• TABLE OF CONTENTS
HIDE
 Front Cover
 Frontispiece
 Among dogs of high degree
 The creature with no claws
 On appledore
 Almost a tragedy
 A doll on mount etna
 Make-believe
 Teddy O'Rourke
 The great procession
 About Ted Russell
 The making of a great steel...
 The journey
 Dora Miller's wonder ball
 Among the Florida Keys
 The first Americans
 My dog
 Where salmon are plentiful
 Mother goose sonnets
 The bunny stories
 A page of boats (illustration)
 From our scrap-book
 A close corporation
 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/UF00065513/00218
 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: VID00218
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
        Front Cover 3
    Frontispiece
        Frontispiece
    Among dogs of high degree
        Page 883
        Page 884
        Page 885
        Page 886
    The creature with no claws
        Page 887
        Page 888
    On appledore
        Page 889
    Almost a tragedy
        Page 890
        Page 891
        Page 892
        Page 893
    A doll on mount etna
        Page 894
        Page 895
        Page 896
        Page 897
        Page 898
        Page 899
        Page 900
    Make-believe
        Page 901
        Page 902
        Page 903
        Page 904
    Teddy O'Rourke
        Page 905
    The great procession
        Page 906
    About Ted Russell
        Page 906
        Page 907
        Page 908
        Page 909
        Page 910
        Page 911
        Page 912
    The making of a great steel gun
        Page 913
        Page 914
        Page 915
        Page 916
        Page 917
        Page 918
        Page 919
    The journey
        Page 920
        Page 921
    Dora Miller's wonder ball
        Page 922
        Page 923
        Page 924
        Page 925
        Page 926
    Among the Florida Keys
        Page 927
        Page 928
        Page 929
        Page 930
        Page 931
        Page 932
        Page 933
        Page 934
    The first Americans
        Page 935 (MULTIPLE)
        Page 936
        Page 937
    My dog
        Page 938
        Page 939
        Page 940
        Page 941
    Where salmon are plentiful
        Page 942
        Page 943
    Mother goose sonnets
        Page 944
        Page 945
    The bunny stories
        Page 946
        Page 947
        Page 948
        Page 949
    A page of boats (illustration)
        Page 950
        Page 951
    From our scrap-book
        Page 952
        Page 953
    A close corporation
        Page 954
        Page 955
    The letter-box
        Page 956
        Page 957
        Page 958
    The riddle-box
        Page 959
        Page 960
        Unnumbered ( 83 )
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
    Spine
        Spine
Full Text























V p r U-







15?


Nit


THE HOUNDS OF THE COUNT DE BARRAL.

(BY PERMISSION OF BOUSSOD, VALADON & CO.)




i B1_ii














NICHOLAS.


OCTOBER, 1889.


AMONG DOGS OF HIGH DEGREE.

BY NOAH BROOKS.


ALTHOUGH some of the readers of ST. NICH-
OLAS may not know it, there is an aristocracy of
dogs and various degrees of high society in the
dog world, just as there is among mankind. An
old English writer, making a genealogy of British
dogs, classified them thus: "Dogs of chase,"
"fowlers and lap-dogs," "farm-dogs," "mon-
grels." At the top of this list are the hounds, or
dogs that depend more upon the rose than the eyes
for their following of the game of which they are
in pursuit. These, in all their varieties, are dogs
of chase." There are so many families of hounds
that an old wiseacre among dog-fanciers has said:

Many men, many minds; many hounds, many kinds."

But the fowlers are also dogs of high degree, for
they too follow the scent rather than the sight of
the game; and setters, pointers, and field and water
spaniels' are classed among these. At the very
bottom of this list is to be found the "spaniel
gentle, or comforter." Chief among these for its
aristocratic breeding is the variety of spaniel rep-
resented in the King Charles and the Blenheim.
The first named was a prime favorite with the un-
fortunate Charles I. The King, being once asked
to determine which was the finer dog of the two,
the spaniel or the hound, said that the hound
deserved pre-eminence, "because," said he, "it
hath all the good-nature of the other without his
fawning." This was a gentle hint to the King's
courtiers who had asked the question.
The Blenheim spaniels were first bred by the


great Duke of Marlborough, at his castle, Blen-
heim. Spaniels were also the favorite dogs of the
proud and cruel Duke of Norfolk, who lived in the
time of Robert Southey. The Duke had the sole
possession of the breed, whose colors are black and
tan, and whose fur is like silk in fineness. More
strictly these are of the King Charles breed. By
the Duke the spaniels were called King James span-
iels; and, while he lived, he kept them on his
estate, parting with none to any person. To show
his wanton disregard for others, the Duke was
accustomed to feed many of the puppies to his pet
eagles, and a stranger to his pride of exclusive pos-
session of the race of King James spaniels, seeing
him thus employed, modestly asked the Duke for
one of the litter that was being sacrificed. Where-
upon his Grace haughtly replied, "Pray, sir, which
of my estates should you like to have ? The King
Charles, or King James, spaniel, if he be of pure
blood, has not so much as'one white hair upon him.
The Blenheim spaniel is white and pale yellow.
A famous writer on dogs, George Jesse, has
made this catalogue of "the virtues, feelings,
and powers of mind that are well authenticated of
the dog." Love, faithfulness, gratitude, generosity,
sagacity, courage, nobility, trustfulness, truth, devo-
tion, sincerity, unselfishness, honesty, endurance,
perseverance, temperance, obedience, vigilance,
compassion, mercy, attention, memory, forgiveness,
tenderness, gentleness, forbearance, humanity,
amiability, magnanimity, reflection, sensitiveness,
grief, joy, jealousy, docility, revenge, willingness,
complaisance, humility, submission. If the'reader,


Copyright, x889, by THE CENTURY Co. All rights reserved.


ST.


VOL. XVI.


No. 12.





AMONG DOGS OF HIGH DEGREE.


who is a lover of dogs, will read over this list very
carefully and recall to mind the anecdotes of dogs
that he has read, he will doubtless be able to find an
example that will "authenticate," as George Jesse
says, the virtues and the powers of mind so well
set forth in this long list. Some of these graces
of mind and temper are common to curs of low
degree; but it is among the dogs of the highest


SBY PERMISSION OF BOUSSOD, VALADON & CO.
quality that we must look for the nobler traits of
character.
Of the hound family it is said that those that are
shaggily coated, as the setter, are more attached
to mankind than those of the smoother skin.
This is only a fancy, probably, for some of the
finest traits of devotion have been observed in the
smooth-skinned variety. Captain Gervase Mark-
ham, a noted British sportsman, is thought to
have set forth the best rules for the choosing of a
hound. In his book, Countrey Contentments,
or the Husbandman's Recreations," printed in
1651, the gallant captain says that in the choice
of a high-bred hound one must be sure to see that
the beast hath a round, big, thick head, with a
short nose uprising and large open nostrils, which
shows that he is of a quick and good scent, his


ears exceeding large, thin, and down-hanging
much lower than his chaps, and the flews of his
upper-lips almost two inches lower than his nether
chaps, which shews a merry mouth and a loud
ringer," and so on. This sort of hound, the Cap-
tain says, is "large, heavy, slow, and true."
He added, If you will chuse a light, swift hound,
then must his head be more slender and his nose
more long, his ears and flews more
shallow, his back broad, his tail small,
his joynts long, his foot round, and
his general composure much more
slender and grayhound-like."
Now let the reader look at the
beautiful hounds that are pictured in
the frontispiece of this number of the
ST. NICHOLAS, and, so far as the
portraits of these dogs are given, he
will see that they must be the high-
bred animals of which the ancient
Captain Markham discourses so
learnedly. These dogs, Margano,
Sereno, Lentenor, and Nicanor, were
the property of the Count de Barral,
a French nobleman whose kennels
were famous all over Europe. They
are hounds of the beagle family,
but are taller than the old English
beagle, as indeed, all French hounds
are usually taller than their English
cousins. Margano has the slightly
roughish coat which some writers
think indicates a warmer friendship
for man in the dog who wears it;
and certainly nobody can look in his
honest and shrewdly intelligent
countenance without a feeling of af-
fection for the animal who looks so
attentively at you from the canvas.
Sereno, to whom he is coupled,
has what the French call a distinguish air, and
may be the most aristocratic dog of the group,
though all are clearly dogs of high degree. Len-
tenor, I should say, has a great head, an intellectual
head, indeed; and that refined nose and the pendu-
lous ears bespeak the very finest strain of blood.
Nicanor, who is coupled with Lentenor, must be
of a roguish turn of mind, and, being more in
profile than either of the others, his fine nose is
the very perfection of high breeding. He fills
admirably the requirements of Captain Gervase
Markham, of famous memory.
These portraits, as well as those of Calypso,
and Barbaro on pages 884, 885, are all of the
same pack of dogs, and were painted for the Count
de Barral, by Louis Godefroy Jadin, a French
artist of renown, who was born in Paris, in 1805,






AMONG DOGS OF HIGH DEGREE.


and who died in that city in 1882. M. Jadin was
noted as a painter of hunting scenes, dogs, horses,
and still-life. His art is capitally exemplified in
these portraits, which are so evidently good like-
nesses of the dogs that we must needs admire the
cunning with which the painter has portrayed the
dispositions of his subjects. Note, for example,
the coquettish pose of the beautiful Calypso. She
has not only a high-bred appearance, but you
might almost say that she has some of the fine-lady
airs of a French woman of quality, who knows she
is an elegant creature, and who makes no secret
of her knowledge. Barbaro, on the other hand,
is less conscious of being stared at, and his large,
luminous eyes, liquid in the light, his exquisite
nose and dilating nostrils, are all so many marks
of good breeding and fine manners-
dog-manners, of course; I mean.
Strange to say, the hound is the
dog whose portrait is most frequently
found in the most ancient sculptures
and paintings in the world those of
old Egypt. We may believe, too,
that the faithful Argus, the dog of
Ulysses, was a hound, so far as
Homer's description makes him out
for us. When the far-wandering
Ulysses, after twenty years of ab-
sence from his home, returned to
his family, Argus lay a-dying of old
age and neglect on a heap of offal.
Nobody knew the wanderer when
he came to his own again, but the
faithful hound recognized his master
through all disguise of tatters and
neglected visage. Says Homer:

"The dog, whom fate had granted to
behold
His lord, when twenty tedious years
had roll'd,
Takes a last look,--and having seen
him,- dies ;
So closed forever faithful Argus' eyes."

It was a hound, too, some such
dog as Nicanor, I make no doubt,
that rose to everlasting fame in song
and story as the preserver of the life
of his master's child, laying down his own life with-
out a murmur thereafter. Gelert was a Welsh
hound; his master, Llewelyn the Great, lived near
the base of Snowden, one of the famed peaks of
Wales. Going to the hunt one day, Llewelyn left
Gelert in charge of an infant sleeping in the
cradle. The dog, faithful to his trust, attacked a
savage wolf that stole into the house with the in-
tent of carrying off the child. In the encounter


the cradle was overturned, and the infant was thus
concealed, still sleeping. But the wolf was slain,
and the faithful Gelert, his chaps dabbled with
blood, met the returning Llewelyn, conscious of
having done his whole duty. Not seeing his
babe, Llewelyn rashly supposed that the hound
had killed the infant, and drew his sword and
plunged it in the side of the savior of his son. Of
the remorse and grief of the chieftain when he
found what a foolish and wicked thing he had
done, we need not speak. But Gelert was buried
with due honor in a spot hard by, which, unto
this day, is called "Beth-Gl6ert," or the grave
of G&lert." Read Williain Robert Spencer's touch-
ing ballad in which all this lamentable history is
set forth, thus ending:


(BY PERMISSION OF BOUSSOD, VALADON & CO.)
"And, till great Snowden's rocks grow old,
And cease the storm to brave,
The consecrated spot shall hold
The name of G8lert's grave! "

There are those that say that the tale of Gelert
is wholly an imaginary one. But let us cling to
the belief that the brindledd hound," which one
careful writer says Gelert was, really did all that


1889.]


885





886 AMONG DOGS .OF HIGH DEGREE.

was said of him in the story. We.might well be to ask in.an intelligible manner for tea, coffee,
willing to forget the folly of the master, of whom chocolate, etc., and an account of which was com-
the Welsh have this proverb: "' I repent as much municated to the Royal Academy of France by no
as the man who slew his greyhound." less a person than Leibnitz,.one of the most emi-
But, after all, we cannot claim for the hound all nent philosophers that ever lived. The account
the virtues that pertain to dog-life. Mrs. Byron, says that. the dog was the property of a peasant,
the mother of the famous poet, had a fox-terrierto whose little son, fancying that he heard the dog
which Boatswain, Lord Byron's favorite Newfound- attempt to make articulate sounds, undertook to
land dog, took a violent disliking. Gilpin, the fox- teach him to speak, with the result afore men-
terrier, being in danger of losing his life by the tioned. The sagacious creature, says Leibnitz,
worriments that Boatswain inflicted upon. him, finally mastered no less than thirty words. Not-
Mrs. Byron sent the little fellow'away-to Newstead, withstanding this dog's great talent, he was an
many miles from the house where she then lived, incorrigible truant, and often ran away to escape
Shortly after, Byron, the dog's master, went away the lessons that his young master taught him.
from home for a long time; and, Boatswain, after Dogs have been.. taught, as we have hinted,
showing much concern of mind, disappeared for almost everything but to talk, and the story of the
.a whole day, to the dismay of the servants. At Saxon dog must be accepted as affording, at least
nightfall, he came home, bringing Gilpin with him. one instance of its powers of speech. Dogs have
He led the terrier to the kitchen fire and lavished -.been known to hold such : intercourse. with each
upon him every expression of tenderness and affec- other as to give the impression that they do talk
tion. It turned out that Boatswain had gone all among themselves. A gentleman living near
the way to Newstead, whence he had lured Gilpin, Boston has a large and dignified hound that usu-
guiding him home in safety. It is related that the ally accompanies his master in his walks. Nero
two dogs lived ever after in loving concord, Boat- never forgets his dignified composure, even under
swain defending Gilpin against the attacks of all great provocation. For a time, however, he was
comers. greatly exasperated by the snapping and snarling
.When Boatswain died, his mourning master at him of an ill-conditioned cur that master and
reared over his grave a monument on which was dog encountered at a certain place. Finally, after
engraved the most touching epitaph and the most .many days of trial, Nero suddenly stopped, seized
celebrated that ever graced a dog's burial-place, the poor; cur in his powerful jaws, crushed its spine
You will find it in Byron's poems. Here are the just back of the neck, and dropped it on the
last two lines : ground, limp and lifeless. Then he walked on
composedly by.the side of his master, showing no
To mark a friend's remains these stones arise; signs of agitation. It was noticed that after that,
I never knew but one,- and here he lies." the intelligence of Nero's summary execution of
the cur having apparently spread abroad, every
Regarding dogs of great intelligence, like those dog in the neighborhood took to his heels in flight
of the Count de Barral, for example, we some- whenever Nero appeared. How did dogs that saw
times say, He can do everything but talk." not the execution of the little cur learn what had
And yet there is a very well authenticated case happened?
of a dog being taught to talk. In Daniel's When we can answer this question, we can also
"Rural Sports," a work of high credit, pub- learn, perhaps, why dogs of high degree, like men
lished in London in 1801, the story is told of a of gentle blood and good breeding, perpetuate their
dog born near Zeitz, in Saxony, that was taught fine qualities from generation to generation.










THE CREATURE WITH NO CLAWS.


BY JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS.


W'EN you git a leetle bit older dan w'at you
is, honey," said Uncle Remus to the little boy,
"you '11 know lots mo' dan you does now."
The old man had a pile of white oak splits by
his side and these he was weaving into a chair-
bottom. He was an expert in the art of "bottom-


" BRER WOLF MAKE LIKE HE GWINE TER HIT DE CREETUR.
EN DEN-" (SEE NEXT PAGE.)
ing chairs," and he earned many a silver quarter
in this way. The little boy seemed to be much
interested in the process.
Hit 's des like I tell you," the old man went
on; "I done had de speunce un it. I done got
so now dat I dqn't believe w'at I see, much less w'at
I year. It got ter be whar I kin put my han' on
it en fumble wid it. Folks kin fool deyse'f lots
wuss dan yuther folks kin fool um, en ef you don't
believe w'at I 'm a-tellin' un you, you kin des ax Brer
Wolf de nex' time you meet 'im in de big road."
What about Brother Wolf, Uncle Remus? "
the little boy asked, as the old man paused to refill
his pipe.
Well, honey, 't ain't no great long rigamarole;
hit 's des one er deze yer tales w'at goes in a gallop
twel it gits ter de jumpin'-off place.
One time Brer Wolf wuz gwine 'long de big
road feeling' mighty proud en high-strung. He wuz
a mighty high-up man in dem days, Brer Wolf
wuz, en 'mos' all de yuther creeturs wuz. feard un
'im. Well, he wuz gwine 'long lickin''his chops
en walking' sorter stiff-kneed, w'en he happen ter
look down 'pon de groun' en dar he seed a track


in de san'. Brer Wolf stop, he did, en look at it,
en den he 'low:
Heyo w'at kind er creetur dish yer? Brer
Dog ain't make dat track, en needer is Brer Fox.
Hit's one er deze yer kind er creeturs w'at ain't
got no claws. I '11 des 'bout foller 'im up, en ef I
ketch 'im he '11 sholy be my meat.'
Dat de way Brer Wolf talk. He followed 'long
atter de track, he did, en he look at it close, but
he ain't see no print er no claw. Bimeby de track
tuck 'n tu'n out de road en go up a dreen whar de
rain done wash out. De track wuz plain dar in de
wet san', but Brer Wolf ain't see no sign er no claws.
He foller en foller, Brer Wolf did, en de track
git fresher en fresher, but still he ain't see no print
er no claw. Bimeby he come in sight er de creetur,
en Brer Wolf stop, he did, en look at 'im. He
stop stock-still and look. De creetur wuz mighty
quare-lookin', en he wuz cutting' up some mighty
quare capers. He had big head, sharp nose, en
bob tail; en he wuz walking' roun' en roun' a big
dog-wood tree, rubbin' his sides ag'in it. Brer



,






11 ,ii


X-
"WELL, SUH, DIAT CREETUR DES FOTCH ONE SWIPE DIS AWAY,
EN 'N'ER SWIPE DAT AWAY." (SEE NEXT PAGE.)
Wolf watch 'im a right smart while, he act so quare,
en den he 'low:
Shoo dat creetur done bin in a fight en los'
de bes' part er he. tail; en w'at make he scratch
hisse'f dat away? I lay I '11 let 'im know who he
foolin' 'long wid.'





THE CREATURE WITH NO CLAWS.


Atter 'while, Brer Wolf went up a leetle nigher
de creetur, en holler out:
Heyo, dar w'at you doin' scratchin' yo' scaly
hide on my tree, en trying' fer ter break hit down?'
De creetur ain't make no answer. He des
walk 'roun' en 'roun' de tree scratchin' he sides en
back. Brer Wolf holler out:
I lay I '11 make you year me ef I hatter come
dar whar you is '
De creetur des walk 'roun' en 'roun' de tree,
en ain't make no answer. Den Brer Wolf hail'im
ag'in, en talk like he mighty mad:
Ain't you gwine ter min' me, you imperdent
scoundul? Ain't you gwine ter mozey outer my
woods en let my tree 'lone?'
"Wid dat, Brer Wolf march todes de creetur
des like he gwine ter squ'sh 'im in de groun'. De
creetur rub hisse'f ag'in de tree en look like he feel
mighty good. Brer Wolf keep on gwine todes
'im, en bimeby w'en he git sorter close de creetur
tuck 'n sot up on his behime legs des like you see
squir'ls do. Den Brer Wolf, he 'low, he did:
"'Ah-yi! you beginn, is you? But 't ain't
gwine ter do you no good. I mout er let you off


ef you 'd a-minded me w'en I fus' holler atter you,
but I ain't gwine ter let you off now. I 'm a-gwine
ter l'arn you a lesson dat 'll stick by you.'
"Den de creetur sorter wrinkle up he face en
mouf, en Brer Wolf 'low:
Oh, you nee'n'ter swell up en cry, you 'ceitful
vilyun. I 'm a-gwine ter gi' you a frailin' dat I
boun' you won't forgit.'
Brer Wolf make like he gwine ter hit de cree-
tur, en den-"
Here Uncle Remus paused and looked all around
the room and up at the rafters. When he began
again his voice was very solemn.
"Well, suh', dat creetur des fotch one swipe
dis away, en 'n'er swipe dat away, en mos' 'fo' you
can wink yo' eye-balls, Brer Wolf hide wuz mighty
nigh teetotally tor'd off 'n 'im. Atter dat de cree-
tur sa'ntered off in de woods, en 'gun ter rub
hisse'f on 'n'er tree."
'What kind of a creature was it, Uncle Remus? "
asked the little boy.
Well, honey," replied the old man in a confi-
dential whisper, "hit want nobody on de top-side
er de yeth but ole Brer Wildcat."


u love me back aoIn"-
o heaven@ X T C (c
,9 M.'T'"heart and I
jor 2sove an I E, ,
More ,- Y !5 B kind
E, U IR, I


888

























\(li



~i~p>4


7-`;~


ON APPLEDORE.

BY WILLIS BOYD ALLEN.


A FLUTTER of white
On Appledore's shoulder--
The prettiest sight!
A flutter of white,
One by one they alight
On the dark, jutting bowlder;
A flutter of white
On Appledore's shoulder.

Six girls in a flock
Where the white sea is breaking
Against the gray rock.
Six girls in a flock--
Their gay voices mock
The din it is making;
Six girls in a flock
Where the white sea is breaking.


Each flutters and clings
To the torn granite edges -
The merriest things!
Each flutters and clings.
Have they feathers and wings,
As they perch on the ledges?
Each flutters and clings
To the torn granite edges.

Mattie, Edith, and Grace,
May, Gretchen, and Mary;
With bonniest face
And daintiest grace
Each rests in her place.
Not with sea-bird or fairy
Each bowlder is laden,
But a true-hearted maiden-
Mattie, Edith, and Grace,
May, Gretchen, and Mary.























"CHRISTINE! May we come in and see you
to-night, Christine?" The children, peeping in
at the kitchen door, pushed it wide and danced
over the threshold, delighted at the smile which
greeted them.
There were three of them, Sylvia Hastings and
her little brother, Charlie, and Archie, a boy of
fourteen, at home for the winter holidays. Dearly
they loved to visit Christine in her bright kitchen,
and no wonder, for both the place and its occupant
were most cheerful, to say nothing of the charms
of Minzie, the sleek Maltese cat that lay basking
on the mat in the red glow of the fire, and the
absurd old gray parrot that sat muffled up in his
feathers on a perch in the corner of the room. It
was early dusk of the winter day, sharp and cold;
a thin, crisp layer of snow covered the ground
without, and made the warmth and brightness
within more delightful. And as for Christine, the
Norwegian maid who kept the house, she was as
refreshing as morning sunshine, with her rosy
cheeks and milk-white skin, and rich hair piled in
a beautiful red-gold heap at the top of her head.
The children adored her, and her employers
blessed the land of Norway for having produced
anything so charming and so satisfactory.
"Now, what are you doing, Christine?" asked
Sylvia, as they stood by the table and peered into
a dull, red earthen dish filled with water, in which
lay potatoes peeled as smooth as ivory. What
are those things ? Potatoes ? Are n't they pretty,
Archie? They look just like ivory "
Take me up and show me! cried little Char-
lie, and Archie lifted him so that he could peep,
too. Christine laid a clean towel on the table,
spread the potatoes on it, rolled them about in it
till they were quite dry, then put them into a shal-
low tin pan which she had buttered, and shook
them till they all shone with a thin coat of butter.
"What are they for? asked Sylvia.
"To bake for your supper, Miss Sylvia," an-
swered Christine.
"But why do you butter them ?"


"Oh, so they may bake a lovely light brown,
and the skin you will not have to take off at all "
answered she.
"Oh, yes, I know," said Sylvia, "they are so
good and while Christie went on with her prep-
arations for supper, all three sat themselves down
on the neat braided mat beside Minzie, the sleepy
comfortable cat. She stretched her long length
out slowly, and really seemed to smile at the chil-
dren, as she lay in the ruddy firelight with her eyes
half shut, lazily responding to their caresses. She
put out her paw, its sharp claws softly sheathed,
and with a deprecating gesture gently patted their
hands, as if she were boxing her pet kitten's ears.
"Pretty Minzie!" Archie said, "you are so
good-natured, and you know so much !"
Good evening, good evening! Won't you
take a walk? cried a harsh voice from the corner.
"It 's Polly!" cried Sylvia. "Oh, you ridic-
ulous old bird! How you startled me "
"What have you got in your pocket?" Polly
continued, turning her head this way and that, and
eying the children askance.
"Poor Polly! Not a thing!" said Sylvia. "I
wish I had thought to save some nuts for you "
"What does Polly want? What does Polly
want!" cried the bird, and then began to utter
sounds no language can describe; sounds which
more nearly resembled the racket of a watchman's
rattle gone distracted than anything else I can
think of.
Minzie raised her head and looked toward the
corner where Polly was perched, and then settled
comfortably back again, blinking her green eyes.
"Wise kitty said Archie.
"Indeed she is wise," said Sylvia. "What do
you think she did, Archie ? When we fed the birds
under the dining-room window, she hid in the
hedge and pounced on a bird every day, till Mamma
at last gave up feeding them at all, for it seemed
cruel to lead them into a trap like that. Well, what
does Minzie do then but steal a piece of bread from
the kitchen and carry it out on the snow, and there






ALMOST A TRAGEDY.


bite it and crumble it, herself, and scratch and
scatter the crumbs all about. Then she hid in the
hedge, the sly thing! and watched. Down came
the birds--poor little hungry dears, and Minzie
sprang and caught one, and off she went with him
to eat him up behind a bush. Oh, you naughty,
naughty cat!" continued Sylvia, lifting her finger
and shaking her head at the comfortable creature,
who only blinked in supreme indifference and con-
tent. "I wonder at you! How can you be so
cruel?"
"But she is n't naughty, Syl," said Archie.
"Cats were made to catch birds, don't you know
it? "
." Well, I would n't pounce on poor little birds
and eat them if I were a cat," cried Sylvia.
And I would n't eat littlee birds," said Charlie,
making up a virtuous, wee mouth which Sylvia
stooped to kiss at once, it was so irresistible.
"But you do eat them, Syl," Archie said. You
are just as bad as Minzie." Sylvia turned to him
a shocked little face. "What do you mean,
Archie ?" she said.
"Why, Syl dear, did n't I see twelve small
birds served up on a dish yesterday at dinner, and
did n't you eat one, all but his bones? And all
their claws were curled up so pitifully above them,
too!"
"Oh, but Archie, that 's something quite differ-
ent Those birds were bought at the butcher's, you
know."
Never mind," interrupted Archie; "it is very
nearly the same thing. You were made to eat
some kinds of birds as well as kitty, so don't you
blame her for doing what you do yourself. Don't
you remember when Papa was reading to mamma
last night in a book called 'Emerson's Essays,'
how astonished Mamma was when he read this,
'Only the butcher stands between us and the tiger,'
or something like that, and how they talked about
it afterward? The cat is a little tiger,- she belongs
to the same family."
"Yes, I heard them talking," said Sylvia, "but
I did n't understand."
" Well, never mind, dear," her brother answered;
"I don't think it is very easy to understand We
need n't trouble ourselves about it. Only don't
you blame poor Minzie for doing what she was
made to do." Sylvia shook her head thoughtfully;
she found it a very hard riddle to read. Most of
us do.
"Ship ahoy!" cried a harsh voice from the
corner. Good morning, dear! How do you
do ? What have you got in your pocket? Polly
wants a cracker! Good gracious! Wish you
happy New Year "
They all broke into laughter, Christine's merry


voice mingling in the chorus. Minzie rose from
the mat, stretched herself, slowly crossed the
room to where Polly sat chattering on her perch,
and began to play with the chain by which the
bird was fastened, giving the loop a push with her
paw where it hung down, striking it every time it
swung within reach. The parrot watched her
meanwhile with the greatest interest. Miaw "
cried Polly, suddenly. Minzie stopped and looked
up. "Ha, ha, ha !" shouted the bird, as much
as to say, "Did you think it was another cat?"


"THERE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DOUGH SAT POLLY."
(SEE NEXT PAGE.)
and forthwith began to scream afresh, crowing
like a cock, barking like a dog, imitating the
creaking of a door, and then suddenly going
into a frenzy of sneezing, and coughing and snuf-
fling, like a person in the most desperate stages of
influenza.






ALMOST A TRAGEDY.


Minzie sat still, looking up at the bird, as if she
enjoyed the performance; and as for the children,
they laughed till they were tired.
Truly, they are the best of friends, the two,"
said Christie. I don't know what one would do
without the other; they play with each other by
the hour together."
Come, Sylvia, bring Charlie upstairs; it is
time," called Mamma's voice, and away the chil-
dren skipped.
Christie went to and fro about her work- the
pleasantest picture imaginable. I think I '11 set
my bread to rising before supper," she said to her-
self; then I shall have more time to write my
letter home this evening." So she worked fast and
busily, and when the bread was made, she put it in
a large wooden bowl and covered it up with a nice
white towel, and left it to rise on the dresser. The
cat and the parrot watched all these operations
with an interest that amused her,-it was so
human.
After supper, when she had done all her work
and everything was in order for the night, she
bade good evening to Minzie and Polly and went
upstairs to write her weekly letter to her dear
far-off.Norway. Her room was very warm and
comfortable, and as fresh and tidy as herself. She
set her lamp down on the table, took out her little
portfolio from the drawer, and began to write.
She wrote slowly and had been busy about an
hour when she heard a loud, distressed Miaw "
outside her door. She looked up. "Miaw!
Miaw Miaw! sounded quickly and anxiously
from Minzie. Evidently something unusual was
the matter. She had never heard so anxious a
cry from that comfortable cat before.
"Why, what is it?" she cried, as she rose and
opened the door. Minzie sprang in, apparently
greatly excited, with her tail upright and curling
at the top; she ran round and round Christie, rub-
bing herself against the girl's ankles and looking
up into her face with a most curious expression of
solicitude and agitation. "What is the matter?
What is the trouble, Minzie? Christie kept ask-
ing, as if the poor dumb creature could explain
her distress in words. But Minzie only "miawed"
more distractedly than before; she went toward
the door, looking back at Christie, then ran to her
again, took hold of her apron with her teeth and
tried to drag her toward the door. "You want me
to go down stairs ? "
The cat frisked before her, turning to see if she
were following; then, as if satisfied, she fled lightly
and swiftly down the stair and into the kitchen,
Christie coming after, bearing the lamp in her
hand. When she reached the kitchen door she
heard a cry from the parrot.


