• TABLE OF CONTENTS
HIDE
 Front Cover
 Frontispiece
 Daddy Jake, the runaway
 The fossil raindrops
 The sun's sisters: A lappish fairy...
 Ned's "please"
 Washington as an athlete
 The bells of Ste. Anne
 The routine of the republic
 A youth of ancient Rome
 Storm-bound sparrows
 Consolation
 When the brigade came in
 He wrote to the rats
 A sleepy little school
 Sailor boy Dromios
 Downhill with a vengeance
 Getting acquainted
 The bunny stories
 Jack-in-the-pulpit
 The Brownies' snow man
 Sweet memories
 The letter-box
 The riddle-box
 Back Cover
 Spine






Title: St. Nicholas
ALL VOLUMES CITATION PAGE IMAGE ZOOMABLE
Full Citation
STANDARD VIEW MARC VIEW
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00065513/00210
 Material Information
Title: St. Nicholas
Uniform Title: St. Nicholas (New York, N.Y.)
Alternate Title: Saint Nicholas
Physical Description: 68 v. : ill. ; 25-30 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Dodge, Mary Mapes, 1830-1905
Publisher: Scribner
Place of Publication: New York
Publication Date: -c1943
Frequency: monthly
regular
 Subjects
Subject: Children's literature -- Periodicals   ( lcsh )
Genre: periodical   ( marcgt )
 Notes
Dates or Sequential Designation: -v. 67, no. 4 (Feb. 1940) ; v. 70, no. 1 (Mar. 1943)-v. 70, no. 4 (June 1943).
Dates or Sequential Designation: Began with: Vol. 1, no. 1, Nov. 1873.
Numbering Peculiarities: Suspended Mar. 1940-Feb. 1943; vols. 68-69 omitted.
Issuing Body: Published by: Century, Aug. 1881- ; by Educational Pub. Corp. -1940; by St. Nicholas Magazine, 1943.
General Note: Description based on: Vol. 2, no. 12 (Oct. 1875); title from cover.
General Note: Conducted by Mary Mapes Dodge.
Funding: Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00065513
Volume ID: VID00210
Source Institution: University of Florida
Holding Location: Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier: oclc - 01764817
lccn - 04012675
 Related Items
Preceded by: Our young folks
Preceded by: Children's hour (Philadelphia, Penn.)
Preceded by: Little corporal
Preceded by: Schoolday magazine
Preceded by: Wide awake

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
    Frontispiece
        Plate
    Daddy Jake, the runaway
        Page 323
        Page 324
        Page 325
        Page 326
        Page 327
        Page 328
        Page 329
    The fossil raindrops
        Page 330
    The sun's sisters: A lappish fairy tale
        Page 331
        Page 332
        Page 333
        Page 334
        Page 335
    Ned's "please"
        Page 336
    Washington as an athlete
        Page 337
        Page 338
        Page 339
        Page 340
    The bells of Ste. Anne
        Page 341
        Page 342
        Page 343
        Page 344
        Page 345
        Page 346
        Page 347
    The routine of the republic
        Page 348
        Page 349
        Page 350
        Page 351
        Page 352
    A youth of ancient Rome
        Page 353
        Page 354
        Page 355
        Page 356
        Page 357
    Storm-bound sparrows
        Page 358
        Page 359
        Page 360
        Page 361
        Page 362
    Consolation
        Page 363
    When the brigade came in
        Page 364
        Page 365
        Page 366
        Page 367
        Page 368
        Page 369
        Page 370
    He wrote to the rats
        Page 371
        Page 372
    A sleepy little school
        Page 373
    Sailor boy Dromios
        Page 374
        Page 375
        Page 376
        Page 377
        Page 378
    Downhill with a vengeance
        Page 379
        Page 380
        Page 381
        Page 382
        Page 383
    Getting acquainted
        Page 384
    The bunny stories
        Page 385
        Page 386
        Page 387
        Page 388
        Page 389
    Jack-in-the-pulpit
        Page 390
        Page 391
    The Brownies' snow man
        Page 392
        Page 393
        Page 394
    Sweet memories
        Page 395
        Page 396
    The letter-box
        Page 397
        Page 398
    The riddle-box
        Page 399
        Page 400
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
    Spine
        Spine
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ST. NICHOLAS.





MARCH, 1889.





DADDY JAKE, THE RUNAWAY.

BY JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS.


CHAPTER I.

ONE fine day in September, in the year 1863,
there was quite an uproar on the Gaston planta-
tion, in Putnam.County, in the State of Georgia.
Uncle Jake, the carriage-driver, was missing. He
was more than fifty years old, and it was the first
time he had been missing since his mistress had
been big enough to call him. But he was missing
now. Here was his mistress waiting to order the
carriage ; here was his master fretting and fuming;
and here were the two little children, Lucien and
Lillian, crying because they did n't know where
Uncle Jake was -" Daddy Jake," who had hereto-
fore seemed always to be within sound of their
voices, ready and anxious to amuse them in any
and every way.
Then came the news that Daddy Jake had actually
run away. This was, indeed, astounding news, and
although it was brought by the son of the overseer,
none of the Gastons would believe it, least of all
Lucien and Lillian. The son of the overseer also
brought the further information that Daddy Jake,
who had never had an angry word for anybody,
had struck the overseer across the head with a hoe-
handle, and had then taken to the woods. Dr.
Gaston was very angry, indeed, and he told the
overseer's son that if anybody was to blame it
was his father. Mrs. Gaston, with her eyes full


of tears, agreed with her husband, and Lucien and
Lillian, when they found that Daddy Jake was
really gone, refused to be comforted. Everybody
seemed to be dazed. As it was Saturday, and
Saturday was a holiday, the negroes stood around
their quarters in little groups discussing the won-
derful event. Some of them went so far as to say
that if Daddy Jake had taken to the woods it was
time for the rest of them to follow suit; but this
proposition was hooted down by the more sensible
among them.
Nevertheless, the excitement on the Gaston plan-
tation ran very high when it was discovered that a
negro so trusted and so trustworthy as Daddy Jake
had actually run away ; and it was not until all the
facts were known that the other negroes became
reconciled to Daddy Jake's absence. What were
the facts ? They were very simple, indeed; and
yet, many lads and lasses who read this may fail
to fully comprehend them.
In the first place, the year in which Daddy Jake
became a fugitive was the year 1863, and there
was a great deal of doubt and confusion in the
South at that time. The Conscription Act and
the Impressment Law were in force. Under the
one, nearly all the able-bodied men and boys were
drafted into the army; and under the other, all
the corn and hay and horses that the Confederacy
needed were pressed into service. This state of


Copyright, 1889, by THE CENTURY Co. All rights reserved.


VOL. XVI.


No. 5.






DADDY JAKE, THE RUNAWAY.


things came near causing a revolt in some of
the States, especially in Georgia, where the laws
seemed to bear most heavily. Something of this
is to be found in the histories of that period, but
nothing approaching the real facts has ever been
published. After the Conscription Act was passed
the planters were compelled to accept the services
of such overseers as they could get, and the one
whom Dr. Gaston had employed lacked both expe-
rience and discretion. He had never been trained
to the business. He was the son of a shoemaker,
and he became an overseer merely to keep out of
the army. A majority of those who made over-
seeing their business had gone to the war either
as volunteers or substitutes, and very few men
capable of taking charge of a large plantation were
left behind.
At the same time, overseers were a necessity
on some of the plantations. Many of the planters
were either lawyers or doctors, and these, if they
had any practice at all, were compelled to leave
their farming interests to the care of agents; there
were other planters who had been reared in the
belief that an overseer was necessary on a large
plantation; so that, for one cause and another, the
overseer class was a pretty large one. It was a very
respectable class, too; for, under ordinary circum-
stances, no person who was not known to be trust-
worthy would be permitted to take charge of the
interests of a plantation, for these were as various
and as important as those of any other business.
But in 1863 it was a very hard matter to get a
trustworthy overseer; and Dr. Gaston, having a
large practice as a physician, had hired the first
person who applied for the place, without waiting
to make any inquiries about either his knowledge
or his character; and it turned out that his over-
seer was not only utterly incompetent, but that
he was something of a rowdy besides. An experi-
enced overseer would have known that he was
employed, not to exercise control over the house
servants, but to look after the farm-hands; but
the new man began business by ordering Daddy
Jake to do various things that were not in the line
of his duty. Naturally, the old man, who was
something of a boss himself, resented this sort of
interference. A great many persons were of the
opinion that he had been spoiled by kind treat-
ment; but this is doubtful. He had been raised
with the white people from a little child, and he
was as proud in his way as he was faithful in all
ways. Under the circumstances, Daddy Jake did
what other confidential servants would have done ;
he ignored the commands of the new overseer,
and went about his business as usual. This led to a
quarrel-the overseer doing most of the quarrel-
ing. Daddy Jake was on his dignity, and the


overseer was angry. Finally, in his fury, he struck
the old negro with a strap which he was carrying
across his shoulders. The blow was a stinging
one, and it was delivered full in Uncle Jake's face.
For a moment the old negro was astonished. Then
he became furious. Seizing an ax-handle that hap-
pened to be close to his hand, he brought it down
upon the head of the overseer with full force. There
was a tremendous crash as the blow fell, and the
overseer went down as if he had been struck by a
pile-driver. He gave an awful groan, and trem-
bled a little in his limbs, and then lay perfectly
still. Uncle Jake was both dazed and frightened.
He would have gone to his master, but he remem-
bered what he had heard about the law. In those
days a negro who struck a white man was tried
for his life, and if his guilt could be proven, he
was either branded with a hot iron and sold to a
speculator, or he was hanged.
The certainty of these punishments had no doubt
been exaggerated by rumor, but even the rumor
was enough to frighten the negroes. Daddy Jake
looked at the overseer a moment, and then stooped
and felt of him. He was motionless and, appar-
ently, he had ceased to breathe. Then the old
negro went to his cabin, gathered up his blanket
and clothes, put some provisions in a little bag,
and went off into the woods. He seemed to be in no
hurry. He walked with his head bent, as if in deep
thought. He appeared to understand and appre-
ciate the situation. A short time ago he was the
happy and trusted servant of a master and mis-
tress who had rarely given him an unkind word;
now he was a fugitive a runaway. As he passed
along by the garden palings he heard two little
children playing and prattling on the other side.
They were talking about him. He paused and
listened.
"Daddy Jake likes me the best," Lucien was
saying, because he tells me stories."
"No," said Lillian, "he likes me the best,
'cause he tells me all the stories and gives me
some ginger-cake, too."
The old negro paused and looked through the
fence at the little children, and then he went on
his way. But the youngsters saw Daddy Jake,
and went running after him.
"Let me go, Uncle Jake! cried Lucien.
"Le' me go, too cried Lillian. But Daddy
Jake broke into a run and left the children stand-
ing in the garden, crying.
It was not very long after this before the whole
population knew that Daddy Jake had knocked
the overseer down and had taken to the woods.
In fact, it was only a few minutes, for some of the
other negroes had seen him strike the overseer
and had seen the overseer fall, and they lost no






1889.] DADDY JAKE, T

time in raising the alarm. Fortunately the over-
seer was not seriously hurt. He had received a
blow severe enough to render him unconscious for
a few minutes,--but this was all; and he was soon
able to describe the fracas to Dr. Gaston, which
he did with considerable animation.
And who told you to order Jake around ? the
doctor asked.
"Well, sir, I just thought I had charge of the
whole crowd."
"You were very much mistaken, then," said
Doctor Gaston, sharply;
"and if I had seen you
strike Jake with your
strap, I should have been
tempted to take my buggy
whip and give you a dose '
of your own medicine."
As a matter of fact,
Doctor Gaston was very .
angry, and he lost no
time in giving the new
overseer what the negroes
called his walking-
papers." He paid him up
and discharged him on
the spot, and it was not
many days before every- .
body on the Gaston plan- I
station knew that the man '
had fallen into the hands .,,
of the Conscription officers
of the Confederacy, and
that he had been sent on
to the front. ,
At the same time, as
Mrs. Gaston herself re-
marked, this fact, however
gratifying it might be,
did not bring Daddy Jake [
back. He was gone, and -
his absence caused a great
deal of trouble on the
plantation. It was found
that half-a-dozen negroes
had to be detailed to do
the work which he had
."THE YOUNGSTERS S
voluntarily taken upon
himself- one to attend to the carriage-horses,
another to look after the cows, another to feed the
hogs and sheep, and still others to look after the
thousand and one little things to be done about
the "big house." But not one of them, nor all of
them, filled Daddy Jake's place.
Many and many a time Doctor Gaston walked
up and down the veranda wondering where the
old negro was, and Mrs. Gaston, sitting in her


HIE RUNAWAY. 325

rocking-chair, looked down the avenue day after
day, half expecting to see Daddy Jake make his ap-
pearance, hat in hand and with a broad grin on his
face. Some of the neighbors, hearing that Uncle
Jake had become a fugitive, wanted to get Bill
Locke's "track-dogs" and run him down, but
Doctor Gaston and his wife would not hear to this.
They said that the old negro was n't used to stay-
ing in the woods, and that it would n't be long
before he would come back home.
Doctor Gaston, although he was much troubled,


A\Y DADDY JAKE, AND WENT RUNNING AFTER HIM.
looked at the matter from a man's point of view.
Here was Daddy Jake's home; if he chose to
come back, well and good; if he did n't, why, it
could n't be helped, and that was an end of the
matter. But Mrs. Gaston took a different view.
Daddy Jake had been raised with her father; he
was an old family-servant; he had known and loved
her mother, who was dead; he had nursed Mrs.
Gaston herself when she was a baby ; in short, he






DADDY JAKE, THE RUNAWAY.


was a fixture in the lady's experience, and his ab-
sence worried her not a little. She could not bear
to think that the old negro was out in the woods
without food and without shelter. If there was a
thunderstorm at night, as there sometimes is in
the South during September, she could hardly
sleep for thinking about the old negro.
Thinking about him led Mrs. Gaston to talk
about him very often, especially to Lucien and
Lillian, who had been in the habit of running out
to the kitchen while Daddy Jake was eating his
supper and begging him to tell a story. So far as
they were concerned, his absence was a personal
loss. While Uncle Jake was away they were not
only deprived of a most agreeable companion, but
they could give no excuse for not going to bed.
They had no one to amuse them after supper, and,
as a consequence, their evenings were very dull.
The youngsters submitted to this for several days,
expecting that Daddy Jake would return, but in
this they were disappointed. They waited and
waited for more than a week, and then they began
to show their impatience.
I used to be afraid of runaways," said Lillian
one day, but I'm not afraid now, 'cause Daddy
Jake is a runaway." Lillian was only six years
old, but she had her own way of looking at things.
Pshaw exclaimed Lucien, who was nine,
and very robust for his age; I never was afraid
of runaways. I know mighty well they wouldn't
hurt me. There was old Uncle Fed; he was a
runaway when Papa bought him. Would he hurt
anybody ?"
"But there might be some bad ones," said
Lillian, "and you know Lucinda says Uncle Fed
is a real, sure-enough witch."
Lucinda exclaimed Lucien, scornfully.
"What does Lucinda know about witches? If
one was to be seen she would n't stick her head
out of the door to see it. She'd be scared to
death."
Yes, and so would anybody," said Lillian, with
an air of conviction. I know I would."
"Well, of course,-a little girl," explained
Lucien. Any little girl would be afraid of a
witch, but a great big double-fisted woman like
Lucinda ought to be ashamed of herself to be
afraid of witches, and that, too, when everybody
knows there are n't any witches at all, except in the
stories."
"Well, I heard Daddy Jake telling about a
witch that turned herself into a black cat, and then
into a big black wolf," said Lillian.
Oh, that was in old times," said Lucien,
"when the animals used to talk and go on like
people. But you never heard Daddy Jake say he
saw a witch,--now, did you?"


"No," said Lillian, somewhat doubtfully; "but
I heard him talking about them. I hope no witch
will catch Daddy Jake."
"Pshaw!" exclaimed Lucien. "Daddy Jake
carried his rabbit-foot with him, and you know no
witch can bother him as long as he has his rab-
bit-foot."
"Well," said Lillian, solemnly, "if he's got
his rabbit-foot and can keep off the witches all
night, he won't come back any more."
But he must come," said Lucien. I'm
going after him. I 'm going down to the landing
to-morrow and I '11 take the boat and go down the
river and bring him back."
Oh, may I go too ? asked Lillian.
"Yes," said Lucien loftily, "if you'11 help me
get some things out of the house and not say any-
thing about what we are going to do."
Lillian was only too glad to pledge herself to
secrecy, and the next day found the two children
busily preparing for their journey in search of
Daddy Jake.
The Gaston plantation lay along the Oconee
River in Putnam County, not far from Roach's
Ferry. In fact, it lay on both sides of the river,
and, as the only method of communication was by
means of a bateau, nearly everybody on the planta-
tion knew how to manage the boat. There was
not an hour during the day that the bateau was
not in use. Lucien and Lillian had been carried
across hundreds of times, and they were as much
at home in the boat as they were in a buggy.
Lucien was too young to row, but he knew how to
guide the bateau with a paddle while others used
the oars.
This fact gave him confidence, and the result was
that the two children quietly made their arrange-
ments to go in search of Daddy Jake. Lucien was
the provider," as he said, and Lillian helped him
to carry the things to the boat. They got some
meal-sacks, two old quilts, and a good supply of
biscuits and meat. Nobody meddled with them,
for nobody knew what their plans were, but some
of the negroes remarked that they were not only
unusually quiet, but very busy-a state of things
that is looked upon by those who are acquainted
with the ways of children as a very bad sign,
indeed.
The two youngsters worked pretty much all day,
and they worked hard; so that when night came
they were both tired and sleepy. They were tired
and sleepy, but they managed to cover their sup-
plies with the meal-sacks, and the next morning
they were up bright and early. They were up so
early, indeed, that they thought it was a very long
time until breakfast was ready; and, at last, when
the bell rang, they hurried to the table and ate


326






DADDY JAKE, THE RUNAWAY.


ravenously, as became two travelers about to set
out on a voyage of adventure.
It was all they could do to keep their scheme
from their mother. Once Lillian was on the point
of asking her something about it, but Lucien
shook his head, and it was not long before the two
youngsters embarked on their
journey. After seating Lillian in
the bateau, Lucien unfastened
the chain from the stake, threw
it into the boat, and jumped
in himself. Then, as the clumsy
affair drifted slowly with the '
current, he seized one of the
paddles, placed the blade against
the bank, and pushed the bateau\ '
out into the middle of the stream.
It was the beginning of a voy-
age of adventure, the end of
which could not be foretold; but
the sun was shining brightly, the -
mocking-birds were singing in
the water-oaks, the blackbirds
were whistling blithely in the ,
reeds, and the children were
light-hearted and happy. They
were going to find Daddy Jake ,- ._
and fetch him back home, and '
not for a moment did it occur to
them that the old negro might
have gone in a different direction. "
It seemed somehow to those on
the Gaston plantation that what-
ever was good, or great, or I '
wonderful had its origin "down
the river." Rumor said that the
biggest crops were grown in
that direction, and that there
the negroes were happiest. The E L-AN
river, indeed, seemed to flow to some far-off
country where everything was finer and more
flourishing. This was the idea of the negroes
themselves, and it was natural that Lucien and
Lillian should be impressed with the same belief.
So they drifted down the river, confident that
they would find Daddy Jake. They had no other
motive- no other thought. They took no account
of the hardships of a voyage such as they had em-
barked on.
Lazily, almost reluctantly as it seemed, the boat
floated down the stream. At first, Lucien was in-
clined to use.the broad oar, but it appeared that
when he paddled on one side the clumsy boat tried
to turn its head up stream on the other side, and
so, after a while, he dropped the oar in the bottom
of the boat.
The September sun was sultry that morning, but,


obeying some impulse of the current, the boat
drifted down the river in the shade of the water-
oaks and willows that lined the eastern bank. On
the western bank the Gaston plantation lay, and
as the boat floated lazily along the little voyagers
could hear the field-hands singing as they picked


A>
.1
:/


I..


DS WERE SINGING AS THEY PICKED THE OPENING COTTON."
the opening cotton. The song was strangely
melodious, though the words were ridiculous.

My dog's a 'possum dog,
Here, Rattler/ here /
He cross de creek upon a log,
Here, Rattler! here.'

He run de 'possum up a tree,
Here, Rattler! here!
He good enough fer you an' me,
Here, Rattler! /ere!

Kaze when it come his fat'nin' time,
Here, Rattler here!
De 'possum eat de muscadine,
Here, Rattler! here!

He eat till he kin skacely stan',
Here, Rattler! here!
An' den we bake him in de pan,
Here, Rattler/ here!






DADDY JAKE, THE RUNAWAY.


It was to the quaint melody of this song that the
boat rocked and drifted along. One of the negroes
saw the children and thought he knew them, and
he called to them, but received no reply; and
this fact was so puzzling that he went back and told
the other negroes that there was some mistake
about the children. '"Ef dey 'd 'a' bin our chillun,"


boat took that course, but Lucien and Lillian had
no sense of fear. The roaring and foaming of the
water pleased them, and the rushing and whirling
of the boat, as it went dashing down the rapids,
appeared to be only part of a holiday frolic. After
they had passed the shoals, the current became
swifter, and the old bateau was swept along at a


MAYBE HE OW WHERE DADDY E I,' SAID LLLIAN.
" MAYBE HlE KNOWS WHERE DADDY JAKE IS/) SAID LILLIAN."


he said, dey 'd 'a' hollered back at me, sho'."
Whereupon, the field-hands resumed their work
and their song, and the boat, gliding southward
on the gently undulating current, was soon lost to
view.
To the children it seemed to be a very pleasant
journey. They had no thought of danger. The
river was their familiar friend. They had crossed
and recrossed it hundreds of times. They were as
contented in the bateau as they would have been
in their mother's room. The weather was warm,
but on the river and in the shade of the overhang-
ing trees, the air was cool and refreshing. And
after a while the current grew swifter, and the
children, dipping their hands in the water, laughed
aloud.
Once, indeed, the bateau, in running over a long
stretch of shoals, was caught against a rock. An
ordinary boat would have foundered, but this boat,
clumsy and deep-set, merely obeyed the current.
It struck the rock, recoiled, touched it again, and
then slowly turned around and pursued its course
down the stream. The shoals were noisy but
harmless. The water foamed and roared over the
rocks, but the current was deep enough to carry
the bateau safely down. It was not often that a


rapid rate. The trees on the river bank seemed
to be running back toward home, and the shadows
on the water ran with them.
Sometimes the boat swept through long stretches
of meadow and marsh lands, and then the children
were delighted to see the sand-pipers and kill-dees
running along the margin of the water. The
swallows, not yet flown southward, skimmed along
the river with quivering wing, and the king-fishers
displayed their shining plumage in the sun. Once
a moccasin, fat and rusty, frightened by the unex-
pected appearance of the young voyagers, dropped
into the boat; but before Lucien could strike him
with the unwieldy oar, he tumbled overboard and
disappeared. Then the youngsters ate their din-
ner. It was avery dry dinner ; but they ate it with
a relish. The crows, flying lazily over, regarded
them curiously.
I reckon they want some," said Lucien.
"Well, they can't get mine," said Lillian,
"'cause I jest about got enough for myself."
They passed a white man who was sitting on the
river bank, with his coat off, fishing.
"Where under the sun did you chaps come
from ? he cried.
Up the river," replied Lucien.


328






DADDY JAKE, THE RUNAWAY.


Where in the nation are you going ? "
"Down the river."
Maybe he knows where Daddy Jake is," said
Lillian. Ask him."
"Why, he wouldn't know Daddy Jake from a
side of sole leather," exclaimed Lucien.
By this time the boat had drifted around a bend
in the river. The man on the bank took off his
hat with his thumb and forefinger, rubbed his
head with the other fingers, drove away a swarm
of mosquitoes, and muttered, Well, I '11 be
switched Then he went on with his fishing.
Meanwhile the boat drifted steadily with the
current. Sometimes it seemed to the children that
the boat stood still, while the banks, the trees,
and the fields moved by them like a double
panorama. Queer-looking little birds peeped at
them from the bushes; fox-squirrels chattered at
them from the trees; green frogs greeted them by
plunging into the water with a squeak; turtles slid
noiselessly off the banks at their approach; a red
fox that had come to the river to drink disappeared
like a shadow before the sun; and once a great
white crane rose in the air, flapping his wings
heavily.
Altogether it was a very jolly journey, but after
a while Lillian began to get restless.
Do you reckon Daddy Jake will be in the river
when we find him? she asked.
Lucien himself was becoming somewhat tired,
but he was resolved to go right on. Indeed, he
could not do otherwise.
Why, who ever heard of such a thing? he
exclaimed. What would Daddy Jake be doing
in the water? "
Well, how are we's to find him? "


Oh, we'll find him."
But I want to find him right now," said Lill-
ian, and I want to see Mamma, and Papa, and
my dollies."
Well," said Lucien, with unconscious humor,
"if you don't want to go, you can get out and walk
back home." At this, Lillian began to cry.
Well," said Lucien, "if Daddy Jake was over
there in the bushes and was to see you crying
because you did n't want to go and find him, he'd
run off into the woods and nobody would see him
any more."
Lillian stopped crying at once, and, as the after-
noon wore on, both children grew more cheerful;
and even when twilight came, and after it the dark-
ness, they were not very much afraid. The lone-
liness-the sighing of the wind through the
trees, the rippling of the water against the sides
of the boat, the hooting of the big swamp-owl,
the cry of the whippoorwill, and the answer of its
cousin, the chuck-will's-widow- all these things
would have awed and frightened the children.
But, shining steadily in the evening sky, they saw
the star they always watched at home. It seemed
to be brighter than ever, this familiar star, and
they hailed it as a friend and fellow-traveler. They
felt that home could n't be so far away, for the star
shone in its accustomed place, and this was a great
comfort.
After a while the night grew chilly, and then
Lucien and Lillian wrapped their quilts about
them and cuddled down in the bottom of the boat.
Thousands of stars shone overhead, and it seemed
to the children that the old bateau, growing tired
of its journey, had stopped to rest; but it continued
to drift down the river.


(To be continued.)


A













THE FOSSIL RAINDROPS.

BY HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD.

VER the quarry the children went rambling,
Hunting for stones to skip,
Into the clefts and the crevices scrambling,
Searching the quarrymen's chip.

Sweet were their voices and gay was their laughter,
SThat holiday afternoon,
One tumbled down and the rest tumbled after,
All of them singing one tune.

Here was a stone would skip like a bubble,
Once were it loosed from its place,-
See what strange lines, all aslant, all a-trouble,
Covered over its face.

Half for a moment their wonder is smitten,
Nor divine they at all
That soft earth it was when those slant lines were written
By the rain's gusty fall.

Nor guess they, while pausing to look at it plainly,
The least in the world perplexed,
That the page which old Merlin studied vainly
Had never such wizard text.

Only a stone o'er the placid pool throwing,
Ah But it told them, though,
How the rain was falling, the wind was blowing,
Ten thousand years ago!















r.








A f~
I ,
,, i^ Ci1,' .." I, .





I ', --!I



i


,' r .: ho h
mates except
lad named Lars. The King, of course,
to have his son play with such a comm
as there were no princes or kings in th
hood, he had no choice but to put up wit
day the Prince and Lars were shooting
and Lars hit the bull's-eyeagain and aga
Prince's arrows flew rattling among the
and sometimes did not even hit the ta:
he grew angry and called Lars a lout
hopper. Lars did not mind that m
knew that princes were petted and s
could not bear to be crossed.
Now, Prince," he said, let us sl
the air and see who can shoot the high
The Prince, who had a beautiful g
polished steel-tipped arrows, had no
that he could shoot much higher than
bow was a juniper branch which he I
cut and cured. So he accepted the of
Let us aim at the sun," he cried,
All right," shouted Lars; and a
moment they let fly two arrows, which
with a whiz and vanished among the fli
The boys stood looking up into the
air until their eyes ached; and after a
two, the Prince's arrow fell at his si
picked it up. Nearly fifteen minutes
fore Lars's arrow returned, and when
up, he was astonished to find a drop
the tip of it, to which clung a dazzling
golden feather.
Why-look at that!" cried the
delight. Is n't it wonderful? "


.R I





'I; I, '


35 ~ -X---- I '.-


A LAPPISH
[Frece

By HJALMAR


FAIRY TALE.
v Rendered.]

HJORTH BOYESEN.


This fairy tale was told to Prof. J. A. Fries, by the Lapps in Tanen.
It is plain, however, that much of the material has been borrowed by them
from the Norwegians, but adapted and refashioned to suit their own conditions.

