidy boat, she ran down into the
cabin and found his wife Katrina and the two little
boys, all of whom gave her a joyous welcome; for
there was no home which she entered that was not
brighter for her presence. They were very merry
during the short distance which yet was so long in
time, for Dirk pulled his own boat along the canal
by a rope attached to a leather belt passed about
On her arrival at the market, Truitje, aided by
Dirk, removed her fish to the place which she always
occupied. She was well known, and had a regular
set of customers. A favorite in the market as in
her village, her quickness to note if a fish were
not what a customer would like, and her fairness
in every particular, made the people feel safe in
dealing with her.
When about half the fish were sold, she discov-
ered that Katrina's knitting was crowded into her
little knitting-basket with her own. The darling
little Hans must have done that," said she to herself,
"he is such a mischief. But what a pity! Katrina
was finishing off the thumb, and will need it to set
up the other. She told me that she must finish
both to-day, for the little Diedrich had lost his mit-
tens overboard and his fingers and thumbs were
freezing. I must take it back, if I lose all my fish;
dear Katrina will be so disappointed. I will ask
Vrouw Korn to look after my baskets while I am
away." So Truitje, thinking always of the interests
of others before her own, and conscientious in what
many disregard as trifles, weighed not for a moment
the attainment of her casque against the completion
of Diedrich's mittens, and ran to the boat with the
On her return she found Vrouw Korn bartering
with a crowd gathered around her own fish, and
every one of Truitje's had disappeared. How
delightful! said she. Some one must have come
and taken the lot." And while waiting for her money
till Vrouw Korn should dispose of her customers, she
began to feed the storks, which, supported by the
city, are allowed to wander through the market
and pick up the refuse.
When she returned to her post, Vrouw Korn was
finishing with her last customer. Why, Truitje,"
said she, "you have sold all your fish, have n't
Yes, dear Vrouw Korn, with your help I have,
and I thank you truly."
My help?" said the astonished vrouv.
" Why, I have been so muddled and put about
by the crowd of people around me that it is a
wonder I kept my senses. I have n't sold one !"
Then what can have become of them ? said
Truitje, in dismay. So she went about eagerly
asking one and another if they knew what had be-
come of her fish. Finally, a woman near her stand
awoke to the recollection that she had seen several
storks a long time about the spot, but concluded
they were eating some stale fish that had been left
for them. You know you always sell them from
your wagon, Truitje, and how could I think they
were yours? "
It was a great blow. The small gains at the
fisherman's cottage with the green doors were seri-
ously affected by an amount which would seem a
trifle to most persons. The thought of the casque,
too, brought home to Truitje a sense of personal loss
and of deep disappointment; but she put it away
at once. I shall make up the loss to the dear fa-
ther and mother out' of my store," said she as she
took up her baskets to set out for the family pur-
chases. I can better wait than they can want,"
and this reflection comforted her. There was one
beautiful trait in her character- she knew how to
keep a smiling face, and knew also how to hope
and wait. So she made up her mind at once to
save her mother from the disappointment, and
this gave her so beautiful an expression that those
who met her as she flitted from shop to shop won-
dered what could give the brightness which lighted
up her face.
On reaching home, she told her mother of the
loss and of her resolution to replace the money
from her hoard. The casque will come in
time," said she.
"And if the casque does not come, Truitje, a
patient spirit will, and that is a better ornament,"
THE GOLDEN CASQUE.
said the loving mother, pressing her daughter to
The winter days went swiftly by, spring came
also and departed, and the bright summer made
all gay in Scheveningen. All the way to the
Hague the trees trailed their green branches over
the beautiful drive-way. The forest was full of
life again, with carriages and riders and pedes-
red sails, with yellow sails, with white sails went
dipping down into the troughs of waves and lift-
ing on their crests, making the gray North Sea
look as if it were in carnival. One could not be-
lieve, in the midst of all this holiday aspect, that in
a straight-away course lay the icy Arctic Sea, and
that if one kept on he might find himself im-
paled upon the North Pole.
------=- -- ?---.- -
"SHE STOOD LOOKING WONDERINGLY UP AND DOWN THE STREET."
trians. As you turned your eyes to the right in
leaving.the Hague for the village, wonderful vistas
cool and shadowy led away to grottoes and dim
recesses. Kiosks and bowers and romantic bits
of woodland scenery made pictures in the eyes "
of the beholder. Lakelets, and canals, and winding
roadways, and rustic bridges made one dream of
The great hotel was open, and flags flying from
the cupola told that the fluttering life within had
begun again. All the lesser hotels and cottages
had their blinds thrown back, and the muslin cur-
tains and pots of flowers gave a gala-day look
to the fashionable summer-resort. The beach
was crowded with promenaders, and boats with
Scarcely a European nation but was represented
there,--many Danes and Russians of distinction,
Germans, French, English, Dutch, and some from
the Mediterranean, who enjoyed contrasting the
seas of the north and south. For there are times
when this gray sea puts on wonderful coloring,
and scintillates with prismatic hues, like some
marine aurora. So there were comings and goings
and "to-ings and fro-ings," and pleasure held the
reins, or the helm, as the case might be.
In the little fishing village, with its few thousands
of dwellers, life was sunnier than before, but
quieter. Most of the fathers and brothers had de-
parted early in the season for the neighborhood
of the Scottish coast to pursue the herring-fisher-
THE GOLDEN CASQUE.
ies, and the women and children were left almost
alone. At the opening and closing of the schools
the cries of children at play might be heard through
the streets, but ordinarily only the chatting of the
gossips disturbed the quiet. Many of the women
might be seen on the sands, their dresses trussed
up, carrying fish in baskets, and gathering shells
and mussels; and the dog-carts were in great de-
mand by foreigners from the other village who
delighted in the novelty of driving in them, be-
cause of the phenomenal swiftness of the dogs.
The fleetest in the village were Truitje's. There
might be some question of this on the part of
others who owned dogs; but no one who was dis-
interested was ever heard to doubt it.
Sunday is the great holiday in Holland, as in all
continental countries. Then the forest and the
avenue between the Hague and Scheveningen are
alive with the noble and the peasant alike. Every
festivity is at its height on that day. The morn-
ing is devoted to church-going, but the afternoon
It was on one of the brightest of these Sunday
afternoons that Truitje drove up to the entrance
of the great hotel in her dog-cart. It was spot-
less. So were the dogs; their rough coats were
so clean that they threw off the sunbeams in
sparkles of light. So was Truitje, with her odd
but fascinating costume. Over the seat of the
cart was thrown a light robe of soft gray cloth,
having around it a trimming of the iridescent
heads and necks of the eider-ducks, which her
brothers had shot from time to time in their north-
Two boys of about eleven and thirteen came
running down the steps and climbed into the cart.
It was a little crowded on the one seat. Truitje
preferred only one passenger generally, but neither
of these inseparable brothers could enjoy a pleas-
ure without the other, so she had consented to
take both. Besides, it increased the price, and
Truitje was not to weigh a preference against that
When they were seated she touched the dogs
with the light, wand-like rod she carried, and off
they went at a good pace. When she wished it
increased she talked to the dogs in an undertone,
as if there were a secret language between them,
and indeed there was, a language of a good under-
standing and reciprocal regard.
The afternoon passed happily. There was not
one of the occupants of the gay equipages on the
drive who had not a smile of approval for the cart
and its pretty guardian.
The little party of three threaded the forest as
well, and the boys treated themselves to the good
things which were sold, and loaded Truitje with
them also, notwithstanding her many protests.
"Our papa told us to," was their repeated answer,
and Truitje was pleased to think how Gertje and
the four-year-old would feast on her return. The
boys made several efforts to drive the dogs by
touching them as they saw Truitje do, but they
knew their mistress, and would never stir except
for her well-known signal.
The afternoon was beginning to wane, and a
few carriages had left the forest, when Truitje
found herself near the Forest House, belonging to
the king, and filled with curiosities from the East,
many of them gifts of emperors and great men
with whom the Hollanders had mercantile inter-
course in the days when they ruled the seas.
She drove very rapidly by it, but slacked her
speed before emerging on the avenue leading to
Scheveningen. As she turned into this, she heard
a carriage behind her approaching very rapidly.
Suddenly her dogs began to increase their speed,
and she saw out of the corner of her eye the heads
of a pair of horses, which seemed to be gaining on
her. She touched her dogs, and talking to them
in low, persuasive tones, they sped faster and faster
along. Then she heard a voice rebuking the
coachman and asking him if he intended to be
outstripped by a pair of fisherman's dogs? Then
she felt a new spur was given .to the horses, for
they gained upon her. Again she used her wand
to guide her dogs, for she felt herself being
crowded to the side of the road. Give her room!
give her room called the occupant of the car-
riage to the coachman. Then Truitje urged her
dogs along, encouraging them by little ejacula-
tions of tenderness, and by the time she reached
the hotel she thought the race well over. Her
passengers jumped to the ground, and were about
to pay her, when she saw on glancing back that
there was to be another spurt. So gayly calling
out to the boys, "To-morrow !" she renewed the
It was close, for the coachman was evidently on
his mettle. There was but a half-mile to go.
The broad avenue was lined with holiday-makers,
and carriages drew up to one side to see the sport
go on. Truitje sat erect in her wagon, her little
hooded cloak hanging down her back, the ribbons
which generally fastened it fluttering in the wind.
Her snowy waist beneath her bodice was decorated
with a beautiful nosegay bought for her in the
forest by one of the little boys, and worn to please
him. Her eyes sparkling, her rosy lips half open
as she smiled and prattled to the dogs, she looked,
as she moved her rod from one to the other, like a
fairy with her enchanted wand. The dogs flew.
Their feet seemed hardly to touch the earth, and
the men took off their hats, and the women waved
THE GOLDEN CASQUE.
their kerchiefs,- it was an exciting moment!
All looked to see it end when Truitje entered the
fishing village,- but no! On went the dogs,
on went the horses, till Truitje drew up to the
cottage with the pent roof over the door, jumped
to the ground like a fay, and the dogs soberly
look themselves and the cart around the cottage
to the house where both were kept.
At this moment the carriage was still making its
way at speed, and Truitje, her cheeks glowing with
excitement, watched its approach. It stopped,
and judge how tumultuously beat her heart, when
she found that the one sitting within it, with
a beautiful girl about her age beside him, was
her king Her impulses were, like her character,
true. Seizing the nosegay from her bodice, she
knelt upon the step of the carriage, and holding it
up to him, said, in her artless way, Dear King, I
,lid not dream it was you; forgive my rudeness."
The King bent forward, and taking the flowers,
said, "Thank you, dear child! You have done
SlI and I am better pleased that you should
xwin than I, though I am a little ashamed of my
boasted pair of horses. I know I can not be the
iirst whom you have vanquished, and now I wish
to know what above all other things you would
like for yourself, because I must crown the victor,
"How strange said Truitje, in her innocent
way; "the very thing I wish for most is a golden
casque. And, dear King, I have the price in my
box- all but sixty gulden; would that be too much
tir you to give ? "
"No, child," said the King, smiling.
Then I will be very glad, and so will they all,
for they so wish me to have a casque."
"What is your name, my child?" said the
Truitje Meeris, dear King," said Truitje.
And this is your home ?"