"Come, come, come!" cried Polly. "Good
gracious! Won't you take a walk?"
The voice did not proceed from the bird's accus-
tomed corner, and looking about, the first thing
Christie saw was the linen towel she had spread
over the bread, on the floor, and Minzie standing
up on her hind paws with her two white-mittened
fore-feet at the edge of the table, craning her head
forward and crying piteously. There, in the mid-
dle of the large pan of soft dough sat Polly, sunk
to her shoulders in the sticky mass, only her neck
and head with its huge black beak and glassy
yellow eyes, to be seen. She had pulled the towel
off the bread, and in process of investigating it
had become fastened in the thick paste, sinking
deeper and deeper till she was in danger of disap-
pearing altogether.
"Ship ahoy!" cried Polly. "Come! Poor
Polly! What does Polly want ?"
Christine burst into laughter, and, greatly to
Minzie's distress, lost- time in going to call Sylvia
and Archie before rescuing the prisoner from her
perilous position.
"Oh, dear!" cried Sylvia. "How dreadful!
What shall we do, Archie ?"
Archie, with shouts of merriment, helped Chris-
tie disengage the poor bird, and they set her into
a basin of warm water to soak. She was perfectly
quiet and let them do as they pleased with her, only
ejaculating now and then, "Good gracious! What
does Polly want? Oh, my! Won't you take a
walk?" with other irrelevant remarks, which sent
her deliverers off into fresh peals of laughter.
It's all very well to laugh," said Christine,
"and nobody could help it; but if it had not been
for Minzie, poor Polly would have been smothered
in the dough, and that would have been 'Good
gracious!' I think! Then she told the children
how Minzie had called her, and insisted on her
coming down stairs. They petted the cat and
gave her no end of praise, but Oh, you naughty
bird!" cried Syl to the parrot, "Now you see
what it is to meddle with things that don't concern
you! Just think of it! All Christie's nice bread
must go to feed the chickens, and you came near
-losing your life Don't you ever meddle again,
Polly; do you hear?"
Polly looked too comical. They had washed
her as well as they could, and tried to dry her, and
had set her on her perch as near as they dared to
the fire. She was so bedraggled and forlorn, with
her wet, ruffled feathers, and her lean, shivering
body! Minzie sat and looked up at her with
sympathetic eyes.
"Bless my soul! What does Polly want?"
chattered the poor bird.
"I should think you wanted to be punished if






x1a9-J ALMOST A TRAGEDY. 893
you were n't punished enough already," laughed bread in place of that which had nearly made an
Christie, as she fastened the chain more securely end of poor Polly; and presently left the two occu-
about the parrot's leg. pants of the kitchen to take care of each other till
Then she proceeded to make a fresh bowlful of morning.












..r ...-~.











'rA

















j ,


INTO THE OCTOBER WOODS.












A DOLL ON MOUNT ETNA.


BY E. CA\. Z2A.


ON the doorstep of the house sat little Lucia
with one hand in the other. Within she heard
the voice of her baby sister who was cooing with
pleasure to see the mamma's broom sweep across
the floor. Near the doorstep the speckled hen
was scratching in the warm, black earth with her
chickens around her. At the door of the stable
stood the bay mare, snuffing the April air, and
beside her was her colt, unsteady on his long legs.
Two little pigs had found a cabbage-stalk, and in
the middle of the road shared the dainty with soft
grunts of content. The cat on the window-sill
blinked her. drowsy eyes in the sun, with the calm
of a good conscience; in the hay-loft, among the
grain, no rat dared venture- she could be surety
for so much From the road sounded the anvil
of neighbor lemmar tlie blacksmith; and, farther
away, the soldiers were at drill, and the officers
were heard shouting, "Perfil'a destr'-marche/ "
The young leaves of the Indian fig trees and the
olives, of the vines, and the maize, were bright
against the side of the mountain, like countless
points of cool, green flame. In the sky, the con-
tinual smoke of Etna waved like the plume of a
giant's cap. Lucia's papa and her twin brother,
Giuseppino, were at work, away there in the fields.
If she were there, too, weeding between the rows
of maize, it would have been a pleasure for her.
She only had nothing to do the little one, and
the idleness wearied her. Finally, a cloud of dust
and the noise of wheels drew her attention. Itwas
a carriage that seemed to belong to a baron at
least, she thought, with the fine horses and har-
nesses. It came to a halt at the door of Memmu's
forge. The driver dismounted, and afterward a
gentleman, a lady, and a little girl of Lucia's own
age--about seven years. Lucia could hear all
that they spoke, but could not understand a word.
The driver, who was from Catania, explained to
Memmu that one of the horses had cast a shoe.
The blacksmith set himself to make another, while
his boy Neddu blew the bellows and the coals red-
dened. The lady and gentleman were not unlike
others; Luciahad seen many travelers pass through
the village. They would come up the road from
Catania, and look in the sky at the smoke of the
crater, and down at the black earth, and point
here and there, and talk in such strange tongues


that Don Amibrogio had more than once said it
.was indeed a renewal of the confusion of Babel--
these travelers. But the little lady-she carried
in her arms a most beautiful doll! Lucia could
not help going forward, timidly, and at a respect-
fil di;sance, to admire.it; while her serious, black
eyes were round as the beads of a rosary, for won-
der at this magnificent image of fine porcelain,
with hair blonde as wheat, in a traveling gown of
bro\i n plaid wool, with the relative bonnet, bag,
umbrella, even tiny, high-heeled bronze boots.
The owner of the doll, however, appeared discon-
tented.
"Mamma," she said in English-and Lucia,
not understanding her language, thought it sounded
like the idiom of the squirrels in the oaks of Bel-
passo. "Mamma, what was I thinking of, to buy
this horrid doll ? "
Don't interrupt Papa, darling. As you were
saying, Frederic?"
"At the time of the eruption of 1669, the group
of hills called the Monti Rossi suddenly appeared,
and from these .new craters came a flood of lava
which spread over the southern slope of Etna, like
the black waves of a sea, petrified in a moment of
tempest."
I don't like light hair for a doll, mamma; it is
too common. All the girls have light-haired dolls.
When we go back to Naples, can't I buy one with
chestnut hair ?"
"Even more dismal than this region, is the
Valle del Bove. Clouds hang and twist continu-
ally above its black masses. It seems like a dead
city of Dis- "
"Mamma, can't I ? Say, can't I buy-"
Professor Alleyn forgot his descriptive eloquence
and turned quickly toward his little daughter, who,
it must be admitted, was a trifle spoiled.
Gladys, I will not have you so petulant. Since
you do not care for your doll, you shall give her at
once to that little Italian girl."
"I think Gladys is tired," said gentle Mrs.
Alleyn. She is not usually so silly." The mother
drew her little girl to her side, while the professor
went on to speak of the chemical composition of
lava, and to wish that it might be possible to
examine a quantity of it while still heated, in order
to determine the nature of its crystalline deposits.






A DOLL ON MOUNT ETNA.


His wife heard his discourse with interest, yet her
mind was a little preoccupied by the effect likely
to be produced upon Gladys, by the sudden com-
mand to give up her doll, bought a few days
before in the largest toy-shop of Naples. Gladys
waited for her papa to finish speaking; then:
"I am sorry I was naughty," she whispered.
" But I wish I loved my dolly more, if I am to
give her away."
Mrs. Alleyn comprehended that her little daugh-
ter's words came partly from a tenderness for the
doll, partly from a curious penitent wish to make
a little sacrifice. Gladys went toward Lucia.


Her name is Margherita," said the American
girl.
Si, si -Margherita bella, bella, bella an-
swered Lucia with more kisses.
Come, Gladys, we are ready to go now," said
the professor. And as he seated the little girl
beside her mamma, Did you think Papa a little
severe with his chatterbox ? "
I am glad you told me to give that little girl
my doll. She is just perfectly delighted. And I
have twenty-six dolls, and a hundred and seventy-
nine paper dolls, anyway."
"When they come down the mountain," said


a


"'COME, GLADYS, WE ARE READY TO GO NOW,' SAID THE PROFESSOR."


"Little girl," she said. Lucia understood noth-
ing. Neighbor Memmu had shod the horse and
was helping the coachman put him to the carriage.
" Little girl, this doll is for you."
Lucia, encouraged by the smile of Gladys, came
timidly, touched with her brown forefinger the hem
of the doll's dress, then kissed it seriously. Gladys
thrust the doll into Lucia's arms.
"E' tua questa--" here the professor paused,
not having learned, in course of his correspond-
ence with the Italian scientists, the word for doll.
But Lucia understood now. She kissed alter-
nately the gown of the doll and the small gloved
hands of Gladys.


Lucia to herself, "I shall offer to that little lady one
of my hen's eggs. It is little, but one does what
one can."
The doll seemed to her a worthy namesake of the
good and beautiful queen whose photograph had
been shown her by the corporal of the garrison.
She did not yet dare treat the doll familiarly -to
play it was her little girl.
Signora," she said to it, do me the favor to
accommodate yourself on the doorstep while I
seek the egg. Mamma, Mamma, come and see!"
Lucia's mamma, whose name was Marina, ap-
peared at the door.
"See my beautiful doll!."


895


-5 Il.-.~C
--:~ -_L-
-------





A DOLL ON MOUNT ETNA.


Oh, what a doll She looks like the images of
the saints in the church, and is dressed just like a
queen. Who has given her to you?"
"A little lady, that was passing in a carriage,
with her papa and mamma, and the horse lost
a shoe so that Compare Memmu had to make
another."
And what had you done for her? "
"Nothing. I was only looking at her. But I
shall tell my hen to let me have a fresh egg to give
her."
The doll was laid carefully upon the doorstep
while Lucia hastened to search for the egg. But,
unfortunately, that day the hen had forgotten to
leave one in the nest for her little mistress. Lucia
returned, with empty hands, to find her doll.
Whathad happened ? The beautiful blue eyes, blue
as flowers of the lavender, were closed. The doll
appeared to sleep. She is tired with the journey
from Catania," thought Lucia, and sat down to
watch the slumbers of the doll. At last it seemed
to her that the doll had slept long enough.
"Wake, Signora Margherita! she said, very
softly. The porcelain eyelids did not move. Lu-
cia spoke again, and louder; but without effect.
Marina came again to the door, at the cry: Oh,
Mamma, Mamma, my doll is dead "
"What did you do to her? "
"Nothing. When I came back, her eyes were
shut and I thought her asleep. My doll is dead!"
sobbed Lucia, with the corner of her apron at her
eyes.
I do not believe her dead; no," said Marina.
"Such a fine lady, however, might very well faint
away, to be brought to the house of poor people."
Marina lifted the doll to its feet; the mechanism
of its eyes worked as usual, and Margherita, wide
awake, seemed to look with content upon her
squalid surroundings.
The doll soon became the talk of the neighbor-
hood. "It will be a thousand years before I can
make one like that on my anvil," said Memmu the
blacksmith.
The women never tired of wondering at its fine
clothes, all but Zia Caterina, who shook her head
with its yellow kerchief and said, "It seems like
witchcraft. It is not an image of a saint-well,
what is it then, to do the miracle of winking its
eyes? I wish it may not bring you bad luck, Co-
mare Marina." The other women contradicted
her, and would have justice for the doll, shaking
their distaffs in the face of Zia Caterina. Don
Ambrogio, the parish priest, admired the doll;
and the archbishop himself was reported to have
smiled to see Lucia seated on the doorstep with
Margherita in her arms. After that, Zia Caterina
might say what appeared pleasing to her I


The month of May was more than half passed.
Marina sat at her door spinning; while, near her,
Lucia rocked the cradle occupied by baby Agatuzza
at one end, and the famous doll at the other. The
mamma sang one of the popular songs of the
country, which ran somewhat like this:

"I lost my distaff on Sunday,
I looked for it all day Monday,
Tuesday, I found it cracked and split,
Wednesday, took off the flax from it,
Thursday, I combed the flax quite clean,
And Friday sat me down to spin,
On Saturday I must spin it all,
For Sunday is a festival "

Marina's husband, whose name was Celestino,
came along the road, together with the corporal.
They were looking with some anxiety at the sky.
A column of thick, black smoke arose from the
crater, and, higher in the air, separated into great
whirling masses that waved like banners.
"There is the smoke of the enemy," said the
corporal. Let us hope that we may not have to
feel his fire "
That night the neighbors, assembled at the inn,
watched the smoke. As it grew darker, redi glow-
ing streams of lava were seen to run down the side
of the mountain from new openings, near the cra-
ter of Monte Nero. The windows of the village
rattled with the explosions which took place more
and more frequently. A reddish vapor spread
itself upward from the stream of lava. The bells
of the town rang mournfully, while the people
cried, "The lava, the lava! "
In the morning it was no better. The lava
seemed to make its way in a sluggish current
toward the towns of Nicolosi and Belpasso.
In a few days news came that the oliveto of
neighbor Brasi, a few miles above the village, was
on fire. And the trees cry out for pain, like so
many living souls, so that it is a pity to hear them,"
said Bellonia, his wife.
In truth, either because the sap was become
suddenly heated, or for some other reason, the
poor olive trees made a whimpering sound as
the lava scorched them. Bellonia, Marina, and
the other women took down from the dingy walls
of their rooms the colored pictures of the saints,
and fixed them upon sticks, at the edge of the
vineyards. At the northern limit of the fields the
vines already began to burn, although the lava was
not yet near the village of Nicolosi.
If the wells should burst," said Celestino,
as that pond did that the good soul of my father
used to tell of, we are lost."
The water must be drawn off," recommended
neighbor Turiddu.


896






A DOLL ON MOUNT ETNA.


Eh I One can't live without water, for man and
beasts. It is an ill death to die of thirst."
I tell you, better drain the wells Who knows
if Heaven will not send us a little rain, afterward ?"
said a more hopeful person.
"Better quit the town, and then if the wells
burst, they burst," said the corporal, who was of
the group.
"And I am ruined, I am," said Compfare Brasi,
he of the olive-trees. I and my family, we shall
be in the middle of the road, asking alms."
The terror lasted for nearly a fortnight. The
noise of the lava was like the rattling of great hail-


up the hill, while the people cried, "Viva Sant'
Antonio!" "Do us the favor, Sant' Antonio!"
With banners and psalmody, they took him up to
the Altarelli which is a small structure of three
arches painted, in the Byzantine manner, with
curious stiff figures of saints. They set the image
in front of the lava; the glass eyes stared at it in
vain. "All the saints together could not work
this miracle," said Brasi; and soon the image was
brought back into the piazza.
Before the close of the second week, the tele-
graph operator received official notice to remove.
Many of the people were gone to Pedara, to Tre-


"GLOWING STREAMS OF LAVA WERE SEEN TO RUN DOWN THE SIDE OF THE MOUNTAIN."


stones upon tiles, with frequent explosions like the
firing of cannon. The images of the saints, Sant'
Antonio and the others, were taken from their quiet
shelter in the churches, where candles were burned
and the floors and doorways were strewn with rose-
petals and bunches of sweet herbs and the yellow
flowers of the broom, that sent forth delicate odors.
The images had to come out and stand in the
piazza to encourage the people. The daylight
was not flattering to their appearance. Their
wooden faces painted in not the palest tint of pink,
their round glass eyes without intelligence, and
the tinsel and jewels of their robes looked gaudy
enough in the open air. Then Turiddu and Ce-
lestino and Memmu gave a hand to the litter
whereupon the image of Sant' Antonio was carried
VOL. XVI.-57.


castagni; but more remained, unwilling to leave
their homes. The officers and soldiers of the gar-
rison counseled the peasants to depart, since from
day to day the lava threatened the village. Those
who still remained packed their goods, and great
cart-loads were sent along the road eastward.
Marina, full of care, had no more time to admire
Lucia's doll. With the aid of her husband, she
had taken out of the house their small stock of
furniture, bedding, dishes, and clothes, and ar-
ranged them in the cart, which was painted in
vivid colors. Also Giuseppino and Lucia did what
they could. They put the cat into a basket made
of rushes, and tied a piece of cloth over, so that
she could not escape. Giuseppino made a slip-
noose to catch the little pigs, that soon after,


897






A DOLL ON MOUNT ETNA.


squealing, with their feet tied, were thrust into a
sack and placed among the other valuables in the
cart. Lucia stood near, with her doll in her arms,
dismayed by the confusion of carts and carriages,
some taking into safety the inhabitants of Nicolosi,
others bringing strangers to see the lava, as if it
were a festival with Bengal lights.
Giuseppino, near the hen-coop, was trying to
secure the hen and her brood. Eh, how she runs,
the poor little beast he said. Come, Lucia,
she is your hen; come and catch her."
The hen ruffled her wings as if she would defy
not only the children, but Etna itself. Lucia seated
her doll on a little hay behind the hen-coop, and
helped her brother to reduce the hen to discipline.
They had not yet succeeded when Marina called
her daughter.
Come here, Lucia!"
"Yes, Mamma. I 'm coming, coming."
Run quick to the house of the nonna, and tell
her we shall come in a half hour to take her; and
you, Lucia, do what you can to help her."
Oh, willingly."
The nonna was not really Lucia's grandmother,
but her father's. She was old, and had seen many
things, of which- and also of giants and prin-
cesses and sirens-' she knew how to tell famous
stories when the Christmas cefio was lighted on
the hearth. She never came to an end of her
stories and rhymes, and had a dried fig and two
kisses, always, for good children. And to help
the good nonna, Lucia left her hen and ran along
the road like a fawn. Then, remembering her
doll, she called back over her shoulder, Giusep-
pino, oh, Giuseppino-o-o! Take care of Mar-
gherita-a-a-a-A! "
"Brava With that voice we will have you for
trumpeter !" commented the corporal, as she ran
past him. But, alas, in the uproar of the road and
the bombardment of the mountain, her brother
could not hear her. And, being a boy, he forgot
the doll in the glory of the conquest of the hen.
At last, the chioccia and her brood were in a bas-
ket on the cart. Celestino had taken off the shut-
ters, the latches and hinges, even some of the tiles
of the roof and the floor of his house; and these,
with similar belongings of other persons, were
loaded upon an ox-cart. Marina had put a halter
on the neck of the colt, thereby the more easily
to lead him behind the cart to which his mother
was harnessed.
Are we ready, Marina? "
"Yes. Oh, my little house! Who knows if I
shall ever see again my poor little roof? We were
so content, were we not, Celestino ? "
"Yes, yes, indeed. But Lucia; where is she ?"
With the nonna, waiting for us."


Su, Maddalena, come up This was to the
mare.
The cart began to move. The colt trotted
weakly, not to fall behind his mother, who walked
with long steps. Marina sat on top of her goods;
her baby in her arms, while Celestino guided the
mare on foot, and little Giuseppino kept pace be-
hind with his friend the colt. Arrived at the house
of the grandmother, they found her standing at
the doorway, with Lucia at her side, and dressed
in her best plaid cotton gown, and clean apron and
kerchief, content as if she were going to mass.
Marina gave the nonna her own place on the cart,
while she herself, with Lucia by the hand, walked,
carrying her baby on her shoulder.
The road to Pedara was blocked with carts and
with persons on foot, with goats, and sheep, and
cattle, straying to this side and that, driven by
men and watch-dogs. The people were in a panic
terror; some wept, some prayed, some moaned,
beating their arms, and others appeared stupe-
fied. Trumpets were blown as a signal that the
village should be cleared, officers and soldiers were
everywhere to help, cheer, and advise the peasants.
" Truly,'' complained the corporal, I make my-
self into four, I make myself; but even so, I can't
do everything!"
The archbishop caused the relics and the im-
ages from the churches to be carried toward
Pedara; and the mayor and other officials ran
here and there to direct things as the procession
moved.
It was only by slow degrees that Celestino and
his family approached Pedara. Marina wept like
a fountain; and the grandmother repeated, "We
must have patience," while the sighs came from
her heart to think of the village that would soon
be buried under the lava. They encamped for the
night among the yellow broom that grew in tufts,
in bushes as far as one could look, so that it ap-
peared endless. Through the early hours of the
night, people were passing, and added their shouts
to the crashing bursts of the volcano.
Suddenly little Lucia awoke to the consciousness
that her dear doll was not in her arms. Where
was Margherita? Was she safe in the cart, or had
she been left in the village, a prey to the lava?
Tears came into Lucia's eyes. No, I must not
wake mamma, who is so tired, nor the dear nonna,
nor papa who has worked so hard," she said to her-
self. But she could not refrain from giving a gentle
push to her brother. He awoke and said, What
is the matter, Lucia? "
"Margherita did you bring her with you? "
"Oh! what should I do with a doll ? "answered
the boy, a little roughly--precisely because he
was so sorry.


898





A DOLL ON MOUNT ETNA.


899


"I called to you, while I was running to the thought of her doll impelled her, and she has-
house of the nonna." tened forward.
And I did not hear you." At last she reached Nicolosi. Was this herown
"You might have brought my poor Margherita." town? A light rain of warm sand and ashes was
"It is true, Lucia. Will you forgive me?" falling, the streets and the piazza were deserted.
She kissed him in token of pardon. Lucia crept Now and then she heard the howl of a vagrant
back to her place beside the nonna; both children dog. She put her hand against the wall of a build-
lay still, but it was only Giuseppino who slept. ing to guide herself. By the broken corner of a
Lucia had in time come to love her doll like a lit- stone, she knew it to be the house of neighbor
tie mamma; Margherita no longer seemed to her Nanni. Her own home would be the next house.
a great lady. Lucia could not bear the thought She half saw, half felt her way to the hen-coop.




SMARINA CAUGHT HER LITTLE DAUGHTER IN HER ARMS

(1A







t I














"MARINA CAUGHT HER LITTLE DAUGHTER IN HER ARMS."


of the deserted doll; perhaps at that very moment
the lava was entering the town. Margherita would
be covered deep with the hot lava!--at the idea
Lucia herself felt suffocated. She was resolved.
Without noise, she arose and moved softly away
toward the road. She knew the way, and was not
afraid ; the road was lined with wagons, near which
mules, horses, and donkeys were tethered, while
the peasants slept under or beside the carts, as it
might chance. Many were awake, but none would
harm a little girl, or even notice her in the apathy
which followed their alarm and toil. Lucia made
her way toward Nicolosi, with her head and limbs
heavy with sleep, so that she often swayed from
side to side as she walked, and could hardly lift
her feet from the ground. Her mind was confused
with dreams. Then a new explosion and a fresh


Margherita, are you here ?" she said, and was
frightened to hear her own voice in the solitude.
She groped with her hands behind the hen-coop,
caught the doll in her arms, and kissed it many
times.
Then came a great explosion. It seemed to
Lucia as if the end of the world were come; the
shower of ashes and sand fell thicker; and the
little girl, clasping her doll, ran as fast as she could
from the town. When she had reached the first
encampment of people, she felt quite safe. The
corporal, with some soldiers, came by.
"Who is this? Little Lucia! What are you
doing here?"
Signor Caporale, I returned for my doll."
"Via! You are worse than Lot's wife. What
will your mamma say ? Have you thought of that?






A DOLL ON MOUNT ETNA.


It seems to me that she will be capable of scolding
you a little. Run along to her "
Before dawn the weary Lucia was not far from
the place where she had left the family. Marina,
with her white mantellina over her head, was run-
ning up and down the road among the people,
crying like one possessed:
"My child, my Lucia! Who has seen my little
Lucia?"
"Here I am, Mamma."
Marina caught her little daughter in her arms,
and hastened back to the nonna, who sat tending
the baby. Giuseppino was still asleep.
"Here she is; she is safe exclaimed Marina.
The boy awoke and opened his eyes, still full
of sleep.
Oh! you found your doll, Lucia?"
"You did wrong, little one," said the grand-
mother, but not until she had kissed Lucia. "Doi
you know you have caused a great fright to us
who love you so dearly ?"
"Nonna, I could not, no, leave my dear Mar-
gherita all alone. Don't you remember, she
fainted only to come to the house of poor people?
Alone, with no one to speak a good little word to
her. Indeed, she might have had a fulminating
apoplexy."
Oh, we admit," said Lucia's papa, "that the
doll is a great lady, and so delicate that you are
right to keep her as if in cotton-wool. But, another
time, think also a little of the rest of us "
"I did wrong," answered Lucia. I know it."
"And you proved yourself a brave girl," said
Celestino, who, having done his paternal duty in
the mild reproof, now gave himself the satisfac-
tion of pride in his daughter. "You have a good
heart-and good little legs, Lucia."
After their breakfast of black bread and a few
olives, the family set forth again on their way to
the house of a brother of Marina, who lived beyond
Pedara, on the road to Tremestieri. There they


would remain until the fate of their own town
should be decided.
Day by day, the stream of lava grew more slug-
gish, and finally came to a standstill, barely touching
the wall of the Altarelli, three hundred kilometers
from the northern outskirts of the village of Nico-
losi. A fortnight after the abandonment of the
town the trumpets blew joyfully, as a signal for
the people to return to their homes. It was a fine
procession. First went the archbishop and the
priests, with the images and relics and brilliantly
colored banners; and the people came after, led
by the civil authorities and the soldiers, with
psalms and shouts and military music.
The streets and the piazza were readily cleared
of the layer of sand and ashes rained upon them
from the volcano; shutters and doors were hung
again upon their hinges, tiles were replaced, and
household goods set in order. The town had never
seemed so dear, and all were happy and content.
"It is a fine thing to be able to end one's days
where one was born," said the nonna to Lucia.
Lucia had not thought of that; but she felt it to
be a fine thing to live when one has a mamma, a
papa, a grandmamma, a brother, a baby sister,-
and a doll.
It only remains to say that Professor Alleyn and
his family returned one day, before the lava was
cooled, and made the ascent of Etna as far as
Monte Albano, in company with some distinguished
Italian scientists. It is now thought-the pro-
fessor told me at a reception that incandescent
lava is not to be regarded as an uniformly fused
mass, resembling the scoria of a foundry, but owes
its crystalline deposits to the chemical results of a
gradual process of fusion. It may be so. Who
among us has enough polysyllables at command to
refute the theory? But more interesting to me
was the story of the doll, which one of the Italian
professors heard at Nicolosi. He told it to Gladys,
and she told it to me.


9oo











MAKE-BELIEVE.

BY ELIZABETH ROBINS PENNELL.


EVERY now and then I come across books--
sometimes they are quite new and just published
-which give rules for Stage-Coach and Proverbs,
Hunt-the-Slipper and Scandal, Little Sally Waters
and Pig-Tail, and the hundred and one games we
have all of us played at afternoon parties, in the
nursery, and in the schoolroom. No one really
knows for how many generations children have
gone on playing these games in exactly the same
way, until now the laws which govern them are as
unchanging as those of the Medes and Persians.
But, delightful as they are, when I see them ex-
plained so carefully in a printed book that there is
no making any mistake, I often wonder if all of
them taken together are worth one of the plays
which we invented for ourselves, and which lasted,
sometimes for but an hour, sometimes for days
and weeks, sometimes even for years. I mean
those beautiful make-believes," when we were
somebody else, and everything about us was some-
thing else, and nothing was what it seemed. For,
while nurse or mother or schoolmistress took us to
be little boys and girls playing games, we were
great kings and queens ruling the nations of the
world,- we were brigands with long beards and big
hats, like the robbers in the ballad,

"Always blood a-drinkin',
Killing' folks like winkin'."

We were Robinson Crusoes or Christopher Colum-
buses, George Washingtons or Rob Roys; we were
even, at times, saints and angels and martyrs.
When I look back to my schooldays, I do not re-
member best the games of Old Man and Bands, in
Mulberry Lane, where the ripe fruit from the great
trees was crushed under our feet as we ran, and
where beyond the high gate at the end we caught
glimpses of the world from which we were so jeal-
ously shut out; but more vivid in my memory is
the wonderful year during which I lived in a palace
in Rome, on terms of intimacy with the Pope him-
self, and with the Borgias and the Borghesis and
the Colonnas.
Were such battles ever fought before or since ?
Were there ever such sumptuous wedding-feasts ?
such gay christenings? such solemn funerals ? And
there was one of my schoolmates who would never
have anything to do with the other girls, but dur-


ing recreation hour would wander through the
woods alone, penetrating even into the forbidden
Poisonous Valley, opposite the nun's grave-
yard," simply because she was a duchess on bad
terms with her father and cruelly separated from
her lover; and all the time we never dreamed of
her greatness, but thought her silly and affected
and putting on airs.
Everyone has lived-ifnot in a palace in Rome-
at least in a castle in Spain. It has been said (and
every boy or girl must admit, with truth) that he
who has never been on a quest for buried treasure,
has never been a child. And the adventures of our
own making, how much better they were than the
sitting in a circle and pirouetting around at a given
signal, as in Stage-Coach; or the crouching on the
ground pretending to be little Sally Waters cry-
ing in the sun; or the kissing in the ring? In
these games we did as we were bidden; in our
own we were masters and creators, and there was
their charm. But for this very reason no one can
put all our plays into a book and teach us how to
make-believe; we must teach ourselves. As a
rule, too, the children who grow up into the men
who tell make-believe stories, tell them so well
that, as we read, we forget they are only make-
believe. Is n't Robinson Crusoe as real to you as
Columbus ? Don't you believe in Leatherstocking
just as firmly as in the Sioux chiefs, or the Zuiiis,
who occasionally come to Washington? And
David Balfour, and Little Lord Fauntleroy, and
Paul Dombey, and the countless others,-where
can you see any make-believe there, if you please ?
But there are two men -one is still living, the
other died but yesterday-who not only made-
believe when they were children, but in their
grown-up years have been able to tell us all about
the fairy-land in which they once lived; who not
only have invented adventures and shipwrecks,
and savages and heroes, and hunters, and all the
other things, but have taken us into their confi-
dence, and shown us the make-believe from the
very beginning. These two men are Robert Louis
Stevenson and Richard Jefferies; and there are no
writers of books who should be more dear to chil-
dren still busy making-believe, and to men and
women still capable of a thrill of pleasure in re-
calling the make-believes of the past.
Mr. Stevenson, of course, has written stories as






MAKE-BELIEVE.


real and as true as "Robinson Crusoe." There
is no make-believe about John Silver and David
Balfour and Alan Breck; we know they lived as
certainly as we know Robin Hood went shooting
through Sherwood Forest, or Ulysses went wan-
dering from shore to shore. But there is a little
volume of poems called the "Child's Garden of
Verses,"-and I hope every reader of ST. NICHO-
LAS has given it space on his or her book-shelves,-
which is nothing more than a record of the make-
believes of. the little Robert Louis Stevenson,
when he and his cousins Willie and Henrietta, in
the old manse and the garden by the mill-stream,
were
"King and queen,
Were hunter, soldier, tar,
And all the thousand things that children are ";

a record of the days when "in the basket on the
lea," he was a pirate a-steering of his boat to Provi-
dence, or Babylon, or off to Malabar; or at even-
ing, when the lamp was lighted, a hunter with his
gun, crawling

"Round the forest track
Away behind the sofa-back."

While his parents sat by the fire he played at
books he had read, so that, in the quiet parlor he
saw himself surrounded by hills and woods and
close to rivers where roaring lions came to drink.
Have you not known the time, when to you, as to
him, your bed was a boat, sofas were mountains,
carpets, seas--when you marched to victory to
the stirring sounds of a comb, or when, with chairs
and cushions, you built ships to go sailing on the
billows? What was in your ship's larder?- for
never yet did expedition set out from the nursery
without provisions. Stevenson tells all he carried
with him on one of his long journeys :

"We took a saw and several nails
And water in the nursery pails;
And Tom said,' Let us also take
An apple and a slice of cake';-
Which was enough for Tom and me
To go a-sailing on till tea."