THERE "Yes, but it is mine," replied the Prince; it
was once was my arrow."
a young It was no such thing," said Lars; "I made
lad no play- the arrow myself and ought to know it. Yours
t a peasant are steel-tipped and polished."
did not like I tell you it is my arrow," cried the Prince
on boy; but in great anger; "and if you don't give me the
e neighbor- feather, it will go ill with you."
:h Lars. One Now, Lars would have been quite willing to
at a mark; part with the feather, if the Prince had asked him
in, whilethe for it, but he was a high-spirited lad, and would
tree-trunks, not consent to be bullied.
rget. Then You know as well as I do that the arrow was
and a clod- mine," he said, scowling; and the feather is
uch, for he mine, too, and I won't give it to anybody."
poiled, and The Prince said nothing; but, pale with rage,
he hurried back to the castle and told his father,
loot up into the King, that his arrow had brought down a
est." beautiful golden feather and that Lars had taken
ilt bow and it from him.
doubt but Now, if you have any acquaintance with kings,
Lars, whose you may perhaps imagine how the old gentleman
lad himself felt when he heard that his son and heir had been
fer. thus wronged. It was to no purpose that Lars
gayly. showed him the drop of blood on the rude whittled
.t the same arrow; he insisted that the feather was the Prince's,
cleft the air and that Lars was a thief and a robber. But Lars
eecy clouds, was not to be frightened even at that. He stuck to
sun-steeped his story and refused to give up the feather.
moment or Well, then," said the King, with a wicked grin,
de, and he we '11 say that it is yours. But in that case you
elapsed be- must be prepared to prove it. When you bring
he picked it me the golden hen, from whose tail this feather
of blood on has been shot, then I '11 admit that it is yours.
ly beautiful But if you fail, you will be burned alive in a barrel
of tar."
boy, with Now, to be burned alive in a barrel of tar is not
a pleasant thing; and Lars, when he heard that


A,






THE SUN'S SISTERS.


such a fate was in store for him, wished he had
never seen the golden feather. But it would be
disgraceful to back down now, so he accepted the
terms, stuffed into his luncheon-bag a leg of
smoked mutton and a dozen loaves of bread, which
the cook at the castle gave him, and started on
his journey. But the question now
arose, where should he go? Golden
hens were not such everyday affairs
that he might expect to find them
in any barn-yard. And barn-yard
hens, moreover, were not in the
habit of flying aloft; and the golden
feather had come down to him from
some high region of the air. He be-
came heavy-hearted when he thought
of these things, and imagined, when-
ever he saw a farmer burningstumps
and rubbish at the roadside, that it
was the barrel of tar in which he
was to end his days. For all that,
he kept trudging on, and when
evening came he found himself on
the outskirts of a great forest. Be-
ing very tired, he put his luncheon
bag under his head, and soon fell
asleep. But he had not been sleep-
ing long when he was waked up
by somebody trying to pull the bag
away from under him. He raised
himself on his elbow, rubbed his
eyes, and to his astonishment saw a
big fox sitting on his haunches and "HE SAW A
staring at him. Where are you
going? asked the fox.
I was n't going anywhere," said Lars. I was
sleeping."
Well, I am aware of that," observed Reynard;
"but when you are not sleeping, where are you
then going ? "
Oh, well," said Lars, the fact is, I am in a bad
scrape. I have got to find the golden hen that
has lost a tail-feather."
And he told the fox his story.
"Hum," said the fox; "that is pretty bad.
Let me look at the feather."
The boy pulled out the feather from his inside
vest pocket, where he kept it carefully wrapped up
in birch-bark.
Ah," said Reynard, when he had examined it;
"you know Ihave a large acquaintance among hens.
In fact, I am very fond of them. I should n't won-
der if I might help you find the one which has lost
this feather."
Lars, who had been quite down in the mouth at
the prospect of the barrel of tar, was delighted to
hear that.


"I wish you would bear me company," said
he. If you 'II do me a good turn, I '11 do you
another."
The fox thought that was a fair bargain; and
so they shook hands on it, and off they started
together.



,


















Do you know here we are going?" asked
-;

















Reynard, after a while.
No," said Lars; "but I supposed you did."
"I do. We are going to the Sun's Sister."
She has three golden hens. It was one of those
you hit with your arrow."
"But will she be willing to part with any of
~--












Reynard, after a while.






Leave that to me," answered Reynard; "you
know I have had some experience with hens."
Day after day they walked up one hill and down
another until they came to the castle of the Sun.
It was a gorgeous castle, shining with silver and
gold and precious stones. The boy's eyes ached
when he looked at it. Even the smoke that curled
up into the still air from the chimneys was radiant
like clouds at sunset.
That's a nice place," said Lars.
i tis," ,said Reynard. It is best, I think,





to have me sneak into expoultry-yard, where the
three golden he ns are, and then '11 bring out the
like clouds at sunset.

So it is," said Reynard. "It is best, I think,


one that has lost its tail-feather."
Lars somehow did n't like that plan. He did n't


SThe Lappish words Baeivas oabba mean the Dawn."






THE SUN'S SISTERS.


quite trust Reynard in the matter of hens; he
knew the fox had a natural weakness for poultry,
but, of course, he was too polite to say so.
No, Reynard," he began, blushing and hesi-
tating; I am really afraid you might come to
harm. And you might make too much of a racket,
you know, setting the whole poultry-yard in
commotion."
"Well, then, you go yourself," said Reynard,
somewhat offended ; but take heed of this warn-
ing. Look neither to the right nor to the left, and
go straight to the poultry-yard, seize the hen that
has lost one of the three long tail-feathers, and then
hasten out as quick as you can."
Lars promised that he would obey in all particu-
lars. The gate was wide open; the sentries, who
stood dozing in their boxes, did not seem to mind
him as he entered. It was high noon; the watch-
dogs slept in their kennels, and a noonday drowsi-
ness hung over the whole dazzling palace. So the
boy went straight to the poultry-yard, as he had
been directed, spied the three golden hens, the
splendor of which nearly blinded him, grabbed the
one of them that had lost a tail-feather, and started
again in hot haste for the gate. But as he passed
by the wing of the palace he noticed a window, the
shutters of which were ajar. A great curiosity to
see what was behind these shutters took possession
of him. It would be a pity to leave this beautiful
place without looking about a little," he thought;
I can easily catch that hen again if I let her go
now, for she is as tame as a house-chicken."
So he let the hen go, opened the shutter, and
peeped into the room. And what do you think
he saw ? Well, he could
scarcely have told you him-
self, for he was so completely
overwhelmed that he stood
gazing stupidly, like a cow ._
at a painted barn-door. But .
beautiful-oh, beautiful, be : .
yond all conception, was that r il
which he saw. That was
the reason he stood speech- Il
less, with open mouth and I
staring eyes. Of course, now
you can guess what it was. -
It was none other than the I,.'
Sister of the Sun. She was
lying upon her bed, sleeping
sweetly, like a child that is .
taking an after-dinner nap.
Goodness and kindness were
shining from her features,
and Lars was filled with
such ineffable joy at the mere
sight of her that he forgot "LARS CLIMBED OVG


all about the hen and the barrel of tar, and his
playmate the Prince, and the fox's warning. He
did not know that this was her great charm-
every one who looked upon her was instantly filled
with gladness unspeakable. Sorrow, and care,
and malice, and hatred instantly fled from the
heart of every one who came into her presence.
No wonder Lars could n't think of hens, when he
had so lovely a creature to look upon. For sev-
eral minutes he stood at *the window, lost in the
rapturous sight. Then stealthily, and without
thinking of what he was doing, he climbed over
the window-sill, and step by step drew nearer.
Oh, how beautiful how beautiful how beau-
tiful! he whispered with bated breath. Oh, I
must kiss her before I go, or I shall never have
peace so long as I live."
And down he stooped and kissed the Sun's Sis-
ter. You would have supposed now that she would
have wakened. But, no She lay perfectly still;
her bosom heaved gently, and the red blood went
meandering busily under her soft, transparent
skin, and her dazzling hair billowed in a golden
stream over the silken pillow, and down upon the
floor. Lars would have been content to spend all
his life gazing at her. But a strange uneasiness
came over him,- his errand, the golden hen, the
barrel of tar, and all the rest of it came back to his
memory slowly, as if emerging from a golden mist,
and, with a sudden determination, he covered his
eyes with his hands, jumped out of the window,
and started again in search of the hen. But, some-
how, the whole world had now a different look to
him. Everything had changed, and the golden


N5~


> >


R THE WINDOW-SILL, AND STEP BY STEP DREW SNARER.


333







334 THE SUN'
hen, too. When he tried to catch her, this time,
she flapped with her wings, gave a hoarse shriek,
and ran as fast as she could. Lars plunged ahead,
reaching out with both his hands to catch her,
but she slipped from his grasp, and yelled and
screamed worse than ever. Instantly her two
companions set up a sympathetic cackle, and in
another minute the entire poultry-yard--geese,
ducks, peacocks and hens--joined the chorus,
making an ear-splitting" racket, the like of which
had scarcely been heard since the world was made.
The Sun's Sister, aroused by this terrible commo-
tion, rubbed her beautiful eyes, and started in
alarm for the poultry-yard. The dogs came rush-
ing out of their kennels, barking furiously; the
sentries who had been dozing at the gates drew
their swords and flourished them savagely, and
everybody in the whole castle was astir.
What are you doing here ? asked the Sun's
Sister, when she saw the boy chasing her favorite
golden hen.
"Oh, well," said Lars, feeling rather bashful;
" I was only amusing myself."
"Well," said the Sun's Sister, gently (for
she was as good as she was beautiful), "you
can't amuse yourself catching my hens unless-
unless-"
Unless what ? asked Lars.
Unless" (and here the face of the Sun's Sis-
ter grew very sad) "unless you can rescue my
sister Afterglow* from the Trolds, who carried
her off far behind the western mountains many
years ago."
Lars scarcely knew what to answer to that; he
would have liked to consult his friend Reynard be-
fore saying anything. But the Sun's Sister looked
so beautiful that he had not the heart to say her
nay, and so he rashly promised. Then he took
his leave reluctantly, and the moment he was out-
side the gate and could no more see the radiant
face, his heart seemed ready to break with longing
and sadness.
"Well, did n't I tell you you would get into
mischief? said Reynard, when he heard the story
of Lars's exploits. So now we shall have to res-
cue this Afterglow too. Well, that'll be no easy
matter; and if you can't behave any better than
you have done to-day, then there 's really no use
in our attempting it."
Lars had to coax and beg for a full hour, and
promise that his behavior should be the very pink
of propriety and discretion, if Reynard would only
forgive him and help him in his next enterprise.
Reynard held out long, but at last took pity on
Lars and gave consent.
Day after day, and night after night, they tray-


S SISTERS.


eled toward the far mountains in the west, and at
last arrived at the castle of the Trolds.
Now," said the fox, I shall go in alone, and
when I have induced the girl to follow me, I shall
hand her over to you, and then you must rush
away with her as fast as you can; and leave me to
detain the Trolds by my tricks, until you are so far
away that they can not overtake you."
Lars thought that was a capital plan, and sta-
tioned himself outside the gate while the fox
slipped in. It was early evening, and it was
almost dark; but there shot up a red blaze of light
from all the windows of the castle of the Trolds.
Reynard, who had been there many a time before,
and was an old acquaintance of the Trolds, soon
perceived that something. unusual was going on.
So far as he could see they were having a ball;
and the Trolds were all taking turns at dancing
with Afterglow,-for she was the only girl in the
whole company. When they saw the fox one of
them cried out :
Hallo, old Reynard, you have always been a
light-footed fellow. Won't you. come in and have
a dance ? "
"Thanks," said Reynard, "I am never loath to
dance."
And he placed his paw upon his breast and made
his bow to Afterglow, who was darker than her
sister Dawn, and more serious, but scarcely less
beautiful. She filled the heart of every one who
looked upon her, not with buoyant joy and hope,
but meditation and gentle sadness. She was sad her-
self, too, because she hated the ugly Trolds who held
her in captivity, and longed to go back to the beau-
tiful palace of her brother, the Sun. So when Rey-
nard asked her to dance, she scarcely looked at
him, but with a weary listlessness allowed him to
put his arm about her waist and swing her about to
the measure of the music. And Reynard was a fine
dancer. Swiftly and more swiftly he gyrated about,
and every time he passed a candle he managed to
blowit out. One-two -three!-before anybody
knew it, it was pitch dark in the hall; and before
the Trolds had recovered from their astonishment,
Reynard had danced out through the door into the
hall, from the hall into the court-yard, and from
the court-yard into the open field, outside the gate.
Lars," he cried to the boy, here is Afterglow.
Now take her and hurry away as fast as you can."
Lars did not have to be told that twice; but tak-
ing Afterglow by the hand ran as fast as his feet
could carry him.
Reynard instantly slipped in again and pre-
tended to help the Trolds to light the candles.
But it took him a long time to strike fire with the
flint, because the- tinder was damp, and if the


SThe Lappish word means the Evening Red,"- the flush that follows the sunset,- as Bacivas oabba is literally the Morning Red."






THE SUN'S SISTERS.


Trolds had not been as stupid as they were, they
would have seen that the fox was making them
trouble instead of helping them. After a long
while, however, they succeeded in getting the can-





o( :.


"REYNARD MADE HIS BOW TO AFTERGLOW."
dies lighted, and. then they perceived that After-
glow was gone.
"Where is Afterglow? Where is Afterglow?"
they all roared in chorus, and some of them wept
with anger, while others tore their beards and
hair with rage.
Oh, you sly old fox, it is you who have let her
escape," shouted one great, fat, furious Trold,
" but you shall suffer for it. Just let me get hold
of you, and you sha'n't have another chance to
play tricks again."
Instantly they all made a rush for Reynard, yell-
ing and weeping, and stamping and threatening.
But Reynard, as you know, is no easy customer to


the point of catching him, but yet eluding them
by his agility and unexpected turns and leaps. He
took good care to lay his course in the direction
opposite to that which Lars and Afterglow had
taken; and thus, the farther the
Trolds ran, the slighter were their
chances of recovering her. After a
while, however, Reynard grew tired
of this game, and then he remem-
bered that there was a big swamp
near by, and thither he hastened.
But while he sprang lightly
I from hillock to hillock, the heavy
Trolds in their wrath plunged
ahead, and before they knew it,
they sank down in the marsh up to
their very waists. The more they
I.- struggled to get out, the deeper
':.-. they settled in the mud; and a
-.. chorus of angry roars and shouts
and hoarse yells rose from the
floundering company in that swamp
and swept across the sky like
a fierce, discordant storm. But
shouting did not do them any good.
The night passed, and when the
Dawn flushed the east, the fox,
sitting on his hillock, called out:
"Look, there comes the Sun's Sister."
The Trolds, supposing it was Afterglow, turned
with one accord toward the east, and instantly, as
the first rays of the Dawn struck them, they turned
into stone. For the Trolds only go abroad in the
night, and can not endure the rays of the Sun.
And the huge stones, vaguely retaining their
shapes, can yet be seen in the marsh in Lapland
where they perished.
Now, Reynard lost no time in seeking Lars and
Afterglow, and toward evening he found their
tracks, and before morning came he had over-
taken them. When they arrived at the castle of


AC'' ..,jV~~-r=r


REYNARD LEADS THE TROLDS INTO THE MARSH.
catch; and the Trolds were no match for him in the Sun they were received with great delight, and
running. He led them a dance over fields, and Dawn and Afterglow, after their long separation,
moors, and mountains, keeping just in front of kissed and embraced each other, and wept with
them, so that they always supposed they were on joy. Now Lars was at liberty to take the golden


335






THE SUN'S SISTERS.


hen and depart for the King's castle; but the trou-
ble with him now was that he did not want to de-
part. He could not tear himself away from Dawn's
radiant presence, but sat as one bewitched, staring
into her lovely face. And so it came to pass that
they were engaged, and Lars promised to come
back and marry her, as soon as he had made his
peace with his master the King, and presented
him with the golden hen. Now, that seemed to
Dawn a nice arrangement, and she let him depart.
Lars invited his good friend Reynard to bear him
company, but when they came to the place of
their first meeting Reynard refused to go any far-
ther. So Lars fell upon his neck, thanked him
for'his good service, and they embraced and kissed
each other. The King received Lars pretty well,
and was delighted to get the golden hen. But
when he heard about the Sun's Sister, whom no
one could look upon without being filled with glad-
ness, his brow became clouded, and it was easy to
see that he was much displeased. So he told Lars
that, unless he brought the Sun's Sister instantly
to the court and gave her as a bride to the young
Prince, he would have to be burned in the barrel
of tar after all. Now, that was the most unpleas-
ant thing Lars had heard for a good while, and he
wished he could have had the counsel of his good
friend Reynard; for otherwise he saw no way out
of the scrape. Then it occurred to him that the
Sun had two sisters, and that possibly he might
induce Afterglow to marry the Prince. He made
haste accordingly to be off on his journey, and
when he saw the tar-barrels being made ready on
the hill-top behind the castle, he vowed that, un-
less he was successful in his errand, he would be
in no haste to come back again. When he arrived


at the palace of the Sun, Dawn was overjoyed to
see him. But when he told his story and men-
tioned, in passing, the tar-barrel, then she was not
quite so well pleased. However, she went to con-
sult Afterglow; and Afterglow, after her experience
with the ugly Trolds, was not at all averse to mar-
rying a handsome young Prince. So she rode
away on a splendid charger with Lars, and the
Prince, when he heard she was coming, rode out
to meet her, and even the old King himself vowed
that he had never seen any one so beautiful. He
grew so gentle, and courteous, and affectionate as
he looked at her, that he forgot all about his threats;
and when Afterglow asked him what that great
pile of tar-barrels was for, he felt quite ashamed
of himself, and answered:
Oh, I was going to burn a wretch there; but
as I suppose you don't like the smell of burnt
wretch on your wedding-day, I '11 give orders to
have it removed."
The next day the wedding was celebrated with
great magnificence; and the feasting and the danc-
ing and rejoicing lasted for an entire week. When
it was all over, Lars asked the King's permission
to go on a long journey. He had no fear of a
refusal, for the King had become so nice and gen-
tle, since his daughter-in-law came into the family,
that even his best friends scarcely recognized him.
So he readily granted Lars's request. With a
light heart and bounding steps Lars went eastward,
day after day, and night after night, until he came
to the palace of the Sun. And there he celebrated
his wedding with Dawn, and lived with joy in-
effable in her sweet presence, until the end of
his days. If he is not dead, he is probably living
there yet.


NED'S "PLEASE."

BY R. M. S.

SAID hungry Ned at breakfast,
Mamma, another cake."
If-- prompted she;
If," promptly he,
I die before I wake "


336












WASHINGTON AS AN ATHLETE.

BY MRS. BURTON HARRISON.


IN a certain rather cheerful house of my ac-
quaintance live two boys, concerning whom the
interests of patriotism in this year of Washington's
Inauguration centennial" induce me to disclose
a sad instance of modern degeneracy.
These boys are strong and healthy, sleep well, eat
three stout meals a day (not counting intermediate
episodes of sweetmeats), or tear up and down stairs
making noise enough for a herd of infant elephants,
and, with the single exception of an acute mania
on the subject of athletics, would appear to be in
normal possession of their faculties. What, then,
can I say in excuse for their response to a polite
invitation from one of the elders of their family to
hear her read aloud a chapter describing the acts
and virtues of the Father of their Country ? Shall I
tell you what that answer was? They said: "Please,
we had rather not; Washington is such a chest-
nut! Of course, there is nothing for you to do
but to shudder after hearing this. It is enough to
make the Washington Monument jump over the
Potomac!
Perhaps, gentlemen," was the next remark of
the elder, when she had regained control of her
breathing apparatus, in the course of your vast
and varied researches into American history you
have never been made aware that Washington was
the best all-around athlete of his day. As a
sprinter, now,-"
These phrases, unintelligible save to the initi-
ated, had a magical effect.
What was his record ?"
Was he up to Myers ? "
Could he do the mile-run in 4: 12?"
Did he run on a cinder-track or a dirt-track ? "
"Was he anything of a hurdler ? "
"Wait a moment, lease! If you will excuse
the omission of technical phrases, and make allow-
ance for feminine ignorance in dealing with the
mighty theme, I will read you what I have written
upon the subject."

No boy can imagine a better place in which to
grow up than Virginia in the days of Washing-
ton's boyhood. The house of every planter in the
"tide-water" region, where families first formed
into what they called neighborhoods, was built in
the midst of a vast estate. To go abroad meant
VOL. XVI.- 22. 3


to tramp or ride for hours on one's own land, in
glorious forests where the wigwam's smoke had
scarcely ceased to curl. Deer looked with mild-
eyed wonder at the passers-by. Small game of
infinite variety was to be had by raising a rifle to
the shoulder. Grapes and nuts grew upon low-
swung branches, and springs of delicious water
bubbled under foot. In the clearings the rich soil
laughed when they tickled it, yielding corn and
tobacco, vegetables and flowers.
As early as 1623, there was a famous plantation
upon the lower James, called Littleton, where
peach-trees bore luscious fruit, and in the garden
of two acres.belonging to the house grew "prim-
roses, sage, marjoram, and rosemary," to remind
its owner of the old country; while his orchards
were filled with "apple, cherry, pear, and plum
trees." Most of the plantations bordered upon
majestic rivers, whose shallows supplied oysters,
terrapins, crabs, and ducks, in countless numbers.
The waters of such streams, warmed by the south-
ern sun, making bathing and swimming a luxury,
were alive with fish, both great and small. What-
ever those old Virginians lacked, it was not good
things to eat, while Nature thus emptied her horn
of plenty at their doors !
Life under such conditions, with a horde of lazy,
well-fed colored people to do the farm-work, guests
on horseback coming, going, staying as long as it
pleased them to rest their horses, was a very easy
one. The occupations of the men were almost
entirely out-of-doors. Hunting, fox-chasing, ang-
ling, trapping, breaking colts, and riding around
their big estates, filled up their days. Until of an
age to be put aboard some slow-sailing tobacco
ship, and started in the captain's care to some rela-
tive or friend in England, who would superintend
their schooling, the sons of the colonists followed
in the footsteps of their sires.
In this way was nursed the generation that pro-
duced the band of V.;; '', patriots of which
Washington was chief. Luckily for him and for
America, Washington's bringing up was less
luxurious than that of his friends and kinsmen.
Circumstances, and his mother, trained the lad to
be as hardy as an Indian on the war-path, and as
simple and self-reliant as a New England farm-boy
of the type that gave statesmen to the North. For
37






WASHINGTON AS AN ATHLETE.


him, there was no voyage to the mother-country,
with grand opportunities for rubbing off colonial
awkwardness. His first schooling (if the chroni-
cler Weems be right) was derived from one of his
father's tenants -a slow, rusty old man named
Hobby, who was sexton as well as dominie, and
who, in the intervals of teaching the three R's to
the neighbors' girls and boys, swept out the church,
and, now and then, dug a grave. The next master
was a certain Mr. Williams, graduate of the Wake-
field school in Yorkshire, upon whom Weems be-
stows this rap, in passing: Mr. Williams, George's
first tutor, knew as little Latin as Balaam's ass."
Latin or not, George acquired the foundation
of a fair education for that time, and to this his enor-
mous industry, aided by much reading of good
English literature in after days, supplied what was
lacking.
People who have forgotten Washington's bat-
tles remember the cherry-tree and his hatchet.
Weems started that pleasing tale, and it is he who
tells also of a race on foot between George and
his neighbor, "Langy Dade."
First, let me tell you-for boys to-day resem-
ble the Apostle Paul in one thing, certainly: they
like to prove all things-that among the many
authors who have written about the youth of
Washington, the one upon whose preserves all the
rest have browsed, whose quaint stories have come
to be our classics, was this very Parson Weems.
People who have grown up in the neighbor-
hood of Mount Vernon, where Weems was well
known, are not quite sure whether there ever was
a hatchet -or, for that matter, even a cherry-tree
in the garden of excellent Mr. Augustine Wash-
ington, near Fredericksburg!
For Parson Weems was reputed to have a very
vivid imagination. He used to drive about Fairfax
County in an old-fashioned gig with a calash, ped-
dling his own books and others, from plantation to
plantation. When he succeeded in making a sale,
he would whip out the fiddle that always accom-
panied him, and, standing up in his gig, play the
merriest, maddest dance-music. The negroes, who
stood gaping round his gig, could no more resist
him than the rats could resist the Pied Piper of
Hamelin First, they swayed, then they beat time
with foot and hand, and at last broke into a regu-
lar corn-shucking jig! When Weems remained
overnight at the house of one of his patrons, he
would volunteer to read family prayers, and at the
moment the last Amen was said, would fall to
playing reels and jigs upon his fiddle. His sermons
were the oddest ever heard from a Church of
England clergyman. He was often at Mount Ver-
non, and from General and Mrs. Washington he
received many kindnesses. In the course of much


fireside gossip, during his wanderings from one
country-house to another, Mr. Weems picked up
the anecdotes of Washington's youth, which he
has told in his book. And if you are ever so for-
tunate as to visit the rooms of the Society Library
in University Place, New York, ask permission to
see a copy they have there, an early edition, of
this famous Life of George Washington." It was
published in 1814, with an introduction by "Light
Horse Harry Lee."
And now for the foot-races, as reported by
Parson Weems: "'Egad! he ran wonderfully,'
said my amiable and aged friend John Fitzhugh,
Esq., who knew Washington well. 'We had no-
body hereabouts that could come near him. There
was a young Langhorn Dade of Westmoreland, a
confounded clean-made, tight young fellow, and
a mighty swift runner, too. But then, he was no
match for George. Langy, indeed, did not like
to give it up, and would brag that he had some-
times brought George to a tie. But I believe he
was mistaken, for I have seen them run together
many a time, and George always beat him easy
enough.'"
As in running, so in wrestling, in the use of foils,
in high-jumping, climbing, shooting at a mark,
and pitching quoits, George excelled his mates.
Before our war between the States, they used to
show at an old tobacco-warehouse in Alexandria
some weights,-one, I believe, of more than fifty
pounds,-said to have been thrown by Washing-
ton in a match where first boys, then men, were
surpassed and put to confusion by his achieve-
ments. His unusually long arms and immense
hands were justly a source of wonder in such
contests.
The river near which was his first home,-the
Rappahannock,-while not so wide as the Poto-
mac or the James, is yet wide enough to fill with
astonishment the looker-on who is to-day shown
where young Washington threw a piece of slate the
size of a silver dollar across the river, clearing
thirty yards beyond the opposite bank. Of the
many who have since tried to emulate this feat, not
one, it is claimed, has succeeded in clearing even
the water there. Another time, Washington stood
in the bed of the stream running under the Natural
Bridge of Virginia, which towers two hundred feet
above, and hurled a stone upon the top of the
arch. And again, when older, he threw a stone
from the Palisades into the Hudson.
Washington never lost his taste for this branch
of athletics. Charles Wilson Peale, the soldier-
artist, who portrayed several of the heroes of the
Revolution at headquarters during their campaigns,
was himself an adept in athletic exercises. On
one occasion, in 1772, while at Mount Vernon,


338





WASHINGTON AS AN ATHLETE.


there was upon the lawn a party of young fellows,
playing at pitching the bar," when Colonel
Washington suddenly appeared among them, and,
without taking off his coat, held out his hand to
claim the bar. No sooner," said Peale, in describ-
ing the scene to a friend, did the heavy iron bar
feel the grasp of his mighty hand than it lost the
power of gravitation and whizzed through the air,
striking the ground far, very far, beyond our ut-
most limits. We were indeed amazed as we stood
around, all stripped to the buff, with shirt-sleeves
rolled up, and having thought ourselves very clever
fellows; while the Colonel, on retiring, pleasantly
observed, When you beat my pitch, young gen-
tlemen, I '11 try again.' "
A tale still current in Washington's old home
neighborhood in Virginia recounts how once as a
stripling he sat reading under the shade of an oak-
tree near his school. Some of his friends had
engaged a champion wrestler of the county to test
their strength in an impromptu ring. One after
another fell a victim to the champion's skill, till,
grown bold at last, he strode back and forth like
one of the giants of old-time romance, daring the
only boy who had not wrestled with him either to
put his book down and come into the ring or own
himself afraid !
This was more than the self-contained Wash-
ington could stand. Quietly closing his book, he
accepted the challenge. Long after, when the
student under the oak-tree had become the con-
queror with whose honored name the whole civil-
ized world resounded, the ex-champion told what
followed, "After a fierce, short struggle," he
said, I felt myself grasped and hurled upon the
ground, with a jar that shook the marrow of my
bones."
With the memory of these boyish encounters
in mind, and with all his sympathy for athletic
exercises, think what it must have been to Wash-
ington, when Commander-in-Chief of the Revo-
lutionary Army, to come upon a party of his young
officers amusing themselves at a game of "fives,"
and, in spite of his evident enjoyment of the sport,
to find them too much overcome with awe to go on
playing. It was in vain that the General encour-
aged them to resume their sport; so, at last, feel-
ing that greatness has its drawbacks, he bowed,
wished his officers good-day, and walked away.
As a horseman, from beginning to end of his
vigorous life, Washington had no peer. Like all
Virginian boys, he took to the saddle as a duck
takes to water. Once astride his steed, it was all
but impossible to dislodge him. From the day
when as a lad he first rode to hounds after old
Lord Fairfax, of Greenway Court, across the county
named for that worthy nobleman, he was a skilled


and dashing fox-hunter. In the army, when on
horseback, riding down the line, cheered to the
echo by the soldiers, who believed, with a supersti-
tion worthy of the ancients, that here was a being
born to lead them, he was physically the most
imposing figure present. In person, Washington
showed in his maturity the fruits of the lifetime he
had given to what athletes nowadayscall "training."
His habits, at all times, were those exacted of a
"crew" or team of modern days, before the
occasions when those heroes appear in public, to
fill with despair or exultation the bosoms of their
friends. From the Indians of the Shenandoah
wilderness, among whom he spent weeks during
his first surveying tour, he learned the swift, elastic
tread that distinguished him in walking. His
powers of endurance were worthy of his extraordi-
nary physical strength, though it must be said he
had few illnesses to test his constitution, and, in-
deed, was rarely ailing. It may be some consola-
tion to aspirant heroes of the future to hear, while
upon this topic, that Mrs. Washington said it was
well the general was so rarely ill, as she could never
get him to take his medicine !
Major Laurence Lewis once asked his uncle
what was his height in the prime of life," says Cus-
tis. He replied, 'In my best days, Laurence, I
stood six feet and two inches in ordinary shoes.'
Of his weight we are an evidence, having heard
him say to Crawford, Governor of Canada in 1799,
'My weight, in my best days, sir, never exceeded
from two hundred and ten, to twenty.' His form
was unique. Unlike most athletic frames, which ex-
pand at the shoulders and gather in at the hips,
the forni of Washington deviated from the general
rule, since it descended from the shoulders to the
hips in perpendicular lines, the breadth of the
trunk being nearly as great at the one end as at
the other. His limbs were long, large, and sinewy;
he was what is called straight-legged. His joints,
feet, and hands were large, and could a cast have
been made from his right hand (so far did its di-
mensions exceed nature's model), it would have
been preserved in museums for ages as the ana-
tomical wonder of the eighteenth century."
Mr. Custis, who was Washington's adopted
son, tells elsewhere of a summons once received by
him, when a lad, to speak with the General in his
private room. There, for the first time, he saw
the Chief partially undressed. On his vast chest
and arms and shoulders, the muscles stood out
like a net-work of iron wire, under a thin covering
of flesh. Custis observed that the chest "instead
of being arched" was slightly indented." Physi-
cal strength, bred and nurtured as was Washing-
ton's, does not desert its fortunate possessor,
leaving him inert and unable to perform the feats