It is, dear King."
"Very well. Good-bye, Truitje; I will keep
your flowers as a souvenir of our race, and you
must wear the casque I shall send, for the same
"But, dear King, it is too much; it costs four
hundred gulden !"
No matter; mine will be different, it will cost
So the Princess said, Good-bye, Truitje," and
"hen Truitje had kissed the King's hand, he
The cottage of Vrouw Meeris was besieged that
afternoon. All Scheveningen was alive with the
news. Truitje had to tell her story many times
before she went to bed, to please all the people.
The strangers at the other village heard it. The
father of the little boys, proud that his children
should have a part in it, sent her twice the fare
next morning. The journals at the Hague told it
in a very pretty way, and Vrouw Werff, who kept
the shoppie, and subscribed for the Hague journal,
read it out to all the customers who called next
day. I always said," added she, to each reading,
" that those dogs were the fleetest in Scheveningen,
-and I say so now "
The next Saturday afternoon, as the Meeris
family were sitting about their supper-table cov-
ered with snowy linen, a quaint tea-pot steam-
ing beside the good vrouw, a messenger came
with a package from the court goldsmith, con-
taining a golden casque beautifully engraved,
and having the temple ornaments unusually fine,
each one representing a little rose, such as Truitje
had given the King. Just along the part which
goes above the neck was this legend, "Truitje
Meeris, from her King, July 30, 18-." It was a
supreme moment in Truitje's life. It must have
taken many times the sum she had laid by to
purchase this. It fitted her perfectly. In fact, as
these casques are made, of thinly laminated plates
of gold, they adjust themselves to any head. It
would have seemed a pity to us to see Truitje's
hair disappear under a cap, and this again under
the gold casque, because we admire beautiful hair;
but in the eyes of the Scheveningen folk she be-
came transformed into something exceptionally
fine. Next morning when she went to church, her
mother watched her with pride as she sat among
the other maidens; and when in the afternoon
she drove some stranger in the dog-cart to the
forest, there were whisperings and noddings, and
knowing looks thrown at her, and all seemed
pleased at her good fortune because she wore it so
innocently. She had only one more thing to wish,
and that was to have her father and brothers return
and know her great happiness.
From that day, every two weeks found a nose-
gay in her wooden shoes, but she never thought
it could be the King who had it put there. One
day, going into the shoppie, she noticed a new
flower in Vrouw Werff's window. She had never
seen the flower but once, and that was in her
bouquet of the day before.
Dear Vrouw Werff," said she, I had a flower
like that with those in my shoe yesterday. Can
you tell me what it is ? "
At this the vrouw became very much agitated,
and said in her confusion that it grew only in the
Then how, dear Vrouw Werff, did you happen
to be the only other one to have it? said Truitje,
in her unaffected way.
'"Why, you see-- Why, you see- "
THE GOLDEN CASQUE.
,. I. '-' L,
I ~ "
-~ ~ d:i'5
, f '.,, I
THE RACE-"ON WENT THE DOGS, ON WENT THE HORSES."
"No, dear Vrouw Werff, I do not see," said see"; and with a "Good-morning, dear Vrouw
Truitje laughingly. Werff," she was off and away.
Well, Truitje, I can not tell you." The truth is, it was the Princess who had sent
Then, I suppose," said Truitje, I never shall the flowers to Vrouw Werff, at the suggestion of
[ 7 4-1
THE GOLDEN CASQUE.
the King, giving orders to the gardener to keep
them constantly renewed, and the Vrouw promised
for this to see that Truitje should every two weeks
find a bunch of flowers secretly placed in her
shoe. And so she does to this very day; for I saw
those wooden shoes one soft mild January day, as
I walked down the street of Scheveningen, and the
gentle wind murmured this story in my ear, and
the waves of the gray North Sea, as they sounded
on the shore, kept saying, in tones I could not
misunderstand, It is true- It is true- It
is true "
THE ROUTINE OF THE REPUBLIC.
BY EDMUND ALTON.
THE OFFICE OF PRESIDENT.
PERHAPS no other feature of the Government has
provoked such general criticism, or been so widely
misrepresented and misunderstood, as has the
office of President of the United States. Its crea-
tion was the subject of singular comments among
those who framed the Constitution; it was vio-
lently denounced when that instrument was put
before the people for their approval; it has been
the target for savage and persistent assault from
that time to the present. And in regard to no
other feature of the Government, it may be added,
have the dismal forebodings of skeptics been so
strangely disappointed by the results of experience
In theory, it may be true that, as the making and
enforcement of laws is the great function of gov-
ernment, the power that executes the laws should
be in perfect harmony with the power that makes
them and be directly under its control the execu-
tive being thus simply the arm of the legislature,
acting promptly and implicitly in obedience to its
supreme will. This idea, though to-day observed
in the workings of other governments, was not
accepted by our forefathers. In lodging the execu-
tive power in the hands of one person, the Con-
stitution aimed to secure energy and precision in
the execution of the laws; but in establishing the
Presidency as an independent branch of the Gov-
ernment, removed as far as possible from the med-
dlesome influence of Congress, and endowing it
with important special powers, it suggested to
many timid folk a vision of royalty in its most
frightful shape. Nor were these thoughts quieted
by events that followed in the history of the Gov-
ernment. Indeed, our third President has given
it as his opinion that Washington himself believed
the Republic would end in something like a mon-
archy, and that in adopting his stately levees
and other pompous ceremonies he sought, in
a measure, to prepare the people gradually for
the change that seemed possible, in order that it
might come with less shock to the public mind.
This remarkable statement we need not take with-
out proof. Whatever may have been Washington's
secret fears, certain it is that his devotion to the
Republic shielded it from such a fate; and had
some of his successors in office, or their advisers,
been nearly as wise and as true to the spirit of the
Constitution, they would have avoided acts which
served to strengthen, rather than subdue, the
That the actual power of the President exceeds
that of some of the crowned dignitaries of earth is
universally conceded. The Constitution did not
intend that he should be a mere figurehead, or
"ornamental cupola," to the Government. It
not only confided to him the execution of the
laws, but it armed him with a power over the
making of laws which he might deem improper.
By this, we mean the provision that every meas-
ure passed by Congress shall be presented to
him for his approval and signature, and that, if
disapproved by him, he may return it with his
objections, in which case it shall not become law
unless again passed by the vote of two-thirds (in-
stead of a majority, as in the first instance) of each
House of Congress. Whether this power was given
to him solely as a weapon to defend his own office
or the integrity of the Constitution itself from at-
tack by Congress, or whether the Constitution
designed that he should in this way have a voice
in the making of all laws, of whatever nature, is
one of the questions still unsettled. The weight
of opinion and the practice at the beginning of
the Government seem to sustain the former view;
the strict language of the Constitution is in favor
THE ROUTINE OF THE REPUBLIC.
of the latter. The frequent exercise of the power
in recent years, in marked contrast with its rare
use by earlier Presidents, has aroused harsh feeling
on the part of Congress and some very sober think-
ing on the part of philosophers; it is plain, how-
ever, that the present Executive has no doubt
upon the subject. The power is certainly mon-
archical in its nature, and at first sight appears
out of place in a Republic where the will of the
people, as expressed by their representatives,
should be the law. But here comes in the deliber-
ate device of the Constitution. The executive
branch of the Government was purposely so shaped
as to act as a check against rash behavior by the
legislative branch. The President is not the arm
of Congress; he does not owe his office to that
body, nor is he directly responsible to it for his
actions. He is elected, as is Congress, by the
people; and, like Congress, he is answerable to the
people. Unlike a member of Congress, he is
chosen not by the people of a particular State or
district, but by the people of all the States.* He
is, therefore, as an individual, the only represent-
ative of all the people, and if, in their Constitu-
tion, they saw fit to give to him, as their great
national representative, this great influence over
national legislation,-an influence equal to the
votes of one-sixth of all the members of Congress,-
there is nothing in it contrary to the principles of
republican government. They hold him respon-
sible for its exercise; they have it within their
power to remove him in case of its abuse; they
may take it entirely away from him should they
so desire. As a matter of fact, there have been
attempts in Congress to frame and submit to the
people an amendment to the Constitution that
shall deprive him of it; but such an amendment
the people -or those who have noted how often
the exercise of this power has prevented unwise
legislation, or at least caused Congress to stop in
its haste and reflect are hardly ready to adopt.
On the other hand, some people favor an amend-
This statement should be explained. While, in effect, the Presi-
dent is chosen by the people of the Union, he is chosen by them in
an indirect and roundabout way -the people voting for electors
who in turn vote for President. A direct election by the people
would be in strict accordance with the theory of popular govern-
ment; under the present system, it is possible for a President to be
chosen by the votes of a majority of the electors, but against the
wishes of a majority of the people. In the election of 1876, for ex-
ample, Hayes was made President by an electoral vote of 185, as
against 184 counted for Tilden; whereas, the "popular" vote-or
vote of the people-cast for Hayes electors was 4,033,950, as
against 4,284,885 cast for Tilden electors-a difference of more than
a quarter of a million in favor of Tilden.
t A qualification may be remarked. The President might, at the
close of a session of Congress, apply what is styled a "pocket veto,"
and thus temporarily impede that body. For the Constitution allows
him ten days before action upon any measure presented to him for
approval; and if, during those ten days and before action by him,
Congress should adjourn, the measure would be defeated. Hence,
ment to the Constitution increasing the power so
that the President may single out and veto objec-
tionable parts in a measure (as separate items in
an appropriation bill) instead of being compelled
to approve or disapprove every measure as a whole;
but an increase of power, in that direction, might
lead to evils compared to which the evil sought to
be corrected would be trivial. With the veto power
as it stands, however, even were the President in-
clined to be despotic, he can not balk the will of
the people as declared by their representatives in
Congress, if a sufficient number of those represent-
atives insist on having that will enforced. t
Another prerogative given to the President is
the power to grant reprieves and pardons for
offenses against the United States. This power is
absolute (except in cases of impeachment and cases
embraced within the meaning of the Fourteenth
Amendment to the Constitution), and can be inter-
fered with neither by Congress nor by the courts.
It may be exercised at any time after the commission
of an offense- whether before trial, during trial,
or after conviction of the person accused; and
the President may make a pardon either condi-
tional or unconditional, partial or complete. He
may set aside the sentence, lessen or modify the
punishment, or grant leniency or full pardon on
condition that the person accepting it shall do cer-
tain things. A full pardon restores the person to
liberty and to all the rights and privileges of citi-
zenship enjoyed by him before commission of the
offense. By "offenses against the United States"
is to be understood violations of Federal law;
offenses against State law, such as murder, con-
cern the peace and dignity of the State wherein
committed, and over such cases the President's au-
thority does not extend. The exception as to cases
of impeachment is to prevent the President from
using his prerogative of mercy" to screen from
punishment guilty officers of the Government with
whom he himself may have conspired. $ The Four-
teenth Amendment, formally declared ratified by
the President could "pocket" or hold back any or all bills presented
to him within ten days of the end of a session, and prevent their
becoming laws-at any rate, until Congress should reconvene
and pass them again as entirely new measures. It is an open
question whether the President can even approve a bill after the
adjournment of Congress; still, it has been attempted. Other
nice points have arisen in regard to his power within the "ten-
tThe power of impeachment is given to Congress, and reaches
over the President, Vice-President, the Federal judges, and all other
civil officers of the United States, guilty of treason, bribery, or other
high crimes and misdemeanors. Members of Congress, not being
civil officers of the Government, are, in the opinion of the Senate,
exempt from impeachment. Judgment in cases of impeachment
can not extend further than to removal from office, and disqualifica-
tion to hold and enjoy any office of honor, trust, or profit under the
United States; an officer convicted of an impeachable offense being
still liable to the ordinary trial and punishment prescribed by law, as
in the case of a private citizen.