There was not an inch of ground in the garden,
with its yew-tree and river flowing past, which had
not its historical associations, which had not seen
immortal actions and valiant battles. Here one
had to step on tiptoe, for the land was enchanted,
and he who loitered slept, like Beauty in the woods,
or Barbarossa in his mountain cave ; and there was
Ali Baba's cavern. At one side was the sea, on the
other the sand, and a part was "Frozen Siberia,"
where Stevenson and Robert Bruce and William


Tell were once bound by an enchanter's spell.
What fine company we keep--what friends we
meet, in our make-believes! Who, that saw the
little boy running by the hollyhocks and through
the gorse, could have known that he had just burst
in twain his iron fetters and, with the great heroes
of Scotland and Switzerland at his side, was fleeing
from the dread giants:

On we rode, the others and I,
Over the mountains blue, and by
The silver river, the sounding sea
And the robber woods of Tartary.

"A thousand miles we galloped fast,
And down the witches' lane we passed,
And rode amain, with brandished sword,
Up to the middle, through the ford.

"Last we drew rein a weary three -
Upon the lawn, in time for tea,
And from our steeds alighted down
Before the gates of Babylon."

And none of the people round the table, you
may be quite sure, had the least idea they were in
that great, wicked city of the East.
Grown-up people have to travel long and far in
search of adventure and strange lands; but, in
childhood, giants and enchanters and witches,
and, better still, great heroes long since dead,
wait for us at our front doors; in the tiniest garden
we can see more marvels than are to be met with
in a journey round the world; in one morning we
can do more great deeds than a Napoleon in his
lifetime. In his other books Stevenson is con-
stantly showing, in one way or another, his love of
adventure and daring; but his "Garden of Verse"
is filled with that romance which comes to us all
when we are children, but which goes forever, once
we take our seats by the fire with our elders and
refuse to play at anything."
I am afraid Richard Jefferies is less well known
than Stevenson. He was not what the world calls
a successful man, though he wrote books which
will be read until the English language is forgot-
ten. His life was a long struggle to make both
ends meet, and his last years were still further
darkened by ill health and cruel pain. But he for-
got his troubles when he was at work. As a boy,
he had lived in a country which, for cultivated
England, is wild enough. His home was a beauti-
ful old farmhouse, and close by were wide, rolling
downs -really "ups" or hills- marked here and
there with great Druidical stones, and remains of
British earth-works. Above all things "le loved
this wild and lovely country, and, next to it, he
loved his books the story of Ulysses, ballads, the


902





x889.] MAKE-B

adventures of travelers in strange and savage lands.
Like the little Stevenson he was always playing
at the books he read. One who knew him as a
boy tells how the two favorite pastimes of his happy
young years were, "those of living on a desert
island, and of waging war with the Indians."
As a man, he remembered with keen pleasure
these delightful make-believes and put them all
into a book that other little boys might enjoy them
with him. Like Stevenson he wrote some stories
in which there was even more make-believe, be-
cause he tried to pretend there was n't any make-
believe at all. One of his little heroes he sends
running over the hills, chasing the "jolly old.
wind," which tells him all sorts of secrets, so that,
by and by, it promises he shall understand all
about the sun, and the moon, and the stars, and
the earth which is so beautiful." Another he
leads through a field of ripe wheat, and the swal-
lows fly down to whisper to him, and the golden
wheat-ears, bending low, tell him their story.
But in his story of Bevis, though Bevis and his
great friend Mark meet with adventure after ad-
venture, discover new seas, and are lost in the
jungle, are pursued by savages and tracked by
tigers, you know all the time that they are only
making-believe, and that when they declare them-
selves thousands of miles from everybody, they
are, if not within sight, at least within easy reach
of the old farmhouse. I can not begin here to tell
you about all their plays. But I can give you an
idea of how they played, for the beginning and end
of everything they did was "make-believe."
Listen to this: The two boys are starting out
bright and early one morning, for a day's amuse-
ment, with their dog ",Pan." As they went
through a meadow toward their bathing-place,
" they hung about the path, picking clover-heads
and sucking the petals, pulling them out and put-
ting the lesser ends in their lips, looking at the
white and pink bramble-flowers, noting where the
young nuts began to show, pulling down the wood-
bine, and doing everything but hasten on to their
work of swimming. They stopped at the gate by
the New Sea, over whose smooth surface slight
breaths of mist were curling, and stood kicking
the ground and the stones as flighty horses paw.
"' We ought to be something,' said Mark,
discontentedly.
"' Of course we ought,' said Bevis. 'Things
are very stupid unless you are something.'
"' Lions and tigers,' said Mark, growling and
showing his teeth.
"'Pooh!'
'Shipwrecked people on an island.'
"'Fiddle! They have plenty to do and are
always happy, and we are not.'


BELIEVE. 903

'No; very unhappy. Let 's try escaping-
prisoners running away.'
"'Hum! Hateful!'
Everything 's hateful.'
"' So it is.'
'This is a very stupid sea.'
There's nothing in it.'
Nothing anywhere.'
Let 's be hermits.'
There 's always only one hermit.'
Well, you live that side' (pointing across),
'and I'll live this.'
"' Hermits eat pulse and drink water.'
"' What's pulse?'
'I suppose it 's barley-water.'
"' Horrid.'
Awful.' "
So long as they could not make-believe, they
were unhappy; once they could, the world about
them no longer seemed stupid, and there was only
too much to do. Let me show you what a differ-
ence it made this very same morning, when they
finally decided to be savages. Remember, they
were just about to take their daily swim.
Savages,' shouted Mark, kicking the gate to
with a slam that startled Pan up. Savages, of
course!'
'Why ?'
"'They swim, donk., don't they? They 're
always in the water, and they have catamarans and
ride the waves, and dance on the shore and blow
shells -
Trumpets?'
'Yes.'
Canoes ?'
'Yes.'
No clothes ?'
'No.'
"'All jolly?
"' Everything.'
Hurrah !' "
Then they hurry to the bathing-place, on the
way deciding they are savages of the South Sea
sort, and, jumping into the water, they suddenly
remember they should have a proper language.
Kalabala-bhong said Mark.
Hududu-blow-flug,' replied Bevis, taking a
header from the top of the rail on which he had
been sitting, and on which he just continued to
balancehimselfa momentwithout falling backward.
"' Umphumum!' he shouted, coming up again.
Thiklikah,' and Mark disappeared.
"'Naklikah,' said Bevis, giving him a shove
under as he came up to breathe."
Is n't that just the way you play ? Have n't you
invented languages? Have n't you been terrible
savages, wilder and fiercer than any Stanley ever







met in the heart of Africa? Have n't you felt
there was nothing worth doing unless you, too,
could "be something ? As I say, I have not space
to tell you all Bevis and Mark did, or the many
somethings they became. You must read the
book to learn about their exploration of the Missis-
sippi; their discovery of the New Sea; their ad-
ventures on the Nile and in Central Africa; their
meeting with witches and monsters; their working
of magic spells; their life as savages; their awful
battle, as Casar and Pompey, at Pharsalia, where
they almost did succeed in killing each other; and,
above all, their wonderful days in the island of
New Formosa, upon whose shores they were ship-
wrecked. And when they did not know just how
to fight, or just how to get shipwrecked, what do
you think they did? They went and consulted'


the "Odyssey" and "Old Ballads,"-it wias
the "Ballad of King Estmere they loved best.
These they found full of hints for good plays,
and, if you don't believe it, just go and borrow
your next play from Homer, or from any of the
old ballad-singers.
We have all lived in the land of make-believe;
we have all loved it. I am not quite sure that any-
thing we can do in after years can have quite the
same importance as the mighty "play-business"
which held and still holds us there. And, next to
attending to this business for ourselves, the best
thing I know of is to follow it either with Richard
Jefferies in his story of "Bevis," or with Robert
Louis Stevenson in his Garden of Verses." They
understand it as well as we do ourselves; and, for
this, let all honor be given to them!


r'N


THEY HAVE COSTUMES, BUT NO PARTS.


MAKE-BELIEVE.


904










TEDDY O'ROURKE.
(A Gamin's Story.)

BY MALCOLM DOUGLAS.


" TEDDY O'ROURKE 'S my chum, you see,
An' how it happened was, him an' me
Was down at the dock with the rest that day,
A-lookin' fur something' to come our way,
Fur shines, I tell ye, was precious few,
An' we thought we could pick up a dime or two,
Along with some of the other chaps,
Luggin' a feller's valise, perhaps.

" It was time the boat was a-gittin' in,
An' of all the crowd on the dock, who 'd been
Waitin' fur friends, none took our eye
Like two who was standing' just close by-
A lady, if ever was one, I guess -
You could tell as much by her way an' dress -
With a little girl who had 'bout the looks
Of them kids you see in the picture-books,
With her big blue eyes an' her hair like gold -
I s'pose she was four or five years old.
An' blest if she does n't tell Ted an' me
How her pa 's on board an' how glad she '11 be
When he is home with 'em both again.
An' Teddy he sees the boat just then.

" Well, the boat swings inter the slip at last,
An', while they 're busy a-makin' fast,
With the passengers ready almost to land,
The little girl loses her mother's hand,
When every one 's crowdin' an' pushin' hard,
An' blamed if she does n't fall overboard -
I can't ezzactly tell how she does,
'Cause 'fore I knows it, why, there it was -
An' then there follers a great, big splash
As Teddy goes after her in a flash I

" Talk about swimming now, Ted kin swim !
Not one of the fellers I knows tops him.
Stay under the longest you ever see;
Dive about twict as high as me;
Go out so fur you 'd be scairt clean through;
Why, they ain't a thing 'at he dassent do !-
More like a duck, I guess you 'd say
If ever you saw him in, some day -
An', though the tide is a-runnin' strong,
He strikes right out, an' it ain't so long
'Fore he's clingin' with her to the slippery spiles,
An' she 's safe- an' he just looks up an' smiles !

" Then they git the little girl up all right,
An'there's nothin'thematter with her'ceptfright,


While Teddy unhelped climbs up the beams
With the water a-runnin' from him in streams;
An', while he's shiverin', kind o', there,
The little girl's ma don't seem to care
At all fur the people a-standin' by,
But gives him a kiss an' begins to cry;
An' the little girl's pa ain't noways slow
In grabbin' his hand-an' he won't let go;
While everybody upon the pier
Just whoops her up in a bustin' cheer,
An' one of 'em yells out, after that,
'Come, chip in, all of you Here 's the hat!'

"An' did n't they? Well, now, they just did!
Teddy was allers a lucky kid!
An', while around with the hat they goes,
Every one reaches down in his clo'es,
An' you 'd laugh to see how the ol' plug fills
With dimes an' quarters an' halfs an' bills,
Till at last it 's a-holdin' so much tin
Looks 's if the crown would just bust right in;
An' they takes the money 'at they have riz,
An' they goes to Teddy an' says it 's his.

"'What?' says Teddy. 'This ain't all mine !'
An' you oughter have seed his black eyes shine,
An' I feels so good 'at I gives him a shove,
Fur I knows just what he 's a-thinkin' of-
It's about his mother, who 's purty old,
An' that sister of his'n the doctor 's told
If she only could go fur a good long spell
Out in the country she might git well-
An' every one laughs 'cause he stares so hard,
While the little girl's pa takes out a card
That says where Teddy 's to call next day,
An' they goes in a hack of their own away,
While some one tells Teddy to scoot home quick,
An' change his clo'es so he won't git sick.

" That 's about all,-'cept Teddy O'Rourke
Has got a chance, and has gone to work
In the little girl's pa's big dry-goods store,
An' he ain't a-shinin' 'em up no more;
An' now he 's a-goin' to free-school, nights,
An' he 's learning' so 'at he reads an' writes,
While I tells him to keep on peggin' away,
An' he '11 be a big duck hisself, some day.
-An'-me? Oh, Teddy '11 look out fur me-
Teddy O'Rourke's my chum, you see! "











THE GREAT PROCESSION.

BY HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD.


DID you ever happen to think, when dark
Lights up the lamps outside the pane,
And you look through the glass on that wonderland
Where the witches are making their tea in the rain,
Of the great procession that says its prayers
All the world over, and climbs the stairs,
And goes to a wonderland of dreams,
Where nothing at all is just what it seems?

All the world over at eight o'clock,
Sad and sorrowful, glad and gay,
These with their eyes as bright as dawn,
Those almost asleep on the way,
This one capering, that one cross,
Plaited tresses, or curling floss,
Slowly the long procession streams
Up to the wonderland of dreams.

Far in the islands of the sea
The great procession takes up its way,
Where, throwing their faded flower-wreaths down,
Little savages tire of play;
Though they have no stairs to climb at all,
And go to sleep wherever they fall,
By the sea's soft song and the stars' soft gleams
They are off to the wonderland of dreams.

Then the almond lids of the Tartar boy
Droop like a leaf at close of day;
And her mat is pleasant as clouds of down
To the tawny child of the Himalay;


And the lad on the housetop at Ispahan
Sees night, while the rose-breaths around him fan,
Lead up from the desert his starry teams
And mount to the wonderland of dreams.

Still westward the gentle shadow steals,
And touches the head of the Russian maid,
And the Vikings' sons leave wrestle and leap,
And Gretchen loosens her yellow braid,
And Bess and Arthur follow along,
And sweet Mavourneen at even-song,
All mingling the morrow's hopes and schemes
With those of the wonderland of dreams.

The round world over, with dark and dew,
See how the great procession swells;
Hear the music to which it moves,
The children's prayers and the evening bells.
It climbs the slopes of the far Azores,
At last it reaches our western shores,
And where can it go at these extremes
But into the wonderland of dreams ?

Hurrying, scampering, lingering, slow,
Ah, what a patter of little feet !
Eyelids heavy as flowers with bees,
Was ever anything half so sweet?
Out of the tender evening blue -
I do believe it has come for you
To be off to the wonderland of dreams,
Where nothing at all is just what it seems!


ABOUT TED RUSSELL.
(A College Story.)

BY ELEANOR PUTNAM.


I DON'T know just when it was that I first began
to notice it. I 'm not good at remembering things,
but I should say it was somewhere about the middle
of the winter term. I know it was before the river
broke up, because the crews were working at the
weights in the Gym., and I remember that Will


Hamlin used to rub himself down with snow in-
stead of with cold water, until his captain told
Will that he would n't have it.
So I think it must have been about the middle
of the winter term that we began to suspect there
was a thief about the college.











THE GREAT PROCESSION.

BY HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD.


DID you ever happen to think, when dark
Lights up the lamps outside the pane,
And you look through the glass on that wonderland
Where the witches are making their tea in the rain,
Of the great procession that says its prayers
All the world over, and climbs the stairs,
And goes to a wonderland of dreams,
Where nothing at all is just what it seems?

All the world over at eight o'clock,
Sad and sorrowful, glad and gay,
These with their eyes as bright as dawn,
Those almost asleep on the way,
This one capering, that one cross,
Plaited tresses, or curling floss,
Slowly the long procession streams
Up to the wonderland of dreams.

Far in the islands of the sea
The great procession takes up its way,
Where, throwing their faded flower-wreaths down,
Little savages tire of play;
Though they have no stairs to climb at all,
And go to sleep wherever they fall,
By the sea's soft song and the stars' soft gleams
They are off to the wonderland of dreams.

Then the almond lids of the Tartar boy
Droop like a leaf at close of day;
And her mat is pleasant as clouds of down
To the tawny child of the Himalay;


And the lad on the housetop at Ispahan
Sees night, while the rose-breaths around him fan,
Lead up from the desert his starry teams
And mount to the wonderland of dreams.

Still westward the gentle shadow steals,
And touches the head of the Russian maid,
And the Vikings' sons leave wrestle and leap,
And Gretchen loosens her yellow braid,
And Bess and Arthur follow along,
And sweet Mavourneen at even-song,
All mingling the morrow's hopes and schemes
With those of the wonderland of dreams.

The round world over, with dark and dew,
See how the great procession swells;
Hear the music to which it moves,
The children's prayers and the evening bells.
It climbs the slopes of the far Azores,
At last it reaches our western shores,
And where can it go at these extremes
But into the wonderland of dreams ?

Hurrying, scampering, lingering, slow,
Ah, what a patter of little feet !
Eyelids heavy as flowers with bees,
Was ever anything half so sweet?
Out of the tender evening blue -
I do believe it has come for you
To be off to the wonderland of dreams,
Where nothing at all is just what it seems!


ABOUT TED RUSSELL.
(A College Story.)

BY ELEANOR PUTNAM.


I DON'T know just when it was that I first began
to notice it. I 'm not good at remembering things,
but I should say it was somewhere about the middle
of the winter term. I know it was before the river
broke up, because the crews were working at the
weights in the Gym., and I remember that Will


Hamlin used to rub himself down with snow in-
stead of with cold water, until his captain told
Will that he would n't have it.
So I think it must have been about the middle
of the winter term that we began to suspect there
was a thief about the college.





ABOUT TED RUSSELL.


You see you would n't be as quick to notice it in
college as you would anywhere else, for, beside
the errand boys (who always steal cravats, and
gloves, and canes, and you expect it of them),
the fellows are always running in to borrow
things; and if you happen to be out and they
happen to be pretty intimate they help themselves
just the same, and sometimes forget to mention it
to you.
I remember I once lost some studs. Weeks after
I happened to speak of it one day when the fellows
were in our room, and Ned Smith said:
Why, I took them out of your room the night
we went to Wayburn to see Den. Thompson. I
supposed you knew I had them."
You can understand it would take some time
for us to fancy that there was a thief around in
college.
The first thing, however, that struck us was
when Bill Walters's watch was stolen. It hap-
pened one night when we were having a german
at the town-hall. Walters did n't wear his watch
with his evening dress, and when he looked for it,
next morning, it was gone. The very next week
Tom Burbank's pocket-book was stolen, and the
next night two silver candlesticks went. They
belonged to Ned Jewett, and were real old solid
things, none of your plated gimcracks. By that
time we fellows began to be on the alert. We
knew, by the thefts all taking place at night, that
the thief was no outsider, but that he must be
some one in the dormitories who was locked in with
us at night.
We were talking it over one day in our room.
All the fellows of our particular set were there -
Hastings, and Smith, and Stuart, and Houghton,
and Browne, and the rest. Ted Russell, my
chum, was sitting in the window-seat; Stuart and
Browne were in the hammock, and the rest were
"reposing promiscuous," as Ted says, on chairs
and lounges -and had somehow hit on the sub-
ject of circumstantial evidence. Stuart, whose
father was a judge, had mentioned certain cases in
which the sharpest lawyers had been taken in, and
he was proving how little one should trust to it.
But Ted Russell, who was my chum and room-
mate, persisted in disbelieving the whole thing.
He declared that it was impossible for a train of
evidence to be complete enough to convince in-
telligent men, without leading them to the true
conclusion.
"I don't take any stock," said he, "in these
cases of injured innocence. I believe a man
carries his passport in his face and that it always
gives you a true impression. You can tell a-"
Just then Ted started forward and looked out
of the open window near which he was sitting, on


account of our all being smoking, and the air blue
and so thick that you could have cut it with. a
knife.
What is it, Ted ?" said I. He drew his head
back, gave me a queer sort of a look, and scratched
a match.
Oh, nothing," he said, "I thought I saw
Stevens, and was going to call him up, but it
was n't he."
Then we began to talk of other things, and
chiefly about the boat-house.
You see we had a new one, a first-class affair
with convenient dressing-rooms, and arrangements
for bathing. Somehow, though, the boys had
failed on their payments; and one old cove, who
had subscribed a hundred dollars at Alumni din-
ner, up and died intestate, and we could n't collect
the money; so we were hard up, and it worried us
fellows very much; especially Ted Russell and
myself, who had been the chief movers in getting
the new boat-house.
After the boys had gone, Ted said to me, with
a queer sort of look on his face,
"See here, Jim. You know Piper?"
"Of course," said I; "he sits in front of us in
recitations."
"Well," said Ted, in a hesitating sort of way,
"I don't like to accuse an innocent man, nor to hit
a fellow when he 's down. Nobody likes Piper.
He 's a hang-dog sort of a chap; but-"
"Well," said I, "out with it. What do you
mean?" Ted got up and left the window, and
took to poking the fire.
The fact is," said he, "that just now, when
all the fellows were here, Piper went along under
the window. He was alone, and he took out a
watch in a sneaking sort of a way,-a handsome
gold watch, as I could see from where I sat. He
looked at the face and then at the back, and
turned it about and rubbed his hands over it.
Just then the fellows in here came out with a big
'ha, ha,' and Piper gave a great start, looked up
and saw me, grew red as a beet, and hurried the
watch out of sight. Now what do you make of
that ?"
"Why, Ted," said I, "I thought I would n't
mention it yet, even to you, but I caught the
fellow doing the very same thing on the stairs this
morning, just after prayers. He jumped as if he'd
been hit when he saw me, turned red in the face,
and hustled the watch into his pocket. 'We have
a long lesson in physics to-day, Mr. Sandford,' said
he -you know how the sneak will always 'mister'
us fellows. I scarcely answered him, but I thought
to myself his actions were mightily suspicious, and
that I 'd just keep an eye on him."
His face is bad enough, anyhow," said Ted;






ABOUT TED RUSSELL.


"we 'd better keep an eye on him, I should say.
See here, we 've just time to look at our 'Inter-
national,' before club. What page will you take ?"
"I '11 take the second," said I; "you 'd better
take the fifth; it 's good big print."


*~ *~-""" *Ii'I*'


nIS lll I


S'HE WAS ALONE, AND HE TOOK OUT A WATCH IN A SNE
"All right," said Ted, "don't talk for ten
minutes."
You see Ted Russell and I have a good dodge
to avoid learning the whole of any day's lesson.
-Of course no fellow in his senses wants to waste
his time studying page after page of jargon that
does him no good, and that he may never be called
on to recite. That is, unless he is a regular duffer,
working for rank, and getting a "ten" every day
for the whole four years. So Ted and I, after
some thought, figured out this idea:


You take your text-book and pick out one page
or topic, and learn it in your best style; you let
all the rest of the lesson go. Then you go into
recitation, and when the professor comes near the
part of the lesson which you have learned, just
you become suddenly ab-
stracted; take to whisper-
ing to a fellow across
the room, or staring out
SIof the window, or pre-
J tend to be asleep, and ten
to one the Prof. thinks
he 's caught you off
.* -. guard; comes down on
iii' 'i('-- you and calls "Russell!"
'"'l or "Sandford!" (with a
,- gleam of triumph in his
S'iI eye) and up you jump
Sand recite swimmingly on
the only part of the lesson
S -- that you really know at
lflw. all. I never knew this
plan to fail but once or
I ''.1il ''ll,'"I "' twice, in all the times we
If have tried it. But all this
has nothing to do with the
Story.
S'As I said before, Ted
I and I made up our minds
to keep a good sharp eye
on Piper, and so we de-
S cided to, but that very
night Ted was taken ill.
The doctor said he had
overtrained; but we fel-
lows think he took cold
on his way across the
campus after working hard
in the Gym. We re-
membered that he stopped,
in the full sweep of the
wind, to show Will Hamlin
/A a letter he 'd just had from
/ the Lake George Associa-
tion. Besides that, he sat in
the open window when we
were all smoking, and of course he ought to have
known better than that. Anyhow, he fell ill with a
fever and some sort of rheumatic trouble; was light-
headed nights, and all that; so you may fancy that
I had n't much time to think of Piper or thieves.
Poor Ted was ill, and no mistake! Part of the
time he did n't know us fellows, and when he knew
anything, he 'd worry about making up his lessons,
and about losing his place on the crew; and, more
than all, he would worry about the boat-house and
how we were to pay the debt.


908







"We must pay it off somehow, Jim," he 'd say;
"we must pay it off somehow. Can't you think
of some way out of it, Jim ? "
Over and over the poor fellow would say this,
and toss and throw himself about, until there
seemed to be no way to quiet him. Then he 'd
spring up in bed and fancy he was rowing; he 'd
go into it so hard that his teeth would be set and
the muscles of his arms stand out like those of that
uncomfortable chap on the anatomical chart.
But he came out of it all right at last,--himself,
old Ted Russell, again, only as white and weak as
any girl. He could n't even walk across the floor
without leaning on me, and he 'd sit all day in his
Sleepy Hollow chair, without life enough even to
read. He 'd bend his arm and feel of his biceps,
and then open and shut his hand and look at me
and shake his head and laugh in a dull sort of way.
"Bad outlook for the race, Jim," he 'd say;
"a girl might be ashamed of such a wrist as that."
However, when he was able to drive out, he
began to improve fast. We used to drive down to
the ship-yards every day for a sniff of the sea, and
the strong smell of the pine chips seemed to do
Ted no end of good. We always stopped at a
red greenhouse, half-way home, for a drink of
milk for which we did n't much care. There was
a pretty girl there, with blue eyes, who used to
bring it out to us.
We stayed at college through the vacation, on
Ted's account, for he lived in some out-of-the-way
place in northern Vermont.
. I remember that he had a box from the old aunt
he lived with. There were wines and jellies in the
box, but it was mostly full of papers of dried herbs,
with directions for steeping them, all written out
on the packages. There were piles of lint and
bandages, and a beastly hop-pillow for poor Ted
to sleep on. She appeared to think he was wounded
somehow, and I found out afterward that it was all
.my fault, because I had written her a letter (so
she should n't worry about Ted) and had said that
he. was all broke up" and no end cut up by
being dropped from the class boat."
Of course I did n't think she could misunder-
stand a fellow in such a way, but I fancy she thought
poor Ted had n't a whole bone left in his body.
Well, the vacation was over, and Ted began to
be able to walk about a little, and the boys came
back to college, and the term began.
March went by, and April. The streets grew
muddy, and we began to keep our windows open,
and sit on the south doorsteps in the sun, to
smoke and look our lessons over between recita-
tions (all took colds, of course; we always do in
the spring-time, but we keep on doing just the
same things every year), and finally the river


x889.]


ABOUT TEI


SRUSSELL. 909

broke up. The ice began to run out; the spring
freshet came; the great booms broke, up river,
and the logs began to thunder down and pitch
headlong over the foaming dam by hundreds.
Then Browne, who was captain now, in place of
poor Ted, said it was time we took out the boat.
It is a big thing, I can tell you, when a fellow
gets out of that dusty, dark old Gym. and on the
river at last, in the class boat (and you must un-
derstand that our boat is the beauty on the river
this year, twenty-two inches wide, forty-seven feet
long, sharp as an arrow, and swift as lightning;
oh, a regular flyer, you know, and no mistake
about it).
I was so jolly over the prospect that I was slam-
ming about the room at a great rate, and whist-
ling Litoria," as I got ready to go down to the
boat-house, and I never thought of poor Ted at
all. Suddenly, though, something in his eyes, as
he sat in the window-seat and watched me, made
me remember what a selfish fellow I was. I felt
ashamed of myself. If I had been a girl, I dare
say I should have cried. As it was I only said to
him:
Ted, you 're my captain for next fall, you
know." Then I took his hand and we gave each
other a grip which meant more than all the kisses,
and crying, and protestations a pair of girls could
get up in a week.
But all Ted said to me was, "Oh, go along,
Sandford! and I said, Come along down and
see us off." But we understood each other.
When we reached the boat-house we found
quite a crowd of our fellows waiting to see us start,
and, just above, the Juniors were unlocking their
door and shouting down to our boys.
Our new boat-house was worth being proud of. In
fact, it put the others quite into the shade. It was
built out over the water on piles, and the floor was
cut away in the middle,- leaving a "well about
fifty feet by ten where we raised and lowered the
boat. We had a handsome hard-wood floor of
matched boards, tongue-and-groove made, and
we had good dressing-rooms with lockers and vari-
ous conveniences for keeping things safe and in
order. We did n't go in for anything fancy, but
it was all strong, neat, and well made, which could
n't be said of our old one,- a regular shed. A
spare "lap-streak" and our old class-gig were slung
to the rafters, and there were pairs.of spruce oars
with spoon blades hung on pegs in the walls. It
was a good boat-house, but it worried us, thinking
how we should pay for it.
The fellows all stood around the well as we low-
ered the shell, and dropped into it by number, ac-
cording to Browne's orders. Then Browne himself
dropped; Houghton handed down our oars, and





ABOUT TED RUSSELL.


we cleared the boat of her gaskets. Just then
Browne shouted to Houghton:
"Time us, will you, Fred ?"
Can't," said Houghton.
"What do you mean?"
"My watch has been borrowed," said Houghton;
" at least, I can't find it."
I thought at once of Piper, and, looking over
my shoulder, exchanged looks with Ted Russell.
Then Hastings said he would time us; Browne
gave the word:
"Back her out,- easy; hold hard, port, and
back her, starboard! Now, hold all! ready!
give way "
The shell swung round and pointed down-
stream, and at last we were off for our first pull.
Russell was waiting when we came back to the
boat-house, and as we walked up home together,
he told me that Jim Basset had ten dollars taken
from his room, and that Piper had been over at
Harwood's buying a cheap ulster.
That evening, sure enough, we met him in his
new coat; a vulgar affair of yellow shoddy, that no
fellow but Piper would have worn, anyhow. We
stepped into Harwood's, Tom and I, and priced
some like it, just for the curiosity of the thing.
"Ten dollars apiece, gentlemen," said the clerk,
" and your choice of shades: butternut, mastic,
light tan, and cream. Worth twice the money.
Out of a case of smuggled goods. Great bargain."
We concluded that we did n't care to buy that
evening.
"Jim Bassett's 'ten' bought the ulster, Sand-
ford, and no mistake," said Russell, as soon as we
were outside; and I agreed with him.
True for you," said I; and then went up into
Atwood's for a game of pool. Browne was there,
and one or two fellows who belonged in our
six-oar.
"Take your last look at a billiard-table, Sand-
ford," said Browne. "We go into our real training
to-morrow, and no nonsense about it."
Sure enough we did.
Next morning our regular training began. It
was something like this: Up at five o'clock in the
morning, and taking a four and a half mile pad-
dle, on two raw eggs; back, to breakfast on oat-
meal and rare beef; out on the river again at five
in the afternoon; then home for a supper of
cracked wheat and milk; at nine o'clock a double
run around the campus; home, rub down, and go
to bed; and perhaps I did n't sleep soundly when
bedtime came those nights !
One afternoon Ned Smith beckoned me into the
room.
See here," said he, I would n't have spoken
to a soul, if I had n't been absolutelysure you know,