339






WASHINGTON AS AN ATHLETE.


he gloried in while "training." Also, it en-
dures till past the time when the ordinary man's
vigor begins to wane. There is extant a striking
story of a ride, in the autumn of 1799, when the
General set out, in company with Major Lewis,
Mr. Custis, Mr. Peake, and a servant, to go from
Alexandria to Mount Vernon,-the General, then
a man of sixty-seven, riding a Narragansett horse
recently procured from the North for his own use.
When still at a considerable distance from home,
he dismounted to examine some object in the wood
beside the road, where a fire of brush was burning.
At the moment of resuming his saddle his horse
took fright at the fire and shied violently, bound-
ing from under his rider, who fell heavily upon the
ground. At once, the others sprang from their sad-
dles and hastened to his aid. But the General would
have no help, arose with remarkable agility, and
brushed the dust from his clothes, remarking dryly
that, though he had been worsted this time, it was
through an accident no rider could foresee or guard
against. Meantime it was discovered that all the
horses of the party had set off briskly in the direc-
tion of their stables. Night was falling, the gen-
tlemen realized that they were hungry, tired, and
four good miles from Mount Vernon. There was
nothing for it but to walk. This they set out to
do, but were luckily relieved by some negroes who,
returning from work, had met and captured their
flying steeds.
This adventure was popularly spoken of as the
only time a horse ever got the better of General
Washington." But we have his own testimony,
in the tale I heard from an old-time inhabitant of
Alexandria, as to another mishap when in saddle;
wherein, however, Washington ultimately came
off victor. It was in his early boyhood that George
was one day in Alexandria, looking at some
beautiful Maryland thoroughbreds, brought by a
dealer to the town to sell. Of course, the lad had
no thought of buying, and after patting and admir-
ing the fine animals, turned to leave, when the dealer
jokingly offered to give him one of the most spirited
of these horses, if he could manage to keep his seat
on its back, as far as Mount Vernon and back again.
Young Washington, with sparkling eyes, eagerly
accepted the challenge, and to the surprise and
alarm of the lookers-on, when the fiery creature was
brought out and saddled with difficulty, managed to


spring into the saddle, and seize the reins. Like an
arrow the swift steed was off and out of sight! Next
day, while the gossips around the market-place were
still shaking their heads over the rashness of that
boy Major Laurence Washington had taken to
live with him at Mount Vernon, George, sitting
easily upon the now tamed and docile horse, rode
gayly up before the livery-stable door. Some say
the dealer desired to give him the horse he had
fairly won, but that Washington declined, adding
he had not kept his seat," having been thrown
once, and dragged, though still retaining his hold
upon the reins.
A better-known instance of his daring horseman-
ship is his adventure with the favorite thorough-
bred sorrel colt of fiery temper belonging to his
mother, and pastured near their house. Some
lads, going with Washington to visit the horses,
dared him to try his hand at breaking-in this un-
tamed creature to the saddle-rein. By their united
efforts, they succeeded in forcing a bit between the
sorrel's teeth, and George vaulted upon his back.
A fierce struggle followed; the horse resented
madly the double insult of a rider and a bridle;
and, at last, finding himself unable by any effort
to shake off his incumbrance, reared again, and
with a final desperate plunge fell, blood spurting
from his nostrils, dead upon the 'field. It has
always seemed to me that not the least exhibition
of Washington's bravery, on this occasion, was
the immediate confession to his mother that he
had killed her favorite horse. For Mrs. Washing-
ton had in abundance that quality of inspiring awe,
afterward so conspicuous in her illustrious son. She
was not made of yielding stuff. In her presence, even
after they were proper tall fellows," her sons were
said to stand as "mute as mice." Her anger (also
like Washington's in his later life) was something
no offender cared to face. Therefore, it was the
more creditable to both son and mother, that, on
hearing of her misfortune, she made the memora-
ble answer:
"While I regret my loss, I rejoice in my son who
always speaks the truth."

There -I have read you enough, I think, to
prove that my hero is worthy to be yours."
"Rah! Rah! Rah Wash-ing-ton-ath-lete !"
was the expressive comment.


340










THE BELLS OF STE. ANNE.


BY MARY HARTWELL CATHERWOOD.


CHAPTER X.

THE POOR BUTTERFLY.

THE next day Alvine told Madame Pelletier why
she wanted to follow the grandfather when he set
off up the hills.
One whole round of twenty-four hours had he
staid about the cottage enjoying the girl's pres-
ence, perhaps crediting her coming home to some-
thing he had done to attract her.
He pulled his gray cap over his head-kerchief
and said:
My daughter Ursule, this is a fine morning,
and all the world is sweet."
Yes, indeed, my Petit-Pere. It is so clear I
have many times heard the bells of Ste. Anne."
My son Elzear is safe at his forge."
Yes, safe enough; smoking instead of making
his fire smoke, and talking with a neighbor in-
stead of shoeing the neighbor's horse. He is a
comfortable man," added Madame Pelletier, in
her husband's defense.
Her small grandfather stood on one foot, setting
the other upon its instep. He looked like an
elderly lad meditating truancy.
"You must be sure to kill a pig to-day, my
daughter Ursule. It is probable my poor Narcisse
has not tasted black-pudding since he went away."
"Petit-Pere," the daughter demanded, setting
her hands upon her sides, the downy, abundant
hair about her mouth and cheeks showing strongly
in the light, will you wade any water to-day? "
No, my daughter Ursule. No, my good child;
I will obey your word about the wading."
Last time you came home with your stockings
wet above the bottes Sauvages. If you wade in
the water you will cough, your limbs will stiffen
with rheumatism, you will have to take doses from
my square bottle on the high shelf."
Petit-Pere wrinkled his short nose and drew his
mouth into an expression of nausea.
Madame Pelletier, after this warning, turned to
her work, and the grandfather started on tiptoe
down the gallery steps, looking well admonished
and full of the best intentions. The hill was steep
climbing alongside Mother Blanchet's farm, but
he took it without a pause until the first summit
was reached, when he rested and looked back.
Behold there toiled after him the girl whom he


thought he had given the slip. Her ankle made
her slow. Petit-Pere at first thought he would
show her his heels and run. Then he thought of
hiding. But his heart was tenderer than a large
brother's or sister's would have been in a similar
case, so he waited until Alvine dragged herself to
his level, and reasoned with her, piteously twist-
ing his little face.
"My excellent daughter, my returned child,
after thy Petit-Pere has said so many prayers to
bring thee home, wilt thou desert me and go wan-
dering off again ?"
"Father," said Alvine, I only wish to go with
you to find my brother."
Now, that is not thy affair." The grandfather
shook his forefinger. Do you know where my
children hide themselves?"
No, monsieur."
The little father knows. The little father will
bring the children home. Listen; do you hear
bells? "
Yes, monsieur. Mother Ursule says those
are the bells of Ste. Anne."
"There will come a day when my children will
all walk behind me, my returned pilgrims. And
the bells of Ste. Anne will ring that day But if
as fast as I catch them they slip from me again -
eh ?"
Her adopted father gave her a distressed look.
Alvine, whose mind was very literal, wanted to
explain that she was not one of his children, yet
for the sake of truth itself she could not cross
Petit-Phre.
I will not slip away, monsieur," she promised,
wondering how her pilgrimage could be made with-
out bringing sorrow to this gentle creature.
Is it 'monsieur' you say to your father? "
"I will call you, then, nothing but father," said
Alvine. And, father, I am as anxious to see my
brother as you are. He has been gone out of my
sight a long time. If he sees me perhaps he may
come back with both of us sooner than with you
alone."
Petit-Pere listened, and turned his eyes reflect-
ively.
"You will not gallop off at his heels if he takes
to flight?"
"No, father. I would gallop poorly with this
limp."
He took her by the hand. As they began the
41







THE BELLS OF STE. ANNE.


next height, he meditated on her bitten ankle and
watched the halting step it gave her. It would
be a good plan," the grandfather whispered to
himself with laboring breath, "to bring Gervas
out after the rest of them, since my daughter
Ursule says it is Gervas that caught this one.
The dog of my son Elzear is a fine dog."
Standing on the second height, they could see
the spires of Ste. Anne's and a great extent of the
St. Lawrence. Far below them wound the Beau-
pr6 road half concealed by foliage, and cottage
roofs everywhere met the eye. The ridge where
they stood was a lap of stony meadow; below it
stretched a field of dwarf peas. Petit-Pere was
unwilling to stand and look about; he hurried
their steps westward, dragging Alvine's hand, a
light-footed grandfather.
But when they came to a cluster of stunted trees
having low forks, he could not resist stopping to
drag himself up into the fork of one. There he
stood laughing, and mimicked the far-off sound of
bells:
"Ton, ton ton, ton "
"Father, what age are you.? inquired Alvine,
remembering that Madame Pelletier had told her
he was eighty, and thinking it impossible so old a
man could do such things.
He looked ashamed, and avoiding her eyes, slid
down from the tree. Alvine saw that he felt
rebuked, and limping along beside him, wondered
how she could atone for her question. But pres-
ently he forgot it, for they descended into a hollow
full of lovely white fluted flowers inclosed in bells
of green. Their smell was so sweet that Alvine
gathered handfuls. Petit-Pere gathered handfuls,
too, but it was to lay the bells flat on one palm
and explode them by a blow from the other.
Lesbateaux," he said with satisfaction, amus-
ing himself by repeated explosions; he could have
been tracked half a mile by the bursted steamboat
flowers strewed behind him.
The hollow stooped yet deeper to one of those
hill-clefts made by water-courses; such spots as
never tire the eye, so various and rugged are the
rocks, so clear the rill caressed by verdure in the
whole line of its descent, so dense the trees making
twilight at noon.
Alvine heard a sound which startled her into
quick hopping behind Petit-Pere. It was an ac-
cordion drawing its breath, now in long strains
and now in jerks, as a variable hand pulled it out
and played the keys.
Bruno played the accordion. It was such an
instrument she had imagined him carrying along
the Beaupr6 road, if the boy printed about in the
English papers proved to be Bruno. The only


thing he took away from home was an old accor-
dion that had made music for a former generation
of Charlands.
She could close her eyes and see her father sit-
ting in his door,-for, it must be owned, sitting in
the door was her father's principal business,-
neighbors leaning on both fences, and Bruno in
the path, his head on one side, his nimble fingers
playing. Homeless people associate tender long-
ing with any spot they have called their own, and
Alvine's eyes grew wet as she thought of the valley
and those tunes Bruno sent across it.
If this player were Bruno, he could not have his
old accordion with him, for he brought nothing
but his life and the clothes he wore through that
break-up of logs.
There was nobody visible in the ravine. Even
Petit-Pere cast a baffled gaze all around. Yet you
could hear the accordion strains composing them-
selves into the old French chanson, Malbrouck,"
and presently a lad's voice broke out singing:
Malbrouck s'en va-t-en guerre,
Mironton, mironton, mirotaine,
Malbrouck s'en va-t-en guerre,
Ne sait quand reviendra." t
Malbrouck has gone a-fighting,
Mironton, mironton, mirontaine,
Malbrouck has gone a-fighting,
But when will he return? "

Alvine first saw the musician. It was Bruno.
He sat in the fork of a low sycamore or plane tree,
which thrust one arm up behind him, propping
his back.
She pointed-him out to Petit-Pere, and the old
man at once shook his finger against her lips.
They crept close to the tree without making any
noise to attract Bruno's eyes,- bright and wild in
their expression, but with the innocent wildness
held in the eyes of harmless woods-dwellers. The
boy showed his contact with the healing outdoor
world.
Alvine wanted to call him, but it seemed so
probable he would take to flight like a cedar-bird
upon the least noise, that she let Petit-Pere push her
behind a stump, and, crouching there, she waited
the best chance of approaching her brother.
He was still singing:
La Trinit6 se passe,
Mironton, mironion, mirontaine,
La Trinit, se passe,
Malbrouck ne revient pas.'
But Trinity Term is past,
Malbrouck does not return."

The little grandfather walked carefully to a rock
below the tree, and, as if he had no idea that a
startled boy in the tree held song and accordion


t Mr. William McLennan's translation of this old song is given in the text.


342


[MAR.


* Steamboats the name of the flower.






x889.] THE BELLS 0]

suspended, and trembled at the point of dashing
down and away, he began to spread the rock with
the bait he had brought, the confiture his son
Elzear had given him, some slices of bread thickly
sandwiched with sour cream, and a clean white
onion from Mother Ursule's garden.


F STE. ANNE. 343

This plea from the simple grandfather had its
effect on the blanker mind.
Bruno, from his perch in the tree, looked without
shyness at the little man, holding his accordion
under one arm and moving one bare foot forward
to descend, the temptation of so much food being


PETIT-PtRE AND ALVINE DISCOVER BRUNO IN THE WOODS.

He then looked up and stretched his arms ap- more than a famished rover like himself could
pealingly to Bruno. withstand.
Come, my pretty Narcisse, come and eat the But I am not Narcisse," he declared, his ex-
good breakfast thy father has prepared. Confi- pression clouding.
ture, my child,-la creme. Come, Narcisse, my Thou art my pretty son," wheedled the grand-
pigeon. Fly down." father.






THE BELLS OF STE. ANNE.


"But I am not Narcisse."
Bruno's gaze wandered about in search of his
own name.
Petit-Pare's face also clouded. His eyes dropped
to his fingers, and he began to review his family
and count. The wee man, in his short breeches,
standing in that verdant gloom, with his red
kerchief arching a perplexed forehead, and his
unbelted blouse betraying a red wool shirt or
underjacket, the fingers of one hand spread out
and the other traveling over it with forefinger,
numbering them -was a quaint sight.
Birds sang and darted, carrying an instant's
sunlight on their wings. The boy in the tree,
attracted by this old father and his meal of French
dainties, grew visibly gentler.
They have been gone so long," said Petit-
Pere. "Many winters the snows came, and our
waterfall froze, and I looked out of the window for
them in vain. There would also be ice in the
river. My son Elzear, when he went au fort,* the
great fort, Quebec, he said young men ran about
on snow-shoes, and there was a mountain of ice
under the frozen falls of Montmorenci, and the
toboggans shot down that mountain of ice half a
moonlighted night. Yet, none of my children were
abroad with snow-shoes and toboggans. They
waded in the cold; they needed father. Never do
I mix them in my prayers or forget the size of each.
There were my son Olivier and his seven, and the
nine little ones of my son Elzear- all my chil-
dren ; I count not Simard's daughter, the mother
of Elzear. She was not to me like Ursule. Do
you say I have lost a name of them?" He num-
bered on his fingers, "My Hermenegilde, and my
Marie, and Arthur, and Louis, and Luce, and
Narcisse, and my Flavie who was scalded, and
grew not well. Then my little children-children
of Elzear and Ursule Virginie, Anne, and Pierre,
D6sire, and Elzear the little,- Ah, black-eyed
rogue! he is big enough to throw his arms around
my waist; also the little Ursule, and Marguerite,
Jean Ba'tiste, and Bruno "
That's my name," cried the youth in the tree
with a shout of discovery. "I am called Bruno."
Petit-Pere reasoned with him.
"My son, you are Narcisse. Bruno-he is the
b6b6 How could he play Malbrouck in my ear
and climb a tree? "
But my name is Bruno," insisted the boy, look-
ing down at Petit-Pere.
"Come down, then," cajoled the grandfather,
winking, and by the wink distorting one side of
his eager face. "Call thee Bruno, or call thee
Narcisse, play tricks on the old father; but come


down and eat, and I will forgive thee all thy
pranks."
The boy whom Alvine had described as a poor
butterfly driven before the wind, alighted without
further coaxing, and made such a ravenous meal
as butterflies seldom make.


CHAPTER XI.

NEIGHBORS AND RELATIONS.

WHEN nothing was left on the rock except an
onion-top, Bruno and the grandfather looked at
each other with mutual favor. Alvine moved
rebelliously behind her stump at being obliged
to stay away from her brother while a stranger
claimed him. Her tawny skin grew paler with
suspense and anxiety.
"Where did you get this? inquired Petit-Pere,
touching the accordion.
"I bought that in Quebec," replied Bruno.
"Who gave thee the money, my child? "
I am strong," boasted Bruno. I worked for
it. In Montreal I helped to unload steamboats.
There is more money of mine somewhere I can
not remember." He cast his eyes about in mental
search after his lumbering wages which remained
undrawn.
Have the other children grown ? inquired
Petit-Pere wistfully.
What other children ?" asked the boy.
"Thy brothers and sisters, and also the little
ones of Elzear and Ursule. I had forgot they
would grow. It must be they change. I can see
thou art changed."
"Father, do you smoke as much as ever?"
inquired Bruno, overriding his elder's query. "I
know where Indian pipes grow. I will bring you
some Indian pipes."
"But Indian pipes are not to smoke in, my
son."
Why not ? inquired Bruno, staring. They
shine clear as wax. When we used to find Indian
pipes I thought they were for men to smoke in."
His face puzzled itself over this confusion of a
childish notion with his present.
Who feeds you every day ? asked Petit-Pere.
It is sometimes a woman here, and sometimes
a woman there, when I stop at the gate and play
a tune."
But art thou not unhappy roving away from
home, my Narcisse -my Bruno? Come back
with me," begged the father, stroking one bram-
ble-marked sleeve. The boy jerked his arm away
in annoyance.


* To the fort. A relic of speech among the oldest Canadians from the time when forts were centers of population.
See "Picturesque Canada."


[MAR.






THE BELLS OF STE. ANNE.


Grief appeared in the face under the red head-
kerchief.
Father," said Bruno,- and half of Petit-Pire's
grief vanished,-"I am hunting that slide. I
started down a slide with the last of our logs at the
end of the drive, and something stopped me. I
can't find it again. I can't remember what made
me leave in the middle of the slide, but I dream
about it all night. Do you know where I was
lumbering, father ? We hauled logs; at the open-
ing of spring we rolled them in the river. You
bore a hole in a log; you take a peg and a strong
withe. In goes your withe,-drive your peg,-
it is fast. Bore a hole in another log; in goes the
other end of the withe; drive another peg; it is
fast. So you bind your logs together for the drive.
Then you launch your boat to follow it. That is
a great life. Tea, beans, fat meat- the snow -
and at night you are snug in your cabin while the
frosts crack trees."
Pretty lad exclaimed Petit-Pere, sparkling
with pride. My Narcisse has been to see the
world!"
But I can't find my way back," complained
Bruno, letting his head sink forward, "and I must
finish my slide."
Wilt thou not, then, my Narcisse, come home
with me ? "
"Father," exclaimed the boy, "do you think
my slide was in the Montmorenci river ? "
Alvine started when she heard this.
The falls of the Montmorenci river," said
Petit-Pere, I never saw them, but my son Elzear
says they are high as a mountain. Did I not tell
thee they freeze in winter and make a mountain
of ice beneath them? Doubtless there is a good
slide for toboggans down that mountain of ice,
my son?"
I got into a boat," said Bruno, pursuing his
own thought, and rowed past Montmorenci falls
on the St. Lawrence. What a grand slide they
make. If a man started there he could not stop.
Don't you think I could slide the Montmorenci,
father ? "
"Stand up," said Petit-Pere, sincerely, "and
let me see how long your legs are."
Bruno stood up, quite as seriously, holding his
accordion with one arm.
Turn around," demanded Petit-Pere. Bruno
turned around, showing his briar-combed trousers,
back, front, and sidewise, his long tanned feet work-
ing nervously upon the grass. He had taken off
shoes and stockings and dropped them somewhere
in the woods, because custom made his soles yearn
for bare ground in summer.
"Your legs are not long enough to slide down
the Montmorenci, my Narcisse," pronounced the


grandfather, with conviction. You should wait
till they grow longer."
"Bah said Bruno. I am large; I am long-
legged enough. In the lumber camp there was
no man who could handle logs better. It will be
nothing to slide the Montmorenci falls. And
when I start over there with the last lot in the
drive--then I shall go to the bottom without
stopping."
"Bruno !" cried Alvine, rising behind her
stump, you will be killed The falls are much
more than two hundred feet; you don't know
what you are doing "
Her brother heard all these words, staring at her.
At the end of them, he was off like a deer up the
ravine.
The grandfather and sister both ran after him,
calling. They crossed the brook and climbed the
opposite side of the cleft to head him away from
the woods. In crossing, Petit-Pere fell into the
water and Alvine pulled him out. They reached
high ground and panted still up the mountain,
calling, but the boy had vanished like any wild
creature, and they might search for him the whole
day without success.
When Alvine was convinced of this, she turned
downhill crying, and Petit-Pere, as they restrained
their descending steps, cried beside her, his tears
exceeding hers. They went directly down to the
Beaupr6 road instead of retracing their first
diagonal course.
"I scared him away," lamented Alvine.
The grandfather said not a word of reproach to
her. He cried on his brown hands like the aged
little boy he was. And thus they reached Simard's
cottage, and found Mother Simard sitting on the
doorstep with a lapful of fresh meat which she was
cutting up into bits. The house was a rough-cast
one, dormer-windowed, with a pine interior stained
in oil. Mother Simard, who was the sister-in-law
of Petit-Pere, did not look greatly the blacksmith's
elder, being a shapeless sunburned Frenchwoman
in cotton sack and homespun petticoat. As she
cut up the meat she chatted across the road with
her opposite neighbor, who sat knitting in an
upper dormer window; and so narrow was this
dividing line that neither woman raised her voice
above the ordinary tone.
When she saw Petit-Pere and the stranger
appear around her house, she rose up, holding
her petticoat forward in bowl-shape to keep the
meat from falling, and made them a bow.
Good-day, little father, and good-day to you,
mademoiselle. Will you come into the house,
or sit out by the spring where the old father
Simard is?"
"Thank you, madame," replied Alvine. "If






THE BELLS OF STE. ANNE.


you please, we will sit and rest outdoors. By
running I have hurt my sore ankle very much."
"It 's you, then, that Gervas, the beast, bit!
When Gervas comes here I throw my oven-wood
at him which would grieve the heart of Elzear;
but he might hurt my children."


in his mind. You may have seen him with an
accordion ?"
Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!" exclaimed Mother
Simard. He played at our gate, and I gave him
some black-pudding."
"My son Narcisse has had black-pudding,


"'THUS DO I SEE HIM STANDING ON THE HILL,' ROARED THE FAT OLD FRENCHMAN, LAYING DOWN HIS PIPE AND SETTING
HIS HANDS UP LIKE TALL EARS ABOVE HIS HEAD."

She made an outcry, as her visitors wiped their then," said Petit-Pare, consoling himself. From
faces. crying he turned to chuckling.
Is there trouble at Pelletier's ?" Mother Simard made a gesture toward the hori-
"No, madame," said Alvine. "But we have zon with one hand and her head, which expressed
just seen my brother and he ran away from us. I her knowledge of all his fancies.
am from the Chaudiere, madame, and my brother The poor little father," said she, behind his
has been hurt and he is wandering around confused back, to Alvine, as they went toward the spring.


346






THE BELLS OF STE. ANNE.


" He chases them ever like lost sheep. He is so
strong and active compared to our father Simard,
who keeps his mind, but not his legs. My hus-
band went to Ste. Anne's this morning to early
service, and took the children with him."
How many children have you, madame?"
Only twelve, mademoiselle. But Simard took
eleven; the baby is in the house asleep."
The spring, nested at the root of a tree, sent its
tributary trickle to the ravine water-course. Some
rustic seats were fixed here in deep shade, from
which a vile odor of native tobacco came out to
meet them, and it was through a cloud of smoke
that Father Simard was to be seen. The fat old
man looked deeply seasoned by smoking. He
took his pipe from his mouth and turned lazily to
greet the people approaching him. Alvine limped
to a seat, and Madame Simard sat down and con-
tinued her meat-cutting near by; but Petit-Pdre
rested his hands on the arm and back of his neigh-
bor's bench, for the purpose of boring at Simard's
deaf ear like a poised lady-bird.
"A hand's-breadth this time," shouted Father
Simard, having bowed to Alvine; "thou hast
shrunk a hand's-breadth since last I saw thee,
Louis Pelletier. If you stop not your shrinking
up and your galloping abroad, the people along
the Beaupr6 road will take you for a rabbit. Thus
do'I see him r ,ii,. on the hill," roared the fat
old Frenchman, laying down his pipe and setting
his hands up like tall ears above his head. V't'! "
He snapped his fingers to intimate a rabbit's sud-
den flight.
Thou lazy cabbage, sitting with thy leg fast
in the ground," said Petit-Pare, showing his gums.
"I always outran thee. But I have been in the
water this morning." He cast an anxious glance
at the unheated oven, and rubbed his damp knee.
Have a glass of drink to warm thee," shouted
Simard.
"Yes, yes, yes. Let me bring you some beer,"
urged Madame Simard.
We have nothing but beer in our chest under
the bed, but it is good, fresh beer."
I return my thanks to you both," said Petit-
Pere. "But no, no, no. Thou seest, aunt of
Elzear, it clouds my thoughts of the children to
drink such drink."
He always says the same," murmured Mother
Simard, as she sliced her meat and mused about


this quaint father, of a class who drink spirits as a
favorite remedy, but are little drunken.
I have seen thy girl's Narcisse this morning.
He was on the hill," called Petit-Pere into the ear
of Simard, who opened his mouth like a fish, and
then shut and drew it down among his double
chins to hide his contemptuous pity.
"But this roving life will make him wild. By
winter I hope to have my children all home again."
"Yes, yes, yes," said Simard indulgently.
So many children in the world, yet we all do
pine after them that have gone out of it," sighed
Mother Simard low to Alvine. My husband's
brother who lives in Quebec is sending his chil-
dren to make the good pilgrimage this week.
They come on the pilgrim boat."
"Yes," said Alvine, I should have come in
that, but I had my brother, also, to seek."
They will then return to Quebec along the
Beaupr6 road, resting with us by the way. Their
neighbor brought us the news. A pretty sight that
will be, mademoiselle, six boys and six girls, the
oldest being fifteen years old and able to direct
her brothers and sisters. She is named Hermene-
gilde. It is a name of the Pelletier family. You
understand, mademoiselle, these children I tell
you of are cousins to the little-father's grandson,
Elzear."
Alvine's mind readily traced the labyrinths of
French relationship. She thought it would be a
pretty sight a family of twelve brothers and sis-
ters trudging home from the church together along
the mountain-skirting Beaupr6 road.
The grandfather and Alvine on their return
passed that ruined stone house where she had
sheltered herself from the rain. Petit-PHre went
into it and pulled handfuls of mint growing there,
which he rubbed over his person and stuffed in his
pockets.
Madame Pelletier stood on her gallery and saw
them coming. The sun was now hot overhead,
but the grandfather's knees yet owned to his fall-
ing in the stream, and he waved the diverting
mint at the eyes of his guardian.
My daughter Ursule," he said, mounting the
gallery, "smell my garments. Do they smell
good? I rubbed mint on them! Mint, when one
has had the misfortune to slip down in the water,
is sovereign. It is even better than the stuff in
that square bottle of yours eh ? he appealed.


(To be continued.)













THE ROUTINE OF THE REPUBLIC.


BY EDMUND ALTON.


THE WHITE HOUSE AT NIGHT.


CHAPTER V.


COURT-FASHIONS AND CEREMONIES.
THE Government is a practical business institu-
tion, and the President, as part of the system, would
offend no intendment of the Constitution should
he refuse to permit any encroachment upon his
time beyond the limits of his business office. State
dinners and levees are entirely outside of adminis-
trative duties, and we touch upon them, in con-
nection with other items of official etiquette, more
by way of diversion than from any high apprecia-
tion of their political importance.
All through the Government service, as in pri-
vate business establishments, we, of course, find the


relation of superior and subordinate, and from this
relation necessarily follow certain distinctions of
grade, or official classification, and certain rules
of courtesy governing the business intercourse
between agents of equal or unequal rank. The
President is higher than a Secretary of Depart-
ment, a Secretary higher than a bureau chief, a
bureau chief higher than a clerk. An officer, issu-
ing instructions or commands, disregards the con-
ventional or complimentary forms observed by him
when communicating with officers of equal or
higher grade; a subordinate, corresponding with
one above him in authority, is more or less defer-
ential in his address. This complaisance, how-
ever, extends chiefly to such harmless expressions


On the other hand, insubordination, or conduct prejudicial to the authority of a superior officer, would obviously impair the efficiency
of the service. A notable instance of administrative "discipline" occurred some months ago, when a Bureau Chief, guilty of criticising
the judgment of the Secretary of the Interior, was overhauled by a vigorous letter from the Secretary, and gently "allowed to resign" (a
polite alternative for dismissal ") by the President.