89.l i-JTHE ROUUIINE. u
proclamation dated July 28, 1868, disqualifies from
holding legislative or official station under the
United States, or from holding office under any
State, all persons concerned in rebellion or insur-
rection against the Government of the United
States; and this disability can be removed only by
a two-thirds vote of Congress. The Amendment,
therefore, restricts the pardoning power of the
President to that extent in cases of treason. Dur-
ing and after the War of the Rebellion, and upon
the suggestion of Congress, national clemency was
offered to political offenders by various Executive
proclamations of amnesty; but those issued by the
President prior to the adoption of the Amendment
.were lawful under his Constitutional pardoning-
power and did not need to be sustained by
authority conferred upon him by Congress.
A third power given to the President is the quali-
fied authority to make treaties. A treatybeing law,
as much so as is a statute of Congress, the grant-
ing of this legislative function to the President may
seem another freak of the Constitution. The ex-
planation is simple. The making of treaties often
involves most delicate and cautious negotiations with
foreign governments, and the President is better
able to conduct them with secrecy and dispatch
than a body of men, like Congress, in which the
power might be vested. Here again, however, the
authority of the President is restrained. After his
negotiations are at an end, and the provisions of a
proposed treaty drawn up in writing, he must sub-
mit the draft of the agreement to the Senate for its
ieliberative advice and consent, and without the
approval of two-thirds of that body the treaty can
not be made. The rejection by the Senate of inter-
national agreements submitted by the President is
of quite common occurrence; yet some representa-
ives of foreign powers, not familiar with our Con-
stitution, have expressed surprise on hearing that
the action of our President, in reducing the result
of patient negotiations to the form of an agree-
ment, has been brushed aside as worthless by
another branch of the Government.
A fourth power of the President is that to con-
vene the Houses of Congress, or either of them, on
extraordinary occasions ; and to adjourn them, in
case of disagreement between them over the ques-
tion of adjournment, to such time as he may think
proper. This power, too, is beyond positive abuse.
Congress does not sit in continuous session; it
meets at a stated time each year, on the first
Monday in December, and, when it has finished
whatever work it may care to transact, it adjourns
to re-assemble on its annual convening-day.
It, during its recess, an emergency should arise
calling for legislative action, Congress would be
powerless to re-convene itself, and it is important
Inn ~.ThCUDLit.. 219
that there should be some officer to take notice of
the public necessity and call the law-makers to-
gether before their regular time. But Congress
has it within its own power to sit every day in the
year, and it can not be forced to adjourn so long
as it desires to continue in session; and history
furnishes us with an illustration where Congress
has prolonged its session day after day in order to
keep watch over a refractory President and be
ready to interfere should he attempt to do mis-
chief- as he would have been very apt to do with
Congress out of the way.
A fifth power reposed in the President is his
war-power. This is in the strict line of executive
duties. He is the Commander-in-Chief of the Army
and Navy of the United States and of the Militia
of the States when called into the Federal service.
In time of war, this authority to direct all military
operations is of enormous consequence. Yet there
must be some head of affairs, and one man is bet-
ter than four hundred when promptness and deci-
sion of action are required. Congress, realizing
this fact, has, at particular times, given to the
President even additional authority. Such, for
instance, was the authority temporarily given to
him by Congress during our troubles with France,
toward the close of the last century, to seize or
expel from our country any alien citizen of France
or any other alien whom he might think danger-
ous to our peace. Such, again, is the general
authority given to him by Congress, which still
continues, to defend the rights of American citizen-
ship abroad, by using any means, not amounting
to acts of war, that he may think necessary and
proper to obtain the release of any citizen unjustly
deprived of his liberty by a foreign government.
Such was the authority given to him by Congress,
in 1887, to retaliate against the British North
American dominions in case of any further inter-
ference with our fishermen, by closing our ports
to vessels of that country and cutting off certain
commercial communication with it. Such was
the authority conferred upon him by Congress
to issue to private armed-vessels of the United
States commissions or letters of marque and gen-
eral reprisal against the vessels or other property
of an enemy, as against the British Government
and its subjects in the War of 1812. And such
was the authority delegated to him by Congress
to suspend the writ of habeas corpus during the
late Civil War. Under discretionary or vindic-
tive powers like these or others that might be cited
it would be possible for a President to commit the
most despotic acts. Even the Emancipation Proc-
lamation, which gave freedom to the slaves, must be
classed as an arbitrary deed. In its effects, it was
one of the grandest acts in history; and yet it was
THE ROUTINE OF THE REPUBLIC.
issued, and was so declared, as an act of "military
necessity," under the authority of the President
as Commander-in-Chief- he could scarcely have
based it on any other ground. Tremendous as may
be the war-power of the President, or the discre-
tionary power temporarily delegated to him by
Congress during time of danger, Congress may
readily restrain its exercise. It may revoke all re-
taliatory or similar authority given to him for tem-
porary use, and the power reposed in him by the
Constitution may be made to dwindle to a mere
memory or fiction. For, with Congress rests the
exclusive right to raise armies and navies and to
control the public funds; and without appropria-
tions of money for supplies, or other legislative
action by Congress, it would be impossible for the
President to make use of any military forces, or,
indeed, for any army or navy to exist. As Com-
mander-in-Chief, he would thus be left with nothing
A sixth power, which belongs to the President
in his executive capacity, is that of appointing
ambassadors, other public ministers and consuls,
judges of the Supreme Court, and all other officers
of the United States whose appointments are not
otherwise provided for in the Constitution and
which may be established by law.* As the Presi-
dent depends for the actual execution of the laws
upon the officers and employes under him, those
subordinates should be persons in whose ability
and loyalty he can safely confide for the per-
formance of the duties assigned to them either
by statute or by his orders; and in case of dis-
honest or worthless subordinates he should have
it within his power to secure in their stead, honest
and competent men. But the Constitution does
not give him unrestricted power to appoint, nor is
it clear that he has absolute power to remove at
his own pleasure. In the appointment of certain
chief officers he must obtain the advice and con-
sent of the Senate; and while Congress may allow
the President, or heads of Departments, or the
courts, to appoint inferior officers without consult-
ing the Senate, and while Congress has actually
given that permission, still that permission maybe
revoked and every appointment be made to undergo
the criticism of the Senate. Were Congress to
adopt this plan, the President could merely ap-
point temporarily under his power to fill vacancies
happening during the recess of the Senate. As to
how far Congress may interfere, if at all, with re-
movals by the President, or how far the President
may make removals, if at all, without the permis-
sion of Congress, the Constitution is silent; and
the question is one of vital importance to the purity
of the Government and the dignified administra-
tion of the laws. For years, appointments and
removals have been made on partisan grounds,
under what is known as the "spoils" system;
until an election for President has come to be
dreaded by many decent people as merely a con-
test to see who shall capture the thousands of
offices a disgraceful scramble for place," rather
than the calm and impressive selection of a Chief
Magistrate to administer the Government for the
good of the country, in accordance with some high
rule of principle. A person who holds a public office
holds a position of public trust and honor, and a
person who enters the public service and faithfully
performs the duties of his office is entitled to the
confidence and esteem of the people whom he serves.
Fidelity and merit should be the test of fitness, as
well in public as in private positions of trust; and
an effort to regulate appointments and removals
on this basis has resulted in the establishment by
Congress of a board of three men, known as the
Civil Service Commission, whose duties and work
we will notice later on. At present, its operations
extend only to minor offices; the power of the
President over the great bulk of lucrative offices
remains unimpaired, and the vicious idea of
" spoils" has not yet been banished from practical
The provision of the Constitution, directing that
the President shall receive ambassadors and other
public ministers, clearly indicates him as the or-
gan of communication with foreign governments,
and as such he stands at the head of the Republic,
equal in rank with monarchs or other chief magis-
trates of the world, whether at the head of Re-
publics, Kingdoms, or Empires.
It can hardly be claimed that the powers of the
President, thus briefly reviewed, are not sufficiently
controlled by the Constitution, which assumes, of
course, that the other branches of the Government
and the people will do their duty. However wise or
unwise may have been the plan by which the Presi-
dent is made to act as a check upon, or as a part of,
the legislative power of the Government, by con-
ferring upon him the power to veto legislation, it
must be remembered that this power, like the
power to make treaties, to appoint subordinates,
and to do other important acts, is under Constitu-
tional restraint; and Congress, as the repository of
the supreme power of the Republic, may override
vetoes and treaties, and establish laws by which
With the simple appointment of Federal judges, the power of the President over them ceases; for, when appointed, they at once
form part of the Judicial Department of the Government, holding their offices during good behavior under the protection of the Con-
stitution, and are removable only by Congress by impeachment, or by being legislated out of office (in case of tribunals inferior to the:
Supreme Court), by the abolition of their courts.
THE ROUTINE OF THE REPUBLIC.
the exercise of other powers may be kept within
proper bounds. In his purely executive capacity
the President is not formidable. He is required
to take care that the laws be faithfully executed;
and he is bound by oath to honestly execute his
office, and, to the best of his ability, preserve, pro-
tect, and defend the Constitution of the United
States. He is given power to resist, to a certain de-
gree, by his veto, the making of objectionable laws,
and he may urge by recommendation the repeal
of such as he may not deem good; but such as the
laws are, whether objectionable or not, he must see
that they are unerringly carried out. Some of these
laws confer upon him a certain discretion, giving
him authority, rather than directing him, to do cer-
tain things or to act in a certain manner, as
occasion may occur; but beyond these discretion-
ary matters the laws are absolute commands.
Under his oath, and as an honest officer, he must
do one of two things-he must execute them with-
out a murmur, or he must resign.* The same
remark applies to every agent of administration
under him. To allow the Executive Department
to set up its own will in opposition to the express
command of the Legislature, would subvert every
principle of free government and lead to the iron
despotism of autocracy or to the terrors of anarchy
In its official intercourse with the President each
House of Congress treats him with a deference or
courtesy due to him as one of the three independ-
ent branches of the Government. For this reason,
whenever either House of Congress calls upon him
for information, the call is put in the form of a
request, coupled with the discretionary words,
"if not incompatible with the public interests."