-all solid. But I just want you to keep an eye on
Piper. Don't mention it just yet, but he sold a
silver candlestick at Wayboro, Monday. Dun-
lap 's gone over to trace it and see if it was one
of Jewett's. Don't say a word, only keep your
eyes open, that's all."
It was that very afternoon that I made an odd dis-
covery in the boat-house. We were all seated and
ready to start, and as we passed the boat ahead to
clear the stern gasket, I happened to look up and
noticed that one of the planks of the flooring,
instead of being in a line with the others round the
edge of the well, ran out an inch beyond line.
It struck me as odd that I had never noticed it
before, and I was wondering how it happened,
when I hit my oar against a pile and snapped it
short off. Browne gave me a reprimand which
brought me up standing, and I kept my eyes in
the boat till we got back.
I was such a long time rubbing myself down
that afternoon that Browne called out at last.:
"We 're going up, Sandford-sha'n't hang
round for you any longer."
"All right," said I, "go ahead. Leave the key
in the door." Then I heard them pass the boat-
house, and their voices died away.
As soon as I was alone, I left my dressing-room,
and went to examine that plank. It was matched,
and so of course driven in like a wedge, but the
nails had been taken out, and it was slipped about
two inches from the well, leaving a space cor-
responding with the end of the plank which ran
beyond the others, at the edge of the well. I
managed to drive it out with a hatchet, though it
was no easy task. The floor was double, with
about eight inches of space between, and there,
cleverly hidden under shavings and sawdust, were
all the things which had been stolen from the col-
lege: the watches, the pocket-book, one silver
candlestick, and about fifty dollars in money.
I left the things untouched, drove in the plank,
and went up to college. I did n't mention what
I 'd seen, even to Russell, for I hoped to just catch
Piper in the act of hiding some of his stolen goods;
then, when I was perfectly sure about it, I would
let Ted know, and we would have things straight-
ened out in no time.
It was about eleven o'clock when I started that
night, for I had to wait till Ted was asleep, so
that he should n't know about it. It was dark
and still and misty, especially when I went down
into the water meadows; the frogs were croaking
away at a great rate in the marshes, and, late as it
was, I heard voices coming through the fog from a
great "gundalow" which lay out in the channel
waiting for daylight, when it would creep up river
with its cargo of coal. I had a key to the boat-


91o






ABOUT TED RUSSELL.


house, and carried a little dark-lantern which had
served Ted and me many a good turn in our Sopho-
more pranks.
I wondered how in the world Piper got into the
boat-house, when we had a new combination-lock
on the door, till I remembered how easily he could
steal Browne's key and then carry it back again.
I had to wait some time. The town-clock struck
twelve, and I was beginning to grow sleepy, what
with the darkness, and the monotonous sound of
the water striking the piles underneath, when sud-
denly I heard a step on the grass outside, and
you'd better believe I was wide enough awake in
an instant. On it came, on and on, straight for
the boat-house and up the sloping wooden plat-
form which led to the door. Then a key turned
in the lock, the door opened, and in he came. I
turned the slide of my lantern, shielding it
cautiously, and there, sure enough, was the thief,
revealed by the faint glimmer of light I allowed to
escape, stepping along softly, and far too near the
edge of the well for safety. On he came till he
reached the loosened plank; then he went and
took the hatchet from a beam, drove out the plank
with a great noise, and there, kneeling down with
his back toward me, he began to put something
into his hiding-place.
This was just the minute to take him. I drew
the slide of my lantern wide, and sent a broad
beam of yellow light full on him. He neither
started nor turned toward me, but kept on hiding
something; went to the edge of the well and drove
the plank back, put the hatchet where he found it,
then turned to go, and for the first time faced the
light.
Piper? How, in the name of all that was sensi-
ble, had I been deceived so long? Piper I Why,
it was not Piper at all. It was Ted Russell!
It was Ted, sure enough, with his eyes wide
open and looking nowhere at all. He never
glanced at me nor noticed the blaze from the
lantern. I closed the slide, and drew back into
the corner. Ted walked away, always keeping
on the extreme edge of the well, so that an inch
would have thrown him into the water. I had all
I could do to keep from shouting to warn him
back.
When he had really gone and locked the boat-
house door behind him, I moved out the plank
once more, collected the plunder (both the candle-
sticks were there; I had missed one under the shav-
ings before, somehow), and went back to college.
My first thought had been that Ted was crazy.
I honestly thought so. I could see no other reason
for his doing such a thing. Then I remembered that
queer look in his eyes, and how he never even no-
ticed the light, and in a minute I knew that the old


fellow was asleep, as sound as a top. But what
could he want of the boys' watches and money?
That was more than I could understand.
Ted was in bed and asleep when I reached the
college; he seemed to be sleeping easily and
healthfully, and I made up my mind to see that
he did n't leave his room another night.
I said nothing to the fellows next day, but I
felt mean about Piper, for we had done him an
injustice, even though he was a shabby sort of
fellow.
Ted went off to bed about nine o'clock, but I
sat up and read; I did not dare to lie down, for
fear I should lose myself.
He slept like a baby till about eleven. Then he
began to stir uneasily and mutter in an odd, dull
voice. I went into the bedroom and found him
dressing.
"What are you doing, Ted?" said I, as quietly
as I could.
"Dressing," said he, speaking in that same curi-
ous way, as if somebody else were speaking out of
Ted's mouth.
"Where are you going? said I..
Into Carleton's room to get some money,"
said he. I have almost enough now, anyhow."
"Enough for what? said I.
"Enough to pay for the boat-house. What do
you suppose ?" said he.
I said the first thing I could think of, to keep
him from going.
Oh, the boat-house is all right," said I.
Do you mean it? said Ted; who paid for
it?"
"Never you mind," said I, "but it's all right
and squared up, Ted. So just you get back into

bed."
He did n't say another word, but did as I told
him; and very soon I heard him breathing as
regularly as a child.
You see, that was what the poor fellow was up
to all the time. He had begun it away back in the
winter, before he was ill, when the fever in his
blood made him restless, and set him to trying,
even in his sleep, to somehow pay off the debt on
the boat-house that worried him so. And, in his
sleep, it seems, he adopted foul means; perhaps
because he had found that fair means did n't seem
to accomplish much.
Next morning I restored the boys' property, and
bound them to keep the thing quiet as long as we
stayed in college. For, though of course poor Rus-
sell could n't help himself, and it was nothing to
be ashamed of, still I knew he would feel horribly
cheap if the thing got about, and came to his
ears; it would be such a grind, and I was n't
going to have the fellows chaffing him about it.


g91








That was why I went to see a doctor about his was afraid the fellows would poke fun at him for
case; and why I made him accept my uncle's in- looking at it so often.
vitation (my uncle is Captain Walter Shorley, of The candlestick that he sold was his own, too -
the bark "Victrix") to go with him to Cardiff. a battered affair, but really silver, and he only got
Of course I went along, too, to look after Ted. five dollars for it, and earned the other five work-


" HE WENT TO THE EDGE OF THE WELL AND DROVE THE PLANK BACK."


The doctor said that a sea-voyage would cure
him of all his nonsense, and set him up again as
nothing else could do.
And about Piper?
Why, it was all a case of "circumstantial evi-
dence," you know; nothing else. The watch which
Ted and I had seen him gloating over was his own
fast enough; a poor, cheap thing that he had found
at a bargain somewhere.
The reason that he acted so queerly about it and
hustled it out of sight, in the way he did, was
because he had never owned a watch before, and


ing on a catalogue, and bought his light ulster as
honestly as any fellow.
The doctor was right about Ted. He came
home from sea as right as a trivet, and now
he 's the most superb oar on the river, and the
best fellow in all the four classes, as you 'd say, if
you knew him.
Yes, I had to resign my place on the crew, of
course, and give up the race. Yes, I believe you,
it certainly was a grind, but then, it 's all past
now. I did it for old Ted, and I know my chum
Ted would do the same for me.


ABOUT TED RUJSSELL..


912











THE MAKING OF A GREAT STEEL GUN.


BY G. F. MULLER.

From the silence of the ore
-To the battle's din and roar."- F. A. M.


i. I -b OME into a big, queer
Building in the upper
part of a busy city, for
i in this building some-
Sthing is going on that I
wish you to see; and
t i then, having seen it, to
S understand it.
Some of you may
S know how so common
a metal as iron is turned
into steel, and
s,' ac how, of that
finer metal, a
Great cannon
is made. But
to those of you
who do not
know how this
S is done, these
to pictures and
In ,i what I write
will, I hope,
----a make plain the
different proc-
CASTING THE CANNON. esses by which
iron becomes a handsome, shapely, polished can-
non: a cannon that will send a big shell far over
the hills, so fast that you could not see it go,
faster than swallow or humming-bird can fly, and
with a force, so great that the shot- or shell--
will pass through a thick wall of steel, or iron or
stone, as easily as the circus-rider leaps through a
paper-covered hoop. Come, therefore, and we will
watch a little group of men making a man-killer:
a steel cannon intended to destroy forts and ships,
and with them human beings.
Pittsburgh is called the City of Iron. The street-
car takes us to a section where all the houses are
of great size, and where tall chimneys rise through
vast roofs, as thickly as asparagus-shoots push
through a garden-bed in May.
The building we wish to enter is wide and long
and high,-- so high that if it stood atthe edge of
a lake or ocean, a schooner could sail straight in
without lowering her masts. Everything inside
VOL. XVI.--58. 9


this building-except the workmen-is big in
proportion. There are large furnaces along one
side of the interior, and through the doors of these
red-hot fire shines out, looking like the fiery eyes
of a tremendous giant. Immense chains hang
from the top of queer things that look like a letter
of the alphabet upside-down, so: I, only these in-
verted letters are as high as a house. Each link
of the chains is half as long as your body, and the
steel in each link is as thick as one's leg. These
affairs supporting the chains are called cranes. No
boy who has ever seen a live crane, would recog-
nize these other cranes from the name. The iron
ones are not graceful, nor anything but strong
and fitted to their work; which is to lift huge bowls
of melted metal or tremendous masses ofsteel. This
they do as easily as you would pick up your lunch-
basket. A steam-engine forms part of each of these
cranes, and one man at this engine makes the big
chain come slowly down, or rise, or move from
place to place. The crane obeys the movement
of the man's hand upon a lever as readily as
the elephants obey every sign and word of their
trainer.
Well,-now for the making of our cannon.
Stand here a moment and look over there where
the brightness of a hundred electric lights and the
fireworks of forty Fourths of July seem holding a
meeting. What do you see there? Why, some-
thing shaped like a stumpy bottle, and as big as
an ordinary bedroom in a hotel. Nearit is another
object .like the first, but smaller. These are
"converters." They are so called because in them
iron is converted into steel and in a few minutes,
too. I can not in this article tell you how this is
done, because I need all the space to describe the
making of the cannon. But this much I can say,
air being blown through molten iron purifies it
and makes it into steel. If you hive pitched
quoits, you know that they are made of cast iron.
If you have a good pocket-knife, you probably
know that its blades are made of steel. Iron is
fit enough for quoits or stoves, but would never
do for knife-blades. It is not hard enough nor
strong enough. So with our cannon. It could
be made of iron, but an iron cannon could not






THE MAKING OF A GREAT STEEL GUN.


withstand the expansive force of exploding gun-
powder. So the iron is converted into steel, and
the cannon is made of the harder, tougher, stronger
metal.
If you shade your eyes with your hands aiid look
into the mouth of the bottle-shaped affair I have
mentioned, you will see a glowing lake of melted
metal, that is now steel, but was iron a short
time before. It is ready to pour into-what?
Into a hole in the ground! A hole as deep and
as wide as the well in your grandfather's yard in
the country. You can not see this hole, though it
is just at your feet; and nothing betrays its presence
but a big funnel that opens its dark mouth to swal-
loxv the lake of melted steel in the converter. That
funnel leads the metal into the hole, and the hole
is made in fine black sand, so cunningly packed
and arranged that the hole itself is just the shape
of a cannon standing small end uppermost. This
mold is nearly twenty feet deep.
Put one of your fingers in damp sand. Press
the sand closely about your finger, then draw it
carefully out, and you will leave a mold of the
finger. Now, if you had some melted steel and
poured it into that hole, you would make a finger
of cast-steel. Just that sort of an operation'is to
take place in the building we have entered. The
mold is ready. It was made by putting a wooden
cannon in the sand, packing the latter around the
wood, then carefully removing this wooden "pat-
tern," so that a cannon mold remained. This is
to be filled with steel, which, when cooled, will be
a cannon "in the rough," that is, a cannon begun
but hot finished.
Do you hear that shout? It is the signal to the
man in the crane, the man who runs the steam-
engine. That rattling, thundering noise is made
by the obedient crane which has begun its work.
It lowers a monster ladle or bucket down to the
mouth of the converter. The latter is tipped over
on its side, .and, when the ladle is low enough,
there is another shout, and another crane goes.to
work. Its duty is to tilt the converter until a
stream of white-hot steel pours into the ladle, ex-
actly as water is poured from a bottle into a glass.
And how the brilliant, dazzling sparks do fly! It
is as if a fire-work, a "pin-wheel" as big as a
steamer's paddle-box, had been set off. The great
bucket is soon filled, and there is another shout.
The crane begins to move, and the bucket (as big
as the biggest hogshead), rises into the air and
slowly swings toward the funnel already described..
How in the world is the metal to run from the
ladle into the funnel? Glance at the picture on
the preceding page and you shall see. The great
crane lowers the bucket slowly and carefully until
it hangs just over the mouth of the funnel. In


the bottom of the bucket is a hole closed with a
plug. Another order is shouted, and a brave man
whose skin seems insensible to heat, and who
cares no more for flying sparks than if they were
snow-flakes, comes up close to the ladleful of
molten steel and turns a little crank that lifts the
plug. A dazzling stream of metal rushes straight
down into the funnel and disappears from sight.
The funnel leads that dazzling cataract into a pipe
running below the hole in the sand, whence it
makes a turn and rises into the mold itself. It
would not do to let the heavy metal go tumbling
twenty feet into the sand, for it would break down
the sides of the mold, and so ruin the entire work.
In about two minutes the mold is full and the
great ladle is empty. The cannon has been "cast,"
and if we could look through the sand we would
see- what? A red-hot cannon, the color of a
ripe cherry, standing on its large end or breach.
Now, they must leave that cannon in its sand-
bed for five days, where it shall gradually cool
and harden so that it can be handled.
Let us, however, suppose these five days to be
over, and that we are again in the big building.
Where is our cannon? It has been lifted from
the sand and is lying in a tremendous turning-
lathe. Most of you have seen a wood-turner at
work, and some of you may have a lathe of your
own. This cannon is "in the rough," and must
be turned smooth. More than that, it is a solid
cannon. There is no bore in it-no place to put
the powder or the shot into. It must be turned
on the outside and bored on the inside, clear from
one end to the other, until it looks like a pipe with
very thick walls. To do this requires an enormous
lathe, one as long as a large room and as strong
as it can possibly be made.
Up among the dusky rafters of the roof, right
above this big lathe, is a wheel, or, as it is called
in shop language, a "pulley"-perhaps because
it "pulls" a belt. From this pulley a belt runs
down to another pulley at one end of the lathe.
The second pulley turns a cog-wheel very fast, and
that turns a larger cog-wheel somewhat slower,
and the second wheel, in turn, gives a yet slower
motion to a third wheel. But what these wheels
lose in speed they gain in power, and by the time
the rapid motion of the pulley reaches the big
geared wheel that turns the cannon the latter
makes but six turns in a minute or even revolves
more slowly yet, if desired. This slow motion,
however, is an extremely powerful one, as will be
shown.
There, then, is the cannon, as big as a log in a
saw-mill, lying in this lathe and turning slowly,
steadily, and irresistibly by the power of steam,
acting through the belt, pulleys, and cogs I have


914







THE MAKING OF A GREAT STEEL GUN.


described. The cannon must be bored from end
to end through the heart of the cold hard steel.
It must, also, be turned smooth on the outside.
As taken from the sand it was no smoother than
the sand itself, that is, about as smooth as the
surface of a pressed brick, or of a school slate.
The surface of the cannon must be made as
smooth and nearly as bright as that of a tin bucket.
To do this the cannon is turned just as a wood-
turner turns a.bedpost, except that in this case
the chisel is firmly bolted to the lathe, and the
gun turns very slowly instead of rapidly. The


bored so straight and true that the boring tool,
entering at the exact center of the small end of
the cannon, will come out precisely at the center
of the large end, seventeen feet away. Those of
you who have tried to bore a straight hole length-
wise through even a short bit of wood will know
that this work requires not a little skill and care.
When any of you boys have a job of boring to
do at your work-bench, you make fast the article to
be bored and turn the boring tool. It is just the
other way in boring a cannon. The boring tool, or
" bit," is held firm and motionless, while the


THE CANNON IN THE BORING LATHE.


trimmings, or shavings, do not fly about the shop
as they do in a wood-turning establishment. No,
the cannon revolves with a certain leisurely dig-
nity-about as slowly as the cylinder of a large
musical-box -as if it had weeks for its completion.
The chisel turns off spiral curls of steel parings
as gracefully and much more slowly than a cook
pares apples. Gradually the outside of the can-
non loses its dull, dead-black appearance and
begins to shine. The long parings are bright as
new augers, or "twist-drills," and quite as stiff as
ramrods.
At last the cannon is turned down, and is ready
to be bored inside. In this operation it must be


great mass of steel to be bored turns around.
This plan is found to insure steadiness of the
"bit." It would be almost impossible to make
this bit firm and solid enough to do its difficult
work, and yet free to turn around in the cannon.
So if you had been at the side of this gun-lathe
when the work was begun you would have seen
that the bit was motionless except for a slow
advance into the gun.
The bit attends strictly to business, and steadily
bores its way through the steel. Most of you have
been to the country and have seen a pig rooting "
in the ground. Imagine, then, the pig to be stand-
ing still and the ground to be slowly passing under


x889.]


915






THE MAKING OF A GREAT STEEL GUN.


the pig's snout and being "rooted," and you will
have a case much like that of the bit and the
cannon. In fact, the boring tool is called a "hog-
nosed" bit, and it roots up that cannon as if it en-
joyed the operation. No long, graceful curls come
from this boring, but small, crisp shavings that are
removed as fast as they accumulate in order that
the boring tool's work shall not be interfered with.
The bit is going into the steel at the rate of three-
eighths of an inch for every turn of the cannon,
and it is making a round hole almost large enough
for a boy to put his head in five and three-
quarters inches in diameter. As the round hole
grows deeper, the heavy bar, on which the bit is
fastened, advances into the cannon steadily, moved
by a number of wheels and screws that form part
of the lathe.
I must not lose sight of the shavings, the little
ones that come from the inside, and the long,
spirally twisted ones that are turned from the
outside of the cannon. A military-looking man,
standing near the lathe, does not lose sight of
these shavings or trimmings, either. You can see
him in the picture. This man's business is to
carefully inspect the borings and trimmings.
That is what he is paid to do. Uncle Sam pays
him, and expects him to earn his salary. The
cannon is being made for Uncle Sam, and he in-
tends to find out all its qualities, whether good or
bad. So the man eyes the. borings carefully.
Now, if with a plane, or your knife-blade, you will
cut a thin shaving from a bit of wood, it will
show any little flaw existing in the wood from
which it was sliced. The tiniest knot-hole or
crack will show in the shaving much more plainly
than in the wood itself. So it is with a cannon's
shaving. It is a dreadful tell-tale, and the fault-
finding man beside the gun knows this perfectly
well. He examines the spiral turning, or the
little piece of boring, and finds no evidence of a
flaw or crack. The long spiral strip is as smooth
as glass and as glossy as your sister's curls.
Into the solid steel the hog-nosed bit roots its
way, until it is in so far that a little electric light
must bear it company, to show the workmen how
matters are progressing in the heart of the cannon.
After eighteen days of steady boring, the bit lets
daylight into the bore of the cannon by emerging
at the other (or larger) end, seventeen feet away.
If you should look through the cannon now, you
would be sure it was made of glass, not steel. It
shines like a polished mirror, and the electric light
at the farther end makes a pathway of reflection
like a little sunset in a small ocean.
So the most difficult part of the work is done.
To trim down and polish the outside of the cannon
is comparatively easy. During this operation the


gun revolves more rapidly. The polishing is done
with emery, until the surface shines like the nickel-
work on a brand-new bicycle.
Some of you will say, about this time, "We
have seen plenty of big cannon, but were never
able to look through them from end to end, because
the hole did not go clear through." Well, this is
not that kind of a cannon. Those you saw were
"muzzle-loaders." This is a "breech-loader."
Like a breech-loading shotgun, this cannon is
charged from the rear, not from the muzzle.
In order that this may be possible, the bore at
the big end of the cannon is close with a breech
plug, or pin, so arranged that it can be rapidly
removed to admit the powder and the shell or shot.
About three feet of the bore nearest the breech is
made a trifle larger than the rest, in order to hold
the proper amount of powder to send a tremendous
shell out of the cannon at the rate of two thousand
feet in a second of time.
The cannon now looks like a huge nine-pin
with a hole bored through it, or like a very
thick base-ball bat. It has been "rough bored,"
and is ready for a quite different process. It must
be put in a pit. Not such a pit as received Joseph
when his wicked brothers persecuted him, long,
long ago, but in a very different sort of a pit. One
in which the thermometer--if it did not melt--
would stand at fourteen hundred degrees. You
all know how sultry the weather is at ninety or
ninety-five degrees, so it is not hard to imagine
how hot is the place where this gun must go. It is
the "annealing pit "; merely a brick-lined well dug
in the ground, but deep enough and wide enough
to hold the cannon, which is shut in the pit,
muzzle down, and sealed as tightly as if it was a
mummy in the hands of an ancient Egyptian under-
taker. Then the heat is turned on, little by little,
until a gas-flame surrounds the gun from end to
end, and it gradually assumes a dull cherry red-
ness once more. It takes three days and three
nights to bring the pit and gun up to this heat,
and then the well and its contents are allowed to
cool slowly for seven days.
Why is this done? Because it has been found
that metal, and glass, too, is the better for being
so treated. Slow heating followed by slow cool-
ing, makes the steel gun homogeneous. That's
a very long word, and it means that, after the
annealing process, the steel in the cannon is more
uniform in texture. It is alike from end to end,
and from the outside to the center. It has no soft
places here, and hard places there. Like a per-
fectly sound apple, it is free from soft places, or
hard places. When our cannon's ten days' bak-
ing and cooling are over, it is hoisted out of its
fervid quarters and- placed once more in the lathe


916.






THE MAKING OF A GREAT STEEL GUN.


for its final boring inside and polishing outside. A
thin shaving is bored out from the inside, making
the bore five and three-quarter inches in diameter.
After this last boring the interior of the cannon
shines still more brightly, and if you look into it,
at the electric light, seventeen feet away at the
other end, you see a dazzling sight. The steel
seems a mass of crystal, full of all manner of
beautiful colors, like a sea-shell. The outside is
now polished until it shines like a new silk hat.


r ,1 M.1Ir; '


TRIMMING AND POLISHING THE OUTSIDE OF
It is a month since the steel cannon was begun.
Under the eyes of the workmen in the big shops
it has grown into shape, and now that it is ready
to leave its birthplace the men grow devoted to
the shining monster. Theylinger about the lathe,
and are glad to have some work to do which will


add to the beauty of the big weapon. It is going
out into the world to be severely tried, and its god-
fathers feel a certain amount of anxiety for their
pet.
It is the first gun of its kind made in the City
of Iron, and on its success or failure much depends.
Meanwhile the last touches have been put to the
cannon. It is oiled inside and outside, to prevent
rust, and is carefully placed on a "flat" car, stand-
ing on a track alongside the foundry. The rails of
this track stretch in an
unbroken line to Wash-
ington City, and over the
rails the gun is trundled,
behind a locomotive, to
the Washington Navy
Yard. Here another
boring takes place, mak-
ing the interior diameter
six inches. Here, also,
the breech-pin or plug is
fitted into the breech.
Still another operation
that the cannon must un-
dergo is rifling." A
ball that is thrown with
a twirl will go more
speedily and truly to the
mark than one that
"wabbles about, every
way." When you throw
a base-ball, and wish it to
twirl, you give your fin-
gers a certain twist just
as the ball leaves your
hand. Our cannon's
twisting fingers are four-
teen in number, and
they stretch inside from
near one end to the
other. They are slight
grooves cut in the sur-
face of the steel, and
they make one and a
half turns in the four-
teen feet of their length.
As the shell passes
out, a copper ring which
surrounds it is forced into
these grooves, and the
THE GUN. light twist in them gives
a twirl to the shell, that makes it turn faster
than a buzz-saw, as it leaves the muzzle of the
gun. It goes out in a hurry, as a matter of
course, when fifty pounds of powder are exploded
close behind it. So, in the time in. which a boy
would leisurely step two feet,-say one second,-


917






THE MAKING OF A GREAT STEEL GUN.


the steel shell sent from this cannon goes two thou-
sand feet, and it keeps on going for six miles, or as
far as you could walk, very briskly, in an hour and a
half. The shell is as long as your arm, and it weighs
nearly one hundred pounds. Inside,.it is packed


SEALING THE GUN IN THE ANNEALING
with powder. When that shell hits anything, it
strikes point first, for the shell travels straight
through the air like an arrow from a bow. The
point contains a kind of powder that explodes when
struck. When, therefore, that shell hits a wall
of stone, iron, steel, or wood, it bursts as soon
as it goes in, and any living thing near that place
dies suddenly.
To do this deadly work is the cannon's-and the
shell's-business. That is what they were made
for. A great man once said: In time of peace,


prepare for war." This advice is followed by all
nations. Uncle Sam is at peace with all his
neighbors, and the world in general. But he
finds it best to buy cannon and ships, for the de-
struction of forts and of other ships, so he said to
the gun-makers in the
City of Iron, Make me
a steel cannon, and if it
does what I desire it to
do, I will order more."
Thus it came about that
the doings here illus-
trated and described
came to pass. If any
of you bright boys,
whose eyes follow these
lines, will come to the
City of Iron, I will take
you to the place where
these men-killers and
fort-smashers and ship-
sinkers are made.

There is a sequel to
the true story of the
making of a great steel
gun. As the faithful
historian of our cannon's
career, I must tell you
also of its end.
S "If is about as small
a word as letters can
make, but it means every-
thing in the career of a
cannon,- that is, an
experimental" one.
You will find an" if"in a
paragraph not far above
this one. That little
word was a sort of loop-
- -hole for Uncle Samuel.
If the steel cannon did
what the Government
desired it to do, if it
PIT. bravely stood the trial
test, then wise Uncle
Sam would buy more guns like it. If the gun
burst while being tried, or if it could not throw the
shell as far, or as accurately, as the Government
officers considered necessary, all the patient labor
on that particular gun went for nothing,-- the ex-
periment would be regarded as a failure. Yet, not
altogether a failure, as I shall show.
Well, our big cannon did not pass the test. In
fact, it burst unexpectedly before it was quite a year
old,- burst as its strength was for the second time
being tested. Its fragments showed the mistakes


918






THE MAKING OF A GREAT STEEL GUN.


of its makers, and so prepared the way for the
coming of another steel cannon, in which these
errors will not be repeated. After all, our cannon
did better than to kill men. It instructed them.
When it burst its fragments gave valuable infor-
mation to its makers that could be obtained in no
other way. So they will profit by the knowledge,
and go to work on another steel cannon, which will
be made in about the way which I have described;
but the steel will be of a different texture. Thus,
our great cannon was not made in vain, even if it
did fail in the' desired strength.
But about the bursting of this bright steel can-
non. Gunpowder did it, one day, months ago,
before 1888 was quite spent,- gunpowder of a kind
few of you have ever seen. Each grain of this
powder is as big as a walnut, and a round hole
passes through every one. There are only ten of
these grains to a pound of the powder.
When the cannon was ready for the test it was
taken to Annapolis, Maryland, and after being
mounted on a low car, or carriage, in a small shed,
it was pointed at a hill of earth several hundred
feet away. Then the army officers in charge of
the test put in the powder and the loo-pound shell.


All was ready, the firing-officer and the spec-
tators got behind heavy timber "bomb-proofs,"
and the "lanyard," or firing-string, was pulled.
The first shot was a success, and if the little hill
had been a fort it would have been blown to pieces.
Nothing, apparently, went wrong. But, if the
human eye could look into steel as readily as into
clear glass, the evidences of weakness and of the
near approach of death could have been seen deep
in the heart of the steel cannon. The only way to
find out what the gun could do, and would stand,
was to keep on firing, and by means of ingenious
instruments learn the amount of pressure exerted
by the exploding gunpowder. Once more the
cannon was loaded, this time with fifty pounds of
powder, besides the big shell. Once more every-
body got into the bomb-proofs, and the lanyard
was' pulled. Then the man-killer gave a great
leap-and died. It burst into many pieces, great
and small. It wrecked the little shed, tore great
timbers to splinters, and sent its big end over a
hundred feet away. Its "Finis "was spoken, and
the men who made our great steel gun went home
wiser than before, to do what all of us must do
if we fail in any undertaking,-" Try, try again."


"NOW I CATCH DIS RAPSCALLION! I JES STEP SOFT LIKE
ON DIS BOARD."


THE "SOFT" STEP.


-- -4- ---

------rJ /


"NEBER MINE, HONEY! YOU' MAMMY GWINE TER BE HOME DIS EBENIN SOME TIME."


919

















THE JOURNEY.

SBY L. FRANK TOOKER.

AT night, when myrtle bells a-swing
Fill the bare places round the spring
With ghostly whispers, and the moon
Makes midnight like a ghostly noon;

When even flitter-inice are still;
Then little folk troop down the hill
Into the gardens poets keep
.Hard by the pleasant town of Sleep.

Their torches flare; their dance is set
Between five stalks of mignonette.
Then arm6d gallants click the heel
And bow to dames who wait the reel.

Such dames There has not been such
grace
Since all the wood-nymphs left the place:
SThey courtesy, pause, and circle round
. Upon the sward, yet make no sound.

Long since I quite forgot to dance,
I have no need for sword or lance,
But I would follow close at-hand
When they set out for Fairyland.

















No doubt it is a tiresome flight: L '
The path runs up, there is no light,
And on sheer heights one hears the beat /
Of water far beneath his feet.

And in still valleys, dark and dim,'
He hears his own voice calling him;
While his own shadow is a flame
That passes back the road he came. -

Once there, I 'm sure I 'd find good cheer,-
Indeed, I might remain a year,-
And haply I might learn to know
If some strange things we hear are so.

I 'd like to know if it be true
Of Cinderella's coach arid shoe; .
If sly Queen Mab yet mends her ways;
And where the fair Kilmeny strays.

I 'd sit with Merlin in his ring, '
And listen to the talking spring;
Or hear the magic-throated bird
Sing round the pool that Kynon stirred.

I have not seen them yet,- have you ?-
But some night, through the falling dew,
We '11 leave the pleasant town of Sleep
And deftly on the dancers creep.

N.,





*^ H v











DORA MILLER'S WONDER BALL.


BY Lucy LINCOLN MONTGOMERY.