THE ROUTINE OF THE REPUBLIC.


as, To the Honorable the Secretary," and I
am, with great respect, your obedient servant," at
the beginning and ending of letters; and is only
objectionable when it becomes indiscriminate or
extravagant. In strict propriety, official communi-
cations should be addressed to the office "- not
to the name of the individual holding the office;
and a public office receives no augmented dignity
by reason of mere wordy additions. This was
the view taken by the House of Representatives
at the beginning of the Government, when the
Senate desired to style the President His High
Mightiness," or by some other senseless title; and
the Senate, by submitting to this view, estab-
lished a precedent applicable to every subordinate
office.'
In writing to a high official or a member of Con-
gress by name, the prefix "Hon." is permissible
on grounds of general usage; but the employment
of this title in addressing minor officers is mean-
ingless, as also is the phrase, To His Excellency
the President "; yet, this and other errors of over-
effusion are frequently made by correspondents
both in and out of official circles.
In ranking the President as head of the Repub-
lic we regard him only in his public capacity.
His preeminence is the preeminence of his office,
and this office, as we have said, was intended to
exercise business functions. The idea that he is
"the first gentleman of the land,"-the chief of
our social as well as of our political system,- is a
fiction that might suggest to a stranger the division
of the American people into "castes." There is
nosuch division. Official and fashionable "society"
at Washington, however, has conceits and festivals
peculiar to itself. Starting with the President, as
the head of everything, it has arranged official
classes into a line of precedence, and established
a code of definite rules for observance in their
personal relations with one another. This order
of precedence, as understood by students of official
etiquette, is as follows: First, the President; sec-
ond, the Vice-President (the presiding officer of
the Senate, or Upper House of Congress); and
third, the Chief-Justice of the Supreme Court -
as the respective heads of the three great branches
of the Government. Next come the President of
the Senate fro tempore and Senators; then the
Secretaries of Departments; the Associate Justices
of the Supreme Court; the members of the for-
eign diplomatic corps and certain other foreign
representatives; the Speaker of the House of
Representatives and Representatives; the General
of the Army and the Admiral of the Navy; Amer-


ican diplomatic officers; followed by others in the
ranks of the Judiciary, the Army and Navy, and in
other divisions of the Federal service. These dis-
tinctions are not without advantage on ceremonial
occasions in preventing disorder or unseemly rush;
but so far as they regulate matters of social inter-
course, the practical citizen is apt to view them
with some amusement and disdain. When Con-
gress recently changed the line of Presidential suc-
cession by substituting the heads of Department
in lieu of the President fro temfore of the Senate
and the Speaker of the House, some folks in
" society" construed the law as advancing Cabinet
officers to a public rank above that of members of
the legislative department of the Government;
and, with this suggestion, came a serious quibble
as to whether the Ladies of the Cabinet" should
make the first call on the Ladies of the Senate,"
as had been the custom before the passage of the
law, or whether the families of Senators should
acknowledge the superiority of the heads of De-
partment by reversing the established rule. As
the controversy actually imperiled none of our
republican institutions, we need not follow its
course. Seventy years ago it was maintained that
the head of each Department owed a visit of cere-
mony to each Senator at the beginning of every
session of Congress; and the Secretary of State,
John Quincy Adams, was called to account by
some Senators for his failure to pay that mark of
respect. The Secretary, in a pungent letter to the
Vice-President, stated that he considered the
Government of the United States as designed for
the transaction of business," and bluntly denied
any obligation to pay visits of etiquette or to do
anything else not within the line of his official
duty. This independent reasoning he applied to
other public agents and to the families of public
agents, and in doing so showed plain common
sense.
The "social obligations" of the President, as
they are termed, are formal courtesies and hospi-
talities expected by the people, by the chief digni-
taries and officers identified with the Government,
and by the representatives of foreign powers, and
observed by him in complimentary recognition of
his public and official relations. They are mere
state fashions, hollow enough when sounded, but
supported by custom and by some regard for the
traditions and vanities of the Old World.
Officially, the preeminence of the President is
respected by the other Departments of the Govern-
ment-not as an acknowledgment that the Admin-
istrative Department is, in point of power, higher


* A reference to this controversy, with some remarks about the Constitutional objection to titles," will be found in ST. NICHOLAS for
September, 1885. A part of the ridicule which the proposition of the Senate inspired was the suggestion that the Vice-President be styled
" His Superfluous Excellency."






[MAR.


THE ROUTINE OF THE REPUBLIC.


than the Judiciary or Legislature, but as a concession
to inherited notions that the executive of a gov-
ernment, from the constancy (or continuous nat-
ure) of its authority and presence, and from certain
peculiarities of duty, is publicly most conspicuous
and well-suited to the idea of a national head."


after briefly opening their annual term in the court-
room at the Capitol, and without removing their
judicial robes, take carriages and depart for the
White House on a visit of ceremony. Similarly,
the diplomatic representatives of foreign govern-
ments call, in a body, and in full court uniform,*


S..,. .-
S I '.. :


A CORNER OF THE EAST ROOM.


Upon this theory,- though, also, in recognition of
his functions as part of the Law-making power,-at
the beginning of every session, and before proceed-
ing with legislative business, Congress waits upon
the President, through a joint committee specially
appointed by the Senate and House, to notify him
that both bodies have regularly convened and are
ready to receive any communication he may desire
to make. So, too, the Chief-Justice and Associate
Justices of the Supreme Court of the United States,


shortly after each inauguration, and on one or
more occasions annually, to testify of international
esteem. And so, at stated or special times, offi-
cers of the Army and Navy in the military dress
of their respective grades, and delegations from
other branches of the Administration, and the peo-
ple by multitudes, go in formal processions, on like
missions of compliment and homage to the nation's
chief. Curiosity, rather than sincerity, may impel
many to join these throngs; but he would be an


* That is, the uniform of foreign courts. Civilian officers of our Government (except the Justices of the Supreme Court, who wear silk
gowns) always dress in plain citizen's attire, both here and abroad.


350






THE ROUTINE OF THE REPUBLIC.


unfair critic who should fail to see some sparks of
charming loyalty in it all.
These calls the President does not return; in-
deed, according to the refinements of etiquette, he
need return calls of ceremony only in the case of
an ex-President, a President-elect, or a Royal visit-
or.* When a newly-appointed foreign diplomat
of high grade arrives at the city of Washington, he
is officially received by the President in an audi-
ence arranged through the Secretary of State, and
on the final departure of a minister, a similar audi-
ence may be had to allow him to officially present
his letters of recall and to say farewell.t But the
dignity and proprieties of his station do not permit
the President to hold further direct official inter-
course with individual members of the Diplomatic
Corps (the Secretary of State being the medium
between them and the Executive), nor to accept
any hospitalities at their hands. General society,
whether private or official, has no right to expect
his presence in any drawing-rooms or at any tables
other than those of State. If the President wishes
to "unbend,"-a thing that, theoretically, he
never does, but which, as a matter of fact, is a
performance not infrequent,-and visits or dines
at the house of an official or personal friend, he
crosses the threshold of the White House leaving
his magisterial office behind- going as a private
citizen and not in the capacity of President. These
are some of the fine-spun rules of fashion that
hedge the details of his social life.
It is through certain formal dinners and recep-
tions at his own Mansion that the President dis-
charges such social obligations" (to repeat an
inaccurate phrase) as he may owe, reciprocating
the civilities extended to him by official classes, and
exchanging respectful greetings with the public
generally. He annually gives one dinner to the
members of his Cabinet, another to the Diplomatic
Corps, a third to the Justices of the Supreme Court,
and some Presidents have gone further and added
dinners to leading members of the House and
Senate, and to chief officers of the Army and Navy,
thus entertaining, through representative guests,
the Congress and the military branch of the Gov-
ernment. These dinners are brilliant affairs, if
such things as gaudy dress of diplomats and women,
blazing chandeliers, and floral decorations, com-
bined with the silver plate and table embellish-


ments, constitute brilliancy. They are, also, as a
rule and from the standpoint of sociability, de-
cidedly stupid affairs. And scarcely less stupid
are the state receptions given in honor of these
various political classes. At some of these re-
ceptions the interchange of ideas is limited
and feeble; many guests who, as a matter
of international or general police, might
advantageously become ,:|-r...:.:l1n I:
where officers of the Ar. ii"i "l.,.
and foreign diplomats, are Libr.-,u -b i.i
together), go to the Whiir H.:..i W
perfect strangers to each .- rhi-i.
and there remain without. p.:-
haps a word of communion :11 -
ing the whole evening, all I1.r '.
want of a system of prest- I-


station of guest to guest.
This is but one of several
features that render such
gatherings of little prac-
tical use. The question
of precedence figures, of
course, to some extent
at these entertainments,
in the arrangement of
seats at the table and
otherwise.
More than
once has -._'.
conflict oc-
curred be- -
cause the ,
wife of a
Cabinet Of- i




.
-4 y. -


S7-. .
.*i


A CORNER OF THE STATE DINING-ROOIM.
ficer has gone into the banquet hall in advance
of the wife of a foreign minister; and apparent
slights to official dignity have caused more than
one diplomat, used to marked deference abroad,


In ordinary official communications the President is supposed to omit all complimentary forms, signing his name without an apologetic
or complaisant word. When corresponding directly with a Foreign Ruler, however, as in the case of dispatches or letters of international
congratulation, he addresses his correspondent as Great and Good Friend," and describes himself, above his signature, as Your Good
Friend."
SThese audiences are usually held in the State Audience-Room, or Blue Parlor, of the White House, and will be briefly referred to
hereafter under another head.
t They are buta small part of the official etiquette of Washington society, which undertakes to regulate the status and conduct of everybody
moving in its peculiar world. Cabinet dinners and receptions and kindred affairs, including the most minute curiosities of official gayety
and decorum, executive, legislative, judicial, and international, have been studied by special writers and fully described in treatises intended
for the use of those particularly interested in fashionable lore.






THE ROUTINE OF THE REPUBLIC.


to inveigh against the primitive customs of our
country. Distinctions of grade are all right in
their way up to a certain degree and on some
public occasions, as before remarked; but they
can be overdone. The Queen of Siam was drowned,
not long ago, because, as the chronicler informs
us, there was nobody present of sufficient rank
to be permitted to pull her out of the water "; and
equally ridiculous, if not as serious, consequences
have followed in Europe from a like observance
of form. The American people may be inclined
to approve the ruling of the White House, that
if either is entitled to distinction the wife of our
Secretary of State should be allowed to precede
the wife of a foreign envoy, especially when that
issue is pointedly presented by the envoy as a
public grievance; but they are not likely ever to
adopt the rigid "proprieties" of foreign courts
to the exclusion of the first principles of courtesy
and wisdom.*
The exact number of state banquets and recep-
tions given during an official season varies, of
course, with the convenience of particular Presi-
dents; the same may be said of the drawing-room
receptions of the Lady of the White House," of the
informal dinners to distinguished guests, and of
details regulating invitations, admission, and intro-
ductions. But there is one fixed festival of time-
honored preeminence the general reception on


New Year's day. It is then that official and unoffi-
cial society turn out en masse, and the historic East
Room is flooded with humanity of every nation-
ality and type. Thousands upon thousands pass
before the President; each visitor (from the intel-
lectual giant to the toddling child) is duly intro-
duced by name through an officer detailed for that
duty, enjoys the grasp of the Executive hand,
receives a gentle shake or a pleasant nod from the
President's wife, a smile from the Ladies of the
Cabinet," or those assisting in the reception, has
barely time to glance swiftly about the room at the
assembled dignitaries and to catch a strain from the
music of the Marine Band, and is hurried out by
the pressure of the crowd behind.t
In point of numbers only one other ceremonial
is at all comparable with this great annual levee -
the ceremonies of Inauguration. Ushered into of-
fice with the pageantry of a returning conqueror,$
the radiance of position encircles the President
like a national halo to the end of his Administration.
Then, like a fitful will-o'-ii.:- i.; it leaps to the
head of his successor; and he drops back into the
great American community, stripped of official
power and prestige-a private citizen. Society"
kneels in the presence of a new leader. The King
is dead! Long live the King!" The populace
takes up the shout. We are not so different from
other nations after all !


(To be continued.)
An oriental custom long observed at the White House was that of clapping the hands to summon attendants from room to room; but
this curiosity went out of office" with President Arthur. The practical ideas that have caused the substitution of electric bells may sweep
away the few foibles of ceremony that still remain.
t The official programme of the last New Year's reception Was as follows: At I A. M., the President received the members of the cabinet
and the diplomatic corps; at x1: 15, the members of the Supreme Court, Court of Claims, and the Supreme Court of the District of
Columbia; at 1: 25, Senators and Representatives, the Commissioners and judicial officers of the District of Columbia, ex-members of the
Cabinet and ex-ministers of the United States; x : 40, the officers of the Army, the Navy, and the Marine Corps; at 12, the Regents and
the Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution, the Commissioner of Agriculture, the Civil Service Commissioners, the Inter-state Com-
merce Commission, the Assistant Secretaries' of the Departments, the Assistant Postmasters-General, the Solicitor-General, the assistant
Attorneys-General, the heads of the bureaus and minor departments, and the President of the Columbian Institute for the Deaf and Dumb;
at 12: 15, the Associated Veterans of the War of 1846, the Grand Army of the Republic, and the members of the Oldest Inhabitants'
Association of the District of Columbia; and at I2: 35 the citizens, or "general public," who were admitted up to 2 P. A., when the recep-
tion closed, leaving hundreds of people still in line, outside the White House doors. This programme accords with the general custom-
Under some administrations additional entertainment was provided for New Year'svisitors, the people, aftershaking hands, passing into the
dining-room and partaking of egg-nogg, turkey, and other refreshments. This feature,'however, has been discarded as impracticable,
owing to the great increase in the number of callers in recent years.
tFor a description of inaugural scenes, the reader-may refer to ST. NICHOLAS for March, A885.


352






















* ,- ,y <- -'.- -
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Ih"-. . ,r,- > ,,- /

-, i .. .:- -..' N.



1' :F "- ,






S_ .


V q


i'\
'*











II


I'' I ^- -
,I' ~ = .
I, I, --T
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BY ELEANOR C. LEWIS.


IN Rome one expects to see things Roman; so pect to find elsewhere than at Rome his delicate
we are not surprised to find that the Capitol, the beauty represented,-in Florence, Venice, Naples,
Vatican, the Lateran, the semi-public collections wherever, indeed, the gems of ancient art have
and many private collections all have an Antinoiis been collected.
to show- either in statue, bust, or bas-relief. So, But this is far from being all. In places remote
too, since all Italy once was Roman, we may ex- from Italy-in Paris, Dresden, Madrid-the for-
VOL. XVI.- 23. 353


V1 ,111i r' -
i -

"~ii'i,

BAS-RELIEF OF ANTINOUS, IN THE VILLA ALBANI, ROME.



A YOUTH OF ANCIENT ROME.






354 A YOUTH OF J
tune of art has deposited the Antinoiis statues; and
even in gray, chill London his mysterious beauty
frequently attracts the eye.


ANCIENT ROME. [MAR.

as Harpocrates, the god of silence; as an Egyptian
divinity; or yet again as himself, with only his own
attributes of peerless youth and beauty. In every


STATUE OF THE EMPEROR HADRIAN, IN THE VILLA ALBANI, ROME.

There is no mistaking the type. To know it once character there is the same exquisitely molded
is to recognize it always, whether appearing as form, rounded rather than sinewy; the same great
Bacchus, with vine leaves and thyrsus; as Mercury, breadth of shoulder, and columnar throat support-
messenger of the gods; as Hercules; asVertumnus; ing the lovely, drooping, flower-like head.






A YOUTH OF ANCIENT ROME.


In every character, too, the face wears a singular
expression of sadness, which is rather to be felt
than understood. He alone could explain it, and
the sad sweet curve of his lips will never part to
disclose the secret. It is a sadness as mysterious
as the mirth of Da Vinci's Mona
Lisa, on whom we gaze with a sort -
of fascination. Each moment seems
to promise that the next she will tell
us why she smiles; yet the years pass
by, and still the promise is unful-
filled. With Antinoiis it is different. i
We recognize the mystery, but also
recognize that "his soul, like the
Harpocrates he personated, seems to
hold one finger on closed lips in token
of eternal silence."
We know very little of his history
beyond the record transmitted in art.
That he was beautiful; that he was
of Greek descent, and born in Bithy-
nia some year between Ioo and 11o,
A. D.; that the Roman Emperor
Hadrian met, loved, and made him
(probably) his page, or, at least,
gave him some post from which he
gradually rose into the position of
chief favorite and friend-this is
about all of which we can be sure.
The Emperor was more than twice
his age,-a keen, Greek-cultured
man, of scholarly sympathies and im-
pulsive action. He made mistakes-
as who does not?- was often blame-
worthy, tried often to atone for his
errors; but, somehow, failed to win
much love. At last he met this
beautiful youth, and, widely as they
were separated by worldly place and
age, they soon grew close to each
other's hearts. Hadrian had been a MONA LISA D
great traveler, and now planned an-
other extended tour. He would visit the more
remote parts of his great empire, with the boy
Antinoils for a companion. The young would
learn from the older man: while the old relived
his youth through sympathy with the younger.
So, together, they traveled through Greece and
Asia Minor, Syria, Palestine, and Arabia; reached
Egypt, began a voyage up the Nile, came to Besa,
-and there was the end, for there Antinoiis was
drowned It was an accident, some say; but there
are gloomier conjectures in history: one, that
Hadrian had consulted an oracle, and learned
that his own life was in danger unless another life
should be given in exchange. Whereat, say some
and hint others, he sacrificed his favorite. But


probably this is a scandal without foundation. A
more rational explanation is that the youth, learning
the peril which threatened his patron, voluntarily
devoted himself to death, to avert that doom from
the other. Greater love hath no man than to


- -~Th


'EL GIOCONDO. (AFTER THE PAINTING BY LEONARDO DA VINCL.)

lay down life for a friend. Heathen and Christian
alike realize this; and Antinoiis may have felt that
to the world his own existence could count for
little, while Hadrian's was all-important.
However this may be, at Besa on the Nile he
perished; and the Emperor mourned him with
passionate grief. Moreover, that all might know
the worth of what was lost, he caused it to be pro-
claimed that the beauty which had vanished here
had only been transplanted to the sky, from mor-
tals to immortals, and that Antinoiis was now a
god. Whether he believed it, who can tell ? Per-
haps, as a modern critic suggests, there was some-
thing scenic in his display of grief; nevertheless,
after his own fashion, he honored his dead.






A YOUTH OF ANCIENT ROME.


This much is certain: about the time Antinoils
died a new star appeared in the sky; and what should
it be, thought Hadrian, but his favorite's soul admit-


BUST OF ANTINOOS, ROME.

ted among the gods ? Also, a red lotus lily was dis-
covered; at least, the Emperor had never heard of it
before (probably he was not a skilled botanist), and
the flattering poets declared that the white lily had
grown red in memory of the life-blood chilled in the
Nile. Pancrates told the legend in verse so well and
acceptably that Hadrian caused him to be enter-
tained at the public cost in Alexandria; while
Mesomedes, another rhymester of the day, was
rewarded for his hymns to the deified Antinoiis by
a pension so enormous that the next emperor felt
obliged to cut it down.
Dion Cassius, the historian, says that Hadrian
was laughed at for his belief in the star and flower.
It is not likely, however, that any one laughed to
his face ; and the work of establishing the new god
went on. Besa was rebuilt and enlarged- Besa"
no longer, but Antino6polis, or AntinoE, the city of


Antinoiis. A great temple was erected to him here;
also another in the Greek city of Mantinea. Regu-
lar rites, and a priesthood to perform them, were
established; while the anniversary of his death
and enrollment among the gods was a solemn fes-
tival, at which games were celebrated, and red
lotus wreaths worn in his honor. Medals were
struck; statues, busts, inscriptions--all did their
utmost to hand down to posterity his fame. And
when, not many years ago, the hieroglyphics were
deciphered on a venerable obelisk in Rome, even
there was found commemorated this favorite of gods
and men, the obelisk being dedicated to him in the
joint names of Hadrian and his Empress, Sabina.
The Emperor survived his friend, in all proba-
bility, about ten years, but had been weary of life
and the world long before death relieved him. He
spent in his last days much time in his famous
villa near Tivoli, and among its ruins have been


BUST OF ANTINOOS, IN THE SALA ROTONDA, VATICAN, ROME.

found many exquisite statues, and, notably, many
fine ones of Antinoiis.
.More beautiful than any of these is a bust in the
.Sala Rotonda of the Vatican. Marble gods, god-






A YOUTH OF ANCIENT ROME.


desses, and deified mortals surround it Hercules,
with his club; Juno, in majesty severely simple;
Nerva, with wrinkles of care as well as of wisdom;
Claudius, with a face too anxious and common-
place to suit his Jove-like attributes. There, too,
is the deified Antinoiis, represented as Bacchus,
a youth graceful beyond praise, but whose grace
and beauty pall before the unadorned human-
ity of the opposite bust.


Ineffable sweetness curves its lips; its melan-
choly is hardly more than the dew of morning upon
a flower. We draw near, irresistibly attracted;
although marble, it thrills with life. Then a glance
from beneath the drooping lids reproves us, and
we draw back in awe. Now, as then, that still
beauty is a thing apart. We can only gaze; we
have no other share in his young life, his early
immortality!


STATUE OF ANTINOUS, AS BACCHUS, IN THE VATICAN, ROME.


357













STORM-BOUND SPARROWS.


BY W. LEWIS FRASTR.


IT'S all very well for those who live in the coun-
try to speak ill of the English sparrow, and to tell
us, as they do, that this saucy little ball of feathers
and fluff, with short, hard bill, is, by its pugnac-
ity, driving away the song-birds. I don't wonder
that people harbor malice against the little for-
eigner if the charge be just. But I am not con-
vinced that there is not some prejudice against the
stranger on the part of those who make complaint.
Of one thing I am sure, and that is that the spar-
row does not drive away the brown thrush; for,
last spring, two thrushes made their appearance in
Union Square, New York, and remained there for
a week or ten days; and I am a witness that they
were more than a match for the sparrows. Many
times, with a dozen or more passers-by, I have
halted to watch them. Bankers and brokers, to
whom the presence of these country songsters in
the very heart of the city was so great a novelty
that (forgetting their interest in those creatures so
well known to their vocabulary, the bulls and
"bears") they stood for a long time looking at
the birds. They were absorbed in watching these
two birds drive their long mandibles into the soft
earth where earthworms live. Meanwhile a dozen
or two of envious sparrows gathered around gaz-
ing with hungry eyes at the tempting morsels, yet
without daring to enter the lists with the thrushes,
although outnumbering them twelve to one. I am
really sorry, if it be true, that the warblers and
bobolinks are suffering from the vicious temper
of the sparrows; still, being one who lives in the
city and sees the country for only a few weeks in
the summer, I wish long life to the plucky little
strangers from over the seas. The thrush and the
bobolink do not come to sing in my orchard, be-
cause I have no orchard for their accommodation,
but only the ordinary city yard," some twenty-
five feet by twenty. The orioles never swing their
nests from some inaccessible twig upon the top-
most bough of the elm in my door-yard, because
the best substitute I have for an elm-tree is an
ugly telegraph-pole, scarred and torn with the
stabs of many climbing-irons on the boots of
the telegraph men.
But my friends the sparrows are a continual
delight. They find some little cranny under the


cornice of the house, some angle, perhaps where
the water conduit leaves the roof, and begin house-
keeping. And how busily they work Just across
the street a wagon stops. It comes from the whole-
sale butcher's, and is laden with meat in enormous
pieces. A good thick layer of straw covers the
bottom of the wagon. Down swoops Mr. Sparrow.
Here's material for his new home; and up he rises
with a straw so long and large that it bears almost
the same proportion to his size that a telegraph-
pole would to mine. He fights and struggles
with it. The weight is too great; he can not raise
it high enough. Down drops Mrs. Sparrow, who
has been looking on from the front door of the
new home under the cornice; but in spite of
her good will, she can not help him much, and
they have to let it fall. Do you think he has
abandoned it? Not at all. He takes a few sec-
onds to rest and picks it up again. Up he goes,-
has almost reached his house,- sinks ten or fifteen
feet-rises again, five-a gust of wind comes
around the corner of the street and tugs away at the
loose end of the straw. For a moment Mr. Spar-
row holds on, but the odds are too much for him.
He is forced to let go, and away floats the straw to
the ground, half a block distant. Now it's Mrs.
Sparrow's turn,- for there is perfect concord be-
tween Mr. and Mrs. Sparrow when the house is to be
made or furnished. She pursues the straw, picks
it up, and waits a moment. Her feminine instinct
teaches her that sometimes a thing can be done by
coaxing, when all other methods fail. Winging
her flight to the top of the porch, she rests there
with her foot on the straw ; then she takes another
flight,-this time to the cap of a third-floor win-
dow. Another rest, another flight, the nest is
reached, and a tier is added to their building.
Then for a soft, warm lining, the plastering and
papering of their house. Every morning Jane
carries out the Eastern rugs from the house, and
shakes and beats those wonderful harmonies of
color, woven at Bagdad or Ispahan a century or
more ago, and perhaps walked on by sandaled
feet or touched in prayer by cotton or velvet-covered
knees when the nmuezzin called. The sparrows
perch expectantly upon the fence, for (cunning
little creatures that they are) they know that





STORM-1. -- N D P P.I: WS;.


French-heeled slippers and thick-soled boots have
the trick of wearing the wool from antique rugs,
and that after Jane has taken the rugs into the
house there will be downy little flakes of soft red
and gold-colored wool-just the things for baby-
sparrows to nestle into.
So these birds teach me something. The Bible
says that God cares for the sparrows, and tells
us we may judge, since he cares for these though
their value is so slight that two of them are
sold for a farthing, how much more He will
care for us, boys and girls, men and women.
We are assured, therefore, that little birds
are not beyond the care of Providence. But
how they have to scurry round and work
for a living They are at work all the time,
from the first silver streak in the morning to
the dusky mirk which closes a city day. A
maid shakes out a table-cloth. Down swoop
the sparrows- invisible before, they seem to
come by magic. A truckman ties a nose-bag
on his horse's nose for the noon meal of oats.
The horse in his eagerness shakes the bag
about; a few particles of grain fall from it.
Presto! a cloud of sparrows are fighting and
contending for the yellow tidbits. The ash-
cart rattles along the street, and in a lazy, .
careless, slovenly way (as is his custom) the
ash-man spills some of the contents of the
barrels. Ah there are crusts there, and the
sparrows are at once at work.
Surely we may learn not to fold our hands
believing that we shall be cared for without fl
effort of our own, since these sparrows have
been given to us as an illustration of creatures
for whom Providence provides.
Brave, plucky, and industrious little fellows!
Right under the noses and feet of the horses,
between the wheels of the wagons, at the feet
of the busy passers-by, in crowded Broad-
way or in the quiet of the city parks, always
seeking a living; never idle, never lazy.
Neither is life all sunshine for them. Alas,
they too have their ups and downs! When
the cold chill rains of autumn come, and
when house-tops and telegraph wires glitter with
the scintillations of the diamond-like hoar-frost,
the tender little feet must be so cold! For our spar-
rows are not like rich city people. They never go
to Florida. Nor are they like the country birds,
children of warmth and summer, who migrate
when the chill fall comes. The sparrows take
"pot-luck" with us all winter, and very bad luck
it is, sometimes; as when comes that most unwel-
come thing, a snow-storm in New York. When,
in the country, the downy flakes sift gently from.
a gray sky; and when country boys and girls bring


out the sleds or toboggans; and when the farmer
thinks that soon he will be able to send teams into
the woods, to haul the logs or the cord-wood : then
we in the city wonder, when we leave the house for
the office, how we shall get home again; whether
we shall be able to squeeze into the overcrowded
cars. Ah then the sparrows have a sad time -
a sad, cold, hungry time! For the white mantle
which covers the earth covers also the cook's


L.---

BEGGING FOR BREAKFAST.
crumbs, and the oats, and the waste scraps. Then
poor Mr. and Mrs. Sparrow may fly far and search
long, and but for the kindness of a few thought-
ful people, their little crops will be empty after
all. Should the snow last many days, despite
their cunning and industry, thousands of the little
strangers must die of starvation or of cold.
Last winter, when the city of New York expe-
rienced the sensation of a genuine blizzard, when
the snow fell in those hard, frozen particles which
sting the face like tiny sharp instruments, and
when in a few hours drifts had obstructed the


359






STORM-BOUND SPARROWS.


. .--. --1--.