In this it differs noticeably from a call upon a head
of department or subordinate officer. The latter is
not a request; it is a positive direction -the em-
phatic order of a superior to an inferior. The vari-
ous assistants who hold office under the President are
not his servants or his henchmen, to obey him im-
plicitly, and him alone. Their offices were created
A law of Congress provides: "The only evidence of a refusal
to accept, or of the resignation of the office of President or Vice
President, shall be an instrument in writing, declaring the same,
and subscribed by the person refusing to accept, or resigning, as
the case may be, and delivered into the office of the Secretary of
t This is under the Sixth Article of the Constitution. The law of
Congress requires that every person elected or appointed to any office
of honor or trust, either in the civil, military, or naval service, ex-
cept the President, shall, before entering upon the duties of such
office, and before being entitled to any part of the salary, or other
by Congress as aids to the Executive; their duties
are, or may be, prescribed by Congress; and they
must obey the commands of Congress, so far as
those commands are law, regardless of any orders
to the contrary issued by the President. They are
the servants of the people-being bound, like the
President himself, by oath f- and it is the duty of
the representatives of the people in Congress to
see that they do not neglect their trusts. If they
fail to perform a plain ministerial duty charged
upon them by law, the courts, as the third inde-
pendent branch of the Government, may order
them to perform it. If they deliberately ignore or
violate the law, they do so at their peril. Over the
conduct of all civil officers of the Government, the
President included, Congress is required to exercise
a watch; and in case of any defiance or transgres-
sion of the law, it is its duty to call the offending
officer before its bar, under the process of im-
peachment, and remove him from his trust, with
odium and disgrace, in the name of the people of
the United States.
And so, after all, the President, while directly
responsible to the people for the wise exercise of his
discretionary powers or prerogatives, is not above
the law. There may be ways in which he can
abuse his power; but the Constitution has pro-
vided ample means by which such abuse may be
corrected and punished. One President has been
impeached and narrowly escaped conviction;
others have been vigorously rebuked by formal
resolutions of censure; and if, in the many spirited
tilts between the Executive and Congress, we find
the President at times improperly in the ascend-
ant, or usurping unconstitutional powers, we may
fairly charge it to the personal incapacity or cow-
ardice of the House or Senate. So long as Con-
gress shall do its duty, the Government is safe
from harm through the powers of the Executive;
and so long as the people shall do their duty in
the choice of able and patriotic representatives,
Congress may be reasonably depended upon to
do its own.
emoluments thereof, take and subscribe an oath of allegiance. This
oath is in two forms. By the "iron-clad" oath the officer swears
that he has never borne arms against the United States, etc., in ad-
dition to swearing that he will support and defend the Constitution,
and bear true allegiance to the same, and well and faithfully dis-
charge the duties of his office. The "modified" oath omits all
reference to past loyalty, in order to adapt it to cases of partici-
pants in the late rebellion. Further and special oaths are provided
for certain officers, the language of which varies with the duties of
the office. The form of oath required of the President is prescribed
by the Constitution.
(A Dialogue to Introduce the Christmas-tree.)
BY EUDORA S. BUMSTEAD.
SANTA CLAUS. A man with long white hair and beard, coat and cap of fur.
1ST BOY. ) cIST GIRL. Dressed as waiting-maids, in dark frocks
2D BOY. ressedins, fancy s uniforms. withplmedhats, 2D GIRL. and stockings, white aprons and caps;
3D Bo. a3D GIRL. carrying trays.
The third boy and the third girl should be the smallest of the company, and the boy should be trained to speak in
a very deliberate and emphatic manner, with an air of great importance.
SCENE.- A small stage, with a Christmas-tree curtained off, L. Stage curtain rises, discovering the six children
grouped in a semicircle, fronting audience. Third boy at right, and third girl at left of the others.
IsT BoY. This day has lasted 'most a week,
I honestly believe.
IST GIRL. I think so too. But now, at last,
It 's really Christmas Eve.
2D BOY. And we are here to guard the tree
Till good Kriss Kringle comes.
2D GIRL. And we are here to wait on him,
And pass the sugar-plums.
3D Boy. I 'spect by now the tree is full--
Every tiny shoot.
I wish that Santa Claus were here,-
We 'd -pick -the fruit.
3D GIRL. What does make him stay so long?
It must be getting late.
Come, let 's sing our Planting Song
While we have to wait.
WAITING FOR SANTA CLAUS.
(Ai. SING. Air: "Johnny Comes Marching Home.")
We 've planted a beautiful Christmas-tree,
Hurrah! Hurrah !
Its branches are strong as strong can be,
But won't they bend with the fruitage fair
That good St. Nicholas makes them bear,
And we '1 all be so glad that we planted the
Our fathers and mothers are here to-night,
Hurrah! Hurrah !
They 've come to see the wonderful sight,
Hurrah Hurrah !
We hope St. Nicholas won't forget.
Some fruit for them on the tree we 've set;
And we '11 all be so glad that we planted the
There's lovely fruit in summer and fall,
But the Christmas crop is the best of all;
And we '11 all be so glad that we planted the
IST GIRL. There 's the tree we planted,
Curtained out of sight.
IST BoY. Let us take a peep and see
If everything is right.
L. and peep cautiously behind the curtain.)
2D GIRL. It's rather dark, but, seems to me,
There 's nothing.to be seen.
3D BOY. Nothing on the Christmas-tree?
What can it- mean !
Where are the nuts and candies?
I can't see a crumb !
Where's Mr. Santa Claus?
Don't believe he '11 come !
What if he were frozen in,
Away up there ?
Or what if he were eaten
By a great big -bear !
Or what if all his helpers
Were gone upon a strike !
I tell you that's a prospect
That I don't like!
Come, let 's go and find him.
Don't you think we might?
It's cold and dark outside, boys;
Don't you know it's night?
I tell you, we are soldiers,
Whom nothing ever scares.
Wish we were with Santa Claus -
We 'd kill the bears !
We 'II serve St. Nicholas all we can,
And he shall be our nursery-man,
Hurrah Hurrah !
2D GIRL. I wonder if his sleigh is caught
With snow-drifts all about?
3D BOY. I wish that we could find him;
We 'd dig him out !
WAITING FOR SANTA CLAUS.
3D GIRL. Perhaps he has some reindeers
That are not the fleetest sort.
1ST BOY. I wish we were behind 'em:
We 'd have good sport.
3D BOY. I tell you, we are soldiers
Whom nothing ever scares;
If we could find our Santa Claus,
We 'd- kill- the bears!
3D GIRL. I 'm afraidd you boys are braggarts.
But did you ever know
What happened at a Christmas-tree
A long time ago ?
3D BOY. Oh, no! Let's have the story!
IST GIRL. We '11 all be very still.
IST BOY. Tell us all about it, now.
3D GIRL. Well, then, I will.
Once there were three little boys.
They quarreled and they fought
Over all the pretty presents
That Santa Claus had brought.
And they never gave the smallest bit
Of anything they had
To any poorer little boy,
To try to make him glad.
At last they set a Christmas-tree,
For their three selves alone.
They meant that every speck of fruit
Should be their very own.
And when they lit the.candles
They saw that great big tree
Was just as full of Christmas fruit
As ever it could be.
But just when they.were ready .
To gather all those things,
They heard the glass a-breaking
And a sudden rush of wings ;
And right in through the window
Flew what.do you suppose?
You 'd never guess in all the world -
'T was three black crows -
Big, black crows.!
They perched around the Christmas-tree
And there was no more joy -
With such a solemn, blaming look
They looked at every boy.
And those three boys just looked at them,
And did n't dare to stir,
Till all at once they flapped their wings -
Buzz Whizz Whir !
And right in sight of all those boys
SThey changed- as quick as scat!
In place of every solemn.crow
Was a big black cat!
A fierce black cat!
They sat around the Christmas-tree
And there was no more joy;
With such a carefulul" hungry look
They gazed at every boy.
Those boys just shook and trembled,
And feared that they would fall,
For they knew they 'd all be eaten
If the cats were not so small.
Then, all at once, so sly and still,
Those dreadful cats had changed their
To three black bears !
Big BLACK BEARS!
(All look horrified. Noise behind the curtain near
ALL THE BOYS.
ALL THE GIRLS.
What 's that?
(During next speeches all retreat slowly backward to
IST GIRL. What can be in there ?
3D BOY. Oh, dear I 'm most afraid
It might be a bear !
2D GIRL. Look! look! There 's something
I see some fur It's gray!
IST BOY. I '11 watch this corner;
He sha'n't get away !
2D BOY. Just let him come out boldly,
And fight us, if he dare !
3D BoY (faintly, pressing close to the wall).
Don't be frightened, any one;
We '11 -kill -the bear!
(Enter Santa Claus, L. Children gaze in astonish-
ment till he speaks, then surround and cling to him.)
Ho Hullo! my little folks!
Looking out for bears ?
'T is only one of Santa's jokes,
To catch you unawares.
WAITING FOR SANTA CLAUS.
Your love for what is true
SiYour tender heart and
smile so bright;
". Your own dear self, with
/4 q 1 Santa Claus, dear Santa
S: "k '-Claus.
7 '. We 'll think about you all
Santa Claus, dear Santa
CI \ And often wish that you
k' were here,
'- ""Santa Claus, dear Santa
SWe 'll try our best to be
S--In all our duties, kind and
As glad to share with
Santa Claus, dear Santa
But now you 've turned ,
the joke on me;
You 've caught me, I '11
Well, you shall help me -
strip the tree,
But first we 'll sing a little
And every word is true;
(Takes Santa Claus's hand
and lays his cheek against it.)
Dear Mr.'Santa Claus,
We 'll sing for you.
(All sing. Air.: Maryland, ,i
We love you more than
we can sing,
Santa Claus, dear Santa
And not alone for what
Santa Claus, dear Santa
VOL. XVI. -15.
WAITING FOR SANTA CLAUS.
Now may joy and love and cheer
Brighten all you see !
One good look, my children dear,
Here 's your Christmas-tree !
(Instrumental music. Santa Claus withdraws the
curtain from before the tree. Allow sufficient time for
all to enjoy the sight of the ornamented tree, and then
let the six children distribute the gifts as Santa Claus
takes them from the tree.)
HOUSEKEEPING SONGS. No. IX.
YORDS BY MARY J. JACQUES.
THE ROLLING PIN.
Music vB T. C. H.
Round your crust and roll it thin,
Ro ley po ley, roll ing pin!
Roley-poley, rolling pin,
Pumpkin pie-crust in a tin,
Edged with many an. out and in,
Roley-poley, rolling pin!
Roley-poley, rolling pin,
Tarts and cookies minikin,
Turnovers your tooth to win,
Roley-poley, rolling pin!
Roley-poley, rolling pin,
Dumplings with a dimpled chin,
Crinkled crullers crisp within,
Roley-poley, rolling pin!
dJohn H. Jewett.
FOR LITTLE FOLK.
I. THE HOME OF THE BUNNYS.
THE home of the Bunny family was once a
sunny hillside, overrun with wild-rose bushes and
berry-vines, with a little grove of white birches,
pines, and other trees, on the north side, to shelter
it from the cold winds of winter.
The place had no name of its own until the
Bunnys and their neighbors found it out, and
came there to live.
After that, it became much like any other thick-
ly settled neighborhood, where all the families had
children and all the children ran wild, and so they
called it "Runwild Terrace."
This was a long time ago, when all the wild
creatures talked with each other, and behaved
very much as people do nowadays, and were for
the most part
kind and friendly
S/ to each other.
Their wisest and
\ ,", best teachers used
,. ',to tell them, as
S'ours tell us now,
that they all be-
longed to one great
family, and should
live in peace like
good brothers and
I am afraid, how-
Sever, they some-
times forgot the
FATIER BUNNY. relationship, just
as we do when we are proud or greedy or iii-
natured, and were sorry for it afterward.