THE pupils of Mrs. Croft's school were going
in to dinner. Very dainty and trim they looked in
their pretty winter dresses of garnet and blue and
gay plaid; and very demurely they walked along
the hall with Miss Bertram, the English governess,
by their side. Yet, each, in passing, cast a shy look
at a little figure crouching in a recess on the land-
ing half-way down the stairs.
It was a girl about ten years of age, richly dressed
in dark blue velvet, with a broad lace collar. She
would have been a beautiful child, with her dark
brown eyes and golden curls, had not a peevish,
discontented expression spoiled the otherwise
charming face.
Presently Mademoiselle Flor came down, took
the little girl's hand, and led her into.the dining-
room to a seat between the stately Mrs. Croft and
Bertha Cray, one of the scholars.
It was a large, sunny room, and the girls seemed
cheery and happy, chatting quietly with one
another and the teachers all but the little lady
with sunny curls and the blue velvet dress. She
"gloomed by herself apart," and if looked at or
spoken to would cast down her eyes and pout.
Dora Miller that was her name was the
daughter of a Canadian gentleman whose business
took him to Winnipeg.for the winter. Dora had
been ill allthe previous summer, and the doctor said,
decidedly, she must not face the rigor of a Manitoba
winter. So her parents decided to leave her with
Mrs. Croft, an old friend; not as a pupil, for they
thought her too delicate to study, but as a privi-
leged boarder, hoping .the judicious care of Mrs.
Croft and the companionship of the girls would
help to overcome the petted, babyish ways into
which she had fallen during her long illness.
It was now the end of February, and she had
been there two months; yet she was as far from
friendly with these twelve charming girls as she
was the first day she came, when she had slapped
little Kitty Allen's hand, as Kitty held it out to
her in kindly child fashion. She stood in awe of
Mrs. Croft and the other teachers, but she quite
ignored the scholars, and would have been alto-
gether unhappy but for two friends she had made
in her own odd way.
These were Maggie, the pantry-girl, and Mrs.
Croft's aunt, Fraulein Meyer, an old German lady.


Maggie had red hair, and no personal attrac-
tions to recommend her; but from the first she
had conceived a violent fancy for the aristocratic
little beauty, and attacked her most vulnerable
pbint,-her appetite,--hiding away sweetmeats
and bits of cake wherewith to tempt her, till,
finally, the oddly assorted pair were on terms of
tolerable intimacy.
The one thing Dora objected to in Maggie was
her fondness for peppermint drops, and her fre-
quent enjoyment of this luxury in the little girl's
presence marred the otherwise comfortable hours
Dora spent with her, for Dora detested pepper-
mints, though, in view of the daily dainties re-
served for her, she did not like to tell her friend so.
On this particular day, when dinner was over,
Dora slipped out shyly behind the others, and as
they dispersed to their various duties, she tripped
up the stairs, along a hall, up another flight, and
knocked at a door on the right hand.
Come in, my little Dora," said a sweet voice,
and the child entered.
Such a lovely room it was One might easily
imagine she had suddenly stepped from bleak,
northern winter into a sunny, southern clime.
One whole side of the large room was glass, in
great panes, across the lower halves of which
extended shelves full of blooming plants, while
from above graceful vines drooped and trailed and
clambered, spreading their luxurious growth across
the walls adjoining. An immense globe of gold-
fish stood amid the greenery, while gay-colored
birds, singing and twittering, flitted in and out
among the foliage.
The ceiling.was light blue, the walls buff, the
furniture quaint and rich, and on the floor lay a
thick, luxurious carpet.
The afternoon sunshine, stealing through inter-
lacing leaves, made a warm and golden light in the
room. Amid this sunny warmth and fragrance,
in a high-backed rocking-chair, sat a little old
lady, who seemed scarcely taller than Dora her-
self. She wore a black silk dress shot with satin, a
plain white neckerchief, and a cap with a border
of frilled lace.
There was a rare, sweet charm in the gentle old
face, and a quick-reaching sympathy in the kindly
heart of Fraulein Meyer. There must have been






DORA MILLER'S WONDER BALL..


also some subtle magnetism in the quaint, golden
room, for little Dora Miller's face changed as she
came in and stood by the gentle lady's chair; the
peevish, sullen look faded into one wistful and
earnest, and the large, dark, restless eyes looked
lovingly into the quiet blue ones.
"How goes life with thee, little Dora?" she
asked. "Have you had a happy day?"
"No, Fraulein," replied Dora.
Have you not tried to be friendly with your
companions ?" asked the old lady.
"No," said the child, somewhat defiantly.
: There is not one who likes me. Big Mary Ash-
croft makes faces, and the others laugh. They all
hate me and I hate them."
The Fraulein knew that a morbid imagination
and the habit of brooding over fancied slights often
made the little girl unhappy. They had many a
talk together, yet Dora persistently refused to be-
lieve herself mistaken as to the deep-rooted dislike
of all the girls toward her.
You think yourself of too much consequence,
little Dora Miller," said the old lady, somewhat
sharply. Your pride must be conquered either
by some severe lesson or by "
What?" questioned Dora timidly, as Frau-
lein Meyer paused, for there was a pained look on
the sweet old face.
By love," was the quiet answer; and then she
shut her eyes and seemed to be thinking, while
Dora, with a little stirring of her dormant con-
science, lay down upon a soft rug, and felt the sun-
shine creeping over her and soothing her till at
length she fell asleep.
When she slowly came to consciousness it was
nearly dark, and she had a dim idea of hearing
some one talking with her old friend, though she
could see no one. She rose and went to the door,
and thenFraulein came toward her from behind a
tall oleander.
There was some one else in there among the
plants, hidden in the shadow. Dora little knew
what a center of influence to every one in the
house was this beautiful, flower-shadowed, upper
chamber, and how many came for counsel and
help to the dear old lady whose life was so nearly
ended.
The tender face looked pale and sad in this
half-light, as she kissed the child and came to the
door with her.
Something was shining in her hand,--rose-col-
ored and gold it looked, flashing and sparkling
even in this dim, waning light.
She smiled as she saw Dora's look of curiosity,
and said, showing it, to her, "This little vinai-
grette came to me in my first Wonder Ball, more
than eighty years ago."


Wonder Ball ?" repeated Dora.
Ah, that is one of our dear, beautiful German
customs," said the old lady warmly. "The little
girls, to encourage them to learn to knit, receive
all manner of lovely and curious gifts, wrapped in
bright paper, and wound into yarn balls. They
must knit until they come to the gift. Oh, the
eagerness, the fascination, the delight of those
treasures earned by the patient fingers! They
are among the best memories of my happy child-
hood."
A warm color came into the old face, and the
voice trembled with deep feeling at this remem-
brance of the dear old Fatherland.
Dora, watching the points of light as she slowly
turned the tiny vinaigrette in her hand, felt a sym-
pathetic thrill of fascination as she listened to the
Fraulein's story.
I should be tempted to unwind without knit-
ting," she said smiling; then, throwing her arms
about the dear old lady, she added earnestly,
Ah, if I had been a little German girl I might
have learned something--indeed, I think I
would."
When comes your birthday, little Dora?"
asked the Fraulein, abruptly.
The -th of April. It will be Easter Monday
this year," replied Dora.
The Fraulein looked steadily at her. A thought
had come to the kindly heart, and in that moment
it grew into a settled purpose; but she only kissed
the little girl again, and, bidding her good-night,
closed the door upon her.
Not long after this, a subtle indefinable some-
thing began to manifest itself at Croft House.
There was something in the air; and it was grow-
ing tangible, too, for the girls would whisper
together, and could be seen jotting down notes at
the oddest times. One would cry, "Give me a
rhyme for -"; and another, I 've hit on some-
thing !"
Dora Miller felt that she was quite shut out from
the happy understanding that appeared to exist
among the other girls. They seemed more kindly
disposed toward her than ever before, however, and
for the first time, she now began to long for
the happy friendships of these merry lasses, and
to be a little ashamed of her own rude words and
actions; but as yet there was no outward token of
the change.
Maggie, the pantry-girl, was under this strange
spell, too, whatever it was. More than once, as
Dora suddenly appeared, she thrust a crumpled
paper under a dish-cover, and helped herself freely
to peppermints to cover her confusion.
In the old Fraulein's room was ever the same
calm, serene atmosphere; and Dora loved it bet-





.DORA MILLER'S WONDER BALL.


ter and better, getting daily more than she knew
from her saintly old friend.
So the weeks went by till Easter Sunday came.
On the afternoon of that day, Dora went to bed
with a sick headache, and Fraulein Meyer sent to
her, in her darkened room, the quaint, little rose-
colored and golden vinaigrette, with its pungent,
aromatic odor.
Toward evening the pain ceased, and as she lay
with the little gleaming bottle in her hand, turning
it idly from side to side, it is not strange that her
thoughts were full of that wonderful Wonder Ball
that came to the Fraulein more than eighty years
ago. Often, since that first time, she had heard
its story in the golden gloaming of the old lady's
room, and she thought it the most delightful thing
that could ever have come to mortal little girl.
At length she fell asleep and woke suddenly,
then slept again, and dreamed she had a Wonder
Ball herself, a huge, irregular mound of yarn with
gay-colored packages sticking out here and there
in delightful prodigality.
Was she sleeping or waking? Was that day-
light creeping in at the windows? And, oh, what
was that great thing on the table, as large as her
head, though not so shapely, clearly defined
against the white wall?
Dora sprang out of bed and seized it eagerly.
The dream must still be going on! No; she was
awake, and it was a veritable Wonder Ball, wound
with blue and white worsted, with the identical
packages of her dream peering forth in gold and
scarlet, pink and blue wrapping !
"Mein Herz !" exclaimed Dora, and was sur-
prised to find that she did not go on speaking
German. "Where did it come from?" Just
then she saw a slip of paper pinned to one side.
On it were these words:

"The teachers and scholars of Croft House unite
To give little Dora a birthday delight.
They pray she '11 accept this queer Wonder Ball,
And, knitting, find tokens of love from us all."

Do you know how the ice goes out of the river
in the spring? For weeks, soft airs and kindly
sunshine work upon its frozen surface, weakening
day by day its icy bands, till at length the huge
mass breaks up suddenly, and goes floating, hur-
rying, tumbling out toward the ocean.
Something very like that happened in Dora
SMiller's heart that beautiful Easter morning. As
she stood in the dining-room, a little later,- shyly
grateful for her beautiful gift, and in timid tones
thanking the kind friends for the undeserved de-
light,-the ugly passions of jealousy, mistrust,
discontent, and hatred went hurrying and tumbling
out of her heart, leaving a calm, sweet surface of


love and kindliness. There was no room for any-
thing but happiness and good-will with such a
magic treasure in her trembling hands,--and the
girls were so lovely to her, and seemed so glad of
her happiness !
It was not very long before she was seated at
the dear old Fraulein's feet, taking her first lesson
in knitting.
Whoever wound the ball had been very lenient
toward the lazy, dainty little fingers; for, after a
few hours' work of loose knitting on large needles,
out dropped a small, square box.
SWith eager fingers and sparkling eyes Dora
opened it. On a bed of blue velvet lay a little
gold thimble, and on a wee card tucked inside
were these words in the beautiful, flowing hand-
writing of her mother's old friend, Mrs. Croft:

SThis tiny thimble
Is Industry's symbol.
M. T. C."

So industrious and patient was she, that before
she went to bed that night she had knit out an-
other treasure a scarlet strawberry with golden
seeds and green stem, with these lines attached:

"Do not think you have a treat,
For this is not fit to eat.
Of emery and cashmere made,
And given you by Florence Wade."

Fraulein Meyer was duly thoughtful for the im-
petuous child, who would have made herself ill in
her eagerness to unfold the treasures of her Won-
der Ball, and she gave her only a few hours each
day in which to labor in this wondrous mine for its
stores of hidden joys.
The next thing she found was a flat package,
wrapped in silver paper, with these words:

Please accept from Mabel Snow,
This small 6ourt-plaster case;
A very useful thing 't will be
Should you cut your hands or face."

And then how her face burned with mortification
when she next unwound and took from its covering
of soft blue silk a beautiful charm that Mary Ash-
croft had always worn on her watch chain a little
gold dove Mary Ashcroft, who, Dora had said,
"made faces at her," when I am very much afraid
it was the other way !
Tears of shame and repentance came when she
read Mary's words:

"'T was my own. My father gave it
With the right to give or save it,
And my sovereign will and pleasure
Is to yield the hoarded treasure."






1889.] DORA MILLER'S

After a while there were longer stretches between
the tempting packages, and the strips of blue and
white Dora's fingers were fashioning into a tidy for
her mother grew daily. There was often a pain
in her shoulder, and the small hands were cramped
with the unwonted labor; but she was getting to


DORA DISCOVERS THE FRAULEIN'S GIFT.

be a skillful little knitter, and had better rewards
for her diligence than even the kindly gifts that
dropped one by one from the windings of her
Wonder Ball.


WONDER BALL. 925

Miss Bertram's gift was a pearl-handled pen-
knife, with these lines:

Miss Bertram presents,
With her kind compliments,
To little Miss Miller this knife;
And trusts it may prove
S- A sign of true love
And not be an emblem of
1 strife."

S. Sadie Grant, a girl
S with a large mouth and
freckles, of which she
S was humbly conscious,
put in these words with
-- a dainty needle-book of
S --- wine-colored satin:


i "This little needle-book,
So useful to a lady,
Was fashioned by the
hands
Of your homely friend,
poor Sadie!"

Olive Parker's contri-
bution was an exquisite,
tiny box of gilt-edged
stationery, with Dora's
monogram embossed in
gilt. On the lid was
written :

Pray accept this paper
And these envelopes,
With the best of wishes
And the kindest hopes.
OLIVE PARKER."

Mademoiselle Flor, the
lame French governess,
inclosed a Russia leather
card-case with a few lov-
ing words.
Then came a silver
brooch, in the shape of
a butterfly, with wings
spread and delicately
chased, with the inevita-
ble rhyme which made
half the fun of discover-
ing each new gift:

"Alice Hyde and Elsie Gray
Wish, on Dora's natal day,
Every blessing under heaven;
And they hope that for their sake
This little pin she '11 take
As gladly as 't is given."






DORA MILLER'S WONDER BALL.


For some time a faint odor, not altogether pleas-
ing, had greeted Dora's aristocratic nose. It be-
came more and more apparent till, at length, the
strands of worsted slipping from her ball, came to
the last one, which held in place a green tissue-
paper parcel tied with pink ribbon. She scarcely
needed to open it to know its contents- seventeen
great, flat, pink peppermints !
The soul of Dora's admirer, Maggie, the pantry-
girl, found vent in these touching lines:
"mis miller has The Best of Christian
Wishes
from maggie as Washes upe the Dishes.
17 Pepermints maggie Mcbride."

What more touching proof of appreciation could
Dora have given than to sacrifice herself as she
did on the altar of politeness, by actually eating
one of the detested peppermints before Maggie's
admiring eyes?
Joanna Sweet, with a box of cachous, put in
this rhyme:
"When one you eat
Think of J. Sweet."

The next was a folded bit of paper. At the top,
in large letters, stood:
"I. O. U. GEORGIE CARTER."

Below appeared this effusion:
I have n't a cent or a thing worth giving,
I 'm in debt to all the girls, as sure as you 're living;
But on next allowance day, when my money shall appear
Just present this paper and I '11 redeem it, dear."


With a sigh that the delights of this marvelous
Wonder Ball were so nearly gone, Dora finally
came to an oval parcel wrapped in gilt paper.
Jolly, clever Millie Eustace shall tell its contents
in her own words:

"I thought meter and rhythm, blank verse and rhyme,
Were as far from my nature as Araby's clime.
Then imagine my rapture -while with pencil and paper
My school-mates are working--I find my small taper
Of genius is sending out its feeble, sickly gleams,
I pray your kind acceptance of this box of chocolate
creams;
And then most humbly sign myself
Your truly, Millie Eustace.
Having no doubt you '11 laugh and say,
'Oh, what a silly goose 't is!' "

Dora Miller's heart had grown very tender and
loving as, one by one, these precious tokens re-
warded her patient fingers; but the eager fascina-
tion, the unspeakable delight, were nearly over.
Only the heart of her Wonder Ball remained, and
with nervous fingers and glowing cheeks Dora
threw the final blue loop over her wooden needle
and seized the last treasure.
Forth from its dainty wrapper came a tiny vinai-
grette the very counterpart of the old Fraulein's 1
The golden green sunshine, flickering through the
vine-shaded window, touched its crystal points of
rose and gold, and sent them dancing and flashing
on the wall beyond.
That is the very best of all !" cried Dora, joy-
fully, as she threw her arms lovingly about the
neck of her dear old friend.


TO Shoematers S 'TWr Cooper's Little 'Tit Musician's Little !y.
A ittle Bo/ BO1 Y.


926











AMONG THE FLORIDA KEYS.

A SUMMER VACATION ALONG THE CORAL-REEFS OF SOUTHERN FLORIDA.

BY CHARLES FREDERICK HOLDER.


CHAPTER XII.

EARLY the next morning, the impromptu camp
was astir, and, after a swim and an appetizing
breakfast, at Long John's suggestion they took
advantage of a favoring breeze and were soon
homeward bound.
There 's a friend of yours, Tom," Eaton called
out as a large Portuguese man-o'-war" appeared
off their weather bow.
"Yes," said Tom, standing up and holding
on to the shrouds, "I know all about him. But
what is that under him? Luff a little, John, luff
a little it 's a turtle, as sure as I 'm alive "
Long John kept the boat up in the wind a trifle,
and Tom, seizing a large scoop-net, slipped it
under the physalia and lifted it and a turtle about
a foot long into the boat. "That 's a hawk's-
bill," said Long John. Dead, too, is n't he ?"
"No," replied Professor Howard, scraping away
the blue tentacles. His head is completely cov-
ered with the tentacles, but I think he is only
paralyzed."
"Where 's your oil bottle, John? said Tom.
Here 's another victim, and I sympathize heart-
Sily with him, poor fellow! "
Under the vigorous scraping of the knife the
turtle began to show signs of life.
-' It is only another evidence of the power of
the physalia," said the Professor, "that he can
completely overpower an animal so active as a
turtle. It probably thought this floating bubble
something good to eat, and so was caught."
"What a beautiful shell it has!" said Hall,
who was rubbing off the-covering of green moss.
Yes, this is the tortoise-shell we know so well,"
said the Professor. "The pointed bill of this
turtle gives it the name of hawk's-bill. The scales,
you see, are much like those of a fish, lapping over
one another, and entirely unlike those of the green
turtles and loggerhead turtles which fit one another.
The tortoise-shell turtles have helped decorate the
world for centuries. Why, even some of the doors
in old Roman palaces and villas were covered with
this costly shell."
As they neared the fort, Tom, who was now at


the helm, steered the boat near the spile that
marked the buoy; and as they passed by, he laugh-
ingly stepped off upon it and the boat shot on.
"Now you '11 have to swim for it said Vail,
laughing in turn, as he grasped the tiller.
Tom was rather taken aback at the turn his
joke had taken, for the fort was a quarter of a
mile away, and the water was deep nearly all the
distance. He called to them to come back for
him, but the boys kept the boat away and there
he stood, monarch of all he surveyed. Then he
began preparations to swim ashore.
Say, boys, we 'd better go back for him," said
Bob Carrington. See there "
In the shoal water on the edge of the channel,
several large fins were cutting the water, indicating
the presence of sharks; and Tom was therefore,
after considerable joking and an unconditional sur-
render, taken on board.
See what you were going to swim into," said
Professor Howard, pointing toward the shoal of
sea-monsters still at play on the top of the water.
Well, I 'm glad I did n't try it, that 's a fact !
said Tom.
"Boys, why can't we catch one of those fellows
for our moat at the fort? asked Bob.
"Good idea!" said Vail; "can we haul him
in through the ditch?"
"Yes,' replied Woodbury; "I was looking at
it yesterday morning."
"It 's high-tide, too, this noon, and we can
easily haul him over then," said Bob.
"If he should n't haul you over first, Mr.
Robert," said Long John with a smile.
"Well, we 'll risk that, eh, Tom?" replied
Bob. "Away we go!" and the bbat was soon
laid alongside the branch coral that fringed the
channel. The long coral-hook was thrust ihto the
branches of coral instead of lowering the anchor,
as the hook was easier to handle.
Tom baited the shark-line with a headless
grouper, and, swinging it around his head several
times, launched it out into the blue water. The
shark had disappeared at the boat's approach.
"Now throw over the head and gills," said
Long John. Tom tossed them in, and the boys





AMONG THE FLORIDA KEYS.


settled down to wait, after seeing that the line
ran easily through a hole in the cutwater. They
had been quiet for nearly fifteen minutes, when
a splashing was heard astern, and some of
the bait, that had been drifting there, was seen to
have disappeared. Soon Tom felt a faint jerk at
the line. "He's taken it!" he whispered, hoarsely.
Oh, that was a crab," said Bob.
"No," said Long John; "sharks bite gently
at first, and see !- there goes your line."
They saw that the line had begun to run slowly
out.
Stand by the coral-hook," said Tom, who was
handling the line. I '11 give him about fifteen
feet; then, when I give the line a jerk, cast off the
hook and see that the line is n't foul. Get your
knife ready, Bob, and cut the line if it fouls."
Woodbury and Hall, taking a firm hold on the
line, waited until the shark had hauled it taut,
and then jerked the hook into its jaws with all
their force, and with so much zeal that Hall, who
was last on the line, went backward head over
heels down among the bailers, oars, and bait!
The astonished shark hesitated a moment, and
then darted off like a shot, wrenching the line
from the boys, and making all hands dance about
to keep clear of it.
Look out for your legs, and keep amidships,"
cried Bob, taking a turn with the slack. His
warning came not a moment too soon. The line
was all out and the boat lunged ahead so suddenly
that all went down except Tom, who was holding
to the line in the bow.
"It must be a whale said Bob, picking him-
self up and endeavoring to steady himself. But
this was no easy thing to do. They were dashing
up the channel at a terrible pace, the bow half
under water, and there seemed to be a small tidal
wave ahead that was not at all pleasant to look at.
Well, it's strong enough for a whale, whatever
it is," said Tom, red in the face from trying to
keep the line in place.
"Get back into the stern all of you!" cried
Hall, or he '11 pull the bow under."
Cut the rope Bob shouted; the pace is too
quick for me."
Suddenly the boat righted and the strain as
quickly slackened. "Pshaw, the line 's broken
-he 's off now. Is n't that a shame!" said Bob.
But scarcely had he uttered the words when the
line stiffened again and ran taut at right angles
to the boat.
"Look out for yourselves 1" cried Tom, as the
boat careened under the sudden jerk and began to
fill with water.
"Get to windward I" yelled Ramsey, and they
rushed to the other side just in time to avoid a


capsize. Now, drawn by its strange steed, the
boat surged ahead, with her bows buried in the
foam, straight up the channel towards the fort.
'" There! said Tom, in a tone of satisfaction,
"now we 're going in the right direction! Haul
in the slack, boys "; and then all hands were haul-
ing at the rope, now gaining and now losing as
the shark broke into a more furious pace. But at
last they had him in sight- and he was indeed a
monster.
Just as the strain was beginning to tell on the
boys, the other boat, with Long John, Rob Rand,
and Professor Howard in it, came pulling toward
them. Tom threw a line as his boat rushed past,
and now the shark had two boats to tow.
"Hold on, boys! shouted the Professor. He
can't keep this up much longer."
Still pulling away on the rope, the boys soon
brought their boat directly over the shaik's tail.
"Now, then," cried Bob Carrington. "One,
two, three,-pull! and the boat ran right over
the shark. Another brisk turn, and they brought
the fish's head partly out of water. But he had
not yet given up. The great scythe-like tail beat
the water with terrible strokes, and he twisted in
every possible position in his efforts to free him-
self, showing a white mouthful of serrated teeth
which he ground and gnashed in a fearful way.
Pass your line astern shouted Long John,
"and then you can tow him in."
Unshipping the rope from the notch and quietly
passing it astern, the boys before long had the
shark hard and fast behind the boat with his mouth
held open and partly out of water.
Now, man the oars, boys," cried Long John,
"and pull slowly so as not to drag his mouth under
and drown him."
And, with the floundering shark as a rudder,
they slowly pulled toward the breakwater.
It was hard work, and the dinghy was finally
pressed into service; but after half an hour's pull-
ing, they reached the bridge that crossed the
entrance to the outer moat. Scrambling out of
the boat, they passed the line under the bridge,
and, crowding upon it, tried to haul him beneath
it and thus force him into the moat.
Suddenly the planks, old in the service, cracked,
gave way, and down they all went! boys, board,
and scantlings, into the moat, while Bob Carring-
ton, with a ciy of startled surprise, fell plump upon
the back of the equally surprised shark.

CHAPTER XIII.

PROBABLY the shark was the most frightened of
the party. He floundered and turned, and lashed
the water into a fury. The water was shallow


928






AMONG THE FLORIDA KEYS.


however, and amid much shouting and uproarious
laughter, the boys scrambled out of the moat, and
when the shark had calmed down somewhat, they
passed the.line to the tide-gate and along the wall,
while Eaton and Ludlow held two large boards for
a slide. As they gave the word "Ready!" the
other boys rushed away with the line, and down
the slide went the shark, floundering into his
prison. .
With a skillful stroke of his knife, Long John
cut out the hook, and, relieved of this, the great
man-eater dashed off with a savage splash. Round
and round the moat he circled, stirring up the mud
while his captors cheered themselves hoarse. Then,
finding himself really a prisoner, he dropped into
a more moderate pace and. sailed up the moat in
plain view of his delighted conquerors.
He must be twelve feet long said Vail.
Certainly as long as that," replied Professor
Howard. It's a good day's work, boys, and he is
about as big a shark as you could well expect to
catch."
"I don't care to tackle another, right away,"
said Tom, looking at his blistered hands. It's
too hard work to make a second attempt pleasant.
I think we have earned our supper."
This suggestion was greeted by all the party
with a hearty, "That 's so, Tom," and they hur-
ried away to the quarters for a raid on Paublo's
larder.
At daybreak next morning, Long John met the
boys as they were turning out, and showed them
a great mass of birds wheeling and sailing in a
dense cloud above Bird Key. Each of the boys
studied the thousands and thousands of birds
through the spy-glass, and when all had examined
and exclaimed, they were ready to agree at once
to Long John's suggestion of an egg-hunt, as their
fish diet was growing monotonous. So, after break-
fast, theyhastened to the water, accompanied by the
Professor, and scrambled into the boats.
"What are you going to do with that?" asked
Long John, as Tom Derby tossed a small basket
into the boat.


"Get eggs in it, to be sure," replied Tom.
"That's too small," said Long John; "this is
the kind of basket you want," and he lifted an
empty barrel into the boat.
Do you expect to get that full? inquired Bob
Carrington.
"Twice over," said John as he shoved off and
stood down the southeast channel for Bird Key.
The long shoal that formed this channel was thick
with coral. It seemed, indeed, a veritable sea-
garden, with all the gorgeous array of graceful
fans, and richly tinted gorgonias waving to and
fro in answer to the gentlest summons of the
listless tide.
Numerous crawfish, enjoying their morning
siesta, raised their spined whips in sudden alarm
as the dark shadow of the boat crept over them.
The reef fairly teemed with life, and as the boats
drifted slowly along, the boys, with faces near the
water, closely watched this most wonderful of
nature's panoramic displays.
As they neared Bird Key a ceaseless and con-
stantly increasing sound, that grew finally into an
unbroken roar,
came from the
moving cloud
that hung high
above the Key,
and the aston-
ished boys now
learned its true
origin. Birds
were all about,
and as they
drew nearer,
the combined
cries made so 7
loud a din
that the
hunters .
could only
just hear
one anoth-
er's voices.
COeredit.,


THE PET SHARK.


VOL. XVI-59.


929


1889.]


--~






AMONG THE FLORIDA KEYS.