"SUDDENLY AND WITHOUT ANY WARNING, OUT FROM THE OVEN FLEW THE APPARENTLY DEAD BIRD." (SEE P. 363.)


streets so that all traffic was at a standstill;
when people almost lost their lives traveling but a
few blocks; when street-cars were left in the streets
and half hidden by the drifts; when at one
time it seemed even as if the inhabitants of the
great city might be in danger of starving,-the
blizzard having blockaded all railroads and ferries,
so that no provisions could arrive,-what became


of the sparrows? Thousands and thousands per-
ished; and after the snow had thawed, their poor
little frozen bodies were collected by bushels in
the parks and squares.
On the second day of the blizzard, when the
drifts before our house were so high that from
the sidewalk it was impossible to see even the
hat of a passer-by across the street, the boy


360


-~--1

m -


[MAR.






STORM-BOUND SPARROWS.




r;i:' :' -"


A.''
'II'' ,,ii i'''iII ii''' il


DRIVEN IN BV THE BLIZZARD.


from the grocery, who had come to our res-
cue with milk and eggs and other necessaries,
rang the bell. When Maria, our kitchen-maid,
opened the basement door, she saw two spar-
rows huddled together in a corner under the stoop
where they had taken refuge from the storm. Their
feathers were sticking from their little bodies almost
at right angles. Their heads were buried deep
in their feathers, their eyes were closed, and their
bodies had the swaying movement of a tipsy man.
The coming of the boy had not frightened nor dis-
turbed them; but when the warm air which rushed
through the open doorway reached them they
opened their eyes and lifted their heads and


seemed to look in an inquiring way, as if wonder-
ing what had happened, and whether summer had
come again. Maria's heart was touched she also
is from across the sea, and perhaps a fellow-feel-
ing made her kind. However that may be, she was
in no hurry to close the door, despite the bitter
cold.
Well, well," said Maria, "poor little birdies,
I wonder if you are hungry. You 're very cold;
I '1 go and get you something to eat."
Now, I don't think the birds understood what
she said, but there was that in her voice which
they comprehended; for one of them fluttered his
wings, shook himself together, and without wait-





STORM-BOUND SPARROWS.


ing for an invitation, or even saying "by your
leave," hopped past Maria and into the passage-
way. His mate seemed for a moment astonished
at this boldness, and then seeing that no harm had
befallen the intruder, followed.








11,, '


















three times and thence into the dining-room, at-t
traced probably by the light, or by the faint odor of








goodWell, I never! said Maria, and closing the
door she followed them.
The birds hopped about the dark hall two or
three times and thence into the dining-room, at-
tracted probably by the light, or by the faint odor of
good things to eat, which always hangs about such
a room. Once there, they acted as if they had
come to stay, and hopped about and twittered to
each other, doubtless congratulating themselves
upon having found comfortable quarters, and un-
gratefully cast a silent reproach upon the neatness
of Maria, by pecking crumbs from the carpet
beneath the table. When meal-time came, they
were not in the least put out by the presence of
the family, nor disturbed; but went hopping and
chirping around the table and under it, picking up
crumbs dropped as the reapers dropped the wheat
for Ruth. When night fell they took up their
quarters lovingly side by side on the gas-bracket
and, warm and well fed, prepared for a quiet
night's rest. When the gas was lighted they did
exhibit some agitation evidenced by their flying
once or twice around the room, but they seemed
to find it an agreeable surprise when another meal
was served. By that hour they were so tame that
they dared even to feast from the fingers of the
people seated around the table.
They remained with us three days, during which
time they never once made an attempt to leave
the room, but would occasionally fly to the win-


dows, alight on the cross-bars of the sashes, and
twitter to each other,-perhaps conversing about
the severe weather and pitying such of their kind
as had not had the good fortune to reach the semi-
tropical warmth of a furnace-heated house. But


PERCH.
on the fourth day, when the sidewalks had been
shoveled clear, and huge bonfires were lighted in
the snow-drifts to melt them,-when carts and
wagons and street-cars were moving,- their in-
stincts told them that it was again safe to vent-
ure forth, and the desire for liberty once more
awoke in their breasts. For Mr. Sparrow is a true
vagrant. They did not remember the way they
had come in, for although the basement-door was
often opened, they made no attempt to fly through
the passage and out-of-doors, but circled and circled
around the room and dashed themselves against
the windows, having evidently quite lost their
heads. When at last a window was opened, out
they flew, without so much as twittering a good-bye
or a thank you to Maria.
Our next-door neighbors were a young couple
who had one child, a girl, one of the sweetest and
dearest little tots whose loving ways ever won
the susceptible heart of an Irish nurse. Of course
she was the pet, not of the nurse only, but of the
housemaid and the cook also,-in fact, of the
whole household. On the same day that our un-
bidden guests left us in their ill-mannered fashion,
Annie, our neighbor's housemaid, on going into
the yard, saw lying on a spot from which the snow
had thawed, the wet, stiff body of a sparrow.
There it lay on its back in a pool of water, with
eyes closed and legs cramped to its body, hard,
stark, and cold. "Poor thing," thought Annie,


362






STORM-BOUND SPARROWS.


" I must bring you in and show you to Missy
Ruby." Suiting the action to the word, she picked
up the dead bird and carried it into the kitchen.
But it was wet and cold, and in that condition not
fit for Princess Ruby's fingers. Sure it will dry
if I put it into the oven for a few minutes, and
when Mary, the nurse, comes down it will be nice
and warrum," said Annie to Jane the cook.
Do you think the mistress will let Missy Ruby
touch a dead bird? responded the cook.
And why not? "
Oh, because it's horrid-a cold, dead thing."
But it won't be cold, sure; and it may please
the little Missy."


Well, we '11 just see what Mary says."
So the bird was put in the oven of the range and
the door left ajar. The cook and the housemaid
resumed their work, the one preparing the lunch,
the other on her knees scrubbing the floor. Some
moments passed thus, when, lo suddenly and
without any warning, out from the oven flew the
apparently dead bird, brought back to life by the
warmth.
"The Saints defend us!" exclaimed Annie, as
the bird flew past her and dashed at the window-
panes. "Quick, open the door, cook, and a good
riddance to it Faith, when a dead bird flies it
means no good luck to anybody "


CONSOLATION.

BY WALTER LEARNED.

WHEN Molly came home from the party to-night,-
The party was out at nine,-
There were traces of tears in her bright blue eyes
That looked mournfully up to mine.

For some one had said, she whispered to me,
With her face on my shoulder hid,
Some one had said (there were sobs in her voice)
That they did n't like something she did.

So I took my little girl up on my knee,-
I am old and exceedingly wise,-
And I said, My dear, now listen to me;
Just listen, and dry your eyes.

" This world is a difficult world, indeed,
And people are hard to suit,
And the man who plays on the violin
Is a bore to the man with the flute.

" And I myself have often thought,
How very much better 't would be
If every one of the folks that I know
Would only agree with me.

" But since they will not, the very best way
To make this world look bright
Is, never to mind what people say
But to do what you think is right."


363














WHEN THE BRIGADE CAME IN.


BY SARAH J. PRICHARD.


IF you look on the map of North America, you
will find the British Territory all dotted over with
the names of places to which "Fort" is prefixed
or House appended. They, nearly every one,
belong to the Hudson's Bay Company, whose busi-
ness is the gathering of all the furs of this northern
land, and whose officers are a governor, deputy
governor, chief-factors, chief-traders, and a local
governor.
Fort Simpson, the head fort of the extreme
northern region, is within five hundred miles of
the Arctic Ocean. It occupies a position at the
point where the River of the Mountains (sometimes
called the Liard) ends its journey from the Rocky
Mountains in the waters of the Mackenzie. This
fort, 3752 miles north-west from New York City,
is surrounded by a stout stockade inclosing the
buildings needful for living purposes, for storing all
the furs brought in from neighboring forts by the
Indians, and for the trappers and snarers who make
the fort their headquarters in winter; and, also,
the great store-house," wherein are kept the am-
munition and the articles given to the natives in
exchange for furs, food, and fuel. The great store-
house is replenished once every year. The time is
usually in August, when the brigade of boats comes
in from its long, long journey to Hudson's Bay, or
to the Methye Portage, a place where boats and
cargo have to be carried" nearly eleven miles.
Sometimes the furs are exchanged at this portage
for the freight brought down from Fort York on
Hudson's Bay, at which latter place it is left by
the yearly ship from England. If this exchange is
made, the brigades return to their respective forts,
and the journeys can be accomplished in one season.
In this far-away Fort Simpson lived Edna Dean,
one of the loveliest little girls in all the world. The
nearest neighbor on the south was Fort Resolu-
tion, 338 miles away; and, up north, Fort Nor-
man kept them company at a distance of 236 miles;
while 312 more miles brought one to Fort Good
Hope, desolate in situation and cold to the heart,
from the icy chill of the Arctic seas.
No wonder Edna Dean was lonely! She had
been born at the post, as it sometimes was called,
and had never been away from it a night, because
there was no place to visit in all that region. Edna's


father was living, but he was a Hudson's Bay
Company's man,- a chief-trader,- and was gone
from home (that is, from the fort) for months at a
time, so that he was seldom there long enough to
become well acquainted with his own daughter.
She had a kind and very loving mother, who,
being an invalid, had not been able to join in any
of the simple pleasures of Edna's life; she had a
brother, but he was seventeen and was very often
away with their father in the far north, trafficking
with the natives for skins, or gathering furs from
the different forts, to make ready for the annual
"send-off" to York Factory.
Twice, since Edna could remember, Chief-trader
Dean had been all the way to Hudson's Bay with
the brigade of canoes that carried thousands of
dollars' worth of furs annually from Fort Simpson
to the factory- a distance of 2000 miles- and three
times he had been to the Methye Portage and re-
turned the same summer, in season to distribute
clothing and provisions to the other forts.
The Deans lived in the officers' quarters at Fort
Simpson, with Mr. Adam Selwyn, who was Mrs.
Dean's brother. Their only attendants, in the year
of this story, were Joe, the Esquimau, and Bee,
his wife. At certain seasons the post was left with
not more than half a dozen persons within the
stockade; while, during the winter, it was usually
thronged with residents and besieged by those who
fain would enter and live upon the store there gath-
ered, rather than be forced to hunt or fish for a
living.
In winter (and it usually is winter at Fort Simp-
son) the mercury often freezes hard enough to be
used as shot, while in the fierce, short summers it
occasionally shoots upward to Ioo0 above zero, in
the shade.
Edna rarely ventured to show her pretty pale face
out-of-doors in cold weather without being clothed
from head to foot in furs. This little maid of Fort
Simpson had more sealskin suits at command than
any young girl of Paris, London, or New York;
and truly, she had need of them !
You must not imagine that Edna Dean was very
ignorant, for her mother had instructed her in many
things; and an old, kind-hearted missionary, for a
time resident at Fort Simpson, had done his best






WHEN THE BRIGADE CAME IN.


to gratify the child's eager desire for knowledge of
the great world lying south of the Arctic desola-
tion that surrounded her home. Edna was won-
derfully wise and thoughtful for a girl of her years,
and about Indians she really knew more than any
other white girl of her age anywhere.
The problem of Edna's education was often dis-
cussed at the fort, and when Mr. Dean was again
chosen by the Governor to accompany Chief-factor
Smith in convoying the brigade of canoes to York
Factory, the question came up anew. The oppor-
tunity was an excellent one, and it was, after due
deliberation, decided to send her on the long, long
journey to the Company's ship at Fort York,
whence, early in September, she could go to rela-
tives in England.
Edna never knew how her mother, with many
tears, prepared herself for the separation from her
only daughter. The child felt only the bliss of
anticipation, and perhaps it was well, for that bliss
was all that she enjoyed.
Before the time came to make ready, news ar-
rived at the fort that war had broken out between
the Dog-Rib Indians and the Rabbit-Skin Indians,
two of the Chippewayan tribes.
It was decided not to risk Edna among these
new dangers; but the very thought of them fired the
young ambition of Edna's brother.
The lad had been honored with the name of
Franklin Ross, after the two Arctic explorers, one
of whom had arrived at Fort Simpson in the year
1825 with three mahogany boats and three canoes,
on his way to the far, far north.
Now Franklin Ross thought, as Edna was to re-
main at home with their mother, that he might ac-
company the expedition, and he made haste to put
in his plea to go with the brigade. He preferred
to meet the warlike Indians, for he had unlimited
faith in the might and majesty of the Great Hud-
son's Bay Company over Indians and the whole
world. The Dog-Ribs had been his daily compan-
ions and his play-mates, almost from his cradle
days, and, as for the Rabbit-Skins, certainly he was
not afraid of them !
All this he confided to Edna. Franklin Ross
had a way- not unusual with brothers the world
over of making Edna believe in him and in his
prowess. Alas for the hopes of Franklin Ross!
Chief-trader Dean denied his request, but gave
the promise of a voyage to the great portage in the
ensuing year.
From the last of April until the end of May,
Fort Simpson was a busy place. Dog-sledges were
coming in from the northern forts with loads of
furs; little bands of trappers arrived almost daily,
to add to the store of furry treasures; and when all
was ready, they waited for the frozen River of the


Mountains to break up. The canoes were drawn
to a place of safety. Ninety-pound bales of fur
were made ready, and packages of like weight of
food and bedding prepared. Every possible care
had been taken for the journey, when, on the second
day of June, the glorious thaw came on, with shout
of ice and roar of water that filled the northern air
with the jubilee of coming summer. The waters
of the Liard came down on the frozen Mackenzie,
like the sweep of a mighty army; the artillery of
ice, in cakes and floes and bergs, rattled over its
sleeping heart until it too awoke and arose, and
joined the fray. The bed of the Mackenzie could
no longer hold the raging waters which, with sud-
den rise of forty feet, flooded the land. Then, at
Fort Simpson, the hearts of the little band stood
still with awe. The thing for which they had
waited was come, and -but while they feared,
the gorge overflowed and the rush of waters sub-
sided, leaving the fort unharmed. Then, in quick
succession, came the furs from Fort Liard; the
launching of the canoes; the storing of freight;
and, all too soon for Mrs. Dean and Edna, the
farewell moment.
The hour of starting was three o'clock in the
morning. Faithful Joe carried Mrs. Dean outside
the fort gates to a point whence she could see the
departure. It was a sad parting; but, at last, it
was over, and the husband and father suddenly
became Chief-trader Dean, Commander of the
Brigade." He went down.the bank to as motley
a crew as ever paddled canoe. There, awaiting
his word, were Englishmen, Highlanders, Cana-
dian voyagers, Esquimaux, and Indians.
As the last boat swept around a curve and was
hidden from sight, Joe was at hand to carry Mrs.
Dean in.
Bee bore witness to her affection with tears, and
then they carried Mrs. Dean back to the place
where she must await her husband's return.
The day of the departure was one of great activity
at Fort Simpson. The potatoes must be planted,
in order to make the utmost of the very brief sum-
mer. Edna devoted her time that day to her
mother, and it so happened that no one gave
attention to Franklin Ross. He was secretly plot-
ting and planning to make his escape, with the
intention of following the brigade and joining it at
a safe distance from home. He knew that his
father could not spare a man to accompany him
back to the fort; and he also knew that his father
would not make him return alone. Accordingly,
he believed there would be first, a stern scolding;
and, after that, a glorious good time with the bri-
gade. While he planned, his opportunity came, in
the shape of two Dog-Rib Indians, who had loit-
ered up the river with a few superior seal-skins,







WHEN THE BRIGADE CAME IN.


which they had obtained from the Esquimaux of
the coast. Being told at the fort that the brigade
was gone, they went away, it was believed, to
overtake it, in the hope of obtaining better prices
for the skins.
At the hour for tea, Franklin Ross did not
respond to the call, but it was not until sunset
(that is, at ten o'clock) that the news suddenly
spread through the stockade that the boy was miss-
ing. A search was made. It was in vain. Mr.
Adam Selwyn walked about up and down in the
twilight like one distracted. He seemed able to
issue but one order, and that was that no one
should tell Mrs. Dean that her only son was
missing.
"Oh! cried Edna. "She will ask me, and
what shall I say? "
"Say? Say nothing!" cried that bewildered
gentleman, as he tried in vain to consider what
ought to be done.
It was Joe who seemed suddenly to fathom the
disappearance. He had observed the unwilling-
ness with which Franklin Ross obeyed the order
to remain at home, and with what eagerness the
boy had gazed on the line of boats poling up the
river; and Joe said to Mr. Selwyn, "The lad
shot his heart out of his eyes after the boats
to-day, and he 's gone with the Dog-Ribs to over-
take the brigade."
"Gone off with two strange Indians! and
there is no hope of overtaking them; no knowl-
edge of their camping-place," groaned Mr. Selwyn.
Joe will go Joe will overtake them. Joe will
bring him back. Trust Joe exclaimed the
Esquimau.
"You go alone? No, no! We must wait and
fit out a canoe."
"We no wait! We no time to wait! You say,
'Joe, go !'"
"Joe, go!" echoed Mr. Selwyn, not in the
least realizing that he had given an order. Edna
heard it and hastened to follow Joe. With her own
hands she packed a few pounds of pemmican,
hardly enough to last a week; consulted him in
haste about a gun and ammunition which she fear-
lessly appropriated from the stores; and, thus
equipped, with one blanket only, Joe took his place
in a frail canoe, to start on an unknown journey up
the rapids of a mighty river in search of a runaway
boy, in time of war, and with the nearest habitation
more than three hundred miles away !
In the Arctic summer-night, Edna alone wit-
nessed the departure, for Bee was ignorant of what
was taking place at the river side, and Edna did
not once think of her, until Joe called out from his
canoe: Tell my Bee, Joe will return."
Edna ran up from the bank, climbed the height,


and stepped into the stockade unobserved. She
hastened to Bee with the story and the message.
Bee said: "It is well," and hid her tears, but with a
sorrowful heart. Edna told her mother that Frank-
lin was missing, while her Uncle Selwyn listened
at the door. Mrs. Dean made no moan. She even
turned comforter to her broken-hearted little girl
and upheld Bee in the belief that all would end
well.
A week went by. No Joe. No Franklin Ross.
No news from Fort Resolution, the next post south-
ward.
Meanwhile, Mr. Selwyn had fitted out a canoe
with provisions and crew and sent it in search of
Joe and the runaway boy. Every rabbit-snarer who
came in was closely questioned; every fisher among
the Indians who arrived was offered a large re-
ward to go in search; but, alas! Joe, the inter-
preter, was needed to make known the require-
ments.
Three weeks passed. The canoe returned with
the news that the brigade had tarried but three
hours at Fort Resolution and, having taken the
skins in waiting there, had proceeded on its way.
It brought no news of Joe; had heard nothing of
Franklin Ross; and the party, having told the
story of the missing youth at Fort Resolution,
was obliged to return, as there was no possibility
of overtaking Mr. Dean.
The next day a little band of trappers, coming
from the South, brought word that Joe had arrived
at Fort Resolution, nearly famished and worn to a
skeleton by his continual tracking, paddling, and
poling, but nothing could restrain him from con-
tinuing the search. So, having been fed and pro-
vided with what food his small boat could carry,
he was sent off with a companion, a half-breed,
who knew the country to the south-west.
At Fort Simpson they waited, as best they could,
for many days. Now and then bands of feathered
Indians in war-paint came within sight, but no
one mentioned the fact to Mrs. Dean or Edna to
disturb their repose.
To return to Franklin Ross.
While planning and contriving a way of escape
by himself, the two Indians in their canoe came
along, and he saw an opportunity to overtake the
boats while some one else did all the hard work of
getting up the river. Now, Franklin Ross, although
not yet eighteen, was full-grown, and at first the
Indians refused to take in a passenger; but the
sight of a few large gilded buttons and the prom-
ise of a knife apiece made them consider the
boat large enough to accommodate him. There
was little chance for Franklin to secure provisions
without awaking suspicion; and, knowing that the
rivers they must pass were full of fish, and the


366






WHEN THE BRIGADE CAME IN.


367


summer air vocal with songs of birds-of-passage, Fort Simpson, by poling dexterously up the river,
he contented himself with filling his pockets full and then came to Pine Island. At that point
of food from the pantry, and provided fish-hooks Franklin fell asleep. When he awoke he shared
in plenty. Thus equipped, and with an extra his last morsel with his companions. The boat
coat and his gun, the lad set out, regardless of the went on and on until, at the next rapids, the shore
being favorable, the party landed and
drew the canoe through the swirling
waters, with a line.
SAt mid-day the Indians offered dried
reindeer for dinner, but the boy's hunger
was not sufficiently keen to reconcile him
S to the food, and he fasted until nightfall.
------ The second night, having kept at the
oars without rest for thirty-six hours,
-- the Indians ran their canoe into a small
-- river without name, one of many which
_.--,.---- -. flow into the greater river. They seemed
S'"-- -'. '"---- --_----'-.-. :;--, to have watched their opportunity to run
S --- in while Franklin was asleep; for, un-
'I'il, -- --T~'. used to the sudden heat of the sun, and


ANKLIN BEELD TH BRIGADE OF BOATS PASSING UP THE MACKENZIE
FRANKLIN BEHELD THE BRIGADE OF BOATS PASSING UP THE MACKENZIE
FRANKLIN BEHELD THE BRIGADE OF BOATS PASSING OP THE MIACKENZIE.


voice within which ventured to remind him of his
mother and sister.
The two Dog-Rib Indians had come down
from Great Bear Lake, and Franklin soon found
that they were pretending not to understand either
his words or his signs. He thought "he knew
considerable about Indians," but before mid-
night he was ready to make his escape, and fully
resolved to do so, at their first encampment, and
to find his way home on foot. To his utter sur-
prise they did not land at nightfall, but kept on
all night, passing the long rapids, fifteen miles from


the cramp caused by.sitting in one posi-
tion all day, the lad had fallen into a doze
about ten o'clock at night, just as the sun
was going down. He was aroused by
the touch of the bark canoe on the rocks
of the shore, and was surprised to find
himself within a narrow boundary of
small headlands with one high rock near
at hand. After the landing was effected,
to his consternation his.two companions
leaped back into the canoe and put off
down the river with frantic speed, leav-
ing him alone on the bank! What was
perhaps worse, his gun and his top-coat
were in the canoe. The poor lad, in
his pitiable condition, knew not what to
do. He besought the Indians, by all the
signs of Dog-Rib distress that he knew,
to return for him, but they, gesticulating
once or twice toward the shore where
he stood, paddled off and were soon out
of sight behind one of the headlands.
Franklin surveyed the situation, walk-
ing down the bank in the direction the
canoe had taken. He had not traveled


far, when the mystery of the sudden departure
was solved. He saw a boat, evidently a white-
man's boat, and beside it, on guard, a man with
a gun over his shoulder, but napping with his
head held aloft. Whether it was a white man or an
Indian he did not wait to learn, for at almost the
same instant he saw a wonderful sight: Far out in
the lingering light of the descended sun, he be-
held the brigade of boats passing up the Macken-
zie! One wild minute of yearning and longing;
one vehement cry, tossing wildly his arms toward
the canoes, and Franklin ran to the sleeping guard.







WHEN THE BRIGADE CAME IN.


He aroused him, and besought him to launch the
boat and sail after the brigade.
"It's my father, there !" he assured the sur-
prised stranger, who awakened his companions to
assist in understanding the youth's meaning if
possible; but even pantomime failed. Not one
of the party knew a word of English. The three
men belonged to a party of Danish gentlemen who
were exploring the region in the interests of science.
There was nothing to be done but to stand help-
less while the boats passed on their way.
Having seen them disappear from sight, the run-
away crept under the canvas tent and slept, as
best he could, surrounded by clouds of mosquitoes,
until the sun came up, about half-past two in the
morning.
From that moment, Franklin saw no more of the
Dog-Ribs. Possibly they had thought themselves
near a lodge of Rabbit-Skin Indians when they
took their sudden departure. The party of ex-
plorers received Franklin with the utmost kind-
ness, and continued to share with him their food
and shelter. Although he believed himself to be
not over sixty miles from Fort Simpson, he feared
to set forth alone, lest he should lose his way, as
many a wanderer had done within his memory.
He therefore went with the party while it investi-
gated rocks, and gathered flower specimens, or
sought out birds' eggs. They were always finding
the latitude and longitude of places, and digging
to see how deep lay the strata of frozen earth.
Sometimes it made him angry to see how enthu-
siastically these full-grown men would chase butter-
flies, hunt down insects, pursue mice and hares,
or run headlong after the laughing geese, that
were molting and could not fly.
It was the first of July when the Danish gentle-
men reached their winter house, on Great Slave
Lake.
Meanwhile, the brigade was nearly at the Great
Portage, called Methye Portage, Portage La Loche,
and several other confusing names. At this point
came the message to Chief-trader Dean that he
must exchange furs with the Hudson River Brigade,
for the year's supplies, and return with them to
Fort Simpson instead of going on to the Bay. This
exchange required two weeks of hard labor.

Let us now follow faithful Joe. We shall find
him on the track of the two Dog-Ribs, two hun-
dred miles in the interior, and quite away from the
pathway of the traders. Joe had seen Franklin's
gun. He knew it at a glance, and the Dog-Rib
who carried it made him understand that he ob-
tained it "from the men with the skins, following the
brigade," and that no boy was with them." From
encampment to encampment, from lodge-smoke


to lodge-smoke the faithful Esquimau worked his
way; often eating fish raw, because he had no time
to stop and cook them; always urging his com-
panion on, whether in sudden storm of thunder or
tempest of rain, lest the clew be lost. And so,
searching, in the dream of a summer's night, all
brightness and moonlight, the two men came, un-
expectedly, upon the small house of the Danish
explorers. Joe knocked at the door. Its inmates
were sleeping.
They were aroused by the cry, Betha / Be-
tha which is the Dog-Rib word meaning "Talk!"
or Speak! "
The interpreter with the expedition did not un-
derstand, but Franklin did, and a sudden tremb-
ling seized him, as he called out in the same
language: "Addow-addlis," which is, "What do
you want? "
Friends wait," replied Joe. Who speaks?"
"Joe! Joe! screamed Franklin Ross, jumping
from his bed; and without ceremony seizing upon
the Esquimau, he exhibited his delight by a series
of hand-shakes and ejaculations which were looked
upon with wonder by the Danish gentlemen. But
in time they were made to comprehend that the
lad had been lost, and was found. Franklin's
troubles now seemed at an end.
The scientific party departed on their homeward
journey the following day. Being in need of men,
they offered to take Joe and his comrade across
the lake and down the river, to Fort Chippewyan,
where they could join the brigade on its journey
northward. There could be no risk of losing it,
for it was compelled to stop at that post to land
stores for the fort.
The trip was accomplished in safety, and, with
many thanks and true regret, Franklin bade adieu
to the strangers, who had treated him with the
utmost kindness.
At Fort Chippewyan, Franklin heard so much
about the famous portages in the Clearwater river,
and the very names were so enticing, that he gave
Joe no peace, in his urgent desire to see one.
Joe himself, after a few days of enforced idleness,
longed to be in action. Chief-trader Dean's son
was entitled to consideration at the fort, and easily
obtained a boat for a day's sail from the lake into
the Athabasca river. It was all arranged that,
should the brigade arrive during the voyagers' ab-
sence, it was to be detained until their return, and,
with food for a two-days' picnic, Franklin and Joe
set sail. The wind was fair all day, and the boat
sped on its way up the river, making wonderful
progress, from the rising to the setting of the sun.
They went ashore at the point of a deserted Com-
pany's House, near lofty cream-colored cliffs, drew
their boat to land, and went to sleep.






WHEN THE BRIGADE CAME IN.


The following morning, much against his judg-
ment, Joe yielded to Franklin's entreaties and shot
into the Clearwater river before noon on that day.
It being impossible now to miss the boats, there
could be no reasonable excuse for turning back,
and, finally, a portage was at hand. It was the
last one between the Methye Portage and Fort
Chippewyan, and was in length 2350 paces.
As the boat drew near, the roar of the waters
broke upon their hearing. Approaching from
below, a cloud of mist uprose; but, the wind sud-
denly veering, what was their astonishment to be-
hold upon a rock in the very midst of the boiling
current, four Indians, and one figure which, in the
momentary view obtained through the mist, they
were convinced must be Chief-factor Smith. Again
the veil of mist was swept aside, and they saw the
well-known form standing there.


and was tossed down the fall. How, no one could
tell-but every man was saved alive, and even the
canoe swirled up against the rock, and was secured.
The second boat, containing Mr. Dean, was
about to follow the same course; but, being saved
at the last instant of grace, it landed, and from the
high bank that gentleman, by frantic gesture, at-
tracted the notice of the brigade and warned it
against nearer approach. At the ordinary height
of the water, the course they were following would
have been the right one to gain the portage.
No sooner did Joe perceive the situation, than
he acted upon it. He hurried to the right bank
of the river, where the stream was narrow, with
rocks cropping out. Securing the boat and taking
a rope, he climbed to the bank above. After many
efforts, with a stout fish-hook on a line, used as a
sling, the line was cast on-the rock and held, and


" EVERY MAN WAS SAVED ALIVE, AND EVEN THE CANOE WAS SECURED."


It had happened thus. The return voyagers
were, many of them, new to the region, and Mr.
Smith had undertaken to convoy the boats, by
keeping in advance. Incautiously, in the high
state of the water, he advanced too near the cas-
cade, so that the frail little canoe, finding itself in
the current, danced on, in spite of every endeavor,
VOL. XVI.-24.


the rope drawn over. Then, the same hook was
sent ashore with the canoe's line made fast to it and,
one by one, Mr. Smith and his followers, all save
one, were guided over the rapids. This one sent
the canoe; then, tying the rope about his body,
he gave a signal and was hauled through the boiling
surge, receiving many a bruise from the rocks.