The Bunnys of Runwild Terrace were very much
like all therest-plain, sensible, and well-bred folks.
The father and mother tried to set a good ex-
ample by being quiet and neighborly, and because
they were always kind to the poor and sick, they
were called "Deacon Bunny" and Mother
Bunny by their friends and neighbors.
The Bunny children were named Bunnyboy, who
was the eldest, Browny, his brother, and their sis-
ters, Pinkeyes and Cuddledown; and their parents
were anxious that the children should grow up to
be healthy, honest, truthful, and good-natured.
They were a happy family, fond of each other,
and of their cousin Jack, who lived with them.
One of Cousin
Jack's legs was
shorter than the
other, and he had
to use a pair of
crutches to help !
him walk or hop ;
about, but he was
very nimble on his
"wooden legs," as
he called them, and
could beat most of
the bunnies in a race
on level ground.
He had been lame
so long, and almost
a cripple, thathe had
got used to limping MOTHER BUNNY.
* Copyright, 1888, by John H. Jewett. All rights reserved.
THE BUNNY STORIES.
about, and did not mind being called "Lame Jack,"
by some of the thoughtless neighbors.
The Bunny family, however, always called him
"Cousin Jack," which was a great deal better
and kinder, because no one really likes to be re-
minded of a misfortune, or to wear a nickname,
like a label on a bottle of medicine.
Cousin Jack was a jolly, good-natured fellow,
and the bunnies all liked him because he was so
friendly and cheerful, and willing to make the best
of everything that happened to go wrong.
If it rained and spoiled the croquet fun, or upset
the plans for a picnic, Cousin Jack would say,
" Well, well; I don't think it is going to be much
of a flood; let us have a little home-made sunshine
indoors until the shower is over."
Then he would help them make a boat, or a
kite, and mend the broken toys, or tell them
stories, until they would forget all about the disap-
pointment, and say that a day with him was almost
as good fun as a picnic.
Besides a pleasant home and many kind friends,
THE BUNNY STORIES.
these fortunate bunnies had no end of beautiful of the freshly spaded earth, and one day she said
books, pretty toys, and games, and best of all, a she would like to have a flower-bed of her own.
loving, patient mother, to watch over them and It was almost winter, however, before she
care for them as only a mother can. thought of it, and remembered that it takes time
With so many things in their lives to help them for plants to grow and blossom, and that the gar-
to be good, they had no excuse for not growing up dens in the north where she lived were covered
to be a comfort to the family and a credit to the with snow and ice in the winter.
neighborhood, and I think they did. When Pinkeyes wanted anything she wanted it
in a hurry, and so she asked
,- / her father what flowers came
_I X AI earliest after the snow wai
COUSIN JACK AND THE CHILDREN.
At any rate, they had lots of fun, and these
stories about them are told to show other little
folks how the bunnies behaved, and what hap-
pened to them when they were good or naughty.
II. THE BUNNIES AT PLAY.
EVER since Bunnyboy and Browny were old
enough to dig in the dirt, they had made a little
flower-garden every year, in a sunny spot on the
south side of the house.
Pinkeyes used to watch her brothers taking care
of the flower-beds, and soon learned to love the
pretty grasses and leaves and buds and the smell
He told her that of all the
wild flowers, the fragrant
Sf pink and white arbutus was
First to peep out from under
the dead leaves and grass, to
see if the spring had come.
Sometimes the buds were
in such a hurry to get a
breath of the mild spring
air, and a glimpse of the
sunshine, that a tardy snow-
storm caught them with
their little noses uncovered,
and gave them a taste of
snow-broth and ice, without
cream, that made them
chilly until the warm south
winds and the sun had
S 7 driven the snow away.
Pinkeyes said she wanted
S a whole garden of arbutus,
but her father told her that
this strange, shy willing
did not like gardens, but
preferred to stay out in the
fields, where it could have
a whole hillside tangle or
pasture to ramble in, and
plenty of thick grass and
leaves to hide under when
winter came again.
When her father saw how disappointed she was,
he told her if she would try to be good-natured and
patient when things went wrong, they would get
some crocus bulbs and put them in the ground be-
fore the frosts came, and in the spring she would
have a whole bed of white and yellow and purple
crocuses, which were earlier even than the arbutus,
if properly cared for.
Ever so many times in the winter, when the
children were enjoying the snow and ice, Pinkeyes
wondered what her crocus bulbs were doing down
under the ground, and if they would know when
it was spring and time to come up.
After the snow was gone she watched every day
THE BUNNY STORIES.
for their coming, and sure enough, one morning
there were little rough places on the crocus bed,
and the next day she found a row of delicate green
shoots and tiny buds trying to push themselves up
out of the ground.
Every day they grew bigger and prettier, and
more of them
Same up, until
enough to spare
some of each
color for a bou-
I spoiling the
| pretty picture
II I \ they made out
i'of doors, where
came that way
:"" '." l 2couldseeanden-
joy the flowers,
: :' and be sure that
spring had real-
The very first
handful she picked was put into a bowl of water, and
! oked very fresh and dainty on the breakfast-table.
Pinkeyes felt quite proud of her first crocus blos-
sinms, and almost cried when her mother said that
it would be a kind thing to do, to take them over to
neighbor Woodchuck, whose children were sick,
and who had no crocus bed on their lawn to
iaiok at while they had to stay in the house
t, get well.
Pinkeyes thought it would be a good ex-
cuse for not doing so, to say she did not
know the way; for she had never been so far
away from home alone; but her father said
he was going over that way and would take
her with him, if she wished to carry the
flowers to the tired mother and the sick chil-
dren ; and so they started off with the crocuses
carefully wrapped in soft damp cotton to
keep them fresh.
When Pinkeyes handed the flowers to
Mrs. Woodchuck, she said : Here is the
first bunch of blossoms we have picked from
my crocus bed, and my mother thought that
you would like to have some to brighten
the room while the children are sick, and
we have plenty more at home."
The family were all delighted with the
flowers and the kind attention, for they had not seen
any;thingso bright and cheery for a long time, and
they all thanked Pinkeyes so heartily that she felt
ashamed to remember how unwilling she had been
at first to give the crocuses away.
When she came home she told her mother about
the call, and how pleased they were with the sim-
ple gift; and her mother asked her how many
crocuses she had left in the bed, and she said,
"More than twenty." Then her mother asked
how many she had given away, and she said,
" Only six," and Pinkeyes began to see what her
mother meant, and that a little given away made
one happier than a great deal kept all to one's self.
Then Pinkeyes went out and looked at those
left growing in the bed, and whispered softly to
them. Now I know what flowers are made for."
And all the little buds looked up at her as if to say,
" Tell us, if you know"; and so she whispered
again the answer, To teach selfish folks to be
kind and generous, and to make sick folks glad."
Every day new buds opened, and Pinkeyes had
a fresh bouquet each morning, and also enough
to give away, until the other flower beds which
her brothers had planted began to bear blossoms
for the summer.
BROWNY took more interest in the flower garden
than Bunnyboy, who was older and liked to play cir-
cus, and croquet, and to watch base-ball games; and
so Browny began to take care of the flower-beds
He liked to plant new seeds and watch them
come up, and wait for the buds to open, but the
hardest part of the work was to keep the neigh-
bor's hens away from the lawn.
These hens seemed to think there was no place
like a freshly made flower bed to scratch holes
to roll in; and when no one was looking they
would walk right out of a large open corn-field,
where there was more loose earth than they could
THE BUNNY STORIES.
possibly use, and begin to tear that flower garden
One old yellow hen, that was lazy and clumsy
about everything else, would work herself tired,
every time she could get in there, trying to bury
herself in the soft loam of the garden.
Browny's father, Deacon Bunny, told Browny
he might scare the hens away as often as they
came, but must not hurt them with clubs or stones,
because they belonged to their good neighbor
Browny thought it was strange that a _-o0d
neighbor should keep such a mischievous h.:i :-
Old Yellow; but the Deacon said that
people who kept hens in a crowded
neighborhood, and let them run at
large, usually cared more about fresh
eggs and other things to eat than for
flowers, and as a rule, such people did
not lie awake at night thinking about
the trouble their hens gave other folks.
One day, when Browny was com-
plaining about the yellow hen, Bunny-
boy came rushing in to ask his
father to get a croquet set, and -
said their lawn was just the place / "
for a good croquet ground.
The Deacon said at once that he thought it
would be a good place, and if the neighbors' chil-
dren would all turn out and enjoy the game with
them, the plan Bunnyboy suggested might help to
rid them of the daily hen-convention on the lawn,
and save the flower beds. The next day he
brought the croquet set.
When the bunnies opened their new croquet
box, they found four mallets and four balls, and
nine arches and two stakes, all painted and striped
with red, white, blue and yellow, to match each
The first thing they did was to begin quarreling
lustily about who should have the first choice,
for each of the players chanced to prefer the blue
ball and mallet.
When the Deacon heard the loud talking on the
lawn, he came out, shut up the box and said the
croquet exercises would not begin until they could
behave themselves, and settle the question of the
first choice like well-bred children, without any
;yyPUIIIli- -_I_ _. ~I_
THE BUNNY STORIES.
Bunnyboy happened to remember that he was
the oldest, and said the best way was to give the
youngest the first choice and so on. The Deacon
said that was all right, and that they were all old
refused to go and get it. Then another dispute
Bunnyboy thought Chivy ought to get the ball,
and Chivy said Bunnyboy ought to get it himself;
and so, instead of keeping good natured, they
stood sulking and scolding until the other chil-
dren came back.
When Cuddledown heard the talking, she went
and picked up the muddy ball, wiped it on her
dress, and brought it back to the lawn, just as the
Deacon came out to see what the new quarrel was
Bunnyboy and Chivy were so ashamed of having
made such a fuss about doing a little thing that
the youngest bunny could do in a minute without
being asked, that they begged each other's par-
don, and went on with the game.
Deacon Bunny told Cuddledown that she was a
good child to get the ball and stop the dispute,
and that she had begun early to be a little peace-
maker; but the next time she had a muddy ball
to clean she should wine it on the crass instead of
enough to learn how much happier it makes every her dress, because it was easier for the rain to
one feel to be yielding and generous, even in little wash the grass than for busy mothers to keep
things, than to be selfish and try to get your own their children clean and tidy.
way in everything. All the summer they had jolly times with the
So they all agreed, and each bunny took a croquet, but the old yellow hen did not like
mallet and began a game, and they had rare fun
knocking the balls about, trying to drive them
through the arches without pushing them through,
which was not fair play.
By and by Chivy Woodchuck and his brother
Chub heard the clatter, and came over to see the
fun, and wanted to play with them.
Then came the question, who should play, and
who should not, for all six could not play with but
four mallets. Of course the visitors should have
first place, and two of the Bunnys must give up (- -_
their mallets and balls.
Bunnyboy tried to settle it by asking Pinkeyes
and Cuddledown to go into the kitchen and tease having so many little folk around, and had to
the cook for some ginger cakes, while the others hunt up a new place to scratch holes to roll her-
played a game. They liked this plan, and so the self in.
boys each had a mallet and the game went on But Browny had both a flower and a vegetable
nicely, until Chivy Woodchuck knocked the red garden next year, and the old yellow hen never
ball into the muddy gutter and the other side troubled him any more.