As they ran in topyard shore, some birds flew at
them with discordant cries as if determined to
stop them, and then as rapidly retreated to the
main body. When the boat touched the beach,
the uproar was indescribable. The birds disputed
every inch with the boys, flying down upon them
and darting into their very faces. Suddenly Tom
gave a loud cry, and the effect was remarkable.
In an instant there was absolute quiet; not a sound
was heard, and the great mass came sweeping
down in silent fear. But the lull was only for an
instant; then came a confusion worse than the
former uproar.
Long John rolled out his barrel, and they all
started into the brush. The Key was about a
mile in circumference, and was completely cov-
ered with bay cedars, forming a close bush about
ten feet high, mingled here and there with patches
of prickly pear. Under them, on the sand, the
speckled eggs lay in such quantities that hardly a
step could be taken without breaking some.
I think we shall have to sweep them up!"
said Eaton; but scarcely had he spoken when an
egg, dropped by a bird frightened from her nest,
fell plump upon his head.
"You 'd better use a net," laughed Tom, "if
you are going to take them on the fly."
I did not think it would rain eggs "said Eaton,
wiping the yolk from his hat.
Then the boys dropped on hands and knees and
piled the eggs in heaps, ready to fill Long John's
barrel. The eggs were in little depressions in the
sand, made by the gulls, and were evidently de-
posited there to be hatched out by the sun.
Besides the great numbers on the sand, quanti-
ties of almost pure white eggs were found in the
topmost branches of the brush. These were of
the noddy -a lovely bird, with dove-like eyes ex-
pressive of gentleness, and plumage quite in keeping
with its character. Their nests were not hollowed
out, and the single egg in each appeared to be
held in place only by the twigs. The egg of a
noddy is nearly pure white, and the yolk is as yel-
low as that of a hen's egg, which indeed it much
resembles in flavor.
As the boys were inspecting these nests, a shout
from Professor Howard called them to where he
stood gazing into a noddy's nest, upon which was a
young noddy a queer, featherless little creature.
Overhead the pretty mother was wheeling in evi-
dent despair.
"Here, boys, is an example of the struggle for
existence," said the Professor.
And such, indeed, it was. The young bird was
provided with a liberal meal, a large sardine,-
too large in fact for it to eat,-arid, hanging to
the nest were ten or twelve hermit-crabs, and


two large red-backed land-crabs. One of these
latter had the tail of the sardine in its claw, and
some of the hermits were tugging at its head,
while the other invaders were crawling around the
defenseless bird as if deliberating whether or not
to attack the poor little noddy. Hall gave the
nest an indignant shake trying to dislodge the
crabs. "What robbers they are !" said he.
"Worse than robbers," replied the Professor,
for these steal from helpless children."
When all the eggs the party could carry had
been piled up on the sand, the boys strolled down
to the beach, where Long John had just hauled
ashore a net full of fine mullets.
If some of you boys willhelp me to clean 'em,"
he said, I'll cook you a dinner of fried mullets
and eggs that '11 make your mouths water "
The boys needed no further inducement. They
went to work with a will, the fish were speedily
cleaned, a big bonfire was soon blazing, and in
an incredibly short space of time the boys were
dining royally on hard-boiled noddy-eggs and fried
mullets. The hard-tack and eggs made delicious
sandwiches, and all declared that they would not
have believed that mullets and hard-tack could
have made so good a meal.
After the heat of the day had passed, Long John
put the eggs into his barrel, packing them with
cedar leaves, and, all being ready, they shoved
off.
The Professor proposed a pull around the island
before heading homeward and, nothing loath, the
boys rowed through the shallow water and over the
coral heads toward the boat, while Long John fin-
ished cleaning more mullets for supper.
"Here 's an old stager," said Vail, holding up
a large crab he had taken from the coral. See
there, he has a regular forest on his back."
The crab was certainly well wooded. Sprigs of
purple and red algae grew from his back, while his
claws were decked with soft sponges and barnacles,
and tube-making worms had taken possession of
some of the joints of his legs.
"He 's one of the decorators," said Professor. ,
Howard, and taking a small brush, used for clean-
ing shells, he rubbed off all the "decorations" from
the astonished crab and dropped it into a small jar
of water. Some fresh bits of seaweed were then
thrown into the jar, whereupon the crab very de-
liberately took a sprig of the weed in his claw and
pressed one end to his mouth.
"Now watch him," said the Professor.
"He 's eating it," said Bob.
No, no. Watch him," the Professor repeated.
The crab pressed the sprig of weed against his
mouth for a moment, and then, instead of eating
it, raised the piece to his back and actually planted


930






AMONG THE FLORIDA KEYS.


it there. When they saw the piece of seaweed
stand upright as if it was really growing, the boys
felt like cheering the creature for his display of
cunning.
It is his only defense," explained the Profes-
sor. "This particular crab is a slow-going old
fellow; his claws are not sufficient protection, and
so he goes to work to make himself look as much
as possible like a moss-covered rock, which fishes


shoved off into the blue channel and steered for
home.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE last of August found our young naturalists
still upon the reef. The days were the same clear
sunny ones they had had all summer, the blue
waters of the Gulf often lying for many hours as
smooth as glass, without a ripple save where some
leaping barracuda or'diving pelican dis-
turbed the surface. These days were spent
by the partyin deep-water collecting; the
boat being sculled slowly along just outside
the great barrier reef, or toward the old
wreck to the south, in water thirty or forty
feet deep and so clear that every object
upon the bottom could be distinctly
seen. The reef here was devoid
of branch coral, the bottom
being covered by a short
broad-leaved algae, the graz-
ing-ground of the great


will pass by and never think of eating.
This one in the jar will gradually cover
himself with the weed again."
And this the crab did, much to the
amusement' of the watchers.
They made the circuit of Bird Key, now
wading, now pushing the boat through the
narrow passages lined with coral growths;
now jumping ahead and rowing over the THE DECORATOR CRAB.
deeper places; sometimes they stopped to dive queen conch, while horse-conch and numerous
after some choice shell or coral; and all the time other shells were often found. Eager faces peered
the boys were talking over and discussing their over the gunwale as the boat drifted along, and
spoils. the moment a shell or a bunch of rare rose-coral
Having completed the circuit of the Key they appeared, two or three ardent naturalists would


931


c~cr


- ---~-sl





AMONG THE FLORIDA KEYS.


plunge over and race to the bottom. Whoever
won, the specimen was soon torn from its home
and placed in the boat.
On one occasion a huge sleeping jew-fish was
started up; its bulky form creating a momentary
panic among the divers. Planting their feet
against the bottom, they thrust themselves up to
the surface as quickly as possible. As seen from
the boat, the white forms scrambling about, twenty
or thirty feet below, were an amusing sight.
The boys could see each other plainly beneath
the water, even a submarine grin or a wink being
readily detected. Sometimes .their jokes resulted
in making the boys laugh outright-thus taking
in mouthfuls of water, bringing about a gen-
eral rush to the surface. In these submarine
excursions, they often noticed a peculiarity that is
familiar in the atmosphere. In diving thirty feet,
strata of different temperatures would be encount-
ered. At the surface, the water would be very
warm for ten or twelve feet; then the swimmer
would enter a cold stratum, and going deeper yet
would reach a warmer area, and emerging again
from the warm area would, at the very bottom,
enter into the coldest of all. Even in swimming
on the surface, cold and warm rivers, so to speak,
were often met with.
They found that many fishes were disposed to
examine a diver from mere curiosity, as if they
wondered what kind of an animal this was, that
had so suddenly appeared upon their mountain
home--for we must remember that the marine
inhabitants also have hills, valleys, and mountains.
The dwellers upon the reef were highlanders,
living far above those in the water a mile away
and under pressures differing as the air pressures
differ on high mountains and in valleys, on land.
One afternoon, the boys had been on a trip
down the reef, and were returning by Bush Key,
when Douglas suddenly stood up and pointed to a
collection of submerged roots that were strewn
about. "Look at the angel-fishes "he exclaimed,
and dropping the oars the crew and Professor also
stood up and saw the greatest assemblage of these
beautiful creatures they had yet observed.
The roots were those of the mangrove-trees that
had been washed out into the bay between Bush
and Long Key; and in four or five feet of water
their tangled masses formed excellent homes for
innumerable small fry. When the boat was pushed
nearer, the great black roots were seen to fairly
blossom with these animated flowers. Some were
yellow, blue, and brown, with eyes of beautiful
hues, and others, not angel-fishes, were of a most
intense blue. All darted about with great rapidity,
and flashed here and there like living gems. From
every hole and crevice, one or more of these lovely


forms appeared, attracted by the new-comers, and
either floated by, gently waving their fins and
plumes, or gracefully moved up and down-in
front of their homes, their vivid colors showing in
marked contrast against the somber background.
"If only we had the seine!" Tom whispered,
as if fearful of disturbing the living panorama
before them.
"Why not go and get it?" suggested Long
John.
My proposal," said the Professor, "is that
we come out to-night, and draw the seine by moon-
light."
This met the views of the boys, the oars were
resumed, and the boat went rushing through the
water toward the fort, accompanied by the pet
pelican that had spied them from afar, and had
come out expecting its supper.
The nights on the reef were often almost counter-
parts of the days; and as the party pushed off at
about eight o'clock carrying the seine piled in a
great heap in the bow, and with collecting-cans
stowed in between the seats, the moon was just
rising over Bush Key, casting a flood of radiance
all about, and lighting up the sands of LongKey
until they gleamed like silver, while the phosphor-
escence of the water seemed to vie with it in pro-
ducing wondrous effects of light. Not a sound
could be heard save the creaking of the oars and
their monotonous clink in the rowlocks, or an oc-
casional splash from the outer reef followed by a
thundering splash, telling of some huge fish that
had tried to leave its native element and had
fallen heavily back.
The pull to Bush Key was a short one, and soon
the boat rounded to, near the mangrove roots.
"Now, boys," said the Professor, "you must
be very careful. Don't rush in too quickly, or you
will tear the net. Two of you take the end and
run it out. When we get it all out, we will move
toward Bush Key beach, some of you tossing out
the roots."
These orders were followed exactly. Vail and
Carrington leaped overboard, the water being
about four feet deep, and, taking an end stick of
the seine, walked or waded away with it, while the
others paid it out regularly.
They made a long sweep, so as to surround the
roots; and when two-thirds of the net had been
hauled over, Ludlow and Ramsey went overboard
and drew the other end of the seine toward shore,
the seine making a semicircle. The Professor and
Long John now took their places in the water just
inside the bend of the net, and gave the signal to go
ahead.
What a sight it was The moon was looking
over the mangroves on the keys, bathing the fish-


932






AMONG THE FLORIDA KEYS.


ermen in its silvery light. Every move or motion
in the water seemed to cause it to break into
liquid fire.
The net came slowly in; the Professor and
Long John called a halt whenever a root was found.
Each root was lifted carefully and the occupants
frightened out of their homes. It was then tossed
back outside of the floats. Then the signal would
be again given and the seine taken in until another
root was met, and so on for an hour or more. The
ground being now clear the net went rapidly in.
Look at them!" cried Carrington, who was
hauling at the end; "'angels, snappers, jew-fish,
and there 's a shark, too "
Sure enough, a small shark was in the toils,
making the water boil and demoralizing the other
prisoners, who made desperate efforts to escape
his struggling bulk. This would not do, and,
seizing a boat-hook, Ramsey dashed in and soon
had the young man-eater on the hook. He seemed
to be about three feet and a half long. Ramsey
lifted him over to the beach, but he soon flopped
back into the water and escaped.
The net was now well in shore, and the splash-
ing and beating of innumerable fish commenced.
One more pull and the finny assemblage was in
shallow water. The sight of their catch soon
exhausted the adjectives of even our young enthu-
siasts.
For there were hundreds and thousands of
fishes, leaping, splashing, and bounding, one over
another; angel-fishes in gorgeous tints, brown-
hued snappers, dripping with the molten gold of
phosphorescence, yellow grunts making audible
protests, ugly toad-fish, long gar-fish, rakish bar-
racudas, prickly porcupine-fish, inflating their bal-
loon-like bodies. Over all, creating a noise like
falling rain, flapped countless mullets, with sides
gleaming like silver. Besides these, there were
crawfishes, echinuses, star-fishes, crabs, and oc-
casionallyan octopus,-in fact, almost every animal
to be found on the great reef was represented in
these mangrove-root communities.
Now, boys," said the Professor, when their
excitement had somewhat abated, "hold the net
steady, and remember our rule, not to kill a single
fish more than we can actually use."
The seine was drawn, but the fish were still
massed in enough water to keep them alive, and
out of this wonderful collection the young natural-
ists made their selection. Of grunts, snappers, and
the commoner fishes they had long, ago secured
a good supply, and only the rare forms were taken,
together with some small specimens that the Pro-
fessor thought new to science. The net was then
raised, and the affrighted throng released, to swim
back again to the old roots, and perhaps exchange


opinions as to the cause of their remarkable expe-
rience.
This haul was during the last collecting tour
made upon the reef. As they reached the Key,
late at night, Bob met them at the dock, and said
he reckoned they 'd "better haul the boat inside
the moat and make things snug."
"Why ?" asked Woodbury.
"Listen," replied the old seaman.
The boys stood silent. From far away there
seemed to come a faint moan, and now they
noticed, for the first time, that it was clouding up,
over beyond Loggerhead.
It 's a-goin' to blow, and to blow hard, too,"
continued Bob.
"The barometer is rushing down as if the bot-
tom had fallen out," said Eaton, who had gone
into the office and examined the glass with a
lighted match.
I don't need a weather-glass to tell it's a-goin'
to blow," was Bob's answer. It's a-comin',
sure." And so it proved.
The boys secured the boat just in time, and,
fortunately, Bob had made everything snug out-
side. Very soon after, a terrible squall struck the
Key, the shrieking and howling of the wind and
the roar of the water keeping every one awake
nearly all night. The next morning the gale
increased; and as the boys struggled up on the
fort and looked out, they saw a fearful scene.
The water, so smooth the night before, now
presented an appalling spectacle, being covered
by a mass of white foam that was caught by the
wind and carried high into the air. The sea was
making a clean breach over Bush Key; many of
the trees had disappeared, and the lower portion
of Long Key also was washed away. The wind
was so powerful that they hardly dared show their
heads above the wall. Sticks, gravel, and all mova-
ble objects were flying through the air like hail-
stones. The cocoanut-trees had been despoiled
of their beauty in the night, their leaves had been
beaten into shapeless whips, and from many the
foliage was twisted entirely off.
Later, Raymond, who was looking out of the
window of a cottage in which they had taken
refuge for the time, cried out, Here comes Bob!"
and, sure enough, the old sailor was seen bent
double, buffeted by the gusts, enveloped in a
whirlwind of safd, and headed toward the house.
As. he reached the fence, he grasped it and held
on, beckoning with his arm. As Douglas stepped
out to meet him, the old fellow shouted, Ye 'd
better come out o' that, all hands!"
What for? screamed the boys.
"It's a-gittin' wuss. I never see the like,"
answered Bob, crawling up the steps; and I don't


933






AMONG THE FLORIDA KEYS.


like the look o' that," pointing to the big four-
storied brick building that, still unfinished, stood
near, towering high above the cottage.
"What were you saying? called the Professor,
who now appeared; and, as Bob repeated the
warning, he said to the group around him, "I
hardly think there is any danger myself, but it is
always best to take the advice of people who know
more about such things than we do, so we will
leave the cottage."
A few moments later, the little party were strug-
gling toward the casemates. The wind had in-
creased to a frightful degree, and as they reached
a clearing midway between the cottage and the
arches, they had to crouch low to avoid being
blown over. As they pressed on a fearful gust
came, and then for an instant a strange lull was
felt. At an exclamation from Bob, they all turned
and saw the huge walls of the brick building rock-
ing and trembling. Then, with a wild roar and
an appalling crash, the mass of stone, mortar,
brick, and broken beams went down before the
hurricane, crushing, as if it were pasteboard, the
cottage which they had just left. From the ruins,
for a second, rose a great white cloud of dust that
whirled about like a living thing, and then was
borne away on the gale.
The boys were too thankful to say a word, and,
indeed, amid the roar, they could only look their
gratitude to Bob, who, always cheerful, responded
by sundry knowing winks, as much as to say, I
told you so!"
That hurricane did great damage throughout
the West Indies. It continued all the afternoon,
and not until the next morning did the end come,
and not until then did the young naturalists venture
out. Their own quarters were safe; but outside was
a scene of ruin. The sea had encroached upon the
island, beaten down the docks, washed away the
aquarium, and hurled coral-rock in a confused
mass upon the beach. Amid the wreckage, Car-
rington found a small board bearing the name
" Rosetta in copper letters, and, hauling it out,
showed it to the others, who eyed it with sorrow.
It was all that was left of the boat that had
carried them so many times over the reef. She
had been torn from her place during the extreme
high water and literally ground to pieces, the stern-
board being all that was left. The hurricane
caused great devastation in Key West. Its force
may be understood by this incident: A vessel
lying at anchor near Havana was blown, without
sails, across to Key West in an incredibly short


time, the crew finding themselves, in the morning,
high and dry on Key West beach.
* The city was flooded, vessels were sunk at the
wharf, and among these was the schooner "Tortu-
gas," upon which our party had often sailed.
Fortunately none of the specimens were de-
stroyed, as they had been packed in the casemates
of the fort.
As they were now without a boat, the Professor
suggested that it was time for the journey north.
I have a plan," he said, which I think we
can carry out. It is to go to Key West, .and, in-
stead of taking the steamer directly home, as we
still have three weeks, let us charter a smack and
skirt the Keys up to Cape Florida, then to Cedar
Keys, and so home by rail."
This plan was enthusiastically received, and it
is only necessary to say that the programme was
carried out. Biscayne Bay, where the great Florida
crocodile is found, was visited. A special trip was
made to the various mounds built by prehistoric
Floridians, and finally, about the middle of Sep-
tember, a brown and jolly party bade good-bye
to the little smack at Cedar Keys and were whisked
away northward on the cars. During the journey,
which took four days, the boys had an opportunity
to sum up the practical results of their trip.
Of its success as a health-giving vacation, their
faces told the story; and as to information acquired,
each one had secured better general views upon
natural history, and even gained more knowledge,
than a year of text-book study could have pro-
duced. They had become enthusiastic observers
and collectors, which is the first step to real pro-
gress in the study. Each specimen had been
taken in its own home, its distinguishing charac-
teristics had been pointed out on the spot, and
would be remembered; and not only had they
derived valuable knowledge about the curious
inhabitants of the submarine world, but they all
felt that they took a broader view of life. In fact,
it was evident to all in the party that the per-
sonal observation of natural objects was of the
greatest value in training the mind; and, above'
all, the evidence of design in all the varied forms
did not fail to impress our boys with the convic-
tion that there was a directing Intelligence at work
in the natural world.
To some of the party this was not the last trip
to the Land of Sunshine; and it will be many years
before the recollections and benefits of the trip
among the Florida Keys will be forgotten by any
of the young naturalists.


THE END.









7%.ee Lines "a i"re 6


[n. China so I have been told,
there lived once a worker in Q-ogl
So apt at his trade
That a name he had. made,
before he alas "years old.

3ilt ti 'l.i.iti hi: naneIdecline
,., ,t :rci'Iv ,douldrhjmle,Iopioe
Y. tths fl'v in my ink
'\ il shw ou,Ithink,
Abo,rt ho. t ,oked onhis sign.



Xt

r.Is '1
;: ./"


THE FIRST AMERICANS.

BY F. S. DELLENBAUGH.


IN the middle of the sixteenth century, when
the Spaniards who had followed Columbus and
Cortes to the New World, worked their way north-
ward into the region that is now New Mexico and
Arizona, they found to their surprise a people
dwelling there in well-constructed, flat-roofed
houses of stone. They gave to these people the
name of Pueblos, or villagers, to distinguish them
from the wild tribes; and by this name they have
been known in general ever since, though each
village and cluster of villages has its distinctive
title.
The Pueblos, instead of roaming about, subsist-


ing on chance game, cultivated Indian corn so
largely that they ordinarily were able to store a
supply to provide against the possibility of future
famine; and such is still their custom. Not only
had they made this progress in agriculture and
architecture, but they had also done something in
the way of manufacturing, especially in the mak-
ing of pottery and weaving of blankets. Their
pottery was varied in shape and ornamentation
and skillfully modeled without the aid of a wheel.
Of the potter's wheel they are ignorant to this
day, still following the practice of their forefathers
in this matter as in many others. Their blankets






936 THE FIRST
of cotton were unique in their designs; and these
designs are perpetuated to-day in woolen material,
as well as in cotton, though the latter is now used
principally in the sacred ceremonies.
Those towns nearest to Santa F6 (which itself
was originally a Pueblo village and is, probably,
the oldest town inhabited by white people in the
United States) came most directly under the influ-


their country demanded the expulsion of these
domineering foreigners from their land. We can
not blame them for thus regarding the Spaniards,
for we should certainly resent any interference by
foreign powers with our affairs, and the Pueblos
were, in many respects, a civilized people and had
governed themselves for centuries before the
Spaniards appeared in their territories. Secretly,


.-- ,.








K --


A PUEBLO INDIAN BESIDE AN EAGLE-CAGE. (SEE NEXT PAGE.)


ence of the Spaniards. They made Santa F6 their
seat of government, and gradually many Spanish
customs prevailed among the natives in this part
of the country. The Spanish priests, following
the army of invasion, soon made converts, and
eventually the barbarous rites of the people in the
towns near Santa F6 were abolished in favor of
Christianity. Churches of adobe, or sun-dried
brick, were erected, and the Christian religion was
in time accepted by numerous communities.
The towns at a distance were not so easy of ac-
cess, and hence longer maintained their independ-
ence, supporting and favoring the smoldering
discontent of those in other localities whose preju-
dices or patriotism resented the Spanish dominion.
These native patriots believed the salvation of


these patriots worked to arouse their fellow-coun-
trymen against the intruders, hoping to succeed
in a revolution which should annihilate the Spanish
power and restore the ancient rites and customs.
Several of these conspiracies were discovered by
the Spanish Governor-General, and the conspira-
tors paid for their patriotism with their lives; but,
in a few years, others took their places, and while
peace seemed to smile on all the land, a volcano
was seething under the very feet of the invaders.
There had been so much internal dissension
among the Pueblos over religion and over water-
privileges (often a matter of the utmost impor-
tance in those arid lands) before the arrival of the
Spaniards, that concerted action must have been
difficult to bring about; but at last, near the end


[OCT.


i


AMERICANS.






THE FIRST AMERICANS.


of the seventeenth century, there was a mighty
uprising, the foreigners were driven out of the
country, and retreated into Mexico, and those vil-
lages which had been under the Spanish yoke,
revived their native ceremonies, which had been
in disuse for a full century.
Meanwhile the Spaniards were not content to
let slip so easily this accession to their king's
domain. Collecting a stronger army, General
Vargas returned, and conquered village after vil-
lage, until the rebellion was extinguished for all
time. Never since that day have the Pueblos
shown a warlike spirit, having accepted their sub-
jugation as inevitable. They were made citizens
by Spain, but since their territory became a por-
tion of the United States they have ranked politic-
ally with the other Indians. The last locality to
be brought under subjection was the Province of
Tusayan, the home of the Mokis.
At that time this province was so difficult to
reach, that the horses of the Spanish General's
troops were completely demoralized, and he was
therefore obliged to omit a visit to Oraibi, the largest
and furthest removed of the villages. He had, how-
ever, met with little resistance from the inhabitants,
and, doubtless, did not deem the Mokis a warlike
race. After the departure of Vargas, the Mokis con-
tinued their old ways and were seldom visited, so
that even now, three and a half centuries after the
first visit of the Spaniards, they remain nearly in
their original condition.
Next to the Moki towns, the Pueblo of Zufii
maintained its primitive customs to the greatest
extent, and from similar causes.
The illustration is from a photograph made in
Zuni by Mr. Hillers, photographer of the Bureau
of Ethnology, and shows one of the natives, dressed
in the costume of to-day, beside an eagle-cage.
The costume is composed of simple materials, the
trousers being of unbleached cotton, the shirt of
calico, and the turban generally of some soft, red
cloth. The Mokis wear their hair cut straight
across the eyebrows in a sort of "bang," then
straight back even with the bottom of the ear,


the rest being made up into a knob behind.
All are particular about their ornaments, caring
little for any common sorts of beads, but treasur-
ing coral, turquoise, and silver.
The eagle is sacred among Pueblos who have
not abandoned their native religion, and the feath-
ers are used in religious ceremonies. For this
reason -the eagle is protected and every feather
preserved. His nestingplaces are carefullywatched,
and often visited, so that a supply of feathers, from
little downy ones no larger than a twenty-five-cent
piece to the stiff and long ones from the wing and
tail, are preserved in every family,-the first, or
downy ones, to breathe their prayers upon; the
larger ones for other sacred uses. Sometimes sev-
eral prayers" are fastened to one little twig that
all may proceed together to their destination.
There is something very poetic in this breathing of
a prayer upon a feather from the breast of an eagle
- in flight the king of birds, familiar with regions
which man can know only through sight.
The Navajos have no reverence for the bird, and
use its feathers for merely decorative purposes.
They make raids upon the nesting-places where
for centuries the Mokis have obtained feathers, and
these raids are a common source of trouble between
the two tribes.
None of the present buildings of the Pueblos are
equal in masonry to the ruins common throughout
the region. These were ruins even when the
Spaniards arrived, and, consequently, it is sup-
posed that a superior people once occupied the
country, who may, however, have been either an-
cestors or kindred to the Pueblos. In time the
question may be solved through the numerous
legends illustrated in pottery decoration, for all the
decorations have a meaning, and the legends are
handed down by word of mouth from father to
son. Once when the legends were being discussed,
Pow-it-iwa, an old Moki, poetically remarked to a
friend of mine, Many have passed by the house
of my fathers, and none has stopped to ask where
they have gone; but we of our family live to-day
to teach our children concerning the past."




























S_-'..J' THERE %,as
--""" .. n-o difficulty
S in telling from
S o J'-- what stock "Drapeau"
came. He was a genuine
.-- St. Bernard, bought at the
Hospice. In childhood I had often
seen pictures of these noble animals saving
travelers, and it had been my dream to own a
real St. Bernard dog-from this identical place,
one that had been engaged in life-saving. So
in 1872, when, crossing a snow-pass from Zermatt
to Italy, I returned by way of St. Bernard, I made
up my mind to buy one of the dogs. After a
tedious ride, we arrived just at nightfall, at the
little village of St. Remy, a few miles below the
Hospice. The darkness was deeper than usual, it
was cloudy and foggy, and our guide had been
entertaining us with stories of travelers who had
been waylaid and killed near the spot, a short time
previous, and we started from the little inn for our
walk up to the summit of the pass with no very
pleasant outlook ahead of us. The darkness was
so dense that we had to feel our way with alpen-
stocks and could tell only by the sharp stones under
us when we left the path. We could hear a torrent
raging far below on the left, and there were high
cliffs on our right.
In an hour or two we came to a little cantine
where we borrowed a lantern to light our way to the
Hospice. We crept on slowly, and at about eleven
o'clock were much relieved by hearing the deep
barking of the dogs. Late as it was, one of the
Brothers gave us a good supper and assigned us
clean, comfortable beds. Next morning we rose
early to start for Martigny, and the Brothers had
the dogs brought from their kennels, so that I might
take my choice. They bounded about, eight big


BY WILLIAM DUDLEY FOULKE.


burly fellows, barking and capering like mad. I se-
lected Drapeau, one of the largest. -The monk
gave me Drapeau's history, telling me that the dog
had taken part in saving several lives and was re-
garded as a very valuable animal. The keeper of
the dogs accompanied us to a cantine, three miles
below, where we were to take a wagon. Drapeau
capered around us on the way down, an immense
tan-colored, short-haired animal, much like a lion-
ess in appearance, and jumping about with all the
delight of life and liberty, in the cool morning air.
His ankles were as thick as my two fists, and his
neck was enormous.
Leaving the cantine, we lifted him into the wagon
and I held on to the large leather collar around
his neck to prevent him from jumping out, but the
moment the wagon started and he saw that his
keeper was not there, out he leaped and hung by
the collar, struggling fiercely. It was easy to see
that we could not carry him down in that fashion,
so we hired his keeper to ride with us to Martigny.
It would take nearly two days, but there was no
other way.
Then Drapeau was quieter. But as soon as
we entered the valley and it became hot, the
poor animal seemed to suffer greatly. He was
used to the cold mountain air, and the noonday
sun was too much for him. The motion of the
wagon, too, made him sick, and we feared that we
never should get him to Martigny alive. When
we reached the inn the poor fellow was so weak
that he could hardly drag one foot after another.
He would neither eat nor drink, and he looked
forlorn.
Early in the afternoon the train started for Ge-
neva. On the continent there is a special place in
trains for dogs, a small compartment in the luggage
van, with a window at each side, and regular dog-
tickets must be purchased. We crowded Drapeau
into the compartment, fastened him in securely,
and the train started. Near the head of Lake
Geneva you change cars. Of course I thought
Drapeau would be transferred by the porters, and
I seated myself comfortably in the other train.
Soon it started, and what was my surprise to see






MY DOG.


Drapeau looking sadly out from his little window
in the train we had left! Luckily, our train hap-
pened to back again to the station. I tried to
make things lively for the porters, ordering them
to transfer my dog, but all shrugged their shoul-
ders exasperatingly as they answered even more
exasperatingly:
C'est & vous, monsieur." (That is your place,
sir.)
How to move that leviathan without help, I
could not tell. Finally, with the assistance of my
companion and two liberally bribed attendants, we
dragged him out, each holding a leg, and forcibly
projected him into the dog-quarters of the new
train. Drapeau was too badly used up to resist. He
could hardly breathe. But, about six o'clock in the
afternoon, when we reached Geneva, the air became
fresher, and Drapeau plucked up courage. The
next problem was how to get him to the hotel.
We dragged him from his compartment, and
hauled him through the depot to a cab. In the
cab Drapeau's vigor seemed to be entirely restored,
for we had hard work to keep him from jumping
out of the window, and a yelling crowd of small


939


stable near by, where he thought they would keep
the dog, and we had him conveyed thither. It
turned out to be a poor place for him, and so, a
few days later, I marched with him myself, in
default of any one else, along the dusty roads, and
left him in charge of a farmer in the neighborhood
who kept a "dog hotel" of the most approved
variety. My banker was to pay the farmer a franc
a day until Drapeau left for Paris. I went to Italy.
In Rome I received a letter saying that the farmer
was "desolated to inform Monsieur that he could
not longer keep Monsieur's dog for less than two
francs a day. He kills my chickens, he fights
with my other dogs, he leaps my fence, which you
know is high, and three times I had to walk to
Geneva to restore him." I could make no other
arrangement, and finally consented to pay two
francs.
When I reached Paris, I ordered the dog sent on.
By the omnibus-train it takes thirty-six hours, and
the dog must be fed. So a sort of traveling-apart-
ment was built especially for Drapeau, and plenti-
fully supplied with straw, and food was provided.
The hotel porter went with me to the depot for the


DRAPEAU.


boys followed us. At the Hotel de la Paix the
guests were just walking in to dinner. All stopped
to look, and found us amusing. We must have
presented a picturesque appearance with our
alpenstocks, our leggins and spiked shoes, our
flannel-shirts, and our begrimed and travel-worn
appearance (the result of a week's tramp) and
hanging on for dear life to a big dog to prevent his
getting away The porter charitably told us of a


dog. Then, after the same difficulties as at Ge-
neva, a new boarding-place was found for him in
Paris; but his presence there was soon regarded as
dangerous for the other dogs in the establishment.
They would sneak away in terror when he entered.
At last a vacant lot surrounded by a high fence
was rented for a moderate figure, and in it a suitable
dog-house was constructed. The keeper whom I
had engaged agreed to take Drapeau each day for






MY DOG.


A~mz-


"'HERE, DOGGY, DOGGY,' SAID HE, IN HIS GENTLEST MANNER."


a walk on the Boulevard, while I was to be away
during my trip through Spain.
When I returned from Spain a hotel waiter came
to me with a very sad face and said: Ah, Mon-
sieur, I musttell you of a great calamity. Monsieur's
dog was walking on the Boulevard one day with his
keeper, and he saw the dog of a certain Major
Duval. The Major slipped and fell and his dog
started to run, when Monsieur's dog, no doubt at-
tributing some fault to the dog of the Major, slipped
from his chain and instantly destroyed the dog of
the Major, and Monsieur has been condemned in
the court to pay a fine of four hundred francs for
the destruction of this dog, and Monsieur's dog
has been arrested as security for that sum." In-
vestigating the matter, I found this true. I sought
Major Duval. He grew warm in his praises of the
wonderful qualities of the dog Drapeau had killed,
until I was grateful that the judgment against me
had not been heavier, and paid it. I found that
Drapeau had escaped from his keeper, and had
made very short work of the Major's dog. Dra-
peau was very powerful. I have seen him walk
along dragging a strong man after him, without
trouble.
I could not bring him with me to America on
the same steamer, since the line allowed no dogs
on board, so I sent him on another steamer, in care
of the butcher. I met the vessel on its arrival, and
found Drapeau chained to one of the bulwarks,
and looking misanthropic.


Two or three sailors as they passed exclaimed,
"Qu'ilest michant!" (What a wicked dog he is!)
So this beneficent creature of the Hospice had been
turned into a wild animal by his sad experiences
with the world I brought him to my house with
some difficulty. The animal had now cost me,
including damages, board-bills, gratuities, trans-
portation, and minor items, some five hundred
dollars, and again the question came up, what
to do with him. We kept him in our back yard
for a while, but the back yard of a city house did
not-afford scope enough for his activities. He be-
came friendly with Rosa, the cook, and very playful
with her. He would put his paws against her
shoulders while she was hanging out the clothes
and knock her over. At last she threatened to
leave. It was not safe for any visitor at the house
to put his head out of the back door. Drapeau
was always alert. Somehow the dog was not "in
harmony with his environment," as evolutionists
say, and after a few months I concluded to sell
him. I advertised A Genuine St. Bernard Dog,
bought at the Hospice," saying all the sweet things
about him that I could, but no answers came to my
advertisements.
Finally, on one of the large streets, one day, I
saw at the side of a stairway leading down to a
basement, a stuffed black-and-tan terrier. This
indicated, as I thought, a dealer in dogs; so I went
down and interviewed him. Terms were agreed
upon: he would keep the dog until sold, and would


940


~11
cc






MY DOG.


sell him on commission. Drapeau remained a week
or two there without result, until the dealer said we
would have to take fifty dollars for him. Meantime
I heard of a gentleman who offered seventy-five. I
went down to get my dog, offering the dealer his
commission, but the man refused to let him go, de-
claring the dog should not be removed from the
shop until I had paid twenty-five dollars. I ex-
postulated in vain. Finally I offered a compromise,
but the man was inflexible. He was in possession
and was master of the situation. I did not mean to
be swindled in so shameless a fashion, so I went
down to court and sued out a writ of replevin. It
was placed in the hands of a marshal, a mild little
man, to be served. We went up to the dealer's,
the marshal showed the paper and demanded the
dog.
All right," said the dealer, "there he is,-
take him!"
Drapeau stood tied to a large crate at one side
of the basement, while a variety of smaller dogs,
game-cocks, and other animals were in coops and
cages around the room, or tied to the wall.
The officer approached Drapeau. Here, doggy,
doggy," said he, in his gentlest and most per-
suasive manner. Drapeau gave a low growl and
the officer stopped.