369






WHEN THE BRIGADE CAME IN.


Mr. Dean, after saving the brigade from a like
fate, though in the full belief that he should never
see his friend and the canoe's crew alive, made all
possible haste down the bank to the fall below, and
his blank astonishment at meeting the entire party
escorted by Joe and his own son crossing the river
in a sail-boat, can be imagined though not described.
Just twenty days later, at the Fort, Mr. Selwyn
was marching up and down within the stockade,
thinking of the sad news that must soon come
to the ears of Mr. Dean, when Bee entered, her
stoical face moved to unwonted animation, and
announced, "The boats the boats "
The boats! the boats cried every voice
within hearing; and two minutes later, every man
and dog on the premises was out seeking confir-
mation of the report.
It was true. Edna ran in to tell her mother,


their best attire, the Indians in many-colored feath-
ers, and a spirit of general joyousness evidently
pervading the party. Chief-trader Dean was the
first to spring ashore. No one dared address a
word to him as he entered the fort. Every one
sought to evade him. Where is my wife? said
he sharply to Bee.
"Here, Papa! answered Edna, opening wide
the door. Here she is "
Mr. Dean did not stop even to take Edna in his
arms. He stood erect in the doorway, saying,
"Franklin is safe! All is well!"
And then and then it all happened so
quickly that no one could tell the order of it, but
there was Franklin Ross, larger than ever, right in
the room; and Bee, running in to see, was met at
the door by her own Joe, and between the telling
and the hearing, between the seeing and the hand-


THE CHIEF-TRADER WARNING THE BRIGADE.
saying: Oh, Mamma who will tell Papa? He shaking, Fort Simpson was so full of joy and thank-
loved Franklin Ross so! and then, poor Joe Poor, fulness that it ran over in Christmas gifts to every
faithful Joe, who, I know, has searched himself to wild child of Nature who stood in waiting at the
death for us gates next morning; for (as should have been
On came the brigade, a red silk flag waving stated earlier in the story) Christmas always comes
from the foremost boat and all the voyagers in at Fort Simpson when the brigade gets in.


370






































BY JULIA

OUR suspicions were first aroused by the disap-
pearance of a whole beefsteak. Before that we did
not know we were entertaining any rats in our cellar.
When we made the discovery, we were at a loss to
know how to act; but one day there came to the
house a poor old woman who lives mysteriously by
offering needles, and thread, and pencils, and candy
of sizes and kinds that nobody likes and nobody
buys. At our house she gets a cup of tea and ten
cents, and, to ease her conscience, she leaves a pep-
permint stick for the little ones. The kitchen-girl
told her of the loss of the steak.
"Well," said the mysterious old woman, "I
would write a letter to the rats and they will go
away. That is what we used to do when I lived at
home in Germany."
Fancy the surprise of the kitchen-maid! She
thought the old woman had lost her mind.
The rats became an intolerable nuisance, and
the news of what the old woman had recommended
was brought to me. The children were anxious to
have the experiment tried.
It can do no harm," I said, and at once drew
up the following letter:

To THE BOss RAT: Get out of our cellar at once. We hired
this house for ourselves, and you have no business to make your-
selves at home, living here and stealing our provisions. If you do not


IN RALPH.

heed this warning we will keep a terrier and make it very lively for
you. Yours angrily, THE PEOPLE OF THIS HOUSE.

I quite prided myself on this missive. I thought
it was at once logical in its argument, firm in tone,
and very generous, inasmuch as the rats could see
that we might have hired a terrier first and written
the letter afterward. I at first put the letter in an
envelope; but we all agreed afterward that even
if rats could read they might not know anything
about envelopes, and so I tore the cover off and
laid the letter on the cellar floor with its written
side up.
We then waited to see what effect it would have.
Alas the rats behaved worse than ever and robbed
us of everything that suited their tastes. Then
the poor old German woman came again on her
rounds, and the children saw her and informed her
of the failure.
Read the letter to me," said she.
It was read to her.
Oh, dear, dear, dear! she exclaimed. What
an impudent letter to send to the rats! It is a
mercy they have n't attacked some of the people
in the house and bitten them in their beds. I could
not sleep a wink in a house where such a letter had
been sent to the rats."
She spoke very gravely and with evident alarm.






HE WROTE TO THE RATS.


I inquired very particularly about her manner after-
ward and was told that it seemed far from a mere
pretence of being vexed.
"Why! she exclaimed. "Rats are kings, in
their way. At least they are in Germany. They
must be treated very politely. Tell your parents
to write another letter at once and let it be soft and
gentle and very respectful. Call them, Dear rats'
or 'Dear friends,' and find no fault with what
they do only be sure to recommend some other
place for them to go to, for it is a rule that rats
will never leave a home unless they are told of a
better place close by, to which they can go. Oh,
dear, dear, dear!- I wonder you are not afraid to
stay in the house after such a letter."
When I reached home I thought, as before, that
there could be no harm in doing as the old woman
said; and I confess I felt guilty of some stupidity in
not having known, as every one ought to know, that
politeness is always better than rudeness. There
is a wealth of wisdom in the homely saying, More
flies are caught with syrup than with vinegar."
It costs nothing to be kind and courteous, and as


DEAR RATS: We have discovered signs of your presence in our
cellar. Perhaps you mean to honor us and pay us a compliment
in coming to this particular cellar in a city where there are a hun-
dred thousand such resorts. It may be news to you that there lives
not far away a French family, much given to rich gravies, sweet-
meats, delightful pastries, rare and high.scented imported cheese, and
various other luxuries of which we know you to be fond. If you
should go there, you would fare better than in ourcellar. Of course,
we should miss you,-but we feel certain we could bear it.
Believing, from what we see of your activity and appetites, that
you are all very well and happy and that you have been benefited by
our having the plumbing attended to the other day, we beg the uight
to sign ourselves, Yours politely,
THE PEOPLE OF THIS HOUSE.
That touch about the plumbing was my own;
but the phrase, yours politely," was dictated by
the children, who assured me that the word
" polite must be somewhere in the letter, in some
form or other. It really took me a long while to
make up my mind where to tell the rats to go, and
I felt no little ashamed when at last the thought
of the rich gravies and pastries led me to recom-
mend my neighbors, the French folks. To be sure,
I do not know them, and no one will ever tell them
what I did; but I must confess I never would have
been guilty of such an unneighborly act had I


.1,


"OR T CAT WAS SENT INTO THE CELLAR DRIVE THEM OUT.
I1OUR TOSI CAT SVAS SENT INTO THE CELLAR 'O DRIVE THEM OtT.))


we know that more can be done among men and
women by gentleness than by anger, why might
not the same be true with regard to rats ? Thus
I reflected, and therefore I wrote this letter:


really believed the rats would have paid any atten-
tion to the letter.
They did not. They grew more and more at
home, and even became so noisy that the ladies






HE WROTE TO THE RATS.


more than once thought that burglars had broken
in downstairs. "Master Fitz," our Tom-cat, was
sent into the cellar to drive them out; but after the
first encounter he bounded back into the kitchen,
bleeding on one cheek and one leg; and if ever a
cat said anything, he plainly spoke, and very indig-
nantly, too. I am a tremendous mouser," was
what he meant to convey, "but when it comes to
eating up rats that are bigger than I am, I must beg
to be excused "
We all waited for the old woman, and when she
came the children eagerly informed her of the







'- --







ll"I ,i :

I'


failure of even the most polite letter-writing where
rats are concerned.
She is a shrewd old woman. She did not like
to admit she was wrong, so she said she was sure
that if we had n't written that very rude first letter
the rats would have gone.
I know they would if they were German rats,"
she said; but I never wrote to American rats,
and perhaps they are different."
The four-footed robbers are still at home in our
cellar, and not even the children believe it worth
while to write to them again.




IIa;----:---- --


A SLEEPY LITTLE SCHOOL.

BY MALCOLM DOUGLAS.


A FUNNY old professor kept a school for little
boys,
And he 'd romp with them in play-time, and he
would n't mind their noise;
While in his little school-room, with its head
against the wall,
Was a bed of such proportions it was big
enough for all.

"It 's for tired little pupils," he explained, "for
you will find
How very wrong indeed it is to force a budding


"And sometimes it will happen on a warm and
pleasant day,
When the little birds upon the trees go tooral-
looral-lay,
When wide-awake and studious it 's difficult to
keep,
One by one they '11 get a-nodding till the whole
class is asleep !

"Then before they 're all in dreamland and their
funny snores begin,
I close the shutters softly so the sunlight can't


mind; come in;
Whenever one grows sleepy and he can't hold After which I put the school-books in their order
up his head, on the shelf,
I make him lay his primer down and send him And, with nothing else to do, I take a little nap
off to bed I myself!"












SAILOR BOY DROMIOS.

BY H. H. CLARK, U. S. N.


VERY EARLY one bright morning, two row-
boats, one flying American and the other Eng-
lish colors, reached at about the same moment a
sandy part of the shore not far from the Egyptian
city of Alexandria. Each boat had come for a
load of sand, to be used in holystoning the decks.
The English boat belonged to H.M.S. "Alex-
andra," and the other to a famous little vessel of
the American fleet.
The meeting of these boats, engaged in the same
duty, was a trifling coincidence; but not so the
meeting for the first time of two lads, one belong-
ing to the English boat's-crew and the other to
the American. No sooner had the prows of the
cutters touched the beach than each crew began
to stare, one at the English lad, and the other at
the American boy. The boys themselves looked
at each other in mutual surprise.
"Say, Docket," exclaimed the coxswain of the
American boat, may I never see a ghost, if that
ain't yours in that English uniform there "
Look a' there, 'Arry," sang out an old English
sailor, while he pointed his big, stubby finger at
Docket; if 'e harn 't your twin brother, then I'm
the Prince o' Whales "
"Don't let 'em git mixed up," piped out a
third sailor, "or they won't know theirselves."
So close were the resemblances between the boys,
in stature, figure and features, that, had it not been
for differences of accent and uniform, it is doubtful
whether they could have been distinguished. In-
deed, the men declared with emphasis that if both
boys should come into the forecastle of either ship
wearing the same uniform, unless they should betray
themselves by their speech, there could be no cer-
tainty as to which was which.
The men went to work filling the boats in great
haste, for, as matters were in Alexandria at that
time, it was a rather dangerous expedition. Mean-
while Docket and Harry, in spite of orders from the
coxswains and growls from the crews, promenaded
together back and forth along the beach, each
giving an account of his personal history, and
arranging for a future meeting. By the time the
boats were ready to shove off, the boys were very
well acquainted, and had appointed the following
Saturday as the first day of meeting, when, it was
agreed, Docket should visit Harry on board the
"Alexandra."


Just a word about Docket and Harry. Docket,
by the way, was only a nickname, given on board
ship. The lad was the son of a Massachusetts clergy-
man. Much persuasion and no little coercion had
been brought to bear to disenchant him with his
romantic notions touching a seafaring life, but to
no purpose. Finally he was committed to the
Government as a third-class apprentice boy, United
States Navy. Harry was the son of a poor London
mechanic, who esteemed it a great privilege for his
boy to be in Her Majesty's service, in any capacity.
Each boy was very clever and mischievous, though
Docket, having had better advantages, was the
better educated.
It so happened that several weeks elapsed before
Docket could pay his promised visit to Harry.
One Saturday he was in high spirits. He had at
last obtained permission to take the dinghy, of
which he was coxswain, and a crew of boys for the
purpose of visiting the "Alexandra." Shortly
after eight bells, or the hour of noon, they set
out. From the yards of his own little ship,
Docket had often looked down in delighted won-
der upon the vast decks of the Sultan," the
"Inflexible," the "Invincible," and the "Alex-
andra," anchored near by. Then, it must be con-
fessed, he would experience a feeling of chagrin
that a great nation like his own should permit
its proud flag to fly over the feeblest navy of the
globe. Docket loved a ship almost as he might
love a person. Indeed, to him a ship almost
seemed to think and feel.
Harry happened to be on the lookout from one
of the "Alexandra's" cat-heads as the dinghy.drew
near. He had already obtained permission from
the officer of the watch for the boys to come on
board when they should arrive. Presently the
dinghy lay quietly, hauled out at the "Alexandra's"
boom, and Docket stood in the starboard gang-
way, staring like a country boy at his first sight
of Broadway or of Pennsylvania avenue. Perhaps
there is no better word than "Immense if it may
be allowed, to express Docket's thought as he stood
gazing fore and aft along the Alexandra's" spar
deck.
But a sailor boy soon learns better than to stare.
In fact, Docket had now seen enough of the world
to feel rather above showing surprise at anything;
he regarded surprise as an altogether rustic emo-





SAILOR BOY DROMIOS.


tion. He therefore quickly recovered himself and
fell af once into certain sailor-ways. Giving his cap
a smart tilt and his trousers a spirited hitch, to in-
timate that he felt perfectly at home on a man-o'-
war deck, he started with his custodian to inspect
the ship.
It was very clear to Docket that the news of
his wonderful likeness to Harry had preceded him.
Everybody was staring at him, even the officer of
the watch. No sooner had he reached the fore-
castle than the member of the boat's crew who had
first noticed the resemblance, sung out at the top
of his voice: There's that there Yankee twin of


HARRY CONDUCTS DOCKET OVER THE "ALEXAN

'Arry's. I never seen a better match a-tween a pair
o' donkeys! "
The men and boys all laughed at this parallel
from the animal kingdom, and Docket did n't alto-
gether relish it. But he made up his mind that
he would be good-natured whatever might be said.
A great crowd now gathered around him, and if he
had stepped ashore up the Congo, and had there
fallen in with a tribe that had never seen a white
person, he hardly could have been an object of more
curious attention. He had come to see the ship,
but it was very certain that if he and Harry had
been on exhibition anywhere within ten miles, the
whole ship's company would have gone to see them.
Finally an old petty-officer, evidently thinking it


might be a little tedious for Docket, dispersed the
crowd by shouting out, Git out o' here, I tell yer !
The lad hain't a 'oss as is up for sale "
Left to Harry, Docket began his tour of the ship.
If there was anything between the mighty steel
prow and the powerful twin-screws that he did n't
see, it must have been something scarcely worth
mentioning. The caliber of each gun, the thick-
ness of the armor-plating, the power of the motive
machinery, he took particular pains to learn. With
Harry he discussed the qualities of the ship as a
fighter; asked if she had ever been in action,- in
short, plied him with all sorts of questions. By
the time they had worked
around to the main-deck
battery, he had an excellent
idea of the different parts
./ of the ship, knew Harry's
S stations at fire-quarters,"
Si. "great-gun drills," and so
on; and felt that he could
i almost duplicate Harry in
his duties as well as in his
person.
I tell you what, Harry,"
She exclaimed with enthusi-
asm, as they stood beside
the eighteen-ton gun, to the
crew of which Harry be-
S longed, would n't I like to
belong to a ship like this "
S"You'd get sick enough
of it before you'd been here
a week; we gets harder
Service than you Yankee
sailors."
V It would be easy enough
coming' if yer wants to ship,"
remarked an old quarter-
gunner who was leisurely
4DRA." polishing up the gun.
I did n't mean that I 'd
like to belong to this ship. You don't suppose that
I 'd desert, do you ?" asked Docket, in an injured
tone.
When you gits older, you'II take higher views
o' these things. I 've been in three or four navies
myself. I used to be first boatswain's-mate aboard
the Lancaster.'"
An idea seized Docket. "Why not," he said to
himself, "have a little fun out of this likeness? I
might be Harry for an hour or two, just as well as
not; and he could be Docket. We could keep our
own counsel, and see whether anybody could tell
the difference. Besides, I 'd just like to see how it
would seem to be under the British flag."
This was a bold scheme on the part of Master






SAILOR BOY DROMIOS.


Docket. He was sharp enough, too, to appreciate
its difficulties. In the first place, could he get
Harry to agree to it ? If Harry agreed to it, then
could he walk as Harry did ? If successful in this,
could he talk with Harry's accent, if obliged to speak
at all? Harry had the cockneyhabits of dropping his
h's at the wrong places and putting them in where
they did n't belong, besides speaking ungrammat-
ically. But should he succeed in his part, as he
felt quite well-assured he could, how would it be
with Harry? If Harry were forced to speak he
certainly would let the cat out of the bag.
To tell the truth, Docket thought Harry a little
slow, not to say stupid. What was his surprise,
therefore, when Master Harry not only fell in with
the plan, but was eager to go further than Docket
had dared to imagine possible. Docket did n't
know the depths of mischief that were beneath
Harry's innocent exterior.
When their plan was perfected, Harry led Docket
to a recess in the starboard shaft-alley," where,
unobserved, they exchanged uniforms. Everything
came out right but the ties. Docket fussed a while
before he could arrange Harry's to look properly
"American"; and so did Harry before Docket's
would take on an altogether "English" look.
Everything arranged, they stood apart and looked
each other over. Quite as much surprise was de-
picted on their countenances as at their first meeting.
In truth, they seemed to have gradually dissolved
the one into the other.
Holding their faces down, and introducing a
heavy roll into their gaits, they started for the
berth-deck. A sharp observer would have de-
tected mischief in their eyes, and, in fact, in their
whole demeanor; but as nobody suspected what
they were up to, they passed along this deck
unchallenged. The berth-deck, however, was a
little dark; -how would it be on the main-deck?
Could they escape detection there, they might
go anywhere else without the slightest hesitancy.
Very slowly they mounted the companion-ladder.
They stood for a moment by the hatch-coamings,
then, not daring to look any one in the face, they
began their promenade. The men, however, only
stared at them, or remarked with some attempt
at humor on their wonderful likeness. The boys
almost laughed outright when one of Harry's chums
slapped Docket on the shoulder and requested him
to assist that evening in getting a new uniform
ready for Sunday-morning inspection. The yes"
which comprised the whole of Docket's reply had
an accent quite English; but it did not seem to
satisfy the other boy, for he gave Docket a quick
glance, and looked bewildered. Before he could
say anything further, Docket and Harry slipped
away. Incredible as it may appear, they went


everywhere about the ship from keelson to main-
top, and never an officer, man or boy, was any the
wiser concerning the exchange of identities.
The hour for Docket's return to his ship arrived.
Meanwhile Harry had proved a most skillful actor.
He now, with the utmost coolness, submitted a
proposition the audacity of which startled Master
Docket. It was nothing less than that they should
exchange ships for the night. He, Harry, would
go to Docket's ship in the dinghy, and by hook
or by crook get back to the Alexandra," early
next morning. They would then re-dress, each
in his proper uniform, and Docket could take his
chances in getting back on board his own ship in
time for inspection.
Ordinarily, Docket would not have entertained
such a proposition for an instant. But they had
been so successful, and deluding people is so fas-
cinating (particularly when no great wrong is
involved, as in this case), that Harry found it
not at all difficult to overcome Docket's scruples.
Now the plot had so thickened that it was
no longer feasible for the boys to keep their
secret. Summoning the dinghy's crew, Docket
at once took them into his confidence, and Harry
did the same by two English apprentices. The
whole party were cautioned to repress every sign
of the wonder they might feel at the substitution.
With rather stern self-denial, the youthful accom-
plices succeeded in doing so. But there was much
quiet fun over the perfect innocence of everybody
as to what was going on under their very noses.
This interfered somewhat with the arrangement
of details; but at last, everything being ready,
Harry jumped into the dinghy, and she was pres-
ently lost behind the wall-like sides of the great
iron-clads lying between the "Alexandra" and
Docket's ship.
So absorbed have we been in our Dromios that
we have almost forgotten to remind the reader of
the alarming condition of affairs in Alexandria. The
power of the Khedive had been wrested from him.
Certain of the Egyptian officers, by a series of bold
and successful maneuvers, had obtained control of
the army. The religious fanaticism of the Moham-
medans had been aroused to a dangerous pitch. Ac-
tive steps had been taken to strengthen all the forti-
fications of Alexandria. All this was viewed by the
European inhabitants with consternation. Finally,
the massacre of June I 1882, occurred, and their
gravest apprehensions were more than realized.
They fled for refuge to the vessels in the harbor,
and embarked by thousands in steamers sailing for
European ports. Little by little, events led on to
the day of bombardment just a month later. It
was just about this time that Docket and Harry
undertook to carry out their little hoax.


376






SAILOR BOY DROMIOS.


Night found Docket a little crestfallen,- in fact
penitent for his folly. He had not been found out,
but he had been regarded very quizzically. He
had received several orders to do things about
the ship, which he necessarily obeyed in an awk-


down. But he became so excited before he turned
in that he forgot all about these little mishaps. It
happened that on that very night orders had been
given to search the fortifications of Alexandria
with the electric-light. By its powerful glare,


'" '''' I '' I'
I,b

Ii;

V.-.


I,


I -


4.-





41
45:


i...:k.:. i-, r .:.,k in the forts
..Ita. h: i ,'. Docket did not
I ti i, L ii.L r It ri.: ..ii .:.overy of this
ii: li.:h,: ..n i.l : [-i ir ..!" The E gyptians
.l.. _i I.-I1 r.:. il .I..:,r, ij. : ,. of the forts.
i,- E.-, pr[i,,,: h:.- r...ii':..l, in reply to a
ci.:.u t .. :.. .: i i i..A:.:i l i i- r IS 'eym our(who
. ,-; :lJ d .li,, ..:.rk 1_ ai -. ,ixceto theBrit-
ti-' IIe':li. ithar inr'. ii,- .ins should be
.'- .i .-:. l.'., l,:t :il- l[ lig those who
h: t .-it i.:.: c l .. '..i,- .c .i their breach


4, I'Ll .
DOCKET DOES DUTY ON BOARD THE "ALEXANDRA." Docket did not sleep very well in Harry's
hammock. He was troubled with the feel-
ward manner. He heard the captain of the after- ing that the fun might perhaps end quite seriously.
guard say, That there lad is as awkward about He had one dream. It was that the "Alexandra"
deck as a halbatross." He would not have been so had put to sea with him, an innocent and most un-
cast down had he not, last of all, received a sharp willing deserter from his flag. He was glad when
reprimand for calling out the wrong number for morning came, and he was ordered to "break
Harry's hammock when hammocks were piped out." The fresh air revived him. He took hold


377


;r-

--~ -, I' ..


.6.
IL~~. .' ~.






SAILOR BOY DROMIOS.


of Harry's work about the ship even with alacrity,
and by breakfast-time he felt quite exhilarated.
Breakfast over, he was quickly on the lookout for
Harry's return. Inspection came. All hands were
mustered for the Church Service, and shortly after
they were piped to dinner. "What can be the mat-
ter," thought Docket as he dropped into Harry's
seat at the mess. What if he does n't come at
all? It can't be that he intends to keep my place.
He would n't be guilty of such despicable mean-
ness!" Four bells -six bells -eight bells, and
no explanation. He began to grow nervous. He
was tempted to go to the officer of the watch and
confess the whole story. Perhaps the officer would
send him back in one of the "Alexandra's" boats.
But this would be crying baby" too soon. When
hammocks were again piped down, Docket was
in an unenviable frame of mind. The fun of being
a counterfeit was all over. But he had made up
his mind to stay till Harry came back. He would
not go sneaking on board his own ship, even if he
should find an opportunity, in the clothes and the
character of another.
July I1, 1882, dawned in full eastern splendor
upon Alexandria. The Mediterranean outside the
breakwater was as still as a painted sea, and not
a breath rippled the smoothness of the inner
harbor. In the darkness and silence of the night
each ship of the British fleet had been stationed
for action. The men-o'-war belonging to other
navies had withdrawn to a safe distance from shot
and shell. All merchant-vessels had been warned
from the docks. Never since the time of its great
founder had Alexandria seen such a picture before
its walls as was now revealed by the light of early
morning.
At least, so Docket would have thought had he
been in an artistic mood when, after his breakfast
at half-past four that morning, he climbed into the
foretop to get his bearings. But Docket was not
devoting any attention to natural or artificial effects
on this particular morning. His heart was fairly
leaping over the prospect of participating in the
fight.
Presently a loud call from the deck brought
him pell-mell down the rigging, and sent him
scampering after his- or rather Harry's--side-
arms. Docket had taken note of the order of
battle. The "Alexandra," the "Sultan," and
the Superb" were the advance ships, facing
forts Pharos, Ada, and the Ras-El-Tin lines.
Many cable-lengths astern lay the "Inflexible"
and "T6mCraire," their black prows seeming to
Docket to contract in an awful frown upon the
forts and batteries directly in front of them. Far
down the harbor the "Penelope," "Invincible,"
and Monarch held the Mex lines, all ready, at


just one little signal from the "Invincible," to
open a destructive fire.
Almost any brave boy would go wild over such
a sight; especially if he were on board one of
the great ships, and had caught the enthusiasm
of the gallant and eager crew. We do not there-
fore wonder at Docket's excitement as he buckled
on his belt and ran to join his-Harry's-gun-
crew. The silence which quickly settled over
the ship was a matter of surprise to him. He
had been disciplined to man-o'-war silence, but
the absolute stillness pervading the ship at such
a momentous time seemed almost unnatural. It
made him think of that awful hush at sea which
sometimes goes before the crash of a sudden
tempest. The excitement was intense, and it was
a matter of wonder how a mere word could hold
it under such sublime control.
At one moment, a fear that the Egyptians would
not fight ran like an electric current from man to
Sman. A look of disappointment appeared on the
stern faces of the crews waiting so impatiently to
serve their guns. It was curious to see the flush
of hope come into the resolute countenances at
each tinkle of the engine-room bell, or when the
quiet order, Starboard," or "Port," broke the
silence of the deck above. This was interpreted
to mean that the flagship had given the welcome
signal for the "Alexandra" to lead the fleet into

action. But the great ship was only maintaining
her position against adverse currents.
All at once there was a commotion on deck.
Something very important had happened. A sig-
nal had been made from the "Invincible" order-
ing the "Alexandra" to fire. In less time than
it takes to tell it, a shell from Docket's gun went
crashing into the earthworks of the "Hospital"
battery. Then, when the "Alexandra's" shot drew
the fire of the forts, the whole fleet opened its bat-
teries upon them. The roar of the great guns,
the scream of the enemy's shells, filled the air with
incessant tumult. How excited Docket was, amid
it all! and yet how coolly he tugged at the falls,
helping to lift powder and shell from the maga-
zines and shell-rooms for the use of his gun! He
heard scarcely anything of the outer confusion.
But the sounds of his own ship thrilled him. The
sharp orders, the clatter of swords and cutlasses
striking stanchions and decks as the officers and
men hurried hither and thither to or from their
stations, the suppressed cheers which rang out
whenever a shot had told, kept him for a time in
glorious fighting trim.
His ardor, however, began to cool a little as the
Egyptian artillerists got the ship in range. He
did n't exactly enjoy the shudder of the great ship
when some well-directed shot scraped her iron side.






SAILOR BOY DROMIOS.


And when the shot and shell began to penetrate
the unarmored parts and to come on board, he felt
just a little like ducking as the pieces came his way.
Why not ? Even an admiral has been known to
dodge a shot. The scene'became very lively. Boats
were stove in; skylights were smashed; rigging,
stanchions, and ladders carried away; glass, splin-
ters, and pieces of exploded shell flew about in
every direction. Now and then would come awful
crashes, when shells burst in the different cabins.
A shell with its fuse burnt down almost to the
powder rolled to Docket's feet, when quick as
thought a brave fellow caught it in his arms and
threw it overboard. One man was killed very near
to Docket, and several more were wounded. More
than sixty times the ship was struck. Twenty-four
shot and shell penetrated her hull, causing the
damage above mentioned. The wonder was that
the casualties were so few. Docket would have
been an unnatural kind of boy not to have wished
a dozen times, amid all this din and danger, that
he were safe on board his own ship; but this did
not keep him from fighting as gallantly as any
man or boy on board. When all the forts had
been silenced and cheer after cheer went up from
the English fleet, nobody was prouder of the
achievement and nobody cheered more lustily than
Master Docket.
The bombardment of Alexandria is a matter of
history. Our only concern now is to know how it
fared with our Dromios. Of course the hoax was
very soon detected on board both ships. At first
the English sailors regarded it as a piece of sharp
practice on Harry's part. He was known to be a


great admirer of the United States navy. But
Docket would not allow this piece of injustice.
He knew well enough that Harry had done his
best to get back, and that he must have felt terri-
bly chagrined over the outcome, especially at being
away from his ship during the fight. Docket stood
up for his friend very stoutly, and he was right.
Harry had even gone to the officer of the deck and
begged to be sent back; but this was impossible,
as all the boats were busy in bringing off people
who were fleeing from the city.
One morning, after everything had quieted down,
a boat flying American colors pulled alongside
the Alexandra," and Master Harry stepped out
after the midshipman in charge and followed him
rather sheepishly up the gangway. The affair
was explained to the officer of the watch, who, of
course, knew all about it, and Harry and Docket
were sent below to shift uniforms once more. How
the men laughed, and what they said as the boys
went below, will not be described, but there was
considerable fun over the affair. Docket did n't
regret it, for it was the most natural thing in the
world that he should receive all the glory. As
Docket left the ship the men gave a cheer for the
boy who had fought as gallantly under the British
flag as he would have done under his own.
It is only necessary to add that so grave an
offense could not be wholly overlooked by naval
discipline, and each boy was "quarantined," or
confined to the ship, for a month. This did not,
however, prove a severe punishment, since no one
in the fleet went ashore at Alexandria simply for
pleasure at that particular period.


DOWNHILL WITH A VENGEANCE.

BY W. H. GILDER.