(To be continued.)
SJACK-IN -T F'I-P''ULPIT.
A HAPPY NEW YEAR to you, my friends And
it will be a Happy New Year if we all can keep our
resolve to make and keep good resolutions. But
the trouble is, good resolutions are like nine-pins.
They too often are set up in impressive moments
only to be knocked down when the fun begins.
Now, by way of precaution, let us slowly repeat
together these lines :
Suppose we think little about number one ;
Suppose we all help some one else to have fun;
Suppose we ne'er speak of the faults of a friend;
Suppose we are ready our own to amend;
Suppose we laugh with, and not at, other folk,
And never hurt any one "just for the joke ";
Suppose we hide trouble, and show only cheer -
How sure we shall be of a Happy New Year!
A WEIGHTY MATTER.
OUR friend A. R. Wells tells me he has had a
bad dream, and it all came from reading a life of
Sir Isaac Newton after eating a hearty supper
of cream and baked apples. How can people do
such things Hear him:
I dreamt the whole thing out as I was sleeping;
May I confide in you ?
I spend my days in wailing and in weeping
For fear my dream come true.
I thought that t with no kindly word of warning,
No hint of coming trouble,
Some cause mysterious one awful morning
Made gravitation double.
The branches snapped from all the trees around me,
A fierce, terrific sound.
I fain would run away. Alas I found me
Fast fixed upon the ground.
The birds fell down like feathered stones from
The sky was all bereft.
Ten houses were before; behind me, seven;
And not a house was left.
It rained, and every little drop down rushing
Cut like a leaden ball.
The air grew denser; pressing, strangling, crushing.
I tottered to my fall,
And then awoke from out my fearful sleeping.
And now, what shall we do ?
I spend my days in wailing and in weeping.
Might not my dream come true ?
THAT SPINNING EGG.
SEVERAL bright boys and girls have sent me
good answers to J. L.'s question about the egg,
which was put to you in September last. But I
hardly think it is worth while to tell you, my hun-
dred thousand other hearers, what Harry L. D.,
A. E. Orr, George S., Mary D. F., and the rest
say. You all may think the matter out for your-
selves, you know.
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: You ask us if we can add some
words to the dear Little School-ma'am's list of interesting derivations
of popular words, so I have found a few for you.
Money is from the temple of Juno Moneta, in which money was
first coined by the ancients.
Pecuniary is from pecus, a flock; flocks and herds of animals
being originally equivalent to money or things constituting wealth.
Cash, in commerce, signifies ready money, or actual coin paid on
the instant, and it comes from the French word caisse, a coffer or
chest in which money is kept.
Groat was a name given to silver pieces equal to four pennies in
value, coined by Edward III. The word (groat) is a corruption of
grosses, or great pieces, in contradistinction to the small coin or
Dollar has a curious derivation. The first step back makes it
thaler, then "thai," a valley; but thai originally meant a deal or
division; so the gold or silver was dealt or divided into pieces worth
a thaler, the German form, or dollar, the American.
Of course our word cent is from centum, a hundred, for the cent
is a hundredth part ofa dollar.
But I must close this very monetary letter.
Your admiring reader, LAURA G. I.--.
PET HUMMING-BIRDS IN WINTER.
I HAVE just heard a pretty newspaper story of a
young lady of New York who delights in pet
humming-birds. They build their nests, the story
says, in the lace curtains, and have raised little
families in the parlor. There are plants for them
to fly about in, and every day the florist sends a
basket of flowers, from which the pretty pets may
extract the honey. They are like little rainbows
flying about the room, and they light on the head
of their dainty mistress with perfect freedom.
This reminds me of a true account that has been
sent to my pulpit by a young girl who surely has a
gentle heart. You shall have the story in her own
words. She calls it
MY BIRD DOT.
His name was Dot," and he was the tiniest
mite, not larger than a good-sized bumble-bee.
I found him one morning last summer after a
severe windstorm, lying helpless, with one of his
gauzy wings injured in such a way that he could
not use it for flying. He was not at all frightened
when I approached and picked him up, but looked
appealingly at me out of his very small, black
eyes. I could not but admire the elegance of his
dress, showing green and gold with a glowing
patch of red on his breast, while his feathers were
perfumed with the scent of many flowers.
Naturally, so small a bird did not require a
mansion to live in. Indeed, "Dot" tried to tell
me, in the way birds have of talking, that a cozy
abode would meet with his approval. I found that
a paste-board box would answer the purpose, and
when I had strewn the bottom with sweet-smelling
leaves, and put a twig across it, in the way of fur-
niture, Dot was installed in his new home.
He would rest quietly on his perch, dreaming,
as I imagined, of the days that were gone, of the
blue sky, the sweet June breeze, until, recollection
proving too strong, he would try to use his wings.
Then, alas! instead of bearing him up as they
were wont to do, they could give him no support,
but left him to fall to the floor of his house, there
to lie patiently waiting for some one to replace'
him in an upright position. Every morning
" Dot" and I made a tour of the garden, his
specks of feet resting confidently on my enormous
finger. We visited every blossom in turn, and he
took a little honey from each. Many a time I
thought I had lost him, he went so deep down into
the huge .morning-glories. When the season of
flowers was over, I made a mixture of sugar and
water to take the place of his natural food. He
did not appear to distinguish any lack in the flavor
of this make-believe honey; and when I let a drop
of it form on the end of my finger, he was always
ready to run out his long tongue (which looked
like a thread of silver) and sip it off. He seemed
to thrive on this artificial diet, and would no doubt
be living now had I not one fatal day placed the
dish containing it too near him. I left him mus-
ing in his quiet way over past delights, but re-
turned to find his body floating on this sticky sea,
with his dear little feathers in sad disarray.
Poor Dot! His trials were over, and I con-
soled myself by fancying that he was away in the
humming-birds' heaven, happy in a garden of
flowers, of which we have never seen the like.
So much for dear, bright, little Dot. Now, while
we are on the subject of birds, you may hear this:
TRUE STORY OF A BROWN THRUSH.
"SUNSET HEIGHT," MADISON, N. J.
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: I remember reading in ST. NICH-
OLAS, not long ago, of a robin stealing lace for its nest. Here is
something which I think surpasses that story as an instance ot
We were marking our tennis-court, and left the ball of cord, partly
unwound, out on the grass.
The next morning I observed one of our maple-trees gracefully
festooned with white cord, the whole ball being unwound and twined
in and out among the branches, while only a very little helped to
build the nest of a brown thrush. The birds could not break the
cord, so they had carried the entire ball quite a distance, to their
nest, just for the sake of about a yard.
They must have worked very hard, for the cord was wet, making
it much heavier, and I think they displayed a great deal of patience
and perseverance. Your wise, instructive sermons must have
reached them, and been regarded with faithful attention.
With love to your excellent congregation, I am, yours, very sin-
cerely, JOSEPHINE MULFORD.
0I1(11, go ;ood st i o5 -a a it
: onl apperlte ,
in d h e 1,a Ihj o or .b o I.
THE FIRST BREAKFAST OF THE NEW YEAR.
WE reproduce on this page a copy of the fine portrait of Dr. J. G. of Dr. Holland is truly and originally my daughter's work from
Holland which, purely by accident, was described in the paper on the drawing to the end. Her kind friend, Mr. St. Gaudens, never
Wood-Carving in our November number as having been carved m once touched the clay, I believe."
wood by Miss Allegra Eggleston after a relief by Mr. St. Gau- This letter was received too late for us to make the required cor-
dens." The phrase quoted was an error, and one for which the au- reaction in our December number, but we gladly make it now, adding
thor of that paper is in no way responsible. In a letter calling our earnest expression of regret for the mistake, and our sincere
attention to the mistake, Dr. Edward Eggleston says: "The panel apologies to the gifted young artist.
LONDON. 'only thing now left is a chimney, on which the storks always build
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little boy eleven years old, and live their nests. In a house near by, there is a picture of this castle, as
in Utica, N. Y. We have been in Europe more than year, but I. it used to be. Holland is a very flat country, and they do not have
have, not been alone, for I have found my dear friend, the ST. fences, as we do, to divide one field from another, but have ditches
NICHOLAS in all the cities we have visited-in Rome, Florence, with water in them; and when they put their cattle in a field, to pre-
Geneva, Paris, and the other principal cities we have been in. I vent the horses and cows from jumping over the ditch, they load
meant to have written to you from Holland in July, but saw in the their forward feet with weights, and they jump into the ditch instead
ST. NICHOLAS, that you did not receive letters until October, so I of over it, and do not try it again. These ditches are supplied
postponed it until now. I am very much interested in Holland, be- with water by immense windmills, whose great arms are seen turn-
cause, my papa says, our forefathers came from the north of Hol- ing around nearly all the time, and in all parts of Holland. Some of
land. We visited Hoorn, Alkmar, and Egmont, the locality from them are very old, having dates on them of two hundred years ago.
which our ancestors came. We saw the ruins of the old castle of They are very useful, for they not only pump water, but grind gram
Egmont, which used to rule over all the country about there, and and saw logs. Many of the peasants about Hoorn are rich. It is
which was burned by the Spaniards, in the fifteenth century. The here that they make the Edam cheese. I attended one of their fairs
for the sale of it. The farmers brought the cheese into Hoorn, the
day before the sale, in nicely carved and ornamented wagons. They
do not have thills to prevent the wagon runningon the horse, but they
have a short tongue curled upward; the driver sits near this, and
when the wagon would run against the horse, he keeps it back with
his foot by pressing upon the horse's flank. At the sale, which took
place in one of the public squares of Hoorn, each piled his cheeses in
square piles, as cannon-balls are piled at the Navy Yard, and when
the merchant made the farmer an offer, they began to slap hands
with one another, both naming prices nearer and nearer alike until
they agreed. At Scheveningen, once a poor fishing village, but now
the most fashionable watering-place in Holland, with large beautiful
hotels, like those at Manhattan Beach, there is fine bathing. They
do not have bathing-houses here, as we do, but large wagons which
they draw to the water's edge. The fisherwomen of Scheveningen
are peculiar; they wear a very odd head-dress made of gold, silver,
or copper. It covers the entire back and sides of the head, and in
front of the ears a curled wire sticks out, upon which they hang ear-
rings. Another peculiarity of their dress is the number of skirts they
wear. It is said to be a mark of their prosperity; the richer-they are
the more skirts they wear. They are generally tall and straight, and
when they move along with their noisy sabots, they look like the
penny wooden dolls every child has in the Noah's Arks. They are
kind-hearted but very poor, because the fishing, upon which they
depend, is not good now.
Yours sincerely, VEDDIE B-- .
NEW YORK CITY.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS Among the many curious things I brought
with me from Europe last year, was something which has given my
child-friends here not a little amusement. It was a pair of baby
shoes. I bought them in that city in Holland with the unpro-
nounceable name -Scheveningen.
Poor little Dutch allies Instead of having their little toes tucked
away in soft woolly shoes or in slippers made of fine leather, these
little children begin to walk in wooden shoes. The pair I have is
one of the smallest sizes, yet they measure eight inches from the
heel to the toe !