941


"Will he bite ? asked the marshal.
"You ought to have seen him drag that crate after
him, trying to get at a man yesterday," remarked
the dealer, relentlessly.
The marshalstood aghast,-the strong arm of the
law was powerless I was sitting on a chest in the
middle of the room, watching the performance,
when the dealer quietly said to me:
"Mebby you 'd like to see what you are sitting
on? "
I made no objection, and he lifted the lid of the
chest and out from a bed of cotton at the bottom
of it came the heads of two great anacondas. 'It
seemed to be 'a supply store for menageries and
circuses. I sought the other side of the room.
In the meantime the officer scampered upstairs
and was out on the street. By the time I had
followed him, he was wholly invisible and I did
not know how far away.
But previous to my departure the dealer and
I made a bargain, with the anacondas between us
(he was trying to stuff them back into the chest).
He agreed to send Drapeau to the new owner for
the sum of fifteen dollars, to be then and there
paid. The cash was counted out and the dog
duly sent. And from that moment he disappears
from this history.


'-^


x889.]











WHERE SALMON ARE PLENTIFUL.


BY JULIAN RALPH.


i TUPENDOUS as what we call "fish
/ stories often are, none reaches
such grand proportions as those
about the abundance of salmon in
Oregon, Washington Territory,
and the waters of British Colum-
bia and Alaska. Once upon a
time it was held to be sufficient proof that a state-
ment was true, if any one could say he had seen
it in "black and white." Perhaps we owe it to the
so-called fishermen's yarns that this limit upon the
marvelous is swept away. Next it was said that "fig-
ures can not lie," but to-day even that is no longer
admitted. There now remain only two sources of
information that the most scrupulous folks never
question. One is what they see with their own eyes,
and the other is what the honest single eye of a
photographer's camera sees. The astonishing pic-
ture of salmon, here presented, is one of the sights
of the camera about which there can be no dis-
pute. The original photograph from which the
illustration was drawn was made on the bank of
Gordon Creek, near the village of Yale, in British
Columbia, at the time when the salmon were rush-
ing up the stream, in the annual summer jour-
ney which they make from the sea up the fresh
water-courses, for the purpose of laying their eggs
and hatching their young. You can see that sel-
dom has there been a plum-pudding so filled with
raisins as is this water with these great, swift, deli-
cious fish. And, from what is known of such scenes,
it is absolutely certain that the mass of fish was
denser farther under the water than it was at the
surface where the illustration shows them.
A story that the old settlers of Oregon never
tire of telling, recounts that a stage-coach was once
upset by these fishes while it was being drawn
across a ford over a little river. The huge fish
pressed against the coach, rising higher and higher
on one another's backs as the ones in the rear
pushed ahead over those that were stopped by the
stage. Presently they rose in such a mighty wall,
and all continued to push so hard, that the stage
rolled over. This story is not vouched for by
any one in particular, and so must be classed
with those other fishermen's tales that are almost
as numerous as the salmon in question. But the
reports that are made about this fish by men whose


word no one disputes are scarcely less remarkable.
Mr. J. K. Lord, the author of a book called "The
Naturalist in Vancouver and British Columbia,"
says that the salmon swim one thousand miles
from the sea up the Columbia River and fill even
the pools left by the receding tide on the sides
of the river. "They are seen to crowd shallow
streams," he says, "so as to push one another
high and dry on the banks." Once, when he was
riding on horseback through that wild country, he
came upon a stream so thickly filled with salmon
that it was difficult to get his horse through the
mass. He speaks of them as sometimes weigh-
ing seventy pounds, but in Alaska they have been
known to attain far greater weight than that. The
salmon can swim faster than the swiftest railroad
train can move, and are so strong and quick
that they are able to leap'small cataracts in the
streams.
Just as the Indians of the plains, who were hunt-
ers, used to live upon the buffaloes that ranged the
prairies in numbers no man could either count or
estimate, so the Indians of the Pacific coast of this
continent, who are sailors and fishermen, lived
upon the salmon. It was Nature's plan that the
fish should be as numerous as these stories and this
picture represent them. The Indians depended
upon spearing the fish or, at best, upon dipping
them up with baskets on long poles, and could
only reach those nearest the land, for the principal
rivers are broad and swift and, when full of salmon,
navigation of them in canoes was not safe, even if
it was possible. Now, the salmon and the Indians
are both far less numerous within our borders.
Since the Indians catch them and the Chinese
clean and can them for the merchants, who ship
them all over the world, the fish become annually
less abundant, and they are caught in vast numbers
in ingenious nets, and by great floating wheels
made to be revolved by the current and dip them
up by the thousand.
On the Washington Territory side of the Colum-
bia River, a few little bands of red men come every
summer to scoop and spear the salmon; but at the
same place fifty years ago, historians tell us, the
ancestors of these Indians came in such numbers
that the shores Were divided between them, and
every ledge and rock and bit of bank had its right-






WHERE SALMON ARE PLENTIFUL.


A SALMON BROOK IN BRITISH COLUMBIA. (DRAWN FR

ful tenants. Their tents of skin were set all about
the background, each sending up its thread of
smoke from the fires at which the squaws cooked
the meals, and their ponies roamed close at hand.
The Indians fished until they caught all they
needed, and these they dried for use during the
following winter.
Ivan Petroff, who wrote for our Government all
that he could find out about its great cold Terri-
tory of Alaska, describes just such scenes there at
this day, for there the salmon and the Indians


are both as plentiful as
ever. He says that the
Kaniags, a tribe of Es-
kimo Indians, pile the
dried salmon in heaps
around the sides of the
interior of each house so
as to make a high, broad
shelf of the fish. But
when they catch an extra
quantity they spread them
over the floor, layer upon
layer, several feet deep.
They live upon this
strange floor, taking up
what salmon they need
day by day and eating
their way gradually down
to the real floor during
the winter.
The Yukon is the great
salmon river of Alaska,
as well as one of the
greatest rivers, in all
other respects, in the
world. The wisest men
are uncertain whether it
does or does not pour
more water into the sea
than the great Missis-
sippi. It sends out so
much that the water of
the ocean is fresh ten
miles from the coast, and
the river is so great that
at a distance of six hun-
dred miles from its mouth
it is more than a mile
wide. In places it is
twenty miles wide, and
the total length of the
river is eighteen hundred
miles. The Yukon gives
its name to -the largest
district in Alaska, and in
this region," Mr. Petroff says, "during the brief
summer there, the whole population flocks to the
river banks, attracted by myriads of salmon, crowd-
ing the waters in their annual pilgrimage up this
mighty stream. Then both banks are lined with
summer villages and camps of fishermen who build
their basket-traps far out into the eddies and bends
of the stream. This annual congregation com-
pletely drains of human life the valleys and plains
stretching away to the north and south, as well as
many of the lake-regions in the west."


943













MOTHER GOOSE SONNETS.


BY HARRIET S. MORGRIDGE.


" There was a jolly miller lived on the river Dee."
A MILLER lived upon the river Dee.
He was a jolly man, and all day long
He worked and never stopped his cheery song:
I wish with all my heart that we could see
More people like him; blithe indeed was he,
And comely, too, puissant, sturdy, strong,
Loved by the people that he lived among.
"I care for no one, no one cares for me,"
Was, it. is true, the burden of his lay.
But sung by him it meant not just the same
That it would mean if it were sung .some day,
By some one else, perhaps. I think that we
Should thus interpret the good miller's aim,
"I care for all, and all do care for me."


---.-- --- -
"Little Jack Homer sat in the corner,-"
"WHENEVER I go back and forth to
school,
How many quite bad little boys I see "
This was Jack Homer's brief soliloquy
As he sat by the chimney on a tool
(It is quite clear that Johniiy i, a no
fool)
Eating a piece of Christmas pie; and he
Could not help feeling-very prop-
erly-
Thankful that he was one who, as a
rule,
Had his good things, while other boys
had none;-
A small boy's grace it was before his
pie.
A plum appeared, which he did not
refuse,
When he took up the moral he'd be-
gun-
(His childish egotism pray excuse)
Oh, what a very, very good boy am I! "


There was an old woman who lived in a shoe."
SOME people live in houses, some in trees,
And some, I 've heard, in shoes; 't was in a shoe
The matron lived whose story I tell you;
Her family was large and could not please
-The mother always; nay, how they did tease "
And vex her till she knew not what to do! -
I wonder not-'t was an enormous crew, ,
S All packed as closely as a pod of peas; -k
\ And who, think you, could manage better, placed
4* In her position,- that is, in her shoes ?
: And yet, the bairns were hers, and should be fed
S And kindly handled, not abused, disgraced.
Howwerethey treated? Each withnaught to
v"c I choose, w
-" Was fed with broth, and whipped, and sent
to bed.


=--.'- -*.'

^












"Little Bo-peep has lost her sheef."

THERE was a little shepherdess, Bo-peep,
A rustic maiden, with a little crook,
Blue gown, and white straw hat, and she did look
Fresh as the dawn, and Bo-peep loved her sheep.
Nevertheless one day she fell asleep,
Hidden away from sight in a green nook,
Her hat thrown off, but in her hand her hook.
She woke, looked round, and then began to weep;
Her lambs were gone! She strained her eyes to get
A glimpse of their retreating tails, and then
She ran and shouted. Not one did appear.
Sit down, dear little girl, and never fret,
Leave them alone, and they '11 come back again,
Bringing their tails behind them, never fear.


"Simple Simon went a-fising."

A BOY named Simon sojourned in a dale,
Some said that he was simple, but I'm sure
That he was nothing less than simon pure;
They thought him so because, forsooth, a whale
He tried to catch in Mother's water pail.
Ah little boy, timid, composed, demure,-
He had imagination. Yet endure
Defeat he could, for he of course did fail.
But there are Simons of a larger growth,
Who, too, in shallow waters fish for whales,
And when they fail they are unfortunate."
If the small boy is simple, then are both,
And the big Simon more, who often rails
At what he calls ill luck or unkind fate.


There was a man who had a cow,
And he had naught to give her."

A CERTAIN piper had a nice, fine cow,
But the same piper was a thriftless man,
He spent his substance f6ting the god Pan,
And piped and danced but never touched the plow.
And when no hay nor corn was in the mow
(The cow grown thin, and dim her coat of tan),
He pulled his bagpipes out and then began
To play the beast a tune. Her noble brow
Grew dark; the piper in his blandest tone
Then said, Consider, cow, commune! "
She always had been wont to ruminate,
So she considered well, then with a moan
Meekly replied, "I can not eat your tune."
Heroic cow, who had to stand and wait!


L--q>.


VOL. XVI.- 60.


r











THE BUNNY STORIES.*
FOR LITTLE READERS.

COUSIN JACK'S STORY.

BY JOHN H. JEWETT.


7HE Bunnies had planned a
chestnutting party for their
Saturday holiday.
It was early in October and
there had been a few sharp
i frosts to open the chestnut-
burrs.
S The glossy brown nuts were
r just peeping from their snug
quarters, like tiny birds in a
nest, and looked verytempting
in their pale green and gold
setting among the fading and
falling leaves.
Every season brought its own pleasures for the
Bunnies, from their first search for pussy-willows
and arbutus in the spring, through all the chang-
ing months of flowers and fruits and summer pic-
nics, to the gathering of the bright-colored autumn
leaves, and the nutting parties; then came the
coasting and skating, and the long winter evenings
for reading and story-telling, until spring came
again.
Next to a picnic, the Bunnies enjoyed a nutting
party, for, besides the fun, it seemed like a pleas-
ant way of saying, good-bye to the woods and the
hedges, before they laid aside their beautiful leafy
robes, and the winter came to bring them their
snowy gowns for a long winter's sleep.
The Bunnies had waited a long time for the
chestnuts to ripen, and for nearly a week they had
been impatiently counting the days until Saturday
should come round to give them a holiday from
school.
When the longed-for day came at last, they woke
in the morning to find the rain falling steadily,
and they felt almost like crying over their disap-
pointment.
Cousin Jack said it might clear off by noon; but,
in spite of their hoping and watching, the clouds
thickened and the wind blew in fitful gusts, beat-
ing the pretty leaves from the trees, and making
everything out-of-doors seem gloomy and uncom-
fortable.
When they heard the Deacon say it was prob-


ably the Line-storm and might last a week," the
Bunnies grumbled and said it was too bad to have
their fun spoiled after waiting so long.
Cousin Jack saw their glum faces and said
cheerily, "Well, well, I think we can bear the
storm, if the poor birds and other shelterless
creatures can; and I never heard of their scolding
about the weather. Besides," he added, this
storm is saving us trouble."
Bunnyboy asked if he did not mean making
trouble instead of saving it, and Cousin Jack re-
plied, "I mean saving us trouble, for the best
time to go chestnutting is after a hard storm, when
the wind and rain have beaten off the nuts, and
saved the trouble and risk of clubbing the trees or
climbing them to knock off the opening burrs. We
shall probably get there as soon as anybody," he
added, "and find rare picking when we do."
This made the Bunnies a little more cheerful;
and later in the day, when, tired of reading and
playing games, they found Cousin Jack in a cosy
corner in the library, they began to coax him for a
story.
Cousin Jack was never happier than at such
times, when, with Cuddledown on his knee, and
the other Bunnies gathered around him, he would
say, "Well, well, I will put on my thinking-cap
and see what will come."
Cuddledown wished for a new story about the
"good fairies," but Bunnyboy said he did not
believe there were any real fairies, and asked
Cousin Jack if he had ever seen any.
Cousin Jack said there were different kinds of
fairies, but the only kind he had ever seen were
what Bunnyboy called "real fairies," and he had
known several in his life.
Please tell us about the ones you have really
seen," said Browny.
Cousin Jack replied, I will try to do so, but
you must remember that my fairies are real, every-
day fairies, and not the story-book kind who are
supposed.to do impossible things and live in a
fairy-land, instead of an every-day, rain or shine,
world like ours."
Pinkeyes moved a little nearer to him and asked,


* Copyright, 1888, by John H. Jewett.






THE BUNNY STORIES.


" Is it wrong to like the story-book fairies ? They
always seem to be trying to help those who are in
trouble, and they make me wish to be like them."
Cousin Jack gave her a very tender glance as he
answered, No harm at all, my dear, and I am
glad you asked, for I did not mean to say anything
against any kind of good influences which make us
wish to be kinder or more thoughtful of others."
I meant," said he, only that I had met with
some real, helpful fairies who live in the same world
we live in, and," he added, with a smile, I am
sitting very near one of that kind now."
Browny looked up and quickly said, Oh, you
mean Pinkeyes; but she is no fairy at all; she is
only the best sister in all the world. Please begin
the story 1 "
Well, once upon a time said Cousin Jack.
Oh, skip that back number," interrupted
Bunnyboy, who was just beginning to use slang
phrases and thought it knowing instead of vulgar.
Well, what if it is ? asked Cousin Jack, good-
naturedly. Who knows how this story begins,
if I do not?"
Bunnyboy said, I beg your pardon, but
could you please begin at the real interesting part
of the story and save time ? I am tired of these
opening chapters."
"I do not blame you," said Cousin Jack; life is
short and youth is impatient; let me begin again."
Many years ago," he continued, there was a
harum-scarum young Bunny, whose story-name we
will call Rab.
Rab was an orphan; at least he thought he
was, for the family with whom he lived told him
his father and mother had died of a terrible fever
in the South, when he was only three or four
years old.
"Sometimes, at night, when Rab was lying
awake, alone in the dark, he used to fancy he
could remember living in another home very dif-
ferent from the place in which he now lived. The
neighbors called his present home the 'Poor
Farm.'
"Then there seemed to have been some one
whom he called 'Papa,' who brought Rab toys and
playthings, and carried him up and down stairs on
his back, playing horse and rider.
"At such times he thought he could still re-
member the sweet face and gentle voice of some
one who was always near him,--the first in the
morning and the last at night to kiss him and call
him her 'precious child.'
Many a night when these fancies came into
his mind, they made him feel so lonely and home-
sick that he would cry until he fell asleep and
dream that he had found both father and mother
again and was the happiest Bunny in the world.


But in the morning when he woke up, all about
him was so different from his dreams that they
seemed as strange and far away as the stars that
had gone with the night.
"In the daytime he was so busy doing odd jobs,
running on errands, or getting into some new
mischief, that he forgot all about any other trou-
bles but his present ones.
"Rab was active and restless, and was almost
sure to get into some kind of trouble if the day was
long enough.
If he was sent to rake up the yard and burn
the rubbish, he built the bonfire so near the house
or stables that when the wind changed, as it usually
did, he had to call for help to put out the fire.
"If he
.. was sent
to hunt
S -' for hens'
S ipF'" nests in
S'. the barn,
She often
tore his
..- clothes by
clamber-
:, ing into
some out-
of-the-way
RAB DUCKS THE WRONG HEN. place un-
der the roof to play at having a house of his own,
or to carry out some other queer notion that came
into his head.
When he was told he might duck a certain
hen in the trough, to break her of setting, he
usually ducked the wrong hen, or fell into the
water himself in his eagerness. The master of the
farm used to say he would almost rather have a
hurricane on the place once a week than to have
that harum-scarum Rab try to do anything useful.
Rab used to think that scolding or fault-find-
ing was a way some persons chose to enjoy them-
selves, and that grumbling was so easy that almost
any one could do it and hardly make an effort;
and so he kept out of the way as much as possible.
One day, Rab found a place where a hen had
made her nest in the dry grass, under some bushes,
quite a long way from the barn.
There was only one egg in the nest, and, as
Rab was not sure it was a good one, he left it there
and waited until the next day.
When he went again to look there was another
egg in the nest, and as no one else knew about it,
and because he thought it would be fun to keep
the hen's secret with her, he said nothing, but
watched from day to day until there were six large,
white eggs in the nest.
Rab knew that Peddler Coon, who came


947






THE BUNNY STORIES.


through the town with his cracker-cart every week,
often took eggs from the neighbors in exchange
for his crackers and cookies.
"Rab liked sweet cakes as well as any other
Bunny, but he rarely had a taste of any cakes or
cookies at the farm.
He knew how good Peddler Coon's cookies
tasted, for he had seen Rey Fox, and his sister
Silva, buy them with pennies, and once Silva had
given him some of hers.
Every time he looked at the nest, he thought
of Peddler Coon's cookies, and wondered how many
he could buy with an egg. At first he only wished
that the eggs belonged to him, and that he could
buy cookies with them.
Then he began to wonder if any one would
know if he should take one or two of them. Some-
thing in his heart kept whispering, 'It is wrong-
they are not yours you must not take them,' but
at last he thought so much about the cookies that
it seemed as if he must have some. The only way
to get them was to rob the nest.
"He made it seem easier to himself by saying
he would take only one, and that the hen would
lay another the next day, and no one would know.
"The next time he heard Peddler Coon's horn in

waited for an
.. opportunity,
and stealing
quietly to
A' the nest in
t thebusheshe
took an egg,
S and, hiding
it carefully
Sin his jacket-
Spocket, he
< ran off down
street, out of
RAB STEALS AN EGG. sight from
the house, to wait for the cart to come.
Rab felt guilty, and it seemed to him as if
every one was watching him. This uncomfortable
thought made him so excited that he forgot to look
carefully before him as he ran.
"On turning a corner, and trying to look over
his shoulder at the same time, to see whether the
cart was coming, he tripped and fell flat upon the
ground.
The egg, which was still in his pocket, was
crushed into a shapeless mass, and Rab knew his
chance for cookies was gone, and that he was in
difficulties besides.
"In trying to get the broken egg from his
pocket, he smeared his hands and jacket; and the
more he tried the more the egg-stain spread, until


it looked as if he had been trying to paint a golden
sunset on one side of his jacket.
"What to do next, puzzled him. His first
thought was to go back and try to explain the
accident by telling a lie about how the egg came
in his pocket.
Rab never had told a lie in his life, but it now
seemed to him that, having begun by stealing the
egg, the easiest way out of the scrape was to lie.
The more he thought about it, the harder the
case seemed to grow. He wondered whether the
master would believe his story if he made up one.
If he did not believe it, would he flog him until he
owned to the truth, and then flog him again for
both stealing and lying?
"Then he began to pity himself, and to wish
that he had a father or mother to help him out of
his trouble.
This made him wonder what they would think
of their little Rab, if they were alive, and knew he
was beginning to steal and tell lies, and the shame
of it almost broke his heart.
He crept behind a stone wall, out'of sight, and
lay down to have a good cry before deciding what
to do."
"Where does the fairy come in? Is n't it
almost time for one? asked Browny, with his eyes
full of sympathy for Rab.
Yes," replied Cousin Jack, the fairy was just
coming that way, and she was one of the sweetest
little fairies you ever heard of, in or out of a story-
book.
She was a graceful young fairy, with a gentle
face and large, tender, brown eyes, very much like
your Mother Bunny's.
As she was passing, she heard some one sob-
bing behind the low wall, and, stopping to look
over the wall, she saw poor Rab lying there with
the hot tears streaming down his face.
'What is the matter, little Bunny; why are
you hiding there and crying so bitterly?' asked
the fairy.
Rab brushed the tears away with the sleeve of
his jacket, and replied, 'Because I am unhappy;
please go away !'
Reaching out her hand to him, the fairy said,
' That is a good reason why I should not go away,
and leave you alone. If you are unhappy you
must be in trouble, so please get up and tell me
about it, and let me try to comfort you.'
The fairy's manner was so kind and friendly
that Rab thanked her, and, getting up from the
ground, he said, 'You are very kind, but you do
not know what I have done. I ought to go back
to the farm and be flogged, instead of being com-
forted by you, and I will go now.'
"'Oh do not say that,' said the fairy. 'If


948






THE BUNNY STORIES.


your trouble is so bad, you must come home with
me and see my mother. She will help you if any
one can.'
Rab looked at his soiled jacket, and blushed
as he said, Oh, no! I am ashamed to be seen,
or to speak to any one.'
But you need not be afraid of my mother,'
replied the fairy; 'she knows just what every one



-- 45j-- :- '
4-,''/-- ^ .-J"p1'_

















needs who is in trouble, so come with me and I




with her.-
Hazel Fawn, and that she lived in the Deer C.t-
.--












HAZEL FAWN FINDS RAB.

needs who is in trouble, so come with me and I
will help you clean your jacket, and mother would tell
tell you what is best to do.'
"Taking his hand, she urged him gently, and,
almost in spite of himself, Rab yielded and went
with her.
"On the way the fairy told him her names you was
Hazel Fawn, and that she lived in the Deer Cot-
tage with her mother, Mrs. Deer.
She did not ask him any questions, but when
they reached the cottage she said simply to her
mother, Here 's a little Bunny who is in trouble.
I thought you could help him if he would tell you
about it, while I am cleaning his jacket.'
Mother Deer said kindly: I am glad to see
you, Rab, for I have heard about you, and know
where you live. You must trust me as you would
your own mother, and let me help you just as she
would wish to, if she were here.'
"Then she showed him where he could wash
the egg-stains from his hands, and helped him take
off his jacket.
"Hazel took the jacket and left the room, with-
out waiting to hear what Rab should tell her
mother, because she thought he might not wish to
have any one else hear his story.
"Mother Deer asked him to sit by her side, and
told him not to worry about his jacket, for Hazel


would soon have the stains washed off and they
would have a little talk while the jacket was drying.
"'It is n't the jacket that troubles me,' said
Rab, 'it is ever so much worse than egg-stains.'
Then he bravely tried to hold back his tears
while he told her the whole truth, from the day he
first found the nest to his taking the egg, the acci-
dent which followed, and even about his first plan
of telling a lie to save himself from being found out.
There were tears in Mother Deer's eyes as she
said to him, 'I am sorry for you, Rab, but it might
be worse, and I am glad you came to me.
"' It is hard for a little Bunny, like you, to
begin life all alone, without a kind father or mother
to watch over you, and I only wonder how such
little homeless waifs do as well as you do.
"'I have known many homes,' Mother Deer
continued, 'where everything that love and pa-
tience could do was done for the little ones, and
in spite of it all they would go astray and grieve
everybody by their waywardness and wrong- doing.'
Rab hid his face in her lap and cried softly,
but Mother Deer took his hand in hers and said
cheerfully, 'You must not be discouraged; you
have done wrong; but you can do right about it,
and I am sure you will, for you have been brave
and honest to tell me the truth, and have not tried
to spare yourself as many might have done.
Now, I will tell you what we will do. I will
write a note to the master of the farm and tell him
what I think of a Bunny who wishes to do right,
and you must go to him and tell the whole story,
just as you have told it to me;
'Whatever he may think best to do about it,
you must bear as bravely as you can, for that is
your part of the matter.
It is not always easy,' Mother Deer went on,
'to be brave when one is right; but it takes more
nerve and real courage to be brave and truthful
when we know we are in the wrong.'
"Rab looked up into her kind face and said,
'No one ever talked so to me before, and I will
do just what you have told me to do, no matter
what comes. I am not afraid of a flogging, now,
if you will only think I do not mean to be bad any
more.'
"Mother Deer kissed him and said, 'You may
be sure I will, Rab,' and just then Hazel came in
with the jacket, clean and dry, and a big bunch
of grapes which she had saved for him.
Hazel walked part of the way with him, as he
went back to the farm, and when she bade him
good-night, Rab said, 'You and your mother
must be my good fairies, for no one else ever
helped me out of my troubles as you have done.'
"Then Rab went directly to the master and
told him all about finding the nest and what had


949






THE BUNNY STORIES.


followed, and gave him the note Mother Deer had
written.
"The master read the note and then said,
'Well, youngster, you have told me a straight
story, and if you will show me the nest, I will call
it even for the broken egg.
"' I should not wonder,' he added, 'if it proved
fortunate all round, after all. Mrs. Deer seems
to think there is something in you besides mischief
and thieving, and she says she would like to have
you come and live with her, to work about the
cottage, and go to school.'
Rab did not know what to say except Thank
you, sir,' but he went to bed with a truly thankful
heart that night.
A few days later Rab went to the Deer Cottage
to live, and the two good fairies, who had helped
him out of his trouble, made his new home so
happy, for the next few years, that he grew to be a
very different Bunny from the harum-scarum Rab
of the Poor Farm."
"Is that all ?" asked Browny. Cousin Jack did
not reply, but Cuddledown looked over to Bunny-
boy and asked, "What do you think about 'real
fairies' now ? "
Bunnyboy answered, "I should like to know
what became of Hazel Fawn."
I thought so," said Cuddledown, for you are
always liking some one who is not your sister."


Bunnyboy blushed but said nothing, and Pink-
eyes, who had sat quietly while the others asked
questions, turned to Cousin Jack and said, I think
I know what you mean by calling Hazel and Mother
Deer good fairies.' You mean that we can all be
good fairies to others who are unfortunate or in any
kind of trouble, if we try to be gentle and patient
and helpful when we have a chance."
Cousin Jack nudged Browny, and slyly asked,
"Who said Pinkeyes was no fairy at all? If it
takes a rogue to find out a rogue, surely a fairy is
the best one to find out another fairy, and Pink-
eyes is right."
Then, turning to Pinkeyes, he said, That is just
what the story means, if it means anything."
Browny fidgeted a minute, and then asked Cousin
Jack, How did you find out all about this Rab ?
Did you ever know such a Bunny? "
"That is a secret," said Cousin Jack, "which
perhaps I will tell you some other time. All I will
say now is that Mother Deer and Hazel Fawn were
not the only 'good fairies' who came into Rab's
life to brighten and gladden his other dark days -
just as this sunshine has come to cheer us, while I
have been telling his story to you."
And, indeed, the dark clouds had rolled away and
the sun was shining again, and the Bunnies forgot
the disappointment of the morning in making new
plans for a chestnutting party for another day.


t. ,' n. i










A PAGE OF BOATS.
(See picture opposite.)


,Dredge-boat.
Cruiser.
Day-boat on the Hudson.
Sound Steamer.
Iron-clad.
Revenue Steamer.
Towing on the Hudson.
An Atlantic "Liner."
Steam Yacht.
Coast-going Steamer.


2i. Torpedo-boat.


II. Steam Barge.
12. Ohio River Stern-wheeler.
13. Mississippi Steamer.
14. Lake Steamer.
15. New York Ferryboat.
16. Western Ferryboat.
17. Abroad.
18. Ocean-going Tug.
19. Lake Propeller.
20. Towing on the Ohio.


950







.1'.~


g re,'. T.,


S' ,*


L
U~


A PAGE OF BOATS.


POT: *


Fy
P7;
AL I


r


i


.~a~
























ELECTRICITY FOR SNAKES.
A REPORT comes by way of Germany that a novel use
of electricity has been made in India for the prevention
of the intrusion of snakes into dwellings. Before all the
doors and around the house two wires are laid, con-
nected with an electrical apparatus. Should a snake
attempt to crawl over the wires he receives a shock of
electricity, which either kills or frightens him into a
hasty retreat.- Portland Transcript.


MINUTE SCREWS.
IT is asserted that the smallest screws in the world
are those used in the production of watches. Thus, the
fourth jewel-wheel screw is almost invisible, and to the
naked eye it looks .ike dust; magnified by a glass, how-
ever, it is seen to be a small screw, and with a very fine
glass the threads may be seen quite clearly. These
minute screws are four-thousandths of an inch in diame-
ter, and the heads are double; it is said that an ordinary
lady's thimble would hold many thousands of these
screws. No attempt is ever made 'to count them, the
method pursued in determining the number being to
place one hundred of them on a very delicate balance,
and the number of the whole amount is estimated by the
weight of these. After being cut the screws are hard-
ened and put in frames, about one hundred to the frame,
heads up, this being done very rapidly by sense of touch
instead of by sight, and the heads are then polished in
an automatic machine, ten thousand 'at a time.- Electrical
Review.

SAND-DRIFTS.

DRY, loose sand, wherever it occurs, is constantly being
shifted by the wind, and often buries cultivated lands,
buildings, and forests. On the shores of Lake Michigan
are drifts one hundred feet deep, and those of Cornwall
reach three hundred feet in depth, while the drifts of the
Gobi desert are forty miles long and nine hundred feet
high in places. On the shores of the Bay of Biscay the
drifting sand travels inland sixteen feet a year, in parts
of Denmark twenty-four feet, and in Southern India
seventeen yards. In some places walls and barriers of
vegetation have been created to stop the destroying drifts.
Fine sand is taken up to a great height in the air, and
deposited many miles away. In 1882, Iceland was visited


by a remarkable sand-storm, lasting two weeks, which
hid the sun and objects a few yards off like a dense fog,
and caused the death of thousands of sheep and horses.
-Portland Transcript.


A COUNTRY CORONER'S VERDICT.