HERE is in Siberia a mountain-
pass which in the sharpness
of its declivity is, I think,
without an equal among all
S other known roads. Perhaps
I should not use the word
"road" when referring to
this trail, over which the
Russian traders carry their merchandise even
to the shores of the Arctic ocean, and by which
they return laden with the furs received in ex-
change. It was early in the month of May,


1882, while en route from the Lena Delta to
Irkootsk, in Southern Siberia, that I had to cross
the Werchojansk mountains over the steep pass
mentioned, and the passage was so remarkable
an experience that it made a deep and lasting
impression on my mind. Two circumstances united

to make my journey at this time particularly dis-
agreeable. The sun was rapidly coming north while
I was just as rapidly pushing south, so that sum-
mer seemed to have suddenly jumped into the lap
of spring; and the snows everywhere melting, and
the swollen rivers bursting from their icy bonds, so


379






DOWNHILL WITH A VENGEANCE.


flooded the land that traveling was fraught with
great difficulty and danger.
There is always in that country at the season
of the year at which I was traveling a period of
from eight to ten days when intercommunica-
tion is entirely cut off, and it is the aim of the
unfortunate traveler to reach some place where
food and shelter can be obtained. For this reason,
it was my object to arrive at the Aldan river, the
largest branch of the mighty Lena, and to cross to
the southern side, where there was an occupied
post-station, before the ice in the river was broken.
It was, however, my misfortune, owing to a lack
of animals at the post-stations, and to the difficul-
ties of the road in consequence of the melting of
the snows, to reach the northern bank of that river
the very day the ice broke up, and to see the huge
hummocks and fields of ice rushing down-stream
at the rate of ten miles an hour. It was just at
dark when this unwelcome sight burst upon our
anxious gaze, and to return to the hut, which we
left in the morning, over a route that had been
barely possible by daylight, was not to be thought
of at night. In the morning my guide found that
the water had risen around us so rapidly that
retreat was cut off; and there, in the woods, with-
out food and without shelter, other than what we
could improvise from brush and twigs cut with our
knives, we had to wait during the eight or ten
days required for the rapid current to clear the
river of ice.
On the other side of the Aldan, which is here
two miles broad, we could see the smoke curling
up from the log-hut that served as a post-station,
and could almost smell the cooking beef, bread,
and tea that we might have shared had we been
there, while we had really nothing. We were not
in danger of starvation, and after selecting the
highest piece of land we could find, we encamped.
There we had to remain for nine days until the
river cleared sufficiently for us to cross in a boat
that came from the other side. But in the mean
time we had seen the water come up around us
and into the little brush hut which, covered with
the skin of the dead horse, had been our only
shelter. It had put out our fire, and once had
so covered every part of the land that it was only
by putting our feet on the trunk of a fallen tree
that we could keep them out of the water. There
we sat and gazed with ill-concealed anxiety at the
ancient water-marks, four or five feet from the
ground, on the trunks of the trees around us, and
wondered how long it would take the flood to reach
that height. We were not, however, doomed to
be drowned, for in about an hour and a half the
waters began to subside, and continued to do so
until the day when we crossed the river. All over


the land was a deposit of mud, so thick that our
effects were easily drawn to the river bank on a
bull-sled which had been. brought over in the boat
for the purpose.
It was to avoid all this unpleasant experience
that my anxiety on the road to have the broken
ice of the Aldan behind me had been so great,
and that is why I had made every exertion to reach
that point in time. I had succeeded in covering
two stretches of post-road with reindeer, after leav-
ing the town of Werchojansk; but from there
onward we were dependent upon horses for trans-
portation, and often we had to pick them up on
the tundra,* and drive them ahead of us as far as
the next station, in order to continue our journey.
Arrived at Kingyorak, the last station north of the
Werchojansk pass, 1 was disgusted to find not only
neither horses nor reindeer, but even no inhab-
itants. Time was pressing and delays were exceed-
ingly dangerous at this juncture, so I induced one
of my drivers, by a liberal offer in money, to hunt
up some of the savages who live scattered around
ten or twenty miles from the station. Before even-
ing some of them came, and I made a bargain
with an old Yakoot starosta f to take me forward
on my journey. It was about ten o'clock that night
when he arrived at the station hut, with five sleds
and fifteen reindeer, and we set out at once for the
foot of the mountain, about ten versts (almost seven
miles) distant. All that night we were trudging
slowly along, the drivers walking ahead of their
teams, and sounding with long poles to find the
beaten track. The snow in the valley was about
eighteen or twenty feet deep, and under the rays of
the sun, which were every day increasing in power,
it became so soft that it was impossible to proceed
except in the track that had been beaten down and
packed by the winter's travel.
During the whole night I had watched my
drivers, too much interested to sleep, and every
now and then would see one or the other of them
disappear when a false step took him out of the
path and into the deep snow. It seemed to me
that since leaving the line of the woods we had
been traveling along a high white wall, and now
it seemed directly in front. Presently, near the
top of this wall, I saw three or four long black ob-
jects that seemed to be centipedes moving slowly
down, and suddenly it flashed upon me that this
wall must be the snow-covered mountain far away
and towering up into the blue sky; while the "cen-
tipedes were, in all probability, sleds descending
toward us. On inquiring I found my supposition
to be correct. Very soon the sleds were beside us,
and we learned that the road on the other side of
the mountain was simply indescribable; a little
later we found it to be so by actual experience.


* A rude cart t A village-official, a bailiff.


380





DOWNHILL WITH A VENGEANCE.


381


It was not long before the ascent became very mit. It had been impossible for me to advance
abrupt; I also had to go afoot with the others. It more than seven or eight steps without resting.
was hard labor to climb that mountain, but the The snow was soft, and at every step I had to lift
S- one foot and plant it in
S- front of me, and then
throw my weight upon
S that and drag the other
S foot to the front, and so
S.". "' on until I would drop in

haustion. On arriving at
Sthe crest of the mount-
ain, I found it to be not
more than ten or twelve
paces broad. The wind
S* was blowing with such
; f' .force that I really feared
that I would be blown
offbodily, and I sat down
'. to avoid so unpleasant
I an accident. My guide
.'. called me to his side,
'. ', where he stood on the
.. '. edge of the descent, and
Indicated by gestures his
wish that we should go
S ahead. I looked down
the slope, and it was so
steep that it made me
giddy. About one hun-
dred and fifty yards be-
S-- low it seemed to end
abruptly in a precipice,
Sand I was absolutely
"' afraid to try the descent
; until, after giving me a
stick to be used as a
brake in case my ve-
: locity increased too
S.'.. rapidly, the guide took
S, another and showed me
how to apply it. Sitting
down, he began to move
himself along very slow-
Sly, burying his heels in
I the soft snow at the side
l I e. of the sled track, which
Swas harder and more
'i slippery, and conse-
: quently, all the more
dangerous. I soon
found myself moving
"IT SEEMED AS IF THE SLEDS AND MEN WERE LYING FLAT AGAINST along rapidly and ap-
A PERPENDICULAR WALL." preaching that point
northern side I found to be nothing in comparison where the road seemed to terminate in a precipice;
with the southern slope. After the most fatiguing but before I could arrest my progress I slid over it,
climb I ever remember, I at last reached the sum- not far behind Michaila, who had already disap-


1889.]






DOWNHILL WITH A VENGEANCE.


peared from view. I found, however, that th
was not a precipice, but simply a steeper place i
the road, which was here almost perpendicula:
My speed was accelerated most uncomfortable
and I found myself gaining momentum so that
almost took my breath away. I knew that froi
the crest of the mountain to the valley on tl
southern side was ten versts (nearly seven miles
and when I saw what was before me my hair stoc
on end with terror. But just then I saw
Michaila, the guide, come to a halt on a
sort of platform at the side of the road. This
resting place appeared to have been devised
by man or furnished by nature to avert collis-
ion with a big black rock that lay right in the
path, contact with which would probably
prove fatal.
From this level I could not see the top
of the mountain, where the drivers were
preparing to descend with the sleds and deer;
but, from a second level, some distance be-
low, I could see them quite plainly, though
they were a long way off. They had lashed
the sleds together, side by side, and fastened
all the reindeer behind. The drivers placed
themselves on either side of the sleds and
held back with all their might, planting
their heels in the snow, and the sure-footed
reindeer also held the sleds back, being
fastened behind them. From where I sat
looking up, it seemed.exactly as if the sleds
and men were lying flat against a perpendic-
ular wall and that the reindeer were stand-
ing on their heads on the back ends of the
sleds.
It took the guide and myself only three-
quarters of an hour to reach a part of the
descent where we could walk or run; but
the sleds required nearly twice that time.
We were still a long distance from the
foot of the mountain, but the descent was
so steep that when we again took our places
on the sleds the animals were forced into a gallc
to keep out of our way. When I looked back
the road, even from the bottom of the valley belov
it seemed impossible that I could have come dow
the mountain-side along that way.
I had heard of this pass before leaving the Ler
Delta from Bartlett, the assistant engineer of tl
" Jeannette," who, with the other survivors of th:
ill-fated vessel, had crossed it on the road to Y:
kootsk during the winter just passed. He sai
that his party consisted of himself and Iniguin, tl
big Esquimau hunter, one of those taken aboard
the Jeannette" at St. Michael's, in Alaska. Tl
road at the time they crossed was harder and muc
more slippery than when I passed over it. On a


riving at the crest of the mountain, Bartlett's guide
gave him a stick and by motions showed him how
he was to use it as a brake, and told him to go on.
In obedience to the instructions, he sat down and
started; but, finding himself to be going too
rapidly, he attempted to apply his brake, where-
upon the stick flew from his hand, and away he
went, staring with dismay at the big black rock
which seemed certain to seal his fate in a few sec-


it,


S I
A,.

-


"LOOKING AROUND, HE SAW INIGUIN COMING LIKE THE WIND."
ip onds Just then, however, he slid easily out upon
at the first platform as if he had been switched off on
v, a side-track. Looking around, he saw Iniguin
'n coming like the wind. He too had lost his stick,
and his speed was something frightful. His head
ma was bare and his long black hair streamed straight
ie out behind. Both elbows were level with his shoul-
at ders and his eyes and mouth were stretched to
a- their full extent. Bartlett prepared to throw him-
id self out of the way to avoid the threatened collision;
ie but the frightened savage kept right on to the
d second level, his speed increasing every second
ie until it seemed only by a miracle that he reached
:h the lower platform in safety. There Bartlett soon
r- joined him and forgot his own fears in the recol-


[MAR.





DOWNHILL WITH A VENGEANCE.


ESQUIMAUX DESCENDING A HILL WITH A HEAVILY LOADED SLED.


election of the comical spectacle presented by Ini-
guin's terrified countenance as he flashed past on
his frightful slide.
How do you like that sort of traveling, Ini-
guin ?" said Bartlett.
Me no likee" was the reply. Too muchee
quick! too muchee burnem No can likee"
Down ordinary descents, and quite steep ones,
too, it is the custom to allow the reindeer to trot
and increase the rapidity of their motion as the
sled pushes upon their heels, until at last they
gallop at the top of their speed. Near Bulun,
which is two days' journey from the mouth of the
Lena river, there are several very steep grades,
and the reindeer scampering down like the wind,


the drivers shouting at the top of their voices, and
the sleds bounding over the rough places make up
a scene well worth witnessing.

The Esquimaux of North America, on land jour-
neys, often encounter hills where it would be very
dangerous to attempt a descent with a heavily
loaded sled drawn by dogs. When such a place
is reached, they unhitch the dogs and let the sled
descend by its own weight. All the men act as
brakes to prevent, if possible, a descent so rapid
as to land the equipage a complete wreck at the
bottom. The two strongest of the drivers take
their places on the sides at the front of the sled, and
the others hold on where they can; all pull back


x889.]


383





DOWNHILL WITH A VENGEANCE.


as strongly as possible when the speed increases.
Some plant their feet straight in front of them
and send the snow flying as if from a snow-plow.
Others find themselves taking leaps that would as-
tonish a kangaroo, are dragged furiously along, or,
maybe, come rolling to the bottom after the sled.
The dogs regard the whole affair as a joke, and


with their traces tied together come dashing along
in the wild chase, some barking joyously, others
yelping distressedly as, caught in the traces, they
are dragged to the foot of the hill by their reck-
less companions. It often seemed a wonder when,
even with all our exertions, we could land sled and
party at the bottom in safety.


T) Q


._, i7-; -.L, .!; B. =. -- -- -
S '^y ,Jvyney -&nyre
I got- acquainted very quick
With Teddy Brown, when he
Moved in the house across the ,sreet,
The nearest one you see.


"I climbed and sat upon a post
To look, and so did he;
I stared, and stared across at him
And he steered back at me.


"I s'posed he wanted me to speak
I thought Id try and see-
I said,'Hello!' to Teddy Brown
He said,'Hello!' to me:'


___3,.... _.. -- T. -H IL
----- i_ c-;--
S C-THL~L


384











THE BUNNY STORIES.

BY JOHN H. JEWETT.

MORE TROUBLE FOR THE' BUNNYS.


A NEW KIND OF CIRCUS.

THERE were two sides to Runwild Terrace.
On the south side, where the Bunnys lived, there
were many cosy cottages, ..il-1-ii lawns, and
pretty flower-gardens.
The Bunny children and their playmates who
lived in these pleasant homes were taught to be
kind and gentle, and were usually neatly dressed
and tidy in their habits.
On the north side of the Terrace there was an-
other village, where many poor families were hud-
dled together in dingy blocks or small, shabby
houses.
The streets were narrow, the door-yards piled
with rubbish, and both the old and young were
poorly clothed and looked hungry and neglected
most of the time. The young Bears and Coons






II :





.. .





and their neighbors of the north village were con-
monly called Cubs," and their names, when they
had any, were generally nicknames.
Bunnyboy and Browny had sometimes met two
of the bear cubs, Tuffy and Brindle, in the fields,
and liked to play with them, because they were
large and strong, and were usually planning or
doing some mischief.
Deacon Bunny soon began to notice that both


Bunnyboy and Browny were becoming rough and
clownish in their manners and sometimes used bad
words while at play.
He told them the bear cubs were not good com-
pany, they must keep away from them in future.
One day in Septeriber Tuffy Bear met Bunny-
boy and asked him to come over and play circus
that afternoon.
When Bunnyboy asked his father whether he
might go, the Deacon said No," but that they
might play circus at home and invite their play-
mates to come and spend the afternoon with them.
Like a great many others of his age, Bunnyboy
was willful, and this did not suit him at all, for he
wished to have his own way in everything.
He thought his father was very hard and stern;
and after sulking awhile, he told Browny to ask
their mother whether they might go berrying.
.-, Mother Bunny said
"Yes," if they world
come home early; and
off they started over the
,' .'i 7 i hills.
When out of sight from
the house, Bunnyboy said
he was going to the north
S, village to ask Tuffy and
Brindle where the berries
grew thickest.
He said this to satisfy
P.h' ',l Browny; but he knew it
S was only a sneaking way
of going to see what the
,_'. bear cubs were doing, and
an excuse for disobeying
his father.
On the way they met Spud Coon and his grand-
mother, who lived in the north village.
Spud asked them to stop and play with him, or
to let him go with them.
Bunnyboy looked scornfully at Spud's torn jacket
and bare feet, and replied, We don't wish to play
with a ragged cub like you. You had better stay
where you belong, with your old granny."
This word granny was one he had picked


Copyright, 1888, by John H. Jewett. All rights reserved.


VOL. XV.L-25.






THE BUNNY STORIES.


up from the bear cubs, and he thought it would be
smart to use it, because Spud's grandmother was
old and feeble and miserably poor.
He forgot all he had been taught at home about


being polite and respectful to the aged, and he
did not stop to think how angry it would make him
to hear his own dear grandmother called granny"
by a saucy youngster.
Grandmother Coon looked sharply at Bunnyboy
and said she was sorry his manners were not so
fine as his clothes, and led away Spud crying and
wishing he was big enough to thrash the fellow who
called them names because they were poor.
Browny was ashamed and would have turned
back, but Bunnyboy urged him along until they
met Tuffy and Brindle, who supposed they had
come to play circus.
















Tuffy said he knew just the place for a circus-
ring and led the way to an open field, a little way
out of the village.


Here they began to race about in a circle while
Brindle played he was a clown, repeating a lot of
stupid words at which they all laughed, pretend-
ing they were having great fun.
When they were tired
of this, Tuffy said they
must have a trained don-
key, and if the bunnies
would help him he would
catch one of the young
.:.4 goats in the pasture on
.the hillbeyond the woods,
'- and make him play don-
-_ hkey for them.
SWhile Tuffy was catch-
S ing the goat, Brindle was
-' sent to get a long piece of
clothes-line, and when he
i-', came back with it, the goat
I ., -- was dragged through the
S. fields to the ring.
Then began a great
racket; shouting at the
frightened creature, trip-
ping him up, and laugh-
ing to see him tug at one
end of the line with Tuffy at the other, while
Brindle beat him to make him go round and round
in the ring.
At last, this rough sport was too much for
Browny's tender heart, and he begged the cubs to
let the poor goat go.
This made them angry, and they said that he
was trying to spoil the fun, and it would serve
him just right to make him play monkey and ride
the goat.
Bunnyboy began to see what kind of company
they were in, and tried to take Browny's part.
Then Tuffy struck Bunnyboy, and a quarrel began


in which the bunnies were roughly !!-:1 l..-I and
thrown down on the ground.
Tuffy was so strong he could easily hold Bunny-


386


~a-f~~J' .


, "_ .






THE BUNNY STORIES.


boy, and he told Brindle to tie Bunnyboy's hands
and feet so that he could not get up.
Then they put Browny on the goat's back and
tied him on, with his feet fastened under the goat's





,,. -.',.





t0! '..,t .,.I
_. _




neck and his hands under his body, so that he
could not fall off nor get off, and they said he
made a good monkey.
They beat the goat to make him go faster, and
hit Browny because he cried, while Bunnyboy had
to lie helpless and see his little brother abused.
When he tried to call for help they stuffed his
mouth full of grass and leaves, and told him to
keep still or they would tie up his mouth with a
handkerchief.
While this was going on and the bunnies were










Sn .B -
4 4 '










wondering how it would end, they heard a pack
of hounds barking, not very far away.
Tuffy and Brindle did not like dogs, and were
afraid of being caught playing such cruel tricks on
the bunnies, and they ran away home as fast as
they could.
When the goat found he was free from his tor-
mentors he started for the pasture with Browny
still tied on his back, leaving Bunnyboy bound
hand and foot, alone and helpless on the ground.


Though he shouted for help until he was hoarse,
no one came. Then he hoped Tuffy or Brindle
would come back and untie him before dark, but
they did not.
Evening came, and the moon rose over the hills,
and still he lay there alone, wondering what had
become of his brother and what would happen if
he had to lie there all night.
At last he heard voices in the corn-field near by,
and called again for help as loud as he could.
Some one answered, and he felt sure help was
coming; but he hardly knew what to think when
he saw bending over him the same Grandmother
Coon and little Spud, whom he had met on his
way.
Spud knew him at once and cried out, Oh,
grandma, here is the same Bunnyboy who called
us names this afternoon."
Bunnyboy thought his last chance was gone, but
begged of them not to leave him any longer in his
misery, for the cords were hurting him and he
ached all over from lying bound and cramped so
long.
Spud said, "Good enough for you! but his
grandmother told him that was wrong, and quickly
untied Bunnyboy and helped him to his feet.
Then she said, "If you are one of Deacon
Bunny's sons, I know your mother. She is a kind




-~~/


..... " ."


friend to us poor folks, and has often brought us
food and comforts when we have been sick or in
trouble. You behaved badly to us to-day, but I
am glad to help you now for her sake, if for no
other reason."
Bunnyboy thanked her, and was glad enough to
use his stiffened legs once more to hurry home, by
the same road he had come but with very different
thoughts.
He felt a great deal more respect for his father's






THE BUNNY STORIES.


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r-
" 'ii~L~Ti ~_ -a,~L~
.c.
.,..
~, ;";


-~---~ ~-
-- ---.'


opinion of bear cubs, and of what was good com-
pany for him to keep, than he had felt when he
first left home. The family had already begun a
search through the neighborhood, and were just
planning what to do next, when Bunnyboy reached
the house.
When they asked for Browny, he told them that
the last he saw of him was that he was being carried
off on a goat's back toward the pasture beyond the
north village.
The Deacon knew where the goat-pasture was,
and started at once, with Cousin Jack, to find
Browny.
In about an hour they returned bringing Browny,
who was dreadfully frightened, and badly bruised
and scratched by the bushes and fences against
which the goat had rubbed, in trying to rid him-
self of his burden.
They had found Browny still tied to the goat,
and both lying on the ground, with a dozen or
more goats standing about in the moonlight
staring at the strange sight.
When Browny had been bathed and had eaten
his supper, the family sat down to hear how it all
had happened.
Then the whole story came out, for Bunnyboy
was honest enough to tell the whole truth about



-
-- -


'---- --* a- k













He owned to his father that he knew he was dis-


obeying him, and never thought of making a bad
matter worse by telling lies about it.
When he had finished the Deacon looked very
sober and said to Mother Bunny, "I think I
ought to give up my mission Sunday-school class
in the north village, and see what I can do for our
own little heathen in this family.
I am ashamed," he went on, to try to teach
other folk's children, when one of my own sets such





,,. *. ---- --_ 1-

,- "- 2.




an example, by mocking at misfortune and by
being rude and unfeeling to the old and poor, as
Bunnyboy has done to-day."
Mother Bunny made no reply, but cried softly
to herself, and it almost broke Bunnyboy's heart
when he saw her trying to hide her tears behind
her handkerchief.
Cousin Jack said it reminded him of the old
proverb, The way of the transgressor is hard,"
and if Bunnyboy would take it for a text for his
next Sunday-school lesson, he thought he would
not need a dictionary to tell him what the big word
meant, or how hard the wrong way always is,-
especially for those who have been taught a better
way than they follow.
Then Deacon Bunny turned to Bunnyboy and
said, When I was a boy the only whipping my
father ever gave me was for disobeying him, and
perhaps I ought to follow his example."
Bunnyboy thought a whipping would be the
easiest part of his punishment, if that would blot
out the record of the day, but he did not say so.
After thinking a moment Deacon went on to
say, You all know that my father's plan is not
my way of teaching you to do right. I think if a
boy with such a home, and such a mother as you


388


"
a






THE BUNNY STORIES.


have, can not learn to be a good boy without
whipping, he will not learn at all, but will keep on


doing wrong, until he has brought sorrow and
shame on himself, and on all who love him."
"Well, well!" said Cousin Jack, "there is
always one good thing that may be saved from the
wreck of a bad day, and that is a good resolution."


to get into just such scrapes myself, when I was
young and thoughtless."
This made Bunnyboy feel better, but more like
crying. He pressed Cousin Jack's hand very hard.
I have noticed," said Cousin Jack, that some
boys seem to have these attacks of lying, boasting,
and disobeying their parents, just as they have
the measles, chicken-pox, or whooping-cough, and
when they have suffered as Bunnyboy has suffered
for his disobedience to-day, they are not likely to
have the same attack again."
Bunnyboy looked very gratefully at Cousin Jack
for helping him out, and told them all he was truly
sorry and would never do so any more, and that
early next morning he would ask Grandmother
Coon's pardon in good earnest, and give Spud the
best toy he had in the house. As for Tuffy and
Brindle, he had seen enough of them, and their
kind of a circus, to last him a lifetime.
Mother Bunny looked at the clock, said it was
time the bunnies were asleep, and led them away
to bed. When his mother kissed him good-night,
Bunnyboy whispered to her, "Don't cry any more
about it, Mother, for I will try not to make you cry
for me again, the longest day I live."
And the best part of the story is that he never did.
Many years after, when Bunnyboy had grown up,
the sweetest praise he ever received, was when his


389


Then calling Bunnyboy to his side, he said, My mother told him he had been a good son and a
poor boy, I am sorry for you, and I know just how great comfort to her, ever since the day he played
you hate yourself for what has happened, for I used circus with Tuffy and Brindle Bear.






JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.


S' -i o



Z., T
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8lt~1-i I)

3 -p.


Si JACK -i N IHE -PUL PI T

WHEW! How the dried grass in my meadow
dances about Even the bare branches twirl and
caper at times, and the evergreens nod and bow
in the breeze, and the very air blusters like a Mas-
ter of Ceremonies. March is coming.
Well, let us take advantage of a quiet moment,
and speak of

GEORGE WASHINGTON'S LITTLE JOKE.
I AM told that ST. NICHOLAS gives you this
month an account of George Washington as an
athlete. If so, why may not your Jack, in this
centennial year of Washington's inauguration,
allude to the-Father of Our Country as a joker?
To be sure, there is perhaps only one joke by the
great man.on record, but it was a good one; and
here it is, right out of history :
It was during a debate in the Continental
Congress on the establishment of the Federal
Army. A member proposed that it should never
exceed 3000 men, whereupon Washington moved
an amendment that no enemy should invade the
country with a force exceeding 2000 men."

A THOUGHTFUL GOVERNMENT.
Now is the season of thaws, and, consequently,
of damp feet. And damp feet, my beloved, are
the parents of many ills. Ask the doctors if I am
not right. I am told that in one of the cantons of
Switzerland all the school children are provided
with slippers at the public expense, in order that
their damp boots may be taken off and dried by
the fire during school hours.
If this is true, the children of that canton are
safer than the children of our Middle and Eastern
States at this oozy season, or my name is not
Jack,- that is to say, ifthe children use the slippers.


FANCY FEET.
TALKING of feet,-a little friend has sent a
letter to this Pulpit all the way from Medora, in
Dakota, to tell us about the queer feet of the
grouse and the sage-hen, whose habits she has
been trying to study. The foot of the sage-hen,
she says, is covered with little feathers almost
down to the toes ; while the foot of the grouse is
quite different. It has little quills down on all the
toes, about an eighth of an inch long.
The little lady asks my boys and girls if any of
them are acquainted with birds having feet "as
fancy as those of the sage-hen and the grouse in
Dakota? "
PUSSY-WILLOWS THE YEAR ROUND.
HERE is a good hint from your poet-friend, Mrs.
Mary L. B. Branch:
Take a brisk walk into the country on some of
these crisp cold days, and gather all your hands can
hold of pussy-willow twigs', before the pussiess "
have thought of peeping out. When you have
brought them home, place them at first in a sunny
window where they will dream that April has come,
and the pretty buds will begin to swell, then to
open, and the soft, silvery gray will appear. They
will look just as furry and pussy-like in February
as those you left in the thickets and hedges will
toward May. In this way you may have pussy-
willows for your vases two or three months ahead
of time, and' they will not lose by their early
awakening. You may leave them standing on
your mantel for months with no water in the
vase, and the little, soft, gray pussies will stay
perched in their places without dropping off,
unless, indeed, you handle them too roughly.
I have had a vase full of them for ten months,
and they are as pretty now as on the day they
were brought to me. I thought that day, when
I saw a smiling boy, his hands filled with them,
standing framed by the doorway, the outer air full
of snowflakes, that the picture was prettier than
any Christmas or Easter card ever designed.
TOSSED OFF.
YOUR Jack knows of a little girl thirteen years
old, named Nannie Branch, who has a poetic soul;
and what did she do the other day but toss off from
it this pretty description of a bubble:
ALL sunshine glowing, a fancy fair,
With the exquisite-tints of a rainbow bright,
It quivers and wavers and floats in the air,
It sails, a clear globe of miraculous light.

It mingles with purple and melts into blue,
It glimmers with crimson and shimmers with
green,
It is gleaming with gold of ethereal hue
And the loveliest colors that ever were seen.

A fairy-like bauble, a marvelous sphere,
Its tints are of heaven, so lovely they seem:
A ravishing brightness that floats in the air -
And it's vanished away, like a beautiful dream.







JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.


AN OSTRICH RACE.

Los ANGELES.
DEAR JACK: Somebody in our city sent a letter
to the Philadelphia Press which I have enjoyed
very much, it is so true; and I now send a part
of it to you, all printed, so that the boys and girls
throughout the country may enjoy it also.
At a command from the Doctor one of the Madrasese
keepers opened the doors of one of the pens, and in
response to the Doctor's call, two superb ostriches came
running to him. After caressing the gentle creatures
for a few moments, he showed them a handful of figs, of
which they were extremely fond. Two of his men then
restrained the birds by placing nooses about their legs,
until he and myself had walked to the other end of the
course. Then, at a signal from the Doctor, the birds
were released, and the race began. It was a rare sight.
Ornithologists tell us that the stride of the ostrich when
feeding is from twenty to twenty-two inches; when
walking, but not feeding, twenty-six inches; and when
terrified, from eleven and one-half feet to fourteen feet.
It seemed to me that in this race for a handful of figs
from their master these gigantic birds covered the last-
named distance at every stride.
Like the wind they came, their great necks stretched
forward and upward to their utmost length; their wings,
like arms, working with a motion similar to that made
by their legs, and filling the air with a mighty soundlike
the rushing of a whirlwind. Nearer and nearer they
came, their speed increasing with every moment, till I
was almost terrified lest they should run us down, feel-
ing certain that we could not withstand the shock. They
kept very well abreast for nearly half the distance, and


then one began to forge ahead. lie steadily increased
his lead until within a few feet of us, when he turned his
head, and seeing that his competitor was considerably
in the rear, he slackened his pace, and jogging up to the
Doctor, received his reward in figs and caresses.