We passed a house in Scheveningen, outside the door of which
six or seven pairs of these shoes were peacefully reposing. They
were of all sizes, from Grandpa's to Baby's; for in many places, you
must know, the Dutch wear these shoes only out of doors, and drop
them on entering the house. We wanted to buy several pairs, and
did n't know where to go for them. So we stopped some little chil-
dren, and by pointing to their shoes, made them understand that we
wanted to know where they bought them.
They led us to- a grocery store!. Here, on one side, were piled
stacks upon stacks of wooden shoes. Some of them were very large.
The Dutchmen make them in their idle hours, by scooping out the
middle of soft wood, and bringing the front up to a sharp ridge.
Some of them are even carved and decorated.
One would think these shoes would not wear out as soon as ours,
but they do, and much more quickly. A boy can kick his heels and
toes out in less than no time. But then they cost very little.
A small pair can be bought for ten Dutch cents, or about six cents
of our money, while a large pair costs from fifteen cents up. Think
of buying a pair of shoes for fifteen cents !
After buying our shoes, or klomren, as the Dutch call them, we
were obliged to carry them around with us, hanging from our arms
by a string. The children of Scheveningen stopped to look at us,
pointed to the shoes, and thought it a great joke.
On returning to the Hague, we got into a coupe with several Dutch
women. We soon found out that they, too, were laughing at us.
They were very much amused when we told them we were going to
take the shoes to America with us.
I sometimes watched the boys and girls in Rotterdam, to see if
their heavy, awkward-looking shoes never fell off, especially when
they went up and down stairs; but I never onc6 saw such a thing
happen. ELIZABETH JARRETT.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have read "Little Lord Fauntleroy"
three times, and like it very much. I live near Boston, and went to
see the play with my papa. I did not like it so well as the story.
They left out the dinner party, and Little Lord Fauntleroy did n't
sit on a cracker-barrel, and did n't ride on the pony, and there
was n't any dog, Mr. Hobbs was all right.
I am ten years old and never saw a play before.
Yours, truly, ROBERT MORRILL McC--.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : I am a little girl living in Japan. I was
born here, and though I have ever been anywhere else, I think
Japan is the most beautiful land on earth. I have read a great deal
about other countries, but none seem so nice as my.own country.
I want to tell you about a visit I made to the beautiful temples at
Nikko. We were staying at Nikko for a month, and one morning
some friends came and we went to the temples together.
First we went through a granite torli, or large gate: on the left is
a graceful five-storied pagoda, with animals and birds painted and
carved in wood under the eaves. A little farther on we came to a
little house, where we got our tickets. Then we went up a flight
of stone steps, and through another large gate; and on each side
was a hideous red and blue and green thing, which, we were told
by our guide, was a lion. Passing through the gate, we saw on our
right three buildings which were store-houses ; the third is the house
where lyyyasu, an old Shogun (to whom the temples are dedicated),
is said to have kept his white elephant. There is a carving on the
house ofit, but the joints of the hind legs turn the wrong waiy. On
the left is a tree which Iyeyasu himself planted, and a little farther
on is a little house where a policeman stays all the time; and still
farther on is a beautiful water-cistern of granite, and over it is a roof
supported by four pillars of the same. ,
We then went up another flight of stone stairs and came into an-
other court. At the top of the steps are two stone lions in the act
of leaping down. They were presented by lyemitsu, another of
the Shoguns, or Tycoons, as they are called in America. On the
right stand a beautiful bell-tower, a bronze candelabrum presented
by the King of Loochoo, and a bell given by the King of Korea,
called the moth-eaten bell, because there is a hole at the top, just
under the ring by which it is suspended. On the left stand arevolv-
ing bronze lantern from Korea, and a candelabrum from Holland,
and a drum-tower,--no unworthy companion to the bell-towerop-
posite,--and a lantern made of stone. Then, ascending still another,
flight of steps, we came to the temple. Here we had to take off
our shoes, as the temple is holy. I wish I could describe it to you,
for it is so lovely. The first room we entered was covered with
mats, the doors were all of the finest old black lacquer, and above
are pictures of all the Tokugawa family, and beyond is a room in
which there is a beautiful shrine. On the right of this room is a
beautiful servants' corridor, which leads to their part of the house.
I did not go there, for we were told there was nothing to see. We
then went to Iydyasu's room, which has four large doors with in-
laid Chinese wood. His wife's room is very much like it. Even
the outside is carved and lacquered in a beautiful manner, and as it
is exposed so, it is a wonder it is not spoilt; but the eaves are. very
deep. We then went out of the temple and went on to the right.
We soon came to another little house where we were taken in,
shown some of the hero's relics, one of which was a kago, or sort of
basket-palanquin in which he had been to war; and in the top is a
hole which we were told was made by a bullet, but as bullets were
-not in those days in Japan, we did not believe that story. Then
there were ever so many other things,- suits of armor, suits of
clothes, masks, swords, and helmets, and many more. We then
went through another gate and up to a most beautiful place, where
the tomb is. The way was all paved with stones and had a stone
balustrade all the way up. There are two hundred steps up to the
top of the hill. The tomb is of bronze, and in front of it is a low
stone table bearing an immense bronze stork with a brass candle in
its mouth, an incense-burner of bronze, and a'vase with artificial
lotus-flowers and leaves in brass. The entrance is through a beau-
tiful gate which is all carved and is quite solid. Outside sit bronze
"Koma zinn" and "Anma tin," the queer things called lions,
of which I told you. At the foot of the way leading to the tomb-
stone is a house m which an old woman sits. If she is given money
she will dance very gracefully.
The carvings are all done by Hidari Jingoro. Hidari means left-
handed; Jingoro is a name.
I hope my letter is not too long. I want to tell you that I like
your magazine very much. I find only one fault with it, and that
is, there is not, and never will be, enough. I like "Sara Crewe "
and Little Lord Fauntleroy best of all.
Good-bye, now. With much love, believe me,
Your sincere friend, EDITH H--.
SAULT STE. MARIE, MICH.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: This is the first time I have written to
you, I have taken you for two years, and have one year bound.
I am twelve years old and my little brother is four. I like your
stories very much, especially "Juan and Juanita," "Little Lord
Faunderoy," and "Drill." My little brother is delighted with the
I hope you will put this in, for it is the first I have written, and
because I have never seen any from the "Soo." Would you like
to hear something about the "Soo" ? All right. The Soo," three
years ago, was but a village of two thousand; it is now a young city
of ten thousand. About one year ago there were no railroads; now
there are three. A company is building a great water-power canal, to
cost one million dollars. It will have twenty-five thousand horse-
power. The Soo Ship Canal is the finest and largest in the world.
From fifty to one hundred vessels pass through it every day.
Your faithful reader, ARTHUR R. W-.
"BEN AYR," BENNINGTON CENTRE, VERMONT.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little boy seven years old. My
aunt has twice given me the ST. NICHOLAS for Christmas, and I am
very fond of it.
We spend our summer up here, and live in Troy for the winter.
Our barn was struck by lightning this summer, and we lost four
kittens, and a little red setter puppy, named Con." I felt very sorry;
but Thomas, our coachman, saved our donkeys. They belonged to
my mamma when she was a little girl. 1 have a little brother four
and a halfyears old, and one donkey belongs to him, and one to me.
Their names are Jack" and "Jill."
I hope to see my letter in the Letter-box." Good-bye.
Your little friend, A. C. S-- .
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : This is the fourth year we have taken you.
"We" means my only sister, Dora, aged ten and a half, and my
brothers, Edgar, nine; Gerald, seven; Rupert, four and a half;
Justin, two and a half; and Baby Neville, one and a half. At least,
I think, you can hardly say that Justin and Neville "take you."
I am twelve this month, and I enjoy you very much. "tLittle Lord
Fauntleroy" is simply splendid, I think, and Dora and I went to a
London theater and saw it acted; it was very nice..
There were two different plays: one was made up by a man called
Seebohm, which was not at all nice, for it was not a bit like Mrs.
Burnett's pretty story; for instance, in this play. Mrs. Errol dresses
up as a nurse, and goes to the Castle to see her boy in disguise.
Is n't it horrid? Besides, the man did n't ask Mrs. Burnett's per-
mission to write it, and so Mrs. Burnett was very angry, and she
wrote another play, a real, proper one, and with the help of Mrs.
Kendal it was put on the stage at Terry's theater, where Dora and
I saw it. Mrs. Burnett called it The Real Little Lord Fauntleroy"!
I like Mr. Birch's illustrations so much. "Sara Crewe" is a
very pretty tale; I think she is so real and true.
My father was in America last spring, and I have an American
friend called Edith H--.
I am your loving and interested MARGARET A. B-.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: As I have never written to you, I thought
I would write now. Let me tell you first about some young chick-
ens. The rats ate all of them except one, and the cook took the
little orphan and raised it in her pocket. After it was large enough
it would fly on her shoulder and head. At night she would put
it on a chair and it would roost there. Another hen hatched out
some chickens, and before this little pullet had ever laid an egg, it
would take these little chickens and scratch for them, call them, and
cover them with its wings, just like an old hen. It now takes care
of twenty little chicks hatched by four different hens.
I have a Maltese cat, with four dear little ones. One night I missed
one of them, and we all looked in vain for it. My twin brother
told us he saw the mother-cat taking them to the barn; so we gave
up looking for them. The next morning we went to the barn and
she found all four, and they had better beds in the barn than they had
in the bath-room, where I had made a bed for them. One of them
died, and we made it a nice coffin, and placed flowers on its grave.
My sister takes the ST. NICHOLAS, and we all like it better than
anything else to read.
I remain your little friend, M. Z. M--
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Nine miles north of Washington, on the
Baltimore and Ohio railroad, is my father's home. On his place my
little brothers, sisters, and myself find beautiful Indian arrows by
the hundred, and some hatchets made of white flint rock. They
must have been lying where we found them over a century and a
half, as history tells us that the aborigines ceded all the territory, in
what is now the State of Maryland, to one of the Lords Baltimore
about 1740, for the small sum of three hundred pounds. Soon after
all the Indians disappeared, never to return. And now the little
children of the sixth generation of pale-faces find many relics of the
Now 1 must tell you an extraordinary cat and snake story. Over
in the mountains of Pennsylvania I have a friend who had two small
Maltese kittens named in honor of rival candidates for the governor-
ship of that State- Pattison and Beaver. Beaver, the kitten, died
and was buried in the cemetery near the house. Each day Pattison
would visit his grave, and there in his loneliness he formed the ac-
quaintance of snakes. For a week or so he was observed each day
climbing the picket fence back of the house, having in his mouth a
black snake. He would put the snake on the ground and play with
it until he was tired, then it would crawl away. The family were
afraid the snakes would hurt the cat, so they let the dog kill them
Ever since I was a subscriber of the ST. NICHOLAS, I have been
unable to read it, owing to weak eyes; but I have had every word
read to me, and have listened with a great deal of interest, and en-
joyed it very much.
I remain your friend and admirer, H. W. M--.