THE result of a post-mortem examination to determine
the cause of death, enabled a certain coroner in Connect-
icut to return the following verdict:
"The autopsy of the body of made by Drs.
- and showed satisfactorily that the sus-
picious clean cut, near an inch in length, on the left
side through the vest and shirts and the integuments
of the body, was arrested by one of the ribs, and did
not enter the thorax, and was not a cause of death;
nor was there any wound that might cause death any-
where on the body (besides the injuries by the train of
cars, believed to be the ten o'clock P. M. steamboat train),
unless upon the head, which was so crushed that any
fatal injury upon it could not have been'discovered with
any certainty-leaving the case enveloped in mystery:
how a man so intoxicated that he went on a railroad
track ahalf a mile, in a contrary direction from his home,
not knowing where, and yet was able in the darkness of
the night under a covered bridge, with nothing but cross-
timbers to step on, between which by a misstep he would
have gone through into the river below; and then to
have placed himself safely, lying at his length upon the
cross-timbers, near the end of the bridge -for, had he
been standing, the engineer would have seen him by
means of the headlight, anywhere upon the bridge, well-
nigh inextricable--so that if he was not so placed for
the cars to conceal a felony, it becomes a nine-days'
wonder how he got there."


QUICK AND STRONG.

DYNAMITE is so instantaneous in its action that a green
leaf can be compressed into the hardest steel before it
has time to flatten. One of the experiments at the
United States Torpedo Works was to place some leaves
between two heavy, flat pieces of iron, set them on a
firm foundation, and see what gun-cotton would do in
forcing the iron pieces together. A charge was placed
upon them by compressing the gun-cotton into a cylin-







ST. NICHOLAS SCRAP-BOOK. 953
drical form about one inch thick and three or four inches being exploded in the open air, that one of the iron
in diameter, through the center of which a hole is made pieces was driven down upon the other so quickly, and
for a cap of fulminate of mercury, by which the gun-cot- with such force, that it caught an impression of the
ton is exploded. The reaction was so great, from merely leaves before they could escape.-Portland Transcrit.


A STORY THAT TELLS ITSELF.


CHAPTER VI.


CHAPTER II.


CHAPTER III.


CHAPTER IV.


CHAPTER NV.










A CLOSE CORPORATION.


BY RUTH PUTNAM.


SEVEN little girls were having a solemn meeting.
It was no light and trivial matter that was occupy-
ing their minds. Indeed, to judge by their faces
you would have thought that by some strange and
unexpected turn of the wheel of Fate, the direction
of the affairs of state had fallen into their hands,
so careworn and solemn were their expressions.
They were about to undertake a mighty enterprise.
They were to start a paper. After some discus-
sion as to the proper mode of beginning, one little
girl said she was sure the first thing was to choose
a president wherever her papa went they always
did that. Nothing could ever be done without a
president, "especially in a republic, where there
is n't a king," she added. Her sister Clara said
yes; Edith did n't usually know much about use-
ful things, but she was right that time, and besides
the president, they must have two vices," a treas-
urer, a writing person, whose name she could n't
remember, and a committee. The memory of the
others supplied the name of secretary, and sug-
gested that "vices" were really presidents when
the other one could n't come. They then pro-
ceeded to have an election. Eva was elected presi-
dent. She is n't i4uite the oldest, but her name
is such a very ancient one," remarked Edith.
Clara was chosen secretary; Lucy, treasurer;
Edith and Alice, vices "; and the two others, a
committee; so that each one was dignified with an
office. Then the matter was thoroughly discussed.
They decided on The Rose as the name of the
paper, Each one had the right to bring her own
contributions.
But, of course, there must n't be too many
long stories," said Edith. "It will take a long
time to publish my 'Egyptian Adventures,' and
there is never more than one long story in a maga-
zine."
"We can have two poems a number," said
the president, whose age was twelve; "and I should
say that we ought generally to let Agnes have one
of those, because, of course, she belongs even if
she is 'way off in the Western Hemisphere."
"Well, I do think," broke in Cora, rather de-
risively. Are n't we all in the Western Hemi-
sphere? You 'd better study geography."
Is n't California more in the Western Hemi-
sphere than New York is ?" asked the president,
meekly.


This brought on a discussion not pertinent to
the new magazine, in which the more practical
Clara came out strong, and finally demonstrated,
by means of a half-eaten apple, that if you were
there, you were there, and you could n't be any
more than that! as she added, triumphantly.
Their first plan was to write out their magazines,
each one doing three, and they thought they might
have twenty-one subscribers.
I should mention that Agnes, then in California,
had been a former schoolmate of the small group,
and was to be associated in the enterprise, but, of
course, she could not aid in the labor of it.
Well, they also arranged that each one should
write to her friends and ask them to subscribe.
The proceeds, after expenses, were to go to the
poor.
"Naturally," said Cora, "it will be like a
grown-up party-we must invite a great many
more than we expect to come."
Then they separated, after composing the first
number from copy already on hand.
It was a busy week for the editorial staff. The
twenty-one numbers were copied, but the ink was
obstreperous, the pens were filled with evil spirits,
and sometimes little sisters would joggle the tables
at critical moments so that horrid big blots would
appear on the laboriously written pages, and the
work of an hour or more would be destroyed. Ah,
the lot of editor and printer combined was not an
easy one !
Finally, some grown-up person suggested that a
poor deaf-mute in the village had a printing-press
upon which he was in the habit of printing pro-
grammes, bill-heads, etc., and that perhaps he
would print their paper cheaply. This individual
was visited, and after a lively pantomimic conver-
sation with the finger alphabet, which one of the
little girls knew, they made a favorable bargain
with him.
So now, instead of twenty-one subscribers, they
could have fifty. Oh, it would be splendid !- and
they would have to correct proof I
The letters were written to their friends in New
York, and then came several days of happy anticipa-
tion in which they saw the subscription mount to
one hundred names, imagined the money pouring
into the treasury, and planned out all the good they
could do for the poor, next Christmas. Then, too,






A CLOSE CORPORATION.


they made up their next number from Edith's some-
what grimy store and the cherished productions of
the others.
At the end of the week, Clara received the fol-
lowing letter from her cousin in New York:

DEAR CLARA: My little friend, Ada Croswell, and I
are going for the same subject as you, to help poor peo-
ple. We are going to work real hard, whenever there
is something to do, so that we can earn some money,
and, as she goes to Sunday-school, she will give it there.
About your magazine, I do not care so much for that,
but, as I am fond of writing, I will give you another plan.
Suppose I am to give you five cents instead often, and
instead of taking the magazine, I would like to write
stories for it, if you have no objection. But, of course, if
you would rather not, why just say so. I will renew my
old stories, and give you my best.
"Good-bye, from your loving cousin, GERTRUDE."

This was not altogether satisfactory to Clara as
she read it, and she proceeded at once to call a
meeting extraordinary.
It was a stormy session. The idea had never
entered their editorial heads that other contribu-
tions than their own should appear in their pre-
cious periodical. Clara thought the fact that this
was their cousin ought to have some weight. But
Eva suggested that perhaps all their cousins might
write, and sometimes one's friends were just the
same, and more, too, than one's cousins. And -
if every one wrote, what would the poor editors
do with all their things? The question was left
unsettled.
The next mail brought the following letter from
Elise, another cousin of Edith and Clara, in
Newport.

MY DEAR CLARA: We would be delighted to take
the paper, but I wish I could wright some stories for it;
would you mind if I wrote a story for this next month's
paper, and if it is not nise enough please tell me would
yol"mind having me write for the paper. If you would
not like it write and tell me. I think it would be a great
deel of fun to write for the paper. I will write this short
story, and if you would not want me to write for it don't
hesitate to tell me, because I suppose you have enough.
Good-bye, from ELISE."

This letter was discussed as hotly as Gertrude's
had been. The board were not quite so indig-
nant, because no reduction in subscription-price
was asked, and the whole tone of the letter was
more modest. But they became more and more
convinced that, however good the articles might
be, they really and truly had no use for them -
"because," as Edith remarked plaintively, looking
at her beloved pile of MSS. before her (she had
brought it to the meeting to put certain arti-


cles to vote), "We will just have to put all our
own things away again, and all the proof we
read will be other people's work. Oh, it will be
horrid! "
The following morning another letter arrived
for Clara, from Winifred in the city:

"DEAR CLARA: I think your idea of a real printed
magazine is just splendid, and I will be glad to take it.
I suppose you know that I can write poetry; things
about ghosts andwater-witches and splendid weird things
are what I like best. If you have any room in your
paper I could let you have them. Of course, I would n't
charge anything, because you are going to give the
money to the poor, and I 'd like to help do that.
"Your friend, WINIFRED."

Then came a letter from Agnes, inclosing two
poems, three rebuses, one charade, and some
chapters of a continued story "by herself. After
mentioning these inclosures, she went on to say,
I know three real nice girls in San Francisco who
think they could write some stories and poetry if
you would like them to. I send you some of my
writings. The rest are locked up in Mamma's
trunk. I '11 send them along with the girls' stories."
Clara carried the two communications to the
meeting and read them aloud. A dead silence fell
upon the assembly, and then Edith burst into tears
and said, trying to pull her handkerchief through
the mass of papers in her pocket, It is too dread-
ful to have to say 'No' to Agnes -but, all the
girls in all California! Oh, that is too much! "
and she sobbed bitterly until, she discovered that
she had drawn out a MS. with her handkerchief,
and that her tears were fast effacing the writing.
She borrowed another handkerchief, rushed to the
window, and was so absorbed in trying to dry
her beloved paper in the sun, and to replace the
blotted-out words, that she took no further part
in the discussion that day.
But the discussion was continued without her and
became very serious. For they began to feel more
and more the weight of their enterprise -now that
so many people wished to share in it. At last, it
was solemnly decided to announce to the world
that, for a year at least, theirs was to be a close
corporation. Perhaps, when they had used up all
they had written, they would take the best their
friends could write.
So, next year there may be a chance for some of
you to become contributors to The Rose.

This all happened in America. I write this in
France, and here I find that the presents liked best
for Christmas, by the little French girls whom I
know, are blank books in which to write their
poems and stories.


955













THE LETTER-BOX.


MOUNT VERNON ON THE POTOMAC, VA.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: As my older sister wrote to
you last year, I will contribute a letter this year. They
are now restoring the slave-quarters here at Mount
Vernon, the money for which was raised by the school-
children of Kansas; and, after the slave-quarters are fin-
ished, all the buildings that were here in Washington's
time will be restored. On one side of this building is
a white marble slab, and inscribed on it is the following:
"Restored by the Schools of Kansas, 1889." I think
the school-children of the United States have done very
well for Mount Vernon,- for the summer-house was re-
built by the school-children of Louisiana. On the Fourth
of July the tomb was decorated beautifully. The most
prominent and beautiful wreath was presented by the
President and Mrs. Harrison. We are so fond of the
ST. NICHOLAS that whenever it comes we have a regular
scramble to settle which shall read it first. It has been
kindly presented to us for three or four years.
Sincerely your little friend,
ANNA HOWELL D-.



HAIKU MAUI, SANDWICH ISLANDS.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I live on the Sandwich Islands,
and the people are not cannibals, but mostly white peo-
ple. There are eight races of people here. My father
and mother are Americans, but I was born here. I have
a sister who is a year younger than myself, and three
brothers. My oldest brother is in Yale College. I am
ten years old.
I have a little garden. It has a La France rose bush,
nasturtiums, marigolds, morning-glories, dahlias, mign-
onette, and other flowers.
There are palm-trees and date-palms in our yard. Our
date-palms have borne dates before. The pine-apples
do not grdw on trees but near the ground; first the
leaves grow out of the ground, and then the pine-apple
grows out of the middle.
There are no elephants here, nor bears, nor monkeys.
Mamma and Papa take the ST. NICHOLAS here.
This is the first letter that I have ever written to you.
Once a lady wrote in a paper that there were monkeys
here when there are not.
Your loving friend, GRACE D- .


RIPON, WIs.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I love your fine magazine
dearly, and we would all find it very hard to part with
you. I attend the public school.
Ripon, my native town, is a very pretty place of over
four thousand inhabitants and contains a fine college.
My two sisters, who are both older than I, attend Ripon
College, which has about three hundred scholars. Com-
mencement is the event of the season and lasts about a
week.
The last day of May we had a snow-storm, which
seemed rather out of place at that time of the year.
We live in a large white house on Main Street, facing


two streets, with a fine lawn where we have a croquet-
set. Among my.favorite authors are Bayard Taylor,
Miss Holmes, Miss Alcott, and Mrs. Wister.
I am very fond of music and take lessons on the piano,
and I also write many stories.
A paper in Milwaukee offered ten prizes in gold for
the best original stories by children in Wisconsin, be-
tween the ages of ten and sixteen. One hundred and
twenty-seven stories were sent in; and I wrote one, re-
ceiving the eighth prize, of five dollars, which I thought
was quite a beginning for a young writer.
Your sincere reader, MARY LILLIAN S- .



SYRACUSE, N. Y.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a little girl, ten years old.
I have a little brother, five years old. I like "A Bit of
Color." What do you like best ? My little brother likes
the" Bunny Stories." He is particularly fond of" Cuddle-
down." The other day he was
playing with some daisies, when
suddenly he said, Oh, Mam-
ma! here is Cuddledown." We
/ looked and saw that he had
pulled all the white petals off a
daisy but two, and they looked
just like the Bunny's ears. I
will show you by a picture.
In this way he made the whole
of the Bunny family.
Your little reader,
BERTHA C. F- .


RIPON, WIs.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I live in Fort Keogh, Mon-
tana, but two years ago my Mamma died and I came
here to stay with my aunt and to go to college. I am
thirteen years old and study commercial law and botany.
The only pet I have is a baby brother who will be two
years old the fifth of next month. Don't you think he is
a pretty nice pet? My Papa is a captain in the Twenty-
second Regiment of United States Infantry, and is sta-
tioned at Fprt Keogh, Montana.
He was stationed at Fort Lewis, Colorado, before
Mamma died, and then he was ordered to Fort Keogh,
and last summer I visited him, and liked it better than I
did Fort Lewis.
I will try to describe the fort as accurately as possi-
ble. There is a parade-ground where the soldiers drill,
and around that are the officers' and soldiers' quarters,
and back of them are the graveyard, the store-houses, the
Northern Pacific Railroad, the trader-store and post-
office, the bowling-alley, depot, and the post gardens.
There is a wagon road that goes to Miles City, two
and a half miles from the fort. You have to cross the
Yellowstone River on the way, and in one fording-place
there is a ferry that you can go over on when the river
is high, but no citizen can cross without paying, because
it is for the soldiers when they go to town.
Your loving reader, FRANK B. K- .






THE LETTER-BOX.


BRADFORD, ENGLAND. LONGPORT, N. J.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I thought perhaps the readers DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am spending the summer on
of your excellent magazine would like to hear about the the Jersey coast, and like it very much. We find many
kindness and sagacity of a bird. One day my sister's curious shells and sea-weed here, among which there is
friend pointed out to her a bird on the top of a lower a fish that we find on the shore, called a" Portuguese man-
part of the house; it appeared to have fallen from the of-war." It looks more like a soap-bubble than anything
nest and hurt itself very much. My sister and her friend else, having the most radiant colors in it one can imagine.
threw some bread on the house-top, but it could not When these men-of-war" are cut open, they resolve
reach it. By and by another bird came and took up into nothing but bright colored foam.
some bread in its bill and fed the other bird. I have taken your lovely magazine almost as long as
I am, your interested reader, ANN B- there has been a ST. NICHOLAS, and love it dearly. I
always wait with great impatience for the next number
every month. I am, your devoted reader,


EDITH W-.
NEWARK, N. J.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Ever since November, 1879, I
have been one of the many who have enjoyed your bright
pages. And now that the tenth anniversary of our
acquaintance has come, I want to express through the
"Letter-box my affection for you.
One of the best of your many good qualities is that
you are so interesting to young and old alike.
I am one of your older readers, but have two small
brothers who show a growing fondness for ST. NICH-
OLAS. Before long I expect to enter college.
Affectionately, H. V. R-

Los ANGELES, CAL.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have three rabbits. I have
one four weeks old, that is my youngest; my second is
two months old, and my third is about a year old.
I like the Bunny" stories. I read them to my little
brother every night. My rabbits are all named after
the Bunny family, in the ST. NICHOLAS. With much
love and best wishes, I remain, yours truly,
WINNIE B--

WE take pleasure in printing a reproduction of a clever
little letter written and illustrated by a young friend,
Master E. A. C-C. The letter is supposed to be ad-
dressed by a pet dog to its absent little mistress, and in
the original the drawings are neatly colored.


NASHVILLE, TENN.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have taken you for eight
years, and I have yofu hound every year. I always have
a.private jig in the hall as soon as your delightful maga-
zine arrives. I have no brothers or sisters, so I can
have you all to myself. My favorite stories are: His
One Fault," "Juan and Juanita," "Little Lord Fauntle-
roy," and Sara Crewe." I remain, as ever,
A DEVOTED READER.


SCHENECTADY, N. Y.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have taken you since I was
a little boy. I am, thirteen years old. I am reading
one of Cooper's novels, "The Spy," and I like it very
much. The boys where I live have formed a walking
club, and we walk all around; and in the winter we have
a skating club, and we have a park on the Mohawk
River. Yours truly, JOHN K. P- JR.


SAN FRANCISCO, CAL.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: As no letters have ever been
received by you from our house, I thought I would
write one.
I am a little girl, twelve years old. I weigh eighty-one
pounds, and I am just as well as I can be all the time.
And when I go to bed
it seems only a minute
before morning, because
I sleep so soundly.
Mamma has taken your
interesting magazine ever
since 1878, and she had it
bound for three years.
Most of the numbers of
'85-'86 were lost, and so we
could not have them bound.
My favorite stories are" Lit-
tle Lord Fauntleroy," Eye-
bright," "Juan and Juanita,"
and "His One Fault." /
I was almost forgetting to L /
tell you about my dolls, which
I call my "Happy Family,"
because I have so many of y
them. I make all their clothes
myself, but Mamma cuts the
patterns.
I am very much interested /7 I7
in the Letter-box," and I read
all the letters in it, and so I -1-yr
thought some of your other
readers might like to read mine.
Hoping at some future time l
I will have something more
interesting to tell you, I remain,
Your affectionate reader,
MINNA ELSIE W--.


957


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THE LETTER-BOX.


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ST. PAUL, MINN.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We
have had you since 1885, and I
think there is no book like you.
I was at first too little to read
your stories, but Mamma used to
read the children's stories to me.
I am now a boy of ten years,
and, although quite young, I have
lived in seven different cities, for
my Papa is a railroad man, and
railroad men are as bad as Meth-
odist ministers for moving about.
We have always had you
bound, and I have had all the
stories read to me and enjoy-
them immensely. I like "Little
Lord Fauntleroy" and "Juan
and Juanita" better than any
you ever have published.
I am a choir-boy in St. Paul's
church here, and I like it very
much.
Your devoted reader,
RAY S-.


NATIONAL CITY, CAL.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am a
little boy eight years old, and live
in Montana, but I came here with
my mamma and little brother, to
visit one of my grandmas, who
moved here two years ago, from
Massachusetts. We came here
the middle of last November.
Last winter was the first one I
ever experienced without snow.
I shall want to take you every
year. I hope to earn money
enough to pay for my next year's
subscription.
Your new little friend,
WM. MUNROE H-.


WE thank the young friends
whose names follow for pleas-
ant letters which we have re-
ceived from them: Hattie D.,
Ida A., Rose D. F., Emil Edel-
stat, Emma Raynor, M. Clayton
E., Carrie Davis, Miriam S.,
Honora Swartz, Edwin P., Es-
ther W. Ayres, Anna Jones,
Phenie King, Genevieve Fen-
ton, Arthur R. Williams, Helen
Spaulding, Z. Y. X., Anna A.
Wayne, "Poppy," Grace H.
Turnbull, Agnes A., Ethel A.
Carter, E. B. Seaman, May
Campbell, Alice Jenckes, Louise
Clarke.


958















THE RIDDLE-BOX.


ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE SEPTEMBER NUMBER.
DIAMOND. r. M. 2. Met. 3. Merit. 4. Mercers. 5. Mercu- QUADRUPLE ACROSTIC. First row, Adaline; second row, lami-
rial. 6. Tiercel. 7. Tries. 8. Sal. 9. L. nar; fifthrow, donates; sixth row, entreat. Cross-words: i. Allude;
DOUBLE ZIGZAGS. From I to so, Michaelmas; it to 20, Wel- 2. Damson. 3. Amount. 4. Linear. 5. Invite. 6. Nausea.
lington. Cross-words: i. Makinaw. a. Pinniped. 3. Pachalic. 7. Ernest
4. Fishlike. 5. Fraction. 6. Petaline. 7. Locating. 8. Emaciate. PI. A golden haze conceals the horizon,
9. Chariots. io. Parsnips. A golden sunshine slants across the meadows;
NUMERICAL ENIGMA. The scholar, without good breeding, is a The pride and prime of summer-time is gone,
pedant; the philosopher, a cynic; the soldier, a brute; and every But beauty lingers in these autumn shadows.
man disagreeable.
HOUR-GLASS. I. Centrals, Lincoln. Cross-words: I. galLing. O sweet September! thy first breezes bring
2. prInk. 3. oNe ~.4 C. 5. nOd. 6. poLka. 7. eveNing. The dry leaf's rustle and the squirrel's laughter,
II. Centrals, Ariosto. Cross-words : I. carAvan. 2. meRit. The cool, fresh air, whence health and vigor spring,
3. vim. 4 5. aSp. 6. otTer. 7. devOtee. And promise of exceeding joy hereafter.
CHARADE. Yel-low. GEORGE ARNOLD.
COMPARISONS. I. Bee, beer, beast .Beau, bore, boast. 3. Fee, DOUBLE ACROSTIC. Primals, Brandywine; finals, Whitefield.
fear, feast. 4. Go, gore, ghost. 5. Roe, roar, roast. Cross-words: i. Bungalow. 2. Reproach. 3. Acephali. 4. Not-
ILLUSTRATED CENTRAL ACROSTIC. Fahrenheit. Cross-words: wheat. 5. Disseize. 6. Yourself. 7. Winooski. 8. Inchoate.
i. treFoil. 2. monArch. 3. fisHers. 4. carRier. 5. nosEgay. 9. Novercal. o1. Entomoid.
6. spiNet. 7. cipHers. 8. shiElds. 9. pelIcan. to. cotTage. EASY RIDDLE. Mentz.
To OUR PUZZLERS: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the z5th 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 JULY NUMBER were received, before July x5th, from Maude E. Palmer-Maxie and
Jackspar.
ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE JULY NUMBER were received, before July i5th, from Elaine Shirley, --Julia H. Wright, -
"Rats and Mice," 2 -Annie E. H. Meyer, 2-Mary Tilton, Dolly, I -Dick, i -Fannie and Katie, 7-" Cleopatra," i -Alice
M. Renter, Marian W. Little, 3 Grace B. Alvord, 2- Nanon, 6- Eleanor Clifford, Susie Flanders, --Eleanor D., I-
Helen Mencke, 2 Louise C. Gilpin, i Romona, I Carrie and Harry, I Clarice H. Lesser, i Edna Cohne, i -" July," 2 -
Bessie Hitchcock, i-Mary E. Colston, 3- A. P. C. Ashhurst, 5- Nina Gray, I- Anna W. Ashhurst, 7-J. F. McCabe, Jr., i-
Arthur B. Lawrence, 5- Fannie B Starr, 2 Cicely, 2 Edith B. Craig, Emilie Magee, 3 Trio, 5- Edith Partello and Anna
Cochran, Grace and Marion, xx -" Caroline Page," 2 Belle Larkin, 2- E. Wilson, i -" Skipper," 3 G. E. M. and A. E. W.,
S- Harriet M. Burnett, r -Anna Jones, r Elizabeth A. Adams, Paul Forsyth, r Hattie Ungar, 2-- Effie K. Talboys, 7 -
Paul Reese, 9-Jeannie Ewing and Bettie V. H., I- Marietta Ludington, r- Harry F. Sewall, Jr., 3-Roberta S. Reitze, I-" May
and 79," r Sara I. C., i Lisa D. Bloodgood, 3- N. W. M. and M. L. A., I Helen Van Kleeck, 3 -Julia M. Taylor, 4-" Mab
and Joker," 4-" Keturah and the Kid," 4--Emma V. Fish, 4- Gert and Fan, 4- Clara 0., xo-" Grandma," 9- Elizabeth A.
Adams, 2 -Lulu and Alice Schussler, 5-" A Family Affair," x3 -" Le Feu Follet," 4 Jentie Yates, 6- Rose Hedges, to- Carrie
Holzman, 3 L. and B. C., 2- Alice and Carleton, 2 -" The Bears," 3 -J. A. Anderson, i- Venetia, ix L. H. F. and Mistie, 7 -
John W. Frothingham, Jr., 3 Charles Beaufort, 3 Ida Young, I Adrienne Forrester, 5 Nellie L. Howes, 9- Monell, 2- Helen
C. McCleary, 7 -J. B. Swann, 2 Henry Guilford, 13- Edna Lawrence and Ora Cullings, 2 -" Damon and Pythias," o-- Susy W.
Adams, 6-Alice McBurney, Bella Myers, Anita B. Carey, 7-May Martin, 4- Arthur G. Lewis, 8- Jo and I, ao-A. Fiske
and Co., II Mabel H. Chase, 7-Jennie C. Hanscom, 5 -Percy and Maud Taylor, 5 B. M. French, i -Hattie D., i Ida A., i.


DIAMOND.
1. IN jeopardy. 2. A field. 3. Creeping animals. 4. Amiable.
5. An old word meaning to travel over or through. 6. An acid made
from ambergris. 7. Killed. 8. A much used abbreviation. 9. In
jeopardy, c. B. D.

CONNECTED WORD-SQUARES.
i .


2. .



.3
UPPER SQUARE: I. A sketch. a. A slender mark. 3. A feminine
name. 4. Tidy.
LOWER SQUARE: I. A conjunction. 2. An animal. 3. The mace
of the nutmeg. 4. A character in "The Old Curiosity Shop."
From I to 2, a measure; from 2 to 3, limitation; from I to 3, a
water-fowl. JESSIE THOMAS.

PRIMAL ACROSTIC.
ALL of the words described contain the same number of letters.
When these are rightly guessed, and placed one below the other, the
initial letters will spell the name of an English rural festival which
occurs in October.
CROSS-WORDS: i. A fabulous monster with nine heads, of which
the middle one was immortal. 2. A lyric poet of Methymna whose
life is said to have been saved by dolphins. 3. The brother of
Romulus. 4. The goddess of the hearth. 5. The builder of the


wooden horse of Troy. 6. A sea-nymph, famed for the sweetness
of her voice. 7. A fabled giant of ancient mythology. 8. A beauti-
ful youth who accompanied Hercules in the expedition of the Argo-
nauts. 9. A constellation named after a celebrated hunter in Greek
mythology. so. The daughter of a king of Colchis, who was cele-
brated for her skill in magic. at. One of the Muses.
CYRIL DEANE.
BURIED CITIES.
IN each of the nine following sentences is concealed the name of a
city which is not in the United States. The initial letters of the nine
cities will spell the name of another city which is in the United States.
x. Caroline dances well on a smooth floor, but she can't on a rough,
poor one.
2. When you were in Rome was Lionel ill enough to cause much
anxiety?
3. Rex eternally talks of the great things he is going to do.
4. We put very cold, and even ice water, on our plants, but it does
not kill them.
5. The editor said to me, "MSS. require the sanie rates of post-
age as letters."
6. In spite of them all, I 'm afraid your bulky letter will not be
mailed.
7. Am I enslaved to such a bad habit?
,8. I old Eugenic to put the melon on ice to cool.
9. The dam, as custom prescribes, is made of rocks and mortar.
M. G. M.
PI.
STORHER dan sethorr won hte glitwith sclip
Eht sady, sa thorhug teh susten teag thye cowdr,
Dan remums mofr erh glenod crolla spils
Dan satyrs grothuh blubest-slifed, nad samon dualo,
Vase hewn yb stif eth remraw rai viceseed,
Nad, teasling phofule ot meso shredleet browe,
Hes elis no lowslip fo eth dafde sleave,
Adn riste bet dol nutes vero rofna rhou.















































,. ^ < / > ni EACH of the
Mi /0 a .i t nine small pictures
S // in the above illustration
I /J,, may be described by a
/ ./1 a ,, word of five letters.
When these are rightly
I/f / a e guessed and placed one
below the other, in the
order here given, the
letters from I to 18 (as indicated in the accompanying diagram)
will spell-the name of a very famous English architect who was
born on October 20, 1632.

ACROSTIC RIDDLE.



.

I WATCHED my first in lofty flight,
With sweetest song till out of sight.
My second, flying low, I found
With wings that did not leave the ground.
My third, whose wings we cannot see,
May yet take flight from you or me.
Myfourth, though destitute of wings,
Flies high aloft but never sings.
Now, if my.first you rightly name,
You '11 find my initials spell the same. B

NUMERICAL ENIGMA.
I AM composed of one hundred and nine letters, and am a four-line
stanza, by Barton.
My 90-6-72-21-105 is not right. My 40-57-45-96 are domestic
fowls. My 83-65-99-53 is a set of horses. My 101-26-32-70-15 is
favored. My 64-77-88-36-3-93 is a cupboard. My 97-8-63-47-68
is a kind of spice. My 1-24-43-29 is to try. -My 33-50-73-86 is a song
of praise. My49-2o-79-76-60-95 is a military term for a list of offi-
cers. My 12-69-55-17--o8-51-22 is the cargo of a ship. My 56-
o02-o1-58-84 is a high wind. My 81-98-109-71-62 is to destroy.
My 42-2-91-38-74 is to moan. My 35-103-18-5-28 are trees of a cer-
tain kind. My 66-1oo-o16-92 is a prognostic. My 31-75-16-9 is


S-


the opposite of love. My 41-67-14-107-48 is to dwell. My 25-85-
39-19-7 is a mark of distinction. My 11-46-94 is compensation for
services. My 34-87-27 is a feminine name. My 78-54-37-44-89-
4-30 is in opposition to. My 82-13-52-59-23-6t-1o4-8o is a very
large animal. "CORNELIA BLIMBER."

A HOLLOW SQUARE.
I 2


7 8
9 To
II 12
13 14
IN the above hollow square the words read the same across and
up and down.
From i to 2, to sprinkle; from 3 to 4, excuse; from 5 to 6, the
sacred book of the Mohammedans; from 7 to 8, the catch of a
buckle; from 9 to to, having an arrangement by threes; from xz to
12, corrodes; from 13 to 14, rambleth. JENNIE M. THOMAS.

CONCEALED HALF-SQUARE.
IN the following five sentences are concealed five words. In the
sixth sentence is concealed a syllable, and in the seventh, a Roman
numeral. The words, syllable, and letter, when rightly selected, may
be placed so as to form a half-square.
r. If Irma is to start for India Monday, she had better buy her
rugs on Friday.
2. I shook the tree well, and from the heaviest laden limb1 began
to gather many rosy apples.
3. As I was reading Rasselas" a bat entered the window and
flew straight at-the lamp.
4. Alice, with her pretty, coy ways, I like; but Tom I tease, be-
cause he is so full of quaint mischief.
5. As soon as the piano began, the cat commenced to me-ow "
in a most sad and sorrowful way.
6. When General Washington entered the room every guest
arose, to do him honor.
7. Vainly Victoria vied with the victorious valedictorian, and vio-
lently ventilated her venomous and vapid valor.


THE DE VINNE PRESS, NEW YORK.







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