A NEW TOWN IN AFRICA.
DEAR JACK: A letter has just come to me from
Johannesberg in the Transvaal, South Africa, dated Octo-
ber 31st.
"This is a mining town, the center of the new gold-
fields," my correspondent tells me. Only three years
ago there was no such place, and now it has ten thousand
people, and it displays brick houses, a theater, shops,
and all the appurtenances of life.
The amount of dust and dirt," he goes on to say, "is
almost incredible. At this altitude, about six thousand
feet above the sea level, there is nearly always a gusty
wind, and 'Afric's golden sands,' as the hymn hath it,
obscure the air like a snow-storm, making the streets
almost impassable.
The nurse-maids' here are mostly little black boys,
and they seem to take great care of their charges. Very
few of the women live in the towns, but come trooping
in on market-days; their full-dress is a garment formed
of old gunny-bags, or sackcloth, and a favorite ornament
with them is a piece of bone, shaped like a cigar, which
they use as a snuff-box. It is worn through a hole in
each ear!"
Fancy carrying your snuff-box in your ear I may say.
with truth I have heard of a box on the ear, but a snuff-
box, never. So I thought I would transcribe a portion
of this letter for your amusement.
Yours affectionately, JILL.











THE BROWNIES' SNOW MAN.


BY PALMER COX.


And trees were bending
with their loads,
The wind grew mild which
had been raw,
A,.d aAnd winter yielded to a
S= -thaw;
That night the Brownies
stood to stare
In wonder on the village square.
Said one, This plot where drifts now roll
Seems like an acre from the Pole.
I have a scheme which nothing lacks:
Now while the snow so closely packs,
And may be molded in the hand,
We '11 build a statue tall and grand
Which here shall stand


at morning prime,
To be the wonder of the
time."
Another cried, That
suits us all.


:" -.." To work let every
member fall .
When once the task we
undertake
Be sure no dwarfish man
we '11 make;
But one that proudly
may look down .
On half the buildings in "'^..
the town.
I know the place where builders keep
Their benches while the snow is deep;
The poles, and ladders too, are there,
To use when working high in air.
While some for these with me will fly
Let some their hands to snow apply,
And hot a feature
of the man
I// Shall be neglected
j. in our plan."
:I /. The snow that
,night was at
/ 4. I its best
And held its
_~ shape however
pressed;


Like dough be-
neath the
baker's hand
It seemed to
answer each
demand.
The rolls when
tumbled to
and fro,


Increased with every turning, so
First like a cushion on they
sped,
Then like a pillow, next a bed,
Until the snow, adhering there,
Would leave the grass or peb-
bles bare.
As higher blocks of snow were
laid
Still higher scaffolding was
made,
A And ladders brought to use
instead
Of those too short to reach the
head.
SThus grew the form from hour
to hour,
For Brownies' hands have won-
drous power,
And let them
/ turn to what
S, they will
-,"'''-. Surprising
work will
S. follow still.
) Some shaped

S.smoothed
the waist,
Some saw plump arms were rightly placed;
The head was fixed with proper pose,
Well fash-
ioned were
both ears
and nose.
So close
thronged
Brownies I -
high and
low,


L

L


-~ .'






THE BROWNIES' SNOW MAN.


A looker on wouldhard-
ly know
What plan or shape the
busy band
Of cunning Brownies
had in hand.
But plan they had, and
deftness too,


As well was seen when they were
through.
The rounded form and manly
port
Showed modeling of rarest sort,
While charcoal eyes, so well de-
signed,
They seemed to read the very
mind,


Ir.



2k ~


Long icicles for beard and hair,
Were last affixed with taste and care.
And when the poles around the base
Had been returned each to its place,


I V -


._ e'


His special handiwork to show.
In truth, they had good reason there
With joy and pride to stand and stare,


41


393


And every ladder,
bench, and board
They had in use, again
was stored,
The Brownies stood
around awhile
To gaze upon their
work and smile;
Each points at head,
or hand, or toe,






394 THE BROWNIES' SNOW MAN.

.. ,That seemed to guard the County Hall.
And after drifts had left the square,
When roads and shingle. roofs were bare,
When ice had left the village pond,
And sheep had sought the hills beyond,
-' The Brownies' statue, like a tower,
S" Still bravely faced both wind and shower -
S .' Though sinking slowly all the while,
And losing corpulence and style,
01 A Till gardeners, on the first of May,
With shovels pitched the man away.



.,


And contemplate the object white
Which loomed above to such a height,
And not unlike some hero old
For courage famed, or action bold,
With finger pointed out as though
To indicate the coming foe.
But morning light soon came to chase
The Brownies to their hiding-place,
And children on their way to school
Forgot their lessons and the rule
W h ilr .:,_1 .. : .- r, r t ill


I. ,..*1
"1.-~* *..











SWEET MEMORIES.

BY JOHN RUSSELL CORYELL.


CLYTEMNESTRA was as well behaved an ele-
phant as any circus would care to possess. She
had tantrums as seldom as any elephant in the
herd; she would go through her performances duti-
fully; she could be trusted to carry children on her
back, and was generally a mild mannered, good-
tempered beast. It was for all of these reasons that
no one was prepared for what she took it into her
big head to do, and did, one fine morning.
The circus which Clytie" belonged to was
traveling through the country parts of England,
halting at small towns to give performances.
One night the caravan stopped at a little place
called Hythe, and the tents were pitched and the
animals made as comfortable as might be. Trans-
porting a circus and menagerie, even over the good
roads of England, is fatiguing work, and when a
stop is made and the necessary arrangements for
camping are completed, men and animals are, as a
rule, very glad of the rest which follows. On the
night of the stop at Hythe the work was no easier
than usual, and everybody went to bed tired out and
ready to take advantage of every moment's sleep.
Everybody but Clytie, at any rate. But a scheme
was working in that massive head of hers and she
did not sleep so long or so soundly as her fellows.
By three o'clock in the morning she was wide awake.
She was very wide awake. Nobody had ever known
Clytie to be so very wide awake before.
The first thing she did was to lift her foot and
strain gently at the chain which prevented her from
being a free elephant. Then she stepped forward
as far as the chain would permit and threw her
whole weight against the chain. It was a stout
chain, but she was a strong and heavy elephant,
and so it happened that the chain snapped at one
of the links and Clytie found herself free.
She was not at all surprised, for it was precisely
what she had intended, and what she had striven
to achieve. She had already studied the situa-
tion and was ready to act without any loss of valu-
able time. Almost as softly as a cat could have
done it, she stepped over the low rope that was
around the elephants, and made her way to the
door of the tent. The door was closed, but that
did not matter to her; she merely put her head
down and walked straight ahead. Fortunately the
canvas flaps gave way; for, if they had not, Clytie
was prepared to carry away the whole tent.


Even after she was free from the tent she did
not behave riotously, as if she did not know
the difference between liberty and license; she
walked soberly away from the tent and along the
path across the common, until she came to the
main street of the town. She was very deliberate
and very quiet and did not pause once until she
stood before a little shop which was as tightly
closed up as shutters and blind-doors could make it.
It was too early for anybody to be stirring in the
little place, but Clytie's manner was that of one
who was not to be deterred even if there had been
somebody to see her. She was very, very much
in earnest.
She stepped up to the little shop and felt about
its door and window with her trunk for a moment
or two. Then she drew back from the door with
her head held low, and lunged suddenly forward
with a tremendous rush. The door was not ele-
phant-proof, and so it crashed inward without try-
ing to keep up even the appearance of resistance.
Clytie followed without any haste, but with every
evidence of complete satisfaction.
She had found her way into an elephant's Para-
dise, and she knew it. In another moment she
had overturned the boxes and jars which stood on
the counter and was stuffing the sweetmeats into
her greedy mouth. She had broken into a candy
and fruit store. She seemed to realize that it only
happens once in the lifetime of an elephant to
have the freedom of a confectioner's shop, and she
acted as if she intended to improve the opportunity
to the utmost. She sampled everything she could
reach,-and she could reach almost everything in
the shop,-and she did not think of stopping
merely because the man who owned the candy
rushed hurriedly into the store from the back room,
and then rushed still more hurriedly out again
yelling, Ow Ow at the top of his lungs.
Nor did she stop when the whole neighborhood
took up the worthy man's cry of Ow! Ow!"
She went on eating and eating until a little man
named Job came running up, and cried out in a
sharp voice:
Hi, there, Clytie What d' ye mean ? Come
out o' that now, d' ye hear ? "
Then she backed out in a great hurry and looked
very much afraid of the little man. And she was
afraid of him, for he was her keeper and she had






SWEET MEMORIES.


great respect for him, and knew he could punish
her if he chose to do so. But, after all, she had
eaten her fill of candy, and so, what did it matter?
But the question was, how did she manage to
distinguish a candy-store from any other? Of
course she could not read the sign over the win-







.feA'ii


way to go directly to that store ? Everybody was
puzzled for a long time, but at last the man who
kept the store offered the solution. He had fed an
elephant from his shop as many as twelve years
before. Was Clytie that elephant? More inquiries
were made, and the fact discovered that she was


II.. .. ,_-.l i.i 'IIi k ,fl ,. '' I A:'.. .


i' i '^ I- "



dow, and it was almost as unlikely that she could the very elephant that had been fed there a dozen
tell by the smell, even when she reached the spot. years earlier.
The difficulty is, how should she have known the Her memory was better than her gratitude.

















THE LETTER-BOX.


CORINo, ITALY.
MY DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am an Italian girl, and
for the last three years, thanks to the kindness of my
uncle, who is now at Washington, I have the pleasure
of reading and enjoying your delightful magazine. You
are one of my dear friends, and I have always a hearty
welcome ready for you when you arrive. I like your
stories very much, and sometimes I relate and explain
them to my numerous brothers and sisters (five,- all
younger than I am), who regard ST. NICHOLAS as an
important personage, and long for the time when they
will be able to read English.
I am fifteen and very busy with my studies, which,
however, do not prevent me reading (I should say de-
vouring) you with the greatest pleasure. If the wishes
of a foreign subscriber could be agreeable to you, I
would wish you every success for the coming year, and
every happiness to your other little friends.
Your constant reader and admirer, MARY.


KIOTO, JAPAN.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a French girl, fifteen
years old, and I am already five feet six inches tall,
and growing all the time. I wonder when I shall stop.
Although my home is in France, yet I have been there
but once, though I hope to go there next year. Since I
was seven years old I have never lived longer than two
months in one place. I have seen Germany, Spain,
Italy, England, and been as far north as Archangel,
where it is,-oh, so cold! I am at present in Japan,
which, next to France, I like best of all. You do not
know how very much I enjoy you. Indeed, I think you
give more pleasure to me than to any other little girl
who reads you. I like Little Lord Fauntleroy better
than any book I have read. With repeated thanks,
Your most constant reader, RUBIE Du B--


CINCINNATI, OHIO.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Not very long ago I was
down at the Ladies' Exchange here, in Cincinnati, and,
among other things, I saw a whole tableful of little
"Brownies." They looked exactly like Mr. Cox's in
the pictures the policeman, and the dude, and China-
man and all. They were made out of velvet and brown
net, with leather feet and hands.
I like your magazine very much. My favorite stories
are "Little Lord Fauntleroy," "Sara Crewe," and
"Juan and Juanita."
I am afraid I am making my letter too long, so I will
close. Your little reader, EMMA E- .


EXETER, ENGLAND.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Will you allow me to point
out a mistake in a story in the December number of
your splendid magazine, entitled The Curious History
of a Message," by Frank R. Stockton ? In this interest-
ing tale the writer states that if a bird was perched on


the stump of a broken telephone wire, a message of four
words passing along the wire would stun the bird, while
a longer message would kill it. Now, if four words
alone knock it off the wire and stun it, why should not
the first four words of a message of any length do the
same thing without killing it? I may be mistaken, but,
nevertheless, I hope you will put this letter into your
"Letter-box." LEONARD K-

MORRISON, COLO.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I live in the Rocky Mount-
ains, Colorado, and I am four years old. I love the
" Brownies" best. I have a shepherd-dog named
" Berne," after the city of Berne, Switzerland, because
when he was a puppy he looked just like a little bear,-
and Berne is the old German word for bear. I can
hardly wait for the new ST. NICHOLAS every month. I
have a German Tanfe, and she teaches me some German.
I can speak German. Ich liebe dick.
Aufwiedersehen, MONTGOMERY R. S--


SAVANNAH, GA.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: In your last number I saw a
letter from Lillian H. H., saying you and she "were
born the same year." I can come nearer than that, for
I was born the day your first number was issued. 1 do
not remember ever to have seen a letter from any one so
exactly your age in your charming magazine.
Being of French descent, I take great pleasure in the
liberty qf reading your entertaining articles, in the
equality of our ages, and the twin-brotherly feeling that
exists- on my side, and I hope on yours.
E. B. H-


STEUBENVILLE, OHIO.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Here is a riddle I made all
myself. I am six years old.
Tommy Tit goes to bed through the day;
But Tommy Tit gets up at night to play.
The answer is a gas jet. Mamma said I might send
it to you. PHILIP C. H- .

NEW YORK CITY.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : When I read over the letters
of the many little subscribers to your splendid magazine,
I noticed that in most of the lists of their favorite stories
" Little Lord Fauntleroy" is mentioned, and I did enjoy
myself so much when Papa took me to see it played.
It was so natural, and the little boy who played the part
of Ceddie did it so well that we waited at the close of
the play to see him come out of the theater, and to con-
gratulate him, and we did. I am going again to see the
little girl play the part, as most of the people say she is
the better of the two ; but I don't yet see how she possi-
bly can be.
I have read the story twice with great interest, and
think you have such lovely stories within your covers.
Your constant reader, ZOE H.-






THE LETTER-BOX.


BROOKLYN, N. Y.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: You have been a regular vis-
itor in our family for ten years, and although I was not
at first old enough to appreciate you, I have done so
thoroughly for the last four or five years. I am now
fourteen.


AMHERST, MASS.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl eight years
old, and I have no brothers or sisters. I came back
from the sea-shore last September, and we went to the
White Island Light at the Isles of Shoals, and I thought
you would'like to hear about ii. First there was a little
slanting passage-way, and there was a notice saying:
PLEASE-DO-NOT-SMOKE OR-WALK-ON-THE-WHITE-
WASH."
Then we got to the end and into the light-house. We
went around and around till we got to the top of the
tower, and then there were four little iron stairs that
went inside of the lantern, and I went inside by the little
stairs, and the lantern had three wicks. After that I
came out; and there were twenty lenses, and they were
all white cut glass, and every other one had a red pane
of glass over the white one.
The keeper said there was a red flash every thirty
seconds. Then we went outside on the balcony, and we
had a lovely view of the waves as they dashed on the
rocks. When we went down, we all ran down the pas-
sage-way as fast as we could.
I am getting a collection of stones. I have some
trilobites that were once little animals, and that was
thousands of years ago, and then they buried themselves
in the mud and turned into stone.
Your loving reader, MILLICENT TODD.


d.t
it-i -


"GLENCHORA."
I have a very beautiful Irish setter dog named Glen-
chora," for a pet. Her great-great-grandfather, "Blar-
ney," is the finest Irish setter in the world.
She is very intelligent, and knows a great many
tricks. I think her cutest one is, if you put a piece of
meat or cake before her and tell her, It costs money,"
she will not take it until you say, Paid for." She also
sits up, speaks, and shakes hands. Every morning she
brings Papa's paper to him, and if she wants to go out
she brings either his hat or cane to him if they are within
reach. And, altogether, we think her the nicest dog
that ever lived.
The picture which I inclose of her and her family is a
perfect likeness.
Your appreciative reader, ETHEL.


GLENCHORA'S" FAMILY.

THE young friends whose names follow have written
us pleasant letters, which we acknowledge with our
thanks: Harrie, Mabel Benson, Amelia Hamilton, Al-
thea Badeley, Little Girl Who Had Nothing To Do,"
D. L. and O. McL., Lydia H., J. Glen Fassett, E. Mar-
ler, M. F. P., Charlie Clement, E. J. Jackson, Robert
W. Ritchie, Vera Eckart, Helena Jockmann, The Two
" M's," Willard Wheeler, Dora E. Marshall, Lou Henry,
O. F., Clarence H. Smith, Treasure Richards, Tom-
Boy, Sis, and Bub, Gertrude C. S., Edith Ran-nage,
Carrie S., Clara Ennemoser, Grace M. Perry, Frankie
Ball, Ola and Claudie Ball, Helen R. M., Nellie N.
Nast, Lillan See, Maggie Coyle, Elsie Bushell, Celia B.
Miller, May Birdie B., Anne E. Davidson, Ethelyn
Phipps, Katherine A. L., Blanche Fairbanks, Harriet
Barrows and Florence Capron, M. S. L. and H. M. W.,
Mary C., Cecil Krutz, Jessie M. and Elaine S., Grace
Perry, Arthur M. Perry, Sybil Latimer, Margaret S.,
A. P. H., N. Birdie Parsons, "Roberta and Jack."


398















THE RIDDLE-BOX.


TO PUZZLES IN THE FEBRUARY


REBUS. A chain 's no stronger than its weakest link."
DOUBLE DIAGONALS. Diagonals: Prevaricate and Papier-mache.
Cross-words: i. Parasolette. 2. Tragacanths. 3. Theological. 4.
Driving-axle. 5. Declaimants. 6. Constructor. 7. Convenience.
8. Hemistichal. 9. Republicans. ao. Catholicity. ii. Parenticide.
CUBE: From i to a, decorum; 2 to 4, Mexican; i to 3, dealers;
3 to 4, sadiron; 5 to 6, grilled; 6 to 8, drainer; 5 to 7, gallant; 7 to
8, teacher; I to 5, drug; 2 to 6, mend; 4 to 8, near; 3 to 7, sort.
WORD PROGRESSIONS. Parallelopipedon.
WoRD TRANSFORMATIONS. i. Regiment; regimen; regime;
grime; rime; emir; mire; rim. 2. Diary; dairy; airy; air; Ai;
aid; Ida; raid; diary. 3. Primero; primer; prime; prim; rip;
pi. 4. Mantlet; mantle; mental; lament; amen; me. 5. Lodges;
lodes; Delos; dosel; dorsel; dose; odes; sod; do. 6. Cedar;
raced; cared; scared; sacred; acre.
ACROSTIC (third row of letters). Candlemas. Cross-words: i.
beCkon. 2. crAven. 3. caNnon. 4. peDant. 5. faLcon. 6.
chEcks. 7. DoMbey. 8. flAmes. 9. faSten.
If Candlemas Day be fair and bright,
Winter will have another flight;
If on Candlemas Day it be shower and rain,
Winter is gone, and will not come again.
ILLUSTRATED CENTRAL ACROSTIC. Rhenus. Cross-words: I.
touRney. 2. cusHion. 3. genEral. 4. runNers. 5. figUres.
6. bloSsom.


RHOMBOID. Across: I. Macaw. 2. Macer. 3. Relay. 4.
Strew. 5. Setee.
EASY ENIGMA. September. I. Sere. 2. Seer. 3. Peer. 4.
Beet. 5. Beer. 6. Peter. 7. Best. 8. Rest. 9. Embers. so.
Steer. II. Stem. 12. Mete. 13. Erst. 14. Term. 15. Terse.
16. Pert. 17. Bee. 18. Steep. 19. Set. 20. Pester. 21. Seem.
22. Teem. 23. Tree. 24. Meet. 23. Pet. 26. Pest. 27. Meter.
28. Mere. 29. Sept. 30. Spree. .3. Met. 32. Me. 33. Tem-
per. 34. See. 35. Step. 36. Rep. 37. Ere.
ABSENT VOWELS. I. All covet, all lose. 2. You dig your
grave with your teeth. 3. We hate delay, yet it makes us wise.
4. Better half a loaf than no bread. 5. Penny wise, pound foolish.
6. A drowning man will catch at a straw. 7. Two ill meals make
the third a glutton. 8. Honey in the mouth saves the purse. 9.
Spare to speak, spare to speed. so. Haste makes waste. Valen-
tines: coVet, grAve, deLay, brEad, peNny, caTch, thIrd, hoNey,
spEak, haSte.
-RIDDLE. A candle.
OCTAGON. I. Par. 2. Sober. 3. Popular. 4. Abusive. 5.
Relined. 6. Raven. 7. Red.
ARROW. Across: I. Robs. 2. Vote. 3. Lancewood. 4. Aura.
5. Else. Downward: i. Re. 2. Oval. 3. Bolus. 4. Stare. 5-
Ena(ble). 6. Sol.
COMBINATION PUZZLE. Half-square: I. Revered. 2. Eroded.
3. Vowed. 4. Eden. 5. Red. 6. Ed. 7. D.


To OUR PUZZLERS: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the i5th of each month, and
should be addressed to ST. NICHOLAS Riddle-box," care of THE CENTURY CO., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City.
ANSWERS TO ALL THE PUZZLES IN THE DECEMBER NUMBER were received, before December I5th, from Louise Ingham Adams -
Maud E. Palmer-Paul Reese-K. G. S.-" Willoughby "-Arthur Gride-Mamma, Aunt Martha, and Sharley-E. A. Daniell-
Maxie and Jackspar--May L. Gerrish- Grace Olcott-Jo and I- "Infantry"-Aunt Kate, Jamie, and Mamma-No Name-" Mo-
hawk Valley."
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE DECEMBER NUMBER were received, before December i i.1. .n J. B. Swann, 4-Edith Sloan, I-
A. E. Dyer, I- Tommy L., i- Ethel M. Harmon, -Katie V. Z., 2-" Roseba," I-- ; ... and Mary, i -Kate Cummins, i-
Mamma, Jessie, and Mamie, i Lisa Bloodgood, I--Gr6ta Hamilton, -A. Clark Robinson, i-"Aunty," 2-Mary P. Pratt,
--Papa, Mamma, and May, Harry Sillcocks, i -Jennie, Mina, and Isabel, 5 -Helen I. Whiton, i-A. G. Field, i -Maria and
Hetty, I Etta Reilly, 2-Clara O., 3-Paul P. Lyon, i-Alice Gillet, -A. Scott Ormsby, -Eva I. Moseley, x -A. W. B.,
2-" May and 79," 5-Helen C. McCleary, 7-Edward W. Sheldon and Bella Sheldon Owen, 4 Hattie A. Richardson, 5-A. P.
T. A., 4-Minnie McDougall, i -Ida and Alice, 5 Nellie L. Howes, 4 Julian C, and Joslyn Z. Smith, 2-John and Tom ....
ory, 3 Charles C. Norris, 6- Tom, Dick, and Harrie, .. T. J. Bryan, I -Ida C. Thallon, 7 -N. and W., a-" Miss 'I...
S- Mabel W. B., I--Anna and Emily Dembitz, 4 D. "-. I.... -.I Jr., i.


ENIGMATICAL GEOGRAPHY LESSON. 8. A fabulous Phoenician princess. 9. One of the muses. o. The
capital of Laconia and the chief city of Peloponnesus.
EXAMPLE: A month and a vowel. Answer, Augusta. When these names have been rightly guessed, and placed one
i. An animal and dexterity. 2. Yeast and value. 3. A master below the other in the order here given, the initial letters will spell
and a weight. 4. Fresh and an old boat. 5. Base and a measure. the name of the brother of Prometheus. MARGARET LACHENOUR.
6. Swarthy and a church. 7. To hold fast and to disembark. 8. A
jump and a meadow. 9. Fresh, a conjunction, and inclines. so. An PENTAGONS.
animal anda crossing, ti. A feminine name, a garment, and bounds.
i2. A human being, a box, and to sin. x3. A toy, to knot, and a
statesman. 14. A feminine name and a sphere. 15. A masculine
nickname, a vowel, a person, and to strike gently. R. D.

RHYMED WORD-SQUARE.
Mv first means to seize, or to hold with the hand; .
To take forced possession of chattels or land......
My second's a term in arithmetic used,
And oft with proportion its meaning 's confused.
I. 1. A letter from Halifax. 2. Dejected. 3. A masculine
My third is to expiate; make an amend; name. 4. An American novelist who was born on March xst. 5.
To make reparation to foe or to friend. A masculine nickname. 6. To glide. 7. A prophet.
II. I. A letter from Jerusalem. 2. Equal value. 3. Walked.
My fourth is a trigonometrical word, 4. A President of the United States who was born on March 14th.
And often with cosiness 't is coupled and heard. 5. To dwell. 6. To be evasive. 7. Want.
III. i. A letter from Germany. 2. A covering for the head. 3.
My fifth is a gift which few persons possess: A pupil in a military school. 4. A President of the United States
No more will I tell you, but leave you to guess, who was born on March i6th. 5. An instrument for pounding. 6.
L. G. Certain taxes. 7. A habitation.
SINGLE ACROSTIC. IV. I. A letter from Constantinople. 2. Part of a circle. 3.
Loudly. 4. An astronomer who was born on March 23d. 5. The
I. THE son of chaos and darkness. 2. A brother of the most name of a certain captain mentioned in a novel by Charles Dickens.
beautiful woman of ancient times. 3. A celebrated island near Acar- 6. Distributes. 7. Repose.
nania. 4. OneoftheGorgons. 5. A wild and mountainous country V. i. A letter from Scotland. 2. A metal cup. 3. To tinge.
lying between the Ionian Sea and the chain of Pindus. 6. One of 4. A statesman who died on March 3ist, 1850. 5. A simpleton.
the seven wise men of Greece. 7. An ancient name for Greece. 6. Sways. 7. A collection of boxes. F. s. F.
100


ANSWERS


NUMBER.







400 THE RIDDLE-BOX.

ILLUSTRATED NUMERICAL ENIGMA. 5. A church benefice. 6. A small leaf. 7. A small musical instru-
ment.
-The diagonals, from the upper left-hand corner to the lower right-
C hand corner, spell a title of honor; from the upper right-hand
.9 corner to the lower left-hand corner spell an inferior crown worn by
C noblemen. n.
NOVEL RHOMBOID.




/ // 30o-/q

-- AcRoss: I. A carnivorous animal found in India. 2. The mytho-

of Abraham. 5. An insurgent.
SDOWNWARD: i. In valor. 2. An exclamation. 3. A pipe. 4.
-Tc ir. ,- r.-.r publication. 5. A mechanical power. 6. Sensitive.
7- f-'- .,: of a shoe, fastened with a string or otherwise. 8. A
pronoun. 9. In valor.
S :j_ UPWARD: I. In valor. 2. An exclamation. 3. A slight blow.
S4. Course. 5.To carouse. 6. A name for Cupid. 7. An animal.
8. An exclamation. 9. In valor. F. s. F.
S~ii- CROSS-WORD ENIGMA.
"--. M first is in snow seen, but never in rain,
While lake, but not pond, doth my second contain;
~~M y third is in pitcher, in bowl it is not;
My fourth is in kettle, though absent from pot;
My fifth is in strait, but is no part of sound.
S' -' -- In all of these places my whole may be found.
S' \. F. A. B.
i,' DIVIDED WORDS.
Example: Divide to amend, and make a demon and to wander.
Answer: Imp-rove.
S. Divide a time, and make a body of water and a masculine re-
lation. 2. Divide diminishes, and make smaller and existence. 3.
Divide lying down, and make a place for rest and an insect. 4. Di
vide feeding on shrubs, and make the edge of a hill and to carol.
S ". Divide a precious stone carved in relief, and make arrived and a
Sbone. 6. Divide a certain time of the twenty-four hours, and make
middle and darkness. 7. Divide to introduce novelties, and make
a tavern and egg-shaped. 8. Divide mournfully, and make a plant
and completely. 9. Divide a kind of primrose, and make certain
animals and the edge. to. Divide to attach, and make to conclude
and a spike of corn. xn. Divide inclined, and make a meadow and
__3_ ---" __ a masculine nickname. x2. Divide a city in Ohio, and make the
light and a measure of weight.
S. : -. : been rightly selected and divided
San! fl .:::1 ... I-I h.. ... the order here given, the last let-
ters of the first words will spell the name of a day observed by
churches this year in March; the first letters of the second row of
words will spell the time which the above day commences.
CYRIL DEANE.
.. .-- --COMBINATION ACROSTIC.



4 ...

--;- 5 6




S.ACROSS: i. Manner. 2. Discriminating. 3. A musical instru-
ment. 4. Pertaining to the great poet of Greece. 5. Disorder.
6. A coat of mail. 7. Evident, 8. Weak.
From I to 2, the poetical name of a European country; from 3 to 4
and from 5 to 6, what that country wishes to secure. F. A. W.

PECULIAR ACROSTICS.
"'A-t-- ALL of the words described contain the same number of letters.
I. CROSS-WORDs: i. An inclosure formed of pickets. 2. A state
of insensibility. 3. The nutritious part of wheat. 4. To forge on
an anvil.
The third row of letters, reading downward, spell a feminine
THis differs from the ordinary numerical enigma, in that the name; the last row, a color. When read together they form the
words forming it are pictured instead of described. The answer, name of a poem.
consisting of thirty letters, is a couplet relating to windy weather. II. CROSS-WORDS: i. A showy trifle. 2. A cavern. 3. A
treasurer of a college. 4. Fervent. 5. A masculine name.
DOUBLE DIAGONALS. The third row of letters, reading downward, spell what may be
found in any newspaper; the last row, price. When the two words
CROSS-WORDS: i. A noted city of ancient times. 2. Beloved by are read together they name the writer of the poem mentioned in the
the aeronaut. 3. A spicy plant. 4. One of a tribe of nomadic Arabs. first acrostic. DYCIE.

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