FORT SELLING, MINN.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I do like your magazine so much. Peo-
ple have asked me often if I would not rather take some other book,
but I always say the ST. NICHOLAS suits me the best. I am a little
army girl. I live at Fort Snelling My father is the Colonel of the
Third Infantry. Every night, when it does not rain, all the troops
parade, and the band plays. We have taken the ST. NICHOLAS for
fourteen years. I have two older sisters, and they think that it is
Yours forever, FRANCES M- .
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have taken you almost a year, and I
think you are just lovely. My cousins gave you to me for a Christ-
I have never seen anything very wonderful to tell you about, but
I have been down in a coal mine, seventy-five feet underground. It
is laid out in rooms, and there is a long entry, leading into each room.
Horses work in there, drawing the coal from each room to the
foot of the shaft, where it is drawn up by pulleys, weighed, dumped
into a vat, and sorted. Then it is put in cars and sent away to differ-
ent parts of the States. About two hundred men are employed in
this mine. Hoping this will not be too long to print, I remain,
Your devoted reader, MARY C-- .
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little boy ten years old, and al-
though I have had but three numbers of your magazine, I am so
much interested in it that I wonder how I have gotten on so long
without it. I am always ready with my money several days before
it comes out. The most interesting stories to me are Two Little
Confederates" and Little Ike Templin." 'I have just come home
from the country, where I have had a jolly good time. Now I am
glad that I have something jolly and good here, which you know is
your ST. NICHOLAS.
Looking forward to your next number,
Your little friend, WILLIE P.
LANDOUR, N. W. P. INDIA.
MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My grandmother has been sending
you to us for three years. I have four brothers and a sister. We
have a pretty sorrel pony, and my father has a bay horse. I live in
India. In the summer it gets so hot in the plains that we have to
come up to the hills. We come up in May and go down in October,
generally. We live about 7700 feet above the sea-level. In June
the rainy season begins and lasts three months. In the plains we
live in Lodiana. In the summer out in the shade the thermometer
rises to I12o or 1150, and on rare occasions up to 120oo. By having
thick walls and ventilating the house at night, and by large punkahs,
or fans, pulled by men, we generally keep the temperature of the house
When we first come up here, we start by getting into the train and
go a certain distance; then we get into a four-wheeled vehicle. We
change horses every five or six miles, then the last part of the journey
we go in "dandies," a sort of sedan-chair, or on ponies. The valley
below us and the lower hills are fine hunting regions. There are
tigers, wild elephants, deer, leopards, panthers, and a great many
other wild animals. There are bears and leopards in the higher hills
also. Your affectionate friend,
FREDERICK JANVIER N-.
P. S.-I am an American although I was born here, and I have
been to America.
PARIs, KENT UCKY.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have been in the mountains in Harland
The women and girls work in the corn-field, planting and hoeing,
same as the men and boys.
Nearly every family has a small mill on a branch. At night they
fill up the hopper with corn, and the next morning they have a bushel
of nice, sweet meal.
We have been taking you in the family since 1879. I like the
story about West Point, and am glad the Bilged Midshipman
was taken back into the Academy again.
Yours truly, OLIVER EDWIN F--.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : If you are like us, you don't like to be
praised to your face, so we won't tell you that you are the best
magazine going, though we do think so. We think "Davy and the
Goblin," "Juan and Juanita," and "The Tinkham Brothers' Tide-
mill are the best serial stories we have ever read.
We have two of the dearest little white rabbits that we got this
summer while we were east on a visit. They are so tame that we let
them run all about the yard, and they never go away; but when they
see anything that scares them, they always run in the house. We
both have horses to ride, and a little carriage together, but we like
to ride horse-back best. Mamma has just called us to supper, so I
: will stop.
v. e agreed to take the ST. NICHOLAS as long as we live.
Your diligent readers,
IESSIE AND ALICE.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My mother has given me ST. NICHOLAS
for a birthday gift. I like the Two Little Confederates so much.
I know Mr. Tom Page. He lives here. I am only eight years
old. I like the stories about birds and everything else.
Your little friend, GASTON OTEY W--.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: For a long time I have intended to write to
you and tell you how much I love you, and how eagerly I look for-
ward every month to your coming.
I live in one of the far Western States, and although I was born
in Vermont, I came from there when I was so little that I can not
remember much about it. I think I like the West better than I
should the East, but doubtless it would seem strange to many of your
Eastern readers to live--as I do--under the shade of a fig-tree
twenty or thirty feet high.
Your loving reader, L. GERTRUDE W---.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I want to tell you about the house I built.
It is two stories high, and I made it all myself. It has a shingled
roof, and I can get up in the second story; and besides that I can
get up on the roof. 1 have a little brother three years old; his name
is Kenelm, and he plays in my house day after day. He gets up in
the second story too.
I want to tell you about the robins. For a long time I did not see
a robin, but all at once so many were on the woodbine I could not
think what was the matter. Up on the roof of a little house where
some of the vines grow I had put some nuts, and one day I went up to
see whether they were ripe. When I got there I saw berry-seeds and
skins. I thought at first the birds had been eating grapes, but I
found that they had been eating the woodbine berries, and that was
why the robins had come back.
I am eight years old. Ilike to have Mamma read to me from your
magazine very much. I liked the story of the naughty little Knix.
MARGARET W- .
WE thank the young friends whose names here follow for pleas-
ant letters received from them: May E. W., Eleanor Morrison,
Grafton Knerr, L. N., Elinor Seymour R., Nina Louise Winn,
Lilla Scobell, Kenneth S., M. L. H., Mary B. Jenkins, Nellie, Lulu
Grimm, L. June Brewster, Hattie P., Sylvester Van Dyke, Bertha
P., Edith D., Grace F. Eldredge, Emma L., Mattie F. Gorton, Josie
W. Russell, Telza Hirsch, Maud Miller, H. R Frankie, J. Butler,
Edith S., G. F., Norman E. Weldon, F. A. Waring, Ida H., Lillie
Shields, M. M. Buchanan, Ellen D. B., Edith Bingham, W. Bowen
and E. W. Baldwin, Kate Guthrie, A. W., Alice T. W., Champe
Eubank, Miriam B. P., Elsie Leach and Clarice Loweree, E. M. J.,
Gertie Beach, E. V. J.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE DECEMBER NUMBER.
INSERTIONS. Baltimore. I. ca-B-in. 2. he-A-rs. 3. sa-L-ve. SYNCOPATIONS. Mistletoe. i. ru-M-ble.S2. Emers-I-on. 3. Ori-S-
4. al-T-ar. 5. pa-I-nt. 6. to-M-es. 7. al-O-es. 8. ca-R-ts. on. 4. s-T-age. 5. f-L-ame. 6. ch-E-at. 7. mus-T-er. 8. c-O-urse.
9. cr-E-am. 9. wi-E-ld.
DOUBLE ZIGZAG. From I to Io, St. Nicholas; from si to so, DOUBLE NUMERICAL ENIGMA.
Advent Days. Cross-words: i. Scarabee. 2. Stranded. 3. Con- In this enigma I would bring
serve. 4. Digitate. 5. Recreant. 6. Phonetic. 7. Ophidian. A useful Christmas offering;
8. Plantain. 9. Playdays. o1. Consorts. A proverb, new, within my rhyme,
ANAGRAMS. I. Regimentals. 2. Bayonet. 3. Triangle. 4. Tran- Fact before feeling," every time.
substantiation. 5. Disappointment. 6. Olive. 7. Breakfast. 8. Es- CHARADE. Fan-dan-go.
pousal. 9. Orchestra. DOUBLE ACROSTIC. Primals, Christmas, finals, Good cheer.
CONNECTED DIAMONDS., Penny-royal. i. P. 2. Pea. 3. Penny. Centrals transposed, grain, poet. Cross-words: I. CoG. 2. HoppO.
4. Ant. 5. Y. II. I. I 2. Cot. 3. Royal. 4. Tap. 5. L. 3. RinaldO. 4. InflecteD. 5. SybaritiC. 6. TelegrapH. 7. Mis-
takE. 8. AnniE. 9. SiR.
To OUR PUZZLERS: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the x5th of each month, and
should be addressed to ST. NICHOLAS Riddle-box," care of THE CENTURY CO., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City.
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE OCTOBER NUMBER were received, before October x5th, from Maud E. Palmer--Paul
Reese- Russell Davis- M. J. S.-C. B. Denny May L. Gerrish- I. F. Gerrish and E. A. Daniell -" Two Cousins "-"Mohawk
Valley"-" Sam Anselmo Valley"- Mamma, Aunt Martha, and Sharley-D. L. 0. and M. O. C.- A. H. R. and M. G. R.- Fred and
Blanche--Annie H. R.-K. G. S.-Auntie, Mamma, and Jamie-Lehte-De Long-" My Wife and I"-Nellie L. Howes-Ida and
Alice F. L. Cot -" Blithedale."
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE OCTOBER NUMBER were received, before October ijth, from Katie V. Z., 2 -E. T. H. and M. C., i -
"McKean," 2-" The Family," 2- A. C. Lyon, 4-A. Young, I -G. R. Sutherland, 2 B. K. Hobbs, r -H. Appleton, W. A.
.... i-" Miss Ouri," 3- Will C. Potter, 2 -E. W. Sheldon and B. S. Owen, 5 -R. Packard, i -" May and 79," 9 -M. A.
S: Clara 0., 7- Jo and I, 8 M. Ewing, i Clara and Emma, I B. Cameron, i -" Pandora," I -No Name, New York, 5-
"Grandma," i L. H. F. and "Mistie," 7 Willoughy, 9 Anna and Hattie, 3 Nell R., 3- A. P. Gilbert, i -J. B. Harris, 3 -
Alice W. Tallant, 7 M. D., I Edith E. Allen, 9-Ward Brothers, I S. K. Halt, i Adrienne Forrester, 4 -" Infantry," 8 Lil-
lie, 5-Mary W. Stone, 8-Ida C. Thallon, 9-" Hypatia," r--Walker Otis, 2-Joslyn Z. and Julian C. Smith, 5-Etta R., 2-
SHAKESPEAREAN CHARACTERS. PRIZE PUZZLE.
THE one hundred squares in the illustration on page 240 contain the names of a number of characters in Shakespeare's plays. They
may be spelled out by what is known in chess as the "king's move." This, as all chess-players know, is one square at a time in any
direction: thus, from the square numbered 68 a move can be made to 58, 59, 69, 79, 78, 77, 67, or 57. The same square is not to be used
twice in any one name. In sending answers, indicate the squares by their numbers, thus: Romeo, 22-33-34-44-45.
Answers should be addressed to the ST. NICHOLAS Riddle Box," care of The Century Co., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City.
In preparing answers, let the name and address of the solver be plainly written in the upper, right-hand corner of the first page, and also
state the number of characters discovered. Let the names follow. No solutions will be returned to the senders. For the longest list
received, a prize of five dollars will be given. If more than one person should discover all the names which may be found in the squares,
the one who sends the neatest of these long lists shall receive the prize. The twenty senders of the twenty next best solutions shall each
receive a crisp, new one-dollar bill.
The competition is open to all. Answers will be received until January 15, excepting those sent from abroad, which will be received
until January 20.
FOR explanation of the above puzzle, together with the offer of prizes for its correct solution, see the preceding page --239.
THE DE VINNE PRESS, PRINTERS, NEW YORK.